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

blynde, and mad to set thy brayne

All thynge to venge (by wrath) that doth mysfall

For he that part hath lost: by wrath oft lesyth all

 

And forsoth no meruayle, if suche wyse actours

Hath wrathes madnes, expelled and set asyde

For where that wrath doth rayne with his furours

There can no reason nor wysedome longe abyde

The wyt it wastyth: so is it a lewde gyde

Therfore let mesure, this malyce holde agayne

But pacyence is brydyll his madnes to refrayne

 

It longeth nat to any man of hye prudence

For to be wrothe, yrous, or gyuys to malancoly

No suche passyon nor inconuenyence

Can fall to man, ay stedfast wyse and holy

But folys ar moste troublyd with this foly

Where as a wyse man for any aduersyte

Lyueth in quyete mynde and tranquylyte

 

A man well manerd, sad sober and dyscrete

If he be ware, wyse, chrafty and prouydent

Beholdeth all thynge before his syght and fete.

Gydynge hym by mesure a vertue excellent

Where as a fole doth all without aduysement

And in euery thynge shewyth his folysshnes

Wroth at eche worde, as mayster of madnes

 

Wherfore ye folys se ye no lenger tary

But on the dull Asse hastely assende

That a slowe beest may hasty folys cary

For your mad wrath dowtyth no thynge the ende

Your madnes can nat your blynde mysdede defende

For who that one sleyth, angry and feruent

Ought to be hangyd whan he is pacyent

 

THE ENUOY OF THE ACTOUR.

 

Blynde myndyd man whiche wylt all thynge ouercome

Reputynge thy selfe, moste souerayne and royall

If thou be wyse or partener of wysdome

Labour to ouercome thyne owne selfe firste of all

Thy wrath asswage thou in especyall

Let neyther malyce, nor yre with the abyde

Thou art a fole the chefe or lorde to call

Of other: whan thou can nat thy selfe well gyde.

 

*

 

Of the mutabylyte of fortune.

 

[Illustration: That man whiche hopyth hye vp to ascende

On fortunes whele, and come to state royall

If the whele turne, may doute sore to descende

If he be hye the sorer is his fall

So he whiche trustyth nat therto at all

Shall in moste eas and suerty hymselfe gyde

For vnsure fortune can in no place abyde]

 

We dayly proue by example and euydence

That many be made folys mad and ignorant

By the brode worlde, puttynge trust and confydence

In fortunes whele vnsure and inconstant

Some assay the whele thynkynge it pleasant

But whyle they to clym vp haue pleasour and desyre

Theyr fete them faylyth so fall they in the myre

 

Promote a yeman, make hym a gentyl man

And make a Baylyf of a Butchers son

Make of a Squyer knyght, yet wyll they if they can

Coueyt in theyr myndes hyer promosyon

And many in the worlde haue this condicion

In hope of honour by treason to conspyre

But ofte they slyde, and so fall in the myre

 

Suche lokys so hye that they forget theyr fete

On fortunes whele whiche turneth as a ball

They seke degrees for theyr small myght vnmete

Theyr folysshe hertis and blynde se nat theyr fall

Some folys purpose to haue a rowme Royall

Or clym by fortunes whele to an empyre

The whele than turneth lyuynge them in the myre

 

O blynde man say what is thyne intent

To worldly honoures so greatly to entende

Or here to make the hye ryche and excellent

Syns that so shortly thy lyfe must haue an ende

None is so worthy, nor can so hye ascende

Nor nought is so sure if thou the trouth enquyre

But that it may doute to fall downe to the myre

 

There is no lorde Duke kynge nor other estate

But dye they must, and from this wolde go

All worldly thynges whiche god hath here create

Shall nat ay byde, but haue an ende also

What mortall man hath ben promotyd so:

In worldly welthe or vncertayne dignyte

That euer of lyfe had houre of certaynte

 

In stormy wyndes lowest trees ar most sure

And howsys surest whiche ar nat byldyd hye

Where as hye byldynges may no tempest endure

Without they be foundyd sure and stedfastly

So gretest men haue moste fere and ieopardy

Better is pouertye though it be harde to bere

Than is a hye degre in ieopardy and fere,

 

The hyllys ar hye, the valeys ar but lowe

In valeys is come the hyllys ar barayne

On hyest places most gras doth nat ay growe

A mery thynge is mesure and easy to sustayne

The hyest in great fere, the lowest lyue in payne

Yet better ly on grounde, hauynge no name at all

Than hye on a Clyf ferynge alway to fall

 

Thus as me thynke it is no thynge lawdable

On fortunes whele, for one to clym to hye

Syns the swyft cours therof is so vnstable

And all must we leue whan we depart and dye

Of our short lyfe haue we no certayntye

For lachesys (whan that thou hast lefte drede)

Of thy lyue dayes shall shortly breke the threde.

 

Atropos is egall to pore man and estate

Defar wyll nat deth by prayer ne request

No mortall man may his furour mytygate.

Nor of hym haue one day longer here to rest:

Content the with measure (therfore) for it is best

Coueyt nat to moche in honour to excell

It is a fowle fall to fall from erth to hell

 

Unstable fortune exalteth some a loft

To this intent, them to brynge to an yll ende

For who that hye clymmeth his fall can nat be soft

If that mysfortune constrayne hym to dyscende

Though Julius Cesar his lordshyp dyd extende

Ouer all the worlde: yet fortune at the last.

From lyfe and lordshyp hym wretchydly dyd cast

 

This hath ben sene, is sene, and euer shall

That most peryll is in hyest dignyte

Howe many estatis, howe many men Royall.

Hath fortune dryuyn downe into aduersyte

Rede dyuers cronycles, and thou shall playnly se

That many thousandes hath endyd in doloure

By theyr immoderate mynde to honoure

 

Ouer rede Bochas and than shalt thou se playne

The fall of prynces wryten ryght compendeously

There shalt thou se what punysshement and payne

Haue to them fallen, somtyme by theyr foly

And oft is moche preuy hatered and enuy

Had agaynst lordes of the rude comonte

Where euer they go: they lyue in ieopardye

 

Ay dowtynge deth by cursed gyle and treason

Eche thynge mysdemynge, ferynge to be opprest

By some mysfortune, with venym or with poyson.

Thus in great honour is neyther ioy nor rest

But thought and fere, ye whyle the lyfe doth lest

Thus who that procuryth great honour to attayne

Procuryth with all, enuy, peryll, fere and payne

 

A lorde or state whom many men doth drede

With loueles fere, and fayned countenaunce

Unto hym selfe ought wysely to take hede

And them to fere, if he wyll voyde myschaunce

For why a comonty is of suche ignoraunce

And so enuyous, that both erly and late

They muse to destroy hym whom, they fere and hate

 

A man promotyd vnto hye dygnyte

Shall haue loue shewyd hym by adulacion

But no true loue nouther faythfull amyte.

Good fame nor name, ne commendacion

Ye though he be worthy great exaltacion

Pytefull louynge and full of equyte

Yet harde is to please a folysshe comonte

 

Therfore me thynke of all thynge it is best

Man to be pleased and content with his degre

For why in mesure, is suerty eas and rest

And ay moste peryll in hyest dignyte

Fortune is full of changes and mutabylyte

Trust nat therto, therby comyth do gode

But nowe hye nowe lowe, vnstable as a flode

 

ALEXANDER BARKLAY TO THE FOLYS.

 

Labour nat man with to moche besy cure

To clymme to hye lyst thou by fortune fall

For certaynly, that man slepyth nat sure

That lyeth lows vpon a narowe wall

Better somtyme to serue, than for to gouerne all

For whan the Net is throwen into the se

The great fysshe ar taken and the pryncipall

Where as the small escapyth quyte and fre

 

*

 

Of them that be diseasyd and seke and

ar impacient and inobedyent to the

Phesycyan.

 

[Illustration: If one be vexed with sore infirmyte

Within his body felynge dyseas and payne

And wyll nat gladly with perfyte mynde agre

To a wyse Phesycian that wolde hym hele agayne

He is a fole, and shall his foly sore complayne

And if that he by his selfe wyll do sterue

It is but well: syns he it doth deserue.]

 

He that is feble with sekenes outher wounde

Wherwith he feleth hym selfe so kept in payne

That dye he muste but if remedy be founde

He is a fole, if that he haue dysdayne

Of wyse Phesycyans: and medecines souerayne

And wyll nat sue theyr counsell and aduysement

Wherby he myght haue helth and short amendement

 

Thoughe the Phesycyan (of his lyfe) hym assure

So he be ruled, and vnto his mynde agre

The pacyent yet kepyth no dyete nor mesure

In mete nor drynke, and wyll nat gouerned be

But foloweth Ryot and all superfluyte

Receyuynge colde water in stede of ale or wyne

Agaynst read and counsell of crafty medycyne

 

What mete or drynke that is most contagious

And most infectyf to his sekenes or dyseas

And to hym forbyden, as moste contrarious

Unto his sekenes. That namely doth hym pleas

But that thynge that myght hym helpe and greatly eas

He hatyth moste, and wyll none receyue at all.

Tyll this small sore, at the last become mortall

 

Suche wyll no counsell ensue, nor mesure haue

Nor temper theym selfe in lesse nor yet in more.

Tyll theyr yll gouernaunce brynge them to theyr graue

Retournynge into grounde lyke as they were before

But who that soone wolde, be helyd of his sore

Whan it is newe ought to fynde remedy.

For in olde sorys is greatest ieopardy

 

A small sparcle often tyme doth augment

It selfe: and groweth to flames peryllous

Right so small wellys whiche semeth to be spent

With lytell sprynges and Ryuers, ofte so growys

Unto great waters, depe and ieopadous.

So a small sore augmentyth, styll preuely

By lytell and lytell for lacke of remedy

 

A small diseas whiche is ynoughe durable

At the begynnynge, for lacke of medycyne

At longe contynuaunce becomyth incurable

The paynfull pacyent bryngynge vnto ruyne

Wherfore who wyll to his owne helth enclyne

And soone be helyd of yll without all tary

To the Phesician ought nat to be contrary

 

Obstynat frowarde or inobedyent

Ought he nat be, but with a pacyent mynde

Shewe all his soris truly playne and euydent

To the Phesician if he wyll socour fynde.

And thoughe his saluys in paynes hym sore bynde.

Let nat for that, but after his wyll the gyde

Better a shorte payne, than that doth longe abyde

 

No sore can be releuyd without payne.

Forsake nat the short, the longe payne to eschewe

To the Phesycian we ought in worde be playne

And shewe hym our sore, whether it be olde or newe

For in thy wordes if that thou be nat trewe

Or kepe ought close, thou dysceyuest be thou sure

Thy selfe. and nat hym that of the hath the cure.

 

In lyke fourme who comyth vnto confessyon

There to declare howe he his lyfe hath spent

And shewyth nat his synne lyke wyse as he hath done

Hymself he disceyuyth, as blynde of his entent.

Thus many one endureth infernall tourment