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1    Jack Oates, sitting at cardes all alone, was dealing to himselfe
2at vide ruffe (for that was the game he ioyed in) and as
3he spide a knaue - Ah, knaue, art there? quoth he. When he
4spide a king - King, by your leaue, quoth he. If hee spied a
5queene - Queene Richard art come? quoth he; and would
6kneele downe, and bid God blesse her majestie (meaning, indeede,
7the then queene, whom he heard Sir William Hollis,
8his maister, so much to pray for). But heere is the jest: Jack,
9as I say, being at cardes all alone, spying a knaue, and saying,
10Ah, knaue, art there? a simple seruingman being in the hall,
11waighting his maisters comming, walking by, and hearing him
12say so, thought he had called him knaue, tooke the matter in
13dudgeen, and miscalled the foole. Another seruingman, more
14foolish then both, took Jack's part, so that in short time they
15two fell together by the eares; who, being parted, Jack Oates
16giues them each one a hand, and so takes them into the buttry
17to drinke. The knight comes in: seeing the hall not yet quiet,
18askt the matter. Jack comes - Ile tell thee, Willy, quoth hee.
19As I was a playing at cardes, one seeing I wonne all I playd
20for, would needes haue the knaue from mee, which, as very a
21knaue as hee seeing, would needes beare him knaue for company;
22so bid them both welcome to thy house - I haue bin to
23intreat the knaue, thy butler, to make them drinke. I, sayes
24Sir William; and you, like a knaue, made them fall out. I,
25answered Jack, and your drinke, Sir Knaue, made them friends.
26Sir William, laughing, departed.
27    Newes came to Sir William that such a nobleman was comming
28to his house: great prouision was made for his welcome;
29and, amongst all, Jack Oates put on his new motly coate, cleane
30muckender, and his new shooes. Much preparation was made,
31which were too long to tell; for, Ile assure ye, it was one of
32the greatest earles in England, vnfit to name here: but the

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33knight and his ladie met him at the gate to entertaine him.
34Sir William, with a low congy, saluted him; the good lady, as
35is the courtly custom, was kist of this noble man. Jack Oates,
36seeing him kisse his ladie, on the sodaine giues the earle a sound
37box on the eare. Knaue (quoth he) kisse Sir Willie's wife?
38The good knight, amazed at this, caused him to be whipt. But
39the kinde noble man, knowing simplicitie the ground of his
40errour, would not suffer it, but, putting it vp, left him, and
41entred the house. Jack, seeing they were sad, and he had done
42amisse, had this wit in simplicitie to shadow it: he comes after
43and askt the earle wher his hand was? Here (quoth he) - with
44that he shakes him by it, and sayes, I mistooke it before, knowing
45not your eare from your hand, being so like one another.
46Jack thought hee had mended the matter; but now he was
47whipt indeede, and had his payment altogether. Thus fooles,
48thinking to be wise, become flat foolish: but all is one, Jack
49neuer repented him.
50    At a Christmas time, when great logs furnish the hall fire -
51when brawne is in season, and, indeede, all reveling is regarded,
52this gallant knight kept open house for all commers, where
53beefe, beere, and bread was no niggard. Amongst all the
54pleasures prouided, a noyse of minstrells and a Lincolnshire
55bagpipe was prepared - the minstrels for the great chamber,
56the bagpipe for the hall - the minstrells to serue vp the knights
57meate, and the bagpipe for the common dauncing. Jack could
58not endure to bee in the common hall; for, indeede, the foole
59was a little proudly minded, and, therefore, was altogether in
60the great chamber, at my ladies or Sir Williams elbow. One
61time, being very melancholy, the knight, to rouse him vp, saide,
62Hence, foole! Ile haue another foole; thou shalt dwell no longer
63with me. Jack to this answered little; though, indeede, ye
64could not anger him worse. A gentleman at the boord answers,
65If it please you, sir, Ile bring ye another foole soone.
66I pray ye do (quoth the knight) and he shall be welcome.
67Jack fell a crying, and departed mad and angry down into the

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68great hall; and, being strong armed (as before I described
69him), caught the bagpipes from the piper, knockt them about
70his pate, that he laid the fellow for dead on the ground, and,
71all broken, carries the pipes vp into the great chamber, and
72layes them on the fire. The knight, knowing by Jack that
73something was amisse, sendes downe to see. Newes of this
74jest came; the knight, angry (but to no purpose, for he loued
75the foole aboue all, and that the household knew, else Jack had
76paid for it, for the common peoples dauncing was spoiled) sent
77downe Jack, and bad him out of his sight. Jack cries, Hang
78Sir Willy, hang Sir Willy, and departes.
79    Sir William, not knowing how to amend the matter, caused
80the piper to be carried to bed, who was very ill, and said, I
81would now giue a gold noble for a foole: indeede, to anger him
82throughly, one of the minstrels whispers a gentleman in the
83eare, and said, If it pleased him, hee would; whereat the
84gentleman laught. The knight demaunded the reason of his
85laughing. I pray you tell me (quoth hee) - for laughing could
86neuer come in a better time - the foole hath madded me. If
87it please you (sayes the gentleman), here is a good fellow will
88goe and attire him in one of his coates, and can in all poynts
89behaue himselfe naturally, like such a one. It is good (sayes
90the knight) and I prethee, good fellow, about it; and one
91goe call Jack Oates hether, that wee may hold him with talk
92in the meane time.
93    The simple minstrell, thinking to worke wonders, as one
94ouerjoyed at the good opportunitie, threw his fiddle one way,
95his stick another, and his case the third way, and was in such
96a case of joy, that it was no boot to bid him make hast: but,
97proud of the knight fauor, away he flings, as if he went to
98tak possession of some great lordship; but, what ere he got by
99it, I am sure his fiddle, with the fall, fell in pieces, which grieued
100his maister so, that, in loue and pittie, he laughed till the water
101ran downe his cheekes. Beside, this good knight was like to

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102keepe a bad Christmas, for the bagpipes and the musicke went
103to wracke - the one burnt, and the other broken.
104    In comes Jack Oates, and (being merry) told the knight and
105the rest that a country-wench in the hall had eaten garlicke, and
106there was seuenteene men poysoned with kissing her: for it
107was his vse to jest thus. By and by comes in a messenger (one
108of the knights men) to tell him that such a gentleman had sent
109his foole to dwell with him. Hee is welcome, sayes the knight,
110for I am weary of this foole: goe bid him come in - Jack, bid
111him welcome. They all laught to see Jack's colour come and
112goe, like a wise man ready to make a good end. What say
113you to this? saies the knight. Not one word sayes Jack. They
114tinged with a knife at the bottome of a glasse, as toulling the
115bell for the foole, who was speechlesse and would dye (then
116which nothing could more anger him) ; but now the thought
117of the new come foole so much moued him, that he was as dead
118as a doore nayle - standing on tip-toe, looking toward the door
119to behold ariuall, that he would put his nose out of joint.
120    By and by enters my artificiall foole in his old cloaths,
121making wry mouthes, dauncing, and looking a squint: who,
122when Jack beheld, sodainely he flew at him, and so violently
123beate him, that all the table rose, but could scarce get him
124off. Well, off he was at length: the knight caused the broken
125ones to be by themselues. My poore minstrell, with a fall,
126had his head broke to the skull against the ground, his face
127scratcht; that which was worst of all his left eye put out, and
128withall so sore bruised, that he could neyther stand nor goe.
129The knight caused him to bee laide with the pyper, who was
130also hurt in the like conflict, who lackt no good looking to,
131because they miscarried in the knights seruice: but euer
132after Jack Oates could not endure to heare any talke of another
133foole to be there, and the knight durst not make such a
134motion. The pyper and the minstrel, being in bed together,
135one cryed, O! his backe and face; the other, O! his face and
136eye: the one cryed O his pype! the other, O his fiddle! Good

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137mussicke or broken consorts, they agree well together; but
138when they were well, they were contented for their paines:
139they had both money and the knights fauour. Here you
140haue heard the difference twixt a flat foole naturall, and a
141flat foole artificiall; one that did his kinde, and the other
142who foolishly followed his owne minde: on which two is
143written this Rime:
144VERSE OMITTED
145    Jack Oates could neuer abide the cooke, by reason that he
146would scald him out of the kitchen. Upon a time he had a
147great charge from his Lady to make her a quince pie of purpose
148for Sir Williams owne eating, which the cooke endeuored
149to doe, and sent to Lincolne of purpose to the apothecaries
150for choyse quinces. Jack, being at this charge
151giuen, thought to be euen with the cooke, and waited the
152time when this Pie was made. It hapned so, the cooke could
153get no quinces: my lady (for it was the knight's desire to
154haue one) sent about to Boston, and all the chiefe townes, but
155all in vaine - the season serued not; but, rather then Sir
156William should be vnfurnished, sent to Lincolne againe to
157buy vp many quinces, ready preserved at pothecaries, which
158she had, though with great cost. The knight, asking his
159Lady for his pie, she told him with much adoe she had preuailed,
160but with no little paines, in seeking quinces; for she

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161was faine to buy them ready preserued, and to make a vertue
162of necessity that way. Sir William, seeing it was so, said it
163should bee as well eaten, and sent for his friends, gentlemen
164and others of no small account. There was other great
165cheare prouided to furnish vp this sumptuous feast, and as
166he inuited them, hee tolde them it was a quince pie, which he
167would haue eaten. The day drew on, and the gentiles were
168come, and all was in a redinesse, and still Jack forgat not
169the pie, but stood faintly sicke, and refused his meate: the
170knight, sory that his best dish fayled him, made no small
171account of his well fare, askte him, Jack, sayes hee, where
172lyes thy paine? In my mouth, sayes hee (meaning, indeede,
173his mouth hung for the quince pie.) A barber was sent for
174from the market towne hard by, who searcht his mouth, and
175could finde no cause of paine: but Sir William, thinking the
176foole wanted wit to tell his griefe (though not wit to play the
177thiefe) had the barber depart, asking Jacke what he would
178eate? he sayd, nothing. What he would drinke? he sayd,
179nothing; which made Sir William doubt much of his health,
180refusing his liquour when it was usually his practice, and the
181knight joyed in it too: askit him if he would lie downe?
182still answering no, but would stand by the kitchen fire. The
183knight, that never came there but he did some exployte, forgetting
184that, led him by the hand (so much he made of him) and
185bad the cooke see he wanted nothing. Jack, standing still,
186groan'd and sayd, If he dyed, he would forgive all the world but
187the cooke. Hang, foole, (sayes the cooke) I care not for thee:
188die to-morrow if thou wilt, and so followed his business.
189They knockt to the dresser, and the dinner went up. Jack
190had a sheepes eye in the oven: anone the second course came,
191the pie was drawne, set by, and among other backt meates
192was to be sent up; but, wanting sugar, stept aside to the
193spicerie to fetch it; and Jack, in the meantime, catcheth the
194pie and claps it under his coate, and so runs through the hall
195into the yard, where was a broade moate: and, as he ran, the

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196hot pie burned his belly. I, sayes Jack, are ye so hot, Sir
197Willies pie? Ile quence ye anone Sir Willies pie, sayes he;
198and straight, very subtilly, leapes into the moate up to the
199arm-pits, and there stood eating the pie. The cooke comes
200in, misses the pie, withal misses Jack, cryes out, The pie!
201Sir Williams pie was gone, the author of that feast was gone,
202and they all were undone. A hurly burly went through
203the house, and one comes and whispers the lady with the
204newes: she tels Sir William how Jack Oates had stolen the
205pie. Jack was searcht for, and anon found in the moate. It
206was told the knight where the foole was eating it. Gentlemen
207(quoth he) we are disfurnished of our feast; for Jack,
208my foole, is in my moate, up to the arme-pits, eating of the
209pie. They laught, and ran to the windows to see the jest:
210then they might see Jack eate, the cooke call, the people
211hallow, but to no purpose. Jack fed, and, feeding greedily,
212(more to anger the cooke, than disapoint Sir William) ever
213as he burnt his mouth with hast, dipt the pie in the water to
214coole it. O! sayes the cooke, it is Sir William's owne pie,
215sirra. O! sayes Jack hang thee and Sir Willy too: I care
216not; it is mine now. Save Sir William some, sayes one;
217save my lady some, sayes another. By James, not a bit,
218sayes Jack; and eate up all, to the wonder of the beholders,
219who never knew him eate so much before, but drink ten times
220more. At length out comes Jack dropping dry, and goes to
221get fire to dry him: the knight and the rest all laught a good
222at the jest: not knowing how to amend it, Sir William sends
223for the cooke, who came up with a sorrowful heart, and,
224lamentably complaining, said it was the knights fault for
225placing him in the kitchen, where he never was but hee did
226like villany. The knight, not satisfied with the cookes answere,
227presently discharges him of his service, and sent him
228to live elsewhere. Goe, sayes hee; trusse up your trinkets
229and be gone. The cooke, seeing no remedy, departed.
230    Jack, being dry, up he comes; and, knowing he had offended,

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231tels a jest (for it was his manner so to doe) how a young man
232brake his codpiece point, and let all be seene that God sent
233him, or such fooleries, but that was not enough; and to chide
234him was to make of things worse then 'twas, and to no purpose
235neither. Sir William demaunded why hee eate the pye?
236Because I had a stomacke, sayes Jack. Would nought else
237serve, sayes the knight, but my pye? No, Willy, sayes he,
238thou would not be angry then, and the cooke had not been
239turned away: but all is well - thou art rich enough to buy
240more. The knight, perceiving the fooles envie, sent for the cooke,
241and bid him enjoy his place againe. So all parties were well
242pleased but the yong big-bellied woman, who, perchance, longed
243for this long looked for pie; but if she did, though long lookt
244for comes at last, yet they shoote short that ayme to hit this
245marke, for Jack Oates had eaten the pie and served himselfe.
246This was a flat foole; yet, now and then, a blind man may hit
247a crow, and you know a fooles boult is soone shot: out it goes,
248happen how it will. Had Jack kept his owne counsell, the
249cooke had beene still out of service, and he had been revenged,
250but now, being in his place againe, may live to cry quittance
251for the quince pye.

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252    Will Sommers, in no little credit in the king's court, walking
253in the parke at Greenwich, fell asleepe on the stile that leads
254into the walk, and many that would haue gone that way
255so much loued him, that they were loth to disease him, but
256went another way; I, the better sort, for now adaies beggars
257are gallants, while gentiles of right blood seeme tame ruffians;
258but note the loue Will Sommers got. A poore woman, seeing
259him sleepe so dangerously, eyther to fal backward, or to hurt
260his head leaning so against a post, fetcht him a cushion and a
261rope; the one for his head, and the other to bind him to the
262post, from falling backward: and thus hee slept, and the woman
263stood by, attending as the groom of his chamber. It changed so,
264that upon great occasion, as you shall after heare, Will Sommers
265uncle came out of Shropshire to seeke him in the court; a
266plaine old man of threescore yeeres, with a buttoned cap, a
267lockram falling band, course but cleane, a russet coat, a white
268belt of a horse hide, right horse-coller white leather, a close,
269round breech of russet sheeps wool, with a long stock of white
270kersey, a high shoe with yelow buckles, all white with dust;
271for that day the good old man had come three and twenty miles
272on foot. This kinde old man, comming up in his countrys
273behalfe, and comming into Greenwitch, asked the way to the
274court: euery one directs him; but one villaine page directs
275him by the court gate, to crosse in a boat over to Blackwal,
276and told him that was the court. The silly old man willingly
277paid his penny before hand, and was going ouer; but some
278that ouer-heard their talk, hindered his journey and laughed

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279at the jest, yet pitied his simplicitie, and sets him in the right
280way. When he came in and saw such a place, he was amazed,
281and stood gazing, which the gard and gentlewomen, in their
282windows, had much sport to see. At last one asked him what
283he was? The old man answeres, A poore Shropshire man; and
284demands if there were not a gentleman in the court dwelling,
285called by the name of M. Will Sommers? for the country hearing
286him in fauour in the court, said hee was so at least. The
287courtier answered, Here is such a one indeede. For fault of a
288worse, saies hee, I am his uncle; and wept with joy that hee
289should see him. Marry, sayes the man, Ile help you to him
290straight; for, I tell you, not any in the court durst but haue
291sought him, which this man did, and it was told him. Hee
292was walkt into the parke, while the king slept that hote
293day. Thether went they to seeke him. All this while my
294friend Will was in counsel with the post; and the cushion
295stood as arbitrator betwixte them, and the woman as a
296witnesse what was said and done. At last came these
297two and wakened him. William, seeing his head soft, What
298soft post in this? quoth he. A post of mine own making, saies
299the woman. But she lost nothing by her good will; for ere
300shee left Will Sommers, shee got him to get her sons pardon of
301the king, who was to bee hanged three days after for piracy:
302but by Will Sommers means he deceived the hang-man. This
303and many good deedes he did to diuers.
304    The foole, being wakened, lookes about him; when he had
305thanked the woman, asked what newes? sayes the man, Sir,
306here is your uncle come out of the country to see you. God a
307mercy cousin! sayes Will Sommers; I thank thee for thy
308labour, you cannot uncle me so. Yes, truly, sir, I am your
309own deare uncle, M. William, and with that wept. Are you
310my uncle? sayes Will. I, sir, sayes hee. Are you my uncle?
311sayes hee againe. I, sure, and verely too. But are you my
312uncle, indeed? By my vusse I am, sayes the old man. Then,
313uncle, by my vusse, welcome to court, sayes Will Sommers.
314But what make you heere, uncle? He ups and tels his comming

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315to him. Will takes him by the hand: Come, saies hee,
316thou shalt see Harry, onckle - the onely Harry in England;
317so he led him to the chamber of presence, and euer and anon
318cryes out, Aware, roome for me and my uncle! and knaues bid
319him welcome. You are welcome, sir, said they: the old man
320thought himselfe no earthly man, they honoured him so much.
321    But Will, ready to enter the presence, lookes on his uncle,
322and seeing him not fine enough to looke on the king: Come,
323uncle, sayes hee, we will haue your geere mended; leads
324him to his chamber, and attires him in his best fooles coate,
325simply, God wot, meaning well to him; and the simple old man
326as simply put it on, cap and all.
327    But they come; and up they came, and to the king they
328goe, who, being with the lord treasurer alone, merry, seeing
329them two, how Will had got another foole, knew there was
330sport at hand. How now! sayes the king, What news with
331you? O, Harry! sayes he, this is my owne uncle; bid
332him welcome. Wel, said the king, he is welcome. Harry,
333sayes hee, heare me tell thee a tale, and I will make thee
334rich, and my uncle shall be made rich by thee. Will tels
335the king how Terrils Frith was inclosed. Tirrels Frith! sayes
336the king; what is that? Why, the heath where I was borne,
337called by the name of Tirrels Frith: now a gentleman of that
338name takes it all in, and makes people beleeue it is all his, for
339it took the name from him; so that, Harry, the poore pine, and
340their cattle are all undone without thy help. And what should
341I doe? sayes the king. Marry, sayes Will, send to the Bishop
342of Hereford; hee is a great man with Terril: commaund him
343to set the Frith at liberty againe, who is now imprisoned by
344his means. And how shall I be rich by that? sayes the king.
345The poore will pray for thee, sayes Will; and thou shalt bee
346rich in heauen, for on earth thou art rich already. All this
347was done, and Wills uncle went home, who, while he liued, for
348that deed was allowed bayly of the common, which place was
349worth twenty pound a yeere.

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350    Howseuer, these three things it came in memory, and are for
351mirth incerted into stage playes I know not, but that Will
352Sommers asked them of the king, it is certaine: there are
353some will affirme it now living at Greenwich. The king being
354on a time extreame melancholy, and full of passion, all that
355Will could doe will not make him merry. Ah! sayes hee, this
356must haue, must haue a good showre to clense it; and with
357that goes behinde the arras. Harry, saies hee, Ile foegoe behind
358the arras, and study three questions, and come againe; see,
359therefore, you lay aside this melancloly muse, and study to
360answere me. I, quoth the king: they will be wise ones, no
361doubt. At last out comes William with his wit, as the foole
362of the play does, with an anticke looke to please the beholders.
363Harry, sayes hee, what is it, that the lesser it is, the more it is
364to be feared? The king mused at it; but, to grace the jest
365better, he answered, he knew not. Will answered, it was a
366little bridge ouer a deepe riuer; at which hee smyled.
367    What is the next, William? sayes the king. Marry, this is
368the next: what is the cleanliest trade in the world? Marry,
369sayes the king, I think a comfit-maker, for hee deales with nothing
370but pure ware, and is attired cleane in white linen when hee
371sels it. No, Harry, sayes he to the king; you are wide. What
372say you, then? quoth the king. Marry, sayes Will, I say a durtdauber.
373Out on it, says the king, that is the foulest, for hee is
374durty up to the elbows. I, sayes Will; but then he washes
375him cleane againe, and eats his meate cleanly enough. I
376promise thee, Will, saies the king, thou hast a pretty foolish
377wit. I, Harry, saies he, it will serue to make a wiser man
378than you a foole, methinks. At this the king laught, and demaunds
379the third question. Now, tell me, saies Will, if you
380can, what it is that, being borne without life, head, lippe, or
381eye, yet doth runne roaring through the world till it dye. This
382is a wonder, quoth the king, and no question; I know it not.
383Why, quoth Will, it is a fart. At this the king laught hartely,
384and was exceeding merry, and bids Will aske any reasinable

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385thing, and he would graunt it. Thanks, Harry, saies he; now
386against I want, I know where to find it, for yet I neede nothing,
387but one day I shall, for euery man sees his latter end,
388but knows not his beginning. The king understoode his meaning,
389and so pleasantly departed for that season, and Will laid
390him downe among the spaniels to sleepe.
391    Of a time appointed the king dined at Windsor, in the
392chappel yard at Cardinall Wolsey's, at the same time when he
393was building that admirable worke of his tombe: at whose gate
394stoode a number of poore people, to be serued with alms when
395dinner was done within; and, as Will passed by, they saluted
396him, taking him for a worthy personage, which pleased him.
397    In he comes, and finding the king at dinner, and the cardinall
398by attending, to disgrace him that he neuer loued, Harry,
399sayes hee, lend me ten pound. What to doe? saies the king.
400To pay three or foure of the cardinall's creditors, quoth hee,
401to whom my word is past, and they are come now for the
402money. That thou shalt, Will, quoth hee. Creditors of
403mine? saies the cardinall: Ile give your grace my head if any
404man can justly aske me a penny. No! saies Will. Lend me
405ten pounds; if I pay it not where thou owest it, Ile give thee
406twenty for it. Doe so, saies the king. That I will, my liege,
407saies the cardinall, though I know I owe none. With that he
408lends Will ten pounds. Will goes to the gate, distributes it
409to the poore, and brought the empty bag. There is thy bag
410againe, saies hee: thy creditors are satisfied, and my word out
411of danger.
412    Who received? sayes the king; the brewer or the baker?
413Neyther (Harry), sayes Will Sommers. But, cardinall, answere
414me in one thing: to whom dost thou owe thy soule?
415To God, quoth hee. To whom thy wealth? To the poore,
416sayes hee. Take thy forfeit (Harry) sayes the foole; open
417confession, open penance: his head is thine, for to the poore
418at the gate I paid his debt, which hee yeelds is due: or if thy
419stony heart will not yeeld it so, saue thy head by denying thy

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420word, and lend it mee: thou knowest I am poore, and haue
421neyther wealth nor wit, and what thou lendest to the poore
422God will pay thee ten fold; he is my surety - arrest him - for,
423by my troth, hang mee when I pay thee. The king laught at
424the jest, and so did the cardinall for a shew, but it grieved him
425to jest away ten pound so: yet worse tricks then this Will
426Sommers serued him after, for indeede hee could neuer abide
427him, and the forfeiture of his head had liked to haue beene
428payed, had hee not poysoned himselfe.
429    There was in the time of Will Sommers another artificiall
430foole, or jester, in the court, whose subtiltie heapt up wealth
431by gifts giuen him, for which Will Sommers could neuer abide
432him; but, indeede, lightly one foole cannot indure the sight of
433another, as Jack Oates, the minstrell, in the fat foole's story,
434and one beggar is woe that another by the doore should goe.
435This jester was a big man, of a great voyce, long black locks,
436and a verry big, round beard. On a time, of purpose, Will
437Sommers watcht to disgrace him, when he was jugling and
438jesting before the king. Will Sommers brings up a messe of
439milke and a manchet: Harry, saies hee, lend me a spoone.
440Foole, saies the jester, use thy hands, helpe hands, for I haue
441no lands, and meant, that saying would warrant his grose feeding.
442I, saies Will Sommers, beasts will doe so, and beasts will
443bid others doe as they doe themselves. Will, said the king,
444thou knowest I haue none. True Harry, saies hee, I know
445that, therefore I askt thee; and I would (but for doing thee
446harme) thou hadst no tongue to grant that foole his next sute;
447but I must eate my creame some way. The king, the jester,
448and all gathers about him to see him eate it. Will begins thus
449to rime ouer his milk:
450VERSE OMITTED

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451Meaning the foole, in whose beard and head the bread and
452milk was thicke sowne, and his eyes almost put out. Will
453Sommers hee gets him gone for feare. This lusty jester, forgetting
454himself, in fury draws his dagger, and begings to protest.
455Nay; saies the king, are ye so hote? claps him fast, and,
456though hee draws his dagger here, makes him put it up in another
457place. The poore abused jester was jested out of countenance,
458and lay in durance a great while, till Will Sommers
459was faine, after he broke his head, to giue him a plaister, to
460get him out againe. But neuer after came my jugler in the
461court moore so neere the king, being such a dangerous man to
462draw in the presence of the king.