What’s he that stares as if he were afright?

The fellowe sure hath seene some dreadfull spright

Masse rightly guest, why sure I did divine,

Hee’s haunted with a Spirit feminine.

In plaine termes thus, the Spirit that I meane,

His martiall wife that notable curst queane,

No other weapons but her nailes or fist,

Poore patient Idiot he dares not resist,

His neighbor once would borrow but his knife,

Good neighbor stay (quoth he) ile aske my wife:

Once came he home inspired in the head,

He found his neighbor and his wife a bed,

Yet durst not sturre, but hide him in a hole,

He feared to displease his wife poore soule.

But why should he so dreade and feare her hate,

Since she had given him armor for his pate?

Next day forsooth he doth his neighbor meete,

Whome with sterne rage thus furiously doth greete,

Villaine ile slit thy nose, out comes his knife,

Sirra (quoth he) goe to Ile tell your wife.

Apaled at which terror, meekely faide

Retire good knife my furie is allaide.