Yt ys an epystle

From ye HOUSBOUNDE, away from the house on business, to hys GUDEWIFE, containing sundry matters of various sortes (c. 1550)

Gudewife! Fine greetings from thy housbounde deare,

Thogh I been far, I wyshe thatte I were neare.

I heare that in thy clymes the dayes growe colde - 

High tyme yt ys to press cheese in a moulde. 

I praye our cattes are healthy, & oure birdes; 

Please to make sure they do notte nicke the curdes. 

Hast thou a wynter cough, mayhap, or sneeze? 

I praye thee not to do yt on the cheese. 

I heare telle thatte thy hand is wounded sore - 

GREAT GRIEFE! Who'll turne the cheeses over more?  

But art thou tired, gudewife? Rest welle yn bedde - 

Lest whenne thou turnst the pattes, they weigh like unto leade.

And praye do not thyself hurt spynnyng flaxe, 

For yn a daye, or two, deare, we must waxe. 

& so, in Holye Cheese's name I pray- ...

Gude Jesu, in thy whole Edam to-day -...

Gude Lord, I praye for holye cheese thys yeare - 

& thou as well, Gudewife. Gudenight, my deare!