The Works of John Hall-Stevenson ... Corrected and Enlarged. With Several Original Poems, Now First Printed, and Explanatory Notes. In Three Volumes |
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| THE PRIVY-COUNSELLOR'S AND THE STUDENT OF LAW'S TALE.
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 | The Works of John Hall-Stevenson |  |
91
THE PRIVY-COUNSELLOR'S AND THE STUDENT OF LAW'S TALE.
A MANUSCRIPT. FOUND AT CRAZY-CASTLE. Supposed to be written about the time of Henry VIII
93
PROLOGUE TO THE PRIVY-COUNSELLOR'S AND THE STUDENT OF LAW'S TALE.
Once on a time, how many years ago,As I could nivir learn, you cannot know,
A Member of the Parliament,
And a Law-student his relation,
Rode out of town with no intent,
Unless it was for recreation.
Full sixty is the Member, and hath seen
Many a famous King and comely Queen.—
In yvery reign, in yvery age,
He florish'd in prosperitie;
In the beginning was a Page,
Now Privy-Counsellor is he.
94
Yielding him weight and vantage in debate;
But with a boon-companion gay and free;
No ceremony, no mysterious airs;
Just as a Privy-Counsellor should be,
If he had been a Page of the Back-stairs.
The Student's Father is in perfect health,
Thank God, and waxes daily strong in wealth;
Wants not his son to get a heap,
But just enough of Law
To guard his own estate, and keep
The neighbourhood in awe;
And I dare venture to maintain,
Herein his Father's hopes shall not be vain.
Allbeit, he doth not attend the Courts,
And redith none but Geoffery's Reports;
Yet Plowden lying ever on the table,
Opin and spread,
He is counted full as able,
As if he had him in his head.
So, as I signify'd before, these two
Ride out of town, having nought else to do.
95
For contemplation good;
Where he retires, as thoughtful as an ox
Chewing his cud.
He creeps into his box of stone,
Sometimes for pleasure, oftener for whim:
Or when he is tir'd of every one,
Or every one is tir'd of him.
It is call'd a Box, and there's a reason why,
Because therein a man lays himself by.—
Within a box, if you your cloaths conceal,
The fashion and the worms conspire,
To make a suit, that was genteel,
Fit only for the Sheriff of a shire;
But good enough for you,
If in your box you lie too long perdu.
When you come out again 'twill be too late;
You and your coat will both be out of date.—
Here then they 'light, and now suppose them dining;
Suppose them also grumbling and repining;
The bacon's fusty, and the fowls are tough;
The mutton over-done, the fish not done enough;
96
Wine, like themselves, entirely on the fret:
Muttering their prayers, exchanging looks askew,
Just like two rival beauties in a pew.
What might have happen'd no one can decide,
Had not, by fortune or design,
The Butler in the cellar spy'd
A hoard of admirable wine.
Bounce goes the cork; sparkles the glass;
Cousin, here's to your favourite lass:
And here their purgatory ends;
For after this
They enter into perfect bliss,
Drinking like perfect friends:
Drinking, because drinking promoteth joaking;
Joaking, without insulting or provoking.
The evening finishes with equal glory,
The worthy Counsellor proposing
To make a closing,
By telling each a merry story.
I have one fram'd, says he, in Geoffry's phrase;
Geoffry's, the Courtiers' language of those days.
97
Says he, I'll answer you with one quite new—
My tale in courtly speech I cannot tell;
But I can tell a merry tale, and true.
99
THE PRIVY-COUNSELLOR'S TALE.
TALE V.
Reignid in Yorkshire one of mity fame,
Clepid king Grig, as Kronikels proclaim;
Thilk Prince delighted ay in mirth and sport,
Japis and jollitries of yvery sort;
And now when pepil lough, and rage , and play,
Folk name them merry Grigs until this day.—
This King, I undirstond, hath venimid his blud ,
Whereby he hath lost his corage and his rud ;
Sore shent is he by Cupid and his mother,
And woe-begone far more than any other.—
The Kingis mother dere, Queen Whity
hight
,
Because her heer , allso her skin is white,
Is Queen of Cortesy, and Beautis Pride,
Gentil and modest as a maidin bride.
She sends to Potikers and Leeches grave,
Prays them to spare his life, and membris save;
Ne drogue ne instroment mote him avail;
His joints are losen'd, and his cheekis pale;
And he that erst would sing, and laugh, and jeer,
Hath not he smilid once in haf a year.
Clepid king Grig, as Kronikels proclaim;
Thilk Prince delighted ay in mirth and sport,
Japis and jollitries of yvery sort;
And now when pepil lough, and rage , and play,
Folk name them merry Grigs until this day.—
This King, I undirstond, hath venimid his blud ,
Whereby he hath lost his corage and his rud ;
Sore shent is he by Cupid and his mother,
And woe-begone far more than any other.—
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Because her heer , allso her skin is white,
Is Queen of Cortesy, and Beautis Pride,
Gentil and modest as a maidin bride.
She sends to Potikers and Leeches grave,
Prays them to spare his life, and membris save;
Ne drogue ne instroment mote him avail;
His joints are losen'd, and his cheekis pale;
And he that erst would sing, and laugh, and jeer,
Hath not he smilid once in haf a year.
There is a Conjorer, a sottil Wight
;
This Conjorer the Queen consults by night.
The Neekromanzir, according to his guise,
Casteth his figures, poreth on the skies,
And redith how to cure the Kingis woe;
His Grace until an heling-well shall go,
And bath his lims for sivin nights therein;
And sivin maidins, strippid to the skin,
Shall frote his body, till one, by her devise
And cunning touching, hele him in a trice.
This Conjorer the Queen consults by night.
The Neekromanzir, according to his guise,
Casteth his figures, poreth on the skies,
And redith how to cure the Kingis woe;
His Grace until an heling-well shall go,
And bath his lims for sivin nights therein;
And sivin maidins, strippid to the skin,
Shall frote his body, till one, by her devise
And cunning touching, hele him in a trice.
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Both King and Queen, you may be very sure,
Are in great haste to set about the cure.
Now is she setten forth in brave array,
And with the sely King upon her way;
Yccompany'd with Minstrels and japers ,
Jugglirs and Morrice-dancers, cutting capers;
One time that thing which Ministers delite
Shall, in another season, breed dispite;
For when the King is sad, it is ungracious thing
If everich-one is merrier than the King.
In this sort journeying, they come at last
Unto the well, wherein the King him cast;
His body chafid is, with special care,
By sivin naked damsills passing fair.
Are in great haste to set about the cure.
Now is she setten forth in brave array,
And with the sely King upon her way;
Yccompany'd with Minstrels and japers ,
Jugglirs and Morrice-dancers, cutting capers;
One time that thing which Ministers delite
Shall, in another season, breed dispite;
For when the King is sad, it is ungracious thing
If everich-one is merrier than the King.
In this sort journeying, they come at last
Unto the well, wherein the King him cast;
His body chafid is, with special care,
By sivin naked damsills passing fair.
The King hath view'd them well in every piece
,
Withouten splint, or malanders, or grease;
Hard are their breastis, skin as smothe as glass;
Plomp be their bottoks, and as tight as brass;
Smale are their feet; each feature, every limb,
Lies in the fairest form, and sweetest trim.—
The Queen examinid hath craftily
For Maidins of the best virginity;
None of these sivin hath spilt her maidins-hede,
As in these days moch reson was to drede.
Handlid and chafid with sick daintyness ,
Wexid the King to gather lustyness ;
And notabul it is to everich eye,
How he is rais'd and cherished thereby.
The sivinth day they all are out of pain;
Symptome of helth appearid very plain;
Whereat the Queen rejoices as is need,
Honoring the Maidin who hath done the deid;
And yet when he returnid hath to Court,
The King mote not be pleas'd in any sort;
And all that Lords and Ladys can invent,
Shall but encrease the Kingis discontent;
Wherfor the dutyfull Queen hieth her,
And counselleth again the Conjorer.
Withouten splint, or malanders, or grease;
Hard are their breastis, skin as smothe as glass;
Plomp be their bottoks, and as tight as brass;
Smale are their feet; each feature, every limb,
Lies in the fairest form, and sweetest trim.—
102
For Maidins of the best virginity;
None of these sivin hath spilt her maidins-hede,
As in these days moch reson was to drede.
Handlid and chafid with sick daintyness ,
Wexid the King to gather lustyness ;
And notabul it is to everich eye,
How he is rais'd and cherished thereby.
The sivinth day they all are out of pain;
Symptome of helth appearid very plain;
Whereat the Queen rejoices as is need,
Honoring the Maidin who hath done the deid;
And yet when he returnid hath to Court,
The King mote not be pleas'd in any sort;
And all that Lords and Ladys can invent,
Shall but encrease the Kingis discontent;
Wherfor the dutyfull Queen hieth her,
And counselleth again the Conjorer.
He spieth, in his secret Boke of Magie
,
How the same Maidins mote him rectifie ;
And yvery buxom Maid shall speke a tale,
And yvery Maid to make him lough assail;
And she that makes him lough shall thence be led,
And have the Kingis company in bed;
In bed, or any other pleasant place,
Wherever it shall please the Kingis Grace.
And lo the Queen these joyful tidings bears
To Chappil, where the Maidins are at prayers.—
Away the Maidins hurry them from Matins,
Apparrelling themselves in silks and sattins;
And all the sivin Damzils, out of hand,
Are set before the King at his command.—
He doth ordain each Maid to speke by lot;
Allso, because ne word shall be forgot,
A Scribe is there to notice all they say.—
And now six Maids have talk'd for haf a day;
And yet, for all the talking they can make,
They scarce can keep the Kingis Grace awake.
Then came the sivinth Maidin in degree,
But cannot speke her tale for modesty.
How the same Maidins mote him rectifie ;
103
And yvery Maid to make him lough assail;
And she that makes him lough shall thence be led,
And have the Kingis company in bed;
In bed, or any other pleasant place,
Wherever it shall please the Kingis Grace.
And lo the Queen these joyful tidings bears
To Chappil, where the Maidins are at prayers.—
Away the Maidins hurry them from Matins,
Apparrelling themselves in silks and sattins;
And all the sivin Damzils, out of hand,
Are set before the King at his command.—
He doth ordain each Maid to speke by lot;
Allso, because ne word shall be forgot,
A Scribe is there to notice all they say.—
And now six Maids have talk'd for haf a day;
And yet, for all the talking they can make,
They scarce can keep the Kingis Grace awake.
Then came the sivinth Maidin in degree,
But cannot speke her tale for modesty.
My tale, saies she, I wold begin, but fear
A word unseemly to a modest ear;
My tale without this word cannot be told,
And to deliver it I am not bold.—
What means the Maidin? quoth the King in ire ,
You may gloze any word, if you enquire .
I am no Clerk , saies she, her Grace well knows,
Pleasith you, Sir, may teach me how to gloze ;
Bot I will trie to do the best I may,
That you may better frame what I would say.—
Of all God's creatures its the choicest fare,
Yet he that has the least, has the best share.
I shall not graunt your prayer, the King reply'd,
Riddils are derk; and Paraphrase is wide:
Bot well I know the Latin and the Dutch,
Of Fraunce and Toscany I have a touch:
Now, any of these tongues, if you're inclin'd,
Fair Maid, may seem to shape what you would find.
Dutch, quoth the Queen, my son, the maid demands,
It is a tongue no Christian undirstands.
Well, quoth the King, fair Maid, this dredefull name,
That werkith in you so much strife and shame,
Pronounce they Fotz throughout all Germany;
Now you may speke your story hardily .—
A word unseemly to a modest ear;
104
And to deliver it I am not bold.—
What means the Maidin? quoth the King in ire ,
You may gloze any word, if you enquire .
I am no Clerk , saies she, her Grace well knows,
Pleasith you, Sir, may teach me how to gloze ;
Bot I will trie to do the best I may,
That you may better frame what I would say.—
Of all God's creatures its the choicest fare,
Yet he that has the least, has the best share.
I shall not graunt your prayer, the King reply'd,
Riddils are derk; and Paraphrase is wide:
Bot well I know the Latin and the Dutch,
Of Fraunce and Toscany I have a touch:
Now, any of these tongues, if you're inclin'd,
Fair Maid, may seem to shape what you would find.
Dutch, quoth the Queen, my son, the maid demands,
It is a tongue no Christian undirstands.
Well, quoth the King, fair Maid, this dredefull name,
That werkith in you so much strife and shame,
105
Now you may speke your story hardily .—
Sir, quoth the buxom Maid, upon a time,
A jolly Knight there was in all his prime,
Soot were his eyes, and manly was his face,
Lusty his limbs, his body in good case;
A piercing and a pleasant wit withall,
Ne vice had he, but that his means were small:
Here the king turning, doth the Scribe beseech,
To lose no word, nor sentence of her speech.
A jolly Knight there was in all his prime,
Soot were his eyes, and manly was his face,
Lusty his limbs, his body in good case;
A piercing and a pleasant wit withall,
Ne vice had he, but that his means were small:
Here the king turning, doth the Scribe beseech,
To lose no word, nor sentence of her speech.
Upon a joyful tide
, the King of Kent
Proclamid hath a noble turnament,
There yvery Knight enforced is to be;
Unless he will be held of villanie ;
Our Knight, Sir Amador the debonaire,
Mote thither with his Squire and steed repair:
And having traveled five days anend ,
The Knight and Squire unto a meadow wend ,
Ynamilid with pinks and cowslips gay,
Thro' which a rivir glides as bright as summir-day.
Upon the banks grows many a beachin tree,
And many a spreding oak most fair to see;
There they espied in the cristal lake,
Three nakid damzills of an hevenly make;
Their wimples and their gowns of broudid silk,
Ywrought with gold, their smokkis white as milk,
And all their costly garments were display'd
Undir an aged oak's ynticing shade.
Proclamid hath a noble turnament,
There yvery Knight enforced is to be;
Unless he will be held of villanie ;
Our Knight, Sir Amador the debonaire,
Mote thither with his Squire and steed repair:
And having traveled five days anend ,
The Knight and Squire unto a meadow wend ,
Ynamilid with pinks and cowslips gay,
Thro' which a rivir glides as bright as summir-day.
106
And many a spreding oak most fair to see;
There they espied in the cristal lake,
Three nakid damzills of an hevenly make;
Their wimples and their gowns of broudid silk,
Ywrought with gold, their smokkis white as milk,
And all their costly garments were display'd
Undir an aged oak's ynticing shade.
Behold the Knightis color changeth hue,
At sight so unexpected and so new;
Not that Acteon's hap ydraddid he,
Worried belike for sik audacity.
The Knight he blosh'd, because he thote within,
Such nakidness shall make a saint to sin.—
Gazeth Sir Amador with all his mite,
Tasteth thereof the 'Squire but brief delite,
For being more ynclined unto prey,
Stealid their smokkis and their robes away.
The Maidins noted the unworthy Swain,
And calling to the Knight, declare their pain;
Soon the ynragid Knight arrests the Squire,
And turnith to the Maids with their attire,
Making excuses, he could do no less,
For his intrusion on their nakidness,
And with profound respect and reverence,
Saluting each by turns he bears him hence.
At sight so unexpected and so new;
Not that Acteon's hap ydraddid he,
Worried belike for sik audacity.
The Knight he blosh'd, because he thote within,
Such nakidness shall make a saint to sin.—
Gazeth Sir Amador with all his mite,
Tasteth thereof the 'Squire but brief delite,
For being more ynclined unto prey,
Stealid their smokkis and their robes away.
The Maidins noted the unworthy Swain,
And calling to the Knight, declare their pain;
107
And turnith to the Maids with their attire,
Making excuses, he could do no less,
For his intrusion on their nakidness,
And with profound respect and reverence,
Saluting each by turns he bears him hence.
He is hardly gone, before they all agree,
They should have done the Knight some cortesy;
And call him back; the eldest Suster spoke,
Sir, we be Fairys living by this broke ,
And sikirly unfit it is for us,
That have such power, to be discourteous;
Wherfore some tokins at our hands receive,
And for myself, this tokin will I leave:
Wymen to pleasure you shall ever strive
In any land, so long as you're alive;
And you shall nivir fail in wymen's pleasure,
And when you please, shall please them without measure.
They should have done the Knight some cortesy;
And call him back; the eldest Suster spoke,
Sir, we be Fairys living by this broke ,
And sikirly unfit it is for us,
That have such power, to be discourteous;
Wherfore some tokins at our hands receive,
And for myself, this tokin will I leave:
Wymen to pleasure you shall ever strive
In any land, so long as you're alive;
And you shall nivir fail in wymen's pleasure,
And when you please, shall please them without measure.
The second Fairy saith, Sir Knight, my tokin
Is of a nature wondros to be spokin.—
And now the Damzill's tale cannot proceed;
Her face, as any burning coal, is rede.
Quoth then the King, divining sottely,
The word you seek is Fotz, assuredly:
True, saies the Maid; and so the Fairy saith,
That whosoever Fotz he questioneth,
Shall make an answer, or if none she gives,
The Fotz shall fare the worse for't whilst she lives.
Is of a nature wondros to be spokin.—
108
Her face, as any burning coal, is rede.
Quoth then the King, divining sottely,
The word you seek is Fotz, assuredly:
True, saies the Maid; and so the Fairy saith,
That whosoever Fotz he questioneth,
Shall make an answer, or if none she gives,
The Fotz shall fare the worse for't whilst she lives.
My Suster, quoth the third, under correction,
Your tokin's good, but lacketh of perfection,
The Fotz may be, by accidental cause,
So busy that she cannot move her jaws;
Whenever this doth happen, I intend
Her next door neighbour answer for her friend.—
The King no longer can refrain from laughter,
Also the Queen herself him follows after.
I will reward you well for this anon;
Mean time, quoth he, my pritty Maid, go on.
The Knight ne yvir having seen a fay ,
Thinketh they japen him in that they say—
He overtakes the Squire, and on they ride,
Discoursing on the Fairys, side by side;
Happened a Freer of a neighboring abbey,
Rideth abroad in gallant pomp that day,
Mounted he is upon a dapple mare,
And looketh altogether void of care;
Rosy his cheeks, a twinkling hazle eye,
He seemid Patriarke of Venerie;
Or Pontif of renowned Baal-Peor ;
Certes you shall not oft meet such a Freer.
The Knight accosteth him, noteth the beast,
The dapple mare that bears the stately priest;
Fotz, saies the Knight, I question thee to say,
Whither thy master hieth him this way?
Finding she needs must answer him par force,
Distinctly answers Fotz, tho' somewhat hoarse,
What you require I will deliver brief:
My master is avowterer and thief;
He hath robb'd the sacresty of churches plate,
And to his lemman beareth it in state.—
The Priest, astony'd such a voice to find,
Believeth Sathanas is there behind;
Descendeth from the mare, voweth repentaunce,
Leaving the Knight talking with new acquaintance;
The Priest is lame, and no great haste can make;
He waddles like a duck eftir a drake.
Your tokin's good, but lacketh of perfection,
The Fotz may be, by accidental cause,
So busy that she cannot move her jaws;
Whenever this doth happen, I intend
Her next door neighbour answer for her friend.—
The King no longer can refrain from laughter,
Also the Queen herself him follows after.
I will reward you well for this anon;
Mean time, quoth he, my pritty Maid, go on.
The Knight ne yvir having seen a fay ,
Thinketh they japen him in that they say—
109
Discoursing on the Fairys, side by side;
Happened a Freer of a neighboring abbey,
Rideth abroad in gallant pomp that day,
Mounted he is upon a dapple mare,
And looketh altogether void of care;
Rosy his cheeks, a twinkling hazle eye,
He seemid Patriarke of Venerie;
Or Pontif of renowned Baal-Peor ;
Certes you shall not oft meet such a Freer.
110
The dapple mare that bears the stately priest;
Fotz, saies the Knight, I question thee to say,
Whither thy master hieth him this way?
Finding she needs must answer him par force,
Distinctly answers Fotz, tho' somewhat hoarse,
What you require I will deliver brief:
My master is avowterer and thief;
He hath robb'd the sacresty of churches plate,
And to his lemman beareth it in state.—
111
Believeth Sathanas is there behind;
Descendeth from the mare, voweth repentaunce,
Leaving the Knight talking with new acquaintance;
The Priest is lame, and no great haste can make;
He waddles like a duck eftir a drake.
Fotz, quoth the Knight, pray tell me as we go,
What is it makes the Freer waddil so?
What is it makes the Freer waddil so?
Sir, quoth the Fotz, about a year agon,
Our Abbot and my Master, Freer John,
Discoursing, riding round the Abbot's Perk,
Of leachery and prankis in the derk;
The Abbot softly rounith brother John,
All fauncies have I proven everich one,
Whereby a man may find the greatest joy,
The pleasantest his talent to employ—
Yet thereto, though I oft have been inclin'd,
Have not I yvir practic'd out of kind .
Nor I, says Freer John, I do declare;
Trie we then, says the Abbot, with the mare:
But reason giveth property the place,
Wherfor thyself shalt have the first embrace.
Freer consents, and, for his evil deeds,
Ungirds the cords whereon he strings the beads;
Bindeth therewith mine hinder leggis twain,
Holdeth me fast the Abbot by the rein;
And letting go his steed, he praunceth by,
And with a kick lamid the Freer's thigh;
Else had I been, upon my corp'ral oath,
Ravyshed by a Freer and Abbot both.
Our Abbot and my Master, Freer John,
Discoursing, riding round the Abbot's Perk,
Of leachery and prankis in the derk;
The Abbot softly rounith brother John,
All fauncies have I proven everich one,
Whereby a man may find the greatest joy,
The pleasantest his talent to employ—
Yet thereto, though I oft have been inclin'd,
Have not I yvir practic'd out of kind .
Nor I, says Freer John, I do declare;
Trie we then, says the Abbot, with the mare:
112
Wherfor thyself shalt have the first embrace.
Freer consents, and, for his evil deeds,
Ungirds the cords whereon he strings the beads;
Bindeth therewith mine hinder leggis twain,
Holdeth me fast the Abbot by the rein;
And letting go his steed, he praunceth by,
And with a kick lamid the Freer's thigh;
Else had I been, upon my corp'ral oath,
Ravyshed by a Freer and Abbot both.
Now forward Knight and strange companion trots,
Laughing the Knight, and communing with Fotz:
Upon a hill not far they do descry
A cassil fair, with towris broad and high;
Shaped their course unto the cassil strait;
Opin'd the Porter hath the cassil-gate.
The Seneschal had led the Squire and Knight
Through goodly chambris curiosly bedight,
Unto an hall hung round with tapestry,
Of Pharoh's host, drenchid in the Rede Sea;
There at their supper sit the Gouvernante,
Or Lady of the Cassil, and her Ant;
This Lady is a Wedo fresh and young
And froliksome, and hath a merry tong —
And looks so kind, and sings such lovesome strains,
No marvel that her Lord hath brast his reins.
Welcome, Sir Knight, saies she, unto my board,
I have not seen a Nobler since my Lord.
The Knight and Squire sit them down to eat,
The board is cover'd with all kind of meat;
Rich wines the pages pour in chrystal glass,
And many a choice conceit and laugh doth pass.
The hour is late; tarrieth the Aunt for spite,
Riseth the Lady—wisheth a good night.
The Knight in bed ay thinketh on his host,
Sleep hath he none, for wantonness of ghost.
This bounteous Wedo gives her maids a call,
Chusing the best and fairest of them all;
Biddeth her go unto the Knight, and say,
She comes to solace him till it is day;
And that her Lady bids her say in bed,
How much she wishes she was in her stead:
Bot may not have the opportunity,
Because, for spite, the Aunt with her doth lie.
The maidin flies; her heart with gladness beats,
Strippith, and creepith in between the sheets.
Turnith the Knight unto the maidin gent,
And both do pass the time with moch content—
And aftir they have ragid to the full,
Strokid the Knight, and givith Fotz a pull,
And saieth, little Fotz, tellith me true,
Be you aggriev'd with that I have done at you.—
As I am a Christian Fotz, replied she,
I nivir pass'd a night with so much glee.—
Up sterts the Maidin, runnith in dismay
Into the room next that her Lady lay,
And finds her Lady up, and sitting there,
Musing and pond'ring in an elbow-chair.
Yon Knight, quoth she, 's a witch or something badder,
He conjur'd hath the Devil in my bladder;
After he did me twenty times and more,
Oftner than ever I was done before,
He pulleth Fotz, and of its own accord
Spekid the mouth that nivir utters word.—
Child, quoth the Lady, set your mind at ease,
Most of us all have had the like disease,
Working anights at soch a grievous rate
Lozens the Fotz's tongue, and makes it prate.
The Lady thinks to humour her is best,
She deems her head is light for want of rest.—
Yes, saies the Maid, they have tongis without doubt,
I have seen Fotzes tongis hanging out.
Go get to rest, replies the Lady bright,
A little sleep will set your matters right.
The Maidin goes, the Lady at the dore
Harkneth, and stealeth to Sir Amadore;
Sir Knight, quoth she, it is not very civil,
To give my Maidin's Fotz unto the Devil:
Fotz is no chamber for so mean a groom,
He might have been content with a worse room.
I use no fiend, quoth he, but have a skill
To make what Fotz I please talk, when I will.—
Talk! saies the Lady, I engage this ring,
You neither make it talk, whyssel, nor sing.—
Out flew the Knight, most terribly array'd;
At sight whereof the Dame was nought afraid.—
Upon the bed the Lady hath he pitch'd,
And there she lay, as if she was bewitch'd:
And after many pleasaunt fauncies there,
Breethed the Knight awhile, to take the air;
And whispering the Fotz, holding his nose,
Biddith my Lady Fotz tell all she knows.
Gapid the Fotz, and gabbill'd far and wide,
Telling soch things, the Wedo swore she lied.
I yield, saies she—you are a skilful youth;
I yield, if you will stop that lyar's mouth.—
'Tis mighty well, saies he, we soon shall trie
Whether my Lady Fotz has learnt to lie—
And thrusting into Fotz's mouth a gag,
Her next door neighbour's tong began to wag.
Saies she, in a crack'd voice, like one you feign,
All that Fotz sayth I am ready to maintain.
Enough, the Lady saith, Sir Knight, have done,
Here, take the ring, I own 'tis fairly won;
And since you are a Knight of so great power,
Freely I offer both myself and dower;
And certes one was made for t'other's sake—
For you can give no more than I can take.
Laughing the Knight, and communing with Fotz:
Upon a hill not far they do descry
A cassil fair, with towris broad and high;
Shaped their course unto the cassil strait;
Opin'd the Porter hath the cassil-gate.
The Seneschal had led the Squire and Knight
Through goodly chambris curiosly bedight,
Unto an hall hung round with tapestry,
Of Pharoh's host, drenchid in the Rede Sea;
113
Or Lady of the Cassil, and her Ant;
This Lady is a Wedo fresh and young
And froliksome, and hath a merry tong —
And looks so kind, and sings such lovesome strains,
No marvel that her Lord hath brast his reins.
Welcome, Sir Knight, saies she, unto my board,
I have not seen a Nobler since my Lord.
The Knight and Squire sit them down to eat,
The board is cover'd with all kind of meat;
Rich wines the pages pour in chrystal glass,
And many a choice conceit and laugh doth pass.
The hour is late; tarrieth the Aunt for spite,
Riseth the Lady—wisheth a good night.
The Knight in bed ay thinketh on his host,
Sleep hath he none, for wantonness of ghost.
This bounteous Wedo gives her maids a call,
Chusing the best and fairest of them all;
Biddeth her go unto the Knight, and say,
She comes to solace him till it is day;
114
How much she wishes she was in her stead:
Bot may not have the opportunity,
Because, for spite, the Aunt with her doth lie.
The maidin flies; her heart with gladness beats,
Strippith, and creepith in between the sheets.
Turnith the Knight unto the maidin gent,
And both do pass the time with moch content—
And aftir they have ragid to the full,
Strokid the Knight, and givith Fotz a pull,
And saieth, little Fotz, tellith me true,
Be you aggriev'd with that I have done at you.—
As I am a Christian Fotz, replied she,
I nivir pass'd a night with so much glee.—
Up sterts the Maidin, runnith in dismay
Into the room next that her Lady lay,
And finds her Lady up, and sitting there,
Musing and pond'ring in an elbow-chair.
Yon Knight, quoth she, 's a witch or something badder,
He conjur'd hath the Devil in my bladder;
115
Oftner than ever I was done before,
He pulleth Fotz, and of its own accord
Spekid the mouth that nivir utters word.—
Child, quoth the Lady, set your mind at ease,
Most of us all have had the like disease,
Working anights at soch a grievous rate
Lozens the Fotz's tongue, and makes it prate.
The Lady thinks to humour her is best,
She deems her head is light for want of rest.—
Yes, saies the Maid, they have tongis without doubt,
I have seen Fotzes tongis hanging out.
Go get to rest, replies the Lady bright,
A little sleep will set your matters right.
The Maidin goes, the Lady at the dore
Harkneth, and stealeth to Sir Amadore;
Sir Knight, quoth she, it is not very civil,
To give my Maidin's Fotz unto the Devil:
Fotz is no chamber for so mean a groom,
He might have been content with a worse room.
I use no fiend, quoth he, but have a skill
To make what Fotz I please talk, when I will.—
116
You neither make it talk, whyssel, nor sing.—
Out flew the Knight, most terribly array'd;
At sight whereof the Dame was nought afraid.—
Upon the bed the Lady hath he pitch'd,
And there she lay, as if she was bewitch'd:
And after many pleasaunt fauncies there,
Breethed the Knight awhile, to take the air;
And whispering the Fotz, holding his nose,
Biddith my Lady Fotz tell all she knows.
Gapid the Fotz, and gabbill'd far and wide,
Telling soch things, the Wedo swore she lied.
I yield, saies she—you are a skilful youth;
I yield, if you will stop that lyar's mouth.—
'Tis mighty well, saies he, we soon shall trie
Whether my Lady Fotz has learnt to lie—
And thrusting into Fotz's mouth a gag,
Her next door neighbour's tong began to wag.
Saies she, in a crack'd voice, like one you feign,
All that Fotz sayth I am ready to maintain.
Enough, the Lady saith, Sir Knight, have done,
Here, take the ring, I own 'tis fairly won;
117
Freely I offer both myself and dower;
And certes one was made for t'other's sake—
For you can give no more than I can take.
The fabul's finished, the King is hele
,
The Damzill is contented yvery deal;
And Grig had sons, and they had many heirs,
And they were all like Grig, all free from cares;
Their hearts would nivir sink no more than cork,
And tho' no Kings, they still are Dukes of York.
The Damzill is contented yvery deal;
And Grig had sons, and they had many heirs,
And they were all like Grig, all free from cares;
Their hearts would nivir sink no more than cork,
And tho' no Kings, they still are Dukes of York.
Baal-Peor, or Baal-Phegor, from whence, perhaps, Pego, and the adjunct Βαλλοκ, whose priests are opprobricusly called Βαλλοκς, or Followers of Baal Beor; who, according to Dr. Middleton, was a god of the Moabites, the same with Priapus. (See Germana quædam monumenta, by Dr. Conyers Middleton, S. T. P. in quarto, page 65, with two monuments elegantly engraved of Βαλλοκ-πεγω.) The Doctor says, from the authority of the Fathers, that he was the hobby-horse of the women of Israel, page 69.—That the new-married women had an Idolum Tentiginis, which our language is incapable of rendering; and, that they not only took great delight in getting astride of this idol, but they were enjoined to do so as a religious ceremony. The Doctor has given a description of one of these idols, which he has had the good fortune to see at Rome. As our Ladies are not under any obligation to practise all the ceremonies of the Ladies of Israel, I am less concerned at my want of erudition to explain to them sufficiently the meaning of several of the Doctor's terms.
The idol's head is like the head of a cock, but instead of a beak, is a stupendous Fascinum: upon the base is inscribed, ΣΩΤΗΡ ΚΟΣΜΟΥ, the Saviour of the World.
I cannot believe (however respectable the authority) that the children of the Roman nobility wore the Fascinum about their necks: I do not mean that it is an unbecoming ornament; one may be easily convinced of the contrary, by casting an eye upon the two belonging to the Doctor and his friend Dr. Warren, with which, as I said before, he has obliged the Public, in his Genuine Antiquities; but, considering the ingenuity of the Romans, why might not their Fascinum be the same, and for the same purpose, as that of the Chinese!—If the Doctor had seen those of Mrs. Chenivix, he certainly would have been of another opinion. But what is the most remarkable of all is, that in the Chinese language Διλδω signifies a charm. A convincing argument of the weakness of an hypothesis, supported only by the etymology of words.
119
THE STUDENT OF LAW'S TALE;
OR THE CURE FOR SYMPATHY.
TALE VI.
Sign of the Lamb, near Ludgate, you may find,
The sign is emblem of the owner's mind.
Emanuel Cooper dwelleth in that place,
A Mercer, with an yvir smiling-face,
Speking so soft, and pityfull, and meek,
It seems he rather bleateth than doth speke;
All pepil that do pass he humbly greets,
Nay, when the wanton stops him in the streets,
Though he doth most abhor the harlot's waies,
That she will let him go, he softly praies;
Although she holds him fast he will not swear,
But, yvir-smiling, doth intreat her fair.—
He hath heard his Onkil say there is ne vice
He mote eschew like Harlotry and Dice;
Harlots make men unfit to get an heir,
And Dice consume all that the Harlots spare.
This Onkil is a Scriv'nir in the Strond,
Is rich, and lendeth money upon lond,
A batchellor, and old, and dredeful sly,
And trustith not to possibility:
For he will see Emanuel have a son,
Before he builds the house at Edmonton,
With golden letters wrote upon the wall,
Advising folk to name it Cooper-hall.
The sign is emblem of the owner's mind.
Emanuel Cooper dwelleth in that place,
A Mercer, with an yvir smiling-face,
Speking so soft, and pityfull, and meek,
It seems he rather bleateth than doth speke;
All pepil that do pass he humbly greets,
Nay, when the wanton stops him in the streets,
Though he doth most abhor the harlot's waies,
That she will let him go, he softly praies;
Although she holds him fast he will not swear,
But, yvir-smiling, doth intreat her fair.—
120
He mote eschew like Harlotry and Dice;
Harlots make men unfit to get an heir,
And Dice consume all that the Harlots spare.
This Onkil is a Scriv'nir in the Strond,
Is rich, and lendeth money upon lond,
A batchellor, and old, and dredeful sly,
And trustith not to possibility:
For he will see Emanuel have a son,
Before he builds the house at Edmonton,
With golden letters wrote upon the wall,
Advising folk to name it Cooper-hall.
The way Emanuel toke to get a wife
Is subject of this Tale, and best of all his life.
Emanuel hath near served out his years,
Having ne vice at all the Onkil fears;
Ne cause the Onkil hath to be afraid,
Vice hath he none, but craftyness of trade.
And now above a month his mastir's gone
To drink the rede cow's milk at Yslington,
And yvery day they loke for him to die
Of a Consomption and the Lipprosie;
And for that he doth trust Emanuel,
He leaveth him alone to buy and sell.
His Dame was brought up high, and knows not trade,
To an Earl's Countess was she waiting-maid;
Posys for rings contrives, and rhimes indites,
And can discourse either with Squires or Knights,
Having quaint terms and phrases to propound,
Which those that dwell by Poul's cannot expound.
But she hath long been very sick, and vows
How she hath got the sickness of her spouse;
Her Husband's kindred also do proclaim,
How he hath got the sickness of the Dame;
That she hath secret drogues, and but pretends
To use the drogues her Husband's doctor sends:
And so by following another course,
She is grown better, and the Husband worse.
His Doctor says, that she is whole and pure,
And doubteth not that he hath done the cure:
Her Spouse will not be cur'd, the Doctor sees,
Because of complication of disease.
Doctor and Isabell maintain it still,
That Isabell was smit by Richard's ill;
Richard rejoices she hath gained helth,
Maketh his will, and leaveth her his welth.
Is subject of this Tale, and best of all his life.
Emanuel hath near served out his years,
Having ne vice at all the Onkil fears;
Ne cause the Onkil hath to be afraid,
Vice hath he none, but craftyness of trade.
And now above a month his mastir's gone
To drink the rede cow's milk at Yslington,
And yvery day they loke for him to die
Of a Consomption and the Lipprosie;
121
He leaveth him alone to buy and sell.
His Dame was brought up high, and knows not trade,
To an Earl's Countess was she waiting-maid;
Posys for rings contrives, and rhimes indites,
And can discourse either with Squires or Knights,
Having quaint terms and phrases to propound,
Which those that dwell by Poul's cannot expound.
But she hath long been very sick, and vows
How she hath got the sickness of her spouse;
Her Husband's kindred also do proclaim,
How he hath got the sickness of the Dame;
That she hath secret drogues, and but pretends
To use the drogues her Husband's doctor sends:
And so by following another course,
She is grown better, and the Husband worse.
His Doctor says, that she is whole and pure,
And doubteth not that he hath done the cure:
Her Spouse will not be cur'd, the Doctor sees,
Because of complication of disease.
122
That Isabell was smit by Richard's ill;
Richard rejoices she hath gained helth,
Maketh his will, and leaveth her his welth.
Isabell's eye hath notic'd many a time,
Emanuel Cooper entering in his prime,
And hath delighted, many a time, to see
Soch perfect maiden-like simplicitie.
One evening in her chamber she will sup,
And bids the Maid to call Emanuel up;
Bloshing, and hanging down his heade, he comes,
Sitting him down, and loking at his thumbs.—
Upon the bed by her she makes him sit,
And helpeth him to yvery dainty bit;
Come, saies the Dame, filling a cup quite up,
Take off this wine, I will not bate a sup;
Unto my Mastir's helth, quoth he, and drinks it dry;
Lord, take his soul, saies she, and falls to cry,
Name him no more, for it will break my heart,
The Doctor saies, that he shall soon depart,
And also saies, that when my Spouse is slain
I shall not after him long time remain:
By sympathy his malady I have,
And sympathy shall join us in the grave:
The remedy for sympathy is sure,
But it is one I nivir will endure.
Quoth then Emanuel, weeping as he spoke,
Your case would pierce a heart, if it was oak;
Bot if you slay the life that you may spare,
It is a sin as dedely as despair.
You speke devout, quoth she, but Heaven's a friend
To all that mean no ill, when they offend.
Quoth he, that is but sotelty , I fear,
For where the law is plain, the fault is clear;
It is not written, that you shall not kill?
Therefor the crime is both in deed and will.
I do confess, quoth she, stroaking her ring,
Deep is the judgement of your reasoning.—
Besides, saies he, my Mastir may mend yet;
With that at once she falls into a fit,
Catches Emanuel by the hand, and saies,
For mercy's sake, Emanuel, cut my staies.
Emanuel takes a knife and cuts the string,
And Isabell about his waist doth cling:
Feel but my heart, saies she, how it doth beat,
Put in your hand, Emanuel, farther, sweet.
In sooth, quoth he, you are in piteous hap,
The maid had best come up:—I'll give a rap.
No, no, quoth she, I thank you for your love,
Sit down upon the bed, you shall not move;
Pity for me hath wrought in your distress,
Another cup will cure your hevyness.
The wine, to make it richer cordial,
Mingled the Dame Cantharides withall;
Emanuel drinks it up, the wine is choice,
Wipeth his mouth, and cleareth up his voice:
Madam, quoth he, if Heaven doth intend
To take away my Mastir, and my friend,
The bysness of the shop I'le undertake,
Both for your own, and for my Mastir's sake.
In that I am contented well, quoth she,
Could I but take the Cure for Sympathy:
It is a filthy cure—Emanuel, mark;
You may suppose yourself to be the spark:
Take a young spark, it says, and let him be
A maid and modest, not past twenty-three:—
From twenty-three shall he begin to count,
And do the deed till he to thirty mount;
And he must secret swear; and also both
Shall bind their member with a fearfull oath,
That neither he nor she shall find delite,
But do the act as if it was for spite.
Quoth then Emanuel, stiff as any stake,
For now the wine hath made him quite awake,
As to the maiden-term am not afraid;
As Blessed Mary, am I very maid;
I am but three and twenty yesterday;
But for the oath I know not what to say;
I am content myself it so should be,
If that the members also will agree.
That's in your power, saies she, there is no doubt,
If you'll not think of what you are about;
You must continue, when you are occupy'd,
To think of any other thing beside,
For instance; when you are arrived there,
Keep thinking of a rabbit or a hare—
And we need never feel, nor know no more
Than doth the shuttle-cock and battle-dore;
Without more words, this treaty shall have force,
And all the rest are only forms of course.
Leave we the parties interchangeably,
To take the solemn oath, and ratify.
They both went on, thinking and nothing saying,
Till the last payment of the sum was paying;
And then Emanuel cried out, I find
I cannot keep the hare within my mind;
When once you fall a spinning like a top,
Rabbit and hare out of my mind do hop.—
Go on, you fool, saies she, What makes you stop.
The sum is paid, yet still in bed they lay;
Her sympathy is not quite sweat away:
Up stairs the maiden comes, raps at the dore,
Shouting, my Mastir's dede for yvirmore;
His man from Yslington doth say, below,
That he went off as any child shall go.
Shout not, the Dame replies, I understand,
Holding Emanuel's handle in her hand:
Run to the Undertaker of our street;
I fear me Richard will not long keep sweet:
I go, quoth she, Emanuel, this day,
Too far for health to lose it in the way;
And as it needs must be provoking pain
To run this race of penitence again,
And as—your three and twentieth year is out,
It is but safe to take another bout:
If this had been but a pretence or trick,
She mote have pleaded false Arithmetick;
But, as she fairly own'd the whole receipt,
It's evident she had no design to cheat;
And so Emanuel, after some pause,
Mended the bill, and put in a new clause.—
Emanuel Cooper entering in his prime,
And hath delighted, many a time, to see
Soch perfect maiden-like simplicitie.
One evening in her chamber she will sup,
And bids the Maid to call Emanuel up;
Bloshing, and hanging down his heade, he comes,
Sitting him down, and loking at his thumbs.—
Upon the bed by her she makes him sit,
And helpeth him to yvery dainty bit;
Come, saies the Dame, filling a cup quite up,
Take off this wine, I will not bate a sup;
Unto my Mastir's helth, quoth he, and drinks it dry;
Lord, take his soul, saies she, and falls to cry,
Name him no more, for it will break my heart,
The Doctor saies, that he shall soon depart,
123
I shall not after him long time remain:
By sympathy his malady I have,
And sympathy shall join us in the grave:
The remedy for sympathy is sure,
But it is one I nivir will endure.
Quoth then Emanuel, weeping as he spoke,
Your case would pierce a heart, if it was oak;
Bot if you slay the life that you may spare,
It is a sin as dedely as despair.
You speke devout, quoth she, but Heaven's a friend
To all that mean no ill, when they offend.
Quoth he, that is but sotelty , I fear,
For where the law is plain, the fault is clear;
It is not written, that you shall not kill?
Therefor the crime is both in deed and will.
I do confess, quoth she, stroaking her ring,
Deep is the judgement of your reasoning.—
Besides, saies he, my Mastir may mend yet;
With that at once she falls into a fit,
124
For mercy's sake, Emanuel, cut my staies.
Emanuel takes a knife and cuts the string,
And Isabell about his waist doth cling:
Feel but my heart, saies she, how it doth beat,
Put in your hand, Emanuel, farther, sweet.
In sooth, quoth he, you are in piteous hap,
The maid had best come up:—I'll give a rap.
No, no, quoth she, I thank you for your love,
Sit down upon the bed, you shall not move;
Pity for me hath wrought in your distress,
Another cup will cure your hevyness.
The wine, to make it richer cordial,
Mingled the Dame Cantharides withall;
Emanuel drinks it up, the wine is choice,
Wipeth his mouth, and cleareth up his voice:
Madam, quoth he, if Heaven doth intend
To take away my Mastir, and my friend,
The bysness of the shop I'le undertake,
Both for your own, and for my Mastir's sake.
In that I am contented well, quoth she,
Could I but take the Cure for Sympathy:
125
You may suppose yourself to be the spark:
Take a young spark, it says, and let him be
A maid and modest, not past twenty-three:—
From twenty-three shall he begin to count,
And do the deed till he to thirty mount;
And he must secret swear; and also both
Shall bind their member with a fearfull oath,
That neither he nor she shall find delite,
But do the act as if it was for spite.
Quoth then Emanuel, stiff as any stake,
For now the wine hath made him quite awake,
As to the maiden-term am not afraid;
As Blessed Mary, am I very maid;
I am but three and twenty yesterday;
But for the oath I know not what to say;
I am content myself it so should be,
If that the members also will agree.
That's in your power, saies she, there is no doubt,
If you'll not think of what you are about;
You must continue, when you are occupy'd,
To think of any other thing beside,
126
Keep thinking of a rabbit or a hare—
And we need never feel, nor know no more
Than doth the shuttle-cock and battle-dore;
Without more words, this treaty shall have force,
And all the rest are only forms of course.
Leave we the parties interchangeably,
To take the solemn oath, and ratify.
They both went on, thinking and nothing saying,
Till the last payment of the sum was paying;
And then Emanuel cried out, I find
I cannot keep the hare within my mind;
When once you fall a spinning like a top,
Rabbit and hare out of my mind do hop.—
Go on, you fool, saies she, What makes you stop.
The sum is paid, yet still in bed they lay;
Her sympathy is not quite sweat away:
Up stairs the maiden comes, raps at the dore,
Shouting, my Mastir's dede for yvirmore;
His man from Yslington doth say, below,
That he went off as any child shall go.
127
Holding Emanuel's handle in her hand:
Run to the Undertaker of our street;
I fear me Richard will not long keep sweet:
I go, quoth she, Emanuel, this day,
Too far for health to lose it in the way;
And as it needs must be provoking pain
To run this race of penitence again,
And as—your three and twentieth year is out,
It is but safe to take another bout:
If this had been but a pretence or trick,
She mote have pleaded false Arithmetick;
But, as she fairly own'd the whole receipt,
It's evident she had no design to cheat;
And so Emanuel, after some pause,
Mended the bill, and put in a new clause.—
I will not paint the dismal funeral,
The Wedo's lamentations tragical;
Whoso delighteth to depicture woe
Richly deserveth wretchedness allso:
Yet can I not describe, without a sigh,
The penalties that wait on perjury.
Emanuel is foresworn; it is his doom
To languish with one foot within the tomb:
For three whole moons in raging pain he lay—
The fourth the perjur'd limb is snatch'd away—
Heaven is appeas'd at last, Emanuel sound,
And for so small a loss glad to compound.
What great Philosophers observe is true,
Allthough a Member will not grow anew;
Yet, notwithstanding this, the member brother
Fares better for the absence of the other;
For, when they go together in a pair,
The next surviving brother is the heir;
But if they're single, and the right not plain,
The benefit devolves upon the brain;
And thus Emanuel, having need of it,
Receives a pritty legacy in wit:
He gives the Potiker and Surgeon fee
To keep the loss of Member secrecy.
The Wedo's lamentations tragical;
Whoso delighteth to depicture woe
Richly deserveth wretchedness allso:
Yet can I not describe, without a sigh,
The penalties that wait on perjury.
128
To languish with one foot within the tomb:
For three whole moons in raging pain he lay—
The fourth the perjur'd limb is snatch'd away—
Heaven is appeas'd at last, Emanuel sound,
And for so small a loss glad to compound.
What great Philosophers observe is true,
Allthough a Member will not grow anew;
Yet, notwithstanding this, the member brother
Fares better for the absence of the other;
For, when they go together in a pair,
The next surviving brother is the heir;
But if they're single, and the right not plain,
The benefit devolves upon the brain;
And thus Emanuel, having need of it,
Receives a pritty legacy in wit:
He gives the Potiker and Surgeon fee
To keep the loss of Member secrecy.
No longer to the Chainge Emanuel resorts,
He is allwaies at the Stews and Inns of Courts;
He drinks and beats the Watch, lies out anights,
Living with Lawyers Clerks and wicked Wights.—
In greatest grief is interval of ease;
One day the Wedoe seizeth one of these,
Calleth Emanuel, sheweth plain the case,
How, from the lewdness of his last embrace,
It happens that she is not healid quite—
Trie to be more compos'd, saies she to-night.
Compos'd! Emanuel saith, it cannot be;
With you I needs must feel felicitie.
To do an act like this from generous sense,
Without desire, is true benevolence:
Benevolence belongs to marry'd life;
'Tis what the Law bestows upon a Wife.
Benevolence, for Lawyers various speak,
Some say is once a month, some once a week;
However, from the whole, it doth appear,
One should not put it off beyond the year.
I own there is another sentiment,
That once in a whole life-time is sufficient.
Benevolence, say these puzzlers and confounders,
Is just the same as riding of the bounders.
Emanuel, quoth she, I cannot guess,
Whether your Modesty or Wit is less;
Wit, in a Mercer, is both sin and shame;
Return it to the stews, from whence it came.—
I value, not, quoth he, your wipes a straw—
I find great use in studying of the Law:
And now observe—To all and singular,
Emanuel Cooper hereby doth declare,
By virtue of Recovery and Surrender,
It is agreed between him and his Member,
That he, the said Emanuel, shall direct,
And, for the future, shew him no respect;
And he, the said Emanuel, doth disclaim
All further sinfull knowledge of his Dame,
In any fashion, or in any place,
At any time, or upon any case:
Provided, and it is hereby agreed,
If he and she to marrying accede,
This shall by no means hinder the good man,
Then and at all times, to perform the best he can.—
He is allwaies at the Stews and Inns of Courts;
He drinks and beats the Watch, lies out anights,
Living with Lawyers Clerks and wicked Wights.—
129
One day the Wedoe seizeth one of these,
Calleth Emanuel, sheweth plain the case,
How, from the lewdness of his last embrace,
It happens that she is not healid quite—
Trie to be more compos'd, saies she to-night.
Compos'd! Emanuel saith, it cannot be;
With you I needs must feel felicitie.
To do an act like this from generous sense,
Without desire, is true benevolence:
Benevolence belongs to marry'd life;
'Tis what the Law bestows upon a Wife.
Benevolence, for Lawyers various speak,
Some say is once a month, some once a week;
However, from the whole, it doth appear,
One should not put it off beyond the year.
I own there is another sentiment,
That once in a whole life-time is sufficient.
Benevolence, say these puzzlers and confounders,
Is just the same as riding of the bounders.
Emanuel, quoth she, I cannot guess,
Whether your Modesty or Wit is less;
130
Return it to the stews, from whence it came.—
I value, not, quoth he, your wipes a straw—
I find great use in studying of the Law:
And now observe—To all and singular,
Emanuel Cooper hereby doth declare,
By virtue of Recovery and Surrender,
It is agreed between him and his Member,
That he, the said Emanuel, shall direct,
And, for the future, shew him no respect;
And he, the said Emanuel, doth disclaim
All further sinfull knowledge of his Dame,
In any fashion, or in any place,
At any time, or upon any case:
Provided, and it is hereby agreed,
If he and she to marrying accede,
This shall by no means hinder the good man,
Then and at all times, to perform the best he can.—
This crafty Covenant between these twain,
Hath made the Wedo think till thinking's vain;
And finding now no hope on other score,
Resolves at once, and doubteth nivir more—
Calleth her friends, maketh for life the lease,
And sleepeth with Emanuel in peace;
And, to complete his and the Onkil's joy,
Bringeth him once a year a curios boy;
And now the Onkil's dead, and they have all
And keep their Christenmas at Cowper-hall.
Hath made the Wedo think till thinking's vain;
And finding now no hope on other score,
Resolves at once, and doubteth nivir more—
131
And sleepeth with Emanuel in peace;
And, to complete his and the Onkil's joy,
Bringeth him once a year a curios boy;
And now the Onkil's dead, and they have all
And keep their Christenmas at Cowper-hall.
| The Works of John Hall-Stevenson | |