_Mery-reporte._ By my fayth, for his lordship is ryght besy. Wyth a pece of worke that nedes must be doone; 795 Even now is he makyng of a new moone. He sayth your olde moones be so farre tasted,[183] That all the goodnes of them is wasted, Whyche of the great wete hath ben moste mater For olde moones be leake;[184] they can holde no water. 800 But for this new mone, I durst lay my gowne, Except a few droppes at her goyng downe, Ye get no rayne tyll her arysynge, Wythout yt nede, and then no mans devysynge Coulde wyshe the fashyon of rayne to be so good; 805 Not gushynge out lyke gutters of Noyes flood, But small droppes sprynklyng softly on the grounde; Though they fell on a sponge they wold gyve no sounde. This new moone shall make a thing spryng more in this while Then a olde moone shal while a man may go a mile. 810 By that tyme the god hath all made an ende, C iv _b_ Ye shall se how the wether wyll amende. By saynt Anne, he goeth to worke even boldely. I thynke hym wyse ynough; for he loketh oldely! Wherfore, maystres, be ye now of good chere; 815 For though in his presens ye can not appere, Tell me your mater and let me alone. Mayhappe I will thynke on you when you be gone. _Gentylwoman._ Forsoth, the cause of my commynge is this: I am a woman right fayre, as ye se; 820 In no creature more beauty then in me is; And, syns I am fayre, fayre wolde I kepe me, But the sonne in somer so sore doth burne me, In wynter the wynde on every side me. No parte of the yere wote I where to turne me, 825 But even in my house am I fayne to hyde me. And so do all other that beuty have; In whose name at this tyme, this sewt I make, Besechynge Jupyter to graunt that I crave; Whyche is this, that yt may please hym, for our sake, 830 To sende us wether close and temperate, No sonne-shyne, no frost, nor no wynde to blow. Then wolde we get[185] the stretes trym as a parate.[186] Ye shold se how we wolde set our-selfe to show. _Mery-reporte._ Jet where ye wyll, I swere by saynt Quintyne, 835 Ye passe them all, both in your owne conceyt and myne. _Gentylwoman._ If we had wether to walke at our pleasure, Our lyves wolde be mery out of measure. One part of the day for our apparellynge Another parte for eatynge and drynkynge, 840 And all the reste in stretes to be walkynge, Or in the house to passe tyme with talkynge. _Mery-reporte._ When serve ye God? _Gentylwoman._ Who bosteth in vertue are but dawes[187] _Mery-reporte._ Ye do the better, namely syns there is no cause. How spende ye the nyght?