| |
|
MY mother's
maids, when they did sew and spin,
They sang
sometime a song of the field mouse,
That for because
her livelood was but thin [livelihood]
Would needs
go seek her townish sister's house.
She thought
herself endured to much pain:
The stormy blasts her
cave so sore did souse
That when the furrows swimmed
with the rain
She must lie cold and wet in sorry
plight,
And, worse than that, bare meat there did
remain
To comfort her when she her house had dight:
Sometime a barleycorn, sometime a bean,
For
which she labored hard both day and night
In harvest
time, whilst she might go and glean.
And when her
store was 'stroyed with the flood,
Then well away,
for she undone was clean.
Then was she fain to take,
instead of food,
Sleep if she might, her hunger to
beguile.
"My sister," qoth she, "hath a living good,
And hence from me she dwelleth not a mile.
In
cold and storm she lieth warm and dry
In bed of
down, and dirt doth not defile
Her tender foot, she
laboreth not as I.
Richly she feedeth and at the
rich man's cost,
And for her meat she needs not
crave nor cry.
By sea, by land, of the delicates the
most
Her cater seeks and spareth for no peril.
She feedeth on boiled, baken meat, and roast,
And
hath thereof neither charge nor travail.
And, when
she list, the liquor of the grape
Doth goad her
heart till that her belly swell."
And at this
journey she maketh but a jape: [joke]
So forth she
goeth, trusting of all this wealth
With her sister
her part so for to shape
That, if she might keep
herself in health,
To live a lady while her life
doth last.
And to the door now is she come by
stealth,
And with her foot anon she scrapeth full
fast.
The other for fear durst not well scarce
appear,
Of every noise so was the wretch aghast.
"Peace," quoth the town mouse, "why speakest thou so
loud?"
And by the hand she took her fair and well.
"Welcome," quoth she, "my sister, by the rood."
She feasted her that joy is was to tell
The fare
they had; they drank the wine so clear;
And as to
purpose now and then it fell
She cheered her with:
"How, sister, what cheer?"
Amids this joy there fell
a sorry chance,
That, wellaway, the stranger bought
full dear
The fare she had. For as she looks,
askance,
Under a stool she spied two steaming eyes
In a round head with sharp ears. In France
was
never mouse so feared, for though the unwise [afraid]
Had not yseen such a beast before,
Yet had
nature taught her after her guise
To know her foe
and dread him evermore.
The town mouse fled; she
knew whither to go.
The other had no shift, but
wondrous sore
Feared of her life, at home she wished
her, though.
And to the door, alas, as she did skip
(Th' heaven it would, lo, and eke her chance was so)
At the threshold her silly foot did trip,
And
ere she might recover it again
The traitor cat had
caught her by the hip
And made her there against her
will remain
That had forgotten her poor surety, and
rest,
For seeming wealth wherein she thought to
reign.
Alas, my Poynz, how men do seek the best [a
friend of Wyatt]
And find the worst, by error as
they stray.
And no marvel, when sight is so opprest
And blind the guide. Anon out of the way
Goeth
guide and all in seeking quiet life.
O wretched
minds, there is no gold that may
Grant that ye seek,
no war, no peace, no strife,
No, no, although thy
head was hoopt with gold, [crowned]
Sergeant with
mace, haubert, sword, nor knife
Cannot repulse the
care that follow should.
Each kind of life hath with
him his disease:
Live in delight even as thy lust
would, [as you would desire]
And thou shalt find
when lust doth most thee please
It irketh strait and
by itself doth fade.
A small thing it is that may
thy mind appease.
None of ye all there is that is so
mad
To seek grapes upon brambles or breers, [briars]
Not none I trow that hath his wit so bad
To set
his hay for conies over rivers, [snares for rabbits]
Ne ye set not a drag net for an hare. [nor]
And yet
the thing that most is your desire
Ye do misseek
with more travail and care.
Make plain thine heart,
that it be not notted
With hope or dread, and see
thy will be bare
>From all effects whom vice hath
ever spotted.
Thyself content with that is thee
assigned,
And use it well that is to thee allotted,
Then seek no more out of thyself to find
The
thing that thou hast sought so long before,
For thou
shalt find it sitting in thy mind.
Mad, if ye list
to continue your sore,
Let present pass, and gape on
time to come,
And deep yourself in travail more and
more.
Henceforth, my Poynz, this shall be all and
some:
These wretched fools shall have nought else of
me.
But to the great God and to His high doom*
[judgment]
None other pain pray I for them to be
But, when the rage doth lead them from the right,
That, looking backward, Virtue they may see
Even as
She is, so goodly fair and bright.
And whilst they
clasp their lusts in arms across
Grant them, good
Lord, as Thou mayst of Thy might,
To fret inward for
losing such a loss.
|
|
|
