The Ship of Fools, Volume 1

by Sebastian Brant

Of great wrathe, procedynge of small occasyon.

Assys erys for our folys a lyuray is
And he that wyll be wroth for a thynge of nought
Of the same leuray is nat worthy to mys
For who that by wrathe to suche a wyll is brought
To sle his Asse for hir pas slowe and soft
Shall after his fury, repent his mad foly
For to a clere mynde, mad wrathe is ennemy

Come nere, ye wrathfull men, take your rowme and place

Within our shyp, and to slake our hastynes

Mount on an Asse slowe of hir gate and pace

Syns troublous wrath, in you, styreth this madnes

Often lacke of myght asswagyth cruelnes

To a wylde cowe god doth short hornys sende

Wrath is great foly, where myght may nat extende

O man yll myndyd what helpeth the this yre

None the commendyth whiche doth thy maners marke

What doste thou: but the waste with thyne owne fyre

Narrynge with thyselfe lyke as a dogge doth barke

Without meke worde and pleasyd with no warke

Art thou: but thoughe all men be dylygent

Mad wrathe to please, yet who can it content

This man malycious whiche troubled is with wrath

Nought els soundeth but the hoorse letter R

Thoughe all be well, yet he none answere hath

Saue the dogges letter, glowmynge with nar nar

Suche labour nat this mad rancour to defar

Nor yet his malyce to mytygate or asswage

But ioyeth to be drede of men for this outrage

His mouth fomyth his throte out gorgyth fyre

His ferefull furoure is, his hole felycyte

By his great yre, doth he coueyte and desyre

Dowtyd to be: of the pore comontye

His owne madnes and cruell furyosyte

Wyll he nat knowe as he were nat culpable

Of this mad fury and vyce abhomynable

Hym selfe is blynde, but other well note his dede

He shall be poynted whether he go or ryde

Saynge one to other take gode regarde and hede

Of yonder furyous fole whome reason doth nat gyde

Beware his wayes fle hym on euery syde

Who that hym sueth both hurte and shame shall fynde

Thus other hym notyth but he hymself is blynde

So his Asse crys to hym ar inuysyble

He thynkyth to haue pacyence though that he haue none

And vnto hym it is thynge incredyble

That suche ar folys whose pacyence is gone

Thus coueytyth he to kepe his erys alone

And to wrathfull men he wyll no thynge obiect

For that hym selfe is with the same infect

But somwhat to touche the inconuenyences

Whiche by this wrath procedyth to mankynde

It is chefe grounde of many great offences

Destroynge reason blyndynge the wyt and mynde

By malyce man is to all yll inclynde

Both symple man, and lordes excellent

Do that by wrath oft whiche they after repent

Reuoke thy mynde, somwhat thy herte enclyne

Unto Archytas a man of hye wysdome

Borne the the ryche Cyte namyd Tarentyne

Rede howe that he his malyce dyd ouercome

For thoughe his seruaunt was fals to hym become

And he sore mouyd to auenge the same offence

Yet he refraynyd his wrathe by pacyence

So socrates so Senyk and Plato

Suffred great wronge great iniury and payne

And of your fayth sayntis right many mo

For christ our mayster dyd great turment sustayne

What wo or payne cowde saynt Laurance refrayne

From pacience wherfore it is great shame

For christen men if they do not the same

They suffred deth, ye, and yet were pacyent

And many haue prayed, for suche that haue them slayne

Where thou mad fole takest greuous punysshement

For small occasyon, ye come by chaunce sodayne

Fole thou art blynde, and mad to set thy brayne

All thynge to venge (by wrath) that doth mysfall

For he that part hath lost: by wrath oft lesyth all

And forsoth no meruayle, if suche wyse actours

Hath wrathes madnes, expelled and set asyde

For where that wrath doth rayne with his furours

There can no reason nor wysedome longe abyde

The wyt it wastyth: so is it a lewde gyde

Therfore let mesure, this malyce holde agayne

But pacyence is brydyll his madnes to refrayne

It longeth nat to any man of hye prudence

For to be wrothe, yrous, or gyuys to malancoly

No suche passyon nor inconuenyence

Can fall to man, ay stedfast wyse and holy

But folys ar moste troublyd with this foly

Where as a wyse man for any aduersyte

Lyueth in quyete mynde and tranquylyte

A man well manerd, sad sober and dyscrete

If he be ware, wyse, chrafty and prouydent

Beholdeth all thynge before his syght and fete.

Gydynge hym by mesure a vertue excellent

Where as a fole doth all without aduysement

And in euery thynge shewyth his folysshnes

Wroth at eche worde, as mayster of madnes

Wherfore ye folys se ye no lenger tary

But on the dull Asse hastely assende

That a slowe beest may hasty folys cary

For your mad wrath dowtyth no thynge the ende

Your madnes can nat your blynde mysdede defende

For who that one sleyth, angry and feruent

Ought to be hangyd whan he is pacyent

The enuoy of the Actour.

Blynde myndyd man whiche wylt all thynge ouercome

Reputynge thy selfe, moste souerayne and royall

If thou be wyse or partener of wysdome

Labour to ouercome thyne owne selfe firste of all

Thy wrath asswage thou in especyall

Let neyther malyce, nor yre with the abyde

Thou art a fole the chefe or lorde to call

Of other: whan thou can nat thy selfe well gyde.

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