<B CEFICT2B>
<Q E2 NI FICT DELONEY>
<N JACK OF NEWBURY>
<A DELONEY THOMAS>
<C E2>
<O 1570-1640>
<M X>
<K X>
<D ENGLISH>
<V PROSE>
<T FICTION>
<G X>
<F X>
<W WRITTEN>
<X MALE>
<Y X>
<H OTHER>
<U X>
<E X>
<J INTERACTIVE>
<I INFORMAL>
<Z NARR IMAG>
<S SAMPLE X>


[^DELONEY, THOMAS.
TEXT:  JACK OF NEWBURY (1619).
THE NOVELS OF THOMAS DELONEY.
ED. M. E. LAWLIS.
BLOOMINGTON: INDIANA UNIVERSITY PRESS, 1961.
PP. 69.1 - 87.7^]

<P 69>
[}CHAPTER VIII.}]

[}HOW IACK OF NEWBERY KEEPING A VERY GOOD HOUSE, BOTH FOR 
HIS SERUANTS AND RELIEFE OF THE POORE, WON GREAT CREDIT 
THERBY, AND HOW ONE OF HIS WIUES GOSSIPS FOUND FAULT
THERWITH.}]

   Good morrow Gossip, now by my truely I am glad to see you
in health. I pray you how dooth Maister (^Winchcombe^) ? What
neuer a great belly yet? now fie, by my fa your husband is      #
waxt idle. 
   Trust mee Gossip, saith mistresse (^Winchcombe^) , a great   #
belly 
comes sooner then a new coate, but you must consider wee haue
not beene long married: but truly gossip you are welcome, I     #
pray
you sit down and we will haue a morsell of something by and by.
   Nay truely Gossip I cannot stay quoth she, indeede I must be
gone: for I did but euen step in to see how you did.
   You shall not chuse but stay a while quoth mistris           #
(^Winchcombe^) ,
and with that a fayre Napken was layd vpon the little Table in
the Parlour, hard by the fire side, whereon was set a fine cold
Capon, with a great deale of other good cheare, with Ale and    #
Wine
plentie.
   I pray you Gossip eate, and I beshrew you if you spare quoth
the one.
   I thanke you heartily Gossip saith the other. But hear you
Gossip, I pray you tell mee: doth your husband loue you well,   #
and
make much of you?
   Yes truly I thanke God quoth shee.
   Now by my truth sayd the other, it were a shame for him if   #
hee
should not: for though I say it before your face, though he had
little with you, yet you were worthy to bee as good a mans wife
as his.
   Trust me I would not change my (^Iohn^) for my Lord          #
Marquesse,
quoth she: a woman can be but well, for I liue at hearts ease,  #
and
haue all things at will, and truly hee will not see mee lacke   #
any
thing.
<P 70>
   Gods blessing on his heart quoth her Gossip, it is a good    #
hearing:
but I pray you tell mee, I heard say your husband is chosen for
our Burgesse in the Parliament house, is it true?
   Yes verily quoth his wife. I wis it is against his will;     #
for it will
be no small charges vnto him.
   Tush woman, what talke you of that? thankes be to God,       #
there is
neuer a Gentleman in all (^Barkshire^) that is better able to   #
beare it. 
But heare you Gossip, shall I bee so bold to aske you one       #
question
more?
   Yes, withall my heart quoth shee.
   I heard say that your husband would now put you in your      #
hood,
and silke gowne, I pray you is it true?
   Yes in truth, quoth mistresse (^Winchcomb^) , but farre      #
against my
mind, Gossip: my french hood is bought already, and my silke
gowne is a making, likewise the Goldsmith hath brought home
my chayne and bracelets: but I assure you Gossip, if you will   #
beleeue
mee, I had rather go an hundred miles then weare them, for
I shall be so ashamed that I shall not looke vpon any of my
neighbors for blushing.
   And why I pray you? quoth her Gossip. I tell you deare       #
woman,
you need not be any thing abashed or blush at the matter,       #
especially
seeing your husbands estate is able to maintaine it: now
trust me truly, I am of opinion you will become it singular     #
well.
   Alas quoth mistresse (^Winchcombe^) , hauing neuer beene     #
vsed to
such attyre, I shall not know where I am, nor how to behaue my
selfe in it: and beside, my complexion is so blacke, that I     #
shall
carry but an ill fauoured countenance vnder a hood.
   Now without doubt (quoth her Gossip) you are to blame to say
so: beshrew my heart if I speake it to flatter; you are a very  #
faire
and well fauored young woman as any is in (^Newbery^) . And     #
neuer
feare your behauiour in your hood: for I tel you true, as old   #
and
withered as I am my selfe, I could become a hood well enough,
and behaue my selfe as well in such attyre as any other         #
whatsoeuer,
and I would not learne of neuer a one of them all: what
woman, I haue beene a prety wench in my dayes, and seene some
fashions. Therefore you need not feare, seeing both your beauty
and comely personage deserues no lesse then a french hood, and 
bee good comfort. At the first (possible) folkes will gaze      #
something
<P 71>
at you: but bee not you abashed for that, it is better they
should wonder at your good fortune, then lament at your         #
miserie:
but when they haue seene you two or three times in that attyre
they will afterward little respect it: for euery new thing at   #
the first
seemes rare, but being once a little vsed, it growes common.
   Surely gossip you say true, (quoth shee) and I am but a      #
foole to
bee bashfull: it is no shame to vse Gods gifts for our          #
credites:
and well might my husband thinke me vnworthy to haue them,
if I would not weare them: and though I say it, my hood is a 
fayre one, as any woman weares in this countrey, and my gold 
chaine and bracelets are none of the worst sort, and I will     #
shew
them you, because you shall giue your opinion vpon them: and
therewithall shee stept into her chamber and fetcht them        #
foorth.
   When her Gossip saw them, she sayd: Now beshrew my fingers
but these are fayre ones indeede. And when doe you meane to
weare them Gossip?
   At Whitsontide (quoth shee) if God spare mee life.
   I wish that well you may weare them, sayd her Gossip, and I
would I were worthie to bee with you when you dresse your       #
selfe,
it should bee neuer the worse for you: I would order the        #
matter 
so, that you should set euery thing about you in such sort as
neuer a Gentlewoman of them all should staine you.
   Mistresse (^Winchcombe^) gaue her great thankes for her      #
fauour,
saying, that if she needed her helpe, she would be bold to send
for her.
   Then beganne her gossip to turne her tongue to another tune,
and now to blame her for her great house keeping. And thus she
beganne: Gossip, you are but a young woman, and one that hath 
had no great experience of the World, in my opinion you are     #
something
too lauish in expences: pardon me good gossip, I speake but
for good will; and because I loue you, I am the more bolde to
admonish you: I tell you plain, were I the Mistresse of such a  #
house,
hauing such large allowance as you haue, I would saue 20.       #
pound 
a yeare that you spend to no purpose.
   Which way might that be (quoth mistres (^Winchcombe^) ?)     #
indeed
I confesse I am but a greene housewife, and one that hath but   #
small
tryall in the world, therefore I should bee verie glad to       #
learne any
thing that were for my husbands profite, and my commoditie.
   Then listen to mee quoth shee: You feede poor folkes with    #
the
best of the beefe, and finest of the wheate, which in my        #
opinion
<P 72>
is a great ouersight: neither do I heare of any Knight in this
countrey that doth it. And to say the truth, how were they      #
able to
beare that port which they doe, if they saued it not by some
meanes? Come thither, and I warrant you that you shall see but
browne bread on the boord: if it be wheate and rie mingled      #
together,
it is a great matter, and the bread highly commended:
but most commonly they eate either barlybread, or rie mingled
with pease, and such like course graine: which is doubtlesse,   #
but
of small price, and there is no other bread allowed, except at  #
their
owne boord. And in like manner for their meate: it is well      #
knowne
that neckes and poynts of beefe is their ordinarie fare: which  #
because
it is commonly leane, they seeth therewith now and then a 
peece of bacon or porke, whereby they make their pottage fat,   #
and
therewith driues out the rest with more content. And thus must  #
you
learne to doe. And besides that, the midriffes of the Oxen,     #
and the
cheekes, the sheepes heads, and the gathers, which you giue     #
away 
at your gate, might serue them well enough: which would be a 
great sparing to your other meat, and by this meanes you would
saue in the yeare much mony, whereby you might the better       #
maintaine
your hood and silke gowne. Againe, you serue your folkes
with such superfluities, that they spoyle in manner as much as  #
they
eate: beleeue me were I their Dame, they should haue things     #
more
sparingly, and then they would thinke it more daintie. 
   Trust mee gossip (quoth Mistresse (^Winchcombe^) ) I know    #
your
wordes in many things to bee true: for my folkes are so corne   #
fed,
that wee haue much adoe to please them in their dyet: one doth
say this is too salt: and another saith this is too grosse,     #
this is too
fresh, and that too fat, and twentie faults they will finde at  #
their
meales: I warrant you they make such parings of their cheese,   #
and
keepe such chipping of their bread, that their very ortes       #
would serue
two or three honest folkes to their dinner.
   And from whence I pray you proceedes that (quoth her Gossip)
but of too much plentie? but yfaith were they my seruants, I    #
would
make them glad of the worst crumme they cast away, and          #
thereupon
I drinke to you, and I thanke you for my good cheere with all
my heart.
   Much good may it doe you good gossip, sayd mistress          #
(^Winchcomb^) :
and I pray you when you come this way let vs see you.
   That you shall verily quoth she, and so away she went.
   After this, mistresse (^Winchcomb^) tooke occasion to giue   #
her folks
<P 73>
shorter commons, and courser meate then they were wont to haue:
which at length being come to the good mans eare, hee was very
much offended therewith, saying: I will not haue my people thus
pincht of their victuals. Emptie platters make greedy           #
stomackes,
and where scarcitie is kept, hunger is nourished: and           #
therefore wife
as you loue mee let me haue no more of this doings.
   Husband (quoth she) I would they should haue enough: but it
is a sinne to suffer, and a shame to see the spoyle they make:  #
I
could bee verie well content to giue them their bellyes full,   #
and
that is sufficient, but it grieues me, to tell you true, to see
how coy they are, and the small care they haue in wasting of
things: and I assure you, the whole towne cryes shame of it,    #
and
it hath bred me no small discredit for looking no better to it.
Trust me no more, if I was not checkt in my owne house, about
this matter, when my eares did burne to heare what was spoken.
   Who was it that checkt thee, I pray thee tell mee? was it    #
not
your old gossip, dame dayntie, mistresse trip and go? I         #
beleeue it
was.
   Why man if it were she, you know shee hath beene an old      #
housekeeper,
and one that hath known the world; and that shee told
mee was for good will.
   Wife (quoth hee), I would not haue thee to meddle with such
light braind huswiues, and so I haue told thee a good many      #
times,
and yet I cannot get you to leaue her company.
   Leaue her company? why husband so long as she is an honest 
woman, why should I leaue her company? Shee neuer gaue mee
hurtfull counsell in all her life, but hath alwayes been ready  #
to
tell me things for my profit, though you take it not so. Leaue  #
her 
company? I am no gyrle I would you should well know, to bee
taught what company I should keepe: I keepe none but honest
company I warrant you. Leaue her company ketha? Alas poore
soule, this reward she hath for her good will. I wis I wis,     #
she is
more your friend, then you are your owne.
   Well let her be what she will sayd her husband: but if shee
come any more in my house, shee were as good no. And therefore
take this for a warning I would aduise you: and so away he      #
went.
<P 74>
[}CHAPTER IX.}]

[}HOW A DRAPER IN LONDON, WHO OWED IACKE OF NEWBERRY
MUCH MONEY BECAME BANKROUT, WHOM IACK OF NEWBERY
FOUND CARRYING A PORTERS BASKET ON HIS NECK, AND HOW
HE SET HIM VP AGAIN AT HIS OWNE COST, WHICH DRAPER
AFTERWARD BECAME AN ALDERMAN OF LONDON.}]

   There was one (^Randoll Pert^) a Draper, dwelling in         #
(^Watling
streete^) , that owed (^Iacke^) of (^Newbery^) fiue hundred     #
pounds at
one time, who in the ende fell greatly to decay, in so much     #
that hee
was cast in prison, and his wife with her poore children        #
turned out
of doores. Al his creditors except (^Winchcomb^) had a share of #
his
goods, neuer releasing him out of prison, so long as he had one
penny to satisfie them. But when his tidings was brought to     #
(^Iack^)
of (^Newberies^) eare, his friends counselled him to lay his    #
action
against him. 
   Nay (quoth he) if he be not able to pay me when hee is at
libertie, hee will neuer be able to pay me in prison: and       #
therfore
it were as good for me to forbear my mony with out troubling    #
him,
as to adde more sorrow to his grieued hart, and be neuer the
neerer. Misery is troden downe by many, and once brought low
they are seldome or neuer relieued: therfore he shall rest for  #
me
vntoucht, and I would to God he were cleare of all other mens   #
debts,
so that I gaue him mine to begin the world again.
   Thus lay the poore Draper a long time in prison, in which    #
space
his Wife which before for dayntinesse would foule her fingers,
nor turne her head aside, for feare of hurting the set of her   #
neckenger,
was glad to goe about and wash buckes at the Thames side,
and to bee a chare-Woman in rich mens houses, her soft hand was
now hardened with scowring, and in steade of gold rings vpon    #
her
lillie fingers, they were now fild with chaps, prouoked by the  #
sharpe
lee and other drudgeries.
   At last, master (^Winchcombe^) being (as you heard) chosen   #
against
the Parliament a Burgesse for the towne of (^Newbery^) , and    #
comming
<P 75>
vp to (^London^) for the same purpose, when hee was alighted    #
at his
Inne, hee left one of his man there, to get a Porter to bring   #
his
trunke vp to the place of his lodging. Poore (^Randoll          #
Pert^) , which
lately before was come out of prison, hauing no other meanes of
maintenance, became a Porter to carry burthens from one place 
to another, hauing an old ragged doublet, and a torne payre of
breeches, with his hose out at the heeles, and a paire of olde  #
broken
slip shooes on his feet, a rope about his middle instead of a   #
girdle,
and on his head an old greasie cap, which had so many holes     #
in it,
that his haire started through it: who assoone as hee heard     #
one call
for a Porter, made answere straight: here Master, what is it    #
that
you would haue caryed?
   Mary (quoth hee) I would haue this Trunke borne to the       #
spread 
Eagle at Iuiebridge.
   You shall master (quoth hee) but what will you giue me for   #
my
paines?
   I will giue thee two pence.
   A penny more and I will carry it, sayd the Porter: and so    #
being
agreed, away he went with his burthen till he came to the       #
spread
Eagle doore, where on a sudden espying Master (^Winchcombe^)
standing, hee cast downe the Trunke and run away as hard as     #
euer
hee could.
   Master (^Winchcombe^) wondring what hee meant thereby,       #
caused
his man to runne after him, and to fetch him againe: but when
he saw one pursue him, he ranne then the faster, and in         #
running,
here he lost one of his slip shooes, and there another: euer    #
looking
behinde him, like a man pursued with a deadly weapon, fearing
euery twinkling of an eye to bee thrust thorow. At last his     #
breech,
being tyed but with one poynt, what with the haste he made, and
the weakenesse of the thong, fell about his heeles: which so    #
shackled
him, that downe hee fell in the streete all along, sweating and
blowing, being quite worne out of breath: and so by this meanes
the Seruing man ouertooke him, and taking him by the sleeue,    #
being
as windlesse as the other, stood blowing and puffing a great    #
while
ere they could speake one to another.
   Sirra, quoth the Seruingman, you must come to my maister,    #
you
haue broken his Trunke all to peeces, by letting it fall.
   O for Gods sake (quoth he) let me go, for Christs sake let   #
me goe,
or else Master (^Winchcombe^) of (^Newbery^) will arrest me,    #
and then I 
am vndone for euer.
<P 76>
   Now by this time (^Iack^) of (^Newbery^) had caused his      #
Trunke to be
carryed into the house, and then he walked along to know what
the matter was: but when he heard the Porter say that he would
arrest him, he wondred greatly and hauing quite forgot          #
(^Perts^)
fauour, being so greatly changed by imprisonment and pouertie,
he said, Wherefore should I arrest thee? tell me good fellow:   #
for
mine owne part I know no reason for it.
   O Sir (quoth he) I would to God I knew none neither.
   Then asking him what his name was: the poore man falling
downe on his knees, sayd: Good Maister (^Winchcombe^) beare     #
with
me and cast me not into prison: my name is (^Pert^) , and I do  #
not
deny but I owe you fiue hundred pound: yet for the loue of God
take pittie vpon mee.
   When Maister (^Winchcombe^) heard this, hee wondred greatly  #
at
the man, and did as much pittie his miserie, though as yet hee
made it not knowne, saying: Passion of my heart man, thou wilt
neuer pay mee thus: neuer thinke being a Porter to pay fiue     #
hundred
pound dept. But this hath your prodigalitie brought you to,
your thriftlesse neglecting of your busines, that set more by   #
your
pleasure than your profite. Then looking better vpon him, he    #
said:
What neuer a shoo to thy foot, hose to thy legge, band to thy
necke, nor cap to thy head? O (^Pert^) this is strange; but     #
wilt thou
be an honest man, and giue me a bill of thy hand for my mony?
   Yes sir, with all my heart, quoth (^Pert^) .
   Then came to the Scriueners (quoth he) and dispatch it, and  #
I
will not trouble thee.
   Now when they were come thither, with a great many following
them at their heeles, master (^Winchcomb^) said: Hearest thou   #
Scriuener?
this fellow must giue mee a bill of his hand for fiue hundred
pounds, I pray thee make it as it should bee.
   The Scriuener looking vpon the poore man, and seeing him in
that case, said to master (^Winchcombe^) : Sir, you were        #
better to let
it bee a Bond, and haue some sureties bound with him.
   Why Scriuener (quoth hee) doest thou thinke this is not a    #
sufficient
man of himselfe for fiue hundred pound?
   Truly Sir (sayd the Scriuener) if you thinke him so, you     #
and I
am of two minds.
   Ile tell thee what (quoth master (^Winchcombe^) ) were it    #
not that
we are all mortall, I would take his word assoone as his Bill   #
or
Bond; the honystie of a man is all.
<P 77>
   And wee in (^London^) (quoth the Scriuener) doe trust Bonds  #
farre
better then honestie. But Sir when must this money bee payd?
   Marry Scriuener when this man is Sheriffe of (^London^) .
   At that word the Scriuener and the people standing by        #
laughed
heartily, saying: In truth Sir make no more adoe but forgiue it
him: as good to doe the one as the other.
   Nay beleeue mee (quoth hee) not so: therefore do as I bid    #
you.
   Whereupon the Scriuener made the Bill to be payd when        #
(^Randoll
Pert^) was Sheriffe of (^London^) , and thereunto set his owne  #
hand
for a witnesse, and twentie persons more that stoode by set     #
their
handes likewise. Then hee asked (^Pert^) what hee should haue   #
for
carrying his trunk.
   Sir (quoth hee) I should haue three pence, but seeing I      #
finde you
so kinde, I will take but two pence at this time.
   Thanks good (^Pert^) quoth he, but for thy three pence,      #
there is
three shillings: and looke thou come to mee to morrow morning
betimes.
   The poore man did so, at what time Master (^Winchcombe^) had
prouided him out of Birchin lane, a faire sute of apparell,     #
Marchantlike,
with a faire blacke cloake, and all other thinges fit to
the same: then he tooke him a shop in (^Canweeke^) streete,     #
and furnisht
the same shop with a thousand pounds worth of cloath: by
which meanes, and other fauours that master (^Winchcombe^) did
him, hee grew againe into great credite, and in the end became
so wealthy, that while maister (^Winchcombe^) liued hee was     #
chosen
Sheriffe, at what time he payed fiue hundred pounds euery       #
pennie,
and after dyed an Alderman of the Citie.
<P 78>
[}CHAPTER X.}]

[}HOW IACK OF NEWBERIES SERUANTS WERE REUENGED OF THEIR
DAMES TATTLING GOSSIP.}] 

   Vpon a time it came to passe, when Master (^Winchcombe^) was
farre from home, and his Wife gone abroad: That Mistris
many-better, dame tittle-tattle, gossip pinte-pot, according    #
to her
old custome came to Mistris (^Winchcombes^) house, perfectly    #
knowing 
of the good mans absence, and little thinking the good wife
was from home: where knocking at the gate, (^Tweedle^) stept    #
out and
askt who was there? where hastily opening the wicket, he        #
sodainly
discouered the full proportion of this foule beast, who         #
demanded
if their Mistris were within.
   What, mistris (^Franke^) (quoth he) in faith welcome: how    #
haue
you done a great while? I pray you come in.
   Nay, cannot stay quoth shee: Notwithstanding, I did call to
speake a word or two with your Mistris, I pray you tell her     #
that
I am heere.
   So I will (quoth he) so soone as shee comes in.
   Then said the woman, what is shee abroad? Why then farewell
good (^Tweedle^) .
   Why what haste, what haste, mistris (^Frank^) (quoth he) I   #
pray you
stay and drinke ere you goe, I hope a cup of newe Sacke will    #
doe
your old belly no hurt.
   What (quoth shee) haue you new sacke alreadie? Now by my
honestie I drunke none this yeare, and therefore I do not       #
greatly
care if I take a taste before I go: and with that shee went     #
into the
wine cellar with (^Tweedle^) , where first hee set before her   #
a piece of
poudred biefe as greene as a leeke: And then going into the     #
kitchen,
he brought her a piece of rosted beefe hot from the spit.
   Now certaine of the Maidens of the house and some of the
young men, who had long before determined to bee reuenged of
this pratling huswife: came into the Cellar one after another,  #
one
of them bringing a great piece of a gambon of Bacon in his      #
hand:
<P 79>
and euerie one bad mistresse (^Franke^) welcome: and the first  #
one dranke
to her, and then another, and so the third, the fourth, and the
fift: so that Mistresse (^Franks^) braines waxt as mellow as a  #
pippin
at Michaelmas, and so light, that sitting in the Cellar she     #
thought
the world ran round. They seeing her to fall into merry humors,
whetted her on in merriment as much as they could, saying:      #
mistresse
(^Frank^) , spare not I pray you, but thinke your selfe as      #
welcome
as any woman in (^Newberie^) , for we haue cause to loue you,
because you loue our mistris so well.
   Now assure you quoth shee (lisping in her speech) her tongue
waxing somwhat too big for her mouth, I loue your mistresse     #
well
indeed, as if she were my owne daughter.
   Nay but hear you quoth they, she begins not to deal well     #
with
vs now.
   No my Lamb quoth shee, why not?
   Because quoth they, she seekes to bar vs of our allowance,   #
telling
our Master that hee spends too much in housekeeping.
   Nay then (quoth she) your mistresse is an Asse, and a        #
foole: and
though she goe in her hood, what care I? she is but a girle to  #
mee:
twittle twattle, I know what I know: Go to, drinke to mee. Wel
(^Tweedle^) , I drinke to thee with all my hart: why thou       #
whoreson
when wilt thou be maried? O that I were a young wench for thy
sake: but tis no mater though I be but a poore woman, I am a    #
true
woman. Hang dogs, I haue dwelt in this Towne these thirtie
winters.
   Why then quoth they, you haue dwelt here longer than our
Maister.
   Your Master, quoth shee? I knew your Master a boy, when he
was called (^Iacke^) of (^Newbery^) ; I (^Iacke^) , I knew him  #
called plaine
(^Iack^) : and your Mistresse, now she is rich and I am poor,   #
but tis
no matter, I knew her a draggle tayle girle, marke yee?
   But now quoth they, she takes vpon her lustily, and hath     #
forgot
what shee was.
   Tush, what will you haue of a greene thing quoth shee. Heere
I drink to you, so long as she goes where she list a            #
gossipping: and
tis no matter, little said is soone amended: but heare you my   #
maisters,
though mistresse (^Winchcomb^) goe in her hood, I am as good
as shee, I care not who tell it her: I spend not my husbands    #
money
<P 80>
in cherries and codlings, go to, go to, I know what I say well
enough: I am sure I am not drunk: mistresse (^Winchcomb^) ,     #
mistresse?
No, (^Nan Winchcombe^) , I will call her name, plain (^Nan^) :
what, I was a woman, when she was se-reuerence a paltrie girle,
though now she goes in her hood and chaine of gold: what care I
for her? I am her elder, and I know more of her tricks: nay I
warrant you I know what I say, tis no matter, laugh at me and
spare not. I am not drunke I warrant: and with that being scant
able to hold open her eyes, shee began to nodde and to spill    #
the
wine out of the glasse: which they perceiuing let her alone,    #
going
out of the cellar till shee was sound asleepe, and in the meane
space they deuised how to finish this peece of knauery. At      #
last they
consented to laie her forth at the backside of the house,       #
halfe a
mile off, euen at the foote of a stile, that whosoeuer came     #
next ouer
might finde her: notwithstanding, (^Tweedle^) stayed hard by    #
to see
the end of this action. 
   At last comes a notable clowne from (^Greenham^) , taking    #
his way
to (^Newbery^) , who comming hastily ouer the stile stumbled    #
at the
Woman, and fell down cleane ouer her: but in the starting vp,
seeing it was a woman, cryed out, alas, alas.
   How now, what is the matter quoth (^Tweedle^) ?
   O quoth hee here lies a dead woman.
   A dead woman quoth (^Tweedle^) : thats not so I trow, and    #
with
that hee tumbled her about: bones of mee quoth (^Tweedle^) ,    #
its a
drunken Woman, and one of the Towne vndoubtedly: surelie it is
great pittie shee should lie heere.
   Why? do you know her quoth the Clowne?
   No not I, quoth (^Tweedle^) : neuerthelesse, I will giue     #
thee halfe a
groat and take her in thy Basket, and carry her throughout the
Towne and see if any body know her.
   Then said th'other, let me see the money and I will: For by  #
the
Masse che earnd not halfe a groat this great while.
   There it is quoth (^Tweedle^) .
   Then the fellow put her in his basket, and so lifted her     #
vpon
his back. Now by the masse shee stinkes vilely of drinke or     #
wine,
or some thing: but tell mee, what shall I say, when I come into
the towne, quoth hee?
   First quoth (^Tweedle^) , I would haue thee so soone as      #
euer thou
canst go to the townes end, with a lustie voice, to crie O      #
yes; and
then say, who knowes this woman, who? And though possible
<P 81>
some will say, I know her, and I know her, yet do not thou set 
her downe till thou comest to the market Crosse, and there vse  #
the
like words: and if any bee so friendly, to tell thee where      #
shee dwels,
then iust before her doore crie so againe: and if thou performe
this brauely, I will giue thee halfe a groat more.
   Maister (^Tweedle^) (quoth he) I know you well enough, you   #
dwell
with Maister (^Winchcomb^) , do you not? Well, if I do it not   #
in the
nick, giue mee neuer a pennie: And so away hee went till hee    #
came
to the Townes end, and there hee cryes out as boldly as anie    #
Baylifes
man, O yes, who knowes this woman, who?
   Then said the drunken woman in the Basket, her head falling
first on one side, and then on the other side, Who co mee, who?
   Then said hee againe, Who knowes this woman, who?
   Who co mee, who (quoth shee) and looke how oft hee spake the
one, she spake the other: saying still Who co mee, who co mee,  #
who?
Whereat all the people in the streete fell into such a          #
laughing, that
the teares ran downe againe.
   At last one made answer, saying: goodfellow she dwels in the
North brooke street, a little beyond master (^Winchcombes^) .
   The fellow hearing that, goes downe thither in all haste,    #
and
there in the hearing of a hundred people, cries: Who knowes     #
this
woman, who? whereat her husband comes out, saying: Marrie that
doe I too well God helpe mee.
   Then sayd the Clowne, if you know her, take her: for I know
her not but for a drunken beast.
   And as her husband tooke her out of the Basket, shee gaue    #
him
a sound boxe on the eare, saying: What you Queanes, do you      #
mocke
mee, and so was caried in.
   But the next day, when her braines were quiet, and her head
cleared of these foggie vapours shee was so ashamed of her      #
selfe,
that shee went not forth of her doores a long time after: and   #
if
any body did say vnto her, Who co me who? She would bee so mad
and furious, that shee would bee ready to draw her knife and to
stick them, and scold as if she stroue for the best game at the
cucking stools. Moreouer, her prattling to Mistresse            #
(^Winchcombes^)
folks of their mistresse, made her on the other side to fall    #
out with
her, in such sort that shee troubled them no more, either with
her companie or her counsell.
<P 82>
[}CHAPTER XI.}]

[}HOW ONE OF IACK OF NEWBERIES MAYDENS BECAME A LADIE.}]

   At the winning of (^Morlesse^) in (^France^) , the noble     #
Earle of (^Surrey^)
beeing at that time Lord high Admirall of (^England^) , made
manie Knights: among the rest was Sir (^George Rigley^) ,       #
brother to
Sir (^Edward Rigley^) , and sundrie other, whose valours farre  #
surpassed
their wealth: so that when peace bred a scarcity in their
purses that their credits grew weak in the Citie, they were     #
inforced
to ride into the country, where at their friends houses they    #
might
haue fauourable welcome, without coyne or grudging. Among the
rest, (^Iacke^) of (^Newbery^) that kept a table for all        #
commers, was neuer
lightly without many such guests: where they were sure to haue
bold welcome and good cheere, and their mirth no lesse          #
pleasing
then their meat was plentie. Sir (^George^) hauing lyen long    #
at boord
in this braue yeomans house, at length fell in liking of one    #
of his
maidens, who was as faire as she was fond.
   This lustie wench hee so allured with the hope of marriage,  #
that at
length shee yeelded him her loue, and therwithall bent her      #
whole
studie to work his content: but in the end she so much          #
contented
him, that it wrought altogether her owne discontent: to become
high, she laid her selfe so low, that the Knight suddenly fell  #
ouer
her, which fall become the rising of her belly: but when this   #
wanton
perceiued her selfe to bee with child, shee made her moane
vnto the Knight, saying:
   Ah sir (^George^) , now is the time to perform your          #
promise, or to
make me a spectacle of infamy to the whole world for euer: in   #
the
one, you shall discharge the duty of a true Knight; but in the  #
other,
shew your selfe a most periured person: small honour will it    #
bee
to boast in the spoyle of poore maidens, whose innocencie all   #
good
Knights ought to defend.
   Why thou leud paltrie thing quoth hee: commest thou to       #
father
thy bastard vpon mee? A way ye dunghill carrion, awaie: heare
you good huswife, get you among your companions, and lay your
<P 83>
litter where you list, but if you trouble me any more, trust    #
mee
thou shalt dearely abie it: and so bending his browes like the  #
angry
god of warr, he went his waies leauing the child breeding wench
to the hazard of her fortune, either good or bad.
   The poore maiden seeing her selfe for her kindnesse thus     #
cast
off, shed many teares of sorrow for her sinne, inueighing with  #
manie
bitter groanes, against the vnconstancie of loue-alluring men.  #
And
in the end, when shee saw no other remedie, shee made her case
knowne vnto her mistresse: who after she had giuen her many
checkes and taunts, threatening to turne her out of doores,     #
shee
opened the matter to her husband.
   So soone as he heard thereof, he made no more to do, but     #
presently
poasted to (^London^) after Sir (^George^) , and found him at   #
my
Lord Admirals. What master (^Winchcombe^) (quoth hee) you are
heartily welcome to (^London^) , and I thank you for my good    #
cheere:
I pray you how doth your good wife, and all our friends in
(^Barkshire^) ?
   All well and merrie, I thank you good Sir (^George^) ,       #
quoth hee: I
left them in health, and hope they do so continue. And trust me
sir (quoth he) hauing earnest occasion to come vp to talke      #
with a
bad debter, in my iourney it was my chance to light in company  #
of
a gallant widow: a Gentlewoman shee is of wondrous good wealth,
whom grisly death hath bereft of a kinde husband, making her a 
Widow ere shee had been halfe a yeare a wife: her land, sir     #
(^George^) ,
is as well worth a hundred pound a yeare as one penny, being as
faire and comely a creature as any of her degree in our whole   #
countrey:
Now sir, this is the worst, by the reason that she doubtes her
selfe to bee with child, she hath vowed not to marrie these     #
xii.
moneths: but because I wish you well, and the Gentlewoman no
hurt: I came of purpose from my businesse to tell you thereof:
Now sir (^George^) , if you thinke her a fit wife for you,      #
ride to her,
woo her, winne her, and wed her.
   I thanke you good Maister (^Winchcombe^) (quoth he) for your
fauour euer toward mee: and gladly would I see this young Widow
if I wist where.
   Shee dwels not halfe a mile from my house quoth Maister      #
(^Winchcombe^) ,
and I can send for her at any time if you please.
<P 84>
   Sir (^George^) hearing this, thought it was not best to      #
come there,
fearing (^Ioane^) would father a child vpon him, and therefore  #
said,
hee had no leasure to come from my Lord: But quoth hee, would
I might see her in (^London^) , on the condition it cost me     #
twenty
nobles.
   Tush, sir (^George^) (quoth Maister (^Winchcombe^) ) delay   #
in loue is
dangerous, and hee that will woo a widow, must take time by the
forelocke, and suffer none other to stop before him, least hee  #
leape
with out the Widowes loue. Notwithstanding, seeing now I haue
toulde you of it, I will take my gelding and get me home, if I
heare of her comming to (^London^) I will send you word, or     #
perhaps
come my selfe: till when adieu good sir (^George^) .
   Thus parted Master (^Winchcombe^) from the knight: and being
come home, in short time hee got a faire Taffetie gowne, and a
french hood for his maide, saying: Come ye drab, I must be      #
faine
to couer a foule fault with a faire garment, yet all will not   #
hide
your great belly: but if I finde meanes to make you a Lady,     #
what
wilt thou say then?
   O Maister (quoth she) I shall be bound while I liue to pray  #
for
you.
   Come then minion (quoth her mistris) and put you on this     #
gown
and french hood: for seeing you haue lien with a Knight, you    #
must
needes bee a gentlewoman.
   The maid did so, and being thus attired, shee was set on a   #
faire
gelding, and a couple of men sent with her vp to (^London^) :   #
and being
well instructed by her maister and dame what shee should do,
shee tooke her iourney to the Cittie in the Terme time, and     #
lodged
at the Bell in the Strand: and mistresse (^Louelesse^) must be  #
her
name, for so her Master had warned her to call her selfe:       #
neither
did the men that waited on her, know the contrary, for Master
(^Winchcombe^) had borrowed them of their Maister, to wait      #
vpon a
frend of his to (^London^) , because he could not spare any of  #
his owne
seruants at that time: notwithstanding they were appointed,     #
for the
Gentlewomans credit, to say they were her owne men. This being
done, Master (^Winchcombe^) sent sir (^George^) a Letter, that  #
the Gentlewoman
which hee toulde him of, was now in (^London^) , lying at
the Bell in the Strand, hauing great busines at the Terme. 
<P 85>
   With which newes Sir (^Georges^) heart was on fire, till     #
such time
as he might speake with her: three or four times went hee       #
thither,
and still shee would not bee spoken withall: the which close    #
keeping
of her selfe, made him the more earnest in his sute.
   At length he watcht her so narrowly, that finding her going  #
forth
in an euening, hee followed her, shee hauing one man before,    #
and
another behinde: carrying a verie stately gate in the street,   #
it draue
him into greater liking of her, beeing the more vrged to vtter
his minde.
   And suddenly stepping before her, hee thus saluted her,      #
Gentlewoman
God saue you, I haue often beene at your lodging and could
neuer finde you at leisure.
   Why sir quoth shee (counterfeting her naturall speech) haue  #
you
any businesse with me? 
   Yes faire Widow quoth he, as you are a clyent to the law,    #
so am
I a sutor for your loue: and may I find you so fauorable to     #
let me
plead my owne case at the bar of your beautie, I doubt not but  #
to
vnfold so true a tale as I trust will cause you to giue         #
sentence on
my side.
   You are a merry Gentleman quoth shee: But my own part I
know you not: neuerthelesse, in a case of loue, I will bee no   #
let
to your sute, though perhaps I helpe you little therein. And    #
therefore
Sir, if it please you to giue attendance at my lodging, vpon
my returne from the Temple, you shall knowe more of my minde,
and so they parted.
   Sir (^George^) receiuing hereby som hope of good happe,      #
stayed
for his dear at her lodging doore: whom at her comming she
frendly greeted, saying: Surely Sir, your diligence is more     #
then the
profit you shall get thereby: but I pray you how shall I call   #
your
name?
   (^George Rigley^) (quoth hee) I am called, and for some      #
small
deserts I was knighted in (^France^) .
   Why then Sir (^George^) (quoth shee) I haue done you too     #
much
wrong to make you thus dance attendance on my worthlesse        #
person.
But let mee bee so bold to request you to tell mee, how you
came to know mee: for my owne part I cannot remember that euer
I saw you before.
   Mistris (^Louelesse^) (sayd Sir (^George^) ) I am well       #
acquainted with a 
<P 86>
good neighbour of yours, called Maister (^Winchcombe^) , who    #
is my
very good friend, and to say the truth you are commended vnto
mee by him.
   Truly sir (^George^) sayd shee, you are so much the better   #
welcome:
Neuerthelesse, I haue made a vowe not to loue any man for this
tweluemoneths space. And therefore Sir, till then I would wish
you to trouble your selfe no further in this matter till that   #
time
be expired: and then if I finde you bee not intangled to any    #
other,
and that by triall I finde out the truth of your loue, for      #
Master
(^Winchcombes^) sake your welcome shall bee as good as any      #
other
Gentlemans whatsoeuer.
   Sir (^George^) hauing receiued this answere was wonderous    #
woe,
cursing the day that euer he meddled with (^Ioane^) whose time  #
of
deliuerance would come long before a tweluemoneth were expired,
to his vtter shame, and ouerthrowe of his good fortune: for by  #
that
meanes should hee haue maister (^Winchcombe^) his enemie, and
therewithall the losse of this faire Gentlewoman. Wherefore to  #
preuent
this mischiefe he sent a Letter in all haste to maister         #
(^Winchcombe^) ,
requesting him most earnestly to come vp to (^London^) , by
whose perswasion hee hoped straight to finish the marriage.     #
Maister
(^Winchcomb^) fulfilled his request, and then presently was     #
the marriage
solemnized at the Tower of (^London^) , in presence of many
gentlemen of Sir (^Georges^) friends. But when hee found it     #
was (^Ione^)
whome hee had gotten with child, hee fretted and fumed, stampt,
and star'd like a diuell.
   Why (quoth M. (^Winchcomb^) ) what needs all this? Came you  #
to
my table to make my maid your strumpet? had you no mans house
to dishonor but mine? Sir, I would you should well know, that I
account the poorest wench in my house too good to be your       #
whore,
were you ten knights: and seeing you tooke pleasure in making
her your wanton, take it no scorne to make her your wife: and   #
vse
her well too, or you shall heare of it. And hould thee          #
(^Ione^) (quoth
he) there is a hundred pounds for thee: And let him not say     #
thou
comst to him a begger.
   Sir (^George^) seeing this, and withall casting in his minde #
what
friend Maister (^Winchcombe^) might bee to him, taking his      #
wife by
the hand gaue her a louing kisse, and Master (^Winchcombe^)     #
great
thankes. Whereupon hee willed him for two yeres space to take   #
his 
diet and his Ladies at his house: which the Knight accepting    #
rode
<P 87>
straight with his wife to (^Newbery^) . Then did the Mistris    #
make
curtsie to the Maid, saying: you are welcome Madam, giuing her
the vpper hand in all places. And thus they liued afterward
in great ioy: and our King, hearing how (^Iacke^) had matcht
Sir (^George^) , laughing heartily thereat, gaue him a liuing
for euer, the better to maintain my Lady his Wife.
(\FINIS.\)



