Light on my child, and from the worms him save! Now stand up, little Telemachus, anon: I warrant thee by to-morrow thy worms will be gone. TELEMACHUS. I thank you, mother, in my most hearty[611] wise; Will ye, sir, to my father command me any service? THERSITES. No, pretty boy, but do thou us two commend To thy father and mother; tell them that we intend, Both my mother and I, To see them shortly. TELEMACHUS. Ye shall be heartily welcome to them, I dare well say; Fare ye well, by your leave: now I will depart away. THERSITES. Son, give me thy hand. Farewell. MATER. I pray God keep thee from peril. [_Telemachus goeth out, and the mother sayeth_: I-wis it is a proper child, And in behaviour nothing wild; Ye may see what is good education: I would every man after this fashion Had their children up brought. Then many of them would not have been so nought: A child is better unborn than untaught. THERSITES. Ye say truth, mother; well, let all this go, And make you ready Ulysses to go to With me anon; be ye so content? MATER. I am well pleased; to your will I assent, For, although that I love him but very evil, It is good to set a candle before the devil. Of most part of great men, I swear by this fire, Light is the thank, but heavy is the ire. Farewell, son, I will go me to prepare. THERSITES. Mother, God be with you and keep you from care. [_The mother goeth out, and Thersites saiyeth forth_: Whatsomever I say, sirs, I think ill might she fare; I care not if the old witch were dead: It were an almsdeed to knock her in the head, And say on the worms that she did die; For there be many that my lands would buy. By God's blessed brother, If I were not sick of the mother! This toothless trot keepeth me hard, And suffereth no money in my ward; But, by the blessed Trinity, If she will no sooner dead be, I will with a cushion stop her breath, Till she have forgot Newmarket heath. Ill might I fare, If that I care Her to spare: About the house she hoppeth, And her nose oft droppeth, When the worts she choppeth: When that she doth brew, I may say to you, I am ready to spew, The drops to see down renne, By all Christian men, From her nose to her knen[612] Fie, God's body, it maketh me to spit, To remember how that she doth sit, By the fire brawling, Scratching and scrawling, And in every place Laying oysters apace. She doth but lack shells: The devil have they whit else. At night, when to bed she goes, And plucketh off her hose, She knappeth me in the nose With rip, rap, Flip, flap, That an ill-hap Come to that tap, That venteth so, Wheresoever she go! So much she daily drinketh, That her breath at both ends stinketh; That an horse-comb and an halter Her soon up talter! Till I say David's psalter That shall be at Nevermass, Which never shall be, nor never was. By this ten bones, She served me once A touch for the nonce. I was sick and lay in my bed; She brought me a kerchief to wrap on my head, And I pray God that I be dead,