A dialogue conteinyng the nomber in effect of all the prouerbes in the englishe tongue compacte in a matter concernyng two maner of mariages, made and set foorth by Iohn̄ Heywood.

¶The tenth chapiter.

VVhan dyner was doon, I cam home agayne, To attende on the returne of these twayne. And er three houres to ende were fully tryde, Home came she fyrst, welcom (quoth I) and wel hyde. Ye a shorte horse is soone corryd (quoth shee) But the weaker hath the worse we all daie see. After our last partyng, my husband and I Departed, eche to place agreed formerly. Myne vncle and aunte on me dyd loure and glome. Bothe bad me god spede, but none bad me welcome. Their folkes glomd on me to, by whiche it appereth, The yong cocke croweth, as he the olde hereth.

At dyner they were, and made (for maners sake) A kynswoman of ours, me to table take. A false flattryng fylth, and if that be good, None better to beare two faces in a hood. She speaketh as she wolde crepe into your bosome. And whan the meale mouth hath won the bottome Of your stomake, than will the pikthanke it tell To your moste enmies, you to bie and sell. There is no mo suche tytifils in Englands grounde, To holde with the hare, and run with the hounde. Fyre in the tone hande, and water in the tother, The makebate bereth betwene brother and brother. She can wynk on the yew, and wery the lam, She maketh ernest matters of euery flymflam. She must haue an ore in euery mans barge. And no man chat ought in ought of her charge. Colle vnder canstyk she can plaie on both hands, Dissimulacion well she vnderstands. She is lost with an appull, and woon with a nut. Her tong is no edge toole, but yet it will cut. Hir chekes are purple ruddy like a horse plumme. And the bygge part of hir body is hir bumme. But littell tit all tayle, I haue herde er this, As high as two horseloues hir persone is. For priuy nyps or casts ouerthwart the shyns, He shall lese the maystry that with her begyns, She is, to turne loue to hate, or ioye to grefe A paterne, as mete as a rope for a thefe. Hir promise of frendshyp, for any auayle, Is as sure to holde, as an eele by the tayle.

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She is nother fishe nor fleshe nor good red hearyng. She maie doo muche there, and I therby fearyng She wolde spit her venym, thought it not euyll To set vp a candell before the deuyll. I clawd her by the backe in waie of a charme, To do me, not the more good, but the lesse harme. All that dyner tyme we syttyng to gether, Aboue all, with her I made fayre wether. Praying her in her eare, on my syde to holde, She therto swearyng by her false faith, she wolde. Streight after dyner myne aunte had no choyce, But other burst, or burst out in pylats voyce. Ye huswife, what wind blowth ye hyther thus right? Ye might haue knokt or ye came in, leaue is lyght. Better vnborne then vntaught, I haue herde saie, But ye be better fed than taught far awaie. Not veraie fat fed, saied this flebergebet, But nede hath no lawe, nede maketh her hither iet. She comth nece Ales (quoth she) for that is her name More for nede, then for kyndnes, payne of shame. Howbeit she can not lacke, for he fyndth that seekes, Louers lyue by loue, ye as larks lyue by leekes. Saied this Ales, muche more than half in mockage. Tushe (quoth myne aunte) these louers in dotage Think the groūd beares them not, but wed of corage They must in all haste, though a leafe of borage Myght bye all the substaunce that they can sell. Well aunt (quoth Ales) all is well that ends well. Ye Ales, of a good begynnyng comth a good ende. Not so good to borow, as be able to lende.

Nay in dede aunt (quoth she) it is sure so, She must nedes grāt, she hath wrought hir own wo. She thought Ales, she had sene far in a mylstone, Whan she gat a husband, and namely such one, As they by weddyng coulde not onely nought wyn, But lose both lyuyng and loue of all theyr kyn. Good aunt (quoth I) humbly I beseche ye, My trespase done to you forgyue it me. I know & knowlage, I haue wrought myn own pein But things past my hāds, I can not call agein. True (quoth Ales) things done, can not be vndoone, Be they done in due tyme, to late, or to soone. But better late then neuer to repent this. To late (quoth myne aunt) this repentance shewd is. Whan the stede is stolne, shut the stable durre. I tooke her for a rose, but she bredeth a burre. She comth to stycke to me now in her lacke, Rather to rent of my clothes fro my backe, Then to doo me one ferthyng wurth of good. I see daie at this little hole. For this bood Shewth what fruit wil folow. In good faith I saide In waie of peticion I sue for your aide. A well (quoth she) nowe I well vnderstande The walking staffe hath caught warmth in your hād A cleane fyngerd huswyfe and an ydel, folke saie, And will be lyme fyngerd I feare by my faie. It is as tender as a persons lemman. Nought can she doo, and what can she haue than? She maie not beare a fether, but she must brethe, She maketh so muche of her paynted shethe.

She thynkth her ferthyng good siluer I tell you. But for a ferthyng who euer dyd sell you Myght bost you to be better solde than bought. And yet thogh she be worth nought, nor haue nought Her gowne is gaier and better than myne. At her gaie gowne (quoth Ales) ye maie repyne. Howe be it as we maie we loue to go gaie all. Well well (quoth myne aunte) pride will haue a fall. For pride goeth before, and shame cometh after. Sure (saied Ales) in maner of mockyng laughter, There is nothyng in this worlde that agreeth wurs, Than dothe a ladies hert, and a beggers purs. But pride she shewth none, her looke reason alowth She lookth as butter wolde not melt in her mouth. Well the styll sow eats vp all the draffe Ales. All is not golde that glistreth by olde tolde tales. In youth she was towarde and without euyll, But soone ripe sone rotten, yong seynt olde deuill. How be it lo god sendth the shrewd cow short hornes. While she was in this house she sat vpon thornes. Eche one daie was three, tyll libertee was borow For one months ioy to bryng her holle lyues sorow. It were pitee (quoth Ales) she shulde myscary. For she is growne a goodly damsell mary. Ill weed growth fast Ales. wherby the corne is lorne. For surely the weed ouergroweth the corne. If I maie (as they saie) tell trouth without syn, Of trouthe she is a wolfe in a lambes skyn. Her herte is full hye, whan her eie is full lowe. A geast as good lost as founde, for all this showe.

But many a good cowe hath an euyll calfe. I speake this doughter in thy mothers behalfe. My syster (god rest her soule) whom though I bost, Was cald the floure of honestee in this coste. Aunt (quoth I) I take for father and mother Myne vncle and you aboue all other. When we wold, ye wold not be our chyld (quoth she.) Wherfore now whan ye wold, now will not we. Sens thou woldst nedes cast a waie thy selfe thus, Thou shalte sure synke in thyne owne syn for vs. Thou arte in dede borne veraie ny of my stocke, And ny is my kyrtell, but nere is my smocke. I haue one of myne owne, whom I must loke to. Ye aunte (quoth Ales) that thyng must ye nedes do. Nature compellth you to set your owne fyrst vp. For I haue heard saie, it is a deere colup, That is cut out of thowne fleshe. But yet aunte, So smal maie hir request be, that ye maie graunt To satisfie the same, whiche maie doo her good, And you no harme in thauancyng your owne blood. And cosyn (quoth she to me) what ye wold craue, Declare, that our aūt may know what ye wold haue. Nay (quoth I) be they wynners or loosers, Folke say alwaie, beggers shulde be no choosers. With thanks I shal take what euer myn aunt please, Where nothyng is, a little thyng doth ease. And by this prouerbe appereth this o thyng, That alwaie somewhat is better than nothyng. Hold fast whan ye haue it (quoth she) by my lyfe. The boy thy husbande, and thou the gyrle his wyfe,

Shall not consume that I haue laboured fore. Thou art yong inough, and I can worke no more. Kyt calot my cosyn sawe this thus far on And in myne aunts eare she whispreth anon Roundly these words, to make this matter whole. Aunt, leat theim that be a colde blowe at the cole. They shall for me Ales (quoth she) by gods blyst. She and I haue shaken handes. farewell vnkyst. And thus with a becke as good as a dieu gard, She flang fro me, and I from her hitherward. Beggyng of her booteth not the worth of a beane, Litle knoweth the fat sow, what the lean doth meane. Forsoth (quoth I) ye haue bestyrd ye well. But where was your vncle while all this fray fell? A sleepe by (quoth she) routyng like a hog. And it is euill wakyng of a slepyng dog. The bitche and her whelp might haue been a sleep to. For ought they in wakyng to me would do. Fare ye well (quoth she) I will now home streyte. And at my husbands hands for better news weyte.