workemanship admir'd:

So neere the life in beautie, forme and hew, As if dead Art 'gainst
Nature had conspir'd. Painter, sayes one, thy wife's a pretty woman, I
muse such ill-shapt children thou hast got, Yet mak'st such pictures as
their likes makes no man, I prethee tell the cause of this thy lot?
Quoth he, I paint by day when it is light, And get my children in the
darke at night."--

Taylor's _Sculler_, 1612 (Works, 1630, iii. 22).

+ _Of the scoffer that made a man a south sayer._ xcii.

+ There was a mery scoffynge felowe on a tyme, the whiche toke on him to
teach a man to be a south sayer. Whan they were agreedde, what he shuld
haue for his labour, the scoffer sayde to the man: holde! eate this
rounde pellet, and I warant thou shalte be a south sayer. The man toke
and put it in his mouth, and began to champe theron, but hit sauered so
ill, that he spyt it out forth with, and said: phy! this pellet, that
thou gyueste me to eate, sauereth all of a *****: Thou sayst trouth
(quod the scoffer), nowe thou arte a south sayer; and therefore paye me
my money.[277]

+ _Of the marchaunt of Florence called Charles._ xciii.

+ A marchaunt of Florence, called Charles, came frome Auignone to Rome;
and as he sate at souper with a great company, one asked him how the
Florentins at Auignone fared? He sayde they were merye and gladde: for
they that dwelle there a yere (quod he) be as men that were franticke
and out of theyr myndes. Than an other, that sate at souper with them,
asked this Charles, how longe he had dwelled there. He answerde: vi
monethes. Charles (quod he that asked him the question), thou haste a
great wytte: for hit, that other be about xii monethes, thou hast
fulfylled in halfe a yere.

FOOTNOTES:

[277] See _Scoggin's Jests_, p. 28 (edit. 1796).

+ _Of the chesshire man called Eulyn._ xciiii.

+ Ther dwelled a man in Chesshyre called Eulyn, whiche vsed to go to the
towne many tymes; and there he wolde sytte drynkyng tyl xii of the
clocke at nyghte, and than go home. So on a tyme he caryed a lyttell
boye his sonne on his shulder with him, and whan the chylde fell a slepe
about ix of the clocke, the ale wyfe brought him to bed with her
chyldren. At mydnyghte Eulyn wente home, and thought no more of his
chylde. As sone as he came home, his wyfe asked for her chyld. Whan she
spake of the chylde, he loked on his shulder; and whan he sawe he was
not ther, he said he wist nat w