The seuen sorowes that women haue when theyr husbandes be deade. Compyled by Robert Copland Copland, Robert, fl. 1508-1547. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A19320 of text S116521 in the English Short Title Catalog (STC 5734). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 31 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 14 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 A19320 STC 5734 ESTC S116521 99851737 99851737 17028 2240867350

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Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A19320) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 17028) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 920:13) The seuen sorowes that women haue when theyr husbandes be deade. Compyled by Robert Copland Copland, Robert, fl. 1508-1547. [24] p. : ill. In Lothburi ouer agaynste Sainct Margarytes church by me Wyllyam Copland], [[Imprented at London : [ca. 1565]] In verse. Printer's name and address from colophon; publication date conjectured by STC. Signatures: A-C⁴. Reproduction of the original in the British Library. eng eebo The seuen sorowes that women haue when theyr husbandes be deade. Compyled by Robert Copland. Copland, Robert, 1565 27 5276 10 0 0 0 0 0 18.95 C The rate of 18.95 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the C category of texts with between 10 and 35 defects per 10,000 words. 2000-00 Assigned for keying and markup 2001-11 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2002-02 Sampled and proofread 2002-02 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2002-03 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion

The seuen sorowes that women haue when theyr husbandes be deade . Compyled by Robert Copland .

The excuse of the Authour . TO all archewyues I do pray instantly And to all wydowes of the seconde degree Me to excuse , that ignorantly your wordes to wryth I haue taken on me For suerly it is of no malignitite But only to comforte young wyues that haue young louyng husbandes in their felicite How after their death they may them haue .
Prologue of Robert Copland . Copland . WHy should I muse suche tryfles for to wryte Or wanton toyes , but for the appetyte Of wandryng braynes , that seke for thynges new And do not reche if they be fals or trew . Quidam . With what newes ? or here ye any tidinges Of the pope , of the Emperour , or of kynges Of martyn Luther , or of the great Turke Of this and that , and how the world doth worke . Copland . So that the tongue must euer wagge & clatter And waste their wyndes , to medle of eche matter Thus ben we prynters called on so fast That maruayle it is , how that our wittes can last . Quidam . With haue ye the takyng of the Frenche kyng Or what conceptes haue ye of laughyng Haue ye the balade called maugh murre Or b●ny wenche , or els go from my durre Col to me , or hey downe dery dery Or a my hert , or I pray you be mery . Copland . Thus if our heades forged were of brasse yet shoulde we wexe as dulle as any asse And alof baggage nought worthe in substaunce But bokes of vertue haue none vtteraunce As thus , syr I haue a very proper boke Of morall wysdome please ye their on to loke Of els a boke of comen consolation . Quidam . Tusshe a straw man , what should I do therewith Hast thou a boke of the wydowe Edith That hath begyled so many with her wordes Or els suche a geest that is ful of bourdes Let me se , I wyll yet waste a peny Upon suche thynges and if thou haue eny . Copland . How say ye by these , wyll ye bestowe a grote Quidam . ye syr somuche ? nay , that I shorowe my cote A peny I trow is ynough on bokes It is not so soone goten , as this worlde lokes By saynt Mary I cannot tell the brother Money euer goeth for one thyng or for other God helpe my fryende , this worlde is harde & kene They that haue it wyll not let it be sene But let that passe vnto another tyme Haue ye not seene a prety geest in tyme Of the seuen sorowes that these women haue whan that their husbandes been brought to graue . Copland . No I sayth , I dyd neuer here ther of . Quidam . By God and it is a very propre scoffe If it were prynted , it wyl be wel soulde I haue heard it or now , ful madly tolde . Copland . It may well be , but I wene I should gyt Displeasure of women if that I prynt it And that were I loth , for I haue alway Defended them , and wyll to my last day . Quidam . Ah ha , than I seye be wel at ease Whan ye are afrayde women to displease . Copland . What nede me gette angre , if I may haue thanke In faythe I can not se , but as madde a pranke as soone wyl a man do as a woman why should they be rayled and gested on than And to say soth it is but a fond apetyte To geste on women , or against them to wryte . Quidam . That is truthe , if they be good and honest But this is but a mery bourdyng Ieest without reproufe , dishonesty or shame That in no wyse can appayre their good name . Copland . That is good , but haue ye any copy That a man myght enprynt it thereby And whan I se it , than I wyll you tell . If that the matter be ordred yll or well . Quidam . I haue no boke , but yet I can you shewe The matter by herte , and that by wordes fewe Take your penne , and wryte as I do say But yet of one thyng , hertely I you praye Amende the englysh somwhat if ye can . And spel it true , for I shall tel the man By my soule ye prynters make such englyshe So yll spelled , so yll poynted , and so peuyshe That scantly one cane rede lynes tow But to fynde sentence , he hath ynought to do For in good fayth , yf I should say truthe In your craft to suffer , it is great ruthe Suche pochers to medle , and can not skyl Of that they do , but doth al marre and spyl I ensure you , your wardeins ben therof to blame It hyndreth your gayne and hurteth your name Howe be it , it is al one to mee Whether ye thryue , or elles nenuer thee . Copland Wel brother . I can it not a mende I wyl no man ther of dyscommende I care no greatly , so that I nowe and than May get a peny as wel as I can Howe be it , in our crafte I knowe that there be Connyng good worke men , and that is to se In latyn and englysh , whiche they haue wrought Whose names appereth , where they be sought But to our purpose , nowe tourne we agayne And let me begyn to wryte a lyne or twayne . Quidam . Wyth al my hert , but fyrst I pray you say Unto all women that I them hertely pray To haue me excused of thys homely dede And what I say , of themselfe take no hede .
The fyrst sorowe . The fyrst sorowe that these women haue Is or theyr husbandes be layde in graue And that is duble in this maner wyse This man full sycke in deadly paynes lyse Many a daye , nygh to the houre of deth His eyene dymineth , and very shorte is his breth The flew me ratleth in his brest and throte His powlces beten , his tounge is roughe and hote Phisicions forsake him euery chone Whan that they se his money almost gone Than this pore woman that so hreatly toyled Wrappyge , and warminge with many a hand defoyled Doth hym beholde , and seeth he wyll dye The holy candell she lyghteth hym by And so he lyeth consumyng to his ende This wyfe then that busely doth hym tende Seing hym lye to longe in that case Wyth droppes and markes in euery place Consyderyng her good , that is gretly spente And the candell well nygh wasten and brent She loketh on the candell wyth a dolefull gost Alas seyth she , thou arte gone almost How shall I for go thy company Whan thou arte gone , I ensure perfytely To my lyues nede I wyll haue no mo For thy sake , I haue the loued so Alas good woman full w● arte thou But what wylt thou do wyth hym now Bury hym , alas thou arte ther to full loth But though that she be neuer so wrothe It must be done , and so this good woman Ordreth all thynges so well as she can For his buryenge , and other seruyce So cometh the pres●es and other lykewyse As the mourners , and executours Torche berers , kynsfolke and neyghbours Than is the corps layd on the bere Or in a coffyn as the guyse is here Than this pore widow clothed all in blacke Of sorow be sure she doth nothyng lacke From her chamber she cometh a downe Than for great fere to fall in aswowne Upon her she bereth some confeccion As powder of peper , or a red onyon And whan she cometh thre the corps doth lye Her handes she wryngeth pyteously Out out alas , what shall I do forth on Wolde god I were by thy graue anon This sorow is longe , what shal me now betyde I beseche Iesu thy soule in heauen may bide .
The second sorow . THe seconde sorow that these wyues do make Is whan .iiii. men the corps on them do take Toward the chyrche , and the prestes do syng This wofull wydow al waye folowyng With bedes in hande , in mournynge hood God knoweth yf syghes do her any good Now thinketh she , here haue I much to do And haply thys wydowe hath a shorte sho That streyneth her toes , and doeth hurte her fote Than thynketh she , I be shrew the hearte rote Of the horeson sowter , it greueth me so And to the chrche we haue ferre to go Or els she is laced in her new blacke gowne That for straytnes she is lyke to swone Or els it may fortune so that she Hath in her som lose infyrmyte Or els the wynde doth waste the waxe to sore And she knowes well that she must pay therfore But whan they nyghe vnto the churche be who soroweth nowe : for so the none but she I can suppose , beyng so nere the place where he must rest , this is a heuy case Who sygheth now , alas this pore woman For I am sure that she woulde be as than As farre home warde , but she dothe take in worthe This heuy chaunce , and wofully goeth forthe And to herselfe al pryuely doth saye what remedy all is wel on the waye well a way , than sayd the executour That ledeth her , why make ye this dolour I you ensure that ye do God displease So for to fare , but it were more ease For the soule , to saye som good oreyson Nothynge can helpe your lamentacyon Alas syr she sayeth , ye saye of certaynete But yet my heart can not so serue me And therewithall she doeth wepe so fast That her heart tikleth as it would brast O kynde womane I blame the not at all Thou woulde hym haue in christen buryall
The thyrd sorowe . FOrth now than goeth this wofull creature To the thyrd sorowe . I may you well ensure In to the chyrche and sytteth in a pewe Full often than chaungeth all her hewe For veray fayntnes , or is to harde enbraced Would God sayth she that I were vnlaced Or els may chaunce with chylde that she go Of .x. wekes tyme , or haply of mo Or els some qualme may in her stomacke ryse As women haue in many dyuers wyse But for all that this wydowe sytteth styll Puttyng her selfe all in goddes wyll Hearyng deuoutly the deuyne songe A Iesu mercy thys seruyce is longe And she is very sycke and would be thence In fayth I had leuer that .xl. pence She were awaye , so I myght her excuse But not so , she will her selfe sadly vse Men shal not say that she would fayne be ryde Her sorowes shal be womanly hyde And in her prayers , her selfe occupy Ne were it so that the beggers cry On her so faste and let her for to pray with some good man haue these folke away I neuer sawe such folke , and so lewde withstande at the dore knaues al be shrewde ye troble this woman , and it is no nede Come to morowe and ye may haply spede Thus is thys woman troublously arayde Tyll that the last dyryge is sayde And wyth the corps walketh to the pytte But than in dede harde is to forgette Alas sayth she , all this busines Nowe were me leuer for to die than lyfe Now wyll I all my goodes away gyue The mantyll and ryng , now wyll I take A las alas , now must I leue my make Fare well my Ioye , thou act gone for euer Ah my pore herte in sonder wyll sheuer Ah fals death , why haste thou hym so slayne And leueth me here in thys most woful payne Thus nethelesse , this man is layde alowe And than the priest earth vpon him doth throw She seyng that loketh full heuely Upon the clerke , and wofully doth crye A good swete man , please it the trinite That I were layd vpryght vnder thee Whan this is done though it be to her payne As wo full as she went , she must go home agayne
The fourth sorowe . NOwe wofull women Iesu be thy spede Harde is to knowe what lyfe thou wilt lede All this nyght , when I to me mynde call With no more rest than a stone in a wall Now wyll thou consyder thy great coste And howe thow hast a good husbande lofte I meane thy bedfelowe , for he is gone Thus is a newe payne for to lye alone Now muse thou must , where thou wast wont to plai yet for all this as sone as any day Th●u must a rys and ouerse thy hous With come here , go there , as busy as a mous Bring this fetche that , care this thens walke hyther , renne thyther , be not long thens Go for hym , fetche her and desyre them To go wyth me to the masse of Requiem Lo thus these women can not be out of care But what than yet wyl they nothyng spare To be quyte of thys charges , and what than ? God haue mercy on hys soule good man I am well a payde that I haue brought to passe Thus far forth , now let vs go to masse Beshorow me , yf I woulde take suche payne On condicion to haue hym agayne Whan for thys , for that , one thyng and other Fye on it Fye , I swere by godds mother ye wyll not beleue what is the exspens For this .xl. shyllynges and for that .xl. penens Here a noble , and there well nyghe a pounde There goeth a grote , and there a shyllyng rounde The prestes and clarkes , for the knyll and pyt And other thynges , that I am wery of it Here is great sorow but what remedy Go we to church I pray you hartely I thinke this sorow wyl euer last Mayde lay meate to fyre for our breke fast Agaynste we come home , wel wel mayitresse ye shal se me do al my busines To masse now is the widow on her way Deuoutly for her husband to pray There doth she syt , god wat how sore mournynge Tyl that the tyme come of the offring Than for her husbande can not fro her mynde The most fayrest peny that she can fynde She taketh and in to the quere Sayng softly that al the prestes may here Lokyng on the peny with wofull eye Full loth am I to depart fro the I can not blame her yf she were lothe to parte Wyth that she loueth wel with all her harte Thus with her loue , sorowe , and kyndnesse The wydowe bydeth the residewe of the masse .
The fyfth sorowe . THe fyfth sorowe is very dolorous As he is buried and the wyfe in hous Alone is left , and al her neyghbours gone Styl museth she than makyng great mone Sayng , wo is me thys tyme for to se Now must I both husband , and wyfe be yet what of that I may take such sorow Parauenture to dye or to morowe Nay let it be , for I wyl take no thought Sorow wyl ryght soone bryng me to nought Now syth he be gon , wel what remedy Other be wyddwes as wel as I Than sytteth she sadly downe on the benche What Ione I say , and called her wenche Come hyther Ione to me is your hous drest : I pray god gyue all chrysten soules good rest And with her knyfe bytwene her fyngers two She dalieth , waggyng it to and fro With dydle dydle dydle , tyrle tyrle tyrle The brayne rennyth and ther of no terle As in suche a case , and than wyl requyre O sorowe great , more hote than the fyre Now is thys woman in greate fantasy And no maruayle , yet hathe she no couse whi For haply he was vnto her vnkynde But for al that as clene out of her mynd Of womanhed , and eke of here kyndnes She dothe forget hys waywerde folyshnes And dote performe the tenour of hys wyl And is in purpose hys mynd to fulfyl Remembrynge greatly how the pore soule is In great peryl , yf he haue left ought amysse And than a gayne her owne selfe for to chere Her mayde she calleth as I dyd saye ere Com hyther I one and god on my arande God and desire my gossyp Coplande My gosseyp Miles , and my gssip Susan My gossip Stodarde , and my neybour An The good wyfe Rychardson , & the good wyfe Gayes And to Peters vyfe , & pray them streyght wayes To do so moch as to come speke with me And whan thou hast done loke that thou hie the And take a pot and go to saint Iohans heade For a quart of Muscadel and newe bread ● couple of bounes or maunchettes newe bake For I promyse thee , my hert doth ake Anone maystresse sayth she as a good damsell And douth her message right fayre and well And whan the gossyppes assembled be What chere goode gossyp , than sayeth she and she Be ye of good chere , and thanke god of all This worlde ye se , doth tourne lyke as a ball Now vp , and now downe , now to and now fro Now myrth than Ioye , nowe care and than wo A good man , god haue mercy on thy soule By my trouth whan I dyd her the bell tole My hert erned and I shall tell you why Ah good man thou speke ful meryly Thys day seuen nyght and now thou art ful lowe Now by my faythe in al this strete I trowe Is not his felow in euery degree By my sowle yf ye wyll beleue me I trowe he wyll neuer out of my mynde Surly gossyp he was euer kynde A Iesu howe he woulde you prayes His mynde was so occupyed alwayes On this worlde , in his myrth and his game I harde hym neuer no man defame Ah gossyp , gossyp sayth thys wydow than Though I say it he was an honest man He left me so to dryue the wat a way That I am bounde for hym dayly to pray For by thys syluere and wyne in this cuppe And therewith she made a soppe Saynge of gossyppes my hert is so sore That I care not whyche ende doth go afore And therewyth putteth it in to her mouthe And swere by hym that dyed in the southe There was neuer sorow , wo nor smerte That euer dyd go more nerer my herte Alacke good woman , take it not so heuyly Sayth her gossyppes , lest that ye dye Now he is gone , there is no better reede Thus this wydowe they comfort euery day The best they can , to dryue her care a way
The syxte sorowe . Now hath thys wydow , thanked be Iesu Performed the buriyng , as to her is due Sadly and wysely me nede not to tell She hath behaued her ther in so well That I dare sweare if it chaunce her agayne She can it do with lesse coste and payne But for all that she is to hym so kynde Thao she wyl not forget his monethes minde Nor his annuuersary at the yeres ende She doth so well that eche doth here commende She renneth not hourly fro house to hous But kepeth home as duly as a mous Erly she ryseth and lyeth downe late And laboureth sore to kepe her estate Walkyng sadly in towne and strete Without acquayntaunce of them that she mete And somtyme hereth how folke doth der prayes Unus Se ye yonder wydowe that goeth that wayes I ensuer you she is a sadde woman By my trouth if I were a sengleman If I had fourty pounde and fourty there by I could fynde in my herte to make her lady . Alyus . ye but I pray you is she of any substaunce That would make a man any fortheraunce . Unus ye by sant Mary I holde her well at ease I tell you if that ye coulde her please Or haue her good wyll than were it cocke For better it were to haue her in her smocke Than som other that hath more good It is a great treasure to haue womanhood . Alius . That is truth , but I shall tell you one thyng Many that been so smothe in their goyng Been also shrewed as is the deuell of hell And neuer cease , but euer fyght and yell Euer vnquiet , and alway chyde and brall And that freteth a man both herte and gall And many tymes in stede of fleshe or fyshe A dede mannes head is serued in a dyshe And he ther with is made so very mate That hous and profite he doth in maner hate For I haue herde a hundred tymes and mo That wyues & smoke cause men there hous to for go Unus He that is afrayde to treade on the grasse Through medowes I counsell hym not to passe He must aduenture that shuche a thyng wyll haue Often he for goeth , that fereth for to craue Thus been these wowers euer in greate doubt That sumtyme do bryng ther mater so a bout That they went to haue God by the cote And haue the dyuel fast a bout the throte As I haue herde say I wote not what it meaneth The matter goeth not as some folke weneth But what of that , we must forth on procede To our wydowe , Iesu be oure spede She lyueth so well and so honestly That all her knowledge woweth her company Fro the tauerne , daunces , and common players And wanton may games , she kepeht her alwaies Pleasaunt pylgrymages , wylsdon and Crome She seketh not , but tarieth styll at home So chaunceth it , that on a festfulday Whan that folke wandred ●o pastyme and play This woman at home hath a delyte to be Saufe to the dore no farther walketh she And on thresholde fortuneth to syt Than som neyghbour happeneth to se it And to her cometh to pastyme and to talke For she no lust hath , a brode as than to walke with good euen fayre wydowe , how do ye to day well I thanke you as a lone woman may That hath great charges , and but smal counsel wel neyghbour sayth he , al thyng shal be wel Thanked be God ye be out of det God haue his soule that hath you so well set ye nede not to sequester vnder the bysshoppe And that is sene by our warehous and shoppe And I am sure there is muche owyng you Mary sayth she I can not shew you how For he occupied muche more without Than within , and that causeth me dout How to get inwarde that other men haue And I am ashamed on them for to craue For all my sorow , payne , and thought Is for to gather , that to hym was aught For he was fre , and lent it here and there To them that would browe euery where How be it , yet for his owne sowle sake Here and there somwhat I wyll ay take As they may paye , for I wyll none trouble For I ensure you , though that it were double I set not by it , but I wyll haue all ryght As nyghe as I can of euery wyght For what by tayle , by wrytyng and by score I am ryght sure ther is ought me more Than I wyl say , and that they would maruayle One can not lyue with scoryng on the taile Noywys neybour , and that you know full wel As wel as I , me nede not ther offo● to tell For it is a new thyng for to take in hand To order all thynges right as it shoulde stande For one that is but lytle wount ther to No remedy but it must nedes be do But how be it I shall tell you what If I coulde wel rule and guyde all that Without the dore as I cane that with in I would not care therfore scantly a pyn But or it be longe , neyghbour I trust It shall be ordred par●ly as I lust ye , ye , neyghbour sayth he I dare trust your wit That well ynough ye wyll puruey for it And what I can do ye shall fynde me redy Whan that ye nede , both late and erly And fare you well I take my leue as now Neyghbour she sayth , I pray god thanke you .
The .vii. sorowe . UOis laste sorow , yf any sorow be Is so the wydow of her chairte Now must perfourme her husbandes intent Touching his wyll , his mynde and tesstament And so she doth , as nygh as she can So that no where ther is any man That can demaunde of ryght and duty But she them pleaseth well and honestly So that her name is so wel spredde That many delyteth her for to wedde Wouers com with many a proude offre Some with loue , and other som with proffre Som come gayly , and all in pleasure Som come poorely wyth countenaunce demure Som launcheth mony largely fro theyr powches Some sheweth tynges , Ieweles , and riche owches Some sendeth her a tokne or a Capon Som sendeth her wyne , other sendeth venyson And all for to kendle , and set her hert on fire To cause her to bowe , and folow ther desyre But this wydow as stedfast as a wall As she well can , thanketh them greatly all Excusyng her as she can do full well For certayne causes more that I can tell How be it perchaunce that she woulde fayne But she casteth in her mynde agayne yf I should wedde and holde me vnto one That myght fortune all this chere were gone Me thynke I lede a metely mety lyfe Whiche I should not yf that I whre a wyfe To bed I go and ryse whan I wyll All that I do is reason and skyll I commaunde other but noue commandeth me And eke I stande at myne owne liberte How be it I do note in consynence Whether to wedde or lyue in continence For I am yonge , and may the worlde increase And vnto me it is full harde to cease The wanton delyte , that younge women haue And ferthermore my good name for to saue For the resorte that here do com dayly I take suche thought , and so much care that I Wote not well in what estate to abyde For yf a yonge man shoulde me betide That were to sharpe , or hath no worldli shifte Than myght I say a dew fare wel my thryfte And yf I sholde hym in any wyse contray Than myght perchaunce that we two shoulde vart In the deuyls name , peke thee out at the dore And so me bete , saying olde wyddred hore Or lay to pledge suche as I haue , or sell yet had I leuer neuer with none to mell yf he be olde and a waywarde wyght He is yll to please , eyther day or nyght Euer hummyng at thys thyng and that And alway chydyng , and wotes not for what And yf he fall ones in ialowsy The deuyl than troubleth his fantasy Thus I ne wote by god and by my soule How that I may now me selfe controule He that I had , me thought was very yll But yf god pleased I wolde I had hym styll So than this wydow hee selfe to comforte Unto a frende of hers dothe resorte With her neyghbours , and goynge be the way They chaunce to walke ouer an olde raw say Whiche is to broke , and the pauement ●ore Than taketh she vpher clothes afore For fylyng , rememberyng her husbandes entent Thai euer amended that broken pauement Saynge our lorde Iesu graunt hym his grace That was wont to lay stones in this place But if that I may lyue an other yere They shal be layde as well as euer they were Ah true wydowe , so true , louyng and kynde Thy husbandes dedes be not fro thy mynde Now all true wydowes as ye do entende In all our sorowes Chryst you comforte sende . Finis . deo laus et honor .
Lenuoy of . R. Copland ●O lytle quayre , god gyue the wel to sayle To that good sheppe , ycleped Bertelet For through it thou mayst the more preuayle Agaynst the rockes , that blyndly ben yset Up on the land thy substaunce for to fret And from all nacyous , if that it be thy lot Lest thou be hurt , medle not with a Scot. And to thy readers , as custome is to say Do thy deuoyr , but to wydowes chefely Desyringe them to take it as in play For that to do , was myne entent truely Desyryng them to accept my fantasy And to amende thyne englyshe where is nede For to pastime myne intent was in dede .
Explicit

Imprented at London in Lothburi ouer agaynste Sainct Margarytes church by me Wyllyam Copland .