The Three Merry WIVES OF Green-Goose Fair: With them for Mirth None can Compare.  
OR, A Pleasant discourse of three Merry-Cummers.  
Being full of delight and pleasant wit, The merriest Book that ever was writ.  
Printed in the Year, 1694   

The Preface.  

IN the days of old, when men were little boys,  
And pretty Maids delighted in fine toys;  
About that time, in the days of yore,  
I penned this story never penned before.  
Fetched from the satchel of Antiquity,  
Blame me not if I chance to tell a lie;  
For 'tis so old, that I that penned the same,  
Can hardly tell from whence the story came.  
Some say in the bottom of the sea 'twas found,  
A fortnight since my Grandsire's Mare was drowned:  
Some say it was in the belly of a fish,  
Found on a fasting day, in a Friar's dish.  
And in the sweet bag of a Humble Bee,  
And so my Authors cannot well agree;  
But 'tis not so, for in a cup of Wine,  
I found it scattered by the Muses nine.  
And after cast into Parnassus Well,  
But how it was hooked up, I cannot tell:  
Nevertheless there's many a silly elf,  
Do think that I invented this myself.  
Well, let them think their pleasure. I'll proceed,  
But have a care and laugh not when you read;  
For fear you strain your eyes, and they run o'er,  
So being blind you never read it more.    

The three merry Wives OF Green-Goose Fair.  

I Know not when, but three blithe wives there were  
That took their journey into Green-Goose fair  
One had unto her husband a Shoemaker,  
She loved the Brewer better than the Baker  
Another had a Corn-cutter, O strange!  
An active fellow known at the Exchange;  
A Carvers Wife the other woman was,  
A very merry, lusty, bonny lass.  
These three to Green-Goose fair, did take their way;  
Only to be merry as some say:  
Walking along they found a Diamond Ring,  
Pleasure with profit is a gallant thing  
All saw it at one time, but she that did,  
Take the Ring up, did seem for to forbid;  
The other two to claim their shares in it,  
Covetousness had taught her so much wit.  
The other two had vowed to have their shares▪  
In this same Ring, or fall about her ears;  
When she saw them so hot, she told them this,  
To have the Ring divided 'twas amiss  
Quoth she, before the Ring shall be divided,  
I had rather yield the cause shall be decided▪  
By the next man they meet, they were content,  
So onward of their journey than they went.  
The next man that they met, was a chaste Friar,  
Only he burned a little in desire:  
In fiery zeal towards a holy sister,  
And whensoever he met he kindly kissed her.  
Crept from the Cloister leaving his Devotion,  
All that he now did seek was for Promotion;  
He sought to be admitted willingly,  
A grave Confession of a Nunnery.  
But O! it could not be and what of that?  
He went without a morsel for his Cat:  
But since he missed his Opportunity,  
He walks abroad to fish for other fry,  
Meeting with these three women by the way,  
He was the first did act the Comic Play;  
Well met fair woman, quoth the Friar then,  
Good morrow, quoth the women, honest man,  
O how the women wronged him! fie for shame,  
To call him honest man was not his name;  
He thought they jeered him, and began to smile,  
Yet he was very patiented all that while.  
Good Master Friar, quoth the Carvers wife,  
Do justice now, and save a woman's life;  
You must be Umpire Sir, in this our cause,  
O seek to save me from those Tiger's claws.  
I found a Diamond Ring, and these two Sluts,  
Have sworn, and vowed that they'll rip up my guts:  
Unless they have shares in this same Ring,  
Now I have told my tale, judge of the thing.  
The Friar understanding of the matter,  
Did cheat the one, and with the other flatter;  
But yet he found that he small good could do,  
For he in pleasing one displeased two.  
He to the Carvers wife bore some good will,  
The Ring she had, he bade her keep it still:  
'Twas music in her ears, but presently,  
It proved a discord in the Harmony.  
The other women stamp, curse and swears,  
As loud as thunder in the Friar's ears;  
And calls him balde-pate, silly Coxcomb vain,  
That was so partial in a cause so plain.  
The Friar half afraid, but would not show,  
His fear to them for fear that they should grow  
More choleric, but speaks them every fair,  
As being loath to lose such dainty ware:  
Blaming himself that was so rude and dull.  
As not to satisfy them to the full;  
Withal he kindly promised that rude rout,  
That he would bring the business so about.  
To tell them, and it should be plain expressed,  
Which of them did deserve the Ring the best:  
They were content, why then quoth he 'tis so,  
That I must lie with every one of you  
At several times, appoint the time and place,  
And I will finish them all in little space;  
The woman then that puts me in most fear,  
Doth best deserve the Ring away to bear.  
And be not doubtful what will follow, after,  
With that they all burst forth into a laughter:  
Nevertheless they being covetous,  
Were all contented that it should be thus.  
Whispering together then a little space;  
Shall we, quoth they, yield for to be so base  
Well if we do lie with this balde-pate Sim,  
We'll keep our honesty and punish him.  
Women look to the thing ye have in hand,  
The bargan is made, the Friar will make it stand:  
A Friar is a dangerous knave at put,  
Then have a care and keep the wicked shut.  
O you have need be wise and look about you,  
For you have lust within, and knives without you;  
But now there risen a new combustion great,  
The Friar he had used a strong deceit  
To wheel them in, and greatly they complained,  
Musing how they should keep themselves unstained;  
But yet the Ring although of value small,  
Makes them adventure honesty and all.  
Ere they would lose it they would lose their lives,  
So they must needs go whom the Devil drives:  
But there they held a counsel in the field,  
Yet never a woman was there that would yield▪  
To be the first should lie with Friar Sim,  
Until at length they took advice of him;  
For to draw lots, this counsel pleased them all,  
On the shoemakers Wife the lot did fall.  
She blushing like the Damask Rose in June,  
Says Friar if it must be, come thou soon:  
But yet not so, the morning is the best,  
I'll pause upon it when I take my rest.  
My husband he goes forth to morrow morn,  
But 'tis not thou shall make him wear the horn;  
When he is gone, then at the window knock,  
I'll open door though I be in my smock,  
And let thee in, and kick thee out again,  
After that thou hast laboured long in vain:  
And put thee in such fear, that thou wouldst give,  
A Kingdom if thou hadst it, but to live.  
Remember then thy words think on this thing,  
He that doth fear thee most shall have the Ring;  
Spare me not woman, quoth the Friar then,  
They that do fear a woman are no men  
And so they part and take their leave of Sim,  
Ploting new projects how to punish him:  
The Carvers wife, a subtle Wench was she,  
Said Gossips if you will be ruled by me.  
we'll put the Friar into such grievous flights,  
He'd better be with Goblins, Hags and Sprights;  
we'll hid somethings our husbands bear about,  
Some tools we know they cannot be without,  
And we shall then be sure that they'll come back,  
When they are forth to fetch them tools they lack:  
And then the Friar when he is in Bed,  
Will think no less, but he should lose his head.  
But let's be sure to hid the Rogue away,  
Lest we and our husbands have a frey;  
In the mean time, our husbands being there,  
She that shall put the Friar in most fear▪  
By my consent shall bear away the Ring,  
The other two were pleased with this thing:  
And after they at Green-Goose Fair had been▪  
Their hearts being set upon a merry pin.  
They friendly part, your patience let me borrow,  
And you shall know what happened on the morrow,   

How the Friar went to the Shoemakers Wife, and what happened.  

THat night the lusty Friar could not sleep,  
But early in the morning up did creep;  
And did as he was counselled before,  
Stand opposite against the woman's door.  
Waiting when her husband forth did go,  
Which was not long if you the truth would know:  
No sooner he was gone, but brazen face,  
More bold than welcome, begins to knock apace  
The woman opens when she heard him knock,  
Leaps from her bed and meets him in her smock:  
To bed they went, the Friar began to play,  
As thinking he was sure of his prey  
Now Friar, quoth the woman, what's your will;  
But as you love your life sir lie you still,  
Stir not a hand, nor yet a finger move,  
But let us first discourse a while of love.  
Friar you can resolve me I do know,  
Whether the thing be lawful yea or no?  
Then he gins to tell her stories rare,  
And seems to build Castles in the Air.  
Friar quoth she, pray let your hands lie still,  
I am forbidden fruit, talk what you will;  
As weak a Scholar as I am, I know,  
The heaven is high, the place you seek is low.  
And so she held him still in talk until,  
Her husband came to keep the Friar from hell:  
For she it seems her husband's tools had hid,  
To cause him to come home all this she did.  
Friar quoth she, my husband knocks, he's come,  
Now for the Ring, Friar beware you bum;  
O whither shall I run the Friar cries?  
He looking round about, a chest he spies.  
In which he creeps, and she imprisons him,  
And keeps the keys to keep in Friar Sim:  
Then for her husband openeth the door,  
The Friar was never in such a case before.  
To bed the woman goes, husband quoth she,  
What come you home for, for my tools quoth he;  
Quoth she, they lie underneath the bed.  
Since you went forth I have been almost dead,  
O husband very sick, I pray you give me,  
A little Aquavitae to relieve me:  
The bottle is in the Chest. O it is there,  
The Friar he began to stink for fear,  
Where are the keys wife? quoth the loving man,  
Quoth she alas I know not by Saint Ann;  
But if you were as sick as I, I swear,  
I could not have the patience to forbear.  
But break the Chest, and not for keys so look,  
With that the man a bar of iron took:  
Laid on the Chest as if he had been mad,  
Which made the woman smile, the Friar sad.  
The poor distressed Friar that silly elf,  
For very fear did so bepiss himself;  
That it run through the Chest about the flour,  
All o'er the room even to the very door.  
O hold your hands, quoth the woman then,  
I think you are the unhappiest of all men:  
For I protest and swear by Aristotle,  
That you have broke my Aquavitae bottle.  
Husband be gone, and be not you perplexed,  
I love you ne'er the worse, though I am vexed;  
With that he gave her kindly kisses two,  
Took up his tools and bid his wife adve,  
But O how glade was Sim, when as he heard,  
The Shoemaker was gone, whom he so feared:  
Then with a hollow fainting voice he spoke,  
Mistress, I say your bottle is not broke.  
But overcharged with liquor, lack of air,  
And forced forth by thundering claps and fear;  
Open your Chest and take your bottle out,  
Behold the Aquavitae runs about.  
If there be any Purgatory sure,  
This is the place where torments I endure:  
God and Saint Francis help me for I am spent,  
I have endured sufficient punishment.  
The woman heard him make such piteous moan,  
She let him out and wished him to be gone;  
And Friar do not you forget this thing,  
She that doth fear you most, must have the Ring:  
The Friar discontented went away.  
And to the Corn-cutters wife he went next day.    

How the Friar went to the Corn-cutters Wife, and what happened.  

ONe storm is past & though the sk● be clear,  
Another tempest follows very near:  
The burned child they say doth dread the fire  
But so much wit had not the senseless Friar.  
For he to get between a woman's arms,  
Would adventure through a thousand harms;  
Goes to the Corn-cutters wife, & there he stands  
Against the door rubbing of his hands;  
The man goes forth which makes the Friar glade,  
He knocks at door as if he had been mad:  
The woman she was loathe herself to venture,  
At length she opens and the Friar doth enter.  
Me thinks quoth she I should not go to bed,  
But with the man that had my maidenhead;  
Sweet Mistress quoth the Friar yield consent,  
Change of delights breeds women most content,  
The woman went to bed with him, but yet  
She had more grace than the Friar had wit:  
For she like to a kind and loyal wife,  
Before the Friar's face did draw her knife.  
And laid it in the bed between them two,  
A sign that to her husband she was true;  
And ever and anon this was her note,  
Friar lie still or else I will cut thy throat.  
O Mistress, quoth the Friar, by my cool,  
Venture thy body, I'll venture my Soul:  
'Tis but a venial crime loves fruit to steal,  
Keep your own counsel, I will ne'er reveal.  
The lustful Friar no longer could forbear,  
Gins to stir, the woman gins to swear;  
And quickly she had gotten up her knife,  
Her Husband came to save the Friar's life.  
Hark Friar quoth the woman my husband knocks,  
Fit punishment for such dunghill cocks:  
Alas quoth the Friar what shall betid me,  
Good Mistress use your skill now for to hid me.  
She with the bed-cloaths covered Friar Sim,  
Then runs to her husband lets him in;  
The Corn-cutter told his loving Wife,  
That he came home for his Corn cutting knife.  
The woman told her husband she knew that,  
But the poor Friar that lacked a bit for's cat:  
Durst not stir hand nor foot, nor hardly breath,  
But to Saint Francis did his life bequeath,  
His throbing heart with fear was almost broken,  
His life he would have given for a token;  
Husband quoth she, I'll go to bed again,  
I am not very well, I tell thee plain.  
To bed she goes to hid the Friar's disgrace,  
And with the blanket covereth his face:  
Wife quoth the man, farewell I cannot stay,  
Husband quoth she, before you go away.  
Pray will you cut my corn it pains me so,  
That I can very hardly stand or go;  
I heard you say a month ago, sweet wife,  
You never had a corn in all your life.  
A corn quoth she may grow within a sennet,  
And a man's horn quoth he, within a minute:  
He that shall seek indeed to wrong you so,  
Shall dearly pay for it before he go  
What shall become of me then, quoth the Friar,  
This spark I fear will turn into a fire;  
Now one thing must be understood by all,  
The Friar being in bed lay next the wall.  
Wife quoth the man, let's see your corn, come Peg,  
With that she took the Friar by the leg,  
And pulled it o'er her, like a crafty slut,  
Husband, quoth she, here is a corn to cut:  
She wisely handled the matter so,  
That he saw nothing but the Friar's toe,  
Thinking it was his wife's that crafty elf,  
Now for the Ring, Friar beware of thyself:  
Wife, quoth the man, here is no corn, here's none,  
Husband, quoth she it lieth near the bone;  
Cut deeper man, what do you mean, cut nigher,  
Suppose ye were a gelding of a Friar,  
Should go about to make you wear the horn,  
As you would deal with him deal with this corn:  
I feel it not, cut deeper good john Goff,  
I care not though you cut this toe quite off;  
Although it bleed and it be very sore,  
Cut off the toe, the corn will come no more;  
With that the Friar plucked her by the breech,  
O husband hold your hand I you beseech.  
For now I feel it, 'tis cut near the bone,  
It is sufficient let it now alone:  
The man perceiving it was cut so deep,  
Thinking no less but that 'ttwas her did weep.  
And went about to salve the sore, but she,  
Said husband no too pitiful you be,  
Pox take it, and with that gave it a cuff,  
I tell thee husband it is not deep enough;  
The silly man amazed then did grow,  
To see her so hard hearted to her toe,  
As he supposed, nothing be suspected:  
But in spite of love, I greatly fear,  
If he had known the Friar had been so near,  
His counting house, he surely would have thought  
For all his love to her she had been naught:  
And therefore she did wisely for to hid him,  
Though otherwise her heart could not abide him;  
His leave then of his wife the man did take,  
Which made Sims heart glade, which before did ache.  
Friar quoth the woman, rise, and make report,  
How well you like my honest new found sport:  
Pox take you and your sport, the Friar said,  
I ne'er in all my life was so afraid;  
I am so lame that I can hardly go,  
Sure I shall lose the use of my great toe:  
Friar quoth the woman 'tis the least of harms,  
To lose a toe between a woman's arms.  
The Carvers wife see ye do not abuse,  
Lest you a better joint than this do lose.    

How the Friar went to the Carvers wife, and what happened.  

THe Friar being twice repulsed before,  
Came off with shame, but would not yet give o'er  
Nor could the present loss of his great toe,  
Daunt him so much but that he needs must go,  
Unto the Carvers wife: well so it was,  
He the third time must prove himself an ass:  
His present danger could not make him rue,  
But since the Carver was abroad he known.  
He boldly entered the house with shame,  
And thus salutes the honest minded Dame;  
Mistress, quoth he, I did presume to knock,  
As hoping for to find you in your smock.  
As now I have my hopes accomplished,  
The sooner I shall find you in your bed:  
And being there a little time well spent,  
I doubt not but to give you good content:  
And go as willingly with me to bed,  
As when you went to lose your maidenhead.  
And stand not on delays, for why 'tis thus,  
Delays you know prove oft times dangerous;  
You are the last that now must use your skill,  
To win the ring after we have our fill.  
Of sweet delights, he her so much did charm,  
She gave him leave to take her by the arm:  
And lift her to her bed, when he was laid,  
He crept to bed to her, and thus he said;  
You are the Carvers wife, come be not coy,  
But give me leave to Carve you out a boy.  
What though your husband be a workman good,  
Those Creatures which he carves in stone and wood,  
Are mooveless, senseless, thus much let me tell ye,  
That I can carve a Creature on your belly.  
That shall outstrip them all, O do not scoff me,  
But be you pleased to make some trial of me▪  
At length she gave the Friar a box on th'ear,  
For creeping to her as it seems too near.  
He grints, she gives him then another cuff.  
And in my mind she served him well enough▪  
The choleric Friar knew not what to say,  
At last the Carver came to part the fray:  
The Carver knocks the woman gins to start;  
The Friar he was vexed to the heart;  
Skips out of bed, and all about did run,  
Where shall I hid myself, I am undone.  
My husband knocks, Friar bestir your stumps,  
Make haste I say, for he will make clubs trumps  
Where shall I hid me quoth the Friar then,  
I think I am the unhappiest of all men▪  
Now Friar quoth the woman if you be wise,  
And would be safe, then follow my advice;  
Next room is full of Images most rare,  
Of naked men and women past compare;  
That you would almost swear they living were,  
Strip you stark naked then and stand you there:  
In middle of those Images there stand,  
But do not stir a foot nor yet a hand.  
Now Friar at the last you will agree,  
To yield the ring to none but unto me;  
And so she left him standing full of woe,  
Just like an Image made of barley dough.  
And lets her husband in, when in she came,  
He did begin to question with his Dam●:  
Who had been there since, unto whom she said,  
A Gentleman to have an Image made.  
And I, quoth she, have made it very neat,  
And though I say it, lively and complete;  
With that the Carver he began to smile,  
Thinking that she had jested all the while,  
Nay do not laugh. quoth she, for here it is,  
Look on it now, and tell me what's amiss:  
With that into the room she guided him,  
Shown him the Image of Friar Sim.  
Who stood among the Images as still,  
As any of the rest against his will;  
Zounse, quoth the man, this is no Image Wife,  
If ever I saw a man in all my life.  
This is a living man, a Friar I think,  
With that the Friar he began to stink:  
The Carver went to take him by the hand,  
The Friar so demurelie then did stand.  
Thinking now surely he should go to wrack,  
Had not the woman pulled her husband back;  
I pray you forbear quoth she, for by this light  
It is new painted and you'll spoil it quite.  
Hardly could she persuade this man alas,  
To believe otherwise then what it was;  
And is it possible, quoth he, a woman,  
Should make so neat and rare a thing that no man  
That ever saw it, but would say, nay swear,  
But that it was alive, it is so rare;  
Let me but touch it sure it is alive,  
Husband, you shall not as I hope to thrive;  
I pray forbear, one touch will quite deface it,  
I would not for a crown you should disgrace it;  
But if you see a fault, mend it I pray,  
Look well upon it ere you go away.  
Nay wife there is no fault, thou dost excel,  
Except there be a fault in doing well:  
Husband I see your Judgement is not good,  
If that the thing be rightly understood.  
Your weakness now no longer will I smother,  
One of his stones is bigger than the other,  
And must be pared away, or I protest,  
The sight of that will quite disgrace the rest:  
Go borrow me a tool, for ours are all,  
Either too blunt, too big, or else too small;  
The man to borrow a tool went half a mile,  
And she conveyed away the Friar the while:  
The Friar sworn by Saint Hugh's bones,  
He'd rather lose his Life then lose his stones:  
To her he yielded for to give the Ring,  
That put him in most fear about this thing;  
That women are so honest, is this true?  
Think what you will, say nothing, so adve▪    
FINIS,