Part 10

¶ A Demaunder for glymmar came vnto a good towne in Kente, to aske the charitie of the people, hauinge a fayned lycens aboute her that declared her misfortune by fyre, donne in Somerset shyre, walkinge with a wallet on her shoulders, where in shée put the deuotion of suche as hadde no money to geue her; that is to saye, Malte, woll, baken, bread, and cheese; and alwayes, as the same was full, so was it redye money to her, when she emptyed the same, where so euer shee trauelede: thys harlot was, as they terme it, snowte fayre, and had an vpright man or two alwayes attendinge on her watche (whyche is on her parson), and yet so circumspecte, that they woulde neuer bee séene in her company in any good towne, vnlesse it were in smale vyllages where typling houses weare, eyther trauelinge to gether by the hygh wayes; but _th_e troth is, by report, she would wekely be worth vi. or seuen shyllinges with her begging and bycherye. This glimmering Morte, repayringe to an Ine in _th_e sayde towne where dwelt a wydow of fyftie wynter olde of good welth; but she had an vnthryftye sonne, whom she vsed as a chamberlaine to attend gestes when they repared to her house: this amerous man, be holdinge with ardante eyes thys[131] glymmeringe glauncer, was presentlye pyteouslye persed to the hart, and lewdlye longed to bée clothed vnder her lyuerye; and bestowinge [leaf 19] a {62} fewe fonde wordes with her, vnderstode strayte that she woulde be easlye perswaded to lykinge lechery, and as a man mased, mused howe to attayne to his purpose, for[132] he hadde no money. Yet consideringe wyth hym selfe that wares woulde bée welcome where money wanted, hée went with a wannion to his mothers chamber, and there sekinge aboute for odde endes, at length founde a lytle whystell of syluer that his mother dyd vse customablye to weare on, and had forgot the same for haste that morninge, and offeres the same closely to this manerly marian, that yf she would mete hym on the backesyde of the towne and curteously kys him with out constraynt, she shoulde bée mystres thereof, and it weare much better. “Well,” sayth she, “you are a wanton;” and beholdinge the whystell, was farther in loue there with then rauysht wyth his person, and agred to mete him presently, and to accomplyshe his fonde fancy:—to be short, and not tedyous, a quarter of a myle from the towne, he merely toke measure of her vnder a bawdye bushe; so she gaue hym that she had not, and he receiued that he coulde not; and taking leue of eche other with a curteous kysse, she plesantly passed forth one her iornaye, _and_ this vntoward lycorous chamberlayne repayred home warde. But or these two tortylles tooke there leue, the good wyfe myssed her whystell, and sent one of her maydenes in to her chamber for the same, and being long sawght for, none coulde be founde; her mystres hering that, diligent search was made for the same; and that it was taken awaye, began to suspecte her vnblessed babe, and demaunded of her maydens whether none of them sawe her sonne in her chamber that morning, and one of them aunswered that she sawe him not there, but comming from thens: then had she ynough, for well she wyste that he had the same, and sent for him, but he could not be founde. Then she caused her hosteler, in whome she had better affyaunce in for his trouth,—and yet not one amongst twenty of them but haue well left there honesty, (As I here a great sorte saye)—to come vnto her, whiche attended to knowe her pleasure. “Goe, seke out,” saythe she, “my vntowarde sonne, and byd hym come speake with me.” “I sawe him go out,” saythe he, “halfe an houre {63} sithens one the backesyde. I hadde thought you hadde sent him of your arrante.” “I sent him not,” quoth she; “goe, loke him out.”

[Footnote 129: _faynen._ B.]

[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.