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A Certen woman had a dronkard to hir husbād, from which vice (bicause she would rid him) she vsed this policie: She watched him when he was dronken heauy asléepe, and like a dead man without féeling, & tooke him on hir shoulders, ca∣ried him into the churchyard, laid him in a graue and departed. When she supposed that he was sober, she knocked at the heade of the tombe, who asked who knocketh at the doore: hys wife
aunswered, I am here, and haue brought meate for the dead. Ah (quod he) bring me rather some drink than meat, thou doest trouble me in spea∣king of meat & no drink. The good womā stroke hir breast & sayd, woe is me wretch, for my craft will doo no good: thou my husbande art nothing mended, but become worse, so that this disease hath got an habite in thée.
MOR. We must not continue in euill déedes, for custome sometime creepeth on a man.