Grimello's Fortunes. Nicholas Breton
(1604)
Note on the e-text:
this Renascence
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Museum, and Trinity College Library, Cambridge. It was transcribed
by Risa S. Bear in November 2006. The text is in the public domain.
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G R I M E L L O S
Fortunes,
VVith his Entertainment in
his travaile.
A discourse full of pleasure.
L O N D O N
Printed for E. VVhite, and
are to bee solde at his
Shoppe neere the little North doore of S. Paules-
Church at the Signe of the Gun
1604
|
To the Reader.
GRimellos Fortunes were more then
were spoken of, and such as are, you
may easily consider of: Who runnes many courses, is some-time out of
the way, and so was hee, and euery man cannot thriue, no more did he
yet his will was good, so may be yours: But his Fortune was so so, so
may be yours. But what became of him in the end, is not spoken: and
what you meane to doe, I cannot iudge. Him I had litle acquaintance
with, and you lesse: only his name I haue reade, but yours I know not,
that I haue heard of: Of him I heare no euill, nor wish to heare any of
you: Him I finde wittie, and you I hope to finde wise; if not, I shall
be sorrie for your witte, as mine owne Fortune, to let my labours fall
into your hands. But I will thinke the best, and so in the best thought
I rest in hope of your patience.
Your friend,
B. N.
Faxit Deus.
THE ENTERTAINMENT
OF
Grimello, by Signior
Ganuzido, as he
ouer-tooke him on the way.
Crimello.
Ganuzido.
Ou are well ouer-taken Sir. Gan. What? are you so sure of
it? Gri. Sure, of what
sir? Gan. Why, my
Purse. Gri. Your Purse?
no sir, it was the least part of my thought. Gan. Why, what haue you taken then?
or haue you authoritie to take fooles as you finde them in your waie?
If you haue, you may happen yet to be deceiued. Gri. Why sir, I set no springs for
Woodcocks, and though I be no great wise man, yet I can doe something
else, then shooe the Goose for my liuing: and therefore, I pray you
neither feare your Purse, nor play too much with my folly. But if you
can finde in your hart to do good for him that cannot deserue it, and
will trust a stranger, with as much as you dare loose, it may be I
should tell you a longer tale then you would beleeue, or else finde you
kinder then I can looke for.
Gan. Why? saie I were as I may be (for ought
you
know) an honest man, and of ability to doe for you more then I meane to
prate of, if I like of your talke, and your behauiour, what would you
saie to mee? Gri. I could say
somewhat vnto you, but that my hart is
full. Gan. Of what? Gri. Sorrowes. Gan. For
what? Gri. Oh sir, it were
a worlde to tell you the discourse of the causes of them.
Ga. Well
then, by the waie, let me aske you a
question or two. Gri. As many as please you. Ga. Then
first,
tell me
whence came you? Gri. From Terra
Florida, and am going to Isola
Beata. Ga.
Oh, I vnderstand a litle Latin, and if I be not much mistaken, you came
from the florishing Lande, and are trauailing towardes the blessed
Iland. Gri. Very true sir. Gan. Then figuratiuely, you
came from
the
Ale-house, and are going to the Tauerne. Gri. Oh sir, you make
too hard
a construction of my disposition: for, though a cup of good Ale be
comfortable in the morning, and a draught of old Sacke, warme the hart
to bed-ward: yet for my selfe, I hold a moderate dyet the holsomest
Phisick, and for those kinde of houses, they are but for necessitie:
and therefore I pray you sir, be better concerned of my condition.
Gan. Well then, let me aske you, how you
made your
walke hither? Gri. In briefe sir, not knowing your busines, in
admitting your leasure, or requiring more haste, and so fearing by
teadiousnes, to be some trouble to your patience, with your good fauour
sir, thus it is. After that I had past the great Mountaine of mishaps,
I fell into a long vaile of miserie, in which I haue wandred to the
foote of this hill of hope, on which I haue not bene a little
comforted, since I came into your presence.
Gan. Come, you are so fine, but will you not
be
angrie, if I tell you my minde, touching your figures? Gri. Not for my
life sir. Gan. Then it may be, you were going up Holbourne-Hill,
and so
afterwarde to Tiburne: From
whence, hauing escaped more by good
fortune, then desert, you haue gone a begging euer since; and hauing
learned your termes of arte, either at Schoole, (which you haue not
forgotten, to put to an ill vse) or among such as your selfe, that with
Eloquence, thinke to cosen simplicitie of a litle coine, you would draw
a hand of me: but you are deceiued in me, or it may be, that I am
deceiued in you, and therefore I pray you tell me what you are, your
profession and purpose? it may be for your good: for your hurt
beleeue me it shall not be.
Gri. Sir, to tel you what I am, you know
what al men
are, and so am I: Dust and Ashes and wormes meate, my profession
honesty: which, if the heauens will fauour, I care for no fortune. Ga.
Well said, but how do you professe honesty? Gri. I protest. Gan.
What,
do you onely protest honesty? Why then, your profession is but a
protestation, as thus: You protest it a thing necessarie in a common
wealth, but more commendable then commodious for many men to deale with
all. Gri. Oh no sir, no such matter: I know there is no true
commoditie
without it, and for my selfe, in all the courses that I haue yet runne,
I haue had so great a care of it, & so great a loue to it, that I
haue had rather haue lost all that I had in the world, and my selfe
last of all, then haue liued without it: and without boast be it
spoken, I now haue it about me, and carrie it easily without any weight
or trouble.
Ga. And
where, I pray you? Gri. Truely
sir, in my
hart, Where I hope it is too fast, for euer getting out, while I liue. Gan. Well then, if I must needs (as
I haue yet no reason to the
contrary) beleeue what you sale, Let me heare a litle of your courses,
and of your honesty in them. Gri. I will tell you Sir first:
After I
had past out Crosse-rowe,
speld, and put together, read without a
Festraw, had my Grammer Rules without booke, and was gone from Schoole
to the Vniuersities, there beginning in Philosophie, by Gods grace to
iudge betwixt good and euill: and what honour was in honestie, and what
shame in the contrarie: I rather noted then loued the fallacies in
arguments: and gouerning nature with reason, I was called the honest
Scholler: For I neuer vsed Rhetorick to perswade wickednes, nor
Poetrye in wantonnesse, nor Diuinitie in pride, nor law in
Couetousnesse, nor Phisicke in malice, nor Musicque in beggery: but
held learning so honorable in all studies, that I auoyded all that I
might any waie disgrace her.
Ga. And there-with-all you wakte. Gri. Why
sir? Gan. Why, I cannot see
how being awake, you could doe so: Temptations,
Illusions, and suggestions (and I know not what such other trickes)
would haue put you so out of your By-ace, that would some time haue
left the cast, had you bowled neuer so well. But let me heare you a
litle speake of your honesty in all your poynts of learning.
Gri. Why, I tell you, I made no loue to
wenches, I
did cosen no simple trust with vntruth: I fed my flocke, vndid no
Clyent, poysoned no patient, nor followed a Fayre with a blinde Fiddle:
but wonne the wilfull with good words, to a good waie: made verses in
the onely honor of vertue: was true to my friends, followed my Clyents
case to his content, Preached every weeke in my Parish Church: Cured
soundly my Patients, and made content my best Musique.
Ga. And yet could not thriue with all this?
Gri. Oh
no. Gan. The reason? Gri.
I will tell you, wordes had no
weight
without money, and I was poore, and the rich were couetous: therefore
my good wordes onely did good, to good mindes, that benefited not a
litle by my labours: but my gaine was only a good name: so that most my
enemy which wold saie, that I was an honest
man. My Poetry belyed no mans villanie, nor laide open his shame, but
reprehended vice priuately, and touched no mans name in infamy. My
Clyents would pray for my life, for my true pleading: and my Parish all
loued me, because I was contented with what they gaue me: my patients
commended my medicines, and my Musicque was pleasing, because it was
not common.
Gan. Wel,
then sir, your Rhetoricke was gratious,
your Poetrye diuine, your diuinitie, pure, your Law Iustice, your
Physicke learned, and your Musique Harmonious: and yet with all these
you could not thriue.
Gr. No,
For I could not flatter nor faine, nor be
idle, nor sell breath, nor beare malice, nor abide beggery. Gan. Well
said, I like you well for this: but let me go a little farther on with
you out of booke-matters. What other courses haue you past with this
same honestie?
Gri. Truely Sir, after that I had left my
hard
studie, I became a Courtier. Gan.
Yea marrie Sir, now you come to me:
let me heare a little of that poynt with you. Gri. I will tell
you Sir,
my place being not great there, I can tell you of no great matters, but
thus far without offence. I loued no Painting on my face, no
superfluitie in my dyet, nor excesse in my apparrell, nor to creepe to
a Thorne nor to flatter a foole, nor conuerse with a Muchauilion, nor
to make idle loue, nor to scoffe at vertue, nor to quarrel for trifles,
nor to tell lies, nor to importune friends, nor to delay sutors: but in
all poynts of courtesie, so linked honestie with modestie, that, being
faithful to my God, loyall to my Soueraign, carefull of my selfe, and
kinde vnto my friend: my hart was all daie in a good harbour, and at
night, my Conscience made me sleepe quietly.
Gan. All
this I like well, and the rather, for that
your estate answeres (at this time) to the condition of simplicity: but
on a litle further, for I greatly care not to talke too much of
Court-courses: and yet I pray you tell me the cause why you had such a
care of your honesty in all your Court-time? But first, let me aske
you, why you would not paint your face as many doe?
Gri. Because I would not offend God with
setting an
other collour on my face, then Nature by his grace had giuen me.
Gan. Well
said, but why did you forbeare
superfluitie in your diet?
Gri. For that, with gluttonie and
drunkennesse, I
would not please the deuill. Gan. Very good, now why doe you
mislike
excesse in
apparrell?
Gri.
Because the wise that saw my fashions should
not laugh at me for my folly.
Gan. A good care: but why would you not
creepe
to a Thistle?
Gri. For feare of pricking my knees,
and
making an idoll of idlenes. Gan.
And why doe you hate to flatter a
foole? Gri. Because I fret at my miserie, to tye my patience
to
ignorance, and I would shunne the infection of a thirsting spirit.
Ga. Well said, but why would you not
conuerse with a Machauilion? Gri.
For feare of a villaine.
Gan. Why would you not make loue? Gri.
Because of
the fashion.
Gan. How so? Gri. Why, it is vnfit
to the
body, or
the minde, or state, or common, or foolish, or an idle thing or an
other about it, so that I was loth to loose time, about the triall of
it. Ga. Good, but why durst you not scoffe at vertue? Gri. For feare
to be hatefull both to God and man.
Ga. A gratious conceit: Now why did you
mislike of
quarrels? Gri. Because they are enemies to peace, dangers of
death, and
disquietnes of the sences. Gan.
Very good: now why did you hate
lying? [Gri.] Because of the
deuil is the author of it, no honest man
but abhorres it: no Christian but may be ashamed of it: Few or none but
the wicked lone it: Furthermore, when I tell true, I shall not be
beleeued.
Gan. You saie well: Now, why would you not
importune
friends? Gri. For feare to weary them, and so to loose them. Gan.
Why
would you not delaie Sutors? Gri.
Because I would not abuse their
trust, nor bee pittilesse of their misery.
Gan. All
this I like well: but for that I like not too
much to talke of Court-courses, I pray you tell mee of your next
course, and honestie in it. Gri. Very willingly. The next was
Armes: I
left the Court and followed the field, sought by danger to winne Honor:
and when by deserts of seruice, I had gotten to the charge of
Gouernment: I did not abuse my credit, with either foolish hardines, or
base Cowardice.
Gan. What
was your reason? Gri. For feare,
by the
first, to loose either mine honor, or my people: By the other, to loose
my credite vnrecouerable. Gan. Well said. Now to your next
poynt.
Gri. I would not deceiue my souldier of his
pay, nor
make a melch-Cow of a man. Gan.
And why? profite goeth beyond
Conscience in many considerations. Gri, Yea, with such as thinke of no
other world but this: but I haue no part in their play, for honor
admitts no Auarice, and it is an vncnristian humor, to make money of
men.
Gan. Well said, and what was your next care?
Gri.
Not to forget mercie in Justice, not to fauour the vitious, nor to
pardon the obstinate. Gan. And why? Gri. Because as
Iustice is
the
grace of Iudgement, so is mercy the glory of Iustice.
Gan. Why
would you not fauour the vitious? Gri.
Because they are the enemies of God, and the spoyle of men. Gan. You
saie true, but last of all, wherefore would you not pardon the
obstinate? Gri. For feare of infecting of other, and growing
into a
greater inischiefe, if hee scape vnpunished.
Ga. A good consideration, for in time of
warre, one
mutinous villaine may marre a whole Campe: these indeed were honest
cares in you: but it seemes, fortune was not alwaies your friend, or
else she would haue furnished you better for your which is a great
vertue in all men, and in all courses. It seemes you had no pleasure in
fyring of Cities, in bloudy massacres, nor in robbing of Churches.
Gri. Oh no, for God neuer prospereth the
bloodthirstie, the mercilesse, nor the vngratious: and indeed, I must
saie what I know, that a true Souldier, is neither Thiefe, Murtherer,
nor vnmercifull. Gan. I am of
your minde in this: But not to trouble
you too much with enquiring after your courses in the warres: let mee
a litle aske you of the next course, and as you said, of your
honestie in it.
Gri. Very willingly. The next course I
tooke was I
this: finding my bodie, not answerable to my minde, and the gaines of
my aduentures no greater then would defraie the charges of my
necessarie expences: I left the field, and tooke me to my chamber,
where resolued to betake my selfe wholy to my booke: I fell soundly to
the study of the law: in which, when I had so profited, that I was
able to pleade a case, and iudge betwixt right and wrong. I had that
care of my conscience, that, of poore men I would take no money, and of
the rich, I would not be bribed: And finding by some small ordinary
fees, I could hardly paie for my bookes, my chamber, and my apparell,
and my out-side being farre vnfit for the comelines of that profession:
I was enforced to leaue that course, to a conscience of an other
kinde: and seeing the misery of Clients, the quiddities in Cases, and
the long delayings in Courts: I left the Law, sold my bookes, and my
chamber, and keeping only a Night-gowne to keepe mee warme in a cold
winter, I got me into the Country, there intending to plaie the
good
husband: where, hauing taken the lease of a prettie farme, I hoped to
make much of a litle.
Gan. Well said, but let me aske you, why you
would
not take money of poore men for counsell?
Gri. Because their miserie should not curse
my
Couetousnesse: for though the rich would wrong them, I would not wring
them.
Ga. And well saide, a signe of a good
minde: But why
would you receiue no bribes of the rich? Gri. Because I would not sell
breath for money; and I had more care of my Conscience, then their
Coine.
Ga. Well spoken, a signe of a gratious
spirit. And since a good Conscience, is better then a golden
Castell, you did
better to seeke a quiet life with a meane gaine, then to charge your
Conscience with a heape of treasure. But since the studie of the Law,
is both tedious & costly, I hold a good Pleader worthie his fee,
and a reuerent Iudge worthy his Honor, without whose great care and
trauaile, the Common wealth would hardly be kept in good order:
And therefore I will leaue further to talke of your Law-courses, and
intreat you to tell me how you fared with the farme?
Gri. Oh very well: as long as my Purse was
my
friend, I had Horses, Bullocks, Cowes, Sheepe and Corne, and companie
enough to helpe me to spend more then I got: yet would I not mingle the
fusty, ouer-growne corne, with the sweet and good. I would not sell an
old sheepe for a Lambe, nor an old Cowe for a yong Heiffor[.] I would
not forestal any markets, take any house ouer a Tennants head: sell
rotten Trees for good timber, raise the price of graine nor of Cattell,
nor defraud the labourer of his hyre: But when my Cattle dyed, my fruit
was blasted, and my Purse grew so bare, that great rents would not be
paide with faire words: two or three yeares brought me so downe the
winde, that I could neuer looke vp more to the welkin: and so in
briefe, selling all that I had, hauing no charge of wife, nor children,
I tooke that litle that remained after the discharge of my debts, &
going into some strange place where I was not knowen, I meant to seeke
my fortune, in the sendee of some such Noble or honest Gentleman, as
would in his discretion, regard the care of my duty.
Ga. Why, haue you euer serued? Gri. Yes
a
while,
but I haue obserued the carriage of diuerse, and not the worst wits in
their places that haue serued: which, if it were my happe to come into,
I would vtterly auoide.
Ga. I pray you tell mee some of your notes,
for by
your iudgement in that you haue rehearsed, I can beleeue nothing in you
to be idle.
Gri. I thanke you Sir, for your good
opinion of me,
but howsoeuer I prooue, I will satisfie your request. When I came into
a house where I saw diuersity of seruants, and euery one make a gaine
in his place: I began to cast mine eies about me, when I might see one
carrie a ring in his mouth, & it made not his teeth bleed. I heard
an other claw a back, as though he would leaue no flesh on the bones:
an other playe so on both hands, as if he had put downe a cunning
Iugler: an other playing at Bo-peepe,
with the eies of his mistresse:
an other following Iudas, in
betraying his maister, and yet not one of
these but made a gaine of his villanie.
Ga. As how I pray you? if at least you can
tell
mee, and first for the Ring-carrier?
Gri. Why,
when no man would challenge the Stone, he
should haue the gold for his labour. Gan.
Well coucked; Now, for the next:
to the Claw-backe, what got hee by his trade?
Gri.
Some-what more then a Lowse, when he met with a suit of Satten. Gan. Well saide, now to the third:
the Ambodreter, he that plaies on both hands?
Gri. Sir, Iacke of both sides, got a cloke
of his
master, and a shirt of his mistres, when he did fit her humor, &
seme his turne.
Gan. Well hit, but, to the fourth now:
Wagge-wanton
with his mistresse. Gri. Oh, hee gate his masters loue through
her
commendation, and her comfort through his owne diligence.
Ga. A necessarie seruant, it is a signe he
was not
idle, when he was so well occupyed. Gri. Exercised, you would
haue said, Sir I thinke at least. Ga.
Oh you saie
well: but
nothing is ill-spoken you sale well: but nothing is ill-spoken that is
not ill-taken. But, now to the last, the Iudas, what gained he?
Gri. That, which of all I praie God
keep me
from. Ga. Why man, what was it? Gri. Why Sir, the
Gallowes, if
not
hell. But it is a shrewde presumption: for Treason is surely the very
high-waie to hell.
Ga. Well said: then if thou wert well
entertained,
with a good maister, thou wouldest neither carrie a ring, clawe a
backe, plaie on both hands, be no wagge-wanton, with thy mistresse, nor
Iudas with thy
maister?
Gri. No indeede Sir, I would be none of
these. Ga.
What would you then doe, or can you do, if vpon my good liking, of your
behauiour, I should procure your preferment? Gri. Sir, I can
do many
things, more the[n] I meane to boast of, and when I know of what title,
either for honor or honesty, my maister or mistres may be, I will then
tell you, how I can fit my seruice to their
contentment.
Ga. Well then, saie he were a yong Lord,
and I would
preferre you to attend him in his chamber. Gri. I would neuer
be
without a brush for his apparrell: I would see his chamber neatly
kept, his bed soft and finely made, his linnen cleane washed, and his
chestes fast locked: I would be humble in my behauiour, and ciuill in
my demeanour, go discreetly on a message,
bring him word of his mistresse health, and his Cosins good rest: and
what time of the dale it is, &c.
Ga. Well put off; but saie it were a fine
Gentlewoman,
that I would put you to?
Gri. Oh, I would be full of curtesie, hold
her
Glasse stedie, bring her painting vnseene, and her Perriwig vncrushed:
Haue her taylour at a becke, runne quickly for her errand, now and then
tel her a merrie tale: and once in fauour, neuer loose it againe I
warrant you.
Ga. But will you not commend her fauorite. Gri.
No,
I hate that vile basenes, or rather, base villanie, to make my tongue
an enemie to my hart: I would rather leaue her to
seeke a seruant, then I would be found in such a seruice.
Ga. Well
said: but saie that it were to a meaner
person, I should put thee, I cannot saie, prefer thee to: as for
example: Let me saie it be some honest man of trade or traffique, or
so forth; how could you behaue your selfe, that I might hope of your
credite?
Gri. Why Sir, I would keepe his booke
of
account, cast up his reckonings once in foure and twe[n]ty houres,
looke
wel vnto his shoppe, learne the price of his wares, aske what lacke you
of passers bye, vse his Chap-men kindely, and euery one with courtesie:
so that I would get more with good words, then some other should do
with good ware. In briefe, I would be an honest man, and that is worth
all.
Gan. Good all that I yet heare: & if
there be
no worse matter in you, then I haue yet heard from you, nor hope to
finde in you, I do not greatly care, if your case be desperate, that
for lacke of entertainment, to saue the charge of an empty purse, you
would venture vpon a bad maister rather then none, ile trie a litle
what you can doe about my house: Base
actions, as filling the Dung-cart, going to plough, keeping of hogs, or
washing of buckes, sweeping the houses, or making cleane shooes: these
offices, I haue in my house; Boyes and Girles enough, fit for the
purpose. But to ouer-see my family, to instruct my children, to
be Steward of my courts, keeper of my Parke, ranger of my Forrest, and
now and then to wait on my wife: one of these offices, if any be void,
I care not if I place thee in, so that in thy good carriage, thou doest
not deceiue my expectation?
Gri. Sir, not to trouble you with idle
ceremonies,
trye me, and trust me: either you or your Ladie. Ga. You sale
well: but
by the waie, because it is aboue three miles to my house, and good
talke passeth the time well away, Let me entreat you to tell mee
some-what of your Fortunes in your crosse courses;
if, at least, they be not such, as you will in modestie conceale, or
are not willing to call in memone.
Gri. No Sir, I feare not to satisfie your
desire,
either in respect of my follie or my fortune. For the first is
excusable in youth, and the other is her selfe in all ages: and
therefore let me tell you, thus it was: In my young and litle better
then childish yeares, my father hauing put me to schoole, to a more
furious then wise Schoole-master, who by the helpe of his Vsher (a
better scholler then himself,) brought vp a fewe good wits, to better
vnderstanding then his owne: I hauing learn'd to spell and put
together, to Construe, and Parce, to write my letters and to ioyne, and
to make my mistresse Pistles, when my maister was from home: It fell
out I know not how, that he, being a man very vigilant in all his
courses; and seeing my mistresse beautie able to make a good Schoiler
forget his lesson, imagining by his studie in Astronomie, that the
signe of his Fortune, stood too straight vpon Capricorne, meaning to
crosse the fates in their powers: founde a meanes to remooue all his
Boorders from his house, in regarde of a Meigrum in his head, which was
much troubled by the noise of our Pu-rulines.
Now I, as litle guiltie, as
any of the cause of his follie, was yet among my fellowes banished his
house, and shortly after, sent home to our friendes. Where hauing idled
it so long, that bookes were enemies to our delights, I like a good
wagge among other, seeing one daie a gallant Knight come home to my
fathers house, finding my spirite not so dull as to dwell alwaies in
one place: made all the meanes I could to preferre my selfe into his
seruice. Which, with my mothers entreatie, my father brought to passe:
Preferred I was to this Gallant, and from a Scholler must turne Page;
when, if I should tell you the tenth part of the waggeries, that I
passed thorough, I should breake mine oathe on the Pantable, call olde
trickes in question, and perhaps, wrong some that were my fellowes
then, who would bee loath to heare of it nowe: Yet will I not be so
sparing of my speech, but that I dare tell you one merrie parte, that I
and my good fellowes plaide, that perhaps is worth the laughing at.
Gan. I pray you do.
Gri. I will tell you: thus it was. I being
in my
youth reasonably well-fauoured, of a pure complexion, and of a
reasonable good stature, and hauing wit enough, vpon a litle warning to
plaie the wagge in the right vaine: It was my happe among other my
fellow-Pages, to take knowledge, of a certaine Gallant in our Court, a
man of no great worth any waie, and yet, a sufficient Blocke for
Frogges to leape vppon: His yeeres about some twentie two, or there
abouts, his complexion, Sea-cole sanguine, a most wicked face, and a
wit correspondent: to be short, for that ill faces make no pleasant
descriptions, let it suffice, that hee was euery waie a verie filthie
fellow: and yet, hauing better clothes then he was worthy to weare, and
more money then he could wisely vse: This Lob-lollie, with flauering
lips, would be making loue, and that not onely to one,
but euerie daie one: & though he were scarse welcome to any, yet
would he blush at no disgrace. This yonker had we founde out, and
hearing of his disposition, we fitted his humor, one of vs would borrow
a a Ladies com[m]endations, to get an Angell withall, for a message: An
other get a
Nose-gaie or a Baie leafe, and bring from his mistresse, which came vp
with fiue, with a French Crowne: An other or two of vs, haunt him at
dinner, and with a song or a Galliard, nibble on his Purse for a piece
of gold: An other of vs, somewhat towards the man, and in a manner past
a Page, would fall in hand with him for a rest or two, till which, some
secrete tricks of our owne setting, we could diue
into a few Crowns worth the taking vp. Now when we had fedde vpon him
so long, that we feared it would come out: we deuised to laie a plot to
be-foole him to the full. We had among vs one fine boie, (I will not
saie, my selfe, whose feature and beauty made him an amiable creature.)
This youth, we had agreed among our selues, to make a meanes, by which,
to catch this Wood-cocke in a fine spring: Which, in few daies after,
wee enacted, as I will tell you: we got apparrell of a Gentle-woman, (a
waiting woman of a Ladie) of whom, hauing acquainted her with our
intended sport, wee borrowed manie things fit for our purpose. This
Boye (being now a supposed Wenche) we caused to take a lodging right
ouer against this Wizards hospitall: Where, out of his window,
beholding this beautifull obiect, his eies were no sooner Lymed with
blindnesse, but, his heart was so set on fire with folly, that there
was no waie to quench it, but the fauour of this imagined faire Ladie,
Gentle-woman, or mistresse, what you will. Now, we that dailie vsed,
(more for our comfort, then his commoditie) to visite him, no sooner in
his chamber hauing gotten a view of her, but wee fell with admiration
to commende her beyond the Moone for an excellent creature: Oh, what an
Eie? what a Lippe? what a fore-head? what a cheeke? what a haire? what
a hand? what a bodie? For further, at the window we could not
see: Thus by litle and litle, we brought him halfe madde before,
with conceite, ready to hang himselfe for loue. And now must those
litle wits he had, go to worke, to shew his folly. Now wee must get him
a Poet, to make him verses in her commendation, a Scholler to write his
Loue-letters, Musique to play vnder her window, and Gloues, Scarfes,
and Fannes to bee sent for presents, which might be as it were
fore-speakers for his entertainment: And thus, when we had fitted him
for all turnes, wee got him such fauorable accesse, vpon promise of no
dishonorable attempt, that where before he was but ouer-shooes, he was
nowe ouer-head-and-eares for an Asse. For now began he to thinke
well of him selfe, and that he should carrie the Bellawaie for Beautie:
when hee should indeede carrie awaie the Bable for follie. Well thus,
hauing a fewe dales played with his Nose, & hauing agreed with
the[m]
of the house to seeme ignorant of her name and cuntrie: but that she
was a suitor at the Court: They knew not wherefore, when, in pittie, to
pull the poore foole too lowe on his knees: with holding him off
too long from his off or on: We deuised one night that he should be at
great cost with a supper in her lodging, and there should be certaine
Gentle-women, to accompanie her & that should offer her what
kindnesse might lie in their powers in the Court. These we brought, as
wee made him beleeue, to let them see his fauour, and good regarde
with this rare creature, but came indeed onely with a forced modestie,
to conceale a laughing at this Cockes-combe: not to dwell too long vpon
circumstances, the Supper was prouided, the guestes bidden, the Musique
in tune, the Gentleman welcome, and the Boye plaide his part in the Q.
Hee had the kisse of the hand, vowes and protestations, gifts and
presents, and what not, that might be witnesse of his folly? Now a
little before supper, vnderstanding (by the imagined wench,) that she
was the next morning to go out of towne, after solemne promise to bring
her on her waie (kindly accepted on her part) to supper they went:
where there were so many healths drunk to his mistrisse, that with as
much a doe as might be drunken to saue his credite, hee tooke his
leaue till morning, and so got him home to his lodging: where, hauing
scarce power to stand on his feet, he fell downe on his bedde, where
with the helpe of a litle tricke that was put in a Cuppe of wine, he
slept till next daie noone, when like a great Beare, grunting and
blowing, hee goeth to the window, where missing his former obiect (who
was now turned Page againe) ashamed of his breach of promise, got him
to bed againe: Where, keeping his chamber for a daie or two, and then
comming into the Court, seeing some of his fauours worne by one of the
Pages, The Boye that plaide the Wagge with him, ashamed to demand them,
and fearing his folly to be knowen in the Court: suddenly turned Clown,
& with a sighing song, To the tune of, Wela-day, wel-adaie, got him
in ye cuntrie, where wee neuer heard more of him. Now Sir,
was not this
a prettie iest, & wel handled?
Ga. Yea for wagges: I know since my selfe
was a
Page, a number of such waggeries. But yet, I thanke you for this merrie
tale, it hath lasted a good while. But now tell mee when you had past
the Page, in your next course, what merrie conceit can you remember,
that maie last an other mile? that I may thanke you for it.
Gri. I will Sir, since you take this so
well: The
next course I fell into was Armes: and there I remember in a Towne of
Garrison, where I was in paie, the Gouernour a man, whome some ill
fortune without desart, had throwen vpon an vnworthy honour, being of
himselfe so tymerous of nature, as that a base note of a Sagbutte would
haue made him start, as if he had heard the report of a piece of
Ordinance. This wicked Creature, by the meanes of his Sister (a Minion
of our Generals) gotten into this place: where, though it were farre
enough from the enemie, yet, for that (if the skie fall, wee maie haue
larkes; and so, if the Souldiers were wearie of their liues, they might
come thither for a hanging: for, except wee would fall out among our
selues, there was no feare of any thing but Sparrowblasting; and yet
here I know not what cause more then to skarre flyes,) wee held a
strong Garrison: For the Gouernour being better mooued, then otherwise
minded, fearing some two-legged Rats, should breake into the mouthes of
his bags, did not onely enuyron his feare (for he was compounded all of
litle better matter) within some seauen walles without his Castle,
beside Ditches of no litle breadth and deepnesse: and within, some
seauenteene double and treble walles within the house: where, (as close
as a Flea in a flocke-bed) he kept himselfe warme from the cold winde.
Now, in this close Cabin, (as he vsed much to conteine himself, in
casting vp of his accounts) one night, after the receipt of money for
the paye of the Souldiers, locking vp his bags in chestes of Iron and
then laying vp the keyes vnder his beds head, trusting none to lye in
his chamber, but a sonne of his owne, who was too young to be a thiefe,
and yet, by outward appearance seemed to be weary of the father: with
this sonne, a Page as it was said, (a bastard of his by a Beggar) to
whom he gaue but sixe pence for a dales worke: With these two (in a
Couch by his beds side) to bedde goeth his base worship, and there,
hauing made a reasonable supper, tooke indifferent rest. But, after his
first sleepe, (which was but a kinde of starting slumber) he fell into
a dreame: all of warres, discharging of Ordinance, fyring of houses,
and crye of people: in which, not a litle amazed or frighted, he
started out of his bed, with crying out Arme, Arme. The watch (or
rather the Guarde) hearing this suddaine noyse, fearing some great Rat
had bitten their Capitaine by the Nose, (where there was a rich
breakfast for a dozen of leane Mise:) vpon the suddaine brake in with,
How now my Lord? Well quoth he, with a Hah, as though his foote being
in the Chamber pot, he had bene afraid of drowning: But as a man in
such a maze might some-what come to himselfe, brake into this speech.
My maisters and friends, there is no inexpected great matter of
importance, but, vnto carefull spirits are reuealed in their
sleepes, that by the prouidence of Gods discretion, they may be
preuented. This Towne is a place of great regard with our Generall, the
carefull gouernment thereof is committed vnto my honestie: I would
be loath to see the perishing of so many soules, and the s[a]cke of so
manie houses, as by lacke of care may fall out, if it be not the better
looked vnto: Now, what stratagems are in hand we know not: The enemie
is
subtill and strong, wee cannot be too warie of a mischiefe, you know:
Had-I-wist is a foole in all courses: and I would bee loath to loose my
credite, in slacking my care in the charge committed vnto me: to be
short, I was this night much troubled in my steepe with sharpe warres,
fyring of houses, the report of the Canon, and great crie of the
people: and the vision, as it was very dreadfull, so it continued long,
and therefore being perswaded that it giueth me warning of some
mischiefe intended against this towne, so would I bee glad in what I
may to preuent it; And therfore call hither the Capitaine of the watch
vnto mee. This, when hee had stammeringly in a pitifull feare brought
out, with a Palsey-shaking hand, hauing buttoned vp his Doublet, called
for his Armour (which all of Musket proofe he put on, with al the hast
yt might be) and being furnished to meete with a whole
swarme of flies,
(with his double guard) out he goes and meetes the Capitaine in his
Hall: where, the winde blowing high, and making a noyse in the house,
he staied & asked him, harke quoth he, doe you not heare the noyse
of some shot? Oh no, Sir quoth he, it is the winde in the Chimney. Oh,
is it so said he, then good enough. But let me tel you, I haue had a
shrewde dreame to night: and therefore am willing to walke the Round,
to see how the Souldiers keepe watch. My Lord, quoth the Capitaine,
you shal need to doubt nothing vpon my life I warrant you. It is
now towards dale, and the watch is vpon discharge; I praie you
keepe your Chamber, and take your rest. Well, quoth he, if it be
so, I know you carefull and honest, and I will leaue all to your
charge, till I come abroad: And so leauing the Capitaine, retires
himselfe into his chamber: where, keeping on his Armour, he sets him
downe in a chaire, and there not trusting his bed any longer for that
time, hauing taken a nappe or two; the watch vpon their discharge, gaue
the Capitaine a volley of shot; the noyse whereof awaking this gallant
man of two Armes: Hoe, quoth he, to the Guard, one of ye know, what
shot is this? who bringing him word of the discharge of the watch, he
was a litle at quiet. But the dale being a Saints daie, when vsually
the Countrie people vsed to make such pastime, as fitted the condition
of their humors: some-what early from a Wood under a hill, which
fronted the Towne, and there with Drummes and Fifes (and a few loose
shot) came toward the towne, to make the Gouernour merrie, with a
Maie-game and a Morris. Now such a Wagge as my selfe minding to make my
selfe and some of my friends merrie with a iest, hauing intelligence of
the same the night before, yet seeming ignorant thereof, came into the
Towne, with Arme, Arme, for
the enemie is at hande. This crie being
brought to the gouernour, (he in a colde sweat, what with feare, and
the weight of his Armour) called presently for his Captaines, gaue
euery one their charge what to doe: which done, prouiding as well as
hee might for one: Barricaded all his gates without, and all his doores
within: And in the midst of a Loue-roome, within a wall of twentie
yeardes thicke of stone, Barricaded himselfe within a great wall of
earth, which was made for a Fornace to caste mettell in for Ordinance:
There, ouer-head and eares in feare sits he with his two Pages: The
doore fast locked to him, till anone, the people being come in with
their menie shew: went a messenger from the Capitaine of the watch, to
entreat his Lordship to bee partaker of the Pastime, and to entreat the
people with some kindnesse. The messenger being come to the doore and
let in, before he could deliuer his message: Well quoth hee, (imagining
the enemies before the walles) What is the
Parlee that What'is the Parlee that he offereth thee? Parley my Lord,
quoth the Messenger, it is a Pastime: There is no enemie, all friends:
Your poore neighbours are come to make you merrie with a Morris-daunce,
and a Maie-game. Yea, quoth He, is it none other? and with looking in
his Purse, and giuing him iust nothing: It is well; staie awhile, Boie,
giue me my sword and my Target, that my neighbours shall see how readfe
I was to meete the enemie vpon the least Alarum. And with these wordes,
causing the Trumpet to sound a merrie Note for ioye of the deliuerance
of his feare: Out he comes among them, and like an Asse (as euer man
was) shewes himselfe. After a litle gratulation (leauing them in their
sports) got him againe into his lodging, and there calling for his
breakfast, put off his Armour, and went to bed againe: where, let him
lye till I raise him.
Ga. Is it possible that there is such a
Cuckoe in
the world?
Gri. Yes,
and they wonder al that know him, how hee
should come to haue charge of men, that would be afraide of a shaddow,
and be Gouernour of a Towne, that would runne into a bench hole. But
the iest was in the Maie-game: (if you had seene it) For they had made
a Lord and a Ladie: and the Foole was like him as one could be like an
other. But it was but a Tale, and therefore I will
not trouble you any further with it.
Ga. Gramercy hartely, thou art as good as thy
word, it is
a merrie tale and well tolde. But if I may not trouble thee too much,
let me heare one more, that you light on in your next course.
Gri. With
a good will Sir. The next was, (as I saide before) after I left the
warres, I fell againe to my booke, and studied
the Law, where I heard a pretty iest betwixt a Lawyer and two Clyents,
but it was but short.
Ga. No matter: Short or long, I will thanke
thee for it, and therefore I praie thee out with it.
Gri. Why Sir, then thus it was: There were
two
Countrie men rich Farmers, fat in Purses: (how leane soeuer in the
face) These two, hailing in some twenty yeares or moe (with keeping of
bare houses, and wearing of bad cloathes, selling of wheate, and
spending of Rie,) scraped together more money then manie better men: It
fell out, that (about or a litle after mowing-time) these two dwelling
neere together, and (as it seemed) each one of them nigh enough vnto
himselfe: Fell at controuersie about a Hey-cock, the value whereof (by
the iudgement of the Parson, and the Constable, and other of the
Auncients of the Parish) could not amount to aboue two and
twentie-pence: yet such being the stubbomesse of both their stomackes,
that no meanes would be made to bring them to agreement: To Lawe
they would for the tryall of their right. And now the Angells that had
bene long lyen in their Chestes, must vse their winges for the
accomplishing of their willes. Counsellours were retayned, Attorneyes
were feede, and Solicitors were not forgotten: Daies of hearing
delayed, demurres, and iniunctions, (and I know not what diuises were
vsed) from one Court to another to keepe them in their courses so
long, till in the ende the Iudge (of more conscience then the pleader)
noting the long-time of their sute, the nature of their controuersie,
and the substance of the matter, when he had heard all that could be
said on either side, made this open speech in the whole Court. Yee two
(maisters) that haue made a long haruest of a little Corne, and haue
spent a great deale of money about a litle matter: the cause being
such, as is more to be laughed at, then lamented, Let me tell you, a
short tale, and so I will haue done with you.
There were on a time, two men went a fishing for
Oysters vpon the Sands at a low Ebbe: the one was blinde, and the other
lame: The blinde-man carried the lame man: so when they had gone a
litle waie, they found an Oyster, which the lame-man espied, and shewed
the blind-man, with guiding of his hand to take it vp. When he had
taken it vp, the lame-man challenged it to be his, because he first saw
it: The blinde-man would haue it, because he had taken it out of the
Sandes: Thus arguing the case, in conscience who should haue it, There
meetes them a Lawyer, who, hearing the controuersie betwixt them, made
this short ende betwixt them. Giue me, quoth he the Oyster, which, when
he had gotten into his hands, he picked out the fish and gaue each of
them a shell, and went his waie. So you two, hauing made the Lawyers
rich with your wilfulnes, may repent ye of your follies, & go home
& agree together like neighbours, & keep your money in your
purses: for I am wearie to heare more of it. The men ashamed of their
follies, fulfilled his commandement: went home, casheerd their
counsaile, let fall their actions, went home & liued like honest
good fellowes. Now how like you of this for a Lawyers iest?
Ga. Twill serue to warne a wise man how hee
playe
the foole with his purse. But one more of your next course and then I
will trouble you no more.
Gri. Well
Sir, I will satisfie your request: The next
course was the Farmer, in which time, I remember a prettie iest, which,
if you haue not heard before, will surely make you laugh: But howsoeuer
it be, I will tell it you, and thus it was. A neighbour of mine, in
good case to liue, though not verie wealthie, and yet such a one as
with his formality on a Hollidaie at Church, would haue bene taken for
the Hedborough of the Parish.
This honest substantiall man, drawing one dale a
Mill-poode, among other fish, lighted on a verie great Eele: which,
hailing got on lande, hee brought into his house, and put it with small
Eeles into a Cesterne, where, feeding of it euery Morning and Euening,
hee made (as it were) an Idoll of it. For, there passed not a dale
wherein hee had not that care of his Eele, that it seemed, that hee had
not of greater and better matters. This Eele, being taken about
Candelmas (hee meant to keepe and feede till Lent following),
when hee meant to present him to his Land-lord, for a great
gratulation: In the meane-time, hee neuer went out of doores without
giuing warning to his wife and his seruants, to looke wel to his Eele.
When he came in, how doth mine Eele? when were you with mine Eele? who
looked to mine Eele? I charge you looke well to mine Eele. Now his
wife, a iollie stout Dame, who made more reckoning of honestie, then
either beautie or wisdome (for she was troubled with neither) had in
her house a young Pie: (which
we call a Magot-a-Pie) This
Bird, hauing
bin hatched in a Neste hard vnder her chamber window, she Chaunced to
take into her education: and being one that loued to heare a tongue
wagge, either her owne, her Gossips, her Maides, or her Pyes: For if
one were still, the other must be walking: And when they were all vpon
the going, there was no still-piece of Musique: It fell out that this
Goodwife, (not a litle displeased at her Goose-mans folly) in such so
much care ouer the fish, that the flesh was but a litle set by: one
daie, (when her Asseband was gone forth) sitting with her maid at the
wheele: (so full at her heart, that yet her tongue would haue swelled,
if it had not broke out at her mouth, began thus to fall in hande with
her Maid-seruant.) I dare not depose for her Virginitie, but, as I
said, her maid: she fell thus to breake her minde vnto. Wench quoth
she, doest thou not see what a sturre thy maister keepes with a
scuruy Eele? In good earnest a litle thing would make me take her out
of the Cesterne, and put her in a Pye, or eate her some waie or other:
For better haue one chiding for all, then haue such a doe as we haue
about her. In truth mistresse, quoth she, (as one whose mouth hung
verie fitting for such a piece of meate) If it please you, I will
quickly ridde you of this trouble. My maister is ridde to your
Landlords, and there I know he will tarie to night: if it please you, I
will fetch her out of the Cesterne, and kill her, and flea her, and put
her in a Pye, and you may dispatch her ere he come home, or saue a
piece for him when he is quiet after his chiding. Content wench quoth
she, I pray thee dispatch her quickly: I warrant you, quoth shee,
forsooth with a trice. Thus was the Eeles death approching, and the
matter thoroughly enacted. Now the Pye being made and baked, and set on
the Table, and betwixt the maide and her Dame (or mistresse) brought to
such a passe, that there was very litle left for her master. The Magot-a-Pye like a
vyle Bird (that would keepe no counsaile, but duely
would vse her tongue, to talke of all that she saw or heard) no sooner
saw the good-man come into the house, (but as shee was taught to
speake) began with welcome home maister: (and then more then she was
taught, she fell to pratle) Hoh maister, my Dame hath eaten the Eele:
my Dame hath eaten the Eele: my Dame hath eaten the great Eele? The
goodman remembring his fish, began now to aske
his wife, How doth mine Eele? What meanes the Bird, to talke thus of
eating the great Eele. Tush Husband, quoth she, warme you I pray you,
and goe to bed. It is cold and late, talke of your Eele to morrow: No
quoth he, I will not goe to bed, till I haue seene mine Eele: and
therewith in a bodily feare of that which was fallen out, goes to the
Cesterne, and there finding his Eele gonne, comes in againe, as dead at
hart as a Stocke-fish, (and yet resolued to brawle out of reason) Comes
out: Why hoh (the good-wife ready to burst with laughing, and yet
keeping it in with a fayned sigh) sits downe in a chaire, and hangs the
head, as though she had had the mother: The maid hauing wit enough, (to
make a foole of a tame-goose,) meetes her maister, and catching him in
her armes: cries out, but softly maister, be a man, and mooue not all.
My dame you know loues you well, and it may be she breedes, and bring
you a boye worth twenty bushels of Eeles: saile she had a minde to it,
and hath eaten it: if you should seeme to chide for it, it may be a
meane to cast her awaie, and that she goes with: And therfore saie
nothing of it, let it goe. For indeed it is gone: saist thou so my
Girle, quoth hee, I thanke thee: hold thee, there is a Tester for thee,
for thy good counsaile, I warrant thee all shall be well. Then in a
goes to his wife, & findes her in her chaire sitting as it were
heauily: comes to her and takes her by the hand, with how now wife? be
of good cheere, and take no thought, much good doe thy hart with her,
take the rest that are left, if thou haue a minde to them I pray thee.
With this, she (as it were awaked out of a trance) said, I thanke you
good husband, and so after a. few
home-complaints, to bed thev went, where they agreed so well, that the
next morning hee had his part (though it were the least) of that was
left, and glad of it to, and so without more adoe, goes about his
busines. But no sooner was he out of doores, but the mistresse and the
maid, went to the bird the Pye,
and taking her out of the Cage, plucked
all the feathers off from her head, and left her as bare as a balde
Coote, which in the cold winter was very vncomfortable: Which done, she
was put into the Cage againe, with these wordes, Tell tales againe of
the Eele, doe[.]
Now about dinner-time, comes in againe the goodman,
and brings in with him a neighbour of his, with a good face, but a
balde head, that he had almost no haire on it. Now the Pye being let
out of the Cage, no sooner sees this man put off his hat, but she
skips on his shoulder and sayes: Oh, your head hath bene puld aswell as
mine, for telling of tales. You haue told my maister, how my dame eate
the great Eele: (and so she would do to any that shee saw bald, that
came into the house.) And was not this a merrie iest of the Pye and an
Eele?
Ga. I thinke I haue heard it long agoe, but
not as
thou hast told it: and therefore as it is, I thanke thee for it. And
now since it is not farre to the Towne, I pray thee let me trie a litle
of thy wit, in the aunswers of a few questions that I will put vnto
thee?
Gri. With all my heart Sir, I am for you at
this
time.
Ga. I pray thee, who was the happiest man
that euer
thou knewest?
Gri. My Lord Gouernours Foole.
Ga. And why?
Gri.
Because his maister fauours him, and none dare
hurt him: hee fares well, and sleepes well, weares good cloathes, and
takes no paines.
Ga. Countest thou this a happines?
Gri. For a lazie spirit, but not for my
selfe.
Ga. Why, how wouldest thou be happie?
Gri. In a feeling of Gods grace, in
sufficiency of
abilitie, to liue without borrowing: in wit, to discerne iustly: in
Conscience, to deale truly: in an honest kinde wife, gratious children,
honest seruants, faithfull friendes, and quiet neighbours: Neither
disire of life, nor feare of death, but a scorne of the one, and
contented minde in the other.
Ga. Well said: But all this while, I heare
thee
speake of no maister.
Gri. Oh no Sir, for to a free spirit, there
is no
greater miserie then bondage: And yet, a kinde maister, is a kinde of
father: where loue breeding obedience maketh a seruant like a Sonne.
Ga. And
what sayest them of a kinde mistresse?
Gri. With a kinde maister, they are the
harts
comforter, and they are like vnto a paire of Gloues, that fitte both
hands.
Ga. But couldest thou please both?
Gri. If I know both.
Gan. Then let me put thee in comfort, of me
thou
shalt haue rather a father then a friend to nourish thy good spirite
& of my wife, rather a sister then a mistresse to make much of thee
for my sake.
Gr. I
thanke you Sir, and for the good I see in you,
and the good I hope of you, I will trie my Fortune with you.
Ga. And do not thinke it shall be the
worst. Come
on, you shall goe to the towne, and there dine with mee, and so home.
Gri. I will attend you.
F I N I S.
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