The Ship of Fools, Volume 1-2 by Sebastian Brant (love story books to read .txt) 📖

>With other bokes of vertues morall

But thoughe suche bokes vs godly wayes shewe

We all ar blynde no man wyll them ensue

 

Banysshed is doctryne, we wander in derknes

Throughe all the worlde: our selfe we wyll not knowe

Wysdome is exyled, alas blynde folysshenes

Mysgydeth the myndes of people hye and lowe

Grace is decayed, yll governaunce doth growe

Both prudent Pallas and Minerua are slayne

Or els to heuyn retourned are they agayne

 

Knowledge of trouth, Prudence, and iust Symplicite

Hath vs clene left: For we set of them no store.

Our Fayth is defyled loue, goodnes, and Pyte:

Honest maners nowe ar reputed of: no more.

Lawyers ar lordes: but Justice is rent and tore.

Or closed lyke a Monster within dores thre.

For without mede: or money no man can hyr se.

 

Al is disordred: Vertue hathe no rewarde.

Alas, Compassion: and Mercy bothe ar slayne.

Alas, the stony hartys of pepyl ar so harde

That nought can constrayne theyr folyes to refrayne

But styl they procede: and eche other meyntayne.

So wander these foles: incresinge without nomber.

That al the worlde they vtterly encomber.

 

Blasphemers of Chryst; Hostlers; and Tauerners:

Crakars and bosters with Courters auenterous,

Bawdes and Pollers with comon extorcioners

Ar taken nowe adayes in the worlde moste glorious.

But the gyftes of grace and al wayes gracious

We haue excluded. Thus lyue we carnally:

Utterly subdued to al lewdnes and Foly.

 

Thus is of Foles a sorte almost innumerable.

Defilynge the worlde with syn and Vylany.

Some thynkinge them self moche wyse and commendable

Thoughe al theyr dayes they lyue vnthryftely.

No goodnes they perceyue nor to no goode aplye.

But if he haue a great wombe, and his Cofers ful

Than is none holde wyser bytwene London and Hul.

 

But to assemble these Foles in one bonde.

And theyr demerites worthely to note.

Fayne shal I Shyppes of euery maner londe.

None shalbe left: Barke, Galay, Shyp, nor Bote.

One vessel can nat brynge them al aflote.

For yf al these Foles were brought into one Barge

The bote shulde synke so sore shulde be the charge.

 

The sayles ar hawsed, a pleasant cole dothe blowe.

The Foles assembleth as fast as they may dryue.

Some swymmeth after: other as thycke doth rowe

In theyr small botes, as Bees about a hyue

The nomber is great, and eche one doth stryue

For to be chefe as Purser and Capytayne

Quarter mayster, Lodesman or els Boteswayne.

 

They ron to our shyp, eche one doth greatly fere

Lyst his slacke paas, sholde cause hym byde behynde

The wynde ryseth, and is lyke the sayle to tere

Eche one enforseth the anker vp to wynde

The se swellyth by planettes well I fynde

These obscure clowdes threteneth vs tempest

All are nat in bed whiche shall haue yll rest

 

We are full lade and yet forsoth I thynke

A thousand are behynde, whom we may not receyue

For if we do, our nauy clene shall synke

He oft all lesys that coueytes all to haue

From London Rockes almyghty god vs saue

For if we there anker, outher bote or barge

There be so many that they vs wyll ouercharge

 

Ye London Galantes, arere, ye shall nat enter

We kepe the streme, and touche nat the shore

In Cyte nor in Court we dare nat well auenter

Lyst perchaunce we sholde displeasure haue therfore

But if ye wyll nedes some shall haue an ore

And all the remenaunt shall stande afar at large

And rede theyr fautes paynted aboute our barge.

 

Lyke as a myrrour doth represent agayne

The fourme and fygure of mannes countenaunce

So in our shyp shall he se wrytyn playne

The fourme and fygure of his mysgouernaunce

What man is fautles, but outher ignoraunce

Or els wylfulnes causeth hym offende:

Than let hym nat disdayne this shyp, tyll he amende.

 

And certaynly I thynke that no creature

Lyuynge in this lyfe mortall in transytory

Can hym self kepe and stedfastly endure

Without all spot, as worthy eternall glory

But if he call to his mynde and memory

Fully the dedys both of his youthe and age

He wyll graunt in this shyp to kepe some stage

 

But who so euer wyll knowlege his owne foly

And it repent, lyuynge after in sympylnesse

Shall haue no place nor rowme more in our nauy

But become felawe to pallas the goddesse

But he that fyxed is in suche a blyndnesse

That thoughe he be nought he thynketh al is well

Suche shall in this Barge bere a babyll and a bell

 

These with other lyke may eche man se and rede

Eche by themselfe in this small boke ouerall

The fautes shall he fynde if he take good hede

Of all estatis as degres temporall

With gyders of dignytees spirituall

Bothe pore and riche, Chorles and Cytezyns

For hast to lepe a borde many bruse theyr shynnys

 

Here is berdles youth, and here is crokyd age

Children with theyr faders that yll do them insygne

And doth nat intende theyr wantones to swage

Nouther by worde nor yet by discyplyne

Here be men of euery science and doctryne

Lerned and vnlerned man mayde chylde and wyfe

May here se and rede the lewdenes of theyr lyfe.

 

Here ar vyle wymen: whome loue Immoderate

And lust Venereall bryngeth to hurt and shame.

Here ar prodigal Galantes: wyth mouers of debate.

And thousandes mo: whome I nat wel dare name.

Here ar Bacbyters whiche goode lyuers dyffame.

Brakers of wedlocke, men proude: and couetous:

Pollers, and pykers with folke delicious.

 

It is but foly to rehers the names here

Of al suche Foles: as in one Shelde or targe.

Syns that theyr foly dystynctly shal apere

On euery lefe: in Pyctures fayre and large.

To Barclays stody: and Pynsones cost and charge

Wherfore ye redars pray that they both may be saued

Before God, syns they your folyes haue thus graued.

 

But to thentent that euery man may knowe

The cause of my wrytynge: certes I intende

To profyte and to please both hye and lowe

And blame theyr fautes wherby they may amende

But if that any his quarell wyll defende

Excusynge his fautes to my derysyon

Knowe he that noble poetes thus haue done.

 

Afore my dayes a thousande yere ago

Blamynge and reuylynge the inconuenyence

Of people, wyllynge them to withdrawe therfro

Them I ensue: nat lyke of intellygence

And though I am nat to them lyke in science

Yet this is my wyll mynde and intencion

To blame all vyce lykewyse as they haue done.

 

To tender youth my mynde is to auayle

That they eschewe may all lewdenes and offence

Whiche doth theyr myndes often sore assayle

Closynge the iyen of theyr intellygence

But if I halt in meter or erre in eloquence

Or be to large in langage I pray you blame nat me

For my mater is so bad it wyll none other be.

 

*

 

[The Argument.]

 

Here after foloweth the Boke named the Shyp of Foles of the world:

translated out of Laten, French and Doche into Englysse in the Colege of

saynt Mary Otery By me Alexander Barclay to the felicite and moste holsom

instruccion of mankynde the whiche conteyneth al suche as wandre from the

way of trouth and from the open Path of holsom vnderstondynge and wysdom:

fallynge into dyuers blyndnesses of ye mynde, folysshe sensualytees, and

vndlawful delectacions of the body. This present Boke myght haue ben callyd

nat inconuenyently the Satyr (that is to say) the reprehencion of

foulysshnes, but the neweltye of the name was more plesant vnto the fyrst

actour to call it the Shyp of foles: For in lyke wyse as olde Poetes

Satyriens in dyuers Poesyes conioyned repreued the synnes and ylnes of the

peple at that tyme lyuynge: so and in lyke wyse this our Boke representeth

vnto the iyen of the redars the states and condicions of men: so that euery

man may behold within the same the cours of his lyfe and his mysgouerned

maners, as he sholde beholde the shadowe of the fygure of his visage within

a bright Myrrour. But concernynge the translacion of this Boke: I exhort ye

reders to take no displesour for y^t it is nat translated word by worde

acordinge to ye verses of my actour. For I haue but only drawen into our

moder tunge, in rude langage the sentences of the verses as nere as the

parcyte of my wyt wyl suffer me, some tyme addynge, somtyme detractinge and

takinge away suche thinges a semeth me necessary and superflue. wherfore I

desyre of you reders pardon of my presumptuous audacite trustynge that ye

shall holde me excused if ye consyder ye scarsnes of my wyt and my vnexpert

youthe. I haue in many places ouerpassed dyuers poetical digressions and

obscurenes of Fables and haue concluded my worke in rude langage as shal

apere in my translacion. But the speciyl cawse that mouethe me to this

besynes is to auoyde the execrable inconuenyences of ydilnes whyche (as

saint Bernard sayth) is moder of al vices: and to the vtter derision of

obstynat men delitynge them in folyes and mysgouernance. But bycause the

name of this boke semeth to the redar to procede of derysion: and by that

mean that the substance therof shulde nat be profitable: I wyl aduertise

you that this Boke is named the Shyp of foles of the worlde: For this

worlde is nought els but a tempestous se in the whiche we dayly wander and

are caste in dyuers tribulacions paynes and aduersitees: some by ignoraunce

and some by wilfulnes: wherfore suche doers ar worthy to be called foles.

syns they gyde them nat by reason as creatures resonable ought to do.

Therfore the fyrst actoure willynge to deuyde suche foles from wysemen and

gode lyuers: hathe ordeyned vpon the se of this worlde this present Shyp to

contayne these folys of ye worlde, whiche ar in great nomber. So that who

redeth it perfytely consyderynge his secrete dedys, he shall not lyghtly

excuse hym selfe out of it, what so euer good name y^t he hath outwarde in

the mouth of the comontye, And to the entent y^t this my laboure may be the

more pleasaunt vnto lettred men, I haue adioyned vnto the same ye verses of

my Actour with dyuerse concordaunces of the Bybyll to fortyfy my wrytynge

by the same, and also to stop the enuyous mouthes (If any suche shal be) of

them that by malyce shall barke ayenst this my besynes.

 

*

 

Here begynneth the foles and first inprofytable bokes.

 

[Illustration: I am the firste fole of all the hole nauy

To kepe the pompe, the helme and eke the sayle

For this is my mynde, this one pleasoure haue I

Of bokes to haue grete plenty and aparayle

I take no wysdome by them: nor yet auayle

Nor them preceyue nat: And then I them despyse

Thus am I a foole and all that sewe that guyse]

 

That in this shyp the chefe place I gouerne

By this wyde see with folys wanderynge

The cause is playne, and easy to dyscerne

Styll am I besy bokes assemblynge

For to haue plenty it is a plesaunt thynge

In my conceyt and to haue them ay in honde

But what they mene do I nat vnderstonde

 

But yet I haue them in great reuerence

And honoure sauynge them from fylth and ordure

By often brusshynge, and moche dylygence

Full goodly bounde in pleasaunt couerture

Of domas, satyn, or els of veluet pure

I kepe them sure ferynge lyst they sholde be lost

For in them is the