THE FRIAR AND THE BOY Very delectable, though unpleasant to all Stepmother's.  
Newly corrected and amended.  
GLASGOW Printed in the Year 1668.   

A MERRY JEST, OF THE Friar and the Boy.  

THere dwelled a man in my Country,  
Who in his life had wives three,  
A blessing full of joy.   

By his first wife a child he had,  
Which was a pretty sturdy lad,  
A good unhappy boy.   

His father loved him very well,  
But his stepmother never a deal:  
I tell you as I think.   

All things she thought lost, by the Rood,  
Which might the boy do any good,  
As either meat or drink.   

And yet, I wis, it was but bad,  
Nor half enough thereof he had,  
But evermore the worst.   

And therefore evil might she far,  
That wrought the little boy such care,  
So farforth as she durst.   

Unto the man the wife 'gan say,  
I would ye put this boy away,  
And that right soon in haste.   

Truly he is a wicked lad,  
I would some other man him had,  
That would him better chaste.   

Then said the goodman: Dame, not 〈◊〉  
I will not let the young boy go,  
he's but of tender age:   

He shall with me this year abide,  
Till he be grown more strong and tried,  
For to win better wage.   

We have a man a sturdy lout,  
Who keeps our neat the fields about,  
And steepeth all the day:   

He shall bide home, as God me shield,  
And Jack shall pass into the field,  
To keep them, if he may.   

Then said the wife: In veriment,  
Husband, thereto I give consent,  
For that I think it need.   

On the morrow when it was day,  
The little Boy went on his way,  
Towards the fields with speed:   

Of no man took he any cure,  
But sung, Hay ho, away the mure,  
With mirth he did pursue.   

Forward he drew with might and main,  
Until he came amidst the plain,  
And then his dinner drew.   

But when he saw it was so bad,  
Full little list thereto he had,  
And put it up from sight,   

Saying: He had no will to taste,  
And that his hunger still should last,  
Till he came home at night.   

Now as the Boy sat on an hill,  
There came an old man him until,  
Was walking by the way:   

Who said: My son, now God thee see.  
Full welcome, Father, may ye be,  
The little Boy did say.   

The old man said: I hunger sore:  
●ack hast 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
Which thou mayst give to me.   

The boy replied: So God me save,  
To such poor victuals as I have,  
Right welcome you shall be.   

Of this the old man was full glad,  
The boy drew forth such as he had,  
And said: Go to gladly.   

The old man easy was to please,  
He eaten, and made himself at ease,  
Saying: Son, gramercy:   

And for the meat thou gave to me,  
I will give three things unto thee,  
What e'er thou wilt entreat.   

Then said the boy: The best I know,  
That ye give to me a bow,  
With which I birds may get.   

A bow, my son, I shall thee give,  
The which shall last while thou dost live;  
Yea, never bow nor break:   

For if thou shoot therein all day,  
Walking or winking any way,  
The mark still shalt thou hit.   

Now when the bow in hand he felt.  
And had arrows under his belt,  
He merry was, I wis:   

And said: Had I a pipe withal,  
Though ne'er so little, nor so small.  
I had all that I wish.   

A pipe, son, shalt thou have also,  
Which in true Music so shall go,  
I put thee out of doubt:   

That whosoever shall it hear,  
Shall have no power to forbear,  
But laugh and leap about▪   

Now tell me what the third that be,  
For three things will I give to thee,  
As I have said before.   

The boy then smiling, answer mad●,  
I have enough for my poor trade,  
And will desire no more.   

The old man said: My troth is plight,  
Thou shalt have all I thee beheght:  
Say on now, let me see.   

At home I have, the boy replied.  
A cruel stepdame full of pride,  
Who is most cursed to me:   

When meat my father gives to me,  
She wishes poison it might be,  
And stareth in my face.   

Now when she gazeth on me so.  
I wish she might o fart let go,  
That might ring through the place.   

The old man answered then anon:  
When that she looks thy face upon,  
Her tail shall wind the horn,   

So loudly, that who shall it hear,  
Shall not be able to forbear,  
But laugh her unto scorn.   

So farewell, son, the old man cried.  
God keep you, Sir, the boy replied.  
I take my leave of thee:   

And he that best of all things may,  
Protect thee safe both night and day.  
Gramercy, son, said he.   

When it drew near unto the night,  
Jack well advised, hied home full right:  
It was his ordinance:   

And as he went his pyp did blow,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 on a ●ow,  
About him fast did dance.   

Th●●● to the town he pyps full trim,  
Hi● skipping beasts do follow him,  
Into his father's close.   

He went and put them up each one,  
Then went into the house anon,  
Into the hall be goes.   

His father at his supper sat  
And little Jack espied well that,  
And said to him anon:   

Father, all day I kept your neat,  
At night, I pray you, give me meat,  
I am hungry, by Saint John.   

Meatless I have been all the day,  
And kept your beasts they did not stray,  
My dinner was but ill.   

His father took a capon's wing,  
And at his son he did it fling,  
Bidding him eat his fill.   

This grieves his stepdames heart fu●● sore  
Who loathes the lad still more and mor●  
And stairs him in the face:   

With that she let go such a blast,  
As made the people all aghast,  
And sounded through the place.   

Each one did laugh and make good ga●●  
But the cursed wife grew red for shame  
And wished she bade been gone.   

Perdie, the Boy said, well I wots,  
That gun was well charged and shot,  
And might have broken a stone.   

Full curstly she looked on him tho,  
And then another fart let go,  
Which ga●●●he 〈◊〉 〈◊〉   

Quoth Jack: Sirs, did you never see  
A woman let her pellets flee,  
More thick and more at ease?   

Fie, said the Boy unto his Dame,  
Temper thy tell-tale-bun for shame,  
Which made her full of sorrow.   

Dame, said the good maid, go thy way,  
For why, I swear, by night and day,  
Thy gear is not to borrow.   

Now afterwards, as you shall hear,  
Unto the house there came a Friar,  
And lay there all the night:   

This wife did love him as a Saint,  
And to him made a great complaint,  
Of Jack's most vile despite.   

We have, quoth she, within, I wis,  
A wicked Boy, none shrewder is,  
Which doth me mighty care.   

I dare not look upon his face,  
Nor hardly show my shameful case,  
So filthily I far,   

For my sake, meet him to morrow,  
Beat him well, and give him sorrow;  
Yea, make him blind and lame.   

The Friar swore, he would him beat.  
She prayed him not to forget,  
The Boy did her much shame.   

He is a witch▪ quoth she, I smell.  
But, quoth the Friar, I'll beat him well:  
Of that take you no care:   

I'll teach him witchcraft, if I may.  
O, quoth the wife, do so, I pray,  
Lay on, and do not spare.   

Early next morning the boy arose,  
And to the field full soon he goes,  
His cattle for to drive.   

The Friar up as early got,  
He was afraid he came too late,  
And ran full fast and blithe.   

But when he came upon the land,  
He found where little Jack did stand,  
Keeping his beasts alone.   

Now boy, he said, God give thee shame,  
What hast thou done to thy stepdame,  
Tell me forthwith anon?   

And if thou canst not quite thee well,  
I'll beat thee till thy body swell,  
I will no longer bide.   

The Boy replied: What aileth thee?  
My stepdame is as well as ye,  
What need you thus to chide?   

Sir, will you see mine arrows flee,  
And bitten you small bird on the eye,  
And other things withal,   

Good Sir, if I have little wit,  
Yet yonder bird I mean to hit,  
And give her you I shall.   

There sat a small bird on a brier.  
Shoot, shoot, thou way, than said the Friar,  
For that fain would I see.   

Jack hit the bird upon the head,  
So right that she fell down for dtad,  
No further could she flee.   

Fast to the bush the Friar then went.  
And up the bird in bands he hint,  
Much wondering at the chance.   

Mean time Jack took his pyp and played  
So loud, the Friar grew mad appay 〈◊〉  
And 'gan to skip and dance:   

No sooner he the pyp sound heard,  
But madman like he bound and fared,  
Leaping the bush about.   

The sharp briers scratched him by the face  
And by the breech and other place,  
That fast the blood ran out.   

He tore his coat down to the skirt,  
His cap, his cool, his linen shirt,  
And every other weed.   

The thorns the while were rough & thick,  
And did his privy members prick,  
That fast they 'gan to bleed.   

Jack as he piped, laughed among,  
The Friar with briers was vively stung,  
He hopped wondrous high.   

At last the Friar held up his hand,  
And said: I can no longer stand:  
Oh, I shall dancing die.   

Gentle Jack, thy pyp hold still.  
And here I vow, for good nor ill,  
To do thee any wo.   

Jack laughing to him this replied:  
Friar, skip out at the other side,  
Thou hast free leave to go.   

Out of the bush the Friar then went.  
All martyred, ragged, scratched and rend.  
And torn on every side,   

Hardly on him was left a ciout,  
To wrap his belly round about,  
His harlotry to hid.   

The thorns had scratched him by the face,  
On hands and thighs, and every place,  
He was all bathed in blood:   

So much, that who the Friar did see,  
For fear of him were fain to flee,  
Thinking he had been wood.   

When to the goodwife home he came,  
He made no brags for very shame,  
To see his  rend all:   

Much sorrow in his heart he had.  
And every man did guests him mad,  
When he was in the hall.   

The goodwife said, where hast thou been  
Sure in some evil place I ween,  
By sight of thine array?   

Dame, said he, I came from thy son,  
The devil and he hath me undone,  
No man him conquer may.   

With that the goodman be came in,  
The wife set on her madding pin,  
Cried, here is a foul array:   

Thy son that is thy life and dear,  
Hath almost slain the holy Friar,  
Alace and well away.   

The goodman said, Benedicite,  
What hath the vile Boy done to thee,  
Now tell me without let?   

The devil take him, the Friar than sal●  
He made me dance despite mine head,  
Amongst the thorns the hey go bet.   

The goodman said unto him tho▪  
Father, hadst thou been murdered so,  
It had been deadly sin.   

The Friar to him made this reply,  
The pyp did sound so merrily,  
That I could never blind.   

Now when it grew to 〈…〉,  
Jack the Boy came home full right,  
As he was wont to do:   

But when he came into the Hall,  
Full soon his father did him call,  
And hide him come him to.   

Boy, he said, come let me hear,  
What hast thou done unto this Friar,  
Lie not in any thing.   

Father, he said, now by my birth,  
I played him but a fit of mirth,  
And piped him a spring.   

That pyp, said his father, I would hear,  
Now, God forbidden, cried out the Friar:  
His hands then did he wring.   

You shall, the Boy said, by God's grace.  
The Friar replied, Woe and alace,  
Making his sorrows ring.   

For God's love, said the wretched Friar,  
And if ye will that strange pyp hear,  
Bind me fast to a post.   

For sure my fortune this I read,  
If dance I do, I am but dead,  
My woeful life is lost.   

Strong rops they took both sharp & round,  
And to the post the Friar they bond,  
In the middle of the Hall.   

And they that at the table sat,  
Laughed and made good sport thereat.  
Saying, Friar, thou canst not fall.   

Then said the goodman to the Boy▪  
Jack, pyp me up a merry toy,  
Pyp freely when thou will.   

Father, the Boy said, verily,  
You shall have mirth enough and glee,  
Till you bid me be still,   

With that his pyp he quickly hint,  
And piped whilst in verament,  
Each creature 'gan to dance:   

Lightly they skipped and leapt about,  
Yearking their legs, now in now out,  
Striving aloft to prance.   

The goodman as in sad despair,  
Leapt out, and through, and o'er his chair,  
No man could caper higher.   

Some others leapt quite o'er the stocks,  
Some start at straes, and fell o'er blocks,  
Some wallowed in the fire.   

The goodman made himself good sport,  
To see the dance in this mad sort.  
The goodwife sat not still,   

But dancing still she looked on Jack,  
And fast her tail did double each crack,  
Loud as a water mill.   

The Friar this while was almost lost,  
He knocked his pate against the post.  
It was his dancing grace:   

The rope rubbed him under the chin,  
That the blood ran from his tatred skin,  
In many a naked place.   

Jack piping ran into the street,  
They followed him with nimble feet,  
Having no power to stay:   

And in their haste the door did crack,  
Each tumbling over his fellows back,  
Unmindful of their way.   

The neighbours that were dwelling by,  
Hearing the pyp so merrily,  
Came dancing to the gate.   

Some leapt over doors, some o'er the hatch,  
No man would stay to draw the latch,  
But thought he came to late:   

Some sick or sleeping in their bed,  
As they by chance lift up their head,  
Were with the pyp awaked.   

Strait out they start through door and locks.  
Some in their shirts, some in their smocks,  
And some stark belly naked.   

When all were gathered round about,  
There was a vile unruly rout,  
That danced in the street:   

Of which some lame and could not go,  
Striving to leap, did tumble so:  
They danced on hands and feet.   

Jack tired with sport, said, Now I'll rest,  
Do, quoth his father, I hold it best,  
Thou cloyest me with cheer.   

I pray thee, Boy, thou quiet sit:  
In truth this was the merriest fit,  
I heard this seven year.   

All these that dancing thither came,  
Laughed hearty, and made good game,  
Yet some got many a fall.   

Thou cursed Boy, cried out the Friar,  
Here I do summon thee to appear  
Before the Official.   

Look thou be there on friday next,  
I'll meet thee then, though now perplexed.  
For to ordain thy sorrow.   

The Boy replied, I make a vow,  
Friar, I'll appear as soon as thou,  
If friday were to morrow.   

But friday came, as you shall hear,  
Jacks stepdame and the dancing Friar,  
Together they were met:   

And other people a great pace,  
Flocked to the Court to hear each case,  
The Official was set.   

Much civil matters were to do,  
More Libels read then one or two,  
Both against Priest and Clark.   

Some there had testaments to prove,  
Some women were through wanton love  
Which got strokes in the dark.   

Each Proctor there did plead his case,  
When forth did step Friar Tobias,  
And Jacks stepdame also:   

Sir Official, aloud said he,  
I have brought a wicked lad to thee,  
Hath done me mighty woe:   

He is a witch as I do fear,  
In Orleans he can find no peer:  
This of my truth I know.   

He is a devil, quoth the wife,  
And almost bereaved me of my life:  
At that her tail did blow,   

So loud, th'assembly laughed thereat,  
And said, her pistols crack was flat,  
The charge was all amiss.   

Dame (quoth the gentle Official)  
Proceed, and tell me forth thy tale,  
And do not let for this.   

The wife that feared another crack,  
Stood mute and ne'er a word she spoke:  
Shame put her in such dread.   

Ha' (said the Friar) right angrily.  
Knave, this is all still long or thee,  
Now evil mot thou speed,   

The Friar said, Sir Official,  
This wicked Boy will vex us all,  
Unless you do him chaste:   

Sir, he hath yet a pyp truly,  
Will make you dance and leap full high,  
And break your heart at last.   

The Official replied, Perdie,  
Such a pyp I fain would see,  
And what mirth it, can make.   

Now, God forbidden, replied the Friar,  
That e'er we should that vile pyp hear,  
Ere I my way hence take.   

Pyp on, Jack, said the Official,  
And let me hear thy cunning all.  
Jack blew his pyp full loud,   

That every man start up and danced,  
Proctors and Priests, & Summoner's pranst,  
And all in that great crowd.   

Over the dask the Official ran  
And hoped upon the table than.  
Strait jumped into the floor.   

The Friar that danced as fast as he,  
Met him midway dangerously,  
Broke others face full sore.   

The Register leapt from his pen,  
And hoped into the strong of men,  
His ink-horn in his hand.   

With swinging round about his head,  
Some he struck blind, some almost dead,  
Some they could hardly stand.   

The Proctors slung the bills about,  
The good-wifes' tail gave many a shout,  
Perfuming all the mirth.   

The Summoner's as they had been wood,  
Leapt o'er the forms and seats so good,  
And wallowed on the earth.   

Wenches that for their penance came,  
And other meeds of worldly shame,  
Danced every one as fast.   

Each sat upon a merry pin,  
Some broke their heads, and some their shin.  
And some their noses braced.   

The Official thus sore turmoiled,  
Half swelled with sweat, & almost spoiled,  
Cried to the wanton child,   

To pyp no more within that place,  
But stay the sound, even for God's grace.  
And love of Mary mild.   

Jack said, As thou wilt, it shall be,  
Provided I may hence go free,  
And no man do me wrong:   

Neither this woman, nor this Friar,  
Nor any other creature here.  
He answered him anon:   

Jack, I to thee my promise plight,  
In thy defence I mean to sight,  
And will oppose thy fond.   

Jack ceased his pyp, than all still stood,  
Some laughing hard, some raging wood,  
So parted at that tide,   

The Official and the Summoner,  
The stepdame and the wicked Friar,  
With much joy, mirth and pride.   
FINIS.