BONGRACE.
Was it not, trowest thou, thine own shadow?
CAREAWAY.
My shadow could never have beaten me so!
BONGRACE.
Why, by what reason possible may such a thing be?
CAREAWAY.
Nay, I marvel and wonder at it more than ye;
And at the first it did me curstly meve[202]
Nor I would mine own eyes in no wise believe,
Until that other I beat me so,
That he made me believe it, whether I would or no.
And if he had yourself now within his reach,
He would make you say so too, or else beshit your breech.
MASTER BONGRACE.
I durst a good meed and a wager lay,
That thou layest down and slepst by the way,
And dreamed all this, that thou hast me told.
CAREAWAY.
Nay, there you lie, master, if I might be so bold;
But we rise so early that, if I had,
I had done well, and a wise lad.
Yet, master, I would you understood,
That I have always been trusty and good,
And fly as fast as a bear in a cage,
Whensoever you send me in your message;
In faith, as for this that I have told you,
I saw and felt it as waking as I am now:
For I had no sooner knocked at the gate,
But the other I knave had me by the pate;
And I durst to you on a book swear,
That he had been watching for me there,
Long ere I came, hidden in some privy place,
Even for the nonce to have me by the face.
MASTER BONGRACE.
Why, then, thou spakest not with my wife?
CAREAWAY.
No, that I did not, master, by my life,
Until that other I was gone,
And then my mistress sent me after anon,
To wait on you home in the devil's name:
I ween the devil never so beat his dame!
MASTER BONGRACE.
And where became that other Careaway?
CAREAWAY.
By mine honesty, sir, I cannot say;
But I warrant he is now not far hence;
He is here among this company, for forty pence.