THE
Jealous WEAVER.
Who thought his Wife a Whore to be,
And to the Priest complain did he.
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A Weaver Jealous of his Wife, like many,
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Dreamd still of Horns, before the Fool had any,
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The Truth whereof, desirous for to know,
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Sought more Wayes out, than he had need to do;
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And to a Frie[r] he goes, entreats him fair,
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[T]o shrive his Wife, and ease him of his Care.
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The Holy Frier, that the Good-man might know,
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Whither his Wife were Honest, yea, or no,
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Tell him, that he himself should be the Frier,
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And shrive her in the point he did desire;
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Lends him forth with his Habit and his Hood,
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Instructs him in his Tone, and Holy Mood;
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With Accents grave, and Cadences Divine.
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He glad of this to end his Jealous Dreads,
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Rayd Frier-like, fell often to his Beads;
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And all things fit and private as was meet,
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The Weaver Frier thus his Wife doth greet.
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Sister draw near, let nothing now prevent,
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Confession is a blessed Instrument;
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To cast you down and raise you up again,
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Griev'd for your sin to ease you of your pain:
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Wherefore conceal not from an Holy Friar,
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An unchaste thought, or an unchaste desire.
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Grave Sir, replyd the poor afflicted Woman,
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I have done ill, and since I needs must summone;
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My Thoughts and Deeds, I pardon pray for either,
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I and a Young man once did ly together,
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And is that all? No, if you more enquire,
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I must confess, I once lay with a Fryar,
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And is this all? No, yet the more unholy,
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I and an Old man once committed folly;
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And is this all? Yes all. And doth it grieve you?
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Indeed it doth, Then GOD, and I forgive you;
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Depart in peace, and so the silly hearted
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Grave Friar Weaver, from his Wife departed,
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With Post and Speed the Friar doth unlace,
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Gets to his Looms, and freets at his disgrace;
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His Wife that all this while did swell with laughter,
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First sets a modest look, then bits it after.
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When home she comes, at every Shutles throw,
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She sees her Husbands brains begin to crow;
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For as each hand he Shutle did deliver,
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A Young-man and an Old-man, quoth the Weaver,
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And to the Web still putting close the Combe,
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Cryd Friar, Friar, and so he bit her home.
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His Wife that sate demurely all the while,
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And hardly yet could speake a Word but Smile,
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Broke silence thus, pray Husband what do you mean?
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Troth I am a Cuckold Wife, and thourt a Quean,
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And could no less then three serve thy desire,
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A Young man, and an Old-man, and a Frier?
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I'm glade I know it, Ile have a trick shall coole you,
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Husband there needs none, jealousie doth fool you.
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Were you not Young? are you not Older grown?
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And were you not a Friar, if all were known?
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If I did then confess, and you did Shrive me,
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I lay with no man else you may be believe;
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Wherefore good Husband cease now to enquire,
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You were the Young man, the Old man, and a Friar.
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If it be so, then let our strife be done,
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I was a Friar indeed, be thou a Nun.
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I'le pardon thee, what then canst thou do less?
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Then pardon me, since I my fault confess?
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