Imatges de pÓgina

recourse to the ensuing stanzas of my worthy friend Alexander Barclay, the priest.

But to assemble these fooles in one bande,
And their demerites wortily to note,
Fayne shall I shippes of every maner lande,
None shall be left, barke, galley, ship, nor bote,
One vessell can not bring them all aflote,
For if all these fooles were brought into one barge,
The bote should sinke, 80 sore should be the charge.

The sayles are haused, a pleasant coole doth blowe,
The fooles assemble as fast as they may drive;
Some swimmeth after, other as thicke doth rowe,
In their small botes, as bees about a hive,
The number is great, and eche one doth strive,
For to be chiefe, as purser and captayne,
Quartermaster, lodesman, or els Boteswayne,

They runne to our ship, eche one doth greatly feare,
Least his slacke pace should cause him bide behinde;
The winde riseth, and is like the sayle to teare,
Eche one enforceth the anker up to winde,
The sea swelleth by planetes well I finde.
These obscure cloudes threaten us tempest:
All are not in bed which shall have ill rest.

And now, friend reader, will I close these prefatory lines, supplicating the interposition of Wisdom in thy favour, that her bright radiance may so expand around thee, as to dissipate from thy reason the noxious vapours of ignorance and folly, urging thee to discard bells, cap, and ladle; assuming in their stead the dazzling spear of Minerva to affright thine adversaries; while, firm in the sacred cause, thou mayest act in unison with myself, and henceforth exclaim,

Quid verum atque decens curo et rogo, et omnis in hoc THE TABLE


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