THE MERRY HISTORY, OF THE THRIE FRIARS OF BER●●●KE.  
Printed at Aberdene, By Edward Raban, For David Melvill, 1622.   

THE THREE FRIARS OF BERWICKE.  
AS it befell, and happened in deed,  
Upon a River, which is called Twéede:  
At Twéedes fair Mouth, there stands a Noble Town,  
Where many Lords have been, of great Renown:  
And many a worthy Lady, fair of Face:  
And many a fresh lusty Gallant was:  
Into this Town, which called is Berwicke,  
Upon the Sea there standeth none it like.  
For it well Walled is about with Stone:  
And double Stankes are casten, many one.  
And then the Cas●le is so strong, and wight:  
With stately Towers, and Turrets on the height.  
The Car-Walles closed craftily: withal,  
The 〈…〉 most subtly to fall,  
〈…〉 they please to draw them up on height:  
〈…〉 Folks by any kind of Might  
〈◊〉 win the same, by Craft, or Subtlety.  
〈…〉 within is fair Artillery.  
〈…〉 my days, where ever I have been,  
〈…〉, most goodly, and most well beseen:  
〈◊〉 Town, the Water, the Castle, and the Land:  
〈◊〉 Ualleyes green, upon the other hand.  
〈◊〉 gr●●t Cross Kirke, and eke the Maison Dew:  
Th● jacobines, they Friars are of white hue.  
The Carmelites, and the Minouries éeke:  
The four Orders of Friars were not to seek,  
¶ These Friars were in Berwicks' Town once dwelling,  
Where as it happened in a fair May Morning,  
That two of the jacobine Milke-whyte Friars,  
As they were wont, and used many years,  
To walk amongst their Brethren up on Land.  
Those silly Friars passed forth from hand.  
Fri●● Allane was one: Friar Robert the other:  
As Friar's fashion is, with wives could well gloother.  
Right wondrous well they pleased the wives:  
And told them fair Tales, of Holy Saints lives:  
Till Night was at hand, and they should go home.  
But right tired, and wet, was Friar Allane.  
For he was old, and might not well travel,  
Because he had some spice of the Gravel.  
Friar Robert was young, could bide Rain and Wind:  
H●e bare both their Gowns, yet bided not behind.  
Yea, bore all their Gear: ●or he was full wight.  
By that it drew near towards the Night:  
And they were coming to the Town full near.  
Friar Allane said, Robert, good Brother dear,  
It is so late, I fear the Yate be closed:  
And we are tired, and wondrous ill disposed  
To 〈◊〉 out of the Town: except that we  
〈…〉 House this 〈…〉  
¶ So there did dwell a wondrous good Hostl●er●●  
Without Berwicke, into a fair Manniere:  
Simon Laurel he called was by name:  
A fair blithe Wife he had, and comely Dame:  
But she was something duike, and dangerous.  
These silly Friars came then to that Man's House;  
Saluting her: and becked courteously:  
And she to them did answer perfectly.  
Friar Robert then inquired for the Goodman?  
And in this wise she quickly answered than:  
He went from Home, GOD wots, on Wedn●sday,  
In the Country, to seek for Corn and Hay,  
And other things, whereof we stand in need.  
Friar Allane ●ayde, I pray Great GOD him speed,  
And keep him safe and sound in his travail.  
Friar Robert said, Dame fill a Stoop with Ail,  
That we may drink: for I am wondrous dry.  
With that the Goodwife went full speedily,  
And filled the Stoop, and brought them Bread and Chiese●  
They ate, and drank, and sat at their own ease.  
Friar Allane said to the Goodwife in hie,  
Come hither, Dame, and set you down me by,  
And fill once again the Stoop, I you pray,  
Before we go full well we will you pay.  
The Friars were blithe, and merry Tales ●ould tell.  
But even with that they heard their own Prayer Bell,  
Within the Abbey, and were sore aghast,  
For than they knew the Yates were closed fast,  
That they might not from thenceforth get entry.  
The Goodwife than they prayed for Charity,  
To grant them Lodging, only for one night.  
But she to them did answer high on height,  
Mine Husband is from Home, as I you told:  
And I, GOD knows, dare no ways be so bold,  
To harbour Friars within the House with me.  
What would 〈◊〉 Simo● 〈◊〉 ✚ Benedicitie● ✚ ✚  
〈…〉 I dared never look until his Face:  
〈…〉 Lady Mari● keep me from such a case:  
〈…〉 of peril, and from Shame.  
〈…〉 Friar Allan● said, Fair Dame,  
〈◊〉 God's sake hear me, what I soon shall say,  
〈…〉 us out, we shall been dead ere day.  
〈◊〉 way is ill, and we are tired, and wet:  
〈…〉 know) it is so very late:  
Th● 〈…〉 closed, that we can not get in:  
〈…〉 in no cas● we may win.  
〈…〉 it doth behoove us to bide still,  
And put us wholly, Dame, into your will.  
¶ The Goodwife looked on those Friars twain,  
And at the last unto them did she say:  
Ye bide not here, by Him that hath us coft,  
Except ye list to lie up in yond Loft,  
Which is well wrought even into the Halles end:  
Ye shall find Straw, and clothes I shall you send.  
If ye list not, then pass your ways in feire:  
None other ways will I repair you heese.  
●er Maiden than she sendeth up before,  
And ●ade them follow both, and stay no more.  
¶ They were full blithe, and did as she them kende,  
And up they went, to lodge at the Halles end.  
Until a Loft, the Maid with Corn and Hay,  
Did make their Bed: and then she went her way,  
Closing the Trap: and they remained still.  
In to that Lo●t they had not all their will.  
Friar Allane lay down, as he best might.  
Friar Robert said, I vowed to walk this Night:  
Who wots? perchance some Sports I may espy.  
Thus in the Loft I let the Friar's lie,  
¶ And of the Goodwife now will I spea●●●ore.  
She was right glad the Friars were closed ther●  
For she had made a Tryst that selfsame Night,  
Friar john her Love his Supper for to dight.  
And she would have none other Company,  
Because Friar john that Night with her should lie:  
Who dwelling was into that selfsame Town:  
And a Black Friar he was, of great Renown.  
¶ He governed all whole the abbacy:  
Silver and Gold he had abundantly.  
He had a privy Postern of his own,  
That he might ishe, and pass away unknown  
But thus in Berwickes' Town I leave him still,  
Biding his time: and turn again I will,  
¶ To this fair Wife. Now she the Fire 〈…〉  
And throng the fattest Capons on the Spit:  
And eke fat Coneys to the Fire she say:  
And bade her Maiden, in all haste she may,  
To flame, and turn, and roast them tenderly:  
Then to her Chamber is she gone in hie.  
¶ She pulled her Makin, gave it buffets two  
Upon the Cheek: and till it can she say,  
Thou shouldst be blithe, and glad at my Request:  
These Mulles of thine are called to a Feast.  
She putteth on a Kirtle fine of Red:  
A fair white Courtch she binds about her Head.  
Her Belt was wrought of Silk, and Silver fine:  
Embroidered Purse: her Keys hung clinking sign.  
On every Finger she put on Rings two:  
And was as proud as any Papingo.  
She laid on a Board-cloath of costly Greene:  
Of Silver-Worke she was full well foreseen.  
Then forth she came, into the Hall, anon,  
And asked her Maid, if she heard any one?  
¶ With that Friar john was knocking at the Yate:  
Whose knock she knew, and quickly him in let.  
She well-comde him upon a good manniere.  
〈◊〉 her: and said, Mine own Love dear,  
H●●●e there a pair of Bottles, good, and fine:  
They hold a gallon (full) of Gascoin Wine.  
〈…〉 pa●●● of Partridge, even new slain:  
〈◊〉 a ●aund full Bread, of finest Main.  
This ha●e I brought to you, mine only Dear:  
That you and I therewith might make good Cheer.  
Since it is so that Simon is from Home,  
I will talk right homely with you, Madam.  
¶ She ●ayeth, Ye are full heartli● welcome heerens  
In such a wise, when that you will appear.  
●ith that she smiled wondrous love●omlie.  
Again he thrust her Hand right privily.  
Thus at their Spor●e I will them yet leave still,  
Till other time: and turn again I will,  
And tell you of those ●illie Friars two.  
Were locked in the Loft, amongst the Straw.  
¶ Friar Allane on his Cou●h ●ull still did lie.  
Friar Robert had a little jealousy:  
For in his Heart he had great perceiving:  
And through the Boards he mad● (with some sharp thing)  
A little Hole, in such a wise got he,  
That all they did below he could well see:  
Yea, every word he heard which they did say:  
When she was proud, and wondrous fresh, and gay.  
And what she wo●re upon her Head above.  
She called him both Leman, Heart, and Love.  
Full Prelate-lyke he sat in to the Chair:  
And she did round Epistles in his Eare.  
¶ Thus sport they them, and make great Melody.  
And when she saw the Supper was ready,  
She quickly went, and decked the Board anon:  
And then the pair of Bottles hath she ta'en,  
And set them ●●wne, upon the Board, her by.  
And even with that they heard the Goodman cry:  
Who knocked at the Yate, and shouted fast.  
When they him heard, than were they all aghast.  
And good Friar john was something in effray:  
Full soon start up, and would have been away.  
But all for nought: he might no way win out●  
The Goodwife spak● then with a visage stout,  
Yond is Simon, tha● makes all this deray,  
Whom I might tho●e had bidden yet away.  
I'll quite him this, if I live half a year,  
For troubling us, when we should make good Cheer.  
Because of him we may not bide together:  
I do repent at this time ye came hither.  
We were so well, if he had bidden away.  
What shall I do? Alace, Friar john can say.  
The Goodwife said, I hold it for the best,  
That I you hide, till he be brought to rest,  
In-to yond Trogh, which stands in the Nook,  
Would hold six Bowls of Me●le when that she book.  
¶ There-under then she caused him creep in hie,  
Where he had room enough a ease to lie.  
She closed him, and then wen● on her way?  
And to her Maiden softly can he say,  
Take way this Gear, and s●aken out the Fyrs:  
Go, close the Board, and take away yond Chair.  
Soon, lock up all, within the Panterie:  
Both Meat, and Drink: ha done full speedily.  
The Comes, Capons, and th● wild Fowls fine:  
The Maine-shot Bread, the bottles with the Wine.  
She locked up all, and ●ight ●he House so clean,  
That no likeness of Feast ●ight there be seen.  
The Goodwife then, without longer delay,  
Did quickly put off all her ●●esh Array:  
And then she went into her Bed anon,  
And let her Husband knòcke without, alone.  
When he with knocking tired was, 〈◊〉 ●ryde,  
And went about un-to the o●her side:  
Unto a Window, stood at her Beddes-head,  
Saying, Alison, awake, for CHRIST'S dead.  
When Allison had th'old him long to cry,  
As half asleep, she answearde crabbedlye,  
How? Who is that, that knows so well my name?  
Go hence, quoth she, mine Husband is from Home.  
And I will harbour here no Guests, P●rfay:  
Therefore, I pray you, wend on, wend on, your way:  
For at this time ye may not lodged be.  
Then Simon spoke, Dear Wife, ken ye not me?  
I am your Simon, God-man of this Place.  
Are ye that, Simon? my Spouse, she says, Alace!  
Through miss-knowledge I had almost miss-done.  
Who would have thought ye should so late come Home?  
She starteth up, and getteth Light in hie,  
And openeth then the Yate full speedily.  
She let him in on the most heartly wise,  
And took from him th● Gear, as was the guise.  
He bade the Maiden 〈◊〉 on the Fire,  
And get him 〈…〉 she should have good Hire.  
¶ The Goodwife s●●de, Sweet Simon ye may trow,  
here is no Meat this ●ight that gains for you.  
At least, Good Dame, g●e fetch me Chiese and Bread:  
Go fill the Stoop, and hold it to mine Head.  
For I am hungry, weary, wet, and cold.  
Then up she rose, (as Reason bade she should:)  
Covered the Board, an● set on Bread of Rye:  
A soused Neat's foot, a Sheep's head set she by.  
Even such cold Meat she brought to him belyve,  
And filled the Stoop. 〈◊〉 Simon waxed blithe.  
He ate, and drank, and ●●●de, By All-hollow,  
I fare right well, had I b●● one Good Fellow.  
Dame, drink with me, a●d eat, I do you pray.  
The Goodwife said, Th● Devill-a-bitte I may:  
It were more meet now in your Bed to be,  
Than here to sit, desiring Company.  
¶ Friar Robert said unto his Brother dear,  
Alace, I would the Goodman kende us here.  
Who wots? Perchance some better might he fare.  
For sure it is, mine Heart will aye be sore,  
If yond coarse meat with Simon birnis●● 〈◊〉,  
While dainty Cheer stands in the Panterie.  
And with that word he coached loud anon.  
Till Simon heard, and asked, Who is yond?  
The Goodwife said, Yond are your Friar's twey.  
Quoth Simon then, Tell me what Frier● are they?  
She said, Friar Robert, and silly old Allane,  
Who all this day have walked in great pain.  
When they came here it was so very late,  
Prayer Bell was rung, and closed was their Yate:  
Therefore above I gave them Harberie.  
The Goodman said, So GOD have part on me,  
The selfsame Friars are heartly welcome hither:  
Go call them down, that 〈◊〉 may drink together.  
The Goodwife said, I 〈…〉 let them be:  
They had rather sleep, nor sit in ●●●panie.  
Unto the Maiden spoke the Goodman than,  
Go, pray them both to come to me fr●● hand.  
The Maiden soon did open the Trap Door,  
And said, Ye Friars, come down upon the Floor.  
Friar Robert swore, and said, By sweet Saint john,  
The Goodman is even right welcome home.  
Alace, he had ill travelling this day.  
And we shall come unto him, ye may say.  
Then suddenly they start up both anon,  
And down the Trap, with right good speed, they came:  
Saluted Simon, as soon as they him see.  
And he again did halsse them courteously,  
And said, Come here, ●●ne own poor Brethren dear:  
And sit you down, even beside me, here:  
For I am now alone, as ye may see:  
Wherhfore, I pray you, bear me company:  
And take a part of such Cheer as I have.  
Friar Allane said, I pray GOD you to save.  
For here is enough of GOD'S Graces good.  
Then Simon answered, Now by the Rood,  
〈…〉 Crown of Gold for me,  
〈…〉 Meat, and Drink amongst us three.  
〈…〉 said, What Meat now would ye have?  
Or els● what Drink● desire y●e for to crave?  
For I 〈◊〉 sundry Pracktic●es well discearnde,  
Beyonds t●● S●as, in Pari●, which I learned:  
Th● wh●●h I gladly prove will for your sake,  
And for our Dames, who did us lodging make.  
Il● take in hand, if ye will counsel keep,  
To c●use you see, even hee●●, before ye sleep,  
Of the best Meat that is in this Country,  
And Gascoin Wine, if ani● that there be.  
Or if it be within an hun●reth mile,  
It shall be here, within tohonnie while.  
The Goodman had 〈…〉 well at this Tale,  
And said, Dear 〈◊〉, mine Heart will ne'er be heal,  
Except ye● try● your S●ill before we part,  
Through your Science, Necromancy, or Art,  
To make us Sport. And then the Friar up rose:  
Taking his Book, un-to the Floor he goes.  
¶ He turns the Leaves, and reads a little space:  
And to the East he turns about his Face.  
Then to the West he turneth, looking down.  
And closed the Book, and said an Orasoun.  
But still his Eyes were on the Panterye,  
And on the Trogh, wherein Friar john did lie.  
Then sat he down, and 〈◊〉 aback his Hood:  
Most fearfully gaping as he● were wood.  
UUhiles sat he still, his Hands abroad fast spreading  
And other whiles upon his ●●oke was reading.  
And whiles with Hands and Heels full loud would clap:  
And other whiles he would both glowre, and gape.  
Thus did Friar Robert read the House about:  
Five, or six times, so lowly could he stoop,  
When that he came near● ha●d the Panterye:  
Where-at our Dame had won●er great envy.  
For in her Heart she had some perceiving,  
That Friar Robe●t knew well her governing.  
She saw him give the Panterie such state,  
Until herself she said, (full well I wait)  
I am but shent, the Friar knows all my thought:  
What shall I do? ●lace, what have I wrought!  
If Simon know, it will be a dear Doing.  
By that the Friar had left his studying:  
Most furiously he stampeth on the Floor,  
Then came again, and said, All hail, my Cure.  
Now is it done, and ye shall have plenty,  
Bread, Meat, and Wine, the best in this Countri●:  
Therefore, fair Dame, get-up full speedily,  
And go your ways, into 〈◊〉 Panterie:  
Soon open it, and see ye bring us fine  
A pair of Bottles, full of Ga●●●●m Wine:  
Which hold more than a Gallon, I warrant:  
And bring us éeke the Maine-Bread in the Maund.  
Two roasted Coneys, fat, and hot withal:  
The Capons éeke to us, Dame, bring ye shall.  
Four Partridges, I know there is no less:  
Of Ploovers, Dame, see that ye bring a mess.  
The Goodwife saw Rob made no variance:  
She knew that he had seen her governance.  
And thought it was no boot for to deny,  
But quickly went un-to the Panterye:  
Then she brought forth, together with her Maid,  
All that the Friar before un-to her said:  
Starting aback, as she were in effray:  
Then crossed herself, and smiling can she say,  
Ha, Benedicitie, who hath here been?  
Or who hath ever such like Marvels seen?  
So great a wonder is now happened here:  
What shall I say? he is an holy Friar.  
I find it sooth 〈◊〉 all that he did say:  
Maid, take all forth, and on the Board it lay.  
〈…〉 and Wy●e, and other good things more:  
〈◊〉, Capons, as ye have heard before.  
Partridges, Ploovers, to the Board she brought.  
Friar Rob knew all, and saw there wanted nought:  
But all was sooth, she brought at his device.  
When Simon saw it happened on this wise,  
He had much wonder, and swore by the Moon,  
That Friar Robert full well his deed had done.  
Thou art, quoth he, a Man of great Science,  
That hast so soon made thus great Purveyance.  
Thou bringest here, through thy great Subtlety,  
And by thine Art, and great Philosophy.  
In full good time it was, that thou came hither.  
〈◊〉 power out Wine, ●●d let us drink together,  
And make good Ch●●●●, ●●●er this longsome day:  
For I have 〈…〉ous wildsome way.  
Now GOD be● praised, here is sufficience,  
To serve us all, through your good governance.  
And then anon they drank all round about:  
Of Gascoin Wine, the Friars played still Cup-out.  
They sported them, and made full merry Cheer,  
And eke full loud sang Simon, and the Friar.  
Even an this wise the darksome Night ore-drave,  
Wanting nothing that th●y could wish to have.  
¶ The Goodman s●●de to the Goodwife in hie,  
Come hither, Dame, an●●et you down me by,  
And take a part of s●ch 〈◊〉 we have here,  
But first of all, I pray 〈◊〉, thank the Friar,  
For his benign business, ●nd great cure,  
Which he hath done to 〈◊〉 upon the Floor:  
He brought fine Meat, and Wine abundantly,  
The●e-fore, forsooth, let us right merry be.  
But sing, or say, or use what sport they please,  
Unto our Dame it was but little ease.  
Another thing she had into her thought,  
How she might scape, and not ●o Shame be brought,  
On Friar Robert she looked grie●ouslie,  
And thought through him she should discov●red be●●  
And in her heart she did despa●e likewise,  
That they did e●te her Dainties in that gu●se.  
Yet still she sat, and durst not make her moan.  
What ever they did, she let them aye alone.  
●ut she drank with them into company,  
With feigned cheer, and heart sad and heavy.  
But they were blithe enough, GOD wots, and sang,  
For aye the Wine was raking them among.  
Till at the last, that they w●●● drunk each one,  
Then Simon said un-to the Friar anon.  
Forsooth I marvel much ho● this can be,  
In so short time, that ye so suddenly,  
Hath brought to us such sto●● of ●●intie Cheer.  
thereof have ye no marvels (quoth the Friar)  
I have a Page full privy of mine own,  
When ere I please, will come to me unknown,  
And bring to me such things as I would have:  
Look what I please, I need it not to crave.  
Therefore be blithe, and live in patience,  
And trust me, Sir, I'll do my diligence,  
If that ye please at this time to have more,  
You shall it have: my life sh●ll stand therefore.  
Incontinent that same heer● shall ye see:  
If ye protest ye will kee●● secrecy.  
Let no man know that I ca● do such thing.  
The Goodman swore, an● said, By Heaven's King,  
It shall be kept full secret, 〈◊〉 for me.  
But, Brother dear, your servant would I see,  
If it you pleased, that we might drink together:  
For I wot not if ye may aye come hither,  
To have your Friendship, in such case as this.  
The Friar sa●de, Sir, a● I would fain have Bliss,  
Although ye shoul● him se●, I you warrant,  
It cannot be, ye sh●ll well understand,  
〈…〉 ye may see him in his kind,  
〈◊〉 ye, a●●●e, would run out of your mind.  
He is so soul, and ugly for to see,  
I dare not venture for to take on me  
To bring him hither, even into your sight:  
And namely now, so late within the Night.  
Except it be in such a sort of wise,  
Him to transform, or else to dis-a-guyse  
From his own shape, into some other state.  
Then Simon said, Let us have no debate,  
As pleaseth you, that likewise pleaseth me.  
●ee as he will, yet fain I would him see.  
In-to what shape would ye he should appear?  
Th● Goodman said, In likeness of a Friar,  
In Habit white, like as yourselves are aye:  
For the white Spirits do no man harm, they say.  
¶ Friar Robert said, That ways it may not be:  
That dare I not gr●unt un-to you, truly,  
That he appear into our Habit white:  
It were un-to our Order great despite,  
That any such unworthy Wight as he  
In-to our Habit any man should see.  
Yet since it pleaseth you, he shall appear,  
Ye shall him see in likeness of a Friar,  
In Habit grey, which he●-usde for to wear:  
In such a wise, that he s●●ll no man d●●re.  
If you please this, than do● as I addyse,  
Hold you full close, and ●●●ll in any wy●e.  
What ever it be ye eyth●●●ee, or hear,  
Speak ye no word, nor make no kind of ●●iere,  
But hold you still, till I have done my Cure.  
And ye, Goodman, must stand upon the Floor,  
With hardy Heart, a good Staff in your Hand●  
Have ye no dread: I shall you aye warran●●  
¶ Then Simon said ● assent 〈…〉 so:  
Then up he start, and got 〈…〉  
In-to his Hand: and on the Floor he star●,  
Something afraid, though stalwart was his Heart.  
Un-to the Friar then spoke the Goodman soon,  
Now tell me, Master, what ye● would have done?  
¶ Nothing, quoth he, but hold you clos●, and still:  
What ever I do, take ye good heed there-till.  
Near hand the Door go hide you privily:  
When I ●id you strike, then lay on hardily.  
Upon the Neck be sure to hit him right.  
I'll warrant that (quoth he) with all my might.  
¶ Thus on the Floor I leave him standing still,  
Hiding himself, and turn again I will  
To Friar Robert, who took his Book in hie,  
And turned over the Leaves full busily,  
A full long space. And when he had done so,  
Towards the South, without speaking words more,  
He went apace: and on this wise spoke he,  
Hay, ho, Hurls-baigs, rise, I now conjure thee:  
Stand up, foul F●ende, and so●●e to me appear,  
In Grey Habit, and likeness of a Friar,  
From out the Trogh, where thou along do●st lie:  
Stretch forth thy Limbs, cast off the Stone in hie.  
Now tumble over the Trogh, that we may see  
Thy form, and shape, before us openly.  
Within this place see that thou no man grieves:  
But draw thine Hands far in, within thy Slieves.  
And pull thy Cowle low down upon thy Face,  
And thank thy God thou gettest so good grace.  
With speed go pack thee, to thine own receipt.  
Let this be done, and make no more debate.  
And as thou passest see thou make no Fray,  
W●●h any wight, but swiftly pass away.  
But I command, and charge thee here before,  
That in this place thou come not any more.  
¶ Now over the Staire see that thou get good speed.  
For 〈…〉 will more Perils breed.  
〈◊〉 that Friar john, who under the Trogh lay,  
Stretche● him ●●one: but was in great effray.  
Yet up her rose, it might no better be,  
And off the Trogh 〈◊〉 Stone soon tumbled he.  
All what Fri●r Rob had said, he did ere long:  
Towards the Door he ●owned for to gang,  
With heavy cheer, and dreary countenance.  
For ne● before had happened him such ch●●●ce.  
¶ And when Friar Robert 〈◊〉 him passing by,  
Un-to the Goodman full 〈◊〉 can he cry,  
Strike, Simon, strike: 〈◊〉 now is time for thee.  
With that Simon full felon Flappes let fli●.  
With his Burdoun he hit him on the Neck:  
He● was so fierce he fell quyt●●re a Sack,  
And broke his Head upon 〈◊〉 ●ustard Stone.  
With that Friar john 〈◊〉 over the Staire is gone●  
In such a wise, forsooth, he missed the Trap,  
And in a Ditch he fell, such was his hap,  
Well forty foot of de●th, under the Staire.  
Yet he got out, with Clothing nothing fair.  
Full drierilie upon his 〈◊〉 he stood.  
That miry hole had done him little good.  
Yet over the Wall he climbe● hastily,  
Was made all round about, with Stones, full high.  
And of his escape in Heart he was full fain.  
I think he should be l●●th 〈◊〉 come again.  
¶ At last Friar Robert 〈◊〉 aback, and saw,  
Where the Goodman was ly●●● wondrous low,  
Upon the Floor: and bleedin● was his Head:  
He caught him up, thinking he had been dead.  
Friar Robert then th●ught go●● 〈◊〉 stay no more,  
But presently took Simon to 〈…〉.  
And when the ●●●de had well 〈…〉 his Face,  
He did revive, within a little 〈…〉  
And then Friar Robert asked 〈…〉  
What ailed him to be so 〈…〉  
He said, Yond Fiend hath made me in 〈◊〉.  
Let be, quod Rob, the worst is now away.  
Be merry, Man, and see ye mourn no more,  
For ye have stricken him quite over the Staire.  
I saw him slip, if I the sooth may tell:  
Under the Staire into a Myre he fell.  
Tush, let him go, ●ee was a Graceless Guest:  
And boon ye to your Bed, ● hold it best.  
¶ Thus Simons Head upon 〈◊〉 Stone was broken:  
And eke Friar john into the Myre is loppen.  
He wet his Head, and dressed his clothes full ill.  
And the Goodwife could not get half her will.  
This is a Feat, which happe●●● of a Friar.  
The LORD help us, and CH●●●T His Son so dear.  
Finis.