Part 13

And to gyve knowledge for theyr hyther resorte We wolde thys afore proclaymed to be, To all our people, by some one of thys sorte,[105] Whome we lyste to choyse here amongest all ye. 95 Wherfore eche man avaunce, and we shal se Whyche of you is moste mete to be our cryer.

_Here entreth_ MERY-REPORTE.

_Mery-reporte._ Brother,[106] holde up your torche a lytell hyer! Now, I beseche you, my lorde, loke on me furste. I truste your lordshyp shall not fynde me the wurste. 100

_Jupyter._ Why! what arte thou that approchyst so ny?

_Mery-reporte._ Forsothe, and please your lordshyppe, it is I.

_Jupyter._ All that we knowe very well, But what I?

_Mery-reporte._ What I? Some saye I am I perse I.[107] But, what maner I so ever be I, 105 I assure your good lordshyp, I am I.

_Jupyter._ What maner man arte thou, shewe quickely. A iii _b_

_Mery-reporte._ By god, a poore gentylman, dwellyth hereby.

_Jupyter._ A gentylman! Thyselfe bryngeth wytnes naye, Both in thy lyght behavour and araye. 110 But what arte thou called where thou dost resorte?

_Mery-reporte._ Forsoth, my lorde, mayster Mery-reporte.

_Jupyter._ Thou arte no mete man in our bysynes, For thyne apparence is of to mych lyghtnes.

_Mery-reporte._ Why, can not your lordshyp lyke my maner 115 Myne apparell, nor my name nother?

_Jupyter._ To nother of all we have devocyon.

_Mery-reporte._ A proper lycklyhod of promocyon! Well, than, as wyse as ye seme to be, Yet can ye se no wysdome in me. 120 But syns ye dysprayse me for so lyghte an elfe, I praye you gyve me leve to prayse my-selfe: And, for the fyrste parte, I wyll begyn In my behavour at my commynge in, Wherin I thynke I have lytell offendyd, 125 For, sewer, my curtesy coulde not be amendyd; And, as for my sewt your servaunt to be, Myghte yll have bene myst for your honeste; For, as I be saved, yf I shall not lye, I saw no man sew for the offyce but I! 130 Wherfore yf ye take me not or I go, Ye must anone, whether ye wyll or no. And syns your entent is but for the wethers, What skyls[108] our apparell to be fryse[109] or fethers? I thynke it wisdome, syns no man forbad it, 135 With thys to spare a better--yf I had it! And, for my name, reportyng alwaye trewly, What hurte to reporte a sad mater merely? As, by occasyon, for the same entent, To a serteyne wedow thys daye was I sent, 140 Whose husbande departyd wythout her wyttynge, A specyall good lover and she hys owne swettynge![110] To whome, at my commyng, I caste suche a fygure, Mynglynge the mater accordynge to my nature, That when we departyd,[111] above al other thynges, 145 She thanked me hartely for my mery tydynges! And yf I had not handled yt merely, A iv Perchaunce she myght have taken yt hevely; But in suche facyon I conjured and bounde her, That I left her meryer then I founde her! 150 What man may compare to showe the lyke comforte That dayly is shewed by me, Mery-reporte? And, for your purpose, at this tyme ment, For all wethers I am so indyfferent,[112] Without affeccyon, standynge so up-ryght, 155 Son-lyght, mone-lyght, ster-lyght, twy-light, torch-light, Cold, hete, moyst, drye, hayle, rayne, frost, snow, lightnyng, thunder, Cloudy, mysty, wyndy, fayre, fowle, above hed or under, Temperate or dystemperate, whatever yt be, I promyse your lordshyp, all is one to me. 160

_Jupyter._ Well, sonne, consydrynge thyne indyfferency, And partely the rest of thy declaracyon, We make the our servaunte and immediately Well woll thou departe and cause proclamacyon, Publyshynge our pleasure to every nacyon, 165 Whyche thynge ons done, wyth all dylygens, Make thy returne agayne to this presens,

Here to receyve all sewters of eche degre; And suche as to the may seme moste metely, We wyll thou brynge them before our majeste, 170 And for the rest, that be not so worthy, Make thou reporte to us effectually, So that we may heare eche maner sewte at large. Thus se thow departe and loke uppon thy charge!

_Mery-reporte._ Now, good my lorde god, our lady be wyth ye! 175 Frendes, a fellyshyppe,[113] let me go by ye! Thynke ye I may stande thrustyng amonge you there? Nay, by god, I muste thruste aboute other gere!

MERY-REPORTE _goeth out_.

_At thende[114] of this staf[115] the god hath a song played in his trone or_ MERY-REPORTE _come in_.

_Jupiter._ Now, syns we have thus farre set forth our purpose, A whyle we woll wythdraw our godly presens, 180 To embold all such more playnely to dysclose, As here wyll attende, in our foresayd pretens. And now, accordynge to your obedyens, A iv _b_ Rejoyce ye in us with joy most joyfully, And we our-selfe shall joy in our owne glory! 185 [JUPITER _here closes the curtains of his throne_.]

MERY-REPORTE _cometh in_.

_Mery-reporte._ Now, syrs, take hede! for here cometh goddes servaunt! Avaunt! carte[r]ly keytyfs,[116] avaunt! Why, ye dronken horesons, wyll yt not be? By your fayth, have ye nother cap nor kne? Not one of you that wyll make curtsy 190 To me, that am squyre for goddes precyous body? Regarde ye nothynge myne authoryte? No welcome home! nor where have ye be? How be yt, yf ye axyd, I coulde not well tell, But suer I thynke a thousande myle from hell, 195 And on my fayth, I thinke, in my consciens, I have been from hevyn as farre as heven is hens, At Lovyn,[117] at London and in Lombardy, At Baldock,[118] at Barfolde,[119] and in Barbary, At Canturbery, at Coventre, at Colchester, 200 At Wansworth and Welbecke,[120] at Westchester, At Fullam, at Faleborne, and at Fenlow, At Wallyngford, at Wakefeld, and at Waltamstow, At Tawnton, at Typtre[121] and at Totnam,[122] At Glouceter, at Gylford and at Gotham, 205 At Hartforde, at Harwyche, at Harowe on the hyll, At Sudbery,[123] Suth hampton, at Shoters Hyll,[124] At Walsingham, at Wyttam[125] and at Werwycke, At Boston, at Brystow[126] and at Berwycke, At Gravelyn,[127] at Gravesend, and at Glastynbery, 210 Ynge Gyngiang Jayberd the paryshe of Butsbery.[128] The devyll hym-selfe, wythout more leasure, Could not have gone halfe thus myche, I am sure! But, now I have warned[129] them, let them even chose; For, in fayth, I care not who wynne or lose. 215

_Here the gentylman before he cometh in bloweth his horne._

_Mery-reporte._ Now, by my trouth, this was a goodly hearyng. I went yt had ben the gentylwomans blowynge! But yt is not so, as I now suppose, For womens hornes sounde more in a mannys nose. 220

_Gentylman._ Stande ye mery, my frendes, everychone. B i

_Mery-reporte._ Say that to me and let the rest alone! Syr, ye be welcome, and all your meyny.

_Gentylman._ Now, in good sooth, my frende, god a mercy! And syns that I mete the here thus by chaunce, 225 I shall requyre the of further acqueyntaunce, And brevely to shew the, this is the mater. I come to sew to the great god Jupyter For helpe of thynges concernynge my recreacyon, Accordynge to his late proclamacyon. 230

_Mery-reporte._ Mary, and I am he that this must spede. But fyrste tell me what be ye in dede.

_Gentylman._ Forsoth, good frende, I am a gentylman.

_Mery-reporte._ A goodly occupacyon, by seynt Anne! On my fayth, your maship[130] hath a mery life. 235 But who maketh all these hornes, your self or your wife? Nay, even in earnest, I aske you this questyon.

_Gentylman._ Now, by my trouth, thou art a mery one.

_Mery-reporte._ In fayth, of us both I thynke never one sad, For I am not so mery but ye seme as mad! 240 But stande ye styll and take a lyttell payne, I wyll come to you, by and by, agayne. Now, gracyous god, yf your wyll so be, I pray ye, let me speke a worde wyth ye.

_Jupyter._ My sonne, say on! Let us here thy mynde. 245

_Mery-reporte._ My lord, there standeth a sewter even here behynde, A Gentylman, in yonder corner, And, as I thynke, his name is Mayster Horner A hunter he is, and cometh to make you sporte. He woide hunte a sow or twayne out of thys sorte.[131] 250

_Here he poynteth to the women._

_Jupyter._ What so ever his mynde be, let hym appere.

_Mery-reporte._ Now, good mayster Horner, I pray you come nere.

_Gentylman._ I am no horner, knave! I wyll thou know yt.

_Mery-reporte._ I thought ye had [been], for when ye dyd blow yt, Harde I never horeson make horne so goo. 255 As lefe ye kyste myne ars as blow my hole soo! Come on your way, before the God Jupyter, And there for your selfe ye shall be sewter.

_Gentylman._ Most myghty prynce and god of every nacyon, Pleaseth your hyghnes to vouchsave the herynge 260 Of me, whyche, accordynge to [y]our proclamacyon, B i _b_ Doth make apparaunce, in way of besechynge, Not sole for myself, but generally For all come of noble and auncyent stock, Whych sorte above all doth most thankfully 265 Dayly take payne for welth of the comen flocke, With dylygent study alway devysynge To kepe them in order and unyte, In peace to labour the encrees of theyr lyvynge, Wherby eche man may prosper in plente. 270 Wherfore, good god, this is our hole desyrynge, That for ease of our paynes, at tymes vacaunt, In our recreacyon, whyche chyefely is huntynge, It may please you to sende us wether pleasaunt, Drye and not mysty, the wynde calme and styll. 275 That after our houndes yournynge[132] so meryly, Chasynge the dere over dale and hyll, In herynge we may folow and to-comfort the cry.

_Jupyter._ Ryght well we do perceyve your hole request, Whyche shall not fayle to reste in memory, 280 Wherfore we wyll ye set your-selfe at rest, Tyll we have herde eche man indyfferently, And we shall take suche order, unyversally, As best may stande to our honour infynyte, For welth in commune and ech mannys synguler profyte. 285

_Gentylman._ In heven and yerth honoured be the name Of Jupyter, who of his godly goodnes Hath set this mater in so goodly frame, That every wyght shall have his desyre, doutles. And fyrst for us nobles and gentylmen, 290 I doute not, in his wysedome, to provyde Suche wether as in our huntynge, now and then, We may both teyse[133] and receyve[134] on every syde. Whyche thynge, ones had, for our seyd recreacyon, Shall greatly prevayle[135] you in preferrynge our helth 295 For what thynge more nedefull then our preservacyon, Beynge the weale and heddes of all comen welth?

_Mery-reporte._ Now I besech your mashyp, whose hed be you?

_Gentylman._ Whose hed am I? Thy hed. What seyst thou now?

_Mery-reporte._ Nay, I thynke yt very trew, so god me helpe! 300 For I have ever bene, of a lyttell whelpe, B ii So full of fansyes, and in so many fyttes, So many smale reasons, and in so many wyttes, That, even as I stande, I pray God I be dede, If ever I thought them all mete for one hede. 305 But syns I have one hed more then I knew, Blame not my rejoycynge,--I love all thinges new. And suer it is a treasour of heddes to have store: One feate can I now that I never coude before.

_Gentylman._ What is that?

_Mery-reporte._ By god, syns ye came hyther, 310 I can set my hedde and my tayle togyther. This hed shall save mony, by Saynt Mary, From hensforth I wyll no potycary; For at al tymys, when suche thynges shall myster My new hed shall geve myne olde tayle a glyster.[136] 315 And, after all this, then shall my hedde wayte Uppon my tayle, and there stande at receyte. Syr, for the reste I wyll not now move you, But, yf we lyve, ye shall smell how I love yow. And, sir, touchyng your sewt here, depart, when it please you For be ye suer, as I can I wyll ease you. 321

_Gentylman._ Then gyve me thy hande. That promyse I take. And yf for my sake any sewt thou do make, I promyse thy payne to be requyted More largely than now shall be recyted. 325

_Mery-reporte._ Alas, my necke! Goddes pyty, where is my hed? By Saynt Yve, I feare me I shall be deade. And yf I were, me-thynke yt were no wonder, Syns my hed and my body is so farre asonder,

_Entreth the_ MARCHAUNT.

Mayster person,[137] now welcome by my life! 330 I pray you, how doth my maistres, your wyfe?[138]

_Marchaunt._ Syr, for the presthod and wyfe that ye alledge I se ye speke more of dotage then knowledge. But let pas, syr, I wolde to you be sewter To brynge me, yf ye can, before Jupiter. 335

[_Mery-reporte._] Yes, Mary, can I, and wyll do yt in dede. Tary, and I shall make wey for your spede. [_Goes to_ JUPYTER.] In fayth, good lorde, yf it please your gracyous godshyp, I muste have a worde or twayne wyth your lordship. B ii _b_ Syr, yonder is a nother man in place, 340 Who maketh great sewt to speke wyth your grace. Your pleasure ones knowen, he commeth by and by.[139]

_Jupyter._ Bryng hym before our presens, sone, hardely.

_Mery-reporte._ Why! where be you? shall I not fynde ye? Come a-way, I pray god, the devyll blynde ye! 345

_Marchaunt._ Moste myghty prynce and lorde of lordes all, Right humbly besecheth your majeste Your marchaunt-men thorow the worlde all, That yt may please you, of your benygnyte, In the dayly daunger of our goodes and lyfe, 350 Fyrste to consyder the desert of our request, What welth we bryng the rest, to our great care & stryfe, And then to rewarde us as ye shall thynke best. What were the surplysage of eche commodyte, Whyche groweth and encreaseth in every lande, 355 Excepte exchaunge by suche men as we be? By wey of entercours, that lyeth on our hande[140] We fraught from home, thynges wherof there is plente; And home we brynge such thynges as there be scant. Who sholde afore us marchauntes accompted be? 360 For were not we, the worlde shuld wyshe and want In many thynges, whych now shall lack rehersall. And, brevely to conclude, we beseche your hyghnes That of the benefyte proclaymed in generall We may be parte-takers, for comen encres, 365 Stablyshynge wether thus, pleasynge your grace, Stormy, nor mysty, the wynde mesurable. That savely we may passe from place to place, Berynge our seylys for spede moste vayleable;[141] And also the wynde to chaunge and to turne, 370 Eest, West, North and South, as best may be set, In any one place not to longe to sojourne, For the length of our vyage may lese our market.

_Jupyter._ Right well have ye sayde, and we accept yt so, And so shall we rewarde you ere we go hens. 375 But ye muste take pacyens tyll we have harde mo,[142] That we may indyfferently gyve sentens. There may passe by us no spot of neglygence, But justely to judge eche thynge, so upryghte B iii That ech mans parte maye shyne in the selfe ryghte.[143] 380

_Mery-reporte._ Now, syr, by your fayth, yf ye shulde be sworne, Harde ye ever god speke so, syns ye were borne? So wysely, so gentylly hys wordes be showd!

_Marchaunt._ I thanke hys grace. My sewte is well bestowd.

_Mery-reporte._ Syr, what vyage entende ye nexte to go? 385

_Marchaunt._ I truste or myd-lente to be to Syo.[144]

_Mery-reporte._ Ha, ha! Is it your mynde to sayle at Syo? Nay, then, when ye wyll, byr lady, ye maye go, And let me alone with thys. Be of good chere! Ye maye truste me at Syo as well as here. 390 For though ye were fro me a thousande myle space, I wolde do as myche as ye were here in place, For, syns that from hens it is so farre thyther, I care not though ye never come agayne hyther.

_Marchaunt._ Syr, yf ye remember me, when tyme shall come, 395 Though I requyte not all, I shall deserve some. _Exeat_ MARCHAUNT.

_Mery-reporte._ Now, farre ye well, & god thanke you, by saynt Anne, I pray you, marke the fasshyon of thys honeste manne; He putteth me in more truste, at thys metynge here, Then he shall fynde cause why, thys twenty yere. 400

_Here entreth the_ RANGER.

_Ranger._ God be here, now Cryst kepe thys company!

_Mery-reporte._ In fayth, ye be welcome, evyn very skantely! Syr, for your comynge what is the mater?

_Ranger._ I wolde fayne speke with the god Jupyter.

_Mery-reporte._ That wyll not be, but ye may do thys-- 405 Tell me your mynde. I am an offycer of hys.

_Ranger._ Be ye so? Mary, I crye you marcy. Your maystership may say I am homely. But syns your mynde is to have reportyd The cause wherfore I am now resortyd, 410 Pleasyth your maystership it is so. I come for my-selfe and suche other mo, Rangers and kepers of certayne places, As forestes, parkes, purlews and chasys[145] Where we be chargyd with all maner game. 415 Smale in our profyte and great is our blame. Alas! For our wages, what be we the nere? What is forty shyllynges, or fyve marke, a yere? B iii _b_ Many tymes and oft, where we be flyttynge, We spende forty pens a pece at a syttinge. 420 Now for our vauntage, whyche chefely is wyndefale. That is ryght nought, there bloweth no wynde at all, Whyche is the thynge wherin we fynde most grefe, And cause for my commynge to sew for relefe, That the god, of pyty, al thys thynge knowynge, 425 May sende us good rage of blustryng and blowynge, And, yf I can not get god to do some good, I wolde hyer the devyll to runne thorow the wood, The rootes to turne up, the toppys to brynge under. A mischyefe upon them, and a wylde thunder! 430

_Mery-reporte._ Very well sayd, I set by your charyte As mych, in a maner, as by your honeste. I shall set you somwhat in ease anone. Ye shall putte on your cappe, when I am gone. For, I se, ye care not who wyn or lese, 435 So ye maye fynde meanys to wyn your fees.

_Ranger._ Syr, as in that, ye speke as it please ye. But let me speke with the god, yf it maye be. I pray you, lette me passe ye.

_Mery-reporte._ Why, nay, syr! By the masse, ye-- 440

_Ranger._ Then wyll I leve you evyn as I founde ye.

_Mery-reporte._ Go when ye wyll. No man here hath bounde ye.

_Here entreth the_ WATER MYLLER _and the_ RANGER _goth out_.

_Water Myller._ What the devyll shold skyl,[146] though all the world were dum, Syns in all our spekynge we never be harde? We crye out for rayne, the devyll sped drop wyll cum. 445 We water myllers be nothynge in regarde. No water have we to grynde at any stynt, The wynde is so stronge the rayne cannot fall, Whyche kepeth our myldams as drye as a flynt. We are undone, we grynde nothynge at all, 450 The greter is the pyte, as thynketh me. For what avayleth to eche man his corne, Tyll it be grounde by such men as we be? There is the loss, yf we be forborne.[147] For, touchynge our-selfes, we are but drudgys, 455 And very beggers save onely our tole, B iv Whiche is ryght smale and yet many grudges For gryste of a busshell to gyve a quarte bole.[148] Yet, were not reparacyons, we myght do wele. Our mylstons, our whele with her kogges, & our trindill[149] 460 Our floodgate, our mylpooll, our water whele, Our hopper,[150] our extre,[151] our yren spyndyll, In this and mych more so great is our charge, That we wolde not recke though no water ware, Save onely it toucheth eche man so large, 465 And ech for our neyghbour Cryste byddeth us care. Wherfore my conscience hath prycked me hyther, In thys to sewe, accordynge to the cry,[152] For plente of raine to the god Jupiter To whose presence I wyll go evyn boldely. 470

_Mery-reporte._ Sir, I dowt nothynge your audacyte, But I feare me ye lacke capacyte, For, yf ye were wyse, ye myghte well espye, How rudely ye erre from rewls of courtesye. What! ye come in revelynge and reheytynge,[153] 475 Evyn as a knave might go to a beare-beytynge!

_Water Myller._ All you bere recorde what favour I have! Herke, howe famylyerly he calleth me knave! Dowtles the gentylman is universall! But marke thys lesson, syr. You shulde never call 480 Your felow knave, nor your brother horeson; For nought can ye get by it, when ye have done.

_Mery-reporte._ Thou arte nother brother nor felowe to me, For I am goddes servaunt, mayst thou not se? Wolde ye presume to speke with the great god? 485 Nay, dyscrecyon and you be to farre od![154] Byr lady, these knaves must be tyed shorter.[155] Syr, who let you in? Spake ye with the porter?

_Water Myller._ Nay, by my trouth, nor wyth no nother man. Yet I saw you well, when I fyrst began. 490 How be it, so helpe me god and holydam,[156] I toke you but for a knave, as I am. But, mary, now, syns I knowe what ye be, I muste and wyll obey your authoryte. And yf I maye not speke wyth Jupiter 495 I beseche you be my solycyter. B iv _b_

_Mery-reporte._ As in that, I wyl be your well-wyller. I perceyve you be a water myller. And your hole desyre, as I take the mater, Is plente of rayne for encres of water. 500 The let wherof, ye affyrme determynately, Is onely the wynde, your mortall enemy.

_Water Myller._ Trouth it is, for it blowyth so alofte, We never have rayne, or, at the most, not ofte. Wherfore, I praye you, put the god in mynde 505 Clerely for ever to banysh the wynde.

_Here entreth the_ WYNDE MYLLER.

_Wynde Myller._ How! Is all the wether gone or I come? For the passyon of god, helpe me to some. I am a wynd-miller, as many mo be. No wretch in wretchydnes so wrechyd as we! 510 The hole sorte[157] of my crafte be all mard at onys, The wynde is so weyke it sturryth not our stonys, Nor skantely can shatter[158] the shyttyn sayle That hangeth shatterynge[159] at a womans tayle. The rayne never resteth, so longe be the showres, 515 From tyme of begynnyng tyl foure & twenty howres; And, ende whan it shall, at nyght or at none, An-other begynneth as soone as that is done. Such revell of rayne ye knowe well inough, Destroyeth the wynde, be it never so rough, 520 Wherby, syns our myllys be come to styll standynge, Now maye we wynd-myllers go evyn to hangynge. A myller! with a moryn[160] and a myschyefe! Who wolde be a myller? As good be a thefe! Yet in tyme past, when gryndynge was plente, 525 Who were so lyke goddys felows as we? As faste as god made corne, we myllers made meale. Whyche myght be best forborne[161] for comyn weale? But let that gere passe, for I feare our pryde Is cause of the care whyche god doth us provyde. 530 Wherfore I submyt me, entendynge to se What comforte may come by humylyte. And, now, at thys tyme, they sayd in the crye, The god is come downe to shape remedye.