Within our nauy he nedes shall haue a place.

Whiche without mesure on lothsome glotony

Setteth his pleasure and singuler solace

His stomacke ouerchargynge, vyle and vngodely

And to none other thynge his mynde doth he aply

Saue depest to drynke, suche force nat of theyr soules

But labore in rynsynge pecis cuppis and bowles

The madnes of dronkennes is so immoderate

That greuous sores it ingendreth and sykenes

It causeth often great foly and debate

With soden deth and carefull heuynes

In thynges no difference putteth dronkennes.

It febleth the ioyntis and the body within

Wastynge the brayne makynge the wyt full thyn

It engendreth in the hede infirmyte

Blyndynge the herte wyt and discression

The mynde it demynyssheth, coloure and beaute.

Causynge all myschef, shame and abusyon

It maketh men mad, and in conclusyon

Causeth them lyue without lawe or measure

Suynge after syn defylynge theyr nature

The people that are acloyed with this synne.

On no thynge els theyr myndes wyll aply:

Saue to the wyne and ale stakes to renne

And there as bestes to stryue and drynke auy

Than ar they outher gyuyn to rybawdry

Or els to brawle and fight at euery worde

Thus dronkennes is the chefe cause of discorde

But namely dronkennes and wretchyd glotony

By their excesse and superfluyte

Engendreth the rote of cursed Lechery

With murder, thefte and great enormyte

So bryngeth it many to great aduersyte

And with his furour the worlde so doth it blynde

That many it bryngeth to a shamfull ende

This vyce (alas) good maners doth confounde

And maketh man ouer besy of langage

And hym that in all ryches doth abounde

It ofte in pryson bryngeth and in bondage

It causeth man to his great sorowe and domage

Disclose his secrete and his preuey counsayle

Whiche causeth hym after sore to mourne and wayle

Nought is more lothsome, more vycyous nor vyle

Than he that is subdued to this vyce

His lyfe shortynge his body he doth defyle

Bereuynge his soule the ioy of Paradyse

Howe many Cytees and lordes of great pryce

Hath ben destroyed by dronken glotony

And by his felawe, false loue, or lechery.

The sone of Thomyr had nat ben ouercome

Nor slayne by Cyrus for all his worthynes.

If he hym selfe had gydyd by wysdome

And the vyce auoydyd of blynde dronkennes

The great Alexander taken with this madnes

With his swerde, whan he was dronken slewe

Suche of his frendes as were to hym most trewe

I rede also howe this conquerour myghty

Upon a season played at the Chesse

With one of his knyghtes which wan ynally

Of hym great golde treasoure and rychesse

And hym ouercame, but in a furyousnes

And lade with wyne, this conquerour vp brayde

And to his knyght in wrath these wordes sayde

I haue subdued by strength and by wysdome

All the hole worlde, whiche obeyeth to me

And howe hast thou alone me thus ouercome

And anone commaundyd his knyght hanged to be

Than sayde the knyght by right and equyte

I may apele. syns ye ar thus cruell

Quod Alexander to whome wylt thou apell

Knowest thou any that is gretter than I

Thou shalt be hanged thou spekest treason playne

The knyght sayd sauynge your honour certaynly

I am no traytoure, apele I woll certayne

From dronken Alexander tyll he be sober agayne

His lorde than herynge his desyre sounde to reason

Differryd the iustyce as for that tyme and season

And than after whan this furour was gone

His knyght he pardoned repentynge his blyndenes.

And well consydered that he shulde haue mysdone

If he to deth had hym done in that madnesse

Thus it apereth what great unhappynes

And blyndnes cometh to many a creature

By wyne or ale taken without measure.

Se here the inconuenyence manyfolde

Comynge of dronkennes as I wrytyn fynde.

Some ar so starynge mad that none can them holde

Rorynge and cryeng as men out of their mynde

Some fyghtynge some chydynge, some to other kynde

Nought lyuynge to them selfe: and some dotynge Johnn

Beynge dronke thynketh hym as wyse as Salomon

Some sowe dronke, swaloynge mete without mesure

Some mawdelayne dronke, mournynge lowdly and hye

Some beynge dronke no lenger can endure

Without they gyue them to bawdy rybawdry

Some swereth armys nayles herte and body.

Terynge our lord worse, than the Jowes hym arayed

Some nought can speke, but harkenyth what is sayd.

Some spende all that they haue and more at wast

With reuell and reuell dasshe fyll the cup Joohnn

Some their thryft lesyth with dyce at one cast

Some slepe as slogardes tyll their thryft be gone

Some shewe theyr owne counsell for kepe can they none

Some are Ape dronke full of lawghter and of toyes

Some mery dronke syngynge with wynches and boyes

Some spue, some stacker some vtterly ar lame

Lyeng on the grounde without power to ryse

Some bost them of bawdry ferynge of no shame

Some dumme, and some speketh. ix. wordes at thryse

Some charge theyr bely with wyne in suche wyse

That theyr legges skant can bere vp the body

Here is a sort to drowne a hole nauy.

Alas mad folys howe longe wyll ye procede

In this beestly lyuynge agayst humayne nature

Cease of your 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.

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

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.

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.

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

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 before thy lypes

For a wyse mannys tunge, without aduysement trypes

He that wyll answere of his owne folysshe brayne

Before that any requyreth his counsayle

Shewith hym selfe and his hasty foly playne

Wherby men knowe his wordes of none auayle

Some haue delyted in mad blaborynge and frayle

Whiche after haue suffred bytter punysshement

For their wordes, spoken without aduysement

Say what precedeth of this mad outrage

But great mysfortune, wo and vnhappynesse

But for all theyr chattynge and plenty of langage

Whan to the preste they come them to confesse

To shewe theyr lewde lyfe theyr synne and wretchydnes

Whan they sholde speke, and to this poynt ar come

Theyr tunges ar loste and there they syt as domme

Many haue ben whiche sholde haue be counted wyse

Sad and discrete, and right well sene in scyence

But all they haue defyled with this one vyse

Of moche spekynge: o cursyd synne and offence

Pyte it is that so great inconuenience

So great shame, contempt rebuke and vylany

Sholde by one small member came to the hole body

Let suche take example by the chatrynge pye.

Whiche doth hyr nest and byrdes also betraye

By hyr grete chatterynge, clamoure dyn and crye

Ryght so these folys theyr owne foly bewraye.

But touchynge wymen of them I wyll nought say

They can nat speke, but ar as coy and styll

As the horle wynde or clapper or a mylle

But that man or woman or any creature

That lytell speketh or els kepeth sylence

Ar euer of them selfe moste stedfast and sure

Without enuy, hatred or malyuolence.

Where as to suche comys moche inconuenyence

Sorowe vpon sorowe, malyce and dysdayne

Whiche wyll no tyme, his speche nor tunge refrayne

Fayre speche is pleasaunt if it be moderate

And spoken in season, conuenyente and dewe

To kepe scylence, to pore man or estate

Is a great grace, and synguler vertue

Langage is lawdable whan it is god and true

A wyse man or he speke wyll be wyse and ware

What (to whome) why (howe) whan and whare

Ye bablynge brybours, endeuer you to amende

Mytygat by mesure, your prowde hasty langage

Kepe well your tunges so, shall ye kepe your frende

For hasty speche ingendreth great damage

Whan a worde is nat sayd, the byrde is in the cage

Also the hous is surest whan the dorys be barryde

So whan thy worde is spokyn and out at large

Thou arte nat mayster, but he that hath it harde

If thou take hede and set therto thy brayne

In this world thou shalt fynde thynges thre

Whiche ones past, can nat be callyd agayne.

The firste is (tyme lost) by mannes symplycyte

The seconde (youth) reuoked can nat be

The thyrde (a worde spoken) it gooth out in the wynde

And yet is the fourth, that is (virginyte)

My forgetfull mynde, had lefte it nere behynde

Nowe to our Nauy, a sorte maketh asaute

Of folys blynde, mad Jugys and Iniust

Whiche lyghtly noteth another mannes faute.

Chastynge that synne, whiche theyr owne mynde doth rust

By longe abydynge, and increas of carnall lust

They cloke their owne vyce synne and enormyte

Other blamynge and chastynge with moche cruelte

They mocke and mowe at anothers small offence

And redy ar a faute in them to fynde

But of theyr owne foly and inconuenyence

They se no thynge, for fully ar they blynde

Nat notynge the vyce rotyd in theyr owne mynde

Theyr greuous woundes and secrete malady

For theyr owne yll they seke no remedy

The hande whiche men vnto a Crosse do nayle

Shewyth the waye ofte to a man wandrynge

Whiche by the same his right way can nat fayle

But yet the hande is there styll abydynge

So do these folys lewde of theyr owne lyuynge

To other men shewe mean and way to wynne

Eternall ioy themselfe bydynge in synne

He sertaynly may well be callyd a sote

Moche vnauysed and his owne ennemy

Whiche in a nothers iye can spye a lytell mote

And in his owne can nat fele nor espye

A moche stycke, so is he certaynly.

Whiche noteth anothers small faute or offence

To his owne great synnes gyuynge none aduertence

Many them selfe fayne as chaste as was saynt Johnn

And many other fayne them meke and innocent

Some other as iust, and wyse as Salomon

As holy as Poule, as Job als pacyent

As sad as senecke, and as obedyent

As Abraham, and as martyn vertuous

But yet is theyr lyfe full lewde and vycious

Some lokyth with an aungels countenaunce

Wyse sad and sober lyke an heremyte

Thus hydynge theyr synne and theyr mysgouernaunce.

Under suche clokys lyke a fals ypocryte

Let suche folys rede what Cicero doth wryte

Whiche sayth that none sholde blame any creature

For his faut, without his owne lyuynge be sure

Without all spot of synne faut or offence

For in lyke fourme as a phesycyan.

By his practyse and cunnynge or scyence

The sekenes curyth of a nother man

But his owne yll nor dyseas he nat can

Relefe nor hele so doth he that doth blame

Anothers synne: he styll lyuynge in the same

Many ar whiche other can counseyll craftely

And shewe the peryll that may come by theyr synne

But them selfe they counseyll nat: ne remedy.

Nor take no waye whereby they heuyn may wynne

But lye in that vyce that they rotyd ar in

Leuynge the way that gydyth to ioy and rest

Their owne sensualyte ensuynge as a beest

Wherfore ye prestis that haue the charge and cure.

To teche and enfourme the rude comonte.

In goddys lawes groundyd in scripture

And blame all synnes sparynge no degre

Whyle ye rebuke thus theyr enormyte

Lyue so that none may cause haue you to blame

And if ye do nat: it is to your great shame

For without doute it is great vylany

A man to speke agaynst any offence

Wherin he well knowyth hym owne selfe gylty

Within his mynde and secrete conscience

Agaynst hymselfe suche one gyueth sentence

Howe god ryght iuge, by rightwyse iugement

Shulde hym rewarde with worthy punysshement

Ye clerkes that on your shulders here the shelde

Unto you graunted by the vnyuersyte.

Howe dare ye auenture to fyght in cristes felde

Agaynst synne, without ye clere and gyltles be

Consyder the Cocke and in hym shall ye se:

A great example, for with his wynges thryse

He betyth hym selfe to wake his owne bodye

Before he crowe, to cause other wake or ryse.

The feruour of ryches and disordred loue

Whiche many haue, doth me bynde and constrayne.

Within my shyp them sharply to reproue

That pen nor hande, themselfe wyll not refrayne

Of couetyse nowe I wyll nat speke agayne

But of them that kepeth by force and by myght

That thynge wherto they haue nat come, by ryght

Some fyndeth treasours other mennys good

And in theyr owne vse suche good they occupy.

Whiche of theyr myndes ar so blynde and wode.

And so reted in theyr errour and foly

That oft they say (say) ye and dare byde by

That some saynt whome they worshypped haue

Haue sende, them the same theyr honestee to saue

They haue no force nor care, nor they none haue wyll

To whome the ryches so loste dyde apertayne

That fortune hath gyuen they holde fast and kepe styll

Neuer hauynge mynde it to restore agayne

Suche folys fere no thynge euerlastynge payne

Nor note nat, that without true restytucion

It small auayleth to haue made confessyon.

Here me fole with thy immoderate mynde

Here me and do thy herte therto aply

If thou by fortune any ryches fynde

Callynge it thyne: thou lyest therin falsly

If thou haue wyt thou canst nat well deny

But that gode nat gyuen, nor gottyn by laboure

Can nat be rightwyse: thus mende thy blynde erroure

If thou ought fynde that longeth nat to the

Than is it anothers, the case is clere and playne

Wherfor thou ought of lawe and of dewte

Unto the owner it soone to yelde agayne

But if he be dede, to whome it dyd attayne

Thou ought nat yet to kepe it nere the more.

But to his sectours or heyres it restore

Put case that they also be past and dede

Yet ought thou nat to keep it styll with the.

The lawe commaundyth, and also it is mede.

To gyue it to suche as haue necessyte.

With it releuynge theyr paynfull pouertee

And so shalt thou discharge thy conseyence.

Helpynge the pore, and auoyde great offence

But he that others godes tourneth to his owne vse

Spendynge and wastynge that thynge that neuer was his

Suche certaynly his reason doth abuse

And by this meane greuously doth amysse

Wherby he lesyth eternall ioy and blysse

His soule drownynge depe within hell flodes

For his myspendynge of other mennys goodes

But to be shorte, and brefe in my sentence

And sothe to saye playne as the mater is

Forsoth I se nat right great difference

Bytwene a thefe, and these folys couetys

Both wrongly kepeth that thynge that is nat his

Thynkynge that god doth nat therto aduerte

Whiche notyth thy dedys, thy mynde thought and herte

Wherfore if thou haue a rightwyse conscyence

Thou wylt nought kepe whiche longeth nat to the

The lawe so commaundeth in payne of great offence

For of gode that thou kepest agaynst equyte

Thou shalt make accompt after that thou shalt dye

To thy great payne in hell for euer more

If thou no restytucion make before.

Here myght I touche executours in this cryme.

Blamynge theyr dedys dysceyte and couetyse

If it were nat for wastynge of my tyme

For mende they wyll nat them in any wyse

Nor leue no poyntes of theyr disceytfull gyse

Let them take parte of that whiche I here note

And be partynge foles in this present bote.

Ye false executours whome all the worlde repreuys

And ye that fynde mennes goodes or treasoures

I call you as bad as robbers or theuys

For ye by your falshode and manyfolde errours

Kepe falsly that thynge whiche is none of yours

And wast here the goodes of hym that is past

The soule lyeth in payne, ye take your pleasours.

With his ryches, damnynge your owne soule at the last

Wysdome with voyce replete with grauyte

Callyth to all people, and sayth o thou mankynde

Howe longe wylt thou lyue in this enormyte

Alas howe longe shalt thou thy wyt haue blynde

Here my preceptis and rote them in thy mynde

Nowe is full tyme and season to clere thy syght:

Harkyn to my wordes, grounde of goodnes and ryght

Lerne mortall men, stodyenge day and nyght

To knowe me wysdome, chefe rote of chastyte

My holy doctryne thy herte shall clere and lyght

My tunge shall shewe the ryght and equyte

Chase out thy foly, cause of aduersyte.

And seke me wysdome whiche shall endewe thy mynde

With helth and welth wherby thou lyfe shalt fynde

Aryse I say agayne to the mankynde

And seke me wysdome that am well of goodnes

Let nat this worlde thy conscyence farther blynde

Nor to synne subdue for loue of false rychesse

Blynde nat thy herte with mondayne wretchednes

I am worth golde and worth all good mundayne:

And to mankynde counselloure souerayne

No maner Jowell is to me lyke certayne

Ne so profytable to mortall creature

I passe all ryches and cause a man refrayne

His mynde from synne, and of his ende be sure

There is no treasoure nor precious stone so pure

Carbuncle Ruby ne adamond in londe nor see

Nor other lapydary comparable to me:

And shortly to speke wysdome is more laudable

Than all the worlde or other thynge mundayne

There is no treasoure: to wysdome comparable

But it alone is a vertue moste souerayne

Hauynge nought lyke in valoure nor worth certayne

No fole is so ryche, nor hye of dignyte

But that a wyse man pore is more worthy than he

Wysdome preserueth men in auctoryte

Prynces promotynge by counseyll prouydent

By it pore men somtyme, and of lowe degre

Hath had the hole worlde to them obedyent

It gydeth Cytees and countrees excellent

And gouerneth the counseyll of prynce lorde and kynge

Strengthynge the body the herte enlumynynge

It gydyth lordes and from bondage doth brynge

Them whome foly hath brought in to captyuyte

Hir gyftys to mankynde frely offrynge

Gydynge hir discyples from all aduersyte

Wysdome stondynge vpon a stage on hye

Cryeth to mankynde with lowde voyce in this wyse

I trouth exalte: and vycious men dispyse

Lerne of me wysdome cast out your couetyse

For by my myght craft and wyse prouysicion

Kynges vnto their dygnyte dothe ryse

Theyr septers gydynge by my monycion

I gaue them lawes to gyde eche regyon

In welthe defendynge and in prosperyte

Them and theyr royalmes whyle they gyde them by me

All maner nacyons that doth to me inclyne

I gyde and gouerne by lawe and equyte

In me is right, godly wyt and doctryne

What blynde foly, and howe great aduersyte

Do they auoyde that gyde them selfe by me

And he that me louyth with worshyp and honour

Shall knowe my loue my grace and my fauour

He that me folowyth shall auoyde all dolour

I shall hym folowe promotynge in suche case

That none shall be before hym in valour

I godly ryches in my power inbrace

Whiche man by me may esely purchase

And he that wyll his way by me addresse

I shall rewarde with heuenly ioy endles

The father of heuen of infynyte goodnesse.

Me comprehendyth within his deytee

Of hym my firste begynnynge is doutles.

And heuen and erth he create hath by me

And euery creature bothe on londe and se

The heuen imperyall all planetis and firmameut

God neuer thynge made without my true assent

Therfore mankynde set thy mynde and intent

To me wysdome to be subiect and seruaunt

To my preceptis be thou obedyent

And heuenly ioy thou shalt nat lacke nor want

For doutles they ar mad and ignoraunt

And folys blyndyd who so euer they be

That wyll nat gladly be seruauntes vnto me

Aryse folys of myndes darke and blynde.

Receyue the gyftes of godly sapyence

Here hir perceptis and plant them in your mynde

And rote out the gaffys of your olde offence.

Call to your myndes what inconuenyence

Howe sodayne fallys, what sorowe and turment

Hath come to many a myghty lorde and prynce

For nat folowynge of hir commaundement.

Amonge our folys he ought to haue a place

And so he shall for it is resonable

Whiche thynketh hymselfe greatly in fortunes grace

Bostynge that she to hym is fauorable

As if hyr maner were nat to be mutable

In this vayne hope suche theyr lyfe doth lede

Tyll at the laste theyr hous borne oure theyr hede

He shakyth boost and oft doth hym auaunte

Of fortunes fauoure and his prosperyte

Whiche suffreth hym nought of his wyll to wante

So that he knoweth nought of aduersyte

Nor mysfortune nor what thynge is pouertee.

O lawles fole, o man blyndyd of mynde

Say what suretye in fortune canst thou fynde

To what ende or vnto what conclusyon

Shall fortune frayle vnrightwyse and vnsure

Lede the blynde fole by hyr abusyon.

Howe darest thou the in hir blyndnes assure.

Syns she vnstable is and can nat longe endure

Hir gyftis changith, she is blynde and sodayne

Thoughe she firste lawghe hir ende is vncertayne.

Thou shakest boste ofte of hir foly in vayne

For he is most happy whiche can auoyde hir snare

If she exalte some one vnto welth mundayne

She bryngeth another to payne sorowe and care

Whyle one is ladyd to the others backe is bare

Whyle she a begger maketh in good abounde

A lorde or state she throweth to the grounde

But nat withstandynge hir mutabylyte.

Thou bostest thy gode and to moche abundaunce

Thou bostest thy welth and thy prosperyte

Thy good auenturs, and plentyfull pleasaunce

Alas blynde fole amende thy ygnoraunce

And in thy welthe to this saynge intende

That fortune euer hath an incertayne ende

Fals fortune infect of countenaunce and of face

By hir iyen clowdy and varyable vysage

Hath many for a whyle taken to hir grace

Whiche after by hir whele vnstable and volage

Hath brought them to wo mysfortune and damage

She ruleth pore and riche without difference

Lewdnes exaltynge and damnynge innocence

Thus is that man voyde, of all intellygence

Whom fortune fedyth, with chaunche fortunable

If he therin haue ouer large confydence

And thynke that sure that euer is mutable

That fole is sonne, to the fende abhomynable

That foloweth ryches, and fortune that is blynde

His sauyour lefte, and clene out of mynde

Whan the foule fende, father of vnhappynes

Pore man purposyth by falshode to begyle

He sendeth hym welth worldly, and fals ryches

And causeth fortune, awhyle on hym to smyle

Whiche with hir blyndenes doth mankynde so defyle

That whyle they trust in hir fauour to sore.

They damme theyr soules in hell for euermore

By large examples thou eche day mayste se

The chaunge of fortune and the ende vncertayne

Wherfore to boste the of hyr commodyte

It is great foly and also thynge in vayne

From this lewdnes thy mynde therfore refrayne

And be content with fortune moderate

Nor boste the nat of thy welth or estate

This day thou art ryche and despysest the pore

Yet so may it fall, that for thy lewde lyuynge

To morowe thou beggest thy brede from dore to dore

Therfore remembre that blynde fortune wandrynge

Hath nat in hyr handes power, nor gydynge

The rewardes of welth, nor of felycyte

But god them gydeth by his great maieste

And all thynge chaungeth as is to hym plesaunt

His dedes to wysdome alwaye agreable

Wherfore blynde fole be nat so ignoraunt

To prayse fortune whiche is so varyable

And of rewardes vnsure and chaungeable

But thoughe she smyle trust nat to hir intent

For amonge swete herbes ofte lurkyth the serpent