The defence of conny catching. Or A confutation of those two iniurious pamphlets published by R.G. against the practitioners of many nimble-witted and mysticall sciences. By Cuthbert Cunny-catcher, licentiate in Whittington Colledge.

THE DEFENCE OF Conny-catching.

I Cannot but wonder maister R. G. what Poeticall fury made you so fantasticke, to wryte against Conny-catchers? Was your braine so barraine that you had no other subiect? or your wittes so dried with dreaming of loue Pamphlettes, that you had no other humour left, but satirically with Diogenes, to snarle at all mens manners? You neuer founde in Tully nor Aristotle, what a setter or a verser was.

It had been the part of a Scholler, to haue written seri••usly of some graue subiect, either Philosophically to haue shewen how you were proficient in Cambridge, or diuinely to haue manifested your religion to the world. Such trunall trinkets and threedbare ••rash, had better seemed T. D. whose braines beaten to the yar∣king vp of Ballades, might more lawfully haue glaunst at the quaint conceites of conny-catching and crosse-biting.

But to this my obiection, mee thinkes I heare your maship learnedly reply, Nascimur pro patria: Euery man is not vorne for himselfe, but for his country: and that the ende of all studious indeuours ought to tende to the aduancing of vertue, or suppres∣sing of vice in the common-wealth. So that you haue herein do••e the part of a good subiect, and a good scholler, to anotomize such secret villa••••es as are practised by cosoning companions, to the ouerthrow of the simple people: for by the discouery of such per∣nitious lawes, you seeke to roote out of the common-wealth, such ••ll and licentious liuing persons▪ as do Ex alieno succo viuere, liue of the sweat of other mens browes, and vnder su••til shif••es of witte abused, seeke to ruine the flourishing estate of Englande. These you call vipers, moathes of the common-wealth, caterpil∣lers worse then ••od rayned downe on Egypt, rotte•• flesh which

must be diuided from the whole.

Ense resecandum est ne pars sincera trahatur.

This maister R. G. I know will be your answere, as it is the pretended cause of your iniurious Pamphlets. And indeede it is very well done, but greater had your praise been, if you had ente∣red into the nature of more grosse abuses, and set downe the parti∣cular enormities that growe from suche palpable villanies. For truth it is, that his is the Iron age, wherein iniquitie hath the vp∣per hande, and all conditions and estates of men seeke to liue by their wittes, and he is counted wisest, that hath the deepest insight into the getting of games: euery thing now that is found profita∣ble, is counted honest and lawfull: and men are valued by theyr wealth, not by their vertues. Hee that cannot dissemble cannot liue, and men put their sonnes now a dayes Apprentises, not to learne trades and occupations, but craftes and mysteries.

If then witte in this age be counted a great patrimony, and subtletie an inseparable accident to all estates, why should you bee so spitefull maister R. G. to poore Conny-catchers aboue all the rest, sith they are the simplest soules of all in shifting to liue in this ouer wise world?

But you play like the Spider that makes her webbe to intrap and snare litle flyes, but weaues it so slenderly, that the great ones breake through without any dammage. You straine Gnats, and passe ••uer Elephants: you scoure the ponde of a fewe croakyng Frogges, and leaue behinde an infinite number of most venemous Scorpions. You decypher poore Conny-catchers, that perhaps with a t••••cke at cardes, winne fortie shillings from a churle that can spare it, and neuer talke of those Caterpillers that vndoo the poore, ruine whole Lorships, infect the common-wealth, and delight in nothing but in wrong••ull extorting and purloyning of pelte, when as such be the greatest Conny-catchers of all, as by your leaue maister. R G. I wil make manifest.

Sir reuerence on your worship, had you such a moate in your eye, that you could not see those Fox-••urd Gentlemen that hyde vnder their gownes faced with foynes, more falshood then all the Conny-catchers in England beside, those miserable Usurers (I meane) that like Uultures pray vppon the spoyle of the poore,

sleeping with his neighbors pledges all night in his bosome, and feeding vpon forfaits and penalties, as the rauens doe vppon car∣ren? If his poore neighbor want to supply his need, eyther for his houshold necessa••ies, or his rent at the day, he wil not lende a peny for charitie, all his money is abroad: but if he offer him either co•• or sow, mare or horse, or the very corne scarse sprowted out of the ground to sel, so the bargaine may be cheape, though to the begge∣ry of the poore man, hee choppes with him straight, and makes the poore Conny fare the worse all the yeare after. Why write you not of these Connycatchers Maister R. G.?

Besides if pawnes come, as the lease of a house, or the fee sim∣ple in morgage, hee can out of his furd cassocke draw money to lend: but the olde Cole hath such quirkes and quiddities in the conueyance, such prouisoes, such dayes, howers, nay minutes of payments, that if his neighbor breake bnt a moment, he takes the forfayt, and like a pinke-eyed Ferret so clawes the poore Cony in the burrow, that he leaues no haire on his breach nor on his backe ere he partes with him. Are not these vipers of the commonwelth, and to be exclaimde against, not in smal Pamphlets, but in great volumes?

You set downe how there bee requisite Setters and Uersers in Conny-catching, and be there not so I pray you in Usury? for when a yoong youthful Gentleman, giuen a little to lash out li∣beralley, wanteth money, makes hee not his moane first to the Broker, as subtil a knaue to induce him to his ouerthrowe, as the wyliest Set••er or Uerser in England? and he must be feede to speake to the Usurer, and haue so much in the pound for his la∣bour: then he shal haue graunt of money and c••mmodities toge∣ther, so that if he borrow a hundred pound, he shal haue fortie in 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and threescore in wares, dead stuffe God wot: as Lute strings, Hobby horses, or (if he be greatly fauored) browne pa∣per or cloath, a••d that shootes out in the lash. Then his lande is turnde ouer in ••tatute or recognizance for sixe moneths and sixe moneths, so that he payes some thirty in the hundred to the Usu∣rer, beside the Scriuener he hath a blind share: but when he comes to sel his threescore pound commodities, tis wel if he get fiue and t••••rtie.

Thus is the poore gentleman made a ••e••re and simple Con∣ny, and verst vpon to the vttermost, and yet if he breake his day, lo∣seth as much land as cost his father a thousand markes.

Is not this coossenage and Conny-catching Maister R G. and more daily practised in England, and more hurtful then our poore shifting at Cardes, and yet your mashippe can winke at the cause? they be wealthy, but Cuthbert Conny-catcher cares for none of them no more then they care for him, and therfore wil reueale all. And because Maister R. G. you were pleasant in examples, Ile tel you a tale of an Usurer, done within a mile of a knaues head, and since the Cuckow sung last, and it fellout thus.

A pleasant tale of an Vsurer.

IT fortuned that a yoong gentleman not farre off from Cocker∣mouth, was somewhat sl••pt behind hand, and growne in debt, so that he durst hardly shew his head for feare of his creditors, and hauing wife and children to mai••taine, although he had a pr••per land, yet wanting money to s••ocke his ground, he liued very bare: whereupon he determined with himselfe to goe to an olde penny-father that dwelt hard by him, and so borrow some money of him, and so to lay his land in morgage for the repayment of it.

He no sooner made the motion but it was accepted, for it was a goodly Lorship, worth in rent of assise seuen score pound by the yeare, and did ab••ut vpon the Usurers ground, which drew the old churle to be maruellous willing to di••burse money, so that he was content to lende him two hundred markes for three yeare accor∣ding to the statute, so that he might haue the land for assurance of his money.

The ge••tleman agreed to that, and promised to acknowledge a statute staple to him, with letters of defeysance. The Usurer (al∣though he lik•• this wel, and s••w the yong man offere•• more than reason required) yet had a further setch to haue the land his what∣soeuer should chaunce, and therefore he began to verse vppon the poore Conny thus.

Sir (quoth he) if I did not pittie your estate, I would not lende you my money at such a ••ate: for whereas you haue it after ten

pounds in the hundred▪ I can make it worth thirtie. But seeing the distresse you your wife and children are in, and considering all growes through your owne liberall nature, I compassionate you the more, and would do for you as for mine owne sonne: therefore if you shal thinke good to follow it, I wil giue you fatherly aduise, I knowe you are greatly inde••ted, and haue many vnmercifull creditors, and they haue you in suit, and I doubt ere long wil haue some ex••ent against your lands, so shal you be vtterly vndone, and I greatly incumbred. Therefore to auoyd all this, in my iudge∣ment it were best for you to make a deed of gift of all your landes, without condition or promise, to some one faythful friend or other, in whom you may repose credite, so shal your enemies haue no aduauntage against you: and seeing they shall haue nothing but your bare body lyable to their executions, they wil take the more easie and speedy composition. I thinke this the surest way, and if you durst repose your selfe in me, God is my witnesse, I would be to you as your father if he liued. How say you to this compendi∣ous tale Maister R. G. ••••uld the proudest setter or verser in the world haue drawne on a Conny more cunningly?

Wel, againe to our yoong gentleman, who simply (with teares in his eyes to heare the kindnes of the Usurer) thankt him hartily, and deferred not to put in practise his counsell, for he made an ab∣solute deed of gift from wife and children to this Usurer of all his Lordshippe, and so had the two hundred markes vpon the playne forfait of a ••and.

To be short, the money made him and his merry, and yet he did hus••and it so wel, that he not onely duly paid the interest, but stockt his grounds, and began to grow out of debt, so that his creditors were willing to beare with him. Against the three yeares were ex∣pired, he made shift by the helpe of his friends for the money, and carryed it home to the Usurer, thanking him greatly, and crauing a returne of his deed of gift. Nay soft sir (sayth the olde Churle) that bargaine is yet to make, the land is mine to mee and mine heyres for euer, by a deed of gift from your owne hand, and what can be more sure: take the money if you please, and there is your band, but for the Lordship I wil enter on it to morrow: yet if you wil be ••y tenant, you shall haue it before another, aud that is all

the fauour you shal haue of me.

At this the Gentleman was amazed, and began to plead con∣science with him, but in vaine: whereuppon he went sorrowfully home and told his wife, who as a woman halfe lunatike ran with hir little children to his house, and cryed out, but bootlesse: For although they called him before the chiefe of the country, yet 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the law had graunted him the fee simple thereof he would not part withal: so that this distressed gentleman was faine to become te∣nant to this Usurer, and for two hundred marks to lofe a Lordship worth six or seuen thousand pounds. I pray you was not this an old Conycatcher M. R. G. that could lurtch a poore Conny of so many thousands at one time? whether is our cros••ing at cardes more perillous to the commonwelth than this cossenage for land? you winke at it, but I wil tel all, yet heare out the end of my tale, for as fortune fel out, the Usurer was made a Cony himselfe.

The gentleman and his wife smothering this with patience, she that had a reaching wit, & ha•••• brain reuenge in hir head, coun∣seld hir husband to make a voyage from home, & to stay a weeke or two: and (q. she) before you come againe you shal see mee venter faire for the land. The gentleman willing to let his wife practise hir wits, went his way, and left al to his wiues discretion. She af∣ter hir husband was foure or fiue dayes from home, was visited by the Usurer, who vsed hir very kindly, and sent victuals to hir house, promising to sup with hir that night, and that she should not want any thing in hir husbands absence. The gentl••woman with gratious acceptance thankt him, and bad diuers of hir neighbors to beare him company, hauing a further reatch in hir heade then he suspected. For the olde Churle comming an hower before Sup∣per time, euen as she hir selfe would wish, after an amorous wehe or two, as olde Iades wynnie when they cannot wagge the tayle, began to be very pleasant with his tenant, and desired her to shew him al the roomes in hir house, and happily (saith he) if I die with∣out issue, I may giue it to your children, for my conscience bids me be fauorable to you.

The gentlewoman lead him through euery part, and at last brought him into a backe roome much like a backhouse, where she ••aid thus vnto him.

Sir, this roome is the most vnhandsomest in all the house, but if there were a dormar built to it, and these shut windows made bay windows and glazd, it would make the properest parlour in al the house: for (saith she) put your head out at this window, and looke what a sweet prospect belongs vnto it.

The Usurer mistrusting nothing, thrust out his craftie sconce, and the Gentlewoman shut to the windowe, and called her maids to helpe, where they bound and pinyond the caterpillers armes fast, and then stood he with his head into a backeyard, as if he had beene on a pillory, and struggle he durst not for stifling himselfe. When she had him thus at the vauntage, she got a couple of sixe peny nayles and a hammer, and went into the yard, hauing her children attending vpon her, euery one with a sharpe knife in theyr handes, and then comming to him with a sterne countenance, shee looked as Medea did when she attempted reuenge against Iason. The Usurer seeing this tragedie, was afraid of his life, and cryed out, but in vaine, for her maydes made such a noyse, that his ••hr••∣king could not be heard, whilest she nayled one ea••e fast to the win∣dowe, and the other to the stanshel, then began she to vse these words vnto him.

Ah vile and iniurious caterpiller, God hath sent thee to seeke thine owne reuenge, and now I and my children wil performe it. For sith thy wealth doth so couutenance thee, that we cannot haue thee punisht for thy coossenage, I my selfe wil bee Iustice, Iudge, and Executioner: for as the Pillory belongs to such a villaine, so haue I nayled thy eares and they shal be cut off to the perpetuall example of such purloining reprobates, and the executers shal bee these little infants, whose right without conscience or mercie thou so wrongfully deteinest. Looke on this old Churle litle babes. this is he that with his coossenage wil driue you to beg and want in your age, and at this instant brings your Father to all this pre∣sent miserie, haue no pittie vppon him, but you two cut off his eares, and thou (quoth she to the eldest) cut off his nose, and so be reuenged on the villaine whatsoeuer fortune me for my labour. At this the Usurer cryed out, and bad her stay her children, and hee would restore the house & land again to hir husband. I cannot be∣leeue thee base churle q. she, for thou that wouldst periure thy selfe

against so honest a Gentleman as my husband, wil not sticke to for∣sweare thy selfe were thou at liberty and therefore I wil mangle thee to the vttermost. As thus she was ready to haue her children fal vpon him, one of hir maydes came running in, and told her, her neighbors were came to supper: bid them come in, quoth she, and behold this spectacle. Although the Usurer was passing loath to haue his neighbors see him thus tyranously vsed, yet in they came, and when they saw him thus mannerly in a new made pillory, and his eares fast nayled, some wondred, some laught, and all stood a∣mazed, till the Gentlewoman discourst to them all the coosenage, and how she meant to be reuenged: some of them perswaded her to let him go, others were silent, and some bad him confesse: he hea∣ring them debate the matter, and not to offer to helpe him, cryed out: why, and stand you staring on me neighbors, and wil not you saue my life? No quoth the Gentlewoman, he or she that stirs to helpe thee shal pay dearely for it, and therefore my boyes, off with his eares: then he cryed out, but stay, and he would confesse all, when from point to point he rehearst how he had coossened hir hus∣band by a deed of gift only made to him in trust, and there was con∣tent to giue him the two hundreth markes freely for amends, and to yeeld vp before any men of worship the land againe into his pos∣session, and vpon that he bad them all beare witnes. Then the gen∣tlewoman let loose his eares, and let slip his head, and away went he home with his bloody lugges, and tarryed not to take part of the meat he had sent, but the gentlewoman & her neighbors made merry therwith, and laught hartily at the vsage of the vsurer. The next day it was bruted abroad, and came to the eares of the wor∣shipful of the country, who sate in commission vppon it, and found out the coossenage of the Usurer, so they praised the witte of the Gentlewoman, restored her husband to the land, and the old churle remained in discredit, and was a laughing stocke to all the country all his life after.

I pray you what say you to Mounser the Miller with the gil∣den thumbe, whether thinke you him a Conny catcher or no? that rob•• euery poore man of his meale and corne, and takes towle at his owne pleasure, how many Conyes doth hee take vp in a yeare? for when he brings them wheat to the Mill, he sels them meale of

their owne corne in the market. Iomi•• Miles the Millers coosse∣nage for wenching affaires, as no doubt in these causes they bee mighty Cony-catchers, and meane to speake of their pollicie in ••••ltching and stealing of meale. For you must note, that our iolly M••ller doth not only verse vpon the poore and rich for their towle, but hath false hoppers conueyed vnder the fal of his Mill, where al the best of the meale runs by, this is, if the partie be by that brin∣geth the corne: but because many men haue many eyes, the Mil∣ler will driue them off for their griest for a day or two, and then he playes his pranks at his owne pleasure. I need not tel that stale ••east of the Gentlemans Miller that kept Court and Leet once e∣uery weeke, and vsed to set in euery sacke a candle, ••nd so summon the owners ••o appeare by their names, if they came not, as they were farre inough from that place, then he amerced them, and so tooke treple towle of euery sacke. One night amongst the rest, the Gentleman his maister was vnder the Mill, and heard all his knau••ry, how euery one was called, and paid his amerciament, at last he heard his owne name called, and then stepping vp the Lad∣der, he had stay, for he was there to make his appearance. I do i∣magine that the Miller was blanke, and perhaps his Maister cal∣led him knaue, but the For the more he is curst the better he fares, and the oftener the Miller is called theefe, the richer the waxeth: and therefore doe men rightly by a by word did the Miller put out, and if he asketh what, they say a theeues head and a theeues paire of eares: for such graund Cony-catchers are these Millers, that he that cannot verse vpon a poore mans lacke, is said to be borne with a golden thumbe. But that you may see more plainly theyr knauery, Ile tel you a pleasant tale, performed not many yeares since by a Miller in Enfield Mil, ten miles from London, and an Alewiues boy of Edmondton, but because they are al at this pre∣sent aliue, I wil conceale their names, but thus it fel out.

A pleasant Tale of a Miller and an Alewiues Boy of Edmondton.

AN Alewife of Edmondton, who had a great vent for spiced Cakes, sent her sonne often to Endfield Mill for to haue her

wheat ground, so that the Boy who was of a quicke spirit & rype wit, grew very familiar both with the Miller and his man, and his man, and could get his corne sooner put in the Mil then any Boy in the country beside. It fortuned on a time, that this good wife wanting meale, bad her Boy hie to the Mil, and be at home that night without faile, for she had not a pint of floure in the house. Iacke her sonne, for so we wil cal his name, layes his sacke on his mares backe, and away he rides singing towardes Endfield: as he rode, he mette at the washes with the Miller, and gaue him the time of the day, Godfather quoth he, whither ride you? to Lon∣don Iacke quoth the Miller: Oh good Godfather quoth the boy, tel mee what store of griest is at the Mil? marry great store quoth the Miller: but Iacke if thou wilt do me an arrant to my man, ile send thee by a token that thou shalt haue thy coru cast on & ground assoone as thou commest, Ile say and doe what you wil to be dis∣patcht, for my mother hath neyther Cakes nor floure at home: then Iacke saith the Miller, bid my man grind thy corne next, by that token he looke to my Bitch and feed her wel. I wil Godfa∣ther saith the Boy, and rides his way, and marueiled with himself what Bitch it was that he bad his man feede, considering for two or three yeares he had vsde to the Mil, and neuer saw a Dog nor Bitch, but a little prickeard Shault that kept the Mil doore. Ri∣ding thus musing with himselfe, at last he came to Endfield, and there he had his corne wound vp: assoon as he came vp the stairs, the Millers man being somewhat sleepy began to aske Iack drow∣sily what newes, Marry quoth the Boy, the newes is this, that I must haue my corne laide on next: soft Iacke quoth the Millers man, your turne wil not rowe afore midnight, but ye are alwayes in hast, soft fire makes sweet mault, your betters shal be serued a∣fore you this time. Not so quoth the Boy, for I met my Godfa∣ther at the washes-riding to London, and tolde him what hast I had, and so he bids my griest shal be layde on next, by that token you must looke to his Bitch and feed her wel. At that the Millers man smilde, and said he should be the next, and so rose vp and tur∣ned a pinne behind the Hopper. Iacke markt al this, and beeing a wily and a witty Boy, mused where this Bitch should be, and see∣ing none began to suspect some knauery, and therefore being very

familiar, was bold to looke about in euery corner, while the man was busie about the Hopper, at last Iacke turning vp a cloath that hung before the Trough, spied vnder the Hopper belowe, where a great P••ake was tyed with a cord almost ful of fine floure, that ranne at a false hole vnderneath, and could not be spyed by any meanes. Iacke seeing this, beganne to suspect this was the Millers Bitch that hee commanded his man to feede, and so s••••led and let it alone: at last when the corne was ground off that was in the Hopper, Iacke layde on his, and was very bus••e about it himselfe, so that the Millers man set him downe and tooke a nap, knowing the Boye could looke to the m••ll almost as wel as himselfe, Iacke all this while had an eye to the Bitch, and determined at last to slip her haul••er, which he warily per∣formed, for when his corne was ground and he had put vp his meale, he whipst asunder the cord with his knife that held the Poake, & thrust it into the mouth of his sacke, now there was in the Poake a bushell and more of passing fine floure, that the Millers Bitch had eaten that day, assoone as Iacke had tyed vp his sacke, there was str••••••ng who should laye on corne next, so that the Millers man wakte, and Iacke desiring one to helpe him vp with his corne, tooke his leaue and went his way, ryding merely homeward, smiling to thinke how he had cou∣soned the Miller, as he roade, at that same place where hee mette the Miller outward▪ he met him homeward, How now Ia••ke quoth the Miller hast ground, I, I thanke you Godfather quoth the Boy, but didst remember my arrant to my man sayes he, didst bid him looke to my Bitch wel, Oh Godfather quoth the Boy, take no care for your Bitch she is wel, for I haue her here in my sacke whelpes and all, a∣way rydes Iacke at this laughing, and the Miller grieuing, but when he found it true, I leaue you to gesse how hee and his man dealt togi∣ther, but how the Alewife sported at the knauery of her sonne when he told her all the ieast, that imagine, but how soeuer for all that, Iack was euer welcome to the Mill and ground before any, and whose soe∣uer sacke fedde the Bitch, Iackes scapte euer towle-free, that hee might conceale the Millers subtiltie.

Was not this Miller a Conny-catcher maister R. G? What should I talke of the baser sort of men, whose occupation cannot bee vpholden without craft, there is no mysterie nor science almost, wher∣in a man may thriue, without it be lincked to this famous Art of Con∣ny-catching. The Alewife vales she ••••cke her P••ts and Conny-catch

her gue••tes with stone Pottes and petty Cannes, can hardly paye her Brewer, nay and yet that wil not serue, the chalke must walke to set vp now & then a shilling or two too much, or else the rent wil not bee answered at the quarter day, besides ostrey, faggots, and faire cham∣bring, and pretty wenches that haue no wages, but what they get by making of beddes. I know some Taphouses about the Subberbes, where they buy a shoulder of mutton for two groats, and sel it to their ghuest for two shillings, and yet haue no female friends to sup with∣all, let such take heed, least my fathers white Horse loose saddle & bri∣dle & they go on foote to the diuel on pilgrimage. Tush maister R. G. God is my witnesse, I haue seene Chaunlers about London, haue two paire of waites, and when the searchers come, they shew•• them those that are sealed, but when their poore neighbors buy ware, they vse them that lack weight, I condemne not all, but let such amend as are toucht at the quick. And is not this flat Conny-catching, yes, if it please your maship & worser. Why the base sort of Ostlers haue their shifts, & the crue of S▪ Patrickes Costerdmongers, can sell a simple man a crab for a pipping. And but that I haue loued wine wel, I wold touch both the Uintner and his bush, for they haue such brewing and tunning, such chopping and changing, such mingling & mixing. what of wine with water in the quart pot, and tempering one wine with an other in the vessel, that it is hard to get a neate cup of wine and simple of it selfe, in most of our ordinary Tauerus, & do not t••ey make poore men connies, that for their currant mony giue them counterfeit wine.

What say you to the Butcher with his prickes, that hath pollicies to puffe vp his meate to please the eye, is not al his craft vsed to draw the poore Conny to ryd him of his ware. Hath not the Draper his darke shop to shadow the dye and wooll of his cloth, and all to make the country Gentleman or Farmer a conny. What trade can main∣taine his traffique? what science vphold it self? what man liue, vnles he growe into the nature of a Cony-catcher? Doo not the Lawyers make long Pleaes, stand vpon their demurres, and haue their quirks and quiddities to make his poore Client a Cony? I speake not ge∣nerally, for so they be the ministers of iustice, and the Patrons of the poo••e mens right, but particularly of such as hold gaines their G••d, and esteeme more of coyne then of conscience. I remember by the way a merry iest performed by a Foole, yet wittily hit home at hazard, as blinde men shoote the Crow.

A pleasant Tale of Will Sommers.

KIng Henry the eight of famous memory, walking one day in his priuy Garde••, with Will Sommers his Foole, it fortuned that two Lawyers had a sui••e vnto his maiestie for one piece of grounde that was almost out of lease and in the Kinges gift, and at time put vp their Supplication to his highnesse, and at that instant one of the Pantry that had been a long seruiture, had spyed out the same land, and exhibited his petition for the same gift, so that in one houre, all the three Supplications were giuen to the King, which his highnesse no∣ting, and being as then pleasantly disposed, he reuealed it to them that were by him, how there were three Fishes at one b••yte, and all gapte for a benefice, and hee stood in doubt on whome to bestowe it, and s•• shewed them the Supplications, the Courtiers spoke for their felow, except two that were feed by the Lawyers, and they ••articularly pleaded for their friendes, yelding many reasons to the King on both sides. At last his maiestie sayd, hee would referre the matter to Will Sommers, which of them his Foole thought most worthy of it should haue the lande. Will was glad of this, and loued him of the Pan••rie wel, and resolued he should haue the ground, but the Foole brought it about with pretty iest, Marry quoth he, what are these two Lawiers? I Will saide the King, then quoth the Foole, I wil vse them as they vse their poore clients. Looke here quoth he, I haue a Walnut in my hand, and I wil diuide it among the three, so Will crackt it, and gaue to one Lawyer one shel, and to an other the other shel, and to him of the Pantry the meat, so shal thy gift be Harry, quoth he, this Lawyer shal haue good Bookes, and this faire promises, but my felow of the Pantry shal haue the land. For thus deale they with their clyents, two men goe to two, and spende all that they haue vpon the Lawe, and at last, haue nothing but bare shales for their labour. At this, the King and his Noble men laught: the Yeoman of the Pantry had the gift, and the Lawyers went home with fleas in their eares, by a Fooles verdite. I rehearst this Act to shew how men of Lawe, feede on poore mens purses, and makes their country clyents, oftentimes simple connyes. But leauing these common courses and trinial examples, I wil shew you maister R. G. of a kinde or Conny-catchers, that as yet passeth al these.

There bee in Englande, but especially about London, certayne quar••t, pickt, and neate com••anions, attyred in their apparel, eyther

alla mode de Fraunce, with a side Cloake, and a hat of a high blocke and a broad brimme, as if hee could with his head cosmographise the world in a moment, or else Allespanyole, with a straight bombast•• fleeue like a quaile pipe, his short Cloake, and his Rapier hanging as if he were entering the List to a desperate Combate: his beard squa∣red with such Art, eyther with his mustachies after the lash of Lions, standing as stiffe as if he wore a Ruler in his mouth, or else nickt off with the Italian cut, as if he ment to professe one faith with the vpper lippe, and an other with his nether lippe, and then hee must be Mar∣quisad••d, with a side peake pendent, eyther sharpe lyke the single of a Deere, or curtold lyke the broad ende of a Moule spade. This Gen∣tleman forsooth, hanteth Tabling houses, Tauerns, and such places, where yong nouices resort, & can fit his humor to all companies, and openly shadoweth his disguise with the name of a Traueller, so that he wil haue a superficiall insight into certaine phrases of euerie lan∣guage, and pronounce them in such a grace, as if almost hee were that Countryman borne: then shal you heare him vaunt of his trauels, and tel what wonders he hath seene in strange countries: how be hath bin at Saint Iames of Gompostella in Spaine, at Madril in the Kings Court: and then drawing out his blade, hee claps it on the boord, and and sweares he bought that in Toledo: then wil he roue to Venice, and with a sigh, discouer the situation of the citie, how it is seated two Leagues from Terra frenia, in the Sea, and speake of Rialto Tre∣uiso and Murano, where they make Glasses: and to set the young gētlemans teeth an edge, he wil make a long tale of La Strado Cour∣tizano, wher the beautiful Curtizans dwel▪ discribing their excellen∣cy, and what angellical creatures they be and how amorously they wil entertaine strangers. Tush, he wil discourse the state of Barbary, and there to Esc••••tes and Alcaires, and from thence leape to Fraunce, Denmarke, and Germany, After all concluding thus.

What is a Gentleman (saith he) without trauaile? euen as a man without one eye. The sight of sundry c••untries made V••isses so fa∣mous: bought witte is the sweetest, and experience goeth beyond all Patrymon••es. Did young Gentlemen, as wel as I, know the plea∣sure & profit of 〈◊〉〈◊〉, they would not keep them at home within their 〈…〉〈…〉: but visit the world, & win more wisedome in trauel∣ling two or three yeeres, then all the wealth their Ancestors left them to poss••sse. Ah the sweet sight of ladies, the strange wonders in cities,

and the diuers manners of men and theyr conditions, were able to ra∣uish a yong Gentlemans sences with the sur••et of content, and what is a thousand pound spent to the obtaining of those pleasures.

All these Nouelties doth this pip••ed Bragout boast on, when his only trauaile hath been to look on a faire day, from Douer Clifts to Callis, neuer hauing stept a foot out of England, but surueyed the Maps, and heard others talke what they knew 〈◊〉〈◊〉 experience. Thus decking himselfe like the Daw with the faire feathers of other birds, and discoursing what he heard other men report, hee grew so plausible among yoong Gentlemen, that he got his ordinary at the least, and some gratious thanks for his labour. But happily some amongst ma∣ny, tickled with the desire to see strange countries, and ••rawne on by his alluring words, would ioyne with him, and questi••n if he meant euer to trauaile againe. He straight after he hath 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his peake by the end, Alla Neopoli••ano begins thus to reply.

Sir, although a man of my 〈…〉〈…〉 experienc•• might be satisfi∣ed in the sight of countries, yet so 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in the desire of trauailing, that if perhaps a yong Gentleman of a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and courteous nature, were desirous to see Ierusalem or Constantinople, would he wel acquit my paines and followe my counfaile, I would bestow a yeare or two with him out of England. To be breefe, if the Gentleman ••umpe with him, then doth he cause him to sel some Lordship, and put some thousand or tw•• thousand pound in the banke to be receyued by letters of exchange: and because the gentleman is ignorant, my yong Maister his guide must haue the disposing of it: which he so wel sets out, that the poore gentleman neuer sees any returne of his mony af∣ter. Then must store of suites of apparel he bought and furnisht euery way: at last, he names a ship wherein they should passe, and so downe to Grauesend they go, and there he leaues the yoong nouice, fleest of his money and wo begone, as farre from trauaile as Miles the mer∣ry Cobler of Shorditch, that swore he w••uld neuer trauaile further, than from his shop to the Alehouse. I pray you cal you not these fine witted fellowes Conny-catchers Maister R. G.?

But now Sir by your leaue a little, what if I should proue you a Conny-catcher Maister R. G. would it not make you blush at the matter? Ile go as neare to it as the Frye•• did to his Hostesse mayde, when the Clarke of the parish tooke him at Leuatem at midnight. Aske the Queens P••ayers, if you sold them not Orlando Furio so

for twenty Nobles, and when they were in the country, sold the same Play to the Lord Admirals als men for as much more. Was not this plaine Conny-catching Maister R. G?

But I heare when this was obiected, that you made this excuse: that there was no more faith to be held with Plaiers, than with them that valued faith at the price of a feather: for as they were Comaedi∣ans to act▪ so the actions of their liues were Cameleon like, that they were vncertaine, variable, time pleasers, men that measured honestie by profite, and that regarded their Authors not by desart, but by ne∣cessitie of time. If this may serue you for a shadow, let mee vse it for an excuse of our Car•• Conny-catching: for when we meet a coun∣try Farmar with a fulpurse, a miserable 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that eyther rockes his Tenants rents, or selles his graine in the market at an vnreasonable rate: we hold it a deuotion to make him a Conny, in that he is a Ca∣terpiller to others, and gets that by pilling and polling of the poore, that we strip him of by ••••eight and agilitie of wit.

Is there not heere resident about London, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 crew of terryble Hacksters in the habite of Gentlemen, wel 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and yet some wear•• bootes for want of stockings, with a locke worne at theyr lefte eare for their mistrisse fauour, his Rapyer Alla reuoloto, his Poyna∣do pendent ready for the sta••, and cauileuarst like a warlike Magni∣fico: yet for all this outward shew of pride, inwardly they be humble in minde, and despise worldly welth, for you ••hal neuer take them with a pen••y in theyr purse. These Souldados, for vnder that profession most of them wander, haue a pollicie to scourge Alehouses, for where they ••ight in, they neuer leape out, till they haue shewed theyr Arith∣matike with chalke on euery post in the house, figured in Cyphers like round Os, till they make the goodman cry O, O, O, as if hee should cal an O yes at Size or Sessions. Now sir, they haue sundry shifts to maintaine them in this versing, for eyther they creep in with the goodwife, and so vndoo the goodman, or els they beare it out with great brags if the Host be simple, or els they trip him in some wordes when he is tipsy, that he hath spoken against some Iustice of peace or other, or some other great man: and then they hold him at a bay with that, til his b••cke almost breake. Thus shift they from house to house, hauing this prouerbe amongst them: Such must eate as are hungry and they must p••y that haue money. Call you not these Conny-catchers Maister R. G.?

It were an endlesse peece of work, to discouer the abhominable 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of brokers, whose shops are the very temples of the deuil, themselues his priests, and their books of account more damnable, th••n the Al∣••or••n set out by Mahomet: for as they induce yoong gentlemen to pawne their lands, as I said before: so they are ready (the more is the pitty that it is suffered) to receiue any goods, howsoeuer it bee came by, hauing their shoppes, (as they say) a lawful market to buy and sel in, so that whence growes to mony Lifts about London, but in that they haue Brokers their friends, to ••uy whatsoeuer they purloyne & fleale? And yet is the Picklocke, Lift, or Hooker, that brings y^• stolne goods, made a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Conny, and vsed as an Instrument onely of theyr villany: for suppose he hath lifted a gowne or a cloake, or so many par∣cels as are worth tenne pounds, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his life in hazard for the obtaining of it: the miserable Caterpiller the Broker, wil thinke hee dealeth liberaily with him if he giue him forty shillings, so doth he not onely maintaine fellony, but like a theefe ••••••ssens the th••e••e. And ar•• not these graund Conny-catchers 〈◊〉〈◊〉 R. G.?

I knew not farre from Fleetbridge a 〈◊〉〈◊〉, it were a good deed to take Paine.* 1.1 to tel his name, that tooke of a boy of seuen yeere old a Rapier worth forty shillinges, and a stitcht taffata Hat woorth ten, and all for fiue shilling•••• the Gentleman, father to the child, was sicke when necessitie dro•••• him thus nigh, to lay his weapon and his Bonnet to pawne, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 as he recouered, which was within sixe weeks after, sent the money and twelue pence for the lone, to haue the parcels againe. But this Cutthrotes answer was, the Boy had made him a bil of sa••e of his hand for a moneth, and the day was bro∣ken,* 1.2 and he had made the best of the Rapier and Hat. Was not this a Iewe and a notable Conny-catcher Maister R. G.

It had beene wel if you had rould out your Rhetorike against such a rakehel. But come to theyr honest kinde of life, and you shal see how they stand vpon circumstances: if you borrow but two shillings, there must be a groat for the money, and a groat for the Bil of sale, and this must bee renewed euery moneth: so that they resemble the Boxe 〈◊〉〈◊〉, which beeing wel payd all night, will in the morning be the grea∣test winner.

Wert not a merry ieast to haue about againe Maister R. G. with your poetical Brethren: amongst the which, one learned Hypocrite, that could brooke no abuses in the Commonwealth, was so zealous,

that he began to put an English she Saint in the Legend, for the holi∣nesse of her life: and forgot not so much as her dogge, as Tobies was remembred, that wagged his tayle at the sight of his olde Mi∣stresse. This pure Martinist (if he were not worse) had a combat be∣tweene the flesh and the spirite, that he must needes haue a Wife, which he cunningly conny-catcht in this manner.

A pleasant Tale how a holy brother Conny-catcht for a Wife.

FIrst you must vnderstand, that he was a kind of Scholastical pa∣nyon, nourst vp onely at Grammer schoole, least going to the U∣niuersitie, through his nimble witte, too much learning should make him mad. So he had past As in praesenti, and was gone a proficient as farre as Carmen Heroicum: for he pronounst his wordes like a ••ragout, and helde vp his head like a Malt-horse, and could talke a∣gainst Bishops, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 very mannerly the discipline of the Primi∣tiue Church were restored. Now sir, this Gentleman had espyed (I dare not say about Fleetstreet) a proper mayd, who had giuen hir by the decease of her Father foure hundred pound in money, besides cer∣taine faire houses in the Cittie: to this girle goeth this proper Greek a wooing, naming himselfe to be a Gentleman of Cheshire, and only sonne and heyre to his Father, who was a man of great reuenewes: and to make the matter more plausible, he had attyred his owne bro∣ther very orderly in a blew coat, and made him his seruingman, who, though he were eldest, yet to aduaunce his yonger brother to so good a marriage, was content to lie, cog, and flatter, and to take any ser∣uile paines, to sooth vp the matter: insomuch that when her Father in law (for hir mother was marryed againe, to an honest, vertuous, and substantial man in Fleetstreet or thereabouts) heard how this yoong Gentleman was a Suiter to his daughter in law, careful she shoulde doe wel, calde the Seruing man aside, which by his outward behaui∣our seemed to be an honest and discreet m••n, and began to question with him what his Maister was, of what par••••tage, of what possi∣bilitie of liuing after his Fathers decease, and how many children he had beside him.

This fellow wel instructed by his holy Brother, without distrust to the man, simply as he thought, said, that he was the sonne and heire

of one Maister &c. dwelling in Cheshire, at the Manor of &c. and that he had a yoonger brother, but this was hey••e to all, and rehearst a pro∣per liuing of some fiue hundred markes a yeare. The honest man, knowing diuers Cheshire Gentlemen of that name, g••ue credyte to the fellowe, and made no further inquiry, but gaue countenaunce to my yoong Maister, who by his flattering speeches had wonne, rot onely the Maydes fauour vnto the full, but also the good wil of her Mother, so that the match shortly was made vp, and marryed they shoulde bee forsooth, and then should she, her Father and her Mo∣ther, ryde home to his Father in Cheshire, to haue su••••icient dowry appointed.

To bee breefe, wedded they were, and bedded they had been three or foure nights, and yet for all this fayre shew the Father was a little iealous, and smoakt him, but durst say nothing. But at last, after the marriage had beene past ouer three or foure dayes, it chaunced that her Father and this Seruingman went abroad, and past through S. Paules Churchyard amongst the Stationers, a Prentise amongst the rest, that was a Cheshire man, and knew this counterfayte Ser∣uingman and his brother, as being borne in the same Parish where his Father dwelt, called to him, and sayde: What I. how doth your Brother P. how doth your Father, liues he stil? The fellow aunswe∣red him all were wel, and loth his brothers wiues father should heare any thing, made no stay but departed.

This acquaintance naming the fellow by his name and asking for his brother, droue the honest Cittizen into a great maze, and doubted he, his wife & h••s d••ughter were made Connyes. Wel, he smoothed all ••p, ••s if he had heard nothing, and let it passe til he had sent the man about necessary businesse, and then secretly returned againe vnto the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 shop, and began to question with the Boy, if he knew the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••an wel, that he cald to him of lat••. I marry doe I sir quoth 〈…〉〈…〉 and his brothe•• P. I can tel you they haue an 〈…〉〈…〉

at the boordes end but my yoong Maister, and he very coyly, badde them all welcome to his fathers house, they all gaue him reuerent thankes, esteeming him to be a man of worship and worth. Assoone as all were set, and the meate serued in, and the Gentlemans Seruing-man stood mannerly wayting on his brothers trencher at last the good man of the house smiling said: Sonne P. I pray you let your man sit downe, and eate such part with vs as God hath sent vs. Marry quoth Maister P. that were wel to make my man my companion, he is wel inough, let him suppe with his fellowes. Why sir sayth he, in fayth he plaine, cal him brother, and bid him sitte downe. Come coossen I. quoth he, make not straunge, I am sure your brother P. wil giue you leaue. At this Maister P. blusht, and askt his Father in lawe what he meant by those wordes? and whether he thought his man his brother or no? I by my faith doe I sonne quoth he, and account thee no honest man that wilt deny thine owne brother and thy father: For sir know I haue learnd your pettegree. Alas daughter quoth he, you are wel marryed, for his Father liues of the almes of the Parish, and this poore Fellowe which he hath made his slaue, is his eldest Brother. At this his wife began to weepe, all was dasht, and what she thought G••d knowes. Her mother cryed out, but all was bootlesse, Maister P. confest the trueth, and his brother sate downe at supper, and for al that he had the wench. I pray you was not this a Conny-catcher Maister R. G.?

But now to be a little pleasant with you, let me haue your opinion what you deeme of those Amarosos here in England, & about Lon∣don, that (because the old prouerbe saith, change of pasture makes fat calues, wil haue in euery shire in England a sundry wife, as for an in∣stance your countryman R. B. are not they right Conny-catchers? enter into the nature of them, and see whether your pen had been bet∣ter imployed in discouering their vill••inies, thā a simple legerdemain at cards. For suppose a man hath but one daughter, and hath no other dowrie but her beautie and honestie, what a spoile is it for hir to light in the hands of such an adulterous and incestuous rascal? had not hir father beene better to haue lost forty shillings at cardes, then to haue his daughter so conny catcht and spoyld for euer after? These youths are proper fellows, neuer without good apparel and store of crowns, wel horst, and of so quaint & fine behauior, & so eloquent, that they are able to induce a yong girle to folly, especially since they shadow the••r

villainy with the honest pretence of marriage: for theyr custome is this. When they come into the Cittie or other place of credit, or som∣time i•• a country village, as the fortune of theyr villany leads them, they make inquiry what good marriages are abroad, & on the sunday make suruey what faire and beautiful mayds or widowes are in the Parish: then as their licentious lust leades them, whether the eye for fauour, or the eare for riches, so they set downe theyr rest, & soiourne eyther there or thereabouts, hauing money at wil, and their compa∣nions to sooth vp whatsoeuer damnably they shal protest, courting the maid or widow with such faire words, & sweet promises, that shee is often so set on fire, that neither the report of others, nor the admo∣nition of their frends, can draw them from the loue of the Poligamoi or bel-swaggers of the country. And when the wretches haue by the space of a moneth or two satisfied their lust, they waxe weary, & either faine some great iourney for a while to be absent, & so go & visit some other of his wiues, or els if he meane to giue her the bagge, he selleth whatsoeuer he can, and so leaues hir spoild both of hir wealth and ho∣nestie, then which there is nothing more pre••ious to an honest woman. And because you shal see an instance, I wil tel you a pleasant tale per∣formd by our villaines in Wiltshire not long since, I wil conceale the parties names, because I thinke the woman is yet aliue.

A pleasaunt Tale of a man that was marryed to sixteene Wiues, and how courteously his last wife intreated him.

IN Wiltshire there dwelt a Farm••r of indifferent wealth, that had but o••ely one childe, and that was a daughter, a mayd of excellent beauty and good behauior, and so honest in h••r conuersation, that the good r••port of hir ver••ues was wel spoken of in al•• the cuntry, so that what for hir good quali••ies, & sufficient dowry that was like to fal to her▪ she h••d many suters, mens sons of good welth and honest conuer∣sation But whether this mayd had no minde to wed, or she likte none that made loue to her, or she was afrayde to match in haste least shee might repent at leysure, I know not: but she refused all, & kept her stil a virgin. But as we see oftentimes, the coyest maydes happen on the coldest mariages, playing like the beetle that makes scorne al day of the dai••tiest slowers, and at night takes vp his lodging in a cow∣sh••rd▪ So this maid, whom we wil cal Marian, refused many honest

and wealthy Farmars sonnes, and at last lighted on a match, that for euer after ••ard her market: for it fel out thus. One of these notable roges, by occupation a taylor, and a fine workman, a reprobate giuen ouer to the spoyle of honest maids, & to the deflowring of virgins, hea∣ring as he trauelled abroad of this Marian, did meane to haue a fling at her, and there••••re came into the towne where hir father dwelt and asked worke. A very ••o••est man of that trade, seeing him a passing proper man, and of a very good and honest countenance, and not sim∣ply app••relled, sayd he would make trial of him for a garment or two, and so ••ooke him into seruice: assoone as hee saw him vse his needle, he wondered not onely at his workemanshippe, but at the swiftnes of his hand. At last the fello•• (whom we wil name William) desired his Maister that he might vse his sheeres but once for the cutting out of a dublet, which his Maister graunted, and he vsed so excellently wel, that although his Maister was counted the best taylor in Wiltshire, yet he found himself a botcher in respect of his new intertained iour∣neyman, so that from that time forward he was m••de forema•• of the shop, & so pleased the gentlemen of that shire, that who but William talkt on for a good taylor in that shire. Wel, as yong men and maydes meet on sondayes & holydaies, so this taylor was passing braue, & be∣gan to frolike it amongst the maydes, & to be very li••eral, being ful of siluer and gold, & for his personage a properer man than any was in all the Parish, and made a far off a kind of loue to this Marian, who seeing this William to be a very hand some man, began somewhat is affect him, so that in short time she thought wel of his fauors, & there grew some loue betweene them, insomuch that it came to hir fathers eares, who began to schoole his daughter for such foolish affectiō to∣wards one she knew not what he was, nor whither he would: but in vaine, Marian could not but thinke wel of him, so that her father one d••y sent for his Maister▪ and began to qu••s••ion of the disposi••••on of his m••n. The Maister told the Farmar friendly that what he was hee ••new not, as being a me••re strang••r vnto him: but for his workman∣s••ip, he was one of t••e most excellent b••th for needle and sheeres in England: for his behauior since he came into his house, he had behaued himself very honestly and 〈◊〉〈◊〉: wel apparelled he was, and well mo••ied, & might for his good qualiti••s s••eme to be a good w••mans f••llow. Although this somewhat satisfied the father, yet he was loth a tail••r should 〈◊〉〈◊〉 away his daughter, & that she should be driuē to liue

of a bar•• occupation, whereas she might haue landed men to her hus∣bandes, so that hee and her friendes called her 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and perswaded her from him, but she flatly told them ••he neuer loued any but him, and sith it was her first loue, she would not now be turned from it, whatso∣euer hap did afterward befal vnto her. Her father that loued her dear∣ly, seeing no perswasions could draw her from the taylor, left her to her owne libertie, and so shee and William agreed togither, that in short time they were married, and had a good portion, and set vp shop, and liued togither by the space of a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of a yeare very orderly. At satisfied with the lust of his new wife, he thought it good to vi∣sit some other of his wiues (for at that instant hee had sixteene aliue) and made a scuse to his wife and his wiues father to go into Yorkshire (which was his natiue country) and visit his friends, and craue som∣what of his father towards houshold. Although his wife was loth to part from her sweet Wil. yet she must be content, and so welhorst and prouided, away hee rydes for a moneth or two, that was his furthest day, and downe goes he into some other country to solace himself with some other of his wiues. In this meane while one of his wiues that he married in or about Tanton in Sommersetshire, had learnd of his villany, and how many wiues he had, and by long traueyle had got a note of their names and dwelling, and the hands and seales of euerie parish where he was marries, and now by fortune shee heard that hee had married a wife in Wilshire, not farre from Malborough; thither hies shee with warrants from the Bishop and diuers Iustices to ap∣prehend him, and comming to the Towne where he dwelt, vere sub∣tilly inquired at her host of his estate, who told her that be had married a rich Farmers daughter, but now was gone downe to his friendes in Yorkshire, and would be at home againe within a weeke, for hee had been eight weekes alreadie from home. The woman inquired no further for that time, but the next morning went home to the Far∣mers house, and desired him to sende for his daughter, for she•• would speake with her from her husband: the man straight did so, and shee hearing she should haue newes from her William, came very hastily. Then the woman said, shee was sory for her, in that their misfortunes were alyke, in being married to such a ru••••agate as this Taylor: for (quoth shee) it is not yet a yeare and a halfe since hee was married to me in Somersetshire. As this went colde to the olde mans heart, so stroke it deadly into the mind of Marian, who desiring her to tell the

truth, she out with her testimony, and shewed them how he had at that instant sixteene wiues aliue. When they read the certificate, and sawe th•• handes and seales of euery parish, the old man fel a weeping: but such was the griefe of Marian, that her sorrow stopt her teares, and she ••at as a woman in a trance, til at last fetching a great sigh, she cal∣led God to witnes she would be reuenged on him for al his wiues, and w••uld make him a general example of al such gracelesse runnagates. So she conceald the matter, and placed this her fellow in misfortune in a kinswomans house of hers, so secretly as might be, at tending the comming of hir trecherous husband, who returned within a fortnight, hauing in the space hee was absent visited three or foure of his wiues, and now ment to make a short cut of the matter, & sel al that his new wife had, and to trauel into some other shire, for hee had heard how his Somersetshire wife had made inquiry after him in diuers places. Being come home he was wonderfully welcome to Marian, who en∣tertained him with such curtesies as a kind wife could any waies af∣foord him, only y^• vse of her body she denied, saying her natural disease was vpon her. Wel to be briefe, a great supper was made, and al her friends was bidden, & he euery way so welcome as if it had bin the day of his bridal, yea al things was smoothed vp so cunningly, y^• he suspec∣ted nothing lesse then y^t reuenge intēded against him. Assoone as sup∣per was ended, & al had taken their leaue, our taylor would to bed, and his wife with her own hands helpt to vndresse him very louingly, and being laid down she kist him, & said she would go to hir fathers & come again straight, bidding him fal a sleep the whilest: hee y^• was drowsie with trauel & drinking at supper, had no need of great intreaty, for he straight fel into a sound slumber, the whilest she had sent for his other wife, & other her neighbors disguised, & comming softly into the par∣lour where he lay, she turnd vp his clothes at his feete, & tyed his legs fast togither with a rope, then waking him, she asked him what reason he had to sleep so soundly. He new wakte out his sleep began to stretch himselfe, and gald his legs with the cord, whereat he wondring sayd; How now wife? whats that hurts my legs? what are my feet bound togither? Marian looking on him with lookes ful of death, made him this answer: I villaine, thy legs are bound, but hadst thou thy iust de∣sart, thy necke had long since been stretcht at the gallowes, but before thou and I part, I wil make thee a iust spectacle vnto the world, for thy abhominable trechery: and with that she clapt her hand fast on the

haire of his head, and held him down to the pillow. William driuen in∣to a wondrous amaze at these words, said trembling: Sweete wife, what sodain altera••ion is this? what meane these words wife? Tray∣tor (q. shee) I am none of thy wife, neither is this thy wife, & with that she brought her forth that he was maried in Somersetshire, although thou art maried to her as wel as to me, and hast like a villaine sought the spo••le of fifteene women beside my selfe, & that thou shalt heare by iust certificat, & with y^• there was read the bedrol of his wiues, where hee married them, and where they dwelt. At this hee lay mute as in a traunce, & only for answer held vp his hands, and desired them both to be merciful vnto him, for he confest al was truth, that he had bin a ••ai∣nous offender, and deserued death. Tush saith Marian, but how canst thou make any one of vs amends? If a man kil the father, he may sa∣tisfie the blood in the sonne: if a man steale, he may make restitution: but he that robs a woman of her honesty & ••ir g••nitie, can neuer make any satis••action: and therfore for al the rest I wil be reuenged. With that his other wife and the women clapt hold on him, & held him fast, while Marian with a sharpe rasor cut off his stones, and made him a gelding. I thinke shee had litle respect where the signe was, or obser∣ued ••itle art for the string, but off they went, & then she cast them in his face, & said, Now lustful whoremaister, go I deceiue other women as thou hast done vs, if thou canst, so they sent in a surgion to him y^• they had prouided, & away they went. The man lying in great paine of bo∣dy, & agony of mind, the surgion looking to his wound, had much ado to stanch the blood, & alwaies he laught hartily when hee thought on the reuenge, and bad a vengeance on such sow-gelders as made such large slits: but at last be laid a blood-plaister to him, & stopt his blee∣ding, and to be briefe in time heald him, but with much paine. Assoone as he was whole, and might go abroad without danger, he was com∣mitted to the gaole, and after some other punishment, banished out of Wilshire and Somersetshire for euer after. Thus was this lustie cocke of the game made a capon, and as I heard, had litle lust to mar∣ry any more wiues to his dying day.

How like you of this conny-catching M. R. G? But because now we haue entred talke of Taylors, let mee haue about with them, for they bee mightie Conny-catchers in sundry kindes. I pray you what Poet hath so many fictions, what Painter so many fancies, as a Tay∣lor hath fashions, to shew the varietie of his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 euery week

the shape of his apparrel into new forms, or els he is counted a meere botcher. The venetian and the gallogascaine is s••ale, and trunke slop out of vse, the rounde hose bumbasted close to the breech, and ••uft a∣boue the necke with a curle, is now common to euery cullion in the country, & dublets be they neuer so quaintly quilted, yet forsooth the swaine at plough must haue his belly as side as the courtier, that hee may pisse out at a button hole at the least. And al these strange deuises doth the Taylor inuent to make poore gentlemen connies: for if they were tyed to one fashion, they stil might they know how much veluet to send to the Taylor, and then would his filching abate. But to pre∣uent them, if he haue a french belly, he wil haue a Spanish skirt, and an Italian wing, seamed and quartered at the elbows, as if he were a souldado readye to put on an armour of proofe to fight in Mile-ende vnder the bloudy ens••gne of the Duke of Shorditch. Thus wil the fantasticke Taylor make poore gentlemen Conies, & euer aske more veluet by a yarde and a haffe then the doublet in conscience requires. But therein lies the least part of their cony-catching: for those graund Taylors that haue al the right properties of the mysterie, which is to be knaui••••, theeuish, and proude, take this course with courtiers and courtly gentlemen, they flade outside, inside, lace, drawing out, and making, and then set downe their parcels in a bil, which they so ouer∣prise, that some of them with very pricking vp of dublets, haue fleest yong gentlemen of whole Lordships, & cal you not this cony-catching M. R. G? To vse the figure Pleonasmos, Hisce••culis, with these eies I haue seene Taylors prentises sel as much vales in a weeke in cloth of golde, veluet, satten, taffat••, and lace, as hath beene woorth thir••••e shillinges, and these eares hath heard them scorne when their vales came but to ten shillinges, and yet there were foure prentises in the shop. If the prentises could lurch so mightily, then what did the mai∣ster? But you must imagine this was a womans taylor, that could i•• a gowne put seuenteene yards of ell broad taffata, blest be the French sleeues & breech verdingales, that grants them liberty to connycate so mightily. But this I talke if ou•• London and courtly Taylors but euen the poore pricklouse the country taylor, that hath scarse 〈◊〉〈◊〉 more wealth then his thimble, his needle, his pressing yron, and hi∣sheers, wil filtch as wel as the proudest of that trade in England, they wil to snip and snap, that al the reuersion goes into hel. Now sir, th••s helis a place that the tailors haue vnder their shopboord, wher al their

stolne shreds is thrust, and I pray you cal you not this pilling & pol∣ling, and flat Conny-catching Maister R. G? B••t because you may see whether I speake truth or no, Ile tel you a merry iest of a Taylor in Yorke not ••arre from Petergate, done about fourteene yeare ago, and thus it fel out.

A pleasant Tale of a Taylor, how he conny-catcht a Gen∣tlewoman, and was made himselfe a Gonny af∣terwardes by his man.

IN Yorkeshire there dwelt a womans Taylor famous for his Art, but noted for his filching, which although hee was light fingerd, yet for the excellency of his workmanship hee was much sought too, and kept more Iournymen, then any fiue in that citie did: and albeit hee would haue his share of veluet, satten, or cloth of golde, yet they must find no fault with him, least he half spoyld their garment in y^• making. Bes••••es, he was passing proud, and had as haughtie alooke, as if his father had with the diuel look••e ouer Lyncolne: his ordinary dublets were 〈◊〉〈◊〉 cut in the sommer vpon a wrought shirt, and his cloake faced with veluet, his stockinges of the purest granado silke, with a French painde hoase of the richest billiment lace, a beauer hatte turft with 〈◊〉〈◊〉, so quaintly as if he ha•• been some Espagnolo trickt vp to goe court some quaint curtesine, insomuch that a plaine seruingman once meeting him in this attire, going through 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to take aire in the field, thought him at the least same Esquire, and of with his Hat and gaue his worship ••he time of the day, this clawed this Glorioso by the elbow, so that if a Tauerne had been by, a pottle of wine should haue been the lea•••• reward for a largesse to the simple seruing man: but this bowical huffs, sauffe, not content to passe away with oue wor∣ship, began to hold the fellow in prate, and to question whose man hee was. The f••low curteously making a low cringe saide, may it please your woorship, I serue such a Gentleman dwelling in such a place, as thus he answered him, he spied in the gentlemans bo••ome a needle and a threed, whereupon the felow simply sayd to him, ••e your woordships man in looking this morning to your doublet, hath left a needle and a threede on your worships brest, you had best take it off, least some thinke your worship to bee a Taylour. The Taylour not thinkyng the felow had spoken simply, but frumpt him, made this reply: what

sawty knaue doest thou mocke mee? what if I bee a taylour, whats that to thee, wert not for shame I would lende thee a boxe on the eare or two, the felow being plaine, but peeuish and an olde knaue, gathe∣ring by his owne words that he was a taylour sayd, fye so God helpe me I mocke you not, but are you a taylour, I marry am I quoth he, why then sayes the seruyng man, all my cappes, knees, and worships, I did to thy apparrel, and therefore maister thanke mee, for it 〈◊〉〈◊〉 agaynst my wil, but now I knowe thee farewel good honest pricke∣louce, and looke not behynde you, for if you doo, ile swindge 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in my scabbe••d of my sword til I can stand ouer thee, away went Mon∣sier Magnifico ••rowning, and the seruyng man went into the C••tie laughing▪ but all this is but to describe the nature of the man, now to the secretes of his Art, all the Gentlewomen of the Countrey cryde out vpon him, yet could they not part from him, because he so quaint∣ly fitted their h••mors, at last it so fel out, that a Gentlewoman not farre from Feroy Brigges, had a taffata gowne to make, and hee would haue no lesse at those dayes then el••uen els of ••lbroad taffato, so shee bought so much and readie to send it, shee sayd to her husband in hearing of al her seru••••g••••m••n, what a spight is this, seeing that I must send alwayes to yonder knaue taylor two yards more then is ne∣cessary, but how can we amend vs, all the rest are but botchers in re∣spect of him, and yet nothing gri••ues mee but we can neuer take him with it, & yet I and mine haue flood by while hee hath cut my g••••ne out, a pleasant fellowe that was new come to serue her husband, one that was his Clarke and a pre••y scholer, answered good mistris giue me leaue to carry your taffata and see it cut out, and if I spy not out his knauery laugh ••t me when I come home, marry I prithy do q. his M. and mistris, but whatsoeuer thou seest say nothing least he be angry and spolie my gown, let me alone mistris q. he, and so away he goes to York, & coming to this taylor found him in his shop, & deliuered him the taffata with this message, that his mistris had charged him to set it cut out, not y^t she suspected him, but y^t els he wold let it ly lōg by him and take other worke in hand, y^t taylor scornfully sayd he should, & as∣ked him if he had any spectacles about him, n•• q. the felow my sight is yoong inough I need no glasses, if you do put them quoth he, and see if you can see me steale a yard of taffata out of your miscresse gowne, and so taking his sheeres in hand▪ he cut it out so nimbly that hee cut three foreparts to the gown, and four side pieces▪ that by computation

the fellow gest he had stolne two els & a half, but say nothing he durst. Assoone as he had done, there came in more gentlemens men with worke, that the taylor was very busie & regarded not, the seruingmā who seeing the taylors cloke lying lose, lifted it away & caried it home with him to his mistris house, where he discourst to his maister & his mistris what he had seen, & how he had stole the tailors cloake, not to that intent to filtch, but to try an experiment vpon him, for maister q. he, when he brings home my mistris gown, he wil complain of y^e losse of his cloake, & then see, doe you but tel him that I am experienced in Magike, & can cast a figure, and wil tel him where his cloke is with∣out faile, say but this sir, and let me alone: they al agreed, & resolued to try the w••t of their yong man. But leauing him, againe to our tay∣lor: who when he had dispatcht his customers, was ready to walke with one of them to the tauern, & then mist his cloke, searcht al about, but find it he could not, neither knew he w••••ō to suspect: so with much griefe he past it ouer, & when he had ended the gentlewomans gown (because she was a good customer of his) he himself tooke his nag & rid home withal: welcome he was to the gentlewoman and hir hus∣band, and the gown was passing fit, so that it could not be amended, insomuch that the gentlewoman praisd it, and highly thankt him. Oh mistris (quoth he) thought it is a good gown to you, tis an infortunate gowne to me, for that day your man brought the taffata, I had a cloke stoln that stood me but one fortnight before in foure pound, and neuer since could I heare any word of it. Truly said the Gentleman, I am passing sorry for your losse, but that same man that was at your house is passing skilful in Negromancy, and if any man in England can tel you where your cloke is, my man can: marry q. he, and I wil giue him a brace of angels for his labour: so the fellow was cald and talkt with all, and at his mistris request was content to do it, but he would haue his twenty shillings in hand, and promised if he told him not where it was, who had it, and caused it to be deliuered to him again, for his two angels he would giue him ten pounds: vpon this the taylor willingly gaue him the money, and vp went he into a closet like a learned clark, and there was three or foure houres laughing at the taylor, he think∣ing he had bin al this while at Caurake. At last downe comes the fel∣low with a figure drawn 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a paper in his hand, & smiling cald for a bible, and told the taylor he would tel him who had his cloke, where it was, & helpe him to it againe, so that he would be sworne on a bible to

answer to all questious that he demanded of him faithfully: the taylor granted and swore on a bible, then hee cōmanded al should go out but his maister, his mistres, the taylor and himself. Then he began thus: wel, you haue taken your oth on the holy bible, tel me q. he, did you not cut three foreparts for my mistris gowne? At this the t••ylor blusht, & began to be in a chafe, and would haue flung out of the doore, but the seruingman said, nay neuer start man, for before thou goest out of this parlour▪ if thou de••iest it. I wil bring the taffata thou flolest into this place, wrapt in thine own cloake: & therfore answere directly to my question, least to your discredit I shew you the ••••ick of a scholler: the taylor halfe afraid, said he did so indeed: and q he, did you not cut foure side peeces wher you haue cut but two? yes a••is true q. the taylor why then as true it is, that to deceiue the deceiuer is no deceit: for as truly as you stole my mistrist affata, so truly did I steale your cloake, and here it is. At this the taylor was am••zed▪ ••he gentleman and his wife laught hartily, & so al was turned to 〈◊〉〈◊〉, the taylor had his cloake again, the gentlewoman hir taffata, and the seruingman twen∣ty shillings, was not this 〈…〉〈…〉 Conny-catching M. R. G.

Thus haue I proued 〈…〉〈…〉, how there is no estate, ••rade, occupation, nor mistery, 〈…〉〈…〉 Conny-catching, ••nd that our shift at cards compared to the rest, is the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of al, & y••t forsooth, you could bestow the pa••••es to write two who••e 〈◊〉〈◊〉 against vs poore conycatchers: think M R. G it shal not be put vp except you graunt vs our request. It is informed vs that you are in hand with a booke named The repentance of a Conny-catcher, w••th a discoue∣ry of secret villainies, wherein you meane to discourse at ful the na∣ture of the stripping Law, which is the abuse offered by the Keepers of Newgate to poore prisoners, and some that belong to the Marshal∣sea. If you doe so, ye shal do not onely a charitable, but a meritorious deed: for the occasion of most mischiefe, of greatest nipp••ng and foy∣sting, and of al vilanies, comes through the extorting bribery of some coossening and counterfaite keepers and companions that carry vn∣lawful warrants about them to take vp men Wil your worship ther∣fore stand to your worde, and set out the discouery of that, al wee of Whittington Colledge wil rest your beadmen. Otherwise looke that I wil haue the crue of Cony-catchers sweare themselues your professed enemies for euer. Farewel.

Cuthbert Conny-catcher.

FINIS.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Paine.
• * 1.2

  〈…〉〈…〉