_To the right worshypful my right honourabyl mayster, John Paston._
[Sidenote: 1462 / JULY 15]
Right worshipfull sir, and my right honourabill maister, I recomaund me
to you in my most humble wyse, and please your maistirship to wete that
her is on Thomas Chapman, an evyl disposyd man al wey ayens you, as I
have informyd youre maistirship many tymes, and now he hathe labouryd to
my Lord Tresorer to subplante me, and brought down wryghting from the
Kyng and my Lord Tresorer; but or hise wryting cam, Wydwell fond the
meanys, be the supportacion of Maistir Feen, that we had a discharge for
hym out of the Chauncery; wherfor the seyd Chapman proposyth to be at
London in all haste, and to avertise the Kyng and my Lord Tresorer ageyn
me to the grettest hurt he can imagyne. Wherfor I beseke youre
maystirship, consedryng is evyl disposecion to yow, and also the rather
at my pore instaunce, that ye lyke that my Lord Tresorer myght
undyrstonde that the seyd Chapman is of no reputacion, but evyl disposyd
to brybory of straungers, and be colour of hise office of supervisor of
the searche shal gretly hurte the port. The seyd Chapman supportors is
Blakeney, clerk of the sygnet, and Avery Cornburght, yoman of the Kynges
chaumbre. He hathe here of Avereyes xxiiij. tune wyn, whereof at the
long wey he shal make the seyd Averey a lewd rekenyng. The seyd Chapman
lovyth not you, nor no man to yow wards, &c.
Sir, I prey God brynge you onys to regne amongs youre cuntre men in
love, and to be dred. The lenger ye contynwe there the more hurt growyth
to you. Men sey ye will neyther folwe the avyse of youre owyn kynred,
nor of youre counsell, but contynwe your owyn wylfullnesse, whiche, but
grace be, shal be youre distrucion. It is my part to enfourme youre
maistirshyp as the comown voyse is, God betir it, and graunt yow onys
herts ease; for it is half a deth to me to here the generall voyse of
the pepyll, whiche dayli encreassyth, &c.
Sir, I beseke youre maistirshyp to remembre my maystresse for the lytil
sylvir, whiche for serteyn thyngs delyverid to youre use is dewe to me.
I have nede of it now. I have bought salt and other thyngs, whiche hathe
brought me out of myche sylvir. I wold trust, and I nedyd to borwe
xx_li._, your maistirshyp wold ease me for a tyme, but thys that I
desyre is myn owyn dute. And Jesu graunt yow ever yowr herts desyre to
youre worshyp and profyt, and preserve yow my right honourabyll maister
from all adversyte.
Wretyn at Jernemuthe, the xv. day of July. Here is a kervyl [_carvel_]
of Cane in Normandy, and he takyth Duchemen, and raunsumyth hem
grevously.
Yore servaunt and bedman,