What nowe, let se, Who loketh on me Well rounde aboute, 840 Howe gay and howe stoute That I can were Courtly my gere: My heyre bussheth So plesauntly, My robe russheth So ruttyngly, Me seme I flye, I am so lyght, To daunce delyght; 850 Properly drest, All poynte deuyse, My persone prest Beyonde all syse Of the newe gyse, To russhe it oute In euery route: Beyonde measure My sleue is wyde, Al of pleasure, 860 My hose strayte tyde, My buskyn wyde, Ryche to beholde, Gletterynge in golde. Abusyon Forsothe I hyght: Confusyon Shall on hym lyght, By day or by nyght That vseth me; 870 He can not thee. A very fon, A very asse, Wyll take vpon To compasse That neuer was Abusyd before; A very pore That so wyll do, He doth abuse 880 Hym selfe to to, He dothe mysse vse Eche man take a fe[808] To crake and prate; I befoule his pate. This newe fonne iet From out of Fraunce Fyrst I dyd set; Made purueaunce And suche ordenaunce, 890 That all men it founde Through out Englonde: All this nacyon I set on fyre In my facyon, This theyr desyre, This newe atyre; This ladyes haue, I it them gaue; Spare for no coste; 900 And yet in dede It is coste loste Moche more than nede For to excede In suche aray: Howe be it, I say, A carlys sonne, Brought vp of nought, Wyth me wyll wonne Whylyst he hath ought; 910 He wyll haue wrought His gowne so wyde That he may hyde His dame and his syre Within his slyue; Spende all his hyre, That men hym gyue; Wherfore I preue, A Tyborne checke Shall breke his necke. 920 _Here cometh in FANSY, craynge_, Stow, stow! All is out of harre, And out of trace, Ay warre and warre In euery place. But what the deuyll art thou, That cryest, Stow, stow? _Fan._ What, whom haue we here, Jenkyn Joly? Nowe welcom, by the God holy. _Court. Ab._ What, Fansy, my frende! howe doste thou fare? _Fan._ By Cryst, as mery as a Marche hare. 930 _Court. Ab._ What the deuyll hast thou on thy fyste? an owle? _Fan._ Nay, it is a farly fowle. _Court. Ab._ Me thynke she frowneth and lokys sowre. _Fan._ Torde, man, it is an hawke of the towre: She is made for the malarde fat. _Court. Ab._ Methynke she is well becked to catche a rat. But nowe what tydynges can you tell, let se. _Fan._ Mary, I am come for thé. _Court. Ab._ For me?