'He croffed hath this, and eke he croffed that, With benedicite and God knows what.
Now he goeth to bed and lieth adown,
When the clock had just stricken the twelfth foun.
Bethinketh him now what the cause had ybeen,
Why many fprites by mortals have been seen.
Hem remembreth how Dan Plutarch hath yfed
That Cæsar's sprite came to Brute his bed ;
Of chains that frighten erft Artemidore,
The tales of Pline, Valere, and many more.
Hem thinketh that fome murdere here been done,
And he mought fee fome bloodye ghost anone,
Or that some orphlines writings here be stor’d,
of gold laine deep beneath a board :
Or thinketh hem, if he might fee no fprite,
The Abbaye mought buy this houfe cheap outright.
As hem thus thinketh, anone afleep he lies,
Up ftarten Sathanas with faucer eyes.
He turned the Freer upon his face downright,
Displaying his nether cheeks full broad and white.
Then quoth Dan Sathanas as he thwacked him fore,
Thou didst forget to guard thy poftern-door.
There is an hole which hath not croffed been:
Farewel, from whence I came, I creepen in.
Now plain it is ytellen in my verse,
If Devils in hell bear Freers in their erfe,
On earth the Devil in Freers doth ydwell;
Were there no Freers, the Devil mought keep in Hell.
A TA L E.
AMAN may lead a happy life,
Without that needful thing a wife:
This long have lufty Abbots known,
Who ne'er knew fpoufes-of their own.
What though your house be clean and neat,
With couches, chairs, and beds compleat;
Though you each day invite a friend,
Though he fhould every difh commend;
On Bagfhot-heath your mutton fed,
Your fowls at Brentford born and bred;
Though pureft wine your cellars boast,
Wine worthy of the fairest toast;
Yet there are other things requir'd :
Ring, and let's fee the maid you hir'd.-
Bless me! thofe hands might hold a broom,
Twirle round a mop, and wash a room:
A batchelor his maid fhould keep,
Not for that fervile ufe to fweep;
Let her his humour understand,
And turn to every thing her hand.
Get you a lafs that 's young and tight,
Whofe arms are, like her apron, white.
What though her thift be feldom feen,
Let that, though coarse, be always clean;
She might each morn your tea attend,
And on your wrift your ruffle mend;
TO THE SOMPNER'S PROLOGUE OF CHAUCER.
IN IMITATION OF CHAUCER'S STYLE.
HE Sompner leudly hath his prologue told,
And faine on the Freers his tale japing and bold;
How that in Hell they fearchen near and wide,
And ne one Freer in all thilke place espyde:
But lo! the devil turn'd his erfe about,
And twenty thoufand Freers wend in and out.
By which in Jeoffry's rhyming it appears,
The devil's belly is the hive of Freers.
Now liftneth lordings! forthwith ye fhall hear,
What happend at a house in Lancashire.
A mifere that had londs and tenement,
Who raketh from his villaines taxes and rent,
VOL. II.
Owned a house which emptye long ystood,
Full deeply fited in a derkning wood;
Murmring a fhallow brook runneth along,
Mong the round stones it maken doleful fong.
Now there spreaden a rumour that everich night
The rooms yhaunted been by many a sprite;
The miller avoucheth, and all thereabout,
That they full oft' hearen the hellish rout;
Some faine they hear the jingling of chains,
And fome hath yheard the pfautries straines;
At midnight fome the heedlefs horse ymeet,
And fome efpien a corfe in a white sheet,
And oother things, faye, elfin, and elfe,
And shapes that fear createn to itselfe.
Now it fo hapt, there was not ferre away,
Of
grey Freers a fair and rich Abbaye,
Where liven a Freer ycleped Pere Thomas,
Who daren alone in derke through church-yerds pass.
This Freer would lye in thilke house all night,
In hope he might efpyen a dreadful sprite..
He taketh candle, beades, and holy watere,
And legends eke of Saintes, and bookes of prayere.
He entereth the room, and looketh round about,
And hafpen the door, to haspen the goblin out.
The candle hath he put close by the bed,
And in low tone his ave marye faid.
With water now befprinkled hath the floore,
And maken crofs on key-hole of the doore.
Ne was there not a moufe-hole in thilke place,
But he ycroffed hath by God his grace:
He croffed hath this, and eke he croffed that,
With benedicite and God knows what.
Now he goeth to bed and lieth adown,
When the clock had juft ftricken the twelfth foun.
Bethinketh him now what the cause had ybeen,
Why many sprites by mortals have been seen.
Hem remembreth how Dan Plutarch hath yfed
That Cæfar's fprite came to Brute his bed;
Of chains that frighten erft Artemidore,
The tales of Pline, Valere, and many more.
Hem thinketh that fome murdere here been done,
And he mought fee fome bloodye ghost anone,
Or that fome orphlines writings here be flor'd,
of gold laine deep beneath a board :
Or thinketh hem, if he might fee no sprite,
The Abbaye mought buy this houfe cheap outright.
As hem thus thinketh, anone asleep he lies,
Up ftarten Sathanas with faucer eyes.
He turned the Freer upon his face downright,
Difplaying his nether cheeks full broad and white.
Then quoth Dan Sathanas as he thwacked him fore,
Thou didst forget to guard thy postern-door.
There is an hole which hath not croffed been :
Farewel, from whence I came, I creepen in.
Now plain it is ytellen in my verse,
If Devils in hell bear Freers in their erfe,
On earth the Devil in Freers doth ydwell;
Were there no Freers, the Devil mought keep in Hell.
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