4. "The Tale of the Fishwife of Strand-on-the-Green," from Westward for Smelts(1620), by "Kind Kit of Kingston"

[Long linked with Cymbeline, "The Tale of the Fishwife of Strand-on-the-Green," one of the tales told in Westward for Smelts, presents intriguing parallels to the wager plot. In this version, the villain hides under the wife's bed at night rather than concealing himself in a trunk, and he steals a necklace with a crucifix, removed for the night, and presents it to the husband as his sole token of the wife's infidelity. Further parallels include the husband's servant being commanded to kill the supposedly unfaithful wife, only to relent in face of the wife's loyal submission; the wife concealing her identity by dressing as a page, and serving a highborn man; and the final climax, resolution, and revelations occurring in the king's presence. These broad strokes are enough to indicate a fairly close correspondence, but the final line of the tale may suggest a closer connection between the two texts with an apparent verbal borrowing to 3.4.43. Early editors claimed that Westward for Smelts existed as early as 1603, but the 1620 text that serves as the source text for the edited version below is the earliest extant edition.]

The next that sat to her was a fishwife of Strand-on-the-Green, who said her tale was pleasant but scarce honest; she taxed women with too much immodesty, to salve which she would tell the adventures of a poor gentlewoman that was used unkindly by her husband.

They all liked this well and entreated her to proceed, which she willingly consented unto.

Her Tale

In the troublesome{full of trouble} reign of King Henry the Sixth, there dwelled in Waltham, not far from London, a gentleman which had to wife a creature most beautiful so that in her time there were few found that matched her, none at all that excelled her, so excellent were the gifts that nature had bestowed on her. In body was she not only so rare and unparalleled but also in her gifts of mind so that in this creature it seemed that Grace and Nature strove who should excel{outrival} each other in their gifts toward her. The gentleman her husband thought himself so happy{fortunate} in his choice that he believed in choosing her he had took hold of that blessing which heaven proffereth every man once in his life. Long did not this opinion hold for current, for in his height of love, he began so to hate her that he sought her death; the cause I will tell you.

Having business one day to London, he took his leave very kindly of his wife, and accompanied with one man, he rode to London. Being toward night, he took up{rented lodgings at} his inn and, to be brief, he went to supper amongst other gentlemen. Amongst other talk at table, one took occasion to speak of women and what excellent creatures they were, so long as they continued loyal to man, to whom answered one, saying, "This is truth, sir; so is the devil good so long as he doth no harm, which is meaner: his goodness and women's loyalty will come both in one year, but it is so far off that none in this age shall live to see it."

This gentleman, loving his wife dearly (and knowing her to be free from this uncivil gentleman's general taxation of women), in her behalf said, "Sir, you are too bitter against the sex of women and do ill, for someone's sake that hath proved false to you, to tax the generality of womankind with lightness, and but I would not be counted uncivil amongst these gentlemen, I would give you the reply that approved untruth deserveth. You know my meaning, sir; construe my words as you please. Excuse me, gentlemen, if I be uncivil; I answer in the behalf of one who is as free from disloyalty as is the sun from darkness or the fire from cold."

"Pray, sir," said the other, "since we are opposite in opinions, let us rather talk like lawyers, that we may be quickly friends again, than like soldiers, which end their words with blows. Perhaps this woman that you answer for is chaste, but yet against her will, for many women are honest 'cause they have not the means and opportunity to be dishonest; so is a thief true in prison 'cause he hath nothing to steal. Had I but opportunity and knew this same saint you so adore, I would pawn my life and whole estate in a short while to bring you some manifest token of her disloyalty. Sir, you are young in the knowledge of women's sleights; your want of experience makes you too credulous: therefore, be not abused{mistaken}."

This speech of his made the gentleman more out of patience than before so that with much ado he held himself from offering violence, but his anger being a little over, he said, "Sir, I do verily believe that this vain speech of yours proceedeth rather from a loose and ill-mannered mind than of any experience you have had of women's looseness, and since you think yourself so cunning in that devilish art of corrupting women's chastity, I will lay down here a hundred pounds, against which you shall lay fifty pounds, and before these gentlemen I promise you, if that within a month's space you bring me any token of this gentlewoman's disloyalty for whose sake I have spoken in the behalf of all women, I do freely give you leave to enjoy the same, conditionally you not performing it, I may enjoy your money. If that it be a match, speak, and I will acquaint you where she dwelleth, and besides, I vow, as I am a gentleman, not to give her notice of any such intent that is toward her."

"Sir," quoth the man, "your proffer is fair, and I accept the same." So the money was delivered into the host of the house his hands, and the sitters-by were witnesses; so, drinking together like friends, they went every man to his chamber.

The next day this man, having knowledge of the place, rid{rode} thither, leaving the gentleman at the inn, who, being assured of his wife's chastity, made no other account but to win the wager, but it fell out otherwise, for the other vowed either by force, policy, or free will to get some jewel or other toy from her, which was enough to persuade the gentleman that he was a cuckold and win the wager he had laid. This villain, for he deserved no better style{title} lay at Waltham a whole day before he came to the sight of her; at last he espied her in the fields, to whom he went and kissed her--a thing no modest woman can deny.

After his salutation, he said, "Gentlewoman, I pray pardon me if I have been too bold. I was entreated by your husband, which is at London, I riding this way, to come and see you; by me he hath sent his commends{greetings} to you, with a kind entreat{entreaty} that you would not be discontented for his long absence, it being serious business that keeps him from your sight."

The gentlewoman very modestly bade him welcome, thanking him for his kindness, withal{in addition} telling him that her husband might command her patience so long as he pleased. Then entreated she him to walk homeward, where she gave him such entertainment as was fit for a gentleman and her husband's friend.

In the time of his abiding at her house, he oft would have singled her in private talk, but she perceiving the same, knowing it to be a thing not fitting a modest woman, would never come in his sight but at meals, and then were there so many at board that it was no time for to talk of lone matters; therefore, he saw he must accomplish his desire some other way, which he did in this manner: he, having lain two nights at her house and perceiving her to be free from lustful desires, the third night he feigned himself to be something{somewhat} ill and so went to bed timelier{earlier} than he was wont. When he was alone in his chamber, he began to think with himself that it was now time to do that which he determined, for if he tarried any longer, they might have cause to think that he came for some ill intent and waited opportunity to execute the same. Therefore, he resolved to do something that night that might win him the wager or utterly bring him in despair of the same.

With this resolution he went to her chamber, which was but a pair{flight} of stairs from his, and finding the door open, he went in, placing himself under the bed. Long had he not lain there but in came the gentlewoman with her maiden who, having been at prayers with her household, was going to bed. She, preparing herself to bedward, laid her head-tire{head-dress} and those jewels she wore on a little table thereby. At length, he perceived her to put off a little crucifix of gold, which daily she wore next to her heart. This jewel he thought fittest for his desire and therefore observed where she did lay the same. At length, the gentlewoman, having untired{undressed} herself, went to bed; her maid, then bolting of the door, took the candle and went to bed in a withdrawing room only separated with arras{tapestry wall-hanging}.

This villain lay still under the bed, listening if he could hear that the gentlewoman slept; at length, he might hear her draw her breath long. Then thought he all sure, and like a cunning villain rose without noise, going straight to the table where, finding of the crucifix, he lightly went to the door, which he cunningly unbolted. All this performed he with so little noise that neither the mistress nor the maid heard him.

Having gotten into his chamber, he wished for day that he might carry this jewel to her husband as sign of his wife's disloyalty, but seeing his wishes but in vain, he laid him down to sleep. Happy had she been had his bed proved his grave!

In the morning, so soon as the folks were stirring, he rose and went to the horse-keeper, praying him to help him to his horse, telling him that he had took his leave of his mistress the last night. Mounting his horse, away rid he to London, leaving the gentlewoman in bed, who, when she rose, attiring herself hastily 'cause one{someone} tarried to speak with her, missed not her crucifix. So passed she the time away, as she was wont other days to do, no whit troubled in mind, though much sorrow was toward{threatening} her; only she seemed a little discontented that her guest went away so unmannerly, she using him so kindly.

So leaving her, I will speak of him, who the next morning was betimes{early} at London, and coming to the inn, he asked for the gentleman, who then was in bed, but he quickly rose and came down to him, who seeing him returned so suddenly, he thought he came to have leave to release himself of his wager, but this chanced otherwise, for having saluted him, he said in this manner, "Sir, did not I tell you that you were too young in experience of woman's subtleties and that no woman was longer good than she had cause or time to do it? This you believed not and thought it a thing so unlikely that you have given me a hundred pounds for the knowledge of it. In brief, know your wife is a woman, and therefore a wanton, a changeling{fickle person}; to confirm that I speak, see here" -- showing him the crucifix-- "Know you this? If this be not sufficient proof, I will fetch you more."

At the sight of this, his blood left his face, running to comfort his faint heart, which was ready to break at the sight of this crucifix, which he knew she always wore next her heart, and therefore he must, as he thought, go something near{affect him deeply} which stole so private a jewel. But remembering himself, he cheers his spirits, seeing that was sufficient proof, and he{the other} had won the wager, which he commanded should be given to him.

Thus was the poor gentleman abused, who went into his chamber and, being weary of this world, seeing where he had put only his trust, he was deceived, he was minded to fall upon his sword and so end all his miseries at once, but his better genius{similar to a guardian angel} persuaded him contrary, and not so (by laying violent hand on himself) to leap into the devil's mouth. Thus being in many minds but resolving no one thing, at last he concluded to punish her with death which had deceived his trust, and himself utterly to forsake his house and lands and follow the fortunes of King Henry. To this intent, he called his man, to whom he said, "George, thou knowest I have ever held thee dear, making more account of thee than thy other fellows, and thou has often told me that thou didst owe thy life to me, which at any time thou wouldst be ready to render up to do me good."

"True, sir," answered his man. "I said no more then than I will now at any time, whensoever you please, perform."

"I believe thee, George," replied he, "but there is no such need. I only would have thee do a thing for me in which is no great danger, yet the profit which thou shalt have thereby shall amount to my wealth. For the love that thou bearest to me, and for thy own good, wilt thou do this?"

"Sir," answered George, "more for your love than any reward, I will do it--and yet money makes many men valiant. Pray tell me what it is."

"George," said his master, "this it is: thou must go home, praying thy mistress to meet me half the way to London, but having her by the way, in some private place, kill her. I mean as I speak: kill her, I say; this is my command, which thou hast promised to perform, which, if thou performest not, I vow to kill thee the next time thou comest in my sight. Now, for thy reward, it shall be this: take my ring, and when thou hast done my command, by virtue of it, do thou assume my place till my return, at which time thou shalt know what my reward is. Till then, govern my whole estate, and for thy mistress's absence and my own, make what excuse thou please: so be gone."

"Well, sir," said George, "since it is your will, though unwilling I am to do it, yet I will perform it."

So went he his way toward Waltham, and his master presently rid to the court where he abode with King Henry, who a little before was enlarged by the Earl of Warwick and placed in the throne again.

George, being come to Waltham, did his duty to his mistress, who wondered to see him and not her husband, for whom she demanded of George. He answered her that he was at Enfield and did request her to meet him there, to which she willingly agreed and presently rode with him toward Enfield. At length, they being come into a byway, George began to speak to her in this manner: "Mistress, I pray you tell me what that wife deserves who, through some lewd behavior of hers, hath made her husband to neglect his estate and means of life, seeking by all means to die, that he might be free from the shame which her wickedness hath purchased him."

"Why, George," quoth she, "hast thou met with some such creature? Be it whomsoever, might I be her judge, I think her worthy of death. How thinkest thou?"

"Faith, mistress," said he, "I think so too, and am so fully persuaded that her offense deserveth that punishment that I purpose to be executioner to such a one myself. Mistress, you are this woman. You have so offended my master—you know best how yourself—that he hath left his house, vowing never to see the same till you be dead, and I am the man appointed by him to kill you. Therefore, those words which you mean to utter, speak them presently, for I cannot stay{wait}."

Poor gentlewoman, at the report of these unkind words (ill deserved at her hands), she looked as one dead, and uttering abundance of tears, she at last spake these words: "And can it be that my kindness and loving obedience hath merited no other reward at his hands than death? It cannot be. I know thou only tryest me, how patiently I would endure such an uncivil command. I'll tell thee here, thus with body prostrate on the earth and hands lift up to heaven, I would pray for his preservation--those should be my worst words, for death's fearful visage shows pleasant to that soul that is innocent."

"Why then, prepare yourself," said George, "for by heaven I do not jest."

With that, she prayed him stay, saying, "And is it so? Then what{why} should I desire to live, having lost his favor (and without offense) whom I so dearly loved, and in whose sight my happiness did consist? Come, let me die. Yet, George, let me have so much favor at thy hands as to commend me in these few words to him. Tell him, my death I willingly embrace, for I have owed him my life--yet no other wise but by a wife's obedience--ever since I called him husband, but that I am guilty of the least fault toward him, I bitterly deny, and do, at this hour of my death, desire that heaven would pour down vengeance upon me if ever I offended him in thought. Entreat him that he would not speak ought that were ill on me when I am dead, for in good troth I have deserved none. Pray heaven bless him. I am prepared now; strike, prithee, home, and kill me and my griefs at once."

George, seeing this, could not withhold himself from shedding tears, and with pity he let fall his sword, saying, "Mistress, that I have used you so roughly, pray pardon me, for I was commanded so by my master, who hath vowed if I let you live, to kill me. But I, being persuaded that you are innocent, I will rather undergo the danger of his wrath than to stain my hands with the blood of your clear and spotless breast. Yet let me entreat you so much that you would not come in his sight lest in his rage he turn your butcher, but live in some disguise till time have opened{revealed} the cause of his mistrust and showed you guiltless, which I hope will not be long."

To this she willingly granted, being loath to die causeless, and thanked him for his kindness; so parted they both, having tears in their eyes. George went home, where he showed his master's ring for the government of the house till his master and mistress's return, which he said lived a while at London 'cause the time was so troublesome, and that was a place where they were more secure than in the country. This his fellows believed and were obedient to his will, amongst whom he used himself so kindly that he had all their loves.

This poor gentlewoman, mistress of the house, in short time got man's apparel for her disguise; so wandered she up and down the country, for she could get no service because the time was so dangerous that no man knew whom he might trust. Only she maintained herself with the price of those jewels which she had, all which she sold. At the last, being quite out of money, and having nothing left which she could well spare to make money of, she resolved rather to starve than so much to debase herself to become a beggar; with this resolution she went to a solitary place beside York, where she lived the space of two days on herbs and such things as she could there find.

In this time it chanced that King Edward{Edward IV}, being come out of France and lying{lodging} thereabout with the small forces he had, came that way with some two or three noblemen with an intent to discover if any ambushes were laid to take him at an advantage. He, seeing there this gentlewoman, whom he supposed to be a boy, asked her what she was and what she made there in that private place, to whom she very wisely and modestly withal answered that she was a poor boy whose bringing up had been better than her outward parts then showed, but at that time she was both friendless and comfortless{without assistance} by reason of the late war.

He, being moved to see one so well featured (as she was) to want, entertained her for one of his pages, to whom she showed herself so dutiful and loving that in short time she had his love above all her fellows. Still{always} followed she the fortunes of King Edward, hoping at last, as not long after it did fall out, to be reconciled to her husband.

After the battle at Barnet where King Edward got the best, she, going up and down amongst the slain men to know whether her husband, which was on King Henry's side, were dead or escaped, happened to see the other who had been her guest lying there for dead. She, remembering him and thinking him to be one whom her husband loved, went to him and finding him not dead, she caused one to help her with him to a house thereby where, opening of his breast to dress his wounds, she espied her crucifix, at sight of which her heart was joyful, hoping by this to find him that was the original of her disgrace, for she, remembering herself, found that she had lost that crucifix ever since that morning he departed from her house so suddenly; but saying nothing of it at that time, she caused him to be carefully looked unto and brought up to London after her, whither she went with the king, carrying the crucifix with her.

On a time when he was a little recovered, she went to him, giving him the crucifix which she had taken from about his neck, to whom he said, "Good gentle youth, keep the same, for now in my misery of sickness, when the sight of that picture should be most comfortable{morally reassuring}, it is to me most uncomfortable{causing moral discomfort} and breedeth such horror in my conscience when I think how wrongfully I got the same that so long as I see it, I shall never be in rest."

Now knew she that he was the man that caused the separation twixt her husband and herself, yet said she nothing, using him as respectively{respectfully} as she had before, only she caused the man in whose house he lay to remember the words he had spoken concerning the crucifix.

Not long after, she being alone, attending on the king, beseeched his grace to do her justice on a villain that had been the cause of all the misery she had suffered. He, loving her above all his other pages most dearly, said, "Edmund," for so had she named herself, "thou shalt have what right thou wilt on thy enemy; cause him to be sent for, and I will be thy judge myself."

She, being glad of this, with the king's authority sent for her husband, whom she heard was one of the prisoners that was taken at the Battle of Barnet, she appointing the other, now recovered, to be at the court the same time. They being both come (but not one seeing of the other), the king sent for the wounded man into the presence, before whom the page asked him how he came by the crucifix.

He, fearing that his villainy would come forth, denied the words he had said before his host, affirming he bought it. With that she called in the host of the house where he lay, bidding him boldly speak what he had heard this man say concerning the crucifix. The host then told the king that in the presence of this page, he heard him entreat that the crucifix might be taken from his sight, for it did wound his conscience to think how wrongfully he had gotten the same. Those words did the page aver, yet he utterly denied the same, affirming that he bought it, and if that he did speak such words in his sickness, they proceeded from the lightness of his brain and were untruths.

She seeing this villain's impudency sent for her husband in, to whom she showed the crucifix, saying, "Sir, do you know, do you know this?"

"Yes," answered he, "but would God I ne'er had known the owner of it! It was my wife's, a woman virtuous till this devil"--speaking to the other—"did corrupt her purity, who brought me this crucifix as a token of her inconstancy."

With that, the king said, "Sirrah, now are you found to be a knave; did you not even now affirm you bought it?"

To whom he answered with fearful countenance, "And it like your grace, I said so, to preserve this gentleman's honor and his wife's, which by my telling of the truth would have been much endamaged, for indeed she being a secret friend of mine gave me this as a testimony of her love."

The gentlewoman, not being able longer to cover herself in that disguise said, "And it like your majesty, give me leave to speak, and you shall see me make this villain confess how he hath abused that good gentleman." The king having given her leave, she said, "First, sir, you confessed before your host and myself that you had wrongfully got this jewel; then, before his majesty, you affirmed you bought it, so denying your former words. Now you have denied that which you so boldly affirmed before and have said it was this gentleman's wife's gift. With his majesty's leave, I say thou art a villain, and this is likewise false."

With that, she discovered herself to be a woman, saying, "Hadst thou, villain, ever any strumpet's favor at my hands? Did I, for any sinful pleasure I received from thee, bestow this on thee? Speak, and if thou have any goodness left in thee, speak the truth."

With that, he, being daunted at her sudden sight, fell on his knees before the king, beseeching his grace to be merciful unto him, for he had wronged that gentlewoman; therewith told he the king of the match{contest} between the gentleman and himself, and how he stole the crucifix from her and by that means persuaded her husband that she was a whore.

The king wondered how he durst, knowing God to be just, commit so great villainy, but much more admired he to see his page to turn a gentlewoman; but, ceasing to admire, he said, "Sir"--speaking to her husband—"you did the part of an unwise man to lay so foolish a wager, for which offense the remembrance of your folly is punishment enough; but, seeing it concerns me not, your wife shall be your judge."

With that, Mistress Dorrill, thanking his majesty, went to her husband, saying, "Sir, all my anger to you I lay down with this kiss."

He, wondering all this while to see this strange and unlooked-for change, wept for joy, desiring her to tell him how she was preserved, wherein she satisfied him at full. The king was likewise glad that he had preserved this gentlewoman from willful{voluntary} famine and gave judgment on the other in this manner: that he should restore the money treble which he had wrongfully got from him and so was to have a year's imprisonment.

So this gentleman and his wife went with the king's leave lovingly home, where they were kindly welcomed by George, to whom for recompense he gave the money which he received. So lived they ever after in great content. How like you of this woman?

Some praised her (as she deserved) extraordinarily.

"But," said the Brentford fishwife, "I like her as a garment out of fashion: she showed well in that innocent time when women had not the wit to know their own liberty, but if she lived now, she would show as vile as a pair of Yorkshire sleeves in a goldsmith's shop."