Part 14

_Water Myller._ What the devyll shold skyl,[146] though all the world were dum, Syns in all our spekynge we never be harde? We crye out for rayne, the devyll sped drop wyll cum. 445 We water myllers be nothynge in regarde. No water have we to grynde at any stynt, The wynde is so stronge the rayne cannot fall, Whyche kepeth our myldams as drye as a flynt. We are undone, we grynde nothynge at all, 450 The greter is the pyte, as thynketh me. For what avayleth to eche man his corne, Tyll it be grounde by such men as we be? There is the loss, yf we be forborne.[147] For, touchynge our-selfes, we are but drudgys, 455 And very beggers save onely our tole, B iv Whiche is ryght smale and yet many grudges For gryste of a busshell to gyve a quarte bole.[148] Yet, were not reparacyons, we myght do wele. Our mylstons, our whele with her kogges, & our trindill[149] 460 Our floodgate, our mylpooll, our water whele, Our hopper,[150] our extre,[151] our yren spyndyll, In this and mych more so great is our charge, That we wolde not recke though no water ware, Save onely it toucheth eche man so large, 465 And ech for our neyghbour Cryste byddeth us care. Wherfore my conscience hath prycked me hyther, In thys to sewe, accordynge to the cry,[152] For plente of raine to the god Jupiter To whose presence I wyll go evyn boldely. 470

_Mery-reporte._ Sir, I dowt nothynge your audacyte, But I feare me ye lacke capacyte, For, yf ye were wyse, ye myghte well espye, How rudely ye erre from rewls of courtesye. What! ye come in revelynge and reheytynge,[153] 475 Evyn as a knave might go to a beare-beytynge!

_Water Myller._ All you bere recorde what favour I have! Herke, howe famylyerly he calleth me knave! Dowtles the gentylman is universall! But marke thys lesson, syr. You shulde never call 480 Your felow knave, nor your brother horeson; For nought can ye get by it, when ye have done.

_Mery-reporte._ Thou arte nother brother nor felowe to me, For I am goddes servaunt, mayst thou not se? Wolde ye presume to speke with the great god? 485 Nay, dyscrecyon and you be to farre od![154] Byr lady, these knaves must be tyed shorter.[155] Syr, who let you in? Spake ye with the porter?

_Water Myller._ Nay, by my trouth, nor wyth no nother man. Yet I saw you well, when I fyrst began. 490 How be it, so helpe me god and holydam,[156] I toke you but for a knave, as I am. But, mary, now, syns I knowe what ye be, I muste and wyll obey your authoryte. And yf I maye not speke wyth Jupiter 495 I beseche you be my solycyter. B iv _b_

_Mery-reporte._ As in that, I wyl be your well-wyller. I perceyve you be a water myller. And your hole desyre, as I take the mater, Is plente of rayne for encres of water. 500 The let wherof, ye affyrme determynately, Is onely the wynde, your mortall enemy.

_Water Myller._ Trouth it is, for it blowyth so alofte, We never have rayne, or, at the most, not ofte. Wherfore, I praye you, put the god in mynde 505 Clerely for ever to banysh the wynde.

_Here entreth the_ WYNDE MYLLER.

_Wynde Myller._ How! Is all the wether gone or I come? For the passyon of god, helpe me to some. I am a wynd-miller, as many mo be. No wretch in wretchydnes so wrechyd as we! 510 The hole sorte[157] of my crafte be all mard at onys, The wynde is so weyke it sturryth not our stonys, Nor skantely can shatter[158] the shyttyn sayle That hangeth shatterynge[159] at a womans tayle. The rayne never resteth, so longe be the showres, 515 From tyme of begynnyng tyl foure & twenty howres; And, ende whan it shall, at nyght or at none, An-other begynneth as soone as that is done. Such revell of rayne ye knowe well inough, Destroyeth the wynde, be it never so rough, 520 Wherby, syns our myllys be come to styll standynge, Now maye we wynd-myllers go evyn to hangynge. A myller! with a moryn[160] and a myschyefe! Who wolde be a myller? As good be a thefe! Yet in tyme past, when gryndynge was plente, 525 Who were so lyke goddys felows as we? As faste as god made corne, we myllers made meale. Whyche myght be best forborne[161] for comyn weale? But let that gere passe, for I feare our pryde Is cause of the care whyche god doth us provyde. 530 Wherfore I submyt me, entendynge to se What comforte may come by humylyte. And, now, at thys tyme, they sayd in the crye, The god is come downe to shape remedye.

_Mery-reporte._ No doute, he is here, even in yonder trone. C 535 But in your mater he trusteth me alone, Wherein, I do perceyve by your complaynte, Oppressyon of rayne doth make the wynde so faynte, That ye wynde-myllers be clene caste away.

_Wynde Myller._ If Jupyter helpe not, yt is as ye say. 540 But, in few wordes to tell you my mynde rounde,[162] Uppon this condycyon I wolde be bounde, Day by day to say our ladyes' sauter,[163] That in this world were no drope of water, Nor never rayne, but wynde contynuall, 545 Then shold we wynde myllers be lordes over all.

_Mery-reporte._ Come on and assay how you twayne can agre-- A brother of yours, a myller as ye be!

_Water Myller._ By meane of our craft we may be brothers, But whyles we lyve shal we never be lovers. 550 We be of one crafte, but not of one kynde, I lyve by water and he by the wynde.

_Here_ MERY-REPORT _goth out_.

And, syr, as ye desyre wynde continuall, So wolde I have rayne ever-more to fall, Whyche two in experyence, ryght well ye se, 555 Ryght selde, or never, to-gether can be. For as longe as the wynde rewleth, yt is playne, Twenty to one ye get no drop of rayne; And when the element is to farre opprest, Downe commeth the rayne and setteth the wynde at reste. 560 By this, ye se, we can-not both obtayne. For ye must lacke wynde, or I must lacke rayne. Whertore I thynke good, before this audiens, Eche for our selfe to say, or we go hens; And whom is thought weykest, when we have fynysht, 565 Leve of his sewt and content to be banysht.

_Wynde Myller._ In fayth, agreed! but then, by your lycens, Our mylles for a tyrne shall hange in suspens. Syns water and wynde is chyefely our sewt, Whyche best may be spared we woll fyrst dyspute. 570 Wherfore to the see my reason shall resorte, Where shyppes by meane of wynd try from port to porte, From lande to lande, in dystaunce many a myle,-- Great is the passage and smale is the whyle. So great is the profile, as to me doth seme, C i _b_ 575 That no man's wysdome the welth can exteme.[164] And syns the wynde is conveyer of all Who but the wynde shulde have thanke above all?

_Water Myller._ Amytte[165] in this place a tree here to growe, And therat the wynde in great rage to blowe; 580 When it hath all blowen, thys is a clere case, The tre removeth no here-bred[166] from hys place. No more wolde the shyppys, blow the best it cowde. All though it wolde blow downe both mast & shrowde, Except the shyppe flete[167] uppon the water 585 The wynde can ryght nought do,--a playne matter. Yet maye ye on water, wythout any wynde, Row forth your vessell where men wyll have her synde.[168] Nothynge more rejoyceth the maryner, Then meane cooles[169] of wynde and plente of water. 590 For, commenly, the cause of every wracke Is excesse of wynde, where water doth lacke. In rage of these stormys the perell is suche That better were no wynde then so farre to muche.

_Wynde Myller._ Well, yf my reason in thys may not stande, 595 I wyll forsake the see and lepe to lande. In every chyrche where goddys servyce is, The organs beare brunt of halfe the quere,[170] i-wys. Whyche causeth the sounde, of water or wynde? More-over for wynde thys thynge I fynde 600 For the most parte all maner mynstrelsy, By wynde they delyver theyr sound chefly, Fyll me a bagpype of your water full, As swetely shall it sounde as it were stuffyd with wull.

_Water Myller._ On my fayth I thynke the moone be at the full, 605 For frantyke fansyes be then most plentefull. Which are at the pryde of theyr sprynge in your[171] hed, So farre from our matter he[171] is now fled. As for the wynde in any instrument, It is no percell of our argument, 610 We spake of wynde that comyth naturally And that is wynde forcyd artyfycyally, Whyche is not to purpose. But, yf it were, And water, in dede, ryght nought coulde do there, Yet I thynke organs no suche commodyte,[172] C ii 615 Wherby the water shulde banyshed be. And for your bagpypes, I take them as nyfuls,[173] Your mater is all in fansyes and tryfuls.

_Wynde Myller._ By god, but ye shall not tryfull me of[174] so! Yf these thynges serve not, I wyll reherse mo. 620 And now to mynde there is one olde proverbe come, One bushell of marche dust is worth a kynges raunsome, What is a hundreth thousande bushels worth than?

_Water Myller._ Not one myte, for the thynge selfe, to no man.

_Wynde Myller._ Why shall wynde every-where thus be objecte? 625 Nay, in the hye wayes he shall take effecte, Where as the rayne doth never good but hurt, For wynde maketh but dust and water maketh durt. Powder or syrop, syrs, whyche lycke ye best? Who lycketh not the tone maye lycke up the rest. 630 But, sure, who-so-ever hath assayed such syppes, Had lever have dusty eyes then durty lyppes. And it is sayd, syns afore we were borne, That drought doth never make derth of corne. And well it is knowen, to the most foole here, 635 How rayne hath pryced corne within this vii. yeare.[175]

_Water Myller._ Syr, I pray the, spare me a lytyll season. And I shall brevely conclude the wyth reason. Put case on[176] somers daye wythout wynde to be, And ragyous wynde in wynter dayes two or thre, 640 Mych more shall dry that one calme daye in somer, Then shall those thre wyndy dayes in wynter. Whom shall we thanke for thys, when all is done? The thanke to wynde? Nay! Thanke chyefely the sone. And so for drought, yf corne therby encres, 645 The sone doth comfort and rype all dowtles, And oft the wynde so leyth the corne, god wot, That never after can it rype, but rot. Yf drought toke place, as ye say, yet maye ye se, Lytell helpeth the wynde in thys commodyte. 650 But, now, syr, I deny your pryncypyll. Yf drought ever were, it were impossybyll To have ony grayne, for, or it can grow, Ye must plow your lande, harrow and sow, Whyche wyll not be, except ye maye have rayne C ii _b_ 655 To temper the grounde, and after agayne For spryngynge and plumpyng all maner corne Yet muste ye have water, or all is forlorne. Yf ye take water for no commodyte Yet must ye take it for thynge of necessyte, 660 For washynge, for skowrynge, all fylth clensynge, Where water lacketh what bestely beynge! In brewyng, in bakynge, in dressynge of meate, Yf ye lacke water, what coulde ye drynke or eate? Wythout water coulde lyve neyther man nor best, 665 For water preservyth both moste and lest. For water coulde I say a thousande thynges mo, Savynge as now the tyme wyll not serve so; And as for that wynde that you do sew fore, Is good for your wynde-myll and for no more. 670 Syr, syth all thys in experyence is tryde, I say thys mater standeth clere on my syde.

_Wynde Myller._ Well, syns thys wyll not serve, I wyll alledge the reste. Syr, for our myllys I saye myne is the beste. My wynd-myll shall grynd more corne in one our 675 Then thy water-myll shall in thre or foure, Ye more then thyne shulde in a hole yere, Yf thou myghtest have as thou hast wyshyd here. For thou desyrest to have excesse of rayne, Whych thyng to the were the worst thou couldyst obtayne. 680 For, yf thou dydyst, it were a playne induccyon[177] To make thyne owne desyer thyne owne destruccyon. For in excesse of rayne at any flood Your myllys must stande styll; they can do no good. And whan the wynde doth blow the uttermost 685 Our wyndmylles walke a-mayne in every cost. For, as we se the wynde in hys estate, We moder[178] our-saylys after the same rate. Syns our myllys grynde so farre faster then yours, And also they may grynde all tymes and howrs, 690 I say we nede no water-mylles at all, For wyndmylles be suffycyent to serve all.

_Water Myller._ Thou spekest of all and consyderest not halfe! In boste of thy gryste thou art wyse as a calfe! For, though above us your mylles grynde farre faster, C iii 695 What helpe to those from whome ye be myche farther? And, of two sortes, yf the tone shold be conserved, I thynke yt mete the moste nomber be served. In vales and weldes, where moste commodyte is, There is most people: ye must graunte me this. 700 On hylles & downes, whyche partes are moste barayne, There muste be few; yt can no mo sustayne. I darre well say, yf yt were tryed even now, That there is ten of us to one of you. And where shuld chyefely all necessaryes be, 705 But there as people are moste in plente? More reason that you come vii. myle to myll Then all we of the vale sholde clyme the hyll. If rayne came reasonable, as I requyre yt, We sholde of your wynde mylles have nede no whyt. 710

_Entreth_ MERY-REPORTE.

_Mery-reporte._ Stop, folysh knaves, for your reasonynge is suche, That ye have resoned even ynough and to much. I hard all the wordes that ye both have hadde, So helpe me god, the knaves be more then madde! Nother of them both that hath wyt nor grace, 715 To perceyve that both myllys may serve in place. Betwene water and wynde there is no suche let, But eche myll may have tyme to use his fet. Whyche thynge I can tell by experyens; For I have, of myne owne, not farre from hens, 720 In a corner to-gether a couple of myllys, Standynge in a marres[179] betweene two hyllys, Not of inherytaunce, but by my wyfe; She is feofed in the tayle for terme of her lyfe, The one for wynde, the other for water. 725 And of them both, I thanke god, there standeth[180] nother; For, in a good hour be yt spoken, The water gate is no soner open, But clap, sayth the wyndmyll, even strayght behynde! There is good spedde, the devyll and all they grynde! 730 But whether that the hopper be dusty, Or that the mylstonys be sumwhat rusty, By the mas, the meale is myschevous musty! And yf ye thynke my tale be not trusty, C iii _b_ I make ye trew promyse: come, when ye lyste, 735 We shall fynde meane ye shall taste of the gryst.

_Water Myller._ The corne at receyte happely is not good.

_Mery-reporte._ There can be no sweeter, by the sweet roode! Another thynge yet, whyche shall not be cloked, My watermyll many tymes is choked. 740

_Water Myller._ So wyll she be, though ye shuld burste your bones, Except ye be perfyt in settynge your stones. Fere not the lydger,[181] beware your ronner. Yet this for the lydger, or ye have wonne her, Parchaunce your lydger doth lacke good peckyng. 745

_Mery-reporte._ So sayth my wyfe, & that maketh all our checkyng.[182] She wolde have the myll peckt, peckt, peckt, every day! But, by god, myllers muste pecke when they may! So oft have we peckt that our stones wax right thynne, And all our other gere not worth a pyn, 750 For with peckynge and peckyng I have so wrought, That I have peckt a good peckynge-yron to nought. How be yt, yf I stycke no better tyll her, My wyfe sayth she wyll have a new myller. But let yt passe! and now to our mater! 755 I say my myllys lacke nother wynde nor water; No more do yours, as farre as nede doth requyre. But, syns ye can not agree, I wyll desyre Jupyter to set you both in suche rest As to your welth and his honour may stande best. 760

_Water Myller._ I praye you hertely remember me.

_Wynde Myller._ Let not me be forgoten, I beseche ye.

_Both_ MYLLERS _goth forth_.

_Mery-reporte._ If I remember you not both alyke I wolde ye were over the eares in the dyke. Now be we ryd of two knaves at one chaunce. 765 By saynte Thomas, yt is a knavyshe ryddaunce.

_The_ GENTYLWOMAN _entreth_.

_Gentylwoman._ Now, good god, what a foly is this? What sholde I do where so mych people is? I know not how to passe in to the god now.

_Mery-reporte._ No, but ye know how he may passe into you. 770

_Gentylwoman._ I pray you let me in at the backe syde.

_Mery-reporte._ Ye, shall I so, and your fore syde so wyde? C iv Nay not yet; but syns ye love to be alone, We twayne will into a corner anone. But fyrste, I pray you, come your way hyther, 775 And let us twayne chat a whyle to-gyther.

_Gentylwoman._ Syr, as to you I have lyttell mater. My commynge is to speke wyth Jupiter.

_Mery-reporte._ Stande ye styll a whyle, and I wyll go prove Whether that the god wyll be brought in love. 780 My lorde, how nowe! loke uppe lustely! Here is a derlynge come, by saynt Antony. And yf yt be your pleasure to mary, Speke quyckly; for she may not tary. In fayth, I thynke ye may wynne her anone; 785 For she wolde speke with your lordshyp alone.

_Jupyter._ Sonne, that is not the thynge at this tyme ment. If her sewt concerne no cause of our hyther resorte, Sende her out of place; but yf she be bent To that purpose, heare her and make us reporte. 790

_Mery-reporte._ I count women lost, yf we love them not well, For ye se god loveth them never a dele. Maystres ye can not speake wyth the god.

_Gentylwoman._ No! why?

_Mery-reporte._ By my fayth, for his lordship is ryght besy. Wyth a pece of worke that nedes must be doone; 795 Even now is he makyng of a new moone. He sayth your olde moones be so farre tasted,[183] That all the goodnes of them is wasted, Whyche of the great wete hath ben moste mater For olde moones be leake;[184] they can holde no water. 800 But for this new mone, I durst lay my gowne, Except a few droppes at her goyng downe, Ye get no rayne tyll her arysynge, Wythout yt nede, and then no mans devysynge Coulde wyshe the fashyon of rayne to be so good; 805 Not gushynge out lyke gutters of Noyes flood, But small droppes sprynklyng softly on the grounde; Though they fell on a sponge they wold gyve no sounde. This new moone shall make a thing spryng more in this while Then a olde moone shal while a man may go a mile. 810 By that tyme the god hath all made an ende, C iv _b_ Ye shall se how the wether wyll amende. By saynt Anne, he goeth to worke even boldely. I thynke hym wyse ynough; for he loketh oldely! Wherfore, maystres, be ye now of good chere; 815 For though in his presens ye can not appere, Tell me your mater and let me alone. Mayhappe I will thynke on you when you be gone.

_Gentylwoman._ Forsoth, the cause of my commynge is this: I am a woman right fayre, as ye se; 820 In no creature more beauty then in me is; And, syns I am fayre, fayre wolde I kepe me, But the sonne in somer so sore doth burne me, In wynter the wynde on every side me. No parte of the yere wote I where to turne me, 825 But even in my house am I fayne to hyde me. And so do all other that beuty have; In whose name at this tyme, this sewt I make, Besechynge Jupyter to graunt that I crave; Whyche is this, that yt may please hym, for our sake, 830 To sende us wether close and temperate, No sonne-shyne, no frost, nor no wynde to blow. Then wolde we get[185] the stretes trym as a parate.[186] Ye shold se how we wolde set our-selfe to show.

_Mery-reporte._ Jet where ye wyll, I swere by saynt Quintyne, 835 Ye passe them all, both in your owne conceyt and myne.

_Gentylwoman._ If we had wether to walke at our pleasure, Our lyves wolde be mery out of measure. One part of the day for our apparellynge Another parte for eatynge and drynkynge, 840 And all the reste in stretes to be walkynge, Or in the house to passe tyme with talkynge.

_Mery-reporte._ When serve ye God?

_Gentylwoman._ Who bosteth in vertue are but dawes[187]

_Mery-reporte._ Ye do the better, namely syns there is no cause. How spende ye the nyght?

_Gentylwoman._ In daunsynge and syngynge 845 Tyll mydnyght, and then fall to slepynge.

_Mery-reporte._ Why, swete herte, by your false fayth, can ye syng?

_Gentylwoman._ Nay, nay, but I love yt above all thynge.

_Mery-reporte._ Now, by my trouth, for the love that I owe you, D i You shall here what pleasure I can shew you. 850 One songe have I for you, suche as yt is, And yf yt were better ye should have yt, by gys.[188]

_Gentylwoman._ Mary, syr, I thanke you even hartely.

_Mery-reporte._ Come on, syrs; but now let us synge lust[e]ly.

_Here they singe._

_Gentylwoman._ Syr, this is well done; I hertely thanke you. 855 Ye have done me pleasure, I make God avowe. Ones in a nyght I long for suche a fyt; For longe tyme have I bene brought up in yt.