"Marry that I would see, quod blind Hew." [177]
Well, I will begin, and then let me see, Whether thou darest again interrupt me, And what thou would once to it say--
Begin and prove, whether I will, yea or nay--
And to go forth, whereas I left right now--
Because some percase will think amiss of me--
Our Lord in the gospel showeth the way how--
By Gog's soul, knave, I suffer thee no lenger--
I say some good body lend me his hanger, And I shall him teach by God Almighty, How he shall another time learn for to fight! I shall make that bald crown of his to look red; I shall leave him but one ear on his head!
But I shall leave thee never an ear, ere I go:
Then take thou thy hands away from my hairs; Nay, abide, thou whoreson, I am not down yet; I trust first to lay thee at my feet.
Yea, marry, will I, as long as thou dost smite.--
Hold your hands, a vengeance on ye both two, That ever ye came hither to make this a-do! To pollute my church, a mischief on you light! I swear to you, by God Almight, Ye shall both repent, every vein of your heart, As sore as ye did ever thing, ere ye depart.
Master Parson, I marvel ye will give licence To this false knave in this audience, To publish his ragman-rolls[178] with lies I desired him, i-wis, more than once or twice To hold his peace, till that I had done; But he would hear no more than the man in the moon--
Why should I suffer thee more than thou me? Master Parson gave me licence before thee; And I would thou knowest it, I have relics here Other manner stuff than thou dost bear. I will edify more with the sight of it, Than will all the prating of holy writ; For that except that the preacher himself live well, His predication will help never a dell, And I know well that thy living is nought: Thou art an apostate, if it were well sought. An homicide thou art, I know well enough, For myself knew where that thou slough A wench with thy dagger in a couch: And yet, as thou say'st in thy sermon, that no man shall touch.
No more of this wrangling in my church! I shrew your hearts both for this lurch: Is there any blood shed here between these knaves? Thanked be God they had no staves Nor edge-tools;[179] for then it had been wrong. Well, ye shall sing another song! Neighbour Prat, come hither, I you pray--