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

repreue the workes of god omnipotent

Wylt thou hym teche, as more wyse and prouydent

Than he is (whiche made all thynge of nought)

Leue of this thy foly, and holde thy selfe content

For thou art a fole to set theron thy thought

 

*

 

Of them that gyue jugement on other.

 

[Illustration: Who that reputyth hym selfe iust and fawtles

Of maners gode, and of lyuynge commendable.

And iugeth other (parchaunce that ar gyltles)

To be of a condicion reprouable

Hymselfe nat notynge, thoughe that he were culpable

He is a fole, and onys shall haue a fall

Syns he wyll other iuge, hym selfe yet worst of all.]

 

Many fallyth in great peryll and damage

And greuous deth by the vyce of folysshnes

Perseuerantly bydynge in theyr outrage

Theyr soule infect with synne and viciousnes

And though that deth hym alway to them addres

Yet hope they in longe lyfe and prosperyte

And neuer asswageth theyr blynde iniquyte

 

The tyme passeth as water in a ryuere

No mortall man can it reuoke agayne

Dethe with his dartis vnwarely doth apere

It is the ende of euery man certayne

The last of all ferys and ende of worldly payne

But thoughe we knowe that we all must haue an ende

We slepe in synne disdaynynge vs to amende

 

Some thynke them gode, iust and excellent

Myghty stronge and worthy of preemynence:

Charitable, chast, constant and innocent

Nat doutynge deth nor other inconuenyence

But yet ar they wrappyd sore in synne and offence

And in a vayne hope, contynue in suche wyse

That all the worlde (saue them selfe) they dispyse

 

They take on them the workes of god omnipotent

To iuge the secrete of mannys mynde and thought

And where no sygne is sene playne and euydent

They iuge a man saynge, his lyfe is nought

And if deth one hath vnto his last ende brought

(As mad) they mende nat theyr mysgouernaunce

Nat thynkynge that they ensue must the same daunce

 

Suche folys fayne causes and often tymes say:

That he that is dede vsed ryot and moche foly

Whiche causyd hym to dye before his day

And that he was feble, or full of malancoly

Ouer sad, or prowde, disceytfull and pope holy

Uiciously lyuynge in couetyse and gyle

Wherfore god suffred hym lyue the shorter whyle

 

Lo these blynde folys saciat with vyce

Jugeth hym that perchaunce dyd nat amys

Whyle he here lyuyd, and is in paradyce

Rewardyd for his workes in endles ioy and blys

Where as this lewde Juger, here in this worlde is

Styll lyuynge in synne, suffrynge great payne and wo

And though he thynke hym gode shall neuer come therto

 

He that in synne here lyeth fettered fast

And iugeth the deth of his frende or neyboure

Whiche from this lyfe is departed and past.

Let hym beware, for onys come shall the houre

That he must fele dethis dolorouse rygoure.

And after that endure infernall punysshement

For iugynge and mysdemynge of people innocent

 

The terme and day, of deth is moche vnsure

The deth is sure, the houre is vncertayne

Deth is generall to euery creature

Theder we must all, be it pleasour or payne

Wherfore wysdome wyll that we shulde refrayne

From folysshe demynge and nons deth discus

After deth god wot howe it shall be with vs

 

Alas full often a iust man gode and true

Of mynde innocent sad sober and sympyll

Passynge his tyme in goodnes and vertue

Is of these folys thought and demyd for yll

And he that is nought, frowarde of dede and wyll

Of these folys blynde frantyke and wode.

Without all reason is iugyd to be goode

 

Wherfore I proue that a blynde fole thou art

To iuge or deme a mannys thought or intent

For onely god knoweth our mynde and hart

Wherto we gree and to what thynge we assent

But who that is rightwyse iust, and innocent

And louyth god with honour and with reuerence

Than, may he boldely iuge anothers offence

 

ALEXANDER BARKLAY TO THE FOLYS.

 

Amende you folys: do way these folysshe wayes

Take ye no charge: nat mete for your degre.

And note these wordes: whiche criste our sauyour sayes

Juge nat another, and thou shalt nat iugyd be

It longeth onely to the hye dyuynyte

To iuge our mynde: for he is true iustyce

All thynge discernynge by right and equyte

No man sholde deme, whyle hym selfe is in vyce

 

*

 

Of pluralitees that is to say of them whiche

charge them selfe with many benefycis.

 

[Illustration: That myller is a fole and here shall haue a barge

And as a mad man shall fast therin be bounde

Whiche his Asse wyll with so many sackes charge

That the pore beste for payne fallys to the grounde

Many in the chirche lyke hym may be founde.

Whiche so many benefycis labour to procure

That their small myght can nat the charge endure.]

 

Amonge our folys delytynge them in vyces

Is yet another sorte of the speritualte

Whiche them ouerchargeth with dyuers benefyces

And namely suche that lowest ar in degre

Of byrth and cunnynge, of this condycion be

Defylynge goddes rentis and the chirches goode

Them selfe ouer ladynge, as men frantyke and wode

 

The weght is so great they can it nat endure

Theyr myght is small, theyr cunnynge is moche lesse

Thus this great charge wherof they haue the cure

To infernall Fenn doth this pore Asse oppresse

And to an Asse moste lyke he is doutles

Whiche takynge on his backe sackes nyne or tenne.

Destroyeth hymselfe them leuynge in the fenne

 

But though one prebende were to hym suffycient

Or one benefyce his lyuynge myght suffyse

Yet this blynde fole is nat therwith content

But labowreth for mo, and alway doth deuyse

Fals meanes to come therto by couetyse

He gapeth with his wyde throte insaciable

And neuer can content his wyll abhomynable

 

So for the loue of the peny and ryches.

He taketh this charge to lyue in welth and eas.

Howe be it that sole that hath suche besynes

And dyueres charges fyndeth great disseas

Neyther shall he god, nor yet the worlde pleas

And shall with his burthyns his mynde so vex and comber

That halfe his cures, can he nat count nor nomber

 

These carefull caytyfs, that ar of this same sort

With cures ar ouerchargyd so that of theyr mynde.

Rest haue they none, solace, pleasour nor conforte

Howe be it they thynke therby great welth to fynde

They gape yet euer, theyr maners lyke the wynde

Theyr lyfe without all terme or sertaynte

If they haue two lyuynges, yet loke they to haue thre

 

The folys whose hertis vnto this vyce ar bounde

Upon theyr sholders bereth aboute a sacke.

Insaciable without botome, outher grounde:

They thynke them nat lade though all be on theyr backe.

The more that they haue (the more they thynke they lacke)

What deuyll can stop theyr throte so large and wyde

Yet many all waste aboute Ryot and pryde

 

But yet is this moche more abhomynable

That asses vntaught without wysdome or scyence

Haue theyr proude myndes moste vnsaciable

Nat commynge to worshyp by vertue nor prudence

Yet counte they them worthy of this excellence

Courters become prestis nought knowynge but the dyce

They preste not for god, but for a benefyce

 

The clerke of the kechyn is a prest become

In full trust to come to promosyon hye

No thynge by vertue cunnynge nor wysdome

But by couetyse, practyse and flatery

The Stepyll and the chirche by this meane stand awry

For some become rather prestis for couetyse.

Than for the loue of god or his seruyce.

 

Alas oft goddes goodes and cristis herytage

Of suche folys is wastyd and spent in vayne

In great folyes mundaynes and outrage

Where it decreed, and ordeyned is certayne.

That prestis sholde helpe pore people that lyue in payne

And with suche goodes kepe hospytalyte

Whiche pryde ryot and Uenus suffreth nat to be

 

Thus is the grettest parte of the spiritualte

Pore preste, persone, vicayr, relygyon and prelate

With couetyse acloyde outher prodigalyte

And folys promotyd causyth good clerkis haue hate

Say lordes and bysshops with other of estate

What mouyth you so gladly, suche to promote

Whiche haue no cunnynge their wyt skant worth a grote

 

Wyll ye alway the folysshe asse ouercharge

With suche burthyns wherwith it can nat fare

And suffer other to walke and ren at large

And where they best myght bere theyr backes ar left bare

And that is worst of all, suche folys can nat be ware

But whan they ar promotyd after theyr owne entent.

Yet theyr insaciable mynde can neuer be content.

 

Some make exchanges and permutacions

Some take to ferme, and some let out agayne

Other folys for hope make resignacions

And some for one god scosyth gladly twayne

Some lyueth longe in hunger and in payne

And in the somer day skarsly drynketh twyse

Sparynge monay therwith to by a benefyce

 

Some for no wages in court doth attende

With lorde or knyght, and all for this polecy

To get of his lorde a benefyce at the ende

And in the meane tyme ensueth rybawdry

And somtyme laboureth by chraft of symony.

He playeth a fals cast, nat cessynge to coniure

Tyll of some benefyce he at the last be sure

 

Than if this lorde haue in hym fauoure, he hath hope

To haue another benefyce of gretter dignyte

And so maketh a fals suggestyon to the pope

For a Tot quot outher els a pluralyte

Than shall he nat be pleased with .II. nouther thre

But dyuers wyll he haue ay choppynge and changynge

So oft a fole all and a gode clerke no thynge

 

These of nought force so that they may haue gayne

And golde ynough to spende on rybawdry and pryde

They haue the profyte, another hath the payne

The cure of the soulys of them is set asyde

And no meruayle, for howe sholde they abyde.

To teche their parysshynges vertue wysdome or grace

Syns no man can be atonys in euery place

 

Alas these folys our mayster criste betray

Of mannes soule wherof they haue the cure

And settynge in their stede syr Johnn of garnesey

They thynketh them selfe dischargyd quyte and sure

These folys note nat that euery creature.

Whiche here of soulys doth cure or charge take

At domys day a compt for them shall make

 

But if I sholde touche all the enormytees

The immoderat couetyse and desyre of dignyte

That nowe is vsed amonge all the degrees

Of benefycyd men ouer all the spiritualte

I fere displeasour, and also I often se

That trouth is blamed, and nat ay best to tell

But he that in this lyfe wyll alway besy be

To get dyuers prebendes shall haue the last in hell

 

THENUOY OF BARKLAY TO THE FOLYS.

 

What meane ye gyders of Christis herytage

Shall ye neuer leue this your deuowrynge mynde

Shall ye no tyme your couytyse asswage

Whiche in goddes seruyce your hartis sore doth blynde

Let this fals traytour no place amonge you fynde

Graunt hym no rowne in churche nor in quere.

For this is sure ye shall all leue behynde

We haue no Cyte, nor place abydynge here

 

*

 

Of them that prolonge from day to day

to amende themselfe.

 

[Illustration: He that cras cras syngeth with the crowe

Deferrynge the tyme of his amendement

Amonge our folys, in this our shyp shall rowe

For his presumpcion, dull mynde and blynde