CORNUCOPIA, Pasquil's Night cap: OR, Antidote for the Headache.  
NON INTRET CATO autsi intraverit Spectet.  Martialis 
LONDON, Printed for THOMAS THORP. 1612.   

Proaemium.  

UNTO the kindest men that ever wived,  
Whose titles from the Cuckoo are derived,  
And thereof Cuckolds named:  
To all the franklins of the horn,  
Whom scoffing Peasants use to scorn,  
And greatly have defamed:  
And unto all our friends in Cuckold-shire  
Health, happy fortune, and their hearts desire.   

Pasquil, a terror erst to foreign States,  
To mighty Princes and great Potentates,  
In every other nation,  
Perceiving here the Horn defaced,  
And honest Cuckolds sore disgraced,  
With terms of detestation,  
Lately in England is arrived from thence  
In challenge of a Cuckold's excellence.   

If any Cuckold-maker him deride,  
(For none but Cuckold-makers have envied,  
A Cuckold's commendation)  
Or sleering knaves which on it look,  
Condemn it for an idle book  
As still it is their fashion,  
Pasquil protests, although they scoff and flout  
Hereafter he with them will have about.   

And little doth he care, though they forsake it,  
For not for them did Pasquil undertake it,  
To win their affectation:  
For honest Cuckolds was it penned,  
To them this Work doth he commend,  
And craves their acceptation.  
Then grudge not (gentle Sirs, without offence)  
Kindly to read a Cuckolds just defence.   

And yet in reading here I humbly crave,  
No foolish applications you would have,  
Nor censure things at random,  
Nor private meanings would surmise,  
Whereby fond quarrels might arise,  
True friendship to abandon.  
Nothing but mirth did Pasquil here pretend,  
judge not before you read: and there an end.   
Pasquil Anglicanus  
— Iwenesque Senesque  
Et pueri nasum Rhinocerotis habent.  
Sed absit a iocorum nostrorum simplicitate malignus interpres.   

Cornucopia. OR, Pasquil's Nightcap.  

FIE, what a vaine-conceited world is this?  
Whose judgement, error blindly leads astray,  
Accounting that as right which is amiss,  
Laughing at folly, as a sport or play.  
Great sins are termed but a great man's pleasure,  
When lesser faults are plagued out of measure:  
New titles salve old sores; and every sin  
Some honest name is always shrouded in.   

A Broker now is thought an honest Trade,  
Though some by selling of stolen goods do live,  
Thieving is now an occupation made,  
Though men the name of Tailor do it give.  
Bribes are accounted but a friendly fee,  
Dissembling taken for pure honesty:  
Pride is reputed handsome in apparel,  
And he most valiant, that seems most to quarrel.   

The gouty Machiavellian murderer,  
Whose codpiece is near 20. winters old,  
Now scorns the title of an usurer,  
And must be fashioned in an other mould:  
The greybeard must a Money-man be cleped,  
Because great store of money he hath reaped:  
Or Mony-maister he to name must have;  
Though he unto his money be a slave,   

A Tosspot spendthrift, and a swaggering jack,  
Which have no pleasure but to drink apace,  
And take in liquor, till their bellies crack,  
Looking as red as scarlet in the face,  
Must be good fellows: and the foolish Boor  
That spends his money to maintain a whore,  
Is termed a youthful and a gallant lad:  
Though men of judgement think the gallant mad.   

The Prodigal that wastes his father's pence  
In carding, dicing, riot, and excess,  
Must have a title of an other sense,  
A liberal man, and void of niggardness:  
And he, 
Gulam evacuat ut Arcam impleat.  whose shape doth like a Ghost appear  
For want of victuals, food, and bellie-cheare,  
The starved miser, fearful, pale and wan,  
Is the good husband, and the thriving man▪   

Lust is esteemed as a youthful sport,  
Lascivious gesture, as the Courtly fashion:  
And wanton minions, with the wanton sort  
Thrust modest matrons forth of reputation.  
Sin is no shame: O blush my muse to tell!  
More shame befalls the good for living well;  
Wives play the wantoness, husbands were the horn,  
And patience, (though a virtue) wears the scorn.   

A simple gull, clad in a silken case.  
Brought out of Satan's wardrobe for his back,  
Which learns new fashions, and forgets old grace,  
Turning his pings, till all his strings do crack:  
Which for a spanish block his lands doth sell,  
or for to buy a standing Piccadill,  
Which struttes, and stamps to move his golden spurs,  
That with their jingling he may fear the curs.   

If his sweet worship with his horse-tail lock,  
(As he doth traverse neatly through the street)  
Scrape favour with some female-wedded smock,  
Which by her carriage seems for pastime meet  
Strait he is bold to board her to the play,  
And either she must yield, or say him nay,  
And howsoever matters after frame,  
Her husband's forehead still bears all the shame   

For whether gossips when they sit and talk,  
(As women envy one an others bliss)  
Seing the gallant sometimes thither walk,  
May by conjecture shrewdly speak of this,  
Or whether she herself may spread the sails  
(As women's tongues be like to young lambs tails)  
And tell her pleasure to an other friend:  
And thus the world have knowledge in the end.   

Or whether brave juventus play the blab,  
Which vaunts himself a gentleman at least;  
And when he waxeth weary of his drab,  
Meeting his mates at Tavern, or at feast,  
Reveal the fault: or howsoever it be  
That time brings forth the fruits of lechery,  
I cannot judge; yet thus much I can say  
The Cuckold carries all the shame away   

As for the woman; she's a wanton lass,  
A good kind wench; or of the dealing Trade:  
The cuckold-maker (though as fond as Ass  
As ever in this world, dame Nature made)  
Is termed a gallant gentleman, and brave,  
Though he by right should other title have,  
But for her husband, he which wears the horn,  
He is plain cuckold, and must bear the scorn   

Sometimes this prodigal the Chapman plays,  
And to the Mistress sometimes ill allied:  
When as, God knows, these are but subtle ways,  
Devised, lest their knavery should be spied,  
Else with her husband and company doth keep  
To graft the horns upon his head more deep.  
And thousand other shifts do they devise,  
To horn the Cuckold's head, and hood his eyes.   

And yet not only do they blind his sight,  
Which not so much as dreams of any wile,  
But oft it happens by a cunning slight,  
One crafty knave another doth beguile:  
And when the Hunter thinks to strike the Buck,  
His hopes are crossed by some disaster luck,  
" For true it is, when Fortune comes by chance,  
" There fortune helps the boldest to advance.   

But certs it is a strange and uncouth thing,  
To see a pilfering and a pickpurse knave:  
Which well deserves to stretch an hempen string,  
And climb the gallows for to seek his grave:  
Dive to the bottom of a true man's purse,  
Take out is coin, and not accounted worse;  
And he, to whom the loss did erst befall,  
Pass with a scoff, to mend the match withal.   

These are the humours of these present days,  
Where lust is taken for a lawful thing,  
The Dolphin on the water skips and plays,  
When as Arion sounds the silver string:  
A homely bit in secret some digest  
Better than dainties, when their husband's feast;  
Stolen bread is sweet: 
Panis furtiws dulcit.  In April and the Spring  
Needs must you give the Cuckoo leave to sing.   

And (sooth to say) needs must that pleasant fowl  
Strain forth the plainsong of her pretty note,  
When crooked age, half parting with his soul,  
Will on a wanton Minion seem to dote.  
And he which hath one foot within the grave,  
Will needs bestride a jennet young and brave.  
Well may the Cuckoo sing at such a wedding,  
When age and youth together go a bedding.   

Natheless I will not justify this part,  
And bolster up vain folly with my quill,  
A frolic forehead hath a wanton heart,  
This wicked world in prone enough to ill:  
But in my judgement, if it might so pass;  
An old man fool, that weds a youthful Lass,  
Deserves a coxcomb, and to be withal,  
The chief Commander in Sow-guelders Hall.   

Well erst Lycurgus in his providence,  
Wisely forbade all aged men to marry;  
For (certs) he knew their insufficience,  
Must by all reason make their wives miscarry:  
When once the stock is dead, decayed and rotten▪  
Small is the fruit which from that tree is gotten.  
Young Plants afford increase in seemly order,  
Shrubs serve for nothing but to fill the border.   

Would it not make a Cynnicke laugh the while,  
And Agelastus for to sing and whistle, 
The father of Croesus.   
(Which ne'er in all his life was seen to smile,  
But when an old Mare once did eat a thistle)  
If they should see a withered rotten scold,  
A toothless beldame, sickly, lame and old,  
When she can neither go nor stand upright,  
Address herself in armour to the fight.   

And is it not as foolish and as mad,  
To see old Mumpsimus, that gouty Sire,  
Prank up himself like to a youthful lad,  
And look as handsome as a Pippin Squire?  
And when he scarce hath breath to keep in life,  
Desire to couple with a youthful wife?  
The fool deserves to wear a moatley coat,  
When he should think on death, begins to dote.   

For little knows the Woodcock, what pertains,  
Unto the pleasures of the marriage bed,  
When that an empty paunch for food complains,  
Nature requires (I wis) it should be fed,  
A young wild colt, when grass begins to fail,  
Leaps forth his bounds, springs over hedge & pale  
And never rests in quiet, till he know  
Or find a field, where better grass doth grow.   

No marvel then; if that a lusty Lass,  
That looks as fresh, as doth a flower in May,  
When she is mated with a foolish Ass,  
Which storms like Winter on his wedding Day,  
Sometimes seek change of pasture and Provant,  
Because her commons be at home so scant,  
For in a dried red herring, and poor johns,  
Remains more virtue then in old men's bones.   

What comfort can a newly married wife  
Have in the company of such a drone,  
Which (like a Cricket) doth consume his life,  
And lies in bed as cold as any stone,  
Moving no more, then doth a dead man's coarse,  
Coughing and spitting, like a rotten horse,  
Pained with the Palsy, vexed with the Gout?  
Better a woman were to live without.   

Would it not grieve a dog to smell the meat,  
And have it hanging still before his nose,  
Yet cannot get a morsel for to eat,  
Though hunger force him bark, and tell his woes?  
Less were his torment never to espy it,  
Then to behold the meat, and not come nigh it,  
far better were it still a maid to tarry,  
Then want such things, for which a maid doth marry.   

And fitter were it knock her on the head,  
And rid her forth the sorrows of this life,  
Then by a lingering pain to live as dead,  
Void of the sports belong unto a wife:  
And like to Tantalus still thirst for drink,  
When as her lips do well near touch the brink.  
This is the cause provokes an honest maid  
Become a Mistress in the dealing Trade.   

For when she wants that which her neighbours have,  
Which are not half so beautiful as she,  
So proper, fine, well-favoured, and brave,  
Neither so fit for sport and jollity;  
Yet blessed by their fortune and good hap,  
Sat playing with their children in their lap.  
Well may she with much patience brook the matter,  
But (sure) her teeth perforce must run of water.   

And if she fall in longing for the Thing,  
Which is the instrument of earthly pleasure,  
And binds more firmly than the wedding ring,  
Begetting little children out of measure;  
Her health and life upon her longing stands.  
And what good can she look for at his hands,  
Whose feeble joints are stiff for want of marrow  
And hath less courage than an old cock sparrow?   

Scarce is an old man fit to bear a lance,  
Or play the soldier in a warlike field;  
For might he wants his weapons to advance,  
And to resist his foe with spear and shield,  
But less of force he is a maid to wed,  
And play the soldier in the marriagebed.  
For he that lacks strength to endure the fight,  
Is no fit man to skirmish in the night   

Wedding (some say) it is a kind of war, 
ovid.   
Whose field between a pair of sheets is pight,  
(Though otherwise sometimes befall a jar,  
When housewives fingers chance to be too light)  
Then he which such a matter goes about,  
Must needs be strong, courageous, and stout,  
For sharper conflicts marriage doth betide  
Than ever soldier in the wars hath tried.   

The most victorious man that ever lived,  
(Strong Hercules that famous warrior,  
Which twelve admired labours once achieved,  
And never fought but proved a conqueror)  
Though he with strength was overcome of no man,  
Was not of force to wrestle with a woman,  
But took the foil, was gave her leave to win,  
And for his penance was enjoined to spin,   

Yea he, 
Socrates.  which by the Oracle was said  
To be the wisest person in his time,  
After that he was married to a maid,  
Which would not lose the pleasures of her prime,  
For all his knowledge was esteemed a sot, 
Facilè divinabam post tantum tonitru seccuturam plwiam.   
And beastly crowned with a chamber-pot  
Strength is but weak, & wisdom seems a fool,  
When Cupid leads them into Venus' school   

If then the greatest courage be to slender,  
And learned heads as strtish as a block,  
When once they combat with the female gender,  
And enter disputation with the smock:  
How can an aged, silly, foolish Ass,  
Think to encounter with a youthful Lass,  
Neither of might the battle to endure,  
Nor well approved of his furniture?   

Yet if (forsooth) there be no remedy,  
But that the doting Graybeard must be wed:  
Let ancient Nestor for to please his eye,  
Make choice of old Ninosa for his bed.  
For still by nature they do best agree,  
Which are alike in age and quality:  
And sooner will the North-pole meet the South,  
Then frozen Age be pleasant unto Youth.   

One asked of Diogenes in jest,  
What time of life a man were best to marry?  
Well he replied: For youth I think it best, 
Iweni nondùm Seni nunquàm.   
Because it is too soon, that he may tarry,  
And for an old man, since it is too late,  
Let him content himself with single state.  
A little wind blows blossoms from the tree;  
And rotten apples eat unpleasantly.   

Scarce I suppose, that any young Maid would  
Consume her Summer by cold Winter's fire;  
Though by constraint, or for the Miser's gold,  
Some have adventured on an aged Site:  
But either she before hath had a fall,  
And weds old Crust that he may father all:  
Or else to have more scope and liberty,  
Under a colour for adultery.   

But whatsoever the pretence do prove,  
That young and old do jointly come together,  
Well may the woman make a show of love,  
And smooth her brow in token of fair weather,  
And at the first seem loving on her part,  
Yet sure I am she loves him not in heart.  
For if that fortune bless her with good hap,  
Doubtless his head shall wear a horne-wrought cap.   

And (certs) a Cuckold is a dignity,  
To good by much for such a doting Swain,  
And to the worship of that Company,  
It is a great discredit and a stain,  
To have that gouty Peasant rear his Crest,  
And think himself a Cuckold with the best:  
In my conceit, his wife is much too blame,  
To grace him with the credit of that name.   

But here (me thinks) I hear an apish knave, 
Objection.   
Demanding in his proud and scoffing fashion:  
Are forked heads of late become so brave,  
And horns aspired to such reputation,  
That this word (Cuckold) which was erst a name  
Always attended with reproach and shame,  
Should on a sudden in our times step forth,  
And prove a name of credit and great worth?   

What glory can he challenge, or renown,  
Whose wife is truly noted for a whore?  
Keeping another's children as his own,  
And bears the badge of infamy before?  
What credit to a Cuckold can befall,  
Whose wife, as common as Westminster Hall,  
Bestows on others what is his by right,  
And of the Forked Order dubs him Knight?   

Peace prating Cynic, 
Confutation.  lest thou prove dost.  
A snarling cur will bark at every season.  
The grosser fool, the sooner shoots his bolt,  
Although his words be void of wit and reason.  
Little thou knowst (poor fool) thy great amiss,  
In scandalising such a name as this;  
Which in they rashness thus dost injury,  
Thyself, thy friends, and famous Cuckoldry.   

But whatsoe'er thou art, that seem'st to scorn,  
Carping the welfare of another's state,  
And thus deridest the credit of the horn:  
(To great a glory for a scoffing mate)  
Seek not too much a Cuckold to defame,  
For fear thyself be subject to that name,  
True is the saying, though it seem a jest,  
The Bird is filthy that defiles her nest.   

And how canst thou repute thyself as free,  
And quite exempted from the Cuckoos song,  
Since thousands (far superior unto thee)  
Grudge not her ditty should to them belong?  
For any a man of woman borne,  
Is subject by destiny to wear the horn:  
And though as yet no horns attend upon thee,  
Fortune hereafter may bestow them on thee. 
Actu vel potentia.    

If thou be linked in the Gordian knot,  
And bound in fetters of the marriage state:  
Grieve not the horns should fall unto thy lot,  
Or that the Cuckoo sings before thy gate:  
For if thou marry, still make sure of this;  
To bear with patience, what thy fortune is,  
Neither repine a Cuckold for to be,  
But bless thy fate, and thank thy destiny.   

And never love thy wise a whit the worse,  
For which (I wis) thou art beholding to her:  
Nor seem for this to frown, brawl, swear, & curse.  
Because she hath a little been a doer;  
But rather praise her for her kind devotion,  
Since she hath lift thee up to such promotion:  
Be not dismayed, though saucy knaves do jest,  
Thou art exalted to bear such a crest.   

And let base sleering scoundrels talk their fill, 
Knight of the Forked Order and not inferior to some new Knights.   
And idle muddy brains outbrave their better,  
The world doth want no fools nor ever will:  
Dolts scoff at learning, which scarce know a letter.  
And lame blind Batard ever is as bold,  
As braver horses which for more are sold:  
None is more priest to blot a Cuckold's name,  
Then he which is both void of wit and shame.   

Now if these spurre-blind Peasants could but see  
How much themselves they blemish and disgrace:  
And how they shame their friends and progeny, 
Caue ne patrem serias.   
Their kindred, their acquaintance, and their race,  
They would not speak so rashly as they use,  
Nor seem so much kind Cuckolds to abuse:  
The greater is their folly to deprave,  
That title which perchance themselves may have.   

Better it were for old men say the best,  
Or else say nothing, and to hold their tongue,  
Then at a Cuckold either scoff or jest,  
Which might as well to them before belong:  
And let the married without fear and shame,  
Seek to uphold and patronize that name,  
Clearer he is not which the same denies;  
For (certs) blind men do swallow many flies.   

And as for young men, which do chiefly scorn  
The ancient badge of famous Cuckoldry:  
It is their duty to applaud the horn,  
And to defend it by their chievalrie,  
And at all times a Cuckold's part to take,  
Both for their credits and their kindred's sake,  
Though now their headpiece be not fully cast,  
Each dog must have his day: No time is past.   

Neither can they exempt themselves as free, 
Bachelors may be Cuckolds; when one is fair promised and an other speeds.   
Although in marriage they have had no doing  
At Cuckolds-haven many landed be  
Even in the very time they go a wooing:  
And some have such good fortune in their play  
They prove right Cuckolds on their wedding day,  
For certain I have heard of such a lurch  
The very hour before they went to Church.   

What person is he of so special gift,  
That can affirm he doth a Virgin Marry?  
Many a wench hath had a secret life  
Which of a Virgin still the name doth carry,  
In every corner maids there are great store;  
Yet divers of them have been tried before:  
A jade in smithfield sooner may you find,  
That buy a courser, sound of limb and wind.   

Wise is that child (the common Proverb saith  
Though scarce I do believe it as my Creed)  
Which so much knowledge of his father hath,  
He can avouch, that this is he indeed.  
For though the mother do protest and swear  
Her husband did beget what she doth bear,  
Yet nowadays men are so much beguiled,  
They oft prove fathers to an others child.   

This hath the usual practice of this time  
Made most apparent, and as clear as day,  
For when young gentlemen be in their prime,  
And give themselves to wantonness and play:  
If that they chance a country-maid to prick,  
And with a Tympany the wench grow sick,  
Then strait his servingman or hackney-foole  
Must be a cover to his masters stool.   

And not alone are serving men so mad,  
To father what an other hath begot,  
But better persons now and then are glad  
To taste what others put into the pot,  
For scarce a wife of any gallant carriage  
Doth now perform what she hath vowed in marriage,  
And so great virtue hath attracting gold,  
Many cannot be honest, though they would.   

If some seem chaste, it doth of this proceed,  
They have the wit to do, and not be spied,  
And know by deep dissembling and good heed,  
With sober looks their wanton lusts to hide.  
Some women must be wo'ed, they are so chaste,  
And some there are which tempt poor men as fast  
That to conclude, as Ariosto taught,  
Many of them belewd, unchaste, and nought.   

Phar'o, 
Herodotus.  the King of Egypt, being blind  
For ten years space, 
Observe this ye watercasters and reserve the water of chastity to cure your own blindness.  made trial of this matter,  
When by the Oracle he was assigned  
To wash his eyes in such a woman's water,  
Which kept her faith inviolate and right,  
And never had to do with any wight  
But only with her husband: Then should he  
Again recover sight, and clearly see   

Many a woman's water Phar'o tried:  
And many a chambor-pot to him was brought, 
Urinals were not then in use   
Yet still his sight was unto his denied  
Because the female urine helped nought:  
Nor could his wife release the woeful King  
By the distilling virtue of her spring,  
Long lay King Phar'o in great grief and pain,  
Despairing ever to have fight again.   

And, but that one at last of honest life,  
Which after many thousands thither came,  
And was approved a true and faithful wife,  
A modest matron, and a virtuous dame,  
Restored his sight by virtue of the fountain,  
Which bubbled purely from her bearing mountain;  
He yet had lived in darkness, and been blind  
For such Physicians still are hard to find.   

Here may the reader 3. things chiefly gather,  
What store of horns were extant by this matter;  
How hardly then a child could know his father,  
And what the virtue was of woman's water.  
The first many might challenge as their right;  
The last had power to give the blind their sight;  
And how could children know their fathers well,  
When as their mothers truly could not tell.   

Much could I wish that Phar'o were to try  
The virtue of this medicine once again,  
That we might see what faith and loyalty  
In married wines doth at this day remain  
Sure many of them, which have done amiss,  
Would say they had the stone, & could not piss:  
And many which we judge could not be blamed,  
Then to make water would be much ashamed.   

Then should you see some women, which make show  
Of pure behaviour, and great honesty,  
Which will not touch a man, for aught we know,  
Nor once be seen in profane company:  
Which walk in little ruffs, and set their face  
So simperingly, as if they still said grace:  
Then should you see them by their urinal  
To be found merely hypocritical.   

Then should you see, how dainty and precise  
Many fine minions would be at this martter  
Affirming that it could not help his eyes,  
To have them washed in a woman's water;  
But that it was the superstitious trick  
Of some profane, ungodly Catholic,  
Because within the Primitive of yore,  
They never read of such a thing before.   

Then should you see some men, which do deride  
And scoff at others wearing of the horn,  
When their own wives did come for to be tried,  
How they should be requited with like scorn,  
Then many women, which seem coy and nice,  
Would be dissemblers found by this device:  
So that if Phar'o now released would be,  
It would be long, ere he should clearly see.   

Nath'les I will not be too cynical,  
To condemn every woman for this fault,  
Nor for a certain number blemish all.  
Each beggar is not lame, though 〈◊〉 halt.  
Nor every woman of so small compunction,  
To violate her faith and holy function  
For many women (doubtless) may be found  
Which keep their plighted promise whole & sound   

And God forbid, that we should all condemn,  
Though all do taste the tree of good and ill:  
For in so great a number, some of them  
Must needs be honest (though against their will)  
Some are for fear as modest as they may,  
And worldly shame which holds them from their play:  
And some reserve their loyalty untainted,  
Because with Gallants they are not acquainted.   

And some for want of more convenient place,  
And time, which for such pleasures are elected,  
Preserve themselves from blemish and disgrace;  
Chiefly, because they would not be suspected:  
And some for other idle unknown cause,  
Observe a while their vows and marriage laws:  
But very few of them, which to the last  
For love of honesty continues chaste.   

Sometimes the golden prey doth make the thief,  
And women yield for further maintenance:  
Sometimes short commons makes them seek relief:  
And stubborn usage and stern countenance,  
Perforce constrain a woman now and than  
To seek for comfort of a kinder man;  
And sometime want of hearts, when hands are married,  
Is one great cause, that many have miscarried.   

For 'tis not now as erst in elder days,  
When marriage was contracted by affection,  
For kindred now so much the matter sways,  
The parties have small choice in loves election;  
But many times, ere one behold the other  
An unadvised match the friends do smother:  
And howsoever they two can agree,  
Their friends have wooed, & they must married be.   

When they are wed, behold the ill success.  
They live like dogs and cats, in brawls and strife,  
Before they loved not: Now they fancy less,  
She hates her husband: he abhors his wife:  
The devils dance to see the just confusion,  
Of enforced marriage. And to make conclusion,  
He grows a careless unthrift, bare and poor,  
She turns a shameless and detested Whore▪   

Thus many either for this last respect,  
Or for the causes which I late recited,  
May justly for their knavery be suspect,  
And by the laws of honesty indited:  
Where though that none do give in evidence,  
Nor sit as judge; but their own consciene:  
Certain it is, the most would guilty stand,  
To be condemned to die, or burnt i'th' hand.   

For either lust, revenge, or want of love,  
And unkind husband, or desire of gain,  
The tender hearts of women doth so move,  
(As old and new examples show most plain)  
That few of them, if they have fit occasion,  
Are able to withstand a weak invasion:  
For they are frail, unconstant, apt to range,  
Fair-faced, falsehearted, and by nature strange.   

chaste wives are as the grapes, which we may see  
To hang upon the Vine; (the vintage passed)  
Or as the Apples, which are on a tree,  
When blustering Autumn hath her pride defaced,  
For such a dearth of honesty is tried,  
Since Patient Gresill, and True Constance died,  
That if a wife be honest; if once crossed,  
It is almost as strange, as the great frost,   

Here could I coat a rabble of those wives,  
That you would wonder but to hear them named,  
Which whilom led such lewd dishonest lives,  
That to remember them I am ashamed,  
But that the multitude and mighty number,  
Were good for nothing, but your ears to cumber:  
Nor need we any proofs from grave be brought,  
We have too many living which are nought.   

Nor will I here their other vices scan,  
Which more then to a million do amount:  
He that would know them, may in Mantuan  
See a great number more than I can count:  
As envy, scolding, swearing, lying, pride,  
Dissembling, and a thousand faults beside,  
Which I forbear: because beyond my tex  
I would be loath those loving worms to vex.   

For they are creatures, which God made, to nurse  
And comfort man; t'increase and multiply:  
But first, for comfort they procured his curse,  
And brought a woe to man's posterity:  
Yet for th'increase which was of them required,  
They often bring forth more than are desired:  
Filling their husband's barns with others corn,  
As if to bargain they were only borne.   

For instance of this truth, I can proclaim  
divers examples which are worth the hearing:  
To show; that wives, before they'll lose their game,  
Will still be taking up, and fall to bearing:  
But that I fear I should to much offend them,  
And yet, although I know it will not mend them,  
One I'll produce; because I do not love  
T'affirm for truth, more than I well can prove.   

Within the spacious bounds of fertile Kent,  
(The Country, which for Long-tailes is commended)  
Where the increase of Rabbits pays the rent,  
And six days labour is in one day spended:  
Whether the Cittzens (when days are fair)  
Sail down for pleasures, and to take the air:  
T'eate plums and cherries: and about the Spring,  
To hear the Nightingale and Cuckoo sing,   

There is a Town; I list not tell the name  
(Nor is the naming worth a Gravesend Tost)  
Men of all Country's travail through the same,  
And (if they money want) may kiss the post,  
English, Italians, Turks, Moors, Spaniards, Germans,  
Danes, Scots, French, Irish, Muscouits, and Normans,  
And new Virgineans, and of every sort,  
Some white, some black, some long-men, & some short.   

Some honest men, some fools, some knaves, some wise  
Pass through this Town, of all degrees at large,  
Some thieves, some Tailors, which do still devise  
New foolish fashions to put men to charge.  
Some Citizens, some Cuckolds there arrives,  
Some queans, some Maids, some bawds, & some good wives▪  
And through this Town they travel to the ferry,  
To be conveyed by Tilt-boat, or by Wherry.   

It is the place as now I call to mind,  
Where Mariners and their espoused Mates,  
Frolic at farewell, while they stay for wind,  
Which should transport them over to the straits,  
It is the place whereas they kiss and part  
With weeping eyes, and with a heavy heart,  
Forward he goes his voyage to intend,  
Back she returns to meet a secret friend.   

Within that Town there whilom was an Inn,  
Where man and horse at livery might stand,  
There dwelled an Hostess with a double chin,  
A buxone wench, as any in the land:  
She now was old and tough, yet in her youth  
She was a morsel for a Parson's tooth;  
Tender and fair, and plump; and with the rest  
Courteous, and kind of welcome every guest.   

And therewithal well could she talk and chat,  
And tell of fairies, and do other things  
Her friend to pleasure. But what matter's that;  
Her husband knew not, where the shoe him wrings,  
For though she was a wanton, she was wise,  
And knew what times were fit to fall and rise;  
And in her head this Proverb still did carry  
Although thou be not chaste, yet be thou chary.   

And (sure) Icon her thank and much praise  
(Considering many of them do step a wry)  
That she could line her shoes with under-laies  
So cunningly, that few the fault did spy:  
For since at Lodam they all love to play,  
And will play false, yet her commend I may,  
That so can shift great Loaders from her hand,  
No lookers on, nor gamesters understand.   

What with our eyes we see not in this case  
We grieve not with our heart, (as people say)  
Nor doth the Forester, which keeps a chase  
(Unless he see men bear his game away  
Or by the blood find where the Dear did fall)  
Suppose he wanteth any game at all:  
For how can Warreners their conies miss  
Unless they come, just when the hunting is?   

But though that marriage makes most husbands blind,  
Or else of one eye all of them deprives,  
That what their left hand doth they cannot find,  
Nor see the secret dealings of their wives;  
Yet had my subtle Host some small suspicion  
My Hostess was too pliant of condition;  
But they that Inns and Ordinaries keep  
Must often see and wink, and wake and sleep●   

For, travailers when they are in their Inn  
Love to be merry, and to make good cheer:  
How ere they swagger, it must be no sin,  
The forehead of my Host must still be clear,  
And though they chance my Hostess for to 〈◊〉  
My Host must say, there's nothing done amiss:  
For they will pay like Kings, for all they take  
And I have dough (God's plenty) for my cake.   

For what care I? or wherein am I worse  
Though others tine their candles at my light?  
Or though an other man doth use my purse?  
If still my candle burn both fair and bright,  
And that my purse return home without tearing,  
With store of money, nothing worse for wearing.  
For this position I will ever hold  
'Tis better wed a Baggage, than a Scold,   

Thus was mine Host content to let his wife  
Keep company, and welcome every guest,  
No foolish jealousy did stir up strife,  
Nor fond suspicion did their state molest:  
For she was merry, and did love to play,  
And with her mirth mine Host could well away:  
For though his wife did halt: he knew as much,  
That all his neighbour's wives did need a crutch.   

But to go forward. Now they both were old,  
And past the pleasures of their youthful nature  
One child they had, more dear to them then gold,  
A pretty maid, just of her mother's stature:  
Like her in face, in person, and in favour,  
Like her in qualities, and in behaviour;  
In all things like her mother, but in one,  
Her name was Kate; her mother's name was jone.   

Her father loved her well, because he see  
His wives true image in his daughter's face,  
A forward Imp she was, and like to be  
A proper woman, (if she want not grace)  
For to speak truth, and without partiality,  
She was endued with many a pretty quality,  
For she could sing most sweetly, dance most finely  
And on her virginals she played divinely.   

At upper end of table, by her mother,  
Dinner and supper, lovely Kate did sit,  
Whereby discoursing still with one or other  
She grew to have a pretty ready wit,  
And could both jest, & taunt, to make a laughter,  
That all men said she was her mother's daughter,  
And so she was; for you shall ever find,  
" That crows breed crows. And cat will after kind.▪   

But time passed on, and Kate was past a child,  
And in the teens about a year or two;  
When nature, which can never be exiled,  
Made her conceive, what she was borne to do.  
For now vain lusts, and idle provocations,  
Stirred up her mind with loose imaginations,  
And this conceit still in her fancy ran,  
The chiefest pleasure was to know a man.   

And now she thought (good Lord) what happy lives  
Have women always after they are wed?  
How pleasantly and merry live those wives,  
Which have a man to comfort them a bed?  
What fools are maids, to hold that thing so dear,  
Which lets their sports, & grieus them for to bear?  
This I resolve, though yet I do not marry:  
My maidenhead I will not longer carry.   

Thus courteous Kate decreed: and even the best  
(Oft times) about her years are so inclined:  
For their virginity doth so molest,  
And is so great a burden to their mind  
That scarce a maid (so soon as she hath skill)  
But keeps her maidenhead against her will.  
And very many of them I have seen  
For grief thereof grow sickly, and look green.   

But Kate had vowed that sickness to prevent,  
And not to lead old grinning Apes in hell,  
And therefore she betimes to Physic went  
The causes of that malady to quell.  
And tasting of some drugs within a corner,  
Which first were ministered by th' captain Horner,  
She liked so well th' apothecary's stuff,  
That she did think, she near should have enough.   

This Captain Horner sometimes loved Kate,  
And she likewise good will to him did carry:  
But private quarrels stirring up debate  
Mine Hostess was unwilling she should marry:  
And therefore he, for fear they should him mock,  
Gave Kate her farewell with a private knock:  
Of which kind blow she took so good a liking,  
That all were welcome, which would shall to striking.   

Behold a woman's unrestrained thirst,  
Her greedy appetite, and great desire:  
After that she hath broke the hedge at first,  
And tasted of the fruit which all require:  
Her mind is so unbounded without measure,  
That she in never satisfied with pleasure,  
But still (like to the grave) for more doth cry,  
Or (like the horseleech) which is ever dry.   

In such a gaping case was wanton Kate,  
After that she had tasted of the potions,  
Which Doctor Captain Horner gave her late,  
To bridle and repress her youthful motions:  
For though she did desire to drink before,  
Yet now her thirst increased ten times more.  
For after we have found the sweet of sin,  
We worse refrain, then when we did begin.   

Thus Kate gave bridle to her liberty,  
And (when occasion served) made not dainty,  
For she had put herself in jeopardy  
To try the battle at the least with twenty:  
And she was grown so skilful in her play,  
That very few went conquerors away:  
But they that with so many have about,  
Shall sometimes have the worst I make no doubt.   

'Tis bad in sickness to have divers Doctors:  
Their sundry medicines will but make thee worse:  
In law'tis foolish to fee many Proctors,  
For some will harm thy cause and hurt thy purse:  
So 'tis no wisdom in a wanton maid,  
To use her pleasures, as a common trade,  
And make her pastimes like her occupation,  
Which were invented for her recreation.   

So long the pitcher home doth water fetch,  
That by some knock it broken doth return:  
So long the fly doth at the candle cletch,  
That in conclusion she her wings doth burn:  
So long a wench may Physic use to take  
To cure the griping of her belly-ache,  
That she may surfeit in such dangerous case,  
As she will be the worse a twelvemonth's space.   

Thus it befell to Kate, that was so frolic:  
Her bucket now was broken at the well,  
She now complained that she had got the colic,  
And marveled much to see her belly swell:  
Her mother gave her drinks, and with a charm  
Did clap the potlid to her belly warm,  
To kill the worms. But all her means are vain,  
They are no worms that put her to such pain.   

Sometimes about the stomach grief she feels,  
And sometimes of her back she doth complain,  
Sometimes a quick thing in her with two heels,  
She thinks doth stir, which makes her fear again  
She is with child: but yet she doth not know,  
For it may be her guts, that tumble so:  
Or it may be with fatness and with wind,  
That she grows big before, and broad behind.   

But now she did begin to long for Cherries,  
For coddlings, Pescodes, and for Apple-pies:  
And now she fain would eat some Gooseberries,  
And every thing which came before her eyes;  
Or others told her of, or she could name,  
She still desired for to taste the same:  
So that the Mother seeing this effect,  
Somewhat began her daughter to suspect.   

And one day taking Katherine aside,  
Into the Parlour or some private place,  
She 'gan to tell her that she had espied  
Both by the change of colour in her face,  
And by her longing for so many things,  
And by the griping, which her stomach wrings,  
That somewhat in her body was amiss;  
And therefore, Kate, come tell me what it is.   

Tell me (quoth she) and do not hide thy fault,  
And if thou hast offended, let me know it,  
'Tis hard before a Cripple for to halt:  
For I perceive, although thou wilt not show it▪  
That thou hast been too busy with a man,  
And art with child; deny it if thou can:  
Tell me, for though we cannot help the same,  
Yet by prevention we may hide thy shame.   

Kate, which knew well her Mother was too wise,  
To be dissembled with in such a case,  
Thought it was bootless for to blind her eyes,  
Which could discern her folly by her face,  
And therefore on her knees she fell before her,  
And for remission did with tears implore her,  
And since denial could no comfort bring,  
She plainly told her Mother every thing.   

And first she told her: how that Captain Horner  
Before he travailed to the Newfound Land,  
By chance did meet her in a secret corner,  
And priest her for a soldier of his band:  
And how that divers other men of Arms,  
Besieged her afterwards with fresh alarms;  
But who had blown her up; and made her swell,  
Mother (quoth she) in truth I cannot tell.   

Now Benedicite, her Mother said,  
And hast thou been already such a Twigger,  
I durst have sworn thou hadst been yet a Maid,  
And wouldst have been so till thou hadst been bigger.  
Art thou begot with child, and canst not gather,  
Out of so many, one, to be the father?  
Nor any but the Captain canst thou name,  
Which long since went to sea? Now fie for shame.   

With that she shook her head and bend her brows,  
As if she had been angry; when behold;  
Mine Host comes in, to whom mine Hostess shows  
Their daughters sad mischance, (as hath been told)  
Which when he heard; setting his cap aside.  
He was so angry that he could not chide:  
At last he said: And hath she played the whore?  
Fie on her, Baggage, turn her out of door.   

Mine Hostess, seeing him to grow so hot,  
Stepped out, and spoke to him with speeches mild,  
Desiring him, although there were a blot,  
He would remember that she was their child:  
And not to cast her off, for one fault past;  
For neither is she first nor will be last,  
Of good men's children (sure I think as she)  
That in their youth offend in this degree.   

But husband (quoth she) 'tis no time to brawl:  
We all have faults, and need for to amend:  
The deed is done, and words cannot recall  
That which is past, nor bring it to an end:  
Many that now seems honest in their lives,  
Have done as much, before that they were wives.  
'Tis true (quoth he) But this is too too wild,  
She knows not who is father to her child,   

If she could name the Sire, I did not care;  
For by their marriage she might hide her shame.  
Although he were a beggar, poor and bare,  
Or if he were a cripple, blind and lame,  
Or whosoever, if she knew the father,  
And could produce him, I could bear the rather:  
But neither knowing him, nor his abiding,  
This is a wonder worthy of deriding.   

Lord (quoth mine Hostess) what a coil you keep!  
Was never other woman so beguiled?  
Some I have heard have been conceived a sleep,  
And never knew the Father of their child.  
And some have such good luck their faults to smother,  
That they will lie with one, then wed an other.  
And wonder not, because she hath miscarried,  
For she's as good a maid, as most are married.   

We all have faults: and 'tis a woman's nature  
To love a man: She hath but done her kind,  
For when that I was young, about her stature,  
I was unto the sport as well inclined  
As others were: for we have all been sinners,  
And sometimes love it better than our dinners,  
But God forgive us all. Both we and you,  
When we are young, will do as others do.   

Well (quoth mine Host) I tell thee once again:  
These things are not the point, whereon I stand;  
Let me but know the man, which took the pain  
To sow his seed in her unfallowed land,  
And I am pleased; and will do all I can  
To have her quickly married to that man.  
Within her furrows have there ploughed so many,  
That for to reap the crop she knows not any?   

And what of that? mine Hostess then replied:  
Can it be holpen now with words or wind?  
Fitter it were for us to seek to hide  
Her shame, before the world the same do find,  
Then like a pair of fools to prate and chat  
Unto no purpose, of I know not what:  
One man she knows; but he is such a knave,  
With my consent she never shall him have.   

And who is he (replied mine Host at last,)  
For whom your liking doth no better stand?  
'Tis Captain Horner, which some 6. months passed  
(Quoth she) went this way to the Newfoundland.  
But he's so great an unthrift, that he would  
Consume this house, if it were full of gold:  
And he's a Papist, and I wish her quick  
Laid under ground, then wed a Catholic.   

Surely (quoth he) 'tis strange to see your mind,  
That he (whom in times past you did commend  
To be an honest thrifty man, and kind,  
And who hath ever been our special friend)  
Should now so far be cast out of your favour:  
That, though it fittest be that he should have her,  
(All things considered) yet you are so turned,  
Before she be his wife, you'd wish her burned.   

But howsoever of the man you deem,  
Or what conceit is come into your mind,  
I cannot tell; yet he to me doth seem,  
(For I will speak no worse than I do find)  
To be a civil gentleman of carriage,  
And like to do as well as she in marriage:  
And (be report) he hath a heavy purse,  
I pray to God, our daughter do no worse.   

But 'tis no matter; once he would have had her,  
And then she must not look on Captain Horner:  
Now she is puffed, and blown up in the bladder,  
And now there is not doubt, but he doth scorn her  
And yet your anger is so furious still,  
He shall not marry her with your good will,  
I think a woman in a sprite infernal;  
If once she hate, her malice is eternal.   

It had been better that a chimny-sweeper  
Had married her, if they two had affected,  
Though we had after been compelled to keep her,  
Then with this shameful deed to be detected.  
For by that means; though he were ne'er so base,  
She might have looked her neighbours in the face,  
And now we both may keep her for our store,  
And she shall ever be esteemed a whore.   

Yet in my judgement, the best remedy  
That I can find to cover her offence,  
Is, that is hast we send her privily  
Unto our friends or kindred, far from hence,  
Where for a season she shall make abode,  
Until that she be eased of her load;  
And after that the child is put to nurse,  
She may return, a maid no jot the worse.   

There like a wife shall she herself attire,  
And so shall blind the Country with a wile:  
Here we will say, if any do inquire,  
She's gone to sojourn with our friends a while:  
And when the child is beggar, and can run,  
We will maintain it as our cousin's son:  
And 'tis no news: for I have known a dozen  
Which kept their bastards, & did call them cozen.   

But if the matter chance to be descried,  
And that it be divulged in the Town,  
Some honest place we will for her provide  
At London, where she shall remain unknown;  
And there (as Countrymen do use to jest)  
she'll be a Maid, as good as is the best;  
For 'tis a usual practice and a witty  
To send up broken vessels to the City.   

Old hats, old cloaks, and other such old ware,  
Bought at the second hand, and almost worn,  
The Citizens dress up, and trick them fair  
And sell them unto Countrymen in scorn:  
Again, the Countrymen in lieu of this  
Send up their wenches, that have done amiss,  
Cracked maids, gross widows, and such broken Trulls  
Are good enough to marry Cittie-Guls.   

For I have known some wenches, that have borne  
Tow or 3. bastards (at the least) a piece,  
So that they were derided, had in scorn,  
And hooted at, as if they had been Geese;  
And after all these mocks, and much a do  
Have gone to London but a year or two,  
And there within short time have proved good Maids,  
And been well married unto men of Trades.   

Therefore this course is good, if you think fit,  
For first abroad she shall be safe delivered,  
So that our neighbours shall not know of it,  
And if her folly be at home discovered,  
Then unto London may she quickly wend  
To take such fortune there, as God well send;  
Yet if that I might rule the roast, much rather  
I wish, that Horner might the bastard father.   

That Horner might! replied mine Hostess then,  
I wonder why so much you talk of him:  
In faith I could not love him of all men,  
He looks so black, so rigorous and grim:  
Besides, he hath no Trade to live upon,  
Nor lands to keep him, when the wars are done.  
And there's an other thing, which I like worse,  
All his wives spending must come from his purse.   

Oh, it will grieve a woman to the heart,  
For every farthing that she doth bestow,  
To make account, how she did it impart,  
So that her husband must of all things know:  
For we have many secret means to spend,  
Which are not fit our husbands should intend:  
For if that of them all they notice had,  
The most of them (I fear) would run stark mad.   

It is your Citizen, which keeps his wife,  
Gorgeous and gallant, with all prodigality:  
She lives at pleasure; leads a merry life;  
Sits in her shop with all formality:  
He hath a mystery which seldom fails;  
And she a great allowance by her veils;  
Her cobweb lawn, the altering of her wings,  
Come from her veils, with many other things.   

And truly it is wonderful to hear  
How some of them will brag of their great veils:  
Boasting they gather 40 pounds by year,  
From the peeled scrape of a few sheeps tails:  
And some from shreds, and horns, and such like stuff:  
Are able every week to buy a ruff:  
That (sure) I think them in their hats as good,  
As Gentlewomen in their veluet-hood.   

Indeed the Gentlewomen look more high,  
And of the Citizens will take the wall;  
Yet have they but their pension quarterly,  
To keep themselves, and find their house withal:  
If they want trifles, or would be more brave,  
Out of housekeeping they must pinch and save:  
They have their coaches, and great Farthingales;  
But tradesmen's wives have often better veils.   

And certainly, if I may have my will,  
A Citizen shall marry her, or none,  
And therefore if you have no better skill,  
Or care not whom she have: Let me alone;  
I'll see, if I a husband can provide  
The child to father, and her shame to hide:  
And though I know not whose it is by right,  
It should be fathered, ere it come to light.   

Nor will I stand engaged to any friend,  
To be a mask to cover our disgrace:  
Nor unto London after shall she wend,  
To make her honester by shifting place:  
For these are foolish shifts, & common means,  
Practised by none, but ordinary Queans,  
And though a while these tricks their faults may hide,  
Yet at the length their shame will be descried.   

No, this devise too much in use is grown,  
And will not hold out water to the last:  
For 'tis no question, but it will be known,  
Then all our fat into the fire is cast,  
And she undone: For no man, but a Dastard,  
Will love a woman, which hath borne a Bastard;  
Nor shall you find a man, will wed a Whore,  
If he can learn that she was so before.   

And therefore, husband, take a fools advice,  
And if you love our credit, and her good,  
Provide a husband for her in a trice,  
Before that her offence be understood:  
You know she is our only child and heir;  
And (though I say't) well-favoured and fair;  
And there are many young men that do watch,  
And would be glad to light on such a match.   

First there is Master Peter at the Bell,  
A Linnin-draper and a wealthy man:  
Then Master Thomas, that doth stockings sell:  
And George the Grocer, at the Frying-pan:  
And Master Tymothie the Wollen-draper,  
And Master Solomon, the Leather-scraper:  
And Master Frank the Goldsmith at the Rose:  
And Master Philip with the fiery Nose.   

And Master Miles the Mercer at the Harrow:  
And Master Nick the Silkman at the Blow:  
And Master Giles the Salter at the Sparrow:  
And Master Dick the Vintner at the Cow:  
And Harry Haberdasher at the Horn:  
And Oliver the Dier, at the Thorn:  
And Bernard Barber-surgeon, at the Fiddle:  
And Moses Merchantailor at the Needle.   

And Master Hercules the Iron-monger,  
(Some say that he is worth 2000 pound)  
And Master james, 
Of old Iron.  that sells fresh Cod and Congerl.  
And Master Roger Scrivener at the Hand:  
And Master Anthony th'Apothecary:  
All which would willingly our daughter marry;  
With divers others that I know beside,  
Which would be glad to have her for their Bride.   

All these are Citizens, and well to live:  
The worst of them is worth 300 pound;  
And with our daughter we as much will give;  
Then fear not, but a husband may be found:  
For (sure) among so many we shall find,  
(Doubtless) some one or other for our mind,  
And yet to choose one man before the rest, 
Hercules.   
The Iron-monger I do fancy best.   

For he is wealthy (and I crave no more)  
And with our daughter's love is strong infected;  
He hath made divers motions heretofore,  
Though hitherto he hath not been respected:  
Still he pursues his suit, and is her lover.  
And he will fitly serve her fault to cover:  
Therefore the next time that he doth come hither,  
Let's knit the knot, and tie them fast together.   

I see (replied mine Host) it is no lie:  
The young Cock after th'old Cock learns to crow:  
Well may our daughter tread her shoes awry,  
If like unto her Mother she doth grow.  
Yet since I hear that she hath done no more,  
Then (almost) all the kind hath done before,  
I am content to do what shall be fit:  
brooch you the meat, and I will turn the spit,   

Thus was the plot set down and all agreed,  
That Master Hercules should be deceived,  
And that it should be brought to pass with speed,  
Before it could be known she was conceived.  
Behold ye Citizens what is concluded,  
Whereby your simpleness might be deluded!  
Hereafter more advisedly beware,  
To set up shop with suck like broken ware.   

Now master Hercules, that little knew  
What subtle stratagems were lately plotted:  
Whither it was, that Cuckold's luck him drew:  
(Which none can shun) or love had him besotted,  
I cannot at this present well discuss,  
But in conclusion it did happen thus;  
After 2. days to Billingsgate he went,  
And over-sea set forward into Kent.   

The Tide that morning fell at four a clock,  
Two hours at least, before the day did spring  
Many good morrows had the cheerful Cock  
Chanted to Cuckolds, clapping with his wing:  
Good morrow master Hercules he cried:  
Be stirring early, or you lose your Tide:  
Take Tide in time. The Tide for none will stay.  
Good morrow Cuckolds: Neighbours all good day.   

Thus sang the Cock▪ But he more vigilant  
Than is the Cock, was watchful like a Cat;  
Which having found the hole, and usual haunt  
Of some delicious Mouse, or nimble Rat,  
Still pries and peeps, and never can be quiet,  
Listening and watching when she may espy it;  
And though she wink, no rest her eyes can find  
The Mouse doth run so much within her mind.   

Even so lay master Hercules that night,  
Telling the clock, and could not sleep a wink  
The love of Kate did haunt him like a sprite,  
And still upon his journey he doth think.  
No sooner had the clock resounded three,  
But from his bed he started suddenly;  
And in his brave new suit leapt out of doors,  
And ran to Billingsgate, and there took Oars.   

Black gloomy clouds did overspread the sky,  
And foggy vapours did obscure the air,  
So that the Watermen could not descry  
(Almost) which way they should conduct their fare,  
For such thick mists upon the water fell  
It was as dark as if it had been hell  
But he, to whom fair Katerin did give light,  
Would have adventured in a darker night.   

For as that famous Hercules of old,  
For his friend's sake to Pluto's kingdom went:  
Even so this other Hercules the bold  
For his fair Kate did ferry into Kent,  
And without Moon or Star his way to guide,  
Courageously sailed forward in great pride,  
Dreading no dangers of the darksome night,  
No Oules, Hobgoblins, Ghosts, nor water-spright   

For love did make him bold and valiant,  
Fearless of Neptune, and his Trident Mace:  
No clouds, nor misty darkness could him daunt,  
Nor storms, nor tempests, make him turn his face.  
But though it was so dark, they could not see  
Before their boat, above two yards or three,  
Yet forward with great courage did he float,  
And sung this ditty, sitting in the boat   

Fortune my foe, why dost thou frown this night?  
Ye lowering heavens, why do ye look so dark?  
Though neither Moon nor Stars do give us light;  
Yet little Cupid doth conduct our bark.  
And he will bring me where my true-love is,  
That face to face we may confer and kiss:  
For as the Moon amongst the Stars doth shine,  
So 'mongst all Maids doth beauteous Katherine.   

Thou little God, that with thy golden arrow  
Didst wound my heart, and mad'st my belly rumble,  
Give me the courage of a young Cocke-sparrowe,  
That precious Kate with valour I may tumble.  
Oh that my words may be so eloquent,  
That I may tickle her with complement!  
Oh pierce her (pretty Cupid) with thy sting,  
That I may prick her with another thing.   

My lovely Kate, which sleepest at thy ease,  
And dost not dream▪ that I to thee come sliding,  
Would I were partner with the skipping fleas  
Which in thy bed with thee have their abiding:  
I would not bite thee in that grievous sort,  
But hip and skip, and kiss, to make thee sport.  
For as the prickling of the rose bring pleasure;  
So should my ticklinges be esteemed a treasure.   

Ye bold Corrivalls, which do love my Kate,  
Leave of your wooing, and give me the way,  
My valiant heart in love admits no mate,  
Before I lose her, I will kill and slay.  
For as the mighty Hercules ran mad,  
And for a woman lost the wits he had:  
So If I have her not, I greatly fear,  
I shall run mad, or else go very near.   

Thus did he sing: and further would have chanted,  
But that a sudden fear his note did stay,  
Stopping his voice, and so his spirits daunted,  
That he (poor man) could neither sing nor say.  
For just against the leavelesse forked tree,  
Which every passenger desires to see,  
Whereon the Arms of Cuckoldry appears,  
There was he ducked over head and ears.   

The reason was; because an other bark  
Coming from Court at Greenwich with a fare,  
And not descrying th' other in the dark,  
Met them so strongly ere they were aware,  
That master Hercules without a word  
Was cast to fish for Salmon over board;  
And both his Mariners close at his heels  
Did follow him for Lampreys, and for Ecles.   

The other boat far better fortune had,  
And with a little staggering kept her head,  
But master Hercules, whose luck was bad,  
Sunk to the bottom, like a lump of lead;  
Yet there perceiving, ere he further went,  
It would not be the ready way to Kent,  
With hands and feet he dashed and he waved,  
And like a rushing Porpoise him behaved.   

Upward he heaved his body from the ground,  
And plunged as proudly as a water-dog:  
Loth was he at that present to be drowned,  
Though he could swim no more than can a log.  
For life is sweet, and he would gladly save it,  
Nor would it lose, so long as he can have it:  
And therefore 'tis no marvel if he strive  
With all his might to keep himself alive.   

He strikes the water, and would gladly swim;  
But there was one thing did his swimming let:  
His head was heavy, and did trouble him,  
And out of water that he could not get.  
And therefore now he greatly 'gan to fear,  
That without doubt he should be drowned there,  
And (sure) except some lucky chance betide,  
And other father Katherine must provide   

For Master Hercules was now grown faint,  
And now his breath no longer could contain,  
And now in heart he sighed, and made complaint,  
That he should never see his love again:  
Yet here behold! when he was most in doubt,  
Despairing ever that he should get out,  
Then was his succour nearest to his hand,  
To save his life and bring him to the Land.   

O valiant Hercules, thou Champion bold,  
Courageous suitor unto lovely Kate,  
Fear not (brave man) but quickly take fast hold;  
Good fortune at thy elbow doth await:  
Put up thy hand and apprehend that Oar,  
Which for thy succour hovers thee before;  
Dread not that death can destiny withstand,  
At Cuckolds-haven thou shalt quickly land.   

A happy Oar did happen then to swim,  
Unto the place where Hercules did dive,  
Which was a means most fortunate to him  
His preservation thereby to contrive:  
For as he plunged in that piteous plight,  
His hands by chance upon the Oar did light:  
Which he held fast and lifting up his head,  
Help friends (he cried) or else I am but dead.   

The other Boat, which was not far away,  
Hearing him call, drew to him by the sound,  
And finding him at last in that array,  
Much like a Rant that had been almost drowned,  
They lift him up, and on his feet him reared,  
Which looked as though he had been lately feared,  
Or rather like the picture of a Ghost,  
Pale, speechless, staring, standing like a post.   

His limbs for cold did quake; his teeth did clatter  
And from the dropping Cisterns of his breech  
Down both his trembling legs ran forth the water,  
And he for fear was almost void of speech:  
But coming to himself and there espying,  
That his apparel stood in need of drying,  
And that his joints were stiff, and wanted fire,  
To be conveyed to shore he did desire.   

Angry he was in mind so to be wet,  
And therefore thought at first with them to brawl;  
He saw those were the men that had them met,  
And in the water overthrown them all:  
But when he did consider in the end,  
That quarrels would not this mischance amend,  
He wisely them entreated in good sort,  
That to some Haven they would him transport.   

Not far from thence there was a landing place,  
A Port of great report throughout our Nation, 
Cuckolds-haven.   
Which latter times have branded with disgrace,  
With terms of slander, shame and detestation;  
Though heretofore it was a place of rest,  
Where married men were fortunate and blessed,  
And where the Horne-aboundant did bestow,  
Riches and honour both to high and low.   

There whilom did a famous Temple stand,  
To Lady Fortune sometimes dedicate,  
Where all the horned persons of the Land,  
Did once a year convene to celebrate;  
But chiefly Citizens; upon whose Crown,  
Fortune her blessings most did tumble down:  
And in whose ears (as all the world doth know)  
The Horn of great Abundance still doth blow.   

Within this Church an image was erected,  
Which did the Lady Fortune represent,  
Crowned with mighty Horns, to be respected,  
For worth, for beauty, and for ornament:  
All guilded and beset with precious stones,  
Which far were fetch beyond the burning Zones:  
So bright with these fair ston's the horns did flame,  
That none but married men could see the same.   

Within her lap whole bundles their did lie,  
Of earthly blessings, and terrestrial joys;  
Wealth, honour, pride, acquaintance, vanity,  
wives, weddings, nightcaps, and a thousand toys;  
All which in such abundance she did cast,  
(But chiefly on the Citizens) so fast,  
That with the weight, so ponderous and so great,  
Many of them about the brows did sweat.   

With one of her fair hands she marriage made,  
And coupled two together, man and wife;  
With th'other hand a pair of horns she laid  
Upon the husband's head for all his life:  
Then all the blessings, which her placket filled,  
She seemed to shake, and on his head distilled,  
The reason was (observe it now and then)  
That Cuckolds often are the wealthiest men.   

A horned Altar stood before her face,  
Old dotards here which marry youthful wives;  
And all old women, void of wit and grace,  
Deprived of shame, and weary of their lives:  
Which wed young boys, had wont to sacrifice,  
For fortunes favour at their enterprise:  
On whom by right she always did bestow,  
Helmets of horns, to bear off every blow.   

And at this Shrine did offer of each sort:  
All those, which having spent abroad their stock,  
At home have nothing to renew the sport,  
But by their wives lie senseless, like a block,  
They and their wives did here both offerings make,  
And each received horns for th'others sake;  
For try who will: The proverb still doth threat,  
Who strikes with sword, the scabbard shall him beat.   

And here did offer many a sapless Sot,  
Whose frigid nature, wanting moisture due,  
Made his wives tillage prove a barren plot,  
Till fortune's hand with horns did him endue:  
But after that his offering here was made,  
The fruitless soil, which was for barren laid,  
Without his husbandry or helping hand,  
Oft proved more fertile, than he would demand.   

This place was famous, and of great report,  
Until Wat Tyler (as some books have said)  
With all the rabble of the Kentish sort,  
Havoc and spoil through all the country made.  
Then was this stately Temple overthrown;  
The Image and the Altar cast quite down;  
All things defaced, and topsy-turvy turned,  
Fortune disgraced, and all her horns were burned.   

Thus Fortune's Temple fell: for what can stand,  
Against so wilful, and so wild a crew?  
Where love, nor faith, nor fortune can command,  
Nor care, nor fear of dangers that ensue:  
But Fortune, angry this great spoil to see,  
And sore incensed with this injury  
With such revenge the rascal Rebels follows,  
That most of them she made to climb the gallows.   

The rest, which by remission of the King  
Escaped the halter and the fatal Tree,  
She likewise plagued with another thing  
(Fowl shame to them and their posterity)  
For from their backe-partes near about their rump  
Did spring a loathsome & deformed lump,  
Covered with hair; which growing pendent down,  
show'd like the tail of Monkey or Babowne.   

Thus was that rash and rebel crew of Kent  
Plagued with tails of wondrous admiration,  
And so continued downward by descent  
From man to man, by many a generation,  
And though they curtailed them, or did them pair,  
It could not help: They grew again as fair.  
And hereupon a longtime to their shame  
They and their race of long-tailes had the name:   

Long time those long-tailes did remain in Kent,  
Ashamed of themselves; and monsters deemed,  
And no devise could find for to prevent,  
And rid their tails that so deformed seemed.  
But still the more they laboured to avoid them,  
The longer still they grew, and more annoyed them:  
Until a man of Art by skill did find  
The means to cure their malady behind.   

Who sitting one day in his private cell,  
Casting an eye upon his Kentish tail,  
With incantations of a Magick-spell,  
Able to make great Rhadamanthus quail,  
He conjured up a spirit; and chargeed him tell  
The first occasion, how this shame befell,  
And by what means they might the same escape,  
And bring their buttocks to their ancient shape.   

The fiend replied I can thee plainly tell  
This shame attends you for your sire's offence:  
For when in former times they did rebel,  
They Fortune's Image used with violence,  
Defaced her famous Temple, and in scorn  
Consumed with fire her guilded Crown of Horn;  
Whereat displeased for them and for their seed  
Fortune this punishment of Tails decreed.   

If therefore from the ignominious stain  
Of long-tailed Kentishmen you would be free:  
Endeavour fortunes favour to regain,  
That she may cure your great deformity;  
And for her Image, which was erst dejected,  
Let some fair Monument be there erected,  
That your submission may with her prevail  
To the consumption of each Kentish tail.   

Hereat the spirit vanished out of sight,  
And left the Enchanter musing: which with speed  
Assembled all the long-tailes, that there might  
By wisdom and advisement be decreed,  
What Image, portraiture, or Monument  
Were for this purpose most convenient  
To pacify the Goddess, and redress  
Their beastly back-partes, and uncomeliness.   

At Canterbury met this congregation  
From every Town and village within Kent:  
Where after much ingenious consultation  
It was at last concluded by consent,  
That on the fertile banks of that fair flood  
Where fortunes famous Image whilom stood,  
An horned Pillar there they would exalt  
T' appease the Goddess for their father's fault.   

And, that it might be done with more respect,  
And fortunes greater honour; they decree,  
That at the time, when this should take effect,  
Great store of Kentishmen in their degree,  
Knights, gentlemen and yeomen, of the best,  
Of common people, should be ready dressed,  
In all their brave accoutrements, to grace  
The forked Pillar to the foresaid place.   

The 18. of October was proclaimed 
Saint Luke's day.   
To be the day of this great celebration.  
Against which time, each long-tail before named,  
Made much provision and great preparation,  
And unto Canterbury took their way,  
There to be ready at th'appointed day,  
To give attendance in most sumptuous manner  
On fortune's Pillar with nil pomp and honour.   

Now was the instant come to play this prize,  
The day of good Saint Luke; which was of old  
The time, when men were wont to sacrifice  
At fortune's Temple, (as before was told)  
Chosen the rather, that their Present might  
Better respected be in Fortune's sight:  
And that she might behold with what desire  
They were conformed to pacify her ire.   

And now the long-tailes in their best array,  
Preventing the Sunrising by their haste,  
Assembled were, before the dawning day▪  
Had night's black curtains from the sky displost.  
The thundering drums did rattle through the town,  
To summon every gentleman and Clown:  
All which no sooner heard that loud Alar'me,  
But like to Bees together they did swarm.   

When lo! a glorious Post you might behold,  
Fairer than any stake in Grays-inn field,  
Or the large pastures of Saint George's hold,  
Or Finsbury, or Islington can yield,  
Which in a cart (as thieves to hanging ride)  
Are thither brought by Archers in great pride,  
Guarded with gunner's, billmen, and a rout  
Of Bowmen bold, which at a cat do shoot.   

Forgive me, Fortune, that I do compare  
Those painted posts with thy renowned Pillar;  
Those gaudy stakes, which for no purpose are,  
But roving marks for Longbows and for tiler:  
For even so much for beauty, worth and gloss▪  
As Cross in Cheap excels old Charingcross;  
So much and ten times more this peerless stake  
Exceeds those Posts, which Archers use to make.   

For not with in a Carman's dirty Cart  
(As if it wear to Tyburn) was it laid;  
Nor plaisterd over with the Painter's Art,  
Which with a shower of rain is seen to fade:  
Nor on the top a Cat-Amount was framed,  
Or some wild beast, which near before was tamed,  
Made at the charges of some Archers stout,  
To have his name canonised in the clout.   

Upon a chariot was this Pillar mounted,  
(A chariot framed of the purest Horn,)  
Whose workmanship here cannot be recounted,  
It was so curious, fine, on four wheels borne:  
Two Goats first drew this chariot, than 2. Rams,  
Two Vincornes then followed, tame as Lambs.  
Lastly 2. sober Oxen with slow pace  
Held up the chariots head with horned face.   

The pillar was of wood, all guilded fair,  
Beset (like precious stones) with studs of horn:  
Upon the top did stand a goodly pair,  
Fairer than any Cuckold erst hath worn:  
From whence two lively trees did seem to grow  
Bearing all sorts of fruit: to make us know,  
That howsoever fools their fortune scorn,  
Profit and pleasure both spring from the Horn.   

Now drums and trumpets fill the air with thunder;  
When first the chariot 'gan to move her wheels:  
Now Canons and calivers seemed to thunder,  
Then shouts and clamour followed at the heels:  
The Clergy first before the Coach did sing;  
The waits did play & all the bells did ring,  
Bag-pips played horn-pips, some did dance the Morris,  
Some wind their horns, & some with cornets flourish   

Before the Chariot all the married went,  
According to their place and due degree:  
Behind it all the Bachelors of Kent;  
Marched in order very gallantly:  
Beside all these so great a troop, and throng,  
Did fill the passage as they went along,  
That many were sore thrust and wanted breath,  
And some were crowded hard, but not to death.   

For as you see upon that solemn day,  
When as the Pageants through Chepe-side are carried,  
What multitudes of people thither sway,  
Thrusting so hard, that many have miscarried.  
If then you mark when as the fireworks fly,  
And Elephants and Unicorns pass by,  
How mighty and tumultuous is that press,  
Such were those throng, and no jot the less.   

But notwithstanding all this grievous thrust,  
Forward they march in decent rank and fashion:  
Some, lest their tails should dangle in the dust,  
Had men to bear them up with ostentation;  
But they which wanted men their tails to guide,  
Fast round about their middles had them tied.  
Or else about their necks. For (without fail)  
The least was longer than an Ox's tail.   

Many of them (the better to express,  
Their willing minds Dame Fortune to appease,  
That she might sooner cut their long-tailes less,  
And curtail their great rumps to give them ease)  
In comely sort their foreheads did adorn,  
With goodly coronets of hardy-horne:  
As Sylvan Satyrs in old time were seen,  
When as they danced Horn-pipes on the green:   

It were too long to set down every thing,  
Which chanced in that progress as they went,  
How all the bells in Feversham did ring,  
In Sittingborne, and other towns of Kent:  
What entertainment and precession was  
Ordained, when they through Rochester should pass.  
And how each Officer in his best gown,  
Stood ready to conduct them through the Town.   

Nor is it for our purpose to decide,  
The hearty welcome given at Gravesend;  
How many Citizens came down that tide  
With their sweet wives, the show there to attend:  
And how at Dartford the tall Sea-mark rod  
His stately top and weathercock did nod;  
To bid her welcome; since our end is most,  
At Cuckold's Haven to erect the Post.   

Where being new arrived: A mighty crew  
Of wealthy Citizens did them confront,  
Come from the City, that fair post to view,  
And all the goodly horns which were upon't.  
Which howsoever they desirous be,  
Abroad to range strange fashions for to see;  
Yet sure for this to range they have small need,  
They may abide at home, and better speed.   

There had the Citizens large tables set,  
Loaden with store of victuals and good cheer,  
To gratulate the Long-tailes, which they met,  
And show the love which to the Horn they bear:  
Whereafter they had fed in bounteous manner,  
And drunk a thousand healths to fortune's honour,  
Towards the Thames they drew the horned Post,  
And there did plant it strongly on the Coast.   

Just in the place where Fortune's Temple stood,  
There stands the forked Pillar, stout and tall,  
Whose leavelesse boughs are never seen to bud,  
Though much stone-fruit do from the branches fall.  
Westward it threatens, and with arms all bare,  
Gives warning to the City to beware:  
Like to a flaming Beacon, which still shows,  
The near approaching of some dangerous foes.   

Thus was this famous Monument extolled,  
And on the fruitful banks of Thames erected:  
Which when the Goddess Fortune did behold,  
Perceiving how devout they her respected:  
Her anger vanished, and with gracious eye,  
She took compassion on their malady,  
And all their rumps, so infamous before,  
Unto their pristine beauty did restore.   

Thus came their Buttocks to their ancient hue,  
Their tails fell off, and on the ground did lie,  
When lo! a wondrous matter did ensue,  
A miracle, most strange to every eye:  
For on a sudden all their tails up stood,  
took root within the ground, and began to bud;  
And into willow trees, which there are seen,  
Were then transformed, most fragrant, sweet, & green.   

Which when the kentishmen at first beheld,  
Feeling their haunches lighter than they were,  
With shoots and joyful cries so long they yeled,  
That many unto Dover did them hear.  
And London-bridge with Caesar's Tower did shake.  
By reason of the noise which they did make.  
But Charing-cross fell down (as Stow doth say)  
And broke his neck, as may be seen this day.   

But that this strange and great deliverance,  
From such huge long-tailes, as they had of late,  
Might still be had in fresh remembrance:  
That day to Fortune they did dedicate:  
Enacting; that for ever once a year,  
On S. Luke's day they should assemble there,  
To feast and frolic on these pleasant banks,  
And give to Fortune her deserved thanks.   

Long time this solemn custom was observed,  
And kentishmen with others met to feast,  
But latter times are from old fashions swerved,  
And grown repugnant to this good behest:  
For now ungrateful men these meetings scorn,  
And thankless prove to Fortune and the horn:  
For only now is kept a poor Goose Fair,  
Where none but meaner people do repair.   

But whilst it was observed; did befall  
A certain matter worthy observation,  
For some wild Colts (which Citizens we call)  
And when they are abroad it is their fashion,  
Being all flustred, in their merry mood  
Pulled down the Post, & threw the horns i'th' flood  
But mark a wondrous thing! The horns next Tide  
To land above the Bridge were all descried.   

The kentishmen at their next Congregation  
Seeing the Post to be purloined away,  
T'erect another made a consultation,  
As like unto the former as they may:  
Which was no sooner up: but some again,  
Which had small cause for want of horns to plain,  
Stole them away: And thus from time to time,  
They were abused with the foresaid crime.   

Which thing when that these curtailed men espied:  
With certain London Butchers they agreed,  
That they sufficient horns should still provide,  
For to repair the Post when it should need:  
And for reward the neighbouring fields should be  
Theirs and their heirs to hold eternally:  
Provided still, that horns did never want,  
For than they made a forfeit of their grant.   

Thus is the Post repaired, and Fortune's Port,  
Since Citizens first took their Horns away,  
(Whether it be in earnest or in sport)  
Is nick named Cuckolds-haven to this day:  
And at this place as you shall understand,  
Was Master Hercules conveyed to Land:  
An ominous presage (without all doubt)  
Of future luck, and what he went about.   

The watermen, which tumbled in with him,  
Were in the mean time gotten to the shore:  
For they by happy fortune both could swim,  
Being instructed in that Art before.  
Their boat and every thing the others sought,  
And unto land with Hercules them brought  
Only his hat was missed, which was small harm  
His Horn-wroght-cap would keep his noddle warm.   

They were no sooner on the banks arrived,  
But presently new troubles did begin.  
The stubborn watermen of wit deprived  
Fell at debate about their falling in,  
And first with bitter terms of foul disgrace  
Each one reviled an other to his face:  
And afterward, to recompense their mocks.  
They fell from words to blows & boisterous knocks.   

Which when stouthearted Hercules beheld,  
(Being unwilling to be beaten dry)  
He took his heels, and ran into the field  
To shun the dangers of this mutiny;  
Where by the glimmering of a candle bright,  
Upon a little cottage he did light:  
Whither he went, and entrance did desire  
To dry his dropping garments by the fire.   

Which when the master of the house did hear,  
And looking forth did see that miser wight,  
Which (like a drowned mouse) stood dropping there  
He was much moved at that piteous plight;  
And first into his cottage him admitted,  
And after bid him welcome, as befitted,  
And made a fire, enough to roast a bull,  
And gave him Ale and Tossed his belly full.   

The watermen, which lately were at jar,  
(Seeing the lookers on to give them way,  
And not once offer for to end their war)  
Did wisely of themselves conclude the fray,  
And after that they found their buffets smarred  
From blows they fell to words, and so departed,  
Cursing each other with reproaches vile,  
After they were asunder half a mile.   

And now our mariners no sooner were  
Freed from those dangers: and all tumults past;  
But that incontinent a sudden fear  
A fresh invaded them, and much aghast.  
For Hercules they missed, and sought about,  
Yet by their seeking could not find him out,  
Then did they call aloud, but all in vain,  
Which makes them sear, he is fallen in again.   

near to the shore they searched with their boat,  
But no whereby their groping could him find:  
His hat they found which fairly there did float,  
With treble Sypers, and with velvet lined.  
But missing him, they rowed again to land,  
More happy tidings there to understand  
Whither arrived, The dawncing day did show  
The little cottage situate below.   

Unto that little house forthwith they ran,  
And for halfedrowned Hercules inquire;  
When they beheld that lamentable man  
In drooping manner drying his attire.  
Sadly he looked, and sorrily did sit,  
As if he scarce recovered had his wit,  
But when he saw the watermen arrived,  
His fainting spirits somewhat were revived.   

Glad were they to behold each other there,  
And began discourse of their forepassed dangers:  
But master Hercules, now void of fear,  
Did chafe, and fret, and threat, & curse the strangers,  
And, like a Lion raging for his prey,  
Did swear revenge, if they came in his way.  
For to a young man falls no greater loss,  
Then in his wooing time to have a Cross.   

The watermen, his wrath to pacify,  
Gave him fair words, and began for to relate  
How valiantly they made their foes to fly,  
And how they sound knocked them on the pate.  
But since (quoth they) all dangers now are past,  
And we are safely here arrived at last,  
Let's drink down sorrow, & the day here spend,  
And at next Ebb we'll ferry to Granesend.   

With this was master Hercules content,  
And there that day to tarry he decreed,  
(For when we cannot choose, we must consent)  
His clothes were wet, and he could not proceed.  
For both his health, the time, & his good fortune  
To woo in dry apparel did importune:  
And homeward to return he was unwilling,  
There to be mocked. 'twere better spend a shilling.   

There all that day, and almost all the the night,  
(Too tedious unto Hercules) they stayed:  
W'here how they spent the time, recount I might,  
But that to trouble you I am afraid.  
Therefore of purpose (as I think most fit)  
Those circumstances I will here omit;  
Because (for brevity) I most intent  
To have them quickly landed at Gravesend.   

And now conceive them in their boat again,  
Their garments dry, and they fair shipped for Kent:  
And now so swift they furrow down the main,  
As if an arrow from a longbow went:  
And now imagine they have failed so fast,  
That at Gravesend they are arrived at last.  
And now because we'll not be long a doing,  
Imagine Hercules is close a wooing.   

Kate had her lesson: and at first was coy,  
Yet was she coily kind, and kindly nice:  
Now lift him up with hope her to enjoy,  
Now cast him down with doubts which did arise:  
She said, his faith and long perseveration,  
Had almost forced her to commiseration,  
And that she loved: but where ourselves we are not  
We often wish, when do the thing we dare not.   

I do confess I bear you some affection,  
Although the same I yet durst never show:  
For where the Parents will have all election;  
The children must be bended to their bow,  
And therefore since their will must be my law,  
Let me entreat your meaning to withdraw:  
How happy are those maids, whose fearless voice  
May of their husbands make their own free choice▪   

Both hope and fear in Hercules his face,  
Were seen to combat: when he thus replied,  
Let me enjoy thy favour and thy grace,  
And I respect not all thy friends beside:  
For though they be unwilling, and withstand  
To give their full consent to my demand,  
Yet if to be my wife thou wilt agree,  
Without their liking I will marry thee.   

Pity it were, your fervent love (said Kate)  
Should want his merit and his due desert,  
And I could wish, if it were not too late,  
To give redress to your distressed heart;  
But that my Parents have decreed it meeter,  
To have me married unto Master Peter:  
The wealthy Linnin-Draper at the Bell,  
Though I protest I love you twice as well.   

To Master Peter? (quoth he) whar am I,  
That Shepeheards-holland should be thought my better  
It is my parents will (did Kate reply)  
And they intent me to that log to fetter,  
But blest were I, before our hands do meet,  
If I were shrouded in my winding sheet,  
For sure I am, although I do him marry,  
True love unto him I shall never carry.   

Hereat she stayed and wept. He wiped her eyes,  
And wept to see her weep; and thus replied:  
My dearest love, before the Sun doth rise  
Early to morrow do thyself provide,  
And secretly to London with me wend,  
Where of these matters I will make an end,  
For I will wed thee first, and which is sweeter,  
I'll bed thee after in despite of Peter.   

And let thy froward Parents fret their fill,  
Which seek to marry thee against thy mind:  
If thou wilt grant me promise of good will,  
And take the course which I have now assigned,  
Though all thy friends displeasure seem to take,  
And both thy parents do thee quite forsake:  
Their frowns or favours I do little stand on,  
For I till death will never thee abandon.   

Kate, which knew well, when as the Sun did shine  
It was the fittest season to make hay,  
Did now think meet her Fortress to resign:  
Considering dangers issue from delay:  
And therefore setting circumstance aside,  
Because his love so faithful she had tried,  
She was content next morning before day,  
Sans father's leave to steal with him away.   

Thus was this match confirmed with many a kiss,  
And they on all things fully were concluded:  
When lo! mine Hostess (seeming Kate to miss)  
Into the room forthwith herself intruded:  
And called her forth, for much it seemed to move her  
To see her talking secret with her Lover,  
And therefore chiding Kate (as much offended:)  
Away they went, and so the wooing ended.   

And now mine Host, mine Hostess, & her daughter,  
About these matters did in counsel sit,  
Which when mine Host did hear (surprised with laughter)  
He much did praise their quick and ready wit;  
Which had so soon, and in such subtle wise,  
Contrived so fine and strange an enterprise:  
And by a stratagem so rare and witty,  
Had caught a simple Cuckoo of the City.   

But (briefly) there, without more consultation,  
It was enacted, by a full consent  
Before the cock did chant his salutation,  
Or lamps left burning in the firmament:  
That Kate next morning should herself provide  
To meet her lover at the water's side:  
Sad meeting unto him, which must by lot  
Father a child, the which he never got.   

Time, which doth swiftly turn all things about,  
Brought on the time for meeting destinate,  
When Hercules came softly stealing out,  
And at his heels went creeping lovely Kate,  
Not daring almost breath (as he supposed)  
For fear that her escape should be disclosed:  
How happy art thou Hercules to find,  
A wench so truly constant, and so kind?   

A boat was ready into which they enter▪  
Fair shipped for London, without wind or tide:  
And like to jupiter with his adventure,  
(When as Europa on his back did ride)  
So up the Thames in triumph did he ferry,  
Proud of his purchase, frolic, blithe, and merry:  
And landing at the Tower, with liberal purse  
Married they were for better, and for worse.   

Thus is the Woodcock fallen into the gin,  
And in Lobs-pound entangled by a wile:  
Behold the fortune of a Citizen,  
That makes no conscience others to beguile!  
In wooing time here likewise understand,  
At Cuckolds-haven to be cast on land,  
How ominous it is, and hard to fly.  
The horned chance of forked destiny.   

But this is for thy comfort (man of Trade)  
Thou neither art the first, nor shalt be last,  
Which hast a voyage in this manner made,  
And been on quicksands by misfortune cast:  
For 'tis uncertain to the most that wed,  
Whether they have a woman's Maidenhead:  
And 'tis as hard a matter to be known,  
Whether they keep more children than their own.   

Therefore ye rural and champ estriall men,  
Which live in villages and Country Towns,  
Do not deride and mock the Citizen,  
As if there were no Cuckolds among Clowns;  
As though your maids were Malkins; & your wives  
Would carve no Codfish, wanting of your knives,  
For 'tis reported (greater is the pity)  
The Country partly imitates the City.   

I do confess, the City may of due  
Plead of the Horns the more abundant share,  
Chiefly by reason of the gallant crew,  
Which there reside, and of their dainty fare,  
Besides, Plays, Pageants, and the tilting day,  
May give occasion for to run astray.  
Again, their beauties, and their brave attire  
Are greater motives to provoke desire.   

Nath'les I would not have a rustic Swain  
Condemn all Citizens to be cornuted,  
As the Country were devoid of stain,  
And that the City were alone polluted;  
For many Citizens did never set  
Their wives in shops more Customers to get:  
Though divers wealthy farmers have been known  
To keep their Landlords children as their own.   

The thrifty Citizen with lives by Trade  
Hath in a room or two his wife confined,  
So that the want of place hath often made  
Some women honest, much against their mind.  
She never walks abraid, but either he  
Or his apprentice watch her narrowly;  
So that by any means I cannot see  
How every Tradesman should a Cuckold be.   

Whereas the Country forests, woods, and fields,  
Groves, thickets, haiecockes, grass, and standing corn,  
To such intentes more fit occasion yields  
And greater liberty to graft the Horn.  
And therefore howsoe'er the Cittie-Dame  
For pride and beauty may deserve the name,  
Yet Country Marian with her lively brown  
Is oft as willing to be tumbled down.   

Therefore although much crazed broken wares  
Are vented unto Citizens by chance;  
Yet sure the Country people have their shares,  
And hand in hand with Citizens may dance:  
And this to be no fiction nor a lie  
Their Teachers in white sheets can testify:  
So that I must conclude. Both Town and City  
Have store of Cuckolds, worthy, rich and witty.   

But now doth Hercules enjoy his Bride,  
And to his house with glory doth her bring  
God give you joy, his friends & neighbours cried,  
And send you comfort of your wedding ring.  
Thus for a week in pleasures and delights  
They feast on days, and frolic in the nights,  
When lo! a sudden storm did overspread  
The mirth and revels of their marriage bed.   

The jovial time of pastime and content,  
Which married persons do in kissing spend,  
Was scarce begun, when all their merriment  
By means of forked fortune mad an end.  
And now their Honeymoon, that late was clear,  
Did pale, obscure, and tenebrous appear;  
And thrusting forth her horns, did plain bewray,  
That some are Cuckolds on their wedding day.   

The reason of this sudden discontent,  
Which nipped so soon their pleasures in the spring,  
Was by occasion of an accident,  
A luckless chance, and unexpected thing,  
That unto master Hercules befell,  
Which made him think his head began to swell:  
A sudden Cross, which did so much him pain,  
That now he wished to be unwed again.   

They were not long conjoined in wedlock's band,  
But that from them a messenger was sent  
Unto mine Host, to let him understand  
The wedding news, and how all matters went:  
Which when he heard; with words he Kate reviled,  
Calling her graceless, disobedient child;  
And since she married, (all her friends unwilling)  
He swore from them she never should have shilling.   

This was foam cause, why Hercules might grieve,  
And of his hasty marriage soon repent;  
(The want of portion, with should him relieve,  
The lack of Parent's favour and consent)  
The want of wealth for which some only marry  
Might give him cause with Katherine to vary:  
But want of these, nor all these did molest him:  
It was too much of one thing which oppressed him.   

Too much and more than he was glad ro find,  
Too much and more than he so soon expected,  
Did so with jealous thoughts disturb his mind,  
That now his Bride by him was much suspected.  
For as one night he chanced to put over  
His twining arm about his naked Lover,  
‛ As married men are wont to do in bed)  
With sudden fear he was astonished.   

For as he there her body did embrace,  
Touching each tender and delicious limb,  
Her breasts, her neck, her chin, her nose, her face,  
So round, straight, pretty, beautiful, and trim:  
And finding those so pleasant to his touch,  
Downward he felt if lower parts were such,  
But on her belly when his hand was laid,  
A quick conceit his further searching stayed.   

A quick conceit, or thing conceived quick,  
Under his hand he deemed for to feel,  
And now he thought that it did stir and kick,  
As if it were a creature with a heel.  
But in the end he certainly concluded,  
That in this hasty march he was deluded,  
And that this stirring motion needs must be  
A living child, and two-legd Tympany.   

And do I live? (thought he) or am I dead?  
Or do I sleep? or do I dream awake?  
Or do I feel? or are my senses fled?  
Or doth this stir? or do I but mistake?  
No sure, I live, and waking have perceived,  
That I do feel, my wife is quick conceived;  
That I do truly feel, and plainly find  
These stirring motions cannot come from wind.   

And am I guled? and made a laughing stock,  
To have my children gotten to my hand?  
And had you none (sweet wife) but me to mock?  
Or do you think I cannot understand?  
Must I be bawd unto your base desire,  
And cloak your whoredom like an Apple-squire?  
No, Kate you shall perceive that I have eyes,  
And can discern your wiles and policies.   

Herewith his sleeping wife he did awake,  
And gravely to examine her begun  
What thing is this which doth this stirring make,  
And up and down thy belly seems to run?  
Art thou with child? & couldst thou find no other  
To be thy stake, and make a younger brother?  
Or dost thou think I am so soon beguiled,  
That I will patronize an others child?   

Kate, with had long before these things debated,  
Now of an answer was not to provide,  
Nor at his speeches did she seem amated,  
Neither to be conceived she denied.  
For I confess (quoth she) I feel some thing  
Within my belly for to leap and spring,  
Which if it be an infant, as I gather,  
Here I will take mine oath, you are the father.   

Shameless and wicked woman, void of grace,  
Dost thou not blush (said he) these words to give?  
Can it be true, that in so little space  
A child should be begotten, move, and live?  
Certs if you prove so soon, and child so quickly,  
We shall have store of children it is likely;  
But 'tis so plain, that I will pawn my life,  
You were with child, before you were my wife.   

And therefore early do yourself provide,  
And back again unto your friends repair:  
For I will be no Goldsmith, for to hide,  
And gild the outside of your copper ware,  
Nor will I be a merchant of retail,  
To set your broken merchandise to sale  
No, mistress Kate; your counning is too shallow,  
I am not yet so blind such flies to swallow.   

Kate was not daunted at his bosterous threats,  
Nor of his mighty menaces a afraid:  
Neither for pardon at his hands entreats;  
But boldly unto Hercules she said:  
Have I (said she) unfortunate, unblessed,  
Against my Parents liking and behest,  
Only for love (unwisely) chosen thee,  
Rejecting many better of degree?   

And are you now so jealous without ground?  
Or else grown weary of your wedding state?  
Do you not know, when marriage once hath bound,  
That afterwards repentance is too late?  
Have I cast off my friends at your petition?  
And would you now divorce me for suspicion?  
Making yourself a byword unto men,  
And laughing stock to every Citizen.   

Well Minion (answered he) I tell you plain,  
I'll not be bobbed with such a slight excuse:  
You know, without a cause I do not plain,  
Nor will I pocket up this wild abuse.  
For though till death the laws of wedlock bind,  
Yet in this case I am not of your mind.  
For if conditions be dissolved by you,  
The forfeit of the bond, I'll stand unto.   

If I (said she) have broke my plighted vow,  
Or since the marriage gone one step awry,  
Then use the rigour which Law doth allow,  
And of the forfeit take the penalty:  
But from my promise since I have not swerved,  
But have my faith inviolate observed▪  
I crave no favour: Therefore do your worst,  
It is your child, and you shall see it nursed.   

And though my wrathful Parents for your sake,  
Out of their love and favour have me thrown,  
Yet both of them I will acquainted make,  
And presently send for them to the Town:  
And though my foolish choice much hath them grieved  
Whereby I might despair to be relieved;  
Yet since my honest name is at the stake,  
I hope that now they will not me forsake.   

Thus for that night the conference had end,  
And careless Kate fell quickly fast a sleep:  
But Master Hercules the night did spend,  
In troublous thoughts, which did him waking keep:  
Sometimes he thought to put her quite away;  
Sometimes supposed it fitter she should stay;  
Sometimes to make it known he deemed best;  
Sometimes much better that it were suppressed.   

For if he cast her off, or make it known,  
Though to her share great scandal might betide,  
Yet he perceived the scorn would be his own,  
And that the world his folly would deride:  
Or if he kept her, and the fault conceal,  
(To shun reproaches in the commonweal)  
Yet inwardly some grief would still be cleaving,  
Because that he must take another's leaving,   

And thus perplexed in his doubtful mind,  
Consulting with himself he lay all night,  
Until the Rosy morning had assigned,  
The clouds of darkness to avoid the light:  
When from his bed arising presently,  
He went unto a neighbour dwelling by,  
His trusty friend, a Midwife by vocation,  
Of great experience, and good estimation.   

Full twenty years she had a widow been  
Like to a Turtle mourning for her make,  
Yet fat and plump she was for to be seen,  
As if but little care she used to take:  
Many a match and married copulation  
Had been affected by her instigation.  
True talkative she was, like all the rest,  
And could tell bawdy tales, and break a jest.   

Some little skill she had in Surgery,  
And could redress, and cure diseases hidden,  
Which do proceed from lust and surquedry,  
By tasting of those fruits with are forbidden,  
By which occasion she was well acquainted  
With divers Citizens that had been tainted,  
And for this secret cause, or for some others  
Was Hercules well known to this old mother.   

Unto this ghostly Counsellor he came,  
And all his grievance let her understand:  
Desiring her, that to prevent the shame,  
Which did attend his credit hard at hand,  
She would advise him in her policy,  
What he should do in this perplexity:  
And so the story of his woe he told  
From point to point, as I did erst unfold.   

Which when old mother Marrowbones did hear,  
Like to a sage and sober Ape she smiled,  
And thus replied I wis, my neighbours dear  
It is hard measure to be thus beguiled,  
And (lure) it cannot choose but vex your mind  
Such quick conception in your wife to find:  
Nor truly (neighbour) can I much you blame,  
If you be moved and angry for the same.   

But let me tell you; 'Tis no time to grieve,  
Or raise tumultuous brawls about this thing  
jarring debate cannot your wrong relieve,  
Nor any help unto your headache bring.  
Rather with patience, and with quiet carriage,  
Support the Crosses of your hasty marriage.  
For since the Priest the wedding knot hath tie,  
For better and for worse she is your Bride.   

Keep her you must with quietness or strife,  
And therefore make your choice of which you will  
If she be true or false, she is your wife,  
So is she likewise, be she good or ill.  
If she be fat and rich, or lean and poor;  
If Saint or Devil, honest or a whore;  
After the weddings sportful celebration  
It is too late to make a recantation.   

To put her quite away for this her claim  
In law and conscience you can have no reason:  
For since the fault was done before your time,  
Cause of divorce doth now come out of season,  
Since therefore by no means you can forsake her,  
But that with all her faults you needs must take her,  
'Tis rather for your credit to conceal it,  
Then to your shame and infamy reveal it.   

And yet I would not have you so content,  
Wholly to cloak and swallow this abuse;  
Make show of anger, wrath and discontent,  
Neither allow of any blind excuse:  
Threaten divorce, and if that bear no sway,  
Privately send her to her friends away.  
And bodily let them know, that back again  
You never mean your wife to entertain.   

Which when her Parents see, that still make show  
Of great displeasure at their daughter's choice,  
And neither will with portion her endow  
Nor with kind look, nor comfortable voice.  
When they behold their daughter in that case,  
Turned out of doors unto her foul disgrace,  
Though heretofore they have been proud & stout,  
Then shall you see them glad to seek you out.   

Then shall you see them humbly to you sue,  
With fair entreaties, and much obsecration,  
That her offence you would with pity view,  
And on their years take some commiseration,  
And not to make them, and their only daughter,  
The scornful subject of reproach and laughter.  
Then will they promise much and give you more,  
If you will keep her still and salve this sore.   

And now, although at first you were unwilling  
Ever again to take their daughter Kate;  
Yet when you see your chests and chambers filling,  
With store of money, household-stuff and plate.  
Then may you seem by little to relent,  
And (in your love) her folly to lament,  
And that you please (upon her good behaviour)  
At their requests to take her into favour   

Thus shall you purchase both her Parents love,  
Obtain great riches, and conceal your shame:  
And this your kindness will your wife so move,  
(If she have any grace to weigh the same)  
That she will prove so honest, kind, and chaste,  
And she will satisfy for all is past.  
And all your friends which see her virtuous life,  
Will bless your fortune in so good a wife.   

And though she be bigbellied with a child,  
That you are certain cannot be your own:  
Let it not grieve you to be thus beguiled,  
(Considering that the matter is not known)  
Neither refuse to patronize the same,  
And christian it according to your name,  
For many wealthy Citizens have done it,  
And either did not know, or could not shun it.   

For better is your case then many others,  
Whose jealous minds are still oppressed with fear,  
Ever suspecting when their wives grow mothers,  
They are not fathers to the babes they bear,  
And still ambiguous, that their wives dissemble,  
If their young infants do them not resemble  
Whereas you need not fear to be beguiled,  
For you are certain it is not your child.   

And though it be not yours, nor you can tell  
What Cuckoo laid this egg within your nest,  
Imagine it is yours, and all is well.  
For in imagination all doth rest.  
Many a man is by his wife beguiled,  
And yet imagines he begot the child.  
For whither children be your own or no,  
Imagination only makes them so.   

Your wife hath done amiss, and so have many  
(For who offends not, either soon or latter)  
The most have wanton motions: Neither can I  
Excuse myself, unless myself I flatter,  
But when that I was young, I was inclined,  
As other merry wenches are by kind,  
For this is all the difference can be spied  
She is least faulty, that can faults best hide.   

Then since she is but like your neighbour's wives;  
(Only her luck is worse to have it known)  
Since you are tied together for your lives,  
And cannot be divorced, as I have shown,  
And since you cannot her disgrace report,  
But it will breed your scorn: let me exhort,  
That you conceal her fault; and let her friends  
With bags of money make you some amends.   

Thus did that politic old woman prate,  
And Hercules went home well satisfied,  
Mean while you must conceive, that crafty Kate  
Was neither idle, nor ill occupied.  
For she (post hast) a messenger had sent  
To let her Parents know how all things went,  
And to desire them (since she stood in need)  
They would repair to London with all speed.   

And for to keep without her husbands reach,  
Locked in a chamber all that day she sat,  
Because she had no mind to hear him preach,  
Nor of those matters to expostulate.  
But when her Parents were come to the Town,  
Out of her chamber she came sadly down,  
Her head close bound, her countenance dejected,  
And on her knees their blessing she expected.   

But they, (as though she had not been their child  
Or they disdeigned to know her) looked aside.  
With bitter words they sharply her reviled,  
And outwardly made show to brawl and chide.  
But Kate with tears of sorrow and contrition  
Upon her knees for pardon made petition;  
Desiring them, (since her offence was passed)  
They would forgive her, and forget at last.   

Married I am (quoth she) and, would to God,  
That I could truly say I were not married:  
But till repentance whip us with her rod,  
With headstrong youthful wills we are so carried  
We cannot turn: until too late we find  
Ourselves unto yourselves are most unkind:  
And yet how blest and happy were my state  
Now to repent, if it were not to late.   

But I am tied to such a crabbed Clown,  
That all this City scarce hath such a fellow;  
For he doth nothing else but lower and frown,  
And hath his hose already died in yellow:  
Because I breed, he twits me with a crime,  
And saith I am with child before my time:  
And though I left you all (by his persuasion)  
He means to cast me off by this occasion.   

Herewith a dropping shower of trickling tears,  
(As most of them have weeping at command)  
Did stop her speech. And Hercules appears,  
Which in the next room all this while did stand;  
With whom mine Hostess in great rage & choler  
(Seeming much moved to see her daughter's dolour  
In hasty manner did begin to chide,  
That so unkindly he had used his Bride.   

And hath our daughter against our intent  
Made choice (said she) of such a froward mate?  
Hath she without our liking and consent  
(Preferring your good will before our hate)  
Left all her friends, and gone with you away,  
And in this sort do you her love repay?  
Now (doubtless) she hath made a goodly match  
Fishing so fair, at length a Frog to catch.   

What she hath caught in fishing (he replied)  
May by her belly quickly be perceived,  
But for my part, it cannot be denied,  
But with a Frog, or worse, I am deceived,  
Yet howsoe'er a Frog fall to my share,  
Because in fishing I did not beware,  
Since that the Frog too soon doth multiply,  
I'll neither keep the Frog, nor yet her frie.   

The simple truth is this I do not mean  
To style an others bastard by my name.  
He which did till the furrows, let him glean,  
And reap the crop, that grows upon the same:  
Your daughter is with child: and I do find  
That by no means it can be of my kind.  
Therefore I am resolved, (let come what may)  
Within my house she shall no longer stay.   

Sir (said mine Hostess) if that she were clear,  
I would think scorn to pin her on your sleeve,  
But since she is with child (as you do fear)  
And ye are married (though without our leave)  
Whether that you be willing, or else loath  
You shall maintain and patronize them both:  
For I am sure you wed not to the half,  
Yours is the Cow, and you shall keep the calf,   

She is with child, you say, and what of that?  
'Tis none of yours, you think: how can you prove it?  
I say, if that she be with child, it 's flat,  
That you must father, keep, protect, and love it.  
But 'tis not yet a month, since you were married,  
And therefore you suppose she hath miscarried:  
But give me leave to say, you are deceived  
For divers in less time have been conceived.   

You are too young as yet, and much to seek,  
What to these woman's matters doth belong  
You think, unless she go full forty week,  
That she hath played you false and done you wrong;  
Alas (goodmen) how cunning you will be  
In your wives childing and delivery?  
Before you scarce know how to get a child,  
You will keep reckoning lest you be beguiled.   

To see the child begotten is your part:  
It is your wives to bring them forth in season,  
It shows a jealous and suspicious heart,  
How long or short they reckon, for to reason▪  
Never was man with child. And therefore no man  
Can tell those things so truly as a woman:  
And therefore to your proof I make denial,  
Since by report you speak, and not by trial.   

Some fool, or gross Physician brought to light  
This fond opinion first of forty weeks:  
But I will show by arguments aright,  
That this opinion is not worth two leeks:  
For though in ancient times it might be true,  
Yet in the years and ages that ensue  
It still should hold, is no found inference,  
As I will show by good experience.   

In former Ages, when the world began,  
And that dame Nature was in her full strength,  
The time of life appointed unto man,  
Nine hundred and odd years was then in length,  
Then wives had time to breed (as writers tell)  
And took more leisure for to do things well,  
Their children were far greater, large, & stronger,  
Which was the cause that they accounted longer.   

For then a child but newly come to light,  
Lying in clouts upon his Nurse's knee,  
Was every way as great in outward sight,  
As now at 20. years a man can be:  
And therefore such great children must by reason  
Unto their birth require a longer season  
Than do out little, silly, Pigmy brats,  
Which, in respect of them, are but like Rats.   

An other instance likewise doth me move,  
Which much availeth for this truths discerning,  
When our forefathers first began to love,  
And generations art was but in learning,  
Men were not half so skilful in the Trade,  
As now by long experience they are made:  
And therefore shorter time will serve (I hold)  
To bring forth children now, then did of old.   

Again, dame Nature is more fertile grown,  
Then erst she wont for to be of yore,  
Twice in a year you see some meadows mown,  
And trees to bring forth fruit, (not seen before)  
Twice in a year some Ewes do multiply,  
And more than twice some creatures fructify,  
And divers wives, whose faith wants no excuse,  
Three or 4. children at one birth produce.   

In ancient time full 40. weeks did need,  
Because their babes were of a larger size:  
But now, dame Nature making better speed,  
A great deal shorter time doth well suffice.  
For many women, after they are wed,  
In less them 20. weeks are brought a bed;  
And some in ten, and some in more, some less,  
According to their kind, and fruitfulness.   

And which his yet more strange than all the rest,  
But not so strange as true; I know a wife,  
That was esteemed as honest as the best,  
And true unto her husband all her life,  
Which, ere a month was fully passed and done  
After the wedding, had a goodly son:  
And yet I know her husband will be sworn,  
The child was his, although so quickly borne.   

And therefore, if you mean to live in quiet,  
It is your best to make no further trouble  
The child is yours: It boots not to deny it,  
And you the father, though she carry double,  
Well (answered Hercules) I do not mean  
To keep a bastard, and another's Quean:  
Good words (said she) & then the harm is small;  
You must and shall, and there's an end of all.   

When as mine Host did hear them grow so hot,  
Which all this while stood silent without speech,  
With milder words, (as they had laid the plot)  
That they would hear him speak, he did beseech:  
I cannot tell (quoth he) to what intent  
You hold this strong and needless argument:  
For many idle words may breed confusion,  
But never bring these matters to conclusion.   

The case is thus. Our daughter you have married  
Without our leave, our liking and consent;  
And therefore, if she chance to have miscarried,  
It is your just deserved punishment.  
If we had been the makers of this match,  
You might have said we did you coneycatch:  
But since it was your work, against our mind,  
You must be pleased to take such as you find.   

I speak not this, because that I do think  
My daughter hath played false, and done you wrong,  
But for to let you know, that you must drink  
As you have brewed, be it small or strong:  
Besides, the fault (if that she have offended)  
Against your person cannot be intended:  
Because the damage, trespass, and transgression  
Was done, before that you were in possession.   

Likewise the Laws of Holy Church do bind,  
And fast combine you during all your life,  
So that no fault, which at the first you find,  
Is cause sufficient to divorce your wife,  
For by the Priest you underwent this curse,  
To have and hold for better and for worse  
Than sure by law you never can forsake her,  
With all her faults (perforce) you needs must take her.   

And never grudge to take her for your Mate,  
For she deserves your love: I can you tell,  
She might have had your betters in estate,  
And left them all, because she loved you well:  
And for her honesty I now dare swear,  
She is as honest, as her mother here:  
It is but some conceit which fear hath bred,  
That thus with jealousy doth fill your head.   

Here: Take her, love her, and God give you joy:  
And you shall have 300. pound in hand;  
And, after we are dead, you shall enjoy,  
Our house, our goods, our money, and our land:  
And if you think that Kate hath you beguiled,  
And therefore do repine to keep the child,  
Send it to us; And we will entertain it,  
And at our proper charges will maintain it.   

When these good motions Hercules did hear,  
Although at first he seemed discontent  
Yet at the last all things concluded were,  
And he well pleased with their arbitrement:  
And thus you see how Kate herself behaved,  
Whereby her name and credit might be saved:  
How Hercules is wived, and well befriended,  
And all parts pleased: and thus my Tale his ended.   

But from this story, which I late have told,  
Some few short observations let us gather  
First, how the Citizen for love of gold,  
An others child was willing for to father:  
Whereby we may discern the servile mind  
Of many Citizens in this same kind,  
That for desire of profit will not shrink  
At such small faults, and greater for to wink.   

Yea, some of them are so in love with money,  
Or else so covetous to have Horns budding,  
That to allure great Bears unto their honey,  
And hungry dogs unto a dirty pudding;  
They will not stick to make their wives a Stale  
To draw on Customers for better sale;  
And unto some it is the surest prop,  
To have a handsome woman keep their shop.   

And this is one great reason, I suppose,  
That in great Towns so many Cuckolds swarm  
For when a Woman, beauteous as a Rose,  
Sits in her shop, the passengers to charm,  
Like to a Ship in tempests doth she flir  
In danger ever minute to be split,  
And though she doth escape both rocks & sand,  
Yet is not safe, until she come to land.   

For after all these stormy gusts are past,  
And winds are hushed, and seas are calm and still,  
On subtle Sirens she may fall at last,  
Whose smiles are wiles; whose kindest looks do kill  
Besides, on cruel Pirates she may light,  
And be encountered in the dark of night:  
And though a while she fight, yet ten to one  
Some camnon shoots her through, & then she's gone   

Even so a Citizen, that sets his wife  
A public loadstone to attract men's eyes,  
Doth unto danger leave her honest life,  
Amongst both Sirens, storms, and Piracies  
And therefore, if that some be Cuckolds named,  
Only themselves I think are to be blamed:  
For notwithstanding all their shops pretence,  
They are the Bawds unto their wives offence.   

Yea some of them, (as though this were too little)  
To hood the forked corners of their head)  
Although they know their wives are frail & brittle,  
And apt into temptations to be led,  
Yet unto Taverns, spectacles and Plays;  
And to the Court upon the solemn days,  
They will convoy them very fair and acquaint,  
As though a woman were an earthly Saint.   

And yet mistake not, for I will not say,  
But many of them are both chaste and pure:  
Yet those are means to make them run a stray,  
For golden booties soon do thieves allure:  
And yet they need no wind to blow the fire: 
Cornus. A cornel Tree or a Tree whereof Butchers make pricks.   
For they are hot even of their own desire,  
And some of them (though kept with key & lock)  
Will graft a horne-thorne tree upon your stock.   

A well-conceited fiction I have read,  
Among the Stories which old Poets framed,  
Of one that had within his careful head  
An hundred eyes: and he was Argus named.  
And yet for all his eyes which never closed,  
But evermore to watching were disposed,  
One silly woman he could hardly keep,  
For whiles he slept but once, she played bopeep.   

Oh what deceitful tricks have women kind.  
When they intent their lust to satisfy?  
How boundless and unsatiate is their mind,  
When they are bend to lawless luxury?  
How brittle, fickle, wavering, false and frail,  
Like to a weathercock, still turning tail?  
So that to write their faults, who doth intend,  
May well begin, but near shall make an end.   

But why should I complain of lechery? 
Objection.   
Or press bad wives with such an exclamation?  
Since they uphold the state of Cuckoldry,  
And are the pillars of that ordination.  
If that the fruit be good, no cause I see,  
Why we should fault, or discommend the tree:  
Or by our malice seek the man's disgrace,  
Which by his cunning graft it in that place.   

The end is all (the proverb old doth say)  
And doth approve, or disallow each thing:  
Nor do the causes wander much astray,  
Which to a good conclusion matters bring.  
If that a woman somewhat tread awry,  
And follow sports of lust and venery,  
Why should we blame her, since she doth pretend  
Her husband's good, and credit in the end.   

What reason have I then (may some suppose)  
To rail at women in this bitter manner?  
If wives were true, and free from secret blows,  
How should their husbands purchase such an honour?  
If that a Cuckold be so brave a name,  
They rather merit praise, than any blame.  
And thus will Momus snarling brood complain,  
What late I praised, I now dispraise again.   

Well could I wish the world were at that stay,  
And every woman of so honest carriage,  
That horns, which now bear such a mighty sway,  
Might be exiled the bonds of lawful marriage.  
But since this fortune hath befallen so many,  
I say not that I cannot exempt any.  
Better it were the title should be graced,  
Then honest Cuckolds utterly defaced.   

And though when fruit is good, we cannot blame  
Or fault the person which did grafted the tree,  
Yet in the ground which other men do claim,  
We cannot plant, nor graft, nor sow as free.  
Each hath his parcel; that which is enclosed,  
Must at the owner's pleasure be disposed.  
If ground be scarce, the common fields be cheap,  
Yet let men sow whereas they mean to reap.   

The end is all; and so may Cuckolds sing,  
For many men are Cuckolds in the end,  
Yet little good proceedeth from that thing  
To her, which doth her husband thus offend.  
For where she was esteemed chaste before,  
Now she is taken for a paltry whore:  
Nor was her end to win him reputation,  
But for to quench the flames of fornication.   

If that a tyrant merits any praise,  
Which doth adjudge a Martyr to be slain,  
Then doth a wanton wife, which spends her days  
In making horns to breed her husband's bane  
Deserve great thanks: For both alike we see,  
To be the causes of their destiny.  
But though bad manners better orders breed,  
Still they are nought, & shame shall be their meed.   

None I suppose is of so vild a life,  
But will affirm it by his own confession:  
To have close dealing with another's wife,  
It is a shameless and a great transgression;  
Yet though from thence arise a Cuckold's name,  
No blemish can redound unto the same.  
For oft we see, even from a dunghill grows,  
Sweet flowers, which neither sent nor odour lose.   

Many a man of credit, 
As jakes-farmers, Scavingers, and Curriers.  and good place,  
Hath earned great riches by a stinking Trade:  
And neither doth his living him deface,  
Nor of a base reckoning is he made.  
Why then should men thus scorn a Cuckold's life,  
For that his name comes by a stinking wife?  
Who doth dislike good meat, is void of wit,  
Although a greasy Scullion turn the spit.   

Many a wicked father hath been known,  
To have a son of good and honest life:  
And many a famous Cuckold of renown,  
Hath erst been married to a wanton wife.  
And yet the woman's lewdness is no shame  
Unto the credit of a Cuckold's name.  
For (certs) a Cuckold in his generation  
Is held a name of worth and estimation.   

And of all men that live upon the ground,  
None can more fitly be a Martyr named:  
For with such scoffs and mocks his days abound,  
As would in truth make any man ashamed,  
But that with patience he is possessed,  
Which makes him happy and his state more blest:  
For Patience such a noble virtue is,  
As will in fine promote him unto bliss.   

This is the cause so many learned Clerks,  
So many ancient Authors, and grave men,  
Did in their several volumes and their works;  
Much in the praise of worthy Cuckolds pen.  
For where this patience is so much commended,  
A Cockolds honour needs must be intended.  
And well we may expound them in that sense,  
Since that a Cuckold is all Patience.   

And rather truly might those learned wits,  
Applaud a Cuckold under that pretence:  
Because this virtue, which that state befits,  
Might bear among them some pre-eminence.  
And since it might seem foolish to dilate, 
The policy of old Writers in praising Cuckolds.   
In open words the glory of their state;  
Better they thought to set before her eyes▪  
The patient Cuckolds praises in this wise.   

Tully the Orator so much admired,  
The Paragon of sweet-tuned Eloquence,  
In such a rob of glory hath attired  
A Cuckold's virtue and his patience:  
That he not only hath preferred him clear  
Before all men that are, 
Haec qui facial, non ego summia viris eum comparo, verùm etiàm simillimum Dijs judico.  or ever were;  
But also hath (without respect of odds)  
Reputed him as equal to the gods.   

Ilist not here allege what all have said,  
In commendation of the patient crew,  
The usual examples, which are made,  
Do prove my sayings and assertions true.  
That sure I wonder, and I much admire them,  
(Unless the horns with patience do inspire them)  
How they so meekly suffer and abide,  
The wrongs and injuries which them betide.   

But (doubtless) they are men of gallant parts, 
Posse & Nolle Nobile.   
And scorn to take revenge for every toy:  
It fits not valorous and noble hearts  
To pick a quarrel with each scurvy boy:  
They live contented still what ere befall,  
And for their crosses neither fight nor brawl,  
What Fortune sends, they willingly receive,  
As you by this example may perceive.   

An honest good plain-dealing man of life,  
Which got his living daily by his labour,  
Finding a knave in sporting with his wife,  
And playing frolickly upon his Tabor,  
Did not, 
A wise and honest Cuckold.  as some would use to swear & swagger,  
And at the first sight stab him with his dagger;  
But in good words he wished they would amend,  
And let him go, because he was his friend.   

Here is a glass for all men to behold  
How great the patience of a Cuckold is,  
Worthy in leaves of brass to be enrolled,  
That afterages might remember this.  
Never was person of so mild a heart,  
That if he found his wife at such a part,  
Would with such quiet brook so great a scorn,  
Except he had an interest in the horn.   

I know some hot-spurd-youths, 
Note this my young gallants.  which are not wed,  
Will swear this Cuckold was a very lout:  
For if that they had found the knave a bed,  
Zound's, by the ears they would have pulled him out.  
They would have beat the villain like a stock,  
That never after he should love the smock:  
And in such manner they would use the Boor,  
Scarce he should go alive out of their door.   

Thus will my youthful striplings, 
Omnes facilè cum valemus, Recta consilia aegrotis demus.  in their vain,  
Brag of their valour, ere they go to field.  
But vaunting Soldiers oftentimes are slain,  
Or in the battle forced for to yield.  
An empty vessel gives a mighty sound,  
When least or nothing can therein be found.  
Many can tell the way to tame a shrew,  
But they which have the woman do not know.   

Oft have I heard a gallant say as much,  
And stamp, & swear, that he would slay him quick:  
Yet hath his fortune afterwards been such,  
Though he have come even in the very nick,  
And taken one in boarding with his wife,  
He durst not draw his dagger for his life,  
But was content to feign himself asleep,  
Mean while his head was armed like a sheep.   

What are they better if they take the knave,  
And beat him sound, or bereave his life?  
Can they avoid the title they must have?  
Or purchase any credit to their wife?  
'Tis but a means to breed their further scorn,  
Because so grievously they take the horn.  
Better it is to see, and not espy it,  
Then by their folly more for to descry it.   

But if the Cuckold-maker be so bold,  
To turn again, and bravely play the man,  
And knock the Cuckold while his cudgel hold,  
In what a taking is the Cuckold than?  
Surely by this needs must he gain profoundly,  
That both is Cuckolded and beaten sound,  
Much wiser might he seem to hold his peace,  
Then with shrewd knocks his sorrows to increase.   

If my advice may serve in any stead,  
Rather I give thee counsel not to see,  
When thou beholdest a knave within thy bed,  
Then for to make a brawl, or mutiny:  
For he that takes the horn in such a grudge,  
A very simple fellow men him judge.  
When he that is not half so foole-precise,  
Is oft esteemed to be very wise.   

And well may he be taken for a Clown,  
Which, when he cannot remedy the thing,  
Doth in his fury trouble all the Town,  
And makes the Country of his folly ring.  
But though the vulgar sort a Cuckold deem him, 
He is a Cuckold, not worthy to be a Cuckold.   
Yet worthy of that name I not esteem him.  
For to the horn this virtue doth belong,  
That patient heads must undergo each wrong.   

And now upon a sudden to my sight  
Presents himself a greater fool than this;  
Which is not only pleased to bring to light,  
And make a wonder of his wives amiss.  
But for to prove himself a very Daw,  
Needs must he be divorced by the Law. 
A Cuckold with a witness, and a Cuckold by authority.   
The first; By witness is a Cuckold cleped,  
This; By authority the horns hath reaped.   

Grave-headed fathers of the horned crew,  
And all ye patient friends of Cuckoldshire,  
Let me entreat a little boon of you:  
('tis for your good and credit I require)  
Banish these peasants, these two lowering janglers,  
Expel them from your company for wranglers:  
Raze out their names and titles from your book,  
Which their good fortune with such fury brook.   

Never let them be ranged in your band,  
Which grieve to have their headpiece made of horn,  
It cannot with your reputation stand,  
Your colours by faint cowards should be borne.  
Pluck off their horns, & on their coxcombs place  
A pair of Ass' ears to their disgrace.  
Well doth their folly this old saying fit,  
A malcontented Cuckold hath no wit.   

For let me but expostulate this case;  
Although to you I know it is but vain,  
Which are of wisdom, and with time and place  
Can order all your actions to your gain.  
What better is the woodcock, made a wonder,  
When with a knave he sees his wife lie under?  
Or what amendment doth he reap from hence,  
To put her quite away for this offence?   

I must confess (perforce) this is the way  
To let the world have notice of his name:  
Yet him I hold a fool which doth display  
Those things which may redound unto his shame.  
And greater is his madness I suppose,  
Which when he hath good fortune, scarcely knows  
But most his folly, if I dare so say,  
Which bolts the door when Steed is stolen away.   

Better it is in quiet take the cup,  
(Since what is woven cannot be un-spun)  
And patiently to drink thy sorrows up,  
Than call in question what thy wife hath done.  
If of the horns perchance thou art ashamed,  
Ten times as much by this thou art defamed:  
And where to few before the fault was known,  
Now all about the country it is blown.   

Thou mayst remove th'occasion of this matter,  
And by a lawful course divorce thy wife:  
Yet with the vulgar sort, which cannot flatter,  
Thou shalt be thought a Cuckold all thy life.  
And though with equity you be untied,  
The most will censure hardly on thy side:  
For whether part soever be in fault,  
Still is the husband deemed for to halt.   

But to conclude, when all is come about,  
And that from thee thy wife is quite divorced,  
What hast thou earned but a mock or flout?  
For still to wear the horns thou must be forced.  
Yet here proceeds great cause to make thee sorry,  
The name of Cuckold gives to thee no glory:  
And though the title make another blest,  
Shame and disgrace it paints upon thy crest.   

The purest Wheat, cast in a cankered ground,  
Dies ere it sprout, and never veelds increase:  
Good wholesome meat, when body is unsound,  
Doth cloy the stomach, and the man disease:  
So, if the Horns be grafted in his head,  
Which is with fury and impatience led,  
Nothing but scoffs and mocks they do importune,  
Though otherwise the Scutcheons of good fortune.   

This is the scope and meaning of the place,  
That ancient Poets of Actaeon feign,  
Which took the horns with grief and such disgrace,  
That of his dogged passions he was slain.  
For this the story plainly shows in part,  
His dogs did tear him in the shape of Hart:  
And this to all mad Cuckolds be the end, 
All wives which have doting husbands say Amen.   
Which grudge at that they never can amend.   

Here can I not with silence over pass,  
Without great prejudice unto the Horn,  
To tell how patient once a Painter was,  
(As kind a Cuckold as was ever borne)  
And since it is a matter of some worth,  
Meet to be drawn in golden colours forth,  
After my simple skill it shall be painted,  
Though with the Pencil I am not acquainted.   

This cunning Painter was but newly wed,  
Living in pleasure with his wanton wife;  
When Fortune aiming for to horn his head,  
(As Fortune still disturbs the quiet life)  
Gave him occasions by an envious chance,  
That he by sea must travail into France,  
The night before his journey he did take,  
Thus to his wife in bed the Painter spoke.   

Sweet wife (quoth he) thou knowst I love thee dearly,  
And much I grieve to leave thee thus alone,  
I sear my absence it will touch thee nearly,  
And my departure cause thee sigh and moan:  
But be content (my dear) I will not stay  
Above a month at most from thee away,  
'Tis but a little while (my pretty Sweet)  
Shortly I hope again we two shall meet.   

Yet in remembrance, till I come again,  
And that in heart with thee at home I am,  
Let me entreat thee (if it be no pain)  
That on thy belly I may paint a Lamb:  
Not that thy truth or honesty I fear,  
For thou art too too honest I dare swear;  
But that it be a sign before thy eyes,  
Both when thou go'st to bed, and dost arise.   

And that when still thou look'st upon this gear,  
And on the little Lamb dost cast a glance,  
Thou mayst remember who did paint him there,  
And send a sigh unto the coast of France,  
And think thy husband will no longer stay,  
Then his affairs be past, if winds obey;  
And with these words he kissed her, and so stayed,  
When she again this ready answer made.   

Husband (quoth she) and then the woman wept,  
And sighed and sobbed, as though she had been sickly:  
Dear husband, your great kindness I accept,  
And sore lament, we thus must part so quickly.  
Yet never think that I should you forget,  
Though your affairs a twelvemonth should you jet:  
But if to paint a Lamb will breed your ease,  
Paint on my belly even while you please.   

The good plain-dealing man was glad of this,  
He took his Pencil, and to work he went,  
And on her belly did he paint (iwis)  
A pretty little Lamb incontinent.  
But since the wind for no man's cause doth stay,  
He is embarked for France, and gone away:  
Pity it were to tell the grief and moon  
His wife made for him, being left alone.   

Behold how cross sometimes our fortune plays,  
The Painter his affairs did hap so ill,  
That now are almost passed thrice thirty days,  
And yet he is constrained to tarry still:  
So that before his business was ended,  
Three quarters of a year were quite expended:  
And since in France so long the Painter tarries,  
Mark how his wife herself in England carries.   

A month she took his absence passing sad;  
But when he came not at th' appointed day,  
She entertains another lusty lad,  
For to maintain the sport, and hold her play:  
Which in all points did please her lust so right,  
That he was welcome to her every night;  
Nor much she cared, but in outward show,  
Whether the Painter came again or no.   

The lusty youth, which was with her acquainted,  
And kept possession of her husband's place,  
By chance espied upon her belly painted  
The little Lamb, whereat he laughed apace:  
But sure he thought it wanted some perfection,  
Because of horns there was a plain defection;  
And therefore when the woman was asleep,  
He painted two great horns upon the sheep.   

Now is the Painter's business quite past,  
And he from France by sea is safely come;  
His wife about his neck her arms d●th cast,  
And kiss him oft, and bid him welcome home:  
Ah my sweet husband (than she kindly wept)  
What sad misfortune hath so long thee kept? 
A good kind wife.   
Again she kissed him, and again she cried,  
If longer you had stayed, I should have died.   

Her loving husband taking all for truth,  
(Seeing his wife to weep for very joy)  
Kissed her most kindly, like a wanton youth,  
And seemed as blithe and lusty as a boy:  
He took her straight, and set her on his knee;  
Ah my sweet wife, how does my Love? (quoth he)  
How fares my Turtle? I have done thee wrong,  
In staying from thy company so long.   

But such (sweetheart) was my disaster chance,  
And such occasions did my coming let,  
That I no sooner could return from France,  
(No harm, thought she, if you had tarried yet)  
But since (quoth he) at last I am come back,  
Drink welcome to me in a pint of Sack:  
She drank to him, he pledged her; to be short,  
They supped, and went to bed in honest sort.   

And now the Painter began for to remember,  
That on the night, before he went from home,  
A little Lamb he painted on the limber  
Vpbearing outside of her tender womb:  
Therefore, that he assuredly might know  
Whether his wife had faithful been or no,  
To view the Lamb he'gan her kindly pray,  
Which he did paint before he went away.   

Husband (quoth she) that you may plainly see  
I have preserved my faith as undefiled,  
Behold the Lamb, and after judge of me,  
If in your absence I have you beguiled.  
Therewith she show'd her belly, whereon fair  
The painted Lamb appeared with horns a pair:  
Whereat he started as he were afraid,  
Yet his own picture was there truly made.   

The woman marveled for to behold  
The Lamb described with such a goodly head:  
The man was angry, yet his peace did hold,  
And stood amazed, as though he had been dead:  
But she (as women are by nature sly,  
Apt to excuse their folly with a lie)  
After that she some little pause had made,  
Demurely to her husband thus she said.   

Well may you wonder how this comes to pass, 
Et quanquàm videas oculis praesentibus, audet excusare ●●esas.   
And think (sweet husband) I have been unkind,  
Yet if you ponder how it changed was,  
And how the Lamb transformed thus we find,  
I do not doubt but you will judge me true  
In deed, in word, in thought, in all to you,  
For by the Sun that shines before my face,  
I know not when the horns came in this place.   

And yet the night before you did depart,  
And left me like a widow here at home,  
A little Lamb, according to your art,  
You painted (you remember) on my womb:  
If at that present time it was a Lamb,  
Although no greater but to suck his dam, 
Note her argument.   
Yet since a twelve month you have tarried hence,  
Now it must be a sheep by consequence.   

When as her husband heard this sine excuse,  
So witty, pleasant, and so ready told,  
Though he was much aggrieved at th'abuse,  
And well perceived the sheep was of his fold,  
(Knowing the horns which fell unto his share  
Were marriage-fortune and good neighbours fare)  
He took with patience what did him molest,  
And smiling kindly, put it up in jest.   

Lo here (kind Cuckolds) present to your view  
A worthy mirror of true patience,  
A rare example, meet for all the crew,  
With whom the horns shall have pre-eminence.  
This is the way to win your reputation,  
And make your wives to leave their fornication:  
These are the means a woman's feet to stay,  
Which is disposed to range, or go astray.   

Bootless it is to break a woman's will,  
Or seek to curb her pleasures by thy rage;  
For if she once be given unto ill,  
Brawls, strife, nor anger can her lust ass●age.  
If Rivers have their course, they gently fall,  
Stop but their passage, than they throw down all:  
So if a woman be restrained by force, 
Iram atque animos a crimine sumunt.   
She grows more headstrong, and by nature worse.   

Take for example what one Cuckold did;  
Which when he heard his wife was prone to sin,  
Shut not the doors unkindly, but straight bid  
More should be made to let her lovers in,  
That every person, when the doors were many,  
Might come and go away, unseen of any:  
But when his wise did see his disposition,  
She left her wanton life and lewd condition.   

Many, before they marry, seem to boast  
How they will dominire when they are wed,  
For they will tie their wives unto a post,  
Before she graft the horn upon their head:  
And they with watch and ward will so prevent her,  
That no corrival shall have time to enter,  
And maugre fortune, and in sp;ght of chance,  
After the Hornpipe they will never dance.   

But let them know, no policies prevail,  
No art, no craft, no force, their fate to shun;  
Strong brazen walls; Argus his eyes do fail  
To keep a woman, when she list misdone:  
And if she once do by his looks espy  
No faith her husband doth in her rely,  
Or else is jealous, and doth her mistrust,  
Much more she is incensed unto lust.   

In vain thou standest within a woman's way,  
When she is once past honesty and grace:  
For though thou watch and ward her night and day,  
And have her present still before thy face,  
By some device or other which may fall,  
Occasion she will find to pay for all:  
And (or fit place she to her pleasures lack)  
She will not stick to horn thee at thy back.   

Prevent an evil (doth the Proverb say)  
But when an evil comes by destiny,  
And cannot be avoided any way,  
What profit falls by perverse jealousy?  
Nothing but this; that standing still on thorns,  
Suspicion bids thee to beware the horns:  
And (sure) a horned head less grief doth find,  
Then doth a jealous and a horned mind.   

I cannot well commend that simple Swain,  
Which for his hatred to the Cuckoos song,  
(Because the Cuckoo in a merry vain  
Sometimes did sing his Apple trees among)  
Cut down the trees, that she might sit no more  
So near his house, as she had done before.  
But whether near or far the Cuckoo fly,  
No Cuckold can avoid his destiny.   

I marvel much, and cannot know the reason,  
Why every foolish Peasant and rude knave,  
When as they hear the Cuckoo in the season,  
Which in these quarters doth her presence crave,  
Send out her notes so pleasant and so shrill,  
That all true Cuckolds they with gladness fill,  
Why they should mock, deride, abuse, & flout her,  
And to the death with stones & cudgels clout her.   

In my conceit, of all the fowls that fly,  
Most pleasant are her notes, surpassing all,  
Chanting so sweet the fame of Cuckoldry,  
That unto men they seem Angelical,  
And so replete with sugared melody,  
As drives kind Cuckolds to an ecstasy:  
Ah, sweetly, sweetly, doth the Cuckoo sing  
The Cuckold's praises in the pleasant Spring.   

Familiar is her song, smooth, easy, plain,  
Not harsh, nor hardly wrested from her throat:  
No bird there is known sooner by her strain,  
In such regard is grown the Cuckoos note:  
Yet is her voice so pleasant to the ear,  
It glads the meanest creature it doth hear;  
For never I beheld so sour a face,  
But for to hear her song did laugh apace.   

Fond wantonizing Ovid give us place,  
Comparisons in all things are not meet;  
'Tis not your Nightingale that can disgrace  
The Cuckoos tunes, so musical, so sweet.  
Her warbling notes scarce equal half the skill  
That is compact within a Cuckoos bill.  
Pack hence (poor Woodcock) teach your bird to sing,  
The lovely Cuckoo is of Birds the King.   

Greatly I marvel thou wouldst be so blind,  
Being a man of wisdom, to prefer  
That piping bird, 
A faeminins genere.  sprung from a puling kind,  
Before the Cuckolds merry Trumpeter;  
Since she complains of murder, rape, and wrong.  
The Cuckold's glory is the Cuckoos song:  
And when she chantes it in her pleasant mood, 
Nulla potest Cuculo aequinalere meo.   
She makes the sweetest noise in all the Wood   

And yet (in truth) I cannot much thee blame,  
If ignorance did lead thee thus awry:  
Thou wouldst have writ divinely in her fame,  
If thou hadst known a Cuckold's dignity:  
And highly hadst thou graced thy wanton vain  
In praising her, that sings thy praise again.  
This, this had been a subject for thy pen,  
To all thrice welcome that are married men.   

But since I think thou bore no good affection  
To honest Cuckolds, nor the Cuckoos song.  
Thy books of Love do make a plain detection▪  
Thy mind was much inclined unto wrong,  
And thou a lewd professed Cuckold-maker,  
And therefore wouldst not be with her partaker.  
For still Experience evidently shows,  
That Cuckold-makers are the Cuckoos foes.   

Famous Sir Geffrie Chaucer, you were wise,  
And worthily esteemed an English Poet,  
And like a Scholar you could poetize:  
Yet once you played the fool▪ I let you know it.  
For in that great assembly which you make,  
Wherein together birds did counsel take,  
You greatly wronged this birds magnificence  
In giving her so small pre-eminence   

Reason it was, she should before the rest  
Have taken place, and order, in her station;  
Both for her voice, which is in great request,  
And also for the Cuckold's reputation.  
But you no Cuckold were it may be deemed,  
Or Cuckolds than were not so much esteemed:  
Or (sure) Sir Geffrie, you were beetle-blind  
In terming basely such a bird unkind.   

But as for Skelton with his Laurel Crown,  
Whose ruffling times are empty quite of marrow:  
Or fond Catullus, which set grossly down  
The commendation of a silly Sparrow:  
Because their lines are void of estimation,  
I pass them over without confutation.  
Much would the Cuckoo think herself impaired,  
If she with Philip Sparrow were compared.   

Let chirping Philip learn to catch a fly.  
And pick up crumbs from off his Mistress finger:  
And let the Nightingales sweet harmony  
Win her the name and title of a singer:  
These are not all the praises we can bring  
To praise the Cuckoo which attends the spring.  
For well I may allege in her defence  
She is a bird of wondrous patience.   

Too much it were to reckon all the wrong,  
And every injury doth her betide:  
No sooner she begins her lovely song,  
Which Knaves and Minions cannot well abide,  
But one or other Woodcock that doth hear her,  
With threats and cursings is at hand to teat her,  
That sure I think she could not live a day,  
If she did want the wit to fly away.   

One fool derides and mocks her to her face,  
(As if her words did not concern his honour)  
Another, being angry, chafes apace,  
And with a murrain bids a shame light on her:  
Then comes a third will neither curse nor mock her,  
But seeks with stones and cudgels for to knock her.  
Thus lives the Cuckoo, which offendeth no man,  
Scorned, persecuted, both of man and woman.   

Mean while the harmless creature (pretty Fowl)  
Flies up and down content from tree to tree;  
Gently with patience she abides control,  
For never was she angry I could see:  
But still with meekness and great modesty  
Well she digests their incivility;  
And not a word she gives them undiscreetly,  
But only Cuckoo, which she sings most sweetly.   

As in her language if you mark her well,  
Thus to the busy fools the bird did speak:  
Cuckolds (quoth she) whose conscience is your hell,  
And think on me your malice for to wreak;  
You that do take the Horn in such disgrace,  
Grieving to have it grafted on your face,  
Content yourselves, your fortunes are not dainty,  
The Cuckoo saith, That Cuckolds there are plenty.   

Then frolic, Sirs, this fragrant time of year,  
Pale jealousy was never void of woe,  
Sorrow is more increased by needless fear,  
Heart fretting care to health was ever foe:  
Your States, the Cuckoo tells you, are no worse  
Than many thousands, which nor brawl nor curse:  
Many do bear great books, know scarce a letter,  
Many are learned which are near the better.   

Many are Cuckolds, 
Three degrees of Cuckolds. One & none. One and one. None, and one.  which suppose they are not,  
Some are No Cuckolds, which think they are none:  
Wise be the Cuckolds which both be and care not;  
Fond is the man which is not, will be one:  
But one or not one, still I am your friend,  
You either are, or may be in the end.  
I sing your praises to expel your sorrow,  
And thus the Cuckoo bids you all Good morrow.   

Ah sweet and pleasant bird, how I admire  
The unregarded virtue of thy kind!  
How near thy meet behaviour doth aspire  
Unto the patience of the Cuckold's mind!  
Certes it is a glorious thing to see  
The Cuckoo thus with Cuckolds to agree,  
And well deserves some worthy Poet's pen,  
That birds can learn the qualities of men.   

Anger the Raven, he will fly about,  
As though his meaning were to seize upon thee;  
The Goose will gaggle, and the Cock cry out,  
And every other bird call shame upon thee:  
Annoyed the Lark, and he will hang the wing,  
Trouble the Nightingale, she leaves to sing;  
Only the Cuckoo, 
Inter aves etenim nulla tibi similis.  which surmounts them all,  
She still chants Cuckoo, whatsoe'er befall.   

No hurt she means to any living thing,  
And therefore deems no creature will her harm:  
For when her little eggs she forth doth bring,  
Within another's nest she lays them warm,  
Supposing that kind bird will love them dear,  
As Cuckolds do, which no deceit do fear,  
Suffering their wives to keep good company,  
Thinking that men will use them honestly.   

Neither do I esteem her as a Sinner,  
(Although Pythagoras reprove the fault,  
Which never eat an egg unto his dinner,  
But only fed upon a root and salt)  
Because she flies into another's nest,  
And sucks the eggs which there she liketh best,  
Nor doth she more deserve and merit blame,  
Than honest men, which daily eat the same.   

Rather I deem her worthy commendation,  
(If to the Cuckoo her desert we give)  
Since she devours and sucks their procreation,  
That eat the corn whereby mankind should live.  
Herein she shows herself a friend to man,  
Seeking his good by all the means she can,  
Both in applauding them which wear the horn,  
And sucking up their brood which eat the corn.   

Kind gentlewomen, ye which take delight,  
A prattling Parrot in your Cage to have,  
Because she prates good morrow and good night,  
Or bids a saucy fellow Walk a knave.  
And ye which keep a Puppy or a Daw,  
To make you laugh by playing with a straw,  
Let not these toys be thought a woman's treasure,  
But keep the lovely Cuckoo for your pleasure.   

Your jack daw cannot with her silver bell.  
Match this sweet bird, the mistress of the Spring;  
And trust me truly, she doth far excel  
Your Puppy and your Parrot in each thing.  
The Parrot prates as she is taught by rote,  
This bird by nature hath a merry note,  
And all her songs, in am of favours shown,  
Shall tell your husband's glory, or your own.   

Thrice famous David Lindsey of the North,  
Thou hadst great conference with a popinjay,  
Which erst did tell thee many things of worth,  
As they in print are extant at this day:  
Yet greater matters might thy pen have painted,  
If with the Cuckoo thou hadst been acquainted:  
For deeper mysteries doth she bewray,  
Than ever was revealed by Popingay.   

No bird, nor any creature hath the grace,  
(Though they in other qualities excel)  
Which can so truly to a man's own face  
In good plain terms his proper title tell.  
No sooner she a married man espies,  
But in her language Cuckoo strait she cries:  
Which her a Prophet makes me to suppose,  
Since secret faults so openly she shows.   

If she far off a company descry,  
Or by the noise their coming understand,  
Cuckoo she doubles most melodiously,  
As if she said, More Cuckolds are at hand:  
And (though she never see them) she can tell  
Both what the persons are, and where they dwell;  
Cuckolds they are, if you their names require,  
And where they dwell? forsooth in Cuckoldshire.   

This is the cause, I think, that jealousy  
Repines to hear the Cuckoo sing so fair:  
For he, consumed with foolish frenzy,  
With raging madness, grief, and fretting care,  
Kicks like a scabbed jade, when he doth hear  
That name repeated which he needs must bear,  
And with impatience brooks her gracious call,  
Which tells him truly what will after fall.   

Another sort there are, which cannot well  
Abide to hear the Cuckoo for their lives,  
But do detest her as a Fiend of Hell:  
And these are women, Minions, unchaste wives,  
Which are ashamed for to have displayed,  
How their kind husbands they have Cuckolds made:  
Or they are Bastards, which scarce love to hear  
Their mother's faults, and who their fathers were.   

But for the yeomen of the horned Crowd,  
methinks their joy and comfort is not small,  
To hear the Cuckoo carol out so loud.  
The wondrous glory doth their states befall,  
And so harmoniously their praises sing,  
That Woods and Forests with their echoes ring:  
Doubtless a Cuckold is a gallant name,  
When birds chant Hymns in honour of the same.   

And such in ancient times hath been the praise,  
And estimation of this worthy State,  
(Though much it be disgraced in these days,  
And sore abused of each scoffing Mate)  
That Kings and Emperors have thought no scorn  
For arms to bear the beasts which wear the horn,  
And crowns & sceptres, thrones & great dominions,  
Are not more rich than horns in sums opinions.   

Let famous Greece be witness of this thing,  
Where horned heads were wont to bear such sway,  
That seldom any came to be their King,  
But still he proved a Cuckold, as some say.  
This Menelaus well could verify,  
Whose horns procured Troy's endless misery:  

* The horns were not the cause.  Yet not from them arose that mortal strife,  
But that he could not have again his wife.   

He could have been content with all his heart  
To have been Cuckold, and have blest his fortune,  
If they his wise had suffered to depart,  
Whom he to have again did much importune:  
But when he saw fair means could not obtain her,  
It was concluded, he by force should gain her;  
To make it known, that she was his by right,  
And show himself a Cuckold of great might.   

And not alone was he a Cuckold deemed;  
But Agamemnon, which was eke his brother,  
And in the wars as chief commander seemed,  
Had happy fortune to be made another.  
Nor could Ulysses quite himself exile  
From out this company by any wile: 
Samius saith, that all her Wooers lay with her, and thereupon Pall was begotten.   
For though Penelope was loath to marry,  
So long without a friend she could not tarry.   

Survey the Histories of elder days;  
Peruse the chronicles of every Nation;  
And thou shalt find that men of greatest praise,  
Wealth, riches, honour, fame, and estimation,  
Most valiant, hardy, learned, grave, and wise,  
Grieved not to be addressed in Cuckold's guise.  
And thus hath Fortune often thought it best  
To make kindhearted Cuckolds perfect blest.   

None ever lived and have had better chance,  
Or been enhanced unto higher state:  
None of more valour, might or chevisance,  
Or in the wars have been more fortunate,  
Or greater glory and renown have won,  
Then hath the Cuckold, and the Cuckold's son;  
As from these two great Monarches we may gather  
Great Alexander, and his worthy Father.   

I will not here insist my lines to cumber,  
Let it suffice, that I have named two.  
He which assays by name to take the number  
Of ancient Cuckolds, shall have much to do.  
If he can tell the sands upon the shore,  
Then he may count the Cuckolds all of yore.  
This is enough to free the name from scorn:  
Kings have not been ashamed to wear a horn.   

But what should I dilate of earthly Kings,  
Of worldly Monarches, and of mortal men?  
Since Ioues own wife, (as Ovid sweetly sings,  
And other pleasant Poets erst did pen.)  
juno the glorious Empress of the skies,  
Queen of the air, where winds do tiranise,  
Was through her husband's usual ribaldry  
Made Lady regent unto Cuckoldry.   

Nor had she only such propitious luck,  
(Though she in Heaven chief Cuck-quean was reputed)  
Vulcan her son was headed like a Buck,  
And by the lusty God of War cornuted.  
And jove himself, (though some the truth do shroud,  
Feigning Ixion did embrace a cloud)  
Was in this common lot a great partaker,  
And both a Cuckold, and a Cuckold-maker.   

If then no other matter did commend  
Or paint the glory of a Cuckold forth;  
This were enough (me thinks) that I have penned,  
To grace his title and approve his worth.  
That jove, his wife and sister, and their son,  
Were subject to that chance which none can shun.  
And yet a Cuckold's dignity is such,  
That in his praise I cannot speak too much.   

Greatly I muse, and no occasion find,  
Why men should mock a Cuckold with the horn;  
And scoffing Peasants (as they come behind)  
Should with two fingers point at him in scorn;  
Since he hath oftentimes as good a face,  
As he that seeks his blemish and disgrace.  
And in his forehead (though you mark him near)  
Seldom or never do the horns appear.   

If one but stumbles as he goes along,  
Or chance to strike his foot against a stone:  
'tis with the vulgar sort a common song;  
Some Cuckold there was buried long agone,  
Whose horns upstarting strongly in this place  
Well near had cast the fellow on his face.  
Surely I wonder where these horns should be,  
Which each one talks of, yet could never see.   

But let us grant, what addle heads suppose;  
That horns are grafted on a Cuckold's brow:  
Small hurt thereby unto a Cuckold grows,  
Nor is he therefore like an Ox or Cow,  
Or to be thought a monster unto nature,  
Or a misshapen and deformed creature;  
But in all points a comely handsome man,  
And not unlike unto the great God, Pan.   

Pan was a mighty Sylvan God of yore,  
And (by translation) Pan doth all contain:  
Yet on his head a pair of horns he wore;  
Which shows that horns to all alike remain.  
Why then should horns a Cuckold so disgrace,  
Since that a God hath borne them on his face?  
Certes I bless his fortune with my heart,  
Which is alike the Gods in any part.   

The silver Moon, fair Cynthia of the night,  
The great'st and swiftest Planet in the sky,  
Which did in marriage never take delight,  
But as a maid kept her virginity,  
(And therefore cannot well be Cuckold deemed)  
Of such great value hath the horns esteemed,  
That still she wears them, not accounted strange,  
Three or four days before and after change.   

In great account our Elders heretofore  
Did hold the horn, when as they went to fight,  
The sound whereof their strength increased more,  
And with fresh courage did supply their might.  
And when in hunting they pursued their game,  
They took great pleasure for to use the same:  
It cheers the dogs, it makes them come and go,  
'Tis much in hunting, well a Horn to blow.   

And such a necessary Instrument  
It is for hunting either Hare or Conie,  
That not a Huntsman wants this implement,  
Nor would be void of it for any money.  
And so much credit now attends it daily,  
That every common Crier, Petty Baily,  
Swineherds and brave Sow-golders in a pride  
Do bear a horn low dangling by their side.   

Matters of chief importance are in haste,  
And for more speed dispatched by the horn:  
Great light a Lantern, made of horn, doth cast,  
Which with a candle in dark night is borne.  
When little children first are brought to school,  
A Horn bo●ke is a necessary tool:  
Nor can a Shoemaker well lack this gin,  
A shooing-horn exceeds the Squirrels skin.   

What should I tell the virtues of the horn;  
Which are incredible to muddy brains?  
Gross ignorance will laugh the truth to scorn,  
Because beyond his compass it contains:  
But let him know, some horns have such refection,  
They can expel each poison and infection,  
And that the shavings of a Horners stall,  
Good to preserve are Artichokes withal.   

But of all Horns that ever I have heard,  
None is more famous than the Horn of Plenty,  
Which had so great abundance still prepared,  
Take while men would, yet it was never empty:  
Which (not unfitly) we may well compare  
Unto the horns befall a Cuckold's share:  
For these are chests, that hold great store of treasure,  
Though these men live at ease, & spend at pleasure.   

Such profit and commodities arise,  
And so great gain redoundeth from the horn,  
Unto the Cuckold, which will blind his eyes,  
And can with patience well endure the scorn,  
That many have a better living made,  
Than by the traffic of their honest Trade:  
And some have found such gettings by these means,  
That they have forced their wives to play the queans.   

Many that seem substantial men in Town,  
Reap through the horn an hundred pound by year,  
And many which are scarcely worth a crown,  
Thus keep themselves with pride and lordly cheer:  
And many which in prison have been laid,  
In taking of the horn their debts have paid,  
That sure I think, though other horns be dainty,  
A Cuckold's horn it is the Horn of Plenty.   

And yet not only doth the horn befriend,  
And yield the Cuckold that which is his due,  
But wondrous profit often doth it send  
Unto his wife, although she be untrue.  
By this she earns great store of golden crowns,  
To buy her velvet kirtles, silken gowns;  
This makes her brave; this makes her fine & nice;  
A Cuckold's horn, it is a horn of price.   

Nay more than this: which some will think a wonder;  
The Cuckold's horn maintains the Cuckold maker.  
For need the law will never be kept under.  
The Vine must fall, if that the Elm forsake her:  
Some women in another field suppose, 
Fertilior seges est alienis semper in aruis.   
That deeper grass and better pasture grows.  
Wantoness are wilful; and before they lack  
Their pleasures, they will make their purse-strings crack.   

Scarce will you think a swaggering Cavalier,  
Which hath his garters bravely fringed with gold,  
Swims in his silks, and surfeits with good cheer,  
And lives as pleasantly as can be told,  
Only by Cuckold-making thus should live,  
And get no more but what kind wenches give;  
Yet many gallants I have heard report  
Are now maintained after such a sort.   

What should I further amplify this matter?  
Since every honest man, which wears the horn,  
Can tell for truth I neither mock nor flatter,  
Though fools may deem I write these things in scorn.  
But what they say I have in no regard;  
Nor do I pass the censure of a knave,  
Unto the touch stone of a Cuckold's wit  
The truth for trial ever I commit.   

For (certs) I know they are a generation  
Of wise discreet sage honest, sober men;  
Their name it is a name of estimation,  
Deserving worthily a golden pen.  
But for the horn, which fortune them hath sent  
(Since it would prove so fine an ornament)  
Well could I wish, that to their greater grace,  
Each Cuckold had two horns upon his face;   

And yet (grave Patrons) let me here entreat  
You would not seem my meaning to mistake.  
For I protest, my love to you is great,  
Devoted to you all for one man's sake;  
And therefore think not that I use this speech  
Your names, estate, or credit to impeach,  
Or by this wish desire your heads to harm:  
For horns will keep your heads in winter warm   

But thus the world might know what men you are;  
Which be the sons of Fortune and of Fame;  
And thus the better sort might have a care  
To give your state what doth belong the same;  
Thus might the name, to which you have aspired,  
Be both applauded, honoured, and admired:  
And men would wonder at the strange event,  
To see kind Cuckolds wear this Implement.   

Thus every gentle heart and patient mind,  
Which have the horns and willingly do wear them,  
Might be perceived from the kestrel kind  
Of froward jealous fools which grudge to bear them;  
Thus honest Cuckolds might sequestered be  
From scoffing Peasants of a base degree;  
Thus might your glory be the more increased,  
And you well hooded, and your wives well pleased.   

For (sooth to say needs must it please your wives.  
To see fair horns upon your forehead grow,  
Sure that the whole demeanour of their lives,  
That they desire the same, doth clearly show  
And if they did not wish you such a head,  
They would not so defile their marriage bed.  
But usual practice makes plain declaration,  
They both desire and seek this transformation.   

If then such profit hereby might arise,  
Both to your glory and your wives content:  
Seem not so great a blessing to despise,  
Nor scorn the wishes of my good intent.  
For 'tis not such a blemish and disgrace  
To have fair horns to grow upon your face,  
Neither a wonder to behold this change,  
Though gazing fools at first might think it strange.   

For many famous men of older days,  
(As writers do record, and stories mention)  
To their great honour and eternal praise,  
Without reproach, scoffs, mocks, or reprehension,  
Have had the forepart of their comely head  
With two fair horns full seemly furnished.  
This may you well perceive by horned Pan,  
Which was a mighty God in shape of man.   

I will not here upon examples stand,  
To cloy your minds with wonders, tales, and lies:  
Only for proof of what I took in hand  
These few (to pass the rest) shall now suffice  
Cippus, the valiant Roman, who took scorn  
To be a King, (though chosen by the horn)  
Did by his horns become so much renowned,  
That they on posts were painted, and he crowned.   

When lusty jove was once a wanton lover,  
And wooed Europa, King Agenor's daughter,  
That he in secret might his love discover,  
(Although he knew some fools would make a laughter  
To see the same) yet on his head he bore  
Of fair bright shining horns a comely pair: 
Cornua parva quidem.   
And therefore Ovid's book (of leasings full)  
Doth fain that 
Puraque magis perlucida gemma.  jove was turned to a Bull.   

On strange and foreign proofs what should I stay?  
Or tell of antic matters long agone?  
The time would fail me, if I should assay,  
To number all the persons one by one,  
Which to their glory and their hearts content  
Have on their foreheads worn this implement:  
Our present time for truth can testify,  
It is no Monster, wonder, nor a lie.   

For in the North is situate a Town,  
Bounding upon the River, named air,  
Which for the Trade of Clothing is well known,  
And for strong napple Ale hath great repair,  
Whereas an honest man did lately dwell,  
(A patient Cuckold, as Report doth tell)  
Which had a horn fast growing by his eye,  
To show that horns belong to Cuckoldry.   

Lo here (cornuted Signors) here you see  
It is no wonder for to wear a horn,  
No shame or blemish unto your degree,  
No stain, disgrace, reproach, contempt, or scorn;  
But famous, full of glory and renown,  
As ancient Writers have set truly down.  
'Tis but conceit, that horns will look so grimly,  
Do but believe, and they will fit you trimly.   

And, in my judgement, if you had them growing,  
That each one might discern them with his eye,  
Fools would not use their mocks and apish mowing,  
Nor knaves so much deride your gravity.  
For they perceiving how the horns would grace  
The superficies of your honest face,  
Point with their fingers, as if that their taunting  
Did show, that something from your heads were wanting.   

Whereas if horns were present to their sight,  
What should they with their fingers need to show it?  
Since by this means a purblind fellow might  
Perceive your worth, and by the horns might know it.  
And then would scoffing Peasants cease to prate,  
Because that others plainly see your state;  
Then saucy fellows, which their neighbours flout,  
Would cease to mock, their own horns peeping out.   

Thus should your name be had in wondrous fear,  
And not a man, from greatest to the least,  
Should dare to mock a Cuckold for his ear,  
Nor once against the horns to break a jest:  
Nor seem another's fortune to deride,  
For fear the same good luck might him betide:  
And thus I hope your heads have understood  
What fruit would blossom, if your horns did bud.   

But let us put the case; as some suppose,  
That sleering fools for this might more deride you:  
Nought by their misdemeanour do you lose,  
Neither (iwis) doth greater shame betide you.  
Hereby your merit is the more augmented,  
If you with patience hold yourselves contented;  
Then scorn that childish scoffs should make you sorry,  
The more you suffer, more will be your glory.   

Never cast down your heads, nor be ashamed,  
Though graceless wits unkindly you entreat;  
Your blessed fortune cannot be defamed,  
Nor prating slanderous tongues your praise defeat:  
For though your worth and credit in the sight  
Of scoffing persons be accounted light,  
Yet in the judgement of the wiser sort,  
A Cuckold is a name of good report.   

And in defence of all the Patient train  
Here I, 
Pasquil's challenge.  as Challenger, do ready stand,  
justly to prove, uphold, and to maintain  
Against the proudest Champion in this land,  
That no Promotion, Calling, or Degree  
Can be free from the state of Cuckoldry;  
And that the Hornpipe is as sweet a fit  
As ever fiddler played upon his 
* A kind of Instrument.  Kit.   

What Country in this Universe is known,  
Which can affirm from Cuckolds it is free?  
What Kingdom, Province, Borough, City, Town,  
In all the world exempted do we see?  
Which hath not more or less (as Fortune pleased)  
The number of kind Cuckolds still increased,  
Or could not yield at one time or another  
A horned Father or a horned Mother.   

Greatly this title through the world is carried,  
And so increaseth, as we hear by fame,  
That if it mought it would be to the married,  
As Homo is to men a common name.  
And this we see apparent at this day,  
For as a stranger travails by the way,  
If any married persons dog doth stir,  
Strait one or other calls him Cuckolds cur.   

Truly I do not much mislike these words,  
Because he is, or else may be hereafter,  
Although I would not have them with their boards  
Miscall the Cuckold's dog, to make a laughter:  
Nor would I wish a Cuckold go to law  
For such an idle jest, not worth a straw;  
Neither for this disgrace to brawl or curse,  
His state is better, and his dog no worse.   

Much is his state the better, as we may  
Perceive by that which is already said,  
And if with patience he can bear away  
The Apish mocks, which sometimes will be made:  
Besides his glory (which before I quoted)  
A valiant-minded man he shall be noted.  

* Fortior est qui se, quam qui fortissima vincit moenia.  Stronger he is that holds his fury down,  
Than he which wins a Fort, or walled Town.   

Great is a Cuckold's honour and his fame,  
And wondrous is the glory of his fate,  
Which makes some persons so desire the name,  
And with such greediness the horn await,  
That for because none other will aread  
To make them Cuckolds, and to arm their head,  
They are content, when time and place importune,  
To be the carvers of their own good fortune.   

Thus Shafalus in Athens unperceived,  
Like to a merchant clad, his wife did try:  
And thus another man his wife deceived,  
Which did belong to loves kind Family.  
Thus on their own heads some have grafted the horn,  
For very love they have to Cuckolds borne.  
Which makes me think, because of others wish,  
That Cuckoos eggs are sure a dainty dish.   

Of all the men that ever I have known,  
A Cuckold doth for kindness bear the bell,  
Which for his proper usekeepes not his own,  
But gives in common to his friends as well:  
And so to courtesy he is allied,  
What ere you ask shall hardly be denied:  
That if his wife would any way befriend you,  
He will not stick his very wife to lend you.   

But to his wife, the world doth not contain  
A kinder man, replete with all civility:  
Do what she will, he murmurs not in vain,  
But gives her scope with all facility:  
Nor (though she graft the horn) doth he complain,  
Since he can do as much for her again.  
If I by nature had been borne a woman,  
A Cuckold I would have, or marry no man.   

In vain it is, and needless for to spend  
My worthless praises on a Cuckold's name:  
Words I should sooner want, them to commend,  
Than make a Period fully to their fame;  
Or yield them all the honour which is due,  
And doth of right along to the horned crew;  
Only a glimpse I give unto their glory,  
Not able t'reach the height of such a story.   

For how should I a Cuckolds praise enchain  
Within the compass of my shallow quill,  
Which all the spacious world doth scarce contain,  
Such store of Cuckolds every corner fill:  
And such a wondrous troop the Hornpipe treads,  
One cannot pass another for their heads,  
That shortly we shall have (as Skelton jests)  
A greater sort of horned men than beasts.   

If all the Cuckolds in the world were priest,  
And ranged for the field in battaile-ray,  
So great an Army there would be addressed,  
As never was the like seen to this day:  
For such a number would encamped lie,  
That Xerxes' Host, which drank huge Rivers dry,  
Nor all the Armies which have been prepared,  
Might with this band of Cuckolds be compared.   

Cast up the number of the birds that fly,  
Reckon the sands which are upon the shore,  
Or tell the golden stars which pave the sky,  
Then mayst thou count the Cuckolds all of yore:  
For millions of men that have been married,  
Have unto Cornwell without boat been carried;  
And such a crowd are of that reputation,  
They never can be put in numeration.   

But though a Cuckold were a word of shame,  
And slander and disgrace did still attend it,  
(As all men know, it is a famous name, And many married persons should defend it)  
Yet let no Cuckold take it to the heart,  
Since both his friends and neighbours bear a part:  
It is great comfort to a Cuckold's chance,  
That, many thousands do the Hornpipe dance.   

Then to conclude (my friends of Cuckoldshire)  
Grieve not to bear the horn upon your crest;  
Let not the son be prouder than his Sire,  
Your name is famous, and your fortune blest,  
Your life is void of sorrow and of care,  
Your greatest crosses are but neighbours fare;  
Spit in the face of Envy and of Scorn,  
There is no credit like the Cuckold's Horn.   

LEt none suppose I wear the Horn,  
Because the famous Horn I praise,  
Or that I am a Cuckold sworn,  
Because his worth I seek to raise:  
No, no (poor fools) in truth you are deceived,  
Into that Order I was near received.   

All are not rich that talk of gold,  
Nor Merchants, which the Burse do walk,  
Nor all Divines, which Pulpits hold,  
Nor strong, which do of Samson talk:  
Nor do my words so sure my state proclaim  
To be a Cuckold, though I praise the name.   

And yet by Vulcan's head I swear,  
Let sleering Apes their pleasure say,  
If I the richest Cuckold were  
That is in England at this day,  
I know not how the horns might well content me,  
But of his Living I should scarce repent me.   

Non liber indicium est animi, sed honesta voluntas  
Plurima mulcendis auribus apta refert.  
Accius' esset atrox: Conuiva Terentius esset:  
Essent pugnaces, qui ferae bella canunt:  
Crede mihi, Distat Casus a carmine nostro,  
Vita verecunda est, Musa iocosa mea est.   ovid. 

Quamobrem licet irrideat, si quis vult;  
Plus apud me tamen vera ratio valebit,  
quam vulgi opinio.   Cicero. 
FINIS.