Newcastle: Printed in this present Year.
The First Part.
Printed and Sold in Aldermary Church Yard, Bow Lane London.
"There was an old woman, named Mother Winter, who had a son in Law, whose name was Thomas, who though he was at man's estate, yet would do nothing but what he pleased, which grieved his mother to the heart. One day being at market, she heard a proclamation that those who would not work should be whipped; On this she ran home and told Tom of the proclamation that was issued out; replied Tom, I will not break the decree. Upon which the old woman left her son, and went to market.
"She was no sooner gone, but Tom looked into a stone pot she used to keep her small beer in, and seeing the beer did not work, he with his cartwhip lays on the pot as hard as he could. The people seeing him, told his mother, who said, The knave will be hanged, and in that note went home—Tom seeing her coming, laid on as hard as he could drive, and broke the pots, which made the old woman say, O what hast thou done, thou villain? O dear mother said he, you told me it was proclaimed, that those who did not work must be whipped; and I have so often seen our pots work so hard that they foamed at the mouth; but these two lazy knaves will never work. So I have whipped them to death to shew their fellows to work, or never look me in the face again."
Mother Winter once sent him to buy a pennyworth of soap, and bade him be sure, and bring her the change back safely; so he got two men with a hand barrow to carry the soap, and hired four men with "brown bills" to guard it, and gave them the elevenpence for their pains. But Tom was quite as much knave as fool, and, as the anecdotes relating to him are not very amusing, only those illustrating the Newcastle title-page will be made use of.
Whilst staying at an inn, he saw some turkeys in the yard. He killed two of them by running pins into their heads, and then persuaded his hostess to throw them away, as there was a sickness among the birds. Of course he took them away with him, but, finding them heavy to carry, had recourse to stratagem to help himself. He saw a man leading his horse down the hill, and "Tom fell down, crying as if he had broke a leg and made great lamentation of his being five or six miles from any town, and was likely to perish. The man asked where he lived? Tom replied, With such a Knight. He, knowing the gentleman, set him on his horse. Tom then bid him give him his master's turkies, and then galloped away as fast as he could, crying out I shall be killed, I shall be killed—The man seeing he was gone without the turkies, knew not what to do, for he thought if he left the turkies behind the Knight might take it amiss. So carrying them on foot, lugging, fretting, and sweating to the next town, where he hired a horse to overtake Tom, but could not till he arrived at the Knight's house, where Tom stood ready, calling to him, Oh! now I see thou art an honest fellow; I had thought you had set me on a headstrong horse on purpose to deceive me of my two turkies. But he replied Pox on your turkies and you too; I hope you will pay me for the horse I got."
The story of the house on fire in the top left hand of the title-page is thus told: "It happened one evening there came a number of Gypsies to town, whom Tom meeting, asked what they did there? they said, To tell people their fortunes, that they might avoid approaching danger. Where do you lie to night said Tom? We cannot tell, said they. If you can be content to lie in the straw, says Tom, I will show you where you may lie dry and warm. They thanked him, and said they would tell him his fortune for nothing. He thanked them, and conveyed them to a little thatched house filled with straw, and which had a ditch round it, close to the wall of the house, and there left them to take their rest, drawing up the bridge after him. In the dead of the night he got a long pole with a large whisp of straw, and set the house on fire. One of the Gypsies seeing the house in flames, calling to the rest, and thinking to cross the bridge, fell into the ditch, crying out for help; while by Tom's means great part of the town stood to see the Jest. As the Gypsies came out of the ditch, the people let them go to the fire to warm themselves; when Tom told them, That seeing they could not foretel their own fortunes he would, which was on the morrow morning they should be whipt for cheats, and in the afternoon charged for setting the house on fire.
"The Gypsies hearing this having made haste to dry themselves, got out of the town before day break, and never came there afterwards."
The right-hand upper portion of the engraving represents Tom cutting some shavings of wood from the gallows, to put in the ale of some persons who had played a practical joke upon him.
There are three parts, but the other two are uninteresting both as to matter and illustrations.
Printed and Sold in Aldermary Church Yard. London.
From the preface, and its general internal evidence, this Chap-book seems to be recollections of a real person, who was locally famous, and whose actions were traditionally handed down. Only a few of the sayings and deeds of this half-witted jester are worth repeating.
"John Franks, the reputed son of John Ward, was born at Much Eaton in Essex, within three miles of Dunmow. He had no friends to take care of him, but his being such a fool was the cause of his well being; for every one was in love with the sport he made.
"When he was grown to be of man's stature, there was a worthy Knight, who took him to keep, where he did many strange pranks.
"He was a comely person, and had a good complexion, his hair was of a dark flaxen. He was of a middle stature, and good countenance. If his tongue had not betrayed his folly, he might have been taken for a wise man."
"The Knight where Jack lived kept a poor taylor in his house, who lay with the fool.
"One morning they wondered that the taylor nor Jack did not come down; one of the servants going up, found the door fast, and calling to them, Jack only answered them; so calling more assistance and breaking open the door, they found the taylor dead in his bed with his neck broke, and the fool set astride on a high beam, whence he could not come down without help. They asked Jack how it was? he said the Devil came upstairs, clink, clink, clink, and came to my bed side, and I cried, Good devil do not take me take the taylor; so the devil broke the taylor's neck, and set me upon the beam. Jack was strictly examined at Chelmsford Assizes, and several times after; but he always kept in one story, and never seemed concerned."
"Jack was often upon the ramble; one day he went up to a yeoman's house, who loved to make sport with him. The servants being all busy and abroad, none but the fool and he was together. Mr. Sorrel, says Jack, shall we play at Blind Man's Buff? Ay, says he, with all my heart, Jack—You shall be blinded says Jack—That I will, Jack, says he. So pinning a napkin about his eyes and head; Now turn about, says Jack; but you see Mr. Sorrel, you see; No, Jack, said he I do not see. Jack shuffled about the kitchen, in order to catch him, still crying, you see, but when he found he did not see he ran to the chimney and whipt down some puddings, and put them into his pockets; this he did every time he came to that end of the room, till he had filled his pockets and breeches. The doors being open, away runs Jack, leaving the good man blindfolded, who wondering he did not hear the fool, cried out, Jack, Jack; but finding no answer, he pulled off the napkin, and seeing the fool gone, and that he had taken so many puddings with him, was so enraged that he sent his blood hounds after him; which when Jack perceived, he takes a pudding and flings it at them; the dogs smelling the pudding, Jack gained ground the time: and still as the dogs pursued, he threw a pudding at them; and this he did till he come to an house. This was spread abroad to the shame and vexation of the farmer.
"Some time after Mr. Sorrel and some other tenants went to see the fool's master. Jack espying them, went and told his Lady that Mr. Sorrel was come. The lady being afraid the fool might offend him by speaking of the puddings, told Jack he should be whipped if he mentioned them. But when they were at dinner, Jack went and shaked Mr. Sorel by the hand, saying, How is it Mr. Sorel then, seeming to whisper, but speaking so loud that all the Company heard him, said, Not a word of the puddings, Mr. Sorel.—At this they all burst into a laughter, but the honest man was so ashamed, that he never came there again. Ever since it is a bye-word to say, Not a word of the puddings."
"A Justice of the Peace being at his Lord's table one day, who delighted to jest with every one, and Jack being in the room to make them some sport, and having then a new calfskin suit on, red and white spotted, and a young puppy in his arms, much of the same colour; he said to the justice, as he jogged him, Is not this puppy like me? The justice said It is very much like thee; now there are two puppies Jack, ha! ha! ha!—Jack after going downstairs to dinner, returned again and striking the Justice on the back with his fist the Justice seemed angry. How is it Justice, said Jack, are you angry, let us shake hands and be friends. The Justice gave him his hand, and the fool cried out laughing, Now here are two fools, Justice, two fools, two fools. At this they all laughed heartily, to see this great wit affronted by a fool; especially a gentleman whom the Justice had but a few minutes before abused by his jesting; for he was of that temper that he would jest but never take one.
It is not safe to play with edged tools
Nor is it good to Jest too much with fools."
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Simple Simon married a shrew named Margery, who brought him a "considerable fortune; forty shillings in money, and a good milch cow, four fat weathers, with half a dozen ewes and lambs, likewise geese, hens, and turkies; also a sow and pigs, with other moveables." She began scolding him the day after marriage, and the poor fellow found out he had a hard bargain. "Ud swaggers, I think I have a woeful one now." He went out, and meeting with one Jobson, an old friend, proceeded to an alehouse with him; but his wife, coming there with her gossips, "snatched up Jobsons oaken staff from off the table, and gave poor Simon such a clank upon the noddle, as made the blood spin," and afterwards treated Jobson to a sound thrashing, and then she and her gossips got "as drunk as fishwomen."
Simon sneaked away, but when he got home he found his wife before him, and "not forgetting the fault he had committed, she invented a new kind of punishment; for having a wide chimney, wherein they used to dry bacon, she, taking him at a disadvantage, tied him hand and foot, bound him in a basket, and by the help of a rope drew him up to the beam of the chimney, and left him there to take his lodging the second night after his wedding; with a small smoaky fire under him; so that in the morning he was reezed like a red herring. But at length he caused his wife to shew him so much pity as to let him down."
He was undoubtedly a great fool, for, his wife having sent him to the mill with a sack of corn, he was induced by a stranger to lay it on the back of his spare horse, and of course the man made off with it.
Simon had to take a basket of eggs to market, but finding that "two butter women had fallen out, and to that degree, that they had taken one another by the quoif, their hair and their fillets flying about their ears," he essayed to part them, but got pushed down, and his eggs were all broken. The constable, coming up, thought they were drunk, and clapped them in the stocks, where, being between the combatants, he had to endure their scolding. On his release he went home, only to endure his customary beating. So he lay all night in the hog-stye, and on the morrow, "in the presence of some of his dearest friends he begged pardon on his knees, of his sweet wife Margery."
One day his wife went to a "gossiping," leaving Simon at home to fill and boil the kettle. He made the fire and hung the kettle over it, then started to fill his pail at the well. He put down his pail in order to stop a runaway ox, which led him a chase of three or four miles. On his return he found his pail stolen, and, when he reached home, the bottom was burnt out of the kettle. When his wife came back, it is needless to say that "she let fly an earthen pot at his head, which made the blood run about his ears. This done she took him by the collar and cuft him about the kitchen at a most horrid rate."
No doubt he was very vexing, as he could not be trusted with the most ordinary concerns of life. He had to get some soap, but, whilst passing over a bridge, he was frightened by some crows, and dropped the money into the water. Knowing what the consequences would be, he stripped and went into the water to search after it, but a larcenous old ragman came by and stole his clothes. He had to go home naked, where his wife administered his usual correction—"taking the dog whip, she jerked poor Simon about, making him dance the Canaries for two hours."
Many more mishaps and punishments happened to the poor wretch, until at last even he could stand it no longer; so he attempted to poison himself, but, by mistake, drank his wife's bottle of sack (vide frontispiece), and consequently got drunk. He was duly cudgelled; but, either this determination of his, frightened his wife, or she saw the folly of going on in the way they were doing, for the tale winds up with, "For now he leads a happy life."
Printed and Sold in Aldermary Church Yard
Bow Lane
Although the address "To the Reader" says—
"Of all the Toms that ever yet was nam'd,
Was ever Tom like Tom Long fam'd,
Tom Tram, who mad pranks shews,
Unto Tom Long, will prove a Goose.
Tom Thumb is dumb until the pudding creep,
In which he was entomb'd, then out doth peep.
The fool may go to school, but ne'er be taught,
Such rare conceits with which Tom Long is fraught.
Tom Ass but for his ugly ears, might pass,
Since no such jewels as our Tom he wears.
Tom Tell Truth is but froth, the truth to tell,
From all the Toms, Tom Long doth bear the bell,"
yet the Chap-book is very dreary fun, not even being enlivened by any good illustrations—those supplied belonging to other books—but it is valuable for its frontispiece, which represents a Chapman of Elizabethan or Jacobean time, a veritable Autolycus. The other edition in the British Museum, "Printed and Sold at Sympson's Warehouse in Stone Cutter Street, Fleet Market," has a bad copy of this engraving.
Illustrated with Twelve curious Cuts
Truly adapted to each Story
Printed and Sold in London
"Philosophers of old will tell us,
As Tycho, and such merry fellows,
That round this habitable ball
The beamy sun did yearly fall;
No wonder then the world is found
By change of place Turn'd Upside Down;
If revolutions strange appear
Within the compass of the sphere;
If men and things succession know,
And no dependance reigns below;
Since tis allow'd the world we dwell in,
Is always round the sun a sailing;
Experience to our knowledge brings;
That times may change as well as things,
And art than nature wiser grown,
Turns every object upside down,
Whim's epidemic takes her rise,
And constancy's become a vice.
He that to do is fortunate,
The darling minions of his fate!
To morrow feels his fate's displeasure,
Spoil'd his hoarded idol treasure!
And like this man, his emblem shows,
A sudden revolution knows.
His fortune grows profoundly scurvy
Turns the poor earthworms topsy turvy,
Becomes the tennis ball of fools,
Things quite form'd out of nature's rules.
Such as you see Atlas bear
Upon their backs this mighty sphere.
The young, the old, the middle aged,
Are all in this great task engaged;
And strive with wondrous eagerness
Which all the greatest part possess.
Since folly then has got the ascendant,
He's most a fool that han't a hand in't;
And as the mad brain'd world runs round
Still keeps towards the rising ground."
This is quite enough for a specimen of the style of this poem, and, luckily, the illustrations explain themselves.
Part the First.
Printed and Sold in London.
This book is somewhat of a curiosity; it is the only one of its kind in the whole series of Chap-books, and has been several times reprinted in the country. It is illustrated, in every edition, with engravings which have no connection with the text, which, however, would be an impossible task, as the following page or so of the commencement will show. The frontispiece has nothing whatever to do with the book, but it is curious and valuable, as giving a representation of the ducking-stool. There are two parts, but they both consist of such rodomontade as the following:—
"It was the last Monday Morning about four o'clock in the afternoon before sun rising, going over Highgate Hill I asked him if the Old Woman was dead that was drowned at Ratcliffe Highway a few nights ago. He told me he could not tell, but if I went a little farther I should meet with two young men on horseback, riding under a mare, in a blue red jerkin and a pair of white freestone breeches, and they would give intelligence. So when I came up with the women they thought I was a Hector that was come to rob them and therefore ran to me, but I most furiously pursued before them, so that one of them for meer madness, seeing him dead, drew out his sword and directly killed him. The horse for vexation seeing himself dead ran away as fast as he could, leaving them to go on foot upon another horse's back forty miles—Friend, said I, I mean you no good, but pray inform me if the Old woman be dead yet that was drowned at Ratcliff Highway a fortnight ago? and they told me they could not tell; but if I went a little farther I should meet with two women driving an empty cartful of apples, and a Mill Stone in the midst, and they would give me particular intelligence—But when I came up with them they would not satisfy me neither; but told me if I went down to the waterside, there lived one Sir John Vang, and he would give me true intelligence. So going by the waterside, I hooped and hallowed, but I could make nobody see. At last I heard Six Country Lads and Lasses, who were all fast asleep playing at nine pins under a hay cock, piled up of pease straw in the midst of the Thames, and eating of a roasted bran pudding freezing hot," etc., etc.
Wright, in his "Early Mysteries," 1838, published some poems, by an anonymous writer, which he assigned to the thirteenth century, called "Descriptus Norfolciensum," by which it would appear that these tales had their origin in Norfolk; and the "Folcs of Gotham" are mentioned as early as the fifteenth century in the Townley "Mysteries." But be that as it may, "The Merie Tales" are undoubtedly the work of Andrew Borde, or Boorde, who lived in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. He was born at Holmesdale in Sussex, was educated at Oxford, and afterwards became a Carthusian monk. At the persecution, temp. Henry VIII., he escaped abroad, and travelled over many parts of Europe and some portion of Africa. He settled at Montpellier, became a physician, and practised as such on his return to England. For some reason, he was imprisoned in the Fleet, where he died, April, 1549. There are two black-letter editions without dates, and there is one in the Bodleian library, with a woodcut of the hedging in the cuckoo, "The Merry Tales of the Mad Men of Gotham. Gathered together by A.B. of Physick Doctor," 1630; but Ant. à Wood, in his "Ath. Oxon." (Bliss, edition), says it was printed in the reign of Henry VIII.
Gotham is a village about six miles from Nottingham, and the name of the "Cuckoo bush" is still given to a place near the village.
Printed and sold in Aldermary Church Yard Bow Lane
London.
There was two Men of Gotham, and one of them was for going to Nottingham market to buy sheep; and the other came from the Market, and both met on Nottingham Bridge.—Well met, said one to the other, Whither are you going, said he that came from Nottingham; Marry, said he that was going thither, I am going to the market to buy sheep—To buy sheep! said the other, which way will you bring them home? Marry, said the other, I will bring them over this bridge—By Robin Hood, said he that came from Nottingham, but thou shalt not—By Maid Margery, said the other, but I will—You shall not, said the one. I will, said the other.
Then they beat their staves one against the other, and then against the ground, as if a hundred sheep had been between them. Hold then there said the one. Beware of my sheep leaping over the bridge, said the other—I care not said the one—They shall all come this way, said the other—But they shall not, said the one—Then said the other, if thou make much ado, I will put my finger in thy mouth. The Devil thou wilt said the one. And as they were in contention, another Wise Man that belonged to Gotham, came from the market with a sack of meal on his horse; and seeing his neighbours at strife about sheep, and none betwixt them, said he, Ah! fools, will you never learn wit! help me to lay this sack upon my shoulder; and they did so, and he went to the side of the bridge, and shook out the meal into the river, saying, How much meal is there in the sack, neighbours? Marry, said they, none.—By my faith, replies this Wise Man, even so much wit is there in your two heads to strive for that which you have not.
Now which was the Wisest of these three, I leave you to judge.
There was a man of Gotham that rode to the market with two bushels of wheat, and because his horse should not be damaged by carrying too great a burden, he was determined to carry the corn himself on his own neck and still kept riding upon the horse until the end of his journey.—Now I will leave you to judge which is the wisest, his horse or himself.
On a time the Men of Gotham fain would have pinned in the Cuckow, that she might sing all the year; all in the midst of the town they had a hedge made round in Compass, and got a cuckow, and put her into it, and said, Sing here, and you shall lack neither meat nor drink all the year—The Cuckow when she perceived herself encompassed within the hedge, flew away. A vengeance on her, said these Wise Men, we made not the hedge high enough.
There was a Man of Gotham who went to Nottingham market to sell Cheese, and going down the hill to Nottingham bridge one of the cheeses fell out of his wallet, and ran down the hill. Whoreson, said the fellow, what can you run to the market alone?—I'll now send one after another; then laying down his wallet, taking out the cheeses, he tumbled them down the hill, one after another; some ran into one bush, and some into another; however he charged them to meet him in the market place—The man went to the market to meet with the cheeses, and staid till the market was almost over, then went and enquired of his neighbours, if they saw the cheeses come to market? Why, who should bring them? said one—Marry themselves, said the fellow, they knew the way very well—A vengeance on them, they run so fast I was afraid they would run beyond the market; I suppose by this time they are got as far as York:—so he immediately rode to York, but was very much disappointed; and to this day no man has ever heard of his cheeses.
A Man of Gotham, bought at Nottingham market a trivet or bar iron, and going home with it, his shoulder grew weary of the carriage; he set it down, and seeing it had three feet, said Whoreson, thou hast three feet, and I but two, thou shalt bear me home, if thou wilt—so set himself down on it saying
Bare me along as I have bore thee,
For if thou dost not thou shalt stand still for me.
The Man of Gotham seeing that his trevit would not move, Stand still, said he, in the Mayor's name, and follow me if thou wilt; and I can shew thee the way.—When he went home, his wife asked him where the trivet was? he told her it had three legs, and he but two, and he had taught him the ready way to his house; and therefore he might come home himself if he would. Where did you leave the trevit? said the woman. At Gotham bridge, said he. So she immediately went and fetched the trevit, otherwise she must have lost it, on account of her husband's want of wit.
A certain Smith of Gotham had a large wasp's nest in the straw at the end of his forge, and there coming one of his neighbours to have his horse shod, and the wasps being exceeding busy, the man was stung by one of them; and being grievously affronted, he said, Are you worthy to keep a forge or no, to have men stung with these wasps?—O neighbour, said the smith, be content, and I shall put them from their nest presently. Immediately he took a Coulter, and heated it red hot and thrust it into the straw, at the end of the forge, and set it on fire and burnt it up.—Then said the smith, I told thee I'd fire them out of their nest.
One Good Friday the Men of Gotham consulted together what to do with their white herrings, red herrings, sprats, and salt fish, and agreed that all such fish should be cast into the pond or pool in the middle of the town, that the number of them might encrease against the next year. Therefore every one that had any fish left did cast them immediately into the pond—Then said one, I have as yet gotten left so many red herrings, Well, said another, and I have left so many whitings—Another immediately cried out, I have as yet gotten so many sprats left;—And, said the last, I have as yet gotten so many salt fishes, let them go together in the great pond without distinction, and we may be sure to fare like Lords the next year—At the beginning of the next Lent they immediately went about drawing the pond, imagining they should have the fish; but were much surprised to find nothing but a great eel. Ah! said they, a mischief on this eel, for he hath eaten up our fish. What must we do with him, said one to the other. Kill him, said one. Chop him in pieces, said another. Nay, not so, said the other, let us drown him.—Be it accordingly so, replied them all.—So they immediately went to another pond, and cast the eel into the water. Lie there, said these wise men, and shift for thyself, since you may not expect any help of us—So they left the eel to be drowned.
On a time the men of Gotham had forgotten to pay their rent to their landlords, so one of them said to the other, To morrow must be pay day, by whom can we send our money that is due to our landlord? upon which one of them said, I have this day taken a hare, and he may carry it, for he is very quick footed. Be it so, replied the rest, he shall have a letter and a purse to put our money in, and we can direct her the right way. When the letter was written, and the money put in a purse, they immediately tied them about the hare's neck saying, You must go to Loughboro' and then to Leicester, and at Newark is our landlord; then commend us unto him, and there is his due. The hare, as soon as she got out of their hands ran quite a contrary way—Some said, Thou must go to Loughborough—Others said, let the hare alone for she can tell a nearer way than the best of us—let her go.
A Man of Gotham that went mowing in the meads, found a large grasshopper; he immediately threw down his scyth, and ran home to his neighbours, and said that the devil was there in the field, and was hopping amongst the grass. Then was every man ready with their clubs and staves, with halberts and other weapons to kill the grasshopper. When they came almost to the place where the grasshopper was, said one to the other, Let every man cross himself from the Devil, for we will not meddle with him—So they returned again and said—We were blest this day that we went no farther—O ye cowards! said he that left his scyth in the mead, help me to fetch my scyth. No, answered they, it is good to sleep in a whole skin; it is much better for thee to lose thy scyth than to marr us all.
On a certain time there were twelve men of Gotham, that went to fish, and some stood on dry land. And in going home, one said to the other, We have ventured wonderfully in wading, I pray God that none of us come home to be drowned—Nay, Marry, said one to the other, let us see that, for there did twelve of us come out—Then they told themselves, and every one told eleven. Said the one to the other, There is one of us drowned. They went back to the brook where they had been fishing and sought up and down for him that was drowned, making great lamentation.
A Courtier coming by, asked what it was they sought for, and why they were sorrowful? Oh! said they, this day we went to fish in the brook; twelve of us came out together, and one is drowned—Said the Courtier, tell how many there be of you. One of them said eleven, and he did not tell himself. Well, said the Courtier, what will you give me and I will find the twelfth man. Sir, said they, all the money we have got. Give me the money, said the Courtier, and began with the first, and gave him a stroke over the shoulders with his whip, which made him groan, saying Here is one; and so he served them all, and they all groaned at the matter. When he came to the last, he paid him well, saying Here is the twelfth man.—God's blessings on thy heart, said they, for thus finding our dear brother.
A Man of Gotham riding along the highway, saw a cheese, so drew his sword and pricked it with the point in order to take it up. Another man came by, and alighted, and picked it up, and rode away with it. The man of Gotham rides back to Nottingham to buy a long sword to pick up the cheese, and returning to the place where the cheese did lie, he pulled out his sword, and pricking the ground, he said, if I had this sword at the first, I should have gotten the cheese myself, but now another has got it from me.
A Man of Gotham who did not love his wife, she having fair hair, her husband said divers times, He would cut it off, but durst not do it when she was awake; so resolved to do it when she was asleep: therefore one night he took up a pair of sheers and put them under his pillow, which his wife perceiving, said to one of her maids, Go to bed to my husband, for he thinks to cut off my hair to-night; let him cut off thy hair, and I will give thee as good a kirtle as ever thou didst see. The maid did so, and feigned herself asleep; which the man perceiving, cut off the maids hair and wrapped it about the sheers, and laid them under his pillow and went to sleep; then the maid arose and the wife took the hair and sheers and went into the hall, and there burnt the hair. The man had a fine horse that he loved much; and the good wife went into the stable, cut off the tail of the horse, wrapping the sheers up in it, and then laid them under the pillow again. Her husband seeing her combing her head in the morning, he marvelled very much thereat—The girl seeing her master in a deep study, said, What the Devil ails the horse in the stable, he bleeds so prodigiously? The man ran into the stable, and found the horse's tail was cut off; then going to his bed, he found the sheers wrapped up in his horse's tail. He then went to his wife, saying, I cry thee mercy, for I intended to have cut off my horses tail. Yea, said she, self do, self have—Many men think to do a bad turn but it turneth oftimes to himself.
A Man of Gotham took a young buzzard, and invited four or five gentlemen's servants to the eating of it; but the old wife killed an old goose and she and two of her gossips eat up the buzzard, and the old goose was laid to the fire for the gentlemen's servants. So when they came and the goose was set before them, What is this? said one of them. A fine buzzard, said the man. A buzzard! said they, why it is an old goose, and thou art a knave to mock us; and in anger departed home.
The fellow was very sorry that he had affronted them, and took a bag, and put in the buzzard's feathers; but his wife desired him before he went to fetch her a block of wood, and in the intrim, she pulled out the buzzard's feathers, and put in the gooses. Then the man taking the bag went to the gentlemen's servants, and said, Pray be not angry with me; you shall see I had a buzzard, for here be the feathers. Then he opened the bag and shook out the goose's feathers. They said, Why thou knave, could you not be content to mock us at home but art come here to mock us? The one took a cudgel and gave him a dozen stripes, saying, Heretofore mock us no more.
A young man of Gotham went a wooing to a fair maid; his mother warned him before hand, saying, whenever you look at her, cast a sheep's eye at her and say, How dost thou do, my sweet pigsnie!* The fellow went to the butchers shop and bought seven or eight sheeps eyes; and then when this lusty wooer was at dinner, he would look upon his fair wench, and cast in her face a sheep's eye, saying how do you do, my sweet pigsnie?—How do you do, swine's face? said the wench; what do you mean by casting a sheep's eye at me?—O sweet pigsnie, have at thee another.—But I defy thee, swine's flesh, said the wench.—What, my sweet old pigsnie be content, for if you live till next year, you will be a foul sow.—Walk knave, walk, said she, for if you live till next year, you will be a fool.
* A term of endearment, generally used towards a young girl: