The Ship of Fools, Volume 1

by Sebastian Brant

Of old folys that is to say the longer they lyue the more they ar gyuen to foly.

Howe beit I stoup, and fast declyne
Dayly to my graue, and sepulture
And though my lyfe fast do enclyne
To pay the trybute of nature
Yet styll remayne I and endure
In my olde synnes, and them nat hate
Nought yonge, wors olde, suche is my state.

The madnes of my youthe rotyd in my age

And the blynde foly of my iniquite

Wyll me nat suffer to leue myne old vsage

Nor my fore lyuynge full of enormyte

Lame ar his lymmys, and also I can nat se

I am a childe and yet lyuyd haue I

An hundreth wynter, encresynge my foly.

But though I myght lerne my wyll is nat therto

But besy I am and fully set my thought

To gyue example to children to mysdo

By my lewde doctryne bryngynge them to nought

And whan they ar onys into my daunce brought

I teche them my foly wysdome set asyde

My selfe example, begynner, and theyr gyde.

My lewde lyfe, my foly and my selfwyllyd mynde

Whiche I haue styll kept hytherto in this lyfe

In my testament I leue wryten behynde

Bequethyng parte both to man childe and wyfe

I am the actour of myschefe and of stryfe

The foly of my youth and the inconuenyence

In age I practyse, techynge by experyence

I am a fole and glad am of that name

Desyrynge lawde for eche vngracious dede

And of my foly to spred abrode the same

To showe my vyce and synne, as voyde of drede

Of heuen or hell. therfore I take no hede

But as some stryue disputynge of theyr cunnynge

Right so do I in lewdnes and myslyuynge.

Somtyme I bost me of falshode and dysceyt

Somtyme of the sede that sawyn is by me

Of all myschefe, as murder flatery debate

Couetyse bacbytynge theft and lechery

My mynde is nat to mende my iniquyte

But rather I sorowe that my lyfe is wore

That I can nat do as I haue done before

But syns my lyfe so sodaynly dothe apeyre

That byde I can nat styll in this degre

I shall infourme and teche my sone and heyre

To folowe his fader, and lerne this way of me

The way is large, god wot glad shall he be

Lernynge my lore with affeccion and desyre

And folowe the steppys of his vnthryfty syre

I trust so crafty and wyse to make the lad

That me his father he shall pas and excell

O that my herte shall than be wonder glad

If I here of may knowe, se, or here tell

If he be false faynynge sotyll or cruell

And so styll endure I haue a speciall hope

To make hym scrybe to a Cardynall or Pope.

Or els if he can be a fals extorcyoner

Fasynge and bostynge to scratche and to kepe

He shall be made a comon costomer

As yche hope of Lyn Calays or of Depe

Than may he after to some great offyce crepe

So that if he can onys plede a case

He may be made Juge of the comon place.

Thus shall he lyue as I haue all his dayes

And in his age increas his folysshenes

His fader came to worshyp by suche ways

So shall the sone, if he hym selfe addres

To sue my steppes in falshode and lewdnes

And at leste if he can come to no degre

This shyp of folys shall he gouerne with me

Barklay To the Folys.

Awake age alas what thynkest thou be

Awake I say out of thy blynde derkenes

Remembrest thou nat that shortly thou shalt dye

Aryse from synne amende thy folysshenes

Though thy youth reted were in vyciousnes

Aryse in age is full tyme to leue it

Thy graue is open thy one fote in the pyt

Leue thy bostynge of that thou hast done amys

Bewayle thy synnes, sayeng with rufull mone

Delicta iuuentutis mee deus ne memineris

Amende the or thy youth be fully gone

That sore is harde to hele that bredes in the bone

He that is nought yonge, procedynge so in age

Shall skant euer his vyciousnes asswage

What thinge is more abhomynable in goddes syght.

Than vicious age: certaynly no thynge.

It is eke worldly shame, whan thy corage and mycht

Is nere dekayed, to kepe thy lewde lyuynge.

And by example of the, thy yonge children to brynge.

Into a vicious lyfe: and all goodnes to hate.

Alas age thus thou art the Fendes bate.

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