Humour wit Satire of the Seventeenth Century 86

Humour wit Satire of the Seventeenth Century 86

For when that he perceived

his Wife in such a rage,

Nor knowing how, nor which way

his fury to asswage:

He cunningly got from her,

and to the chamber went,

Thinking himself to poyson,

for that was his intent;

So coming to the bottle,

which I spoke of before,

He thought it to be poyson,

which hung behind the door:

He vow'd to drink it all up,

and end his wretched life,

Rather than live in thraldom,

with such a cursed Wife.

 

So opening of a window, which

stood towards the South,

He took the bottle of sack,

and set it to his mouth:

Now will I drink this poyson,

(quoth he) with all my heart;

So that the first draught he drunk on't

he swallowed near a quart:

The second time that he set

the bottle to his snout,

He never left off swigging,

till he had suckt all out:

Which done, he fell down backward

like one bereft of life,

Crying out, I now am poysoned

by means of my cursed Wife.

 

Quoth he, I feel the poyson

now run through every vein,

It rumbles in my belly,

and it tickles in my brain;

It wambles in my stomack,

and it molifies my heart,

It pierceth through my members,

and yet I feel no smart;

Would all that have curst wives,

example take hereby,

For I dye as sweet a death sure,

as ever man did dye:

'Tis better with such poyson,

to end a wretched life,

Than to live, and be tormented

with such a wicked Wife.

 

Now see what followed after,

his Wife by chance did walk,

And coming by the window,

she heard her _Simon_ talk;

And thinking on her bottle,

she up the stairs did run,

And came into the chamber,

to see what he had done;

When as she saw her Husband,

lying drunk upon his back,

And the bottle lying by him,

but never a drop of sack:

I am poyson'd, I am poyson'd,

quoth he, long of my Wife,

I hope I shall be at quiet

now I have lost my life.

 

Pox take you, are you poyson'd,

(quoth she) I now will strive,

And do my best endeavour

to make you run alive:

With that a quill of powder

she blew up in his nose,

Then like a man turn'd antick,

he presently arose;

So down the stairs he run straight,

into the open street,

With hooping and hollowing,

to all that he did meet;

And with a loud voice cryed out,

I am raised from death to life,

By virtue of a powder, that

was given me by my Wife.

 

Some folks that did behold him,

were in a grievous fear,

For seeing of a Madman,

they durst not him come near:

He leaped and he skipped,

thorow fair and thorow foul,

Whilst the people gaz'd upon him

like pyce upon an owl:

His Wife she followed after,

thorow thick, and thorow thin,

And with a basting cudgel

she soundly bang'd his skin:

And thus poor _Simon_ cryed out

I'm raised from death to life,

By virtue of a powder, that

was given me by my Wife.

 

At last a friend of _Simon's_

which was to him some kin,

By fair and kind persuasions,

open'd door and let him in;

He sent for _Simon's_ Wife, and

so made them both good friends,

Who kindly kist each other,

and so all discord ends;

The Neighbours all rejoyced

to see them thus agreed,

And like a loving couple

to bed they went with speed.

No doubt but _Simple Simon_

that night well pleas'd his wife,

For ever since that time, he

hath lived a quiet life.

 

_London_: Printed by and for _W. Onley_,[F. 222] and

_A. Melbourn_;[F. 223] and sold by the Booksellers of

_Pye Corner_ and _London Bridge_.

 

[Footnote 222: Published between 1650 and 1702.]

 

[Footnote 223: Published between 1670 and 1697.]

 

 

[93.] _George_ (_Peele_) was making merry with three or foure of his

friends in Pye Corner; where the Tapster of the house was much given

to Poetrie: for he had ingrossed The Knight of the Sunne, Venus

and Adonis, and other Pamphlets which the Stripling had collected

together; and knowing _George_ to be a Poet, he tooke great delight in

his company, and out of his bounty would bestow a brace of Cannes of

him. _George_ observing the humour of the Tapster, meant presently to

worke upon him. What will you say, quoth _George_ to his friends, if,

out of this spirit of the Cellar, I fetch a good Angell, that shall

bid us all to supper. We would gladly see that quoth his friends.

Content your selfe, quoth _George_. The Tapster ascends with his two

Cannes, delivers one to Master _Peele_, and the other to his friends:

gives them kind welcome: but _George_, in stead of giving him thankes,

bids him not to trouble him: and beginnes in these termes: I protest,

Gentlemen, I wonder you will urge me so much; I sweare I have it not

about me. What is the matter? quoth the Tapster. Hath any one angered

you? No, faith, quoth _George_, Ile tell thee, it is this: There is

a friend of ours in Newgate, for nothing but onely the command of the

Justices, and he being now to be released, sends to me to bring him an

Angell: now the man I love dearely well; and if hee want tenne Angels

he shall have them; for I know him sure: but heere's the misery,

either I must goe home, or I must be forced to pawne this; and pluckes

an old Harry-groat out of his pocket. The Tapster lookes upon it: Why,

and it please you, Sir, quoth he, this is but a groat. No, Sir, quoth

_George_, I know it is but a groat: but this groat will I not lose for

forty pound: for this groat had I of my mother, as a testimony of a

Lease of a House I am to possesse after her decease; and if I should

lose this groat, I were in a faire case: and either I must pawne this

groat, or there the fellow must lye still. Quoth the Tapster, If it

please you, I will lend you an Angell on it, and I will assure you it

shall bee safe. Wilt thou? quoth _George_; as thou art an honest man,

locke it up in thy Chest, and let me have it whensoever I call for

it. As I am an honest man, you shall, quoth the Tapster. _George_

delivered him his groat; the Tapster gave him ten shillings: to the

Taverne goe they with the money, and there merrily spend it. It fell

out, some time after, the Tapster, having many of these lurches,[F. 224]

fell to decay, and indeede was turned out of service, having no more

coine in the world than this groat, and in this misery, hee met

_George_, as poore as himselfe. O, Sir, quoth the Tapster, you are

happily met; I have your groat safe, though since I saw you last, I

have bid great extremitie; and I protest, save that groat, I have not

any one penny in the world; therefore I pray you, Sir, helpe me to my

money, and take your pawne. Not for the World, quoth George: thou

saist thou hast but that Groat in the world: my bargaine was, that

thou shouldst keepe that groat, untill I did demand it of thee: I ask

thee none. I will doe thee farre more good; because thou art an honest

fellow, keepe thou that groat still, till I call for it: and so doing,

the proudest Jacke in England cannot justifie that thou art not worth

a groat; otherwise, they might: and so, honest Michael, farewell. So

George leaves the poore Tapster picking of his fingers, his head full

of proclamations what he might doe: at last sighing, hee ends with

this Proverbe

 

For the price of a Barrel of Beere

I have bought a groats worth of wit,

Is not that deare?