The Ship of Fools Part 21

Remember Richarde lately kynge of price In Englonde raynynge vnrightwisely a whyle.

Howe he ambycion, and gyleful Couetyse With innocent blode his handes dyd defyle But howbeit that fortune on hym dyd smyle Two yere or thre: yet G.o.d sende hym punysshment By his true seruant the rede Rose redolent.

Therfore remember that G.o.d omnypotent Oft suffreth synners in theyr iniquyte Grauntynge them s.p.a.ce and tyme of amendement And nat to procede in their enormyte But those synners that byde in one degre And in this lyfe their synne wyll nat refrayne G.o.d after punyssheth with infernall payne

As I haue sayde (therfore) I say agayne Though G.o.d be of infynyte pety and mercy His fauour and grace pa.s.synge all synne mundayne Yet iustice is with hym eternally.

Wherfore I aduyse the to note intentifly Though pyte wolde spare, iustyce wyll nat so But the here rewarde, els with infernal we.

ALEXANDER BARKLAY TO THE FOLYS.

Syghe synners, syghe, for your mysgouernance.

Lament, mourne, and sorowe for your enormyte.

Away with these Clowdes of mysty ignorance Syn nat in hope of G.o.ddys hyghe petye And remember howe ye daily punysshed be With dyuers dyseases both vncouthe and cruel And all for your synne, but suche as escapeth fre And styl lyue in syn, may fere the peynes of h.e.l.le

Of the folisshe begynnynge of great bildynges without sufficient prouision.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Come nere folys and rede your ignorance And great losse procedynge of your owne foly Whiche without G.o.de and discrete purueaunce Any great werke wyll bylde or edefye.

All suche ar folys what man wyll it deny For he that wyll bylde before he count his cost Shall seldome well ende, so that is made is lost.]

Who euer begynneth any worke or dede Of byldynge or of other thynge chargeable And to his costes before taketh no hede Nor tyme nat countyth to his worke agreable Suche is a fole and well worthy a babyll For he that is wyse wyll no thynge a.s.say Without he knowe howe he well ende it may.

The wyse man counteth his cost before alway Or he begyn, and nought wyll take in honde Wherto his myght or power myght denay His costes confourmynge to the stynt of his londe Where as the fole that nought doth vnderstonde Begynneth a byldynge without aduys.e.m.e.nt But or halfe be done his money clene is spent.

Many haue begon with purpose dilygent To bylde great houses and pleasaunt mansyons Them thynkynge to finysshe after theyr intent But nede disceyuyd hath theyr opynyons Their purpose nat worth a cowpyll of onyons But whan they se that they it ende nat can They curse the tyme that euer they it began

Of NabuG.o.dosor that worthy man.

What shall I wryte or the story to the tell Syth that the Bybyll to the expresse it can In the fourth chapter of the prophete Danyell Was he nat punysshed in paynes cruell For his great pryde and his presumpcion Whiche he toke it in the byldynge of Babylon

His golde and treasoure he spendyd hole theron Enioynge hym in his Cyte excellent Right so Nemroth by his inuencion The towre of Babylon began for this intent To saue hym, if the worlde agayne were drent But the hye G.o.d consyderynge his blynde rage His purpose let by confusyon of langage

His towre vnperfyte to his losse and domage His people punysshed, hymselfe specyally Thus it apereth what great disauauntage On theyr hede falleth that byldeth in foly Thus he is folysshe that wolde edefy Any great worke without ryches in excesse For great byldynges requyreth great rychesse

But many folys ar in suche a blyndnesse That hereon nought they set their mynde ne thought Wherfore to them oft commyth great distresse And to great pouerty often ar they brought Laughed to scorne, their purpose cometh to nought And truely I fynde in bokes wryten playne That our olde faders haue neuer set theyr brayne

On great byldynge, ne yet of them ben fayne: It longeth to a lorde a Prynce or a Kynge That lacke no treasoure theyr werkes to mayntayne To set theyr myndes on excellent buyldynge Therfore who so euer wyll meddle with this thynge Or any other, before let hym be wyse That his myght and ryches therto may suffyse.

Lyst all men do mocke and scorne his interpryse For if he ought begyn without prouysyon And haue nat wherby his byldynge may up ryse All that is lost that is made and begon And better it is sothly in myn intencion Nought to begyn, and spare laboure and payne Than to begyn and than, leue of agayne

Who euer he be that so doth certayne He shall haue mockis mengled with his damage Therfore let suche folys sharpe theyr brayne And better intende to theyr owne auauntage Consyderynge that processe of tyme and age Theyr curyous byldynges shall at the lest confounde And Roufe and wallys make egall with the grounde.

BARKLAY TO THE FOLYS.

Ye folys blyndyd with curyosyte Whiche on great byldynge set so sore your mynde Remember ye nat that doutles ye shall dye And your gay byldynges and howses leue behynde Thynke ye your conforte alway in them to fynde Or whan ye dye, them hens with you to haue Nay nay the laste hous gyuen to mankynde Is the course grounde and walles of his graue.

Of glotons and dronkardes.

[Ill.u.s.tration: That gloton or dronkarde, vyle in G.o.ddes sight Shall hardly escape the weyght of pouertye.

Whiche drynketh and deuoureth both day and nyght Therin onely settynge all his felycyte His lothsome l.u.s.t and his bestyalyte Shall brynge vnto destruccion fynally His soule, his G.o.des and his wretchyd body.]

Within our nauy he nedes shall haue a place.

Whiche without mesure on lothsome glotony Setteth his pleasure and singuler solace His stomacke ouerchargynge, vyle and vnG.o.dely And to none other thynge his mynde doth he aply Saue depest to drynke, suche force nat of theyr soules But labore in rynsynge pecis cuppis and bowles

The madnes of dronkennes is so immoderate That greuous sores it ingendreth and sykenes It causeth often great foly and debate With soden deth and carefull heuynes In thynges no difference putteth dronkennes.

It febleth the ioyntis and the body within Wastynge the brayne makynge the wyt full thyn

It engendreth in the hede infirmyte Blyndynge the herte wyt and discression The mynde it demynyssheth, coloure and beaute.

Causynge all myschef, shame and abusyon It maketh men mad, and in conclusyon Causeth them lyue without lawe or measure Suynge after syn defylynge theyr nature

The people that are acloyed with this synne.

On no thynge els theyr myndes wyll aply: Saue to the wyne and ale stakes to renne And there as bestes to stryue and drynke auy Than ar they outher gyuyn to rybawdry Or els to brawle and fight at euery worde Thus dronkennes is the chefe cause of discorde

But namely dronkennes and wretchyd glotony By their excesse and superfluyte Engendreth the rote of cursed Lechery With murder, thefte and great enormyte So bryngeth it many to great aduersyte And with his furour the worlde so doth it blynde That many it bryngeth to a shamfull ende

This vyce (alas) good maners doth confounde And maketh man ouer besy of langage And hym that in all ryches doth abounde It ofte in pryson bryngeth and in bondage It causeth man to his great sorowe and domage Disclose his secrete and his preuey counsayle Whiche causeth hym after sore to mourne and wayle

Nought is more lothsome, more vycyous nor vyle Than he that is subdued to this vyce His lyfe shortynge his body he doth defyle Bereuynge his soule the ioy of Paradyse Howe many Cytees and lordes of great pryce Hath ben destroyed by dronken glotony And by his felawe, false loue, or lechery.

The sone of Thomyr had nat ben ouercome Nor slayne by Cyrus for all his worthynes.

If he hym selfe had gydyd by wysdome And the vyce auoydyd of blynde dronkennes The great Alexander taken with this madnes With his swerde, whan he was dronken slewe Suche of his frendes as were to hym most trewe

I rede also howe this conquerour myghty Upon a season played at the Chesse With one of his knyghtes which wan ynally Of hym great golde treasoure and rychesse And hym ouercame, but in a furyousnes And lade with wyne, this conquerour vp brayde And to his knyght in wrath these wordes sayde

I haue subdued by strength and by wysdome All the hole worlde, whiche obeyeth to me And howe hast thou alone me thus ouercome And anone commaundyd his knyght hanged to be Than sayde the knyght by right and equyte I may apele. syns ye ar thus cruell Quod Alexander to whome wylt thou apell

Knowest thou any that is gretter than I Thou shalt be hanged thou spekest treason playne The knyght sayd sauynge your honour certaynly I am no traytoure, apele I woll certayne From dronken Alexander tyll he be sober agayne His lorde than herynge his desyre sounde to reason Differryd the iustyce as for that tyme and season

And than after whan this furour was gone His knyght he pardoned repentynge his blyndenes.

And well consydered that he shulde haue mysdone If he to deth had hym done in that madnesse Thus it apereth what great unhappynes And blyndnes cometh to many a creature By wyne or ale taken without measure.

Se here the inconuenyence manyfolde Comynge of dronkennes as I wrytyn fynde.

Some ar so starynge mad that none can them holde Rorynge and cryeng as men out of their mynde Some fyghtynge some chydynge, some to other kynde Nought lyuynge to them selfe: and some dotynge Johnn Beynge dronke thynketh hym as wyse as Salomon

Some sowe dronke, swaloynge mete without mesure Some mawdelayne dronke, mournynge lowdly and hye Some beynge dronke no lenger can endure Without they gyue them to bawdy rybawdry Some swereth armys nayles herte and body.

Terynge our lord worse, than the Jowes hym arayed Some nought can speke, but harkenyth what is sayd.

Some spende all that they haue and more at wast With reuell and reuell da.s.she fyll the cup Joohnn Some their thryft lesyth with dyce at one cast Some slepe as slogardes tyll their thryft be gone Some shewe theyr owne counsell for kepe can they none Some are Ape dronke full of lawghter and of toyes Some mery dronke syngynge with wynches and boyes

Some spue, some stacker some vtterly ar lame Lyeng on the grounde without power to ryse Some bost them of bawdry ferynge of no shame Some dumme, and some speketh. ix. wordes at thryse Some charge theyr bely with wyne in suche wyse That theyr legges skant can bere vp the body Here is a sort to drowne a hole nauy.

BARKLAYE TO THE FOLYS.

Alas mad folys howe longe wyll ye procede In this beestly lyuynge agayst humayne nature Cease of your Foly: gyue aduertence and hede That in eche thynge ought to be had measure Wyne ne ale hurteth no maner creature But sharpeth the wyt if it be take in kynde But if it be nat, than I the ensure It dulleth the brayne, blyndynge the wyt and mynde