Soft folys soft, a lytell slacke your pace Tyll I haue space you to order by degre I haue eyght neyghbours, that firste shall haue a place Within this my shyp, for they most worthy be They may theyr lernynge receyue costeles and fre. Theyr wallys abuttynge and ioynynge to the scoles. No thynge they can, yet nought wyll they lerne nor se Therfore shall they gyde this one shyp of foles. THE ENUOY OF BARKLAY. O vnauysyd, vnwyse and frowarde man Great cause thou hast to morne sore and complayne Whan no goodnes vertue nor wyt thou can And yet to lerne thou hast scorne and dysdayne Alas man mende, and spare no maner payne To get wysdome, and it thou shalt nat want Hym that nought wyll knowe, god wyll nat knowe certayne Wo is hym that wylfully is ignorant. * * * * * Of great wrathe, procedynge of small occasyon. [Illustration: Assys erys for our folys a lyuray is And he that wyll be wroth for a thynge of nought Of the same leuray is nat worthy to mys For who that by wrathe to suche a wyll is brought To sle his Asse for hir pas slowe and soft Shall after his fury, repent his mad foly For to a clere mynde, mad wrathe is ennemy] Come nere, ye wrathfull men, take your rowme and place Within our shyp, and to slake our hastynes Mount on an Asse slowe of hir gate and pace Syns troublous wrath, in you, styreth this madnes Often lacke of myght asswagyth cruelnes To a wylde cowe god doth short hornys sende Wrath is great foly, where myght may nat extende O man yll myndyd what helpeth the this yre None the commendyth whiche doth thy maners marke What doste thou: but the waste with thyne owne fyre Narrynge with thyselfe lyke as a dogge doth barke Without meke worde and pleasyd with no warke Art thou: but thoughe all men be dylygent Mad wrathe to please, yet who can it content This man malycious whiche troubled is with wrath Nought els soundeth but the hoorse letter R Thoughe all be well, yet he none answere hath Saue the dogges letter, glowmynge with nar nar Suche labour nat this mad rancour to defar Nor yet his malyce to mytygate or asswage But ioyeth to be drede of men for this outrage His mouth fomyth his throte out gorgyth fyre His ferefull furoure is, his hole felycyte By his great yre, doth he coueyte and desyre Dowtyd to be: of the pore comontye His owne madnes and cruell furyosyte Wyll he nat knowe as he were nat culpable Of this mad fury and vyce abhomynable Hym selfe is blynde, but other well note his dede He shall be poynted whether he go or ryde Saynge one to other take gode regarde and hede Of yonder furyous fole whome reason doth nat gyde Beware his wayes fle hym on euery syde Who that hym sueth both hurte and shame shall fynde Thus other hym notyth but he hymself is blynde