The Moral Philosophy of Doni: drawneout of the ancient writers. A work first compiled in the Indian tongue, and afterwards reduced into divers other languages: and now lastly englished out of Italian by Thomas North, Brother to the right Honourable Sir Roger North Knight, Lord North of Kyrtheling.  
* THE WISDOM OF THIS WORLD IS FOLLY BEFORE GOD  
¶ IMPRINTE●●T LONDON by H●●●●… Denham.   

¶ To the Right Honourable and my singular good Lord, the Lord Robert Dudley, Earl of Leycester, Baron of Denbigh, Knight of the most noble order of the Garter, Master of the Horse, and one of the Queen's Majesties most Honourable privy Counsel.  
RIght Honourable: Diogenes being demanded what thing of all other waxed old soon, and lived also longest: answered: Benefit. The which (said he) bestowed upon an unworthy person, & of unthankful mind, dieth straight without further fruit: but done to a worthy man and of courteous nature, it is never forgotten, but augmenteth bond during life. So, my Lord, confessing myself not only bound to your Lordship in mine own respect, having heretofore tasted of your Honour, but duly remembered by my late Lord and Father's testament of his great bond unto you (who living loved and honoured your Lordship, and dying was desirous to show to the world that he was not forgetful of your Honourable favour and courtesy showed him) and now also of my Lord my Brothers, succeeding him, whose bond your Lordship still increaseth to you with your large and friendly love to him, which doth no more bind him, than he is now and ever will be thankful to your Lordship in acknowledging the same: I have presumed under your favour to offer to your Lordship this mean Present as a witness of my duty and love, and of your Lordship's honour and goodness, meaning for life to retain with me a grateful mind to your Lordship. Howbeit, when I consider the learned writers of our English Nation, and peruse their grave and wise inventions and discourses of their own doings, excellently written in our own tongue, without interpretation of others works, knowing that to translate only is a far less reputation, than to be an Author of any good work, and to be tied to others words & constructions bringeth oft-times in an other language obscure and dark phrases: as I do rejoice in them, so am I ashamed of myself, that this small gift of mine to your Lordship neither answereth my good will unto you, nor is worthy (as I wish it) of your Honour. Yet my good L. let me humbly entreat you to esteem (as Darius said) not the value of the gift, but the occasion of the thing given. And how much the gift of itself is but simple and without curiosity, so much the rather the same well considered, is to be likened to virtue itself, which needeth no glorious show or ostentation to the judgement of the wise. By means whereof, I am emboldened in this rude and homely style to press to offer to your Honour the fruits of my simple travail, and to dedicated this noble and pleasant Treatise, which at the first sight will seem to many a vain thing, treating only of Beasts: but better advised, they shall find it within full of Morality, examples, and government.  
Some perhaps will think my labour bestowed in the translation hereof, and offered to your Lordship, superfluous, for that your Lordship understandeth the Italian tongue very well, and can perfitly speak it. For such as understand any tongue, in which any good Author hath written, do rather desire to read it in the same tongue, wherein it is originally written, than in any other translated. Wherefore Plato the great and learned Philosopher willed such as talked with him of Geometry, to repair to Euclydes, or else to read it in his own tongue. To those I answer. That I have committed no error to dedicated it to your L. (unless peradventure in presumption) to th'end that such as understand not, may be partakers of your gifts: and your L. that understandeth, may at your pleasure and leisure, conferring the one with the other, be judge of the matter, as I have made your Lordship patron and my only Maecenas. As concerning the morality and sense of this Philosophy, it is shadowed by the manner and speech of brute and dumb beasts, and by the examples and gests of their lives, which carrieth such a vain of delight with it, as amongst a number of Italian Authors, which I have read, I could find none better in my poor opinion for me to deal in, and pleasanter for your Lordship at void times to read than this. Wherein you may my Lord, see into the Court, look into the common wealth, behold the more part of all estates and degrees: and the inferior and common sort also may learn, discern, and judge what way is to be taken in the trade of their life: but Courtiers above all others attending on the Prince's presence. A Glass it is for them to look into, and also a meet school to reform such scholars as by any manner of devise, practice, or subtlety, unjustly seek to aspire, or otherwise to abuse the Prince.  
Thus my Lord, leaving further to enlarge me, and to trouble your Lordship, humbly beseeching you to take my rude pains and bold offer hereof unto your Lordship in such good part as I have meant it (delivering it to your honourable protection, knowing my little labour herein to be subject to the censures and reproof of many, that are ready to carp at every little fault, or finding themselves touched any way, will mislike a troth) with offer also of my humble duty to your Lordship, I humbly take my leave, wishing your Lordship and your noble house long life and happy success in all your affairs.  
Your Lordships humbly to command, Thomas North.   

To the Reader.  
HE THAT BEGINNETH not to read this Book from the beginning to the end, and that advisedly followeth not the order he findeth written, shall never profit any thing thereby. But reading it through, and often, advising that he readeth, he shall find a marvelous benefit thereof. The stories, fables, and tales, are very pleasant and compendious. Moreover, the similitudes and comparisons do (as they say) hold hands one with the other, they are so linked togethers, one still depending of another: which if you sever, desirous to read any tale or story by itself, not comparing the Antecedent with the Sequel: besides that, you shall be far from the understanding of the matter, you shall think them riding tales, spoken to no purpose, but to occupy your ears, and consume time. Therefore follow I say this order given you, and receive to you the fruits of my poor travail, and of your painful reading. Farewell.   

Albina lettore. G. B.  

Il DONI, che col suo leggiadro style.  
Augelli, e mutipesci. Armenti, e fiere.  
Fà ragionar d'Impresa alta, & humile.  
E sotto il falso asconde còse vere.   

Non pensò may, che la ricca ANGLIA, e THYLE  
Sapessero di luj, ne che in talschiere  
Venissero le Nimfe a mezzo april  
In freddo Clima a fiori, e frutti havere.   

Il NORTHO è, che col suo sublime Ingegno  
Fà questo, et alla bella ITALIA dona  
Nel suo paese, con sua lingua, stanze.   

E Perciò, il DONI. Dona a luj per pegno  
Se istesso, et dice. Se gia may persona  
M'Interpretò. NORTHO è quelche hor m'auanza.    

T. N. To the Reader.  
OF words and of examples is a sundry sort of speech,  
one self same thing to minds of men in sundry wise they teach.  
Words teach but those that understand the language that they hear:  
But things, to men of sundry speech, examples make appear.  
So larger is the speech of beasts, though men's more certain be:  
But yet so larger as conceit is able them to see.  
Such largeness yet at length to bring to certain use and plain,  
God gave such grace to beasts, that they should Indian speech attain.  
And then they learned Italian tongue, and now at length they can,  
By help of NORTH, speak English well to every English man.  
In English now they teach us wit. In English now they say,  
You men, come learn of beasts to live, to rule and to obey,  
To guide you wisely in the world, to know to shun deceit,  
To fly the crooked paths of guile, to keep your doings straight.  
As erst therefore you used beasts, but for your bodies need,  
Sometime to cloth, sometime to bear, sometime yourselves to feed.  
Now use them for behoof of mind, and for your soul's delight,  
And wish him well that taught them so to speak and so to writ.   

E. C. To the Reader.  
IF care to show, good will to native soil,  
In setting forth, a work of great avail:  
If how to shun, the vain and restless toil,  
Wherein we wade, for things that soon do fail.  
If grave advice, bewrayed in simple show,  
Forewarning still, the train of guileful way:  
If wisdoms lore, the good from ill to know,  
And by the same, our brittle lives to stay.  
If this and more, yea more an hundred fold,  
Lies open now, unto thy happy gain:  
If these I say, more worth than mass of Gold  
Do well deserve, by him that took this pain.  
Good Reader than, grant this my just desire,  
In thankful sort, receive this learned Book:  
For his reward, he seeks no further hire,  
But good report, when thou herein shalt look.  
His pains were great, thy gift thus way but small,  
Yet he content, and thinks he reapeth all.   

The Philosophy of the wise ancient Fathers. A work first compiled in the Indian tongue, and afterwards transferred into divers and sundry other languages: as the Persian, Arabian, Hebrew, Latin, Spanish, and Italian: and now reduced into our vulgar speech.  
The Prologue  

THis precious jewel (beloved Reader) was first found written in the Indian tongue, entitled Moral wisdom: and thence conveyed into Persia, and was coated with their language, naming it with them The example of good life: and from the Persian speech a long time after by the ancient Fathers (they knowing the wonderful doctrine thereof) brought into the native Arabian: & from that translated into Hebrew by joel gran Rabi a jew: at length reduced into Latin: and passing through many languages become a Spaniarde, with the title of Exemplario: and so in time brought to Venice, and there put into Italian by a company of Gentlemen associated togethers, entituling their Fellowship Academia Peregrina: and now lastly out of Italian made vulgar to us. What high doctrine is contained in this Book, the diligent and curious search for the same of so many wise and famous men and of so sundry nations doth witness. If therefore you desire the understanding of Moral wisdom, spiritual doctrine, and infinite instructions and examples for man to live well: read I say this golden Volume. Surely reader, this book shall be a looking glass for thee, wherein thou shalt most lively behold the daily and present dangers and deceits of man's most miserable life, and the eyes of thy understanding shall be made open to discern the flatteries of deceitful men, and the wisdom of this most guileful world: by means whereof ye may easily blot out many malignant effects of this (alas) our crooked age. The style is familiar and pleasant, and will much delight thee. For the first and old Authors hereof wrote it doubtless with great judgement, trained thereto with a fervent desire that their doctrine should not only remain in perpetuity for ever, but that it should also be imprinted in the Readers mind, assuring themselves it should profit all, and dislike none. For it may in manner be called an artificial memory, to benefit themselves at all times and seasons, and in all arguments, with every particular thing that these wise and grave men have invented, shadowed with tales and parables, and with the examples of brute and dumb beasts.  
THE Sages of ancient nations, (expert in all the Sciences) desirous to publish to those that came after them, their great knowledge and wisdom, even with a determinate mind and counsel premeditate, decreed to set forth a piece of work, adapted with divers similitudes and sundry comparisons of unreasonable beasts & birds, by which they might greatly beautify their doctrine, and this they did for divers respects. First, to give occasion that their wisdom and learning should be known to the world. Secondly, that men of judgement and discretion reading the same might reap the benefit of their rules to direct this frail life. thirdly, that he that understandeth these examples, knowing little, should by them know much. And fourthly, and last of all, if he were young, and had small delight to read much: yet he may with a short and pleasant way be instructed with these delighting feignings, and with those similitudes and examples taste the sweetness of the words, the pleasure of the sentences, accompanied with proper tales: and so (Gentle Reader) profit himself, and teach others. In this their treatise such wise Fathers have hidden from us wonderful significations. For a treasure undoubtedly of so high a mystery and doctrine as this is to be more esteemed, than all the jewels of the world. This precious gem of knowledge, who so shall lodge it in the secrecy of his memory, shall never loose it, but shall rather augment and increase it with age in such sort, that he shall win a marvelous commodity to him: and of that plant shall taste the savoury, pleasant, and profitable fruits, no less wonderful than delectable. To read such a Book (worthy Reader) thou must call thy wits together, uniting them and thy understanding with the due order of the work, to know why, and to what purpose the old prudent Fathers framed it: lest thou be like to the blind man, that wanting his sight, taketh upon him to go over Mountains, Hills, and Dales, through most dangerous and perilous ways. He therefore that doth read, must understand what he readeth, and why he readeth it: and not to be so desirous to come to the end, that he mark not the beginning, and forget the sense (full of knowledge) linked with the midst and end. For he that readeth so, readeth without fruit, and rather troubleth the mind, and wearieth his body than otherwise, not forcing the benefit and knowledge of the truth. Follow therefore these grave precepts and ruled order, and let no vain thoughts possess your minds to withdraw you from reading it. For to find so rich a treasure, and not to know how to take and say it up: is rightly to follow him, that finding a Mass of Gold and Silver, had not the wit to take it, and carry it away.   

Of a Husband man, and of the treasure he found.  
A Husbandman of Persia going one day to plough his land, by chance stumbled of a marvelous treasure, finding store of pots of coin, of Gold, and Silver: and wondering at his great fortune, began to think to load himself, and to bear it home. But seeing the sums so great that scant twenty men could carry it away, it grieved him much that he alone could not convey it, and thus he said to himself. If I leave it here, it is in danger to be taken from me, and to watch it daily, it would to much trouble me: beside, that that I could take with me, would do me but small pleasure. Well, hap what hap will, I will go fetch company to help me home withal, and they shall bear the burden, I will only pay them, and take mine ease, tush I have at will to content them: and thus in one day I shall come home and find my Coffers filled. With this mind resolved forth he goeth, & calleth men togethers, bringing them with him to this Golden mass of coin, where he giveth each man his burden, and biddeth them high them to his house. These bearers now departing with their burdens, overcome with desire of the money, and greedy of this pray, in stead of going to the house of this foolish and unlucky man, they went every one to his own house. The husbandman after their departure cometh leisurely home without any burden, like a man of wealth, as one that thought himself a Lord at home, weening to have found his richesse there. But when he was entered his house, and heard nothing of the goods nor bearers: then all to late he knew his lack and folly, commending their judgements that with the burden of their shoulders had made themselves rich. So that for treasure he enjoyed sorrow. For he that might have been Lord of all, discreetly governing that which good hap had laid on him, deservedly bought the price of his folly, abiding the bitter smart of poverty and misery.  
THE discreet Reader that shall look in this Book must give attentive ear, and note each thing particularly he readeth, diligently marking the secret lessons. For always the work of these sage Fathers carrieth two senses withal. The first, known and manifest. The second, hidden and secret. Of the first we sweetly enjoy the taste: but of the second we receive small knowledge, if we deeply ponder not the words. And hereof we may take ensample of the Nut, which giveth no manner of taste to man if he do not first break and open the shell, and then comen to the wished kernel, he beginneth to taste the savour thereof, and to reap the fruit of so excellent a doctrine. Let us not do therefore as the undiscreet and simple man that had a desire to seem learned, and to be counted eloquent in speech, as you shall hear.   

Of the simple ignorant man, desirous to seem learned.  
ON a time one earnestly besought a Poet & an excellent Rhetorician (his very friend) to give him some thing written that might be learned and eloquent, which konning without book he might recite at pleasure in the company of wise men, that he might at lest seem no less learned than they. His friend consented, and performed his desire, and gave him in a written book (fair bound and limned with golden letters) many goodly sentences, so that he began to learn by rote his written authorities, and labouring night and day to commit them to memory, he determined to show that he was also learned. And being one day in argument, not understanding the signification of the words he had learned, for that they were not in his own tongue, he began to allege them quite from the purpose: & being taken with the manner they laughed him to scorn. He being angry at the matter, like an obstinate and ignorant fool, answered. What? think you I am deceived, that have learned that I allege out of the book of a worthy learned man, yea, and the letters limned with gold to? at which words they laughed him more to scorn then before to see his ignorance.  
EVery man therefore must endeavour himself to understand that he readeth, and understanding it well, he must diligently observe that doctrine, marking to what end and purpose that was written that he hath read, to profit thereby at any time. I know there will be wise men that will believe they can say and do more wonders than this cometh to: yet for all that, the more we read, the more we know, and the quicker is our understanding, beside, there is obtained even profound knowledge. Learning bringeth with it a great privilege: for by that men are exalted, and to a man of knowledge and understanding it giveth life. But to him that hath judgement and understanding, and that governeth not himself and his actions according to the prescribed rule of reason: His knowledge I say dieth in him without fruit. As by reading this example following you may easily perceive.   

A comparison of the slothful man for the Reader.  
AN honest man lying in his bed heard a Thief going up and down in his house: and thinking to pay him home (to take the more advantage of him) suffered him to take his pleasure and loading, that having in deed his pack at his back, he might even then as he thought take him with the manner, and justly reward him with the sword point as he listed. Thus debating with himself, imagining to execute his purpose, (the Thief occupying all this while himself taking what he would) this stelye good man fell a sleep again, and the Thief with his farthel of the best things without any let at all quietly departeth his way. This man when he awaked and saw his house naked, his chests empty and broken open, bitterly sighed and lamented, cursing himself, and blaming his folly: considering he might easily have saved all that he was rob of (since he knew it and heard the noise) and for very sloth would not once rise and defend it, having as it were the thief in his hands. Knowledge therefore is aptly compared to a tree, whose fruit are the works: and this knowledge is that we all aught to desire, and to exercise ourselves in. Were it not a mad part to leave the broad beaten high way, and to take the unknown and dangerous path? Even so it may be said of him which followeth his own appetite and liking, governing himself thereby, (and not as he aught with reason and good order,) leaning to these worldly experiences, which ever desireth that that is profitable, but follow always in deed things that are hurtful. A man of such life and government we may compare to him that knoweth good meats light of digestion, and the gross ill and heavy: yet overcome with desire taketh that that is most hurtful, and so being hurt, himself alone is the cause of all his ill.  
EVen such a man is he whom affection subdueth. He understandeth and is learned, and able to decern troth from falsehood, and yet will not put in proof the true profit, nor once follow and desire knowledge and wisdom. We might bring this man in th'example of him that having his sight good and perfit, shutting his eyes would needs be led by a blind man, so that both they falling into a ditch were drowned, and miserably died. Every man will condemn him for a fool, and worse than mad, that having his sight good and without blemish, that might have seen the danger and scaped it, and of mere foolishness would not. Therefore every wise and discrete person must continually labour to read, and to understand that he readeth, and must then teach it to as many as desire to know it, and to do the good works of the knowledge he teacheth, that every way he may show the wonderful profit of his doctrine: for in this case he may not be like unto a Well or Spring, which without any profit to itself quencheth the thirst of all beasts. The wise man is afterwards bound (when he is grown to the perfection of learning) to teach and instruct those that know not. Provided ever that he can master himself, and subdue his affections. For to a wise man three things are pertinent: to wit, Knowledge, Richesse, and Mercy. And of all things a man must chief beware of reproving his neighbour of that fault he himself is guilty off. That he be not likened to him, which having a Pearl in his eye, found fault with the element that it was always cloudy, not considering the blemish of his eye. Yet greater doubtless is our offence when with our neighbour's hurt or detriment we win commodity to ourselves. As falleth out many times, which this example following showeth us.   

The deceit lighteth on the deceivers neck.  
Two friends having a great mount of corn in a Garner undivided, they fell to parting it, leaving to each his portion a part (howbeit both in one Garner still) so that they could not err to choose either heap. But because in deed the one heap was greater than the other, he which had the lesser thought to steal the bigger, and so by deceit to be revenged of Fortune that had allotted him the lest part. Upon this he went to the Garner determining to steal it that night, and because he would not miss of his purpose in taking the one for the other, he cast his cloak over his fellows heap being the greater, that he might the easilier know his own in the dark being uncovered. Not long after came to the Garner also the other honest partner to look to his heap, & to see his divided part: and when he saw the love of his partner to him (supposing simply he had covered his heap of corn for good will he bore him, that it should receive no dust) as one that would not be thought unthankful, nor come behind his fellow in courtesy, thus he said to himself. O this man is to kind to me, that to cover mine leaveth his own heap bore. And so taking the Cloak of his heap cast it on the others, and covered it as his was, requiting his courtesy with like good will, little suspecting the intended deceit, but rather reputed his friend civil and full of humanity. At night his false friend counseled with a thief and told him his intent, saying: if thou wilt go with me this night I will bring thee to a place where we shall have a good booty of Corn as much as we can both carry away with us. And thus agreed togethers thereupon, they went both to the Garner where these two heaps of Corn lay, and this partner the thief groping in the dark to find the heap his Cloak lay on, laying hands on his Cloak (supposing he had met with his fellows heap) he gave it in pray to the thief he had brought with him, labouring both to load themselves, and so between them they conveyed the whole heap: and weening they had stolen from the other honest man, found at length he was thief to himself. The next morning very early the two companions (according to appointment) went togethers to the Garner to carry away each other his portion as it was divided between them. And he that had done this feat, seeing his partners part whole and untouched, and his own gone: like a man half dead for sorrow he heavily departed thence to his house, and not a word he spoke, bewailing and lamenting his wretched pretenced craft, not daring once to open the theft to his friend, who so much did trust him.  
NO man therefore should deal so foolishly in things that have no certain end, and that are hard to bring to pass: lest that wearied with superfluous labour, he cannot afterwards exercise himself in things certain and needful. All our works and deeds aught rather to tend to profit us in time to come, then to serve the time present. For if we abandon and forsake the insatiable and infinite desire we have of this wretched world, doubtless in the other world to come we shall feel no pain. For who that serveth God devoutly, and with pure conscience, and that desireth riches only to supply necessity, and to do good works: him God doth prospero and guide in all his ways. And let no man despair though he be visited with ill hap sometime, doing well notwithstanding. For God many times sendeth his blessing and increase unwares to man, and in an hour unlooked for, which he never thought would happen. And hear in what manner.   

The good and virtuous should never despair in adversity.  
THere dwelled in a certain City a man of a godly life and disposition, who fallen into extreme poverty, being ashamed to ask for God's sake, determined to prove his friends, and so he did. And bewraying his misery, looking for relief and pity, found nothing but hardness, neither was there any that once would look upon the necessity of that honest conditioned man. And thus replete with grief, vexed in his mind, he sorrowfully repaireth to his poor mansion. And being laid at night in his bed to take his rest, the anguish of his mind, together with famine, would not suffer him to rest but kept him waking. And bychaunce hearing a noise about the house, listening diligently what it should be: he knew strait it was some Thief (hoping of a great booty) that went thus ransacking up and down. So this poor man said unto himself. Thou hadst need look narrowly, if thou ween to have that thou seekest for: Surely I will see yet what feats these thieves do work when they come into such places where they find nought. The Thief roaming here and there, busily searching and groping in every corner, found nothing but a little pot with Meal: and because he would not loose his labour, he determined to draw his string to catch that little morsel, and began to pour it out into the lap of his cloak, having in the cape thereof great store of jewels and ready money which he had stolen in an other house where he had been. The good poor man which till now was wished and quiet to see the end of the Thief, perceiving his little discretion, his heart rose against him, considering the villainy of this wretch that would not leave him that sielye quantity of Meal to sustain him alive withal: and thought with himself it were better defend it in time to keep him from famine, than to tarry looking for the late relief of his hard friends. So in a great fury he leapt out of his bed and took him to his sword, and having the same drawn in his hand with a terrible noise he runneth to the Thief. Which because he would not both loose his honesty and life together at one instant, leaving (for haste to save himself) his cloak in pawn with the Meal, having no leisure to cast it on his back, he was forced to fly for life and let all alone. This honest poor man then at his pleasure poured out the Meal out of his cloak, and put it again into his earthen pot where it was before: and thus said to himself, a ha', by Saint Marie this gear goeth well, I have gotten a cloak to boot by the means, to defend me from the cold at lest, and putting his hand into the cape, he met with great riches and jewels, and happily lighted on those goods which he never hoped of: winning that from his enemy by force, which his friends would never have given him for love.  
I Do not like in such a case to say as the common people do, that God provideth living for every body, and that he will not see me lack that that shall be necessary for me, so as I need not to labour for my living: for sure it is but a foolish phrase and vain speech. But rather I will conclude, that every man is bound to labour to procure his living, & he may not make any such cases precedents, in which it pleased GOD to send great riches without labour, as in this. For these are only the secrets of God, & we aught not to ask the cause of his divine goodness. The wise man therefore must endeavour himself to gain that he may, honestly and uprightly, trusting always in almighty God that he will prospero his doings and give him increase, seeking ever to keep himself out of trouble and sorrow: and not to do as the Dove, which breeding her Pigeons about the house (making them familiar with the same) albeit they are monthly taken from her and killed, yet she leaveth not for that to return to her old nest and breed young again, though she know they shallbe taken from her. We find it written, that God hath ordained the end and term of all things, and that they can not pass. Therefore say these wise men, that he that worketh respecting the world to come, lighteneth the burdens and troubles of this frail life: But he that reposeth his trust in these worldly things and is wrapped in the same, doth waste and consume his years. A man aught to labour in these three things, because he hath need of them, to wit. To know to keep the law, and the good statutes thereof. The second, to procure things necessary for man's life. And the third, that his works be pure and clean with himself and among others. Then he must beware and withdraw himself from four other mortal and damnable. The first, is to be negligent in his art or science. The second, to contemn that the law commandeth. The third, to credit all things lightly. The fourth, to deny knowledge. For he that will be reputed wise in his doings, must first consider well what he taketh upon him: and if he need counsel, let him ask it of a faithful friend. When he happeneth to have great matters in hand, let him not go about them rashly, but first way the importance thereof. That he be not likened to one which being out of his way, and going on still, is the farther of the place he would go to. And also compared to another, which hath but a little hurt in his eye, and by continual rubbing of it he maketh it incurable. A man must fear the divine justice, inclining himself to that that is good, and doing that to his neighbour he would have done to himself, helping him in all dangers as he would be holpen himself. And to conclude this our work, he that meaneth to understand it, must order his life according to the laws and institutions of virtue: as showeth these wonderful and learned examples, and sententious authorities.    

The Argument of the Book  
WHat time there reigned in Edon so many Royal crowned kings, amongst the rest there was a King called Anastres Castri: who chose for chief of all his Court one Berozias, whom he made high treasurer of all his Realm, a man right noble in his deeds, and rich of possessions: & him he loved and trusted so much, that he put his princely person and whole affairs of his Realm into his hands. It happened one day there was presented to the king a Book, in which was written many goodly deeds and secrets, and amongst the heap this was one. How that in India were marvelous high mountains, in which there grew certain sorts of herhes and trees, which if they were known and confected afterwards in a certain kind: they should draw out of that precious composition such a remedy, as therewith they might raise to life again the dead. The king no sooner read this wonder, but he burned strait to know the troth thereof: wherefore in haste (as soon as might be) he dispatched Berozias, and bade him high him thither, commanding him to see if he could find it true. And because it was a hard and painful enterprise, he furnished him with gold and silver, not only sufficient, but more than needed, that he should not lack. Then he delivered him his letters of recommendation to all those kings of India, praying them to further this worthy man in his noble attempt, purposed to good end. Berozias licenced now of the King to departed (furnished with money and letters) went into that country, and arrived in India presented strait the king his masters letters: by means whereof he was received of the Magistrates as was pertinent to the Imbasie of so high a Prince. And his message delivered, they understanding the cause of his coming, offered themselves with all the wise men they had to favour his enterprise, and to further it all they could. And thus honourably accompanied of all the sage and wise men, conducting him through all the Mountains and Countries there abouts, they had and gathered all they found written for the conditing of so precious an electuary. And all they joining togethers to make this confection, proving it a great while, could never find it work such effect as to raise any one from death to life again. So that they saw by proof that all that was written in the book concerning the electuary was mere false and untrue. This thing grieved much Berozias, that he should return to the king Anastres his master and bring no better news with him: howbeit consulting with these grave and wise men before his departure, how he might do, not to return home in vain, there was given him by a famous Philosopher of that Region, a goodly treatise, who searched himself also to find that secret, and in the end he understood that it was the Book which was so called. And so, O grave Berozias, thou shalt say unto the king, and return to him with joy.  
The hills which we aught to seek, are the wise and learned men. The trees and herbs growing upon those hills, do betoken wisdom and learning: which springs of the understanding and judgements of the learned. The medicine or electuary condited of those herbs, are the books full of most learned writings, composed by the high and deep wits, and with this oil or Balm they revive the dead. For with such knowledge the ignorant and unlearned are instructed: whom we may justly reckon dead and buried.  
Therefore tasting the sweetness (continually reading) of the doctrine of the sages, they receive health and resurrection. This interpretation greatly rejoiced Berozias, in so much as he besought the Princes and sage men that they would give him but the copy of that book to carry to the King his Master, which (although the book were always in the hands of those Kings, for that it was full of Moral Philosophy) was granted him, licensing him to translate it out of the Indian into the Persian tongue, with the help and knowledge of all those learned Philosophers, which was so singularly done that it bore the vaunt of all Moral Philosophy. The Book received with due and infinite thanks rendered to those noble Kings and Sages, for the great honour and courtesy they had done him: Berozias departeth home, and being come to his Master, presented him the book with relation of his whole entertainment.  
The King hearing so noble an exposition, so wise and discreet an interpretation, thankfully received the Book, esteeming it above any other present. And thenceforth he procured with great diligence to have always books, and those he studied, desirous of knowledge, seeking to entertain in his Court wise and learned men: judging (as is true) that books and wisdom are the greatest treasure and delight to man. Appointing in his Palace a great library, wherein above the rest he placed this book for chief, being full of examples and instructions for man's life, and also of justice and the fear of God: in praise and honour of whom we begin this work, showing therein the continual dangers and deceits of this miserable world   

The first part of the Moral Philosophy of the ancient Sages, compiled by the great and learned Philosopher Sendebar, In the Indian tongue, who by sundry and wonderful examples bewrayeth the deceits and dangers of this present world.  

WHen I was come to years of discretion, borne of a noble house, and of my genitors put to the study of philosophy, to learn Phisycke, whereof I proceeded Doctor: I knew that this world was a course of a most vehement running stream, but yet appearing no peril of drowning to him that passed it, because that hard by the banks sides it was very shallow, and above it ran quietly, carrying above water riches and wares of great value, to the judgement of those that beheld them, by means whereof men drawn with great covetousness to have abundance, they ran towards them, and entered into the river, partly wetting themselves, but only their foot, they took a few of them. And he that would have more, going further in, must of necessity wet his leg and knee, because it increased. And he that with fury (passing the rest) with an insatiable desire would needs go further, plunged his whole body in the water. And the others trusting in their force of swimming stuck in the midst, and found the stream exceeding big: for in the bottom it was most swift and raging, and they could not get out of the midst, but even as much as they could do in swimming to keep themselves above water. And brought to this pass, not finding any way to get out, they cast of these rich merchandises to this man and to that man, which having no skill to swim followed them alongst the banks sides of the river. In the end wearied with swimming, not able to labour any more for life, forsaking this merchandise floating above the water, down they sink, and carrying nothing with them, remain drowned.  
WHo could in better manner describe our worldly labour? truly our insatiable desire is so greedy to have that it liketh and seeth, that to be owner of that we would, we put ourselves to all manner of dangers, and intolerable pains of this world. To be brief: Every man (little or much) wetteth himself in this raging river of man's life. He that wetting his foot runneth alongst the hancks side of this terrible Brook, is a man that is oppressed with bondage, that enjoyeth nought else in this world but miserable life. The other that washeth his leg, liveth by his labour, and cometh to take more of the world, and to taste the delights thereof bearing many afflictions. He that thrusts in his whole body in this water, hath possessed the signory & government of the most wicked and hapless state of this world. O unspeakable cruelty, that once passed forwards he entereth perforce into the midst, and reacheth to this man and to that man that he hath, keeping himself always in this dangerous state. But in the end overtaken by some accident, as war, treason, poison, or man's force, he falleth into deaths lap: and he that hath followed his troublesome life remaineth deprived of all his goods, because wanting the head, the rest of the members remain vile, filthy, and stinking. Sure this worldly life representeth no more but the little world of our body, which carrieth a wonderful presence: and that little breath of ours once spent, it is then but a shadow, dust, and smoke. These worldly favours and temporal goods in the judgement of the wise seem but as snow, which with the first beams of the Sun dissolveth and cometh to nothing. Lord, what cost do we bestow upon our hears and face, which when the Barber clippeth of, are despised and thrown away? A man should never trust this foolish life. It is but a fire kindled on the coals, which consuming itself giveth heat to others. The Physician truly that cureth the disease of the body is a worthy spirit of man: but he that healeth us of our sins is a celestial God. He that can shun the water of this river, which carrieth in his course, Pride, vain glory, lasciviousness, covetousness, presumption, infirmity, and loss: may be called divine and not humane. Let no man put his foot into the water of carnal love, neither his leg into the false waves of these goods, nor wash his body in the glory of this malignant time, neither seek continually to swim in the midst of these felicities: for all passeth away to our loss and undoing. The rich Indian merchant Sostrates , richly furnished his house with sundry sorts of merchandise with his great travel, expense of time, and money: and having his house full stored even to the top, he could find none that had so much ready money as to pay him for it all at one time and to carry it away. Then he said to himself. If by little and little I should spend it, when shall I ever make an end? Life will not always last, neither can I live so long as I would: I know there can be no end of our miseries: and thus despising all pomp and riches he forsook the deceitful life with trouble, and withdrew him to a better, taking upon him another course. A man aught to believe the true and divine car●●…, and not man's writing: not to trust the false sayings of wicked men, (which continually live of the spoil of their neighbour beguiling them) but to his own experience. For who so easily believeth the words of light persons, falleth into a grievous error, to his own loss and hurt, as ye shall hear reading that that followeth.   

Here may you see how light belief bringeth damage.  
TWo thieves very skilful in picking and opening of locks with gins (but nothing advised nor foreseeing the danger) entered one night into a knights house, no less wise than worshipful, and very rich: where these thieves thought to have sped themselves for ever, that they should never more have needed to have exercised that art. This valiant knight awaketh, and hearing the noise of their feet in the house, imagined (as it was) that there were thieves: and they were even upon the point of opening his chamber door where he lay, when he togging his wife awaked her, and softly said to her. Have ye not heard the noise of the thieves in the house that are come to rob us? I would have ye therefore ask me straight with great instance, after what sort, whence and how I came by all that we have together in the house. And ye shall ask me so loud that if there were any at the chamber door he might easily hear you: and I will seem to be very scrupulous to tell you, then shall you be more earnest with me than before to understand it: at length you shall press me so with importunacy that I will tell it you. The Lady his wife being very wise and subtle, began in this manner to ask her husband, and thus she said unto him. O dear sir, grant me I beseech you one thing this night that I so long have desired to know: to tell me how you have done to come by all these goods you have gotten together. So he gave her an answer at random, nothing answering her desire. She contending with him, and he answering, in the end as he had been angry, he said to her. I can but muse what reason moves you (in God's name) to desire to know my secrets, being a thing that little profits you to know them, or not to know them. Be ye contented Madam, and set your heart at rest: let it suffice you to far well, to be richly appareled, and to be worshipfully waited upon and served, although ye do not importune me to tell you such a secret. These are not things to be told, for I have heard it spoken many a time and often, that every thing hath ears: therefore many times things are spoken which are repented of the party afterwards. Wherefore hold your peace, for I cannot tell you. To this answer his Lady replied, and lovingly besought him to tell her, sweetly enticing him with wifely trains in such sort, that the knight wearied with her importunate speech yielded, and said to her. All that we have, and as much as is in the house (but sweet heart I charge you let it never come from you) is stolen, and in deed to be plain with you, in the nights season I stole it from this and that man's house, so that I never gate any thing truly. His Lady amazed to hear that answer, would not yet believe it at the first, but said. What for shame how can you ever speak this with truth? being reputed here the best Gentleman in this City: and there is none in all this realm I dare well say that would once dare to suspect you for a thief. Out a thief, one of your worship and credit? nay nay, I will never believe it. Therefore I pray you without ceremony tell me truly that I have asked you, or else I cannot be in quiet. The knight answered her and said. You think it peradventure a wonder that I have told you: but listen yet & you shall hear more. Even from my cradle in manner I always had delight to steal & filch, and it liked me a life to be amongst thieves that my fingers might ever be walking, so sweet was the craft unto me. And a Mate amongst them there was that loved me so well, that he taught me only a singular trick, and so rare a secret as never yet was heard. And wot ye what it was? a few words and conjurations which I made to the Beams of the Moon, and I ran suddenly to embrace them, going upon them quickly into every part where they shone. Sometime I came down upon them from a high window, another time I served myself with than to get up again to the top of the house: so I stayed and went on them as I list, and did what I would. The Moon hearing my conjuration seven times showed me all the money and treasure that was hidden in that house, where I flew thus up and down upon her beams, by means whereof I took my choice, & had what I would, carrying it quite away with me. And thus good wife (as I have told thee) I made me rich, and now I care for no more. One of the two thieves (who gave a listening ear, standing at the knight's chamber door) heard all that he said, and bore it away with him in memory, believing it was true that he spoke, knowing this rich knight to be a man of credit and to be believed, since he was reputed of all men to be a worthy and courteous knight: so that they thought themselves happy to have learned such a wonderful secret in manner (upon his words) assuring themselves in short time to be made very rich. The chief thief appareled like a woman got up to the top of the house, desirous to prove that in deeds which he had heard in words: So he made his exorcism and enchantment repeating it seven times, & then embracing the beams of the Moon, his arms thrown abroad, he cast himself on them, thinking to have gone from window to window, and so headlong he fell to the ground in jeopardy to break his neck. But the Moon for the first time favoured him so that he killed not himself, but broke his legs and one of his arms as God would have it: so that oppressed with pain he cried out aloud, lamenting his mishap chanced to him, giving to much credit to an others words. And thus not able to creep nor go, he pitifully lieth expecting death. The knight leaping out of his bed ran to the cry, and come to the place, he found this unfortunate and wretched thief lying on the ground in woman's apparel, and he gave him many a fair wound to lighten the pain of his broken legs and arm, and forced him to tell what cause moved him to come to rob his house. This miserable thief answered him (fearing lest he would kill him) and told him the whole cause of his coming. But yet that that grieved him worst of all was said he, that he was such a fool and beast to believe his words: and besought him though he had at lest hurt him to much with his words, (which he had dearly bought and repented both) yet that he would vouchsafe not to hurt him in his deeds also.  
IT is most true that lightly believing these worldly things, hath made many a man fall into sundry dangers, and headlong to plunge himself into the deep miseries of this world. Sometimes men determine to obey the law. At another time they contemn it and set it at nought, following sensual appetite. Often times they believe the counsel of their good friend, but very often they follow the counsel of the flatterer. To day we are pleased with true doctrine: to morrow we follow the false. In every wit and art there is abuse: and who runneth not to this river? and the more they ween to gain, the more they run in danger and loss of life and soul. Behold, here is one man pricked in his conscience, there is another oppressed with passion and sorrow, and there never wanteth some that follow the continual servitude of this deceitful life, either for goods, favour, and estimation, or else of their own free wills: and there is never none (or few at the lest) that in so short time of life can forget this known and manifest danger. For death assaulting us, we know not whither to retire, and then with all our might we fly the force of his most piercing dart: and thus weening to hide ourselves in sure place, we headlong run to our shame and undoing. As is manifestly seen by sundry examples happened like to this following.   

A tale of a Lover and a gentlewoman.  
THere was in the City where I dwelled, hard by my house, a fair young gentlewoman nobly borne, the which was but even in manner newly married (at lest not long before) when this chance happened. This young spouse fell in love with a proper Gentleman fair conditioned, well spoken, and of good entertainment: and fortune so favoured her, that she sweetly reaped the fruits of her desire at all times when she liked to enjoy it without let or annoyed at all. But to prevent her husbands sudden coming home at times unlooked for, this lively young wife devised to work a way for her lovers safety, and the continuance of this second (yea most blessed) joy. She caused to be conveyed in a Well she had a proper vault, which should safely receive her young lover leaping into the same, if he were by mishap at any time distressed with her husbands sudden coming upon them. The husband also much about that time called workmen to him, and in a corner of the house made a great dark hole and vent (very deep) for the sink of the house. It happened so by chance one day that her young Lover was no sooner entered into the house, and the gate but newly put too, but strait the husband of this wanton wife knocked also at the door. She knowing his knock, with heavy heart beckoned to him to hide himself in the vault that she had made in the Well, and this while she stood still, pointing him the place and would not open to her husband. This young man flight with fear (which is ever at hand to amaze the offender) ran round about like a headless fly, and missing the Well (as one stricken blind for sudden fear) leapt into the deep dark vault serving the sink of the house. At which instant she had opened the door to her husband, so as he saw the young man when he went into it: and then he knew his wife had born a man more than she should, and that she had beguiled him, understanding the late opening of the door. And overcome with rage and her fault, he fiercely laid hands on her, and cruelly slew both her and her Lover.  
TO be unadvised, and to do things rashly which we aught not, bringeth many time's death, hurt, and shame. For no man should so entangle himself in these worldly toils, as he might not ever leave them at his william. For so strange and sudden chances fall upon him, as a man would never have imagined, and therefore he cannot upon such a sudden withstand it, but is forced to yield. Wherefore I would wish no man to be so carried away with these short pleasures and sweet sound of man's life, that they should cast behind them the remembrance of the right way to do well: as happened unto him that would mend and set his jewels.   

Of a jeweller that forgot his profit, and gave himself to pleasure.  
THere was a rich Merchant of Surria, that brought from the Cair a great sum of precious stones, and because they wanted setting in Gold with curious work to pullish them, he agreed with an excellent artificer, (most skilful in such works) to give him daily a certain sum of money, because that during the time he wrought in his jewels he should work with no other but only attend his business. This cunning workman went every morning to this merchant's house to work, carrying his tools with him: and working all the day at his desire, at night he received his days wages agreed upon. It happened there was brought to this merchant a goodly instrument, and excellent to play upon (much like to a Harp) to see if he would buy it. The next morning betimes came this workmaster to follow his work, and the first thing that the merchant did was to show him the Harp. The workman taking it in his hand (being an excellent Musician, and playing well of this instrument) he said. Sir is it your pleasure I shall play? yea, said the merchant. This cunning man passingly handling this instrument played so sweetly, and showed such music in such strange and rare stops, with such voluntary withal, that the merchant delighted with his heavenly harmony made him play all day long. At night this cunning workman demanded his days hire, as if he had wrought the whole day in his jewels. The merchant denied it, and would not pay him. The other alleged that he had been in his house all that day (at his request) as he was the other days before. This matter called before the judges and brought in trial, the judge gave sentence against the merchant, and forced him to pay the workmaster for the day (such sum of money as they were agreed upon) as if he had wrought all day. The merchant ill digested the judges sentence, but much worse the payment, grieving him to the heart to pay so dear for so short a pleasure, where he might have gotten much by the other's work, if like a fool he had not let him.  
LEt men that give themselves to the pleasures of this unhappy life be warned by the example of this merchant, to leave aside the sweet deceits of the body, and to attend only to the precious stone of our soul, pullishing and keeping that clean. Lord how many are there, that leaving profit follow loss, and all for a feigned show, or worldly shadow. The greyhound that hath pinched the Hare and taken her in his mouth, cannot run after another he seeth go before him and take her also: for so the one may scape from him quite, and the other easily vanish out of his sight. O miserable world, nay rather most miserable and wretched our minds and wills: that plainly seeing our hurt and misery, we still headlong pursue and follow the same. What is he living so ignorant, that knoweth not our life passeth quicklier away than the lightning that cometh before the thunder clap, and in the dark clouds giveth most short light: and that our sight (the lightening passed) coming into the dark is blinded more? the man truly that is tossed in this worldly broil, and entered into the sea of miseries: that that sensual appetite and short desire showeth him, seemeth light unto him, but in a moment (wretched creature he) he findeth himself in darkness. What part have we of any good thing in this short course of life? where is our good beginning? where the excellent midst? or where the perfit end? in that day (O miserable man) that thou art begotten in thy wothers' womb, in the self same day death embraceth thee to overthrow thee at his william. Our first original is begun in darkness and corruption, the first passage that putteth us forth to the light of this world, bringeth us sorrow and lamentation. We are borne naked, subject to diseases, unclean, & have need of all things, and of every body's help. Afterwards unless we would seem Images of stone or timber without understanding, we must be taught, ruled, and instructed: which bringeth us diseases, troubles, pains, sorrows, and griefs. And in this while how many necessities do assault us? how many businesses do oppress us? the elements offend us with heat, cold, and barrenness. Diseases never forsake our bodies, and the troubles of this world never letteth us rest an hour. To be alone it grieveth us: to be accompanied it troubleth us: to live long it wearieth us: to have little misliketh us: and sufficient contenteth us not. The thought of death on the one side assaulteth our life: and on the other, the passions of the mind to forsake our goods, friends, wife, children, and the world, do still prick us. O what troubles and afflictions, what terrors and passions abideth this our confused body: which the most part of our time is replete with anger, rancour, and malice, but often void (rather ever) of justice, mercy, and pity. And lastly, what doth one man for another? He causeth that by force the good is trodden down with the evil. The fool taketh away the reputation of the wise: the liar plucketh out of his seat him that always telleth troth: the noble Gentleman well brought up, is ruled by the undiscrete and rude Cloyne. What more? virtue alack dieth, but ignorance liveth. Wherefore our state is in more dangers and troubles than his, that flying the fierceness of four Lions to save himself, leapt into a Well with greater danger. As writeth the great Philosopher Tiabonus.   

A Parable of the World.  
A Certain lusty young man traveling through a desert country, wandering to and fro amongst the thick and huge woods, happened one day to come into a great large plain, where not far from him he saw traversing in the way four great & terrible Lions: whereof he being marvelously afraid (to behold so horrible a sight) took him to his legs and ran for life: and because he was not able to run so far right out, as the Lions had force to follow him, by good hap in running he was ware of a Well in the midst of the field, about which grew certain wild roots of little trees, and being come to the Well he caught hold with his hands of the twigs of the same, and so cast himself into it, hanging by force of his arms upon the twigs, not falling down at all: and throwing his legs a cross to the sides, he stayed himself with them and the strength of his hands to keep him from falling down. While he stood thus upon his feet and force of hands, looking down into the Well, he saw a terrible Dragon that with open mouth gaped for his fall. This youth brought now to such a present mischief, raised up himself perforce sometimes, and looked out of the Well to see if these devouring beasts were gone their way: and seeing them standing hard by him, with great sorrow and pain he hung still on force of his arms scant able to continued. A new mishap (and worse than all the rest) assaulted this jolly youth. Two beasts of colour white and black came to gnaw the roots of these twigs, the tops whereof he gladly held fast in his hands to sustain himself alive withal: so that now he saw present death on every side presented. Remaining thus in this danger (brought to sorrow & despair) casting back his eye, he saw a little hole behind him wherein there was a pot full of honey, laid there by chance by some shepherd passing by that way. And forgetting quite in what terms of life he stood, he began with one hand to taste of it holding himself by the other, and so long he attended to this little taste, that sorrow struck him on the neck. For the two beasts had now gnawn a sunder the roots when he headlong fell into the Well and died.  
WHat is signified hereby, or who can otherwise interpret it but thus. The Well representeth the world. The four Lions the four elements, which seek still to devour man. The Dragon with gaping mouth, what was it else but the grave? The two twigs or boughs, temporal goods and love to which we are wholly inclined: both which by the two beasts are gnawn a sunder, the one white, and the other black, which are understanded for the day and night. But the pot with that little sweet honey, to which we are given, not regarding our danger, betokeneth no other but the short pleasure of this world, which retaineth us, and suffereth us not to know the dangers and troubles of this most miserable world, and of our thrall and troubled life.    

The second part of Moral Philosophy, showing the wonderful abuses of this wretched World.  

Many and divers are the sayings of our wise and ancient Fathers spoken to exhort man to quietness, and to make himself wonderful in behaviour, wise and ware in these worldly things, and patient of life. That noble Roman that sought and laboured to bring the people and Commonalty to love their Magistrates and superiors, told them a pretty tale (to writ it happily in this Book for him that knoweth it not) how the hands were angry with the body, and thus at variance would not for malice give meat to the mouth: as those that thought themselves inferior to no other member, and thought scorn to take such pains, and the other members not. By reason whereof using this abstinence of self will a while, refraining to do their office in giving meat to the belly: the belly suffering lacked his sustenance, the hands also began to leave the skirmish, and knowing then their lack and hurt (for preservation of both) repenting themselves, they returned to their office, and began again to feed the mouth. And thus united both in one, they preserved each other. With this pretty tale he made the people sensibly to understand what become them, and how they should behave themselves to their superiors, for there must needs be Magistrates and inferiors, Masters and servants. An other likewise told a tale, that many years passed there was a Horse used to feed in a goodly pasture, where he alone was Lord and Master within himself. At length by chance there came within his diocese a mighty grown heart, who took his herbage there as his right also, and did eat and feed beyond all reason or measure. Insomuch that this horse disdaining his beastly attempt, chased this heart from of the ground full many a time & often. And perceiving he could not for all that overcome him, because his horns were of as much force as his feet, he was mad for anger. It happened so one day that a man came through this pasture, and passing by, the horse came near him, and told him his whole mishap, praying him to help him. This man that was more wise and subtle than a beast, told the horse that he alone could not do this feat, and showed him plainly that he must needs have saddle, bridle, and rod: to speak of stirrups, stirrup leathers, and spurs, me think it no words of Grammar. For when the Latin tongue was only used, they had no such terms, because they had no such toys. The beast to be revenged of the other beast, did beastly let himself be ridden, and like a beast become prisoner to the man. Aesop reciteth also many of these pretty fables, being very pleasant, learned, sharp, profitable, and full of Morality, as you shall hear in this deceitful framed practice devised by a Moil, between the Lion king of all beasts and the Bull. Which was never made and invented by the wise Fathers to other end, but to shadow and cover the life of man from the foul spots of vice: as showeth you this present history following.  
IN India , in those worthy and just times adorned with virtue and wisdom, every one of those royal Princes (as Lords of noble manners and behaviour) retained with them in their princely Courts men no less learned than virtuous. Among which a king there was (called in their tongue) Distes , who desired much to read histories, and to imprint in memory the goodly and profitable examples to direct him and his withal. O noble time and happy years: in his reign I say lived in this Distes Court this noble Philosopher Sendebar , so excellent in his comparisons and examples, as no man that went before or after him could once go even with him, much less exceed him. This worthy Prince rapt with the excellency of this rare (yea odd) man, most willingly spent some time in discoursing with him: and this wonderful Philosopher also with deep and profound sentences showed his worthiness. But among all the best things he spoke, he always admonished the Prince to have a good eye to his Court, and a sound judgement to judge his people: and chief that he should not love, favour, nor esteem for friends (endeavouring himself all he could to know them) double tongued men, liars, tale bearers, and vicious livers. And to the end his Majesty should soon feel such Mates as it were at his finger's ends, he made him a long discourse of their manners and practices, with these examples which you shall hear, wonderful and learned.   

Behold the pageants and miseries of the court of this World.  
THere was a Heyward or neteyarde that had the keeping of a great herd of cattle in a large common, as Goats, Sheep, Mares, Cows, Horses, and Bullocks. And it happened that a Bull amongst the herd (called by the herdman Chiarino) become in love with a jolly young Heighfare, that had divers trim marks and spots of her skin, and was favoured and belyked also of the Herdman: who for her beauty and fairness named her likewise Incoronata, and many times did crown her with a garland of sundry sorts of flowers. Ill Fortune willing it, and her destiny with all, this fair young heighfare playing and leaping from hill to hill, unfortunately fell and broke her neck, and with her fall died. This herdman simply flayed her, and with her fair skin made him an open cassock savage fashion. Now I leave you to imagine the rage and madness of this Bull, lacking his fair young heighfare, that like other Bulls wandered up and down to seek her. In this raging bestial love of his, the herdsman foolishly cast upon him the cassock made of the heighfares skin, which this Bull seeing runneth fiercely unto the herdsman, lowing and snuffing extremely, in so much as if the herdsman had not hied him quickly to have cast it of his back, the Bull had forthwith paunched him. The cloyne being mad with Chiarino the Bull that had scared him thus, threw his hedging bill at him, and hitting him full on the knee he cut him such a gash, as he had been as good almost have howght him. So this poor Bull with his wound was left in the field not able to go after the herd. The herdsman after the time of gisting his cattle came out, and that the season of the year did haste him home to preserve the beasts from the sharp & bitter wether of the mountains: he brought them into the plains again, and delivered up his account of them all, shewing in stead of the heighfare his cassock made of her skin, declaring her death and the Bulls departure. Saying that the Bull being in love with her, (and in his chief pride) ran his way, and strayed so far, that he went quite out of sight and could never be set eye on again: so that the owner amazed with that tale quieted himself. This poor Chiarino left all alone and sickly, limping went feeding up and down, and step by step halting on (passing thorough many mountains and hills) in many days he happened to come into a solitary (but fertile) country, inhabited with infinite number of wild beasts: and meeting there with good pasture & better air, in time he waxed whole and sound as ever he was, saving that age had stolen upon him, by means whereof he had quite forgot Incoronata▪ to weet the crowned heighfare. Yet continuing thus without any Make of his kind, he roared and yelled amidst that valley & caves, whose lowing echo rebounding back with terrible sound, impressed a marvelous fear in all the herd of wild and savage beasts. The Lion that was king of all the rest, hearing the hollow and fearful noise of this mighty Bull, not acquainted before with the like noise: notwithstanding his hardiness, yet was he sore afraid and amazed both, and durst not once for shame say I am afraid. In the end perplexed thus, he resolved to send a spy, and calling to him secretly the wild Boar, he sent him strait to see what new and strange thing that was. This wild Boar running through thickets, thorns, briars, and hedges, at length came near to the Bull. And when he saw so goodly a beast, with his sharp horns so pointing out, and with his parted hide (half black, half white) and blazed star in the forehead, so well shaped with all: he stood in a maze, as one overcome with fear, and so much the more, because at that instant the Bull put forth three or four terrible allows. So that the poor wild Boar was driven for fear to hide himself in mud, all save his head only. Now when he espied his time he returned to the Lion, and told him the quality and condition of this most terrible beast. I do not tell you now what fear this Lion had, that princelike kept his den, as King in deed of all the rest: and that was a Palace for the counsel, a chamber of presence for his Gentlemen, wherein they gave themselves to disport. But of this kingly fear was ware a savage Ass of long appointed ears, and privy to the same also a Moil, brother to the Ass, which both determined to understand the cause. The she Ass, Aunt to the Moil and Mother of the Ass, chanced suddenly to hear certain whisperings amongst them, and one softly to say to the other. It is no marvel that the King cometh not out of his den. It is no marvel neither that he goeth not a hunting, hawking, fishing, tourneying and justing other while as he was wont to do. The other answered. It is certain that he is afraid of that great and mighty Beef, and that he suspecteth his Kingdom should be taken from him. Dost not thou mark his cross answers, how wide from the matter? he is so full of choler that he will speak to no man, neither suffer any to speak to him: so as he is not to be dealt withal by any. The she Ass understanding the effect of their talk by discretion, stepping in between them both, she would needs make the third, and say her mind too. He that is well cannot keep him so. The Lion taketh you both for his friends, therefore seek not I pray you that that pertaineth not to you. What a goodyere have you to do to meddle in his matters? are ye out of your wits, or weary of your lives? be what willbe, attend you on God's name to your business. For he that is busy in that he knoweth not, nor toucheth him not, and that concerneth not his Art: if any mischance lighteth on him, he hath but that he hath justly deserved. As I will tell you hereafter a tale of an Ape, and what happened to him, because he would needs meddle with a craft he had no skill off. But before I begin to tell you, I will make a little digression with two words.  
IT hath been an old and true opinion, that for the servant to search his masters doings it is both nought and uncomely too: but to desire to know the Prince's causes or affairs, is of all other yet most dangerous. And naturally who so is given to be a searcher out of other men's doings, he can never be reckoned good nor honest. Now give ear unto the tale.   

A tale of an Ape meddling in that he had no skill.  
IT is not good therefore I tell you plain for you to deal in Princes matters, to search out their meanings & intents. If needs ye will, mark well my words, and say I told it you. Upon my life ye both in the end shall feel the smart and pain thereof. The Ass persuaded by his Mother's words left off his enterprise: but the proud Moil said, I intend to know them, and therefore I will get me to the Court. And I will you know dear Mother, that manuel craft is one exercise, and to know to behave themselves in Court is an other Arte. Thy words in part are good, to 'cause them refrain from doing things they can not bring to pass. But to me that must remain in Prince's Court, I may not go so plainly and simply to work, but must use every one with Art, feeding still their humour: to deal in others matters with deceit, and in mine own to have a subtle wit, devising still all I may to be chief about the Prince. And that that now I have told you, I have long since determined to do. In Prince's Courts he that proceedeth not stoutly in his matters, besides that he is thought a Coward, they take him for a fool. What? know not you that fortune favoureth still the proud and stout? think ye my stowtenesse will not favour me, accompanied with the malice of understanding, and with the pride of reputing myself of noble blood, which pre-eminences obtain happy state in Court? And he that hath the name to be wise, subtle, sharp of wit, and with that to be of noble house: hath made him already a Cloak for sin, and a garment for his naughtiness. That that I have said I speak with judgement, and for proof thereof I can allege you infinite examples. The Peacock though his fair tail cover his fowl feet, yet it is not said that he scrapeth in dunghill at all, but he is reputed the fairest Fowl of two feet. The flesh of the tortoise that is so good and wholesome for man is not readily sold, but rather loatheth many because of his ugly sight. If I do but look well into Prince's Courts, none go great thither, and those that come to greatness climb by divers degrees. Who for virtue, another for strength, and some (be it spoken with reverence of those beasts that have understanding) for malice: others by continual service, and numbers by other means. He that riseth thus in greatness, and is noble and virtuous, it seemeth he goeth into his proper natural house: but he that cometh to that greatness with malice, and feigned appearance, he may make just account I say that they are but lent him.  
¶ Yea marry now thou comest to understand me, therefore and thou be wise go not to the Court how soever thou dost. For if Fortune should make thee great, whether it were by Art, subtlety, or deceit: the Lords and Peers that are fine and cunning, and know all the points of malice, would do to thee, as a judge of the beasts did to the Wolf. And hearken how.   

A tale of the Wolf concerning breach of promise.  
A Wolf was taken in a snare that a shepherd had pitched at the foot of a hill (where every morning he found the haunt and track of the Wolves feet) and at that time there passed by another seely shepherd, whom the Wolf called to him, and made a bargain with him, that if he would loose him he would never take any of his sheep, & thereupon gave him his faith. The shepherd newly come to keep sheep, like a fool believed him, and losing him in deed let him go. The Wolf being at liberty strayde not far but he had gotten a fat Wether by the neck: the shepherd seeing that, complained, and appealed to the judges, and told them the pleasure he had done him, and what the Wolf did promise' him. The Wolf being brought before the judges, denied that he promised him aught: and if they would needs make it that he had made him a promise, he said that in that place where they say he had promised him, he would go from his word again. The judges agreed, and went togethers to the place. The Wolf being come to the foot of the hill, said to the shepherd: was I here? yea answered he. And here then said the Wolf before these judges I do unsay it again. Nay said the judges (knowing his malice) it will not serve thee, unless thou wert fast tied in the snare even as he found thee. The Wolf glad to be released of his promise (being in deed a subtle beast, but yet not drawing so deep as the judges upon the sudden) beastly suffered himself to be snared again as the shepherd found him. O, now thou art safe said the shepherd, keep thee there, deny it now a God's name, I give thee leave, thou shalt mock me no more I warrant thee. Whilst this matter was a doing thus, the other shepherd cometh in the nick that first had pitched this snare, and so took the Wolf for pray (as of right he might) and forthwith he slew him with his sheephook. So that now you may hear how they far that live upon deceit. Go not therefore I say, if thou mean to climb to high degree by such unlawful and dishonest means. Then said the Ass unto the Moil his brother as followeth.  
BRother moil our Mother hath reason, and sure she telleth thee true. Thou promisest largely to thyself. Thou seekest when thou art caught not to loose thyself, but to catch others, with no profit to thee but hurt to others: and this is not thy way to deal. Therefore I myself persuade thee now to tarry, and bid thee not to go. She saith true answereth the Moil. But shall I tell thee brother Ass? A simpler beast in the world than thou, liveth not. Thou procéedest simply like a good goose. Thou carest for no more so thou have three or four Thistles to gnaw upon, and a little water to drink serveth thy turn. I pray thee tell me: are there not in the king's Court many meaner in all conditions than I? if Fortune have favoured them, why the goodyere should she not also favour me? if I had not many times seen (said the Ass) a little Ass eat a great bundle of straw, I would yield to thee, and confirm thy opinion. But wottest thou what? a little Axe overthroweth a great Oak. The arrows for the most part touch the heigthes, and he that climbeth up to the tops of trees, falling hath the greater bruise. But I see dear brother moil thou shakest thy head at me, and that thou little forcest my words: and sure I were a great and monstruous beast to persuade myself to obtain that, which our Mother could never reach unto. But sith it booteth not to persuade thee, and that thou art self willed and bend to go to the Court, (compelled thereto by a natural instinct, which for the more part driveth every one headlong forward, and that thou canst not shun it) I will yet show thee what favour and help I can: but by the way take this for a lesson.   

FOr the first thing, thou shalt fly ignorance, which ever sitteth still, and doth nothing, and hath two great ears as those of mine thou seest: but her feet take part after the Griffin, and part after the Ass. One part signifieth that the ignorant are familiar Asses: & the other that they are greedy of honour, and of the profit of good deserving beasts. Those long ears signify the ignorant, which will hear all others doings, and believe they know all things. Thou must also be true to thy master, and when thou art once retained in service, thou must not betray thy Lord for any gold or corruption in the world. For many times those that are in favour with Princes, and near about them, are sought unto to practise to poison them, to kill them, to do them some mischief, or else to rob them of their treasure, and 〈◊〉 subvert their whole state. For no respect in the world, whilst thou art in service (nor after) see thou deceive him not of a mite. I do advise thee also to be patient. For these Lords and states I tell thee for the most part are fantastical, and I marvel not of it at all: for in deed the Prince's matters and affairs doth so occupy and trouble their heads, that God knoweth they are full of passions, and can ye blame them? Therefore sometimes, will they nill they, they love and hate again. And when thou persuadest thyself (by reason of a few smile looks they have otherwhile given thee) that thou art in high favour, than they seem not to know thee. And thou must not also look after recompense of thy service, though unhappily thou hast perhaps bestowed five and twenty years time, and thy youth withal, and yet notwithstanding hast not been the better a rush for all this: and another in four days is made rich. For thus thou shouldest but wrap thyself in care to thine undoing, and yet the thing nothing remedied. And what? they will not stick to play thee many of these pranks. Therefore he that cannot bear it patiently, lifteth up his head, and a fly lighteth on his nose, and biteth him with these and such like Courtly graces, & so goeth his way: so that he looseth his time and years. Patience therefore that often goeth to sleep with Hope, bringeth thee at lest to such end as thou art not ware of, and sometime it carrieth meat in mouth, & getteth thee somewhat. Fear generally must be thy right eye to guide thee with. Thou must fear the envy of Courtiers, for they will make thee stumble and say thee flat on the ground upon thy nose. And the more thou growest in favour with thy Master, and that he giveth thee, and maketh thee fat in purse: so much more take thou heed to thyself, and look about thee. Now mark well what followeth.   

The unthankfulness of Masters.  
BVriasso (one of our corporation) was a certain beast that if thou hadst known him, thou wouldst rather have taken him for a slovenly beast than a man. He brought up a Soowe and made so much of her that he himself fed her with one hand, and with the other he clawed her. And when this Soowe had oftentimes brought him Pigs, and that good store at a farrowe, he stied her up and fatted her, and when she was fat, (forgetting the love he bore her) he sticked her, and in time eat her. There are such like Masters that claw thee with one hand, that is, they give thee fair words: with the other they feed thee, to weet, they give thee draff. And when thou hast served them (which is understanded by the bringing forth of Pigs) a time, and spent thy youth: and if Fortune be thy friend, than they give thee, and make thee rich. If thou die before thy good hap, farewell thou, so much is saved. If thou live long, and art grown fat, some blast of displeasure may call thee to Coram. So art thou chopped up, the law proceedeth on thee, and shortly all the fat and grease thou hast gotten before melteth into the Prince's Coffers. Howbeit, I may tell it to thee (be it spoken without offence of beasts of understanding) there is good provision made to the contrary now adays. For what so ever becometh of themselves they make all sure that they can: let the carcase go where it will, the fat and grease they have gathered is betimes disposed to others for fear of that they looked for. And thus all things are prevented by policy. I say no more. This is the world, and so it goeth. Keep this in mind and hearken further.  
IF Fortune favour thee so that thy Master make such account of thee, as he cometh to ask thy counsel in any thing: do not as many Counsellors do, and those that are in estimation with Princes: which thinking to please them, giveth them counsel according to the profit they find for them, and according to the Prince's passion, I may not say, will, and right. But be thou bold to say truly and uprightly, not looking in any body's face. If thy Master should happen to frown upon thee, and that he were angry, in any wise hold thy peace, and reply not again as others do, neither shake thy head as though thou mislykedst, but get thee out of sight as thou wert not he. Never be afraid of bending his brows, or of a frowning look, as long as thou standest upright, that is: that thou proceedest truly and honestly in thy doings. Sometimes they give thee fair words, and do to thee as the fowler that catcheth Thrushes, that cried out for cold of his hands amongst the boughs, and the Thrushes that were in the cage to make a noise, said that he cried for that he was sorry they came to stoop to the bird-lime. Not said a little Bird look to his hands, and let his eyes alone. Take always heed to the doings and not to the words. Knowest thou not of the Quail that hung out of the window in a Cage, and a sparrow hawk seeing her, stooped down to the Cage, and said unto her. Daughter mine, be not afraid, make no noise, for I bring thee good news: and began to tell her strange and pleasant fables, and in the mean while with her talents she began to tear the wires of the Cage. The Quail leaving to give ear unto her babblings, seeing her working well enough, began to be froward, and to bestir her. Insomuch as her Master hearing her fluttering in the Cage (knowing there was somewhat about her) ran to the window and so saved her. Trust not therefore I say the words of such, but believe their doings, and always say & do thou well: Give good counsel, and be always praising of thy Master. And if thou see him take upon him any enterprise for his profit or reputation, commend it, and exalt it: assist him, and encourage him to it. Thou must be wise also thou reach not to far, that thou take not more upon thee than thou art able to discharge, but always keep thee within bounds, if fortune should never so little favour thee. For the favour of the Master is a hill full of goodly flowers, and wonderful fruits and plants. But in this hill there dwelleth most cruel and terrible beasts. Some spiteth forth fury, some poison, one spiteth fire, another smoke: so that thou must always be armed to defend thyself, or else that thou may not be offended.  
THe Moil being wearied with the cumbersome words of the Ass his Brother, cutting off his talk, as one whose judgement with ambition was corrupted, he took his heels, & on his way to the Court he flingeth to this Princely King and Lion. And being come into his majesties presence, observing all manner of duties and reverences pertinent to so royal a throne (as his subtle and crafty Moileship knew well enough to do) even forthwith he crept into his bosom, and got into his favour, saying thus. The fame of your Royal Majesty which runneth through the world, hath made me not only to come to humble myself, and to do my duty, but also to offer your highness my service: putting him in remembrance also that many years ago (in their first young flourishing age,) the Ass his brother and he were very familiar with his Majesty: and in manner all one with him. And showing him that he was able to do his Majesty service in many things, he kissed his feet, and offered him armour and horses to serve his Majesty and the Realm: adding thereto, that it would please his highness to accept his poor offer: saying, that a little toothpike doth service to the greatest Prince, which he always occupieth in his mouth, being reckoned one of the chiefest places a man hath.   

Of the Turkey Cock, and what happened to him.  
A Turkey Cock (one of the fairest, of the braggest, & also the stateliest in all our quarters) was taken prisoner in the battle of the Pigmées, and was sold to the King of Pheasants with condition to be ransomed. Who seeing so fantastical a beast with so great barbs, which sometime were a pale blue, sometime a sky colour, now changed from that to white, and then to black again, he wondered to see those sudden changes: and more, beholding his swelling and raising up his feathers, putting forth that horn of flesh, he said he never saw before so goodly a wonder. And talking a little with him, he found him of a big voice, of few words, but resolute, so as he made much of him. And wot ye what? thither came a number of beasts of his country (understanding of his captivity) to ransom him. But he being high minded, and reputing himself the chief Bird of the dunghill (as true he was) would never say he was a prisoner, but that he was amongst the Pheasants for his pleasure, and thus despised their favour and the help of them all. On a time there came a friend of his to him, and secretly offered to give him (that no man should know it) so much gold as should redeem him out of prison. But he refused it, and would none of it, because he would not seem to be a prisoner. In the end (necessity enforcing him, and remembering his case) he was contented to be counseled by that faithful and loving friend of his, and closely took the money (that in fine doth all) and paid it, and so departed. For if he had continued in that foolish reputation of himself still, and had dwelled in his obstinacy, he had perhaps dearly bought the price of his folly. It may peradventure seem to your Majesty that I pass the bounds of modesty, if I should open to your highness my meaning hereby. I come as your majesties humble and faithful servant, and true friend, to tell your Majesty that I am sorry to see you go no more abroad a hunting, a walking, and sporting yourself at your pleasure as you were wont, but that you keep your Palace still with melancholy, which was not your wont I know. Well, I stand now before your highness ready to spend my life and goods in your service and quarrel: and if I might know your grief, I make no doubt at all but I would labour so, that your Majesty should be satisfied, and like of my service. If you be troubled for any matter concerning the state, or any other thing of importance: your highness must impart it with a few of your faithful servants, and such as you trust best. And although they be of the meaner sort, yet they may serve your Majesty with hearty love and good will, and do their best endeavour. I have presumed under your majesties good licence to say thus much, because I reckon myself to be one of the faithfullest servants your Majesty hath ever had, or now retaineth.  
THe Lion, as King of beasts, and that knew before by the wild Boar's report the nature and property of this mighty beast the Bull, moved not a whit at these words, but wisely hid that inwardly which he openly understood: and with large words and new devices feigned divers his particular accidents, saying that he was not well at ease, and found himself subject to his ordinary ague. And thus the King and moil discoursing togethers (a happy chance for the Moil, and an ill hap for the Lion) the Bull that was hard at the Court gate gave three or four terrible allows that the Lion shook again to hear him, as one that was more afraid now than he was before, by reason of the great noise and rebound of his voice: and not able any longer to hide his grief, he said. This voice so big and terrible runneth through my whole body, and in counsel I tell it thee, (knowing thy troth and fidelity to me) I promise' thee I am afraid of my Kingdom: and my reason is this. That seeing the voice of this fearful beast is so great (as thou hearest) it is like his body is answerable to the rest, which if it be, I am in no safety. And now without further ceremony thou knowest the whole cause of my sudden change and fear, therefore in this cause I would be glad to hear thy opinion and judgement.  
Mighty Prince, if no other novelty or occasion have caused you to refrain your pleasures but this voice which I have heard, me thinketh it is but small and not to be accounted off. Your noble courage should not be afraid of any thing before you know it, and what it is, and whether it be to be feared or not: as I will let your Majesty know by this tale I will tell you serving for the purpose.   

Of the Fox and his foolish fear.  
A Fox with all his family changed his hole, and got him to another, and hard by the same, there was a little cottage, where dwelled a xxv Muletters with their Moils, and every morning betimes they came to lad them. You must understand that the noise of these sundry sorts of bells and other trappings that they put about these beasts, made all the country ring with that mad noise. The Fox hearing the sound of this ill favoured noise ran quickly to hide himself in his hole, where he lurked still till the noise was gone: which was such, that it feared the Pullen, and scared him from his prey. One day this Fox being on the side of a hill, heard again this fearful noise of bells, and lifting up his head to look about him, there he saw these blessed Moils coming with their bells, and laughing to himself, was ashamed of his simplicity. The same say I unto your Majesty, that my opinion is, that this your majesties fear is such a like fantasy: and because your Grace should be informed with speed of this matter, (assuring your Grace to keep your grief secret) I do offer myself, if it stand with your pleasure, to go abroad into the Country, and to discover the thing unto you. And so soon as I shall have knowledge of the beast and of his quality, I will forthwith advertise your Majesty how it standeth, what the matter is, and how this gear goeth about. And you shall know it even as it is, I will not miss a jot, lest you should be informed contrary of some timorous beast, taking one thing for another. Therefore I beseech you sir comfort yourself, and let him alone that knoweth it: and thus he took his leave, and trotted from the king. The King highly commended his counsel and advice, and willed him to dispatch that he had promised.  
THis worshipful Moil was scant out of sight, but the Lion began to have Hammers in his head, and to imagine a thousand strange devices, and grew in Choler with himself, suspecting and fearing both at one time: and said. Well, what and he double with me? yea, and how & if he beguile me with his cloaked colour to do me good? sure his soothing words do not like me, me thinketh he is to full of them. May not he tell him with the terrible voice, that I am afraid of him? and out of doubt for as much as I can imagine, he cannot but be a beast of a marvelous strength: and adding thereto the others treason, it is another manner of thing than to be but afraid only. For between them both they may utterly undo me. Many other mishaps fall out in this buck, that if I had not this thought (feeling my fear) might happen. And peradventure too this beast is enemy to the Moil, and will set him upon me, to th'end that I should revenge some injury done him: and if he be as unhappy as he seemeth for, out of doubt he will not fail to put a flea into his ear. Sure I shall be driven to fly and have the worst. O wretch that I am, what have I done? alack I see I have done amiss, I have taken a wrong Soowe by the ear, and so going in the dark I must needs fall. And thus the Lion out of one doubt leapt into two or three more, and stood betwixt life and death, with no less hope than great fear. He went up and down his Palace like one half lunatic, fretting and chafing, now above, then beneath, still looking for the Moils coming, which had broken his appointed hour with the King: yet at length looking out at a window (which opened to the plain fields) he espied the beast coming with a wondrous joy. His Moyleship bravely yerked out with both legs, and lively shook his ears and head. He brayed and stung as he had been mad. The Lion as though he had not been grieved at all, returned again into his place, and looked for the Moil. Who arrived, was received joyfully, and with good countenance of the whole Court. The King after these grave solemnities and ceremonies done, retired into his withdrawing Chamber with the Moil: and understanding by him that this beast the Bull was fair, gentle, and pleasant withal (and that for no respect he should once seem to suspect any thing in him, but if it had been his majesties pleasure he would rat●●r have brought him to his presence to have done his duty to him) he rejoiced much, and for very love and kindness embraced and kissed him an hour long together. And hearing by him that this Bull was wise, and of good capacity, and able well to execute: he sent him back again with charge to bring him to the Court, at lest to use all means and persuasions he could possible to bring him thither. The Moil putting on a new pair of shoes to do the Prince service, galloped as he had flown, and strait he was with the Bull, whom he found lying in the shadow, chewing of his cud: and the Moil lying down by him began to talk in this manner.  
THis Moil also that lived in Court in service of the Prince, more than a few good words, courteous entertainment, and familiar access he had to the King, he could never get lands nor possessions: howbeit he obtained many pretty suits of the King, now for one man, than for another. Further, he was so bold and familiar with him that he would not stick to give him word for word, nor forbear him an inch. And passed many things by the Bulls means, which his mighty Bulship gave him gratis, for that he was as a sworn brother to his Moileship. In the end this Moil grown thus great began to look high, & provender pricked him so, that like a beast (forgetting himself) he must needs take upon him to reprove his Majesty of partiality, and ignorance: and having no body that he might trust to break withal, he was ready to burst for anger. Wherefore he was forced to go seek out the Ass his brother, and to make him privy to the matter, knowing he had none so sure a friend to him whom he might trust but he. When they met, he began to tell him at large his whole grief and trouble, complaining of the ingratitude of the King all at once, that he had so long followed his tail, and had never any thing of him worth his travel: and if I had done no more but brought him out of the fear he was in, and to bring the Bull to his presence. And here he poured out to the Ass a world of words, sayings, and deeds. The Ass that heard him all this while, began now to speak.  
I told thee enough that thou wouldst be to busy in matters: in faith brother thy brain swimmeth now. Thou must not be so fond to take all flies that fly in the Court: Thou shouldest have considered this in the beginning brother mine, (but thou wouldst not be ruled.) And have persuaded thyself that this should happen to thee, and worse. Thou wert a very beast, a beast thou hast showed thyself, and a beast thou wilt continued still, but it skilleth no matter, as thou hast brewed so bake, and there an end. If thou wilt not be called by the King to deal in his matters, why dost thou (fool) put thy hand in the fire, and meddleth with that thou hast nought to do? Thou that mightest have lived quietly at home & at ease: what the goodyere ailest thou to climb to the tops of trees? See now what thou hast done, and whereto thou hast brought thyself: quite out of favour with the Prince. Never sharp thy knife if thou wilt not have it cut thy hand when thou occupyest it. What knowest thou whether the Bull lay this heavy burden on thee, knowing now thy double dealing with him in his coming to the king? Well, do as thou wilt, if thou carry a Snake in thy bosom, what can I do withal? Me thinketh this thy mishap is much like to that that happened to the holy man in the other mountain by a thief of that country: and because I would have thee know it to serve thy turn another time, thou mayst hear it.  
O I perceive your meaning well enough (good brother Ass) and I know I take ye right. If this holy man had served God and not cast his whole mind on this worldly pelf, he had not had that loss he hath, nor been troubled as he is. If this carrion Bawd had been at home at her house still, she had kept her nose on her face. And that other Bawd to, if she had not minded to have killed the Cock of her young Hen, she also had not died. Lastly, the thief had not suffered death, if he had let the old man's goods alone: and myself (to say truly) should not suffer now such grief, if I had but only followed mine own business. I grant, that if I were as I was at the first, I would not once stir a foot to meddle in any body's matters but mine own. But well well, what remedy now? since I am in for a Bird, and cannot get out, and being ready to burst for spite I bear the Bull that he is thus made off, and set up: by the Mass I will end it one way or other, by hook or crook, or it shall cost me the setting on, run dog run devil. Sure as a Club I will raise some slander of him, to ease my heart burning withal, and to bring him if I may out of credit. And this Cockle that I will sow may perhaps be profitable for the King. For many times we see that men raised to high degree, commonly practise things hurtful to the Prince and state●: or else that the subjects otherwhile governed by him they mislike, do straight rebel against the Prince. If I set in foot, I tell thee it were well done of me, that the King might not in time receive as much hurt of the Bull, as the Bull hath received goodness of him. The Ass lift up his head, and girned at his brother to see his stubborness: and said unto him. O brother mine, I am sorry for thee. I see thou art in health, and yet thou takest Physic to bring thee into an Ague: for under the colour of letting fall thine ears in token of humility, thou wilt fling out apace. Better sit still than rise and fall. Put upon thee honesty and upright dealing, let them be ever thy best friends and countenance: and lift not up thy heart so much with passion, lest it happen to thee (not thinking of it) as it did to him that shooting at rovers up and down in the woods (supposing no body to be there) was shot at again with his own shaft, and so hit in the breast died strait. Thou playest seest me seest me not, and persuadest thyself that none will spy thy wicked practices, when in deed thou shalt be paid home and never know who hurt thee. But I wonder how thou darest once take upon thee to offend such a mighty beast. He is wise, of great strength, and hath great credit, besides that he is in favour, and doth what he list: and what he doth, the King doth. O master Ass said the Moil, how like a fool thou speakest. Thou knowest nothing if thou believe that the greatest persons only can revenge and none other's. Seest thou not that sometime the simple and ignorant do not regard nor esteem the good and virtuous: and many times do them shrewd turns and displeasures? The Commons rob the Gentlemen. But what more? the little sometime eateth up the great: and the Coward killeth the valiant. And because I have heard thee a while, and hast alleged many fables and examples: thou shalt now listen to mine another while, and so we will consult what is to be done. jesus thou makest this Bull wonderful great, and me but a poor beast and of no account, but I pray thee yet hear me, being poor and little as I am.   

Of the Eagle and Beetell, and what cometh of self william.  
IN the cliffs of Mount Olympus, there haunted a young Leveret, feeding contitinually in that place: and an Eagle spying her, marked her form where she sat, and at a trice came down to seize on her. This poor Leveret seeing herself thus distressed upon the sudden, called on the beetle that was making certain little Balls, I can not tell what, and bade him help her. The beetle fiercely turning to the Eagle, bade her get her thence, and let her alone, for she was his. The Eagle beholding the foolish beetle how he stood on his feet stoutly advancing himself, smiled, and laughing still fed on the unfortunate Leveret till she had devoured her all, not weighing the beetle one of the worst and lest feathers on her back. The beetle looked upon her, and put his finger to his mouth, and threatening her went thence attending his balls again, as who should say: time will come when I will be even with thee. Within a while after the beetle carrying this injury in mind, saw this Eagle in love, and dogging her to her nest, he came thither so often, that at length he found eggs, and lifting up his tail he began to roll them up and down (the Eagle being abroad) and rolled them quite out of the nest, even in manner when the young Eagles were almost ready to be hatched; and with the fall they lay at the foot of the rock broken, and quashed all to pieces. When the Eagle returned to her nest, & saw (having a very good eye) her children in a hundredth pieces, she pitifully lamented, the tears trickling down her Cheeks. The little beast that in a hole stood to see the end of this tragedy, seeing the Eagle take on thus heavily, said unto her: nay nay, it makes no matter, thou art even well served: thou wouldst not let my Leveret alone, and with that he shrunk into his hole, that the devil himself could not find him out. So that my good Master Ass and dear brother, a man must beware of will: for all things may be brought to pass, and nothing is hard to him that determineth to do it. Well, yet hear another, and then wonder as thou wilt. It booteth not to strive against the stream.  
There was a Raven that in the top of a great old tree, in a hollow place of the same (where none could find out her nest) did ever lay her eggs. Behold there came out of a hole at the root of the old rotten tree a Snake, which leap by leap got up to the top of the tree, and sucked these eggs when they were newly laid: and worse than that, what provision of victuals soever the Raven had brought to her nest, the Snake still devoured, so that the poor Raven could never have her provision she prepared against foul weather. The foolish Raven got her to the Fox her Cousin to ask him counsel, and when she had told all and more, she resolved straight to fly on the top of the eagle's head, and to peck out her eyes: and thereupon she desired to know the Fox's judgement. Beware said the Fox, do it not: for it will not fall out as thou thinkest. Dost thou not remember what our elders were wont to say: that it booteth not to strive against the stream, nor prevaileth to be revenged on him that is stronger and mightier than himself? but malice and treason only must serve that turn. Therefore listen a little, and thou shalt hear this notable chance.  
FIrst of fellowship hear me but four words by the way, and then say on. That that must be shall be. The Bull was even predestined great, thou a Moil, and I an Ass. He that is ordained to be a King, though he be a Plough man, I believe sure he shall be King, and that heaven doth direct all things aright and not otherwise. The examples are very good, but yet how things will fall out the end will try it. Now on a God's name, say what thou wilt.  
THere dwelled a great Paragon of India (of those that live a hundredth years and never mue their feathers) a bird of the water, air, and earth, in a great thick close knot of Rosemary upon a pleasant Lake, placed beneath amongst the little hills spread over with herbs and flowers. And always in his youth he lived (as his nature is) of fish, the which with some devise he took by Moon light with great sweat and labour. And now being aged, not able to plunge into the water with his wonted force, he was driven to fly in the air and feed on Crickets, which being few in number, he was almost starved for hunger. But one day standing by the rivers side all sad and malincholy, lo there cometh a great Crab with her legs spread abroad to the banks side which said. Sir Fowle how do you? in faith quoth he nought at home: for we have ill news abroad. I pray you what are they said the Crab? Certain fishers said he that within few days with some engines and devices will dry up this Lake and take up all the fish. But I poor wretch, that yet otherwhile had one, how shall I do? I would I might save them (since I am like to loose them) for the benefit that I have had so long time, and that I might take them out of the Lake, & flying carry them into some other surer place. The Crab hearing so ill news, called to Parliament all the fishes of the Lake, and told them this matter. The fishes foreseeing the danger at hand, had present recourse unto the wild Fowl for counsel, to tell him how it stood with them: and said unto him. If this be true, out of doubt we are in great danger & therefore give us the best counsel thou canst, as well for the love thou bearest to this Lake, as for the service we look to do to thee, honest Fowl. The Paragon that knew there was good pasture and a fertile soil, caught hold, and bit straight: saying. The great love I bear you (quoth he) dear brethren mine, for that I have been bred, fed, and brought up in this Lake, even to crooked age, maketh me truly to pity ye, and sure I am and will be ready to do ye any good I can. Therefore in my opinion (and ye will be ruled by me) you shall do best to get you hence, and tarry not their coming, for they will spare none: all is fish that cometh to net with them. And because I am practised in the world (as he that goeth in every place) I can tell you there are a thousand places fairer than this, better, and a clearer water, and were marvelously more for your profit and healths: and if ye be contented, I will tell you where and how. All at once yielded to him, and greatly commended him, (O foolish fishes to believe such a beast) praying him to dispatch the matter with as much celerity as might be. He willed then some of them to get them under his pinions, and to hold fast with their bills by the feathers of his tail, and so to train them on, he dived so far under water that they might conveniently fasten themselves in order to fly with the Fowl. And when they were mounted on his back he took his flight fair and softly to the top of one of those high Mountains, and setting them down on the ground he eat them all at his pleasure. This manner of fishing continued a while because it went forward day by day as he began, still filling his belly. But the she crab that was rather malicious than not, imagined that this Fowl had wrought some deceit, and even then there was a Tench that she loved well ready to go with the Fowl as the rest had done before, and this Tench was so plum and fat that she might well serve him for a good meal. In the end the Crab said. O Fowl my dear brother, I would thou wouldst carry me to the place where the other fishes are: and he was contented. So she gate up on horseback as it were, and with her feet clasped the Fowl about the neck, and he straight mounted into the skies, as one that meant in deed to let the Crab fall and break in pieces: and even then he espied for the purpose a heap of stones where he thought to work this feat, to let her fall. The Crab beholding the garbage and offal of those dead fishes, seeing the yminent danger she was in, straight opened her mouth and seized on the neck of the Fowl, holding as hard as she could for her life: and she kept her hold so well, that straight she strangled him, and the Fowl fell down dead, the Crab on his back alive without any hurt at all. The Crab returned home to her Lake, and told all the mischief of the Fowl, and in what danger she was in, and how she had freed them all from his devouring throat. Which understood, the fishes all with one consent gave her many a thank.  
THe Fox telling his tale, came to give this counsel to the Raven, that he should go into some neighbour's house and steal a Ring, but steal it so that he might be seen take it, hopping from place to place, snatching here and there till he came into the Serpent's hole. For by this means being espied with the manner, every body would run after him, and then he should let it fall into the Snakes hole. They to get the Ring again would dig into it, and seeing the Serpent, they should by this means come to kill her. The Raven liked the Fox's opinion, and rob from one a jewel of good value, and carried it thither, whither all the young people ran after him, and digging the hole, the Serpent came out amongst them, and they slew her. And thus with one little revenge he quited many injuries done him. The Ass that knew his subtle practices well enough, answered. And so am I of thy opinion, specially if one deal with a fool, or with one that will put a visor on his face, and that imagineth none can make it so fast and fit as himself, and that trusteth altogether to his money, esteeming no body, and lives sitting in his chair without any care. The Bull doth not so, for I have always known him in his affairs no less subtle than wise, and likes to hear every body, but specially to follow the counsel of grave men in his matters. And touching this matter I dare boldly say to thee, and assure thee, that the Bull hath a great confidence in me, because I brought him to the Court under the safe condite of my word, (although it needed not) and the oath that I made him will make him believe me in any thing I say: and therefore let him come when he list, I have done his errant well enough I warrant ye. He reckoneth himself safe with me, but I will play him such a part as the vicious and wicked Fox played another Lion (as the story following reciteth) being like to have been devoured of him.   

Of the Fox and the Lion, and of the Fox's deceit to kill the Lion.  
THere was a marvelous drought in Arabia Petrea, in that year that the hot burning winds were, and as I remember it was even upon the making of the Leap year in that country, and being the first time also of it, so there was no water to be had any where, but only a little spring in the top of the Mountain called Carcobite. At that time there lay by that spring a brave and fierce Lion, which as we poor beasts went to the water to quench our thirst, set upon us, and devoured us, or at lest slew us. So that he made a Butcher's shambles greater than any Butcher maketh at Christmas against any feast. Fame blue forth this strange death and cruelty, so that the beasts compelled to assemble dispatched Ambassadors to the Lion, and offered composition, to give him daily some pray to satisfy him with, and that they might not all die for lack of water. The Lion accepted the condition, sticking to their offer, as one that had advised himself well, considering that if he had not done it, they had all died for thirst, and he for famine, and thereupon agreed. The beasts drew lots, and on whom the lot fell, he went his way to give himself in prey unto the Lion. So long these lots continued, that at length it lighted on the Fox's neck to be swallowed up of this devouring Lion, which seeing no remedy but die he must (at lest as he thought) he devised to revenge the death of the rest, & to free his own. And forth he runneth apace unto this Lion, and prostrating himself at his feet, began to enlarge his old and faithful service done heretofore to his ancient predecessors, and told him also how he was sent Ambassador from the company of the beasts to signify to him a strange happened case even at that instant. And this it was. That the lot fell on a fat Weather to come to pay his tribute, and by the way another strange Lion met him, and took him quite away, saying that he was far worthier to have the Weather than you, and that (proudly) he would make you know it. If you mean to maintain your honour, I will bring you to him, and there you shall determine it between you by the teeth and nails. The Lion mad at this, little suspecting the sly Foxes wiles and crafts, was ready to run out of his wits, when the Fox began a new. My Lord he hath dared to say (with such arrogancy) that he will chasten you well enough, and let you know you do not well, and that you should do better and more honourably to go into the field, and there to get pray, than to tarry by the fountain, looking that other should bring it unto you, and as it were to put meat into your mouth. And at the last, he said plainly you were but a slouch and sluggardly beast. Come on, come on said the Lion, show me this bold and dangerous beast, bring me to him where he is without any more ado. The Fox that knew a well where they drew up water with ropes, that the beasts could not drink of it, brought him to the Welles side, and said. Sir, the Lion your enemy is within the well. He lustily leapt up straight upon the Curb of the well, and seeing his image in the water, he fiercely cast himself into the Well, supposing to have encountered with the Lion his enemy: by means whereof he plunged himself into the bottom, and drowned straight. Which news brought unto the beasts, avouched for troth, they joyfully embraced this crafty recovered Fox. Therefore said the Ass, thou thinkest thou goest in clouds, & handlest thy matters in such secret that they shall not be known. But if through thy spite & malice the Bull come to his death, what hast thou done? To hurt him that is the bounty and goodness of the world, it were to great a sin. Thinkest thou the heavens behold thee not? Believest thou thy naughtiness is hidden from God's secret knowledge? O master moil, thou art deceived, thou knowest not what thou dost.  
GOod brother Ass say what thou list, I am self willed in this I tell thee, and out of doubt I will bring him out of the King's favour, or I will die for it: and tell not me of honesty or dishonesty. Tut a fig I am determined. Happy man happy dole. Sure I will try my wit, and see the end and uttermost of my malice.    

The third part of Moral Philosophy 
QVOD MOLESTIUS PATIOR TACEO  Anno. 1570.  
¶ The third part of Moral Philosophy describing the great treasons of the Court of this World.  

I Can not too much exhort you (good Readers) to take some pain to continued the reading of this treatise, knowing how much it will delight and profit you, having somewhat understanded also by that ye have read before, beside that ye shall understand in reading this that followeth. Where you shall know how much a wise Courtier may do, & a double man, whose end was answerable to his naughty mind and life. Which God grant may come to all such envious and spiteful persons, that in Prince's Courts (and thorough Christendom) delight in so vile an Art, and to commit so detestable treasons. And now give attentive ear, and you shall hear.   

Behold the wicked practices and devilish inventions of a false traitorous Courtier.  
THis worshipful Moil when he had reposed himself a few days, and had lively framed this treason in his head, he went to the King, and showed him by his looks that he was malincholye, pensive, and sore troubled in his mind. The King that saw this perplexed beast, and dearly loving him: would needs know of the Moil the cause of his grief. Whom this subtle Moil finely answered, and with these words.  
Most puissant and mighty Prince, I have even strived with myself to hide the cause of my inward sorrow, which in deed is so much as it can be no more. And albeit I have been many days in coming to your Majesty, seeking to ease some part of my trouble: yet I could never find any devise or mean to release my heavy and woeful heart of any one jot thereof. And this is only grown (O Noble Prince) of the great love I bear your Grace, because it toucheth not only your highness in person, but therewith the whole state of your Princely Monarchy. And I that am your majesties vassal and subject, and a lover of the conservation of your Realm and Kingdom, am bound (will I nill I) to discharge my bounden duty to your command. Truly the trembling of heart that I have suffered hath been extreme, night and day continually vexing and trormenting me, when I have thought of so dangerous a case. The thought that pricked me on the one side, was to doubt that your Majesty would not credit me, bewraying to you the danger: and not disclosing it, I had not discharged the duty of a true subject and faithful servant to his Lord. Compelled therefore to open (as is the duty of every servant) all that that any way may fall out to the hurt and prejudice of the Master, I come most humbly to signify to your Grace the case as it standeth.  
A very faithful and secret friend of mine not long since came unto me, and made me promise' him, and swear unto him with great oaths that I should not tell it in any case, because he is a man of great honour and dignity, and worthy to be well thought of and credited. And he told me that the Bull had secret practice with the chief of your Realm, and that he had often privy conference with them. And amongst other things he told them all the great fear your Majesty had of him, disclosing to them also your cowardly heart and small force. And he went so far forth in terms of reproach and dishonour of your highness, that if his counsel, favour, help, and good government had not been, as he said: your majesties Realm (not knowing whether you are alive or dead) had been at this present brought to nothing. And furthermore he did exhort them to assemble together for their profit, and to choose him for their King. Saying, if they would do this for him, he would take upon him to drive you out of your kingdom: and he being King would so exalt them, and show them such favour, that they should not find him unthankful, besides that he would acknowledge the whole benefit proceeding from them. And moreover (the worst is yet behind) the more part of them, I swear to your highness by the head of my brother, have promised with speed to put it in practice, and continually they devise the way to perform it. So that invincible prince, take not Negligence for your guide, but prefer and entertain Diligence to prevent the traitorous prepared danger, and to foresee the happy wished health of your Royal person. I was he that made him promise' your Majesty should not offend him, nor once touch him when I brought him to the Court. I am he that ever liked and loved him as my dear brother. But yet am not I he that will suffer or conceal so high a treason against my Lord and Prince. Tract not time, most noble Prince, in wondering at these things, but presently put yourself in order for your safety: (so shall you meet with your enemy, and be ready for him) lest your Majesty by sloth unwares be taken tardy, as was the slow fish which was taken in a Lake with two others in company. And this is a certain and true tale that I will tell your highness.   

Of three great fishes, and what is signified by them.  
ALmost upon the borders of Hungary there was a certain Lake that bred fish of a marvelous bone, and that of monstruous greatness as was to be found or heard of in the world. The King because of the wonder of this Lake would not suffer it to be fished at any time: but that himself when it pleased him every certain years did draw it dry. The King forgetting the Lake a great time, and leaving his wonted fishing, three fishes grew therein of a monstrous bigness and unspeakable hugeness, the which feeding on the lesser eat up the store of the Lake, leaving it in manner without fish to that it was before. Now, as still it chanceth, every thing is known, the devouring of these fishes was brought to the kings ear, insomuch as he determined to go fish the Lake for the three devouring fishes to eat them, that the fry might increase. Orders given to his fishers, he went unto the Lake. My Lord you must know that every where there is of all sorts, some resty, some lively, some knavish, some good, some nought, some mad, some swift, some slow, and so forth. I mean, that of these three fishes one of them was malicious and subtle: the other of a high mind, and very stout: & the third was slothful and timorous. An old Frog that stood many times with these fishes in discourse, to talk and play at sundry other pastimes (the which knew over night the drawing of the Lake) went the same night to seek out these fishes, and told them of the danger at hand: and even as one would have it, they were at the table with three great Eels, although it were late, (for then Fishes sup) and yet for all this news they stirred not a whit, but made the Frog sit down, and they began to Carouse when it was about midnight. So that within a while having taken in their cups, (bidding well for it) their heads waxed heavy, and so to sleep they went: Some at the table, some on the ground, some in one place, some in another. At the dawning of the day the Fishers began to spread their nets, and to compass the Lake drawing all alongst. The Eels hearing the noise got them into the mud, that the very map of Navigation could not have discovered them. The subtle and malicious fish hearing a noise, ran straight into a ditch, and entered into a little river where he was safe from danger of the net. The other was not quick, for the nets had stopped his passage, and because he was strong and stout, he made as though he had been dead, having his mouth full of stynckinge mud, and so floated with the waves up and down. And the third was called of the Frog ten times that he should rise and awake: whooe, but all in vain. He punched him for the nonce, and jogged him again to make him awake, but it would not be. And he, tut like a sluggard answered him. I will rise anon, anon: I pray thee let me alone a while, let me lie yet a little courtesy and then have with thee. Still the Fishers went on apace with their nets, and let go the water: and when they saw this great Fish above the water, floating as I told you, they took him up and smelled to him, and perceiving he stoncke they threw him from them into the Lake again, and cast him into the same place where they had already drawn their nets, and so he scaped with life. They happened on the third, which was as a man would say a certain let me alone, and drowsy fish, and they took him even napping: and when they had him (thinking they had done a great act to catch him) they carried him in haste to the King (but by the way I do not tell ye of the brags they made in catching this Fish) alive as he was. Who commanded straight he should be dressed in a thousand kinds and ways, for that he was fat, great, and mightily fed. Now your Majesty hath heard the tale of the slow and sleepy Fish, I leave it to your highness judgement and determination, to foresee the danger, reaping the profit: or to leap into it, utterly overthrowing yourself.  
THe King set a good countenance on the matter, although these news touched him inwardly, and seemed as they had not altered him at all, and with great modesty and courtesy answered the Moil. I make no doubt of thy true and faithful service to me, because I know thou canst not suffer so much as the shadow of the danger of my estate & kingdom, much less the hurt of my person. Although many Princes and Lords in such case think themselves ill served: yet is it meet and right that the good be rather led by virtuous instinct, than carried away from the right through displeasure received. I see thou willest me good, & am sure that the love thou bearest me, maketh thee jealous of the maintenance of mine honour and estate. Yet it hardly entereth into me, and me thinketh it strange (save that thou tellest it me, I could hardly think it, much less believe it) that such wicked thoughts should breed in the Bulls breast to me, since by proof I know him in many things both good, faithful, and honest in his service: and he knoweth beside my goodness to him, how I received him courteously into my Court, and that he may say he is made Lord in manner of my kingdom.  
Sacred Prince (said the Moil) I believe in deed that the Bull thinketh himself well entreated of your Majesty: (and good cause he hath so to do,) and that he meaneth no hurt to your royal person for any displeasure he hath received of you, or for any conceived hate he hath towards you. And I think sure he taketh not upon him so fowl an enterprise to other end, but because provender pricketh him, & maketh him lusty to fling and play the wanton, and for that he is well he cannot see it, and that maketh him to devise some mischief, weening to have all in his hands, save the very title of the King, and that this little, (having all the rest) which is also the most, is easy for him to obtain. I suppose your Highness hath understood me: now take what way you list. I know well enough that an Ass laden with gold may sleep more safely amongst thieves, than a King that trusteth traitorous officers and governors appointed for the state. And let your Majesty be sure of this, that that which the Bull can not compass nor reach unto by his own force and others, he will certainly practise by deceit, using such means to bring him to it, as the Flea did to bring the Louse to that pass he brought him to, and that he had long pursued as followeth.   

A tale of the Flea and the Louse, and how the Flea was revenged of the Louse.  
WHy, what shall we do then? if the case stand as thou settest it forth, what way shall we take? I will hear thee willingly, and follow thy counsel: with this condition though, that in this interim my Realm and person be not touched, or that I sustain peril or loss.  
Invincible Lord, to have any member festered and rankle, and plainly to see that if it be not cut of it will corrupt and infect the whole body, and in cutting it off, the body remaineth safe and free from infection: what is he so mad that will not cut it off? The shepherd finding in his flock (I speak more resolutely) a scabby and infected sheep, doth not only cut off his leg, but riddeth him out of the way, because he shall not infect the flock.  
Sure this sudden matter maketh me much muse, said the Lion. For one way draweth me to love him, and that is the credit I repose in him, the long experience of his good government, his virtues and wisdom, and because I never found cause in him to detect him any way. The other thing that presseth me much, is fear: which is a great burden. I would feign therefore find a way between both, that should be betwixt love and hate, or betwixt fear and trust, and this it is. To call (if thou think good) the Bull, and to examine him well and straightly. And if I find him any thing at all blotted with this humour, I will chastise him with banishment, but never imbrue my hands in his blood, proceeding like a great and noble Prince. This determination liked not the Moil, as he that was sure to live like a wretched beast, and that his malice by this devise should appear: and straight he answered the King. Your Majesty hath even lighted right on the most stranglingst morsel, and the hardest Nut to crack: if you mean to follow that you have propounded. For he careth not to throw at his enemy, that believeth he is not seen: but standeth to behold if it light right. But if he beware once he is seen, then for shame he sticketh to his tackle, and followeth on his blow, lest he should be counted a fool and Coward both in his doings. And by such like means I have often times seen a little sparkle kindle a great fire. O my Lord, he that feigneth he hath not been offended, may at his ease and leisure be revenged. Contrary to those that never bring any thing to pass that they would, when they spit that out with their tongue that they think in their heart. Therefore I am determined (if your Majesty will like my opinion) to work another and peradventure a better way. I will home to his house, and as a friend I will feel him to the bottom and grope his mind: and he as my very friend also (and that assuredly trusteth me) will say himself open to me, I am sure of it. Such passioned minds will easily break out at the first, and they cannot keep it in but out it must. They are beside that great boasters and vaunters. For they think they stand in deed in that degree and terms of reputation and honour that they imagine themselves to be in, and they make large promises, and build Castles in the air: and at every word they say they will make thee great, and bring thee into favour, and when time serveth thou shalt see what I will say and do both. It will not be long to it. Well, well, I know what I say. So that with such like Phrases and devices, it shall proceed rightly. And thus in these trains appear yet tokens evident enough and very notable. If he have not capacity and judgement to conceive me, and that he even cross not my meaning: I that have an inkling of the thing already, I will be with him in every corner, I will not miss him an inch. If he raise men, what order he hath given, and whether his house be armed or not, yea, and I will draw out the matter ye shall see finely out of his naughty fantastical head. And if he go so privily to work that I cannot see him where he goes, nor know what he doth, as I am sure I know perfitly all his practices: I will bring him to your Highness, and when he shall appear before you, you shall easily find him. For his head is not without fear, and his sight very dull, and he will not come to you with that cheerful countenance he was wont to look on you before. He will be very suspicious and not continued in a tale, and I know your Grace shall perceive his malicious and spiteful practice by many tokens evident enough. And what knoweth your Grace whether the pen of his heart will not writ all his thoughts in his forehead? as many times it falleth out unhappily, contrary to the disposition of his thought that hath offended.  
TRuly faith hath left her habitation on the earth, and bounty reigneth no more in any land: neither do I think your wisdom can do more or less, than the heavens and celestial motions do dispose you to. Lord, what a marvelous thing is this? that to come to fame and renown by degrees of honour, it bringeth a thousand dangers with it. We never (or seldom) do well, when we follow our own humour or counsel. And he also that out of the books of the ignorant taketh forth any sentence to serve his turn, must of necessity repent him when he seeth his folly. All the Stories of the world affirm, that a lame man can never go upright. The Sages also agree, that the highest places are most dangerous to climb. Therefore it is best ever to bear a low sail: not to high for the Pie, nor to low for the Crow.  
THy talk brother moil (said Chiarino the Bull) me thinketh is very troublesome and idle, and without any manner of reason. It seemeth a fold of words that the angry heart discovereth, and that he is not in good peace with his master. How say ye? answer me but to this.  
O My good Chiarino : thou art inspired with the holy ghost, the Devil is within thee thou hast so rightly hit me. It is true the King is angry and suspecteth somewhat, but not thorough me I assure thee, nor by my means. Now thou knowest very well the promise I made for thee, and the beastly oath I took, which bindeth me in deed to my word: and let it go as it will, sure I will not break my promise with my friend that I love for any respect in the world, let the world run on wheels as it list. Therefore I will tell thee if thou hadst not been warned of it before. And harcken how.  
Two Goats my very friends, and of great judgement came to see me, weening to bring me pleasant news, not knowing that we two are tied as it were by the navels together, being both as one in friendship. And they told me for certainty that the Lion our King is marvelous angry, that he smoked again at the mouth, making such verses as the Cats do when they go a caterwauling in januarie, and in that fury he spit forth these words. Ever when I see that Bull before me, I am ready to fall for anger. An unprofitable body, and no goodness in him at all: brought into the world but to fill his paunch at other's cost. I can not be well, he doth vex all the parts of me he doth so much offend me. Well, I will take order for this well enough, and sith he doth me no service by his life, I will profit myself by his death at lest. When I heard these words spoken, thou mayst imagine whether my hears stood upright or not, and I could not hold but I must needs say. Well, well, such Lords, in faith they are liker ploughmen than those they represent. I see they sty the Hog to fat him up, and so to eat him. O this his ingratitude and cruelty, (I cannot hide it) and his so great beastliness together hath taken me by the nose, as if I had met with the Mustard pot. For those good qualities of thine, for that league that is betwixt us (although I were sure of his Grace's indignation) and because me think thou art betrayed, I could not choose but come and tell it thee. So that good Chiarino , thou art great and old enough, look well to thyself, thou needest not be taught, thou art wise enough, and there an end. Thou art passed a steer, and a Bull full grown, nay rather a fat Ox. But hearest thou me, Gods my bones not a word for thy life: for if thou dost, all the fat lieth in the fire, and the pottage may be spilled and cast on the Moils back.  
CHiarino stood a while on the ground like a mazed beast, as one that had been dry beaten, being fronted with so malicious a devise. Then he laid his hand on his heart, and bethought him of all his business and matters: as of his government, office, living, authority, and regiment: and knowing himself as clear as a Barber's basin, he hit the matter rightly, imagining (as it was) that some had wrought knavery against him, and said. Well, go to: there is nothing breeds more occasion of mortal hate, than the vile and sly practices of the perverse and wicked. Our Court is full of envious persons, which stirred up perhaps with spite to see the Prince favour and like my service (being a coresey to their heart to abide it) do wickedly practise and devise such mischiefs. They seeing (as I say) the graces and benefits the Prince bestoweth on me, making me honourable, and heaping great things upon me, do procure by indirect means to make his Majesty turn his copy, & me to change my wonted manners. Sure when I look into the matter and advise it well, it is me thinks a thing not to be credited, and it makes me not a little to wonder that his Grace without cause is thus deceived: yet in the end truth I know will take place. God will not long suffer such practices. Neither Law will in any wise permit that a man shall have judgement before he be heard. Since I came first as a beast into his highness service, I never did any thing that my conscience should accuse me in. But yet I have as great cause to bewail my mishaps come to me, as he that putting himself to the sea (and might have gone safe by land) was thrown on a rock and drowned: and all through his own seeking. All they which busy themselves thus in Court, and run from table to table, making themselves great with this man and that man, still whispering in their ears, must (notwithstanding that the Prince reward them, or that he be very well served of them, and like them) look to be touched at one time or other, and unhappily to fall into the Prince's disgrace, and perhaps to remain so a good while out of favour. And this only riseth by these double reporters and tale bearers, or by the envy of Courtiers, which is mother of all vice and iniquity. I dare boldly show my face every where, for any offence I ever did the King. And if I had committed a fault through ignorance, and not of will: me thinks I should not be punished neither for the one nor the other. The counsel that I always gave him, hath ever fallen out well, and to good purpose. And if perhaps they have not all taken such effect as they aught: he must think Fortune will play her part in these worldly things. And this I say for purgation of my upright and honest meaning to his royal Majesty. I am sure the King will but proceed with justice, following the steps of the just: the which will say no violent hands on any beast, but will first inquire, whether the cause be just, who are the accusers, whether he be a lawful man that doth such a thing, and if the quality of the offence agreed with the conditions of the accused, with such other like circumstances and ceremonies pertinent to matters of such importance. He that gathereth unripe fruit, repenteth him of the marring it. Behold the fruits eaten in Court: in the mouth passing sweet and lusshious, but in the body God knoweth very bitter and hurtful. Lord, how many doth the foolish vain pomp of the world deceive and abuse? I may rightly take myself for one of those, that scant hath tasted of the shadow of his sweetness, but I am even filled with poison. The heavens beget beasts, and they join togethers: but I would I had never joined with it, since I shall leave it so quickly, fool that I was, that I could not know the difference betwixt him and me, and discern his nature. Go you and serve in a strange country a God's name. See what difference there is betwixt him and me. I must wear the yoke, and he must break it. I am borne to labour, and he must sit still. When I have meat given me I eat, and tarry not his ravening. Fly's may live abroad in the fields, and yet they fly into men's eyes: so that sometime with death they pay for their coming, or at lest are driven away with hurt and maim. And to conclude, I feed on the grass, and fill me, and he feedeth on dainty flesh, and fareth well.  
THese thy wise reasons, O Chiarino , sink not into my head said the Moil (as he that would needs make him believe he gave him a remedy for his grief, and presented a cup with poison.) Make no more words, for thou must put to thy hand to redress it, and not to lament it. For ill stand words in place where deeds are requisite. To show his grief said the Bull, and to break his mind to his friend, me thinks it is partly an ease to the heart, and a lightning of the mind to him that is afflicted. And so much more is this in me, because I see myself in great danger, and like to be undone. And although the Lion delighted not in my hurt which I may suffer, (and as thou sayst liketh him) yet the iniquity of my enemies notwithstanding will so prevail against me, that the king will give no ear to my innocency. And I am sure (for I see it in the Element) that the like will fall on me, that lighted on the Camel with an other like Lion: which tale followeth, and this it is.  
MOst mighty Prince the Proverb saith. Who seeketh shall find. Like as he can not see that hath not eyes, nor hear that hath not ears: So we poor wretches that starve for hunger, thrust up betwixt the door and wall, we I say can not see one another, and have lost all our senses. And being thus blinded we cannot seek, and not seeking ye may well think that we all are ready to faint and fall down right. But yet we have found a way not to famish: and to be plain with your Grace at a word, we would have you kill the Camel, and the Wolf, the Fox, and I will be ready to assist you. He is round, plum, fat, and as full as an Egg, so that he will serve you a great while, & also he is none of ours at any hand, neither yet is he called to any service for his richesse: for I have known him a very beggar iwis. The Lion cut of his tale and device upon a sudden, and more than half angry he said to him. Get thee hence out of my sight thou and thy wicked counsel, vile stinking beast that thou art, that dost nothing else but pluck out eyes, a beast without discretion or faith. Dost thou not remember what I said to the Camel? Doth not he live under my protection and warrant? The Raven like an old thief let him go on and say his pleasure. And though the King grounded himself on justice, and sought to perform his word and promise past him, yet he stirred not a whit, no more than the wild Boar among the thick bushes and briars, nor once hid himself for all his heat and hot words, but took heart of grace on him again. And as one that knew he stood on a sure ground, and that he spoke for the Prince's profit (a good staff to lean on and make a man bold I warrant ye, for it maketh many a bitter fray with honour, and putteth him often to flight: and justice is more corrupted for commodity, than honour doth 'cause it to proceed with equity.) He replied to the King, and told him a trim tale with these words. Victorious Prince, your opinion is no less good than just, and I like it well that your mind agreeth with the greatness of your crown: but I stand in great fear that this your carnal holiness will fall out very hurtful for your Kingdom. Sure general honesty banisheth from every one murder: but private profit calleth it again. We your obedient vassals and subjects, humbly beseech your Majesty on the knees of our hearts, that of two hard choices ye will take the best, or as they say, of two evils the lest. Cast not away for God's sake to save one unprofitable member, so many profitable and necessary members, making them unprofitable and not necessary. Your life standeth yourself and all us upon, and importeth all. If he live, you die: if he die, you live, and we to serve you. My Lord I say, honour for others that list, but profit for yourself. Your Majesty once gone, your subjects and Realm are like to come to nought. Your preservation is ours also. It is of necessity one Well must be cleansed to clear the rest. And though in deed your word and assurance hath tied your hands, and that in that respect you would not break justice: let me alone with the matter: I will work such a feat for him, that I will make him come and offer himself unto you, and lay his neck on the block, and yet he shall little think my meaning. And when you have his head on the block and cannot find means to chop it off, in faith you are worthy to starve: and then at your peril be it for me. You see you are famished, and we starved, and how low you are brought. Fellow my counsel, and I will deliver him you fair and fat: so shall ye save yourself and us too.  
THis tale I have told thee said the Bull, because thou shouldest know these Courtlike fables, devices, and practices of vain and wicked Courtiers. I know them all, and I am so much the better acquainted with them, because I see them daily used against the good and virtuous, and well disposed minds. And one no sooner maketh way for virtue, but they straight set thorns in his way to prick his feet. But I will not hazard my life in going about to maintain the place and credit I have about the Prince. If the love thou bearest me be true, I pray thee do but give me a watch word how I may save myself, and help me with thy counsel in this distress, for I promise' thee I cannot counsel myself. And for any other to counsel me in so hard a case, I cannot see any light at all, because me thinks I see some beastly part played me, and I am ready to burst for sorrow: and the worst of all, that I see no end to bring me to any sure haven. So that I pray thee help to save me: and this thing I crave of thee, because it is fit for every body to seek for his health.  
Thou hast said better than a Crab that hath two mouths said the Moil: and surely to seek for thy health it is but reason, and a lawful excuse. For he that cannot save his life by force, is to be borne withal if he work for his life by subtlety or malice. Howbeit above all things, every little enemy is greatly to be thought on and looked unto: now judge thou then how much the great is to be feared. And he that will not esteem this, and believe that I say, it should happen to him that happened to the Male and female Linnet in making their nest.   

A man hath no greater enemy than himself.  
alongst the sea side, in a few rocks and cliffs full of wild Herbs, certain Linnets were wont to lay and breed: and breeding time being come to say their eggs, the Cock began to make his nest there. In so much as the Hen said to the Cock: me thinks it were better fore us to go seek some other place to hatch our young ones, (because this is not certain, and besides that perilous, as it is often seen) that we might yet once bring up our poor little fools to some good. What saith the Cock, dost thou mislike of this seat, and is it so dangerous as thou talkest off? Here pass no people, here it is hot, no winds at all, and an infinite sorts of Herbs do grow here as thou seest: so that we shall have meat at all times at william. O my good sweet Honey husband, quoth the Hen, it is not fit for us God knoweth. For in such like seats is ever great danger, upon any rage of the seas to loose them all, that it is: therefore I pray thee let us avoid that danger. Will't thou do as the Pigeon, that being asked of a Pie why she returned to the Dovehouse to say her eggs (where all her young ones were still taken away) answered: my simplicity is the cause and ever hath been of my grief. Thou that hast great experience, and hast pissed in so many snows, wilt thou not take it ill to be handled like a cods head in thy old days? and that it should be told thee he knew it, and would not know it, he believed it not, he did it not, and so forth? but the foolish husband having no capacity to conceive his wives words, went his way, and slew up to the top of the tree, and the more she spoke, the worse head had he to understand her. So he stood still in his own conceit, thinking he had been handled like a tame fool, if he had followed his wives fantasy. O how noble a fool, O what a cocks comb. All is one: she might say what she would, but he would do as he listed, and follow his own fantasy. And so he dwelled still in his opinion, and made his nest, and she laid her eggs and hatched them. A man hath no greater enemy than himself, and that beast specially that knowing he did amiss, did rather continued his obstinacy to his hurt, than for his profit once to accept the counsel of her wife or friend: And last of all she told him a tale by protestation.  
IN the fishings of the Sophy, there was a world of Fowls that kept about it to feed of those fishes, and amongst them was a tortoise of the water that had straight friendship with two great and fat Fowls, who diving under water drove the fish all about, and they no sooner appeared almost above water, but at a chop they had them in their mouths. The Lake was full of cliffs, I cannot tell how but by certain earthquakes, and by little and little it began to wax dry, so that they were feign to void out the water to take out the great number of fish that were in it, that they should not die in that drought, but rather eat them up. The fishes therefore of that Lake meaning to departed out of that country, came one morning to break their fast togethers, and to take their leave of the tortoise their friend. The which when she saw them forsake her, she wept bitterly, & pitifully lamenting she said. Alas, what shall I do here alone. But what thing can come worse to me, than to loose the water and my friends at one instant. O poor tortoise that I am, wretched creature I, whither should I go to seek out water, that am so slow to go? I like not to tarry longer in this country. O good brethren help me, I pray you forsake me not in my distress. Ah unhappy was I borne in this world, that I must carry my house with me, and can put no victuals into it. In others houses alack there is place enough for their necessaries: but in mine I can scant hide myself. A, woe, woe is me, how shall I do? if ye have any pity on me my brethren, & if ye have taken me for your friend, help me for God's sake. Leave me not here to burst for thirst. I would gladly go with you, and that you would put me in some Lake: and I would follow mine old trade as I have done, therefore dear Fowls help me.  
These words did penetrate the hearts of these great water Fowls, and taking no less pity on her, than looking to their own profit, they said unto her. Dear Mother tortoise, we could not do better than satisfy thy desire, but alas what means have we to carry thee hence into any Lake? yet there is an easy way to bring it to pass, so that thy heart will serve thee to take upon thee to hold a piece of wood fast in thy teeth a good while. And then we (the one on the one side of thee, and the other on the other side) will with our bills take the end of the stick in our mouths also, and so carry thee trimly into some Lake, and there we would lead our lives and far delicately. But in any case thou must beware thou open not thy mouth at any time, because the other birds that fly up and down will gladly play with thee, and laugh to see thee fly in the air, thou that art used to tarry on the earth, and under the water. Therefore they will tell thee marvelous wonders, and will be very busy with thee, and peradventure they will ask thee: O pretty she beast, whence comest thou I pray thee, that thou art flying thus, and whither wilt thou? But take thou no heed to them, see them not, nor once hearken to them I would advise thee. And if they prattle to thee, saying, O what an enterprise of birds, good Lord what a piece of work they have taken in hand. Whishte, not a word thou for thy life, nor look not that we should answer them. For we having the stick in our mouths cannot speak but thou must needs fall, if the stick (by talk) fall out of our mouths at any time. Well, now thou hast heard all, how sayest thou? will thy mind serve thee, hast thou any fantasy to the matter? who I? yes that I have, I am ready to do any thing: I will venture rather than I will tarry behind. The Fowl found out a stick, and made the tortoise hold it fast with her teeth as she could for her life, and then they each of them took an end in their mouth, and putting themselves up, straight slew into the air: that it was one of the foolishest sights to see a tortoise fly in the air that ever was seen. And behold a whole flight of birds met them, seeing them fly thus strangely, and hovered round about them, with great laughtures, and noises, and speaking the vilest words to them they could. O here is a brave sight, look, here is a goodly jest, who, what bug have we here said some. See, see, she hangeth by the throat, and therefore she speaketh not said others: and the beast flieth not, like a beast. These taunts and spiteful words went to the heart of the tortoise, that she was as mad as she could be: so she could no longer hold but answer she would (at lest as she thought) and when she opened her mouth to speak, down she fell to the ground, and pashte her all to pieces: and all because she would have said, I am an honest woman, and no thief, I would ye should know it: Knaves, Rascals, and ravening birds that ye are. So that contemning the good counsel was given her, or to say better, because she would not believe them, she paid her folly with death. And now I return back again whence I came.  
THe Bird lost her young ones because the sea rose high, and the surging waves carried them quite away. Now because she would lay no more in any such dangerous place, she assembled all her parentage and kinsfolks, & came before the Crane (Queen of all Fowls) to cite her husband, and told her the whole matter. The which when she saw the little discretion of her husband, she rebuked him, and wisely told him how great folly it was (yea rather madness) to put himself and his the second time in open & manifest danger, being fallen into it once already. Showing him by example a tale of the Curb, that being angry with the Well ran against it, thinking to make a hole in it, but in fine it broke in ten pieces. Learn therefore said the Crane not to strive with those that are greater than thyself, if thou meanest not to have the shame and loss. Therefore build thy nest no more alongst the sea banks.  
THe traitorous Moil hung down his head all the while, and knew well enough that it was true the Ass said, and that he miss not much the mark, yet he held his peace, and would not answer one word. So the Ass followed on his tale, and came again to the matter. I see my words but lost, and work small effect: and I am sure there is no rebuke more cast away and blown into the wind, than that that is given him, that is neither capable of it, nor honest and just: nay rather feareth no punishment for his perverse and wicked works. It shall do well therefore (though I be but thy brother by the father's side) to take care of thee, lest I should fall into that that a little Popingey fell into with an Ape of Soria.   

It booteth not to give counsel where it is not followed.  
O idle Bird, in faith thou hast but little wit to meddle with that that toucheth thee not. What is it to thee whether we know or not know? who entreated or bade thee come to give us counsel or help? If thou do not get thee hence to sleep again, and that quickly, I will promise' thee a broken head at the lest, and I turn not thy skin over thine ears too, hearest thou me? I pray ye see how he meddles in our matters. Dispatch, get thee hence I say, and meddle with thy Birds with a murrain to thee and let us alone: lest perhaps thou wishest thou hadst, when it will be to late. And with that she began to show her teeth, with an evil favoured look withal.  
THe poor Bird when he saw her make that face to him was half afraid, yet leaving her he went to counsel the others, supposing by being importunate to make them know their folly: and so he began to say and repeat very often that he said to the other Ape before, so that that Ape could not abide him any longer for spite, but gave a leap or two to catch him. But the Fowl being wight of wing easily scaped her: and sure if he had tarried never so little, and had not flown away so fast as he did, the Ape had not left a feather on his back, she had torn him. And like to the Ape art thou, for there is no good counsel will take place with thee, nor no admonitions or warnings that will once make thee beware or take heed. I should be the obstinate Bird that should still go about to persuade thee, but in the end I fear me that would happen to me, which chanced to a Pie with her Master, being a setter forth of Plays and Interludes.   

He that diggeth a pit for others, many times falleth into it himself.  
A Maker of Plays, dwelling in a town called Baccheretto, gave to a rich Merchant a Pie (which one of his boys that played a part ever in his plays had brought up:) that had a property to blab and tell all that she saw done in the house. This Merchant had a fair wife, which wanton chose to hide herself otherwhile with a goodly young man her neighbour. The husband was many times told of it, and did in manner perceive somewhat himself too: but because it was but suspicion and no proof (and if he should have stirred in it he had not been able to have taken his oath that it was true) he stood between two waters, as he that was very loath to believe it. And as in such cases it falleth out many times, that the servants and family (for the love of their Mistress) do depend rather of their Mistress than of their Master, and are readier to please her of both. The husband seeking diverse means to come to the light of this matter, could never get out of them, but sure sir it is not so, you are deceived. The good man perplexed in his mind, not knowing what way to devise to bolt out this matter, remembered at the last that the Pie he had in his Chamber (upon the window) would serve his turn excellently well for the purpose, so he brought her to his wives Chamber, as though he had not cared for her (meaning nothing less) and there he left her a few days. When he thought the Meal had been bolted, he caused the Pie to be brought again into his Chamber, and she told him all things directly as they were done, so that he determined to punish her lewd life. But as many do, whom love doth no less overcome than pity, he let it alone yet many days. All this while he hung up the Pie in her cage in the hall, and at night made her be fetched in, and then he knew all that was done in the day from point to point, & what had happened. Who was there, if her Mistress went abroad, how many pounds of Flax the Maids had spun, and how many times the servants had set on the Flax of the Rock and pulled it off again: when, what, and how. O what a vile crafty Pie was she. The poor Maids of the house never thought she could have told any thing in the world, nor made any reckoning of her at all. The husband at the first began to groin and lower, and to cast forth certain words and Parables to his wife, the which seemed not to understand him, though she knew his meaning well enough, and suspected that some of the house had opened the matter. Howbeit not able to burden any one particularly, because she would be sure not to miss, she flatly fell out with them all, and took on with them to bad, brawling and scolding up and down the house like a mad woman all the day long. In continuance of time, whether it was that they starved the poor Pie, or how the goodyeare the matter fell out I know not, but the Pie had found her tongue & spoke plainly to them, and said: give me some meat, or I will tell my master. When they heard her prate thus, imagine you what sport the women had with her. And because she was a beast, out she tattled at once all that she knew of the men as well as of the women: so that she told them how her Master would ask her how they used her, and what they did, and counterfeited his fashions and gestures rightly, ask questions, and answering herself, even as if her master had been present to have asked her.  
The Mistress and Maids glad they had found out the tale bearer, they came about her with a light, and shut to the windows, and with visors on their face, disguised, they danced such a Morresse about her with Glasses, Fire, Water, and sounding of Bells, beating on the boards, shouting, and whooping, that it would have made the wheel of a Mill deaf it was so terrible. And after they had done this, returning every thing to his place, and opening the windows as they were at the first, there they left her alone, and would give her never a bit of meat. When the Merchant her master was come home, and that he caused the Pie to be brought into his Chamber, she began to lay out her tongue at large, and said. O Master, I have had an ill night to day, there hath been such rain, tempests, and such noises, and I have seen a number of Pies pass by my Cage, but none of them all would tarry with me. O what a foolish time was it: yet in a moment the wind and water ceased, and so it was day again. Bid them give me some meat that I might dine, for it is eight a clock, and I am a hungered. The Merchant when he heard her speak thus foolishly, and tell these fables, he thought they were but toys in her head, and that she talked at pleasure, nothing touching her Mistress matters, and so let it pass for that time. One night the Merchant determined to lie out, and so he did, and left the Pie in his wives Chamber. As soon as it was dark his wife sent for her Lover, and straight caused the Pie to be taken away (her Cage covered over) and carried into a Well: and when he that carried her had let her Cage down a pretty deal into the well, he uncovered it again, tying it fast at the top of the Well for falling into it, and being Moonlight the same night, the servant departed his way without speaking to her, or seeing her, and so let her hang. A little before day the good wife of the house made the Cage be covered again trimly, and brought into the Chamber, and so uncovering it in the dark, fell a sleep again (her Lover being gone) till broad day. The Merchant came home betimes in the morning before sun rising, and went straight to the cage in his chamber. The Pie that hung in the well all night and knew not in what place she was in, nor what house it was, would very gladly have told her master all, and thus she began. Master, the Chamber was carried quite away to night, and I was in a great round Glass with water at the sun shine of the day, all night long almost, and then the Glass and Cage was removed, but I cannot tell whither: and so God give you good morrow master. Now God give thee sorrow (quoth the Merchant) wicked beast that thou art: for through thy foolish words I had well near paid my poor jone on the Petticoat for thy sake. And with that he ran to the bed and embraced his wife and sweetly bussed her. His wife that saw her time come now to be revenged, and to free herself of her husbands conceived jealousy, caused the slovenly wittal her husband to tell her all the Pies qualities & tales she had brought him: which when she had heard, out on her whore quoth she, kill her ill-favoured harlotry, what meanest thou to keep that foolish Bird? Her husband being rather in a rage than well pleased, because he would not gladly have known that that his wife had told him. Took the cage and the Pie and threw her out at the window, & with the fall the poor wretch died out of hand. Therefore none must intermeddle in things that belongeth not to them, neither in words nor deeds to go about the destruction of any. For he that diggeth a pit for others, many times falleth into it himself.  
THe Sea crab disposed to play with a fool, was contented to be ridden of him, but he like a cocks comb (not knowing she went backward,) put a Bridle in her mouth, and it went to her tail, and spurring her forwards, the Crab went backwards. I am a fool (quoth the fool) to think to do well with thee, since I know not thy nature nor condition.  
Now listen what chanced to an ungracious traveler, and then consider well of the matter.  
Two men of the Mamalechites traveling by the way togethers, found a great bag full of Golden wedges, and so jointly togethers they agreed to take it up, determining to carry it to the City, and to lay it up safe in their lodgings. But when they were come to the walls of the City, they altered their minds, and one of them said to the other. Let us divide the treasure, that each may carry home his part, and do withal as he thinketh good. The other that was resolved to steal it, and to have it all to himself, meaning to ease the good honest man of his part, answered ex tempore for his profit. Me thinketh good brother it is not meet that our hap should be common, and the friendship particular: but like as we met in poverty, so let us join in richesse. Therefore for my part I will not divide it, but we will enjoy it friendly togethers, and the good hap that lighted evenly upon us. Howbeit for this time (if thou think good) let us take a piece out to serve our necessity with, to defray household expenses, and other extraordinary charges: and for the rest, it shall not be amiss if it run in common betwixt us, and we will hide it in the dark in some secret place, so as we may from time to time (always as we need it) take of it at our pleasures. The good sielye man (I will not say fool) did not think of his pretenced subtlety, and that he went about then like a false Knave to deceive him, but took him for a plain meaning man like himself, and said he was contented it should be so. So for company they took each of them his burden, and the rest they safely buried under the root of an old Elm, which the poor neighbours that dwelled by called vile Knave, and so with the little burden of their necessary expenses, each of them repaired to their lodgings. Within three hours of the same night, the Companion that gave counsel to leave it abroad, went to the place of the hidden treasure, and secretly carried it home with him. When time had consumed the honest man's money, he went to the thief his partner, and said to him. Brother I would gladly have the rest of my part of the gold that remaineth behind, let us go therefore I pray thee togethers as we togethers did find and hide it, and we will bring it home betwixt us: for I assure thee I am in great need. Of mine honesty well said (quoth the thief his companion) we are happily met: for I was even now thinking of that thou tellest me, and I promise' thee I was coming to thee of the same errant. But now thou art come, in faith welcome, thou hast saved me so much labour: come on, gowe, let us take our horses and away, we will not devil long about this matter I trow, we will handle it so nimbly thou shalt see: and then we shall live merrily without any care or thought, and need not fear robbing. Now when they were come to the vile Knave (the Elm so called) where they had buried their treasure, being a great and hollow tree, they began to dig for it, but in faith they might dig under the tree till their hearts ached, as deep and as far as they listed, for the treasure was flown. The thief than played the Harlot's part rightly, that weary and lamenteth to the honest woman: and began to tell him there was no more faith in friends, and that love was lost. Trust that trust list, for by the Mass I will never trust again. And when he had often repeated this, he began to throw away his cap, to cry out, and beat himself, that he was like a mad man, nay a very bedlam in deed. His fellow that was no natural, though he were somewhat like a Mome, would not be lowted so, but rather laughed to see his knavery and craft, thinking notwithstanding that he had stolen it (as he had in deed) but yet he stood in doubt, laughing still. Then the thief raged like a beast (as if he had had reason on his side) and said. None, no none but thou traitor, thief, and villain (as thou art) could steal this. The seely man that of both had cause to complain (all hope taken from him to recover his part) in stead of accusing him, it stood him in hand to excuse himself, and to swear and forswear: saying I cannot tell of it, I saw it not, I touched it not, neither did I once think of it till now. But tut all would not serve, nor stay the thief, but he cried out more and more (and that aloud) and called him all to nought. O traitor, o slave, and micherlye thief, who but thou knew of this? What man alive but thou could once have laid hands on it? Tarry a little, by God's passion I will tell my L. Mayor of thee, I will do thy errant trust to it: and I trow he will set thee where thou shalt see no Sun nor Moon a good while. hearken after.  
THis brawling and scolding continued a good while between them, in the end they went both to the Mayor: who after long cavillations, intermissions, paremptories, exigentes, terms upon terms, favours, promises, agreements, praises, compromises, wagers, and a number of other such like conceits and toys, perceived his tale had neither head nor foot. Then said my L. Mayor to pick out the core of this matter: when ye two hide this treasure, were there any others with you, or were ye two alone togethers? The Knave that had occupied his hands as nimbly as he that playeth on the Phife, answered straight as if he had been clear and honest in the matter. My Lord, and if it please your Honour, with your grace's favour, the tree itself and you were there and saw it, would witness the matter plainly. For we both I am sure put it between the roots of the tree, and therefore I believe it will show you the hole which the thief hath digged. If God be just, I know he will make the tree tell, and as it were point with a finger to him that stolen it, and show you of him Sir, of him that standeth here before your lordships goodness (and my worshipful Masters) like a steal Counter now, for out of doubt he stole it. My L. Mayor that had many times put his finger in the fire before, as one well acquainted with such like matters, and that could spy day at a little hole, said, well than ye stand upon the testimony of the tree, and seeing ye do so, both you and I will be at the doing of it God willing, and I will sift it out to the uttermost I warrant ye, fear ye not. They putting in sureties for their appearance, and a day appointed for the matter, were dismissed the Court. This determination liked the thief of life, for he had straight devised a mischief to blind my L. Mayor withal. But here I will make a little digression. He that doth his things without advise & counsel can never do well. The counsel is ever sound and good that cometh from old experienced men, or at lest helpeth in some part. It is every wise man's part to take counsel in things he goeth about, whereof he is either ignorant or doubtful. He that representeth the Moil, I hope since he will follow no counsel, ye shall see him smart for it in the end. For it is written. Hear my son my precepts and counsels, but the Most was deaf and could not hear of that side. And now listen how.  
THe thief had imagined a mischief in his head, and as soon as he was come home he said unto his father. O my good lusty old grey beard, I will disclose a great secret to thee, which till this day I have kept secret, secret in my bosom many a fair day, and ever buried it within me, as he that could find no time I tell thee to trifle. But father, hear ye. To be plain with you, the treasure I ask of my Companion, I myself have stolen it, that I might the better relieve thee in thy old age, and also further and advance my poor family, a thing that thou and I both long time have desired. I thank God, and my wise foresight (I should have said before) it goeth as I would have it, I would wish it no better. Now if thou wilt be ruled, and have the thing brought to pass (being already in. good forwardness) this cheat will be ours in spite of the Devil. And so rehearsed all to him that had passed between them before the Mayor and the Bench, and adding this withal. I pray thee convey thyself to night into the hole under the roots of the tree where the treasure was hid, for it is long, deep, and large. And when my Lord Mayor shall ask the tree: Quem queritis? I would say, who carried away the treasure? then shalt thou answer with a counterfeit voice: Egus. That is my Companion, and thou shalt call him by his name. The old man that was like unto his son in every point, had reason to hold of his side, after nineteen shillings to the pound: but he answered four words.  
Son, it is good to be merry and wise. I care not to take this matter upon me, but me think it is hard and dangerous. A wise man will look ere he leap. I fear me those eggs will be broken in the mouth while we are a sucking of them. It happeneth in an hour that happeneth not in seven years. If this gear come out, we have spun a fair thread. Consider it well, mishaps are ever at hand. Howbeit, so it happen not to me as it did to the Bird that would kill the Snake, I am contented: and now hear the story how she did.  
IN the rocks of Popolonia there was a goodly tree, in the which a solitary Bird built her nest: and laying six times, five of them miscarried. Hard by this tree, there dwelled a great and an unhappy Snake, which (as often as these little birds were in manner hatched and ready to fly) crept up the tree to the nest, and devoured them all, that she was ready to burst for fullness. So that the poor Sire of them was as angry as a Bear, he was so full of choler and sorrow. One day he determined to ask council in the matter, and consulted with a Crab that was a Doctor in Libris. Hearing his learning, he said nought else to him, but come and follow me. So he brought him to a Cave where dwelled a certain beast (a companion of his) a charmer, an enemy to the Snake for his life, and told him his nature, how that this beast delighted to eat fish, and made him carry a little dish full of them, and to go scattering of them still all alongst till he came to the Snakes hole. The charmer having the savour of the fish in the wind, followed the sent, and when he was come to the place where the Snake made her nest, in a great fury he digged up the ground: and finding her (as one would have wished it) in her first sleep, he killed her. But because she was so well fed, he went further groping up and down, searching if there had been aught else to have liked him: and having these Birds in the wind to, he got him up to the tree, and devoured them also.  
FAther you cast beyond the Moon, and make doubts where none are: there is no such danger in this as you speak of. Too it lustily, and be not afraid, I will warrant thee for an Egg at Easter. What dost thou think I have not weighed the matter to the uttermost? foreseen it, prevented it, looked thorough it, and seen to the bottom of it? Yes that I trow I have. And if I had not seen it done as I would have it, I would not buy the repentance of the life of my dear, sweet, loving, and tender father. Therefore dispatch, and about thy business. The tide tarrieth no man. Now is the time that in despite of our foes (do the worst they can) we shall have our purpose, and that so trimly, that we shall swim in wealth, and live all the days of our life after like Gentlemen, and take our pleasure. So the unhappy (rather than wise-father, danced after the sons pipe, and forthwith went and conveyed himself under that hollow tree, tarrying there all night where the treasure had been hidden.  
IN the morning betimes, my Lord Mayor, the Sheriffs, his brethren the Aldermen, the Recorder, the counsel of the City, my masters the judges, and justices of peace, with all other of my Lord Majors and the sheriff's officers attending on him, solemnly went to the appointed place for trial of this matter, and having heard the parties in partibus and spartitibus, he resolved upon the testimony of the tree, and cried out. What ho, tree (three times) who hath rob this treasure? then this old man that had lain under the tree all night, & had a couple of Nuts in his mouth to counterfeit the matter, answered quickly on a sudden the name of the good simple man. When the Mayor heard this thing, that within the barks of trees there were certain trembling voices put forth, it so amazed him, that for the time he was extaticke, & could not speak a word: seeming to him and to those that stood by, that it was a wonderful and strange thing. And thus wondering at the matter, to hear the voice come out of the tree, he was about to say: Lord, see what force troth is off. But with that thought also he began to suspect there was some knavery in hand, and because he would know it if it were so, he commanded they should lay a load of wood or two about the root of the tree, & when they had done, that they should set it on fire: imagining that if there were any ill favoured worm or vermin in the hollowness of the tree, either he would fire him out, or at the lest burn his coat or tail. And if there were any deceit, he knew by this means he should easily bolt it out: and having caused wood to be brought and laid together as he commanded, they straight gave fire. Now the old man having fire at his tail like a Glow-worm, and that it began to parch him, (think what heart he had) cried out pitifully as loud as he could. Alas, alas, alas. Water, water, water. I burn, I burn, I burn. Help, help. I am smothered, I am smothered. Come, come, come. Quick, quick, quick. Open, open, for God's sake. I die, I die, I die. And many such words he spoke, that he made them all ready to burst with laughing. A sirrah (quoth my L. Maior) and art thou there in deed: In faith the spirit is conjured now, he is sure enough I warrant him. And so he caused the spirit to be pulled out, that God knoweth looked like the very picture of strife itself. When he saw the poor old Devil how he was dressed, at the first he laughed, and without any choler did straight examine him. But when the troth in deed appeared as it was, he paid them home with their own device, and gave them that they had justly deserved, and delivered all the treasure to the simple honest man. So that now thou hearest how innocency is rewarded, and iniquity punished. Let strife go, and we shall live merrily.  
THou mayest now turn this tale to thee, and make thee a short cloak, for in sooth it is even fit for thy back, therefore put it on thee. Once again I tell it thee, that the books which thou hast studied are false, and the doctrine nought: therefore I can tell thee they will be thrown into the fire. And if thou follow that doctrine, and allege their authorities, out of doubt thou wilt fry at a stake, and thou and thy Doctors will be burned togethers. All will lie on thy neck and of thy children's: as it did upon the adulteress, and it is not long since it happened, as you shall hear.  
IN Terra Stolida, in a place called Vallona, it is reported there dwelled a rich Farmer, whose substance lay most in great Cattles: and at certain times he drove them into other countries to pasture, where he abode with them many months. His wife that remained at home, was good and square, & plum of body, her brawn as hard as a board, and had her face before her as other women: so that a great rich man also of that Country cast his eyes upon her, and entertained her in that time of vacation. And she that delighted not to be kept at the rack and manger, suffered her receipt to run at large, to far more daintily. In so much as at the last (sinning in gluttony) her breasts grew big, and her belly rose, so when time came, she brought forth a goodly Babe, which she carefully put forth to nurse and thus it grew: and in fine as her own in deed she brought it home and fostered it. Her husband being come home that had been long absent, glad to see his wife, and she (in seeming also) no less glad of his coming, (but Lord what feast and joy in outward show between them) they sweetly kissed, and with loving words embraced each other. O my Conye, welcome quoth she. O my dear Muss (said he) gramercy to thee. All wedlock ceremonies duly accomplished: her husband casting his eyes about, and seeing this fair little Boy running about the house. Muss quoth he. I pray thee whence is this little Knave? what knowest thou not Conye said she? it is mine, (and this she told him as she that could cunningly handle him in his kind) and so followed on, preventing his tale. Dost thou not remember that three years ago there fell a great Snow, (jesus how cold it was) and at the same time I remember the Ravens and Crows fell down stark dead in the streets, and the fish died in the Welles. O what a cold it was, and I took it in deed (God knoweth) with throwing of snow balls, the young maids of the Country and I togethers: and I cannot tell how, I handled so many, but well I wot I came home fair with child, and I am sure it was no other but the Snow, and that is seen by the Boy, that is as fair and white as Snow itself, and therefore I called his name white. And because I know well enough ye men are of such metal, that even straight ye think all the evil of us poor women that can be, and for that I would not put any jealousy or toy in thy head, I sent him out of the doors to nurse, thinking afterwards at leisure, when thou hadst known thy good wife, to sand for him, and so to have told thee even plainly from point to point how the matter went, and how I came by this good, pretty, sweet, fair, well favoured Boy.  
Her husband though in deed he was but an Ass and a dr●mishe fool, was not moved a whit at her ill favoured tale, nor once hung down his head for the matter, and made as though he believed her: but he knew straight the knavery of the foolish invention of his wife. Howbeit what for the love he bore her (because she was worth the looking on iwis) and for that he was but a rude fellow to behold, and thought himself scant worthy of her, and that he had married her, pining away for her sake: he thought it better to carry such things in his breast than in his head, and the rather peradventure because he doubted false measure, fearing his partners ill will that farmed his ground at halves with him: in fine, he was contented to bite it in for the time, determining not to be at charges with other men's children. So one day spying time and place, he carried out of the doors with him this little Boy White: and such was his walk that the Boy was never more heard of, nor seen after that. The woman looked and looked again to see her son return with her husband. But seeing her husband come home without him, Conie saith she to him: I pray thee what hast thou done with my Boy? Her husband that had bought his wit so dear, answered her. A sweet Muss, the other day unadvisedly (I confess it) I carried him abroad with me, and we walked a great while in the Sun togethers, and thou knowest how hot it was two days ago (alack that I should tell it thee) the heat of the Sun hath quite dissolved him. And then I found thy words true which before I hardly believed. Alas poor wretch, he suddenly turned all into water, that woe is me. His Muss hearing this, in a rage flung her away, and left Conie all alone, so he never after saw her.  
I Have told thee this fable, because thou shouldest know, and see both, that all mischief and malice in the end cometh out, & being disclosed, it ever receiveth the just reward and punishment. What can be hoped for of thee that hast committed so many and sundry ill facts, practised such wicked deeds, devised such abominable practices, and made so many snares to catch the poor Bull in, that at the length thou broughtest him to the Axe? And moreover (to give place to thine iniquity) hast brought thy friend to his death, the King in danger, and thy poor kinsfolks to shame: and worst of all, both of you broke your words and promise.  
ALthough I be brother to thee by the Father's side, I may not, nor will not trust thee an inch, nor deal with thee for pings. For he that hurteth his friend, will not spare to hurt his brother: & he that hath once deceived, knoweth how to deceive again. But well, once warned half armed they say. I trow I will beware of thee well enough. Thou shalt not colt me be sure, as the Merchant was colted by an evil companion of his whom he trusted: and this once told thee, we will shake hands and then adieu.  
THey say there was once a great rich Merchant that had as much business as he could turn him to: and amongst other his substance he had many a thousand weight of iron. His business falling out so that he must needs go to Calicut, (which was a good thousand miles off) he gave to his neighbour (a friend of his) his iron to keep till he came home. The iron tarried the master many a fair day, and seeing he came not, he took his leave, and went his way: but he that had it in keeping, took revenge well enough of his departure, and made merry with it. The Merchant after he was come home, went to his friend, and asked him his iron. But he that was a sly child, had straight devised an excuse to serve his turn, and said to him. I would to God you had never left it with me. For ye were not so soon gone, but there came even the same night an army of Rats and mice, (drawn thither by the savour of the metal) that lay continually at it: so that in few days, before I or any of my house knew it (think you that hear it how this was likely) they had gnawn and eaten it up every whit, and had not left by estimation uneaten, and not spoiled, above four ounces. Now imagine you whether this ill hap went to the stomach of me or no. The Merchant hearing so loud a lie, could scant keep him from laughing, though inwardly it grieved him: & yet soothing him, he made as he believed him, and said. Sure it is a marvelous matter how this should come to pass: and but that I hear you speak it, I would never believe it. For doubtless it is one of the wonders of the world. A shame take him that sold it me. I cannot be persuaded but that he nointed it with some oil, or gave me some of that soft iron that is made of the water of Steel. But well, let the iron go where it will, and all my ills withal, although it be of no small weight. I tell you truly I love you so much, that I make small reckoning of my loss, but rather I assure you I think it well bestowed, sith the wicked Rats yet had somewhat to entertain them with, and that they pardoned you and your family. For ye may well know, that sith they did eat the iron, they had the Wolves disease in them: and if that had not been in the way to have relieved them, by my faith you had smelled of it. But since it is gone farewell it, no more words, as Cobbe said to his wife when his head was broken.  
THis crafty fellow (but not so subtle as he took himself for) rejoiced at these words, supposing the Merchant had passed no more for the matter, and so was pacified: whereupon he did convite him the next day to dinner to him, and the Merchant accepted his bidding willingly. Howbeit he studied all night to serve him as good a turn, and he could at lest, to be revenged at once of his loss and mocks, without complaining to the justice of his wrong: and sure he showed him a right Norfolk trick, and this was the jest.  
THe Merchant sent for to dinner to his house that had stolen the iron, went thither straight, and was marvelously feasted and made off, (but in deed of his own cost) howbeit the best pleasure of all was, the Merchant made very much of a pretty little Boy, and he was the only son and heir of him that had bidden him to dinner: and still he fed the Boy, and made him great cheer. After dinner playing with his son, and making much of him as I told you before, promising (as they do to children) many goodly things: whilst the father began to nod and to take a nap, the Merchant made the Boy be carried to a neighbour's house of his, & there he hide him. The father when he awaked, went forth with the Merchant, attending their business, and thought nothing of his son, as he that was wont to go forth without any such care. So coming home at night, and not finding his son, out he went all about the town to seek him, and spared not to ask every body that he met if they saw his son. At the last by good hap he stumbled on this Merchant, that in deed had stolen him (as the other had stolen his iron before) and being in great perplexity he sorrowfully asked him of his son. The Merchant, all things framing as he wished, (saving the giving of his iron to him to keep) answered straight. Yes marry I remember I saw (not long since the wind rose so great) a sielye sparrow catch a little pretty Boy by the hear of his head, and in that whirlwind she snatched him up, and carried him quite away into the air: and sure by your words me thinks it should be your son. Therefore seek him no more, for by this time he is in heaven, it is so long ago I saw him taken up from the ground. The father hearing so impossible a thing, began like a mad man to cry out, and said. O heaven, O earth, O ye people of the world: give ear unto this strange and wonderful case. Who ever heard such a thing? Who ever saw so strange a sight? as to see little Sparrows carry children into heaven? Are Children become Chickens, or Sparrows Kites? What saith the Merchant, you seem to have little practice in the world, sith ye remember not that an Eagle hath taken up a man and carried him quite away. But Lord what needs this wondering: I marvel at you above all men, sith you are used to see greater wonders and impossibilities than this. For you have seen Rats and mice gnaw iron, and eat it when they have done: and I that did but hear it only of your mouth, marveled not a whit. By these words his false friend knew what he meant well enough, and imagined (as it was) that to be revenged for his iron he kept his son. And seeing no other remedy, falling down at his feet, he asked him forgiveness for God's sake, and put himself into his hands, promising he would restore him his iron again, and make him amends for all his losses. And thus he came by his son again, which otherwise he should never have heard of.  
THere was a fair woman in love with a Pothecary, and she could never have leisure (because her husband kept her straightly) once to speak with him, or with any others to let him know it. One night her husband even suddenly being very sick, was compelled for present remedy to sand his wife in haste to the Pothecaries. So thither she ran with all speed, and in stead of returning quickly with the medicines, she whipped at a trice up into the Apothecary's chamber to confer with him of secret matters (you know what) and as she was running up she cast her handkercher with her money down on the shop board to the Boy, and bade him make ready the medicine in the mean while. The Boy that had an elvish wit, undidde her handkercher, and took out her money, and prettily tied it up again, having filled her handkercher with the dust of the street, of purpose to mock her, to let her understand, that they that came in haste for sick folks, did not use to sport them at leisure on that fashion: and so laid down her handkercher again on the board where he found it. When this woman had well paid the Collector upon her receipt, and that she saw she had been somewhat to long in her account: she came down from the Pothecary, snatched up her handkercher, and ran home as she had been scared with some ill thing. But finding her husband sleeping (the extremity of the pain having left him) she sat down softly by the beds side, and opening her handkercher, found her money turned into very earth and dust. And even at that instant her husband awaked, who because he knew not how long he had slept, he could not tell whether his wife came quickly again, or tarried long: and casting his eyes on the dust and earth which she was looking on, (as she that knew she was mocked) he asked her. What dust and baggage is that thou hast there? what, are ointments and medicines made of that fashion? his wife straight found his malice, and answered foolishly.  
I running hastily from certain that were fight in the streets, my money slipped out of my hand, and being very dark I sought to take it up, and so with my hands I took all that I could find, thinking with myself in taking up the dust to get up my money too: but woe is me, it is sure all gone, and with that burst out in tears. The husband simply believed her, and giving her other money sent her thither again: and so with this second commodity she fully accomplished her desire, and sweetly paid the hire of her pleasure.  
WHy then dost thou think with other new and strange devices yet to occupy the King's head? I beseech God he may once pay thee home. But I would advise thee, look well to thyself. For thou shalt find great difference between such a beast as he is, and another foolish little beast that will easily believe thee. Unless thou wouldst say to me, that because thou hast done the most, thou shalt have the lest. To this I reply. That one pay payeth all. And a little theft hangeth up the thief for many a great robbery. I have said to thee for this time, and now farewell.    

The fourth part of Moral Philosophy 
QVEL CHE MI MOLESTAVA ACCENDO ET ARDO  Anno. 1570.  
The fourth part of Moral Philosophy, showing the end of the treasons and miseries of the Court of this World.  

ALthough ye find many good reasons spoken under the shadow and colour of beasts without reason, yet ye are not to marvel a whit: for we also that represent reasonable beasts, do oftentimes things with out reason and discretion both. And this is excellent to: to see beasts live and work as men. But how brutish a thing is it, to see men live and govern themselves like brute beasts. You must also note in this Treatise one thing, that like as men sometime say thou, or you, worshipful, Honourable, Noble, or Lordship and so forth, and do in deed many times miss to give to each man his right title & dignity as they aught, and is fit for each man's calling and vocation: even so these beasts also (for in the end ye know them to be but beasts) do err many times, speaking false Latin, saying thou for you, and master where they should say servant. Therefore you may not reckon of such 'scapes, nor look after them, though ye see them stray a little out of the way, and take a Goslinge for a Goose, and a Crab for a Whale. For it is an old rule, that both men and beasts will fault in many things.  
THe Lion therefore did amiss to kill the Bull, suffering himself and his judgement to be abused and overtaken, by the devilish and subtle practices of the traitorous Moil. In somuch as when his choler was over, and that he had wreaked his anger of him, cruelly putting the guiltless beast to death: he then to late looked back on his bloody deed, and repented him of his rage, knowing he had not done well to kill so wise a subject, and so grave a counsellor. His conscience gripped him at the heart to think he had no lawful cause to use such cruelty to him. Such inward thoughts draw deep, and touch the quick, and can hardly be holden in and kept secret. So that the kings heart burning thus, out he burst a few words, which made the Moils ears glow: as that piece of wicked flesh, that always gave attentive ear, and looked to be paid home. So that upon a sudden, to take away these thoughts from the King, and that he should not think to much upon them, besides that to continued him still in his error: he ran to the Court, and down he fell on his knees before the King, and with all humility he said. Most mighty and noble Prince, thou hast brought thy desires now to an end. The Gods that day did bless thee, in which they gave thee honourable victory, when thou overcamest so great and strong an enemy. The world, victorious Prince, woondereth, that thou having (I mean) cause to rejoice art so sad and full of pensiveness. O said the Lion, when I think of the cruel and violent death of Chiarino without cause, I am ready to eat my fingers for sorrow. And continually I think of the great wit he had, of his grave and prudent counsel, endowed beside with many noble gifts and manners. And to conclude, I must tell thee plainly, I cannot comfort myself, nor be in quiet, when I examine the cause of his death. For many things runs in my head to persuade me that things were otherwise than I took them, and that he had wrong. But now I know, that that my father said so often is ●●…ue. That a thing often thought upon, can seldom miss but it falleth out true.  
YOur Lordship (said this wicked Moil) should not thus sorrow and bewail the loss of him, which made thee live in continual fear and torment. For wise Princes often times do both punish and cut off many worthy persons, and those whom they dearly love and esteem: and why? all for their own safety, and the preservation their Realm. And Sir, of two evils they choose the lest: to kill one, rather than to make a thousand die. Lo here is an example. Do ye not see my Lord when one is bitten with a venomous serpent, that straight he cutteth off the member that is bitten, not suffering it to infect and poison the whole body, by means whereof he saveth his life, which else he should loose? The King seemed to grant him, and the Moil thought these words had cleared the Lion's heart, and he craftily made much of the worshipful Moil, and like a brother entreated him. The Moil sat him down on a form in the Chamber of presence a while, and began of himself to think upon the misery of Princes of light credit, and of the malice of these vile tale bearers, which set strife and contention betwixt party and party, of their tyranny, of their opinions, and fond fantasies, in this manner.  
LArge, great, wonderful, and infinite are the ways to offend, and innumerable are the snares and devices that one wicked and naughty disposed person may devise and spread abroad, to catch a good and true meaning man, to overthrow him quite. And there is not so strait a friendship but is easy to be broken, with the hand of naughty proceeding. As I have proved it. If I could but writ all the things that have happened, the tales that have been told, and the long woven cloth: I should teach Princes how they should do in all their matters, and would make them see the discretion that many have lost, and what way they should take not to fall into these Courtly flatterers. Those that bear office, and have charge over others, aught diligently to search out the troth of things: and not to go as Flies without heads, and lightly to turn and change as the wavering weather Cock with every wind. Truly it is a fowl fault in mean men to give easy ear to flatterers, but in great persons it is a far greater fault, & in Princes chief a thing of most detect and slander, and of extreme cruelty.  
Now I come to know plainly, what a great burden is laid on the people's backs, that are governed by a Prince of small consideration and judgement: and in what danger their persons are, besides the grief their conscience giveth them for their state. O poor people, how many thousands of ye recommended under the sceptre of such justice? Aught not Princes to be like unto God? and if God will take account of all things at his will (be they never so little) why should not the King among his subjects also do the like? The wickedness of Ministers and officers (if so it were) would not then run on so far as it doth unpunished. O little faith to God's laws. O little labour for a man to know himself. Where we think goodness only harboureth, thence proceedeth all vice and wickedness: and where we believe troth is lodged, there sleepeth deceit. Who would not have believed that in this Court virtue had remained? but alas here is the only Court of vice. In outward looks every one seemeth to carry troth: but in the inward breasts is hid all dissimulation and untruth. Three things there are which are unite togethers, and should never be out of the Prince's mind: To wit. To love God, his neighbour, and to govern himself. And three other things also there are for the subjects to observe unto their Prince. Love, faith, and obedience. But every one I see hath forgotten them, from high to low. This world then being so full of dangers and deceits as it is, what man is he alive so wise can keep himself from them?  
THe Lion returned into the Chamber where the Moil was, he licensed him to departed, and the Moil with due reverence took his leave of the King. Now the King left all alone, began again to lament, and to repent him a thousand times that he was thus overtaken with the Moils persuasion: and it grieved him so much more, because he remembered the Bulls wise counsels, wonderful behaviour, and noble conversation. And to banish this inward conceived grief, that griped him at the heart, he liked to be amongst his Lords and familiars, whom diversly he entertained. And amongst this rout was the Lybberd, one of the noblest of blood of all his kin, and him the King trusted with many secret things of his life. This Lybbarde one day going out of the palace to walk, passed bichaunce by the house of the Moil and Ass, and heard the Ass crying out upon the Moil, and bitterly reproving him for that vile treason he used to the Bull: and so he heard from point to point every act and deed he did. With these words the Lybbard felt a thing touch his heart as one had spoken to him: and bade him mark well what Gods justice will do. So that he saw certainly the Moil could not long scape the King's wrath, and that he should dearly buy the Prince's grief, falling into that snare he had laid for many others. Now as all curious searchers do, that desire to hear other men's doings, he laid his ear to the door, and heard the Ass his brother speak these very words unto him. O thou wouldst needs follow thine own fantasy: I could not rule thee. All is well that endeth well say I Mark the end. Thou reiectedst my counsel, it skilleth no matter: I say nought but mum. If any mischief light on thee, at thy peril be it: if the King do punish thee, thou hast but well deserved it, and God is just if he pour it on thee. O goodly act of thine, to betray an innocent creature, and thy faithful friend.  
Brother mine (said the Moil) no more words I pray thee: that that is done cannot be undone. And it is easier to reprove than to amend. When the Steed is stolen it is to late to shut the stable door. I know Chiarino is slain and that guiltless, and I confess I was cause of his death. But let us leave off this vain talk, and devise some way to drive out the suspicion the King hath taken in his head, that he thinketh there hath been some treachery used towards him. The Libbard having heard enough, and as much as served his turn, departed his way, and hied him to the Palace of the Queen mother, whither the King had sent him for other affairs of his. After he had done his message from the King her son, he told the Queen mother all the circumstance of that he had heard, and of the rebukes of the Ass to the Moil, and of his horrible committed murder. So the Queen mother and he resolved to keep it secret, because they would not the Ass should have any hurt, knowing he was a good, honest, plain, foolish beast. In the next morning betimes the Queen mother went to the Court to see the King her son, and finding him perplexed, and in heavy case, she said unto him. What ailest thou my son that I see thee thus troubled, and that these many days I saw thee not merry? If it be for any thing thou hast lost, assure thyself that neither sighs nor sobs will once restore it thee again. This inward grief doth vex thy mind, feebleth thy body, and tormenteth thee much I see. But yet give it not way so far as thou canst not call it back again. Impart at lest thy deep conceived grief unto thy mother, and familiar friends, such as best do like thee. If any help at all there be, we all will put to our helping hands. But if still thou dost burst out thus in tears and sighs, thou wilt rather show thyself a woman than a man. For so do women use, for every trifle when they list to bring forth a tear. Perhaps it grieves thee thou hast slain Chiarino. Out of doubt I can assure thee thou defiledst thyself in innocent blood: for without any crime, fault, or living offence to thee thou laidest thy hands upon him. His mother's words at length drew these from him. It is an old saying, and I have heard it often. Things lost can never be recovered: and this thing goeth to the heart of me. Nay see mother if I have cause to sorrow, that since his death, and before, I never hard so much as an ill word of my faithful Chiarino. Sure if he had meant ill to me, it could not have been but I should have smelled it out, and it would have come to mine ears one way or other. And therefore to thee mother alone I confess my fault, and I may tell it thee, the only worker of his mischief was his cruel enemy the Moil: which with practices, inventions, and devices hath supplanted me, and killed him, moving me to wrath. Ah my son, now I must needs tell thee again, thou hast been betrayed and deceived both, and this a trusty friend hath told me. The Lion would feign have known of whom: but the Queen mother would by no means at that time tell him aught. But this she did assure him, that there was no new invention nor alteration in his Realm that should offend him in word or deed: and bade him seek well, and in short time he should know all. So the King since he could at that time get no more of his Mother, determined to assemble all the beasts of his Realm, and to call them to Parliament to consult upon this matter, and so he did.  
WHen this general Counsel was called, where all the great Lords of his Realm, and the wisest of the Commons, with all the soldiers were assembled, he also sent for his Mother. She looking all the beasts in the face that were present, & missing the Moil, caused him straight to be sent for. So he came forthwith. But when he was come to the Palace, and saw the Parliament house furnished with all the College of beasts: then he knew the Prince's indignation, when looking upon him earnestly he saw his colour change, and that his conscience gnawed him for the death of the Bull. Now the Moil knowing himself guilty, began to whet his wits, and drawing near to certain of the great Lords that stood round about the Queen mother, he said unto them. Lord what aileth our noble King? what is the cause of this convention here? how cometh it he is thus melancholy? What, is there any sudden or strange accident happened in the Court, that we may know the cause? the Counsel hath been called very suddenly. The Queen mother answered straight. Thou needest not marvel iwis at the King's heaviness. For thou knowest well enough (having given him the cause) his sadness, which with thy sweet sugared words hast given him bitter gall. Tell me I pray thee? canst thou tell who was cause of the death of the most noble and worthy knight of our Court? Was it thou perhaps? But the Moil (as stout as Golyas) without any blushing answered straight.  
NOw I know the saying which our old ancient beasts used in times past is true: and I am out of doubt of it. That let one do as much good as he can, his reward I warrant ye shall be little enough, and that God only is he who rewardeth and giveth recompense for any benefit or service done. O what a marvelous matter is it, that he that liveth well in this world, cannot continued to live well, but is compelled to dance after every man's pipe: to hold with the Hare, and run with the Hound. The true heart I have always borne to the King thy son, and sound counsel which (God I take to record) I have ever given him, do not deserve such reward. For it is known well enough that the Moil his servant hath delivered him from many dangers, and present death also: and refused no travail for his safety, and that I make his Lordship judge off. Well, I only crave of his Grace but that he will inquire of my life and doings. For I know my proceedings will appear better to him than is thought for: and I would my troth and honesty were openly known to the world. And for my part, if the lest part of that were true that is spoken of me, and that I were any manner of way to be touched, his Majesty may be assured I would not tarry an hour in the Court, and much less have come before these great Lords. And besides that I would not think myself sure in any place of the world wheresoever I were, if I had but once received such a thought in me, and much less if I had committed the deed. Therefore I pray thee noble Lady, lend not thy ears to the words of envious persons, nor suffer his Majesty to say hands on my innocency. For if that seem a strange thing to you, this a fortiore were a wicked fact: a fact without reason, justice, and any manner of equity. I do not care to be counted wicked in that case, if all the Court do count me so. For God himself knoweth well the troth, in whom I only hope, and am sure he will deliver me from this suspicion and danger.  
THis Moil in his words seemed to be the best beast of the world, and those that like strangers heard him, and knew not his Moylish nature (a vile traitor Moil, a whoreson cankered Moil, that let a man keep him in the stable xxv years, and make never so much of him: in the end, for a farewell, and that on a sudden (when a man thinketh not of it) he will yerk out behind and put him in danger of his life,) were very sorry for his trouble, and did pity his case. He that by nature was borne subtle and crafty, perceiving a little partiality amongst them, and that he had reasonable audience: went about straight to intricate the house, and so began a tale Coram populo like unto this, still drawing water to his Mill.   

A tale of the joiners wife and the Painter.  
THere was sometime in the country of Catalogna a joiner of Tharsia, and he had a very fair woman to his wife as any that came into that city a thousand years before her. This fair woman become in love with a Painter, and because the neighbours should not be privy of his access unto her: she prayed the Painter to make him a garment to be known from others. So that by her eye, and feeling (if there were no light) she might yet straight ways know him. This devise and request pleased the Painter well, whereupon he made him a white garment painted with Peacocks eyes, and wrought upon it, and so with this rob in the night he went to her: without calling to any, or knocking at the door, he went to a place appointed where he found her hidden, and there he sweetly solaced himself to his great contentation. At this compact between them for their meeting, one of her servants had closely put himself into a corner, and heard all that was said and done, who cunningly dissembled that he knew aught where his Mistress hide her. This Painter with his white rob continued his haunt unto her a great while before the servant could come to bear half of his labour. It happened yet on a night (as fortune would) that this Painter had occasion to go out of the town for certain business he had abroad: the servant when he knew it, hied him immediately unto the Painter's house, and bade his wife deliver him her husbands white rob. And when he had it, he put it on his back, and so went to his Mistress with all: who when she saw it, and knew it, and believed it had been the Painter (perhaps too, she liked to be deceived) began to pursue Venus' sport togethers. His errand delivered, he went and rendered this rob again unto the Painters wife, who good soul knew not what her husband meant to wear that rob every night. Anon after midnight as the Devil would have it, the Painter came home again, whether the spirit moved him that he must needs go conjure the Devil, or that his business framed not that he went for, or what it was I cannot tell ye, it is enough, home he came: and putting on his white rob on his back he flung out of the doors again in haste, and to the joiners wife he trudged. But when he came there, he found all fast shut up, and no noise at all: so that he was driven to dance attendance without doors and blow his nails, as the physicians Moil that waiteth for his master, and still chaweth on the bridle. Howbeit the next night he returned, and at pleasure discovered the country. And being hasty in his journey, what man (quoth she) remember yourself, you road far yesternight, and you are not yet at your journeys end: I perceive you have yet a Colts tooth in your head. Well wanton well, you will tire your horse: and with such like harlottrie loving words she entertained her friend the Painter. The Painter hearing these words, began to smell a Rat, and thought straight she had taken in more horses into her stable than two. So he took his leave, and home he went: and when he came home, examining the matter, his wife told him there came one in his name for his rob. Then were they both at an afterdeale, and worse than ever they were, for none of them knew, nor could guess what he should be: insomuch as after he had well favouredly rib roasted his poor innocent wife, he threw his rob into the fire. And so she sielye woman bore the blame that made no fault. The King therefore should not so lightly believe it, before he be justly informed: that another's fault be not punished by my innocency. My Lords and beasts, think not I pray you that I speak this for fear of death, but to purge myself of that ye have heard. For death is common to all, and I know I cannot shun it, therefore I fear it not. But this I fear, that dying falsely accused, my name and house should for ever be defamed: and to this I take great heed. The mother of the Lion, that was the very daughter of impatience, could not abide to hear any more fables, but cast up her head, and turned her about at those words, and half in a rage, and in choler, said thus to the Moil.  
IF thy deeds were as good as thy words, my son should not be thus grieved nor offended: nor the poor Bull had been now dead. But thy double dealings and prittle prattle, who did but give ear unto thee, (and believed thee) not knowing thee, are enough to turn the Court topsy-turvy. As thou didst heretofore to Pannonia , who come home thou madest him believe (because his wife would not grant thy unhonest desire) that she was nought: so that upon thy words he fell upon her with his feet, and pashed her to death. Then to late repenting his fault, he heaped one ill on another: for he made all his Concubines to be burnt. And all this came of thy cursed words. Therefore it is best for every man not to have thy friendship. With that he lifted up his ears, and with open mouth thus answered.  
IT becometh not Madam the kings mother to hear the causes, reasons, contentions, objections, and wrongs of the subject with two ears at once, but with one alone. For your judgement aught to be upright & equal, if affection or partiality carry ye not away. And if the matter be for Chiarino: the Moil will not for that forget that the King doth yet trust him, and that he is a true servant to his Majesty. And be ye assured Madam, that to trouble my innocency, and to molest me that to all this Court is so true a slave, it is an offence to pity. Imagine how the Lioness heart did rise marvelously against him, because she knew the wickedness of the Moil: and turning to her son she said. How thinkest thou of the boldness of this most cruel uncurbed traitor? that as many as hear him think he hath reason. See I pray ye how he plays the Fox. Behold I beseech ye his looks, what kind of gestures he makes. Think ye he cannot hit one on the knee at a pinch and need be with his heels? Yes I warrant ye when ye look not for it. O subtle beast, how he hangeth down his head. O what a traitors look, see his false leering eyes. Lord how terribly he looks on us. Dismember my son this cursed beast, and henceforth neither for friends, Courtiers, nor kinsfolks requests, ever keep Moils any more. The Lion for all these words stirred not a whit, neither once cast up his head as though he had been moved. The Lioness his mother mad for anger for her sons grief: why then because thou wilt not punish a traitor, dost thou not believe me? dost thou not credit thy Mother that telleth thee here before them all, and affirmeth to his face that he is a traitor to thee?  
THen the King called a certain fierce beast, and ugly monster to behold, begotten of a Satire and of a Griffin, and he made him take a chain and chain the Moil. The Moil seeing so horrible a borned beast come towards him, let fall his tail for fear and sorrow both, and thus of this hellish fury he was chained, and carried to prison, and as ye shall hear safely kept and examined.  
WHen the Moil was thus apprehended, the Lioness went to the King her son, and said to him. The imprisonment of this wicked member, hath greatly rejoiced all the Court: knowing that now the time is come this malefactor shall be punished, and receive just reward for his treasons. God, if thou didst but hear what they talk of him in Court, of his naughty tongue, of his carrying of tales from one to another, of spreading abroad quarrels, contentions, strifes, debates, and suspicions in every place where he cometh, thou wouldst bless thee, and thine ears would glow in thy head. O cursed Moil. Never agreed to hear him, never give him audience, but refer his matter to the counsel, and then let justice proceed. Now I think thy life safe, and dare boldly say thy Realm shall live in peace: sith the Moil is forthcoming, and I hope shall be quite dispatched. And because I would not have thee think I speak obscurely: I will tell thee what reason I have to speak it. And here the Lioness reciteth from point to point what the Lybbarde had told her, and how she heard the whole matter of him. The King understanding his fact from the mouth of so credible a person, as that of the Libbarde: then he knew it to be true, and that he had offended, which yet was not altogether to be believed, and depended somewhat upon the Moil. And thus determined to punish the Moil, he withdrew himself from the counsel, as all such like Princes do.  
Now when Fame had blown abroad the Moils imprisonment, and coming to the Ass' ears his brother, he ran unto the prison, and his heart panted, and bet marvelously: as that Ass that knew how this gear was brought about, and he told the Moil. Our play now is like to the play of the two brethren, that having two Balls in their hands, they gave them each into others hands, and they were both made of one fashion and bigness: so that in the end to choose this or that they saw it was all one, there was no choice in neither. To have thee in prison, alas it troubleth me: and to have thee abroad also it grieveth me. All cometh to one reckoning. And with that for kindness he burst out in tears, and wept bitterly. But afterwards seeing him with the chain about his neck, he quaked for fear, and laid him down on the ground, crying out in his Ass' manner, and said. O brother moil, what case art thou in now? Alas there is no more time to reprove thee now, because there is no remedy, as few days ago there was, when thou mightest have canceled all: but thou like an ass-headed fool, that mightest have cleared the country (knowing thyself to be guilty) why didst thou not take thee to thy legs? Thou despisedst my counsels to thee, & yet they were good if thou hadst had grace to have taken them. It is true that is spoken by the mouth of beasts that have understanding. That the false and untrue man dieth before his time. As me thinketh I see by the Element will happen to thee. And this for none other but for thine insolency, and naughtiness: and thy crafts and deceits hath brought thee to this trouble. O how happy hadst thou been if thou hadst died in thy birth? Cursed, and woe worth be thy false knowledge and envy of others weal and prosperity: which only is it hath brought thee to this infamous end. Then the Moil relented, and breaking out in tears also, answered.  
O My good Brother Ass, no living creature, how wise and discreet so ever he be, can shun his mishaps and ill fortune: and therefore I despised a thousand of thy good counsels, for so was it given me from above. And if pride and ambition had not travailed me still, I could have withdrawn me: but the envy of others dignity and estimation had to much power over me. O blind understanding of man's knowledge. It happeneth to me as to the sick man, who having prepared for him most wholesome meats, he refuseth them, and giveth himself over to his will and appetite, taking them that are hurtful for him, and filleth himself: which doth in deed both hinder his health, and continued his sickness. He knoweth it, & yet can not abstain. I knew well enough my perverse understanding, but I never had reason sufficient to bridle it. Now to late I find my fault, and knowing the danger I am in, my sorrow redoubleth on me: not so much for myself, as for thy sake, because thou hast always been with me. Thou art my brother, and consequently they will believe and imagine (in deed) that thou art privy with me, and partaker of my doings. The kings officers therefore may take thee, and put thee on the rack, and make thee confess my fault, and when they have done execute thee. (For sure they shall never have it of me) and by thy confession punish me without remission or pardon in this world. For of thy words dependeth my death, and of my wicked government shall grow thy ill, grief, trouble, torment, prisonment, and extreme punishment. The Ass hearing his brother's words, marked them well, that he trembled every joint of him, and quaked like an Aspen leaf: and a beastly fever took him, with which he went his way home. But before he departed thence, he said unto the Moil. Brother, if thou weigh my life, and wilt keep me from peril (as thou canst not any way avoid it) confess thy fault is worthy of death: thus shalt thou free thee from the wrath of the Gods, and after this corporal punishment of thine, doubtless thy spirit shall forthwith be transported to the heavens. Well said the Moil, the last and extreme remedy shall be this. If there be no hope of remedy, let it be as it will be: for my body well I wot suffereth already to much. Now get thee home, & hide thyself, and let it light on me, as the world, Fortune, & the Gods will assign. The Ass departed from him very sick, and sore troubled in his mind, and his pain so held him, that the same night he ended his sorrowful days. Whose death a Wolf that dwelled hard by him greatly lamented, and was a witness afterward that confirmed all the wicked fact: who heard in deed the same night how the Ass reproved the Moil his brother. The Lion sent to the Libbard, and commanded his officers they should understand particularly the Moils case, and to dispatch him roundly.  
ALL the beasts got them into the Parliament house, and every one took his place according to his degree, and sat them down: and the house being set, there was brought before them in chains this solemn traitor the Moil. And when he was come before the presence of such a sight of Asses and fools, the Libbard standeth up, & speaketh. Right honourable, it is yet fresh in memory, that the King killed the poor innocent Chiarino , so that from that time hitherto his Majesty hath not been quieted in his mind, that he put him to death by the false accusation and envy of my Lord the Moil. His Majesty therefore hath liked to call us to Parliament, that every one of us should witness the troth, if we know or have heard any thing of his doings, in what manner he did it, what Art he used, with whom he practised, and by whom he was assisted in this great treason, to bring his wicked mind to purpose. Every one of us is bound that knoweth aught to utter it, for the preservation of the Realm, and his majesties most royal person. And then by justice it is meet such traitors should be punished, and the good rewarded: by means whereof the good may live under his majesties reign and government with safety, and the ill be rooted out and cut off from the common weal. Every one looked other in the face, and held their peace. The unhappy Moil, perceiving that every body was ashamed to take upon them to tell so ill a tale, cut off Fortune by the waste even at that pinch, and stepped to the matter himself, rising up upon his feet (being set before) and boldly said these words.  
Therefore my Lords take no fantasy in your heads that is not honest, for so ill would come of it: and take not upon you any thing that you are not well informed off, lest yours be the shame and loss. Let every man remember his soul, and let him not say that he knoweth not: but to affirm that he hath seen, I am very well contented with that. Sure it were ill done (my Lords) for any man to speak that he knoweth not certainly and assuredly, and the wrath of the Gods with such like ill luck as mine would be poured upon them and their life: and this none but I knoweth it better. The master Cook of the kings Kitchen (as fat as a Hog) hearing this bravery of his to enforce his credit, he took heart upon him, and emboldened himself notwithstanding his nobility, and began to speak in presence of them all, and thus he said.  
RIght reverent and Honourable audience, ye are very well met in this place. Our old ancient fathers that wrote many books of Physiognomy, (of the which I thank the King I have greased a good number, because I studied oftentimes in the Kitchen) do tell us many things, and gave us divers tokens to know beasts and men, whereby we knowing them to be good or bad, they should accordingly be rewarded or punished. Id est , I mean so, to practise with the good, and to fly the company of the evil. So it is, yea marry is it, in faith I am sure of it I Now for that I have studied, and according to my skill, (I tell ye my Lords, I can not dissemble) I find our solemn Moil here to have many ill parts in this matter, which show him in all and for all to be envious, false, and a traitor: leaving out that he is very cruel, and wickedly bend beside. And ye mark him, he ever looketh hire with his left eye than his right, and his nostrils he turneth still to the right side, with his eiebrowes very thick and long of hears, and continually he looketh on the ground, which are manifest tokens he is a traitor: and all these signs (look ye on him that list) ye shall see him have them rightly I warrant ye. The Moil seeing the Swine groin with so ill a grace, although he was even almost graveled and out of countenance, yet he turned to him and replied.  
MY Lords, if it were true that this malicious Swine and greasy varlet here before ye all doth tell ye, that the heavens should place signs in us as a necessary cause of wickedness: then straight assoon as we saw any beasts brought forth with those perverse lines and marks, either they were forthwith to be punished, or put to death, that they should not work such wicked treasons and effects: and few besides that should be borne, that the most part of them at the lest were not marked with these signs, that he & his goodly books do imagine. I know not if his doctrine shall be of such authority received amongst you, that it shall condemn my goodness and pure works. Sure this worshipful beast is deceived, and doth as they that see an old woman present a young woman with any thing, or delivereth her some letter with any pitiful shows: straight without touch of breast, not knowing no further, they take her for a Bawd. My worshipful Hog should know things better before he be thus bold and saucy to speak in this presence. But none is so bold as blind Bayarde I see. Thou weenest to point at me, but thyself it is that is pointed at, and thou mark it well. Thou supposest to detect me, and to open my defects, and dost not look upon thyself what thine own do show thee. But hearken to this tale, & then tell me how thou likest it.  
Our forefathers and elders sacked a great City, had the spoil of all that was in it, and put all to the sword save old men and women, and little children of all sorts. In time these little ones grew, and because they left them nothing, men and women went naked, hiding only their secrets and privities with some thing. One day there came to the town an old country Cloyne to cell wood, and he brought with him his two daughters, whereof the one went plainly to work without any ceremony, showing such mark as God had sent her, and the other comely covered it with leaves as well beseemed her. The people began to say to the unmoseled Maid: o shame of the world, fie for shame, hide, hide, hide. The old Cloyne because he would not have that may-game behind him, turning him, reviled every body that spoke, and was as mad as a March Hare: and leaving himself bore, gave her his furniture to hide her shame. Then they were all on the jack of him, and reviled him to bad. His first daughter that was covered, seeing her father bore, said unto him. Lo saith she, ye have made a good hand now: had not you vene better have holden your peace, and to have kept your own privities close as they were at the first? This tale I have told for thee, master Cook of the Kings Kitchin. Thou dost not remember the vile and infinite naughty signs that thou hast, and the great defects and deformities placed in thy body. Thou, thou art vile, slow, and ravening. Thou art foul, stinking, filthy, loathsome, and a wretched thing: borne of a Sow, and gotten of a Boar, and not of a Mare and an Ass as I am. Thou, a vile devourer of all things, and a solemn supper of broth and swill. Thou, a little neck, a vile visage, with thy snout forward: a narrow forehead, wide nostrils, and short nosed, so that the office thou hast is ill bestowed on thee. For thou hast no part in thee that is profitable, good, honourable, meet, nor sightly for any body, but when thou art before them in the dish.  
THe Hog seeing himself thus well paid home in words again, was glad to hold his peace: and after that never a one durst once speak a word any more. Thus for that time there was nothing else determined, but that the Moil was carried again to prison by a Bear, who safely kept him, and looked to him. And now being the second time again clapped into prison, there came to the Court a great friend of the Ass his brothers, who finding him dead, came to advertise the Moil his brother being in prison, and was very sorry for the death of the Ass, which the Moil had not heard of all this while till now: and the Moil took it so inwardly that it pierced his heart, and needs die he would. So turning him to his friend, which was a Fox well stricken in years, he said to him. Brother I am determined to die, and will make thee mine heir. And making him get Pen, Ink, and Paper, he made his Will and bade him writ, and bequeathed him all he had: which was a rich furniture. A double collar with three Basenets. A mosel netwise for his mouth with a bit to the same. A collar of leather hungry to hung over his neck with bells, a broad Pattrell with divers coloured fringes made of Girth-web and Canvas. A Base, a great Crupper of wood, a Sowser, a Charger, and mayling cords. A broad long Want, a tying collar, a pair of Pasterns, and a Tranell: with other civil furnitures pertinent to his estate. And then he confessed all, and told him his wicked practices and treason, and that he only (yea marry was he) was the cause of all this stir. The Fox thanked him heartily, and offered to help him with the King, and to travel for him the best he could, because he was his chief Secretary in Court and out of Court: and so departed from him. And he was no sooner out of his sight, but because he was in deed made heir of that he had, he went to the Lioness and Lybbarde, and there confirmed the testament hereditary of the Moil. And to further his desire (who desired to die) he revealed it, and accused the Moil. So the traitor by another traitor was betrayed.  
IN the morning betimes all the beasts met in the Parliament house, the Lawyers, judges, sergeants, Counsellors and attorneys, and all the kings officers togethers: and there appeared also the Lioness, and Lybbarde. The indictment drawn, the witnesses sworn and deposed, they caused the Moil to be brought Coram testibus, and the judges: and the Clerk of the peace to read his indictment to his face. Now think whether his ears did glow, and his cheeks blush, when he heard the Fox, the Wolf, and Libbard sworn as witnesses against him. He stamped, he snuffed, he cried in his Moylishe voice, he flung, he yerked, and took on like a fury of Hell. And when he was wearied with these storms and passions, down he laid him, and roared out amain. O I am killed, I am killed. I deny it. It is nothing true that is spoken: and therefore I warrant him it will come to that villain the Fox (who to have my goods hath thus falsely accused me, accursed was I when I made him mine heir) which happened to him that brought up three Popingeys or Parats.  
IN the midst of Tartary there was a great honest rich man, that had the most true, faithful, honest, loving, discrete, and gentle wife in all that Realm: So that her doings were wonderful, and she alone was enough to give light to half the world. This same Gentleman (husband to this wife) had a str●●…nger to his man, proper of person, and comely to behold. And this handsome serving man become marvelously in love with his fair young Mistress, so that night and day he could think of nothing else but which way to pursue his love. And when he had many times (by tarrying at home) assayed the river to pass over, there was no policy could serve his turn to obtain favour, but to be entertained as a servant still. It fortuned him that one day being a hunting, he found a Parattes nest, and in the nest three young Parrots: so taking them up he carried them home, and familiarly brought them up, and taught them to speak some things in his language, (the Indian tongue) which in that Country where he dwelled no body understood. One of them could piertly say▪ Our Mistress maketh her husband a Cuccolde. The other▪ O what a shame is that. The third said, it is true, it is true, she is nought. These toys had the servant devised to be revenged of her, for that he could not obtain his purpose, and because she would not consent to his wickedness. Thus all the day these blessed Parattes tampered on these verses only, and sang them still as they were taught. And for that the tongue was strange, there was never none of the Country could understand it. There came one day to the house of this honest man, two Merchants, kinsefolks to his wife, which because they had trafficked India very well, they had the tongue perfitly. And being at the table, they talked of many things, and they fell at length into talk of Parattes. So that the good man of the house caused his men to bring his three Parattes to him, only to show them unto his kinsmen. The little Parattes being made of, began to sing their verses, and to repeat it still apace. Now think ye what thoughts these merchants had, hearing them speak so vile and slanderous words. And thus looking one at another, turning them to the Gentleman, they demanded of him: Sir know ye what these harlotry Birds do speak▪ Not not I God knoweth, said the Gentleman that aught them: but me thinketh it is a pastime to hear them▪ Well, let it not mislike you to understand what they say: for it behoveth you to know it by any means. And so they told him all the story of the Parattes. The Gentleman was all amazed and troubled in his mind to hear this exposition. And then he asked them again: but do they sing nothing else all day but this, and still in one song? yea sure since we came, no other tune nor song had they but this. With that, very angry and wood as he could be, he flew on his wife, and would have killed her. But he was stayed by the Merchants, and his wife wisely committing herself unto him, besought him diligently to inquire out the matter, and not to do her the wrong to believe those foolish Birds: so he was forced to quiet himself. First he sought to know and if the Parattes could say any other thing or no: and he could not find they could. Then the fault was laid upon the servant that had taught them. And calling for his man, he came straight with a sparrow hawk on his fist: who was no sooner come before his Mistress, but she said unto him. O wicked servant thou, what hast thou taught these Birds to say? Nothing, answered he. They speak like beasts of understanding, what they see and know. Why then saith the husband, and is it so as they speak? Yea sir, said the naughty servant. With that the Sparrow hawk on his fist began brokenly to speak: Believe them not master, for they lie in their throats every one of them. These words were no sooner spoken, but the Merchants (kinsfolks to his wife) rose up and pulled out both the servants eyes: and then to late he restored to his mistress her good name again, which fell out to his utter undoing.  
Behold therefore said the Moil, see what hate reigneth in men's breasts. O sacred Prince, be not offended with your good subjects for sinister information given you. Neither determine any thing that is to the hurt and shame of your neighbour, through the accusations of the enemies of virtue. The Court doth willingly give ear one to destroy another, if the justice of the Prince step not in between. And every man that can prefer and exalt himself, (at lest as long as he hath means to do it) careth not for the loss, hurt, or shame, of friend, kinsman, or brother. For such is the privilege of avarice and ambition. Every one that heard the Moil (knowing his wickedness) could not abide any longer to hear him: and seeing his unreyned arrogancy, the Lybbard stepped forth, and gave evidence before the counsel of that he had heard and known. The Wolf followed also with true and evident tokens, and the Fox with his own subscribed will confirmed his great treason. The King gave sentence his skin should be turned over his ears, his carcase left for the Ravens, and his bones should be burned for sacrifice, done in memory of the Bull, and in testimony of his innocency: and lo this was a worthy punishment for so vile a carcase, that had wrought such mischief.  
We must all therefore endeavour, great and small, high and low, to work well, and to live with purity of mind, and an upright conscience. For the heavens, after long abstinence and deferring of punishment, do by determined justice rain upon us a double plague and correction, to those that justly deserve it. But the just and virtuous sort they recompense also, with infinite benefits of life, estate, commodity, honour, and estimation.   
FINIS.  
¶ Here endeth the Treatise of the Moral Philosophy of Sendebar: In which is laid open many infinite examples for the health and life of reasonable men, shadowed under tales and similitudes of brute beasts without reason.  
Farewell.   


OS HOMINI SUBLIME DEDIT   
¶ Imprinted at London by Henry Denham, dwelling in Paternoster row, at the sign of the Star 1570. Cum Privilegio.   

Faults escaped.  
Folio. Page. Line. Faults. Correction. 4 1 9 debating with himself occupying with himself, 12 1 12 of my genitors. etc. of my progenitors. etc. 42 1 8 if thou wilt not be. etc. if thou be not called by. etc. 42 1 8 the goodyere ailest. etc. the goodyere ayl●●st. etc. 42 1 12 so bake, so drink, 69 1 19 take heart of grace. etc. take heart of grass. etc. 76 2 11 wearied the Bull, worried the Bull, 95 1 14 Preservation their. etc. preservation of their etc.