But if that one a Fole rebuke or blame
He shall his techer, hate, sclaunder, and dyffame
Howbeit his wordes, oft turne to his owne shame
And his owne dartis retourne to hym agayne
And so is he sore woundyd with the same
And in wo endyth, great mysery and payne
It also prouyd full often is certayne
That they that on mockes alway theyr myndes cast
Shall of all other be mocked at the last
He that goeth right, stedfast sure and fast