|p CALISTO AND MELEBEA <2The players' names>2 Melebea Calisto Sempronio his servant Celestina the bawd Farmeno, servant of Calisto Danio, Melebea's father |p <2A NEW COMMODYE IN ENGLYSH IN MANER OF AN ENTERLUDE,>2 <2ryght elygant and full of craft of rethoryk, wherein is shewd and dyscrybyd as well>2 <2the bewte and good propertes of women, as theyr vycys and evyll condicions, with>2 <2a morall conclusion and exhortacyon to vertew>2 <2Melebea>2 Franciscus Petrarcus the poet lawreate Sayth that Nature, whych is mother of all thing, Without stryff can gyve lyfe to nothing create; And Eraclito the wyse clerk, in his wrytyng Sayth in all thyngis create, stryff is theyre workyng, And ther is no thing under the firmament With any other in all poyntes equivalent. And accordyng to theyre dictys rehersyd as thus, All thyngis are create in maner of stryfe. These folysh lovers then, that be so amerous, From pleasure to displeasure how lede they theyr lyfe, Now sory, now sad, now joyous, now pensyfe ore mayden, than what shall I do, Combryd by dotage of one Calisto? I know that nature hath gyvyn me bewte, With sanguynyous compleccyon, favour and fayrenes; The more to God ought I to do fewte With wyll, lyfe, laud, and love of perfytnes. I deny not but Calisto is of grete worthynes, But what of that? For all hys hygh estate, Hys desyre I defy and utterly shall hate. O, his saynges and sutes so importune, That of my lyfe he makyth me almost wery. 0, hys lamentacyons and exclamacyons on Fortune With similytude maner as one that shuld dy But who shall pyte thys? In fayth not I. Shall I accomplysh hys carnall desyre? Nay, yet at a stake rather bren in a fyre. Of trouth I am sory for hys troble To stryve wyth hym self thus for love of me, But though hys sorows, I assure you, shuld doble, Out of his daunger wyll I be at lyberte. What, a mys woman? Now Cristes benedicite Nay, nay, he shall never that day see Hys voluptuous appetyte consentyd by me. |p Wyst he now that I were present here, I assure you shortely he wold seke me; And without dout he doth now inquere Wether I am gone or where I shuld be. <2[Enter Calisto.]>2 Se Is he not now come? 1 report me Alas, of thys man I can never be ryd. Wold to Cryst I wyst where I myght be hyd. <2Calisto>2 By you feyre Melebea may be sene The grace, the gyftes, the gretnes of God. <2Melebea>2 Where in? <2Calisto>2 In takyng effect of dame Naturys strene, Nor yerthly, but angellyke of lykelyhode, In bewte so passyng the kinde of womanhod. 0 God, I myght in your presens be able To manyfest my dolours incomperable. Greter were that reward than the grace Hevyn to optayn by workys of pyte. Not so gloryous be the saintes that se Goddes face, Ne joy not so moch as I do you to see; Yet dyfferens there is bytwene theym and me, For they gloryfy by his assuryd presens And I in torment because of your absens. <2Melebea>2 Why, thynkyst thou that so grete a reward? <2Calisto>2 Ye, more greter than yf God wold set me In hevyn above all seyntes and more in regard, And thynk it a more hyer felycyte. <2Melebea>2 Yet more gretter thy reward shalbe Yf thou fle from the determynacyon Of thy consent of mynd by such temptacion. I perseyve the entent of thy wordys all As of the wyt of hym that wold have the vertew Of me such a woman to become thrall. Go thy wey wyth sorow. I wold thou knew I have foule skorn of the, I tell the trew, Or any humayn creature with me shuld begyn Any communycacyon perteynyng to syn. And I promyse the, where thou art present, Whyle I lyff, by my wyll I wyll be absent <2Et exeat>2 <2Calisto>2 Lo, out of all joy I am fallyn in wo, Uppon whom advers Fortune hath cast her chauns Of cruell hate, whych causyth now away to go The keper of my joy and all my pleasauns. Alas, alas, now to me what noyauns <2[Enter Sempronio ]>2 |p <2Sempronio>2 Dew gard my lordys, and God be in this place. <2Calisto>2 Sempronio. <2Sempronio>2 Ye, syr. <2Calisto>2 A, syr, I shrew thy face Why hast thou bene from me so long absent? <2Sempronio>2 For I have bene about your bysynes To order such thyngis as were convenient Your house and horse and all thyng was to dress <2Calisto>2 O, Sempronio, have pyte on my dystres, For of all creaturys I am the wofullest. <2Sempronio>2 How so, what is the cause of your unrest? <2Calisto>2 For I serve in love to the goodlyest thyng That is or ever was. <2Sempronio>2 What is she? <2[Calisto]>2 It is one which is all other excedyng-- The picture of angellys yf thou her see; Phebus or Phebe no comparyson may be To her. <2Sempronio>2 What hyght she? <2Calisto>2 Melebea is her name. <2Sempronio>2 Mary, syr, this wold make a wyld hors tame! <2Calisto>2 I pray the Sempronio, goo fet me my lute, And bryng some chayre or stole with the, The argumentys of love that I may dispute, [Wyth] scyens I fynd [thou] arte without pyte-- the, Sempronio, hy the I pray the! <2Sempronio>2 Syr, shortly I assure you it shalbe done. <2[Exit]>2 <2Calisto>2 Then farewell. Cryst send the agayn sone. 0 what fortune is egall unto myne? 0 what wofull wyght with me may compare? The thurst of sorow is my myxyd wyne, Which dayly I drynk wyth deepe draughtys of care. <2[Re-enter Sempronio ]>2 <2Sempronio>2 Tush, syr, be mery. let pas awey the mare! How sey you, have I not hyed me lyghtly? Here is your chayre and lute to make you mery. <2Calisto>2 Myry, quod'a. nay, that wyll not be. But I must nedys syt for very feblenes Gyve me my lute and thou shalt see How I shall syng myne unhappynes. Thys lute is out of tune now as I ges. Alas! in tune how shuld I set it, When all armony to me discordith yche whyt |p As he to whos wyll reson is un For I fele sharp nedyls within my brest Peas, warr, truth, haterad, and injury, Hope and suspect, and all in one chest. <2Sempronio>2 Behold Nero in the love of Tapaya oprest, Rome how he brent; old and yong wept But she toke no thought nor never the less slept. <2Calisto>2 Gretter is my fyre and less pyte shew <2Sempronio>2 I wyll not mok - this foule is a lover <2[Aside]>2 <2Calisto>2 What sayst thou? <2Sempronio>2 I say, how can that fyre be, That tormentyth but one lyvyng man, gretter Than that fyre that brennyth a hole cyty here And all the people therin? <2Calisto>2 Mary, for the fyre ys grettyst That brennyth verey sore and lastyth lengyst And gretter is the fyre that brennyth one soule Than that whych brennyth an hundred bodyes. <2Sempronio>2 Hys sayeng in this none can controll <2Calisto>2 None but such as lyst to make lyes And yf the fyre of purgatory bren in such wyse, I had lever my spirete in brute bestys shuld be Than to go thyder and than to the deyte <2Sempronio>2 Mary, syr, that is a spyce of heryse <2Calisto>2 Why so? <2Sempronio>2 For ye speke lyke no crystyn rnan. <2[Calisto]>2 I wold thou knewyst, Melebea worshyp I, In her I beleve and her I love. <2Sempronio>2 A ha, than Wyth the Melebea is a grete woman I know on whych fote thou dost halt on; I shall shortly hele the, my lyff theruppon. <2Calisto>2 An uncredable thyng thou dost promyse me. <2Sempronio>2 Nay, nay, it is easy inough to do. But furst for to hele a man knowlege must be Of the seknes; than to gyff counsell therto. <2Calisto>2 What counsell can rule hym, Sempronio, That kepyth in hym no order of counsell? <2Sempronio>2 A. is this Calisto his fyre? Now I know well |p How that love over hym hath cast her net, In whose perseverans is all inconstans <2Calisto>2 Why, is not Eliceas love and thyn met? <2Sempronio>2 What than? <2Calisto>2 Why reprovest me than of ignorans? <2Sempronio>2 For thou settyst mannis dignite in obeysauns To the imperfeccion of the weke woman <2Calisto>2 A woman. Nay, a god of goddesses. <2Sempronio>2 Belevyst that than? <2Calisto>2 Ye, and as a goddes I here confesse And I beleve there is no such sufferayn In hevyn though she be in yerth <2Sempronio>2 Peas, peas A woman a god? Nay, to God a vyllayn. sayeng ye may be sory. <2Calisto>2 It is playn. <2Sempronio>2 Why so? <2Calisto>2 Because I love her, and thynk surely To obteyn my desyre I am unworthy. <2Sempronio>2 O ferfull hart, why comparyst thou with Nembroth Or Alexander -- of this world not lordys onely, But worthy to subdew hevyn, as sayeng goth -- And thou reputyst thy self more hye Then them both, and dyspayryst so cowardly To wyn a woman, of whom hath ben so many Gotten and ungotten - never hardys[t] of any? It is resytyd in the fest of Seynt Jhonn, 'Thys is the woman of auncyoun malyce', Of whom but of a woman was it long on That Adam was expulsyd frorn paradyse? She put man to payn whom Ely dyd dispyse. <2Calisto>2 Than syth Adam gaff hym to theyre governaunce, Am I gretter than Adam my self to avaunce? <2Sempronio>2 Nay, but of those men, it were wysedome, That overcame them, to seke remedy, And not of those that they dyd overcome Fle from theyre beginnynges, eschew theyre foly. Thou knowyst they do evyll thyngis many. They kepe no meane, but rygour of intencyon, Be it fayre, foule, wylfull without reason |p Kepe them never so close, they wylbe shewyd, Gyff tokyns of love by many subtell ways, Semyng to be shepe, and serpently shrewd, Craft in them renewyng, that never decays -- Theyre seyenges, sightynges, provukynges, theyr plays O what payn is to fulfyll theyre appetytys And to accomplysh theyre wanton delytis. lt is a wonder to se theyre dyssemblyng, Theyre flatteryng countenaunce, theyr ingratytude, Inconstaunce, fals witnese, faynyd wepyng, There vayn glory and how they can delude, Theyre folyshnes, theyre janglyng not mewde, Theyre lecherous lust and wylenes therfore, Whychcraftys and charmys to make men to theyre lore; Theyre enbawmyng and theyre unshamfastnes, Theyre bawdry, theyre suttelte, and fresh attyryng, What trimmyng, what payntyng to make fayrnes, Theyre fals intentys and flykkeryng smylyng. Therfore, lo, yt is an old sayeng That women be the dyvellys nettys and hed of syn, And mannys mysery in paradyse dyd begyn. <2Calisto>2 But what thynkyst thou by me yet for all this? <2Sempronio>2 Mary, syr, ye were a man of clere wyt, Whom nature hath indewyd with the best gyftes As bewte and gretnes of membres perfyt, Strenght, lyghtnes, and beyond this yche whyt fortune hath partyd with you of her influens, For to be able of lyberall expens. For wythout goodys, wherof Fortune is lady, No man can have welth, therfore by conjecture Yow shuld be belovyd of every body. <2Calisto>2 But not of Melebea now I am sure, And though thou hadst praysyd me without mesure And comparyd me without comparison, Yet she is above in every condicion. Behold her noblenes, her auncyon lynage, Her gret patrymony, her excellent wyt, Her resplendent verteu, hye portly corage, Her godly grace, her suffereyn bewte perfyte. No tong is able well to expresse it, But yet, I pray the, let me speke a whyle, My selff to refresh in rehersyng of my style. |p I begyn at her herr which is so goodly, Crispyd to her helys, tyed with fyne lase, Farr shynyng beyond fyne gold of Araby,; I trow the son coler to hyt may gyff place, That who to behold it myght have the grace, Wold say in comparison nothyng countervaylys. <2Sempronio>2 Then is it not lyke here of asse tayles? <2Calisto>2 0, what foule comparison this felow raylys Her gay glasyng eyen so fayre and bryght, Her browes, her nose in a meane no fassyon faylys, Her mouth proper and feate, her teeth small and whyght, Her lyppis ruddy, her body streyght upryght, Her lyttyll tetys to the eye is a pleasure. O what joy it is to se such a fygure. Her skyn of whytnes endarkyth the snow, Wyth rose colour ennewyd - I the ensure - Her lyttyll handys in meane maner - this is no trow - Her fyngers small and long, with naylys ruddy most pure, Of proporcyon none such in purtrayture, - Without pere, worthy to have for fayrenes The apple that Parys gave Venus the goddes. <2Sempronio>2 Sir, have ye all done? <2Calisto>2 Ye, mary, what than? <2Sempronio>2 1 put case all this ye have sayd be trew, Yet are ye more noble syth ye be a man <2Calisto>2 Wherin? <2Sempronio>2 She is unperfyte, I wold ye knew, As all women be, and of lesse valew. Phylozophers say the matter is less worthy Than the forme; so is woman to man surely. <2Calisto>2 I love not to here this altercacion - Betwene Melebea and me her lover. <2Sempronio>2 Possyble it is in every condicyon To abbor her as mych as you do love her. In the wynnyng, begilyng is the daunger-- That ye shall see here after wyth eyen fre. <2Calisto>2 With what eyen? <2Sempronio>2 With clere eyen, trust me. <2Calisto>2 Why, wyth what eyen do I se now? <2Sempronio>2 Wyth dyme eyen whych shew a lytyl thyng much. But for ye shall not dispayre, I assure you No labour nor dylygens in me shall gruch. So trusty and fryndely ye shall fynd me such In all thyngis possyble, that ye can adquire The thyng to accomplysh to your desyre |p <2Calisto>2 God bryng that to pase, so glad it is to me To here the thus, though I hope not in thy doyng. <2Sempronio>2 Yet I shall do yt, trust me, for a surete. <2Calisto>2 God reward the for thy gentyll intendyng; I gyff the this chayn of gold in rewardyng. <2Sempronio>2 Sir, God reward you, and send us good sped I dout not but I shall performe it in dede; But wythout rewardes it is hard to work well. <2Calisto>2 I am content so thou be not neclygent. <2Sempronio>2 Nay, be not you; for it passyth a mervell, The master slow, the servant to be dylygent. <2Calisto>2 How thynkyst it can be? Shew me thyne intent. <2Sempronio>2 Sir, I have a neyghbour, a moder of bawdry, That can provoke the hard rokkys to lechery. In all evyll dedys she is perfet wyse. I trow more than a thousand vyrgyns Have bene distroyed by her subtell devyse, For she never faylyth where she begynnis. All onely by thys craft her lyffyng she wynnis. Maydes, wyffys, wydows and everychone -- If she ones meddyll, ther skapyth none. <2Calisto>2 How myght I speke wyth her, Sernpronio? <2Sempronio>2 I shall bryng her hydyr unto this place, But ye must in any wyse let rewardis go, And shew her your grevys in every case. <2Calisto>2 Ellys were 1 not worthy to attayn grace But alas, Sempronio, thou taryest to long. <2Sempronio>2 Syr, God be with you. <2Calisto>2 Cryst make the strong. <2[Exit Sempronio]>2 The myghty and perdurable God be his gyde, As he gydyd the thre kyngis in to Bedleme From the est by the starr, and agayn dyd provyde As theyre conduct to retorn to theyre own reame, So spede my Sempronio to quench the leme Of this fyre which my hart doth wast and spende, And that 1 may com to my desyryd ende. To pas the tyme now wyll I walk Up and down within myne orchard, And to myself go comyn and talke, And pray that Fortune to me be not hard. Longyng to here, whether made or mard, My message shall return by my servaunt Sempronio. Thus farewell, my lordys, for a whyle I wyll go <2[Exit Calisto Enter Celestina ]>2 |p <2Celestina>2 Now the blessyng that Our Lady gave her sone, That same blessyng I gyve now to you all! That I com thus homely, I pray you of pardon I am sought and send fore as a woman universall, Celestina, of trewth, my name is to call. Sempronio for me about doth inquere, And it was told me I shuld have found hym here I am sure he wyll com hyther anone, But the whylyst I shall tell you a prety game I have a wench of Sempronio's, a prety one, That sojornyth with me - Elecea is her name But the last day we were both ny a stark shame, For Sempronio wold have her to hymself severell, And she lovyth one Cryto better or as well. Thys Cryto and Elicea sat drynkyng In my hoas, and I also makyng mery, And as the devyll wold, farr from our thynkyng, Sempronio almost cam on us sodenly. But then wrought I my craft of bawdery; I had Cryto go up and make hym self rome To hyde hym in my chamber among the brome. Then made I Elicea syt doun a sowyng, And I wyth my rok began for to spyn, As who seyth of Sempronio we had no knowyng. He knokkyd at the dore and I lete hym in, And for a countenaunce I dyd begyn To catch hym in myne armys, and seyd, 'See, see Who kyssyth me, Elicea, and wyll not kys the.' Elicea for a countenaunce made her grevyd, And wold not speke but styll dyd sowe, 'Why speke ye not?' quod Sempronio,'be ye mevyd?' 'Have I not a cause?' quod she.'No', quod he, 'I trow.' 'A. traytour.' quod she, 'full well dost thou know. Where hast thou ben these thre days fro me? That the inpostume and evyll deth take the.' 'Pease, myne Elicea,' quod he,'why say ye thus? Alas, why put you your self in this wo? The hote fyre of love so brennyth betwene us That my hart is wyth yours where ever I go, And for thre days absens to say to me so, In fayth me thynkyth ye be to blame.' But now hark well,for here begynnyth the game. |p Cryto in my chamber above that was hyddyn, I thynk lay not easyly, and began to romble, Sempronio hard that, and askyd who was within, Above in the chamber, that so dyd jomble. 'Who?' quod she, 'a lover of myne.' 'May hap ye stomble' Quod he, 'on the trewth, as many one doth.' 'Go up,' quod she, 'and loke whether it be soth.' "Well,' quod he,'I go' Nay, thought I, not so. I sayd,'Com Sempronio, let this foole alone; For of thy long absens she is in such wo, And half besyde her self, and her wyt ny gone.' 'Well,' quod he, "above yet ther is one' "Wylt thou know?' quod I. "Ye,' quod he, "1 the requere.' 'It is a wench,' quod I, "sent me by a frere.' 'What frere?' quod he. "Wilt thou nedis know?' quod I than, "It is the f[ ] 'O,' quod he,'what a lode hath that woman To bere hym,' "Ye,' quod I, "though women per case Bere hevy full oft, yet they gall in no place.' Then he laught. "Ye,' quod I, "no mo wordes of this, For this tyme to long we spend here amys.' <2Intrat Sempronio.>2 <2Sempronio>2 0 moder Celestyne, I pray God prosper the. <2Celestina>2 My son Sempronio, I am glad of our metyng, And, as I here say, ye go aboute to seke me? <2Sempronio>2 Of trouth, to seke you was myne hyther commyng Mother ley aperte now all other thyng, And all only tend to me, and imagyn In that that I purpose now to begyn. Calisto in the love of fayre Melebea Burnyth, wherfore of the he hath grete nede <2Celestina>2 Thou seyst well Knowyst not me Celestina? I have the end of the matter, and for more spede Thou shalte wade no ferther, for of this dede I am as glad as ever was the surgyon For salvys for broke hedys to make provysyon. And so intend I to do to Calisto, To gyff hym hope and assure hym remedy, For long hope to the hart mych troble wyll do, Wherfore to the effect therof I wyll hye. <2Sempronio>2 Peas, for me thynkyth Calisto is nye <2Intrat Calisto et Parmeno>2 <2Calisto>2 Parmeno. <2Parmeno>2 What sey you? <2Calisto>2 Wottyst who is here? Sempronio that revyvyth my chere. |p <2Parmeno>2 It is Sempronio with that old berdyd hore. Be ye they my maister so sore for doth long? <2Calisto>2 Peas, I sey, Parmeno, or go out of the dore Commyst thou to hinder me? then dost thou me wrong. I pray the help for to make me more strong To wyn this woman, ellys Goddes forbod She hath equall power of my lyff under God <2Parmeno>2 Wherfore to her do ye rnake such sorow? Thynk ye in her [e]ars ther is any shame? The contrary who tellyth you, be never his borrow, For as much she gloryfyeth her in her name, To be callyd an old hore, as ye wold of fame Doggys in the strete and chyldren at every dore Bark and cry out, "There goth an old hore." <2Calisto>2 How knowyst all this, dost thou know her? <2Parmeno>2 Ye, that [ ] day agone For a fals hore, the devyll over throw her. My moder when she dyed gave me to her alone, And a sterker baud was ther never none. For that I know I dare well se[y], Let se the contrary who can ley. I have bene at her hows and sene her trynkettys For payntyng, thyngis innumerable, Squalmys and balmys I wonder where she gettys The thyngis that she hath with folkis for to fable, And to all baudry ever agreable Yet wors then that, whych wyl never be laft, Not only a baud, but a wych by her craft. <2Celestina>2 Say what thow wylt, son, spare not me. <2Sempronio>2 I pray the, Permeno, lefe thy malycyous envy <2Parmeno>2 Hark hydyr, Sempronyo, here is but we thre; In that I have sayd canst thou denye? <2Calisto>2 Com hens Permeno, I love not thys, I; And good mother, greve you not, I you pray. My mynde I shall shew, now hark what I say. 0 notable woman, 0 auncyent vertew 0 gloryous hope of my desyryd intent! Thende of my delectable hope to renew, My regeneracion to this lyfe present, Resurreccon from deth: so excellent Thou art above other. I desyre humbly To kys thy handes, wherin lyeth my remedy. |p But myne unworthines makyth resystence Yet worship I the ground that thou gost on, Beseching the, good woman, with most reverens On my payn with thy pyte to loke uppon. Without thy comfort my lyfe is gone, To revyve my dede sprytys thou mayst preferr me, With the wordes of thy mouth to make or marr me <2Celestina>2 Sempronio, can 1 lyff with these bonys That thy master gyffyth me here for to ete? Wordes are but wynd; therfore attons Byd hym close his mouth and to his purs get, For money makyth marchaunt that must jet I have herd his wordes, but where be his dedes? For without money with me no thyng spedys. <2Calisto>2 What seyth she, Sempronio? Alas, my hart bledes That I wyth you, good woman, mystrust shuld be <2Sempronio>2 Syr, she thynkyth that money all thyng fedys <2[Calisto]>2 Then come on, Sempronio, I pray the, wyth me; And tary here, moder, a whyle 1 pray the For where of mystrust ye have me appelyd, Have here my cloke, tyll your dout be assoylid. <2Sempronio>2 Now do ye well, for wedes among corn, Nor suspecious with fryndes, dyd never well, Or faythfulnes of wordes tornyd to a skorn Makyth myndes doutfull, good reason doth tell <2Calisto>2 Come on, Sempronio, thou gyffyst rne good counsell <2Sempronio>2 Go ye before and I shall wayt you uppon Farewell, mother, we wyll come agayn anon. <2[Exit Calisto and Sempronio.]>2 <2Parmeno>2 How sey ye, my lordis, se ye not this smoke <2[Aside]>2 In my maisters eyes that they do cast? The one hath his chayn, the other his cloke, And I am sure they wyll have all at last. Ensample may be by this thai is past, How servauntis be dissaytfull in theyr maisters foly Nothyng but for lucre is all theyr bawdry. <2Celestina>2 It pleasyth me, Parmeno, that we togedyr May speke, wherby thou tnaist se I love the, Yet undeservyd now thou commyst hydyr, Wherof I care not, but vertew warnyth me To fle temptacyon and folow charyte, To do good agayns yll, and so I rede the Sempronio and I wyll helpe thy necessyte. |p And in tokyn now that it shall so be, I pray the among us let us have a song, For where armony is ther is amyte. <2Parmeno>2 What, a old woman syng? <2Celestina>2 Why not among? I pray the no lenger the tyme prolong. <2Parmeno>2 Go to, when thou wylt, I am redy. <2Celestina>2 Shall I begyn? <2Parmeno>2 Ye, but take not to hye. <2Et cantant>2 <2[Celestina]>2 How sey ye now by this, lytyll yong fole? For the thyrd parte Sempronio we must get After that, thy maister shall come to skole To syng the fourth parte, that his purs shall swet, For I so craftely the song can set, Though thy maister be hors, his purs shal syng clere, And taught to solf that womans flesh is dere How seyst to this, thou praty Parmeno? Thou knowyst not the world nor no delytis therin, Dost understand me? In feyth, I tro no. Thou art yong inough the game to begyn. Thy maister hath wadyd hym self so farr in And to bryng hym out lyeth not in me, old pore. <2Parmeno>2 Thou shuldyst sey,'it lyeth not in me, old hore.' <2Celestina>2 A, horeson, a shame take such a knave! How darst thou wyth me, thou boy, be so bold? <2[Parmeno]>2 Because such knolege of the I have. <2Celestina>2 Why, who art? <2Parmeno>2 Parmeno, son to Albert the old. I dwelt with the by the ryver, where wyne was sold <2[Celestina]>2 And thy moder 1 trow hyght Claudena <2[Parmeno]>2 That a wyld fyre bren the, Celestena! <2Celestina>2 But thy rnoder was as olde a hore as I Come hydyr, thou lytyll fole, let me see the. A it is even he, by our blyssyd lady What, lytyll urchyn, hast forgotyn me? When thou layst at my beddys fete how mery were we <2Parmeno>2 A, thou old matrone, it were almys thou were ded! How woldest thou pluk me up to thy beddys hed And inbrace me hard unto thy bely, And for thou smellydyst oldly, I ran from the. <2Celestina>2 A sharneful horeson, fy uppon the, fy, fy Come hyther, and now shortly I charge the, That all this folysh spekyng thou let be Leve wantonnes of youth, than shalt thou do well, Folow the doctryne of thy elders and counsell, |p To whom thy parentis, on whos soulis God have mercy, In payn of cursyng bad the be obedyent In payn wherof I command the straytly, To much in mastership put not thyne intent; No trust is in theym, if thyne owen be spent Maysters nowadays coveyt to bryng about All for theym self, and let theyre servantes go without. Thy maister, men sey, and as 1 thynk he be-- But lyght, karych not who come to his servyce. Faire wordes shall not lak, but smal rewardis, trust me Make Sempronio thy frynd in any wyse, For he can handle hym in the best gyse Kepe thys and for thy profet tell it to none, But loke that Sempronio and thou be one. <2Parmeno>2 Moder Celestyne, I wot not what ye meane. Calisto is my mayster and so 1 wyll take hym, And as for ryches I defye it clene For who so ever with wrong rych doth make hym, Soner than he gat it, it wyll forsake hym. I love to lyfe in joyfull poverte And to serve my mayster with trewth and honeste. <2Celestina>2 Troth and honeste be ryches of the name, But surete of welth is to have ryches, And after that for to get hym good fame By report of fryndes; thys is truth dowtles. Than no such maner frynd can I expresse As Sempronyo, for both your profettys to spede, Whych lyeth in my handys now, yf ye be agreyd. O Parmeno, what a lyfe may we endure. Sempronyo lovyth the doughter of Elyso. <2Parmeno>2 And who Arusa? <2Celestina>2 Lykyst her? <2Parmeno>2 Peradventure. <2[Celestina]>2 I shall get her to the, that shall I do <2Parmeno>2 Na, moder Celystyne, I purpose not so. A man shuld be conversant, I here tell, Wyth them that be yl, and thynk to do well. Sempronyo hys ensample shall not make me Better nor wors, nor hys fautes wyll I hyde But moder Celestyne, a questyon to the: Is not syn anon in one espyed That is drownyd in delyte? How shuld he provyde Agayns vertew to save hys honeste? <2Celestina>2 Lyke a chyld without wysdome thou answeryst me. |p Without company mirth can have non estate. Use no slowth, nature abhorryth idelnes, Whych lesyth delyte to nature appropryate. ln sensuall causys delyght is chefe maistres, Specyally recountyng lovys bysynes; To say, thus doth she, the tyme thus they pas, And soch maner they use, and thus they kys and basse, And thus they mete and enbrase togyther What spech, what grase, what pleys is betwene theim. Where is she? there she goth -- let us se whyther. Now pleasyd, now froward, now mume, now hem Stryke up, mynstryl, with sawes of love, the old problem. Syng swete songes, now justes and torney. Of new invencyons what conseytes fynd they. Now she goth to mas, to morow she commyth owt. Behold her better, yonder goth a cokold. I left her alone; she comyth, turn abowt. Jo, thus, Permeno, thou mayst behold, Fryndes wyll talk togeder as I have told. Wherfore perseyve thou that I sey truly, Never can be delyte without company. <2[Parmeno retires.]>2 <2Hic iterum intrat Calisto. [Enter Sempronio.]>2 <2Calisto>2 Moder, as I promysed to assoyle thy dowt, Here I gyfe the an hundred pesis of gold. <2Celestina>2 Syr, I promyse you I shall bryng it about, All thyng to purpose, evyn as ye wold. For your reward I wyll do as I shuld Be mery, fere nothyng, content ye shall be. <2[Calisto]>2 Then moder, fare well, be dylygent I pray the. <2[Exit Celestina.]>2 How sayst, Sempronio, have I done well? <2Sempronio>2 Ye, syr, in my mynd, and most accordyng <2Calisto>2 Then wylt thou do after my councell? After this old woman wylt thou be hyeng, To remember and hast her in every thyng <2Sempronio>2 Syr, I am content as ye commaund me <2Calisto>2 Then go, and byd Parmeno come, I pray the. <2[Exit Sempronio.]>2 |p Now God be theyre gyddys, the postys of my lyfe, My relefe fro deth, the imbassades of my welth, My hope, my hap, my quyetnes, my stryfe, My joy, my sorow, my sekenes, my helth. The hope of thys old woman my hart telth That comfort shall come shortly as I intend, Or els come deth and make of me an end. <2[Parmeno comes forward ]>2 <2Parmeno>2 In fayth it makyth no forse nor matter mych. <2Calisto>2 What seyst, Parmeno, what sayst to me? <2Parmeno>2 Mary, I say playnly that yonder old wych And Sempronio togeder wyll undo the. <2Calisto>2 A. yll tongyd wrech, wyll ye not see? Thynkyst thou, lordeyn, thou handelyst me fayre? Why, knave, woldest thow put me now in dyspayre? <2Et exeat Calisto.>2 <2Parmeno>2 Lo, syrs, my master ye se is angry But thys it is, tell folys for theyre proffyt Or warn theym for theyre welth, it is but foly, For stryk theym on the hele, and as moch wyt Shall com forth as at theyr forehede to perseyve it. Go thy way, Calesto, for on my charge Thy thryft is sealyd up, though thou be at large. 0, how unhappy I am to be trew For other men wyn by falsehed and flatery I lese for my troth, the world doth so ensew, Troth is put bak and takyn for foly. Therfore now 1 wyll chaunge my copy. If I had done as Celystyne bad me, Calysto hys mynyon styll wold have had me. Thys gyvyth me warnyng from hens forward How to dele with hym for all thyng as he wyll: I will the same forward or bakward. I will go streyght to hym and folow hym still, Say as he sayth, be it good or yll And syth these bawdys get good provokyng lechery, I trust flatery shall spede as well as bawdery. <2Hic exeat Parmeno et intret Melebea>2 |p <2Melebea>2 I pray you, came this woman here never syn? In fayth, to entre here I am half adrad. And yet, why so? I may boldly com in; I am sure from you all I shall not be had. But Jesus, Jesus, be these men so mad On women as they sey? how shuld it be? It is but fables and lyrs, ye may trust me. <2Intret Celestina.>2 <2Celestina>2 God be here in. <2Melebea>2 Who is ther? <2Celestina>2 Wyl ye bye any thred? <2Melebea>2 Ye, mary, good moder, I pray you come in <2Celestina>2 Cryst save you, fayre mestres, and God be your spede And helth be to you and all your kyn; And Mary, Goddes mother, that blessyd vyrgyn, Freserve and prosper your womanly personage, And well to injoy your yough and pusell age. For that tyme pleasurys are most eschyvyd, And age is the hospytall of all maner sykenes, The restyng place of all thought unrelevyd, The sporte of tyme past, the ende of all quiknes, Neybour to deth, a dry stok wythout swetnes; Discomforte, disease, all age alowith, A tre without sap, that small charge boweth <2Melebea>2 I rneryell moder ye speke so rnuch yll Of age, that all folke desyre effectuously. <2Celestina>2 They desyre hurt for them self as all of wyll; And the cause why they desyre to come therby, Is for to lyff, for deth is so lothly He that is sorowfull wold lyff to be soryer And he that is old wold lyff to be elder Fayre damesell, who can shew all the hurtys of age? His werynes, feblenes, his discontentyng, His chyldishnes, frowardnes of his rage, Wrynkelyng in the face, lak of syght and heryng, Holownes of mouth, fall of teth, faynt of goyng; And, worst of all, possessyd with poverte, And the lymmys arestyd with debylite. <2Melebea>2 Moder, ye have takyn grete payn for age; Wold ye not retorn to the begynnyng? <2Celestina>2 Folys are they that are past theyre passage To begyn agayn, which be at the endyng For better is possession than the desyryng. <2Melebea>2 I desyre to lyff lengger, do I well or no? <2Celestina>2 That ye desyre well, I thynk not so, |p For as sone goth to market the lambys fell As the shyppys. None so old but may lyff a yere, And ther is none so yong but ye wot well May dye in a day. Then no advauntage is here Betwen youth and age, the matter is clere. <2Melebea>2 Wyth thy fablyng and thy resonyng iwys I am begylyd, but I have knowen the or thys. Art not Celystyne, that dwellyd by the ryyer syde? <2Celestina>2 Ye for soth. <2Melebea>2 In dede age hath aray the That thou art she, now can skant be espyed Me thynkyth by thy favour thou shuldyst be she. Thou art sore chaungid, thou mayst beleve me <2[Celestina]>2 Fayre maydon, kepe thou well thys tyme of youth But bewte shall passe at the last, thys is truth. Yet I am not so old as ye juge me. <2[Melebea]>2 Good moder, I joy much of thyne accoyntanaunce, And thy moderly reasons ryght well please me. And now I thank the here for thy pastaunce Fare well tyll a nother tyme that hap may chaunce Agayn that we two may mete togedyr. May hap ye have bysynes, I know not whether. <2Celestina>2 0 angelyk ymage 0 perle so precyous 0 how thou spekyst, it rejoysyth me to here Knowist thou not by the devyne mouth gracyous, That agaynst the infernall feend Lucyfere We shuld not only lyf by bred here, But by our good workys, wher in I take some payn? Yf ye know not my mynd now all is in veyn. <2Melebea>2 Shew me, moder, hardely all thy nesessite, And yf I can, I shall provyde the remedy <2Celestina>2 My necessite. Nay, God wot, it is not for me As for myne, I laft it at home surely: To ete when I wyll and drynk when I am dry- And I thank God ever one peny hath be myne To by bred when I lyst, and to have four for wyne. Afore I was wyddow I caryd never for it, For I had wyne ynough of myne owne to sell And with a tost in wyne by the fyre I coud syt With two dosen soppys the collyk to quell. But now with me it is not so well, For I have nothyng but that is brought me In a pytcher pot of quartys skant thre |p Thus I pray God help them that be nedy, For I speke not for my self alone, But as well for other, how ever spede I, The infyrmyte is not myne, though that I grone, It is for another that I make mone And not for my self, it is another way, But what, I must mone where I dare not say <2Melebea>2 Say what thou wylt and for whom thou lest. <2Celestina>2 Now gracyous damsell, I thank you than, That to gyf audyens ye be so prest With lyberall redynes to me, old woman, Which gyffyth me boldnes to shew what I can Of one that lyeth in daunger by sekenes, Remyttyng hys langour to your gentyllnes. <2Melebea>2 What meanyst thou, I pray the, good moder? Go forth with thy demaund as thou hast done. On the one parte thou provokyst me to anger, And on the other syde to compassyon. I know not how thy answere to fassyon, The wordes whych thou spekyst in rny presence Be so mysty, I perseyve not thy sentence. <2Celestina>2 I sayd I laft one in daunger of sekenes Drawyng to deth for ought that I can se. Now chose you or no to be murderes, Or revyve hym with a word to come from the. <2Melebea>2 I am happy yf my word be of such necessyte To help any crystyn man, or ells Goddes forbod! To do a good dede is lykyng to God, For good dedys to good men be alowable And specyally to nedy above all other, And ever to good dedys ye shall fynd me agreable, Trustyng ye wyll exhort rne to non other. Therfor fere not, spek your peticion, good mother, For they that may hele seke folk and do refuse theym, Suerly of theyre deth they can not excuse theym. <2Celestina>2 Full well and gracyously the case ye consyder. For I never belevyd that God in vayn Wold gyff you such countenaunnce and bewte togedyr But charyte therwith to releye folke in payn, And as God hath gyvyn you, so gyff hym agayn. For folkis be not made for them self onely, For then they shuld lyff lyke bestys all rudely |p Among whych bestys yet some be pyteful The unicorne humblyth hym self to a mayd, And a dog in all his power yrefull, Let a man fall to ground, his anger is delayd. Thus by nature pyte is conveyd The kok, when he skrapith and happith mete to fynd, Callith for his hennys, lo, se the gentyll kynde Shuld humayn creaturys than be of cruelnes, Shuld not they to theyre neybours shew charyte, And specyally to them wrappyd in sekenes, Than they that may hele theym cause the infirmyte? <2Melebea>2 Mother, without delay, for Goddes sake shew me, I pray the, hartly, wythout more prayeng, Where is the pacient that so is paynyng? <2Celestina>2 Fayre damsell, thou maist well have knowlege herto That in this cyte is a yong knyght And of clere lynage, callyd Calisto, Whose lyfe and body is all in the, I plyght. The pellycan to shew naturys ryght Fedyth his byrdys - me thynkyth I shuld not prech the, Thou wotist what I meane; 10, nature shuld tech the <2Melebea>2 A ha. is this the entent of thy conclusyon? Tell me no more of this matter, I charge the. Is thys the dolent for whom thow makyst petycyon? Art thow come hyther thus to desseyve me? Thow berdyd dame, shameles thou semest to be Is this he that hath the passion of folishnes? Thinkyst, thow rybaud, 1 am such one of lewdnes? It is not sayd, "I se[y] well', in vayn The tong of man and woman worst members be. Thow brut baud, thow gret enmy to honeste, certayn, Cause of secret errours. Jhesu, Jhesu, b[e]nedicite. Som good bodi take this old thefe fro me, That thus wold disseyve me with her fals sleyght Go owt of my syght now Get the hens streyght. <2Celestina>2 In an yvyll howre cam I hyther, I may say. I wold I had brokyn my leggys twayn <2Melebea>2 Go hens, thou brothell, go hens in the dyvyll way Bydyst thou yet to increase my payn? Wylt thow make me of thys fole to be fayn, To gyve hym lyfe to make hym mery, And to my self deth, to make me sory? |p Wilt thow bere away profet for my perdicion, And make me lese the house of my father, To wyn the howse of such an old matrone As thow art, shamfullyst of all other? Thinkist thou that I understand not, thou falls mother, Thy hurtfull message, thy fals subtell ways? Make amendys to God, thou lyffyst to long days Answere, thou traytres, how darst be so bold? <2Celestina>2 The fere of the makyth me so dysmayd That the blod of my body is almost cold. Alas, fayre maydyn, what hast thou sayd To me pore wydow? Why am I denayed? Here my conclusion, which ys of honeste; Without cause ye blame thys gentylman and me. <2Melebea>2 I sey I wyll here no more of that fole. Was he not bere with me evyn now? Thow old which, thou bryngyst me in grete dole. Ask him what answere he had of me and how I toke hys demaund, as now know mayst thou: More shewyng is but lost where no mercy can be-- Thus I answerd hym and thus I answer the. <2Celestina>2 The more straunge she makyth, the gladder am I; Ther is no tempast that ever doth endure <2Melebea>2 What seyst thou, what seyst thow, shameful enmy? Speke out. <2Celestina>2 So ferd I am of your dyspleasure, Your anger is so grete, I perseyve it sure, And your pacyens is in so gret an hete That for wo and fere I both wepe and swete. <2Melebea>2 Lyttyll is the hete in comparyson to say To the gret boldnes of thy demeanyng <2Celestina>2 Fayre mayden, yet one word now I you pray- Appease with pacyens and here my sayeng. It is for a prayer, mestres, my demaundyng, That is sayd ye have of Seynt Appolyne, For the toth ake, wher of this man is in pyne And the gyrdle there thou weryst about the So many holy relykys it hath towchyd That thys knyght thynkyth his bote thou maist be. Therfore let thy pyte now be avouchid, For my hart for fere lyke a dog is couchyd. The delyght of vengennis who so doth use, Pyte at theyre nede shall theym refuse. |p <2[Melebea]>2 Yf this be trew that tho Myn hart is lyghtnyd perseyvyng the case. I wold be content well yf I wyst how To bryng this seke knyght unto some solas. <2Celestina>2 Fayre damsell, to the be helth and grace, For yf this knyght and ye were aquayntyd both two, Ye wold not judge him the man that ye do. By God and by my soule, in him is no malyncoly, With grace indewid, in fredome as Alexandre, In strenght as Hectour, in countenaunce mery, Gracious, envy in him reynyd never. Of noble blod as thou knowyst, and yf ye ever Saw him armyd, he semeth a Seynt George Rather than to be made in Naturys forge, An angell thou woldist judge him, I make avow, The gentyll Narciso was never so fayre, That was inammoryd on his own shadow; Wherfore, fayre mayde, let thy pyte repayre, Let mercy be thy mother and thou her heyre. This knyght, whom I come for, never seasyth But cryeth out of payn that styll encresyth <2Melebea>2 How long tyme, I pray the, hath it holdyn hym? <2Celestina>2 I thynk he be four and twenty yeres of age; I saw hym born and holpe for to fold hym <2Melebea>2 I demaund the not therof - thyne answer aswage. I ask the how long in this paynfull rage He hath leyn? <2Celestina>2 Of trewth, fayr maydyn, as he says, He hath be in this agony this eight days. But he semyth he had leyn this seven yere. <2Melebea>2 0 how it grevyth me, the il of my pacyent, Knowyng his agony and thy innocency here Unto myne anger thou hast made resistens Wherfore thy demaund I graunt in recompens. Have here my gyrdyll, the prayer is not redy; To morow it shalbe Come agayn secretly. And moder, of these wordes passyd betwene us Shew nothyng therof unto this knyght, Lest he wold report me cruell and furyous. I trust the. Now be trew, for thoughtys be lyght. <2Celestina>2 I mervell gretly thou dost me so atwyght Of the dout that thou hast of my secretnes. As secret as thy self I shall be dowteles. |p And to Calisto with this gyrdle Celestina Shall go, and his ledy hart make hole and lyght. For Gabriell to our lady with <2Ave Maria>2 Came never gladder than I shall to this knyght. Calisto, how wylt thou now syt up ryght I have shewid thy water to thy phesycyon, Comfort thy self -- the feld is half won. <2Melebea>2 Moder, he is much beholdyn unto the <2Celestina>2 Fayr maydyn, for the mercy thou hast done to us, This knyght and I both thy bedfolkis shall be. <2Melebea>2 Moder, yf nede be, I wyll do more than thus <2Celestina>2 It shalbe nedefull to do so, and ryghteous, For this thus begon must nedis have an ende, Which never can be without ye condescend. <2Melebea>2 Well, mother, to morow is a new day, I shall performe that I have you promest. Shew to this seke knyght in all that I may, Byd him be bold, in all thyngis honest, And though he to me as yet be but a gest, If my word or dede his helth may support, I shall not fayle; and thus byd him take comfort. <2Et exeat Melebea>2 <2Celestina>2 Now Cryst comfort the, and kepe the in thy nede. How say you now, is not this matter caryed clene? Can not old Celestina her matter spede? A thing not well handlyd is not worth a bene. Now know ye by the half tale what the hole doth meane; These women at the furst be angry and furyous, Fayre wether comyth after stormys tempestyous. And now to Calisto I wyll me dres, Which lyeth now languyshyng in grete payn, And shew hym that he is not remedyles; And bere hym this to make hym glad and fayn, And handyll hym so that ye shall sey playn That I am well worthy to bere the name For to be callyd a noble arche dame. <2[Exit Celestina. Enter]>2 <2Danio pater Melebee>2 <2Danio>2 0 mervelous God, what a dreme had I to nyght! Most terryble vysyon to report and here I had never none such nor none yerthely wyght. Alas, when I thynk theron, I quak for fere. It was of Melebea, my doughter dere, God send me good tythynges of her shortly, For, tyll I here from her, I can not be mery. |p <2[Enter Melebea ]>2 <2Melebea>2 0 dere father, nothyng may me more displease, Nothyng may do me more anoyans, Nothyng may do me gretter disease, Than to se you, father, in any perturbans, For me chefly, or for any other chauns But for me I pray you not to be sad, For I have no cause but to be mery and glad. 0 swete Melebea my dought dere, I am replete with joy and felycyte For that ye be now in my presens here, As I perceyve in joy and prosperite From deth to lyfe me thynkyth it revyvyth me, For the ferefull dreme that I had lately. <2Melebea>2 What dreme, syr, was that, I pray you hertely? <2Danio>2 Dowtles me though[t] that I was walkyng In a fayre orchard where were placys two, The one was a hote bath, holsome and pleasyng To all people that dyd repayre therto To wassh them and clens them from sekenes also; The other, a pyt of foule stynkyng water, Shortely they dyed, all that therin did enter. And unto this holesome bath me thought that ye In the ryght path were commyng apase, But before that, me thought that I dyd see A foule rough bych, a prikeryd cur it was Whych, strakyng her body along on the gras, And with her tayle lykkyd her so that she Made her selfe a fayre spaniell to be. Thys bych then me thought met you in the way, Leppyng and fawnyng uppon you a pase, And rownd abowt you dyd renne and play, Whych made you then dysport and solas, Whych lykyd you so well that in short space The way to the hote bath anon ye left it, And toke the streyght way to the foule pyt. And ever ye lokyd continually Uppon that same bych and so moch her eyed, That ye cam to the foule pyt brynk sodeynly, Lyke to have fallyn in and to have bene dystroyed; Whych when I saw, anon than 1 cryed, Stertyng in my slepe, and therwith dyd awake, That yet for fere me thynk my body doth quake. |p And to Calisto with this gyrdle Celestina Shall go, and his ledy hart make hole and lyght. For Gabriell to our lady with <2Ave Maria>2 Came never gladder than 1 shall to this knyght. Calisto, how wylt thou now syt up ryght. I have shewid thy water to thy phesycyon; Comfort thy self - the feld is half won <2Melebea>2 Moder, he is much beholdyn unto the <2Celestina>2 Fayr maydyn, for the mercy thou hast done to us, This knyght and I both thy bedfolkis shall be. <2Melebea>2 Moder, yf nede be, I wyll do more than thus <2Celestina>2 It shalbe nedefull to do so, and ryghteous, For this thus begon must nedis have an ende, Which never can be without ye condescend. <2Melebea>2 Well, mother, to morow is a new day,; I shall performe that I have you promest. Shew to this seke knyght in all that I may, Byd him be bold, in all thyngis honest, And though he to me as yet be but a gest, If my word or dede his helth may support, I shall not fayle; and thus byd him take comfort. <2Et exeat Melebea>2 <2Celestina>2 Now Cryst comfort the, and kepe the in thy nede! How say you now, is not this matter caryed clene? Can not old Celestina her matter spede? A thing not well handlyd is not worth a bene. Now know ye by the half tale what the hole doth meane; These women at the furst be angry and furyous; Fayre wether comyth after stormys tempestyous. And now to Calisto I wyll me dres, Which lyeth now languyshyng in grete payn, And shew hym that he is not remedyles; And bere hym this to make hym glad and fayn, And handyll hym so that ye shall sey playn That I am well worthy to bere the name For to be callyd a noble arche dame. <2[Exit Celestina Enter]>2 <2Danio pater Melebee>2 <2Danio>2 0 mervelous God, what a dreme had I to nyght. Most terryble vysyon to report and here! I had never none such nor none yerthely wyght. Alas, when I thynk theron, I quak for fere. It was of Melebea, my doughter dere, God send me good tythynges of her shortly, For, tyll I here from her, I can not be mery. |p <2[Enter Melebea.]>2 <2Melebea>2 0 dere father, nothyng may me more displease, Nothyng may do me more anoyans, Nothyng may do me gretter disease, Than to se you, father, in any perturbans, For me chefly, or for any other chauns. But for me I pray you not to be sad, For I have no cause but to be tnery and glad. <2Danio>2 0 swete Melebea, my doughter dere, I am replete with joy and felycyte For that ye be now in my presens here, As I perceyve in joy and prosperite. From deth to lyfe me thynkyth it revyvyth me, For the ferefull dreme that I had lately. <2Melebea>2 What dreme, syr, was that, I pray you hertely? <2Danio>2 Dowtles me though[t] that I was walkyng In a fayre orchard where were placys two, The one was a hote bath, holsome and pleasyng To all people that dyd repayre therto To wassh them and clens them from sekenes also; The other, a pyt of foule stynkyng water, Shortely they dyed, all that therin did enter. And unto this holesome bath me thought that ye In the ryght path were commyng apase, But before that, me thought that I dyd see A foule rough bych, a prikeryd cur it was Whych, strakyng her body along on the gras, And with her tayle lykkyd her so that she Made her selfe a fayre spaniell to be. Thys bych then me thought met you in the way, Leppyng and fawnyng uppon you a pase, And rownd abowt you dyd renne and play, Whych made you then dysport and solas, Whych lykyd you so well that in short space The way to the hote bath anon ye left it, And toke the streyght way to the foule pyt And ever ye lokyd continually Uppon that same bych and so moch her eyed, That ye cam to the foule pyt brynk sodeynly, Lyke to have fallyn in and to have bene dystroyed; Whych when I saw, anon than I cryed, Stertyng in my slepe, and therwith dyd awake, That yet for fere me thynk my body doth quake. |p Was not this a ferefull dreme and mervelous, I pray you, doughter, what thynk ye now to this? <2Hic Melebea certo tempore non loquitur>2 <2sed vultu lamentab[i]li respicit.>2 Why speke ye not, why be ye now so studious? Is there any thyng that hath chauncyd you amys? I am your father: tell me what it is. <2Melebea>2 Alas, now your dreme whych ye have expressyd-- Hath made me all pensyfe and sore abasshyd. <2[Danio]>2 I pray you, dere doughter, now tell me why. <2Melebea>2 Sir, I know the cause of your vision, And what your dredefull dreme doth signyfye. <2[Danio]>2 Therof wold I fayn now have noticion. <2Melebea>2 Alas, dere fader, alas, what have I done? Offendyd God as a wrech unworthy. <2Danio>2 Wherein? Dyspayre not; God is full of mercy. <2[Melebea]>2 Than on my knees now I fall downe <2Et genuflectat>2 And of God chefely askyng forgyfnes, And next of you; for in to oblyvyon I have put your doctryne and lessons dowtles. <2Danio>2 Fere not, doughter, I am not merciles. I trust ye have not so gretly offendyd, But that ryght well it may be amendyd. <2Melebea>2 Ye have fosterid me up full lovyngly In verteous discyplyne, whych is the ryght path To all grace and vertew, whych doth sygnyfye By your dreme that fayre, plesaunt, holesome bath. The foule pyt whereof ye dremyd, which hath Destroyd so many, betokneth vyse and syn, In whych, alas, I had almost fallyn in The prikeryd curr and the foule bych, Which made her self so smoth and fayre to see, Betokenyth an old quene, a baudy wych, Callyd Celystyne -- that wo myght she be. Whych with her fayre wordes ay so perswadyd me, That she had almost brought me here unto, To fulfyll the foule lust of Calisto. <2Danio>2 Alas, dere doughter, I taught you a lesson Whych way ye shuld attayn unto vertew: That was every mornyng to say an orason, Prayeng God for grace all vyce to eschew. <2Melebea>2 0 dere fader, that lesson I have kept trew Whych preservyd me. For though I dyd consent In mynd, yet had he never hys intent. |p <2Danio>2 The verteu of that prayer, I se well on thing, Hath preservyd you from the shame of that sin. But because ye were somwhat consentyng, Ye have offendid God gretly therin. Wherefore, doughter, ye must now begyn Humbly to besech God of hys mercy For to forgyve you your syn and mysery. <2Melebea>2 0 blyssid lord and fader celestiall, Whose infynite merci no tong can exprese, Though I be a sinner, wrech of wrechis all, Yet of thy gret merci graunt me forgifnes Full sore I repent, my syn I confese, lntendyng hens forth never to offend more. Now humbly I besech thy mercy therfore <2Danio>2 Now that is well sayd, myne one fayre doughter. Stand up therfore, for I know verely, That God is good and mercyfull ever To all synners whych wyll ask mercy And be repentaunt and in wyll clerely To syn no more; he of hys grete goodnes Wyll graunt them therfore his grace and forgifnes. Lo, here ye may see what a thyng it is To bryng up yong people verteously, In good custome For grace doth never mys To them that use good prayers dayly, Which hath preservyd thys mayde undoutydly, And kept her from actuall dede of shame, Brought her to grace, preservyd her good name. Wherfore, ye vyrgyns and fayre maydens all, Unto this example now take good hede, Serve God dayly, the soner ye shall To honeste and goodnes no dout procede, And God shall send you ever his grace at nede To withstand all evyll temptacions That shall come to you by any occasions And ye faders, moders, and other which be Rulers of yong folkis, your charge is dowtles To bryng thern up verteously and to see Them occupied styll in some good bysynes, Not in idell pastyme or unthryftynes, But to teche them some art, craft or lernyng, Whereby to be able to get theyr lyffyng. |p The bryngers up of youth in this region Have done gret harme because of theyr neclygens, Not puttyng them to lernyng nor occupacyons. So when they have no craft nor sciens, And com to mans state, ye see thexperience, That many of them compellyd be To beg or stele by very necessite. But yf there be therfore any remedy, The hedys and rulers must furst be dylygent To make good lawes, and execute them straytely, Uppon such maystres that be neclygent. Alas, we make no laws but ponyshment When men have offendyd But laws everrnore Wold be made to prevent the cause before Yf the cause of the myscheffys were seen before, Whych by conjecture to fall be most lykely, And good laws and ordynauncys made therfore To put away the cause, that were best remedi What is the cause that ther be so many Theftys and robberies? It is because men be Dryven therto by nede and poverte And what is the verey cause of that nede? Be cause they labur not for theyr lyffyng, And trewth is they can not well labour in dede, Be cause in youth of theyr ydyll upbryngyng. But this thyng shall never come to reformyng, But the world contynually shalbe nought, As long as yong pepyll be evell upbrought. Wherfore the eternall God, that raynyth on hye, Send his mercifull grace and influens To all governours, that they circumspectly May rule theyr inferiours by such prudence, To bryng them to vertew and dew obedyens, And that they and we all, by his grete mercy, May be parteners of hys blessyd glory Amen JOHANES RASTELL ME IMPRIMI FECIT CUM PRIVILEGIO REGALI