SON

LAther I beseech you father, show me the way What thing I were best to take in hand, Whereby this short life so spend I may That all grief and trouble, I might withstand. ¶ Mary but therefore, of you counsel I take, Sing now my Chyldehood, I am clean passed, That unto me you plainly do make, What to a youngman is best for to taste. ¶ What the Scholeen aye father, nay, Go to the School is not the best way, ¶ It is well known how that you have loved Me heretofore at all times most tenderly But now (me think) you have plainly showed Certain tokens of hatred For if I should go to my Book after your advise Which have spent my Chyldehood so pleasantly, I may then seem driven out of Paradise To take pain and woe, grief and misery. All things I had rather sustain and abide The business of the School ones cast aside, Therefore though you cry till you reue asunder I will not meddle with such a matter. ¶ When all is said and all is done, Concerning all things both more and less Yet like to the School none under the Son Bringeth to children so much heauynesse. ¶ No more of the School, no more of the Book That woeful work is not for my purpose For upon those Books I may not look, If so I did, my labour I should loose. ¶ Even as to a great man, wealthy and rich Service and bondage is a harden thing So to a Boy both dainty and nice Learning and study is greatly displeasing. ¶ Yea by my truth, such kind of wisdom Is to my heart I tell you, very loathsome. ¶ What trial thereof would you fain know? Nothing more easy then this to show: At other boys hands, I have it learned, And that of those truly most of all other Which for a certain time have remained In the house and prison of a Scholemayster ¶ It is not true Father which you do say, The contrary thereof is proved alway, For as the Brutus goes by many a one, Their tender bodies both night and day Are whipped and scourged, and beat like a stone That from top to toe, the sayen is away. ¶ None truly none, but that alas, alas Diseases among them do grow apase. For out of their back and side does floe, Of very goore blood marvelous abundance, And yet for all that is not suffered to go, Till death be almost seen in their countinaunce. Should I be content then thither to run, Where the blood from my breech thus should spuane, So long as my wits shall be mine own, The Schoolhouse for me shall stand alone. ¶ Of troth with these Masters is no difference For alike towards all, is their wrath and violence. ¶ Father this thing I could not have believed But of late days I did behold In honest man's son hereby buried Which through many stripes was dead and cold. ¶ With no disease surely, was he disquieted, As unto me it was then reported. ¶ Men say, that of this man, his bloody master Who like a Lion most continued ̄ monly frowned, Being hanged up by the heals together Was bealy and buttock grievously whipped. And last of all (which to speak I trembled) That his head to the wall he had often crushed. ¶ If Demesthenes and Tully were present truly They could not print it within my head h pely. ¶ Command what you list, that only excepted, And I will by ready your mind to fulfil, But where as I should to the School have resorted My hand to the Palmer submitting Still. I will not obey you theri to be plain, Though with a thousand strokes I be slain. ¶ I grant in deed, I am your Son, But you my Father shall not be, If that you mill cast me into that prison, Where torn in pieces you might me see. ¶ Nay by the Mass, I hold you, a groat Those cruel tyrants cut not my throat: Better it were my self did fleye, Then they with the Rod my flesh should fleye. Well I would we did this talk omit, For it is loathsome to me every whyt. ¶ See you not masters my Father's advise Haur you the like at any time harden? To will me thereto he is not wise If my years and strength he did regard, You speak worse and worse, what soever you say This manner of life is not a good way. For no kind of office can me please, Which is subject to wounds and strokes always. ¶ Would, would, would, a labour in very deed, God send him that life which stands in need. There be many father's that children have And yet not make the worst of them a ave, Might not you of your self be well a shamed Which would have your son thither constrained? ¶ Father, it is but a folly with you to strive But yet notwithstanding I hope to thrive ¶ Well, well, shall I in few words rehearse, What thing does most my Conscience pierce? ¶ Yea but I think that you will not be pleased. ¶ Nay but I pray you without any perchance, Shall not my request turn to your greuannce. ¶ Both joust and lawful have you no fear. ¶ Lo this it is without further Dilation, For so much as all youngmen for this my Beauty, As the Moon, the stars, I do far excel, Therefore out of m de, with all speed posy lie, To have a wife (me think) would do well, For now I am onge, lively, and Lusty, And welcome besides to all men's company. ¶ Is this your beginning to perform my desire. ¶ I know not in the world how to do the thing That to his stomach, may be delighting. ¶ Admit she shall as a burden with me remain, Yet oyll I take one, if your good will I attain. ¶ I trust you will not me otherwise compel. ¶ To follow the contrary I can not be turned My hat theron is styflly fixed. ¶ No, no, but about mine own salvation: For if I be helped, If were by the Mass, It is only Marriage that brings it to pass. It is not the School, it is not the Book, It is not Science or Occupation, It is not to be a arbour or Cook Wherein is now set my consolation. And since it is thus, be father content For to mary a wife, I am full bent. ¶ I cannot, I tell you again, so much of my life Consume at my Book without a wife. ¶ I do not estéme father your goods or lands Or any part of all your treasure, For I judge it enough to be out of bands And from this day forward to take my pleasure. ¶ As touching that matter, I will no man blame Now farewell father, most heartily for the same. ¶ Room I say room, let me be gone My father if he list, shall tarry alone. How glad am I, that my journey is ended, Which I was about this whole dare? ⸬ ⸬ My Horse to stand Still I never suffered, Because I would come to the end of my way, But yet I am sorry that I can not find, My loving Father at home at his place: That unto him I may break my mind, And let him know my miserable case. ¶ I have been wild, I have been wanton, I have ever followed my fancy and will: I have been to my Father a forward Son And from day to day continued Still. I have always proudly disdain those That in my madness gave me good counsel I counted them most my mortal foes, And Stoutly against them did rebel. The thing that was good, I greatly hated As one which lacked both wit and reason, The thing that was evil I ever loved Which now I see is my confusion. I could not abide of the School to hear Masters and teachers my heart abhorred, We thought the Book was not fit gear, For my tendeer fingers to have handled, I counted it a pleasure to be daintily fed And to be clothed to costly artaye: I would most continued ̄ monly slug in my bed, Until it were very far forth day. And to be short, anon after this, There came such fancies in my brain: That to have a wife whom I might kiss I reckoned to be the greatest gain. But yet alas I was quite deceived The thing it self does easily appear: I would alas I had been buryeb, When to my Father, I gave not ear. That which I had, I have clean spent, And kept so much riot with the same: That now I am fain, a Coat that is rend At as to wear for very shame. I have not a cross left in my purse, To help my self now in my need: That well I am worthy of Gods curse, And of my Father to have small mede. But except m e eyes do we beguile, That man is my Father, whom I do see: And now that he comes, without craft or wile, To him I will hend on either knee. Ah Father, Father, my Father most dear, ¶ If that you be Father well remembered As the same I believe you can not forget: You said that so soon as I were married, Much pain and trouble thereby I should get. ¶ Yea, alas to much I have experienced: My wife, I did wed, all full of frensye, My selye poor shoulders, hath now so broused, That like to a Creple, I moan me weakly, Being full often with the staff thwacked: She spares no more my flesh and bone, Than if my body were made of Stone, Her will, her mind, and her Counterfeit ̄ maundement, From that day hither, I have fulfilled: Which if I did not, I was bitterly shent, And with many strokes grenously punished: That would God the hour when I was married, In the midst of the Church I might have fynked. I think there is no man under the Son That here on the earth bears life: Which would do such drudgery, as I have done, At the kind words of such a wife, For how I was used, and in what wise A day to declare will not suffice. If this be not true, as I have spoken To my good Neighbours I me report, Who either whiles when I was smitten My wife to be gentle, did then exhort: For glad I was to abide all labour Whereby the less might be my dolour. Wherefore good Father I you humbly desire To have pity of me and some compassion? Or else I am like to lie fast in the mire, Without any succour or consolation: For at this hour I have not a penny, My self to help in this great misery. ¶ Alas Father, what shall I do? My wits of them selves can not devise, What thing I were best to go unto, Whereof and honest living may arise: Wherefore gentle Father in this distress, Somewhat assuage mine heaviness. ¶ Alas I am not able thus to endure Though thereunto I were never so Willing: For my wife is of such a crooked nature As no woman else, is this day living, And if the very truth I shall confess She is to me and evil that is endless. ¶ I can not tell, what was Socrates wife But mine I do know alas to well, She is one that is evermore full of strife And of all Scolders bears the Bell. When she speaks best, then brawleth her tongue When she is Still she fighteth apace: She is and old Witch though she be young, No mirth with her, no joy or solace. ¶ My wife went forth n to the Country With certain Gossyppes to make good cheer, And bade me at home Still to be, That at her return, she might find me there: And if that she do take me from home, My bones alas she will make to crackell: And me her Husband as a stark mome, With knocking and mocking she will handle. And therefore if I may not here remain, Yet loving Father, give me your reward, That I may with speed ride have again, That to my wife's words, have some regard. Oh My sweet wife, my Pretty Cony. ¶ Oh Lord wath pleasures and great commodities, Are heaped together in Matrimony? ¶ What smiling: what laughing? What sport, pastime, and playing? ¶ The man with the wife is wholly delighted And with many causes to laughter inforced. ¶ Sometimes to their Garden forth they walk And into the fields sometimes they go, With merry tricks, and gestures they talk As they do move their feet to and from. ¶ Sometimes abroad they go, to see plays, And other trim sights, for to be hold: When often they meet in the hie ways Much of their aquaintaunce they knew of old. ¶ Sometimes at home, at cards they play Sometimes at this game sometimes at that They need not with sadness to pass the day Nor yet to fit Still, or stand in one Plate. ¶ I think that a man might spend a whole day Declaring the Joys, and endless bliss: Which married persons receive alway, If they love faithfully, as meet it is. ¶ If they do not, it may be a shame For I love you hartele I you assure: Or else I were truly greatly to blame You are so loving, so kind, and demure. ¶ Who then merry Marriage can disco ̄ mend And will not with Aristotle in his Ethics agree But will say, that misery is the end When otherwise I find it to be: A polyt que man will mary a wife As the Philosopher makes declaration, Not only to have children by his life, But also for living, help, & sustentation. ¶ Pythagoras, Socrates, and Crates also Which truly were men of very small Substance As I harden my father tell long ago, Did take them wife's with a safe conscience: And dwelled together, supposing that they Were unto Philosophy, neither stop nor stay. ¶ Away with those therefore that Marriage despyst And of dangers thereof invent many lies. ¶ Come on then my wife, if it be so, Let us depart hence for a season: For I am not well till I do know Of that man's coming the very reason. ¶ Do you now provide and gyve a regarve For Victuals hereafter to be prepared? ¶ To trouble me now, and make me vexed, This mischievous mean hast thou invented. ¶ Yet for a time, if it may thee please Let me be quit, and take mine ease. ¶ I would not we should for hunger be killed. ¶ Begynnest thou even now to be painful & grievous And to thy Husband, a woman so troublous? ¶ Oh mirth, Oh Joy, Oh pastime and pleasure, How little a space, do you endure? ¶ Alas good wife, good wife, alas, alas, Strike not so harden, I pray thee heartily, Whatsoever thou Wilt have brought to pass It shall be done with all speed possibly. ¶ Oh Lord what how miserable men be those Which to their wife's as wretches be wedded And have them conty nually their mort all foes Serving them thus, as Slaves that he hired. Now by experience true I do find, Which oftentimes unto me heretofore My father did say, declaring his mind That in Matrimony was pain evermore, What shall I do most pitiful Creature? Just cause I have alas to lament: That frantic woman my death will procure If so he this day without gain be spent For unless for my wood some Money be taken Like a dog, with a Cudgel I shall be beaten. Ho thou good fellow which standest so nigh Of these heavy bundelles ease my soar back: And somewhat therefore gyve me by and by Or else I die, for Silver I do lack. Now that I have some Money received For this my burden home I will go: And lest that my wife be discontented, What I have take, I will her show. Wife I am come, I went a long way And here is the profit, and gains of this day. ¶ By Gods precious I will not unwisely suffes To do as I have done, any longer. ¶ Scratch and thou dare, for I have a knife, Perchance I will rid the of thy life. ¶ Good wife be content, forgive my this fault I will never again do that which is nought. ¶ I will do your continued ̄ maun dementes whatsoever. Oh merciful God, in what lamentable state Is he, of whom the wife is the master? Would God I had be predestinate, On my Marriage day, to have died with a Fever. Oh wretched creature, what may I do? My grievous wife shall I return unto? Lo wife behold without further delay The water you sent for, here I do bring. ¶ I weep not forsooth, not cry not as yet. ¶ Wife I will thither hie me fast. ¶ Oh how unhappy and eke unfortunate Is the most part of married men's condition? I would to death I had be agate When my Mother in be arynge me made lamentation. What shall I do whither shall I turn, Most careful man now under the Sky? In the flaming fire, I had rather burn, Then with extreme pain, live so heavily, There is no wyfte, to my wife I must go Whom that I did wed, I am full oh. Where are you wife, your clothes are washte clean Is White as a lily without spot or vein. ¶ Alas, alas, I am almost quite dead, My wife so pytyfully hath broken my head. ¶ The slyinge and fiend go with my wife And in her Journey ill may she speed: I pray God almighty to shorten her life The earth at no time does bear such a weed. Although that I be a Gentleman born And come by my Ancestors of a good blood, Yet am I like to wear a Coat torn And hither and thither go catye wood. But rather then I this life will abide To morrow Morning I do intend, Home to my Father again to ride, If some man to me his Horse will lend. She is to her Gossypes gone to make merry, And there she will be for three or four days: She cares not though I do now miscarry And suffer such pain and sorrow always. She leaveth to me neither Bread nor drink But such as I iugde no body would eat: I might by the wails lie dead and stink For any great holsomnes in my meat. She walks a broad, and takes her pleasure Her self to cherish is all her care: She passes not what griefs I endure, Or how I can live with naughty fare: And since it is so, without further delay To my father to morrow I will away. ¶ My darling, my Counterfeit you, my Bird so bright of blee, Sweet heart I say, all haylee to thee How do our Loves, be they fast a sleep Or the old lynelynes, do to they Still keep? ¶ Alack, alack, I am sorry for this, I had such business I might not come But you may perceive what my wit is, How small regard I have and wisdom. ¶ And as for my love does never relente, For of you I do dream, of you I do think: To die ner and supper, I never went, But of Beer and Wine to you I did drink. Now of such thynhes therefore to make and end Which pytyfull louees do cruelly orment, To Marriage in Gods name, let us descend As unto this hour we have be bent. ¶ This Ring then I gyne you as a token sure, Whereby our love shall always endure. ¶ Now I am safe, now I am glad, Now I do live, now I do ra g Me thought till now I was to sad, Wherefore sadness fly hence again. I way with those words which my father brought out A way with his saigenes and exhortation He could not make me his fool or his lout, And put me vesydes this delectation. Did he judge that I would go to the School, And might my time spend after this sort I am not his Calse, nor yet his fool, This Virgin I kiss, is my comfort. ¶ Agreed my Sweetynge, it shalve then done, Since that thy good will I have goten and won. ¶ Take you no thought for abundance of meat That should be spent at our Brydale, For there shall be ynought for all men to eat And Minstrelles besides thereto shall not sail. The Cooks I dare say, a good while a gone With such kind of flesh as I did them tell Are from the market both come home Or else my own Cony they do not well. I knew before that I come to this place We should be married together this day Which caused me then forth with in this case To send for victuals or I came away. ¶ I think six a clock it is, not much passed But yet to the priest we will make hast That according to custom we may be both coupled And with a strong knot for ever bound fast. Yet ere I depart, some song I will sing, To the intent to derlare my Joy without fear And in the mean fyme you may my sweating, Rest your self in this little chair. Spite of his spite, which that in vain. Does seek to force my fantasy, I am professed for lose or gain, To be thine own assucedlye: Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, My fantasy wyil never turn. ¶ Although my father f bus e wy to, Does babble Still. I care not though, I have no fear , nor yet will flytte, As does the water to and from, Wherefore let my father spite and spurur, My fantasy will never turn. ¶ For I am set and will not swerve, Whom spiteful speech removeth nought And since that I thy grace deserve, I count it is not dearly bought, Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, My fantasy will never turn. ¶ Who is afraid let you him fly, For I shall well abide the brunt: Maugre to bys lips that listeth to lie Of busy brains as is the wont. Wherefore let my father S yte and spurn, My fantasy will never turn. ¶ Who ysteth thereat to laugh or lour I am not be that ught does retch There is no payue that hath the power, Out of my orest your love to fetch, Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, My fantasy will never turue. ¶ for whereas he moved me to the School, And only to follow my Book and learnenynge: He could never make me such a fool, With all his soft words, and fair speaking. Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, My f nt sye will never turn. ¶ This Minion here, this myneing Trull, oath le see me wore a thousand fold: Then all the earth that is so full. f precious stones, Solver and Gold. Wherefore let my father spire and spurn, My fantasy will never turn. ¶ What soever I did, it was for her sak It was for her soon, and only pleasure, I count it no labour, such labour to take, In getting to me so high a treasure. Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, My fantasy will never turn. ¶ This day I intended for to be merry, Although my harden Father be far hence. I know no cause for to be bevy, For all this cost and great expense. Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, My fantasy will never turn. ¶ How like you this song, my own sweet Rose, Is it well made for our purpose? ¶ All such sayings as in my mind, At the First time you studied to sattell, Most true alas, I do them find, As though they were written in the Gospel.