The morall philosophie of Doni drawne out of the auncient writers. A worke first compiled in the Indian tongue, and afterwardes reduced into diuers other languages: and now lastly englished out of Italian by Thomas North, brother to the right Honorable Sir Roger North Knight, Lorde North of Kyrtheling. — Fables of Bidpai. English.

The morall philosophie of Doni drawne out of the auncient writers. A worke first compiled in the Indian tongue, and afterwardes reduced into diuers other languages: and now lastly englished out of Italian by Thomas North, brother to the right Honorable Sir Roger North Knight, Lorde North of Kyrtheling. — Fables of Bidpai. English.

Table of contents

Title page

¶ To the Right Honorable and my singuler good Lorde, the Lorde Robert Dudley, Earle of Leycester, Baron of Denbigh, Knight of the most noble order of the Garter, Maister of the Horse, and one of the Queenes Maiesties most Honourable priuie Counsell.

To the Reader.

Al lettore. G. B.

T. N. To the Reader.

E. C. To the Reader.

The Philosophie of the wise auncient Fathers. A worke first compiled in the Indian tongue, and aftervvardes transferred into diuers and sundrie other languages: as the Persian, Arabian, Hebrue, Latine, Spanishe, and Italian: and now reduced into our vulgar speeche. The Prologue

Of a Husbande man, and of the treasure he founde.

Of the simple ignorant man, desirous to seeme learned.

A comparison of the slouthfull man for the Reader.

The deceyt lighteth on the deceyuers necke.

The good and vertuous should neuer dispaire in aduersitie.

The Argument of the Booke

The first part of the Morall Philosophie of the auncient Sages, compiled by the great and learned Philosopher Sendebar, In the Indian tongue, who by sundrie and wonderfull examples bewrayeth the deceyts and daungers of this present worlde.

Here may you see how light beliefe bringeth damage.

A tale of a Louer and a Gentilwoman.

Of a Ieweller that forgot his profit, and gaue himselfe to pleasure.

A Parable of the Worlde.

The seconde part of Morall Philosophie, shewing the wonderfull abuses of this wretched Worlde.

Beholde the pageants and miseries of the court of this Worlde.

A tale of an Ape medling in that he had no skill.

A tale of the Woolfe concerning breach of promise.

The vnthankfulnesse of Maisters.

Of the Turkie Cocke, and what happened to him.

Of the Foxe and his foolish feare.

Of the Eagle and Beetell, and what commeth of selfe will.

Of the Foxe and the Lion, and of the Foxes deceit to kill the Lion.

3

Beholde the wicked practises and deuilish inuentions of a false trayterous Courtier.

Of three great fishes, and what is signified by them.

A tale of the Flea and the Lowse, and how the Flea was reuenged of the Lowse.

A man hath no greater enimie than himselfe.

It booteth not to giue counsell where it is not followed.

He that diggeth a pitte for others, many times falleth into it himselfe.

4

A tale of the Ioyners wife and the Painter.

§

Faultes escaped.

§

§

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The Morall Philosophie of Doni: drawneout of the auncient writers. A worke first compiled in the Indian tongue, and afterwardes reduced into diuers other languages: and now lastly englished out of Italian by Thomas North, Brother to the right Honorable Sir Roger North Knight, Lorde North of Kyrtheling.

*THE WISEDOME OF THIS WORLDE IS FOLLY BEFORE GOD

¶ IMPRINTE [...] [...]T LONDON by H [...] Denham.

¶ To the Right Honorable and my singuler good Lorde, the Lorde Robert Dudley, Earle of Leycester, Baron of Denbigh, Knight of the most noble order of the Garter, Maister of the Horse, and one of the Queenes Maiesties most Honourable priuie Counsell.

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RIght Honorable: Diogenes being demaunded what thing of all other waxed olde soonest, and liued also longest: aunswered: Benifite. The which (sayde he) bestowed vpon an vnworthy person, & of vnthankefull minde, dieth streight without further fruite: but done to a worthie man and of courteous nature, it is neuer forgotten, but augmenteth bonde during life. So, my Lorde, confessing my selfe not [Page] only bounde to your Lordship in mine owne respect, hauinge heretofore tasted of your Honour, but dulye remembred by my late Lorde and Fathers testament of his great bonde vnto you (who liuing loued and honoured your Lordship, and dying was desirous to shew to the worlde that he was not forgetfull of your Honourable fauour and courtesie shewed him) and nowe also of my Lord my Brothers, succeeding him, whose bonde your Lordship still increaseth to you with your large and friendlye loue to him, which doth no more binde him, than hee is nowe and euer will bee thankefull to your Lordship in acknowledging the same: I haue presumed vnder your fauour to offer to your Lordship this meane Present as a witnesse of my dutie and loue, and of your Lordships honor and goodnesse, meaning for life to retaine with me a gratefull minde [Page] to your Lordshippe. Howbeit, when I consider the learned writers of our Englishe Nation, and pervse their graue and wise inuentions and discourses of their owne doings, excellently writtē in our owne tongue, without interpretation of others workes, knowing that to translate onely is a farre lesse reputation, than to be an Author of any good worke, and to bee tyed to others wordes & constructions bringeth ofttimes in an other language obscure and darcke phrases: as I doe reioyce in them, so am I ashamed of my selfe, that this small gift of mine to your Lordship neither aunswereth my good will vnto you, nor is worthie (as I wishe it) of your Honour. Yet my good L. let me humbly intreate you to esteeme (as Darius sayde) not the value of the gift, but the occasion of the thing giuen. And how much the gift of it selfe is but simple and [Page] without curiositie, so much the rather the same well considered, is to be lykened to vertue it selfe, which needeth no glorious shewe or ostentation to the iudgement of the wise. By meanes whereof, I am imboldened in this rude and homely stile to prease to offer to your Honor the fruites of my simple traueyle, and to dedicate this noble and pleasant Treatise, which at the first sight will seeme to manye a vaine thing, treating only of Beastes: but better aduised, they shall finde it within full of Moralitie, examples, and gouernement.

Some perhappes will thinke my labour bestowed in the translation hereof, and offered to your Lordshippe, superfluous, for that your Lordship vnderstandeth the Italian tongue verie well, and can perfitely speake it. For such as vnderstande anye tongue, in which any good Authour hath [Page] written, doe rather desire to reade it in the same tongue, wherein it is originally written, than in any other translated. Wherfore Plato the great and learned Philosopher willed such as talked with him of Geometrie, to repaire to Euclydes, or else to reade it in his owne tongue. To those I aunswere. That I haue committed no errour to dedicate it to your L. (vnlesse peraduenture in presumption) to thend that such as vnderstande not, may be pertakers of your gifts: and your L. that vnderstandeth, maye at your pleasure and leysure, conferring the one with the other, be iudge of the matter, as I haue made your Lordship patrone and my only Mecenas. As concerning the morality and sense of this Philosophie, it is shadowed by the maner and speache of brute and dumbe beastes, and by the examples and gestes of their liues, which carieth [Page] such a veyne of delite with it, as amongst a number of Italian Authours, which I haue read, I coulde finde none better in my poore opinion for mee to deale in, and pleasanter for your Lordshippe at voyde times to reade than this. Wherein you may my Lord, see into the Court, looke into the common wealth, beholde the more part of all estates and degrees: and the inferiour and common sort also maye learne, discerne, and iudge what waye is to be taken in the trade of their life: but Courtyers aboue all others attending on the Princes presence. A Glasse it is for them to looke into, and also a meete schoole to reforme such schollers as by any maner of deuise, practise, or subtiltie, vniustlye seeke to aspire, or otherwise to abuse the Prince.

Thus my Lord, leauing further to enlarge mee, and to trouble your Lordship, [Page] humbly beseechinge you to take my rude paines and bolde offer hereof vnto your Lordship in such good part as I haue ment it (deliuering it to your honorable protection, knowing my little labour herein to bee subiect to the censures and reproofe of many, that are readie to carpe at euery little fault, or finding themselues touched anye waye, will mislike a troth) with offer also of my humble dutie to your Lordshippe, I humblye take my leaue, wishing your Lordshippe and your noble house long life and happie successe in all your affaires.

Your Lordships humbly to commaunde, Thomas North.

To the Reader.

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HE THAT BEGINNETH not to reade thys Booke frō the beginning to the ende, and that aduisedly followeth not the order he findeth written, shall neuer profite any thing thereby. But reading it through, and oft, aduising that he readeth, hee shall finde a marueylous benifite therof. The stories, fables, and tales, are very pleasaunt and compendious. Moreouer, the similitudes and comparisons doe (as they saye) holde hands one with the other, they are so linked togithers, one still depending of another: which if you seuer, desirous to reade any tale or storie by it selfe, not comparing the Antecedent with the Sequele: besides that, you shall be farre from the vnderstanding of the matter, you shall thinke them ryding tales, spoken to no purpose, but to occupie your eares, and consume time. Therefore follow I say this order giuen you, and receyue to you the fruites of my poore traueyle, and of your painefull reading. Farewell.

Al lettore. G. B.

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Il DONI, che col suo leggiadro stile.

Augelli, e mutipesci. Armenti, e fiere.

Fà ragionar d'Impresa alta, & humile.

E sotto il falso asconde còse vere.

Non pensò mai, che la ricca ANGLIA, e THYLE

Sapessero di luj, ne che in talschiere

Ʋenissero le Nimfe a mezzo Aprile

In freddo Clima a fiori, e frutti hauere.

Il NORTHO è, che col suo sublime Ingegno

Fà questo, et alla bella ITALIA dona

Nel suo paese, con sua lingua, stanza.

E Perciò, il DONI. Dona a luj per pegno

Se istesso, et dice. Se gia mai persona

M'Interpretò. NORTHO è quelche hor m'auanza.

T. N. To the Reader.

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OF wordes and of examples is a sundrie sort of speache,

One selfe same thing to mindes of men in sundrie wise they teache.

Wordes teache but those that vnderstande the language that they heare:

But things, to men of sundrie speache, examples make appeare.

So larger is the speache of beasts, though mens more certaine bee:

But yet so larger as conceyte is able them to see.

Such largenesse yet at length to bring to certaine vse and plaine,

God gaue such grace to beasts, that they should Indian speach attaine.

And then they learnde Italian tongue, and now at length they can,

By helpe of NORTH, speake English well to euery English man.

In English now they teache vs wit. In English now they saye,

Ye men, come learne of beasts to liue, to rule and to obaye,

To guide you wisely in the worlde, to know to shunne deceite,

To flie the crooked pathes of guile, to keepe your doings streight.

As [...]arst therefore you vsed beasts, but for your bodies neede,

Sometime to clothe, sometime to beare, sometime your selues to feede.

Now vse them for behoofe of minde, and for your soules delite,

And wish him well that taught them so to speake and so to write.

E. C. To the Reader.

IF care to showe, good will to natiue soyle,

In setting forth, a worke of great auayle:

If how to shunne, the vaine and restlesse toyle,

Wherein we wade, for things that soone doe fayle.

If graue aduice, bewrayde in simple showe,

Forewarning still, the trayne of guilefull waye:

If Wisedomes lore, the good from yll to knowe,

And by the same, our brittle liues to staye.

If this and more, yea more an hundred folde,

Lies open nowe, vnto thy happie gaine:

If these I saye, more worth than masse of Golde

Doe well deserue, by him that tooke this paine.

Good Reader than, graunt this my iust desire,

In thankefull sort, receyue this learned Booke:

For his rewarde, he seekes no further hire,

But good report, when thou herein shalt looke.

His paines were great, thy gift thus waye but small,

Yet he content, and thinkes he reapeth all.

The Philosophie of the wise auncient Fathers. A worke first compiled in the Indian tongue, and aftervvardes transferred into diuers and sundrie other languages: as the Persian, Arabian, Hebrue, Latine, Spanishe, and Italian: and now reduced into our vulgar speeche.
The Prologue

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§

THis precious Iewell (beloued Reader) was first founde written in the Indian tongue, entituled Morall vvisedome: and thence conueyed into Persia, and was coated wyth their language, naming it with them The example of good lyfe: and from the Persian spéech a long time after by the auncient Fathers (they knowing the woonderfull doctrine therof) brought into the natyue Arabian: & from that translated into Hebrue by Ioel gran Rabi a Iewe: at length reduced into Latine: and passing through many languages became a Spaniarde, with the tytle of Exemplario: and so in time brought to Venice, and there put into Italian by a company of Gentlemen associated togithers, entituling their Felowship Academia Peregrina: and nowe lastly out of Italian made vulgar to vs. What high doctrine is conteyned in thys Booke, the diligent and curious searche for the same of so many wise and famous men and of so sundrye nations doth [Page] witnesse. If therefore you desire the vnderstanding of Morall wisedome, spirituall doctrine, and infinite instructions and examples for man to liue well: reade I say this golden Volume. Surely reader, this booke shall be a looking glasse for thée, wherin thou shalt most liuely beholde the daylie and present daungers and deceytes of mans most miserable lyfe, and the eyes of thy vnderstanding shall be made open to discerne the flatteries of disceytfull men, and the wisedome of this moste guilefull worlde: by meanes whereof yée may easilye blotte out many malignant effects of this (alas) our crooked age. The style is familier and pleasaunt, and wyll much delight thée. For the first and olde Authors hereof wrote it doubtlesse wyth great iudgement, trayned thereto with a feruent desire that their doctrine shoulde not onely remayne in perpetuitie for euer, but that it shoulde also be imprinted in the Readers minde, assuring them selues it shoulde profite all, and dislyke none. For it maye in maner be called an artificiall memorie, to benifite themselues at all times and seasons, and in all argumentes, with euerye perticuler thing that these wise and graue men haue inuented, shadowed with tales and parables, and wyth the examples of brute and dumme beastes.

THE Sages of auncient nations, (expert in all the Sciences) desirous to publishe to those that came after them, their great knowledge and wisedome, euen with a determinate minde and counsell premeditate, decreed to set foorth a peece of woorke, adapted with diuers similitudes and sundrie comparisons of vnreasonable beasts & birds, by which they might greatly beautifie their doctrine, and this they did for diuers respectes. First, to giue occasion that their wisedome and learning should be knowne to the worlde. Secondly, that men of iudgement and discretion reading the same might reape the benifite of their rules to direct this fraile lyfe. Thirdlye, that hee that vnderstandeth these examples, knowing little, shoulde by them knowe much. And fourthly, and last of all, if he were yong, and had small delight to reade much: yet he may with a short and [Page] pleasant waye be instructed with these delighting fayninges, and with those similitudes and examples taste the sweetenesse of the woordes, the pleasure of the sentences, accompanied with proper tales: and so (Gentle Reader) profite himselfe, and teache others. In this their treatise such wise Fathers haue hidden from vs woonderfull significations. For a treasure vndoubtedly of so high a misterye and doctrine as this is to be more estemed, than all the Iewelles of the worlde. This precious Iemme of knowledge, who so shall lodge it in the secresie of his memorie, shall neuer lose it, but shall rather augment and increase it with age in such sort, that he shall winne a marueylous commoditie to him: and of that plant shall taste the sauorie, pleasant, and profitable fruites, no lesse wonderfull then delectable. To reade such a Booke (worthy Reader) thou must call thy wittes togither, vniting them and thy vnderstanding with the due order of the woorke, to knowe why, and to what purpose the olde prudent Fathers framed it: least thou be lyke to the blinde man, that wanting his sight, taketh vpon him to go ouer Mountaines, Hilles, and Dales, through most daungerous and perillous wayes. He therefore that doth reade, must vnderstand what he readeth, and why he readeth it: and not to be so desirous to come to the ende, that he marke not the beginning, and forget the sense (full of knowledge) lincked with the middest and end. For he that readeth so, readeth without fruite, and rather troubleth the minde, and wearieth his body than otherwise, not forcing the benifite and knowledge of the truth. Folow therefore these graue preceps and ruled order, and let no vaine thoughts possesse your mindes to withdraw you from reading it. For to finde so riche a treasure, and not to know how to take and laye it vp: is rightly to folow him, that finding a Masse of Golde and Siluer, had not the wyt to take it, and cary it away.

Of a Husbande man, and of the treasure he founde.

A Husbandman of Persia going one daye to plough his lande, by chaunce stumbled of a marueylous treasure, fyndinge store of pottes of coyne, of Golde, and Siluer: [Page] and woondring at hys great fortune, began to think to lode him selfe, and to beare it home. But séeing the summes so great that scant twentie men coulde carie it awaye, it gréeued him much that hée alone coulde not conuey it, and thus hée sayde to himselfe. If I leaue it here, it is in daunger to be taken from

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mée, and to watch it daylie, it woulde to much trouble mée: besides, that that I coulde take with me, would doe mée but small pleasure. Well, hap what hap will, I will go fetch company to helpe me home withall, and they shall beare the burden, I will onely pay them, and take mine ease, tush I haue at will to content them: and thus in one day I shal come home and finde my Cofers filled. With this minde resolued forth he goeth, & calleth men togithers, bringing them with him to this Golden masse of coyne, where he giueth eche man his burden, and byddeth them [Page] hye them to his house. These bearers now departing with their burdens, ouercome with desire of the money, and gréedy of this praie, in steade of going to the house of this foolishe and vnluckie man, they went euery one to his owne house. The husbandman after their departure commeth leysurely home wythout any burden, lyke a man of welth, as one that thought himselfe a Lorde at home, wéening to haue founde his richesse there. But when he was entered his house, and hearde nothing of the goodes nor bearers: then all to late hée knew his lack and folly, commending their iudgements that with the burden of theire shoulders had made themselues riche. So that for treasure he enioyed sorowe. For hée that might haue béene Lorde of all, discréetely gouerning that which good hap had layde on him, deseruedly bought the price of hys folly, abyding the bitter smart of pouertie and myserie.

THE discreete Reader that shall looke in this Booke must giue attentiue eare, and note eche thing perticulerly he readeth, diligently marking the secret lessons. For alwayes the worke of these sage Fathers carieth two senses withall. The first, knowne and manifest. The second, hidden and secret. Of the first we sweetely enioy the taste: but of the second we receyue small knowledge, if we deepely ponder not the wordes. And hereof we may take ensample of the Nut, which giueth no maner of taste to man if he doe not first breake and open the shell, and then comen to the wyshed kernell, he beginneth to taste the sauour therof, and to reape the fruit of so excellent a doctrine. Let vs not doe therefore as the vndiscreete and simple man that had a desire to seeme learned, and to bee counted eloquent in speach, as you shall heare.

Of the simple ignorant man, desirous to seeme learned.

ON a time one earnestly besought a Poet & an excellent Rhetorician (his very friende) to giue him some thing written that might be learned and eloquent, which [Page] konning without booke he might recite at pleasure in the companye of wise men, that he might at least séeme no lesse learned than they. His friende consented, and performed his desire, and gaue him in a written booke (faire bounde and lymned with golden letters) many goodly sentences, so that he began to learn by rote his written authorities, and laboring night and daye to commit them to memorie, he determined to show that he was also learned. And being one daye in argument, not vnderstanding the signification of the words he had learned, for that they were not in his owne tongue, hée began to alleadge them quite from the purpose: & being taken with the maner they lawghed him to scorne. Hée being angrye at the matter, lyke an obstinate and ignorant foole, aunswered. What? thinke you I am deceyued, that haue learned that I alleage out of the booke of a woorthie learned man, yea, and the letters lymned with golde to? at which woordes they laughed him more to scorne then before to sée his ignorance.

EVery man therfore must indeuor himselfe to vnderstand that he readeth, and vnderstanding it well, he must diligently obserue that doctrine, marking to what end and purpose that was written that he hath red, to profit therby at any time. I knowe there will be wise men that will beleue they can saye and doe more wonders than this commeth to: yet for all that, the more we reade, the more we knowe, and the quicker is our vnderstanding, besides, there is obteined euen profounde knowledge. Learning bringeth with it a great priuiledge: for by that men are exalted, and to a man of knowledge and vnderstanding it giueth life. But to him that hath iudgement and vnderstanding, and that gouerneth not himselfe and his actions according to the prescribed rule of reason: His knowledge I say dyeth in him without fruit. As by reading this example folowing you may easilye perceiue.

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A comparison of the slouthfull man for the Reader.

AN honest man lying in his bedde hearde a Théefe going vp and downe in his house: and thinking to paye him home (to take the more aduantage of him) suffered him to take his pleasure and loding, that hauing in déede his packe at his backe, he might euen then as he thought take him with the maner, and iustly reward him with the swordes point

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as he listed. Thus debating with him selfe, imagining to execute his purpose, (the Théefe occupying all this while himselfe taking what he woulde) this stelye good man fell a sléepe againe, and the Théefe with his fardell of the best things without any let at all quietly departeth his waye. This man when [Page] he awaked and sawe his house naked, hys chestes emptye and broken open, bitterly sighed and lamented, cursing himselfe, and blaming his folly: considering hée might easily haue saued all that he was robbed of (since hée knew it and heard the noyse) and for very sloth woulde not once rise and defend it, hauing as it were the théefe in his handes. Knowledge therefore is aptly compared to a trée, whose fruite are the works: and this knowledge is that we al ought to desire, and to exercise our selues in. Were it not a mad part to leaue the brode beaten hie way, and to take the vnknowne and daungerous pathe? Euen so it may be sayde of him which followeth his owne appetite and lyking, gouerning himselfe thereby, (and not as he ought with reason and good order,) leaning to these worldlye experiences, which euer desireth that that is profitable, but follow alwayes in déede things that are hurtfull. A man of such life and gouernement we may compare to him that knoweth good meates light of digestion, and the grosse ill and heauie: yet ouercome with desire taketh that that is most hurtfull, and so being hurt, himselfe alone is the cause of all his yll.

EVen such a man is he whome affection subdueth. He vnderstandeth and is learned, and able to decerne troth from falshoode, and yet will not put in proofe the true profit, nor once follow and desire knowledge and wisedome. We might bring this man in thexample of him that hauing his sight good and perfite, shutting his eyes would needes be ledde by a blinde man, so that both they falling into a diche were drowned, and miserably died. Euery man will condemne him for a foole, and worse than mad, that hauing his sight good and without blemishe, that might haue seene the daunger and scaped it, and of mere foolishnesse would not. Therefore euerie wise and discrete person must continually labour to reade, and to vnderstande that he readeth, and must then teache it to as many as desire to knowe it, and to doe the good workes of the knowledge he teacheth, that euery way he may showe the wonderfull profit of his doctrine: for in this case he may not be like vnto a Well or Spring, which without any profit to [Page] it selfe quencheth the thirst of all beastes. The wise man is afterwardes bounde (when he is growne to the perfection of learning) to teach and instruct those that knowe not. Prouided euer that he can master himselfe, and subdue his affections. For to a wise man three things are pertinent: to wit, Knowledge, Richesse, and Mercie. And of all things a man must chiefly beware of reprouing his neighbour of that fault he himselfe is guiltie off. That he be not likened to him, which hauing a Perle in his eie, found fault with the element that it was alway clowdie, not considering the blemish of his eie. Yet greater doubtlesse is our offence when with our neighbours hurt or detriment we winne commoditie to our selues. As falleth out many times, which this example following sheweth vs.

The deceyt lighteth on the deceyuers necke.

TWoo friends hauing a great mount of corne in a Garner vndeuided, they fel to parting it, leauing to eche his portion a part (howbeit both in one Garner still) so that they could not erre to choose eyther heape. But bicause in déede the one heape was greater than the other, hée which had the lesser thought to steale the bigger, and so by deceit to be reuenged of Fortune that had allotted him the least part. Vpon this he went to the Garner determining to steale it that night, and bicause he would not misse of his purpose in taking the one for the other, he cast his cloke ouer his fellowes heape being the greater, that he might the easilier knowe his owne in the darke being vncouered. Not long after came to the Garner also the other honest partener to looke to his heape, & to see his deuided part: and when he sawe the loue of his partener to him (supposing simply he had couered his heape of corne for good will he bare him, that it should receyue no dust) as one that would not be thought vnthankfull, nor come behinde his fellow in curtesie, thus he sayde to himselfe. Oh this man is to kinde to mée, that to couer mine leaueth his owne heape bare. And so taking the Cloke off his heape cast it on the others, and couered it as [Page] his was, requiting his curtesie with like good will, little suspecting the intended deceyte, but rather reputed his friende ciuile and full of humanitie. At night his false friende counselled with a théefe and tolde him his intent, saying: if thou wilt goe with mée this night I will bring thée to a

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place where we shall haue a good bootie of Corne as much as we can both carie away with vs. And thus agréed togithers thervpon, they went both to the Garner where these two heaps of Corne laye, and this partener the théefe groping in the darke to finde the heape his Cloke laye on, laying handes on his Cloke (supposing he had met with his fellowes heape) hée gaue it in praye to the théefe hée had brought with him, labouringe both to loade themselues, and so betwéene them they conueyed the whole heape: and wéening they had [Page] stollen from the other honest man, founde at length he was théefe to himselfe. The next morning very earely the two companions (accordinge to appointment) went togithers to the Garner to carie away eche other his portion as it was deuided betwéene them. And he that had done this feate, séeing his parteners part whole and vntouched, and his owne gone: like a man halfe deade for sorrow he heauily departed thence to his house, and not a worde he spake, bewayling and lamenting his wretched pretenced craft, not daring once to open the theft to his friende, who so much did trust him.

NO man therefore should deale so foolishly in thinges that haue no certaine ende, and that are hard to bring to passe: least that wearied with superfluous labor, he cannot afterwardes exercise himselfe in thinges certaine and needefull. All our workes and deedes ought rather to tende to profit vs in time to come, then to serue the time present. For if we abandon and forsake the insatiable and infinite desire we haue of this wretched worlde, doubtlesse in the other worlde to come we shall feele no paine. For who that serueth God deuoutly, and with pure conscience, and that desireth riches onely to supplie necessitie, and to doe good workes: him God doth prosper and guide in all his wayes. And let no man dispaire though he be visited with ill hap sometime, doing well notwithstanding. For God manye times sendeth his blessing and increase vnwares to man, and in an houre vnlooked for, which he neuer thought would happen. And heare in what maner.

The good and vertuous should neuer dispaire in aduersitie.

THere dwelled in a certaine Citie a man of a godly life and disposition, who fallen into extréeme pouertie, being ashamed to aske for Gods sake, determined to prooue his friends, and so he did. And bewraying his miserie, looking for reliefe and pittie, founde nothing but hardnesse, [Page] neither was there anye that once woulde looke vpon the necessitie of that honest conditioned man. And thus repleate with griefe, vexed in his minde, he sorrowfullye repaireth to hys poore mansion. And being layde at night in his bedde to take his rest, the anguishe of his minde, togither with famine, woulde not suffer him to rest but kept him waking. And bychaunce

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hearing a noyse about the house, lystening diligently what it shoulde be: hée knewe straight it was some Théefe (hoping of a great bootie) that went thus ransacking vp and downe. So this poore man sayde vnto himselfe. Thou hadst néede looke narrowlye, if thou wéene to haue that thou séekest for: Surely I will sée yet what feates these théeues doe worke when they come into such places where they finde naught. The Théefe roming here and there, busily searching and groping in [Page] euery corner, founde nothing but a little pot with Meale: and bicause he would not lose hys labour, hée determined to drawe his string to ketch that little morsell, and began to poure it out into the lappe of his cloke, hauing in the cape therof great store of Iewelles and ready money which hée had stolen in an other house where he had béene. The good poore man which till nowe was whisht and quiet to sée the ende of the Théefe, perceyuing hys little discretion, his hart rose against him, considering the villanye of thys wretch that woulde not leaue him that sielye quantitie of Meale to sustaine him alyue withall: and thought with himselfe it were better defend it in time to kéepe him from famine, than to tarye looking for the late reliefe of his harde friends. So in a great fury he leapt out of his bed and tooke him to his sword, and hauing the same drawne in hys hande with a terrible noyse hée runneth to the Théefe. Which bicause hée would not both lose his honesty and life togither at one instant, leauing (for hast to saue himselfe) hys cloke in pawne with the Meale, hauing no leysure to cast it on his backe, he was forced to flye for life and let all alone. This honest poore man then at his pleasure poured out the Meale out of his cloke, and put it againe into hys earthen potte where it was before: and thus sayd to himselfe, a ha, by Sainct Marie this geare goeth well, I haue gotten a cloke to boote by the meanes, to defende mée from the colde at least, and putting his hande into the cape, hée met with great riches and Iewels, and happily lighted on those goods which he neuer hoped of: winning that frō his enimie by force, which his friends would neuer haue giuen him for loue.

I Doe not like in such a case to say as the common people doe, that God prouideth liuing for euery bodie, and that he will not see me lacke that that shall be necessarie for me, so as I neede not to labor for my liuing: for sure it is but a foolish phrase and vaine speach. But rather I will conclude, that euery man is bound to labor to procure his liuing, & he may not make any such cases presidents, in which it pleased GOD to sende great riches [Page] without labor, as in this. For these are only the secrets of God, & we ought not to aske the cause of his diuine goodnesse. The wise man therefore must endeuour himselfe to gaine that he may, honestly and vprightly, trusting always in almightie God that he will prosper his doings and giue him encrease, seeking euer to keepe him selfe out of trouble and sorowe: and not to do as the Doue, which breeding hir Pigions about the house (making them familiar with the same) albeit they are monthly taken from hir and killed, yet she leaueth not for that to returne to hir olde nest and breede yong againe, though she know they shalbe taken from hir. We finde it written, that God hath ordeined the end and terme of all things, and that they can not passe. Therefore say these wise men, that he that worketh respecting the worlde to come, lightneth the burthens and troubles of this frayle life: But he that reposeth his trust in these worldlye thinges and is wrapped in the same, doth waste and consume his yeares. A man ought to labour in these three things, bicause he hath neede of them, to wit. To knowe to keepe the lawe, and the good statutes thereof. The seconde, to procure things necessarie for mans life. And the thirde, that his woorkes be pure and cleane with himselfe and among others. Then he must beware and withdrawe himselfe from foure other mortall and damnable. The first, is to be negligent in his art or science. The seconde, to contemne that the law commaundeth. The third, to credit all things lightly. The fourth, to denie knowledge. For he that will be reputed wise in his doings, must first consider well what he taketh vpon him: and if he neede counsell, let him aske it of a faithfull friende. When he happeneth to haue great matters in hande, let him not goe about them rashly, but first way the importance thereof. That he be not likened to one which being out of his waye, 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 continuall rubbing of it he maketh it incurable. A man must feare the diuine iustice, inclining him selfe to that that is good, and doing that to his neighbour he woulde haue done to himselfe, helping him in all daungers as he woulde be holpen him selfe. And to conclude this our worke, he that meaneth to vnderstande it, must order his life according to the lawes and institutions of vertue: as showeth these wonderfull and learned examples, and sententious authorities.

The Argument of the Booke

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WHat tyme there reigned in Edon so manye Royall crowned kings, amongst the rest there was a King called Anastres Castri: who chose for chiefe of all his Courte one Berozias, whome hee made high treasorer of all his Realme, a man right noble in his deedes, and rich of possessions: & him he loued and trusted so much, that hee put his princelye person and whole affaires of his Realme into his handes. It happened one daye there was presented to the king a Booke, in which was written many goodly dedes and secrets, and amongst the heape this was one. Howe that in India were marueylous hie mountaines, in which there grewe certaine sortes of herhes and trees, which if they were knowen [Page] and confected afterwards in a certaine kinde: they should drawe out of that precious composition such a remedie, as therewith they might raise to life again the dead. The king no sooner read this wonder, but he burned straight to knowe the troth thereof: wherefore in haste (as soone as might bee) he dispatched Berozias, and bade him hie him thither, commaunding him to see if he coulde finde it true. And bicause it was a hard and painefull enterprise, he furnished him with golde and siluer, not onely sufficient, but more than needed, that he shoulde not lacke. Then he deliuered him his letters of recommendation to all those kings of India, praying them to further this worthie man in his noble attempt, purposed to good ende. Berozias licensed nowe of the King to depart (furnished with money and letters) went into that countrie, and arriued in India [Page] presented straight the king his maisters letters: by meanes wherof he was receyued of the Magistrates as was pertinent to the Imbasie of so highe a Prince. And his message deliuered, they vnderstanding the cause of his comming, offered themselues with all the wise men they had to fauour his enterprise, and to further it all they could. And thus honorably accompanied of al the sage and wise men, conducting him through all the Mountaynes and Countries there abouts, they had and gathered all they found written for the conditing of so precious an electuarie. And all they ioyning togithers to make this confection, proouing it a great while, could neuer finde it worke such effect as to raise any one from death to life againe. So that they saw by proofe that all that was written in the booke concerning the electuarie was meere false and vntrue. This thing [Page] grieued much Berozias, that he should retourne to the king Anastres his maister and bring no better newes with him: howbeit consulting with these graue and wise men before his departure, how he might doe, not to retourne home in vaine, there was giuen him by a famous Philosopher of that Region, a goodly treatise, who serched himself also to finde that secrete, and in the ende he vnderstoode that it was the Booke which was so called. And so, O graue Berozias, thou shalt say vnto the king, and returne to him with ioye.

The hilles which we ought to seeke, are the wise and learned men. The trees and herbes growing vpon those hilles, doe betoken wisedome and learning: which springs of the vnderstanding and iudgementes of the learned. The medicine or electuarie condited of those herbes, are the bookes full [Page] of most learned writings, composed by the high and deepe wittes, and with this oyle or Baulme they reuiue the deade. For with such knowledge the ignorant and vnlearned are instructed: whom wee maye iustly recken deade and buried.

Therefore tasting the sweetenesse (continually reading) of the doctrine of the sages, they receiue health and resurrection. This interpretation greatly reioyced Berozias, in so much as hee besought the Princes and sage men that they would giue him but the copie of that booke to carie to the King his Maister, which (although the booke were alwayes in the handes of those Kings, for that it was ful of Morall Philosophy) was graunted him, licensing him to translate it out of the Indian into the Persian tongue, with the helpe and knowledge of all those learned Philosophers, which was so singularlye [Page] done that it bare the vaunt of all Morall Philosophie. The Booke receiued with due and infinite thankes rendered to those noble Kings and Sages, for the great honor and curtesie they had done him: Berozias departeth home, and being come to his Maister, presented him the booke with relation of his whole entertainment.

The King hearing so noble an exposition, so wise and discreete an interpretation, thankefully receyued the Booke, esteming it aboue any other present. And thencefoorth he procured with great diligence to haue alwayes bookes, and those he studied, desirous of knowledge, seeking to entertaine in his Court wise and learned men: iudging (as is true) that bookes and wisedome are the greatest treasure and delight to man. Appointing in his Palaice a great librarie, wherein aboue the rest he placed this booke [Page] for chiefe, being full of examples and instructions for mans life, and also of Iustice and the feare of God: in praise and honour of whom we begin this worke, shewing therein the continuall daungers and deceits of this miserable worlde

The first part of the Morall Philosophie of the auncient Sages, compiled by the great and learned Philosopher Sendebar, In the Indian tongue, who by sundrie and wonderfull examples bewrayeth the deceyts and daungers of this present worlde.

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§

WHen I was come to yeares of discretion, borne of a noble house, and of my Genitours put to the studie of Philosophye, to learne Phisycke, wherof I proceded Doctor: I knewe that thys worlde was a course of a most vehement running streame, but yet appearing no perill of drowning to him that passed it, bicause that harde by the banckes sydes it was verie shalow, and aboue it ranne quietly, carying aboue water riches and wares of great value, to the iudgement of those that beheld them, by meanes whereof men drawne with great couetousnesse to haue abundance, they ranne towardes them, and entred into the riuer, partly wetting themselues, but onely their foote, they tooke a fewe of them. And he that would haue mo, going further in, must of necessitie wet his legge and knee, bicause it increased. And he [Page] that with furie (passing the rest) with an insatiable desire would needes go further, plunged his whole bodie in the water. And the others trusting in their force of swimming stucke in the middest, and founde the streame exceeding bigge: for in the bottome it was most swift and raging, and they coulde not get out of the middest, but euen as much as they coulde doe in swimming to kepe them selues aboue water. And brought to this passe, not finding any waye to get out, they cast of these rich merchandises to this man and to that man, which hauinge no skill to swimme followed them alongest the banckes sides of the riuer. In the ende weried with swimming, not able to labor any more for life, forsaking this merchandise floting aboue the water, downe they sinke, and carying nothing with them, remayne drowned.

WHo coulde in better maner describe our worldly labour? truly our insatiable desire is so gréedie to haue that it liketh and séeth, that to be owner of that we would, we put our selues to all maner of daungers, and intollerable paynes of this world. To be briefe: Euery man (little or much) wetteth himselfe in this raging riuer of mans life. He that wetting his foote runneth alongest the hancks side of this terrible Brooke, is a man that is oppressed with bondage, that enioyeth naught else in this world but miserable lyfe. The other that washeth his legge, liueth by his labor, and commeth to take more of the world, and to taste the delights thereof bearing many afflictions. He that thrustes in his whole bodie in this water, hath possessed the seignorie & gouernment of the most wicked and haplesse state of this world. O vnspeakable cruelty, that once passed forwards he entreth perforce into the middest, and reacheth to [Page] this man and to that man that he hath, kéeping himself alwaies in this daungerous state. But in the ende ouertaken by some accident, as warre, treason, poyson, or mans force, he falleth into deathes lappe: and he that hath followed his troublesome life remayneth depriued of all his goodes, bicause wanting the heade, the rest of the members remaine vile, filthie, and stincking. Sure this worldly life representeth no more but the little worlde of our bodie, which carieth a wonderfull presence: and that little breath of ours once spent, it is then but a shadowe, dust, and smoke. These worldly fauours and temporall goodes in the iudgement of the wise seeme but as snowe, which with the first beames of the Sunne dissolueth and commeth to nothing. Lord, what cost do we bestow vpon our heares and face, which when the Barber clippeth of, are despised and throwne away? A man should neuer trust this foolishe life. It is but a fire kindled on the coles, which consuming it selfe giueth heate to others. The Phisition truly that cureth the disease of the bodie is a worthie spirite of man: but he that healeth vs of our sinnes is a celestiall God. Hée that can shunne the water of this riuer, which carieth in his course, Pride, vaine glorie, lasciuiousnesse, couetousnesse, presumption, infirmitie, and losse: may be called diuine and not humaine. Let no man put his foote into the water of carnall loue, neyther his legge into the false waues of these goods, nor washe his bodie in the glorie of this malignant time, neyther séeke continually to swimme in the middest of these felicities: for all passeth awaye to oure losse and vndoing. The riche Indian merchaunt Sostrates, richly furnished his house with sundrie sorts of merchaundise with his great trauell, expence of time, and money: and hauing his house full stored euen to the toppe, he could finde none that had so much readie money as to paye him for it all at one time and to carie it away. Then he saide to him selfe. If by little and little I should spende it, when shall I euer make an ende? Life will not alwayes last, neyther can I liue so long as I [Page] woulde: I knowe there can be no ende of our miseries: and thus despising all pompe and riches he forsooke the deceytfull life with trouble, and withdrewe him to a better, taking vpon him another course. A man ought to beléeue the true and diuine car [...], and not mans writing: not to trust the false sayings of wicked men, (which continuallye liue of the spoyle of their neighbour beguiling them) but to his owne experience. For who so easily beléeueth the words of light persons, falleth into a grieuous errour, to his owne losse and hurt, as ye shall heare reading that that followeth.

Here may you see how light beliefe bringeth damage.

TWo theeues very skilfull in picking and opening of lockes with ginnes (but nothing aduised nor foreseeing the daunger) entered one nyght into a knightes house, no lesse wyse than worshipfull, and verie riche: where these theeues thought to haue sped themselues for euer, that they shoulde neuer more haue needed to haue exercised that arte. This valiant knight awaketh, and hearing the noise of their feete in the house, imagined (as it was) that there were theeues: and they were euen vpon the point of opening his chamber doore where he laye, when he togging his wyfe awaked hir, and softly said to hir. Haue ye not heard the noyse of the theeues in the house that are come to robbe vs? I woulde haue ye therefore aske mee streight with great instance, after what sort, whence [Page] and howe I came by all that we haue togither in the house. And ye shall aske mee so lowde that if there were any at the chamber dore he might easily heare you: and I will seeme to be verie scrupulous to tell

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you, then shall you bee more earnest with mee than before to vnderstande it: at length you shall presse mee so with importunacie that I will tell it you. The Ladie his wife being verie wise and subtill, began in this maner to aske hir husbande, and thus she saide vnto him. O deare sir, graunt mee I besech you one thing this night that I so long haue desired to knowe: to tell mee how you haue done to come by all these goodes you haue gotten togither. [Page] So he gaue hir an answere at randon, nothing aunswering hir desire. She contending with him, and he aunswering, in the ende as he had bene angry, he sayde to hir. I can but muse what reason mooues you (in Gods name) to desire to knowe my secretes, being a thing that little profites you to know them, or not to know them. Be ye contented Madame, and set your heart at rest: let it suffice you to fare well, to be richly apparelled, and to be worshipfully wayted vpon and serued, although ye do not importune me to tell you such a secret. These are not thinges to be tolde, for I haue hearde it spoken many a time and oft, that euery thinge hath eares: therefore many times thinges are spoken which are repented of the partie afterwardes. Wherefore hold your peace, for I cannot tell you. To this aunswere his Ladie replied, and louingly besought him to tell hir, sweetely entising him with wifely traynes in such sort, that the knight wearied with hir importunate speach yelded, and said to hir. All that we haue, and as much as is in the house (but sweete hart I charge you let it neuer come from you) is stollen, and in deede to be playne with you, in the nightes season I stole it from this and that mans house, so that I neuer gate any thing trulye. His Ladie amazed to heare that aunswere, woulde not yet beleeue it at the first, but saide. What for shame how can you euer speake this with truth? being reputed here the best Gentleman in this Citie: and there is none in all this realme I dare well saye that woulde once dare to suspect you for a theefe. Out a theefe, one of your worship and [Page] credit? nay nay, I will neuer beleeue it. Therefore I pray you without ceremonie tell mee truly that I haue asked you, or else I cannot be in quiet. The knight aunswered hir and sayd. You thinke it peraduenture a wonder that I haue tolde you: but listen yet & you shall heare more. Euen from my cradell in maner I alwaies had delight to steale & filch, and it liked me a life to be amongst theues that my fingers might euer be walking, so sweete was the craft vnto me. And a Mate amongst them there was that loued me so well, that he taught mee only a singuler tricke, and so rare a secret as neuer yet was hearde. And wote ye what it was? a fewe wordes and coniurations whiche I made to the Beames of the Moone, and I ranne sodenly to embrace them, going vpon them quicklye into euery part where they shone. Somtime I came downe vpon them from a high windowe, another time I serued my selfe with thē to get vp againe to the top of the house: so I staid and went on them as I list, and did what I would. The Moone hearing my coniuration seauen times shewed me all the money and treasure that was hidden in that house, where I flew thus vp and downe vpon hir beames, by meanes whereof I tooke my choice, & had what I would, carying it quite away with me. And thus good wife (as I haue tolde thee) I made me riche, and now I care for no more. One of the two theeues (who gaue a listening eare, standing at the knights chamber dore) heard all that he saide, and bare it away with him in memorie, beleuing it was true that he spake, knowing this riche [Page] knight to be a man of credit and to be beleeued, since he was reputed of all men to be a worthy and courteous knight: so that they thought themselues happie to haue learned such a wonderfull secrete in maner (vpon his wordes) assuring themselues in short time to be made verie rich. The chiefe theefe apparelled like a woman got vp to the toppe of the house, desirous to proue that in deedes which he had heard in words: So he made his exorcisme and enchauntment repeting it seuen times, & then embracing the

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beames of the Moone, his armes throwne abrode, he cast himself on them, thinking to haue gone from windowe to windowe, and so hedlong he fell to the grounde in ieoperdie to breake his necke. But the [Page] Moone for the first time fauored him so that he killed not himselfe, but brake his legges and one of his armes as God would haue it: so that oppressed with paine he cryed out alowde, lamenting his missehap chaunced to him, giuing to much credit to an others wordes. And thus not able to creepe nor goe, he pitifully lieth expecting death. The knight leaping out of his bed ran to the crie, and come to the place, he found this vnfortunate and wretched theefe lying on the grounde in womans apparell, and hee gaue him many a faire wounde to lighten the paine of his broken legges and arme, and forced him to tel what cause moued him to come to robbe his house. Thys miserable theefe aunswered him (fearing least hee would kill him) and tolde him the whole cause of his comming. But yet that that grieued him worst of all was saide hee, that he was such a foole and beast to beleeue his words: and besought him though he had at least hurt him to much with his wordes, (which he had dearly bought and repented both) yet that he would vouchsafe not to hurt him in his deedes also.

IT is most true that lightly beleuing these worldly thinges, hath made manye a man fall into sundrie daungers, and hedlong to plunge himselfe into the déepe miseries of this worlde. Sometimes men determine to obey the lawe. At another time they contemne it and set it at naught, following sensuall appetite. Oft times they beléeue the counsell of their good friend, but very often they follow the counsell of the flatterer. To day we are pleased with true doctrine: to morow we folow the false. In euery wit and arte there is abuse: and who runneth not to this riuer? and the more they wéene to gaine, the [Page] more they runne in daunger and losse of life and soule. Behold, here is one man pricked in his conscience, there is another oppressed with passion and sorow, and there neuer wanteth some that follow the continuall seruitude of this deceitfull life, either for goodes, fauor, and estimation, or else of their owne frée willes: and there is neuer none (or fewe at the least) that in so short time of life can forget this knowne and manifest daunger. For death assaulting vs, we knowe not whither to retire, and then with all our might we flie the force of his most piercing dart: and thus wéening to hide our selues in sure place, we hedlong runne to our shame and vndoing. As is manifestly séene by sundrie examples happened like to this following.

A tale of a Louer and a Gentilwoman.

THere was in the Citie where I dwelled, harde by my house, a fayre yong Gentilwoman nobly borne, the which was but euen in maner newly maried (at least not long before) when this chaunce happened. This yonge spouse fell in loue with a proper Gentleman fayre condicioned, well spoken, and of good entertainement: and fortune so fauoured hir, that shee sweetely reaped the fruits of hir desire at all times when she liked to enioye it without let or annoy at all. But to preuent hir husbandes sodein comming home at times vnlooked for, this liuely yong wife deuised to worke a waye for hir louers safetie, and the continuance of [Page] this second (yea most blessed) ioye. She caused to be conueyed in a Well she had a proper vawte, which should safely receyue hir yong louer leaping into the same, if he were by mishap at any time distrest with

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hir husbandes soden comming vpon them. The husband also much about that time called workemen to him, and in a corner of the house made a great darke hole and vent (verie deepe) for the sincke of the house. It happened so by chaunce one daye that hir yong Louer was no sooner entered into the house, and the gate but newly put too, but straight the husband of this wanton wife knocked also at the doore. She knowing his knocke, with heauie hart beckened [Page] to him to hide himselfe in the vawte that she had made in the Well, and this while shee stoode still, poynting him the place and woulde not open to hir husbande. This yong man flight with feare (which is euer at hand to amaze the offender) ranne round about like a headlesse flie, and missing the Well (as one stricken blinde for sodeine feare) leapt into the deepe darke vawte seruing the sincke of the house. At which instant she had opened the dore to hir husband, so as he saw the yong man when he went into it: and then he knew his wife had born a man more than shee shoulde, and that shee had beguiled him, vnderstanding the late opening of the doore. And ouercome with rage and hir faulte, he fierslye laide handes on hir, and cruellye slue both hir and hir Louer.

TO be vnaduised, and to doe things rashly which we ought not, bringeth many times death, hurt, and shame. For no man should so entangle himselfe in these worldly toyles, as he might not euer leaue them at his will. For so straunge and sodein chaunces fall vpon him, as a man would neuer haue imagined, and therefore he cannot vpon such a sodeine withstande it, but is forced to yéelde. Wherefore I would wish no man to be so caried awaye with these short pleasures and swéete sound of mans life, that they shoulde cast behinde them the remembraunce of the right way to doe well: as happened vnto him that would mende and set his Iewelles.

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Of a Ieweller that forgot his profit, and gaue himselfe to pleasure.

THere was a rich Merchant of Surria, that brought from the Cair a great summe of precious stones, and bicause they wanted setting in Golde with curious work to pullish them, hee agreed with an excellent artificer, (most skilfull in such workes) to giue him daily a certaine summe of money, bicause that during the

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time he wrought in his Iewelles he shoulde worke with no other but onely attende his busynesse. This [Page] cunning workeman went euerye morning to thys merchants house to worke, carying his tooles wyth him: and working all the daye at his desire, at night he receyued his dayes wages agreed vpon. It happened there was brought to this merchant a goodly instrument, and excellent to playe vppon (muche like to a Harpe) to see if he would buye it. The next morning betimes came this workemaister to follow his worke, and the first thing that the merchant did was to shewe him the Harpe. The workeman takyng it in his hande (being an excellent Musition, and playing well of this instrument) he sayd. Sir is it your pleasure I shall playe? yea, sayd the merchaunt. This cunning man passingly handling this instrument playde so sweetely, and shewed such musicke in such straunge and rare stoppes, with such voluntarye wythall, that the merchaunt delighted with his heauenly harmonie made him play all daye long. At night thys cunning workeman demaunded his dayes hyre, as if he had wrought the whole daye in his Iewels. The merchaunt denied it, and would not paye him. The other alledged that he had bene in his house all that day (at his request) as he was the other dayes before. This matter called before the Iudges and brought in tryall, the Iudge gaue sentence against the merchaunt, and forced him to paye the workemaister for the daye (such summe of money as they were agreed vppon) as if hee had wrought all daye. The merchaunt yll digested the Iudges sentence, but much worse the paiment, greuing him to the heart to paye so deare for so short a [Page] pleasure, where he might haue gotten much by the others worke, if like a foole he had not let him.

LEt men that giue themselues to the pleasures of this vnhappie life be warned by the example of this merchaunt, to leaue aside the swéete deceits of the bodie, and to attende onely to the precious stone of our soule, pullishing and kéeping that cleane. Lorde howe many are there, that leauing profit follow losse, and all for a fayned showe, or worldlye shadowe. The Greyhounde that hath pinched the Hare and taken hir in hys mouth, cannot runne after another he séeth go before him and take hir also: for so the one may scape from him quite, and the other easily vanish out of his sight. O miserable worlde, naye rather most miserable and wretched our mindes and willes: that plainly seeing our hurt and miserie, we still hedlong pursue and follow the same. What is he liuing so ignoraunt, that knoweth not our life passeth quicklyer awaye than the lightening that commeth before the thunder clap, and in the darke clowdes giueth most short light: and that our sight (the lightening past) comming into the darke is blinded more? the man truly that is tost in this worldlye broyle, and entered into the sea of miseries: that that sensuall appetite and short desire sheweth him, séemeth light vnto him, but in a moment (wretched creature he) he findeth himselfe in darkenesse. What part haue we of any good thing in this short course of life? where is our good beginning? where the excellent middest? or where the perfite ende? in that day (O miserable man) that thou art begotten in thy wothers wombe, in the selfe same daye death imbraceth thée to ouerthrow thée at his will. Our first originall is begun in darknesse and corruption, the first passage that putteth vs forth to the light of this world, bringeth vs sorow and lamentation. We are borne naked, subiect to diseases, vncleane, & haue néede of all things, and of euery bodies helpe. Afterwards vnlesse we would séeme Images of stone or timber without [Page] vnderstandinge, wée must be taught, ruled, and instructed: which bringeth vs diseases, troubles, paynes, sorrowes, and griefes. And in this while how many necessities doe assault vs? how many businesses doe oppresse vs? the elements offende vs with heate, colde, and barrennesse. Diseases neuer forsake our bodies, and the troubles of this world neuer letteth vs rest an houre. To be alone it grieueth vs: to be accompanied it troubleth vs: to liue long it werieth vs: to haue little misliketh vs: and sufficient contenteth vs not. The thought of death on the one side assaulteth our life: and on the other, the passions of the minde to forsake our goodes, friends, wife, children, and the worlde, doe still pricke vs. O what troubles and afflictions, what terrors and passions abideth this our confused bodie: which the most part of our time is replete with anger, rancor, and malice, but often voyde (rather euer) of iustice, mercie, and pittie. And lastly, what doth one man for another? He causeth that by force the good is troden downe with the euill. The foole taketh away the reputation of the wise: the lyer plucketh out of his seate him that alwayes telleth troth: the noble Gentleman well brought vp, is ruled by the vndiscrete and rude Cloyne. What more? vertue alacke dieth, but ignoraunce liueth. Wherefore our state is in more daungers and troubles than his, that flying the fiercenesse of fower Lions to saue him selfe, leapt into a Well with greater daunger. As writeth the great Philosopher Tiabonus.

A Parable of the Worlde.

A Certayne lusty yong man trauelling throughe a desert countrie, wandering to and fro amongst the thicke and huge woodes, happened one day to come into a great large playne, where not farre from him he sawe [Page] trauersing in the way fower great & terrible Lions: wherof he being marueilously afrayd (to beholde so horrible a sight) tooke him to his legges and ranne for life: and bicause he was not able to runne so farre right out, as the Lions had force to followe him, by good hap in running he was ware of a Well in the middest of the field, about which grew certain wilde rootes of little trees, and being come to the Well he caught holde with his handes of the twigges of the same, and so cast himselfe into it, hanging by force of his armes vpon the twigges, not falling downe at all: and throwing his legges a crosse to the sides, he stayde himselfe with them and the strength of his hands to kepe him from falling downe. While hee stoode thus vpon his feete and force of handes, looking downe into the Well, he sawe a terrible Dragon that with open mouth gaped for his fall. This youth brought nowe to such a present mischiefe, raysed vp himselfe perforce sometimes, and looked out of the Well to see if these deuouring beasts were gone their waye: and seeing them standing hard by him, with great sorrowe and paine hee hunge still on force of his armes scant able to continue. A newe mishappe (and worse than all the rest) assaulted this iolye youth. Two beasts of colour white and blacke came to gnaw the rootes of these twigges, the tops whereof he gladlye helde fast in his handes to sustaine himselfe aliue withall: so that nowe he sawe present death on euerie side presented. Remayning thus in this daunger (brought to sorow & dispaire) casting backe his eie, he sawe a little hole behind him [Page] wherein there was a pot full of honie, layd there by chaunce by some shepehearde passing by that waye. And forgetting quite in what termes of life he stode, he beganne with one hande to taste of it holding him selfe by the other, and so long hee attended to thys little taste, that sorow stroke him on the necke. For the two beasts had now gnawen a sunder the rootes when he hedlong fell into the Well and died.

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WHat is signified hereby, or who can otherwise interprete it but thus. The Well representeth the world. The foure Lions the foure elements, which séeke still to deuour man. The Dragon with gaping mouth, what was it else but the graue? [Page] The twoo twigges or boughes, temporall goodes and loue to which we are wholy inclined: both which by the two beastes are gnawen a sunder, the one white, and the other blacke, which are vnderstanded for the day and night. But the pot with that little swéete honie, to which we are giuen, not regarding our daunger, betokeneth no other but the short pleasure of this worlde, which retayneth vs, and suffereth vs not to knowe the daungers and troubles of this most miserable world, and of our thrall and troubled lyfe.

The seconde part of Morall Philosophie, shewing the wonderfull abuses of this wretched Worlde.

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MAnye and diuers are the sayinges of our wyse and auncient Fathers spoken to exhort man to quietnesse, and to make hym selfe wonderfull in behauiour, wyse and ware in these worldly thinges, and pacient of life. That noble Romaine that sought and laboured to bring the people and Communaltie to loue their Magistrates and superiours, tolde them a pretie tale (to write it happilye in this Booke for him that knoweth it not) howe the handes were angrie with the bodie, and thus at variaunce would not for malice giue meate to the mouth: as those that thought themselues inferiour to no other member, and thought scorne to take suche paynes, and the other members not. By reason whereof vsing this abstinence of selfe will a while, refrayning to doe their office in giuing meate to the bellie: the bellie suffering lacked his sustinance, the handes also beganne [Page] to leaue the skirmishe, and knowing then their lacke and hurt (for preseruation of both) repenting themselues, they returned to their office, and beganne againe to feede the mouth. And thus vnited both in one, they preserued eche other. With this pretie tale he made the people sensibly to vnderstand what became them, and how they should behaue themselues to their superiors, for there must needes be Magistrates and inferiours, Maisters and seruaunts. An other likewise tolde a tale, that manye yeares past there was a Horse vsed to feede in a goodly pasture, where hee alone was Lorde and Maister within himselfe. At length by chaunce there came within his diocesse a mightie growne Hart, who tooke his herbage there as his right also, and did eate and feede beyond all reason or measure. Insomuch that this horse disdaining his beastly attempt, chased this Hart from of the ground full many a time & oft. And perceyuing he could not for all that ouercome him, bicause his hornes were of as much force as his feete, he was madde for anger. It happened so one day that a man came through this pasture, and passing by, the horse came neare him, and tolde him his whole mishap, praying him to helpe him. This man that was more wise and subtill than a beast, tolde the horse that hee alone coulde not doe this feate, and shewed him plainly that he must needes haue saddle, bridle, and rodde: to speake of stirrops, stirrop leathers, and spurres, me think it no wordes of Grammer. For when the Latine tongue was onely vsed, [Page] they had no such termes, bicause they had no suche toyes. The beast to be reuenged of the other beast, did beastly let himselfe be ridden, and like a beast became prisoner to the man. Aesope recyteth also many of these pretie fables, being verie pleasant, learned, sharpe, profitable, and full of Moralitie, as you shal heare in this deceytfull framed practise deuised by a Moyle, betwene the Lion king of all beasts and the Bull. Which was neuer made and inuented by the wise Fathers to other ende, but to shadow and couer the life of man from the foule spottes of vice: as sheweth you this present hystorie following.

IN India, in those worthy and iust times adorned with vertue and wisedome, euery one of those royall Princes (as Lordes of noble maners and behauiour) retayned with them in their princely Courtes men no lesse learned than vertuous. Among which a king there was (called in their tongue) Distes, who desired much to reade hystories, and to imprint in memorie the goodly and profitable examples to direct him and his withall. O noble time and happie yeares: in his reigne I saye liued in this Distes Court this noble Philosopher Sendebar, so excellent in his comparisons and examples, as no man that went before or after him coulde once go euen with him, much lesse excéede him. This worthy Prince rapt with the excellencie of this rare (yea odde) man, most willingly spent some time in discoursing with him: and this wonderfull Philosopher also with déepe and profounde sentences shewed his worthinesse. But amonge all the best thinges hée spake, hée alwayes admonished the Prince to haue a good eie to his Court, and a sounde iudgement to iudge hys people: and chiefly that hée shoulde not [Page] loue, fauour, nor estéeme for friendes (endeuoring himselfe all he coulde to knowe them) double tongued men, lyers, tale bearers, and vitious liuers. And to the ende his Maiestie shoulde soone féele such Mates as it were at hys fingers endes, he made him a longe discourse of their maners and practises, with these examples which you shall heare, woonderfull and learned.

Beholde the pageants and miseries of the court of this Worlde.

THere was a Heyward or neteyarde that had the keeping of a great herde of cattell in a large common, as Gotes, Sheepe, Mares, Kyne, Horses, and Bullockes. And it happened that a Bull amongst the herde (called by ye herdman Chiarino) became in looue wyth a iolye yonge Heighfare, that had diuers trimme markes and spottes of hir skinne, and was fauoured and belyked also of the Herdman: who for hir beautie and fayrenesse named hir likewise Incoronata, and many times did crowne hir with a garlande of sundrye sortes of flowers. Ill Fortune willinge it, and hir destinye with all, this fayre yonge heighfare playing and leaping from hill to hill, vnfortunately fell and brake hir necke, and with hir fall dyed. This herdman simplye fleade hir, and with hir fayre skinne made him an open cassock sauadge fashion. Now I [Page] leaue you to imagine the rage and madnesse of this Bull, lacking his fayre yong heighfare, that like other Bulles wandered vp and downe to seeke hir. In this raging bestiall loue of hys, the herdeman foolishly cast vpon him the cassock made of the heighfares skinne, which this Bull seing runneth fiercely

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vnto the herdeman, lowing and snuffing extremely, in so muche as if the herdeman had not hyed him quicklye to haue cast it of his backe, the Bull had forthwith panched him. The cloyne being mad with Chiarino the Bull that had scared him thus, threwe [Page] his hedging bill at hym, and hitting hym full on the knee he cutte him such a gashe, as he had beene as good almost haue howght him. So this poore Bull with his wounde was left in the fielde not able to go after the herde. The herdeman after the tyme of gisting hys cattell came out, and that the season of the yeare did haste him home to preserue the beastes from the sharpe & bitter wether of the mountaines: he brought them into the playnes againe, and deliuered vp his account of them all, shewinge in steade of the heighfare his cassock made of hir skinne, declaring hir death and the Bulles departure. Saying that the Bull beinge in loue with hir, (and in his chiefe pride) ranne his waye, and strayed so farre, that hee went quite out of sight and coulde neuer be set eye on agayne: so that the owner amazed with that tale quieted himselfe. This poore Chiarino lefte all alone and sickely, limping went feeding vp and downe, and steppe by steppe halting on (passing thorowe many mountaines and hilles) in many dayes he hapned to come into a solitarie (but fertile) country, inhabited with infinit number of wilde beastes: and meeting there with good pasture & better ayre, in time he waxed whole and sounde as euer he was, sauinge that age had stollen vppon him, by meanes whereof he had quite forgot Incoronata ▪ to weete the crowned heighfare. Yet continuing thus without any Make of his kinde, he rored and yelled amiddest that valley & caues, whose lowing ecco rebounding backe with terrible sounde, impressed a merueylous [Page] feare in all the herde of wilde and sauadge beastes. The Lyon that was kinge of all the rest, hearing the hollow and fearefull noyse of this mighty Bull, not acquainted before with the like noyse: notwithstanding

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his hardinesse, yet was hee sore afrayde and amazed both, and durst not once for shame saye I am afrayde. In the ende parplexed thus, he resolued to sende a spye, and calling to him secretely the wylde Bore, hee sent him straight to see what newe and straunge thing that was. This wilde Bore running through thickets, thornes, bryers, and hedges, at length came neere to the Bull. And when he sawe [Page] so goodly a beaste, wyth his sharpe hornes so pointing out, and with his parted hide (halfe black, halfe white) and blased starre in the foreheade, so well shaped with all: hee stoode in a maze, as one ouercome with feare, and so much the more, bicause at that instant the Bull put forth three or foure terrible lowes. So that the poore wylde Bore was driuen for feare to hide him selfe in mudde, all saue his head

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onely. Now when he espied his time he retourned to the Lyon, and tolde him the qualitie and condition of thys most terrible beaste. I doe not tell you now what feare this Lyon had, that princelyke kept his denne, as Kinge in deede of all the reast: and that [Page] was a Pallace for the counsayle, a chamber of presence for his Gentlemen, wherein they gaue themselues to disport. But of this kingly feare was ware a sauadge Asse of longe appointed eares, and priuie to the same also a Moyle, brother to the Asse, which both determined to vnderstande the cause. The shee Asse, Aunt to the Moyle and Mother of the Asse, chaunced sodeinly to heare certaine whisperings amongst them, and one softly to say to the other. It is no marueyle that the Kinge commeth not oute of hys denne. It is no marueyle neither that he goeth not a hunting, hawking, fyshing, tournieng and iusting other whyle as hee was wont to doe. The other aunswered. It is certayne that he is afrayde of that great and mightie Beefe, and that hee suspecteth his Kingdome should be taken from him. Doest not thou marke hys crosse aunsweres, howe wyde from the matter? hee is so full of choller that he wyll speake to no mā, neyther suffer any to speake to him: so as hee is not to be delt withall by any. The shee Asse vnderstanding the effect of their talke by dyscretion, stepping in betweene them both, she would needes make the thirde, and saye hir minde too. He that is well cannot keepe him so. The Lyon taketh you both for hys friendes, therefore seeke not I praye you that that pertayneth not to you. What a goodyere haue you to do to meddle in his matters? are yee out of your wittes, or wearye of your liues? be what wilbe, attende you on Gods name to your busynesse. For hee that is busye in that he knoweth not, nor toucheth him not, and that concerneth not [Page] his Arte: if any mischaunce lighteth on him, he hath but that he hath iustly deserued. As I will tell you

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hereafter a tale of an Ape, and what hapned to hym, bicause he would needes meddle with a craft he had no skill off. But before I beginne to tell you, I will make a little digression with two wordes.

IT hath bene an olde and true opinion, that for the seruant to search his maisters doings it is both naught and vncomly too: but to desire to know the Princes causes or affaires, is of all other yet most daungerous. And naturally who so is giuen to be a searcher out of other mens doings, he can neuer be reckened good nor honest. Now giue eare vnto the tale.

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A tale of an Ape medling in that he had no skill.

THere was an Ape in our Maisters woodes, which made many pretie toyes and deuises with his handes, for I that caried home the woode from thence sawe it, and therefore I can be witnesse of it. But one day being busie to meddle with an Arte he had no skill of, in steade of a fish he caught a frogge. I say therfore that a laboring man of oures went one daye to the woode, and hewed out a lode of woode, which laying on my backe I caried home. It fortuned one daye that he cloue certaine logges or billets not very bigge: and to make them fitte for burdens he hewed them with a long axe, riuing them with wedges out of hand, that the woode opened, so that giuing fower strokes with the Betell he layde them on the ground in peeces. Nowe this blessed Ape got him vp to the top of an Oke and looked diligently after what maner this labourer hewed his woode in so small pieces, and was verie desirous (as it seemed) to proue it with his owne handes if he coulde likewise doe the same, and he had his desire. The woode cleauer hauing clouen one halfe a sunder, left it euen so, and went and layde him downe in the shadowe to take a nappe: so that the wedges and axe remayned in the woode. Straight commeth downe this foolish Ape from the Oke, and ketcheth holde on the steale of the Axe, and tampered so long withall that at length [Page] he gate it out of the logge: but euen with his striuing the axe comming out at a twitch vnwares layd him alongest on the blocke, and one of his legges vnhappily slipt into the clyft, which closing togither,

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helde his foote as fast as might bee, so that for extreeme paine he cried out as he had bene gelt. The cleauer of woode that lay not farre of, hearing this noise and lowde crie ranne to the place, and saw this foolish beast caught fast in the logge. Which then to late espied his beastly follie, that he tooke vpon him to meddle in things that pertained not to him, when he sawe this churlish Cloyne lift vp his armes with a Bat in his handes to pashe his braines a peeces: [Page] which he full dearely bought with the losse of braine and life.

IT is not good therefore I tell you plaine for you to deale in Princes matters, to searche out their meanings & intents. If néedes yée will, marke well my wordes, and saye I tolde it you. Vpon my lyfe yée both in the ende shall feele the smart and payne thereof. The Asse perswaded by his Mothers wordes left off his enterprise: but the prowde Moyle sayde, I intende to know them, and therfore I will get mée to the Court. And I will you knowe deare Mother, that manuell craft is one exercise, and to knowe to behaue themselues in Court is an other Arte. Thy wordes in part are good, to cause them refrayne from doing things they can not bring to passe. But to me that must remaine in Princes Court, I maye not go so plainlye and simply to woorke, but must vse euery one with Arte, féeding still their humor: to deale in others matters with deceyt, and in mine owne to haue a subtill witte, deuising still all I may to be chiefe about the Prince. And that that now I haue tolde you, I haue long since determined to doe. In Princes Courts he that procéedeth not stowtely in his matters, besides that he is thought a Coward, they take him for a foole. What? knowe not you that fortune fauoureth still the prowde and stowte? thinke ye my stowtenesse will not fauour me, accompanied with the malice of vnderstandinge, and with the pride of reputing my selfe of noble bloud, which preheminences obtaine happie state in Court? And he that hath the name to bée wise, subtile, sharpe of wit, and with that to be of noble house: hath made him already a Cloke for sinne, and a garment for his naughtinesse. That that I haue sayde I speake with iudgement, and for proofe therof I can alledge you infinit examples. The Pecocke though his faire tayle couer his fowle féete, yet it is not saide that he scrapeth in dunghill at all, but he is reputed the fairest Fowle of two féete. The fleshe of the Torteise [Page] that is so good and holesome for man is not readily solde, but rather lotheth many bicause of his vglye sight. If I doe but looke well into Princes Courtes, none go great thither, and those that come to greatnesse clime by diuers degrées. Who for vertue, another for strength, and some (be it spoken with reuerence of those beastes that haue vnderstandinge) for malice: others by continuall seruice, and numbers by other meanes. He that riseth thus in greatnesse, and is noble and vertuous, it séemeth he goth into his proper naturall house: but he that commeth to that greatnesse with malice, and fayned appearance, he may make iust account I say that they are but lent him.

¶ Yea marie nowe thou commest to vnderstande me, therefore and thou be wise goe not to the Court how soeuer thou doest. For if Fortune should make thée great, whether it were by Arte, subtiltie, or deceit: the Lordes and Péeres that are fine and cunning, and know all the points of malice, would doe to thée, as a Iudge of the beasts did to the Woolfe. And hearken howe.

A tale of the Woolfe concerning breach of promise.

A Wolfe was taken in a snare that a shepeheard had pitched at the foote of a hill (where euerye morning he founde the haunt and tracke of the Wolfes feete) and at that time there passed by another siely shepeherde, whom the Wolfe called to him, and made a bargain with him, that if he would lose him he woulde neuer take any of his shepe, & thervpon gaue him his faith. The shepeherde newly come to keepe sheepe, like a [Page] foole beleeued him, and losing him in deede let him goe. The Woolfe beinge at libertie strayde not farre but he had gotten a fatte Weather by the neck: the shepeherde seeing that, complained, and appealed

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to the Iudges, and tolde them the pleasure he had done him, and what the Wolfe did promise him. The Woolfe being brought before the Iudges, denied that he promised him ought: and if they would needes make it that he had made him a promise, he sayd that in that place where they say he had promised him, he would go from his worde againe. The Iudges agreed, and went togithers to the place. The Woolfe being come to the foote of the hill, sayd [Page] to the shepeherd: was I here? yea answered hee. And here then sayde the Woolfe before these Iudges I doe vnsaye it againe. Naye sayde the Iudges (knowing his malice) it will not serue thee, vnlesse thou wert fast tied in the snare euen as he found thee. The Woolfe glad to be released of his promise (being in deede a subtile beast, but yet not drawing so deepe as the Iudges vpon the sodeine) beastly suffered himselfe to be snared againe as the shepeherde founde him. O, now thou art safe sayde the shepeherde, keepe thee there, denie it nowe a Gods name, I giue thee leaue, thou shalt mocke me no more I warrant thee. Whilest this matter was a doing thus, the other shepeherde commeth in the nicke that first had pitched this snare, and so tooke the Woolfe for praye (as of right hee might) and forthwith he slue him with his sheepehooke. So that now you may heare how they fare that liue vppon deceyt. Go not therefore I saye, if thou meane to clyme to high degree by such vnlawful and dishonest meanes. Then sayde the Asse vnto the Moyle his brother as followeth.

BRother Moyle our Mother hath reason, and sure she telleth thée true. Thou promisest largely to thy selfe. Thou séekest when thou art caught not to lose thy selfe, but to catch others, with no profit to thée but hurt to others: and this is not thy waye to deale. Therfore I my selfe perswade thée now to tarie, and bidde thée not to go. She sayth true answereth the Moyle. But shall I tell thée brother Asse? A simpler beast in the world than thou, liueth not. Thou procéedest simply like a good goose. Thou carest for no more so thou haue thrée or fower Thistels [Page] to gnaw vpon, and a little water to drinke serueth thy turne. I pray thée tell me: are there not in the kings Court many meaner in all conditions than I? if Fortune haue fauoured them, why the goodyere should she not also fauour mée? if I had not many times seene (sayd the Asse) a little Asse eate a great bundell of straw, I would yéelde to thée, and confirme thy opinion. But wotest thou what? a little Axe ouerthroweth a great Oke. The arrowes for the most part touch the heigthes, and he that clymeth vp to the tops of trees, falling hath the greater

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broose. But I sée deare brother Moyle thou shakest thy heade at me, and that thou little sorcest my wordes: and sure I were a great and monsterous beast to perswade my selfe to obtayne that, which our Mother coulde neuer reache vnto. But sith it booteth not to perswade thée, and that thou art selfe willed and [Page] bent to goe to the Court, (compelled thereto by a naturall instinct, which for the more part driueth euerie one headlonge forwarde, and that thou canst not shunne it) I will yet shewe thée what fauour and helpe I can: but by the waye take this for a lesson.

§

FOr the first thing, thou shalt flie ignorance, which euer sitteth still, and doth nothing, and hath two great eares as those of mine thou seest: but hir feete take part after the Griffin, and part after the Asse. One part signifieth that the ignorant are familier Asses: & the other that they are greedie of honor, and of the profit of good deseruing beastes. Those long eares signifie the ignorant, which will heare all others doings, and beleeue they knowe all thinges. Thou must also be true to thy maister, and when thou art once retained in seruice, thou must not betraye thy Lorde for any golde or corruption in the world. For many times those that are in fauour with Princes, and neare about them, are sought vnto to practise to poyson them, to kill them, to doe them some mischiefe, or else to robbe them of their treasure, and [...] subuert their whole state. For no respect in the world, whilest thou art in seruice (nor after) see thou deceiue him not of a mite. I do aduise thee also to be pacient. For these Lordes and states I tell thee for the most part are fantasticall, and I marueile not of it at all: for in deede the Princes matters and affaires doth so occupie and trouble their heades, that [Page] God knoweth they are full of passions, and can yee blame them? Therefore sometimes, will they nill they, they looue and hate againe. And when thou

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perswadest thy selfe (by reason of a fewe smyling lookes they haue otherwhile giuen thee) that thou art in high fauour, then they seeme not to know thee. And thou muste not also looke after recompence of thy seruice, though vnhappily thou hast perhaps bestowed fiue and twentie yeares time, and thy youth withall, and yet notwithstanding hast not beene the better a rush for al this: and another in fowre daies is made riche. For thus thou shouldest but wrappe [Page] thy selfe in care to thine vndoinge, and yet the thing nothing remedied. And what? they will not sticke to playe thee many of these pranckes. Therfore he that cannot beare it paciently, lifteth vp his heade, and a flie lighteth on his nose, and byteth him with these and such like Courtly graces, & so goeth his way: so that he looseth his time and yeres. Pacience therfore that oft goeth to sleepe with Hope, bringeth thee at least to such ende as thou art not ware of, and sometime it carieth meate in mouth, & getteth thee somewhat. Feare generally must be thy right eie to guide thee with. Thou must feare the enuie of Courtiers, for they will make thee stumble and laye thee flat on the ground vpon thy nose. And the more thou growest in fauour with thy Maister, and that he giueth thee, and maketh thee fatte in purse: so much more take thou heede to thy selfe, and looke about thee. Now marke well what followeth.

The vnthankfulnesse of Maisters.

BVriasso (one of our corporation) was a certaine beast that if thou hadst knowne him, thou wouldest rather haue taken him for a slouenly beast than a man. He brought vp a Soowe and made so much of hir that he himself fedde hir with one hande, and with the other he clawed hir. And when this Soowe had oftentimes brought him Pigges, and that good store at a farrowe, he styed hir vp and fatted hir, and when she was fat, (forgetting the loue he bare hir) he sticked hir, and in time eate hir. There are such like Maisters that clawe thee with one hande, that is, they giue thée faire wordes: with the other they féede thée, to wéete, they giue thée draffe. And when thou hast [Page] serued them (which is vnderstanded by the bringing foorth of Pigges) a time, and spent thy youth: and if Fortune be thy friende, then they giue thée, and make thee riche. If thou die before thy good happe, farewell thou, so much is saued. If thou

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liue long, and art growne fatte, some blast of displeasure may call thée to Coram. So art thou chopt vp, the lawe procéedeth on thée, and shortly all the fatte and grease thou hast gotten before melteth into the Princes Cofers. Howbeit, I may tell it to thée (be it spoken without offence of beastes of vnderstanding) there is good prouision made to the contrarie now adayes. For what so euer becometh of themselues they make all sure that they can: let the carkas go where it will, the fatte and grease they haue gathered is betimes disposed to others for feare of that they looked for. And thus all thinges are preuented by polycie. I say no more. This is the worlde, and so it goeth. Kéepe this in minde and harcken further.

[Page]IF Fortune fauour thee so that thy Maister make such account of thee, as he commeth to aske thy counsell in anye thing: doe not as many Counsellers doe, and those that are in estimation with Princes: which thinking to please them, giueth them counsell according to the profite they finde for them, and according to the Princes passion, I maye not saye, will, and right. But bee thou bolde to say truely and vprightly, not looking in any bodies face. If thy Maister shoulde happen to frowne vpon thee, and that he were angrie, in anye wise holde thy peace, and replie not againe as others doe, neither shake thy heade as though thou mislykedst, but get thee out of sight as thou wert not hee. Neuer bee afrayde of bending his browes, or of a frowning looke, as longe as thou standest vpright, that is: that thou proceedest truly and honestly in thy doings. Somtimes they giue thee faire words, and do to thee as the fowler that catcheth Thrushes, that cried out for colde of his handes amongest the boughes, and the Thrushes that were in the cage to make a noyse, sayde that he cried for that he was sorie they came to stoope to the Birdlime. No sayde a little Birde looke to his handes, and let his eyes alone. Take alwayes heede to the doinges and not to the wordes. Knowest thou not of the Quaile that hunge out of the windowe in a Cage, and a sparrow Hawke seeing hir, stooped downe to the Cage, and sayd vnto hir. Daughter mine, be not afrayde, make no noyse, for I bring thee good newes: and began [Page] to tell hir straunge and pleasaunt fables, and in the meane while with hir talentes she beganne to teare the wyers of the Cage. The Quaile leauing to giue eare vnto hir bablinges, seeing hir woorking well ynough, began to be frowarde, and to bestirre hir. Insomuch as hir Maister hearing hir fluttering in the Cage (knowing there was somewhat about hir) ranne to the windowe and so saued hir. Trust not therefore I saye the words of such, but beleeue their doings, and alwaies say & do thou well: Giue good counsell, and be alwayes praysing of thy Maister. And if thou see him take vppon him anye enterprise for his profite or reputation, commende it, and exalte it: assist him, and encourage him to it. Thou must be wise also thou reach not to farre, that thou take not more vppon thee than thou art able to discharge, but alwayes keepe thee within boundes, if fortune should neuer so little fauor thee. For the fauor of the Maister is a hill full of goodly flowers, and wonderfull fruites and plantes. But in this hill there dwelleth moste cruell and terrible beastes. Some spitteth forth furie, some poyson, one spitteth fire, another smoke: so that thou must alwayes bee armed to defende thy selfe, or else that thou may not be offended.

THe Moyle being weried with the cumbersome wordes of the Asse his Brother, cutting off his talke, as one whose iudgement with ambition was corrupted, he tooke his héeles, & on his waye to the Court he flingeth to this Princely King and Lion. And being come into his Maiesties presence, obseruing [Page] all maner of duties and reuerences pertinent to so royall a throne (as his subtill and craftie Moileship knew well ynough to doe) euen forthwith hée crept into his bosome, and got into his fauor, saying thus. The fame of your Royall Maiestie which runneth through the world, hath made mée not onely to

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come to humble my selfe, and to doe my dutie, but also to offer your highnesse my seruice: putting him in remembraunce also that many yeares agoe (in their first yong florishing age,) the Asse his brother and he were verie familier with his Maiestie: and in maner all one with him. And shewing him that he was able to doe his Maiestie seruice in many things, he kissed his féete, and offered him armour and horses to serue his [Page] Maiestie and the Realme: adding thereto, that it woulde please his highnesse to accept his poore offer: saying, that a little toothpike doth seruice to the greatest Prince, which he alwaies occupieth in his mouth, being reckened one of the chiefest places a man hath.

THe Moyles words greatly pleased the king, and turning to his Lordes hee sayde. Sure my Lordes mee thinketh hee hath a deepe iudgement & capacitie, and as I remember in their very youth his brother and he had excellent wittes, and see I pray you now how trimly he is come forwarde: I promise you he hath spoken verie clarkly. Surely he is able to doe vs good seruice at all times when we call him. And to conclude my deare Lords, vertue cannot longe bee hidden, albeit for a time by some euill accident it be oppressed. Flame and fire also couered with violence, when it bursteth out againe, sheweth the greater, and maketh way where it commeth. Beholde how orderly hee came to me. And though we cannot knowe his inwarde minde, and that it were not that it showeth: yet is it sitting for a noble Prince to entertaine him that commeth, not knowing him at all. Although the Needle pricketh, yet a man occupieth it to serue his turne, and is as necessarie as a knife. Wee will place euery one in his rowme. The first seate is for the Elephantes, the other for the Camels: the Apes in their place, and so forth, to vse eche one according to his degree and calling. For the nailes may not be placed where the teeth are, nor the teeth where the eyes stande, much lesse the eyes in place of the heeles: but let [Page] euery member doe in his place his office pertayning to him. A man to feede Serpents, were a straunge sight and perillous. For he should not only stande in daunger to haue his hande deuoured of the Serpent,

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but to be slaine foorthwith also with his spitting poyson. Our common weale is like vnto a bodie which diuersly doth occupie diuers meanes. The eares goe not, the feete heare not, the nayles crye not, neyther doth the tongue scratch or giue anye helpe, as doth the office of the nayles. In those Cities where these tame beastes doe dwell: they make [Page] not Rattes to ketche Hennes, nor Hennes ketche Hares, or Garden wormes ketche Flies, nor Flies ketch Grashoppers, but euery one doth his office. The Catte taketh Mise, the Greyhounde the Hare, the Foxe the Hennes, the Hounde the Foxe, and the yong the olde: The sparrowe Hawke flieth at Quayles, the Goshawke at Phesants, and the Falcon at Partriges. I haue a small Court, and a little Realme, but for those fewe beastes of heade that I keepe, they are able to doe seruice, in respect of other Princes, which kepe a rablement of rascals & miserable wretches, with litle honor, and great shame. I better like my litle and fruitful countrie, than a greater being barren: yea & I am one of those that loue a good seruant, though he be a straunger, as I doe those of mine owne Countrie. The fruites of our Ortcharde are good, and those that are brought farre of are not yll. If we shoulde feede of no other but of our owne fruites, wee should seldome fill our bellies: saying, I will none of them bicause they are none of ours. Then turning to the Moyle, with a certaine louing aspect, he followed on his tale. The worthinesse of the minde and vertue, is that that is to be esteemed. That sure is the knowne shielde and armes of the true Gentilman, and not the greatnesse. The King in deede of right ought to imbrace men of such vertues and qualities, rewarding euery one according to his merits, and not to shew partialitie to any, and to banishe out of his court all those that seeke for singularum comodum, neuer to repute them for his friendes, nor to accept them for seruauntes. [Page] After these and a fewe other wordes hee spake, he tooke his leaue of his Lordes, and withdrue himselfe into his withdrawing Chamber (as all Princes of like estate are wont to doe) calling the Moyle to him, and secretly they commoned. Who when he saw the king make of him, and that he layde his fauourable hande vppon the croope of his malice,

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hee wagged his tayle, aduauncing himselfe in his Asselike maner, and finely couched in Rethoricke his cloked flatterie: and when he sawe his time, he spared not to speake, and thus he sayde.

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Of the Turkie Cocke, and what happened to him.

A Turkie Cock (one of the fairest, of the braggest, & also the stateliest in all our quarters) was taken prisoner in the battell of the Pigmées, and was solde to the King of Phesants with condicion to be raunsomed. Who séeing so fantasticall a beast with so great barbs, which somtime were a pale blew, somtime a skie colour, now chaunged from that to white, and then to black againe, he wondered to sée those sodeine chaunges: and more, beholding his swelling and raising vp his fethers, putting forth that horne of fleshe, he sayde he neuer saw before so goodly a woonder. And talking a little with him, hée founde him of a bigge voyce, of fewe wordes, but resolute, so as hée made much of him. And wote ye what? thither came a number of beastes of his countrie (vnderstanding of his captiuitie) to raunsome him. But he being high minded, and reputing himselfe the chiefe Birde of the dunghill (as true he was) would neuer say he was a prisoner, but that he was amongst the Phesants for his pleasure, and thus despised their fauor and the helpe of them all. On a time there came a friend of his to him, and secretly offered to giue him (that no man should know it) so much golde as should redéeme him out of prison. But he refused it, and woulde none of it, bicause he would not séeme to be a prisoner. In the ende (necessitie enforcinge him, and remembring his case) hée was contented to be counselled by that faithfull and louing friende of his, and closely tooke the money (that in fine doth all) and payde it, and so departed. For if he had continued in that foolish reputation of him selfe still, and had dwelled in his obstinacie, he had perhaps dearely bought the price of his follye. It may peraduenture séeme to your Maiestie that I passe the boundes [Page] of modestie, if I shoulde open to your highnesse my meaning hereby. I come as your Maiesties humble and faithfull seruant, and true friend, to tell your Maiestie that I am sorie to sée you go no more abrode a hunting, a walking, and sporting your selfe at your pleasure as you were woont, but that you kéepe your Pallace stil with malancholie, which was not your woont I knowe. Well, I stande nowe before your highnesse readie to spende my life and goods in your seruice and quarell: and if I might knowe your griefe, I make no doubt at all but I woulde labour so, that your Maiestie should be satisfyed, and lyke of my seruice. If you be troubled for any matter concerning the state, or any other thing of importaunce: your highnesse muste impart it with a fewe of your faythfull seruants, and such as you trust best. And although they be of the meaner sort, yet they maye serue your Maiestie with hartie looue and good will, and doe their best indeuour. I haue presumed vnder your Maiesties good licence to saye thus much, bicause I recken my selfe to be one of the faythfullest seruaunts your Maiestie hath euer had, or now retayneth.

THe Lyon, as King of beastes, and that knew before by the wilde Bores report the nature and propertie of this mightie beast the Bull, mooued not a whit at these wordes, but wiselye hid that inwardly which hee openly vnderstoode: and with large wordes and new deuises fayned diuers his perticuler accidents, saying that he was not well at ease, and founde himselfe subiect to his ordinarye ague. And thus the King and Moyle discoursing togithers (a happie chaunce for the Moyle, and an yll happe for the Lyon) the Bull that was harde at the Court gate gaue three or fowre terrible lowes that the Lyon shooke agayne to heare him, as one that [Page] was more afrayde now than he was before, by reason of the great noyse and rebounde of his voyce: and not able any longer to hide his griefe, he sayde. This voice so bigge and terrible runneth throughe my whole bodie, and in counsell I tell it thee, (knowing thy troth and fidelitie to mee) I promise thee I am afrayde of my Kingdome: and my reason is this. That seeing the voyce of this fearefull beast is so great (as thou hearest) it is lyke his bodie is aunswerable to the rest, which if it be, I am in no safetie. And now without further ceremonie thou knowest the whole cause of my sodeine chaunge and feare, therfore in this cause I would be glad to heare thy opinion and iudgement.

MIghtie Prince, if no other noueltie or occasion haue caused you to refrayne your pleasures but this voice which I haue heard, me thinketh it is but small and not to be accounted off. Your noble courage should not be afraide 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 Maiestie knowe by this tale I will tell you seruing for the purpose.

Of the Foxe and his foolish feare.

A Foxe with all his familie chaunged his hole, and got him to another, and harde by the same, there was a little cottage, where dwelled a .xxv. Muletters with their Moyles, and euerye morning betimes they came to lade them. You must vnderstande that the noise of these sundrie sortes of [Page] belles and other trappinges that they put aboute these beastes, made all the countrie ringe with that mad noyse. The Foxe hearing the sounde of thys yll fauored noyse ranne quickly to hide himselfe in hys hole, where he lurcked still till the noyse was gone: which was such, that it feared the Pullen, and scared him from his pray. One day this Foxe being on the side of a hill, hearde againe this fearefull noyse of belles, and lifting vp his heade to looke about him, there he sawe these blessed Moyles comming with their belles, and laughing to himself, was ashamed of his simplicitie. The same saye I vnto your Maiestie, that my opinion is, that this your Maiesties feare is such a like fantasie: and bicause your Grace should be informed with speede of this matter, (assuring your Grace to kepe your griefe secret) I doe offer my selfe, if it stande with your pleasure, to goe abrode into the Countrye, and to discouer the thing vnto you. And so soone as I shall haue knowledge of the beast and of his qualitie, I will forthwith aduertise your Maiestie howe it standeth, what the matter is, and how this geare goth about. And you shall know it euen as it is, I will not misse a iotte, least you should be informed contrarie of some timorous beast, taking one thing for another. Therfore I besech you sir comfort your self, and let him alone that knoweth it: and thus hee tooke his leaue, and trotted from the king. The King highlye commended his counsell and aduice, and willed him to dispatch that he had promised.

[Page] THis worshipfull Moyle was scant out of sight, but the Lyon beganne to haue Hammers in his head, and to imagine a thousande straunge deuises, and grewe in Choler with him selfe, suspecting and fearing both at one time: and sayd. Well, what and he double with me? yea, and how & if he beguile me with his cloked colour to doe me good? sure his soothing words doe not like me, mée thinketh he is to full of them. May not hée tell him with the terrible voyce, that I am afrayde of him? and out of doubt for as much as I can imagine, he cannot but be a beast of a marueylous strength: and adding thereto the others treason, it is another maner of thing than to be but afrayde only. For betwéene them both they may vtterly vndoe mee. Many other mishappes fall out in this bucke, that if I had not this thought (féeling my feare) might happen. And peraduenture too this beast is enimy to the Moyle, and wil set him vpon me, to thende that I shoulde reuenge some iniurie done him: and if he be as vnhappie as he seemeth for, out of doubt hée will not fayle to put a flea into his eare. Sure I shall be driuen to flie and haue the woorste. O wretch that I am, what haue I done? alacke I see I haue done amisse, I haue taken a wrong Soowe by the eare, and so going in the darcke I must néedes fall. And thus the Lion out of one doubt leapt into two or thrée more, and stoode betwixt life and death, with no lesse hope than great feare. Hée went vp and downe his Pallace like one halfe lunatike, fretting and chafing, now aboue, then beneath, still looking for the Moyles comming, which had broken his appointed houre with the Kinge: yet at length looking out at a windowe (which opened to the playne fieldes) he espied the beast comming with a wondrous ioy. His Moyleship brauely yerked out with both legges, and lyuely shooke his eares and head. He brayed and stong as he had bene madde. The Lyon as though he had not bene grieued at all, returned againe into his place, and looked for the Moyle. Who [Page] arriued, was receyued ioyfullye, and with good countenance of the whole Court. The King after these graue solemnities and ceremonies done, retired into his withdrawing Chamber with the Moyle: and vnderstanding by him that this beast the Bull was faire, gentle, and pleasant withall (and that for no respect he should once séeme to suspect any thing in him, but if it had bene his Maiesties pleasure he would rat [...]r haue brought him to his presence to haue done his dutie to him) hée reioyced much, and for very loue and kindnesse imbraced and kissed him an houre long togither. And hearing by him that this Bul was wise, and of good capacitie, and able well to execute: hée sent him backe againe with charge to bring him to the Court, at least to vse all meanes and perswasions he coulde possible to bring him thither. The Moyle putting on a newe paire of shooes to doe the Prince seruice, galloped as he had flowne, and straight he was with the Bull, whom he founde lyinge in the shadow, chewing of his cudde: and the Moyle lying downe by him began to talke in this maner.

O Faire Bull, and more than beloued brother: knowe thou I am Secretarie to the King of all vs vnreasonable beasts, and am sent to thee from the Lyon most puissant and mightie, not onely of men, but of strength aboue all other vnspeakable. And as a friende I come to tell thee, that this grounde thou feedest on, and dwellest in, is not thine, but pertayneth to his Maiestie. By reason whereof he hath manye times put himselfe in armes, and assembled his force, with minde to giue thee battell, and chase thee out of his Realme, and peraduenture to take thy life from thee also. But I that am to him as I am (it maketh no matter:) was a meane vnto his Maiestie (as it is the part of all [Page] honest beastes) and tooke vpon me this iourney to thee, and haue promised the King in thy behalfe (I knowe thou wilt not deceyue mee) that thou shalt come vnto his Maiestie, adding further too, that if

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thou hadst known his Maiesty had bene at hand (as he was in deede) I was bolde to saye thou wouldest haue come to his highnesse, & humbly haue done thy dutie to him. Assure thy selfe he is a King that honorablye entertaineth, rewardeth, and requiteth any seruice done him by his faithfull seruants, and he is not also forgetfull of his friends good willes. And if thou wilt be but such a beast as thou oughtest to be, [Page] I warrant thee thou shalt set thy foote by the kings, and bee no lesse thought of than he, and will he nill he thou shalt be as well fedde euery day as hee. If thou wilt not come aduise thee, I haue sayd, thinke vpon it: thou art olde ynough, therfore thou knowest or shouldest knowe what thou hast to doe. He is King here, and will bee King too. If thou wilt not shewe thy selfe a subiect, the Kinge is to doe as hee thinketh good, and so I leaue thee. The Bull that had no more the white fome in his mouth, and had lost his lustie courage, wanting his yong and wonted force, considered of it like an aged bodie, as hee had bene a gelt Oxe that had drawne in plough a xij. yeares, and aunswered many wordes confusedlye, running from one thinge to another, and thus they went debating and kneading of the matter togithers a good while: the Bull standing rather in feare than hope, which feare this Moyle with hys true reasons brought out of his heade againe. The Bull perswaded by the Moyle was contented to go with him, relying still vpon his promise. Who gaue him his worde that he should by this iourney (in going to shewe his duetie to the King) haue no maner of hurt, neither in word nor deede: and this promise alwayes kept, he sayde he woulde willinglye abide with the Kinge. Then the Moyle bounde his promise with a solemne othe, yea and that with as great an oth as a Moyle might sweare by: and that was by the eares of the Asse his brother. And then touching their feete togithers (I woulde saye handes in beastes is vnderstanded) they kissed in the verye [Page] mouth euen with their tongues, and so went on the nearest way. The King standing in his stately Tarras (mounted in the highest place of his Princelie

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palace) looking rounde about the Countrie, thinking it a thousande yeares till he sawe this mightie Bull: beholde, he spied the Moyle comming and the faire Bull by his side, marching demurely with his harde horned heade, that in show he seemed a great Lorde. Then sayde the King to himselfe. O, what a goodly proportioned beast is hee? my Kingdome without his force were nothing. And euen in that [Page] moment at the first sight hee fell in loue with him. And nowe come to the Kinges presence, this Bull kneeled downe, kissed his hande, and saluted him: and did so finelye and cunninglye excuse his negligence

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in comming to his Maiestie, that the Lordes standing rounde about the king were rauished with his wordes, they did so please them. The king bade him stande vp, and willed him to tell the cause why he kept so long in those fieldes, and what hee ment to braye and rore so terribly. The Bull tooke vpon him the Orators part, and standing aside, from the [Page] beginning to the ende he tolde him the whole discourse of his miseries. So that the whole auditorie pitying his mishaps became his friends. This Bull in his Oration shewed himselfe to be a great Bacheler in Rethoricke, a great Maister of Arte in grauitie to expounde things, and a marueylous high hill of eloquence. The King wondering at his yeares, commaunded streight stables should be prouided for his Lordship, and gaue him an infinite number of seruaunts to wayte vpon him, making him Prince of Bulles, Duke of Beefes, Marquesse of Calues, and Earle and Lorde great Maister of Kyne: and with a wonderfull great prouision he furnished hys rackes yearely, and made hym of his priuie counsell. After he had imployed him a while, hee knewe his worthinesse and discretion: so that in the ende he made him Viceroy & greatest Lord of his Realme.

THis Moile also that liued in Court in seruice of the Prince, more than a fewe good woordes, courteous entertainement, and familier accesse he had to the King, hée coulde neuer get landes nor possessions: howbeit he obteined many pretie suites of the King, nowe for one man, than for another. Further, hée was so bolde and familier with him that hée woulde not sticke to giue him worde for worde, nor forbeare him an inche. And passed many things by the Bulles meanes, which his mightie Bulship gaue him gratis, for that he was as a sworne brother to his Moileship. In the ende this Moyle growen thus great began to looke hie, & prouinder pricked him so, that like a beast (forgetting him selfe) he must néedes take vpon him to reproue his Maiestie of parcialitie, and ignoraunce: and hauing no bodie that he might trust to breake withall, he was [Page] ready to burst for anger. Wherefore he was forced to goe séeke oute the Asse his brother, and to make him priuie to the matter, knowing he had none so sure a friend to him whom he might trust but he. When they met, he beganne to tell him at large his whole griefe and trouble, complayning of the ingratitude of the King all at once, that he had so long followed his

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tayle, and had neuer any thing of him woorth his trauell: and if I had done no more but brought him out of the feare he was in, and to bring the Bull to his presence. And here hée poured out to the Asse a worlde of wordes, sayings, and déedes. The Asse that hearde him all this while, began now to speake.

I tolde thée ynough that thou wouldest be to busye in matters: [Page] in faith brother thy braine swimmeth nowe. Thou must not be so fonde to take all flyes that flye in the Court: Thou shouldest haue considered this in the beginning brother mine, (but thou wouldest not be ruled.) And haue perswaded thy selfe that this shoulde happen to thée, and woorse. Thou wert a verie beast, a beast thou hast shewed thy selfe, and a beast thou wilt

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continue still, but it skilleth no matter, as thou hast brewed so bake, and there an ende. If thou wilt not be called by the Kinge to deale in his matters, why doest thou (foole) put thy hande in the fire, and meddleth with that thou hast naught to doe? Thou that mightest haue liued quietly at home & at ease: what the goodyere aylest thou to clyme to the toppes of trées? [Page] Sée nowe what thou hast done, and whereto thou hast brought thy selfe: quite out of fauor with the Prince. Neuer sharpe thy knyfe if thou wilt not haue it cut thy hande when thou occupyest it. What knowest thou whether the Bull lay this heauy burthen on thée, knowing now thy double dealing with him in his comming to the king? Well, doe as thou wilt, if thou carie a Snake in thy bosome, what can I doe withall? Mée thinketh this thy mishap is much like to that that happened to the holye man in the other mountaine by a théefe of that countrie: and bicause I would haue thée knowe it to serue thy turne another time, thou mayst heare it.

IN the top of Pirenei Mountaynes, harde by Pampilona, a Citie of Nauarra, in a mountayne called Verrucola dell amiraglio (where the Deuill left Malagigi the notable Coniurer when hee brought him to the iourney of Roncisualle) there dwelled a solitarie man giuen altogither to the contemplation of the high and celestiall things of God, who was visited for his holynesse and doctrine of all the Countrie. So it fell into the king of Canatteria his heade to go see him also, and thither he went. Who when hee founde him deepe in iudgement of high mysteries (as he was most ignoraunt in base and meane things) he gaue hym great treasure to buylde and sustaine him with without trauayle. An olde long practised and beaten theefe hearing of this richesse, imagined streight with himselfe to ketche two Doues with one Beane: and one nyght he toke his iourney towardes this holy man, and when hee was come to him, pitifully bewayling the yll lyfe he had led, he prayed the sielye foole to keepe him company [Page] in his prayers, and to teache him the good and holy commaundements of the lawe. And forthwith he gaue himselfe to fasting and prayer. So that this holy and simple man thought he would haue lost his wittes, and thus with his cloked deuotion by little and little he made him selfe maister of the house and riches. One night this stowte theefe caryed awaye a great summe and value, cleering the house of all that was ought woorth (as a Barbers basen) and bought him a Hogge. This holy deuout man rysing in the morning, and missing all his necessaries, hee wondered with himselfe, but most of all hee mused that all his golde, siluer, and thinges of value were shrunke awaye. Yet hee had such a heade that hee straight thought vppon the malice of his vnhappie scholler, lamenting much the losse of this strayed, or rather altogither lost man. But to heare of him agayne he wandered through many a Countrie, carefully seeking vp and downe, at least to meete with him, though hee might not recouer his goodes, and it grieued him sore to be in the middest of his sorow, for the losse of the one and the other. This good man being in good hope yet, met in the waye with two wylde and sauage Gotes, which were at deadlye foode togither, and tried it out by the heades for lyfe and death, to which fraye came also the wylie Foxe, that stepping in betweene them both, lycked vp the streames of bloude that fell from their harde horned heades, and tending still this bloudie feast, not regarding the daunger he was in, they fiercelye meeting their bodies togither, crusshed this Foxe [Page] betweene them both strayght to death: Who deseruedly payde his prowde attempt. The holy man seeing thys chaunce, kept on his waye, and came at length to a great towne: and bicause it was night, bichaunce he came to be lodged in a pore olde beade womans house that played the Bawde, whych had laide hir egges for hir selfe long time before, & then was glad to haue others to lay egges in hir house, of which shee otherwhile liked to feede on and to take some little profit. But at that present time the yong faire Henne she had in hir house at halfe of the profit, she had a Cocke by hir selfe, and would be troden of no other. Now the Bawde seeing small profit come of hir egges, she tooke on lyke a mad woman. And the yonge Henne keeping hir selfe still to one Cock, she was not able to liue so on it. This made the woman madde for anger, insomuch as she determined one daye to giue him a remedie for this: and the foolish Henne hauing appointed hir friende and Louer one night, and prepared a certaine drinke to breath him in his iourney, and to make him lustie, it happened she vnwittingly chaunged it, and in lieu of hir first and costlye potion, shee placed where hir Louer should lie a receyt of Oppium. Thys Cocke sleeping soundly coulde by no meanes be awaked: so that the poore broken Maide went vp and downe the chamber like one straught of hir wittes, and thought to go out for somewhat to wake him, saying that hee that gaue this potion had sure chaunged Violles: and going hir waye abrode to seeke remedie, the Bawde thought strayght to dispatch him. And hauing prepared [Page] already a Quill which she had fylled with fine venimous beaten powder, shee went and put it to the mouth of this sleeping Cocke, and blewe at one of the endes to make it enter perforce into the body. But it happened farre otherwise than shee looked for. For euen at that instant there came such a blast of winde from him that had the Oppium, that shee hauing hir mouth ready to blowe, receiued with the force of his winde the whole powder into hir owne bodie, which was made so strong that forthwith she fell down dead. And thus weening to haue deliuered the yong Mayde from him, to haue gotten the more gaine to hir selfe, shee quit hir selfe of hir owne life. A man shoulde neuer for any vile corruption relieue one, to hurt another. For neyther doth Gods lawe nor the lawe of nature beare it. And in the ende the worlde will hate such wicked meanes, though for a whyle and at the beginning it semeth to fauor them. That this horrible fact and mischiefe was misliked the world doth know it, testified by so many written authorities: shewing that hee which gaue himselfe ouer in praye to vice, and shee for hir wicked fact, were both buried togithers in one graue. The whole Planets assembled themselues togither to consult vpon condigne and solemne punishment: bicause they would not such wickednesse shoulde passe without memorie, testimonie, and perpetuall record of eche others deede. And all ioyntly concurring togithers in consent, agreed to frame a notable Monument, as now followeth. They turned the Louer into a Moyle, and the deade Woman continuallye [Page] rode vpon him through wild and sauage countries, still laying on him with a rodde without ceasing.

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This holy man departed from his lodging, and the night following he came to such another, in maner greater, or at least the like. A yong maried wife intised by an old Bawde fell to naughtinesse, and still as oportunity serued, the yong man hir Louer came into the gardein of hir pleasures. The husband being ware of hir trade, fayned to go forth, and saw all the becknings & promises: so vpon a sodain he returned into his house and without any word at all, tied his [Page] wiues belly to a naked piller, and laid him downe to slepe behind the same where hir Louer must needes come in: who walking at his appoynted howre, and missing of his purpose, went straight to the Bawde, & made hir go into the house, which bichaunce had the keye giuen hir of the fore gate by this yong wedded wyfe. And when she came in, finding hir bound, she vnlosed hir, and stoode hir selfe tied in hir roume, and sent this pleasaunt wife awaye to fetche a good night. In the meane time the husbande of this yong woman awaking, desirous to knowe how all things went, he called his wife many times, but the Bawde woulde not aunswere for hir bicause she would not be knowne. The Goodman rising vp in the darke in a rage sayd, wilt thou not aunswere me? with that he flue vpon hir and cut of hir nose. The Bawd was whisht all this while and durst not speake for hir life. The yonge woman that had beene feasted abroade, and sweetelye taken hir pleasure, returned home, and seeinge the olde Bawde thus vnhappilye dressed for hir sake, it grieued hir verye sore (yet gladde hir selfe had escaped the daunger) and so vntying hir, bounde hir selfe againe, and sent this wretched Bawde home without a nose. The Bawd departed thence, the yonge woman called hir husbande, and making pitifull mone shewed hir innocencie: and that this is true sayde shee, beholde my face (is as it was at the first) made whole againe by God (restoring mee my nose) bicause I am true to thee, and to let thee knowe thou hast done mee open [Page] wrong. The foolishe husbande ranne for the candell, and found hir nose fast to hir face (which hee beleeued he had cut off) as if he had not touched hir: and asking hir forgiuenesse, euer after hee loued hir entierly, and thought hir honest. The olde Crone and Bawde returned to hir house with hir nose in hir hande, and hir face all besmearde with bloude: yet fortune fauoured hir in this, that shee was a Barbers wyfe, and hir husband rysing early in the morning before daye to shaue the tayles of the Monckyes of Portingale (for there there groweth heare on their Buttockes, and no where else) called to hys olde wyfe for his Combe case with razors and other trinckets. Nowe she being thus handled as ye haue hearde, (loth to showe hir selfe) put it to aduenture, and giuing hym all his conceytes wythin the case, she reached hym the razors in his hand, the blades not put into the haftes. The poore man hastie of his worke, in the darcke hastilye tooke the razors in hys hands, and all to cut his fingers: and then for anger (feeling his fingers cut) he threw them frō him with great violence. With that this craftie olde Bawde cryed out amaine, alas, alas, my nose. And takyng one of those razors she al to bloudied it, and straight shewed him (hir husbande comming with the light) the bloud, hir nose, and razor. The husband astonied at this, to see this in maner impossible happe, shee standing stowtely to it, caused hir friendes and kinsfolks to be sent for, & pitifully complaining to them, they altogithers went to present this chaunce to the [Page] Lordes and rulers of the towne, and made hir husbande be punished. This holy man (as one in deede that sawe this practise) loth to see the innocent husbande suffer for his wifes false accusation: went to the sessions at the day of his araynement to witnesse a troth for the siely man. And as hee was bent to speake in fauour of this poore Barber, he sodeinly espied that olde beaten theefe that had robbed him, and whom he went so long to seeke, who was euen newlye punished for an olde offence hee had done. This good man forgetting to followe the Barbers cause, and to doe that good he came for: cried oute vppon the Iudge for iustice agaynst the theefe (as hee that in deede had more minde of hys golde than of deuotion:) and besought him he might haue some part of his owne that was left, since he coulde not possible recouer the whole. The Moyle that all this while had hearde the Asses long discourse, replyed straight, and thus he sayde.

O I perceyue your meaning well ynough (good brother Asse) and I know I take yee right. If this holye man had serued God and not cast his whole minde on this worldlye pelfe, he had not had that losse he hath, nor bene troubled as he is. If this carren Bawde had bene at home at hir house still, she had kept hir nose on hir face. And that other Bawde to, if shée had not minded to haue killed the Cock of hir yong Henne, she also had not died. Lastly, the théefe had not suffered death, if he had let the olde mans goodes alone: and my selfe (to say truly) should not suffer nowe such griefe, if I had but onely followed [Page] mine owne businesse. I graunt, that if I were as I was at the first, I would not once stirre a foote to meddle in anye bodies matters but mine owne. But well well, what remedie now? since I am in for a Birde, and cannot get out, and being ready to burst for spight I beare the Bull that he is thus made off, and set vp: by the Masse I will ende it one waye or other, by hooke or crooke, or it shall cost me the setting on, runne dogge runne deuill. Sure as a Clubbe I will rayse some slaunder of him, to ease my hart burning withall, and to bring him if I may out of credite. And this Cockle that I will sow may perhaps be profitable for the King. For many times we sée that men raised to high degrée, commonly practise thinges hurtfull to the Prince and state [...]: or else that the subiectes otherwhile gouerned by him they mislike, doe streight rebell against the Prince. If I set in foote, I tell thée it were well done of mée, that the Kinge might not in time receyue as much hurt of the Bull, as the Bull hath receyued goodnesse of him. The Asse lift vp his head, and girned at his brother to sée his stubbornesse: and sayde vnto him. O brother mine, I am sorie for thée. I sée thou art in health, and yet thou takest Phisicke to bring thée into an Ague: for vnder the colour of letting fall thine eares in token of humilitie, thou wilt fling out apace. Better sit still than rise and fall. Put vppon thée honestie and vpright dealing, let them bée euer thy best friendes and countenance: and lift not vp thy hart so much with passion, least it happen to thée (not thincking of it) as it did to him that shooting at rouers vp and downe in the woodes (supposing no bodie to be there) was shotte at againe with his owne shaft, and so hit in the brest died straight. Thou playest séest me séest me not, and perswadest thy selfe that none will spie thy wicked practises, when in déede thou shalt be payde home and neuer knowe who hurt thée. But I wonder how thou darest once take vppon thée to offend such a mightie beast. He is wise, of great strength, [Page] and hath great credit, besides that he is in fauor, and doth what he list: and what he doth, the King doth. O maister Asse sayde the Moyle, howe like a foole thou speakest. Thou knowest nothing if thou beléeue that the greatest persons onely can reuenge and none others. Séest thou not that sometime the simple and ignorant doe not regarde nor estéeme the good and vertuous: and many times doe them shrewde turnes and displeasures? The Commons robbe the Gentlemen. But what more? the little sometime eateth vp the great: and the Coward killeth the valiant. And bicause I haue hearde thée a while, and hast alledged many fables and examples: thou shalt now listen to mine another while, and so wée will consult what is to be done. Iesu thou makest this Bull wonderfull great, and mée but a poore beast and of no account, but I pray thée yet heare me, being poore and little as I am.

Of the Eagle and Beetell, and what commeth of selfe will.

IN the cliftes of Mount Olympus, there haunted a yong Leueret, feeding contitinually in that place: and an Eagle spying hir, marked hir forme where she sate, and at a trice came downe to sease on hir. This pore Leueret seing hir selfe thus distressed vppon the sodeine, called on the Beetell that was makynge certayne little Balles, I can not tell what, and bade him helpe hir. The Beetell fiercely turning to the Eagle, bade hir get hir thence, and let hir alone, for she was his. The Eagle beholding the foolishe Beetell how [Page] he stoode on his feete stowtly aduauncing himselfe, smyled, and laughing still fedde on the vnfortunate Leueret till she had deuoured hir all, not weyghing the Beetell one of the woorst and least feathers on hir backe. The Beetell looked vppon hir, and put his finger to his mouth, and threatning hir went thence attending his balles agayne, as who shoulde saye: tyme will come when I will bee euen wyth thee. Within a whyle after the Beetell carying this iniurie in minde, sawe thys Eagle in loue, and dogging hir to hir neast, hee came thither so oft, that at length he founde egges, and lifting vp his tayle hee beganne to rowle them vp and downe (the Eagle being abrode) and rowled them quite out of the nest, euen in maner when the yong Eagles were almost readye to bee hatched; and with the fall they laye at the foote of the rocke broken, and quashed all to peeces. When the Eagle returned to hir neast, & saw (hauing a verie good eye) hir children in a hundreth peeces, shee pitifully lamented, the teares trickling downe hir Cheekes. The little beast that in a hole stoode to see the end of this tragedy, seing the Eagle take on thus heauily, said vnto hir: nay nay, it makes no matter, thou art euen well serued: thou wouldest not let my Leueret alone, and with that he shronke into his hole, that the deuill himselfe could not finde him out. So that my good Maister Asse and deare brother, a man must beware of will: for all thynges may be brought to passe, and nothing is hard to him that determineth to doe it. Well, yet heare another, [Page] and then woonder as thou wilt. It booteth not to striue agaynst the streame.

There was a Rauen that in the top of a great old tree, in a hollow place of the same (where none could finde out hir neast) did euer lay hir egges. Beholde there came out of a hole at the roote of the olde rotten tree a Snake, which leape by leape got vp to the toppe of the tree, and sucked these egges when they were newly layde: and woorse than that, what prouision of vittailes soeuer the Rauen had brought to hir neast, the Snake still deuoured, so that the pore Rauen could neuer haue hir prouision she prepared agaynst foule weather. The foolishe Rauen got hir to the Foxe hir Cosin to aske him counsell, and when she had tolde all and more, shee resolued strayght to flie on the top of the Eagles heade, and to pecke out hir eyes: and therevpon shee desired to knowe the Foxes iudgement. Beware sayde the Foxe, do it not: for it will not fal out as thou thinkest. Doest thou not remember what our elders were wont to say: that it booteth not to striue agaynst the streame, nor preuayleth to be reuenged on him that is stronger and mightier than him selfe? but malice and treason onely must serue that turne. Therefore lysten a little, and thou shalt heare this notable chaunce.

FIrst of felowship heare mée but foure wordes by the waye, and then say on. That that must be shall be. The Bull was euen predestined great, thou a Moyle, and I an Asse. He [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] that is ordeyned to be a King, thoughe hée be a Plowe man, I beleue sure he shall be King, and that heauen doth direct all

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things aright and not otherwise. The examples are verie good, but yet how things will fall out the ende will trie it. Now on a Gods name, say what thou wilt.

THere dwelled a great Paragone of India (of those that liue a hundreth yeares and neuer mue their feathers) a birde of the water, aire, and earth, in a great thicke close knot of Rosemarie vppon a pleasaunt Lake, placed beneath amongst [Page] the little hilles spred ouer with herbes and flowers. And alwayes in his youth he liued (as his nature is) of fishe, the which with some deuise hee tooke by Moone light with great sweat and labor. And nowe being aged, not able to plunge into the water with his wonted force, he was driuen to flie in the aire and feede on Crickets, which beyng fewe in number, he was almost starued for hunger. But one day standing by the riuers side all sadde and malincholy, loe there commeth a great Crabbe wyth hir legges spred abrode to the bankes side which sayde. Sir Fowle how doe you? in fayth quoth he naught at home: for we haue yll newes abrode. I pray you what are they sayde the Crabbe? Certayne fishers sayde he that within fewe dayes with some engines and deuises will drie vp this Lake and take vp all the fish. But I pore wretch, that yet otherwhile had one, how shall I doe? I would I might saue them (since I am like to lose them) for the benefite that I haue had so long time, and that I might take them out of the Lake, & flying carie them into some other surer place. The Crabbe hearing so yll newes, called to Parliament all the fishes of the Lake, and told them this matter. The fishes foreseeing the daunger at hande, had present recourse vnto the wylde Fowle for counsell, to tell him howe it stoode wyth them: and sayde vnto him. If this be true, out of doubt we are in great daunger & therefore giue vs the best counsell thou canst, as well for the loue thou bearest to this Lake, as for the seruice we looke to do to thee, honest Fowle. The Paragone that knew [Page] there was good pasture and a fertile soyle, caught holde, and bitte streyght: saying. The great loue I beare you (quoth he) deare brethren myne, for that I haue bene bredde, fedde, and brought vp in this Lake, euen to crooked age, maketh me truly to pittie yee, and sure I am and will be ready to doe yee any good I can. Therefore in my opinion (and yee will be ruled by mee) you shall doe best to gette you hence, and tarye not their comming, for they wyll spare none: all is fishe that commeth to nette with them. And bicause I am practised in the worlde (as he that goeth in euery place) I can tel you there are a thousand places fairer than this, better, and a cleerer water, and were marueylouslye more for your profite and healthes: and if ye be contented, I wyll tell you where and how. All at once yeelded to him, and greatly commended him, (O foolishe fishes to beleeue such a beast) prayinge him to dispatche the matter wyth as much celeritie as might be. He willed then some of them to get them vnder his pinions, and to hold fast wyth their billes by the fethers of his tayle, and so to trayne them on, hee dyued so farre vnder water that they might conueniently fasten themselues in order to flie with the Fowle. And when they were mounted on his backe he tooke his flyght fayre and softlye to the toppe of one of those high Mountaynes, and setting them downe on the ground he eate them al at his pleasure. This maner of fishing continued a while bicause it went forward day by day as he beganne, still filling hys bellie. But the she Crabbe that was rather malicious than not, [Page] imagined that thys Fowle had wrought some deceite, and euen then there was a Tenche that she loued well ready to goe wyth the Fowle as the reast had done before, and this Tenche was so plumme and fatte that shee might well serue him for a good meale. In the ende the Crabbe sayde. O Fowle my deare brother, I would thou wouldest carye mee to the place where the other fishes are: and hee was contented. So she gate vp on horseback as it were, and with hir feete clasped the Fowle about the neck, and he streight mounted into the skyes, as one that ment in deede to let the Crabbe fall and breake in peeces: and euen then hee espyed for the purpose a heape of stones where he thought to woorke thys feate, to let hir fall. The Crabbe beholdinge the garbage and offall of those deade fishes, seeing the yminent daunger shee was in, streight opened hir mouth and seased on the neck of the Fowle, holding as hard as shee could for hir life: and shee kept hir holde so well, that streight shee strangled him, and the Fowle fell downe deade, the Crabbe on his backe aliue without any hurt at all. The Crabbe returned home to hir Lake, and tolde all the mischiefe of the Fowle, and in what daunger she was in, and howe shee had freed them all from his deuouring throte. Which vnderstoode, the fishes all wyth one consent gaue hir many a thanke.

THe Foxe telling his tale, came to giue this counsell to the Rauen, that he should goe into some neighbours house and steale a Ring, but steale it so that he might be séene take it, hopping [Page] from place to place, snatching here and there till he came into the Serpents hole. For by this meanes being espied with the maner, euery bodye woulde runne after him, and then he should let it fall into the Snakes hole. They to get the Ringe againe would digge into it, and séeing the Serpent, they should by this meanes come to kill hir. The Rauen lyked the Foxes opinion, and robbed from one a Iewell of good value, and caried it thither, whither all the yonge people ranne after him, and digging the hole, the Serpent came out amongest them, and they slue hir. And thus with one little reuenge he quited many iniuries done him. The Asse that knewe his subtill practises well ynough, aunswered. And so am I of thy opinion, specially if one deale with a foole, or with one that will put a viser on his face, and that imagineth none can make it so fast and fit as himselfe, and that trusteth altogither to his money, estéeming no bodie, and liues sitting in his chaire without any care. The Bull doth not so, for I haue alwayes knowne him in his affaires no lesse subtill than wise, and likes to heare euerye bodie, but specially to followe the counsell of graue men in his matters. And touching this matter I dare boldly saye to thée, and assure thée, that the Bull hath a great confidence in me, bicause I brought him to the Court vnder the safe condite of my worde, (although it néeded not) and the othe that I made hym will make him beléeue me in anye thing I saye: and therefore let him come when he list, I haue done his errant well inough I warrant ye. He reckeneth himselfe safe with me, but I will playe him such a part as the vicious and wicked Foxe played another Lion (as the storie following reciteth) being like to haue bene deuoured of him.

Of the Foxe and the Lion, and of the Foxes deceit to kill the Lion.

THere was a marueylous drougth in Arabia Petrea, in that yeare that the hote burninge [Page] windes were, and as I remember it was euen vppon the makyng of the Leape yeare in that countrie, and being the first time also of it, so there was no water to be had any where, but onely a little spring in the toppe of the Mountayne called Carcobite. At that time there lay by that spring a braue and fierce Lion, which as we poore beastes went to the water to quench our thirst, set vppon vs, and deuoured

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vs, or at least slue vs. So that he made a Butchers shambles greater than anye Butcher maketh at Christmas against any feast. Fame blewe forth this [Page] straunge death and cruelty, so that the beastes compelled to assemble dispatched Ambassadors to the Lyon, and offered composition, to giue him daylye some praye to satisfie him with, and that they might not all die for lack of water. The Lion accepted the condicion, sticking to their offer, as one that had aduised himselfe well, consideringe that if he had not done it, they had all dyed for thirste, and hee for famine, and therevpon agreed. The beasts drue lots, and on whome the lotte fell, hee went his waye to gyue himselfe in pray vnto the Lion. So long these lottes continued, that at length it lighted on the Foxes necke to be swallowed vp of this deuouring Lion, which seeing no remedie but die hee must (at least as he thought) he deuised to reuenge the death of the rest, & to free his owne. And forth he runneth apace vnto this Lyon, and prostrating himselfe at his feete, beganne to enlarge his olde and faythful seruice done heretofore to his auncient predecessors, and tolde him also how he was sent Ambassadour from the company of the beastes to signifye to him a straunge happened case euen at that instant. And this it was. That the lot fell on a fatte Wether to come to paye his tribute, and by the way another straunge Lion met him, and tooke hym quite away, saying that hee was farre worthier to haue the Wether than you, and that (prowdely) hee woulde make you knowe it. If you meane to maintaine your honor, I will bring you to him, and there you shall determine it betweene you by the teeth and nayles. The Lyon madde at this, little suspectinge the slye [Page] Foxes wiles and craftes, was ready to runne out of hys wittes, whan the Foxe beganne a newe. My Lorde he hath dared to saye (with such arrogancie) that he will chasten you well ynough, and let you knowe you doe not well, and that you should do better and more honourably to goe into the fielde, and there to get praye, than to tarye by the fountayne, looking that other shoulde bring it vnto you, and as it were to put meate into your mouth. And at the last, he sayde plainly you were but a slouch and sluggardly beast. Come on, come on sayd the Lion, shew me this bolde and daungerous beast, bringe mee to him where he is without any more adoe. The Foxe that knewe a Welle where they drue vp water with ropes, that the beastes could not drink of it, brought him to the Welles syde, and sayde. Sir, the Lion your enimie is within the Welle. He lustily leaped vp streight vpon the Curbe of the Welle, and seing his ymage in the water, he fierslye cast himselfe into the Well, supposing to haue encountred with the Lyon his enimie: by meanes whereof hee plunged himselfe into the bottome, and drowned streight. Which newes brought vnto the beasts, auouched for troth, they ioyfully imbraced this craftie recouered Foxe. Therfore said the Asse, thou thinkst thou goest in clowdes, & handlest thy matters in such secret that they shal not be knowne. But if through thy spight & malice the Bull come to his death, what hast thou done? To hurt him that is the bounty and goodnesse of the world, it were to great a sinne. Thinkest thou the heauens beholde thee not? Beleeuest thou thy [Page] naughtynesse is hidden from Gods secrete knowledge? O maister Moyle, thou art deceyued, thou knowest not what thou doest.

GOod brother Asse say what thou list, I am selfe willed in this I tell thée, and out of doubt I will bring him out of the Kings fauor, or I will die for it: and tell not me of honestie or dishonestie. Tut a figge I am determined. Happie man happie dole. Sure I will trie my witte, and sée the ende and vttermost of my malice.

The thirde part of Morall Philosophie

QVOD MOLESTIVS PATIOR TACEO

Anno. 1570.
[Page] [Page]¶ The thirde part of Morall Philosophie describing the great treasons of the Court of this Worlde.

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I Can not too muche exhort you (good Readers) to take some paine to continue the reading of this Treatyse, knowing how much it wil delight and profit you, hauing somwhat vnderstanded also by that yee haue read before, beside that ye shal vnderstand in reading this that followeth. Where you shall know how much a wise Courtier may doe, & a double man, whose ende was aunswerable to his naughtie minde and lyfe. Which God graunt maye come to all such enuious and spitefull persons, that in Princes Courtes (and thorowe Christendome) delyght in so vile an Arte, and to commit so detestable treasons. And now giue attentiue eare, and you shall heare.

Beholde the wicked practises and deuilish inuentions of a false trayterous Courtier.

THis worshipfull Moyle when he hadde reposed himselfe a fewe dayes, and had liuely framed this treason in his head, [Page] hée went to the Kinge, and shewed him by his lookes that hée was malincholye, pensiue, and sore troubled in his minde. The King that sawe this perplexed beast, and dearelye louing him: woulde néedes knowe of the Moyle the cause of his griefe. Whom this subtill Moyle finely aunswered, and with these wordes.

Most puissant and mightie Prince, I haue euen striued with my selfe to hide the cause of my inwarde sorrow, which in déede is so much as it can be no more. And albeit I haue bene many dayes in comming to your Maiestie, seeking to ease some part of my trouble: yet I could neuer finde any deuise or meane to release my heauye and wofull heart of any one iote thereof. And this is onely growne (O Noble Prince) of the great loue I beare your Grace, bicause it toucheth not onely your highnesse in person, but therewith the whole state of your Princely Monarchie. And I that am your Maiesties vassall and subiect, and a louer of the conseruation of your Realme and Kingdome, am bounde (will I nill I) to discharge my bounden dutie to your commaunde. Truely the trembling of hart that I haue suffered hath bene extreme, night and daye continuallye vexing and trormenting me, when I haue thought of so daungerous a case. The thought that pricked mée on the one side, was to doubt that your Maiestie woulde not credite me, bewraying to you the daunger: and not disclosing it, I had not discharged the dutie of a true subiect and faithfull seruaunt to his Lorde. Compelled therefore to open (as is the dutie of euery seruant) all that that any way may fall out to the hurte and preiudice of the Maister, I come most humbly to signifie to your Grace the case as it standeth.

A verie faithfull and secret friende of myne not long since came vnto me, and made mée promise him, and sweare vnto him with great othes that I should not tell it in any case, bicause he is a man of great honor and dignitie, and worthie to [Page] be well thought of and credited. And he tolde me that the Bull had secret practise with the chiefe of your Realme, and that he had oft priuie conference with them. And amongst other things he tolde them all the great feare your Maiestie had of him, disclosing to them also your cowardly hart and small force. And he went so farre forth in termes of reproche and dishonour of your highnesse, that if his counsell, fauour, helpe, and good gouernment had not bene, as he said: your Maiesties Realme (not knowing whether you are aliue or dead) had ben at this present brought to nothing. And furthermore hée did exhort them to assemble togither for their profit, and to choose him for their King. Saying, if they would doo this for him, he would take vpon him to driue you out of your kingdome: and he being King woulde so exalt them, and shewe them such fauor, that they shoulde not finde him vnthankfull, besides that he would acknowledge the whole benefite procéeding from them. And moreouer (the worst is yet behind) the more part of them, I sweare to your highnesse by the heade of my brother, haue promised with spéede to put it in practise, and continually they deuise the way to performe it. So that inuincible prince, take not Negligence for your guide, but preferre and entertein Diligence to preuent the traiterous prepared daunger, and to foresée the happie wished health of your Royall person. I was hée that made him promise your Maiestie shoulde not offende him, nor once touche him when I brought him to the Court. I am he that euer lyked and loued him as my deare brother. But yet am not I he that will suffer or conceale so highe a treason against my Lorde and Prince. Tract not time, most noble Prince, in wondering at these thinges, but presently put your selfe in order for your safetie: (so shall you méete with your enimie, and be ready for him) least your Maiestie by slouth vnwares be taken tardie, as was the slow fishe which was taken in a Lake with two others in companie. And this is a certaine and true tale that I will tell your highnesse.

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Of three great fishes, and what is signified by them.

ALmost vpon the borders of Hungarie there was a certayne Lake that bredde fishe of a marueylous bone, and that of monsterous greatnesse as was to be founde or hearde of in the worlde. The King bicause of the wonder of this Lake would not suffer it to be fished at any time: but that himself when it pleased him euery certaine yeares did draw it drie. The King forgetting the Lake a great time, and leauing his wonted fishing, three fishes grew therin of a monstrous bignesse and vnspeakable hugenesse, the which feeding on the lesser eate vppe the store of the Lake, leauing it in maner without fishe to that it was before. Now, as still it chaunceth, euery thing is knowne, the deuouring of these fishes was brought to the Kinges eare, insomuch as hee determined to goe fishe the Lake for the three deuouring fishes to eate them, that the frye myght increase. Order giuen to his fishers, hee went vnto the Lake. My Lord you must know that euerye where there is of all sortes, some restie, some liuelye, some knauishe, some good, some naught, some madde, some swift, some slowe, and so foorth. I meane, that of these three fishes one of them was malicious and subtill: the other of a highe minde, [Page] and very stowte: & the third was slothfull and timorous. An olde Frogge that stoode many times wyth these fishes in discourse, to talke and play at sundrie other pastimes (the whiche knewe ouer night the drawing of the Lake) went the same night to seeke out these fyshes, and tolde them of the daunger at hande: and euen as one would haue it, they were at the table with three great Eeles, although it were late, (for then Fishes suppe) and yet for all this newes they stirred not a whit, but made the Frogge sit downe, and they beganne to Carrowse when it was about midnight. So that within a whyle hauing taken in their cuppes, (bidding well for it) their heades waxed heauye, and so to sleepe they went: Some at the table, some on the ground, some in one place, some in another. At the dawning of the daye the Fishers began to spreade their nettes, and to compasse the Lake drawing all alongst. The Eeles hearing the noyse got them into the mudde, that the verie mappe of Nauigation could not haue discouered them. The subtill and malicious fyshe hearing a noyse, ranne streight into a dytch, and entered into a little ryuer where hee was safe from daunger of the nette. The other was not quick, for the nettes had stopped his passage, and bicause hee was strong and stowte, hee made as though he had bene deade, hauing his mouth full of stynckinge mudde, and so floted with the waues vp and downe. And the thirde was called of the Frogge ten times that hee shoulde rise and awake: whooe, but all in vayne. He punched him for the nonste, and iogged [Page] hym agayne to make him awake, but it woulde not be. And he, tut lyke a sluggarde aunswered hym. I will ryse anone, anone: I pray thee let mee alone a while, let me lye yet a little curtesie and then haue with thee. Still the Fishers went on apace wyth their nets, and let go the water: and when they saw this great Fish aboue the water, floting as I tolde you, they tooke him vp and smelled to hym, and perceyuinge hee stoncke they threwe him from them into the Lake agayne, and cast him into the same place where they had already drawne their nettes, and so he scaped with life. They happened on the thirde, which was as a man would say a certayne let me alone, and drowsie fishe, and they tooke hym euen napping: and when they had him (thinking they had done a great act to ketch him) they caried him in haste to the King (but by the way I doe not tell yee of the bragges they made in ketching thys Fishe) alyue as he was. Who commaunded streight he shoulde bee dressed in a thousande kyndes and wayes, for that he was fatte, great, and mightilye fedde. Now your Maiestie hath hearde the tale of the slowe and sleepie Fishe, I leaue it to your highnesse iudgement and determination, to foresee the daunger, reaping the profite: or to leape into it, vtterly ouerthrowing your selfe.

THe King set a good countenaunce on the matter, althoughe these newes touched him inwardly, and séemed as they had not altered him at all, and with great modestie and curtesie aunswered the Moyle. I make no doubt of thy true and faithfull [Page] seruice to mée, bicause I knowe thou canst not suffer so much as the shadow of the daunger of my estate & kingdome, much lesse the hurt of my person. Although many Princes and Lordes in such case thinke themselues yll serued: yet is it méete and right that the good bée rather ledde by vertuous instinct, then caried away from the right through displeasure receyued. I sée thou willest mée good, & am sure that the loue thou bearest me, maketh thee ielous of the maintenance of mine honor and estate. Yet it hardly entreth into mée, and me thinketh it straunge (saue that thou tellest it me, I could hardly thinke it, much lesse beléeue it) that such wicked thoughts should bréede in the Bulles brest to me, since by proofe I knowe him in many things both good, faithfull, and honest in his seruice: and hée knoweth besides my goodnesse to him, howe I receyued him courteously into my Court, and that he may saye hée is made Lorde in maner of my kingdome.

Sacred Prince (sayd the Moyle) I beléeue in déede that the Bull thinketh himselfe well intreated of your Maiestie: (and good cause he hath so to doe,) and that hée meaneth no hurt to your royall person for any displeasure he hath receyued of you, or for any conceyued hate he hath towards you. And I thinke sure he taketh not vppon him so fowle an enterprise to other ende, but bicause prouinder pricketh him, & maketh him lustie to fling and play the wanton, and for that he is well he cannot sée it, and that maketh him to deuise some mischiefe, wéening to haue all in his hands, saue the very title of the King, and that this little, (hauing all the rest) which is also the most, is easie for him to obtaine. I suppose your Highnesse hath vnderstoode me: nowe take what way you list. I knowe well ynough that an Asse loden with golde may sléepe more safely amongst théeues, than a King that trusteth trayterous officers and gouernours appointed for the state. And let your Maiestie bée sure of this, that that which the Bull can not compasse nor reach vnto by his owne force and others, he will certainly practise by deceyt, [Page] vsing such meanes to bring him to it, as the Flea did to bring the Lowse to that passe he brought him to, and that he had long pursued as followeth.

A tale of the Flea and the Lowse, and how the Flea was reuenged of the Lowse.

THere lodged an olde Flea in the chamber of a great Prince, and there dwelled with him also a gentle Lowse. The one continually fedde vppon little whyte dogges of fyne longe heare, and after hee had fylled himselfe he retired with safetye all the day, and walked at pleasure. The Lowse that was stronger of bodie, and bit harder, many times draue hir from hir pasture: So that the poore Flea was madde for anger shee could not be reuenged. It happened that the Prince tooke to wife a beautifull yonge Ladie one of the most delicatest and finest morsels that euer Prince tasted of in the world, and in that Chamber was his wedding bedde. The Flea drawne to the wedlocke bedde with the sweete sauour of hir bloud, conueyed hir selfe streight betwene the sheetes, and in hir first sleepe shee sweetely fedde at will on this angelicall foode. Nowe shee bit hir yuorie thighes, then shee gnawed hir brest of congeled milke, anone shee sucked hir delicate and soft throte, another while shee pretie playde hir, pinching that sweete carcasse: and when she had filled hir bellie shee leaped away, and [Page] went to take hir rest, shunning the day light. The Lowse attended to feede on Dogges fleshe, (for at that time it was the order, that Fleas fedde of men, and Lyce of Dogges) and liued in Gods peace. The Flea, whome extreme rage did gnawe to bee reuenged of the Lowse, went to seeke him out with this cloked brotherly loue, and sayd vnto him. Brother, though no cause mooue mee to deale friendly with thee, hauing receyued continuall displeasures and wronges at thy handes, yet I cannot refrayne but I must doe somewhat for thee, since so good occasion is offered me: and I am the willinger to doe it, bicause thou shalt knowe I loue thee, and wyshe thee well. Thou shalt vnderstande I feede euerye nyght on the most sweetest bloud in the world: and wotest thou who it is? it is of the beautifull and delicate yong Lady newly spoused. If thou wilt go in my companie I am contented to carye thee thyther with me, and will gladly impart my ioyes and welfare to thee: and henceforth let peace for euer bee concluded betweene vs. Agreed quoth the Lowse. And with that they louingly imbraced eche others: the Flea inuiting the Lowse, and the Lowse accepting hir bidding. With this newe cloked reconciliation togithers they went, to the great ioye of the Flea, not for the atonement made betweene them, but for the opportunitie of time that had so fitted hir to make hir reuenge: and the more it gladded hir to, that hir owne force and might being insufficient to encounter with his strength, yet sleyght and policie supplanted and exceeded hys force. The nyght [Page] was come, the Prince and his Ladye were layde in bedde to take their rest, the Flea and Lowse lyke brethren leaped on the bedde, and when they sawe them at rest, and fast a sleepe, they disposed themselues to feede, and lyke staruelynges in maner famished they layde on lode, so that they raysed great brode spots like pimples, and red as a Rose. These vermins being now in the only gardein of sweetenesse, continuing their byting euen in good earnest: this tender Ladie forced with their cruell and vncourteous bittes awaked perforce, and softly called hir Lorde and husbande, and tolde him. I feele my selfe terriblye bitten this night with some vermine, and yet I know not what it is that thus hath diseased mee. Hir husbande streyght called vp his men, and bade them bring light. The Flea so soone as she espied light, like an old practiser at fowre leapes conueyed hir selfe away, and so escaped. The poore Lowse that was no great horse to leape, was taken tardie, and not able to alledge for his purgation, as a dumbe creature receyued the lawe, condemned to die, and was committed to be prest to death betwene the Maydes two nayles, where for his obstinacie and presumption she thrust out his bloud and milke that he presumingly had sucked of so noble a Ladie. Your highnesse also maye take this example of that olde lame creature, crooke backed, yll shaped, and deformed, which with all these impediments (drawing one steppe after another) went as farre as hee that had his limmes and helth, though with longer time, and crept at length vnto his iourneyes ende to [Page] doe any businesse he had. This Bull wanteth not time to further his pretence, hee will put his hande

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into the Pye, and set in foote when hee seeth his time. And for this time I will occupy your Maiestie no more but with two words only of the Flea, which hearinge the cracke of the sillie Lowse laughed a while at the reuenge that others toke of him for hir: and to hir selfe she sayd. Ah sirra, gramercy my good witte yet. Thou hast done that on a sodeine for mee, that all the strength I haue could not bring to passe in a long time: and nowe yet with another mans [Page] hande I haue pulled out the Crabbe out of hir hole. I am euen with him I warrant him.

WHy, what shall wée doe then? if the case stande as thou settest it forth, what way shall we take? I will heare thée willingly, and follow thy counsell: with this condicion though, that in this interim my Realme and person be not touched, or that I sustaine perill or losse.

INuincible Lorde, to haue any member festered and rankle, and plainely to see that if it be not cut off it will corrupt and infect the whole bodie, and in cutting it off, the bodie remayneth safe and free from infection: what is he so madde that will not cut it off? The shepeherde findinge in his flocke (I speake more resolutely) a scabbie and infected sheepe, doth not only cut off his legge, but riddeth him out of the waye, bicause he shall not infect the flocke.

SVre this sodeine matter maketh me much muse, sayde the Lion. For one way draweth me to loue him, and that is the credit I repose in him, the long experience of his good gouernement, his vertues and wisedome, and bicause I neuer founde cause in him to detect him any way. The other thing that presseth me much, is feare: which is a great burthen. I would faine therefore finde a waye betwéene both, that shoulde be betwixt loue and hate, or betwixt feare and trust, and this it is. To call (if thou thinke good) the Bull, and to examine him well and streightly. And if I finde him any thing at all blotted with this humor, I will chastise him with banishment, but neuer imbrue my handes in his bloud, procéeding lyke a great and noble [Page] Prince. This determination lyked not the Moyle, as he that was sure to liue like a wretched beast, and that his malice by this deuise should appéere: and streight he aunswered the King. Your Maiestie hath euen lighted right on the most stranglingst morsell, and the hardest Nutte to cracke: if you meane to follow that you haue propounded. For he careth not to throwe at his enimie, that beléeueth he is not seene: but standeth to beholde if it light right. But if he beware once he is seene, then for shame he sticketh to his tackle, and followeth on his blowe, least he shoulde be counted a foole and Coward both in his doings. And by such like meanes I haue oft times séene a little sparckle kindle a great fire. O my Lorde, he that fayneth he hath not bene offended, maye at his ease and leysure be reuenged. Contrarie to those that neuer bring any thing to passe that they would, when they spit that out with their tongue that they thinke in their heart. Therefore I am determined (if your Maiestie will like my opinion) to worke another and peraduenture a better way. I will home to his house, and as a friend I will féele him to the bottome and grope his minde: and he as my verie friende also (and that assuredly trusteth me) will laye himselfe open to mée, I am sure of it. Such passioned mindes will easilye breake out at the first, and they cannot kéepe it in but out it must. They are besides that great boasters and vaunters. For they thinke they stande in déede in that degrée and termes of reputation and honor that they imagine themselues to be in, and they make large promises, and builde Castels in the aire: and at euery worde they saye they will make thée great, and bring thée into fauor, and when time serueth thou shalt sée what I will say and doe both. It will not be long to it. Well, well, I know what I say. So that with such lyke Phrases and deuises, it shall procéede rightly. And thus in these traines appéere yet tokens euident inough and very notable. If he haue not capacitie and iudgement to conceyue mée, and that he euen crosse not my meaning: I that haue an ynckling of the [Page] thing already, I will be with him in euery corner, I will not misse him an ynch. If he rayse men, what order he hath giuen, and whether his house be armed or no, yea, and I will drawe out the matter ye shall sée finely out of his naughtie fantasticall head. And if he go so priuily to worke that I cannot sée him where he goes, nor know what he doth, as I am sure I know perfitely all his practises: I will bring him to your Highnesse, and when hée shall appéere before you, you shall easilye finde him. For his heade is not without feare, and his sight very dull, and he will not come to you with that chéerefull countenaunce he was woont to looke on you before. He will be verie suspicious and not continue in a tale, and I know your Grace shall perceyue his malicious and spitefull practise by many tokens euident ynough. And what knoweth your Grace whether the penne of his hart will not write all his thoughts in his forhed? as many times it falleth out vnhappily, contrarie to the disposition of his thought that hath offended.

THis fable filled the Lions heade full, and he bade him not slowe to bringe his matters to passe. The Moyle when he sawe this geare woorke with the King, and that his brayne was swollen for suspicion, sayd to himselfe. Nowe goodman Bul is caught, we haue him euen as we would. So forthwith without delay he went to Chiarino (the Bull so called) and he was as pale and malincholye as it had rained vpon him. O your Moilship is welcome sayd the Bull: Iesu what hath become of your Lordship so long? In fayth you haue beene longed for at the Court, that you haue bene thus long absent. But I doubt me we shal heare worse than that, [Page] seing you thus leane and miserably consumed away. But I pray ye how cōmeth it to passe that I finde ye in this wretched state? you wil not maruaile I trust I am thus inquisitiue. For you must vnderstand the

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loue I beare you, and partlye the dutie I owe you, (where I may pleasure you with my countenaunce or aucthoritie) are not to be put in Salt nor Oyle to doe you good, and to helpe you if you bee in anye daunger. Leaue off this sadnesse of fellowship, and tell mee your griefe, and I will vnfolde it well ynough be it neuer so intricate, and spare mee not I [Page] praye you, but be bolde of mee. Tut, giue me but halfe a looke, and then let mee alone. With these wordes the Moyle made aunswere.

TRuly faith hath left hir habitation on the earth, and bountie reigneth no more in any lande: neyther doe I thinke your wisedome can doe more or lesse, than the heauens and celestial motions doe dispose you to. Lorde, what a marueylous thing is this? that to come to fame and renowne by degrées of honor, it bringeth a thousand daungers with it. We neuer (or seldome) doe well, when we followe our owne humor or counsel. And he also that out of the bookes of the ignoraunt taketh forth any sentence to serue his turne, must of necessitie repent him when he séeth his folye. All the Stories of the worlde affirme, that a lame man can neuer go vpright. The Sages also agrée, that the highest places are most daungerous to clyme. Therefore it is best euer to beare a lowe saile: not to hie for the Pie, nor to lowe for the Crowe.

THy talke brother Moyle (sayde Chiarino the Bull) me thinketh is verye troublesome and ydle, and without any maner of reason. It seemeth a folde of wordes that the angry hart discouereth, and that hee is not in good peace with hys maister. How say ye? aunswere me but to this.

O My good Chiarino: thou art inspired with the holy ghost, the Deuill is within thée thou hast so rightly hit me. It is true the King is angrie and suspecteth somewhat, but not thorow me I assure thée, nor by my meanes. Now thou knowest verie well the promise I made for thée, and the beastly othe I tooke, which bindeth me in déede to my worde: and let it go as it will, sure I will not breake my promise with my friende that [Page] I loue for anye respect in the worlde, let the worlde runne on whéeles as it list. Therfore I will tell thée if thou hadst not bene warned of it before. And harcken how.

Two Gotes my verye friendes, and of great iudgement came to sée me, weening to bring me pleasant newes, not knowing that we two are tyed as it were by the nauels togither, being both as one in friendship. And they tolde me for certaintie that the Lion our King is marueylous angrie, that he smoked againe at the mouth, making such verses as the Cattes doe when they go a catterwawling in Ianuarie, and in that furie he spit forth these words. Euer when I sée that Bull before me, I am ready to fall for anger. An vnprofitable body, and no goodnesse in him at all: brought into the world but to fill his paunch at others cost. I can not be well, he doth vexe all the partes of me he doth so much offend me. Well, I will take order for this well ynough, and sith he doth me no seruice by his life, I will profit my selfe by his death at least. When I heard these words spoken, thou mayst imagine whether my heares stoode vpright or no, and I could not hold but I must néedes say. Well, well, such Lordes, in faith they are lyker Plowmen than those they represent. I sée they stie the Hogge to fat him vp, and so to eate him. O this his ingratitude and crueltie, (I cannot hyde it) and his so great beastlynesse togither hath taken mée by the nose, as if I had met with the Mustarde pot. For those good qualities of thine, for that league that is betwixt vs (although I were sure of his Graces indignation) and bicause me thinke thou art betrayde, I could not choose but come and tell it thée. So that good Chiarino, thou art great and olde ynough, looke well to thy selfe, thou néedest not be taught, thou art wise ynough, and there an ende. Thou art past a Steere, and a Bull full growne, nay rather a fat Oxe. But hearest thou me, Gods my bones not a word for thy life: for if thou doest, all the fatte lieth in the fire, and the pottage maye be spilt and cast on the Moyles backe.

[Page] CHiarino stoode a while on the ground like a mased beast, as one that had bene drie beaten, being fronted with so malicious a deuise. Then he layde his hande on his heart, and bethought him of all his businesse and matters: as of his gouernement, office, liuing, aucthoritie, and regiment: and knowing himselfe as cleere as a Barbers basen, he hit the matter rightly, imagining (as it was) that some had wrought knauery agaynst hym, and sayde. Well, go to: there is nothing breedes more occasion of mortall hate, than the vyle and slye practises of the peruerse and wicked. Our Court is full of enuious persons, which stirred vp perhaps with spite to see the Prince fauour and lyke my seruice (being a coresey to their heart to abide it) doe wickedly practise and deuise such mischiefes. They seeing (as I say) the graces and benefites the Prince bestoweth on mee, making mee honourable, and heapyng great thinges vppon mee, doe procure by indirect meanes to make his Maiestie turne his copie, & me to chaunge my wonted maners. Sure when I loke into the matter and aduise it well, it is me thinkes a thing not to be credited, and it makes me not a little to wonder that hys Grace without cause is thus deceyued: yet in the ende truth I knowe wyll take place. God will not long suffer such practises. Neyther Lawe wyll in any wyse permit that a man shall haue iudgement before he be heard. Since I came first as a beast into his Highnes seruice, I neuer did any thing that my conscience shoulde accuse me in. [Page] But yet I haue as great cause to bewayle my myshaps come to me, as he that putting himselfe to the sea (and might haue gone safe by land) was thrown on a rock and drowned: and all through his owne seeking. All they which busie themselues thus in Court, and run from table to table, making themselues great with this man and that man, still whispering in their eares, must (notwithstanding that the Prince rewarde them, or that he bee very well serued of them, and lyke them) looke to bee touched at one time or other, and vnhappilye to fall into the Princes disgrace, and perhaps to remaine so a good whyle out of fauour. And this onely riseth by these double reporters and tale bearers, or by the enuie of Courtiers, which is mother of all vyce and iniquitie. I dare boldly shewe my face euery where, for anye offence I euer did the King. And if I had committed a fault throughe ignoraunce, and not of wyll: me thinkes I should not be punished neyther for the one nor the other. The counsell that I alwayes gaue him, hath euer fallen out well, and to good purpose. And if perhaps they haue not all taken such effect as they ought: he must thinke Fortune will play hir part in these worldly things. And this I saye for purgation of my vpright and honest meaning to his royall Maiestie. I am sure the Kinge will but proceede with iustice, following the steppes of the iust: the which will laye no violent handes on any beast, but wyll first inquire, whether the cause be iust, who are the accusers, whether hee be a lawfull man that doth such a thing, and if the [Page] qualitie of the offence agree with the conditions of the accused, wyth such other lyke circumstances and ceremonies pertinent to matters of suche importaunce. Hee that gathereth vnripe fruite, repenteth him of the marring it. Beholde the fruites eaten in Court: in the mouth passing sweete and lusshious, but in the bodie God knoweth verie bitter and hurtfull. Lorde, howe manye doth the foolishe vayne pompe of the worlde deceyue and abuse? I maye rightly take my selfe for one of those, that scant hath tasted of the shadowe of his sweetenesse, but I am euen filled with poyson. The heauens beget beasts, and they ioyne togithers: but I would I had neuer ioyned with it, since I shall leaue it so quickly, foole that I was, that I coulde not knowe the difference betwixt him and mee, and discerne his nature. Go you and serue in a straunge countrie a Gods name. See what difference there is betwixt hym and mee. I must weare the yoke, and he must breake it. I am borne to labor, and he must sit still. When I haue meate giuen me I eate, and tarie not his rauening. Flies may liue abrode in the fieldes, and yet they flye into mens eyes: so that sometime wyth death they paye for their comming, or at least are driuen awaye with hurt and mayme. And to conclude, I feede on the grasse, and fill mee, and hee feedeth on daintie fleshe, and fareth well.

THese thy wyse reasons, O Chiarino, sincke not into my heade sayd the Moyle (as he that woulde néedes make him beléeue he gaue him a remedie for his griefe, and presented a [Page] cup with poyson.) Make no more wordes, for thou must put to thy hande to redresse it, and not to lament it. For yll stande wordes in place where déedes are requisite. To shewe his griefe sayd the Bull, and to breake his minde to his friend, me thinkes it is partly an ease to the heart, and a lightning of the minde to him that is afflicted. And so much more is this in me, bicause I see my selfe in great daunger, and like to be vndone. And although the Lion delighted not in my hurt which I may suffer, (and as thou sayst liketh him) yet the iniquity of my enimies notwithstanding wil so preuaile against me, that the king will giue no eare to my innocencie. And I am sure (for I sée it in the Element) that the like will fall on me, that lighted on the Camell with an other lyke Lion: which tale followeth, and this it is.

IN Thebaida (a countrie so called) before diuision of caues were made betweene the great and lyttle beastes, men abode with beastes manye times in one hole, and liued lyke brothers: and men were then so scant that they coulde haue no other men to wayte vppon them, insomuch as they tooke vnreasonable beastes to seruice, as it is written of Olofar King of knaues, which at that time did neuer other but lie alongst on the ground, and was so slothfull that he suffered the Snakes to come and rubbe his feete to prouoke him to sleepe. Now this ydle beast dwelled neare vnto a Caue where inhabited togithers three beastes, to wit: A Woolfe, a Foxe, and a Rauen. I praye yee see what a foolyshe fraternitie was amongest these three: and it might be sayde. The best taketh vp the worst. This [Page] laysie Knaue bichaunce got vppe one morning betymes at Cocke crowing, and hee sawe this that I

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will tell you now. Certayne Merchaunts passed by with a marueylous number of Camels loden, and on a sodeine one of them fell downe for wearinesse, not able to go anye further. Insomuch as the Merchaunts vnloded him of hys burden, and cast it on the reast, to ech one some, till they had it all on their backes agayne amongst them, and so left thys Camell behind them to the mercy of the wylde beastes. The Woolfe, Foxe, and Rauen, chaunced to come [Page] that waye, and they sawe thys poore Camell come as one that had neuer a whole ioynt in him, and as it were halfe deade. The Camell recommended him selfe vnto them, and tolde them by what meanes he

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was brought to thys miserable myshappe. These three were sorie for it, and toke compassion on him, and as they might caried him to their Caue, where they refreshed him with such confections, as were fitte for the place and tyme. And thus they kept him still in cure till he recouered, and patched him vp agayne. They three seeing so goodly a morsell of flesh [Page] as this Camell was, thought it best to present hym to the king, which was an olde Lion, and his pallace not farre from them. The Camell hearing them saye we will preferre you to the Lion our Emperor, King, Prince, Archduke, Duke, Marquesse, Erle, and chiefe Lorde ouer vs, to be his Page of his priuie Chamber, lyked no whitte of that estimation and aduauncement, and would not vnderstande the matter. Howbeit they made somuch on him, and clawed him, that they brought him on fayre and softly (as his pace is not fast) and he went as though one ioynt would not hang by an other. When hee was come to the kings presence, he humbly kneeled downe, & exhibited to his grace in writing the cause of his comming to him, as he was before instructed by the Rauen, & kissed his hande. The Lion hearing himselfe called inuincible, most puissant, most noble, ryght honorable, great Clarke, Suffragane, and Archking, shewed himselfe very gentle, those royall termes so pleased him, and woulde not deuour the Camell as the rauening Woolfe had beckened to him, and as that subtill Foxe had wincked on him: but hee made hym of hys Chamber, and treasorer of his house. And moreouer, beyonde all their expectation, he did assure him wyth safeconduct, and made marueylously on hym, strokyng him a thousande tymes vnder the chinne, and receyued hym into seruice. This Camell that was fedde nowe with the Chariot horses, and fared as they did, grew quite out of fashion he was so full fedde, and his Cote was as sleeke as a Mowles skinne. So [Page] that they that knewe him before, and saw him then, spighted him out of measure, and gaue him many an

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yll looke. Yea those chieflye that brought hym first to the Court, were they that looked most awrye on him.

It fortuned one day that the Lion being a hunting in a great wylde Chase, met with an Elephant, who beleeued and was sure hee was the greatest beast of the world, and looked in all and for all to be the greatest Kyng, as he was in deede the greatest bodyed beast. Insomuch as after hote wordes, they [Page] grue to lustie strokes: in the ende the Elephante strake the Lion into the thigh with one of his teeth, that he piersed it quite through. So that he was forced to set one of his stubbed feete on the backe of the

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Lion to plucke it out, that hee made him haue the squirt for wo he so squeased him, and said: Cedo bonis. And the Elephant departed his waye for the Kingliest beast of beastes. This battayle fell out yll for the Lyon, so they caried him home vpon a wheelebarrow after the fashion of the Countrie, and there hee was streight ministred vnto with souereygne [Page] Balmes, and within short time galantly healed. The Lion continued hys dyet a whyle at the Woolues prouision, and his meales were so slender that hee became as leane and drie as a Kixe: that if one had put a Candle light into his bodie, it would haue giuen light as through a Lanterne. After this foughten fraye betweene the Lion and Elephant, not a beast of them durst once sturre to hunt, and the Lion himselfe was more afrayd now than before, least he should meete with such another banket. Yet being thus leane as he was, and such a dearth besides, he was sorier for his seruaunts than for himselfe. The Rauen, the Woolfe, and the Foxe that were all three in maner famished, one day vnder good licence and coulour they painted these wordes vnto him. The benefites receyued from your Maiestie, most excellent Prince, before the Elephant had thus misvsed you, maketh vs greatly pitie your case. Therefore we are all determined to our vttermost powers to go out to prouide you of vittayles ynough and more than shall serue you. The Lion gaue them agayne wordes of Sgratis vobis, and that hee was rather bounde to them, with many other ceremonies: yet in the ende hee prayed them if they woulde doe anye thing to relieue him, that they woulde doe it quickly without delay. These worshipfull beastes layd their heades togither, and consulted on the matter, and hauing imagined many and sundrie wayes and deuises, and not knowing which waye to bring this geare about: the Rauen that alwayes bringeth euyll tidings, sayd thus. My maisters, this Camell [Page] is not of our league & fraternitie, neyther commeth any thing nere our maners and fashions, nor liueth not of that that we liue of. Besides that he is such a stalking foole, a monstrous gorbellied beast, bigge as a house, and a laisie lowtish thing: & we are wise, malicious, valiant, and strong. So that betwixt our peruerse fantasie and his foolishe vnderstandinge there is as much difference, as betwixt water and lande. Were it not best to shew the King that in this necessitie hee myght doe well to eate him, and the rather for that he is verie good fleshe, and fatte as a crammed Capon. If any will obiect and say he doth all in the Court, and manigeth the whole affayres of the Realme, O beware what ye doe. Then may we aunswere. What lacke or mysse shall the Realme haue of any such paunches? What wonders or seruice doth he more than others? Howe saye ye, howe lyke yee my opinion: saye I not well? Yes sayde the Woolfe. And I lyke it the better bicause of his heigth and stature. For I warraunt you, a good skeyne of threede and somewhat more will not measure his length he is so tall, but all the better for vs. For there is so much meate on him, that when the Lion hath eaten all the fleshe (which will fill him, trust to it) and taken his pleasure, the shauing of the bones will serue vs well eyght dayes. The Foxe was of contrarie opinion: and wished rather they should driue a nayle into the head of him to ridde him out of the waye, so that dying of himselfe they were sure no bodie woulde come and eate of him, and much lesse suspect that hee were made away. [Page] And thus sayde hee we three shall haue meate ynough to chawe on, to serue vs galantly for a moneth, and fare lyke Lordes. Tushe as for the Lions good grace, let his Kingshippe shift as he lyst, neuer take thought for him: Gods Lord is not he King? he may take and leaue where he thinkes good. O thou foole sayd the Rauen, art thou so simple to beleeue that so huge a carkas as he will dye for so litle a pricke or hurt? No, no, thou thinckest thou hast a Henne or Partridge in hande that are soone nipped in the head, and dispatched streight. I tell it thee for this sayd the Foxe. Sure the King will not giue eare to it, nor heare a worde spoken agaynst him: and all bicause he gaue him hys worde, and promised him he would not touch him. And what? thinke ye the Prince can with his honor go backe from his worde? no he may not, and I dare warrant you he wyll not. The Rauen that was the wysest in the towne, and a Doctor in furtis, like a subtill Carin tooke vpon him the burden, with his malice to get out of these bryers well ynough: and so togithers they went to the Princes Pallace, and after they had done their due negligences, pulled of their cappes, and giuen him bona dies, they sate them downe in their seates. The King seeing them come to him at so rare an howre, beganne to playe on the bridle, and sayde to himselfe. O bellie, now prepare thy selfe, good newes and God will. And turning him to the Rauen (that was reaching with his bill as though he would haue spoken to the King) he asked him. Ah sira, how is it with you: what saye you [Page] to me worshipfull Maister Carrin? Haue ye prouided vs of vittayles as yee informed vs? Maister Rauen blushing lyke a blacke dogge, set a good face on the matter, and boldly aunswered him.

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MOst mightie Prince the Prouerbe sayth. Who séeketh shall finde. Like as he can not sée that hath not eyes, nor heare that hath not eares: So wée poore wretches that starue for hunger, thrust vp betwixt the doore and wall, we I say can not sée one another, and haue lost all our senses. And being thus blinded we cannot séeke, and not séeking yée maye well thinke that we all are ready to faint and fall downe right. But [Page] yet we haue founde a waye not to famishe: and to bée plaine with your Grace at a worde, we woulde haue you kill the Camell, and the Woolfe, the Foxe, and I will be readye to assist you. Hée is rounde, plumme, fatte, and as full as an Egge, so that he will serue you a great while, & also he is none of ours at any hand, neither yet is he called to any seruice for his richesse: for I haue knowne him a very begger ywis. The Lion cut of his tale and deuice vpon a sodeine, and more than halfe angry he said to him. Get thée hence out of my sight thou and thy wicked counsel, vile stinking beast that thou art, that doest nothing else but plucke out eyes, a beast without discretion or fayth. Doest thou not remember what I sayd to the Camell? Doth not he liue vnder my protection and warrant? The Rauen lyke an olde théefe let him goe on and saye his pleasure. And though the Kinge grounded himselfe on iustice, and sought to perfourme his worde and promise past him, yet he stirred not a whit, no more than the wilde Bore among the thicke bushes and Briers, nor once hid him selfe for all his heate and hote wordes, but tooke hart of grace on him againe. And as one that knewe he stoode on a sure grounde, and that hée spake for the Princes profite (a good staffe to leane on and make a man bolde I warrant ye, for it maketh many a bitter fray with honor, and putteth him oft to flight: and iustice is more corrupted for commoditie, than honor doth cause it to procéede with equitie.) He replied to the King, and told him a trimme tale with these wordes. Victorious Prince, your opinion is no lesse good than iust, and I lyke it well that your minde agréeth with the greatnesse of your crowne: but I stande in great feare that this your carnall holynesse will fall out verie hurtfull for your Kingdome. Sure generall honestie banisheth from euery one murder: but priuate profite calleth it againe. We your obedient vassals and subiects, humbly beséeche your Maiestie on the knées of our hearts, that of two harde choyces ye will take the best, or as they say, of two euyls the least. Cast not away for [Page] Gods sake to saue one vnprofitable member, so many profitable and necessarie members, making them vnprofitable and not necessary. Your life standeth your selfe and all vs vppon, and importeth all. If he liue, you die: if he die, you liue, and we to serue you. My Lorde I saye, honor for others that lyst, but profit for your selfe. Your Maiestie once gone, your subiectes and Realme are lyke to come to naught. Your preseruation is ours also. It is of necessitie one Well must be clensed to cléere the rest. And though in déede your word and assurance hath tied your handes, and that in that respect you woulde not breake iustice: let mée alone with the matter: I will worke such a feate for him, that I will make him come and offer himselfe vnto you, and lay his necke on the blocke, and yet he shall little thinke my meaning. And when you haue his heade on the blocke and cannot finde meanes to choppe it off, in fayth you are worthie to starue: and then at your perill be it for me. You sée you are famished, and we starued, and howe lowe you are brought. Follow my counsell, and I will deliuer him you faire and fatte: so shall ye saue your selfe and vs too.

THe King gaue very good eare to his profer, and bade the Rauen hie him, yet with prouiso alwayes his honor might bee saued, and then worke with what arte or deceite he woulde he eared not, handle it as he listed, neither would he desire to be priuie to it. The Rauen repaired to the consistorie with his companions, and deliuered them his deuise and opinion. I would my maisters sayde he wee did deuise to ouertake this gorche the Camell, for the King standeth in it no more, he is contended it shall be so. They all shronke in their shoulders, and helde their heades awrie, and referred it [Page] ouer to his charge, as he that had made the promise to the king. Sirs, if my companie like ye, I will doe thus. Wee must haue the Camell with vs, that hee haue no time to preuent the sodeine mischiefe. All we foure will goe togithers to the king, and looke what profer I make, the same you may easily make without daunger I warrant ye: And after vs out of doubt this fat morsell will offer himselfe to of necessitie (if it be but for good maner only) and I trow the king wyll vncase him, and make him leaue hys skinne behinde him. And when they had called the Camell, they went togithers to the king. The Rauen (the cunningest speaker of them all) with lamentable wordes began to saye vnto the king. Sir, these many yeares I haue enioyed my life vntill this present of your souereigne bountie, vnder your Maiesties good peace and protection, and waying now the extremitie of your Maiestie, it is more than time I should satisfie your goodnesse to me in part, though not in all. But when I loke into myne owne weakenesse, alacke I see my mysserie great, not finding any thing in me worthie to present you with, or fitte for your hyghnesse. I am sorie to see your Grace aliue halfe dead. Alas that such a king should perish for famine. I haue not great thyngs to offer you, & those not worthy your Maiestie, but yet with willing minde I present my bodye to you, take and feede my Lord of this my poore and simple carcas, die not sir for hunger: for it better lyketh mee you should liue for me, than it grieueth me to die for you. O it is but meete my Lord, that that which is profitable [Page] in you should be saued, and the vnprofitable in me lost. And here he prostrated himselfe at the Lyons feete, and made him way for his neck and flesh, lying still as he had bene deade. The Woolfe no sooner sawe the Rauen flatte on the grounde, but also with a Phisicall hystorie sayd, and repeated the selfe same word by word, and chopped himselfe streight vnder the kinge, that he might take his pleasure of him if he lyked him. This maner of humilitie and offer lyked not the Foxe a whit, and steppe by steppe he came to make his oration, creping as the Snake to the charme, or the Beare to the stake. Now when the Camell saw him make no more haste, he stepped in before him and occupied the place: and kneeling downe he sayd. My Lord, those that serue faithfully, dispatch their seruice quickly: lo, I am here for you, relieue your famine. The craftie Foxe that stoode aloofe sayde, although my fleshe bee naught and an vnholesome morsell for your Maiestie, yet you may if it lyke you taste it, and so hee looked downe, and layde himselfe on the grounde. The Lion seeing these beastes on the grounde like drunken chickens, thanked them one by one, saying to the Rauen, that his fleshe was full of yll humors, and if it had bene good he would neuer haue offered it to him: and to the Woolfe also hee sayde, that his was to tough to digest, and at once hee put his deuouring mouth to the throte of the Camell, and set his gripyng talons on him, and tore him in peeces before a man would haue sayde I am here, when the poore wretche thought he should haue escaped with the rest. O [Page] God, that fayth assured in wordes commeth to bee broken in deedes: euen so auarice becometh enimye

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to all honestie. But the best was, the Lyon sent the other beastes packing to the Gallowes and they would, for he would not giue them a bytte to relieue them with, so they died miserably for hunger. Sure a fit death to aunswere so wicked a lyfe.

THis tale I haue tolde thée sayd the Bull, bicause thou shouldest knowe these Courtlike fables, deuises, and practises of vaine and wicked Courtiers. I knowe them all, and I am so [Page] much the better acquainted with them, bicause I sée them daily vsed against the good and vertuous, and well disposed minds.

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And one no sooner maketh waye for vertue, but they streight set thornes in his way to prick his féete. But I will not hasard my life in going about to maintaine the place and credite I haue about the Prince. If the loue thou bearest me be true, I praye thée doe but giue me a watch worde how I may saue my selfe, and helpe me with thy counsell in this distresse, for I promise thée I cannot counsell my selfe. And for any other to counsell me in so harde a case, I cannot sée any light at all, bicause me thinkes I sée some beastly part playde me, and I am ready to burst for sorrowe: and the woorst of all, that I sée no ende to [Page] bring mée to any sure hauen. So that I praye thée helpe to saue me: and this thing I craue of thée, bicause it is fitte for euerye bodie to séeke for his helth.

Thou hast sayd better than a Crabbe that hath two mouthes sayd the Moyle: and surely to séeke for thy health it is but reason, and a lawfull excuse. For he that cannot saue his life by force, is to be borne withall if he worke for his life by subtiltie or malice. Howbeit aboue all thinges, euery little enimie is greatly to be thought on and looked vnto: now iudge thou then howe much the great is to be feared. And hée that will not estéeme this, and beléeue that I saye, it shoulde happen to him that happened to the Male and female Linnet in making their neast.

A man hath no greater enimie than himselfe.

ALongest the sea syde, in a fewe rocks and clyffes full of wylde Herbes, certaine Linnets were wont to lay and breede: and breeding time beinge come to laye their egges, the Cocke began to make his neast there. In so much as the Henne sayd to the Cocke: me thinks it were better fore vs to go seeke some other place to hatch our yong ones, (bicause this is not certayne, and besides that perillous, as it is often seene) that we might yet once bring vp our poore little fooles to some good. What sayth the Cock, doest thou mislyke of this seate, and is it so daungerous as thou talkest off? Here passe no people, here it is hote, no windes at all, and an infinite sorts of Herbes doe growe here as thou seest: so that wee shall haue [Page] meate at all times at will. O my good swéete Honie husband, quoth the Henne, it is not fitte for vs God knoweth. For in such like seats is euer great daunger, vppon any rage of the seas to lose them all, that it is: therefore I pray thee let vs auoyde that daunger. Wilt thou doe as the Pigeon, that being asked of a Pie why she returned to the Douehouse to laye hir egges (where all hir yong ones were still taken away) aunswered: my simplicitie is the cause and euer hath bene of my griefe. Thou that hast great experience, and hast pyssed in so many snowes, wilt thou not take it yll to bee handled like a Coddes head in thy olde dayes? and that it shoulde bee tolde thee he knewe it, and would not knowe it, he beleeued it not, he did it not, and so forth? but the foolyshe husbande hauing no capacitie to conceyue his wyues words, went his way, and slue vp to the top of the tree, and the more shee spake, the worse heade had he to vnderstande hir. So he stoode still in his owne conceyte, thinking hee had bene handled like a tame foole, if he had followed his wyues fantasie. O how noble a foole, O what a cockes combe. All is one: she might say what she would, but he would doe as hee listed, and follow his owne fantasy. And so he dwelled still in his opinion, and made his neast, and shee layde hir egges and hatched them. A man hath no greater enimye than himselfe, and that beast specially that knowing he did amisse, did rather continue his obstinacie to his hurt, than for his profit once to accept the counsell of hir wyfe or friende: And last of all she tolde him a tale by protestation.

[Page] IN the fishings of the Sophie, there was a worlde of Fowles that kept about it to feede of those fishes, and amongst them was a Torteise of the water that had streight friendship with two great and fat Fowles, who diuing vnder water droue the fishe all about, and they no sooner appéered almost aboue water, but at a choppe they had them in their mouthes. The Lake was full of cliftes, I cannot tell howe but by certayne earthquakes, and by little and little it beganne to waxe drie, so that they were faine to voyde out the water to take out the great number of fishe that were in it, that they should not die in that drougth, but rather eate them vp. The fishes therefore of that Lake meaning to depart out of that countrie, came one morning to breake their fast togithers, and to take their leaue of the Torteise their friend. The which when she saw them forsake hir, she wept bitterly, & pitifully lamenting she sayd. Alas, what shall I doe here alone. But what thing can come worse to mée, than to lose the water and my friendes at one instant. O poore Torteise that I am, wretched creature I, whither should I go to séeke out water, that am so slowe to go? I like not to tarie longer in this countrie. O good brethren helpe me, I pray you forsake me not in my distresse. Ah vnhappie was I borne in this worlde, that I must carie my house with me, and can put no vittayles into it. In others houses alacke there is place ynough for their necessaries: but in mine I can scant hyde my selfe. A, woe, woe is me, howe shall I doe? if ye haue any pitie on me my brethren, & if ye haue taken me for your friend, helpe me for Gods sake. Leaue me not here to burst for thirst. I woulde gladly go with you, and that you woulde put me in some Lake: and I woulde followe mine olde trade as I haue done, therfore deare Fowles helpe me.

These woordes did penetrate the heartes of these great water Fowles, and taking no lesse pitie on hir, than looking to their owne profite, they sayde vnto hir. Deare [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] Mother Torteise, we coulde not doe better than satisfie thy desire, but alas what meanes haue we to carie thee hence into any Lake? yet there is an easie way to bring it to passe, so that thy hart will serue thée to take vpon thée to holde a péece of wood fast in thy téeth a good while. And then we (the one on the one side of thée, and the other on the other side) will with our bylles take the ende of the sticke in our mouthes also, and so carye thée trimlye into some Lake, and there we woulde leade our liues and fare delicately. But in any case thou must beware thou open not thy mouth at any time, bicause the other birdes that flie vp and downe will gladly play with thée, and laugh to sée thée flie in the ayre, thou that art vsed to tarie on the earth, and vnder the water. Therefore they will tell thée marueylous wonders, and will be verie busie with thée, and peraduenture they will aske thée: Oh pretie she beast, whence commest thou I pray thée, that thou art flying thus, and whither wilt thou? But take thou no héede to them, sée them not, nor once harken to them I would aduise thée. And if they prattle to thée, saying, Oh what an enterprise of birdes, good Lorde what a peece of worke they haue taken in hande. Whishte, not a worde thou for thy life, nor looke not that we should aunswere them. For we hauing the sticke in our mouthes cannot speake but thou must needes fall, if the sticke (by talke) fall out of our mouthes at any time. Well, now thou hast heard all, how sayest thou? will thy minde serue thée, hast thou any fantasie to the matter? who I? yes that I haue, I am ready to doe any thing: I will venter rather than I will tarie behinde. The Fowle founde out a sticke, and made the Torteise holde it fast with hir téeth as she could for hir life, and then they eche of them tooke an ende in their mouth, and putting themselues vppe, streight flue into the aire: that it was one of the foolishest sightes to sée a Torteise flie in the aire that euer was séene. And beholde a whole flight of birdes met them, séeing them flie thus straungely, and houered rounde about them, with great laughtures, and noyses, [Page] and speaking the vilest wordes to them they coulde. O here is a braue sight, looke, here is a goodly ieast, whoo, what bugge haue we here saide some. Sée, sée, she hangeth by the throte, and therfore she speaketh not saide others: and the beast flieth not,

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like a beast. These tauntes and spiteful words went to the hart of the Torteise, that she was as madde as she coulde bee: so she coulde no longer holde but aunswere she would (at least as she thought) and when she opened hir mouth to speake, downe she fell to the grounde, and pashte hir all to peeces: and all bicause she woulde haue sayde, I am an honest woman, and no théefe, I would ye shoulde knowe it: Knaues, Rascals, and rauening birds that ye are. So that contemning the good counsell [Page] was giuen hir, or to say better, bicause she woulde not beleeue them, she payde hir folly with death. And now I returne backe againe whence I came.

THe Birde lost hir yong ones bicause the sea rose high, and the surging waues caried them quite awaye. Now bicause she would lay no more in any such daungerous place, shee assembled all hir parentage and kinsefolkes, & came before the Crane (Queene of all Fowles) to cite hir husbande, and told hir the whole matter. The which when she sawe the little discretion of hir husband, she rebuked him, and wisely tolde him howe great follye it was (yea rather madnesse) to put himselfe and his the seconde time in open & manifest daunger, being fallen into it once already. Shewing him by example a tale of the Curbe, that being angry with the Well ranne agaynst it, thinking to make a hole in it, but in fine it brake in tenne peeces. Learne therefore sayde the Crane not to striue with those that are greater than thy selfe, if thou meanest not to haue the shame and losse. Therfore builde thy neast no more alongst the sea banckes.

I thought good to tell thee this discourse, sayd the Moile to the Bul, to show thee that thou canst not be in suretie to fight against a Kinge, and to prooue thy strength. But thou shouldest go with a leaden heele: that is to say, with wisedome, and malice. The Bull aunswered. The best way I can take in this matter me thinketh is to go before his Maiestie, and not to [Page] make any countenance that I am troubled or offended, but euen after myne olde woonted maner: and then shall I easily perceiue whether he haue ought in his minde against me, and that he stomacke mee. If at my first comming he doe not to me as king Lutorcena did to Bisenzo hys Captaine, who hauing him

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in some suspicion, with his owne handes threw him to the grounde, and slue him.

THe Moyle liked not this determination, (perceyuing hys reaching heade to preuent his mallice) imagining that the [Page] King knowing his wisedome, and séeing in him no alteration, would streight thinke himselfe abused, and then were he vtterly shamed and vndone both. Therefore fearing his fault, hee sayde vnto him. My Lorde Chiarino, and brother deare (I will giue thee a watche worde to serue thy turne at néede) when thou shalt come before the Kinge, if perchaunce thou finde him very suspicious, and that he cast his deadly eyes on thée, and bende his short eares, standing vpright to heare what thou sayest, or if any worde thou speakest maketh him cast vp his heade, or hang it downe: then (trust me) beware of him that he playe thée not some part, therefore carie thy eyes before thée, and looke to his fingers, and stand to thy defence lyke a worthie Champion. For when he shall sée thée prepare thy selfe with sworde and buckler to resist him, euen at that instant hee will chaunge his mind: and so by this meanes thou shalt see what he will doe. The Bull tooke his (as friendly) counsell, & went forthwith to the Court. The Moyle also departed from him, and with great ioy flingeth to the Asse his Brother, and tolde him I haue dispatched this matter. I haue done his errant I warrant him. I knowe he knoweth his payne by this time, séest thou? Well I sayd and did so much, that at the last I brought him to it. And though I had great labor to bring it to passe, yet better late than neuer. My subtill and malicious practises at length yet are brought to good purpose I thanke God. Oh what fame shall I get, she shall be full of eyes though I haue séene light. Sounde thy trumpet once Ladie Fame through all the Countries round about, farre and néere: and if my practise fall out right, thou neuer soundedst in thy life so goodly a double treason. O what a perfite counseller should I be, how trimly coulde I bring a spouse to bedde? be of good cheare brother, the Bull perswaded by me goth to the Court to séeke out the King, if he see him sturre any thing at all: and the Lion also hath my Coccomber in his bodie, and in his heade the toyes and deuises that I haue tolde him, looking for the Bull with many an yll [Page] thought. Now beginnes the game. I haue so cunningly handeled this matter betweene them both, that one of them I holde

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ye a grote will leaue his skinne behinde him, part it betwixt them as they list. But I that haue my féete in two stirroppes (as God would haue it) am sure inough for falling. Let them trie it out by the téeth and hornes, I will saue one I warrant thée. I will stande and giue ayme.

WHen the Bull was come to the Kinges presence, & that he saw his head ful of suspicion, and perceyued in him those signes & tokens that trayterous villeyne the Moyle had tolde him, [Page] imagining presently the kings pawes on his backe, and his mouth on his throte, remembringe the Moyles pestilent counsell, he stoode streight to his defence. And the King on the other side supposed he ment to assault him, and being informed before by the Moyle hee thought it sure so, and that it was true that the Moyle tolde him: therfore without any further daliance, or tarying his meaning, he rowsed himselfe, and on him he goeth, so that they began

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a fierse battayle, howbeit in the ende the olde Lyon wearied the Bull, that he laye deade before him, for [Page] such is the iustice amongest the Nobilitie and worshipfull Courtiers of beasts. And yet though the Lyon was stronger than the Bull: dealing wyth desperate persons, he had but a bloudie victorie. The case was such, and so sodeine, that all the Court was full of sorowe, and the more for that it happened vnlooked for, and neuer a worde spoken of it before: so that they were all by this chaunce stricken into a marueylous feare. The Asse beinge informed of

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the terror of the matter was very heauy, and angry with his brother, insomuch as he sayde to him: O [Page] cursed brother, thou hast done a horrible and wicked fact. Hast thou not almost brought the Kinge to deathes doore, caused thy friende to bee slayne, and put all the Court in feare, daunger, and sorowe? and woorst of all, thou hast lost thy credite and good name, shamed thy selfe, and for euer defamed thy house and parentage. And if thy wicked practise were knowne, what should (thinkest thou) become of thy life? Oh caytyfe wretch. I saye no more Moyle, but marke the ende, this mischiefe will fall on thy neck, and thou shalt gather of thy naughtye seede thou sowedst, naught else but prickes and thornes. For thy barren and drie grounde can bring forth nothing but Burres and Brambles. Gods diuine iustice will not suffer such and so wicked a dede vnpunished. And though presently it lighteth not on thy heade, the deferring of it will showe thee howe much the whip with time doth growe. Oh brutishe creature thou: neuer to feare God, nor to loue thy neighbour, but alwayes to follow thy selfe, and to pursue thy beastly minde wythout regarde? thou mayntaynest thy ambition, & wyth that thou wouldest subuert and ouerthrow a thousand Realmes.

THe trayterous Moyle hoong downe his heade all the while, and knewe well ynough that it was true the Asse sayd, and that he missed not much the marke, yet he helde his peace, and would not aunswere one worde. So the Asse followed on his tale, and came againe to the matter. I sée my wordes but lost, and worke small effect: and I am sure there is no rebuke more cast away and blowne into the winde, than that that is giuen him, that is neyther capable of it, nor honest and iust: nay rather [Page] feareth no punishment for his peruerse and wicked works. It shall doe well therefore (though I be but thy brother by the fathers side) to take care of thée, least I should fall into that that a little Popingey fell into with an Ape of Soria.

It booteth not to giue counsell where it is not followed.

BEtwixt Dalmatia and the Realme of Granata there is a marueylous great valley, full of high Firre trees and Pineaples. It happened once in ye winter season that there went a shole of Apes togither from one Countrie to another, and the night ouertooke them alongest these trees, so that they stoode there cracking of these Pineaple kirnels, determining to take vp their lodging there for that night. But bicause the night was somewhat colde, they blewe their nayles and chattered their teeth togither a pace. In this meane while one of the Apes had spyed a Glowe worme in a hedge that showeth like fire: and beleuing it had bene fire in deede, they ranne all to go fetch strawe, stickes, and drie Pines to lay vppon hir, being verie desirous to warme them. And when they had layde on all this woode on the backe of hir, they beganne to blowe, and to lay on lode to kindle the fire: but all in vayne, for the deuill of stycke or strawe once smoked, much lesse burned, so that they were readye to goe madde for anger they coulde not warme them. [Page] Certayne Popingeyes dwelt in those Firre trees, the goodliest Birdes in that Countrie. Whereof one of them behelde the simplicitie of these Apes at least three howres, howe they laboured and toyled for life

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about Moone shine in the water: So that he mooued with pitie and compassion towards them, came downe out of the tree, and tolde them. Good wyfe Apes, it grieues me to see your follye and great labor, and quite without profite, that ye are so madde to beleeue to set a fire those stickes wyth that shyning Glowe worme. Alacke poore fooles, yee lose [Page] your winde and time both, besides that euery body that seeth you will thinke yee verye beastes in deede without wit. For the thing that shineth so is not fire in Gods name, but it is a certayne Worme which naturally hath that vile shining at his tayle, so that ye are deceiued truly: therefore yee were best take another way if ye meane to get ye heate. One of the she Apes no lesse tattling than obstinate, commeth towardes him, and putting hir hande by hir side shee aunswered hym, lyke a madde, prowde, Bedlem foole.

Oh ydle Birde, in fayth thou hast but little witte to meddle with that that toucheth thee not. What is it to thee whether we knowe or not knowe? who intreated or bade thee come to giue vs counsell or helpe? If thou doe not get thee hence to sleepe againe, and that quickly, I will promise thee a broken heade at the least, and I turne not thy skinne ouer thine eares too, hearest thou me? I praye yee see how hee meddles in our matters. Dispatch, get thee hence I say, and meddle with thy Birdes with a murren to thee and let vs alone: least perhaps thou wishest thou hadst, when it will be to late. And with that she beganne to showe hir teeth, with an euill fauoured looke withall.

THe poore Birde when he saw hir make that face to him was halfe afraide, yet leauing hir he went to counsell the others, supposing by being importunate to make them knowe their follie: and so he began to say and repeate verie oft that he sayd to the other Ape before, so that that Ape coulde not abyde him [Page] any longer for spight, but gaue a leape or two to ketch him. But the Fowle being wight of winge easilye scaped hir: and sure if he had taried neuer so little, and had not flowen awaye so fast as he did, the Ape had not left a feather on his back, she had torne him. And like to the Ape art thou, for there is no good counsell will take place with thée, nor no admonitions or warnings that will once make thée beware or take héede. I shoulde be the obstinate Birde that shoulde still go about to perswade thée, but in the ende I feare me that woulde happen to mée, which chaunced to a Pie with hir Maister, being a setter forth of Playes and Enterludes.

He that diggeth a pitte for others, many times falleth into it himselfe.

A Maker of Playes, dwellinge in a towne called Baccheretto, gaue to a rich Merchant a Pie (which one of his boyes that playde a part euer in his playes had brought vppe:) that had a propertie to blabbe and tell all that she saw done in the house. This Merchant had a faire wife, which wantonly chose to hyde hir selfe otherwhile with a goodly yong man hir neighbour. The husbande was many times told of it, and did in maner perceiue somewhat himselfe too: but bicause it was but suspition and no proofe (and if he should haue stirred in it he had not beene able to haue taken his othe that it was true) he stode betweene two waters, as he that was verie loth to beleeue it. And as in such cases it falleth out many times, that the seruants and familie (for the loue of [Page] their Mistresse) doe depende rather of their Mystresse than of their Maister, and are readyer to please hir of both. The husbande seeking diuerse meanes to come to the light of this matter, coulde neuer get out of them, but sure sir it is not so, you are deceyued. The good man perplexed in his minde, not knowing what way to deuise to boulte out this matter, remembred at the last that the Pye hee had in his Chamber (vpon the windowe) woulde serue his turne excellentlye well for the purpose, so hee brought hir to his wiues Chamber, as though hee had not cared for hir (meaning nothing lesse) and there he left hir a fewe dayes. When he thought the Meale had bene boulted, hee caused the Pye to be brought againe into his Chamber, and shee tolde him all things directly as they were done, so that he determined to punishe hir lewde life. But as many doe, whome loue doth no lesse ouercome than pitie, he let it alone yet many dayes. All this while hee hong vp the Pie in hir cage in the hall, and at night made hir be fetched in, and then hee knewe all that was done in the day from point to point, & what had happened. Who was there, if hir Mistresse went abrode, how many poundes of Flaxe the Maides had sponne, and how many times the seruants had set on the Flaxe of the Rock and pulled it off againe: when, what, and how. O what a vile craftie Pye was she. The poore Maydes of the house neuer thought she coulde haue tolde any thing in the worlde, nor made any reckening of hir at all. The husband at the first beganne to groyne and lowre, and to cast forth certayne [Page] wordes and Parables to his wife, the which seemed not to vnderstande him, though shee knewe his meaning well ynough, and suspected that some of the house had opened the matter. Howbeit not able to burthen anye one particularly, bicause shee woulde be sure not to misse, shee flatly fell out wyth them all, and tooke on with them to badde, brawling and scolding vp and downe the house lyke a madde woman all the day long. In continuaunce of time, whether it was that they starued the poore Pye, or how the goodyeare the matter fell out I know not, but the Pye had founde hir tongue & spake plainely to them, and sayde: giue me some meate, or I will tell my maister. When they hearde hir prate thus, imagine you what sport the women had with hir. And bicause she was a beast, out she tattled at once all that she knewe of the men as well as of the women: so that she tolde them how hir Maister would aske hir how they vsed hir, and what they did, and counterfeited his fashions and iestures rightly, asking questions, and aunswering hir selfe, euen as if hir maister had bene present to haue asked hir.

The Mystresse and Maydes gladde they had found out the tale bearer, they came about hir with a light, and shut to the windowes, and with visers on their face, disguised, they daunced such a Morresse about hir with Glasses, Fire, Water, and sounding of Belles, beating on the bourdes, showting, and whooping, that it would haue made the wheele of a Myll deafe it was so terrible. And after they had done this, returning euerye thing to his place, [Page] and openinge the Wyndowes as they were at the first, there they left hir alone, and woulde giue hir neuer a bitte of meate. When the Merchaunt hir maister was come home, and that he caused the Pye to be brought into his Chamber, she beganne to lay out hir tongue at large, and sayde. O Maister, I haue had an yll night to daye, there hath bene such rayne, tempests, and such noyses, and I haue seene a number of Pyes passe by my Cage, but none of them all would tarie with me. O what a foolish time was it: yet in a moment the winde and water ceased, and so it was daye againe. Bid them giue mee some meate that I might dine, for it is eight a clock, and I am a hungred. The Merchaunt when hee heard hir speake thus foolishly, and tell these fables, hee thought they were but toyes in hir heade, and that shee talked at pleasure, nothing touchinge hir Mystresse matters, and so let it passe for that tyme. One nyght the Merchaunt determined to lye out, and so he did, and left the Pye in hys wyues Chamber. As soone as it was darke his wife sent for hir Louer, and streight caused the Pye to bee taken awaye (hir Cage couered ouer) and caried into a Well: and when he that caried hir had let hir Cage downe a pretie deale into the Welle, he vncouered it againe, tying it fast at the toppe of the Well for falling into it, and being Moonelight the same night, the seruaunt departed his waye without speaking to hir, or seeing hir, and so let hir hange. A little before day the good wife of the house made the Cage bee couered agayne trimlye, and brought into the [Page] Chamber, and so vncouering it in the darcke, fell a sleepe againe (hir Louer being gone) till brode day. The Merchant came home betimes in the morning before sunne rising, and went streight to the cage in his chāber. The Pie that hong in the Welle al night and knewe not in what place shee was in, nor what house it was, would very gladly haue tolde hir maister all, and thus she began. Maister, the Chamber was caried quite awaye to night, and I was in a great round Glasse with water at the sunne shine of the daye, all night long almost, and then the Glasse and Cage was remoued, but I cannot tell whither: and so God gyue you good morrow maister. Nowe God giue thee sorrow (quoth the Merchaunt) wicked beast that thou art: for throughe thy foolyshe wordes I had well nere paide my pore Ione on the Petticote for thy sake. And with that he ranne to the bed and imbraced his wife and sweetely bussed hir. His wyfe that sawe hir time come now to be reuenged, and to free hir selfe of hir husbandes conceyued ielousie, caused the slouenly Wittall hir husbande to tell hir al the Pies qualities & tales she had brought him: which when she had hearde, out on hir whoore quoth she, kill hir ylfauored harlotry, what meanest thou to kepe that foolish Birde? Hir husband being rather in a rage than well pleased, bicause he would not gladly haue knowne that that his wife had tolde him. Toke the cage and the Pie and thrue hir out at the window, & with the fall the pore wretch died out of hand. Therfore none must intermeddle in thyngs that belongeth not to them, neyther in wordes nor [Page] deedes to goe about the destruction of any. For hee that diggeth a pit for others, many times falleth into it himselfe.

THe Sea Crabbe disposed to play with a foole, was contented to be ridden of him, but he like a Cockes combe (not knowing she went backwarde,) put a Bridle in hir mouth, and

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it went to hir tayle, and spurring hir forwardes, the Crabbe went backwardes. I am a foole (quoth the foole) to thincke to doe well with thée, since I know not thy nature nor condicion.

Now listen what chaunced to an vngracious traueyler, and then consider well of the matter.

[Page]TWoo men of the Mamalechites traueyling by the way togithers, founde a great bagge full of Golden wedges, and so ioyntly togithers they agreed to take it vp, determining to carie it to the Citie, and to lay it vp safe in their lodgings. But when they were come to the walles of the Citie, they altered their mindes, and one of them sayde to the other. Let vs deuide the treasure, that eche may carie home his part, and doe withall as he thinketh good. The other that was resolued to steale it, and to haue it al to himself, meaning to ease the good honest man of his part, aunswered ex tempore for his profite. Mee thinketh good brother it is not meete that our happe should be common, and the friendship perticular: but lyke as we met in pouertie, so let vs ioyne in richesse. Therefore for my part I will not deuide it, but we will enioye it friendly togithers, and the good happe that lighted euenly vpon vs. Howbeit for this time (if thou thinke good) let vs take a peece out to serue our necessitie with, to defraie housholde expences, and other extraordinarie charges: and for the reast, it shall not be amisse if it runne in common betwixt vs, and we will hyde it in the darke in some secrete place, so as we maye from time to time (alwayes as we nede it) take of it at our pleasures. The good sielye man (I will not saye foole) did not thinke of his pretensed subtiltie, and that hee went about then lyke a false Knaue to deceyue him, but tooke him for a playne meaning man lyke himselfe, and sayde he was contented it should be so. So for [Page] companye they tooke eche of them his burthen, and the rest they safely buried vnder the roote of an olde Elme, which the poore neyghbours that dwelled by called vile Knaue, and so with the little burden of their necessarie expences, ech of them repayred to their lodginges. Within three houres of the same night, the Companion that gaue counsell to leaue it abrode, went to the place of the hidden treasure, and secretly caried it home with him. When tyme had consumed the honest mans money, hee went to the theefe his partener, and sayde to him. Brother I woulde gladly haue the reast of my part of the golde that remayneth behinde, let vs goe therefore I pray thee togithers as wee togithers did fynde and hyde it, and we will bring it home betwixt vs: for I assure thee I am in great neede. Of mine honestie well sayde (quoth the theefe his companion) we are happily met: for I was euen nowe thinking of that thou tellest me, and I promise thee I was comming to thee of the same errant. But now thou art come, in fayth welcome, thou hast saued me so much labor: come on, gowe, let vs take our horses and awaye, wee will not dwell long about this matter I trowe, we will handle it so nimbly thou shalt see: and then we shall liue merilye without anye care or thought, and neede not feare robbing. Now when they were come to the vyle Knaue (the Elme so called) where they had buried their treasure, beinge a great and hollow tree, they began to digge for it, but in faith they might dig vnder the tree till their hartes aked, as deepe and as farre as they listed, for the treasure [Page] was flowen. The theefe then played the Harlots part rightly, that weepeth and lamenteth to the honest woman: and beganne to tell him there was no more fayth in friends, and that loue was lost. Trust that trust lyst, for by the Masse I will neuer trust agayne. And when hee had often repeated this, hee beganne to throwe awaye his cappe, to crye out, and beate himselfe, that he was lyke a madde man, nay a very bedlem in dede. His fellow that was no naturall, though he were somewhat lyke a Mome, woulde not bee lowted so, but rather laughed to see his knauerie and crafte, thinking notwithstanding that he had stollen it (as he had in deede) but yet hee stoode in doubt, laughing still. Then the theefe raged like a beast (as if he had had reason on his syde) and sayde. None, no none but thou traytor, theefe, and villen (as thou art) coulde steale this. The siely man that of both had cause to complayne (all hope taken from him to recouer his part) in steade of accusing him, it stoode him in hande to excuse himselfe, and to sweare and forsweare: 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 al would not serue, nor staye the theefe, but hee cried out more and more (and that alowde) and called him al to naught. Oh traytor, oh slaue, and micherlye theefe, who but thou knew of this? What man alyue but thou could once haue layde hands on it? Tarie a little, by Gods passion I will tell my L. Mayor of thee, I will doe thy erraunt trust to it: and I trowe he will set thee where thou shalt see no Sunne nor Moone a good while. Harken after.

[Page] THis brawling and scolding continued a good while betwéene them, in the ende they went both to the Mayor: who after longe cauillations, intermissions, paremptories, exigentes, termes vpon termes, fauors, promises, agréements, prayses, compremises, wagers, and a number of other such lyke conceytes and toyes, perceyued his tale had neither head nor foote. Then sayd my L. Mayor to picke out the core of this matter: when ye two hid this treasure, were there any others with you, or were yee two alone togithers? The Knaue that had occupied his hands as nimbly as he that playeth on the Phife, answered streight as if he had bene cléere and honest in the matter. My Lorde, and if it please your Honor, with your graces fauour, the trée it selfe and you were there and sawe it, would witnesse the matter plainely. For we both I am sure put it betwéene the rootes of the trée, and therefore I beleeue it will showe you the hole which the théefe hath digged. If God be iust, I knowe hée will make the trée tell, and as it were poynt with a finger to him that stale it, and showe you of him Sir, of him that standeth here before your Lordshippes goodnesse (and my worshipfull Maisters) lyke a steale Counter nowe, for out of doubt he stole it. My L. Mayor that had many times put his finger in the fire before, as one well acquaynted with such lyke matters, and that coulde spie day at a little hole, sayd, well then ye stande vpon the testimonie of the trée, and séeing ye doe so, both you and I will be at the doing of it God willing, and I will sift it out to the vttermost I warrant ye, feare ye not. They putting in sureties for their apperaunce, and a daye appointed for the matter, were dismissed the Court. This determination liked the théefe of life, for he had streight deuised a mischiefe to blind my L. Maior withall. But here I wil make a little digression. He that doth his things without aduise & counsell can neuer do well. The counsell is euer sound and good that commeth from olde experienced men, or at least helpeth in [Page] some part. It is euery wise mans part to take counsell in things he goeth about, wherof he is either ignoraunt or doubtfull. He that representeth the Moyle, I hope since he will follow no counsell, ye shall sée him smart for it in the ende. For it is written. Heare my sonne my precepts and counsayles, but the Moste was deafe and coulde not heare of that side. And now listen howe.

THe theefe had imagined a mischiefe in hys heade, and as soone as hee was come home he sayde vnto his father. O my good lustie olde graye bearde, I will disclose a great secrete to thee, which till this daye I haue kept secret, secret in my bosome manye a faire daye, and euer buried it within me, as he that coulde finde no time I tell thee to tryfle. But father, heare ye. To bee plaine with you, the treasure I aske of my Companion, I my selfe haue stollen it, that I might the better releeue thee in thy olde age, and also further and aduaunce my poore familie, a thing that thou and I both long time haue desired. I thanke God, and my wise foresight (I should haue sayd before) it goth as I would haue it, I would wish it no better. Now if thou wilt be ruled, and haue the thing brought to passe (being alreadye in. good forwardnesse) this cheate will be ours in spight of the Deuill. And so rehearsed all to hym that had passed betweene them before the Maior and the Bench, and adding this withall. I praye thee conuey thy selfe to night into the hole vnder the rootes of the tree where the treasure was hidde, for it is long, deepe, and large. And when my [Page] Lorde Mayor shall aske the tree: Quem queritis? I woulde saye, who caried awaye the treasure? then shalt thou aunswere with a counterfeyt voice: Egus. That is my Companion, and thou shalt call him by his name. The olde man that was lyke vnto hys sonne in euery poynt, had reason to holde of his side, after ninetene shillings to the pounde: but he aunswered foure wordes.

SOnne, it is good to be merie and wise. I care not to take this matter vpon me, but me thinke it is harde and daungerous. A wise man will looke ere he leape. I feare me those egges will be broken in the mouth while we are a sucking of them. It happeneth in an houre that happeneth not in seauen yeres. If thys geare come out, we haue sponne a fayre thréede. Consider it wel, mishappes are euer at hande. Howbeit, so it happen not to me as it did to the Birde that would kill the Snake, I am contented: and now heare the storie how she did.

IN the rockes of Popolonia there was a goodlye tree, in the which a solitarie Birde builte hir nest: and laying sixe times, fiue of them miscaried. Harde by this tree, there dwelled a great and an vnhappie Snake, which (as oft as these little birdes were in maner hatched and readie to flie) crept vp the tree to the nest, and deuoured them all, that she was readie to burst for fulnesse. So that the poore Syer of them was as angry as a Beare, he was so full of choler and sorrowe. One day hee determined to aske councell in the matter, and consulted [Page] with a Crabbe that was a Doctor in Libris. Hearing his learning, he said naught else to him, but come and follow me. So he brought him to a Caue where dwelled a certayne beast (a companion of his) a charmer, an enimie to the Snake for his lyfe, and tolde him his nature, how that this beast delighted to eate fishe, and made him carie a little dishe full of them, and to go scattering of them still all alongst till he came to the Snakes hole. The charmer hauing the sauor of the fishe in the winde, followed the sent, and when hee was come to the place where the Snake made hir neast, in a great fury he digged vp the grounde: and finding hir (as one woulde haue wyshed it) in hir first sleepe, hee killed hir. But bicause shee was so well fedde, he went further groping vp and downe, searching if there had beene ought else to haue lyked him: and hauing these Birds in the winde to, he got him vp to the tree, and deuoured them also.

FAther you cast beyond the Moone, and make doubtes where none are: there is no such daunger in this as you speake of. Too it lustily, and be not afrayde, I will warrant thée for an Egge at Easter. What doest thou thinke I haue not wayed the matter to the vttermost? foreséene it, preuented it, looked thorowe it, and séene to the bottome of it? Yes that I trowe I haue. And if I had not séene it done as I would haue it, I would not buye the repentaunce of the lyfe of my deare, swéete, louing, and tender father. Therefore dispatche, and about thy businesse. The tyde taryeth no man. Nowe is the [Page] time that in despite of our foes (doe the woorst they can) wee shall haue our purpose, and that so trimlye, that we shall swim in wealth, and liue all the dayes of our lyfe after like Gentlemen, and take our pleasure. So the vnhappie (rather than wise-father, daunced after the sonnes pipe, and forthwith went and conueyed hymselfe vnder that hollowe trée, tarying there all night where the treasure had bene hidden.

IN the morning betimes, my Lord Maior, the Shirifes, hys brethren the Aldermen, the Recorder, the counsell of the Citie, my maisters the Iudges, and Iustices of peace, with all other of my Lord Maiors and the Shirifes officers attending on him, solempnly went to the appoynted place for triall of this matter, and hauing hearde the parties in partibus and spartitibus, hee resolued vpon the testimonie of the tree, and cried out. What ho, tree (three times) who hath robbed this treasure? then this olde man that had lien vnder the tree all night, & had a couple of Nuts in his mouth to counterfeit the matter, answered quickly on a sodeine the name of the good simple man. When the Maior heard this thing, that within the barks of trees there were certaine trembling voyces put forth, it so amazed him, that for the time he was extaticke, & coulde not speake a word: seeming to him and to those that stoode by, that it was a wonderfull and straunge thing. And thus wondering at the matter, to heare the voyce come out of the tree, he was about to say: Lorde, see what force troth is off. But with that [Page] thought also he beganne to suspect there was some knauery in hande, and bicause he would knowe it if it were so, he commaunded they should lay a lode of wood or two about the roote of the tree, & when they had done, that they should set it on fyre: imagining that if there were any yll fauoured worme or vermin in the hollownes of the tree, either he would fire him out, or at the least burne hys coate or tayle. And if there were any deceyte, he knewe by this meanes he should easily boult it out: and hauing caused wood to be brought and layd togither as he commaunded, they streyght gaue fyre. Now the olde man hauing fyre at hys tayle lyke a Gloworme, and that it began to partch him, (thinke what heart he had) cryed out pittifully as lowde as he coulde. Alas, alas, alas. Water, water, water. I burne, I burne, I burne. Helpe, helpe. I am smothered, I am smothered. Come, come, come. Quick, quick, quick. Open, open, for Gods sake. I die, I die, I die. And many such wordes he spake, that he made them all ready to burst with laughing. A sirra (quoth my L. Maior) and art thou there in deede: In fayth the spirite is coniured now, he is sure ynough I warrant him. And so he caused the spirit to be pulled out, that God knoweth looked lyke the verye picture of stryfe it selfe. Whan hee sawe the poore olde Deuill howe he was dressed, at the first he laughed, and wythout any choler did streyght examine him. But when the troth in deede appeared as it was, hee payde them home with their owne deuice, and gaue them that [Page] they had iustlye deserued, and delyuered all the treasure to the simple honest man. So that nowe thou hearest howe innocencie is rewarded, and iniquitie punished. Let stryfe go, and we shall lyue merylie.

THou mayest nowe turne thys tale to thée, and make thée a short cloke, for in sooth it is euen fit for thy back, therfore put it on thée. Once againe I tell it thée, that the books which thou hast studied are false, and the doctrine naught: therefore I can tell thée they will be throwne into the fire. And if thou followe that doctrine, and alleage their authorities, out of doubt thou wilt frye at a stake, and thou and thy Doctors will be burned togithers. All will lye on thy neck and of thy childrens: as it did vpon the adulteresse, and it is not long since it happened, as you shall heare.

IN Terra Stolida, in a place called Vallona, it is reported there dwelled a riche Farmer, whose substaunce laye most in great Cattle: and at certaine times he droue them into other countries to pasture, where he abode with them many moneths. His wyfe that remayned at home, was good and square, & plumme of body, hir brawne as hard as a bourde, and had hir face before hir as other women: so that a great riche man also of that Countrie cast his eyes vpon hir, and entertayned hir in that time of vacation. And she that delighted not to be kept at the rack and maunger, suffered hir receipt to runne at large, to fare more daintily. In so much as at the last (sinning in gluttonie) hir breastes grewe bigge, [Page] and hir belly rose, so when time came, shee brought forth a goodly Babe, which she carefully put forth to nurse and thus it grewe: and in fine as hir owne in deede she brought it home and fostered it. Hir husbande being come home that had beene long absent, gladde to see his wyfe, and she (in seeming also) no lesse gladde of his comming, (but Lorde what feast and ioye in outwarde showe betweene them) they sweetely kissed, and with louing wordes imbraced eche other. Oh my Conye, welcome quoth she. Oh my deare Musse (sayde he) gramercy to thee. All wedlocke ceremonies duely accomplyshed: hir husband casting his eyes aboute, and seeing this fayre little Boye running about the house. Musse quoth he. I pray thee whence is thys little Knaue? what knowest thou not Conye sayde she? it is myne, (and this she tolde him as she that could cunningly handle him in his kinde) and so followed on, preuenting his tale. Doest thou not remember that three yeares ago there fell a great Snowe, (Iesu howe colde it was) and at the same time I remember the Rauens and Crowes fell downe starke dead in the streetes, and the fishe dyed in the Welles. Oh what a colde it was, and I tooke it in deede (God knoweth) with throwing of Snowe balles, the yonge maydes of the Countrie and I togithers: and I cannot tell howe, I handled so manye, but well I wote I came home fayre with chylde, and I am sure it was no other but the Snow, and that is sene by the Boye, that is as faire and whyte as Snow it selfe, [Page] and therefore I called hys name Whyte. And bicause I knowe well ynough yee men are of such mettall, that euen streight yee thinke all the euill of vs poore women that can be, and for that I woulde not put any ielousie or toye in thy head, I sent hym out of the dores to nurse, thinking afterwardes at leysure, when thou hadst knowne thy good wyfe, to send for him, and so to haue tolde thee euen plainely from point to point how the matter went, and howe I came by this good, pretie, sweete, faire, well fauoured Boy.

HIr husbande though in déede he was but an Asse and a dr [...] mishe foole, was not moued a whit at hir yll fauoured tale, nor once honge downe his head for the matter, and made as though he beleued hir: but he knew streight the knauery of the foolish inuention of his wife. Howbeit what for the loue he bare hir (bicause she was woorth the looking on ywis) and for that he was but a rude fellowe to beholde, and thought himselfe scant worthie of hir, and that he had maried hir, pyning away for hir sake: he thought it better to carie such things in hys brest than in his heade, and the rather peraduenture bicause he doubted false measure, fearing his parteners yll will that farmed hys grounde at halfes with him: in fine, he was contented to bite it in for the time, determining not to be at charges with other mens children. So one day spying time and place, he caried out of the dores with him this little Boy White: and such was his walke that the Boy was neuer more heard of, nor séene after that. The woman looked and looked againe to sée hir sonne returne with hir husbande. But séeing hir husbande come home without him, Conie sayth shée to him: I praye thée what hast thou done with my Boy? Hir husband that had bought his wyt [Page] so deare, aunswered hir. A swéete Musse, the other day vnaduisedly (I confesse it) I caried him abrode with me, and we walked a great whyle in the Sunne togithers, and thou knowest how hote it was two dayes ago (alack that I should tell it thee) the heate of the Sunne hath quite dissolued him. And then I founde thy wordes true which before I hardly beléeued. Alas poore wretch, he sodainely turned all into water, that wo is me. His Musse hearing this, in a rage flong hir away, and left Conie all alone, so he neuer after sawe hir.

I Haue told thee thys fable, bicause thou shouldest know, and see both, that all mischiefe and malice in the ende commeth out, & being disclosed, it euer receiueth the iust reward and punishment. What can be hoped for of thee that hast committed so many and sundrie yll factes, practised such wicked deedes, deuised such abhominable practises, and made so many snares to ketch the pore Bull in, that at the length thou broughtest hym to the Axe? And moreouer (to giue place to thine iniquitie) hast brought thy friende to his death, the King in daunger, and thy poore kinsfolkes to shame: and woorst of all, both of you brake your wordes and promise.

ALthough I be brother to thée by the Fathers side, I maye not, nor will not trust thée an ynche, nor deale with thée for pinnes. For he that hurteth his friende, wyll not spare to hurt his brother: & he that hath once deceyued, knoweth how to deceyue againe. But well, once warned halfe armed they say. I trow I wil beware of thée well ynough. Thou shalt not colt me be sure, as the Merchaunt was colted by an euill companion of [Page] his whom he trusted: and this once tolde thée, wée will shake handes and then adue.

THey saye there was once a great rich Merchaunt that had as much businesse as he could turne him to: and amongest other his substance he had many a thousande weight of yron. His businesse falling oute so that hee must needes go to Calicut, (which was a good thousand myles off) he gaue to his neighbour (a friende of his) his yron to keepe till he came home. The yron taried the maister many a faire day, and seeing hee came not, he tooke his leaue, and went his waye: but hee that had it in keeping, tooke reuenge well ynough of his departure, and made merie wyth it. The Merchaunt after hee was come home, went to his friende, and asked hym his yron. But he that was a slye childe, had streyght deuysed an excuse to serue hys turne, and sayde to him. I would to God you had neuer left it with me. For yee were not so soone gone, but there came euen the same nyght an armie of Rattes and Myse, (drawne thither by the sauor of the mettall) that lay continually at it: so that in fewe dayes, before I or any of my house knewe it (thinke you that heare it how this was likely) they had gnawen and eaten it vp euery whit, and had not left by estimation vneaten, and not spoyled, aboue foure ounces. Now imagine you whether this yll happe went to the stomack of me or no. The Merchant hearing so lowde a lye, could scant keepe him from laughing, though inwardly it grieued him: & yet soothing him, he made [Page] as he beleeued him, and sayd. Sure it is a marueylous matter howe this should come to passe: and but that I heare you speake it, I woulde neuer beleeue it. For doubtlesse it is one of the woonders of the worlde. A shame take him that solde it mee. I cannot be perswaded but that hee noynted it wyth some oyle, or gaue me some of that soft yron that is made of the water of Steele. But well, let the yron go where it will, and all my ylles withall, although it bee of no small weight. I tell you truly I loue you so muche, that I make small reckening of my losse, but rather I assure you I think it well bestowed, syth the wycked Rattes yet had somewhat to enterteine them with, and that they pardoned you and your familie. For ye may well know, that syth they did eate the yron, they had the Woolues disease in them: and if that had not bene in the way to haue relieued them, by my faye you had smelt of it. But since it is gone farewell it, no more wordes, as Cobbe sayd to his wife when his heade was broken.

THis craftie fellowe (but not so subtill as he tooke himselfe for) reioyced at these wordes, supposing the Merchaunt had passed no more for the matter, and so was pacified: whervpon he did conuite him the next day to dinner to him, and the Merchaunt accepted his bidding willingly. Howbeit he studied all night to serue him as good a turne, and he coulde at least, to be reuenged at once of his losse and mockes, without complayning to the Iustice of his wrong: and sure he showed him a right Northfolke tricke, and this was the iest.

[Page]THe Merchant sent for to dinner to hys house that had stollen the yron, went thyther streight, and was marueylously feasted and made off, (but in deede of his owne cost) howbeit the best pleasure of all was, the Merchaunt made verie much of a pretie little Boye, and hee was the onely sonne and heyre of him that had bidden him to diner: and still he fed the Boy, and made him great cheere. After dinner playing with his sonne, and makinge much of him as I tolde you before, promising (as they doe to children) many goodly thinges: whylest the father began to nodde and to take a nappe, the Merchant made the Boy be caried to a neighbours house of his, & there he hid him. The father when he awaked, went forth with the Merchant, attending their businesse, and thought nothing of his sonne, as he that was wont to goe forth without any such care. So comming home at night, and not finding his sonne, out he went all about the towne to seeke him, and spared not to aske euerye bodye that hee met if they saw his sonne. At the last by good happe hee stumbled on this Merchaunt, that in deede had stollen him (as the other had stollen his yron before) and being in great perplexitie he sorowfullye asked him of his sonne. The Merchaunt, all things framing as he wished, (sauing the giuing of his yron to hym to keepe) aunswered streight. Yes marrie I remember I sawe (not long since the winde rose so great) a sielye Sparrowe catch a little pretie Boye by the heare of his heade, and in that whirlewynde shee snatched him vp, and caried him quite [Page] away into the ayre: and sure by your wordes mee thinkes it should be your sonne. Therfore seeke him no more, for by this time he is in heauen, it is so long agoe I sawe him taken vp from the grounde. The father hearing so impossible a thing, beganne lyke a madde man to crie oute, and sayde. O heauen, O earth, O yee people of the worlde: gyue eare vnto this straunge and wonderfull case. Who euer heard such a thing? Who euer saw so straunge a sight? as to see little Sparrowes carie children into heauen? Are Children become Chickens, or Sparrowes Kytes? What sayth the Merchaunt, you seeme to haue little practise in the worlde, syth yee remember not that an Eagle hath taken vp a man and caried him quite away. But Lord what nedes this wondering: I marueyle at you aboue all men, syth you are vsed to see greater woonders and impossibilities than this. For you haue seene Rattes and Myse gnawe yron, and eate it when they haue done: and I that did but heare it only of your mouth, marueiled not a whitte. By these woordes his false friende knewe what hee ment well ynough, and imagined (as it was) that to be reuenged for his yron he kept his sonne. And seeing no other remedie, fallinge downe at his feete, hee asked him forgiuenesse for Gods sake, and put himselfe into his handes, promising he woulde restore him his yron agayne, and make him amendes for all his losses. And thus hee came by his sonne agayne, which otherwyse hee should neuer haue heard of.

[Page] BY this that thou hast heard (sayd the Asse to the Moyle) of the yll Companion, thou shalt know what thou mayest hope of booties gotten with deceit: and consequently what thou mayest looke for of the King, whome thou hast deceyued, and betrayed. Which by swiftnesse of Time (that shortly passeth ouer many

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yeares, and that also is father of Veritie) cannot nor will not suffer hir to be hidden by any coloured fraude or deceit. So that he will disclose all by mouth of Veritie vnto the King, telling him of thy wretchednesse: and the matter being knowne, thou shalt bide the bitter punishment, and he will be reuenged of thee for the Bull. To this aunswered the Moyle.

[Page]THere was a faire woman in loue with a Pothecarie, and shee coulde neuer haue leysure (bicause hir husband kept hir streightly) once to speake with him, or with any others to let hym knowe it. One night hir husband euen sodeinly being verye sicke, was compelled for present remedie to send his wyfe in haste to the Pothecaries. So thither she ranne with al speede, and in steade of returning quickly with the medicines, shee whipped at a trise vp into the Pothecaries chamber to conferre with him of secret matters (you know what) and as shee was running vp shee cast hir handkircher with hir money downe on the shoppe bourde to the Boy, and bade him make ready the medicine in the meane whyle. The Boye that had an eluish witte, vndidde hir handkircher, and toke out hir money, and pretily tied it vp againe, hauing filled hir handkircher with the dust of the streete, of purpose to mock hir, to let hir vnderstand, that they that came in haste for sicke folks, did not vse to sport them at leysure on that fashion: and so laid downe hir handkircher againe on the bourd where he found it. When this woman had well paide the Collector vpon hir receit, and that she saw shee had bene somewhat to long in hir account: she came down from the Pothecarie, snatched vp hir handkircher, and ran home as she had bene scared with some yll thing. But finding hir husband sleping (the extremitie of the paine hauing left him) she sate downe softlye by the beddes syde, and opening hir handkircher, founde hir money turned into verye [Page] earth and dust. And euen at that instant hir husband awaked, who bicause he knew not how long he had slept, he could not tell whether his wife came quickly againe, or taried long: and casting his eyes on the dust and earth which shee was looking on, (as shee that knew she was mocked) he asked hir. What dust and baggage is that thou hast there? what, are ointments and medicines made of that fashion? his wife streight found his malice, and aunswered foolishly.

I running hastilye from certayne that were fighting in the streetes, my money slipt out of my hande, and being very darke I sought to take it vp, and so with my handes I tooke all that I coulde finde, thinking with my selfe in taking vp the dust to get vp my money too: but wo is me, it is sure all gone, and with that burst out in teares. The husbande simply beleeued hir, and giuing hir other money sent hir thither againe: and so with this second commoditie she fully accomplished hir desyre, and swetely payde the hire of hir pleasure.

WHy then doest thou thinke with other new and straunge deuises yet to occupie the Kings heade? I besech God he may once pay thée home. But I would aduise thée, looke well to thy selfe. For thou shalt finde great difference betwéene such a beast as he is, and another foolish little beast that will easily beléeue thee. Vnlesse thou wouldest saye to me, that bicause thou hast done the most, thou shalt haue the least. To this I replie. That one paye payeth all. And a little theft hangeth vp the théefe for many a great robbery. I haue sayde to thée for this time, and now farewell.

The fourth part of Morall Philosophie

QVEL CHE MI MOLESTAVA ACCENDO ET ARDO

Anno. 1570.
[Page] [Page]The fourth part of Morall Philosophie, shewing the ende of the treasons and miseries of the Court of this Worlde.

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ALthough yee fynde many good reasones spoken vnder the shadow and colour of beastes without reason, yet ye are not to maruell a whit: for we also that represent reasonable beastes, do oftentimes things with out reason and discretion both. And thys is excellent to: to see beasts liue and worke as men. But howe brutishe a thing is it, to see men lyue and gouerne themselues like brute beastes. Ye must also note in this Treatise one thing, yt like as men sometime say thou, or you, worshipful, Honorable, Noble, or Lordship and so forth, and doe in deede many times mysse to giue to eche man his right title & dignitie as they ought, and is fit for eche mans calling and vocation: euen so these beastes also (for in the ende ye knowe them to be but beasts) do erre many times, speaking false Latine, saying thou for you, and maister where they shoulde say seruaunt. Therefore you may not recken of such scapes, nor loke after them, though ye [Page] see them [...]traye a little out of the waye, and take a Goslinge for a Goose, and a Crabbe for a Whale. For it is an olde rule, that both men and beasts will fault in many things.

THe Lyon therefore did amisse to kill the Bull, suffering him selfe and his iudgement to be abused and ouertaken, by the deuilish and subtill practises of the trayterous Moyle. In somuch as when his choler was ouer, and that he had wreaked his anger of him, cruelly putting the guiltlesse beast to death: he then to late looked backe on his bloudie déede, and repented him of his rage, knowing he had not done well to kill so wyse a subiect, and so graue a counseller. His conscience griped him at the hart to thinke he had no lawfull cause to vse such crueltie to him. Such inwarde thoughtes drawe déepe, and touche the quicke, and can hardly be holden in and kept secrete. So that the Kinges heart burning thus, out he burst a fewe wordes, which made the Moyles eares glowe: as that péece of wicked flesh, that alwayes gaue attentiue eare, and looked to be payde home. So that vpon a sodeine, to take awaye these thoughtes from the King, and that he should not thinke to much vppon them, besides that to continue him still in his errour: he ranne to the Court, and downe he fell on his knées before the Kinge, and with all humilitie he sayd. Most mightie and noble Prince, thou hast brought thy desires now to an ende. The Gods that day did blesse thee, in which they gaue thée honorable victorie, when thou ouercamest so great and stronge an enimie. The worlde, victorious Prince, woondereth, that thou hauing (I meane) cause to reioyce art so sadde and full of pensiuenesse. Oh sayde the Lyon, when I thinke of the cruell and violent death of Chiarino without cause, I am ready to eate my fingers for sorrow. And continually I thinke of the great wit he had, of his graue and prudent counsell, indowed besides with [Page] many noble gifts and maners. And to conclude, I must tell thée plainely, I cannot comfort my selfe, nor be in quiet, when I examine the cause of his death. For many things runnes in my heade to perswade me that things were otherwise than I tooke them, and that he had wrong. But nowe I knowe, that that my father sayde so oft is [...]ue. That a thing oft thought vpon, can seldome misse but it falleth out true.

YOur Lordshippe (sayde this wicked Moyle) shoulde not thus sorow and bewayle the losse of him, which made thee lyue in continuall feare and torment. For wyse Princes oft times doe both punishe and cut off many worthie persones, and those whom they dearely loue and esteeme: and why? all for their owne safetie, and the preseruation their Realme. And Sir, of two euils they choose the least: to kill one, rather than to make a thousand die. Lo here is an example. Doe ye not see my Lord when one is bitten with a venimous serpent, that streight he cutteth off the member that is bitten, not suffering it to infect and poyson the whole bodye, by meanes whereof hee saueth his life, which else hee should lose? The Kinge seemed to graunt him, and the Moyle thought these wordes had cleared the Lions hart, and he craftily made much of the worshipfull Moyle, and like a brother intreated him. The Moyle sate him downe on a forme in the Chamber of presence a whyle, and began of himselfe to thinke vpon the miserie of Princes of light credit, and of the malice of these vile tale bearers, which set stryfe and contention betwixt partie and partie, of their tyrannie, [Page] of their opinions, and fonde fantasies, in thys maner.

LArge, great, wonderfull, and infinite are the wayes to offende, and innumerable are the snares and deuises that one wicked and naughtie disposed person may deuise and spread abrode, to ketch a good and true meaning man, to ouerthrow him quite. And there is not so straight a friendship but is easie to be broken, with the hand of naughty procéeding. As I haue proued it. If I coulde but write all the things that haue happened, the tales that haue bene tolde, and the long wouen cloth: I should teache Princes howe they shoulde doe in all their matters, and woulde make them sée the discretion that many haue lost, and what waye they should take not to fall into these Courtly flatterers. Those that beare office, and haue charge ouer others, ought diligently to searche out the troth of thinges: and not to goe as Flies without heades, and lightly to turne and chaunge as the wauering weather Cock with euery winde. Truely it is a fowle fault in meane men to giue easie eare to flatterers, but in great persons it is a farre greater fault, & in Princes chiefly a thing of most detect and slaunder, and of extréeme crueltie.

Nowe I come to knowe plainlye, what a great burden is layde on the peoples backes, that are gouerned by a Prince of small consideration and iudgement: and in what daunger their persons are, besides the griefe their conscience giueth them for their state. O poore people, how many thousands of ye recommended vnder the scepter of such iustice? Ought not Princes to be like vnto God? and if God will take account of all things at his will (be they neuer so little) why should not the Kynge among his subiectes also doe the lyke? The wickednesse of Ministers and officers (if so it were) woulde not then runne on so farre as it doth vnpunished. O little faith to Gods lawes. O little labor for a man to knowe himselfe. Where we thinke [Page] goodnesse only harboreth, thence procéedeth all vice and wickednesse: and where we beléeue troth is lodged, there sléepeth deceyt. Who would not haue beléeued that in this Court vertue had remayned? but alas here is the only Court of vice. In outwarde lookes euerie one séemeth to carie troth: but in the inwarde brests is hid all dissimulation and vntroth. Thrée things there are which are vnite togithers, and should neuer be out of the Princes minde: To wit. To loue God, his neighbour, and to gouerne himselfe. And thrée other things also there are for the subiects to obserue vnto their Prince. Loue, fayth, and obedience. But euery one I sée hath forgotten them, from high to lowe. This world then being so full of daungers and deceytes as it is, what man is he alyue so wyse can keepe himselfe from them?

THe Lyon returned into the Chamber where the Moyle was, hee lycensed him to depart, and the Moyle with due reuerence tooke his leaue of the King. Now the King left all alone, beganne agayne to lament, and to repent him a thousande tymes that hee was thus ouertaken with the Moyles perswasion: and it grieued him so muche more, bicause he remembred the Bulles wyse counsels, wonderfull behauior, and noble conuersation. And to banishe this inwarde conceyued griefe, that gryped him at the heart, he lyked to be amongst hys Lordes and familiers, whom diuersly hee entertained. And amongst this rowte was the Lybberd, one of the noblest of bloud of all his kynne, and him the King trusted with many secrete thinges of hys lyfe. This Lybbarde one daye going out of the pallace to walke, passed bichaunce by the house of the Moyle [Page] and Asse, and hearde the Asse crying out vppon the Moyle, and bitterlye reproouing him for that vyle treason he vsed to the Bull: and so hee hearde from poynt to poynt euery act and dede he did. With these wordes the Lybbard felt a thing touch his heart as one had spoken to him: and bade him marke well what Gods iustice will doe. So that he saw certainly the Moyle could not long scape the Kings wrath, and that he should dearely buye the Princes griefe, falling into that snare he had layde for many others. Nowe as all curious searchers doe, that desire to heare other mens doings, hee layde hys eare to the doore, and hearde the Asse his brother speake these very words vnto him. O thou wouldest needes follow thine owne fantasie: I coulde not rule thee. All is well that endeth well saye I. Marke the ende. Thou reiectedst my counsell, it skilleth no matter: I say naught but mum. If any mischiefe light on thee, at thy perill be it: if the King doe punishe thee, thou hast but well deserued it, and God is iust if hee poure it on thee. O goodly act of thine, to betraye an innocent creature, and thy faithfull friende.

Brother mine (sayde the Moyle) no mo wordes I praye thee: that that is done cannot be vndone. And it is easier to reprooue than to amende. When the Steede is stollen it is to late to shut the stable dore. I knowe Chiarino is slayne and that guiltlesse, and I confesse I was cause of his death. But let vs leaue off this vayne talke, and deuyse some waye to driue out the suspition the Kinge hath taken in his heade, that he thinketh there hath bene some trechery vsed [Page] towards him. The Libbard hauing hearde ynough, and as much as serued his turne, departed his way, and hied him to the Pallace of the Queene mother, whither the King had sent him for other affaires of his. After hee had done his message from the King hir sonne, he tolde the Queene mother al the circumstaunce of that he had hearde, and of the rebukes of the Asse to the Moyle, and of his horrible committed murder. So the Queene mother and he resolued to kepe it secret, bicause they would not the Asse should haue anye hurt, knowing hee was a good, honest, playne, foolishe beast. In the next morning betimes the Queene mother went to the Court to see the Kinge hir sonne, and finding him perplexed, and in heauy case, she sayd vnto him. What aylest thou my sonne that I see thee thus troubled, and that these many dayes I sawe thee not mery? If it be for any thinge thou hast lost, assure thy selfe that neyther sighes nor sobbes will once restore it thee agayne. This inwarde griefe doth vexe thy minde, feebleth thy bodie, and tormenteth thee much I see. But yet giue it not waye so farre as thou canst not call it backe againe. Impart at least thy deepe conceyued griefe vnto thy mother, and familier friends, such as best doe lyke thee. If any helpe at all there bee, wee all will put to our helping handes. But if still thou doste burst out thus in teares and sighes, thou wilt rather showe thy selfe a woman than a man. For so doe women vse, for euerye trifle when they liste to bring forth a teare. Perhappes it grieues thee thou hast slaine Chiarino. Out of doubt I can assure thee [Page] thou defiledst thy selfe in innocent bloude: for without any crime, faulte, or liuing offence to thee thou laydest thy handes vpon him. His mothers wordes at length drue these from him. It is an olde saying, and I haue heard it oft. Thinges lost can neuer bee recouered: and this thing goeth to the heart of me. Naye see mother if I haue cause to sorrowe, that since his death, and before, I neuer hard so much as an yll worde of my faithfull Chiarino. Sure if he had ment yll to me, it could not haue bene but I shoulde haue smelt it out, and it woulde haue come to mine eares one waye or other. And therefore to thee mother alone I confesse my faulte, and I maye tell it thee, the only worker of his mischiefe was his cruell enimie the Moyle: which with practises, inuentions, and deuises hath supplanted me, and killed him, moouing mee to wrath. Ah my sonne, nowe I must needes tell thee agayne, thou hast bene betrayed and deceyued both, and this a trustie friende hath tolde me. The Lyon would faine haue knowne of whom: but the Queene mother would by no meanes at that time tell him ought. But this she did assure him, that there was no newe inuention nor alteration in hys Realme that shoulde offende him in worde or deede: and bade him seeke well, and in short time he should knowe all. So the King since he coulde at that time get no more of his Mother, determined to assemble all the beastes of his Realme, and to call them to Parliament to consult vppon this matter, and so he did.

[Page] WHen this generall Counsell was called, where all the great Lordes of his Realme, and the wysest of the Commons, with all the souldiours were assembled, he also sent for his Mother. Shée looking all the beastes in the face that were present, & missing the Moyle, caused him streight to be sent for. So he came forthwith. But when he was come to the Pallace, and saw the Parliament house furnished with all the Colledge of beastes: then he knewe the Princes indignation, when looking vpon him earnestly he saw his colour chaunge, and that his conscience gnawed him for the death of the Bull. Now the Moyle knowing himselfe guiltie, began to whet his wittes, and drawing néere to certaine of the great Lordes that stoode rounde about the Quéene mother, hée sayde vnto them. Lorde what ayleth our noble King? what is the cause of this conuention here? how commeth it he is thus malencholy? What, is there any sodeine or straunge accident happened in the Court, that we may knowe the cause? the Counsell hath bene called very sodainly. The Quéene mother aunswered streight. Thou néedest not marueyle ywis at the Kings heauinesse. For thou knowest well ynough (hauing giuen him the cause) his sadnesse, which with thy swéete sugred wordes hast giuen him bitter gall. Tell me I pray thée? canst thou tell who was cause of the death of the most noble and worthie knight of our Court? Was it thou perhaps? But the Moyle (as stoute as Golyas) without any blushing aunswered streight.

NOw I know the saying which our olde auncient beastes vsed in times past is true: and I am out of doubt of it. That let one doe as much good as he can, his rewarde I warrant yee shall be little ynough, and that God onely is hee who rewardeth and giueth recompence for anye benefite [Page] or seruice done. O what a marueilous matter is it, that he that liueth well in this worlde, cannot continue to liue well, but is compelled to daunce after euery mans pipe: to holde with the Hare, and runne with the Hounde. The true heart I haue alwayes borne to the Kinge thy sonne, and sounde counsell which (God I take to recorde) I haue euer giuen him, doe not deserue such rewarde. For it is knowne well ynough that the Moyle his seruaunt hath deliuered him from many daungers, and present death also: and refused no traueyle for his safetie, and that I make his Lordship iudge off. Well, I onely craue of his Grace but that hee will inquire of my life and doings. For I knowe my proceedings will appeere better to him than is thought for: and I woulde my troth and honestie were openlye knowen to the world. And for my part, if the least part of that were true that is spoken of me, and that I were any maner of way to be touched, his Maiestie may be assured I woulde not tarie an houre in the Court, and much lesse haue come before these great Lords. And besides that I woulde not thinke my selfe sure in any place of the worlde wheresoeuer I were, if I had but once receyued suche a thought in mee, and much lesse if I had commited the deede. Therefore I pray thee noble Ladie, lende not thy eares to the wordes of enuious persons, nor suffer his Maiestie to laye handes on my innocencie. For if that seeme a straunge thing to you, this a fortiore were a wicked fact: a fact without reason, iustice, and anye maner of equitie. I doe not care to be counted wicked [Page] in that case, if all the Court doe count me so. For God himselfe knoweth well the troth, in whome I only hope, and am sure he will deliuer me from this suspition and daunger.

THis Moyle in his wordes séemed to be the best beast of the world, and those that lyke straungers heard him, and knew not his Moylish nature (a vile traitour Moile, a whoreson cankred Moyle, that let a man kéepe him in the stable .xxv. yeares, and make neuer so much of him: in the end, for a farewell, and that on a sodeine (when a man thinketh not of it) he will yerke out behinde and put him in daunger of his life,) were very sorie for his trouble, and did pitie his case. He that by nature was borne subtill and craftie, perceiuing a little parcialitie amongst them, and that he had reasonable audience: went about streight to intricate the house, and so began a tale Coram populo like vnto this, still drawing water to his Myll.

A tale of the Ioyners wife and the Painter.

THere was sometime in the countrie of Catalogna a Ioyner of Tharsia, and hee had a verye faire woman to his wife as any that came into that citie a thousand yeares before hir. Thys faire woman became in loue with a Painter, and bicause the neighbours shoulde not be priuie of his accesse vnto hir: she prayed the Painter to make him a garment to bee knowne from others. [Page] So that by hir eye, and feelinge (if there were no light) she might yet streight wayes know him. This deuise and request pleased the Painter well, wherevpon hee made him a white garment paynted with Pecocks eies, and wrought vpon it, and so with this robe in the night hee went to hir: without calling to any, or knocking at the doore, hee went to a place appointed where he founde hir hidden, and there he swetely sollaced him selfe to his great contentation. At this compact betweene them for their meeting, one of hir seruauntes had closely put himselfe into a corner, and hearde all that was sayde and done, who cunningly dissembled that hee knewe ought where his Mystresse hid hir. This Painter with his white robe continued his haunt vnto hir a great while before the seruaunt coulde come to beare halfe of his labor. It hapned yet on a night (as fortune woulde) that this Painter had occasion to goe oute of the towne for certaine businesse he had abrode: the seruant when he knew it, hied him immediatly vnto the Painters house, and bade his wyfe deliuer hym hir husbandes white robe. And when he had it, he put it on his back, and so went to his Mistresse with all: who when she sawe it, and knew it, and beleeued it had bene the Painter (perhaps too, shee lyked to be deceiued) begā to pursue Venus sport togithers. His errand delyuered, hee went and rendered thys robe agayne vnto the Paynters wyfe, who good soule knewe not what hir husbande ment to weare that robe euery night. Anone after midnight as the Deuill would haue it, the Painter came home agayne, [Page] whether the sprite mooued hym that he must needes goe coniure the Deuill, or that his busynesse framed not that hee went for, or what it was I cannot tell ye, it is ynough, home he came: and putting on his white robe on his backe he flong out of the doores agayne in haste, and to the Ioyners wyfe hee trudged. But when he came there, he founde all fast shut vppe, and no noyse at all: so that hee was driuen to daunce attendaunce without doores and blowe hys nailes, as the Phisitions Moile that waiteth for his maister, and still chaweth on the bridle. Howbeit the next night hee returned, and at pleasure discouered the countrie. And being hastie in his iourney, what man (quoth she) remember your self, you rode farre yesternight, and you are not yet at your iourneyes ende: I perceyue you haue yet a Coltes tooth in your heade. Well wanton well, you will tyer your horse: and with such lyke harlottrie louing wordes she entertained hir friende the Painter. The Painter hearing these wordes, beganne to smell a Ratte, and thought streyght shee had taken in more horses into hir stable than two. So he tooke his leaue, and home he went: and when he came home, examining the matter, his wife tolde him there came one in his name for his robe. Then were they both at an afterdeale, and woorse than euer they were, for none of them knewe, nor could gesse what hee should be: insomuch as after he had well fauouredly ribbe rosted his poore innocent wife, he threwe his robe into the fire. And so shee sielye woman bare the blame that made no fault. The King therefore shoulde not so [Page] lightly beleeue it, before hee be iustly informed: that anothers fault bee not punished by my innocencie. My Lords and beasts, think not I pray you that I speake this for feare of death, but to purge my selfe of that ye haue hearde. For death is common to all, and I knowe I cannot shunne it, therefore I feare it not. But this I feare, that dying falsely accused, my name and house should for euer be defamed: and to this I take great heede. The mother of the Lion, that was the very daughter of impacience, coulde not abyde to heare anye more fables, but cast vp hir head, and turned hir about at those words, and halfe in a rage, and in choler, sayde thus to the Moyle.

IF thy déedes were as good as thy wordes, my sonne shoulde not be thus grieued nor offended: nor the poore Bull had bene nowe deade. But thy double dealings and prittle prattle, who did but giue eare vnto thée, (and beléeued thée) not knowing thée, are ynough to turne the Court topsie turuie. As thou diddest heretofore to Pannonia, who come home thou madest him beléeue (bicause his wife woulde not graunt thy vnhonest desire) that she was naught: so that vpon thy wordes he fell vppon hir with his féete, and pashed hir to death. Then to late repenting his fault, he heaped one yll on another: for he made all his Concubines to bée burnt. And all this came of thy cursed wordes. Therefore it is best for euerye man not to haue thy friendship. With that he lifted vp his eares, and with open mouth thus aunswered.

IT becommeth not Madame the Kinges mother to heare the causes, reasons, contentions, obiections, and wronges of the subiect [Page] with two eares at once, but with one alone. For your iudgement ought to be vpright & equall, if affection or partialitie carie ye not away. And if the matter be for Chiarino: the Moyle will not for that forget that the King doth yet trust him, and that he is a true seruant to his Maiestie. And be yee assured Madame, that to trouble my innocencie, and to molest me that to all this Court is so true a slaue, it is an offence to pitie. Imagine how the Lionesse hart did rise marueylously against him, bicause she knew the wickednesse of the Moyle: and turning to hir sonne she said. How thinkest thou of the boldnesse of this most cruel vncurbed traytor? that as many as heare him think he hath reason. See I praye yee how he playes the Foxe. Beholde I beseech ye his lookes, what kinde of iestures he makes. Thinke ye hee cannot hit one on the knee at a pinch and neede be with his heeles? Yes I warrant ye when ye looke not for it. O subtill beast, how he hangeth downe his heade. O what a traytours looke, see his false leering eyes. Lorde how terribly he lookes on vs. Dismember my sonne this cursed beast, and henceforth neither for friends, Courtiers, nor kynsefolkes requestes, euer keepe Moyles any more. The Lion for al these words stirred not a whitte, neyther once cast vp his heade as though hee had bene moued. The Lyonesse his mother madde for anger for hir sonnes griefe: why then bicause thou wilt not punish a traitor, doest thou not beleue me? doest thou not credit thy Mother that telleth thee here before them all, and affirmeth to his face that he is a traitour to thee?

[Page] THen the King called a certaine fierce beast, and vgly monster to beholde, begotten of a Satire and of a Griffin, and he made him take a chaine and chaine the Moyle. The Moyle seing

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so horrible a borned beast come towardes him, let fall his tayle for feare and sorrow both, and thus of this hellish furie he was chained, and caried to prison, and as ye shall heare safely kept and examined.

WHen the Moyle was thus apprehended, the Lyonesse went to the Kinge hir sonne, and sayde to him. The imprisonment of this wicked [Page] member, hath greatlye reioyced all the Court: knowinge that nowe the tyme is come thys malefactor shall bee punished, and receyue iust rewarde for his treasons. God, if thou diddest but heare what they talke of hym in Court, of his naughtie tongue, of his carying of tales from one to another, of spreading abrode quarrels, contentions, strifes, debates, and suspitions in euery place where he cometh, thou wouldest blesse thee, and thine eares woulde glowe in thy head. O cursed Moyle. Neuer agree to heare him, neuer giue him audience, but referre his matter to the counsell, and then let iustice procede. Now I thinke thy lyfe safe, and dare boldelye saye thy Realme shall lyue in peace: syth the Moyle is forthcomming, and I hope shall be quite dispatched. And bicause I would not haue thee thinke I speake obscurely: I wil tell thee what reason I haue to speake it. And here the Lionesse reciteth from point to point what the Lybbarde had tolde hir, and how she heard the whole matter of him. The King vnderstanding his fact from the mouth of so credible a person, as that of the Libbarde: then he knewe it to be true, and that he had offended, which yet was not altogither to be beleued, and depended somewhat vpon the Moyle. And thus determined to punish the Moyle, he withdrewe himselfe from the counsell, as all such like Princes doe.

NOwe when Fame had blowne abrode the Moyles imprisonment, and comming to the Asses eares his brother, hée ranne vnto the prison, and his heart panted, and bet marueylously: [Page] as that Asse that knewe howe this geare was brought about, and he tolde the Moyle. Our playe nowe is like to the playe of the two brethren, that hauing two Balles in their

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handes, they gaue them ech into others handes, and they were both made of one fashion and bignesse: so that in the ende to choose this or that they saw it was all one, there was no choyce in neyther. To haue thée in prison, alas it troubleth me: and to haue thée abrode also it grieueth me. All commeth to one reckening. And with that for kindenesse he burst out in teares, and wept bitterly. But afterwardes seing him with the chaine about his necke, he quaked for feare, and layde him downe on the grounde, crying out in his Asses maner, and sayde. O brother [Page] Moyle, what case art thou in now? Alas there is no more time to reproue thée now, bicause there is no remedie, as fewe dayes agoe there was, when thou mightest haue cancelled all: but thou like an Asseheaded foole, that mightest haue cléered the countrie (knowing thy selfe to be guilty) why didst thou not take thée to thy legs? Thou despisedst my counsels to thée, & yet they were good if thou hadst had grace to haue taken them. It is true that is spoken by the mouth of beasts that haue vnderstanding. That the false and vntrue man dyeth before his time. As me thinketh I sée by the Element will happen to thée. And this for none other but for thine insolencie, and naughtinesse: and thy craftes and deceytes hath brought thée to this trouble. O how happie haddest thou bene if thou haddest dyed in thy birth? Cursed, and wo worth be thy false knowledge and enuye of others weale and prosperitie: which onely is it hath brought thée to this infamous ende. Then the Moyle relented, and breaking out in teares also, aunswered.

O My good Brother Asse, no liuing creature, howe wise and discreete so euer hee be, can shunne his mishappes and yll fortune: and therefore I despised a thousande of thy good counsels, for so was it giuen me from aboue. And if pride and ambition had not traueiled me still, I could haue withdrawne mee: but the enuie of others dignitie and estimation had to much power ouer mee. O blind vnderstanding of mans knowledge. It happeneth to me as to the sick man, who hauing prepared for him most wholesome meates, hee refuseth them, and giueth hymselfe ouer to his will and appetite, takinge them that are hurtfull for him, and filleth [Page] himselfe: which doth in dede both hinder his health, and continue his sickenesse. He knoweth it, & yet can not abstaine. I knew well ynough my peruerse vnderstandinge, but I neuer had reason sufficient to bridle it. Nowe to late I finde my fault, and knowing the daunger I am in, my sorrow redoubleth on me: not so much for my selfe, as for thy sake, bicause thou hast alwayes bene with me. Thou art my brother, and consequentlye they will beleeue and imagine (in deede) that thou art priuie with mee, and partaker of my doings. The Kinges officers therefore may take thee, and put thee on the racke, and make thee confesse my fault, and when they haue done execute thee. (For sure they shall neuer haue it of me) and by thy confession punish mee without remission or pardon in this worlde. For of thy wordes dependeth my death, and of my wicked gouernement shall growe thy yll, griefe, trouble, torment, prisonment, and extreeme punishment. The Asse hearing his brothers wordes, marked them well, that he trembled euery ioynt of him, and quaked like an Aspin leafe: and a beastly feuer tooke him, with which he went his way home. But before he departed thence, he sayde vnto the Moyle. Brother, if thou wey my life, and wilt keepe me from perill (as thou canst not any waye auoyde it) confesse thy fault is worthy of death: thus shalt thou free thee from the wrath of the Gods, and after this corporall punishment of thine, doubtlesse thy spirite shall forthwith be transported to the heauens. Well sayd the Moyle, the last and extreme remedie shall be this. If there [Page] be no hope of remedie, let it be as it will be: for my bodie well I wote suffereth already to much. Now get thee home, & hide thy selfe, and let it light on me, as the world, Fortune, & the Gods will assigne. The Asse departed from him verye sicke, and sore troubled in his minde, and his payne so helde him, that the same night hee ended his sorrowfull dayes. Whose death a Woolfe that dwelled harde by him greatly lamented, and was a witnesse afterwarde that confirmed all the wicked fact: who hearde in deede the same night howe the Asse reprooued the Moyle his brother. The Lyon sent to the Libbard, and commaunded his officers they shoulde vnderstand particularly the Moyles case, and to dispatch him roundlye.

AL the beasts got them into the Parliament house, and euery one tooke his place according to his degrée, and sate them downe: and the house being set, there was brought before them in chaines this solemne traytor the Moyle. And when he was come before the presence of such a sight of Asses and fooles, the Libbard standeth vp, & speaketh. Right honorable, it is yet fresh in memorie, that the King killed the poore innocent Chiarino, so that from that time hitherto his Maiestie hath not bene quieted in his minde, that hée put him to death by the false accusation and enuie of my Lorde the Moyle. His Maiestie therefore hath liked to call vs to Parliament, that euery one of vs should witnesse the troth, if we knowe or haue heard any thing of his doings, in what maner he did it, what Arte he vsed, with whom he practised, and by whom he was assisted in this great treason, to bring his wicked minde to purpose. Euery one of vs is bound that knoweth ought to vtter it, for the preseruation of the [Page] Realme, and his Maiesties most royall person. And then by iustice it is méete such traytors shoulde be punished, and the good rewarded: by meanes wherof the good may liue vnder his Maiesties reigne and gouernement with safetie, and the yll be rooted out and cut off from the common weale. Euery one looked other in the face, and helde their peace. The vnhappie Moyle, perceyuing that euerie bodie was ashamed to take vppon them to tell so yll a tale, cut off Fortune by the waste euen at that pinche, and stepped to the matter himselfe, rising vp vpon his féete (being set before) and boldly sayd these words.

O Noble and vertuous Lordes, what is the cause ye are all thus silent? O my Lordes, how gladde would I be (if I were in fault) of this your silence. But bicause I knowe mine innocencie, and my selfe cleere in that I am accused off, it shall not grieue me, let euery man saye hardily that he knoweth. But yet with condicion, that he haue the glasse of Verity before his eies, and that he aunswere iustly to that he is asked, and so shall hee (what soeuer he be) satisfie God, and the worlde, and I shall remayne free and contented. It is true that euery bodye shoulde bee circumspect to speake onely that they knowe: and not to suffer themselues to be caried awaye eyther with fauour, enuie, or malice. For then like ynough that losse and shame woulde come to him, that came to a Phisition which had the Tisicke, or if I lie not, was well seene in Phisicke. In a certaine part of India Pastinaca, there was a Phisition in diebus illis, the which cured all, all the beasts he visited: and sure it was a marueilous thing, there [Page] neuer died any vnder his handes that hee had cure off. This man being deade, was reckened for a Saint. Another Phisition called maister Marre al, (in our tongue) beganne to cast waters, setting euery Vrinall by himselfe, and bought him bookes to resemble the other as neere as he coulde: and when he had met with any receit, oh he kept it full dearely. Afterwardes he had a toye in his head, that he tooke himselfe for the selfe same Phisition that was before him, both for learning and practise, so that he boasted hee had done great cures, who coulde scant knowe he was himselfe aliue, hee was so poore, and yet hee layde on lode as he had bene (yea marrie had he) the cunningest man in a Realme. It happened so that the daughter of the King of that Citie (where this Phisition dwelled) fell sicke, and hir disease was this. That being with childe hir nose gushed out with bloud very oft. The king that loued his daughter dearely, and gladly would haue had remedie for hir and coulde not, hee was very pensiue and heauie, and sighed sore for that worthye Phisition that was nowe deade, the losse of whome went to his heart, syth none died vnder him that he had in cure. This newe come Phisition knowing the Kinges case, went to his Maiestie, and tolde him that hee shoulde not sorrowe for the losse of the other Phisition, for he offered himselfe to satisfie him as much in his seruice, as that other excellent and famous man his predecessor: and that he doubted not but he woulde finde out a present and souereigne remedie for his Graces daughter. The Kinge reioyced at [Page] those wordes, beleuing them as true as he had spoken them: so he prayde him to minister to hir, and to applie such present remedies as might with speede cease hir disease, and restore hir to hir health. Nowe to showe himselfe a rare and learned man, he came to his bookes, and tossed and tumbled them pittifullye, turning their leaues vpside downe, beleeuing they were the bookes of the other famous man, and that those woulde able him in his ministration as they did the other. Then he made his man bring him those Electuaries, Compoundes, and Conceytes that the other Phisition had left behind him, and he beganne to mingle them and worke them togither. But like an vnfortunate man in all his doings, there came to his handes a pot of Arsenicke, and bicause hee thought hee had kept and preserued it with great care and diligence, hee tooke it for a precious oyntment, so that he tooke of that the greatest quantitie, and mingled it with the others. This Arsenicke (which he supposed as good as Ginger) prepared in potion, hee caried it to the Princesse which shoulde haue dronke it: saying that streight it would stoppe the bloud, and restore hir to health. The King seing he had thus quickly dispatched his medicine, thought him one of the rarest iudgementes and singularest Phisition in the worlde. The vnhappie Ladie had scant dronke off a part of this potion, but she felt hir hart labor and take on vnmercifully: so leauing the reast behinde vndronke, making pittifull mone, and screking out for payne, she wofully in short time left hir life. The King seeing his daughter deade, was [Page] become the heauiest man aliue, as euery man maye coniecture: and apprehending this beggarly Phisition, made him drinke vp the reast, so that he streight fell downe in the place and died. And it happened to him as to the pore olde man, that brake all ye earthen Pottes or Pipkins he found with his Cudgell. So that one day he met with a hare brained yong felow,

[figure]

of his owne humor and condition, and seeing the Pipkin in his hand, he lift vp his Cudgell and brake it in peeces, so that all that was in it ranne out.

Therefore my Lordes take no fantasie in your [Page] heades that is not honest, for so yll woulde come of it: and take not vpon you any thing that you are not well informed off, least yours bee the shame and losse. Let euery man remember his soule, and let him not say that he knoweth not: but to affirme that he hath seene, I am very well contented with that. Sure it were yll done (my Lordes) for anye man to speake that he knoweth not certainely and assuredly, and the wrath of the Gods with such lyke yll lucke as mine would be poured vpon them and their lyfe: and this none but I knoweth it better. The maister Cooke of the Kinges Kitchin (as fatte as a Hogge) hearing this brauery of his to enforce his credite, he tooke hart vpon him, and emboldened himselfe notwithstanding his nobilitie, and beganne to speake in presence of them all, and thus he sayde.

RIght Reuerent and Honorable audience, ye are very well met in this place. Our olde auncient fathers that wrote many bookes of Phisiognomie, (of the which I thanke the King I haue greased a good number, bicause I studied oftentimes in the Kitchin) do tell vs many things, and gaue vs diuers tokens to knowe beastes and men, whereby we knowing them to be good or bad, they should accordingly be rewarded or punished. Id est, I meane so, to practise with the good, and to flie the companie of the euill. So it is, yea marrie is it, in faith I am sure of it I. Nowe for that I haue studied, and according to my skyll, (I tell yée my Lordes, I can not dissemble) I finde our solemne Moyle here to haue manye yll partes in this matter, which showe him in all and for all to be enuious, false, and a traytor: leauing out that he is verye cruell, and wickedly bent besides. And ye marke him, he euer looketh [Page] hier with his left eye than his right, and his nostrels he turneth still to the right side, with his eiebrowes verye thicke and long of heares, and continually he looketh on the grounde, which are manifest tokens he is a traitor: and all these signes (looke ye on him that list) ye shall sée him haue them rightly I warrant ye. The Moyle séeing the Swyne groyne with so yll a grace, although he was euen almost grauelled and out of countenance, yet he turned to him and replied.

MY Lords, if it were true that this malicious Swyne and greasie verlet here before yee all doth tell yee, that the heauens shoulde place signes in vs as a necessarie cause of wickednesse: then streight assoone as we sawe any beastes brought forth with those peruerse lines and marks, eyther they were forthwith to be punished, or put to death, that they should not worke such wicked treasons and effectes: and fewe besides that should bee borne, that the most part of them at the least were not marked with these signes, that he & his goodly bookes doe imagine. I knowe not if his doctrine shall be of such authoritie receyued amongst you, that it shall condemne my goodnesse and pure workes. Sure this worshipfull beast is deceyued, and doth as they that see an olde woman present a yong woman with any thing, or deliuereth hir some letter with anye pittifull showes: streight without touch of brest, not knowing no further, they take hir for a Bawde. My worshipfull Hogge shoulde knowe thyngs better before hee be thus bolde and saucie to speake in this presence. But none is so bolde as blinde Bayarde I see. Thou weenest to [Page] poynt at me, but thy selfe it is that is poynted at, and thou marke it well. Thou supposest to detect me, and to open my defectes, and doest not looke vpon thy selfe what thine owne doe showe thee. But harken to this tale, & then tell me how thou likest it.

OVr forefathers and elders sacked a great Citie, had the spoyle of all that was in it, and put all to the sworde saue olde men and women, and little children of all sortes. In tyme these little ones grew, and bicause they left them nothing, men and women went naked, hyding only their secrets and priuities with some thing. One day there came to the towne an olde countrie Cloyne to sell woode, and hee brought with him his two daughters, wherof the one went plainely to worke without any ceremonie, showing such marke as God had sent hir, and the other comely couered it wyth leaues as well beseemed hir. The people began to say to the vnmoseled Mayde: oh shame of the world, fie for shame, hyde, hyde, hyde. The olde Cloyne bicause he woulde not haue that Maygame behinde him, turning him, reuiled euery body that spake, and was as madde as a March Hare: and leauing him selfe bare, gaue hir his furniture to hyde hir shame. Then they were all on the iacke of him, and reuyled him to badde. His first daughter that was couered, seeing hir father bare, sayde vnto him. Lo sayth she, ye haue made a good hande nowe: had not you vene better haue holden your peace, and to haue kept your owne priuities close as they were at the first? [Page] This tale I haue told for thee, maister Cooke of the Kings Kitchin. Thou doest not remember the vyle and infinite naughtie signes that thou hast, and the great defectes and deformities placed in thy body. Thou, thou art vyle, slowe, and rauening. Thou art foule, stinking, filthie, lothsome, and a wretched thing: borne of a Sowe, and gotten of a Bore, and not of a Mare and an Asse as I am. Thou, a vile deuourer of all thinges, and a solemne supper of broth and swill. Thou, a little neck, a vile visage, with thy snowte forward: a narrow forehead, wide nostrels, and short nosed, so that the office thou hast is yll bestowed on thee. For thou hast no part in thee that is profitable, good, honorable, meete, nor sightlye for any body, but when thou art before them in the dish.

THe Hogge séeing himselfe thus well payde home in words againe, was glad to holde his peace: and after that neuer a one durst once speake a word any more. Thus for that time there was nothing else determined, but that the Moyle was caried againe to prison by a Beare, who safely kept him, and looked to him. And now being the second time againe clapped into prison, there came to the Court a great friend of the Asse his brothers, who finding him deade, came to aduertise the Moyle his brother being in prison, and was verie sorie for the death of the Asse, which the Moyle had not hearde of all this while till nowe: and the Moyle tooke it so inwardly that it pierced his heart, and néedes die he would. So turning him to his friende, which was a Foxe well stricken in yeares, he sayde to him. Brother I am determined to die, and will make thée mine heyre. And making him get Penne, Inke, and Paper, he made his Will and bade him write, and bequeathed him all he had: which was a rich furniture. A double Coller with thrée Basenets. [Page] A Mosell netwise for his mouth with a bit to the same. A coller of leather hungrie to hang ouer his necke with belles, a broade Pattrell with diuers coloured fringes made of Girthweb and Canvas. A Basse, a great Crouper of wood, a Sowser, a Charger, and mayling cordes. A broade long Want, a tying Coller, a paire of Pastornes, and a Tranell: with other ciuill furnitures pertinent to his estate. And then he confessed all, and tolde him his wicked practises and treason, and that he onely (yea marrie was he) was the cause of all this sturre. The Foxe thanked him hartily, and offered to helpe him with the King, and to trauell for him the best he coulde, bicause he was his chiefe Secretarie in Court and out of Court: and so departed from him. And he was no sooner out of his sight, but bicause he was in déede made heyre of that he had, he went to the Lyonesse and Lybbarde, and there confirmed the testament hereditarie of the Moyle. And to further his desire (who desired to die) he reuealed it, and accused the Moyle. So the traytor by another traytor was betrayed.

IN the morning betimes all the beasts met in the Parliament house, the Lawyers, Iudges, Sergeantes, Counsellers and Attorneyes, and all the Kinges officers togithers: and there appeared also the Lyonesse, and Lybbarde. The inditement drawne, the witnesses sworne and deposed, they caused the Moyle to be brought Coram testibus, and the Iudges: and the Clarke of the peace to read his inditement to his face. Now think whether his eares did glow, and his cheekes blush, when he heard the Foxe, the Woolfe, and Libbard sworne as witnesses against him. Hee stamped, hee snuffed, he cried in his Moylishe voyce, he flong, he yerked, and tooke on like a furie of Hell. And when [Page] he was wearied with these stormes and passions, downe he layd him, and rored out amaine. O I am killed, I am killed. I denie it. It is nothing true that is spoken: and therefore I warrant him it will come to that villaine the Foxe (who to haue my goodes hath thus falsely accused mee, accursed was I when I made him mine heyre) which happened to him that brought vp three Popingeys or Parats.

IN the middest of Tartarie there was a great honest riche man, that had the most true, faithfull, honest, louing, discretee, and gentle wife in all that Realme: So that hir doinges were wonderfull, and she alone was inough to giue light to halfe the worlde. This same Gentleman (husbande to this wyfe) had a str [...]nger to his man, proper of person, and comely to beholde. And this handsome seruing man became marueylouslye in loue with his fayre yong Mystresse, so that night and daye he could thinke of nothing else but which waye to pursue his loue. And when he had manye times (by tarying at home) assayde the ryuer to passe ouer, there was no pollicie coulde serue hys turne to obteyne fauor, but to bee enterteyned as a seruant still. It fortuned him that one daye being a hunting, he found a Parattes neast, and in the neast three yong Parrattes: so taking them vp he caried them home, and familiarlye brought them vp, and taught them to speake some things in his language, (the Indian tongue) which in that Countrie where he dwelled no body vnderstoode. One of them could [Page] piertly saye▪ Our Mystresse maketh hir husbande a Cuccolde. The other▪ O what a shame is that. The thirde sayd, it is true, it is true, she is naught. These toyes had the seruant deuised to be reuenged of hir, for that he could not obteine his purpose, and bicause she would not consent to his wickednesse. Thus all the daye these blessed Parattes tampered on these verses only, and sang them stil as they were taught. And for that the tongue was straunge, there was neuer none of the Countrie coulde vnderstande it. There came one daye to the house of this honest man, two Merchants, kinsefolks to his wife, which bicause they had trafficked India very well, they had the tongue perfitely. And being at the table, they talked of many things, and they fell at length into talke of Parattes. So that the good man of the house caused his men to bring his three Parattes to him, only to showe them vnto his kinsemen. The little Parattes being made of, beganne to sing their verses, and to repeate it still apace. Nowe thinke yee what thoughtes these Merchauntes had, hearinge them speake so vile and slaunderous wordes. And thus looking one at another, turninge them to the Gentleman, they demaunded of him: Sir know ye what these harlotrie Birdes doe speake▪ No not I God knoweth, sayde the Gentleman that ought them: but me thinketh it is a pastime to heare them▪ Well, let it not mislyke you to vnderstand what they say: for it behoueth you to knowe it by any meanes. And so they tolde him all the storie of the Parattes. The Gentleman was all amazed and troubled in [Page] his minde to heare this exposition. And then hee asked them againe: but doe they sing nothing else all daye but this, and still in one songe? yea sure since we came, no other tune nor songe had they but this. With that, very angry and woode as he coulde bee, he flewe on his wyfe, and woulde haue killed hir. But he was stayde by the Merchants, and his wife wisely committing hir selfe vnto him, besought hym diligently to inquire out the matter, and not to doe hir the wrong to beleeue those foolishe Birdes: so he was forced to quiet himselfe. First he sought to knowe and if the Parattes could say any other thing or no: and hee coulde not finde they coulde. Then the fault was layde vppon the seruaunt that had taught them. And calling for his man, hee came streight with a Sparrowe hawke on his fist: who was no sooner come before hys Mystresse, but shee sayd vnto him. O wicked seruaunt thou, what hast thou taught these Birdes to say? Nothing, answered he. They speake lyke beastes of vnderstanding, what they see and knowe. Why then sayth the husband, and is it so as they speake? Yea sir, sayde the naughtie seruaunt. With that the Sparrow hawke on his fist beganne brokenlye to speake: Beleeue them not maister, for they lie in their throtes euery one of them. These wordes were no sooner spoken, but the Merchantes (kinsefolkes to his wyfe) rose vp and pulled out both the seruaunts eyes: and then to late hee restored to his mistresse hir good name agayne, which fell out to his vtter vndoing.

Beholde therefore sayde the Moyle, see what [Page] hate reygneth in mens brestes. O sacred Prince, bee not offended with your good subiectes for synister information giuen you. Neither determine any thing that is to the hurt and shame of your neighbour, through the accusations of the enimies of vertue. The Court doth willingly giue eare one to destroy another, if the iustice of the Prince steppe not in betweene. And euery man that can preferre and exalt himselfe, (at least as long as he hath meanes to doe it) careth not for the losse, hurt, or shame, of friend, kinsman, or brother. For such is the priuilege of auarice and ambition. Euery one that heard the Moyle (knowing his wickednesse) could not abyde any longer to heare him: and seeing his vnreyned arrogancie, the Lybbard stepped forth, and gaue euidence before the counsell of that hee had heard and knowen. The Woolfe followed also with true and euident tokens, and the Foxe with his owne subscribed will confirmed his great treason. The Kinge gaue sentence his skinne should bee turned ouer hys eares, his carkas left for the Rauens, and his bones should be burned for sacrifice, done in memorie of the Bull, and in testimonie of his innocencie: and lo this was a worthie punishment for so vile a carkas, that had wrought such mischiefe.

We must all therefore indeuor, great and small, high and lowe, to worke well, and to liue with puritie of minde, and an vpright conscience. For the heauens, after long abstinence and deferring of punishment, doe by determined iustice rayne vpon vs a double plague and correction, to those that iustly [Page] deserue it. But the iust and vertuous sort they recompence also, with infinite benefites of lyfe, estate, commoditie, honor, and estimation.

FINIS.

¶ Here endeth the Treatise of the Morall Philosophie of Sendebar: In which is layd open many infinite examples for the health and life of reasonable men, shadowed vnder tales and similitudes of brute beastes without reason.

Farewell.

§

§

OS HOMINI SVBLIME DEDIT

¶ Imprinted at London by Henrie Denham, dwelling in Paternoster Rowe, at the signe of the Starre 1570. Cum Priuilegio.

Faultes escaped.

[Page]

Folio. | Page. | Line. | Faultes. | Correction.
4 | 1 | 9 | debating with himselfe | occupying with himselfe,
12 | 1 | 12 | of my Genitours. &c. | of my Progenitours. &c.
42 | 1 | 8 | if thou wilt not be. &c. | if thou be not called by. &c
42 | 1 | 8 | the goodyere aylest. &c. | the goodyere ayl [...]st. &c.
42 | 1 | 12 | so bake, | so drinke,
69 | 1 | 19 | take hart of grace. &c. | take hart of grasse. &c.
76 | 2 | 11 | wearied the Bull, | worried the Bull,
95 | 1 | 14 | Preseruation their. &c | preseruation of their &c.

[Page]

Information about this book

Title statement

The morall philosophie of Doni drawne out of the auncient writers. A worke first compiled in the Indian tongue, and afterwardes reduced into diuers other languages: and now lastly englished out of Italian by Thomas North, brother to the right Honorable Sir Roger North Knight, Lorde North of Kyrtheling.Fables of Bidpai. English.

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1570

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2008-09 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

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A16131

ID [STC]

STC 3053

ID [STC]

ESTC S104622

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99840355

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99840355

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4853

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Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 4853)

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— The morall philosophie of Doni drawne out of the auncient writers. A worke first compiled in the Indian tongue, and afterwardes reduced into diuers other languages: and now lastly englished out of Italian by Thomas North, brother to the right Honorable Sir Roger North Knight, Lorde North of Kyrtheling., Fables of Bidpai. English., Doni, Anton Francesco, 1513-1574. Moral filosophia., Bı̄dpāı̄., North, Thomas, Sir, 1535-1601?.

Extent

[6], 111 leaves : ill.

By Henry Denham,. Imprinted at London :: [1570]. (Translation of "La moral filosophia" by Anton Francesco Doni, an Italian version of the Oriental fables known as the Fables of Bidpai.) (In four parts; the third and fourth parts each have separate dated title page; foliation and register are continuous.) (Publication date from colophon.) (Reproduction of the original in the Library of Congress.)

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Users should be aware of the process of creating the TCP texts, and therefore of any assumptions that can be made about the data.

Text selection was based on the New Cambridge Bibliography of English Literature (NCBEL). If an author (or for an anonymous work, the title) appears in NCBEL, then their works are eligible for inclusion. Selection was intended to range over a wide variety of subject areas, to reflect the true nature of the print record of the period. In general, first editions of a works in English were prioritized, although there are a number of works in other languages, notably Latin and Welsh, included and sometimes a second or later edition of a work was chosen if there was a compelling reason to do so.

Image sets were sent to external keying companies for transcription and basic encoding. Quality assurance was then carried out by editorial teams in Oxford and Michigan. 5% (or 5 pages, whichever is the greater) of each text was proofread for accuracy and those which did not meet QA standards were returned to the keyers to be redone. After proofreading, the encoding was enhanced and/or corrected and characters marked as illegible were corrected where possible up to a limit of 100 instances per text. Any remaining illegibles were encoded as <gap>s. Understanding these processes should make clear that, while the overall quality of TCP data is very good, some errors will remain and some readable characters will be marked as illegible. Users should bear in mind that in all likelihood such instances will never have been looked at by a TCP editor.

The texts were encoded and linked to page images in accordance with level 4 of the TEI in Libraries guidelines.

Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements).

Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site.