Poor Robin's jests: or, The compleat jester Being a collection of several jests not heretofore published. Now newly composed and written by that well-known gentleman, Poor Robin, knight of the burnt island, and well-willer to the mathematicks. Together with the true and lively effigies of the said author. Licensed Feb. 2. 1666. Roger L'Estrange.

Another of King Henry the eighth, and the Ab∣bot of Glastenbury.

THe same King Henry having a months ••••nd to the Abbot of Glastenburies E∣sta••e, (who was one of the richest Abbots in England) sent for him to his Court, and told him that without he could resolve him three Questions, he should not escape with his life: The Abbot willing to get out of his clutches, promised his best endeavours. The Kings Questions were these: First, of what compass the world was about: Secondly, how deep the Sea was; and Thirdly, what the King thought. The Abbot desired some few days respite, which being granted, he re∣turned home, but with intent never to see the King again, for he thought the questi∣ons impossible to be resolved; This his grief coming at last to the ears of his Cook, he un∣dertook upon forfeiture of his life, to re∣solve those Riddles, and to free his Master from danger; The Abbot willingly condes∣cended. So the Cook got on the Abbots cloaths, and at the time appointed went to the Court, and being like the Abbot in Phy∣siognomy, was taken by all the Courtiers to be the same man: when he came before the King (omitting other circumstances) h••

thus resolved his three questions; first of what compass the world was about; he said, It was but twenty four hours journey, and if a man went as fast as the Sun, he might easily go it in that space. The second, How deep the Sea was? he answered, Onely a stones cast, for throw a stone into the deep∣est place of it, and in time it will come to the bottom. To the third, Which I con∣ceive, saith he, your Majesty thinks the most difficult to resolve, but indeed is the easiest, that is, what your highness thinks; I answer, that you think me to be the Abbot of Glastenbury, whenas indeed, I am but Jack his Cook.