The Marvellous Adventures and Rare Conceits of Master Tyll Owlglass

The Seventy and Sixth Adventure

How that an old woman mocked the good Master Owlglass when that at Gerdau he lost his pocket

Of old time lived there at Gerdau, in the Lüneburg country, an aged and venerable couple, who for fifty years lived there together, being good man and wife; and had goodly sons and daughters, the which had grown to ripe age. And it came to pass, that the priest of the town was a merry good-humoured wight, who loved jolly company; and wherever there was a cup of wine to be quaffed, there would he fain be. With his parishioners had he so fitted it, that every boor in the country side did at least receive him and his cook once in each year; and then stayed he some day or twain, and made excellent cheer. Now, the two old people had for many a year kept neither dedication, nor christening, or any feast at which the priest could have content for his fair round belly; and thereat was he greatly moved and vexed. Therefore he meditated much within himself, how that he might bring it about that they should give a feast.

Then sendeth he unto the boor a messenger, and asketh how long that it had been since he had by Holy Church been married unto his good wife? To him answered the boor: “Reverend father, so long is it ago, that I have forgotten how many years it hath been.” And the priest rejoined unto him: “That such forgetfulness was an evil thing for the salvation of his soul, and he should strive to remember that thing.” Then did the boor confer with his wife, and considered the matter; yet could they not find the true time to tell it unto the priest. Therefore came they both unto the priest, and were greatly troubled, and entreated of him that he should give unto them some wholesome counsel wherewithal they might comfort themselves. Then said the priest unto them: “Forasmuch as ye know not the time at the which ye were married, will it be best that next Sunday I marry you again, and then will ye be comforted. Therefore do ye prepare a feast, and kill an ox, and a sheep, and a pig, and bid your children and good friends to rejoice with ye on that day, and with all favour give unto them good cheer; and I promise ye that I also will be with ye.” Then said the boor: “In good sooth, reverend father, is thy counsel most comforting unto the spirit. It shall go hard, but I will have a feast which shall be fitting unto the day; for it would not be well that after fifty years we should be put forth from the marriage state.” These words spoken, he departed unto his house, and failed not to do as the priest had advised him.

And the priest bid unto the feast several of his own friends, other priests and dignitaries of the most Holy Church. Among these was the Dean of Epsdorf, who in his stables had always a horse or twain, the which were not to be despised; and, like unto other priests, he loved good cheer. And with him had Owlglass served some time. And the dean said unto him: “Sit ye upon my young horse and ride with me, and to that are ye right welcome.” To that agreed Owlglass. And when that they were right merry, and did eat and drink with marvellous content, the old woman, the which was the bride, sat at the head of the table. And after so much labour was she tired; so she gat up and departed out of her house, at the back, down to the river Gerdau, and therein bathed she her feet. By this time did the Dean of Epsdorf and Owlglass set forth to ride home; and when that they approached unto her, Owlglass caused his horse to prance and curvet, that the bride might have content thereof; and so lustily did he this, that his girdle came unfastened, and his side-pocket fell down upon the ground. And when that the woman beheld this, she rose up and took the pocket, and sat down thereupon by the water. So it came to pass, that when Owlglass had got about a field’s length from the place where the woman sate, he found that he had lost his pocket, and therefore turneth he about and cometh again unto Gerdau, and he saith unto the woman: “Hast thou seen an old pocket anywhere upon the ground?” And the woman said: “Aye, upon my wedding-day did I find an old rusty pocket, and that have I yet unto this hour.” And Owlglass said unto her: “Thy wedding-day? Oho! long since was it that thou wast a bride! truly must it be an old rusty pocket, such an one will not I have!” Then said the woman: “Is it this?” but would not give it unto him; and so cunning might he be, yet gat he not his pocket, and he was fain to leave it behind him; and at Gerdau it is unto this day, and thither mayest thou travel if that thou desirest to look upon it.

The Seventy and Seventh Adventure

How that Owlglass gained money by a horse

On a time was Owlglass very poor; and of all his possessions there remained unto him nought but his horse; and he was sorely troubled in his mind, how it might be that he should get him food, lodging, and raiment. Then came he unto a village where there was a fair, and he gat him unto the chief inn, and in the stable lodged he the horse, and he bade the host bring him food to eat, and good cheer of wine. And according unto his words was it done.

And when he had eaten and drunk, and was no longer hungry, he bethought him how that he might get him some money. Therefore went he into the market-place, and there cried with a loud voice, that he had brought with him the most marvellous horse which had ever been seen, and that its tail was where its head should be, and in the place of its tail was its head. And this horse would he for little money show unto the village folk. Then came they unto him in great multitude, and each gave unto him some money according to his wealth; and he let them into the stable, and required of them that they should not in any wise betray him, and this promised they unto him. Then did he display unto them the horse, and lo! his tail was tied unto the manger, and his head looked forth the other way. Then laughed the village folk at the merry jest of Owlglass, and forgave him the money he had taken from them. Thus gat he store of money, and departed on his way with great content.

The Seventy and Eighth Adventure

How that at Oltzen Owlglass did beguile a boor of a piece of green cloth, and caused him to confess that it was blue

Of roast and boiled was Owlglass most woundily fond at all times, seasons, and occasions; and for that hunger pinched and griped him, by reason that honest bread he would never eat, it so befel, that to eat he must seek diligently for what he would have. Now it came to pass, that while the fairing was going forward in the good little town of Oltzen, whither from the Wend country came many, and also from divers other towns, it came to pass, I say, that the great and beloved Master Owlglass bent thitherward his steps, with intent to sell of his ware, which be fool-making and coney-catching, like any other honest merchant of them all. And truly do ye know, that all goods be most difficult to sell, and such ware as Master Owlglass possessed not less than other kind; so it behoved him to walk hither and thither, that he might have occasions to display that wit and honesty, for the which he was so famous.

Thereafter as he was, with weary steps—believing that honest trade had departed clean out of this mad and strange world in which we be—purposing to turn away, he beheld a country boor, of loutish mien, chaffering and cheapening with a peddling huckster vagabond, for a piece of green cloth, the which the boor gat, and therewith set forth toward home. “Fine work be this,” thought Owlglass unto himself, “that loutish boors should thus chaffer and cheapen cloth, the which for their betters was woven! Here be thou arbiter, and of wrongs redresser.” And within himself took he counsel how that cloth he might himself have, for, as being the compeer of princes and bishops, it would the better grace his good and fair personage and trappings. Therefore he sought out the name of the village unto which the boor was departed, and went and took unto him a hedge parson, and one other, a loose fellow, and gat him with them forth from the city, on that road whereby the boor should go; and bidding the twain to swear in faith and by’r lady to all he might say unto the country boor, set them in order upon the road, removed some little space the one from the other, and in such wise lay in wait for the coming of good master green-cloth boor.

In no long time came that worthy trudging along the road, with great rejoicing within his heart; for it seemed unto him most brave, that in good green cloth he should attire himself, like unto such as did with reviling and hard words take service from him; and he was, in very truth, right merry at heart, for he loved the colour green, as do all country wights. Unto him approached Owlglass, and opened his mouth, and spake unto him, saying: “Lo! what a fine blue cloth hast thou there. Of a truth it is azure, like the darkening sky which hangeth above our heads in marvellous mystery. Nay, but such a blue cloth is rarely woven. Prithee, whence didst thou get it?” And the boor answered, and said unto Owlglass: “Ne’er a blue cloth be this at all, but a swart green, the which I bought in the fair of Oltzen.” Then said Owlglass: “Nay, but it is blue; and thereon will I set twenty silver marks, and let the first man that cometh by between us twain determine and end the contention.” Thereat said the boor: “Nay, if that thou be beside thyself and wilt lose thy money, have with thee. I am content.” So they agreed thereupon.

With a good swinging trot cometh the first of Owlglass’s fellows trudging along the road, for he spied that the boor had made agreement with Owlglass. And the boor said unto the voyager: “Hold thou an instant; we have here a contention betwixt us upon the colour of this cloth. Say thou the truth if that it be blue or green, and we will therewith be content.” Then the man spake unto them, saying: “It is, of a truth, as fine blue cloth as ever eyes of mine beheld.” But the boor would not agree thereunto, and said: “Nay, but ye are two beguilers, cheats, and cozeners; green it is, but ye have agreed to deceive me.” But unto him quoth the wily Owlglass: “Lo! now that it may be perceived of me, that in this matter I am as innocent as any spotless lamb of the flock unto which I pertain, and that right and truth is on my side, let us make fresh agreement. See, hither, with measured steps, cometh a most reverend priest, who in pious meditation beguileth the weariness of travel. Let him be judge betwixt us, and by his word be we bound; for if Holy Church bind us not, then will no ties constrain us within virtuous paths.” And with such speech was the boor content.

Then when the priest (right good exemplar of all his tribe!) drew nigh unto them, Owlglass spake unto him, and said: “Reverend father, upon thy devout thoughts may we for a brief space intrude the base matters of this outer world; and we beseech thee, determine between this boor and myself what be the colour of this cloth.” “Nay, son,” quoth the reverend man, “but that can ye for yourselves most easily behold.” Thereat said the boor: “Yea, reverend father; but here have we two that would with knavery constrain me to believe a thing the which is contrary to reason and justice.” And unto him answered the priest, and said: “What have I to do with your contentions? So many things there be in this world which, contrary to reason and justice, find hot believers, men heated and molten in the furnace of vanity and self-conceit; and would ye contend over the hue and dye of a cloth? What care I if it be black or white? That with your own eyes can ye see.” “But, reverend sir,” quoth Master Bumpkin, “do ye, in the plenitude of your kindness, judge betwixt us, and say what be the colour of this cloth.” Then the priest said: “That ye twain may be at peace, and have no grief or ill-will at heart, or vain rejoicing one above the other, will I say that which ye may so easily see. The cloth is a deep blue.” And the boor marvelled thereat; but Owlglass turned round unto him, and said: “Lo! hearest thou what the good priest sayeth? O Holy and Excellent Church, in the which such true and faithful men be! O noble and worthy cause, which is upheld by such instruments of acute and keen temper! Behold, boor, the cloth is mine; and unto the Church must I pay somewhat of its value, as by decree of ecclesiastic it hath been awarded me.” Then the boor looked upon the three with much amazement, and said these words: “O’ my halidom! an if this man were not an ordained and sanctified priest, I would fain believe that ye were all liars, intending to cozen me of my cloth with conspiration and deceit, being three thorough-going knaves; but as I perceive that ye be a priest, I must put faith in ye whether ye be knave or no.”

Then he gave the cloth unto Owlglass; but if that he had known jack-priests as well as thou and I, he had not left it. Yet such is the world’s way; when the parson doeth justice, the boor must trudge home in ragged frock.

The Seventy and Ninth Adventure

How that Owlglass most strangely gat a potful of money

Nay but wiles and deceits be many in this world! Nor can it grow better, or wiser, or nobler, unless the sayings which men, in the fulness of their hearts and their wine-cups, publish abroad, be regarded and reflected in the deeds they do the next morning. It fortuned that Owlglass had been carousing with companions, who, indeed, were neither worse nor better than was he himself in proper person; but who, for that he discharged the expenses of the tippling, was extolled to the skies by ruined gamesters, cunning and lying boon companions,—noble pothouse friends, whose faces, marred and scored like the table whereon, in grimy circlets, pot and glass lovingly stand together, would, in after days, look grimly forth from the tablets of memory, and brand the soul of any man but such a philosopher as was Owlglass. And elated and ennobled, besmouched and bemired, by their commendation, he descended from the throne of the wine-chamber, and set forth to come homeward, where he lay that night. Philosophy was in his heart beaming with placid face upon the world; from his countenance looked forth universal love of brother to brother, in bond, apparently as firm as that of Church, in truth, as rotten at the core, and Owlglass, in such thoughts as fumy wine bestoweth, was for a while no longer the roving knave, cheat, and cozener, but a true man filled full of impotent benevolence, clasping the world in drunken joy.

Therefore, master mine, marvel not if that in mazy glory, our good friend and brother journeyed on, and forgat what place it was where he should lie. And while that the stars ’gan to blink down upon him, he found that he had departed clean forth from the village, and was nigh unto another. “Nay,” quoth he, “but here must I find me a lodging, for I am aweary, and my steps be short and leaden.” So he shook away from himself the loathly praise and glorifyings of reeling brethren of the wine-pot, and diligently sought in that village for some house where he might sleep. But of a truth it was late, and no friendly door stood wide to let him enter. Coming at last unto the village end, he beheld a twinkling light, and he took counsel within him what he should do. Then crept he up privily unto the casement, and lay in wait thereby, and looked in and beheld how a boor did count the money, the which he had taken at the mart for a lusty yoke of oxen he had sold. “Nay,” thought Owlglass, “here be we close by the threshold of avarice, for i’ faith why should a man sit in the midst of the night to count and finger the greasy coin, the which by chaffering he hath obtained? Could he not i’ the morning’s light full as happily have set forth the gain?”

Money waxeth neither with counting nor with handling; and yet men tire not in the reckoning thereof. Better bid farewell unto a shiny Edward shovel-groat, say I, and let it work its office in many and divers pouches, than mar its silver beauty with the hot hands of a miser. For if that money be a great instrument of wicked wills; yet on its course it encourageth much and great good, and the evil that it doth is weighed down in the balance by a hundredfold of happiness. Put ye but a penny forth, my masters, in a faithful device, it will bud, and blossom, and fructify, and ripen, to the harvest of a thousand pound; but an if ye bestow it in evil design, it dieth in the hands where ye laid it, nor enricheth any, save the unsated innkeeper or the lurking thief. And that avarice is punished by its own miserly griping after gain, shall ye presently perceive set forth in the true chronicle of Master Owlglass, his doings and life. For hard by the boor sate his little son; and in children, mark me, with all their innocence, there be the seeds of greed; nay, the seeds of every vice and virtue under heaven.

Now he beheld how that his father, with trembling hands, and by a farthing candle, did count the moneys he had received, and the child lusted to become possessed of a penny, and besought that he should bestow it upon him. “Nay,” quoth the other roughly, “this must never be. What can a child like thee desire to have money for? Hast not food, and lodging, and raiment, bestowed on thee, and wouldst thou have money beside. Go to!” And he refused the child the gift which he beseeched of him. Yet the child would not be discouraged, but again besought his father, who denied him, and waxed wroth, and spake unto him saying: “If that thou dost seek to obtain of me aught of this, I will give it unto the black man without the casement, and put it forth to interest after that wise.” Yet he wist not that in the darkness of the night lay Owlglass hidden. Yet did the child, with speech and gesture, entreat a penny of his father. So, with violent hand, the father swept from the table all the fair marks he had received, and in an earthen pot bestowed them and held it forth through the casement, and said: “Here, black man, do thou take the money.” For he would affright the child. And Owlglass put forth his hand and took the pot of money; and like an evil doer fled forth unto the fields therewith rejoicing with an aching heart at the fortune which had thus come unto him.

The Eightieth Adventure

How that Owlglass ran great peril of his neck for receiving the pot of money, yet gat fifteen shillings in stead of a hanging

When that Owlglass had, with nimble legs, gat forth with the pot of money into the fields, and looked about, lo! there was not any man which followed after him, and thus guilt was its own constable, lashing the trembling culprit, and driving him forth to seek a bed in the fields, with stubble for a pillow. Marvel not that none did with hue and cry pursue good Master Owlglass; for it came to pass that when the boor had found his pot of money taken, he cried aloud with a great voice, and spake unto such as from their drowsy pillows would with sleepy head give heed unto his speech. But for as much as it was well-known to the worthies which abode in that village, that good master peasant was a miserly hunks, they cared not at all when that he cried aloud that a thief had taken his treasure, and fled with it into the night.

Thus did none follow Owlglass until the day dawned, and then search was diligently made, for in truth men’s hearts, lacking charity in the night season, do sometimes become strangely moved in the face of morning,—and search being made, they encompassed Master Owlglass, and set upon him, and took him and carried him before my good justice of that village, who was a right worthy and true judge. Then the miserly boor stood forth, and said: “Last night while that I sate in my chamber and counted my moneys, this knave lay in wait under the casement thereof, and when that to fright my child, I put forth my pot of money, he with rascally guile took it from me, and fled away therewith. And that he had the money that can he not deny, for when that we took him, he had it in his pouch.” Then the judge said unto Owlglass: “What hast thou to answer unto this man? Dost thou confess and make restitution unto him, for this be a hanging matter, and thou art like to be food for the crows?” Thereat Owlglass answered and said: “Nay, but I entreat ye that of this boor I may have some answers touching this matter.” The judge said: “Speak on.” Then said Owlglass: “Lo! didst thou not open the window and say aloud: ‘Here black man, do thou take the money?’” “Yea,” quoth the boor. “And was not the night dark?” “In good sooth it was,” answered the boor. “And in dark night are not all men black?” “I’ faith that is true,” said the boor. “Then I being a black man, may it content your worship’s reverence, was bidden to take this boor’s pot of money, the which I graciously received, and for the which I bestow the thanks of a poor man upon him.” “Of a truth, thou speakest wisely,” observed the judge, “and for such deed can I not hang thee; and for as much as thou art a proper man and of a quick wit, do I free thee, and bestow upon thee these fifteen shillings; but be thou very heedful to depart forth from this our village, and come not again by day or by night.” Then the boor departed homeward and thought it had been better to have bestowed a penny upon his little lad, than lose the goodly marks by such a rare coney-catcher as was Owlglass. Yet for this cared Owlglass not a whit; but set forth with full pouch and merry mood to the next country; and praised the judge for the just and true judgment he had given.

The Eighty and First Adventure

How with good luck Owlglass told many that he had lost his money-girdle, and thereby came unto a warm fire

Now the winter season came, and with white mantle hid the earth, and it was bitter cold. Yet it fortuned that Owlglass had urgent reason to travel, for his occasions never happened to keep him in one place or city for any time. And as the night drew near, Owlglass came unto a village, and there entered into the inn and the chamber where the guests and village gossips sate talking around the fire. Our noble master was covered over with sleet and snow, and the frost had bitten him sore and his garments held within them icy proofs of the wintry season; yet for as much as the boors concealed the fire he could not warm himself. Thereat he cried out lustily for good master host that he should bring him some wine, the which was readily done. And Owlglass opened his mouth and spake unto the host after this wise: “Good mine host, I beseech thee do thou allot unto me a candle in a lanthorn, and one which should go forth with me unto the road, for there lieth by the way, a money-girdle, the which I have lost; and though I sought it diligently, yet by reason of the darkness of the night, could I not discover it.” But the host answered: “Nay, but this night seek not after it, for where it lieth shall we find it to-morrow at sun-rise, and there will be no harm come thereunto.” And he said this, for that he was wily, and would have sought it himself, and taken it. And the boors which were talking about the fire, pricked me up their ears, and one by one departed out of the inn that they might seek the money-girdle, so that at last the chimney nook was empty, and Master Owlglass might, with comfort, drink his wine in the warmth, while the others delved and digged in the snow abroad. When that they were all departed thence, Owlglass discovered the pleasant jest unto the host, and they laughed hugely, and drank in the ingle a most joyous cup thereupon.

The Eighty and Second Adventure

How that Owlglass did at Bremen of the market-women buy milk, and cause it to be poured altogether into one tun

A pleasant jest wrought Owlglass at Bremen. At one season when that he came thither, he stood on the market, and he beheld that the boors’ women brought great store of milk thereto; and therewith he ’gan to think what a merry piece of knavery he might perform. Therefore he tarried awhile until a day on which the market was very full, and much milk was brought thither, and he fetched him a great tun, the which he set upon the market-place, and cried aloud unto the boors’ women that they should turn unto him, for he would buy their milk, and they should pour it into the tun. And every good wife of the which he took milk he bade write the measure and price therefor, upon a paper, and then sit down, for he would pay the money when that the tun was filled.

So the boors’ wives sat in a circle around Owlglass, and waited for their money, and rejoiced greatly at such a noble milk merchant (for they knew him not); and it came to pass, that after a while there was not any other good wife who had milk to sell. Then Owlglass opened his mouth and spake unto the women, and said unto them these words: “To-day have I not any money in pouch. And such of ye as cannot abide and give me credit for a matter of fourteen days, would do best to take forth her milk again:” and having thus maliciously ended his speech, he hasted to go away from the market-place. Thereafter contended the boors’ wives with much anger, and each would fain take her milk out of the tun first, and in their quarrelings the milk was spilled on the ground and on their clothes, and in their eyes; and it did most certainly appear as if milk from the clouds had been rained down. And all the townspeople beheld the merry conceit, and they were greatly contented with the wit of Master Owlglass.

The Eighty and Third Adventure

How that Owlglass spake unto twelve blind men, and persuaded them that he had unto them given twelve shillings; and how that they spent the money and came evilly off thereafter

And, it came to pass, that as Owlglass journeyed hither and thither up and down in the land, like an uneasy spirit as he was, he came again unto Hanover, and there he wrought not a few strange things. Therefore one day as he sate upon his horse beyond the city gate and rode a good way, there came along the road twelve blind men, the which he encountered. When that he beheld them he cried aloud unto them: “God give ye grace, blind men, whence come ye?” Then the company of blind men stood still and perceived that he sate upon a horse, and by that they judged him to be an honest gentleman—for respect is always due to one who is a cavalier; and who rides must needs be honest—so they took off their hats and saluted him, and spake unto him, saying: “Lo! noble and worshipful sir, good kind Christian gentleman, we have been within this city of Hanover; there had a rich man given up the ghost, and at his funeral feast were alms and baked meats bestowed upon us and other poor men, as be we. Yet for as much as frost and snow be on the ground, we were right sorely pinched with the cold.” Then answered Owlglass, and said unto them: “Ye say truly that it is cold; I fear me that of frost ye will utterly perish. Now look you, here be twelve shillings, enter ye again into the city, and get ye unto such an inn, [and he told them what inn they should seek], and spend ye these twelve shillings for God his grace and my sake, until that the winter be gone by, and ye be able to again set forth in comfort upon your voyage.”

Then the blind men stood in great honour and worship of the noble gentleman’s person, and bowed themselves before him, and gave him their thanks for his guerdon. For each blind man believed that his neighbour had received the money, to wit, in the manner that the first thought the second had it, and the second the third, and the third the fourth; and after this wise were they all hoodwinked, for not one stiver had Owlglass bestowed upon them. Thereafter they turned back, and gat them unto the hostel of the which Owlglass had told them; and when they had entered in, they spake unto the host, and told him how that it had come to pass that a good charitable gentleman had encountered them by the way, and had bestowed upon them twelve shillings, that they might eat and rejoice during the hard winter, until that spring should come again.

Now the host was a man greedy of gain, and he thought no more upon that saying, but how he might get the money; and he received them, and never did he dream within his stupid sconce to ask which had the money in pouch of them all. But he spake unto them, saying: “Dear and beloved brethren, ye shall here receive satisfaction, and your afflictions shall be comforted.” And he made haste to kill and hew down oxen and calves; and he made ready meats boiled and roast, and set them before the blind men, who fell to right gladly; and this feasting went forward every day, until he thought that they had eaten the value of the twelve shillings.

Then he spake unto them, and said: “Dear brethren, ye have eaten the value of the twelve shillings, methinks, let us therefore reckon.” And the blind men answered: “Yea;” and spake each unto his fellow, that he should take forth the twelve shillings, that good master host should be rewarded. But the one had it not, neither had the other; moreover they found that not a penny had any man of their company. And the blind folk sate still and scratched their pates, but found not the twelve shillings anywhere behind their ears; and they perceived that they had been beguiled. Then the host saw likewise that he had been cozened of his charges, and he sate there, and pondered what he should do. For he thought within himself: “Here be a company of blind rascals, and if that thou permittest them to depart, then dost thou lose thy charges; and if that thou keepest them will they eat yet more, and then thou wilt be at double cost.” So with no more ado he claps me the blind company of dear brethren into the pig-stye, and there may they make fine cheer with hay and straw.

At this time, Owlglass ’gan to think,—for with all his malice he had a good heart:—“Nay, but thy blind men must very nigh have eaten up the provision thou madest for them, and therefore go thou and seek news of them.” And he saddled his horse and disguised himself, and rode unto Hanover, and came unto the inn where the blind men lay. Thereupon, as he came into the court, and would have bound his horse up in the stable, he looked, and behold the blind men lay in the pig-stye. Thereat he gat him into the house, and spake unto the host, and said unto him: “What is this thing which thou hast done unto these blind men? Wherefore be they amidst the dirt and mire of the pig-stye? Have ye no bowels of mercy when ye see the vile fare they eat?” And the host answered him: “Nay, but I wish that in the water they lay all perished, if only my charges were paid.” Therewith telleth he unto Owlglass the whole story of the matter. Owlglass said unto him: “How, sir host, could ye not have a surety for this debt?” “Alas!” quoth the host, “right gladly would I have a surety if that it could be—and if that a certain surety be found, I would set free these poor men forthwith.” Thereat said Owlglass unto him: “See now, I will go and in this city make quest, if that I can find some charitable man that will do this thing for thee.”

So Owlglass gat him forth, and came unto the priest of the parish, and said unto him: “Most reverend and learned sir, hast thou a will to do a Christian kindness? For lo! I must expound unto thee, that mine host of the inn where I lie is possessed of an evil spirit within the past night, and he beggeth hard that ye would exorcise him, and cast out the evil demon.” The priest answered, and said: “Yea, that I will most cheerfully; for is it not mine office? Yet must we tarry a day or two; for with such things is haste greatly to be avoided.” Then quoth Owlglass: “I will go fetch his wife, that ye may repeat this thing unto her.” The priest replied: “Yea, bring her unto me, I warrant she shall be content.” Then departed Owlglass, and gat him to the host, and said: “I have found for thee a surety in good master parson of the parish. Give me now thy wife to bear me company unto him; for he will give her satisfaction.” Thereat was the host right glad, and bade his wife immediately resort with Owlglass unto the priest; and when they came thither, Owlglass said: “Behold, reverend sir, here is the woman, wife unto the host of the which I spake anon. Assure her now as before thou didst assure me.” And the priest said: “Yea, my good woman; be thou content. For is it not mine office to do deeds of charity? That which thy husband seeketh shall be in a short time performed within these few days.” And the woman was content, and returned again unto her husband, and said unto him, that the priest would perform the payment duly; and then was the host glad, and let the blind men depart, and rewarded Owlglass for his pains; and this last set forth on his journey, and tarried no longer in Hanover.

The third day after this, the woman went again to master parson, and demanded of him, that he should pay the twelve shillings. And he asked her, if her husband had said this thing unto her; and she said: “Yea.” Thereat he observed, “that such was the way with evil spirits; they would always have money.” But the woman said: “There be no evil spirits here; pay ye the charges, and therewith are we ended.” The priest quoth thereat: “I was admonished that your good man was possessed of an evil spirit, the which he would fain have cast forth; now this will I do, but of money know I nothing.” To him straightway answered the goodwife: “Nay, but this is the fashion with liars and shufflers; when that money is to be paid, they would with knavery escape. If that my husband be of an evil spirit beset, ye shall surely be advised thereof,” and therewith ran speedily unto her husband, and told him what the parson said.

After this took the host halberts and pikes, and ran with a company unto the parsonage. And when the parson beheld it, he cried aloud, and assembled his neighbours, and said unto them: “Do you, I charge ye, help me against this madman, who of an evil demon is sore possessed.” And the host said unto him: “Priest, remember thy surety, and do now pay me.” But the priest stood and blessed himself, and payed not at all. Then would the host have with a goodly staff stricken the priest, but that the boors came and parted the twain with great difficulty. But, so long as the host lived, he was ever seeking payment from the priest; and the priest affirmed that he had an evil spirit, and of that would he free him, but of money owed he unto him not a doit.

Thus fell out the end of the excellent adventure of Owlglass with the blind men, the host, and the parson.

The Eighty and Fourth Adventure

How that in a city of Saxony Owlglass sowed knaves

Knaves abound in many places; there be knaves of every degree: there be black knaves, white knaves, copper-coloured knaves, red knaves, and yellow knaves. There be knaves which ride in coaches and waggons; there be knaves on horseback; there be knaves on foot. There be knaves of high degree; there be knaves of low estate. There be knaves in Holy Church, devout knaves, which cheat heaven in their prayers, and earth in their tithes; there be knaves out of Holy Church, which, for wise reasons, do simulate a contempt thereof; there be knaves which buy, and there be knaves which sell; there be knaves which, with honest mien, declare themselves no better than they be, for thou in thy vanity condemnest them not, but thinkest them better than their speech declareth, and yet be these very knaves, sorry knaves, and shallow knaves. There be knaves which bear rule, and there be knaves over which rule is borne; there be knaves which bow the knee to knavish kings, princes, and lords; and there be knaves which set foot forth against all rulers, princes, and governors. There be knaves which help ye with seeming good fellowship, and there be knaves which, by opposing ye, do ye true service; there be knaves which amuse ye; there be knaves which laugh in turn at that which ye do: lo! indeed, not in this world can ye find any place which is devoid of knaves, creeping like caterpillars through your gardens, and destroying your fairest flowers, to fatten and batten, and crawl and die like other things.

Knaves sit smiling by your own hearthstone, deluding ye with love and fair service—your children be knaves, your fathers were knaves;—for in this world are secrets hidden—and, indeed, are we unto ourselves not true, but knaves altogether, excusing, palliating, concealing, hugging, with not a little fear and trembling, our favourite vices, or our evil desires. O what a discourse of knavery would a history of our mad world be, what quaking terrors of evil doings, what fierce self-destructions, what insane flight from self-condemning would be unfolded! Let us rejoice, my masters, that a little spice of honesty leaveneth the whole lump and maketh life endurable, our meat not poison, our porridge not altogether rat’s-bane. And truly this chronicle affirmeth, averreth, and with loud voice saith, that an if such words as these had been set down in courteous phrase, and not hurled from the priest’s pulpit or babbled from the fool’s booth, ye had not received, but had denied utterly the gracious assent which I do perceive sitteth upon your heart; thus, therefore, like all other things, is this chronicle but a knavish matter.

Of a truth, it may be most certainly believed, that to such a world it was necessary and fit, that a pitying eye and brain should see, and purpose despatch, from highest heaven to insulted earth a Prince of peace and justice. But in this chronicle, as in this world, is all honesty discarded; for the world is so turned topside t’ other way, that it may not be that we should distinguish gentle from simple, wise from foolish, honest man from knave. “Yet be of good cheer,” saith One who is higher than any of us; “I have overcome the world.”