What thing is Will, without good Wit? Or what is Wit, without good Will? The one the other doth so fit: As each one can be but ill. But when they once be well agreed, Their worke is likely well to speed.
For proofe, behold good _Bretons_ will, By helpe of Wit, what it hath writ: A worke not of the meanest skill, Nor such as shewes a simple Wit. But such a _wit_ and such a _will_, As hath done well, and hateth ill.
I need not to commend the man, Whom none can justly discommend: But do the best, the best that can, Yet some will spite, and so I end. What I have said, I say so still, I must commend this Wit and Will.
What shall I say of Gold, more then tis Gold: Or call the Diamond, more then precious: Or praise the man, with praises manifold When of himselfe, himselfe is vertuous? _Wit_ is but _Wit_, yet such his _Wit_ and _Will_, As proues ill good, or makes good to be ill.
Why? what his _Wit_? proceed and aske his _Will_, Why? what his _Will_? reade on, and learne of _Wit_: Both good I gesse, yet each a seuerall ill, This may seeme strange, to those that heare of it. Nay, nere a whit, for vertue many waies, Is made a vice, yet Vertue hath her praise.
Wherefore, O _Breton_, worthie is thy worke, Of commendations worthie to the worth: Sith captious wittes, in euerie corner lurke, A bold attempt, it is to set them forth A forme of Wit, and that in such a sort, As none offends, for all is said in sport.
And such a sport, as serues for other kinds, Both young and old, for learning, armes, and love: For Ladies humors, mirth with mone he findes, With some extreames, their patient mindes to proue. Well, _Breton_, write in hand, thou hast the thing, That when it comes, loue, wealth, and fame will bring.
A PRETIE AND WITTIE DISCOURSE BETWIXT WIT AND WILL
Long have I travelled, much ground have I gone, many wayes have I trode, mickle mony have I spent, more labour have I lost, in seeking an olde friend of mine: whose companie so courteous, his counsaile commodious, his presence so pleasant, and his absence so greevous, that when I thinke of him, and misse him, I find such a misse of him, as all things are out of frame with me. And out of frame, can come to no good fashion. Oh, what shall I do? It is long since I lost him: long have I sought him. And too long (I fear) it wil be ere I find him. But wot you who it is? Oh, my Wit, I am from my Wit, and have bin long. Alas the day, I have bin almost mad with marching through the world without my good guide, my friend, and my companion, my brother, yea, my selfe. Alas, where is he? When shall I see him? How shall I seeke him, and whither shall I walke? I was too soone wearie of him, and am now wearie of my selfe without him. Well, I will go where I may, I may hap to find him: but hap is unhappie. Therefore hap good, or hap ill, I will walke on still: if I find him, happie man. If I do not, what then? Content my selfe even as I can, patience where is no remedie.