And being come to London, it was John Denevale’s chance to meet him in the street, of whom the merchant in the Greek tongue demanded where he might have lodging. For he was one that had never been in England before, and being unacquainted, wist [i.e. knew] not whither to go. But while he spoke Greek, John Denevale answered him still in French, which tongue the merchant understood well. And therefore being glad that he had met with one that could talk to him, he declared unto him what tempests he endured at sea, and also how his ship lay upon the coast with such commodities as he would sell. ‘Truly sir’, quoth John, ‘I am my self but a stranger in this country, and utterly unacquainted with merchants; but I dwell with one in the city, that is a very honest man, and it may be that he can help you to some that will deal with you for it, and if you think it good, I will move him in it, and in the mean space I’ll bring you where you may have a very good lodging, and tomorrow morning I will come to you again’. . . .

Now as soon as John the Frenchman came home, he moved the matter unto his master [i.e. Simon Eyre], desiring him that he would do what he could for the merchant. When his master had heard each circumstance, noting therewith the want of such commodities in the land, he cast in his mind as he stood cutting up his work what were best to be done in this case, saying to his man John, ‘I will think upon it betwixt this and the morning, and then I will tell you my mind’. And therewithal casting down his cutting knife, he went out of his shop into his chamber, and therein walked up and down alone very sadly, ruminating hereon. He was so far in his muse, that his wife sending for him to supper two or three times, he nothing regarded the maid’s call, hammering this matter in his head. At last his wife came to him, saying, ‘husband, what mean you that you do not come to supper? Why speak you not, man? Hear you? Good husband, come away, your meat will be cold’. But for all her words, he stayed walking up and down still, like a man who had sent his wits a wool-gathering; which his wife seeing, pulled him by the sleeve, saying, ‘why, husband, in the name of God, why come you not? Will you not come to supper tonight? I called you a good while ago’. ‘Body of me, wife, I promise thee I did not hear thee’. ‘No faith, it seemeth so’, quoth she, ‘I marvel whereupon your mind runneth’. ‘Believe me, wife’, quoth he, ‘I was studying how to make myself Lord Mayor, and thee a Lady’.

‘Now God help you’, quoth she, ‘I pray God make us able to pay every man his own, that we live out of debt and danger, and drive the wolf from the door, and I desire no more’. ‘But wife’, said he, ‘I pray thee now tell me, dost thou not think that thou couldst make shift to bear the name of a Lady if it be put upon thee?’ ‘In truth, husband’, quoth she, ‘I’ll not dissemble with you, if your wealth were able to bear it, my mind would bear it well enough’. ‘Well, wife’, replied he, ‘I tell thee now in sadness that if I had money, there is a commodity now to be bought, the gains whereof would be able to make me a Gentleman forever’. ‘Alas, husband, that dignity your trade allows you already, being a squire of the Gentle Craft; then how can you be less than a Gentleman, seeing your son is a prince born!’ ‘Tush, wife’, quoth he, ‘those titles so only rest in name, but not in nature; but of that sort I had rather be, whose lands are rather answerable to their virtues, and whose rents can maintain the greatness of their mind’. . . .