Take hede and lerne, thou lytell chylde, and se
That tyme passed wyl not agayne retourne,
And in thy youthe unto vertues use the:
Lette in thy brest no maner vyce sojourne,
That in thyne age thou have no cause to mourne
For tyme lost, nor for defaute of wytte:
Thynke on this lesson, and in thy mynde it shytte.
Glory unto god, lovynge and benyson
To Peter and Johan and also to Laurence,
Whiche have me take under proteccyon
From the deluge of mortall pestylence,
And from the tempest of deedly vyolence,
And me preserve that I fall not in the rage
Under the bonde and yocke of maryage.
I was in purpose to have taken a wyfe,
And for to have wedded without avysednes
A full fayre mayde, with her to lede my lyfe,
Whome that I loved of hasty wylfulnes,
With other fooles to have lyved in dystresse,
As some gave me counseyle, and began me to constrayn
To have be partable of theyr woofull payne.
They laye upon me, and hasted me full sore,
And gave me counseyle for to have be bounde,
And began to prayse eche daye more and more
The woofull lyfe in whiche they dyd habounde,
And were besy my gladnes to confounde,
Themselfe rejoysynge, bothe at even and morowe,
To have a felowe to lyve with them in sorowe.
But of his grace god hath me preserved
By the wyse counseyle of these aungelles thre:
From hell gates they have my lyfe conserved
In tyme of warre, whan lovers lusty,
And bryght Phebus was fresshest unto se
In Gemynys, the lusty and glad season,
Whan to wedde caught fyrst occasyon.
My joye was sette in especyall
To have wedded one excellent in fayrnes,
And thrugh her beaute have made my selfe thrall
Under the yocke of everlastynge dystresse;
But god alonely of his high goodnes
Hath by an aungell, as ye have herde me tell,
Stopped my passage from that peryllous hell.
Amonge these aungelles, that were in nombre thre,
There appered one out of the southe,
Whiche spake fyrst of all the trynyte
All of one sentence, the mater is full couthe;
And he was called Johan with the golden mouthe,
Which concluded by sentence full notable,
Wyves of custome ben gladly varyable.
After this Johan, the story sayth also,
In confyrmacyon of theyr fragylyte,
How that Peter, called acorbylio,
Affermeth playnly, how that wyves be
Dyverse of herte, full of duplycyte,
Mayterfull, hasty, and eke proude,
Crabbed of langage whan they lyst crye aloude.
Who taketh a wyfe receyveth a great charge,
In whiche he is full lyke to have a fall:
With tempest tossed, as is a besy barge;
There he was fre he maketh hymselfe thrall.
Wyves of porte ben full imperyall,
Husbandes dare not theyr lustes gaynsaye,
But lovely please and mekely them obaye.
The husbandes ever abydeth in travayle;
One labour passed there cometh an other newe,
And every daye she begynneth a batayle,
And in complaynynge chaungeth chere and hewe.
Under suche falsnes she fayneth to be true;
She maketh hym rude as is a dull asse,
Out of whose daunger impossyble is to passe.
Thus wedlocke is an endlesse penaunce,
Husbandes knowe that have experyence,
A martyrdom and a contynuaunce
In sorowe everlastynge, a deedly vyolence;
And this of wyves is gladly the sentence
Upon theyr husbandes, whan they lyst to be bolde,
How they alone governeth the housholde.
And yf her husbande happen for to thryve,
She sayth it is her prudent purveyaunce:
If they go abacke ayenwarde and unthryve,
She sayth it is his mysgovernaunce.
He bereth the blame of all suche ordynaunce;
And yf they be poore and fall in dystresse,
She sayth it is his foly and lewdnesse.
And yf so be he be no werkman good,
It may well happe he shall have an horne,
A large bone to stuffe with his hood;
A mowe behynde, and fayned cheere beforne:
And yf it fall that theyr good be lorne
By aventure, eyther at even or morowe,
The sely husbande shall have all the sorowe.
An husbande hath greate cause to care
For wyfe, for chylde, for stuffe and meyne,
And yf ought lacke she wyll bothe swere and stare,
He is a wastour and shall never the:
And Salomon sayth there be thynges thre,
Shrewde wyves, rayne, and smokes blake
Make husbandes ofte theyr houses to forsake.
Wyves be beestes very unchaungeable
In theyr desyres, whiche may not staunched be,
Lyke a swalowe whiche is insacyable:
Peryllous caryage in the trouble see;
A wawe calme full of adversyte,
Whose blandysshynge endeth with myschaunce,
Called Cyrenes, ever full of varyaunce.
They them rejoyce to se and to be sene,
And for to seke sondrye pylgrymages,
At greate gaderynges to walke on the grene,
And on scaffoldes to sytte on hygh stages,
If they be fayre to shewe theyr vysages;
And yf they be foule of loke or countenaunce,
They it amende with pleasynge dalyaunce.
And of profyte they take but lytell hede,
But loketh soure whan theyr husbandes ayleth ought;
And of good mete and drynke they wyll not fayle in dede,
What so ever it cost they care ryght nought;
Nor they care not how dere it be bought,
Rather than they should therof lacke or mysse,
They wolde leever laye some pledge ywys.
It is trewe, I tell you yonge men everychone,
Women be varyable and love many wordes and stryfe:
Who can not appease them lyghtly or anone,
Shall have care and sorowe all his lyfe,
That woo the tyme that ever he toke a wyfe;
And wyll take thought, and often muse
How he myght fynde the maner his wyfe to refuse.
But that maner with trouth can not be founde,
Therfore be wyse or ye come in the snare,
Or er ye take the waye of that bounde;
For and ye come there your joye is tourned unto care,
And remedy is there none, so may I fare,
But to take pacyens and thynke none other way aboute;
Than shall ye dye a martyr without ony doute.
Therfore, you men that wedded be,
Do nothynge agaynst the pleasure of your wyfe,
Than shall you lyve the more meryly,
And often cause her to lyve withouten stryfe;
Without thou art unhappy unto an evyll lyfe,
Than, yf she than wyll be no better,
Set her upon a lelande and bydde the devyll fet her.
Therfore thynke moche and saye nought,
And thanke God of his goodnesse,
And prece not for to knowe all her thought,
For than shalte thou not knowe, as I gesse,
Without it be of her own gentylnesse,
And that is as moche as a man may put in his eye,
For, yf she lyst, of thy wordes she careth not a flye.
And to conclude shortly upon reason,
To speke of wedlocke of fooles that be blente,
There is no greter grefe nor feller poyson,
Nor none so dredeful peryllous serpent,
As is a wyfe double of her entent.
Therfore let yonge men to eschew sorowe and care
Withdrawe theyr fete or they come in the snare.