PROLOGUE

In the days that Duke Arent of Guelders was done in prison at Grave by his son Duke Adolf and his knavish fellows there dwelt three mile from Nimmegen a devout priest hight Sir Gysbrecht, and with him dwelt a fair young maid hight Mary, his sister’s daughter, whose mother was dead. And this aforesaid maid kept her uncle’s house serving him in all needful with honesty and diligence.

¶ How Sir Gysbrecht hath sent his niece Mary to Nimmegen.

It chanced that this Sir Gysbrecht would send his niece Mary to Nimmegen there to buy what so they needed, saying to her thus:

Mary!MARYWhat would ye, my good eme?UNCLEHark, child, give heed as doth beseem.Get ye to Nimmegen with all speedTo fetch straight our provisions; we have needOf candles, of oil in the lamp to set;Salt, vinegar, and onions eke must ye get,And store of sulphur matches, as ye say truly.Here be eight stivers, go hen and buyIn Nimmegen what so we lack, as ye well may.It is by good hap the week’s market day,So shall ye the better find what ye desire.MARYGood eme, to do even as ye requireYe know me ready; I will go my gait.UNCLEThis even to win home again if it be too late,For the days be now full short the while,And ’tis hither to Nimmegen two great mile,And now ten o’ the clock, or well more,Heark, child, and if ye may not give o’erEre by broad day, as it seemeth you,Ye may win home as ye would fain do,Bide there the night, I would be the more at ease,And go sleep at thine aunt’s, my sister, if it please;She will not deny you for a night but one.I had liefer that, than ye should over stile and stoneCome homewards darkling and alone all wholly;For the road is of stout knaves none too free.And ye be a maid, but young and fair thereto,And like to be accosted.MARYEme, as it pleaseth you,I will nought other do than as ye tell.UNCLEGreet me your aunt, my sister, and farewell.Buy what we lack by weight and measure true.MARYI will, good eme; adieu.UNCLEDear niece, adieu.God’s grace be ever thy company.—Lord God, why doth my heart so heavy lie?Is it that the land so sorely is distraught?Or that my niece may in some snare be caught?Stay, whence this heaviness? ’Tis strange to think upon.Scarce had the maiden from me goneIt came o’er my spirits, how I cannot tell.I fear with her or me ’twill not go well.Would I had kept her with me at home.’Tis madness at their will to let roamYoung maids or women through the countryside.The knavery of this world is deep and wide.

Mary!

MARYWhat would ye, my good eme?

MARY

What would ye, my good eme?

UNCLEHark, child, give heed as doth beseem.Get ye to Nimmegen with all speedTo fetch straight our provisions; we have needOf candles, of oil in the lamp to set;Salt, vinegar, and onions eke must ye get,And store of sulphur matches, as ye say truly.Here be eight stivers, go hen and buyIn Nimmegen what so we lack, as ye well may.It is by good hap the week’s market day,So shall ye the better find what ye desire.

UNCLE

Hark, child, give heed as doth beseem.

Get ye to Nimmegen with all speed

To fetch straight our provisions; we have need

Of candles, of oil in the lamp to set;

Salt, vinegar, and onions eke must ye get,

And store of sulphur matches, as ye say truly.

Here be eight stivers, go hen and buy

In Nimmegen what so we lack, as ye well may.

It is by good hap the week’s market day,

So shall ye the better find what ye desire.

MARYGood eme, to do even as ye requireYe know me ready; I will go my gait.

MARY

Good eme, to do even as ye require

Ye know me ready; I will go my gait.

UNCLEThis even to win home again if it be too late,For the days be now full short the while,And ’tis hither to Nimmegen two great mile,And now ten o’ the clock, or well more,Heark, child, and if ye may not give o’erEre by broad day, as it seemeth you,Ye may win home as ye would fain do,Bide there the night, I would be the more at ease,And go sleep at thine aunt’s, my sister, if it please;She will not deny you for a night but one.I had liefer that, than ye should over stile and stoneCome homewards darkling and alone all wholly;For the road is of stout knaves none too free.And ye be a maid, but young and fair thereto,And like to be accosted.

UNCLE

This even to win home again if it be too late,

For the days be now full short the while,

And ’tis hither to Nimmegen two great mile,

And now ten o’ the clock, or well more,

Heark, child, and if ye may not give o’er

Ere by broad day, as it seemeth you,

Ye may win home as ye would fain do,

Bide there the night, I would be the more at ease,

And go sleep at thine aunt’s, my sister, if it please;

She will not deny you for a night but one.

I had liefer that, than ye should over stile and stone

Come homewards darkling and alone all wholly;

For the road is of stout knaves none too free.

And ye be a maid, but young and fair thereto,

And like to be accosted.

MARYEme, as it pleaseth you,I will nought other do than as ye tell.

MARY

Eme, as it pleaseth you,

I will nought other do than as ye tell.

UNCLEGreet me your aunt, my sister, and farewell.Buy what we lack by weight and measure true.

UNCLE

Greet me your aunt, my sister, and farewell.

Buy what we lack by weight and measure true.

MARYI will, good eme; adieu.

MARY

I will, good eme; adieu.

UNCLEDear niece, adieu.God’s grace be ever thy company.—Lord God, why doth my heart so heavy lie?Is it that the land so sorely is distraught?Or that my niece may in some snare be caught?Stay, whence this heaviness? ’Tis strange to think upon.Scarce had the maiden from me goneIt came o’er my spirits, how I cannot tell.I fear with her or me ’twill not go well.Would I had kept her with me at home.’Tis madness at their will to let roamYoung maids or women through the countryside.The knavery of this world is deep and wide.

UNCLE

Dear niece, adieu.

God’s grace be ever thy company.—

Lord God, why doth my heart so heavy lie?

Is it that the land so sorely is distraught?

Or that my niece may in some snare be caught?

Stay, whence this heaviness? ’Tis strange to think upon.

Scarce had the maiden from me gone

It came o’er my spirits, how I cannot tell.

I fear with her or me ’twill not go well.

Would I had kept her with me at home.

’Tis madness at their will to let roam

Young maids or women through the countryside.

The knavery of this world is deep and wide.

¶ How Mary was shamefully bespoken of her aunt.

Thus is Mary departed from her uncle and come unto Nimmegen, where she did buy all that was needful for her or her uncle. And on the selfsame day that she was come to Nimmegen her aunt had fallen out with four or five of her gossips concerning the Duke Adolf who had done into prison the oldDuke his father. So that she was the rather mad or a raging she-devil than a Christian wight; for she held of the side of the young Duke, and after did destroy herself whenas she learned that the old Duke was made quit of prison by the hand of the chastelain of Grave, as ye will hereafter learn. Mary, seeing that it grew to evening when she had done all those things for the which she had come to Nimmegen, said unto herself thus:

Now have I all such as we wanted,By weight and measure no whit scanted,Bought and duly therefor paid.But meseems I have here so long delayedThat yonder is the night risen well nigh.There is a dial, whereon I may espieThe hour of the day. ’Tis already betwixt four and five.Here I must get me a lodging, as I would thrive.There remains yet an hour more of day,And in three hours I scarcely mayWin home to mine eme’s. Nay, to stay here were best.Mine aunt dwelleth hard by, as I have guessed.I will go pray her that she make me a bed,An on the morrow, so soon as I be awak’ned,I will haste me home to my task once more.I see mine aunt standing before her door.In seemly wise I will her greet.—Aunt, may Christ make all your sorrow sweet,And all them you love keep both fair and well.AUNTFy, welcome, devil, how do ye in hell?Well, mistress, what would ye hereabout?MARYMine eme sent me at noon, without a doubt,For candles, mustard, vinegar and verjuiceAnd for such other as at home we have use;And ere I could run from one thing to another in hieAnd search out each and all and then buy,It is grown so late; and little may it misease youThat as for tonight ye make me a bed, an it please you.I would e’en now get me home, but in the nightThere be those who lie in wait for maids to do them despite,Ay, and dishonor, so that they have shame of it;And for that I am afraid.AUNTOut upon it, chit!God a mercy! Make ye so much pother about a maidenhead?Fy, dear niece, ye ken well how ye were bredThis long time, though ye pretend to such dismay.Nor with your household matters since noondayYe have not been busy, as to my thinking.MARYIn good sooth, aunt, I have.AUNTYea, or sitting a-drinkingIn some snug corner with “fill the can, fill.”Fy, niece, in the country Dickon or WillKnow well how to go with the lasses amids the rye,And when at even their sports they ply,Hath not Gill won a pretty forfeit from Jack?Fy, niece, ere now ye have got a green gown to your back.At home, I doubt not, many brisk lads there be.MARYWhy say ye so, aunt?AUNTAy, mistress hypocrisy!Though the truth on’t cannot be told, I’ll be bound,Ye have tripped it lightly many a roundWhere the piper got not five groats for his noise.Let ’em go to it never so with the boys,’Tis all virgin, ay, till girdles be let out.MARYThat I should be so shent and shamed, withoutAll guilt, is more than heart can bear.AUNTAnd I have spoke with them too who would swearThey saw you and your own eme in such guiseThat it cannot be told of in no seemly wise.All our kin ye bring to scandal and shame.Tush, vile progeny, ye be too much to blame,Out of my sight! Ye do mine eyes no good!MARYLord God, what woe is mine in mood!How doth the blood forsake my body utterly.So vile reproach, such words of ignomy,To hear and suffer, all unmerited!Now, aunt, tell me if ye will make me a bedFor this one night?AUNTYe were me liefer lie,As deep as this roof-tree is high,In the Meuse as bait for all its fish.Be gone, ere you repent your wish.I tremble like a leaf for teen.MARYYe do me wrong, aunt.AUNTStay, this cursed queanWith vexing me will not be done or quit.Would ye have those fine braids tousled a bit?—Yea, she rouses the maggot in my head.I could bring the devil himself to bedAnd bind him to the pillow like a doting wight.I be grown so awry with spite,I know not if I stand on head or feet.To them withall that I today meetI shall make answer, wherefor wrathful I am,Even the same answer as the devil giveth his dam.MARYAh, wretch! now be ye fallen on sorry days.I stand here as one in a maze,And of myself I know not the what or the how;Meseems, I should have run frantic from the town erenow,Mindful nor of knaves nor of thieves.Under the trees I will make me a bed of leaves.I reck not whom I meet, be it fremd or kin,Though the devil came in his own proper skin.To ask no questions thinketh me best.Under this hedge I will sit me down to rest,Yielding myself, for ill or well,To god or all the fiends of hell.

Now have I all such as we wanted,

By weight and measure no whit scanted,

Bought and duly therefor paid.

But meseems I have here so long delayed

That yonder is the night risen well nigh.

There is a dial, whereon I may espie

The hour of the day. ’Tis already betwixt four and five.

Here I must get me a lodging, as I would thrive.

There remains yet an hour more of day,

And in three hours I scarcely may

Win home to mine eme’s. Nay, to stay here were best.

Mine aunt dwelleth hard by, as I have guessed.

I will go pray her that she make me a bed,

An on the morrow, so soon as I be awak’ned,

I will haste me home to my task once more.

I see mine aunt standing before her door.

In seemly wise I will her greet.—

Aunt, may Christ make all your sorrow sweet,

And all them you love keep both fair and well.

AUNTFy, welcome, devil, how do ye in hell?Well, mistress, what would ye hereabout?

AUNT

Fy, welcome, devil, how do ye in hell?

Well, mistress, what would ye hereabout?

MARYMine eme sent me at noon, without a doubt,For candles, mustard, vinegar and verjuiceAnd for such other as at home we have use;And ere I could run from one thing to another in hieAnd search out each and all and then buy,It is grown so late; and little may it misease youThat as for tonight ye make me a bed, an it please you.I would e’en now get me home, but in the nightThere be those who lie in wait for maids to do them despite,Ay, and dishonor, so that they have shame of it;And for that I am afraid.

MARY

Mine eme sent me at noon, without a doubt,

For candles, mustard, vinegar and verjuice

And for such other as at home we have use;

And ere I could run from one thing to another in hie

And search out each and all and then buy,

It is grown so late; and little may it misease you

That as for tonight ye make me a bed, an it please you.

I would e’en now get me home, but in the night

There be those who lie in wait for maids to do them despite,

Ay, and dishonor, so that they have shame of it;

And for that I am afraid.

AUNTOut upon it, chit!God a mercy! Make ye so much pother about a maidenhead?Fy, dear niece, ye ken well how ye were bredThis long time, though ye pretend to such dismay.Nor with your household matters since noondayYe have not been busy, as to my thinking.

AUNT

Out upon it, chit!

God a mercy! Make ye so much pother about a maidenhead?

Fy, dear niece, ye ken well how ye were bred

This long time, though ye pretend to such dismay.

Nor with your household matters since noonday

Ye have not been busy, as to my thinking.

MARYIn good sooth, aunt, I have.

MARY

In good sooth, aunt, I have.

AUNTYea, or sitting a-drinkingIn some snug corner with “fill the can, fill.”Fy, niece, in the country Dickon or WillKnow well how to go with the lasses amids the rye,And when at even their sports they ply,Hath not Gill won a pretty forfeit from Jack?Fy, niece, ere now ye have got a green gown to your back.At home, I doubt not, many brisk lads there be.

AUNT

Yea, or sitting a-drinking

In some snug corner with “fill the can, fill.”

Fy, niece, in the country Dickon or Will

Know well how to go with the lasses amids the rye,

And when at even their sports they ply,

Hath not Gill won a pretty forfeit from Jack?

Fy, niece, ere now ye have got a green gown to your back.

At home, I doubt not, many brisk lads there be.

MARYWhy say ye so, aunt?

MARY

Why say ye so, aunt?

AUNTAy, mistress hypocrisy!Though the truth on’t cannot be told, I’ll be bound,Ye have tripped it lightly many a roundWhere the piper got not five groats for his noise.Let ’em go to it never so with the boys,’Tis all virgin, ay, till girdles be let out.

AUNT

Ay, mistress hypocrisy!

Though the truth on’t cannot be told, I’ll be bound,

Ye have tripped it lightly many a round

Where the piper got not five groats for his noise.

Let ’em go to it never so with the boys,

’Tis all virgin, ay, till girdles be let out.

MARYThat I should be so shent and shamed, withoutAll guilt, is more than heart can bear.

MARY

That I should be so shent and shamed, without

All guilt, is more than heart can bear.

AUNTAnd I have spoke with them too who would swearThey saw you and your own eme in such guiseThat it cannot be told of in no seemly wise.All our kin ye bring to scandal and shame.Tush, vile progeny, ye be too much to blame,Out of my sight! Ye do mine eyes no good!

AUNT

And I have spoke with them too who would swear

They saw you and your own eme in such guise

That it cannot be told of in no seemly wise.

All our kin ye bring to scandal and shame.

Tush, vile progeny, ye be too much to blame,

Out of my sight! Ye do mine eyes no good!

MARYLord God, what woe is mine in mood!How doth the blood forsake my body utterly.So vile reproach, such words of ignomy,To hear and suffer, all unmerited!Now, aunt, tell me if ye will make me a bedFor this one night?

MARY

Lord God, what woe is mine in mood!

How doth the blood forsake my body utterly.

So vile reproach, such words of ignomy,

To hear and suffer, all unmerited!

Now, aunt, tell me if ye will make me a bed

For this one night?

AUNTYe were me liefer lie,As deep as this roof-tree is high,In the Meuse as bait for all its fish.Be gone, ere you repent your wish.I tremble like a leaf for teen.

AUNT

Ye were me liefer lie,

As deep as this roof-tree is high,

In the Meuse as bait for all its fish.

Be gone, ere you repent your wish.

I tremble like a leaf for teen.

MARYYe do me wrong, aunt.

MARY

Ye do me wrong, aunt.

AUNTStay, this cursed queanWith vexing me will not be done or quit.Would ye have those fine braids tousled a bit?—Yea, she rouses the maggot in my head.I could bring the devil himself to bedAnd bind him to the pillow like a doting wight.I be grown so awry with spite,I know not if I stand on head or feet.To them withall that I today meetI shall make answer, wherefor wrathful I am,Even the same answer as the devil giveth his dam.

AUNT

Stay, this cursed quean

With vexing me will not be done or quit.

Would ye have those fine braids tousled a bit?—

Yea, she rouses the maggot in my head.

I could bring the devil himself to bed

And bind him to the pillow like a doting wight.

I be grown so awry with spite,

I know not if I stand on head or feet.

To them withall that I today meet

I shall make answer, wherefor wrathful I am,

Even the same answer as the devil giveth his dam.

MARYAh, wretch! now be ye fallen on sorry days.I stand here as one in a maze,And of myself I know not the what or the how;Meseems, I should have run frantic from the town erenow,Mindful nor of knaves nor of thieves.Under the trees I will make me a bed of leaves.I reck not whom I meet, be it fremd or kin,Though the devil came in his own proper skin.To ask no questions thinketh me best.Under this hedge I will sit me down to rest,Yielding myself, for ill or well,To god or all the fiends of hell.

MARY

Ah, wretch! now be ye fallen on sorry days.

I stand here as one in a maze,

And of myself I know not the what or the how;

Meseems, I should have run frantic from the town erenow,

Mindful nor of knaves nor of thieves.

Under the trees I will make me a bed of leaves.

I reck not whom I meet, be it fremd or kin,

Though the devil came in his own proper skin.

To ask no questions thinketh me best.

Under this hedge I will sit me down to rest,

Yielding myself, for ill or well,

To god or all the fiends of hell.

¶ How Mary took leave of her aunt and departed out of Nimmegen.

Thus is the young maiden, Mary, departed from her aunt and piteously weeping in sore distress hath betaken her out of the town Nimmegen in the dark of evening, until she is come to a great thick hedge,beneath the which she sat her down in sorrowful mood, weeping and wailing, and oft commending herself to the devil, and to herself sorrowfully saying:

Weeping and wailing and mine hands wringing,Calling myself maledight,Be all my solace and none other thing,By cause mine aunt hath done me despite.Is it wrong that I should be in spiteThat causeless she blamëd me at erst?Nay! Such anger doth on me alightAnd waxeth in my heart aright,That I sit here in wrathful plightAnd ever hold myself accurst.Help, what temptations on me throng!Shall I yet do some violence?Ah, youth, canst thou bear up so long?Can reason offer no defence?How should I stomach such offenceAll guiltless? Whosoe’er he be,None living hath patience.Wanhope doth drive me from my sense.Help me lament mine innocence,God or the Devil, ’tis all one to me.

Weeping and wailing and mine hands wringing,

Calling myself maledight,

Be all my solace and none other thing,

By cause mine aunt hath done me despite.

Is it wrong that I should be in spite

That causeless she blamëd me at erst?

Nay! Such anger doth on me alight

And waxeth in my heart aright,

That I sit here in wrathful plight

And ever hold myself accurst.

Help, what temptations on me throng!Shall I yet do some violence?Ah, youth, canst thou bear up so long?Can reason offer no defence?How should I stomach such offenceAll guiltless? Whosoe’er he be,None living hath patience.Wanhope doth drive me from my sense.Help me lament mine innocence,God or the Devil, ’tis all one to me.

Help, what temptations on me throng!

Shall I yet do some violence?

Ah, youth, canst thou bear up so long?

Can reason offer no defence?

How should I stomach such offence

All guiltless? Whosoe’er he be,

None living hath patience.

Wanhope doth drive me from my sense.

Help me lament mine innocence,

God or the Devil, ’tis all one to me.

¶ The Devil, who always spreadeth his nets and snares wherein to catch souls ripe unto damnation, on hearing these words said with himself as follows:

Ah! I’m the richer by one more soul!Ye see me disguised and, on the whole,Quite the sort of gentleman God approves,And, except for my one eye, just as behoves;The other perchance was cast out by a spell.It’s not in our power, we devils of hell,To incarnate ourselves, as ye are aware,Without some little defect here or there,Be it in the head or the hands or the feet.Now as I may I will make my voice sweet,And speak with such modest and winsome cheerAs to do none offense to my sweet lemman here.With the women ’tis doucely at first that gets on.Fair child, why sit ye here sorrow-begone?Hath some one misdone you, sans reason or right,As a good honest fellow would gladly requite?The picture of innocence, child, ye resemble,Wherefore I would comfort you.MARYHelp, God, how I tremble!How stands it with me? I know not arightSince first this good man came on my sight.Help, how all faintly throbbeth my heart!THE DEVILFair child, fear ye no grief nor smart.I will do you neither harm nor let,But I make avouch if your course ye will setBy my avise, and go with me by all means,I will make you ere long a queen among queens....MARY... Friend,I sit now all at my wits’ end,This my machine so wrought to hurtBy shameful words, the which without desertI needs must bear: slut, harlot, whore,That to the Fiend I’d liefly give me o’erAs to God, for I be half from my wit.THE DEVILBy Lucifer, ’tis purchase, all of it!She hath drunk up her wrath at oneAnd sits in wanhope like a stone.Hope bids me shed no tears today:I shall not fail.—Fair child, I prayThat we in friendship may agree.MARYWho are ye, friend?THE DEVILA master of much subtlety,Who never comes short in aught he essays.MARYIt skills not with whom I go my ways,As well with the worst as with the best.THE DEVILIf to mewards your love were dress’dI would teach you in all their partsMusic, rhetoric, all the seven arts,Logic, grammar, geometry,Arithmetic and alchemy,All the which be worthy of heed;No woman on earth in learning shall speedAs ye shall do.MARYYe should have potent gramerye.Who may ye be?THE DEVILWhy, what care ye?To ask me that ’twere wiser not.In truth, I am not the best of my lot.But none could love you as well as I.MARYHow hight ye, friend?THE DEVILMoonen with the single eye,Whom all good fellows know right well.MARYYe be the devil out of hell!THE DEVILAt least your humble servant and true friend.MARYStrange, but ye do not me offend.Though Lucifer self were come from hell,I stand in case to greet him well.I be wholly quit of fear.THE DEVILSo this is the short and long, my dear:If you will do after my rate,All that your fancy may dictateI’ll teach you, as at erst I told.Of goods, of jewels, or of goldYe shall never more have need.MARY’Tis well said; but by your rede,Ere we be given each to each,The seven arts ye shall me teach,For in such learning I would speed.Ye will me teach them?THE DEVILFaith, in deed.All seemly lore I will impart.MARYNigromancy is a merry art.Mine eme therein hath a pretty wit.He hath a book and wonders works with it,Nor never fails, he is so sly.He can through the needle’s eyeSend the devil a-creeping willy-nilly.That trick I fain would learn.THE DEVILAh, silly,My knowledge is wholly at your device.But I never studied, to be precise,Nigromancy in all its parts.It is quite the hardest of all the arts,And for a novice perilous as well.Suppose there’s wanting in your spellA word or letter wherewithalYe would make the spirit that ye callYour wishes duly to obey,The fiend would break your neck straightway.My dear, be sure there’s mischief in it.MARYWell, in that case I’ll not begin it.I would not meet death in such a kind.THE DEVILHa, ha! I’ve put that out of her mind,What would she be wanting to learn such a thing?An she did, it would not be long ere she’d bringOn all us poor spirits the worst of our fears,At her own sweet will set all hell by the ears,And force even me in some dreadful tight squeak.I teach her nigromancy? Not this week!It is something at all costs she must not consider of.—Now hearken to what I shall teach you, my love.If nigromancy ye will wholly let be.MARYWhat will ye teach me?THE DEVILAh, let us see.I will make you master of every tongue,So that far and wide your fame shall be rung.In the knowledge of tongues much virtue abides,And the seven liberal arts there besides.Ye shall be exalted of all and each.MARYMy sorrow wanes at your fair speech.Do that, and wholly at your willI hold me.THE DEVILOne little matter still;But grant my prayer, and well will you betide.MARYWhat is your prayer?THE DEVILTo lay your name aside.And give yourself another therefor.Mary’s a name I never learned to care for.Along of one Mary I and my fellows into such mischief fellThat ’tis a name we like but indifferent well.Were ye called Lisbeth or Lina or Gretchen, my dear,It would get you more, I’ll be sworn, in a yearThan ever ye had of kin or kith.MARYAlas, wherefore do ye take ill therewith?’Tis ever the sweetest and noblest nameThat the tongue of man can fashion or frame.Why should ye thereagainst make war?I may not change, for worlds and more,A name which nought could make more sweet.THE DEVILTut, tut! It’s all about one’s feetAgain, but if she will thereto consent!—Would we, my dear, to our contentGo wandering, ye must change that name,Or here we part. Yet more I claimOf you. A promise is a debt.MARYWhat must it be?THE DEVILNot to forget,Come weal, come woe, I cannot bearTo have you cross yourself.MARYI grant it well and fair.On crossing I set but little store.But my name I can ill brook to give o’er.For Maria, whence I have it, is my hope and trust,And when in sorrow I am thrustI cry on her to intercede.Daily thus I bid my bedeEven as a child I learned it of yore.Praised be Mary evermore!While I have life I will ne’er have done,Though wild and wanton I may run,With praising her, nor at all forget.THE DEVILWell, since your will be wholly setUpon this name, I will somewhat abate:Of all the letters keep at any rateThe first and drop the other three;That is the M, and Emma shall ye be,As in your countryside be many a maid and dame.MARYWell, since I may not have my proper nameI were indeed to blame, if we parted for a letter;Emma I am, since I may be no better:But still I like it not.THE DEVILNay, come,If ye have not everything beneath your thumbWithin the year, I have nought to say.Haste we to Bolduc without a stayAnd thenceward let us take no restEre to Antwerp we have pressed;There we shall a wonder show.By that, the tongues ye shall wholly knowAt your desire, I pledge me to ’t,And the seven liberal arts, to boot.Bastard and malmsey shall ye drink.But be my friend and ye may not thinkOf the marvels all ye shall do and see.—But at last your soul belongs to me!

Ah! I’m the richer by one more soul!

Ye see me disguised and, on the whole,

Quite the sort of gentleman God approves,

And, except for my one eye, just as behoves;

The other perchance was cast out by a spell.

It’s not in our power, we devils of hell,

To incarnate ourselves, as ye are aware,

Without some little defect here or there,

Be it in the head or the hands or the feet.

Now as I may I will make my voice sweet,

And speak with such modest and winsome cheer

As to do none offense to my sweet lemman here.

With the women ’tis doucely at first that gets on.

Fair child, why sit ye here sorrow-begone?

Hath some one misdone you, sans reason or right,

As a good honest fellow would gladly requite?

The picture of innocence, child, ye resemble,

Wherefore I would comfort you.

MARYHelp, God, how I tremble!How stands it with me? I know not arightSince first this good man came on my sight.Help, how all faintly throbbeth my heart!

MARY

Help, God, how I tremble!

How stands it with me? I know not aright

Since first this good man came on my sight.

Help, how all faintly throbbeth my heart!

THE DEVILFair child, fear ye no grief nor smart.I will do you neither harm nor let,But I make avouch if your course ye will setBy my avise, and go with me by all means,I will make you ere long a queen among queens....

THE DEVIL

Fair child, fear ye no grief nor smart.

I will do you neither harm nor let,

But I make avouch if your course ye will set

By my avise, and go with me by all means,

I will make you ere long a queen among queens.

...

MARY... Friend,I sit now all at my wits’ end,This my machine so wrought to hurtBy shameful words, the which without desertI needs must bear: slut, harlot, whore,That to the Fiend I’d liefly give me o’erAs to God, for I be half from my wit.

MARY

... Friend,

I sit now all at my wits’ end,

This my machine so wrought to hurt

By shameful words, the which without desert

I needs must bear: slut, harlot, whore,

That to the Fiend I’d liefly give me o’er

As to God, for I be half from my wit.

THE DEVILBy Lucifer, ’tis purchase, all of it!She hath drunk up her wrath at oneAnd sits in wanhope like a stone.Hope bids me shed no tears today:I shall not fail.—Fair child, I prayThat we in friendship may agree.

THE DEVIL

By Lucifer, ’tis purchase, all of it!

She hath drunk up her wrath at one

And sits in wanhope like a stone.

Hope bids me shed no tears today:

I shall not fail.—Fair child, I pray

That we in friendship may agree.

MARYWho are ye, friend?

MARY

Who are ye, friend?

THE DEVILA master of much subtlety,Who never comes short in aught he essays.

THE DEVIL

A master of much subtlety,

Who never comes short in aught he essays.

MARYIt skills not with whom I go my ways,As well with the worst as with the best.

MARY

It skills not with whom I go my ways,

As well with the worst as with the best.

THE DEVILIf to mewards your love were dress’dI would teach you in all their partsMusic, rhetoric, all the seven arts,Logic, grammar, geometry,Arithmetic and alchemy,All the which be worthy of heed;No woman on earth in learning shall speedAs ye shall do.

THE DEVIL

If to mewards your love were dress’d

I would teach you in all their parts

Music, rhetoric, all the seven arts,

Logic, grammar, geometry,

Arithmetic and alchemy,

All the which be worthy of heed;

No woman on earth in learning shall speed

As ye shall do.

MARYYe should have potent gramerye.Who may ye be?

MARY

Ye should have potent gramerye.

Who may ye be?

THE DEVILWhy, what care ye?To ask me that ’twere wiser not.In truth, I am not the best of my lot.But none could love you as well as I.

THE DEVIL

Why, what care ye?

To ask me that ’twere wiser not.

In truth, I am not the best of my lot.

But none could love you as well as I.

MARYHow hight ye, friend?

MARY

How hight ye, friend?

THE DEVILMoonen with the single eye,Whom all good fellows know right well.

THE DEVIL

Moonen with the single eye,

Whom all good fellows know right well.

MARYYe be the devil out of hell!

MARY

Ye be the devil out of hell!

THE DEVILAt least your humble servant and true friend.

THE DEVIL

At least your humble servant and true friend.

MARYStrange, but ye do not me offend.Though Lucifer self were come from hell,I stand in case to greet him well.I be wholly quit of fear.

MARY

Strange, but ye do not me offend.

Though Lucifer self were come from hell,

I stand in case to greet him well.

I be wholly quit of fear.

THE DEVILSo this is the short and long, my dear:If you will do after my rate,All that your fancy may dictateI’ll teach you, as at erst I told.Of goods, of jewels, or of goldYe shall never more have need.

THE DEVIL

So this is the short and long, my dear:

If you will do after my rate,

All that your fancy may dictate

I’ll teach you, as at erst I told.

Of goods, of jewels, or of gold

Ye shall never more have need.

MARY’Tis well said; but by your rede,Ere we be given each to each,The seven arts ye shall me teach,For in such learning I would speed.Ye will me teach them?

MARY

’Tis well said; but by your rede,

Ere we be given each to each,

The seven arts ye shall me teach,

For in such learning I would speed.

Ye will me teach them?

THE DEVILFaith, in deed.All seemly lore I will impart.

THE DEVIL

Faith, in deed.

All seemly lore I will impart.

MARYNigromancy is a merry art.Mine eme therein hath a pretty wit.He hath a book and wonders works with it,Nor never fails, he is so sly.He can through the needle’s eyeSend the devil a-creeping willy-nilly.That trick I fain would learn.

MARY

Nigromancy is a merry art.

Mine eme therein hath a pretty wit.

He hath a book and wonders works with it,

Nor never fails, he is so sly.

He can through the needle’s eye

Send the devil a-creeping willy-nilly.

That trick I fain would learn.

THE DEVILAh, silly,My knowledge is wholly at your device.But I never studied, to be precise,Nigromancy in all its parts.It is quite the hardest of all the arts,And for a novice perilous as well.Suppose there’s wanting in your spellA word or letter wherewithalYe would make the spirit that ye callYour wishes duly to obey,The fiend would break your neck straightway.My dear, be sure there’s mischief in it.

THE DEVIL

Ah, silly,

My knowledge is wholly at your device.

But I never studied, to be precise,

Nigromancy in all its parts.

It is quite the hardest of all the arts,

And for a novice perilous as well.

Suppose there’s wanting in your spell

A word or letter wherewithal

Ye would make the spirit that ye call

Your wishes duly to obey,

The fiend would break your neck straightway.

My dear, be sure there’s mischief in it.

MARYWell, in that case I’ll not begin it.I would not meet death in such a kind.

MARY

Well, in that case I’ll not begin it.

I would not meet death in such a kind.

THE DEVILHa, ha! I’ve put that out of her mind,What would she be wanting to learn such a thing?An she did, it would not be long ere she’d bringOn all us poor spirits the worst of our fears,At her own sweet will set all hell by the ears,And force even me in some dreadful tight squeak.I teach her nigromancy? Not this week!It is something at all costs she must not consider of.—Now hearken to what I shall teach you, my love.If nigromancy ye will wholly let be.

THE DEVIL

Ha, ha! I’ve put that out of her mind,

What would she be wanting to learn such a thing?

An she did, it would not be long ere she’d bring

On all us poor spirits the worst of our fears,

At her own sweet will set all hell by the ears,

And force even me in some dreadful tight squeak.

I teach her nigromancy? Not this week!

It is something at all costs she must not consider of.—

Now hearken to what I shall teach you, my love.

If nigromancy ye will wholly let be.

MARYWhat will ye teach me?

MARY

What will ye teach me?

THE DEVILAh, let us see.I will make you master of every tongue,So that far and wide your fame shall be rung.In the knowledge of tongues much virtue abides,And the seven liberal arts there besides.Ye shall be exalted of all and each.

THE DEVIL

Ah, let us see.

I will make you master of every tongue,

So that far and wide your fame shall be rung.

In the knowledge of tongues much virtue abides,

And the seven liberal arts there besides.

Ye shall be exalted of all and each.

MARYMy sorrow wanes at your fair speech.Do that, and wholly at your willI hold me.

MARY

My sorrow wanes at your fair speech.

Do that, and wholly at your will

I hold me.

THE DEVILOne little matter still;But grant my prayer, and well will you betide.

THE DEVIL

One little matter still;

But grant my prayer, and well will you betide.

MARYWhat is your prayer?

MARY

What is your prayer?

THE DEVILTo lay your name aside.And give yourself another therefor.Mary’s a name I never learned to care for.Along of one Mary I and my fellows into such mischief fellThat ’tis a name we like but indifferent well.Were ye called Lisbeth or Lina or Gretchen, my dear,It would get you more, I’ll be sworn, in a yearThan ever ye had of kin or kith.

THE DEVIL

To lay your name aside.

And give yourself another therefor.

Mary’s a name I never learned to care for.

Along of one Mary I and my fellows into such mischief fell

That ’tis a name we like but indifferent well.

Were ye called Lisbeth or Lina or Gretchen, my dear,

It would get you more, I’ll be sworn, in a year

Than ever ye had of kin or kith.

MARYAlas, wherefore do ye take ill therewith?’Tis ever the sweetest and noblest nameThat the tongue of man can fashion or frame.Why should ye thereagainst make war?I may not change, for worlds and more,A name which nought could make more sweet.

MARY

Alas, wherefore do ye take ill therewith?

’Tis ever the sweetest and noblest name

That the tongue of man can fashion or frame.

Why should ye thereagainst make war?

I may not change, for worlds and more,

A name which nought could make more sweet.

THE DEVILTut, tut! It’s all about one’s feetAgain, but if she will thereto consent!—Would we, my dear, to our contentGo wandering, ye must change that name,Or here we part. Yet more I claimOf you. A promise is a debt.

THE DEVIL

Tut, tut! It’s all about one’s feet

Again, but if she will thereto consent!—

Would we, my dear, to our content

Go wandering, ye must change that name,

Or here we part. Yet more I claim

Of you. A promise is a debt.

MARYWhat must it be?

MARY

What must it be?

THE DEVILNot to forget,Come weal, come woe, I cannot bearTo have you cross yourself.

THE DEVIL

Not to forget,

Come weal, come woe, I cannot bear

To have you cross yourself.

MARYI grant it well and fair.On crossing I set but little store.But my name I can ill brook to give o’er.For Maria, whence I have it, is my hope and trust,And when in sorrow I am thrustI cry on her to intercede.Daily thus I bid my bedeEven as a child I learned it of yore.Praised be Mary evermore!While I have life I will ne’er have done,Though wild and wanton I may run,With praising her, nor at all forget.

MARY

I grant it well and fair.

On crossing I set but little store.

But my name I can ill brook to give o’er.

For Maria, whence I have it, is my hope and trust,

And when in sorrow I am thrust

I cry on her to intercede.

Daily thus I bid my bede

Even as a child I learned it of yore.

Praised be Mary evermore!

While I have life I will ne’er have done,

Though wild and wanton I may run,

With praising her, nor at all forget.

THE DEVILWell, since your will be wholly setUpon this name, I will somewhat abate:Of all the letters keep at any rateThe first and drop the other three;That is the M, and Emma shall ye be,As in your countryside be many a maid and dame.

THE DEVIL

Well, since your will be wholly set

Upon this name, I will somewhat abate:

Of all the letters keep at any rate

The first and drop the other three;

That is the M, and Emma shall ye be,

As in your countryside be many a maid and dame.

MARYWell, since I may not have my proper nameI were indeed to blame, if we parted for a letter;Emma I am, since I may be no better:But still I like it not.

MARY

Well, since I may not have my proper name

I were indeed to blame, if we parted for a letter;

Emma I am, since I may be no better:

But still I like it not.

THE DEVILNay, come,If ye have not everything beneath your thumbWithin the year, I have nought to say.Haste we to Bolduc without a stayAnd thenceward let us take no restEre to Antwerp we have pressed;There we shall a wonder show.By that, the tongues ye shall wholly knowAt your desire, I pledge me to ’t,And the seven liberal arts, to boot.Bastard and malmsey shall ye drink.But be my friend and ye may not thinkOf the marvels all ye shall do and see.—But at last your soul belongs to me!

THE DEVIL

Nay, come,

If ye have not everything beneath your thumb

Within the year, I have nought to say.

Haste we to Bolduc without a stay

And thenceward let us take no rest

Ere to Antwerp we have pressed;

There we shall a wonder show.

By that, the tongues ye shall wholly know

At your desire, I pledge me to ’t,

And the seven liberal arts, to boot.

Bastard and malmsey shall ye drink.

But be my friend and ye may not think

Of the marvels all ye shall do and see.—

But at last your soul belongs to me!

After these words Emma and Moonen have taken their way to Bolduc, where for some while theytarried, feasting merrily, and paying the shot of each and all who ate and drank in their company.

Now shall we stint a little of Emma and Moonen and tell of Sir Gysbrecht, her eme.

After that Mary, the which now hight Emma, had been for some while away, Sir Gysbrecht, her eme, much wondered at her tarrying, and said with himself thus:

O anxiety, which clamors within me strong,How dost thou rend my heart and my wit molest.For that my niece Mary doth bide so longWho to Nimmegen market hath her dress’d,Where if it grew dark, I told her, as for the best,Or haply in any wise she were frighted,She should at my sister’s seek her rest;There ever I lodge when I am benighted.Nor will my troubled heart be rightedEre I know how she doth speed.If mischief on her hath alighted,I die without all hope or rede,For the lass is all I have at need,And ever from childhood hath been my care;If foul befall her ’twere woe indeed.These lasses lightly fall in despair.Now to Nimmegen I repairTo get me tidings without fail.Men oft must hear a sorry tale.

O anxiety, which clamors within me strong,

How dost thou rend my heart and my wit molest.

For that my niece Mary doth bide so long

Who to Nimmegen market hath her dress’d,

Where if it grew dark, I told her, as for the best,

Or haply in any wise she were frighted,

She should at my sister’s seek her rest;

There ever I lodge when I am benighted.

Nor will my troubled heart be righted

Ere I know how she doth speed.

If mischief on her hath alighted,

I die without all hope or rede,

For the lass is all I have at need,

And ever from childhood hath been my care;

If foul befall her ’twere woe indeed.

These lasses lightly fall in despair.

Now to Nimmegen I repair

To get me tidings without fail.

Men oft must hear a sorry tale.

After these words is Sir Gysbrecht gone to his sister’s house, asking after Mary, the niece of them both, the which answered rudely that she wist nought of her. Whereat he was right sad, saying to her thus:

Alas, my sister, ye deceive me,When ye say that of Mary ye nothing wot.AUNTNay, good clodpate John, believe me.UNCLEAlas, my sister, ye deceive me.AUNTNay, she is cloistered, I conceive meWhere such birds be spitted for a groat.UNCLEAlas, my sister, ye deceive me,When ye say that of her ye nothing wot;And thus with wrath yourself besot,Though I bid you but tell in all gentlenessIf ye have seen her.AUNTNatheless,Say ye not her charge was mine.She came, ’tis true, eight or ten days syne,Saying, “Make me a bed, aunt, for to-nightI dare not go home, lest I be done despightOf knaves who would lightly some mischief begin.”I bade her take her once more to the innWhere the livelong day she had sat drinking and skinking.UNCLEHow! had she the livelong day been a-drinking?AUNTThat you may well be thinking, and nothing loath.And her cheeks were as red, I make an oath,As a baby’s bottom that has been well thwack’d.When I blamed her a little for her shameful fact,She made as with good sharp sauce she could eat me straight.Thus cursing and shouting she goes her gate,And no more of my fine young lady I see.UNCLEAlas, what shall become of me?O God in three, where hath she gone or far or near?AUNTWhy, goodman dull, in the muddy wine or clear,Where they resort as for such sport are meet.UNCLEAlas, my sister, ye gar me greet,That ye make me such shameful mocks.AUNTYea, had ye kept her locked up in a box,So had your trouble not begun.God’s son, goodman, what harm is doneIf she follow her lust at large a bit?It will not matter to her no whitNor fare the worse by a single straw.She will not go halt for it.UNCLEThis doth my spirit so adawI fear mine heart in four will cleave.I must turn me about and with my sleeveWipe from mine eyes and cheeks a tear.O mother of God, the which each yearIn Aix I visit and adore,Help me now as ye have done yore,And ye in Maestricht, Saint Servace,Devoutly have I set in placeFull many a candle, as ye wot:I pray you now, forsake me not.In time of need it is to one’s friends one must look;I will now let search for her in every nookIf any of her may have heard.Though I be stirred,’Tis but small wonder that I grieve:Of lief ’tis ill to take one’s leave.

Alas, my sister, ye deceive me,When ye say that of Mary ye nothing wot.

Alas, my sister, ye deceive me,

When ye say that of Mary ye nothing wot.

AUNTNay, good clodpate John, believe me.

AUNT

Nay, good clodpate John, believe me.

UNCLEAlas, my sister, ye deceive me.

UNCLE

Alas, my sister, ye deceive me.

AUNTNay, she is cloistered, I conceive meWhere such birds be spitted for a groat.

AUNT

Nay, she is cloistered, I conceive me

Where such birds be spitted for a groat.

UNCLEAlas, my sister, ye deceive me,When ye say that of her ye nothing wot;And thus with wrath yourself besot,Though I bid you but tell in all gentlenessIf ye have seen her.

UNCLE

Alas, my sister, ye deceive me,

When ye say that of her ye nothing wot;

And thus with wrath yourself besot,

Though I bid you but tell in all gentleness

If ye have seen her.

AUNTNatheless,Say ye not her charge was mine.She came, ’tis true, eight or ten days syne,Saying, “Make me a bed, aunt, for to-nightI dare not go home, lest I be done despightOf knaves who would lightly some mischief begin.”I bade her take her once more to the innWhere the livelong day she had sat drinking and skinking.

AUNT

Natheless,

Say ye not her charge was mine.

She came, ’tis true, eight or ten days syne,

Saying, “Make me a bed, aunt, for to-night

I dare not go home, lest I be done despight

Of knaves who would lightly some mischief begin.”

I bade her take her once more to the inn

Where the livelong day she had sat drinking and skinking.

UNCLEHow! had she the livelong day been a-drinking?

UNCLE

How! had she the livelong day been a-drinking?

AUNTThat you may well be thinking, and nothing loath.And her cheeks were as red, I make an oath,As a baby’s bottom that has been well thwack’d.When I blamed her a little for her shameful fact,She made as with good sharp sauce she could eat me straight.Thus cursing and shouting she goes her gate,And no more of my fine young lady I see.

AUNT

That you may well be thinking, and nothing loath.

And her cheeks were as red, I make an oath,

As a baby’s bottom that has been well thwack’d.

When I blamed her a little for her shameful fact,

She made as with good sharp sauce she could eat me straight.

Thus cursing and shouting she goes her gate,

And no more of my fine young lady I see.

UNCLEAlas, what shall become of me?O God in three, where hath she gone or far or near?

UNCLE

Alas, what shall become of me?

O God in three, where hath she gone or far or near?

AUNTWhy, goodman dull, in the muddy wine or clear,Where they resort as for such sport are meet.

AUNT

Why, goodman dull, in the muddy wine or clear,

Where they resort as for such sport are meet.

UNCLEAlas, my sister, ye gar me greet,That ye make me such shameful mocks.

UNCLE

Alas, my sister, ye gar me greet,

That ye make me such shameful mocks.

AUNTYea, had ye kept her locked up in a box,So had your trouble not begun.God’s son, goodman, what harm is doneIf she follow her lust at large a bit?It will not matter to her no whitNor fare the worse by a single straw.She will not go halt for it.

AUNT

Yea, had ye kept her locked up in a box,

So had your trouble not begun.

God’s son, goodman, what harm is done

If she follow her lust at large a bit?

It will not matter to her no whit

Nor fare the worse by a single straw.

She will not go halt for it.

UNCLEThis doth my spirit so adawI fear mine heart in four will cleave.I must turn me about and with my sleeveWipe from mine eyes and cheeks a tear.

UNCLE

This doth my spirit so adaw

I fear mine heart in four will cleave.

I must turn me about and with my sleeve

Wipe from mine eyes and cheeks a tear.

O mother of God, the which each yearIn Aix I visit and adore,Help me now as ye have done yore,And ye in Maestricht, Saint Servace,Devoutly have I set in placeFull many a candle, as ye wot:I pray you now, forsake me not.

O mother of God, the which each year

In Aix I visit and adore,

Help me now as ye have done yore,

And ye in Maestricht, Saint Servace,

Devoutly have I set in place

Full many a candle, as ye wot:

I pray you now, forsake me not.

In time of need it is to one’s friends one must look;I will now let search for her in every nookIf any of her may have heard.Though I be stirred,’Tis but small wonder that I grieve:Of lief ’tis ill to take one’s leave.

In time of need it is to one’s friends one must look;

I will now let search for her in every nook

If any of her may have heard.

Though I be stirred,

’Tis but small wonder that I grieve:

Of lief ’tis ill to take one’s leave.

After this Sir Gysbrecht departed him from his sister sad at heart because he gat no tidings of Mary his niece.

¶ How the wicked aunt thrust a dagger in her throat.

In the meanwhile the chastelain of Grave let the old duke Arent forth of the prison and led him to the town of Bolduc where he was right royally received by the lords of that same. Which hearing, the wicked aunt waxed so wrathful in her venomous heart that she well nigh burst for spite, saying:

Help me, liver, lights, and spleen,Teeth and head, nought goes aright!I shall smother or split with teen:Like a spider I swell with spite;From my wits I be thrust out quiteAt the tidings that I hear.The old thief, in the castle that was locked tight,He is got from Grave scot-free and clear.Now all my comfort is but drear,And the young duke, whom I obeyed,Will shortly have but sorry cheer.Such woe is me that I am nearTo yield me, body and soul as I was made,And summon all devils to mine aid.THE DEVILHa, ha! there’s profit as in this case!Her soul is mine if I have the spaceOf half an hour on her to bestow.AUNTIs it not noyous?THE DEVILYea, and a shrewd blowTo them as were counted the young duke’s men.AUNTTo say the truth on’t, what is he, then,Who ever a finer fellow saw with eye?Yea, though in hell I must everlastingly fry,I could cut my throat out of pure spite,So I were done with this business quite.Adieu and farewell, valiant young peer.But so ye be duke in after yearIs all I ask for my shortened life.Thus in my throat I thrust the knifeAnd with a blow I end me quite.Faction has damned full many a wight.THE DEVILTo Hell’s convocation, in unending dole,I summon this soul to its final fruition.The folly of men who in factions enrollAnd for some princeling get damned to perdition!They are ours! all ours, who in this conditionPersist stubborn-hearted despite of all ill.Envious faction gives yearly additionTo Hell of its millions, lament it who will.

Help me, liver, lights, and spleen,

Teeth and head, nought goes aright!

I shall smother or split with teen:

Like a spider I swell with spite;

From my wits I be thrust out quite

At the tidings that I hear.

The old thief, in the castle that was locked tight,

He is got from Grave scot-free and clear.

Now all my comfort is but drear,

And the young duke, whom I obeyed,

Will shortly have but sorry cheer.

Such woe is me that I am near

To yield me, body and soul as I was made,

And summon all devils to mine aid.

THE DEVILHa, ha! there’s profit as in this case!Her soul is mine if I have the spaceOf half an hour on her to bestow.

THE DEVIL

Ha, ha! there’s profit as in this case!

Her soul is mine if I have the space

Of half an hour on her to bestow.

AUNTIs it not noyous?

AUNT

Is it not noyous?

THE DEVILYea, and a shrewd blowTo them as were counted the young duke’s men.

THE DEVIL

Yea, and a shrewd blow

To them as were counted the young duke’s men.

AUNTTo say the truth on’t, what is he, then,Who ever a finer fellow saw with eye?Yea, though in hell I must everlastingly fry,I could cut my throat out of pure spite,So I were done with this business quite.Adieu and farewell, valiant young peer.But so ye be duke in after yearIs all I ask for my shortened life.Thus in my throat I thrust the knifeAnd with a blow I end me quite.Faction has damned full many a wight.

AUNT

To say the truth on’t, what is he, then,

Who ever a finer fellow saw with eye?

Yea, though in hell I must everlastingly fry,

I could cut my throat out of pure spite,

So I were done with this business quite.

Adieu and farewell, valiant young peer.

But so ye be duke in after year

Is all I ask for my shortened life.

Thus in my throat I thrust the knife

And with a blow I end me quite.

Faction has damned full many a wight.

THE DEVILTo Hell’s convocation, in unending dole,I summon this soul to its final fruition.The folly of men who in factions enrollAnd for some princeling get damned to perdition!They are ours! all ours, who in this conditionPersist stubborn-hearted despite of all ill.Envious faction gives yearly additionTo Hell of its millions, lament it who will.

THE DEVIL

To Hell’s convocation, in unending dole,

I summon this soul to its final fruition.

The folly of men who in factions enroll

And for some princeling get damned to perdition!

They are ours! all ours, who in this condition

Persist stubborn-hearted despite of all ill.

Envious faction gives yearly addition

To Hell of its millions, lament it who will.

¶ How Emma and Moonen journeyed to Antwerp, where they wrought much evil.

When Emma and Moonen had for some while tarried at Bolduc they journeyed to Antwerp whither they be speedily come. And Moonen said unto Emma thus:

Now be we in Antwerp, as ye well would,Here will we triumph and scatter our good.Go we in to the “Tree” for a pint of romany.EMMATo the “Tree”, say ye?MOONENYes, faith, there shall ye seeAll the spendthrifts that thrive by mischance;And the wenches who know well all the old dance,The which on ten and four hazard all at a throw.Above sit the burghers, and the craft below,With whom ’tis more blessed to take than to give.EMMAAll that I would liefly behold, as I live.Nought could be better, as to my thinking.MOONENYea, in the Gold Room we shall be drinkingEre that we part what pleaseth you most.Sit down, love. Yea, a first, mine host!And if it grew musty in cask, we were evil paid.THE DRAWERWhat wine drink ye, good man?MOONENA pint of grenade,And for my wife a pint of ypocras,And of romany a pint, the which nought doth surpassTo raise a man’s spirits when they be low.THE DRAWERAy, that’s the truth. A first! ho! a first! ho!Draw of the best and fill to the brim!FIRST TIPPLERSee, Hans, yon is a wench that is trim.SECOND TIPPLERYe say sooth, and but an ill-favored devil of a man!FIRST TIPPLERLet us sit by them and drink of our can.If she be but his doxy and not his wifeWe’ll filch her of him.SECOND TIPPLERAy, he shall have a taste of the knife,For he is but a foul, ill-favored lout,But the wench is sweet flesh past all doubt.Be she his doxy, I know where this night I shall lie.Will aid me?FIRST TIPPLERIn the throat, yea, that will I.Foot to foot we will stand fast as we may.—God a mercy, toper!MOONENPot-mates, come drink, I pray.SECOND TIPPLERNay, toper, we drink of the same tun.But may we sit you beside?MOONENYea, surely, that were well done.Good fellowship is to me nothing loath.FIRST TIPPLERBy your good leave, whence come ye both?MOONENFrom Bolduc and beyond be we.EMMADear Moonen, were it not geometryIf perchance I could surely scanHow many drops of wine there be in a can?MOONENYea, love, and have ye the trick of that still?I taught it you but yesterday.EMMATo forget it were ill.Logic ye after taught me well and fair:I hold it all fast in mind.FIRST TIPPLERToper, what saith your wife there?Can she soothly reckon to a jotHow many drops of wine be in this pot?Of stranger thing I have never heard write.MOONENShe will do yet stranger in your sight.Her like ye have never met withall;The seven arts she hath mastered all;Ars metric and geometry,Logic, grammar, astronomy,Music, and rhetoric, of ancientest repute.With the stoutest clerk she dare disputeIn the schools of Paris or Louvain.SECOND TIPPLERGood toper, under your leave we were fainSee or hear some of her art.FIRST TIPPLERYea, surely, and I pledge two stoups of wine for my part,And, by cog’s ribs, if any scant her in her taleWe will shed our blood for you without fail,In any mischief that may you befall.MOONENThat merry ballat, as ye may call,Wherewith our last noonday in Highstreet ye amused,Do ye tell o’er for these folk.EMMAI pray you hold me excused.In rhetoric I be but a dull wight,Allbe I would fain go to it with my might,The circle of the seven arts to fulfill.Rhetoric is not to be learned by skill;’Tis an art that cometh of itself solely.The other arts, if a man giveth himself thereto wholly,These be to be learned and eke taught.But rhetoric is to be praised beyond aught.’Tis a gift of the Holy Ghost’s bestowing,Though there be rude folk of such small knowingThat they reject it. ’Tis great doleTo them who love it.SECOND TOPERAy, good soul,Must we use so much argument?FIRST TOPERSay us somewhat, we were well contentWith what ye can, and out of good willI will eke say somewhat.EMMANow, hold ye still,For rhetoric asketh good understanding;And after my best cunning I will sing.O rhetoric, sweet theoric and comfortable,I lament with dreariment that men thee hate;Unto the heart that loves thine art ’tis lamentable.Cry on them fy! who thee not cultivateOr thy first finder’s fame abate!Lewd and without shame are they.Them I despise who do after this rate;And to the wise ’tis grief to hear this say:Through folly falls poesy to decay.“Poesy hath praise”: an ancient saying;But weighing it, its mettle is but base:Put case, a poet true art essayingThe braying of the unlettered raceWill chase him straightway forth from place,Nor grace nor gear shall him repay.But they some bold Tom Piper will agraceAlway. Wherefore none may gainsay:Through folly falls poesy to decay.Fy ye blind and clumsy wits,Poesy ye should strive to understand, andLove it rightly, as befits.Let it in honor on every hand stand;By poesy only is a land grand.Praise to them who own its sway!Fy on the foolish who would have it out of hand bann’d!Wherefore yet once more I say:Through folly falls poesy to decay.Prince, to poesy I will set my mindAnd to its doctrine be faithfully inclined,For it may be come at none other way.But to the crafty seemeth it ever unkindThat the foolish be to poesy blind.

Now be we in Antwerp, as ye well would,Here will we triumph and scatter our good.Go we in to the “Tree” for a pint of romany.

Now be we in Antwerp, as ye well would,

Here will we triumph and scatter our good.

Go we in to the “Tree” for a pint of romany.

EMMATo the “Tree”, say ye?

EMMA

To the “Tree”, say ye?

MOONENYes, faith, there shall ye seeAll the spendthrifts that thrive by mischance;And the wenches who know well all the old dance,The which on ten and four hazard all at a throw.Above sit the burghers, and the craft below,With whom ’tis more blessed to take than to give.

MOONEN

Yes, faith, there shall ye see

All the spendthrifts that thrive by mischance;

And the wenches who know well all the old dance,

The which on ten and four hazard all at a throw.

Above sit the burghers, and the craft below,

With whom ’tis more blessed to take than to give.

EMMAAll that I would liefly behold, as I live.Nought could be better, as to my thinking.

EMMA

All that I would liefly behold, as I live.

Nought could be better, as to my thinking.

MOONENYea, in the Gold Room we shall be drinkingEre that we part what pleaseth you most.Sit down, love. Yea, a first, mine host!And if it grew musty in cask, we were evil paid.

MOONEN

Yea, in the Gold Room we shall be drinking

Ere that we part what pleaseth you most.

Sit down, love. Yea, a first, mine host!

And if it grew musty in cask, we were evil paid.

THE DRAWERWhat wine drink ye, good man?

THE DRAWER

What wine drink ye, good man?

MOONENA pint of grenade,And for my wife a pint of ypocras,And of romany a pint, the which nought doth surpassTo raise a man’s spirits when they be low.

MOONEN

A pint of grenade,

And for my wife a pint of ypocras,

And of romany a pint, the which nought doth surpass

To raise a man’s spirits when they be low.

THE DRAWERAy, that’s the truth. A first! ho! a first! ho!Draw of the best and fill to the brim!

THE DRAWER

Ay, that’s the truth. A first! ho! a first! ho!

Draw of the best and fill to the brim!

FIRST TIPPLERSee, Hans, yon is a wench that is trim.

FIRST TIPPLER

See, Hans, yon is a wench that is trim.

SECOND TIPPLERYe say sooth, and but an ill-favored devil of a man!

SECOND TIPPLER

Ye say sooth, and but an ill-favored devil of a man!

FIRST TIPPLERLet us sit by them and drink of our can.If she be but his doxy and not his wifeWe’ll filch her of him.

FIRST TIPPLER

Let us sit by them and drink of our can.

If she be but his doxy and not his wife

We’ll filch her of him.

SECOND TIPPLERAy, he shall have a taste of the knife,For he is but a foul, ill-favored lout,But the wench is sweet flesh past all doubt.Be she his doxy, I know where this night I shall lie.Will aid me?

SECOND TIPPLER

Ay, he shall have a taste of the knife,

For he is but a foul, ill-favored lout,

But the wench is sweet flesh past all doubt.

Be she his doxy, I know where this night I shall lie.

Will aid me?

FIRST TIPPLERIn the throat, yea, that will I.Foot to foot we will stand fast as we may.—God a mercy, toper!

FIRST TIPPLER

In the throat, yea, that will I.

Foot to foot we will stand fast as we may.—

God a mercy, toper!

MOONENPot-mates, come drink, I pray.

MOONEN

Pot-mates, come drink, I pray.

SECOND TIPPLERNay, toper, we drink of the same tun.But may we sit you beside?

SECOND TIPPLER

Nay, toper, we drink of the same tun.

But may we sit you beside?

MOONENYea, surely, that were well done.Good fellowship is to me nothing loath.

MOONEN

Yea, surely, that were well done.

Good fellowship is to me nothing loath.

FIRST TIPPLERBy your good leave, whence come ye both?

FIRST TIPPLER

By your good leave, whence come ye both?

MOONENFrom Bolduc and beyond be we.

MOONEN

From Bolduc and beyond be we.

EMMADear Moonen, were it not geometryIf perchance I could surely scanHow many drops of wine there be in a can?

EMMA

Dear Moonen, were it not geometry

If perchance I could surely scan

How many drops of wine there be in a can?

MOONENYea, love, and have ye the trick of that still?I taught it you but yesterday.

MOONEN

Yea, love, and have ye the trick of that still?

I taught it you but yesterday.

EMMATo forget it were ill.Logic ye after taught me well and fair:I hold it all fast in mind.

EMMA

To forget it were ill.

Logic ye after taught me well and fair:

I hold it all fast in mind.

FIRST TIPPLERToper, what saith your wife there?Can she soothly reckon to a jotHow many drops of wine be in this pot?Of stranger thing I have never heard write.

FIRST TIPPLER

Toper, what saith your wife there?

Can she soothly reckon to a jot

How many drops of wine be in this pot?

Of stranger thing I have never heard write.

MOONENShe will do yet stranger in your sight.Her like ye have never met withall;The seven arts she hath mastered all;Ars metric and geometry,Logic, grammar, astronomy,Music, and rhetoric, of ancientest repute.With the stoutest clerk she dare disputeIn the schools of Paris or Louvain.

MOONEN

She will do yet stranger in your sight.

Her like ye have never met withall;

The seven arts she hath mastered all;

Ars metric and geometry,

Logic, grammar, astronomy,

Music, and rhetoric, of ancientest repute.

With the stoutest clerk she dare dispute

In the schools of Paris or Louvain.

SECOND TIPPLERGood toper, under your leave we were fainSee or hear some of her art.

SECOND TIPPLER

Good toper, under your leave we were fain

See or hear some of her art.

FIRST TIPPLERYea, surely, and I pledge two stoups of wine for my part,And, by cog’s ribs, if any scant her in her taleWe will shed our blood for you without fail,In any mischief that may you befall.

FIRST TIPPLER

Yea, surely, and I pledge two stoups of wine for my part,

And, by cog’s ribs, if any scant her in her tale

We will shed our blood for you without fail,

In any mischief that may you befall.

MOONENThat merry ballat, as ye may call,Wherewith our last noonday in Highstreet ye amused,Do ye tell o’er for these folk.

MOONEN

That merry ballat, as ye may call,

Wherewith our last noonday in Highstreet ye amused,

Do ye tell o’er for these folk.

EMMAI pray you hold me excused.In rhetoric I be but a dull wight,Allbe I would fain go to it with my might,The circle of the seven arts to fulfill.Rhetoric is not to be learned by skill;’Tis an art that cometh of itself solely.The other arts, if a man giveth himself thereto wholly,These be to be learned and eke taught.But rhetoric is to be praised beyond aught.’Tis a gift of the Holy Ghost’s bestowing,Though there be rude folk of such small knowingThat they reject it. ’Tis great doleTo them who love it.

EMMA

I pray you hold me excused.

In rhetoric I be but a dull wight,

Allbe I would fain go to it with my might,

The circle of the seven arts to fulfill.

Rhetoric is not to be learned by skill;

’Tis an art that cometh of itself solely.

The other arts, if a man giveth himself thereto wholly,

These be to be learned and eke taught.

But rhetoric is to be praised beyond aught.

’Tis a gift of the Holy Ghost’s bestowing,

Though there be rude folk of such small knowing

That they reject it. ’Tis great dole

To them who love it.

SECOND TOPERAy, good soul,Must we use so much argument?

SECOND TOPER

Ay, good soul,

Must we use so much argument?

FIRST TOPERSay us somewhat, we were well contentWith what ye can, and out of good willI will eke say somewhat.

FIRST TOPER

Say us somewhat, we were well content

With what ye can, and out of good will

I will eke say somewhat.

EMMANow, hold ye still,For rhetoric asketh good understanding;And after my best cunning I will sing.

EMMA

Now, hold ye still,

For rhetoric asketh good understanding;

And after my best cunning I will sing.

O rhetoric, sweet theoric and comfortable,I lament with dreariment that men thee hate;Unto the heart that loves thine art ’tis lamentable.Cry on them fy! who thee not cultivateOr thy first finder’s fame abate!Lewd and without shame are they.Them I despise who do after this rate;And to the wise ’tis grief to hear this say:Through folly falls poesy to decay.

O rhetoric, sweet theoric and comfortable,

I lament with dreariment that men thee hate;

Unto the heart that loves thine art ’tis lamentable.

Cry on them fy! who thee not cultivate

Or thy first finder’s fame abate!

Lewd and without shame are they.

Them I despise who do after this rate;

And to the wise ’tis grief to hear this say:

Through folly falls poesy to decay.

“Poesy hath praise”: an ancient saying;But weighing it, its mettle is but base:Put case, a poet true art essayingThe braying of the unlettered raceWill chase him straightway forth from place,Nor grace nor gear shall him repay.But they some bold Tom Piper will agraceAlway. Wherefore none may gainsay:Through folly falls poesy to decay.

“Poesy hath praise”: an ancient saying;

But weighing it, its mettle is but base:

Put case, a poet true art essaying

The braying of the unlettered race

Will chase him straightway forth from place,

Nor grace nor gear shall him repay.

But they some bold Tom Piper will agrace

Alway. Wherefore none may gainsay:

Through folly falls poesy to decay.

Fy ye blind and clumsy wits,Poesy ye should strive to understand, andLove it rightly, as befits.Let it in honor on every hand stand;By poesy only is a land grand.Praise to them who own its sway!Fy on the foolish who would have it out of hand bann’d!Wherefore yet once more I say:Through folly falls poesy to decay.

Fy ye blind and clumsy wits,

Poesy ye should strive to understand, and

Love it rightly, as befits.

Let it in honor on every hand stand;

By poesy only is a land grand.

Praise to them who own its sway!

Fy on the foolish who would have it out of hand bann’d!

Wherefore yet once more I say:

Through folly falls poesy to decay.

Prince, to poesy I will set my mindAnd to its doctrine be faithfully inclined,For it may be come at none other way.But to the crafty seemeth it ever unkindThat the foolish be to poesy blind.

Prince, to poesy I will set my mind

And to its doctrine be faithfully inclined,

For it may be come at none other way.

But to the crafty seemeth it ever unkind

That the foolish be to poesy blind.

To hear this goodly ballat great press of folk gathered and Moonen beholding this did after his hellish kind and stirred among them such strife that one among the folk was stabbed to death. And he who did this had his head smote off. Thus Emma and Moonen lived at Antwerp at the sign of the “Golden Tree” in the market, where daily of his contriving were many murders and slayings together with every sort of wickedness. In the which he greatly rejoiced, saying with himself thus:

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