had rather were a bable Where arte thou Gawyn the curtesse and Cay the crabed Here be a couple of knightes cowardishe and scabbed Appere in thy likenesse syr Libeus disconius Yf thou wilt haue my clubbe lyghte onthy hedibus Lo ye maye see he heareth not the face With me to trye a blowe in thys place Howe syrray approthe syr Launcelot de lake What renne ye awaie and for feare quake Nowe he that did the a knight make Thought neuer that thou any battaile shouldest take yf y u wilt not come thy self some other of thy felowes send To battaile I prouoke them them selfe let them defende To for all the good that euer they se They wyll not ones set hande to fight with me O good lorde howe brode is my brest And stronge with all for hole is my chest He that should medle with me shall haue shrewde rest Beholde you my handes my legges and my feete Euery parte is stronge proportionable and mete Thinke you that I am not feared in felde and strete Yes yes god wote they geue me the wall Or elles with my clubbe I make them to fall Backe knaues I saye to them then for feare they quake And take me then to the tauerne and good chere me make The proctoure and his men I made to renne their waies And some wente to hide them in broken heys I tell you at a woorde I set not a torde By none of them al Early and late I wyll walke And London stretes stalke Spyte of them greate and small For I thinke verely That none in heauen so hye Nor yet in hell so lowe Whyle I haue this clubbe in my hande Can be able me to withstande Or me to ouerthrowe But Mulciber yet I must the desyre To make me briggen yrons for myne armes And then I will loue the as mine owne syre For withoute them I can not be safe frome all harmes Those once had I will not sette a strawe by all the worlde for then I wyll by awe Haue all my mynde or elles by the holye roode I wyl make them thinke the deuyll caryeth them to the wood yf no man wyll with me battayle take A vyage to hell quickely I wyll make And there I wyll bete the deuyll and his dame And bringe the soules awaye I fullye entende the same After that in hell I haue ruffled so Sreyghte to olde purgatorye wyll I go I wyll cleane that so purge rounde aboute That we shall nede no pardons to helpe them oute yf I haue not fyghte ynoughe this wayes I wyll clymbe to heauen and fet awaye Peters kayes I wyll kepe them my selfe and let in a great route What shoulde suche a fysher kepe good felowes out Mulciber ¶ Haue here Thersites briggen yrons bright and feare thou no man manly to fyghte Thoughe he be stronger then Hercules or Sampson Be thou prest and bolde to set him vpon Nother Amazon nor xerxes with their hole rable the to assayle shall fynde it profytable I warrante the they wyll fle fro thy face as doth an Hare from the dogges in a chase Would not thy blacke and rustye grym berde Nowe thou art so armed make anye man aferde Surely if Iupiter dyd see the in this gere He woulde renne awaye and hyde hym for feare He wold thinke that Typhoeus the gyaunt were aliue And his brother Enceladus agayn with him to striue If that Mars of battell the god stoute and bold In this aray shoulde chaunce the to beholde He would yelde vp his sworde vnto the And god of battayle he would say thou shouldest be Now fare thou wel go the world through And seke aduenturus thou arte man good ynough Thersites ¶ Mulciber whyle the starres shal shyne in the sky And Phaetons horses with the sonnes charret shall fly Whyle the mornynge shall go before none And cause the darkennesse to vanysshe away soone Whyle that the cat shall loue well mylke And whyle that women shalloue to go in sylke Whyle beggers haue lyce And cockneys are nyce Whyle pardoners can lye Marchauntes can by And chyldren crye Whyle all these laste and more Whiche I kepe in store I do me faythfully bynde Thy kyndnes to beare in mynde but yet Mulciber one thinge I aske more Haste thou euer a sworde now in store I would haue suche a one that would cut stones And pare a great oke down at once That were a sworde lo euen for the nones Mulciber ¶ Truely I haue suche a one in my shoppe that wil pare yron as it were a rope haue here it is gyrde it to thy syde Now fare thou well Iupiter be thy guyde Thersites ¶ Gramercye Mulciber wyth my hole harte Geue me thy hande and let vs departe Mulciber goeth in to hys shoppe againe and Thersites saith foorth Nowe I go hence and put my selfe in prease I wyll seeke aduentures yea and that I wyll not cease If there be any present here thys nyghte that wyll take vpon them with me to fighte Let them come quickly and the battayle shall be pyghte Where is Cacus that knaue not worthe a grote that was wont to blowe cloudes oute of his throte Which stale Hercules kine and hyd them in his caue Come hether Cacus thou lubber and false knaue I wyll teache all wretches by the to beware If thou come hether I trappe the in a snare thou shalt haue knocked breade and yll fare how say you good godfather that loke so stale ye seeme a man to be borne in the vale Dare ye aduenture wyth me a stripe or two Go coward go hide the as thou wast wonte to do What a sorte of dasterdes haue we here None of you to battaile with me dare appeare What saie you hart of gold of countenaunce so demure Will you fighte with me no I am righte sure Fye blusshe not woman I wyll do you no harme Excepte I had you soner to kepe my backe warme Alas lyttle pums why are ye so sore afrayd I praye you shew how longe it is sence ye were a mayd Tell me in myne eare syrs she hathe me tolde That gone was her mydenhead at thrustene yeare olde By r ladye she was lothe to kepe it to longe And I were a mayde agayne nowe maye be here songe Do after my connsel of maydens the hoole beuye Quickly red your maydehed for they are vēgeaūce heuy Well let all go whye wyll none come in With me to fyghte that I maye pare his skyn The mater commeth in Mater ¶ What saye you my sonne wyl ye fyght god it defende For what cause to warre do you nowe pretende Wyll ye committe to battayles daungerous youre lyfe that is to me so precious Thersites ¶ I wyll go I wyll go stoppe not my waye Holde me not good mother I hartely you pray If there be any lyons or other wylde beest That wyll not suffer the husband man in rest I wyll go seeche them and byd them to afeest They shall abye bytterlye the comminge of
suche a gest I wyll searche for them bothe in busshe and shrubbe And laye on a lode with this lustye clubbe Mater ¶ O my swete sonne I am thy mother Wylt thou kyll me and thou hast none other Thersites ¶ No mother no I am not of suche iniquitye That I wyll defyle my handes vpon the. But be contente mother for I wyll not rest Tyll I haue foughte with some man or wylde beast Truely my sonne yf that ye take thys way Thys shall be the conclusion marke what I shall say Other I wyll drowne my selfe for sorowe And fede fyshes with my body before to morowe Or wyth a sharpe swerde surely I wyll me kyll Nowe thou mayst saue me if it be thy wyll I wyll also cut my pappes awaye That gaue the sucke so manye a daye And so in all the worlde it shall be knowen That by my owne sonne I was ouerthrowen Therefore if my lyfe be to the pleasaunte That whiche I desyre good sonne do me graunte Thersites ¶ Mother thou spendest thy winde but in wast The goddes of battayle hyr fury on me hath cast I am fullye fyxed battayle for to taste O how many to deth I shall dryue in haste I wyll ruffle this clubbe aboute my hedde Or els I pray god I neuer dye in my bedde There shall neuer a stroke be stroken with my hande But they shall thynke y t Iupiter doth thonder in y e land Mater ¶ My owne swete sonne I knelynge on my knee And bothe my handes holdinge vp to the Desyre the to ceasse and no battayle make Call to the pacience and Better wayes take Thersites ¶ Tusshe mother I am deafe I wyll the not heare No no yf Iupiter here him selfe nowe were And all the goddes and Iuno his wife And louinge Minerua that abhorreth all stryfe yf all these I saye would desyre me to be content They dyd theyr wynde but in vaine spente I wyll haue battayle in wayles or in kente and some of the kuaues I wyll all to rent where is the valiaunt knighte syr Isenbrase Appere syr I praye you dare ye not shewe your face where is Robin Iohn and little hode approche hyther quickely if ye thinke it good I wyll teache suche outlawes wyth Chrystes curses How they take hereafter awaye abbottes purses whye wyll no aduenture appeare in thys place where is Hercules with his greate mase where is Buspris that fed hys horses Full lyke a tyraunte with dead mens corses Come any of you bothe And I make an othe That yer I eate anye breade I wyll dryue a wayne ye for neede twayne Betwene your bodye and your heade Thus passeth my braynes wyll none take the paynes To trye wyth me a blowe O what a fellowe am I whome euerye man dothe flye That dothe me but once knowe Mater ¶ Sonne all do you feare That be presente here They wyll not wyth you fyghte you as you be worthye Haue nowe the victorye wythoute tastynge of youre myghte Here is none I trowe that profereth you a blowe Man woman nor chylde Do not set your mynde To fyghte with the wynde be not so madde nor wylde Thersites ¶ I saye aryse who so euer wyll fighte I am to battayle here readye dyghte Come hyther other swayne or knyghte Let me see who dare presente him to my syghte Here with my clubbe readye I stande yf anye wyll come to take them in hand Mater ¶ There is no hope left in my brest To bring my sonne vnto better rest He wyll do nothinge at my request He regardeth me no more thē a best I see no remedye but styll I wyll praye To god my sonne to gyde in his waye That he maye haue a prasperous iournynge And to bee saue at his returnynge Sonne god aboue graunte thys my oration That when in battaile thou shalt haue concertacion with your ennemies other fare or nere No wounde in them nor in you may appere So that ye nother kyll nor be kylled Thersites ¶ Mother thy peticion I praye god be fulfylled For then no knaues bloude shall be spilled Felowes kepe my counsell by the masse I doo but crake I wyll be gentyll enoughe and no busenesse make But yet I wyll make her beleue that I am a man thincke you that I wyll fight no no but wyth the can Excepte I finde my enemye on thys wyse that he be a slepe or els can not aryse Yf his armes and his fete be not fast bounde I wyll not profer a stripe for a thousande pound Fare well mother and tarrye here no longer For after proues of chiualry I do both thyrste honger I wyll heare the knaues as flatte as a conger Then the mother goeth in the place which is prepareth for her What how long shal I tary be your hartes in your hose will there none of you in battayl me appose Come proue me whye stande you so in doubte haue you any wylde bloude that ye would haue let oute A lacke that a mans strengthe can not be knwen Because that he lacketh ennemies to be ouerthowen Here a snaile muste appere vnto him and hee muste loke fearefully vppon the snaile saienge But what a monster do I see nowe Comminge hetherwarde with an armed browe what is it ah it is a sowe No by gods body it is but a grestle And on the backe it hath neuer a brystle It is not a cow ah there I fayle For then it should haue a long tayle What the deuyll I was blynde it is but a snayle I was neuer so afrayde in east nor in south My harte at the fyrste syght was at my mouth Mary syr fy fy fy I do sweate for feare I thoughte I had craked but to tymely here Hens thou beest and plucke in thy hornes Or I sweare by him that crowned was with thornes I will make the drincke worse than good ale in y t cornes Haste thou nothynge elles to doo But come wyth hornes and face me so Howe how my seruauntes get you shelde and spere And let vs werye and kyll thys monster here here Miles cometh in Miles ¶ Is not thys a worthye knyghte that wyth a snayle dareth not fight Excepte he haue hys seruauntes ayde Is this the chaumpyon that maketh al mē afraid I am a pore souldiour come of late frō Calice I trust or I go to debate some of his malyce I wyll tarrye my tyme tell I do see Betwixt hym and the snayle what the ende wyll be Thersites ¶ Whye ye horeson knauys regard ye not my callinge whye do ye not come and wyth you weapons brynge why shall this monster so escape kyllinge No that he shal not and god be wyllinge Miles ¶ I promyse you thys is as worthye a knyghte as euer shall brede oute of a bottell byte I thinke he be Dares of whom Uirgyll doth write That woulde not let entellus alone But euer prouoked and euer called on But yet at the last he tooke a fall And so within a whyle
mare the fyue stones of Dauyd that made goliath stare the wing with whiche seit Mychaell dyd fly to his moūt the counters wherwith cherubyn did cheristones count The hawke with whiche Issuerus kylde she wylde bore Helpe that these wormes my chylde hurt the no more the mawe of the morecocke that made mawd to mowe when martylmas at moreton morened for the snowe the spere of spanysshe spylbery sprente w t spiteful spottes the lyghtes of the lauerocke layde at London lottes the shynbon of saint Samuell shyninge so as the sunne Graunt child of the wormes that sone thy paines be don Mother bryce of oxforde and greate Gyb of hynxey Also mawde of thrutton and mable of chartesey And all other wytches that walke in dymminges dale Clytteringe and clatteringe there youre pottes with ale Inclyne youre eares and heare this my peticion and graunte this childe of healthe to haue fruition the blessinge that Iorden to his Godsonne gaue Lyght on my chylde and from the wormes him saue Now stand vppe little Telemachus anone I warrante the by to morow thy wormes wyll be gone Telemachus ¶ I thanke you mother in my most hartelye wise wyll ye syr to my father commaunde me anye seruice Thersites ¶ No pretye boye but do thou vs two commende to thy father and mother tell them that we entende Bothe my mother and I to see them shortelye Telemachus ¶ Ye shall be hartelye welcome to them I dare well say Fare ye well by youre leaue now I wyll departe awaye Thersites ¶ Sonne geue me thy hande fare well Mater ¶ I praye god kepe the from parell Telemachus goeth oute and the mother sayeth Ywys it is a proper chylde and in behauioure nothinge wylde Ye maye see what is good education I woulde euery man after this fasshion Had their children vp broughte then manye of them woulde not haue bene so nonghte A chylde is better vnborne then vntaughte Thersites ¶ Ye saye truthe mother well let all this go and make you readye Ulisses to go to with me anone be ye so contente Mater ¶ I am well pleased to youre wyll I assente For all thoughe that I loue hym but verye euyll It is good to set a candell before the deuyll Of moste parte of greate men I sweare by thys fyer Lyghte is the thancke but heauye is the ire Fare well sonne I wyll go me to prepare Thersites ¶ Mother God be wyth you and keepe you frome care The mother goeth out and Thersites sayeth forth What someuer I saye syrs I thyncke yll might she care I care not if the olde wytche were deade It were an almoys dede to knocke by r in the heade And saye on the wormes that she dyd dye For there be manye that my landes woulde bye By goddes blessed brother Yf I were not seke of the mother thys totheles trotte kepe the me harde And suffereth no money in my warde But by the blessed trinitye Yf she will no soner ded be I wyll with a coyshiou stoppe hyr breath tyll she haue forgotte newe marketh heth Yll myghte I fare Yf that I care Nyr to spare Aboute the house she hoppeth and hyr nose ofte droppeth When the wortes she choppeth When that she dothe brewe I maye saye to you I am redy to spew the droppes to see downe renne By all Chrysten menne Frome hyr nose to hyr knen Fye Goddes bodye it maketh me to spitte to remember howe that she doth sytte By the fyer brallynge Scratchinge and scrallynge and in euerye place Leyenge oysters apase She dothe but lacke shelles the deuyll haue they whytte elles At nyghte when to bedde she goys and pluicketh of her hose She knappeth me in the nose with typpe tappe Flyppe flappe that an yll happe Come to that tappe that venteth so Where so euer she go So muche she daylye dryncketh That hyr breath at both endes styncketh That a horsecombe and an halter Hyr soone vppe talter tyll I saye Dauydes psalter That shall be at neuermas Whyche neuer shall be nor neuer was By this tenne bones She serued me ones A touche for the nones I was sicke and laye in my bedde She broughte me a kerchyfe to wrappe on my heade And I praye God that I be deade Yf that I lye any whytte when she was aboute the kerchefe to knytte Breake did one of the formes fete that she dyd stande on And downe fell she anone And foorth withall As she dyd fall She gyrded oute a farte That me made to starte I thyncke hyr buttockes dyd smarte Excepte it badde be a mare in a carte I haue not harde suche a blast I cryed and byd hyr holde fast with that she nothinge agast said to me y t no woman in this lande Coulde holde faste that whyche was not in hyr hande Nowe syrs in that hole pitche and fyre brande Of that bagge so fustye So stale and so mustye So cankered and so rustye So stinckynge and so dustye God sende hyr as muche ioye as my nose hathe alwaye Of hyr vnsauerye spice Yf that I be not wyse and stoppe my nose quickelye When she letteth goo merelye But let all this go I had almoste forget The knaue that here yerewhyles dyd iet Before that Telemachus did come in I wyll go seeche hym I wyll not blynne Untyll that I haue hym Then so god saue hym I wyll so be knaue hym That I wyll make to raue hym Wyth this swearde I wyll shaue hym And strypes when I haue gaue hym Better I wyll depraue him That you shall knowe for a slaue him Then Miles cometh in sayinge Miles ¶ wylte thou so in deede Hye the make good spede I am at hande here prest Put awaye tongue shakynge and this folysshe crakynge Let vs trye for the best Cowardes make speake a pase Srypes prouethe manne Haue nowe at thy face Keepe of if thou canne And then he muste stryke at hym and Thersytes muste runne awaye and leaue his clubbe sworde behynde Whye thou lubber runnest thou awaye and leauest thy swearde and thy clubbe thee behynde Nowe thys is a sure carde nowe I maye well saye That a cowarde crakinge here I dyd fynde Maysters ye maye see by this playe in sighte That great barking dogges do not most byte And oft it is sene that the best men in the hoost Be not suche that vse to bragge moste Yf ye wyll auoyde the daunger of confusion Printe my wordes in harte and marke this conclusion Suche gyftes of god that ye excelle in moste Use them wyth sobernesse and youre selfe neuer bow Seke the laude of God in all that ye doo So shall vertue and honoure come you too But if you geue youre myndes to the sinne of pryde Uanisshe shall your vertue your honoure away wil slide For pryde is hated of God aboue And meekenesse sonest obtaineth his loue to youre rulers and parentes be you obediente Neuer transgressinge their lawefull commaundemente Be ye merye and ioyfull at borde and at bedde Imagin no traitourye againste youre prince and heade Loue God and feare him and after him youre kinge Whiche is as victorious as anye is lyuinge Praye for his grace with hartes that dothe not fayne that longe he maye rule vs withoute grefe or paine beseche ye also that God maye saue his quene Louely Ladie Iane the prince that he hath send them betwen to augment their ioy and the comons felicitie Fare ye wel swete audiēce god graunt you al prosperite Amen ¶ Imprinted at London by Iohn Tysdale and are to be solde at hys shop in the vpper ende of Lombard strete in Alhallowes churche yarde neare vntoo grace church