[Footnote 130: _lamentably._ B.]
[Footnote 131: _beholding this._ B.]
[Footnote 132: _but._ B.]
¶ This hollowe hosteler toke his staffe in his necke, and trodged out
apase that waye he sawe him before go, and had some vnderstanding, by
one of the maydens, that his mistres had her whistell stolen _and_
suspected her sonne; and he had not gone farre but that he espyed him
comming homeward alone, and, meting him, axed where he had ben. [leaf
19, back] “Where haue I bene?” q_uoth_ he, and began to smyle. “Now, by
the mas, thou hast bene at some baudy banquet.” “Thou hast euen tolde
trouth,” q_uoth_ thys chamberlayne. “Sewerly,” q_uoth_ this hosteler,
“thou haddest the same woman that begged at our house to day, for _th_e
harmes she had by fyre: where is she?” q_uoth_ he. “She is almost a
myle by this tyme,” q_uoth_ this chamberlayne. “Where is my mystres
whystell?” quoth this hosteler; “for I am well assured that thou
haddest it, and I feare me thou hast geuen it to that harlot.” “Why! is
it myssed?” quoth this chamberlayne. “Yea,” q_uoth_ this hosteler, and
shewed him all the hole circumstaunce, what was both sayde and thought
on him for the thing. “Well, I wyl tell the,” quoth this Chamberlayne.
“I wylbe playne with the. I had it in dede, and haue geue_n_ the same
to this woman, and I praye the make the best of it, and helpe nowe
to excuse the matter, and yet surely and thou wouldest take so much
payne for me as to ouer take her, (for she goeth but softly, and is
not yet farre of) and take the same from her, and I am euer thyne
assured fréende.” “Why, then, go with me,” quoth this hostler. “Nay, in
faythe,” quoth this Chamberlayne; “what is frear then gift? and I hadde
prety pastime for the same.” “Hadest thou so?” quoth this hosteler;
“nowe, by the masse, and I wyll haue some to, or I wyll lye in the
duste or I come agayne.” Passing with hast to ouer take this paramoure,
within a myle fro_m_ _th_e place where he departed he ouertoke her,
hauing an vpright man in her company, a stronge and a sturdye vacabond:
some what amased was this hosteler to se one familiarly in her company,
for he had well hopped to haue had some delycate dalyance, as his
fellowe hadde; but, seinge the matter so fallout, and being of {64}
good corage, and thinking to him selfe that one true man was better
then two false knaues, and being on the high way, thought vpon helpe,
if nede had bene, by such as had passed to and fro, Demaunded fersely
the whistell that she had euyn nowe of his fellowe. “Why, husband,”
quoth she, “can you suffer this wretche to slaunder your wyfe?” “A
vaunt verlet,” quoth this vpright man, and letes dryue with all his
force at this hosteler, and after halfe[133] a dosen blowes, he
strycks his staffe out of his hande, and as this hosteler stept backe
to haue taken vp his staffe agayne, his glymmeringe Morte flinges a
great stone at him, and strake him one the heade that downe hee fales,
wyth the bloud about his eares, and whyle hée laye this amased, the
vpright man snatches awaye his pursse, where in hée hadde money of his
mystresses as well as of his owne, and there let him lye, and went a
waye with spede that they were neuer harde of more. When this drye
beaten hosteler was come to him selfe, hée fayntlye wandereth home, and
crepethe in to hys couche, and restes [leaf 20] his ydle heade: his
mystres harde that hée was come in, and layde him downe on his beade,
repayred straight vnto him, and aske hym what he ayled, and what the
cause was of his so sudden lying one his bed. “What is the cause?”
quoth this hosteler; “your whystell, your whistel,”—speaking the same
pyteouslye thre or foure tymes. “Why, fole,” quoth his mystrisse, “take
no care for that, for I doe not greatly waye it; it was worth but thrée
shyllinges foure pens.” “I would it had bene burnt for foure yeares
agon.” “I praye the why so,” quoth his mystres; “I think thou art mad.”
“Nay, not yet,” quoth this hosteler, “but I haue bene madly handlyd.”
“Why, what is the matter?” quoth his mystres, and was more desirous to
know the case. “_And_ you wyl for geue my fellowe and me, I wyll shewe
you, or els I wyll neuer doe it.” Shée made hym presently faithfull
promisse that shée woulde. “Then,” saythe hee, “sende for your sonne
home agayne, whyche is ashamed to loke you in the face.” “I agre there
to,” sayth shée. “Well, then,” quoth this hosteler, “youre sonne hathe
geuen the same Morte that begged here, for the burninge of her house,
a whystell, and you haue geuen her v. shyllinges in money, {65} and I
haue geuen her ten shyllinges of my owne.” “Why, howe so?” quoth she.
Then he sadly shewed her of his myshap, with all the circumstaunce that
you haue harde before, and howe hys pursse was taken awaye, and xv.
shyllinges in the same, where of v. shyllinges was her money and x.
shyllinges his owne money. “Is this true?” quoth his mystres. “I, by my
trouth,” quoth this hosteler, “and nothing greues me so much, neyther
my beating, neither the losse of my money, as doth my euell _and_
wreched lucke.” “Why, what is the matter?” quoth his mystres. “Your
sonne,” saythe this hosteler, “had some chere and pastyme for that
whystell, for he laye with her, and I haue bene well beaten, and haue
had my pursse taken from me, and you knowe your sonne is merrye and
pleasaunt, and can kepe no great councell; and then shall I bemocked
_and_ loughed to skorne in all places when they shall here howe I haue
bene serued.” “Nowe, out vpon you knaues both,” quoth his mystres, and
laughes oute the matter; for she well sawe it would not other wyse
preuayle.
[Footnote 133: Omitted in 1573]
¶ A BAWDY BASKET. Cap. 17.
++THese Bawdy baskets be also wemen, and go with baskets and
Capcases on their armes, where in they haue laces, pynnes, nedles,
white ynkell, and round sylke gyrdles of al coulours. These wyl bye
co_n_neyski_n_s,[134] _and_ steale line_n_ clothes of on hedges. And
for their trifles they wil procure of mayden seruaunts, whe_n_ [leaf
20, back] their mystres or dame is oute of the waye, either some good
peece of béefe, baken, or chéese, that shalbe worth xij. pens, for
ii. pens of their toyes. And as they walke by the waye, they often
gaine some money wyth their instrument, by such as they sodaynely mete
withall. The vpright men haue good acquayntance with these, and will
helpe and relieue them when they want. Thus they trade their lyues in
lewed lothsome lechery. Amongest them all is but one honest woman, and
she is of good yeares; her name is Ione Messenger. I haue had good
proofe of her, as I haue learned by the true report of diuers.
[Footnote 134: Rabbitskins]
{66}
++{ There came to my gate the last sommer, Anno Domini .1566, a very
miserable man, and much deformed, as burnt in the } face, blere eyde,
and lame of one of his legges that he went with a crouche. I axed
him wher he was borne, and where he dwelt last, and shewed him that
thether he must repaire and be releued, and not to range aboute the
countrey; and seing some cause of cherytie, I caused him to haue meate
and drinke, and when he had dronke, I demaunded of him whether he was
neuer spoyled of the vpright man or Roge. “Yes, that I haue,” quoth
he, “and not this seuen yeres, for so long I haue gon abroad, I had
not so much taken from me, and so euyll handeled, as I was w_i_t_h_in
these iiij. dayes.” “Why, how so?” quoth I. “In good fayth, sir,” quoth
hée, “I chaunced to méete with one of these bawdy baskets which had an
vpright man in her company, and as I would haue passed quietly by her,
‘man,’ sayth she vnto vnto her make, ‘do you not se this ylfauored,
windshake_n_ knaue?’ ‘Yes,’ quoth the vpright man; ‘what saye you to
him?’ ‘this knaue[135] oweth me ii. shyllings for wares that[136] he
had of me, halfe a yere a go, I think it well.’ Sayth this vpright
man, ‘syra,’ sayth he, ‘paye your dets.’ Sayth this poore man, ‘I owe
her none, nether dyd I euer bargane with her for any thinge, and as
this[137] aduysed I neuer sawe her before in all my lyfe.’ ‘Mercy,
god!’ quoth she, ‘what a lyinge knaue is this, and he wil not paye you,
husband, beat him suerly,’ and the vpright man gaue me thre or foure
blowes on my backe and shoulders, and would haue beat me worsse and I
had not geuen hym all the money in my pursse, and in good fayth, for
very feare, I was fayne to geue him xiiij. pens, which was all the
money that I had. ‘Why,’ sayth this bawdy basket, ‘hast thou no more?
then thou owest me ten pens styll; and, be well assured that I wyll
bée payde the next tyme I méete with thée.’ And so they let me passe
by them. I praye god saue and blesse me, and al other in my case, from
such wycked persons,” quoth this poore man. “Why, whether went they
then?” quoth I. “Into east Kent, for I mete with them on thyssyde of
Rochester. I haue dyuers tymes bene attemted, but {67} I neuer loste
[leaf 21] much before. I thanke god, there came styll company by a fore
this vnhappy time.” “Well,” quoth I, “thanke God of all, and repaire
home into thy natyue countrey.”
[Footnote 135: B. inserts _sayth she_.]
[Footnote 136: Omitted in 1573.]
[Footnote 137: 1573 reads _I am_]
¶ A AUTEM MORT. Cap. 18.
++THese Autem Mortes be maried wemen, as there be but a fewe. For Autem
in their Language is a Churche; so she is a wyfe maried at the Church,
and they be as chaste as a Cowe I haue, _tha_t goeth to Bull euery
moone, with what Bull she careth not. These walke most times from their
husbands companye a moneth and more to gether, being asociate with
another as honest as her selfe. These wyll pylfar clothes of hedges:
some of them go with children of ten or xii. yeares of age; yf tyme and
place serue for their purpose, they wyll send them into some house, at
the window, to steale and robbe, which they call in their language,
Milling of the ken; and wil go w_i_t_h_ wallets on their shoulders,
and slates at their backes. There is one of these Autem Mortes, she is
now a widow, of fyfty yeres old; her name is Alice Milson: she goeth
about with a couple of great boyes, the yongest of them is fast vpon
xx. yeares of age; and these two do lye with her euery night, and she
lyeth in the middes: she sayth that they be her children, that beteled
be babes borne of such abhominable bellye.
¶ A WALKING MORT. Cap. 19.
++THese walkinge Mortes bee not maryed: these for their vnhappye yeares
doth go as a Autem Morte, and wyll saye their husbandes died eyther at
Newhauen, Ireland, or in some seruice of the Prince. These make laces
vpon staues, _and_ purses, that they cary in their hands, and whyte
vallance for beddes. Manye of these hath hadde and haue chyldren: when
these get ought, either with begging, bychery, or brybery, as money or
apparell, they are quickly shaken out of all by the vpright men, that
they are in a maruelous feare to cary any thinge aboute them that is
of any valure. Where fore, this pollicye they vse, they leaue their
money now with one and then with a nother trustye housholders, eyther
with the good man or good wyfe, some tyme in one shiere, and then in
another, as they {68} trauell: this haue I knowne, _tha_t iiij. or
v. shyllinges, yea x. shyllinges, lefte in a place, and the same wyll
they come for againe within one quarter of a yeare, or some tyme not in
halfe a yeare; and all this is to lytle purpose, for all their peuyshe
[leaf 21, back] pollycy; for when they bye them lynnen or garmentse, it
is taken awaye from them, and worsse geuen them, or none at all.
¶ The last Sommer, Anno domini .1566, being in familiare talke with a
walking Mort that came to my gate, I learned by her what I could, and
I thought I had gathered as much for my purpose as I desired. I began
to rebuke her for her leud lyfe and beastly behauor, declaring to her
what punishment was prepared and heaped vp for her in the world to
come for her fylthy lyuinge and wretched conuersation. “God helpe,”
q_uoth_ she, “how should I lyue? none wyll take me into seruice; but I
labour in haruest time honestly.” “I thinke but a whyle with honestie,”
q_uoth_ I. “Shall I tell you,” q_uoth_ she, “the best of vs all may be
amended; but yet, I thanke god, I dyd one good dede within this twelue
mo_n_thes.” “Wherein?” q_uoth_ I. Sayth she, “I woulde not haue it
spoken of agayne.” “Yf it be méete and necessary,” q_uo_d I, “it shall
lye vnder my feete.” “What meane you by that?” quoth she. “I meane,”
q_uo_d I, “to hide the same, and neuer to discouer it to any.” “Well,”
q_uoth_ she, and began to laugh as much as she could, and sweare by the
masse that if I disclosed the same to any, she woulde neuer more[138]
tell me any thinge. “The last sommer,” q_uoth_ she, “I was greate with
chylde, and I traueled into east kent by the sea coste, for I lusted
meruelously after oysters and muskels[139], and gathered many, and in
_th_e place where I found them, I opened them and eate them styll: at
the last, in seking more, I reached after one, and stept into a hole,
and fel in into the wast, and their dyd stycke, and I had bene drowned
if the tide had come, and espyinge a man a good waye of, I cried as
much as I could for helpe. I was alone, he hard me, and repaired as
fast to me as he might, and finding me their fast stycking, I required
for gods sake his helpe; and whether it was with stryuinge and forcing
my selfe out, or for ioye I had of his comminge to me, I had a great
couller in my face, and loked red and well {69} coullered. And, to be
playne with you, hée lyked me so well (as he sayd) that I should there
lye styll, and I would not graunt him, that he might lye with me. And,
by my trouth, I wist not what to answeare, I was in such a perplexite;
for I knew the man well: he had a very honest woman to his wyfe, and
was of some welth; and, one the other syde, if I weare not holpe out,
I should there haue perished, and I graunted hym that I would obeye to
his wyll: then he plucked me out. And because there was no conuenient
place nere hande, I required hym that I might go washe my selfe, and
make me somewhat clenly, and I would come to his house and lodge all
night in his barne, whether he mighte repaire to me, and accomplyshe
hys desire, ‘but let it not be,’ quoth she,[140] ‘before nine of the
clocke at nyghte [leaf 22] for then there wylbe small styrring. And
I may repaire to the towne,’ q_uoth_ she,[141] ‘to warme and drye my
selfe’; for this was about two of the clocke in the after none. ‘Do
so,’ quoth hée; ‘for I must be busie to looke oute my cattell here by
before I can come home.’ So I went awaye from hym, and glad was I.”
“And why so?” quoth I. “Because,” quoth she, “his wyfe, my good dame,
is my very fréend, and I am much beholdinge to her. And she hath donne
me so much good or this, that I weare loth nowe to harme her any waye.”
“Why,” quoth I, “what and it hadde béene any other man, and not your
good dames husbande?” “The matter had bene the lesse,” quoth shée.
“Tell me, I pray the,” quoth I, “who was the father of thy chylde?” She
stodyd a whyle, and sayde that it hadde a father. “But what was hée?”
quoth I. “Nowe, by my trouth, I knowe not,” quoth shée; “you brynge
me out of my matter so, you do.” “Well, saye on,” quoth I. “Then I
departed strayght to the towne, and came to my dames house, And shewed
her of my mysfortune, also of her husbands vsage, in all pointes, and
that I showed her the same for good wyll, and byde her take better
héede to her husbande, and to her selfe: so shée gaue me great thankes,
and made me good chéere, and byd me in anye case that I should be redye
at the barne at that tyme and houre we had apoynted; ‘for I knowe
well,’ quoth this good wyfe, ‘my husband wyll not breake wyth the. And
one thinge I warne[142] the, that thou {70} geue me a watche worde
a loud when hée goeth aboute to haue his pleasure of the, and that
shall[143] bée “fye, for shame, fye,” and I wyll bée harde by you wyth
helpe. But I charge the kéepe thys secret vntyll all bee fynesed; and
holde,’ saythe thys good wyfe, ‘here is one of my peticotes I geue
thée.’ ‘I thanke you, good dame,’ quoth I, ‘and I warrante you I wyll
bée true and trustye vnto you.’ So my dame lefte me settinge by a good
fyre with meate and drynke; and wyth the oysters I broughte with me, I
hadde greate cheere: shée wente strayght and repaired vnto her gossypes
dwelling there by; and, as I dyd after vnderstande, she made her mone
to them, what a naughtye, lewed, lecherous husbande shée hadde, and
howe that she coulde not haue hys companye for harlotes, and that she
was in feare to take some fylthy dysease of hym, he was so commen a
man, hauinge lytle respecte whome he hadde to do with all; ‘and,’ quoth
she, ‘nowe here is one at my house, a poore woman that goeth aboute
the countrey that he woulde haue hadde to doe withall; wherefore, good
neyghboures and louinge gossypes, as you loue me, and as you would haue
helpe at my hand another tyme, deuyse some remedy to make my husband a
good man, _tha_t I may lyue in some suerty without disease, and that
hée may saue his soule that God so derelye [leaf 22, back] bought.’
After shée hadde tolde her tale, they caste their persinge eyes all
vpon her, but one stoute dame amongst the rest had these wordes—‘As
your pacient bearinge of troubles, your honest behauiour among vs your
neyghbours, your tender and pytifull hart to the poore of the parysh,
doth moue vs to lament your case, so the vnsatiable carnalite of your
faithelesse husbande doth instigate and styre vs to deuyse and inuent
some spéedy redresse for your ease[144] and the amendement of hys
lyfe. Wherefore, this is my councell and you wyll bée aduertysed by
me; for[145] I saye to you all, vnlesse it be this good wyfe, who is
chéefely touched in this matter, I haue the nexte cause; for hée was in
hande wyth me not longe a goe, and companye had not bene present, which
was by a meruelous chaunce, he hadde, I thinke, forced me. For often
hée hath bene tempering[146] with me, and yet haue I sharpely sayde him
{71} naye: therefore, let vs assemble secretly into the place where hée
hathe apuynted to méete thys gyllot that is at your house, and lyrke
preuelye in some corner tyll hée begyn to goe aboute his busines. And
then me thought I harde you saye euen nowe that you had a watche word,
at which word we wyll all stepforth, being fiue of vs besydes you, for
you shalbe none because it is your husbande, but gette you to bed at
your accustomed houre. And we wyll cary eche of vs[147] good byrchen
rodde in our lappes, and we will all be muffeled for knowing, and se
that you goe home and acquaynt that walking Morte with the matter; for
we must haue her helpe to hold, for alwaies foure must hold and two
lay one.’ ‘Alas!’ sayth this good wyfe, ‘he is to stronge for you all.
I would be loth, for my sake you should receaue harme at his hande.’
‘feare you not,’ q_uoth_ these stout wemen, ‘let her not geue the watch
word vntyl his hosen be abaut his legges. And I trowe we all wylbe with
him to bring before he shall haue leasure to plucke them vp againe.’
They all with on voyce ag[r]ed to the matter, that the way she had
deuised was the best: so this good wife repaired home; but before she
departed from her gossypes, she shewed them at what houre they should
preuely come in on _th_e backsid, _and_ where to tary their good our:
so by _th_e time she came in, it was all most night, and found the
walking Morte still setting by the fyre, and declared to her all this
new deuyse aboue sayd, which promised faythfully to full fyll to her
small powre as much as they hadde deuysed: within a quarter of an
oure after, in co_m_meth the good man, who said that he was about his
cattell. “Why, what haue we here, wyfe, setting by the fyre? _and_ yf
she haue eate and dronke, send her into the barne to her lodging for
this night, for she troubeleth the house.” “Euen as you wyll husbande,”
sayth his wyfe; “you knowe she commeth once in two yeres into these
[leaf 23] quarters. Awaye,” saythe this good wyfe, “to your lodginge.”
“Yes, good dame,” sayth she, “as fast as I can:” thus, by loking
one[148] on the other, eche knewe others mynde, and so departed to her
comely couche: the good man of the house shrodge hym for Ioye, thinking
to hym selfe, I wyll make some pastyme with you anone. And calling to
his wyfe for hys sopper, set {72} him downe, and was very plesant,
and dranke to his wyfe, _and_ fell to his mammerings, and mounched a
pace, nothing vnderstanding of the bancquet that[149] was a preparing
for him after sopper, _and_ according to the prouerbe, that swete
meate wyll haue sowre sawce: thus, whe_n_ he was well refreshed, his
sprietes being reuyued, entred into familiare talke with his wife, of
many matters, how well he had spent that daye to both there proffytes,
sayinge some of his cattell[150] were lyke to haue bene drowned in the
dyches, dryuinge others of his neyghbours cattell out that were in
his pastures, _and_ mending his fences that were broken downe. Thus
profitably he had consumed the daye, nothinge talking of his helping
out of the walkinge Morte out of the myre, nether of his request nor
yet of her[151] promisse. Thus feding her w_i_t_h_ frendly fantacyes,
consumed two houres and more. Then fayninge howe hée would se in what
case his horse were in and howe they were dressed, Repaired couertly
into the barne, where as his frée[n]dlye foes lyrked preuely, vnlesse
it were this manerly Morte, that comly couched on a bottell of strawe.
“What, are you come?” q_uoth_ she; “by the masse, I would not for a
hundreth pound that my dame should knowe that you were here, eyther any
els of your house.” “No, I warrant the,” sayth this good man, “they be
all safe and fast ynough at their woorke, and I wylbe at mine anon.”
And laye downe by her, and strayght would haue had to do w_i_t_h_ her.
“Nay, fye,” sayth she, “I lyke not this order: if ye lye with me, you
shall surely vntrus you _and_ put downe your hosen, for that way is
most easiest and best.” “Sayest thou so?” quoth he, “now, by my trouth
agred.” And when he had vntrussed him selfe and put downe, he began
to assalt the vnsatiable[152] fort “Why,” quoth she, that was with
out shame, sauinge for her promes, “And are you not ashamed?” “neuer
a whyte,” sayth he, “lye downe quickely.” “Now, fye, for shame, fye,”
sayth shée a loude, whyche was the watche word. At the which word,
these fyue furious, sturdy, muffeled gossypes flynges oute, and takes
sure holde of this be trayed parson, sone[153] pluckinge his hosen
downe lower, and byndinge the same fast about his féete; {73} then
byndinge his handes, and knitting a hande charcher about his eyes, that
he shoulde not sée; and when they had made hym sure and fast, Then they
layd him one vntyll they weare windles. “Be good,” sayth this Morte,
“vnto my maister, for the passion of God,” [leaf 23, back] and layd
on as fast as the rest, and styll seased not to crye vpon them to bée
mercyfull vnto hym, and yet layde on a pace; and when they had well
beaten hym, that the bloud braste plentifullye oute in most places,
they let hym lye styll bounde. With this exhortation, that he shoulde
from that tyme forth knowe his wyfe from other mens, and that this
punishment was but a flebyting in respect of that which should followe,
yf he amended not his manners. Thus leuynge hym blustering, blowing,
and fominge for payne, and malyncolye that hée neither might or coulde
be reuenged of them, they vanyshed awaye, and hadde thys Morte with
them, and safely conuayde her out of the towne: sone after co_m_meth
into the barne one of the good mans boyes, to fet some haye for his
horse. And fyndinge his maister lyinge faste bounde and greuouslye
beaten with rodes, was sodenly abashed and woulde haue runne out agayne
to haue called for helpe; but his maister bed hym come vnto hym and
vnbynd hym; “and make no wordes,” quoth he, “of this. I wylbe reuenged
well inoughe;” yet not with standinge, after better aduyse, the matter
beinge vnhonest, he thought it meter to let the same passe, and,
not, as the prouerbe saythe, to awake the sleping dogge. “And, by my
trouth,” quoth this walkinge Morte, “I come nowe from that place, and
was neuer there sythens this parte was playde, whiche is some what more
then a yeare. And I here a very good reporte of hym now, that he loueth
his wyfe well, and vseth hym selfe verye honestlye; and was not this a
good acte? nowe, howe saye you?” “It was pretely handeled,” quoth I,
“and is here all?” “Yea,” quoth she, “here is the ende.”
[Footnote 138: Omitted in 1573.]
[Footnote 139: _mussels._ B.]
[Footnote 140: _he_, ed. 1573.]
[Footnote 141: _I_, ed. 1573.]
[Footnote 142: _warrant._ B.]