The Ship of Fools, Volume 1

by Sebastian Brant

Of pluralitees that is to say of them whiche charge them selfe with many benefycis.

That myller is a fole and here shall haue a barge
And as a mad man shall fast therin be bounde
Whiche his Asse wyll with so many sackes charge
That the pore beste for payne fallys to the grounde
Many in the chirche lyke hym may be founde.
Whiche so many benefycis labour to procure
That their small myght can nat the charge endure.

Amonge our folys delytynge them in vyces

Is yet another sorte of the speritualte

Whiche them ouerchargeth with dyuers benefyces

And namely suche that lowest ar in degre

Of byrth and cunnynge, of this condycion be

Defylynge goddes rentis and the chirches goode

Them selfe ouer ladynge, as men frantyke and wode

The weght is so great they can it nat endure

Theyr myght is small, theyr cunnynge is moche lesse

Thus this great charge wherof they haue the cure

To infernall Fenn doth this pore Asse oppresse

And to an Asse moste lyke he is doutles

Whiche takynge on his backe sackes nyne or tenne.

Destroyeth hymselfe them leuynge in the fenne

But though one prebende were to hym suffycient

Or one benefyce his lyuynge myght suffyse

Yet this blynde fole is nat therwith content

But labowreth for mo, and alway doth deuyse

Fals meanes to come therto by couetyse

He gapeth with his wyde throte insaciable

And neuer can content his wyll abhomynable

So for the loue of the peny and ryches.

He taketh this charge to lyue in welth and eas.

Howe be it that sole that hath suche besynes

And dyueres charges fyndeth great disseas

Neyther shall he god, nor yet the worlde pleas

And shall with his burthyns his mynde so vex and comber

That halfe his cures, can he nat count nor nomber

These carefull caytyfs, that ar of this same sort

With cures ar ouerchargyd so that of theyr mynde.

Rest haue they none, solace, pleasour nor conforte

Howe be it they thynke therby great welth to fynde

They gape yet euer, theyr maners lyke the wynde

Theyr lyfe without all terme or sertaynte

If they haue two lyuynges, yet loke they to haue thre

The folys whose hertis vnto this vyce ar bounde

Upon theyr sholders bereth aboute a sacke.

Insaciable without botome, outher grounde:

They thynke them nat lade though all be on theyr backe.

The more that they haue (the more they thynke they lacke)

What deuyll can stop theyr throte so large and wyde

Yet many all waste aboute Ryot and pryde

But yet is this moche more abhomynable

That asses vntaught without wysdome or scyence

Haue theyr proude myndes moste vnsaciable

Nat commynge to worshyp by vertue nor prudence

Yet counte they them worthy of this excellence

Courters become prestis nought knowynge but the dyce

They preste not for god, but for a benefyce

The clerke of the kechyn is a prest become

In full trust to come to promosyon hye

No thynge by vertue cunnynge nor wysdome

But by couetyse, practyse and flatery

The Stepyll and the chirche by this meane stand awry

For some become rather prestis for couetyse.

Than for the loue of god or his seruyce.

Alas oft goddes goodes and cristis herytage

Of suche folys is wastyd and spent in vayne

In great folyes mundaynes and outrage

Where it decreed, and ordeyned is certayne.

That prestis sholde helpe pore people that lyue in payne

And with suche goodes kepe hospytalyte

Whiche pryde ryot and Uenus suffreth nat to be

Thus is the grettest parte of the spiritualte

Pore preste, persone, vicayr, relygyon and prelate

With couetyse acloyde outher prodigalyte

And folys promotyd causyth good clerkis haue hate

Say lordes and bysshops with other of estate

What mouyth you so gladly, suche to promote

Whiche haue no cunnynge their wyt skant worth a grote

Wyll ye alway the folysshe asse ouercharge

With suche burthyns wherwith it can nat fare

And suffer other to walke and ren at large

And where they best myght bere theyr backes ar left bare

And that is worst of all, suche folys can nat be ware

But whan they ar promotyd after theyr owne entent.

Yet theyr insaciable mynde can neuer be content.

Some make exchanges and permutacions

Some take to ferme, and some let out agayne

Other folys for hope make resignacions

And some for one god scosyth gladly twayne

Some lyueth longe in hunger and in payne

And in the somer day skarsly drynketh twyse

Sparynge monay therwith to by a benefyce

Some for no wages in court doth attende

With lorde or knyght, and all for this polecy

To get of his lorde a benefyce at the ende

And in the meane tyme ensueth rybawdry

And somtyme laboureth by chraft of symony.

He playeth a fals cast, nat cessynge to coniure

Tyll of some benefyce he at the last be sure

Than if this lorde haue in hym fauoure, he hath hope

To haue another benefyce of gretter dignyte

And so maketh a fals suggestyon to the pope

For a Tot quot outher els a pluralyte

Than shall he nat be pleased with .ii. nouther thre

But dyuers wyll he haue ay choppynge and changynge

So oft a fole all and a gode clerke no thynge

These of nought force so that they may haue gayne

And golde ynough to spende on rybawdry and pryde

They haue the profyte, another hath the payne

The cure of the soulys of them is set asyde

And no meruayle, for howe sholde they abyde.

To teche their parysshynges vertue wysdome or grace

Syns no man can be atonys in euery place

Alas these folys our mayster criste betray

Of mannes soule wherof they haue the cure

And settynge in their stede syr Johnn of garnesey

They thynketh them selfe dischargyd quyte and sure

These folys note nat that euery creature.

Whiche here of soulys doth cure or charge take

At domys day a compt for them shall make

But if I sholde touche all the enormytees

The immoderat couetyse and desyre of dignyte

That nowe is vsed amonge all the degrees

Of benefycyd men ouer all the spiritualte

I fere displeasour, and also I often se

That trouth is blamed, and nat ay best to tell

But he that in this lyfe wyll alway besy be

To get dyuers prebendes shall haue the last in hell

Thenuoy of Barklay to the Folys.

What meane ye gyders of Christis herytage

Shall ye neuer leue this your deuowrynge mynde

Shall ye no tyme your couytyse asswage

Whiche in goddes seruyce your hartis sore doth blynde

Let this fals traytour no place amonge you fynde

Graunt hym no rowne in churche nor in quere.

For this is sure ye shall all leue behynde

We haue no Cyte, nor place abydynge here

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