Part 25

_Fol._ By God, I can tell thé, and I wyll. Thou art so feble fantastycall, And so braynsyke therwithall, And thy wyt wanderynge here and there, That thou cannyst not growe out of thy boyes gere; And as for me, I take but one folysshe way, And therfore I growe more on one day 1090 Than thou can in yerys seuen.

_Fan._ In faythe, trouth thou sayst nowe, by God of heuen! For so with fantasyes my wyt dothe flete, That wysdome and I shall seldome mete. Nowe, of good felowshyp, let me by thy dogge.[812]

_Fol._ Cockys harte, thou lyest, I am no hogge.[813]

_Fan._ Here is no man that callyd thé hogge nor swyne.

_Fol._ In faythe, man, my brayne is as good as thyne.

_Fan._ The deuyls torde for thy brayne!

_Fol._ By my syers soule, I fele no rayne. 1100

_Fan._ By the masse, I holde thé madde.

_Fol._ Mary, I knewe thé when thou waste a ladde.

_Fan._ Cockys bonys, herde ye euer syke another?

_Fol._ Ye, a fole the tone, and a fole the tother.

_Fan._ Nay, but wotest thou what I do say?

_Fol._ Why, sayst thou that I was here yesterday?

_Fan._ Cockys armys, this is a warke, I trowe.

_Fol._ What, callyst thou me a donnyshe crowe?

_Fan._ Nowe, in good faythe, thou art a fonde gest.

_Fol._ Ye, bere me this strawe to a dawys nest. 1110

_Fan._ What, wenyst thou that I were so folysshe and so fonde?

_Fol._ In faythe, ellys is there none in all Englonde.

_Fan._ Yet for my fansy sake, I say, Let me haue thy dogge, what soeuer I pay.

_Fol._ Thou shalte haue my purse, and I wyll haue thyne.

_Fan._ By my trouth, there is myne.

_Fol._ Nowe, by my trouth, man, take, there is myne;[814] And I beshrowe hym that hath the worse.

_Fan._ Torde, I say, what haue I do? Here is nothynge but the bockyll of a sho, 1120 And in my purse was twenty marke.

_Fol._ Ha, ha, ha! herke, syrs, harke! For all that my name hyght Foly, By the masse, yet art thou more fole than I.

_Fan._ Yet gyue me thy dogge, and I am content; And thou shalte haue my hauke to a botchment.

_Fol._ That euer thou thryue, God it forfende! For Goddes cope thou wyll spende. Nowe take thou my dogge, and gyue me thy fowle.[815]

_Fan._ Hay, chysshe, come hyder! 1130

_Fol._ Nay, torde, take hym be tyme.

_Fan._ What callest thou thy dogge?

_Fol._ Tusshe, his name is Gryme.

_Fan._ Come, Gryme, come, Gryme! it is my praty dogges.

_Fol._ In faythe, there is not a better dogge for hogges, Not from Anwyke vnto Aungey.

_Fan._ Ye, but trowest thou that he be not maungey?

_Fol._ No, by my trouthe, it is but the scurfe and the scabbe.

_Fan._ What, he hathe ben hurte with a stabbe?

_Fol._ Nay, in faythe, it was but a strype 1140 That the horson had for etynge of a trype.

_Fan._ Where the deuyll gate he all these hurtes?

_Fol._ By God, for snatchynge of puddynges and wortes.

_Fan._ What, then he is some good poore mannes curre?

_Fol._ Ye, but he wyll in at euery mannes dore.

_Fan._ Nowe thou hast done me a pleasure grete.

_Fol._ In faythe, I wolde thou had a marmosete.

_Fan._ Cockes harte, I loue suche iapes.

_Fol._ Ye, for all thy mynde is on owles and apes. But I haue thy pultre, and thou hast my catell. 1150

_Fan._ Ye, but thryfte and we haue made a batell.

_Fol._ Remembrest thou not the iapes and the toyes—

_Fan._ What, that we vsed whan we were boyes?

_Fol._ Ye, by the rode, euen the same.

_Fan._ Yes, yes, I am yet as full of game As euer I was, and as full of tryfyls, _Nil, nihilum, nihil, anglice_ nyfyls.

_Fol._ What canest thou all this Latyn[816] yet, And hath so mased a wandrynge wyt?

_Fan._ Tushe, man, I kepe some Latyn in store. 1160

_Fol._ By Cockes harte, I wene thou hast no more.

_Fan._ No? yes, in faythe, I can versyfy.

_Fol._ Then, I pray thé hartely, Make a verse of my butterfly; It forseth not of the reason, so it kepe ryme.

_Fan._ But wylte thou make another on Gryme?

_Fol._ Nay, in fayth, fyrst let me here thyne.

_Fan._ Mary, as for that, thou shalte sone here myne: _Est snavi[817] snago_ with a shrewde face _vilis imago_.

_Fol._ Grimbaldus gredy, snatche a puddyng tyl the rost be redy. 1170

_Fan._ By the harte of God, well done!

_Fol._ Ye, so redely and so sone!

_Here cometh in CRAFTY CONUEYAUNCE._

_Cr. Con._ What, Fansy! Let me se who is the tother.

_Fan._ By God, syr, Foly, myne owne sworne brother.

_Cr. Con._ Cockys bonys, it is a farle freke: Can he play well at the hoddypeke?

_Fan._ Tell by thy trouth what sport can thou make.

_Fol._ A, holde thy peas; I haue the tothe ake.

_Cr. Con._ The tothe ake! lo, a torde ye haue.

_Fol._ Ye, thou haste the four quarters of a knaue. 1180

_Cr. Con._ Wotyst thou, I say, to whom thou spekys?

_Fan._ Nay, by Cockys harte, he ne reckys, For he wyll speke to Magnyfycence thus.

_Cr. Con._ Cockys armys, a mete man for vs.

_Fol._ What, wolde ye haue mo folys, and are so many?

_Fan._ Nay, offer hym a counter in stede of a peny.

_Cr. Con._ Why, thynkys thou he can no better skyll?

_Fol._ In fayth, I can make you bothe folys, and I wyll.

_Cr. Con._ What haste thou on thy fyst? a kesteryll?[818]

_Fol._ Nay, I wys, fole, it is a doteryll. 1190

_Cr. Con._ In a cote thou can play well the dyser.

_Fol._ Ye, but thou can play the fole without a vyser.

_Fan._ Howe rode he by you? howe put he to you?[819]

_Cr. Con._ Mary, as thou sayst, he gaue me a blurre. But where gatte thou that mangey curre?

_Fan._ Mary, it was his, and nowe it is myne.

_Cr. Con._ And was it his, and nowe it is thyne? Thou must haue thy fansy and thy wyll, But yet thou shalt holde me a fole styll.

_Fol._ Why, wenyst thou that I cannot make thé play the fon? 1200

_Fan._ Yes, by my faythe, good Syr Johnn.

_Cr. Con._ For you bothe it were inough.

_Fol._ Why, wenyst thou that I were as moche a fole as thou?

_Fan._ Nay, nay, thou shalte fynde hym another maner of man.

_Fol._ In faythe, I can do mastryes, so I can.

_Cr. Con._ What canest thou do but play cocke wat?

_Fan._ Yes,[820] yes, he wyll make thé ete a gnat.

_Fol._ Yes, yes, by my trouth, I holde thé a grote, That I shall laughe thé out of thy cote.

_Cr. Con._ Than wyll I say that thou haste no pere. 1210

_Fan._ Nowe, by the rode, and he wyll go nere.

_Fol._ Hem, Fansy! _regardes, voyes_.

_Here FOLY maketh semblaunt to take a lowse from CRAFTY CONUEYAUNCE showlder._

_Fan._ What hast thou founde there?

_Fol._ By God, a lowse.

_Cr. Con._ By Cockes harte, I trowe thou lyste.

_Fol._ By the masse, a Spaynysshe moght with a gray lyste.

_Fan._ Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

_Cr. Con._ Cockes armes, it is not so, I trowe.

_Here CRAFTY CONU[EY]AUNCE putteth of his gowne._

_Fol._ Put on thy gowne agayne, for nowe thou hast lost.[821]

_Fan._ Lo, Johnn a Bonam, where is thy brayne? 1220 Nowe put on, fole, thy cote agayne.

_Fol._ Gyue me my grote, for thou hast lost.

_Here FOLY maketh semblaunt to take money of CRAFTY CONUEYAUNCE, saynge to hym_,

Shyt thy purse, dawe, and do no cost.

_Fan._ Nowe hast thou not a prowde mocke and a starke?

_Cr. Con._ With, yes, by the rode of Wodstocke Parke.

_Fan._ Nay, I tell thé, he maketh no dowtes To tourne a fole out of his clowtes.

_Cr. Con._ And for a fole a man wolde hym take.

_Fol._ Nay, it is I that foles can make; For, be he cayser or be he kynge, 1230 To felowshyp with Foly I can hym brynge.

_Fan._ Nay, wylte thou here nowe of his scoles, And what maner of people he maketh foles?

_Cr. Con._ Ye, let vs here a worde or twayne.

_Fol._ Syr, of my maner I shall tell you the playne. Fyrst I lay before them my bybyll, And teche them howe they sholde syt ydyll, To pyke theyr fyngers all the day longe; So in theyr eyre I synge them a songe, And make them so longe to muse, 1240 That some of them renneth strayght to the stuse; To thefte and bryboury I make some fall, And pyke a locke and clyme a wall; And where I spy a nysot gay, That wyll syt ydyll all the day, And can not set herselfe to warke, I kyndell in her suche a lyther sparke, That rubbed she must be on the gall Bytwene the tappet[822] and the wall.

_Cr. Con._ What, horson, arte thou suche a one? 1250

_Fan._ Nay, beyonde all other set hym alone.

_Cr. Con._ Hast thou ony more? let se, procede.

_Fol._ Ye, by God, syr, for a nede, I haue another maner of sorte, That I laugh at for my dysporte; And those be they that come vp of nought, As some be not ferre, and yf it were well sought: Suche dawys, what soeuer they be, That be set in auctorite, Anone he waxyth so hy and prowde, 1260 He frownyth fyersly, brymly browde, The knaue wolde make it koy, and he cowde; All that he dothe, muste be alowde; And, This is not well done, syr, take hede; And maketh hym besy where is no nede: He dawnsys so longe, hey, troly loly, That euery man lawghyth at his foly.

_Cr. Con._ By the good Lorde, truthe he sayth.

_Fan._ Thynkyst thou not so, by thy fayth?

_Cr. Con._ Thynke I not so, quod he! ellys haue I shame, 1270 For I knowe dyuerse that vseth the same.

_Fol._ But nowe, forsothe, man, it maketh no mater; For they that wyll so bysely smater, So helpe me God, man, euer at the length I make hym[823] lese moche of theyr strength; For with foly so do I them lede, That wyt he wantyth when he hath moste nede.

_Fan._ Forsothe, tell on: hast thou any mo?[824]

_Fol._ Yes, I shall tell you, or I go, Of dyuerse mo that hauntyth my scolys. 1280

_Cr. Con._ All men beware of suche folys!

_Fol._ There be two lyther, rude and ranke, Symkyn Tytyuell and Pers Pykthanke; Theys lythers I lerne them for to lere What he sayth and she sayth to lay good ere, And tell to his sufferayne euery whyt, And then he is moche made of for his wyt;[825] And, be the mater yll more or lesse, He wyll make it mykyll worse than it is: But all that he dothe, and yf he reken well, 1290 It is but foly euery dell.

_Fan._ Are not his wordys cursydly cowchyd?

_Cr. Con._ By God, there be some that be shroudly towchyd: But, I say, let se and yf thou haue any more.

_Fol._ I haue an hole armory of suche haburdashe in store; For there be other that foly dothe vse, That folowe fonde fantasyes and vertu refuse.

_Fan._ Nay, that is my parte that thou spekest of nowe.

_Fol._ So is all the remenaunt, I make God auowe; For thou fourmest suche fantasyes in theyr mynde, 1300 That euery man almost groweth out of kynde.

_Cr. Con._ By the masse, I am glad that I came hyder, To here you two rutters dyspute togyder.

_Fan._ Nay, but Fansy must be eyther fyrst or last.

_Fol._ But whan Foly cometh, all is past.

_Fan._ I wote not whether it cometh of thé or of me, But all is foly that I can se.

_Cr. Con._ Mary, syr, ye may swere it on a boke.

_Fol._ Ye, tourne ouer the lefe, rede there and loke, Howe frantyke Fansy fyrst of all 1310 Maketh man and woman in foly to fall.

_Cr. Con._ A, syr, a, a! howe by that!

_Fan._ A peryllous thynge, to cast a cat Vpon a naked man, and yf she scrat.

_Fol._ So how, I say, the hare is squat! For, frantyke Fansy, thou makest men madde; And I, Foly, bryngeth them to _qui fuit_ gadde, With _qui fuit_ brayne seke I haue them brought From _qui fuit aliquid_ to shyre shakynge nought.

_Cr. Con._ Well argued and surely on bothe sydes: 1320 But for thé, Fansy, Magnyfycence abydes.

_Fan._ Why, shall I not haue Foly with me also?

_Cr. Con._ Yes, perde, man, whether that ye ryde or go: Yet for his name we must fynde a slyght.[826]

_Fan._ By the masse, he shall hyght Consayte.

_Cr. Con._ Not a better name vnder the sonne: With Magnyfycence thou shalte wonne.

_Fol._ God haue mercy, good godfather.

_Cr. Con._ Yet I wolde that ye had gone rather; For, as sone as you come in Magnyfycence syght, 1330 All mesure and good rule is gone quyte.

_Fan._ And shall we haue lyberte to do what we wyll?

_Cr. Con._ Ryot at lyberte russheth it out styll.

_Fol._ Ye, but tell me one thynge.

_Cr. Con._ What is that?

_Fol._ Who is mayster of the masshe fat?

_Fan._ Ye, for he hathe a full dry soule.

_Cr. Con._ Cockes armes, thou shalte kepe the brewhouse boule.

_Fol._ But may I drynke therof whylest that I stare?

_Cr. Con._ When mesure is gone, what nedest thou spare? 1340 Whan mesure is gone, we may slee care.

_Fol._ Nowe then goo we hens, away the mare![827]

_CRAFTY CONUEYAUNCE alone in the place._

_Cr. Con._ It is wonder to se the worlde aboute, To se what foly is vsed in euery place; Foly hath a rome, I say, in euery route, To put, where he lyst, Foly hath fre chace; Foly and Fansy all where, euery man dothe face and brace; Foly fotyth it properly, Fansy ledyth the dawnce; And next come I after, Crafty Conueyaunce. Who so to me gyueth good aduertence, 1350 Shall se many thyngys donne craftely: By me conueyed is wanton insolence, Pryuy poyntmentys conueyed so properly, For many tymes moche kyndnesse is denyed For drede that we dare not ofte lest we be spyed; By me is conueyed mykyll praty ware, Somtyme, I say, behynde the dore for nede; I haue an hoby can make larkys to dare; I knyt togyther many a broken threde. It is great almesse the hungre[828] to fede, 1360 To clothe the nakyd where is lackynge a smocke, Trymme at her tayle, or a man can turne a socke: What howe, be ye mery! was it not well conueyed? As oft as ye lyst, so honeste be sauyd; Alas, dere harte, loke that we be not perseyuyd! Without crafte nothynge is well behauyd; Though I shewe you curtesy, say not that I craue,[829] Yet conuey it craftely, and hardely spare not for me, So that there knowe no man but I and she. Thefte also and pety brybery 1370 Without me be full oft aspyed; My inwyt delynge there can no man dyscry, Conuey it be crafte, lyft and lay asyde: Full moche flatery and falsehode I hyde, And by crafty conueyaunce I wyll, and I can, Saue a stronge thefe and hange a trew man. But some man wolde conuey, and can not skyll, As malypert tauernars that checke with theyr betters, Theyr conueyaunce weltyth the worke all by wyll; And some wyll take vpon them to conterfet letters, 1380 And therwithall conuey hymselfe into a payre of fetters; And some wyll conuey by the pretence of sadnesse, Tyll all theyr conueyaunce is turnyd into madnesse. Crafty conueyaunce is no chyldys game: By crafty conueyaunce many one is brought vp of nought; Crafty Conueyaunce can cloke hymselfe frome shame, For by crafty conueyaunce wonderful thynges are wrought: By conuayaunce crafty I haue brought Vnto Magnyfyce[nce] a full vngracyous sorte, For all hokes vnhappy to me haue resorte. 1390

_Here cometh in MAGNYFYCENCE with LYBERTE and FELYCYTE._

_Magn._ Trust me, Lyberte, it greueth me ryght sore To se you thus ruled and stande in suche awe.

_Lyb._ Syr, as by my wyll, it shall be so no more.

_Fel._ Yet lyberte without rule is not worth a strawe.

_Magn._ Tushe, holde your peas, ye speke lyke a dawe; Ye shall be occupyed, Welthe, at my wyll.

_Cr. Con._ All that ye say, syr, is reason and skyll.

_Magn._ Mayster Suruayour, where haue ye ben so longe? Remembre ye not how my lyberte by mesure ruled was?

_Cr. Con._ In good faythe, syr, me semeth he had the more wronge. 1400

_Lyb._ Mary, syr, so dyd he excede and passe, They droue me to lernynge lyke a dull asse.

_Fel._ It is good yet that lyberte be ruled by reason.

_Magn._ Tushe, holde your peas, ye speke out of season: Yourselfe shall be ruled by lyberte and largesse.

_Fel._ I am content, so it in measure be.

_Lyb._ Must mesure, in the mares name, you furnysshe and dresse?

_Magn._ Nay, nay, not so, my frende Felycyte.

_Cr. Con._ Not, and your grace wolde be ruled by me.

_Lyb._ Nay, he shall be ruled euen as I lyst. 1410

_Fel._ Yet it is good to beware of Had I wyst.

_Magn._ Syr, by lyberte and largesse I wyll that ye shall Be gouerned and gyded: wote ye what I say? Mayster Suruayour, Largesse to me call.

_Cr. Con._ It shall be done.

_Magn._ Ye, but byd hym come away At ones, and let hym not tary all day.

_Here goth out CRAFTY CONUAYAUNCE._

_Fel._ Yet it is good wysdome to worke wysely by welth.

_Lyb._ Holde thy tonge, and thou loue thy helth.

_Magn._ What, wyll ye waste wynde, and prate thus in vayne? 1420 Ye haue eten sauce, I trowe, at the Taylers Hall.

_Lyb._ Be not to bolde, my frende; I counsell you, bere a brayne.

_Magn._ And what so we say, holde you content withall.

_Fel._ Syr, yet without sapyence your substaunce may be smal; For, where is no mesure, howe may worshyp endure?

_Here cometh in FANSY._

_Fan._ Syr, I am here at your pleasure; Your grace sent for me, I wene; what is your wyll?

_Magn._ Come hyther, Largesse, take here Felycyte.

_Fan._ Why, wene you that I can kepe hym longe styll?

_Magn._ To rule as ye lyst, lo, here is Lyberte! 1430

_Lyb._ I am here redy.

_Fan._ What, shall we haue welth at our gydynge to rule as we lyst? Then fare well thryfte, by hym that crosse kyst!

_Fel._ I truste your grace wyll be agreabyll That I shall suffer none impechment By theyr demenaunce nor losse repryuable.

_Magn._ Syr, ye shall folowe myne appetyte and intent.

_Fel._ So it be by mesure I am ryght well content.

_Fan._ What, all by mesure, good syr, and none excesse?

_Lyb._ Why, welth hath made many a man braynlesse. 1440

_Fel._ That was by the menys of to moche lyberte.

_Magn._ What can ye agree thus and appose?

_Fel._ Syr, as I say, there was no faute in me.

_Lyb._ Ye, of Jackeathrommys bybyll can ye make a glose?

_Fan._ Sore sayde, I tell you, and well to the purpose: What sholde a man do with you, loke you vnder kay.[830]

_Fel._ I say, it is foly to gyue all welth away.

_Lyb._ Whether sholde welth be rulyd by lyberte, Or lyberte by welth? let se, tell me that.

_Fel._ Syr, as me semeth, ye sholde be rulyd by me. 1450

_Magn._ What nede you with hym thus prate and chat?

_Fan._ Shewe vs your mynde then, howe to do and what.

_Magn._ I say, that I wyll ye haue hym in gydynge.

_Lyb._ Mayster Felycyte, let be your chydynge, And so as ye se it wyll be no better, Take it in worthe suche as ye fynde.

_Fan._ What the deuyll, man, your name shalbe the greter, For welth without largesse is all out of kynde.

_Lyb._ And welth is nought worthe, yf lyberte be behynde.

_Magn._ Nowe holde ye content, for there is none other shyfte. 1460

_Fel._ Than waste must be welcome, and fare well thryfte!

_Magn._ Take of his substaunce a sure inuentory, And get thou[831] home togyther; for Lyberte shall byde, And wayte vpon me.

_Lyb._ And yet for a memory, Make indentures howe ye and I shal gyde.

_Fan._ I can do nothynge but he stonde besyde.

_Lyb._ Syr, we can do nothynge the one without the other.

_Magn._ Well, get you hens than, and sende me some other.

_Fan._ Whom? lusty Pleasure, or mery Consayte? 1470

_Magn._ Nay, fyrst lusty Pleasure is my desyre to haue, And let the other another[832] awayte, Howe be it that fonde felowe is a mery knaue; But loke that ye occupye the auctoryte that I you gaue.

[_Here goeth out FELYCYTE, LYBERTE, and FANSY._

_MAGNYFYCENCE alone in the place._

For nowe,[833] syrs, I am lyke as a prynce sholde be; I haue welth at wyll, largesse and lyberte: Fortune to her lawys can not abandune me, But I shall of Fortune rule the reyne; I fere nothynge Fortunes perplexyte; All honour to me must nedys stowpe and lene; 1480 I synge of two partys without a mene; I haue wynde and wether ouer all to sayle, No stormy rage agaynst me can peruayle. Alexander, of Macedony kynge, That all the oryent had in subieccyon, Though al his conquestys were brought to rekenynge, Myght seme ryght wel vnder my proteccyon To rayne, for all his marcyall affeccyon; For I am prynce perlesse prouyd of porte, Bathyd with blysse, embracyd with comforte. 1490 Syrus, that soleme syar of Babylon, That Israell releysyd of theyr captyuyte, For al his pompe, for all his ryall trone, He may not be comparyd vnto me. I am the dyamounde dowtlesse of dygnyte: Surely it is I that all may saue and spyll; No man so hardy to worke agaynst my wyll. Porcenya, the prowde prouoste of Turky lande, That ratyd the Romaynes and made them yll rest, Nor Cesar July, that no man myght withstande, 1500 Were neuer halfe so rychely as I am drest: No, that I assure you; loke who was the best. I reyne in my robys, I rule as me lyst, I dryue downe th[e]se dastardys with a dynt of my fyste. Of Cato the counte acountyd the cane, Daryus, the doughty cheftayn of Perse, I set not by the prowdest of them a prane, Ne by non other that any man can rehersse. I folowe in felycyte without reue[r]sse, I drede no daunger, I dawnce all in delyte; 1510 My name is Magnyfycence, man most of myght. Hercules the herdy, with his stobburne clobbyd mase, That made Cerberus to cache, the cur dogge of hell, And Thesius, that[834] prowde was Pluto to face, It wolde not become them with me for to mell: For of all barones bolde I bere the bell, Of all doughty I am doughtyest duke, as I deme; To me all prynces to lowte man be sene.[835] Cherlemayne, that mantenyd the nobles of Fraunce, Arthur of Albyan, for all his brymme berde, 1520 Nor Basyan the bolde, for all his brybaunce, Nor Alerycus, that rulyd the Gothyaunce by swerd, Nor no man on molde can make me aferd. What man is so maysyd with me that dare mete, I shall flappe hym as a fole to fall at my fete. Galba, whom his galantys garde for agaspe, Nor Nero, that nother set by God nor man, Nor Vaspasyan, that bare in his nose a waspe, Nor Hanyball agayne Rome gates that ranne, Nor yet Cypyo,[836] that noble Cartage wanne, 1530 Nor none so hardy of them with me that durste crake, But I shall frounce them on the foretop, and gar them to quake.

_Here cometh in COURTLY ABUSYON, doynge reuerence and courtesy._

_Court. Ab._ At your commaundement, syr, wyth all dew reuerence.

_Magn._ Welcom, Pleasure, to our magnyfycence.

_Court. Ab._ Plesyth it your grace to shewe what I do shall?

_Magn._ Let vs here of your pleasure to passe the tyme withall.

_Court. Ab._ Syr, then with the fauour of your benynge sufferaunce To shewe you my mynde myselfe I wyll auaunce, If it lyke your grace to take it in degre.

_Magn._ Yes, syr, so good man in you I se, 1540 And in your delynge so good assuraunce, That we delyte gretly in your dalyaunce.

_Court. Ab._ A, syr, your grace me dothe extole and rayse, And ferre beyond my merytys ye me commende and prayse; Howe be it, I wolde be ryght gladde, I you assure, Any thynge to do that myght be to your pleasure.

_Magn._ As I be saued, with pleasure I am supprysyd Of your langage, it is so well deuysed; Pullyshyd and fresshe is your ornacy.

_Court. Ab._ A, I wolde to God that I were halfe so crafty, 1550 Or in electe vtteraunce halfe so eloquent, As that I myght your noble grace content!