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 The Pleasant Historie 
 
 of 
 Thomas of Reading.
 
 THOMAS DELONEY 
 
 HIS 
 
 Thomas of Reading 
 
 AND 
 
 THREE BALLADS ON THE 
 SPANISH ARMADA 
 
 Edited with Notes and Introduction 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES ROBERTS ALDRICH 
 
 AND 
 
 LUCIAN SWIFT KIRTLAND 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 J. F. TAYLOR & COMPANY 
 
 MCMIII
 
 Of this Edition of Thomas Deloney, His 
 Thomas of Reading and Three Ballads on 
 THE Spanish Armada, Fifty Copies have been 
 printed at The Westminster Press, on Japan 
 Vellum, of which this is Copy No. 0>^. 
 
 The Westminster Press, New ^'oRK
 
 Introduction to 
 Thomas of Reading.
 
 %l^z Lamentation of iHt. f^age^ mi(t 
 
 Of Plimotith, who, being forc'd to wed him, confented to his 
 
 Murder, for the loue of G. Strangwidge : for 
 
 which they fufifered at Barnftable 
 
 in Dcvonfhire. 
 
 T/i^ Tune is Fortune my Foe, &c.
 
 THE ENGLISH NOVEL, as a distinct liter- 
 ary form, practically dates from the age of 
 Elizabeth. Not that the needful materials 
 had not long been present in literature: it was 
 simply that much time had to pass before these 
 materials were combined, according to certain 
 ideas and purposes of art, into this particular 
 shape. Many romances of adventure had come 
 and gone; and one, the Morte Darthur, had p^^ ^^g, 
 come to stay. This lacks only form: from its 
 substance many novels might be made — " For 
 herein may be seen noble chivalry, courtesy, 
 humanity, friendliness, hardiness, love, friendship, 
 cowardice, murder, hate, virtue, and sin." In his 
 earnest, straightforward way Malory had set down 
 not only the heroic ideals of knighthood: he had 
 given examples of great episodes of passion, such 
 as the stories of Tristam and Isoud and Launcelot 
 and Guenever — stories destined to live in all sub- 
 sequent literature. 
 
 In contrast with the serious idealism of the 
 Morte Darthur was the humorous realism of 
 the fabliaux. These were short verse-narratives, 
 
 , . 13th Century. 
 
 probably very numerous and very popular m
 
 Introduction 
 
 their day. As an example of their view-point 
 it may be noted that one surviving specimen, 
 Dame Siriz, satirizes the morals of clerks, the 
 timidity and gullibility of women, and the methods 
 of witches. 
 
 Some unity of structure had been added by 
 
 ? 1 325-1408. Gower when he rewrote stories with an eye to 
 
 i34o(?)-i4oo. moral purpose; but it was Chaucer who developed 
 the art of construction. With his gentle humor, 
 true pathos, his power of character-delineation, and 
 his keen insight into the workings of heart and 
 mind, Chaucer's tales might be redacted into admir- 
 able novels. But the great Story-teller preferred 
 verse; and in so doing he was following a national 
 tendency. The love of metre and the preference 
 for foreign themes and sources are two of the 
 most striking characteristics of the pre-Elizabethan 
 authors. 
 
 In spite of this rich accumulation of literary 
 materials the first half of the sixteenth century was 
 
 , ,g barren of prose fictions. More's Utopia, the 
 
 single work of importance, was written in Latin. 
 Men still read Malory and Chaucer; but civil dis- 
 turbance repressed creative work, and there was no 
 time to follow their lead. It was not until the 
 period of Elizabeth that energy was again turned 
 
 I into literary channels.
 
 Thomas of Reading 
 
 Then came the Elizabethan Age. Every form 
 of literature sprang up strong and rich as if the 
 stored-up genius of barren centuries were bursting 
 into flower. England had had her winter; now she 
 had her spring. The novel received fertilization 
 from all quarters. From Germany came jest-books 
 and the mystery of the Black Art; from Spain came 
 Cervantes in all his sanity, highly realistic rogue- 
 stories like Lazarillo de Tormes, highly idealistic 
 romances of chivalry, like Amadis de Gaula, and 
 pastorals like the Diana of Montemayor; and from 
 Italy came still more dreamy pastorals, the in- 
 fluence of Tasso and Ariosto, and the novelle which 
 furnished the playwrights with such themes as 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 The novel apparently is less bound and 
 hampered by rules of art than any other literary 
 form. But just as sculpture preceded painting, so 
 the stricter forms of poetry and drama reached per- 
 fection before the novel. Strict rules guide, not 
 bind, in a period of exuberance; and the novel ran 
 into many strange shapes for want of them. All 
 sense of unity seemed lost in the wealth of materials 
 brought in by the Renascence; and authors often 
 forgot to depict life at all as they wandered hither 
 and thither, expressing any thought at any length 
 and in any way, as suited their whim. The repast
 
 Introduction 
 
 offered the reader in an Elizabethan story resembles 
 not so much a well-ordered dinner as a stroll in the 
 public market, among the vegetables or the wines, 
 whichever the author most affects. 
 
 The Elizabethans formed an audience of 
 
 earnest children, unschooled in taste; and with 
 
 children's love of the marvelous and fanciful they 
 
 encouraged the authors of extravagant books. 
 
 1579-8051590; Lyly's Euphues, Sidney's Arcadia, Nash's Unfor- 
 
 '594; tunate Traveller, and Greene's autobiographical 
 
 pamphlets, such as the Groat's Worth of Wit, are 
 
 typical Elizabethan writings, and are regarded as 
 
 forerunners of the modern novel. Yet if we are to 
 
 Clara Reeve, acccpt Clara Rccve's definition that, " The Novel 
 
 "Progress of -^ ^ picture of real life and manners, and of the 
 
 Romance," . V i-i-- • mi rrr 
 
 ,785. times m which it is written, the Unrortunate 
 
 Traveller is the only one of these which can be 
 called by that name. The Euphues and the Ar- 
 cadia portray life, manners, and times which never 
 existed; the Groat's Worth of Wit is too bitterly 
 biased to be much more than a moral essay; and 
 even the Unfortunate Traveller, being a tale of 
 roguery and strange adventure, can scarcely claim 
 to be a true picture. Professed fiction, describing 
 in prose real English people engaged in the affairs 
 of real life, and told with fidelity to details, was first 
 * written by Thomas Deloney. His are the first
 
 Thomas of Reading 
 
 stories in the language to fulfill the requirements of 
 Clara Reeve's definition; and Thomas of Reading, 
 here reprinted, is the first of Deloney's novels. 
 
 II. 
 
 Thomas Deloney was born about 1543, and 
 was a silk weaver by trade. Two translations of 
 Latin documents are said to be his work; but the dictionary of 
 first writing which can with certainty be ascribed to Bif ra"h 
 him is "a proper newe Sonet" which appeared in 
 1586, "declaring the lamentation of Beckles in Suf- 
 folke burnt by fire on St. Andrewe's Eve last past." 
 In the same year Richard Jones published De- 
 loney's "Most joyful song .... at the taking of 
 the late trayterous Conspirators .... fourteen 
 of them have suffered death on the 20 and 1 1 of 
 September." The jocular ballads written during 
 the next decade have perished; but there are a few 
 upon murders and executions such as "The Lam- 
 entation of George Strangwidge" and "The Lam- 
 entation of Mr. Pages' Wife of Plymouth, who, 
 being forc'd to wed him, consented to his Murder, 
 for the love of G. Strangwidge: for which they 
 suffered at Barnstable in Devonshire. The Tune 
 is Fortune my Foe^ etc."
 
 Introduction 
 
 In August, 1588, three ballads having to do 
 with the Spanish Armada were entered at Stationer's 
 Hall. The original broadsides are now in the 
 British Museum, and we have reprinted them on 
 account of their intrinsic interest as well as for the 
 light they give on Deloney's methods. After these 
 came many songs and ballads, some of which re- 
 mained long popular. These, of which "Henry II 
 Crowning his Son King," "The Duchess of Suf- 
 folk's Calamity," "The Drowning of Henry I's 
 Children," and "The Kentishmen with Long 
 Tales" are the best known, were collected into 
 a volume. The issue of 1607, which Is the 
 earliest of which we have record, is called "Strange 
 Histories"; it was reprinted as the "Garland of 
 Delight," and as the "Royal Garland of Love 
 and Delight." 
 
 A fragment of the edition of 1 604 is the earli- 
 est known form of the collection entitled "The Gar- 
 land of Good Will." Some of the ballads in this 
 volume, notably "The Spanish Lady's Love" and 
 "The Winning of Cales" are probably not De- 
 loney's; but on the other hand, J. H. Dixon 
 attributes to him the authorship of "The Blind 
 Begger of Bednall Green" and the prose "Sweet 
 Historic of Patient Grissel," printed by John 
 Wright.
 
 Thomas of Reading 
 
 Deloney also wrote three prose books which 
 went through many editions before 1600 and event- 
 ually became penny chap-books; "The Gentle 
 Craft," a work treating of shoemakers, registered 19 
 October, 1597; "Jack of Newbury," eighth edition 
 1619; and "Thomas of Reading," of which no 
 edition earlier than 161 2 now remains. 
 
 Almost nothing is known of Deloney's private 
 life. The register of St. Giles, Cripplegate, has an 
 entry recording the christening of Richard, son of 
 Thomas Deloney, on the 16 October 1586. The 
 date of his death is uncertain; but Will Kemp, 
 the actor, who had performed the "nine dales 
 wonder" of dancing a morris from London to 
 Norwich, found himself "nearly hand-rent in 
 sunder by unreasonable rhymes' and printed an 
 "humble Request" of the ballad makers "not to 
 fill the country with lies of his never-done acts." 
 He says, 
 
 "I have made a privy search, what private jig- 
 monger of your jolly number hath been the Author 
 of these abominable Ballets written of me. 
 
 "I was told, it was the great Ballad-maker, T. 
 D. alias THOMAS DELONEY, chronicler of 
 the memorable Lives of the Six yoemen of the 
 West, Jack of Newberry, the Gentle Craft, etc., 
 and such like honest men omitted by Stow, Hollin-
 
 Introduction 
 
 shed, Grafton, Halle, Froissart, and all the rest of 
 those well-deserving writers. 
 
 "But I was given since to understand, your 
 late General, Thomas, died poorly (as ye all must 
 do!) and was honestly buried, which is much to be 
 doubted of some of you !" 
 
 The morris-dance had been completed March 
 nth, 1600. Deloney had written ballads upon it, 
 and Kemp's remonstrance was published in April. 
 This goes to show that Deloney's death occurred 
 about March, 1600. He seems to have lived the 
 life of an honest handicraftsman at least until 1596; 
 and the tone of the few contemporary references 
 appears distinctly respectful. In "Have with you 
 to Saffron Walden" Nash says: 
 
 '■^H eliding Dicke (this is our ages Albumazar) 
 '^' ■ is a temporist that hath faith inough for all Relig- 
 
 ions, even as 'Thomas Deloney the balleting Silke- 
 weauer, hath rime inough for all myracles, and wit 
 to make a Garland of goodwill more than the prem- 
 isses, with an Epistle of Momus and Zoylus; whereas 
 his Muse, from the first peeping foorth, hath stood 
 at Livery at an Ale-house wispe, never exceeding a 
 penny a quart, day nor night; and this deare yeare, 
 together with the silencing of his loombes, scarce 
 that; he being strained to betake him to carded ale: 
 whence it proceedeth that since Candlemas^ or his
 
 Thomas of Reading 
 
 ligge of lohn for the Kingy not one merrie DIttie 
 will come from him, but The Thunderbolt against 
 Swearers^ Repent^ England^ repent^ and The Strange 
 judgements of God^ 
 
 What we know of Deloney's education is 
 easily gathered from his works. He had managed 
 to learn French and Latin, the former probably by 
 association with London silk-weavers, many of 
 whom were lately come from Belgium, the latter we 
 know not how. Although the observation of life 
 furnished him with most of his materials, the in- 
 fluence of his reading is sometimes clearly seen: the 
 story of Margaret of the Lily-white Hand is an ex- 
 ample. Dr. Lange, in his introduction to The Gen- 
 tle Craft says: — 
 
 "His book-chest, so to speak, contained at one paiaestra xviii 
 time or another, by purchase or loan, — a copy of the 
 Bible, one including the Apocrypha, and probably 
 diverse Reformation tracts and treatises; lives of 
 saints; a goodly row of historians, most prominent 
 among them those who were not, to use Harvey's 
 phrase, — 'the painfullest chroniclers', William of 
 Malmesbury, Geoffrey of Monmouth, Malory, 
 Fabyan, Grafton; a book or books of travel of the 
 Sir John Maundeville order; biographical accounts 
 of local celebrities, such as the Life and Pranks of 
 Long Meg of Westminster; pamphlets detailing con-
 
 Introduction 
 
 temporary sensations, the murder of Mr. Page of 
 Plymouth for instance; jest-books'; the prose tale of 
 Sir Guy of Warwick and other versions of old court 
 epics; a bundle of broadsides and manuscript copies 
 of 'merry pranks', 'ditties', and ballads old and new; 
 the fiction of the day — 'most pleasant histories'; 
 Lyly's Euphues, Sidney's Arcadia, and their suc- 
 cessors, possibly also a copy of Lazarillo." 
 
 III. 
 
 Deloney's title of 'the great ballet-maker' rests 
 upon the collections, the Garland of Good Will and 
 the Strange Histories. Deloney's poetry is some- 
 times reflective, but the strong tendency to realism 
 which runs through all his work prevents personal 
 analysis of passion and lyric warmth of treatment. 
 The sources of his ballads are mainly traditionary 
 and the feelings expressed are chiefly the patriotism, 
 loyalty, and conventional morality of the lower mid- 
 dle classes. Ethics, humor, and taste are all such 
 as were concordant with his audience; and in the 
 journalistic ballads which were his first work, and 
 which he produced all during his life, the same 
 attention is paid to the demands of his hearers. 
 
 The change from ballads to stories seems to have 
 been the result of a natural expansion; and, if we
 
 Thomas of Reading 
 
 may judge from the ever-increasing mastery of form 
 and dialogue, Deloney would ultimately have become 
 a playwright. As it was he had influence upon the 
 history of English comedy both in the materials he 
 furnished and in showing the popularity of domestic 
 themes. Thomas of Reading, Jack of Newberry, 
 and The Gentle Craft show an increasing sense of 
 unity and ability to weave the parts of a novel into 
 one organic whole. In Thomas of Reading the 
 hand of the ballad-writer is plainly seen; many of its 
 chapters are in the short-story form and could easily 
 be transcribed into ballads; the unity of the whole is 
 sacrificed to unity in its parts, characters drop out of 
 sight, are remembered with difficulty, and an artificial 
 summing up is necessary in the last chapter. Simon 
 Eyre, on the other hand, which is one of the tales in 
 The Gentle Craft, by dialogue moves rapidly and 
 equally through all its parts to a natural climax: if 
 not a play itself it was ready material for a play- 
 wright, as Dekker found. 
 
 In the substance of his Novels we see Deloney 
 again catering to his bourgeois readers, for he ad- 
 dresses his stories to weavers and shoemakers. Their 
 love of romance was partly fed by the introduction 
 of characters drawn from tales of chivalry, such as 
 Margaret of the Lily-white Hand, and still more by 
 the choice of heroes. Instead of noble knights or
 
 Introduction 
 
 wandering rogues Deloney wrote of honest work- 
 men; and, thanks to his reahsm in details, any cob- 
 bler at his last might unquestioningly dream of 
 following Simon Eyre, and himself one day becom- 
 ing Lord Mayor of London. Democracy was 
 glorified in the triumphs of Deloney's heroes. 
 
 The style is remarkably good, considering the 
 period in which it was written. Perhaps ballad-writing 
 had helped Deloney's eye for details; certain it is 
 that many of his descriptions are really picturesque 
 and give a very distinct idea of character. Occa- 
 sionally the riming instinct overcomes him and he 
 introduces a character who has the habit of bursting 
 into verse (Round Robin, in The Gentle Craft, is 
 the worst offender); but usually the fitness of things 
 is well observed. The "jest" element is kept within 
 bounds; and dialect — which Deloney was one of the 
 first to employ — is used only when it is natural to 
 the speaker, and never introduced for its own sake. 
 It is only in speaking of characters supposed to 
 represent high life that Deloney falls into the ridicu- 
 lous Euphuism then fashionable; and time has lent 
 even this a curious interest. Elsewhere he is a 
 strict and truthful realist, deserving as much credit 
 for this, perhaps, as for his popularization of do- 
 mestic themes, or for his position as the first writer 
 of English historical novels.
 
 THOMAS 
 
 OF 
 
 READING: 
 
 OR, 
 
 The iixe worthie Yeomen 
 of the West. 
 
 Now the fixth time corrected and enlarged 
 By T. D. 
 
 LONDON, 
 
 Printed by E l i z. A l l d e for 
 
 Robert Bird. 
 
 16 32.
 
 N the Dayes of King Henry 
 the First, who was the first 
 King that instituted the 
 High Court of Parliament, 
 there lived nine Men, which 
 for the Trade of Clothing, 
 were famous thorowout all 
 England. Which Art in those Dayes was held 
 in high Reputation, both in respect of the great 
 Riches that thereby was gotten, as also of the 
 Benefit it brought to the whole Common-wealth: 
 the younger Sons of Knights and Gentlemen, 
 to whom their Fathers would leave no Lands, 
 were most commonly preferred to learne this 
 Trade, to the End, that thereby they might live 
 in good Estate, and drive forth their dayes in 
 Prosperity. 
 
 Among all Crafts this was the onely Chiefe, 
 for that it was the greatest Merchandize, by the 
 which our Country became famous thorowout all 
 Nations. And it was verily thought, that the one 
 Halfe the People in the Land lived in those Dayes 
 
 therby,
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 therby, and in such good Sort, that in the Com- 
 mon-wealth there were few or no Beggers at alh 
 poore People, whom God lightly blessed with most 
 Children, did by Meanes of this Occupation so order 
 them, that by the Time that they were come to be 
 five or seven Yeeres of Age, they were able to get 
 their owne Bread: Idlenesse was then banished our 
 Coast, so that it was a rare Thing to heare of a 
 Thiefe in those Dayes. Therefore it was not with- 
 out Cause that Clothiers were then both honoured 
 and loved, among whom these nine Persons in this 
 Kings Dayes were of great Credit, viz. T^ho. Cole 
 of Reading, Gray of Glocester, Sutton of Salisburie, 
 Fitxallan of Worcester, (commonly called William 
 of Worcester) Tom Dove of Excester, and Simon of 
 South-hampton, alias Supbroth: who were by the 
 King called, The Sixe worthy Husbands of the 
 West. Then were there Three living in the North, 
 that is to say, Cutbert of Kendall, Hodgekins of 
 Hallifax, & Martin Byram of Manchester. Every 
 one of these kept a great Number of Servants at 
 Worke, Spinners, Carders, Weavers, Fullers, Dyers, 
 Sheeremen, and Rowers, to the great Admiration of 
 all those that came into their Houses to behold 
 them. 
 
 Now you shall understand, those gallant 
 
 Clothiers,
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Clothiers, by Reason of their dwelHng Places, sep- 
 arated themselves in three severall Companies: Gray 
 of Glocester, William of Worcester, and Thomas 
 of Reading, because their Journey to London was 
 all one Way, they conversed commonly together: 
 And Dove of Excester, Sutton of Salisburie, and 
 Simon of South-hampton, they in like Sort kept 
 Company the one with the other, meeting ever all 
 together at Bazingstoke: and the three Northerne 
 Clothiers did the like, who commonly did not meet 
 till they came to Bosomes Inne in London. 
 
 Moreover, for the Love and Delight these 
 Westerne Men had in each others Companie, they 
 did so provide, that their Waines and themselves 
 would ever meet upon one Day in London at Jar- 
 rats Hall, surnamed the Gyant, for that hee sur- 
 passed all other Men of that Age, both in Stature 
 & Strength: whose Merriments and memorable 
 Deeds I will set downe unto you in this following 
 Discourse.
 
 How King Henry sought the Favour 
 of all his Subjects, especially of the 
 Clothiers.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 How King Henry sought the Favour of all his 
 Subjects^ especially of the Clothiers. 
 
 THIS King Henry, who for his great Learning 
 and Wisedome was called Beauclarke, beeing 
 the third Son to the renowned Conquerour: 
 after the Death of his Brother William Ruffus, tooke 
 upon him the Government of this Land, in the 
 Absence of his second Brother Robert Duke of 
 Normandie, who at this time was at Wars amongst 
 the Infidels, and was chosen King of Jerusalem, the 
 which he, for the Love he bare to his owne Coun- 
 try, refused, and with great Honour returned from 
 the Holy Land; of whose comming when King 
 Henry understood, knowing hee would make Claime 
 to the Crowne, sought by all Meanes possible to 
 winne the good Will of his Nobility, and to get 
 the Favour of the Commons by Courtesie: for the 
 obtaining whereof hee did them many Favours, 
 thereby the better to strengthen himselfe against 
 his Brother. 
 
 It 
 
 7
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 It chanced on a Time, as he, with one of his 
 Sonnes, and Divers of his NobiHtie, rode from 
 London towards Wales, to appease the Fury of the 
 Welshmen, which then began to raise themselves in 
 Armes against his Authority, that he met with a 
 great Number of Waines loaden with Cloth, com- 
 ming to London, and seeing them still drive one 
 after another so many together, demanded whose 
 they were: the Waine-men answered in this Sort: 
 Coles of Reading (quoth they.) Then by and by 
 the King asked another, saying. Whose Cloth is all 
 this? Old Coles^ quoth hee: and againe anon after 
 he asked the same Question to others, & still they 
 answered. Old Coles. And it is to be remembred, 
 that the King met them in such a Place so narrow 
 and streight, that hee with the Rest of his Traine, 
 were faine to stand as close to the Hedge, whilest 
 the Carts passed by, the which at that Time being 
 in Number above Two Hundred, was neere hand 
 an Houre ere the King could get Roome to be 
 gone: so that by his long Stay, he began to be dis- 
 pleased, although the Admiration of that Sight did 
 much qualifie his Furie; but breaking out in Dis- 
 content, by Reason of his Stav, he said, I thought 
 Old Cole had got a Commission for all the Carts in 
 the Country to cary his Cloth. And how if he 
 
 have 
 8
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 have (quoth one of the Wainmen) doth that grieve 
 you good Sir? Yes, good Sir, said our King, what 
 say you to that ? The Fellow seeing the King (in 
 asking the Question) to bend his Browes, though he 
 knew not what he was, yet being abasht, he answered 
 thus: Why Sir, if you be angry, no body can hin- 
 der you; for possible Sir, you have Anger at Com- 
 mandement. The King seeing him in uttering of 
 his Words to quiver and quake, laughed heartily at 
 him, as well in respect of his simple Answere, as at 
 his Feare: and so soone after the last Wain went 
 by, which gave present Passage unto him and his 
 Nobles: and thereupon entring into Communication 
 of the Commoditie of Cloathing, the King gave 
 Order at his Home Returne, to have Old Cole 
 brought before his Majestie, to the Intent he might 
 have Conference with him, noting him to be a Sub- 
 ject of great Ability: but by that Time he came 
 within a Mile of Staines, he met another Company 
 of Waines, in like Sort laden with Cloth, whereby 
 the King was driven into further Admiration: and 
 demanding whose they were, answere was made in 
 this Sort: They be Good-man Suttons of Salisbury, 
 good Sir; and by that Time a Score of them were 
 past, he asked againe, saying: whose are these? 
 Suttons of Salisburie, qd. they, and so still, as often 
 
 as
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 as the King asked that Question, they answered, 
 Suttons of SaHsburie. God send me many such 
 Suttons, said the king. And thus the farther he 
 travelled Westward, more Waines and more he met 
 continually: upon which Occasion he said to his 
 Nobles, That it would never grieve a King to die 
 for the Defence of a fertile Countrie and faithful 
 Subjects, I alwaves thought (quoth he) that Eng- 
 lands Valour was more than her Wealth, yet now I 
 see her Wealth sufficient to maintaine her Valour, 
 which I will seeke to cherish in all I may, and with 
 my Sword keepe my selfe in Possession of that I 
 have, Kings and Lovers can brooke no Partners: 
 and therefore let my Brother Robert thinke, that 
 although hee was Heire to England by Birth, yet I 
 am King by Possession. All his Favourers I must 
 account my Foes, and will serve them as I did the 
 ungratefull Earle of Shrewsbury, whose Lands I 
 have seized, and banisht his Body. But now we 
 will leave the King to his Journey into Wales, and 
 waiting his Home Returne, in the meane Time tell 
 you the Meeting of these jolly Clothiers at London. 
 
 ID
 
 How William of Worcester, Gray of 
 Glocester, and Old Cole of Reading, 
 met altogether at Reading, and of 
 their Communication by the Way as 
 they rode to London.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 How William of Worcester, Gray of Glocester, and 
 Old Cole of Reading, met altogether at Reading, 
 and of their Communication by the Way as they 
 rode to London. 
 
 WHEN Gray of Glocester, and William of 
 Worcester were come to Reading, ac- 
 cording to their Custome, they alwayes 
 called old Cole to have his Companie to London, 
 who also duely attended their Comming, hav- 
 ing provided a good Breakefast for them: 
 and when they had well refreshed themselves, 
 they tooke their Horses and rode on towards 
 the Cittie: and in their Journey William of Worces- 
 ter asked them if they had not heard of the Earle 
 of Moraigne his Escape out of the Land? What 
 is he fled? qd. Gray. I muse much at this Mat- 
 ter, being in such great Regard with the King as he 
 was: but I pray you, doe you not know the Cause 
 of his going? qd. Cole. The common Report, 
 
 quoth 
 13
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 quoth Gray\ is this, that the covetous Earle, who 
 through a greedy Desire, never left begging of the 
 King for one Thing or other, and his Request 
 being now denied him, of meere Obstinacy and wil- 
 full Frowardnesse, hath banished himselfe out of 
 the Land, & quite forsaken the Country of Corn- 
 wall, having made a Vow never to set Foote within 
 England againe, and, as Report goeth, he with the 
 late banisht Earl of Shrewsbury, havejoyned them- 
 selves with Robert Duke of Normandy, against the 
 King, the which Action of theirs hath inflamed the 
 King's Wrath, that their Ladies with their Children 
 are quite turned out of Doores succourlesse and 
 friendlesse, so that it is told me, they wander up 
 and downe the Country like forlorne People, and 
 although many doe pitie them, yet few doe releeve 
 them. 
 
 A lamentable Hearing, qd. William of Worces- 
 ter, & with that casting their Eyes aside, they 
 espyed Tom Dove with the Rest of his Companions 
 come riding to meete them, who as soone as they 
 were come thither, fell into such pleasant Dis- 
 courses, as did shorten the long Way they had to 
 Colebroke, where alwayes at their comming towards 
 London they dined; and being once entred into 
 their Inne, according to olde Custome, good Cheere 
 
 was 
 
 14
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 was provided for them: for these Clothiers were the 
 chiefest Guests that travailed along the Way: and 
 this was as sure as an Act of Parliament, that ^om 
 Dove could not digest his Meat without musicke, 
 nor drinke Wine without women, so that his 
 Hostesse being a merry Wench, would oftentimes 
 call in Two or Three of her Neighbours Wives to 
 keepe him Company, where, ere they parted, they 
 were made as pleasant as Pies. And this being a 
 continuall Custome amongst them when they came 
 thither, at length the Womens Husbands beganne 
 to take Exceptions at their Wives going thither: 
 whereupon great Controversie grew betweene them, 
 in such Sort, that when they were most restrained, 
 then they had most Desire to worke their Wills: 
 now gip (quoth they) must we be so tyed to our 
 Taske, that wee may not drinke with our Friends? 
 fie, fie, upon these yellow Hose; will no other Die 
 serve your Turne? have wee thus long bin your 
 Wives, and doe you now mistrust us? verily you 
 eate too much Salt, and that makes you grow 
 cholericke, badde Livers judge all Others the like, 
 but in Faith you shall not bridle us so like Asses, 
 but wee will goe to our Friends, when we are sent 
 for, and doe you what you can. Well, quoth their 
 Husbands, if you be so headstrong, we will tame 
 
 you: 
 15
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 you: it is the Duty of honest Women to obey their 
 Husbands Sayings. And of honest Men (quoth 
 they) to thinke well of their Wives; but who doe 
 sooner impeach their Credit, then their Husbands 
 charging them, if they doe but smile, that they are 
 subtill; and if they doe but winke, they account 
 them wily: if sad of Countenance, then sullen: if 
 they be froward, then they are counted Shrewes: and 
 sheepish if they bee gentle: if a Woman keepe 
 her House, then you will say shee is melancholy, if 
 shee walke abroade, then you call her a Gadder; a 
 Puritane, if she be precise; and a Wanton, if shee 
 be pleasant: so there is no Woman in the world 
 that knowes how to please you: that we thinke our- 
 selves accurst to be married Wives, living with so 
 many Woes. These Men, of whose Company you 
 forewarne us, are (for ought that we ever saw) both 
 honest and courteous, and in Wealth farre beyond 
 yourselves: then what Reason is there, why we 
 should restraine to visit them? is their Good-will so 
 much to be requited with Scorne, that their Cost 
 may not be countervailed with our Company? if a 
 Woman be disposed to play light of Love, alas, 
 alas, doe you thinke that you can prevent her? 
 Nay, wee will abide by it, that the Restraint of 
 Liberty inforceth Women to be lewd: for where a 
 
 Woman 
 i6
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Woman cannot be trusted, she cannot thinke her- 
 selfe beloved, and if not beloved, what Cause hath 
 she to care for such a One? therefore. Husbands, 
 refDrme your Opinions, and doe not worke your 
 owne Woes, with our Discredit. The Clothiers, we 
 tell you, are jolly Fellowes, and but in respect of 
 our Courtesie, they would scorne our Company. 
 
 The Men hearing their Wives so well to plead 
 for themselves, knew not how to answer, but said, 
 they would put the Burden on their Consciences, if 
 they deale unjustly with them, and so left them to 
 their owne Wills The Women having thus con- 
 quered their Husbands Conceits, would not leave 
 the Favour of their Friends for Frownes, and as 
 above the Rest Tom Dove was the most pleas- 
 antest, so was he had in most Reputation with the 
 Women, who for his Sake made this Song: 
 
 Welcome to Towne, 'Torn Dove^ Tom Dove^ 
 
 The merriest Man alive. 
 
 Thy Company still we love, we love, 
 
 God grant thee well to thrive. 
 
 And never will we depart from thee. 
 
 For better or worse, my Joy, 
 
 For thou shalt still have our good Will, 
 
 Gods Blessing on my sweet Boy. 
 
 This 
 >7
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 This Song went up and downe through the 
 whole Country, and at length became a Dance 
 among the common Sort, so that Tom Dove, for his 
 Mirth and good Fellowship, was famous in every 
 Place. Now when they came to London, they 
 were welcome to the vast Jarrat the Gyant, & as 
 soone as they were alighted, they were saluted by 
 the Merchants, who waited their Comming thither, 
 and alwayes prepared for them a costly Supper, 
 where they commonly made their Bargaine, and 
 upon every Bargaine made, they still used to send 
 some Tokens to the Clothiers Wives. The next 
 Morning they went to the Hall, where they met 
 the Northerne Clothiers, who greeted one another 
 in this Sort. What, my Masters of the West, well 
 met: what Cheere? what Cheere? Even the best 
 Cheere our Merchants could make us, (quoth 
 Gray^ Then you could not chuse but fare well, 
 quoth Hodgekins: And you be weary of our Com- 
 pany, adieu, quoth Sutton: Not so, said Martin, but 
 shall wee not have a Game ere wee goe? Yes faith 
 for an Hundred Pounds. Well said, old Cole, said 
 they: and with that Cole and Gray went to the Dice 
 with Martin and Hodgekins; and the Dice running 
 on Hodgekins side. Coles money began to waste. 
 Now by the Masse, quoth Cole, my Money 
 
 shrinkes
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 shrinkes as bad as Northerne Cloth. When they 
 had played long, Gray stept to it, and recovered 
 againe the Money that Cole had lost. But while 
 they were thus playing, the Rest being delighted in 
 contrary Matters, every Man satisfied his owne 
 Humour. 
 
 Tom Dove called for Musicke, William of 
 Worcester for Wine, Sutton set his Delight in hear- 
 ing Merry Tales, Simon of South-hampton got him 
 into the Kitchen, and to the Pottage Pot he goes, 
 for he esteemed more a Messe of Pottage, than of 
 a Venizon Pasty. Now, sir, Cutbert of Kendall was 
 of an other Mind, for no Meate pleased him so well 
 as Mutton, such as was laced in a red Petticoate. 
 And you shall understand, that alwayes when they 
 went to Dice, they got into Bosomes Inne; which 
 was so called of his Name that kept it, who being a 
 foule Sloven, went always with his Nose in his 
 Bosome, and one Hand in his Pocket, the other on 
 his StafFe, figuring forth a Description of cold Win- 
 ter, for he always wore two Coates, two Caps, two 
 or three Paire of Stockings, and a high Pair of 
 Shooes, over the which he drew on a great Pair of 
 lined Slippers, and yet would oft complaine of Cold: 
 wherefore of all men generally he was called Old 
 Bosome, and his House Bosomes Inne. 
 
 This 
 '9
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 This Lump of cold Ice had lately married a 
 young Wife, who was as wily as she was wanton, 
 and in her Company did Cutbert onely delight, and 
 the better to make Passage to his Love, he would 
 often thus commune with her: I muse, good Wife, 
 quoth he. Good Wife? quoth she: Verily Sir, in 
 mine Opinion, there is none good but God, and 
 therefore call me Mistresse. Then, said Cutbert^ 
 Faire Mistris, I have often mused, that you being 
 a proper Woman, could find in your Heart for to 
 match with such a greazie Carle as this, an evill 
 mannered Mate, a foule Lump of Kitchen-Stuffe, 
 and such a One as is indeede a Scorne of Men; how 
 can you like him that all Women mislikes; or love 
 such a loathsome Creature? me thinks verily it 
 should grieve you to lend him a Kisse, much more 
 to lie with him. Indeed, Sir, quoth she, I had but 
 hard Fortune in this Respect, but my Friends 
 would have it so, and truly my Liking and my 
 Love toward him are alike, he never had the one, 
 nor never shall get the other: yet I may say to you, 
 Before I married him, there were divers proper 
 young Men that were Sutors unto me, who loved 
 mee as their Lives, and glad was he that could get 
 my Company; those were my golden Dayes, 
 wherein my Pleasure abounded, but these Yeeres of 
 
 Care
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Care and Griefe, wherein my Sorrowes exceede. 
 Now no Man regards mee, no Man cares for me, 
 and albeit in secret they might beare me Good-will, 
 yet who dares shew it? and this is a double Griefe, 
 he carries over me so jealous a Minde, that I can- 
 not looke at a Man, but presently he accuseth me 
 of Inconstancy, although (I protest) without Cause. 
 And in troth, qd. Cutbert, he should have 
 Cause to complaine for somewhat, were I as you. 
 As sure as 1 live, and so he shall, quoth she, if he 
 doe not change his Byas. Cutbert hearing her say 
 so, began to grow further in requesting her Favour, 
 wishing he might be her Servant and secret Friend, 
 and the better to obtaine his Desire, he gave her 
 divers Gifts, insomuch that she began Something to 
 listen unto him: and albeit she liked well of his 
 Speeches, yet would she blame him, and take him 
 up very short sometimes for the same, till in the 
 End, Cutbert shewed himselfe to be desperate, say- 
 ing hee would drowne himselfe rather then live in 
 her Disdaine. O my sweet Heart not so, quoth 
 shee, God forbid I should be the Death of any 
 Man: Comfort thy selfe, kind Cutbert^ and take 
 this Kisse in Token of further Kindnesse, and if 
 thou wilt have my Favour, thou must be wise and 
 circumspect, and in my Husbands Sight I would 
 
 alwayes
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 alwayes have thee to find Fault with my Doings, 
 blame my bad Huswifries, dispraise my Person, and 
 take Exceptions at every Thing, whereby he will 
 be as well pleased, as Simon of South-hampton with 
 a Messe of Pottage. 
 
 Deare Mistresse, quoth he, 1 will fulfill your 
 Charge to the uttermost, so that you will not take 
 my Jest in earnest. Shee answered. Thy foulest 
 Speeches I will esteeme the fairest, and take every 
 Dispraise to be a Praise from thee, turning each 
 Word to the contrary : and so for this Time adieu, 
 good Cutb. for Supper Time drawes neere, & it is 
 meet for me to looke for my Meat. With that 
 down comes old Bosome, calling his Wife, saying, 
 Ho, Winifredy is Supper ready ? they have done 
 playing above : therefore let the Chamberlaine 
 cover the Table. By & by Husband, qd. she, 
 it shall be done straight-way. How now my Mas- 
 ters, who wins ? qd. Cutbert. Our money walkes 
 to the West, qd. Martin : Cole hath woone 40 
 Pounds of me, and Gray hath gotten well : the 
 best is, qd. Hodgekins^ they will pay for our 
 Supper : then let us have good Store of Sacke, 
 qd, Sutton. Content, said Cole^ for I promise you, 
 1 strive not to grow rich by Dice-playing, there- 
 fore call for what you will, I will pay for all. 
 
 Yea,
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Yea, said Simon ! Chamberlaine, I pray thee bring 
 a whole Bottle of Pottage for me. Now Tom 
 Dove had all the Fiddlers at a Becke of his Finger, 
 which follow him up and down the City, as dili- 
 gent as little Chickens after a Hen, and made a 
 Vow, that there should want no Musicke. And 
 at that Time there lived in London a Musician 
 of great Reputation, named Reior^ who kept his 
 Servants in such costly Garments, that they might 
 seeme to come before any Prince. Their Coates 
 were all of one Colour ; and it is said, that after- 
 ward the Nobility of this Land, noting it for a 
 seemely Sight, used in like Maner to keepe their 
 Men all in one Livery. This Reior was the most 
 skillfullest Musician that lived at that Time, whose 
 Wealth was very great, so that all the Instruments 
 whereon his Servants plaid, were richly garnished 
 with Studdes of Silver, and some Gold ; the Bowes 
 belonging to their Violines were all likewise of 
 pure Silver. Hee was also for his Wisedome 
 called to great Office in the City, who also builded 
 (at his owne Coste) the Priory & Hospital of 
 S. Bartholomew in Smithfield. His Servants be- 
 ing the best Consorts in the City, were by Tom 
 Dove appointed to play before the Young Princes. 
 Then supper being brought to the Boord, they 
 
 all 
 23
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 all sat down, and by and by after comes up their 
 Oast, who tooke his Place among them : and 
 anon after, the Good-wife in a red Peticote & a 
 Wastcoate, comes among them as white as a 
 Lilly, saying, My Masters, you are welcome, I 
 pray you be merry. Thus falling close to their 
 Meate, when they had well fed, they found Leys- 
 ure to tallce one with another : at what time Cutb. 
 began thus to finde Fault, Ywis, my Oast, quoth 
 he, you have a wise Huswife to your Wife, heere is 
 Meate drest of a new Fashion ? God sends Meate, 
 and the Devill sends Cooks. Why what ailes the 
 Meate, quoth she, serves it not your Turnes ? 
 better Men then your selfe are content withall, 
 but a paultry Companion is ever worst to please. 
 Away, you sluttish thing, qd. Cutbert^ your Hus- 
 band hath a sweet Jewell of you : I marvell such a 
 grave ancient Man would match himselfe with 
 such a young Giglot, that hath as much Hand- 
 somenes in her, as good Huswifry, which is just 
 nothing at all. Well, Sir, said shee, in regard of my 
 Husbands Presence, I am loth to aggravate Anger, 
 otherwise I would tell thee thy owne. Goe to, 
 what needs all this, quoth the Company? in 
 good Faith, Cutberty you are to blame, you find 
 Fault where none is. Tush, I must speake my 
 
 Mind, 
 24
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Mind, quoth Cutbert^ I cannot dissemble, I 
 
 trust the good Man thinkes never the worse of 
 
 me : so I have his good Will, what the foule 
 
 Evill care I for his Wifes. Enough, quoth Tom 
 
 Dove, let us with Musicke remove these Brabbles, 
 
 we meane to be merry, and not melancholy. Then, 
 
 said old Cole, Now trust me, Cutbert, we will have 
 
 your Oastesse and you Friends ere we part : here. 
 
 Woman I drinke to you, and regard not his 
 
 Words, for he is babbling wheresoever he comes. 
 
 Quoth the Woman, Nothing grieves me so much, 
 
 as that hee should thus openly checke me : if he 
 
 had found any Thing amisse, he might have spied 
 
 a better Time to tell mee of it than nowe, ywis 
 
 he need not thrust my bad Huswifrie into my 
 
 Husbands Head, I live not so quietly with him, 
 
 God wot : and with that she wept. Come Cut- 
 
 berty quoth they, drinke to her, and shake Hands 
 
 and be Friends. Come on, you puling Baggage, 
 
 quoth he, I drinke to you, here will you pledge 
 
 mee and shake Hands.'' No, (quoth shee) I will 
 
 see thee choackt first, shake Hands with thee .? 
 
 I will shake Hands with the Devill as soon. Goe 
 
 to, said her Husband, you shall shake Hands with 
 
 him then: If you will not shake Hands, He 
 
 shake you : what, you young Huswife ? Well, 
 
 Husband, 
 25
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 Husband, said she, it becomes a Woman to obey 
 her Husband, in regard whereof, I drink to him. 
 Thats well said, quoth the Company: & so she 
 tooke her Leave & went downe. And within a 
 while after they paid the Shot, and departed thence 
 to Jarrats Hall, where they went to their Lodging; 
 and the next Day they tooke their Way homeward 
 all together: and coming to Colebrooke, they tooke 
 up their Lodging : and it was Coles custome to 
 deliver his Money to the Goodwife of the House 
 to keep it till Morning, which in the End turned 
 to his utter Destruction, as hereafter shall be 
 shewed. 
 
 26
 
 How Grays Wife of Glocester, with 
 One or Two more of her Neighbours, 
 went to the Faire, where Servants 
 came to be hired, & how she tooke 
 the Earle of Shrewsburies Daughter 
 into her Service.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 How Grays Wife of Glocesier, with One or Two 
 more of her Neighbours, went to the Faire, where 
 Servants came to be hired, 6f how she tooke the 
 Earle of Shrewsburies Daughter into her Service. 
 
 IT was wont to be an old Custome in Glocester- 
 shire, that at a certaine Time in the Yeere, 
 
 all such young Men and Maidens as were out 
 of Service, resorted to a Faire that was kept neere 
 Glocester, there to be ready for any that would 
 come to hire them, the young Men stood all on a 
 Row on the one Side, and the Maidens on the 
 other. It came to passe, that the Earle of 
 Shrewburies Daughter, whose Father was lately 
 banished, being driven into great Distresse, and 
 weary with Travell, as one whose delicate Life was 
 never used to such Toyle, sate her downe upon 
 the High-way Side, making this Lamentation: 
 
 O false and deceitful World! quoth she; who 
 is in thee that wishes not to be rid of thee 
 
 for 
 29
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 for thy Extremities are great? Thou art deceitful 
 to all, and trusty to none. Fortuner is thy Treas- 
 urer, who is like thy selfe, wavering and unconstant, 
 she setteth up Tyrants, beateth downe Kings; 
 giveth Shame to some, and Renowne to others: 
 Fortune giveth these Evils, and we see it not: she 
 treades us under Foot, and we know it not: she 
 speakes in our Eares, and we heare her not: she 
 cries aloud, and we understand her not: And why? 
 because we know her not, until Misery doth make 
 her manifest. 
 
 Ah, my dear Father, well maist thou doe. Of 
 all Misfortunes it is most unhappy to be fortunate: 
 and by this Misfortune came my Fall. Was ever 
 good Lady brought to this Extremity? What is 
 become of my rare Jewels, my rich Array, my 
 sumptuous Fare, my waiting Servants, my many 
 Friends, and all my vaine Pleasures? my Pleasure is 
 banisht by Displeasure, my Friends fled like Foes, 
 my Servants gone, my Feasting turned to Fasting, 
 my rich Array consumed to Ragges, and my Jewels 
 decke out my chiefest Enemies: therefore of all 
 Things the meanest State is best. Poverty with 
 Surety, is better than Honour mixed with Feare: 
 seeing God hath allotted me to this Misery of Life, 
 I will frame my Heart to embrace Humility, and 
 
 carry 
 3°
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 carry a Mind answerable to my Misfortunes: fie 
 on this vaine Title of Ladyship, how little doth it 
 availe the distressed? No, no, I must therefore 
 forget my Birth and Parentage, and think no more 
 on my Fathers House. Where I was wont to bee 
 served, now will I learne to serve, and plaine Meg 
 shall be my Name; good Lord grant 1 may get a 
 good Service, nay any Service shall serve, where I 
 may have Meat, Drinke, and Apparell. She had 
 no sooner spoken these Words, but she spied a 
 Couple of Maidens more comming towards her, 
 who were going to the Faire; and bidding her good 
 Morrow, asked her if she went to the Faire. Yea, 
 mary, qd. she, I am a poore Mans Child that is 
 out of Service, and I heare that at the Statute, 
 Folkes doe come of Purpose to hire Servants. 
 True it is, said the Maidens, and thither goe we 
 for the same Purpose, and would be glad of your 
 Company. With a good Will, and I am right glad 
 of yours, said she, beseeching you, good Maidens, 
 you will doe me the Favour, to tell me what Service 
 were best for me: for the more too blame my Par- 
 ents, they would never put me forth to know any 
 Thing. Why what can you doe? (quoth the Maid- 
 ens) can you brew and bake, make Butter and 
 Cheese, and reape Corne well? No verily, said 
 
 Margaret^ 
 31
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 Margaret, but I would be right glad to learne to 
 doe any Thing whatsoever it be. If you could spin 
 or card, said another, you might do excellent well 
 with a Clothier, for they are the best Services that 
 I know; there you shall be sure to fare well, and 
 so live merrily. 
 
 Then Margaret wept, saying, alas, what shall I 
 doe? I was never brought up to these Things. 
 What, can you doe nothing? quoth they. No 
 truly (quoth she) that is good for any Thing, but I 
 can read and write, and sowe, some Skill I have in 
 my Needle, and a little on my Lute: but this, I 
 see, will profit me Nothing. Good Lord, quoth 
 they, are you bookish? wee did never heare of a 
 Maide before that could reade and write. And 
 although you can doe no other Thing, yet possible 
 you may get a Service, if you can behave your selfe 
 manerly. I pray you, qd. another, seeing you are 
 bookish, will you doe so much as to reade a Love- 
 Letter that is sent me? for I was at a Friends of 
 mine with it, and he was not at Home, and so I 
 know not what is in it. I pray you let me see it, 
 quoth Margaret, and I will shew you. Whereupon 
 she readeth as followeth. 
 
 O Jennyy 
 
 32
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 O Jenny, my Joy, I die for thy Love, 
 And now I heare say that thou dost remove: 
 And therefore, Jenny, I pray thee recite, 
 Where shall I meete thee soone at Night. 
 
 For why, with my Master no more will I stay, 
 But for thy Love I will runne away: 
 
 Jenny, Jenny, thou puttest me to paine. 
 That thou no longer wilt here remaine. 
 
 1 will weare out my Shooes of Neats- Leather, 
 But thou and I will meete together, 
 
 And in spight of Fortune, Rat, or Mouse, 
 We will dwell together in one House. 
 
 For who doth not Esteeme of thee, 
 Shall have no Service done of me: 
 Therefore, good Jenny, have a Care, 
 To meete poore Fragment at the Faire. 
 
 Now, alas, good Soule (quoth Jenny) I think 
 he be the kindest young Man in the World. The 
 Rest answered, that he seemed no lesse, and surely 
 it appeareth that he is a pretty witty Fellow, quoth 
 one of them, how finely hee hath written his Letter 
 in Rime; trust me, I will give you a good Thing, 
 
 and 
 33
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 and let me have a Copy of it to send to my 
 Sweetheart: that you shall with all my Heart: 
 & so comming to the Faire, they tooke up their 
 Standing. 
 
 Within a while after, Goodwife Gray of Gloces- 
 ter came thither to store her selfe of divers Com- 
 modities: and when she had bought what she 
 would, she told her Neighbour she had great Need 
 of a Maid-Servant or Twaine: therefore, qd. she: 
 good Neighbour goe with me, and let me have 
 your Opinion. With a good Will, said her Neigh- 
 bour, and together they went, and looking and 
 viewing the Maidens over, she tooke speciall 
 Notice of Margaret. Beleeve me, quoth shee, 
 there stands a very proper Maiden, and one of a 
 modest and comely Countenance. Verily, said her 
 Neighbour, so she is, as ever I looket upon. 
 
 The Maiden seeing them to view her so well, 
 was so abashed, that a scarlet Colour overspread 
 her lilly Cheekes, which the Woman perceiving, 
 came unto her, and asked if she were willing to 
 serve. The Maid with a low Curtesie, and a most 
 gentle Speech, answered, it was the onely Cause of 
 her comming. Can you spinne or card? said Good- 
 wife Gray Truly, Dame, said she, though my 
 Cunning therein be but small, my Good-will to 
 
 learne 
 34
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 learne is great, and I trust my Diligence shall con- 
 tent you. What Wages will you take? quoth 
 Good-wife Gray. I will referre that, said Margaret, 
 to your Conscience and Courtesie, desiring no more 
 then what I shall deserve. Then asking what 
 Country-woman she was, the Maiden wept, saying. 
 Ah, good Dame, I was untimely borne in Shrop- 
 shire, of poore Parents, and yet not so needy as 
 unfortunate, but Death having ended their Sor- 
 rowes, hath left me to the Cruelty of these envious 
 Times, to finish my Parents Tragedy with my 
 Troubles. What, Maiden, qd. her Dame, have 
 a Care to do your Busines and to live in Gods 
 Feare, and you shall have no Care to regard 
 Fortunes Frownes, and so they went Home 
 together. 
 
 Now, so soone as the Good-man saw her, hee 
 asked his Wife where she had that Maiden? She 
 said, at the Faire. Why then quoth he, thou hast 
 brought all the Faire away, and I doubt it were 
 better for us, to send the Faire to another Towne, 
 then to keepe the Faire here. Why, Man, quoth 
 she, what meane you by that? Woman, I meane 
 this, that she will prove a Loadstone, to draw the 
 Hearts of all my Men after her, & so we shall 
 have wise Service done of all Sides. Then said his 
 
 Wife, 
 35
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 Wife, I hope, Husband, Margaret will have a 
 better Care both to her owne Credit, and our 
 Commodity then so, and so let her alone to 
 looke to such Matters. Is thy Name Margaret? 
 quoth her Master: proper is thy Name to thy 
 Person, for thou art a Pearle indeed, orient, and 
 rich in Beauty. 
 
 His Wife hearing him say so, began to change 
 her Opinion: What, Husband (quoth she) is the 
 Wind at that Doore? Begin you to like your Maid 
 so well.? I doubt I had most Need to looke to 
 your selfe: before God, I had rather then an Angell 
 I had chosen some other: but heare you. Maid, 
 you shall packe hence, I will not nourish a 
 Snake in my Bosome, and therefore get you 
 gone, I will none of you, provide a Service where 
 you may. 
 
 The Maiden hearing her say so, fell down on 
 her Knees, and besought her, saying, O, sweet 
 Dame, be not so cruell to me, to turne me out of 
 Doores, now: alas, I know not where to goe, or 
 what to doe, if you forsake me. O let not the fad- 
 ing Beauty of my Face dispoile me of your Favour: 
 for rather then that shall hinder my Service, this 
 my Knife shall soone disfigure my Face, and I will 
 banish Beauty as my greatest Enemy. And with 
 
 that, 
 36
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 that, her aboundant Tears stopped her Speech, that 
 she could not utter one Word more. 
 
 The Woman seeing this, could not harbour 
 any longer, nor could her Master stay in the 
 Roome for weeping. Well, Margaret^ said her 
 Dame (little knowing that a Lady kneeled before 
 her) using thy selfe well, I will keepe thee, and 
 thou shalt have my Good-will, if thou governe thy- 
 selfe with Wisedom; & so she sent her about her 
 Business. Her Husband comming to Supper, 
 said. How now, Wife, art thou so doubtfull of me, 
 that thou hast put away thy Maiden? I wis (qd. 
 she) you are a wise Man, to stand praising of 
 a Maidens Beauty before her Face; & you a 
 wise Woman, qd. he, to grow jealous without a 
 Cause. So to Supper they went, and because Mar- 
 garet shewed her selfe of finest Behaviour above 
 the Rest, she was appointed to waite on the Table. 
 And it is to be understood, that Gray did never 
 eate his Meat alone, but still had some of his 
 Neighbours with him, before whom he called his 
 Maid, saying, Margaret, come hither. Now be- 
 cause there was another of the same Name in the 
 House, she made Answer. I call not you, Maiden, 
 quoth he, but Margaret with the Hlly-white Hand. 
 After which Time she was ever called so. 
 
 37
 
 How the Kings Majestic sent for 
 the Clothiers, and of the sundry 
 Favours which he did them.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 How the Kings Majestic sent for the Clothiers^ and 
 of the sundry Favours which he did them. 
 
 KING Henry providing for his Voyage into 
 France, against King Lewis and Robert 
 Duke of Normandie his owne Brother, com- 
 mitted the Government of the Realme in his 
 Absence, to the Bishop of Salisbury, a Man of 
 great Wisedome and Learning, whom the King 
 esteemed highly, and afterward he thought good to 
 send for the chiefe Clothiers of England, who 
 according to the Kings Appointment came to the 
 Court, and having License to come before his 
 Majestic, he spake to this effect. 
 
 The Strength of a King is the Love and 
 Friendship of his People, and he governs over his 
 Realme most surely, that ruleth Justice with 
 Mercy: for he ought to feare many, whom many 
 doe feare: therefore the Governours of the Common- 
 wealth ought to observe two speciall Precepts: the 
 One is, that they do so maintaine the Profit of the 
 
 Commons, 
 
 4.1
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 Commons, that whatsoever in their Calling they 
 doe, they referre it thereunto: the other that they 
 be always as well carefull over the whole Common- 
 wealth, as over any Part thereof; lest, while they 
 uphold the one, the other be brought to utter 
 Decay. 
 
 And foreasmuch as I doe understand, and 
 have partly seene, that you the Clothiers of Eng- 
 land are no small Benefit to the Wealth-publike, I 
 thought it good to know from your owne Mouthes, 
 if there be any Thing not yet granted that may 
 benefit you, or any other Thing to be removed 
 that doth hurt you. 
 
 The great Desire I have to maintaine you in 
 your Trades, hath moved me hereunto. Therefore 
 boldly say what you would have in the one Thing 
 or the other, & I will grant it you. 
 
 With that, they all fell downe upon their 
 Knees, and desired God to save his Majestie, and 
 withall, requested three Dayes Respit to put in their 
 Answere: which was granted. And thereupon they 
 departed. 
 
 When the Clothiers had well considered of 
 these Matters, at length they thought meete to re- 
 quest of his Majestie for their first Benefit, that all 
 the Cloth- Measures thorow the Land might be of 
 
 one 
 
 42
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 one Length, whereas to their great Disadvantage 
 before, every good Towne had a severall Measure, 
 the Difficulty thereof was such, that they could not 
 keepe them in Memory, nor know how to keepe 
 their Reckonings. The second Thing whereof they 
 found themselves grieved, was this, that the People 
 would not take crackt Money, though it were 
 never so good Silver; whereupon it came to passe, 
 that the Clothiers and divers Others, receiving great 
 Summes of Money, doe take among it much crackt 
 Money, it Served them to no Use, because it would 
 not goe current, but lay upon their Hands without 
 Profit or Benefit, whereof they prayed Reforma- 
 tion. The Third was a Griefe, whereof Hodgekins 
 of Halifax complained, and that was. That whereas 
 the Towne of Halifax lived altogether upon 
 Cloathing, and by the Reason of false Borderers, 
 and other evill-minded Persons, they were oft 
 robbed, and had their Clothes carried out of their 
 Fields, where they were drying: That it would 
 please his Majestie to graunt the Towne this Privi- 
 lege, That whatsoever he was that was taken steal- 
 ing their Cloth, might presently without any further 
 Tryall be hanged up. When the Day of their 
 Appearance approached, the Clothiers came before 
 the King, and delivered up their Petition in Writ- 
 
 -ing, 
 43
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 ing, which his Majestie most graciously perusing, 
 said, hee was ready to fulfill their Request: and 
 therefore for the first Point of their Petition, he 
 called for a Staffe to be brought him, and measur- 
 ing thereupon the just Length of his owne Arme, 
 delivered it to the Clothiers, saying. This Measure 
 shall be called a Yard, and no other Measure 
 thorowout all the Realme of England shall be used 
 for the same, and by this shall Men buy and sell, 
 and we will so provide, that whosoever he be that 
 abuseth our Subjects by any false Measure, that he 
 shall not onely pay a Fine for the same to the 
 King, but also have his Body punished by Im- 
 prisonment. And as concerning the second Point 
 of your Petition, because of my sudden Departure 
 out of the Land, I know not better how to ease 
 you of this Griefe (of crackt money) this Decree I 
 make, because they account crackt Money not cur- 
 rent, I say, none shall be current but crackt Money. 
 And therefore I will give present Charge, that all 
 the Money thorow the Land shall be slit, and so 
 you shall suffer no Losse. 
 
 But now for your last Request for the Towne 
 of Halifax; where by Theeves your Clothes are so 
 often stolne from you, seeing the Lawes already 
 provided in that Case, are not sufficient to keep 
 
 Men 
 44
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Men in awe, it is indeed high Time to have sharper 
 Punishment for them. 
 
 With that Hodgekins unmannerly interrupted 
 the King, saying in broad Northerne Speech, Yea, 
 gude Faith, mai Liedg, the faule Evle of mai Saule, 
 giff any Thing will keepe them whiat, till the 
 Karles be hanged up by the Cragge. What the 
 Dule care they for bearing their Eyne, sea lang as 
 they may gae groping up and downe the Country 
 like fause lizar Lownes, begging and craking? 
 
 The King smiling to heare this rough-hewne 
 Fellow make this Reply: Content thee, Hodgekins, 
 for we will have Redresse for all: and albeit that 
 Hanging of men was never seene in England, yet 
 seeing the corrupt World is growne more bold in 
 all Wickednesse, I thinke it not amisse to ordain 
 this Death for such Malefactors: and peculiarly to 
 to the Towne of Halifax I give this Privilege, That 
 whosoever they finde stealing their Cloth, being 
 taken with the Goods, that without further Judge- 
 ment, they shall be hanged up. 
 
 Thus (said our King) I have granted what you 
 request, and if hereafter you find any other Thing 
 that may be good for you, it shall be granted; for 
 no longer would I desire to live among you, then I 
 have care for the Good of the Common-wealth; at 
 
 which 
 45
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 which Words ended, the King rose from his royall 
 Throne, while the Clothiers on their Knees prayed 
 for both his Health, and happy Successe, and 
 shewed themselves most thankefull for his High- 
 nesses Favour. His Majestic bending his Body 
 towards them, that at his Home Returne, hee 
 would (by the Grace of God) visit them. 
 
 46
 
 How the Clothiers had provided a 
 sumptuous Feast for the Kings 
 Sonnes, Prince William and Prince 
 Robert, at Gerards Hall: shewing 
 also what Chance befell Cutbert of 
 Kendall at that same Instant.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 How the Clothiers had provided a sumptuous Feast 
 
 for the Kings Sonnes^ Prince William and Prince 
 
 Robert, at Gerards Hall: shewing also what 
 
 Chance befell Cutbert of Kendall at that same 
 
 Instant. 
 
 THE Clothiers departing from the Court in a 
 merry Mind, joyfull of their good Successe, 
 each one to other praised and magnified the 
 Kings great Wisedome and Vertue, commending 
 also his Affability and gentle Disposition, so that 
 Hodgekins affirmed on his Faith, that hee had rather 
 speake to his Kings Majestic, than to many Jus- 
 tices of Peace. Indeed (said Cole) he is a most 
 mild and mercifuU Prince, and I pray God he may 
 long raigne over us. Amen said the Rest. 
 
 Then said Cole^ My Masters, shall we forget 
 the great Courtesie of the Kings Sonnes, those 
 sweet and gentle Princes, that still shewed us 
 Favour in our Suite? In my Opinion, it were 
 
 Reason 
 49
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 Reason to gratifie them in some Sort, that we may 
 not utterly bee condemned of Ingratitude: where- 
 fore (if you thinke good) we will prepare a Ban- 
 quet for them at our Oast Garrats, who, as you 
 know, hath a faire House, and goodly Roomes: 
 Besides, the Man himselfe is a most courageous 
 Mind and good Behaviour, sufficient to entertain a 
 Prince; his Wife also is a dainty fine Cooke: all 
 which considered, I know not a fitter Place in Lon- 
 don. Tis true, quoth Sutton^ and if the Rest be 
 content, I am pleased it shall be so. At this they 
 all answered. Yea; for, quoth they, it will not be 
 passing Forty Shillings a Piece, and that we shall 
 recover in our crackt Money. 
 
 Being thus agreed, the Feast was prepared. 
 Tom Dove, quoth they, we will commit the pro- 
 viding of Musicke to thee: and I, said Cole^ will 
 invite Divers of our Merchants and their Wives to 
 the same. That is well remembred, said Gray. Up- 
 on this they called to the Oast and Oastesse, shew- 
 ing their Determination, who most willingly said, 
 all Things should be made ready, but I would have 
 two Dayes Liberty, said the Good-wife, to prepare 
 my House and other Things. Content, said the 
 Clothiers, in the meane Space we will bid our 
 Guests, and dispatch our other Affaires. But Simon 
 
 of 
 
 50
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 of Southampton charged his Oastesse, that in any 
 Case she should not forget to make good Store of 
 Pottage. It shall be done, quoth she. 
 
 It is to be remembered, that while this Prep- 
 aration was in hand, that Cutb. of Kendall had not 
 forgot his kindness to his Oastesse of Bosoms Inne. 
 Therefore finding Time convenient when her Hus- 
 band was overseeing his Hay-makers, hee greeted 
 her in this Sort, Sweet Oastesse, though I were the 
 last Time I was in Towne over-bold with you, 
 yet I hope it was not so offensive to you as you 
 made shew for. Bold, my Cutbert\ quoth she, 
 thou hast vowed thy selfe my Servant: and so be- 
 ing, you are not to bee blamed for doing what I 
 wild you. By my Honesty, I could not chuse but 
 smile to my selfe, so soone as I was out of their 
 Sight, to thinke how prettily you began to brabble. 
 But now, quoth he, we will change our Chidings to 
 Kissings, and it vexeth me that these Cherry Lipps 
 should be subject to such a Lobcocke as thy Hus- 
 band. 
 
 Subject to him? quoth she; in faith; Sir, no, I 
 will have my Lips at as much Liberty as my 
 Tongue, the one to say what I list, and the other 
 to touch whom I Hke: In Troth, shall I tell thee, 
 Cutbert^ the Churles Breath smells so strong, that I 
 
 care 
 51
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 care as much for kissing of him, as for looking on 
 him: it is such a mis-shapen Mizer, and such a 
 Bundle of Beastlinesse, that I can never thinke on 
 him without spitting. Fie upon him, I would my 
 Friends had carried me to my Grave, when they 
 went with me to the Church, to make him my 
 Husband. And so shedding a few dissembling 
 Teares, she stopt. What, my sweet Mistresse, 
 {quoth he) weepe you.^ Nay, sit downe by my 
 Side, and 1 will sing thee one of my Countrey 
 Jigges to make thee merry. Wilt thou in Faith? 
 (quoth she.) Yes, verily, said Cutbert: And in 
 Troth, quoth she, if you fall a-singing, I will sing 
 with you. That is well, you can so suddenly 
 change your Notes, quoth Cutbert^ then have 
 at it. 
 
 Man. 
 
 Wom. 
 
 Man. 
 
 Wom. 
 
 LONG have I lov'd this bonny Lasse, 
 Yet durst not shew the same. 
 
 Therein you prove your selfe an Asse, 
 I was the more to blame. 
 
 Yet still will I remaine to thee, 
 Trang dilly do, trang dilly: 
 
 Thy Friend and Lover secretly, 
 
 Thou art my owne sweet Bully. 
 
 Man. But 
 52
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Man. But when shall 1 enjoy thee, 
 
 Delight of thy faire Love? 
 Worn. Even when thou seest that Fortune doth 
 
 All manner Lets remove. 
 Man. O, I will fold thee in my Armes, 
 
 Trang dilly do, trang dilly. 
 And keepe thee so from sudden Harmes. 
 Wom. Thou art my owne sweet Bully. 
 
 Worn. My Husband he is gone from Home, 
 
 you know it very well. 
 Man. But when will he returne againe? 
 Wom. In Truth I cannot tell. 
 
 If long he keepe him out of Sight, 
 
 Trang dilly do, trang dilly. 
 Be sure thou shalt have thy Delight. 
 Man. Thou art my bonny Lassie. 
 
 While they were singing this Song, her Hus- 
 band being on a sudden come Home, stood se- 
 cretly in a Corner, and heard all, and blessing him- 
 selfe with both his Hands, said, O abominable Dis- 
 simulation! monstrous Hypocrisie! and are you in 
 this Humor? can you brawle together and sing 
 together? Well, qd. hee, I will let them alone, to 
 see a little more of their Knavery. Never did Cat 
 
 watch 
 53
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 watch Mouse so narrowly as I will watch them. 
 And so going into the Kitchen, he asked his Wife 
 if it were not Dinner-time. Even by and by. Hus- 
 band, (quoth she) the Meat will be ready. Pres- 
 ently after comes in Hodgekins and Martin^ who 
 straight asked for Cutbert of Kendall. Answer was 
 made, that he was in his Chamber. So when they 
 had called him, they went to Dinner: then they re- 
 quested that their Oast and Oastesse would sit with 
 them. 
 
 Husband, said she, you may goe if you please: 
 but as for me 1 will desire Pardon. Nay, Good- 
 wife, goe up, said her Husband. What, Woman, 
 you must beare with your Guests. Why, Hus- 
 band, qd. she, doe you thinke that any can beare 
 the Flirts and Fromps which that Northerne Tike 
 gave me the last Time he was in Town; now, God 
 forgive me, I had as liefe see the Divell as to see 
 him: therefore, good Husband, goe up your selfe, & 
 let me alone, for in Faith, I shall never abide that 
 Jacke while I live. Upon these Words away went 
 her Husband, and though he said little, he thought 
 the more. Now when he came up, his Guests 
 bade him welcome. I pray you sit downe, good 
 mine Oast, quoth they; where is your Wife.^* What 
 will she sit with us ? No, verily, said he, the fool- 
 
 -ish 
 54
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 ish Woman hath taken such a Displeasure against 
 Cutbert^ that she sweares she will never come in his 
 Company. Is it so? said the other, then trust me 
 we are well agreed: and I sweare by my Fathers 
 Sole, qd. hee, that were it not meere for Good- 
 Will to you, then Love to her, I would never 
 come to your House meere. I beleeve it well, 
 said old Bosome. And so with other Communi- 
 cation they drove out the Time, till Dinner was 
 ended. 
 
 After they were risen, Martin and Hodgekins 
 got them forth about their Affaires, but Cutb. took 
 his Oast by the Hand, saying, My Oast, He goe 
 talke with your Wife: for my Part I thought we 
 had bin Friends: but seeing her Stomacke is so 
 big, and her Heart so great, I will see what she will 
 say to me; with that he stept into the Kitchen, say- 
 ing, God speed you Oastis. It must be when you 
 are away then, said she. What is your Reason? 
 said the other. Because God never comes where 
 Knaves are present. Gip, goodly Draggletaile, qd. 
 he, had I such a Wife, I would present her Tallow- 
 Face to the Devill for a Candle. With that she 
 bent her Browes, & like a Fury of Hell began to 
 flie at him, saying. Why, you gag-tooth Jacke, you 
 blinking Companion, get thee out out of my 
 
 Kitchen 
 55
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 Kitchen quickly, or with my powdred Beef-Broth I 
 will make your Pate as bald as a Fryers. 
 
 Get me gone? quoth he, thou shalt not bid 
 me twice: out, you dirty Heeles! you will make 
 your Husbands Hairegrow thorowhis Hood I doubt: 
 and with that he got him into the Hall, and sat him 
 downe on the Bench by his Oast, to whom hee 
 said, Tis pittie, my Oast, that your aged Yeeres, 
 that loves Quietnesse, should be troubled with such 
 a scolding Queane. 1, God helpe me, God helpe 
 me, quoth the old Man, and so went towards the 
 Stable: which his Wife watching, suddenly stept 
 out and gave Cutbert a Kisse. 
 
 Within an Hour after, the old Man craftily 
 called for his Nag to ride to Field: but as soone as 
 he was gone, Cutbert and his Oastesse were such good 
 Friends, that they got into one of the Ware-houses, 
 and lockt the Doore to them: but her Husband 
 having set a Spie for the Purpose, suddenly turned 
 backe, and called for a Capcase which lay in the 
 Ware-house. The Servant could not find the Key 
 by any Meanes. Whereupon hee called to have the 
 Locke broke open. Which they within hearing, 
 opened the Doore of their owne Accord. So soone 
 as her Husband espied her in that Place, with Ad- 
 miration he said, O Passion of my Heart, what doe 
 
 you 
 56
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 you here? what, you Two that cannot abide one 
 another, what make you so close together? is your 
 Chiding and Rayhng, BrabHng, and Brauhng, come 
 to this? O what Dissemblers are these! Why, my 
 Oast, qd. Cutbert^ what need you take the Mat- 
 ter so hot? I gave a Cheese to my Country-man 
 Hodgekins^ to lay up, and delivered it to your Wife 
 to be keept; and then is it not Reason that she 
 should come and seeke me my Cheese? O, quoth 
 the old Man, belike the Dore was lockt, because 
 the Cheese should not run away. The Doore, said 
 his Wife, unknowne to us clapt to its selfe, and 
 having a Spring-Locke, was presently fast. Well, 
 Huswife, qd. he, I will give you as much Credit a-s 
 a Crocadile, but as for your Companion, I will teach 
 him to come hither to looke Cheeses. 
 
 And with that he caused his Men to take 
 him presently, and to bind him Hand and Foot. 
 Which being done, they drew him up in a Basket 
 into the Smoky Lover of the Hall, and there they 
 let him hang all that Night, even till the next Day 
 Dinner-Time, when he should have beene at the 
 Banquet with the Princes: for neither Hodgekins nor 
 Martin could intreat their inflamed Oast to let him 
 downe. 
 
 And in such a heate was hee driven with draw- 
 ing 
 57
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 ing him up, that he was faine to cast off his Gownes, 
 his Coates, and two Paire of his Stockings, to coole 
 himselfe, making a Vow he should hang there seven 
 Yeeres, except the Kings Sons came in Person to 
 beg his Pardon, which most of all grieved Cutb. 
 When Cole and the Rest of the Westerne- Yeomen 
 heard hereof, they could not chose but laugh, to 
 think that he was so taken tardy. 
 
 The young Princes having given Promise to be 
 with the Clothiers, kept their Houre, but when all 
 the Rest went to give them Entertainment, Simon 
 was so busie in supping his Pottage, that he could 
 not spare so much Time. Which when the Princes 
 saw, with a smiling Countenance they said, Sup, 
 Simon, there's good Broth: or else beshrew our 
 Oastesse, quoth he, never looking behind him to see 
 who spake, till the Prince clapt him on the Shoulder. 
 But, good Lord, how blanke he was when he spied 
 them, knowing not how to excuse the Matter. 
 
 Well, the Princes having ended their Banket, 
 Garrat comes, and with One of his Hands tooke the 
 Table of Sixteene Foote Long quite from the 
 Ground over their Heads, from before the Princes, 
 and set it on the other Side of the Hall, to the 
 great Admiration of all them that beheld it. 
 
 The Princes being then ready to depart, the 
 
 Clothiers 
 58
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Clothiers moved them In pleasant Maner, to be 
 good to One of their Company, that did neither sit, 
 lie, nor stand. Then he must needs hang, qd. the 
 Princes. And so he doth, most excellent Princes, 
 qd. they; and therewithall told them the whole Mat- 
 ter. When they heard the Storie, downe to 
 Bosomes Inne they goe, where looking up into the 
 Roofe, spied poore Cutbert pinned up in a Basket, 
 and almost smoaked to Death, who although hee 
 were greatly ashamed, yet most pitifully desired 
 that they would get him Release, 
 
 What is his Trespasse? said the Prince. Nothing, 
 if it shall like your Grace, qd. he, but looking for 
 a Cheese: But hee could not find it without my 
 Wife, said the Good-man: the Villaine had lately 
 dined with Mutton, and could not digest his Meate 
 without Cheese, for which cause I have made him to 
 fast these twenty Houres, to the end that he may 
 have a better Stomacke to eate his Dinner, than to 
 use Dalliance. 
 
 Let me intreate you, quoth the Prince, to re- 
 lease him: and if ever hereafter you catch him in 
 the Corne, clappe him in the Pownd. Your Grace 
 shall request or command any Thing at my Hand, 
 said the old Man: and so Cutbert was let downe 
 unbound, but when he was loose, he vowed never to 
 
 come 
 59
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 come within that House more. And it is said, the 
 old Man Bosome ordained, that in Remembrance of 
 this Deed, every Yeere once all such as came thither 
 to ask for Cheeses, should be so served: which Thing 
 it to this Day kept. 
 
 60
 
 How Simons Wife of Southampton, 
 being wholly bent to Pride and 
 Pleasure, requested her Husband to 
 see London, which being granted, 
 how she got Good-wife Sutton of 
 Salisbury to goe with her, who 
 tooke Crab to go along with them, 
 and how he prophecied of many 
 Things.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 How Simons Wife of Southampton^ being wholly bent 
 to Pride and Pleasure y requested her Husband to see 
 London^ which being granted, how she got Good-wife 
 Sutton of Salisbury to goe with her^ who tooke Crab 
 to go along with them, and how he prophecied of 
 many Things. 
 
 THE Clothiers being all come from London, 
 Suttons Wife of South-hampton, who was 
 with her Husband very mery and pleasant, 
 brake her Mind unto him in this Sort: 
 
 Good Lord, Husband, will you never be so 
 kind as to let me goe to London with you? shall I 
 be pend up in South-hampton, like a Parrat in a 
 Cage, or a Capon in a Coope? I would request no 
 more of you in Lieu of all my Paines, Carke and 
 Care, but to have one Weeks Time to see that faire 
 City: what is this Life, if it be not mixt with some 
 Delight? and what Delight is more pleasing that to 
 see the Fashions and Manners of unknowne Places? 
 
 Therefore, 
 63
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 Therefore, good Husband, if thou lovest me, deny 
 not this simple request. You know I am no com- 
 mon Gadder, nor have oft troubled you with Travel!. 
 God knowes, this may be the last Thing that ever 
 I shall request at your Hands. 
 
 Woman, quoth he, 1 would willingly satisfie your 
 Desire, but you know it is not convenient for both 
 of us to be abroad, our Charge is so great, and there- 
 fore our Care ought not to be small. If you will 
 goe your selfe. One of my Men shall go with you, 
 and Money enough you shall have in your Purse: 
 but to go with you my selfe, you see my Businesse 
 will not permit me. 
 
 Husband, said she, I accept your gentle Offer, 
 and it may be I shall intreat my Gossip, Suttoriy to 
 goe along with me. I shall be glad, qd. her Hus- 
 band, prepare your selfe when you will. 
 
 When she had obtained this Licence, she sent 
 her Man Weasell to Salisbury, to know of Good-wife 
 Sutton if shee would keepe her Company to London. 
 Suttons Wife being as willing to go, as she was to 
 request, never rested till she had gotten Leave of 
 her Husband; the which when she had obtained, 
 casting in her Mind their Pleasure would bee small, 
 being but they Twaine: thereupon the wily Woman 
 sent Letters by collericke Crabbe^ her Man, both to 
 
 Grayes 
 64
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Grayes Wife, and Fitzallens Wife, that they would 
 meet them at Reading, who liking well of the 
 Match, consented, and did so provide, that they 
 met according to Promise at Reading, and from 
 thence with Coles Wife they went altogether, with 
 each of them a Man to London, each one taking up 
 their Lodging with a severall Friend. 
 
 When the Merchants of London understood 
 they were in Towne, they invited them every Day 
 Home to their owne Houses, where they had deli- 
 cate good Cheere: and when they went Abroad 
 to see the Commodities of the City, the Merchants 
 Wives ever bore them Company, being attired most 
 dainty and fine: which when the Clothiers Wives 
 did see, it grieved their Hearts they had not the 
 like. 
 
 Now, when they were brought into Cheapside, 
 there with great Wonder they beheld the Shops of 
 the Goldsmiths; and on the other Side, the wealthy 
 Mercers, whose Shops shined with all Sorts of col- 
 oured Silkes: in Watling-street they viewed the 
 great Number of Drapers: in Saint Martins^ Shoo- 
 makers: at Saint Nicholas Church, the Flesh Sham- 
 bles: at the End of the Old Change, the Fish- 
 mongers: in Candleweeke-street, the Weavers: then 
 came into the Jewes-street, where all the Jews did 
 
 inhabite: 
 65
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 inhabite: then came they to Blackwel-hall, where 
 the Country Clothiers did use to meete. 
 
 Afterwards they proceeded, and came to S. 
 Pauls Church, whose Steeple was so hie, that it 
 seemed to pierce the Clowdes, on the Top whereof, 
 was a great and mighty Weather-cocke of cleane 
 silver, the which notwithstanding seemed as small 
 as a Sparrow to Mens Eyes, it stood so exceeding 
 High, the which goodly Weathercocke was after- 
 wards stolen away by a cunning Cripple, who found 
 Meanes one Night to climb up to the Top of the 
 Steeple, and tooke it downe: with the which, and a 
 great Summe of Money which he had got together 
 by begging in his Life-time, he builded a Gate on 
 the North-side of the City, which to this Day is 
 called Cripple-gate. 
 
 From thence they went to the Tower of Lon- 
 don, which was builded by Julius Caesar^ who was 
 Emperour of Rome. And there they beheld Salt 
 and Wine, which had lyen there ever since the 
 Romanes invaded this Land, which was many 
 Yeares before our Saviour Christ was borne; the 
 Wine was growne so thicke, that it might have been 
 cut like a Jelly. And in that Place also they saw 
 the Money that was made of Leather, which in 
 ancient Time went current amongst the People. 
 
 When 
 66
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 When they had to their great Contentation be- 
 held all this, they repaired to their Lodgings, hav- 
 ing also a sumptuous Supper ordained for them, 
 with all Delight that might be. And you shall 
 understand, that when the Country Weavers, which 
 came up with their Dames, saw the Weavers of 
 Candlewike-street, they had great Desire presently 
 to have some Conference with them; & thus one 
 began to challenge the other for Workemanship: 
 quoth fVease//, He worke with any of you all for a 
 Crowne, take if you dare, and he that makes his 
 Yard of Cloth soonest, shall have it. You shall be 
 wrought withall, said the other, and if it were for ten 
 Crownes: but we will make this Bargaine, that each 
 of us shall winde their own Quilles. Content, quoth 
 JVeasell: and so to worke they went, but Weasell 
 lost. Whereupon another of them tooke the Mat- 
 ter in Hand, who lost likewise: so that the London 
 Weavers triumphed against the country, casting 
 forth divers Frumps. 
 
 Alas, poore Fellowes, quoth they, your Hearts 
 are good, but your Hands are ill. Tush, the Fault 
 was in their Legs, quoth another: Pray you. Friend, 
 were you not borne at Home? Why doe you aske, 
 quoth Weasell. Because, said hee, the biggest Place 
 of your Legge is next to your Shooe 
 
 Crab 
 
 67
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 Crab hearing this, being cholericke of Nature, 
 chafed like a Man of Law at the Barre, & he wagers 
 with them four Crownes to twaine: the others agreed, 
 to Worke they goe: but Crab conquered them all. 
 Whereupon the London Weavers were nipt in the 
 Head hke Birds, and had not a Word to say. 
 
 Now, saith Crab^ as we have lost Nothing, so 
 you have wonne nothing, & because I know you 
 cannot be right Weavers, except you be Good- 
 fellowes, therefore if you will go with us, we will be- 
 stow the Ale upon you. That is spoken like a 
 Good-fellow and like a Weaver, quoth the other. 
 So along they went as it were to the Signe of the 
 Red Crosse. 
 
 When they were set downe, & had drunke 
 well, they began merrily to prattle, and to extoll 
 Crab to the Skies. Whereupon Crab protested, 
 that hee would come and dwell among them. Nay, 
 that must not be, said a London Weaver: the King 
 hath given us Priviledge, that none should live 
 among us, but such as serve seven Yeeres in 
 London. With that Crab^ according to his old 
 Manner of Prophesying, said thus: 
 
 THE Day is very neere at Hand, 
 
 When as the King of this faire Land, 
 
 Shall 
 68
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Shall priviledge you more then so: 
 Then Weavers shall in Skarlet goe. 
 
 And to one Brotherhood be brought, 
 The First is in London wrought. 
 When other Tradesmen by your Fame, 
 Shall covet all to doe the same. 
 
 Then shall you all live wondrous well, 
 
 But this one Thing I shall you tell: 
 
 The Day will come before the Doome, 
 
 In Candleweeke-street shall stand no Loome. 
 
 Nor any Weaver dwelling there. 
 But Men that shall more Credit beare: 
 For Clothing shall be sore decayde. 
 And Men undone that use that Trade. 
 
 And yet the Day some Men shall see. 
 This Trade againe shall raised be. 
 When as Bayliffe of Sarum Towne; 
 Shall buy and purchase Bishops Downe. 
 
 When there never Man did sow. 
 
 Great Store of goodly Corne shall grow; 
 
 And Woad, that makes all Colours sound. 
 
 Shall spring upon that barren Ground. 
 
 At 
 69
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 At the same Day, I tell you plaine. 
 Who so alive doth then remaine, 
 A proper Maiden they shall see, 
 Within the towne of Salisburie. 
 
 Of Favour Sweet, and Nature kind, 
 With goodly Eyes, and yet starke Blind, 
 This poore blind Maiden, I do say. 
 In Age shall go in rich Array. 
 
 And he that takes her to his Wife, 
 Shall lead a joyfull happy Life, 
 The wealthiest Clothier shall he be 
 That ever was in that Country. 
 
 But Clothing kept as it hath beene. 
 In London never shall be seene: 
 For Weavers then the most shall win. 
 That worke for Clothing next the Skin. 
 
 Till Pride the Common-wealth doth peele. 
 And causeth Huswives leave their Wheele. 
 Then Poverty upon each Side, 
 Unto those Workemen shall betide. 
 
 At that time, from Eagles Nest, 
 
 That proudly builded in the West, 
 
 A Sort 
 70
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 A Sort shall come with cunning Hand, 
 To bring strange Weaving in this Land. 
 
 And by their Gaines that great will fall, 
 They shall maintaine the Weavers Hall: 
 But long they shall not flourish so, 
 But Folly will them overthrow. 
 
 And Men shall count it mickle Shame, 
 To beare that kind of Weavers Name, 
 And this as sure shall come to passe, 
 As here is Ale within this Glasse. 
 
 When the silly Soules that sate about him 
 heard him speake in this Sort, they admired and 
 honoured Crabbe for the same. Why, my Masters, 
 said Weasell, doe you wonder at these Words ? he 
 will tell you Twenty of these Tales, for which 
 Cause we call him our Canvas Prophet. His Attire 
 fits his title, said they, and we never heard the like 
 in our Lives: and if this should be true, it would 
 be strange. Doubt not but it will be true, qd. 
 JVeasell; for He tell you what, he did but once see 
 our Nicke kisse Nel^ and presently he powred out 
 this Rime; 
 
 That kisse, O Nel^ God give thee Joy, 
 Will nine Months hence breed thee a Boy. 
 
 And 
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 The pleasant Historic 
 
 And He tell you what, you shall heare: we 
 kept Reckoning, and it fell out just as Jones but- 
 tockes on a Close-stoole; for which Cause our 
 Maids durst never kisse a Man in his Sight: upon 
 this they broke Company, & went every One about 
 his Business, the London Weavers to their Frames, 
 and the Country Fellowes to their Dames, who, 
 after their great Banqueting and Merriment, went 
 every One Home to their owne Houses, though 
 with lesse Money than they brought out, yet with 
 more Pride. 
 
 Especially Simons Wife of South-hampton, who 
 told the Rest of her Gossips, that she saw no 
 Reason, but that their Husbands should maintain 
 them as well as the Merchants did their Wives: for 
 I tell you what, quoth she, we are as proper Wo- 
 men (in my Conceit,) as the proudest of them all, 
 as handsome of Body, as faire of Face, our Legs as 
 well made, and our Feete as fine: then what Reason 
 is there (seeing our Husbands are of as good 
 Wealth,) but we should be as well maintained? 
 
 You say true, Gossip, said Suttons Wife: trust 
 
 me, it made me blush to see them brave it out so 
 
 gallantly, and wee to goe so homely: but before 
 
 God, said the other, I will have my Husband to 
 
 buy me a London Gowne, or in Faith he shall 
 
 have 
 72
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 have little Quiet: so shall mine, said another: and 
 mine too, qd. the Third: and all of them sing the 
 same Note: so that when they came Home, their 
 Husbands had no little to doe: Especially Simotiy 
 whose Wife daily lay at him for London Apparell, 
 to whome he said. Good Woman, be content, let us 
 goe according to our Place and Ability: what will 
 the Bailiffes thinke, if I should prancke thee up like 
 a Peacocke, and thou in thy Attire surpasse their 
 Wives? they would either thinke I were mad, or 
 else that I had more Money than I could well 
 use: consider, I pray thee, good Wife, that such as 
 are in their Youth Masters, doe prove in their Age 
 Starke Beggars. 
 
 Beside that, it is enough to raise me up in the 
 Kings Booke, for many times Mens Coffers are 
 judged by their Garments: why, we are Country 
 Folks, and must keepe our selves in good Com- 
 passe: gray Russett, and good Hempe-spun Cloth 
 doth best become us; I tell thee Wife, it were as 
 undecent for us to goe like Londoners as it is for 
 Londoners to go like Courtiers. 
 
 What a Coyle keepe you? quoth she, are not 
 we Gods Creatures as well as Londoners? and the 
 Kings Subjects, as well as they? then, finding our 
 Wealth to be as good as theirs, why should we not 
 
 goe 
 73
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 goe as gay as Londoners? No, Husband, no, here 
 is the Fault, wee are kept without it, onely because 
 our Husbands be not so kind as Londoners: why, 
 Man, a Cobler there keepes his Wife better than 
 the best Clothier in this Countrey: nay, I will affirm 
 it, that the London Oyster-wives, and the very 
 Kitchen-stuffe Cryers, doe exceed us in their Sun- 
 daies Attire: nay, more than that, I did see the 
 Water-bearers Wife, which belongs to one of our 
 Merchants, come in with a Tankerd of Water on 
 her Shoulder, and yet Haifa Dozen Gold Rings on 
 her Fingers. You may then thinke. Wife (quoth 
 he) she got them not with Idlenesse. 
 
 But, Wife, you must consider what London is, 
 the chiefe and capital! City of all the Land, a Place 
 on the which all Strangers cast their Eyes, it is 
 (Wife) the Kings Chamber and his Majesties royall 
 Seate: to that City repaires all Nations under 
 Heaven. Therefore it is most meete and con- 
 venient, that the Citizens of such a City should not 
 goe in their Apparell like Peasants, but for the 
 Credit of our Country, weare such seemely Habits 
 as do carry Gravity and Comelinesse in the Eyes of 
 all Beholders. But if wee of the Country went so 
 (quoth she) were it not as great Credit for the Land 
 as the other? Woman, qd. her Husband, it is 
 
 altogether 
 74
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 altogether needlesse, and in divers Respects it may 
 not be. Why then, I pray you, quoth she, let us 
 gee dwell at London. A Word soone spoken, said 
 her Husband, but not so so easie to be performed: 
 therefore, Wife, 1 pray thee hold thy Prating, for 
 thy Talke is foolish: yea, yea. Husband, your old 
 churlish Conditions will never be left, you keep me 
 here like a Drudge and a Droile, and so you may 
 keepe your Money in your Purse, you care not for 
 your Credit, but before I will goe so like a Shep- 
 heardesse, I will first goe naked: and I tell you 
 plaine, I scorne it greatly, that you should clap a 
 gray Gowne on my Backe, as if I had not brought 
 you Two-pence: before I was married, you swore I 
 should have any Thing that I requested, but now 
 all is forgotten. And in saying this, she went in, 
 and soone after she was so sicke, that needes she 
 must goe to Bed: and when she was laid, she 
 drave out that Night with many grievous Groanes, 
 Sighing and Sobbing, and no Rest she could take 
 God wot. And in the Morning when shee should 
 rise, the good Soule fell downe in a swowne, which 
 put her Maidens in a great Fright, who running 
 downe to their Master, cryed out, Alas, alas, our 
 Dame is dead! our Dame is dead! The Good-man 
 hearing this, ran up in all Hast, and there fell to 
 
 rubbing 
 75
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 rubbing and chafing of her Temples, sending for 
 aqua vitaCy and saying, Ah, my Sweet-heart, speake 
 to me, Good-wife, alacke, alacke! call in the Neigh- 
 bours, you Queanes, quoth he. With that she 
 lift up her Head, fetching a great Groane, and pre- 
 sently swouned againe, and much a doe ywis, he 
 had to keep Life in her: but when she was come 
 to her se!fe, How dost thou, Wife? qd. he. What 
 wilt thou have? for Gods sake tell me if thou hast 
 a Mind to any Thing, thou shalt have it. Away, 
 Dissembler (qd. she) how can I beleeve thee? thou 
 hast said to me as much a hundred Times, and de- 
 ceived me; it is thy Churlishnesse that hath killed 
 my Heart, never was Woman matcht to so unkind a 
 Man. 
 
 Nay, Good-wife, blame me not without Cause; 
 God knoweth how heartily I Love thee. Love me? 
 no, no, thou didst never carry my Love but on the 
 Tip of thy Tongue, quoth she; I dare sweare thou 
 desirest Nothing so much as my Death, and as for 
 my Part, I would to God thou hadst thy Desire: 
 but be content, I shall not trouble thee long: and 
 with that fetching a Sigh, she swouned and gave a 
 great Groane. The Man seeing her in this Case, 
 was wondrous woe: but so soone as they had re- 
 covered her, he said, O my deare Wife, if any bad 
 
 Conceit 
 76
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Conceit hath ingendered this Sicknesse, let me 
 know it; or if thou knowst any Thing that may 
 procure thy Health, let me understand thereof, and 
 I protest thou shalt have it, if it cost me all that 
 ever I have. 
 
 O Husband, quoth she, how may I credit your 
 Words, when for a paltry Sute of Apparell you de- 
 nyed me? Well, Wife, quoth he, thou shalt have 
 Apparell or any Thing else thou wilt request, if God 
 send thee once more Health. O Husband, if I may 
 find you so kind, 1 shall thinke my selfe the hap- 
 piest Woman in the World, thy Words have greatly 
 comforted my Heart, mee thinketh if I had it, I 
 could drink a good Draught of Renish Wine. Well, 
 Wine was sent for: O Lord, she said, that I had a 
 Piece of Chicken, I feele my Stomache desirous of 
 some Meate. Glad am I of that, said her Husband 
 and so the Woman within a few Dayes after that 
 was very well. 
 
 But you shall understand, that her Husband was 
 faine to dresse her London-like, ere he could get 
 her quiet, neither would it please her except the 
 Stuffe was bought in Cheapside: for out of Cheap- 
 side Nothing would content her, were it never so 
 good: insomuch, that if she thought a Taylor of 
 
 Cheapside 
 
 77
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 Cheapside made not her Gowne, she would sweare 
 it were quite spoiled. 
 
 And having thus wonne her Husband to her 
 Will, when the Rest of the Clothiers Wives heard 
 thereof, they would be suted in the same Sort too: 
 so that ever since, the Wives of South-hampton, 
 Salisbury, of Glocester, Worcester, and Reading, 
 went all as gallant and as brave as any Londoners 
 Wives. 
 
 78
 
 How the Clothiers sent the King 
 Aide into France, and how he over- 
 came his Brother Robert, and brought 
 him into England, and how the 
 Clothiers feasted his Majesty and his 
 Sonne at Reading.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 How the Clothiers sent the King Aide into France^ 
 and how he overcame his Brother Robert, and 
 brought him into England^ and how the Clothiers 
 feasted his Majesty and his Sonne at Reading. 
 
 THE Kings Majestic being at the Warres in 
 France, against Lewis the French King, and 
 Duke Robert of Normandy, sending for 
 divers Supplies of Souldiers out of England, the 
 Clothiers at their owne proper Cost sent out a great 
 Number, and sent them over to the King. 
 
 Which Roger Bishop of Salisbury, who governed 
 the Realme in the Kings Absence, did certifie the 
 King thereof, with his Letters written in their Com- 
 mendations. 
 
 And afterward it came to passe, that God sent 
 his Highness Victory over his Enemies, and having 
 taken his Brother Prisoner, brought him most joy- 
 fully with him into England, and appointed him to 
 be kept in Cardife Castle Prisoner, vet with this 
 
 Favour, 
 8i
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 Favour, that he might hunt and hawke where he 
 would up and downe the Country, and in this Sorte 
 he lived a good while, of whom we will speake more 
 at large hereafter. 
 
 The King being thus come Home, after his 
 Winters Rest, he made his Summers Progresse into 
 the West-countrey, to take a View of all the Chiefe 
 Townes: whereof the Clothiers being advertised, 
 they made great Preparation against his Comming, 
 because he had promised to visit them all. 
 
 And when his Grace came to Reading, he was 
 entertained with great Joy and Triumph: Thomas 
 Cole being the chiefe Man of Regard in all the 
 Towne, the King honoured his House with his 
 Princely Presence, where during the Kings Abode, 
 he and his Sonne and Nobles were highly feasted. 
 
 There the King beheld the great Number of 
 People, that was by that one Man maintained in 
 Worke, whose hearty Affection and Love toward 
 his Majestic did well appeare, as well by their out- 
 ward Countenances, as their Gifts presented unto 
 him. But of Cole himselfe the King was so well 
 perswaded, that he committed such Trust in him, 
 and put him in great Authority in the Towne'. 
 Furthermore the King said, That for the Love 
 which those People bore him living, that hee would 
 
 lay 
 82
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 lay his Bones among them when he was dead. For 
 I know not, said he, where they may be better be- 
 stowed, till the blessed Day of Resurrection, than 
 among these my Friends, which are like to be happy 
 Partakers of the same. 
 
 Whereupon his Majestic caused there to be 
 builded a most goodly and famous Abbey: in which 
 he might shew his Devotion to God, by increasing 
 his Service, and leave Example to other his Suc- 
 cessors to doe the like. Likewise within the Townehe 
 after builded a faire and goodly Castle, in the which 
 he often kept his Court, which was a Place of his 
 chiefe Residence during his Life, saying to the 
 Clothiers, that seeing he found them such faithfull 
 Subjects, he would be their Neighbour, and dwell 
 among them. 
 
 After his Majesties royall Feasting at Reading, 
 he proceeded in Progresse, till he had visited the 
 whole West-countries, being wondrously delighted 
 to see those People so diligent to apply their 
 Businesse: and comming to Salisbury, the Bishop 
 received his Majesty with great Joy, and with 
 Triumph attended on his Grace to his Palace, 
 where his Highnesse lodged. 
 
 There Sutton the Clothier presented his High- 
 nesse with a Broad Cloth, of so fine a Threed, and 
 
 exceeding 
 
 83 ^ 
 
 «*
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 exceeding good Workmanship, and therewithal! of 
 so faire a Colour, as his Grace gave Commendation 
 thereof, and, as it is said, he held it in such high 
 Estimation, that thereof he made his Parliament 
 Robes, & the first Parliament that was ever in Eng- 
 land was graced with the Kings Person in those 
 Robes, in Requitall whereof his Highness afterward 
 yeelded Sutton many princely Favours. 
 
 And it is to be remembred, that Simon of 
 South-hampton (seeing the King had overpast the 
 Place where he dwelt) came with his Wife and Ser- 
 vants to Salisbury, and against the K. going forth of 
 that City, hee caused a most pleasant Arbour to be 
 made upon the Toppe of the Hill leading to Salis- 
 burie, beset all with red and white Roses, in such 
 Sort, that not any Part of the Timber could be 
 scene, within the which sat a Maiden attired like a 
 Queen, attended on by a faire Traine of Maidens, 
 who at the Kings Approach presented him with a 
 Garland of sweet Flowres, yeelding him such Hon- 
 our as the Ladies of Rome were wont to doe to 
 their Princes after their Victories: which the King 
 tooke in gracious Part, and for his Farewell from 
 that Country, they bore him Company over Part of 
 the Plaine, with the Sound of divers sweet Instru- 
 ments of Musicke. All which, when his Grace 
 
 understood 
 84
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 understood was done at the Cost of a Clothier, he 
 said he was the most honoured by those Men, 
 above all the meane Subjects in his Land: & so his 
 Highness past on to Exceter, having given great 
 Rewards to these Maidens. 
 
 Thomas D(f^e and the Residue of the Clothiers, 
 against his Graces comming thither, had ordained 
 divers sumptuous Shewes; first, there was One that 
 presented the Person o^ Augustus Cesar the Emper- 
 our, who commanded after the Romane Invasion, 
 that their City should be called Augustus^ after his 
 owne Name, which before Time was called Isca, 
 and of later Yeeres, Exeter. 
 
 There his Majesty was royally feasted seven 
 Dayes together, at the onely Cost of Clothiers, but 
 the divers Delightes and sundry Pastimes which 
 they made there before the King, and his Nobles, 
 is too long here to be rehearsed, and therefore I 
 will overpasse them to avoid Tediousnesse. 
 
 His Grace then coasting along the Country, 
 at last came to Glocester, an ancient City, which 
 was builded by Glove^ a Brittish King, who 
 named it after his owne Name, Glocester. Here 
 was his Majesty entertained by Gray the Clothier, 
 who profest himselfe to be of that ancient Family 
 of Grayes, whose first Originall issued out of 
 
 that 
 85
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 that ancient and Honorable Castle and Towne of 
 Rithin. 
 
 Here was the King most bountifully feasted, 
 having in his Company his Brother Robert (al- 
 though his Prisoner the same Time.) And his 
 Grace being desirous to see the Maidens card and 
 spinne, they were of Purpose set to their Worke: 
 among whom was faire Margaret with her white 
 Hand, whose excellent Beauty having pierct the 
 Eyes of the amorous Duke, it made such an 
 Impression in his Heart, that afterward he could 
 never forget her: and so vehemently was his 
 Affection kindled, that he could take no Rest, till 
 by writing he had bewrayed his Minde: but ot 
 this we will speake more in another Place: and 
 the King at his Departure said, that to gratifie 
 them, hee would make his sonne Robert their 
 Earle, which was the first Earle that ever was in 
 Glocester. 
 
 Now when his Grace was come from thence, 
 he went to Worcester, where William Fitz-allen 
 made Preparation in all honourable Sort to receive 
 him, which Man being borne of great Parentage, 
 was not to learne how to entertaine his Majestic, 
 being descended of that famous Family, whose Pat- 
 rimony lay about the Towne of Oswestrie, which 
 
 Towne 
 86
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Towne his Predecessors had inclosed with stately- 
 Walls of Stone. 
 
 Although adverse Fortune had so greviously 
 frowned on some of them, that their Children were 
 fain to become Tradesmen, whose Hands were to 
 them in stead of Lands, notwithstanding God raised 
 againe the Fame of this Man, both by his great 
 Wealth, and also in his Posterity, whose eldest Son 
 Henry^ the Kings God-son, became afterward the 
 Maior of London, who was the first Maior that 
 ever was in that City, who governed the same 23 
 Yeeres: and then his Son Roger Fitz-allen was the 
 second Mayor. 
 
 The princely Pleasures that in Worcester were 
 shewn the King, were many and marvelous, and in 
 no Place had his Majesty received more Delight 
 then here: for the which at his Departure he did 
 shew himseife very thankefull. Now when his 
 Grace had thus taken View of all his good Townes 
 west-ward, and in that Progresse had visited these 
 Clothiers, he returned to London, with great Joy of 
 his Commons. 
 
 87
 
 How Hodgekins of Halifax came to 
 the Court, and complained to the 
 King, that his Privilege was nothing 
 worth, because when they found any 
 Offender, they could not get a 
 Hangman to execute him: and how 
 by a Fryer a Gin was devised to 
 chop off Mens Heads of it selfe.
 
 s?/
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 How Hodgeklns of Halifax came to the Courts and 
 
 complained to the King^ that his Privilege was 
 nothing worth, because when they found any Of- 
 fender, they could not get a Hangman to execute him: 
 and how by a Fryer a Gin was devised to chop off 
 Mens Heads of it selfe, 
 
 AFTER that Hodgekins had got the Priviledge 
 for the Towne of HaHfax, to hang up such 
 Theeves as stole their Cloth in the Night, 
 presently without any further Judgement, all the 
 Clothiers of the Towne were exceedingly glad, and 
 perswaded themselves, that now their Goods would 
 be safe all Night, without watching them at all, so 
 that whereas before, the Towne maintained certaine 
 Watchmen to keepe their Cloth by Night, they 
 were hereupon dismissed as a Thing needlesse to 
 be done, supposing with themselves, that seeing 
 they should be straight hanged that were found 
 faulty in this Point, that no Man would be so des- 
 
 -perate 
 
 91
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 perate to enterprise any such Act. And indeed the 
 Matter being noysed through the whole Country, 
 that they were straight to be hanged that use such 
 Theevery, it made many lewd Livers to restraine 
 such Theevery. 
 
 Nevertheless, there was at that same Time living, 
 a notable Theefe named Wallis^ whom in the North 
 they called Mighty Wallis^ in regard to his Valour 
 and Manhood: This Man being most subtile in 
 such Kind of Knavery, having heard of this late 
 Priviledge, and therewithall of the Townes Security, 
 said that once he would venture his Necke for a 
 Packe of Northerne Cloth: and therefore comming 
 to One or Two of his Companions, he asked if they 
 would be Partners in his Adventure, and if (quoth 
 he) you will herein hazard your Bodies, you shall be 
 Sharers in all our Booties. 
 
 At length by many Perswasions the Men con- 
 sented: whereupon late in the Night they got them 
 all into a Farriours Shop, and called up the Folkes 
 of the House. What the foule ill wald you have 
 (quoth they) at this Time of the Night? Wallis 
 answered, saying, Good-fellowes, we would have you 
 to remove the Shooes of our Horses Feete, and set 
 them on againe, and for your Paines you shall be 
 well pleased. The Smith at length was perswaded, 
 
 and 
 92
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 and when he had pluckt off all the Shooes from their 
 Horses Feete, they would needes have them all set 
 on againe, quite contrary with the Cakins forward, 
 that should stand backward. How? fay, fay, Man, 
 qd. the Smith, are ye like Fules? what the Deele doe 
 you meane to breake your Crags? gud Faith, I tro 
 the Men be wood. Not so, Smith, qd. they, do 
 thou as we bid thee, & thou shalt have thy Money: 
 for it is an old Proverbe, 
 
 Be it better, or be it worse, 
 
 Please you the Man that beares the Purse. 
 
 Gud Faith, and see I sail, qd. the Smith, and 
 so did as hee was willed. When V/allis had thus 
 caused their Horses to be shod, to Hallifax they 
 went, where they without any Let, laded their 
 Horses with Cloth, and so departed contrary Way. 
 
 In the Morning, so soone as the Clothiers 
 came to the Field, they found that they were robd, 
 whereupon one ranne to another to tell these 
 Things. Now when Hodgekins heard thereof, rising 
 up in Haste, he wild his Neighbors to marke and to 
 see, if they could not descry either the Foot-steppes 
 of Men or Horses. Which being done, they per- 
 ceived that Horses had beene there, and seeking to 
 
 pursue 
 93
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 pursue them by their Foot-steppes, they went a 
 cleane contrary Way, by Reason that the Horses 
 were shodde backward: and when in vaine they had 
 long pursued them, they returned, being never the 
 neere. Now Wallis used his Feate so long, that at 
 length he was taken, and Two more with him: 
 whereupon according to the Priviledge of the 
 Towne, they put Halters about the Theeves Neckes 
 presently to hang them up. 
 
 When they were come to the Place appointed, 
 Wallis and the Rest being out of Hope to escape 
 Death, prepared themselves patiently to suffer the 
 Rigor of the Law. And therewith the Rest laying 
 open the Lewdnesse of his Life, greviously la- 
 menting for his Sinnes, at length commending 
 their Soules to God, they yeelded their Bodies to 
 the Grave, with which Sight the People were greatly 
 mooved with Pity, because they had never scene 
 Men come to hanging before: but when they 
 should have been tyed up, Hodgekins willed one of 
 his Neighbours to play the Hang-mans Part, who 
 would not by any Meanes doe it, although he was a 
 very poore Man, who for his Paines should have 
 beene possest of all their Apparell. When he would 
 not yeeld to the Office, one of those which had his 
 Cloth stolen, was commanded to doe the Deed; but 
 
 he 
 
 94
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 he in like Maner would not, saying: When I have 
 the Skill to make a Man, I will hang a Man, if it 
 chance my Workemanship doe not like me. 
 
 And thus from one to another, the Office of 
 the Hang-man was posted off. At last a Rogue 
 came by, whom they would have compelled to have 
 done that Deed. Nay, my masters, qd. he, not so: 
 but as you have got a Priviledge for the Towne, so 
 you were best to procure a Commission to make a 
 Hang-man, or else you are like to be without for 
 me. Neighbor Hodgekins^ quoth one, I pray you doe 
 this Office your selfe, you have had most Losse, and 
 therefore you should be the most ready to hang 
 them your selfe. No, not I (quoth Hodgekins,) 
 though my Losse were ten Times greater than it is; 
 notwithstanding look which of these Theeves will 
 take upon him to hang the other, shall have his 
 Life saved, otherwise they shall all to Prison till I 
 can provide a Hangman. 
 
 When Wallis saw the Matter brought to this 
 Passe, he began stoutly to reply, saying, My Masters 
 of the Towne of Halifax, though your Priviledge 
 stretch to hang Men up presently that are found 
 stealing of your Goods, yet it gives you no Warrant 
 to imprison them till you provide them a Hangman: 
 my selfe, with these my Fellowes, have here yeelded 
 
 our 
 
 95
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 our selves to satisfie the Law, and if it be not per- 
 formed, the Fault is yours, and not ours, and 
 therefore we humbly take our Leave: from the Gal- 
 lowes the xviii of August. And with that he leapt 
 from the Ladder, and hurl'd the Halter at Hodgekins 
 Face. 
 
 When the Clothiers saw this, they knew not 
 what to say, but taking them by the Sleeves, en- 
 treated to have their owne againe. Not so, qd. 
 Wallis^ you get not the Value of a Placke or a 
 Bawby : we have stolne your Cloth, then why 
 doe you not hang us? here we have made our 
 selves ready, and if you will not hang us, chuse. A 
 Plague upon you, quoth he, you have hindered me 
 God knowes what: 1 made Account to dine this Day 
 in Heaven, and you keepe me here on Earth, where 
 there is not a Quarter of that good Cheare. The 
 foule Evilltake you all; I was fully provided to give 
 the Gallowes a Boxe on the Eare, and now God 
 knowes when I shall be in so good a Minde 
 againe: and so he with the rest of his Companions 
 departed. 
 
 When Hodgekins saw, that notwithstanding their 
 
 Theevery, how they flowted at their Lenity, he was 
 
 much mooved in Minde: and as he stood in his 
 
 Dumps chewing his Cud, making his Dinner with a 
 
 Dish 
 96
 
 of Thomas of Readin 
 
 g 
 
 Dish of Melancholy, a Gray Fryar reverently sa- 
 luted him in this Sort: All haile, good-man Hodge- 
 kins ^ Happiness and Health be ever with you, and 
 and to all Suppressors of lewd Livers, God send 
 everlasting Joyes. 
 
 I am sorry. Good-man Hodgekins, that the great 
 Priviledge which our King gave to this Towne, comes 
 to no greater Purpose: better farre had it beene that 
 it had never beene granted, then so lightly regarded: 
 the Towne hath suffered through their owne Peevish- 
 nesse,an everlasting Reproch this Day, onely because 
 foolish Pitty hath hindred Justice. 
 
 Consider, that Compassion is not to be had upon 
 Theeves and Robbers: Pity onely appertaineth to 
 the vertuous Sort, who are overwhelmed with the 
 Waves of Misery and Mischance. What great 
 Cause of Boldnesse have you given to bad Livers, 
 by letting these Fellowes thus to escape, and how 
 shall you now keepe your Goods in Safety, seeing 
 you fulfill not the Law, which should be your De- 
 fence? never thinke that Theeves will make any 
 Conscience to carry away your Goods, when they 
 find them selves in no Danger of Death, who have 
 more Cause to praise your Pity, then commend 
 your Wisedome: wherefore in Time seeke to 
 prevent the ensuing Evil. 
 
 For 
 
 97
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 For my owne Part, I have that Care of your 
 Good, that I would worke all good Meanes for 
 your Benefit, and yet not so much in respect of 
 your Profit as for the Desire I have to uphold Jus- 
 tice, and seeing I find you and the Rest so woman- 
 ish, that you could not find in your Hearts to 
 hang a Theefe, I have devised how to make a Gin, 
 that shall cut of their Heads without Mans Helpe, 
 and if the King will allow thereof 
 
 When Hodgekins heard this, he was somewhat 
 comforted in Mind, and said to the Fryer, that if 
 by his Cunning he would performe it, he would 
 once againe make Sute to the King to have his 
 Grant for the same. The Fryer willed him to have 
 no Doubt in him: and so when he had devised it, 
 he got a Carpenter to frame it out of Hand. 
 
 Hodgekins in the meane Time posted up to 
 the Court, and told his Majesty that the Priviledge 
 of Halifax was not worth a Pudding. Why so? said 
 the King. Because, quoth Hodgekins^ we can get 
 never a Hangman to trusse our Theeves: but if it 
 shall like your good Grace, (quoth he) there is a 
 feate Fryer, that will make us a Device, which shall 
 without the Hand of Man cut off the Cragges of 
 of all such Carles, if your Majesty will please to al- 
 low thereof. 
 
 The 
 98
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 The King understanding the full Effect of the 
 Matter, at length granted his Petition: whereupon 
 till this Day, it is observed in Hallifax, that such as 
 are taken stealing of their Cloth have their Heads 
 chopt off with the same Gin. 
 
 99
 
 How the BailifFes of London could 
 get no Man to bee a Catchpole, and 
 how certaine Flemings tooke that 
 Office upon them, whereof many of 
 them were fledde into this Realme, 
 by Reason of certaine Waters that 
 had drowned a great Part of their 
 Country.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 How the Bailiffes of London could get no Man to bee 
 a Catchpohy and how certaine Flemings tooke that 
 Office upon them^ whereof many of them were fledde 
 into this RealmCy by Reason of certaine Waters 
 that had drowned a great Part of their Country. 
 
 THE City of London being at that Time 
 governed by Bailiffes, it came to passe, 
 that in a certain Fray two of their Catch- 
 poles were killed, for at that Time they had not 
 the Name of Sergeants: and you shall understand, 
 that their Office was then so much hated and de- 
 tested of Englishmen, that none of them would 
 take it upon him: so that the Bailiffes were glad 
 to get any Man whatsoever, and to give him cer- 
 tain Wages to performe that Office. 
 
 It came to passe, as I said before, that Two of 
 their Officers by arresting of a Man, were at one 
 Instant slaine, by Meanes whereof the Bailiffes 
 were enforced to seeke Others to put in their 
 
 Roomes, 
 
 103
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 Roomes, but by no Meanes could they get any, 
 wherefore according to their wonted Manner, they 
 made Proclamation, that if there were any Man 
 that would present himselfe before them, he should 
 not onely be settled in that Office during their 
 Lives, but also should have such Maintenance and 
 Allowance, as for such Men was by the City pro- 
 vided: & notwithstanding that it was an Office most 
 necessary in the Commonwealth, yet did the poor- 
 est Wretch despise it, that lived in any estimation 
 among his Neighbours. 
 
 At last, a Couple of Flemings, which were fled 
 into this Land, by Reason that their Country was 
 drowned with the Sea, heering the Proclamation, 
 offered themselves unto the Bayliffes, to serve in 
 this Place, who were presently received and ac- 
 cepted, & according to Order had Garments given 
 them, which were of 2 Colors, blue & red their 
 Coates, Breeches & Stockings, whereby they were 
 known and discerned from other Men. 
 
 Within Halfe a Yeere after it came to passe, 
 that Thomas Dove of Exeter came up to London, 
 who having by his Jolity and Goodfellowship, 
 brought himselfe greatly behind Hand, was in Dan- 
 ger to divers Men of the Citie, among the Rest, one 
 of his Creditors feed an Officer to arrest him. The 
 
 Dutchman, 
 104
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Dutchman, that had not beene long experienced 
 in such Matters, and hearing how many of 
 his Fellows had beene killed for attempting 
 to arrest Men, stood quivering and quaking in 
 a Corner of the Street to watch for Thomas 
 Dove, and having long waited, at length he 
 espied him: whereupon he prepared his Mace 
 ready, and with a pale Countenance proceeded 
 to his Office; at what Time comming behind 
 the Man, suddenly with his Mace he knockt 
 him on the Pate, saying, I arrest you, giving 
 him such a Blow, that he fell him to the 
 Ground. 
 
 The Catchpole thinking he had killed the 
 Man, he left his Mace behind him and ranne away: 
 the Creditor he ranne after him, calling and crying 
 that he should turne againe: But the Fleming would 
 not by any Meanes turne backe, but got him quite 
 out of the City, and tooke Sanctuary at West- 
 minster. 
 
 Dove being come to himselfe, arose and went 
 to his Inne, no Man hindring his Passage, being 
 not a little glad he so escaped the Danger. Yet 
 neverthelesse, at his next coming to London, another 
 Catchpole met with him, and arrested him in the 
 Kings Name. 
 
 Dove 
 105
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 Dove being dismayed at this mischievous Mis- 
 chance, knew not what to doe: at last he requested 
 the Catchpole that hee would not violently cast 
 him in Prison, but stay till such Time as he could 
 send for a Friend to be his Surety; and although 
 Kindnesse in a Catchpole be rare, yet was he won 
 with faire Words to doe him this Favour: where- 
 upon Dove desired one to go to his Oast Jarrat, 
 who immediately came with him, & offered him- 
 selfe to be Doves Surety. 
 
 The Officer, who never saw this Man before, 
 was much amazed at his Sight: for Jarrat was a 
 great and mighty Man of Body, of Countenance 
 grim, and exceeding high of Stature, so that the 
 Catchpole was wonderfully afraid, asking if he could 
 find never a Surety but the Devill, most fearfully 
 intreating him to conjure him away, and he would 
 doe Dove any Favour. What, will you not take 
 my Word? qd. Jarrat? Sir, qd. the Catchpole, if it 
 were for any Matter in Hell, I would take your 
 Word as soone as any Divels in that Place, but 
 seeing it is for a Matter on Earth, I would gladly 
 have a Surety. 
 
 Why, thou whorson Cricket! (quoth Jarrat,) 
 
 thou Maggat-apie! thou Spinner! thou paultry 
 
 Spider! dost thou take me for a Devill? Sirra, take 
 
 my 
 io6
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 my Word, I charge thee, for this Man, or else 
 goodman Butter-fly, He make thee repent it. The 
 Officer, while he was in the House, said he was 
 content, but as soone as he came into the Street, 
 he cryed, saying, Helpe, helpe, good Neighbors, or 
 else the Devill will carry away my Prisoner: not- 
 withstanding, there was not one Man would stirre 
 to be the Catchpoles Aide. Which when he saw, 
 he tooke fast hold on Thomas Dove^ and would not 
 by any Meanes let him goe. 
 
 Jarraty seeing this, made no more adoe, but 
 comming to the Officer, gave him such a Fillop on 
 the Forehead with his Finger, that he fell the poore 
 Fleming to the Ground: and while he lay in the 
 Streete stretching his Heeles, Jarrat took Dove 
 under his Arme and carried him Home, where he 
 thought himselfe as Safe as King Charlemaine in 
 Mount-Albion. 
 
 The next morning Jarrat conveyed Dove out 
 of Towne, who afterward kept him in the Country, 
 and came no more in the Catchpoles Clawes. 
 
 107
 
 How Duke Robert came a wooing 
 to Margaret with the white Hand, 
 and how he appointed to come and 
 steale her away from her Masters.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 How Duke Robert came a wooing to Margaret with 
 the white Handy and how he appointed to come and 
 steale her away from her Masters. 
 
 THE beautiful Margaret^ who had now dwelt 
 with her Dame the space of foure Yeeres, 
 was highly regarded and secretly beloved of 
 many gallant and worthy Gentlemen of the Coun- 
 try, but of Two most especially, Duke Robert^ and 
 Sir William Ferris. It chanced on a Time that 
 faire Margaret^ with many Others of her Masters 
 Folkes; went a Hay-making: attired in a red Stam- 
 mell Peticoate, and a broad Strawne Hat upon her 
 Head; she had also a Hay-forke, and in her Lappe 
 she did carry her Breake-fast. As she went along, 
 Duke Robert^ with One or Two of his Keepers, 
 met with her, whose amiable Sight did now anew 
 re-inkindle the secret Fire of Love, which long lay 
 smothering in his Heart. Wherefore meeting her 
 so happily, he saluted her thus friendly. 
 
 Faire 
 1 1 1
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 Faire Maid, good Morow, are you walking so 
 diligently to your Labour? Needes must the 
 Weather be faire, when the Sun shines so cleare, 
 and the Hay wholesome that is dryed with such 
 splendent Rayes. Renowned and most notable 
 Duke (qd. she) poore Harvest Folkes pray for 
 faire Weather, and it is the Laborers Comfort to 
 see his Worke prosper, and the more happy may 
 we count the Day, that is blessed with your princely 
 Presence. But more happy, said the Duke, are 
 they which are conversant in thy Company. But 
 let me intreat thee to turne backe to thy Masters 
 with me, and commit thy Forke to some that are 
 fitter for such Toyle: trust me, me thinkes thy 
 Dame is too much ill-advised in setting thee to 
 such homely Busines. I muse thou canst indure 
 this vile beseeming Servitude, whose delicate Lims 
 were never framed to prove such painefull Experi- 
 ments. 
 
 Albeit, quoth she, it becommeth not me to con- 
 troule your judiciall Thoughts, yet, were you not 
 the Duke, I would say, your Opinion deceived you: 
 though your faire Eyes seeme cleare, yet 1 deemed 
 them unperfect, if they cast before your Mind any 
 Shadow or Sparke of Beauty in me: But I rather 
 thinke, because it hath beene an old Saying, that 
 
 Women 
 
 112
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Women are proud to heare themselves praised, that 
 you either speake this to drive away the Time, or 
 to wring from me my too apparant Imperfections. 
 But I humbly intreate Pardon, too longe have 
 I fore-slowed my Businesse, and shewne myselfe 
 over-bold in your Presence; and therewith, with a 
 courtly Grace, bending her Knees to the courteous 
 Duke, she went forward to the Field, and the Duke 
 to the Towne of Glocester. 
 
 When he came thither, he made his Keepers 
 great Cheare, intreating them they would give him 
 Respit to be awhile with old Gray; for we Twaine 
 must have a Game or Two, quoth he: and for my 
 safe Returne, I gage you my princely Word, that as 
 I am a true Knight and a Gentleman, I will returne 
 safe to your Charge againe. 
 
 The Keepers being content, the Duke de- 
 parted, and with old Gray goes to the Field, to 
 peruse the Worke-folkes, where while Gray found 
 himselfe busie in many Matters, he tooke Oppor- 
 tunity to talke with Margaret; shee who by his 
 Letters before was privie to his Purpose, guest 
 beforehand the Cause of his comming: to whom he 
 spake to this effect: 
 
 Faire Maid, I did long since manifest my 
 Love to thee by my Letter; tell me, therefore, were it 
 
 not 
 113
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 not better to be a Dutches then Drudge? a Lady of 
 high Reputatione, then a Servant of simple Degree? 
 With me thou mightest live in Pleasure, where here 
 thou drawest thy Dayes forth in Paine; by my Love 
 thou shouldst be made a Lady of great Treasures: 
 where now thou art poore and beggerly: all Manner 
 of Delights should then attend on thee, and whatso- 
 ever thy Heart desireth, thou shouldst have: 
 wherefore seeing it lyes in thy owne Choice, make 
 thyselfe happy by consenting to my Suite. 
 
 Sir, (quoth she) I confesse your Love deserves 
 a Ladies Favour, your Affection a faithful Friend, 
 such a One as could make but one Heart and 
 Mind of two Hearts & Bodyes; but farre unfit it 
 is that the Turtle should match with the Eagle, 
 though her Love be never so pure, her Wings 
 are unfit to mount so high. While Thales gazed on 
 the Starres, he stumbled in a Pit. And they that 
 clime unadvisedly, catch a Fall suddenly: what 
 availeth high Dignity in Time of Adversity? it 
 neither helpeth the Sorrow of the Heart, nor re- 
 moves the Bodies Misery: as for Wealth and Treas- 
 ure, what are they, but Fortunes Baits to bring Men 
 in Danger? good for nothing but to make People 
 forget themselves: & whereas you alleadge Poverty 
 to be a Hinderer of the Hearts Comfort, I find it 
 
 my 
 
 114
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 my selfe contrary, knowing more Surety under a 
 simple Habit, than a royall Robe: and verily there 
 is none In the World poore, but they that think 
 themselves poore: for such as are indued with 
 Content are rich, having nothing else; but he 
 that is possessed with Riches without Content, 
 is most wretched and miserable. Wherefore, 
 most noble Duke, albeit I account my Life un- 
 worthy of your least Favour, yet I would de- 
 sire you to match your Love to your Like, and 
 let me rest to my Rake, and use my Forke for 
 my Living. 
 
 Consider, faire Margaret (quoth he) that It lyes 
 not in Mans Power to place his Love where he list, 
 being the Worke of an high Deity. A Bird was 
 never scene in Pontus, nor true Love In a fleeting 
 Mind: never shall remove the Affection of my 
 Heart, which in Nature resembleth the Stone Abls- 
 ton, whose Fire can never be cooled: wherefore, 
 sweet Maiden, give not obstinate denial, where 
 gentle Acceptance ought to be received. 
 
 Faire sir, (quoth she) consider what high Dis- 
 pleasure may rise by a rash Match, what Danger a 
 Kings Frownes may breed; my worthless Matching 
 with your Royalty may perhaps regaine your Lib- 
 erty, and hazard my Life; then call to Mind how 
 
 little 
 "5
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 little you should enjoy your Love or I my wedded 
 Lord. 
 
 The Duke at these Words made this Reply, 
 that if she consented, she should not dread any 
 Danger. The Thunder (quoth he) is driven away 
 by ringing of Belles, the Lions wrath qualified by a 
 yeelding Body: how much more a Brothers Anger 
 with a Brothers Intreaty? By me he hath received 
 many Favors, and never yet did he requite any 
 One of them: and who is ignorant that the princely 
 Crown which adorneth his Head is my Right? all 
 which I am content he shall still enjoy, so he requite 
 my Kindnesse. But if he should not, then would I 
 be like those Men (that eating of the tree Lutes) 
 forget the County where they were borne; and never 
 more should this Clime cover my Head, but with 
 thee would I live in a strange Land, being better 
 content with an Egge in thy Company, then with 
 all the Delicates in England. 
 
 The Maiden hearing this, who with many 
 
 other Words was long wooed, at last consented; 
 
 where yeelding to him her Heart with her Hand, 
 
 he departed, appointing to certifie her from Cardiffe 
 
 Castle, what Determination he would follow: so 
 
 taking his leave of Gray^ he went to his Brothers, 
 
 and with them posted to Cardiffe. 
 
 Now 
 ii6
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Now it is to be remembered, that Sir William 
 Ferrers^ within a day or two after, came into Grayes 
 house, as it was his ordinary Custome, but not 
 so much ywis for Grayes Company, as for the 
 Minde he had to Margaret his Maiden, who 
 although he were a married Man, and had a faire 
 Lady to his Wife, yet he laid hard Siege to the 
 Fort of this Maidens Chastity, having with many 
 faire Words sought to allure her, and by the Offer 
 of sundry rich Gifts to tempt her. But when she 
 saw, that by a hundred Denials she could not 
 be rid of him, she now chanced on a Sudden to 
 give him such an Answer, as drove him from a 
 Deceit into such Conceit, as never after that time 
 he troubled her. 
 
 Sir William Ferrers being very importunate to 
 
 have her grant his Desire, and when after sundry 
 
 Assaults she gave him still the Repulse, hee would 
 
 would needes know the Reason why shee should 
 
 not love him; quoth he, If thou didst but consider 
 
 who he is that seeketh thy Favour, what Pleasure he 
 
 may doe thee by his Purse, and what Credit by his 
 
 Countenance, thou wouldst never stand on such 
 
 nice Points. If I be thy Friend, who dareth be 
 
 thy Foe? and what is he that will once call thy 
 
 Name in Question for Anything? therefore, sweet 
 
 Girle, 
 117
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 Girle, be better advised, and refuse not my Offer, 
 being so large. 
 
 Truly, Sir William (quoth she) though there 
 be many Reasons to make me deny your Suite, yet 
 is there one above the Rest that causes me I cannot 
 love you. Now, I pray thee, my Wench, let me 
 know that, quoth he, and I will amend it, whatsoever 
 it be. Pardon me. Sir, said Margaret; if I should 
 speake my Mind, it would possibly offend you, 
 and doe me no Pleasure, because it is a Defect in 
 Nature, which no Phisicke can cure. Sir William 
 hearing her on so, being abashed at her Speech, 
 said, Faire Margaret^ let me (if I may obtaine no 
 more at thy Hands) yet intreat thee to know what 
 this Defect should be: I am not wry-neckt, crook- 
 legd, stub-footed, lame-handed, nor bleare-eyed: 
 what can make this Mislike? I never knew any 
 Body that tooke Exceptions at my Person before. 
 
 And the more sorry am I, quoth she, that I 
 was so mala-pert to speake it; but pardon me my 
 Presumption, good Sir William; I would I had 
 beene like the Storke, tonguelesse, then should I 
 never have caused your Disquiet. Nay, sweet Mar- 
 garet, quoth he, tell me, deare Love, I commend 
 thy Singlenesse of Heart, good Margaret, speake. 
 Good Sir William, let it rest, quoth she; I know you 
 
 will 
 ii8
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 will not beleeve it when I have revealed it, neither 
 
 is it a Thing that you can helpe: and yet such 
 
 is my FooHshnesse, had it not beene for that, I 
 
 thinke verily I had granted your Suite ere now. 
 
 But seeing you urge me so much to know what it 
 
 is, I will tell you: it is, Sir, your ill-favoured great 
 
 Nose, that hangs sagging so lothsomely to your 
 
 Lips, that I cannot finde in my Heart so much as 
 
 to kisse you. 
 
 What, my Nose! quoth he, is my Nose so 
 
 great and I never knew it? certainly I thought my 
 
 Nose to be as comely as any Mans: but this it is, 
 
 we are all apt to think well of our selves, and a 
 
 great deale better then we ought: but let me see, 
 
 my Nose! by the Masse, tis true, I doe now feele it 
 
 my selfe: Good Lord, how was I blinded before.? 
 
 Hereupon it is certaine, that the Knight was driven 
 
 into such a Conceit, as none could perswade him 
 
 but his Nose was so great indeed: his Lady, or 
 
 any other that spake to the contrarie, he would say 
 
 they were Flatterers, and that they lied, insomuch 
 
 that he would be ready to strike some of them 
 
 that commended and spake well of his Nose. If 
 
 they were Men of Worship, or any other that con- 
 
 traried him in his Opinion, he would sweare they 
 
 flowted him, and be ready to challenge them the 
 
 Field. 
 119
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 Field. He became so ashamed of himselfe, that 
 after that Day he would never go Abroad, whereby 
 Margaret was well rid of his Company. 
 
 On a Time, a wise and grave Gentleman seeing 
 him grounded in his Conceit so strongly, gave his 
 Lady Counsell, not to contrary him therein, but 
 rather say that she would seeke out some cunning 
 Physician to cure him: for, said he, as Sir William 
 hath taken this Conceit of himselfe, so is he like 
 never to heare other Opinion, till his owne Conceit 
 doth remove it, the which must be wisely wrought 
 to bring it to passe. 
 
 Whereupon the Lady, having conferred with a 
 Physician that beare a great Name in the Countrey, 
 hee undertooke to remove this fond Conceit by his 
 Skill. The Day being appointed when the Phisi- 
 cian should come, and the Knight being told 
 thereof, for very Joy he would goe forth to meete 
 him, when a Woman of the Towne saw the Knight, 
 having heard what Rumor went because of his Nose, 
 shee looked very steadfastly upon him: the Knight 
 casting his Eye upon her, seeing her to gaze so 
 wistly in his Face, with an angry Countenance said 
 thus to her. Why, how now, good Huswife, cannot 
 you get you about your Business? The Woman be- 
 ing a shrewish Queane, answered him cuttedly, No^ 
 
 mary 
 
 I20
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 mary can I not, qd. she. No, you Drab what Is 
 the Cause? said the Knight. Because, quoth she, 
 your Nose stands in my Way: wherewith the 
 Knight, being very angry and abashed, went backe 
 againe to his House. 
 
 The Physician being come, he had filled a cer- 
 taine Bladder with Sheepes Blood, and conveyed it 
 into his Sleeve, where at the Issue of the Bladder 
 he had put in a Piece of a Swans Quill, through 
 the which the Blood should runne out of the Blad- 
 der so close by his Hand, that hee, holding the 
 Knight by the Nose, it might not be perceived but 
 that it issued thence. All Things being prepared, 
 he told the Knight, that by a foule corrupt Blood 
 wherewith the Veines of his Nose were overcharged, 
 his Impediment did grow, therefore, quoth he, to 
 have Redresse for this Disease, you must have a 
 Veine opened in your Nose, whence this foule Cor- 
 ruption must be taken: whereupon it will follow, 
 that your Nose will fall againe to his naturall Pro- 
 portion, and never shall you be troubled with this 
 Griefe any more, and thereupon will I gage my 
 Life. 
 
 I pray you. Master Doctor, said the Knight, 
 Is my Nose so big as you make it? With Rever- 
 ence I may speake it, said the Physician, to tell the 
 
 Truth,
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 Truth, and avoid Flattery, I never saw a more mis- 
 shapen Nose so foule to Sight. Lo you now, 
 Madam, quoth the Knight, this is you that said my 
 Nose was as well, as handsome, and as comely a 
 Nose as any Mans. 
 
 Alas, Sir, qd. she, I spake it (God wot) be- 
 cause you should not grieve at it, nor take my 
 Words in ill Part, neither did it indeed become me 
 to mislike of your Nose. 
 
 All this we will quickly remedy, said the Phy- 
 sician, have no doubt: and with that he very orderly 
 prickt him in the Nose, and not in a Veine whereby 
 he might bleed: and presently having a Tricke 
 finely to unstop the Quill, the Blood ranne into a 
 Bason in great Aboundance: and when the Bladder 
 was empty, and the Bason almost full, the Physician 
 seemed to close the Veine, and asked him how he 
 felt his Nose, showing the great Quantite of filthy 
 Blood which from thence he had taken. 
 
 The Knight beholding it with great Wonder, 
 said, he thought that no Man in the World had 
 beene troubled with such Aboundance of corrupt 
 Blood in his whole Body, as lay in his mis-shapen 
 Nose, and therewithall he began to touch and han- 
 dle his nose, saying, that he felt it mightily as- 
 swaged. Immediately a Glasse was brought, wherein 
 
 he 
 
 122
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 he might behold himselfe. Yea, mary, qd. he, now 
 1 praise God, I see my Nose is come into some 
 reasonable Proportion, and I feele my selfe very 
 well eased of the Burthen thereof; but if it contin- 
 ued thus, thats all. I will warrant your Worship, 
 said the Physician, for ever being troubled with the 
 like againe. Whereupon the Knight received great 
 Joy, and the Doctor a high Reward. 
 
 123
 
 How Thomas of Reading was mur- 
 dered at his Oasts House of Cole- 
 brooke, who also had murdered 
 many before him, and how their 
 Wickednesse was at length revealed.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 How Thomas of Reading was murdered at his Oasts 
 House of Colebrooke^ who also had murdered many 
 before him, and how their Wickednesse was at length 
 revealed. 
 
 THOMAS of Reading having many Occasions 
 to come to London, as well about his own 
 Affaires, as also the Kings Businesse, being 
 in a great Office under his Majestic, it chanced on 
 a Time that his Oast and Oastesse of Colebrooke, 
 who through Covetousnesse had murdered many of 
 the Guests, and having every Time he came thither 
 great Store of his Money to lay up, appointed him 
 to be the next fat Pig that should be killed: For it 
 is to be understood, that when they plotted the 
 Murder of any Man, this was alwaies their Terme, 
 the Man to his Wife, and the Woman to her Hus- 
 band: Wife, there is now a fat Pig to be had if you 
 want one. Whereupon she would answer thus, I 
 
 pray 
 127
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 pray you put him in the Hogstie till To-morrow. 
 This was when any Man came thither alone with- 
 out Others in his Company, and they saw he had 
 great Store of Money. 
 
 This Man should be then laid in the Chamber 
 right over the Kitchen,which was a faire Chamber, & 
 the better set out than any other in the House: the 
 best Bedstead therein, though it were little and low, 
 yet was it most cunningly carved, and faire to the 
 Eye, the Feet whereof were fast naild to the Cham- 
 ber Floore in such Sort, that it could not in any 
 wise fall; the Bed that lay therein was fast sowed 
 to the Sides of the Bedstead: Moreover, that Part 
 of the Chamber whereupon this Bed and Bedstead 
 stood was made in such Sort, that by the pulHng 
 out of Two Yron Pinnes below in the Kitchen, it 
 was to be let downe and taken up by a Drawbridge, 
 or in Manner of a Trap-doore: moreover in the 
 Kitchen, directly under the Place where this should 
 fall, was a mighty great Caldron, wherein they used 
 to seethe their Liquor when they went to Brewing. 
 Now the Men appointed for the slaughter were 
 laid into this Bed, and in the dead Time of the 
 Night, when they were sound asleepe, by plucking 
 out the aforesaid Yron Pinnes, downe will the Man 
 fall out of his Bed into the boyling Caldron, and all 
 
 the 
 128
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 the Cloaths that were upon him: where being sud- 
 denly scalded and drowned, he was never able to 
 cry or speake one Word. 
 
 Then had they a little Ladder ever standing 
 ready in the Kitchen, by the which they presently 
 mounted into the said Chamber, and there closely 
 take away the Mans Apparell, as also his Money, 
 in his Male or Cap-case: and then Hfting up the 
 said FaUing-Floore, which hung by Hinges, they 
 made it fast as before. 
 
 The dead Body would they take presently out 
 of the Caldron and throw it downe the River, which 
 ran neere unto their House, whereby they escaped 
 all Danger. 
 
 Now if in the Morning any of the Rest of the 
 Guests that had talkt with the murdered Man ore 
 Eve, chanst to aske for him, as having Occasion to 
 ride the same Way that he should have done, the 
 Good-man would answere, that he tooke Horse a 
 good while before Day, and that he himselfe did set 
 him forward: the Horse the Good-man would also 
 take out of the Stable, & convey him by a Hay- 
 barne of his, that stood from his House a Mile or 
 Two, whereof himself did alwaies keepe the Keies 
 full charily, and when any Hay was to be brought 
 from thence, with his owne Hands he would deliver 
 
 it: 
 
 1 29
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 it: then before the Horse should goe from thence, 
 he would dismarke him: as if he ware a long Taile, 
 he would make him curtail: or else crop his Eares, 
 or cut his Mane, or put out One of his Eles; and 
 by this Meanes hee kept himselfe unknowne. 
 
 Now, Thomas of Reading, as I said before, be- 
 ing markt, & kept for a fat Pig, he was laid in the 
 same Chamber of Death, but by Reason Gray of 
 Glocester chanced also to come that Night, he 
 escaped scalding. 
 
 The next Time he came, he was laid there 
 againe, but before he fell asleepe, or was warme in 
 his Bed, one came riding thorow the Towne and 
 cryed piteously, that London was all on a Fire, and 
 that it had burned downe Thomas Beckets House in 
 West-cheape, and a great Number more in the 
 same Street, and yet (quoth he) the Fire is not 
 quencht. 
 
 Which tidings when Thomas of Reading heard, 
 
 he was very sorrowful 1, for of the same Becket that 
 
 Day he had received a great Peece of Money, and 
 
 had left in his House many of his Writings, and 
 
 some that appertained to the King also: therefore 
 
 there was no way but he would ride backe againe to 
 
 London presently, to see how the Matter stood: 
 
 thereupon making himselfe ready, departed. This 
 
 crosse 
 130
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 crosse Fortune caused his Oast to frown e, neverthe- 
 less the next Time (qd. he) will pay for all. 
 
 Notwithstanding God so wrought that they 
 were prevented then likewise, by Reason of a great 
 Fray that hapned in the House betwixt a Couple 
 that fell out at Dice, insomuch as the Murderers 
 themselves were inforced to call him up, being a 
 Man in great Authority, that he might set the 
 House in Quietnesse, out of the which, by Meanes 
 of this Quarrell, they doubted to lose many 
 Things. 
 
 Another Time, when hee should have beene 
 laid in the same Place, he fell so sicke, that he re- 
 quested to have some body to watch with him, 
 whereby also they could not bring their vile Pur- 
 pose to passe. But hard it is to escape the ill For- 
 tunes whereunto a Man is allotted: for albeit that 
 the next Time that he came to London, his Horse 
 stumbled & broke One of his Legs as he should 
 ride homeward, yet hired he another to hasten his 
 owne Death ; for there is no Remedy but he 
 should goe to Colebrooke that Night: but by the 
 Way he was heavy asleepe, that he could scant 
 keepe himselfe in the Saddle; and when he came 
 neere unto the Towne, his Nose burst out suddenly 
 a Bleeding. 
 
 Well, 
 131
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 Well, to his Inne he came, and so heavy was 
 his Heart that he could eate no Meat: his Oast and 
 Oastesse hearing he was so melancholy, came up to 
 cheare him, saying, Jesus, Master Cokj what ayles 
 you to-night? never did we see you thus sad before: 
 will it please you to have a Quart of burnt Sacke? 
 With a good Will (quoth he) and would to God 
 Tom Dove were here, he would surely make me 
 merry, and we should lacke no Musicke: but I am 
 sorry for the Man with all my Heart, that he is 
 come so farre behind Hand: but, alas, so much can 
 every Man say, but what Good doth it him? No, 
 no, it is not Words can helpe a Man in this Case, 
 the Man had need of other Reliefe then so. Let 
 me see: I have but one Child in the World, and 
 that is my Daughter, and Half that I have is hers, 
 the other Halfe my Wifes. What then? Shall I 
 be good to no body but them? In Conscience, 
 my Wealth is too much for a Couple to possesse, 
 and what is our Religion without Charity? And 
 to whom is Charity more to be shewne, then to 
 decaid House-holders? 
 
 Good my Oast, lend me a Pen and Inke, and 
 
 some Paper, for I will write a Letter unto the poore 
 
 Man straight; & Something I will give him: That 
 
 Almes which a Man bestowes with his owne Hands, 
 
 he 
 132
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 he shall be sure to have delivered, and God knowes 
 how long I shall live. 
 
 With that, his Oastesse dissemblingly answered, 
 saying. Doubt not. Master Cole, you are like 
 enough by the Course of Nature to live many 
 Yeeres. God Knowes (quoth he) I never found 
 my Heart so heavy before. By this Time Pen, 
 Inke, and Paper was brought, setting himselfe in 
 writing as followeth. 
 
 IN the Name of God, Amen. I bequeath my 
 Soule to God, and my Body to the Ground, 
 my Goods equally betweene my Wife Elenor, 
 and Isabel my Daughter. Item, I give to 
 Thomas Dove of Exeter, one Hundred Pounds; 
 nay, that is too little, I give to Thomas Dove 
 Two Hundred Pounds in Money, to be paid 
 unto him presently upon his Demand thereof, 
 by my said Wife and Daughter. 
 
 Ha, how say you. Oast, (qd. he) Is not this well ? 
 I pray you reade it. His Oast looking thereon, 
 said. Why, Master CoUy what have you written 
 here .? you said you would write a Letter, but me 
 thinks you have made a Will; what neede have you 
 to doe thus .? Thanks be to God, you may live 
 
 many 
 133
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 many faire Yeeres. Tis true (quoth Cole) if it 
 please God, and I trust this Writing cannot shorten 
 my Daies; but let me see, have I made a Will? 
 Now, I promise you, I did verily purpose to write 
 a Letter: notwithstanding, J have written that that 
 God put into my Mind: but looke once againe, my 
 Oast, is it not written there, that Dove shall have 
 Two Hundred Pounds, to be paid when he comes 
 to demand it? Yes, indeed, said his Oast. Well 
 then, all is well, said Cole^ and it shall goe as it is 
 for me. I will not bestow the new Writing thereof 
 any more. 
 
 Then folding it up, he sealed it, desiring that 
 his Oast would send it to Exeter: he promised that 
 he would, notwithstanding Cole was not satisfied: 
 but after some Pause, he would needs hire one to 
 carry it. And so sitting downe sadly in his Chaire 
 againe, upon a sudden he burst forth a weeping; 
 they demanding the Cause thereof, he spake as fol- 
 loweth: 
 
 No Cause of these Feares I know: but it 
 comes now into my Minde (said Cole) when I set 
 toward this my last Journey to London, how my 
 Daughter tooke on, what a Coyle she kept to have 
 me stay: and I could not be rid of the little Bag- 
 gage a long Time, she did so hang about me; when 
 
 her 
 134
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 her Mother by Violence tooke her away, she cryed 
 out most mainly, O my Father, my Father, I shall 
 never see him againe. 
 
 Alas, pretty Soule, said his Oastesse, this was 
 but meere Kindnesse in the Girle, and it seemeth 
 she IS very fond of you. But, alas, why should 
 you grieve at this? you must consider that it was 
 but Childishnesse. I, it is indeed, said Cole, and 
 with that he began to nod. Then they asked him 
 if he would goe to Bed. No, said he, although I 
 am heavy, I have no Mind to goe to Bed at all. 
 With that certaine Musicians of the Towne came to 
 the Chamber, and knowing Master Cole was there, 
 drue out their Instruments and began to play. 
 
 This Musicke comes very well (said Cole) and 
 when he had listened a while thereunto, he said. Me 
 thinks these Instruments sound like the Ring oV St. 
 Mary Overies Bells; but the Base drowns all the 
 Rest: & in my Fare it goes like a Bell that rings a 
 frozen Ones Knell, for Gods Sake let them leave 
 off, and beare them this simple Reward. The Mu- 
 sicians being gone, his Oast asked, if now it would 
 please him to goe to Bed; for (quoth he) it is wel 
 neere Eleven of the Clocke. 
 
 With that Cole, beholding his Oast & Oastesse 
 earnestly, began to start backe, saying. What aile 
 
 you 
 
 ^35
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 you to looke so like pale Death? good Lord! what 
 have you done, that your Hands are thus bloody? 
 What, my Hands? said his Oast; why you may see 
 they are neither bloody nor foule: either your Eyes 
 doe greatly dazell, or else Fancies of a troubled 
 Minde doe delude you. 
 
 Alas, my Oast, you may see, said hee, how 
 weake my Wits are; I never had my Head so idle 
 before. Come, let me drinke once more, and then 
 I will to Bed, and trouble you no longer. With 
 that hee made himselfe unready, and his Oastesse 
 was very diligent to warme a Kerchiffe, and put it 
 about his Head. Good Lord! said he, I am not 
 sicke, I praise God; but such an Alteration I finde 
 in my selfe as I never did before. 
 
 With that the Scritch-Owle cried pitiously, 
 and anon after the Night-Raven sate croking hard 
 by his Window. Jesu, have Mercy upon me, 
 quoth hee, what an ill-favoured Cry doe yonder 
 Carrion-Birds make, and therewithal! he laid him 
 downe in his Bed, from whence he never rose 
 againe. 
 
 His Oast and Oastesse, that all this while 
 noted his troubled Mind, began to commune be- 
 twixt themselves thereof. And the Man said, he 
 knew not what were best to be done. By my Con- 
 
 -sent 
 136
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 sent (quoth he) the Matter should passe, for 1 
 thinke it is not best to meddle on him. What, 
 Man, quoth she, faint you now? have you done so 
 many, and do you shrinke at this? Then shewing 
 him a great deale of Gold which Cole had left with 
 her, she said. Would it not grieve a Bodies Heart 
 to lose this? hang the old Churle, what should he 
 doe living any longer? he hath too much, and we 
 have too Httle: tut. Husband, let the Thing be 
 done, and then this is our owne. 
 
 Her wicked Counsell was followed, and when 
 they had listened at his Chamber-Doore, they heard 
 the Man sound asleepe: All is safe, quoth they, and 
 downe into the kitchen they goe, their servants be- 
 ing all in Bed, and pulHng out the Yron Pins, 
 downe fell the Bed, and the Man dropt out into 
 the boyling Caldron. He being dead, they betwixt 
 them cast his Body into the River, his Clothes 
 they made away, & made all Things as it should 
 be: but when hee came to the Stable to convey 
 thence Coles Horse, the Stable-Doore being open, 
 the Horse had got loose, and with a Part of the 
 Halter about his Necke, and Straw trussed under 
 his Belly, as the Ostlers had dressed him ore Eve, 
 he was gone out at the Back-side, which led into a 
 great Field joyning to the House, and so leaping 
 
 divers
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 divers Hedges, being a lustie stout Horse, had got 
 
 into a Ground where a Mare was grazing, with 
 
 whom he kept such a Coile, that they got into the 
 
 High-way, where One of the Towne meeting them, 
 
 knew the Mare, and brought her and the Horse 
 
 to the Man that owed her. 
 
 In the meane Space the Musicians had beene 
 
 at the Inne, and in Requittal of their Evenings Gift, 
 
 they intended to give Cole some Musicke in the 
 
 Morning. The Good-man told them he tooke Horse 
 
 before Day: likewise there was a Guest in the House 
 
 that would have bore him Company to Reading, 
 
 unto whom the Oast also answered, that he himself 
 
 set him upon Horsebacke, and that he went long 
 
 agoe. Anon came the Man that owed the Mare, 
 
 inquiring up and downe, to know and if none of 
 
 them missed a Horse, who said no. At last he 
 
 came to the Signe of the Crane where Cole lay: and 
 
 calling the Oastlers, he demanded of them if they 
 
 lacked none, they said no: Why then, said the Man, 
 
 I perceive my Mare is good for Something, for if 
 
 I send her to Field single, she will come Home 
 
 double. Thus it passed on all that Day and the 
 
 Night following: but the next Day after. Coles 
 
 Wife, musing that her Husband came not Home, 
 
 sent one of her Men on Horse backe, to see if 
 
 he 
 138
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 he could meete him: and if (quoth she) you meet 
 him not betwixt this and Colebrooke, aske for him 
 at the Crane; but if you find him not there, then 
 ride to London, for I doubt he is either sicke, or 
 else some Mischance hath fallen unto him. 
 
 The Fellow did so, and asking for him at 
 Cole-brooke, they answered, hee went Homeward 
 from thence such a Day. The Servant musing what 
 should be become of his Master, and making much 
 Inquiry in the Towne for him, at length One told 
 him of a Horse that was found on the High-way, 
 and no Man knew whence he came. He going to 
 see the Horse, knew him presently, and to the 
 Crane he goes with him. The Oast of the House 
 preceiving this, was blanke, and that Night fled 
 secretly away. The Fellow going unto the Jus- 
 tice, desired his Helpe: presently after Word was 
 brought that Jarman of the Crane was gone; then 
 all the men said, he had sure made Cole away: & the 
 Musicians told what Jarman said to them, when 
 they would have given Cole Musicke. Then the 
 Woman being apprehended & examined, confessed 
 the Truth. Jarman soone after was taken in 
 Windsor Forest, he and his Wife were both hangd, 
 after they had laid open al these Things before ex- 
 pressed. Also he confessed, that he being a Car- 
 
 -penter, 
 139
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 penter, made that false Falling-Floore, and how his 
 Wife devised it. And how they had murdered by 
 that Meanes Ix. persons. And yet, notwithstand- 
 ing all the Money which they had gotten thereby, 
 they prospered not, but at their Death were found 
 very farre in Debt. 
 
 When the King heard of this Murder, he was 
 for the Space of vii. Dayes so sorrowfull and heavie, 
 as he would not heare any Suite, giving also Com- 
 mandment, that the House should quite be con- 
 sumed by Fire wherein Cole was murdered, and that 
 no Man should ever build upon that cursed 
 Ground. 
 
 Coles Substance at his Death was exceeding 
 great; hee had daily in his House an Hundred 
 Men Servants and xl. Maides; hee maintained be- 
 side above Two or Three Hundred People, Spin- 
 ners and Carders, and a great many other House- 
 holders. His Wife never after married, and at her 
 Death shee bestowed a mightie Summe of Money 
 toward the maintaining of the new-builded Mon- 
 astery. Her Daughter was most richly married to 
 a Gentleman of great Worship, by whom she had 
 many Children. And some say, that the River 
 whereinto Cole was cast, did ever since carrie the 
 name of Cole^ being called. The River of Coky and 
 the Towne of Colebrooke. 
 
 140
 
 How divers of the Clothiers Wives 
 went to the Churching of Suttons 
 Wife of Salisbury & of their Merri- 
 ment.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 How divers of the Clothiers Wives went to the 
 Churching o/" Suttons Wife of Salisbury^ i^ of their 
 Merriment. 
 
 ryUTTONS Wife of Salisbury, which had lately 
 iy bin delivered of a Sonne, against her going 
 to Church, prepared great Cheare: at what 
 time Simons Wife of Southampton came thither, 
 and so did divers others of the Clothiers Wives, 
 onely to make merry at this Churching Feast: and 
 whilest these Dames sate at the Table, Crabj Wea- 
 sel/, and Wren, waited on the Boord; and as the 
 old Proverbe speaketh, Many Women many 
 Words, so fell it out at that Time: for there was 
 such Prattling that it passed: some talkt of their 
 Husbands Forwardnes, some shewd their Maids 
 Sluttishnes, other some deciphered the Costlines of 
 their Garments, some told many Tales of their 
 Neighbours: and to be briefe, there was none of 
 them but would have talke for a whole day. 
 
 But 
 H3
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 But when Crab^ Weasell^ and Wren saw this, 
 they concluded betwixt themselves, that as oft as 
 any of the Women had a good Bit of Meate on 
 their Trenchers, they offering a clean one, should 
 catch that Commodity, and so they did: but the 
 Women, being busie in Talke, marked it not, till at 
 the last one found Leisure to misse her Meat: where- 
 upon she said, that their Boldness exceeded their 
 Diligence. Not so, forsooth, said Weasell^ there is 
 an Hundred bolder than we. Name me One, said 
 the Woman, if you can. A Flea is bolder, quoth 
 Crabbe. How will you prove that? said the 
 Woman. Because, quoth he, they will creepe 
 under your Coates, where we dare not come, and 
 now and then bite you by the Buttocks as if they 
 were Brawne. But what becomes of them? qd. the 
 Woman; their sweet Meat hath sowre Sauce, and 
 their Lustines doth often cost them their Lives, 
 therefore take Heed. A good Warning of a Faire 
 Woman, said Wren, but I had not thought so fine 
 a Wit in a fat Belly. 
 
 The Women seeing their Men so merry, said 
 it was a Signe there was good Ale in the House. 
 Thats as fit for a Churching, quoth Weasell^ as a 
 Cudgell for a curst Queane. Thus with pleasant 
 Communication and merry Quips they drove out 
 
 the 
 144
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 the Time, till the Fruit and Spice-Cakes were set 
 on the Boord. At what Time one of them began 
 to aske the other, if they heard not of the cruell 
 Murder of Thomas of Reading? What, said the 
 rest, is old Cole murdred? when, I pray you was 
 the Deed done? The other answered. On Friday 
 lasto O good Lord! said the Woman, how was it 
 done, can you tell? 
 
 As Report goes, said the other, he was roasted 
 alive. O pitifull! was hee roasted? Indeed I heard 
 one say, a Man was murdred at London, and that 
 he was sodden at an Inholders House, and served 
 to the Guests in stead of Porke. 
 
 No, Neighbor, it was not at London, said an- 
 other: I heare say twas comming from London, at 
 a place called Colebrooke; and it is reported for 
 Truth, that the Inholder made Pies of him and 
 Penny Pasties, yea, and made his owne Servant eate 
 a Piece of him. But I pray you, good Neighbor, 
 can you tell how it was knowne: some say that a 
 Horse revealed it. 
 
 Now, by the Masse (quoth Grayes Wife) it 
 was told one of my Neighbors, that a certaine 
 Horse did speake, and told great Things. That 
 sounds like a Lie, said one of them. Why, said 
 another, may not a Horse speake, as well as 
 
 Balaams
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 Balaams asse? It may be, but it is unlikely, said 
 the Third. But where was the Horse when he 
 spake? As some say, qd. she, he was in the Field, 
 and had broke out of the Stable, where he stood 
 fast locked in mighty strong Yron Fetters, which 
 hee burst in Peeces, as they had beene Strawes, and 
 broke downe the Stable-Doore, and so got away. 
 The Good-man comming in at these Speeches, 
 asked what that was they talkt of Marry, said his 
 Wife, wee heare that Cole of Reading is murdred. 
 I pray you is it true? I, said Sutton, it is true; that 
 vile villaine his Oast murdered him, in whose House 
 the Man had spent many a Pound. But did they 
 make Pies of him? said his Wife. No, no, quoth 
 her Husband; he was scalded to death in a boiling 
 Caldron, and afterward throwne into a running 
 River that is hard by. But, good Husband, how was 
 it knowne? By his Horse, quoth hee. What, did 
 hee tell his Master was murdered? could the Horse 
 speake English? Jesus, what a foolish Woman are 
 you, quoth he, to aske such a Question? But to 
 end this, you are all heartily welcome, good Neigh- 
 bors, and I am sorry you had no better Cheere. 
 So with Thanks the Women departed. Thus have 
 yee heard the divers Tales that will be spred 
 Abroad of an evil Deed. 
 
 146
 
 How Duke Robert deceived his 
 Keepers, & got from them: how he 
 met faire Margaret, and in carrying 
 her away was taken, for the which 
 he had his Eyes put out.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 How Duke Robert deceived his Keepers^ & -v^ot 
 from them: how he met faire Margaret, and in 
 carrying her away was taken^for the which he had 
 his Eyes put out. 
 
 DUKE Robert having, as you heard, obtained 
 the Love of faire Margaret^ did now cast 
 in his Mind, how hee might delude his 
 Keepers, and carry her quite away. In the End, 
 hebeing absolutely resolved what to doe, sent this 
 Letter unto her, wherein he requested, that she 
 would be readie to meet him in the Forrest, 
 betwixt CardifFe and Glocester. 
 
 The young Lady, having secretly received his 
 Message, unknown to her Master or Dame, in a 
 Morning betime made her ready and got forth, 
 walking to the appointed Place, where her Love 
 should meet her. 
 
 During her Abode there, and thinking long 
 ere her Love came, she entred into divers Passions, 
 which indeed presaged some disaster Fortune to 
 
 follow. 
 * 149
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 follow. O my deare Love, said shee, how slack e 
 art thou in performing thy Promise! Why doe not 
 thy Deeds agree with thy Inditing? See, these are 
 thy Words, Come, my deare Margaret^ and with 
 Cupids swift Wings flie to thy Friend; be now as 
 nimble in thy Footing as the Camels of Bactria, 
 that runne an Hundred Miles a Day: I will waite 
 and stay for thee, so I stay not too long. There is 
 no Country like Austria for ambling Horses, & to 
 carry thee I have got one. 
 
 O my Love (quoth she) here am I, but where 
 art thou.^ O why doest thou play the Trewant with 
 Time, who like the Wind slides away unseen? An 
 ambling Gennet of Spaine is too slow to serve our 
 Turnes. A flying Horse for flying Lovers were 
 most meete. And thus casting many Lookes 
 thorow the Silvane Shades, up and downe to espie 
 him, she thought every Minute an Houre, till 
 she might see him: sometimes she would wish her 
 self a Bird, that she might flie through the Ayre 
 to meet him; or a pretty Squirill, to clime the 
 highest Tree to descry his Comming: but finding 
 her Wishes vaine, she began thus to excuse him, 
 and perswaded her selfe, saying, 
 
 How much to blame am I, to finde fault with 
 my Friend? Alas, Men that lacke their Liberty, 
 
 must 
 150
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 must come when they can, not when they would; 
 poore Prisoners cannot doe what they desire; and 
 then why should I be so hastle? Therefore, if 
 safely I may lay me downe, I will beguile unquiet 
 Thoughts with quiet Sleep: it is said that Galino 
 breeds no Serpents, nor doth Englands Forrests 
 nourish Beares or Lyons, therefore, without Hurt 
 I hope I may rest awile. Thus leaving faire 
 Margaret in a sweet Slumber, we will returne to 
 Duke Robert, who had thus plotted his Escape from 
 his Keepers. 
 
 Having Liberty of the King to hawke and 
 hunt, hee determined on a Day, as he should follow 
 the Chase, to leave the Hounds to the Hart, and 
 the Hunters to their Homes, and being busie in 
 their Sport, himselfe would flie, which hee performed 
 at that Time when ' hee appointed Margaret to 
 meete him, and so comming to the Place, his Horse 
 all on a Water, and himself in a Sweat, finding his 
 Love asleepe, he awaked her with a Kisse, saying. 
 Arise, faire Margaret, now comes the Time wherein 
 thou shalt be made a Queene: and presently setting 
 her on Horse-backe, he posted away. 
 
 Now when the Keepers saw they had lost his 
 Company, and that at the killing of the Game, hee 
 was not present, they were among Themselves in 
 
 such 
 151
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 such a Mutiny, that they were ready one to stabbe 
 another. It was thy Fault, said one, that hee thus 
 escapt from us, that hadst more Mind of thy 
 Pleasure then of thy Prisoner, and by this Meanes 
 we are all undone. The other said as much to him, 
 that he had thought he had followed him in the 
 Chase: but leaving at last this Contention, the one 
 posted up to the King, while the others coasted up 
 and downe the Country to search for the Duke, 
 who having kild his Horse in travelling, was most 
 unhappily mette on Foot with faire Margaret, ere 
 he could come to any Towne, where he might for 
 Money have another. But when he espyed his 
 Keepers come to take him, he desired Margaret to 
 make Shift for her selfe, and to seeke to escape 
 them. But she being of a contrary Mind, said, 
 she would live and die with him. 
 
 The Duke, seeing himselfe ready to be sur- 
 prized, drew his Sword, and said, he would buy his 
 Liberty with his Life, before he would yeeld to be 
 any more a Prisoner; and thereupon began a great 
 Fight betwixt them, insomuch that the Duke had 
 killed Two of them: but himselfe being sore 
 wounded, and faint with overmuch bleeding, at 
 length fell downe, being not able any longer to 
 stand: and by this Meanes the good Duke was 
 
 taken 
 152
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 taken with his faire Love, and both of them com- 
 mited to Prison. 
 
 But in the meane Space, when Grayes Wife 
 had missed her Maide, and saw she was quite gone, 
 she made great Lamentation for her among her 
 Neighbours, for she loved her as dearly as any 
 Child that ever she bore of her owne Body. O 
 Margaret (quoth she) what Cause hadst thou to 
 leave me? if thou didst mislike any Thing, why 
 didst thou not tell me? If thy Wages were too little, 
 I would have mended it: If thy Apparell had been 
 too simple, thou shouldst have had better: If thy 
 Worke had bin too great, I would have had Helpe 
 for thee. 
 
 Farewell, my sweet Meg, the best Servant that 
 ever came in any Mans House; many may I have 
 of thy Name, but never any of thy Nature: thy 
 Diligence is much; in thy Hands I laid the whole 
 Government of my House, and thereby eased 
 myselfe of that Care which now will cumber me. 
 
 Heere shee hath left me my Keyes unto my 
 
 Chests, but my Comfort is gone with her Presence: 
 
 every gentle Word that she was wont to speake, 
 
 comes now into my Mind; her courteous Behaviour 
 
 shall I never forget: with how sweet and modest a 
 
 Countenance would she qualifie my over-hastie 
 
 Nature ! 
 153
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 Nature! It repents my Heart that ever I spoke 
 foule Word unto her. O Meg, wert thou here 
 againe, I would never chide thee more: but I was 
 an unworthy Dame for such a Servant. What will 
 become of me now, if I should chance to be sicke, 
 seeing she is gone, that was wont to be both my 
 Apoticary and Physician? 
 
 Well, quoth her Neighbours, there is no 
 Remedy now but to rest content; you shall one 
 Day heare of her, doubt you not; and thinke this, 
 that she was not so good but you may get another 
 as good, and therefore doe not take it so heavily. 
 O Neighbour, blame me not to grieve, seeing I 
 have lost so great a Jewell, and sure I am perswaded, 
 that scant in a Bodies Life-Time, they shall meet 
 with the like. 
 
 I protest 1 would circuit England round about 
 on my bare Feet to meet with her againe. O, my 
 Meg was surely stole away from me, else would she 
 not have gone in such Sort. Her Husband, on 
 the other Side grieved as much, & rested not Night 
 nor Day, riding up and downe to seeke her: but 
 shee, poore Soule! is fast lockt up in Prison, and 
 therefore cannot be met withall. 
 
 But when the King understood of his Brothers 
 Escape, hee was marvelous wroth, giving great 
 
 Charge 
 154
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Charge and Commandment when he was taken, 
 that both his Eyes should be put out, and be kept 
 in Prison till his dying Day: appointing also that 
 the Maid should lose her Life for Presumption of 
 loving him. 
 
 This Matter being rumoured over all Eng- 
 land, it came to the Eares of Gray and |his Wife, 
 who hearing that Margaret was also there in Prison 
 appointed to die, the good aged Woman never 
 rested till she came to the Court, where kneeling 
 before the King, with many Teares she besought 
 his Majestie to spare the Maidens Life, saying, 
 Most royall King, consider, 1 humbly beseech you, 
 that the Duke your Brother was able to intice any 
 Woman to his Love, much more a silly Maiden, 
 especially promising her Marriage, to make her a 
 Lady, a Dutchesse, or a Queene, who would re- 
 fuse such an Offer, when at the Instant they might 
 get both a princely Husband and a high Dignity? 
 If Death be a Lovers Guerdon, then what is due 
 to Hatred? I am in my Heart perswaded, that had 
 my poore Margaret thought it would have bred 
 your Highness Displeasure, she would never have 
 bought his Love so deare. Had your Grace made 
 it known to your Commons, that it was unlawful 
 for any to marry the Duke your Brother, who 
 
 would 
 155
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 would have attempted such an Action? If she had 
 wilfully disobeyed your Graces Commandement, 
 she might have been thought worthy of Death; but 
 seeing ignorantly she offended, I beseech your 
 Grace to recall the Sentence, and let me still enjoy 
 my Servant, for never will I rise till your Majestie 
 have granted my Petition. 
 
 His Highness, who was of Nature mercifull, 
 beholding the Womans aboundant Teares, tooke 
 Pitie on her, and granted her Suite: which being 
 obtained, shee went Home in all Haste possible. 
 And from thence shee, with her Husband, taking 
 their Journey to Cardiffe Castle, they came at that 
 very Instant when the Maiden was led toward her 
 Death, who went in most joyfull Sort to the same, 
 saying, that they were not worthy to be accounted 
 true Lovers, that thay were not willing to die for 
 Love: and so with a smiling Countenance she passed 
 on, as if she had eaten Apium Risus, which causeth 
 a Man to die laughing: but her Dame Gray seeing 
 her, fell about her Necke, and with many Kisses 
 imbraced her, saying,Thou shalt not die, my Wench, 
 but go Home with me; and for thy Delivery behold 
 here the Kings Letters: and with that she delivered 
 them up to the Governour of the Castle, who read- 
 ing them found these Words written, Wee pardon 
 
 the 
 X56
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 the Maids Life, and grant her Liberty; but let her 
 not passe till she see her Lovers Eyes put out, 
 which we will have you doe in such Sort that not 
 onely the Sight may perish, but the Eye continue 
 faire, for which Cause I have sent down Doctor 
 Piero^ that he may execute the same. 
 
 The Governour of the Castle having read 
 the Kings Letter, said thus to the Maiden, 
 The Kings Majestie hath pardoned thy Life, 
 and allowed thy Liberty: but you must not passe 
 before you see your Lovers Eyes put out. O 
 Sir, said the Maiden, mistake not your-selfe, 
 they are my Eyes that must be put out, and 
 not the Dukes: as his Offence grew by my 
 Meanes, so I being guilty, ought to receive the 
 Punishment. 
 
 The Kings Commandement must be fulfilled, 
 said the Governour: and therewithall Duke Robert 
 was brought forth, who hearing that he must lose 
 his Eyes, said thus: The noble Mind is never con- 
 quered by Griefe, nor overcome by Mischance: but 
 as the Hart reneweth his Age by eating the Ser- 
 pent, so doth a Man lengthen his Life with devour- 
 ing Sorrow: my Eyes have offended the King, and 
 they must be punished: my Heart is in as great 
 Fault, why is not that killed.? 
 
 The 
 
 157
 
 The pleasant Historie 
 
 The Kings Majesty, said the Governour, 
 spares your Life of meere Love, and onely is con- 
 tent to satisfie the Law with the Losse of your 
 Eyes; wherefore take in good Part this Punish- 
 ment, and thinke you have deserved greater then is 
 granted. 
 
 With this Margaret cryed out, saying, O my 
 deare Love, most gentle Prince, well may you wish 
 that I had never bin borne, who by seeing of me 
 must lose your Sight: but happie should I count 
 my selfe, if it so please the King, that I might re- 
 deeme thy Eyes with my Life: or else, that being 
 an equall Offendor, I might rece;ive equall Punish- 
 ment: hadst thou sustained this Smart for some 
 Queene or Princesse of high Blood, it might with 
 more Ease be borne, but to indure it for such a one 
 as I, it must needs cause a treble Griefe to be in- 
 creased. 
 
 Content thee, faire Margaret^ said the Duke; 
 
 for Honour ought to be given to Vertue, & not 
 
 Riches: for Glory, Honor, Nobility, and Riches, 
 
 without Vertue, are but Clokes of Maliciousness. 
 
 And now let me take my Leave of thy Beauty, for 
 
 never must I behold thy Face: notwithstanding I 
 
 account my Eyes well lost, in that I doe forgoe 
 
 them for so peereless a Paragon. Now, faire Heav- 
 
 -ens, 
 158
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 ens, farewell! the Sunne, Moone, and Starres shall 1 
 
 in this World never behold againe; and farewell 
 
 also the frultfull Earth: well may I feele thee, but 
 
 those poore Windowes of my Body are now denved 
 
 to view thee any more: and though the World hath 
 
 ever bin my Foe, yet will I bid thee farewell too, & 
 
 farewell all my Friends: whiles I live here in this 
 
 World, I must suppose to sleepe, & wake when I 
 
 come in Heaven, where I hope to see you all 
 
 againe. Yet had it pleased the King, I had rather 
 
 have lost my Life then my Eyes. Life, why, what 
 
 is it but a Flowre, a Bubble in the Water, a Spanne 
 
 long, and full of Miserie? of such small Account is 
 
 Life, that every Souldier will sell it for Sixpence. 
 
 And trust me, I doe now detest Life worse then a 
 
 Goat doth hate Basill. 
 
 With that the Doctor prepared his Instrument, 
 
 and being ready to set to the Dukes Eyes, he said, 
 
 O stay. Master Doctor, till I have conveyed my 
 
 Loves Countenance downe into my Heart: Come 
 
 hither, my Sweet, and let me give thee my last 
 
 Kisse, while mine eyes may direct me to thy Cherry 
 
 Lips. Then imbracing her in his Armes, he said, 
 
 O that I might give thee a Kisse of xx. Yeeres 
 
 long, and to satisfie my Eyes with thy Sight: yet it 
 
 doth somewhat content me, because thou art present 
 
 at 
 159
 
 ^ The pleasant Historie 
 
 at my Punishment, that I may hold thee by the 
 Hand, to comfort my Heart, at the sudden Pricke 
 of my Eye. 
 
 This being said, the Doctor performed his 
 Duty, and so put out the christall Sight: at what 
 Time D. Robert started up, and with a most manly 
 Courage said, I must thanke his Majestic, that 
 though hee depriveth me of my Sight, yet he leav- 
 eth me Eyes to weepe for my Sinnes. But so soone 
 as Margaret beheld the Deed, she fell downe in a 
 Swoune; and much a doe her Dame had to recover 
 her Life: which when the Duke understood, hee 
 was wondrous woe, groaping for her with his bleed- 
 ing Eyes, saying, O where is my Love? for Gods 
 Sake have Regard to her. And I pray you most 
 heartily, good Wife Gray^ let her have this Favour 
 for my Sake, that she may be used kindly. And 
 with that the Keepers led him into the Castle, and 
 Margaret was carried away wondrous sick and ill: 
 but her Dame was most tender over her; and would 
 suffer her to lacke nothing. When she was some- 
 what well recovered, her Dame Gray set her on 
 Horsebacke: and at hercomming to Glocester, there 
 was no small Joy. 
 
 1 60
 
 How Thomas Dove being fallen to 
 Decay, was forsaken of his Friends, 
 & despised of his Servants: and 
 how in the End he was raised againe 
 through the liberality of the Clothiers.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 How Thomas Dove being fallen to Decay ^ was for- 
 saken of his Friendsy ^ despised of his Servants: 
 and how in the End he was raised againe through 
 the Liberality of the Clothiers. 
 
 SUCH as seeke the Pleasure of the World, 
 follow a Shadow wherein is no Substance: and 
 as the Adder Aspis tickleth a Man to Death, 
 so doth vaine Pleasure flatter us, till it makes us 
 forget God, and consume our Substance, as by T'orn 
 Dove it is apparent, who had, through a free 
 Heart and a liberall Minde, wasted his Wealth; and 
 looke how his Goods consumed, so his Friends fled 
 from him: And albeit he had beene of great Abihty, 
 and thereby done good unto Many, yet no Man re- 
 garded him in his Poverty, but casting a scornefull 
 Countenance upon him, they passed him by with 
 slender Salutation: neither would any of his former 
 Acquaintance do him Good or pleasure him the 
 Value of a Farthing; his former Friendship done to 
 
 them 
 163
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 them was quite forgot, and he made of as much Ac- 
 count as Joh when he sate on the Dunghill. 
 
 Now when his wicked Servants saw him in this 
 Disgrace with the World, they on the other side 
 began to disdaine him. Notwithstanding that hee 
 (to his great Cost) had long Time brought them up, 
 yet did they Nothing regard it, but behind his 
 Backe in most scornefull Sort derided him, and both 
 in their Words and Actions greatly abuse him; 
 Reverence they would doe none unto him, but 
 when they spake, it was in such malapert Sort, as 
 would grieve an honest Minde to heare it. 
 
 At last it came to passe, that breaking out into 
 meere Contempt, they said they would stay no longer 
 with him, and that it was a great Discredit for them 
 to serve a Person so beggerly : whereupon they 
 thought it convenient to seeke for their Benefits 
 elsewhere. When the distressed Man found the 
 Matter so plaine, being in great Griefe, he spake 
 thus unto them: Now do I find, to my Sorrow, the 
 small Trust that is in this false World. Why, 
 my Masters, (quoth he) have you so much forgotten 
 my former Prosperity, that you Nothing regard my 
 present Necessity? In your Wants I forsooke you 
 not, in your Sicknesse I left you not, nor despised 
 you in your great Poverty: it is not unknown, 
 
 though 
 164
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 though you do not consider it, that I tooke Some 
 of you up in the High-way, othersome from your 
 needy Parents, & brought the Rest from meere 
 Beggery to a House of Bounty; where from paltrie 
 Boyes, I brought you up to Mans State, and have, 
 to my great Cost, taught you a Trade, whereby 
 you may live Hke Men. And in Requitall of all 
 my Courtesie, Cost, and Goodwill, will you now on 
 a sudden forsake me? Is this the best Recompence 
 that you can find your Hearts to yeeld me? 
 
 This is farre from the Minds of honest Serv- 
 ants. The fierce Lion is kind to those that doe 
 him Good: plucke but one Thorne out of his Foot, 
 and for the same he will shew manifold Favors. 
 The wild Bull will not overthrow his Dam: and 
 the very Dragons are dutifull to their Nourishers. 
 Be better advised, and call to Mind, I beseech you, 
 that I have not pluckt a Thorne out of your Feet, 
 but drawne your whole Bodies out of Perils, and 
 when you had no Meanes to helpe your selves, I 
 onely was your Support, and he that, when all oth- 
 ers forsooke you, did comfort you in your Extrem- 
 ities. 
 
 And what of all this? quoth one of them; be- 
 cause you tooke us up poore, doth it therefore fol- 
 low that we must be your Slaves? We are young 
 
 Men, 
 165
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 Men, and for our Part, we are no further to regard 
 your Profit then it may stand with our Preferment. 
 Why should we lose our Benefit to pleasure you? if 
 you taught us our Trade, and brought us up from 
 Boies to Men, you had our Service for it, whereby 
 you made no small Benefit, if you had as well used 
 it as we got it. But if you be poore, you may 
 thanke your selfe, being a just Scourge for your 
 Prodigalitie, and is my Opinion plaine, that to 
 stay with you is the next Way to make us like 
 you, neither able to help ourselves, nor our 
 Friends: therefore in briefe, come pay me my 
 Wages, for I will not stay: let the Rest doe as they 
 will, for I am resolved. 
 
 Well, said his Master, if needs thou wilt be 
 gone, here is Part of thy Wages in Hand, & the 
 Rest as soone as God sends it thou shalt have it: & 
 with that, turning to the Rest, he said. Let me yet 
 intreat you to stay, and leave me not altogether 
 destitute of Helpe: by your Labours must I live, 
 and without you I know not what to doe. Con- 
 sider, therefore, my Need, and regard my great 
 Charge. And if for my Sake you will doe Nothing, 
 take Compassion of my poore Children; stay my 
 sHding Foot, and let me not utterly fall through 
 your flying from me. 
 
 Tush, 
 i66
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Tush, (quoth they) what do you taike to us? We 
 
 can have better Wages, and serve a Man of Credit, 
 
 where our Farre shall be farre better, & our 
 
 Gaines greater: therefore the World might count us 
 
 right Coxcomes, if we should forsake our Profit, 
 
 to pleasure you: therefore adieu; God send you 
 
 more Money, for you are like to have no more 
 
 Men: and thus they departed. 
 
 When they were gone, within a while after they 
 
 met one with another, saying. What Cheare? are 
 
 you all come away? in faith I, what should we doe 
 
 else? quoth they. But hear'st thou, Sirra, hast 
 
 thou got thy Wages? Not yet, saith the Other, 
 
 but I shall have it, and that is as good; tis but x. 
 
 Shillings. Saist thou so? (said he) now I see thou 
 
 art one of God Almighties Idiots. Why so? 
 
 said the Other, Because (quoth he) thou wilt be 
 
 fed with Shales: But He tell thee one Thing; twere 
 
 better for thee quickly to arrest him, lest some 
 
 other doing it before, and there be Nothing left to 
 
 pay thy Debt: hold thy Peace, faire Words make 
 
 Fooles faine, and it is an old Saying, One Bird in 
 
 Hand is worth Two in Bush: if thou dost not arrest 
 
 him presently, I will not give thee Two-pence for 
 
 thy X. Shillings. How shall I come by him? quoth 
 
 the Other: give me but two Pots of Ale, and He 
 
 betray 
 167
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 betray him, said he. So they being agreed, this 
 smooth-faced Judas comes to his late Master, and 
 told him that a Friend of his at the Doore would 
 speake with him. The unmistrusting Man, think- 
 ing no Evill, went to the Doore, where presently 
 an Officer arrested him at his Man's Suite. 
 
 The poore Man seeing this, being strucken in- 
 to a sudden Sorrow, in the Griefe of his Heart, 
 spake to this Effect: Ah thou lewd Fellow, Art 
 thou the first Man that seekes to augment my Mis- 
 erie.'' Have I thus long given thee Bread, to breed 
 my Overthrow? and nourisht thee in thy Neede, to 
 work my Destruction? Full little did I thinke, 
 when thou so often diddest dip thy false Fingers in 
 my Dish, that I gave Food to my chiefest Foe: but 
 what boote Complaints in these Extremes? Goe, 
 Wife, (quoth he,) unto my Neighbors, and see if 
 thou canst get any of them to be my Baile. But 
 in vaine was her Paines spent. Then he sent to 
 his Kinsfolkes, and they denied him: to his Brother, 
 and he would not come at him, so that there was no 
 Shift, but to Prison he must: but, as he was going, 
 a Messenger met him with a Letter from Master 
 Cole^ wherein, as you heard, hee had promised him 
 Two Hundred Pounds: which when the poore Man 
 read, hee greatly rejoyced, and shewing the same to 
 
 the 
 
 i68
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 the Officer, he was content to take his owne Worde. 
 Whereupon Tom Dove went presently to Reading, 
 where, upon his Coming, he found all the Rest of 
 the Clothiers lamenting Coles untimely Death, 
 where the woefull Widdow paid him the Money, 
 by which Deed all the Rest of the Clothiers were 
 induced to do Something for Dove. And thereupon 
 one gave him Ten Pounds, another Twenty, an- 
 other Thirtie pounds, to begin the World anew; and 
 by this Meanes (together with the Blessing of God) 
 he grew into greater Credit then ever hee was be- 
 fore. And Riches being thus come upon him, his 
 former Friends came fawning unto him; and when 
 he had no Neede of them, then everie one was 
 ready to proffer him Kindnesse. His wicked Ser- 
 vants also that disdained him in his Distresse, 
 were after glad to come creeping unto him, intreat- 
 ing with Cap and Knee for his Favour and Friend- 
 ship. And albeit hee seemed to forgive their Tres- 
 passes done against him, yet hee would often say, he 
 would never trust them for a Straw. And thus he 
 ever after lived in great Wealth and Prosperitie, do- 
 ing much Good to the Poore, and at his Death left 
 to his Children great Lands. 
 
 169
 
 How faire Margaret made her Estate 
 and high Birth knowne to her Master 
 and Dame; & for the intire Love she 
 bore to Duke Robert, made a Vow 
 never to marry, but became a Nun 
 in the Abbey at Glocester.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 How fair e Margaret made her Estate and high Birth 
 knowne to her Master and Dame; £ff for the 
 intire Love she bore to Duke Robert, made a Vow 
 never to marry ^ but became a Nun in the Abbey at 
 Glocester. 
 
 AFTER faire Margaret was come agalne to 
 Glocester, never did she behold the cleare 
 Day, but witii a weeping Eye: and so great 
 was the Sorrow which she conceived for the Losse 
 of Duke Robert^ her faithfull Lover, that she 
 utterly despised all the Pleasure of this Life, 
 and at last bewrayed her selfe in this Sort unto 
 her Dame. 
 
 O, my good Master and Dame, too long have 
 I dissembled my Parentage from you, whom the 
 froward Destinies doe pursue to deserved Punish- 
 ment. The wofuU Daughter am I of the unhappy 
 Earl oi Shrew sburie^ who, ever since his Banishment, 
 have done Nothing but drawne Mischance after 
 mee: wherefore let me intreat you (dear Master and 
 
 Dame) 
 173
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 Dame) to have your Good-wills to spend the 
 Remnant of my Life in some blessed Monasterie. 
 
 When Gray and his Wife heard this, they 
 wondred greatly, as well at her Birth, as at her 
 strange Demand. Whereupon her Dame knew 
 not how to call her, whether Maiden or Madam, 
 but said, O good Lord, are you a Ladie, and I 
 know it not? I am sorrie that I knew it not before. 
 But when the Folkes of the House heard that 
 Margaret was a Lady, there was no small Alteration; 
 and moreover, her Dame said, that she had thought 
 to have had a Match between her and her Son; and 
 by many Perswasions, did seeke to withdraw her 
 from being a Nun, saying, in this Manner: What, 
 Margaret^ thou art young and faire, the World (no 
 Doubt) hath better Fortune for thee, whereby thou 
 maist leave an honourable Issue behind thee, in 
 whom thou mayst live after Death. 
 
 These, and many other Reasons, did they 
 alledge unto her, but all in vaine, she making this 
 Reply, Who knowes not that this World giveth 
 the Pleasure of an Houre, but the Sorrow of many 
 Daies? for it paieth ever that which it promiseth, 
 which is Nothing else but continuall Trouble and 
 Vexation of the Minde. Do you think, if I had 
 the Offer and Choice of the mightiest Princes of 
 
 Christendom, 
 174
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Christendom, that 1 could match my selfe better 
 then to my Lord Jesus? No,no, hee is my Husband, 
 to whom I yeeled my selfe, both Body and Soule, 
 giving to him my Heart, my Love, and my most 
 firme Affections: I have overlong loved this vile 
 World, therefore I beseech you farther disswade 
 me not. 
 
 When her friends by no Meanes could alter 
 her Opinion, the Matter was made knowne to his 
 Majestic, who, against the Time that she should be 
 received into the Monasterie, came to Glocester 
 with most Part of his Nobilitie, to honour her 
 Action with his princely Presence. 
 
 All Things being therefore prepared, the young 
 Lady was in most princely-wise attired in a Gowne 
 of pure white Sattin, her Kirtle of the same, em- 
 broidered with Gold about the Sk:irts,in most curious 
 Sort; her Head was garnished with Gold, Pearles, 
 and precious Stones, having her Haire like Thrids 
 of burnisht Gold, hanging downe behind in 
 Manner of a princely Bride; about her Yvory Necke, 
 Jewels of inestimable Price were hung, and her 
 Handwrests were compassed about with Bracelets 
 of bright-shining Diamonds. 
 
 The Streets thorow the which she should passe 
 were pleasantly deckt with greene Oaken Boughs; 
 
 then 
 ^75
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 then came the young Lady most like an heavenly 
 Angell, out of her Masters House, at what Time 
 all the Bells in Glocester were solemnly rung; she 
 being led betwixt the Kings Majestie, having on 
 his Royal Robes and Imperiall Crowne, and the 
 chiefe Bishop wearing his Mitre, in a Cope of Cloth 
 of Gold, over her Head a Canopy of white Silke, 
 fringed about in princely Manner; before her went 
 an Hundred Priests singing, and after her all the 
 chiefe Ladies of the Land; then all the Wives and 
 Maidens of Glocester followed, with an innumerable 
 Sort of People on every Side standing to behold 
 her. In this Sort she passed on to the Cathedrall 
 Church, were she was brought to the Nunry Gate. 
 
 The Lady Abbesse received her, where the 
 beautifull Maiden, kneeling downe, made her Prayer 
 in Sight of all the People; then, with her owne 
 Hands she undid her Virgins faire Gowne, and 
 tooke it off, and gave it away to the Poore; after 
 that, her Kirtle, then her Jewels, Bracelets, and 
 Rings, saying. Farewell the Pride and Vanitie of 
 this World. The Ornaments of her Head were 
 the next shee gave away, and then was she led on 
 one Side, where she was stripped, and, in Stead of 
 her Smoke of soft Silke, had a Smoke of rough 
 Haire put upon her. 
 
 Then 
 176
 
 of Thomas of Reading 
 
 Then came one with a Paire of Sheares, and 
 cut off her Golden-coloured Locks, and with Dust 
 and Ashes all bestrewed her Head and Face; which 
 being done, she was brought againe into the Peoples 
 Sight, bare foot and bare-leg'd, to whom she said: 
 Now, Farewell the World, Farewell the Pleasures 
 of this Life, Farewell my Lord the King, and to the 
 Dukes sweet Love farewell; now shall my Eyes 
 weepe for my former Transgressions, and no more 
 shall my Tongue talke of Vanity; Farewell my good 
 Master and Dame, and Farewell all good People. 
 
 With which Words she was taken away, and 
 never after seene abroad. When Duke Robert heard 
 thereof, he desired that at his Death his Body 
 might be buried in Glocester; In that Towne, quoth 
 he, where first my cleare Eyes beheld the heavenly 
 Beauty of my Love, and where, for my Sake, shee 
 forsooke the World; which was performed accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 The King also, at his Death, requested to be 
 
 burled at Reading, for the Great Love hee bare to 
 
 that Place, among those Clothiers, who, living, 
 
 were his Hearts Comfort. Gray^ dying wondrous 
 
 wealthy, gave Land to the Monasterie whereinto 
 
 Margaret was taken. William Fitxallen also dyed 
 
 a most rich Man, having builded many Houses for 
 
 the 
 177
 
 The pleasant Historic 
 
 the poore; whose Sonne, Henry, was the first 
 Mayor that was ever in London. 
 
 Sutton of Salisbury did also, at his Death, much 
 Good, and gave an Hundred li. to be yeerely lent 
 to poore Weavers of the Towne, to the Worlds 
 End. Simon of South-hampton gave a most 
 bounteous Gift towards the Building of a Monas- 
 tery at Winchester. Hodgkins of Halifax did also 
 great Good; and so did Cutbert of Kendall, who 
 had married xxiii. Couples out of his owne House, 
 giving each of them x. li. to beginne the World 
 withall. Martin Briam of Manchester gave toward 
 the Building of a Free-School in Manchester, a 
 great Masse of Money. And thus (gentle Reader) 
 have I finished my Storie of these worthy Men, de- 
 siring thee to take my Paines in good Part, 
 which will ingage me to greater Matters, perceiving 
 this courteously accepted. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 178
 
 Three Ballads 
 
 on the 
 Armada Fight 
 
 (August, 1588) 
 By T. D.
 
 (i^^i-^ 
 
 a topfull nett) 'BallaD, 
 
 Declaring the happie obtaining of the great Galeazzo, 
 
 wherein Don Pedro de Valdez was the Chiefe, through the 
 
 miglitie Power and Prouidence of God ; being a fpeciall 
 
 token of his gracious and fatherly goodneffe towards 
 
 vs.: to the great encouragement of all thofe that 
 
 willingly fight in defence of his Gofpell, and 
 
 our good Queene of England.
 
 A joyful new Ballad declaring the happy obtaining 
 of the great Galleazzo^ wherein Don PEDRO 
 DE VALDEZ was the chief; through the 
 mighty power and providence of GOD ; being a 
 special token of His gracious and fatherly good- 
 ness towards us: to the great encouragement of 
 all those that willingly fight in the 
 
 defence of His Gospel and our good 
 ^een of England. 
 
 To the tune o{ Monsieur s Almain. 
 
 O NOBLE England, 
 fall down upon thy knee! 
 And praise thy GOD, with thankful heart, 
 which still maintaineth thee! 
 The foreign forces 
 
 that seek thy utter spoil. 
 Shall then, through His especial grace, 
 
 be brought to shameful foil. 
 With mighty power, 
 
 they come unto our coast; 
 
 183
 
 Ballads 
 
 To overrun our country quite, 
 they make their brags and boast. 
 
 In strength of men 
 
 they set their only stay; 
 
 But we, upon the LORD our GOD 
 will put our trust alway ! 
 
 Great is their number 
 
 of ships upon the sea; 
 And their provision wonderful: 
 
 but. Lord, Thou art our stay ! 
 Their armed soldiers 
 
 are many by account; 
 Their aiders eke in this attempt 
 
 do, sundry ways, surmount. 
 The Pope of Rome, 
 
 with many blessed grains. 
 To sanctify their bad pretence, 
 
 bestoweth both cost and pains. 
 But little land 
 
 is not dismayed at all ! 
 The LORD, no doubt! is on our side, 
 
 which soon will work their fall. 
 
 In happy hour, 
 
 our foes we did descry !
 
 The Spanish Armada 
 
 And under sail, with gallant wind, 
 
 as they came passing by. 
 Which sudden tidings 
 
 to Plymouth being brought, 
 Full soon our Lord High Admiral, 
 
 for to pursue them sought. 
 And to his train 
 
 courageously he said, 
 "Now, for the LORD, and our good Queen, 
 
 to fight be not afraid ! 
 Regard our Cause ! 
 
 and play your parts like men ! 
 The LORD, no doubt ! will prosper us 
 
 in all our actions then." 
 
 This great Galleazzo 
 
 which was so huge and high. 
 That, like a bulwark on the sea 
 
 did seem to each man's eye. 
 There was it taken, 
 
 unto our great relief, 
 And divers nobles, in which train 
 
 Don PEDRO was the chief. 
 Strong was she stuffed 
 
 with cannons great and small, 
 
 185
 
 Ballads 
 
 And other instruments of war, 
 
 which we obtained all. 
 A certain sign 
 
 of good success, we trust : 
 That GOD will overthrow the rest; 
 
 as he hath done the first. 
 
 Then did our Navy 
 
 pursue the rest amain, 
 With roaring noise of cannons great, 
 
 till they, near Calais came. 
 With manly courage 
 
 they followed them so fast; 
 Another mighty Galleon 
 
 did seem to yield at last: 
 And in distress 
 
 for safeguard of their lives, 
 A flag of truce, they did hand out, 
 
 with many mournful cries. 
 Which when our men 
 
 did perfectly espy 
 Some little barks they sent to her, 
 
 to board her quietly. 
 
 But these false Spaniards 
 esteeming them but weak, 
 
 i86
 
 The Spanish Armada 
 
 When they within their danger came, 
 
 their malice forth did break : 
 With charged canons 
 
 they laid about them then, 
 For to destroy those proper barks 
 
 and all their valiant men. 
 Which when our men 
 
 preceived so to be; 
 Like lions fierce, they forward went 
 
 to 'quite this injury; 
 And boarding them 
 
 with strong and mighty hand. 
 They killed the men, until the Ark 
 
 did sink in Calais sand. 
 
 The chiefest Captain 
 
 of this Galleon so high, 
 Don HUGO DE MONCALDO, he 
 
 within this fight did die: 
 Who was the General 
 
 of all the Galleons great, 
 But through his brains, with powder's force, 
 
 a bullet strong did beat. 
 And many more, 
 
 by sword, did lose their breath. 
 
 187
 
 Ballads 
 
 And many more within the sea 
 did swim, and took their death. 
 
 There might you see 
 
 the salt and foaming flood, 
 
 Died and stained like scarlet red 
 with store of Spanish blood. 
 
 This mighty vessel 
 
 was threescore yards in length, 
 Most wonderful, to each man's eye, 
 
 for making and for strength. 
 In her were placed 
 
 a hundred cannons great, 
 And mightily provided eke 
 
 with bread-corn, wine, and meat. 
 There were of oars 
 
 two hundred, I ween. 
 Threescore feet and twelve in length 
 
 well measured to be seen ; 
 And yet subdued, 
 
 with many others more : 
 And not a ship of ours lost ! 
 
 the LORD be thanked therefore ! 
 
 Our pleasant country, 
 so beautiful and so fair.
 
 The Spanish Armada 
 
 They do intend, by deadly war, 
 
 To make both poor and bare. 
 Our towns and cities, 
 
 to rack and sack likewise. 
 To kill and murder man and wife 
 
 as malice doth arise, 
 And to deflour 
 
 our virgins in our sight; 
 And in the cradle cruelly 
 
 the tender babe to smite. 
 GOD'S Holy Truth, 
 
 they mean for to cast down, 
 And to deprive our noble Queen 
 
 both of her life and crown. 
 
 Our wealth and riches, 
 
 which we enjoyed long; 
 They do appoint their prey and spoil 
 
 by cruelty and wrong. 
 To set our houses 
 
 a fire on our heads; 
 And cursedly to cut our throats 
 
 As we lie in our beds. 
 Our children's brains 
 
 to dash against the ground. 
 
 189
 
 Ballads 
 
 And from the earth our memory 
 
 for ever to confound. 
 To change our joy 
 
 to grief and mourning sad. 
 And never more to see the days 
 
 of pleasure we have had. 
 
 But GOD Almighty 
 
 be blessed evermore ! 
 Who doth encourage Englishmen 
 
 to beat them from our shore, 
 With roaring cannons 
 
 their hasty steps to stay. 
 And with the force of thundering shot, 
 
 to make them fly away; 
 Who made account, 
 
 before this time or day, 
 Against the walls of fair London 
 
 their banners to display. 
 But their intent, 
 
 the LORD will bring to nought. 
 If faithfully we call and cry 
 
 for succor as we ought. 
 
 And yours, dear brethren ! 
 which beareth arms this day. 
 
 190
 
 The Spanish Armada 
 
 For safeguard of your native soil ; 
 
 mark well, what I shall say ! 
 Regard your duties ! 
 
 think on your country's good ! 
 And fear not in defence thereof, 
 
 to spend your dearest blood ! 
 Our gracious Queen 
 
 doth greet you every one ! 
 And saith, *' She will among you be 
 
 in every bitter storm ! 
 Desiring you 
 
 true English hearts to bear 
 To GOD ! to her! and to the land 
 
 wherein you nursed were !" 
 
 LORD GOD Almighty ! 
 
 (which hath the hearts in hand. 
 Of every person to dispose) 
 
 defend this English land ! 
 Bless Thou, our Sovereign 
 
 with long and happy life ! 
 Endue her Council with Thy Grace ! 
 
 and end this mortal strife ! 
 Give to the rest 
 
 of commons more and less. 
 
 191
 
 Ballads 
 
 Loving hearts ! obedient minds ! 
 
 and perfect faithfulness ! 
 That they and we, 
 
 and all, with one accord, 
 On Sion hill, may sing the praise 
 
 of our most mighty LORD. 
 
 T. D. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed by JOHN WOLFE 
 for EDWARD WHITE. 
 
 1588 
 
 192
 
 The ^eens visiting of the Camp at Tilbury, with 
 her entertainment there. 
 
 To the tune of Wilson s Wild. 
 
 WITHIN the year of CHRIST, our Lord, 
 A thousand and five hundred full. 
 And eighty-eight by just record, 
 the which no man may disannul ; 
 And in the thirtieth year remaining, 
 
 of good Queen ELIZABETH'S reigning: 
 A mighty power there was prepared 
 
 By PHILIP, then the King of Spain, 
 Against the Maiden Queen of England; 
 Which in peace before did reign. 
 
 Her royal ships, to sea she sent 
 
 to guard the coast on every side; 
 And seeing how her foes were bent, 
 
 her realm full well she did provide 
 With many thousands so prepared 
 
 as like was never erst declared ; 
 
 193
 
 Ballads 
 
 Of horsemen and of footmen plenty, 
 whose good hearts full well is seen, 
 
 In the safeguard of their country 
 and the service of our Queen. 
 
 In Essex fair, that fertile soil 
 
 upon the hill of Tilbury, 
 To give our Spanish foes the foil 
 
 in gallant camps they now do lie. 
 Where good order is ordained, 
 
 and true justice eke maintained 
 For the punishment of persons 
 
 that are lewd or badly bent. 
 To see a sight so strange in England, 
 
 'Twas our gracious Queen's intent. 
 
 And on the eighth of August, she 
 
 from fair St, James's, took her way, 
 With many Lords of high degree, 
 
 in princely robes and rich array; 
 And to barge upon the water 
 
 (being King HENRY'S royal daughter!) 
 She did go, with trumpets sounding, 
 
 and with dubbing drums apace, 
 Along the Thames, that famous river, 
 
 for to view the Camp a space. 
 
 194
 
 The Spanish Armada 
 
 When she, as far as Gravesend came, 
 
 right over against that pretty town. 
 Her royal Grace with all her train 
 
 was landed there with great renown. 
 The Lords, and Captains of her forces, 
 
 mounted on their gallant horses, 
 Ready stood to entertain her, 
 
 Hke martial men of courage bold 
 "Welcome to the Camp, dread Sovereign !" 
 
 thus they said, both young and old. 
 
 The Bulwarks strong, that stood thereby, 
 
 well guarded with sufficient men, 
 Their flags were spread courageously, 
 
 their cannons were discharged then. 
 Each gunner did declare his cunning 
 
 for joy conceived of her coming. 
 All the way her Grace was riding, 
 
 on each side stood armed men, 
 With muskets, pikes, and good calivers, 
 for her Grace's safeguard then. 
 
 The Lord General of the field 
 
 had there his bloody Ancient borne. 
 
 The Lord Marshal's colours eke 
 
 were carried there, all rent and torn, 
 
 195
 
 Ballads 
 
 The which with bullets was so burned 
 when in Flanders he sojourned. 
 
 Thus in warlike wise they marched, 
 even as soft as foot could fall; 
 
 Because her Grace was fully minded 
 perfectly to view them all. 
 
 Her faithful soldiers, great and small, 
 
 as each one stood within his place, 
 Upon their knees began to fall 
 
 desiring GOD, to "save her Grace!" . 
 For joy whereof, her eyes were filled 
 
 that the water down distilled; 
 "LORD bless you all, my friends!" she said, 
 
 "but do not kneel so much to me!" 
 Then sent she warning to the rest, 
 
 they should not let such reverence be. 
 
 Then casting up her Princely eyes 
 unto the hill with perfect sight. 
 
 The ground all covered, she espies, 
 with feet of armed soldiers bright; 
 
 Whereat her royal heart so leaped, 
 on her feet upright she stepped. 
 
 196
 
 The Spanish Armada 
 
 Tossing up her plume of feathers 
 to them all as they did stand, 
 
 Cheerfully her body bending, 
 waving of her royal hand. 
 
 Thus through the Camp she passed quite, 
 
 in manner as I have declared. 
 At Master RICH'S, for that night, 
 
 her Grace's lodging was prepared. 
 The morrow after her abiding, 
 
 on a princely palfrey riding; 
 To the Camp, she came to dinner, 
 
 with her Lords and Ladies all. 
 The Lord General went to meet her, 
 
 with his Guard of Yoemen tall. 
 
 The Sergeant Trumpet, with his mace, 
 
 and nine with trumpets after him. 
 Bareheaded went before Her Grace 
 
 in coats of scarlet trim. 
 The King of Heralds, tall and comely, 
 
 was the next in order duly. 
 With the famous Arms of England 
 
 wrought with rich embroidered gold 
 On finest velvet, blue and crimson, 
 
 that for silver can be sold. 
 
 197
 
 Ballads 
 
 With maces of clean beaten gold, 
 
 the Queen's two Sergeants then did ride. 
 Most comely men for to behold, 
 
 in velvet coats and chains beside. 
 The Lord General then came riding, 
 
 and Lord Marshal hard beside him, 
 Richly were they both attired 
 
 in princely garments of great price; 
 Bearing still their hats and feathers 
 
 in their hands, in comely wise. 
 
 Then came the Queen, on prancing steed, 
 
 attired like an angel bright; 
 And eight brave footmen at her feet 
 
 whose jerkins were most rich in sight. 
 Her Ladies, likewise of great honour, 
 
 most sumptuously did wait upon her, 
 With pearls and diamonds brave adorned, 
 
 and in costly cauls of gold: 
 Her Guards, in scarlet, then rode after, 
 
 with bows and arrows, stout and bold. 
 
 The valiant Captains of the field, 
 
 mean space, themselves in order set; 
 
 And each of them, with spear and shield, 
 to join in batle did not let. 
 
 198
 
 The Spanish Armada 
 
 With such a warlike skill extended, 
 as the same was much commended. 
 
 Such a battle pitched in England 
 many a day hath not been seen. 
 
 Thus they stood in order waiting 
 for the presence of our Queen. 
 
 At length, her Grace most royally 
 
 received was, and brought again. 
 Where she might see most loyally 
 
 this noble host and warlike train. 
 How they came marching all together, 
 
 like a wood in winter's weather, 
 With the strokes of drummers sounding, 
 
 and with trampling horses; then 
 The earth and air did sound like thunder 
 
 to the ears of every man. 
 
 The warlike army then stood still, 
 
 and drummers left their dubbing sound; 
 
 Because it was our Prince's will 
 to ride about the army round. 
 
 Her Ladies, she did leave behind her, 
 and her Guard, which still did mind her. 
 
 199
 
 Ballads 
 
 The Lord General and Lord Marshal 
 
 did conduct her to each place. 
 The pikes, the colours, and the lances, 
 
 at her approach fell down apace ! 
 
 And then bespake our noble Queen, 
 
 "My loving friends and countrymen ! 
 I hope this day the worst is seen, 
 
 that in our wars, ye shall sustain ! 
 But if our enemies do assail you, 
 
 never let your stomachs fail you ! 
 For in the midst of all your troops; 
 
 we ourselves will be in place ! 
 To be your joy, your guide and comfort; 
 
 even before your enemy's face !" 
 
 This done, the soldiers, all at once, 
 
 a mighty shout or cry did give ! 
 Which forced from the azure skies 
 
 an echo loud, from thence to drive; 
 Which filled her Grace with joy and pleasure; 
 
 and riding then from them, by leisure. 
 With trumpets' sound most loyally, 
 
 along the Court of Guard she went: 
 Who did conduct Her Majesty 
 
 unto the Lord Chief General's tent. 
 
 200
 
 The Spanish Armada 
 
 Where she was feasted royally 
 
 with dainties of most costly prices 
 And when that night approaching nigh, 
 
 Her Majesty, with sage advice. 
 In gracious manner, then returned 
 
 from the Camp where she sojourned 
 And when that she was safely sit 
 
 within her barge, and passed away; 
 Her Farewell then, the trumpets sounded; 
 
 and the cannons fast did play ! 
 
 T. D. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Imprinted at London by JOHN WOLFE 
 for EDWARD WHITE. 1588. 
 
 2or
 
 A new Ballet of the strange and most cruel whipSy 
 
 . which the Spaniards had prepared to whip and 
 
 torment English men and women: which were 
 
 found and taken at the overthrow of certain of 
 
 the Spanish ships^ in July last past^ 1588. 
 
 To the tune of T'he Valiant Soldier. 
 
 ALL you that hst to look and see 
 what profit comes from Spain, 
 And what the Pope and Spaniards both 
 prepared for our gain. 
 Then turn your eyes and bend your ears, 
 
 and you shall hear and see 
 What courteous minds, what gentle hearts, 
 they bear to thee and me ! 
 
 They say "they seek for England's good, 
 
 and wish the people well !" 
 They say "they are such holy men, 
 
 all others they excel!" 
 
 203
 
 Ballads 
 
 They brag that "they are Catholics, 
 and CHRIST'S only Spouse ! 
 
 And whatsoe'er they take in hand, 
 the holy Pope allows ! " 
 
 These holy men, these sacred saints, 
 
 and these that think no ill: 
 See how they sought, against all right, 
 
 to murder, spoil and kill ! 
 Our noble Queen and country first 
 
 they did prepare to spoil. 
 To ruinate our lives and lands 
 
 with trouble and turmoil. 
 
 And not content, by fire and sword, 
 
 to take our right away; 
 But to torment most cruelly, 
 
 our bodies night and day. 
 Although they meant, with murdering hands, 
 
 our guiltless blood to spill; 
 Before our deaths, they did devise 
 
 to whip us, first, their fill. 
 
 And for that purpose had prepared 
 of whips such wondrous store, 
 
 204
 
 The Spanish Armada 
 
 So strangely made, that, sure, the hke 
 
 was never seen before. 
 For never was there horse, nor mule, 
 
 nor dog of currish kind, 
 That ever had such whips devised 
 
 by any savage mind ! 
 
 One sort of whips, they had for men, 
 
 so smarting, fierce and fell, 
 As like could never be devised 
 
 by any devil in hell: 
 The strings whereof with wiry knots, 
 
 like rowels they did frame. 
 That every stroke might tear the flesh, 
 
 they laid on with the same. 
 
 And pluck the spreading sinews from 
 
 the hardened bloody bone, 
 To prick and pierce each tender vein, 
 
 within the body known; 
 And not to leave one crooked rib 
 
 on any side unseen. 
 Nor yet to leave a lump of flesh, 
 
 the head and foot between. 
 
 205
 
 Ballads 
 
 And for our silly women eke, 
 
 their hearts with grief to clog ; 
 They made such whips, wherewith no man 
 
 would seem to strike a dog. 
 So strengthened eke with brazen tags 
 
 and filed so rough and thin. 
 That they would force at every lash, 
 
 the blood abroad to spin. 
 
 Although their bodies sweet and fair 
 
 their spoil they meant to make. 
 And on them first their filthy lust 
 
 and pleasure for to take: 
 Yet afterwards such sour sauce 
 
 they should be sure to find. 
 That they should curse each springing branch 
 
 that Cometh of their kind. 
 
 O Ladies fair, what spite were this ! 
 
 your gentle hearts to kill ! 
 To see these devilish tyrants thus 
 
 your children's blood to spill. 
 What grief unto the husband dear ! 
 
 his loving wife to see 
 Tormented so before his face 
 
 with extreme villainy. 
 
 206
 
 The Spanish Armada 
 
 And think you not, that they which had 
 
 such dogged minds to make 
 Such instruments of tyranny, 
 
 had not like hearts to take 
 The greatest vengeance that they might, 
 
 upon us every one? 
 Yes, yes ! be sure ! for godly fear 
 
 and mercy, have they none ! 
 
 Even as in India once they did 
 
 against those people there 
 With cruel curs, in shameful sort, 
 
 the men both rent and tare; 
 And set the ladies great with child 
 
 upright against a tree. 
 And shot them through with piercing darts: 
 
 such would their practice be ! 
 
 Did not the Romans in this land 
 
 sometimes like practice use 
 Against the Britains bold in heart, 
 
 and wondrously abuse 
 The valiant king whom they had caught, 
 
 before his queen and wife, 
 
 207
 
 Ballads 
 
 And with most extreme tyranny, 
 despatched him of his life? 
 
 The good Queen BOADICEA, 
 
 and eke her daughters three; 
 Did they not first abuse them all 
 
 by lust and lechery; 
 And, after, stripped them naked all, 
 
 and whipped them in such sort, 
 That it would grieve each Christian heart 
 
 to hear that just report? 
 
 And if these rufflng mates of Rome 
 
 did Princes thus torment; 
 Think you ! the Romish Spaniards now 
 
 would not show their descent? 
 How did they, late, in Rome rejoice, 
 
 in Italy and Spain; 
 What ringing and what bonfires ! 
 
 what Masses sung amain! 
 What printed books were sent about 
 
 as filled their desire. 
 How England was, by Spaniards won, 
 
 and London set on fire ! 
 
 208
 
 The Spanish Armada 
 
 Be these the men, that are so mild ! 
 
 whom some so holy call ! 
 The LORD defend our noble Queen 
 
 and country from them all ! 
 
 T. D. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Imprinted at London, by THOMAS ORWIN 
 
 and THOMAS GUBBIN; and are to be 
 
 sold in Paternoster Row, over 
 
 against the Black Raven^ 
 
 1588. 
 
 209
 
 Notes
 
 NOTES 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Page I . — PV/io was the first King that instituted the Nigh 
 Court of Parliament : "The composition and powers were 
 developed in the 13th and 14th centuries. The right of 
 representation from shires and towns from 1295. Edward I 
 declared in 1295, 'What effected all should have the con- 
 sent of all' and called a complete representative assembly of 
 all estates of the realm. "—Skottowe, Short History of 
 Parliament. 
 
 Page 2. — Thomas Cole is mentioned by Coates, in the "History 
 of Reading," as the Rich Clothier of Reading. Fuller in the 
 "Worthies of England" acknowledges that Cole was an emi- 
 nent clothier, but believes that the "Pleasant History of 
 Thomas of Reading" is mostly fiction. "Tradition and an 
 authorless pamphlet make him a man of vast wealth, main- 
 taining an hundred and forty menial servants in his house, be- 
 sides three hundred poor people whom he set on work; inso- 
 much that his wains with cloth filled the highway betwixt 
 Reading and London, to the stopping of King Henry the 
 First in his progress; who notwithstanding (for the encourag- 
 ing of his subjects' industry) gratified the said Cole, and all 
 his profession, with the set measure of a yard, the said king 
 
 213
 
 Notes 
 
 making his own arm the standard thereof, whereby drapery 
 was reduced in the meting thereof to a greater certainty. 
 
 The truth is this: monks began to lard the lives of their 
 saints with lies, whence they proceeded in like manner to 
 flourish out the facts of famous knights (King Arthur, Guy of 
 Warwick, etc.) in imitation whereof some meaner wits in the 
 same sort made description of mechanics, powdering their 
 lives with improbable passages, to the great prejudice of 
 truth; seeing the making of broad-cloth in England could not 
 be so ancient, and it was the arm (not of King Henry) but 
 King Edward the First, which is notoriously known to have 
 been the adequation of a yard. 
 
 However, because o/nnis fabula fundatur in Historia, let 
 this Cole be accounted eminent in this kind, though I vehe- 
 mently suspect very little of the truth would remain in the 
 midst of this story, if the gross falsehoods were pared from 
 both sides thereof." 
 
 Page 2. — Sheeremen: The sheeremen cut the nap from the 
 cloth. 
 
 Page 2. — Rowers: The rowers roughened the cloth. 
 
 Page 3. — Bazingstoke: (Basingstoke) a town forty-five miles 
 southwest of London. 
 
 Page 3 — IVaines: Country carts or wagons. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Page 7. — Immediately upon hearing that William Rufus was dead; 
 Henry Beauclerc hastened to assume the crown ( i 100). 
 
 214
 
 Notes 
 
 The malcontent nobles leagued against him and the Saxon 
 chronicle records: "This year also, William, Earl of More- 
 ton (Mortain), departed to Normandy, and being there, he 
 took up arms against the king, on which the king confiscated all 
 his possessions and estates in this country." The other con- 
 spirators were Flambard and Robert of Belleme (the Earl of 
 Shrewsbury). They plotted to place Robert, Duke of Nor- 
 mandy, on the throne. 
 
 Robert had acquired a reputation, richly deserved, for val- 
 our in Palestine, and his refusal of the kingdom of Jerusalem 
 oiFended many of his comrades. While fighting for another's 
 cause his virtues shone forth, but he seemed totally unable to 
 govern his own aifaires. Under him the province of Nor- 
 mandv became the prey of rapine and bloodshed. At last 
 Henry had to be called over. Affairs came to such a climax 
 that the brothers eventually met at the battle of Tinchebrai, 
 where Henry was completely victorious and gained control of 
 Normandy. The Earl of Shrewsbury and Robert were taken 
 prisoners and Robert was confined at Cardiff Castle. His 
 imprisonment was made as pleasant as possible. "He was 
 given great freedom, the delicacies of life, and permission 
 to visit neighboring woods and gardens. However, it 
 seems, one day he attempted to escape by horseback. He 
 was overtaken in a marsh and conducted back without violence 
 to the castle. The report (which Deloney accepts) that his 
 eyes were put out is undoubtedly false, although in that 
 troubled time we might expect such cruelty." 
 
 The war against Robert led to a war against Louis of 
 France who had espoused the cause of Robert. The French 
 suffered a bad defeat at the battle of Bremule. 
 
 2t5
 
 Notes 
 
 Page 8. — to appease the Fury of the Welshmen: Henry con- 
 quered all South Wales and was preparing to invade North 
 Wales when death came upon him. 
 
 Page 9. — Staines: In Middlesex, nineteen miles from London 
 and situated at the confluence of the Thames and Colne. 
 
 Page 9. — Salisbury: New Sarum, the capital of Wiltshire, at 
 the junction of the Bourne and Avon. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Page 13. — Reading: In Berkshire, situated on the Kennet near 
 its junction with the Thames. About forty miles west by 
 south of London. 
 
 Page I 4. — Earl of Shrewsbury. His possessions still remained in 
 Normandy and thus his family could not have suffered any 
 material hardship. 
 
 Page 14. — Colebrooke: Probably the modern Colne on the river 
 Colne. 
 
 Page 13. — Earl of Moraigne: See Chapter I. 
 
 Page 15. — as pleasant as Pies: As pleasant as magpies. 
 
 Page 15. — now gip (^quoth they'): Gip was used as an express 
 sion of surprise and derision. "Mary gyp good-man upstart, 
 who made your father a gentleman.^"' — Greene. 
 
 216
 
 Notes 
 
 Page I 5 — these yellow Hose ; Seems to mean a scold, a fault 
 finder. Compare: 
 
 "The bachelor most joyfullye 
 
 In pleasant plight doth pass his dales. 
 
 Good fellowshipp and companie 
 
 He doth maintaine and kepe alwaie (s). 
 
 With damsells brave he maye well go, 
 
 The married man cannot doe so. 
 
 If he be merie and toy with any. 
 
 His wife will frowne, and words geve manye: 
 
 Yitr yellow hose she strait will put on. 
 
 So that the married man dare not displease his wife Joane. " 
 
 Sir J. Hawkins' History of Music. (Ancient 
 English Songs, Vol. II, p. 20.) 
 
 Page 20. — Carle: A fellow of low birth and rude manners. 
 
 Page 23 — Bottle \of Pottage r^ Bowl. 
 
 Page 23. — Reior: The Priory and Hospital of S. Bartholomew 
 in Smithjield. The ruins of this fine old church stand on the 
 southeastern side of Smithfield. "The ancient Priory of S. 
 Bartholomew the Great (is) supposed to have been founded 
 at the commencement of the twelfth century by Rahere 
 (Reior) or Raherius, who became the first prior of the es- 
 tablishment." — TiMBS. It was rebuilt in 1410. Rahere 
 had been a minstrel and also an outlaw follower of Hereward. 
 
 Page 24. — Ywis: Truly. 
 
 Page 24. — Giglot: Originally meaning a wanton woman, but 
 most often a giddy, romping girl. 
 
 217
 
 Notes 
 
 Page 25. — Brabbles: noisy brawls or quarrels about trifles. 
 Page 26. — paid the Shot: The reckoning at a tavern. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Page 29. — a Faire that was kept neere Glocester: "The 
 statute of Gloucester (1278) conferred the right of inquiring 
 into the title of all who claimed rights usually held by the 
 crown" (that is, of holding a fair). — "Fairs, Past and Pres- 
 ent," by Cornelius Walford. 
 
 Page 31. — the Statute: "A fair held by regular legal appoint- 
 ment, in contradistinction to one authorized only by use and 
 wont." — Cent. Diet. 
 
 Page 36. — Margaret: From Latin Margarita, meaning pearl. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Page 41. — "Roger, Bishop of Salisbury (d. 1 139), was of hum- 
 ble birth but pleased the king by his force of character. Al- 
 though unlettered he proved himself astute and zealous. 
 When Henry became king Roger was made chancellor in 
 I loi and in 1 102 he was invested with the bishopric of Sal- 
 isbury. He was a notable statesman and under his direction 
 the whole administrative system was remodelled. ' ' — Condensed 
 from Diet. Nat. Biog, 
 
 Page 43. — that the People would not take crackt Money: 
 "When he heard that the tradesmen refused broken (crackt) 
 
 218
 
 Notes 
 
 money, though of good silver, he (Henry I) commanded 
 the whole of it to be broken (slit), or cut in pieces. The 
 measure of his own arm was applied to correct the false ell 
 of the traders and enjoined on all throughout England." — 
 Chronicles of William of Malmesbury. "That there 
 might be no Abuse in Measures, he ordained a Measure 
 made by the Length of his own Arm, which is called a 
 yard." — Chronicles of Baker. This may be a tradition be- 
 cause measurements are generally a matter of growth and 
 custom However the yard is not mentioned before the 
 twelfth century. 
 
 The "Gibbet Law of Halifax" was in force in the time 
 of Deloney. "The custom is supposed to have originated 
 when the manor of Wakefield (of which Halifax was part) 
 was bestowed on Earl Warren." (Time of Edward I) — 
 Thoms. 
 Page 43. — false Borderers: Warlike and treacherous raiders 
 dwelling on the border between England and Scotland. 
 
 Page 43. — Halifax: — In Yorkshire, situated on the Hebbele. 
 
 Page 45. — yea gude Faith, etc., etc.: Yes, good faith. My 
 Liege, the foul evil of my soul if anything will keep them 
 quiet, till the sturdy knaves be hanged up by the necks. 
 What the devil care they for boring their eyes, so long as 
 they may go groping up and down the country like false lazar 
 (.?) louts, begging and vv'hining. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Page 50. — -forty shillings apiece: the first shilling (silver) was 
 issued by Henry VIL
 
 Notes 
 
 Page 51. — Lobcocke: a dull, country bumpkin. 
 
 Page 52. — looking on him: to hold in esteem. 
 
 Page 52. — Thou art my owne sweet Bully: A term of en- 
 dearment originally applied to either sex. It later became 
 applied to men only and meant a good fellow. From this it 
 grew into the present meaning of ruffian. 
 
 Page 54. — Flirts and Fromps: loose actions and cross tempered 
 invectives. 
 
 Page 54. — that Northern Tike: a cur-dog and from this a 
 country boor. 
 
 Page 5 5 . — goodly Draggletaile: a woman of unkempt dress, 
 a slattern. 
 
 Page 55. — gag-toothed: projecting or deformed jaw. 
 
 Page 55. — Companion: worthless fellow. 
 
 Page 56. — Capcase: a case made convenient for carrying small 
 articles. 
 
 Page 57. — the smoky Lover of the House: A turret rising from 
 the hall of a medieval house in order to allow the smoke to 
 escape. It was open at the sides. 
 
 Page 59. — Dalliance: ''Frivolous actions and amorous caress- 
 ing."— N. E. D. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Page 65. — Watling-Street: Derived from the Saxon Atheling, 
 "a noble road." It is the oldest street in London. The 
 
 220 
 
 A
 
 Notes 
 
 old British Watling Street started from Richborough on the 
 
 coast of Kent and ended in Scotland. It was nearly in the 
 
 line of the present Dover road and was the most used road 
 from the days of the Romans. 
 
 Page 65. — in Saint Martins, Shoomakers: Saint Martins was 
 practically a green country lane at that time. R. W. Bond 
 in a note on «*Shoomaker's Hall in Saint Martins" in his 
 edition of Lyly, says, **A burlesque locality. The real 
 Shoemaker's Hall is given by Stow as in Bread St. Ward, 
 opposite Gt. Distar St." 
 
 Page 65. — the Flesh Shambles: stalls where the butchers ex- 
 posed their meat for sale. 
 
 Page 65 old Change: "Was formerly the old exchange, so 
 
 called from the King's exchange, then kept, which was the 
 receipt of bullion to be coined." — Stow. Chaucer men- 
 tions the fish mongers in that part of the city. 
 
 Page 65. — in Candleweek-street: The modern Cannon street. 
 The candlemakers first lived there but later the clothmakers 
 made it their home. ''London Stone" was fixed on the 
 south side of Candlewick ( Candle week-St. ) street and from 
 it all the Roman roads radiated. 
 
 Page e^.—Jezues Street: The old Jewry, the Ghetto of Medi- 
 eval London. The Jewes had been invited into the land by 
 William and had attained considerable influence. 
 
 Page 66.—Blackwel Hall: It is said to have been founded by 
 Sir Ralph Blackwell, a friend of Sir John Hawkwood, in the 
 middle of the fourteenth century. 
 
 Page 66. — S. Paul's Church: «'The tower and spire rose 520
 
 Notes 
 
 feet, or higher than the monument placed upon the cross of 
 the present cathedral. ... (It was) surmounted by ' an 
 eagle-cock of copper gilt, 4 feet long. This steeple was 
 taken down, and was never rebuilt." — Times. 
 
 Page 66. — Cripple-Gate: The original gate was probably built 
 by King Alfred when the walls were strengthened in 
 886, "When the body of Edmund the Martyr (loio). 
 King of the East Angles, was borne through this gate many 
 lame persons were cured by its miraculous influence."— 
 Stow. From this tradition the gate is supposed to take its 
 name. It was rebuilt in 1244 and 1491, was repaired by 
 Charles II, and finally pulled down in 1760. 
 
 Page 66. — The Tower of London: was built about 1078 by 
 the Conqueror to insure peace and security in London. The 
 foundation was of Roman bricks and the remains of an 
 old Roman bastion. "Even as to length of days the 
 Tower has no rivals among palaces and prisons .... Old 
 writers date it from the days of Csesar; a legend taken up by 
 Shakespeare and the poets in favour of which the name of 
 Caesar's Tower remains in popular use to this day." — W. 
 H. Dixon, "Her Majestie's Tower." 
 
 Page 67. — Wind their owne Quilles: A piece of small reed or 
 slender tube used by weavers to wind thread upon. 
 
 Page 68. — Such as serve seven Yeeres in London : The 
 Weavers Guild was first heard of in 11 30, when Robert Leof- 
 stan's son paid ^10 to the Exchequer for them. 
 
 Page 69. — Sarum Toivne: The ruins are about one and one-half 
 miles north of Salisbury. The decline began in the reign of 
 
 222
 
 Notes 
 
 Henry I, originating in a disagreement between the civil and 
 ecclesiastical authorities. It became known later as a rotten 
 borough. 
 
 Page 69. — Woad : A cruciferous plant, Isatis iinctoria, 
 formerly much cultivated for its blue dye. 
 
 Page 71. — Weavers Hall: Was in Basing-hall street. This 
 company was one of the first to be incorporated. For immu- 
 nities they paid ^16 a year to Henry I. 
 
 Page 73. — What a Coyle keep you: Rumpus or hubbub. 
 
 Page 74. — London Oys/er- Wives, etc.: These names were 
 in general use as terms of derision or invective. 
 
 Page 75. — Droile: About the same meaning as drudge. 
 
 Page 76. — Aqua-Vitae: This name used at that time for alcohol. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Page 81. — Cardife Castle: In the town of Glamorganshire. It is 
 a corruption of Caer Taf, the fortress on the river Taf 
 Here Robert learned Welsh and solaced himself by poetry. 
 It is said that he composed the following verses: 
 
 "Oak, born on these heights, theatre of carnage, where blood has 
 
 rolled in streams: 
 Misery to those who quarrel about words over wine. 
 
 Oak, nourished in the midst of meadows covered with blood and 
 
 corpses: 
 Misery to the man who has borne an object of hatred. 
 
 * * * ^ * * 
 
 223
 
 Notes 
 
 Oak, which has lived through storms and tempests, in the midst of 
 
 the tumult of war and the ravages of death: 
 Misery to the man who is not old enough to die," 
 
 — Taken from Timbs. 
 
 Page 82. — his Grace came to Reading: Henry in 11 21 laid the 
 foundation of the present Abbey at Reading on the site of the 
 old Abbey of Nuns which had been built by the Danes in 
 1006. Henry and his two wives were buried there (although 
 the King's bowels, brains, heart, eyes and tongue are said to 
 have been buried at Rouen). Only the ruins now remain. 
 
 Page 85. — Exeter: On the river Exe from which it takes its 
 name. 
 
 Page 85. — Gloucester: "Caer Glow, the ancient name, is con- 
 fessedly British, and has been supposed to mean Fair City, 
 (A. S. Gleowceaster). "Etymologists, however, are not 
 agreed in allowing the appropriation of this distinguishing 
 epithet, and have therefore endeavoured to explain the name 
 in different ways. Varnunius says that the name comes from 
 Emperor Claudius, (some say from Gloius, some say from 
 Gleow). Gleow, who, from what little can be collected 
 concerning him, lived at the commencement of the Roman 
 period of British history, and was Prince of the country of 
 which this city was the capitol." — The History and Antiqui- 
 ties of Gloucester from the Earliest Period, by Thomas 
 
 RUDGE. 
 
 Page 86. — Honorable Castle and Towne of Rithin: A new castle 
 of red sandstone stands on the walls of the ancient one. 
 
 Page 86. — bewrayed his Mind: Divulged his secret. 
 
 224
 
 Notes 
 
 Page 86. — his Sonne Robert: (Died i 147) was a natural son of 
 Henry: became Earl about 1121, and in i i 26 was made 
 custodian of Robert of Normandy. "He was a warrior 
 statesman and scholar." 
 
 Page 86. — Towne of Oswestrie: (Oswestry) in Shropshire. 
 Only a mound remains to show where the castle stood. 
 
 Page 86. — William Fitz-allen: Probably not the ancestor of 
 Henry Fitz-Aylwin who became Mayor in i 189. The an- 
 cestry is uncertain but points in another direction. He gov- 
 erned for twenty-five years. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Page gz.—A notable Thief e named Wallis: Probably a refer- 
 ence to the traditional Sir William Wallace (1272 (.?)- 
 1305). "In May 1297 Wallace burnt Lanark and slew 
 Hezelrig the Sheriff. The Scots said it was in just revenge 
 for the execution of Marion Bradfute, who had concealed 
 Wallace and refused the hand of the sheriff's son. While 
 this tale may or may not be true, yet from that time he was 
 a noted man; a hero in the eyes of Scodand, but conceived 
 by the English chroniclers as a high-wayman and murderer." 
 — Condensed from Diet. Nat, Biog. 
 
 Page 93. — Cakins: (Calkins) the iron projections on the horses' 
 shoes to prevent slipping, calks. 
 
 Page gT,.— Bow? fay, fay: How.? faith, faith! said the smith, 
 are ye such fools.? What the Devil do you mean, to break 
 your necks.? Good faith, I trow the men be mad. 
 
 225
 
 Notes 
 
 Page 96. — Placke or a Bawby: Scotch coins of small value. 
 
 Page 98. — a Gin: Engine, machine. 
 
 Page 98. — -feate: Dexterous. 
 
 Page 98. — cut off the cragges: Necks. 
 
 "Like Waitefull Widdowes hangen their Crags." — 
 Spencer — Shepherd's Calendar. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Page 103. — Bailiffes: They were of high rank before the advent 
 of the Mayor in i 189. 
 
 Page 103. — Catch-poles: "Hee is the properest shape wherein 
 they fancie Satan; for hee is at most but an arrester, and Hell 
 
 a Dungeon. Hee is the Creditors Hawke 
 
 He is the Period of young Gentlemen, or their fullstop, for 
 
 w^hen hee meets with them they can go no farther 
 
 Hee is an occasioner of desloyall thoughts in the common- 
 wealth, for he makes men hate the King's Name worse than 
 the Devil's." — ^John Earle, Miscrocosmographie. 
 
 Page 104. — a Couple of Flet7iings: The joke about Holland be- 
 ing drowned by the sea is to be found in many writers from 
 Deloney's time until the eighteenth century. 
 
 Page 106. — Maggat-Apie: Magpie (Magot-pie, Shakespeare; 
 magot o'pie, Middleton.) 
 
 Page 107. — Fillop: a snap of the finger. 
 
 Page 107. — Motint-Albioiu Refers to the legend of Charle- 
 magne's enchanted sleep in a mountain. Cf Gaston Paris, 
 
 226
 
 Notes 
 
 Histoire poetique de Charlemagne, p. 425-7; Grimm, 
 Deutsche Mythologie, vol. II., p. 795-803; vol. III., p. 
 285-6. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Page 1 1 1 . — Sir William Ferris: There were several of the 
 nobility by the name of Ferris or Ferrers, but Sir William 
 Ferris was probably fictitious. 
 
 Page I 1 1. — Stammell Petticote: Linsey-woolsey. 
 
 — -fores lowed my Business: delayed. 
 
 — peruse; inspect. 
 
 — the Turtle: turtle dove. 
 
 — Thales: (640-550 B. C.) the earliest Greek philos- 
 
 Page 113. 
 
 Page 113. 
 
 Page I 14. 
 
 Page I 1 4. 
 opher. 
 
 Page 1 15. — A Bird was fiever seen in Pont us : "And there is 
 not a bird within the compasse of the sea Pontus." — 
 Pliny, Bk. 10, Ch. 29. 
 
 Page I I 5. — the Stone Abes ton: Found in Euphues (the Anatomy 
 of Wyt), page 191, vol. I, Oxford Press Lyly evidently 
 got the idea from Bartholomaeus Anglicus. "That tho 
 stone Abeston being once made hotte will never be made 
 colder" — Lyly. 
 
 Page 116 — The Thunder .... ringing of Belles: a super- 
 stition at the time. Not mentioned by Pliny in his discourse 
 on Thunder. 
 
 227
 
 Notes 
 
 Page 1 1 6. — The Lioti's Wrath: The universal superstition that 
 a lion would not attack a helpless person, especially a virgin. 
 — See Pliny in Bohn Library, vol. II., p. 267, 271. 
 
 Page 116. — The Tree Lutes; Lotus. 
 
 Page 1 16. — to certifie her: inform. 
 
 Page 1 18. — like the Storke, tongueiess: "Some affirme constantly 
 that Storkes have no tongues." — Pliny, Bk. 10, Ch. XXII. 
 
 Page 120. — Hus-Wi/e: hussy. 
 
 Page 120. — ciittedly; curtly. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Page 129. — Male; A receptacle for carrying personal property. 
 
 Page 130. — Thomas Beckefs House in Westcheape; "Becket 
 was born in i 1 1 8. However his father, Gilbert Becket, 
 who was a merchant, was reduced in circumstances by the 
 fires to which London was so subject." — The Angevin Em- 
 pire, by Sir J. H. Ramsay. 
 
 Page 132. — decaid; reduced in circumstances. 
 
 Page 135. — ??tainly; forcibly. 
 
 Page 135. — St. Mary Overies Bells: The "Lady's Chapel" 
 (before the Reformation^ in St. Savior's Church in South- 
 wark. 
 
 Page 140. — The River Cole and Towne of Colebrooke; Colne, 
 an old Roman Town, in Lancashire, twenty miles north of 
 
 228
 
 Notes 
 
 Manchester. The name probably came from the Roman 
 "Colunio." 
 
 CHAPTER Xir. 
 
 Page 143. — Churching Feast: The Churching (in accordance 
 with the Anglican ritual (1552) and common before) was 
 a public appearance and thanksgiving at the birth of a son and 
 was often followed by a feast. 
 
 Page 144. — Brawne: Flesh or muscle. 
 
 Page 145. — Sodden: Boiled. 
 
 CHAPTER Xni. 
 
 Page 150. — An ambling Getinet of Spain: A small Spanish horse. 
 
 The word was in common use in Deloney's time, being 
 found in Holinshed, Lyly, and many others. 
 
 Page 151. — Gaiino breeds no Serpents: "In Ireland is no Serpent, 
 no Frogges, nor venemous Spider, but all the land is co con- 
 trary to venemous beasts, that if the earth of that lande be 
 brought into another lande .... it slayeth serpents 
 and Toades. " — Bartholomaeus Anglicus. "In the 
 m.in\xscrvpt.s oi xht *Book of the Dun Cow, fo. 77^ and the 
 Book of Leinsier, a people of legendary Ireland were called 
 'Galinin.' "—Celtic Folklore, John Rhys. Vol. II. p, 
 118, Note II., Oxford Press. Also see " The Voyage of 
 Bran,'''' edt. Kuns Meyer and Alfred Nutt, vol. II. p. 
 299. 
 
 229
 
 Notes 
 
 Page 156. — Apiiim Risus: "Laughing parsley" or laughing plant. 
 Mentioned bv Pliny under another name. <*The gelotophyl- 
 les too, is a plant found in Bactriana, and on the banks of the 
 Borvsthenes. " — Bk. 24, Ch. 122. 
 
 Page I 57. — T/ie Hart reneweth his Age by eattjig the Serpent: 
 "And he sayth (Isidore) there, that harts be enemies to ser- 
 pents, which when they feel themselves grieved with sickness, 
 they draw them with breath of their nosethrills out of their 
 dens & the malice of ve venum overcome, they are repaired 
 with feeding of them. " — Bartholomaeus. 
 
 Page 159. — Worse than a Goat doth hate Basill: An aromatic 
 plant sometimes used for seasoning. All sorts of wonderful 
 powers were supposed to reside in it, such as "a certaine 
 Italian, bv often smelling to Basill, had a scorpion bred in his 
 braine;" also in Euphues, "For as by Basill the Scorpion is 
 engendered, and bv meanes of the same herb is destroyed." 
 "For the Goat knoweth diversity of herbs, of trees, of twigs, 
 of branches, & ofspraies. " — Bartholomaeus. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Page 163. — The Adder Jspis tickle th a Man to death; Bartholo- 
 maeus says that the sting is often too light to be felt. 
 
 Page 164. — Malapert: Pert, saucy. 
 
 Page id^. — The fierce lion is kind to those that doe him Good: 
 The original story, of the man that pulled the thorn from the 
 lion's foot and was saved by the lion in the arena, probably 
 originated in Aelian. The story is barely mentioned by Pliny 
 but has been retold bv manv authors. "It was in thee 
 
 230
 
 Notes 
 
 Euphues that I put all my trust .... more cruel 
 then the Crocadile, who suffereth the bird to breed in his 
 mouth, yt scoureth his teeth, and nothing so gentle as the 
 Princely Lyon, who saved his life, that helped his foote. " — 
 Lyly. 
 
 Page \6-].— Shales: Shells. 
 
 Page 167. — faine; Well pleased. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Page 175. — his Majestie . . . came to Gloscester: In 11 23 
 Henry held his court at Glocester. The Cathedral is one 
 "of great antiquity and beautiful architecture, with a fine 
 Gothic pinnacled tower. . . . Here lieth that * 'Un- 
 fortunate Prince, D. of Normandy, eldest sonnne of Wm ye 
 Conquer^ whose eyes were pluckt out in Cardiff Castle, after 
 he had endur'd a long and tedious imprisonm' there: his Por- 
 traiture lyeth loose upon the Marble Monum', and is of Irish 
 Wood painted, w* neither rotts nor wormes eats. Here lyeth 
 crosse legg'd, w* his Sword and Buckler, and soe as any man 
 may w'* ease lift up this his wooden Statue." — Times. 
 
 Page 175. — Kirtle: A man's garment before 1500, but as a name 
 for male attire went out of use after that time, and was then 
 used much in the same sense as petticoats. 
 
 Page 175. — Hand-wrests; Wrists or cuffs. 
 
 Page 178. — an hundred Li: "An old French money for account, 
 divided into twenty sols (or sous) and approximately equiva- 
 lent to the modern franc." 
 
 231
 
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