The Poetical Works of John Skelton principally according to the edition of the Rev. Alexander Dyce. In three volumes |
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MAGNYFYCENCE,
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 | The Poetical Works of John Skelton |  |
2
MAGNYFYCENCE,
A GOODLY INTERLUDE AND A MERY, DEUYSED AND MADE BY MAYSTER SKELTON. POET LAUREATE.
- Felycyte.
- Lyberte.
- Measure.
- Magnyfycence.
- Fansy.
- Counterfet Counte[naunce].
- Crafty Conueyaunce.
- Clokyd Colusyon.
- Courtly Abusyon.
- Foly.
- Aduersyte.
- Pouerte.
- Dyspare.
- Myschefe.
- Goodhope.
- Redresse.
- [Sad] Cyrcumspeccyon.
- Perseueraunce.
These be the Names of the Players:
3
Al thyngys contryuyd by mannys reason,
The world enuyronnyd of hygh and low estate,
Be it erly or late, welth hath a season,
Welth is of wysdome the very trewe probate;
A fole is he with welth that fallyth at debate:
But men nowe a dayes so vnhappely be vryd,
That nothynge than welth may worse be enduryd.
To tell you the cause me semeth it no nede,
The amense therof is far to call agayne;
For when men by welth, they haue lytyll drede
Of that may come after; experyence trewe and playne,
Howe after a drought there falleth a showre of rayne,
4
A man may haue welth, but not, as he wolde,
Ay to contynewe and styll to endure;
But yf prudence be proued with sad cyrcumspeccyon,
Welthe myght be wonne and made to the lure,
If noblenesse were aquayntyd with sober dyreccyon;
But wyll hath reason so vnder subieccyon,
And so dysordereth this worlde ouer all,
That welthe and felicite is passynge small.
But where wonnys Welthe, and a man wolde wyt?
For welthfull Felicite truly is my name.
Lyberte.
Mary, Welthe and I was apoynted to mete,
And eyther I am dysseyued, or ye be the same.
Fel.
Syr, as ye say, I haue harde of your fame;
Your name is Lyberte, as I vnderstande.
Lyb.
Trewe you say, syr; gyue me your hande.
Fel.
And from whens come ye, and it myght be askyd?
Lyb.
To tell you, syr, I dare not, leest I sholde be maskyd
In a payre of fetters or a payre of stockys.
Fel.
Here you not howe this gentylman mockys?
Lyb.
Ye, to knackynge ernyst what and it preue?
5
Why, to say what he wyll, Lyberte hath leue.
Lyb.
Yet Lyberte hath ben lockyd vp and kept in the mew.
Fel.
In dede, syr, that lyberte was not worthe a cue:
Howe be it lyberte may somtyme be to large,
But yf reason be regent and ruler of your barge.
Lyb.
To that ye say I can well condyssende:
Shewe forth, I pray you, here in what you intende.
Fel.
Of that I intende to make demonstracyon,
It askyth lesure with good aduertysment.
Fyrst, I say, we owght to haue in consyderacyon,
That lyberte be lynkyd with the chayne of countenaunce,
Lyberte to let from all maner offence;
For lyberte at large is lothe to be stoppyd,
But with countenaunce your corage must be croppyd.
Lyb.
Then thus to you—
Fel.
Nay, suffer me yet ferther to say,
And peraduenture I shall content your mynde.
Lyberte, I wot well, forbere no man there may,
It is so swete in all maner of kynde;
Howe be it lyberte makyth many a man blynde;
By lyberte is done many a great excesse;
Lyberte at large wyll oft wax reklesse:
Perceyue ye this parcell?
Lyb.
Ye, syr, passyng well:
6
To shewe parte of my wyt,
Somwhat I coulde enferre,
Your consayte to debarre,
Vnder supportacyon
Of pacyent tolleracyon
Fel.
God forbyd ye sholde be let
Your reasons forth to fet;
Wherfore at lyberte
Say what ye wyll to me.
Lyb.
Brefly to touche of my purpose the effecte;
Lyberte is laudable and pryuylegyd from lawe,
Judycyall rygoure shall not me correcte—
Fel.
Softe, my frende; herein your reason is but rawe.
Lyb.
Yet suffer me to say the surpluse of my sawe;
What wote ye where vpon I wyll conclude?
I say, there is no welthe where as lyberte is subdude;
I trowe ye can not say nay moche to this;
To lyue vnder lawe, it is captyuyte;
Where drede ledyth the daunce, there is no ioy nor blysse;
Or howe can you proue that there is felycyte,
And you haue not your owne fre lyberte
To sporte at your pleasure, to ryn and to ryde?
Where lyberte is absent, set welthe asyde.
7
Meas.
Cryst you assyste in your altrycacyon!
Fel.
Why, haue you harde of our dysputacyon?
Meas.
I parceyue well howe eche of you doth reason.
Lyb.
Mayster Measure, you be come in good season.
Meas.
And it is wonder that your wylde insolence
Can be content with Measure presence.
Fel.
Wolde it please you then—
Lyb.
Vs to informe and ken—
Meas.
A, ye be wonders men!
Your langage is lyke the penne
Of hym that wryteth to fast.
Fel.
Syr, yf any worde haue past
Me other fyrst or last,
To you I arecte it, and cast
Therof the reformacyon.
Lyb.
And I of the same facyon;
Howe be it, by protestacyon,
Dyspleasure that you none take,
Some reason we must make.
Meas.
That wyll not I forsake,
So it in measure be:
Come of, therfore, let se;
Shall I begynne or ye?
Fel.
Nay, ye shall begynne, by my wyll.
Lyb.
It is reason and skyll,
We your pleasure fulfyll.
8
Then ye must bothe consent
You to holde content
With myne argument;
And I muste you requyre
Me pacyently to here.
Fel.
Yes, syr, with ryght good chere.
Lyb.
With all my herte intere.
Meas.
Oracius to recorde, in his volumys olde,
With euery condycyon measure must be sought:
Welthe without measure wolde bere hymselfe to bolde,
Lyberte without measure proue a thynge of nought;
I ponder by nomber, by measure all thynge is wrought,
As at the fyrst orygynall by godly opynyon,
Whych prouyth well that measure shold haue domynyon:
Where measure is mayster, plenty dothe none offence;
Where measure lackyth, all thynge dysorderyd is;
Where measure is absent, ryot kepeth resydence;
Where measure is ruler, there is nothynge amysse;
Measure is treasure: howe say ye, is it not this?
Fel.
Yes, questyonlesse, in myne opynyon,
Measure is worthy to haue domynyon.
Lyb.
Vnto that same I am ryght well agrede,
So that lyberte be not lefte behynde.
Meas.
Ye, lyberte with measure nede neuer drede.
9
What, lyberte to measure then wolde ye bynde?
Meas.
What ellys? for otherwyse it were agaynst kynde:
If lyberte sholde lepe and renne where he lyst,
It were no vertue, it were a thynge vnblyst;
It were a myschefe, yf lyberte lacked a reyne,
Where with to rule hym with the wrythyng of a rest:
All trebyllys and tenours be rulyd by a meyne;
Lyberte without measure is acountyd for a beste;
There is no surfet where measure rulyth the feste;
There is no excesse where measure hath his helthe;
Measure contynwyth prosperyte and welthe.
Fel.
Vnto your rule I wyll annex my mynde.
Lyb.
So wolde I, but I wolde be lothe,
That wonte was to be formyst, now to come behynde:
It were a shame, to God I make an othe,
Without I myght cut it out of the brode clothe,
As I was wonte euer at my fre wyll.
Meas.
But haue ye not herde say, that wyll is no skyll?
Take sad dyreccyon, and leue this wantonnesse.
Lyb.
It is no maystery.
Fel.
Tushe, let Measure procede,
And after his mynde herdely your selfe adresse;
For, without measure, pouerte and nede
Wyll crepe vpon vs, and vs to myschefe lede;
10
Lyb.
Well, I am content your wayes to take.
Meas.
Surely, I am ioyous that ye be myndyd thus.
Magnyfycence to mayntayne, your promosyon shalbe.
Fel.
So in his harte he may be glad of vs.
Lyb.
There is no prynce but he hath nede of vs thre,
Welthe, with Measure and plesaunt Lyberte.
Meas.
Nowe pleasyth you a lytell whyle to stande;
Me semeth Magnyfycence is comynge here at hande.
Hic intrat Magnyfycence.
Magn.
To assure you of my noble porte and fame,
Who lyst to knowe, Magnyfycence I hyght.
But, Measure my frende, what hyght this mannys name?
Meas.
Syr, though ye be a noble prynce of myght,
Yet in this man you must set your delyght;
And, syr, this other mannys name is Lyberte.
Magn.
Welcome, frendys, ye are bothe vnto me:
But nowe let me knowe of your conuersacyon.
Fel.
Pleasyth your grace, Felycyte they me call.
11
And I am Lyberte, made of in euery nacyon.
Magn.
Conuenyent persons for any prynce ryall.
Welthe with Lyberte, with me bothe dwell ye shall,
To the gydynge of my Measure you bothe commyttynge:
That Measure be mayster, vs semeth it is syttynge.
Meas.
Where as ye haue, syr, to me them assygned,
Suche order, I trust, with them for to take,
So that welthe with measure shalbe conbyned,
And lyberte his large with measure shall make.
Fel.
Your ordenaunce, syr, I wyll not forsake.
Lyb.
And I my selfe hooly to you wyll inclyne.
Magn.
Then may I say that ye be seruauntys myne,
For by measure, I warne you, we thynke to be gydyd;
Wherin it is necessary my pleasure you knowe,
Measure and I wyll neuer be deuydyd
For no dyscorde that any man can sawe;
For measure is a meane, nother to hy nor to lawe,
In whose attemperaunce I haue suche delyght,
That measure shall neuer departe from my syght.
Fel.
Laudable your consayte is to be acountyd;
For welthe without measure sodenly wyll slyde.
Lyb.
As your grace full nobly hath recountyd,
Measure with noblenesse sholde be alyde.
12
Then, Lyberte, se that Measure be your gyde,
For I wyll vse you by his aduertysment.
Fel.
Then shall you haue with you prosperyte resydent.
Meas.
I trowe, good fortune hath annexyd vs together,
To se howe greable we are of one mynde;
There is no flaterer, nor losyll so lyther,
This lynkyd chayne of loue that can vnbynde.
Nowe that ye haue me chefe ruler assyngned,
I wyll endeuour me to order euery thynge
Your noblenesse and honour consernynge.
Lyb.
In ioy and myrthe your mynde shalbe inlargyd,
And not embracyd with pusyllanymyte;
But plenarly all thought from you must be dyschargyd,
If ye lyst to lyue after your fre lyberte:
All delectacyons aquayntyd is with me,
By me all persons worke what they lyste.
Meas.
Hem, syr, yet beware of Had I wyste!
Lyberte in some cause becomyth a gentyll mynde,
Bycause course of measure, yf I be in the way:
Who countyth without me, is caste to fer behynde
Of his rekenynge, as euydently we may
Se at our eye the worlde day by day;
For defaute of measure all thynge dothe excede.
Fel.
All that ye say is as trewe as the Crede;
For howe be it lyberte to welthe is conuenyent,
13
Yet measure hath ben so longe from vs absent,
That all men laugh at lyberte to scorne;
Welth and wyt, I say, be so threde bare worne,
That all is without measure, and fer beyonde the mone.
Magn.
Then noblenesse, I se well, is almoste vndone,
But yf therof the soner amendys be made;
For dowtlesse I parceyue my magnyfycence
Without measure lyghtly may fade,
Of to moche lyberte vnder the offence:
Wherfore, Measure, take Lyberte with you hence,
And rule hym after the rule of your scole.
Lyb.
What, syr, wolde ye make me a poppynge fole?
Meas.
Why, were not your selfe agreed to the same,
And now wolde ye swarue from your owne ordynaunce?
Lyb.
I wolde be rulyd, and I myght for shame.
Fel.
A, ye make me laughe at your inconstaunce.
Magn.
Syr, without any longer delyaunce,
Take Lyberte to rule, and folowe myne entent.
Meas.
It shalbe done at your commaundement.
Itaque Measure exeat locum cum Libertate, et maneat Magnyfycence cum Felicitate.
Magn.
It is a wanton thynge this Lyberte;
Perceyue you not howe lothe he was to abyde
14
Haue deputyd Measure hym to gyde?
By measure eche thynge duly is tryde:
Thynke you not thus, my frende Felycyte?
Fel.
God forbede that it other wyse sholde be!
Magn.
Ye coulde not ellys, I wote, with me endure.
Fel.
Endure? no, God wote, it were great payne;
But yf I were orderyd by iust measure,
It were not possyble me longe to retayne.
Hic intrat Fansy.
Fan.
Tusche, holde your pece, your langage is vayne.
Please it your grace to take no dysdayne,
To shewe you playnly the trouth as I thynke.
Magn.
Here is none forsyth whether you flete or synke.
Fel.
From whens come you, syr, that no man lokyd after?
Magn.
Or who made you so bolde to interrupe my tale?
Fan.
Nowe, benedicite, ye wene I were some hafter,
Or ellys some iangelynge Jacke of the vale;
Ye wene that I am dronken, bycause I loke pale.
Magn.
Me semeth that ye haue dronken more than ye haue bled.
15
Yet amonge noble men I was brought vp and bred.
Fel.
Nowe leue this iangelynge, and to vs expounde
Why that ye sayd our langage was in vayne.
Fan.
Mary, vpon trouth my reason I grounde,
That without largesse noblenesse can not rayne;
And that I sayd ones, yet I say agayne,
I say without largesse worshyp hath no place,
For largesse is a purchaser of pardon and of grace.
Magn.
Nowe, I beseche thé, tell me what is thy name?
Fan.
Largesse, that all lordes sholde loue, syr, I hyght.
Fel.
But hyght you, Largesse, encreace of noble fame?
Fan.
Ye, syr, vndoubted.
Fel.
Then, of very ryght,
With Magnyfycence, this noble prynce of myght,
Sholde be your dwellynge, in my consyderacyon.
Magn.
Yet we wyll therin take good delyberacyon.
Fan.
As in that, I wyll not be agaynst your pleasure.
Fel.
Syr, hardely remembre what may your name auaunce.
Magn.
Largesse is laudable, so it be in measure.
Fan.
Largesse is he that all prynces doth auaunce;
I reporte me herein to Kynge Lewes of Fraunce.
16
Why haue ye hym named, and all other refused?
Fan.
For, syth he dyed, largesse was lytell vsed.
Plucke vp your mynde, syr; what ayle you to muse?
Haue ye not welthe here at your wyll?
It is but a maddynge, these wayes that ye vse:
What auayleth lordshyp, yourselfe for to kyll
With care and with thought howe Jacke shall haue Gyl?
Magn.
What? I haue aspyed ye are a carles page.
Fan.
By God, syr, ye se but fewe wyse men of myne age;
But couetyse hath blowen you so full of wynde,
That colica passio hath gropyd you by the guttys.
Fel.
In fayth, broder Largesse, you haue a mery mynde.
Fan.
In fayth, I set not by the worlde two Dauncaster cuttys.
Magn.
Ye wante but a wylde flyeng bolte to shote at the buttes:
Though Largesse ye hyght, your langage is to large;
For whiche ende goth forwarde ye take lytell charge.
Fel.
Let se, this checke yf ye voyde canne.
Fan.
In faythe, els had I gone to longe to scole,
But yf I coulde knowe a gose from a swanne.
17
Wel, wyse men may ete the fysshe, when ye shal draw the pole.
Fan.
In fayth, I wyll not say that ye shall proue a fole,
But ofte tymes haue I sene wyse men do mad dedys.
Magn.
Go, shake the dogge, hay, syth ye wyll nedys!
You are nothynge mete with vs for to dwell,
That with your lorde and mayster so pertly can prate:
Gete you hens, I say, by my counsell;
I wyll not vse you to play with me checke mate.
Fan.
Syr, yf I haue offended your noble estate,
I trow I haue brought you suche wrytynge of recorde,
That I shall haue you agayne my good lorde:
To you recommendeth Sad Cyrcumspeccyon,
And sendeth you this wrytynge closed vnder sele.
Magn.
This wrytynge is welcome with harty affeccyon:
Why kepte you it thus longe? howe dothe he? wele?
Fan.
Syr, thanked be God, he hath his hele.
Magn.
Welthe, gete you home, and commaunde me to Mesure;
Byd hym take good hede to you, my synguler tresure.
18
Is there ony thynge elles your grace wyll commaunde me?
Magn.
Nothynge but fare you well tyll sone;
And that he take good kepe to Lyberte.
Fel.
Your pleasure, syr, shortely shall be done.
Magn.
I shall come to you myselfe, I trowe, this afternone.
I pray you, Larges, here to remayne,
Whylest, I knowe what this letter dothe contayne.
Hic faciat tanquam legeret litteras tacite. Interim superveniat cantando Counterfet, Counternaunce suspenso gradu, qui, viso Magnyfycence, sensim retrocedat; at tempus postpusillum rursum accedat Counterfet Countenaunce prospectando et vocitando a longe; et Fansy animat silentium cum manu.
C. Count.
What, Fansy, Fansy!
Magn.
Who is that that thus dyd cry?
Me thought he called Fansy.
Fan.
It was a Flemynge hyght Hansy.
Magn.
Me thought he called Fansy me behynde.
Fan.
Nay, syr, it was nothynge but your mynde:
But nowe, syr, as touchynge this letter—
Magn.
I shall loke in it at leasure better:
And surely ye are to hym beholde;
And for his sake ryght gladly I wolde
Do what I coude to do you good.
19
I pray, God kepe you in that mood!
Magn.
This letter was wryten ferre hence.
Fan.
By lakyn, syr, it hathe cost me pence
And grotes many one, or I came to your presence.
Magn.
Where was it delyuered you, shewe vnto me.
Fan.
By God, syr, beyonde the se.
Magn.
At what place nowe, as you gesse?
Fan.
By my trouthe, syr, at Pountesse;
This wrytynge was taken me there,
But neuer was I in gretter fere.
Magn.
Howe so?
Fan.
By God, at the see syde,
Had I not opened my purse wyde,
I trowe, by our lady, I had ben slayne,
Or elles I had lost myne eres twayne.
Magn.
By your soth?
Fan.
Ye, and there is suche a wache,
That no man can scape but they hym cache.
They bare me in hande that I was a spye;
And another bade put out myne eye,
Another wolde myne eye were blerde,
Another bade shaue halfe my berde;
And boyes to the pylery gan me plucke,
And wolde haue made me Freer Tucke,
To preche out of the pylery hole,
Without an antetyme or a stole;
20
To gete me fro them I had moche warke.
Magn.
Mary, syr, ye were afrayde.
Fan.
By my trouthe, had I not payde and prayde,
And made largesse as I hyght,
I had not ben here with you this nyght;
But surely largesse saued my lyfe,
For largesse stynteth all maner of stryfe.
Magn.
It dothe so sure nowe and than,
But largesse is not mete for euery man.
Fan.
No, but for you grete estates:
Largesse stynteth grete debates;
And he that I came fro to this place
Sayd I was mete for your grace;
And in dede, syr, I here men talke,
By the way as I ryde and walke,
Say howe you excede in noblenesse,
If you had with you largesse.
Magn.
And say they so in very dede?
Fan.
With ye, syr, so God me spede.
Magn.
Yet mesure is a mery mene.
Fan.
Ye, syr, a blannched almonde is no bene.
Measure is mete for a marchauntes hall,
But largesse becometh a state ryall.
What, sholde you pynche at a pecke of otes,
Ye wolde sone pynche at a pecke of grotes.
Thus is the talkynge of one and of oder,
As men dare speke it hugger mugger;
A lorde a negarde, it is a shame,
But largesse may amende your name.
21
In faythe, Largesse, welcome to me.
Fan.
I pray you, syr, I may so be,
And of my seruyce you shall not mysse.
Magn.
Togyder we wyll talke more of this:
Let vs departe from hens home to my place.
Fan.
I folow euen after your noble grace.
Hic discedat Magnificens cum Fansy, et intrat Counterfet Countenaunce.
C. Count.
What, I say, herke a worde.
Fan.
Do away, I say, the deuylles torde!
C. Count.
Ye, but how longe shall I here awayte?
Fan.
By Goddys body, I come streyte:
I hate this blunderyng that thou doste make.
C. Count.
Nowe to the deuyll I thé betake,
For in fayth ye be well met.
Fansy hath cachyd in a flye net
This noble man Magnyfycence,
Of Largesse vnder the pretence.
They haue made me here to put the stone:
But nowe wyll I, that they be gone,
In bastarde ryme, after the dogrell gyse,
Tell you where of my name dothe ryse.
For Counterfet Countenaunce knowen am I;
This worlde is full of my foly.
22
That can not counterfet a lye,
Swere, and stare, and byde therby,
And countenaunce it clenly,
And defende it manerly.
A knaue wyll counterfet nowe a knyght,
A lurdayne lyke a lorde to fyght,
A mynstrell lyke a man of myght,
A tappyster lyke a lady bryght:
Thus make I them wyth thryft to fyght,
Thus at the laste I brynge hym ryght
To Tyburne, where they hange on hyght.
To counterfet I can by praty wayes:
Of nyghtys to occupy counterfet kayes,
Clenly to counterfet newe arayes,
Counterfet eyrnest by way of playes:
Thus am I occupyed at all assayes;
What so euer I do, all men me prayse,
And mekyll am I made of nowe adays:
Counterfet maters in the lawe of the lande,
Wyth golde and grotes they grese my hande,
In stede of ryght that wronge may stande,
And counterfet fredome that is bounde;
I counterfet suger that is but founde;
Counterfet capytaynes by me are mande;
Of all lewdnesse I kyndell the brande;
23
Counterfet letters by the way of sleyght;
Subtelly vsynge counterfet weyght;
Counterfet langage, fayty bone geyte.
Counterfetynge is a proper bayte;
A counte to counterfet in a resayte;
To counterfet well is a good consayte.
Counterfet maydenhode may well be borne,
But counterfet coynes is laughynge to scorne;
It is euyll patchynge of that is torne;
Whan the noppe is rughe, it wolde be shorne;
Counterfet haltynge without a thorne;
Yet counterfet chafer is but euyll corne;
All thynge is worse whan it is worne.
What, wolde ye, wyues, counterfet
The courtly gyse of the newe iet?
An olde barne wolde be vnderset:
It is moche worthe that is ferre fet.
What, wanton, wanton, nowe well ymet!
What, Margery Mylke Ducke, mermoset!
It wolde be masked in my net;
It wolde be nyce, thoughe I say nay;
By Crede, it wolde haue fresshe aray,
And therfore shall my husbande pay;
To counterfet she wyll assay
All the newe gyse, fresshe and gaye,
And be as praty as she may,
And iet it ioly as a iay:
Counterfet prechynge, and byleue the contrary;
Counterfet conscyence, peuysshe pope holy;
24
Counterfet holynes is called ypocrysy;
Counterfet reason is not worth a flye;
Counterfet wysdome, and workes of foly;
Counterfet countenaunce euery man dothe occupy
Counterfet worshyp outwarde men may se;
Ryches rydeth out, at home is pouerte;
Counterfet pleasure is borne out by me:
Coll wolde go clenly, and it wyll not be,
And Annot wolde be nyce, and laughes, tehe wehe;
Your counterfet countenaunce is all of nysyte,
A plummed partrydge all redy to flye:
A knokylbonyarde wyll counterfet a clarke,
He wolde trotte gentylly, but he is to starke,
At his cloked counterfetynge dogges dothe barke;
A carter a courtyer, it is a worthy warke,
That with his whyp his mares was wonte to yarke;
A custrell to dryue the deuyll out of the derke,
A counterfet courtyer with a knaues marke.
To counterfet this freers haue lerned me;
This nonnes nowe and then, and it myght be,
Wolde take in the way of counterfet charyte
The grace of God vnder benedicite;
To counterfet thyr counsell they gyue me a fee;
Chanons can not counterfet but vpon thre,
Monkys may not for drede that men sholde them se.
25
Cr. Con.
What, Counterfet Countenaunce!
C. Count.
What, Crafty Conueyaunce!
Fan.
What, the deuyll, are ye two of aquayntaunce?
God gyue you a very myschaunce!
Cr. Con.
Yes, yes, syr, he and I haue met.
C. Count.
We haue bene togyder bothe erly and late:
But, Fansy my frende, where haue ye bene so longe?
Fan.
By God, I haue bene about a praty pronge;
Crafty Conueyaunce, I sholde say, and I.
Cr. Con.
By God, we haue made Magnyfycence to ete a flye.
C. Count.
Howe coulde ye do that, and [I] was away?
Fan.
By God, man, bothe his pagent and thyne he can play.
C. Count.
Say trouth?
Cr. Con.
Yes, yes, by lakyn, I shall thé warent,
As longe as I lyue, thou haste an heyre parent.
Fan.
Yet haue we pyckyd out a rome for thé.
C. Count.
Why, shall we dwell togyder all thre?
Cr. Con.
Why, man, it were to great a wonder,
That we thre galauntes sholde be longe asonder.
26
For Cockys harte, gyue me thy hande.
Fan.
By the masse, for ye are able to dystroy an hole lande.
Cr. Con.
By God, yet it muste begynne moche of thé.
Fan.
Who that is ruled by vs, it shalbe longe or he thee.
C. Count.
But, I say, kepest thou the olde name styll that thou had?
Cr. Con.
Why, wenyst thou, horson, that I were so mad?
Fan.
Nay, nay, he hath chaunged his, and I haue chaunged myne.
C. Count.
Nowe, what is his name, and what is thyne?
Fan.
In faythe, Largesse I hyght,
And I am made a knyght.
C. Count.
A rebellyon agaynst nature,
So large a man, and so lytell of stature!
But, syr, howe counterfetyd ye?
Cr. Con.
Sure Surueyaunce I named me.
C. Count.
Surueyaunce! where ye suruey,
Thryfte hathe lost her cofer kay.
Fan.
But is it not well? howe thynkest thou?
C. Count.
Yes, syr, I gyue God auowe,
Myselfe coude not counterfet it better.
But what became of the letter,
That I counterfeyted you vnderneath a shrowde?
27
By the masse, odly well alowde.
Cr. Con.
By God, had not I it conuayed,
Yet Fansy had ben dysceyued.
C. Count.
I wote, thou arte false ynoughe for one.
Fan.
By my trouthe, we had ben gone:
And yet, in fayth, man, we lacked thé
For to speke with Lyberte.
C. Count.
What is Largesse without Lyberte?
Cr. Con.
By Mesure mastered yet is he.
C. Count.
What, is your conueyaunce no better?
Fan.
In faythe, Mesure is lyke a tetter,
That ouergroweth a mannes face,
So he ruleth ouer all our place.
Cr. Con.
Nowe therfore, whylest we are togyder,—
Counterfet Countenaunce, nay, come hyder,—
I say, whylest we are togyder in same—
C. Count.
Tushe, a strawe, it is a shame
That we can no better than so.
Fan.
We wyll remedy it, man, or we go;
For, lyke as mustarde is sharpe of taste,
Ryght so a sharpe fansy must be founde
Wherwith Mesure to confounde.
Cr. Con.
Can you a remedy for a tysyke,
That sheweth yourselfe thus spedde in physyke?
C. Count.
It is a gentyll reason of a rake.
28
For all these iapes yet that ye make—
Cr. Con.
Your fansy maketh myne elbowe to ake.
Fan.
Let se, fynde you a better way.
C. Count.
Take no dyspleasure of that we say.
Cr. Con.
Nay, and you be angry and ouerwharte,
A man may beshrowe your angry harte.
Fan.
Tushe, a strawe, I thought none yll.
C. Count.
What, shall we iangle thus all the day styll?
Cr. Con.
Nay, let vs our heddes togyder cast.
Fan.
Ye, and se howe it may be compast,
That Mesure were cast out of the dores.
C. Count.
Alasse, where is my botes and my spores?
Cr. Con.
In all this hast whether wyll ye ryde?
C. Count.
I trowe, it shall not nede to abyde.
Cockes woundes, se, syrs, se, se!
Hic ingrediatur Cloked Colusyon cum elato aspectu, deorsum et sursum ambulando.
Fan.
Cockes armes, what is he?
Cr. Con.
By Cockes harte, he loketh hye;
He hawketh, me thynke, for a butterflye.
C. Count.
Nowe, by Cockes harte, well abyden,
For, had you not come, I had ryden.
Cl. Col.
Thy wordes be but wynde, neuer they haue no wayght;
Thou hast made me play the iurde hayte.
29
And yf ye knewe howe I haue mused,
I am sure ye wolde haue me excused.
Cl. Col.
I say, come hyder: what are these twayne?
C. Count.
By God, syr, this is Fansy small brayne;
And Crafty Conuayaunce, knowe you not hym?
Cl. Col.
Know hym, syr! quod he; yes, by Saynt Sym.
Here is a leysshe of ratches to renne an hare:
Woo is that purse that ye shall share!
Fan.
What call ye him, this?
Cr. Con.
I trowe, that he is.
C. Count.
Tushe, holde your pece.
Se you not how they prece
For to knowe your name?
Cl. Col.
Knowe they not me, they are to blame.
Knowe you not me, syrs?
Fan.
No, in dede.
Cr. Con.
Abyde, lette me se, take better hede;
Cockes harte, it is Cloked Colusyon.
Cl. Col.
A, syr, I pray God gyue you confusyon!
Fan.
Cockes armes, is that your name?
C. Count.
Ye, by the masse, this is euen the same,
That all this matter must vnder grope.
Cr. Con.
What is this he wereth, a cope?
Cl. Col.
Cappe, syr; I say you be to bolde.
30
Se, howe he is wrapped for the colde:
Is it not a vestment?
Cl. Col.
A, ye wante a rope.
C. Count.
Tushe, it is Syr Johnn Double cloke.
Fan.
Syr, and yf ye wolde not be wrothe—
Cl. Col.
What sayst?
Fan.
Here was to lytell clothe.
Cl. Col.
A, Fansy, Fansy, God sende thé brayne!
Fan.
Ye, for your wyt is cloked for the rayne.
Cr. Con.
Nay, lette vs not clatter thus styll.
Cl. Col.
Tell me, syrs, what is your wyll.
C. Count.
Syr, it is so that these twayne
With Magnyfycence in housholde do remayne;
And there they wolde haue me to dwell,
But I wyll be ruled after your counsell.
Fan.
Mary, so wyll we also.
Cl. Col.
But tell me where aboute ye go.
C. Count.
By God, we wolde gete vs all thyder,
Spell the remenaunt, and do togyder.
Cl. Col.
Hath Magnyfycence ony tresure?
Cr. Con.
Ye, but he spendeth it all in mesure.
Cl. Col.
Why, dwelleth Mesure where ye two dwell?
In faythe, he were better to dwell in hell.
Fan.
Yet where we wonne, nowe there wonneth he.
Cl. Col.
And haue you not amonge you Lyberte?
C. Count.
Ye, but he is a captyuyte.
31
What, the deuyll, howe may that be?
C. Count.
I can not tell you: why aske you me?
Aske these two that there dothe dwell.
Cl. Col.
Syr, the playnesse you tell me.
Cr. Con.
There dwelleth a mayster men calleth Mesure—
Fan.
Ye, and he hath rule of all his tresure.
Cr. Con.
Nay, eyther let me tell, or elles tell ye.
Fan.
I care not I, tell on for me.
C. Count.
I pray God let you neuer to thee!
Cl. Col.
What the deuyll ayleth you? can you not agree?
Cr. Con.
I wyll passe ouer the cyrcumstaunce,
And shortly shewe you the hole substaunce.
Fansy and I, we twayne,
With Magnyfycence in housholde do remayne,
And counterfeted our names we haue
Craftely all thynges vpryght to saue,
His name Largesse, Surueyaunce myne:
Magnyfycence to vs begynneth to enclyne
Counterfet Countenaunce to haue also,
And wolde that we sholde for hym go.
C. Count.
But shall I haue myne olde name styll?
Cr. Con.
Pease, I haue not yet sayd what I wyll.
32
Here is a pystell of a postyke!
Cl. Col.
Tusshe, fonnysshe Fansy, thou arte frantyke.
Tell on, syr, howe then?
Cr. Con.
Mary, syr, he tolde vs, when
We had hym founde, we sholde hym brynge,
And that we fayled not for nothynge.
Cl. Col.
All this ye may easely brynge aboute.
Fan.
Mary, the better and Mesure were out.
Cl. Col.
Why, can ye not put out that foule freke?
Cr. Con.
No, in euery corner he wyll peke,
So that we haue no lyberte,
Nor no man in courte but he,
For Lyberte he hath in gydyng.
C. Count.
In fayth, and without Lyberte there is no bydyng.
Fan.
In fayth, and Lybertyes rome is there but small.
Cl. Col.
Hem! that lyke I nothynge at all.
Cr. Con.
But, Counterfet Countenaunce, go we togyder,
All thre, I say.
C. Count.
Shall I go? whyder?
Cr. Con.
To Magnyfycence with vs twayne,
And in his seruyce thé to retayne.
C. Count.
But then, syr, what shall I hyght?
33
Ye and I talkyd therof to nyght.
Fan.
Ye, my fansy, was out of owle flyght,
For it is out of my mynde quyght.
Cr. Con.
And nowe it cometh to my remembraunce:
Syr, ye shall hyght Good Demeynaunce.
C. Count.
By the armes of Calys, well conceyued!
Cr. Con.
When we haue hym thyder conuayed,
What and I frame suche a slyght,
That Fansy with his fonde consayte
Put Magnyfycence in suche a madnesse,
That he shall haue you in the stede of sadnesse,
And Sober Sadnesse shalbe your name?
Cl. Col.
By Cockys body, here begynneth the game!
For then shall we so craftely cary,
That Mesure shall not there longe tary.
Fan.
For Cockys harte, tary whylyst that I come agayne.
Cr. Con.
We wyll se you shortly one of vs twayne.
C. Count.
Now let vs go, and we shall, then.
Cl. Col.
Nowe let se quyte you lyke praty men.
34
To passe the tyme and order whyle a man may talke
Of one thynge and other to occupy the place;
Then for the season that I here shall walke,
As good to be occupyed as vp and downe to trace
And do nothynge; how be it full lytell grace
There cometh and groweth of my comynge,
For Clokyd Colusyon is a perylous thynge.
Double delynge and I be all one;
Craftynge and haftynge contryued is by me;
I can dyssemble, I can bothe laughe and grone;
Playne delynge and I can neuer agre;
But dyuysyon, dyssencyon, dyrysyon, these thre
And I am counterfet of one mynde and thought,
By the menys of myschyef to bryng all thynges to nought.
And though I be so odyous a geste,
And euery man gladly my company wolde refuse,
In faythe yet am I occupyed with the best;
Full fewe that can themselfe of me excuse.
Whan other men laughe, than study I and muse,
Deuysynge the meanes and wayes that I can,
Howe I may hurte and hynder euery man:
Two faces in a hode couertly I bere,
Water in the one hande, and fyre in the other;
I can fede forth a fole, and lede hym by the eyre;
Falshode in felowshyp is my sworne brother.
By cloked colusyon, I say, and none other,
35
From that lorde to that lorde I rode and I ran,
And flatered them with fables fayre before theyr face,
And tolde all the myschyef I coude behynde theyr backe,
And made as I had knowen nothynge of the case;
I wolde begyn all myschyef, but I wolde bere no lacke:
Thus can I lerne you, syrs, to bere the deuyls sacke;
And yet, I trowe, some of you be better sped than I
Frendshyp to fayne, and thynke full lytherly.
Paynte to a purpose good countenaunce I can,
And craftely can I grope howe euery man is mynded;
My purpose is to spy and to poynte euery man;
My tonge is with fauell forked and tyned:
By Cloked Colusyon thus many one is begyled.
Eche man to hynder I gape and I gaspe;
My speche is all pleasure, but I stynge lyke a waspe:
I am neuer glad but whan I may do yll,
And neuer am I sory but whan that I se
I can not myne apyetyte accomplysshe and fulfyll
In hynderaunce of welthe and prosperyte;
I laughe at all shrewdenes, and lye at lyberte.
36
I sowe sedycyous sedes of dyscorde and debates:
To flater and to flery is all my pretence
Amonge all suche persones as I well vnderstonde
Be lyght of byleue and hasty of credence;
I make them to startyll and sparkyll lyke a bronde,
I moue them, I mase them, I make them so fonde,
That they wyll here no man but the fyrst tale:
And so by these meanes I brewe moche bale.
Hic ingrediatur Courtly Abusyon cantando.
Court. Ab.
Huffa, huffa, taunderum, taunderum, tayne, huffa, huffa!
Cl. Col.
This was properly prated, syrs! what sayd a?
Court. Ab.
Rutty bully, ioly rutterkyn, heyda!
Cl. Col.
De que pays este vous?
Et faciat tanquam exiat beretrum cronice.
Court. Ab.
Decke your hofte and couer a lowce.
Cl. Col.
Say vous chaunter Venter tre dawce?
Court. Ab.
Wyda, wyda.
Howe sayst thou, man? am not I a ioly rutter?
37
Gyue this gentylman rome, syrs, stonde vtter!
By God, syr, what nede all this waste?
What is this, a betell, or a batowe, or a buskyn lacyd?
Court. Ab.
What, wenyst thou that I knowe thé not, Clokyd Colusyon?
Cl. Col.
And wenyst thou that I knowe not thé, cankard Abusyon?
Court. Ab.
Cankard Jacke Hare, loke thou be not rusty;
For thou shalt well knowe I am nother durty nor dusty.
Cl. Col.
Dusty! nay, syr, ye be all of the lusty,
Howe be it of scape thryfte your clokes smelleth musty:
But whether art thou walkynge in faythe vnfaynyd?
Court. Ab.
Mary, with Magnyfycence I wolde be retaynyd.
Cl. Col.
By the masse, for the cowrte thou art a mete man:
Thy slyppers they swap it, yet thou fotys it lyke a swanne.
Court. Ab.
Ye, so I can deuyse my gere after the cowrtly maner.
Cl. Col.
So thou arte personable to bere a prynces baner.
38
Court. Ab.
Nay, thou art a man good inough but for thy false hart.
Cl. Col.
Well, and I be a coward, ther is mo than I.
Court. Ab.
Ye, in faythe, a bolde man and a hardy.
Cl. Col.
A bolde man in a bole of newe ale in cornys.
Court. Ab.
Wyll ye se this gentylman is all in his skornys?
Cl. Col.
But are ye not auysed to dwell where ye spake?
Court. Ab.
I am of fewe wordys, I loue not to barke.
Beryst thou any rome, or cannyst thou do ought?
Cannyst thou helpe in fauer that I myght be brought?
Cl. Col.
I may do somwhat, and more I thynke shall.
39
Court. Ab.
Cockys harte, who is yonde that for thé dothe call?
Cr. Con.
Nay, come at ones, for the armys of the dyce!
Court. Ab.
Cockys armys, he hath callyd for thé twyce.
Cl. Col.
By Cockys harte, and call shall agayne:
To come to me, I trowe, he shalbe fayne.
Court. Ab.
What, is thy harte pryckyd with such a prowde pynne?
Cl. Col.
Tushe, he that hath nede, man, let hym rynne.
Cr. Con.
Nay, come away, man: thou playst the cayser.
Cl. Col.
By the masse, thou shalt byde my leyser.
Cr. Con.
Abyde, syr, quod he! mary, so I do.
Court. Ab.
He wyll come, man, when he may tende to.
Cr. Con.
What the deuyll, who sent for thé?
Cl. Col.
Here he is nowe, man; mayst thou not se?
40
What the deuyll, man, what thou menyst?
Art thou so angry as thou semyst?
Court. Ab.
What the deuyll, can ye agre no better?
Cr. Con.
What the deuyll, where had we this ioly ietter?
Cl. Col.
What sayst thou, man? why dost thou not supplye,
And desyre me thy good mayster to be?
Court. Ab.
Spekest thou to me?
Cl. Col.
Ye, so tell thé.
Court. Ab.
Cockes bones, I ne tell can
Whiche of you is the better man,
Or whiche of you can do most.
Cr. Con.
In fayth, I rule moche of the rost.
Cl. Col.
Rule the roste! ye, thou woldest
As skante thou had no nede of me.
Cr. Con.
Nede! yes, mary, I say not nay.
Court. Ab.
Cockes ha[r]te, I trowe thou wylte make a fray.
Cr. Con.
Nay, in good faythe, it is but the gyse.
Cl. Col.
No, for, or we stryke, we wyll be aduysed twyse.
Court. Ab.
What the deuyll, vse ye not to drawe no swordes?
Cr. Con.
No, by my trouthe, but crake grete wordes.
41
Why, is this the gyse nowe adayes?
Cl. Col.
Ye, for surety, ofte peas is taken for frayes.
But, syr, I wyll haue this man with me.
Cr. Con.
Conuey yourselfe fyrst, let se.
Cl. Col.
Well, tarry here tyll I for you sende.
Cr. Con.
Why, shall he be of your bende?
Cl. Col.
Tary here: wote ye what I say?
Court. Ab.
I waraunt you, I wyll not go away.
Cr. Con.
By Saynt Mary, he is a tawle man.
Cl. Col.
Ye, and do ryght good seruyce he can;
I knowe in hym no defaute
But that the horson is prowde and hawte.
And so they go out of the place.
Court. Ab.
Nay, purchace ye a pardon for the pose,
For pryde hath plucked thé by the nose,
As well as me: I wolde, and I durste,
But nowe I wyll not say the worste. Courtly Abusyon alone in the place.
What nowe, let se,
Who loketh on me
Well rounde aboute,
Howe gay and howe stoute
That I can were
Courtly my gere:
42
So plesauntly,
My robe russheth
So ruttyngly,
Me seme I flye,
I am so lyght,
To daunce delyght;
Properly drest,
All poynte deuyse,
My persone prest
Beyonde all syse
Of the newe gyse,
To russhe it oute
In euery route:
Beyonde measure
My sleue is wyde,
Al of pleasure,
My hose strayte tyde,
My buskyn wyde,
Ryche to beholde,
Gletterynge yn golde.
Abusyon
Forsothe I hyght:
Confusyon
Shall on hym lyght,
By day or by nyght
That vseth me;
He can not thee.
A very fon,
A very asse,
43
To compasse
That neuer was
Abusyd before;
A very pore
That so wyll do,
He doth abuse
Hym selfe to to,
He dothe mysse vse
Eche man take a fe
To crake and prate;
I befoule his pate.
This newe fonne iet
From out of Fraunce
Fyrst I dyd set;
Made purueaunce
And suche ordenaunce,
That all men it founde
Through out Englonde:
All this nacyon
I set on fyre
In my facyon,
This theyr desyre,
This newe atyre;
This ladyes haue,
I it them gaue;
Spare for no coste;
And yet in dede
44
Moche more than nede
For to excede
In suche aray:
Howe be it, I say,
A carlys sonne,
Brought vp of nought,
Wyth me wyll wonne
Whylyst he hath ought;
He wyll haue wrought
His gowne so wyde
That he may hyde
His dame and his syre
Within his slyue;
Spende all his hyre,
That men hym gyue;
Wherfore I preue,
A Tyborne checke
Shall breke his necke. Here cometh in Fansy, craynye, Stow stow!
All is out of harre,
And out of trace,
Ay warre and warre
In euery place.
But what the deuyll art thou,
That cryest, Stow, stow?
Fan.
What, whom haue we here, Jenkyn Joly?
Nowe welcom, by the God holy.
45
What, Fansy, my frende! howe doste thou fare?
Fan.
By Cryst, as mery as a Marche hare.
Court. Ab.
What the deuyll hast thou on thy fyste? an owle?
Fan.
Nay, it is a farly fowle.
Court. Ab.
Me thynke she frowneth and lokys sowre.
Fan.
Torde, man, it is an hawke of the towre;
She is made for the malarde fat.
Court. Ab.
Methynke she is well becked to catche a rat.
But nowe what tydynges can you tell, let se.
Fan.
Mary, I am come for thé.
Court. Ab.
For me?
Fan.
Ye, for thé, so I say.
Court. Ab.
Howe so? tell me, I thé pray.
Fan.
Why, harde thou not of the fray,
That fell amonge vs this same day
Court. Ab.
No, mary, not yet.
Fan.
What the deuyll, neuer a whyt?
Court. Ab.
No, by the masse; what sholde I swere?
Fan.
In faythe, Lyberte is nowe a lusty spere.
Court. Ab.
Why, vnder whom was he abydynge?
Fan.
Mary, Mesure had hym a whyle in gydynge,
Tyll, as the deuyll wolde, they fell a chydynge
With Crafty Conuayaunce.
Court. Ab.
Ye, dyd they so?
46
Ye, by Goddes sacrament, and with other mo.
Court. Ab.
What neded that, in the dyuyls date?
Fan.
Yes, yes, he fell with me also at debate.
Court. Ab.
With thé also? what, he playeth the state?
Fan.
Ye, but I bade hym pyke out of the gate,
By Goddes body, so dyd I.
Court. Ab.
By the masse, well done and boldely.
Fan.
Holde thy pease, Measure shall frome vs walke.
Court. Ab.
Why, is he crossed than with a chalke?
Fan.
Crossed! ye, checked out of consayte.
Court. Ab.
Howe so?
Fan.
By God, by a praty slyght,
As here after thou shalte knowe more:
But I must tary here; go thou before.
Court. Ab.
With whom shall I there mete?
Fan.
Crafty Conueyaunce standeth in the strete,
Euen of purpose for the same.
Court. Ab.
Ye, but what shall I call my name?
Fan.
Cockes harte, tourne thé, let me se thyne aray:
Cockes bones, this is all of Johnn de gay.
Court. Ab.
So I am poynted after my consayte.
Fan.
Mary, thou iettes it of hyght.
Court. Ab.
Ye, but of my name let vs be wyse.
Fan.
Mary, Lusty Pleasure, by myne aduyse,
To name thyselfe, come of, it were done.
47
Farewell, my frende.
Fan.
Adue, tyll sone.
Stowe, byrde, stowe, stowe!
It is best I fede my hawke now.
There is many euyll faueryd, and thou be foule;
Eche thynge is fayre when it is yonge: all hayle, owle!
Lo, this is
My fansy, I wys:
Nowe Cryst it blysse!
It is, by Jesse,
A byrde full swete,
For me full mete:
She is furred for the hete
All to the fete;
Her browys bent,
Her eyen glent:
Frome Tyne to Trent,
From Stroude to Kent,
A man shall fynde
Many of her kynde,
Howe standeth the wynde
Before or behynde:
Barbyd lyke a nonne,
For burnynge of the sonne;
Her fethers donne;
Well faueryd bonne.
Nowe, let me se about,
48
Yf I can fynde out
So semely a snowte
Amonge this prese:
Euen a hole mese—
Pease, man, pease!
I rede, we sease.
So farly fayre as it lokys,
And her becke so comely crokys,
Her naylys sharpe as tenter hokys!
I haue not kept her yet thre wokys,
And howe styll she dothe syt!
Teuyt, teuyt, where is my wyt?
The deuyll spede whyt!
That was before, I set behynde;
Nowe to curteys, forthwith vnkynde;
Somtyme to sober, somtyme to sadde,
Somtyme to mery, somtyme to madde;
Somtyme I syt as I were solempe prowde;
Somtyme I laughe ouer lowde;
Somtyme I wepe for a gew gaw;
Somtyme I laughe at waggynge of a straw;
With a pere my loue you may wynne,
And ye may lese it for a pynne.
I haue a thynge for to say,
And I may tende therto for play;
But in faythe I am so occupyed
On this halfe and on euery syde,
That I wote not where I may rest.
Fyrst to tell you what were best,
49
My wyttys be weke, my braynys are lyght:
For it is I that other whyle
Plucke downe lede, and theke with tyle;
Nowe I wyll this, and nowe I wyll that;
Make a wyndmyll of a mat;
Nowe I wolde, and I wyst what;
Where is my cappe? I haue lost my hat;
And within an houre after,
Plucke downe an house, and set vp a rafter;
Hyder and thyder, I wote not whyder;
Do and vndo, bothe togyder;
Of a spyndell I wyll make a sparre;
All that I make, forthwith I marre;
I blunder, I bluster, I blowe, and I blother;
I make on the one day, and I marre on the other;
Bysy, bysy, and euer bysy,
I daunce vp and downe tyll I am dyssy;
I can fynde fantasyes where none is;
I wyll not haue it so, I wyll haue it this.
Hic ingrediatur Foly, quatiendo crema et faciendo multum, feriendo tabulas et similia.
Fol.
Maysters, Cryst saue euerychone!
What, Fansy, arte thou here alone?
50
What, fonnysshe Foly! I befole thy face.
Fol.
What, frantyke Fansy in a foles case!
What is this, an owle or a glede?
By my trouthe, she hathe a grete hede.
Fan.
Tusshe, thy lyppes hange in thyne eye:
It is a Frenche butterflye.
Fol.
By my trouthe, I trowe well;
But she is lesse a grete dele
Than a butterflye of our lande.
Fan.
What pylde curre ledest thou in thy hande?
Fol.
A pylde curre!
Fan.
Ye so, I tell thé, a pylde curre.
Fol.
Yet I solde his skynne to Mackemurre,
In the stede of a budge furre.
Fan.
What, fleyest thou his skynne euery yere?
Fol.
Yes, in faythe, I thanke God I may here.
Fan.
What, thou wylte coughe me a dawe for forty pens?
Fol.
Mary, syr, Cokermowthe is a good way hens.
Fan.
What? of Cokermowth spake I no worde.
Fol.
By my faythe, syr, the frubyssher hath my sworde.
Fan.
A, I trowe, ye shall coughe me a fole.
Fol.
In faythe, trouthe ye say, we wente togyder to scole.
Fan.
Ye, but I can somwhat more of the letter.
Fol.
I wyll not gyue an halfepeny for to chose the better.
51
But, broder Foly, I wonder moche of one thynge,
That thou so hye fro me doth sprynge,
And I so lytell alway styll.
Fol.
By God, I can tell thé, and I wyll.
Thou art so feble fantastycall,
And so braynsyke therwithall,
And thy wyt wanderynge here and there,
That thou cannyst not growe out of thy boyes gere;
And as for me, I take but one folysshe way,
And therfore I growe more on one day
Than thou can in yerys seuen.
Fan.
In faythe, trouth thou sayst nowe, by God of heuen!
For so with fantasyes my wyt dothe flete,
That wysdome and I shall seldome mete.
Nowe, of good felowshyp, let me by thy dogge.
Fol.
Cockys harte, thou lyest, I am no hogge.
Fan.
Here is no man that callyd thé hogge nor swyne.
Fol.
In faythe, man, my brayne is as good as thyne.
Fan.
The deuyls torde for thy brayne!
Fol.
By my syers soule, I fele no rayne.
Fan.
By the masse, I holde thé madde.
Fol.
Mary, I knewe thé when thou waste a ladde.
Fan.
Cockys bonys, herde ye euer syke another?
52
Ye, a fole the tone, and a fole the tother.
Fan.
Nay, but wotest thou what I do say?
Fol.
Why, sayst thou that I was here yesterday?
Fan.
Cockys armys, this is a warke, I trowe.
Fol.
What, callyst thou me a donnyshe crowe?
Fan.
Nowe, in good faythe, thou art a fonde gest.
Fol.
Ye, bere me this strawe to a dawys nest.
Fan.
What, wenyst thou that I were so folysshe and so fonde?
Fol.
In faythe, ellys is there none in all Englonde.
Fan.
Yet for my fansy sake, I say,
Let me haue thy dogge, what soeuer I pay.
Fol.
Thou shalte haue my purse, and I wyll haue thyne.
Fan.
By my trouth, there is myne.
Fol.
Nowe, by my trouth, man, take, there is myne;
And I beshrowe hym that hath the worse.
Fan.
Torde, I say, what haue I do?
Here is nothynge but the bockyll of a sho,
And in my purse was twenty marke.
Fol.
Ha, ha, ha! herke, syrs, harke!
For all that my name hyght Foly,
By the masse, yet art thou more fole than I.
Fan.
Yet gyue me thy dogge, and I am content;
And thou shalte haue my hauke to a botchment.
53
That euer thou thryue, God it forfende!
For, Goddes cope, thou wyll spende.
Nowe take thou my dogge, and gyue me thy fowle.
Fan.
Hay, chysshe, come hyder!
Fol.
Nay, torde, take hym be tyme.
Fan.
What callyst thou thy dogge?
Fol.
Tusshe, his name is Gryme.
Fan.
Come, Gryme, come, Gryme! it is my praty dogges.
Fol.
In faythe, there is not a better dogge for hogges,
Not from Anwyke vnto Aungey.
Fan.
Ye, but trowest thou that he be not maungey?
Fol.
No, by my trouthe, it is but the scurfe and the scabbe.
Fan.
What, he hathe ben hurte with a stabbe?
Fol.
Nay, in faythe, it was but a strype
That the horson had for etynge of a trype.
Fan.
Where the deuyll gate he all these hurtes?
Fol.
By God, for snatchynge of puddynges and wortes.
Fan.
What, then he is some good poore mannes curre?
Fol.
Ye, but he wyll in at euery mannes dore.
Fan.
Nowe thou hast done me a pleasure grete.
Fol.
In faythe, I wolde thou had a marmosete.
54
Cockes harte, I loue suche iapes.
Fol.
Ye, for all thy mynde is on owles and apes.
But I haue thy pultre, and thou hast my catell.
Fan.
Ye, but thryfte and we haue made a batell.
Fol.
Remembrest thou not the iapes and the toyes—
Fan.
What, that we vsed whan we were boyes?
Fol.
Ye, by the rode, euen the same.
Fan.
Yes, yes, I am yet as full of game
As euer I was, and as full of tryfyls,
Nil, nihilum, nihil, anglice nyfyls.
Fol.
What canest thou all this Latyn yet,
And hast so mased a wandrynge wyt?
Fan.
Tushe, man, I kepe some Latyn in store.
Fol.
By Cockes harte, I wene thou hast no more.
Fan.
No? yes, in faythe, I can versyfy.
Fol.
Then, I pray thé hartely,
Make a verse of my butterfly;
It forseth not of the reason, so it kepe ryme.
Fan.
But wylte thou make another on Gryme?
Fol.
Nay, in fayth, fyrst let me here thyne.
Fan.
Mary, as for that, thou shalte sone here myne:
Est snavi snago with a shrewde face vilis imago.
Fol.
Grimbaldus gredy, snatche a puddyng tyl the rost be redy.
55
By the harte of God, well done!
Fol.
Ye, so redely and so sone!
Here cometh in Crafty Conueyaunce.
Cr. Con.
What, Fansy! Let me se who is the tother.
Fan.
By God, syr, Foly, myne owne sworne brother.
Cr. Con.
Cockys bonys, it is a farle freke:
Can he play well at the hoddypeke?
Fan.
Tell by thy trouth what sport can thou make.
Fol.
A, holde thy peas; I haue the tothe ake.
Cr. Con.
The tothe ake! lo, a torde ye haue.
Fol.
Ye, thou haste the four quarters of a knaue.
Cr. Con.
Wotyst thou, I say, to whom thou spekys?
Fan.
Nay, by Cockys harte, he ne reckys,
For he wyll speke to Magnyfycence thus.
Cr. Con.
Cockys armys, a mete man for vs.
Fol.
What, wolde ye haue mo folys, and are so many?
Fan.
Nay, offer hym a counter in stede of a peny.
Cr. Con.
Why, thynkys thou he can no better skyll?
Fol.
In fayth, I can make you bothe folys, and I wyll.
56
What haste thou on thy fyst? a kesteryll?
Fol.
Nay, I wys, fole, it is a doteryll.
Cr. Con.
In a cote thou can play well the dyser.
Fol.
Ye, but thou can play the fole without a vyser.
Fan.
Howe rode he by you? howe put he to you?
Cr. Con.
Mary, as thou sayst, he gaue me a blurre.
But where gatte thou that mangey curre?
Fan.
Mary, it was his, and nowe it is myne.
Cr. Con.
And was it his, and nowe it is thyne?
Thou must haue thy fansy and thy wyll,
But yet thou shalt holde me a fole styll.
Fol.
Why, wenyst thou that I cannot make thé play the fon?
Fan.
Yes, by my faythe, good Syr Johnn.
Cr. Con.
For you bothe it were inough.
Fol.
Why, wenyst thou that I were as moche a fole as thou?
Fan.
Nay, nay, thou shalte fynde hym another maner of man.
Fol.
In faythe, I can do mastryes, so I can.
Cr. Con.
What canest thou do but play cocke wat?
Fan.
Yes, yes, he wyll make thé ete a gnat.
57
Yes, yes, by my trouth, I holde thé a grote,
That I shall laughe thé out of thy cote.
Cr. Con.
Than wyll I say that thou haste no pere.
Fan.
Nowe, by the rode, and he wyll go nere.
Fol.
Hem, Fansy! regardes, voyes.
Here Foly maketh semblaunt to take a lowse from Crafty Conueyaunce showlder.
Fan.
What hast thou founde there?
Fol.
By God, a lowse.
Cr. Con.
By Cockes harte, I trowe thou lyste.
Fol.
By the masse, a Spaynysshe moght with a gray lyste.
Fan.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
Cr. Con.
Cockes armes, it is not so, I trowe.
Here Crafty Conu[ey]aunce putteth of his gowne.
Fol.
Put on thy gowne agayne, for nowe thou hast lost.
Fan.
Lo, Johnn a Bonam, where is thy brayne?
Nowe put on, fole, thy cote agayne.
Fol.
Gyue me my grote, for thou hast lost. Here Foly maketh semblaunt to take money of Crafty Conueyaunce, saynge to hym,
Shyt thy purse, dawe, and do no cost.
58
Nowe hast thou not a prowde mocke and a starke?
Cr. Con.
With, yes, by the rode of Wodstocke Parke.
Fan.
Nay, I tell thé, he maketh no dowtes
To tourne a fole out of his clowtes.
Cr. Con.
And for a fole a man wolde hym take.
Fol.
Nay, it is I that foles can make;
For, be he cayser or be he kynge,
To felowshyp with Foly I can hym brynge.
Fan.
Nay, wylte thou here nowe of his scoles,
And what maner of people he maketh foles?
Cr. Con.
Ye, let vs here a worde or twayne.
Fol.
Syr, of my maner I shall tell you the playne.
Fyrst I lay before them my bybyll,
And teche them howe they sholde syt ydyll,
To pyke theyr fyngers all the day longe;
So in theyr eyre I synge them a songe,
And make them so longe to muse,
That some of them renneth strayght to the stuse;
To thefte and bryboury I make some fall,
And pyke a locke and clyme a wall;
And where I spy a nysot gay,
That wyll syt ydyll all the day,
And can not set herselfe to warke,
I kyndell in her suche a lyther sparke,
That rubbed she must be on the gall
Bytwene the tappet and the wall.
Cr. Con.
What, horson, arte thou such a one?
59
Nay, beyonde all other set hym alone.
Cr. Con.
Hast thou ony more? let se, procede.
Fol.
Ye, by God, syr, for a nede,
I haue another maner of sorte,
That I laugh at for my dysporte;
And those be they that come vp of nought,
As some be not ferre, and yf it were well sought:
Suche dawys, what soeuer they be,
That be set in auctorite,
Anone he waxyth so hy and prowde,
He frownyth fyersly, brymly browde,
The knaue wolde make it koy, and he cowde;
All that he dothe, muste be alowde;
And, This is not well done, syr, take hede;
And maketh hym besy where is no nede:
He dawnsys so longe, hey, troly loly,
That euery man lawghyth at his foly.
Cr. Con.
By the good Lorde, truthe he sayth.
Fan.
Thynkyst thou not so, by thy fayth?
Cr. Con.
Thynke I not so, quod he! ellys haue I shame,
For I knowe dyuerse that vseth the same.
Fol.
But nowe, forsothe, man, it maketh no mater;
For they that wyll so bysely smater,
So helpe me God, man, euer at the length
I make hym lese moche of theyr strength;
60
That wyt he wantyth when he hath moste nede.
Fan.
Forsothe, tell on: hast thou any mo?
Fol.
Yes, I shall tell you, or I go,
Of dyuerse mo that hauntyth my scolys.
Cr. Con.
All men beware of suche folys!
Fol.
There be two lyther, rude and ranke,
Symkyn Tytyuell and Pers Pykthanke;
Theys lythers I lerne them for to lere
What he sayth and she sayth to lay good ere,
And tell to his sufferayne euery whyt,
And then he is moche made of for his wyt;
And, be the mater yll more or lesse,
He wyll make it mykyll worse than it is:
But all that he dothe, and yf he reken well,
It is but foly euery dell.
Fan.
Are not his wordys cursydly cowchyd?
Cr. Con.
By God, there be some that be shroudly towchyd:
But, I say, let se and yf thou haue any more.
Fol.
I haue an hole armory of suche haburdashe in store;
For there be other that foly dothe vse,
That folowe fonde fantasyes and vertu refuse.
Fan.
Nay, that is my parte that thou spekest of nowe.
Fol.
So is all the remenaunt, I make God auowe;
For thou fourmest suche fantasyes in theyr mynde,
That euery man almost groweth out of kynde.
61
By the masse, I am glad that I came hyder,
To here you two rutters dyspute togyder.
Fan.
Nay, but Fansy must be eyther fyrst or last.
Fol.
But whan Foly cometh, all is past.
Fan.
I wote not whether it cometh of thé or of me,
But all is foly that I can se.
Cr. Con.
Mary, syr, ye may swere it on a boke.
Fol.
Ye, tourne ouer the lefe, rede there and loke,
Howe frantyke Fansy fyrst of all
Maketh man and woman in foly to fall.
Cr. Con.
A, syr, a, a! howe by that!
Fan.
A peryllous thynge, to cast a cat
Vpon a naked man, and yf she scrat.
Fol.
So how, I say, the hare is squat!
For, frantyke Fansy, thou makest men madde;
And I, Foly, bryngeth them to qui fuit gadde,
With qui fuit brayne seke I haue them brought
From qui fuit aliquid to shyre shakynge nought.
Cr. Con.
Well argued and surely on bothe sydes:
But for thé, Fansy, Magnyfycence abydes.
Fan.
Why, shall I not haue Foly with me also?
Cr. Con.
Yes, perde, man, whether that ye ryde or go:
62
Fan.
By the masse, he shall hyght Consayte.
Cr. Con.
Not a better name vnder the sonne:
With Magnyfycence thou shalte wonne.
Fol.
God haue mercy, good godfather.
Cr. Con.
Yet I wolde that ye had gone rather;
For, as sone as you come in Magnyfycence syght,
All mesure and good rule is gone quyte.
Fan.
And shall we haue lyberte to do what we wyll?
Cr. Con.
Ryot at lyberte russheth it out styll.
Fol.
Ye, but tell me one thynge.
Cr. Con.
What is that?
Fol.
Who is mayster of the masshe fat?
Fan.
Ye, for he hathe a full dry soule.
Cr. Con.
Cockes armes, thou shalte kepe the brewhouse boule.
Fol.
But may I drynke therof whylest that I stare?
Cr. Con.
When mesure is gone, what nedest thou spare?
Whan mesure is gone, we may slee care.
Fol.
Nowe then goo we hens, away the mare!
Crafty Conueyaunce alone in the place.
Cr. Con.
It is wonder to se the worlde aboute,
To se what foly is vsed in euery place;
63
To put, where he lyst, Foly hath fre chace;
Foly and Fansy all where, euery man dothe face and brace;
Foly fotyth it properly, Fansy ledyth the dawnce;
And next come I after, Crafty Conueyaunce.
Who so to me gyueth good aduertence,
Shall se many thyngys donne craftely:
By me conueyed is wanton insolence,
Pryuy poyntmentys conueyed so properly,
For many tymes moche kyndnesse is denyed
For drede that we dare not ofte lest we be spyed;
By me is conueyed mykyll praty ware,
Somtyme, I say, behynde the dore for nede;
I haue an hoby can make larkys to dare;
I knyt togyther many a broken threde.
It is great almesse the hungre to fede,
To clothe the nakyd where is lackynge a smocke,
Trymme at her tayle, or a man can turne a socke:
What howe, be ye mery! was it not well conueyed?
As oft as ye lyst, so honeste be sauyd;
Alas, dere harte, loke that we be not perseyuyd!
Without crafte nothynge is well behauyd;
Though I shewe you curtesy, say not that I craue,
Yet conuey it craftely, and hardely spare not for me,
64
Thefte also and pety brybery
Without me be full oft aspyed;
My inwyt delynge there can no man dyscry,
Conuey it be crafte, lyft and lay asyde:
Full moche flatery and falsehode I hyde,
And by crafty conueyaunce I wyll, and I can,
Saue a stronge thefe and hange a trew man.
But some man wolde conuey, and can not skyll,
As malypert tauernars that checke with theyr betters,
Theyr conueyaunce weltyth the worke all by wyll;
And some wyll take vpon them to conterfet letters,
And therwithall conuey hymselfe into a payre of fetters;
And some wyll conuey by the pretence of sadnesse,
Tyll all theyr conueyaunce is turnyd into madnesse.
Crafty conueyaunce is no chyldlys game:
By crafty conueyaunce many one is brought vp of nought;
Crafty Conueyaunce can cloke hymselfe frome shame,
For by crafty conueyaunce wonderful thynges are wrought:
By conuayaunce crafty I haue brought
Vnto Magnyfyce[nce] a full vngracyous sorte,
For all hokes vnhappy to me haue resorte.
65
Magn.
Trust me, Lyberte, it greueth me ryght sore
To se you thus ruled and stande in suche awe.
Lyb.
Syr, as by my wyll, it shall be so no more.
Fel.
Yet lyberte without rule is not worth a strawe.
Magn.
Tushe, holde your peas, ye speke lyke a dawe;
Ye shall be occupyed, Welthe, at my wyll.
Cr. Con.
All that ye say, syr, is reason and skyll.
Magn.
Mayster Suruayour, where haue ye ben so longe?
Remembre ye not how my lyberte by mesure ruled was?
Cr. Con.
In good faythe, syr, me semeth he had the more wronge.
Lyb.
Mary, syr, so dyd he excede and passe,
They droue me to lernynge lyke a dull asse.
Fel.
It is good yet that lyberte be ruled by reason.
Magn.
Tushe, holde your peas, ye speke out of season:
Yourselfe shall be ruled by lyberte and largesse.
Fel.
I am content, so it in measure be.
Lyb.
Must mesure, in the mares name, you furnysshe and dresse?
Magn.
Nay, nay, not so, my frende Felycyte.
66
Not, and your grace wolde be ruled by me.
Lyb.
Nay, he shall be ruled euen as I lyst.
Fel.
Yet it is good to beware of Had I wyst.
Magn.
Syr, by lyberte and largesse I wyll that ye shall
Be gouerned and gyded: wote ye what I say?
Mayster Suruayour, Largesse to me call.
Cr. Con.
It shall be done.
Magn.
Ye, but byd hym come away
At ones, and let hym not tary all day.
Here goth out Crafty Conuayaunce.
Fel.
Yet it is good wysdome to worke wysely by welth.
Lyb.
Holde thy tonge, and thou loue thy helth.
Magn.
What, wyll ye waste wynde, and prate thus in vayne?
Ye haue eten sauce, I trowe, at the Taylers Hall.
Lyb.
Be not to bolde, my frende; I counsell you, bere a brayne.
Magn.
And what so we say, holde you content withall.
Fel.
Syr, yet without sapyence your substaunce may be smal;
For, where is no mesure, howe may worshyp endure?
Here cometh in Fansy.
Fan.
Syr, I am here at your pleasure;
Your grace sent for me, I wene; what is your wyll?
67
Come hyther, Largesse, take here Felycyte.
Fan.
Why, wene you that I can kepe hym longe styll?
Magn.
To rule as ye lyst, lo, here is Lyberte!
Lyb.
I am here redy.
Fan.
What, shall we haue welth at our gydynge to rule as we lyst?
Then fare well thryfte, by hym that crosse kyst!
Fel.
I truste your grace wyll be agreabyll
That I shall suffer none impechment
By theyr demenaunce nor losse repryuable.
Magn.
Syr, ye shall folowe myne appetyte and intent.
Fel.
So it be by mesure I am ryght well content.
Fan.
What, all by mesure, good syr, and none excesse?
Lyb.
Why, welth hath made many a man braynlesse.
Fel.
That was by the menys of to moche lyberte.
Magn.
What, can ye agree thus and appose?
Fel.
Syr, as I say, there was no faute in me.
Lyb.
Ye, of Jacke a thrommys bybyll can ye make a glose.
Fan.
Sore sayde, I tell you, and well to the purpose:
What sholde a man do with you? loke you vnderkay?
Fel.
I say, it is foly to gyue all welth away.
68
Whether sholde welth be rulyd by lyberte,
Or lyberte by welth? let se, tell me that.
Fel.
Syr, as me semeth, ye sholde be rulyd by me.
Magn.
What nede you with hym thus prate and chat?
Fan.
Shewe vs your mynde then, howe to do and what.
Magn.
I say, that I wyll ye haue hym in gydynge.
Lyb.
Mayster Felycyte, let be your chydynge,
And so as ye se it wyll be no better,
Take it in worthe suche as ye fynde.
Fan.
What the deuyll, man, your name shalbe the greter,
For welth without largesse is all out of kynde.
Lyb.
And welth is nought worthe, yf lyberte be behynde.
Magn.
Nowe holde ye content, for there is none other shyfte.
Fel.
Than waste must be welcome, and fare well thryfte!
Magn.
Take of his substaunce a sure inuentory,
And get thou home togyther; for Lyberte shall byde,
And wayte vpon me.
Lyb.
And yet for a memory,
Make indentures howe ye and I shal gyde.
69
I can do nothynge but he stonde besyde.
Lyb.
Syr, we can do nothynge the one without the other.
Magn.
Well, get you hens than, and sende me some other.
Fan.
Whom? lusty Pleasure, or mery Consayte?
Magn.
Nay, fyrst lusty Pleasure is my desyre to haue,
And let the other another awayte,
Howe be it that fonde felowe is a mery knaue;
But loke that ye occupye the auctoryte that I you gaue. [Here goeth out Felycyte, Lyberte, and Fansy.
Magnyfycence alone in the place.
For nowe, syrs, I am lyke as a prynce sholde be;
I haue welth at wyll, largesse and lyberte:
Fortune to her lawys can not abandune me,
But I shall of Fortune rule the reyne;
I fere nothynge Fortunes perplexyte;
All honour to me must nedys stowpe and lene;
I synge of two partys without a mene;
I haue wynde and wether ouer all to sayle,
No stormy rage agaynst me can peruayle.
Alexander, of Macedony kynge,
That all the oryent had in subieccyon,
70
Myght seem ryght wel vnder my proteccyon
To rayne, for all his marcyall affeccyon;
For I am prynce perlesse prouyd of porte,
Bathyd with blysse, embracyd with comforte.
Syrus, that soleme syar of Babylon,
That Israell releysyd of theyr captyuyte,
For al his pompe, for all his ryall trone,
He may not be comparyd vnto me.
I am the dyamounde dowtlesse of dygnyte:
Surely it is I that all may saue and spyll;
No man so hardy to worke agaynst my wyll.
Porcenya, the prowde prouoste of Turky lande,
That ratyd the Romaynes and made them yll rest,
Nor Cesar July, that no man myght withstande,
Were neuer halfe so rychely as I am drest:
No, that I assure you; loke who was the best.
I reyne in my robys, I rule as me lyst,
I dryue downe th[e]se dastardys with a dynt of my fyste.
Of Cato the counte acountyd the cane,
Daryus, the doughty cheftayn of Perse,
I set not by the prowdest of them a prane,
Ne by non other that any man can rehersse.
I folowe in felycyte without reue[r]sse,
I drede no daunger, I dawnce all in delyte;
My name is Magnyfycence, man most of myght.
Hercules the herdy, with his stobburne clobbyd mase,
71
And Thesius, that prowde was Pluto to face,
It wolde not become them with me for to mell:
For of all barones bolde I bere the bell,
Of all doughty I am doughtyest duke, as I deme;
To me all prynces to lowte man be sene.
Cherlemayne, that mantenyd the nobles of Fraunce,
Arthur of Albyan, for all his brymme berde,
Nor Basyan the bolde, for all his brybaunce,
Nor Alerycus, that rulyd the Gothyaunce by swerd,
Nor no man on molde can make me aferd.
What man is so maysyd with me that dare mete,
I shall flappe hym as a fole to fall at my fete.
Galba, whom his galantys garde for a gaspe,
Nor Nero, that nother set by God nor man,
Nor Vaspasyan, that bare in his nose a waspe,
Nor Hanyball agayne Rome gates that ranne,
Nor yet Cypyo, that noble Cartage wanne,
Nor none so hardy of them with me that durste crake,
But I shall frounce them on the foretop, and gar them to quake.
Here cometh in Courtly Abusyon, doynge reuerence and courtesy.
Court. Ab.
At your commaundement, syr, wyth all dew reuerence.
72
Welcom, Pleasure, to our magnyfycence.
Court. Ab.
Plesyth it your grace to shewe what I do shall?
Magn.
Let vs here of your pleasure to passe the tyme withall.
Court. Ab.
Syr, then with the fauour of your benynge sufferaunce
To shewe you my mynde myselfe I wyll auaunce,
If it lyke your grace to take it in degre.
Magn.
Yes, syr, so good man in you I se,
And in your delynge so good assuraunce,
That we delyte gretly in your dalyaunce.
Court. Ab.
A, syr, your grace me dothe extole and rayse,
And ferre beyond my merytys ye me commende and prayse;
Howe be it, I wolde be ryght gladde, I you assure,
Any thynge to do that myght be to your pleasure.
Magn.
As I be saued, with pleasure I am supprysyd
Of your langage, it is so well deuysed;
Pullyshyd and fresshe is your ornacy.
Court. Ab.
A, I wolde to God that I were halfe so crafty,
Or in electe vtteraunce halfe so eloquent,
As that I myght your noble grace content!
Magn.
Truste me, with you I am hyghly pleasyd,
For in my fauour I haue you feffyd and seasyd.
He is not lyuynge your maners can amend;
73
To here your comon, it is my hygh comforte;
Poynt deuyse all pleasure is your porte.
Court. Ab.
Syr, I am the better of your noble reporte;
But, of your pacyence vnder the supporte,
If it wolde lyke you to here my pore mynde—
Magn.
Speke, I beseche thé, leue nothynge behynde.
Court. Ab.
So as ye be a prynce of great myght,
It is semynge your pleasure ye delyte,
And to aqueynte you with carnall delectacyon,
And to fall in aquayntaunce with euery newe facyon;
And quyckely your appetytes to sharpe and adresse,
To fasten your fansy vpon a fayre maystresse,
That quyckly is enuyued with rudyes of the rose,
Inpurtured with fetures after your purpose,
The streynes of her vaynes as asure inde blewe,
Enbudded with beautye and colour fresshe of hewe,
As lyly whyte to loke vpon her leyre,
Her eyen relucent as carbuncle so clere,
Her mouthe enbawmed, dylectable and mery,
Her lusty lyppes ruddy as the chery:
Howe lyke you? ye lacke, syr, suche a lusty lasse.
74
A, that were a baby to brace and to basse!
I wolde I had, by hym that hell dyd harowe,
With me in kepynge suche a Phylyp sparowe!
I wolde hauke whylest my hede dyd warke,
So I myght hobby for suche a lusty larke.
These wordes in myne eyre they be so lustely spoken,
That on suche a female my flesshe wolde be wroken;
They towche me so thorowly, and tykyll my consayte,
That weryed I wolde be on suche a bayte:
A, Cockes armes, where myght suche one be founde?
Court. Ab.
Wyll ye spende ony money?
Magn.
Ye, a thousande pounde.
Court. Ab.
Nay, nay, for lesse I waraunt you to be sped,
And brought home, and layde in your bed.
Magn.
Wolde money, trowest thou, make suche one to the call?
Court. Ab.
Money maketh marchauntes, I tell you, over all.
Magn.
Why, wyl a maystres be wonne for money and for golde?
Court. Ab.
Why, was not for money Troy bothe bought and solde?
Full many a stronge cyte and towne hath ben wonne
75
A maystres, I tell you, is but a small thynge;
A goodly rybon, or a golde rynge,
May wynne with a sawte the fortresse of the holde;
But one thynge I warne you, prece forth and be bolde.
Magn.
Ye, but some be full koy and passynge harde harted.
Court. Ab.
But, blessyd be our Lorde, they wyll be sone conuerted.
Magn.
Why, wyll they then be intreted, the most and the lest?
Court. Ab.
Ye, for omnis mulier meretrix, si celari potest.
Magn.
A, I haue spyed ye can moche broken sorowe.
Court. Ab.
I coude holde you with suche talke hens tyll to morowe;
But yf it lyke your grace, more at large
Me to permyt my mynde to dyscharge,
I wolde yet shewe you further of my consayte.
Magn.
Let se what ye say, shewe it strayte.
Court. Ab.
Wysely let these wordes in your mynde be wayed:
By waywarde wylfulnes let eche thynge be conuayed;
What so euer ye do, folowe your owne wyll;
Be it reason or none, it shall not gretely skyll;
Be it ryght or wronge, by the aduyse of me,
76
And yf you se ony thynge agaynst your mynde,
Then some occacyon of quarell ye must fynde,
And frowne it and face it, as thoughe ye wolde fyght,
Frete yourselfe for anger and for dyspyte;
Here no man, what so euer they say,
But do as ye lyst, and take your owne way.
Magn.
Thy wordes and my mynde odly well accorde.
Court. Ab.
What sholde ye do elles? are not you a lorde?
Let your lust and lykynge stande for a lawe;
Be wrastynge and wrythynge, and away drawe.
And ye se a man that with hym ye be not pleased,
And that your mynde can not well be eased,
As yf a man fortune to touche you on the quyke,
Then feyne yourselfe dyseased and make yourselfe seke:
To styre vp your stomake you must you forge,
Call for a candell and cast vp your gorge;
With, Cockes armes, rest shall I none haue
Tyll I be reuenged on that horson knaue!
A, howe my stomake wambleth! I am all in a swete!
Is there no horson that knaue that wyll bete?
Magn.
By Cockes woundes, a wonder felowe thou arte;
77
Yet I am not harte seke, but that me lyst
For myrth I haue hym coryed, beten, and blyst,
Hym that I loued not and made hym to loute,
I am forthwith as hole as a troute;
For suche abusyon I vse nowe and than.
Court. Ab.
It is none abusyon, syr, in a noble man,
It is a pryncely pleasure and a lordly mynde;
Suche lustes at large may not be lefte behynde.
Here cometh in Cloked Colusyon with Mesure.
Cl. Col.
Stande styll here, and ye shall se
That for your sake I wyll fall on my kne.
Court. Ab.
Syr, Sober Sadnesse cometh, wherfore it be?
Magn.
Stande vp, syr, ye are welcom to me.
Cl. Col.
Please it your grace, at the contemplacyon
Of my pore instance and supplycacyon,
Tenderly to consyder in your aduertence,
Of our blessyd Lorde, syr, at the reuerence,
Remembre the good seruyce that Mesure hath you done,
And that ye wyll not cast hym away so sone.
Magn.
My frende, as touchynge to this your mocyon,
I may say to you I haue but small deuocyon;
78
Do as moche as for myne owne father.
Cl. Col.
Nay, syr, that affeccyon ought to be reserued,
For of your grace I haue it nought deserued;
But yf it lyke you that I myght rowne in your eyre,
To shewe you my mynde I wolde haue the lesse fere.
Magn.
Stande a lytell abacke, syr, and let hym come hyder.
Court. Ab.
With a good wyll, syr, God spede you bothe togyder.
Cl. Col.
Syr, so it is, this man is here by,
That for hym to laboure he hath prayde me hartely;
Notwithstandynge to you be it sayde,
To trust in me he is but dyssayued;
For, so helpe me God, for you he is not mete:
I speke the softlyer, because he sholde not wete.
Magn.
Come hyder, Pleasure, you shall here myne entent:
Mesure, ye knowe wel, with hym I can not be content,
And surely, as I am nowe aduysed,
I wyll haue hym rehayted and dyspysed.
Howe say ye, syrs? herein what is best?
Court. Ab.
By myne aduyse with you in fayth he shall not rest.
79
Yet, syr, reserued your better aduysement,
It were better he spake with you or he wente,
That he knowe not but that I haue supplyed
All that I can his matter for to spede.
Magn.
Nowe, by your trouthe, gaue he you not a brybe?
Cl. Col.
Yes, with his hande I made hym to subscrybe
A byll of recorde for an annuall rent.
Court. Ab.
But for all that he is lyke to haue a glent.
Cl. Col.
Ye, by my trouthe, I shall waraunt you for me,
And he go to the deu[y]ll, so that I may haue my fee,
What care I?
Magn.
By the masse, well sayd.
Court. Ab.
What force ye, so that ye be payde?
Cl. Col.
But yet, lo, I wolde, or that he wente,
Lest that he thought that his money were euyll spente,
That ye wolde loke on hym, thoughe it were not longe.
Magn.
Well cannest thou helpe a preest to synge a songe.
Cl. Col.
So it is all the maner nowe a dayes,
For to vse suche haftynge and crafty wayes.
Court. Ab.
He telleth you trouth, syr, as I you ensure.
80
Well, for thy sake the better I may endure
That he come hyder, and to gyue hym a loke
That he shall lyke the worse all this woke.
Cl. Col.
I care not howe sone he be refused,
So that I may craftely be excused.
Court. Ab.
Where is he?
Cl. Col.
Mary, I made hym abyde,
Whylest I came to you, a lytell here besyde.
Magn.
Well, call hym, and let vs here hym reason,
And we wyll be comonynge in the mene season.
Court. Ab.
This is a wyse man, syr, where so euer ye hym had.
Magn.
An honest person, I tell you, and a sad.
Court. Ab.
He can full craftely this matter brynge aboute.
Magn.
Whylest I haue hym, I nede nothynge doute.
Hic introducat Colusion Mesure, Magnyfycence aspectant[e] vultu elatissimo.
Cl. Col.
By the masse, I haue done that I can,
And more than euer I dyd for ony man:
I trowe, ye herde yourselfe what I sayd.
Mes.
Nay, indede; but I sawe howe ye prayed,
And made instance for me be lykelyhod.
Cl. Col.
Nay, I tell you, I am not wonte to fode
Them that dare put theyr truste in me;
And therof ye shall a larger profe se.
81
Syr, God rewarde you as ye haue deserued:
But thynke you with Magnyfycence I shal be reserued?
Cl. Col.
By my trouth, I can not tell you that;
But, and I were as ye, I wolde not set a gnat
By Magnyfycence, nor yet none of his,
For, go when ye shall, of you shall he mysse.
Mes.
Syr, as ye say.
Cl. Col.
Nay, come on with me:
Yet ones agayne I shall fall on my kne
For your sake, what so euer befall;
I set not a flye, and all go to all.
Mes.
The Holy Goost be with your grace.
Cl. Col.
Syr, I beseche you, let pety haue some place
In your brest towardes this gentylman.
Magn.
I was your good lorde tyll that ye beganne
So masterfully vpon you for to take
With my seruauntys, and suche maystryes gan make,
That holly my mynde with you is myscontente;
Wherfore I wyll that ye be resydent
With me no longer.
Cl. Col.
Say somwhat nowe, let se, for your selfe.
82
Syr, yf I myght permytted be,
I wolde to you say a worde or twayne.
Magn.
What, woldest thou, lurden, with me brawle agayne?
Haue hym hens, I say, out of my syght;
That day I se hym, I shall be worse all nyght.
[Here Mesure goth out of the place.
Court. Ab.
Hens, thou haynyarde, out of the dores fast!
Magn.
Alas, my stomake fareth as it wolde east!
Cl. Col.
Abyde, syr, abyde, let me holde your hede.
Magn.
A bolle or a basyn, I say, for Goddes brede!
A, my hede! But is the horson gone?
God gyue hym a myscheffe! Nay, nowe let me alone.
Cl. Col.
A good dryfte, syr, a praty fete:
By the good Lorde, yet your temples bete.
Magn.
Nay, so God me helpe, it was no grete vexacyon,
For I am panged ofte tymes of this same facyon.
Cl. Col.
Cockes armes, howe Pleasure plucked hym forth!
83
Ye, walke he must, it was no better worth.
Cl. Col.
Syr, nowe me thynke your harte is well eased.
Magn.
Nowe Measure is gone, I am the better pleased.
Cl. Col.
So to be ruled by measure, it is a payne.
Magn.
Mary, I wene he wolde not be glad to come agayne.
Cl. Col.
So I wote not what he sholde do here:
Where mennes belyes is mesured, there is no chere;
For I here but fewe men that gyue ony prayse
Vnto measure, I say, nowe a days.
Magn.
Measure, tut! what, the deuyll of hell!
Scantly one with measure that wyll dwell.
Cl. Col.
Not amonge noble men, as the worlde gothe:
It is no wonder therfore thoughe ye be wrothe
With Mesure. Where as all noblenes is, there I haue past:
They catche that catche may, kepe and holde fast,
Out of all measure themselfe to enryche;
No force what thoughe his neyghbour dye in a dyche.
With pollynge and pluckynge out of all measure,
Thus must ye stuffe and store your treasure.
Magn.
Yet somtyme, parde, I must vse largesse.
Cl. Col.
Ye, mary, somtyme in a messe of vergesse,
84
As gyuynge a thynge that ye neuer bought:
It is the gyse nowe, I say, ouer all;
Largesse in wordes, for rewardes are but small:
To make fayre promyse, what are ye the worse?
Let me haue the rule of your purse.
Magn.
I haue taken it to Largesse and Lyberte.
Cl. Col.
Than is it done as it sholde be:
But vse your largesse by the aduyse of me,
And I shall waraunt you welth and lyberte.
Magn.
Say on; me thynke your reasons be profounde.
Cl. Col.
Syr, of my counsayle this shall be the grounde,
To chose out ii. iii. of suche as you loue best,
And let all your fansyes vpon them rest;
Spare for no cost to gyue them pounde and peny,
Better to make iii. ryche than for to make many;
Gyue them more than ynoughe and let them not lacke,
And as for all other let them trusse and packe;
Plucke from an hundred, and gyue it to thre,
Let neyther patent scape them nor fee;
And where soeuer you wyll fall to a rekenynge,
Those thre wyll be redy euen at your bekenynge,
For then shall you haue at lyberte to lowte;
Let them haue all, and the other go without:
Thus ioy without mesure you shall haue.
85
Thou sayst truthe, by the harte that God me gaue!
For, as thou sayst, ryght so shall it be:
And here I make thé vpon Lyberte
To be superuysour, and on Largesse also,
For as thou wylte, so shall the game go;
For in Pleasure, and Surueyaunce, and also in thé,
I haue set my hole felycyte,
And suche as you wyll shall lacke no promocyon.
Cl. Col.
Syr, syth that in me ye haue suche deuocyon,
Commyttynge to me and to my felowes twayne
Your welthe and felycyte, I trust we shall optayne
To do you seruyce after your appetyte.
Magn.
In faythe, and your seruyce ryght well shall I acquyte;
And therfore hye you hens, and take this ouersyght.
Cl. Col.
Nowe, Jesu preserue you, syr, prynce most of myght!
Here goth Cloked Colusyon awaye, and leueth Magnyfycence alone in the place.
Magn.
Thus, I say, I am enuyronned with solace;
I drede no dyntes of fatall desteny.
Well were that lady myght stande in my grace,
Me to enbrace and loue moost specyally:
86
So I wolde clepe her, so I wolde kys her swete!
Here cometh in Foly.
Fol.
Mary, Cryst graunt ye catche no colde on your fete!
Magn.
Who is this?
Fol.
Consayte, syr, your owne man.
Magn.
What tydynges with you, syr? I befole thy brayne pan.
Fol.
By our lakyn, syr, I haue ben a hawkyng for the wylde swan.
My hawke is rammysshe, and it happed that she ran,
Flewe I sholde say, in to an olde barne,
To reche at a rat, I coude not her warne;
She pynched her pynyon, by God, and catched harme:
It was a ronner; nay, fole, I warant her blode warme.
Magn.
A, syr, thy iarfawcon and thou be hanged togyder!
Fol.
And, syr, as I was comynge to you hyder,
I sawe a fox sucke on a kowes ydder,
And with a lyme rodde I toke them bothe togyder.
I trowe it be a frost, for the way is slydder:
Se, for God auowe, for colde as I chydder.
Magn.
Thy wordes hange togyder as fethers in the wynde.
87
A, syr, tolde I not you howe I dyd fynde
A knaue and a carle, and all of one kynde?
I sawe a wethercocke wagge with the wynde;
Grete meruayle I had, and mused in my mynde;
The houndes ranne before, and the hare behynde;
I sawe a losell lede a lurden, and they were bothe blynde;
I sawe a sowter go to supper or euer he had dynde.
Magn.
By Cockes harte, thou arte a fyne mery knaue.
Fol.
I make God auowe, ye wyll none other men haue.
Magn.
What sayst thou?
Fol.
Mary, I pray God your maystershyp to saue:
I shall gyue you a gaude of a goslynge that I gaue,
The gander and the gose bothe grasynge on one graue;
Than Rowlande the reue ran, and I began to raue,
And with a brystell of a bore his berde dyd I shaue.
Magn.
If euer I herde syke another, God gyue me shame.
Fol.
Sym Sadylgose was my syer, and Dawcocke my dame:
88
Howe a wodcocke wrastled with a larke that was lame:
The bytter sayd boldly that they were to blame;
The feldfare wolde haue fydled, and it wolde not frame;
The crane and the curlewe therat gan to grame;
The snyte snyueled in the snowte and smyled at the game.
Magn.
Cockes bones, herde you euer suche another?
Fol.
Se, syr, I beseche you, Largesse my brother.
Here Fansy cometh in.
Magn.
What tydynges with you, syr, that you loke so sad?
Fan.
When ye knowe that I knowe, ye wyll not be glad.
Fol.
What, brother braynsyke, how farest thou?
Magn.
Ye, let be thy iapes, and tell me howe
The case requyreth.
Fan.
Alasse, alasse, an heuy metynge!
I wolde tell you, and yf I myght for wepynge.
Fol.
What, is all your myrthe nowe tourned to sorowe?
Fare well tyll sone, adue tyll to morowe.
Here goth Foly away.
Magn.
I pray thé, Largesse, let be thy sobbynge.
89
Alasse, syr, ye are vndone with stelyng and robbynge!
Ye sent vs a superuysour for to take hede:
Take hede of your selfe, for nowe ye haue nede.
Magn.
What, hath Sadnesse begyled me so?
Fan.
Nay, madnesse hath begyled you and many mo;
For Lyberte is gone and also Felycyte.
Magn.
Gone? alasse, ye haue vndone me!
Fan.
Nay, he that ye sent vs, Clokyd Colusyon,
And your payntyd Pleasure, Courtly Abusyon,
And your demenour with Counterfet Countenaunce,
And your suruayour, Crafty Conueyaunce,
Or euer we were ware brought vs in aduersyte,
And had robbyd you quyte from all felycyte.
Magn.
Why, is this the largesse that I haue vsyd?
Fan.
Nay, it was your fondnesse that ye haue vsyd.
Magn.
And is this the credence that I gaue to the letter?
Fan.
Why, coulde not your wyt serue you no better?
Magn.
Why, who wolde haue thought in you suche gyle?
90
What? yes, by the rode, syr, it was I all this whyle
That you trustyd, and Fansy is my name;
And Foly, my broder, that made you moche game.
Here cometh in Aduersyte.
Magn.
Alas, who is yonder, that grymly lokys?
Fan.
Adewe, for I wyll not come in his clokys.
Magn.
Lorde, so my flesshe trymblyth nowe for drede!
Here Magnyfycence is beten downe, and spoylyd from all his goodys and rayment.
Aduer.
I am Aduersyte, that for thy mysdede
From God am sent to quyte thé thy mede.
Vyle velyarde, thou must not nowe my dynt withstande,
Thou must not abyde the dynt of my hande:
Ly there, losell, for all thy pompe and pryde;
Thy pleasure now with payne and trouble shalbe tryde.
The stroke of God, Aduersyte I hyght;
I pluke downe kynge, prynce, lorde, and knyght,
I rushe at them rughly, and make them ly full lowe,
And in theyr moste truste I make them ouerthrowe.
Thys losyll was a lorde, and lyuyd at his lust,
And nowe, lyke a lurden, he lyeth in the dust:
91
Nowe is there no man that wyll set by hym a flye:
He was wonte to boste, brage, and to brace;
Nowe dare he not for shame loke one in the face:
All worldly welth for hym to lytell was;
Nowe hath he ryght nought, naked as an asse:
Somtyme without measure he trusted in golde,
And now without mesure he shal haue hunger and colde.
Lo, syrs, thus I handell them all
That folowe theyr fansyes in foly to fall:
Man or woman, of what estate they be,
I counsayle them beware of Aduersyte.
Of sorowfull seruauntes I haue many scores:
I vysyte them somtyme with blaynes and with sores;
With botches and carbuckyls in care I them knyt;
With the gowte I make them to grone where they syt;
Some I make lyppers and lazars full horse;
And from that they loue best some I deuorse;
Some with the marmoll to halte I them make;
And some to cry out of the bone ake;
And some I vysyte with brennynge of fyre;
Of some I wrynge of the necke lyke a wyre;
And some I make in a rope to totter and walter;
And some for to hange themselfe in an halter;
And some I vysyte to batayle, warre, and murther,
92
To drowne or to sle themselfe with a knyfe;
And all is for theyr vngracyous lyfe.
Yet somtyme I stryke where is none offence,
Bycause I wolde proue men of theyr pacyence.
But, nowe a dayes, to stryke I haue grete cause,
Lydderyns so lytell set by Goddes lawes.
Faders and moders, that be neclygent,
And suffre theyr chyldren to haue theyr entent,
To gyde them vertuously that wyll not remembre,
Them or theyr chyldren ofte tymes I dysmembre;
Theyr chyldren, bycause that they haue no mekenesse;
I vysyte theyr faders and moders with sekenesse;
And yf I se therby they wyll not amende,
Then myschefe sodaynly I them sende;
For there is nothynge that more dyspleaseth God
Than from theyr chyldren to spare the rod
Of correccyon, but let them haue theyr wyll;
Some I make lame, and some I do kyll;
And some I stryke with a fransey;
Of some of theyr chyldren I stryke out the eye;
And where the fader by wysdom worshyp hath wonne,
I sende oft tymes a fole to his sonne.
Wherfore of Aduersyte loke ye be ware,
For when I come, comyth sorowe and care:
For I stryke lordys of realmes and landys,
That rule not by mesure that they haue in theyr handys,
93
I am Goddys preposytour, I prynt them with a pen;
Because of theyr neglygence and of theyr wanton vagys,
I vysyte them and stryke them with many sore plagys.
To take, syrs, example of that I you tell,
And beware of aduersyte by my counsell,
Take hede of this caytyfe that lyeth here on grounde;
Beholde, howe Fortune of hym hath frounde!
For though we shewe you this in game and play,
Yet it proueth eyrnest, ye may se, euery day.
For nowe wyll I from this caytyfe go,
And take myscheffe and vengeaunce of other mo,
That hath deseruyd it as well as he.
Howe, where art thou? come hether, Pouerte;
Take this caytyfe to thy lore.
Here cometh in Pouerte.
Pouer.
A, my bonys ake, my lymmys be sore;
Alasse, I haue the cyatyca full euyll in my hyppe!
Alasse, where is youth that was wont for to skyppe?
I am lowsy, and vnlykynge, and full of scurffe,
My colour is tawny, colouryd as a turffe:
I am Pouerte, that all men doth hate,
I am baytyd with doggys at euery mannys gate:
94
Full fewe but they haue enuy at me.
Nowe must I this carcasse lyft vp:
He dynyd with delyte, with Pouerte he must sup.
Ryse vp, syr, and welcom vnto me.
Hic accedat ad levandum Magnyfycence, et locabit eum super locum stratum.
Magn.
Alasse, where is nowe my golde and fe?
Alasse, I say, where to am I brought?
Alasse, alasse, alasse, I dye for thought!
Pouer.
Syr, all this wolde haue bene thought on before:
He woteth not what welth is that neuer was sore.
Magn.
Fy, fy, that euer I sholde be brought in this snare!
I wenyd ones neuer to haue knowen of care.
Pouer.
Lo, suche is this worlde! I fynd it wryt,
In welth to beware, and that is wyt.
Magn.
In welth to beware, yf I had grace,
Neuer had I bene brought in this case.
Pouer.
Nowe, syth it wyll no nother be,
All that God sendeth, take it in gre;
For, thoughe you were somtyme a noble estate,
Nowe must you lerne to begge at euery mannes gate.
Magn.
Alasse, that euer I sholde be so shamed!
Alasse, that euer I Magnyfycence was named!
Alasse, that euer I was so harde happed,
In mysery and wretchydnesse thus to be lapped!
Alasse, that I coude not myselfe no better gyde!
Alasse, in my cradell that I had not dyde!
95
Ye, syr, ye, leue all this rage,
And pray to God your sorowes to asswage:
It is foly to grudge agaynst his vysytacyon.
With harte contryte make you supplycacyon
Vnto your Maker, that made bothe you and me,
And, whan it pleaseth God, better may be.
Magn.
Alasse, I wote not what I sholde pray!
Pouer.
Rem[e]mbre you better, syr, beware what ye say,
For drede ye dysplease the hygh deyte.
Put your wyll to his wyll, for surely it is he
That may restore you agayne to felycyte,
And brynge you agayne out of aduersyte.
Therfore pouerte loke pacyently ye take,
And remembre he suffered moche more for your sake,
Howe be it of all synne he was innocent,
And ye haue deserued this punysshment.
Magn.
Alasse, with colde my lymmes shall be marde!
Pouer.
Ye, syr, nowe must ye lerne to lye harde,
That was wonte to lye on fetherbeddes of downe;
Nowe must your fete lye hyer than your crowne:
Where you were wonte to haue cawdels for your hede,
Nowe must you monche mamockes and lumpes of brede;
96
Nowe lap you in a couerlet full fayne that you may;
And where that ye were pomped with what that ye wolde,
Nowe must ye suffre bothe hunger and colde:
With courtely sylkes ye were wonte to be drawe;
Nowe must ye lerne to lye on the strawe;
Your skynne that was wrapped in shertes of Raynes,
Nowe must ye be stormy beten with showres and raynes;
Your hede that was wonte to be happed moost drowpy and drowsy,
Now shal ye be scabbed, scuruy, and lowsy.
Magn.
Fye on this worlde, full of trechery,
That euer noblenesse sholde lyue thus wretchydly!
Pouer.
Syr, remembre the tourne of Fortunes whele,
That wantonly can wynke, and wynche with her hele.
Nowe she wyll laughe, forthwith she wyll frowne;
Sodenly set vp, and sodenly pluckyd downe:
She dawnsyth varyaunce with mutabylyte;
Nowe all in welth, forthwith in pouerte:
In her promyse there is no sykernesse;
All her delyte is set in doublenesse.
Magn.
Alas, of Fortune I may well complayne!
97
Ye, syr, yesterday wyll not be callyd agayne:
But yet, syr, nowe in this case,
Take it mekely, and thanke God of his grace;
For nowe go I wyll begge for you some mete;
It is foly agaynst God for to plete;
I wyll walke nowe with my beggers baggys,
And happe you the whyles with these homly raggys. Discedendo dicat ista verba.
A, howe my lymmys be lyther and lame!
Better it is to begge than to be hangyd with shame;
Yet many had leuer hangyd to be,
Then for to begge theyr mete for charyte:
They thynke it no shame to robbe and stele,
Yet were they better to begge a great dele;
For by robbynge they rynne to in manus tuas quecke,
But beggynge is better medecyne for the necke;
Ye, mary, is it, ye, so mote I goo:
A Lorde God, howe the gowte wryngeth me by the too!
Here Magnyfycence dolorously maketh his mone.
Magn.
O feble fortune, O doulfull destyny!
O hatefull happe, O carefull cruelte!
O syghynge sorowe, O thoughtfull mysere!
O rydlesse rewthe, O paynfull pouerte!
98
O odyous dystresse, O dedly payne and woo!
For worldly shame I wax bothe wanne and bloo.
Where is nowe my welth and my noble estate?
Where is nowe my treasure, my landes, and my rent?
Where is nowe all my seruauntys that I had here a late?
Where is nowe my golde vpon them that I spent?
Where is nowe all my ryche abylement?
Where is nowe my kynne, my frendys, and my noble blood?
Where is nowe all my pleasure and my worldly good?
Alasse, my foly! alasse, my wanton wyll!
I may no more speke, tyll I haue wept my fyll.
[Here cometh in Lyberte.]
Lyb.
With ye, mary, syrs, thus sholde it be.
I kyst her swete, and she kyssyd me;
I daunsed the darlynge on my kne;
I garde her gaspe, I garde her gle,
With, daunce on the le, the le!
I bassed that baby with harte so free;
She is the bote of all my bale:
A, so, that syghe was farre fet!
To loue that louesome I wyll not let;
My harte is holly on her set:
I plucked her by the patlet;
At my deuyse I with her met;
99
So merely syngeth the nyghtyngale!
In lust and lykynge my name is Lyberte:
I am desyred with hyghest and lowest degre;
I lyue as me lyst, I lepe out at large;
Of erthely thynge I haue no care nor charge;
I am presydent of prynces, I prycke them with pryde:
What is he lyuynge that lyberte wolde lacke?
A thousande pounde with lyberte may holde no tacke;
At lyberte a man may be bolde for to brake;
Welthe without lyberte gothe all to wrake.
But yet, syrs, hardely one thynge lerne of me:
I warne you beware of to moche lyberte,
For totum in toto is not worth an hawe;
To hardy, or to moche, to free of the dawe;
To sober, to sad, to subtell, to wyse;
To mery, to mad, to gyglynge, to nyse;
To full of fansyes, to lordly, to prowde;
To homly, to holy, to lewde, and to lowde;
To flatterynge, to smatterynge, to to out of harre,
To claterynge, to chaterynge, to shorte, and to farre;
To iettynge, to iaggynge, and to full of iapes;
To mockynge, to mowynge, to lyke a iackenapes:
Thus totum in toto groweth vp, as ye may se,
By meanes of madnesse, and to moche lyberte;
100
And I am a vyce where I am abused.
Magn.
A, woo worthe thé, Lyberte, nowe thou sayst full trewe!
That I vsed thé to moche, sore may I rewe.
Lyb.
What, a very vengeaunce, I say, who is that?
What brothell, I say, is yonder bounde in a mat?
Magn.
I am Magnyfycence, that somtyme thy mayster was.
Lyb.
What, is the worlde thus come to passe?
Cockes armes, syrs, wyll ye not se
Howe he is vndone by the meanes of me?
For yf Measure had ruled Lyberte as he began,
This lurden that here lyeth had ben a noble man.
But he abused so his free lyberte,
That nowe he hath loste all his felycyte,
Not thorowe largesse of lyberall expence,
But by the way of fansy insolence;
For lyberalyte is most conuenyent
A prynce to vse with all his hole intent,
Largely rewardynge them that haue deseruyd,
And so shall a noble man nobly be seruyd:
But nowe adayes as huksters they hucke and they stycke,
And pynche at the payment of a poddynge prycke;
A laudable largesse, I tell you, for a lorde,
To prate for the patchynge of a pot sharde!
Spare for the spence of a noble, that his honour myght saue,
101
But so longe they rekyn with theyr reasons amysse,
That they lose theyr lyberte and all that there is.
Magn.
Alasse, that euer I occupyed suche abusyon!
Lyb.
Ye, for nowe it hath brought thé to confusyon:
For, where I am occupyed and vsyd wylfully,
It can not contynew longe prosperyously;
As euydently in retchlesse youth ye may se,
Howe many come to myschefe for to moche lyberte;
And some in the worlde theyr brayne is so ydyll,
That they set theyr chyldren to rynne on the brydyll,
In youth to be wanton and let them haue theyr wyll;
And they neuer thryue in theyr age, it shall not gretly skyll:
Some fall to foly them selfe for to spyll,
And some fall prechynge at the Toure Hyll;
Some hath so moche lyberte of one thynge and other,
That nother they set by father and mother;
Some haue so moche lyberte that they fere no synne,
Tyll, as ye se many tymes, they shame all theyr kynne.
I am so lusty to loke on, so freshe, and so fre,
102
Freers with foly I make them so fayne,
They cast vp theyr obedyence to cache me agayne,
At lyberte to wander and walke ouer all,
That lustely they lepe somtyme theyr cloyster wall. Hic aliquis buccat in cornu a retro post populum.
Yonder is a horson for me doth rechate:
Adewe, syrs, for I thynke leyst that I come to late.
Magn.
O good Lorde, howe long shall I indure
This mysery, this carefull wrechydnesse?
Of worldly welthe, alasse, who can be sure?
In Fortunys frendshyppe there is no stedfastnesse:
She hath dyssayuyd me with her doublenesse.
For to be wyse all men may lerne of me,
In welthe to beware of herde aduersyte.
Here cometh in Crafty Conueyaunce, [and] Cloked Colusyon, with a lusty laughter.
Cr. Con.
Ha, ha, ha! for laughter I am lyke to brast.
Cl. Col.
Ha, ha, ha! for sporte I am lyke to spewe and cast.
Cr. Con.
What hast thou gotted in faythe to thy share?
103
In faythe, of his cofers the bottoms are bare.
Cr. Con.
As for his plate of syluer, and suche trasshe,
I waraunt you, I haue gyuen it a lasshe.
Cl. Col.
What, then he may drynke out of a stone cruyse?
Cr. Con.
With, ye, syr, by Jesu that slayne was with Jewes!
He may rynse a pycher, for his plate is to wed.
Cl. Col.
In faythe, and he may dreme on a daggeswane for ony fether bed.
Cr. Con.
By my trouthe, we haue ryfled hym metely well.
Cl. Col.
Ye, but thanke me therof euery dele.
Cr. Con.
Thanke thé therof, in the deuyls date!
Cl. Col.
Leue thy pratynge, or els I shall lay thé on the pate.
Cr. Con.
Nay, to wrangle, I warant thé, it is but a stone caste.
Cl. Col.
By the messe, I shall cleue thy heed to the waste.
Cr. Con.
Ye, wylte thou clenly cleue me in the clyfte with thy nose?
Cl. Col.
I shall thrust in thé my dagger—
Cr. Con.
Thorowe the legge in to the hose.
Cl. Col.
Nay, horson, here is my gloue; take it vp, and thou dare.
Cr. Con.
Torde, thou arte good to be a man of warre.
104
I shall skelpe thé on the skalpe; lo, seest thou that?
Cr. Con.
What, wylte thou skelpe me? thou dare not loke on a gnat.
Cl. Col.
By Cockes bones, I shall blysse thé, and thou be to bolde.
Cr. Con.
Nay, then thou wylte dynge the deuyll, and thou be not holde.
Cl. Col.
But wottest thou, horson? I rede thé to be wyse.
Cr. Con.
Nowe I rede thé beware, I haue warned thé twyse.
Cl. Col.
Why, wenest thou that I forbere thé for thyne owne sake?
Cr. Con.
Peas, or I shall wrynge thy be in a brake.
Cl. Col.
Holde thy hande, dawe, of thy dagger, and stynt of thy dyn,
Or I shal fawchyn thy flesshe, and scrape thé on the skyn.
Cr. Con.
Ye, wylte thou, ha[n]gman? I say, thou cauell!
Cl. Col.
Nay, thou rude rauener, rayne beten iauell!
Cr. Con.
What, thou Colyn cowarde, knowen and tryde!
Cl. Col.
Nay, thou false harted dastarde, thou dare not abyde!
Cr. Con.
And yf there were none to dysplease but thou and I,
105
Cl. Col.
Nay, iche shall wrynge thé, horson. on the wryst.
Cr. Con.
Mary, I defye thy best and thy worst.
[Here cometh in Counterfet Countenaunce.]
C. Count.
What, a very vengeaunce, nede all these wordys?
Go together by the heddys, and gyue me your swordys.
Cl. Col.
So he is the worste brawler that euer was borne.
Cr. Con.
In fayth, so to suffer thé, it is but a skorne.
C. Count.
Now let vs be all one, and let vs lyue in rest,
For we be, syrs, but a fewe of the best.
Cl. Col.
By the masse, man, thou shall fynde me resonable.
Cr. Con.
In faythe, and I wyll be to reason agreable.
C. Count.
Then truste I to God and the holy rode,
Here shalbe not great sheddynge of blode.
Cl. Col.
By our lakyn, syr, not by my wyll.
Cr. Con.
By the fayth that I owe to God, and I wyll syt styll.
106
Well sayd: but, in fayth, what was your quarell?
Cl. Col.
Mary, syr, this gentylman called me iauell.
Cr. Con.
Nay, by Saynt Mary, it was ye called me knaue.
Cl. Col.
Mary, so vngoodly langage you me gaue.
C. Count.
A, shall we haue more of this maters yet?
Me thynke ye are not gretly acomberyd with wyt.
Cr. Con.
Goddys fote, I warant you, I am a gentylman borne,
And thus to be facyd I thynke it great skorne.
C. Count.
I can not well tell of your dysposycyons;
And ye be a gentylman, ye haue knauys condycyons.
Cl. Col.
By God, I tell you, I wyll not be out facyd.
Cr. Con.
By the masse, I warant thé, I wyll not be bracyd.
C. Count.
Tushe, tushe, it is a great defaute:
The one of you is to proude, the other is to haute.
Tell me brefly where vpon ye began.
Cl. Col.
Mary, syr, he sayd that he was the pratyer man
Then I was, in opynynge of lockys;
And, I tell you, I dysdayne moche of his mockys.
Cr. Con.
Thou sawe neuer yet but I dyd my parte,
107
C. Count.
Nay, I know well inough ye are bothe well handyd
To grope a gardeuyaunce, though it be well bandyd.
Cl. Col.
I am the better yet in a bowget.
Cr. Con.
And I the better in a male.
C. Count.
Tushe, these maters that ye moue are but soppys in ale:
Your trymynge and tramynge by me must be tangyd,
For, had I not bene, ye bothe had bene hangyd,
When we with Magnyfycence goodys made cheuysaunce.
Magn.
And therfore our Lorde sende you a very wengaunce!
C. Count.
What begger art thou that thus doth banne and wary?
Magn.
Ye be the theuys, I say, away my goodys dyd cary.
Cl. Col.
Cockys bonys, thou begger, what is thy name?
Magn.
Magnyfycence I was, whom ye haue brought to shame.
C. Count.
Ye, but trowe you, syrs, that this is he?
Cr. Con.
Go we nere, and let vs se.
Cl. Col.
By Cockys bonys, it is the same.
Magn.
Alasse, alasse, syrs, ye are to blame!
I was your mayster, though ye thynke it skorne,
108
C. Count.
Ly styll, ly styll nowe, with yll hayle!
Cr. Con.
Ye, for thy langage can not thé auayle.
Cl. Col.
Abyde, syr, abyde, I shall make hym to pysse.
Magn.
Nowe gyue me somwhat, for God sake I craue!
Cr. Con.
In faythe, I gyue thé four quarters of a knaue.
C. Count.
In faythe, and I bequethe hym the tothe ake.
Cl. Col.
And I bequethe hym the bone ake.
Cr. Con.
And I bequethe hym the gowte and the gyn.
Cl. Col.
And I bequethe hym sorowe for his syn.
C. Count.
And I gyue hym Crystys curse,
With neuer a peny in his purse.
Cr. Con.
And I gyue hym the cowghe, the murre, and the pose.
Cl. Col.
Ye, for requiem æternam groweth forth of his nose:
But nowe let vs make mery and good chere.
C. Count.
And to the tauerne let vs drawe nere.
Cr. Con.
And from thens to the halfe strete,
To get vs there some freshe mete.
109
Why, is there any store of rawe motton?
C. Count.
Ye, in faythe, or ellys thou arte to great a glotton.
Cr. Con.
But they say it is a queysy mete;
It wyll stryke a man myscheuously in a hete.
Cl. Col.
In fay, man, some rybbys of the motton be so ranke,
That they wyll fyre one vngracyously in the flanke.
C. Count.
Ye, and when ye come out of the shoppe,
Ye shall be clappyd with a coloppe,
That wyll make you to halt and to hoppe.
Cr. Con.
Som be wrestyd there that they thynke on it froty dayes,
For there be horys there at all assayes.
Cl. Col.
For the passyon of God let vs go thyther!
Et cum festinatione discedant a loco.
Magn.
Alas, myne owne seruauntys to shew me such reproche,
Thus to rebuke me, and haue me in dyspyght!
So shamfully to me theyr mayster to aproche,
That somtyme was a noble prynce of myght!
Alasse, to lyue longer I haue no delyght!
For to lyue in mysery it is herder than dethe:
110
Hic intrat Dyspare.
Dys.
Dyspare is my name, that aduersyte doth folowe:
In tyme of dystresse I am redy at hande;
I make heuy hertys with eyen full holowe;
Of faruent charyte I quenche out the bronde;
Faythe and goodhope I make asyde to stonde;
In Goddys mercy I tell them is but foly to truste;
All grace and pyte I lay in the duste.
What lyest thou there lyngrynge, lewdly and lothsome?
It is to late nowe thy synnys to repent;
Thou hast bene so waywarde, so wranglyng, and so wrothsome,
And so fer thou arte behynde of thy rent,
And so vngracyously thy dayes thou hast spent,
That thou arte not worthy to loke God in the face.
Magn.
Nay, nay, man, I loke neuer to haue parte of his grace;
For I haue so vngracyously my lyfe mysusyd,
Though I aske mercy, I must nedys be refusyd.
Dys.
No, no, for thy synnys be so excedynge farre,
So innumerable and so full of dyspyte,
And agayne thy Maker thou hast made suche warre,
That thou canst not haue neuer mercy in hys syght.
111
Alasse, my wyckydnesse, that may I wyte!
But nowe I se well there is no better rede,
But sygh and sorowe, and wysshe my selfe dede.
Dys.
Ye, ryd thy selfe, rather than this lyfe for to lede;
The worlde waxyth wery of thé, thou lyuest to longe.
Hic intrat Myschefe.
Mys.
And I, Myschefe, am comyn at nede,
Out of thy lyfe thé for to lede:
And loke that it be not longe
Or that thy selfe thou go honge
With this halter good and stronge;
Or ellys with this knyfe cut out a tonge
Of thy throte bole, and ryd thé out of payne:
Thou arte not the fyrst hymselfe hath slayne.
Lo, here is thy knyfe and a halter! and, or we go ferther,
Spare not thy selfe, but boldly thé murder.
Dys.
Ye, haue done at ones without delay.
Magn.
Shall I myself hange with an halter? nay;
Nay, rather wyll I chose to ryd me of this lyue
In styckynge my selfe with this fayre knyfe.
Here Magnyfycence wolde slee hymselfe with a knyfe.
112
Alarum, alarum! to longe we abyde!
Dys.
Out, harowe, hyll burneth! where shall I me hyde?
Hic intrat Goodhope, fugientibus Dyspayre et Myschefe: repente Goodhope surripiat illi gladium, et dicat.
Good.
Alas, dere sone, sore combred is thy mynde,
Thyselfe that thou wolde sloo agaynst nature and kynde!
Magn.
A, blessyd may ye be, syr! what shall I you call?
Good.
Goodhope, syr, my name is; remedy pryncypall
Agaynst all sautes of your goostly foo:
Who knoweth me, hymselfe may neuer sloo.
Magn.
Alas, syr, so I am lapped in aduersyte,
That dyspayre well nyghe had myscheued me!
For, had ye not the soner ben my refuge,
Of dampnacyon I had ben drawen in the luge.
Good.
Vndoubted ye had lost yourselfe eternally:
There is no man may synne more mortally
Than of wanhope thrughe the vnhappy wayes,
By myschefe to breuyate and shorten his dayes:
But, my good sonne, lerne from dyspayre to flee,
113
A grete mysaduenture, thy Maker to dysplease,
Thyselfe myscheuynge to thyne endlesse dysease!
There was neuer so harde a storme of mysery,
But thrughe goodhope there may come remedy.
Magn.
Your wordes be more sweter than ony precyous narde,
They molefy so easely my harte that was so harde;
There is no bawme, ne gumme of Arabe,
More delectable than your langage to me.
Good.
Syr, your fesycyan is the grace of God,
That you hath punysshed with his sharpe rod.
Goodhope, your potecary assygned am I:
That Goddes grace hath vexed you sharply,
And payned you with a purgacyon of odyous pouerte,
Myxed with bytter alowes of herde aduersyte;
Nowe must I make you a lectuary softe,
I to mynyster it, you to receyue it ofte,
With rubarbe of repentaunce in you for to rest;
With drammes of deuocyon your dyet must be drest;
With gommes goostly of glad herte and mynde,
To thanke God of his sonde, and comforte ye shal fynde.
Put fro you presumpcyon and admyt humylyte,
And hartely thanke God of your aduersyte;
And loue that Lorde that for your loue was dede,
114
For who loueth God can ayle nothynge but good;
He may helpe you, he may mende your mode:
Prosperyte to hym is gyuen solacyusly to man,
Aduersyte to hym therwith nowe and than;
Helthe of body his besynesse to acheue,
Dysease and sekenesse his conscyence to dyscryue,
Afflyccyon and trouble to proue his pacyence,
Contradyccyon to proue his sapyence,
Grace of assystence his measure to declare,
Somtyme to fall, another tyme to beware:
And nowe ye haue had, syr, a wonderous fall,
To lerne you hereafter for to beware withall.
Howe say you, syr? can ye these wordys grope?
Magn.
Ye, syr, nowe am I armyd with goodhope,
And sore I repent me of my wylfulnesse:
I aske God mercy of my neglygence,
Vnder goodhope endurynge euer styll,
Me humbly commyttynge vnto Goddys wyll.
Good.
Then shall you be sone delyuered from dystresse,
For nowe I se comynge to youwarde Redresse.
115
Red.
Cryst be amonge you and the Holy Goste!
Good.
He be your conducte, the Lorde of myghtys moste!
Red.
Syr, is your pacyent any thynge amendyd?
Good.
Ye, syr, he is sory for that he hath offendyd.
Red.
How fele you your selfe, my frend? how is your mynde?
Magn.
A wrechyd man, syr, to my Maker vnkynde.
Red.
Ye, but haue ye repentyd you with harte contryte?
Magn.
Syr, the repentaunce I haue, no man can wryte.
Red.
And haue ye banyshed from you all dyspare?
Magn.
Ye, holly to goodhope I haue made my repare.
Good.
Questyonlesse he doth me assure
In goodhope alway for to indure.
Red.
Than stande vp, syr, in Goddys name!
And I truste to ratyfye and amende your fame.
Goodhope, I pray you with harty affeccyon
To sende ouer to me Sad Cyrcumspeccyon.
Good.
Syr, your requeste shall not be delayed.
Et exeat.
116
Now surely, Magnyfycence, I am ryght well apayed
Of that I se you nowe in the state of grace;
Nowe shall ye be renewyd with solace:
Take nowe vpon you this abylyment,
And to that I say gyue good aduysement.
Magnyfycence accipiat indumentum.
Magn.
To your requeste I shall be confyrmable.
Red.
Fyrst, I saye, with mynde fyrme and stable
Determyne to amende all your wanton excesse,
And be ruled by me, whiche am called Redresse:
Redresse my name is, that lytell am I vsed
As the worlde requyreth, but rather I am refused:
Redresse sholde be at the rekenynge in euery accompte,
And specyally to redresse that were out of ioynte:
Full many thynges there be that lacketh redresse,
The whiche were to longe nowe to expresse;
But redresse is redlesse, and may do no correccyon.
Nowe welcome forsoth, Sad Cyrcumspeccyon.
Here cometh in Sad Cyrcumspeccyon, sayenge,
Sad Cyr.
Syr, after your message I hyed me hyder streyght,
117
Red.
Syr, to accompte you the contynewe of my consayte,
Is from aduersyte Magnyfycence to vnbynde.
Sad Cyr.
How fortuned you, Magnyfycence, so far to fal behynde?
Magn.
Syr, the longe absence of you, Sad Cyrcumspeccyon,
Caused me of aduersyte to fall in subieccyon.
Red.
All that he sayth, of trouthe doth procede;
For where sad cyrcumspeccyon is longe out of the way,
Of aduersyte it is to stande in drede.
Sad Cyr.
Without fayle, syr, that is no nay;
Cyrcumspeccyon inhateth all rennynge astray.
But, syr, by me to rule fyrst ye began.
Magn.
My wylfulnesse, syr, excuse I ne can.
Sad Cyr.
Then ye repent you of foly in tymes past?
Magn.
Sothely, to repent me I haue grete cause:
Howe be it from you I receyued a letter,
Whiche conteyned in it a specyall clause
That I sholde vse largesse.
Sad Cyr.
Nay, syr, there a pause.
118
Yet let vs se this matter thorowly ingrossed.
Magn.
Syr, this letter ye sent to me, at Pountes was enclosed.
Sad Cyr.
Who brought you that letter, wote ye what he hyght?
Magn.
Largesse, syr, by his credence was his name.
Sad Cyr.
This letter ye speke of, neuer dyd I wryte.
Red.
To gyue so hasty credence ye were moche to blame.
Magn.
Truth it is, syr; for after he wrought me moch shame,
And caused me also to vse to moche lyberte,
And made also mesure to be put fro me.
Red.
Then welthe with you myght in no wyse abyde.
Sad Cyr.
A ha! fansy and foly met with you, I trowe.
Red.
It wolde be founde so, yf it were well tryde.
Magn.
Surely my welthe with them was ouerthrow.
Sad Cyr.
Remembre you, therfore, howe late ye were low.
Red.
Ye, and beware of vnhappy abusyon.
Sad Cyr.
And kepe you from counterfaytynge of clokyd colusyon.
Magn.
Syr, in goodhope I am to amende.
119
Vse not then your countenaunce for to counterfet.
Sad Cyr.
And from crafters and hafters I you forfende.
Hic intrat Perseueraunce.
Magn.
Well, syr, after your counsell my mynde I wyll set.
Red.
What, brother Perceueraunce! surely well met.
Sad Cyr.
Ye com hether as well as can be thought.
Per.
I herde say that Aduersyte with Magnyfycence had fought.
Magn.
Ye, syr, with aduersyte I haue bene vexyd;
But goodhope and redresse hath mendyd myne estate,
And sad cyrcumspeccyon to me they haue annexyd.
Red.
What this man hath sayd, perceyue ye his sentence?
Magn.
Ye, syr, from hym my corage shall neuer flyt.
Sad Cyr.
Accordynge to treuth they be well deuysyd.
Magn.
Syrs, I am agreed to abyde your ordenaunce,
120
Per.
Yf you be so myndyd, we be ryght glad.
Red.
And ye shall haue more worshyp then euer ye had.
Magn.
Well, I perceyue in you there is moche sadnesse,
Grauyte of counsell, prouydence, and wyt;
Your comfortable aduyse and wyt excedyth all gladnesse.
But frendly I wyll refrayne you ferther, or we flyt,
Whereto were most metely my corage to knyt:
Your myndys I beseche you here in to expresse,
Commensynge this processe at mayster Redresse.
Red.
Syth vnto me formest this processe is erectyd,
Herein I wyll aforse me to shewe you my mynde.
Fyrst, from your magnyfycence syn must be abiectyd,
In all your warkys more grace shall ye fynde;
Be gentyll then of corage, and lerne to be kynde,
For of noblenesse the chefe poynt is to be lyberall,
So that your largesse be not to prodygall.
Sad Cyr.
Lyberte to a lorde belongyth of ryght,
But wylfull waywardnesse muste walke out of the way;
Measure of your lustys must haue the ouersyght,
And not all the nygarde nor the chyncherde to play;
121
In your rewardys vse suche moderacyon
That nothynge be gyuen without consyderacyon.
Per.
To the increse of your honour then arme you with ryght,
And fumously adresse you with magnanymyte;
And euer let the drede of God be in your syght;
And knowe your selfe mortall, for all your dygnyte;
Set not all your affyaunce in Fortune full of gyle;
Remember this lyfe lastyth but a whyle.
Magn.
Redresse, in my remembraunce your lesson shall rest,
And Sad Cyrcumspeccyon I marke in my mynde;
But, Perseueraunce, me semyth your probleme was best;
I shall it neuer forget nor leue it behynde,
But hooly to perseueraunce my selfe I wyll bynde,
Of that I haue mysdone to make a redresse,
And with sad cyrcumspeccyon correcte my vantonnesse.
Red.
Vnto this processe brefly compylyd,
Comprehendyng the worlde casuall and transytory,
Who lyst to consyder shall neuer be begylyd,
Yf it be regystryd well in memory;
A playne example of worldly vaynglory,
Howe in this worlde there is no seke[r]nesse,
But fallyble flatery enmyxyd with bytternesse;
Nowe well, nowe wo, nowe hy, nowe lawe degre,
Nowe ryche, nowe pore, nowe hole, nowe in dysease,
122
Nowe leue, nowe lothe, now please, nowe dysplease,
Now ebbe, now flowe, nowe increase, now dyscrease;
So in this worlde there is no sykernesse,
But fallyble flatery enmyxyd with bytternesse.
Sad Cyr.
A myrrour incleryd is this interlude,
This lyfe inconstant for to beholde and se;
Sodenly auaunsyd, and sodenly subdude,
Sodenly ryches, and sodenly pouerte,
Sodenly comfort, and sodenly aduersyte;
Sodenly thus Fortune can bothe smyle and frowne,
Sodenly set vp, and sodenly cast downe;
Sodenly promotyd, and sodenly put backe,
Sodenly cherysshyd, and sodenly cast asyde,
Sodenly commendyd, and sodenly fynde a lacke,
Sodenly grauntyd, and sodenly denyed,
Sodenly hyd, and sodenly spyed;
Sodenly thus Fortune can bothe smyle and frowne,
Sodenly set vp, and sodenly cast downe.
Per.
This treatyse, deuysyd to make you dysporte,
Shewyth nowe adayes howe the worlde comberyd is,
To the pythe of the mater who lyst to resorte;
To day it is well, to morowe it is all amysse,
To day in delyte, to morowe bare of blysse,
To day a lorde, to morowe ly in the duste;
Thus in this worlde there is no erthly truste;
123
To day hote, to morowe outragyous colde,
To day a yoman, to morowe made of page,
To day in surety, to morowe bought and solde,
To day maysterfest, to morowe he hath no holde,
To day a man, to morowe he lyeth in the duste;
Thus in this worlde there is no erthly truste.
Magn.
This mater we haue mouyd, you myrthys to make,
Precely purposyd vnder pretence of play,
Shewyth wysdome to them that wysdome can take,
Howe sodenly worldly welth dothe dekay,
How wysdom thorowe wantonnesse vanysshyth away,
How none estate lyuynge of hymselfe can be sure,
For the welthe of this worlde can not indure;
Of the terestre rechery we fall in the flode,
Beten with stormys of many a frowarde blast,
Ensordyd with the wawys sauage and wode,
Without our shyppe be sure, it is lykely to brast,
Yet of magnyfycence oft made is the mast;
Thus none estate lyuynge of hym can be sure,
For the welthe of this worlde can not indure.
Red.
Nowe semeth vs syttynge that ye then resorte
Home to your paleys with ioy and ryalte.
Sad Cyr.
Where euery thyng is ordenyd after your noble porte.
Per.
There to indeuer with all felycyte.
124
I am content, my frendys, that it so be.
Red.
And ye that haue harde this dysporte and game,
Jhesus preserue you frome endlesse wo and shame!
Amen.
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