Peyne the not eche croked to redresse, In trust of hire that turneth as a balle,[200] Grete rest stant in lytel besynesse. great peace lies, meddling Bewar also to spurne ayein an nalle,[201] awl Stryve not as doth a croke[202] with a walle: crock Deme[203] thyselfe that demest others dede, And trouthe the shal delyver, hit ys no drede. That the ys sent receyve in buxomnesse, The wrasteling of this world asketh a falle; Her is no home, her is but wyldyrnesse. here Forth, pilgrime!--forth, best, out of thy stalle! beast Loke up on hye, and thonke God of alle! Weyve thy lust, and let thy goste the lede, give up, desire And trouthe shal the delyver, hit ys no drede. Fly from the crowd, and dwell with truthfulness Contented with thy good, though it be small; Treasure breeds hate, and climbing dizziness, The world is envious, wealth beguiles us all. Care not for loftier things than to thee fall; Counsel thyself, who counsel’st others’ need, And truth thee shall deliver, without dread. Pain thee not all the crooked to redress, Trusting to her who turneth as a ball, For little meddling wins much easiness. Beware lest thou do kick against an awl, Strive not as doth a clay pot with a wall: Judge thou thyself, who judgest others’ deed, And truth thee shall deliver, without dread. All that is given take with cheerfulness, To wrestle in this world is to ask a fall; Here is no home, here is but wilderness. Forth, pilgrim, forth!--forth, beast, out of thy stall! Look up on high, and thank thy God for all! Cast by ambition, let thy soul thee led, And truth thee shall deliver, without dread. Notes by the Way.