[52.] A certaine Farmer had taken to wife a dumb woman, and hearing of a great Magician lately come into England, he tooke horse and rode to him, and demanded if there were no help for a woman that had lost her speech. The Magician answered, Yes, it is an easie matter, and told him hee must take an Aspen leafe, and lay it under her tongue, and it would instantly help her. The Farmer was joy'd with this tidings, and returned in haste homewards, suspecting in himselfe the vertue of his new receit, and therefore to make the matter more sure, he tooke three Aspen leaves, and laid them all three under his wifes tongue, who immediately began to talk and prate very nimbly, and in the end, upon a very small occasion to curse and raile downeright upon her husband, as if shee had beene mad. The Farmer was now in a peck of troubles, and posted in all hast to the Magician, certifying him of this unhappy accident. The Magician demanded if hee absolutely followed his counsell. The Farmer answered No, for (quoth he) instead of one leaf I have used three, hoping to make the matter surer. Marry then, God help thee, (quoth the Magician) for it is an easie matter to make a woman speak, but to make her hold her tongue is past my cunning. Nay, all the devills in Hell could never worke such a wonder. Whereat the Farmer much grieved, departed. [32.] What is that the more ye lay on, the faster it wasteth? _Solution._ That is a Whetstone, for the more ye whet the less is the Whetstone. A Money Monger choyce of Sureties had; [51.] A Countrey fellow plaine in Russet clad; His doublet Mutton-taffety Sheep-skins, His sleeves at hand button'd with two good pins; Upon his head a filthy greasie Hat, That had a hole eate thorou it by a Rat, A Leather Pouch that with a Snap-hance shut, One hundred Hobnailes in his Shooes were put: The stockings that his Clownish legs did fit, Were Kersie to the calfe, and t'other knit; And at a word, th' apparell that he wore Was not worth twelve pence, at _Who gives more?_ The other surety of another stuffe, His neck inviron'd with a double Ruffe, Made Lawne and Cambrick both such common ware, His Doublet set had falling Band to spare; His fashion new, with last Edition stood, His Rapier Hilts imbru'd in golden blood: And these same trappings made him seeme one sound, To passe his credit for an hundred pound, So was accepted; Russet coat deny'd, But when time came the money should be pay'd, And Monsieur Usurer did hunt him out, Strange alteration struck his heart in doubt; For in the Counter[F. 72] he was gone to dwell, And Brokers had his painted cloaths to sell; The Usurer then further understands, The Clowne (refus'd) was rich and had good lands; Ready (through rage) to hang himselfe, he swore That Silken Knaves should cozen him no more. [Footnote 72: See footnote, _ante_ (F. 52).]