The Wanton Wife of Bath. The Tune is, Flying Fame.
|
IN Bath a wanton Wife did dwell,
|
as Caucer he doth write;
|
Who did in pleasure spend her days
|
in many fond delight;
|
Upon a time sore sick she was,
|
and at the length did dye,
|
Her soul at last to Heavens gate,
|
did knock most mightily.
|
Then Adam came unto the gate,
|
who knocketh there? quoth he,
|
I am the Wife of Bath, she said,
|
and fain would come to thee.
|
Thou art a sinner, Adam said,
|
and here no place shall have,
|
Alas for you good Sir, she said,
|
now gip you doting knave;
|
I will come in, in spight she said,
|
of all such churles as thee;
|
Thou wert the causer of our woe,
|
our pain and misery.
|
And first broke Gods commandements,
|
in pleasure of thy Wife;
|
When Adam heard her tell this tale,
|
he ran away for life.
|
Then down came Jacob at the gate,
|
and bids her pack to Hell,
|
Thou false deceiver, why said she,
|
thou maist be there all well;
|
For thou deceiv'dst thy father dear,
|
and thine own brother too:
|
Away went Jacob presently,
|
and made no more ado.
|
She knocks again with might and main,
|
and Lot he chides her straight,
|
Why then, quoth she, thou drunken ass,
|
who bids thee here to wait?
|
With thy two daughters thou didst lye,
|
on them two Bastards got,
|
And thus most tantingly she chaft
|
against poor silly Lot.
|
Who knocks there, quoth Judith then,
|
with such shrill sounding notes?
|
Alas fine minks you cannot hear;
|
quoth she, for cutting throats.
|
Good Lord how Judith blusht for shame,
|
when she heard her say so.
|
King David hearing of the same,
|
he to the Gate did go,
|
Quod David, who knocks there so loud?
|
and maketh all this strife,
|
You were more kind, good sir, she said,
|
unto Uriahs Wife,
|
ANd when thou causedst thy servants,
|
in battel to be slain,
|
Thou caused then more strife then I,
|
who would come here so fain.
|
The Womans mad, said Solomon,
|
that thus doth taunt a King;
|
Not half so mad as you, she said,
|
I know in many a thing;
|
Thou hadst seven hundred wives at once,
|
for whom thou didst provide,
|
For all this, three hundred Whores
|
thou didst maintain beside;
|
And those made thee forsake thy God,
|
and worship stocks and stones,
|
Besides the charge they put thee to,
|
in breeding of young Bones.
|
Hadst thou not been besides thy wits,
|
thou wouldst not have ventured;
|
And therefore I do marvel much,
|
how thou this place have enter'd.
|
I never heard, quoth Jonas then,
|
so vile a Scold as this:
|
Thou whorson runaway, quoth she,
|
thou diddest more amiss.
|
I think, quoth Thomas, womens tongues
|
of Aspen-leaves are made;
|
Thou unbelieving wretch, quoth she,
|
all is not true that's said.
|
When Mary Magdalen heard then,
|
she came unto the gate:
|
Quoth she, good woman you must think,
|
upon your former state:
|
No sinner enters in this place,
|
quoth Mary Magdalen, then
|
'Twere ill for you fair Mistriss mine,
|
she answered her again:
|
You for your honesty, quoth she,
|
should once been stoned to death,
|
Had not our Saviour Christ come by,
|
and written on the Earth,
|
It was not your occupation,
|
you are become Divine.
|
I hope my Soul in Christs passion,
|
shall be as safe as thine.
|
Then rose the good Apostle Paul,
|
unto this Wife he said,
|
Except thou shake thy sins away,
|
thou here shalt be denied:
|
Remember Paul what thou hast done,
|
although a lewd desire;
|
How thou didst persecute Gods Church,
|
with wrath as hot as fire.
|
Then up starts Peter at the last,
|
and to the Gate he hies;
|
Fond fool, quoth he, knock not so fast,
|
thou weariest Christ with cries.
|
Peter, said she, content thylelf,
|
for mercy may be won,
|
I never did deny my Christ,
|
as thou thyself hast done.
|
Whenas our Saviour Christ heard this,
|
with Heavenly Angels bright,
|
He comes unto this sinful soul,
|
who trembled at his sight.
|
Of him for mercy she did crave,
|
quoth he, thou hast refused
|
My proffer, grace, and mercy both,
|
and much my name abused.
|
Sore have I sinned, O Lord, she said,
|
and spent my time in vain,
|
But bring me like a wandring Sheep
|
into thy Flock again.
|
O Lord my God I will amend
|
my former wicked vice:
|
The thief at these poor silly words,
|
past into Paradise.
|
My Laws and my Commandements,
|
saith Christ, were known to thee,
|
But of the same in any wise,
|
nor yet one word did ye,
|
I grant the same, O Lord, quoth she,
|
most lewdly did I live,
|
But yet the loving Father did
|
his Prodigal Son forgive.
|
So I forgive thy soul he said,
|
through thy repenting cry,
|
Come therefore into my joy,
|
I will not thee deny.
|
|
|
|
|
|