‘I perceive, wife’, quoth he, ‘thou wouldst fain be a Lady, and worthy thou art to be one, that doth thus employ thy wits to bring thy husband profit. But tell me, if he should be desirous to see the Alderman to confer with him, how shall we do then?’ ‘Jesus have mercy upon us!’ quoth she. ‘You say women are fools, but me seemeth [i.e. it seems to me] men have need to be taught sometimes! Before you come away in the morning, let John the Frenchman tell him that the Alderman himself shall come to his lodging in the afternoon, and receiving a note of all the goods that be in the ship, he shall deliver unto him a bill of his hand for the payment of the money, according to that time. Now, sweetheart’, quoth she, ‘this Alderman shall be thine own self, and I’ll go borrow thee all things that shall be necessary, against that time’. ‘Tush’, quoth her husband, ‘canst thou imagine that he seeing me in the morning will not know me again in the afternoon?’ ‘Go, husband’, quoth she, ‘he will not know thee, I warrant thee. For in the morning thou shalt go to him in thy doublet of sheepskin, with a smudged face, and thy apron before thee, thy thumb-leather and hand-leather [i.e. shoemaker’s tools] buckled close to thy wrist, with a foul band about thy neck and a greasy cap upon thy head’. ‘Why, woman’, quoth he, ‘to go in such sort would be a discredit to me, and make the merchant doubtful of my dealing. For men of a simple attire are, God wot [i.e. knows], slenderly esteemed’.

‘Hold your peace, good husband’, quoth she, ‘it shall not be so with you. For John the Frenchman will give such good report to the merchant of your honest dealing - as I praise God, he can do no less - that the Grecian will conceive the better of you than otherwise, judging you a prudent discreet man that will not make a show of that you are not, but go in your attire agreeable to your trade. And because none of our folks should be privy to our intent, tomorrow we will dine at my cousin John [the] barber in St. Clement’s Lane, which is not far from the George in Lombard Street, where the merchant-stranger [i.e. foreigner] lies. Now I’ll be sure that all things shall be ready at my cousin John’s that you may put on in the afternoon. And there he shall first of all with his scissors snap off all thy superfluous hairs, and fashion thy brushy beard after the Alderman’s grave cut. Then shall he wash thee with a sweet camphor ball, and besprinkle thy head and face with the purest rose water. Then shalt thou scour thy pitchy fingers in a basin of hot water with an ordinary washing ball. And all this being done, strip from thee these common weeds, and I’ll put on thee a very fair doublet of tawny satin, over which thou shalt have a cassock of branched damask, furred around the skirts with the finest foins [i.e. trimmings made of fur]; thy breeches of black velvet, and shoes and stockings fit for such array; a band about thy neck as white as the driven snow, and for thy wrist a pretty pair of cuffs, and on thy head a cap of the finest black. Then shalt thou be laid with the richest foins, with a pair of sweet gloves on thy hands, and on thy forefinger a great seal ring of gold.