The Fraternitye of Vacabondes. (continued 2)

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[leaf 15]

¶ A COUNTERFET CRANKE. Cap. 11.

Hese that do counterfet the Cranke be yong knaues and yonge harlots, that depely dissemble the falling sicknes. For the Cranke in their language is the falling euyll. I haue séene some of these with fayre writinges testimoniall, with the names and seales of some men of worshyp in Shropshyre, and in other Shieres farre of, that I haue well knowne, and haue taken the same from them. Many of these do go without writinges, and wyll go halfe naked, and looke most pitiously. And if any clothes be geuen them, the[y]99 immediatly sell the same, for weare it they wyll not, because they would bée the more pitied, and weare fylthy clothes on their heades, and neuer go without a péece of whyte sope about them, which, if they sée cause or present gains, they wyll priuely conuey the same into their mouth, and so worke the same there, that they wyll fome as it were a Boore, and maruelously for a tyme torment them selues; and thus deceiue they the common people, and gayne much. These haue commonly their harlots as the other.

Apon Alhollenday in the morning last Anno domini. 1566, or my100 booke was halfe printed, I meane the first impression, there came earely in the morninge a Counterfet Cranke vnder my lodgynge at the whyte Fryares, wythin the cloyster, in a lyttle yard or coorte, where aboutes laye two or thre great Ladyes, beyng without the lyberties of London, where by he hoped for the greatter gayne; this Cranke there lamentably lamentinge and pitefully crying to be releued, declared to dyuers their hys paynfull and miserable dysease. I being rysen and not halfe ready, harde his dolfull wordes and rufull mornings, hering him name the falling sicknes, thought assuredlye to my selfe that hée was a depe desemblar; so, comminge out at a sodayne, and beholdinge his vgly and yrksome attyre, hys lothsome and horyble countinance, it made me in a meruelous parplexite what to thinke of hym, whether it were fayned or trouth,—for after this manner went he: he was naked from the wast vpward, sauyng he had a old Ierken101 of leather patched, and that was lose102 about hym, that all his bodye laye out bare; a filthy foule cloth he ware on his head, {52} being cut for the purpose, hauing a narowe place to put out his face, with a bauer made to trusse vp his beard, and a stryng that tyed the same downe close aboute his necke; with an olde felt hat which he styll caried in his hande to receaue the charytye and deuotion of the people, for that woulde he hold out from hym; hauyng hys face, from the eyes downe ward, all smerd with freshe bloud, [leaf 15, back] as thoughe he had new falen, and byn tormented wyth his paynefull panges,—his Ierken beinge all be rayde with durte and myre, and hys hatte and hosen also, as thoughe hée hadde wallowed in the myre: sewerly the sighte was monstrous and terreble. I called hym vnto me, and demaunded of hym what he ayled. “A, good maister,” quoth he, “I haue the greuous and paynefull dyseas called the falynge syckenes.” “Why,” quoth I, “howe commeth thy Ierken, hose, and hat so be rayd with durte and myre, and thy skyn also?” “A, good master, I fell downe on the backesyde here in the fowle lane harde by the watersyde; and there I laye all most all night, and haue bled all most all the bloude owte in my bodye.” It raynde that morninge very fast; and whyle I was thus talkinge with hym, a honest poore woman that dwelt thereby brought hym a fayre lynnen cloth, and byd hym wype his face therewyth; and there beinge a tobbe standing full of rayne water, offered to geue hym some in a dishe that he might make hym selfe cleane: hée refuseth103 the same. “Why dost thou so?” quoth I. “A, syr,” sayth he, “yf I shoulde washe my selfe, I shoulde fall to bléedinge a freshe againe, and then I should not stop my selfe:” these wordes made me the more to suspecte hym.

Then I asked of hym where he was borne, what is name was, how longe he had this dysease, and what tyme he had ben here about London, and in what place. “Syr,” saythe he, “I was borne at Leycestar, my name is Nycholas Genings,104 and I haue had this falling sycknes viij. yeares, and I can get no remedy for the same; for I haue it by kinde, my father had it and my friendes before me; and I haue byne these two yeares here about London, and a yeare and a halfe in bethelem.” “Why, wast thou out of thy wyttes?” quoth I. “Ye, syr, that I was.”

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“What is the Kepars name of the house?” “Hys name is,” quoth hée, “Iohn Smith.” “Then,” quoth I, “hée must vnderstande of thy dysease; yf thou hadest the same for the tyme thou wast there, he knoweth it well.” “Ye, not onely he, but all the house bée syde,” quoth this Cranke; “for I came thens but within this fortnight.” I had stande so longe reasoning the matter wyth him that I was a cold, and went into my chamber and made me ready, and commaunded my seruant to repayre to bethelem, and bringe me true worde from the keper there whether anye suche man hath byn with him as a prisoner hauinge the dysease aforesayd, and gaue hym a note of his name and the kepars also: my seruant, retorninge to my lodginge, dyd assure me that neither was there euer anye such man there, nether yet anye keper of any suche name; but hée that was there keper, he sent me hys name in writing, afferming that hee letteth no man depart from hym vnlesse he be fet a waye by [leaf 16] hys fréendes, and that none that came from hym beggeth aboute the Citye. Then I sent for the Printar of this booke, and shewed hym of this dyssembling Cranke, and how I had sent to Bethelem to vnderstand the trouth105, and what aunsweare I receaued againe, requiringe hym that I might haue some seruant of his to watche him faithfully that daye, that I might vnderstand trustely to what place he woulde repaire at night vnto, and thether I promised to goe my selfe to sée their order, and that I woulde haue hym to associate me thether: hée gladly graunted to my request, and sent two boyes, that both diligently and vygelantly accomplisht the charge geuen them, and found the same Cranke aboute the Temple, where about the most parte of the daye hée begged, vnlesse it weare about xii. of the clocke he wente on the backesyde of Clementes Ine without Temple barre: there is a lane that goeth into the Feldes; there hee renewed his face againe wyth freshe bloud, which he caried about hym in a bladder, and dawbed on freshe dyrte vpon his Ierken, hat, and hoson.

¶ And so came backe agayne vnto the Temple, and sometyme to the Watersyde, and begged of all that passed bye: the boyes behelde howe some gaue grotes, some syxe pens, some gaue more; {54} for hée looked so ougleie and yrksomlye, that euerye one pytied his miserable case that beehelde hym. To bee shorte, there he passed all the daye tyll night approched; and when it began to bée some what dark, he went to the water syde and toke a Skoller,106 and was sette ouer the Water into Saincte Georges feldes, contrarye to my expectatian; for I had thought he woulde haue gonne into Holborne or to Saynt Gylles in the felde; but these boyes, with Argues and Lynces eyes, set sewre watche vppon him, and the one tooke a bote and followed him, and the other went backe to tell his maister.

The boye that so folowed hym by Water, had no money to pay for his Bote hyre, but layde his Penner and his Ynkhorne to gage for a penny; and by that tyme the boye was sette ouer, his Maister, wyth all celeryte, hadde taken a Bote and followed hym apase: now hadde they styll a syght of the Cranke, wych crossed ouer the felddes towardes Newyngton, and thether he went, and by that tyme they came thether it was very darke: the Prynter hadde there no acquaintance, nether any kynde of weapon about hym, nether knewe he107 how farre the Cranke woulde goe, becawse hee then suspected that they dogged hym of purposse; he there stayed hym, and called for the Counstable, whyche came forthe dylygentelye to inquyre what the matter was: thys zelous Pryntar charged thys offycer [leaf 16, back] wyth hym as a malefactor and a dessemblinge vagabonde—the Counstable woulde haue layde him all night in the Cage that stode in the streate. “Naye,” saythe this pitifull Prynter, “I praye you haue him into your house; for this is lyke to be a cold nyght, and he is naked: you kepe a vytellinge house; let him be well cherished this night, for he is well hable to paye for the same. I knowe well his gaynes hath byn great to day, and your house is a sufficient pryson for the tyme, and we wil there serche hym.” The Counstable agreed there vnto: they had him in, and caused him to washe him selfe: that donne, they demaunded what money he had about hym. Sayth this Cranke, “So God helpe me, I haue but xii. pence,” and plucked oute the same of a lytle pursse. “Why, haue you no more?” quoth they. “No,” sayth this Cranke, “as God shall saue my soule at the day of iudgement.” “We must se more,” quoth they,{55} and began to stryp hym. Then he plucked out a nother purse, wherin was xi. pens. “Toushe,” sayth108 thys Prynter, “I must see more.” Saythe this Cranke, “I pray God I bée dampned both body109 and soule yf I haue anye more.” “No,” sayth thys Prynter, “thou false knaue, here is my boye that dyd watche thée all this daye, and sawe when such men gaue the péeses of sixe pens, grotes, and other money; and yet thou hast shewed vs none but small money.” When thys Cranke hard this, and the boye vowinge it to his face, he relented, and plucked out another pursse, where in was eyght shyllings and od money; so had they in the hole that he had begged that day xiij. shillings iii. 110§pens halfepeny§. Then they strypt him starke naked, and as many as sawe him sayd they neuer sawe hansommer man, wyth a yellowe flexen beard111, and fayre skynned, withoute anye spot or greffe. Then the good wyfe of the house fet her goodmans112 olde clocke, and caused the same to be cast about him, because the sight shoulde not abash her shamefast maydens, nether loth her squaymysh sight.

Thus he set113 downe at the Chemnes end, and called for a potte of Béere, and dranke of a quarte at a draft, and } called for another, and so the thyrde, that one had bene sufficient for any resonable man, the Drynke was so stronge.114 I my selfe, the next morninge, tasted thereof; but let the reader iudge what and howe much he would haue dronke and he had bene out of feare. Then when they had thus wrong water out of a flint in spoyling him of his euyl gotten goods, his passing pens115, and fleting trashe, The printer with this offecer were in gealy gealowsit116, and deuised to search a barne for some roges and vpright men, a quarter of a myle from the house, that stode a lone in the fieldes, and wente out about their busines, leauing this cranke alone with his wyfe and maydens: this crafty Cranke, espying al gon, requested the good wife that [leaf 17] hee might goe out on the backesyde to make water, and to exonerate his paunche: she bad hym drawe the lache of the dore and goe out, neither thinkinge or mistrusting he {56} would haue gon awaye naked; but, to conclude, when hee was out, he cast awaye the cloke, and, as naked as euer he was borne, he ran away, 117*that he could118 neuer be hard of 119†againe.* Now† the next morning betimes, I went vnto Newington, to vnderstand what was done, because I had word or it was day that there my printer was; and at my comming thether, I hard the hole circumstaunce, as I aboue haue wrytten; and I, seing the matter so fall out, tooke order with the chiefe of the parish that this xiij. shyllings and iij. 120‡pens halfpeny‡ might the next daye be equally distributed, by their good discrecions, to the pouertie of the same parishe,121 and so it was done.

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¶ A DOMMERAR. Cap. 12.

Hese Dommerars are leud and most subtyll people: the moste part of these are Walch men, and wyll neuer speake, vnlesse they haue extreame punishment, but wyll gape, and with a maruelous force wyll hold downe their toungs doubled, groning for your charyty, and holding vp their handes full pitiously, so that with their déepe dissimulation they get very much. There are of these many, and but one that I vnderstand of hath lost his toung in dede. Hauing on a time occasion to ride to Dartforde, to speake with a priest there, who maketh all kinde of conserues very well, and vseth stilling of waters; And repayringe to his house, I founde a Dommerar at his doore, and the priest him selfe perusinge his122 lycence, vnder the seales and hands of certayne worshypfull men, had123 thought the same to be good and effectuall. I taking the same writing, and {58} reading it ouer, and noting the seales, founde one of the seales like vnto a seale that I had aboute me, which seale I bought besides Charing crosse, that I was out of doubte it was none of those Gentlemens seales that had sub[s]cribed. And hauing vnderstanding before of their peuish practises, made me to conceaue that all was forged and nought. I made the more hast home; for well I wyst that he would and must of force passe through the parysh where I dwelt; for there was no other waye for hym. And comminge homewarde, I found them in the towne, accordinge to my expectation, where they were staid; for there was a Pallyarde associate with the Dommerar and partaker of his gaynes, whyche Pallyarde I sawe not at Dartford. The stayers of them was a gentleman called124 Chayne, and a seruant of my Lord Kéepers, cald Wostestowe, which was [leaf 17, back] the chiefe causer of the staying of them, being a Surgien, and cunning in his science, had séene the lyke practises, and, as he sayde, hadde caused one to speake afore that was dome125. It was my chaunce to come at the begynning of the matter. “Syr,” (quoth this Surgien) “I am bold here to vtter some part of my cunning. I trust” (quoth he) “you shall se a myracle wrought anon. For I once” (quoth he) “made a dumme man to speake.” Quoth I, “you are wel met, and somwhat you haue preuented me; for I had thought to haue done no lesse or they hadde passed this towne. For I well knowe their writing is fayned, and they depe dissemblers.” The Surgien made hym gape, and we could sée but halfe a toung. I required the Surgien to put hys fynger in his mouth, and to pull out his toung, and so he dyd, not withstanding he held strongly a prety whyle; at the length he pluckt out the same, to the great admiration of many that stode by. Yet when we sawe his tounge, hée would neither speake nor yet could heare. Quoth I to the Surgien, “knit two of his fyngers to gether, and thrust a stycke betwene them, and rubbe the same vp and downe a lytle whyle, and for my lyfe hée speaketh by and by.” “Sir,” quoth this Surgien, “I praye you let me practise and126 other waye.” I was well contented to sée the same. He had him into a house, and tyed a halter aboute the wrestes of his handes, and hoysed him vp ouer a beame, and {59} there dyd let him hang a good while: at the length, for very paine he required for Gods sake to let him down. So he that was both deafe and dume coulde in short tyme both heare and speake. Then I tooke that money I could find in his pursse, and distributed the same to the poore people dwelling there, whiche was xv. pence halfepeny, being all that we coulde finde. That done, and this merry myracle madly made, I sent them with my seruaunt to the next Iusticer, where they preached on the Pyllery for want of a Pulpet, and were well whypped, and none dyd bewayle them.

[Headnote: HARMON. A PRYGGE.]

¶ A DRONKEN TINCKAR. Cap. 13.

Hese dronken Tynckers, called also Prygges, be beastly people, and these yong knaues be the wurst. These neuer go with out their Doxes, and yf their women haue anye thing about them, as apparell or lynnen, that is worth the selling, they laye the same to gage, or sell it out right, for bene bowse at their bowsing ken. And full sone wyll they bée wearye of them, and haue a newe. When they happen one woorke at any good house, their Doxes lynger alofe, and tarry for them in some corner; and yf he taryeth longe from her, then she knoweth [leaf 18] he hath worke, and walketh neare, and sitteth downe by him. For besydes money, he looketh for meate and drinke for doinge his dame pleasure. For yf she haue thrée or foure holes in a pan, hee wyll make as many more for spedy gaine. And if he se any old ketle, chafer, or pewter dish abroad in the yard where he worketh, hée quicklye snappeth the same vp, and in to the booget it goeth round. Thus they lyue with deceite.

I was crediblye informed, by such as could well tell, that one of these tipling Tinckers with his dogge robbed by the } high way iiij. Pallyards and two Roges, six persons together, and tooke from them aboue foure pound in ready money, and hide him after in a thicke woode a daye or two, and so escaped vntaken. Thus with picking and stealing, mingled with a lytle worke for a coulour, they passe their time. {60}

¶ A SWADDER, OR PEDLER. Cap. 14.

Hese Swadders and Pedlers bee not all euyll, but of an indifferent behauiour. These stand in great awe of the vpright men, for they haue often both wares and money of them. But for as much as they séeke gayne vnlawfully against the lawes and statutes of this noble realme, they are well worthy to be registred among the number of vacabonds; and vndoubtedly I haue hadde some of them brought before me, when I was in commission of the peace, as malefactors, for bryberinge and stealinge. And nowe of late it is a greate practes of the vpright man, when he hath gotten a botye, to bestowe the same vpon a packefull of wares, and so goeth a time for his pleasure, because he would lyue with out suspition.

¶ A IARKE MAN, AND A PATRICO. Cap. 15.

OR as much as these two names, a Iarkeman and a Patrico, bée in the old briefe of vacabonds, and set forth as two kyndes of euil doers, you shall vnderstande that a Iarkeman hathe his name of a Iarke, which is a seale in their Language, as one should make writinges and set seales for lycences and pasporte127. And for trouth there is none that goeth aboute the countrey of them that can eyther wryte so good and fayre a hand, either indite so learnedly, as I haue sene and handeled a number of them: but haue the same made in good townes where they come, as what can not be hadde for money, as the prouerbe sayth (“Omnia venalia Rome”), and manye hath confessed the same to me. [leaf 18, back] Now, also, there is a Patrico, and not a Patriarcho128, whiche in their language is a priest that should make mariages tyll death dyd depart; but they haue none such, I am well assured; for I put you out of doubt that not one amo[n]gest a hundreth of them are maried, for they take lechery for no sinne, but naturall fellowshyp and good lyking loue: so that I wyll not blot my boke with these two that be not.

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¶ A DEMAUNDER FOR GLYMMAR. Cap. 16.

Hese Demaunders for glymmar be for the moste parte wemen; for glymmar, in their language, is fyre. These goe with fayned129 lycences and counterfayted wrytings, hauing the hands and seales of suche gentlemen as dwelleth nere to the place where they fayne them selues to haue bene burnt, and their goods consumed with fyre. They wyll most lamentable130 demaunde your charitie, and wyll quicklye shed salte teares, they be so tender harted. They wyll neuer begge in that Shiere where their losses (as they say) was. Some of these goe with slates at their backes, which is a shéete to lye in a nightes. The vpright men be very familiare with these kynde of wemen, and one of them helpes an other.

¶ A Demaunder for glymmar came vnto a good towne in Kente, to aske the charitie of the people, hauinge a fayned lycens aboute her that declared her misfortune by fyre, donne in Somerset shyre, walkinge with a wallet on her shoulders, where in shée put the deuotion of suche as hadde no money to geue her; that is to saye, Malte, woll, baken, bread, and cheese; and alwayes, as the same was full, so was it redye money to her, when she emptyed the same, where so euer shee trauelede: thys harlot was, as they terme it, snowte fayre, and had an vpright man or two alwayes attendinge on her watche (whyche is on her parson), and yet so circumspecte, that they woulde neuer bee séene in her company in any good towne, vnlesse it were in smale vyllages where typling houses weare, eyther trauelinge to gether by the hygh wayes; but the troth is, by report, she would wekely be worth vi. or seuen shyllinges with her begging and bycherye. This glimmering Morte, repayringe to an Ine in the sayde towne where dwelt a wydow of fyftie wynter olde of good welth; but she had an vnthryftye sonne, whom she vsed as a chamberlaine to attend gestes when they repared to her house: this amerous man, be holdinge with ardante eyes thys131 glymmeringe glauncer, was presentlye pyteouslye persed to the hart, and lewdlye longed to bée clothed vnder her lyuerye; and bestowinge [leaf 19] a {62} fewe fonde wordes with her, vnderstode strayte that she woulde be easlye perswaded to lykinge lechery, and as a man mased, mused howe to attayne to his purpose, for132 he hadde no money. Yet consideringe wyth hym selfe that wares woulde bée welcome where money wanted, hée went with a wannion to his mothers chamber, and there sekinge aboute for odde endes, at length founde a lytle whystell of syluer that his mother dyd vse customablye to weare on, and had forgot the same for haste that morninge, and offeres the same closely to this manerly marian, that yf she would mete hym on the backesyde of the towne and curteously kys him with out constraynt, she shoulde bée mystres thereof, and it weare much better. “Well,” sayth she, “you are a wanton;” and beholdinge the whystell, was farther in loue there with then rauysht wyth his person, and agred to mete him presently, and to accomplyshe his fonde fancy:—to be short, and not tedyous, a quarter of a myle from the towne, he merely toke measure of her vnder a bawdye bushe; so she gaue hym that she had not, and he receiued that he coulde not; and taking leue of eche other with a curteous kysse, she plesantly passed forth one her iornaye, and this vntoward lycorous chamberlayne repayred home warde. But or these two tortylles tooke there leue, the good wyfe myssed her whystell, and sent one of her maydenes in to her chamber for the same, and being long sawght for, none coulde be founde; her mystres hering that, diligent search was made for the same; and that it was taken awaye, began to suspecte her vnblessed babe, and demaunded of her maydens whether none of them sawe her sonne in her chamber that morning, and one of them aunswered that she sawe him not there, but comming from thens: then had she ynough, for well she wyste that he had the same, and sent for him, but he could not be founde. Then she caused her hosteler, in whome she had better affyaunce in for his trouth,—and yet not one amongst twenty of them but haue well left there honesty, (As I here a great sorte saye)—to come vnto her, whiche attended to knowe her pleasure. “Goe, seke out,” saythe she, “my vntowarde sonne, and byd hym come speake with me.” “I sawe him go out,” saythe he, “halfe an houre {63} sithens one the backesyde. I hadde thought you hadde sent him of your arrante.” “I sent him not,” quoth she; “goe, loke him out.”

¶ This hollowe hosteler toke his staffe in his necke, and trodged out apase that waye he sawe him before go, and had some vnderstanding, by one of the maydens, that his mistres had her whistell stolen and suspected her sonne; and he had not gone farre but that he espyed him comming homeward alone, and, meting him, axed where he had ben. [leaf 19, back] “Where haue I bene?” quoth he, and began to smyle. “Now, by the mas, thou hast bene at some baudy banquet.” “Thou hast euen tolde trouth,” quoth thys chamberlayne. “Sewerly,” quoth this hosteler, “thou haddest the same woman that begged at our house to day, for the harmes she had by fyre: where is she?” quoth he. “She is almost a myle by this tyme,” quoth this chamberlayne. “Where is my mystres whystell?” quoth this hosteler; “for I am well assured that thou haddest it, and I feare me thou hast geuen it to that harlot.” “Why! is it myssed?” quoth this chamberlayne. “Yea,” quoth this hosteler, and shewed him all the hole circumstaunce, what was both sayde and thought on him for the thing. “Well, I wyl tell the,” quoth this Chamberlayne. “I wylbe playne with the. I had it in dede, and haue geuen the same to this woman, and I praye the make the best of it, and helpe nowe to excuse the matter, and yet surely and thou wouldest take so much payne for me as to ouer take her, (for she goeth but softly, and is not yet farre of) and take the same from her, and I am euer thyne assured fréende.” “Why, then, go with me,” quoth this hostler. “Nay, in faythe,” quoth this Chamberlayne; “what is frear then gift? and I hadde prety pastime for the same.” “Hadest thou so?” quoth this hosteler; “nowe, by the masse, and I wyll haue some to, or I wyll lye in the duste or I come agayne.” Passing with hast to ouer take this paramoure, within a myle from the place where he departed he ouertoke her, hauing an vpright man in her company, a stronge and a sturdye vacabond: some what amased was this hosteler to se one familiarly in her company, for he had well hopped to haue had some delycate dalyance, as his fellowe hadde; but, seinge the matter so fallout, and being of {64} good corage, and thinking to him selfe that one true man was better then two false knaues, and being on the high way, thought vpon helpe, if nede had bene, by such as had passed to and fro, Demaunded fersely the whistell that she had euyn nowe of his fellowe. “Why, husband,” quoth she, “can you suffer this wretche to slaunder your wyfe?” “A vaunt verlet,” quoth this vpright man, and letes dryue with all his force at this hosteler, and after halfe133 a dosen blowes, he strycks his staffe out of his hande, and as this hosteler stept backe to haue taken vp his staffe agayne, his glymmeringe Morte flinges a great stone at him, and strake him one the heade that downe hee fales, wyth the bloud about his eares, and whyle hée laye this amased, the vpright man snatches awaye his pursse, where in hée hadde money of his mystresses as well as of his owne, and there let him lye, and went a waye with spede that they were neuer harde of more. When this drye beaten hosteler was come to him selfe, hée fayntlye wandereth home, and crepethe in to hys couche, and restes [leaf 20] his ydle heade: his mystres harde that hée was come in, and layde him downe on his beade, repayred straight vnto him, and aske hym what he ayled, and what the cause was of his so sudden lying one his bed. “What is the cause?” quoth this hosteler; “your whystell, your whistel,”—speaking the same pyteouslye thre or foure tymes. “Why, fole,” quoth his mystrisse, “take no care for that, for I doe not greatly waye it; it was worth but thrée shyllinges foure pens.” “I would it had bene burnt for foure yeares agon.” “I praye the why so,” quoth his mystres; “I think thou art mad.” “Nay, not yet,” quoth this hosteler, “but I haue bene madly handlyd.” “Why, what is the matter?” quoth his mystres, and was more desirous to know the case. “And you wyl for geue my fellowe and me, I wyll shewe you, or els I wyll neuer doe it.” Shée made hym presently faithfull promisse that shée woulde. “Then,” saythe hee, “sende for your sonne home agayne, whyche is ashamed to loke you in the face.” “I agre there to,” sayth shée. “Well, then,” quoth this hosteler, “youre sonne hathe geuen the same Morte that begged here, for the burninge of her house, a whystell, and you haue geuen her v. shyllinges in money, {65} and I haue geuen her ten shyllinges of my owne.” “Why, howe so?” quoth she. Then he sadly shewed her of his myshap, with all the circumstaunce that you haue harde before, and howe hys pursse was taken awaye, and xv. shyllinges in the same, where of v. shyllinges was her money and x. shyllinges his owne money. “Is this true?” quoth his mystres. “I, by my trouth,” quoth this hosteler, “and nothing greues me so much, neyther my beating, neither the losse of my money, as doth my euell and wreched lucke.” “Why, what is the matter?” quoth his mystres. “Your sonne,” saythe this hosteler, “had some chere and pastyme for that whystell, for he laye with her, and I haue bene well beaten, and haue had my pursse taken from me, and you knowe your sonne is merrye and pleasaunt, and can kepe no great councell; and then shall I bemocked and loughed to skorne in all places when they shall here howe I haue bene serued.” “Nowe, out vpon you knaues both,” quoth his mystres, and laughes oute the matter; for she well sawe it would not other wyse preuayle.

¶ A BAWDY BASKET. Cap. 17.

Hese Bawdy baskets be also wemen, and go with baskets and Capcases on their armes, where in they haue laces, pynnes, nedles, white ynkell, and round sylke gyrdles of al coulours. These wyl bye conneyskins,134 and steale linen clothes of on hedges. And for their trifles they wil procure of mayden seruaunts, when [leaf 20, back] their mystres or dame is oute of the waye, either some good peece of béefe, baken, or chéese, that shalbe worth xij. pens, for ii. pens of their toyes. And as they walke by the waye, they often gaine some money wyth their instrument, by such as they sodaynely mete withall. The vpright men haue good acquayntance with these, and will helpe and relieue them when they want. Thus they trade their lyues in lewed lothsome lechery. Amongest them all is but one honest woman, and she is of good yeares; her name is Ione Messenger. I haue had good proofe of her, as I haue learned by the true report of diuers.

{66}

There came to my gate the last sommer, Anno Domini .1566, a very miserable man, and much deformed, as burnt in the } face, blere eyde, and lame of one of his legges that he went with a crouche. I axed him wher he was borne, and where he dwelt last, and shewed him that thether he must repaire and be releued, and not to range aboute the countrey; and seing some cause of cherytie, I caused him to haue meate and drinke, and when he had dronke, I demaunded of him whether he was neuer spoyled of the vpright man or Roge. “Yes, that I haue,” quoth he, “and not this seuen yeres, for so long I haue gon abroad, I had not so much taken from me, and so euyll handeled, as I was within these iiij. dayes.” “Why, how so?” quoth I. “In good fayth, sir,” quoth hée, “I chaunced to méete with one of these bawdy baskets which had an vpright man in her company, and as I would haue passed quietly by her, ‘man,’ sayth she vnto vnto her make, ‘do you not se this ylfauored, windshaken knaue?’ ‘Yes,’ quoth the vpright man; ‘what saye you to him?’ ‘this knaue135 oweth me ii. shyllings for wares that136 he had of me, halfe a yere a go, I think it well.’ Sayth this vpright man, ‘syra,’ sayth he, ‘paye your dets.’ Sayth this poore man, ‘I owe her none, nether dyd I euer bargane with her for any thinge, and as this137 aduysed I neuer sawe her before in all my lyfe.’ ‘Mercy, god!’ quoth she, ‘what a lyinge knaue is this, and he wil not paye you, husband, beat him suerly,’ and the vpright man gaue me thre or foure blowes on my backe and shoulders, and would haue beat me worsse and I had not geuen hym all the money in my pursse, and in good fayth, for very feare, I was fayne to geue him xiiij. pens, which was all the money that I had. ‘Why,’ sayth this bawdy basket, ‘hast thou no more? then thou owest me ten pens styll; and, be well assured that I wyll bée payde the next tyme I méete with thée.’ And so they let me passe by them. I praye god saue and blesse me, and al other in my case, from such wycked persons,” quoth this poore man. “Why, whether went they then?” quoth I. “Into east Kent, for I mete with them on thyssyde of Rochester. I haue dyuers tymes bene attemted, but {67} I neuer loste [leaf 21] much before. I thanke god, there came styll company by a fore this vnhappy time.” “Well,” quoth I, “thanke God of all, and repaire home into thy natyue countrey.”

¶ A AUTEM MORT. Cap. 18.

Hese Autem Mortes be maried wemen, as there be but a fewe. For Autem in their Language is a Churche; so she is a wyfe maried at the Church, and they be as chaste as a Cowe I haue, that goeth to Bull euery moone, with what Bull she careth not. These walke most times from their husbands companye a moneth and more to gether, being asociate with another as honest as her selfe. These wyll pylfar clothes of hedges: some of them go with children of ten or xii. yeares of age; yf tyme and place serue for their purpose, they wyll send them into some house, at the window, to steale and robbe, which they call in their language, Milling of the ken; and wil go with wallets on their shoulders, and slates at their backes. There is one of these Autem Mortes, she is now a widow, of fyfty yeres old; her name is Alice Milson: she goeth about with a couple of great boyes, the yongest of them is fast vpon xx. yeares of age; and these two do lye with her euery night, and she lyeth in the middes: she sayth that they be her children, that beteled be babes borne of such abhominable bellye.

¶ A WALKING MORT. Cap. 19.

Hese walkinge Mortes bee not maryed: these for their vnhappye yeares doth go as a Autem Morte, and wyll saye their husbandes died eyther at Newhauen, Ireland, or in some seruice of the Prince. These make laces vpon staues, and purses, that they cary in their hands, and whyte vallance for beddes. Manye of these hath hadde and haue chyldren: when these get ought, either with begging, bychery, or brybery, as money or apparell, they are quickly shaken out of all by the vpright men, that they are in a maruelous feare to cary any thinge aboute them that is of any valure. Where fore, this pollicye they vse, they leaue their money now with one and then with a nother trustye housholders, eyther with the good man or good wyfe, some tyme in one shiere, and then in another, as they {68} trauell: this haue I knowne, that iiij. or v. shyllinges, yea x. shyllinges, lefte in a place, and the same wyll they come for againe within one quarter of a yeare, or some tyme not in halfe a yeare; and all this is to lytle purpose, for all their peuyshe [leaf 21, back] pollycy; for when they bye them lynnen or garmentse, it is taken awaye from them, and worsse geuen them, or none at all.

¶ The last Sommer, Anno domini .1566, being in familiare talke with a walking Mort that came to my gate, I learned by her what I could, and I thought I had gathered as much for my purpose as I desired. I began to rebuke her for her leud lyfe and beastly behauor, declaring to her what punishment was prepared and heaped vp for her in the world to come for her fylthy lyuinge and wretched conuersation. “God helpe,” quoth she, “how should I lyue? none wyll take me into seruice; but I labour in haruest time honestly.” “I thinke but a whyle with honestie,” quoth I. “Shall I tell you,” quoth she, “the best of vs all may be amended; but yet, I thanke god, I dyd one good dede within this twelue monthes.” “Wherein?” quoth I. Sayth she, “I woulde not haue it spoken of agayne.” “Yf it be méete and necessary,” quod I, “it shall lye vnder my feete.” “What meane you by that?” quoth she. “I meane,” quod I, “to hide the same, and neuer to discouer it to any.” “Well,” quoth she, and began to laugh as much as she could, and sweare by the masse that if I disclosed the same to any, she woulde neuer more138 tell me any thinge. “The last sommer,” quoth she, “I was greate with chylde, and I traueled into east kent by the sea coste, for I lusted meruelously after oysters and muskels139, and gathered many, and in the place where I found them, I opened them and eate them styll: at the last, in seking more, I reached after one, and stept into a hole, and fel in into the wast, and their dyd stycke, and I had bene drowned if the tide had come, and espyinge a man a good waye of, I cried as much as I could for helpe. I was alone, he hard me, and repaired as fast to me as he might, and finding me their fast stycking, I required for gods sake his helpe; and whether it was with stryuinge and forcing my selfe out, or for ioye I had of his comminge to me, I had a great couller in my face, and loked red and well {69} coullered. And, to be playne with you, hée lyked me so well (as he sayd) that I should there lye styll, and I would not graunt him, that he might lye with me. And, by my trouth, I wist not what to answeare, I was in such a perplexite; for I knew the man well: he had a very honest woman to his wyfe, and was of some welth; and, one the other syde, if I weare not holpe out, I should there haue perished, and I graunted hym that I would obeye to his wyll: then he plucked me out. And because there was no conuenient place nere hande, I required hym that I might go washe my selfe, and make me somewhat clenly, and I would come to his house and lodge all night in his barne, whether he mighte repaire to me, and accomplyshe hys desire, ‘but let it not be,’ quoth she,140 ‘before nine of the clocke at nyghte [leaf 22] for then there wylbe small styrring. And I may repaire to the towne,’ quoth she,141 ‘to warme and drye my selfe’; for this was about two of the clocke in the after none. ‘Do so,’ quoth hée; ‘for I must be busie to looke oute my cattell here by before I can come home.’ So I went awaye from hym, and glad was I.” “And why so?” quoth I. “Because,” quoth she, “his wyfe, my good dame, is my very fréend, and I am much beholdinge to her. And she hath donne me so much good or this, that I weare loth nowe to harme her any waye.” “Why,” quoth I, “what and it hadde béene any other man, and not your good dames husbande?” “The matter had bene the lesse,” quoth shée. “Tell me, I pray the,” quoth I, “who was the father of thy chylde?” She stodyd a whyle, and sayde that it hadde a father. “But what was hée?” quoth I. “Nowe, by my trouth, I knowe not,” quoth shée; “you brynge me out of my matter so, you do.” “Well, saye on,” quoth I. “Then I departed strayght to the towne, and came to my dames house, And shewed her of my mysfortune, also of her husbands vsage, in all pointes, and that I showed her the same for good wyll, and byde her take better héede to her husbande, and to her selfe: so shée gaue me great thankes, and made me good chéere, and byd me in anye case that I should be redye at the barne at that tyme and houre we had apoynted; ‘for I knowe well,’ quoth this good wyfe, ‘my husband wyll not breake wyth the. And one thinge I warne142 the, that thou {70} geue me a watche worde a loud when hée goeth aboute to haue his pleasure of the, and that shall143 bée “fye, for shame, fye,” and I wyll bée harde by you wyth helpe. But I charge the kéepe thys secret vntyll all bee fynesed; and holde,’ saythe thys good wyfe, ‘here is one of my peticotes I geue thée.’ ‘I thanke you, good dame,’ quoth I, ‘and I warrante you I wyll bée true and trustye vnto you.’ So my dame lefte me settinge by a good fyre with meate and drynke; and wyth the oysters I broughte with me, I hadde greate cheere: shée wente strayght and repaired vnto her gossypes dwelling there by; and, as I dyd after vnderstande, she made her mone to them, what a naughtye, lewed, lecherous husbande shée hadde, and howe that she coulde not haue hys companye for harlotes, and that she was in feare to take some fylthy dysease of hym, he was so commen a man, hauinge lytle respecte whome he hadde to do with all; ‘and,’ quoth she, ‘nowe here is one at my house, a poore woman that goeth aboute the countrey that he woulde haue hadde to doe withall; wherefore, good neyghboures and louinge gossypes, as you loue me, and as you would haue helpe at my hand another tyme, deuyse some remedy to make my husband a good man, that I may lyue in some suerty without disease, and that hée may saue his soule that God so derelye [leaf 22, back] bought.’ After shée hadde tolde her tale, they caste their persinge eyes all vpon her, but one stoute dame amongst the rest had these wordes—‘As your pacient bearinge of troubles, your honest behauiour among vs your neyghbours, your tender and pytifull hart to the poore of the parysh, doth moue vs to lament your case, so the vnsatiable carnalite of your faithelesse husbande doth instigate and styre vs to deuyse and inuent some spéedy redresse for your ease144 and the amendement of hys lyfe. Wherefore, this is my councell and you wyll bée aduertysed by me; for145 I saye to you all, vnlesse it be this good wyfe, who is chéefely touched in this matter, I haue the nexte cause; for hée was in hande wyth me not longe a goe, and companye had not bene present, which was by a meruelous chaunce, he hadde, I thinke, forced me. For often hée hath bene tempering146 with me, and yet haue I sharpely sayde him {71} naye: therefore, let vs assemble secretly into the place where hée hathe apuynted to méete thys gyllot that is at your house, and lyrke preuelye in some corner tyll hée begyn to goe aboute his busines. And then me thought I harde you saye euen nowe that you had a watche word, at which word we wyll all stepforth, being fiue of vs besydes you, for you shalbe none because it is your husbande, but gette you to bed at your accustomed houre. And we wyll cary eche of vs147 good byrchen rodde in our lappes, and we will all be muffeled for knowing, and se that you goe home and acquaynt that walking Morte with the matter; for we must haue her helpe to hold, for alwaies foure must hold and two lay one.’ ‘Alas!’ sayth this good wyfe, ‘he is to stronge for you all. I would be loth, for my sake you should receaue harme at his hande.’ ‘feare you not,’ quoth these stout wemen, ‘let her not geue the watch word vntyl his hosen be abaut his legges. And I trowe we all wylbe with him to bring before he shall haue leasure to plucke them vp againe.’ They all with on voyce ag[r]ed to the matter, that the way she had deuised was the best: so this good wife repaired home; but before she departed from her gossypes, she shewed them at what houre they should preuely come in on the backsid, and where to tary their good our: so by the time she came in, it was all most night, and found the walking Morte still setting by the fyre, and declared to her all this new deuyse aboue sayd, which promised faythfully to full fyll to her small powre as much as they hadde deuysed: within a quarter of an oure after, in commeth the good man, who said that he was about his cattell. “Why, what haue we here, wyfe, setting by the fyre? and yf she haue eate and dronke, send her into the barne to her lodging for this night, for she troubeleth the house.” “Euen as you wyll husbande,” sayth his wyfe; “you knowe she commeth once in two yeres into these [leaf 23] quarters. Awaye,” saythe this good wyfe, “to your lodginge.” “Yes, good dame,” sayth she, “as fast as I can:” thus, by loking one148 on the other, eche knewe others mynde, and so departed to her comely couche: the good man of the house shrodge hym for Ioye, thinking to hym selfe, I wyll make some pastyme with you anone. And calling to his wyfe for hys sopper, set {72} him downe, and was very plesant, and dranke to his wyfe, and fell to his mammerings, and mounched a pace, nothing vnderstanding of the bancquet that149 was a preparing for him after sopper, and according to the prouerbe, that swete meate wyll haue sowre sawce: thus, when he was well refreshed, his sprietes being reuyued, entred into familiare talke with his wife, of many matters, how well he had spent that daye to both there proffytes, sayinge some of his cattell150 were lyke to haue bene drowned in the dyches, dryuinge others of his neyghbours cattell out that were in his pastures, and mending his fences that were broken downe. Thus profitably he had consumed the daye, nothinge talking of his helping out of the walkinge Morte out of the myre, nether of his request nor yet of her151 promisse. Thus feding her with frendly fantacyes, consumed two houres and more. Then fayninge howe hée would se in what case his horse were in and howe they were dressed, Repaired couertly into the barne, where as his frée[n]dlye foes lyrked preuely, vnlesse it were this manerly Morte, that comly couched on a bottell of strawe. “What, are you come?” quoth she; “by the masse, I would not for a hundreth pound that my dame should knowe that you were here, eyther any els of your house.” “No, I warrant the,” sayth this good man, “they be all safe and fast ynough at their woorke, and I wylbe at mine anon.” And laye downe by her, and strayght would haue had to do with her. “Nay, fye,” sayth she, “I lyke not this order: if ye lye with me, you shall surely vntrus you and put downe your hosen, for that way is most easiest and best.” “Sayest thou so?” quoth he, “now, by my trouth agred.” And when he had vntrussed him selfe and put downe, he began to assalt the vnsatiable152 fort “Why,” quoth she, that was with out shame, sauinge for her promes, “And are you not ashamed?” “neuer a whyte,” sayth he, “lye downe quickely.” “Now, fye, for shame, fye,” sayth shée a loude, whyche was the watche word. At the which word, these fyue furious, sturdy, muffeled gossypes flynges oute, and takes sure holde of this be trayed parson, sone153 pluckinge his hosen downe lower, and byndinge the same fast about his féete; {73} then byndinge his handes, and knitting a hande charcher about his eyes, that he shoulde not sée; and when they had made hym sure and fast, Then they layd him one vntyll they weare windles. “Be good,” sayth this Morte, “vnto my maister, for the passion of God,” [leaf 23, back] and layd on as fast as the rest, and styll seased not to crye vpon them to bée mercyfull vnto hym, and yet layde on a pace; and when they had well beaten hym, that the bloud braste plentifullye oute in most places, they let hym lye styll bounde. With this exhortation, that he shoulde from that tyme forth knowe his wyfe from other mens, and that this punishment was but a flebyting in respect of that which should followe, yf he amended not his manners. Thus leuynge hym blustering, blowing, and fominge for payne, and malyncolye that hée neither might or coulde be reuenged of them, they vanyshed awaye, and hadde thys Morte with them, and safely conuayde her out of the towne: sone after commeth into the barne one of the good mans boyes, to fet some haye for his horse. And fyndinge his maister lyinge faste bounde and greuouslye beaten with rodes, was sodenly abashed and woulde haue runne out agayne to haue called for helpe; but his maister bed hym come vnto hym and vnbynd hym; “and make no wordes,” quoth he, “of this. I wylbe reuenged well inoughe;” yet not with standinge, after better aduyse, the matter beinge vnhonest, he thought it meter to let the same passe, and, not, as the prouerbe saythe, to awake the sleping dogge. “And, by my trouth,” quoth this walkinge Morte, “I come nowe from that place, and was neuer there sythens this parte was playde, whiche is some what more then a yeare. And I here a very good reporte of hym now, that he loueth his wyfe well, and vseth hym selfe verye honestlye; and was not this a good acte? nowe, howe saye you?” “It was pretely handeled,” quoth I, “and is here all?” “Yea,” quoth she, “here is the ende.”

¶ A DOXE. Cap. 20.

Hese Doxes be broken and spoyled of their maydenhead by the vpright men, and then they haue their name of Doxes, and not afore. And afterwarde she is commen and indifferent for any that wyll vse her, as homo is a commen name to all men. Such {74} as be fayre and some what handsome, kepe company with the walkinge Mortes, and are redye alwayes for the vpright men, and are cheifely mayntayned by them, for others shalbe spoyled for their sakes: the other, inferior, sort wyll resorte to noble mens places, and gentlemens houses, standing at the gate, eyther lurkinge on the backesyde about backe houses, eyther in hedge rowes, or some other thycket, expectinge their praye, which is for the vncomely company of some curteous gest, of whome they be refreshed with meate and some money, where eschaunge is made, ware for ware: this bread and meate they vse to carrye in their [leaf 24] greate hosen; so that these beastlye brybinge154 bréeches serue manye tymes for bawdye purposes. I chaunced, not longe sithens, familiarly to commen with a Doxe that came to my gate, and surelye a pleasant harlot, and not so pleasant as wytty, and not so wytty as voyd of all grace and goodnes. I founde, by her talke, that shée hadde passed her tyme lewdlye eyghttene yeares in walkinge aboute. I thoughte this a necessary instrument to attayne some knowledge by; and before I woulde grope her mynde, I made her both to eate and drynke well; that done, I made her faythfull promisse to geue her some money, yf she would open and dyscouer to me such questions as I woulde demaunde of her, and neuer to bée wraye her, neither to disclose her name. “And you shoulde,” sayth she, “I were vndon:” “feare not that,” quoth I; “but, I praye the,” quoth I, “say nothing but trouth.” “I wyll not,” sayth shée. “Then, fyrste tell me,” quoth I, “how many vpright men and Roges dost thou knowe, or hast thou knowne and byn conuersaunt with, and what their names be?” She paused a whyle, and sayd, “why do you aske me, or wherefore?” “For nothinge els,” as I sayde, “but that I woulde knowe them when they came to my gate.” “Nowe, by my trouth” (quoth she) “then are yea neuer the neare, for all myne acquayntaunce, for the moste parte, are deade.” “Dead!” quoth I, “howe dyed they, for wante of cherishinge, or of paynefull diseases?” Then she sighed, and sayde they were hanged. “What, all?” quoth I, “and so manye walke abroade, as I dayelye see?” “By my trouth,” quoth she, “I {75} knowe not paste six or seuen by their names,” and named the same to me. “When were they hanged?” quoth I. “Some seuen yeares a gone, some thrée yeares, and some within this fortnight,” and declared the place where they weare executed, which I knewe well to bée true, by the report of others. “Why” (quoth I) “dyd not this sorrowfull and fearefull sight much greue the, and for thy tyme longe and euyll spent?” “I was sory,” quoth shée, “by the Masse; for some of them were good louing men. For I lackt not when they had it, and they wanted not when I had it, and diuers of them I neuer dyd forsake, vntyll the Gallowes departed vs.” “O, mercyfull God!” quoth I, and began to blesse me. “Why blesse ye?” quoth she. “Alas! good gentleman, euery one muste haue a lyuinge.” Other matters I talked of; but this nowe maye suffice to shewe the Reader, as it weare in a glasse, the bolde beastly lyfe of these Doxes. For suche as hath gone anye tyme abroade, wyll neuer forsake their trade, to dye therefore. I haue hadde good profe thereof. There is one, a notorious harlot, of this affinitye, called Besse Bottomelye; she hath but one hande, and she hath murthered two children at the least.

[leaf 24, back]

¶ A DELL. Cap. 21.

Dell is a yonge wenche, able for generation, and not yet knowen or broken by the vpright man. These go abroade yong, eyther by the death of their parentes, and no bodye to looke vnto them, or els by some sharpe mystres that they serue, do runne away out of seruice; eyther she is naturally borne one, and then she is a wyld Dell: these are broken verye yonge; when they haue béene lyen with all by the vpright man, then they be Doxes, and no Dels. These wylde dels, beinge traded vp with their monstrous mothers, must of necessytie be as euill, or worsse, then their parents, for neither we gather grapes from gréene bryars, neither fygs from Thystels. But such buds, such blosoms, such euyll sede sowen, wel worsse beinge growen. {76}

¶ A KYNCHIN MORTE. Cap. 22.

Kynching Morte is a lytle Gyrle: the Mortes their mothers carries them at their backes in their slates, whiche is their shetes, and bryngs them vp sauagely155, tyll they growe to be rype, and soone rype, soone rotten.

¶ A KYNCHEN CO. Cap. 23.

Kynchen Co is a young boye, traden vp to suche peuishe purposes as you haue harde of other young ympes before, that when he groweth vnto yeres, he is better to hang then to drawe forth.

¶ THEIR VSAGE IN THE NIGHT. Cap. 24.

Ow I thinke it not vnnecessary to make the Reader vnderstand how and in what maner they lodge a nights in barnes or backe houses, and of their vsage there, for asmuch as I haue acquaynted them with their order and practises a day times. The arche and chiefe walkers that hath walked a long time, whose experience is great, because of their continuinge practise, I meane all Mortes and Doxes, for their handsomnes and diligence for making of their couches. The men neuer trouble them selues with that thing, but takes the same to be the dutye of the wyfe. And she shuffels vp a quayntitye of strawe or haye into some pretye carner of the barne [leaf 25] where she maye conuenientlye lye, and well shakethe the same, makinge the heade some what hye, and dryues the same vpon the sydes and fete lyke abed: then she layeth her wallet, or some other lytle pack of ragges or scrype vnder her heade in the strawe, to beare vp the same, and layethe her petycote or cloke vpon and ouer the strawe, so made lyke a bedde, and that serueth for the blancket. Then she layeth her slate, which is her sheete, vpon that; and she haue no shéete, as fewe of them goe without, then she spreddeth some large cloutes or rags ouer the same, and maketh her ready, and layeth her drouselye downe. Many wyll plucke of their smockes, and laye the same vpon them in stede of their vpper shéete, and all her other pelte and {77} trashe vpon her also; and many lyeth in their smockes. And if the rest of her clothes in colde weather be not sufficient to kepe her warme, then she taketh strawe or haye to performe the matter. The other sorte, that haue not slates, but toumble downe and couche a hogshead in their clothes, these bée styll lousye, and shall neuer be with out vermyn, vnlesse they put of theire clothes, and lye as is a boue sayde. If the vpright man come in where they lye, he hath his choyse, and crepeth in close by his Doxe: the Roge hath his leauings. If the Morts or Doxes lye or be lodged in some Farmers barne, and the dore be ether locked or made fast to them, then wyl not the vpright man presse to come in, Vnles it be in barnes and oute houses standinge alone, or some distance from houses, which be commonly knowne to them, As saint Quintens, thrée Cranes of the vintrey, Saynt Tybbes, and Knapsbery. These foure be with in one myle compasse neare vnto London. Then haue you iiij. more in Middlesex, drawe the pudding out of the fyre in Harrow on the hyll parish, the Crose Keyes in Cranford156 parish, Saynt Iulyans in Thystell worth parish, the house of pyty in Northhall parysh. These are their chiefe houses neare about London, where commonly they resorte vnto for Lodginge, and maye repaire thether freelye at all tymes. Sometyme shall come in some Roge, some pyckinge knaue, a nymble Prygge; he walketh in softly a nightes, when they be at their rest, and plucketh of as many garmentes as be ought worth that he maye come by, and worth money, and maye easely cary the same, and runneth a waye with the same with great seleritye, and maketh porte sale at some conuenient place of theirs, that some be soone ready in the morning, for want of their Casters and Togemans. Where in stéede of blessinge is cursing; in place of praying, pestelent prating with odious othes and terrible threatninges. The vpright men haue geuen all these nycke names to the places aboue sayde. Y[e]t haue [leaf 25, back] we two notable places in Kent, not fare from London: the one is betwene Detforde and Rothered, called the Kynges barne, standing alone, that they haunt commonly; the other is Ketbroke, standinge by blacke heath, halfe a myle from anye house. There wyll they boldlye drawe the latche of the doore, and {78} go in when the good man with hys famyly be at supper, and syt downe without leaue, and eate and drinke with them, and either lye in the hall by the fyre all night, or in the barne, if there be no rome in the house for them. If the doore be eyther bolted or lockt, if it be not opened vnto them when they wyl, they wyl breake the same open to his farther cost. And in this barne sometyme do lye xl. vpright men with their Doxes together at one time. And this must the poore Farmer suffer, or els they threaten him to burne him, and all that he hath.

THE NAMES OF THE VPRIGHT MEN, ROGES, AND PALLYARDS.

Ere followeth the vnrulye rablement of rascals, and the moste notoryous and wyckedst walkers that are lyuinge nowe at this present, with their true names as they be called and knowne by. And although I set and place here but thre orders, yet, good Reader, vnderstand that all the others aboue named are deriued and come out from the vpright men and Roges. Concerning the number of Mortes and Doxes, it is superfluous to wryte of them. I could well haue don it, but the number of them is great, and woulde aske a large volume.

¶ UPRIGHT MEN. A.157 Antony Heymer. Antony Iackeson. B. Burfet. Bryan medcalfe. C. Core the Cuckold. Chrystouer Cooke. D. Dowzabell skylfull in fence. Dauid Coke. Dycke Glouer. Dycke Abrystowe. Dauid Edwardes. Dauid Holand. Dauid Iones. E. Edmund Dun, a singing man. Edward Skiner, alias Ned Skinner. Edward Browne. F. Follentine Hylles. Fardinando angell. Fraunces Dawghton. {79} G. Gryffin. Great Iohn Graye. George Marrinar. George Hutchinson. H. Hary Hylles, alias Harry godepar. [leaf 26] Harry Agglyntine. Harry Smyth, he driueleth when he speaketh. Harry Ionson. I. Iames Barnard. Iohn Myllar. Iohn Walchman. Iohn Iones. Iohn Teddar. Iohn Braye. Iohn Cutter. Iohn Bell. Iohn Stephens. Iohn Graye. Iohn Whyte. Iohn Rewe. Iohn Mores. Iohn a Farnando. Iohn Newman. Iohn Wyn, alias Wylliams. Iohn a Pycons. Iohn Tomas. Iohn Arter. Iohn Palmer, alias Tod. Iohn Geffrey. Iohn Goddard. Iohn Graye the lytle. Iohn Graye the great. Iohn Wylliams the Longer. Iohn Horwood, a maker of wels; he wyll take halfe his bargayne in hand, and when hée hath wrought ii. or iii. daies, he runneth away with his earnest. Iohn Peter. Iohn Porter. Iohn Appowes. Iohn Arter. Iohn Bates. Iohn Comes. Iohn Chyles, alias great Chyles. Iohn Leuet; he maketh tappes and fausets. Iohn Louedall, a maister of fence. Iohn Louedale. Iohn Mekes. Iohn Appowell. Iohn Chappell. Iohn Gryffen. Iohn Mason. Iohn Humfrey, with the lame hand. Iohn Stradling, with the shaking head. Iohn Franke. Iohn Baker. Iohn Bascafeld. K. L. Lennard Iust. Long Gréene. Laurence Ladd. Laurence Marshall. M. N. Nicolas Wilson. Ned Barington. Ned Wetherdon. Ned holmes. O. P. Phyllype Gréene. Q. R. Robart Grauener. Robart Gerse. Robart Kynge. Robart Egerton. Robart Bell, brother to Iohn Bell. Robart Maple. Robart Langton. Robyn Bell. Robyn Toppe. Robart Brownswerd, he werith his here long. Robart Curtes. Rychard Brymmysh. Rychard Iustyce. Rychard Barton. {80} Rychard Constance. Rychard Thomas. Rychard Cadman. Rychard Scategood. Rychard Apryce. Rychard Walker. Rychard Coper. S. Steuen Neuet. T. Thomas Bulloke. [leaf 26, back] Thomas Cutter. Thomas Garret. Thomas Newton. Thomas Web. Thomas Graye, his toes be gonne. Tom Bodel. Thomas Wast. Thomas Dawson alias Thomas Iacklin. Thomas Basset. Thomas Marchant. Thomas Web. Thomas Awefeld. Thomas Gybbins. Thomas Lacon. Thomas Bate. Thomas Allen. V. W. Welarayd Richard. Wylliam Chamborne. Wylliam Pannell. Wylliam Morgan. Wylliam Belson. Wylliam Ebes. Wylliam Garret. Wylliam Robynson. Wylliam Vmberuile. Wylliam Dauids. Wyll Pen. Wylliam Iones. Wyll Powell. Wylliam Clarke. Water Wirall. Wylliam Browne. Water Martyne.158 Wylliam Grace. Wylliam Pyckering.

ROGES. A. Arche Dowglas, a Scot. B. Blacke Dycke. C. D. Dycke Durram. Dauid Dew neuet, a counterfet Cranke. E. Edward Ellys. Edward Anseley. F. G. George Belberby. Goodman. Gerard Gybbin, a counterfet Cranke. H. Hary Walles, with the lytle mouth. Humfrey ward. Harry Mason. I. Iohn Warren. Iohn Donne, with one legge. Iohn Elson. Iohn Raynoles, Irysh man. Iohn Harrys. Iames Monkaster, a counterfet Cranke. Iohn Dewe. Iohn Crew, with one arme. Iohn Browne, great stamerar. L. Lytle Dycke. Lytle Robyn. Lambart Rose. {81} M. More, burnt in the hand.159 N. Nicholas Adames, a great stamerar.160 Nycholas Crispyn. Nycholas Blunt alias Nycholas Gennings, a counterfet Cranke. Nycholas Lynch. R. Rychard Brewton. Rychard Horwod, well nere lxxx. yeares olde; he wyll byte a vi. peny nayle a sonder with his téeth, and a bawdye [leaf 27] dronkard. Richard Crane; he carieth a Kynchne Co at his backe. Rychard Iones. Raffe Ketley. Robert Harrison. S. Simon Kynge. T. Thomas Paske. 161§Thomas Bere. Thomas Shawnean, Irish man. Thomas Smith, with the skald skyn.§ W. Wylliam Carew. Wylliam wastfield. Wylson. Wylliam Gynkes, with a whyte bearde, a lusty and stronge man; he runneth about the countrey to séeke worke, with a byg boy, his sonne carying his toles as a dawber or playsterer, but lytle worke serueth him.

¶ PALLYARDS. B. Bashford. D. Dycke Sehan Irish. Dauid Powell. Dauid Iones, a counterfet Crank. E. Edward Heyward, hath his Morte following him, which fained the Cranke. Edward Lewes, a dummerer. H. Hugh Iones. I. Iohn Perse,162 a counterfet Cranke. Iohn dauids. Iohn Harrison. Iohn Carew. Iames Lane, with one eye, Irish. Iohn Fysher. Iohn Dewe. Iohn Gylford, Irish, with a counterfet lisence. L. Laurence with the great legge. N. Nycholas Newton, carieth a fained lisence. Nicholas Decase. {82} P. Prestoue. R. Robart Lackley. Robart Canloke. Richard Hylton, caryeth ii. Kynchen mortes about him. Richard Thomas. S. Soth gard. Swanders. T. Thomas Edwards. Thomas Dauids. Wylliam Thomas. Wylliam Coper with the Harelyp. Wyll Pettyt, beareth a Kinchen mort at his back. Wylliam Bowmer.

Thomas Béere. Irish man.

Thomas Smith with the skalde skin.

Thomas Shawneam.

There is aboue an hundreth of Irish men and women that wander about to begge for their lyuing, that hath come ouer within these two yeares. They saye the[y] haue béene burned and spoyled by the Earle of Desmond, and report well of the Earle of Vrmond.

¶ All these aboue wryten for the most part walke about Essex, Myddlesex, Sussex, Surrey, and Kent. Then let the reader iudge what number walkes in other Shieres, I feare me to great a number, if they be well vnderstande.

[Headnote: HARMON. PEDDELARS FRENCHE.]

[leaf 27, back]

163*Here followyth their pelting speche.*

Ere I set before the good Reader the leud, lousey language of these lewtering Luskes and lasy Lorrels, where with they bye and sell the common people as they pas through the countrey. Whych language they terme Peddelars Frenche, a vnknowen toung onely, but to these bold, beastly, bawdy Beggers, and vaine Vacabondes, being halfe myngled with Englyshe, when it is famyliarlye talked, and fyrste placinge thinges by their proper names as an Introduction to this peuyshe spéeche.

Nab,

a head.

Nabchet,

a hat or cap.

Glasyers,

eyes.

a smelling chete,

a nose.

gan,

a mouth.

a pratling chete,

a tounge.

Crashing chetes,

téeth.

Hearing chetes,

eares.

fambles,

handes.

a fambling chete,

a rynge on thy hand.

quaromes,

a body.

prat,

a buttocke.

stampes,

legges.

a caster,

a cloke.

a togeman,

a cote. {83}

a com­mis­sion,

a shierte.

drawers,

hosen.

stampers,

shooes.

a mofling chete,

a napkyn.

a belly chete,

an apern.

dudes,

clothes.

a lag of dudes,

a bucke of clothes.

a slate or slates,

a shéete or shetes.

lybbege,

a bed.

bunge,

a pursse.

lowre,

monye.

mynt,

golde.

a bord,

a shylling.

halfe a borde,

sixe pence.

flagg,

a groate.

a wyn,

a penny.

a make,

a halfepeny.

bowse,

drynke.

bene,

good.

benshyp,

very good.

quier,

nought.

a gage,

a quarte pot.

a skew,

a cuppe.

pannam,164

bread.

cassan,

chéese.

yaram,165

mylke.

lap,

butter milke or whey.

[leaf 28] pek,

meate.

poppelars,

porrage.

ruff pek,

baken.

a grunting chete or a patricos kynchen,

a pyg.

a cakling chete,

a cocke or capon.

a margery prater,

a hen.

a Roger or tyb of the buttery,

a Goose.

a quakinge chete or a red shanke,

a drake or ducke.

grannam,

corne.

a lowhinge chete,

a Cowe.

a bletinge chete,

a calf a or shéepe.

a prauncer,

a horse.

autem,

a church.

Salomon,

a alter or masse.

patrico,

a priest.

nosegent,

a Nunne.

a gybe,

a writinge.

a Iarke,

a seale.

a ken,

a house.

a staulinge ken,

a house that wyll receaue stolen ware.

a bousing ken,

a ale house.

a Lypken,

a house to lye in.

a Lybbege,

a bedde.

glymmar,

fyre.

Rome bouse,

wyne.

lage,

water.

a skypper,

a barne.

strommell,

strawe.

a gentry cofes ken,

A noble or gentlemans house.

a gygger,

a doore. {84}

bufe,

a dogge.

the lightmans,

the daye.

the darkemans,

the nyght.

Rome vyle,

London.

dewse a vyle,

the countrey.

Rome mort,

the Quene.

a gentry cofe,

a noble or gentleman.

a gentry morte,

A noble or gentle woman.

the quyer cuffyn,166

the Iusticer of peace.

the harman beck,

the Counstable.

the harmans,

the stockes.

Quyerkyn,

a pryson house.

Quier crampringes,

boltes or fetters.

tryninge,

hanginge.

chattes,

the gallowes.

the hygh pad,

the hygh waye.

the ruffmans,

the wodes or bushes.

a smellinge chete,

a garden or orchard.

crassinge chetes,

apels, peares, or anye other frute.

to fylche, to beate, to stryke, to robbe.167

to nyp a boung,

to cut a pursse.

To skower the cramprings, [leaf 28, back]

to weare boltes or fetters.

to heue a bough,

to robbe or rifle a boeweth.

to cly the gerke,

to be whypped.

to cutte benle,168

to speake gently.

to cutte bene whydds,

to speake or geue good wordes.

to cutte quyre whyddes,

to geue euell wordes or euell language.

to cutte,

to saye.

to towre,

to sée.

to bowse,

to drynke.

to maunde,

to aske or requyre.

to stall,

to make or ordaine.

to cante,

to speake.

to myll a ken,

to robbe a house.

to prygge,

to ryde.

to dup the gyger,

to open the doore.

to couch a hogshead,

to lye downe and sléepe.

to nygle,

to haue to do with a woman carnally.

stow you,

holde your peace.

bynge a waste,

go you hence.

to the ruffian,

to the deuell.

the ruffian cly the,

the deuyll take thée.

To fylche

to robbe

¶ The vpright Cofe canteth to the Roge.169

The vpright man speaketh to the Roge.

VPRIGHTMAN.170

Bene Lightmans to thy quarromes, in what lipken hast thou lypped in this darkemans, whether in a lybbege or in the strummell? {85}

God morrowe to thy body, in what house hast thou lyne in all night, whether in a bed, or in the strawe?

ROGE.

I couched a hogshead in a Skypper this darkemans.

I layd171 me downe to sléepe in a barne this night.

VPRIGHT MAN.172

I towre the strummel trine vpon thy nabchet173 and Togman.

I sée the strawe hang vpon thy cap and coate.

ROGE.

I saye by the Salomon I will lage it of with a gage of benebouse; then cut to my nose watch.

I sweare by the masse174, I wull washe it of with a quart of good drynke; [leaf 29]175 then saye to me what thou wylt.

MAN.

Why, hast thou any lowre in thy bonge to bouse?

Why, hast thou any money in thy purse to drinke?

ROGE.

But a flagge, a wyn, and a make.

But a grot, a penny, and a halfe penny.

MAN.

Why, where is the kene that hath the bene bouse?

where is the house that hath good drinke?

ROGE.

A bene mort hereby at the signe of the prauncer.

A good wyfe here by at the signe of the hors.

MAN.

I cutt it is quyer buose, I bousd a flagge the laste dark mans.

I saye it is small and naughtye drynke. I dranke a groate there the last night.

ROGE.

But bouse there a bord, and thou shalt haue beneship.

But drinke there a shyllinge, and thou shalt haue very good.

Tower ye yander is the kene, dup the gygger, and maund that is bene shyp.

Se you, yonder is the house, open the doore, and aske for the best. {86}

MAN.

This bouse is as benshyp176 as rome bouse.

This drinke is as good as wyne.

Now I tower that bene bouse makes nase nabes.

Now I se that good drinke makes a dronken heade.

Maunde of this morte what bene pecke is in her ken.

Aske of this wyfe what good meate shee hath in her house.

ROGE.

She hath a Cacling chete, a grunting chete, ruff Pecke, cassan, and popplarr of yarum.

She hath a hen, a pyg, baken, chese and mylke porrage.

MAN.

That is beneshyp to our watche.

That is very good for vs.

Now we haue well bousd, let vs strike some chete.

Nowe we haue well dronke, let us steale some thinge.

Yonder dwelleth a quyere cuffen, it were beneship to myll hym.

Yonder dwelleth a hoggeshe and choyrlyshe man, it were very well donne to robbe him.

ROGE.

Nowe bynge we a waste to the hygh pad, the ruffmanes is by.

Naye, let vs go hence to the hygh waye, the wodes is at hand.

MAN. So may we happen on the Harmanes, and cly the Iarke, or to the quyerken and skower quyaer cramprings, and so to tryning on the chates.

[leaf 29, back] So we maye chaunce to set in the stockes, eyther be whypped, eyther had to prison house, and there be shackled with bolttes and fetters, and then to hange on the gallowes.

Gerry gan, the ruffian clye thee.

A torde in thy mouth, the deuyll take thee.

MAN. What, stowe your bene, cofe, and cut benat whydds, and byng we to rome vyle, to nyp a bong; so shall we haue lowre for the bousing ken, and when we byng back to the deuseauyel, we wyll fylche some duddes of the Ruffemans, or myll the ken for a lagge of dudes.

What, holde your peace, good fellowe, and speake better wordes, and go we to London, to cut a purse; then shal we haue money for the ale house, and {87} when wee come backe agayne into the country, wee wyll steale some lynnen clothes of one177 hedges, or robbe some house for a bucke of clothes.

¶ By this lytle ye maye holy and fully vnderstande their vntowarde talke and pelting speache, mynglede without measure; and as they haue begonne of late to deuyse some new termes for certien thinges, so wyll they in tyme alter this, and deuyse as euyll or worsse. This language nowe beinge knowen and spred abroade, yet one thinge more I wyll ad vnto, not meaninge to Englyshe the same, because I learned the same178 of a shameles Doxe, but for the phrase of speche I set it forth onely.

There was a proude patrico and a nosegent, he tooke his Iockam in his famble, and a wappinge he went, he dokte the Dell, hee pryge to praunce, he byngd a waste into the darke mans, he fylcht the Cofe, with out any fylch man.

[Headnote: HARMON. NYCHOLAS BLUNTE’S TRICKS.]

Hyle this second Impression was in printinge, it fortuned that Nycholas Blunte, who called hym selfe Nycholan Gennyns, a counterefet Cranke, that is spoken of in this booke, was fonde begging in the whyte fryers on Newe yeares day last past, Anno domini .1567, and commytted vnto a offescer, who caried hym vnto the depetye of the ward, which commytted hym vnto the counter; and as the counstable and a nother would haue caried hym thether, This counterfet Cranke ran awaye, but one lyghter of fote then the other ouer toke hym, and so leading him to the counter, where he remayned three days, and from thence to Brydewell, where before the maister179 he had his dysgysed aparell put vpon hym, which was monstrous to beholde, And after stode in Chepesyde with the same apparil on a scafold.180

[Headnote: HARMON. THE STOCKES.]

[leaf 30]

A Stockes to staye sure, and safely detayne, Lasy lewd Leutterers, that lawes do offend, Impudent persons, thus punished with payne, Hardlye for all this, do meane to amende.

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Fetters or shackles serue to make fast, Male malefactours, that on myschiefe do muse, Vntyll the learned lawes do quite or do cast, Such suttile searchers, as all euyll do vse.

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[Headnote: HARMON. THE ROGE’S END.]

[lf 30, bk]

A whyp is a whysker, that wyll wrest out blood,

Of backe and of body, beaten right well.

Of all the other it doth the most good,

Experience techeth, and they can well tell.

¶ O dolefull daye! nowe death draweth nere, Hys bytter styng doth pearce me to the harte. {90} I take my leaue of all that be here, Nowe piteously playing this tragicall parte. Neither stripes nor teachinges in tyme could conuert, wherefore an ensample let me to you be, And all that be present, nowe praye you for me.

[Headnote: HARMON. THE COUNTERFET CRANKE.]

†¶ This counterfet Cranke, nowe vew and beholde, Placed in pyllory, as all maye well se: This was he, as you haue hard the tale tolde, before recorded with great suttylte, Ibused manye with his inpiete, his lothsome attyre, in most vgly manner, was through London caried with dysplayd banner.182

THis is the fygure of the counterfet Cranke, that is spoken of in this boke of Roges, called Nycholas Blunt other wyse Nycholas Gennyngs. His tale is in the xvii. lefe [pp. 55–6] of this booke, which doth showe vnto all that reades it, woundrous suttell and crafty deseit donne of and by him.

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[Headnote: HARMON. CONCLUSION.]

Thus I conclude my bolde Beggars booke, That all estates most playnely maye see, As in a glasse well pollyshed to looke, Their double demeaner in eche degree. Their lyues, their language, their names as they be, That with this warning their myndes may be warmed, To amend their mysdeedes, and so lyue vnharmed.

FINIS.

¶ Imprinted at London, in Fletestrete, at the signe of the Faulcon by Wylliam gryffith. Anno Domni. 1567.183

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