active 1559-1577 John Awdelay

As wel of ruflyng Vacabondes, as of beggerly, of women as of men, of Gyrles as of Boyes,
with
their proper names and qualities.
With a description of the crafty company of
Cousoners and Shifters.
¶ Wherunto also is adioyned
the .xxv. Orders of Knaues,
otherwyse called
a Quartern of Knaues.
Confirmed for euer by Cocke Lorell.

( * )

¶ The Vprightman speaketh.

¶Our Brotherhood44 of Vacabondes, If you would know where dwell: In graues end Barge which syldome standes, The talke wyll shew ryght well.

¶ Cocke Lorell aunswereth.

¶Some orders of my Knaues also In that Barge shall ye fynde: For no where shall ye walke I trow, But ye shall see their kynde.

¶ Imprinted at London by Iohn Awdeley, dwellyng in little Britayne streete without Aldersgate.
1575.

44 Orig. Brothethood.

AN Abraham man is he that walketh bare armed, and bare legged, and fayneth hym selfe mad, and caryeth a packe of wool, or a stycke with baken on it, or such lyke toy, and nameth himselfe poore Tom.

¶ A RUFFELER.

A Ruffeler goeth wyth a weapon to seeke seruice, saying he hath bene a Seruitor in the wars, and beggeth for his reliefe. But his chiefest trade is to robbe poore wayfaring men and market women.

¶ A PRYGMAN.

A Prygman goeth with a stycke in hys hand like an idle person. His propertye is to steale cloathes of the hedge, which they call storing of the Rogeman: or els filtch Poultry, carying them to the Alehouse, whych they call the Bowsyng In, & ther syt playing at cardes and dice, tyl that is spent which they haue so fylched. {4}

¶ A WHIPIACKE.

A Whypiacke is one, that by coulor of a counterfaite Lisence (which they call a Gybe, and the seales they cal Iarckes) doth vse to beg lyke a Maryner, But hys chiefest trade is to rob Bowthes in a Faire, or to pilfer ware from staules, which they cal heauing of the Bowth.

¶ A FRATER.

A Frater goeth wyth a like Lisence to beg for some Spittlehouse or Hospital. Their pray is commonly vpon [leaf 2?b.] poore women as they go and come to the Markets.

¶ A QUIRE BIRD.

A Quire bird is one that came lately out of prison, & goeth to seeke seruice. He is commonly a stealer of Horses, which they terme a Priggar of Paulfreys.

¶ AN VPRIGHT MAN.

An Vpright man is one that goeth wyth the trunchion of a staffe, which staffe they cal a Filtchman. This man is of so much authority, that meeting with any of his profession, he may cal them to accompt, & commaund a share or snap vnto him selfe, of al that they haue gained by their trade in one moneth. And if he doo them wrong, they haue no remedy agaynst hym, no though he beate them, as he vseth commonly to do. He may also commaund any of their women, which they cal Doxies, to serue his turne. He hath ye chiefe place at any market walke, & other assembles, & is not of any be controled.

¶ A CURTALL.

A Curtall is much like to the Vpright man, but hys authority is not fully so great. He vseth commonly to go with a short cloke, like to grey Friers, & his woman with him in like liuery, which he calleth his Altham if she be hys wyfe, & if she be his harlot, she is called hys Doxy.

¶ A PALLIARD.

A Palliard is he that goeth in a patched cloke, and hys Doxy goeth in like apparell. {5}

¶ AN IRISHE TOYLE.

An Irishe toyle is he that carieth his ware in hys wallet, as laces, pins, poyntes, and such like. He vseth to shew no wares vntill he haue his almes. And if the good man and wyfe be not in the way, he procureth of the ch[i]lldren or seruants a fleece of wool, or the worth of xij.d. of some other thing, for a peniworth of his wares.

[leaf 3.]

¶ A IACK MAN.

A Iackeman is he that can write and reade, and somtime speake latin. He vseth to make counterfaite licences which they call Gybes, and sets to Seales, in their language called Iarkes.

¶ A SWYGMAN.

A Swygman goeth with a Pedlers pack.

¶ A WASHMAN.

A Washman is called a Palliard, but not of the right making. He vseth to lye in the hye way with lame or sore legs or armes to beg. These men ye right Pilliards wil often times spoile, but they dare not complayn. They be bitten with Spickworts, & somtime with rats bane.

¶ A TINKARD.

A Tinkard leaueth his bag a sweating at the Alehouse, which they terme their Bowsing In, and in the meane season goeth abrode a begging.

¶ A WYLDE ROGE.

A wilde Roge is he that hath no abiding place but by his coulour of going abrode to beg, is commonly to seeke some kinsman of his, and all that be of hys corporation be properly called Roges.

¶ A KITCHEN CO.

A Kitchin Co is called an ydle runagate Boy.

¶ A KITCHEN MORTES.

A Kitchin Mortes is a Gyrle, she is brought at her full age to the Vpryght man to be broken, and so she is called a Doxy, vntil she come to ye honor of an Altham. {6}

¶ DOXIES.

Note especially all which go abroade working laces and shirt stringes, they name them Doxies.

¶ A PATRIARKE CO.

A Patriarke Co doth make mariages, & that is vntill [leaf 3?b.] death depart the maried folke, which is after this sort: When they come to a dead Horse or any dead Catell, then they shake hands and so depart euery one of them a seuerall way.

---

A Curtesy man is one that walketh about the back lanes in London in the day time, and sometime in the broade streetes in the night season, and when he meeteth some handsome yong man clenly apareled, or some other honest Citizen, he maketh humble salutations and low curtesy, and sheweth him that he hath a worde or two to speake with his mastership. This child can behaue him selfe manerly, for he wyll desire him that he talketh withall, to take the vpper hand, and shew him much reuerence, and at last like his familier acquaintaunce will put on his cap, and walke syde by syde, and talke on this fashion: Oh syr, you seeme to be a man, and one that fauoureth men, and therefore I am the more bolder to breake my mind vnto your good maistership. Thus it is syr, ther is a certaine of vs (though I say it both taule and handsome men of theyr hands) which haue come lately from the wars, and as God knoweth haue nothing to take to, being both maisterles and moniles, & knowing no way wherby to yerne one peny. And further, wher as we haue bene welthely brought vp, and we also haue beene had in good estimation, we are a shamed now to declare our misery, and to fall a crauing as common Beggers, and as for to steale and robbe, (God is our record) it striketh vs to [leaf 4] the hart, to thinke of such a mischiefe, that euer any handsome man should fall into such a {7} daunger for thys worldly trash. Which if we had to suffise our want and necessity, we should neuer seeke thus shamefastly to craue on such good pityfull men as you seeme to be, neither yet so daungerously to hasarde our liues for so vyle a thing. Therefore good syr, as you seeme to be a handsome man your selfe, and also such a one as pitieth the miserable case of handsome men, as now your eyes and countenaunce sheweth to haue some pity vppon this my miserable complainte: So in Gods cause I require your maistershyp, & in the behalfe of my poore afflicted fellowes, which though here in sight they cry not with me to you, yet wheresouer they bee, I am sure they cry vnto God to moue the heartes of some good men to shew forth their liberality in this behalfe. All which & I with them craue now the same request at your good masterships hand. With these or such like words he frameth his talke. Now if the party (which he thus talketh withall) profereth hym a peny or .ii.d. he taketh it, but verye scornfully, and at last speaketh on this sorte: Well syr, your good will is not to be refused. But yet you shall vnderstand (good syr) that this is nothing for them, for whom I do thus shamefastly entreate. Alas syr, it is not a groate or .xii.d. I speake for, being such a company of Seruiters as wee haue bene: yet neuertheles God forbid I should not receiue your gentle offer at this time, hoping hereafter through your good motions to some such lyke good gentleman as you be, that I, or some of my fellowes in my place, shall finde the more liberality. These kind of ydle Vacabondes wyll go commonly well appareled, without [leaf 4 b.] any weapon, and in place where they meete together, as at their hosteryes or other places, they wyll beare the port of ryght good gentlemen, & some are the more trusted, but commonly thei pay them with stealing a paire of sheetes, or Couerlet, & so take their farewell earely in the morning, before the mayster or dame be sturring.

These commonly be such kinde of idle Vacabondes as scarcely a man shall discerne, they go so gorgeously, sometime with waiting men, and sometime without. Their trade is to walke in such places, where as gentelmen & other worshipfull Citizens do resorte, as at {8} Poules, or at Christes Hospital, & somtime at ye Royal exchaunge. These haue very many acquaintaunces, yea, and for the most part will acquaint them selues with euery man, and fayne a society, in one place or other. But chiefly they wil seeke their acquaintaunce of such (which they haue learned by diligent enquiring where they resort) as haue receyued some porcioun of money of their friends, as yong Gentlemen which are sent to London to study the lawes, or els some yong Marchant man or other kynde of Occupier, whose friendes hath geuen them a stock of mony45 to occupy withall. When they haue thus found out such a pray, they will find the meanes by theyr familiarity, as very curteously to bid him to breakefast at one place or other, where they are best acquainted, and closely amonge themselues wil appoint one of their Fraternity, which they call a Fyngerer, an olde beaten childe, not onely in such deceites, but also such a one as by his age is painted out with gray heares, wrinkled face, crooked back, and most commonly lame, as it might seeme with age, [leaf 5] yea and such a one as to shew a simplicity, shal weare a homely cloke and hat scarce worth .vi. d. This nimble fingred knight (being appointed to this place) commeth in as one not knowen of these Cheatours, but as vnwares shal sit down at the end of the bord where they syt, & call for his peny pot of wine, or a pinte of Ale, as the place serueth. Thus sitting as it were alone, mumblyng on a crust, or some such thing, these other yonckers wil finde some kind of mery talke with him, some times questioning wher he dwelleth, & sometimes enquiring what trade he vseth, which commonly he telleth them he vseth husbandry: & talking thus merely, at last they aske him, how sayest thou, Father, wylt thou play for thy breakfast with one of vs, that we may haue some pastime as we syt? Thys olde Karle makyng it straunge at the first saith: My maysters, ich am an old man, and halfe blinde, and can skyl of very few games, yet for that you seeme to be such good Gentelmen, as to profer to play for that of which you had no part, but onely I my selfe, and therefore of right ich am worthy to pay for it, I shal with al my hart fulfyl your request. And so falleth to play, somtime at Cardes, & sometime at dice. Which through his counterfait simplicity {9} in the play somtimes ouer counteth himself, or playeth somtimes against his wyl, so as he would not, & then counterfaiteth to be angry, and falleth to swearing, & so leesing that, profereth to play for a shillyng or two. The other therat hauing good sport, seming to mocke him, falleth againe to play, and so by their legerdemane, & counterfaiting, winneth ech of them a shilling or twain, & at last whispereth the yong man in the eare to play with hym also, that ech one might haue a fling at him. [leaf 5?b.] This yong man for company falleth againe to play also with the sayd Fyngerer, and winneth as the other did which when he had loste a noble or .vi. s. maketh as though he had lost al his mony, and falleth a intreating for parte thereof againe to bring him home, which the other knowing his mind and intent, stoutely denieth and iesteth, & scoffeth at him. This Fingerer seeming then to be in a rage, desireth them as they are true gentlemen, to tarry till he fetcheth more store of money, or els to point some place where they may meete. They seeming greedy hereof, promiseth faithfully and clappeth handes so to meete. They thus ticklyng the young man in the eare, willeth him to make as much money as he can, and they wil make as much as they can, and consent as though they wil play booty against him. But in the ende they so vse the matter, that both the young man leeseth his part, and, as it seemeth to him, they leesing theirs also, and so maketh as though they would fal together by the eares with this fingerer, which by one wyle or other at last conueyeth him selfe away, & they as it were raging lyke mad bedlams, one runneth one way, an other an other way, leauing the loser indeede all alone. Thus these Cheatours at their accustomed hosteries meete closely together, and there receiue ech one his part of this their vile spoyle. Of this fraternity there be that be called helpers, which commonly haunt tauernes or alehouses, and commeth in as men not acquainted with none in the companye, but spying them at any game, wil byd them God spede and God be at their game, and will so place him selfe that he will shew his fellow by sygnes and tokens, without speech commonly, but sometime with far fetched [leaf 6] wordes, what cardes he hath in his hand, and how he may play against him. And those betwene them both getteth money out of the others purse.

A Ryng faller is he that getteth fayre copper rings, some made like signets, & some after other fashions, very faire gylded, & walketh vp and down the streetes, til he spieth some man of the country, or some other simple body whom he thinketh he may deceaue, and so goeth a lyttle before him or them, and letteth fall one of these ringes, which when the party that commeth after spieth and taketh it vp, he hauing an eye backward, crieth halfe part, the party that taketh it vp, thinking it to be of great value, profereth him some money for his part, which he not fully denieth, but willeth him to come into some alehouse or tauerne, and there they will common vpon the matter. Which when they come in, and are set in some solitary place (as commonly they call for such a place) there he desireth the party that found the ring to shew it him. When he seeth it, he falleth a entreating the party that found it, and desireth him to take money for his part, and telleth him that if euer he may do him any frendship hereafter he shal commaund him, for he maketh as though he were very desirous to haue it. The symple man seeing him so importune vpon it, thinketh the ring to bee of great valure, and so is the more lother to part from it. At last this ring faller asketh him what he will geue him for his part, for, saith he, seeing you wyl not let me haue the ring, alowe me my part, and take you the ring. The other asketh what he counteth the ring to be worth, he answereth, v. or vi. pound. No, saith he, it is not so much worth. [leaf 6 b.] Well (saith this Ringfaller) let me haue it, and I wyll alow you .xl. s. for your part. The other party standyng in a doubt, and looking on the ryng, asketh if he wyll geue the money out of hand. The other answereth, he hath not so much ready mony about him, but he wil go fetch so much for him, if he wil go with him. The other that found the ring, thinking he meaneth truly, beginneth to profer him .xx. s. for his part, sometymes more, or les, which he verye scornfullye refuseth at the first, and styl entreateth that he might haue the ring, which maketh the other more fonder of it, and desireth him to take the money for his part, & so profereth him money. This ring faller seing y^e mony, maketh it very straunge, and first questioneth with him wher he dwelleth, and asketh him {11} what is his name, & telleth him that he semeth to be an honest man, and therfore he wil do somwhat for friendships sake, hoping to haue as friendly a pleasure at his hand hereafter, and so profereth hym for .x. s. more he should haue the ryng. At last, with entreatye on both partes, he geueth the Ring faller the money, and so departeth, thinkyng he hath gotten a very great Iewell. These kynde of deceyuing Vacabondes haue other practises with their rings, as somtimes to come to buy wares of mens Prentesies, and somtimes of their Maisters, and when he hath agreed of the price, he sayth he hath not so much money about him, but pulleth of one of these rings of from his fyngers, and profereth to leaue it in pawne, tyl his Maister or his friendes hath sene it, so promising to bring the money, the seller thinking he meaneth truly, letteth him go, and neuer seeth him after, tyll perhaps at Tyburne or at such lyke place. Ther is another kinde of [leaf 7] these Ring choppers, which commonly cary about them a faire gold ring in deede, and these haue other counterfait rings made so lyke this gold ring, as ye shal not perceiue the contrary, tyl it be brought to y^e touchstone. This child wyl come to borow mony of the right gold ring, the party mistrusting the Ring not to be good, goeth to the Goldsmith with the partye that hath the ryng, and tryeth it whether it be good golde, and also wayeth it to know how much it is worth. The Goldsmith tryeth it to be good gold, and also to haue hys ful weight like gold, and warenteth the party which shall lend the money that the ring is worth so much money according to the waight, this yoncker comming home with the party which shall lend the money, and hauing the gold ring againe, putteth vp the gold ring, and pulleth out a counterfaite ring very like the same, & so deliuereth it to the party which lendeth the money, they thinking it to be the same which they tryed, and so deliuereth the money or sometimes wares, and thus vily be deceiued.

TRoll and Trol by, is he that setteth naught by no man, nor no man by him. This is he that would beare rule in a place, and hath none authority nor thanke, & at last is thrust out of the doore like a knaue.

¶ To the ryght honorable and my singular good Lady, Elizabeth Countes of Shrewsbury, Thomas Harman wisheth all ioye and perfite felicitie, here and in the worlde to come.

AS of Auncient and longe tyme there hath bene, and is now at this present, many good, godly, profitable lawes and actes made and setforthe in this most noble and floryshynge realme, for the reliefe, succour, comforte, and sustentacion of the poore, nedy, impotent, and myserable creatures beinge and inhabiting in all parts of the same; So is there (ryghte honorable and myne especyall good Lady) most holsom estatutes, ordinances, and necessary lawes, made, setforth, and publisshed, for the extreme punishement of all vagarantes and sturdy vacabons, as passeth throughe and by all parts of this famous yle, most idelly and wyckedly: and I wel, by good experience, vnderstandinge and consideringe your most tender, pytyfull, gentle, and noble nature,—not onelye hauinge a vygelant and mercifull eye to your poore, indygente, and feable parishnores; yea, not onely in the parishe where your honour moste happely doth dwell, but also in others inuyroninge or nighe adioyning to the same; As also aboundantly powringe out dayely your ardent and bountifull charytie vppon all such as commeth for reliefe vnto your luckly gates,—

I thought it good, necessary, and my bounden dutye, to acquaynte your goodnes with the abhominable, wycked, and detestable behauor of all these rowsey, ragged rabblement of rakehelles, that—vnder the pretence of great misery, dyseases, and other innumerable calamites {20} whiche they fayne—through great hipocrisie do wyn and gayne great almes in all places where they wyly wander, to the vtter deludinge of the good geuers, deceauinge and impouerishing of all such poore housholders, both sicke and sore, as nether can or maye walke abroad for reliefe and comforte (where, in dede, most mercy is to be shewed). And for that I (most honorable Lady), beinge placed as a poore gentleman, haue kepte a house these twenty yeares, where vnto pouerty dayely hath and doth repayre, not without some reliefe, as my poore callinge and habylytie maye and doth extende: I haue of late yeares gathered a great suspition that all should not be well, and, as the prouerbe saythe, “sume thinge lurke and laye hyd that dyd not playnely apeare;” for I, hauinge more occation, throughe sickenes, to tary and remayne at home then I haue bene acustomed, do, by my there abyding, talke 46and confere dayly with many of these wyly wanderars of both sortes, as well men and wemmen, as boyes and gyrles, by whom I haue [leaf 2, back] gathered and vnderstande their depe dissimulation and detestable dealynge, beinge maruelous suttle and craftye in there kynde, for not one amongst twenty wyll discouer, eyther declare there scelorous secretes: yet with fayre flatteringe wordes, money, and good chere, I haue attained to the typ by such as the meanest of them hath wandred these xiii. yeares, and most xvi. and some twenty and upward,47 and not withoute faythfull promesse made vnto them neuer to discouer their names or any thinge they shewed me; for they would all saye, yf the vpright men should vnderstand thereof, they should not be only greuouslye beaten, but put in daunger of their lyues, by the sayd vpright men. There was a fewe yeares since a small brÉefe setforth of some zelous man to his countrey, of whom I knowe not, that made a lytle shewe of there names and vsage, and gaue a glymsinge lyghte, not sufficient to perswade of their peuishe peltinge and pickinge48 practyses, but well worthy of prayse. But (good madame), with nolesse trauell then good wyll, I haue repayred and rygged the Shyp of knowledge, and haue hoyssed vp the sayles of good fortune, that {21} she maye safely passe aboute and through all partes of this noble realme, and there make porte sale of her wyshed wares, to the confusion of their drowsey demener and vnlawfull language, pylfring pycking, wily wanderinge, and lykinge lechery, of all these rablement of rascales that raunges about al the costes of the same, So that their vndecent, dolefull dealing and execrable exercyses may apere to all as it were in a glasse, that therby the Iusticers and ShrÉeues may in their circutes be more vygelant to punishe these malefactores, and the Counstables, Bayliffes, and bosholders,49 settinge asyde all feare, slouth, and pytie, may be more circomspect in executing the charg geuen them by the aforesayd Iusticers. Then wyll no more this rascall rablement raunge about the countrey. Then greater reliefe may be shewed to the pouerty of eche parishe. Then shall we kepe our Horses in our pastures vnstolen. Then our lynnen clothes shall and maye lye safelye one our hedges vntouched. Then shall we not have our clothes and lynnen hoked out at our wyndowes as well by day as by night. Then shall we not haue our houses broken vp in the night, as of late one of my nyghtbors had and two great buckes of clothes stolen out, and most of the same fyne Lynnen. Then shall we safely kepe our pigges and poultrey from pylfring. Then shall we surely passe by 50the hygh waies leading to markets and fayres vnharmed. Then shall our Shopes and bothes be vnpycked and spoyled. Then shall these vncomly companies be dispersed and set to labour for their lyuinge, or hastely hang for [leaf 3] their demerites. Then shall it incourrage a great number of gentle men and others, seing this securitie, to set vp houses and kepe hospitalytie in the countrey, to the comfort of their nighboures, releife of the poore, and to the amendement of the common welth. Then shall not sinne and wickednes so much abound among vs. Then wil gods wrath be much the more pacified towards vs. Then shall we not tast of so many and sondry plages, as now dayely raigneth ouer vs. And then shall this Famous Empyre be in more welth and better florysh, to the inestymable ioye and comfort of the Quenes most excelent maiestye, whom god of his {22} infinyte goodnes, to his great glory, long and many yeares make most prosperously to raygne ouer vs, to the great Felycitye of all the Peres and Nobles, and to the vnspeakable ioye, releife, and quietnes of minde, of all her faythfull Commons and Subiectes. Now, me thinketh, I se how these peuysh, peruerse, and pestilent people begyn to freat, fume, sweare, and stare at this my booke, their lyfe being layd open and aparantly paynted out, that their confusion and end draweth one a pase. Where as in dede, if it be well waied, it is set forth for their synguler profyt and commoditie, for the sure safegard of their lyues here in this world, that they shorten not the same before51 their time, and that by their true labour and good lyfe, in the world to com they may saue their Soules, that Christ, the second person in [the] Trinytie, hath so derely bought with his most precious bloud: so that hereby I shall do them more good then they could haue deuised for them selues. For behold, their lyfe being so manyfest wycked and so aparantlye knowen, The honorable wyl abhore them, The worshipfull wyll reiecte them, The yemen wyll sharpely tawnte them, The Husband men vtterly defye them, The laboryng men bluntly chyde them, The wemen with a loud exclamation52 wonder at them, And all Children with clappinge handes crye out at them. I manye times musing with my selfe at these mischeuous misliuers, merueled when they toke their oryginall and beginning; how long they haue exercised their execrable wandring about. I thought it mÉete to confer with a very old man that I was well acquaynted with, whose wyt and memory is meruelous for his yeares, beinge about the age of fourescore, what he knewe when he was yonge of these lousey leuterars. And he shewed me, that when he was yonge he wayted vpon a man of much worshyp in Kent, who died immediatly after the last Duke of Buckingham was beheaded: at his buryall there was such a number of beggers, besides poore housholders dwelling there abouts, that vnneth they mighte lye or stande aboute the House: then was there [leaf 3, back] prepared for them a great and a large barne, and a great fat oxe sod out in Furmenty for them, with bread and drinke aboundantly to furnesh out the premisses; and euery person had two pence, for such was the {23} dole. When Night approched, the pore housholdere repaired home to their houses: the other wayfaring bold beggers remained alnight in the barne; and the same barne being serched with light in the night by this old man (and then yonge), with53 others, they tolde seuen score persons of men, euery of them hauing his woman, except it were two wemen that lay alone to gether for some especyall cause. Thus hauing their makes to make mery withall, the buriall was turned to bousing and belly chere, morning to myrth, fasting to feasting, prayer to pastyme and pressing of papes, and lamenting to Lechery. So that it may apere this vncomly company hath had a long continuance, but then nothinge geuen so much to pylferinge, pyckinge, and spoyling; and, as far as I can learne or vnderstand by the examination of a number of them, their languag—which they terme peddelars Frenche or Canting—began but within these xxx. yeeres,54 lytle aboue; and that the first inuenter therof was hanged, all saue the head; for that is the fynall end of them all, or els to dye of some filthy and horyble diseases: but much harme is don in the meane space by their continuance, as some x., xii., and xvi. yeares before they be consumed, and the number of them doth dayly renew. I hope their synne is now at the hyghest; and that as short and as spedy a redresse wylbe for these, as hath bene of late yeres for the wretched, wily, wandering vagabonds calling and naming them selues Egiptians, depely dissembling and long hyding and couering their depe, decetfull practises,—feding the rude common people, wholy addicted and geuen to nouelties, toyes, and new inuentions,—delyting them with the strangenes of the attyre of their heades, and practising paulmistrie to such as would know their fortunes: And, to be short, all theues and hores (as I may well wryt),—as some haue had true experience, a number can well wytnes, and a great sorte hath well felte it. And now (thankes bÉe to god), throughe wholsome lawes, and the due execution thereof, all be dispersed, banished,55 and the memory of them cleane extynguished; that when they bÉe once named here after, our Chyldren wyll muche meruell what kynd of people they were: and so, I trust, shal shortly happen of these. {24} For what thinge doth chiefely cause these rowsey rakehelles thus to continue and dayly increase? Surely a number of wicked parsons that kÉepe typlinge Houses in all shires, where they haue succour and reliefe; and what so euer they bring, they are sure to receaue money for [leaf 4] the same, for they sell good penyworthes. The byers haue the greatest gayne; yea, yf they haue nether money nor ware, they wylbe trusted; their credite is much. I haue taken a note of a good many of them, and wil send their names and dwelling-places to such Iusticers as dwelleth nere or next vnto them, that they by their good wisdomes may displace the same, and auctoryse such as haue honesty. I wyl not blot my boke with their names, because they be resident. But as for this fletinge Fellowshyp, I haue truly setforth the most part of them that be doers at this present, with their names that they be knowene by. Also, I haue placed in the end therof their leud language, calling the same pedlers French or Canting. And now shal I end my prologue, makinge true declaration (right honorable Lady) as they shal fall in order of their vntymelye tryfelinge time, leud lyfe, and pernitious practises, trusting that the same shall neyther trouble or abash your most tender, tymerous, and pytifull Nature, to thinke the smal mede should growe vnto you for such Almes so geuen. For god, our marcifull and most louing father, well knoweth your hartes and good intent,—the geuer neuer wanteth his reward, according to the sayinge of Saynt Augustyn: as there is (neyther shalbe) any synne vnpunished, euen so shall there not be eny good dede vnrewarded. But how comfortably speaketh Christ our Sauiour vnto vs in his gospel (“geue ye, and it shalbe geuen you againe”): behold farther, good Madam, that for a cup of colde water, Christ hath promised a good reward. Now saynt Austen properly declareth why Christ speaketh of colde water, because the poorest man that is shall not excuse him selfe from that cherytable warke, least he would, parauenture, saye that he hath neyther wood, pot, nor pan to warme any water with. Se, farther, what god speaketh in the mouth of his prophet, Esaye, “breake thy bread to him that is a hongred;” he sayth not geue him a hole lofe, for paraduenture the poore man hath it not to geue, then let him geue a pece. This much is sayd because the poore that hath it should not {25} be excused: now how much more then the riche? Thus you se, good
madam, for your treasure here dispersed, where nede and lacke
is, it shalbe heaped vp aboundantly for you in heauen,
where neither rust or moth shall corupt or destroy
the same. Vnto which tryumphant place, after
many good, happy, and fortunat yeres pros-
perouslye here dispended, you maye for
euer and euer there most ioyfully
remayne. A men.

46 leaf 2 b. Bodley edition (B).

47 The severe Act against vagrants, Ed. VI., c. 3, was passed in 1548, only 19 years before the date of this 2nd edition.

48 The 1573 edition reads pynking.

49 So printed in both 1567 editions. 1573 reads housholders; but Borsholders is doubtless meant.

50 leaf 3. B.

51 Printed “brfore”

52 reclamation. B.

53 The 1573 edition reads and

54 The 1573 edition here inserts the word or

55 vanished. B.

AL though, good Reader, I wright in plain termes—and not so playnly as truely—concerning the matter, meaning honestly to all men, and wyshe them as much good as to myne owne harte; yet, as there hathe bene, so there is nowe, and hereafter wylbe, curyous heds to finde faultes: wherefore I thought it necessary, now at this seconde Impression, to acquaynt the with a great faulte, as some takethe it, but none57 as I meane it, callinge these Vagabonds Cursetors in the intytelynge of my booke, as runneres or rangers aboute the countrey, deriued of this Laten word (Curro): neither do I wryght it Cooresetores, with a duble58 oo; or Cowresetors, with a w, which hath an other signification: is there no deuersite betwen a gardein and a garden, maynteynaunce and maintenance, Streytes and stretes? those that haue vnderstanding knowe there is a great dyfference: who is so ignorant by these dayes as knoweth not the meaning of a vagabone? and yf an ydell leuterar should be so called of eny man, would not he think it bothe odyous and reprochefull? wyll he not shonne the name? ye, and where as he maye and dare, with bent browes, wyll reueng that name of Ingnomy: yet this playne name vagabone is deryued, as others be, of Laten wordes, and now vse makes it commen to al men; but let vs loke back four .C. yeres sithens, and let vs se whether this playn word vagabon was vsed or no. I beleue not, and why? because I rede of no such name in the old estatutes of this realme, vnles it be in the margente of the booke, or in the Table, which in the collection and pryntinge was set in; but these were then the commen names of these leud leuterars, Faytores, Robardesmen, Drawlatches, and valyant beggares. Yf I should haue vsed suche wordes, or the same order of wryting, as this realme vsed in Kynge Henry the thyrd or Edward the fyrstes tyme, oh, what a grose, barberous fellow [leaf 5, back] haue we here! his wryting is both homely and darke, that wee had nede to haue an interpretar: yet then it was verye well, and in short season a great change we see. well, this delycat age shall haue his tyme on the {28} other syde. Eloquence haue I none; I neuer was acquaynted with the muses; I neuer tasted of Helycon. But accordinge to my playne order, I haue setforth this worke, symplye and truelye, with such vsual words and termes as is among vs wel known and frequented. So that as the prouerbe saythe, “all though truth be blamed, it shal neuer be shamed.” well, good reader, I meane not to be tedyous vnto the, but haue added fyue or sixe more tales, because some of them weare donn whyle my booke was fyrste in the presse; and as I truste I haue deserued no rebuke for my good wyll, euen so I desyre no prayse for my payne, cost, and trauell. But faithfullye for the proffyt and benyfyt of my countrey I haue don it, that the whole body of the Realme may se and vnderstand their leud lyfe and pernitious practisses, that all maye spedelye helpe to amend that is amysse. Amen saye all with me.

THE Rufflar, because he is first in degre of this odious order: And is so called in a statute made for the punishment of Vacabonds, In the xxvij. yeare of Kyng Henry the eight, late of most famous memory: HÉe shall be first placed, as the worthiest of this vnruly rablement. And he is so called when he goeth first abroad; eyther he hath serued in the warres, or els he hath bene a seruinge man; and, weary of well doing, shakinge of all payne, doth chuse him this ydle lyfe, and wretchedly wanders aboute the most shyres of this realme. And with stout audacyte, 60demaundeth where he thinketh hÉe maye be bolde, and circomspecte ynough, as he sethe cause to aske charitie, rufully and lamentably, that it would make a flyntey hart to relent, and pytie his miserable estate, howe he hath bene maymed and broused in the warres; and, parauenture, some wyll shew you some outward wounde, whiche he gotte at some dronken fraye, eyther haltinge of some preuye wounde festred with a fylthy firy flankard. For be well assured that the hardist souldiers be eyther slayne or maymed, eyther and61 they escape all hassardes, and retourne home agayne, if they bÉe without reliefe of their friends, they wyl surely desperatly robbe and steale, and62 eyther shortlye be hanged or miserably dye in pryson; for they be so much ashamed and disdayne to beg or aske charity, that rather they wyll as desperatlye fight for to lyue and mayntayne them selues, as manfully and valyantly they ventred them selues in the Prynces quarell. Now these Rufflars, the out castes of seruing men, when begginge or crauinge fayles, then they pycke and pylfer, from other inferiour beggeres that they mÉete by the waye, as Roages, Pallyardes, Mortes, and Doxes. Yea, if they mÉete with a woman alone ridinge to the market, eyther olde man or boye, that hÉe well knoweth wyll not resiste, such they filche and spoyle. These rufflars, after a yeare or two at the farthest, become vpryght men, vnlesse they be preuented by twind hempe.

{ I had of late yeares an old man to my tennant, who customably a greate tyme went twise in the wÉeke to London, eyther} wyth fruite or with pescodes, when tyme serued therefore. And as he was comminge homewarde on blacke heathe, at the end thereof next to shotars hyl, he ouer tooke two rufflars, the one manerly wayting on the other, as one had ben the maister, and the other the man or seruant, [leaf 6, back] caryinge his maisteres cloke. this olde man was verye glad that hee might haue their company ouer the hyl, because that day he had made a good market; for hÉe had seuen shyllinges in his purse, and a nolde angell, which this poore man had thought had not bene in his purse, for hÉe wylled his wyfe ouer night to take out the same angell, and laye it vp vntyll his comminge home agayne. And he verely thought that his wyfe had so don, whiche in dede for got to do it. Thus after salutations had, this maister rufflar entered into communication with this simple olde man, who, ridinge softlye beside them, commoned of many matters. Thus fedinge this old man with pleasaunt talke, vntyll they weare one the toppe of the hyll, where these rufflares might well beholde the coaste about them cleare, Quiclye stepes vnto this poore man, and taketh holde of his horse brydell, and leadeth him in to the wode, and demaundeth of him what and how much money he had in his purse. “Now, by my troth,” quoth this old man; “you are a merrye gentle man. I knowe you meane not to take a waye anye thinge from me, but rather to geue me some if I shoulde aske it of you.” By and by, this seruant thiefe casteth the cloke that he caried on his arme about this poore mans face, that he should not marke or vew them, with sharpe words to delyuer quicly that he had, and to confesse truly what was in his purse. This poore man, then all abashed, yelded, and confessed that he had but iust seuen shyllinges in his purse; and the trouth is he knew of no more. This old angell was falen out of a lytle purse into the botome of a great purse. Now, this seuen shyllings in whyte money they quickly founde, thinkinge in dede that there had bene no more; yet farther groping and searchinge, found this old angell. And with great admiration, this gentleman thyefe begane to blesse hym, sayinge, “good lorde, what a worlde is this! howe maye” (quoth hÉe) “a man beleue {31} or truste in the same? se you not” (quoth he) “this old knaue tolde me that he had but seuen shyllings, and here is more by an angell: what an old knaue and a false knaue haue we here!” quoth this rufflar; “oure lorde haue mercy on vs, wyll this worlde neuer be better?”—and there with went their waye. And lefte the olde man in the wood, doinge him no more harme. But sorowfully sighinge, this olde man, returning home, declared his misaduenture, with all the words and circumstaunces aboue shewed. Wherat, for the tyme was great laughing, and this poore man for his losses among his louing neighboures well considered in the end.

[leaf 7] A Vpright63 man, the second in secte of this vnsemely sorte, must be next placed, of these rainginge rablement of rascales; some be seruing men, artificers, and laboryng men traded vp in husbandry. These not mindinge to get their lyuinge with the swete of their face, but casting of all payne, wyll wander, after their wycked maner, through the most shyres of this realm,—

{As Sommerset shyre, Wylshire, Barke shyre, Oxforde shyre, Harfordeshyre, Myddilsex, Essex, Suffolke, Northfolke, Sussex,} Surrye, and Kent, as the cheyfe and best shyres of reliefe. Yea, not with out punishment by stockes, whyppinges, and imprisonment, in most of these places aboue sayde. Yet, not with standinge they haue so good lykinge in their lewed, lecherous loyteringe, that full quiclye all their punishmentes is64 for gotten. And repentaunce is neuer thought vpon vntyll they clyme thrÉe tres with a ladder. These vnrewly rascales, in their roylynge, disperse them selues into seuerall companyes, as occation serueth, sometyme more and somtyme lesse. As, if they repayre to a poore husbandmans house, hÉe wyll go a lone, or one with him, and stoutely demaund his charytie, eyther shewing how he hath serued in the warres, and their maymed, eyther that he sekethe seruice, and saythe that he woulde be glad to take payne for hys lyuinge, althoughe he meaneth nothinge lesse. {32} Yf he be offered any meate or drynke, he vtterlye refusethe scornefully, and wyll nought but money; and yf he espye yong pyges or pultry, he well noteth the place, and they the next night, or shortly after, hÉe wyll be sure to haue some of them, whyche they brynge to their stawlinge kens, which is their typplyng houses, as well knowen to them, according to the olde prouerbe, “as the begger knowes his dishe.” For you must vnderstand, euery Typplyng ale house wyll neyther receiue them or their wares, but some certayne houses in euery shyre, especially for that purpose, where they shalbe better welcome to them then honester men. For by such haue they most gayne, and shalbe conuayde eyther into some loft out of the waye, or other secret corner not commen to any other; and thether repayre, at accustomed tymes, their harlots, whiche they terme Mortes and Doxes,—not with emty hands; for they be as skilfull in picking, riffling, and filching as the vpright men, and nothing inferior to them in all kind of wyckednes, as in other places hereafter they shalbe touched. At these foresayde peltinge, peuish places and vnmannerly metinges, O! how the pottes walke about! their talking tounges talke at large. They bowle and bowse one to another, and for the tyme bousing belly chere. And after there ruysting recreation, [leaf 7, back] yf there be not rome ynough in the house, they haue cleane strawe in some barne or backehouse nere adioyning, where they couch comly to gether, and65 it were dogge and byche; and he that is hardyste maye haue his choyse, vnlesse for a lytle good maner; some wyll take there owne that they haue made promyse vnto, vntyll they be out of sight, and then, according to the old adage, “out of minde.” Yet these vpright men stand so much vpon their reputation, as they wyl in no case haue their wemen walke with them, but seperat them selues for a tyme, a moneth or more. And mete at fayres, or great markets, where they mete to pylfer and steale from staules, shoppes, or bothes. At these fayres the vpryght men vse commonly to lye and lingar in hye wayes by lanes, some prety way or distaunce from the place, by which wayes they be assured that compeny passeth styll two and fro. And ther they66 wyll demaund, with cap in hand and comly curtesy, the deuotion and charity of the people. They {33} haue ben much lately whipped at fayrs. Yf they aske at a stout yemans or farmars house his charity, they wyll goe strong as thre or foure in a company. Where for feare more then good wyll, they often haue reliefe. they syldome or neuer passe by a Iustices house, but haue by wayes, vnlesse he dwell alone, and but weakely manned; thether wyll they also go strong, after a slye, suttle sorte, as with their armes bounde vp with kercher or lyste, hauinge wrapte about the same filthy clothes, either their legges in such maner bewrapped halting down right. Not vnprouided of good codg[e]ls, which they cary to sustayne them, and, as they fayne, to kÉepe gogges67 from them, when they come to such good gentlemens houses. Yf any searche be made or they suspected for pylfring clothes of hedgges, or breaking of houses, which they commonly do when the owners bÉe eyther at the market, church, or other wayes occupyed aboute their busines,—eyther robbe some sely man or woman by the hye waye, as many tymes they do,—Then they hygh them into wodes, great thickets, and other ruffe corners, where they lye lurkinge thre or foure dayes to gether, and haue meate and drinke brought them by theyre Mortes, and Doxes; and whyle they thus lye hydden in couert, in the night they be not idle,—nether, as the common saying is, “well occupyed;” for then, as the wyly foxe, crepinge out of his den, seketh his praye for pultery, so do these for lynnen and any thinge els worth money, that lyeth about or near a house. As somtyme a whole bucke of clothes caryed awaye at a tyme. When they haue a greatter booty then they maye cary awaye quickly to their stawling kendes, as is aboue sayd, They wyll hyde the same for a thre dayes in some thicke couert, and [leaf 8] in the night time carye the same, lyke good water Spanlles, to their foresayd houses. To whom they wyll discouer where or in what places they had the same, where the markes shalbe pycked out cleane, and conuayed craftely fare of, to sell. If the man or woman of the house want money them selues. 68If these vpright men haue nether money nor wares, at these houses they shalbe trusted for their vitales, and it amount to twentye or thirty shyllings. Yea, if it fortune any of these vpright men to be taken, either suspected, or charged with fellony or petye {34} brybrye, don at such a tyme or such a place, he wyll saye he was in his hostes house. And if the man or wyfe of that house be examined by an officer, they boldelye vouche, that the[y] lodged him suche a tyme, whereby the truth cannot appeare. And if they chaunce to be retained into seruice, through their lamentable words, with any welthy man, They wyll tary but a smale tyme, either robbing his maister or som of his fellowes. And some of them vseth this polocye, that although they trauayle into al these shyres, aboue said, yet wyl they haue good credite, espiciallye in one shyre, where at diuers good farmars houses they be wel knowen, where they worke a moneth in a place or more, and wyll for that time behaue them selues very honestly and paynfully; And maye at any tyme, for their good vsage, haue worke of them; and to these at a ded lyft, or last refuge, they maye safely repayre vnto and be welcom, When in other places, for a knacke of knauery that they haue playd, thei dare not tary. These vpright men wil sildom or neuer want; for what is gotten by anye Mort, or Doxe, if it please him, hÉe doth comaunde the same. And if he mete any begger, whether he be sturdye or impotent, he wyll demaund of him, whether euer he was stalled to the roge or no. If he saye he was, he wyll know of whom, and his name that stalled hym. And if he be not learnedly able to shewe him the whole circumstaunce thereof, he wyll spoyle him of his money, either of his best garment, if it be worth any money, and haue him to the bowsing ken, Which is to some typpling house next adioyninge; and laieth their to gage the best thing that he hath for twenty pence or two shyllinges: this man obeyeth for feare of beating. Then doth this vpright man call for a gage of bowse, whiche is a quarte pot of drinke, and powres the same vpon his peld pate, adding these words:—“I. G. P. do stalle thÉe W. T. to the Roge, and that from hence forth it shall be lawefull for the to Cant”—that is, to aske or begge—“for thy liuing in al places.” Here you se that the vpright man is of great auctorite. For all sortes of beggers are obedient to his hests, and surmounteth all others in pylfring and stealinge. ¶ I lately had standinge in my [leaf 8, back] well house, which standeth on the backeside of my house, a great cawdron of copper, beinge then full of water, hauinge in the same halfe a doson {35} of pewter dyshes, well marked, and stamped with the connizance of my armes, whiche being well noted when they were taken out, were set a side, the water powred out, and my caudren taken awaye, being of such bygnes that one man, vnlesse he were of great strength, was not able far to cary the same. Not withstandinge, the same was one night within this two yeares conuayed more then half a myle from my house, into a commen or heth, And ther bestowed in a great firbushe. I then immediatly the next day sent one of my men to London, and there gaue warning in Sothwarke, kent strete, and Barmesey strÉete, to all the Tynckars there dwelling,—That if any such Caudron came thether to be sold, the bringar therof should be stayed, and promised twenty shyllings for a reward. I gaue also intelligence to the water men that kept the ferres, that no such vessel should be ether conuayd to London or into essex, promysing the lyke reward, to haue vnderstanding therof. This my doing was well vnderstand in many places about, and that the feare of espyinge so troubled the conscience of the stealer, that my caudoren laye vntouched in the thicke firbushe more then halfe a yeare after, which, by a great chaunce, was found by hunteres for conneys; for one chaunced to runne into the same bushe where my caudren was, and being perceaued, one thrust his staffe into the same bushe, and hyt my caudren a great blowe, the sound whereof dyd cause the man to thinke and hope that there was some great treasure hidden, wherby he thought to be the better whyle he lyued. And in farther searching he found my caudren; so had I the same agayne vnloked for.

THese hokers, or Angglers, be peryllous and most wicked knaues, and be deryued or procede forth from the vpright men; they commenly go in frese ierkynes and gally slopes, poynted benethe the kne; these when they practise there pylfringe, it is all by night; for, as they walke a day times from house to house, to demaund charite, they vigelantly marke where or in what place they maye attayne to there praye, casting there eyes vp to euery wyndow, well noting what they se their, whether apparell or linnen, hanginge nere vnto the sayde wyndowes, and that wyll they {36} be sure to haue the next night folowing; for they customably carry with them a staffe of v. or vi. foote long, in which, within one ynch of the tope therof, ys a lytle hole bored through, [leaf 9] in which hole they putte an yron hoke, and with the same they wyll pluck vnto them quickly any thing that they may reche ther with, which hoke in the day tyme they couertly cary about them, and is neuer sene or taken out till they come to the place where they worke there fete: such haue I sene at my house, and haue oft talked with them and haue handled ther staues, not then vnderstanding to what vse or intent they serued, although I hadde and perceiued, by there talke and behauiour, great lykelyhode of euyll suspition in them: they wyl ether leane vppon there staffe, to hyde the hole thereof, when they talke with you, or holde their hande vpon the hole; and what stuffe, either wollen or lynnen, they thus hoke out, they neuer carye the same forth with to their staulyng kens, but hides the same a iij. daies in some secret corner, and after conuayes the same to their houses abouesaid, where their host or hostys geueth them money for the same, but halfe the value that it is worth, or els their doxes shall a farre of sell the same at the like houses. I was credebly informed that a hoker came to a farmers house in the ded of the night, and putting back a drawe window of a low chamber, the bed standing hard by the sayd wyndow, in which laye three parsones (a man and two bygge boyes), this hoker with his staffe plucked of their garments which lay vpon them to kepe them warme, with the couerlet and shete, and lefte them lying a slepe naked sauing there shertes, and had a way all clene, and neuer could vnderstande where it became. I verely suppose that when they wer wel waked with cold, they suerly thought that Robin goodfelow (accordin?ge to the old saying) had bene with them that night.

A Roge is neither so stoute or hardy as the vpright man. Many of them will go fayntly and looke piteously when they sÉe, either mÉete any person, hauing a kercher, as white as my shooes, tyed about their head, with a short staffe in their hand, haltinge, although they nede not, requiring almes of such as they {37} mÉete, or to what house they shal com. But you may easely perceiue by their colour that thei cary both health and hipocrisie about them, wherby they get gaine, when others want that cannot fayne and dissemble. Others therebee that walke sturdely about the countrey, and faineth to seke a brother or kinsman of his, dwelling within som part of the shire;—ether that he hath a letter to deliuer to som honest housholder, dwelling out of an other Shyre, and will shewe you the same fayre sealed, with the superscription to [leaf 9, back] the partye he speaketh of, because you shall not thinke him to runne idelly about the countrey;—either haue they this shyfte, they wyll cary a cirtificate or pasport about them from som Iusticer of the peace, with his hand and seale vnto the same, howe hÉe hath bene whipped and punished for a vacabonde according to the lawes of this realme, and that he muste returne to .T., where he was borne or last dwelt, by a certayne daye lymited in the same, whiche shalbe a good longe daye. And all this fayned, bycause without feare they woulde wyckedly wander, and wyll renue the same where or when it pleasethe them; for they haue of their affinity that can wryte and read. These also wyll picke and steale as the vpright men, and hath their women and metinges at places apoynted, and nothinge to them inferiour in all kynde of knauery. There bÉe of these Roges Curtales, wearinge shorte clokes, that wyll chaunge their aparell, as occation seruethe. And their end is eyther hanginge, whiche they call trininge in their language, or die miserably of the pockes.

¶ There was not long sithens two Roges that alwaies did associate them selues together, and would neuer seperat them selues, vnles it were for some especiall causes, for they were sworn brothers, and were both of one age, and much like of favour: these two, trauelinge into east kent, resorted vnto an ale house there,69 being weried with traueling, saluting with short curtisey, when they came into the house, such as thei sawe sitting there, in whiche company was the parson of the parish; and callinge for a pot of the best ale, sat downe at the tables ende: the lykor liked them so well, that they had pot vpon pot, and sometyme, for a lytle good maner, would drinke and offer the cup to such as they best fancied; and to be short, they sat {38} out al the company, for eche man departed home aboute their busines. When they had well refreshed them selues, then these rowsy roges requested the good man of the house wyth his wyfe to sit downe and drinke with them, of whome they inquired what priest the same was, and where he dwelt: then they fayninge that they had an vncle a priest, and that he should dwel in these partes, which by all presumptions it should be he, and that they came of purpose to speake with hym, but because they had not sene hym sithens they were sixe yeares olde, they durst not be bold to take acquayntance of him vntyl they were farther instructed of the truth, and began to inquier of his name, and how longe he had dwelt there, and how farre his house was of from the place they were in: the good wyfe of the house, thynkinge them honest men without disceit, because they so farre enquyred of their kinseman, was but of a good zelous naturall intent, shewed them cherefully that hee [leaf 10] was an honest man and welbeloued in the parish, and of good welth, and had ben there resident xv. years at the least; “but,” saith she, “are you both brothers?” “yea, surely,” said they, “we haue bene both in one belly, and were twinnes.” “Mercy, god!” quoth this folish woman; “it may wel be, for ye be not much vnlike,”—and wente vnto her hall windowe, callinge these yong men vnto her, and loking out therat,70 pointed with her fingar and shewed them the house standing alone, no house nere the same by almoste a quarter of a myle; “that,” sayd71 she, “is your vncles house.” “Nay,” saith one of them, “he is not onely my vncle, but also my godfather.” “It may well be,” quoth she, “nature wyll bind him to be the better vnto you.” “Well,” quoth they, “we be weary, and meane not to trouble our vncle to-night; but to-morowe, god willinge, we wyll sÉe him and do our duty: but, I pray you, doth our vncle occupy husbandry? what company hath he in his house.” “Alas!” saith she, “but one old woman and a boy, he hath no occupying at al: tushe,” quoth this good wyfe, “you be mad men; go to him this night, for hÉe hath better lodging for you then I haue, and yet I speake folishly against my72 own profit, for by your taring73 here I should gaine the more by you.” “Now, by my troth,” quoth one of them, “we thanke {39} you, good hostes, for your holsome councell, and we meane to do as you wyll vs: we wyl pause a whyle, and by that tyme it wylbe almost night; and I praye you geue vs a reckeninge,”—so, manerly paying for that they toke, bad their hoste and hostes farewell with takinge leaue of the cup, marched merelye out of the dores towardes this parsones house, vewed the same well rounde about, and passed by two bowshotes of into a younge wodde, where they laye consultinge what they shoulde do vntyll midnight. Quoth one of them, of sharper wyt and subtyller then the other, to hys fellowe, “thou seest that this house is stone walled about, and that we cannot well breake in, in any parte thereof; thou seest also that the windowes be thicke of mullions, that ther is no kreping in betwene: wherefore we must of necessytie vse some policye when strength wil not serue. I haue a horse locke here about me,” saith he; “and this I hope shall serue oure turne.” So when it was aboute xii. of the clocke, they came to the house and lurked nere vnto his chamber wyndowe: the dog of the house barked a good, that with they74 noise, this priest waketh out of his slÉepe, and began to cough and hem: then one of these roges stepes forth nerer the window and maketh a ruful and pityful noise, requiring for Christ sake75 some reliefe, that was both hongry and thirstye, and was like to ly with out the dores all nighte and starue for colde, vnles he were releued by him with some small pece of money. “Where dwellest thou?” quoth this parson. “Alas! sir,” saithe this roge, “I haue smal [leaf 10, back] dwelling, and haue com out of my way; and I should now,” saith he, “go to any towne nowe at this time of night, they woulde set me in the stockes and punishe me.” “Well,” quoth this pitifull parson, “away from my house, either lye in some of my out houses vntyll the morning, and holde, here is a couple of pence for thÉe.” “A god rewarde you,” quoth this roge; “and in heauen may you finde it.” The parson openeth his wyndowe, and thrusteth out his arme to geue his almes to this Roge that came whining to receiue it, and quickly taketh holde of his hand, and calleth his fellowe to him, whiche was redye at hande with the horse locke, and clappeth the same about the wrest of his arme, that the mullions standing so close together for strength, that for his {40} life he could not plucke in his arme againe, and made him beleue, vnles he would at the least geue them .iii. li., they woulde smite of his arme from the body. So that this poore parson, in feare to lose his hand, called vp his olde woman that lay in the loft ouer him, and wylled her to take out all the money he had, which was iiij. markes, which he saide was all the money in his house, for he had lent vi. li. to one of his neighbours not iiij daies before. “Wel,” quoth they, “master parson, if you haue no more, vpon this condicion we wil take of the locke, that you will drinke .xij. pence for our sakes to-morow at the alehouse wher we found you, and thank the good wife for the good chere she made vs.” He promised faithfully that he would so do; so they toke of the locke, and went their way so farre ere it was daye, that the parson coulde neuer haue any vnderstanding more of them. Now this parson, sorowfully slumbering that night betwene feare and hope, thought it was but folly to make two sorrowes of one; he vsed contentacion for his remedy, not forgetting in the morning to performe his promise, but went betims to his neighbour that kept tiplinge, and asked angerly where the same two men were that dranke with her yester daye. “Which two men?” quoth this good wife. “The straungers that came in when I was at your house wyth my neighbores yesterday.” “What! your neuewes?” quoth she. “My neuewes?” quoth this parson; “I trowe thou art mad.” “Nay, by god!” quoth this good76 wife, “as sober as you; for they tolde me faithfully that you were their vncle: but, in fayth, are you not so in dede? for, by my trouth, they are strau[n]gers to me. I neuer saw them before.” “O, out vpon them!” quoth the parson; “they be false theues, and this night thei compelled me to geue them al the money in my house.” “Benedicite!” quoth this good wife, “and haue they so in dede? as I shall aunswere before god, one of them told me besides that you were godfather to him, and that he trusted to haue your blessinge before he departed.” “What! did he?” quoth this parson; “a halter blesse him for [leaf 11] me!” “Me thinketh, by the masse, by your countenance you loked so wildly when you came in,” quoth this good wife, “that somthing was amis.” “I vse not to gest,” {41} quoth this parson, “when I speake so earnestly.” “Why, all your sorrowes goe with it,” quoth this good wife, “and sitte downe here, and I will fil a freshe pot of ale shall make you mery agayne.” “Yea,” saith this parson, “fill in, and geue me some meat; for they made me sweare and promise them faithfully that I shoulde drinke xii. pence with you this day.” “What! dyd they?” quoth she; “now, by the mary masse, they be mery knaues. I warraunt you they meane to bye no land with your money; but how could they come into you in the night, your dores being shut fast? your house is very stronge.” Then this prason77 shewed her all the hole circumstance, how he gaue them his almes oute at the wyndowe, they78 made such lamentable crye that it pytied him at the hart; for he sawe but one when he put oute his hand at the windowe. “Be ruled by me,” quoth this good wyfe. “Wherin?” quoth this parson. “By my troth, neuer speake more of it: when they shal vnderstand of it in the parish, they wyll but laugh you to skorne.” 79†“Why, then,” quoth this parson, “the deuyll goe with it,”—and their an end.†

A Wilde Roge is he that is borne a Roge: he is a more subtil and more geuen by nature to all kinde of knauery then the other, as beastely begotten in barne or bushes, and from his infancye traded vp in trechery; yea, and before ripenes of yeares doth permyt, wallowinge in lewde lechery, but that is counted amongest them no sin. For this is their custome, that when they mete in barne at night, euery one getteth a make80 to lye wythall, and their chaunce to be twentye in a companye, as their is sometyme more and sometyme lesse: for to one man that goeth abroad, there are at the least two women, which neuer make it straunge when they be called, although she neuer knewe him before. Then when the day doth appeare, he rouses him vp, and shakes his eares, and awaye wanderinge where he may gette oughte to the hurte of others. Yet before he skyppeth oute of hys couche and departeth from his darling, if he like her well, he will apoint her where to mete shortlye {42} after, with a warninge to worke warely for some chetes, that their meting might be the merier.

¶ Not long sithens, a wild roge chaunced to mete a pore neighbour of mine, who for honesty and good natur surmounteth many. This poore man, riding homeward from London, where he had made his market, this [leaf 11, back] roge demaunded a peny for gods sake, to kepe him a true man. This simple man, beholding him wel, and sawe he was of taule personage with a good quarter staffe in his hand, it much pitied him, as he sayd, to se him want; for he was well able to serue his prince in the wars. Thus, being moued with pytie, and81 loked in his pursse to finde out a penye; and in loking for the same, he plucked oute viii. shyllinges in whyte money, and raked therin to finde a single peny; and at the last findinge one, doth offer the same to this wylde roge: but he, seinge so much mony in this simple mans hand, being striken to the hart with a couetous desire, bid him forth wyth delyuer al that he had, or els he woulde with his staffe beat out his braynes. For it was not a penye would now quench his thirst, 82‡seing so much as he dyd‡: thus, swallowinge his spittell gredely downe, spoyled this poore man of al the money that he had, and lept ouer the hedge into a thicke wode, and went his waye as merely as this good simple man came home sorowfully. I once rebuking a wyld roge because he went idelly about, he shewed me that he was a begger by enheritance—his Grandfather was a begger, his father was one, and he must nedes be one by good reason.

A Prigger of Prauncers be horse stealers; for to prigge signifieth in their language to steale, and a Prauncer is a horse: so beinge put together, the matter is83 playne. These go commonly in Ierkins of leatherr, or of white frese, and carry litle wands in their hands, and will walke through grounds and pastures, to search and se horses meete for their purpose. And if thei chaunce to be met and asked by the owners of the grounde what they make there, they fayne strayghte that they haue loste their waye, and {43} desyre to be enstructed the beste waye to such a place. These will also repayre to gentlemens houses and aske their charitye, and wyll offer their seruice. And if you aske them what they can do, they wyll saye that they can kepe two or thre Geldinges, and waite vppon a Gentleman. These haue also their women, that walkinge from them in other places, marke where and what they sÉe abroade, and sheweth these Priggars therof when they meete, which is with in a wÉeke or two. And loke, where they steale any thinge, they conuay the same at the least thre score miles of or more.

¶ There was a Gentleman, a verye friende of myne, rydyng from London homewarde into Kente, hauinge with in thrÉe myles of his house busynesse, alyghted of his horse, and his man also, in a pretye [leaf 12] vyllage, where diueres houses were, and looked aboute hym where he myghte haue a conuenient person to walke his horse, because hee would speake with a Farmer that dwelt on the backe side of the sayde village, lytle aboue a quarter of a myle from the place where he lighted, and had his man to waight vpon him, as it was mete for his callinge: espying a Pryggar there standing, thinking the same to dwell there, charging this prity prigginge person to walke his horse well, and that they might not stande styll for takyng of colde, and at his returne (which he saide should not be longe) he would geue hym a peny to drinke, and so wente aboute his busines. This peltynge Priggar, proude of his praye, walkethe his horse84 vp and downe tyll he sawe the Gentleman out of sighte, and leapes him into the saddell, and awaye he goeth a mayne. This Gentleman returninge, and findinge not his horses, sent his man to the one end of the vyllage, and he went himselfe vnto the other ende, and enquired as he went for his horses that were walked, and began some what to suspecte, because neither he nor his man could se nor find him. Then this Gentleman deligentlye enquired of thre or foure towne dwellers there whether any such person, declaring his stature,85 age, apparell, with so many linaments of his body as he could call to remembraunce. And, “vna voce,” all sayde that no such man dwelt in their streate, neither in the parish, that they knewe of; but some did wel remember that such a one they saw there lyrkinge and {44} huggeringe two houres before the Gentleman came thether, and a straunger to them. “I had thoughte,” quoth this Gentleman, “he had here dwelled,”—and marched home manerly in his botes: farre from the place he dwelt not. I suppose at his comming home he sente suche wayes as he suspected or thought mÉete to searche for this Prigger, but hetherto he neuer harde any tydinges agayne of his palfreys.—I had the best geldinge stolen oute of my pasture that I had amongst others whyle this boke was first a printinge.

THese Palliardes be called also Clapperdogens: these go with patched clokes, and haue their Morts with them, which they cal wiues; and if he goe to one house, to aske his almes, his wife shall goe to a nother: for what they get (as bread, chÉese, malte, and woll) they sell the same for redy money; for so they get more and if they went together. Although they be thus86 deuided in the daie, yet they mete iompe at night. Yf they chaunce to come to some gentylmans house standinge [leaf 12, back] a lone, and be demaunded whether they be man and wyfe, and if he perceaue that any doubteth thereof, he sheweth them a Testimonial with the ministers name, and others of the same parishe (naminge a parishe in some shere fare distant from the place where he sheweth the same). This writing he carieth to salue that sore. Ther be many Irishe men that goe about with counterfeate licenses; and if they perceiue you wil straytly examen them, they will immediatly saye they can speake no Englishe.

¶ Farther, vnderstand for trouth that the worst and wickedst of all this beastly generation are scarse comparable to these prating Pallyardes. All for the most parte of these wil either lay to their legs an herb called Sperewort, eyther Arsnicke, which is called Ratesbane. The nature of this Spereworte wyll rayse a great blister in a night vpon the soundest part of his body; and if the same be taken away, it wyl dry vp againe and no harme. But this Arsnicke will so poyson the same legge or sore, that it will euer after be incurable: this do they for gaine and to be pitied. The most of these that walke about be Walchmen.

SOme of these Fraters will cary blacke boxes at their gyrdel, wher in they haue a briefe of the Queenes maiesties letters patentes, geuen to suche87 poore spitlehouse for the reliefe of the poore there, whiche briefe is a coppie of the letters patentes, and vtterly fained, if it be in paper or in88 parchment without the great seale. Also, if the same brief be in printe,89 it is also of auctoritie. For the Printers wil sÉe and wel vnderstand, before it come in presse, that the same is lawfull. Also, I am credibly informed that the chiefe Proctors of manye of these houses, that seldome trauel abroad them selues, but haue their factors to gather for them, which looke very slenderly to the impotent and miserable creatures committed to their charge, and die for want of cherishing; wheras they and their wiues are wel crammed and clothed, and will haue of the best. And the founders of euery such house, or the chiefe of the parishe wher they be, woulde better sÉe vnto these Proctors, that they might do their duty, they should be wel spoken of here, and in the world to come aboundantly therefore rewarded. I had of late an honest man, and of good wealthe, repayred to my house to common wyth me aboute certeyne affaires. I inuited the same to dinner, and dinner beinge done, I demaunded of hym some newes of these90 parties were hee dwelte. “Thankes be to God, syr,” (saith he); “all is well and good now.” “Now!” (quoth I) “this same ‘nowe’ [leaf 13] declareth that some things of late hath not bene wel.” “Yes, syr,” (quoth he) “the91 matter is not great. I had thought I should haue bene wel beaten within this seuenth night.” “How so?” (quoth I). “Mary, syr,” sayd he, “I am Counstable for fault of a better, and was commaunded by the Iusticer to watch. The watch being set, I toke an honest man, one of my neighbors, with me, and went vp to the ende of the towne as far as the spittle house, at which house I heard a great noyse, and, drawing nere, stode close vnder the wall, and this was at one of the clocke after midnight.” {46} Where he harde swearinge, pratinge, and wagers laying, and the pot apase walkinge, and xl. pence gaged vpon a matche of wrastling, pitching of the barre, and casting of the sledge. And out they goe, in a fustian fume, into the backe syde, where was a great Axiltrye,92 and there fell to pitching of the barre, being thre to thre. The Moone dyd shine bright, the Counstable with his neighboure myght see and beholde all that was done. And howe the wyfe of the house was rostinge of a Pyg, whyle her gestes were in their matche. At the laste they coulde not agree vpon a caste, and fell at wordes, and from wordes to blowes. The Counstable with his93 fellowe runnes vnto them, to parte them, and in the partinge lyckes a drye blowe or two. Then the noyse increased; the Counstable woulde haue had them to94 the stockes. The wyfe of the house runnes out with her goodman to intreat the Counstable for her gestes, and leaues the Pyg at the fyre alone. In commeth two or thrÉe of the next neighboures, beinge waked wyth this noise, and into the house they come, and fynde none therein, but the Pygge well rosted, and carieth the same awaye wyth them, spyte and all, with suche breade and drinke also as stoode vpon the table. When the goodman and the goodwyfe of the house hadde intreated and pacified the Counstable, shewinge vnto him that they were Proctors and Factores all of Spyttell houses, and that they taryed there but to breake theyr fast, and woulde ryde awaye immediatelye after, for they had farre to goe, and therefore mente to ryde so earlye. And comminge into their house agayne, fyndinge the Pygge wyth bread and drincke all gonne, made a greate exclamation, for they knewe not who had the same.

¶ The Counstable returning and hearinge the lamentable wordes of the good wyfe, howe she had lost both meate and drinke, and sawe it was so in deede, hÉe laughed in his sleue, and commaunded her to dresse no more at vnlawfull houres for any gestes. For hÉe thought it better bestowed vppon those smell feastes his poore {47} neighboures then vppon suche sturdye Lubbares. The nexte mornynge betymes the [leaf 13, back] spitte and pottes were sette at the Spittle house doore for the owner. Thus were these Factours begyled of theyr breakefast, and one of them hadde well beaten an other; “And, by my trouth,” (quoth thys Counstable) “I was gladde when I was well ryd of them.” “Why,” quoth I, “coulde the[y] caste the barre and sledge well?” “I wyll tell you, syr,” (quoth hÉe) “you knowe there hath bene manye games this Sommer. I thinke verely, that if some of these Lubbars had bene there, and practysed amongest others, I beleue they woulde haue carryed awaye the beste games. For they were so stronge and sturdye, that I was not able to stande in their handes.” “Well” (quoth I) “at these games you speake of, both legges and armes bÉe tryed.” “Yea,” quoth this offycer, “they bÉe wycked men. I haue sÉene some of them sithens wyth cloutes bounde aboute theyr legges, and haltynge wyth their staffe in their handes. Wherefore some of theym, by GOD, bÉe nought all.”

THese Abrahom men be those that fayne themselues to haue beene mad, and haue bene kept eyther in Bethelem or in some other pryson a good tyme, and not one amongst twenty that euer came in pryson for any such cause: yet wyll they saye howe pitiously and most extreamely they haue bene beaten, and dealt with all. Some of these be merye and verye pleasant, they wyll daunce and sing; some others be as colde and reasonable to talke wyth all. These begge money; eyther when they come at Farmours howses they wyll demaunde Baken, eyther chÉese, or wooll, or any thinge that is worthe money. And if they espye small company within, they wyll with fierce countenaunce demaund some what. Where for feare the maydes wyll geue theym largely to be ryd of theym.

{¶ If they maye conuenyently come by any cheate, they wyl picke and steale, as the v[p]right man or Roge, poultrey or} lynnen. And all wemen that wander bÉe at their commaundemente. Of all that euer I saw of this kynde, one naminge him selfe Stradlynge is the craftiest and moste dyssemblyngest Knaue. {48} HÉe is able wyth hys tounge and vsage to deceaue and abuse the wysest man that is. And surely for the proporcion of his body, with euery member there vnto appertayninge, it cannot be a mended. But as the prouerbe is “God hath done his part.” Thys Stradlyng sayth he was the Lord Sturtons man; and when he was executed, for very pensiuenes of mynde, [leaf 14] he fell out of his wytte, and so continued a yeare after and more; and that with the very grÉefe and feare, he was taken wyth a marueilous palsey, that both head and handes wyll shake when he talketh, with anye and that a pase or fast, where by he is much pytied, and getteth greately. And if I had not demaunded of others, bothe men and women, that commonly walketh as he doth, and knowen by them his dÉepe dissimylation, I neuer hadde vnderstand the same. And thus I end wyth these kynde of vacabondes.

THese Freshwater Mariners, their shipes were drowned in the playne of Salisbery. These kynde of Caterpillers counterfet great losses on the sea; these bÉe some Western men, and most bÉe Irishe men. These wyll runne about the countrey wyth a counterfet lycence, fayninge either shypwracke, or spoyled by Pyrates, neare the coaste of Cornwall or Deuonshyre, and set a lande at some hauen towne there, hauynge a large and formall wrytinge, as is aboue sayd, with the names and seales of suche men of worshyppe, at the leaste foure or fiue, as dwelleth neare or next to the place where they fayne their landinge. And neare to those shieres wyll they not begge, vntyll they come into Wylshyre, Hamshyre, Barkeshyre, Oxfordshyre, Harfordshyre, Middelsex, and so95 to London, and downe by the ryuer to sÉeke for their shyppe and goods that they neuer hade: then passe they through Surrey, Sossex, by the sea costes, and so into Kent, demaunding almes to bring them home to their country.

¶ Some tyme they counterfet the seale of the Admiraltie. I haue diuers tymes taken a waye from them their lycences, of both sortes, wyth suche money as they haue gathered, and haue confiscated the same to the pouerty nigh adioyninge to me. And they wyll not {49} beelonge with out another. For at anye good towne they wyll renewe the same. Once wyth muche threatninge and faire promises, I required to knowe of one companye who made their lycence. And they sweare that they bought the same at Portsmouth, of a Mariner there, and it cost them96 two shillinges; with such warrantes to be so good and efectuall, that if any of the best men of lawe, or learned, aboute London, should peruse the same, they weare able to fynde no faute there with, but would assuredly allow the same.

97 This page is not in Bodley ed.

THese that do counterfet the Cranke be yong knaues and yonge harlots, that depely dissemble the falling sicknes. For the Cranke in their language is the falling euyll. I haue sÉene some of these with fayre writinges testimoniall, with the names and seales of some men of worshyp in Shropshyre, and in other Shieres farre of, that I haue well knowne, and haue taken the same from them. Many of these do go without writinges, and wyll go halfe naked, and looke most pitiously. And if any clothes be geuen them, the[y]99 immediatly sell the same, for weare it they wyll not, because they would bÉe the more pitied, and weare fylthy clothes on their heades, and neuer go without a pÉece of whyte sope about them, which, if they sÉe cause or present gains, they wyll priuely conuey the same into their mouth, and so worke the same there, that they wyll fome as it were a Boore, and maruelously for a tyme torment them selues; and thus deceiue they the common people, and gayne much. These haue commonly their harlots as the other.

Apon Alhollenday in the morning last Anno domini. 1566, or my100 booke was halfe printed, I meane the first impression, there came earely in the morninge a Counterfet Cranke vnder my lodgynge at the whyte Fryares, wythin the cloyster, in a lyttle yard or coorte, where aboutes laye two or thre great Ladyes, beyng without the lyberties of London, where by he hoped for the greatter gayne; this Cranke there lamentably lamentinge and pitefully crying to be releued, declared to dyuers their hys paynfull and miserable dysease. I being rysen and not halfe ready, harde his dolfull wordes and rufull mornings, hering him name the falling sicknes, thought assuredlye to my selfe that hÉe was a depe desemblar; so, comminge out at a sodayne, and beholdinge his vgly and yrksome attyre, hys lothsome and horyble countinance, it made me in a meruelous parplexite what to thinke of hym, whether it were fayned or trouth,—for after this manner went he: he was naked from the wast vpward, sauyng he had a old Ierken101 of leather patched, and that was lose102 about hym, that all his bodye laye out bare; a filthy foule cloth he ware on his head, {52} being cut for the purpose, hauing a narowe place to put out his face, with a bauer made to trusse vp his beard, and a stryng that tyed the same downe close aboute his necke; with an olde felt hat which he styll caried in his hande to receaue the charytye and deuotion of the people, for that woulde he hold out from hym; hauyng hys face, from the eyes downe ward, all smerd with freshe bloud, [leaf 15, back] as thoughe he had new falen, and byn tormented wyth his paynefull panges,—his Ierken beinge all be rayde with durte and myre, and hys hatte and hosen also, as thoughe hÉe hadde wallowed in the myre: sewerly the sighte was monstrous and terreble. I called hym vnto me, and demaunded of hym what he ayled. “A, good maister,” quoth he, “I haue the greuous and paynefull dyseas called the falynge syckenes.” “Why,” quoth I, “howe commeth thy Ierken, hose, and hat so be rayd with durte and myre, and thy skyn also?” “A, good master, I fell downe on the backesyde here in the fowle lane harde by the watersyde; and there I laye all most all night, and haue bled all most all the bloude owte in my bodye.” It raynde that morninge very fast; and whyle I was thus talkinge with hym, a honest poore woman that dwelt thereby brought hym a fayre lynnen cloth, and byd hym wype his face therewyth; and there beinge a tobbe standing full of rayne water, offered to geue hym some in a dishe that he might make hym selfe cleane: hÉe refuseth103 the same. “Why dost thou so?” quoth I. “A, syr,” sayth he, “yf I shoulde washe my selfe, I shoulde fall to blÉedinge a freshe againe, and then I should not stop my selfe:” these wordes made me the more to suspecte hym.

Then I asked of hym where he was borne, what is name was, how longe he had this dysease, and what tyme he had ben here about London, and in what place. “Syr,” saythe he, “I was borne at Leycestar, my name is Nycholas Genings,104 and I haue had this falling sycknes viij. yeares, and I can get no remedy for the same; for I haue it by kinde, my father had it and my friendes before me; and I haue byne these two yeares here about London, and a yeare and a halfe in bethelem.” “Why, wast thou out of thy wyttes?” quoth I. “Ye, syr, that I was.”

“What is the Kepars name of the house?” “Hys name is,” quoth hÉe, “Iohn Smith.” “Then,” quoth I, “hÉe must vnderstande of thy dysease; yf thou hadest the same for the tyme thou wast there, he knoweth it well.” “Ye, not onely he, but all the house bÉe syde,” quoth this Cranke; “for I came thens but within this fortnight.” I had stande so longe reasoning the matter wyth him that I was a cold, and went into my chamber and made me ready, and commaunded my seruant to repayre to bethelem, and bringe me true worde from the keper there whether anye suche man hath byn with him as a prisoner hauinge the dysease aforesayd, and gaue hym a note of his name and the kepars also: my seruant, retorninge to my lodginge, dyd assure me that neither was there euer anye such man there, nether yet anye keper of any suche name; but hÉe that was there keper, he sent me hys name in writing, afferming that hee letteth no man depart from hym vnlesse he be fet a waye by [leaf 16] hys frÉendes, and that none that came from hym beggeth aboute the Citye. Then I sent for the Printar of this booke, and shewed hym of this dyssembling Cranke, and how I had sent to Bethelem to vnderstand the trouth105, and what aunsweare I receaued againe, requiringe hym that I might haue some seruant of his to watche him faithfully that daye, that I might vnderstand trustely to what place he woulde repaire at night vnto, and thether I promised to goe my selfe to sÉe their order, and that I woulde haue hym to associate me thether: hÉe gladly graunted to my request, and sent two boyes, that both diligently and vygelantly accomplisht the charge geuen them, and found the same Cranke aboute the Temple, where about the most parte of the daye hÉe begged, vnlesse it weare about xii. of the clocke he wente on the backesyde of Clementes Ine without Temple barre: there is a lane that goeth into the Feldes; there hee renewed his face againe wyth freshe bloud, which he caried about hym in a bladder, and dawbed on freshe dyrte vpon his Ierken, hat, and hoson.

¶ And so came backe agayne vnto the Temple, and sometyme to the Watersyde, and begged of all that passed bye: the boyes behelde howe some gaue grotes, some syxe pens, some gaue more; {54} for hÉe looked so ougleie and yrksomlye, that euerye one pytied his miserable case that beehelde hym. To bee shorte, there he passed all the daye tyll night approched; and when it began to bÉe some what dark, he went to the water syde and toke a Skoller,106 and was sette ouer the Water into Saincte Georges feldes, contrarye to my expectatian; for I had thought he woulde haue gonne into Holborne or to Saynt Gylles in the felde; but these boyes, with Argues and Lynces eyes, set sewre watche vppon him, and the one tooke a bote and followed him, and the other went backe to tell his maister.

The boye that so folowed hym by Water, had no money to pay for his Bote hyre, but layde his Penner and his Ynkhorne to gage for a penny; and by that tyme the boye was sette ouer, his Maister, wyth all celeryte, hadde taken a Bote and followed hym apase: now hadde they styll a syght of the Cranke, wych crossed ouer the felddes towardes Newyngton, and thether he went, and by that tyme they came thether it was very darke: the Prynter hadde there no acquaintance, nether any kynde of weapon about hym, nether knewe he107 how farre the Cranke woulde goe, becawse hee then suspected that they dogged hym of purposse; he there stayed hym, and called for the Counstable, whyche came forthe dylygentelye to inquyre what the matter was: thys zelous Pryntar charged thys offycer [leaf 16, back] wyth hym as a malefactor and a dessemblinge vagabonde—the Counstable woulde haue layde him all night in the Cage that stode in the streate. “Naye,” saythe this pitifull Prynter, “I praye you haue him into your house; for this is lyke to be a cold nyght, and he is naked: you kepe a vytellinge house; let him be well cherished this night, for he is well hable to paye for the same. I knowe well his gaynes hath byn great to day, and your house is a sufficient pryson for the tyme, and we wil there serche hym.” The Counstable agreed there vnto: they had him in, and caused him to washe him selfe: that donne, they demaunded what money he had about hym. Sayth this Cranke, “So God helpe me, I haue but xii. pence,” and plucked oute the same of a lytle pursse. “Why, haue you no more?” quoth they. “No,” sayth this Cranke, “as God shall saue my soule at the day of iudgement.” “We must se more,” quoth they,{55} and began to stryp hym. Then he plucked out a nother purse, wherin was xi. pens. “Toushe,” sayth108 thys Prynter, “I must see more.” Saythe this Cranke, “I pray God I bÉe dampned both body109 and soule yf I haue anye more.” “No,” sayth thys Prynter, “thou false knaue, here is my boye that dyd watche thÉe all this daye, and sawe when such men gaue the pÉeses of sixe pens, grotes, and other money; and yet thou hast shewed vs none but small money.” When thys Cranke hard this, and the boye vowinge it to his face, he relented, and plucked out another pursse, where in was eyght shyllings and od money; so had they in the hole that he had begged that day xiij. shillings iii. 110§pens halfepeny§. Then they strypt him starke naked, and as many as sawe him sayd they neuer sawe hansommer man, wyth a yellowe flexen beard111, and fayre skynned, withoute anye spot or greffe. Then the good wyfe of the house fet her goodmans112 olde clocke, and caused the same to be cast about him, because the sight shoulde not abash her shamefast maydens, nether loth her squaymysh sight.

{Thus he set113 downe at the Chemnes end, and called for a potte of BÉere, and dranke of a quarte at a draft, and} called for another, and so the thyrde, that one had bene sufficient for any resonable man, the Drynke was so stronge.114 I my selfe, the next morninge, tasted thereof; but let the reader iudge what and howe much he would haue dronke and he had bene out of feare. Then when they had thus wrong water out of a flint in spoyling him of his euyl gotten goods, his passing pens115, and fleting trashe, The printer with this offecer were in gealy gealowsit116, and deuised to search a barne for some roges and vpright men, a quarter of a myle from the house, that stode a lone in the fieldes, and wente out about their busines, leauing this cranke alone with his wyfe and maydens: this crafty Cranke, espying al gon, requested the good wife that [leaf 17] hee might goe out on the backesyde to make water, and to exonerate his paunche: she bad hym drawe the lache of the dore and goe out, neither thinkinge or mistrusting he {56} would haue gon awaye naked; but, to conclude, when hee was out, he cast awaye the cloke, and, as naked as euer he was borne, he ran away, 117*that he could118 neuer be hard of 119†againe.* Now† the next morning betimes, I went vnto Newington, to vnderstand what was done, because I had word or it was day that there my printer was; and at my comming thether, I hard the hole circumstaunce, as I aboue haue wrytten; and I, seing the matter so fall out, tooke order with the chiefe of the parish that this xiij. shyllings and iij. 120‡pens halfpeny‡ might the next daye be equally distributed, by their good discrecions, to the pouertie of the same parishe,121 and so it was done.

THese Dommerars are leud and most subtyll people: the moste part of these are Walch men, and wyll neuer speake, vnlesse they haue extreame punishment, but wyll gape, and with a maruelous force wyll hold downe their toungs doubled, groning for your charyty, and holding vp their handes full pitiously, so that with their dÉepe dissimulation they get very much. There are of these many, and but one that I vnderstand of hath lost his toung in dede. Hauing on a time occasion to ride to Dartforde, to speake with a priest there, who maketh all kinde of conserues very well, and vseth stilling of waters; And repayringe to his house, I founde a Dommerar at his doore, and the priest him selfe perusinge his122 lycence, vnder the seales and hands of certayne worshypfull men, had123 thought the same to be good and effectuall. I taking the same writing, and {58} reading it ouer, and noting the seales, founde one of the seales like vnto a seale that I had aboute me, which seale I bought besides Charing crosse, that I was out of doubte it was none of those Gentlemens seales that had sub[s]cribed. And hauing vnderstanding before of their peuish practises, made me to conceaue that all was forged and nought. I made the more hast home; for well I wyst that he would and must of force passe through the parysh where I dwelt; for there was no other waye for hym. And comminge homewarde, I found them in the towne, accordinge to my expectation, where they were staid; for there was a Pallyarde associate with the Dommerar and partaker of his gaynes, whyche Pallyarde I sawe not at Dartford. The stayers of them was a gentleman called124 Chayne, and a seruant of my Lord KÉepers, cald Wostestowe, which was [leaf 17, back] the chiefe causer of the staying of them, being a Surgien, and cunning in his science, had sÉene the lyke practises, and, as he sayde, hadde caused one to speake afore that was dome125. It was my chaunce to come at the begynning of the matter. “Syr,” (quoth this Surgien) “I am bold here to vtter some part of my cunning. I trust” (quoth he) “you shall se a myracle wrought anon. For I once” (quoth he) “made a dumme man to speake.” Quoth I, “you are wel met, and somwhat you haue preuented me; for I had thought to haue done no lesse or they hadde passed this towne. For I well knowe their writing is fayned, and they depe dissemblers.” The Surgien made hym gape, and we could sÉe but halfe a toung. I required the Surgien to put hys fynger in his mouth, and to pull out his toung, and so he dyd, not withstanding he held strongly a prety whyle; at the length he pluckt out the same, to the great admiration of many that stode by. Yet when we sawe his tounge, hÉe would neither speake nor yet could heare. Quoth I to the Surgien, “knit two of his fyngers to gether, and thrust a stycke betwene them, and rubbe the same vp and downe a lytle whyle, and for my lyfe hÉe speaketh by and by.” “Sir,” quoth this Surgien, “I praye you let me practise and126 other waye.” I was well contented to sÉe the same. He had him into a house, and tyed a halter aboute the wrestes of his handes, and hoysed him vp ouer a beame, and {59} there dyd let him hang a good while: at the length, for very paine he required for Gods sake to let him down. So he that was both deafe and dume coulde in short tyme both heare and speake. Then I tooke that money I could find in his pursse, and distributed the same to the poore people dwelling there, whiche was xv. pence halfepeny, being all that we coulde finde. That done, and this merry myracle madly made, I sent them with my seruaunt to the next Iusticer, where they preached on the Pyllery for want of a Pulpet, and were well whypped, and none dyd bewayle them.

THese dronken Tynckers, called also Prygges, be beastly people, and these yong knaues be the wurst. These neuer go with out their Doxes, and yf their women haue anye thing about them, as apparell or lynnen, that is worth the selling, they laye the same to gage, or sell it out right, for bene bowse at their bowsing ken. And full sone wyll they bÉe wearye of them, and haue a newe. When they happen one woorke at any good house, their Doxes lynger alofe, and tarry for them in some corner; and yf he taryeth longe from her, then she knoweth [leaf 18] he hath worke, and walketh neare, and sitteth downe by him. For besydes money, he looketh for meate and drinke for doinge his dame pleasure. For yf she haue thrÉe or foure holes in a pan, hee wyll make as many more for spedy gaine. And if he se any old ketle, chafer, or pewter dish abroad in the yard where he worketh, hÉe quicklye snappeth the same vp, and in to the booget it goeth round. Thus they lyue with deceite.

{I was crediblye informed, by such as could well tell, that one of these tipling Tinckers with his dogge robbed by the} high way iiij. Pallyards and two Roges, six persons together, and tooke from them aboue foure pound in ready money, and hide him after in a thicke woode a daye or two, and so escaped vntaken. Thus with picking and stealing, mingled with a lytle worke for a coulour, they passe their time. {60}

THese Demaunders for glymmar be for the moste parte wemen; for glymmar, in their language, is fyre. These goe with fayned129 lycences and counterfayted wrytings, hauing the hands and seales of suche gentlemen as dwelleth nere to the place where they fayne them selues to haue bene burnt, and their goods consumed with fyre. They wyll most lamentable130 demaunde your charitie, and wyll quicklye shed salte teares, they be so tender harted. They wyll neuer begge in that Shiere where their losses (as they say) was. Some of these goe with slates at their backes, which is a shÉete to lye in a nightes. The vpright men be very familiare with these kynde of wemen, and one of them helpes an other.

¶ A Demaunder for glymmar came vnto a good towne in Kente, to aske the charitie of the people, hauinge a fayned lycens aboute her that declared her misfortune by fyre, donne in Somerset shyre, walkinge with a wallet on her shoulders, where in shÉe put the deuotion of suche as hadde no money to geue her; that is to saye, Malte, woll, baken, bread, and cheese; and alwayes, as the same was full, so was it redye money to her, when she emptyed the same, where so euer shee trauelede: thys harlot was, as they terme it, snowte fayre, and had an vpright man or two alwayes attendinge on her watche (whyche is on her parson), and yet so circumspecte, that they woulde neuer bee sÉene in her company in any good towne, vnlesse it were in smale vyllages where typling houses weare, eyther trauelinge to gether by the hygh wayes; but the troth is, by report, she would wekely be worth vi. or seuen shyllinges with her begging and bycherye. This glimmering Morte, repayringe to an Ine in the sayde towne where dwelt a wydow of fyftie wynter olde of good welth; but she had an vnthryftye sonne, whom she vsed as a chamberlaine to attend gestes when they repared to her house: this amerous man, be holdinge with ardante eyes thys131 glymmeringe glauncer, was presentlye pyteouslye persed to the hart, and lewdlye longed to bÉe clothed vnder her lyuerye; and bestowinge [leaf 19] a {62} fewe fonde wordes with her, vnderstode strayte that she woulde be easlye perswaded to lykinge lechery, and as a man mased, mused howe to attayne to his purpose, for132 he hadde no money. Yet consideringe wyth hym selfe that wares woulde bÉe welcome where money wanted, hÉe went with a wannion to his mothers chamber, and there sekinge aboute for odde endes, at length founde a lytle whystell of syluer that his mother dyd vse customablye to weare on, and had forgot the same for haste that morninge, and offeres the same closely to this manerly marian, that yf she would mete hym on the backesyde of the towne and curteously kys him with out constraynt, she shoulde bÉe mystres thereof, and it weare much better. “Well,” sayth she, “you are a wanton;” and beholdinge the whystell, was farther in loue there with then rauysht wyth his person, and agred to mete him presently, and to accomplyshe his fonde fancy:—to be short, and not tedyous, a quarter of a myle from the towne, he merely toke measure of her vnder a bawdye bushe; so she gaue hym that she had not, and he receiued that he coulde not; and taking leue of eche other with a curteous kysse, she plesantly passed forth one her iornaye, and this vntoward lycorous chamberlayne repayred home warde. But or these two tortylles tooke there leue, the good wyfe myssed her whystell, and sent one of her maydenes in to her chamber for the same, and being long sawght for, none coulde be founde; her mystres hering that, diligent search was made for the same; and that it was taken awaye, began to suspecte her vnblessed babe, and demaunded of her maydens whether none of them sawe her sonne in her chamber that morning, and one of them aunswered that she sawe him not there, but comming from thens: then had she ynough, for well she wyste that he had the same, and sent for him, but he could not be founde. Then she caused her hosteler, in whome she had better affyaunce in for his trouth,—and yet not one amongst twenty of them but haue well left there honesty, (As I here a great sorte saye)—to come vnto her, whiche attended to knowe her pleasure. “Goe, seke out,” saythe she, “my vntowarde sonne, and byd hym come speake with me.” “I sawe him go out,” saythe he, “halfe an houre {63} sithens one the backesyde. I hadde thought you hadde sent him of your arrante.” “I sent him not,” quoth she; “goe, loke him out.”

¶ This hollowe hosteler toke his staffe in his necke, and trodged out apase that waye he sawe him before go, and had some vnderstanding, by one of the maydens, that his mistres had her whistell stolen and suspected her sonne; and he had not gone farre but that he espyed him comming homeward alone, and, meting him, axed where he had ben. [leaf 19, back] “Where haue I bene?” quoth he, and began to smyle. “Now, by the mas, thou hast bene at some baudy banquet.” “Thou hast euen tolde trouth,” quoth thys chamberlayne. “Sewerly,” quoth this hosteler, “thou haddest the same woman that begged at our house to day, for the harmes she had by fyre: where is she?” quoth he. “She is almost a myle by this tyme,” quoth this chamberlayne. “Where is my mystres whystell?” quoth this hosteler; “for I am well assured that thou haddest it, and I feare me thou hast geuen it to that harlot.” “Why! is it myssed?” quoth this chamberlayne. “Yea,” quoth this hosteler, and shewed him all the hole circumstaunce, what was both sayde and thought on him for the thing. “Well, I wyl tell the,” quoth this Chamberlayne. “I wylbe playne with the. I had it in dede, and haue geuen the same to this woman, and I praye the make the best of it, and helpe nowe to excuse the matter, and yet surely and thou wouldest take so much payne for me as to ouer take her, (for she goeth but softly, and is not yet farre of) and take the same from her, and I am euer thyne assured frÉende.” “Why, then, go with me,” quoth this hostler. “Nay, in faythe,” quoth this Chamberlayne; “what is frear then gift? and I hadde prety pastime for the same.” “Hadest thou so?” quoth this hosteler; “nowe, by the masse, and I wyll haue some to, or I wyll lye in the duste or I come agayne.” Passing with hast to ouer take this paramoure, within a myle from the place where he departed he ouertoke her, hauing an vpright man in her company, a stronge and a sturdye vacabond: some what amased was this hosteler to se one familiarly in her company, for he had well hopped to haue had some delycate dalyance, as his fellowe hadde; but, seinge the matter so fallout, and being of {64} good corage, and thinking to him selfe that one true man was better then two false knaues, and being on the high way, thought vpon helpe, if nede had bene, by such as had passed to and fro, Demaunded fersely the whistell that she had euyn nowe of his fellowe. “Why, husband,” quoth she, “can you suffer this wretche to slaunder your wyfe?” “A vaunt verlet,” quoth this vpright man, and letes dryue with all his force at this hosteler, and after halfe133 a dosen blowes, he strycks his staffe out of his hande, and as this hosteler stept backe to haue taken vp his staffe agayne, his glymmeringe Morte flinges a great stone at him, and strake him one the heade that downe hee fales, wyth the bloud about his eares, and whyle hÉe laye this amased, the vpright man snatches awaye his pursse, where in hÉe hadde money of his mystresses as well as of his owne, and there let him lye, and went a waye with spede that they were neuer harde of more. When this drye beaten hosteler was come to him selfe, hÉe fayntlye wandereth home, and crepethe in to hys couche, and restes [leaf 20] his ydle heade: his mystres harde that hÉe was come in, and layde him downe on his beade, repayred straight vnto him, and aske hym what he ayled, and what the cause was of his so sudden lying one his bed. “What is the cause?” quoth this hosteler; “your whystell, your whistel,”—speaking the same pyteouslye thre or foure tymes. “Why, fole,” quoth his mystrisse, “take no care for that, for I doe not greatly waye it; it was worth but thrÉe shyllinges foure pens.” “I would it had bene burnt for foure yeares agon.” “I praye the why so,” quoth his mystres; “I think thou art mad.” “Nay, not yet,” quoth this hosteler, “but I haue bene madly handlyd.” “Why, what is the matter?” quoth his mystres, and was more desirous to know the case. “And you wyl for geue my fellowe and me, I wyll shewe you, or els I wyll neuer doe it.” ShÉe made hym presently faithfull promisse that shÉe woulde. “Then,” saythe hee, “sende for your sonne home agayne, whyche is ashamed to loke you in the face.” “I agre there to,” sayth shÉe. “Well, then,” quoth this hosteler, “youre sonne hathe geuen the same Morte that begged here, for the burninge of her house, a whystell, and you haue geuen her v. shyllinges in money, {65} and I haue geuen her ten shyllinges of my owne.” “Why, howe so?” quoth she. Then he sadly shewed her of his myshap, with all the circumstaunce that you haue harde before, and howe hys pursse was taken awaye, and xv. shyllinges in the same, where of v. shyllinges was her money and x. shyllinges his owne money. “Is this true?” quoth his mystres. “I, by my trouth,” quoth this hosteler, “and nothing greues me so much, neyther my beating, neither the losse of my money, as doth my euell and wreched lucke.” “Why, what is the matter?” quoth his mystres. “Your sonne,” saythe this hosteler, “had some chere and pastyme for that whystell, for he laye with her, and I haue bene well beaten, and haue had my pursse taken from me, and you knowe your sonne is merrye and pleasaunt, and can kepe no great councell; and then shall I bemocked and loughed to skorne in all places when they shall here howe I haue bene serued.” “Nowe, out vpon you knaues both,” quoth his mystres, and laughes oute the matter; for she well sawe it would not other wyse preuayle.

THese Bawdy baskets be also wemen, and go with baskets and Capcases on their armes, where in they haue laces, pynnes, nedles, white ynkell, and round sylke gyrdles of al coulours. These wyl bye conneyskins,134 and steale linen clothes of on hedges. And for their trifles they wil procure of mayden seruaunts, when [leaf 20, back] their mystres or dame is oute of the waye, either some good peece of bÉefe, baken, or chÉese, that shalbe worth xij. pens, for ii. pens of their toyes. And as they walke by the waye, they often gaine some money wyth their instrument, by such as they sodaynely mete withall. The vpright men haue good acquayntance with these, and will helpe and relieue them when they want. Thus they trade their lyues in lewed lothsome lechery. Amongest them all is but one honest woman, and she is of good yeares; her name is Ione Messenger. I haue had good proofe of her, as I haue learned by the true report of diuers.

{There came to my gate the last sommer, Anno Domini .1566, a very miserable man, and much deformed, as burnt in the} face, blere eyde, and lame of one of his legges that he went with a crouche. I axed him wher he was borne, and where he dwelt last, and shewed him that thether he must repaire and be releued, and not to range aboute the countrey; and seing some cause of cherytie, I caused him to haue meate and drinke, and when he had dronke, I demaunded of him whether he was neuer spoyled of the vpright man or Roge. “Yes, that I haue,” quoth he, “and not this seuen yeres, for so long I haue gon abroad, I had not so much taken from me, and so euyll handeled, as I was within these iiij. dayes.” “Why, how so?” quoth I. “In good fayth, sir,” quoth hÉe, “I chaunced to mÉete with one of these bawdy baskets which had an vpright man in her company, and as I would haue passed quietly by her, ‘man,’ sayth she vnto vnto her make, ‘do you not se this ylfauored, windshaken knaue?’ ‘Yes,’ quoth the vpright man; ‘what saye you to him?’ ‘this knaue135 oweth me ii. shyllings for wares that136 he had of me, halfe a yere a go, I think it well.’ Sayth this vpright man, ‘syra,’ sayth he, ‘paye your dets.’ Sayth this poore man, ‘I owe her none, nether dyd I euer bargane with her for any thinge, and as this137 aduysed I neuer sawe her before in all my lyfe.’ ‘Mercy, god!’ quoth she, ‘what a lyinge knaue is this, and he wil not paye you, husband, beat him suerly,’ and the vpright man gaue me thre or foure blowes on my backe and shoulders, and would haue beat me worsse and I had not geuen hym all the money in my pursse, and in good fayth, for very feare, I was fayne to geue him xiiij. pens, which was all the money that I had. ‘Why,’ sayth this bawdy basket, ‘hast thou no more? then thou owest me ten pens styll; and, be well assured that I wyll bÉe payde the next tyme I mÉete with thÉe.’ And so they let me passe by them. I praye god saue and blesse me, and al other in my case, from such wycked persons,” quoth this poore man. “Why, whether went they then?” quoth I. “Into east Kent, for I mete with them on thyssyde of Rochester. I haue dyuers tymes bene attemted, but {67} I neuer loste [leaf 21] much before. I thanke god, there came styll company by a fore this vnhappy time.” “Well,” quoth I, “thanke God of all, and repaire home into thy natyue countrey.”

THese Autem Mortes be maried wemen, as there be but a fewe. For Autem in their Language is a Churche; so she is a wyfe maried at the Church, and they be as chaste as a Cowe I haue, that goeth to Bull euery moone, with what Bull she careth not. These walke most times from their husbands companye a moneth and more to gether, being asociate with another as honest as her selfe. These wyll pylfar clothes of hedges: some of them go with children of ten or xii. yeares of age; yf tyme and place serue for their purpose, they wyll send them into some house, at the window, to steale and robbe, which they call in their language, Milling of the ken; and wil go with wallets on their shoulders, and slates at their backes. There is one of these Autem Mortes, she is now a widow, of fyfty yeres old; her name is Alice Milson: she goeth about with a couple of great boyes, the yongest of them is fast vpon xx. yeares of age; and these two do lye with her euery night, and she lyeth in the middes: she sayth that they be her children, that beteled be babes borne of such abhominable bellye.

¶ The last Sommer, Anno domini .1566, being in familiare talke with a walking Mort that came to my gate, I learned by her what I could, and I thought I had gathered as much for my purpose as I desired. I began to rebuke her for her leud lyfe and beastly behauor, declaring to her what punishment was prepared and heaped vp for her in the world to come for her fylthy lyuinge and wretched conuersation. “God helpe,” quoth she, “how should I lyue? none wyll take me into seruice; but I labour in haruest time honestly.” “I thinke but a whyle with honestie,” quoth I. “Shall I tell you,” quoth she, “the best of vs all may be amended; but yet, I thanke god, I dyd one good dede within this twelue monthes.” “Wherein?” quoth I. Sayth she, “I woulde not haue it spoken of agayne.” “Yf it be mÉete and necessary,” quod I, “it shall lye vnder my feete.” “What meane you by that?” quoth she. “I meane,” quod I, “to hide the same, and neuer to discouer it to any.” “Well,” quoth she, and began to laugh as much as she could, and sweare by the masse that if I disclosed the same to any, she woulde neuer more138 tell me any thinge. “The last sommer,” quoth she, “I was greate with chylde, and I traueled into east kent by the sea coste, for I lusted meruelously after oysters and muskels139, and gathered many, and in the place where I found them, I opened them and eate them styll: at the last, in seking more, I reached after one, and stept into a hole, and fel in into the wast, and their dyd stycke, and I had bene drowned if the tide had come, and espyinge a man a good waye of, I cried as much as I could for helpe. I was alone, he hard me, and repaired as fast to me as he might, and finding me their fast stycking, I required for gods sake his helpe; and whether it was with stryuinge and forcing my selfe out, or for ioye I had of his comminge to me, I had a great couller in my face, and loked red and well {69} coullered. And, to be playne with you, hÉe lyked me so well (as he sayd) that I should there lye styll, and I would not graunt him, that he might lye with me. And, by my trouth, I wist not what to answeare, I was in such a perplexite; for I knew the man well: he had a very honest woman to his wyfe, and was of some welth; and, one the other syde, if I weare not holpe out, I should there haue perished, and I graunted hym that I would obeye to his wyll: then he plucked me out. And because there was no conuenient place nere hande, I required hym that I might go washe my selfe, and make me somewhat clenly, and I would come to his house and lodge all night in his barne, whether he mighte repaire to me, and accomplyshe hys desire, ‘but let it not be,’ quoth she,140 ‘before nine of the clocke at nyghte [leaf 22] for then there wylbe small styrring. And I may repaire to the towne,’ quoth she,141 ‘to warme and drye my selfe’; for this was about two of the clocke in the after none. ‘Do so,’ quoth hÉe; ‘for I must be busie to looke oute my cattell here by before I can come home.’ So I went awaye from hym, and glad was I.” “And why so?” quoth I. “Because,” quoth she, “his wyfe, my good dame, is my very frÉend, and I am much beholdinge to her. And she hath donne me so much good or this, that I weare loth nowe to harme her any waye.” “Why,” quoth I, “what and it hadde bÉene any other man, and not your good dames husbande?” “The matter had bene the lesse,” quoth shÉe. “Tell me, I pray the,” quoth I, “who was the father of thy chylde?” She stodyd a whyle, and sayde that it hadde a father. “But what was hÉe?” quoth I. “Nowe, by my trouth, I knowe not,” quoth shÉe; “you brynge me out of my matter so, you do.” “Well, saye on,” quoth I. “Then I departed strayght to the towne, and came to my dames house, And shewed her of my mysfortune, also of her husbands vsage, in all pointes, and that I showed her the same for good wyll, and byde her take better hÉede to her husbande, and to her selfe: so shÉe gaue me great thankes, and made me good chÉere, and byd me in anye case that I should be redye at the barne at that tyme and houre we had apoynted; ‘for I knowe well,’ quoth this good wyfe, ‘my husband wyll not breake wyth the. And one thinge I warne142 the, that thou {70} geue me a watche worde a loud when hÉe goeth aboute to haue his pleasure of the, and that shall143 bÉe “fye, for shame, fye,” and I wyll bÉe harde by you wyth helpe. But I charge the kÉepe thys secret vntyll all bee fynesed; and holde,’ saythe thys good wyfe, ‘here is one of my peticotes I geue thÉe.’ ‘I thanke you, good dame,’ quoth I, ‘and I warrante you I wyll bÉe true and trustye vnto you.’ So my dame lefte me settinge by a good fyre with meate and drynke; and wyth the oysters I broughte with me, I hadde greate cheere: shÉe wente strayght and repaired vnto her gossypes dwelling there by; and, as I dyd after vnderstande, she made her mone to them, what a naughtye, lewed, lecherous husbande shÉe hadde, and howe that she coulde not haue hys companye for harlotes, and that she was in feare to take some fylthy dysease of hym, he was so commen a man, hauinge lytle respecte whome he hadde to do with all; ‘and,’ quoth she, ‘nowe here is one at my house, a poore woman that goeth aboute the countrey that he woulde haue hadde to doe withall; wherefore, good neyghboures and louinge gossypes, as you loue me, and as you would haue helpe at my hand another tyme, deuyse some remedy to make my husband a good man, that I may lyue in some suerty without disease, and that hÉe may saue his soule that God so derelye [leaf 22, back] bought.’ After shÉe hadde tolde her tale, they caste their persinge eyes all vpon her, but one stoute dame amongst the rest had these wordes—‘As your pacient bearinge of troubles, your honest behauiour among vs your neyghbours, your tender and pytifull hart to the poore of the parysh, doth moue vs to lament your case, so the vnsatiable carnalite of your faithelesse husbande doth instigate and styre vs to deuyse and inuent some spÉedy redresse for your ease144 and the amendement of hys lyfe. Wherefore, this is my councell and you wyll bÉe aduertysed by me; for145 I saye to you all, vnlesse it be this good wyfe, who is chÉefely touched in this matter, I haue the nexte cause; for hÉe was in hande wyth me not longe a goe, and companye had not bene present, which was by a meruelous chaunce, he hadde, I thinke, forced me. For often hÉe hath bene tempering146 with me, and yet haue I sharpely sayde him {71} naye: therefore, let vs assemble secretly into the place where hÉe hathe apuynted to mÉete thys gyllot that is at your house, and lyrke preuelye in some corner tyll hÉe begyn to goe aboute his busines. And then me thought I harde you saye euen nowe that you had a watche word, at which word we wyll all stepforth, being fiue of vs besydes you, for you shalbe none because it is your husbande, but gette you to bed at your accustomed houre. And we wyll cary eche of vs147 good byrchen rodde in our lappes, and we will all be muffeled for knowing, and se that you goe home and acquaynt that walking Morte with the matter; for we must haue her helpe to hold, for alwaies foure must hold and two lay one.’ ‘Alas!’ sayth this good wyfe, ‘he is to stronge for you all. I would be loth, for my sake you should receaue harme at his hande.’ ‘feare you not,’ quoth these stout wemen, ‘let her not geue the watch word vntyl his hosen be abaut his legges. And I trowe we all wylbe with him to bring before he shall haue leasure to plucke them vp againe.’ They all with on voyce ag[r]ed to the matter, that the way she had deuised was the best: so this good wife repaired home; but before she departed from her gossypes, she shewed them at what houre they should preuely come in on the backsid, and where to tary their good our: so by the time she came in, it was all most night, and found the walking Morte still setting by the fyre, and declared to her all this new deuyse aboue sayd, which promised faythfully to full fyll to her small powre as much as they hadde deuysed: within a quarter of an oure after, in commeth the good man, who said that he was about his cattell. “Why, what haue we here, wyfe, setting by the fyre? and yf she haue eate and dronke, send her into the barne to her lodging for this night, for she troubeleth the house.” “Euen as you wyll husbande,” sayth his wyfe; “you knowe she commeth once in two yeres into these [leaf 23] quarters. Awaye,” saythe this good wyfe, “to your lodginge.” “Yes, good dame,” sayth she, “as fast as I can:” thus, by loking one148 on the other, eche knewe others mynde, and so departed to her comely couche: the good man of the house shrodge hym for Ioye, thinking to hym selfe, I wyll make some pastyme with you anone. And calling to his wyfe for hys sopper, set {72} him downe, and was very plesant, and dranke to his wyfe, and fell to his mammerings, and mounched a pace, nothing vnderstanding of the bancquet that149 was a preparing for him after sopper, and according to the prouerbe, that swete meate wyll haue sowre sawce: thus, when he was well refreshed, his sprietes being reuyued, entred into familiare talke with his wife, of many matters, how well he had spent that daye to both there proffytes, sayinge some of his cattell150 were lyke to haue bene drowned in the dyches, dryuinge others of his neyghbours cattell out that were in his pastures, and mending his fences that were broken downe. Thus profitably he had consumed the daye, nothinge talking of his helping out of the walkinge Morte out of the myre, nether of his request nor yet of her151 promisse. Thus feding her with frendly fantacyes, consumed two houres and more. Then fayninge howe hÉe would se in what case his horse were in and howe they were dressed, Repaired couertly into the barne, where as his frÉe[n]dlye foes lyrked preuely, vnlesse it were this manerly Morte, that comly couched on a bottell of strawe. “What, are you come?” quoth she; “by the masse, I would not for a hundreth pound that my dame should knowe that you were here, eyther any els of your house.” “No, I warrant the,” sayth this good man, “they be all safe and fast ynough at their woorke, and I wylbe at mine anon.” And laye downe by her, and strayght would haue had to do with her. “Nay, fye,” sayth she, “I lyke not this order: if ye lye with me, you shall surely vntrus you and put downe your hosen, for that way is most easiest and best.” “Sayest thou so?” quoth he, “now, by my trouth agred.” And when he had vntrussed him selfe and put downe, he began to assalt the vnsatiable152 fort “Why,” quoth she, that was with out shame, sauinge for her promes, “And are you not ashamed?” “neuer a whyte,” sayth he, “lye downe quickely.” “Now, fye, for shame, fye,” sayth shÉe a loude, whyche was the watche word. At the which word, these fyue furious, sturdy, muffeled gossypes flynges oute, and takes sure holde of this be trayed parson, sone153 pluckinge his hosen downe lower, and byndinge the same fast about his fÉete; {73} then byndinge his handes, and knitting a hande charcher about his eyes, that he shoulde not sÉe; and when they had made hym sure and fast, Then they layd him one vntyll they weare windles. “Be good,” sayth this Morte, “vnto my maister, for the passion of God,” [leaf 23, back] and layd on as fast as the rest, and styll seased not to crye vpon them to bÉe mercyfull vnto hym, and yet layde on a pace; and when they had well beaten hym, that the bloud braste plentifullye oute in most places, they let hym lye styll bounde. With this exhortation, that he shoulde from that tyme forth knowe his wyfe from other mens, and that this punishment was but a flebyting in respect of that which should followe, yf he amended not his manners. Thus leuynge hym blustering, blowing, and fominge for payne, and malyncolye that hÉe neither might or coulde be reuenged of them, they vanyshed awaye, and hadde thys Morte with them, and safely conuayde her out of the towne: sone after commeth into the barne one of the good mans boyes, to fet some haye for his horse. And fyndinge his maister lyinge faste bounde and greuouslye beaten with rodes, was sodenly abashed and woulde haue runne out agayne to haue called for helpe; but his maister bed hym come vnto hym and vnbynd hym; “and make no wordes,” quoth he, “of this. I wylbe reuenged well inoughe;” yet not with standinge, after better aduyse, the matter beinge vnhonest, he thought it meter to let the same passe, and, not, as the prouerbe saythe, to awake the sleping dogge. “And, by my trouth,” quoth this walkinge Morte, “I come nowe from that place, and was neuer there sythens this parte was playde, whiche is some what more then a yeare. And I here a very good reporte of hym now, that he loueth his wyfe well, and vseth hym selfe verye honestlye; and was not this a good acte? nowe, howe saye you?” “It was pretely handeled,” quoth I, “and is here all?” “Yea,” quoth she, “here is the ende.”

THese Doxes be broken and spoyled of their maydenhead by the vpright men, and then they haue their name of Doxes, and not afore. And afterwarde she is commen and indifferent for any that wyll vse her, as homo is a commen name to all men. Such {74} as be fayre and some what handsome, kepe company with the walkinge Mortes, and are redye alwayes for the vpright men, and are cheifely mayntayned by them, for others shalbe spoyled for their sakes: the other, inferior, sort wyll resorte to noble mens places, and gentlemens houses, standing at the gate, eyther lurkinge on the backesyde about backe houses, eyther in hedge rowes, or some other thycket, expectinge their praye, which is for the vncomely company of some curteous gest, of whome they be refreshed with meate and some money, where eschaunge is made, ware for ware: this bread and meate they vse to carrye in their [leaf 24] greate hosen; so that these beastlye brybinge154 brÉeches serue manye tymes for bawdye purposes. I chaunced, not longe sithens, familiarly to commen with a Doxe that came to my gate, and surelye a pleasant harlot, and not so pleasant as wytty, and not so wytty as voyd of all grace and goodnes. I founde, by her talke, that shÉe hadde passed her tyme lewdlye eyghttene yeares in walkinge aboute. I thoughte this a necessary instrument to attayne some knowledge by; and before I woulde grope her mynde, I made her both to eate and drynke well; that done, I made her faythfull promisse to geue her some money, yf she would open and dyscouer to me such questions as I woulde demaunde of her, and neuer to bÉe wraye her, neither to disclose her name. “And you shoulde,” sayth she, “I were vndon:” “feare not that,” quoth I; “but, I praye the,” quoth I, “say nothing but trouth.” “I wyll not,” sayth shÉe. “Then, fyrste tell me,” quoth I, “how many vpright men and Roges dost thou knowe, or hast thou knowne and byn conuersaunt with, and what their names be?” She paused a whyle, and sayd, “why do you aske me, or wherefore?” “For nothinge els,” as I sayde, “but that I woulde knowe them when they came to my gate.” “Nowe, by my trouth” (quoth she) “then are yea neuer the neare, for all myne acquayntaunce, for the moste parte, are deade.” “Dead!” quoth I, “howe dyed they, for wante of cherishinge, or of paynefull diseases?” Then she sighed, and sayde they were hanged. “What, all?” quoth I, “and so manye walke abroade, as I dayelye see?” “By my trouth,” quoth she, “I {75} knowe not paste six or seuen by their names,” and named the same to me. “When were they hanged?” quoth I. “Some seuen yeares a gone, some thrÉe yeares, and some within this fortnight,” and declared the place where they weare executed, which I knewe well to bÉe true, by the report of others. “Why” (quoth I) “dyd not this sorrowfull and fearefull sight much greue the, and for thy tyme longe and euyll spent?” “I was sory,” quoth shÉe, “by the Masse; for some of them were good louing men. For I lackt not when they had it, and they wanted not when I had it, and diuers of them I neuer dyd forsake, vntyll the Gallowes departed vs.” “O, mercyfull God!” quoth I, and began to blesse me. “Why blesse ye?” quoth she. “Alas! good gentleman, euery one muste haue a lyuinge.” Other matters I talked of; but this nowe maye suffice to shewe the Reader, as it weare in a glasse, the bolde beastly lyfe of these Doxes. For suche as hath gone anye tyme abroade, wyll neuer forsake their trade, to dye therefore. I haue hadde good profe thereof. There is one, a notorious harlot, of this affinitye, called Besse Bottomelye; she hath but one hande, and she hath murthered two children at the least.

A Dell is a yonge wenche, able for generation, and not yet knowen or broken by the vpright man. These go abroade yong, eyther by the death of their parentes, and no bodye to looke vnto them, or els by some sharpe mystres that they serue, do runne away out of seruice; eyther she is naturally borne one, and then she is a wyld Dell: these are broken verye yonge; when they haue bÉene lyen with all by the vpright man, then they be Doxes, and no Dels. These wylde dels, beinge traded vp with their monstrous mothers, must of necessytie be as euill, or worsse, then their parents, for neither we gather grapes from grÉene bryars, neither fygs from Thystels. But such buds, such blosoms, such euyll sede sowen, wel worsse beinge growen. {76}

NOw I thinke it not vnnecessary to make the Reader vnderstand how and in what maner they lodge a nights in barnes or backe houses, and of their vsage there, for asmuch as I haue acquaynted them with their order and practises a day times. The arche and chiefe walkers that hath walked a long time, whose experience is great, because of their continuinge practise, I meane all Mortes and Doxes, for their handsomnes and diligence for making of their couches. The men neuer trouble them selues with that thing, but takes the same to be the dutye of the wyfe. And she shuffels vp a quayntitye of strawe or haye into some pretye carner of the barne [leaf 25] where she maye conuenientlye lye, and well shakethe the same, makinge the heade some what hye, and dryues the same vpon the sydes and fete lyke abed: then she layeth her wallet, or some other lytle pack of ragges or scrype vnder her heade in the strawe, to beare vp the same, and layethe her petycote or cloke vpon and ouer the strawe, so made lyke a bedde, and that serueth for the blancket. Then she layeth her slate, which is her sheete, vpon that; and she haue no shÉete, as fewe of them goe without, then she spreddeth some large cloutes or rags ouer the same, and maketh her ready, and layeth her drouselye downe. Many wyll plucke of their smockes, and laye the same vpon them in stede of their vpper shÉete, and all her other pelte and {77} trashe vpon her also; and many lyeth in their smockes. And if the rest of her clothes in colde weather be not sufficient to kepe her warme, then she taketh strawe or haye to performe the matter. The other sorte, that haue not slates, but toumble downe and couche a hogshead in their clothes, these bÉe styll lousye, and shall neuer be with out vermyn, vnlesse they put of theire clothes, and lye as is a boue sayde. If the vpright man come in where they lye, he hath his choyse, and crepeth in close by his Doxe: the Roge hath his leauings. If the Morts or Doxes lye or be lodged in some Farmers barne, and the dore be ether locked or made fast to them, then wyl not the vpright man presse to come in, Vnles it be in barnes and oute houses standinge alone, or some distance from houses, which be commonly knowne to them, As saint Quintens, thrÉe Cranes of the vintrey, Saynt Tybbes, and Knapsbery. These foure be with in one myle compasse neare vnto London. Then haue you iiij. more in Middlesex, drawe the pudding out of the fyre in Harrow on the hyll parish, the Crose Keyes in Cranford156 parish, Saynt Iulyans in Thystell worth parish, the house of pyty in Northhall parysh. These are their chiefe houses neare about London, where commonly they resorte vnto for Lodginge, and maye repaire thether freelye at all tymes. Sometyme shall come in some Roge, some pyckinge knaue, a nymble Prygge; he walketh in softly a nightes, when they be at their rest, and plucketh of as many garmentes as be ought worth that he maye come by, and worth money, and maye easely cary the same, and runneth a waye with the same with great seleritye, and maketh porte sale at some conuenient place of theirs, that some be soone ready in the morning, for want of their Casters and Togemans. Where in stÉede of blessinge is cursing; in place of praying, pestelent prating with odious othes and terrible threatninges. The vpright men haue geuen all these nycke names to the places aboue sayde. Y[e]t haue [leaf 25, back] we two notable places in Kent, not fare from London: the one is betwene Detforde and Rothered, called the Kynges barne, standing alone, that they haunt commonly; the other is Ketbroke, standinge by blacke heath, halfe a myle from anye house. There wyll they boldlye drawe the latche of the doore, and {78} go in when the good man with hys famyly be at supper, and syt downe without leaue, and eate and drinke with them, and either lye in the hall by the fyre all night, or in the barne, if there be no rome in the house for them. If the doore be eyther bolted or lockt, if it be not opened vnto them when they wyl, they wyl breake the same open to his farther cost. And in this barne sometyme do lye xl. vpright men with their Doxes together at one time. And this must the poore Farmer suffer, or els they threaten him to burne him, and all that he hath.

HEre followeth the vnrulye rablement of rascals, and the moste notoryous and wyckedst walkers that are lyuinge nowe at this present, with their true names as they be called and knowne by. And although I set and place here but thre orders, yet, good Reader, vnderstand that all the others aboue named are deriued and come out from the vpright men and Roges. Concerning the number of Mortes and Doxes, it is superfluous to wryte of them. I could well haue don it, but the number of them is great, and woulde aske a large volume.

• ¶ UPRIGHT MEN.
  • A.157

    • Antony Heymer.

    • Antony Iackeson.

  • B.

    • Burfet.

    • Bryan medcalfe.

  • C.

    • Core the Cuckold.

    • Chrystouer Cooke.

  • D.

    • Dowzabell skylfull in fence.

    • Dauid Coke.

    • Dycke Glouer.

    • Dycke Abrystowe.

    • Dauid Edwardes.

    • Dauid Holand.

    • Dauid Iones.

  • E.

    • Edmund Dun, a singing man.

    • Edward Skiner, alias Ned Skinner.

    • Edward Browne.

  • F.

    • Follentine Hylles.

    • Fardinando angell.

    • Fraunces Dawghton. {79}

  • G.

    • Gryffin.

    • Great Iohn Graye.

    • George Marrinar.

    • George Hutchinson.

  • H.

    • Hary Hylles, alias Harry godepar.

    • [leaf 26] Harry Agglyntine.

    • Harry Smyth, he driueleth when he speaketh.

    • Harry Ionson.

  • I.

    • Iames Barnard.

    • Iohn Myllar.

    • Iohn Walchman.

    • Iohn Iones.

    • Iohn Teddar.

    • Iohn Braye.

    • Iohn Cutter.

    • Iohn Bell.

    • Iohn Stephens.

    • Iohn Graye.

    • Iohn Whyte.

    • Iohn Rewe.

    • Iohn Mores.

    • Iohn a Farnando.

    • Iohn Newman.

    • Iohn Wyn, alias Wylliams.

    • Iohn a Pycons.

    • Iohn Tomas.

    • Iohn Arter.

    • Iohn Palmer, alias Tod.

    • Iohn Geffrey.

    • Iohn Goddard.

    • Iohn Graye the lytle.

    • Iohn Graye the great.

    • Iohn Wylliams the Longer.

    • Iohn Horwood, a maker of wels; he wyll take halfe his bargayne in hand, and when hÉe hath wrought ii. or iii. daies, he runneth away with his earnest.

    • Iohn Peter.

    • Iohn Porter.

    • Iohn Appowes.

    • Iohn Arter.

    • Iohn Bates.

    • Iohn Comes.

    • Iohn Chyles, alias great Chyles.

    • Iohn Leuet; he maketh tappes and fausets.

    • Iohn Louedall, a maister of fence.

    • Iohn Louedale.

    • Iohn Mekes.

    • Iohn Appowell.

    • Iohn Chappell.

    • Iohn Gryffen.

    • Iohn Mason.

    • Iohn Humfrey, with the lame hand.

    • Iohn Stradling, with the shaking head.

    • Iohn Franke.

    • Iohn Baker.

    • Iohn Bascafeld.

  • K.
  • L.

    • Lennard Iust.

    • Long GrÉene.

    • Laurence Ladd.

    • Laurence Marshall.

  • M.
  • N.

    • Nicolas Wilson.

    • Ned Barington.

    • Ned Wetherdon.

    • Ned holmes.

  • O.
  • P.

    • Phyllype GrÉene.

  • Q.
  • R.

    • Robart Grauener.

    • Robart Gerse.

    • Robart Kynge.

    • Robart Egerton.

    • Robart Bell, brother to Iohn Bell.

    • Robart Maple.

    • Robart Langton.

    • Robyn Bell.

    • Robyn Toppe.

    • Robart Brownswerd, he werith his here long.

    • Robart Curtes.

    • Rychard Brymmysh.

    • Rychard Iustyce.

    • Rychard Barton. {80}

    • Rychard Constance.

    • Rychard Thomas.

    • Rychard Cadman.

    • Rychard Scategood.

    • Rychard Apryce.

    • Rychard Walker.

    • Rychard Coper.

  • S.

    • Steuen Neuet.

  • T.

    • Thomas Bulloke. [leaf 26, back]

    • Thomas Cutter.

    • Thomas Garret.

    • Thomas Newton.

    • Thomas Web.

    • Thomas Graye, his toes be gonne.

    • Tom Bodel.

    • Thomas Wast.

    • Thomas Dawson alias Thomas Iacklin.

    • Thomas Basset.

    • Thomas Marchant.

    • Thomas Web.

    • Thomas Awefeld.

    • Thomas Gybbins.

    • Thomas Lacon.

    • Thomas Bate.

    • Thomas Allen.

  • V.
  • W.

    • Welarayd Richard.

    • Wylliam Chamborne.

    • Wylliam Pannell.

    • Wylliam Morgan.

    • Wylliam Belson.

    • Wylliam Ebes.

    • Wylliam Garret.

    • Wylliam Robynson.

    • Wylliam Vmberuile.

    • Wylliam Dauids.

    • Wyll Pen.

    • Wylliam Iones.

    • Wyll Powell.

    • Wylliam Clarke.

    • Water Wirall.

    • Wylliam Browne.

    • Water Martyne.158

    • Wylliam Grace.

    • Wylliam Pyckering.

• ROGES.
  • A.

    • Arche Dowglas, a Scot.

  • B.

    • Blacke Dycke.

  • C.
  • D.

    • Dycke Durram.

    • Dauid Dew neuet, a counterfet Cranke.

  • E.

    • Edward Ellys.

    • Edward Anseley.

  • F.
  • G.

    • George Belberby.

    • Goodman.

    • Gerard Gybbin, a counterfet Cranke.

  • H.

    • Hary Walles, with the lytle mouth.

    • Humfrey ward.

    • Harry Mason.

  • I.

    • Iohn Warren.

    • Iohn Donne, with one legge.

    • Iohn Elson.

    • Iohn Raynoles, Irysh man.

    • Iohn Harrys.

    • Iames Monkaster, a counterfet Cranke.

    • Iohn Dewe.

    • Iohn Crew, with one arme.

    • Iohn Browne, great stamerar.

  • L.

    • Lytle Dycke.

    • Lytle Robyn.

    • Lambart Rose. {81}

  • M.

    • More, burnt in the hand.159

  • N.

    • Nicholas Adames, a great stamerar.160

    • Nycholas Crispyn.

    • Nycholas Blunt alias Nycholas Gennings, a counterfet Cranke.

    • Nycholas Lynch.

  • R.

    • Rychard Brewton.

    • Rychard Horwod, well nere lxxx. yeares olde; he wyll byte a vi. peny nayle a sonder with his tÉeth, and a bawdye [leaf 27] dronkard.

    • Richard Crane; he carieth a Kynchne Co at his backe.

    • Rychard Iones.

    • Raffe Ketley.

    • Robert Harrison.

  • S.

    • Simon Kynge.

  • T.

    • Thomas Paske.

    • 161§Thomas Bere.

    • Thomas Shawnean, Irish man.

    • Thomas Smith, with the skald skyn.§

  • W.

    • Wylliam Carew.

    • Wylliam wastfield.

    • Wylson.

    • Wylliam Gynkes, with a whyte bearde, a lusty and stronge man; he runneth about the countrey to sÉeke worke, with a byg boy, his sonne carying his toles as a dawber or playsterer, but lytle worke serueth him.

• ¶ PALLYARDS.
  • B.

    • Bashford.

  • D.

    • Dycke Sehan Irish.

    • Dauid Powell.

    • Dauid Iones, a counterfet Crank.

  • E.

    • Edward Heyward, hath his Morte following him, which fained the Cranke.

    • Edward Lewes, a dummerer.

  • H.

    • Hugh Iones.

  • I.

    • Iohn Perse,162

    • a counterfet Cranke.

    • Iohn dauids.

    • Iohn Harrison.

    • Iohn Carew.

    • Iames Lane, with one eye, Irish.

    • Iohn Fysher.

    • Iohn Dewe.

    • Iohn Gylford, Irish, with a counterfet lisence.

  • L.

    • Laurence with the great legge.

  • N.

    • Nycholas Newton, carieth a fained lisence.

    • Nicholas Decase. {82}

  • P.

    • Prestoue.

  • R.

    • Robart Lackley.

    • Robart Canloke.

    • Richard Hylton, caryeth ii. Kynchen mortes about him.

    • Richard Thomas.

  • S.

    • Soth gard.

    • Swanders.

  • T.

    • Thomas Edwards.

    • Thomas Dauids.

    • Wylliam Thomas.

    • Wylliam Coper with the Harelyp.

    • Wyll Pettyt, beareth a Kinchen mort at his back.

    • Wylliam Bowmer.

There is aboue an hundreth of Irish men and women that wander about to begge for their lyuing, that hath come ouer within these two yeares. They saye the[y] haue bÉene burned and spoyled by the Earle of Desmond, and report well of the Earle of Vrmond.

¶ All these aboue wryten for the most part walke about Essex, Myddlesex, Sussex, Surrey, and Kent. Then let the reader iudge what number walkes in other Shieres, I feare me to great a number, if they be well vnderstande.

HEre I set before the good Reader the leud, lousey language of these lewtering Luskes and lasy Lorrels, where with they bye and sell the common people as they pas through the countrey. Whych language they terme Peddelars Frenche, a vnknowen toung onely, but to these bold, beastly, bawdy Beggers, and vaine Vacabondes, being halfe myngled with Englyshe, when it is famyliarlye talked, and fyrste placinge thinges by their proper names as an Introduction to this peuyshe spÉeche.

Bene Lightmans to thy quarromes, in what lipken hast thou lypped in this darkemans, whether in a lybbege or in the strummell? {85}

God morrowe to thy body, in what house hast thou lyne in all night, whether in a bed, or in the strawe?

¶ By this lytle ye maye holy and fully vnderstande their vntowarde talke and pelting speache, mynglede without measure; and as they haue begonne of late to deuyse some new termes for certien thinges, so wyll they in tyme alter this, and deuyse as euyll or worsse. This language nowe beinge knowen and spred abroade, yet one thinge more I wyll ad vnto, not meaninge to Englyshe the same, because I learned the same178 of a shameles Doxe, but for the phrase of speche I set it forth onely.

There was a proude patrico and a nosegent, he tooke his Iockam in his famble, and a wappinge he went, he dokte the Dell, hee pryge to praunce, he byngd a waste into the darke mans, he fylcht the Cofe, with out any fylch man.

WHyle this second Impression was in printinge, it fortuned that Nycholas Blunte, who called hym selfe Nycholan Gennyns, a counterefet Cranke, that is spoken of in this booke, was fonde begging in the whyte fryers on Newe yeares day last past, Anno domini .1567, and commytted vnto a offescer, who caried hym vnto the depetye of the ward, which commytted hym vnto the counter; and as the counstable and a nother would haue caried hym thether, This counterfet Cranke ran awaye, but one lyghter of fote then the other ouer toke hym, and so leading him to the counter, where he remayned three days, and from thence to Brydewell, where before the maister179 he had his dysgysed aparell put vpon hym, which was monstrous to beholde, And after stode in Chepesyde with the same apparil on a scafold.180

† B. omits this stanza and has inserted the following lines under the cut.

THis is the fygure of the counterfet Cranke, that is spoken of in this boke of Roges, called Nycholas Blunt other wyse Nycholas Gennyngs. His tale is in the xvii. lefe [pp. 55–6] of this booke, which doth showe vnto all that reades it, woundrous suttell and crafty deseit donne of and by him.

¶ Imprinted at London, in Fletestrete, at the signe of the Faulcon by Wylliam gryffith. Anno Domni. 1567.183