  Previous Editions and the Present Text.—An edition of "A Mery Play between Johan Johan, the Husbande, Tyb, his Wyfe and Syr Jhan, the Preest, attributed to John Heywood 1533,"
The Ashmolean copy (now in the Bodleian Library) can no longer be reckoned unique, another copy having been discovered in the Pepys collection at Magdalene College, Cambridge. This copy has been used in correcting the Chiswick Press text, and it may be as well to mention that the following changes, besides a good many minor ones, have been made on its authority, and are not surreptitious emendations of the present editor. In the apportionment of ll. 240-266 between the two speakers, my predecessor, like myself, though not in the same manner, has departed from Rastell's (clearly erroneous) arrangement of the speeches, but his dislike of footnotes has caused him to omit any mention of the fact. The title-page is a representation, not a facsimile. There is no running head-line in the original. Alfred W. Pollard. FOOTNOTES:front cover decoration A mery play decoration A Mery Play, Johan Johan, the Husbande. God spede you, maysters, everychone, Wote ye not whyther my wyfe is gone? I pray God the dyvell take her, For all that I do I can not make her, But she wyll go a gaddynge very myche 5 Lyke an Antony pyg Whiche ledeth her about hyther and thyther; But, by our lady, I wote not whyther. But, by goggis I wolde bete her or that I drynke. Bete her, quotha? yea, that she shall stynke! And at every stroke lay her on the grounde, I am evyn mad that I bete her not nowe, 15 But I shall rewarde her, hard[e]ly, Whiche was ever beten halfe so well. Beten, quotha? yea, but what and she therof dye? Then I may chaunce to be hanged shortly. 20 And whan I have beten her tyll she smoke, And gyven her many a c. Thynke ye that she wyll amende yet? Nay, by our lady, the devyll spede whyt! Therfore I wyll not bete her at all. 25 And shall I not bete her? no shall? Whan she offendeth and doth a-mys, A i b And kepeth not her house, as her duetie is? Shall I not bete her, if she do so? I shall bete her and thwak her, I trow, That she shall beshyte the house for very wo. But yet I thynk what my neybour wyll say than, He wyll say thus: "Whom chydest thou, Johan Johan?" "Mary," will I say! "I chyde my curst wyfe, 35 The veryest drab that ever bare lyfe, Whiche doth nothying but go and come, And I can not make her kepe her at home." Than I thynke he wyll say by and by, But than unto hym myn answere shal be, "The more I bete her the worse is she: And wors and wors make her I shall." He wyll say than, "bete her not at all." Is she not myne to chastice as I lyst?" But this is another poynt worst of all, The folkis wyll mocke me whan they here me brall; To chastyce my wyfe ever the more, 50 And to make her at home for to tary? Is not that well done? yes, by Saynt Mary, That is a poynt For to bete his wyfe well nowe and than. Therfore I shall bete her, have ye no drede! 55 And I ought to bete her, tyll she be starke dede. And why? by God, bicause it is my pleasure, And if I shulde suffre her, I make you sure, Within a whyle she wolde be my mayster. 60 Therfore I shall bete her by cokkes mother, Both on the tone syde and on the tother, Before and behynde; nought shall be her bote, From the top of the heed to the sole of the fote. But, masters, for Goddis sake, do not entrete 65 For her, whan that she shal be bete; But, for Goddis passion, let me alone, And I shall thwak her that she shall grone: Wherfore I beseche you, and hartely you pray, And I beseche you say me not nay, 70 But that I may beate her for this ones; A ii And I shall beate her, by cokkes bones, That she shall stynke lyke a pole-kat; But yet, by goggis body, that nede nat, For she wyll stynke without any betyng, 75 For every nyght ones she gyveth me an hetyng; From her issueth suche a stynkyng smoke, That the savour therof almost doth me choke. But I shall bete her nowe, without fayle; I shall bete her toppe and tayle, 80 Heed, shulders, armes, legges, and all, I shall bete her, I trowe that I shall; And, by goggis boddy, I tell you trewe, I shall bete her tyll she be blacke and blewe. I holde a noble I fere I am begyled alway, But yet in faith I hope well nay; Yet I almost enrage that I ne can Se the behavour of our gentylwoman. 90 And yet, I thynke, thyther as she doth go Many an honest wyfe goth thyther also, For to make some pastyme and sporte. But than my wyfe so ofte doth thyther resorte That I fere she wyll make me weare a fether. 95 But yet I nede not for to fere nether, For he is her gossyp, that is he. But abyde a whyle, yet let me se, Where the dyvell hath our gyssypry My wyfe had never chylde, daughter nor son. 100 Nowe if I forbede her that she go no more, Yet wyll she go as she dyd before, Or els wyll she chuse some other place; And then the matter is in as yll case. But in fayth all these wordes be in wast, 105 For I thynke the matter is done and past; And whan she cometh home she wyll begyn to chyde, But she shall have her payment styk by her syde; For I shall order her, for all her brawlyng, [Enter Tyb.] Tyb. Why, whom wylt thou beate, I say, thou knave? Johan. Who, I, Tyb? none, so God me save. Tyb. Yes, I harde the say thou woldest one bete. Johan. Mary, wyfe, it was stokfysshe Whiche wyll be good meate agaynst Lent. A ii b 115 Why, Tyb, what haddest thou thought that I had ment? Wilt thou never leve this wawlyng? Howe the dyvell dost thou thy selfe behave? Shall we ever have this worke, thou knave? 120 Johan. What! wyfe, how sayst thou? was it well gest of me That thou woldest be come home in safete, As sone as I had kendled a fyre? Come warme the, swete Tyb, I the requyre. Tyb. O, Johan Johan, I am afrayd, by this lyght, 125 That I shalbe sore syk this nyght. Johan [aside]. By cokkis soule, nowe, I dare lay a swan That she comes nowe streyght fro Syr Johan; For ever whan she hath fatched of hym a lyk, Than she comes home, and sayth she is syk. 130 Tyb. What sayst thou? Johan. Mary, I say, It is mete for a woman to go play Abrode in the towne for an houre or two. Tyb. Well, gentylman, go to, go to. Johan. Well, let us have no more debate. 135 Tyb [aside]. If he do not fyght, chyde, and rate, Braule and fare as one that were frantyke, There is nothyng that may hym lyke. Johan [aside]. If that the parysshe preest, Syr Jhan, Dyd not se her nowe and than, And gyve her absolution upon a bed, For wo and payne she wolde sone be deed. Tyb. For goddis sake, Johan Johan, do the not displease, Many a tyme I am yll at ease. What thynkest nowe, am not I somwhat syk? 145 Johan [aside]. Nowe wolde to God, and swete Saynt Dyryk, Or in a burnyng oven red hote, To se an I wolde pull the out. Tyb. Nowe, Johan Johan, to put the out of dout, 150 Imagyn thou where that I was Before I came home. Johan. My percase, Thou wast prayenge in the Churche of Poules Upon thy knees for all Chrysten soules. Tyb. Nay. Johan. Than if thou wast not so holy, 155 Shewe me where thou wast, and make no lye? Tyb. Truely, Johan Johan, we made a pye, I and my gossyp Margery, And our gossyp the preest, Syr Jhan, A iii And my neybours yongest doughter An; 160 The preest payde for the stuffe and the makyng, And Margery she payde for the bakyng. Johan. By cokkis lylly woundis, That is the most bawde hens to Coventre. Tyb. What say you? Johan. Mary, answere me to this: 165 Is not Syr Johan a good man? Tyb. Yes, that he is. Johan. Ha, Tyb, if I shulde not greve the, I have somewhat wherof I wolde meve the. Tyb. Well, husbande, nowe I do conject That thou hast me somewhat in suspect; 170 But, by my soule, I never go to Syr Johan But I fynde hym lyke an holy man, For eyther he is sayenge his devotion, Or els he is goynge in processyon. Johan [aside]. Yea, rounde about the bed doth he go, 175 You two together, and no mo; And for to fynysshe the procession, He lepeth up and thou lyest downe. Johan. Mary, I say he doth well, For so ought a shepherde to do, as I harde tell, 180 For the salvation of all his folde. Tyb. Johan Johan! [Johan.] What is it that thou wolde? Tyb. By my soule I love thee too too, And I shall tell the, or I further go, The pye that was made, I have it nowe here, 185 And therwith I trust we shall make good chere. Johan. By kokkis body that is very happy. Tyb. But wotest who gave it? Johan. What the dyvel rek I? Tyb. By my fayth, and I shall say trewe, than The Dyvell take me, and it were not Syr Johan. 190 Johan. O holde the peas, wyfe, and swere no more, But I beshrewe both your hartes therfore. Tyb. Yet peradventure, thou hast suspection Of that was never thought nor done. Johan. Tusshe, wife, let all suche matters be, 195 I love thee well, though thou love not me: But this pye doth nowe catche harme, Let us set it upon the harth to warme. Tyb. Than let us eate it as fast as we can. But bycause Syr Jhan is so honest a man, 200 I wolde that he shulde therof eate his part. Johan. That were reason, I thee ensure. Tyb. Than, syns that it is thy pleasure, I pray the than go to hym ryght, A iii b And pray hym come sup with us to nyght. 205 Jhan [aside]. Shall he cum hyther? by kokkis soule I was a-curst Whan that I graunted to that worde furst! But syns I have sayd it, I dare not say nay, For than my wyfe and I shulde make a fray; But whan he is come, I swere by goddis mother, 210 I wold gyve the dyvell the tone Johan. Mary, he is my curate, I say, My confessour and my frende alway, Therfore go thou and seke hym by and by, And tyll thou come agayne, I wyll kepe the pye. 215 Tyb. Shall I go for him? nay, I shrewe me than! Go thou, and seke, as fast as thou can, And tell hym it. Johan. Shall I do so? In fayth, it is not mete for me to go. Tyb. But thou shalte go tell hym, for all that. 220 Johan. Than shall I tell hym, wotest [thou] what? That thou desyrest hym to come make some chere. Tyb. Nay, that thou desyrest hym to come sup here. Johan. Nay, by the rode, wyfe, thou shalt have the worshyp And the thankes of thy gest, that is thy gossyp. 225 Tyb [aside]. Full ofte I se my husbande wyll me rate, For this hether commyng of our gentyll curate. Johan. What sayst, Tyb? let me here that agayne. Tyb. Mary, I perceyve very playne That thou hast Syr Johan somwhat in suspect; 230 But by my soule, as far as I conject, He is vertuouse and full of charyte. Johan [aside]. In fayth, all the towne knoweth better, that he Is a hore-monger, a haunter of the stewes, An ypocrite, a knave, that all men refuse; 235 A lyer, a wretche, a maker of stryfe, Better than they knowe that thou art my good wyfe. Tyb. What is that, that thou hast sayde? Johan. Mary, I wolde have the table set and layde, In this place or that, I care not whether. 240 Tyb. Than go to, brynge the trestels Abyde But yet I am afrayde to lay it down, [Johan.] And yet it may lye safe ynough unstolen. 245 [Tyb.] It may lye well here, and I lyst,— But, by cokkis soule, here hath a dogge pyst; And if I shulde lay it on the harth bare, A iv It myght hap to be burned, or I were ware, To kepe my gowne tyll I come agayne. But yet he shall not have it, by my fay, He is so nere the dore, he myght ron away; But bycause that ye be trusty and sure Ye shall kepe it, and it be your pleasure; 255 And bycause it is arrayde Whyle ye do nothyng, skrape of the dyrt. [Johan.] Lo, nowe am I redy to go to Syr Jhan, And byd hym come as fast as he can. [Tyb.] Ye, do so without ony taryeng. 260 But I say, harke! thou hast forgot one thyng; Set up the table, and that by and by. Nowe go thy ways. [Johan.] I go shortly; But se your candelstykkis be not out of the way. Tyb. Come agayn, and lay the table I say; 265 What! me thynkkis, ye have sone don! Johan. Nowe I pray God that his malediction Lyght on my wyfe, and on the baulde Tyb. Nowe go thy ways and hye the! seest? Johan. I pray to Christ, if my wyshe be no synne, 270 That the preest may breke his neck, whan he comes in. Tyb. Now cum again. Johan. What a myschefe wylt thou, fole! Tyb. Mary, I say, brynge hether yender stole. For to say thus, a vengaunce take the! 275 Tyb. Nowe go to hym, and tell hym playn, That tyll thou brynge hym, thou wylt not come agayn. Johan. This pye doth borne here as it doth stande. Tyb. Go, washe me these two cuppes in my hande. Johan. I go, with a myschyefe lyght on thy face! 280 Tyb. Go, and byd hym hye hym a pace, And the whyle I shall all thynges amende. Johan. This pye burneth here at this ende. Understandest thou? Tyb. Go thy ways, I say. Johan. I wyll go nowe, as fast as I may. 285 Tyb. How, come ones agayne: I had forgot; Loke, and there be ony ale in the pot. Johan. Nowe a vengaunce and a very myschyefe Lyght on the pylde On the pot, the ale, and on the table, 290 The candyll, the pye, and all the rable, On the trystels, and on the stole; A iv b It is moche ado to please a curst fole. Tyb. Go thy ways nowe, and tary no more, For I am a hungred very sore. 295 Johan. Mary, I go. Tyb. But come ones agayne yet; Brynge hyther that breade, lest I forget it. Johan. I-wys it were tyme for to torne The pye, for y-wys it doth borne. Tyb. Lorde! how my husbande nowe doth patter, 300 And of the pye styl doth clatter. Go nowe, and byd hym come away; I have byd the an hundred tymes to day. Johan. I wyll not gyve a strawe, I tell you playne, If that the pye waxe cold agayne. 305 Tyb. What! art thou not gone yet out of this place? I had went, I shulde breke thy knaves heed to nyght. Johan. Nay, than if my wyfe be set a chydyng, 310 It is tyme for me to go at her byddyng. There is a proverbe, whiche trewe nowe preveth, He must nedes go that the dyvell dryveth. [He goes to the Priest's house.] How mayster curate, may I come in At your chamber dore, without ony syn. 315 Syr Jhan the Preest. Who is there nowe that wolde have me? What! Johan Johan! what newes with the? Johan. Mary, Syr, to tell you shortly, My wyfe and I pray you hartely, And eke desyre you wyth all our myght, 320 That ye wolde come and sup with us to nyght. Syr J. Ye must pardon me, in fayth I ne can. Johan. Yes, I desyre you, good Syr Johan, Take payne this ones; and, yet at the lest, If ye wyll do nought at my request, 325 Yet do somewhat for the love of my wyfe. Syr J. I wyll not go, for makyng of stryfe. But I shall tell the what thou shalte do, Thou shall tary and sup with me, or thou go. Johan. Wyll ye not go than? why so? 330 I pray you tell me, is there any dysdayne, Or ony enmyte, betwene you twayne? Syr J. In fayth to tell the, betwene the and me, She is as wyse a woman as any may be; I know it well; for I have had the charge B i 335 Of her soule, and serchyd her conscyens at large. I never knew her but honest and wyse, Without any yvyll, or any vyce, Save one faut, I know in her no more, And because I rebuke her, now and then, therfore, 340 She is angre with me, and hath me in hate; Johan. Now God yeld it yow, god master curate, And as ye do, so send you your helth, Ywys I am bound to you a plesure. 345 Syr J. Yet thou thynkyst amys, peradventure, That of her body she shuld not be a good woman, But I shall tell the what I have done, Johan, For that matter; she and I be somtyme aloft, And I do lye uppon her, many a tyme and oft, 350 To prove her, yet could I never espy That ever any dyd worse with her than I. Johan. Syr, that is the lest care I have of nyne, Thankyd be God, and your good doctryne; But yf it please you, tell me the matter, 355 And the debate Syr J. I shall tell the, but thou must kepe secret. Johan. As for that, Syr, I shall not let. Syr J. I shall tell the now the matter playn,— She is angry with me and hath me in dysdayn 360 Because that I do her oft intyce To do some penaunce, after myne advyse, Because she wyll never leve her wrawlyng, But alway with the she is chydyng and brawlyng; And therfore I knowe, she hatyth [my] presens. 365 Johan. Nay, in good feyth, savyng your reverens. Syr J. I know very well, she hath me in hate. Johan. Nay, I dare swere for her, master curate: [Aside] But, was I not a very knave? I thought surely, so god me save, 370 That he had lovyd my wyfe, for to deseyve me, And now he quytyth hym-self; and here I se He doth as much as he may, for his lyfe, To styn[te] Now I forgyve her with m[y] And thank thy wyfe, and say I wyll not come. Johan. Yet, let me know, now, good Syr Johan, B i b Where ye wyll go to supper than. 380 Syr J. I care nat greatly and I tell the. On saterday last, I and ii or thre Of my frendes made an appoyntement, And agaynst this nyght we dyd assent That in a place we wolde sup together; 385 And one of them sayd, he Ale and bread; and for my parte, I Sayd, that I wolde gyve them a pye, And there I gave them money for the makynge; And an-other sayd, she wolde pay for the bakyng; 390 And so we purpose to make good chere For to dryve away care and thought. Johan. Than I pray you, Syr, tell me here, Whyther shulde all this geare be brought? Syr J. By my fayth, and I shulde not lye, 395 It shulde be delyvered to thy wyfe, the pye. Johan. By God! it is at my house, standyng by the fyre. Syr J. Who bespake that pye? I the requyre. Johan. By my feyth, and I shall not lye, It was my wyfe, and her gossyp Margerye, 400 And your good masshyp, And my neybours yongest doughter An; Your masshyp payde for the stuffe and makyng, And Margery she payde for the bakyng. Syr J. If thou wylte have me nowe, in faithe I wyll go. 405 Johan. Ye, mary, I beseche your masshyp do so, My wyfe taryeth for none but us twayne; She thynketh longe or I come agayne. Syr J. Well nowe, if she chyde me in thy presens, I wylbe content, and take [it] in pacyens. 410 Or frowne, or loure, or loke asyde, I shall brynge you a staffe as myche as I may heve, Than bete her and spare not; I gyve you good leve To chastyce her for her shreude varyeng. 415 [They return to Johan's house.] Tyb. The devyll take the for thy long taryeng! Here is not a whyt of water, by my gowne, To washe our handes that we myght syt downe; Go and hye the, as fast as a snayle, And with fayre water fyll me this payle. 420 Johan. I thanke our Lorde of his good grace That I cannot rest longe in a place. Tyb. Go, fetche water, I say, at a worde, B ii For it is tyme the pye were on the borde; And go with a vengeance, & say thou art prayde. 425 Syr. J. A! good gossyp! is that well sayde? Tyb. Welcome, myn owne swete harte, We shall make some chere or we departe. Johan. Cokkis soule, loke howe he approcheth nere Unto my wyfe: this abateth my chere. 430 [Exit.] Syr J. By God, I wolde ye had harde the tryfyls, The toys, the mokkes, the fables, and the nyfyls, That I made thy husbande to beleve and thynke! Thou myghtest as well into the erthe synke, As thou coudest forbeare laughyng any whyle. 435 Tyb. I pray the let me here part of that wyle. Syr J. Mary, I shall tell the as fast as I can. But peas, no more—yonder cometh thy good man. [Re-enter Johan.] Johan. By kockes soule, it was, even nowe, full to the brynk, But it was out agayne or I coude thynke; Wherof I marveled, by God Almyght, 445 And than I loked betwene me and the lyght And I spyed a clyfte, bothe large and wyde. Lo, wyfe! here it is on the tone Tyb. Why dost not stop it? Johan. Why, howe shall I do it? Tyb. Take a lytle wax. Johan. Howe shal I come to it? 450 Syr J. Mary, here be ii wax candyls, I say, Whiche my gossyp Margery gave me yesterday. Tyb. Tusshe, let hym alone, for, by the rode, It is pyte to helpe hym, or do hym good. Syr J. What! Jhan Jhan, canst thou make no shyfte? 455 Take this waxe, and stop therwith the clyfte. Johan. This waxe is as harde as any wyre. Tyb. Thou must chafe it a lytle at the fyre. Johan. She that boughte the these waxe candylles twayne, She is a good companyon certayn. 460 Tyb. What, was it not my gossyp Margery? Syr J. Yes, she is a blessed woman surely. Tyb. Nowe wolde God I were as good as she, For she is vertuous, and full of charyte. She is the erranst baud betwene this and Rome. Tyb. What sayst? B ii b Johan. Mary, I chafe the wax, And I chafe it so hard that my fingers krakks. But take up this py that I here torne; And it stand long, y-wys it wyll borne. 470 Tyb. Ye, but thou must chafe the wax, I say. Johan. Byd hym syt down, I the pray— Syt down, good Syr Johan, I you requyre. Tyb. Go, I say, and chafe the wax by the fyre, Johan. And how now, what wyll ye do with the py? Shall I not ete therof a morsell? Tyb. Go and chafe the wax whyle thou art well, And let us have no more pratyng thus. Syr. J. Benedicite. Johan. Dominus. 480 Tyb. Now go chafe the wax, with a myschyfe. Johan. What! I come to blysse the bord, It is my custome now and than. Mych good do it you, Master Syr Jhan. Tyb. Go chafe the wax, and here no lenger tary. 485 Johan [aside]. And is not this a very purgatory To se folkis ete, and may not ete a byt? By kokkis soule, I am a very wodcok. This payle here, now a vengaunce take it! Now my wyfe gyveth me a proud mok! 490 Tyb. What dost? Johan. Mary, I chafe the wax here, And I ymagyn to make you good chere, [Aside.] That a vengaunce take you both as ye syt, For I know well I shall not ete a byt. But yet, in feyth, yf I myght ete one morsell, 495 I wold thynk the matter went very well. Syr J. Gossyp, Jhan Jhan, now mych good do it you. What chere make you, there by the fyre? Johan. Master parson, I thank yow now; I fare well enow after myne own desyre. 500 Syr J. What dost, Jhan Jhan, I the requyre? Johan. I chafe the wax here by the fyre. Tyb. Here is good drynk, and here is a good py. Syr J. We fare very well, thankyd be our lady. Tyb. Loke how the kokold chafyth the wax that is hard, 505 And for his lyfe, daryth not loke hetherward. Johan. I chafe the wax— [Aside.] And I chafe it so hard that my fyngers krakks; And eke the smoke puttyth out my eyes two: I burne my face, and ray my clothys also, B iii 510 And yet I dare not say one word, And they syt laughyng yender at the bord. Tyb. Now, by my trouth, it is a prety jape, For a wyfe to make her husband her ape. Loke of Jhan Jhan, which maketh hard shyft 515 To chafe the wax, to stop therwith the clyft. Johan [aside]. Ye, that a vengeance take ye both two, Both hym and the, and the and hym also; And that ye may choke with the same mete At the furst mursell that ye do ete. 520 Tyb. Of what thyng now dost thou clatter, Jhan Jhan? or whereof dost thou patter? Johan. I chafe the wax, and make hard shyft To stopt her-with of the payll the ryft. Syr J. So must he do, Jhan Jhan, by my father kyn, 525 That is bound of wedlok in the yoke. Johan [aside]. Loke how the pyld preest crammyth in; That wold to God he myght therwith choke. Tyb. Now, Master Parson, pleasyth your goodnes To tell us some tale of myrth or sadnes, 530 For our pastyme, in way of communycacyon. Syr J. I am content to do it for our recreacyon, And of iii myracles I shall to you say. Johan. What, must I chafe the wax all day, And stond here, rostyng by the fyre? 535 Syr J. Thou must do somwhat at thy wyves desyre! I know a man whych weddyd had a wyfe, As fayre a woman as ever bare lyfe, And within a senyght after, ryght sone He went beyond se, and left her alone, 540 And taryed there about a vii yere; And as he cam homeward he had a hevy chere, But, when that he comen home agayn was, He found his wyfe, and with her chyldren seven, 545 Whiche she had had in the mene space; Yet had she not had so many by thre Yf she had not had the help of me. Is not this a myracle, yf ever were any, That this good wyfe shuld have chyldren so many 550 Here in this town, whyle her husband shuld be Beyond the se, in a farre contre. Johan. Now, in good soth, this is a wonderous myracle, But for your labour, I wolde that your tacle B iii b Were in a skaldyng water well sod. 555 Tyb. Peace, I say, thou lettest the worde of God. Sir J. An other myracle eke I shall you say, Of a woman, whiche that many a day Had been wedded, and in all that season She had no chylde, nother doughter nor son; 560 Wherfore to Saynt Modwin And offered there a lyve pyg, as is the usage Of the wyves that in London dwell; And through the vertue therof, truly to tell, Within a moneth after, ryght shortly, 565 She was delyvered of a chylde as moche as I. How say you, is not this myracle wonderous? Johan. Yes, in good soth, syr, it is marvelous; But surely, after myn opynyon, That chylde was nother doughter nor son. 570 For certaynly, and I be not begylde, She was delyvered of a knave chylde. Tyb. Peas, I say, for Goddis passyon, Thou lettest Syr Johan's communication. Sir J. The thyrde myracle also is this: 575 I knewe another woman eke y-wys, She was delyvered of a fayre doughter, As well formed in every membre & joynt, And as perfyte in every poynt 580 As though she had gone v monthis full to th' ende. Lo! here is v monthis of advantage. Johan. A wonderous myracle! so God me mende; I wolde eche wyfe that is bounde in maryage, And that is wedded here within this place, 585 Myght have as quicke spede in every suche case. Tyb. Forsoth, Syr Johan, yet for all that I have sene the day that pus, my cat, Hath had in a yere kytlyns eyghtene. Johan. Ye, Tyb, my wyfe, and that have I sene. 590 But howe say you, Syr Jhan, was it good, your pye? The dyvell the morsell that therof eate I. By the good lorde this is a pyteous warke— But nowe I se well the olde proverbe is treu: The parysshe preest forgetteth that ever he was clarke! 595 But, Syr Jhan, doth not remembre you How I was your clerke, & holpe you masse to syng, And hylde the basyn alway at the offryng? B iv He never had halfe so good a clarke as I! But, notwithstandyng all this, nowe our pye 600 Is eaten up, there is not lefte a byt, And you two together there do syt, Eatynge and drynkynge at your owne desyre, And I am Johan Johan, whiche must stande by the fyre Chafyng the wax, and dare none other wyse do. 605 Syr J. And shall we alway syt here styll, we two? That were to mych. Tyb. Then ryse we out of this place. Syr J. And kys me than in the stede of grace; And farewell leman and my love so dere. Johan. Cokkis body, this waxe it waxte colde agayn here;— 610 But what! shall I anone go to bed, And eate nothyng, nother meate nor brede? Tyb. Why! were ye not served there as ye are, Chafyng the waxe, standying by the fyre? 615 Johan. Why, what mete gave ye me, I you requyre? Sir J. Wast thou not served, I pray the hartely, Both with the brede, the ale, and the pye? Johan. No, syr, I had none of that fare. Tyb. Why! were ye not served there as ye are, 620 Standyng by the fyre chafyng the waxe? Johan. Lo, here be many tryfyls and knakks— By kokkis soule, they wene I am other dronke or mad. Tyb. And had ye no meate, Johan Johan? no had? Johan. No, Tyb my wyfe, I had not a whyt. 625 Tyb. What, not a morsel? Johan. No, not one byt; For honger, I trowe, I shall fall in a sowne. Sir J. O, that were pyte, I swere by my crowne. Tyb. But is it trewe? Johan. Ye, for a surete. Tyb. Dost thou ly? Johan. No, so mote I the! Tyb. Hast thou had nothyng? Johan. No, not a byt. Tyb. Hast thou not dronke? Johan. No, not a whyt. Tyb. Where wast thou? Johan. By the fyre I dyd stande. Tyb. What dydyst? Johan. I chafed this waxe in my hande, Where-as I knewe of wedded men the payne 635 That they have, and yet dare not complayne; For the smoke put out my eyes two, I burned my face, and rayde my clothes also, Mendyng the payle, whiche is so rotten and olde, That it will not skant together holde; 640 And syth it is so, and syns that ye twayn By ko[k]kis soule I wyll take no lenger payn, Ye shall do all yourself, with a very vengaunce, For me, and take thou there thy payle now, 645 And yf thou canst mend it, let me se how. Tyb. A! horson's knave! hast thou brok my payll? Thou shall repent, by kokkis lylly nayll. Rech me my dystaf, or my clyppyng sherys: I shall make the blood ronne about his erys. 650 Johan. Nay, stand styll, drab, I say, and come no nere, For by kokkis blood, yf thou come here, Or yf thou onys styr toward this place, I shall throw this shovyll full of colys in thy face. Tyb. Ye! horson dryvyll! get the out of my dore. 655 Johan. Nay! get thou out of my house, thou prestis hore. Sir J. Thou lyest, horson kokold, evyn to thy face. Johan. And thou lyest, pyld preest, with an evyll grace. Tyb. And thou lyest. Johan. And thou lyest, Syr. Syr J. And thou lyest agayn. Johan. By kokkis soule, horson preest, thou shalt be slayn; 660 Thou hast eate our pye, and gyve me nought, By kokkes blod, it shal be full derely bought. Tyb. At hym, Syr Johan, or els God gyve the sorow. Johan. And have at your hore and thefe, Saynt George to borrow. Here they fyght by the erys a whyle, and than the preest and the wyfe go out of the place. Johan. A! syrs! I have payd some of them even as I lyst, 665 They have borne many a blow wilh my fyst, I thank God, I have walkyd them well, And dryven them hens. But yet, can ye tell Whether they be go? for by God, I fere me, That they be gon together, he and she, 670 Unto his chamber, and perhappys she wyll, Spyte of my hart, tary there styll, Wyll make me cokold, evyn to anger me; Therfor, by God, I wyll hye me thyder To se yf they do me any vylany: And thus fare well this noble company. Finis Imprinted by Wyllyam Rastell FOOTNOTES:Vous irayje signer la table? Je scay bien le benedicite. |
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