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

>But of auoutry somwhat more to speke

In it is yre Enuy and paynfull pouertye.

And also he or she that mariage doth breke

May fere of deth eternall whan they dye

And here without welth ioy and rest shall they be

And well ar they worthy (forsoth) of sore tourment

In hell: for brekynge this holy sacrament

 

But in the meane tyme here shalt thou haue discorde

And neuer prosper in vertue nor ryches

And lothsome be before the almyghty lorde

Thy dedes shall purchace mysfortune and distres

Thou lyue shalt in shame and dye in wretchydnes

And if thou procede therin and nat amende

Some great shame shalt thou haue before thyne ende.

 

THE ENUOY OF THE ACTOUR.

 

O creatures vnkynde leue ye this outrage

Breke nat your othe whiche ye made solemly

Eche one to other for to lyue in mariage

Defyle ye it nat by synne and vylany

On both partis if ye lyue faythfully

After your promes: in loue, fayth and concorde

Than shall ye in erth encreas and multyply

And after haue syght of the almyghty lorde

 

Let all spousys in theyr myndes comprehende

The lawys and decrees of the olde testament

Howe they that in auoutry dyd offende

Were outher stonyd or els openly brent

Wherfore syns goddes son omnypotent.

Confermed hath the olde testament with the newe

Auoutrers nowe deserue that same punysshement

But well is to them, that stedfast ar and trewe

 

*

 

Of hym that nought can and nought wyll

lerne, and seyth moche, lytell berynge

away, I mene nat theuys.

 

[Illustration: He is a fole, and so shall he dye and lyue

That thynketh hym wyse, and yet can he no thynge

And though he myght he wyll nat set nor gyue

His mynde to good maners, vertue nor cunnynge.

So is he a fole that doth to market brynge

His Gese fast bounde, and game or sporte to se

Lowsyth theyr fete, and suffreth them to fle]

 

Saynt George to borowe our Nauy is aflote

Forth shall we sayle, thoughe that it be a payne

And moche laboure to forge a pryuate bote

For euery faute: yet shall I nat refrayne

My hande nor penne: thoughe vnsure be my gayne

My laboure sure: my wyt and reason thynne

Than leue a thynge vnendyd better nat begynne

 

But in this place shall I a Shyp ordayne

For that fole: that heryth great doctryne

Wherby good maners and vertue aperyth playne

He seth all goodnes, stody, and disciplyne

And yet wyll nat his mynde therto enclyne

But though he knowe what thynge is godlyest

Ouer all the worlde, yet is he styll a beest.

 

Many of this sort wander and compase

All studies, the wonders of the worlde to se

With vnstabyll wynges fleynge from place to place

Some seyth lawe and some dyuynyte

But for all this byde they in one degre

And if they were Asses and folys blynde before

After all these syghtes yet ar they moche more

 

They se moche nought lernynge, and hauynge no delyte

In wysdome nor maners vertue nor goodnes

Theyr tyme is loste, without wysdome or profyte

Without grace, or other holynes

But whyle they labour thus with besynes

If they se ought newe, or any folysshe toy

That lyghtly they lerne, and set theron theyr ioy.

 

By this desyre folys may knowen be

For wytles men of fleynge mynde and brayne

Ar best pleasyd with thynges of neweltye

And them to haue, they spare no cost nor payne

To dyuers londes to ren but all in vayne

And so they labour alway from londe to londe

To se all wonders, but nought they vnderstonde

 

Some fle to se the wonders of englonde

Some to the court to se the maners there

Some to Wallys, Holonde, to Fraunce or Irlonde

To Lybye, afryke, and besyly enquere.

Of all marueyles, and skantly worth a here

Some vnto Fraunce and some to Flaunders ren

To so the wayes, and workes of cunnynge men

 

And to be shorte ouer all they range

Spendynge theyr goodes about vnthryftynes

In countrees knowen, vnknowen and strange

But whan theyr iourney they homwarde must addres

As folys vnware, and vagabundes thryftles

They haue nought lerned, kept, nor with them brought

Of maners, wysdome or other thynge that is ought

 

They that by the se sayle to londes strange

Oft chaunge the place and planete of the fyrmament

But theyr mynde nor maners they ne turne nor chaunge

And namely suche that ar lewde and neglygent

What euer they se styll one is theyr intent

Whan he departyd, If that he were a sote

Agayne anone he comyth in the same mynde and cote

 

Say mad folys blynde ouersene, and worthy scorne

Fayne wolde I knowe what necessyte ye haue

To go from the place where ye were bred and borne

Into another londe to lerne to play the knaue

Your mynde vnstable sheweth playne that ye raue

Laboure nat so sore, to lerne to be a fole

That cometh by it selfe without any other scole

 

He that is borne in walys or small brytayne

To lerne to pyke and stele nedys nat go to Rome.

What nede we sayle to Flaunders or Almayne

To lerne glotony, syns we may it lerne at home

Suche lewdnes soon may we lerne of our wombe

He that wyll lerne falshode gyle or sotelte

May lerne it here as well as beyonde the se.

 

To passe the se to lerne Uenus rybawdry

It is great foly, for thou mayst lerne thy fyll

In shoppis Innes and sellers, ye somtyme openly

At saynt Martyns Westmynster or at the tour hyll

So that I fere all London, in tyme it shall fyll

For it is there kept in lyght and in darke

That the pore Stuys decays for lacke of warke

 

But brefely to speke, and this to set a syde

He that on vyce, and synne wyll set his entent

May lerne it in Englonde, if he at home abyde

And that of all sortis: god sende amendement

But if thou alway wyll nede be dylygent

To labour in the worlde about from place to place

Do as dyd Plato, than shalt thou fynde great grace

 

This godly plato laboured with dilygence

To Egypt, and other londes sparynge for no payne

Where euer he came: augmentynge his scyence

And at the last retourned to Grece agayne

His countrey natyf: with laude and name souerayne

Thus he for all his wysdome laboured besyly

But that fowle that nought can nought settyth by

 

Wherfore that gose that styll about wyll wander

Moche seynge and herynge, and nought berynge away

Shall home come agayne as wyse as a gander

But more fole is he that may lerne euery day

Without cost or laboure out of his owne countrey

And whan the well of wysdome renneth by theyr dore

Yet looth they the water as if that it were soure

 

ALEXANDER BARKLAY AD FATUOS VT DENT LOCUM OCTO SECUNDARIIS BEATE MARIE DE

OTEREY QUI QUIDEM PRIMA HUIUS RATIS TRANSTRA MERENTUR.

 

Soft folys soft, a lytell slacke your pace

Tyll I haue space you to order by degre

I haue eyght neyghbours, that firste shall haue a place

Within this my shyp, for they most worthy be

They may theyr lernynge receyue costeles and fre.

Theyr wallys abuttynge and ioynynge to the scoles.

No thynge they can, yet nought wyll they lerne nor se

Therfore shall they gyde this one shyp of foles.

 

THE ENUOY OF BARKLAY.

 

O vnauysyd, vnwyse and frowarde man

Great cause thou hast to morne sore and complayne

Whan no goodnes vertue nor wyt thou can

And yet to lerne thou hast scorne and dysdayne

Alas man mende, and spare no maner payne

To get wysdome, and it thou shalt nat want

Hym that nought wyll knowe, god wyll nat knowe certayne

Wo is hym that wylfully is ignorant.

 

*

 

Of great wrathe, procedynge of small

occasyon.

 

[Illustration: Assys erys for our folys a lyuray is

And he that wyll be wroth for a thynge of nought

Of the same leuray is nat worthy to mys

For who that by wrathe to suche a wyll is brought

To sle his Asse for hir pas slowe and soft

Shall after his fury, repent his mad foly

For to a clere mynde, mad wrathe is ennemy]

 

Come nere, ye wrathfull men, take your rowme and place

Within our shyp, and to slake our hastynes

Mount on an Asse slowe of hir gate and pace

Syns troublous wrath, in you, styreth this madnes

Often lacke of myght asswagyth cruelnes

To a wylde cowe god doth short hornys sende

Wrath is great foly, where myght may nat extende

 

O man yll myndyd what helpeth the this yre

None the commendyth whiche doth thy maners marke

What doste thou: but the waste with thyne owne fyre

Narrynge with thyselfe lyke as a dogge doth barke

Without meke worde and pleasyd with no warke

Art thou: but thoughe all men be dylygent

Mad wrathe to please, yet who can it content

 

This man malycious whiche troubled is with wrath

Nought els soundeth but the hoorse letter R

Thoughe all be well, yet he none answere hath

Saue the dogges letter, glowmynge with nar nar

Suche labour nat this mad rancour to defar

Nor yet his malyce to mytygate or asswage

But ioyeth to be drede of men for this outrage

 

His mouth fomyth his throte out gorgyth fyre

His ferefull furoure is, his hole felycyte

By his great yre, doth he coueyte and desyre

Dowtyd to be: of the pore comontye

His owne madnes and cruell furyosyte

Wyll he nat knowe as he were nat culpable

Of this mad fury and vyce abhomynable

 

Hym selfe is blynde, but other well note his dede

He shall be poynted whether he go or ryde

Saynge one to other take gode regarde and hede

Of yonder furyous fole whome reason doth nat gyde

Beware his wayes fle hym on euery syde

Who that hym sueth both hurte and shame shall fynde

Thus other hym notyth but he hymself is blynde

 

So his Asse crys to hym ar inuysyble

He thynkyth to haue pacyence though that he haue none

And vnto hym it is thynge incredyble

That suche ar folys whose pacyence is gone

Thus coueytyth he to kepe his erys alone

And to wrathfull men he wyll no thynge obiect

For that hym selfe is with the same infect

 

But somwhat to touche the inconuenyences

Whiche by this wrath procedyth to mankynde

It is chefe grounde of many great offences

Destroynge reason blyndynge the wyt and mynde

By malyce man is to all yll inclynde

Both symple man, and lordes excellent

Do that by wrath oft whiche they after repent

 

Reuoke thy mynde, somwhat thy herte enclyne

Unto Archytas a man of hye wysdome

Borne the the ryche Cyte namyd Tarentyne

Rede howe that he his malyce dyd ouercome

For thoughe his seruaunt was fals to hym become

And he sore mouyd to auenge the same offence

Yet he refraynyd his wrathe by pacyence

 

So socrates so Senyk and Plato

Suffred great wronge great iniury and payne

And of your fayth sayntis right many mo

For christ our mayster dyd great turment sustayne

What wo or payne cowde saynt Laurance refrayne

From pacience wherfore it is great shame

For christen men if they do not the same

 

They suffred deth, ye, and yet were pacyent

And many haue prayed, for suche that haue them slayne

Where thou mad fole takest greuous punysshement

For small occasyon, ye come by chaunce sodayne

Fole thou art