Now have I all such as we wanted, By weight and measure no whit scanted, Bought and duly therefor paid. But meseems I have here so long delayed That yonder is the night risen well nigh. There is a dial, whereon I may espie The hour of the day. ’Tis already betwixt four and five. Here I must get me a lodging, as I would thrive. There remains yet an hour more of day, And in three hours I scarcely may Win home to mine eme’s. Nay, to stay here were best. Mine aunt dwelleth hard by, as I have guessed. I will go pray her that she make me a bed, An on the morrow, so soon as I be awak’ned, I will haste me home to my task once more. I see mine aunt standing before her door. In seemly wise I will her greet.— Aunt, may Christ make all your sorrow sweet, And all them you love keep both fair and well. AUNT Fy, welcome, devil, how do ye in hell? Well, mistress, what would ye hereabout? MARY Mine eme sent me at noon, without a doubt, For candles, mustard, vinegar and verjuice And for such other as at home we have use; And ere I could run from one thing to another in hie And search out each and all and then buy, It is grown so late; and little may it misease you That as for tonight ye make me a bed, an it please you. I would e’en now get me home, but in the night There be those who lie in wait for maids to do them despite, Ay, and dishonor, so that they have shame of it; And for that I am afraid. AUNT Out upon it, chit! God a mercy! Make ye so much pother about a maidenhead? Fy, dear niece, ye ken well how ye were bred This long time, though ye pretend to such dismay. Nor with your household matters since noonday Ye have not been busy, as to my thinking. MARY In good sooth, aunt, I have. AUNT Yea, or sitting a-drinking In some snug corner with “fill the can, fill.” Fy, niece, in the country Dickon or Will Know well how to go with the lasses amids the rye, And when at even their sports they ply, Hath not Gill won a pretty forfeit from Jack? Fy, niece, ere now ye have got a green gown to your back. At home, I doubt not, many brisk lads there be. MARY Why say ye so, aunt? AUNT Ay, mistress hypocrisy! Though the truth on’t cannot be told, I’ll be bound, Ye have tripped it lightly many a round Where the piper got not five groats for his noise. Let ’em go to it never so with the boys, ’Tis all virgin, ay, till girdles be let out. MARY That I should be so shent and shamed, without All guilt, is more than heart can bear. AUNT