IDOLATRY

Nor I son by my troth, Cham caute a courage of sloth, And soch a comberouse couth, Ych wot not what to do. Yea, but now ych am a she, And a good mydwife per de, Young children can I charm. With whysperynges and whysshynges. With crossings and with kyssynges With blasings and with blessings, That spretes do them no harm. With holy oil and water, I can so cloyne and clarter, That I can at the latter, Many suttylters contryue. I can work wiles in battle, If I do ones but spattle, I can make corn and cattle, That they shall never thrive. When ale is in the fat, If the bruar please me nart, The east shall fallen down flat. And never have any strength. No man shall ton nor bake, Nor meat in season make, If I against him take, But loose his labour at length. Their wells I can up dry, Cause trees and herbs to die. And slee all pullery, Whereas men does me move. I can make stoles to dance, And carthen pots to prance. That non shall them enhance, And do but cast my glove. I have charms for the plowgh, And also for the cowgh, She shall give milk enough, So long as I am pleased. Apace the mill shall go, So shall the credle do, And the musterde querry also, No man therewith diseased. Peace fondelinge, tush a button, I never miss but paulter, Our blessed ladies psaulter, Before Saint Savers alter, With my beds ones a day. And this is my come cast, To hear Mass first or last. And the holy Friday fast, In good time mowt I it say. With blessings of Saint Germyne, I will me so determine, That neither fox nor vermin, Shall do my chuckens harm. For your geese seek Saint Legearde, And for your ducks Saint Lenarde, For horse take Moses yard, There is no better charm. Take me a napkyn folte, With the bias of a bolte, For the healing of a colt, No better thing can be. For lamps and for bottes, Take me Saint Wylfrides knots. And holy Saint Thomas lots, On my life I warande you. For the cowgh take Judas care, With the paring of a pear, And drink them without fear If you will have remedy, Three syppes are for the hyckock, And vj. more for the chyckock, Thus may my praty pyckock, Recover by and by. If you can not sleep but slumber. Give oats unto Saint Uncumber, And beans in a serten number. Unto Saint Blaze and Saint Blithe Give onions to Saint Cutlake, And garlic to Saint Cyryake, If you will shurne the head ache, You shall have them at queen hythe. A dram of a sheeps tyrdle. And good Saint Frances girdle, With the Hamlet of and hyrdle, Are wholesome for the pyppe. Besyden these charms afore, I have feats many more, That I keep Still in store, Whom now I over hyppe. If you knew how he could pelf, You would say he were soch and self. As non under heaven were else