A New Enterlude Called Thersytes

A new Interlude called Thersites

This interlude following

Doth declare how that the

greatest boasters are not

the greatest

doers.

The names of the players

Thersites A boaster.

Mulciber A smith.

Mater  A mother.

Miles  A knight.

Telemachus A child.

Thersites commeth in first having a club upon his neck.

Have in a ruffler forth of the Greek land

Called Thersites. If you will me know.

Aback! Give me room, in my way do you not stand

For if you do, I will soon lay you low.

In Homer of my acts you have read, I trow:

Neither Agamenon nor Ulysses, I spared to check,

They could not bring me to be at their back.

Of late from the siege of Troy I returned

Where all my harns except this club I lost:

In an old house there it was quite burned,

While I was preparing vittles for the host.

I must needs get me new, whatsoever it cost.

I will go seek adventures, for I cannot be idle

I will hamper some of the knaves in a bridle.

It grieveth me to hear how the knaves do brag,

But by supreme Jupiter, when I am harnessed well

I shall make the dasters to run into a bag

To hide them from me, as from the devil of hell

I doubt not but hereafter, of me you shall hear tell

How I have made the knaves for to play couch quail.

But now to the shop of Mulciber, to go I will not fail.

Mulciber must have a shop made in the place, and Thersites cometh before it saying aloud:

Mulciber, whom the poets doth call thee god of fire,

Smith unto Jupiter, king over all,

Come forth, of thy office I thee desire,

and grant me my petition. I ask a thing but small:

I will none of thy lightning, that thou art wont to make

for the gods supernal for you’re when they do shake

With which they thrust the giants down to hell

That were at a convention heaven to buy and sell.

But I would have some help of Lemnos and Ilua

That of their steel, by thy craft, condatur mihi galea.

Mulciber What fellow Thersites, do you speak Latin now?

Nay, then farewell, I make god a vow

I do not you understand, no Latin is in my palat.

And then he must do as he would go away.

Thersites I say abide, good Mulciber, I pray you make me a sallet.

Mulciber Why Thersites hast thou any wit in thy head?

Wouldest thou have a sallet now, all the herbs are dead

Beside that it is not meat for a smith

To gather herbs and sallets to meddle with.

Go get them to my lover Venus,

She hath sallets enough for all us

I eat none such sallets for now I wax old

and for my stomach they are very cold.

Thersites Now I pray to Jupiter that thou die a cuckold.

I mean a sallet with which men do fight.

Mulciber It is a small tasting of a man’s might

That he should for any matter

Fight with a few herbs in a platter

No great loud should follow that victory.

Thersites God’s passion, Mulciber! Where is thy wit and memory?

I would have a sallet made of steel.

Mulciber Why sir, in your stomach long you shall it feel,

For steel is hard for to digest.

Thersites Man’s bones and sides, he is worse than a beast.

I woulde have a sallet to wear on my head,

Which under my chin with a thong red

Buckled shall be.

Doest thou yet perceive me?

Mulciber Your mind now I see.

Why thou push ladde?

Art thou almost mad?

Or well in thy wit?

Get thee a wallet,

Would thou have a sallet?

What wouldest thou do with it?

Thersites I pray the good Mulciber make no more bones,

But let me have a sallet made at ones.

Mulciber I must do somewhat for this knave.

What manner of sallet, sir, would you have?

Thersites I would have such a one that neither might nor mayne

should pierce it through, or part it in twain,

Which neither gonst one, nor sharp spear

Should be able either to hurt or tear.

I would have it also for to save my head

If Jupiter himself would have me dead.

And if he in a fume, would cast at me his fire

This sallet I would have to keep me from his ire.

Mulciber I perceive your mind.

You shall find me kind.

I will for you prepare

And then he goeth in to his shop, and maketh a

sallet for him at the last he sayth.

Here Thersites, do this sallet wear

And on thy head it bear

And none shall work the care.

Then Mulciber goeth into his shop, until he is called again.

Thersites Now would I not fear with any bull to fight

Or with a ramping lion neither by day nor night.

O What great strength is in my body so lusty

Which for lack of exercise, is now almost rusty.

Hercules in comparison to me was but a boy

When the bandog Cerberus from hell he bear away

When he killed the lions, hydra, and the bear so wild.

Compare him to me and he was but a child.

Why Sampson I say, hast thou no more wit

wouldest you be as strong as I? Come suck thy mother’s teat

When you that David that little elvish boy

Should with his sling have taken my life away

Nay iwis Goliath, for all his few stones

I would have quashed his little boysh bones!

O how it would do my heart much good

To see some of the giants before Noe’s flood!

I would make the knaves to crycrake

Or else with my club their brains I will break!

But Mulciber, yet I have not with the do:

My head is armed, my neck I would have to,

And also my shoulders with some good habergeon

That the devil if he shot at me could not enter in,

For I am determined great battle to make

Except my fumishness, by some means may ashake.

Mulciber Bokell on this habergeon as fast as thou can,

And fear for the metting of neither beast nor man.

If it were possible for one to shoot an oak

This habergeon will defend thee from the stroke.

Let them throw milestones at thee as thick as hail.

yet thee to kill they shall their purpose fail,

If Malverve hylles should on thy shoulders light

They shall not hurt thee, nor suppress thy might.

If Bevis of Hampton, Colburn and Guy

Will thee assail, set not by them a fly

To be brief, this habergeon shall thee save

Both by land and water, now play the lusty knave.

Then he goeth in to his shop again.

Thersites When I consider my shoulders that so broad be,

When the other parts of my body I do behold,

I verly think that none in Christianity

With me to meddle dare be so bold

Now have at the lions on cotswold

I will neither spare for heat nor for cold.

Where art thou king Arthur, and the knights of the Round Table?

Come, bring forth your horses out of the stable,

Lo, with me to meet they be not able.

By the mass, they had rather were a bauble!

Where art thou, Gawyn the curtess and Cay the crabed?

Here be a couple of knights cowardish and scabbed

Appear in thy likeness, sir Libeus disconius.

If thou wilt have my club light on thy hedibus,

Lo, ye may see he heareth not the face

With me to try a blow in this place.

How sirra, approach, sir Lancelot de lake!

What? Run ye away and for fear quake?

Nowe he that did thee a knight make

Thought never that thou any battle shouldest take.

If you wilt not come thyself, some other of thy fellows send:

To battle I provoke them, themselves let them defend

Too, for all the good that ever they see

They will not once set hand to fight with me.

O good lord, how broad is my breast

And strong with all for whole is my chest!

He that should meddle with me shall have shrewd rest.

Behold you my hands, my legs and my feet.

Every part is strong proportionable and meet.

Think you that I am not feared in field and street?

Yes yes, God wote, they give me the wall

Or else with my club, I make them to fall.

Back knaves I say to them, then for fear they quake,

And take me then to the tavern and good cheere me make.

The proctor and his men I made to run their ways,

And some went to hide them in broken haies.

I tell you at a word,

I set not a tord.

By none of them all

Early and late I will walk,

And London streets stalk.

Spite of them, great and small,

For I think verly

That none in heaven so high

Nor yet in hell so low

While I have this club in my hand

Can be able me to withstand

Or me to overthrow!

But Mulciber, yet I must thee desire

To make me briggen irons for my arms,

And then I will love thee as my own sire.

For without them, I cannot be safe from all harms.

Those once had, I will not set a straw

by all the world, for then I will by awe

Have all my mind, or else by the holy rood

I will make them think, the devil carrieth them to the wood.

If no man will with me battle take

A voyage to hell quickly I will make.

And there I will beat the devil and his dame,

And bring the souls away, I fully intend the same.

After that in hell I have ruffled so

Straight to old Purgatory will I go.

I will clean that so purge round about

That we shall need no pardons to help them out.

If I have not fight enough this ways

I will climb to Heaven and fet away Peter’s keys.

I will keep them myself, and let in a great route

What should suche a fisher keep good fellows out.

Mulciber Have here, Thersites, briggen irons bright.

And fear thou no man manly to fight,

Though he be stronger than Hercules or Sampson.

Be thou prest and bold to set him upon

Neither Amazon nor Xerxes with their whole rabble

thee to assail shall find it profitable.

I warrant thee they will flee from thy face

as doth an hare from the dogs in a chase.

Would not thy black and rusty grim beard

Now thou art so armed, make any man afeard.

Surely if Jupiter did see thee in this gear,

He woulde run away and hide him for fear.

He would think that Typhoeus the giant were alive,

And his brother Enceladus, again with him to strive.

If that Mars of battle the God stout and bold

In this array should chance thee to behold.

He would yield up his sword unto thee

And god of battle (he would say) thou shouldest be.

Now fare thou well, go the world through

And seek adventures thou art man good enough.

Thersites Mulciber, while the stars shall shine in the sky

And Phaeton’s horses with the son’s charret shall fly.

While the morning shall go before noon

And cause the darkenness to vanish away soon.

While that the cat shall love well milk

And while that women shall love to go in silk,

While beggars have lice

And cockneys are nice,

While pardoners can lie

Merchants can buy

And children cry,

While all these last and more

Which I keep in store,

I do me faithfully bind

Thy kindness to bear in mind,

But yet Mulciber one thing I ask more:

Hast thou ever a sword now in store?

I would have such a one that would cut stones

And pare a great oak down at once

That were a sword, lo, even for the nones.

Mulciber Truly I have such a one in my shop

That will pare iron as it were a rope.

Have, here it is, gird it to thy side.

Now fare thou well, Jupiter be thy guide.

Thersites Gramercy, Mulciber, with my whole heart

Give me thy hand and let us depart.

Mulciber goeth in to his shop again, and Thersites saith forth.

Now I go hence, and put myself in prease

I will seek adventures, yea, and that I will not cease

If there be any present here this night

that will take upon them with me to fight.

Let them come quickly, and the battle shall be pight!

Where is Cacus that knave? Not worth a groat

that was wont to blow clouds out of his throat

Which stale Hercules kine and hid them in his cave.

Come hether, Cacus, thou lubber and false knave

I will teach all wretches by thee to beware:

If thou come hether I trap thee in a snare.

Thou shalt have knocked bread and ill fare.

How say you good godfather that looked so stale,

Ye seem a man to be borne in the vale.

Dare ye adventure with me a stripe or two?

Go, coward, go hide thee as thou wast wont to do!

What a sort of dastards have we here?

None of you to battle with me dare appeare?

What saiest you heart of gold, of countenance so demure?

Will you fight with me? No, I am right sure!

Fie, blush not woman, I will do you no harm,

Except I had you sooner to keep my back warm.

Alas, little pums, why are ye so sore afraid?

I pray you show how long it is? Since ye were a maid

Tell me in my ear, sirs, she hath me told

That gone was her maidenhead at thirteen year old,

Her lady she was loath to keep it too long.

And I were a maid again, now maybe here song

Do after my counsel of maidens the hoole beuye

Quickly red your maidenhead, for they are vengeance heuy.

Well, let all go, why? Will none come in

With me to fight that I may pare his skin?

The Mater cometh in.

Mater What say you my son? Will ye fight? God it defend!

For what cause to war do you now pretend?

Will ye commit to battles dangerous

Your life that is to me so precious?

Thersites I will go, I will go. Stoppe not my way,

Hold me not, good mother, I heartly you pray.

If there be any lions, or other wild beast

That will not suffer thee husband man in rest

I will go search them and bid them to afeast.

They shall aby bitterly the coming of such a gest.

I will search for them both in bush and shrub,

And lay on a lode with this lusty club.

Mater Oh my sweet son, I am thy mother:

Wilst thou kill me and thou hast none other?

Thersites No mother, no, I am not of such iniquity

That I will defile my hands upon thee.

But be content, mother, for I will not rest

Till I haue fought with some man or wild beast.

Mater Truly, my son, if that ye take this way

This shall be the conclusion, mark what I shall say:

Other I will drown myself for sorrow

And feed fishes with my body before tomorrow,

Or with a sharp sword, surely I will me kill.

Now thou mayst save me, if it be thy will

I will also cut my paps away

That gave the suck so many a day,

And so in all the world it shall be known

That by my own son I was overthrown.

Therefore if my life be to the pleasant

That which I desire, good son, do me grant.

Thersites Mother, thou spendest thy wind but in wast,

The goddes of battle her fury on me hath cast.

I am fully fixed battle for to taste.

Oh how many to death I shall drive in haste!

I will ruffle this club about my head

Or else I pray God I never die in my bed.

There shall never a stroke be stroken with my hand

But they shall thinke it Jupiter doth thunder in ye land.

Mater My own sweet son, I kneeling on my knee

And both my hands holding up to the

Desire thee to cease and no battle make

Call to the patience and better ways take!

Thersites Tush mother, I am deaf: I will thee not hear,

No no, if Jupiter here himself now were

And all the goddesses, and Juno his wife

And loving Minerva that abhorreth all strife;

if all these I say, would desire me to be content

They did their wind but invain spent.

I will have battle in Wales or in Kent

and some of the knaves I will all too rent.

Where is the valiant knight sir Isenbrase?

Appear, sir, I pray you, dare ye not show your face!

Where is Robin John and little Hood?

Approach hither quickly: if ye think it good

I will teach such outlaws with Christ’s curses

How they take hereafter away abbots purses!

Why will no adventure appear in this place?

Where is Hercules with his great mass?

Where is Buspris, that fed his horses

Full like a tyrant, with dead mens’ corses?

Come any of you both

And I make an oath

That yer I eat any bread

I will drive a wain

ye for need twain

Between your body and your head!

Thus passeth my brains!

Will none take the pains

To try with me a blow?

Oh what a fellow am I

whom every man doth fly

That doth me but once know.

Mater Son, all do you fear

That be present here.

They will not with you fight

you, as you be worthy.

Have now the victory

without tasting of your might!

Here is none, I trow,

that profereth you a blow,

Man woman nor child.

Do not set your mind

To fight with the wind,

be not so mad nor wild.

Thersites I say arise whosoever will fight!

I am to battle here ready dight:

Come hither other swain or knight,

Let me see who dare present him to my sight.

Here with my club ready I stand,

If any will come to take them in hand.

Mater There is no hope left in my breast

To bring my son unto better rest.

He will do nothing at my request,

He regardeth me no more than a beast.

I see no remedy, but still I will pray

To God, my son to guide in his way

That he may have a prosperous journeying

And to be save at his returning.

Son, God above grant this my oration

That when in battle thou shalt have concertation

with your enemies, other far or near

No wound in them nor in you may appear,

So that ye neither kill nor be killed.

Thersites Mother, thy petition I pray God be fulfilled,

For then no knaves blood shall be spilled:

Fellows, keep my counsel, by the mass, I do but crake,

I will be gentle enough and no business make,

But yet I will make her believe that I am a man.

Think you that I will fight? No no, but with thee can

Except I find my enemy on this wise

that he be asleep or else cannot arise

If his arms and his feet be not fast bound,

I will not proffer a stripe for a thousand pounds.

Farewell, mother, and tarry here no longer,

For after proves of chivalry I do both thirst and hunger

I will hear the knaves as flat as a conger.

Then the mother goeth in the place which is prepareth for her.

What, how long shall I tarry? Be your hearts in your hose,

will there none of you in battle me appose?

Come, prove me why stand you so in doubt!

Have you any wild bloud, that ye would have let out^

A lacke that a man’s strength cannot be known

Because that he lacketh enemies to be overthrown.

Here a snail must appear unto him, and he must look fearfully upon the snail, saying:

But what a monster do I see now

Coming hetherward with an armed brow?

What is it? Ah, it is a sow!

No by gods body it is but a grestle,

And on the back it hath never a bristle.

It is not a cow, ah, there I fail,

For then it should have a long tail.

What the devil, I was blind, it is but a snail

I was never so afraid in east nor in south,

My heart at the first sight was at my mouth!

Mary sir, fie, fie, fie! I do sweat for fear:

I thought I had craked but too timely here

Hence thou beest and pluck in thy horns,

Or I swear by him that crowned was with thorns

I will make thee drink worse than good ale in it corns!

Haste thou! Nothing else to do

But come with horns and face me so!

How, how my servants, get you shield and spear

And let us weary and kill this monster here!

Here Miles cometh in.

Miles Is not this a worthy knight

that with a snail dareth not fight

Except he have his servants’ aid?

Is this the champion that maketh all men afraid?

I am a poor soldier come of late from Calice,

I trust or I go to debate some of his malice?

I will tarry my time till I do see

Betwixt him and the snail what the end will be.

Thersites Why ye horeson knavish, regard ye not my calling?

Why do ye not come and with you weapons bring?

Why shall this monster so escape killing

No that he shall not and god be willing?

Miles I promise you, this is as worthy a knight

as ever shall breed out of a bottle bite!

I think he be Dares of whom Virgil doth write

That would not let entellus alone

But ever provoked and ever called on,

But yet at the last he took a fall

And so within a while, I trow I make thee shall.

Thersites By God’s passion, knaves, if I come I will you fetter!

Regard ye my calling and crying no better!

Why horesons I say, will ye not come

By the mass? The knaves be all from home

They had better have fette me an etrande at Rome!

Miles By my troth, I think that very skant

This lubber dare adventure to fight with an ant.

Thersites Well, seeing my servants come to me will not

I must take heed that this monster me spill not.

I will jeopard with it a joint

And other with my club or my sword’s pointe

I will reach it such wounds

As I would not have for 40 pounds.

Pluck in thy horns thou unhappy beast!

What facest thou me? Wilt not thou be in rest?

Why? Wilt not thou thy horns in hold?

Thinkest thou that I am a cuckold?

God’s arms, the monster cometh toward me still!

Except I fight manfully, it will me surely kill!

Then he must sight against the snail with his club.

Miles O Jupiter Lord! Dost thou not see and hear

How he feareth the snail as it were a bear?

Thersites Well, with my club I have had good luck,

Now with my sword have at thee a pluck,

And he must cast his club away.

I will make thee or I go, for to duck

And thou were as tale a man as friar suck.

I say yet again, thy horns in draw

Or else I will make thee to have wounds raw!

Art not thou afeard

To have thy beard

Pared with my sword?

Here he must fight, then with his sword against the snail, and the snail draweth her horns in.

Ah well, now no more!

Thou mightest have done so before.

I layed at it so sore

That it thought it should have be lore,

And it had not drawn in his horns again,

Surely I would the monster have slain.

But now farewell, I will work thee no more pain,

Now my fume is past

And doth no longer last

That I did to the monster cast.

Now in other countreys both far and near

More deeds of chivalry I will go inquire.

Miles Thou needs not seek any further, for ready I am here.

I will debate anon, I trow, thy bragging cheer.

Thersites Now, where is any more that will me assail?

I will turn him and toss him both top and tail,

If he be stronger than Sampson was

Who with his bare hande killed lions apas.

Miles What needeth this boost? I am here at hand

That with thee will fight! Keep the head and stand

Surely for all thy hye words I will not fear

To assay thee a touch till some blood appear.

I will give thee somewhat for the gift of a new year.

And he beginth to fight with him, but Thersites must run away, and hide him behind his mother’s back, saying:

Thersites O mother mother, I pray thee me hide

Throw something over me and cover me every side!

Mater O my son, what thing eldyth thee?

Thersites Mother, a thousand horsemen do prosecute me!

Mater Mary, son! Then it was time to fly,

I blame thee not then, though afraid thou be

A deadly wound thou mightest there soon catch

One against so many, is no indifferent match.

Thersites No mother, but if they had bent but ten to one

I would not have avoided but set them upon.

But seeing they be so many I ran away,

Hide me mother, hide me, I heartly thee pray

For if they come hither and here me find,

To their horses’ tails they will me bind

And after that fashion hall me and kill me,

And though I were never so bold and stout

To fight against so many, I should stand in doubt.

Miles Thou that dost seek giants to conquer

Come forth if thou dare, and in this place appear!

Fie, for shame dost thou so soon take flight?

Come forth and show somewhat of thy might!

Thersites Hide me, mother, hide me, and never word say!

Miles Thou old trot, seest thou any man come this way

well armed and weaponed and ready to fight?

Mater No, forsooth Master, there came none in my sight.

Miles He did avoid in time, for without doubts

I would have set on his back some clouts.

If I may take him I will make all slouches

To beware by him, that they come not in my clouches.

Then he goeth out, and the mother sayeth:

Mater Come forth my son, your enemy is gone!

Be not afraid for hurt, thou canst have none!

Then he looketh about if he be gone or not, at the last he sayeth:

Thersites Iwis thou didst wisely, whosoeuer thou be,

To tarry no longer to fight with me!

For with my club I would have broken thy skull

If thou were as big as Hercules’ bull!

Why thou cowardly knave, no stronger than a duck,

Darest thou try maistries with me? A pluck

Which fear neither giants nor Jupiter’s firebolt,

Nor Beelzebub the master devil as ragged as a colt

I would. Thou wouldest come hither once again

I thinck thou haddest rather alive to be flain.

Come again and I swear by my mother’s womb

I will pull thee in pieces no more than my thomb,

And thy braines abroad, I will so scatter

That all knaves shall fear, against me to clatter.

Then cometh in Telemachus bringing a letter from his father Ulysses, and Thersites sayeth:

What? Little Telemachus,

What makest thou here among us?

Telemachus Sir, my father Ulysses doth him commend

To you most heartly, and here he hath you send

Of his mind a letter

Which shows you better

Everything. Shall

Then I can make rehersal?

Here he must deliver him the letter.

Thersites Lo, friends ye may see

what great men write to me!

Here he must read the letter.

As entirely as heart can think

Or scrivener can write with yuck,

I send you loving greeting,

Thersites my own sweeting.

I am very sorry

when I cast in memory

The great unkindness

And also the blindness

That hath be in my breast

Against you ever prest.

I have been prompt and diligent

Ever to make you shent,

To appal your good name

And to diminish your fame.

In that I was to blame,

But well all this is gone

And remedy there is none.

But only repentance

Of all my old grievance

with which I did you molest

And gave you sorry rest.

The cause was thereof truly

Nothing but very envy.

Wherefore now gentle esquire

Forgive me I you desire,

And help I you beseech

Telemachus to a leech

That him may wisely charme

From the worms that do him harm

In that ye may do me pleasure

For he is my chief treasure.

I have heard men say

That come by the way

That better charmer is no other

than is your own dear mother.

I praye you of her obtain

To charm away his pain.

Fare ye well, and come to my house

To drink wine and eat a piece of souse,

And we will have minstrelsy,

that shall pipe hankyn boby.

My wife Penelope

Doth greet you well by me

writing at my house on Candelmass day

Midsummer month, the calendars of May.

By me Ulysses being very glad

That the victory of late of the monster ye had.

Ah sirra, ye quod he? how say you friends all

Ulysses is glad for my favour to call

well, though we often have swerved

And he small love deserved

Yet I am well content

Seeing he doth repent

To let old matters go

And to take him no more so

As I have do hither to

For my mortal foe.

Come, go with me Telemachus, I will the bring

Unto my mother to have her charming.

I doubt not, but by that time that she hath done

Thou shalt be the better seven years agone.

Then Thersites goeth to his mother, saying:

Mother, Christ thee save and see:

Ulysses hath send his son to thee

That thou shouldest him charm

From the worms that him harm.

Mater Son, ye be wife keep ye warm

why should I for Ulysses do

That never was kind us to?

He was ready in war

Ever thee, son, to mar,

Then had been all my joy

Exiled cleave away.

Thersites Well, mother, all that is past

Wroth may not always last.

And seeinge we be mortall all

Let not our wroth be immortal.

Mater Charm that charm will, he shall not be charmed of me.

Thersites Charm or by the mass with my club I will charm thee.

Mater Why, son, art thou so wicked to beat thy mother?

Thersites Ye that I will, by God’s dear brother!

Charm, old witch, in the devil’s name,

Or I will send thee to him, to be his dame.

Mater Alas, what a son have I

That thus doth order me spitefully!

Cursed be the time that ever I him fed,

I would in my belly he had be dead.

Thersites Cursest thou, old whore? Bless me again

Or I will bless thee, that shall be to thy pain.

Then he must take her by the arms, and she crieth out as followeth:

Mater He will kill me,

He will spill me,

He will bruise me,

He will lose me,

He will prick me,

He will stick me!

Thersites The devil stick the old withered witch,

For I will stick neither thee nor none such.

But come off, give me thy blessing again.

I say let me have it, or else certain

With my club I will lay thee on the brain.

Mater Well, seeinge thou threatenest to me affliction

Spite of my heart have now my benediction.

Now Christ’s sweet blessing and mine

Light above and beneath the body of thine

And I beseech with all my devotion

That thou mayst come to a man’s promotion.

He that forgive Mary Magdalene her sin

Make thee highest of all thy kin.

Thersites In this words is double intellimente?

Wouldest thou have me hanged mother veramente?

Mater No son, no, but too have you hye

In promotion, is my mind verily.

Thersites Well then, mother, let all this go,

and charm this child that you is sent to,

and look hereafter to curse. Ye be not greedy,

Curse me no more, I am cursed enough already.

Mater Well son, I will curse you no more

Except ye provoke me to too soar.

But I merveil why ye do me move

To do for Ulisses that doth not us love.

Thersites Mother, by his son he hath sent me a letter

Promising hereafter to be to us better,

And you and I with my great club

Must walk to him and eat a syllabub,

And we shall make merry

And sing tyrle on the berry

With Simkyn sydnam somner

that killed a cat at comner.

There the trifling taborer troubler of tunes

Will pike Peter piebaker a penniworth of prunes.

Nychol never good a net and a nightcap

Knit will for Kit whose knee caught a knap.

David doughty dighter of datys

Grin with Godfrey Goodale will greatly at the gates.

Thom Tombler of Tewxbury turning at a trice

will wipe William Waterman if he be not wise.

Simon Sadler of Sudley that served the sow

Hit will Henry Heartless he heard not yet how.

Jinkin Jaton that jabbed jolly Jone

Grind will Gromelled until he groan.

Proud Perts Picketthank, that picked Pernel’s purse

Cut will the cakes though Cate do cry and curse.

Rough Robin Rover ruffling in right rate

bald Bernarde Brainles will beat and Benet bate.

Foolish Frederick Furburer of a fart

Dinge Daniel Dainty to death will with a dart.

Mercolf Mouylts morning for mad Mary

Tyncke will the tables though he there not tarry.

Andrew all knave alderman of Antwerp

Hop will with holy hocks and harken Humphrey’s harp.

It is too to mother the pastime and good cheer

That we shall see and have, when that we come there.

Wherefore, gentle mother, I thee heartly pray

That thou wilt charm for worms this pretty boy.

Mater Well son, seeing the case and matter standeth so,

I am content all thy request to do.

Come hither, pretty child:

I will the charm from the worms wild,

but first do thou me thy name tell.

Telemachus I am called Telemachus there as I dwell.

Mater Telemachus, lie down upright on the ground,

And stir not ones for a thousand pound.

Telemachus I am ready here prest

To do all your request.

Then he must lay him down with his belly upward and she must bless him from above to beneath, saying:

Mater The cowherd of Comertown with his crooked spade

Cause from thee the worms soon to vade,

And jolly Jack jumbler that juggleth with a horn

Grant that thy worms soon be all teo torn.

Good grandsire Abraham, godmother to Eve,

Grant that this worms no longer this childe grieve.

All the court of conscience in cuckold’s ires

Tinkers and tabberets tipplers taverners

Tyttyfylles, trayfullers, turners and trumpers

Tempters, traitors, travailers and thumpers

Thriftless, thevish, thick and thereto thin

the malady of this worms cause for to blin.

The vertue of the tail of Isaac’s cow

That before Adam in Paradise did low

Also the joyst of Mose’s rod

In the mount of Calvary that spake with God

Facie ad faciem, turning tail to tail,

Cause all these worms quickly to fail.

The bottom of the ship of Noe

And also the leg of ye, horse of Troy,

The piece of the tong of Balaam’s ass,

The chawbone of the Oxe that at Christe’s birth was

The eye to thee of the dog that went on pilgrimage

With young Thoby, these worms soon may swage.

The butterfly of Bromemycham that was born blind,

The blast of the bottle that blowed Aelous’ wind,

The buttock of the bitter bought at Buckingham,

The body of the bear that with Bevis came,

The backster of Balockbury with her baking peal,

Child, from thy wormes I pray, maye soon thee heal.

The tapper of tauyestocke and the tapster’s pot

The tooth of the tytmus, the torde of the gote

In the tower of tennis balls tostyd by the fyer,

The table of Tantalus turned trim in mire,

That tomb of Tom threadbare that thrusle tib through its smock

Make all thy worms child, to come forth at thy dock

Sem Cam and Iaphat and call the millars mare

The five stones of David: that made Goliath stare

The wing with which saint Michael did fly to his mount

The counters wherewith cherubin, did cheristones count

The hawk with which Issuerus kylde she wild bore

Help that these worms my child, hurt thee no more

The maw of the moorcock that made maud to move

When Martinmas at moreton morened for the snow

The spere of Spanish spylbery sprente with spiteful spots

The lights of the lavrock laid at London lots

The shinbone of saint Samuel shining so as the sun.

Grandchild of the worms that soon thy pains be done.

Mother bryce of Oxford and great Gyb of hynxey

Also mawde of thrutton and mable of chartesey

And all other witches that walk in dymminges dale

Clittering and clattering there your pots with ale

Incline youre ears, and hear this my petition

and grant this child of health to have fruition

the blessing that Jordan to his Godson gave.

Light on my child and from the worms him save.

Now stand up, little Telemachus anone

I warrant thee by tomorrow thy wormes will be gone.

Telemachus I thank you, mother, in my most heartlywise.

Will you sir to my father command me any service?

Thersites No pretty boy, but do thou us two commend

To thy father and mother, tell them that we intend

Both my mother and I

To see them shortly.

Telemachus Ye shall be heartly welcome to them, I dare well say.

Fare you well, by your leave, now I will depart away.

Thersites Son, give me thy hand, fare well.

Mater I pray God, keep thee from peril.

Telemachus goeth out, and the mother sayeth.

Iwis it is a proper child

and in behaviour nothing wild.

You may see what is good education.

I would every man after this fashion

Had their children up brought:

then many of them would not have been so noughty.

A child is better unborn than untaught.

Thersites You say truth mother. Well, let all this go

and make you ready Ulisses to go to

with me anone, be you so content.

Mater I am well pleased. To your will I assent

For although that I love him but very evil

It is good to set a candle before the devil.

Of most part of great men I swear by this fire

Light is thee thank but heavy is the ire.

Fare well son, I will go me to prepare.

Thersites Mother God be with you and keep you from care.

The mother goeth out, and Thersites sayeth forth:

Whatsoever I say, sirs, I think you all might she care,

I care not if the old witch were dead.

It were an almoys deed to knock her in the head

And say on the worms that she did die.

For there be many that my lands would buy,

By God’s blessed brother,

If I were not seek of the mother.

This tootheles trot keep thee me hard

And suffereth no money in my ward

But by the blessed Trinity.

If she will no sooner dead be

I will with a cushion stop her breath

Till she has forgotten new marketh heth

You all might I fare

If that I care

Nyr to spare

About the house she hoppeth

And her nose often droppeth

When the worts she choppeth

When that she doth brew.

I may say to you

I am ready to spew

The drops to see down run

By all Christian man

From her nose to her knen.

Fie God’s body, it maketh me to spit

To remember how that she doth sit

By the fire bralling,

Scratching and scralling

And in every place

Lying oysters apace

She doth but lack shells

the devil have they white, else

At night when to bed she goes

and plucketh off her hose

She knappeth me in the nose

with tip, tap

Flip, flap

that an ill hap

Come to that tap

that venteth so

Wheresoever she goes.

So much she daily drinketh

That her breath at both ends stinketh

That a horsecomb and a halter

Her soon up talter

till I say David’s psalter,

That shall be at Nevermas,

Which never shall be nor never was.

By this ten bones

She served me once

A touch for the nones.

I was sick and lay in my bed

She brought me a kerchief to wrap on my head

And I pray God that I be dead

If that I lie any whit.

When she was about the kerchief to knit,

Break did one of the form’s feet

That she did stand on,

And down fell she anone,

And forth withall

As she did fall

She girded out a fart

That me made to start.

I think her buttocks did smart

Except it bad be a mare in a cart.

I have not heard such a blast,

I cried and bid her hold fast

With that she nothing aghast

Said to me it no woman in this land

Could hold fast that which was not in her hand.

Now sirs, in that hole pitch and fire brand

Of that bag so fusty,

So stale and so musty,

So cankered and so rusty,

So stinking and so dusty,

God send her as much joy,

As my nose hath always

Of her unsavery spice

If that I be not wise

and stop my nose quickly

When she letteth go merely.

But let all this go, I had almost forget

The knave that here yerewhiles did jet

Before that Telemachus did come in.

I will go seek him, I will not blinnen

Until that I have him.

Then so God save him.

I will so be knave him

That I will make to rave him.

With this sword I will shave him

And stripes when I have gave him

Better I will deprave him

That you shall know for a slave him.

Then Miles cometh in saying:

Miles Wilt thou so indeed?

Hye the make good speed

I am at hand here prest

Put away tongue shaking

and this foolish cracking.

Let us try for the best

Cowards make speak a pace

Stripes proveth man

Have now at thy face

Keep of if thou can.

And then he must strike at him, and Thersytes must run away and leave his club and sword behind.

Why thou lubber runnest thou away

and leavest thy sword and thy club thee behind?

Now this is a sure card, now I may well say

That a coward cracking here I did find!

Masters, you may see by this play in sight

That great barking dogs do not most bite

And oft it is seen that the best men in the host

Be not such, that use to brag most.

If you will avoid the danger of confusion

Print my words in heart and mark this conclusion:

Such gifts of God that you excel in most,

Use them with soberness and yourself never bow,

Seek the laud of God in all that you do:

So shall vertue and honour come you too.

But if you give your minds to the sin of pride,

Vanish shall your virtue, your honour away will slide,

For pride is hated of God above

And meekness soonest obtaineth his love.

To your rulers and parents be you obedient,

Never transgressing their laweful commandement.

Be you merry and joyful at board and at bed,

Imagine no traitory against your prince and head,

Love God and fear him and after him your king,

Which is as victorious as any is living.

Pray for his grace, with heart that doth not fain

That long he may rule us without grief or pain.

Beseech you also that God may save his queen,

Lovely Lady Jane, and the prince that he hath send them between

To augment their joy and the commons’ felicity.

Fare you well sweet audience, God grant you all prosperity.

Amen.

Imprinted at London,

by John Tysdale and are to be sold at his shop in the upper end of Lombard Street, in Alhallowes churchyard near unto grace church.