selues together, _and_ would neuer seperat them selues, vnles it were
for some especiall causes, for they were sworn brothers, _and_ were
both of one age, and much like of favour: these two, trauelinge into
east kent, resorted vnto an ale house there,[69] being weried with
traueling, saluting with short curtisey, when they came into the house,
such as thei sawe sitting there, in whiche company was the parson of
the parish; and callinge for a pot of the best ale, sat downe at the
tables ende: the lykor liked them so well, that they had pot vpon pot,
and sometyme, for a lytle good maner, would drinke and offer the cup
to such as they best fancied; and to be short, they sat {38} out al
the company, for eche man departed home aboute their busines. When they
had well refreshed them selues, then these rowsy roges requested the
good man of the house wyth his wyfe to sit downe and drinke with them,
of whome they inquired what priest the same was, and where he dwelt:
then they fayninge that they had an vncle a priest, and that he should
dwel in these partes, which by all presumptions it should be he, and
that they came of purpose to speake with hym, but because they had not
sene hym sithens they were sixe yeares olde, they durst not be bold
to take acquayntance of him vntyl they were farther instructed of the
truth, and began to inquier of his name, and how longe he had dwelt
there, and how farre his house was of from _th_e place they were in:
the good wyfe of the house, thynkinge them honest men without disceit,
because they so farre enquyred of their kinseman, was but of a good
zelous naturall intent, shewed them cherefully that hee [leaf 10]
was an honest man _and_ welbeloued in the parish, and of good welth,
_and_ had ben there resident xv. years at the least; “but,” saith
she, “are you both brothers?” “yea, surely,” said they, “we haue bene
both in one belly, _and_ were twinnes.” “Mercy, god!” q_uoth_ this
folish woman; “it may wel be, for ye be not much vnlike,”—and wente
vnto her hall windowe, callinge these yong men vnto her, and loking
out therat,[70] pointed with her fingar _and_ shewed them the house
standing alone, no house nere the same by almoste a quarter of a myle;
“that,” sayd[71] she, “is your vncles house.” “Nay,” saith one of
them, “he is not onely my vncle, but also my godfather.” “It may well
be,” q_uoth_ she, “nature wyll bind him to be the better vnto you.”
“Well,” q_uoth_ they, “we be weary, and meane not to trouble our vncle
to-night; but to-morowe, god willinge, we wyll sée him and do our
duty: but, I pray you, doth our vncle occupy husbandry? what company
hath he in his house.” “Alas!” saith she, “but one old woman _and_ a
boy, he hath no occupying at al: tushe,” q_uoth_ this good wyfe, “you
be mad men; go to him this night, for hée hath better lodging for you
then I haue, _and_ yet I speake folishly against my[72] own profit,
for by your taring[73] here I should gaine _th_e more by you.” “Now,
by my troth,” q_uoth_ one of them, “we thanke {39} you, good hostes,
for your holsome councell, and we meane to do as you wyll vs: we wyl
pause a whyle, and by that tyme it wylbe almost night; _and_ I praye
you geue vs a reckeninge,”—so, manerly paying for that they toke, bad
their hoste and hostes farewell with takinge leaue of the cup, marched
merelye out of the dores towardes this parsones house, vewed the same
well rounde about, and passed by two bowshotes of into a younge wodde,
where they laye consultinge what they shoulde do vntyll midnight.
Quoth one of them, of sharper wyt and subtyller then the other, to hys
fellowe, “thou seest that this house is stone walled about, and that
we cannot well breake in, in any parte thereof; thou seest also that
the windowes be thicke of mullions, that ther is no kreping in betwene:
wherefore we must of necessytie vse some policye when strength wil not
serue. I haue a horse locke here about me,” saith he; “and this I hope
shall serue oure turne.” So when it was aboute xii. of the clocke, they
came to the house and lurked nere vnto his chamber wyndowe: the dog of
the house barked a good, that with they[74] noise, this priest waketh
out of his sléepe, and began to cough and hem: then one of these roges
stepes forth nerer the window _and_ maketh a ruful _and_ pityful noise,
requiring for Christ sake[75] some reliefe, that was both hongry and
thirstye, and was like to ly with out the dores all nighte and starue
for colde, vnles he were releued by him with some small pece of money.
“Where dwellest thou?” quoth this parson. “Alas! sir,” saithe this
roge, “I haue smal [leaf 10, back] dwelling, and haue com out of my
way; and I should now,” saith he, “go to any towne nowe at this time
of night, they woulde set me in the stockes and punishe me.” “Well,”
quoth this pitifull parson, “away from my house, either lye in some
of my out houses vntyll the morning, and holde, here is a couple of
pence for thée.” “A god rewarde you,” quoth this roge; “and in heauen
may you finde it.” The parson openeth his wyndowe, and thrusteth out
his arme to geue his almes to this Roge that came whining to receiue
it, and quickly taketh holde of his hand, and calleth his fellowe to
him, whiche was redye at hande with the horse locke, and clappeth the
same about the wrest of his arme, that the mullions standing so close
together for strength, that for his {40} life he could not plucke in
his arme againe, and made him beleue, vnles he would at the least geue
them .iii. li., they woulde smite of his arme from the body. So that
this poore parson, in feare to lose his hand, called vp his olde woman
that lay in the loft ouer him, and wylled her to take out all the money
he had, which was iiij. markes, which he saide was all the money in
his house, for he had lent vi. li. to one of his neighbours not iiij
daies before. “Wel,” q_uoth_ they, “master parson, if you haue no more,
vpon this condicion we wil take of the locke, that you will drinke
.xij. pence for our sakes to-morow at the alehouse wher we found you,
and thank the good wife for the good chere she made vs.” He promised
faithfully that he would so do; so they toke of the locke, and went
their way so farre ere it was daye, that the parson coulde neuer haue
any vnderstanding more of them. Now this parson, sorowfully slumbering
that night betwene feare and hope, thought it was but folly to make two
sorrowes of one; he vsed contentacion for his remedy, not forgetting in
the morning to performe his promise, but went betims to his neighbour
that kept tiplinge, and asked angerly where the same two men were
that dranke with her yester daye. “Which two men?” q_uoth_ this good
wife. “The straungers that came in when I was at your house wyth my
neighbores yesterday.” “What! your neuewes?” q_uoth_ she. “My neuewes?”
q_uoth_ this parson; “I trowe thou art mad.” “Nay, by god!” q_uoth_
this good[76] wife, “as sober as you; for they tolde me faithfully
that you were their vncle: but, in fayth, are you not so in dede? for,
by my trouth, they are strau[n]gers to me. I neuer saw them before.”
“O, out vpon them!” q_uoth_ the parson; “they be false theues, and
this night thei compelled me to geue them al the money in my house.”
“Benedicite!” q_uoth_ this good wife, “_and_ haue they so in dede? as
I shall aunswere before god, one of them told me besides that you were
godfather to him, and that he trusted to haue your blessinge before
he departed.” “What! did he?” quoth this parson; “a halter blesse him
for [leaf 11] me!” “Me thinketh, by the masse, by your countenance you
loked so wildly when you came in,” quoth this good wife, “that somthing
was amis.” “I vse not to gest,” {41} quoth this parson, “when I speake
so earnestly.” “Why, all your sorrowes goe with it,” quoth this good
wife, “and sitte downe here, and I will fil a freshe pot of ale shall
make you mery agayne.” “Yea,” saith this parson, “fill in, _and_ geue
me some meat; for they made me sweare and promise them faithfully that
I shoulde drinke xii. pence with you this day.” “What! dyd they?” quoth
she; “now, by the mary masse, they be mery knaues. I warraunt you they
meane to bye no land with your money; but how could they come into you
in the night, your dores being shut fast? your house is very stronge.”
Then this prason[77] shewed her all the hole circumstance, how he gaue
them his almes oute at the wyndowe, they[78] made such lamentable
crye that it pytied him at the hart; for he sawe but one when he put
oute his hand at the windowe. “Be ruled by me,” quoth this good wyfe.
“Wherin?” quoth this parson. “By my troth, neuer speake more of it:
when they shal vnderstand of it in the parish, they wyll but laugh you
to skorne.” [79]†“Why, then,” quoth this parson, “the deuyll goe with
it,”—and their an end.†
[Footnote 69: 1573 omits.]
[Footnote 70: 1573 omits.]
[Footnote 71: _saith._ B.]
[Footnote 72: 1573, _myne_.]
[Footnote 73: _tarying._ B.]
[Footnote 74: So printed. Bodley ed. has _the_]
[Footnote 75: _sakes._ B.]
[Footnote 76: Omitted in 1573.]
[Footnote 77: so printed.]
[Footnote 78: _the._ B.]
[Footnote 79: †–† Why . . . . . . . . . end. B. omits.]
¶ A WYLDE ROGE. Cap. 5.
++A Wilde Roge is he that is borne a Roge: he is a more subtil and
more geuen by nature to all kinde of knauery then the other, as
beastely begotten in barne or bushes, and from his infancye traded vp
in trechery; yea, and before ripenes of yeares doth permyt, wallowinge
in lewde lechery, but that is counted amongest them no sin. For this
is their custome, that when they mete in barne at night, euery one
getteth a make[80] to lye wythall, _and_ their chaunce to be twentye in
a companye, as their is sometyme more and sometyme lesse: for to one
man that goeth abroad, there are at the least two women, which neuer
make it straunge when they be called, although she neuer knewe him
before. Then when the day doth appeare, he rouses him vp, and shakes
his eares, and awaye wanderinge where he may gette oughte to the hurte
of others. Yet before he skyppeth oute of hys couche and departeth from
his darling, if he like her well, he will apoint her where to mete
shortlye {42} after, with a warninge to worke warely for some chetes,
that their meting might be the merier.
¶ Not long sithens, a wild roge chau_n_ced to mete a pore neighbour of
mine, who for honesty _and_ good natur surmou_n_teth many. This poore
man, riding homeward from London, where he had made his market, this
[leaf 11, back] roge demaunded a peny for gods sake, to kepe him a
true man. This simple man, beholding him wel, and sawe he was of taule
personage with a good quarter staffe in his hand, it much pitied him,
as he sayd, to se him want; for he was well able to serue his prince in
the wars. Thus, being moued with pytie, and[81] loked in his pursse to
finde out a penye; and in loking for the same, he plucked oute viii.
shyllinges in whyte money, and raked therin to finde a single peny;
and at the last findinge one, doth offer the same to this wylde roge:
but he, seinge so much mony in this simple mans hand, being striken to
the hart with a couetous desire, bid him forth wyth delyuer al that he
had, or els he woulde with his staffe beat out his braynes. For it was
not a penye would now quench his thirst, [82]‡seing so much as he dyd‡:
thus, swallowinge his spittell gredely downe, spoyled this poore man
of al _th_e money that he had, and lept ouer the hedge into a thicke
wode, and went his waye as merely as this good simple man came home
sorowfully. I once rebuking a wyld roge because he went idelly about,
he shewed me that he was a begger by enheritance—his Grandfather was a
begger, his father was one, and he must nedes be one by good reason.
[Footnote 80: 1573 reads _mate_]
[Footnote 81: omitted in 1573.]
[Footnote 82: ‡–‡ seing . . . . . . . dyd. B. omits.]
¶ A PRYGGER OF PRAUNCERS. Cap. 6.
++A Prigger of Prauncers be horse stealers; for to prigge signifieth in
their language to steale, _and_ a Prauncer is a horse: so beinge put
together, the matter is[83] playne. These go commonly in Ierkins of
leatherr, or of white frese, _and_ carry litle wands in their hands,
and will walke through grounds and pastures, to search and se horses
meete for their purpose. And if thei chau_n_ce to be met and asked by
the owners of the grounde what they make there, they fayne strayghte
that they haue loste their waye, and {43} desyre to be enstructed
the beste waye to such a place. These will also repayre to gentlemens
houses and aske their charitye, and wyll offer their seruice. And if
you aske them what they can do, they wyll saye that they can kepe two
or thre Geldinges, and waite vppon a Gentleman. These haue also their
women, that walkinge from them in other places, marke where and what
they sée abroade, and sheweth these Priggars therof when they meete,
which is with in a wéeke or two. And loke, where they steale any
thinge, they conuay _th_e same at the least thre score miles of or more.
¶ There was a Gentleman, a verye friende of myne, rydyng from London
homewarde into Kente, hauinge with in thrée myles of his house
busynesse, alyghted of his horse, and his man also, in a pretye [leaf
12] vyllage, where diueres houses were, and looked aboute hym where
he myghte haue a conuenient person to walke his horse, because hee
would speake w_i_t_h_ a Farmer that dwelt on the backe side of the
sayde village, lytle aboue a quarter of a myle from the place where he
lighted, and had his man to waight vpon him, as it was mete for his
callinge: espying a Pryggar there standing, thinking the same to dwell
there, charging this prity prigginge person to walke his horse well,
and that they might not stande styll for takyng of colde, and at his
returne (which he saide should not be longe) he would geue hym a peny
to drinke, and so wente aboute his busines. This peltynge Priggar,
proude of his praye, walkethe his horse[84] vp and downe tyll he sawe
the Gentleman out of sighte, and leapes him into the saddell, and
awaye he goeth a mayne. This Gentleman returninge, and findinge not
his horses, sent his man to the one end of the vyllage, and he went
himselfe vnto the other ende, and enquired as he went for his horses
that were walked, and began some what to suspecte, because neither he
nor his man could se nor find him. Then this Gentleman deligentlye
enquired of thre or foure towne dwellers there whether any such person,
declaring his stature,[85] age, apparell, with so many linaments of
his body as he could call to remembraunce. And, “vna voce,” all sayde
that no such man dwelt in their streate, neither in the parish, that
they knewe of; but some did wel remember that such a one they saw
there lyrkinge and {44} huggeringe two houres before the Gentleman
came thether, and a straunger to them. “I had thoughte,” quoth this
Gentleman, “he had here dwelled,”—and marched home manerly in his
botes: farre from the place he dwelt not. I suppose at his comming home
he sente suche wayes as he suspected or thought méete to searche for
this Prigger, but hetherto he neuer harde any tydinges agayne of his
palfreys.—I had the best geldinge stolen oute of my pasture that I had
amongst others whyle this boke was first a printinge.
[Footnote 83: 1573, _was_]
[Footnote 84: _horses._ B.]
[Footnote 85: Printed _statute_]
¶ A PALLYARD. Cap. 7.
++THese Palliardes be called also Clapperdogens: these go with patched
clokes, _and_ haue their Morts with them, which they cal wiues; and if
he goe to one house, to aske his almes, his wife shall goe to a nother:
for what they get (as bread, chéese, malte, and woll) they sell the
same for redy money; for so they get more and if they went together.
Although they be thus[86] deuided in the daie, yet they mete iompe at
night. Yf they chaunce to come to some gentylmans house standinge [leaf
12, back] a lone, and be demaunded whether they be man and wyfe, _and_
if he perceaue that any doubteth thereof, he sheweth them a Testimonial
with the ministers name, and others of the same parishe (naminge a
parishe in some shere fare distant from the place where he sheweth the
same). This writing he carieth to salue that sore. Ther be many Irishe
men that goe about with cou_n_terfeate licenses; and if they perceiue
you wil straytly examen them, they will immediatly saye they can speake
no Englishe.
¶ Farther, vnderstand for trouth that the worst and wickedst of
all this beastly generation are scarse comparable to these prating
Pallyardes. All for _th_e most parte of these wil either lay to their
legs an herb called Sperewort, eyther Arsnicke, which is called
Ratesbane. The nature of this Spereworte wyll rayse a great blister in
a night vpon the soundest part of his body; and if the same be taken
away, it wyl dry vp againe and no harme. But this Arsnicke will so
poyson the same legge or sore, that it will euer after be incurable:
this do they for gaine and to be pitied. The most of these that walke
about be Walchmen.
[Footnote 86: Printed _this_]
{45}
¶ A FRATER. Cap. 8.
++SOme of these Fraters will cary blacke boxes at their gyrdel, wher
in they haue a briefe of the Queenes maiesties letters patentes, geuen
to suche[87] poore spitlehouse for the reliefe of _th_e poore there,
whiche briefe is a coppie of the letters patentes, _and_ vtterly
fained, if it be in paper or in[88] parchment without the great seale.
Also, if the same brief be in printe,[89] it is also of auctoritie.
For the Printers wil sée _and_ wel vndersta_n_d, before it come in
presse, that the same is lawfull. Also, I am credibly informed that
the chiefe Proctors of manye of these houses, that seldome trauel
abroad the_m_ selues, but haue their factors to gather for the_m_,
which looke very slenderly to the impotent and miserable creatures
committed to their charge, _and_ die for want of cherishing; wheras
they _and_ their wiues are wel cra_m_med _and_ clothed, _and_ will haue
of the best. And the founders of euery such house, or the chiefe of
the parishe wher they be, woulde better sée vnto these Proctors, that
they might do their duty, they should be wel spoken of here, and in
the world to come abou_n_dantly therefore rewarded. I had of late an
honest man, and of good wealthe, repayred to my house to common wyth
me aboute certeyne affaires. I inuited the same to dinner, and dinner
beinge done, I demaunded of hym some newes of these[90] parties were
hee dwelte. “Thankes be to God, syr,” (saith he); “all is well _and_
good now.” “Now!” (quoth I) “this same ‘nowe’ [leaf 13] declareth
_tha_t some things of late hath not bene wel.” “Yes, syr,” (q_uoth_
he) “the[91] matter is not great. I had thought I should haue bene wel
beaten within this seuenth night.” “How so?” (quoth I). “Mary, syr,”
sayd he, “I am Counstable for fault of a better, and was commaunded
by the Iusticer to watch. The watch being set, I toke an honest man,
one of my neighbors, with me, and went vp to the ende of the towne as
far as the spittle house, at which house I heard a great noyse, and,
drawing nere, stode close vnder the wall, and this was at one of the
clocke after midnight.” {46} Where he harde swearinge, pratinge, and
wagers laying, and the pot apase walkinge, and xl. pence gaged vpon a
matche of wrastling, pitching of the barre, and casting of the sledge.
And out they goe, in a fustian fume, into the backe syde, where was a
great Axiltrye,[92] and there fell to pitching of the barre, being thre
to thre. The Moone dyd shine bright, the Counstable with his neighboure
myght see and beholde all that was done. And howe the wyfe of the house
was rostinge of a Pyg, whyle her gestes were in their matche. At the
laste they coulde not agree vpon a caste, and fell at wordes, and from
wordes to blowes. The Counstable with his[93] fellowe runnes vnto them,
to parte them, and in the partinge lyckes a drye blowe or two. Then
the noyse increased; the Counstable woulde haue had them to[94] the
stockes. The wyfe of the house runnes out with her goodman to intreat
the Counstable for her gestes, and leaues the Pyg at the fyre alone.
In commeth two or thrée of the next neighboures, beinge waked wyth
this noise, and into the house they come, and fynde none therein, but
the Pygge well rosted, and carieth the same awaye wyth them, spyte and
all, with suche breade and drinke also as stoode vpon the table. When
the goodman and the goodwyfe of the house hadde intreated and pacified
the Counstable, shewinge vnto him that they were Proctors and Factores
all of Spyttell houses, and that they taryed there but to breake theyr
fast, and woulde ryde awaye immediatelye after, for they had farre to
goe, and therefore mente to ryde so earlye. And comminge into their
house agayne, fyndinge the Pygge wyth bread and drincke all gonne, made
a greate exclamation, for they knewe not who had the same.
¶ The Counstable returning and hearinge the lamentable wordes of the
good wyfe, howe she had lost both meate and drinke, and sawe it was
so in deede, hée laughed in his sleue, and commaunded her to dresse
no more at vnlawfull houres for any gestes. For hée thought it better
bestowed vppon those smell feastes his poore {47} neighboures then
vppon suche sturdye Lubbares. The nexte mornynge betymes the [leaf 13,
back] spitte and pottes were sette at the Spittle house doore for the
owner. Thus were these Factours begyled of theyr breakefast, and one
of them hadde well beaten an other; “And, by my trouth,” (quoth thys
Counstable) “I was gladde when I was well ryd of them.” “Why,” quoth
I, “coulde the[y] caste the barre and sledge well?” “I wyll tell you,
syr,” (quoth hée) “you knowe there hath bene manye games this Sommer.
I thinke verely, that if some of these Lubbars had bene there, and
practysed amongest others, I beleue they woulde haue carryed awaye the
beste games. For they were so stronge and sturdye, that I was not able
to stande in their handes.” “Well” (quoth I) “at these games you speake
of, both legges and armes bée tryed.” “Yea,” quoth this offycer, “they
bée wycked men. I haue séene some of them sithens wyth cloutes bounde
aboute theyr legges, and haltynge wyth their staffe in their handes.
Wherefore some of theym, by GOD, bée nought all.”
[Footnote 87: B. inserts _a_]
[Footnote 88: B. omits _in_]
[Footnote 89: Probably the reason why “in print” came to be
considered synonymous with “correct.” See 2 Gent. of Verona, act ii.
sc. 1, 175.]
[Footnote 90: _those._ B.]
[Footnote 91: B. omits _the_]
[Footnote 92:
Castyng_e_ of axtre & eke of ston,
Sofere hem þere to vse non;
Bal, and barres, and suche play,
Out of chycheȝorde put a-way.—
Myrc, p. 11, l. 334–7 (E. E. T. Soc. 1868)]
[Footnote 93: Printed _hts_]
[Footnote 94: _to to._ B.]
¶ A ABRAHAM MAN. Cap. 9.
++THese Abrahom men be those that fayne themselues to haue beene mad,
and haue bene kept eyther in Bethelem or in some other pryson a good
tyme, _and_ not one amongst twenty that euer came in pryson for any
such cause: yet wyll they saye howe pitiously and most extreamely
they haue bene beaten, and dealt with all. Some of these be merye and
verye pleasant, they wyll daunce and sing; some others be as colde and
reasonable to talke wyth all. These begge money; eyther when they come
at Farmours howses they wyll demaunde Baken, eyther chéese, or wooll,
or any thinge that is worthe money. And if they espye small company
within, they wyll with fierce countenau_n_ce demau_n_d some what. Where
for feare the maydes wyll geue theym largely to be ryd of theym.
++{ ¶ If they maye conuenyently come by any cheate, they wyl picke
and steale, as the v[p]right man or Roge, poultrey or } lynnen. And
all wemen that wander bée at their commaundemente. Of all that euer I
saw of this kynde, one naminge him selfe Stradlynge is the craftiest
and moste dyssemblyngest Knaue. {48} Hée is able wyth hys tounge and
vsage to deceaue and abuse the wysest man that is. And surely for the
proporcion of his body, with euery member there vnto appertayninge, it
cannot be a mended. But as the prouerbe is “God hath done his part.”
Thys Stradlyng sayth he was the Lord Sturtons man; and when he was
executed, for very pensiuenes of mynde, [leaf 14] he fell out of his
wytte, and so continued a yeare after and more; and that with the very
gréefe and feare, he was taken wyth a marueilous palsey, that both head
and handes wyll shake when he talketh, with anye and that a pase or
fast, where by he is much pytied, and getteth greately. And if I had
not demaunded of others, bothe men and women, that commonly walketh
as he doth, and knowen by them his déepe dissimylation, I neuer hadde
vnderstand the same. And thus I end wyth these kynde of vacabondes.
¶ A FRESHE WATER MARINER OR WHIPIACKE. Cap. 10.
++THese Freshwater Mariners, their shipes were drowned in the playne
of Salisbery. These kynde of Caterpillers counterfet great losses on
the sea; these bée some Western men, and most bée Irishe men. These
wyll runne about the countrey wyth a counterfet lycence, fayninge
either shypwracke, or spoyled by Pyrates, neare the coaste of Cornwall
or Deuonshyre, and set a lande at some hauen towne there, hauynge a
large and formall wrytinge, as is aboue sayd, with the names and seales
of suche men of worshyppe, at the leaste foure or fiue, as dwelleth
neare or next to the place where they fayne their landinge. And neare
to those shieres wyll they not begge, vntyll they come into Wylshyre,
Hamshyre, Barkeshyre, Oxfordshyre, Harfordshyre, Middelsex, and so[95]
to London, and downe by the ryuer to séeke for their shyppe and goods
that they neuer hade: then passe they through Surrey, Sossex, by the
sea costes, and so into Kent, demaunding almes to bring them home to
their country.
¶ Some tyme they counterfet the seale of the Admiraltie. I haue diuers
tymes taken a waye from them their lycences, of both sortes, wyth
suche money as they haue gathered, and haue confiscated the same to
the pouerty nigh adioyninge to me. And they wyll not {49} beelonge
with out another. For at anye good towne they wyll renewe the same.
Once wyth muche threatninge and faire promises, I required to knowe of
one companye who made their lycence. And they sweare that they bought
the same at Portsmouth, of a Mariner there, and it cost them[96] two
shillinges; with such warrantes to be so good and efectuall, that if
any of the best men of lawe, or learned, aboute London, should peruse
the same, they weare able to fynde no faute there with, but would
assuredly allow the same.
[Footnote 95: Omitted in 1573.]
[Footnote 96: _him_ (_sic_). B.]
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[Headnote: HARMON. N. BLUNT, N. GENYNGES.]
[Sidenote: [leaf 14, back][97]]
[Illustration: A vpright man
Nicolas Blunt.
The coūterfet Cranke
Nicolas Genynges]
These two pyctures, lyuely set out,
One bodye and soule, god send him more grace.
This mounstrous desembelar, a Cranke all about.
Vncomly couetinge, of eche to imbrace,
Money or wares, as he made his race.
And sometyme a marynar, and a saruinge man,
Or els an artificer, as he would fayne than.
Such shyftes he vsed, beinge well tryed,
A bandoninge labour, tyll he was espyed.
Conding punishment, for his dissimulation,
He sewerly receaued with much declination[98]
[Footnote 97: This page is not in Bodley ed.]
[Footnote 98: 1573 reads _exclamation_]
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[Sidenote: [leaf 15]]
¶ A COUNTERFET CRANKE. Cap. 11.
++THese that do counterfet the Cranke be yong knaues and yonge harlots,
that depely dissemble the falling sicknes. For the Cranke in their
language is the falling euyll. I haue séene some of these with fayre
writinges testimoniall, with the names and seales of some men of
worshyp in Shropshyre, and in other Shieres farre of, that I haue well
knowne, and haue taken the same from them. Many of these do go without
writinges, and wyll go halfe naked, and looke most pitiously. And if
any clothes be geuen them, the[y][99] immediatly sell the same, for
weare it they wyll not, because they would bée the more pitied, and
weare fylthy clothes on their heades, and neuer go without a péece of
whyte sope about them, which, if they sée cause or present gains, they
wyll priuely conuey the same into their mouth, and so worke the same
there, that they wyll fome as it were a Boore, _and_ maruelously for a
tyme torment them selues; and thus deceiue they the common people, and
gayne much. These haue commonly their harlots as the other.
Apon Alhollenday in the morning last Anno domini. 1566, or my[100]
booke was halfe printed, I meane the first impression, there came
earely in the morninge a Counterfet Cranke vnder my lodgynge at the
whyte Fryares, wythin the cloyster, in a lyttle yard or coorte, where
aboutes laye two or thre great Ladyes, beyng without the lyberties of
London, where by he hoped for the greatter gayne; this Cranke there
lamentably lamentinge and pitefully crying to be releued, declared to
dyuers their hys paynfull and miserable dysease. I being rysen and not
halfe ready, harde his dolfull wordes and rufull mornings, hering him
name the falling sicknes, thought assuredlye to my selfe that hée was a
depe desemblar; so, comminge out at a sodayne, and beholdinge his vgly
and yrksome attyre, hys lothsome and horyble countinance, it made me in
a meruelous parplexite what to thinke of hym, whether it were fayned
or trouth,—for after this manner went he: he was naked from the wast
vpward, sauyng he had a old Ierken[101] of leather patched, and that
was lose[102] about hym, that all his bodye laye out bare; a filthy
foule cloth he ware on his head, {52} being cut for the purpose,
hauing a narowe place to put out his face, with a bauer made to trusse
vp his beard, and a stryng that tyed the same downe close aboute his
necke; with an olde felt hat which he styll caried in his hande to
receaue the charytye and deuotion of the people, for that woulde he
hold out from hym; hauyng hys face, from the eyes downe ward, all smerd
with freshe bloud, [leaf 15, back] as thoughe he had new falen, and byn
tormented wyth his paynefull panges,—his Ierken beinge all be rayde
with durte and myre, and hys hatte and hosen also, as thoughe hée hadde
wallowed in the myre: sewerly the sighte was monstrous and terreble.
I called hym vnto me, and demaunded of hym what he ayled. “A, good
maister,” quoth he, “I haue the greuous and paynefull dyseas called
the falynge syckenes.” “Why,” quoth I, “howe commeth thy Ierken, hose,
and hat so be rayd with durte and myre, and thy skyn also?” “A, good
master, I fell downe on the backesyde here in the fowle lane harde by
the watersyde; and there I laye all most all night, and haue bled all
most all the bloude owte in my bodye.” It raynde that morninge very
fast; and whyle I was thus talkinge with hym, a honest poore woman
that dwelt thereby brought hym a fayre lynnen cloth, and byd hym wype
his face therewyth; and there beinge a tobbe standing full of rayne
water, offered to geue hym some in a dishe that he might make hym
selfe cleane: hée refuseth[103] the same. “Why dost thou so?” quoth I.
“A, syr,” sayth he, “yf I shoulde washe my selfe, I shoulde fall to
bléedinge a freshe againe, and then I should not stop my selfe:” these
wordes made me the more to suspecte hym.
Then I asked of hym where he was borne, what is name was, how longe
he had this dysease, and what tyme he had ben here about London, and
in what place. “Syr,” saythe he, “I was borne at Leycestar, my name
is Nycholas Genings,[104] and I haue had this falling sycknes viij.
yeares, and I can get no remedy for the same; for I haue it by kinde,
my father had it and my friendes before me; and I haue byne these two
yeares here about London, and a yeare and a halfe in bethelem.” “Why,
wast thou out of thy wyttes?” quoth I. “Ye, syr, that I was.”
[Footnote 99: _they._ B.]
[Footnote 100: _my my._ B.]
[Footnote 101: _gyrken_ (_et seqq._). B.]
[Footnote 102: _loose._ B.]
[Footnote 103: _refused._ B.]
[Footnote 104: _Gennins._ B.]
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