The Ship of Fools, Volume 1-2 - Sebastian Brant (thriller books to read TXT) 📗

Foly: gyue aduertence and hede

That in eche thynge ought to be had measure

Wyne ne ale hurteth no maner creature

But sharpeth the wyt if it be take in kynde

But if it be nat, than I the ensure

It dulleth the brayne, blyndynge the wyt and mynde

 

Rede all bokes and thou shalt neuer fynde

That dronkennes and wysdome may togyther be

For where is dronkennes, there madnes is by kynde

Gydynge the hauer to all enormyte

And where as is madnes thou shalt neuer se

Reason ne wysdome take theyr abydynge

In one instant, wherfore lerne this of me

That dronkennes is mortell enmy to cunnynge.

 

*

 

Of ryches vnprofytable.

 

[Illustration: Yet fynde I folys of another sorte

Whiche gather and kepe excessyfe ryches

With it denyeng their neyghboures to conforte

Whiche for nede lyueth in payne and wretchydnes

Suche one by fortune may fall into distres

And in lyke wyse after come to mysery

And begge of other, whiche shall to hym deny.]

 

It is great foly, and a desyre in vayne

To loue and worshyp ryches to feruently

And so great laboure to take in care and payne

Fals treasoure to encrease and multyply

But yet no wonder is it sertaynly

Syth he that is ryche hath gretter reuerence

Than he that hath sadnes wysdom and scyence

 

The ryche mannes rewardes stande in best degre

But godly maners we haue set clene asyde

Fewe loueth vertue, but fewer pouertye.

Fals couetyse his braunches spreddeth wyde

Ouer all the worlde, that pety can nat byde

Among vs wretches banysshed is kyndnes

Thus lyeth the pore in wo and wretchydnes

 

Without conforte and without auctoryte

But he only is nowe reputed wyse

Whiche hath ryches in great store and plente.

Suche shall be made a sergeant or Justyce

And in the Court reputed of moste pryse

He shall be callyd to counseyll in the lawe

Though that his brayne be skarsly worth a strawe

 

He shall be Mayre baylyfe or constable

And he onely promotyd to honoure

His maners onely reputed ar laudable

His dedys praysyd as grettest of valoure

Men laboure and seke to fall in his fauoure

He shall haue loue, echone to hym shall sue

For his ryches, but nought for his vertue

 

Se what rewardes ar gyuen to ryches

Without regarde had to mannys condycyon

A strawe for cunnynge wysdome and holynes

Of ryches is the first and chefe questyon

What rentes what londes howe great possessyon

What stuffe of housholde what store of grotz and pens

And after his gode his wordes hath credence.

 

His wordes ar trouth men gyue to them credence

Thoughe they be falsly fayned and sotell

But to the pore none wyll gyue aduertence

Though that his wordes be true as the gospell

Ye let hym swere by heuyn and by hell

By god and his sayntes and all that god made

Yet nought they beleue that of hym is sayde

 

They say that the pore men doth god dispyse

Thouhe they nought swere but trouth and veryte

And that god punyssheth them in suche wyse

For so dispysynge of his hye maiestye

Kepynge them for their synnes in pouerte

And theyr ryche exaltyth by his power and grace

To suche ryches, worldly pleasour and solace

 

The ryche ar rewarded with gyftis of dyuerse sorte

With Capons and Conyes delycious of sent

But the pore caytyf abydeth without confort

Though he moste nede haue: none doth hym present

The fat pygge is baast, the lene cony is brent

He that nought hathe, shall so alway byde pore

But he that ouer moche hath, yet shall haue more

 

The wolfe etis the shepe, the great fysshe the small

The hare with the houndes vexed ar and frayde

He that hath halfe nedes wyll haue all

The ryche mannes pleasour can nat be denayde

Be the pore wroth, or be he well apayde

Fere causeth hym sende vnto the ryches hous

His mete from his owne mouth, if it be delycious

 

And yet is this ryche caytyf nat content

Though he haue all yet wolde he haue more.

And though this gode can neuer of hym be spent

With nought he departyth to hym that is pore

Though he with nede harde vexed were and sore.

O cursyd hunger o mad mynde and delyte.

To laboure for that whiche neuer shall do profyte

 

Say couetous caytyfe what doth it the auayle

For to haue all and yet, nat to be content

Thou takest nat this sore laboure and trauayle

To thy pleasoure but to thy great turment

But loke therof what foloweth consequent

Whan thou art dede and past this wretchyd lyfe

Thou leuyst behynde brawlynge debate and stryfe

 

To many one ryches is moche necessary

Whiche can it order right as it ought to be

But vnto other is it vtterly contrary

Whiche therwith disdayneth to socoure pouerte.

Nor them relefe in theyr aduersyte

Suche shall our lorde sore punysshe fynally

And his petycion rightwysly deny

 

BARKLAY TO THE FOLYS.

 

Ye great estatis and men of dignyte

To whome god in this lyfe hath sent ryches

Haue ye compassion, on paynfull pouertye

And them conforte in theyr carefull wretchydnes

God hym loueth and shall rewarde doutles

Whiche to the nedy for hym is charitable

With heuenly ioy, whiche treasour is endeles

So shall thy riches to the be profytable.

 

*

 

Of hym that togyder wyll serue

two maysters.

 

[Illustration: A fole he is and voyde of reason

Whiche with one hounde tendyth to take

Two harys in one instant and season

Rightso is he that wolde vndertake

Hym to two lordes a seruaunt to make

For whether, that he be lefe or lothe

The one he shall displease, or els bothe.]

 

A fole also he is withouten doute

And in his porpose sothly blyndyd sore

Whiche doth entende labour or go aboute

To serue god, and also his wretchyd store

Of worldly ryches: for as I sayde before

He that togyder wyll two maysters serue

Shall one displease and nat his loue deserue

 

For he that with one hownde wol take also

Two harys togyther in one instant

For the moste parte doth the both two forgo

And if he one haue: harde it is and skant

And that blynde fole mad and ignorant

That draweth thre boltis atons in one bowe

At one marke shall shote to hye or to lowe

 

Or els to wyde, and shortly for to say

With one or none of them he strykis the marke:

And he that taketh vpon hym nyght or day

Laboures dyuers to chargeable of warke.

Or dyuerse offycis: suche wander in the darke

For it is harde to do well as he ought

To hym that on dyuerse thynges hath his thought

 

With great thoughtes he troubleth sore his brayne

His mynde vnstable, his wyt alway wandrynge:

Nowe here nowe there his body labours in payne

And in no place of stedfast abydynge.

Nowe workynge now musynge now renynge now rydynge

Now on see nowe on londe, than to se agayne

Somtyme to Fraunce, and nowe to Flaunders or Spayne

 

Thus is it paynfull and no thynge profytable

On many labours a man to set his mynde

For nouther his wyt nor body can be stable

Whiche wyll his body to dyuers chargis bynde

Whyle one goth forwarde the other bydes behynde

Therfore I the counseyll for thyne owne behoue

Let go this worlde and serue thy lorde aboue

 

He that his mynde settyth god truly to serue

And his sayntes: this worlde settynge at nought

Shall for rewarde euerlastynge ioy deserue

But in this worlde, he that settyth his thought

All men to please, and in fauour to be brought

Must lout and lurke, flater, lawde, and lye:

And cloke a knauys counseyll, though it fals be

 

If any do hym wronge or iniury

He must it suffer and pacyently endure

A dowble tunge with wordes lyke hony

And of his offycis if he wyll be sure

He must be sober and colde of his langage

More to a knaue, than to one of hye lynage

 

Oft must he stoupe his bonet in his honde

His maysters backe he must oft shrape and clawe

His breste anoyntynge, his mynde to vnderstonde

But be it gode or bad therafter must he drawe

Without he can Jest he is nat worth a strawe.

But in the meane tyme beware that he none checke

For than layth malyce a mylstone in his necke

 

He that in court wyll loue and fauour haue

A fole must hym fayne, if he were none afore

And be as felowe to euery boy and knaue

And to please his lorde he must styll laboure sore

His manyfolde charge maketh hym coueyt more

That he had leuer serue a man in myserye

Than serue his maker in tranquylyte

 

But yet whan he hath done his dylygence

His lorde to serue as I before haue sayde

For one small faute or neglygent offence

Suche a displeasoure agaynst hym may be layde

That out is he cast bare and vnpuruayde.

Whether he be gentyll, yeman grome or page

Thus worldly seruyce is no sure herytage

 

Wherfore I may proue by these examples playne

That it is better more godly and plesant

To leue this mondayne casualte and payne

And to thy maker one god to be seruaunt

Whiche whyle thou lyuest shall nat let the want

That thou desyrest iustly, for thy syruyce

And than after gyue the, the ioyes of Paradyse.

 

BARKLAY TO THE FOLYS.

 

Alas man aryse out of Idolatry.

Worshyp nat thy ryches nor thy vayne treasoure

Ne this wretchyd worlde full of mysery.

But lawde thy maker and thy sauyour

With fere, mekenes, fayth, glory, and honoure

Let thy treasoure onely in his seruyce be

And here be content with symple behauoure

Hauynge in this lorde trust and felycyte

 

*

 

Of to moche spekynge or bablynge.

 

[Illustration: He that his tunge can temper and refrayne

And asswage the foly of hasty langage

Shall kepe his mynde from trowble, sadnes and payne

And fynde therby great ease and auauntage

Where as a hasty speker falleth in great domage

Peryll and losse, in lyke wyse as the pye

Betrays hir byrdes by hir chatrynge and crye.]

 

Ye blaberynge folys superflue of langage

Come to our shyp our ankers ar in wayde

By right and lawe ye may chalange a stage

To you of Barklay it shall nat be denayde

Howe be it the charge Pynson hathe on me layde

With many folys our Nauy not to charge.

Yet ye of dewty shall haue a sympyll barge

 

Of this sorte thousandes ar withouten fayle

That haue delyte in wordes voyde and vayne

On men nat fawty somtyme vsynge to rayle

On folysshe wordes settynge theyr herte and brayne

They often touche to theyr owne shame and payne

Suche thynges to whiche none wyll theyr mynde aply

(Saue suche folys) to theyr shame and enuy

 

Say besy fole art thou nat well worthy

To haue enuy, and that echone sholde the hate

Whan by thy wordes soundynge to great foly

Thou sore labrest to engender debate

Some renneth fast thynkynge to come to late

To gyue his counsell whan he seeth men in doute

And lyghtly his folysshe bolt shall be shot out

 

Is it nat better for one his tunge to kepe

Where as he myght (perchaunce) with honestee

Than wordes to speke whiche make hym after wepe

For great losse folowynge wo and aduersyte

A worde ones spokyn reuoked can nat be

Therfore thy fynger lay