Eulalya. I wyll tell you a prety
story more, and so make an ende One of oure
neyghboures, a well disposed and a goddes man, but that
he is some what testie, on a day pomeld his wife well
and thriftely aboute the pate and so good a woman as
euer was borne, she picked her into an inner parler,
and there weepynge and sobbynge, eased her heuye harte,
anone after, by chaunce her husbande came into the same
place, and founde hys wyfe wepyng. What sitest thou
heare sayth he seighing & sobbing like a child Then
she like a wise woman sayde. Is it not more honesty for
me to lamente my dolours here in a secret place, then
to make wondering and on oute crye in the strete, as
other women do. At so wyfely and womanly a saing his
hart melted, promysynge her faythfullye and truelie
that he woulde neuer laye stroke on her afterwarde, nor
neuer did. Xantippa. No more wil mine god thanke my
selfe. Eulalya. But then ye are alwaies one at a
nother, agreinge lyke dogges and cattes. Xan. What
wouldest thou that I should do? Eu. Fyrst & formest,
whatsoeuer thy husbande doeth sayde thou nothinge, for
his harte must be wonne by lytell and litel by fayre
meanes, gentilnesse and forbearing at the last thou
shalte eyther wynne him or at the least waie thou shalt
leade a better life then thou doest now.
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