¶ A AUTEM MORT. Cap. 18.

Hese Autem Mortes be maried wemen, as there be but a fewe. For Autem in their Language is a Churche; so she is a wyfe maried at the Church, and they be as chaste as a Cowe I haue, that goeth to Bull euery moone, with what Bull she careth not. These walke most times from their husbands companye a moneth and more to gether, being asociate with another as honest as her selfe. These wyll pylfar clothes of hedges: some of them go with children of ten or xii. yeares of age; yf tyme and place serue for their purpose, they wyll send them into some house, at the window, to steale and robbe, which they call in their language, Milling of the ken; and wil go with wallets on their shoulders, and slates at their backes. There is one of these Autem Mortes, she is now a widow, of fyfty yeres old; her name is Alice Milson: she goeth about with a couple of great boyes, the yongest of them is fast vpon xx. yeares of age; and these two do lye with her euery night, and she lyeth in the middes: she sayth that they be her children, that beteled be babes borne of such abhominable bellye.

¶ A WALKING MORT. Cap. 19.

Hese walkinge Mortes bee not maryed: these for their vnhappye yeares doth go as a Autem Morte, and wyll saye their husbandes died eyther at Newhauen, Ireland, or in some seruice of the Prince. These make laces vpon staues, and purses, that they cary in their hands, and whyte vallance for beddes. Manye of these hath hadde and haue chyldren: when these get ought, either with begging, bychery, or brybery, as money or apparell, they are quickly shaken out of all by the vpright men, that they are in a maruelous feare to cary any thinge aboute them that is of any valure. Where fore, this pollicye they vse, they leaue their money now with one and then with a nother trustye housholders, eyther with the good man or good wyfe, some tyme in one shiere, and then in another, as they {68} trauell: this haue I knowne, that iiij. or v. shyllinges, yea x. shyllinges, lefte in a place, and the same wyll they come for againe within one quarter of a yeare, or some tyme not in halfe a yeare; and all this is to lytle purpose, for all their peuyshe [leaf 21, back] pollycy; for when they bye them lynnen or garmentse, it is taken awaye from them, and worsse geuen them, or none at all.

¶ The last Sommer, Anno domini .1566, being in familiare talke with a walking Mort that came to my gate, I learned by her what I could, and I thought I had gathered as much for my purpose as I desired. I began to rebuke her for her leud lyfe and beastly behauor, declaring to her what punishment was prepared and heaped vp for her in the world to come for her fylthy lyuinge and wretched conuersation. “God helpe,” quoth she, “how should I lyue? none wyll take me into seruice; but I labour in haruest time honestly.” “I thinke but a whyle with honestie,” quoth I. “Shall I tell you,” quoth she, “the best of vs all may be amended; but yet, I thanke god, I dyd one good dede within this twelue monthes.” “Wherein?” quoth I. Sayth she, “I woulde not haue it spoken of agayne.” “Yf it be méete and necessary,” quod I, “it shall lye vnder my feete.” “What meane you by that?” quoth she. “I meane,” quod I, “to hide the same, and neuer to discouer it to any.” “Well,” quoth she, and began to laugh as much as she could, and sweare by the masse that if I disclosed the same to any, she woulde neuer more[138] tell me any thinge. “The last sommer,” quoth she, “I was greate with chylde, and I traueled into east kent by the sea coste, for I lusted meruelously after oysters and muskels[139], and gathered many, and in the place where I found them, I opened them and eate them styll: at the last, in seking more, I reached after one, and stept into a hole, and fel in into the wast, and their dyd stycke, and I had bene drowned if the tide had come, and espyinge a man a good waye of, I cried as much as I could for helpe. I was alone, he hard me, and repaired as fast to me as he might, and finding me their fast stycking, I required for gods sake his helpe; and whether it was with stryuinge and forcing my selfe out, or for ioye I had of his comminge to me, I had a great couller in my face, and loked red and well {69} coullered. And, to be playne with you, hée lyked me so well (as he sayd) that I should there lye styll, and I would not graunt him, that he might lye with me. And, by my trouth, I wist not what to answeare, I was in such a perplexite; for I knew the man well: he had a very honest woman to his wyfe, and was of some welth; and, one the other syde, if I weare not holpe out, I should there haue perished, and I graunted hym that I would obeye to his wyll: then he plucked me out. And because there was no conuenient place nere hande, I required hym that I might go washe my selfe, and make me somewhat clenly, and I would come to his house and lodge all night in his barne, whether he mighte repaire to me, and accomplyshe hys desire, ‘but let it not be,’ quoth she,[140] ‘before nine of the clocke at nyghte [leaf 22] for then there wylbe small styrring. And I may repaire to the towne,’ quoth she,[141] ‘to warme and drye my selfe’; for this was about two of the clocke in the after none. ‘Do so,’ quoth hée; ‘for I must be busie to looke oute my cattell here by before I can come home.’ So I went awaye from hym, and glad was I.” “And why so?” quoth I. “Because,” quoth she, “his wyfe, my good dame, is my very fréend, and I am much beholdinge to her. And she hath donne me so much good or this, that I weare loth nowe to harme her any waye.” “Why,” quoth I, “what and it hadde béene any other man, and not your good dames husbande?” “The matter had bene the lesse,” quoth shée. “Tell me, I pray the,” quoth I, “who was the father of thy chylde?” She stodyd a whyle, and sayde that it hadde a father. “But what was hée?” quoth I. “Nowe, by my trouth, I knowe not,” quoth shée; “you brynge me out of my matter so, you do.” “Well, saye on,” quoth I. “Then I departed strayght to the towne, and came to my dames house, And shewed her of my mysfortune, also of her husbands vsage, in all pointes, and that I showed her the same for good wyll, and byde her take better héede to her husbande, and to her selfe: so shée gaue me great thankes, and made me good chéere, and byd me in anye case that I should be redye at the barne at that tyme and houre we had apoynted; ‘for I knowe well,’ quoth this good wyfe, ‘my husband wyll not breake wyth the. And one thinge I warne[142] the, that thou {70} geue me a watche worde a loud when hée goeth aboute to haue his pleasure of the, and that shall[143] bée “fye, for shame, fye,” and I wyll bée harde by you wyth helpe. But I charge the kéepe thys secret vntyll all bee fynesed; and holde,’ saythe thys good wyfe, ‘here is one of my peticotes I geue thée.’ ‘I thanke you, good dame,’ quoth I, ‘and I warrante you I wyll bée true and trustye vnto you.’ So my dame lefte me settinge by a good fyre with meate and drynke; and wyth the oysters I broughte with me, I hadde greate cheere: shée wente strayght and repaired vnto her gossypes dwelling there by; and, as I dyd after vnderstande, she made her mone to them, what a naughtye, lewed, lecherous husbande shée hadde, and howe that she coulde not haue hys companye for harlotes, and that she was in feare to take some fylthy dysease of hym, he was so commen a man, hauinge lytle respecte whome he hadde to do with all; ‘and,’ quoth she, ‘nowe here is one at my house, a poore woman that goeth aboute the countrey that he woulde haue hadde to doe withall; wherefore, good neyghboures and louinge gossypes, as you loue me, and as you would haue helpe at my hand another tyme, deuyse some remedy to make my husband a good man, that I may lyue in some suerty without disease, and that hée may saue his soule that God so derelye [leaf 22, back] bought.’ After shée hadde tolde her tale, they caste their persinge eyes all vpon her, but one stoute dame amongst the rest had these wordes—‘As your pacient bearinge of troubles, your honest behauiour among vs your neyghbours, your tender and pytifull hart to the poore of the parysh, doth moue vs to lament your case, so the vnsatiable carnalite of your faithelesse husbande doth instigate and styre vs to deuyse and inuent some spéedy redresse for your ease[144] and the amendement of hys lyfe. Wherefore, this is my councell and you wyll bée aduertysed by me; for[145] I saye to you all, vnlesse it be this good wyfe, who is chéefely touched in this matter, I haue the nexte cause; for hée was in hande wyth me not longe a goe, and companye had not bene present, which was by a meruelous chaunce, he hadde, I thinke, forced me. For often hée hath bene tempering[146] with me, and yet haue I sharpely sayde him {71} naye: therefore, let vs assemble secretly into the place where hée hathe apuynted to méete thys gyllot that is at your house, and lyrke preuelye in some corner tyll hée begyn to goe aboute his busines. And then me thought I harde you saye euen nowe that you had a watche word, at which word we wyll all stepforth, being fiue of vs besydes you, for you shalbe none because it is your husbande, but gette you to bed at your accustomed houre. And we wyll cary eche of vs[147] good byrchen rodde in our lappes, and we will all be muffeled for knowing, and se that you goe home and acquaynt that walking Morte with the matter; for we must haue her helpe to hold, for alwaies foure must hold and two lay one.’ ‘Alas!’ sayth this good wyfe, ‘he is to stronge for you all. I would be loth, for my sake you should receaue harme at his hande.’ ‘feare you not,’ quoth these stout wemen, ‘let her not geue the watch word vntyl his hosen be abaut his legges. And I trowe we all wylbe with him to bring before he shall haue leasure to plucke them vp againe.’ They all with on voyce ag[r]ed to the matter, that the way she had deuised was the best: so this good wife repaired home; but before she departed from her gossypes, she shewed them at what houre they should preuely come in on the backsid, and where to tary their good our: so by the time she came in, it was all most night, and found the walking Morte still setting by the fyre, and declared to her all this new deuyse aboue sayd, which promised faythfully to full fyll to her small powre as much as they hadde deuysed: within a quarter of an oure after, in commeth the good man, who said that he was about his cattell. “Why, what haue we here, wyfe, setting by the fyre? and yf she haue eate and dronke, send her into the barne to her lodging for this night, for she troubeleth the house.” “Euen as you wyll husbande,” sayth his wyfe; “you knowe she commeth once in two yeres into these [leaf 23] quarters. Awaye,” saythe this good wyfe, “to your lodginge.” “Yes, good dame,” sayth she, “as fast as I can:” thus, by loking one[148] on the other, eche knewe others mynde, and so departed to her comely couche: the good man of the house shrodge hym for Ioye, thinking to hym selfe, I wyll make some pastyme with you anone. And calling to his wyfe for hys sopper, set {72} him downe, and was very plesant, and dranke to his wyfe, and fell to his mammerings, and mounched a pace, nothing vnderstanding of the bancquet that[149] was a preparing for him after sopper, and according to the prouerbe, that swete meate wyll haue sowre sawce: thus, when he was well refreshed, his sprietes being reuyued, entred into familiare talke with his wife, of many matters, how well he had spent that daye to both there proffytes, sayinge some of his cattell[150] were lyke to haue bene drowned in the dyches, dryuinge others of his neyghbours cattell out that were in his pastures, and mending his fences that were broken downe. Thus profitably he had consumed the daye, nothinge talking of his helping out of the walkinge Morte out of the myre, nether of his request nor yet of her[151] promisse. Thus feding her with frendly fantacyes, consumed two houres and more. Then fayninge howe hée would se in what case his horse were in and howe they were dressed, Repaired couertly into the barne, where as his frée[n]dlye foes lyrked preuely, vnlesse it were this manerly Morte, that comly couched on a bottell of strawe. “What, are you come?” quoth she; “by the masse, I would not for a hundreth pound that my dame should knowe that you were here, eyther any els of your house.” “No, I warrant the,” sayth this good man, “they be all safe and fast ynough at their woorke, and I wylbe at mine anon.” And laye downe by her, and strayght would haue had to do with her. “Nay, fye,” sayth she, “I lyke not this order: if ye lye with me, you shall surely vntrus you and put downe your hosen, for that way is most easiest and best.” “Sayest thou so?” quoth he, “now, by my trouth agred.” And when he had vntrussed him selfe and put downe, he began to assalt the vnsatiable[152] fort “Why,” quoth she, that was with out shame, sauinge for her promes, “And are you not ashamed?” “neuer a whyte,” sayth he, “lye downe quickely.” “Now, fye, for shame, fye,” sayth shée a loude, whyche was the watche word. At the which word, these fyue furious, sturdy, muffeled gossypes flynges oute, and takes sure holde of this be trayed parson, sone[153] pluckinge his hosen downe lower, and byndinge the same fast about his féete; {73} then byndinge his handes, and knitting a hande charcher about his eyes, that he shoulde not sée; and when they had made hym sure and fast, Then they layd him one vntyll they weare windles. “Be good,” sayth this Morte, “vnto my maister, for the passion of God,” [leaf 23, back] and layd on as fast as the rest, and styll seased not to crye vpon them to bée mercyfull vnto hym, and yet layde on a pace; and when they had well beaten hym, that the bloud braste plentifullye oute in most places, they let hym lye styll bounde. With this exhortation, that he shoulde from that tyme forth knowe his wyfe from other mens, and that this punishment was but a flebyting in respect of that which should followe, yf he amended not his manners. Thus leuynge hym blustering, blowing, and fominge for payne, and malyncolye that hée neither might or coulde be reuenged of them, they vanyshed awaye, and hadde thys Morte with them, and safely conuayde her out of the towne: sone after commeth into the barne one of the good mans boyes, to fet some haye for his horse. And fyndinge his maister lyinge faste bounde and greuouslye beaten with rodes, was sodenly abashed and woulde haue runne out agayne to haue called for helpe; but his maister bed hym come vnto hym and vnbynd hym; “and make no wordes,” quoth he, “of this. I wylbe reuenged well inoughe;” yet not with standinge, after better aduyse, the matter beinge vnhonest, he thought it meter to let the same passe, and, not, as the prouerbe saythe, to awake the sleping dogge. “And, by my trouth,” quoth this walkinge Morte, “I come nowe from that place, and was neuer there sythens this parte was playde, whiche is some what more then a yeare. And I here a very good reporte of hym now, that he loueth his wyfe well, and vseth hym selfe verye honestlye; and was not this a good acte? nowe, howe saye you?” “It was pretely handeled,” quoth I, “and is here all?” “Yea,” quoth she, “here is the ende.”

¶ A DOXE. Cap. 20.