A new enterlude called Thersytes thys enterlude folowynge dothe declare howe that the greatest boesters are not the greatest doers. The names of the players Thersites a boster. Mulciber a smyth. Mater a mother. Miles a knyght. Telemachus a childe.

Thersites commeth in fyrste hauinge a clubbe vppon his necke HAue in a ruffler foorth of the greke lande Called Thersites , if ye wyll me knowe abacke , geue me roume , in my way do ye not stand For if ye do , I wyll soone laye you lowe In Homere of my actes ye haue red I trow Neyther Agamenon nor Ulysses , I spared to checke They coulde not bringe me to be at theyr becke Of late frome the sege of Troye I retourned Where all my harnes excepte this clubbe I lost In an olde house there it was quyte burned Whyle I was preparinge vytayles for the hoste I must nedes get me newe , what so euerit cost I Wyll go seke aduentures , for I cannot be ydle I wyll hamper some of the knaues in a brydle It greueth me to heare howe the knaues do bragge But by supreme Iupiter , when I am harnessed well I shall make the dasters to renne in to a bagge To hyde them fro me , as from the deuyll of hell I doubte not but hereafter , of me ye shall heare tell Howe I haue made the knaues for to play cowch quaile But nowe to the shop of Mulciber , to go I wyll not faile Mulciber must haue a shop made in the place and Thersites commethe before it sayinge a loude Mulciber , whom the Poetes doth call the god of fyer Smith vnto Iupiter kinge ouer all Come foorth , of thy office I the desyre and graunte me my petiction , I aske a thinge but small I wyl none of thy lightning , that thou art wont to make for the goddes supernall for yre when they do shake With whiche they thruste the gyauntes downe to hell That were at a conuention heauen to bye and sell But I woulde haue some helpe of Lemnos and Ilua That of theyr stele , by thy crafte , condatur nuhi galea . Mulciber . ¶ What felowe Thersites , do ye speake latyn nowe ? Nay , then farewell , I make god a vowe I do not you vnderstande , no latyn is in my palet And then he must do as he wolde go awaye . Thersites . I say abyde good Mulciber , I pray thou make me a sallet Mulciber . ¶ Why Thersites hast thou anye wytte in thy head ? Woldest thou haue a sallet nowe , all the herbes are dead Besyde that it is not mete for a smyth to gether herbes and sallettes to medle with Go get the to my louer venus She hath sallettes ynough for all vs I eate none suche sallettes for now I waxe olde and for my stomacke they are verye coulde Thersites . ¶ Nowe I praye to Iupiter that thou dye a cuckolde I meane a sallet with whiche men do fyght Mulciber . ¶ It is a small tastinge of a mannes mighte That he shoulde for any matter Fyght with a fewe herbes in a platter No greate laude shoulde folowe that victorye Thersites . ¶ Goddes passion Mulciber where is thy wit & memory I wolde haue a sallet made of stele Mulciber . ¶ Whye syr ▪ in youre stomacke longe you shall it fele For stele is harde for to digest Thersites . ¶ Mans bones and sydes hee is worse then a beest I wolde haue a sallet to were on my hed Whiche vnder my chyn with a thonge red Buckeled shall be Doest thou yet parceyue me Mulciber . ¶ your mynde now I se Why thou peuysshe ladde Arte thou almost madde Or well in thy wytte Gette the a wallette Wolde thou haue a sallette What woldest thou do with it Thersites . ¶ I pray the good Mulciber make no mo bones But let me haue a sallet made at ones . Mulciber . ¶ I must do somewhat for this knaue What maner of fallet syr woulde ye haue . Thersites . ¶ I wold haue such a one that nother might nor mayne shoulde perse it thorowe , or parte it in twayne Whiche nother gonst one , nor sharpe speare Shoulde be able other to hurte or teare I woulde haue it also for to saue my heade yf Iupiter him selfe woulde haue me dead And if he in a fume , woulde cast at me his fire This sallet I woulde haue to kepe me from his yre . Mulciber . ¶ I perceaue youre mynde . ye shall fynde me kynde I wyll for you prepare And then he goeth in to his shop , and maketh a sallet for hym at the laste he sayth . Here Thersites do this sallet weare And on thy head it beare And none shall worke the care Then Mulciber goeth into his shop , vntyll he is called agayne . Thersites . ¶ Now woulde I not feare with anye bull to fyghte Or with a raumpinge lyon nother by daye nor nyghte O What greate strength is in my body so lusty Whiche for lacke of exercise , is nowe almost rustye Hercules in comparison to me was but a boye When the bandogge Cerberus from hell he bare awaye When he kylled the lyons , hydra , and the bere so wylde Compare him to me and he was but a chylde Why Sampson I saye , hast thou no more wytte woldest thou be as strong as I ? come suck thy mothers tytte Wene you that Dauid that lyttle eluyshe boye Should with his slinge haue take my life awaye Nay ywys Golyath , for all his fyue stones I woulde haue quashed his little boysshe bones O howe it woulde do my harte muche good To se some of the giauntes before Noes floud I woulde make the knaues to cryecreke Or elles with my clubbe their braynes I wyll breake But Mulciber , yet I haue not with the do My heade is armed , my necke I woulde haue to And also my shoulders with some good habergyn That the deuyll if he shote at me coulde not enter in For I am determined greate battayle to make Excepte my fumishenes , by some meanes may assake . Mulciber . ¶ Bokell on this habergyn as fast as thou canne And feare for the metinge of nother beast nor manne yf it were possible for one too shote an oke This habergyn wyll defende thee frome the stroke Let them throwe mylstones at the as thick as haile yet the to kyll they shall their purpose faile yf Maluerne hylles shoulde on thy shoulders light They shall not hurte the , nor suppresse thy mighte Yf Beues of Hampton , Colburne and Guy Will the assaye , set not by them a flye To be briefe , this habergyn shall the saue Bothe by lande and water , nowe playe the lustye knaue Then he goeth in to his shoppe againe Thersites . ¶ When I consider my shoulders that so brode be When the other partes of my bodye I do beholde I verely thynke that none in chrystente With me to medele dare be so bolde Now haue at the lyons on cotsolde I wyll neyther spare for heate nor for colde Where art thou king Arthur , & the knightes of the rounde table Come , brynge forth your horses out of the stable Lo with me to mete they be not able By the masse they 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 thou 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 vengeaunce 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 that Iupiter doth thonder in the 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 than 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 ouerthrowen 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 that 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 men afraid I am a pore souldiour come of late from 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 , I trowe I make the shall Thersites . ¶ By Gods passion knaues , if I come I wyll you fetter Regarde ye my callinge and cryinge no better why horesons I saye , wyll ye not come By the masse the knaues be all from home They had better haue fette me an etrande at Rome Miles . ¶ By my trothe , I thynke that very skante This lubber dare aduenture to fighte with an ant Thersites . Well seinge my seruauntes come to me will not I must take hede that this monster me spyll not I wyll ioparde with it a ioynte And other with my clubbe or my sweardes poynte I wyll reche it suche woundes As I woulde not haue for . xl . M. poundes Plucke in thy hornes thou vnhappy beast what facest thou me ? wilte not thou be in reste Why ? wylte not thou thy hornes in holde Thinkest thou that I am a cocklode Goddes armes the monster cometh towarde me styll Excepte I fyght manfully , it wyll me surely kyll Then he must syghte against the snayle with his club Miles . O Iupiter Lorde doest thou not see and heare How he feareth the snayle as it were a bere Thersites . Well with my clubbe I haue had good-lucke Nowe with my sworde haue at the a plucke And he must cast his club awaye . I wyll make the or I go , for to ducke And thou were as tale a man as frier sucke I saye yet agayne thy hornes in drawe Or elles I wyll make the to haue woundes rawe Arte not thou a ferde To haue thy bearde Pared with my swearde Here he must fighte then with his sworde against the snayle , and the snayle draweth her hornes in Ah well , nowe no more Thou mightest haue done so before I layed at it so sore That it thoughte it shoulde haue be lore And it had not drawen in his hornes againe Surelye I woulde the monstet haue slaine But now farewell , I wyll worke the no more payne Nowe my fume is paste And dothe no longer laste That I did to the monster cast Now in other countreis both farre and neare Mo dedes of chyualtye I wyll go inquere Miles . Thou nedes not seke any further for redy I am here I wyll debate anone I trowe thy bragginge chere Thersites . Nowe where is any mo that wyll me assayle I wyll turne him and tosse him bothe toppe and tayle yf he be stronger then Sampson was who with his bare handes kylde lyons apas Miles . What nedeth this booste ? I am here at hande That with the will fighte kepe the heade and stande Surelye for al thy hye wordes I wyll not feare To assaye the a towche tyll some bloude apeare I wyll geue the somewhat for the gifte of a newe yeare And he begynth to fight with him , but Thersites must ren awaye , and hyde hym behynde hys mothers backe sayinge . Thersites . O mother mother I praye the me hyde Throwe some thinge ouer me and couer me euery syde Mater . O my sonne what thynge eldyth the ? Thersites Mother a thousande horsemen do persecute me Mater . Marye sonne then it was time to flye I blame the not then , thoughe afrayde thou be A deadlye wounde thou mightest there sone catche One against so manye , is no indyfferente matche Thersites . No mother but if they had bent but ten to one I woulde not haue auoyded but set them vppon But seinge they be so many I ran awaye Hyde me mother hyde me , I hartely the pray For if they come hyther and here me fynde To their horses tayles they wyll me bynde And after that fasshyon hall me and kyll me And thoughe I were neuer so bolde and stoute To fyghte againste so manye , I shoulde stande in doubte Miles . Thou that doest seke giauntes to conquere Come foorth if thou dare , and in this place appere Fy for shame doest thou so sone take flighte Come forth and shewe somewhat of thy myghte Thersites . Hyde me mother , hyde me , and neuer worde saye Miles . Thou olde trotte , seyst thou any man come thys waye well armed and weaponed and readye to fighte Mater . ¶ No forsothe Maister , there came none in my sight Miles . ¶ He dyd auoyde in tyme , for withoute doubtes I woulde haue set on his backe some clowtes Yt I may take him I wyll make all slowches To beware by him , that they come not in my clowches Then he goeth oute , and the mother saith Mater . ¶ Come foorth my sonne , youre enemy is gone Be not afrayed for hurte thou canst haue none Then he loketh aboute if he be gone or not , at the last he sayth . Thersites . ¶ ywys thou didest wisely who so euer thou be To tarrye no longer to fighte with me For with my clubbe I woulde haue broken thy skull yf thou were as bigge as Hercules bull why thou cowardely knaue , no stronger then a ducke Darest thou trye maystries with me a plucke whiche fere nother giauntes nor Iupiters fire bolte Nor Beelzebub the mayster deuyll as ragged as a colte I woulde thou wouldest come hyther ones againe I thincke thou haddest rather alyue to be flayne Come againe and I sweare by my mothers wombe I wyll pull the in peeces no more then my thombe and thy braines abrode , I wyll so scatter That all knaues shall feare , against me to clatter Then cometh in Telemachus bringinge a letter from his father Ulisses , and Thersites saieth . what ? little Telemachus what makest thou here amonge vs ? Telemachus . ¶ Syr my father Ulysses doth hym commende To you most hartely , & here he hath you sende Of hys mynde a letter whiche shewe you better Euery thynge shall Then I can make rehersall Here he must delyuer hym the letter Thersites . ¶ Lo frendes ye maye see what great men wryte to mee Here he must redde the letter . As entyrely as harte can thyncke Or scryuener can wryte with yucke I sende you louynge gretynge Thersytes myne owne swetynge I am very sorye when I cast in memory The great vnkyndnes And also the blyndnes That hath be in my brest Agaynst you euer prest I haue be prompt and dylygent Euer to make you shent To appale your good name And To mynysshe your fame In that I was to blame But well al this is gone And remedy there is none But onely repentaunce Of all my olde greuaunce with whiche I dyd you moleste And gaue you sorye reast The cause was thereof truelye Nothinge but verye enuye wherefore nowe gentyll esquier Forgeue me I you desyre And helpe I you beseche Telemachus to a leche That hym maye wyselye charme From the wormes that do hym harme In that ye maye do me pleasure For he is my chyefe treasure I haue hearde menne say That come by the way That better charmer is no other then is youre owne deare mother I praye you of her obtayne To charme away his paine Fare ye well , and come to my house To dryncke wyne and eate a peece of sowse And we wyll haue minstrelsy that shall pype hankyn boby My wyfe penelobe Doth grete you well by me wrytinge at my house on Candelmasse daye Mydsomer moneth , the calenders of maye By me Ulissed beynge verye gladde That the victorye of late of the monster ye hadde Ah syrraye quod he ? how saye you frendes all Ulisses is glad for my fauoure to call well , thoughe we ofte haue swerued And he small loue deserued Yet I am well contente Seinge he dothe repente To let olde matters go And to take him no more so As I haue do hyther to For my mortall fo Come go with me Telemachus , I wyll the bringe Unto my mother to haue her cherminge I doubte not , but by that tyme that she hathe done Thou shalte be the better seuen yeares agone Then Thersytes goeth to his mother sayinge Mother Christe thee saue and see Ulysses hathe sende his sonne to thee That thou shouldest hym charme From the wormes that hym harme Mater . ¶ Sonne ye be wife kepe ye warme whye shoulde I for Ulysses doo That neuer was kynde vs to He was readye in warre Euer the , sonne , to marre Then had bene all my ioye Exiled cleaue awaye Thersites . ¶ Wel mother all that is past Wroth maye not alwaye laste And seinge we be mortall all Let not our wroth be immortall Mater Charme that charme wyll , he shal not be charmed of me Thersites . Charme or by the masse with my club I wil charme the Mater . ¶ why sonne arte thou so wicked to beate thy mother Thersites . ¶ ye that I wyll , by goddes deare brother Charme olde witche in the deuils name Or I wyll sende the to him , to be his dame Mater . ¶ Alas what a sonne haue I That thus dothe order me spitefullye Cursed be the time that euer I hym fedde I woulde in my bely he had be deade Thersites . ¶ Cursest thou olde hore ? blesse me againe Or I wyll blesse the , that shall be to thy payne Then he must take hyr by the armes , and she crieth oute as foloweth . Mater . ¶ He will kyll me He wyll spyll me He wyll brose me He wyll lose me He wyll pricke me He wyll stycke me Thersites . The deuyll stycke the olde wytherde witch For I wyll sticke nother the , nor none suche . But come of geue me thy blessinge againe I saye let me haue it , or elles certayne With my clubbe I wyll laye the on the brayne Mater . Well seinge thou threatenest to me affliction Spite of my harte haue nowe my benediction Nowe christes swete blessinge and mine Lighte aboue and beneath the bodye of thyne And I beseche with all my deuotion That thou mayste come to A mans promotion He that forgeue Mary Mawdalene hyr synne Make the hyghest of all thy kynne Thersites . ¶ In this wordes is double intellimente Wouldest thou haue me hanged mother veramente Mater . ¶ No sonne no , but too haue you hye In promotion , is my mynde verelye Thersites . ¶ Well then mother let all this goo and charme this chylde that you is sende to and loke hereafter to curse ye be not gredye Curse me no more , I am cursed ynoughe all readye Mater . ¶ Well sonne I wyll curse you no more Excepte ye prouoke me to to sore But I meruaile whye ye do me moue To do for Ulisses that dothe not vs loue Thersites . ¶ Mother by hys sonne he hathe sende me a letter Promysynge heareafter to be to vs better And you and I with my greate clubbe Muste walke to him and eate a solybubbe and we shall make merye and synge tyrle on the berye With Simkyn sydnam somner that kylde a catte at comner There the tryflinge tabborer trowbler of tunys Wyll pyke Peter pybaker a penyworth of prunes Nycholl neuer good a nette and a night cappe Knytte wyll for kyt whose knee cawghte a knappe Dauid dowghtye dyghter of datys Gren with godfrey goodale wyll gretely at the gates Thom tombler of tewxbury turninge at a tryce wyll wype wylliam waterman if he be not wyse Symon sadler of sudeley that serued the sowe Hytte wyll Henrye hartlesse he harde not yet how Iynkyn Iaton that iabbed iolye Ione Grynde wyll gromellede vntyll he grone Prowde perts pykethancke , that pykid pernels purse Cut wyll the cakes thoughe Cate do crye and curse Roughe Robyn rouer rufflinge in ryghte rate balde Bernarde braynles wyll bete and Benet bate Folyshe frederycke furburer of a farte Dynge daniell deintye to deathe wyll with a darte Mercolfe mouylts moreninge for mad Marye Tyncke wyll the tables thoughe he there not tary Andrewe all knaue alderman of Andwarpe Hoppe wyll with holyhockes & harken humfreys harpe It is to to mother the pastyme and good chere That we shall see and haue , when that we come there Wherefore gentyll mother I the hartely praye That thou wylte charme for wormes this pretye boye Mater . Well sonne , seinge the case and mater standeth so I am contente all thy request to do Come hyther pretye childe I will the charme frome the wormes wylde but firste do thou me thy name tell Telemachus . ¶ I am called Telemachus there as I dwell Mater . ¶ Telemachus lye downe vprighte on the grounde And styrre not ones for a thousande pounde Telemachus . ¶ I am readye here preste To doo all youre requeste Then he must lay hym down with his bely vpward and shee muste blesse hym frome aboue too beneath sayinge a feloweth . Mater . ¶ The cowherd of Comertowne with his croked spade Cause frome the , the wormes soone to vade And iolye Iacke iumbler that iuggleth with a horne Graunte that thy wormes soone be all to torne Good graundsyre Abraham godmother to Eue Graunte that this wormes no longer this chylde greue All the courte of conscience in cockoldst yres Tynckers and tabberets typplers tauerners Tyttyfylles , tryfullers , turners and trumpers Tempters , traytoures , trauaylers and thumpers Thryftlesse , theuyshe , thycke and thereto thynne the maladye of this wormes cause for too blynne The vertue of the tayle of Isaackes cow That before Adam in paradyse dyd lowe Also the ioyste of Moses rod In the mounte of caluarye that spake with God Facie ad faciem , turninge tayle to tayle Cause all these wormes quickly to fayle The bottome of the shyppe of Noe And also the legge of the horse of Troe The peece of the tounge of Balaams asse the chawbone of the Oxe that at Christes byrth was the eye to the of the dogge that wente on pylgremage with yonge Thobye , these wormes sone may swage the butterflye of Bromemycham that was borne blinde The blaste of the bottell that blowed Aelous wynde The buttocke of the bytter boughte at Buckyngame the bodye of the bere that wyth Beuis came the backster of Balockburye with her bakinge pele Chylde fro thy wormes I praye , maye sone the hele The tapper of tauyestocke and the tapsters potte The tothe of the tytmus , the torde of the gote In the towre of tenysballes tostyd by the fyer the table of Tantalus turned trym in myre that tombe of Tom thredbare that thrusle tyb through that smock Make al thy wormes chylde , to come forth at thy docke Sem Cam and Iaphat and coll the myllars mare the fyue stones of Dauyd : that made goliath stare the wing with whiche seit Mychaell dyd fly to his mount 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 with 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 that 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 apase 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 audience , god graunt you al prosperite Amen .