ent him in peeces, yet the
minion king kept in his cholar, and propounded vnto him farther, what
of the king of Englands secrets (so aduantageable) he was priuie to,
as might remoue him from the siege of Turwin in three daies. Hee sayde
diuerse, diuerse matters, which askt longer conference, but in good
honestie they were lies, which he had not yet stampt. Heereat the true
king stept forth, and commanded to lay handes on the lozell, and that he
should be tortured to confesse the truth, for he was a spie and nothing
else.

He no sooner sawe the wheele and the torments set before him, but he
cride out like a rascall, and sayde hee was a poore Captaine in the
English camp, suborned by one _Iacke Wilton_ (a noble mans page) and no
other, to come and kill the French king in a brauery and returne, and
that he had no other intention in the world.

This confession could not choose but moue them all to laughter, in that
he made it as light a matter to kill their king and come backe, as to
goe to Islington and eate a messe of creame, and come home againe, nay,
and besides hee protested that he had no other intention, as if that
were not inough to hang him.

_Adam_ neuer fell till God made fooles, all this coulde not keepe his
ioyntes from ransacking on the wheele, for they vowed either to make
him a confessor or a martir in a trice, when still he sung all one song,
they tolde the king he was a foole, and some shrewd head had knauishly
wrought on him, wherefore it should stand with his honour to whip him
out of the campe and send him home. That perswasion tooke place, and
soundly was he lasht out of theyr liberties, and sent home by a Heralde
with this message, that so the king his master hoped to whip home
all the English fooles verie shortly: answere was returned, that that
shortlie, was a long lie, and they were shrewde fooles that shoulde
driue the French man out of his kingdome, and make him glad with
Corinthian _Dionisius_ to play the schoole-master.

The Herald being dismist, our afflicted intelligencer was cald _coram
nobis_, how he spedde, iudge you, but something hee was adiudged to. The
sparowe for his lecherie liueth but a yeere, he for his trecherie was
turnd on the toe, _Plura dolor prohibet_.

Here let me triumph a while, and ruminate a line or two on the
excellence of my wit, but I will not breath neither til I haue
disfraughted all my knauerie.

Another Swizer Captaine that was farre gone for want of the we