_Cr. Con._ By God, yet it muste begynne moche of thé. 520
_Fan._ Who that is ruled by vs, it shalbe longe or he thee.
_C. Count._ But, I say, kepest thou the olde name styll that thou had?
_Cr. Con._ Why, wenyst thou, horson, that I were so mad?
_Fan._ Nay, nay, he hath chaunged his, and I haue chaunged myne.
_C. Count._ Nowe, what is his name, and what is thyne?
_Fan._ In faythe, Largesse I hyght,
And I am made a knyght.
_C. Count._ A rebellyon agaynst nature,
So large a man, and so lytell of stature!
But, syr, howe counterfetyd ye? 530
_Cr. Con._ Sure Surueyaunce[794] I named me.
_C. Count._ Surueyaunce! where ye suruey,
Thryfte hathe lost her cofer kay.
_Fan._ But is it not well? howe thynkest thou?
_C. Count._ Yes, syr, I gyue God auowe,
Myselfe coude not counterfet it better.
But what became of the letter,
That I counterfeyted you vnderneth a shrowde?
_Fan._ By the masse, odly well alowde.
_Cr. Con._ By God, had not I it conuayed, 540
Yet Fansy had ben dysceyued.
_C. Count._ I wote, thou arte false ynoughe for one.
_Fan._ By my trouthe, we had ben gone:
And yet, in fayth, man, we lacked thé
For to speke with Lyberte.
_C. Count._ What is Largesse without Lyberte?
_Cr. Con._ By Mesure mastered yet is he.
_C. Count._ What, is your conueyaunce no better?
_Fan._ In faythe, Mesure is lyke a tetter,
That ouergroweth a mannes face, 550
So he ruleth ouer all our place.
_Cr. Con._ Nowe therfore, whylest we are togyder,—
Counterfet Countenaunce, nay, come hyder,—
I say, whylest we are togyder in same—
_C. Count._ Tushe, a strawe, it is a shame
That we can no better than so.
_Fan._ We wyll remedy it, man, or we go;
For, lyke as mustarde is sharpe of taste,[795]
Ryght so a sharpe fansy must be founde
Wherwith Mesure to confounde. 560
_Cr. Con._ Can you a remedy for a tysyke,
That sheweth yourselfe thus spedde in physyke?
_C. Count._ It is a gentyll reason of a rake.
_Fan._ For all these iapes yet that ye[796] make—
_Cr. Con._ Your fansy maketh myne elbowe to ake.
_Fan._ Let se, fynde you a better way.
_C. Count._ Take no dyspleasure of that we say.
_Cr. Con._ Nay, and you be angry and ouerwharte,
A man may beshrowe your angry harte.
_Fan._ Tushe, a strawe, I thought none yll. 570
_C. Count._ What, shall we iangle thus all the day styll?
_Cr. Con._ Nay, let vs our heddes togyder cast.
_Fan._ Ye, and se howe it may be compast,
That Mesure were cast out of the dores.
_C. Count._ Alasse, where is my botes and my spores?
_Cr. Con._ In all this hast whether wyll ye ryde?
_C. Count._ I trowe, it shall not nede to abyde.
Cockes woundes, se, syrs, se, se!
_Hic ingrediatur CLOKED COLUSYON cum elato aspectu, deorsum et sursum
ambulando._
_Fan._ Cockes armes, what is he?
_Cr. Con._ By Cockes harte, he loketh hye; 580
He hawketh, me thynke, for a butterflye.
_C. Count._ Nowe, by Cockes harte, well abyden,
For, had you not come, I had ryden.
_Cl. Col._ Thy wordes be but wynde, neuer they haue no wayght;
Thou hast made me play the iurde hayte.
_C. Count._ And yf ye knewe howe I haue mused,
I am sure ye wolde haue me excused.
_Cl. Col._ I say, come hyder: what are these twayne?
_C. Count._ By God, syr, this is Fansy small brayne;
And Crafty Conuayaunce, knowe you not hym? 590
_Cl. Col._ Knowe hym, syr! quod he; yes, by Saynt Sym.
Here is a leysshe of ratches to renne an hare:
Woo is that purse that ye shall share!
_Fan._ What call ye him, this?
_Cr. Con._ I trowe, that he is.
_C. Count._ Tushe, holde your pece.
Se you not howe they prece
For to knowe your name?
_Cl. Col._ Knowe they not me, they are to blame.
Knowe you not me, syrs? 600
_Fan._ No, in dede.
_Cr. Con._ Abyde, lette me se, take better hede:
Cockes harte, it is Cloked Colusyon.
_Cl. Col._ A, syr, I pray God gyue you confusyon!
_Fan._ Cockes armes, is that your name?
_C. Count._ Ye, by the masse, this is euen the same,
That all this matter must vnder grope.
_Cr. Con._ What is this he wereth, a cope?
_Cl. Col._ Cappe, syr; I say you be to bolde.
_Fan._ Se, howe he is wrapped for the colde: 610
Is it not a vestment?
_Cl. Col._ A, ye wante a rope.
_C. Count._ Tushe, it is Syr Johnn Double cloke.
_Fan._ Syr, and yf ye wolde not be wrothe—
_Cl. Col._ What sayst?
_Fan._ Here was to lytell clothe.
_Cl. Col._ A, Fansy, Fansy, God sende thé brayne!
_Fan._ Ye, for your wyt is cloked for the rayne.
_Cr. Con._ Nay, lette vs not clatter thus styll.
_Cl. Col._ Tell me, syrs, what is your wyll. 620
_C. Count._ Syr, it is so that these twayne
With Magnyfycence in housholde do remayne;
And there they wolde haue me to dwell,
But I wyll be ruled after your counsell.
_Fan._ Mary, so wyll we also.
_Cl. Col._ But tell me where aboute ye go.
_C. Count._ By God, we wolde gete vs all thyder,
Spell the remenaunt, and do togyder.
_Cl. Col._ Hath Magnyfycence ony tresure?
_Cr. Con._ Ye, but he spendeth it all in mesure. 630
_Cl. Col._ Why, dwelleth Mesure where ye two dwell?
In faythe, he were better to dwell in hell.
_Fan._ Yet where we wonne, nowe there wonneth he.
_Cl. Col._ And haue you not amonge you Lyberte?
_C. Count._ Ye, but he is a captyuyte.
_Cl. Col._ What, the deuyll, howe may that be?
_C. Count._ I can not tell you: why aske you me?
Aske these two that there dothe dwell.
_Cl. Col._ Syr, the playnesse you tell me.[797]
_Cr. Con._ There dwelleth a mayster men calleth Mesure— 640
_Fan._ Ye, and he hath rule of all his tresure.
_Cr. Con._ Nay, eyther let me tell, or elles tell ye.
_Fan._ I care not I, tell on for me.
_C. Count._ I pray God let you neuer to thee!
_Cl. Col._ What the deuyll ayleth you? can you not agree?
_Cr. Con._ I wyll passe ouer the cyrcumstaunce,
And shortly shewe you the hole substaunce.
Fansy and I, we twayne,
With Magnyfycence in housholde do remayne,
And counterfeted our names we haue 650
Craftely all thynges vpryght to saue,
His name Largesse, Surueyaunce myne:
Magnyfycence to vs begynneth to enclyne
Counterfet Countenaunce to haue also,
And wolde that we sholde for hym go.
_C. Count._ But shall I haue myne olde name styll?
_Cr. Con._ Pease, I haue not yet sayd what I wyll.
_Fan._ Here is a pystell of a postyke!
_Cl. Col._ Tusshe, fonnysshe Fansy, thou arte frantyke.
Tell on, syr, howe then? 660
_Cr. Con._ Mary, syr, he tolde vs, when
We had hym founde, we sholde hym brynge,
And that we fayled not for nothynge.
_Cl. Col._ All this ye may easely brynge aboute.
_Fan._ Mary, the better and Mesure were out.
_Cl. Col._ Why, can ye not put out that foule freke?
_Cr. Con._ No, in euery corner he wyll peke,
So that we haue no lyberte,
Nor no man in courte but he,
For Lyberte he hath in gydyng. 670
_C. Count._ In fayth, and without Lyberte there is no bydyng.
_Fan._ In fayth, and Lybertyes rome is there but small.
_Cl. Col._ Hem! that lyke I nothynge at all.
_Cr. Con._ But, Counterfet[798] Countenaunce, go we togyder,
All thre, I say.
_C. Count._ Shall I go? whyder?
_Cr. Con.[799]_ To Magnyfycence with vs twayne,
And in his seruyce thé to retayne.
_C. Count._ But then, syr, what shall I hyght?
_Cr. Con._ Ye and I talkyd therof to nyght. 680
_Fan._ Ye, my Fansy was out of owle flyght,
For it is out of my mynde quyght.
_Cr. Con._ And nowe it cometh to my remembraunce:
Syr, ye shall hyght Good Demeynaunce.
_C. Count._ By the armes of Calys, well conceyued!
_Cr. Con._ When we haue hym thyder conuayed,
What and I frame suche a slyght,
That Fansy with his fonde consayte
Put Magnyfycence in suche a madnesse,
That he shall haue you in the stede of sadnesse, 690
And Sober Sadnesse shalbe your name?
_Cl. Col._ By Cockys body, here begynneth the game!
For then shall we so craftely cary,
That Mesure shall not there longe tary.
_Fan._ For Cockys harte, tary whylyst that I come agayne.
_Cr. Con._ We wyll se you shortly one of vs twayne.
_C. Count._ Now let vs go, and we shall, then.
_Cl. Col._ Nowe let se quyte you lyke praty men.[800]
_Hic deambulat._
To passe the tyme and order whyle a man may talke
Of one thynge and other to occupy the place; 700
Then for the season that I here shall walke,
As good to be occupyed as vp and downe to trace
And do nothynge; how be it full lytell grace
There cometh and groweth of my comynge,
For Clokyd Colusyon is a perylous thynge.
Double delynge and I be all one;
Craftynge and haftynge contryued is by me;
I can dyssemble, I can bothe laughe and grone;
Playne delynge and I can neuer agre;
But dyuysyon, dyssencyon, dyrysyon, these thre 710
And I am counterfet of one mynde and thought,
By the menys of myschyef to bryng all thynges to nought.
And though I be so odyous a geste,
And euery man gladly my company wolde refuse,
In faythe yet am I occupyed with the best;
Full fewe that can themselfe of me excuse.
Whan other men laughe, than study I and muse,
Deuysynge the meanes and wayes that I can,
Howe I may hurte and hynder euery man:
Two faces in a hode couertly I bere, 720
Water in the one hande, and fyre in the other;
I can fede forth a fole, and lede hym by the eyre;
Falshode in felowshyp is my sworne brother.
By cloked colusyon, I say, and none other,
Comberaunce and trouble in Englande fyrst I began;
From that lorde to that lorde I rode and I ran,
And flatered them with fables fayre before theyr face,
And tolde all the myschyef I coude behynde theyr backe,
And made as I had knowen nothynge of the case;
I wolde begyn all myschyef, but I wolde bere no lacke: 730
Thus can I lerne you, syrs, to bere the deuyls sacke;
And yet, I trowe, some of you be better sped than I
Frendshyp to fayne, and thynke full lytherly.
Paynte to a purpose good countenaunce I can,
And craftely can I grope howe euery man is mynded;
My purpose is to spy and to poynte euery man;
My tonge is with fauell forked and tyned:
By Cloked Colusyon thus many one is begyled.
Eche man to hynder I gape and I gaspe;
My speche is all pleasure, but I stynge lyke a waspe: 740
I am neuer glad but whan I may do yll,
And neuer am I sory but whan that I se
I can not myne apyetyte accomplysshe and fulfyll
In hynderaunce of welthe and prosperyte;
I laughe at all shrewdenes, and lye at lyberte.
I muster, I medle amonge these grete estates,
I sowe sedycyous sedes of dyscorde and debates:
To flater and to flery is all my pretence
Amonge all suche persones as I well vnderstonde
Be lyght of byleue and hasty of credence; 750
I make them to startyll and sparkyll lyke a bronde,
I moue them, I mase them, I make them so fonde,
That they wyll here no man but the fyrst tale:
And so by these meanes I brewe moche bale.
_Hic ingrediatur COURTLY ABUSYON cantando._
_Court. Ab._ Huffa, huffa, taunderum, taunderum, tayne, huffa, huffa!
_Cl. Col._ This was properly prated, syrs! what sayd a?
_Court. Ab._ Rutty bully, ioly rutterkyn, heyda!
_Cl. Col._ _De que pays este vous_?
_Et faciat tanquam exiat beretrum cronice._[801]
_Court. Ab._ Decke your hofte and couer a lowce.
_Cl. Col. Say vous chaunter Venter tre dawce?_ 760
_Court. Ab._ _Wyda, wyda._
Howe sayst thou, man? am not I a ioly rutter?
_Cl. Col._ Gyue this gentylman rome, syrs, stonde vtter!
By God, syr, what nede all this waste?
What is this, a betell, or a batowe,[802] or a buskyn lacyd?
_Court. Ab._ What, wenyst thou that I knowe thé not, Clokyd Colusyon?
_Cl. Col._ And wenyst thou that I knowe not thé, cankard Abusyon?
_Court. Ab._ Cankard Jacke Hare, loke thou be not rusty;
For thou shalt well knowe I am nother durty nor dusty.
_Cl. Col._ Dusty! nay, syr, ye be all of the lusty, 770
Howe be it of scape thryfte your clokes smelleth musty:
But whether art thou walkynge in faythe vnfaynyd?
_Court. Ab._ Mary, with Magnyfycence I wolde be retaynyd.
_Cl. Col._ By the masse, for the cowrte thou art a mete man:
Thy slyppers they swap it, yet thou fotys it lyke a swanne.
_Court. Ab._ Ye, so I can deuyse my gere after the cowrtly maner.
_Cl. Col._ So thou arte personable to bere a prynces baner.
By Goddes fote,[803] and I dare well fyght, for I wyll not start.
_Court. Ab._ Nay, thou art a man good inough but for thy false hart.
_Cl. Col._ Well, and I be a coward, ther is mo than I. 780
_Court. Ab._ Ye, in faythe, a bolde man and a hardy.
_Cl. Col._ A bolde man in a bole of newe ale in cornys.
_Court. Ab._ Wyll ye se this gentylman is all in his skornys?
_Cl. Col._ But are ye not auysed to dwell where ye spake?
_Court. Ab._ I am of fewe wordys, I loue not to barke.
Beryst thou any rome, or cannyst thou do ought?
Cannyst thou helpe in fauer that I myght be brought?
_Cl. Col._ I may do somwhat, and more I thynke shall.
_Here cometh in CRAFTY CONUEYAUNCE, poyntyng with his fynger, and sayth,
HEM, COLUSYON!_
_Court. Ab._ Cockys harte, who is yonde that for thé dothe call?
_Cr. Con.[804]_ Nay, come at ones, for the armys of the dyce! 790
_Court. Ab._ Cockys armys, he hath callyd for thé twyce.
_Cl. Col._ By Cockys harte, and call shall agayne:
To come to me, I trowe, he shalbe fayne.
_Court. Ab._ What, is thy harte pryckyd with such a prowde pynne?
_Cl. Col._ Tushe, he that hath nede, man, let hym rynne.
_Cr. Con._ Nay, come away, man: thou playst the cayser.
_Cl. Col.[805]_ By the masse, thou shalt byde my leyser.
_Cr. Con._ Abyde, syr, quod he! mary, so I do.
_Court. Ab._ He wyll come, man, when he may tende to.
_Cr. Con._ What the deuyll, who sent for thé? 800
_Cl. Col._ Here he is nowe, man; mayst thou not se?
_Cr. Con._ What the deuyll, man, what thou menyst?
Art thou so angry as thou semyst?
_Court. Ab._ What the deuyll, can ye agre no better?
_Cr. Con._ What the deuyll, where had we this ioly ietter?
_Cl. Col._ What sayst thou, man? why dost thou not supplye,
And desyre me thy good mayster to be?
_Court. Ab._ Spekest thou to me?
_Cl. Col._ Ye, so I tell thé.
_Court. Ab._ Cockes bones, I ne tell can 810
Whiche of you is the better man,
Or whiche of you can do most.
_Cr. Con._ In fayth, I rule moche of the rost.
_Cl. Col._ Rule the roste! ye, thou woldest[806]
As skante thou had no nede of me.
_Cr. Con._ Nede! yes, mary, I say not nay.
_Court. Ab._ Cockes ha[r]te, I trowe thou wylte make a fray.
_Cr. Con._ Nay, in good faythe, it is but the gyse.
_Cl. Col._ No, for, or we stryke, we wyll be aduysed twyse.
_Court. Ab._ What the deuyll, vse ye not to drawe no swordes? 820
_Cr. Con._ No, by my trouthe, but crake grete wordes.
_Court. Ab._ Why, is this the gyse nowe adayes?
_Cl. Col._ Ye, for surety, ofte peas is taken for frayes.
But, syr, I wyll haue this man with me.
_Cr. Con._ Conuey yourselfe fyrst, let se.
_Cl. Col._ Well, tarry here tyll I for you sende.
_Cr. Con._ Why, shall he be of your bende?
_Cl. Col._ Tary here: wote ye what I say?
_Court. Ab._ I waraunt you, I wyll not go away.
_Cr. Con._ By Saynt Mary, he is a tawle man. 830
_Cl. Col._ Ye, and do ryght good seruyce he can;
I knowe in hym no defaute
But that the horson is prowde and hawte.
_And so they[807] go out of the place._
_Court. Ab._ Nay, purchace ye a pardon for the pose,
For pryde hath plucked thé by the nose,
As well as me: I wolde, and I durste,
But nowe I wyll not say the worste.
_COURTLY ABUSYON alone in the place._
What nowe, let se,
Who loketh on me
Well rounde aboute, 840
Howe gay and howe stoute
That I can were
Courtly my gere:
My heyre bussheth
So plesauntly,
My robe russheth
So ruttyngly,
Me seme I flye,
I am so lyght,
To daunce delyght; 850
Properly drest,
All poynte deuyse,
My persone prest
Beyonde all syse
Of the newe gyse,
To russhe it oute
In euery route:
Beyonde measure
My sleue is wyde,
Al of pleasure, 860
My hose strayte tyde,
My buskyn wyde,
Ryche to beholde,
Gletterynge in golde.
Abusyon
Forsothe I hyght:
Confusyon
Shall on hym lyght,
By day or by nyght
That vseth me; 870
He can not thee.
A very fon,
A very asse,
Wyll take vpon
To compasse
That neuer was
Abusyd before;
A very pore
That so wyll do,
He doth abuse 880
Hym selfe to to,
He dothe mysse vse
Eche man take a fe[808]
To crake and prate;
I befoule his pate.
This newe fonne iet
From out of Fraunce
Fyrst I dyd set;
Made purueaunce
And suche ordenaunce, 890
That all men it founde
Through out Englonde:
All this nacyon
I set on fyre
In my facyon,
This theyr desyre,
This newe atyre;
This ladyes haue,
I it them gaue;
Spare for no coste; 900
And yet in dede
It is coste loste
Moche more than nede
For to excede
In suche aray:
Howe be it, I say,
A carlys sonne,
Brought vp of nought,
Wyth me wyll wonne
Whylyst he hath ought; 910
He wyll haue wrought
His gowne so wyde
That he may hyde
His dame and his syre
Within his slyue;
Spende all his hyre,
That men hym gyue;
Wherfore I preue,
A Tyborne checke
Shall breke his necke. 920
_Here cometh in FANSY, craynge_, Stow, stow!
All is out of harre,
And out of trace,
Ay warre and warre
In euery place.
But what the deuyll art thou,
That cryest, Stow, stow?
_Fan._ What, whom haue we here, Jenkyn Joly?
Nowe welcom, by the God holy.
_Court. Ab._ What, Fansy, my frende! howe doste thou fare?
_Fan._ By Cryst, as mery as a Marche hare. 930
_Court. Ab._ What the deuyll hast thou on thy fyste? an owle?
_Fan._ Nay, it is a farly fowle.
_Court. Ab._ Me thynke she frowneth and lokys sowre.
_Fan._ Torde, man, it is an hawke of the towre:
She is made for the malarde fat.
_Court. Ab._ Methynke she is well becked to catche a rat.
But nowe what tydynges can you tell, let se.
_Fan._ Mary, I am come for thé.
_Court. Ab._ For me?
_Fan._ Ye, for thé, so I say. 940
_Court. Ab._ Howe so? tell me, I thé pray.
_Fan._ Why, harde thou not of the fray,
That fell amonge vs this same day?
_Court. Ab._ No, mary, not yet.
_Fan._ What the deuyll, neuer a whyt?
_Court. Ab._ No, by the masse; what sholde I swere?
_Fan._ In faythe, Lyberte is nowe a lusty spere.
_Court. Ab._ Why, vnder whom was he abydynge?
_Fan._ Mary, Mesure had hym a whyle in gydynge,
Tyll, as the deuyll wolde, they fell a chydynge 950
With Crafty Conuayaunce.
_Court. Ab._ Ye, dyd they so?
_Fan._ Ye, by Goddes sacrament, and with other mo.
_Court. Ab._ What neded that, in the dyuyls date?
_Fan._ Yes, yes, he fell with me also at debate.
_Court. Ab._ With thé also? what, he playeth the state?
_Fan._ Ye, but I bade hym pyke out of the gate,
By Goddes body, so dyd I.
_Court. Ab._ By the masse, well done and boldely.
_Fan._ Holde thy pease, Measure shall frome vs walke. 960
_Court. Ab._ Why, is he crossed than with a chalke?
_Fan._ Crossed! ye, checked out of consayte.
_Court. Ab._ Howe so?
_Fan._ By God, by a praty slyght,
As here after thou shalte knowe more:
But I must tary here; go thou before.
_Court. Ab._ With whom shall I there mete?
_Fan._ Crafty Conueyaunce standeth in the strete,
Euen of purpose for the same.
_Court. Ab._ Ye, but what shall I call my name? 970
_Fan._ Cockes harte, tourne thé, let me se thyne aray:
Cockes bones, this is all of Johnn de gay.
_Court. Ab._ So I am poynted after my consayte.
_Fan._ Mary, thou iettes it of hyght.
_Court. Ab._ Ye, but of my name let vs be wyse.
_Fan._ Mary, Lusty Pleasure, by myne aduyse,
To name thyselfe, come of, it were done.
_Court. Ab._ Farewell, my frende.
_Fan._ Adue, tyll sone.[809]
Stowe, byrde, stowe, stowe! 980
It is best I fede my hawke now.
There is many euyll faueryd, and thou be foule;
Eche thynge is fayre when it is yonge: all hayle, owle!
Lo, this is
My fansy, I wys:
Nowe Cryst it blysse!
It is, by Jesse,
A byrde full swete,
For me full mete:
She is furred for the hete 990
All to the fete;
Her browys bent,
Her eyen glent:
Frome Tyne to Trent,
From Stroude to Kent,
A man shall fynde
Many of her kynde,
Howe standeth the wynde
Before or behynde:
Barbyd lyke a nonne, 1000
For burnynge of the sonne;
Her fethers donne;
Well faueryd bonne.
Nowe, let me se about,
In all this rowte
Yf I can fynde out
So semely a snowte
Amonge this prese:
Euen a hole mese—
Pease, man, pease! 1010
I rede, we sease.
So farly fayre as it lokys,
And her becke so comely crokys,
Her naylys sharpe as tenter hokys!
I haue not kept her yet thre wokys,
And howe styll she dothe syt!
Teuyt, teuyt, where is my wyt?
The deuyll spede whyt!
That was before, I set behynde;
Nowe to curteys, forthwith vnkynde; 1020
Somtyme to sober, somtyme to sadde,
Somtyme to mery, somtyme to madde;
Somtyme I syt as I were solempe prowde;
Somtyme I laughe ouer lowde;
Somtyme I wepe for a gew gaw;
Somtyme I laughe at waggynge of a straw;
With a pere my loue you may wynne,
And ye may lese it for a pynne.
I haue a thynge for to say,
And I may tende therto for play; 1030
But in faythe I am so occupyed
On this halfe and on euery syde,
That I wote not where I may rest.
Fyrst to tell you what were best,
Frantyke Fansy seruyce I hyght;
My wyttys be weke, my braynys are lyght:
For it is I that other whyle
Plucke downe lede, and theke with tyle;
Nowe I wyll this, and nowe I wyll that;
Make a wyndmyll of a mat; 1040
Nowe I wolde, and I wyst what;
Where is my cappe? I haue lost my hat;
And within an houre after,
Plucke downe an house, and set vp a rafter;
Hyder and thyder, I wote not whyder;
Do and vndo, bothe togyder;
Of a spyndell I wyll make a sparre;
All that I make, forthwith I marre;
I blunder, I bluster, I blowe, and I blother;
I make on the one day, and I marre on the other; 1050
Bysy, bysy, and euer bysy,
I daunce vp and downe tyll I am dyssy;
I can fynde fantasyes where none is;
I wyll not haue it so, I wyll haue it this.
_Hic ingrediatur FOLY, quatiendo crema[810] et faciendo multum, feriendo
tabulas et similia._
_Fol._ Maysters, Cryst saue euerychone!
What, Fansy, arte thou here alone?
_Fan._ What, fonnysshe Foly! I befole thy face.
_Fol._ What, frantyke Fansy in a foles case!
What is this, an owle or a glede?
By my trouthe, she hathe a grete hede. 1060
_Fan._ Tusshe, thy lyppes hange in thyne eye:[811]
It is a Frenche butterflye.
_Fol._ By my trouthe, I trowe well;
But she is lesse a grete dele
Than a butterflye of our lande.
_Fan._ What pylde curre ledest thou in thy hande?
_Fol._ A pylde curre!
_Fan._ Ye so, I tell thé, a pylde curre.
_Fol._ Yet I solde his skynne to Mackemurre,
In the stede of a budge furre. 1070
_Fan._ What, fleyest thou his skynne euery yere?
_Fol._ Yes, in faythe, I thanke God I may here.
_Fan._ What, thou wylte coughe me a dawe for forty pens?
_Fol._ Mary, syr, Cokermowthe is a good way hens.
_Fan._ What? of Cokermowth spake I no worde.
_Fol._ By my faythe, syr, the frubyssher hath my sworde.
_Fan._ A, I trowe, ye shall coughe me a fole.
_Fol._ In faythe, trouthe ye say, we wente togyder to scole.
_Fan._ Ye, but I can somwhat more of the letter.
_Fol._ I wyll not gyue an halfepeny for to chose the better. 1080
_Fan._ But, broder Foly, I wonder moche of one thynge,
That thou so hye fro me doth sprynge,
And I so lytell alway styll.
_Fol._ By God, I can tell thé, and I wyll.
Thou art so feble fantastycall,
And so braynsyke therwithall,
And thy wyt wanderynge here and there,
That thou cannyst not growe out of thy boyes gere;
And as for me, I take but one folysshe way,
And therfore I growe more on one day 1090
Than thou can in yerys seuen.
_Fan._ In faythe, trouth thou sayst nowe, by God of heuen!
For so with fantasyes my wyt dothe flete,
That wysdome and I shall seldome mete.
Nowe, of good felowshyp, let me by thy dogge.[812]
_Fol._ Cockys harte, thou lyest, I am no hogge.[813]
_Fan._ Here is no man that callyd thé hogge nor swyne.
_Fol._ In faythe, man, my brayne is as good as thyne.
_Fan._ The deuyls torde for thy brayne!
_Fol._ By my syers soule, I fele no rayne. 1100
_Fan._ By the masse, I holde thé madde.
_Fol._ Mary, I knewe thé when thou waste a ladde.
_Fan._ Cockys bonys, herde ye euer syke another?
_Fol._ Ye, a fole the tone, and a fole the tother.
_Fan._ Nay, but wotest thou what I do say?
_Fol._ Why, sayst thou that I was here yesterday?
_Fan._ Cockys armys, this is a warke, I trowe.
_Fol._ What, callyst thou me a donnyshe crowe?
_Fan._ Nowe, in good faythe, thou art a fonde gest.
_Fol._ Ye, bere me this strawe to a dawys nest. 1110
_Fan._ What, wenyst thou that I were so folysshe and so fonde?
_Fol._ In faythe, ellys is there none in all Englonde.
_Fan._ Yet for my fansy sake, I say,
Let me haue thy dogge, what soeuer I pay.
_Fol._ Thou shalte haue my purse, and I wyll haue thyne.
_Fan._ By my trouth, there is myne.
_Fol._ Nowe, by my trouth, man, take, there is myne;[814]
And I beshrowe hym that hath the worse.
_Fan._ Torde, I say, what haue I do?
Here is nothynge but the bockyll of a sho, 1120
And in my purse was twenty marke.
_Fol._ Ha, ha, ha! herke, syrs, harke!
For all that my name hyght Foly,
By the masse, yet art thou more fole than I.
_Fan._ Yet gyue me thy dogge, and I am content;
And thou shalte haue my hauke to a botchment.
_Fol._ That euer thou thryue, God it forfende!
For Goddes cope thou wyll spende.
Nowe take thou my dogge, and gyue me thy fowle.[815]
_Fan._ Hay, chysshe, come hyder! 1130
_Fol._ Nay, torde, take hym be tyme.
_Fan._ What callest thou thy dogge?
_Fol._ Tusshe, his name is Gryme.
_Fan._ Come, Gryme, come, Gryme! it is my praty dogges.