juggling with him, your wardrobe shall be wasted, your credit cracked, your crowns consumed, and your time (the most precious riches in the world) utterly lost.” This was written in 1599; but only thirty-five years later, 1634, we find that some jesters at least had not a very miserable time of it; for Stafford tells us, in his _Code of Honour_, that “he had known a great and competently wise man, who would much respect any man that was good to his fool.” In many cases, the latter was as much a household servant as mere jester, and was equally at home at the master’s board, or in the kitchen, where he received such whippings as he chanced to earn. That he was occasionally as much relished by the retainers as by his patron, there can be no doubt, and his position among these is so well described by Thornbury, in his rattling ‘Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads,’ that, in place of illustrating that position by citing old ballads and ballad-makers, I will place before my readers the lively picture portrayed by a skilful and living artist,--in ‘The Jester’s Sermon.’-- “The jester shook his hood and bells and leaped upon a chair; The pages laughed, the women screamed, and tossed their scented hair; The falcon whistled, stag-hounds bayed, the lap-dog barked without; The scullion dropped the pitcher brown,--the cook railed at the lout; The steward, counting out his gold, let pouch and money fall: And why? Because the jester rose to say grace in the hall! “The page played with the heron’s plume, the steward with his chain; The butler drummed upon the board, and laughed with might and main; The grooms beat on their metal cans, and roared till they turned red; But still the jester shut his eyes and rolled his witty head; And when they grew a little still, read half a yard of text; And waving hand struck on the desk, then frowned, like one perplexed. “‘Dear sinners all!’ the fool began, ‘man’s life is but a jest, A dream, a shadow, bubbles, air, a vapour, at the best. In a thousand pounds of law I find not a single ounce of love. A blind man killed the parson’s cow, in shooting at the dove. The fool that eats till he is sick must fast till he is well. The wooer who can flatter most will bear away the bell. “‘Let no man halloo he is safe till he is through the wood. He who will not when he may, must tarry when he should. He who laughs at crooked men should need walk very straight. Oh, he who once has won a name may lie abed till eight. Make haste to purchase house and land, be very slow to wed. True coral needs no painter’s brush, nor need be daubed with red.