Thus is it paynfull and no thynge profytable On many labours a man to set his mynde For nouther his wyt nor body can be stable Whiche wyll his body to dyuers chargis bynde Whyle one goth forwarde the other bydes behynde Therfore I the counseyll for thyne owne behoue Let go this worlde and serue thy lorde aboue
He that his mynde settyth god truly to serue And his sayntes: this worlde settynge at nought Shall for rewarde euerlastynge ioy deserue But in this worlde, he that settyth his thought All men to please, and in fauour to be brought Must lout and lurke, flater, lawde, and lye: And cloke a knauys counseyll, though it fals be
If any do hym wronge or iniury He must it suffer and pacyently endure A dowble tunge with wordes lyke hony And of his offycis if he wyll be sure He must be sober and colde of his langage More to a knaue, than to one of hye lynage
Oft must he stoupe his bonet in his honde His maysters backe he must oft shrape and clawe His breste anoyntynge, his mynde to vnderstonde But be it gode or bad therafter must he drawe Without he can Jest he is nat worth a strawe. But in the meane tyme beware that he none checke For than layth malyce a mylstone in his necke
He that in court wyll loue and fauour haue A fole must hym fayne, if he were none afore And be as felowe to euery boy and knaue And to please his lorde he must styll laboure sore His manyfolde charge maketh hym coueyt more That he had leuer serue a man in myserye Than serue his maker in tranquylyte
But yet whan he hath done his dylygence His lorde to serue as I before haue sayde For one small faute or neglygent offence Suche a displeasoure agaynst hym may be layde That out is he cast bare and vnpuruayde. Whether he be gentyll, yeman grome or page Thus worldly seruyce is no sure herytage
Wherfore I may proue by these examples playne That it is better more godly and plesant To leue this mondayne casualte and payne And to thy maker one god to be seruaunt Whiche whyle thou lyuest shall nat let the want That thou desyrest iustly, for thy syruyce And than after gyue the, the ioyes of Paradyse.
Alas man aryse out of Idolatry. Worshyp nat thy ryches nor thy vayne treasoure Ne this wretchyd worlde full of mysery. But lawde thy maker and thy sauyour With fere, mekenes, fayth, glory, and honoure Let thy treasoure onely in his seruyce be And here be content with symple behauoure Hauynge in this lorde trust and felycyte