THE ENVOY OF BARKLAY TO THE FOLYS.

Aryse folys of myndes darke and blynde.

Receyue the gyftes of godly sapyence

Here hir perceptis and plant them in your mynde

And rote out the gaffys of your olde offence.

Call to your myndes what inconuenyence

Howe sodayne fallys, what sorowe and turment

Hath come to many a myghty lorde and prynce

For nat folowynge of hir commaundement.

* * * * *

Of bostynge or hauynge confydence

in fortune.

[Illustration: He is a fole whiche settyth confydence

On frayle fortune vncertayne and mutable

His mynde exaltynge in pryde and insolence

Because that she somtyme is fauorable

As if she wolde so be perdurable

Suche folys oft whan they thynke them most sure

All sodaynly great mysfortune endure]

Amonge our folys he ought to haue a place

And so he shall for it is resonable

Whiche thynketh hymselfe greatly in fortunes grace

Bostynge that she to hym is fauorable

As if hyr maner were nat to be mutable

In this vayne hope suche theyr lyfe doth lede

Tyll at the laste theyr hous borne oure theyr hede

He shakyth boost and oft doth hym auaunte

Of fortunes fauoure and his prosperyte

Whiche suffreth hym nought of his wyll to wante

So that he knoweth nought of aduersyte

Nor mysfortune nor what thynge is pouertee.

O lawles fole, o man blyndyd of mynde

Say what suretye in fortune canst thou fynde

To what ende or vnto what conclusyon

Shall fortune frayle vnrightwyse and vnsure

Lede the blynde fole by hyr abusyon.

Howe darest thou the in hir blyndnes assure.

Syns she vnstable is and can nat longe endure

Hir gyftis changith, she is blynde and sodayne

Thoughe she firste lawghe hir ende is vncertayne.

Thou shakest boste ofte of hir foly in vayne

For he is most happy whiche can auoyde hir snare

If she exalte some one vnto welth mundayne

She bryngeth another to payne sorowe and care

Whyle one is ladyd to the others backe is bare

Whyle she a begger maketh in good abounde

A lorde or state she throweth to the grounde

But nat withstandynge hir mutabylyte.

Thou bostest thy gode and to moche abundaunce

Thou bostest thy welth and thy prosperyte

Thy good auenturs, and plentyfull pleasaunce

Alas blynde fole amende thy ygnoraunce

And in thy welthe to this saynge intende

That fortune euer hath an incertayne ende

Fals fortune infect of countenaunce and of face

By hir iyen clowdy and varyable vysage

Hath many for a whyle taken to hir grace

Whiche after by hir whele vnstable and volage

Hath brought them to wo mysfortune and damage

She ruleth pore and riche without difference

Lewdnes exaltynge and damnynge innocence

Thus is that man voyde, of all intellygence

Whom fortune fedyth, with chaunche fortunable

If he therin haue ouer large confydence

And thynke that sure that euer is mutable

That fole is sonne, to the fende abhomynable

That foloweth ryches, and fortune that is blynde

His sauyour lefte, and clene out of mynde

Whan the foule fende, father of vnhappynes

Pore man purposyth by falshode to begyle

He sendeth hym welth worldly, and fals ryches

And causeth fortune, awhyle on hym to smyle

Whiche with hir blyndenes doth mankynde so defyle

That whyle they trust in hir fauour to sore.

They damme theyr soules in hell for euermore

By large examples thou eche day mayste se

The chaunge of fortune and the ende vncertayne

Wherfore to boste the of hyr commodyte

It is great foly and also thynge in vayne

From this lewdnes thy mynde therfore refrayne

And be content with fortune moderate

Nor boste the nat of thy welth or estate

This day thou art ryche and despysest the pore

Yet so may it fall, that for thy lewde lyuynge

To morowe thou beggest thy brede from dore to dore

Therfore remembre that blynde fortune wandrynge

Hath nat in hyr handes power, nor gydynge

The rewardes of welth, nor of felycyte

But god them gydeth by his great maieste

And all thynge chaungeth as is to hym plesaunt

His dedes to wysdome alwaye agreable

Wherfore blynde fole be nat so ignoraunt

To prayse fortune whiche is so varyable

And of rewardes vnsure and chaungeable

But thoughe she smyle trust nat to hir intent

For amonge swete herbes ofte lurkyth the serpent

The Ship of Fools, Volume 1 · 第 76 / 115 题