lightning that is but a flash, and the longest date of his years but as a bavin's[2] blaze. Seeing then man is so mortal, be careful that thy life be virtuous, that thy death may be full of admirable honors: so shalt thou challenge fame to be thy fautor,[3] and put oblivion to exile with thine honorable actions. But, my sons, lest you should forget your father's axioms, take this scroll, wherein read what your father dying wills you to execute living." At this he shrunk down in his bed, and gave up the ghost. [Footnote 1: falcon.] [Footnote 2: faggot's.] [Footnote 3: patron.] John of Bordeaux being thus dead was greatly lamented of his sons, and bewailed of his friends, especially of his fellow Knights of Malta, who attended on his funerals, which were performed with great solemnity. His obsequies done, Saladyne caused, next his epitaph, the contents of the scroll to be portrayed out, which were to this effect: _The Contents of the Schedule which Sir John of Bordeaux gave to his Sons_ My sons, behold what portion I do give: I leave you goods, but they are quickly lost; I leave advice, to school you how to live; I leave you wit, but won with little cost; But keep it well, for counsel still is one, When father, friends, and worldly goods are gone. In choice of thrift let honor be thy gain, Win it by virtue and by manly might; In doing good esteem thy toil no pain; Protect the fatherless and widow's right: Fight for thy faith, thy country, and thy king, For why? this thrift will prove a blessed thing. In choice of wife, prefer the modest-chaste; Lilies are fair in show, but foul in smell: The sweetest looks by age are soon defaced; Then choose thy wife by wit and living well. Who brings thee wealth and many faults withal, Presents thee honey mixed with bitter gall. In choice of friends, beware of light belief; A painted tongue may shroud a subtle heart; The Siren's tears do threaten mickle grief; Foresee, my son, for fear of sudden smart: Choose in thy wants, and he that friends thee then, When richer grown, befriend thou him agen. Learn with the ant in summer to provide; Drive with the bee the drone from out thy hive: Build like the swallow in the summer tide; Spare not too much, my son, but sparing thrive: Be poor in folly, rich in all but sin: So by thy death thy glory shall begin.