Tale I.
Once upon a time, when the opinion was common in England that those whose age and experience enabled them to determine the consequences of certain actions were wizards and witches, there was a queen in this realm, whose name was Elizabeth; and by reason that the famous town of Lancaster was strangely pestered with witches, the queen sent some judges down to arraign and try them in order to bring them to justice.
Now the news of this court being to be kept in Lancaster, spread through all the country, so that a husbandman living near forty miles from that place, hearing of this, news, and believing they were come to tell the folks whether they were witches or not, resolved to go to be satisfied in himself, for he was possessed with a fear that he was a witch, because he had a wart grew on his neck, which he imagined to be a dug.
His wife, who had a friend in a corner, and was therefore glad of his absence, did not only give her consent, but also dressed him in his best leathern suit and broad-brimmed hat. So taking leave of his good wife Joan, he trudged on day and night until he came to the place where the court was kept; so rushing on and pressing through the crowd, the crier of the court believing him to be some evidence, gave orders that they should let him in, which was soon done, and he was required to speak what he had to say. "Why," says the countryman, "d'ye see, I've a dug upon my neck, which makes me afraid I am a witch, and volks tell me that these vine gentlemen (pointing to the judges) can tell a body whether one is a witch or no." The crier of the court seeing the simplicity of the man, said, "No, no, my friend, I can assure thee thou art no witch; thou lookest more like a cuckold than a witch or a conjurer." "I thank you, zur; and zo zays these vine gentlemen." Then having given three or four scrapes and half a dozen congees, he came back as wise as Waltham's calf. The next day he was met by his wife, who waited for his return at the town's end, to whom she said, "Well, husband, what do the gentlemen say? are you a witch or no?" "A witch, sweet wife, no; they tells a body one looks more like a cuckold than a witch, or a conjurer." "Why say you so?" replied she; "I prithee go back and have them taken up for witches; for except they had been so, they would not have known you were a cuckold."
This merry tale so pleased them that they set up a hearty laugh, which, being ended, the second boy began his tale in the following manner.