Part 6

We are alle mightie glad that _Rupert Allington_ hath at lengthe zealouslie embraced the Studdy of the Law. 'Twas much to be feared at the Firste there was noe Application in him, and though we alle pitied him when _Father_ first broughte him Home, a pillaged, portionlesse Client, with none other to espouse his Rightes, yet 'twas a Pitie soone allied with Contempt when we founde how emptie he was, caring for nought but Archerie and Skittles and the Popinjaye out o' the House, and Dicing and Tables within, which _Father_ would on noe Excuse permitt. Soe he had to conform, ruefullie enow, and hung piteouslie on Hand for awhile. I mind me of _Bess's_ saying, about _Christmasse_, "Heaven send us open Weather while _Allington_ is here; I don't believe he is one that will bear shutting up." Howbeit, he seemed to incline towards _Daisy_, who is handsome enow, and cannot be hindered of Two-hundred Pounds, and soe he kept within Bounds, and when _Father_ got him his Cause he was mightilie thankfulle, and woulde have left us out of Hand, but _Father_ persuaded him to let his Estate recover itself, and turn the mean Time to Profitt, and, in short, soe wrought on him, that he hath now become a Student in righte earneste.

_22nd._

Soe we are going to lose not only Mr. _Clement_, but Mr. _Gunnel_! How sorrie we alle are! It seemeth he hath long been debating for and agaynst the Church, and at length finds his Mind soe stronglie set towards it, as he can keep out of it noe longer. Well! we shall lose a good Master, and the Church will gayn a good Servant. _Drew_ will supplie his Place, that is, according to his beste, but our worthy Welshman careth soe little for young People, and is soe abstract from the World about him, that we shall oft feel our Loss. _Father_ hath promised _Gonellus_ his Interest with the _Cardinall_.

I fell into Disgrace for holding Speech with _Mercy_ over the Pales, but she is confident there is noe Danger; the Sick are doing well, and none of the Whole have fallen sick. She sayth _Gammer Gurney_ is as tender of her as if she were her Daughter, and will let her doe noe vile or paynfull Office, soe as she hath little to doe but read and pray for the poor Souls, and feed 'em with savourie Messes, and they are alle so harmonious and full of Cheer, as to be like Birds in a Nest. _Mercy_ deserves theire Blessings more than I. Were I a free Agent, she should not be alone now, and I hope ne'er to be withheld therefrom agayn.

_30th._

Busied with my Flowers the chief o' the Forenoon, I was fayn to rest in the Pavilion, when, entering therein, whom shoulde I stumble upon but _William_, layd at length on the Floor, with his Arms under his Head, and his Book on the Ground. I was withdrawing brisklie enow, when he called out, "Don't goe away, since you _are_ here," in a Tone soe rough, soe unlike his usuall Key, as that I paused in a Maze, and then saw that his Eyes were red. He sprung to his Feet and sayd, "_Meg_, come and talk to me;" and, taking my Hand in his, stepped quicklie forthe without another Word sayd, till we reached the Elm-tree Walk. I marvelled to see him soe moven, and expected to hear Somewhat that shoulde displease me, scarce knowing what; however, I might have guest at it from then till now, without ever nearing the Truth. His first Words were, "I wish _Erasmus_ had ne'er crost the Thresholde; he has made me very unhappie;" then, seeing me stare, "Be not his Council just now, deare _Meg_, but bind up, if thou canst, the Wounds he has made.... There be some Wounds, thou knowest, though but of a cut Finger or the like, that we cannot well bind up for ourselves."

I made Answer, "I am a young and unskilled Leech."

He replyed, "But you have a quick Wit, and Patience, and Kindnesse, and for a Woman, are not scant of Learning."

"Nay," I sayd, "but Mr. _Gunnel_--"

"_Gunnel_ would be the Last to help me," interrupts _Will_, "nor can I speak to your Father. He is alwaies too busie now ... besides,--"

"Father _Francis_?" I put in.

"Father _Francis_?" repeats _Will_, with a Shake o' the Head and a ruefulle Smile; "dost thou think, _Meg_, he coulde answer me if I put to him _Pilate's_ Question, 'What is Truth?'"

"We know alreadie," quoth I.

Sayth _Will_, "What do we know?"

I paused, then made Answer reverentlie, "That _Jesus_ is the Way, the Truth, and the Life."

"Yes," he exclaymed, clapping his Hands together in a strange Sort of Passion; "that we _doe_ know, blessed be GOD, and other Foundation can or ought noe Man to lay than that is layd, which is JESUS CHRIST. But, _Meg_, is this the Principle of our Church?"

"Yea, verily," I steadfastlie replied.

"Then, how has it beene overlayd," he hurriedlie went on, "with Men's Inventions! St. _Paul_ speaks of a Sacrifice once offered: we holde the Host to be a continuall Sacrifice. Holy Writ telleth us, where a Tree falls it must lie; we are taughte that our Prayers may free Souls from Purgatorie. The Word sayth, 'By Faith ye are saved;' the Church sayth, we may be saved by our Works. It is written, 'The Idols he shall utterly abolish;' we worship Figures of Gold and Silver...." "Hold, hold," I sayd, "I dare not listen to this.... You are wrong, you know you are wrong."

"How and where?" he sayth; "onlie tell me. I long to be put righte."

"Our Images are but Symbols of our Saints," I made Answer; "'tis onlie the Ignorant and Unlearned that worship the mere Wood and Stone."

"But why worship Saints at alle?" persisted _Will_; "where's your Warrant for it?"

I sayd, "Heaven has warranted it by sundrie and speciall Miracles at divers Times and Places. I may say to you, _Will_, as _Socrates_ to _Agathon_, 'You may easilie argue agaynst me, but you cannot argue agaynst the Truth.'"

"Oh, put me not off with _Plato_," he impatientlie replyed, "refer me but to Holie Writ."

"How can I," quoth I, "when you have ta'en away my Testament ere I had half gone through it? 'Tis this Book, I fear me, poor _Will_, hath unsettled thee. Our Church, indeed, sayth the Unlearned wrest it to theire Destruction."

"And yet the Apostle sayth," rejoyned _Will_, "that it contayns alle Things necessarie to our Salvation."

"Doubtlesse it doth, if we knew but where to find them," I replied.

"And how find, unlesse we seeke?" he pursued, "and how know which Road to take, when we find the Scripture and the Church at Issue?"

"Get some wiser Head to advise us," I rejoyned.

"But an' if the Obstacle remains the same?"

"I cannot suppose that," I somewhat impatientlie returned, "GOD'S Word and GOD'S Church must agree; 'tis only we that make them at Issue."

"Ah, _Meg_, that is just such an Answer as Father _Francis_ mighte give--it solves noe Difficultie. If, to alle human Reason, they pull opposite Ways, by which shall we abide? I know; I am certain. '_Tu, Domine Jesu, es Justicia mea!_'"

He looked soe rapt, with claspt Hands and upraysed Eyes, as that I coulde not but look on him and hear him with Solemnitie. At length I sayd, "If you know and are certayn, you have noe longer anie Doubts for me to lay, and with your Will, we will holde this Discourse noe longer, for however moving and however considerable its Subject Matter may be, it approaches forbidden Ground too nearlie for me to feel it safe, and I question whether it savoureth not of Heresie. However, _Will_, I most heartilie pitie you, and will pray for you."

"Do, _Meg_, do," he replyed, "and say nought to any one of this Matter."

"Indeede I shall not, for I think 'twoulde bring you if not me into Trouble; but, since thou haste soughte my Council, _Will_, receive it now and take it...."

He sayth, "What is it?"

"To read less, pray more, fast, and use such Discipline as our Church recommends, and I question not this Temptation will depart. Make a fayr Triall."

And soe, away from him, though he woulde fain have sayd more; and I have kept mine own Worde of praying for him full earnestlie, for it pitieth me to see him in such Case.

_Sept. 2nd._

Poor _Will_, I never see him look grave now, nor heare him sighe, without thinking I know the Cause of his secret Discontentation. He hath, I believe, followed my Council to the Letter, for though the Men's Quarter of the House is soe far aparte from ours, it hath come rounde to me through _Barbara_, who had it from her Brother, that Mr. _Roper_ hath of late lien on the Ground, and used a knotted Cord. As 'tis one of the Acts of Mercy to relieve others, when we can, from Satanic Doubts and Inquietations, I have been at some Payns to make an Abstracte of such Passages from the Fathers, and such Narratives of noted and undeniable Miracles as cannot, I think, but carry Conviction with them, and I hope they may minister to his Soul's Comfort.

_Tuesday, 4th._

Supped with my Lord _Sands_. _Mother_ played Mumchance with my Lady, but _Father_, who saith he woulde rather feast a hundred poor Men than eat at one rich Man's Table, came not in till late, on Plea of Businesse. My Lord tolde him the King had visitted him not long agone, and was soe well content with his Manor as to wish it were his owne, for the singular fine Ayr and pleasant growth of Wood. In fine, wound up the Evening with Musick. My Lady hath a Pair of fine-toned Clavichords, and a Mandoline that stands five Feet high; the largest in _England_, except that of the Lady _Mary Dudley_. The Sound, indeed, is powerfull, but methinketh the Instrument ungaynlie for a Woman. Lord _Sands_ sang us a new Ballad, "_The King's Hunt's up_," which _Father_ affected hugelie. I lacked Spiritt to sue my Lord for the Words, he being soe free-spoken as alwaies to dash me; howbeit, I mind they ran somewhat thus....

"_The Hunt is up, the Hunt is up, And it is well nigh Daye, Harry our King has gone hunting To bring his Deere to baye. The East is bright with Morning Lighte, And Darkness it is fled, And the merrie Horn wakes up the Morn To leave his idle Bed. Beholde the Skies with golden Dyes, Are...._"

--The Rest hath escaped me, albeit I know there was some Burden of Hey-tantara, where my Lord did stamp and snap his Fingers. He is a merry Heart.

_1524, October._

Sayth Lord _Rutland_ to my Father, in his acute sneering Way, "Ah, ah, Sir _Thomas_, _Honores mutant Mores_."

"Not so, in Faith, my Lord," returns _Father_, "but have a care lest we translate the Proverb, and say Honours change _Manners_."

It served him right, and the Jest is worth preserving, because 'twas not premeditate, as my Lord's very likely was, but retorted at once and in Self-defence. I don't believe Honours _have_ changed the _Mores_. As _Father_ told _Mother_, there's the same Face under the Hood. 'Tis comique, too, the Fulfilment of _Erasmus_ his Prophecy. _Plato's_ Year has not come rounde, but they have got _Father_ to Court, and the King seems minded never to let him goe. For us, we have the same untamed Spiritts and unconstrayned Course of Life as ever, neither lett nor hindered in our daylie Studdies, though we dress somewhat braver, and see more Companie. _Mother's_ Head was a little turned, at first, by the Change and Enlargement of the Householde ... the Acquisition of Clerk of the Kitchen, Surveyor of the Dresser, Yeoman of the Pastrie, etc., but, as _Father_ laughinglie tolde her, the Increase of her Cares soon steddied her Witts, for she found she had twenty Unthrifts to look after insteade of half-a-dozen. And the same with himself. His Responsibilities are soe increast, that he grutches at everie Hour the Court steals from his Family, and vows, now and then, he will leave off joking, that the King may the sooner wearie of him. But this is onlie in Jest, for he feels it is a _Power_ given him over lighter Minds, which he may exert to usefull and high Purpose. Onlie it keepeth him from needing _Damocles_ his Sword; he trusts not in the Favour of Princes nor in the Voyce of the People, and keeps his Soul as a weaned Child. 'Tis much for us now to get an Hour's Leisure with him, and makes us feel what our olde Privilleges were when we knew 'em not. Still, I'm pleased without being over elated, at his having risen to his proper Level.

The _King_ tooke us by Surprise this Morning: _Mother_ had scarce time to slip on her Scarlett Gown and Coif, ere he was in the House. His Grace was mighty pleasant to all, and, at going, saluted all round, which _Bessy_ took humourously, _Daisy_ immoveablie, _Mercy_ humblie, I distastefullie, and _Mother_ delightedlie. She calls him a fine Man; he is indeede big enough, and like to become too big; with long slits of Eyes that gaze freelie on all, as who shoulde say, "Who dare let or hinder us?" His Brow betokens Sense and Franknesse, his Eyebrows are supercilious, and his Cheeks puffy. A rolling, straddling Gait, and abrupt Speech.

T'other Evening, as _Father_ and I were, unwontedly, strolling together down the Lane, there accosts us a shabby poor Fellow, with something unsettled in his Eye....

"Master, Sir Knight, and may it please your Judgeship, my name is _Patteson_."

"Very likely," says Father, "and my Name is _More_, but what is that to the Purpose?"

"And that is _more_ to the Purpose, you mighte have said," returned the other.

"Why, soe I mighte," says _Father_, "but how shoulde I have proved it?"

"You who are a Lawyer shoulde know best about that," rejoyned the poor Knave; "'tis too hard for poor _Patteson_."

"Well, but who are you?" says _Father_, "and what do you want of me?"

"Don't you mind me?" says _Patteson_; "I played Hold-your-tongue, last _Christmasse_ Revel was five Years, and they called me a smart Chap then, but last _Martinmasse_ I fell from the Church Steeple, and shook my Brain-pan, I think, for its Contents have seemed addled ever since; soe what I want now is to be made a Fool."

"Then you are not one already?" says _Father_.

"If I were," says _Patteson_, "I shoulde not have come to _you_."

"Why, Like cleaves to Like, you know they say," says _Father_.

"Aye," says t'other, "but I've Reason and Feeling enow, too, to know you are no Fool, though I thoughte you might want one. Great People like 'em at their Tables, I've hearde say, though I am sure I can't guesse why, for it makes me sad to see Fools laughed at; ne'erthelesse, as I get laughed at alreadie, methinketh I may as well get paid for the Job if I can, being unable, now, to doe a Stroke of Work in hot Weather. And I'm the onlie Son of my Mother, and she is a Widow. But perhaps I'm not bad enough."

"I know not that, poor Knave," says _Father_, touched with quick Pity, "and, for those that laugh at Fools, my Opinion, _Patteson_, is that they are the greater Fools who laugh. To tell you the Truth, I had had noe Mind to take a Fool into mine Establishment, having alwaies had a Fancy to be prime Fooler in it myselfe; however, you incline me to change my Purpose, for as I said anon, Like cleaves to Like, soe, I'll tell you what we will doe--divide the Businesse and goe Halves--I continuing the Fooling, and thou receiving the Salary; that is, if I find, on Inquiry, thou art given to noe Vice, including that of Scurrillitie."

"May it like your Goodness," says poor _Patteson_, "I've been the Subject, oft, of Scurrillitie, and affect it too little to offend that Way myself. I ever keep a civil Tongue in my Head, 'specially among young Ladies."

"That minds me," says _Father_, "of a Butler who sayd he always was sober, especially when he only had Water to drink. Can you read and write?"

"Well, and what if I cannot?" returns _Patteson_, "there ne'er was but one, I ever heard of, that knew Letters, never having learnt, and well he might, for he made them that made them."

"_Meg_, there is Sense in this poor Fellow," says _Father_, "we will have him Home and be kind to him."

And, sure enow, we have done so and been so ever since.

_Tuesday, 25th._

A glance at the anteceding Pages of this _Libellus_ me-sheweth poor _Will Roper_ at the Season his Love-fitt for me was at its Height. He troubleth me with it noe longer, nor with his religious Disquietations. Hard Studdy of the Law hath filled his Head with other Matters, and made him infinitely more rationall, and by Consequents, more agreeable. 'Twas one of those Preferences young People sometimes manifest, themselves know neither why nor wherefore, and are shamed, afterwards, to be reminded of. I'm sure I shall ne'er remind him. There was nothing in me to fix a rational or passionate Regard. I have neither _Bess's_ Witt nor white Teeth, nor _Daisy's_ dark Eyes, nor _Mercy's_ Dimple. A plain-favoured Girl, with changefulle Spiritts,--that's alle.

_26th._

_Patteson's_ latest Jest was taking Precedence of _Father_ yesterday with the Saying, "Give place, Brother; you are but Jester to King _Harry_, and I'm Jester to Sir _Thomas More_; I'll leave you to decide which is the greater Man of the two."

"Why, Gossip," cries _Father_, "his Grace woulde make two of me."

"Not a Bit of it," returns _Patteson_, "he's big enow for two such as you are, I grant ye, but the King can't make two of you. No! Lords and Commons may make a King, but a King can't make a Sir _Thomas More_."

"Yes, he can," rejoyns _Father_, "he can make me Lord Chancellor, and then he will make me more than I am already; _ergo_, he will make Sir _Thomas_ more."

"But what I mean is," persists the Fool, "that the King can't make such another as you are, any more than all the King's Horses and all the King's Men can put _Humpty-dumpty_ together again, which is an ancient Riddle, and full of Marrow. And soe he'll find, if ever he lifts thy Head off from thy Shoulders, which GOD forbid!"

_Father_ delighteth in sparring with _Patteson_ far more than in jesting with the King, whom he alwaies looks on as a Lion that may, any Minute, fall on him and rend him. Whereas, with t'other, he ungirds his Mind. Their Banter commonly exceeds not Pleasantrie, but _Patteson_ is ne'er without an Answer; and although, maybe, each amuses himselfe now and then with thinking, "I'll put him up with such a Question," yet, once begun, the Skein runs off the Reel without a Knot, and shews the excellent Nature of both, soe free are they alike from Malice and Over-license. Sometimes theire Cuts are neater than common Listeners apprehend. I've seene _Rupert_ and _Will_, in fencing, make theire Swords flash in the Sun at every Parry and Thrust; agayn, owing to some Change in mine owne Position, or the Decline of the Sun, the Scintillations have escaped me, though I've known their Rays must have been emitted in some Quarter alle the same.

_Patteson_, with one of _Argus's_ cast Feathers in his Hand, is at this Moment beneath my Lattice, astride on a Stone Balustrade; while _Bessy_, whom he much affects, is sitting on the Steps, feeding her Peacocks. Sayth _Patteson_, "Canst tell me, Mistress, why Peacocks have soe manie Eyes in theire Tails, and yet can onlie see with two in theire Heads?"

"Because those two make them soe vain alreadie, Fool," says _Bess_, "that were they always beholding theire owne Glory, they woulde be intolerable."

"And besides that," says _Patteson_, "the less we see or heare, either, of what passes behind our Backs, the better for us, since Knaves will make Mouths at us then, for as glorious as we may be. Canst tell me, Mistress, why the Peacock was the last Bird that went into the Ark?"

"First tell me, Fool," returns _Bess_, "how thou knowest that it was soe?"

"Nay, a Fool may ask a Question would puzzle a Wiseard to answer," rejoyns _Patteson_; "I mighte ask you, for example, where they got theire fresh Kitchen-stuff in the Ark, or whether the Birds ate other than Grains, or the wild Beasts other than Flesh. It needs must have been a Granary."

"We ne'er shew ourselves such Fools," says _Bess_, "as in seeking to know more than is written. They had enough, if none to spare, and we scarce can tell how little is enough for bare Sustenance in a State of perfect Inaction. If the Creatures were kept low, they were all the less fierce."

"Well answered, Mistress," says _Patteson_, "but tell me, why do you wear two Crosses?"

"Nay, Fool," returns _Bess_, "I wear but one."

"Oh, but I say you wear two," says _Patteson_, "one at your Girdle, and one that nobody sees. We alle wear the unseen one, you know. Some have theirs of Gold, alle carven and shaped, soe as you hardlie tell it for a Cross ... like my Lord Cardinall, for Instance ... but it is one, for alle that. And others, of Iron, that eateth into their Hearts ... methinketh Master _Roper's_ must be one of 'em. For me, I'm content with one of Wood, like that our deare LORD bore; what was goode enow for him is goode enow for me, and I've noe Temptation to shew it, as it isn't fine, nor yet to chafe at it for being rougher than my Neighbour's, nor yet to make myself a second because it is not hard enow. Doe you take me, Mistress?"

"I take you for what you are," says _Bess_, "a poor Fool."

"Nay, Niece," says _Patteson_, "my Brother your Father hath made me rich."

"I mean," says _Bess_, "you have more Wisdom than Witt, and a real Fool has neither, therefore you are only a make-believe Fool."

"Well, there are many make-believe Sages," says _Patteson_; "for mine owne Part, I never aim to be thoughte a _Hiccius Doccius_."

"A _hic est doctus_, Fool, you mean," interrupts _Bess_.

"Perhaps I do," rejoins _Patteson_, "since other Folks soe oft know better what we mean than we know ourselves. Alle I woulde say is, I ne'er set up for a Conjuror. One can see as far into a Millstone as other People, without being that. For Example, when a Man is overta'en with Qualms of Conscience for having married his Brother's Widow, when she is noe longer soe young and fair as she was a Score of Years ago, we know what that's a Sign of. And when an _Ipswich_ Butcher's Son takes on him the State of my Lord _Pope_, we know what that's a Sign of. Nay, if a young Gentlewoman become dainty at her Sizes, and sluttish in her Apparel, we ... as I live, here comes _Giles Heron_, with a Fish in's Mouth."

Poor Bess involuntarilie turned her Head quicklie towards the Watergate; on which, _Patteson_, laughing as he lay on his Back, points upward with his Peacock's Feather, and cries, "Overhead, Mistress! see, there he goes. Sure, you lookt not to see Master _Heron_ making towards us between the Posts and Flower-pots, eating a dried Ling?" laughing as wildly as though he were verily a Natural.

_Bess_, without a Word, shook the Crumbs from her Lap, and was turning into the House, when he withholds her a Minute in a perfectly altered Fashion, saying, "There be some Works, Mistress, our Confessors tell us be Works of Supererogation ... is not that the Word? I learn a long one now and then ... such as be setting Food before a full Man, or singing to a deaf one, or buying for one's Pigs a Silver Trough, or, for the Matter of that, casting Pearls before a Dunghill Cock, or fishing for a Heron, which is well able to fish for itself, and is an ill-natured Bird after all, that pecks the Hand of his Mistress, and, for all her Kindness to him, will not think of _Bessy More_."

How apt alle are to abuse unlimited License! Yet 'twas good Counsel.

_1525, July 2._

Soe my Fate is settled. Who knoweth at Sunrise what will chance before Sunsett? No; the Greeks and Romans mighte speake of Chance and of Fate, but we must not. _Ruth's Hap_ was to light on the Field of _Boaz_: but what she thought casual, the LORD had contrived.