Vincent:  Forsooth, this was a wonderful work!  What became, uncle, of the man?

Anthony:  The king gave him his pardon.

Vincent:  Verily, he might in conscience do no less.

Anthony:  But then was there almost made a statute that in such a case there should never after be granted a pardon, but (if the truth were able to be proved) no husband should need any pardon, but should have leave by the law to follow the example of that carpenter, and do the same.

Vincent:  How happed it, uncle, that that good law was left unmade?

Anthony:  How happed it?  As it happeth, cousin, that many more be left unmade as well as that one, and almost as good as it too, both here and in other countries—­and sometimes some that are worse be made in their stead.  But they say that the hindrance of that law was the queen’s grace, God forgive her soul!  It was the greatest thing, I daresay, that she had to answer for, good lady, when she died.  For surely, save for that one thing, she was a full blessed woman.

But letting now that law pass, this temptation in procuring her own death was unto this carpenter’s wife no tribulation at all, as far as men could ever perceive.  For she liked well to think upon it, and she even longed for it.  And therefore if she had before told you or me her intent, and that she would so fain bring it so to pass, we could have had no occasion to comfort her, as one that were in tribulation.  But marry, counsel her we might, as I told you before, to refrain and amend that malicious devilish intent.

Vincent:  Verily, that is truth.  But such as are well willing to do any purpose that is so shameful, they will never tell their intent to nobody, for very shame.

Anthony:  Some will not, indeed.  And yet are there some again who, be their intent never so shameful, find some yet whom their heart serveth them to make of their counsel therein.

Some of my folk here can tell you that no longer ago than even yesterday, someone who came out of Vienna told us, among other talking, that a rich widow (but I forgot to ask him where it happened), having all her life a high proud mind and a malicious one—­as those two virtues are wont always to keep company together—­was at dispute with another neighbour of hers in the town.  And on a time she made of her counsel a poor neighbour of hers, whom she thought she might induce, for money, to follow her intent.  With him she secretly spoke, and offered him ten ducats for his labour, to do so much for her as in a morning early to come to her house and with an axe unknown privily strike off her head.  And when he had done so, he was to convey the bloody axe into the house of him with whom she was at dispute, in such manner as it might be thought that he had murdered her for malice.  And then she thought she should be taken for a martyr.  And yet had she farther devised that another sum of money should afterward be sent to Rome, and there should be measures made to the Pope that she might in all haste be canonized!