Book VIII, Chapter 43

AN Earle (quoth he) had wedded, lou'd, was lou'd, and liued long
Full true to his fayre Countesse, yeat at last he did her wrong:
Once hunted he, vntill the Chace, long fasting, and the heate
Did house him in a peakish Graunge within a Forrest great:
Wheare, Knowne, & welcom'd (as the place & persons might afforde)
Browne bread, whig, bacon, curds, & milke were set him on the Borde:
A Cushion made of Lists, a Stoole halfe backed with a houpe
Weare brought him, & he sitteth down besides a sorry Coupe.
The poore old Couple wish't their bread were wheat, their whig were Perry,
Their bacō beefe, their milk & curds weare creame to make him mery.
Meane while (in Russet neatly clad, with linnen white as Swanne,
Her selfe more white, saue rosie wheare the ruddy colour ranne,
Whome naked Nature, not the Ayders of Arte, made to excell)
The Good mans Daughter sterres to see that all were feat and well:
The Earle did marke her, and admire such Beautie theare to dwell.
Yeat fals he to their homely Fare, and hild him at a feast:
But as his hunger slaked so an amorous heat increast.

When this Repast was past, and thanks, and welcome too, he sayd
Vnto his Oste and Ostesse, in the hearing of the Mayde:
Ye know (quoth he) that I am Lord of this and many Townes,
I also know that you be poore, and I can spare you pownes,
So will I, so yee will consent that yonder Lasse and I
May bargaine for her loue, at least doe giue me leaue to trie:
Who needs to know it? Nay who dares into my doings prie?
First they mislike, yeat at the length for lucar were mislead,
And then the gamesome Earle did wowe the Damsel for his bead.
He tooke her in his armes, as yet so coyish to be kist
As Mayds that know themselues belou'd and yeeldingly resist:
In few, his offers weare so large she lastly did consent,
With whome he lodged all that night, and early home he went.
He tooke occasion often times in such a sorte to hunt,
Whome when his Lady often mist, contrary to his wont,
And lastly was informed of his amorous haunt elsewheare,
It greeu'd her not a little, though she seem'd it well to beare.
And thus she reasons with her selfe: Some fault perhaps in me,
Some what is done that so he doth: Alas, what may it be?
How may I winne him to my selfe? He is a Man, and men
Haue imperfections: It behooues we pardon Nature then.
To checke him weare to make him checke, although hee now were cha'ste:
A man controuled of his Wife to her makes lesser haste.
If duetie then or daliance may preuayle to alter him,
I will be duetifull, and make my selfe for daliance trim.
So was she, and so louingly did entertaine her Lord,
As fayrer or more faultles none could be for Bed or Bord.
Yeat still he loues his Leiman, and did still pursue that Game,
Suspecting nothing lesse then that his Lady knew the same:
Wherefore, to make him know she knew, she this deuise did frame.

When long she had been wrong'd, & sought the foresayd meanes in vaine,
She rideth to the simple Graunge but with a slender Traine:
She lighteth, entreth, greets them well, and then did looke about her:
The guiltie houshold, knowing her, did wish thēselues without her,
Yeat, for she looked merily, the lesse they did misdoubther.
Whē she had seene the beautious Wench (thē blushing fairnes fairer)
Such Beautie made the Countesse hold them both excus'd the rather.
Who wold not bite at such a Bait? (thought she) & who (though loth)
So poore a Wench, but gold might tempt? sweet errors lead thē both:
Scarse one of twentie that hath brag'd of proffer'd Gold denied
Or of such yeelding Beautie baulkt but (tenne to one) hath lied.
Thus thought she: And she thus declares her cause of comming thether:
My Lord, oft hunting in these Partes, through trauell, night, or wether,
Hath often lodged in your House, I thanke you for the same,
For why? it doth him iolly ease to lie so neere his Game:
But for you haue not Furniture, beseeming such a Guest,
I bring his owne, and come my selfe to see his lodging drest.
With that two Sumpters were discharg'd, in which were Hangings braue,
Silke Couerings, Curtens, Carpets, Plate, & all such turn should haue:
When all was hansomly dispos'd, She prayes them to haue caer
That nothing hap in their default that might his health impaer.
And, Damsell, quoth she, (for it seemes this houshold is but three,
And for thy Parents Age that this shall chiefely rest on thee)
Doe me that good, else would to God he hither come no more.
So tooke she horse, and ere she went bestowed gould good store.

Full little thought the Countie that his Countesse had done so,
Who, now return'd from farre affaires, did to his sweet-Heart go.
No sooner set he foote within the late deformed Cote,
But that the formall change of things his woondring Eies did Note[…]
But when he knew those goods to be his proper goods (though late,
Scarce taking leaue) he home returnes the Matter to debate.
The Countesse was a bed, and he with her his lodging tooke:
Sir, welcome home (quoth she) this Night for you I did not looke.
Then did he question her of such his Stuffe bestowed so.
Forsooth (quoth she) because I did your Loue and Lodging knoe,
Your Loue to be a proper Wench, your Lodging nothing lesse,
I hild it for your health the house more decently to dresse.
Well wot I, notwithstanding her, your Lordship loueth me,
And greater hope to hold you such by queat then brawles I see:
Then for my duetie, your delight, and to retaine your fauour,
All done I did, and patiently expect your better Hauour.
Her Patience, Witte, & Aunswere wrought his gentle teares to fall,
When (kissing her a score of times) Amend, sweete wise, I shall
He said, and did it: And your Grace may Phillip so recall.

But he (whoso he was) that thus had dubled Tales to cease
Queene Maries griefe, for Phillips guile, as well had hild his peace:
Her no perswading might disswade from pe[…]siuenes of hart,
Vntill that his Vnkindnes in her Deaths-Scene acts it part.
But howsoere or whatsoere her cause of death might seeme,
Her death did many a good mans life from Tyrannie redeeme:
For, as in Passion, so was she in Papistrie extreame.
And were not the abodement bad at her to end our Theame,
Our Cattell vnto stronger draughts we should and would vnteame,
But to the Head[…] land shall our Plough, vnles we breake our Beame.
Yeat ere we eare to it (for it shall be our Holly-day)
Of somwhat sayd and somwhat scapt rests thus much by the way.