_Lacy._ I grant, my lord, the damsel is as fair As simple Suffolk's homely towns can yield; But in the court be quainter[179] dames than she, Whose faces are enrich'd with honour's taint, Whose beauties stand upon the stage of fame, And vaunt their trophies in the courts of love.
_P. Edw._ Ah, Ned, but hadst thou watch'd her as myself, And seen the secret beauties of the maid, Their courtly coyness were but foolery.
_Erms._ Why, how watch'd you her, my lord?
_P. Edw._ Whenas she swept like Venus through the house,-- And in her shape fast folded up my thoughts,-- Into the milk-house went I with the maid, And there amongst the cream-bowls she did shine As Pallas 'mongst her princely huswifery: She turn'd her smock over her lily arms, And div'd them into milk to run her cheese; But whiter than the milk her crystal skin, Checkèd with lines of azure, made her blush,[180] That art or nature durst bring for compare. Ermsby, if thou hadst seen, as I did note it well, How beauty play'd the huswife, how this girl, Like Lucrece, laid her fingers to the work, Thou wouldst, with Tarquin, hazard Rome and all To win the lovely maid of Fressingfield.
_Ralph._ Sirrah Ned, wouldst fain have her?
_Ralph_ Why, Ned, I have laid the plot in my head; thou shalt have her already.
_P. Edw._ I'll give thee a new coat, an learn me that.
_Ralph._ Why, Sirrah Ned, we'll ride to Oxford to Friar Bacon: O, he is a brave scholar, sirrah; they say he is a brave necromancer, that he can make women of devils, and he can juggle cats into costermongers.
_Ralph._ Marry, Sirrah, thou shalt go to him: and because thy father Harry shall not miss thee, he shall turn me into thee; and I'll to the court, and I'll prince it out; and he shall make thee either a silken purse full of gold, or else a fine wrought smock.
_Ralph._ Marry, sirrah, if thou be'st a silken purse full of gold, then on Sundays she'll hang thee by her side, and you must not say a word. Now, sir, when she comes into a great prease of people, for fear of the cutpurse, on a sudden she'll swap thee into her plackerd;[181] then, sirrah, being there, you may plead for yourself.
_P. Edw._ But how if I be a wrought smock?
_Ralph._ Then she'll put thee into her chest and lay thee into lavender, and upon some good day she'll put thee on; and at night when you go to bed, then being turned from a smock to a man, you may make up the match.