Thus she began the matter--"Why, how now, pray, and what is to-day, that you must put on your holiday clothes, with a pye-crust to you? What do you intend to do, say you, tell me quickly."

"Nothing," said Simon, "but to walk abroad with you, sweet wife, as it is common on the day after marriage."

"No, no," said Margery, "this must not, nor shall not be. It is very well known that I have brought you a very considerable fortune--forty shillings in money, and a good milch cow, four fat wethers, with half a dozen ewes and lambs; likewise, geese, hens, and turkeys; also a sow and pigs, with other moveables, worth more than any of your crook-back generation is able to give you. And do you think you shall lead as lewd a life now as you did before you married; but if you do, then say my name is not Margery. Now I've got you in the bands of matrimony I will make you know what it is to be married; therefore, to work you rascal, and take care that what I brought is not consumed; for, if you do not, what will become of your wife and children?"

Now, Simon looked liked one that had neither sense nor reason, but stood amazed, as if there had been a whole army of Billingsgate shrews.

However, recollecting what he had heard about scolds, he muttered to himself, "Udswagers, I think I have got a woeful one now."

"What is that you say, sirrah?" said she.

"Nothing, dear wife, but what you say I allow to be true."

And so, taking his bag and bottle, he went forward to his daily labour: but, coming towards the lower end of the town, he chanced to meet old Jobson, a cobbler, a merry blade, who loved a cup of good ale.

"What! honest Simon," said Jobson, "I am glad to see you, for since our last meeting I hear you are married, and now I wish thee much happiness."

Now, old Jobson, being a merry fellow, invited Simon to take a flaggon of the best liquor that the next ale-house would afford, and there to drink to Margery's health.

Being merry in discourse, talking of the tricks and pranks they had played when bachelors.

Jobson, taking up the flaggon in his hand, said, "Come, here's to thee, honest Simon, and I wish thee better luck than Randal, thy old father-in-law, had with his wife; for she was such a scold that happy were they who lived out of the clamour of her noise. But without doubt thy dear wife may be of a milder spirit, and have more of her father's meekness than her mother's fury in her; but come, Simon, here's to thee and to thy dearly-beloved Margery."

Cries Simon, "If she was present how merry we should be; but, I fear, on the wrong side of the mouth."

"Well," said Jobson, "I vow I long to see her; and I verily believe she would be as glad to see me. I dare to say she will prove a very good wife."

"Truly, neighbour Jobson, I don't know; but if I have no better ending than beginning, I wish I had ended my life at the plough tail."

No sooner were these words out of his mouth but in comes Margery, with her gossips, whom Simon wished to see, forsooth. He wished her much joy, but Margery, in a woeful fury, s.n.a.t.c.hed up Jobson's oaken staff from off the table, and gave poor Simon such a clank upon the noddle which made the blood spin out, saying, "Is this your work, sirrah?" Jobson, seeing so sudden an alteration, was affrighted, not knowing how to escape.

She then turned about to the left, saying, "Thou rogue and rascal, it is you that ruins all the good women's husbands in the town; therefore you shall not go unrewarded," giving him such strokes over his back and shoulders as caused poor Jobson to lay in bed almost a fortnight.

Simple Simon all this while not having any power to run away, but stood like one half frighted out of his wits, and trembling before his bride, with his hat in one hand and the flaggon in the other, begging her that she would be patient, and he would never offend her any more.

But she gave him a frown, and bid him begone about his business, which he immediately did. So then Margery and her friendly gossips had the whole apartment to themselves, where they sat till they were all as drunk as fish-women.

CHAPTER II.

_She drags him up into the Chimney, and hangs him a Smoke-drying._

At night, when he returned to his own home, Margery, by the help of a nap she had taken, was a little restored to her senses again; but yet, not forgetting the fault he had committed, she invented a new kind of punishment; for, having a wide chimney, wherein they used to dry bacon, she, taking him at a disadvantage, tied him hand and foot, bound him in a basket, and, by the help of a rope, drew him up to the beam in the chimney, and left him there to take his lodging the second night after his wedding, with a small, smoky fire under him, so that in the morning he almost reezed like to a red-herring. But in length of time he prevailed with his wife to show him so much pity as to let him down again.

"In love release me from this horrid smoke, And I will never more my wife provoke; She then did yield to let him down from thence, And said, 'Be careful of the next offence.'"

CHAPTER III.

_Simon loses a Sack of Corn that he was carrying to the Mill to have ground._

Not long after she sent him to the mill with a sack of corn, and bade him remember what she said to him, or else he should not go unpunished.

"Well," said Simon, "I hope I shall never offend thee any more."

For this promise she gave him a mess of milk, and when he had eaten all up he took the sack of corn upon his back, and went towards the mill, which stood about two miles from the house.

When Simon was got about half way he began to be weary, which was the forerunner of a great misfortune, for a man riding by, leading an empty horse towards the mill, perceived Simon weary of his load, told him he might lay it upon his spare horse, to which Simon willingly consented.

The man riding on, Simon could not pace with him, so desired him to leave it for him at the mill. He promised he would, but never intended to perform his promise.

Simon, thus loosing his sack of corn, knew not how to go home, or show his face before his wife, until he got two or three of his neighbours to go with him to beg for his pardon, and to help to make up the difference between them, which they did after a long parley. So that for this crime he pa.s.sed unpunished.

CHAPTER IV.

_Simon goes to the Market with his Basket of Eggs, breaks them all by the Way, and is set in the Stocks._

But, although he was not punished according to the severe correction he had formerly received, yet he did not escape the continual railings in his ears for several days after, ever and anon she crying out, "You sot, will you never be wise?"

"Yes, sweet Margery, dear Margery, I hope I shall some time."

"Well," says she, "I'll now try you once more. Here, take this basket of eggs, and go to the market and sell them, but be sure don't break them nor spend the money, for if you do, sorrow will be your sops, and you may expect to feel the weight of my hands more than ever you have done before."

At which harsh words he trembled much, and looked as white as his dear Margery's shift, for fear that he should miscarry with his basket of eggs, for he well knew that his wife would be sure to be as good as her promise.

Then Simon, taking his basket of eggs, trudged away to the market, but was no sooner come there than, seeing a vast crowd of people, he was resolved to see what was the matter.

When he came to the place he found that two b.u.t.ter-women had fallen out, and to that degree that they had taken one another by the que of their hair, and their fillets all flying about their ears; which Simon seeing he was moved with compa.s.sion, and ran to part them, but in vain; poor Simon was still unfortunate, and came off with a great loss, for one of the women pushed him down and broke his eggs.

Poor Simon was now almost distracted to see the ground, but whether it was the fear of the anger of his wife, or whether it was courage, thus it was, Simon ran in amongst them, and resolved to be revenged on them for the loss of his eggs.

Whilst they were in the fray the constable came, and, supposing them drunk, gave orders that they should all be set in the stocks together--Simon in the middle, and the women on each side--which was accordingly done; but they rang such a peal in Simon's ears that he was deaf for a fortnight after.

Being released, he ventured home again, dreading the impending storm; but this was his comfort in the midst of all his hard fortune, that, though he might feel the force of her blows, still he would be deaf to her noise, being stunned by the women in the stocks.

CHAPTER V.