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 .vi. chapiter.

OH what choyse may compare, to the deuyls lyfe, Lyke his, that hath chosen a deuyll to his wife. Namely suche an olde wytche, suche a mackabroyne, As euermore lyke a hog hangeth the groyne, On her husband. except he be hir slaue, And folow all fancyes, that she wold haue. This prouerbe proueth, there is no good accorde, Where euery man woulde be a lorde. Wherfore my wyfe wilbe no lord, but lady. To make me, that shulde be hir lorde, a baby. Before I was wedded, and sens. I made recknyng▪ To make my wyfe boow at euery becknyng. Bachelers bost, how they wil teche their wiues good, But many a man speaketh of Robyn hood, That neuer shotte in his bowe. Whan all is sought, Bachelers wiues, & maides children be well tought. And this with this, I also begyn to gather, Euery man can rule a shrewe saue he that hath her. At my wil I wend she wolde haue wrought, like wax. But I fynde and feele, she hath founde suche knakx. In hir bouget, and suche toies in hir hed, That to daunce after her pipe I am ny led. It is saied of olde, an olde dog byteth sore. But by god, tholde bitche byteth sorer and more.

And not with teeth (she hath none) but with hir tong. If all tales be true (quoth I) though she be stong, And therby styng you, she is not muche to blame. For what euer you saie, thus goeth the fame, Whan folke fyrst saw your substāce layd in your lap, Without your pein, w^t your wife broght by good hap Oft in remembrance of haps happy deuise, They wold saie, better to be happy than wyse. Not myndyng therby than, to depraue your wyt, For they had good hope, to see good profe of yt. But sens their good opinion therin so cooles, That they saie as ofte, god sendeth fortune to fooles. In that as fortune without your wyt gaue it, So can your wyt not kepe it whan ye haue it. Saieth one, this geare was gotten on a holy daie. Saieth an other, who maie holde that will awaie. This game frō beginning, shewth what end is ment. Soone gotten soone spent, yll gotten yll spent. Ye are calde not onely to great a spender, To franke a gyuer, and as free a lender, But also ye spende gyue and lende, among suche, Whose lightnesse minisheth your honestee as muche, As your money, and muche they disalow, That ye bribe all from hir, that brought all to yow. And spende it out at doors, in spite of hir, Bycause ye wolde kill hir, to be quite of hir. For all kyndnesse of hir parte, that maie ryse, Ye shewe all thunkyndnesse ye can deuyse. And where reason and custome (they saie) afoords Alwaie to let the loosers haue theyr woords,

You make hir a cookqueyn, and consume hir good. And she must syt lyke a beane in a monks hood. Bearyng no more rule, than a goose turd in tems. But at hir owne maydens becks, wynks, or hems. She must obeie those lambs, or els a lambs skyn, Ye will prouide for hir, to lap her in. This byteth the mare by the thumbe, as they sey. For were ye, touchyng condicion (saie they) The castell of honestee in all thyngs els. Yet shoulde this one thyng as their holle tale tels, Defoyle and deface that castell to a cotage. One crop of a tourde marrth a pot of potage. And some to this, crye, let hym pas, for we thynke, The more we stur a tourde, the wours it will stynke. With many condicions good, one that is yll, Defaceth the floure of all, and dothe all spyll. Nowe (quoth I) if you thynke they truely clatter, Let your amendement amende the matter. Half warnd half armd. this warnīg for this I show, He that hath an yll name, is halfe hangd. ye know.