<B CEFICT1B>
<Q E1 NI FICT HARMAN>
<N CAVEAT>
<A HARMAN THOMAS>
<C E1>
<O 1500-1570>
<M X>
<K X>
<D ENGLISH>
<V PROSE>
<T FICTION>
<G X>
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[^HARMAN, THOMAS.
A CAVEAT OR WARENING FOR COMMEN
CURSETORS VULGARELY CALLED VAGABONES.
FROM THE 3RD EDITION OF 1567...
COLLATED WITH THE 2ND EDITION OF 1567
IN THE BODLEIAN LIBRARY, OXFORD,
AND WITH THE REPRINT OF THE 4TH EDITION
OF 1573.
EARLY ENGLISH TEXT SOCIETY, E.S. 9. 
ED. E. VILES & F. J. FURNIVALL.
LONDON, 1937 (1869, 1898). 
PP. 36.30 - 42.25   (SAMPLE 1)
PP. 67.22 - 73.30   (SAMPLE 2)^]

<S SAMPLE 1>
<P 36>
[}A ROGE. CAP. 4.}]

   A Roge is neither so stoute or hardy as the vpright man.
Many of them will go fayntly and looke piteously when they
see, either meete any person, hauing a kercher, as white as my
shooes, tyed about their head, with a short staffe in their     #
hand, 
haltinge, although they nede not, requiring almes of such as    #
they
<P 37>
meete, or to what house they shal com. But you may easely       #
perceiue
by their colour that thei cary both health and hipocrisie about
them, wherby they get gaine, when others want that cannot fayne
and dissemble. Others therebee that walke sturdely about the    #
countrey,
and faineth to seke a brother or kinsman of his, dwelling
within som part of the shire; - ether that he hath a letter to  #
deliuer
to som honest housholder, dwelling out of an other Shyre, and   #
will
shewe you the same fayre sealed, with the superscription to
the partye he speaketh of, because you shall not thinke him to  #
runne
idelly about the countrey; - either haue they this shyfte,      #
they wyll
cary a cirtificate or pasport about them from som Iusticer of   #
the
peace, with his hand and seale vnto the same, howe hee hath     #
bene
whipped and punished for a vacabonde according to the lawes of
this realme, and that he muste returne to .T., where he was     #
borne or
last dwelt, by a certayne daye lymited in the same, whiche      #
shalbe a
good longe daye. And all this fayned, bycause without feare     #
they
woulde wyckedly wander, and wyll renue the same where or when   #
it
pleasethe them; for they haue of their affinity that can wryte  #
and
read. These also wyll picke and steale as the vpright men, and  #
hath
their women and metinges at places apoynted, and nothinge to    #
them
inferiour in all kynde of knauery. There bee of these Roges
Curtales, wearinge shorte clokes, that wyll chaunge their       #
aparell, as
occation seruethe. And their end is eyther hanginge, whiche     #
they
call trininge in their language, or die miserably of the        #
pockes.
   There was not long sithens two Roges that alwaies did        #
associate
them selues together, and would neuer seperat them selues,      #
vnles it
were for some especiall causes, for they were sworn brothers,   #
and
were both of one age, and much like of favour: these two,       #
trauelinge
into east kent, resorted vnto an ale house there, being weried  #
with
traueling, saluting with short curtisey, when they came into    #
the
house, such as thei sawe sitting there, in whiche company was   #
the
parson of the parish; and callinge for a pot of the best ale,   #
sat downe
at the tables ende: the lykor liked them so well, that they     #
had pot
vpon pot, and sometyme, for a lytle good maner, would drinke    #
and
offer the cup to such as they best fancied; and to be short,    #
they sat
<P 38>
out al the company, for eche man departed home aboute their
busines. When they had well refreshed them selues, then these
rowsy roges requested the good man of the house wyth his wyfe   #
to
sit downe and drinke with them, of whome they inquired what     #
priest
the same was, and where he dwelt: then they fayninge that they
had an vncle a priest, and that he should dwel in these         #
partes, which
by all presumptions it should be he, and that they came of      #
purpose
to speake with hym, but because they had not sene hym sithens   #
they
were sixe yeares olde, they durst not be bold to take           #
acquayntance
of him vntyl they were farther instructed of the truth, and     #
began to
inquier of his name, and how longe he had dwelt there, and how
farre his house was of from the place they were in: the good    #
wyfe of
the house, thynkinge them honest men without disceit, because   #
they
so farre enquyred of their kinseman, was but of a good zelous   #
naturall
intent, shewed them cherefully that hee was an honest
man and welbeloued in the parish, and of good welth, and had    #
ben
there resident xv. years at the least; 

<Q E1 NI FICT HARMAN>
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<O 1500-1570>
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<P 38>
"but," saith she, "are you both
brothers?" "yea, surely," said they, "we haue bene both in one
belly, and were twinnes." "Mercy, god!" quoth this folish       #
woman;
"it may wel be, for ye be not much vnlike," - and wente vnto    #
her
hall windowe, callinge these yong men vnto her, and loking out
therat, pointed with her fingar and shewed them the house       #
standing
alone, no house nere the same by almoste a quarter of a myle;
"that," sayd she, "is your vncles house." "Nay," saith one of
them, "he is not onely my vncle, but also my godfather." "It    #
may
well be," quoth she, "nature wyll bind him to be the better     #
vnto
you." "Well," quoth they, "we be weary, and meane not to        #
trouble
our vncle to-night; but to-morowe, god willinge, we wyll see    #
him
and do our duty: but, I pray you, doth our vncle occupy         #
husbandry?
what company hath he in his house." "Alas!" saith she, "but one
old woman and a boy, he hath no occupying at al: tushe," quoth
this good wife, "you be mad men; go to him this night, for hee
hath better lodging for you then I haue, and yet I speake       #
folishly
against my own profit, for by your taring here I should gaine   #
the
more by you." "Now, by my troth," quoth one of them, "we thanke
<P 39>
you, good hostes, for your holsome councel, and we meane to     #
do as
you wyll vs: we wyl pause a whyle, and by that tyme it wylbe    #
almost
night; and I praye you geue vs a reckeninge," - so, manerly     #
paying
for that they toke, bad their hoste and hostes farewell with    #
takinge
leaue of the cup, marched merelye out of the dores towardes     #
this
parsones house, vewed the same well rounde about, and passed by
two bowshotes of into a younge wodde, where they laye           #
consultinge
what they shoulde do vntyll midnight. Quoth one of them, of
sharper wyt and subtyller then the other, to hys fellowe,       #
"thou seest
that this house is stone walled about, and that we cannot well  #
breake
in, in any parte thereof; thou seest also that the windowes be  #
thicke
of mullions, that ther is no kreping in betwene: wherefore we   #
must
of necessytie vse some policye when strength wil not serue. I   #
haue
a horse locke here about me," saith he; "and this I hope shall  #
serue
oure turne." So when it was aboute xii. of the clocke, they     #
came to
the house and lurked nere vnto his chamber wyndowe: the dog of  #
the 
house barked a good, that with they noise, this priest waketh   #
out
of his sleepe, and began to cough and hem: then one of these    #
roges
stepes forth nerer the window and maketh a ruful and pityful    #
noise,
requiring fro Crist sake some reliefe, that was both hongry and
thirstye, and was like to ly with out the dores all nighte and  #
starue
for colde, vnles he were releued by him with some small pece of
money. "Where dwellest thou?" quoth this parson. "Alas! sir,"
saithe this roge, "I haue smal dwelling, and haue com out
of my way; and I should now," saith he, "go to any towne nowe   #
at
this time of night, they woulde set me in the stockes and       #
punishe
me." "Well," quoth this pitifull parson, "away from my house,
either lye in some of my out houses vntyll the morning, and     #
holde,
here is a couple of pence for thee." "A god rewarde you," quoth
this roge; "and in heauen may you finde it." The parson openeth
his wyndowe, and thrusteth out his arme to geue his almes to    #
this
Roge that came whining to receiue it, and quickly taketh holde  #
of his
hand, and calleth his fellowe to him, whiche was redye at       #
hande with
the horse locke, and clappeth the same about the wrest of his   #
arme,
that the mullions standing so close together for strength,      #
that for his
<P 40>
life he could not plucke in his arme againe, and made him       #
beleue,
vnles he would at the least geue them .iii. li., they woulde    #
smite of
his arme from the body. So that this poore parson, in feare to  #
lose
his hand, called vp his olde woman that lay in the loft ouer    #
him,
and wylled her to take out all the money he had, which was      #
iiij.
markes, which he saide was all the money in his house, for he   #
had
lent vi. li. to one of his neighbours not iiij daies before.    #
"Wel,"
quoth they, "master parson, if you haue no more, vpon this      #
condicion
we wil take of the locke, that you will drinke .xij. pence for
our sakes to-morow at the alehouse wher we found you, and thank
the good wife for the good chere she made vs." He promised      #
faithfully
that he would so do; so they toke of the locke, and went their
way so farre ere it was daye, that the parson coulde neuer      #
haue any
vnderstanding more of them. Now this parson, sorowfully         #
slumbering
that night betwene feare and hope, thought it was but folly to
make two sorrowes of one; he vsed contentacion for his remedy,  #
not
forgetting in the morning to performe his promise, but went     #
betims
to his neighbour that kept tiplinge, and asked angerly where    #
the
same two men were that dranke with her yester daye. "Which two
men?" quoth this good wife. "The straungers that came in when I
was at your house wyth my neighbores yesterday." "What! your
neuewes?" quoth she. "My neuewes?" quoth this parson; "I
trowe thou art mad." "Nay, by god!" quoth this good wife, "as
sober as you; for they tolde me faithfully that you were their  #
vncle:
but, in fayth, are you not so in dede? for, by my trouth, they  #
are
strau[{n{]gers to me. I neuer saw them before." "O, out vpon
them!" quoth the parson; "they be false theues, and this night
thei compelled me to geue them al the money in my house."
"Benedicite!" quoth this good wife, "and haue they so in dede?  #
as
I shall aunswere before god, one of them told me besides that   #
you
were godfather to him, and that he trusted to haue blessinge
before he departed." "What! did he?" quoth this parson; "a
halter blesse him for me!" "Me thinketh, by the masse, by
your countenance you loked so wildly when you came in," quoth
this good wife, "that somthing was amis." "I vse not to gest,"
<P 41>
quoth this parson, "when I speake so earnestly." "Why, all your
sorrowes goe with it," quoth this good wife, "and sitte downe   #
here,
and I will fil a freshe pot of ale shall make you mery agayne."
"Yea," saith this parson, "fill in, and geue me some meat; for  #
they
made me sweare and promise them faithfully that I shoulde       #
drinke
xii. pence with you this day." "What! dyd they? quoth she;
"now, by the mary masse, they be mery knaues. I warraunt you    #
they
meane to bye no land with your money; but how could they come
into you in the night, your dores being shut fast? your house   #
is
very stronge." Then this parson shewed her all the hole         #
circumstance,
how he gaue them his almes oute at the wyndowe, they
made such lamentable crye that it pytied him at the hart; for   #
he
sawe but one when he put oute his hand at the windowe. "Be
ruled by me," quoth this good wyfe. "Wherin?" quoth this        #
parson.
"By my troth, neuer speake more of it: when they shal           #
vnderstand
of it in the parish, they wyll but laugh you to skorne." "Why,
then," quoth this parson, "the deuyll goe with it," - and       #
their an
end.

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<P 41>
[}A WYLDE ROGE. CAP. 5.}]

   A Wilde Roge is he that is borne a Roge: he is a more subtil
and more geuen by nature to all kinde of knauery then the
other, as beastely begotten in barne or bushes, and from his
infancye traded vp in trechery; yea, and before ripenes of      #
yeares
doth permyt, wallowinge in lewde lechery, but that is counted
amongesth them no sin. For this is their custome, that when     #
they
mete in barne at night, euery one getteth a make to lye         #
wythall,
and their chaunce to be twentye in a companye, as their is      #
sometyme
more and sometyme lesse: for to one man that goeth abroad,      #
there
are at least two women, which neuer make it straunge when they
be called, although she neuer knewe him before. Then when the
day doth appeare, he rouses him vp, and shakes his eares, and   #
awaye
wanderinge where he may gette oughte to the hurte of others.    #
Yet
before he skyppeth oute of hys couche and departeth from his
darling, if he like her well, he will apoint her where to mete  #
shortlye
<P 42>
after, with a warninge to worke warely for some chetes, that    #
their
meting might be the merier.
   Not long sithens, a wild roge chaunced to mete a pore        #
neighbour
of mine, who for honesty and good natur surmounteth many.
This poore man, riding homeward from London, where he had made
his market, this roge demaunded a peny for gods sake,
to kepe him a true man. This simple man, beholding him wel, and
sawe he was of taule personage with a good quarter staffe in    #
his
hand, it much pitied him, as he sayd, to se him want; for he    #
was
well able to serue his prince in the wars. Thus, being moued    #
with
pytie, and loked in his pursse to finde out a penye; and in     #
loking
for the same, he plucked oute viii. shyllinges in whyte money,  #
and
raked therin to finde a single peny; and at the last findinge   #
one,
doth offer the same to this wylde roge: but he, seinge so much  #
mony
in this simple mans hand, being striken to the hart with a      #
couetous
desire, bid him forth wyth delyuer al that he had, or els he    #
woulde
with his staffe beat out his braynes. For it was not a penye    #
would
now quench his thirst, seing so much as he dyd: thus,           #
swallowinge
his spittel gredely downe, spoyled this poore man of al the     #
money
that he had, and lept ouer the hedge into a thicke wode, and    #
went
his waye as merely as this good simple man came home            #
sorowfully.
I once rebuking a wyld roge because he went idelly about, he
shewed me that he was a beggar by enheritance - his Grandfather
was a beggar, his father was one, and he must nedes be one by   #
good
reason.

<S SAMPLE 2>
<P 67>
[}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, wither 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        #
meruelous
feare to care 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 wife, some tyme in one shiere, and then in another, as     #
they
<P 68>
trauell: this haue I knowne, that 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 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 world to come for her fylthy lyuinge and wretched
conuersation. 

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<P 68>
"God helpe," quoth 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," quoth I. "Shall I tell    #
you,"
quoth she, "the best of vs all may be amended; but yet, I       #
thanke
god, I dyd one good dede within this twelue monthes."           #
"Wherein?"
quoth I. Sayth she, "I woulde not haue it spoken of agayne."
"Yf it be meete and necessary," quod I, "it shall lye vnder my
feete." "What meane you by that?" quoth she. "I meane," quod
I, "to hide the same, and neuer to discouer it to any." "Well,"
quoth 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
tell me any thinge. "The last sommer," quoth she, "I was greate
with chylde, and I traueled into east kent by the sea coste,    #
for I
lusted meruelously after oysters and muskels, and gathered      #
many,
and in the 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
<P 69>
coullered. And, to be playne with you, he 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, 'before nine of the     #
clocke at
nyghte for then there wylbe small styrring. And I may repaire
to the towne,' quoth she, 'to warme and drye my selfe'; for
this was about two of the clocke in the after none. 'Do so,'    #
quoth
hee; '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, "hys wife, my
good dame, is my very freend, 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
beene any other man, and not your good dames husbande?" "The
matter had bene the lesse," quoth shee. "Tell me, I prey the,"
quoth I, "who was the father of thy childe?" She stodyd a       #
whyle,
and sayde that it hadde a father. "But what was hee?" quoth I.
"Nowe, by my trouth, I knowe not," quoth shee; "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 heede to her husbande, and to her selfe: so shee    #
gaue me
great thankes, and made me good cheere, 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 the, that thou
<P 70>
geue me a watche worde a loud when hee goeth aboute to haue his 
pleasure of the, and that shall bee "fye, for shame, fye," and  #
I wyll
bee harde by you wyth helpe. But I charge the keepe thys secret
vntyll all bee fynesed; and holde,' saythe thys good wyfe,      #
'here is
one of my peticotes I geue thee.' 'I thanke you, good dame,'
quoth I, 'and I warrante you I wyll bee true and trustye vnto
you.' So my dame lefte me settinge by a fyre with meate
and drynke; and wyth the oysters I broughte with me, I hadde    #
greate
cheere: shee 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 shee 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, that I may
lyue in some suerty without disease, and that hee may saue his  #
soule
that God so derelye bought.' After shee 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 speedy
redresse for your ease and the amendement of hys lyfe.          #
Wherefore,
this is my councell and you wyll bee aduertysed by me; for I    #
saye
to you all, vnlesse it be this good wyfe, who is cheefely       #
touched in
this matter, I haue the nexte cause; for hee 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   #
hee
hath bene tempering with me, and yet haue I sharpely sayde him
<P 71>
naye: therefore, let vs assemble secretly into the place where  #
hee
hathe apuynted to meete thys gyllot that is at your house, and  #
lyrke
preuelye in some corner tyll hee 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 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,' quoth  #
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 the backsid, and where to tary their good    #
our:
so by the 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 commeth 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 quarters. Awaye," saythe this good wyfe,
"to your lodginge." "Yes, good dame," sayth she, "as fast as I
can:" thus, by loking one 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
<P 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 was preparing for him after sopper, and       #
according
to the prouerbe, that swete meate wyll haue sowre sawce: thus,  #
when
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  #
were
lyke to haue ben 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 promisse.
Thus feding her with frendly fantacyes, consumed two houres and
more. Then fayninge howe hee would se in what case his horse
were in and howe they were dressed, Repaired couertly into the
barne, where as his free[{n{]dlye foes lyrked preuely, vnlesse  #
it were
this manerly Morte, that comly couched on a bottell of strawe.
"What, are you come?" quoth 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 with 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 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 shee 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       #
pluckinge
his hosen downe lower, and byndinge the same fast about his     #
feete;
<P 73>
then byndinge his handes, and knitting a hande charcher about   #
his
eyes, that he shoulde not see; 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,"
and layd on as fast as the rest, and styll seased not to
crye vpon them to bee 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 hee 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 commeth    #
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."



