The pleasant plain and pithy Pathewaye leading to a virtues and honest life, no less profitable, then delectable.  
V L.  
¶ Imprinted at London by Nicolas Hill, for john Case, dwelling at the sign of the Baule, in Paul's church yard.   


YE that in you the desire to know  
I good ware for to take,  
Whereby to riches ye might grow,  
And idleness to forsake,  
This little book with diligence  
See that ye read and mark,  
thoroughly noting the good sense  
Contained in this work,  
Py thy precepts you shall here find,  
Right pleasant for to read,  
Whereof perchance some youth are blind,  
And thereof shall have need,  
Do not therefore despise this book  
Because it goeth in rhyme,  
For they that on this book doth look,  
Shall find the matter fine.    

The preface.  
saying gifts are not so much to be valued for the price of them as they are to be esteemed for the good intent of the giver (most gentle reader) my small labours and travail herein bestowed (which I freely give thee) I shall humbly desire thee to take in good part, wherein although the matter be not in every point so exquisytely handled as my good will and seal could have wished it, yet I do nothing at all mistrust but that ye will with favour bear with me, and rather friendly wink at the faults if there be any, then spytefullye as carpers at other men's doings seek occasion to dispraise the same, forasmuch as the hole effect thereof treateth of nothing but of good and wholesome counsels interlaced with pleasant mirth and honesty, to youth no less right profitable then necessary. Lycurgus, who for his gravity and excellent wisdom gave laws unto the Lacedimonians, amongst his other laudable and seruyouse statutes, did institute and ordain a certain kind of exercise, at the which the elders which had borne rule in the common wealth, did commonly meet there, to pass the time with pleasant talk and wyttye tales, but such as were always either profitable to the commendation and praise of honesty, or else to the detesting and rebuking of vices, because he perfectly well considered that it was a thing most needful and requyset sometime with such goodly recreation to refresh the weakened powers of the mind, that it might be thereby the more fresh and apt to compass and accomplish other more weighty affairs. I omit other probable authorities which I might now worthily bring herein, to declare that this little work is not to be rejected although after a number of pithy precepts there followeth a merry invented matter placed therein only to quicken the spirits and to aucyde tediousness. And who is so ignorant, but that he well understandeth that youth commonly taketh more delectation in reading those things which in his age requireth then in grave sentences cereouslye pronounced. Yet here shall he learn if he read it with diligence both how to lead a quiet and godly life in the fear of God, and also to eschew the assaults of sin and dangers of the world, unto this brittle age, (I say) therefore I have written this, and not the prudent well stricken in years, whose experience perchance hath sufficiently taught, and who have already passed the dangerous rocks, and swallowing quick sands of this troublesome world. My honest meaning therefore gentle reader, herein, if thou thanckfullye receive, I shall hereafter be the more willing to take some pains in other matters. And so I wish thee well to far.   

A pleasant Pathewaye  


IT chanced that on the eleventh day.  
Of the flourishing month, of lusty may,  
When Titan, into Taurus, his enterye began,  
And the young blood, of every creature than,  
Renewed his strength, and powers did revive.  
So that each thing now, appeared on live,  
Which in the stormy winter, before,  
Had sustained, Aeolus Icy blasts sore,  
And that the watery snows, had them so torn,  
Because, of the vehement rage, of Capricorn.  
Which cold cloudy mists, once passed their way,  
Each thing, received again courage, in his array,  
And because the sharp cold, his malice had done,  
The Mavis endeavoured herself, first, her notes to tune.  
Next after, the pleasant Nightingale, tempered her voice,  
Which with her merry melody, every heart, doth greatly rejoice,  
The thrush, the Blackebyrde, and the Grenefinche also.  
In this merry spring time, did she we what they could do,  
And then also, the Sun shining very hot,  
Caused the crabbed Cockowe, to declare her old note,  
In this fresh time, (I say) for my recreation,  
Into the woods I walked, to take delectation,  
Aswell for to hear, the joyful birds sing,  
As also to behold, how every thing did spring,  
And show themselves, again, alive in their kind,  
That in the winter, were bare, and naked, to the rind  
Each tree budded, and his leaves 'gan to spread,  
Each herb had his flowers, in every green meed,  
The Primrose, the Violet, were then in their prime,  
And the sweet smelling coursloppe, flourished at this time,  
The Hauthorne, the Cheritre, and the Damascigne,  
And each Apple tree bloomed, declaring good sign,  
That if God their sweet blossomines, would vouchsafe to save,  
Great store of fruit, of them we should have,  
And thus going alone, under the wood side.  
A fair aged man, I shortly espied,  
And even straight after me, he came a soft pace,  
I stayed a little therewith, thynckinge in this care,  
This old man seemeth, a man of gravity,  
And therefore I would be very glad, of his company.  
In this staying a while, at last he overtook me,  
And with very grave countenance, saluted me gently,  
And with salutation, again I did him great,  
As to my duty, I thought it most meet.  
Good father (and if it please you) said I,  
Tell me, how far your journey, this way doth lie,  
And of the same lie, any thing near,  
I willbe very glad, you company to be are,  
For I have, at this time, little to do,  
And would therefore, learn, some good counsel of you.  
And because it is so, I am young, and frail,  
And not as yet instructed, with wholesome counsel,  
My life to direct, in time for to come,  
Good lessons, of you, I would learn some.  
Which might cause me, for you, hereafter to pray,  
When I shall follow the same, an other day,  
Gentle son, (quoth he) the truth to declare,  
About sour miles hence, my journey is to far,  
And because I am aged, and may not well go,  
I take the morning with me, for it behoveth me so,  
And back again to night, homeward, will I, if I can,  
Nine mile a day, is a great journey, for an aged man,  
Wherewith, I remembered myself, by and by,  
And beheld the Sun shine, so gladsomely,  
Clear was the sky, and lightsome was the air,  
And also the way, scented very fair,  
My business, in deed (quoth I) father, lieth three mile and more,  
Along that way, which ye must go, and therefore,  
I will go with you softly, and make no great haste,  
For it requireth none, and this forth on we paste,  
God thank you young man, said he: that ye are so kind,  
Since ye will go with me, and not leave me behind,  
And because your good will is, some wisdom to lere,  
The best counsel I can give, ye shall here,  
And I will gladly, give you the hearing (quoth I)  
Therefore when it shall please you, say on by and by.  
First good son, ye must to me make plain,  
Where is your dwelling, and where ye remain,  
What state ye are of, and of what disposition,  
And whereunto your mind is given, in every condition,  
Also what is your name, ye must to me show,  
And whether ye are single, or married I would know,  
Before, I can show you, my good advice,  
Or in any thing prudently, instruct you otherwise.  
Truly (quoth I) my dwelling, is not far hence,  
And to a worthy gentle man, of great reverence,  
Late servant I was, but he is now deceased,  
Wherefore of service, I am clearly released,  
And touching mine age, I am young it appears,  
As yet not passing, one and twenty years,  
Nitne save truly, most men call mine name,  
Also single, and unmarried, as yet I remain,  
Well then, I perceive (quoth he) ye are yet young enough,  
In virtue to begin, and so lead your life through,  
And also at liberty, and without a wife,  
Nor as yet addict, to any one kind of life,  
Further as far, as I may or guess can,  
Ye were lately as it were, a serving man,  
Now whether it be, your mind, and your will,  
In the trade of service, to continue still,  
Or leave of the same, and by some other mean,  
To seek otherways, your living to sustain,  
This also to know, I earnestly require,  
Or else, I can no way, satisfy your desire,  
In good faith (said I) so more I thrine,  
A servant I have been, about years five,  
And truly have served to my power,  
Since into service, I entered the first hour,  
Wherein, there is so great, travail, and pain,  
At most times, and so very little gain,  
And at other times also, idleness so great,  
Doing nothing, but setting, in the fields, and street,  
Wherein, also there is much great exercise,  
Almost, of every manner, and kind of vice,  
Both pride, drunkenness, and also swearing,  
By abominable others, God himself tearing,  
Such quarrelling, fight, and other abomination,  
Whereof, I could make, unto you true relation,  
If it were not audible, for you to hear,  
As therperience thereof, plainly doth appear,  
That I intend, utterly, the same to refuse,  
And some other, more godly state, of living to choose,  
Wherein I may, spend my time, more honestly,  
And in the fear of God, live more quietly,  
Without doubt (quoth he) thou hast said truly,  
For besides, the foresaid noughtenesse, plenty  
When a man hath, served, a great time,  
If he have done, never so little a crime,  
Away he must, there is none other remedy,  
Thus, is he put, to his shifts, by and by,  
And put case, that he in service continue,  
Until age come, that he can no more do,  
Then is he cast of, either to beg his bread,  
Or in misery, to live, till time he be dead,  
And evermore commonly, it is seen and hard.  
This to be, of miserable service, the reward.  
And to serve any man, in the court of renown,  
You see, how soon, they be up, and down,  
But if it should chance you, as it doth, to very few,  
Ye should, so in your masters favour, hap to grow,  
That he might by some office, or other way,  
Get you any good living, some one day,  
Which is but a chance, and fortune ye may it call,  
For they gape themselves, for every windefall,  
Then shall he think you, still to him bound,  
So long as ye are living, on the ground,  
And if it chance him hereafter, the law to have offended,  
You also being his man, are like to be apprehended,  
Then have ye well, and fair fished in deed,  
Your rising, was then, in more haste, then good speed,  
And some, wise men flee commonly, such living to seek,  
Which is first so hard to come by, and after so ill to keep.  
Wherefore, to apply thy youth, no more in it,  
I can not choose, but greatly allow, thy wit,  
Now then (quoth he) further, what other vocation,  
Serveth thy mind thee, or to what occupation,  
To get thy living, either by trade of merchandise,  
Or by some handy craft, or art otherwise.  
No (said I) in merchandise, I have no skill,  
Nor to spend my time, therein I will,  
Forasmuch, as the same, is ruled by chance,  
Also, sense I am ignorant thereof, how can it me advance,  
And he that by merchandise, will get his living,  
Needeth both good credit, and a stock at the beginning,  
But in me lacketh both, for stock have I none,  
And because I was once a serving man, my credit is gone,  
Few merchants will trust, any of that race,  
Although it were never in so honest a case,  
Besides that, I must swear, perioure, and lie,  
If I will, buying and selling occupy,  
My wares, must be now and then, also counterfeit,  
If I intend, by them, any gain to get,  
Through which I shall, displease God, and sin,  
Thus doing, I shall, a fair thread spin,  
I will rather despise, such unhappy winning,  
As will bring me to hell, at the first beginning,  
You say well, (quoth he) and besides all this,  
To be a merchant, son, another thing there is,  
For many merchants, of late in this land,  
Have been undone, and brought behind hand,  
Which never could, after again arise,  
Such is the brittle state, of merchandise,  
Also, said I, in any other handy craft, or science,  
truly to confess, I have none entelligence,  
And though I had, yet is the world, now in such penury,  
That almost no kind of crafts man, can live thereby  
All kind of things, are now waxed so dear,  
That the like hath not been seen, this many a year,  
I will tell you, (quoth he) sense time, I was borne,  
And I shall be just. lxxx. year old, come to morn,  
Was never, such misery, necessity, and need.  
Amongst each estate, in every stead,  
As is even now, at this present day,  
For though, diverse times passed, as I say  
Corn hath been, as dear, here before,  
Yet of all other things, we had plenty and store,  
But now, the price of all things, hath leapt, such a leap,  
That nother, food, clothing, nor any other thing, is good cheap,  
In whom the fault is, truly I can not tell,  
But I would to God, that all thing were well,  
And I tell you young man, in good earnest,  
I heartily thank, my redeemer Christ,  
That my hoar head, is so near unto the grave,  
My unserye, shallbe the shorter, that I feel, and have,  
But concerning, our first communication,  
It seemeth, your mind is, to none occupation,  
What then, have ye good learning, any whit,  
Perchance, to be a priest, ye think yourself fit,  
And surely (quoth he) if your calling be so well,  
Then ye do amiss, never a del,  
For to preach, truly Gods word, and be a minister,  
If your calling be thereunto, ye can not do better,  
certainly (quoth I) my learning is but small,  
And to great a matter, it is, for me to meddle withal,  
Well learned he should be, and of God's calling,  
That should occupy, the place of preaching,  
But I am both very unlearned truly,  
And also far unmeet, that place to occupy,  
You say well (quoth he) for ye might, work yourself woe,  
If ye would attempt, in at the window to go,  
Or leap over the sheepcote, not called by God,  
So might you make, for your own tail a rod,  
With almighty God (son) is not good, to play,  
For he may not, be dallied with, by no way,  
Ye might thereby, he ape God's vengeance, to you, for your haste,  
And eternal damnation, perchance, at the last,  
To be a lawyer, than (quoth he) perchance, is thy desire,  
Thereby, thou thinkest, to great riches, to aspire,  
Not so (quoth I) for some learning, I do lack,  
Nor never, of Sophistry, or Lodgike, had the smack,  
By which standeth the chiefest, and principal point,  
As of that, pleading science, the best joint,  
All things considered, I mind not that art.  
Nor ever, hither, could it stand with my heart,  
certainly, said he, the law is good, if it be well used,  
But now, the justice, of the right law, is somewhat abused,  
And many of their rising, is by extortion.  
Whereby, they clinte, to have, of riches, such portion,  
And through the same, they almost are grown, to like obloquy,  
As the Clergy, at the first fall, were wont to be,  
And not without a very urgent cause,  
They do, some without right, so writhe, & wrest the laws,  
And (son) in my judgement, to be plain,  
Much of their law, tendeth to their own gain.  
Well, than I think, ye will beyond the sea go,  
Your youth in learning, to occupy so,  
For south (quoth I) of all the rest I find  
That this most pleasing, to my mind,  
If so it were, my living would extend,  
There to keep me, two or three years to an end,  
Whereby I might, though it were to my pain,  
See countries, and some knowledge obtain,  
But he that goeth thither, without a good purse,  
Goeth out of God's blessing, into his curse,  
It is good for such men, to go over truly,  
As intend, the kings ambassadors to be,  
His graces weighty affairs, there for to do,  
But I am not like, to come thereto  
The truth for to say, and to be plain.  
Since there is so much hazard, and so small gain,  
I am not as yet, minded in this care,  
To seek my living, in so far a place,  
Therefore (quoth the aged man) I agree,  
For if ye lack there, ye shall fall in great misery,  
And little booteth, you there, to serve any man then,  
For they are all, other flaws, or gentle men,  
Further (said he) what will thou then apply,  
To live in the country, by thy land or annuity,  
As perchance thou hast, which I do not know,  
Tell me, that I may, thee, my best counsel show,  
I have not (quoth I) much living truly,  
But that which I have, lieth in the country,  
Whereupon, I will, if God his help send,  
Quietly live, and there my lift end,  
Now I perceive (quoth he) thine hole intent,  
In aringe thee, questions, this time have I spent,  
Therefore now I will show thee, in all that I can,  
My counsel, how thou mayest best prove, an honest man,  
Say on (quoth I) let us no longer time waste,  
For since we began, a good way have we passed,  
My son (said he) thou seemest very wise,  
That in this last case, thyself dost advise,  
first God, and godly things, I will to thee preach,  
And after in worldly things, to my power I will thee teach.   

THE principallest thing, wherein thou must intend,  
Is to have good respect, always to the end,  
Wherefore, and why, God thee did create,  
And how, he hath appointed thee, and in what estate,  
For to th'end, of thy first creation,  
direct thy life, in every condition,  
Son, God brought thee, into the world here,  
For two good causes, as it shall appear,  
first, to give him thanks, laud, honour, and glory,  
And evermore, to praise his eternal majesty,  
aswell, for that it pleased him, thee to form and make,  
And all things earthly, to create for thy sake,  
As also, for that, when thou were lost, by Adam's guilt,  
He would not, of his mere mercy, see thee spilled,  
But sent his dear son, from his high trove,  
Into this wretched world, to redeem us every one,  
Where, he took upon him, our nature frail,  
In the blessed virgens womb, for our avail,  
And then, here in earth, us thirty years taught,  
By his word, and miracles, which he wonderfully wrought,  
And at last, on the cross, suffered his bitter passion,  
Only to redeem us, and to obtain clean remission,  
Which, his mercy, if it had not been the greater,  
We had remained, dampened souls, and no better,  
For this cause, we are bound him always to praise,  
For from death, sin, and hell, he again, did us raise,  
Therefore, him to praise, pray unto, & worship with fear,  
This, steadfastly, in thy mind, see that thou bear,  
For it is the chiefest point, of virtue, to laud, and know,  
The creation, of men, and all things, that grow,  
Without this, other virtues, are nothing regarded,  
In lacking, this pity, thou shalt be little rewarded,  
For this, to all virtues, is thentry full plain,  
Sense, by prayer only, each good thing, of God we obtain.   

THE other cause, why God thee hither brought,  
Was that thou shouldest, in word, work, and thought,  
Always endeavour, thyself to thy power,  
His holy commandments, to obey, every hour,  
Which because, I think, thou dost sufficiently know,  
It needeth not me, to repeat them, on a row,  
For these two causes, specially, my dear son,  
God, into the world, caused thee, to come,  
These firm foundations, fixed, once in thine heart,  
Then justice rightly to embrace, see thou do thy part,  
Suffering no man, to sustain, any injury by thee,  
Or to hurt any creature, by deed, or word, see thou flee,  
And so do, to other men, of each estate, and degree,  
As thou wouldst, have all men, should do unto thee,  
For this law, of dame Nature, every other law, doth excel,  
Which, if thou observe not, in every point, well,  
Trust me truly (good son) both the Lord, thou shalt offend,  
And in heaven, have no habitarion, at thy lives end,  
Further, any man, for his honour, his goods, or good name,  
Beware, thou hate, not by malice, or disdain,  
Also be circumspect, that neither bribes, hate or love,  
Thy heart, from equity, and justice, do remove,  
For these three things, we see, so blindeth many men's sight,  
That their judgements, and doings, are contrary, to right,  
But thou (my son) remember, that once thou shalt die,  
And for these deeds, if thou do them, be punished, eternally,  
Also, the wicked thirsting, riches to obtain,  
And the ungodly coveting, of silver, gold, and other gain,  
See thou also ertue, for where covetousness, doth reign,  
There all kind of wickedness, of force must remain,  
Impiety, perjury, rapine, and thieving,  
Fraud, craft, and deceit, with lecherous living,  
quarrelling, & treasons, with murders, and killing,  
For lands, treasures, and goods, many men, spilling,  
finally, no filthier thing is there, or more detestable I say,  
Then a man to be covetous, by any manner of way,  
For whoso to that vile vice, is once given,  
To the blind Mole, I may him well liken,  
Which neither loveth, desireth, or any way knoweth,  
Any other thing, then in this vain world, groweth,  
The wretch doth not see, how short and how frail,  
The life of man is, and how death doth us assail,  
Daily ready, to strike us, his bow being bent,  
With his deadly, doubtful dart, then is to late, to repent,  
He neither spareth, the young, the old, or any degree,  
The rich, the learned, or the man in authority,  
The Lawer, the Landlord, or the lacking poor man, that weepeth,  
But without any difference, he every man striketh,  
And he is ofterymes nearest us, we daily do see,  
When we most, think him, furthest of too be,  
But then (my son) these wordly riches here,  
And these vain goods, subject, to blind fortune's power,  
Do little esteem, nor moche for them care,  
For these things, are none of thine, whatsoever they are,  
Which either, unstable fortune, her pleasure too fulfil,  
Doth give, grant, and pluck away, at her variable will,  
Or which, when thou diest, will no longer abide,  
But to seek them new masters, away suddenly they do slide  
There be other goods, which thou oughtest too acquyze,  
And morche better riches, thou shouldest desire,  
Which with thee always will remain, and endure,  
Of whom neither fortune, nor death, hath power be thou sure  
These, ought thou too heap up, for thee, night and day,  
Then, in deed art thou happy, and rich, every way,  
As for the rest, which the common people, follow, and magnify,  
If thou have them, as lands, goods, , or money,  
Lawfully use the same, no man can forbid thee,  
But thou oughtest to use them, with justice, and modesty,  
And also when thou mayest, pity the poverty,  
And never shut thine ears, at the cry of the needy,  
For who so with compassion, will not hear, the crying of the poor  
Shall cry himself, and not be heard, I am sure,  
By relieving the poor, thou layest up in store,  
A treasure, in heaven, to continue evermore,  
Which neither canere can corrupt, neither thieves, them conuaie,  
Thus heavily treasure, for worldly trifles, thou shalt have another day  
No man he is, but a wolf, that clemency lacketh,  
And which, at other men's misery, no pity taketh,  
Or that refuseth too help, his fellow servant here,  
seeing we are all servants, to one Lord, and master,  
But of it shall happen thee (I say) a poor man too be,  
With patient heart, bear, and sustame, the poverty  
For the man, that hath moche, we alway well see,  
Is troubled, and tossed, with cares, abundantly,  
Also he, to whom fortune, hath of goods given store,  
The hot hasty heat, beginneth to assuage,  
Then after fally, followeth, frowning, froward, repentance.  
With sorrow, and shame fastness, bringing great grievance,  
Therefore busily beware of it, and thy mind so moderate,  
That this foul vice, in thy courage, thou diligently abate,  
Patience, is a virtue, of a wonderful strength,  
And obtaineth, the victory, of each thing at length,  
The which godly gift, who so ever doth want,  
In him all goodness, and grace, of force, must be scant,  
And cruel he must needs he, and also to strife, full prone,  
Which is not the nature, of man, but of beasts alone,  
The prudent, and good, seeketh chiefly for peasse,  
And fearing greater mischie●●s, will bear with the less,  
Lest, that a little spark, might increase such a flame,  
That great peril it were, again, to quench the same,  
He that nothing will suffer, nor his way ward wrath refrain,  
Must flee, the company, of all men we see plain,  
And dwell alone, in the woods, or mountains on high,  
Where no man, may trouble him, nor he no body,  
But he, that will frequent, and dwell amongst men,  
Must learn, to suffer, displeasures, now and then,  
And bridle his fury, dissembling his ire,  
And in his secret breast, quench the hot fire,  
Nor in any wise may, for every light offence,  
Violate the bonds, of peace, and patience,  
But as much as he can, forgive other men,  
That he offending in like case, may be also forgiven,   

¶ Further, glutton ye to ertue, be ever circumspect,  
Which with diverse diseases, the mind, and body doth infecie,  
Besides shortening man's life, it consumeth his wealth,  
unwarely, as it were, him robbing by stealth,  
For dainties, are dear, and delicates, be costly,  
Swallowing up clean, great riches, quickly,  
Some men, very rich, by prodigal superfluity,  
Have in short time, devoured their patrimony,  
Daily pouring in their bellies, both house, goods, and land,  
Till poverty them pincheth, and they a● brought behande,  
I have known, very many, I tell the good son,  
That by lascivious riot, have been utterly undone,  
Thou must eat (I say) thy life only to sustain,  
And not live, to eat, this is most plain,  
Ebreite and drunkenness, is also excesses brother,  
For in whom, raineth the one, there is also the other,  
This likewise must thou i'll, if thou love thy welfare,  
Of all other the same, is the most detestable snare,  
He that this wicked vice, hath once embraced,  
All goodness in him, is clearly defaced,  
Reason then refuseth him, and he is left too his will,  
All sins have free entrance, him then for too spill,  
Good son, I have said many years past,  
That great Alerander in his drunkenness commanded in haste,  
His most dear and familiar friends to be slain,  
By whose help and good counsel as it is most plain,  
He had the hole world conquered, who being thus dead,  
And sleep had expulsed ebriety out of Alexander's head,  
He then so lamented their deaths in weeping bitterly,  
That he was ready for very anguish to die presently,  
Oh filthy ebriety, the destroyer of the soul,  
Oh norysher of vices, and iniquities all,  
What thing is it, but thou forcest man's heart, to fulfil,  
Whereby he waxeth bold, too attempt all that is ill,  
quarrelling, strife, cruel frays, thou dost move,  
Neither, regarding discretion, honest friendship, or love,  
Through the counsel is opened, and secrettis revealed,  
The tongue is not then able, too keep the same closed,  
Flee this vice, my son, in all that thou may,  
Lest it grow, from custom, too nature another day,  
The tongue also, thou must learn too moderate,  
And be well aware, what thou speakest early and late,  
Be evermore willing, attentify too hear,  
But speak seldom, as need shall require,  
Abundance of talk, is a great sign of folly,  
And the busy babbler, offendeth continually,  
He that seldom talketh, and then speaketh wisely,  
Is worthy much praise, and approveth too be witty,  
One principal point, observe in thy communication,  
Whether they be present, or absent, with thy words hurt no man,  
Nor except it tend too some purpose, speak thou any thing,  
least men laugh the too scorn, for thy babbling,  
Rather hold thy peace, and be ever silent,  
It hurteth not, neither shall it thee repent,  
In danger, and peril, he remaineth evermore,  
Experience doth teach us, and we see every day,  
Some man's lands, and riches, too be their casting away,  
It is no new thing, to see this abusion,  
That diverse men's wealths, have been their confusion,  
Also rich men, are with the bird of their goods so borne down,  
That they have no mind, to seek, after the celestial mansion,  
For the more, a man desireth, riches, and earthly gain,  
So much the harder, it is, for him, too heaven to attain,  
For look, where a man's treasure is laid,  
There is also his heart, it can not be denayed,  
Therefore, poverty, to some persons, is profitable,  
Disburdening them, of mischeffes innumerable.   

FURTHER, pride, of thee, is to be abhorred no less,  
Being of strife, and debate, the mother, and mistress,  
By this, the laws, are neglected, and the common wealth spilled,  
And innumerable people, this vain pride, hath killed,  
With this pestilence, the famous Rome being once poisoned,  
By civil war, and oppression, was utterly destroyed,  
This monstrous hellhound, by always see thou flee,  
If thou wilt with almighty God, live eternally,  
For God, in the lowly, and meek, taketh delectation,  
And in the humble spirits, gladly hath his habitation,  
Them also, he favoureth, that are void of ambition,  
And the proud, swelling people, he bringeth to confution,  
Therefore ye people, puffed up with pride, what profiteth you,  
Your pride, high names, and vain styles, forged new,  
Which death, doth confound, and bringeth in subjection,  
Your ambisious titles, of so great a renown,  
Some will perchance say, the common people, we will please,  
In coveting of them, therefore to have our praise,  
Tell me (I pray you) what is the judgement, of the multitude,  
Ye shall perceive many times, they do mock and delude,  
Or else speak of affection, as some time, naming them wise,  
Which are perchance, very fools, rightly to surmise,  
And though, the ignorant we mock, God can we not deceive,  
Nay, he rather derideth us by our leave,  
For he knoweth our manners, and our deeds, most secret,  
And for them worthily to punish us he will not forget,  
But many, are so blind, that in their own thought,  
They believe, there is no God, & that there remaineth nought  
Of any man, the breath, being once erpired,  
Therefore, the present joys, of this life, they have ever desired,  
And do daily wish for, deriding the bliss to come,  
Have not they, bestial hearts, under man's shape and form,  
We s●ke after riches our pride too maintain,  
Our life vanely spending to seek a sinful gain,  
We ponder not the frailty of our wretched state,  
Wese not death daily ready, our pride to abate,  
We are so contentlesse from most unto least,  
That in our vocation we never can rest,  
Well if in worldly things blind fortunes governance,  
Ruled not without reason at her own will and pleasance,  
As we see she doth, than all things should be well,  
The laws, and justice, should flourish, and tyranny expel,  
But since almighty God, suffereth such things to be done.  
Who if it pleased him, could amend all right soon,  
Why should we grudge, to suffer the same,  
To repine, at God's will, we are greatly to blame,  
Wherefore, wisdom willeth wise men, ever to be patiented,  
And taking all things, as it cometh, to be content,  
But thou (my son) endeavour thyself, in all that thou can,  
Blind fortune to dispyce, and the vain praise of man,  
Only study thou daily, by all manner of ways,  
With virtuous living, the Lord for to please,  
For true honour, and praise, thou canst not obtain,  
until after this life, in heaven thou remain,  
Which the good, and just, shall enjoy there,  
That with humbleness, and meekness, have led their life here,   

ALSO, I charge thee, thine anger to suppress,  
And the hot rage, of ire, which causeth great business,  
Wrath, worketh woe, and much mischief we see,  
Fury, maketh frays, and then of necessity,  
Followeth wide wounds, hurts and other maim,  
In which bloody bickerings, oft tyines some men are slain,  
For the mind of man, being once, incensed with ire,  
Is so blindly oppressed, with that rash, raging fire,  
That it neither can behold, or judge any thing a right,  
Reason then ruleth not, and wit hath lost his might,  
When after once being past, such furious rage,  
Too have been quiet, and still, but experience teacheth,  
That the talkative person, oft to his pain repenteth,   

FINALLY my son, another thing there is,  
Which I have not to the yet, rehearsed iwis,  
That above all the rest, thy life will deface,  
If in youth too repress it, thou have not the grace,  
That is the wanton desires, of the body frail,  
With this thy best age, will violently assail,  
The lewd lusts whereof, see that thou flee,  
And bridle thou them, before they blind thee,  
There is no thing too virtue, so clean contrary,  
As is the wicked concupiscence, of the body,  
Where virtue too the heavens, striveth too ascended,  
Vile lust, vain pleasures, only doth attend,  
looking always, as a beast too the earth groveling.  
The live lie spirits, both of the mind, and body distroyenge,  
The devil taketh many, with his book and snare,  
Like a crafty sore, no travel doth he spare,  
So he may withhold them, the bliss of heaven too attain,  
And after this life, within in hell, too live ever with pain,  
These deceits therefore, of Satan thin enemy,  
And this detestable poison, covered over with honey,  
Warily beware of, as much as thou may,  
Lest the same repent thee, in vain another day,  
When thy ripe years, of discretion, and man's perfect state,  
Shall clearly perceive, all though then to late,  
Thy wit, thy substance, members, and good name,  
By a little wanton pleasure, consumed to remane,  
Then shalt thou, as many other are wont too say,  
Oh youth, and lusty years, how are ye vanished away,  
How evil have I spent you wretch that I am,  
Whether are ye gone, oh unfortunate man,  
If god of his goodness, would eftsoons restore,  
The joyful ●…uentute, I once had before,  
If I might once I say the same again ebtaine,  
I would then tread, the right path, of virtue so plain,  
Although the same were, never so narrow a way,  
I would therein walk, and continue night and day,  
That there is no thing like virtue, I find now full true,  
Nor to it, too be compared, this alas oft do I rue,  
Which ever continueth, and alway doth endure,  
giving to man, such worthy praise, & honour as is sure,  
She increaseth thy riches, and thy life doth preserve,  
Yea after death, she abiding, away will not serve,  
But I of all other, think myself most unhappy,  
Who by flattering voluptuousness, was dereaved wilfully,  
Which slidying away, long since hath left me,  
Wrapped in all my mischiefs, and woeful misery,  
For I being a young man, the stews did frequent,  
And in bancketinge, sleep, and play, my time ydlye spent,  
Nothing then would I learn, all study I despised,  
Abhorring in good science, to be exercised,  
But now therefore (we worth the tyine) I well see,  
Myself both unlearned, and no less di●●amed to be,  
In poverty also, and my whole body bruised,  
My wits altogether dulled, and my senses confused,  
I have hither to lived, as one who hath dreamt,  
Himself to be awake, and yet was deceived,  
Such things (son) of some men, we are wont for to here,  
That are far stricken in age, and to their grave draw near.  
Which calling to remembrance, their lusty years passed,  
Do now (but to late) bewail their misery at the last,  
Then shutting the stable door, when horses there be none,  
And now waring wise, when blind Fortune is gone,  
Then seeking a Surgeon to heal their rankled sore,  
When there is no hope of cure, in the same any more,  
My son, therefore take time, while thou may,  
For it never returneth, if it once vanish away,  
Neither wailing, will help, nor weeping then remedy,  
If the body be once stricken, with deaths dart deadly.  
The medicine is profitable, Phicisione do say,  
That in time is ministered, not slacking any day,  
Wherefore when thine youth, first to flourish doth begin,  
Then thee behoveth virtue to embrace, and i'll from sin,  
Then oughtest thou to take, the right path of living,  
To good and honest studies, thyself wholly applying,  
Then use thou reason, and govern by counsel thy mind,  
While the same is pliaunte, every way to wind,  
Whoso willbe wise, let him be wise while he may,  
For to be wise a day after the fair, is foolishness I say,  
And therefore he is worthy, his misery to sustain,  
bewailing the loss, that is never to be recovered again,   

NOW touching this world, understand plainly,  
That the same is very short, and transitory,  
And the hole life of man, wherein we do rurine,  
In comparison to theternity, of the world to come,  
The truth whereof, to be truly declared,  
To one moment of time, is not to be compared,  
And touching the misery, of the world I say,  
He is happier that is gone, then here far away,  
For mark I pray thee, how infancy cometh out,  
Of his mother's womb naked, without any clout,  
And the first thing he then doth, is weeping with tears,  
Because the misery of this world, as I think he fears,  
As I might it liken, to some merchant man,  
Which on some percellous viage, his way must take than,  
And fearing both drowning, Pirates, and shipwreck,  
Trembling, so dangerous a journey to take,  
Eurn so, nature teacheth, the infant plainly,  
That he than entereth, into the vale of misery,  
All other beaftes, that nature bringeth forth,  
To their dams tytt, run strait with open mouth,  
But man, as soon as ever he is borne,  
If the mother, cloth, and feed him not, he is forlorn,  
After Infauncie, how long it is,  
Or perseverance creepeth, in that little breast of his,  
childhood cometh after, wherofneyther of them both,  
Can by reason rule themselves, be they lief or loath,  
Then what grief, travail, fear, and pain,  
suffereth the child, or he to iuuentute doth attain,  
Then ignorant frail youth, beginneth to arise,  
Which leaveth reason, and commonly is ruled by vice,  
His strength increasing, he putteth away fear,  
Good warnings, and precepts, he will then no more hear,  
Then waxeth he wild, his young blood being warm,  
Given to Ire, and Lusse, which doth him much harm,  
Good counsel he refuseth, and is then rash in all thing,  
To the evil inclined, the good ever ertuinge,  
Noperel he doubteth, no danger he doth refrain,  
So that his frail lust, he may by any mean obtain,  
No law he then feareth, if there be a toy in his brain,  
Few young men in that age, from vice can abstain,  
Whom either shame fastness, fear, or wisdom, doth constraint,  
By no spot of vice, their youth for to stain,  
Then cometh man's state, grave and sage,  
By experience, and wisdom, he is taught in this age.  
Then unsound are his sleeps, he lanboureth with pain,  
The living of himself, and his house to sustain,  
He gathered together, in that state of life,  
In age to keep him, his family and wife,  
Only caring for them all, both to cloth and feed,  
spending this his best age, with misery in deed,  
And then weary rude age, on man fast creepeth,  
stealing upon him, whether he waketh or sleepeth,  
bringing many discommodites, both of mind, and body,  
His strength taketh his leave, his fresh colour will not tarry  
His senses shrink away, his sight waxeth dime,  
His hearing dulleth, and his smelling leaveth him,  
Further he is always vexed, with one or other disease,  
No meat him then savourith, all thing him displease,  
Without aid of a n1, his legs him then fale,  
His wit is then gone, his body shrincheth, waring pale,  
This every age, hath his infirmity, we see,  
Which of force, we are forced, to suffer parientlie,  
Which last age, will not leave him, till he hath brought,  
Man to his grave, where he consumeth to nought,   

EYELET pass, of all other common perils to tell,  
With which man is besieged, while he here doth dwell,  
Wherewith a man's life, is so greatly environed,  
That it is seldom, or never, but by some of them devoured,  
Now vehement cold, with I lie snow grieve us,  
Then hot burning heat, to us are molestiouse,  
Thextremity, whereof, as is oft seen,  
Causeth the ground, wide open, some liquor to obtain,  
Sometyms we are noyed, by so great wete, and rain,  
That it over floweth, hole countries we see plain,  
Hunger, thirst, and also much penury,  
With the wanting, of necessary things to occupy,  
Who can declare, in mitre, or in prose,  
The great and manysolde, number of those,  
Discases, and sicknesses, of every hind,  
Which killeth daily our bodies, and verith our mind,  
By battle, and warfaire, some men are confounded,  
In the seas, and other, waters, many men, are drowned,  
Other some, by falling, catch their bane,  
or else by crushing, their members, are made lame,  
Some men, cruel fire, to ashes doth consume,  
Many are chocked, and cruel beasts killeth some,  
What shall I recite, how in earth, the living man,  
Hath no greater enemy, than the seed whereof he came,  
Of that seed, springeth, all thieves, and robbers,  
All murderers, perjured, and false witness bearers,  
fornicators also, and vile, adulterers,  
And of mankind descend, all wicked doers,  
This man with his weapon, another with his tongue men do kile,  
The most part, by fraud, and deceit, worketh isle,  
O lord, all men, almost now take delight,  
At other men's harms, such is their spite,  
The brother, the natural brother, doth mistrust,  
The amity, of friends, now lieth in the dust,  
The father, his son, and the husband his wife,  
Each suspect other, here is a goodly life,  
Now son, I have told thee, aswell as I can,  
The perils, that do compass, the life of man,  
Wherefore thou mayest not, this worldly pleasure use  
Ercept thou intend, eternal life to refuse,  
And the time very short, that thou here shalt remain,  
The truth whereof, I can well declare plain,  
For all though that I am, now four score year old,  
Yet the bedroll of my life, when I do unfold,  
I do now well ponder, and perceive in this case,  
The same to have been, but a very little space,  
And yet to live mine age, of a hunderith I know,  
One shalt thou not find, though thou sought them on a row  
Good father said I, I think you say true,  
For I have scene very few, of th'age of you,  
Now (quoth he) I have taught you, sufficiently to know,  
First God, yourself, and the world, I trow,  
And because quietly, your life you would lead,  
In the fear, and love, of God, as ye said,  
I could wish, you should prudently provide,  
Of some good stock, a wife with you to abide,  
By whom, ye shall, many comodites possess,  
More than I can, at this lime, express,  
For your wife, shall leave, both father and mother,  
To stick to you only, and to none other,  
Her own kindred, and friends doth she leave,  
Dayelie, during her life, to you for to cleave,  
By her, shall ye have, fruit of your own seed  
Which shall keep you in remeinbraunce, when time ye are deed,  
Obedient, she willbe, and a surrour always,  
And a joyful joy also, to prolong your days,  
Each good thing, shall be common, ever you between,  
Your games, shall be one, your livings to sustain  
Further, if age, or sickness, shall grieve you hereafter,  
She will be a continual, and faithful helper,  
By assisting, ministering, and watching, you also,  
comforting, and relieving you, with the best she can do,  
And then your children, which hereafter may flourish,  
Will do their endeavour, you gladly to cherish,  
In whom ye shall yet live, when life is gone clean,  
And your name still on live, by them shall remane,  
Further, to them shall ye leave, your goods being got,  
And not unto strange heirs, which ye know not,  
Besides this, your wise, with her some what will bring  
Toward the maintenance, of your and her living,  
Both friends, and kinsfolk, by her will arise,  
Which may be to thee profitable, in sundry wise,  
Wherefore, a wife you must have, there is none other nay,  
If ye mean quietly, and godly to live another day,  
Good father (quoth I) me think ye say well,  
But of one thing, I would gladly hear tell,  
Which way were best, by your consideration,  
How I might, have one, of an honest conversation,  
Marry young man (quoth he) there lieth all the matter,  
In the wittle wisdom, of him that chooseth her,  
For I would not have thee, therein to be beguiled,  
As I was once near, when I was young and wild,  
Which if it were not, for lack of time, and space,  
Thou shouldest plainelis hear, my folly in this case,  
I pray you (quoth I) take the pains to declare it,  
And for lack of time, and space, do not spare it,  
Nay not so (quoth he) for we are now, near the to the farmers plare  
With whom I intend, to common a little space,  
touching, my business, wherefore I hither came,  
Which being once finished, if thou wilt then,  
Bear me company, homeward, in the way,  
I will declare, all the rest, I have yet to say,  
To the which, I answered, that I would veary galdlye  
So that he would, dispacth his matters quickly.   
Here endeth the first part.   


Anon, we spied, the farmer, at his gate standing,  
Who as soon, as he, perceived us coming,  
Gently, saluted us, calling him by his name,  
And we did likewise gretchi, with chanckes for the same,  
With whom this aged man, having a while walked,  
And concerning his errand, hao with him fully talked,  
The farmer had us in, where we had good cheer  
And tarried the maintenance, of half an bower,  
Then took we our leave, of the fermere,  
And so straight ways departed, from him there,  
And when we were homeward, a pretty way,  
To the said old man, I began thus to say,  
Now Sire, and it please you, in your tale to proceed,  
I am much desirous, to here th'end in deed,  
Well said, son (quoth he) then give diligent care,  
When I was of th'age, of two and twenty year,  
very lusty I was, and pleasant withal,  
To sing, dance, and play at the ball,  
To run, to wrestle, to cast the axeltre or bar,  
Either with hand, or foot, I could cast it as far,  
And all other feats, as nunblie do,  
As any in the town, Idwelled in thoo  
fine, feat, neat, proper and small,  
I was then, though I say it, and fair withal,  
It appeareth no less (quoth I) for you bear your age sear,  
Well, let pass (quoth he) such than was my cheer,  
And besides all this, I could then finely play,  
On the harp, moth better, than now far a way,  
By which my minstrelsy, and my fair speech, and sport,  
All the maids in the parish, to me did reasorte,  
Each loved, lusty Lewes, for so they me named,  
Not one of them all, my company refrained,  
parish clerk I was then, of the town there,  
To help the priest to mass, and sing in the quere,  
With such living as I had, I lived without care,  
Wife nor child had I none, for whom I should spare,  
A neighbour there was, a very honest man,  
dwelling within the same, our parish than,  
Which a daughter had that in beauty did excel,  
And as then me thought, above all other bore the bell,  
Of mean stature she was, and thereto well made,  
Cheerful in countenance, and a good favour had,  
A smiling smooth look, with a wanton Eye.  
She was the amiablest damosel, that ever I did set,  
A fine tongue she also had, and her words could well plate,  
And in her communication, a very singular grace,  
modest, demure, and sad she appeared,  
And nevertheless familiar, enough, as the time required,  
In her apparel trim, which was ever more white,  
To have seen her on the holy day, was a goodly sight,  
So womanly was her pace, in her gesture to and fro,  
Upright as a bolt, and like one fleing did she go,  
This maid was come home, but late from the city,  
Where she had served, years two or three,  
The first time I saw her, was on a holy day at noon,  
going home ward from the church, when service was done,  
Whose wanton, well favoured fairness, so caught me,  
That earnestly to love her, lightly she brought me,  
By whom, I was then stricken, with such a veament pang,  
That the holy water bucket, from me strait I flang,  
And great haste I made, running swiftly after,  
Because I would, so gladly overtake her,  
At last I overtook her, but with moth a do,  
Then she me saluted, and I her also,  
Her sister went with her, who bade me welcome,  
saying, whether in such haste, good Lewes, do you rone.  
In faith (quoth I) since you desire, to know,  
To a neighbour's house, who dwelleth here by low,  
The haste that I made, was for your company,  
And to know what fair maid, this is truly,  
Marry (quoth she) she is none other,  
But mine own sister borne of father and mother,  
And sister Grace (quoth she) I pray you, of him acquaintance take,  
For with his melody, he doth us often, merry make,  
I tell you Grace (quoth she) he is an honest man,  
And on his minion harp, full well play he can,  
To the which, this Grace, answered, very sadly,  
And I would be acquainted, with him very gladly,  
And this passed forth, they were near at home,  
So then taking my leave, I parted them from,  
And this, was the first time, of our greeting,  
Which was to me, anunhappie meeting,  
As ye shall plainly, here after well perceive.  
Before the cruelty, of cruel Cupid, did me leave,  
Backward I went, where my dinner was dight,  
And still by the way, my heart full fore sighere,  
When home I was come, to dinner I was set,  
My heart was full heavy, no meat could I eat,  
After dinner down, on my bed I did lie,  
Much musing with myself, what thing it might be,  
That so soudanlie had stricken, my heart with such woe,  
And so soon had driven, my mirth, and pleasure, me froo,  
No wayr, could my wit, by wisdom devise,  
How this sadness, and thought, on me should arise,  
Except it wear, by beholding the maid,  
Whose beauty, and favour, was ever in my head,  
To have slept feign I would, but it would not be,  
Yet at the last, a short slumber took me,  
In which slumber, also my thought I did see,  
The damosel, whose fairness, before so pierced me  
Evensong time came, up then did I rise,  
And went to the church, to hear the seruste,  
My love, to evensong came not, as I thought that she would,  
Therefore was I sorry, my heart was full cold,  
At supper, no thing could I eat, than thought I best,  
In time convenient, to high me to my nest,  
No rest could I take, my sleep was clean gone,  
My heart was full heavy, and cold as a stone,  
The morning than came, when gone was the night,  
The air was clear, the sun shined bright,  
Abroad I then walcked, the birds for to hear,  
Where a friend of mine, met me and ar, what cheer,  
truly (quoth I) I am now exceeding faints  
Yet know I not the cause, which my heart doth so taint,  
God a mend you (quoth he) and so went his way,  
This in miserable case, I passed that day,  
And many a day more, till sheringe time came,  
Her father shearing sheep, to his feast had me then,  
Glade was Lewes, though, thinking then shall I speak,  
At leisure, with my love, and my mind, to her break,  
Than shall she know, the woe, and the smart,  
The heaviness, and sorrow, of my woeful heart,  
The restless mghtes, and unquiet days,  
The heavy thoughts, which troublith me always,  
I will also then, if that Idare,  
The bottom, of my mind, to her declare,  
Then said I sofcely to myself, God lend me,  
A convenient time, and that he will send me,  
To obtain at her hands, such favour and grace,  
That my humble request, may be heard, and take place,  
What need longer process, the sheep shearing day,  
That I so long looked for, at last came I say,  
To her father's house I came, as they were at dinner,  
He had me heartily welcome, and in the best manner,  
To the table was I set, down on the bench,  
Where I might seed, full in me eyes, on the well-favoured wench,  
Who there served the table, as then was the guise,  
And surely she waited in most womanly wise,  
Which she well could do, for as I said before,  
In the cytic had she been, of good manner to learn store.  
little meat could I eat, which was noted well than,  
By the maids mother, and also by her good man,  
What cheer good Lewes, tell me she said,  
Ye look very sadly, as one half dismayed,  
What man quoth she, where is your mirth become,  
Me thinks ye muse, on the man in the moan,  
Be merry I pray you, and therewith she me carved.  
But my heart was holly, on the maid that served,  
And afterward, when dinner was done  
And the guests departing, away everich one,  
I also having rendered them, thanks for my cheer,  
Went homeward, with the company, that were going there,  
Being both of my purpose, that I came for vnspe●de,  
And also wourfe at ease, both in my heart and heavy head,  
Then, instamed was my lout, and grew more and more,  
Which was but a little, kindled before,  
The malady, which before, might in time, have been healed,  
Warred now incurable, and that well I sealed,  
My harp, which was wont, so sweetly to sound,  
Lay now untouched, for me on the ground,  
My breast, which before, many solkes, did reiosce,  
Began clean to turn, and horse waxed my voice,  
My colour, which in times past, so lively did appear,  
Was vaded away, and changed his cheer,  
My legs, which were sometime, nimble to dance,  
Was shrunken clean, by this unhappy chance,  
I was near a consumption, all strength was gone,  
So holly was I altered, that I was scarce known,  
At last I considered, the best way to proceed,  
If I thought, by her help, to be cured in deed,  
Was, that she first, understand should,  
My woe, and distress, and then if she would,  
Of pity, and clemency, relieve my great pain,  
This way, to be the best, I thought sure, and plain,  
For Phisirions, do not use, to minister remedy,  
Before, they are instructed, in their pacientes malady,  
So it fell, in a morning not long after,  
That I chaunfed, to walk, through the common pasture,  
Where the milche kine, of the town, the day time did feed,  
And all the maidens, in the parish, did milk in that stead,  
Amongst whom, Grace's sister, was one there,  
And therefore, I minded, to banish all fear,  
And so to make open, and break holly to her,  
The full care, and effect, of all this hole matter,  
But first, certain words, a far of to prove her,  
I would cast out, to see, how this care, would move her,  
And how she would take it, ere I meant to declare,  
And upon the liking, of her answer, not for to spare,  
Thus drawing near, I had her good morrow,  
What gentle Lewes (quoth she) God keep you from sorrow,  
How do you, what wind drive you hither,  
This morning so early, and I pray you whether,  
Are ye thus walking, yourself all alone,  
I think surely, ye have some pretty one,  
That causeth you, daily, to this place to come,  
Well wanton, well, though not all, yet I know some,  
Losen johan (quoth I) for so was her name,  
In judging amiss, ye are greatly to blame,  
For if I for love, reasorte, to any in this place,  
It is truly, to you, or to your sister Grace,  
For surely, you two, of beauty bear the flower,  
This judgement, must I give, though I die, within an hour,  
No Lewes (quoth she) than ye judge not well,  
For there be maids, a great many that us do excel,  
Yet for the gentleness, I have always sent,  
And the honest behaviour, that continually hath been,  
In you heretofore, I think you worthy to obtain,  
As good, and as fair, as any in this parish doth remain,  
Yea, and though she were, mine own dear sister,  
I would think her, well bestowed, if ye had her,  
I thank you fair john (quoth I) that it doth you please,  
Unworthily, me so lovingly to praise,  
And if God my life, any while will preserve,  
Your gentle kindness, I trust to deserve,  
And therewith, as it were musing, a pretty while I stayed,  
What Lewes (quoth she) me thinks ye are as one dysmaied,  
Whereon so study you, a penny for your thought,  
In faith quoth I, if ye knew it, yet were it worth nought,  
My thinks quoth she, ye are changed in every race,  
What, hath any maid, ravished your heart, from his place,  
Tell me (she said) and my best counsel ye shall have,  
With all that I can do as God my soul save,  
Oh (quoth I) my heart is wrappeth full of woe,  
Yet have I no faithful friend, it to show,  
I shall tell you Lewes (quoth she) what so ever ye say,  
To me, think it sure, under lock, and kaye,  
For ever hearing it, by me spoken again,  
Ercepte the same be, for your profit plain,  
Well, since ye will needs know quod I my careful misery,  
Ye shall hear the same, in few words plainly,  
So it is, that, that fair swear blossom, your sister Grace,  
Hath holly, my love, and heart, in such case,  
That neither wandering, nor walking, whether so ever I go,  
Neither playing, nor working, what so ever I do,  
Neither waking, nor watching, any time, or space,  
Neither resting, nor sleeping, in any manner place,  
But at all times, and evermore continually,  
Her amiable countenance, restreth in my mind daily,  
No pleasure, me pleaseth, my mirth is amated,  
No joys, my delight, my lyfelynesse is abated,  
No music, me rejoiceth, their sounds, are unsweet,  
No pastimes, I pass on, as at this time unmeet,  
No work, is well wrought, now under my hands,  
Nor I am nothing, as I was, before I entered loves bades,  
So that I well know, I am like to sustain,  
deaths dart, very shortly, if I do not obtain,  
The rather, her love who now hath the measure,  
Me to slay or revive even at her own pleasure,  
Which I would she did shortly for the ease of my pain,  
By the dart of cruel death devoring me clean,  
Now have ye heard all quoth I, and more as I say,  
Then ever to any other I told before this day,  
Wherein I shall desire you to play an honest part,  
For the speedy quieting of my poor wretched heart,  
Marry (quod johan) now I perceive very well,  
Of your sadness, and sorrow, there is no marvel,  
That hath such an Impostome breeding in your breast,  
Which worketh you wourthely full wayward rest,  
No wonder it is though ye look wan and pale,  
For love hath made you drink a draft of sour ale,  
I took you never so tender, so soon to be caught,  
With the lovely links of love which are so quickly wrought,  
Ye were wont before this time always to say,  
That they were very fools that to love did obey,  
And that it was impossible any wise man to be,  
So earnestly set in love in any degree,  
But that when he would always, well he might,  
Full easily put the same out of his head quite,  
But now ye are caught in the same net,  
Which in times past ye greatly did neglect,  
When ye saw any lover, ye laughed him to scorn,  
But love hath now brought you to school to learn,  
And surely quoth she, to dame in mine intent,  
Ye have worthily of love deserved this punishment,  
Welquod I, to a man that is fallen in misery and woe,  
Good comfort behoveth, and not chiding so,  
My fault I confcsse, what needeth more,  
I desire your good counsel for curing of my sore,  
Which way I may best by your good advise,  
Atcheve this so doubtful and dangerous an enterprpse,  
Well Lewes (quod johan) now that I knoo,  
What woman she is that worketh you this woe,  
Let me alone, I will first move this matter,  
soon at night in bed, I will earnestly at her,  
As ye shall perceive here by this time to morrow,  
Other ease or increase of all your hole sorrow,  
Therefore in the mean time, be of good cheer,  
And I will diligently work in your cause I swear,  
Whereof I thanked her, saying gladly I would,  
Her gentleness consider, if ever I could,  
And having once kissed her, I took my leave then,  
This departing from her, whom ward I came,  
The morrow nerte after, I came estesones to the same place,  
To hear if I were like to obtain any grace,  
johan was not then come, I stayed a little while,  
At last not far thence I saw her coming over a style,  
With her pail in her hand, than I went her to meet,  
And gentyllie saluted her, she did like wise me great,  
Either death and double sorrow (quoth I johan) do you bring,  
Or life to revive me which am now dying,  
Neither of them both (quoth she) but hope have I brought,  
Thereby partly to feed and relieve your heaupe thought,  
Then say on (quoth I) and no more time waste,  
That happy hope to hear I gladly make haste,  
Pester night being both (quoth she) in our bed laid,  
I turned me towards my sister, and even thus I said,  
Oh johan (quoth I) I then wished me in your place,  
To have declared myself to her my hole case,  
your wish was but void (quoth she) but hark what I tell,  
I ar Grace how she did, and she said very well,  
How so ever you do (quoth I) lie now at your case,  
I know other some are as ill at ease,  
Which for you and for your sake to be plain,  
Much misery, mischief and care do sustain,  
Which grieveth me much, for since the world began,  
God never created a more honester man,  
And he is like for your love as far as I can guess,  
Shortly to die, such is his deadly distress,  
For my love (sister johan) quoth Grace to me then,  
In this parish I am as yet known of very few men,  
And fewer do I know, then how may it be,  
That any man is vexed so for love of me,  
Who is it I pray you, once name him to me,  
And then if I know him, I will tell you quoth she,  
Nay sister Grace (quoth I) that shall not be,  
Before first some promise ye make unto me,  
That ye shall not at the first kill his heart clean,  
By gevyuge him a nay, or by any other mean,  
Of unkindness on your behalf, but ye shall if ye can,  
Braunte him your love, before an other man,  
For I will assure you if ye perfertly knew,  
His good gentle behaviour both honest and true,  
Which is so pleasant a parson to sing and to dance,  
And is skilled in instruments for your pastance,  
So well can shoot, wrestel, and leap so light,  
So handsome a man in every man's sight,  
And besides this more sorrow hath sustained,  
For your sake, and is also so cruelly pained,  
That death to him were a great deal sweater,  
Then to live as he doth he thinketh it much better,  
And if in your default ye should suffer him to die,  
For lack of your love what prosyte thereby,  
Should ye receive, nay rather it might name you,  
A murderer I say which would greatly shame you,  
And whom should ye kill no enemy pardy,  
But a most true lover who loveth you heartily,  
Well (quoth my sister) to love him ye shall pardon me,  
For I will do nothing in that matter truly,  
But this promise to grant to you I am content,  
At the first time no nay he shall have I consent,  
Therefore tell me his name without any delay,  
And then ye shall hear what I will further say,  
It is (quoth I) Lewes the clear he of the townr,  
Who for your sake in misery is tossed up and down,  
Why sister johan than said she unto me,  
I thought ye would not of all other sucrlye,  
Have moved me to this lightness I say,  
But rather have persuaded me if I had been bend that way,  
Why Brace (quoth I) I mean no dishonesty,  
For he would have you to be his wife very gladly,  
So much the more quoth she, it is to be borne,  
But I tell you now as I told you before,  
I will as yet, neither love him, nor any other,  
By other persuasion of sister or brother,  
Also ye might well think, me very hasty sister johan,  
If I should be a lover so soon as I came home,  
And if he loved me so earnestly as ye have told,  
To have moved me himself before this time he would,  
But he thought of his desire himself to be sure,  
When you to be his broker he first did procure,  
And very late it is quoth she, therefore fall to your rest,  
And herewith meddle no more in earnest or jest,  
Not one word more quoth johan, of her get could I,  
For to sleep she gave her where she slept by and by,  
And thus have I (Lewes) for you broken the matter,  
It behoveth yourself next to attempt her,  
And spare not to speak, if ye mind for to speed,  
Who trusteth to obtain, must put away orede,  
But surely (Tewes) since she now knoweth that she loved is,  
She is not thereof a little proud I wis,  
Alas said I then, I would I were ded,  
Then should be at ease, both my heart, and mine head,  
Unlucky fortune I may it call,  
Which forceth me to love one amongst all,  
Who neither regardeth my woeful distress,  
Neither will comfort me by any word of kindness,  
Well quoth johan, it may be that she will hear,  
Yourself much better than me a messengere,  
And hither to morrow shall she come to milk in my stead,  
For I must taly at home to brew and bake breed,  
And to speak to her than ye need not my counsel,  
For ye are wise enough to tell your own tale,  
And in the mean while ye shallbe sure,  
I will do my best your way to procure,  
Thus parted we then withcut words any more,  
I to the church, and she homeward did go,  
The next morning came which I thought very lenge,  
And no marvel, for my pain was so strong,  
Then to the common pasture I timely me hied.  
Where my only hearts lust on milking I spied,  
I mended my pace, and at the last to her came,  
I had her good morrow, she said welcome young man,  
How do you said I, mine own sweet heart,  
Your love hath caused me with much sorrow to smart,  
So deeply is engraved in me the beauty of your face,  
Your pleasant tongue, & behaviour mine own love Grace,  
The seature, the properness of your body fine,  
And your lovely countenance hath so pierced mine yen,  
That I am holly yours, hellye in every condition,  
To love you, and serve you, with humble submission,  
Abiding your pleasure, and will to sustain,  
So long as life within me shall remain,  
In consideration whereof I desire to obtain,  
Nothing but good love, for true love again,  
Young man quoth she, I am sorry of your woe,  
And much more sorry that ye set your mind so,  
As to me to bear such love, and good will,  
Wherein I fear your time ye shall spill,  
In hoping for a thing ye cannot obtain,  
Which at length will bring to you double pain,  
And as for me I mean not yet to mary,  
I am young enough, I thank God I can tarry,  
And also I will, for aught I yet know,  
Years two or three truly to show,  
Neither would I, ye should think I do not esteem you,  
For truly to judge I can none otherwise dame you,  
But for your behaviour, qualities, and honesty,  
Ye are worthy to have one much better than I,  
Oh beautiful Grace (quoth I) if Grace will show any grace,  
I pray you that it may appear in this my heavy case,  
And not to confound me with such a cruel nay,  
Neither so merciless with your words me utterly to slay,  
And suffer not thus pity, and mercy to be banished,  
From a creature so fair by God, form, and fashioned,  
Neither deny not your name, in any tyine or place,  
But according to your name, show me some grace,  
Sir (said she) what need longer process to make,  
There seemeth in you folly, such heaviness to take,  
For me that am not now to marry disposed,  
Neither to whom before this time your love ye disclosed,  
In deed to you I told it not (said I) but your sister I moved,  
wisdom willeth men to go where they may best be relieved,  
I durst not before (quoth I) not knowing how ye would take it,  
Truly (quoth the) even as I do now I would have clean forsake it,  
And Lewes this folly to leave I could wish you still,  
By wisdom to be ruled and flee from your will,  
finally I desire you to take it for the best,  
That I hear not your suit, nor grant your request,  
Oh Grace (quoth I) since it is your pleasure to spysme,  
I shall abide your mercy to save me or kill me,  
your hard hearted heart I pray God once to mollefye,  
Some compassion to grant me before that I die,  
And thus God be with you my love most unkind,  
Far well gentle Lewes (quoth she) God alter your mind,  
And send you to put away this sanry quietly,  
Which hath brought you in this woeful misery,  
Thus away went I then half in despair,  
My heart greatly vexed between hope and fear,  
Within two days after I met with her sister johan,  
To whom I showed and made my heavy moan,  
Declaring to her all the words that were,  
Between me and my love Grace her sister,  
Well quoth johan I wish that this next night,  
With your harp ye hold your way to our house right,  
And there underneath our chamber window,  
In singing and playing let her hear what ye can do,  
Your melody may cause her stobbourne hard heart,  
To love you perchance, it may her so convert,  
And this may ye easily do without any ill,  
For of both our parents ye have the good will,  
And thus giving johan thanks for her counsel so good,  
Home ward I hied me, in haste by the rood,  
My harp for to tune, and some ditty to make,  
The which I might sing and play for her sake,  
The night at last came, and when the clock had run nine,  
Thither I went with my harp as I thought it was time,  
For as thesomer season required twilight it was then,  
When to her father's house that I came,  
A bed were they all, no sturrunge heard I,  
My harp out of his case I plucked by and by,  
And struck up suddenly a very pretty round,  
Which my harp then new stringed meryllye did so unde,  
Another dance or two, I then also played,  
Which being once finished, I suddenly stayed,  
And this ballet hereaster I began for to sing,  
My harp hare the note, which merely did ring,   

Oh my love Grace,  
your beautiful face,  
Hath pierced so my brief,  
Your countenance mild,  
With your tongue so well field,  
Is causer of all mine unrest,   

Not Troilus of Troy,  
By Cressid hysioye,  
In love was ever so set on sire,  
Neither Pyramus the young,  
By the love of Thisbe so strong  
Or burnt in such hot desire,   

Neither Hercules the mighty,  
By Deianeira's beauty,  
Was at any time so overcome,  
Neither Samson the strong,  
With love was so wrong,  
Of Dallida the wicked woman   

Neither that woeful Dido,  
Aeneas loved so,  
As I do now love you heartily.  
For in good faith,  
It will be my death,  
Except it extend your mercy,   

And when this ballet was fully ended,  
My comfort was never the more amended  
For no answer at all would she to me say,  
Yet without any whit playing a while did I stay,  
At last her father bade me good night,  
So did her mother and her sister full right,  
And gave my hearty thanks for that my pain,  
But no farewell of Grace could I obtain,  
Then home straight I went full sadly again,  
Where I languished all that night, in terrphle pain,  
And thus continued by the space of a month,  
And then one of our neighbours to me straight cometh,  
And of his own good will unmoved there,  
Offered to me his only daughter and heir,  
Which in good land after him should spend,  
five marks by the year until her lives end,  
And the damosel was also indifferent fair,  
And sure a good housewife as after did appear,  
After thanks for his good will, I then to him said,  
My mind he should know upon the sight of the maid,  
What will ye more, she liked me well,  
And was contented to take me whereby it fell,  
That shortly after married we were,  
And have lovingly lived hitherto together,  
And have near run out our course as ye shall likewise do,  
If God grant you space to live thereunto,  
surely it appeareth quoth I, ye have a good memory,  
Which can the time of your youth declare so perfectly,  
And for this your long tale now I thank you good father,  
But for your love Grace whose chance was to have her,  
mart quod he afterward within less than a year,  
She took a serving man against her friends will there,  
Between whom was nothing but chiding and strife,  
Brawling and fighting all her long lice,  
And beggars both they became at the last,  
She was an ill housewife, and he spent as fast,  
So that they were compelled within years one or two,  
Wandering a begging both for to go,  
Which grieved me much when their misery I knew,  
And then somewhat I relieved them for mine old love true,   

THIS have I told thee (my son) for this intent,  
Because thy folly hereafter thou mightest prevent,  
And not to love one before her manners thou do know,  
But first know her, then love her, and so it will grow,  
To berve good purpose, end, and effect,  
And all other vain hasty lour see thou neglect,  
And when thou meanest a wife for to choose,  
My counsel in this case see that thou use,  
first her mother's manners learn if thou can,  
And her fathers also whether he be an honest man,  
For commonly the children themselves do incline,  
To their parent's conditions as straight as a line,  
Further inquire of the neighbours dwelling there about,  
Of what honesty she is by the voice of the rout,  
Or if there be any honest woman dwelling near,  
Send her closely thither, her both to see and hear,  
Whether she be fair, and of body clean,  
Or diseasyde or sickly by any manner of mean,  
For (son) no man will buy horse, ox, cow, or calf,  
But he will first be full sure they shallbe sound and safe,  
Much more circumspect a man ought to be in choice of his wyfs,  
With whom he must live all the days of his life,  
Who if she be unclean or infected with any kind of disease,  
All thy children of nature shall have the same sickness,  
Also cause the same woman diligently to know,  
If she be foolish neither can spin nor sow,  
For in these things I say each woman that is chaste,  
Will exercise herself, and no time ydellye waste,  
For idleness is the norysher of vices all,  
And the same causeth the mind in much mischief to fall,  
This idleness many wealthy fair cities decayeth,  
Fysthye lust, also idleness ever followeth,  
If either chaste Pennellope or fair Lucrece,  
Had spent their time sitting at home in idleness,  
And not given themselves to giving, and spinning,  
In their husbands absence from the beginning,  
Of a thousand woars which daily to them came,  
They should surely have concented to some one man,  
But touching the search of her life and modesty,  
These things thyself mayest much better espy,  
For all people now are waren so unjust,  
That few shalt thou find whom thou mayest trust,  
It is now the manner of many to deteave and lie,  
Few are there to be found of credit worthy,  
Therefore if thou wilt have thy purpose take effect,  
It be hoveth the therein to be careful and circumspect,  
And son, herein lieth all your marring and making,  
If ye be not warily wise in your wife taking,  
considering no small time ye together shall remain,  
But even till death shall separate the lives of you twain,  
In all other cases rashness, and haste is but folly,  
But in this matter may it bring intolerable misery,  
Therefore this choice of thy wife first ponder wittily,  
That thou repent not hereafter when it is passed all remedy,  
But if it happen the as it doth to many other more,  
That thy wife thou shalt marry perchance be a Shrew,  
first gently warn her, and with loving speech,  
Do thy best her to chasten, and mildly her teach,  
And often her favour by fair means to obtain,  
embrace her with kisses to reconcile her again,  
Thus by gentleness if thou can do thy best her to tame,  
Which if it will not her in nowise reclaim,  
Then sharper medicines thou must put in ure,  
By threats, fear, and chiding to bring her to thy lure,  
Which if she regard not nor stand yet in awe,  
The last help of all is that strokes must then follow,  
Now concerning the conservation of thy wife's chastity,  
I will not much speak in that matter truly,  
But this may I say, and I dare undertake,  
That oft a wise man an honest woman doth make,  
I could herein tell thee more, but I will not now,  
For I leave the same holly to the discretion of you,  
Yet to learn this one lesson, I would have thee (good son,)  
Never let thy fancy or desire after any other to run,  
But in wedlock be to her as faithful and true,  
As the Turtle which never will chafige her make for a new,  
For there is no one thing thy wife will take more grievously,  
Nor any other thing vereth her spirits so vehemently,  
Nor of nothing desireth she so soon to be revenged,  
As in that one point if her husband have offended,  
Then waxeth she hot incensed with ire,  
With despite and malice than her heart is on fire,  
In which their furious rage some seek the way than,  
In like sort (if they may) to deceive their good man,  
Believe me (son) sew of them will keep their honesty,  
If their husbands in such wise do live abroad visiouslye,  
Further thy children hereafter see thou up bring,  
In virtuous exercise and also good learning,  
Teach them to fear God and the to obey,  
And ever keep them in obedience as much as thou may,  
For they will ever wax bold as need shall require,  
But not always so humble as thou wouldst desire,  
Therefore while they are young and tender of years,  
Is both their help, and undoing, as it oft appears,  
Much pains must thou take in godly instructing them,  
If thou purpose they shall ever prove honest men,  
Lause them all evil company to eschew continually,  
For just he cannot be that is conversant with the ungodly,  
One sheep havyngs a perilous pocke,  
Of force must infect all the hole flock,  
Thy daughters always with shamefastness uprear,  
For it is the fairest flower all women can were,  
Let them never be idle but always doing,  
With the wheel, the distaff, or with the needle sowing,  
For the welfare of this sex standeth in their honesty,  
Which when they are idle, is then in most jeopardy,  
And at their ripe years do it not over slide,  
Some honest husbands for them to provide,  
Be not bitter (good son) to thy servants at any time,  
Neither punish them with rigour for every crime,  
There is a mean to be observed in correction I say,  
By which thou mayest cause them thee both to love & obey,  
And although fortune hath pointed the their master to be,  
He might likewise have made a servant of thee,  
And what hereafter may fall no man knoweth his chance,  
For the hole state of man's life dependeth in balance,  
I have known diverse men, both rich and wealthy,  
That afterward have fallen in such misery,  
That full fain they have been to avoid vile beggary,  
By service to live in great calamity,  
What we are & have been we know, but what after we shallbe,  
We are ignorant thereof such is our uncertainty,  
In thy first keeping of hduse be not to sumptuous,  
Neither in food nor apparel to laciviouse,  
For at thy pleasure thou mayest the same always amend,  
When God abundance of substance hereafter shall send,  
But it would be to thy shame, if thou shouldest aslake,  
The first honest port thou didst upon the take,  
Often call home thy neighbours, but most such as are poor,  
To dine and sup with thee, let some of them be sure,  
The Lord thy table shall bless the more,  
And for such liberality he will increase thy store,  
Go not to law with them, nor be no extoretoner,  
Finyshe their causes if thou mayest, and be no bearer,  
In no man's matter but in all that thou caune,  
Set quietness and concord between man and man,  
But in wrangling matters be in no wise no meddler,  
Which might get the an ill name, and no man the better,  
Further if thou find a man of an approved honesty,  
That feareth God, and is given to good virtues holly,  
Of whom moste men sayewell, for his good living,  
That is no drunkard, quarrelloure, nor delighteth in strivig,  
But quiet sober, and learned in sapience,  
Being of good judgement, and also of good experience,  
This man's friendship seek busily to obtain,  
For then a faith full friend there is no greater gain,  
But ere thou his amity earnestly embrace,  
Learn how he hath used his other friends in like cate,  
For such as his behaviour hath been to other more,  
Trust me (son) he wylorder the even so,  
And when thou once haste him thy friend unfeignedly,  
Then seek to continue in friendship dillygentlye,  
Let no light, displeasure, the same break or decay,  
But bear with him rather in all that thou may,  
Of all treasure the chiefest that God doth in earth send,  
Is a man to have always a sure and steadfast friend,  
Furthermore if sickness shall veer the or thine,  
See thou minister remedy to the same betime,  
Or ever the same do augment and increase,  
The sooner shall it mend, and the grief be the less,  
For like as fire when it is first begun,  
With a little water willbe quenched full soon,  
But if it be suffered to continue still,  
And a while to burn even at his own will,  
Then the flame willbe raised in such a great rage,  
That hole wells and conduits can scarce it assuage,  
Even so every malladye at the first entrance,  
May be easily cured without great grievance,  
This first point of physic learn thou of me,  
If the sickness be hot, cold, or moist, the remedy must be contrary,  
If over much labour, and travail be the cause,  
Then by ease, and rest from the same, thou must pause,  
And if the same come by over much ease and rest,  
Then exercise and moderate labour is best,  
If it be by superfluity of drink or meat,  
Then abstmence is the best remedy thou can get,  
And if need require a physician then call,  
Or a surgeon, but good diet is the best lieche of all,  
The surgeon is nerte, for physicians do kill,  
The most part that put their trust them until,  
For where by hap some one they do save,  
A hundred for him they send to their grave,   

ALSO my son this last precept thou must learn,  
Which diligently to observe I the earnistlye warn,  
Be prepared always, and evermore full ready,  
Death to embrace where he striketh soudenlye,  
Yea even in his most Lust and wealthiest time,  
Let the remembrance of him be still before thine eyen,  
He assaulteth men commonly when they think of him lest,  
Fearcelye invading them in their most quietness and rest,  
He draweth ever nexer with his inevitable dart,  
Daily piercing every age of man to the heart,  
How often doth death strike the young lusty man,  
And beryeveth him of his best years we see now and than,  
Oh how great are the travails and pain,  
That a man in this life with pain doth sustain,  
How short is our time and the same also so variable,  
That nothing in this life can be found stable,  
With what innumerable pills are we besieged,  
Which by this our frail nature can never be recited,  
What we our vain pleasures wherein we so trust,  
Even poisoned with gall and cankered with rust,  
What are we owretches but dust of the air,  
As brittle as glass seem it never so fair,  
Most like to a shadow in a sonnye day,  
Which when the clouds are aloft suddenly vanish a way,  
Like as a flower which flourisheth in the morning dew,  
And at night is withered and hath vaded his hew,  
For though we are now alive, and lusty in every man's sight,  
Fair, amiable, pleasant, full of courage and might,  
Yet perchance ere Ppheabus hath once his course run,  
Dead carcases we may be and vile meat for the worm,  
What prosyteth us then our great sums of money,  
Heaped together by extortion and bribery,  
Gold, stones, jewels, or implement most precious,  
Lands, houses, or villages, be they never so sumptuous,  
Either worship honour, or lordly authority,  
Rule or dominion or worldly dignity,  
Which maketh many men so proudly to look over all,  
As though they were to the gods coequal,  
seeing death endeth allthing, and we wretches with misery,  
Like dust and shadow consume so suddenly,  
Semge all our pride and glory is so soon extinguished,  
And our time so quickly gone never to be recovered.  
O life so vain so fugitive and frail,  
Whom such a number of dangers and persilles do assaslle.  
O life that art so short, and uncertain,  
Most like unto smoke, a man can the licken,  
Now this man dieth an other after him,  
I to day perchance, and thou to morrow betime,  
So a little, and a little, each man doth die,  
Even like a butcher having sheep and beasts many,  
Of which some to day he killeth down right,  
And other some to morrow in the morning, or at night,  
The nerte day other more go to the block,  
And so forth till consumed be all the hole flock,  
Thus death daily remember but fear not the same,  
For of itself it is good and worthy no blame,  
Death fynysheth all pains, death endeth all care,  
Death dangers dissolveth, and putteth away fear,  
To the poor, to the prisoner, and to the comfortless,  
To the condemned, and to the miserable captive in dissresse,  
To the bondman, slave, spoiled, and Lazar impotent,  
To them that are on the rack, and in grievous torment,  
Death is embraced and heartily welcome,  
To such and many other of like state and condition,  
To good men, death never can come unware,  
Which ever against his coming themselves do prepare.  
Whose life hath continued in righteousness,  
And which have remained in faith, mercy, and godliness,  
To them no dysproffit is death but advantage,  
Although it take them in their most flourishing age,  
Thus if thou be good receive death gladly,  
For it is a passing out of this vale of misery,  
Then shalt thou render to the earth and again to her send,  
Thy body which but for a time she did unto the lend,  
And if thou ponder with thyself in thy mind discreetly,  
What damage or hurt can death do unto thee,  
She spoilleth the of thy riches perchance thou wilt say,  
But than riches wantest thou none by no kind of way,  
Nor any other thing else thy soul shall desire,  
But from poverty to riches thou then seemest to aspire,  
For he of all other is the richest in deed,  
Nor that hath most but that fewest things doth need,  
To leave thy wise, children & friends, is a miserable thing,  
Yea, but it were much more miserable to see than die than living,  
And it will not be long but they shall follow thee,  
When the lord shall also call for them accordingly,  
And these worldly riches and pleasures are none of thine,  
But lent to the as it wear for a little time,  
Naked camest thou hither and naked must thou hence go,  
Therefore for terrestrial trifles sorrow not so,  
This world is as it were a certain great feast,  
Where unto every man is bidden as a jest,  
Where for a while during the lords pleasure,  
We have the fruition of this vain worldly treasure,  
Upon this condition that we be always ready,  
At his commandment to give place and depart gladly,  
And to suffer other men that after us shall come,  
Of the same feast to receive like fruition,  
What wight will not willingly leave this loathsome life,  
Which is so wicked deceitful and so full of strife,  
Where no faith, no piety, nor any justice,  
Remaineth neither any quietness or peace,  
Where all kind of Sins evermore do reign,  
Where the brother is commonly the brother's bain,  
Where the son oft wisheth for his father's short life,  
The woman her husband, and the husband his wife,  
Whereche body catheth & snatcheth what he can,  
Being dissemblers and wourkers of fraud every man,  
That this world may wourthelye well be named,  
A den of thieves being with pilling and polling inflamed,  
Of lust and boredome what should I make mention,  
Wherewith the hole earth is filled with like abomination,  
That chastifie is banished and virgynitie defaced,  
And the honourable sacrament of Matrimony nothing regarded  
In which wicked world also are of perils so many,  
Of labours and sickness such a number and sundry,  
Where fortune only ruleth without all reason,  
Where no man of himself can be assured any season,  
What good man will not now leave this world gladly,  
Which is holly compassed with such untolerable misery,  
Wherefore great folly it is death for to fear,  
seeing it endeth the miseries we sustain here,  
And consider also that departing from mortality,  
By death thou interest into thy region of eternity,  
Therefore my son let thy life be godly,  
So shalt thou not stand in any fear to die,  
first in thy health, holly set in good stay,  
By will, all thy worldly affairs as near as thou may,  
That in thy sickness thou be not with them troubled,  
Nor thy mind then from godliness by them encumbered,  
And every night before thou goest to thy rest,  
To confess to God thy sins with hearty repentance is best,  
And humbly ask mercy with hope unsaynedly,  
Preparing thyself then holy to die,  
And so thy soul to the Lord most humbly betake,  
Which on the cross suffered his passion for thy sake,  
Thus shall not sudden death unprovided the find,  
If thou bear well this last lesson in thy mind,  
This my rude counsel if thou follow in every condition,  
As I trust thou wilt according to mine expectation,  
Thou shalt well walk in the right path way than,  
Which as I erst said leadeth to the life of an honest man,  
And now son my former promise being performed & done,  
To the place where we met we are near eftsoons come,  
I thank you gentle father said I for your wholesome counsel,  
I never heard told a more virtuous tale,  
I beseech almighty God to grant me the grace,  
The same to observe in every point and case,  
And the same Lord of his goodness reward you graciously,  
That hath taken such pains to instruct me verteouslye,  
Far well my good son quoth he Christ be thy guide,  
And so departing from him home ward I hied,    
FINIS.