Vnto my shyp I call hym to be Coke The mete to dresse to other Folys echone Whiche in his myrrour doth alway gase and loke Whan he may get hym vnto a place alone And though of colour and beaute he haue none Yet thynketh he hym self fayre and right plesant And wyse: thoughe that he be mad and ignorant In his owne dedys is onely his delyte In his owne conceyte thynkynge hymself right wyse And fayre, thoughe he be yelowe as kyte Is of hir fete: yet doth he styll deuyse His vayne myrrour: that onely is his gyse And thoughe he beholde hym self of lothly shape He wyll it nat byleue, but in his glasse doth gape. Though for his foly all men myght hym repreue And that he se it before hym openly Within his glasse: he wyll it nat byleue But strongly it defende and eke deny He seyth nat his erys longe and hye Whiche stande vpon his folysshe hode behynde His lewde conceyt thus makyth hym starke blynde Whan people comon of men of hye prudence Or of hye beauty, and strength if men doth tell If one suche fole were there in the presence He swere durst boldly and that on the gospell That he onely all other dyd excell And that to gyue councell good and profytable Were none in the worldly vnto hym comparable These folys bost them selfe of theyr wysdome And thynke them selfe to haue preemynence Aboue all other that ar in christendome. In gyftis of grace as beautye and scyence Of strength, gode maners, vertue, and eloquence But thoughe they stande in theyr owne conceytis Nought is saue foly within theyr folysshe patis And thoughe theyr face and vysage stande awry And all to reuylde, theyr mouth standynge asyde Within theyr myrrour the same can they nat spye But in theyr foly contynually abyde And whether that they ar styll outher go or ryde Labour or be ydyll, they gase styll in theyr glasse Yet wyll they nat byleue to haue erys lyke an Asse. Oft whan these folys lye in theyr bed vpright With tawny loke or els theyr botyll nose They haue theyr myrrour alway in theyr syght The vayne glasse (of theyr beautye) to apose And whan suche a fole into the kechyn gose To stere the pot, there whether he syt or stande The glasse alway is in the other hande Whan he a whyle his glas hath loken than If one examynyd hym of his beautye He boldly durst swere both by god and man That nought were in hym whiche myght repreuyd be But all goodnes, fayre shape, and loke of grauyte And that his gere gayly vpon his backe doth syt He hardly is wyse: if he had any wyt. I wryten fynde that great inconuenyence As losse, contempt and occasyon of pryde Hath fallyn vnto many by this lewde complacence Whiche haue nat knowen the way themself to gyde The emperour Otho had ay borne by his syde In warre and peas (a glasse) for his pleasaunce To se his colour therin; and countenaunce