haue
redde also ye obligacyo whiche was sent to saynt Gyles
as dothe aper. Dothe not thes argumentes proue that
mater to be good enoghe. _Me._ May a man loke apon
them? _Ogy._ ye and if you wyll swere to kepe it ||
A iiij.|| preuy. _Me._ Oh you shall speake to a stone.
_Ogy._ Ther be stones now a dayes of that name very
slawnderous, that wyll hyde nothynge. _Me._ you shall
speake to a domme man, & yow trust nat a stone. _Ogy._
Apon ye condycyon I wyll tell it, loke that you here
with bothe youre eyares. _Me._ So I doo.

[The epistle of our Lady.]

_Ogy._ Mary the mother of Iesu to *Glaucoplutus
[*Glaucoplutus desirus of ryches.] sedythe gretynge.
Insomoche as you folowe Luther, you nobly perswade,
that it is but in vayne to call apo sayntes, do ye well
know for that to be grettly in my fauore. For vntyll
thys day I haue almost be slayne with the importunate
prayers of men. Of me alone they askyd althynges, as
who shuld say my sone were alway a babe, because he is
so faynyd and payntyd apo my breste, that yet he wold
be at my commaundemet and durst nat denye my petycyon,
dredynge that if he denye my petycyon, || that I shuld
denye hym my teate whan he is a thurst: and very oft
thay requyre that of me, whiche a shamfast yongman dare
scantly aske of a Bawde, yee they be suche thynges as I
am ashamyd to put in wrytynge. Now comythe ye
marchauntman and he redy to sayle into Spayne for a
vantage, dothe comytte hys wyues honesty to me. Than
commythe thet lytle preaty Nunne and she castythe away
her vayle redy to runne away, she leuythe with me the
good name of her vyrgynytye, whiche shortly she
entendythe to take monay for. Than cryeth the wykyd
soudyer purposyd to robbe & saythe, blessyd lady send
me a good praye. Now comythe the vnthryfty dyasser and
cryethe, send me good chance Lady & thow shalt haue
parte of my wynnynges: and if the dyasse runne ayenst
hym, he blasphemes, and cursythe me, bycause || I wyll
nat fauor his noghtynes. Now cryeth she that sellythe
her selffe for fylthye lukre & saythe, swete lady send
me some costomers, & if I denye it, they exclame ayenst
me & say, thou arte not the mother of marcy. Moreouer
the vowes of some women be no lesse wykyd tha folishe.
The mayd cryeth & saythe, O swet Mary send me a fayre
and riche husbond. The maryed woma saythe send me
goodly chylderen. Now laborythe the woman with chyld,
and cryeth dere lady dylyuer me of my bondes. Than
comythe ye olde wyffe, and say