For, in fayth, I care not who wynne or lose. 215 _Here the gentylman before he cometh in bloweth his horne._ _Mery-reporte._ Now, by my trouth, this was a goodly hearyng. I went yt had ben the gentylwomans blowynge! But yt is not so, as I now suppose, For womens hornes sounde more in a mannys nose. 220 _Gentylman._ Stande ye mery, my frendes, everychone. B i _Mery-reporte._ Say that to me and let the rest alone! Syr, ye be welcome, and all your meyny. _Gentylman._ Now, in good sooth, my frende, god a mercy! And syns that I mete the here thus by chaunce, 225 I shall requyre the of further acqueyntaunce, And brevely to shew the, this is the mater. I come to sew to the great god Jupyter For helpe of thynges concernynge my recreacyon, Accordynge to his late proclamacyon. 230 _Mery-reporte._ Mary, and I am he that this must spede. But fyrste tell me what be ye in dede. _Gentylman._ Forsoth, good frende, I am a gentylman. _Mery-reporte._ A goodly occupacyon, by seynt Anne! On my fayth, your maship[130] hath a mery life. 235 But who maketh all these hornes, your self or your wife? Nay, even in earnest, I aske you this questyon. _Gentylman._ Now, by my trouth, thou art a mery one. _Mery-reporte._ In fayth, of us both I thynke never one sad, For I am not so mery but ye seme as mad! 240 But stande ye styll and take a lyttell payne, I wyll come to you, by and by, agayne. Now, gracyous god, yf your wyll so be, I pray ye, let me speke a worde wyth ye. _Jupyter._ My sonne, say on! Let us here thy mynde. 245 _Mery-reporte._ My lord, there standeth a sewter even here behynde, A Gentylman, in yonder corner, And, as I thynke, his name is Mayster Horner A hunter he is, and cometh to make you sporte. He woide hunte a sow or twayne out of thys sorte.[131] 250 _Here he poynteth to the women._ _Jupyter._ What so ever his mynde be, let hym appere. _Mery-reporte._ Now, good mayster Horner, I pray you come nere. _Gentylman._ I am no horner, knave! I wyll thou know yt. _Mery-reporte._ I thought ye had [been], for when ye dyd blow yt, Harde I never horeson make horne so goo. 255 As lefe ye kyste myne ars as blow my hole soo! Come on your way, before the God Jupyter, And there for your selfe ye shall be sewter.