_Nought._ Alas, good father! this labour fretteth you to the bone; But, for your crop I take great moan; Ye shall never spend it alone-- I shall assay to get you a wife. How many acres suppose ye here, by estimation?
_New G._ Hey! how ye turn the earth up and down! I have be, in my days, in many good town, Yet saw I never such another tilling!
_Man._ Why stand ye idle? it is pity that ye were born!
_Now._ We shall bargain with you; and nother mock nor scorn-- Take a good cart in harvest, and load it with your corn, And what shall we give you for the leaving?
_Nought._ He is a good, stark labourer; he would fain do well-- He hath met with the good man, Mercy, in a shroud cell: For all this, he may have many a hungry meal. Yet, well ye see, he is politic: Here shall be good corn; he may not miss it; If he will have rain, he may overpiss it; And if he will have compos[t] he may overbliss it A little, with his arse like.
_Man._ Go, and do your labour! God let you never thee! Or, with my spade, I shall you ding, by the holy Trinity! Have ye none other man to mock, but ever me? Ye would have me of your set? Hie you forth, lively! for hence I will you driffe!
[MANKIND _belabours them with his spade_.
_New G._ Alas, my jewels! I shall be shent of my wife!
_Now._ Alas! and I am like never for to thrive; I have such a buffet!
_Man._ Hence, I say, New Guise, Now-a-days, and Nought! It was said beforn: all the means shall be sought To pervert my conditions and bring me to nought-- Hence, thieves! ye have made many a leasing!
_Nought._ Marred I was for cold, but now am I warm! Ye are evil advised, sir! for ye have done harm. By Cock's body sacred! I have such a pain in my arm I may not change a man a farthing!
_Man._ Now, I thank God, kneeling on my knee: Blessed be His name! He is of high degree. By the aid of His grace, that He hath sent me, Three of mine enemies I have put to flight; [_Shows his spade._ Yet this instrument, sovereigns! is not made to defend-- David saith: _Nec in hasta, nec in gladio, saluat Dominus._
_Nought._ No, marry! I beshrew you! it is in spadibus! Therefore, Christ's curse come on your headibus, To send you less might! [_They go out._
_Man._ I promit you, these fellows will no more come here; For some of them, certainly, were somewhat too near! My father, Mercy, advised me to be of a good cheer, And again my enemies manly for to fight. I shall convict them, I hope, every one-- Yet I say amiss; I do it not alone-- With the help of the grace of God I resist my fone And their malicious heart. With my spade I will depart, my worship[f]ul sovereigns! And live ever with labour, to correct my insolence. I shall go fet corn for my land; I pray you of patience; Right soon I shall revert. [_Exit._