and to rule theym as they woulde. But the fooles woulde none of that, but woulde have the rule themselves for all theyr craft. And when the wyse men saw that they coulde not obteyn theyr purpose they wished that they had been in the rayne, and had defoyled theyr clothes with them. When this tale was tolde, my lord dyd laugh very merely. Than I sayd to hym, that for al hys mery fable I did put no doutes but that he woulde be good lord unto my father when he sawe hys tyme. He sayde, I woulde not have your father so scrupulous of his conscience. And then he tolde me another fable, of a Lyon an Asse and a Wolfe, and of theyr confession. Fyrst the Lyon confessed that he had deuoured al the beastes that he could come by. His confessour assoyled hym because he was a king, and also it was his nature so to doe. Than came the poor Asse, and sayde that he tooke but one strawe out of hys maisters shoe for hunger, by the meanes wherof he thought that hys maister did take colde. Hys confessour coulde not assoile this great trespas, but by and by sent hym to the byshop. Than came the Wolfe and made hys confession, and he was straytly commanded that he should not passe vi pence at a meale. But when the sayde wolfe had used this diet a little whyle, he waxed very hungry, in so much, that on a day when he sawe a cowe with her calfe come by him, he sayd to himselfe I am very hungry, and faine would I eate, but that I am bounde by my gostly father. Notwithstanding that, my conscience shall judge me. And than if that be so, than shall my conscience be thus, that the cowe doth seme to me now but woorth a grote. And than if the cowe be but woorth a grote, than is the calfe but woorth ii pence; so did the wolfe eate bothe the cowe and the calfe. Now my good sister, hath not my lord told me two prety fables. In good fayth they pleased me nothing, nor I wist not what to say, for I was abashed of his aunswer. And I see no better suite than to almightie God; for be is the comforter of all sorrowes, and will not fayle to send his coumfort to his servauntes when they have moste nede. Thus fare ye well mine owne good sister. Written the Monday after Saint Laurence, in haste,
Your Sister,
ALICE ALINGTON.
