John Bon and mast Parson.

☞ Alas, poor fools! so sore ye be lade! No marvel is it, though your shoulders ache: For ye bear a great god which ye yourselves made. Make of it, what ye will! it is a Wafer Cake; And between two irons, printed it is and bake. And look, where idolatry is, Christ will not be there! Wherefore, lay down your burden! An idol, ye do bear! ☞ Alas, poor fools!

What, John Bon! Good morrow to thee!

Now, good morrow, mast[er] Parson, so mut I thee!

What meanest thou, John! to be at work so soon?

The sooner I begin, the sooner shall I have done, For I 'tend to work no longer than none.

Marry, John, for that, GOD's blessing on thy heart! For, surely, some there be, will go to plough and cart; And set not by, this holy Corpus Christi even.

They are the more to blame, I swear by Saint Stephen! But tell me, mast[er] Parson, one thing, and you can; What Saint is Copsi Cursty, a man, or a woman?

Why, John! knowest not that? I tell thee, it was a man. It is Christ His own self, and to-morrow is His day. We bear Him in procession, and thereby know it ye may.

I know! mast[er] Parson! and nay, by my fay! But methink it is a mad thing that ye say, That it should be a man. How can it come to pass? Because ye may Him bear within so small a glass.

Why, neighbour John, and art thou now there? Now I may perceive ye love this new gear.

God's forbod! master! I should be of that faction. I question why, your masship, in way of cumlication. A plain man, ye may see, will speak as cometh to mind: Ye must hold us excused, for ploughmen be but blind. I am an eld fellow, of fifter winter and more, And yet, in all my life, I knew not this before.

No did! Why sayest thou so? Upon thyself, thou lyest! Thou hast ever known the sacrament to be the body of Christ!

Yea, sir, ye say true! All that, I know indeed; And yet, as I remember, it is not in my Creed: But as for Cropsy Cursty to be a man or no, I knew not till this day, by the way my soul shall to!

Why, foolish fellow! I tell thee it is so! For it was so determined by the Church long ago; It is both the sacrament and very Christ himself.

No spleaser, mast[er] Parson! Then make ye Christ an elf; And the maddest made man, that ever body saw!

What! peace, mad man! Thou speakest like a daw! It is not possible his manhood for to see.

Why, sir; ye tell me it is even very He: And if it be not His manhood, His godhead it must be.

I tell thee, none of both! What meanest thou? Art thou mad?

No, neither made nor drunk; but to learn I am glad: But to displease your masship, I would be very loath, Ye grant me here plainly, that it is none of both, Then it is but a cake: but I pray ye, be not wroth!

Wroth, quoth ha! By the mass! (thou makest me swear an oath), I had leaver with a Doctor of Divinity to reason, Than with a stubble cur, that eateth beans and peason.

I cry ye mercy, mast[er] Parson! Patience for a season! In all this cumlication is neither felony nor treason.

No, by the mass! But hearest thou! It is plain heresy.

I am glad it chanced so, there was no witness by; And if there had, I cared not; for ye spake as ill as I. I speak but as I heard you say, I wot not what ye thought. Ye said "It was not God, nor man," and made it worse than nought.

I meant not so. Thou tookest me wrong!

A, sir! Ye sing another song! I dare not reason with you long. I see well, now, ye have a knack To say a thing, and then go back.

No, John! I was but a little overseen: But thou meantest not good faith, I ween, In all this talk that was us between.

I! No, trow, it shall not so been That John Bon shall an heretic be called, Then might he lay him so foul befald.

But, now, if thou wilt mark me well! From beginning to ending, I will thee tell Of the godly service that shall be to-morrow; That, ere I have done, no doubt, thou wilt sorrow To hear that such things should be foredone. And yet, in many places, they have begun To take away the old, and set up new. Believe me, John! this tale is true.

Go to, mast[er] Parson! Say on, and well to thrive! Ye be the jolliest gemman [gentleman] that ever saw in my life.

We shall first have Matins. Is it not a godly hearing?

Fie! yes. Methink 'tis a shameful gay cheering, For oftentimes, on my prayers, when I take no great keep, Ye sing so arrantly well, ye make me fall asleep!

Then have we Procession, and Christ about we bear.

That is a poison holy thing, for GOD Himself is there.

Then come we in, and ready us dress, Full solemnly to go to Mess.

Is not here a mischievous thing! The Mess is vengeance holy, for all their saying!

Then say we Confiteor and Miseriatur.

Jeze LORD! 'tis abominable matter!

And then we stand up to the altar.

This gear is as good as Our Lady's Psalter.

And so go forth with the other deal Till we have read the Pistel and Gospel.

That is good, mast[er] Parson, I know right well.

Is that good! Why, what say'st thou to the other?

Marry! horribly good! I say none other.

So is all the Mess, I dare avow this, As good in every point as Pistel or Gospel is.

The foul evil it is! Who would think so much? In faith, I ever thought that it had been no such.

Then have we the Canon, that is holiest.

A spiteful gay thing, of all that ever I wist.

Then have we the Memento, even before the sacring.

Ye are morenly well learned! I see by your reck'ning That ye will not forget such an elvish thing.

And after that, we consecrate Very God and Man; And turn the bread to flesh, with five words we can.

The devil ye do! I trow this is pestilence business! Ye are much bound to GOD for such a spittle holiness! A gallows gay gift! With five words alone, To make both God and Man; and yet we see none! Ye talk so unreasonably well, it maketh my heart yearn, As eld a fellow as I am, I see well I may learn.

Yea, John! and then, with words holy and good, Even, by and by, we turn the wine to blood.

Lo! Will ye se? Lo! who would have thought it? That ye could so soon from wine to blood ha brought it? And yet, except your mouth be better tasted than mine, I cannot feel it other but that it should be wine. And yet I wot ne'er a cause there may be, why Perchance, ye ha drunk blood oftner than ever did I.

Truly, John, it is blood, though it be wine in taste. As soon as the word is spoke, the wine is gone and past!

A sessions on it! for me. My wits are me benumme: For I cannot study where the wine should become?

Study, quoth ha! Beware, and let such matter go! To meddle much with this, may bring ye soon to woe.

Yea, but, mast[er] Parson! think ye it were right, That, if I desired you to make my black ox white; And you say, "It is done!" and still is black in sight; Ye might me deem a fool, for to believe so light?

I marvel much, ye will reason so far! I fear if ye use it, it will ye mar!

No, no, sir! I trust of that I shall be 'ware, I pray you, with your matter again forth to fare!

And then we go forth, and Christ's body receive; Even the very same that Mary did conceive.

The devil it is! Ye have a great grace To eat GOD and Man in so short a space.

And so we make an end, as it lieth in an order. But now the blessed Mess is hated in every border, And railed on, and reviled, with words most blasphemous: But I trust it will be better with the help of Catechismus. For though it came forth but even that other day, Yet hath it turned many to their old way: And where they hated Messe, and had it in disdain, There have they Messe and Matins in Latin tongue again. Yea, even in London self, John, I tell the truth! They be full glad and merry to hear of this, GOD knoweth!

By my troth! mast[er] Parson, I like full well your talk! But mass me no more messings! The right way will I walk. For, though I have no learning, yet I know cheese from chalk, And each can perceive your juggling, as crafty as ye walk! But leave your devilish Mass, and the Communion to you take! And then will Christ be with you; even for His promise sake!

What, art thou such a one, and kept it so close! Well, all is not gold, that hath a fair gloss, But, farewell, John Bon! GOD bring thee in better mind!

I thank you, sir! for that you seem very kind; But pray not so for me! for I am well enough. Whistle, boy! drive forth! GOD speed us and the plough! Ha! browne done! forth, that horson crab! Reecomomyne, garled! with haight, black hab! Have a gain, bald before! hayght ree who! Cherrily, boy, come off! that homeward we may go.