THERE ben four things causing great foly,
Honour first, and vnwildy age,
Women and wine I dare eke specifie,
Make wise men fallen in dotage.
Wherfore by counsail of philosophers sage,
In great honour learne this of me,
With thine estate have humilite.
BALADE DE BON CONSAIL.
I it befall that God thee list visite
With any tourment or adversite,
Thanke firste the Lord, and thy selfe to quite,
Upon suffraunce and humilite
Found thou thy quarell, what euer that it be :
Make thy defence, and thou shalt haue no losse,
The remembrance of Christ and of his crosse.
SCOGAN UNTO THE LORDS AND GENTLEMEN OF THE KINGS HOUSE.
In the written copies the title hereof is thus: Here followeth a moral ballad to the prince, the Duke of Clarence, the Duke of Bedford, the Duke of Gloucester, the kings sons; by Henry Scogan, at a supper among the merchants in the Vintry at London, in the house of Lewis John.
My noble sonnes and eke my lords dere,
I your father called vnworthely,
Send vnto you this little treatise here,
Written with mine owne hand full rudely,
Although it be that I not reuerently
Haue written to your estates, I you pray
Mine vnconning taketh benignely
For Gods sake, and herken what I say.
I complain me sore whan I remember me.
The suddaine age that is vpon me fall,
But more I complain my mispent juuentute
The which is impossible ayen for to call,
But certainly the most complaint of all,
Is to thinke, that I haue be so nice,
That I ne would vertues to me call
In all my youth, but vices aye cherice.
Of which I aske mercy of the Lord,
That art Almighty God in majesty,
Beseking to make so euen accord
Betwixt thee and my soule, that vanity,
Worldly lust, ne blind prosperity,
Haue no lordship ouer my flesh so frele,
Thou Lord of rest and parfite vnity,
Put fro me vice, and kepe my soule hele.
And yeue me might while I haue life and space,
Me to confirme fully to thy pleasaunce,
Shew to me the habundaunce of thy grace,
And in good werks grant me perseueraunce,
Of all my youth forget the ignoraunce,
Yeue me good will to serue thee ay to queme,
Set all my life after thine ordinaunce,
And able me to mercy or thou deme.
My lords dere, why I this complaint write
To you, whom I loue most entirely,
Is for to warne you as I can endite,
That time lost in youth folily,
Greueth a wight bodily and ghostly,
I meane him that to lust and vice entend,
Wherefore lords I pray you specially,
Your youth in vertue shapeth to dispend.
Plant the root of youth in such a wise,
That in vertue your growing be alway,
Looke alway goodnesse be in your exercise,
That shall you mighty make at each assay,
The fiend to withstand at each affay,
Passeth wisely this perillous pilgrimage,
Think on this word, and werke it euery day,
That shall you yeue a parfite floured age.
Taketh also hede how that these noble clerkes
Writen in hir bookes of great sapience,
Saying that faith is ded withouten werkes,
And right so is estate with negligence
Of vertue, and therefore with diligence
Shapeth of vertue so to plant the root,
That ye thereof haue full experience
To worship of your life and soules boot.
Taketh also hede, that lordship ne estate
Without vertue may not long endure,
Thinketh eke how vices and vertue at debate
Haue ben and shall while the world may dure,
And euer the vicious by auenture
Is ouerthrow, and thinketh euermore
That God is Lord of all vertue, and figure
Of all goodnesse, and therefore follow his lore.
My maister Chaucer, God his soule saue,
That in his language was so curious,
He said that the father which is dead and graue,
Biqueth nothing his vertue with his hous
Unto his children and therefore labourous
Ought ye be, beseeking God of grace
To yeue you might for to be vertuous,
Through which ye might haue part of his place.
Here may ye see that vertuous noblesse,
Commeth not to you by way of auncestry,
But it commeth by lefull businesse
Of honest life and not by slogardry,
Wherefore in youth I rede you edifie
The house of uertue in such a manere,
That in your age may you keepe and gie
Fro the tempest of worlds wawes here.
Thinketh how betwixe vertue and estate
There is a parfite blessed mariage,
Vertue is cause of peace, vice of debate
In mans soule, the which be full of courage,
Cherisheth than vertue, vices to outrage,
Driueth hem away, let hem haue no wonning
In your soules, leseth not the heritage
Which God hath yeue to vertuous liuing.
Take heed also how men of poore degree
Through vertue haue beset in great honour,
And euer haue lined in great prosperity
Through cherishing of vertuous labour,
Thinketh also how many a gouernour
Called to estate, hath be set full low
Through misusing of right and of errour,
And therefore I cousaile you vertue to know.
Thus by your ancesters ye may nothing claim,
As that my maister Chaucer saith expressc,
But temporal thing, that men may hurt or maime,
Than is God stocke of vertuous noblesse,
And sith that he is lord of blessednesse,
And made us all, and for us all deide,
Followeth him in vertue with full businesse,
And of this thing herke how my maister seide.
The first stocke, father of gentilnesse,
What man that claimeth gentill for to be,
Must follow his trace, and all his wits dresse,
Uertue to looke, and vices for to fly,
For unto vertue longeth dignity,
And not the reuers safely dare I deme,
All weare the mitre, corowne, or diademe.
The first stocke was full of rightwisenesse,
True of his word, sobre, pitous, and free,
Cleane of his ghost, and loned businesse
Ayenst the vice of sloth in honesty,
And but his heire loue vertue, as did he,
He is not gentill though he rich seme,
All weare he mitre, croune, or diademe,
Uice may be an heire to old richesse,
But there may no man, all men may see,
Biqueth his heire his vertuous noblesse,
That is appropried vnto no degree,
But to the first father of majesty,
That maketh his heires hem that can him queme,
All weare he mitre, croune, or diademe.
Lo, heare this noble poete of Brittaine
How lightly in vertuous sentence
The losse on youth of vertue can complaine,
Therefore I pray you with your diligence,
For your profite and Gods reuerence,
Tempereth fully vertue in your mind,
That when ye come to your judges presence,
Ye be not vertulesse than behind.
Many lords haue a manner now adayes,
Though one shew hem a vertuous mattere,
Hir feruent youth is of so false alayes,
That of that art they haue no joy to here,
But as a ship that is without a stere,
Driueth vp and doun without gouernaunce,
Wening that calme would last yere by yere,
Right so fare they for very ignoraunce.
For very shame know they not by reason,
That after an ebb ther cometh a flood ful rage,
In the same wise whan youth passeth his season
Commeth crooked and unweldy palled age,
And sone after comen the kalends of dotage,
And if that hir youth haue no vertue provided,
All men woll say fie on hir vassalage,
Thus hath hir sloth fro worship hem deuided.
Boecius the clerk, as men may rede and see,
Saith in his booke of Consolation,
What man desireth of uine or tree,
Plenteous fruit in reaping season,
Must euer eschue to doe oppression
Unto the root, while it is yong and grene,
Thus may ye see well by that inclusion,
That youth vertulesse doeth much tene.
Now seeth there ayenst how vertuous noblenesse,
Rooted in youth with good perseueraunce,
Driueth away all vices and wretchednesse,
As slogardry, riot, and distaunce,
Seeth eke how vertue causeth suffisaunce,
Seeth eke how vertue voideth all vice,
And who so hath vertue, hath all habundaunce
Of wele, as farre as reason can deuise.
Take heed of Tullius Hostilius,
That fro pouert came to high degree
Through vertue, redeth eke of Julius
The conquerour, how poore a man was he,
Yet through his vertue and humility,
Of many countrey had he in gouernance,
Thus vertue bringeth a man to great degree,
Eche wight that lust to do him entendaunce.
Rede here ayenst now of Nero vertulees,
Taketh heed also of proud Balthasare,
They hated vertue, equity, and pees,
And looke how Antiochus fill fro his chare,
That he his skin and bones all to tare,
Look what mischance they had for her vices,
Who so woll not by these signes beware,
I dare well say infortunate and nice is.
I can no more now say, but hereby may ye see,
How vertue causeth parfite sikernesse,
And vices exilen all prosperity,
The best is ech man to chose as I gesse,
Doeth as you list, I me excuse expresse,
I would be right sorry if that ye mischefe,
God confirme you in vertuous noblesse,
So that through negligence ye not it lese.
SOMETIME the world so stedfast was and stable,
That mans word was an obligatioun,
And now it is so false and deceivable,
That word and deed as in conclusioun
Is nothing like, for tourned is vp so doun
All the world, through mede and fikelnesse,
That all is lost for lack of stedfastnesse.
What maketh the world to be so variable
But lust, that men haue in dissension,
For among vs a man is hold vnable,
But if he can by some collusion
Doe his neighbour wrong and oppression:
What causeth this but wilfull wretchednesse,
That all is lost for lack of stedfastnesse.
Trouth is put downe, reason is hold fable,
Uertue hath now no domination,
Pity is exiled, no man is merciable,
Through couetise is blent discretion,
The world hath made a permutation,
Fro right to wrong, fro trouth to fikelnesse,
That all is lost for lacke of stedfastnesse.
Prince desire to be honourable,
Cherish thy folke, and hate extortion,
Suffer nothing that may be reprouable
To thine estate, done in thy region,
Shew forth the yerd of castigation,
Drede God, do law, loue trouth and worthinesse,
And wed thy folke ayen to stedfastnesse.
OF THE VILLAGE WITHOUT PAINTING.
THIS wretched worldes transmutation,
As wele and wo, now poor, and now honour
Without order or due discretion,
Gouerned is by Fortunes errour,
But nathelesse the lacke of her fauour
Ne-may not doe me sing, though that I die,
l'ay tout pardu, mon temps et labour,
For finally fortune I defie.
Yet is me left the sight of my reasoun,
To know friend fro foe in thy mirrour,
So much hath yet thy tourning vp and doun
Ytaught me to knowen in an hour,
But truly no force of thy reddour
To him that ouer himselfe hath maistre,
My suffisaunce shall be my succour,
For finally fortune I defie.
O Socrates thou stedfast champion,
She might neuer be thy turmentour,
Thou neuer dredest her oppression,
Ne in her chere found thou no fauour,
Thou knew the deceit of her colour,
And that her most worship is for to lie,
I know her eke a false dissimulour,
For finally fortune I defie.
No man is wretched, but himselfe it wene,
Ne that hath in himselfe suffisaunce,
Why saist thou than I am to thee so kene,
That hast thy selfe out of my gouernance?
Say thus, graunt mercy of thine habundance
That thou hast lent or this, thou shalt not striue,
What wost thou yet how I thee woll auance,
And eke thou hast thy best friend aliue.
I haue thee taught deuision betweene
Friend of effect, and friend of countenaunce,
Thee needeth not the gall of an hine,
That cureth eyen darke for hir pennaunce
Now seest thou clere that were in ignoraunce,
Yet holt thine anker, and yet thou maist arriue
There bounty beareth the key of my substance,
And eke thou hast thy best friend aliue.
How many haue I refused to sustene,
Sith I haue thee fostred in thy pleasaunce,
Wolt thou than make a statute on thy quene,
That I shall be aye at thine ordinaunce,
Thou born art in my reigne of variaunce, About the whele with other must thou driue, My lore is bet, than wicke is thy greuaunce, And eke thou hast thy best friend aliue.
THE ANSWERE To fortune.
Thy lore I dampne, it is aduersity,
My friend maist thou not reue blind goddesse,
That I thy friends know, I thanke it thee,
Take hem againe, let hem go lie a presse,
The niggardes in keeping hir richesse,
Pronostike is, thou wolt hir toure assaile,
Wicke appetite commeth aye before sicknesse,
In general this rule may not faile.
Thou pinchest at my mutability,
For I thee lent a droppe of my richesse,
And now me liketh to withdraw me,
Why shouldest thou my royalty oppresse,
The sea may ebbe and flow more and lesse,
The welken hath might to shine, rain, and hail,
Right so must I kithe my brotilnesse,
In generall this rule may not fail.
Lo, the execution of the majesty,
That all purueigheth of his rightwisenesse,
That same thing fortune clepen ye,
Ye blind beasts full of leaudnesse,
The heauen hath property of sikernesse,
This world hath euer restlesse trauaile,
The last day is end of mine entresse,
In generall this rule may not faile.
Princes I pray you of your gentilnesse
Let not this man and me thus cry and plain,
And I shall quite you this businesse,
And if ye liste releue him of his pain,
Pray ye his best frende of his noblesse,
That to some better state he may attain.
To broken been the statutes hie in Heauen,
That create were eternally tendure,
Sithe that I see the bright goddes seuen,
Mowe wepe and waile, and passion endure,
As may in yearth a mortall creature:
Alas, fro whens may this thing procede,
Of which errour I die almost for drede.
By word eterne whilom was it shape, '
That fro the fifth cercle in no manere,
Ne might of teares doune escape,
But now so weepeth Uenus in her sphere,
That with her teares she wol drench vs here,
Alas Scogan this is for thine offence,
Thou causest this deluge of pestilence.
Hast thou not said in blaspheme of the goddis, Through pride, or through thy gret rekelnes, Such things as in the law of loue forbode is, That for thy lady saw not thy distresse, Therfore thou yaue her vp at Mighelmesse? Alas Scogan of olde folke ne yong,
Was neuer erst Scogan blamed for his tong...
Thou drew in scorne Cupide eke to record,
Of thilke rebell word that thou hast spoken,
For which he woll no lenger be thy lord,
And Scogan, though his bow be not broken,
He woll not with his arowes be ywroken
On thee ne me, ne none of our figure,
We shall of him haue neither hurte ne cure.
Now certes frend I drede of thine vnhape,
Lest for thy gilte the wreche of loue procede
On all hem that been hore and round of shape,
That be so likely folke to spede,
Than we shall of our labour haue our mede,
But well I wot thou wolt answere and say,
Lo old Grisell list to renne and play.
Nay Scogan say not so, for I me excuse,
God helpe me so, in no rime doubtles,
Ne thinke I neuer of sleepe wake my Muse,
That rusteth in my sheath still in pees,
While I was yong I put her forth in prees,
But all shall passe that men prose or rime,
Take euery man his tourne as for his time.
Scogan thou knelest at the stremes hedde
Of grace, of all honour, and of worthiness,
In thende of which I am dull as dedde,
Forgotten in solitary wildernesse,
Yet Scogan thinke on Tullius kindness,
Mind thy frende there it may fructifie,
Farewel, and looke thou neuer eft loue defie.
Go forth king, rule thee by sapience,
Bishop be able to minister doctrine,
Lorde to true counsaile yeue audience,
Womanhode to chastity euer encline,
Knight let thy deedes worship determine,
Be righteous judge in sauing thy name,
Rich do almose, lest thou lese bliss with shame.
People obey your king and the law,
Age be ruled by good religion,
True seruaunt be dredful and kepe thee vnder aw,
And thou poore, fie on presumpcion,
Inobedience to youth is vtter destruction,
Remember you how God hath set you lo,
And doe your part as ye be ordeined to.
T. OCCLEVE TO HIS EMPTY PURSE.
To you my purse and to none other wight
Complaine I, for ye be my lady dere,
I am sorry now that ye be light,
For certes ye now make me heauy chere,
Me were as lefe laid vpon a bere,
For which vato your mercy thus I crie,
Be heauy againe or els mote I die.
Now vouchsafe this day or it be night,
That I of you the blissful sowne may here,
Or see your colour like the Sunne bright,
That of yelowness had neuer pere,
Ye be my life, ye be my hertes stere,
Queene of comfort and of good companie,
Be heauy againe, or els mote I die.
Now purse that art to me my liues light,
And sauiour, as downe in this world here,
Out of this towne helpe me by your might,
Sith that you woll not be my treasure,
For I am shaue as nere as any frere,
But I pray vnto your curtesie,
Be heauy againe, or els mote I die.
O CONQUEROUR of Brutes Albion, Which that by line and free election Been very king, this to you I send, And ye that may all harmes amend, Haue minde vpon my supplicacion.
A BALLAD OF GOOD COUNSAIL,
TRANSLATED OUT OF LATIN VERSES INTO ENGLISH BY DAN JOHN LIDGATE, CLEPED THE MONK OF BURY.
CONSIDER well every circumstaunce,
Of what estate ever thou bee,
Riche, strong, or mighty of puissance,
Prudent or wise, discrete or besie,
The dome of folkes in soch thou may not fly, What ever thou doest trust well this,
A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.
For in thy porte or in apparaile,
If thou be cladde and honestly be saine,
Anone the people of malice woll not faile,
Without aduice or reason for to sain,
That thine array is made or wrought in vain.
Suffer hem speake, and trust right wel this,
A wicked tonge wol alway deme amis.
Thou will to kings be equipolent,
With great lordes evin and peregall,
And if thou be torne, all to rent,
Than woll they say, and jangle over all,
Thou art a slougarde that never thrive shall,
Suffre hem speke, and trust right well this,
A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.
If it befall that thou take a wife,
They woll falsly say in their entent,
Thou art likely ever to live in strife,
Uoide of all rest, without aledgment,
Wifes ben maistres, this is their judgment,
Suffren all their spech, and trust right well this,
A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.
If thou be faire and excellent of beaute,
Yet woll they say that thou art amourous,
If thou be foule and vgly on to see,
They woll affirme that thou art vicious,
The people of language is so dispitous,
Suffre all their spech, and trust right well this,
A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis,
If so be that of parfitenesse,
Thou hast vowed to live in chastitee,
Than woll folke, of thy person expresse,
Thou art impotent tengendre in thy degree,
And thus where thou be chaste or dessavy,
Suffre hem speake, and trust right well this,
A wicked tongue woll alway deme amis.
If thou be fatte other corpolent,
Than wol they sain thou art a great gloton,
A devourer, or els vinolent,
If thou be leane or megre of fashion,
Call thee a nigard in their opinion,
Suffre them speake, and trust right wel this,
A wicked tonge woll away deme amis.
If thou be rich, some woll yeve thee lande,
And say it commeth of prudent governaunce,
And some wol saine it commeth of fraude,
Other by sleight, or false chevisaunce,
To sain the worst, folke have so great pleasaunce,
What suffre hem say, and trust right wel this,
A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.
If thou be sadde or sobre of countenaunce,
Men woll sain thou thinkest some treason,
And if thou be glad of daliaunce,
Men woll deme it desolution,
And call faire speach adulacion,
Yet let hem speak, and trust right well this,
A wicked tonge wol alway deme amis.
Who that is holy by perfection,
Men of malice woll clip him ypocrite,
And who is mery of clene entention,
Men sain in riot he doth him delite,
Some mourn in blacke, some love in clothes white,
Suffre men speake, and trust right well this,
A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.
Honest aray men deme it pompe and pride,
And who goeth poore, men cail him a waster,
And who goeth still men mark him on that side,
Seine that he is a spy or agiler:
Who wasteth not, men sain he hath treasour,
Whereof conclude and trust right well this,
A wicked tonge will alway deme amis.
Who speketh moch men clepeth him prudent,
Who that debateth, men saine that he is hardy,
And who saith litel with great sentement,
Some folke yet wol wite him of foly,
Trouth is put down, and vp goth flattery,
And who that list plainly know the cause of this,
A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.
For though a man were as pacient,
As was David throw his humilite,
Or with Salomon in wisedome as prudent,
Or in knighthode egall with Josue,
Or manly proved, as Judas Machabe,
Yet for al that, trust right well this,
A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.
And though a man had the prowesse
Of worthy Hector, Troys champion,
The love of Troylus, or the kindnesse,
Or of Cesar the famous high renoun,
With all Alexaunders dominacioun,
Yet for all that trust right well this,
A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.
Or though a man of high or low degree,
Of Tullius had the sugred eloquence,
Or of Seneca the moralitee,
Or of Caton forsight and providence,
The conquest of Charles, Artures magnificence, Yet for all that trust right well this,
A wicked tonge woll alway deme amis.
Touching of women, that parfit innocence
Though that they had, of Hester the noblenesse,
Or of Gresilde, the humble pacience,
Or of Judith, the preuid stablenesse,
Or Polixcenes virginall clennesse,
Yet dare I seine, and trust right wel this,
Some wicked tong would deme of them amis.
The wifely trouth of Penelope
Though they it had in hir possession,
Helenes beauty, the kindnesse of Medee,
The loue vnfayned of Martia Caton,
Or Alcestes trewe affection,
Yet dare I saine and trust right well this,
A wicked tonge wol alway deme amis.
Than sooth it is that no man may eschew
The swerd of tonges, but it will kerve and bite,
Full hard it is a man for to remew,
Out of their daunger him for to aquite,
Wo to the tonges that hemselfe delite,
To hinder or slaunder, and set their study in this,
And their pleasaunces to deme alway amis.
Most noble princes, cherishers of vertue,
Remembreth you of high discretion,
The first vertue most pleasing to Jesu,
(By the writing and sentence of Caton)
Is a good tonge in his opinion,
Chastise the reverse of wisedome do this,
Uoideth your hearing from al that deme amis.
IN THE PRAISE AND COMMENDATION of master GEFFERY
Chaucer, FOR HIS GOLDEN ELOQUENCE.
MAISTER Geffray Chaucer, that now lithe in grave,
The noble rhetoricion, and poet of Great Britaine,
That worthy was that laurer of poetry to have
For this his labour, and the palme to attain,
Which first made to distil, and rein,
The gold dewe dropes, of spech and eloquence,
Into English tonge, through his excellence.
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