ABSTRACT
fourteenth century Citizens and gentles!—for by your bearing I see there be quality among you— Come! draw near and listen. My words are not to be shouted from the housetops, Neither are they to be overheard by the dull-witted.… That is more serviceable. Now, my friends, I am not one of those miserable preachers, Nay, nor one of those wretched herbalists Who stand before this magnificent cathedral With their starved bodies and threadbare cloaks; Who, with their boxes spread upon a carpet, Seek to extract your hard-earned wages. Know you that I am none of that tribe. I am sent here by Madame Trote of Salerno, Who indeed is the wisest woman in the world, A virgin of most profound sagacity. She made me vow solemnly by the saints, Yea, by all the hierarchy of heaven, That I would not depart from this your country Before I had instructed you in the proper cure For worms, scurvy, rheumatism, heartburn And other diseases and ailments of the flesh, That those in England most worthy In the sight of God, might be advantaged By her wisdom. I pray you listen. Take off your caps; give ear, And gather closer…. Note these herbs, These few poor herbs upon the palm Of my hand. Nay, sir, do not touch! I would not have you visited by affiiction, Slain in the instant with your sins Unshriven! For these herbs, Scarcely larger than a grain of sand, Contain such power, such wonder-working Power—though, I assure you, With the full cognisance of the Blessèd Mary— There is no ox of yours, no horse— Nay, not the stoutest charger in the world— But if you placed one such upon his tongue Would die as surely as by the butcher’s knife In lingering agony, so potent are they. Come, be not afraid. I tell you: If you follow my instructions to the letter— To the letter, mark you, and waver not— No harm shall come to you. Indeed, I promise you such access of health, Such manifestations of eternal youth, That you will bless the day you hearkened To my instructions…. Mark you well. Leave these for three days only To steep in good white wine. If you possess no white, then red, If not red, then clear spring water— For I have noted that many a man Who has no cask of wine in his cellar Doth own a runnel of water by his door. After three days, I say, remove them, Bury them where no child or dog, Nor any creature you cherish may find them, And preserve the liquid in an earthen vessel. Drink from it slowly for thirteen mornings— Thirteen, mark you—and by the fourteenth Your varied maladies will disappear, And what is more—like to myself, My friends—never return again.
