Amusing prose chap-books

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Amusing

Prose Chap-Books

_Chiefly of Last Century_

Edited By Robert Hays Cunningham

London: Hamilton, Adams, & Co Glasgow: Thomas D. Morison 1889

Editorial Note.

Of late years there has been a largely increasing interest on the subject of folklore in its various departments. In such respects there has been a very considerable change in the feelings and tastes of the educated middle-class population of this country, from what there was several generations ago. Formerly the educated classes appeared to think that anything relating to the tastes or ideas of the common people was of very little interest. And in the course of some two hundred years back, leaving out the present time, the number of writers who thought it worth their while to deal with such topics were not much more than a dozen in number, including such men as Aubrey, Bourne, Brand, Hone, Strut, Halliwell, etc. Now, all that is changed, and it has been discovered that much of extreme interest can be learned from the superstitions, habits, beliefs, tastes, customs, ideas, amusements, and general social life of the uneducated or lower classes of previous times.

Not the least interesting or least important of the many sources from which information on these and similar matters, can be obtained, is that of the _people's_ earliest popular literature--namely, the chap-book. Beginning at little after the commencement of the eighteenth century, and continuing for over a hundred years afterwards, right up to the general introduction and use of cheap magazines and cheap newspapers, the chap-book was almost the only kind of reading within the reach of the poorer portion of the nation.

What adds greatly both to the interest attaching to the chap-book literature and to its importance, is the fact, that these literary productions, if they may be so termed, were almost entirely written by the people themselves; that is, they were written by the people for the people. This fact intensifies the conviction that they give a true and unvarnished description of the lower orders and their ways. Then, as now, every district had its proportion of local geniuses, who had a gift above their fellows in the matter of storytelling, or some other such way. And in many instances these narratives became chap-books, and were printed and reprinted times without number at the various printing establishments over the country devoted to business of that description.

With regard to this feature in chap-book literature already referred to--namely, that it was composed by the people for the people, and thus gives a true portraiture of many features in their social life--still more may be said. It being the case that not a few of those who hawked these cheap volumes over the country were themselves the authors of some of them, and in the composition of the chaps, to a considerable extent, just reproduced circumstances, incidents, and narratives that they had met with in their wanderings over the country.

To a very marked degree was this the case in the most prominent of all the Scottish chap-book writers--namely, Dougal Graham. See his works, two volumes octavo, collected and edited by George MacGregor in 1883. It would appear that at an early period of Graham's peregrinations he accompanied Prince Charlie's army in 1745-46 throughout its various fortunes, pursuing his trade as a hawker of sundry articles that might be in demand by the prince's retainers. After that event was over, Graham continued the calling of hawker and chapman, at the same time becoming the author of a number of chap-books. But after a while he got a step or two further on; for, finding such an immense demand for his extremely amusing, though coarse, volumes, he ultimately set up a printing press of his own, for the purpose of producing his chaps and supplying the chapmen with them, by whom they were spread broadcast over the country. The knowledge of such instances as this lends much additional value to the chap-book, as containing a forcible description of the social life and ideas of the masses in former times.

A slight study of this department of literature will show that there was, then as now, much variety in the tastes of the people. And we also find that in this respect the various tastes could be fairly well met from among the stores of the chap-book publisher. In these days, just as at the present time, there had been any amount of enterprise on the part of authors and publishers in furnishing readers with whatever their fancy might desire. The _Litteratura Vulgi_ may be fairly well divided into the following or similar classifications:--Historical, biographical, religious, romantic, poetical, humorous, fabulous, supernatural, diabolical, legendary, superstitious, criminal, jest-books, etc.

The strictly religious appear to be the fewest in number. The supernatural and the superstitious elements appear to have been more in demand, as the supply of such classes seems to have been greater,--in these days the marvellous had evidently very great charms. The romantic likewise had been in great request,--the old romances handed down from the days long before printing was invented continued up till last century to be of undiminished interest. Also, from the number of poetical chaps that have come down to us, it is evident that the demand for them had been great all over the country. The most popular of all, however, appears to have been the humorous section, which again might be subdivided into a variety of departments, each with numerous representatives. The love of fun and frolic was apparently as deeply implanted in the feelings and tastes of previous generations as of the present.

Printing establishments devoted to the production of chap-books were pretty well scattered all over the country. In England the principal places appear to have been London, York, Birmingham, and Newcastle. In Scotland, the towns of Glasgow, Stirling, Falkirk, and Montrose appear to have carried off the palm in that respect. In Ireland there had been few places besides Dublin and Belfast.

The immense volume of business done in the production of the chap-book, and its importance as an article of trade all over the country, has been a matter of surprise; and the more one investigates into the facts of the case, the more is one impressed with the magnitude of the institution. It appears to have given employment to many thousands of chapmen and printers' employees. As an instance of the profits derivable from the business as an article of trade, one publisher of chap-books, and that not in an especially large way, is known to have retired with accumulated profits amounting to L30,000, which in these days would represent a much larger sum than it does now.

Notwithstanding the immense quantities of chap-books circulated broadcast over the country, comparatively early copies are now extremely rare. And the desire on the part of the public for their possession is now so great that about sixty times their original price is readily given--that is, what originally was sold for one penny, now frequently fetches five shillings, and sometimes more.

In the present collection, which is chiefly of last century, the reader will find considerable variety, containing as it does interesting specimens of several classes or divisions of the popular literature, mostly, however, of an amusing and humorous nature; and from the perusal of the majority of the chaps herein contained, a good deal of entertainment may be derived.

As a companion volume, it is the Editor's intention to issue shortly a collection of AMUSING POETICAL CHAP-BOOKS.

Contents.

The Comical History Of The Page King And The Cobbler

Containing the Entertaining and Merry Tricks and Droll Frolics played by the Cobbler, how he got acquainted with the King, became a Great Man and lived at Court ever after, 13

The Merry Tales Of The Wise Men Of Gotham, 23

The History Of Thomas Hickathrift, 35

The History Of Jack The Giant-Killer

Containing his Birth and Parentage; His Meeting with the King's Son; His Noble Conquests over many Monstrous Giants; and his rescuing a Beautiful Lady, whom he afterwards married, 53

Simple Simon'S Misfortunes And His Wife Margery'S Cruelty

Which began the very next Morning after their Marriage, 69

The Adventures Of Bamfylde Moore Carew,

Who was for more than forty years King of the Beggars, 78

The Comical Sayings Of Paddy From Cork

With his Coat Buttoned behind, being an Elegant Conference between English Tom and Irish Teague; with Paddy's Catechism, and his Supplication when a Mountain Sailor, 95

The History Of Dick Whittington And His Cat, 117

The Mad Pranks Of Tom Tram,

Son in Law to Mother Winter; to which are added his Merry Jests and Pleasant Tales, 127

A York Dialogue Between Ned And Harry:

Or Ned giving Harry an Account of his Courtship and Marriage State, 141

Daniel O'Rourke'S Wonderful Voyage To The Moon. 150

Mother Bunch'S Closet Newly Broke Open;

Containing Rare Secrets of Nature and Art, tried and experienced by Learned Philosophers, and recommended to all ingenious young men and maids, teaching them, in a natural way, how to get good wives and husbands. Approved by several that have made trial of them; it being the product of forty-nine years' study. By our loving Friend Poor Tom, for the King, a lover of Mirth but a hater of Treason. In Two Parts, 159

The Comical History Of The Courtier And Tinker, 178

The History Of The Four Kings

Of Canterbury, Colchester, Cornwall, and Cumberland, their Queens and Daughters; being the Merry Tales of Tom Hodge and his School-Fellows, 187

The Penny Budget Of Wit And Package Of Drollery, 200

The Merry Conceits Of Tom Long The Carrier,

Being many Pleasant Passages and Mad Pranks which he observed in his Travels. Full of Honest Mirth and Delight, 219

The Story Of Blue Beard

Or the Effects of Female Curiosity, 230

The Life Of Mansie Wauch

Tailor in Dalkeith, 236

THE LIFE AND ASTONISHING ADVENTURES OF Peter Williamson

Who was carried off when a Child from Aberdeen and sold for a Slave, 254

The Famous Exploits Of Robin Hood, Little John, And His Merry Men All,

Including an Account of his Birth, Education, and Death, 269

History Of Dr. Faustus

Showing his wicked Life and horrid Death, and how he sold himself to the Devil, to have power for twenty-four years to do what he pleased, also many strange things done by him with the assistance of

Mephistopheles,

With an account how the Devil came for him at the end of twenty-four years, and tore him to pieces, 286

The Whole Life And Death Of Long Meg

Of Westminster, 299

The Famous History Of The Learned Friar Bacon

Giving a Particular Account of his Birth, Parentage, with the many Wonderful Things he did in his Lifetime, to the amazement of all the World, 309

The History Of The Blind Beggar Of Bethnal Green,

Containing his Birth and Parentage; how he went to the Wars and Lost his Sight, and turned Beggar at Bethnal Green; how he got Riches, and educated his Daughter; of her being Courted by a rich, young Knight; how the Blind Beggar dropt Gold with the Knight's Uncle; of the Knight and the Beggar's Daughter being Married; and, lastly, how the famous Pedigree of the Beggar was discovered, and other Things worthy of Note, 324

The Pleasant History Of Poor Robin The Merry Saddler Of Walden

Showing the Merry Pranks he played during his Apprenticeship, and how he Tricked a Rich Miser, etc. Very diverting for a Winter Evening Fireside, 337

* * * * *

Amusing Prose Chap-Books.

The Comical History

Of The

King And The Cobbler

Containing

The Entertaining and Merry Tricks and Droll Frolics played by the Cobbler How he got acquainted with the King, became a Great Man and lived at Court ever after.

Chapter I.

_How King Henry VIII. used to visit the watches in the city and how he became acquainted with a merry, jovial cobbler._

It was the custom of King Henry the Eighth to walk late in the night into the city disguised, to observe and take notice how the constables and watch performed their duty, not only in guarding the city gates, but also in diligently watching the inner parts of the city, that so they might, in a great measure, prevent those disturbances and casualties which too often happen in great and populous cities in the night; and this he did oftentimes, without the least discovery who he was, returning home to Whitehall early in the morning.

Now, on his return home through the Strand, he took notice of a certain cobbler who was constantly up at work whistling and singing every morning. The king was resolved to see him and be acquainted with him, in order to which he immediately knocks the heel off his shoe by hitting it against a stone, and having so done, he bounced at the cobbler's stall.

"Who's there?" cries the cobbler.

"Here's one," cries the king. With that the cobbler opened the stall door, and the king asked him if he could put the heel on his shoe.

"Yes, that I can," says the cobbler; "come in, honest fellow, and sit thee down by me and I will do it for thee straight," the cobbler scraping his awls and old shoes to one side to make room for the king to sit down.

The king being hardly able to forbear laughing at the kindness of the cobbler, asked him if there was not a house hard by that sold a cup of ale and the people up.

"Yes," said the cobbler, "there is an inn over the way, where I believe the folks are up, for the carriers go from thence very early in the morning."

With that the king borrowed an old shoe off the cobbler and went over to the inn, desired the cobbler would bring his shoe to him thither as soon as he had put on the heel again. The cobbler promised he would; so making what haste he could to put on the heel, he carries it over to the king, saying, "Honest blade, here is thy shoe again, and I warrant thee it will not come off in such haste again."

"Very well," says the king; "what must you have for your pains?"

"A couple of pence," replied the cobbler.

"Well," said the king, "seeing thou art an honest merry fellow, there is a tester for thee; come, sit down by me, I will drink a full pot with thee; come, here's a good health to the king."

"With all my heart," said the cobbler, "I'll pledge thee were it in water."

So the cobbler sat down by the king and was very merry, and drank off his liquor very freely; he likewise sung some of his merry songs and catches, whereat the king laughed heartily and was very jocund and pleasant with the cobbler, telling him withal that his name was Harry Tudor, that he belonged to the court, and that if he would come and see him there, he would make him very welcome, because he was a merry companion, and charged him not to forget his name, and to ask any one for him about the court and they would soon bring him to him; "For," said the king, "I am very well known there."

Now the cobbler little dreamt that he was the king that spake to him, much less that the king's name was Harry Tudor. Therefore, with a great deal of confidence, he stands up and puts off his hat, makes two or three scrapes with his foot and gives the king many thanks, also telling him that he was one of the most honest fellows he ever met with in all his lifetime, and although he never had been at court, yet he should not be long before he would make a holiday to come and see him.

Whereupon the king paying for what they had drunk, would have taken his leave of the cobbler; but he, not being willing to part with him, took hold of his hand and said, "By my faith you must not go, you shall not go, you shall first go and see my poor habitation. I have there a tub of good brown ale that was never tapped yet, and you must go and taste it, for you are the most honest blade I ever met withal, and I love an honest merry companion with all my heart."

Chapter II.

_How the cobbler entertained the king in his cellar, and of the disturbance they had like to have had by his wife Joan._

So the cobbler took the king with him over the way, where he had his cellar adjoining the stall, which was handsomely and neatly furnished for a man of his profession. Into the cellar he took the king. "There," said he, "sit down, you are welcome; but I must desire you to speak softly, for fear of waking my wife Joan, who lies hard by (showing the king a close bed made neatly up at one corner of the cellar, much like a closet), for if she should wake she will make our ears ring again."

At which speech of the cobbler the king laughed and told him he would be mindful and follow his directions.

Whereupon the cobbler kindled up a fire and fetched out a brown loaf, from which he cut a lusty toast, which he sat baking at the fire; then he brought out his Cheshire cheese. "Now," says he, "there is as much fellowship in eating as in drinking."

Which made the king admire the honest freedom of the cobbler. So having eaten a bit the cobbler began. "A health to all true hearts and merry companions;" at which the king smiled, saying, "Friend, I'll pledge thee."

In this manner they ate and drank together till it was almost break of day; the cobbler being very free with his liquor, and delighting the king with several of his old stories, insomuch that he was highly pleased with the manner of his entertainment; when, on a sudden, the cobbler's wife Joan began to awake. "I'faith," says the cobbler, "you must begone, my wife Joan begins to grumble, she'll awake presently, and I would not for half the shoes in my shop she should find you here."

Then taking the king by the hand, he led him up the stairs, saying, "Farewell, honest friend, it shan't be long before I make a holiday to come and see thee at court."

"Thou shalt be kindly welcome," replied the king.

So they parted, the king on his way to Whitehall and the cobbler to his cellar, and there putting all things to rights before his wife Joan got up, he went to work again, whistling and singing as merry as he used to be, being much satisfied that he happened on so good and jovial a companion, still pleasing himself in his thoughts how merry he should be when he came to court.

Chapter III.

_How the cobbler prepared himself to go to court and how he was set out in the best manner by his wife Joan._

Now as soon as the king came home, he sent out orders about the court, that if any one inquired for him by the name of Harry Tudor, they should immediately bring him before him, whatever he was, without any further examination.

The cobbler thought every day a month till he had been at court to see his new acquaintance, and was troubled how he should get leave of his wife Joan, for he could not get without her knowledge, by reason he did resolve to make himself as fine as he could, for his wife always keeped the keys of his holiday clothes; whereupon one evening, as they sat at supper, finding her in a very good humour, he began to lay open his mind to her, telling her the whole story of their acquaintance, repeating it over and over again, that he was the most honest fellow that ever he met withal. "Husband," quoth she, "because you have been so ingenious as to tell me the whole truth, I will give you leave to make a holiday, for this once you shall go to court, and I will make you as fine as I can."

So it was agreed that he should go to court the next day; whereupon Joan rose betime the next morning to brush up her husband's holiday clothes and make him as fine as she could. She washed and ironed the lace-band, and made his shoes shine that he might see his face in them; having done this she made her husband rise and pull off his shirt. Then she washed him with warm water from head to foot, putting on him a clean shirt; afterwards she dressed him in his holiday clothes, pinning his laced band in prim.

Chapter IV.

_The cobbler's reception at court with the manner of his behaviour before the king._

The cobbler being thus set forth, he strutted through the street like a crow in a gutter, thinking himself as fine as the best of them all.

In this manner he came to the court, staring on this body and on that body as he walked up and down, and not knowing how to ask for Harry Tudor. At last he espied one as he thought, in the habit of a servant-man, to whom he made his address, saying--

"Dost thou hear, honest fellow, do you know one Harry Tudor who belongs to the court?"

"Yes," said the man, "follow me and I will bring you to him."

With that he had him presently up into the guard chamber, telling one of the yeomen of the guard there was one that inquired for Harry Tudor.

The yeoman replied: "I know him very well; if you please to go along with me, I'll bring you to him immediately."

So the cobbler followed the yeoman, admiring very much the prodigious finery of the rooms which he carried him through. He thought within himself that the yeoman was mistaken in the person whom he inquired for; for, said he, "He whom I look for is a plain, merry, honest fellow, his name is Harry Tudor; we drank two pots together not long since. I suppose he may belong to some lord or other about the court?"

"I tell you, friend," replied the yeoman, "I know him very well, do you but follow me and I shall bring you to him instantly."

So going forward, he came into the room where the king was accompanied by several of his nobles, who attended him.

As soon as the yeoman had put up by the arras, he spoke aloud, "May it please your majesty, here is one that inquires for Harry Tudor."

The cobbler hearing this, thought he had committed no less than treason, therefore he up with his heels and ran for it; but not being acquainted with the several turnings and rooms through which he came, he was soon overtaken and brought before the king, whom the cobbler little thought to be the person he inquired after, therefore in a trembling condition he fell down on his knees, saying--

"May it please your grace, may it please your highness, I am a poor cobbler, who inquired for one Harry Tudor, who is a very honest fellow; I mended the heel of his shoe not long since, and for which he paid me nobly and gave me two pots to boot; but I had him afterwards to my cellar, where we drank part of a cup of nappy ale and we were very merry til my wife Joan began to grumble, which put an end to our merriment for that time; but I told him I would come to the court and see him as soon as conveniently I could."

"Well," said the king, "don't be troubled, would you know this honest fellow again if you could see him?"

The cobbler replied, "Yes; that I will among a thousand."

"Then," said the king, "stand up and be not afraid, but look well about you, peradventure you may find the fellow in this company."

Whereupon the cobbler arose and looked wistfully upon the king and the rest of the nobles, but it was to little or no purpose; for, though he saw something in the king's face which he thought he had seen before, yet he could not be Harry Tudor, the heel of whose shoe he had mended and who had been so merry a companion with him at the inn and at his own cellar.

He therefore told the king he did not expect to find Harry Tudor among such fine folks as he saw there, but that the person he looked for was a plain, honest fellow. Adding withal, that he was sure that did Harry Tudor but know he was come to court, he would make him very welcome, "For," says the cobbler, "when we parted he charged me to come to court soon and see him, which I promised I would, and accordingly I have made a holiday on purpose to have a glass with him."

At which speech of the cobbler's the king had much ado to forbear laughing out, but keeping his countenance as steady as he could before the cobbler, he spoke to the yeoman of the guard.

"Here," said he, "take this honest cobbler down into my cellar and let him drink my health, and I will give orders that Harry Tudor shall come to him presently."

So away they went, the cobbler being fit to leap out of his skin for joy, not only that he had come off so well, but that he should see his friend Harry Tudor.

Chapter V.

_The cobbler's entertainment in the king's cellar._

The cobbler had not been long in the king's cellar, before the king came to him in the same habit that he had on when the cobbler mended his shoe; whereupon the cobbler knew him immediately and ran and kissed him, saying, "Honest Harry, I have made an holiday on purpose to see you, but I had much ado to get leave of my wife Joan, who was loath to lose so much time from my work; but I was resolved to see you and therefore I made myself as fine as I could; but I'll tell thee, Harry, when I came to court I was in a peck of troubles how to find you out; but at last I met with a man who told me he knew you very well and that he would bring me to you, but instead of doing so he brought me before the king, which almost frightened me out of my seven senses; but faith, I'm resolved to be merry with you now, since I have met you at last."

"Aye, that we shall," replied the king; "we shall be as merry as princes."

Now after the cobbler had drunk about four or five good healths, he began to be merry and fell a-singing his old songs and catches, which pleased the king very much and made him laugh heartily.

When on a sudden several of the nobles came into the cellar, extraordinary rich in apparel, and all stood uncovered before Harry Tudor, which put the cobbler into great amazement at first, but presently recovering himself, he looked more wistfully upon Harry Tudor, and soon knowing him to be the king, whom he saw in his presence chamber, though in another habit, he immediately fell upon his knees saying--

"May it please your grace, may it please your highness, I am a poor honest cobbler and mean no harm."

"No, no," said the king, "nor shall receive any here, I assure you."

He commanded him therefore to rise and be merry as he was before, and, though he knew him to be the king, yet he should use the same freedom with him as he did before, when he mended the heel of his shoe.

This kind speech of the king's and three or four glasses of wine made the cobbler be in as good humour as before, telling the king several of his old stories and singing some of his best songs, very much to the satisfaction of the king and all his nobles.

The Cobbler'S Song In The King'S Cellar.

Come let us drink the other pot, Our sorrows to confound; We'll laugh and sing before the king, So let his health go round. For I am as bold as bold can be, No cobbler e'er was ruder; Then here, good fellow, here's to thee, (Remembering Harry Tudor.)

When I'm at work within my stall, Upon him I will think; His kindness I to mind will call, Whene'er I eat or drink. His kindness was to me so great, The like was never known, His kindness I shall still repeat, And so shall my wife Joan.

I'll laugh when I sit in my stall, And merrily will sing; That I with my poor last and awl, Am fellow with the king. But it is more I must confess, Than I at first did know; But Harry Tudor, ne'ertheless, Resolves it shall be so.

And now farewell unto Whitehall, I homeward must retire; To sing and whistle in my stall, My Joan will me desire. I do but think how she shall laugh, When she hears of this thing, That he that drank her nut-brown ale, Was England's Royal King.

Chapter VI.

_How the cobbler became a courtier._

Now the king considering the pleasant humour of the cobbler, how innocently merry he was and free from any design; that he was a person that laboured very hard, and took a great deal of pains for a small livelihood, was pleased, out of his princely grace and favour, to allow him a liberal annuity of forty merks a year, for the better support of his jolly humour and the maintenance of his wife Joan, and that he should be admitted one of his courtiers, and that he might have the freedom of his cellar whenever he pleased.

Which being so much beyond expectation, did highly exalt the cobbler's humour, much to the satisfaction of the king.

So after a great many legs and scrapes, he returned home to his wife Joan, with the joyful news of his reception at court, which so well pleased her that she did not think much at the great pains she took in decking him for the journey.

* * * * *

The Merry Tales

Of The

Wise Men Of Gotham.

Tale I.

There were two men of Gotham, and one of them was going to Nottingham market to buy sheep, and both met together on Nottingham bridge. "Well met," said one to the other; "whither are you going?" said he that came from Nottingham. "Marry," said he that was going thither, "I am going to the market to buy sheep." "Buy sheep!" said the other, "which way will you bring them home?" "Marry," said the other, "I will bring them over this bridge." "By Robin Hood," said he that came from Nottingham, "but thou shalt not." "By my maid Margery," said the other, "but I will." "You shall not," said the one. "I will," said the other. Then they beat their staves one against the other and then against the ground, as if a hundred sheep had been betwixt them. "Hold there," said the one. "Beware of my sheep leaping over the bridge," said the other. "I care not," said the one. "They shall all come this way," said the other. "But they shall not," said the one. "Then," said the other, "if thou makest much ado, I will put my finger in thy mouth." "A groat thou wilt," said the other. And as they were in contention, another wise man that belonged to Gotham, came from the market with a sack of meal on his horse, and seeing his neighbours at strife about sheep and none betwixt them, said he, "Ah! fools, will you never learn wit? Then help me," continued he, "to lay this sack upon my shoulder." They did so and he went to the side of the bridge and shook out the meal into the river, saying, "How much meal is there in my sack, neighbour?" "Marry," said one, "there is none." "Indeed," replied this wise man, "even so much wit is there in your two heads, to strive for what you have not." Now which was the wisest of these three I leave thee to judge.

Tale II.

There was a man of Gotham that rode to the market with two bushels of wheat, and, lest his horse should be damaged by carrying too great a burden, he was determined to carry the corn himself upon his own neck, and still kept riding upon his horse till he arrived at the end of his journey. I will leave you to judge which was the wisest, his horse or himself.

Tale III.

On a time the men of Gotham fain would have pinned in the cuckoo that she might sing all the year, and in the midst of the town they had a hedge made round in compass, and got a cuckoo and put her into it, and said, "Sing here and thou shalt lack neither meat nor drink all the year." The cuckoo, when she found herself encompassed by the hedge, flew away. "A vengeance on her," said these wise men, "we did not make our hedge high enough."

Tale IV.

There was a man of Gotham who went to Nottingham market to sell cheese, and going down the hill to Nottingham bridge, one of his cheeses fell out of his wallet and ran down the hill. "Prithee," said the man, "can you run to the market alone? I'll now send one after another." Then laying his wallet down and taking out the cheeses, he tumbled them down the hill one after another. Some ran into one bush and some into another. He charged them, however, to meet him at the market place. The man went to the market to meet the cheeses and staying till the market was almost over, then went and inquired of his neighbours if they saw his cheeses come to the market. "Why, who should bring them?" says one. "Marry, themselves," said the fellow, "they knew the way very well. A vengeance on them, they ran so fast I was afraid they would run beyond the market; I am sure they are by this time as far as York." So he immediately rode to York, but was much disappointed. And to add to it he never found nor heard of one of his cheeses.

Tale V.

A man of Gotham bought, at Nottingham market, a trevet of bar iron, and going home with it his feet grew weary with the carriage. He set it down and seeing it had three feet said, "Prithee, thou hast three feet and I but two; thou shalt bear me home if thou wilt," so he set himself down upon it and said to it, "Bear me as long as I have done thee, for if thou dost not thou shalt stand still for me." The man of Gotham saw his trevet would not move. "Stand still," said he, "in the mayor's name and follow me if thou wilt and I can show you the right way." When he went home his wife asked where the trevet was. He said it had three legs and he had but two and he had taught him the ready way to his house, therefore he might come himself if he would. "Where did you leave the trevet?" said the woman. "At Gotham bridge," said he. So she immediately ran and fetched the trevet herself, otherwise she must have lost it on account of her husband's want of wit.

Tale VI.

A certain smith of Gotham had a large wasp's nest in the straw at the end of the forge, and there coming one of his neighbours to have his horse shod, and the wasps being exceeding busy the man was stung by one of them. The man, being grievously affronted, said, "Are you worthy to keep a forge or not, to have men stung with these wasps?" "O neighbour," said the smith, "be content, and I will put them from their nest presently." Immediately he took a coulter and heated it red hot, and thrust it into the straw at the end of his forge, and set it on fire and burnt it up. Then, said the smith, "I told thee I'd fire them out of their nest."

Tale VII.

On Good Friday the men of Gotham consulted together what to do with their white herrings, sprats, and salt fish, and agreed that all such fish should be cast into a pond or pool in the midst of the town, that the number of them might increase the next year. Therefore everyone that had any fish left did cast them immediately into the pond. "Then," said one, "I have gotten left so many red herrings." "Well," said another, "and I have left so many whitings." Another cried out, "I have as yet gotten so many sprats left." "And," said the last, "I have gotten so many salt fishes, let them go together in the great pond, without any distinction, and we may be sure to fare like lords the next year." At the beginning of the next Lent, they immediately went about drawing the pond, imagining they should have the fish, but were much surprised to find nothing but a great eel. "Ah!" said they, "a mischief on this eel, for he hath eaten up our fish." "What must we do with him?" said one. "Chop him in pieces," said another. "Nay, not so," said another; "but let us drown him." "Be it accordingly so," replied they all. So they went immediately to another pond and cast the eel into the water. "Lay there," said these wise men, "and shift for thyself, since you may not expect help from us." So they left the eel to be drowned.

Tale VIII.

On a time the men of Gotham had forgotten to pay their rents to their landlord; so one said to the other, "To-morrow must be pay-day, by whom can we send our money?" So one said, "I have this day taken a hare and she may carry it, for she is very quick-footed." "Be it so," replied the rest; "she shall have a letter and a purse to put our money in, and we can direct her the way." When the letter was written and the money put into a purse, they tied them about the hare's neck, saying, "You must first go to Loughborough and then to Leicester, and at Newark is our landlord; then commend us to him and there is his due." The hare, as soon as she got out of their hands, ran quite a contrary way. Some said, "Thou must first go to Loughborough." Others said, "Let the hare alone, for she can tell a nearer way than the best of us, let her go."

Tale IX.

A man of Gotham, that went mowing in the meadow, found a large grasshopper. He instantly threw down his scythe and ran home to his neighbour and said that the devil was at work in the field, and was hopping among the grass. Then was every man ready with their clubs, staves, halberts, and other weapons to kill the grasshopper. When they came to the place where the grasshopper was, said one to the other, "Let every man cross himself from the devil, for we will not meddle with him." So they returned again and said, "We are blest this day that we went no farther." "O, ye cowards!" said he that left the scythe in the meadow, "help me to fetch my scythe." "No," answered they, "it is good to sleep in a whole skin. It is much better for thee to lose thy scythe than to mar us all."

Tale X.

On a certain time there were twelve men of Gotham that went to fish; some waded in the water and some stood on dry land. In going home, one said to the other, "We have ventured wonderfully in wading, I pray God that none of us did come from home to be drowned." "Nay, marry," said one to the other, "let us see that, for there did twelve of us come out." Then they told themselves and every one told eleven. Said the one to the other, "There is one of us drowned." Then they went back to the brook where they'd been fishing, and sought up and down for him that was drowned, making a great lamentation. A courtier coming by asked what it was they sought for and why they were sorrowful. "Oh," said they, "this day we went to fish in the brook; twelve of us came out together and one is drowned." The courtier said, "Tell how many there be of you." One of them told eleven, but he did not tell himself. "Well," said the courtier, "what will you give me and I will find the twelfth man?" "All the money we have got," said they. "Give me the money," said he. He began with the first and gave him a stroke over the shoulders with his whip, that made him groan, saying, "Here is one," and so he served them all, and they groaned at the matter. When he came to the last, he paid him well, saying, "Here is the twelfth man." "God's blessings on thee," said they, "for finding our brother."

Tale XI.

A man of Gotham, riding along the highway, saw a cheese, so drew his sword and pricked it with the point in order to pick it up. Another man who came by alighted, picked it up and rode away with it. The man of Gotham rides to Nottingham to buy a long sword to pick up the cheese, and returning to the place where it did lie, he pulled out his sword, pricked the ground and said, "If I had had but this sword I should have had the cheese myself, but now another has come before me and got it."

Tale XII.

A man in Gotham that did not love his wife, and she having fair hair he said divers times he would cut it off, but durst not do it when she was awake, so he resolved to do it when she was asleep; therefore, one night he took a pair of shears and put them under his pillow, which his wife perceiving, said to her maid, "Go to bed to my husband to-night, for he intends to cut off my hair; let him cut off thy hair and I will give thee as good a kirtle as ever thou didst see." The maid did so and feigned herself asleep, which the man perceiving, cut off her hair, wrapped it about the shears, and laying them under the pillow, fell asleep. The maid arose and the wife took the hair and shears and went to the hall and burnt the hair. The man had a fine horse that he loved, and the good wife went into the stable, cut off the hair of the horse's tail, wrapped the shears up in it and laid them under the pillow again. Her husband, seeing her combing her head in the morning, marvelled thereat. The girl, seeing her master in a deep study, said, "What ails the horse in the stable, he has lost his tail?" The man ran into the stable and found the horse's tail was cut off; then going to the bed, he found the shears wrapped up in his horse's tail. He then went to his wife, saying, "I crave thy mercy, for I intended to cut off thy hair, but I have cut off my own horse's tail." "Yea," said she, "self do self have." Many men think to do a bad turn, but it turneth oftimes to themselves.

Tale XIII.

A man of Gotham laid his wife a wager that she could not make him a cuckold. "No," said she, "but I can." "Do not spare me," said he, "but do what you can." On a time she had hid all the spigots and faucets, and going into the buttery, set a barrel of broach, and cried to her spouse, "Pray, bring me a spigot and faucet or else the ale will all run out." He sought up and down but could not find one. "Come here then," said she, "and put thy finger in the tap-hole." Then she called a tailor with whom she made a bargain. Soon after she came to her husband and brought a spigot and a faucet, saying, "Pull thy finger out of the tap-hole, good cuckold. Beshrew your heart for your trouble," said she, "make no such bargain with me again."

Tale XIV.

A man of Gotham took a young buzzard and invited four or five gentlemen's servants to the eating of it; but the wife killed an old goose, and she and two of her gossips ate up the buzzard, and the old goose was laid to the fire for the gentlemen's servants. So when they came the goose was set before them. "What is this?" said one of them. The goodman said, "A curious buzzard." "A buzzard! why it is an old goose, and thou art an knave to mock us," and so departed in great anger. The fellow was sorry that he had affronted them, and took a bag and put the buzzard's feathers in it; but his wife desired him, before he went, to fetch a block of wood, and in the interim she pulled out the buzzard's feathers and put in the goose's. The man, taking the bag, went to the gentlemen's servants and said, "Pray, be not angry with me, you shall see I had a buzzard, for here be the feathers." Then, he opened the bag and took out the goose's feathers; upon which one of them took a cudgel and gave him a dozen of stripes, saying, "Why, you knave, could you not be content to mock us at home, but you are come here to mock us also."

Tale XV.

A man's wife of Gotham was brought to bed of a male child, and the father invited the gossips who were children of eight or ten years of age. The eldest child's name was Gilbert, the second's name was Humphrey, and the godmother was called Christabel. Their relations admonished them divers times, that they must all say after the parson. And when they were come to the church, the priest said, "Be you all agreed of the name?" "Gilbert, Humphrey, and Christabel," said the same. The priest then said, "Wherefore came you hither?" They immediately said the same. The priest being amazed could not tell what to say, but whistled and said, "Whey," and so did they. The priest being angry, said, "Go home, you fools, go home." Then Gilbert, Humphrey, and Christabel did the same. The priest then provided godfathers and godmothers himself.

Tale XVI.

A young man of Gotham went a wooing a fair maid: his mother warned him beforehand, saying, "Whenever you look at her, cast a sheep's eye at her, and say, 'How dost thou, my sweet pigmy?'" The fellow went to a butcher and bought seven or eight sheep eyes. And when this lusty wooer was at dinner, he would look upon the fair wench and cast in her face a sheep's eye, saying, "How dost thou do, my sweet pigmy?" "How do I do," said the wench; "swine's face, what do you mean by casting a sheep's eye at me?" "O! sweet pigmy, have at thee with another." "I defy thee, swine's face," said the wench. "What my sweet old pigmy, be content, for if you live to next year you will be a foul sow." "Walk, knave, walk," said she, "for if you live till next year you will be a fool."

Tale XVII.

There was a man of Gotham who would be married, and when the day of marriage was come they went to the church. The priest said, "Do you say after me." The man said "Do you say after me." The priest said, "Say not after me such like, but say what I shall tell you; thou dost play the fool to mock the holy scriptures concerning matrimony." The fellow said, "Thou dost play the fool to mock the holy scriptures concerning matrimony." The priest wist not what to say, but answered, "What shall I do with this fool?" and the man said, "What shall I do with this fool?" So the priest took his leave and would not marry them. The man was instructed by others how to do, and was afterwards married. And thus the breed of the Gothamites has been perpetuated even unto this day.

Tale XVIII.

There was a Scotsman who dwelt at Gotham, and he took a house a little distance from London and turned it into an inn, and for his sign he would have a boar's head. Accordingly he went to a carver and said, "Can you make me a bare head?" "Yes," said the carver. "Then," said he, "make me a bare head, and thou'se hae twenty shillings for thy hire." "I will do it," said the carver. On St. Andrew's day before Christmas (called Yule in Scotland) the Scot came to London for his boar's head. "I say, speak," said the Scotsman, "hast thou made me a bare head?" "Yes," said the carver. He went and brought a man's head of wood that was bare, and said, "Sir, there is your bare head." "Ay," said the Scot, "the meikle de'il! is this a bare head?" "Yes," said the carver. "I say," said the Scotsman, "I will have a bare head like the head that follows a sow with gryces. What, fool, know you not a sow that will greet and groan and cry a-week, a-week." "What," said the carver, "do you mean a pig?" "Yes," said the Scotsman, "let me have her head made of timber, and set on her a scalp and let her sing, 'Whip whire.'" The carver said he could not. "You fool," said he, "gar her as she'd sing whip whire."

Tale XIX.

In old times, during these tales, the wives of Gotham were got into an ale-house, and said they were all profitable to their husbands. "Which way, good gossips?" said the ale-wife. The first said, "I will tell you all, good gossips, I cannot brew nor bake, therefore I am every day alike, and go to the ale-house because I cannot go to church; and in the ale-house I pray to God to speed my husband, and I am sure my prayers will do him more good than my labour." Then said the second, "I am profitable to my husband in saving of candle in winter, for I cause my husband and all my people to go to bed by daylight and rise by daylight." The third said, "I am profitable in sparing bread, for I drink a gallon of ale, and I care not much for meat." The fourth said, "I am loath to spend meat and drink at home, so I go to the tavern at Nottingham and drink wine and such other things as God sends me there." The fifth said, "A man will ever have more company in another's house than his own, and most commonly in the ale-house." The sixth said, "My husband has flax and wool to spare if I go to other folk's houses to do their work." The seventh said, "I spare my husband's wood and clothes, and sit all day talking at other folks' fires." The eighth said, "Beef, mutton, and pork are dear, I therefore take pigs, chickens, conies, and capons, being of a lesser price." The ninth said, "I spare my husband's soap, for instead of washing once a week, I wash but once a quarter." Then said the ale-wife, "I keep all my husband's ale from souring; for as I was wont to drink it almost up, now I never leave a drop."

Tale XX.

On Ash Wednesday, the minister of Gotham would have a collection from his parishioners, and said unto them. "My friends, the time is come that you must use prayer, fasting, and alms, but come ye to shrift, I will tell you more of my mind, but as for prayer I don't think that two men in the parish can say their paternoster. As for fasting, ye fast still, for ye have not a good meal's meat in the year. As for alm-deeds, what should they give that have nothing? In Lent you must refrain from drunkenness and abstain from drink." "No, not so," said one fellow, "for it is an old proverb, 'That fish should swim.'" "Yes," said the priest, "they must swim in the water." "I crave thy mercy," quoth the fellow, "I thought it should have swam in fine ale, for I have been told so." Soon after the men of Gotham came to shrift, and being seven the priest knew not what penance to give. He said, "If I enjoin you to pray, you cannot say your paternoster. And it is but folly to make you fast, because you never eat a meal's meat. Labour hard and get a dinner on Sunday, and I will partake of it." Another man he enjoined to fare well on Monday, and another on Tuesday, and another on Wednesday, and so on one after another, that one or other should fare well once in the week, that he might have part of their meat, on every day during the week. "And as for your alm-deeds," the priest said, "ye be but beggars all, except one or two, therefore bestow your alms on yourselves."

* * * * *

The History

Of

Thomas Hickathrift

Part The First.

Chapter I.

_Tom's Birth and Parentage._

In the reign of William the Conqueror, having read in ancient records, there lived in the Isle of Ely, in Cambridgeshire, a man named Thomas Hickathrift, a poor labourer, yet he was an honest, stout man, and able to do as much work in a day as two ordinary men. Having only one son, he called him after his own name, Thomas. The old man put his son to school, but he would not learn anything.

It pleased God to call the old man aside, and his mother being tender of her son, she maintained him by her own labour as well as she could; but all his delight was in the corner; and he ate as much at once as would serve five ordinary men.

At ten years old he was near six feet high, and three in thickness; his hand was much like to a shoulder of mutton, and every other part proportionable; but his great strength was yet unknown.

Chapter II.

_How Thomas Hickathrift's Great Strength Came to be Known._

Tom's mother, being a poor widow, went to a rich farmer's house to beg a bundle of straw to shift herself and her son Thomas. The farmer, being an honest charitable man, bid her take what she wanted. She going home to her son Thomas, said, "Pray go to such a place, and fetch me a bundle of straw; I have asked leave." He swore he would not go. "Nay, prithee go," said the good old mother. He again swore he would not go, unless she would borrow him a cart rope. She being willing to please him, went and borrowed one.

Then taking up the cart rope, away he went, and coming to the farmer's house, the master was in the barn, and two other men threshing.

Said Tom, "I am come for a bundle of straw." "Tom," said the farmer, "take as much as thou can'st carry." So he laid down his cart rope, and began to make up his bundle.

"Your rope, Tom," said they, "is too short," and jeered him. But he fitted the farmer well for his joke; for when he had made up his burden, it was supposed to be near a thousand weight. "But," said they, "what a fool thou art; for thou can'st not carry the tithe of it." But, however, he took up his burden, and made no more of it than we do of an hundred pounds weight, to the great astonishment of both master and men.

Now Tom's strength beginning to be known in the town, they would not let him lie basking in the chimney corner, every one hiring him to work, seeing he had so much strength, all telling him it was a shame for him to lie idle as he did from day to day; so that Tom finding them bait at him as they did, went first to one to work and then to another.

One day a man came to him, desiring him to bring a tree home. So Tom went with him and four other men.

Now when they came to the wood they set the cart by the tree, and began to draw it by pulleys; but Tom seeing them not able to stir it, said, "Stand aside, fools," and so set on the one end, and then put it into the cart. "There," said he, "see what a man can do!" "Marry," said they, "that is true indeed."

Having done, and coming through the wood, they met the woodman; and Tom asked him for a stick to make his mother a fire with.

"Aye," says the woodman, "take one."

So Tom took up a bigger than that on the cart, and putting it on his shoulder, walked home with it faster than the six horses in the cart drew the other.

Now this was the second instance of Tom showing his strength; by which time he began to think that he had more natural strength than twenty common men, and from that time Tom began to grow very tractable; he would jump, run, and take delight in young company, and would ride to fairs and meetings, to see sports and diversions.

One day going to a wake where the young men were met, some went to wrestling, and some to cudgels, some to throwing the hammer, and the like.

Tom stood awhile to see the sport, and at last he joined the company in throwing the hammer: at length he took the hammer in his hand, and felt the weight of it, bidding them stand out of the way, for he would try how far he could throw it.

"Ay," says the old smith, "you will throw it a great way, I warrant you."

Tom took the hammer, and giving it a swing, threw it into a river four or five furlongs distant, and bid them go and fetch it out.

After this Tom joined the wrestlers, and though he had no more skill than an ass, yet by main strength he flung all he grasped with; if once he but laid hold they were gone; some he threw over his head, and others he laid gently down.

He did not attempt to look or strike at their heels, but threw them two or three yards from him, and sometimes on their heads, ready to break their necks. So that at last none durst enter the ring to wrestle with him, for they took him to be some devil among them.

Thus was the fame of Tom's great strength spread more and more about the country.

Chapter III.

_How Tom became a Brewer's Servant; how he killed a Giant, and came to be called Mr. Hickathrift._

Tom's fame being spread, no one durst give him an angry word; for being foolhardy, he cared not what he did, so that those who knew him would not displease him. At last a brewer of Lynn, who wanted a lusty man to carry beer to the Marsh and to Wisbeach, hearing of Tom, came to hire him; but Tom would not hire himself till his friends persuaded him, and his master promised him a new suit of clothes from top to toe, and also that he should be his man; and the master showed him where he should go, for there was a monstrous giant who kept part of the Marsh, and none dared to go that way; for if the giant found them he would either kill them or make them his servants.

But to come to Tom and his master, Tom did more in one day than all the rest of his men did in three: so that his master seeing him so tractable and careful in his business, made him his head man, and trusted him to carry beer by himself, for he needed none to help him. Thus Tom went each day to Wisbeach, a journey of near twenty miles.

Tom going this journey so often, and finding the other road the giant kept nearer by the half, and Tom having increased his strength by being so well kept, and improving his courage by drinking so much strong ale; one day as he was going to Wisbeach, without saying anything to his master or any of his fellow servants, he resolved to make the nearest road or lose his life; to win the horse or lose the saddle; to kill or be killed, if he met with this giant.

Thus resolved, he goes the nearest way with his cart, flinging open the gates in order to go through; but the giant soon spied him, and seeing him a daring fellow, vowed to stop his journey and make a prize of his beer; but Tom cared not a groat for him, and the giant met him like a roaring lion, as though he would have swallowed him up.

"Sirrah," said he, "who gave you authority to come this way? Do you not know that I make all stand in fear of my sight? and you, like an impudent rogue, must come and fling open my gates at pleasure. Are you so careless of your life that you do not care what you do? I will make you an example to all rogues under the sun. Dost thou not see how many heads hang upon yonder tree that have offended my laws? Thine shall hang higher than any of them all."

"A tod in your teeth," said Tom, "you shall not find me like them."

"No," said the giant; "why, you are but a fool if you come to fight me, and bring no weapon to defend thyself."

Cries Tom, "I have got a weapon here that shall make you know I am your master."

"Aye, say you so, sirrah," said the giant, and then ran to his cave to fetch his club, intending to dash his brains out at a blow.

While the giant was gone for his club, Tom turned his cart upside down, taking the axle tree and wheel for his sword and buckler; and excellent weapons they were on such an emergency.

The giant coming out again began to stare at Tom, to see him take the wheel in one of his hands and the axle tree in the other.

"Oh, oh!" said the giant, "you are like to do great things with those instruments; I have a twig here that will beat thee, thy axle tree, and wheel to the ground."

Now that which the giant called a twig was as thick as a mill post; with this the giant made a blow at Tom with such force as made his wheel crack.

Tom, not in the least daunted, gave him as brave a blow on the side of the head, which made him reel again.

"What," said Tom, "have you got drunk with my small beer already?" The giant recovering, made many hard blows at Tom; but still as they came he kept them off with his wheel, so that he received but very little hurt.

In the meantime Tom plied him so well with blows that sweat and blood ran together down the giant's face, who, being fat and foggy, was almost spent with fighting so long, so begged Tom to let him drink, and then he would fight him again.

"No," said Tom, "my mother did not teach me such wit. Who is fool then?" Whereupon, finding the giant grew weak, Tom redoubled his blows till he brought him to the ground.

The giant, finding himself overcome, roared hideously, and begged Tom to spare his life and he would perform anything he should desire, even yield himself unto him and be his servant.

But Tom, having no more mercy on him than a dog upon a bear, laid on him till he found him breathless, and then cut off his head, after which he went into his cave, and there found great store of gold and silver, which made his heart leap for joy.

When he had rummaged the cave, and refreshed himself a little, he restored the wheel and axle tree to their places, and loaded his beer on his cart, and went to Wisbeach, where he delivered his beer, and returned home the same night as usual.

Upon his return to his master, he told him what he had done, which, though he was rejoiced to hear, he could not altogether believe, till he had seen if it were true.

Next morning Tom's master went with him to the place, to be convinced of the truth, as did most of the inhabitants of Lynn.

When they came to the place they were rejoiced to find the giant quite dead; and when Tom showed them the head and what gold and silver there was in the cave, all of them leaped for joy; for the giant had been a great enemy to that part of the country.

News was soon spread that Tom Hickathrift had killed the giant, and happy was he that could come to see the giant's cave; and bonfires were made all round the country for Tom's success.

Tom, by the general consent of the country, took possession of the giant's cave and riches. He pulled down the cave, and built himself a handsome house on the spot. He gave part of the giant's lands to the poor for their common, and the rest he divided and enclosed for an estate to maintain him and his mother.

Now Tom's fame was spread more and more through the country, and he was no longer called plain Tom, but Mr. Hickathrift, and they feared his anger now almost as much as they did that of the giant before.

Tom now finding himself very rich, resolved his neighbours should be the better for it. He enclosed himself a park and kept deer; and just by his house he built a church, which he dedicated to St. James, because on that saint's day he killed the giant.

Chapter IV.

_How Tom kept a pack of Hounds, and of his being attacked by some Highwaymen._

Tom not being used to such a stock of riches, could hardly tell how to dispose of it; but he used means to do it, for he kept a pack of hounds and men to hunt them; and who but Tom; he took much delight in sports and exercises, and he would go far and near to a merry making.

One day as Tom was riding he saw a company at football, and dismounted to see them play for a wager; but he spoiled all their sport, for meeting the football, he gave it such a kick that they never found it more; whereupon they began to quarrel with Tom, but some of them got little good by it; for he got a spar, which belonged to an old house that had been blown down, with which he drove all opposition before him, and made a way wherever he came.

After this, going home late in the evening, he was met by four highwaymen, well mounted, who had robbed all the passengers that travelled on that road.

When they saw Tom, and found that he was alone, they were cock sure of his money, and bid him stand and deliver.

"What must I deliver?" cries Tom. "Your money, sirrah," said they. "Aye," said Tom, "but you shall give me better words for it first, and be better armed too."

"Come, come," said they, "we came not here to prate, but for your money, and money we must have before we go." "Is it so?" said Tom; "then get it and take it."

Whereupon one of them made at him with a rusty sword, which Tom immediately wrenched out of his hand, and attacked the whole four with it, and made them set spurs to their horses; but seeing one had a portmanteau behind him, and supposing it contained money, he more closely pursued them, and soon overtook them and cut their journey short, killing two of them and sadly wounding the other two, who, begging hard for their lives, he let them go, but took away all their money, which was about two hundred pounds, to bear his expenses home.

When Tom came home he told them how he had served the poor football players and the four thieves, which produced much mirth and laughter amongst all the company.

Chapter V.

_Tom, meets with a Tinker and of the Battle they Fought._

Some time afterwards, as Tom was walking about his estate to see how his workmen went on, he met upon the skirts of the forest a very sturdy tinker, having a good staff on his shoulder and a great dog to carry his budget of tools. So Tom asked the tinker from whence he came and whither he was going, as that was no highway? Now the tinker being a very sturdy fellow, bid him go look, what was that to him? But fools must always be meddling.

"Hold," said Tom, "before you and I part I will make you know who I am."

"Aye," says the tinker, "it is three years since I had a combat with any man; I have challenged many a one, but none dare face me, so I think they are all cowards in this part of the country; but I hear there is a man lives hereabouts named Thomas Hickathrift, who has killed a giant, him I'd willingly see to have a bout with him."

"Aye," said Tom, "I am the man. What have you to say to me?"

"Truly," said the tinker, "I am very glad we are so happily met, that we may have one touch."

"Surely," said Tom, "you are but in jest."

"Marry," said the tinker, "but I am in earnest."

"A match," said Tom.

"It is done," said the tinker.

"But," said Tom, "will you give me leave to get me a twig?"

"Aye," said the tinker, "I hate him that fights with a man unarmed."

So Tom stepped to a gate and took a rail for a staff. So to it they fell. The tinker at Tom, and Tom at the tinker, like two giants. The tinker had a leather coat on, so that every blow Tom gave him made it roar again, yet the tinker did not give way an inch till Tom gave him such a bang on the side of the head that felled him to the ground.

"Now, tinker, where art thou?" said Tom. But the tinker being a nimble fellow, leaped up again, and gave Tom a bang, the which made him reel, and following his blows, took Tom on the other side, which made him throw down his weapon and yield the mastery to the brave tinker.

After this Tom took the tinker home to his house, where we shall leave them to improve their acquaintance, and get themselves cured of the bruises they gave each other. And for a further account of the merry pranks of Tom and the tinker, the reader is referred to the Second Part, which is far more entertaining than this.

Part The Second.

Chapter I.

_Tom Hickathrift and the Tinker conquer Ten Thousand Rebels._

In and about the Isle of Ely, many disaffected persons, to the number of ten thousand or upwards, drew themselves together in a body, pretending to contend for their rights and privileges, which they said had been greatly infringed; insomuch that the civil magistrates of the country thought themselves in great danger of their lives.

Whereupon the sheriff by night came to the house of Mr. Thomas Hickathrift, as a secure place of refuge in so eminent a time of danger, where he laid open to Mr. Hickathrift the unreasonableness of the complaint of these rebels, and begged his protection and assistance.

"Sheriff," said Tom, "what service my brother," meaning the tinker, "and I can perform shall not be wanting."

This said, in the morning, by break of day, with trusty clubs, they both went out, desiring the sheriff to be their guide in conducting them to the place where the rebels were.

When they came there, Tom and the tinker marched boldly up to the head of them, and demanded the reason why they disturbed the government? To which they replied, "That their will was their law, and by that only we will be governed."

"Nay," said Tom, "if it be so, these are our weapons, and by them ye shall be chastised." These words were no sooner out of his mouth, but the tinker and he threw themselves both together into the crowd, where with their clubs they beat down all before them. Nay, remarkable it was, the tinker struck a tall man upon the neck with such force that his head flew off and was carried ten yards from him, and struck the chief leader with such violence as levelled him to the ground.

Tom, on the other hand, pressing forward, beat down all before him, making great havoc, till by an unfortunate blow he broke his club; yet he was not in the least dismayed, for he presently seized a lusty, stout, raw-boned miller, and so made use of him for a weapon, till at last they cleared the field, that not one of them durst lift up their hand against them.

Shortly after Tom took some of them and exposed them to public justice; the rest being pardoned at the request of Tom and the tinker.

Chapter II.

_Tom Hickathrift and the Tinker are sent for up to Court; and of their kind Entertainment._

The king being truly informed of the faithful services performed by these his loving subjects, Tom Hickathrift and the tinker, he was pleased to send for them and the nobility.

Now after the banquet the king said, "These are my trusty and well-beloved subjects, men of known courage and valour, who conquered ten thousand persons who were met together to disturb the peace of my realm.

"According to the characters given of Thomas Hickathrift and Henry Nonsuch, persons here present, which cannot be matched in the world; all were it possible to have an army of 20,000 such, I durst immediately venture to act the part of great Alexander.

"As a proof of my favour, kneel down and receive the order of knighthood, Mr. Hickathrift; and as for Henry Nonsuch I will settle upon him a reward of forty pounds a year during life."

So said, the king withdrew, and Sir Thomas Hickathrift and Henry Nonsuch, the tinker, returned to their home. But, to the great grief of Sir Thomas Hickathrift, he found his mother dead and buried.

Chapter III.

_Tom, after the Death of his Mother, goes a-wooing; and of a Trick he served a Gallant, who had offended him._

Tom's mother being dead, and he left alone in a spacious house, he found himself strange; therefore began to consider with himself that it would not be amiss to seek a wife; so, hearing of a rich and young widow in Cambridge, he goes to her and makes his addresses, and at the first coming she seemed to show him much favour; but between that and his coming again she gave entertainment to an airy, brisk, and young spark that happened to come in while Tom was there a second time.

He looked very wistfully at Tom, and Tom stared as fiercely at him again; so at last the young spark began to abuse Tom with very affronting language, saying he was a lubberly welp and a scoundrel.

"A scoundrel!" said Tom. "Better sayings would become you; and if you do not instantly mend your manners, you will meet with correction."

At which the young man challenged him; so to the yard they went--the young man with his sword, and Tom with neither stick nor staff.

Said the spark, "Have you nothing to defend yourself? Then I shall the sooner despatch you."

So he made a pass at Tom, but that he butt by; and then, wheeling round unto his back, Tom gave him such a nice kick in the breech as sent the spark like a crow up in the air, whence he fell upon the ridge of a thatched house, and came down into a fish-pond, where he had certainly been drowned if it had not been for a poor shepherd, who was walking by that road, and, seeing him floating on the water, dragged him out with his hook, and home he returned like a drowned rat; whilst Tom enjoyed the kind embraces of his lady.

Chapter IV.

_How Tom served Two Troopers, whom the Spark had hired to beset him._

Now the young gallant vexed himself to think how Tom had conquered him before his new mistress, so was resolved on speedy revenge, and, knowing he was not able to cope with Tom, he hired two lusty troopers, well mounted, to lie in ambush under a thicket, which Tom was to pass on his way home, and so accordingly they both attempted to set upon him.

"How now, rascals!" said Tom; "what would you be at? Are you indeed so weary of your lives that you so unadvisedly set upon one who is able to crush you like a cucumber?" The two troopers, laughing at him, said they were not to be daunted at his high words. "High words!" said Tom; "nay, now I will come to action," and so ran between them, catching them in his arms, horses and men, as easy as if they had been but two baker's bavins.

In this manner he steered homewards, but, as he passed through a company of haymakers, the troopers cried, "Stop him! stop him! He runs away with two of the king's troopers." But they laughed to see Tom hugging them, frequently upbraiding them for their baseness, saying he'd make mince meat of them for crows and jackdaws.

This was a dreadful lecture to them, and the poor rogues begged he would be merciful to them, and they would discover the whole plot, and who was the person that employed them, which they accordingly did, and gained favour in the sight of Tom, who pardoned them on promise that they would never be concerned in so villainous an action as that was for the future.

Chapter V.

_Tom, going to be Married, is set upon by Twenty-one Ruffians; and of the Havock he made._

In regard Tom had been hindered hitherto by the troopers, he delayed his visit to his lady and love till the next day, and, coming to her, he gave her a full account of what had happened.

She was much pleased at this relation, and received him with joy and satisfaction, knowing it was safe for a woman to marry with a man who was able to defend her against any assault whatever; and so brave a man as Tom was found to be.

The day of marriage being appointed, and friends and relations invited, yet secret malice, which is never satisfied but with revenge, had like to have prevented it; for, having near three miles to go to church, the aforementioned gentleman had provided one-and-twenty ruffians to destroy Tom, for to put them to consternation.

Howbeit, it so happened in a private place, all bolted out upon Tom, and with a spear gave him a slight wound, which made his sweetheart shriek out lamentably. Tom endeavoured to pacify her, saying, "Stand you still, and I will soon show you some pleasant sport."

Here he catched hold of a broad-sword from the side of one of the company, and behaved so gallantly with it that at every stroke he took off a joint. He spared their lives, but lopped off their legs and arms, that in less than a quarter of an hour there was not one in the company but had lost a limb. The grass was all stained with a purple gore, and the ground was covered with legs and arms.

His lover and the rest of the company were all this while standing by and admiring his valour, crying out, "O, what a sight of cripples has he made in a short time!"

"Yes," said Tom, "I verily believe that for every drop of blood I have lost I have made the rascals pay me a limb, as a just tribute."

This said, he steps to a farmer's house, and hired a servant, by giving him twenty shillings to carry the several cripples home to their respective habitations in his cart, and then posted to church with his love, when they were heartily merry with their friends after this encounter.

Chapter VI.

_Tom provides a Feast for all the poor Widows in the adjacent Towns; and how he served an Old Woman who Stole a Silver Cup._

Now Tom, being married, made a plentiful feast, to which he invited all the poor widows in the parish, for the sake of his mother, who had been lately buried.

This feast was carried on with the greatest solemnity, and, being ended, a silver cup was missing, and being asked about it they all denied it.

At last, all being searched, the cup was found on an old woman named Strumbelow. Then all the rest were in a rage; some were for hanging her, others for chopping the old woman in pieces for ingratitude to such a generous benefactor.

But he entreated them all to be quiet, saying they should not murder a poor old woman, for he would appoint a punishment for her, which was this:--He bored a hole through her nose, and put a string in it, and then ordered her to be stripped; so commanding the rest of the old women to lead her through all the streets and lanes in Cambridge, which comical sight caused a general laughter.

This being done, she had her clothes again, and so was acquitted.

Chapter VII.

_Sir Thomas and his Lady are sent for up to Court; and of what happened at that Time._

Now, tidings of Tom's wedding was soon raised at court, insomuch that they had a royal invitation there, in order that the king might have a sight of his newly-married lady. Accordingly, they came, and were received with much joy and triumph.

Whilst they were in the midst of their mirth news was brought the king by the Commons of Kent that a very dreadful giant was landed in one of the islands, and had brought with him a great number of bears, and also young lions, with a dreadful dragon, upon which he always rode, which said monster and ravenous beasts had much frighted all the inhabitants of the said island. And, moreover, they said, if speedy course was not taken to suppress them in due time, they would destroy the country.

The king, hearing of this relation, was a little startled; yet he persuaded them to return home, and make the best defence they could for the present, assuring them that he would not forget them, and so they departed.

Chapter VIII.

_Tom is made Governor of East Angles, now called the Isle of Thanet; and of the wonderful Achievements he there performed._

The king, hearing these dreadful tidings, immediately sat in council to consider what was best to be done for the conquering this giant and wild beasts.

At length Tom Hickathrift was pitched upon as being a stout and bold subject, for which reason it was judged necessary to make him Governor of that island, which place of trust he readily accepted; and accordingly he went down with his wife and family to take possession of the same, attended by a hundred and odd knights and gentlemen at least; they taking leave of him, and wishing him all health and prosperity.

Many days he had not been there before it was his fortune to meet this monstrous giant, for thus it was:--Sir Thomas, looking out at his own window, espied this giant mounted on a dreadful dragon, and on his shoulder he bore a club of iron. He had but one eye, which was in the middle of his forehead, and was as large as a barber's basin, and seemed like flaming fire, the hair of his head hanging down like snakes, and his beard like rusty wire.

Lifting up his eye, he saw Sir Thomas, who was viewing him from one of the windows of the castle. The giant then began to knit his brows, and to breathe forth some threatening words to the Governor, who, indeed, was a little surprised at the approach of such a monstrous and ill-favoured brute.

The monstrous giant, finding that Tom did not make much haste to get down to him, alighted from his dragon, and chained him to an oak tree, then marched to the castle, setting his broad shoulders against the corner of the wall as if he intended to overthrow the whole bulk of the building at once. Tom, perceiving it, said, "Is this the game you would be at? Faith, I shall spoil your sport, for I have a tool to pick your teeth with."

He then took the two-handed sword the king gave him, down he went, and, flinging open the gate, he there finds the giant, who, by an unfortunate slip in his thrusting, was fallen along, and there lay, not able to defend himself.

"How now!" said Tom; "do you come here to take up your lodging? This is not at all to be suffered." And with that he ran his long broad sword between the giant's tawny buttocks, and made the brute give a groan almost as loud as thunder.

Then Sir Thomas, pulling out his sword again, and at six or seven blows he severed his head, which, when cut off, seemed like the root of a great oak; then, turning to the dragon, which was all this time chained to a tree, without any more ado, at a few blows cut off that also.

This adventure being over, he sent for a waggon and horses, and loaded them with the heads, and then summoned all the constables of the county for a safeguard, and sent them to the court, with a promise to his Majesty that in a short time he would clear the island of all the bears, lions, etc., etc.

Chapter IX.

_The Tinker, hearing of Tom's Fame, he goes to his Partner; and of his being unfortunately slain by a Lion._

Tom's victories rang so loud that they reached the ears of his old acquaintance the tinker, who, being desirous of honour, resolved to go down and visit him in his government; and coming there he was kindly entertained.

After a few days' pleasure, Tom told him he must go in search of some bears and lions in the island.

"Then," said the tinker, "I will go with you."

"With all my heart," said Tom, "for I must own I shall be glad of your company." On this they went forward--Tom with his great sword and the tinker with his pike staff.

After they had travelled four or five hours, it was their fortune to meet all the wild beasts together, being in number fourteen, six of which were bears, the other eight young lions. When these creatures had set their eyes on them they ran furiously, as if they would have devoured them at a mouthful, but Tom and the tinker stood side by side, with their backs against an oak, until the lions and bears came within their reach. Tom, with his sword, clave all their heads asunder, until they were all destroyed, except one young lion, who, seeing the rest of his fellow-creatures dead, he was making his escape; but the tinker, being too venturous, ran hastily after him, and gave the lion a blow. The beast turned upon him, and seized him with such violence by the throat as soon ended his life.

Tom's joy was now mingled with sorrow, for, though he had cleared the island of those ravenous beasts, yet his grief was intolerable for the loss of his friend.

Home he returned to his lady, where, in token of joy for the success he'd had in his dangerous enterprizes, he made a very noble and splendid feast, to which he invited all his friends and acquaintances, and then made the following promises:--

"My friends, while I have strength to stand, Most manfully I will pursue All dangers, till I clear the land Of lions, bears, and tigers too."

* * * * *

The History

Of

Jack

The

Giant-Killer

Containing

His Birth and Parentage His Meeting with the King's Son; His Noble Conquests over many Monstrous Giants And his rescuing a Beautiful Lady, whom he afterwards married.

In the reign of King Arthur, near the Land's-End of England, in the county of Cornwall, there lived a wealthy farmer, who had only one son, commonly known by the name of Jack. He was brisk, and of a lively, ready wit, so that whatever he could not perform by strength he completed by wit and policy. Never was any person heard of that could worst him; nay, the learned he baffled by his cunning and ready inventions.

For instance, when he was no more than seven years of age, his father sent him into the field to look after his oxen. A country vicar, by chance one day coming across the field, called Jack, and asked him several questions; in particular, "How many commandments were there?" Jack told him there were nine. The parson replied, "There are ten." "Nay," quoth Jack, "master parson, you are out of that; it is true there were ten, but you have broken one of them." The parson replied, "Thou art an arch wag, Jack." "Well, master parson," quoth Jack, "you have asked me one question, and I have answered it; let me ask you another. Who made these oxen?" The parson replied, "God." "You are out again," quoth Jack, "for God made them bulls, but my father and his man Hobson made oxen of them." The parson, finding himself fooled, trudged away, leaving Jack in a fit of laughter.

In those days the mount of Cornwall was kept by a huge and monstrous giant of 27 feet high and of 3 yards in compass, of a grim countenance, to the terror of all the neighbouring towns. His habitation was a cave in the midst of the mount; neither would he suffer any living creature to inhabit near him. His feeding was upon other men's cattle; for whensoever he had occasion for food he would wade over to the main land, where he would furnish himself with whatever he could find; for the people at his approach would forsake their habitations; then he would take their cows and oxen, of which he would make nothing to carry over on his back half a dozen at a time; and as for sheep and hogs, he would tie them round his waist. This he had for many years practised in Cornwall.

But one day Jack, coming to the Town Hall, when the Magistrates were sitting in consternation about the giant, he asked what reward they would give to any person that would destroy him. They answered, "He shall have all the giant's treasure in recompense." Quoth Jack, "Then I myself will undertake the work."

Jack furnished himself with a horn, a shovel, and a pick-axe, and over to the mount he goes in the beginning of a dark winter evening, where he fell to work, and before morning had digged a pit 22 feet deep, and as broad, and covered the same over with long sticks and straw; then strewed a little mould upon it, so that it appeared like the plain ground.

This done, Jack places himself on the contrary side of the pit just about the dawning of the day, when, putting his horn to his mouth, he then blew, "Tan twivie, tan twivie," which unexpected noise roused the giant, who came roaring towards Jack, crying out, "You incorrigible villain, are you come hither to break my rest? You shall dearly pay for it; satisfaction I will have, and it shall be this--I will take you wholly and broil you for my breakfast," which words were no sooner out of his mouth but he tumbled headlong into the deep pit, whose heavy fall made the very foundation of the mount to shake.

"Oh! giant, where are you now? Faith, you are got into Lobb's Pond, where I shall plague you for your threatening words. What do you think now of broiling me for your breakfast? Will no other diet serve you but poor Jack?" Thus having tantalized the giant for a while, he gave him a most weighty knock on the crown of his head with his pick-axe, so that he immediately tumbled down, gave a most dreadful groan, and died. This done, Jack threw the earth in upon him, and so buried him; then, going and searching the cave, he found a great quantity of treasure.

Now, when the Magistrates who employed him heard the work was over, they sent for him, declaring that he should henceforth be called Jack the Giant-Killer. And in honour thereof, they presented him with a sword, together with a fine rich embroidered belt, on which these words were wrought in letters of gold--

"Here's the right valiant Cornish man Who slew the giant Cormillan."

The news of Jack's victory was soon spread; when another huge giant, named Blunderboar, hearing of it, vowed to be revenged on Jack if ever it was his fortune to light upon him. This giant kept an enchanted castle, situated in the midst of a lonesome wood. Now, Jack, about four months after, walking near the borders of the said wood, on his journey towards Wales, grew weary, and therefore sat himself down by the side of a pleasant fountain, where a deep sleep suddenly seized on him, at which time the giant coming for water, found him; and by the line on his belt knew him to be Jack that killed his brother; and, without any words, threw him upon his shoulder, to carry him to his enchanted castle.

Now, as they passed through a thicket, the ruffling of the boughs awaked poor Jack, who, finding himself in the clutches of the giant, was strangely surprised; for, at the entering within the first walls of the castle, he beheld the ground all covered with bones and skulls of dead men, the giant telling Jack that his bones would enlarge the number that he saw. This said, he brought him into a large parlour, where he beheld the bloody quarters of some who were lately slain, and in the next room were many hearts and livers, which the giant, in order to terrify Jack, told him "that men's hearts and livers were the choicest of his diet, for he commonly ate them with pepper and vinegar, and he did not question but his heart would make him a dainty bit." This said, he locks up poor Jack in an upper room, while he went to fetch another giant living in the same wood, that he might partake in the destruction of poor Jack.

Now, while he was gone, dreadful shrieks and cries affrighted poor Jack, especially a voice which continually cried--

"Do what you can to get away, Or you'll become the giant's prey; He's gone to fetch his brother, who Will kill and likewise torture you."

This dreadful noise so amazed poor Jack he was ready to run distracted. Seeing from the window afar off the two giants coming, "Now," quoth Jack to himself, "my death or deliverance is at hand."

There were strong cords in the room by him, of which he takes two, at the end of which he makes a noose, and, while the giant was unlocking the gate, he threw the ropes over each of the heads, and, drawing the other end across the beam, he pulled with all his strength until he had throttled them; and then, fastening the rope to the beam, turning towards the window he beheld the two giants to be black in their faces. Sliding down by the rope, he came close to their heads, where the helpless giants could not defend themselves, and, drawing out his sword, slew them both, and delivered himself from their intended cruelty; then, taking out a bunch of keys, he unlocked the rooms, where he found three fair ladies, tied by the hair of their heads, almost starved to death, who told Jack that their husbands were slain by the giant, and that they were kept many days without food, in order to force them to feed upon the flesh of their husbands.

"Sweet ladies," quoth Jack, "I have destroyed this monster, and his brutish brother, by which I have obtained your liberties." This said, he presented them with the keys of the castle, and so proceeded on his journey to Wales.

Jack, having but very little money, thought it prudent to make the best of his way by travelling as fast as he could, but, losing his road, was benighted, and could not get a place of entertainment until he came to a valley placed between two hills, where stood a large house in a lonesome place. He took courage to knock at the gate, and to his great surprise there came forth a monstrous giant, having two heads; yet he did not seem so fiery as the others had been, for he was a Welsh giant, and what he did was by secret malice, for Jack telling his condition he bid him welcome, showing him a room with a bed in it, whereon he might take his night's repose; therefore Jack undressed himself, and, as the giant was walking to another apartment, Jack heard him mutter forth these words to himself--

"Though here you lodge with me this night, You shall not see the morning light; My club shall dash your brains out quite."

"Sayest thou so," quoth Jack; "this is like your Welsh tricks; yet I hope to be cunning enough for you." Then getting out of bed he put a billet in his stead, and hid himself in a corner of the room; and in the dead time of the night the Welsh giant came with his great knotty club, and struck several heavy blows upon the head where Jack had laid the billet, and then returned to his own chamber, supposing he had broken all the bones in his body.

In the morning Jack gave him hearty thanks for his lodging. The giant said to him, "How have you rested? Did you not feel something in the night?" "Nothing," quoth Jack, "but a rat which gave me three or four slaps with her tail." Soon after the giant arose and went to breakfast with a bowl of hasty pudding, containing nearly four gallons, giving Jack the like quantity, who, being loath to let the giant know he could not eat with him, got a large leathern bag, putting it very artfully under his loose coat, into which he secretly conveyed his pudding, telling the giant he could show him a trick; then, taking a large knife, he ripped open the bag, which the giant supposed to be his belly, when out came the hasty pudding, at which the Welsh giant cried, "Cotsplut, hur can do dat trick hurself." Then, taking his sharp knife, he ripped up his own belly from the bottom to the top; and out dropped his bowels, so that he fell down for dead. Thus Jack outwitted the giant, and proceeded on his journey.

About this time King Arthur's son only desired of his father to furnish him with a certain sum of money, that he might go and seek his fortune in Wales, where a beautiful lady lived, whom he heard was possessed with seven evil spirits; but the king his father advised him utterly against it, yet he would not be persuaded of it; so he granted what he requested, which was one horse loaded with money, and another for himself to ride on; thus he went forth without any attendants.

Now, after several days' travel, he came to a market town in Wales, where he beheld a large concourse of people gathered together. The king's son demanded the reason of it, and was told that they had arrested a corpse for many large sums of money which the deceased owed when he died. The king's son replied, "It is a pity that creditors should be so cruel; go bury the dead, and let his creditors come to my lodging, and their debts shall be discharged." Accordingly they came in great numbers, so that he left himself moneyless.

Now, Jack the Giant-Killer being there, and, seeing the generosity of the king's son, he was taken with him, and desired to be his servant. It was agreed upon the next morning, when, riding out at the town-end, the king's son, turning to Jack, said, "I cannot tell how I will subsist in my intended journey." "For that," quoth Jack, "take you no care: let me alone; I warrant you we will not want."

Now, Jack, having a spell in his pocket, which served at noon for a refreshment, when done, they had not one penny left betwixt them. The afternoon they spent in travel and discourse, till the sun began to grow low, at which time the king's son said, "Jack, since we have no money, where can we think to lodge this night?" Jack replied, "We'll do well enough, for I have an uncle living within two miles of this. He is a monstrous giant with three heads; he will fight 500 men in armour, and make them to fly before him." "Alas!" saith the king's son, "what shall we do there? He will certainly chop us both up at one mouthful!" "It is no matter for that," quoth Jack; "I will go before and prepare the way for you. Tarry here."

He waits, and Jack rides full speed; when he came to the castle, he knocked with such a force that he made all the neighbouring hills to resound. The giant, with a voice like thunder, roared out, "Who's there?" He answered, "None but your own cousin Jack. Dear uncle, heavy news, God wot." "Prithee, what heavy news can come to me? I am a giant with three heads, and besides thou knowest I can fight five hundred men." "O! but," quoth Jack, "here's the king's son coming with 1,000 men to kill you." "Oh! Jack, this is heavy news indeed. I have a large vault under ground, where I will hide myself, and thou shalt lock, bolt, and bar me in, and keep the keys till the king's son is gone."

Jack having secured the giant, he returned and fetched his master. They were both heartily merry with the wine and other dainties which were in the house; so that night they rested in very pleasant lodgings, whilst the poor uncle the giant lay trembling in the vault under ground.

Early in the morning Jack furnished his master with a supply of gold and silver, and set him three miles forward on his journey, concluding he was then pretty well out of the smell of the giant, and then returned to let his uncle out of the hole, who asked Jack what he would give him in reward, since his castle was not demolished. "Why," quoth Jack, "I desire nothing but the old coat and cap, together with the old rusty sword and slippers which are at your bed-head." "Jack, thou shalt have them, and pray keep them for my sake, for they are things of excellent use. The coat will keep you invisible; the cap will furnish you with knowledge; the sword cuts asunder whatever you strike, and the shoes are of extraordinary swiftness: these may be serviceable to you, and therefore pray take them with all my heart." Jack takes them, thanking his uncle, and follows his master.

Jack, having overtaken his master, soon after arrived at the lady's house, who, finding the king's son to be a suitor, prepared a banquet for him, and, being ended, she wiped his mouth with her napkin, saying, "You must show this to-morrow, or else lose your head," and she put it safely into her bosom.

The king's son went to bed sorrowful, but Jack's cap of knowledge instructed him how to obtain it. In the middle of the night she called upon her familiar spirit to carry her to Lucifer. Jack put on his coat of darkness, with his shoes of swiftness, and was there as soon as her; by reason of his coat they could not see him. When she entered the place she gave the handkerchief to old Lucifer, who laid it carefully upon a shelf, from whence Jack brought it to his master, who showed it to the lady the next day.

The next night she saluted the king's son, telling him he must show her to-morrow morning the lips that she kissed last this night, or lose his head. "Ah," replied he, "if you kiss none but mine I will." "It is neither here nor there," said she; "if you do not, death's your portion." At midnight she went as before, and was angry with Lucifer for letting the handkerchief go. "But now," said she, "I will be too hard for the king's son, for I will kiss thee, and he's to show thy lips." Jack, standing near him with his sword of sharpness, cut off the devil's head, and brought it under his invisible coat to his master, who was in bed, and laid it at the end of his bolster. In the morning, when the lady came up, he pulled it out by the horns, and showed her the devil's lips, which she kissed last.

Thus, having answered her twice, the enchantment broke, and the evil spirits left her, at which time she appeared a beautiful and virtuous creature. They were married next morning in great pomp and solemnity, and returned with a numerous company to the court of King Arthur, where they were received with the greatest joy and loud acclamations Jack, for the many and great exploits he had done for the good of his country, was made one of the Knights of the Round Table.

Jack, having resolved not to be idle, humbly requested of the king to fit him with a horse and money to travel, "for," said he, "there are many giants alive in the remotest parts of the kingdom, to the unspeakable damage of your Majesty's liege subjects; wherefore, may it please your Majesty to give me encouragement to rid the realm of these cruel and devouring monsters of nature, root and branch."

Now, when the king had heard these noble propositions, and had duly considered the mischievous practices of these blood-thirsty giants, he immediately granted what Jack requested; and, being furnished with all necessaries for his progress, he took his leave of King Arthur, taking with him the cap of knowledge, sword of sharpness, shoes of swiftness, and likewise the invisible coat, the better to perfect and complete the dangerous enterprises that lay before him.

Jack travelled over vast hills and mountains, when, at the end of three days, he came to a large and spacious wood, where, on a sudden, he heard dreadful shrieks and cries, whereupon, casting his eyes around, he beheld a giant rushing along with a worthy knight and his fair lady, whom he held by the hair of their heads in his hands, wherefore he alighted from off his horse, and then, putting on his invisible coat, under which he carried his sword of sharpness, he came up to the giant, and, though he made several passes at him, yet he could not reach the trunk of his body, by reason of his height, though it wounded his thighs in several places; but at length, giving him a swinging stroke, he cut off both his legs just below the knee, so that the trunk of his body made the ground shake with the force of his fall, at which the knight and the lady escaped; then had Jack time to talk with him, and, setting his foot upon his neck, said, "You savage and barbarous wretch, I am come to execute upon you the just reward of your villainy." And with that, running him through and through, the monster sent forth a hideous groan, and yielded up his life, while the noble knight and virtuous lady were joyful spectators of his sudden downfall and their own deliverance.

This being done, the courteous knight and his fair lady returned him hearty thanks for their deliverance, but also invited him home, there to refresh himself after the dreadful encounter, as likewise to receive ample reward, by way of gratitude for his good service. "No," quoth Jack, "I cannot be at ease till I find out the den which was this monster's habitation." The knight hearing this waxed sorrowful, and replied, "Noble stranger, it is too much to run a second risk, for this monster lived in a den under yon mountain, with a brother of his, more fierce than himself; therefore, if you go thither and perish in the attempt, it would be the heartbreaking of both me and my lady. Let me persuade you to go with us." "Nay," quoth Jack, "if there were twenty I would shed the last drop of my blood before one of them should escape my fury; but when I have finished this task I will come and pay my respects to you." So, taking directions to their habitation, he mounted his horse, and went in pursuit of the deceased giant's brother.

Jack had not rode past a mile before he came in sight of the cave's mouth, at the entrance of which he beheld the other giant sitting upon a huge block of timber, with a knotty iron club by his side, waiting for his brother's return with his cruel prey. His goggle eyes appeared like terrible flames of fire, his countenance grim and ugly, and his cheeks appeared like a couple of large flitches of bacon; the bristles of his head seemed to resemble rods of iron wire; his locks hung down on his broad shoulders like curled snakes.

Jack alighted from his horse, and put him into a thicket; then, with his coat of darkness, he came near to behold his figure, and said, "Oh! are you here? It will not be long before I take you by the beard." The giant could not see him by reason of his invisible coat: so Jack, fetching a blow at his head with his sword of sharpness, and missing somewhat of his aim, cut off the giant's nose, whose nostrils were wider than a pair of jack-boots. The pain was terrible; he put up his hand to feel for his nose, and when he could not find it he raved and roared louder than thunder; and, though he turned up his large eyes, he could not see from whence the blow came; nevertheless, he took up his iron-headed club, and began to thrash about him like one stark mad. "Nay," quoth Jack, "if you be for that sport, then I will despatch you quickly, for fear of an accidental blow." Then Jack makes no more to do, but runs his sword up to the hilt in the giant's body, where he left it sticking for a while, and stood himself laughing to see the giant caper and dance with the sword in him, crying out he should die with the pain in his body. Thus did the giant continue raving for an hour or more, and at length fell down dead.

This being done, Jack cut off both the giants' heads, and sent them to King Arthur by a waggoner, whom he hired for the purpose.

Jack, having despatched these two monsters, resolved to enter the cave in search of the giant's treasure. He passed through many turnings and windings, which led him at length to a room paved with freestone, at the upper end of which was a boiling cauldron; on the right hand stood a large table, where the giants used to dine; then he came to an iron gate, where was a window secured with bars of iron, through which he looked, and beheld a vast many captives, who, seeing Jack, said, "Young man, art thou come to be one among us in this miserable den?" "Ay," quoth Jack, "I hope I shall not tarry long here; but what is the meaning of your captivity?" "Why," said one of them, "we have been taken by the giants, and here we are kept till they have a feast, then the fattest among us is slaughtered for their devouring jaws. It is not long since they took three of us for the purpose." "Say you so," quoth Jack; "well, I have given them both such a dinner that it will be long enough ere they need any more. You may believe me, for I have slain them both; and as for their monstrous heads, I sent them to the court of King Arthur as trophies of my victory." Then, leading them to the aforesaid room, he placed them round the table, and set before them two quarters of beef, also bread and wine, so that they feasted there very plentifully. Supper being ended, they searched the giant's coffers, where, finding a vast store of gold, Jack divided it equally among them. They all returned him hearty thanks for their treasure and miraculous deliverance. That night they went to their rest, and in the morning they arose and departed to their respective places of abode, and Jack to the knight's house.

Jack mounted his horse, and by his direction he came to the knight's house, where he was received with all demonstrations of joy by the knight and his lady, who, in respect to Jack, prepared a feast, which lasted for many days, inviting all the gentry in the adjacent parts. He presented him with a ring of gold, on which was engraven by curious art the picture of the giant dragging a distressed knight and his fair lady by the hair of the head.

Now, there were five aged gentlemen who were fathers to some of those miserable captives whom Jack had set at liberty, who immediately paid him their respects. The smiling bowl was then pledged to the victorious conqueror, but during their mirth a dark cloud appeared, which daunted the assembly.

A messenger brought the dismal tidings of the approach of one Thunderful, a huge giant with two heads, who, having heard of the death of his kinsmen, the above-named giants, was come in search of Jack, to be revenged on him for their terrible downfall, and was within a mile of the knight's seat, the people flying before him from their habitations. When they had related this, Jack said, "Let him come. I am prepared with a tool to pick his teeth, and you, gentlemen and ladies, walk forth into the garden, and you shall be the joyful spectators of this monstrous giant's death." To which they consented, wishing him good fortune in that great enterprise.

The situation of the knight's house was in a small island, encompassed with a vast moat, thirty feet deep and twenty feet wide, over which lay a draw-bridge. Wherefore Jack employed two men to cut it on both sides, and then, dressing himself in his coat of darkness, putting on his shoes of swiftness, he marched against the giant, with his sword of sharpness ready drawn. When he came close up, the giant could not see Jack, by reason of his invisible coat; nevertheless, he was sensible of approaching danger, which made him cry out--

"Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman; be he living or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to mix my bread."

"Sayest thou so," quoth Jack; "then thou art a monstrous miller. But how? If I serve thee as I did the two giants of late, I should spoil your practice for the future."

At which time the giant spoke with a voice as loud as thunder--"Art thou that villain which destroyed my kinsmen? Then I will tear thee with my teeth, and suck thy blood. I will grind thy bones to powder."

"Catch me first," quoth Jack; and he threw off his coat of darkness that the giant might see him, and then ran from him as through fear, the giant, with glaring eyes, following after like a walking castle, making the earth to shake at every step. Jack led him a dance three or four times round the moat, that the ladies and gentlemen might take a full view of this huge monster who followed Jack, but could not overtake him by reason of his shoes of swiftness. At length Jack took over the bridge, the giant, with full speed, pursuing after him, with his iron club; but, coming to the middle of the draw-bridge, the weight of his body, and the most dreadful steps which he took, it broke down, and he tumbled into the water, where he rolled and wallowed like a whale. Jack, standing at the side of the moat, laughed at the giant, and said, "You would grind my bones to powder? You have water; pray, where is your mill?" The giant foamed to hear him scoffing at that rate, though he plunged from place to place in the moat. Jack at length got a cart rope, and cast it over the giant's two heads with a slip knot, and, by the help of horses, he dragged him out again, nearly strangled. Before he would let him loose, he cut off both his heads with his sword of sharpness, in the view of all the assembly of knights and ladies, who gave a shout when they saw the giant despatched. Then, before he would either eat or drink, he sent these heads also to the court of King Arthur.

After some mirth and pastime, Jack, taking leave of the noble knights and ladies, set off in search of new adventures. Through many woods and groves he passed, till, coming to the foot of a high mountain late at night, he knocked at the door of a lonesome house, at which a man, with a head as white as snow, arose and let him in.

"Father," said Jack, "have you any entertainment for a benighted traveller that has lost his way?"

"Yes," said the old man; "if thou wilt accept of such as my poor cottage afford, thou shalt be welcome." Jack returned him thanks. They sat together, and the old man began to discourse as follows--"Son, I am sensible thou art the great conqueror of giants, and it is in thy power to free this place; for there is an enchanted castle kept by a monstrous giant, named Galligantus, who, by the help of a conjurer, betrays knights and ladies into this strong castle, where, by magic art, they are transformed into sundry shapes; but, above all, I lament the misfortune of a duke's daughter, whom they fetched from her father's garden, carrying her through the air in a charion drawn by fiery dragons. She was immediately transformed into the shape of a white hind. Many knights have endeavoured to break the enchantment for her deliverance, yet none could accomplish it, by reason of two griffins, who are at the entrance of the castle gate, who destroy them as they see them; but you, being furnished with an invisible coat, may pass them undiscovered, where, on the gates of the castle, you will find engraven in characters the means the enchantment may be broken."

Jack gave him his hand, with a promise that in the morning he would break the enchantment and free the lady.

Having refreshed themselves with a morsel of meat, they laid down to rest. In the morning Jack arose, and put on his invisible coat, his cap of knowledge, and shoes of swiftness, and so prepared himself for the dangerous enterprise.

Now, when he had ascended the mountain he discovered the two fiery griffins. He passed between them, for they could not see him by reason of his invisible coat. When he had got beyond them, he found upon the gate a golden trumpet, hung in a chain of fine silver, under which were engraven--

"Whoever shall this trumpet blow Shall soon the giant overthrow, And break the black enchantment straight, So all shall be in happy state."

Jack had no sooner read this inscription, but he blew the trumpet, at which the foundation of the castle trembled, and the giant, with the conjurer, were tearing their hair, knowing their wicked reign was at an end. At which time the giant was stooping to take up his club; Jack, at one blow with his sword of sharpness, cut off his head. The conjurer mounted into the air, and was carried away by a whirlwind. Thus was the enchantment broken, and every knight and lady who had been transformed into birds and beasts returned to their proper shapes, and the castle, though it seemed to be of a vast strength and bigness, vanished away like a cloud, whereon universal joy appeared among the released knights and ladies. This being done, the head of Galligantus was conveyed to the court of King Arthur the next day. Having refreshed the knights and ladies at the old man's habitation, Jack set forward to the court of King Arthur with those knights and ladies whom he delivered.

Coming to his Majesty, his fame rung through the court, and; as a reward of his services, the duke bestowed his daughter in marriage to Jack. The whole kingdom was filled with joy at the wedding; after which the king bestowed upon him a noble house, with a large estate, where he and his lady passed their days in great joy and happiness.

* * * * *

Simple Simon'S Misfortunes

And His

Wife Margery'S Cruelty

Which Began

_The very next Morning after their Marriage._

Chapter I.

_An Account of Simon's Wedding, and his Wife's Behaviour the Day after their Marriage._

Simon, the subject of our ensuing discourse, was a man very unfortunate many years after marriage, not only by crosses, but by the cruelty of Margery his severe wife--his wedding day being the best he saw in seven years after, for then he had all his friends about him. Rough Ralph the Fiddler and Will the Piper were appointed to make him and his guests merry.

Singing, dancing, and good feasting attended the day, which being ended, this loving couple went to bed, where their friends all left them.

But the morning was ushered in with a mighty storm, only because Simon put on his roast-meat clothes.

Thus she began the matter--"Why, how now, pray, and what is to-day, that you must put on your holiday clothes, with a pye-crust to you? What do you intend to do, say you, tell me quickly."

"Nothing," said Simon, "but to walk abroad with you, sweet wife, as it is common on the day after marriage."

"No, no," said Margery, "this must not, nor shall not be. It is very well known that I have brought you a very considerable fortune--forty shillings in money, and a good milch cow, four fat wethers, with half a dozen ewes and lambs; likewise, geese, hens, and turkeys; also a sow and pigs, with other moveables, worth more than any of your crook-back generation is able to give you. And do you think you shall lead as lewd a life now as you did before you married; but if you do, then say my name is not Margery. Now I've got you in the bands of matrimony I will make you know what it is to be married; therefore, to work you rascal, and take care that what I brought is not consumed; for, if you do not, what will become of your wife and children?"

Now, Simon looked liked one that had neither sense nor reason, but stood amazed, as if there had been a whole army of Billingsgate shrews. However, recollecting what he had heard about scolds, he muttered to himself, "Udswagers, I think I have got a woeful one now."

"What is that you say, sirrah?" said she.

"Nothing, dear wife, but what you say I allow to be true."

And so, taking his bag and bottle, he went forward to his daily labour: but, coming towards the lower end of the town, he chanced to meet old Jobson, a cobbler, a merry blade, who loved a cup of good ale.

"What! honest Simon," said Jobson, "I am glad to see you, for since our last meeting I hear you are married, and now I wish thee much happiness."

Now, old Jobson, being a merry fellow, invited Simon to take a flaggon of the best liquor that the next ale-house would afford, and there to drink to Margery's health.

Being merry in discourse, talking of the tricks and pranks they had played when bachelors.

Jobson, taking up the flaggon in his hand, said, "Come, here's to thee, honest Simon, and I wish thee better luck than Randal, thy old father-in-law, had with his wife; for she was such a scold that happy were they who lived out of the clamour of her noise. But without doubt thy dear wife may be of a milder spirit, and have more of her father's meekness than her mother's fury in her; but come, Simon, here's to thee and to thy dearly-beloved Margery."

Cries Simon, "If she was present how merry we should be; but, I fear, on the wrong side of the mouth."

"Well," said Jobson, "I vow I long to see her; and I verily believe she would be as glad to see me. I dare to say she will prove a very good wife."

"Truly, neighbour Jobson, I don't know; but if I have no better ending than beginning, I wish I had ended my life at the plough tail."

No sooner were these words out of his mouth but in comes Margery, with her gossips, whom Simon wished to see, forsooth. He wished her much joy, but Margery, in a woeful fury, snatched up Jobson's oaken staff from off the table, and gave poor Simon such a clank upon the noddle which made the blood spin out, saying, "Is this your work, sirrah?" Jobson, seeing so sudden an alteration, was affrighted, not knowing how to escape.

She then turned about to the left, saying, "Thou rogue and rascal, it is you that ruins all the good women's husbands in the town; therefore you shall not go unrewarded," giving him such strokes over his back and shoulders as caused poor Jobson to lay in bed almost a fortnight.

Simple Simon all this while not having any power to run away, but stood like one half frighted out of his wits, and trembling before his bride, with his hat in one hand and the flaggon in the other, begging her that she would be patient, and he would never offend her any more.

But she gave him a frown, and bid him begone about his business, which he immediately did. So then Margery and her friendly gossips had the whole apartment to themselves, where they sat till they were all as drunk as fish-women.

Chapter II.

_She drags him up into the Chimney, and hangs him a Smoke-drying._

At night, when he returned to his own home, Margery, by the help of a nap she had taken, was a little restored to her senses again; but yet, not forgetting the fault he had committed, she invented a new kind of punishment; for, having a wide chimney, wherein they used to dry bacon, she, taking him at a disadvantage, tied him hand and foot, bound him in a basket, and, by the help of a rope, drew him up to the beam in the chimney, and left him there to take his lodging the second night after his wedding, with a small, smoky fire under him, so that in the morning he almost reezed like to a red-herring. But in length of time he prevailed with his wife to show him so much pity as to let him down again.

"In love release me from this horrid smoke, And I will never more my wife provoke; She then did yield to let him down from thence, And said, 'Be careful of the next offence.'"

Chapter III.

_Simon loses a Sack of Corn that he was carrying to the Mill to have ground._

Not long after she sent him to the mill with a sack of corn, and bade him remember what she said to him, or else he should not go unpunished.

"Well," said Simon, "I hope I shall never offend thee any more."

For this promise she gave him a mess of milk, and when he had eaten all up he took the sack of corn upon his back, and went towards the mill, which stood about two miles from the house.

When Simon was got about half way he began to be weary, which was the forerunner of a great misfortune, for a man riding by, leading an empty horse towards the mill, perceived Simon weary of his load, told him he might lay it upon his spare horse, to which Simon willingly consented.

The man riding on, Simon could not pace with him, so desired him to leave it for him at the mill. He promised he would, but never intended to perform his promise.

Simon, thus loosing his sack of corn, knew not how to go home, or show his face before his wife, until he got two or three of his neighbours to go with him to beg for his pardon, and to help to make up the difference between them, which they did after a long parley. So that for this crime he passed unpunished.

Chapter IV.

_Simon goes to the Market with his Basket of Eggs, breaks them all by the Way, and is set in the Stocks._

But, although he was not punished according to the severe correction he had formerly received, yet he did not escape the continual railings in his ears for several days after, ever and anon she crying out, "You sot, will you never be wise?"

"Yes, sweet Margery, dear Margery, I hope I shall some time."

"Well," says she, "I'll now try you once more. Here, take this basket of eggs, and go to the market and sell them, but be sure don't break them nor spend the money, for if you do, sorrow will be your sops, and you may expect to feel the weight of my hands more than ever you have done before."

At which harsh words he trembled much, and looked as white as his dear Margery's shift, for fear that he should miscarry with his basket of eggs, for he well knew that his wife would be sure to be as good as her promise.

Then Simon, taking his basket of eggs, trudged away to the market, but was no sooner come there than, seeing a vast crowd of people, he was resolved to see what was the matter.

When he came to the place he found that two butter-women had fallen out, and to that degree that they had taken one another by the que of their hair, and their fillets all flying about their ears; which Simon seeing he was moved with compassion, and ran to part them, but in vain; poor Simon was still unfortunate, and came off with a great loss, for one of the women pushed him down and broke his eggs.

Poor Simon was now almost distracted to see the ground, but whether it was the fear of the anger of his wife, or whether it was courage, thus it was, Simon ran in amongst them, and resolved to be revenged on them for the loss of his eggs.

Whilst they were in the fray the constable came, and, supposing them drunk, gave orders that they should all be set in the stocks together--Simon in the middle, and the women on each side--which was accordingly done; but they rang such a peal in Simon's ears that he was deaf for a fortnight after.

Being released, he ventured home again, dreading the impending storm; but this was his comfort in the midst of all his hard fortune, that, though he might feel the force of her blows, still he would be deaf to her noise, being stunned by the women in the stocks.

Chapter V.

_Simon's Wife Cudgels him severely for losing his Money._

At length Simon coming home he met with his beloved wife Margery, who, seeing his dejected countenance, she began to mistrust something, and so, taking hold of his arm, she hauled him in for examination.

When Simon saw this he could not forbear weeping, and began to tell her a dismal story concerning the stocks; but she wanted the money for the eggs; but Simon, being deaf, could not hear her, which made her fall on him with such fury that he was obliged to run up stairs and jump out of the chamber window, which, when she saw, she followed him down the town, with a hundred boys and girls after them, Simon still crying out to the people, "You may see what it is to be married."

And her tone was, "You rascal; the money for my eggs," often giving him a crack on the crown.

At length it was his good hap to get away from her.

Night drawing on, and Simon not having one penny to help himself, was forced to make the best of a bad bargain, resolved for to lodge that night in a hog-stye amongst the swine.

And so the next morning, in the presence of some of his dearest friends, he begged pardon on his knees of his sweet, kind, and loving wife, Margery.

Chapter VI.

_Simon loses his Wife's Pail, and at the same time burns out the Bottom of her Kettle._

Margery, being reconciled again on his humble petition, she charged him to be careful for the future that he did not offend her as he had done before, which he promised to observe. "Then, Simon," said she, "I am this day to go to a gossiping, and shall leave you at home to make a fire and hang on the kettle."

"Yes, sweet wife."

Now, Margery was no sooner gone but he made a fire and hung on the kettle. Then, taking the pail, he goes to the well to fetch some water, when there came an ox running down, and a butcher and his boy close after him, who called out to Simon to stop the ox, which he endeavoured to do, but the ox, giving them the slip, Simon ran in pursuit of him for the space of three or four miles, and, having secured him, the butcher gave him many thanks for his kindness.

So Simon returned back to the well, but his pail was lost, and he made sad lamentation for it, inquiring about it, but could not hear nothing of it; and as the old proverb says, "One sorrow never comes alone," for on going in doors the fire was flaming, and the bottom of the kettle was quite burnt out.

At the sight of this he fell to wringing his hands and crying out with a lamentable tone; "None was so unfortunate as poor Simon. What shall I say to my wife when she comes? First, I have lost my pail; and, second, I have let the bottom of the kettle be burnt out. Here will be a sad reckoning for these misfortunes."

Just in the middle of these lamentations in comes Margery, who, having heard him, came armed and fitted for the fray.

"How now, sirrah," said she, "has this been the care you promised of my business?" and with that let fly an earthen pot at his head, which caused the blood to run about his ears.

This done, she took him by the collar, and cuft him about the kitchen at a most terrible rate, Simon crying for mercy, but cruel Margery still increased his misery, till the neighbours came, persuading Margery to be satisfied, "for," said they, "it was but a mischance."

"A rascal," said she, "for I can set him about nothing, but thus he serves me."

They still interceded for Simon, until at length she excused him.

Chapter VII.

_Simon's Wife sends him to buy Soap, but, going over a Bridge, he lets his Money fall into the River; and of a Ragman's running away with his Clothes._

Margery, calling Simon to her, said, "Will you never be careful in anything I set you about?"

"Yes, dear wife, I hope I shall."

"Why, then," said she, "take this money. I have tied it in a clout, that you may not lose it. Therefore, go you to the market, and make all the haste you can, and get me some soap."

"I will, sweet wife," quoth he, and with that he went as fast as he could.

Now, on his way he was to pass over a bridge, and, coming to the middle of it, a flight of crows flew over his head, which so frightened him that he let fall his money.

This was the beginning of a new sorrow. He stood awhile, and knew not what course to take. At length he resolved to pull off his clothes and jump into the water and search for it. Now, as he was searching for his money, an old ragman came by, and put his clothes into a bag.

Simon, seeing this, pursued him, but in vain, and was forced to return home naked, which his wife seeing fell in a most horrible sweat, and, taking the dog-whip, she so jerked poor Simon about, making him to dance the canaries for two hours, till he cried out, "Good wife, forbear!" but she cried out, "You rascal! where is my money, and your clothes?" Thus she continued until she was tired, and he heartily begged her pardon.

* * * * *

The Adventures

Of

Bamfylde Moore Carew,

Who Was For More Than Forty Years

King Of The Beggars.

Chapter I.

_Carew's Boyhood. And how he became a Gipsy._

Mr. Bamfylde Moore Carew was the son of a clergyman near Tiverton, in Devonshire, and born in 1693. He was tall and majestic, his limbs strong and well-proportioned, his features regular, and his countenance open and ingenious, bearing the resemblance of a good-natured mind. At twelve years old he was put to Tiverton school, where he soon got a considerable knowledge of the Latin and Greek tongues, so as to be fitted for the University, that in due time he might be fitted for the church, for which his father designed him; but here a new exercise engaged his attention, namely, that of hunting, in which he soon made a prodigious progress. The Tiverton scholars had command of a fine cry of hounds, which gave Carew a frequent opportunity of exercising his beloved employment, and getting acquainted with John Martin, Thomas Coleman, and John Escott, young gentlemen of the best rank and fortune. One day a farmer came to the school and complained of a deer, with a collar round its neck, that he had seen running through his grounds, and had done him much damage, desiring them to hunt it down and kill it. They, wishing for no better sport, on the next day put the old farmer's request into execution, in doing of which they did much damage to the neighbouring grounds, whose owners, together with Colonel Nutcombe, to whom the deer belonged, came and complained to the schoolmaster of the injuries they had suffered by his scholars; they were very severely reprimanded and hard threatened for the same. The resentment of the present reproof and the fear of future chastisement made them abscond from the school; and going into a brick ale-house, about half a mile from Tiverton, there they accidentally fell in company with some gipsies, who were then feasting and carousing. This company consisted of seventeen, who were met on purpose for festivity and jollity; which, by plenty of meat, fowl, flowing cups of beer, cider, etc., they seemed to enjoy to their hearts' content. In short, the freedom, mirth, and pleasure that appeared among them, invited our youngsters to enlist into their company; which, on communicating to the gipsies, they would not believe them, as thinking they jested; but on tarrying with them all night and continuing in the same mind next morning, they at length thought them serious and encouraged them; and, after going through the requisite ceremonials and administering to them the proper oath, they admitted them into their number.

The reader will, no doubt, wonder to hear of the ceremonials and oaths among gipsies and beggars, but that will cease on being informed, that these people are subject to a form of government and laws peculiar to themselves, and pay due obedience to one who is styled their king; to which honour Carew in a short time arrived, after having by many acts proved himself worthy of it. The substance of them is this--Strong love and mutual regard for each member in particular, and the whole community in general; which, being taught them in their infancy, grows up with them, prevents oppression, frauds, and over-reaching one another, which is common among other people, and tends to the very worst of evils. This happiness and temper of mind so wrought on Carew as to occasion the strongest attachment to them for forty years, refusing very large offers that had been made to him to quit their society.

Being thus initiated into the ancient society of gipsies, who take their name from Egypt--a place well known to abound in learning, and the inhabitants of which country travel about from place to place to communicate knowledge to mankind--Carew did not long continue in it before he was consulted in important matters; particularly Madam Musgrove, of Monkton, near Taunton, hearing of his fame, sent for him to consult him in an affair of difficulty. When he was come, she informed him that she suspected a large quantity of money was buried somewhere about her house, and if he would acquaint her with the particular place, she would handsomly reward him. Carew consulted the secrets of his art on this occasion, and, after a long study, he informed the lady that under a laurel tree in the garden lay the treasure she sought for; but that she must not seek it till such a day and hour. The lady rewarded him with twenty guineas; but, whether Carew mistook his calculations or the lady mistook her lucky hour, we cannot tell, but truth obliges us to say, the lady having dug below the root of the laurel tree she could not find the treasure.

When he was further initiated, he was consulted in important matters and met with better success; generally giving satisfaction by his wise and sagacious answers. In the meantime his parents sorrowed after him, as one that was no more, having advertised him in all the public papers and sent messengers after him to almost every part of the kingdom; till about a year and a half afterwards, when Carew, hearing of their grief, and being struck with tenderness thereat, repaired to his father's house. He was so disguised they did not know him, but when they did their joy was beyond expressing, tenderly embracing him, bedewing his cheeks with tears and kisses, and all his friends and neighbours showed every demonstration of joy at his return. His parents did everything to render home agreeable to him; but the uncommon pleasure he had enjoyed in the community he had left, their simplicity, freedom, sincerity, mirth, and frequent change of habitation, and the secret presages of the honour he has since arrived at, sickened and palled all other diversions, and at last prevailed over his filial duty, for one day, without taking leave of his friends or parents, he went back to them again, where he was heartily welcomed, both to his own and their satisfaction, they being glad to regain one who was likely to become so useful a member of their community.

Chapter II.

_Carew's First Adventure in his New Profession._

Carew being again initiated among them, at the first general assembly of the gipsies, took the oaths of allegiance to their sovereign, by whom he was soon sent out on a cruise against their enemies. Carew now set his wits to work how to succeed: so equipping himself with an old pair of trousers, a piece of a jacket, just enough to cover his nakedness, stockings full of holes, and an old cap, he forgot both friends and family and became nothing more or less than an unfortunate shipwrecked seaman. In this, his first excursion, he gained much credit, artfully imitating passes and certificates that were necessary for him to travel unmolested. After a month's travel he happened to meet with his old school-fellow Coleman, who had once left the gipsies' society, but, for the same reason as himself, returned to them again. Great was their joy at meeting, and they agreed to travel some time together; so entering Exeter, they, in one day, raised a contribution of several pounds.

Having obtained all he could from this stratagem, he then became a plain, honest farmer, whose grounds had been overflowed, and cattle drowned; his dejected countenance and mournful tale, together with a wife and seven helpless infants being partakers of his misfortunes, gained him both pity and profit.

Having obtained a considerable booty by these two stratagems, he returned to his companions, where he was received with great applause; and, as a mark of their respect, seated him next the king. He soon became a great man in the profession and confined not himself from doing good to others, when it did not infringe upon the community of which he was a member.

His next stratagem was to become a madman; so stripping himself quite naked, he threw a blanket over him and then he was, "Poor mad Tom, whom the foul fiend had led through fire and through flame; through fire and whirlpool, over bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew; set ratsbane for his porridge, and made him proud at heart to ride on a bay trotting-horse over four-inch bridges; to curse his own shadow for a traitor; who eats the swimming-frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and the water-newt; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, swallows the old rat and ditch dog; drinks the green mantle of the standing pool:

And mice and rats, and such like gear, Have been Tom's food for seven long year.

"O do de, do de, do de! bless thee! from whirlwind, star-blasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There I could have him now--and there!--and there!--and here again!--and there!--Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind--Tom's a cold!--who gives anything to poor Tom?"

In this character, with such like expressions, he entered the houses of both small and great, claiming kindred to them, and committing all kinds of frantic actions, such as beating himself, offering to eat coals of fire, running against the wall, and tearing to pieces whatever garments were given to him to cover his nakedness; by which means he raised considerable contributions.

He never was more happy than when he was engaged in some adventure; therefore he was always very diligent to inquire when any accident happened, especially fire, to which he would immediately repair, and, getting information of the causes, names, trades, and circumstances of the unhappy sufferers, he would assume one of them, and burning some part of his clothes, by way of demonstration, run to some place distant, pass for one of them, gain credit and get much profit. Under this character he had once the boldness to address a justice, who was the terror and professed enemy to all the gipsies, yet he so well managed the affair, that in a long examination he made him believe he was an honest miller, whose house, mill and substance had been consumed by fire, occasioned by the negligence of the apprentice; and accordingly, got a bountiful sum for his relief, the justice not in the least suspecting a defraud.

He had such wonderful facility in every character he assumed, that he even deceived those who thought themselves so well acquainted with him, that it was impossible for him to impose on them.

Coming one day to Squire Portman's house at Blandford, in the character of a rat-catcher, with a hair cap on his head, a buff girdle about his waste, a little box by his side, and a tame rat in his hand, he goes boldly up to the house, where he had been well known before, and meeting the squire, Parson Bryant, and one Mr. Pleydell, of Milbourn, and some other gentlemen, he asked them if they had any rats to kill. "Do you understand the business well?" says the squire. "Yes, an please your honour," replied Carew, "I have been a rat-catcher for many years, and I have been employed in his majesty's yards and ships." "Well," says the squire, "go in and get some vituals, and after dinner we will try your abilities." He was accordingly called into the parlour, where were a large company of gentlemen and ladies. "Well, honest rat-catcher," says the squire, "can you lay any scheme to kill the rats without hurting my dogs?" "Yes, yes," cries Carew, "I can lay it where even the rats cannot climb to reach it." "What countryman are you?" "A Devonshire man, an please your honour." "What is your name?" Here our hero began to perceive that he was discovered, by the smilings and whisperings of several gentlemen, and he very composedly answered, "My name is Bamfylde Moore Carew." This occasioned much mirth, and Mr. Pleydell expressed extraordinary pleasure. He had often wished to see him but never had. "Yes, you have," replied Carew, "and given me a suit of clothes. Do you not remember meeting a poor wretch one day at your stable door, with a stocking round his head, an old mantle over his shoulders, without shirt, stockings, or scarce any shoes, who told you he was a poor unfortunate man, cast away upon the coast, with sixteen more of the crew who were all drowned; you, believing the story, generously relieved me with a guinea and a good suit of clothes." "I well remember it," said Mr. Pleydell, "but, on this discovery, it is impossible to deceive me so again, come in whatever shape you will." The company blamed him for thus boasting, and secretly prevailed upon Carew to put his art in practice to convince him of the fallacy thereof: to which he agreed, and in a few days after appointing the company present to be at Mr. Pleydell's house, he put the following scheme into execution.

He shaved himself closely, and clothed himself in an old woman's apparel, with a high-crowned hat, and a large dowdy under his chin; then, taking three children from among his fraternity, he tied two on his back and one under his arm. Thus accoutred, he comes to Mr. Pleydell's door, and pinching one of the brats, set it a roaring; this gave the alarm to the dogs, who came out with open mouths, so that the whole company was soon alarmed. Out came the maid saying, "Carry away the children, good woman, they disturb the ladies." "God bless their ladyships," said Carew, "I am the poor unfortunate grandmother of these helpless infants, whose mother and all they had were burnt at the dreadful fire at Kirkton, and hope the good ladies, for Heaven's sake, will bestow something on the poor, famishing, starving infants." In goes the maid with this affecting story to the ladies, while Carew keeps pinching the children to make them cry, and the maid soon returned with half-a-crown and some good broth, which he thankfully received, and went into the court-yard to sit down and sup them, as perceiving the gentlemen were not at home. He had not long been there before they came, when one of them accosted him thus--"Where do you come from, old woman?" "From Kirkton, please your honours," said he, "where the poor unhappy mother of these helpless infants was burnt in the flames and all she had consumed." "There has been more money collected for Kirkton than ever Kirkton was worth," said the gentleman. However, they gave the supposed old grandmother a shilling, commiserating the hard case of her and her poor helpless infants, which he thankfully received, pretending to go away; but the gentlemen were hardly got into the house, before their ears were suddenly saluted with a "tantivy, tantivy," and a "halloo" to the dogs; on which they turned about, supposing it to be some other sportsmen; but seeing nobody, they imagined it to be Carew, in the disguise of the old Kirkton grandmother; so bidding the servants fetch him back, he was brought into the parlour among them all, and confessed himself to be the famous Mr. Bamfylde Moore Carew, to the astonishmet and mirth of them all; who well rewarded him for the diversion he had afforded them.

In like manner he raised a contribution twice in one day of Mr. Jones, near Bristol. In the morning, with a sooty face, leather apron, a dejected countenance, and a woollen cap, he was generously relieved as an unfortunate blacksmith, whose all had been consumed by fire. In the afternoon he exchanged his legs for crutches, and, with a dejected countenance, pale face, and every sign of pain, he became a disabled tinner, incapable of maintaining a wife and seven small children, by the damps and hardships he had suffered in the mines; and so well acted his part, that the tinner got as well relieved in the afternoon as the blacksmith in the morning.

These successful stratagems gained him high applause and honour in the community of gipsies. He soon became the favourite of their king, who was very old and decrepid, and had always some honourable mark of distinction assigned him at their assemblies.

Being one morning near the seat of his good friend, Sir William Courtney, he was resolved to pay him three visits that day. He therefore puts on a parcel of rags, and goes to him with a piteous, mean, dismal countenance, and deplorable tale, and got half-a-crown from him, telling him he had met with great misfortunes at sea. At noon he puts on a leather apron scorched with fire, and with a dejected countenance goes to him again, and was relieved as an unfortunate shoemaker, who had been burnt out of his house and all he had. In the afternoon he goes again in trimmed clothes, and desiring admittance to Sir William, with a modest grace and submissive eloquence, he repeats his misfortunes, as the supercargo of a vessel which had been cast away and his whole effects lost.

Sir William, seeing his genteel appearance and behaviour, treated him with respect and gave him a guinea at his departure. There were several gentlemen at dinner with Sir William at that time, none of whom had any knowledge of him except the Rev. Mr. Richards, who did not discover him till he was gone; upon which a servant was despatched to desire him to come back, which he did; and when he entered the room they were very merry with him and requested him to give an account how he got his fine clothes, and of his stratagems, with the success of them. He asked Sir William if he had not given half-a-crown in the morning to a beggar, and about noon relieved a poor unfortunate shoemaker. "I did," said Sir William. "Behold him before you," said Carew, "in this fine embroidered coat, as a broken merchant." The company would not believe him; so to convince them, he re-assumed those characters again, to their no small mirth and satisfaction.

Chapter III.

_Carew made King of the Beggars._

On the death of the king of the gipsies, named Clause Patch, our hero was a candidate to succeed him, and exhibited to the electors a long list of bold and ingenious stratagems which he had executed, and made so graceful and majestic an appearance in his person, that he had a considerable majority of voices, though there were ten candidates for the same honour; on which he was declared duly elected and hailed by the whole assembly--King of the Gipsies. The public register of their acts being immediately committed to his care, and homage done him by all the assembly, the whole concluded by rejoicings.

Though Mr. Carew was now privileged, by the dignity of his office, from going on any cruise, and was provided with everything necessary by the joint contribution of the community, yet he did not give himself up to indolence. Our hero, though a king, was as active in his stratagems as ever, and ready to encounter any difficulty which seemed to promise success.

Mr. Carew being in the town of South Molton, in Devonshire, and having been ill-used by an officer there called the bellman, resolved on the following stratagem by way of revenge. It was at that time reported that a gentleman of the town, lately buried, walked nightly in the churchyard; and as the bellman was obliged by his nightly duty to go through it just at the very hour of one, Mr. Carew repaired thither a little before the time, and stripping in his shirt, lay down upon the gentleman's grave. Soon after, hearing the bellman approach, he raised himself up with a solemn slowness, which the bellman beholding, by the glimmerings of the moon through a dark cloud, was terribly frightened, so took to his heels and ran away. In his fright he looked behind him, and seeing the ghost following him, dropped his bell and ran the faster; which Carew seized on as a trophy, and forbore any further pursuit. The bellman did not stop till he reached home, where he obstinately affirmed he had seen the gentleman's ghost, who had taken away the bell, which greatly alarmed the whole town.

Coming to the seat of Squire Rhodes, in Devonshire, and knowing he had lately married a Dorsetshire lady, he thought proper to become a Dorsetshire man of Lyme, the place of the lady's nativity; and meeting the squire and his bride, he gave them to understand that he was lost in a vessel belonging to Lyme, Captain Courtney, commander. The squire and his lady gave him half-a-crown each, for country sake, and entertained him at their house.

Our hero, exercising his profession at Milbury, where the squire's father lived, and to whom the son was come on a visit, Mr. Carew made application to him, and knocking at the door, on its being opened, saw the young squire sitting alone, whom Mr. Rhodes interrupted by saying he "was twice in one day imposed on by that rogue Carew, of whose gang you may likely be: besides, I do not live here, but am a stranger." In the meantime comes the old squire, with a bottle of wine in his hand, giving Carew a wink to let him understand he knew him, and then very gravely inquired into the circumstances of his misfortunes, and also of the affairs and inhabitants of Dartmouth, from whence he pretended to have sailed several times, of all which he gave a full and particular account, whereupon the old squire gave him half-a-crown, and the young one the same; on which Carew and the old man burst into laughter, and discovered the whole affair, at which Squire Rhodes was a little chagrined at being imposed on a third time; but, on recollecting the expertness of the performer, was well satisfied, and they spent the remainder of the day in mirth and jollity.

At Bristol he dressed himself like a poor mechanic, and then going out into the streets, acted the religious madman, talking in a raving manner about Messrs. Whitfield and Wesley, as though he was disordered in his mind by their preaching; calling in a furious manner, every step, upon the Virgin Mary, Pontius Pilate