But yf he be a foole or blynde,

Elles wyll he none of thy seruyce;

Than must thou wander afore the wynde, Therfore of this se thou be wyse.

Let pacyence abate thy maysters rygour, And take good hede to his condycyon, Thou shalt to hym do grete honour, Submyttynge the to his correccyon.

And yf thy mayster make ye his secretary, Se thou haue a sare tongue and stable; His counseyle se thou not bewry,

A secrete tongue is euer prouffytable.

And yf your mayster haue an vse

To swere the name of God in vayne, His company se you refuse,

Leest ye be brought in suche a trayne.

Seruauntes auoyde the company

Of them that playe at cardes or dyse, For yf that ye them haunte truely,

To thefte shall they you soone attyse.

Ye seruauntes that se the courage,
Of your mayster on angre set,
Yf he wyll do ony man domage,
With
your myght se ye hym lette.

Ye seruauntes that ben in batayle,
Beware pyll not the comynte,
Do not the chyrche robbe ne assayle,
Of God defended yf ye wyll be.

What ye do stele ye must restore,
Or here be hanged shamfully,
Or the hell fyre endure therfore;
One must ye suffre of thes thre.

Ye seruauntes that ben oft angry,
Or oft dysposed for to fyght,
By dyscrecyon rule you wysely,

Hauynge the dethe ay in your syght.

Seruauntes yf that ye wyll ensue

The doctrynes and them obserue,

And serue and loue God with hertes true,
The blysse of heuen ye shall deserue.

Wherof the kynge shall you preserue,
Sendynge you rychesse and good mundayne,
Thus in this worlde can not ye sterue,
Yf that ye fro synne you refrayne.

Ye seruauntes that wyll kepe in mynde,
Thes doctrynes afore specyfyed,
Yf ye them folowe trust well to fynde

Some maners to be magnyfyed.

Imprynted at London, in Fletestrete, at the sygne of Saynt
Johan Euangelyste, by me Johan Butler.

Here is the boke of mayd Emlyn that had .b. Husbandes and all kockoldes; she wold make theyr berdes whether they wold or no, and gyue them to were a praty hoodefull of belles.

THE BOKE OF MAYD EMLYN.

WYLL ye here of meruaylles
Drawne out of Gospelles

Of mayde Emlynne,
That had husbandes fyue,
And all dyd neuer thryue?

She coude so well spynne,

Louynge to go gaye,
And seldom for to praye,

For she was borne in synne:

Ofte wolde she seke

The tauernes in the weke,

Tyll her wytte was thynne;

Full swetely wolde she kys
With galauntes, ywys,

And say it was no synne;
Thus collynge in armes
Some men caught harmes,

Full lytell dyd they wynne;
And if her husbande said ought,
Loke what she sonest cought,

At his heed she wolde it flynge.