Parson.
And so we make an end, as it lieth in an order.
But now the blessed Mess is hated in every border,
And railed on, and reviled, with words most blasphemous:
But I trust it will be better with the help of Catechismus.
For though it came forth but even that other day,
Yet hath it turned many to their old way:
And where they hated Messe, and had it in disdain,
There have they Messe and Matins in Latin tongue again.
Yea, even in London self, John, I tell the truth!
They be full glad and merry to hear of this, GOD knoweth!
John.
By my troth! mast[er] Parson, I like full well your talk!
But mass me no more messings! The right way will I walk.
For, though I have no learning, yet I know cheese from chalk,
And each can perceive your juggling, as crafty as ye walk!
But leave your devilish Mass, and the Communion to you take!
And then will Christ be with you; even for His promise sake!
Parson.
What, art thou such a one, and kept it so close!
Well, all is not gold, that hath a fair gloss,
But, farewell, John Bon! GOD bring thee in better mind!
John.
These are cries to the plough horses.
I thank you, sir! for that you seem very kind;
But pray not so for me! for I am well enough.
Whistle, boy! drive forth! GOD speed us and the plough!
Ha! browne done! forth, that horson crab!
Reecomomyne, garled! with haight, black hab!
Have a gain, bald before! hayght ree who!
Cherrily, boy, come off! that homeward we may go.