e men and knaves! 'Why, thou
novice,' said he, 'because in an honest land are fewer knaves to bite
the honest man, and many honest men for the knave to bite. I was in
luck, being honest, to have fallen in with a friendly sharp. Be my pal,'
said he; 'I go to Nurnberg; we will reach it with full pouches. I'll
learn ye the cul de bois, and the cul de jatte, and how to maund, and
chaunt, and patter, and to raise swellings, and paint sores and ulcers
on thy body would take in the divell.' I told him shivering, I'd liever
die than shame myself and my folk so."

Eli. "Good lad! good lad!"

"Why, what shame was it for such as I to turn beggar? Beggary was an
ancient and most honourable mystery. What did holy monks, and bishops,
and kings, when they would win Heaven's smile? why, wash the feet of
beggars, those favourites of the saints. 'The saints were no fools,' he
told me. Then he did put out his foot. 'Look at that, that was washed by
the greatest king alive, Louis, of France, the last Holy Thursday that
was. And the next day, Friday, clapped in the stocks by the warden of
a petty hamlet.' So I told him my foot should walk between such high
honour and such low disgrace, on the same path of honesty, please
God. Well then, since I had not spirit to beg, he would indulge my
perversity. I should work under him, he be the head, I the fingers.
And with that he set himself up like a judge, on a heap of dust by the
road's side, and questioned me strictly what I could do. I began to say
I was strong and willing. 'Ba!' said he, 'so is an ox. Say, what canst
do that Sir Ox cannot?' I could write; I had won a prize for it. 'Canst
write as fast as the printers?' quo' he, jeering. 'What else?' I could
paint. 'That was better.' I was like to tear my hair to hear him say so,
and me going to Rome to write. I could twang the psaltery a bit. 'That
was well. Could I tell stories?' Ay, by the score. 'Then,' said he, 'I
hire you from this moment.' 'What to do?' said I. 'Nought crooked, Sir
Candour,' says he. 'I will feed thee all the way and find thee work; and
take half thine earnings, no more.' 'Agreed,' said I, and gave my hand
on it, 'Now, servant,' said he, 'we will dine. But ye need not stand
behind my chair, for two reasons--first I ha' got no chair; and next,
good fellowship likes me better than state.' And out of his wallet he
brought flesh, fowl, and pastry, a good dozen of spices lapped in flax
paper, and wine fit for a king. Ne'er fe