Book XII, Chapter 78

AT Ware (in Hertford-shire a Towne, not bettered, I winne,
Of thorough-Faires, from Thence to Twede, for many an harbrous Inne,
Washt with the once ship-bearing Ley, by Alfred slu'ste in Three,
To dissipate the Dane-Fleete, that expugning Hertford bee,)
Next day they timely tooke their Inne, had sup't ere Sunne was ser,
Abroad walkt she, vnseene did he into her Chamber get.
First giuing out he would to bed, least, mist, be marde the Sport,
And, least she feare, the day before had made to her report,
In Merriment, that oftentimes he walked in his Sleepe,
And then nor Lock, nor Let, could him from Place, or Person, keepe:
If in this fit I chance on you, be not afrayd, quoth he.
But, if you come, I'le whip you thence, then best not come, quoth she.
Thus, and with this Preparatiue, he counts the Bootie his,
And on the Rushes, vnderneath her Bed, he couched is,
And what with watch the night before, and wearines that day,
And to be fresh, anone, he slept, assoone as downe he lay.

Meane while, a lustie Yeoman of a Northerne Bishops, who
Was often there a Guest, and good, alights and goes into
The Gentlewomans poynted Roome, and say what they could say,
There would he lodge, for that had bin his Lodging many a day,
Loth were they to displease him (for an Harbinger he was)
And then were Bishops bountious, as they too and fro did passe.
For whensoeuer they remou'd to Place, or Parlament,
Their common Meany (not a few) on Foot with Bowes fore-went,
Nor niggardly was then to them allowed to be spent.
Themselues, with learned Chaplains & great Traines did follow then,
And frankly spent in euery Place, relieuing many Men.
Yea, Monasteries, Colledges, Schooles, Hospitals, Hie-waies,
Bridges, and like, were founded by the Prelats in those daies.
But Laters could not so, for why? were Those so fleeced Theirs,
As but a thousand yearely Fee, some purcha'st to their Heires.
But now be some (may such be long, and such to them succeed)
To whom in all doth nothing want of reuerent Worth indeed.
But say ye Sooth, haue Cleargie-men Coshairers? tush a Lye:
To aske doe Courtiers, Church-men shame to offer Simonie:
And that should be such Fault, appeares small likelihood, say I.
Obscurely more, with lesser Port, lesse hospitalious too,
The great-Ones neuer liu'd, nor rack't their owne, as now they doe.
Then either this is false that thus they fleece, or this is true,
That euen Consumption of their owne, is Sacrilegers due.
But wander doe we from our Iest, of that doth thus ensue.

The Bishops man sups, and to bed, whilst soundly sleepes that other:
The Gentlewoman, barr'd that Roome, is lodged in another:
That in the Bed fell fast a sleepe, This vnderneath awakes,
And, in his creeping out, and vp, no dinne at all he makes.
One heard he breathe, ar't there? thought he, haue with thee by & by:
And softly kist, wheare felt so rough, he fear'd t'haue kist awry.
He grop't therefore her Face, and caught the Yeoman by the Beard:
And rudely starting vp (not more in all his life afeard,
Thē buskling to his Sword) cride Theeues: That other in such taking,
As though he were a Man right good, he stood amaz'd, and quaking.
The Oste and Ostlers with a Light and Tooles, then next to hand,
Came in, where he, almost vnstript, but wholly skar'de, did stand.
They wonder (for they knew him well) that he should be a Theefe:
Good Sirs, quoth he, be still, we all deceiued are, in breefe.
Then, taking some a-part, he tolde his Cause of being theare,
And praies their silence, and in Wine was washt away that Feare.
The Gentlewoman, hearing this, vn-Inn'd by day did peepe,
And (honester than would himselfe) left him to wake, or sleepe.
This stale-Iest tolde, Of Mandeuil now let vs Promise keepe.

WIth modest Mirth were ended now the Maske, and Reuels, when
Vnto their Lodging Stafford did the Ladies Vsher then.
There Elenor was passing sad, and, being ask't, did tell
The Circumstances of her Ring in order as befell,
And shewes the gaged Tablet, seene and knowne of Stafford well.
Her, weeping ripe, he, laughing, bids to patient her a while,
For Mandeuil supposde him wrong'd, and wrought, ꝙ he, that wile.
But how for you he loueth yours, it argues, and withall
A gentle-manly minde his great Exchange for value small.
Nor thinke I lesse, nor argue lesse of Loue, and Gentrie too
May what, in both preuenting him, I meane, quoth she, to doo.
His Tablet sent she, and therewith this Breuiat, by a Page.
Of you I aske not backe my Loane, but take it, and your Gage:
Yours Either, Neither say I mine, Both shall be, I presage.
He musing of her Meaning, thus to her lets his be knowne.
Of you I aske not back my Gage, but take it for your Loane:
Mine triples yours, not yours, and yeat for Price gets yours, but One.
Not musing of his Meaning (which to her was not for Newes)
She of her Meaning also meanes that he no longer muse.

Now Mandeuil, though grieued much at Stafford, whō he thought
In Rome to riot, Dorcas not esteemed as she ought,
And for his blabbing him to herthe which had had his Ring.
Against an Oth, meanes nerethelesse him on his way to bring,
And comes to Staffords Lodging, who prepar'd for no such thing.
But for a Bridegroome trim'd, and trim was All, and She for Bride
Him contradicted, when, as sayd, had Mandeuil espide
That likelihood: who, sighing, sayd, not henceforth will I chide,
But pitie Stafford, now so farre from wonted Stafford wide.
A Friend should not (not you will I in this Infirmenes) flye,
Alone of Dorcas wronged here not witnes shall mine Eye.
Came you to Rome to lose your selfe, and finde at Rome a Friend,
There to begin his Sorrowes where your Senses make an end?
Or thriue they more, or trauell lesse, may Englishmen, wish I:
Hence should they profit, whence for most they least doe fructifie,
How stoicall growes Mandeuil, quoth Stafford, since his Trauell:
With you, for like, may I ere long, haue cause no lesse to cauell.
With that, from out another Roome to him, that would away,
Then Dorcas-like came Dorcas out, intreating him to stay.

What should we say his Ioy, that his Mis-deemes did sort to this?
Was not a gladder man, and yeat anon he gladder is,
When Elenor, then like her selfe, to him came also out:
But whether gladder he, or she, thus met, shall rest a doubt.
That very day both Couples wead, but what they did that night,
Not men vnpractis'd can report, for Action, or Delight.
Nor creeded be this Loue-Tale of this Ladie and this Knight.

THus, of what worth so-ere, is brought this Work of Ours to end:
More haue wee donne, hence outed, more wee purpos'd to haue pend,
Which to intelligenced Men, more daring, we commend.
Well wotring, Acts heroick, and great Accidents, not few
Occurre this happie Raigne, here-hence, of purpose, blanched vew.
Nor Perpetuitie my Muse can hope, vnlesse in this,
That thy sweet Name, Elizabeth, herein remembred is.
And this, hope I, doth bode me good, that very day wherein
Was finish't This, did of thy Raigne yeare Thirtith nine begin.
May Muse arte-graced more than mine, in Numbers like supply,
What in thine Highnes Praise my Pen, too poore, hath passed-by.
A larger Field, a Subiect more illustrious, None can aske,
That with thy Scepter and thy selfe, his Poesie to taske.
Thy Peoples Prolocutor be my Prayer, and I pray,
That vs thy blessed Life, and Raigne, long blesse, as at this day.