O man that hast thy trust and confydence
Fyxed on these frayle fantasyes mundayne
Remember at the ende there is no difference
Bytwene that man that lyued hath in payne
And hym that hath in welth and ioy souerayne
They both must dye their payne is of one sort
Both ryche and pore, no man can deth refrayne
For dethes dart expellyth all confort
Say where is Adam the fyrst progenytour
Of all mankynde is he nat dede and gone
And where is Abell of innocence the flour
With adamys other sonnes euerychone
A: dredfull deth of them hath left nat one
Where is Mathusalem, and Tuball that was playne
The first that played on Harpe or on Orgone
_Ilz sont tous mortz ce monde est choce vayne_
Where is iust Noy and his ofsprynge become
Where is Abraham and all his progeny
As Isaac and Jacob, no strength nor wysdome
Coude them ensure to lyue contynually
Where is kynge Dauyd whome god dyd magnyfy
And Salomon his son of wysdome souerayne
Where ar his sonnes of wysdome and beauty
_Ilz sont toutz mortz ce monde est choce vayne._
Where ar the prynces and kynges of Babylon
And also of Jude and kynges of Israell
Where is the myghty and valiant Sampson
He had no place in this lyfe ay to dwell
Where ar the Prynces myghty and cruell
That rayned before Christ delyuered vs from payne
And from the Dongeons of darke and ferefull hell
_Ilz sont toutz mortz ce monde est choce vayne._
Of worldly worsyp no man can hym assure
In this our age whiche is the last of all
No creature can here alway endure
Yonge nor olde, pore man nor kynge royall
Unstable fortune tourneth as doth a ball
And they that ones pas can nat retourne agayne
Wherfore I boldly dare speke in generall
We all shall dye: _ce monde est choce vayne_.
Ryches nor wysdome can none therfro defende
Ne in his strength no man can hym assure
Say where is Tully is he nat come to ende
Seneke the sage with Cato and Arture
The hye Arystotyll of godly wyt and pure
The glorious Godfray, and myghty Charlemayne
Thoughe of theyr lyfe they thought that they were sure
Yet ar they all dede: _ce monde est choce vayne_.
Where ar the Phylosophers and Poetis lawreat
The great Grammaryens and pleasant oratours.
Ar they nat dede after the same fourme and rate
As ar all these other myghty conquerours
Where ar theyr Royalmes theyr ryches and treasours
Left to theyr heyres: and they be gone certayne
And here haue left theyr riches and honours
So haue they proued that this worlde is but vayne.
So I conclude bycause of breuyte
That if one sought the worlde large and wyde
Therin sholde be founde no maner of dere
That can alway in one case suerly byde
Strength, honour, riches cunnynge and beautye
All these decay, dayly: thoughe we complayne
_Omnia fert etas_, both helth and iolyte
We all shall dye: _ce monde est choce vayne_.
* * * * *
Of predestynacion.
[Illustration: That man that lokyth for to haue a rewarde
Whiche he hath nat deseruyd to obtayne
And lenyth his body vpon a rede forwarde
Whiche for waykenes may hym nat well sustayne
Forsoth this fole may longe so loke in vayne
And on the Crauys he styll shall bacwarde ryde
Cryenge with the doue, whose flyght shall hym ay gyde]
It is vnlawfull, man to be dilygent
Or serchynge goddes workes to set his thought
Howe he hath made the heuen and fyrmament
The erth the see and euery thynge of nought
Yet of some Folys the cause hereof is sought,
Whiche labour also with curyosyte
To knowe the begynnynge of his dyuynyte
These folys forgettynge their owne fragilyte
Wolde loke to knowe the ende of euery thynge
Boldly disputynge in goddys pryuete
And what rewarde is ordeynyd for men lyuynge
Of many folys this is the moste musynge
Whiche labour dayly with besy cure and payne.
To knowe what god doth discerne and or ordayne
Therfore in this part I shall dispyse and blame
Unchrafty folys whiche scantly haue ouer sene
Ought of scripture, if they knowe the bokes name
Or els a whyle hath at the Scoles bene
Than bende they the browys and stedfastly they wene
In theyr conceyt that they ar passynge wyse
For all scripture newe commentis to deuyse
They frowardly the sentence do transpose
And that whiche is wryten, both playne and holely
By theyr corruptynge and vnlawfull glose
Oft tyme they brynge to damnable heresy
Falsly expoundynge after theyr fantasy
They labour to transpose and turne the right sence
Thoughe the wordes stryue and make great resystence
Here what these folys with theyr audacyte
Dare besely say by theyr fals errour blynde
Presumynge on goddes secrete and pryuete
Here what lewde wordes they cast out in the wynde
They say what man can chaunge or turne his mynde
To lyue after any other fourme and rate
But lyke as he is therto predestynate
They say: if god that rayneth ouerall
Hath any ordeyned that in this worlde is
To come to the place and rowme celestyall
For to be partyner of euerlastynge blys
Ordeyned for suche as here doth nat amys
No man can chaunge, not other thynge mundayne
That thynge whiche god by his myght doth ordayne
But if that god prefyxed hath before
Any creature vnto infernall payne
In derknes to be damnyd for euer more
No erthly thynge may that sentence call agayne
Nor hym delyuer: o fole thou mayst complayne
For this thy foly and also it repent
Thynkest thou nat god alway omnypotent
Is god nat rightwyse and grounde of all iustyce
Rewardynge man after his gouernaunce
He that hath here nat lyen in synne and vyce
Hauynge in goddys seruyce his pleasaunce
Shall of his lorde be had in remembraunce
And of rewarde worthely be sure
Where it is worthy that synners payne endure
Trust well who seruyth his maker stedfastly
With pure herte kepynge sure his commaundement
And lawes shall be rewardyd fynally
With heuenly ioy and scape all punysshement
Therfore thou fole leue of this lewde intent
Lyue vertuously and trust in goddes grace
Than yll desteny in the shall haue no place
Vnto great ioy god hath vs all create
And to vs all ordeyned his kyngdome
And none hath vnto Hell predestynate
But often whan we folowe nat wysdome
By ouer owne foly we fall, and so become
Vnto our maker vnkind: and hym deny
Whiche them rewardyth that here lyue vertuously
Therfore thou Fole desyst thy wordes vayne
And let thy tunge no more suche wordes say
For god hath vs made all of one stuf certayne
As one potter makyth of one clay
Vessels dyuers, but whan he must them lay
Vpon the kyll with fyre them there to dry
They come nat all to good, moste comonly
Doth this erthyn pot his maker dispyse
Whether it be made of fassyon good or yll
Saynge why dost thou make me in this wyse
Wherfore mad man I reade the to be styll
Blame nat thy maker, for thy vnhappy wyll
For god hath neuer man nor childe create
But all he hath to heuen predestynate
And whyle we lyue here on this wretchyd grounde
We haue our reason and wyttes vs to gyde
With our fre wyll and if no faute be founde
In our demenour, in heuen we shall abyde
But if we goddes lawes set asyde
Howe may we hope of hym rewarde to wyn
So our owne foly is moste cause of our syn.