Labour nat man with to moche besy cure
To clymme to hye lyst thou by fortune fall
For certaynly, that man slepyth nat sure
That lyeth lows vpon a narowe wall
Better somtyme to serue, than for to gouerne all
For whan the Net is throwen into the se
The great fysshe ar taken and the pryncipall
Where as the small escapyth quyte and fre
* * * * *
Of them that be diseasyd and seke and
ar impacient and inobedyent to the
Phesycyan.
[Illustration: If one be vexed with sore infirmyte
Within his body felynge dyseas and payne
And wyll nat gladly with perfyte mynde agre
To a wyse Phesycian that wolde hym hele agayne
He is a fole, and shall his foly sore complayne
And if that he by his selfe wyll do sterue
It is but well: syns he it doth deserue.]
He that is feble with sekenes outher wounde
Wherwith he feleth hym selfe so kept in payne
That dye he muste but if remedy be founde
He is a fole, if that he haue dysdayne
Of wyse Phesycyans: and medecines souerayne
And wyll nat sue theyr counsell and aduysement
Wherby he myght haue helth and short amendement
Thoughe the Phesycyan (of his lyfe) hym assure
So he be ruled, and vnto his mynde agre
The pacyent yet kepyth no dyete nor mesure
In mete nor drynke, and wyll nat gouerned be
But foloweth Ryot and all superfluyte
Receyuynge colde water in stede of ale or wyne
Agaynst read and counsell of crafty medycyne
What mete or drynke that is most contagious
And most infectyf to his sekenes or dyseas
And to hym forbyden, as moste contrarious
Unto his sekenes. That namely doth hym pleas
But that thynge that myght hym helpe and greatly eas
He hatyth moste, and wyll none receyue at all.
Tyll this small sore, at the last become mortall
Suche wyll no counsell ensue, nor mesure haue
Nor temper theym selfe in lesse nor yet in more.
Tyll theyr yll gouernaunce brynge them to theyr graue
Retournynge into grounde lyke as they were before
But who that soone wolde, be helyd of his sore
Whan it is newe ought to fynde remedy.
For in olde sorys is greatest ieopardy
A small sparcle often tyme doth augment
It selfe: and groweth to flames peryllous
Right so small wellys whiche semeth to be spent
With lytell sprynges and Ryuers, ofte so growys
Unto great waters, depe and ieopadous.
So a small sore augmentyth, styll preuely
By lytell and lytell for lacke of remedy
A small diseas whiche is ynoughe durable
At the begynnynge, for lacke of medycyne
At longe contynuaunce becomyth incurable
The paynfull pacyent bryngynge vnto ruyne
Wherfore who wyll to his owne helth enclyne
And soone be helyd of yll without all tary
To the Phesician ought nat to be contrary
Obstynat frowarde or inobedyent
Ought he nat be, but with a pacyent mynde
Shewe all his soris truly playne and euydent
To the Phesician if he wyll socour fynde.
And thoughe his saluys in paynes hym sore bynde.
Let nat for that, but after his wyll the gyde
Better a shorte payne, than that doth longe abyde
No sore can be releuyd without payne.
Forsake nat the short, the longe payne to eschewe
To the Phesycian we ought in worde be playne
And shewe hym our sore, whether it be olde or newe
For in thy wordes if that thou be nat trewe
Or kepe ought close, thou dysceyuest be thou sure
Thy selfe. and nat hym that of the hath the cure.
In lyke fourme who comyth vnto confessyon
There to declare howe he his lyfe hath spent
And shewyth nat his synne lyke wyse as he hath done
Hymself he disceyuyth, as blynde of his entent.
Thus many one endureth infernall tourment
With wo contynuall and payne for euermore
For kepynge secrete there, of his goostly sore.
Thus who that is payned in any malady
Bodely or gostly, ought nat to be callyd wyse
To the Phesycian without that he aply.
And his preceptis hant kepe and exercyse
But now olde wytches dare boldly interpryse
To intromyt to hele all infyrmyte
And many them byleue, whiche sothly is pyte
Suche wytches of theyr byleue abhomynable
On brest or hede of the paynfull pacyent
With theyr wytchecraftis shall compasse chat and bable
Assurynge hym of helth, and short amendement
Than he that is seke fyxith his intent
Upon hir errour: to haue helpe of his sore
But she hym leuyth wors than he was before
Poule the apostyll doth boldly say and preue
That they whiche to suche wytches wyll assent
Ar heretykes, Lolardes and false of theyr byleue
Brekynge goddes lawes and commaundement
And oft also by profe it apereth euydent
That suche as to wytches craftis wyll intende
By theyr fals Phesyke come soner to theyr ende
Theyr body dede, theyr soule in ieopardy
By mysbyleue for euer in paynes infernall.
Whiche ar rewarde for wretchyd synne and heresy
But if thou to thy mynde and reason call
And of this wrytynge perceyue the sence morall
Whan thou art fallen seke and in dedely syn
Seke helpe betyme, and byde nat longe therein