Euen by my honor,

Olde Master heeres a morning able to make vs worke tooth and naile (marrie then we must haue victualls) the Sun hath plaid boe péep in the element anie time these two houres, as I doe some mornings whē you cal: what Babulo say you: héere Master say I and then this eye opens, yet don is the mouse, lis still: [Page] what Babulo sayes Grissil, anone say I, and then this eye lookes vp, yet downe I snug againe: what Babu­lo say you againe, and then I start vp, and sée the Sunne, and then snéeze, and then shake mine eares, and then rise, and then get my breakfast, and then fal to worke, and then wash my hands, and by this time I am ready: héer's your basket, and Grissil I heer's yours.

Fetch thine own Babulo lets ply our busines.

God send me good lucke Master.

Why Babulo, what's the matter?

God forgiue mee, I thinke I shall not eate a pecke of salt: I shall not liue long sure, I should be a rich man by right, for they neuer doe good déedes, but when they sée they must dye, and I haue now a mon­strous stomacke to worke, because I thinke I shall not liue long.

Goe foole, cease this vaine talke and fall to worke.

Ile hamper some body if I dye, because I am a basket maker.

Come Grissill, worke swéet girle, héere the warme Sunne will shine on vs,

I will auoide their darts and worke within.

Come Babulo why hast thou staid so long?

Nay why are you so short, Masters heeres mo­nie I tooke (since I went) for a cradle: this yeare I thinke be leape yeare, for woniē doe nothing but buy cradles, by my troth I thinke the world is at an end, for as soone as we be borne we marrie: as soone as we marrie we get children, (by hooke or by crooke gotten they are) children must haue cradles, and as soone as they are in them, they hop out of thē, for I haue séene little girls that yesterday had scarce a hand to make them ready, the next day had worne wedding rings on their fingers, so that if the world doe not ende, we shall not liue one by another: basket making as all o­ther trades runs to decay, and shortly we shall not be worth a butten, for non in this cutting age sowe true stitches, but taylers and shoomakers, & yet now and then they tread their shooes a wrie too.

Weep master, yonder comes your Sonne

Treble the number fall vppon your age,

Sister?

Deare brother Laureo welcome home.

Master Laureo) (aniculaes sonne) welcome home, how doe the nine muses, Pride, couetousnes, enuie, sloth, wrath, gluttonie and letcherie? you that are Schollers read how they doe.

Muses: these (foole) are the seauen deadly sins.

Are they: Mas me thinkes its better seruing thē, then your nine muses, for they are starke beggers.

Often I haue wisht to sée you heere,

It grieues me that you see me heere so soone.

He needes not, for he lookes like poore Iohn him­selfe, eight to a necke of Mutten, is not that your com­mons, & a Cue of breade?

Why sonne whats the matter?

Yes three things: Age, wisdome, & basket ma­kers

Brothers whatmeanes these words?

A trade, a trade, follow basket-makeing, leaue bookes and turne block head.

Goe Grissill Ile make fire, and scoure the kettle, its a hard world when schollers ease fish vpon flesh daies

All happines attend my gracious Lorde.

And what wish you faire Maide?

Father ani [...]ola whats hee that speakes

A poore despised scholler and my Sonne.

None is so fond to fancie pouertie.

I have no skill to iudge proportions.

What intends your graft?

My Lord I haue vowed to leade a single life,

What meane you Brother?

What to my Lord séemes best to me séemes so

Laureo whats your opinion?

What saies faire Grissill now?

This meane choice, will distaine your noblenes

Shee's poore and base.

Shee's rich: for vertue beautifies her face.

Master I haue made a good fire: sirha Grissill, the fishe

Fall on thy knees thou foole: sée heeres our duke

I haue not offended him, therefore Ile not ducke [Page] and he were ten Dukes.

This is thy Prince, be silent Babulo,

Silence is a vertue, marie tis a dumbe vertue: I love vertue that speakes, and has a long tongue like a belweather, to leade other vertues after: if he be a Prince, I hope hee is not Prince ouer my tongue, snailes, where­fore come all these: Master heeres not fish enough for vs, Sirha Grissill the fire burnes out.

Tell me my loue what pleasant fellow is this?

My aged Fathers seruant my gracious Lorde.

How, my loue: master a worde to y ^e wise, scillicet me my love.

Whats his name,

Babulo Sir is my name▪

Why dost thou tremble so? we are al thy friends

Its hard sir for this motley Ierkin, to find friend­ship with this fine doublet.

Ianicola bring him to Court with thee.

You may be asham'd to lay such knauish burden vppon olde ages shoulders: but I see they are stooping a little, all crie downe with him: He shall not bring me sir, ile carrie my selfe.

I pray thee doe, Ile haue thee liue at court,

I haue a better trade sir, basketmaking,

I thinke sir I am a fitter husband for her.

Why shouldst thou think, I wil make her rich

Thats al one sir, beggers are fit for beggers, gētle­folkes for gētlefolkes: I am afraid y ^t this wōder of y ^e rich leuing y ^e poor, wil last but mine daies: old M bid this mer­rie gentlemā home to dinner, you shal haue a good dish of fish sir: & thank him for his good wil to your daughter Gris. for ile be hāgd if he do not (as many rich cogging marchāts) now adaies doe when they haue got what they would, [Page] giue her the belles, let her flye.

Oh beare my Lord with his intemperate tongue

Grissill I take delight to beare him talke.

I, I, y'eare best take mee vp for your foule: are not you he, that came speaking so? to Grissill héere, doe you remember how I knockt you once for offering to haue a licke at her lips.

Why doe, and ile knock you as often as you list.

Rice how now man? whether art y ^u gallopping?

Faith euen to finde a full maunger: my téeth wa­ter till I be mounching, I haue bin at the Cutlers, to bid him bring away Sir Owens rapier, and I am ambling home thus fast, for feare I am driuen to fast.

But Sirha Rice, when's the day? will not thy master Sir Owen and Signior Emulo fight?

No, for Signior Emulo has warn'd my Master to the court of Conscience, and theres an order set downe, that the coward shall pay my Master good words weeke­lie, till the debt of his choller be runne out.

Excellent, but did not Emulo write a challenge to Sir Owen.

No he sent a terrible one, but hee gaue a sexton of a Chuch a groate to write it, and hee set his marke to [Page] it, for the gull can neither write nor reade.

Ha ha, not write and reade? why I haue séene him pul out a bundle of sonnets writen, & read them to Ladies.

He got thē by heart Vrcenze, & so deceiu'd the poor soules: as a gallant whome I know, cozens others: for my briske spāgled babie wil come into a Stationers shop, call for a stoole and a cushion, and then asking for some greeke Poet, to him he falles, and there he grumbles God knowes what, but Ile be sworne he knowes not so much as one Character of the tongue.

Why then its greeke to him.

Ha, ha, Emulo not write and read?

Not a letter and you would hang him.

Then heele neuer be saued by his book.

No nor by his good workes, for heele doe none. Signiors both, I commend you to the skies, I commit you to God, adew.

Nay sweet Rice a little more,

A little more will make me a great deale lesse, house keeping you know is out of fashion: vnlesse I ride post, I kisse the post: in a worde ile tell you all, challenge was sent, answered no fight, no kill, all friends, all fooles, Emulo coward, Sir Owen braue man, farewell, dinner, hungrie: little cheare, great great stomacke, meate meat, meate, mouth, mouth, mouth, adue, adue, adue.

Ha, ha, adue Rice, Sir Owen belike kéepes a leane Kitchin.

What els man, thats one of the miserable vowes he makes when hee's dubd: yet he doth but as manie of his brother knights doe, keepe an ordinarie table for him and his long coate follower.

That long coate makes the master a little king, for whersoeuer his piece of a follower comes hopping after him, hees sure of a double guarde.

Ile set some of the Pages vpon thy skirts for this

I shall feele them no more then so many fleas, [Page] therefore I care not: but Farneze youle prooue a most ac­complisht coxecombe.

Oh olde touch lad, this yonker is right Trinidado pure leafe Tobacco, for indeed hee's nothing purffe, réeke, and would be tried (not by God and his countrie) but by fire, the verie soule of his substance and needes would conuert into smoke.

Hee's Steele to the backe you see, for he writes Challenges.

True, and Iron to the head, oh theres a rich lea­den minerall amongst his braines, if his skull were well digd, Sirha Vrcence, this is one of those changeable Silke gallants, who in a verie scuruie prid, scorne alschol­lers, and reade no bookes but a looking glasse, and speake no language but sweet Lady, and sweet Signior and chew between their téeth terrible words, as though they would coniure, as complement and Proiects, and Fastidious, & Caprichious, and Misprizian, and the Sintheresis, of the soule, and such like raise veluet tearmes.

What be the accontremēts now of these gallāts?

Indeed thats one of their fustiā outlādish phrases to, marrie sir their accontremēts, are al y ^e fātasticke fashi­ons, y ^t can be taken vp, either vpō trust or at second hand.

Whats their quallities?

None good, these are the best: to make good fa­ces: to take Tobacco well, to spit well, to laugh like a wayting Genllewoman, to lie well, to blush for nothing, to looke big vpon little fellowes, to scoffe with a grace, though they hane a verie filthie grace in scoffing, and for a neede to ride prettie and well.

They cannot choose but ride well, because euerie good wit rides them.

Héere's the difference, that they ride vpon horses, and when they are ridden they are spur'd for asses, so they can crie wighee and hollow kicking iade, they care not if they haue no more learning then a Iade.

No more of these Iadith tricks: heere comes the hobbie horse.

Oh he would daunce a morrice rarely if hee were hung with belles.

He would iangle vilanously.

Peace lets incounter them.

By Cod Sir Emuloes, sir Owen is clad out a crie becaus is friends with her, for Sir Owen sweare, did her not sweare Rice?

Yes forsooth. Spit out his meate.

By Cod is sweare terrible to knog her pade, and fling her spingle legs at plum trees, when her come to fall to her tagger and fencing trigs, yes faith and to breag her shins did her not Rice?

Yes by my troth Sir.

By Cods vdge me is all true, and to giue her a great teale of blouddie nose, because Sir Emuloes you shallenge the prittish Knight, Rice you knowe Sir Owen shentleman first, and secondly knight, what apoxale you Rice, is shoke now?

No sir I haue my fiue sences and am as wel as any man.

Well here is hand, now is mighty friends.

Sir Owen

Now the gallimaufrie of language comes in.

I protest to you, the magnitude of my condole­ment, hath bin eleuated the higher to sée you and my selfe, two gentlemen.

Nay tis well knowne Sir Owen is good shen­tleman, is not Rice?

He that shall deny it Sir ile make him eate his words.

Good friend I am not in the Negatiue, bee not so Caprichious, you misprize me, my collocution tēdeth to S. Owens dignifiing.

Lets step in, God saue you Singnior Emulo.

Well encountred S. Owen.

Owe, how do you S. Em. is frends out a cry now [Page] but Emuloes take heede, you match no more loue trigs to widdow Gwenthyans, by Cod vrdge me, that doe so must knoge her, see you nowe?

Not so tempestious sweet knight: though to my disconsolation, I will obliuionize my loue to the welch widdowe, and doe heere proclaime my delinquishment, but sweet Signior be not to Diogenicall to me,

Ha ha is knowe not what genicalls meane, but Sir Owen will genicall her, and her fag her genicalling Gwenthyan.

Nay faith weele haue you sound friends indeede, otherwise you know, Signior Emulo, if you should beare all the wrongs, you would be our Athlassed.

Most true.

By god is out a crie friends, but harg Farneze, Vrcenze twag a great teale to Emuloes: Ow. is great teale of frends: ha ha is tell sine admirable shest, by Cod Emu­loes, for feare S. Owen, knog her shines, is tell, Sir Owen by tozen shentlemen her pooets is put about with lathes, ha, ha, serge her serge her.

No more tell Vrcenze of it: why should you two fall out for the loue of a woman, considering what store we haue of them? Sir Emulo I gratulate your peace, your company you know is precious to vs, and weele bee merrie, and ride abroad: before god now I talke of riding, Sir Owen me thinkes has an excellent boote.

His leg graces the boote.

By God is fine leg and fine poote to: but Emu­las leg is petter, and finer, and shenglier skin to weare.

I bought them of a pennurious Cordwainer, & they are the most incongruent that ere I ware.

Congruent? sploud what leather is congru­ent, spanish leather?

Ha ha, well Gentlemen I haue other proiects becken for me, I must disgresse from this bias, and leaue you: accept I beseeeh you of this vulgar and domestick [Page] complement.

Pray Emuloes let her see her congruenee leather ha ha, owe what a pox is heere: ha, ha, is mag a wall to her shins, for keeb her warme?

Whats heer lathes? where's the lime & hair Emulo,

Oh rare, is this to saue his shins?

Ha, ha, Rice goe call Gwenthyan,

I will master dahoma, Gewnthyan dahoma?

A pogs on her goe sedge her and call her within

I am gone sir.

Nay sir Owen what meane you?

By Cod is meane ta let Gwenthyan see what bobie foole loue her, apogs on you.

Sir Owen and Signiors both, doe not expatiate my obloquie, my loue shall bee so fast conglutinated to you.

Cods plud, you call her gluttons, Gwenthyan, so ho Gwenthyan?

Gods so, heere comes the widdow, but in faith Sir Owen say nothing of this.

No goe to thē, by Cod Sir Owen beare as praue minde as Emprour.

Who calles Gwenthyan so great teale of time?

Sweet widdow euen your countrieman heere.

Belly the ruddo whee: wrage witho, Mandageny Mou du ac whellock en wea awh.

Sir Owen gramarrye whee: Gwenthyan Mandage [Page] eny, ac wellock en Thawen en ryn mogh.

Mundage Thlawen, oh my good widdow gabble that we may vnderstand you, and haue at you.

Haue at her: nay by Cod is no haue at her to, Is tawge tn her prittish tongue, for tis fine delicates tongue, I can tell her. welshe tongue is finer as greeke tongue.

A bakte Neates tongue is finer then both.

But what saies Gwenthyans now? will haue Sir Owen, Sir Owen is knowne for a wiselie man, as any since Adam aud Eues time, and that is by Gods vdge me a great teale agoe.

I thinke Salomon was wiser then Sir Owen.

Salomons had prettie wit: but what say you to King Tauie: King Tauie is well knowne was as good musitions, as the pest fidler in aul Italie, and King Tauie was Sir Owens countrieman, yes truely a prettish shen­tlemen porne, and did twinckle, twinckle, twinckle, out a crie vpon welsh-harpe, and tis knowne Tauie loue Mis­tris Persabe, as Sir Owen loues Gwenthyan: will her haue Sir Owen now?

Faith widdow take him, Sir owen is a tall man I can tell you.

Tall man, as God vnde mee, her thinke the prittish shentelman, is faliant as Mars that is the fine knaues, the poets say the God of pribles & prables, I hope widdowe you see little more in Sir owen then in Sir Emuloes, say shal her? haue her now, tis faliant, as can desire, I warrant her.

Sir owen, Sir owen, tis not for faliant, Gwen­thyan care so much, but for honest and fertuous, and lo­uing and pundall to leade her haue her will.

God vdge mee, tage her away▪ to her hus­band, and is led her haue her will owd a crie, yet by God is pridle her well enoughe.

Well S. owen, Gwenthyan is going to her cozen [Page] Gualther the Duke, for you knowe is her neere cozen by marriage, by tother husband that pring her from Wales.

By Cod Wales is better countrie then Italies, a great teale so better.

Now if her cozen Gwalther say Gwenthyan tage ths pritish knight, shall loue her diggon: but must haue her good will: marg your thad Sir owen.

Owe whats else: Sir owen marg yt ferrewel, yet shall tage her downe quiglie inough, come widdowe will wag to the coward, now to her cozen, and bid her co­zen tell her minde of Str owen.

Youle man Gwenthyan Sir owen?

Yes by Cod and prauely to, come Shentlemans you'le tag paines to goe with her?

Weele follow you presently Sir owen.

Come widdow: Vn lod dis Glane Gwēthyā mondu

Gramercie wheeh, Am a Mock honnoh.

So this wil be rare: Sirrah Vrcenze, at the mar­riage night of these two, insteede of Io Hymen, we shall heere hey ho Hiemen, their loue will bee like a great fire made of bay leaues, that yeeldes nothing but cracking noise, noise.

If she misse his crowne tis no matter for crack­king,

So she soader it againe, it will passe currant.

Peace heere comes our faire mistris.

Lets haue a fling at her.

So you may, but the hardnes is to hit her.

Farewel Farneze you attēd wel vpō your mistris,

Nay, nay, their wages shall be of the same colour that their seruice is of.

Faith mistris would you had trauelled a litile soo­ner this way, you should haue seene a rare comedy ac­ted by Emulo.

Euerie courteous mouth will be a stage for that, rather tell her of the welch tragedie that's towards.

What Tragedie?

Sir Owen shall marrie your couzen Gwenthyan,

Ist possible: oh they two will beget braue warri­ours: for if she scolde heele fight, and if he quarrell sheele take vp the bucklers: shee's fire and hee's brimstone, must not there be hot doeings then thinke you?

Theyle prooue Turtles, for their hearts being so like, they cannot choose but bee louing.

Turtles: Turkie-cocks, for Gods louelets intreate the Duke my brother, tomake a lawe, that wheresoe­uer Sir Owen and his Ladie dwell, the next neighbour may alwaies be Constable, least the peace bee broken, for theyl'e doe nothing but cryearme, arme, arme.

I thinke sir Owen would die rather then loose her loue

So thinke not I.

I should for Iulia, if I were Iulies husband.

Therefore Iulia shal not be Onophries wife, for Ile have none die for me.

Yes for your love you would Iulia.

No nor yet for my hate Farneze.

Would you not haue men loue you swéet mistris?

No not I, fye vpon it sweet seruant.

Would you wish men to hate you?

Yes rather then loue me, of al saints I loue not to serue mistris Venus.

Then I prceiue you meane to leade apes in hell.

That spitefull prouerbe was proclaim'd against them that are marryed vpon earth, for to be married is to liue in a kinde of hell.

I as they doe at barlibreake.

Your wife is your ape, and that heauie burthen wedlocke, your Iacke an Apes clog, therefore ile not be tyed too't: Master Farneze, sweet virginitie is that [Page] inuisible God-head that turns into Angells, that makes vs saints on earth and starres in heauen: heere Uirgins seeme goodly, but there glorious: In heauen is no wooing yet all there are louely: in heauen are no weddings yet al ther are louers.

Let vs sweet Madame turne earth into heauen, by being all louers heere to.

So we doe to an earthly heauen we turne it.

Nay but deare Iulia, tel vs why so much you hate, to enter into the lists of this same combat Martimonie?

You may well call that a combat, for indéede mar­riage is nothing else, but a battaile of loue, a friendly figh­ting, a kinde of fauourable terrible warre: but you erre Onophrio in thinking I hate it I deale by marriage as some Indians doe the Sunne, adore it, and reuerence it, but dare not stare on it, for feare I be starke blinde: you three are batchellers, and being sicke of this maiden­head, count al thinges bitter, which the phisicke of a sing­le life minnisters vnto you: you imagine if you could mak the armes of faire Ladies the spheres of your hearts, good hearts, then you were in heaven: oh but Batchilers take heede, you are no sooner in that heauen, but you straite slip into hell.

As long as I haue a beautifull Ladie to torment me, I care not.

Nor I the sweetnes of her lookes shall make me rellish any punnishment.

Except the punnishment of the horne Vrcenze, put that in.

Nay hee were best put that by: Lord, Lord, see what vnthrifts this loue makes vs? if he once but get into ourmouthes, hee labours to turne our tongues to clap­pers, and to ring all in, at Cupids Church when we were better to bite off our tōgues, so we may thrust him out, Cupid is sworne enemie to time, & he that looseth time I can tell you looseth afriend.

I a bald friend.

Therefore my good seruants if, you weare my li­uerie, cast of this loose vpper coate of loue: bee ashamde to waite vppon a boy, a wag, a blinde boy, a wanton: My brother the Duke wants our companies, tis Idle­nes and loue, makes you captaines to this solitarines, fol­lowe me & loue not, & ile teach you how to find libertie.

We obey to follow you, but not to loue you, no re­nounce that obedience.

Boy how sits my rapier: la sol la sol. &c.

It hangs as euen as a chandlers beame.

Some of them deserue to hang vpon a beame for that euennes, boy learne to give euery man his due, giue the hangman his due, for hee's a necessary member.

Thats true, for he cuts of manie wicked mēbers.

Hees an excellent barber, he shaues most cleanly But page how dost thou like the Court?

Prettilie and so,

Faith so doe I pretlie and so: I am wearie of being a Courtiour Boy.

That you cannot bee Master, for you are but a Courtiers man.

Thou saist true & thou art the Courtiers mans boy, so thou art a courtier in decimo sexro in the least volume, or a courtier at the third hand, or a courtier by re­uersion, or a courtier three descents remoued, or a courti­er in minoritie or an vnder Courtier or a courtier in posse, and I thie Master in esse:

A posse an esse non este argumentum Master,

Thou hast to much wit to be so little, but imita­tion, imitation, is his good Lord and Master.

Banisht from Count, oh what haue wee mis­done?

What haue wee done, wee must bee thus dis­graced?

I know not, but you are best packe, tis my Lords will, and thats law, I must vncase you: your best course is to fall to your owne trades.

Sirra, what art thou a Broker?

No, how then, I am a Gentleman.

Th'art a Iewe, th'art a Pagan: howe darst thou leaue them without a cloke for the raine, whē his daugh­ter, and his sister, and my Mistris is the Kings wife?

Goe looke, sirra soole, my condition is to ship you too.

There's a ship of fooles ready to hoyst sayle, they stay but for a good winde and your company: ha ha ha, I wonder (if all fooles were banisht) where thou wouldst take shipping.

Peace Babulo, we are banisht from the Court.

I am glad, it shall case me of a charge héere, as long as we haue good cloathes on one backes, tis no mat­ter for our honesty, wée'll liue any where, and kéep Court in any corner.

Is thy name Furie? thou art halfe hang'd, for thou hast an ill name.

Thy lookes are like thy name, thy name & lookes Approoue thy nature to be violent.

I must obey my Master, though indéed My heart (that seemes hard) at their wrongs doth bleed. Pray get you gone, I say little, but you knowe my minde.

Little said is soone amended, thou say'st but lit­tle, and that little will be mended soone indeed, thats ne­uer, and so the Prouerbe stands in his full strength, pow­er and vertue.

Grissill was as pretty a Grissill in the one as in the other.

Nor I, many a good messe of water grewell has that yeelded vs.

Shall Furio see them out of the Pallace? doe you turne vs out of doores? you turne vs out of doores then?

Hence with that foole, Mario driue him hence,

He shall not neede, I am no Oxe nor Asse, I can goe without driuing, for al his turning, I am glad of one thing.

Whats that Babulo?

Mary that hee shall neuer hit vs ith téeth with turning vs, for tis not a good turne, follower I must ca­shere you: I must giue ouer houskeeping, tis the fashion, farewell boy.

Marie farewell and be hang'd.

I am glad thou tak'st thy death so patiently, fare­well my Lord, adue my Lady, great was the wisedome of that Taylor, that stitcht me in Motley, for hée's a foole that leaues basket making to turne Courtier: I sée my destiny dogs me: at first I was a foole (for I was borne an Innocent) then I was a traueller, and then a Basket-maker, and then a Courtier, and now I most turne bas­ket-maker and foole againe, the one I am sworne to, but the foole I bestowe vpon the world, for Stultorum plena sunt ominia adue, adue.

Farewell simplicity, part of my shame farewell, Now Lady what say you of their exile?

Onophrio and Vrcenze early met, euery man take his stand, for there comes a most rich purchase of mirth: Emulo with his hand in a faire scarfe, and Iulia

Hee'll strip himselfe out of his shirt anone, for Gods sake step in.

My opinion is I shall neuer recuperate the le­gittimate office of this member my arme.

Signior Emulo.

Sweet and accomplisht Signiors.

Ha ha, Madame you had a pitiful hand with this foole, but see he is recouered.

But seruant where is your other hand?

See sweet mistris one is my prisoner.

The other I haue tane vp with the fine finger.

Looke in his scarfe Farneze for an other, hee has a third hand, and tis pitifully wounded hee tels me, pitiful­ly, pitifully.

Wounded, oh palpable, come a demonstration of it.

Giue him your larded cloake Signior to stop his mouth, for he will vndoe you with lyes.

Come Signior, one fine lye now to apparrell all these former, in some light sarcenet robe of truth: none, none, in this mint?

Fye seruant, is your accomplisht Courtship no­thing but lyes:

Fye Signior, no musicke in your mouth, but bat­tles, yet a meere milke-sop.

Fye Emulo, nothing but wardrop, yet heare all your trunckes of suites?

Fye Signior, a scarse about your necke, yet will not hang your selfe to heare all this?

Seruant I discharge you my seruice, Ile enter­taine no braggarts.

Signior, we discharge yoy the Court, wee'l haue no gulles in our company.

Abram we casheere you our company, wee must haue no minnions at Court.

Oh patience bee thou my fortification: Italy [Page] thou spurnest me for vttering that nutriment, which I suckt from thée.

How Italy? away you ideot: Italy infects you not, but your owne diseased spirits: Italy? out you froth, you scumme, because your soule is mud, and that you haue breathed in Italy, you'll say Italy haue defyled you: away you bore, thou wilt wallow in mire in the sweetest coun­trie in the world.

Ha ha ha:

Peace seruants, here comes the Duke my brother.

Fugh, her warrant her shall log them vb from Sunne and Moone, and seauen starres too I hobe, but harg you cozen Marquesse.

Now, whats the matter?

A pore on it tis scalde matter, well, well pray cozen Marquesse, vse her Latie Grissill a good teale better, for as God vdge me, you hurd Sir Owen out a cry by maging her sad and powd so, see you?

Hurt you? what harme or good reape you thereby?

Harme, yes by Gods lid, a poggie teale of harme, for loog you cozen, and cozen Iulia, & Shentlemen awl, (for awl is to know her wifes case) you know her tag to wife the widdow Gwenthyan.

True cozen & shée's a vertuous gentlewoman.

One of the patientest Ladies in the world.

Shée's wondrous beautifull & wondrous kinde.

Shée's the quietest woman that ere I knew, for good heart, shée'll put vp any thing.

Cozen I am proude that you are sped so well.

Are you? by God so are not I, ile tel you what co­zen Marquesse, you awl know her wel, you know her face is liddle faire & smug, but her has a tung goes Iingle ian­gle, Iingle iangle, petter and worse then pelles when her house is a fire: patient? ha ha sir Owen shall tag her héeles and run to Wales, and her play the tiuell so out a cry ter­rible a pogs on her la.

Why cozen what are her quallities that you so commend her?

Commend her? no by God not I, ha ha: is know her quallities petter & petter, fore I commend her: but Gwenthian is worse and worse out a cry, owe out a cry worse, out of awl cry, shée's feard to be made fool as Gris­sill is, & as God vdge me, her mag fine pobbie foole of Sir Owen, her shide & shide, & prawle & scoulde, by God and scradge terrible somtime, owe & haid her wil doe what her can, ha ha ha, and sir Owen were hansome pachcler agen, pray cozen Marquesse tag some order in Grissill, or fedge sir Owen to mag Gwenthians quiet and tame her.

What shal her doe now with these? peate and knog her Gwenthian.

Ha ha ha, tame a shrew, owe tis out a cry terri­ble hard, and more worse then tame a mad pull, but whad meane her cozen to mag her cut her wands? ha ha, God vdge me tis fine knag, I sée her knauery now, tis to pang Gwenthyans podie and she mag a noise & prabble: Is not so? by Gods lid so, & Gwenthian, sir Owen will knog you before her abide such horrible doe.

Gods lid here her comes. Terdawgh Gwenthian Terdawgh.

Terdawgh whee, Sir Owen Terdawgh whee.

Owe, looge heere, fine wandes Gwenthyan, is not?

Rees tag them and preag them in peeces.

What say you forsooth?

What say you forsooth? you saucie knaue, must her tell her once, and twice, and thrice, and foure times, what to doe? preag these wands.

Rees is petter preake Rees his pate: heere Rees carry her home.

Would I were at gallowes, so I were not heere:

Doe and her tare, doe and her tare, see you now, what shall her doe with wands? peate Gwenthyan? podie and mag Gwenthyan put her finger in me hole: ha, by God by God, is scradge her eies out that judge her, that tawg to her, that loog on her, marg you that Sir Owen?

Yes, her marg her, Rees pray marg her Ladie?

Not I sir shee'll set her markes on me then.

Is prade? is prade? goe too Rees, Ile Rees her, you tawg you.

Pray Gwenthien bee patient, as her cozen Grissill is.

Grissill owe? owe? Grissill? no, no, no, no. her shall not mag Gwenthian such ninny pobbie foole as Grissill, I say preage her wandes.

Cods plude is pought her to peate dust out of her cloag and parrels.

Peate her cloag and parrels? fie, fie, fie, tis lye Sir Owen tis lye.

Your worship may stab her, she giues you the lye.

Peace Rees, goe to, I pought them indeede to mag her horse run and goe a mightie teale of pace, pray let Rees tag her in good Gwenthian?

Rees beare in her wandes because Sir Owen beg so gently.

Goe Rees, goe locke them vp in a pox or shest, goe.

You shal not need to bid me goe, for Ile run.

I pought them for her horse indeede, for heere was her cozen Marquesse and prought her pondes and scriblings heere for her money: Gwenthyan pray keepe her pondes and keep her wisely: Sirra Gwenthyan is tell her praue newes, Grissill is prought to bed of liddle shentleman and shentlewoman: (is glad out a cry speag her faire) yes truely Grissill is prought a bed.

Grissils no podie but Grissils? what care I for Grissill: I say if Sir Owen loue Gwenthyan, shal not loue Grissill nor Marquesse so, see you now?

God vdge me, not loue her cozen? is shealous? owe is fine trig, not loue her cozen? God vdge me her wil, and hang her selfe, see you now?

Hang her selfe, owe, owe, owe, Gwenthyans to­ther husband is scawrne to say hang her selfe: hang her selfe? owe owe, owe owe.

Gods plude, what cannot get by prawles, is get by owe, owe owe, is terrible Ladie, pray be peace, and cry no more owe, owe, owe, Tawsone Gwenthyans, God vdge me is very furie.

O mon lago, mon due, hang Gwenthyans?

Adologo whee Gwenthyan bethogh, en Tho­nigh, en moyen due.

Ne vetho en Thonigh, cna wathe gethla Tee, hang Gwenthyans?

Sir Owen shall say no more hang her selfe, be out a cry still and her shall pye her new card to ride in, & two new fine horses, and more plew coates and padges ta follow her heeles, see you now?

But will her say no more hang her selfe?

Oh no more, as God vdge mee no more, pray leaue, owe, owe, owe.

Tannekin the Fide hath brought your Rebato, it comes to three pound.

What a pestilence is this for Gwenthyan?

For her neg, is cald repatoes, Gwenthian weare it heere, ist not praue?

Praue? yes is praue, tis repatoes I warrant her: I patoes money out a crie, yes tis praue, Rees the preece? Rees the preece?

The Froe sir saies fiue pound.

Ha ha ha, pound, Gwenthyan pray doe not pye it.

By God vdge me her shall pye it.

God vdge me her shall not.

Shall not? Rees tag her away, I say her shall and weare it pye and pye.

Then mag a pobbie foole of Sir Owen indeed: Gods plude shall? I say shal not: fiue pound for puble, for patoes: here there, so tag it now, weare it now powte her neg, shall pridle sir Owen ha?

Oh rare sir Owen, ah pretious Kninght, oh rare Sir Owen.

Out you raskals, you prade and prade, ile prade your neaces.

Oh rare Madame, oh pretious Madame, O God, O God, O God, O.

Is domineere now, you teare her ruffes and re­patoes, you preake her ponds? Ile teare as good pondes, and petter too, and petter too.

Owe Gwenthyan, Cods plude is fiue thousand duckets, hold hold hold, a pogs on her pride, what has her done?

Goe loog, is now paide for her repatoes, ile haue her willes & desires, ile teadge her pridle her Lady: Catho crogge, Ne vetho, en Thlonigh gna wathee Gnathlatee.

A breath vawer or no Tee: pridle her, sir owen is pridled I warrant: widdows (were petter Gods plude marry whoore) were petter be hang'd and quarter, then marry widowes as God vdge me: Sir owen fall on her knees, & pray God to tag her to her mercy, or else put pet­ter minde in her Lady: awl prittish Shentlemans tag [Page] heede how her marry fixen widowe.

Faith not I: I haue not such a heart, and shee aske to touch them. Ile deny it because ile obey my Lord, yet she shall kisse and touch them to, because Ile please my Ladie: alas, alas, prettie fooles I loue you well but I would you had a better Nurse.

Heere Madame take one, I am weary of both, touch it and kisse it to, its a sweet childe, I would I were rid of my miserie, for I shall drowne my heart, with my teares that fall inward.

I thinke my Lord shee's a true woman, for shee loues her children, a rare wife, for shee loues you, (I be­leeue you'll hardly finde her match) and I thinke shee's more then a woman, because shee conqueres all wrongs by patience.

Well, I will: It's far from Saluce to Pauia, the children will cry, I haue no teates you know, twere good you thought vpon it.

Hush, hush, hush, hush, and I daunce mine own childe and I dance mine owne childe, &c: ha ha, whoop olde Master, so ho ho, looke heere, and I dance mine own childe, &c: heere's sixteene pence a weeke, and sixteene pence a weeke, eight groates, sope and candle, I met her in Osier groue, crying hush, hush, hush, hush: I thought it had been some begger woman, because of her pitcher, for you know they beare such houshold stuffe, to put drinke and porrage together, and I dance mine, &c.

Leaue singing.

We may choose, Grandsire sol fa once more, we'll alla mire him, and he we waile in woe, and who can hin­der vs?

Sirra Scholler read there, it's a commission for mee to take away these children.

Nay then y'are welcome, there's foure groates, and heere's foure more.

I by my troth that's a good way, we may well do it, now we are out of his hearing.

No, he shal not haue them, knocke out his braines, and saue the little hop a my thombes.

Oh rare, cry prentises and clubs, the corporation cannot be ( ) sirra set downe thy baskets and to't pell mell.

Would I were rid of my office?

What will you doe, driue this rashe fellowe hence?

The Marquesse is a tyrant and does worng.

I would not for the world that hee should heare thee.

I would not for ten worlds but heare my Grissil.

Stay sirra take thy purse.

I let none fall.

Halfe part.

A purse of golde Furio is falne from thee.

Its none of mine, sirra basket-maker, if my armes were not full, thou should haue thy handes full: farewel Grissill, if thou neuer see thy children more, curse mee, if thou dost see them againe, thanke God, adue.

Farewell and be hang'd.

Daughter, heere's nothing in this purse but golde.

So much the better, Master we'll quickely turne [Page] it into siluer.

Whoope whether is my brother basket-maker gone: ha let me see, I smell a rat, sneakt hence and neuer take leaue, eyther hee's a craftie knaue, or else hee dogs Furio to byte him, for when a quarrell enters into a trade it serues seauen yeares before it be free.

Rees, lay her table, and set out her fittailes, and preades, and wines, and ale, and peare, and salt for her guesse.

Yes forsooth my Lady but what shal I do with all yonder beggers?

Send out the peggers into her Lady, goe.

How? the beggers in, wee shall haue a louzie feast Madame.

You rascals prate no more, but fetch them in: shall pridle Sir Owen a good teale well enough, is war­rant her. Sir Owen is gone to bid her cozen Marquesse and a meiny to dyne at her house, but Gwenthyan shall kiue her dinner I warrant her, for peggers shall haue all her meate.

Come my hearts, troope, troope, euery man follow his leader, heere's my Lady.

God blesse your Ladiship, God blesse your Ladi­ship.

I thang you my good peggers, Rees pring stooles, sid awl downe, Rees pring more meate.

Heere Madame, Ile set it on, tak't off who will.

Let vs alone for that, my Lady shall we scram­ble or eate mannerly?

Peggers I hobe haue no manners, but first heare me pray you now, and then fall to out a crie.

Peace heare my Lady, Iacke-mumble-crust steale no penny loaues.

Peggers, awl you know Sir Owen?

Passing well, passing well, God blesse his wor­ship.

Madame, we know him as well as a begger knowes his dish.

Awl these fittels is made for Cozen Marquesse: Sir Owen is gone to fedge him, but Sir owen has anger her Ladie.

More shame for him, hee's not a Knight, but a knitter of caps for it.

Sir Owen has anger her Lady, and therfore her Lady is anger Sir Owen

Make him a cuckolde Madame, and vpon that I drinke to you: helter skelter here roagues, top and top gallant, pell mell, huftie tuftie, hem, God saue the Duke, and a fig for the hangman.

Rees fedge wine and peares enough, and fall to pegger, and eate awl her shéere, and tomineere, see you now, pray doe.

Nay I pray peggers be quiet, tag your meates, you haue trinkes enough I see, and get you home nowe good peggers.

Come your roagues, lets goe tag and rag, cut and long taile, I am victualed for a month, God bo'y Madame, pray God Sir owen and you may fall out eue­ry day: Is there any harme in this now? hey tri-lill, giue the dog a loafe, fill the tother pot you whoore & God saue the Duke.

I thang you good peggers, ha ha, this is fine spord, by God is haue peggers eate her fittales all day long.

Where is the sheere Rees? Cods plude where?

I beseech you sir be patient, I tell you the beggers haue it.

Wad a pogs is doe with peggers? wad is peg­gers [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [...]

How my Lady Gwenthian? ha ha ha.

Is come pie and pie, Cod vdge me Gwenthian pray put on your prauerie and fine knags, and shame not Sir Owen, yes truely Gwenthian is come out pie and pie, Man gras worthe whee cozen Marguesse, Man gras worthe whee cozen Iolia is welcome awl.

Ha ha welcome, come come Madame appeare in your likenes, or rather in the likenes of another, my Lord y'are best send backe to your owne Cookes, if you meane to set your teeth a worke to day.

Why Farneze what's the matter?

Nay there's no matter in it, the fire's quencht, the victuals giuen to beggers, Sir Owens kitchin lookes like the first Chaos, or like a Brokers stall, full of odde endes: or like the end of some terrible battle, for vpon euery dres­ser lyes legges and feathers, and heads of poore Capons and wilde foule that haue bin drawne and quartred, and now mourne that their carkasses are carried away: his are not rewmaticke, for there's no spitting heere lye fish in a pittifull pickle, there standes the coffins of pyes, wherein the dead bodies of birdes should haue been buri­ed, but their ghostes haue forsaken their graues & walkt abroad: the best sport is to see the scullians, some laugh­ing, some crying, & whilst they wipe their eies they blacke their faces, the Cookes curse her Lady, and some pray for our Lord.

Sir Owen Meredith is all this true?

True, et is true I warrant her pogs on her too true.

You tolde his Grace you had tam'd your wife.

By Cod is tell her a lye then, her wise has pri­dled [Page] & tam'd her indeed: cozen Marquesse pecause Grissill is made foole and turne away, Gwenthian mag foole of sir owen: is good? ha, is good?

Tis lye cozen Marguesse, is terrible lye: raw­sone en Ennoh Twewle, tis lye, tis lye, sit Owen teare her repatoes and ruffes, and pridle her Latie, & bid her hang her selfe, but is pridled I warrant her, is not Sir Owen?

Adologg whee bethogh en Thlonigh, en Moyen due, Gwenthian.

Ne vetho en Thlonigh, Gna watha gethla Tee.

What sayes she sir Owen?

I pray & pray her for Cods loue be quiet, splude her say her will not be quiet, do what Sir owen can: mon due Gwenthian, Me knocke the pen, en vmbleth, pobe des, and pobe nose.

Gwenogh olcha vessagh whee, en herawgh, ee.

Stand betweene them Farneze.

You shall bob no nose heere.

En herawgh Ee? Me grauat the Legatee, athlan ith pendee▪ adroh ornymee on dictar, en hecar Ee.

Doth she threaten you Sir Owen? binde her to the peace.

By Cod is threaten her indeed, her saies shee'll scradge out Sir owens eyes, and her frowne vpon her, a pogs on her nailes.

Gwenthian scawrnes to be fciendes, her Ladie will be Master Sir owen.

By Cod ile see her Latie hang'd first: cozen Mar­quesse & cozens awl, pray tag time & stay heere, Rees shall [Page] dresse more fittels, and shall dine her in spite of her La­die: Cod splude Rees Rees.

Will you? Is try that pie and pie: Stethe whee lawer, Cozen Marguesse Stethe whee lawer Shentlemen, Gwenthian is not pridled so soone.

Ile see the peace kept sure, doe what he can, I doubt his wife will prooue the better man.

Signior Mario you say nothing, how like you this enterlude?

So well Madame, that I rather with to play the begger, then a Kinges part in it in Sir Owens ap­parrell.

Why this it is to be married, thus you see those that goe to wooe, goe to woe, oh for a Drum to summon all my louers, my suiters, my seruants together.

I appeare sweet mistresse without summons.

So does Onophrio.

So does Vrcenze.

Signior Emulo I see will not bee seene without calling.

No faith Madame, he's blowne vp, no calling can serue him, hee has tane another manner of calling vpon him, and I hope repents the folly of his youth.

If he follow that vocation well, he'll prooue weal­thy in wit.

He had need for his head is very poore.

Well mistris wee appeare without drumming, what's your parley (and yet not so) your eyes are the drums that summons vs.

And your beauty the colours we fight vnder.

And the touch of your soft hand, armes vs at al pointes with deuotion to serue you, desire to obey you, and vowes to loue you.

Nay then in faith make me all souldier, mine eies a drum, my beautie your colours, and my hand your ar­mour: what becomes of the rest?

It becomes vs to rest, before we come to the rest, yet for a neede we could turne you into an armourie: as for example, your lips (let me see) no point of war for your lips? can I put them to no vse but kissing? oh yes, if you change them to shoote out vnkinde language to vs that stand at your mercie, they are two culuerins to de­stroy vs.

That ile trie: my tongue shall giue fire to my words presently.

Oh be more mercifull faire Iulia.

Not I, would you haue mee pittie you and pun­nish my selfe? would you wish me to loue? when loue is so full of hate? how vnlouely is loue? how bitter? how ful of blemishes, my Lord and brother insults our Grissill, that makes me glad, Gwenthyan curbs Sir Owen, that makes you glad, Sir Owen is maistred by his Mistris that makes you mad, poore Grissil is martred by her Lord that makes you merrie, for I alwaies wish that a womā may neuer meete better bargaines, when sheele thrust her sweet libertie into the hands of a man: fye vpon you, you're nothing but woormewood, and oake, and glasse: you haue bitter tongues, hard hearts, and brittle faith.

Condemne vs not till you trye our loues.

Sweet seruant speake not in this language of loue, Gwenthyans peeuishnes and Grissils patience, make me heere to defie that Ape Cupid, if you loue stand vpon his lawes, I charge you leaue it, I charge you neither to sigh for loue nor speake of loue, nor frowne for hate: if you sigh ile mocke you, if you speake ile stop mine eares, if you frowne ile bend my fist.

Then youle turne warriour in deede.

Had I not neede encountring with such ene­mies? but say will you obay and followe mee or disobay, and Ile flie you.

I obay since it is your pleasure.

I obay though I taste no pleasure in it.

I obay to, but so God helpe me mistris I shall shew you a faire paire of heeles and crie a new Mistris a new, if any pittifull creature will haue me.

Better lost then found if you be so wauering.

You doe her wrong.

Yes as Cod vdg me is: how cozen Iulia, is out a crie friends now, Gwenthyan is laugh & be ferie patience now Sir Owen kisse her Ladie, a great teale now: see els?

I but Sir owen, the kissing her Lady is no mirth to vs, if wee kisse the poste.

Owe her cozen Marquesse has terrible mightie newes for tell her, or els is made readie a great banquit at home for awl, pray come home, is awll ready for her, her Ladie say not boepeepe now: but first heare her cozen Marquesse newes.

Is glad of that, ha, ha, ha, tag heed of wands

Lady,

Tag heede of nailes knight,

Cod vdge me Sir Owen would hang before her marrie once more, if I were another Patcheler: marie owe.

Come I haue left my worke to see what mattēs you mumble to your selfe, faith Laureo I would you could leaue this lattin, and fal to make baskets, you think tis enough if at dinner you tell vs a tale of Pigmes, and then mounch vp our virtuals, but that fits not vs: or the historie of the well Helicon, & then drinke vp our beare we cannot liue vpon it.

A Scholler doth disdaine to spend his spirits, Vpon such base imploiments as hand labours.

Good Furio vanish, we haue no appetite, tell your Master, Clownes are not for the Court, wee'll keepe Court our selues, for what doe Courtiers but wee doe the like: you eate good cheere, and wee eate good bread and cheese: you drinke wine, and we strong beare: at night you are as hungry slaues as you were at noone, why so are wee: you goe to bed, you can but sleepe, why and so doe wee: in the morning you rise about eleuen of the clocke, why there we are your betters, for wee are going before you: you weare silkes, and wee sheepe­skinnes, innocence caries it away in the world to come, and therefore vanish good Furio, torment vs not good my sweet Furio.

Asse Ile haue you snaffled,

It may be so, but then Furio Ile kicke.

Will you goe, or shall I force you?

I, I, but this shall prooue a fatall day.

Brother, for my sake doe not wrong your selfe.

Shall I in silence bury all our wrongs?

Away.

Old M. you have fisht faire & catcht a frog.

Oh heere comes Sir Owen, and my Lady pati­ence, coome there.

Tardaugh Cozen Marquesse & Lawrdes awl.

Welcome good cozen Gwenthian, wil you please Goe in, and lend your prefence to my bride?

Cozen, tis her intentions so to do, but I sweare and I were Grissill ▪ I would pull her eyes out, & she were as many Sharmaines daughter is there becowes in Cam­bria and that is aboue twenty score and a lidle more, you know Sir Owen?

Yes truely aboue a dozen more is warrant her.

Grissill is patient Madame, be you pleas'd.

Well, and she bee so baselies minded tis well, but I know whad I know Sir Owen heere thinkes to make Gwenthians so patience, sir owen tis awl in vaines, well I goe to her Brides.

You prade and you taug Gwenthians, but I made you put on parrels for awl your taug and prade: Rees, where's Rees spring the wandes heere Rees.

They are héere sir, in the twinckling of an eye.

Cozen, when her weddings are done and at lea­sures, I will learne your medicines to tame shrewes.

You shall anon good Cozen Meredith.

Stand by Rees, walke in the halles among the Seruingmans, kéepe her wandes till I call, heare you now?

Yes Sir.

Furio are Grissill and the other come?

Yes, they are come.

Are they imployed according to our charge?

They are.

How does her brother take it?

Ill.

How her Father?

Well.

How her selfe?

Better.

Furio, goe call out Grissill from the Bride.

I will.

It's pitty that fellow was not made a Soldier, hee should haue but a word and a blow at his hands.

Master goe you but vnder the Cole-staffe, Babu­lo can beare all, staffe basket and all.

What fellow is this?

Your handmaid Grissils brother,

Take him away into the Posters lodge,

Grissill Take you his load and beare it in.

Oh tiger minded monstrous Marquesse, make thy Ladie a collier?

Whats that that villiane prates so?

God blesse the noble Marquesse,

With all my heart.

Stay you Ianicola, I haue heard you sing,

I could haue sung when I was free from care.

What grief can in your aged bosome lie?

Griefe that I am vngratious in your eye,

Then would he not desire your company▪

As Cod vdge me Ian Niclas is honest man, hee does not flatter and sembles, but tell his intentions: owe more melodies, owe heere come her new pride.

Content with all.

Till now I neuer behelde her beautie.

Nor I.

Trust me nor I.

You all heare this, and all thinke this?

I shall not become it.

What meanes your grace by this?

Gracelesse, haue done,

How doe you like my Bride?

You flatter me.

Marg patience there Gwenthyan see you thade▪

Owe Sir Owen marg you now, the man is yéel­ded to her Latie, lerne now Sir owen learne, learne Knight your duetie, see you thade?

Holde, holde, holde, banquet? if you banquet so, Sir Owen is like to haue sheere, her Latie heere is cog a hoope now at this, pray Cozen keepe your promise, Rees the wandes Rees, your medicines and fine trigs to tame shrewes.

Furio where be the wands that I bound vp?

Heere my Lord.

Owe winde them, yes is winde them and mag good mightie cudgell, to tame and knog her Latie, and she prawle, or crie, or giue preade and meate to peggers, or teare pondes, by God is well remembred too, Cozen you promis'd to helpe her to her Duckegs, for all her pa­per and pondes is torne?

And I wil kéep my promise, wreath your wands

Owe Gods lid mine is stubberne like Gwen­thians, Gods plude see it preakes in snip snap péeces, what now Cozen?

What shall doe to her Latie then? is pest run a­way cozen, or knog her braines out? for is as faliant as Mars if I be anger.

That were a shame eyther to run away from a woman or to strike her, your best Phisicke Sir Owen, is to weare a veluet hand, leaden eares, and no tongue, you must not fight howsoeuer she quarrels, you must be deafe [Page] whensoeuer she brawles, and dumbe when your selfe should brabble: take this cawdle next your heart euery morning, and if your wife be not patient, the next reme­dy that I know is, to buy your winding sheete.

Cozen Marquesse, cozen Iulia, and Lawrds and Laties all, it shall not need as her cozen has tryed Grissill, so Gwenthian has Sir Owen,

Owe, by Cod is thought should pull her downe, ah ha.

Is not pul'd downe neither, but sir Owen shal be her head, and is sorry has anger her head and mag it ake, but pray good Knight be not proude & triumph too much & freade her Latie downe, God vdge mee will tag her will againe doe what her can.

By Cod is loue her out a cry now, sir owen could tame her before, but Prittish ploude scawrnes to fide w ^t Laties, yes faith scornes out a cry, a pogs ont tis nought: Gwenthian shall no more be call'd Gwenthian but patient Grissill, ah ha is.

Our ioyes are compleate, forward to our feast, Patience hath won the prize and now is blest.

Nay brother your pardon awhile: besides our selues there are a number héere, that haue behelde Grissils patience, you owne tryals, and Sir Owens sufferance, Gwenthians frowardnes, these Gentlemen louertine and my selfe a hater of loue: amongst this company I trust there are some mayden batchelers, and virgin maydens, those that liue in that freedome & loue it, those that know the war of mariage and hate it, set their hands to my bill, which is rather to dye a mayde and leade Apes in hell, then to liue a wife and be continually in hell.

Iulia by your leaues a lidle while, you taug and you prable about shidings in mariages, and you abuse yong mens and damsels, & fraide them from good sportes and honorable states: but heare you now, awl that bee sembled heere, know you that discord's mag good mu­sicke, [Page] and when loners fall out is soone fall in, and tis good you knaw: pray you al be maried, for wedlocke increases peoples and cities, awl you then that haue husbands that you would pridle, set your hands to Gwenthians pill, for tis not fid that poore womens should be kept alwaies vnder.

Ha ha ha, Grissil is weary, pray let sir owen speag Grissill is patient, and her cozen is patient, therefore is speage for two, Gods plude you see her Latie is spride of buttrie, yet sir owen tame her and teare her ruffes, & mag her cry and put ou her parrels, and say is sorry Sir owen, marg that well: if sir owen was not patient, her Latie had not beene pridled, if Grissill had not beene patient her cozen Marquesse had not been pridled: well now if you loue sir owens Latie, I hope you loue sir owen too, or is grow mighty angry, sir owen loue you as God vdge mee out a cry, a terrible feale, doe you heare now, then pray awl that haue crabbed husbands and cannot mend them, as Grissils had, and awl that haue fixen wiues, and yet is tame her well enough as sir owen does, & awl that haue scoldes as sir owen does, and awl that loue faire Laties as sir owen does, to sed her two hands to his pill, and by God shall haue sir owens heard and soule in his pellie: and so God saue you all. Man gras wortha whee, Man gras wor­tha whee. God night Cozens awl.