Part II.
On Michaelmas Day, Mother Bunch, sitting on the bank of a river, joining to a neighbouring grove, beheld the late flourishing branches in their decay, whose sapless leaves were falling to the earth, from which she began seriously to consider her own mortality; and since time had hurried on the winter of her age, and covered her aged head with snowy locks, she might expect, ere long, to fall, like the enfeebled leaves. Therefore, she resolved, as she had been a kind friend to young men and maids, to give a further testimony of her regard before she left this world. For as her painful study and strict observation had made a large improvement in her stock of knowledge she would not have it buried in the grave with her, but leave it to posterity for the benefit of young men and maids, whereby they might learn to understand their good and bad fortunes, and by the directions of this book be thoroughly furnished with many secret rarities never before published to the world.
Accordingly, the next day she wrote letters of invitation to the young men and maids to repair to her house on St. Luke's Day. The maids she appointed to meet in the morning, to be first instructed, and that for two reasons. First, as she herself was a woman, she would teach them first, lest the bachelors should be too hard for them before they had learned their lessons. Secondly, that young women should be first served in this, it being Horn Fair Day, many of the bachelors would be employed in the morning, in handing old citizens' young wives to the fair; and in the afternoon they might be at liberty. This was the determination of old Mother Bunch.
Now against the time appointed, old Mother Bunch decked up her house, neat and fine, and, getting up early in the morning, placed herself in the closet, where her treasure lay.
Now the first that entered the room was one Margery Loveman, a maltster's maid, who, with a low curtsey, said, "Good morrow, Mother Bunch, I am come to partake of your bounty; for I hear you have a second time opened your Golden Closet of Curiosities for the benefit of young lovers." "Yes, daughter," quoth Mother Bunch, "so I have, and thou shalt partake of the same. Here is infallible rules and directions to guide you in all manner of love intrigues; also, how to know what sort of man you shall marry, and whither he will prove loving or not."
"Dear mother, these are things I fain would know; for, believe me, I have many sweethearts, and I willingly choose the best, lest I should marry in haste and repent at leisure. 'Tis true, I have near a hundred and fifty pounds to my portion, the great noise of which has brought many sweethearts, for I have no less than five or six at this time; and, mother, I would fain know which of them comes for love of me, and which of them for money." "Daughter," quoth Mother Bunch, "here is an experiment, if you will but try, it will make a clear discovery of the reality of their love. Let a report be spread that thou hast lately been robbed of all that thou hast, both money and apparel. Now, if after this, there is one of them that continues his love as before, you may be very certain that he is faithful; but, be sure that you keep this counsel to yourself, that the secret be not discovered." "I will take care of that, dear mother," quoth Margery, "and I heartily thank you for this kind and seasonable advice."
"Good morrow, daughter," she replied, "Young men are false, and must be tried."
She was no sooner gone, but in comes Mrs. Susan, a young sempstress from Salisbury, with sorrowful lamentation, weeping and wringing her hands. "How now!" quoth good Mother Bunch; "what is the matter with you, daughter, that you go on at this rate?" "Alas! Mother Bunch," quoth Susan, "my—my—my—my—my—my!" "What my?" said Mother Bunch. Quoth sobbing Susan, "My sorrows are more than I am able to bear; for, mother, dear Frank the fiddler, my old love, and I are fallen out, and he swears he will not have me." "Come, daughter," quoth Mother Bunch, "be of good comfort, for I will put thee in an effectual way to find whither Frank the fiddler be really angry with thee or not; and if he be, I will teach thee infallibly how to obtain his favour again. 'She that is afraid of every grass, must not think to go in a meadow.' Let your angry love but alone for a season, and he will soon come to himself again; for I know that love is a puny darling, and wants very frequently to be humoured. Therefore, let him alone, in time he will forget his anger, and return to thee again, if he has any principle, good nature, or loyal love in him; and if not, you had better be without him than during your whole life to be tied to so sour an apple tree. Remember the old proverb, 'Set thy stool in the sun; if a knave goes, an honest man may come.' I hope thou hast not been playing the wanton wagtail with him, hast thou?" "No, indeed, dear Mother Bunch; but yet, I must needs confess that he fain would have played a lesson on my lute last market day, but I would not let him; and that was the cause of our falling out." "Sayest thou so, daughter? Why, then, I will tell thee, that since he found thou withstood his temptations, with so much resolution, take my word for it he will never forget thee." "Well, dear mother," quoth young Susan, "your words have been comfortable to me; and when I find the good effects, I will return and give you an account of it. And so farewell, dear mother, for the present."
"Right happy, daughter, may you be, In guarding your true purity."
The next that entered the room was Eliza, the miller's maid, who, after making a very low curtsey, and giving Mother Bunch the time of the day, desiring to know for what reason she sent her that letter? "Why," says the old woman, "to the end that I might reveal to you some secrets relating to love, which I have never discovered to the world." "But, dear Mother Bunch," quoth Margery, "I am a mere stranger to love, for I never in my life knew what it meant." "That may be," quoth Mother Bunch; "yet you know not how soon you may receive the arrows of Cupid, then you would be glad of some of my advice, for I know by myself, that the best woman of you all, at one time or other, has a desire to know what it is to be married." Quoth Margery, "You talk merrily, Mother Bunch." "Well, daughter," quoth Mother Bunch, "you may term it as you please; but I will appeal to your own conscience whether or no you would be glad, with all your heart, of a kind and loving husband."