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Five hundred and fifty copies of this Edition have been 
printed, five hundred of which are for sale. 

Cables of 16t&pai. 






earliest (Engltsfj toton of tfje 
3fable0 of Bifcpai, 

"The Moral! Philosophic of Dom" 
by Sir Thomas North, whilom 

of Peterhouse, Cambridge 

Now again edited and induced 

by Joseph Jacobs, late of 

St. John's College, 






OF late years nearly all the Western versions of 
the " Fables of Bidpai " have been printed, either 
again or for the first time. The Greek, the He 
brew, the Old Spanish, the German, the Latin, 
the Croatian, and the Old Slavonic have been 
given afresh to the world, and it seemed fitting 
that the earliest English version, made by Sir 
Thomas North of Plutarch fame, should also be 
made to see the light of day again. On my 
suggesting this to Mr. Nutt, he readily consented 
to add a reprint of the book to his " Bibliotheque 
de Carabas," and the present volume is the result. 
The need of a reprint of North's version became, 
evident during the search for a copy of the ori 
ginal. Mr. Quaritch has been on the look-out 
for me for the last five years in vain. Of the 
first edition the British Museum, Cambridge 

viii PREFACE. 

University, Trinity College, Cambridge, and the 
Lambeth Libraries do not possess a copy, nor are 
the noble collections of the Duke of Devonshire, 
Mr. Huth, or the late Mr. Dyce richer in this 
respect than the public libraries. The only com 
plete copy of the first edition that I have been 
able to trace is in the Bodleian, and the present 
volume has been printed from a transcript of 
this, though I have collated with an imperfect 
copy possessed by Dr. Williams' Library. There 
was a second edition in 1601, but this is even 
rarer, only the British Museum copy being known 
to me. 

The first edition received the license of the 
Stationers' Company sometime towards the end 
of 1569 or the beginning of 1570, as we learn 
from the entry in their books (Arber Transcript 
i. fol. 184), " Eecevyd of henry Denham for his 
lycense for pryntinge of a boke intituled phelo- 
phye (sic) of the Auincyant fFaythers xijd." It 
is a small quarto of 116 leaves, divided into four 
parts, of which the last two have separate title- 
pages, as in the Italian original : the last is dated 
1570. We have exactly reproduced its typogra 
phical peculiarities for the first forty pages, after 
which the whole book was in gothic, for which 


we have substituted ordinary type, as less trying 
to the eyes. The book is illustrated with wood 
cuts imitated from the Italian. We have repro 
duced nine of the quaintest and most charac 

I believe I have opened a new chapter in the 
already voluminous Bidpai literature by show 
ing that the illustrations of the Fables were 
regarded as an integral part of the text, 
and were "translated," so to speak, along with 
it. We have therefore given an example of 
these traditional illustrations from the editio 
princeps of the Latin version of John of Capua 
(p. Ixiii.). From the other end of the world we 
give as a frontispiece to the volume one of the 
Indian designs which adorn the fine Persian MS. 
of the Fables preserved at the British Museum 
(Add. MS., 18,579). This was executed in 
1610 for Tana Sahib, the last Kajah of Golconda 
(See Rieu, Cat. Pers. MSS. p. 756). The plate 
represents the first meeting of Dimna and Sen- 
esba, the two chief actors in the main story, and 
may be contrasted with the representation of the 
same personages given in the English text on 
p. 100. 

It remains to perform the pleasant task of 


thanking those to whom this volume owes its 
external attractions or internal correctness. My 
best thanks are due to Mr. E. Burne-Jones for the 
beautiful design which forms the frontispiece to 
the book itself, and embodies the ideal of Oriental 
Tradition. The Duke of Devonshire was good 
enough to send his copy of the Italian original 
to the British Museum for comparison, and the 
Trustees of Dr. Williams' Library gave me faci 
lities for collating with their precious copy of 
the first edition. 


" Pilpay, sage indien. Sa livre a 6te traduit dans toutes 
les langues. Les gens du pays le croient fort ancien 
et originel a I'fyard d'jfrsope si ce n'est Esope lui- 


LA FONTAINE, Avertissement au second 
recuiel, 1678. 

THE work I am to introduce to the reader is the 
earliest English representative of a cycle of stories 
which has passed into every civilised tongue, and 
into many not civilised. The bare description 
of the " Morall Philosophic of Doni " will suffice 
to indicate how wide a traveller it had been 
before it reached these shores. It is the English 
version of an Italian adaptation of a Spanish 
translation of a Latin version of a Hebrew trans 
lation of an Arabic adaptation of the Pehlevi 
version of the Indian original. And this enume 
ration only indicates one of many paths which 
these fables took to reach Europe. To trace these 
paths is a fascinating pursuit for the bibliographer 


and for him alone. Luckily, bibliographical 
work, which is so necessary but so dry, needs 
only to be done once if done well, and the work 
in this case has been done admirably by the late 
Mr. Keith-Falconer in the introduction to his 
translation of the later Syriac version of " Bid- 
pai's Fables" (Cambridge, Pitt Press, 1885).* 
I have endeavoured to summarise the seventy 
erudite pages which he has taken to enumerate 
the various translations and editions in the accom 
panying genealogical table. From this I calcu 
late that the tales have been translated into 
thirty-eight languages, in 112 different versions, 
which have passed into about 180 editions. 

We must not, however, dismiss the earlier 
stages of the history of the Fables so summarily. 
In these days, research after paternity in such 
matters is encouraged rather than forbidden in 
the code of scholarship. In the present instance, 

* A less complete enumeration is given in Table II., 
attached to Mr. T. Rhys Davids' translation of the 
Jataka Tales (Triibner, 1880). Table I. deals with the 
Indian variants with greater fulness than in Mr. Keith - 
Falconer's work. I have included some of these, as well 
as a few unconsidered trifles that had escaped the notice 
of these two scholars in Schultens, Graesse, the British 
Museum Catalogue, and Landau, Quellen des Decamerone. 


the search is rendered peculiarly difficult, and 
therefore fascinating, by the fact that the Indian 
original has disappeared, and its features can only 
be guessed at by the family likeness shown in its 
earliest descendants. By combining the common 
features of the nearest of kin to the Sanskrit 
original the Old Syriac, the Arabic and the 
Tibetan versions Professor Benfey has pro 
duced a "composite portrait" of the original 
(Introduction to Kalilag, pp. vi.-x.) From this 
it appears that the source of this multifarious 
literature was a " Mirror for Princes," in thir 
teen books of tales and fables connected together 
by an ingenious framework, which brought the 
stories to bear upon the problems of conduct. 
An Indian sage named variously in the versions 
Vishnucarman, Bidpai, Pilpay, or Sendebar, 
tells them to his king to incite him to virtue. 
It is in this device of a framework to connect 
the stories that the literary significance of the 
book consists, and it is owing to this that it has 
managed to keep the component tales together 
through so many vicissitudes. 

Many of the tales occur in another connection, 
and enclosed in another "frame," in the Jataka 
Tales, or Buddhist Birth Stories, which may detain 


us a moment, as they serve to establish the date 
of the original Bidpai, and throw some light on 
the framework device. These Jatakas are tales 
supposed to have been told by the Buddha, and to 
be in each case experiences undergone by him 
or witnessed by him during one or other of his 
former manifestations on earth. This is obviously 
a very convenient form by which to connect a 
number of stories even about birds, beasts, and 
fishes, since the Bodisat (or Buddha) is thought 
to have appeared in animal shape. Thus the 
eleventh, or LaJckhana Jatdka (Rhys-Davids, p. 
194), begins : "At that time the Bodisat came 
to life as a deer," and it has been calculated that, 
of the 550 Birth Stories, 108 relate to the 
appearances of the Buddha as a monkey, deer, 
lion, wild duck, snipe, elephant, cock, eagle, horse, 
bull, serpent, iguana, rat, jackal, &c. (I.e. Table 
YIL p. ci.) It is therefore probable that most of 
these Fables were first brought into connection 
with one another as Birth Stories of the Buddha, 
and some of them may actually have been com 
posed by him, as it was clearly his custom to 
inculcate moral truths by some such apologues. 
Benfey had already seen the Buddhistic tone of 
the whole collection (Pant, i p. xi), and Mr. 


Khys-Davids has clinched the matter in his inter 
esting translation of a number of the Jatakas 
(Buddhist Birth Stories, vol. i., Triibner, 1880). 
These include two which have passed into 
North's version, and are reprinted at the end 
of the present Introduction. 

The latest date at which the stories were thus 
connected is fixed by the curious fact that some 
of them have been sculptured round the sacred 
Buddhist shrines of Sanchi, Amaravati,* and 
Bharhut, in the last case with the titles of the 
Jatakas inscribed above them (Khys-Davids, 
p. lix., and Table VIII) These have been 
dated by Indian archaeologists as before 200 
B.C., and Mr. Khys-Davids produces evidence 
which would place the stories as early as 400 
B.C. Between 400 B.C. and 200 B.C., many of 
our tales were put together in a frame formed of 
the life and experience of the Buddha. 

We have them now in quite a different order 
and connection, and the question arises, When 
were they taken out of the one frame and placed 
in the present one 1 This could only have been 
when the influence of Buddhism was declining 
in India, and I am therefore inclined to date 

* Now on the grand staircase of the British Museum. 


them in their present connection about 200-400 
A.D., and to attribute them to the new Brah- 
manism of that period, possibly as rivals to 
the Jatakas. Of their later history in Buddhist 
countries little is known definitely. They passed 
into Thibet and China, and in the Indian penin 
sula parts of the original work appear in the 
Pantschatantra or Pentateuch, which contains 
five of the original thirteen books, in the Hito- 
padesa, which includes four of these, in the 
Mahabharata, which contains another three books, 
and the Katha-sarit-sagara, (Ocean of Stories), 
of Somadeva, which has many of the stories 
in a detached form ; these are late, and often 
give us less information about the original than 
the more faithful Western versions. 

The moment we start on the "Western travels of 
the Fables we are on firmer ground. They were 
translated into Pehlevi (or Old Persian) by Bar- 
zoye, by the orders of Khosru Nushirvan (fl. 
550 A.D.), under circumstances which are related 
to us in the book itself (pp. 34-40). Firdausi 
thought the event of such importance that he 
devoted a section to it in his Shahnameh, or 
poetical chronicle of Persia (Mohl's translation, 
vi., 356-65). This Pehlevi version was almost 


immediately translated into Syriac by a Priest 
named Bud or Bod, about 570 A.D. The history 
of the rediscovery of this Old Syriac version 
forms one of the romances of modern scholar 
ship, which must, however, here remain untold. 
(See Benfey's letter, translated in Professor M. 
Miiller's Selected Essays, i., pp. 549-55.) 

When Islam turned to science and literature, 
one of the earliest works translated into Arabic 
was the Pehlevi translation of our Fables by 
'Abdullah Ibn al-Mokaffa e , a Persian convert 
from Zoroastrianism to Islam, who was therefore 
a most appropriate intermediary. There is, how 
ever, another account how the book got into 
Arabic, which may be given here for its in 
trinsic interest as well as from the fact that it is 
one of the few things overlooked by Mr. Keith- 
Falconer. Abraham Ibn Ezra, a wandering Jew 
who visited many lands, England among them 
in 1158, and wrote on many subjects grammar, 
arithmetic, exegesis, poetry, and astronomy gave 
the following account of the Arabic translation 
in one of his astronomical tracts.* 

* See Steinschneider, Zur Geschichte der Ueberset- 
zungen aus dem Indischen in's Arabische, ZDMG. xxiv. 


" In olden times there was neither science nor 
religion among the sons of Ishmael that dwell in 
tents till the [author of the] Koran arose and 
gave them a new code of religion after his desire 
. . . till the great king in Ishmael, by name Es- 
'Saffah [fl. 750 A.D.], arose, who heard that there 
were many sciences to be found in India . . . 
and there came men saying that there was in 
India a very mighty book on the secrets of govern 
ment, in the form of a Fable placed in the mouths 
of dumb beasts, and in it many illustrations, for 
the book was greatly honoured in the eyes of the 
reader, and the name of the book was Kalila and 
Dimna, that is, the Lion and the Ox, because the 
story in the first chapter of the book is about them. 
The aforesaid king fasted therefore forty days, so 
that he might perchance see the Angel of dreams, 
who might allow him to have the book trans 
lated in the Ishmaelitish tongue. And he saw 
in his dream according to his wish. Thereupon 
he sent for a Jew who knew both languages, and 
ordered him to translate this book, for he feared 
that if an Ishmaelite versed in both tongues were 
to translate it he might die. And when he saw 
that the contents of the book were extraordinary 
as indeed they are he desired to know the 


science [of the Indians] [and he accordingly sends 
the Jew to Arin, whence he brings back the 
Indian numerals and several important astrono 
mical works]." 

There are two ways of explaining this account, 
supposing it to be substantially true. Either 
Al-Mokaffa employed the Jew as a "ghost" or 
" devil, " or there were two Arabic versions, one 
made from the Pehlevi, the other from the San 
skrit. In the former case it would not be sur 
prising to receive different accounts from the 
"devil" and the advocate. But it would be 
difficult to account for the biography of the Per 
sian Barzoye in a translation from the Sanskrit, 
and I am therefore inclined to think that Ibn 
Ezra's account points to an independent transla 
tion by a Jew from the Sanskrit direct into 
Arabic. I am confirmed in this belief by the 
remarkable variations in the Arabic MSS., which 
clearly indicate two prototypes (Guidi, Studij sul 
testo arabo del libro di Calila e Dimna, Kome, 
1873), but must reserve details for another place. 
And in this connection it is interesting to observe 
the reference to illustrations in the Indian book 
in Ibn Ezra's account. We have seen that some 


of the Jatakas, or Buddhist Birth Stories, were 
sculptured round sacred shrines as early as the 
third century B.C., and the temptation is strong 
to connect these Indian illustrations of the same 
stories with the sculptures. When we come to 
the Arabic version, we need no longer rely on 
mere references to illustrations. They are still 
extant : three of De Sacy's MSS. (Anciens 
fonds 1483, 1492 ; St. Germain de Pres, 139) 
have illustrations, and two others (Anc. fonds 
1489, 1502) have places where the figures 
are not, hut were clearly intended to be. The 
latter fate has unfortunately attended the only 
MS. of the Hebrew version" of K. Joel which 
remains to us. But that there were illustrations 
in other MSS. of this Hebrew version is testified 
by a curious fact. A certain Eabbi Isaac Ibn 
Sahula wrote in 1281 a goody goody collection 
of tales termed "Tales of the Olden Time" 
(Mashal Hakadmoni) in order to wean the 
Jewish public from such books as Kalilah wa 
Dimnah, which he expressly mentions. He tells 
us that he has added illustrations so that his 
book might be equally acceptable, and these 
illustrations were given in the first edition of 


his book* (Brescia, 1491?). Thus it is clear 
that illustrations formed one of the attractions 
of the Hebrew version of the Fables of Bidpai, 
and, though we have them no longer, we have 
a list of them inserted in their proper places 
in the unique MS., and in M. Derenbourg's 
excellent edition of it. Now, on comparing 
the list with those actually given in the editio 
princeps of the Latin version, which was made 
from the Hebrew, a remarkable result appears. 
I cannot display this better than by giving 
for a few of the chapters in parallel columns 
a translation of the list of illustrations referred 
to in the Hebrew text, and an account of 
the plates which are actually given in the first 
edition of the Directorium, as well as in the first 
German and Spanish _versions, which have the 
same plates, t 

* The British Museum possesses a unique copy of this, 
with seventy-one illustrations, thirty-four of which are 
of animals. On fol. 186 is one of two jackals, which 
might easily pass for Kalila and Dimna. 

+ Benfey has shown (Orient and Occident, i. 165) that 
the plates were originally made for the German, as it 
has seven more than the Latin, which issued from the 
same press. 



Referred to in Hebrew. Given in Lat. , Germ. , Span. 

Ape in tree and reptile in Ape on tree, reptile in 

water. water. 

Animals in water. Ape and reptile in water. 
Ape on tree and reptile in 


Lion and ass running away. Lion, ass, man, ape. 

Lion seizing ass and fox Lion seizing ass, ape above. 

looking on. 


Ascetic striking pot of 

honey [ = La Perrette]. 

Child and dog killing ser- Child, dog killing serpent 
pent. [ = Gellert]. 

Cat in net, bird on tree, Cat in net, bird on tree, 

dog and mouse. dog and man. 

Mouse gnawing net. Mouse gnawing net.* 

Mouse, net, cat in tree, and Mouse, net, cat in tree, and 

hunter going away. hunter going away. 


Child killing little bird. Child killing little bird. 

Pinza taking child's eyes Bird like a gryphon [ = 

out. Pinza] taking child's eyes 


King calling Pinza on a King calling Pinza on a 

mountain. mountain. 

* In German, not in Latin, for want of room. It 
passed into the Spanish, showing that the latter used the 
German (Benfey, I.e.). 


There is only one conclusion to be drawn from 
the identity of the two lists. John of Capua 
must have taken into his version the illustrations 
in the Hebrew or copies of them. And combining 
this with our other evidence about the Indian 
and Arabic versions, there seems every reason to 
believe that the illustrations were regarded as 
an integral part of the text and were translated, 
if one may say so, along with it. No notice has 
been hitherto taken of this migration of illustra 
tions, yet it may one day afford as interesting a 
chapter in the history of art as the Fables them 
selves have given to the history of literature.* 

This traditional illustration of the Fables ceases 
after the first editions of the Latin, German, and 
Spanish appeared in print. Henceforth the work 
of the illustrator was done "out of his own head." 
Thus, the plates accompanying the Italian and 
English, some of which are here reproduced, 
cannot be brought into connection with India. 
We give, however, a sample of the traditional 
illustrations on p. Ixiii., to accompany the text of 
the Baka Jataka, and it is surprising how ex 
actly a design by a German artist of the fifteenth 

* I have already collected materials for the Gellert 
story, as illustrated in the MSS. and early editions. 


century can be made to illustrate a tale told 
probably by the^ Buddha nearly two thousand 
years before. 

These traditional illustrations may also be 
made to play an important part in the criticism 
of the Bidpai literature. They would serve as 
the readiest means of testing the affiliation of 
texts. In particular, they may bring order into 
the confusion which now reigns as to the Arabic 
version. I trust that henceforth no description 
of an Arabic MS. of the Fables will be consi 
dered complete without a list of its illustrations. 
We may thus determine the question whether 
there are not two distinct families of Arabic 
MSS. of the Kalilah wa Dimnah, one of which 
was derived directly from the Sanskrit by a 
Jewish dragoman, according to the tradition 
given by Abraham Ibn Ezra, which formed the 
starting point of this long, but, I hope, not un 
interesting or unimportant digression. 

Whether any Jew was concerned in bringing 
the Fables from India or no, there is no doubt that 
Jewish intermediation brought them into mediae 
val Europe. The Arabic version appeared under 
the name of " Kalilah wa Dimnah," a softened 
form of the Pehlevi Kalilag and Dimnag, which 


represent the two jackals, Karataka and Dam- 
anaka, of the first chapter of the Indian original. 
From Arabic it was translated into the languages 
of all the countries of Islam. Besides the late 
Oriental versions, like the Persian and the Tur 
kish, Kalilah wa Dimnahieached the West mainly 
through three offshoots. The first of these was 
a Greek version, done by Symeon Seth, a Jewish 
physician at the Byzantine court in the eleventh 
century : from this were derived the Old Slav 
onic and the Croat versions. Then there was an 
Old Spanish version which I have elsewhere 
(Jewish Chronicle, 3d July 1885), shown to 
have been translated in the College of Jewish 
translators of Arabic works of science, estab 
lished by Alphonso the Good at Toledo, about 
1250; this gave rise to a Latin version. And 
finally, there was a Hebrew version made by 
by one Eabbi Joel, from which a Latin version 
was made by John of Capua, a converted Jew, 
under the title of Directorium humane vite, and 
this gave rise to German, Spanish, Czech, Italian, 
Dutch, Danish, and English versions. 

It will thus be seen that the work before us 
enjoys the unique distinction of having appealed 
to all the great religions of the world. Originated 


in Buddhism, it was adopted by Brahmanism, 
passed on by Zoroastrianism to Islam, which 
transmitted it to Christendom by the mediation 
of Jews. 

Besides the wide spread of the tales as a whole 
by translation, several of them passed into popu 
lar literature in more or less modified form. The 
chase after these scattered references is a very 
alluring one, but almost all the game has been 
already bagged by that mighty hunter, Benfey. 
In that eminent scholar's introduction to his 
translation of the Pantschatantra (Leipzig, 1859) 
he has traced each of the tales in its wanderings 
with an amount of erudition which is phenomenal, 
even in the land of erudition. Some idea of this 
may be given by Professor Max Miiller's charm 
ing essay " On the Migration of Fables " (Chips 
from a German WorJcshop, vol. iv. pp. 145-209 ; 
Selected Essays, i. pp. 500-576). Professor 
Miiller has forgotten to mention that this is a 
chip from another German's workshop,* yet as a 
matter of fact, every reference to the tale of the 
milk-maid who counts her chickens before they 

* I have felt obliged to say this, first, because Professor 
Miiller has not done so, and secondly, because in conse 
quence he has been credited with original work on the 


are hatched, is given in 209 of Benfey's Eirilei- 
tung, and nearly every one of its 239 sections 
affords material for a similar monograph. In 
the analytical table of contents which I have 
appended to this introduction, I have given 
Benfey's references to each tale, so that the 
reader may judge of their relative popularity. 

Besides this spontaneous spread through Europe 
of the Fables of Bidpai, there has been, during 
the past two centuries, what may be termed a 
learned diffusion of the various Oriental versions 
of the Fables. As Orientalists became aware of 
the interest and value of the Fables, they edited 
or translated the Eastern versions, and thus a 
mass of materials was collected which required 
wide linguistic knowledge to master. The inves 
tigation of the Bidpai literature began with Bishop 
Huet in 1670, and was then carried on by Stark, 
by Schultens, by Sylvestre de Sacy, and by 
Loiseleur Deslongchamps, till, at the present day, 
there is scarcely an Orientalist of note who has 
not had his say and said something worth saying 
about the Fables of Bidpai. Two names, how 
ever, in the present generation, stand out most 
prominently as the masters of all that is to be 
known on this subject Theodor Benfey and 


Joseph Derenbourg. Thus, by a curious coinci 
dence, as the Jews were the chief agents in the 
spontaneous spread of the Fables, so Jewish 
scholars have done most for the scientific study 
qf that spread. 

Owing to this learned diffusion of the Fables, 
it has come about that, within the last hundred 
years, no less than twenty English translations 
of various versions of Bidpai's Fables have been 
published. Of these, fourteen are from various 
Indian offshoots (for which see Mr. Bhys-Davids' 
Table I.),* of which the most important are the 
Hitopadesa, of which there are five English ver 
sions, f and Somadeva's Katha-sarit-sagara, or 
Ocean of the Elver of Tales. Besides these we 
have Knatchbull's translation of the Arabic, 
Eastwick's and Wollaston's versions of the Per 
sian Anvari Suhaili, besides J. Taylor's translation 
of the French version of its first four chapters, 
which is interesting as being the first work with 

* Adding M. Miiller's (interlineary) translation of the 
Hitopadesa, Tawney's Katka-sarit-sagara, Winford's ver 
sion of the Tamil Panchatantra, Manuel's translation of 
the Urdu, and Fausboll's, Mr. Khys-Davids', and Dr. 
Morris' versions of the Jatakas. 

t The earliest of these by Wilkins (Bath, 1787) has 
been reprinted by Professor Morley in his Universal 
Library (No. 30). 


the title "Fables of Pilpay" (1699).* And 
finally, we have Mr. Keith-Falconer's version of 
the Later Syriac, and Mr. Kalston's reproduction 
of Schiefner's curious " find " of the Tibetan ver 
sion. All this may serve to justify the reprint of 
the earliest of the twenty English translations, 
and to indicate that to the many stories contained 
in the book itself, must be added one more 
wonderful still the story of its wanderings. 

North's version, here republished, bears traces 
of these peregrinations almost in every section. 
Notwithstanding the warning to the reader of 
the necessity of reading the book in connected 
order, it is really an omnium gatherum from almost 
every country and tongue through which the 
original fables had passed on their way to Eng 
land. Thus, the appeal " to the Reader " is from 
the Italian. The Prologue appears first in Arabic, 
though, the tales in it can be traced to Indian 
sources. The Argument of the book goes a step 
farther back, and must have been in the Pehlevi. 
An interesting trait is omitted in the English 
version, for Barzoye in the original asks as his 
only reward that his life and exploits should be 
added to the Fables of Bidpai, as indeed they 
* Eeprinted recently in the Chandos Library. 


have been. The First Part is really a continua 
tion of the " Argument " and, though it is not so 
stated, is an abstract of Barzoye's account of his 
religious views, a kind of Religio Medici, in 
which the Buddhistic influence is strong. This 
again can only go back as far as Persia, though 
the celebrated tale with which it concludes occurs 
also in " Barlaam and Josaphat," or the Life of 
St. Buddha.* It is only with the Second and 
Third Parts that we come upon the earliest stratum 
of the Fables. These correspond to the first book 
of the original Fables represented in the first book 
of the Pantschatantra and in the second of the 
Hitopadesa. The Fourth Part again is originally 
an addition of Al-MokafiVs in the Arabic version. 
The only things quite English in the book are, if 
we may be excused the Hibernicism, the Italian 
sonnet to North, and the other two poems (pp. 7- 
10). The remaining three quarters of the Indian 
original are not represented in North's version, 
which is confined more strictly than any of the 
others to the story of Kalila and Dimna. These 
appear in the anonymous form of the ass and the 
mule. Thus the illustration on p. 100 gives us 

* In the illustration, the gentleman who is running 
away from the four lions (four elements) is the same as he 
that has fallen into the well. 


the original jackal, Damanaka, of the Indian tale 
under the form of " his Moyleship." 

The proper names of the books also bear traces 
of the phonetic detrition they have undergone, 
owing to the wear and tear of ages. A German 
scholar could easily fill this whole Introduction 
with a dissertation on these proper names.* I 
must content myself with one or two examples. 
Though I have called the stories throughout " the 
Fables of Bidpai," the name by which they are 
best known in the book itself they are attributed 
to the sage Sendebar. The reader might not think 
it, but this can be traced back to the same ori 
ginal as the name Bidpai. As thus : Bidpai was 
originally Baidaba,f and in the Arabic MS. used 
by the holyj Rabbi Joel, the diacritical points 

* Most of Benfey's Introduction to the Old Syriac 
version is devoted to this subject, and most properly so, 
since it affords the crucial test of literary origin. 

t It is doubtful whether the original was the Pehlevi 
Wedawaka (Noldeke) or the Sanskrit Vidyapati, "lord of 
knowledge" (Benfey). Other variants are Nadrab, 
Sendebar, Sanbader, Bundabet, Bendabel, Barduben, 
for which see Keith-Falconer, p. 271. 

$ I use this epithet on the same principle as a youth 
ful friend of mine who, on being told by his nurse that 
she must not read stories on Sunday, replied, " But surely 
you may read holy Grimm." At the same time our only 
authority for attributing the Hebrew Version to Joel is 
the poor one of Doni. 


which distinguish between &, , and th had been 
omitted, and the Rabbi who had also translated 
the far-famed book of Sindibad, jumped to the 
conclusion that these fables were also due to that 
sage, and thought the reading to be Thindiba, 
which he took the liberty of changing into Sin- 
dibad. But revenge soon overtook him, for in 
Hebrew there is a similar resemblance between 
the letters d and r, and his translator, John of 
Capua, read Sindibad as Sendebar, Q.E.D. A 
similar misunderstanding of the Hebrew, accord 
ing to Derenbourg, has changed the Shah Nur- 
shirvan into Anestres Castri (p. 34). ' 

So much at present for the external history of 
the work before us, which lends it so much of 
its interest. But its contents claim our atten 
tion in equal degree, for it has been claimed 
for them that in them, or rather in their Indian 
original, is to be found the fons et origo of all 
folk-tales, or at any rate of all tales about 
beasts. No one now-a-days would perhaps go so 
far as to hold that we can trace every folk-tale 
back to India, and to this particular collection, 
but the temptation is often very strong to do so, 
with M. Cosquin, for example (Contes populaires 


de Lorraine, Paris, 1882), or with Mr. Clouston 
(Popular Tales and Fictions, 1887). As regards 
the origin of folk-tales, the view is too extreme to 
need much discussion.* Those who hold it over 
look the fact that the " tell me a story " instinct 
is as universal as any craving of mankind 
Indeed I wonder that some one has not defined 
Man as a tale-telling animal (with the corollary 
of "Woman as a tale-bearing one). The only 
plausibility which is given to the derivation of 
all folk-tales from the East is given by the amaz 
ing erudition of Benfey. At first sight it might 
seem that all European folk-tales, and more also, 
had been swept into the net of his Einleitung. 
But if we take any particular collection and 
investigate what proportion of it is to be found 
referred to by Benfey, we get a more sober esti 
mate of the influence of the Orient on folk-tales. 

* I have not thought it worth while to refer to the 
further refinement of those who, like Professor de Guber- 
natis (Storia delle Novellini populari, Milan, 1883), 
besides tracing all folk-tales back to India (he does this 
for ten selected examples in the accompanying FlorUegio) 
traces them when there to degradations of meteorological 
myths about sun, moon, and stars. Even Professor Muller, 
who applies his "sparrow-grass " theory of things to most 
things in heaven and earth, would not go this length 
(Set. Ess. i. 510). 



Thus, out of the two hundred mdrchen collected 
by the Brothers Grimm, only eighteen are quoted 
as parallels by Benfey,* and in many of these cases 
the parallelism is only so far justified that there 
seems to be no point of contact between the two 
tales except that afforded by the common human 
nature underlying them. Or working from the 
other end we may attempt to calculate the pro 
portion of any country's tales which can be traced 
to the East. Professor Crane has selected from 
the voluminous folk-literature of Italy 107 of 
the most characteristic tales in his Italian Folk- 
Tales, and of these he only traces a dozen (xxxvii. 
xlviii.) to Oriental sources, a somewhat higher 
percentage than in the German collection, as is 
but natural, considering the closer proximity and 
connection of Italy, and especially Sicily, with 
the East. Altogether we shall not be far out 
if we restrict the proportion of Oriental tales 
among the folk-tales of Western Europe to one 
in ten. 

Another consideration will modify the some 
what exaggerated claims that have been made 
for the influence of our collection upon European 

* 36, 92, 106, 120, 150, 155, 159, 165-8, 181, 186, 
195, 208, 209, 212, 227. 


folk-tales. It is true that these tales passed into 
all the languages of Europe in translations, but a 
large part of them never emerged from within 
the covers of the translations, as may be seen by 
referring to our analytical list of the stories. 
At first sight it seems to argue a wide spread for 
a story to see it quoted from " Anvari-Suhaili," 
"Hitopadesa," "Directorium vite humane," "Pan- 
chatantra," "Exemplario," "Stephanite i Ich- 
nelate," "Del governo degli animali," and so 
on. Mr. Clouston especially is fond of ringing 
these changes (Popular Tales, pass.) But after 
all this is much the same as if one were to state 
that a saying appeared^, in " the Torah " and " n 
craXa/a diaQfaq " and " Das erste Buch Mose " 
and "the Vulgate" and "the Peshitto " and 
"Les saintes Ventures" and "Genesis" and 
" the Douay Version," and all the other names 
under which the Bible is known in translation. 
All these are but one book, and though the 
various translations may very properly be quoted 
as testimonies to the popularity of the book, 
they cannot be counted over and over again as 
proving the popularity of each story. Or rather, 
if a story occurs only in these translations, this 


tells dead against its popularity per se.* For 
what does this imply 1 Surely that in the 
struggle for existence among popular tales many 
of those which found a footing in written or 
printed literature failed to find any vogue in oral 
literature. That there was an exosmose of ideas 
and tales between the literate and illiterate is 
undoubtedly the fact, but we know little of the 
laws of intercommunication, and are likely, from 
our ignorance of the exact processes of oral tra 
dition,! to exaggerate its amount. Whenever 
clear cases of the interfusion occur, as when we 
can clearly trace the Grimms' story Simeliberg 
(No. 142) to the Forty Thieves of the Arabian 
Nights, the literary form of the original has left 
its traces in some significant word or phrase, (in 
that case the pass-word " Sesame "). Altogether 

* Of the forty stories or so contained in this volume 
only about ten (Ci, 4, D;c, Dg, Dga, E4a, E6, Eg, Eio, 
and F4) can be said to be really popular. At the same 
time, it should be added, that stories that are so popular 
may be almost counted on the fingers. 

t The only kind of oral tradition extant among us 
consists in the stories more broad than long that cir 
culate among young men in smoking rooms. In my sallet 
days I have heard stories of this nature told me by a 
Canadian, which I had previously heard with exactly the 
a me turns of expression in Australia. 


we may say that the onus probandi falls upon 
those who assert the Oriental origin of folk-tales, 
and in their proof we cannot be content with the 
assertion of a common " formula," which can only 
show that some rural wit in Germany had ob 
served the fickleness of woman or the vanity of 
man in somewhat the same form as a brother 
sage in India had done some hundreds of years 
before. We have an exact analogy in the case 
of novels : one of these days we may obtain a 
scientific scheme of "formulae" for the huge 
mass of novels, yet it would be hasty to assume 
that every novel which might come under the 
formula of " the lost heir " or " the innocent 
accused," had been derived from the same ori 

There is still another reason why it is impro 
bable that the Bidpai literature should have had 
such influence on European folk-tales as has been 
attributed to it. Incredible as it may seem, the 
Fables were translated in the first period of their 
spontaneous spread, not for the story-interest of 
them, but on account of their moral interest 
their "moral philosophy" as the title of the 
Italian and English versions testifies. They 
were regarded as homilies, and the tales were 


only tolerated as so much jam to give a relish to 
the " morality." It was therefore appropriate 
that these Asiatic tales with their Buddhistic ten 
dencies should be introduced just at the period 
when Europe was Asiaticising. For if we may 
generalise ahout such big things as continents, 
may we not say that the ideal of Asia has been 
to be, that of Europe to do ?* And was it not the 
striving of mediaeval Europe to be, and not pri 
marily to do, that makes it seem so alien to us 
moderns who have recovered the old European 
tradition of Greeks and Romans and Teutons? 
With touching simplicity, the mediaevals, like 
the Asiatics, thought it only necessary to know, 
in order to do, the right, and hence their appeal 
to Oriental wisdom : alas, we moderns know 
better ! It is important to notice this aspect of 
the book, as it makes it still more remarkable 
that it should have been accepted as a sort of 
secular Bible, if we may so term it, by men of 
so many different religions. There must have 
been something essentially human in this Budd 
histic book that it should have been welcomed as 
a moral encheiridion by Zoroastrians, Moslems, 

* Lindley Murray would perhaps have added that the 
ideal of Africa has been to suffer. 


Jews, and Christians. Perhaps we may account 
for this universal acceptance of its doctrines 
because they seemed to come from the mouths 
of those who could not be suspected of heresy 
from our dumb brethren, the beasts. 

And this leads me to discuss the claim of our 
book, or its original, to be the source of all beast- 
fables a claim for which a somewhat better case 
has been made out. For India is the home of 
metempsychosis, and there, if anywhere, the idea 
of animals talking and willing like men might 
seem most natural. Accordingly, Benfey would 
trace all stories in which animals act in this way 
back to India, though, curiously enough, he 
claims a Western (Greek) origin for beast-tales 
in which animals act "as sich." Against this a 
claim has recently been set up for South Africa 
by Professor Sayce, who points to the existence 
of such fables quite independent of Indian influ 
ence (Bleek, Reynard the Fox in South Africa, 
1872). He connects with beast-fables, by some 
link of association which is not too evident, 
the existence in the South- African languages of 
special " clicks " which accompany each animal 
in the narration* (Science of Language, ii. 280-3). 

* Thus we might tell the rhyme of the House that Jack 


From the Bushmen or their ancient represen 
tatives, it seems to be suggested, it may have 
passed on to Egypt, and thence have percolated 
to Phoenicia, Assyria, Greece (may not ^Esop 
he connected with AW/o-vJ/, it is asked), and India. 
Benfey himself gives some support to this con 
tention by suggesting that in the first instance 
metempsychosis was derived from Egypt. 

But against all this inquiry about the place 
from which beast-fables first came may be urged 
the probability that they came from nowhere, 
because they have always been everywhere where 
nomad man was. The doctrine of metempsy 
chosis itself we now know, thanks to Mr. Tylor, 
to be merely an extension of the general tendency 
of early races towards an " animistic " theory of 
things, by which the savage observer of Nature 
projects his personality into all surrounding 
objects, whether animate or inanimate. The 

built with appropriate "clicks" as follows : "This is the 
cock that crowed in the morn (Cock-a-doodle-doo) to wake 
the priest all shaven and shorn (Pax vobiscum), who 
married the man all tattered and torn (Hdha-ha,-Jia) t 
unto the maiden all forlorn (Hehe-he-he), that milked the 
cow with the crumpled horn (Mooooo), that tossed the 
dog (bow-wow), that worried the cat (mieaou), that killed 
the rat (week),' 1 &c. 


prevalence of totemism is another proof of the 
intense interest of men in the hunting stage 
in the ways of animals. And if we may apply 
the inverse method and argue back from the 
infancy of the individual to the infancy of the 
race, we may notice that the "gee-gee" and 
the "bow-wow" are the first objects of interest 
to the little ones.* Sir Richard Burton would 
even go further, and sees the essence of the 
beast-fable in " a reminiscence of Homo primi- 
genius with erected ears and hairy hide, and its 
expression is to make the brother brute to hear, 
think, and talk like him with the superadded 
experience of ages."f One hesitates to dissent 
from so great an authority as Sir K. Burton on 
all that relates to the bestial element in man. 

* George Eliot's infantile imagination was first touched 
by uEsop's Fables (Life, i. 20), and M. Bert sensibly 
begins his First Tear of Scientific Knowledge with 

t I owe this quotation and my knowledge of Sir R. 
Burton's views generally on this subject to an article by 
Mr. T. Davidson on " Beast-Fables," in the new edition 
of Chambers's Cyclopaedia, which sums up admirably the 
present state of opinion on this subject, and a very con 
fused state it is. Mr. Davidson quotes section 3 of the 
notorious Terminal Essay of the Thousand Nights and 
A Night. 


But it may be pointed out what an unconscionably 
long memory the originators of beast-fables must 
have had if it could bridge over the long lapse 
of years required to turn the Darwinian Homo 
into Man the Speaker. And as all men ex 
hypothesi would have the same reminiscence of 
their original identity with the beasts, it seems 
rather inconsistent in Sir R. Burton to stand out, 
as I understand he does, for an exclusively 
African origin of beast-fables. 

But we need not depend on imaginative hy 
potheses of pre-historic psychogony in opposing 
the contention for any single centre of dispersion 
for beast-fables. Their exclusively Indian origin 
at any rate, with which we are more particularly 
concerned, is at once disproved by traces which 
we can find of them in Egypt, Assyria, and 
Judsea (Jotham's fable, Judges ix.), before any 
connection with India can be established. In 
deed on the 1 strength of Jotham's fable and 
the many fables given or mentioned in the Tal 
mud,* Dr. Landsberger some years ago argued 
that Judaea was the original home of the Fable 

* On these see Hamburger's Realencyclopddie des Tal- 
muds s.v. Fabel, and a series of papers by Dr. Back in 
Graetz's Monatschrift for 1881. 


(Fdbeln des Sophos, 1859). But the Talmud is 
late (150-450 A.D.), and the Kabbis to whom the 
fables are attributed may easily have learned 
their beast-fables from the Romans, just as they 
took the chief elements of their culture from 
Rome. M. Hale'vy has even suggested that the 
Fables of Bidpai were known to the Talmudic 
Doctors (Revue des etudes juives, XL, 195-200). 
He finds a pair of words which with a little 
coaxing can be made to resemble Kariralc and 
Damondk. The words seem to mean in the text 
a set of fire-irons, whence the connection with fire- 
worshippers and with Persians, and so, with the 
Pehlevi text of our fables is made out to the satis 
faction of M. Halevy, who is on this occasion even 
more ingenious than usual, which is saying a great 
deal, but even less convincing than usual, which 
is saying more. But apart from all this, priority 
of time is against our deriving Indian fables from 
the Talmudic ones or even asserting the indepen 
dence of the latter. 

Remoteness of locality might seem to be 
equally effective in proving independence or 
priority of time. For this reason the African 
collections of Fables are especially interesting, 
and have been adduced by Professor Sayce and 


Sir R. Burton, as we have seen, to establish 
Africa as the origin of the Fable. Yet Benfey 
promises (Pant, i., pp. 102, 183) to show traces 
of Indian influence on the fables of the Senegal 
negroes (Roger, Fables senegalaises, 1828), and on 
those of the Bechuanas (Grimm-Hunt, ii. pp. 544- 
554), through the medium of Arab slave-traders. 
He nowhere carried out this promise, so far as I 
can ascertain, but I think I can confirm his con 
clusion by evidence from a most unexpected 
quarter. Most of my readers will remember the 
amusing collection of beast-fables from the slave- 
states of America known by the name of Uncle 
Remus. Nothing could seem more autochthonous 
or more remote from Indian influences, and they 
have already been adduced as convincing evi 
dence of the ubiquity of beast-fables. Yet I am 
much mistaken if I cannot connect the celebrated 
incident of the " Tar-Baby," which forms the 
nucleus of the collection as motivating the en 
mity of Brer Rabbit and Brer Fox, with one of 
the Jatakas or Buddhist Birth-stories. Every 
one will remember how Brer Rabbit, annoyed at 
the incivility of the Tar-Baby, chastises it with 
his right paw and left paw, with right leg and 
left leg, all of which stick to the " Baby," till at 


last he butts at the obnoxious infant with his 
head, and is then at the mercy of Brer Fox, who 
all the time has "lain low." Now compare 
with this the following passage from the Jataka 
of the Demon with the Matted Hair (Fausboll, 
i. pt. ii. p. 272) as translated by Professor J. 
Estlin Carpenter* (Three Ways of Salvation, 
1884, p. 27). The Bodisat in one of his former 
births as "Prince Five- Weapons " assails the 
Demon of the Matted Hair in the midst of a 
gloomy forest, " And with a resolute air he [the 
future Buddha] hit him with his right hand, but 
his right hand and his left hand, his right foot 
and his left foot, were all caught in turn in the 
Demon's hair, and when at last he butted at him 
with his head that was caught too" The situa 
tion is so unique and the parallelism so close 
that we cannot avoid assuming a causal connec 
tion between the two versions. Yet if that be 
so, the Jataka of the Demon of the Matted Hair 
must have passed from India to Africa with 
Hindoo merchants or Arab slave-traders, must 
then have crossed Equatorial Africa before 

* I was put on the track of this by Mr. F. H. Jones, 
Dr. Williams' Librarian, who heard Professor Carpenter's 
address and was struck with the resemblance. 


Livingstone or Stanley, then took ship in the hold 
of a slaver across the Atlantic and found a home 
in the log-cabins of South Carolina. No wonder 
Brer Babbit was so 'cute, since he is thus shown 
to be an incarnation of the Buddha himself. 

This remarkable instance of the insidious spread 
of Buddhistic fables is at anyrate sufficient to 
give us pause before assuming that distance from 
India proves independence from Indian influ 
ences. We can only prove this by examples of 
beast- fables known to have been in existence 
before any contact with India can be shown. 
Besides the instances of Egyptian, Assyrian, and 
Bible fables, before referred to, we have the case 
of Greece, which, as the home of ^Esop, deserves 
more particular attention. We find a fable in 
Hesiod (Op. et Dies, 202), two fables of Archi- 
lochus are known, and almost the only poetical 
thing in Byron's English Bards : 

" So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, 
No more through rolling clouds to soar again, 
View'd his own feather on the fatal dart, 
And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart, " * 

is from a fable contained in a fragment of 

* Byron got the idea from Waller, To a, Lady singing 
a Song of his composing. 


JEschylus' Myrmidons, which by the way does 
something to confirm the African origin, since 
the poet adds S'sffri ftvduv ruv AifivGnxuv "koyog 
(Schol. in Arist. Aves, 808). Aristophanes again 
has several references to -5Csopean fables, and 
as we all know, Socrates in his last days occu 
pied his leisure with " tagging " ^Esop. All this 
was before any Indian influence could come in, . 
and Benfey accordingly goes so far as to trace 
the Indian fables of an ^Esopic type (i.e., where 
the animals do not act as men, but in proprid 
persona) to Greek or Western influence. But 
the reasoning on which he bases this somewhat 
startling result (I. p. xxi. 58, 130, 162) does 
not give one as much respect for his judgment 
as for his erudition. And at anyrate it is now 
generally recognised that our ^Esop, the mediaeval 
collection passing under that name, is strongly 
impregnated with Indian elements from the 
Bidpai literature. 

Whether Phsedrus, and Babrius from whom he 
borrows, can be traced back to the influence of 
the Jatakas, and so to the original of our present 
work, has not been thoroughly threshed out.* But 

* "The History of the Greek Fable " forms the second 
introductory Essay to Mr. W. G. Rutherford's Babrius. 


I would point to a feature common to the Jatar 
kas, the Fables of Bidpai, and those of Babrius 
and Phsedrus. And that is the " moral-pidgin," 
as Mr. Leland's Chinaman would say, that is in 
separably connected with all these forms of the 
fable, though, if one thinks of it, the very raison 
d'etre of the Fable is to imply its moral without 
mentioning it. The whole book before us seems 
to be written in the spirit of the Duchess in 
Alice's Adventures who, it will be remembered, 
concludes every statement of hers with the remark 
" And the moral of that is ." This moralising 
tendency is so distinctive a feature that one is 
tempted to trace it to a definite and single 
source, which can only be the gatha or " moral" 
verse, of the Buddhistic JataJcas (see Appen 
dix). That there was time for them to reach the 
Hellenic world is shown by the fact that as early 
as the time of Augustus a sramanaJcarja (teacher 
of the Ascetics) created a great impression by 
burning himself alive at Athens, where his tomb 
was long afterwards to be seen with the inscription 
ano 'Bagyoffys [Barygaza, then 

He decides against any Indian influence in a very tren 
chant manner, but more trenchant than convincing, as it 
seems to me. 

a Buddhist centre] xarcb ra ^rarg/a 'Iv&uv tQq 

Thus, although we cannot trace all beast-fables 
to India, we may, I think, give Buddhism, as 
represented by the book before us, the credit of 
those that have a moral attached, which is the 
case with most forms of the JEsopic fable. And 
arrived at the end of our inquiry into the influ 
ence of the book, we may trace it all to the 
Buddhism latent in it. For we have seen its 
wide acceptance due to the moral interest in it, 
and its influence on the so-called Fables of ^Esop 
also due to the " morals " attached to them, and 
these moralities are the special things in the 
book which are due to Buddhism. And still 
more curiously the peculiar literary form of the 
book, which, as we shall see, has been even 
wider in its influence, can be traced back directly 
to the person of the founder of the religion.! 

* See Lightfoot, Colossians, p. 390-6, who, however, for 
polemical purposes, dates Indian influence on the West 
as late as possible. The learned Bishop, however, con 
siders that St. Paul derived from this incident his striking 
remark, " Though I give my body to be burned and have 
not charity, it availeth nothing" (i Cor. xiii. 3). 

t Against this Mr. Rhys-Davids points to the fact 
that several of the Jatakas are already "frames ;" the 



The idea of stringing a number of stories together 
by putting them in a frame as in Boccaccio's 
Decamerone, Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, Basile's 
Pentamerone, and so on down to Mr. Pickwick 
and Mr. Stevenson, is one that is distinctly to 
be traced to the East in the Fables of Bidpai, 
the book of Sindibad, and the Arabian Nights. 
The last is late, and was influenced by the others,* 
but the other two books which went through 
much the same history are offshoots of Buddhism, 
and in the case of Bidpai's Fables we have seen 
how the idea of a frame arose in the JataJcas or 
Birth Stories of Buddha. It is in the tendency 
to collect all the "good things" of India about 
the great exemplar of good in India that we must 
see the origin of the literary device of " the 
frame," which has done so much to keep intact 
the book we have been discussing during its long 
travels across the ages. Considering all .these 

Ummaga-Jataka contains 150 stories. But the vogue 
of the "frame" was due to Buddhism. 

* Professor de Goeje has made out a plausible case for 
tracing the frame story of the Thousand and One Nights 
to the story of Esther (Ency. Brit., sub voce), as Shahzard, 
is mentioned by Firdausi as a Jewish wife of Artaxerxes 
I; But the idea of a " frame " must have been suggested 
by the Indian books. 


things, and remembering that Bidpai is only a 
lay figure who takes the place of Buddha in 
" moralising " the stories, may we not sum up our 
conclusions as to their origin and influence by 
roundly stating that the Tables of Bidpai are 
the Fables of Buddha ? * 

As the experienced reader might suspect from 
all this insistence on the extrinsic interest of the 
book before us that intrinsically it is as dull as 
most books of Oriental apologues are, I hasten to 
reassure him on the point. And in order to do 
so, I must remind the reader of the man to whom 
we owe it, and of his position in our literature. 
Of the external events of Sir Thomas North's life 
little definite is known, and that little has been 
put together with his customary diligence and 
accuracy by the late Mr. Cooper in his Atlience 
Cantabrigienses (ii. p. 350-1). That Thomas, 

* All this on the assumption that the remaining nine- 
teen-twentieths of the Jataka tales are as full of the 
Fables as the hundred or so that have been translated by 
Fausboll, Mr. Rhys-Davids, Dr. Morris, and the Bishop 
of Colombo. I suspect, however, that the Pali scholars 
have already played, their strongest trumps. Benfey held 
almost as good a hand thirty years ago : at anyrate our 
two Jatakas are duly noted by him in their proper places 
, 845 see also 61, 82, here DIG, 4). 


second son of Edward, Lord North of Kirtling, 
was educated at Peterhouse, Cambridge, entered 
Lincoln's Inn in 1557, was presented with the 
honorary freedom of Cambridge in 1568,* was 
appointed captain of three hundred men raised 
at Ely in the Armada times, had something to do 
with thegaugers of ale and beer in 1591, was re 
duced to accept a relief of 20 from the town- 
council of Cambridge in 1598, and that he and 
his son received further help from his brother's 
will in 1600 these are the facts that form the 
exoskeleton of his life. We are at present more 
concerned with his literary productions. These 
are three ; all of them translations. The first 
was a version of Antonio de Guevara's Libro 
aureo, a Spanish adaptation of Marcus Aurelius's 
Meditations, which had an extraordinary vogue 
throughout Western Europe at this time : North 
translated mainly from the Erench version, but 
did the last part into English from the original. 

* From his familiarity with French and Italian, we 
might surmise a grand tour about this time. The " G. B." 
who wrote one of the introductory sonnets of our book 
was probably an Italian friend thus acquired. Could he 
have been Giordano Bruno, who came over to England 
thirteen years later, and had therefore relations with 
this country ? 


This was published in 1568, and two years later 
appeared "The Morall Philosophie of Doni,"* and 
in 1579 came his most important work, the trans 
lation of Plutarch, after the vigorous French of 
Amyot. This was one of the most popular hooks 
of the period, running through eight editions 
within the century after its first appearance. 
Most of us know it, or know of it, as the source 
of Shakespeare's picture of the Koman world. 

Yet, if recent research is to be trusted, North's 
first book, the translation of Guevara, which he 
called The Dial of Princes, had almost as much 
influence as his Plutarch. For Dr. Landmann 
in an ingenious essay (Der Euphmsmus, Giessen, 
1881) has attempted to trace Euphuism to the 
influence of Guevara. It is true Mr. S. L. Lee 
interprets this to mean that Euphuism had for 

* As we are on biographies, a word or two may be 
spared to the Doni, who forms part of the title of our 
book. He was a real person Antonio Francesco Doni 
flourishing in Italy in the middle of the sixteenth 
century (b. 1513, d. 1574) as a kind of journalist at 
Florence, his birthplace ; Venice, where he wrote the 
Moral Philosophia in 1552; Ancona, whither he retired 
from fear of the Inquisition ; and at Montselice, where 
he died. He was a novelist as well as a fabulist, and in 
the former capacity appears in Roscoe's Italian Novelists, 
where eight of his novels are translated. 


its literary parent Lord Berners, the translator of 
Froissart, who also Englished Guevara's book 
"before North in 1539 (see his edition of Berners' 
Huon of Burdeux, E.E.T.S. iv. pp. 785-6). But 
Berners' version was made from the French, and 
it is difficult to see how the Spaniard's style could 
be caught except in a version made from the 
Spanish, as was in large measure that of North, 
who must therefore be regarded as the father of 
Euphuism, if that style is to be traced to Guevara 
alone. But as a matter of fact such a tendency 
to over-ornamentation as is shown in Euphuism 
came to all the literatures of West Europe as a 
natural development after they had passed the 
apprenticeship of translation, and became conscious 
of the delights of literary artifice. 

North came just mid-way between the exag 
gerated Ciceronianism of Berners, Elliot, and 
Ascham, his chief predecessors, and the exagge 
rated Guevarism (if it must be so) of Lyly and 
his school ; and because he did so, we see in him 
Tudor prose at its best. In the Elizabethan 
period our language attained both ease and 
dignity, but the ease of Greene and the pamph 
leteers was never dignified, and the dignity of 
such men as Hooker was rarely easeful. North 


alone, so far as I know, had ease with dignity, 
and so ranks rightly as the first great master of 
English prose. He alone of his era had the art 
of saying great things simply, as he does so often 
in his Plutarch. 

If I mistake not, the hook here brought again 
to light displays these qualities in no less a degree. 
It comes as a happy medium between the stateli- 
ness of his Guevara and the grandeur of his Plu 
tarch, with its Italian vivacity tempered with far 
off echoes of Oriental gravity. It argues a master 
of language to have been equal to so many styles.* 
Let us hear a couple of his sentences: "To be 
alone it griueth vs : to be accompanied it troubleth 
vs : to live long it werieth vs : and sufficient con- 
tenteth vs not." That might have come from one 
of the finest of the Homilies : notice the subtle turn 
of the last clause just when the parallelism is be 
ginning to cloy. Again : " His Moyleship brauely 
yerked out with both legges and liuely shook his 
eares and head. He brayed and flong as he 
had bene madde." There is vigour and crispness. 

* North's French prototype, Amyot, showed the 
same versatility of style, being equally successful with 
Plutarch and with Daphnis and Chloe. (Saintsbury, 
French Lit., 232.) 


North is at his Lest in the dialogues and soli 
loquies which are scattered so frequently through 
the book, and it is there too that he departs most 
freely from the Italian version, which as a rule 
he follows closely. The flexibility of his style 
comes out in these speeches : contrast, for ex 
ample, the vigour of the exulting speech of " the 
Moyle" (Dimna) when he has entrapped the 
Bull (p. 177) with the courtier-like gravity with 
which he has just approached King Lion (p. 129), 
and the friendly persuasion with which he has 
won over the Bull (p. 147). 

Another mark of the fine instinct which North 
displays as a literary artist is the fact that so few 
of his words have become obsolete. There are 
scarcely a dozen passages in the book which fail 
to yield their meaning on a first reading owing 
to this cause.* And yet with all this the book 
is full of those racy quaintnesses which give to 
Elizabethan English something of the charm of 
the pretty prattlings of early childhood : the 

* Some readers may be glad to have the following 
equivalents -.flight (p. 55) = fled j draffe (82) = dregs ; 
bucke (95) = lye (?) ; girned (103) = mocked ; dole (127) 
= share. Few will care to know that 'cockle' (113) = 
Angrostemna githago, Linn., and I should like to know 
what 'coccomber' (178) means. 


interjections in particular, "Tut a figge," "What 
a goodyere," and the like, resemble the inarticu 
late cries of childhood, and come most appropriate 
in a literature after a ISTew Birth. 

And the book which North has clothed in this 
style has greater claims to artistic unity than 
most collections of Oriental tales. With happy 
tact, he did not translate the second part of Doni 
(Trattati diver si) t which contains a farrago of 
Oriental tales culled from all quarters, which pro 
duce the same bewildering effect as most of the 
Oriental collections. North, by confining him 
self to the first part of the Moral Philosophies, 
corresponding to the first chapter of the original 
Sanskrit,* has given a certain amount of consist 
ency to his version of Bidpai which is lacking in 
all the others. Three-quarters of the book repre 
sent the intrigues of the wily Dimna against the 
simple-minded Senesba. 

Here I must stop. One who edits a " find " 
cannot hope to be trusted about its artistic merits. 

* It must not be supposed that our book contains only 
one-thirteenth of the original. The first chapter is ex 
ceptionally long, so that our version represents about one- 
fourth of the original Sanskrit, and rather more than 
a third of the Arabic version, from which most of the 
European representatives come. 


If I go on further, I foresee the sort of mental 
dialogue which will pass between my reader and 
myself. " What," the reader will exclaim, " the 
first literary link between India and England, 
between Buddhism and Christendom, written in 
racy Elizabethan with vivacious dialogue, and 
something distinctly resembling a plot. Why, 
you will be trying to make us believe that 
you have restored to us an English Classic ! " 
"Exactly so," I should be constrained to reply, 
and lest I be tempted into this temerity, I will 
even make a stop here. 



The Cruel Crane Outwitted. 

[Fausboll, No. 38 ; Rhys Davids, pp. 315-321 ; North, 
infra, pp. 118-122]. 

Wqz fotllatn, tfjougfj exceeding cleber. This the master 
told when at Jetavana about a monk who was a tailor 
-{and used to cheat his customers by changing old 
clothes patched up, for new cloth. He is however out 
witted by a tailor from the country, who cheats him 
by taking the cloth in exchange for old clothes dyed to 
look like new]. And one day the monks sat talking 
about this in the Lecture Hall, when the Teacher came 
up and asked them what they were talking about, and 
they told him the whole matter. 

Then the Teacher said, "Not now only has the 
Jetavana robe-maker taken other people in in this 
way, in a former birth he did the same. And not 


now only has he been outwitted by the countryman, 
in a former birth he was outwitted too." And he told 
a tale. 

Long ago the Bodisat was born to a forest life as 
the Genius of a tree standing near a certain lotus 

Now at that time the water used to run short at 
the dry season in a certain pond, not over large, in 
which there were a good many fish. And a crane 
thought, on seeing the fish 

"I must outwit these fish somehow or other and 
make a prey of them." 

And he went and sat down at the edge of the water, 
thinking how he should do it. 

When the fish saw him, they asked him, ' ' What 
are you sitting there for, lost in thought ? " 

" I am sitting thinking about you," said he. 

" Oh, sir ! what are you thinking about us ? " said 

" Why," he replied; "there is very little water in 
this pond, and but little for you to eat ; and the heat 
is so great ! So I was thinking, ' What in the world 
will these fish do now ? ' " 

"Yes, indeed, sir ! what are we to do ? " 

" If you will only do as I bid you, I will take you 
in my beak to a fine large pond, covered with all the 
kinds of lotuses, and put you into it," answered the 

" That a crane should take thought for the fishes is 
a thing unheard of, sir, since the world began. It's 
eating us, one after the other, that you're aiming 

" Not I. So long as you trust me, I won't eat you. 


But if you don't believe me that there is such a pond, 
send one of you with me to go and see it." 

Then they trusted him, and handed over to him one 
of their number a big fellow, blind of one eye, whom 
they thought sharp enough in any emergency, afloat 
or ashore. 

Him the crane took with him, let him go in the 
pond, showed him the whole of it, brought him back, 
and let him go again close to the other fish. And he 
told them all the glories of the pond. 

And when they heard what he said, they exclaimed, 
" All right, sir ! You may take us with you." 

Then the crane took the old purblind fish first to 
the bank of the other pond, and alighted in a Varana- 
tree growing on the bank there. But he threw it 
into a fork of the tree, struck it with his beak, and 
killed it ; and then ate its flesh, and threw its bones 
away at the foot of the tree. Then he went back and 
called out 

" I've thrown that fish in ; let another come ! " 

And in that manner he took all the fish, one by one, 
and ate them, till he came back and found no more ! 

But there was still a crab left behind there ; and 
the crane thought he would eat him too, and called 

"I say, good crab, I've taken all the fish away, 
and put them into a fine large pond. Come along. 
I'll take you too ! " 

" But how will you take hold of me to carry me 
along ? " 

" I'll bite hold of you with my beak." 

"You'll let me fall if you carry me like that. I 
won't go with you ! " 

" Don't be afraid ! I'll hold you quite tight all the 

Then said the crab to himself, "If this fellow once 


got hold of fish, he would never let them go in a 
pond ! Now if he should really put me into the 
pond, it would be capital; but if he doesn't then 
I'll cut his throat and kill him ! " So he said to 

"Look here, friend, you won't be 'able to hold me 
tight enough ; but we crabs have a famous grip. If 
you let me catch hold of you round the neck with my 
claws, I shall be glad to go with you." 

And the other did not see that he was trying to 
outwit him, and agreed. So the crab caught hold of 
his neck with his claws as securely as with a pair of 
blacksmith's pincers, and called out, " Off with you, 
now ! " 

And the crane took him and showed him the pond, 
and then turned off towards the Varana-tree. 

" Uncle ! " cried the crab, " the pond lies that way, 
but you are taking me this way ! " 

" Oh, that's it, is it ! " answered the crane. " Your 
dear little uncle, your very sweet nephew, you call 
me ! You mean me to understand, I suppose, that I 
am your slave, who has to lift you up and carry you 
about with him ! Now cast your eye upon the heap 
of fish-bones lying at the root of yonder Varana-tree. 
Just as I have eaten those fish, every one of them, 
just so I will devour you as well ! " 

' ' Ah ! those fishes got eaten through their own 
stupidity," answered the crab, "but I'm not going to 
let you eat me. On the contrary, it is you that I am 
going to destroy. For you in your folly have not seen 
that I was outwitting you. If we die, we die both 
together ; for I will cut off this head of yours, and 
cast it to the ground ! " And so saying, he gave the 
crane's neck a grip with his claws, as with a vice. 

Then gasping, and with tears trickling from his 
eyes, and trembling with the fear of death, the crane 



"beseech ed him, saying, "0 my Lord! Indeed I did 
not intend to eat you. Grant me my life ! " 

" Well, well ! step down into the pond, and put me 
in there." 

And he turned round and stepped down into the 
pond, and placed the crab on the mud at its edge. 
But the crab cut through its neck as clean as one 

would cut a lotus-stalk with a hunting-knife, and 
then only entered the water ! 

When the Genius who lived in the Varana-tree saw 
this strange affair, he made the wood resound with 
his plaudits, uttering in a pleasant voice the verse 

" &fje m'ilain, tijou< exceeding clcber, 
Sfjall prosper not fog fjts billing. 
?^e mag fain tntieeD, sfjarpsimtteo in Deceit, 
23ut onlg as t[je (rane fjro from tfje &taft ! " 


When the Teacher had finished this discourse, show 
ing that " Not now only, mendicants, has this man 
been 'outwitted by the country robe-maker, long ago 
he was outwitted in the same way," he established the 
connexion, and summed up the Jataka, by saying, 
"At that time he [the crane] was the Jetavana robe- 
maker, the crab was the country robe-maker, but the 
Genius of the Tree was I myself." 

The part in italics is called "The Story of the 
Present," and that in ordinary type is "The Story 
of the Past," of which the verses (gatha} in old Pali 
probably formed the literary nucleus, and were 
handed on as a peg on which the stories hung. Both 
the stories were ultimately written down as a com 
mentary on the verses with the first line of which the 
Jataka begins. 

On the wide extension this story has found when 
divorced from its connection with the Buddha, see 
note in Analytical Table of Contents, infra, p. Ixxiv. 
It is to be found in the Morall Philosophic, pp. 1 18-22, 
and considering that it has passed through more than 
a thousand years, and no less than seven languages 
on its way from Pali to English, it has preserved its 
identity with remarkable success. 

The illustration is from the editio princeps of the 
Latin (reduced), and, as I have shown, has a tradi 
tional connection with the story in its Indian form, 
and may one day, I hope, be traced to a rock carving 
representing this very Jataka, on one of the Buddhist 


The Talkative Tortoise. 

[Fausboll, No. 215, also Five Jatakas, 1871, pp. 16, 41 ; 
Rhys-Davids, pp. viii-x; North, infra, pp. 170-175]. 

Once iipon a time, when Brahma-datta was reigning 
in Benares, the future Buddha was born in a minister's 
family ; and when he grew up, he became the king's 
adviser in things temporal and spiritual. 

Now this king was very talkative : while he was 
speaking, others had no opportunity for a word. And 
the future Buddha, wanting to cure this talkativeness 
of his, was constantly seeking for some means of 
doing so. 

At that time there was living, in a pond in the 
Himalaya mountains, a tortoise. Two young harhsas 
(i.e., wild ducks) who came to feed there, made friends 
with him. And one day, when they had become 
very intimate with him, they said to the tortoise 

" Friend tortoise ! the place where we live, at the 
Golden Cave on Mount Beautiful in the Himalaya 
country, is a delightful spot. Will you come there 
with us ? " 

" But how can I get there ? " 

"We can take you, if you can only hold your 
tongue, and will say nothing to anybody." 

" Oh ! that I can do. Take me with you." 

"That's right," said they. And making the tor 
toise bite hold of a stick, they themselves took the 
two ends in their teeth, and flew up into the air. 

Seeing him thus carried by the hamsas, some villa 
gers called out, " Two wild ducks are carrying a tor 
toise along on a stick ! " Whereupon the tortoise 



wanted to say, "If my friends choose to carry me, 
what is that to you, you wretched slaves ! " So just 
as the swift flight of the wild ducks had hrought him 
over the king's palace in the city of Benares, he let 
go of the stick he was hiting, and falling in the open 
courtyard, split in two ! And there arose a universal 
cry, "A tortoise has fallen in the open courtyard, 
and has split in two ! " 

The king, taking the future Buddha, went to the 
place, surrounded by his courtiers ; and looking at 
the tortoise, he asked the Bodisat, " Teacher ! how 
comes he to be fallen here ? " 

The futute Buddha thought to himself, "Long 
expecting, wishing to admonish the king, have I 
sought for some means of doing so. This tortoise 
must have made friends with the wild ducks; and 
they must have made him bite hold of the stick, and 
have flown up into the air to take him to the hills. 
But he, being unable to hold his tongue when he 
hears any one else talk, must have wanted to say 
something, and let go the stick ; and so must have 
fallen down from the sky, and thus lost his life." 
And saying, "Truly, O king! those who are called 
chatter-boxes people whose words have no end 
come to grief like this, " he uttered these Verses 

" Fertlg tfje tortoise fctlleo fjimsetf 
uttering fjt's boice ; 
fje foas joining tigfyt tfje sticfe, 
a foorti fjimself fje slefo. 

fjim tfjen, excellent 6g strengtf; ! 
^ttU speaft &rise faortrs not out of season. 
ff ou see fjofo, fcg f)is talking ooermucf), 
&f)e tortoise fell into tfjts foretcFjc& pligfjt ! " 


The king saw that he was himself referred to, and 
said, " O Teacher ! are you speaking of us ? " 

And the Bodisat spake openly, and said, " O great 
king ! be it thou, or be it any other, whoever talks 
beyond measure meets with some mishap like this." 

And the king henceforth refrained^ himself, and 
became a man of few words. 

This again is a very widely extended tale, (see 
Table of Contents, E4a), and has lost little of its 
effectiveness in North's version. The quaint illustra 
tion, p. 174, would serve for the Pali original equally 
well as for its English great-great -great -great-great- 
great-grand- child. 


With Parallels to the Tales mainly from Benfey and 

Tr. = Translations. A d.= Adaptations. Plls. = Parallels. 


To the Header 5 

[Italian at back of Title-page.] 

Al Lettore, G. B., T. N. to the Header ; 

E. C. to the Reader .... 7-10 
[Only in English, second by North.] 


[Originally in Arabic of Abdallah ibn 
Almokaffa De Sacy, 45-59 (Knatchbull, 
47-64), as 3rd chapt. Tr. Persian I., 
Greek, 22-33, Latin, 4-13, Hebrew II., 
313-18, Spanish, II. , ii.-va, German, A. 
ii. a- A., vi. b, Italian, 2; Benfey, 14.] 

(1) Of a husbandman who lost the 

treasure he found . . . 17-20 

[Tr. as above ; Ad. Baldo and Kay- 
mond in Edelestand du Meril Poesies 
inedites, 218.] 

(2) Of a simple man desirous to seem 

learned . ... 20-22 

[Tr. as above ; Ad. Me"ril, 219.] 


(3) Too slothful to catch thieves . . 22-24 

[Tr. as above ; Ad. Meril, 220.] 

(4) One trying to obtain the greater 

of two heaps of corn gets the less 

by his own cunning . . . 25-27 

[Tr. as above ; two stories of origi 
nal Arabic being omitted.] 

(5) A robber surprised leaves his money 

behind 28-31 

[Tr. as above ; the gold and silver 
in the cape added by Germ., and 
hence into Spanish II., Italian, and 


[Must have been in Pehlevi (now lost), 
hence into Arabic, as Chapter II. (Knatch- 
bull, 32 seq.); Persian I. Not. 103-112; 
Greek, 7, &c. ; Latin, 14-16 ; Hebrew II., 
319-320; Spanish. I., 13 6. |The same 
account in Firdausi, Shahnameh (Moh.1, 
** 3S4-3 6 S)- On the Indian tree of life, 
Renaud, Memoiresur I'Inde, 130 ; Burnouf, 
Lotus, 83.] 


[Properly a spiritual biography of "Bero- 
zias, " and therefore in Pehlevi, thence into 
Arabic, 61, and other translation follow 
ing above (Argument); also in Syriac II., 
.375 (Keith-Falconer, 248-267). Cf. Mal 
colm, Sketches inPersia, L, 143-148, B 17.] 
(i) A thief caught riding the moon 
beams ..... 47-52 

[Tr. as above ; Plls. Discip. Cler., 
xxv., Gest. Rom., cxxxvi. ; Of. Dun- 
lop-Liebrecht, 195-196, Note 262% 
Oesterley, ad loc., p. 734.] 



(2) The lover enticed by a husband 

into a jakes .... 54-5 5 
[Tr. as before.] 

(3) A jeweller has to pay for letting 

his workman play to him . . 56-58 
[Tr. as before.] 

(4) A parable of this world : a man in 

the midst of all manner of dangers 

falls to eating honey . . . 60-63 

[Tr. as before (but skipping three 
stories in Arabic and off snoots, among 
them the Dog and Shadow fable). 
Plls., Dubois, Mceurs de Vlnde, II., 
127 ; Somadeva, v. 38-97 ; Sinhasana, 
pp. 23 seq. ; Julien, Avadanas, i. 
132, 191 ; Barlaam, c. 12 ; Dunlop- 
Liebrecht, Note 72*; Gesta Rom., 168 
(Oesterley, 739") ; Dchelaleddin Di- 
wan (Hammer, 183) ; Grimm, Dent. 
Myth., I., 758; Riickert, Ges. Schr., 
I., 51 ; Homayun Namah, iv. ; Lie- 
brecht, Zur Volkskunde, 457.] 
D. THE SECOND PART .... 64-127 

[This and the next part correspond to 
the first chapter of the Sanskrit original, 
now lost, and of the Panchatantra, =Hito- 
padesa, Bk. IL,=Katha-sarit-sagara, Tar. 
49,= Syr. I. ch. i.,=Arab. I. ch. V.,= 
Greek I. ch. i.,= Latin I. ch. ii. (036- 
ioo),=:Pers. I. ch. iii.,=Pers. II. ch. i. 
(Eastwick, p. 71 seq. ). On the variations 
in the main story see B. 6, 21-23, 2 9> 
34, 43, 46-48, 54, 64, 66-69, 74, 75, 81, 
88, 90, 98, 102, 107. It also appears in 
shortened form in a Siamese Buddhistic 
tale Asiatic Res. xx. 348, and in the Tibetan 


Sidikur, Tale 19 (Sagas from the Far East, 
p. 192-197). The names of the two oxen 
were originally Sanjivaka (Arab. Shanza- 
beh, Lat. Senesba) and Nandaka (Arab. 
Banzabeh, Lat. C/ienedba), which Firen- 
zuola, and after him Doni and North, 
altered to Chiarino and Incoronata. The 
anonymous ass and mule of the English 
version were in the original two jackals, 
Karataka("crow," Syr. I. Kalilag, Arab. 
I. Kalilah, Lat. I. Oelila, Span. II. Eelile), 
and Damanaka ("tamer," Syr. I. Damnag, 
Arab. I. Dimnah, Lat. I. Dimna). For the 
translations of the various stories it will 
only be necessary to refer to Benfey's sec 
tions giving the Sansk., Arab., Pers., Ger., 
Span., and Ital. versions, and to Deren- 
bourg's edition of the Directorium, which 
gives the Lat., Heb. I. & II., Syr. I. & II.] 

Introduction 64-66 

[Only in Italian, including the stories of 

(a) the belly and members, from Livy, and 

(b) horse and stag, from ^Esop, Halm, 175.] 

(1) An ape being curious about a wood 

man splitting a tree with a wedge 
is caught in the cleft . . . 73-74 
[2V. B 30, D 40 n. i (not in Syr. 

L). Plls. Luther Fabul Hans, p. 

530. <7/. JEsop, Fur. 162, Halm, 362; 

Syntipas, 46 ; Vartan, 31.] 

(2) Wolf is released from a trap on 

promising to amend : breaking 
his promise is restored to the trap 

and killed 77-78 

[This form original to Italian of 
Doni, B 36adfin. Cf. Disc. Cler. vii.j 



(3) Buriaso fattens a sow and then kills 

her 82 

[Only in Italian of Doni.] 

(4) A quail is saved from a sparrow- 

hawk by noticing its acts more 
than its words .... 84 

[Only in Italian of Doni] 

(5) A captured Turkey pretends to be 

on a visit to his captors till his 
pride is humbled and he submits 
to be ransomed .... 89-91 
B [Only in Italian of Doni.] 

(6) A fox, hearing the sound of mule- 

bells, is afraid ; which seeing, he 

fears no longer .... 93-94 

[B 41, D 50 n. Originally a drum 
hanging on tree, but "tympanum" 
of Latin, translated ' ' schell " by 
Germ. causes change in Span., Ital., 
and Eng.] 

(7) A devout man, entertaining a thief 

unawares, is robbed by him, and 
sees three things in pursuing after 

him 104-111 

[B 50, D 53. Plls. This and the 
three following have passed into the 
looi Nights (Prenzlau, iv. 261-273)]. 

(7a) Two goats fight ; a fox watching 
them too curiously gets butted 

and dies 105-106 

[B 50, D 53 n. 8. Plls. Eeineke 
Fuchs (ed. Grimm, cclxxvii.); Rob 
ert, Fables, cxxvi.] 



(;b) A bawd trying to blow poison into 
a young man's ear, swallows it 
herself and dies .... 106-107 

[B 51, D 53 n. 9 ; only in Arabic 
and offshoots. Plls. Cent. nouv. 
nouv., ii. ; Malespina, No. 37.] 
(70) A husband ties his wife to a pillar 
at night ; a bawd takes her place 
and has her nose cut off for refus 
ing to speak : the wife returning 
pretends to call upon heaven to 
restore her nose as a proof of her 

innocence 108-111 

[B 50, D 54 n. 3. Plls. Vetala- 
pan<javincati (in 5 variants) ; Tuti- 
nameh (Kadiri, xvii. ; Rosen II. 92) ; 
Bahar Danush, II. 83 ; Barbazan- 
Me'on, iv. 393 ; Vierzig Viziere (Behr- 
nauer, 173) ; Aristsenetus, JSpist., ii. 
22 ; Morlini, Nov. 27 ; Cent. nouv. 
nouv. xxxv. Ixi. ; Gesammtaben- 
teuer, xliii. ; "W. Grimm in Zt. deut 
Alt., xi. 2, 213, No. 13. Cf. Von 
der Hagen, II. , xv.-xviii. , xlii.-xlix. ; 
III., xci. ; Dun lop (Germ.), 242; 
Deslongchamps, 33.] 

(8) An eagle finding a leveret devoured 

it notwithstanding the remon 
strance of a beetle, which never 
theless avenges the leveret by 
destroying the eagle's eggs . . 114-116 

[Seemingly only in Doni ; ? from 
Lat.JEsop. cf. L'Estrange, ccclxxviii.] 

(9) A raven whose young are killed by 

a snake, revenges herself by carry- 



ing off a jewel to the snake's hole 
in the presence of men, who pursue 
it and thereby kill the snake in 
seeking the jewel . . .116-122 

[B 58, D 58 n. 2. Plls. looi 
Nights (Weil. III., 916); Maha- 
vanso, 128; Gest. Rom., cv. (Oest., 
728); Gesammtabenteuer, II., 635; 
III., clxiii. Of. ^Esop, Fur. i, Halm, 
5 ; Phsed., I., 28 ; Syntipas, 24 Ugo 
bard, 14 ; Vartan, 3 ; Meril, 194 ; 
Arist., Aves, 652; Pax., 126. B. thinks 
derived from " ^Esop." Cf. 86.] 

(9a) A " Paragon," pretending that the 
lake is to be drained, persuades 
some fishes to allow him to carry 
them off, whereupon he devours 
them ; on trying to do the same 
with a crab, he has his head bitten 

off 118-122 

[B 60, D 58. Plls. Lafontaine, 
x. 4. A Jataka, says B. Cf. Upham, 
Sacred Books of Ceylon, III., 292, 
and Dhammapada (ed. Fausboll, 
155), but compares JEsop, Fur. 231, 
Halm, 346, where also a crab vic 
torious. The Jataka is given in 
Rhys-Davids, v. supra, pp. lx-lxiii.] 

( 10) The animals agree to provide a lion 
with one of themselves daily by 
drawing lots. The lot falling on 
the fox, he rouses the lion's jeal 
ousy against another lion whom 
he pretends to be down a well. 



The lion seeing his own image, 

jumps down and is killed , . 123-126 

[B 61, D 6 1 n. i. Plls. Reineke 
Fuchs (Grimm, cclxxviii. ) ; Disc. 
Cler., xxiv. (cf. Schmidt, 155) ; 
Hodgson in Journ. Asiat. Soc., 1836, 
p. 83 (a Jataka). B. suggests that 
idea of animals casting lots is derived 
from the beautiful Jataka of the 
Banyan Deer (Hiouen Thsang, ed. 
Julien, I., 361). Cf. Ehys-Davids, 
pp. 205-10.*] 

E. THIRD PART 128-215 

[Contains continuation of first chapter 
of Indian original and offshoots ; see ana 
lytical note to Part Second. The lion 
who was originally terrified at the roaring 
of the bull Chiarino (=Senesba), has made 
friends with him through the intermedia 
tion of the "Moyle" (=the jackal, Dim- 
na), who finding himself neglected, plots 
against the bull and sets the lion against 
him, so that a fight ensues in which the 
bull is killed.] 

(1) Three great fishes are in a lake 

which is being drained : one 
escapes by hiding, another by 
cunning, but the third is destroyed 
by his own laziness . . . 132-135- 

[B 65, 85, D 65 n. i. Plls. 
Mahabharata, xii., 4889 seq.] 

(2) A flea revenges itself on a louse by 

enticing it into the bed of a prin- 

* This is figured in Gen. Cunningham's "Stupa of Bharhut," 
PI. xxv. No. i. 



cess whence the flea escapes but 

the louse is caught and killed , 137-141 

[B 72, D 67 n. 7 ; not in Hito- 
padesa or Anwari-Suhaili.J 

(3) The lion is ill ; the wolf, the fox, and 
the raven persuade the camel to 
offer himself for dinner by pre 
tending the same themselves . 153-167 

[B 78, D 76 n. 2. Pits. Pants- 
chatantra, I., 16 ; IV., 2; Bahar 
Danush, II., c. 19 ; Msop Fur.' 356, 
Halm, 243 ; Babr., 95. Of. B 181 ; 
Deslongchamps, 37 n. i ; Lance- 
reau's Hitopadesa, 253. Alterations 
in Germ. I. have influenced Ital. 
and North.] 

(4) A cock-linnet persists in building 
his nest by the sea against the 
advice of his spouse ; the sea rises 
and destroys the nest . ... 169-176 

[B 82, D 81 n. 5. Plls. Mso-p Fur. 
240, Halm, 29 (from Planudes, who 
took it from Greek I.) With ending 
B. compares two Jatakas Hardy, 
Buddhism, 106 ; Hiouen Thsang, ed. 
Julien, L, 335. This end has dis 
appeared in Italian and English.] 

(4a) A tortoise biting a stick carried 
by waterfowls through the air 
opens its mouth to answer birds 
that mock it and thereby falls . 170-175 

[B 84, D 82 n. 3. Plls. Robert, 
II., 252. A Jataka. Cf. Hardy, 
309, and Julien Avadanas, L, 71-73 ; 



c/. 122-126. See now Khys-Davids, 
supra, pp. Ixv.-vii. Derived, accord 
ing to B. , from -ZEsop Fur. 193, Halm, 
419 ; Plued., II., 7; VII., 14 ; Abst., 

(5) Apes trying to light sticks with a 

glowworm are advised by a popin 
jay who receives little thanks for 

her advice 181-184 

[B 93, D 86 n. 8. Plls. Luther, 
Fabel Hans, 530. The glowworm 
appears first in Arabic, the original 
having guncha berries. J 

(6) A magpie tells her master all his 

wife's misdemeanours ; the wife 
causes the pye to believe there is 
a storm when it is clear : he is 
henceforth not credited, and finally 

killed 185-190 

[B 95, D 89 n. 6. Not in Arabic 
L, but in Latin I., in same position 
as in Panchatantra. Plls. In the 
Sindibad cycle in all its offshoots. 
Gest. Rom. (ed. Graesse, II., 185) ; 
loot Nights (Weil., I., 70). Cf. 
Keller, cxxxiv. ; Deslongchamps, 99 
n. i ; Boccacio, vii. 9. Other plls. 
by Crane, Ital. Folk Tales, 167-183, 
and notes 358-360; Clouston, Pop. 
Tales, II. 196-211.] 

(7) Two find a treasure and hide it 

in a tree. One steals it, and, on 
a trial ensuing, induces his father 
to get inside the tree and accuse 
the other. The judge orders fire 

Ixxviii CONTENTS. 


to be set to the tree and the fraud 

is discovered .... 190-202 

[B 96, D 90 n. 4. Pits. Ddices 
de Verboquet (1623), p. 41.] 

(;a) A bird having its young destroyed 
by a snake that has its hole near, 
entices thither an enemy of the 
snake, which is destroyed and 

the bird too 198-199 

[ 97> D 9 2 n. i. PH. Here Dg. Gf. 
Deslongchamps, 42 n. i. In original 
the enemy is an ichneumon.] 

(8) A merchant returning after a long 

absence finds a lad in his house, 
whom his wife avers the snow 
has begotten, witness his name 
" White." The merchant takes the 
boy for a walk and declares the 
sun has melted him . . . 203-206 
[Not in the Bidpai cycle but from 

Italian novels. Cf. Dunlop-Liebrecht, 

296, B 99, ad fin.} 

(9) A merchant leaves iron with a friend 

who afterwards alleges that the 
rats have eaten it ; the merchant, 
pretending to believe, shortly 
after hides away his friend's son 
and alleges a chicken has carried 
it off. The friend confesses, makes 
restoration, and receives his boy 
again ...... 207-212 

[B 101, D 97 n. i. Plls. uka- 
saptati, 38 = Tutinameh (Rosen, I., 67 ; 



Iken, III., 25); Cardonne, M6L de 
lit. orient, II., 63 ; 1001 Nights (Prenz- 
lau, xi. 259-262). Cf. Deslong- 
champs, 43 n. 2; Crane, I. c., 353 

(10) A woman sent to the apothecary 
by her husband whiles away her 
time with him while the assistant 
changes the drugs for dust. On 
her return the wife declares she 
dropped her money in the dust 
and brought it home in the hope 
of recovering some of the coins . 213-214 

[B99,I>95. Cf. 94 n. 4. Plls. 
From the Sindibad cycle (and off 
shoots) ; introduced first in Latin I. 
(or Hebrew). Qukasaptati, 32 ; 1001 
Nights, xv. 177 ; Tutinameh, xxv. 
Cf. Keller, Romans, cxliv.] 

F. FOURTH PART 216-257 

[The "Moyle " (Dimna) being suspected 
by the lion, is imprisoned, and having made 
an elaborate defence contained in this part, 
is executed. This was inserted in Arabic 
of Abdullah ibn Almokaffa, and only ap 
pears in its offshoots. B 109-112. The 
stories differ much in Pers. II.] 

(i) A painter loved a joiner's wife and 
visited her in a certain mantle, a 
servant borrows the mantle and 
visits her in his stead . . . 229-232 

[B in, D 108 n. 2. Plls. Bahar 
Danush, II., 293 ; Le Grand d'Aussy, 
IY., 121 ; Boccaccio, III., 2. Cf. 
Deslongchamps, 44 n. i.] 



(2) An ignorant physician gives arsenic 

to a princess and is killed . . 242-245 

[B in, D 119. Plls. Probably 
fromPhaed., L, 16.] 

(3) A man and his two daughters being 

captured and stripped, in trying 
to hide their nakedness, he un 
covers himself .... 248-249 

[B in, D 122 n. 4. In Heb. I. 
the two women are the man's wives.] 

(4) A servant tries to slander his mis 

tress by teaching a parrot to tell 
lies of her in a strange tongue, 
but a sparrow-hawk miraculously 
exposes him .... 252-255 

[B in, D 130. Plls. Here E 6. 
The three birds are a misunderstand 
ing by the Germ, of the Latin, "cepit 
duos pullos psittaci et papagilli,"= 
"und fieng zwen sittikus und ein 
papagai." Of. D, I. c.] 



Jataka (lost). 
Pali about 250 B.C. 

Cingalese (lost). 


Pali, 550 A.D. 
Jataka Atthavannana, 

ed. Fausboll, 1877-79. 



Pehlevi, or Old Pers., Aral 

by Barzoye (lost), by a Jd 

570 A.D. ed. Gv 




4 Cingalese, 

Eng. pt. 

1320, 1415, 


1610, 1780. 

1871 ; 



Eng., verse 

1880 ; 

pt. Steele 

R. Morris, 



Heb. pt., 


Syriac I., 570, ARABIC I., c. 750, 

Kalilag wa Damnag, by Abdullah al-Mokaffa 

ed. Bickell, 1874. (ed. pt., Schultens, 1786, 

I Noldeke, 1879, the whole 

German by S. de Sacy, 1816, and 

(Bickell, 1874). 6 other edns., 1834-1882), 

Kalilah wa Dimnah. 



Pers. verse, 2 Arab, verse (lost). 
by Rudegi, 914 (i) Jachja ibn Jaffar, 
(lost). the Barmecide ; 

(2) Abd al-Mamun. 

Fr. Dubois 
(2 edns, 

Peis. (MS.) 


loth cent.) 
ht, 1884). 


reefc I. 

S. Seth, 1080. 





by Nasrul! 






Eng. (Keith-Fal 
coner, 1885). 

tTTjs Ka 
tark, 1697, 

(ed. Stark, 1697, 2nd 
1851, Proleg. ed. Aurivallius, 
1780, Puntoni, 1884). 

1 121 (MS.) 

Pers. II., 1500- 

Anwari Suhaili 

(4 eds. 1804-1851). 


(Possinus, 1666, 
Stark, 1697). 

(Lehmus, 1778). 

Del governo 

de regni 

(3 eds., 1583- 


Old Slavonic Croat 

(ed. BulgarofF, (ed. 1870). 


Pers. III. 1587, Dakhni, 1824, French, 1698, pt. 
byAbulFadl, (M. Ibraheem). _ David Sahid, 




Turkish, c. 1500. 
Humayun Namah 

(Ali Chelebi, ed. 

Fables de Filpay. 
(5 edns). 

2 Eng. 

Eastwick, 1854, 
Wollaston, 1877. 

Urdu, 1815 
(ed. Roebuck). 

Eng., 1861 
(T. P. Manuel). 

Fr., 1724, pt., by Galland and Cardonne, 

Swed. I. 

Eng., 1699 

(J. Harris, 9 edns.), 


2 Germ., 
1802, 1803. 

Buch t 

(21 edn; 

Czech, 1846 
(F. Trebowsky). 

3ontes de Bidpai (3 edns.) 

Span., 1654-58, by V. Bratuti, 
Espejo politico. 

Greek, 1783. Swed. 1762. Hungarian, 1783. Polish, 1819. Dutch. 


f I., abt. 300 A. D. 

a DAMANAKA (lost). 

II ? Tibetan, pt., Sanskt. 
w, 750. ed. Schiefner, 1875. Panchs 
fHi, 1873. 1 ( 2 edns., i 

II., pt., Chinese, pt., 
itantra, Avadanas. 

848, 1868). | 
French, 1859 

'(Guidi). Germ. Latin 
(Schiefner). (Schiefncr). 

Eng. 1886 

II / 
ugu, Tamil, / 
1848. by Somasamna .' 
(2 edns. 1826-28). \ 

\ 1 ! 1 

\ 2 Germ. Fr. Greek, 
'v (Benfey, 18^9, (Lancereau, [(Galanos, 
^ Fritze, 1884). 1871). 1851). 

t Sansk. Katha-sarit-sagara, 
by Somadeva (i2th cent.). 

\ \ Sansk. Hitopadesa 
Malay Eng. 1873 (n edns., 1804-68) 
). (Alkabir, (E. Winford). 

Germ., pt. Eng. 
(Brockhaus, 1853). (Tawney, 1881). 

lee Mahratta Brij Hindi, pt., 4 Germ. 
; s., (2 edns., Barha 1851. 1844-74. 
4). 1805-15). (2 ed., 

2 Fr. 5 Eng. (Wilkins, 1797, 1885 ; Greek. 
Sir W. Jones, 1799 ; Johnson, 1851. 
1848 ; M. Miiller, 1864 ; Sir 
E. Arnold, 1861). 

jj re , IV I. Hebrew 11. Span. I., 1252, Latin 
R i j'oel, by R. Eleasar, Calyla 6 Dymna verse, K 
j 2 ^ ho. b. Jacob, 1283. (ed. Gayangos, Baldo, 

Ill 1 
Eng., 2 Germ Armenian, 
natchbull, (Pihan, (Holmboe, 1832. pt., 
1818). 1866). Wolff, 1837, X 3 th cent - 
2 eds.) Vartan. 

Fr. 1676. 

ed. Derenbourg, | alter 
1881. Latin, c. 1300. (MS) 
Raymond (MS.) 

x ] LATIN I.', by John of ed. pt. E. du Meril, 
r Capua, 1270. l8 S4- 
2 ifcrectormmjvite humane 
/, ;d. 1483 ; Puntoni, 1884 ; 
Derenbourg, 1887). 

,'nl.. i 483, v Spanish II., 


Czech, c. 1450, 
by N. Conac, 
Frawidlo lidskoho ziwota. 

',., 148 3-i86o). (10 edns. fi. 1493). 

2 Danish Ital. I., 1548, by Firenzuola, > Ital. II., 1552, by Doni, 
(1618.) Discorsi (3 edns.) La Moral Philosophia (3 edns.) 

French, 1556 Fr., 1577. EltgltSb I., i57> by T. NORTH, 
(Cottier). (De la Rivey, The Morall Philosophic of Doni 
2 edns.) (3 edns., 1570, 1601, 1888). 

flDorall febtlosopbfe of 2>on(. 

Derail jpfitfosopfne of 

SDratone out of tje atmcient 

& fcrorke first compiled in tfje Indian tongue, 
antJ aftertoatljes tctiuceti into tJt&ers otfjet 
languages : anti noirr lastlg 
out of Italian ig 2EJoma0 
Brotfjer to tfje 

Sir Eoger Jiortfj Itnfg^t, 
3Lorlre i^ortj of 




TTE that beginneth not to reade 
thys Booke fro the beginning 
to the ende and that aduifedly fol- 
loweth not the order he findeth writ 
ten, fhall neuer profite anything there 
by. But reading it through, and oft, 
aduiling what he readeth, hee fhall 
finde a marveylous benefite thereof. 
The ftories, fables, and tales, are very 
pleafaunt and compendious. More 
over the fimilitudes and comparifons 
doe (as they faye) holde hands one 
with the other, they are fo linked 



togithers, one ftill depending of an 
other : which if you feuer, defirous to 
reade any tale or ftorie by it felfe, 
not comparing the Antecedent with 
the Sequele : befides that, you fhall 
be fare from the vnderflandinge of 
the matter, you fhall thinke them 
ryding tales fpoken to no purpofe, 
but to occupie your cares, and con- 
fume time. Therefore follow I fay 
this order giuen you and receyue to 
you the fruites of my poore 
traueyle and of your 
painefull reading. 



// Doni, che colfuo leggiadro Jlile 
Augelli, e muti pefci. Armenti, e 

Fa ragionar d'Imprefa alta, & humile. 
E fotto ilfalfo afconde cofe vere. 

Non penfb mai, che la ricca Anglia, e 


Sapeffero di luj, ne che in tal fchiere 
Venijfero le Nimfe a mezzo Aprile 
In freddo Clima a fiori, e frutti 

II Northo^, che colfuo fud lime Ingegno 
Fa queftoy et alia bella Italia dona 
Nelfuopaefe, conf^la lingua, Jlanza. 



E Perciby il Doni. Dona a luj per 


Se ifteffb, et dice. Se gia maiperfona 
M' Interpret^ Northo^ quelche hor 

m auanza. 


Of wordes and of examples is a fundrie fort 
of fpeache 

One felfe fame thing to mindes of men in fun 
drie wife they teache. 

Wordes teache but thofe that vnderftande the 
language that they heare : 

But things, to men of fundrie fpeache, examples 
make appeare. 

So larger is the fpeache of beafts, though mens 
more certaine bee : 

But yet fo larger as conceyte is able them to fee. 

Such largeneife yet at length to bring to cer 
taine vfe and plane, 

God gaue fuch grace to beafts, that they mould 
Indian fpeach attaine. 

And then they learnde Italian tongue, and now 
at length they can, 

By help of NORTH, fpeake Englifh well to euery 
Englifh man. 

In Englifh now they teache vs wit. In Englifh 
now they faye, 



Ye men, come learne of beafts to liue, to rule, 

and to obaye, 
To guide you wifely in the worlde, to know to 

fhunne deceite, 
To flie the crooked paths of guile, to keepe 

your doings ftreight. 
As earft therefore you vfed beafts, but for your 

bodies neede, 
Sometime to clothe, fometime to beare, fome- 

time your felues to feede. 
Now vfe them for behoofe of minde, and for 

your foules delite, 
And wifhe him well that taught them fo to 

fpeake and fo to write. 


If care to fhowe, good will to natiue Ibyle, 
In fetting forth, a worke of great auayle : 
If how to fhunne, the vaine & reftleffe toyle, 
Wherein we wade, for things that foone doe 


If graue aduice, bewraydde in fimple fhowe, 
Forwarning ftill, the trayne of guilefull waye : 
If Wifedomes lore, the good from yll to knowe, 
And by the fame, our brittle Hues to ftaye. 
If this and more, yea more an hundred folde, 
Lies open nowe, vnto thy happie gaine : 
If thefe I faye, worth more than maffe of golde 
Doe well deferue, by him that tooke this paine 
Good Reader than, graunt this my iuft delire, 
In thankfull fort, receyue this learned Booke : 
For his rewarde, he feekes no further hire, 
But good report, when thou herein malt looke. 
His paines were great, thy gift thus waye but 

Yet be content, and thinkes he reapeth all. 

The Philofophie of the wife 

auncient Fathers. 
& OTorfce first compiled in tjje Indian 
tongue, and aftervvardes transfer 
red into Sifters antf sunorie otfjer Ian= 
guages : as the Perfian, Arabian, 
Helrue, Latine, Spanijh, and 
Italian : and now reduced 
into our vulgar 


&!jis precious Jefoell (beloueti Header) fcias 
first fountie torftten in t^e Indian tongue, en* 
tituletj Morall Wifdome : anti fcras tljence con^ 
uegeti into Perfia, antJ inas coateti initfj tfjeir 
language, naming it IrritJ tjjem The example of 
good lyfe: antl from t^e Perfian speed) a long 
time after bg tje auncient Jatjers (tjeg ftnotoing 
tje Inontierfull tJoctrine thereof) fcrougjt into tfje 
natgue Arabian anti from t!jat translated into 



Hebrue bg loel gran Rabi a 3efoe; at lengtfj 
rebuceb into Latine : ano passing tjroug!) mang 
languages became a Spaniard, foitfj tfje title of 
Exemplario : anb SO fn time brought t0 Venice, 
anb tljere put into Italian bg a compang of 
Gentlemen associateb togitjjers, cntitultng tjjeir 
jJelo&JSljip Academia Peregrina : anb nofca lastlg 
out of Italian maoe Vulgar to us, TOijat jiglj 
ooctrine is eontegneo in tfjgs Boofte, tje oiligent 
ano rurious searclje for t!je same of so manu 
toise ana famous men ano of so sunorge nations 
cotjj iwitnesse, If therefore gou oesire tlje oncer* 
stanoing of i^ogall SHtsoome, spirituall ooctrine, 
ano infinite instructions ano examples for man 
to liue foell: reaoe I sag tjis goloen Uolume 
.Surelg reaoer, tjjis fcooke stjall be a looking 
glasse for tfjee, tojerin tljou s^alt most liuelg 
bcjjoloe tfje oaglie ano present oaungers ano 
oecegtes of mans mast miserable Igfe, ano tjje 
eges of tfjg onoerstanoing sjall be maoe open 
to oescerne tt)e flatteries of biscegtfull men, ano 
tjje inisoome of tjjis most guileful toorloe: bg 
meanes inljereof gee mag easilge blotte out mang 
malignant effects of tfjis (alas) our ccoofeeo age. 
&fyz stole is familier ano pleasaunt, ano fogll 
mucij ocligjjt tjjee* Jcr tlje first anb olbe &ut{jors 



fjereof forote it fcoufctlesse foitjj great iutogement, 
trasnetJ thereto foitfj a feruent fcesire tfjat tfjeir 
fcoctrine sfjouloe not cralg remagne in perpetuitie 
for etier, font tfjat it sjjoulfce also fie imprinted in 
tfje heaters mtntie, assuring tjemselues it sjjflultje 
profite all, antJ tiislglte none* Jor it mage in 
tnaner he calleti an artificiall tnentorie, to benefite 
tjemselues at all times antj seasons, antJ in all 
argumentes, initj euerge perticular t^ing tjjese 
irrise anti graue mm jaue inuenteti, sfjafcofoeti 
tnift tales antJ parables, ano togtfj tje examples 
of brnte antr tiumme beastes. 

The Sages of auncient nations (expert in all 
the Sciences) difrous to pulli/he to thofe that 
came after them their great knowledge and wife- 
dome, euen with a determinate minde and counfell 
premeditate decreed to fet foorth a peece of 
woorke, adapted with diuers Jimilitudes andfun- 
drie comparifons of vnreafonalle leafts and birds, 
ly which they might greatly leautifie their doc 
trine, and this they did for diuers refpeftes. 
Firft, to give occafion that their wifedome and 
learning Jhould be knowne to the worlde. Secondly, 
that men of iudgement and difcretion reading the 
fame might reape the benejite of their rules to 
dirett this fraile lyfe. Thirdlye, that hee that 



vnderftandeth thefe examples, knowing little, 
Jhoulde ly them knowe much. And fourthly, 
and loft of all, if he were yong, and had fmall 
delight to reade much : yet he may with a Jhort 
and pleafant waye le inftru6led with thefe de 
lightful fayninges, and with thofe fimilitudes and 
examples tafte the fweetnejfe of the wordes, the 
pleafure ofthefentences, accompanied with proper 
tales : and fo (Gentle Reader) profile himfelfe, 
and teache others. In this their treatife fuck 
wife Fathers have hidden from vs woonderfull 
Jignifications. For a treafure vndoultedly of fo 
high a myfterye and doctrine as this is to le 
more efteemed than all the Jewelles in the worlde. 
This precious lemme of knowledge, who fo Jhall 
lodge it in thefecrefie of his memorie, Jhall neuer 
lofe it, lut Jhall rather augment and increafe it 
with age in fuch fort, that hee Jhall winne a 
marueylous commodotie to him: and of that 
plant Jhall tafte the fauorie, pleafant, and pro 
fitable fruites, no leffe wonderfull than delect 
able. To reade fuch a Booke (worthy Reader) 
thou muft call thy wittes togither vniting them 
and thy vnderftanding with the due order of the 
woorke, to knowe why, and to what purpofe the 
olde prudent Fathers framed it : leaft thou le 



lyke to the llinde man, that wanting his fight, 
taketh vpon him to go ouer Mountaynes, Hilles, 
and Dales, through moft daungerous and perill- 
ous wayes. He therefore that doth reade muft 
vnderftand what he readeth, and why he readeth 
it : and not to le fo defirous to come to the ende, 
that he marke not the beginning, and forget the 
fenfe (full of knowledge) lincked with the middejl 
and end. For he that readeth fo, readeth without 
fruite, and rather troulleth the minde, and weari- 
eth his lody than otherwife, not forcing the lene- 
Jite and knowledge of the truth. Folow therefore 
thefe graue precepts and ruled order, and let no 
vaine thoughts pojfejje your mindes to withdraw 
you from reading it. For to Jinde fo riche a 
treafure, and not to know how to take and laye it 
vp : is rightly tofolow him, that finding a Majfe 
of Golde and Siluer, had not the wyt to take it, 
and cary it away. 

Of a Hufbandeman, and of the treafure 
he founde. 

& f^tisbanoeman of Perfia going one fcage to 
fjfs lanoe, fcg cjjaunce stumbleb of a mar* 
treasure, fjmoinge store of pottes of 



Cogne, of (Scoloe, ano &iluer: ano fooonoering 
at fygs great fortune, began to tfyink to looe tym* 
selfe, ano to beare it jome. But seeing tf)e 
summes so great tfjat scant tinentte men couloe 
carte it atoage, it greeuetJ jim mucji tfjat fyt 

alone couloe not conueg it, ano tjus i)ee sagoe 
to fjunselfe. Hf 31 leaue it ijere, it is in oaunger 
to &e tanen from mee, ano to fcratdj it oaglte, 
it inoulo to mucj trouble mee: fcesices, tljat 
tjjat 31 couloe take toitfj me, fooulo ooe mee but 
small pleasure. TOdl, fjap tojat jjap toill, 3E 



foili go fetdj compang to {jelpe me jjome imtfjall, 
anb tfjeg sjjall beare tjje burben, IE toilt onelg 
pag tfjem, antJ take mine ease, tusfj 31 fjaue at 
foill to content tfjem : anb tjjus in one tag 31 
come jjome anb finbe mg Cofers fillet( OTitjj 
minoe resolueti fortfj jje uoetjj anti callet^ 
men togitjjers, irfnging tjem toitj !)im to tjt's 
ffiroioen masse of cogne, tojjere fje gfuetj eclje 
man !jis buroen, anb bgbtJetlj tl)em ijge tjjem to 
i)is jjouse* 5TJese bearers noin bepartfng foritfj 
tljeir burbens, otiercome toitji tiesire of tje moneg, 
ano greebg of tfjfs prate, m steatoe of going to 
tlje fjouse of t^fs foolisfte anb fcnluckte man, tjjeg 
iuent euerg one to fjis oirrne {jouse, &fje jusbanb* 
man after tfjefr beparture commetfj legsurelg Jome 
initjjout ang burben, Igke a man of foeltfj, as 
one tjat tfjoug})t {jimselfe a 3Lorbe at fjome, 
toeenmg to jane founbe jts ricfjesse tjjere. But 
tofjen je inas entereb Jts jouse, anb fj*arbe no^ 
tfjing of tfje goobes nor bearers : tfjen all to late 
ije fcnefo Jis lack anb follg, commenbing tfjeir 
iubgements tfjat tuitfj tfje burben of tjeire sjoulbers 
Jab mabe tfjemselues ricfje, 5o tjjat for trea 
sure {je eniogeb soroiue* JFor jee tjat migljt 
{jaue beene ILarbe of all, bfscreetlg gouernmg tjjat 
6ap Jab lagbe on Jim, beserueblg 



tfje price of 6gs follg, abjrtJing tje fritter 
smart of pouertie antj mfeerie. 

difcrete Reader that Jhall looke in this 
Booke muft giue attentiue eare, and note eche 
thing perticulerly he readeth, diligently marking 
thefecret leffbns. For alwayes the worke of thefe 
fage Fathers carieth two fenfes withall. The 
Jirft, knowne and manifeft. The fecond, hidden 
and fecret. Of the Jirft we fwetely enio^jjie 
tafte : luj of the fecond we receyue fmall know 
ledge, if we deeply ponder not the wordes. And 
hereof we may take enfample of the $ut, which 
giueth no maner of tafte to man if he doe riot Jirft 
Ireake and open the Jhell, and then comen to the 
wyjhed kernell, he leginneth to tafte the fauor 
thereof, and to reape the fruit of fa excellent a 
do6lrine. Let us not doe therefore as the vndif- 
crete and Jimple man that had a dejire to feeme 
learned, and to lee counted aloquent in fpeach as 
youjhali heare. 

Of the fimple ignorant man delirous to 
feeme learned. 

n a time one earnestlg fcesougfjt a Poet anb 
an mellent 2Bl!jetorictan ({jig berg frientie) to giue 


fjim something foritten tfjat migjjt be learneti anfo 
eloquent, fofjicfj feonning fcritfjout boofce Ije migljt 
recite at pleasure in tfje compange of fcrise men, 
tfjat Je migfjt at least seeme no lesse learnefo 
tfjan tjeg, J^fs ftienbe consented, antj performeti 
jis tiesire, anfc gaue jim in a Written boofee (faire 
bountie anti IgmnetJ initj goltim letters) mang 
goatilg sentences, so tjat !je began to learn bg 
rote j)is Written autjj0rities, antj labarinfl nigjjt 
antJ tiage to commit tfjem to memorie, i)e 
minetJ to s{join tjat je in as also learned 
being one fcage in argument, not bntJerstantrirtg 
t^e signification of tje fooros fje Jao Icarneo, for 
tjjat tjjeg toerc not in jis otone tongue, ijee began 
to alleaoge tljcm quite from tjje purpose : & being 
taken fcrit{j tje maner tfjeg lafrrgfjeo ^im to scorne, 
?^ee being angrge at tfje matter, Igke an obstinate 
anti ignorant foole, aunsineretJ, TOJat? tjinke 
gau I am tJeceguetJ, tjat fjabe learneti tfjat 3E 
alleatige out of tfje booke of a fcroortfjie learnetj 
man, gea, anti tfje letters Igmneb iuitfj goloe to ? 
at fcjfjicj forties tfjeg laugjjeti jim more to scorne 
tfjan before to see fjis ignorance. 

Every man therefore muft endeuor himfelfe to 
vnderftand that he readeth, and vnderftanding it 
well, he muft diligently olferue that do6lnne, 



! marking to what end and gurpofe that was 
written that he hath red, to profit thereby at any 
i time. I knowe there will le wife men that will 
' leleue they can faye and doe more wonders than 
this commeth to : yet for all that, the more we 
reade, the more we knowe, and the quicker is our 
vnderftanding, lejides., there is olteined euen pro- 
fotttide knowledge. Learning "tiringeth with it a 
great priuiledge ; forly that men are exalied-^and 
to a man of knowledge and vnderftanding it giitbth 
life. But to him that hath iudgement and Vnder 
ftanding, and that gouerneth not himfelfe and his 
aSiions according to the prefcriled rule of reafon : 
His knowledge I fay dyeth within him without 
fruit. As ly reading this example folowing you 
may ea/ilye perceiue. 

A comparifon of the ilouthfull man 
for the Reader. 

fjonest man ZgmjDf in fjfe ftetitie Jeartie a 
going ftp an& toiwne in Jjfe jouse: antr 
to page fjim jome (to take tfje more 
atjuantage of !jim) suffered Jim to tafee !)i0 
pleasure antu losing, tjat fjaning in teetJe jis 
paeke at Jig tofce, Je migjt euen tfjen as Je 



tijougfjt take fjim font!) tfje maner, anb iustlg 
refoarb Jim foritfj tjje sfoorbes point as je listeb. 
3Efjus befcating fcritfj fjimselfe, imagining to exe 
cute Jjis purpose, (tfje (Efjeefe occupging all tfjis 
fofjile fjim selfe taking injiat {je tooulte) ti&ig 
gielge gooti man fell a sleepe agatne, antr tfje 
2TJeefe tott|[ jis faroell of fte fiest things foritfj- 
out ang let at all qutetlg oepartet!) Jts toage* 
8Ef)i0 man iujen Je atoakeo ano saine fits Jjouse 
nafeeo, jjg cft^stes emptge anti broken open, 
fcitterlg sig^eo anb lamenteb, cursing {jfmselfe 
antJ blamino; fjits follg : constbering Jee mfnjfjt 
easilg Jaue saueb all tjat jje irras robfteb of 
(since !je feneiu it anb Jearb t!je nogse) anb for 
6 erg slotjj iuoulbe not once rise anb befenb it, 
fjauino; as it foere tfje tjeefe in fjis Janbes. 
iotnofelebge therefore is aptlg compareb to a tree, 
fojose fruite are tje toorks ; anb t jis fcnofolebge 
is tfjat iwe al ougl)t to besire, anb to exercise 
ourselues in. TOere it not a mab part to leaue 
tlje fcrobe taten fjie bag, anb to take tfye un= 
Itnoinne anb baungerous patje? ISuen so it 
mag be sagbe of jjim to{jic!j follotoetfj fjis oinne 
appetite anb lifting, gouerning ^imselfe tfjerebg, 
(anb not as Je ougfjt toitjf reason anb goob 
orber,) leauing to tjese toorlblge experiences, 


fojjitf) euer fcesiretfj tfjat tjat is profitable, 6ut 
follofo alfoages in beetle things tfjat are Jjtirt* 
ML & man of sue!} life antr gouernement foe 
mag compare to Jim tjjat fcnofoet!) gooto meates 
ligfjt of digestion, antr tjje grosse ill an0 fteawe : 
get ouereome toitji te0ire taketfj t&at tjat is 
most Jurtfttll, antr so fteing {jurt, {jim selfe 
alone is tije cause of all jjis $(. 

Even fuck a man is he whome qffe6iionfuldueth. 
He vnderftandeth and is learned, and able to 
difcerne troth from falfehoode, and yet will not put 
in proofe the true profit, nor once fellow and 
difire knowledge and wifedome. We might bring 
this man in the example of him that hauing his 
light good and perfite, Jhutting his eyes would 
needes le ledde ly a llinde man,fo that loth they 
falling into a diche were drowned, and miferally 
died. Every man will condeme him for a foole, 
and worfe than mad, that hauing his Jight good 
and without llemijhe, that might haue feene the 
daunger and fcaped it, and of mere foolifhnejfe 
would not. Therefore euerie wife and difcrete 
perfon muft continually labour to reade, and to 
vnderftande that he readeth, and muft then teache 
it to as many as dejlre to knowe it, and to doe the 
good workes of the knowledge he teacheth, that 



euery way he may Jhowe the wonderful profit of 
his doctrine : for in this cafe he may not le like 
vnlo a Well or Spring, which without any profit 
to it felfe quencheth the thirfte of all leafts. 
The wife man is afterwardes lounde (when he is 
growne to the perfection of learning) to teech and 
inftru6l thofe that knowe not. Provided euer that 
he can mafter himfelfe, and fuldue his affections. 
For to a wife man three things are pertinent : to 
wit, Knowledge, Richeffe, and Mercie. And of 
all t hinges a man muft chiejly beware ofreprouing 
his neighbour of that fault he himfelfe is guiltie 
off. That he I e not likened to him which hauing 
a Perle in his eie found fault with the element that 
it was alway cloudie, not confidering the llemijh of 
his eie. Yet greater doultleffe is our offence when 
with our neighbours hurt or detriment we winne 
commodotie to ourfelues. As falleth out many 
times, which this example following Jheweth vs. 

The deceyt lighteth on the 
deceyuers necke. 

frientig {jauing a great mount of come in 
a Earner fcnfceuioetJ, tfjejj fel to parting it, leaning 
to edje {jis portion apart ({joiuijeit bot^ in one 



(Srarncr still) so tfyat tfjeg u to twt roe t0 
cgtljer jjeape. 33ut fricause in beebe tlje one ijeape 
fcras greater tfjan tfje otfjer, jjee tofncfj imb tfje 
lesser tfjougjjt t0 steale tfje digger, antr 00 Jjg 
foecn't t0 lie reuengetr 0f jjmttme tfjat fjatr allotteti 
^im tlje least part 5Ep0n tjis je irrent t0 tfje 
Earner foetermmma; t0 steale it tjat ni$)t, antJ 
itcause Je to0ult( not mtsse 0f jis purpose in 
taking t{je 0ne for tfje otfjer, Je cast Jis ckrtte ouer 
!)ts fellotoes fjeape fceing tfte greater, tfjat ije nttgljt 
tfje eastlter Itnotoe Ijis otone in t^e tiarfee being 
bncouereti. $ot long after eame to tfje Cramer 
also t^e otfjer ftonest partener to looke to {jts 
jeape, ^ to see fjfjs tieuioelr part : antf fo!)en Je 
satoe t!je loue of jis partener to fyim (supposing 
stmplg Je fjati cotrereti fjis Jeape of eorne for goofo 
foill ije bare Jim, tfjat it sljouloe receiue no "oust) 
as one tjat tooulo not be tl)oug!)t bnt^antoll, nor 
come fteljfn&e ijis felloiw in curtesie, tjus {je sagtie 
to Jim selfe. J) tfjis man is to Jtintie to mee, 
tfjat to eouer mine leauetj jis otone jeap bare, 
^nb so taking tfje (fTIoke off fjis fjeape cast it on 
t|je others, anb couereb it as Jjfe Inas, requiting 
Jis curtesie initfj like goob Jnt'll, little suspecting 
tfje intenbeb becegte, but ratfjer reputeb jjis frienbe 
ciuile anb full of numanitie. &t nigjjt Jis false 



frientre counselled tot'tfj a tjjeefe anfc tofte fjim f)is 
intmte, saving : if tljou toilt goe toil}) me tljis nig!)t 
31 toill bring tfjee to a place tojere toe sljatt {jaue 
a gooto fcootie of Come as mucf) as toe can footfj carte 
atoag toitfj fcs, ^Inti tfjus tfjeg agreelj togifters 
tijereupon, tjeg toent ftotfj to tfte ffirarner tofjere 
tljose ttoo fjeaps of Corne lage, ano tjts partener 
tjje tjjeefe groping in t!je fcarke to fintie tjie Jeape 
fjis Clofee lage on, lading jjanbes of {jis Cloke (su^ 
posing fje Jao met toitjf ftis fellotoes Jeape) Jee 
gaue ft in prage to t{je tjeefe je jati tottgljt tottj 
ijim, laiourmge 6ot|[ to loatre tljemselues, anb so 
bettoeene tljem tfjeg conuegeti t!je tofjole Jeape : antf 
toeenmg tjjcg ijat< stollen from t!je ot^er fionest 
man, fcmnDe at lengtj ^e toas tjeefe to jimselfe* 
Elje neit morning berg earelg tje ttoo companions 
(according to appointment) toent togitfjers to fte 
Earner to carfe atoag eclje otf)er {jis portion as it 
toas omioetf ftettoeene tjem. ^IntJ fje tfjat Jatr 
tione tfjis feate, seeing jjis partener's part tofjole 
ana nntoncljeu, ano jjfs otone gone ; like a man 
fjalfe oeaoe for sorroto Je Jeauilg oeparteo tjence 
to jis Jouse, anb not a toortie fje spake, ftetoagling 
ano lamenting jis toretcfjeo pretenceo craft, not 
baring once to open tfte tfjeft to jis frientie, tojo so 
mttrfj oio trust ijim. 


No man therefore Jhould deale fo foolijhly in 
thinges that haue no certaine ende, and that are 
hard to bring to paffe : leaft that wearied with 
Superfluous labor, he cannot afterwardes exercife 
I him felfe in thinges certaine and needfull. All 
our workes and deedes ought rather to tende to 
profit vs in time to come, then to ferue the time 
prefent. For if we abandon and forfake the in- 
fatialle and infinite dejlre we haue of this wretched 
worlde, doubtleffe in the other worlde to come we 
(hall feele no paine. For who that ferueth God 
deuoutly and with pure confcience, and that 
dejireth riches only to fupplie nece/Jitie, and to 
doe good workes : him God doth profper and guide 
in all his wayes. And let no man difpaire though 
he be vifited with ill hap fome time, doing^ well 
notwithftanding. For God manye times fendeth 
his llejjing and increafe vnwares to man, and in 
an houre vnlooked for, which he neuer thought 
would happen. And heare in wkat manner. 

The good and uertuous ihould neuer 
difpaire in aduerfitie. 

&fjere tifoellefc in a certaine Citie a man of 
tjlg life antJ fctepogition, fo{)0 fallen into eitreeme 



pouettie, being asjameb toasfcefor(3robssafce,betit= 
mtneb to ptooue Jig ftienbs, anb so Je bib. &nb be^ 
Staging Jis misetie, looking for teliefe anb pittie, 
founbe notjing but Jatbnesse,neitjetfcjas tjete ang 
tjat once iuoultje I00ke ijp0n tje tucessttie 0f tjat 
Jonest t0ntiitf0neti man* ^[nti tjus repleate foitfj 
grfefe, beieti m Jfs mfntie, Je sotroinfunse tepatretj 
t0 Jts p00te mansf0n. ^Inti being lagtje at nfgjt 
in Jfs feettoe t0 take Jfs test, tje angufsje 0f Jfs 
mintje, t0gft!)er inttj famine, in0ultje not suffer 
Jim to test fout kept Jfm inaking. ^[nt( fig cjatinee 
Jeatfng a nogse about tje Jouse, Jgstening tiili- 
gentlg fojat it sjoulbe be : Jee fcnefoe sttaigjt it 
irras some SEJeefe (Joping of a gteat bootie) tjat 
inent tjus tansacfcing ijp antJ tioiune. .So tjfs 
poote man sagtie bnto Jimselfe. 5TJou Jatist 
neene loofee nattofoljje, if tjou ioeene to Jaue tjat 
tjou seefcest fot: <utelg 31 intll see get fojat 
feates tjese tjeefes "ooe frrotfee in Jen tjeg come into 
sucj places fojere tjeg fintie naugjt, 2EJe 2TJeefe 
toming Jere antJ tjere, busilg seatcjing ant< gtop= 
ing in euerg cotnet, founbe notjing but a little 
pot foitj ilileale : anb bicause Je inoula not lose 
Jgs labout, Jee betermineb to btafoe Jts stting to 
ketcj tjat little motsell, anb began to poute it out 
into tje lappe of Jis clofee, Jauing in tje cape 



tjjereof great store of Jefoelles ant reatg moneg 
fcrjjicfj je jjat stolen in an otfjer Ijouse foljere fje 
fjat beene* SEfje goote poore man iujieji till nofoe 
iuas fojjisljt ant qufet to see tfje enoe of tlje 
SEljeefe, perceguing Jjgs ^^tle discretion, jis fjart 
rose against Jim, considering t^e faillange of tjus 
fcjretrfj tjat inoultie not leaue fjim tjjat sielge 
quantitie of iJHeale to stistatne Jim aline frritfjall : 
antJ tjougjt toitjj jim selfe it inere better tiefenti 
it in time to fteepe Jim from famine, tfian to targe 
looking for tfje late reliefe of ty% {jarbe frienfcs. 
^o in a great furie jje leapt out of jjfs betJ antJ 
toofee fjim to jjis sinortr, antJ jauing tfje same 
tirainne in Jgs fjan&e initfj a terrible nogse jjee 
rxinnetji to tje 2Tjeefe. TOfjidjm'cause Jee inoultr 
not botj lose Jis jjonestg ana life togitjer at one 
instant, (leaning for fjast to saue Ijimselfe) jgs 
clolte in panne iHitji tjje iileale, parting no leg= 
sure to caste it on Jjis fcacfce, je inas forced to 
fl|je for life ant( let all alone. &{jis {jonest poore 
man tfjen at ty& pleasure poureti out tlje iEeale 
out of jis clofee, ant put it againe into jjns eartfjen 
potte tojere it inas before : ant tjus sago to jim= 
selfe, a Ja, bg ^aint JHarie t jis geare goetjj ixrell, 
IE fjaue gotten a cloke to boote bg tfje meanes, to 
tefente mee from tjje colte at least, ant putting 


ijt's Jjanoe into tfje cape, jjee met fottfj peat ricfjes 
anti Sefoels, antf fjapptlg ligljtefc on tfjoge gootis 
fcrfjicfj fje nwer fjopetf of: toning tfjat fro Jjfs 
enemi'e fig force fofjidj fjfs frienos tooulo muer 
jjaue gifren {jim for loue. 

//oe TZO^ like infuch a cafe to fay as the common 
people doe, that God provideth lining for euery 
lodie, and that he will not fee me lacke that that 
Jhall le necejfarie for me, fo as Ineede not labor for 
my lining, for fare it is but a foolijh phrafe and 
vainefpeach. Bnt rather I will conclude, that euery 
man is lound to labor to procure his lining, 9* he 
may not make any fuch cafes prejldents, in which 
it pleafed God to fende great riches without labor 
as in this. For thefe are only the fecrets of God, 
& we ought not to ajke the caufe of his diuine 
goodnejje. The wife man therefore muft endeuour 
himfelfe to gaine that he may, honeftly and vp- 
rightly, trufting always in almightie God : that 
he will profper his doings and giue him encreafe, 
feeking euer to keepe him felfe out of trouble and 
forowe : and not to do as the Done, which breed 
ing hir Pigions about the Houfe (making them 
familiar with the fame) albeit they are monthly 
taken from hir and killed, yet Jhe leaueth not for 
that to returne to hir olde neft and breede yong 



againe, though Jhe know they Jhalle taken from 
hir. We finde it written, that God hath odeined 
the end and terme of all things, and that they 
can not pajje. Therefore faye thefe wife men, 
that he that worketh refpeffiing the worlde to come 
lightneth the lurthens and trouble of this frayle 
life. But he that repofeth his truft in thefe 
worldly e thinges and is wrapped in the fame, doth 
wafte and confume his yeares. A man ought to 
labour in thefe three things, licaufe he hath neede 
of them, to wit. To knowe to keepe the law, and 
the goodftatutes thereof. Thefeconde, to procure 
things necejfarie for mans life. And the thirde, 
that his workes le pure and cleane with himfelfe 
and among others. Then he muft leware and 
withdrawe himfelfe from foure other mortall and 
damnable. The Jirft, is to le negligent in his art 
or fcience, The fecond } to contemne that the law 
commandeth, The third, to credit all things lightly. 
The fourth, to denie knowledge. For he that will 
le reputed wife in his doings, muft Jirft confider 
well what he taketh vpon him : and if he neede 
counfell let him a/ke it of a faithfull friende. 
When he happeneth to haue great matters in hande, 
let him not goe about them rajhly, but Jirft way 
the importance thereof. That he be not likened 



to one which being out of his waye, and going on 
ftill, is the farther of the place he would go to. 
And alfo compared to another, which hath but a 
little hurt in his eye, and ly continuall rubbing of 
it he maketh it incurable. A man muftfeare the 
diuine iuftice, inclining him felfe to that that is 
good, and doing that to his neighbour he woulde 
haue done to him felfe, helping him in aUdaungers 
as he woulde le holpen himfelfe. And to conclude 
this our worke } he that meaneth to vnderftande 
it, muft order his life according to the lawes 
and inftitutions of Vertue : as Jhoweth 
thefe wonderfull and learned ex 
amples, and fententious 


tyme there reigned in Edon 
fo manye Roy all crouned Kings, 
amongft the reft there was a King 
called Aneftres Caftri : who chofe for 
chief e of all his Courte one Berozias, 
whome hee made high treaforer of all 
his Realme, a man right noble in his 
deedes, and rich of poffejjions ; and 
him he loued and trufted fo much, that 
hee put his princely e perf on and whole 
affaires of his Realme into his handes. 
It happened one daye there was pre- 
fented to the King a Booke, in which 



was written many goodly dedes and 
fecrets, and among ft the heape this 
was one. Howe that in India were 
marueylous hie mount aims, in which 
there grewe certaine fortes of herbes 
and trees, which if they were knowen 
and confefted afterwardes in a certaine 
kinde : they Jhould drawe out of that 
precious compojition fuch a remedie^ 
as therewith they might raife to life 
again the dead. The King no fooner 
read this wonder, but he burned ftraight 
to knowe the troth thereof : wherefore 
in hafte (as foone might bee) he dif- 
patched Berozias, and bade him hie 
him thither, commaunding him to fee 
if he coulde finde it true. A nd bicaufe 
it was a hard and painefull enter- 
prife, he furni/hed him with golde and 
filuer, not onely fujficient, but more 



than needed, that he Jhoulde not lacke. 
Then he deliuered him his letters of 
recommendation to all thofe Kings of 
India, praying them to further this 
worthie man in his noble attempt, pur- 
pofed to good ende. Berozias licenfed 
nowe of the King to depart (furni/Jied 
with money and letters] went into that 
countrie, and arriued in India pre- 
fentedjlraight to the King his maijiers 
letters : by meanes whereof he was re- 
ceyued of the Magiftrates as was per 
tinent to the Jmbajie of fo highe a 
Prince. And his mejjage deliuered \ 
they vnderftanding the caufe of his 
comming, offered themfelues with all 
the wife men they had to fauour his 
enterprife, and to further it all they 
could. And thus honorably accom- 
paunied of all the fage and wife men, 



conducting him through all the Moun- 
taynes and Countries there abouts, they 
had and gathered all they found 
written for the conditing of fo pre 
cious an elefluarie. And all they 
ioyning togithers to make this con- 
fec~lion> prouing it a great while, wuld 
neuer faide it to workefuch effect as to 
raife any one from death to life againe. 
So that they faw by proofe that all 
that was written in the booke con 
cerning the elec~luarie was meere falfe 
and vntrue. This thing grieued much 
Berozias, that heJJiould retourne to the 
King Anaftres his maifter and bring 
no better newes with him : howbeit con- 
fulting with thefe graue and wife men 
before his departure, how he might doe, 
not to retourne home in vaine, there 
was giuen him by a famous Philofopher 



of that Region, a goodly treatife, who 

ferched himfelf alfo to finde thatfecrete, 

and in the ende he vnderjloode that it 

was the Booke which was fo called. 

And fo O graue Berozias thou Jhalt 

fay vnto the King, and returne to him 

with ioye. 

The hilles which we ought to feeke, 
are the wife and learned men. The 
trees and herbes growing vpon thofe 
hilles, doe betoken wifdome and learn 
ing : which fprings of the vnderftand- 
ing and iudgements of the learned. 
The medicine or ehc~luarie condited 
of thofe herbes, are the bookes full 
of mojl learned writings, compofed by 
the high and deepe wittes, and with 
this oyle or Baulme they reuive the 
deade. For with fuch knowledge the 
ignorant and vnlearned are inftrufted: 



whom wee maye iujlly recken deade 
and buried. 

Therefore tqfling the fweetneffe (con- 
tinually reading] of the dotlrine of the 
fages, they receiue health and refur- 
reftion. This interpretation greatly 
reioyced Berozias, in fo much as hee 
befought the Princes andfage men that 
they would giue him but the copie of 
that booke to carie to the King his 
Maijler, which (although the booke 
were alwayes in the handes of thofe 
Kings, for that it was ful of Morall 
Philofophy] was graunted him> licenj- 
ing him to tranflate it out of the 
Indian into the Perfean tongue^ with 
the helpe and knoledge of all thofe 
learned Philofophers> which was fo Jin- 
gularlye done that it bare the vaunt 
of all Morall Philofophie. The Booke 

receiue d 


receiued with due and infinite thankes 
rendered to thofe noble Kings and 
Sages for the great honor and courtejie 
they had done him : Berozias departeth 
home, and being come to his maifter, 
prefented him the booke with relation 
of his whole enter taineinent. 

The King hearing fo noble an ex- 
pofition, fo wife and difcreete an in 
terpretation thankefully receyued the 
Booke efteeming it aboue any other pre- 
fent. And thencefoorth he procured 
with great deligence to haue alwayes 
bookes, and thofe hejludied^ di/irous of 
knowledge, feeking to entertaine in his 
Court wife and learned men : iudging 
(as is true] that bookes and wifdome 
are the greatefl treafure and delight 
to man. Appointing in his Palaice 
a great librarie, wherein aboue the reft 



he placed this booke for cheife, being 

full of examples and inftruttions for 

mans life, and alfo of luftice and 

the fear e of God: in praife and 

honour of whom we begin this 

worke, Jhewing therein 

the continuall daungers 

and deceits of this 

miferable worlde. 

The fir/I Part of the Morall Philofo- 

phie of the auncient Sages, compiled 

by the great and learned Philo- 

fopher Sendelar, 

In the Indian tongue, who by iundrie and won- 

derfull examples bewrayeth the deceyts 

and daungers of this pre- 

fent worlde. 

HEN I was come to yeares of dif- 
cretion, borne of a noble houfe, 
and of my Genitours put to the 
ftudie of Philofophye, to learne 
Phiiycke, whereof I preceded 
Doctor : I knewe that thys worlde was a courfe 
of a moft vehement running ftreame, but yet 
appearing no perill of drowning to him that 
panned it, bicaufe that harde by the banckes 
fydes it was verie fhalow, and aboue it ranne 
quietly, carying aboue water riches and wares 
of great value to the iudgement of thofe that 



beheld them, by means whereof men drawne 
with great couetoufnefle to have abundance, 
they ranne towardes them and entred into the 
riuer, partly wetting themfelves, but onely their 
foote, they tooke a fewe of them. And he that 
would have mo, going further in, muft of necef- 
fitie wet his legge and knee, bicaufe it increafed. 
And he that with furie, (pafling the reft) with 
an infatiable defire would needes go further, 
plunged his whole bodie in the water. And 
the others trufting in their force of fwimming 
ftucke in the middeft, and founde the ftreame 
exceeding bigge : for in the bottome it was 
moil fwift and raging, and they could not get 
out of the middeft, but euen as much as they 
coulde doe in fwimming to kepe them felues 
aboue water. And brought to this paffe, not 
finding any waye to get out, they caft of thefe 
rich merchandifes to this man and to that man, 
which hauinge no fkill to fwimme followed them 
alongeft the banckes fides of the riuer. In the 
ende weried with fwimming, not able to labor 
any more for life, forfaking this merchandife 
floting aboue the water, downe they finke, and 
carying nothing with them, remayne drowned. 

Who could in better maner defcribe our 
worldly labour? Truly our infatiable defire is 



fo greedie to haue that it liketh and feeth, that 
to be owner of that we would, we put our 
felues to all manner of daungers, and intoller- 
able paynes of this world. To be briefe : euery 
man (little or much) wetteth himfelfe in this 
raging riuer of man's life. He that wetting his 
foote runneth alongeft the bancks fide of this 
terrible Brooke, is a man that is oppreffed with 
bondage, that enioyeth naught elfe in this world 
but miferable lyfe. The other that wafheth his 
legge, liueth by his labor, and commeth to take 
more of the world, and to tafte the delights there 
of bearing many afflictions. He that thruftes in 
his whole bodie in this water, hath poflefTed the 
feignorie and gouernment of the moft wicked 
and hapleffe ftate of this world. O vnfpeakable 
cruelty, that once patted forwards he entreth per 
force into the middeft, and reacheth to this man 
and to that man that he hath, keeping himfelf 
alwaies in this daungerous ftate. But in the ende 
overtaken by fome accident, as warre, treafon, 
poyfon, or mans force, he falteth into deathes 
lappe : and he that hath followed his trouble- 
fome life remayneth depriued of all his goodes, 
bicaufe wanting the heade, the reft of the mem 
bers remain vile, filthie, and ftincking. Sure 
this worldly life reprefenteth no more but the 
little worlde of our bodie, which carrieth a 



wonderfull prefence : and that little breath of 
ours once fpent, it is then but a fhadowe, duft 
and fmoke. Thefe worldly fauours and tem- 
porall goodes in the iudgement of the wife 
feeme but as fnowe, which with the firft beames 
of the Sunne diflblveth and commeth to no 
thing. Lord, what coft do we beftow vpon our 
heares and face, which when the Barber clip- 
peth of, are defpifed and throwne away? A 
man mould neuer truft this foolifhe life. It is 
but a fire kindled on the coles, which con- 
fuming it felfe giueth heate to others. The 
Phifition truly that cureth the difeafe of the 
bodie is a worthie fpirite of man : but he that 
healeth us of our finnes is a celeftiall God. 
Hee that can fhunne the water of this riuer, 
which carrieth in his courfe, Pride, vaine glorie, 
lafciuioufneffe, couetoufneffe, prefumption, in 
firmities, and loife : may be called diuine and 
not humaine. Let no man put his foote into 
the water of carnall loue, neyther his legge into 
the falfe waues of thefe goodes, nor wafhe his 
bodie in the glorie of this malignant time, 
neyther feeke continually to fwimme in the 
middeft of thefe felicities : for all paffeth awaye 
to oure loffe and vndoing. The rich Indian 
merchaunt Softrates richly furnifhed his houfe 
with fundrie forts of merchaundife with his 



great trauell, expence of time, and money: 
and hauing his houfe full ftored anew to the 
toppe, he could find none that had fo much 
readie money as to paye him for it all at one 
time and to carie it away. Then he faide to 
him felfe: If by little and little I mould 
fpende it, when mall I euer make an ende ? 
Life will not alwayes laft, neyther can I liue 
fo long as I woulde : I knowe there can be 
no ende of our miferies : and thus difpifing all 
pompe and riches he forfooke the deceytfuli 
life with trouble, and withdrewe him to a 
better, taking vpon him another courfe. A 
man ought to beleeue the true and diuine 
carecte, and not mans writing: not to truft 
the falfe fayings of wicked men (which con- 
tinuallye liue of the fpoyle of their neighbour 
beguiling them) but to his owne experience. 
For who fo ealily beleeueth the words of light 
perfons, falleth into a grieuous errour, to his 
owne lofle and hurt, as ye mall heare reading 
that that followeth. 

Here you may fee how light 
leliefe Iringeth damage. 

Two theeues very IkilfuU in picking and open 
ing lockes with ginnes (but nothing aduifed nor 



forefeeing the daunger) entered one nyght into 
a knightes houfe^ no lefle wyfe than wor- 
Ihipfull, and verie riche : where thefe theeues 
thought to have fped themfelues for euer, that 
they fhould neuer more haue needed to haue 
exercifed that arte. This valiant knight awak- 
eth, and hearing the noife of their feete in the 
houfe, imagined (as it was) that there were 
theeues : and they were euen vpon the point of 
opening his chamber doore where he laye, when 
he logging his wyfe awaked hir, and foftly faid 
to hir, Have ye not heard the noyfe of the 
theeues in the houfe that are come to robbe us ? 
I would haue ye therefore afke mee flreight with 
great inftance, after what fort, whence and howe 
I came by all that we haue togither in the houfe. 
And ye mall afke mee fo lowde that if there 
were any at the chamber dore he might eafily 
heare you : and I will feeme to be verie fcrupu- 
lous to tell you, then fhall you bee more earneft 
with mee than before to vnderftande it : at length 
you mail preffe mee fo with importunacie that I 
will tell it you. The Ladie his wife being 
verie wife and fubtill, began in this maner to 
aike hir hufbande, and thus me faide vnto him : 
O deare fir, graunt mee I befeech you one 
thing this night that I fo long haue defired to 
knowe : to tell me how you haue done to come 



by all thefe goodes you haue gotten togither. 
So he gaue hir an anfwere at random, nothing 
aunfwering hir defire. She contending with him, 
and he aunfwering, in the ende as he had bene 
angry he faid to hir: I can but mufe what 
reafon mooues you (in God's name) to defire 
to knowe my fecretes, being a thing that little 
profiles you to know them, or not to know 
them. Be ye contented Madame, and fet your 
heart at reft: let it fuffice you to fare well, to 
be richly apparelled, and to be worfhipfully 
wayted vpon and ferued, although ye do not 
importune me to tell you fuch a fecret. Thefe 
are not thinges to be tolde, for I haue hearde 
it fpoken many a time and oft, that euery 
thinge hath eares : therefore many times thinges 
are fpoken which are repented of the partie 
afterwardes. Wherefore hold your peace, for 
I cannot tell you. To this anfwere his Ladie 
replied, and louingly befought him to tell hir, 
fweetly entifmg him with wifely traynes in 
fuch fort, that the knight wearied with hir 
importunate fpeach yelded, and faid to hir: 
All that we haue, and as much as is in the 
houfe (but fweete hart I charge you let it 
neuer come from you) is ftollen, and in deede 
to be playne with you, in the nightes feafon 
I ftole it from this and that mans houfe, fo 



that I neuer gate anything trulye. His Ladie 
amazed to heare that aunfwere, would not yet 
beleeue it at the firft, but faide: What for 
fhame, how can you euer fpeake this with 
truth ! being reputed here the befl Gentleman 
in this citie : and there is none in all this realme 
I dare well faye that would once dare to fufpect 
you for a theefe. Out a theefe, one of your 
worlhip and credit? nay nay, I will neuer be 
leeue it. Therefore I pray you without cere- 
monie, tell mee truly that I have afked you, 
or elfe I cannot be in quiet. The knight 
anfwered hir and fayd : You think it per- 
auenture a wonder that I haue tolde you : but 
liften yet and you mail heare more. Euen from 
my cradell in maner I alwaies had delight to 
fteale and filch, and it liked me a life to be 
amongil theues that my fingers might euer be 
walking, fo fweete was the craft vnto me. And 
a Mate amongft them there was that loued me 
fo well, that he taught mee only a fingular 
tricke, and fo rare a fecret as neuer yet was 
hearde. And wote ye what it was? a fewe 
wordes coniurations which I made to the Beames 
of the Moone, and I ranne fodenly to embrace 
them, going vpon them qucklye into euery part 
where they fhone. Sometime I came downe 
vpon them from a high windowe, another time 



I ferued my felfe with the to get vp againe to 
the top of the houfe : fo I ftaid and went on 
them as I lift, and did what I would. The 
Moone hearing my coniuration feauen times 
fhewes me all the money and treafure that was 
hidden in that houfe, where I flew thus vp 
and downe vpon hir beames, by meanes where 
of I tooke my choice, and had what I would, 
carying it quite away with me. And thus good 
wife (as I haue tolde thee) I made me riche, 
and now I care for no more. 

One of the two theeues (who gaue a Men- 
ing eare, ftanding at the knights chamber dore) 
heard all that he faide, and bare it away with 
him in memorie, beleuing it was true that he 
fpake, knowing this riche knight to be a man 
of credit and to be beleeued, iince he was re 
puted of all men to be a worthy and courteous 
knight : fo that they thought themfelues happie 
to haue learned fuch a wonderfull fecrete in 
maner (upon his wordes) affuring themfelues in 
ftiort time to be made verie rich. The chiefe 
theefe apparelled like a woman got vp to the 
toppe of the houfe, delirous to prove that in 
deedes which he had heard in words : fo he 
made his exorcifme and enchauntment, repet- 
ing it feuen times, and then embracing the 
beames of the Moone, his armes throwne abrode, 



he caft himfelf on them, thinking to haue gone 
from windowe to windowe, and fo hedlong he 
fell to the grounde in ieopardie to breake his 
necke. But the Moone for the firft time 
fauored him fo that he killed not himfelfe, but 
brake his legges and one of his armes as God 
would haue it : fo that opprefled with paine 
he cryed out alowde, lamenting his miflehap 
chaunced to him, giuing to much credit to an 
others wordes. And thus not able to creepe 
nor goe, he pitifully lieth expecting death. The 
knight leaping out of his bed ran to the crie, 
and come to the place, he found this vnfor- 
tunate and wretched theefe lying on the grounde 
in womans apparell, and hee gaue him many a 
faire wounde to lighten the paine of his broken 
legges and arme, and forced him to tel what 
caufe moued him to come to robbe his houfe. 
Thys miferable theefe aunfwered him (fearing 
leaft hee would kill him) and tolde him the 
whole caufe of his comming. But yet that 
that grieued him worit of all was faide hee, 
that he was fuch a fool and beaft to beleeue 
his words : and he befought him though he 
had at leaft hurt him to much with his wordes, 
(which he had dearly bought and repented 
both), yet that he would vouchfafe not to hurt 
him in his deedes alfo. 



It is moft true that lightly beleirng thefe 
worldly thinges hath made many a man fall 
into fundrie daungers, and hedlong to plunge 
himfelfe into the deepe miferies of this worlde. 
Sometimes men detirmine to obey the lawe. 
At another time they contemme it and fet it 
at naught, following fenfuall appetite. Oft 
times they beleeue the counfell of their good 
friend, but very often they follow the counfell 
of the flatterer. To-day we are pleafed with 
true do6trine : to-morrow we folow the falfe. 
In euery wit and arte there is abufe -, and who 
runneth not to this riuer? and the more they 
weene to gaine, the more they runne in daunger 
and lofle of life and foule. Behold here is one 
man pricked in his confcience, there is another 
opprefled with paffion and forow, and there 
neuer wanteth fome that follow the continuall 
feruitude of this deceitfull life, either for goodes, 
fauor, and eftimation, or elfe of their owne free 
willes : and there is neuer none (or fewe at the 
leaft) that in fo fhort time of life can forget 
this knowne and manifeft daunger. For death 
aflaulting us, we knowe not whither to retire, 
and then with all our might we flie the force 
of his moft piercing dart : and thus weening to 
hide our felues in fure place, we hedlong runne 
to our fhame and vndoing. As is manifeftly 



feene by fundrie examples happened like to 
this following. 

A tale of a Louer and a 

There was in the citie where I dwelled, 
harde by my houfe, a fayre yong Gentilwoman 
nobly borne, the which was but euen in maner 
newly maried (at leaft not long before) when 
this chaunce happened. This younge fpoufe 
fell in loue with a proper Gentleman, fayre 
condicioned, well fpoken, and of good enter- 
tainement: and fortune fo fauoured hir, that 
ihee fweetly reaped the fruits of hir defire at 
all times when me liked to enioye it without 
let or annoy at all. But to preuent hir huf- 
bandes fodein comming home at times vn- 
looked for, this liuely yong wife deuifed to 
worke a waye for her louers fafetie, and the 
continuance of this fecond (yea moft blefled) 
ioye. She caufed to be conueyed in a well 
fhe had a proper vawte, which mould fafely 
receyue hir yong louer leaping into the fame, 
if he were by mifhap at any time diftreft with 
hir hufbandes foden comming vpon them. The 
hufband alfo much about that time called worke- 
men to him, and in a corner of the houfe made 


a great darke hole and vent (very deepe) for 
the fincke of the houfe. It happened fo by 
chaunce one daye that hir yong Louer was no 
fooner entered into the houfe, and the gate but 
newly put too, but ftraight the hulband of this 
wanton wife knocked alfo at the doore. She 
knowing his knocke, with heauie hart beckened 
to him to hide himfelfe in the vawte that fhe 
had made in the well, and this while fhee 
ftoode ftill, poynting him the place and woulde 
not open to hir hufbande. This yong man 
flight with feare (which is euer at hand to 
amaze the offender) ranne round about like a 
headleffe flie, and miffing the well (as one 
ftricken blinde for fodeine feare) leapt into the 
deepe darke vawte feruing the iincke of the 
houfe. At which inftant me had opened the 
dore to hir hulband, fo as he faw the yong 
man when he went into it : and then he knew 
his wife had born a man more than Ihee 
flioulde, and that Ihee had beguiled him, vnder- 
ftanding the late opening of the doore. And 
ouercome with rage and hir faulte, he fierflye 
laid hands on hir, and cruellye flue both hir 
and hir Louer. 

To be vnaduifed, and to doe thinges raihly 
which we ought not, bringeth many times death, 



hurt and fliame. For no man mould fo entangle 
himfelfe in thefe worldly toyles, as he might not 
euer leave them at his will. For fo ftraunge and 
fodein chaunces fall vpon him, as a man would 
neuer haue imagined, and therefore he cannot 
vpon fuch a fodeine withftande it, but is forced 
to yeelde. Wherefore I would wifh no man to 
be fo caried awaye with thefe ihort pleafures 
and fweete found of man's life, that they fhould 
caft behinde them the remembraunce of the 
right way to doe well : as happened vnto him 
that would mende and fet his Jewelles. 

Of a Jeweller that forgot 
his profit, and gaue himfelfe to pleafure. 

There was a rich Merchant of Surria that 
brought from the Cair a great fumme of precious 
Hones, and bicaufe they wanted fetting in Golde 
with curious worke to pullim them, hee agreed 
with an excellent artificer (moil fkilfull in fuch 
workes) to giue him daily a certaine fumme of 
money, bicaufe that during the time he wrought 
in his Jewelles he fhoulde worke with no other 
but only attende his bufynefle. This cunning 
workeman went euerye morning to thys mer 
chants houfe to worke, carying his tooles wyth 
him : and working all the daye at his defire, at 



night he receyued his dayes wages agreed vpon. 
It happened there was brought to this merchant 
a goodly initrument, and excellent to playe vpon 
(muche like to a Harpe), to fee if he would buye 
it. The next morning betimes came this worke- 
maifter to follow his worke, and the firft thing 
that the merchant did was to fhewe him the 
Harpe. The workeman taking it in his hande 
(being an excellent mufition, and playing well 
of this inftrument), he fayd : Sir, is it your plea- 
fure I mall playe ? yea, fayd the merchant. 
This cunning man paffingly handling this inftru 
ment, playde fo fweetely, and mewed fuch 
mulicke in fuch ftraunge and rare ftoppes, with 
fuch voluntarye wythall, that the merchaunt 
delighted with his heauenly harmonie made 
him play all daye long. At night this cunning 
workeman demaunded his dayes hire, as if he 
had wrought the whole daye in his Jewels. The 
merchaunt denied it, and would not paye him. 
The other alledged that he had bene in his houfe 
all that day (at his requeft) as he was the other 
dayes before. This matter called before the 
Judges and brought in tryall, the Judge gaue 
fentence againil the merchaunt, and forced him 
to paye the workemaifter for the daye (fuch 
fumme of money as they were agreed vppon) as 
if hee had wrought all daye. The merchaunt 



yll digefted the Judge's fentence, but much 
worfe the paiment, greuing him to the heart to 
paye fo deare for fo fhort a pleafure, where he 
might haue gotten much by the others worke, 
if like a foole he had not let him. 

Let men that giue themfelues to the pleafures 
of this vnhappie life be warned by the example 
of this merchaunt, to leaue afide the fweete 
deceits of the bodie, and to attende onely to the 
precious ftone of our foull, pullifhing and keep 
ing that cleane. Lorde howe many are there 
that leaning profit follow lofle, and all for a 
fayned fhowe, or worldlye ihadowe. The Grey- 
hounde that hath pinched the Hare, and taken 
hir in hys mouth, cannot runne after another he 
feeth go before him and take hir alfo : for fo the 
one may fcape from him quite, and the other 
eafily vanifh out of his fight. O miferable 
worlde, naye rather moft miferable and wretched 
our mindes and willes : that plainly feeing our 
hurt and miferie, we ftill hedlong purfue and 
follow the fame. What is he liuing fo ignoraunt, 
that knoweth not our life paffeth quicklyer awaye 
than the lightening that commeth before the 
thunder clap, and in the darke clowdes giueth 
moft fhort light : and that our fight (the lighten 
ing paft) comming into the darke is blinded more ? 



the man truly that is loft in this worldlye broyle, 
and entered into the fea of miferies : that that 
fenfuall appetite and fhort defire ftieweth him, 
feemeth light vnto him, but in a moment 
(wretched creature he) he findeth himfelf in 
darkenefle. What part haue we of any good 
thing in this fhort courfe of life ? where is our 
good beginning? where the excellent middeft? 
or where the perfite end ? In that day (O mifer- 
able man) tha.t thou art begotten in thy mothers 
wombe, in the felfe fame day death imbraceth 
thee to ouerthrow thee at his will. Our firft 
originall is begun in darknefle and corruption, 
the firft paflage that putteth vs forth to the light 
of this world, bringeth vs forow and lamenta 
tion. We are borne naked, fubiect to difeafes, 
vncleane, and haue neede of all things, and of 
euery bodies helpe. Afterwardes, vnlefle we 
would feeme ymages of ftone or timber without 
vnderftandinge, wee muft be taught, ruled, and 
inftru&ed, which bringeth vs difeafes, troubles, 
paynes, forrowes, and griefes. And in this while 
how many neceffities doe aflault vs ? how many 
bufinefles doe oppreffe vs ? the elements ofFende 
vs with heate, colde, and barrenefle. Difeafes 
neuer forfake our bodies, and the troubles of this 
world neuer letteth vs reft an houre. To be alone 
it grieueth vs : to be accompanied it troubleth 



vs : to liue long it werieth vs : to haue little 
mifliketh vs : and fufficient contenteth vs not. 
The thought of death on the one fide affaulteth 
our life : and on the other, the paffions of the 
minde to forfake our goodes, friends, wife, chil 
dren, and the worlde, doe Hill pricke vs. O 
what troubles and afflictions, what terrors and 
paffions, abideth this our confufed bodie : which 
the moft part of our time is replete with anger, 
rancor, and malice, but often voyde (rather euer) 
of iuftice, mercie, and pittie. And laftly, what 
doth one man for another ? He caufeth that by 
force the good is troden downe with the euill. 
The foole taketh away the reputation of the 
wife : the Iyer plucketh out of his feate him that 
alwayes telleth troth : the noble Gentleman well 
brought vp is ruled by the vndifcrete and rude 
Cloyne. What more? vertue alacke dieth, but 
ignoraunce liueth. Wherefore our Hate is in 
more daungers and troubles than his, that flying 
the fiercenefle of fower Lions to faue himfelfe, 
leapt into a Well with greater daunger. As 
writeth the great Philofopher Tialonus. 

A Parable of the Worlde. 

A certayne lufty yong man trauelling throughe 
a defert countrie, wandering to and fro amongft 




the thicke and huge woodes, happened one day 
to come into a great large playne, where not 
farre from him he fawe trauerfing in the way 
fower great and terrible Lions : whereof he being 
marueiloufly afrayd (to beholde fo horrible a 
light), tooke him to his legges and ranne for 

life : and bicaufe he was not able to runne fo 
farre right out, as the Lions had force to followe 
him, by good hap in running he was ware of a 
Well in the middeft of the field, about which 
grew certain wilde rootes of little trees, and, 
being come to the Well he caught holde with 



his handes of the thwigges of the fame, and fo 
caft himfelfe into it, hanging by force of his 
armes vpon the thwigges, not falling downe at 
all : and throwing his legges a crofle to the fides, 
he ftayde himfelfe with them, and the ftrength 
of his hands to kepe him from falling downe. 
While hee ftoode thus vpon his feete and force 
of handes, looking downe into the Well, he fawe 
a terrible Dragon that with open mouth gaped 
for his fall. This youth brought nowe to fuch a 
prefent mifchiefe, rayfed vp himfelfe perforce 
fometimes, and looked out of the Well to fee if 
thefe devouring beafts were gone their waye : 
and feeing them Handing hard by him, with 
great forrowe and paine he hunge Hill on force 
of his armes fcant able to continue. A newe 
mifhappe (and worfe than all the reft) aflaulted 
this iolye youth. Two beafts of colour white 
and blacke came to gnaw the rootes of thefe 
thwigges, the tops whereof he gladlye helde faft 
in his handes to fuftaine himfelf aliue withall : 
so that nowe he fawe prefent death on euerie 
fide prefented. Remayning thus in this daunger 
(brought to forrow and difpaire), cafting backe 
his eie, he fawe a little hole behind him wherein 
there was a pot full of honie, layd there by 
chaunce by fome fhepehearde palling by that 
waye. And forgetting quite in what termes 



of life he ftode, he beganne with one hande to 
tafte of it, holding himfelfe by the other, and 
fo long hee attended to thys little tafte, that 
forow ftroke him on the necke. For the two 
beafts had gnawen a funder the rootes when he 
hedlong fell into the Well and died. 

What is fignified hereby, or who can other- 
wife interprete it, but thus: The Well repre- 
fenteth the world. The foure Lions the foure 
elements, which feeke ftill to deuour man. The 
Dragon with gaping mouth, what was it elfe but 
the graue ? The two thwigges or boughes, tem- 
porall goodes and loue to which we are wholly 
inclined : both which by the two beaftes are 
gnawen a funder, the one white, the other blacke, 
which are vnderftanded for the day and night. 
But the pot with that little fweete honie, to 
which we are giuen, not regarding our daunger, 
betokeneth no other but the fhort pleafure 
of this worlde, which retayneth vs, and 
fuifereth vs not to knowe the daungers 
and troubles of this moft miferable 
world, and of our thrall and 
troubled lyfe. 

The Seconde Part of Morall Phi- 

lofophie^ fhewing 1 the wonderfull 

abufes of this wretched 


ANY and diuers are the fayinges 
of our wyfe and auncient Fathers 
fpoken to exhort man to quiet- 
nefle, and to make himfelfe won 
derfull in behauiour, wyfe and 
ware in thefe wordly thinges, and pacient of 
life. That noble Romaine that fought and 
laboured to bring the people and communaltie 
to loue their Magiftrates and fuperiours, tolde 
them a pretie tale (to write it happilye in this 
Booke for him that knoweth it not) howe the 
handes were angrie with the bodie, and thus at 
variaunce would not for malice giue meate to 
the mouth: as thofe that thought themfelves 
inferiour to no other member, and thought 
fcorne to take fuche paynes, and the other 
members not. By reafon whereof vfing this 



abftinence of felfe will a while, refrayning to 
doe their office in giuing meate to the bellie : 
the bellie fuffering lacked his fuftinance, the 
handes alfo beganne to leaue the fkirmiftie, and 
knowing then their lacke and hurt (for pre- 
feruation of both) repenting themfelues, they 
returned to their office, and beganne againe to 
feede the mouth. And thus vnited both in 
one, they preferued eche other. With this pretie 
tale he made the people fenlibly to vnderftand 
what became them, and how they mould be- 
haue themfelues to their fuperiours, for their 
muft needes be Magiftrates and inferiours, Mai- 
fters and fervaunts. An other likewife tolde a 
tale, that manye yeares paft there was a Horfe 
vfed to feede in a goodly pafture, where hee 
alone was Lorde and Maifter within himfelfe. 
At length by chaunce there came within his 
dioceife a mightie growne Hart, who tooke 
his herbage there as his right alfo, and did 
eate and feede beyond all reafon or meafure. 
Infomuch that this horfe difdaining his beaftly 
attempt, chafed this Hart from the ground full 
many a time & oft. And perceyuing he could 
not for all that ouercome him, bicaufe his homes 
were of as much force as his feete, he was madde 
for anger. It happened fo one day a man came 
through this pafture, and paffing by, the horfe 



came neare him, and tolde htm his whole mif- 
hap, praying him to helpe him. This man that 
was more wife and fubtill than a beaft, tolde 
the horfe that hee alone coulde not doe this 
feate, and mewed him plainly that he muft 
needes haue faddle, bridle, and rodde : to fpeak 
of ftirrops, ftirrop leathers, and fpurres, me think 
it no wordes of Grammer. For when the Latine 
tongue was onely vfed they had no fuch termes, 
bicaufe they had no fuch toyes. The beaft to 
be reuenged of the other beaft did beaftly let 
himfelfe be ridden, and like a beaft became 
prifoner to the man. ^Efope recyteth alfo many 
of thefe pretie fables, being verie pleafant, 
learned, fharpe, profitable, and full of Mora- 
litie, as you fhal heare in this deceytfull framed 
practife deuifed by a Moyle, betwene the Lion 
king of all beafts and the Bull, which was 
neuer made and inuented by the wife Fathers 
to other ende, but to fhadow and couer the 
life of man from the foule fpottes of vice : as 
fheweth you this prefent hyftorie following. ' 

In India, in thofe worthy and iuft times 
adorned with vertue and wifdome, euery one 
of thofe royall princes (as Lordes of noble man 
ners and behauiour) retayned with them in their 
princely Courtes men no lefle learned than ver- 



tuous. Among which a king there was (called 
in their tongue) Diftes, who defired much to 
reade hyilories, and to imprint in memorie the 
goodly and profitable examples to direct him 
and his withall. O noble time and happie 
yeares : in his reigne I faye liued in this Diftes 
Court this noble Philofopher Sendelar, fo ex 
cellent in his comparifons and examples, as no 
man that went before or after him coulde once 
go euen with him, much leffe exceede him. This 
worthy Prince rapt with the excellencie of this 
rare (yea odde) man, moft willingly fpent fome 
time in difcourfing with him : and this wonder- 
full Philofopher alfo with deepe and profounde 
fentences mewed his worthinefle. But amonge 
all the beft thinges hee fpake, hee alwayes ad- 
monimed the Prince to haue a good eie to his 
Court, and a founde iudgement to iudge hys 
people : and chiefly that hee fhoulde not loue 
fauour, nor elteeme for friendes (endeuoring 
himlelfe all he coulde to knowe them) double 
tongued men, lyers, tale bearers, and vitious 
liuers. And to the ende his Maieflie ihoulde 
foone feele fuch mates as it were at hys fingers 
endes, he made him a longe difcourfe of their 
maners and practifes, with thefe examples which 
you mail heare, woonderfull and learned. 



Beholde the pageants and 
miferies of the court of this Wbrlde. 

There was a Heyward or neteyarde that had 
the keeping of a great herde of Cattell in a large 
common, as Gotes, Sheepe, Mares, Kyne, Horfes, 
and Bullockes, And it happened that a Bull 
amongft the herde (called by y e herdman Chia- 
rino) became in looue wyth a iolye yonge Heigh- 
fare, that had diuers trimme markes and fpottes 
on her fkinne, and was fauoured and belyked alfo 
of the Herdman who for hir beautie and fayre- 
nefle named hir likewife Incoronata, and many 
times did crowne hir with a garlande of fundrye 
fortes of flowers. Ill fortune willinge it, and hir 
deftinye with all, this fayre yonge Heighfare play 
ing and leaping from hill to hill, unfortunately 
fell and brake hir necke, and with hir fall dyed. 
This herdman fimplye fleade hir, and with hir 
fayre ikinne made him an open caffock fauadge 
fafhion. Now I leaue you to imagine the rage and 
madneffeof thisBull, lacking hisfayreyonge heigh- 
fare,that like other Bulles wandered vp and downe 
to feeke hir. In this raging beftiall loue of hys, 
the herdeman foolifhly caft vpon him the caflbck 
made of the heighfares fldnne, which this Bull 
feing runneth fiercely vnto the herdeman, lowing 



and fnuffing extremely, in fo muche as if the 
herdeman had not hyed him quicklye to have 
caft it of his backe, the Bull had forthwith 
panched him. The cloyne being mad with 
Chiarino the Bull that had feared him thus, 
threwe his hedging bill at hym, and hitting hym 
full on the knee he cutte him fuch a game, as 
he had beene as good almoft haue howght him. 
So this poore Bull with his wounde was left in 
the fielde, not able to go after the herde. The 
herdeman after the tyme of gifting hys cattell 
came out, and that the feafon of the yeare did 
hafte him home to preferue the beaftes from the 
Iharpe and bitter wether of the mountaines 5 he 
brought them into the playnes againe, and 
delivered vp his account of them all, fhewinge 
infteade of the heighfare his caffock made of hir 
fkinne, declaring hir death and the Bulles depar 
ture. Saying that the Bull beinge in loue with 
hir, (and in his chiefe pride) ranne his waye, and 
ftrayed fo farre, that he went quite out of light 
and coulde never be fet eye on agayne fo that 
the owner amazed with that tale quieted himfelfe. 
This poore Chiarino lefte all alone and lickely, 
limping went feeding vp and downe, and fteppe 
by fteppe halting on (paffing thorowe many 
mountaines and hilles) in many dayes he hapned 
to come into a folitarie (but fertile) country, in 


habited with infinit number of wilde beaftes : 
and meeting there with good pafture and better 
ayre, in time he waxed whole and founde as euer 
he was, failing that age had ftolen upon him, by 
meanes whereof he had quite forgot Incoronata : 
to weete the crowned heighfare. Yet con 
tinuing thus without any make of his kinde, he 
rored and yelled amiddeft that valley & caues, 
whofe lowing ecco rebounding backe with terrible 
founde, imprefTed a merueylous feare in all the 
herde of wilde and fauadge beaftes. The Lyon 
that was Kinge of all the reft, hearing the hollow 
and fearefull noyfe of this mighty Bull, not 
acquainted before with the like noyfe : notwith- 
ftanding his hardineffe, yet was hee fore afrayde 
and amazed both, and durft not once for lhame 
faye I am afrayde. In the ende parplexed thus, 
he refolved to fende a fpye, and calling to him 
fecretely a wilde Bore, he fent him ftraight to 
fee what newe and ftraunge thing that was. This 
wilde Bore running through thickets, thornes, 
bryers, and hedges, at length came neare to the 
Bull. And when he fawe fo goodly a beafte, 
with his fharpe homes fo pointing out, and with 
his parted hide (halfe blacke, halfe white) and 
blafed ftarre in the foreheade, fo well fhaped with 
all hee ftoode in a maze, as one ouercome with 
feare, and fo much the more, bicaufe at that 



inftant the Bull put forth three or foure terrible 
lowes. So that the poore wylde Bore was driuen 
for feare to hide himfelfe in mudde, all faue his 
head onely. Now when he efpied his time he 
retourned to the Lyon, and tolde him the qualitie 
and condition of thys moft terrible beafte. 1 do 
not tell you now what feare this Lyon had, that 
princelyke kept his denne, as kinge in deede, 
of all the reaft : and that was a Pallace for the 
counfayle, a chamber of prefence for his Gentle 
men, wherein they gaue themfelves to difport. 
But of this kingly feare was ware a fauadge AfTe 
of longe appointed eares, and priuie to the fame 
alfo a Moyle, brother to the AfTe, which both 
determined to vnderftande the caufe. The mee 
Affe, Aunt to the Moyle, and mother of the Afle, 
chaunced fodeinly to heare certaine whifperings 
amongft them, and one foftly to fay to the other, 
It is no marueyle that the Kinge cometh not oute 
of hys denne. It is no marueyle neither that he 
goeth not ahunting, hawking, fyfhing, tournieng 
and i lifting other whyle as hee was wont to doe. 
The other anfwered, It is certayne that he is 
afrayde of that great and mightie Beefe, and that 
he fufpe&eth his kingdome fhoulde be taken 
from him. Doeft thou not marke his croffe 
aunfweres, howe wyde from the matter? hee is fo 
full of choller that he wyll fpeake to no ma, 



neyther fuffer any to fpeake to him : fo as hee is 
not to be delt withall by any. The fliee Afle 
vnderftanding the effect of their talke by dyfcre- 
tion, flepping in betweene them both, me would 
needes make the thirde, and faye hir minde too. 
He that is well cannot keepe him fo. The Lyon 
taketh you both for hys friendes, therefore feeke 
not I praye you that that pertayneth not to you. 
What a goodyere haue you to do to meddle in 
his matters ? are yee out of your wittes, or wearye 
of your liues ? or what wilbe, attende you on 
Gods name to your bufynefle. For hee that is 
bufye in that he knoweth not, nor toucheth him 
not, and that concerneth not his Arte; if any 
mifchaunce lighteth on him, he hath but that he 
hath iuflly deferued. As I will tell you hereafter 
a tale of an Ape, and what hapned to hym, bicaufe 
he woulde needes meddle with a craft he had 
no (kill of. But before I beginne to tell you I 
will make a little digreffion with two wordes. 

It hath bene an olde and true opinion, that 
for the feruante to fearch his maifters doings it is 
both naught and vncomely too : but to delire to 
know the Princes caufes or affaires is of all other 
yet mofl daungerous. And naturally who fo is 
giuen to be a fearcher out of other men's doings, 
he can neuer be reckened good nor honefl. Now 
giue eare vnto the tale. 



A tale of an Ape medling in 
that he had no f kill. 

There was an Ape in our Maifters woodes, 
which made manie pretie toys and deuifes with his 
handes, for I that carried home the woode from 
thence fa we it, and therefore I can be witneffe 
of it. But one day being bufie to meddle with 
an Arte he had no fkill of in ileade of a rime he 
caught a frogge. I fay therefore that a laboring 
man of oures went one daye to the woode, and 
hewed out a lode of woode, which laying on my 
backe I caried home. It fortuned one daye that 
he cloue certaine logges or billets not very bigge : 
and to make them fitte for burdens he hewed 
them with a long axe, riuings them with wedges 
out of hand, that the woode opened, fo that 
giuing fower ftrokes with the Betell he layde 
them on the ground in peeces. Nowe this blefled 
Ape got him up to the top of an oke and looked 
diligently after what maner this labourer hewed 
his woode in fo fmall pieces, and was verie defirous 
(as it feemed) to proue it with his owne handes 
if he coulde likewife doe the fame, and he had 
his delire. The woode cleauer hauing clouen 
one halfe afunder, left it euen fo, and went and 
layde him downe in the lhadowe to take a nappe : 
fo that the wedges and axe remayned in the woode. 



Straight commeth doune this foolifti Ape from 
the Oke, and ketcheth holde on the fteale of the 
Axe, and tampered fo long withall that at length 
he gate it out of the logge : but euen,with his 
ftriving the axe comming out at a twitch vnawares 
layd him alongeft on the blocke, and one of his 
legges vnhappily dipt in the clyft, which clofing 
togither, helde his foote as faft as might bee, fo 
that for extreeme paine he cried out as he had 
been gelt. The cleauer of woode that lay not 
farre of, hearing this noife and lowde crie, ranne 
to the place, and faw this foolifh beaft caught 
faft in the logge. Which then too late efpied his 
beaftly follie ; that he tooke vpon him to meddle 
in things that pertained not to him, when he faw 
this churlim Cloyne lift vp his armes with a Bat 
in his handes to pafhe his braines a peeces : 
which he full dearely bought with the lofle of 
braine and life. 

It is not good therefore I tell you plaine for 
you to deale in Princes matters, to fearche out 
their meanings & intents. If needes yee will, 
marke well my wordes -, and faye I tolde it you. 
Vpon my lyfe yee bothe in the ende fhall feele 
thefmartand payne thereof. The Affe perfwaded 
by his Mothers wordes left off his enterprife : 
but the prowde Moyle fayde, I intende to know 



them, and therefore I will get mee to the court. 
And I will you knowe, deare Mother, that 
manuell craft is one exercife, and to knowe to 
behave themfelues in Court is an other Arte. 
Thy wordes in parte are good, to caufe them 
refrayne from doing things they can not bring to 
pafle. But to me that muft remaine in Princes 
Court, I maye not go fo plainlye and fimply to 
worke, but muft vfe euery one with Arte, feeding 
ilill their humor -, to deale in others matters with 
deceyt, and in mine owne to have a fubtill witte, 
deuifing ftill all I may to be chiefe about the 
Prince. And that that now I haue tolde you, I 
haue long iince determined to doe. In Princes 
Courts he that proceedeth not ftowtely in his 
matters, befides that he is thought a Coward, they 
take him for a foole. What ? Know not you 
that fortune fauoureth ftill the prowde and 
ftowte ? think ye my ftowtenefle will not fauour 
me, accompanied with the malice of vnderftand- 
inge, and with the pride of reputing my felfe 
of noble bloud, which preheminences obtaine 
happie ftate in Court ? And he that hath the 
name to bee wife, fubtile, fharpe of wit, and with 
that to be of noble houfe : hath made him already 
a Cloke for finne, and a garment for his naughti- 
neffe. That that I haue fayde I fpeake with 
iudgement, and for proofe thereof I can alledge 



you infinit examples. The Pecocke though his 
faire tayle couer his fowle feete, yet it is not 
faide that he fcrapeth in dunghill at all, but he is 
reputed the faireft Fowle of two feete. The 
flefhe of the Tortoife that is fo good and holefome 
for man is not readily folde, but rather lotheth 
many becaufe of his vglye light. If I doe but 
looke well into Princes Courtes, none go great 
thither, and thofe that come to greatneffe clime 
by diuers degrees. Who for vertue, another for 
flrength, and fome (be it fpoken with reuerence 
of thofe beafles that haue vnderflandinge) for 
malice: others by continuall feruice, and numbers 
by other meanes. He that rifeth thus in great 
neffe, and is noble and vertuous, it feemeth he 
goth into his proper naturall houfe : but he that 
commeth to that greatneffe with malice, and 
fayned appearance, he may make iuft account I 
fay that they are but lent him. 

^T Yea marie nowe thou commeft to vnder- 
ftande me, therefore and thou be wife go not to 
the Court how foeuer thou doeft. For if Fortune 
mould make thee great, whether it were by Arte, 
fubtiltie, or deceit : the Lordes and Peeres that 
are fine and cunning, and knowe all the points 
of malice, would doe to thee, as a Judge of the 
beaftes did to the Woolfe. And hearken howe. 



A tale of the Woolfe concerning 
breach of promife. 

A Woolfe was taken in a fnare that a (hepeheard 
had pitched at the foote of a hill (where euerye 
morning he founde the haunt and tracke of the 
Woolfe's feete) and at that time there paffed by 
another filly fhepeherde, whom the Wolfe called 
to him, and made a bargain with him, that if he 
would lofe him he woulde neuer take any of his 
fhepe, & thereupon gaue him his faith. The 
ihepeherde newly come to keepe (heepe, like a 
foole beleeued him, and loiing him in deede let 
him goe. The Woolfe being at libertie ftrayde 
not farre but he had gotten a fatte Weather by 
the neck: the fhepeherde feeing that, complained, 
and appealed to the Judges, and tolde them the 
pleafure he had done him, and what the Wolfe 
did promife him. The Woolfe being brought 
before the Judges, denied that he promifed him 
ought : and if they would needes make it that 
he had made him a promife, he fayd that in that 
place where they fay he had promifed him, he 
would go from his worde againe. The Judges 
agreed, and went togithers to the place. The 
Woolfe being come to the foote of the hill, faid 
to the fhepeherd : was I here ? yea anfwered 



hee. And here then fayde the Woolfe before 
thefe Judges I doe vnfaye it againe. Naye 
fayde the Judges (knowing his malice) it will 
not ferue thee, vnleffe thou wert faft tied in the 
fnare euen as he founde thee. The Woolfe glad 
to be releafed of his promife (being indeede a 
fubtile beaft, but yet not drawing fo deepe as 
the Judge vpon the fodeine) beaftly fuffered him- 
felfe to be fnared againe as the fhepeherde found 
him. O, now thou art fafe fayde the fhepeherde, 
keepe thee there, denie it nowe a Gods name, I 
giue thee leaue, thou malt mocke me no more I 
warrant thee. Whilefl this matter was doing 
thus, the other fhepeherde commeth in the nicke 
that firft had pitched his fnare, and fo tooke the 
Woolfe for praye (as of right hee might) and 
forth with he Que him with his fheepehooke. 
So that now you may heare how they fare that 
liue upon deceyt. Go not therefore I faye, if thou 
meane to clyme to high degree by fuch vnlawful 
and difhoneft meanes. Then fayde the Affe unto 
the Moyle his brother as followeth. 

Brother Moyle our Mother hath reafon, and 
fure me telleth thee true. Thou promifefl largely 
to thyfelfe. Thou feekeft when thou art caught 
not to lofe thyfelfe, but to catch others, with no 
profit to thee but hurt to others : and this is not 



thy waye to deale. Therefore I my felfe per- 
fwade thee now to tarie, and bidde thee not to 
go. She fayth true anfwereth the Moyle. But 
mall I telle thee brother Afle ? A fimpler beaft 
in the worlde than thou, liueth not. Thou pro 
ceeded: limply like a good goofe. Thou careft 
for no more fo thou haue three or fower thiftels 
to gnaw vpon, and a little water to drinke ferueth 
thy turne. I pray thee tell me : are there not in 
the Kinges Court many meaner in all conditions 
than I ? if Fortune haue fauoured them why the 
goodyere mould me not alfo fauour mee ? if I 
had not manye times feene (fayde the Affe) a 
little Affe eate a great bundell of ftraw, I would 
yeelde to thee, and confirme thy opinion. But 
woteft thou what ? a little Axe ouerthroweth a 
great Oke. The arrowes for the moft part touch 
the heigthes, and he that clymeth vp to the tops 
of trees, falling hath the greater broofe. But I 
fee deare brother Moyle thou fhakeft thy heade 
at me, and that thou little forceft my wordes : 
and fure I were a great and monfterous beaft to 
perfwade myfelfe to obtayne that, which our 
Mother coulde neuer reache vnto. But lith it 
booteth not to perfwade thee, and that thou art 
felfe willed and bent to goe to the Court, (com 
pelled thereto by a naturall inftinct, which for 
the moft part driueth euerie one headlonge for- 



warde, and that thou canft not fliunne it) I will 
yet ihewe thee what fauour and helpe I can : but 
by the waye take this leffon. 

For the firft thing thou malt flie ignorance, 
which euer fitteth ftill and doth nothing, and hath 
two great eares as thofe of mine thou feeft, but 
hir feete take part after the Griffin, and part 
after the Affe. One part lignifieth that the 
ignorant are familier Afles, & the other that they 
are greedie of honor, and of the profit of good 
deferuing beaftes. Thofe long eares fignifie the 
ignorant, which will heare all others doings, and 
beleeve they knowe all thinges. Thou muft 
alfo be true to thy maifter, and when thou art 
once retained in feruice, thou muft not betraye 
thy Lorde for any golde or corruption in the 
world. For many times thofe that are in fauour 
with Princes, and neare about them, are fought 
vnto to practife to poyfon them, to kill them, to 
doe them fome mifchiefe, or alfo to robbe them 
of their treafure, and to fubvert their whole ftate. 
For no refpect in the world, whileft thou art in 
feruice, (nor after) fee thou deceive him not of a 
mite. I do aduife thee alfo to be pacient. For 
thefe Lordes and States I tell thee for the moft 
part are fantafticall, and I marueile not at it at 
all : for in deede the Princes matters and affaires 



doth fo occupie and trouble their heades that 
God knoweth they are full of paffions,, and can 
yee blame them? Therefore fometimes, will 
they nill they, they looue and hate againe. And 
when thou perfwadeft thy felfe (by reafon of a 
fewe fmyling lookes they haue ouerwhile giuen 
thee) that thou art in highfauour, then theyfeeme 
not to knowe thee. And thou mufte alfo looke 
after recompence of thy feruice, though vnhappily 
thou haft perhaps beftowedfiue and twentie yeares 
time, and thy youth withall, and yet notwith- 
ftanding haft not beene the better a rum for 
al this: and another in foure daies is made 
riche. For thus thou fhouldeft but wrappe thy 
felfe in care to thy vndoinge and yet the thing 
nothing remedied. And what ? they will not 
fticke to playe thee many of thefe pranckes. 
Therefore he that cannot beare it patiently, lifteth 
vp his head, and a flie lighteth on his nofe, and 
byteth him with thefe and fuch like Courtly 
graces, & fo goeth his way : fo he that loofeth 
his time and yeres. Pacience therefore that oft 
goeth to fleepe with Hope, bringeth thee at leaft 
to fuche ende as thou art not ware of, and fome 
time it carieth meate in mouth & getteth thee 
fomewhat. Feare generally muft be thy right 
eie to guide thee with. Thou muft feare the 
enuie of Courtiers, for they will make thee 



ftumble and laye thee flat on the ground vpon 
thy nofe. And the more thou groweft in 
fauour with thy Maifter, and that he giueth 
thee, and make thee fatte in purfe : fo much 
more take thou heede to thy felfe, and looke 
about thee. Now marke well what followeth. 

The vnthankfulneffe of Maifters. 

Buriafo (one of our corporation) was a certayne 
beaft that if thou hadft knowne him, thou wouldeft 
rather haue taken him for a flouenly beaft than a 
man. He brought vp a Soowe and made fo much 
of hir that he himfelfe fedde hir with one hande, 
and with the other he clawed hir. And when 
this Soowe had often times brought him Pigges, 
and that good ftore at a farrowe, he ftyed her vp 
and fatted hir, and when fhe was fat, (forgetting 
the loue he bare hir) he flicked hir, and in time 
eate hir. There are fuch like Maifters that clawe 
thee with one hande, that is, they giue thee faire 
wordes : with the other they feede thee, to weete, 
they giue thee draffe. And when thou haft 
ferued them (which is vnderftanded by the bring 
ing foorth of Pigges) a time and fpent thy youth : 
and if Fortune be thy friende, then they giue 
thee, and make thee riche : If thou die before 
thy good happe, farewell thou, fo much is faued. 



If thou Hue long, and art growne fatte, fome 
blaft of difpleafure may call thee to Coram. So 
art thou chopt vp, the lawe proceedeth on thee, 
and fhortly all the fatte and greafe thou haft 
gotten before melteth into the Princes Gofers. 
Howbeit, I may tell it to thee (he it fpoken 
without offence of beaftes of vnderftanding) there 
is good prouifion made to the contrarie now 
adayes. For wljat fo euer becometh of them- 
felues they make all fure that they can : let the 
carkas go where it will, the fatte and greafe they 
haue gathered is betimes difpofed to others for 
feare of that they looked for. And thus all 
thinges are preuented by polycie. I fay no more. 
This is the worlde, and fo it goeth. Keepe this 
in minde and harcken further. 

If fortune fauour thee fo that thy Maifter make 
fuch account of thee, as he commeth to afke thy 
counfell in anye thing : doe not as many Coun- | 
fellors doe, and thofe that are in eftimation with 
Princes : which thinking to pleafe them, giueth 
them counfell according to the profite they finde 
for them, and according to the Princes paflion, 
I maye not faye, will, and right. But bee thou 
bolde to fay truely and vprightly, not looking in 
any bodies face. If thy Maifter fhoulde happen 
to frowne upon thee, and that he were angrie, in 



anye wife holde thy peace, and replie not againe 
as others doe, neither fhake thy heade as though 
thou miilykederY, but get thee out of fight as 
thou wert not hee. Neuer be afrayde of bend 
ing his browes, or of a frowning looke, as longe 
as thou ftandeft vpright, that is : that thou 
proceedeft truly and honeftly in thy doings. 
Sometimes they giue thee faire words, and do to 
thee as the fowler that catcheth Thrufhes that 
cried out for colde of his handes amongeft the 
boughes : and the Thrufhes that were in the cage 
to make a noyfe, fayde that he cried for that he 
was forie they came to ftoope to the Birdlime. 
No fayde a little Birde looke to his handes, and 
let his eyes alone. Take alwayes heede to the 
doinges and not to the wordes. Knoweft thou 
not of the Quaile that hunge out of the windowe 
in a Cage, and a fparrow-Hawke feeing hir, 
ftooped downe to the Cage, and fayde to hir, 
Daughter mine, be not afrayde, make no noyfe, 
for I bring thee good newes : and began to tell 
hir ftraunge and pleafant fables, and in the meane 
while with hir talentes Ihe beganne to teare the 
wyers of the Cage. The Quaile leauing to give 
eare to hir bablinges, feeing hir woorking well 
ynough, began to be frowarde, and to beftirre 
hir. Inafmuch as hir Maifter hearing hir flut 
tering in the Cage (knowing there was fomewhat 



about hir) ranne to the windowe and fo faued 
hir. Truft not therefore I faye the words of 
fuch, but beleeue their doings, and alwaies fay & 
do thou well : Giue good counfell, and be 
alwayes prayling of thy Maifter. And if thou 
fee him take vppon him anye enterprife for his 
profite and reputation, commende it, and exalte 
it : aflift him, and encourage him to it. Thou 
muft be wife alfo thou reache not to farre, that 
thou take not more vppon thee than thou art 
able to difcharge, but alwayes keepe thee within 
boundes, if fortune mould neuer fo little fauor 
thee. For the fauor of the Maifter is a hill full 
of goodly flowers, and wonderfull fruites and 
plantes. But in this hill there dwelleth moft 
cruell and terrible beaftes. Some fpitteth forth 
furie, fome poyfon, one fpitteth fire, another 
fmoke : fo that thou muft alwayes bee armed to 
defende thyfelfe, or elfe that thou may not be 

The Moyle being weried with the cumber- 
fome wordes of the Affe his Brother, cutting off 
his talke, as one whofe Judgement with ambition 
was corrupted, he tooke his heeles, and on his 
waye to the Court he flingeth to this princely 
King and Lion. And being come vnto his 
Maiefties prefence obferuing all maner of duties 



and reuerances pertinent to fo royall a throne (as 
his fubtil! and craftie Moilelhip knew well 
ynough to doe) euen forthwith he crept into his 
bofome, and got into his fauor, faying thus. The 
fame of your Royall Maieftie which runneth 
through the world, hath made me not onely to 
come to humble myfelfe, and to doe my dutie, 
but alfo to offer your highneffe my feruice : put 
ting him in remembrance alfo that many yeares 
agoe (in their firft yong flouriftiing age) the Affe 
his brother and he were verie familier with his 
Maieftie : and in maner all one with him. And 
fhewing him that he was able to doe his Maieftie 
feruice in many things, he kiffed his feete, and 
offered him armour and horfes to feme his 
Maieftie and the Real me: adding thereto, that 
it woulde pleafe his highneffe to accept his poore 
offer : faying that a little toothpike doth feruice 
to the greateft Prince, which he alwaies occupieth 
in his mouth, being reckened one of the chiefeft 
places a man hath. 

The Moyle's words greatly pleafed the King, 
and turning to his Lordes hee fayde. Sure my 
Lordes mee thinketh he hath a deepe iudgement 
& capacitie, and as I remember in their very youth 
his brother and he had excellent wittes, and fee I 
pray you now how trimly he is come forwarde : I 



promife you he hath fpoken verie clarkly. Surely 
he is able to doe vs good feruice at all times when 
we call him. And to conclude my deare Lords, 
vertue cannot longe bee hidden, albeit for a time 
by fome euill accident it be opprefled. Flame 
and fire alfo couered with violence, when it 
burfteth out againe, fheweth the greater, and 
maketh waye where it commeth. Beholde how 
orderly hee came to me. And though we cannot 
knowe his inwarde minde, and that it were not 
that it fheweth : yet is it fitting for a noble Prince 
to entertaine him that commeth, not knowing him 
at all. Although the Needle pricketh, yet a man 
occupieth it to ferue his turne, and is as neceffarie 
as a Knife. Wee will place euery one in his 
rowme. The firft feate is for the Elephantes, the 
other for the Camels j the Apes in their place, 
and fo forth, to vfe eche one according to his 
degree and calling. For the nailes may not be 
placed where the teeth are, nor the teethe where 
the eyes ftande, much lefie the eyes in place of 
the heeles: but let euery member doe in his 
place his office pertayning to him. A man to 
feede Serpents, were a ftrange fight and perillous. 
For he fhoulde not only ftande in danger to haue 
his hande deuoured of the Serpent, but to be 
ilaine foorthwith alfo with his fpitting poyfon. 
Our common weale is like vnto a bodie which 



diuerfly doth occupie diueres meanes. The eares 
goe not, the feete heare not, the nailes crye not, 
neyther doth the tongue fcratch or giue any 
helpe, as doth the office of the nayles. In thofe 
Cities where thefe tame beaftes doe dwell : they 
make not Rattes to ketche Hennes, nor Hennes 
ketche Hares, or Garden wormes ketche Flies, 
nor Flies ketch Graiftioppers, but euery one 
doth his office. The Catte taketh Mife, the 
Grey hounde the Hare, the Foxe the Hennes, the 
Hounde the Foxe, the yong the older The 
fparrowe Hawke flieth at Quailes, the Gofhawke 
at Pheafants, and the Falcon at Partridges. I 
haue a fmall Court, and a little Realme, but for 
thofe fewe beaftes of heade that I keepe, they 
are able to doe feruice, in refpect of other 
Princes, which kepe a rabblement of rafcals & 
miferable wretches, with little honor, and great 
fhame. I better like my little and fruitful 
countrie, than a greater being barren : yea, & I 
am one of thofe that loue a good feruante, though 
he be a ftraunger, as I doe thofe of mine owne 
countrie. The fruites of our ortcharde are good, 
and thofe that are broughte farre of are not yll.. 
If we fhoulde feede of no other but of our owne 
fruites, we mould feldome fill our bellies : faying, 
I will none of them bicaufe they are none of 
ours. Then turning to the Moyle, with a certaine 



louing afped, he followed on his tale. The 
worthinefs of the minde and vertue, is that that 
is to be efteemed. That fure is the knowne 
{hielde and armes of the true Gentilman, and not 
the greatneffe. The King in deede of right ought 
to imbrace men of fuch vertues and qualities, 
rewarding euery one according to his merits, and 
not to mew partialitie to any, and to banilhe out 
of his court all thofe that feeke for Jlngularum 
comodum, never to repute them for his friendes, 
nor to accept them for fervauntes. After thefe 
and a fewe other wordes hee fpake, he tooke 
his leaue of his Lordes, and withdrewe him felfe 
into his withdrawing chamber (as all Princes of 
like eftate are wont to doe) calling the Moyle to 
him, and fecretely they communed. Who when 
he faw the King make of him, and that he layde 
his faourable hande vppon the croope of his malice 
he wagged his tayle, aduancing him felfe in his 
Affe like maner, and finely couched in Rethoricke 
his cloked flatterie : and when he fawe his time, 
he fpared not to fpeake, and thus he fayde. 

Of the Turkic Cocke and what 
happened to him. 

A Turkic Cock (one of the faireft, of the 
braggeft, and alfo the ftatelieft in all our 



quarters) was taken prifoner in the battell of 
the Pigmies, and was folde to the King of 
Pheafants with condicion to be ranfomed. Who 
feeing fo fantafticall a beaft with fo great barbs, 
which fometime were a pale blew, fometime a 
fkie colour, now changed from that to white, 
and then to black againe, he wondered to fee 
thofe fodeine chaunges : and more beholding 
his fwelling and railing up his fethers, putting 
forth that home of flefhe, he fayde he neuer 
faw before fo goodly a woonder. And talking 
a little with him, hee founde him of a bigge 
voyce, of fewe wordes, but refolute, fo as hee 
made much of him. And wote ye what? thither 
came a number of beaftes of his countrie (vnder- 
flanding of his captiuitie) to ranfome him. But 
he being high minded, and reputing himfelfe 
the chiefe Birde of the dunghill (as true he 
was) would neuer fay he was a prifoner, but 
that he was amongft the Phefants for his plea- 
fure, and thus difpifed their fauor and the helpe 
of them all. On a time there came a friend of 
his to him, and fecretly offered to giue him 
(that no man mould know it) fo much golde as 
mould redeeme him out of prifon. But he re- 
fufed it, and woulde none of it, bicaufe he 
would not feeme to be a prifoner. In the ende 
(neceflitie enforcinge him, and remembring his 



cafe) hee was contented to be counfelled by that 
faithfull and louing friende of his, and clofely 
tooke the money (that in fine doth all) and 
payde it, and fo departed. For if he had con 
tinued in that foolifh reputation of him felfe 
Hill, and had dwelled in his obftinacie, he had 
perhaps dearly bought the price of his follye. 
It may peraduenture feeme to your Maieftie 
that I paffe the boundes of modeftie, if I mould 
open to your highneffe my meaning hereby. I 
come as your Maieftie's humble and faithfull 
feruaunt, and true friend, to tell your Maieflie 
that I am forie to fee you go no more abrode 
a hunting, a walking, and fporting yourfelfe at 
your pleafure as you were woont, but that you 
keepe your Pallace ftil with malancholie, which 
was not your woont I knowe. Well, I ftande 
nowe before your highneffe readie to fpende my 
life and goods in your feruice and quarell : and 
if I might knowe your griefe, I make no doubt 
at all but I woulde labour fo, that your Maieflie 
mould be fatisfyed, and lyke of my feruice. If 
you be troubled for any matter concerning the 
ftate, or any other thing of importaunce : your 
highneffe mufte impart it with a fewe of your 
faithfull feruants, and fuch as you truft beft. 
And although they be of the meaner fort, yet 
they maye ferue your Maieftie with hartie looue 



and good will, and doe their beft indeuour. I 
haue prefumed vnder you Maiefties good licence 
to faye thus much, bicaufe I recken myfelfe to 
be one of the faythfulleft feruaunts your Maieftie 
hath euer had, or now retayneth. 

The Lyon, as King of beaftes, and that knew 
before of the wilde Bores report the nature and 
propertie of this mightie beaft the Bull, mooued 
not a whit at thefe wordes, but wifelye hid that 
inwardly which hee openly vnderfloode j and 
with large wordes and new deuifes fayned diuers 
his perticular accidents, faying that he was not 
well at eafe, and founde himfelfe fubieft to his 
ordinarye ague. And thus the King and Moyle 
difcourling togithers (a happie chaunce for the 
Moyle, and an yll happe for the Lyon) the Bull 
that was harde at the Court gate gaue three or 
foure terrible lowes that the Lyon fhooke agayne 
to heare him as one that was more afrayde now 
than he was before, by reafon of the great noyfe 
and rebounde of his voyce : and not able any 
longer to hide his griefs, he fayde. This voice 
fo bigge and terrible runneth throughe my 
whole bodie, and in counfell I tell it thee, 
(knowing thy troth and fidelitie to me) I pro- 
mife thee I am afrayde of my Kingdome : and 
my reafon is this. That feeing the voyce of this 



fearefull beaft is fo great (as thou hearelt) it is 
lyke his bodie is aunfwerable to the reft, which 
if it be, I am in no fafetie. And now without 
further ceremonie thou knoweft the whole caufe 
of my fodeine chaunge and feare, therefore in 
this cafe I would be glad to heare thy opinion 
and iudgement. 

Mightie Prince, if no other noueltie or occafion 
haue caufed you to refrayne your pleafures but 
this voice which I haue heard, me thinketh it is 
but fmall and not to be accounted off. Your 
noble courage mould not be afraide of anything 
before you know it, and what it is, and whether 
it be to be feared or not : as I will let your 
Maieftie knowe by this tale I will tell you 
feruing for the purpofe. 

Of the Foxe and his foolijh feare. 

A foxe with all his familie chaunged his 
hole, and got him to another, and harde by the 
fame, there was a little cottage, where dwelled 
a .xxv. Muleters with their Moyles, and euerye 
morning betimes they came to lade them. You 
muft vnderftande that the noife of thefe fundrie 
fortes of belles and other trappings that they 
put aboute thefe beaftes, made all the countrie 



ringe with that mad noyfe. The Foxe hearing 
the founde of thys yll fauored noyfe ranne 
quickly to hide himfelfe in hys hole, where 
he lurcked Hill till the noyfe was gone : which 
was fuch, that it feared the Pullen, and feared 
him from his pray. One day this Foxe being 
on the fide of a hill, hearde againe this fearefull 
noyfe of belles, and lifting up his heade to looke 
about him, there he fawe thefe bleffed Moyles 
comming with their belles, and laughing to 
himfelf, was aihamed of his fimplicitie. The 
fame faye I vnto your Maieftie, that my opinion 
is, that this your Maiefties feare is fuch a like 
fantafie : and bicaufe your Grace mould be in 
formed with fpeede of this matter (afluring 
your Grace to kepe your griefe fecret) I doe 
offer my felfe, if it ftande with your pleafure 
to goe abrode into the Countrye, and to difcouer 
the thing vnto you. And fo foone as I (hall 
haue knowledge of the beaft and of his qualitie, 
I will forthwith aduertife your Maieftie howe it 
ftandeth, what the matter is, and how this geare 
goth about. And you mail know it euen as it 
is, I will not miffe a iotte, leaft you mould be 
informed contrarie of fome timorous beaft, taking 
one thing for another. Therefore I befech you 
fir comfort yourfelf, and let him alone that 
knoweth it: and thus he tooke his leaue, and 



trotted from the king. The king highlye com 
mended his counfell and aduice, and willed him 
to difpatch that he had promifed. 

This wormipfull Moyle was fcant out of fight, 
but the Lyon beganne to haue Hammers in his 
head, and to imagine a thoufande ftraunge de- 
uifes, and grewe in choler with himfelfe, fufpe6t- 
ing and fearing both at one time: and fayd. 
Well, what and he double with me ? yea, and 
how if he beguile me with his cloked colour to 
doe me good ? fure his foothing words doe not 
like me, mee thinketh he is to full of them. 
May not hee tell him with the terrible voyce, 
that I am afrayde of him? and out of doubt 
for as much as I can imagine, he cannot but 
be a beaft of a marueylous ftrength : and adding 
thereto the others treafon, it is another maner of 
thing than to be but afrayde only. For betweene 
them both they may vtterly vndoe mee. Many 
other milhappes fall out in this bucke, that if I 
had not this thought (feeling my feare) might 
happen. And peraduenture too this beaft is 
enimy to the Moyle, and wil fet him vpon me, 
to thende that I fhoulde reuenge fome injurie 
done him : and if he be as vnhappie as he 
feemeth for, out of doubt hee will not fayle to 
put a flea into his eare. Sure I mall be driuen 



to flie and haue the woorfte. O wretch that I 
am, what haue I done? alacke I fee I haue 
done amiffe, I have taken a wrong Soowe by 
the eare, and fo going in the darcke I muft 
needes fall. And thus the Lion out of one 
doubt leapt into two or three more, and ftoode 
betwixt life and death, with no lefle hope than 
great feare. Hee went vp and downe his Pallace 
like one halfe lunaticke, fretting and chafing, 
now aboue, then beneath, ftill looking for the 
Moyles coming, which had broken his appointed 
houre with the Kinge : yet at length looking out 
at a windowe (which opened to the playne 
fieldes) he efpied the beaft comming with a 
wondrous ioy. His Moyleihip brauely yerked 
out with both legges, and liuely fhook his eares 
and head. He brayed and flong as he had bene 
madde. The Lyon as though he had not bene 
grieued at all, returned againe into his place, 
and looked for the Moyle. Who arrived, was 
receiued ioyfully, and with good countenance of 
the whole court. The King after thefe graue 
folemnities and ceremonies done, retired into 
his withdrawing chamber with the Moyle : and 
vnderftanding by him that this beaft the Bull 
was faire, gentle, and pleafant withall, (and 
that for no refpecl; he mould once feeme to 
fufpe6t any thing in him, but if it had bene 



his Maiefties pleafure he would rather have 
brought him to his prefcence to haue done his 
dutie to him) hee reioyced much, and for very 
loue and kindneffe imbraced and luffed him an 
houre long togither. And hearing by him that 
this Bui was wife, and of good capacitie, and 
able well to execute j hee fent him backe again e 
with charge to bring him to the Court, at leaft 
to vfe all meanes and perfwafions he coulde 
poffible to bring him thither. The Moyle putt 
ing on a newe paire of mooes to doe the Prince 
feruice, galloped as he had flowne, and ilraight 
he was with the Bull, whom he founde lyinge 
in the fhadow, chewing of his cudde : and the 
Moyle lying downe by him began to talke in 
this maner. 

O faire Bull, and more than beloued brother : 
knowe thou I am Secretarie to the King of all 
vs vnreafonable beafts, and am fent to thee from 
the Lyon moft puifant and mightie, not only of 
men, but of ftrength aboue all other vnfpeakable. 
And as a friende I come to tell thee, that this 
gronde thou feedeft on, and dwelled in, is not 
thine, but pertaineth to his M aieflie. By reafon 
whereof he hath manye times put himfelfe in 
armes, and affembled his force, with minde to 
giue thee battell, and chafe thee out of his 



Realme, and peraduenture to take thy life from 
thee alfo. But I that am to him as I am (it 
maketh no matter :) was a meane vnto his 
Maieflie (as it is a part of all honeft beaftes) and 
tooke upon me this iourney to thee, and haue 
promifed the King in thy behalfe (I knowe thou 
wilt not deceyue mee) that thou malt come vnto 
his Maieftie, adding further too, that if thou 
hadft knowne his Maieftie had bene at hand (as 
he was indeede) I was bolde to faye thou wouldeft 
haue come to his highnefle, & humbly haue done 
thy dutie to him. AfTure thyfelfe he is a King 
that honorablye entertaineth, rewardeth, and 
requiteth any feruice done him by his faithfull 
feruants, and he is not alfo forgetfull of his 
friendes good willes. And if thou wilt be but 
fuch a beaft as thou oughteft to be, I warrant thee 
thou flialt fet thy foote by the Kings and bee no 
leffe thought of than he, and will he nil! he thou 
malt be as well fedde euery day as hee. If thou 
wilt not come aduife thee, I haue fayde, thinke 
vpon it : thou art olde ynough, there fore thou 
knoweft or fhouldeft knowe what thou hafte to 
doe. He is King here and will bee King too. 
If thou wilt not ihewe thy felf a fubiecl:, the 
Kinge is to doe as he thinketh good, and fo I 
leaue thee. The Bull that had no more the 
white fome in his mouth and had loft his luftie 



courage, wanting his yong and wonted force, 
confidered of it like an aged bodie, as hee had 
bene a gelt Oxe that had drawne in plough a 
xij yeares, and aunfwered many wordes confuf- 
edlye, running from one thinge to another, and 
thus they went debating and kneading of the 
matter togithers a good while : the Bull Hand 
ing rather in feare than hope ; which feare this 
Moyle with hys true reafons brought out of his 
heade againe. The Bull perfwaded by the 
Moyle was contented to go with him, relying ftill 
upon his promife. Who gaue him his worde 
that he fhould by this iourney (in goinge to 
ihewe his duetie to the King) haue no maner of 
hurt, neither in word nor deede : and this pro 
mife alwayes kept, he fayde he woulde wiflinglye 
abide with the Kinge. Then the Moyle bounde 
his promife with a folemne othe and that with 
as great an oth as a Moyle might fweare by : and 
that was by the eares of the Affe his brother. 
And then touching their feet togithers (I would 
faye handes in beaftes is vnderftanded) they kifled 
in the verye mouth euen with their tongues, and 
fo went on the neareft way. The King flanding 
in his flately Tarras, (mounted in the higheft 
place of his Prtncelie Palace) looking rounde 
about the Countrie, thinking it a thoufande yeares 
till he fawe this mightie Bull : beholde he fpied 




the Moyle comming and the faire Bull by his 
fide, marching demurely with his harde horned 
heade, that in ihow he feemed a great Lorde. 
Then fayde the King to himfelfe. O, what a 
goodly proportioned beaft is hee ? My Kingdome 
without his force were nothing. And euen in 

that moment at the firfl fight hee fell in loue 
with him. And nowe come to the Kinges 
prefence, this Bull kneeled downe, kitted his 
hande, and faluted him : and did fo finelye and 
cunninglye excufe his negligence in comming to 
his Maieftie, that the t Lordes flanding rounde 



about the King were rauimed with his wordes, 
they did fo pleafe them. The King bade him 
ftande vp, and willed him to tell the caufe why 
he kept fo long in thofe fieldes, and what hee 
ment to braye and rore fo terribly. The Bull 
tooke vpon him the oratores part, and ftanding 
afide from the beginning to the ende he tolde 
him the whole difcourfe of his miferies. So that 
the whole auditorie pitying his mifhaps became 
his friends. This Bull in his Oration, mewed 
him felfe to be a great Bacheler in Rethoricke, 
a great Maifler in Arte in grauitie to expounde 
things and a marueylous high hill of eloquence. 
The King wondering at his yeares, commanded 
ftreight ftables mould be provided for his Lord- 
ihip, and gaue him an infinite number of feruaunts 
to wayte upon him, making him Prince of Bulles. 
Dukes of Beefes, Marquefle of Calues, and Earle 
and Lorde great Maifter of Kyne : and with a 
wonderfull great prouifion he furniihed hys rackes 
yearly, and made hym of his priuie counfell. 
After he had imployed him a while, hee knewe 
his worthineffe and difcretion : fo that in the 
ende he made him Viceroy & greateft Lorde of 
his Realme. 

This Moile alfo that liued in Court in feruice 
of the Prince, more than a fewe good wordes, 



courteous entertainement, and familiar acceffe he 
had to the King hee could neuer get landes nor 
pofleflions : howbeit he obtained many pretie 
fuites of the Kinge, nowe for one man, than for 
another. Further,, he was fo bolde and familier 
with him that hee woulde not fticke to giue him 
worde for worde, nor forbeare him an inche. 
And patted many things by the Bulles meanes, 
which his mightie Bulfhip gaue him gratis, for 
that he was as a fworne brother to his Moilefhip. 
In the ende this Moyle growen thus great began 
to looke hie, and prouinder pricked him fo, that 
like a beaft (forgetting himfelfe) he muft needes 
take vpon him to reproue his Maieflie of parcia- 
litie, and ignoraunce ; and hauing no bodie that 
he might truft to breake withall he was ready 
to burft for anger. Wherefore he was forced 
to feeke oute the Afle his brother, and to make him 
priuie to the matter, knowing he had none fo 
fure a friend to him whom he might trufl but 
he. When they met, he beganne to tell him at 
large his whole griefe and trouble, complayning 
of the ingratitude of the King all at once, that 
he had fo long followed his tayle, and had neuer 
any thing of him worth his trauell ; and if I had 
done no more but brought him out of the feare 
he was in, and to bring the Bull to his prefence. 
And here hee poured out to the Aife a worlde 



of wordes, fayings, and deedes. The Afle that 
heard him all this while, began now to fpeake. 

I tolde thee ynough that thou wouldeft be to 
bufye in matters : in faith brother thy braine 
fwimmeth nowe. Thou muft not be fo fonde 
to take all flyes that flye in the Court: Thou 
fhouldeft haue conlidered this in the beginning 
brother mine, (but thou wouldeft not be ruled). 
And haue perfwaded thy felfe that this fhoulde 
happen to thee and woorfe. Thou wert a verie 
beaft, a beaft thou haft mewed thyfelfe, and a 
beaft thou wilt continue ftill, but it fkilleth no 
matter, as thou haft brewed fo bake, and there 
an ende. If thou wilt not be called by the 
Kinge to deale in his matters, why doft thou 
(foole) put thy hande in the fire, and meddleth 
with that thou has naught to doe ? Thou that 
mighteft haue liued quietly at home & at eafe : 
what the goodyere ayleft thou to clyme to the 
toppe of trees ? See nowe what thou haft done, 
and whereto thou has brought thyfelfe : quite 
out of fauor with the Prince. Neuer fharpe 
thy tongue if thou wilt not haue it cut thy hande 
when thou occupy eft it. What knoweft thou 
whether the Bull lay this heavy burthen on thee, 
knowing now thy double dealing with him in 
his comming to the King ? Well doe as thou 
wilt, if thou carie a Snake in thy bofome, what 



can I doe withall ? Mee thinketh this thy 
mifhap is much like to that that happened to the 
holye man in the other mountaine by a theefe 
of that countrie : and bicaufe I would haue thee 
knowe it to ferue thy turne another time, thou 
mayft heare it. 

In the top of Pirinei Mountaynes, harde to 
Pampilona, a Citie of Nauarra, in a mountayne 
called Verrucola dell amiraglio (where the Deuill 
left Malagigi the notable coniurer when hee 
brought him to the iourney of Roncifualle) there 
dwelled a folitarie man giuen altogither to the 
contemplation of the high and celeftiall things 
of God, who was vilited for his holyneffe and 
doctrine of all the countrie. So it fell into the 
King of Canetteria his heade to go fee him alfo, 
and thither he went. Who when he founde 
him deepe in iudgement of high myfteries (as he 
was mofl ignoraunt in bafe and mean things) 
he gaue hym great treafure to buylde and fuf- 
taine him without trauayle. An olde long prac- 
tifed and beaten theefe hearing of this richeffe, 
imagined ftreight with himfelfe to ketche two 
Doues with one Beane ; and one nyght he toke 
his iourney towardes this holy man, and when 
hee was come to him, pitifully bewayling the 
yll lyfe he had led, he prayed the fielye foole to 



keepe him company in his prayers, and to teach 
him the good and holy commaundements of the 
lawe. And forthwith he gaue himfelfe to fafting 
and prayer. So that this holy and fimple man 
thought he would haue loft his wittes, and thus 
with his cloked deuotion by little and little he 
made himfelfe maifter of the houfe and riches. 
One night this ftowte theefe caryed awaye a 
great fumme and value, cleering the houfe of all 
that was ought woorth (as a Barbers bafin) and 
bought him a Hogge. This holy deuout man 
ryfing in the morning, and miffing all his necef- 
faries, hee wondered with himfelfe, but moft 
of all hee mufed that all his golde, filuer, and 
things of value were fhrunke awaye. Yet hee 
had fuche a heade that he ftraight thought vppon 
the malice of his vnhappie fcholler, lamenting 
much the lofle of this ftrayed, or rather alto- 
gither loft man. But to heare of him agayne 
he wandered through many a countrie, carefully 
feeking vp and downe, at leaft to meete with him, 
though hee might not recouer his goodes, and 
it grieued him fore to be in the middeft of his 
forow, for the loffe of the one and the other. This 
good man being in good hope yet, met in the 
waye with two wylde and fauage Gotes, which 
were at deadlye foode togither, and tried it out by 
the heades for lyfe and death, to which fraye came 



alfo the wylde Foxe, that ftepping in betweene 
them both, lycked vp the ftreames of bloude that 
fell from their harde horned heades, and tending 
ftill this bloudie feaft, not regarding the daunger 
he was in they fiercelye meeting their bodies 
togither, cruffhed this Foxe betweene them, 
both flrayght to death, who deferuedly payde his 
proude attempt. The holy man feeing thys 
chaunce, kept on his waye, and came at length to a 
great towne : and bicaufe it was night, bichaunce 
he came to be lodged in a pore old beade womans 
houfe that playd the Bawde, whych had laide hir 
egges for hir felfe long time before, & then was 
glad to haue others to lay egges in hir houfe, of 
which fliee otherwhile liked to feede on and to 
take fome little profit. But at that prefent time 
the yong faire Henne me had in hir houfe at halfe 
of the profit, me had a Cocke by hir felfe, and 
would be troden of no other. Now the Bawde 
feeing fmall profit come of hir egges, me tooke 
on lyke a mad woman. And the yonge Henne 
keeping hir felfe ftill to one Cock, me was not 
able to liue fo on it. This made the woman 
madde for anger, infomuch as me detirmined one 
daye to giue him a remedie for this : and the 
foolifh Henne hauing appointed hir friende and 
Louer one night, and prepared a certaine drinke 
to breath him in his iourney, and to make him 



luflie, it happened Ihee vnwittingly chaunged it, 
and in lieu of hir firfl and coftly potion, fhee 
placed where hir Louer Ihould lie a receyt of 
oppium. This Cocke fleepingfoundly coulde by 
no meanes be awaked : fo that the poore broken 
Maide went up and downe the chamber like one 
ftraught of hir wittes, and thought to go out for 
fomewhat to wake him, faying that he that gaue 
this potion hadfure chaunged Violles : and going 
hir waye abrode to feeke remedie, the Bawde 
thought ftrayght to difpatch him. And hauing 
prepared already a Quill which me had fylled 
with fine venimous beaten powder, fhee went 
and put it to the mouth of this fleeping Cocke, 
and blewe at one of the endes to make it enter 
perforce into the body. But it happened farre 
otherwife than fhee looked for. For euen at that 
inftant there came fuch a blafl of winde from 
him that had the oppium, that me hauing hir 
mouth ready to blowe, receiued with the force of 
his winde the whole powder into hir owne bodie, 
which was made fo ftrong that forthwith fhee 
fell downe dead. And thus weening to haue 
deliuered the yong Mayde from him, to haue 
gotten the more gaine to hir felfe, fhee quit hir 
felfe of hir owne life. As man fhoulde neuer for 
any vile corruption relieue one to hurt another. 
For neyther doth Gods lawe nor the lawe of 



nature beare it. And in the ende the worlde 
will hate fuch wicked meanes, though for a whyle 
and at the beginning it feemeth to fauor them. 
That this horrible fa6t and mifchiefe was miiliked 
the world doth know it,teftified byfo many written 
authorities : mewing that hee which gaue himfelfe 
ouer in praye to vice, and fhee for hir wicked 
fact, were both buried togithers in one graue. 
The whole Planets affembled themfelues togither 
to confult vpon condigne and folemne punifh- 
ment : bicaufe they would not fuche wickedneffe 
fhoulde paffe without memorie, teilomie, and 
perpetual] record of eche others deede. And all 
ioyntly concurring togithers in confent, agreed 
to frame a notable Monument, as now followeth. 
They turned the Louer into a Moyle, and the 
deade Woman continuallye rode vpon him 
through wild and fauage countries, ftill laying on 
him with a roddewithout ceafing. This holy man 
departed from his lodging, and the night follow 
ing he came to fuch another, in maner greater, 
or at leaft the like. A yong maried wife intifed 
by an olde Bawde fell to naughtineffe, and ftill 
as opportunitie ferued the yong man hir Louer 
came into the gardein of hir pleafures. The 
hufband being ware of hir trade, fayned to go 
forth, and faw all the becknings and promifes : 
fo vpon a fodain he returned into hir houfe and 



without any word at all tied his wiue's belly to 
a naked pillar, and laid him downe to ilepe 
behind the fame where hir Louer muft needes 
come in : who walking at his appoynted houre, 
and miffing of his purpofe, went ftraight to the 
Bawde, and made hir go into the houfe, which 
bichance had the keye giuen hir of the fore gate 
by this yong wedded wyfe. And when me 
came in, finding her bound, me vnlofed hir, and 
ftoode hir felfe tied in hir roume, and fent this 
pleafaunt wife awaye to fetche a good night. In 
the meane time the huibande of this yong woman 
awaking, delirous to knowe how all things went, 
he called his wife many times, but the Bawde 
would not aunfwere for hir bicaufe me would not 
be knowne. The Goodman rifing up in the 
darke in a rage fayd, wilt thou not aunfwere me ? 
with that he flue upon hir and cut of hir nofe. 
The Bawd was whifht all this while, and dare not 
fpeake for hir life. The yonge woman that had 
bene feafted abroade and fweetelye taken hir 
pleafure, returned home, and feeinge the olde 
Bawde thus vnhappilye dreffed for hir fake, it 
grieued hir verye fore (yet gladde hir felfe had 
efcaped the daunger) and fo untying hir, bounde 
hir felfe againe, and fent this wretched Bawde 
home without a nofe. The Bawde departed 
thence, the yonge woman called hir hufbande, 



and making pitifull mone mewed hir innocencie : 
and that this is true fayde fhee, beholde my face 
(is as it was at the firft) made whole againe by 
God (reftoring me my nofe) bicaufe I am true to 
thee, and to let thee knowe thou haft done mee 
open wrong. The foolime hufbande ranne for 
the candell, and found hir nofe faft to hir face 
(which he beleeued he had cut off) as if he had 
not touched hir : and afking hir forgiueneffe, ever 
after he loued hir antierly, and thought hir 
honeft. The olde Crone and Bawde returned to 
hir houfe with hir nofe in hir hande, and hir 
face all befmearde with bloude : yet fortune 
fauored hir in this, that fhee was a Barbers wyfe, 
and hir hulband ryfing early in the morning 
before daye to fhaue the tayles of the Monckyes 
of Portingale (for there there groweth heare on 
their Buttockes, and no where elfe) called to hys 
olde wyfe for his Combe cafe with razors and 
other trinckets. Nowe me being thus handled as 
ye haue hearde, (loth to mew hir felfe) put it to 
aduenture, and giuing hym all his conceytes 
within the cafe, me reached hym the razors in 
his hand, the blades not put into the hafts. The 
poore man haftie of his worke, in the darcke 
haftilye took the razors in his hands, and all to 
cut hys fingers : and then for anger (feeling his 
fingers cut) he threw them fro him with great 



violence. With that this craftie olde Bawde cryed 
out amaine, alas, alas, my nofe. And taking one 
of thofe razors fhe al to bloudied it and ftraight 
mewed him (hir hufbande coming with the 
light) the bloud, hir nofe, and razor. The 
hufband aftonied at this, to fee this in maner 
impoflible happe, mee {landing ftowtely to it, 
caufed hir friendes and kinsfolks to be fent for, 
& pitifully complaining to them they altogithers 
went to prefent this chaunce to the Lordes and 
rulers of the towne, and made hir hufbande be 
punifhed. This holy man (as one in deede that 
fawe this practife) loth to fee the innocent 
hufbande fuffer for his wifes falfe accufation : 
went to the feflions at the day of his araynement 
to witneffe a troth for the feilye man. And as 
he was bent to fpeake in fauour of this poore 
Barber, he fodeinly efpied that olde beaten theefe 
that had robbed him, and whom he went fo long 
to feeke, who was euen newlye punifhed for an 
olde offence he had done. This good man for 
getting to follow the barbers caufe, and to doe 
that good he came for: cried oute vppon the 
Judge for iuflice agaynft the theefe (as hee that 
in deede had more minde of hys golde than of 
deuotion :) and befought him he might haue fome 
part of his owne that was left, fince he coulde 
not poflible recouer the whole. The Moyle that 



all this while had hearde the Afles long difcourfe, 
replyed ftraight and thus he fayde. 

O I perceyue your meaning well ynough 
(good brother Affe) and I knowe I take yee right. 
If this holye man had ferued God and not caft 
his whole minde on this worldlye pelfe, he had 
not had that lofle he hath, nor bene troubled as 
he is. If this carren Bawde had beene at home 
at hir houfe ftill, (he had kept hir nofe on hir 
face. And that other Bawde to, if fhee had not 
minded to haue killed the Cocke of hir yong 
Henne, ihe alfo had not died. Laftly the theefe 
had not fuffered death if he had let the olde 
mans goodes alone : and my felfe (to fay truly) 
ihoulde not fuffer nowe fuch griefe, if I had but 
onely followed mine owne bulinefle. I graunt 
that if I were as I was at the firft, I would not 
once flirre a foote to meddle in anye bodies 
matters but mine owne. But well, well, what 
remedie now? lince I am in for a Birde, and 
cannot get out, and being ready to burft for 
fpight I beare the Bull that he is thus made off, 
and fet vp : by the Maffe I will ende it one 
waye or other, by hooke or crooke, or it mail coft 
me the fetting on, runne dogge, runne deuill. 
Sure as a clubbe I will rayfe fome flaunder of 
him, to eafe my hart burning withall, and to 
bring him if I may out of credite. And this 



cockle that I will fow may perhaps be profitable 
for the King. For many times we fee that men 
raifed to high degree, commonly practife things 
hurtful to the Prince and ftate : or elfe that the 
fubie&es otherwhile gouerned by him they mif- 
like, doe ftreight rebel! againft the Prince. If I 
fet in foote, I tell thee it were well done of mee, 
that the Kinge might not in time receyue as 
much hurt of the Bull, as the Bull hath receyued 
goodneffe of him. The Affe lift up his head, 
and girned at his brother to fee his ftubborneffe : 
and fayde vnto him. O brother mine, I am 
forie for thee. I fee thou art in health, and yet 
thou takefl Phificke to bring thee to an Ague : 
for vnder the colour for letting fall thine eares 
in token of humilitie, thou wilt fling out 
apace. Better fit ftill than rife and fall. Put 
vppon thee honeftie and vpright dealing, let 
them bee euer thy beft friendes and countenance : 
and lift not up thy hart fo much with paffion, 
leaft it happen to thee, (not thincking of it) as it 
did to him that mooting at rouers up and downe 
in the woodes (fuppofing no bodie to be there) 
was mot at againe with his owne {haft, and fo 
hit in the breft died ftraight. Thou playeft feeft 
me feeft me not, and perfwadeft thyfelfe that none 
will fpie thy wicked practifes, when in deede 
thou (hall be payde home and neuer knowe who 



hurt thee. But I wonder how thou dareft once 
take vppon them to offend fuch a mightie beaft. 
He is wife, of great ftrength, and hath great 
credit, befides that he is in fauor, and doth 
what he lift : and what he doth, the King doth. 

Maifter Affe fayde the Moyle, No we like a 
foole thou fpeakeft. Thou knoweft nothing if 
thou beleeue that the greateft perfons onely can 
reuenge and none others. Seed thou not that 
fometime the limple and ignorant doe not regard 
nor afteeme the good and vertuous : and many 
times doe them ihrewde turnes and difpleafures ? 
The Commons robbe the Gentlemen. But what 
more ? the little fometime eateth vp the great : 
and the Coward killeth the valiant. And bicaufe 

1 haue hearde thee a while, and haft alledged 
many fables and examples : thou malt now liften 
to mine another while, and fo wee will confult 
what is to be done. Jefu thou makeft this Bull 
wonderfull great, and mee but a poore beaft and 
of no account, but I pray thee heare me, being 
poore and little as I am. 

Of the Eagle and Beetell, and what 
commeth offelfe will. 

In the cliftes of Mount Olympus there haunted 
a yong Leueret, feeding continually in that 
place : and an eagle fpying, marked hir forme 



where fhe fate, and at a trice came downe to 
feafe on hir. This pore Leueret feeing hir felfe 
thus diftreffed vpon the fodeine, called on the 
Beetell that was makinge certayne little Balles, 
I can not tell what, and bade him helpe hir. 
The Beetell fiercely turning on the Eagle, bade 
hir get hir thence, and let hir alone, for fhe 
was his. The Eagle beholding the foolifhe 
Beetell, how he ftoode on his feete flowtly ad- 
uancing himfelfe fmyled, and laughing ftill 
fedde on the vnfortunate Leueret till fhe had 
deuoured hir all, not weyghing the Beetell one 
of the woorft and leaft feathers on hir backe. 
The Beetell looked vppon hir, and put his finger 
to his mouth, and threatning hir went thence 
attending his balles agayne, as who fhoulde faye : 
tyme will come when I will bee euen wyth 
thee. Within a whyle after the Betell carying 
this iniurie in minde, fawe thys Eagle in loue, 
and dodging hir to hir neafl, hee came thither 
fo oft, that at length he founde egges, and 
lifting up his tayle hee beganne to rowle them 
vp and downe (the Eagle being abrode) and 
rowled them quite out of the neft, euen in 
maner when the yong Eagles were almoft 
readye to bee hatched, and with the fall the 
laye at the foote of the rocke broken, and 
quallied all to peeces. When the Eagle re 


turned to hir neaft, & fawe (hauing a verie 
good eye) hir children in a hundreth peeces, 
fhee pitifully lamented, the teares trickling 
downe hir cheekes. The little beaft that in a 
hole ftoode to fee the ende of this tragedy, 
feing the Eagle take on thus heauily, faid vnto 
hir: nay, nay, it makes no matter, thou art 
euen well ferued: thou wouldeft not let my 
Leueret alone, and with that he fhronke into 
his hole, that the deuill himfelfe could not 
finde him out. So that my good Maifter Affe 
and deare brother, a man mufl beware of will : 
for all thynges may be brought to pafle, and 
nothing is hard to him that determined! to 
doe it. Well yet heare another and then 
woonder as thou wilt. It booteth not to ftriue 
agaynft the ftreame. 

There was a Rauen that in the top of a 
great old tree, in a hollow place of the fame 
(where none could find out hir neaft) did euer 
lay hir egges. Beholde there came out of a 
hole at the roote of the old rotten tree a 
Snake, which leape by leape got vp to the 
toppe of the tree, and fucked thefe egges when 
they were newly layde : and woorfe than that, 
what prouifion of vitailes foever the Rauen had 
brought to hir neaft, the Snake ftill deuoured, 
fo that the pore Rauen could neuer haue hir 



prouifion fhe prepared agaynft foule weather. 
The foolifhe Rauen got hir to the Foxe hir 
coufin to afke him counfell, and when fhe had 
told him all and more, fhee refolued ftrayght 
to flie on the toppe of the Eagles heade, and 
to pecke out hir eyes : and therefore fhee de- 
fired to knowe the Foxes iudgement. Beware 
faid the Foxe, do it not : for it will not fal 
out as thou thinkeft. Doeft thou not remember 
what our elders were wont to fay : that it 
booteth not to ftriue agaynft the ftreame, nor 
preuayleth to be reuenged on him that is 
ftronger and mightier than himfelfe ? but malice 
and treafon onely muft ferue that turne. There 
fore lyften a little, and thou fhalt heare this 
notable chaunce. 

Firft of felowfhips heare mee but foure wordes 
by the waye, and then fay on that that muft be 
fhall be. The Bull was euen predeftined great, 
thou a Moyle, and I an AfTe. He that is 
odeyned to be a King, thoughe hee be a 
Plowe man, I beleue fure he mail be King, 
and that heauen doth direft all things aright 
and not otherwife. The examples are verie 
good, but yet how things will fall out the 
ende fhall trie it. Now on Gods name, fay 
what thou wilt. 



There dwelled a great Paragone of India (of 
thofe that Hue a hundreth yeares and neuer mue 
their feathers), a bird of the water, aire, and 
earth, in a great thicke clofe knot of Rofemarie 
vppon a pleafaunt Lake, placed beneath amongft 
the little hilles spred ouer with herbes and 
flowers. And always in his youth he liued 
(as his nature is) of fifhe, the which with fome 
deuife hee tooke by moone light with great fweat 
and labor. And nowe being aged, and not able 
to plunge into the water with his wonted force, 
he was driuen to flie in the aire and feede on 



Crickets, which beyng fewe in number, he was 
almoft ftarued for hunger. But one day Hand 
ing by the riuers fide all fadde and malincholy, 
loe there commeth a great Crabbe wyth hir 
legges fpred abrode to the bankes lide which 
fayde : Sir Fowle how doe you ? in faith quoth 
he, naught at home: for we haue yll newes 
abrode. I pray you what are they fayde the 
Crabbe ? Certayne rimers fayde he that within 
fewe dayes with fome engines and deuifes will 
drie vp this Lake and take vp all the nfh. But 
I pore wretch, that yet other while had one, how 
lhall I doe ? I would I might faue them (fince 
I am like to lofe them) for the benifite that I 
haue had fo long time, and that I might take 
them out of the Lake, & flying carie them to 
fome other furer place. The Crabbe hearing fo 
yll newes, called to Parliament all the Fifties 
of the Lake, and told them this matter. The 
nines forefeeing the daunger at hande, had pre- 
fent recourfe vnto the wylde Fowle for counfell, 
to tell him howe it ftoode wyth them : and 
fayde vnto him. If this be true, out of all doubt 
we are in great daunger : therefore giue us the 
beft counfell thou canft, as well for the loue 
thou beareft to this Lake, as for the feruice we 
looke to do to thee, honeft Fowle. The Para- 
gone that knew there was good pafture and a 



fertile foyle, caught holde, and bitte ftreyght : 
faying. The great loue I beare you (quoth hee) 
dear brethren myne, for that I haue been bredde, 
fedde, and brought vp in this Lake, euen to 
crooked age, maketh me truly to pittie yee, and 
fure I am and will be ready to doe yee any good 
I can. Therefore in my opinion (and yee will 
be ruled by mee) you {hall doe beft to gette you 
hence, and tarye not their comming, for they 
wyll fpare none : all is fifhe that commeth to 
nette with them. And bicaufe I am practifed in 
the worlde (as he that goeth in euery place) I 
can tel you there are a thoufand places fairer 
than this, better, and a cleerer water, and were 
marueylouilye more for your profite and healthes: 
and if ye be contented, I wyll tell you where 
and how. All at once yeelded to him, and 
greatly commended him, (O foolifhe fifties to 
beleeue fuch a beaft) prayinge him to difpatche 
the matter wyth as much celeritie as might be. 
He willed then fome of them to get vnder his 
pinions, and to hold fail with their billes by the 
fethers of his tayle, and fo to trayne them on, 
hee diued fo farre vnder water that they might 
conueniently faften themfelues in order to flie 
with the Fowle. And when they were mounted 
on his backe he tooke his flyht fayre and foftlye 
to the toppe of one of thofe high mountaynes, 



and fetting them downe on the ground he eate 
them al at his pleafure. This manner of fiihing 
continued a while bicaufe it went forward day 
by day as he beganne, ftill filling his bellie. But 
the me Crabbe that was rather malicious than 
not imagined that thys Fowle had wrought fome 
deceite, and euen then there was a Tenche that 
me loued well ready to goe wyth the Fowle as 
the reaft had done before, and this Tenche was 
fo plumme and fatte that fhee might well ferue 
him for a good meale. In the ende the Crabbe 
fayde. O Fowle my deare brother, I would 
thou wouldeft carye me to the place where the 
other fifties are : and hee was contented. So he 
gate vp on horfebacke as it were, and with hir 
feete clafped the Fowle about the necke, and he 
ftreight mounted into the fkyes, as one that 
ment in deede to let the Crabbe fall and breake 
in peeces : and euen then hee efpyed for the 
purpofe a heape of ftones where he thought to 
woorke thys feate to let hir fall. The Crabbe 
beholdinge the garbage and offal of thofe deade 
fillies, feeing the ymminent daunger me was in, 
ftreight opened his mouth and feafed on the 
neck of the Fowle, holding as hard as fhee could 
for hir life : and fhee kept hir holde fo well, 
that ftreight fhee ftrangled him, and the Fowle 
fell downe deade, the Crabbe on his backe aliue 



without any hurt at all. The Crabbe returned 
home to hir Lake, and tolde all the mifchiefe of 
the Fowle, and in what daunger fhe was in, and 
howe fhee had freed them all from his deuour- 
ing throte. Which vnderfloode the fifties all 
wyth one confent gaue hir many a thanke. 

The Foxe telling his tale, came to giue this 
counfell to the Rauen, that he mould goe into 
fome neighbours houfe and fleale a Ring, but 
fteale it that he might be feene take it, hopping 
from place to place, fnatching here and there 
till he came into the Serpents hole. For by this 
meanes being afpied with the maner, euery bodye 
woulde runne after him, and then he fhould 
let it fall into the Snakes hole. They to get the 
Ringe againe would digge into it, and feeing the 
Serpent, they fhould by this meanes come to 
kill her. The Rauen lyked the Foxes opinion, 
and robbed from one a Jewell of good value, 
and caried it thither, whither all the yonge 
people ranne after him, and digging the hole, 
the Serpent came out amongft them, and they 
flue hir. And thus with one little reuenge he 
quited many injuiries done him. The Afle 
that knewe his fubtile praftifes well ynough, 
aunfwered. And fo am I of thy opinion, fpecially 
if one deale with a foole, or with one that will 



put a vifer on his face, and that imagineth none 
can make it fo faft and fit as himfelfe, and that 
trufteth altogither to his money, efteeming no 
bodie, and Hues fitting in his chaire without any 
care. The Bull doth not fo, for I haue alwayes 
knowne him in his affaires no leffe fiibtill than 
wife, and likes to heare euerye bodie, but fpe- 
ciallye to followe the counfell of graue men in 
his matters. And touching this matter I dare 
boldly faye to thee and affure thee, that the Bull 
hath a great confidence in me, bicause I brought 
him to the Court vnder the fafe condite of my 
worde, (although it needed not) and the other 
that I made hym, will make him beleeue me in 
anye thing I faye : and therefore let him come 
when he lift, I haue done his errant well inough 
I warrant ye. He reckeneth himfelfe fafe with 
me but I will playe him fuch a part as the 
vicious and wicked Foxe played another Lion 
(as the ftorie following reiciteth), being like to 
haue bene deuoured of him. 

Of the Foxe and the Lion and of 
the Foxes deceit to kill the Lion. 

There was a maruelous drougth in Arabia 
Petrea, in that yeare that the hote burninge 
windes were, and as I remember it was euen 



vppon the making of the Leape yeare in that 
countrie, and being the firft time alfo of it, fo 
there was no water to be had any where, but 
onely a little fpring in the toppe of the Mountagne 
called Carcolite. At that time there lay by that 
fpring a braue and fierce Lion, which as we poore 
beaftes went to the water to quench our thirft, 
fet vppon vs, and deuoured vs, or at leaft flue vs. 
So that he made a Butchers mambles greater than 
anye Butcher maketh at Chriftmas againft any 
feaft. Fame blewe forth this ftraunge death and 
cruelty, fo that the beaftes compelled to affemble 
difpatched ambaffadors to the Lyon, and offered 
compoiition, to giue him daylye fome praye to 
fatisfie him with, and that they might not all die 
for lack of water. The Lion accepted the con- 
dicion, flicking to their offer, as one that had 
aduifed him felfe well, confideringe that if he 
had not done it, they had all dyed for thirfte, and 
hee for famine, and therevpon agreed. The 
beafts drue lots, and on whome the lotte fell, hee 
went his waye, to gyue him felfe in pray vnto the 
Lion. So long thefe lottes continued that at 
length it lighted on the Foxes necke to be 
fwallowed vp of this deuouring Lion, which 
feeing no remedie but to die hee muft (at leaft as 
he thought) he deuifed to reuenge the death of 
the reft, and to free his owne. And forth he 



runneth apace vnto this Lyon, and protrating 
him felfe at his feete, beganne to enlarge his 
olde and faythful feruice done heretofore to his 
auncient predeceffors, and tolde him alfo how 
he was fent Ambaffadour from the com panic of 
the beaftes to fignifye to him a ftraunge hapened 
cafe anew at that inftant. And this it was. 
That the lot fell on a fatte Wether to come to 
paye his tribute, and by the way another ftraunge 
Lion met him, and tooke him quite away, faying 
that hee was farre worthier to haue the Wether 
than you, and that (prowdely) hee woulde make 
you knowe it. If you meane to maintaine your 
honor, I will bring him to you, and there you 
lhall determine it betweene you by the teeth and 
nayles. The Lyon madde at this, little fufped- 
inge the flye Foxes wiles and craftes, was ready 
to runne out of hys wittes, whan the Foxe 
beganne anewe. My Lorde he hath dared to 
faye (with fuche arrogancie) that he will chaften 
you well ynough, and let you knowe you doe not 
well, and that you mould do better and more 
honorably to goe into the fielde, and there to get 
praye, than to tarye by the fountayne, looking 
that other moulde bring it vnto you, and as it 
were to put meate into your mouth. And at the 
laft, he fayde plainly you were but a flouch and 
fluggardly beaft. Come on, come on, fayde the 



Lion, fh ewe me this bolde and daungerous beaft, 
bringe mee to him where he is without any more 
adoe. The Foxe that knewe a Welle where 
they drue up water with ropes, that the beaftes 
could not drink of it, brought him to the Welles 
fyde, and fayde. Sir, the Lion your enimie is 
within the Welle. He luftily leaped vp ftreight 
vpon the Curbe of the Welle, and feeing his 
ymage in the water he fierfeyle caft himfelfe into 
the Well, fuppoling to haue encountered with 
the Lyon his enemie : by meanes whereof hee 
plunged himfelfe into the bottome, and drowned 
ftreight. Which newes brought vnto the beafts, 
auouched for troth, they ioyfully imbraced this 
craftie recouered Foxe. Therefore faid the 
Affe, thou thinkft thou goeft in clowdes, & hand- 
left thy matters in fuch fecret that they fhal not 
be knowne. But if through thy fpight and 
malice the Bull come to his death, what haft 
thou done ? To hurt him that is the bountie 
and goodneffe of the world, it were to great a 
iinne. Thinkeft thou the heauens beholde thee 
not ? Beleeueft thou thy naughtyneffe is hidden 
from Gods fecrete knowledge? O maifter 
Moyle, thou art deceyued, thou knoweft not what 
thou doeft. 

Good brother Afle fay what thou lift, I am felfe 
willed in this I tell thee, and out of doubt I will 



bring him out of the Kings fauor, or I will die 
for it : and tell not me of honeitie or dimoneftie, 
Tut a figge I am determined. Happie man 
happie dole. Sure I will trie my witte, and fee 
the ende and vttermoft of my malice. 

1" The thirde parte of Morall Philo- 

fophie defcribing the great treafons 

of the Court of this 


CAN not too muche exhort you 
(good Readers) to take fome paine 
to continue the reading of this 
Treatyfe, knowing how much it 
wil delight and profit you, hauing 
ibmewhat vnderilanded alfo by that yee haue 
read before, befide that ye fhal vnderftand in 
reading this that followeth. Where you mall 
know how much a wife Courtier may doe, and 
a double man, whofe ende was aunfwerable to 
his naughtie minde and lyfe. Which God 
graunt maye come to all fuch enuious and 
fpitefull perfons, that in Princes Courtes) 
(and thorowe Chriftendome) delyght in fo Vile 
an Arte, and to commit fo deteftable treafons. 
And now giue attentive eare and you fhal 



Beholde the wicked pra6iifes and deuili/h 
inuentions of afalfe trayterous Courtier. 

This wormipfull Moyle when he had repofed 
himfelfe a fewe dayes, and had liuely framed 
this treafon in his head, hee went to the Kinge, 
and mewed him by his lookes that hee was melin- 
cholye, penfiue, and fore troubled in his minde. 
The King that fawe this perplexed beaft, and 
dearelye louing him : woulde needes knowe of 
the Moyle the caufe of his griefe. Whom this 
fubtill Moyle finely aunfwered, and with thefe 

Moft puiffant and mightie Prince, I haue euen 
ilriued with myfelfe to hide the caufe of my 
inwarde forrow, which in deede is fo much as it 
can be no more. And albeit I haue bene many 
dayes in comming to your Maieftie, feeking to 
eafe fome part of my trouble : yet I could neuer 
finde any deuife or meane to releafe my heauye 
and wofull heart of any one iotte therof. And 
this is onely growne (O noble Prince) of the 
great loue I beare your Grace, bicaufe it toucheth 
not onely your highneffe in perfon, but there 
with the whole ftate of your Princely Monarchic. 
And I that am your Maieftie's vafall and fubieft, 
and a louer of the conferuation of your Realme 



and Kingdome, and bounde (will I nill I) to dif- 
charge my bownden dutie to your Honour, which 
the loue your Maieftie doth beare me doth fo 
commaunde. Truely the trembling of heart that 
I haue fuffered hath bene extreme, night and 
daye continuallye vexing and tormenting me, 
when I haue thought of fo daungerous a cafe. 
The thought that pricked mee on the one fide 
was to doubt that your Maieftie woulde not 
credite me, bewraying to you the daunger : and 
not difctofing it, I had not difcharged the dutie 
of a true fubie6t and faithfull feruant to his 
Lorde. Compelled therefore to open (as is the 
dutie of euery feruante) all that that any way 
may fall out to the hurte and preiudice of the 
Maifter, I come moft humbly to fignifie to your 
Grace the cafe as it ftandeth. 

A verie faithfull and fecret friende of myne 
not long fince came vnto me, and made mee 
promife him, and fweare vnto him with great 
othes that I fhoulde not tell it in any cafe, bicaufe 
he is a man of great honor and dignitie, and 
worthie to be well thought of and credited. And 
he tolde me that the Bull had fecret practife with 
the chiefe of your Realme, and that he had oft 
priuie conference with them. And amongft other 
things he tolde them all the great feare your 
Maieftie had of him, difclofing to them alfo your 



cowardly hart and fmall force. And he went fo 
farre forth in termes of reproche and difhonour 
of your highneffe, that if his counfell, fauour, 
helpe, and good gouernment had not bene, as 
he faid : your Maiefties Realme (not knowing 
whether you are aliue or dead) had ben at this 
prefent brought to nothing. And further more 
he did exhort them to affemble togither for their 
profit, and to choofe him for their King. Saying, 
if they would doe this for him, he would take it 
vpon him to driue you out of your kingdome : and 
he being King woulde fo exalt them and fhewe 
them fuch fauor, that they moulde not finde him 
vnthankfull, belides that he would acknowledge 
the whole benefite proceeding from them. And 
moreouer (the worft is yet behind) the more part 
of them, I fweare to your highneffe by the heade 
of my brother, haue promifed with fpeede to put 
it in pra6tife, and continually they deuife the way 
to performe it. So that inuincible Prince, take 
not Negligence for your guide, but preferre and 
entertein Diligence to preuente the traiterous 
prepared daunger, and to forefee the happie 
wifhed health of your Royall perfon. I was hee 
that made him promife your Maieflie moulde 
not offende him, nor once touche him when I 
brought him to the Court, I am he that euer 
lyked and loued him as my deare brother. But 



yet am I not he that will fuffer or conceale fo 
highe a treafon againft my Lorde and Prince. 
Tra6t not time, moft noble Prince, in wondering 
at thefe thinges, but prefently put your felfe in 
order for your fafetie : (fo mall you meete with 
your enimie, and be ready for him) leaft your 
Maieftie by flouth vnawares be taken tardie, as 
was the flow fiflie which was taken in a Lake 
with two others in companie. And this is a 
certaine and true tale that I will tell your high- 

Of three great Jijhes, and what 
isjignified by them. 

Almoft vpon the borders of Hungarie there 
was a certayne Lake that bredde fiflie of a mar- 
ueylous bone, and that of monfterous greatnefle 
as was to be founde or hearde of in the worlde. 
The King bicaufe of the wonder of this Lake 
would not fuffer it to be fiflied at any time : but 
that himfelf when it pleafed him euery certaine 
yeares did draw it drie. The King forgetting the 
Lake a great time, and leauing his wonted fifliing, 
three fifties grew therein of a monftrous bigneffe 
and vnfpeakable hugeneffe, the which feeding 
on the leffer eate vppe the ftore of the Lake, 
leauing it in maner without fiflie to what it was 
before. Now, as Hill it chaunceth, euery thing is 



knowne, the deuouring of thefe fifties was brought 
to the Kinges eare, infomuch as hee determined 
to goe fifhe the Lake for the three deuoring 
fifties to eate them, that the frye might increafe. 
Order giuen to his fiftiers, hee went vnto the 
Lake. My Lord you muft know that euerye 
where there is of all fortes, fome reftie, fome 
liuelye, fome knauiftie, fome good, fome naught, 
fome madde, fome fwift, fome flowe, and fo 
forth. I meane that of thefe three fifties one of 
them was malicious and fubtill : the other of a 
highe minde and very flowte : and the third was 
flothfull and timorous. An olde Frogge that 
ftoode many times wyth thefe fifties in difcourfe, 
to talke and play at fundrie other paftimes (the 
whiche knewe ouer night the drawing of the 
Lake) went the fame night to feeke out thefe 
fyfties, and tolde them of the daunger at hande : 
and euen as one would haue it, they were at the 
table with three great Eales, although it were late, 
(for then Fifties fuppe) and yet for all this newes, 
they ftirred not a whit, but made the Frogge fit 
downe, and they beganne to carrowfe when it 
was about midnight. So that within a whyle 
hauing taken in their cuppes, (bidding well for 
it) their heades waxed heauye, and fo to fleepe 
they went : Some at the table, fome on the 
ground, fome in one place, fome in another. At 



the dawning of the day the Fifhers began to 
fpreade their nettes, and to compaffe the Lake 
drawing all alongft. The Eales hearing the 
noyfe got them into the mudde, that the verie 
mappe of Navigation could not haue difcouered 
them. The fubtill and malicious fyfhe hearing 
a noyfe, ranne flreight into a dytch and entered 
into a little ryuer where hee was fafe from 
daunger of the nette. The other was not quick, 
for the nettes had flopped his paffage, and bicaufe 
he was flrong and ftowte, hee made as though 
he had bene deade, hauing his mouth full of 
ftynckinge mudde, and fo floted with the waues 
vp and down, And the thirde was called of the 
Frogge ten times that hee fhoulde rife and awake : 
whooe, but all in vayne. He punched him for 
the nonfte, and iogged hym agayne to make him 
awake, but it woulde not be. And he, tut lyke 
a fluggarde, aunfwered hym. I will ryfe anone, 
anone : I pray thee let me alone a while, let me 
lye yet a little curtefie and then haue with thee. 
Still the Fifhers went on apace with their nets, 
and let go the water : and when they faw this 
great Fifh aboue the water, floating as I tolde 
you, they tooke him vp and fmelled to hym, and 
perceyuinge hee ftoncke they threwe him from 
them into the Lake agayne, and cafl him into 
the fame place where they had already drawne 



their nettes, and fo he fcaped with life. They 
happened on the thirde, which was as a man 
would fay a certayne let me alone, and drowlie 
fifhe, and they tooke hym euen napping. And 
when they had him (thinking they had done a 
great act to ketch him) they caried him in hafte to 
the King (but by the waye I doe not tell yee of 
the bragges they made in ketching thys Fiihe) 
alyue as he was. Who commaunded ftreight he 
moulde bee drelfed in a thoufande kyndes and 
wayes, for that he was fatte, great, and mightilye 
fedde. Now your Maieftie hath hearde the tale 
of the Howe and fleepie Fiih, I leaue it to your 
highneffe iudgement and determination, to forefee 
the daunger, reaping the profite : or to leape into 
it vtterly ouerthrowing yourfelfe. 

The King fet a good countenaunce on the 
matter, althoughe thefe newes touched him in 
wardly, and feemed as they had not altered 
him at all, and with great modeftie and courtelie 
aunfwered the Moyle. I make no doubt of 
thy true and faithfull feruice to mee, bicaufe I 
knowe thou canft not fuffer fo much as the 
ihadow of the daunger of my eftate & king- 
dome, much lefle the hurt of my perfon. Al 
though many Princes and Lordes in fuch cafe 
thinke themfelues yll ferued : yet it is meete 



and right that the good bee rather ledde by 
vertuous inftinct, then caried away from the 
right through difpleafure receyued. I fee thou 
willeft mee good, & am fure that the loue thou 
beareft me, maketh thee ielous of the main 
tenance of mine honor and eftate. Yet it hardly 
entreth into mee, and me thinketh it ftraunge 
(faue that thou telieft it me, I could hardly 
thinke it, much lefle beleeue it) that fuch 
wicked thoughts mould breede in the Bulles 
breft to me, lince by proofe I knowe him in 
many things both good, faithfull, and honeft in 
his feruice : and hee knoweth belides my good- 
nefle to him, ho we I receyued him courteoufly 
into my Court, and that he may faye hee is 
made Lorde in maner of my kingdome. 

Sacred Prince (fayd the Moyle) I beleeue in 
deede that the Bull thinketh himfelfe well in- 
treated of your Maieftie : (and good caufe he 
hath fo to doe) and that hee meaneth no hurt 
to your royall perfon for any difpleafure he hath 
receyued of you, or for any conceyued hate he 
hath towards you. And I thinke fure he taketh 
not vppon him fo fowle an enterprife to other 
ende, but bicaufe prouinder pricketh him, and 
maketh him luftie to fling and play the wanton, 
and for that he is well he cannot fee it, and that 
maketh him to deuife fome mifchiefe, weening 



to have all in his hands, faue the very title of 
the King, and that this little, (hauing all the 
reft) which is, alfo the moft, is eafie for him 
to obtaine. I fuppofe your Highneffe hath 
vnderftoode me : nowe take what way you lift. 
I knowe well ynough that an Afle loden with 
golde may ileepe more fafely amongft theeues, 
than a King that trufteth trayterous officers 
and gouernours appointed for the ftate. And 
let your Maieftie bee fure of this, that that 
which the Bull can not compafle nor reach 
vnto by his owne force and others, he will 
certainly practife by deceit vffing fuch meanes 
to bring him to it, as the Flea did to bring 
the Lowfe to that paffe he brought him to, 
and that he had long purfued as followeth. 

A tale of the Flea and the Lowfe and how 
the Flea was reuenged of the Lowfe. 

There lodged an old Flea in the chamber of 
a great Prince, and there dwelled with him alfo 
a gentle Loufe. The one continually fed vpon 
little white doges of fyne longe heare, and after 
hee had fylled himfelfe he retired with fafetye 
all the daye, and walked at pleafure. The Lowfe 
that was ftronger of bodie, and bit harder, many 
times draue hir from hir pafture : So that the 



poore Flea was madde for anger fhee could not 
be reuenged. It happened that the Prince tooke 
to wife a beautiful yong Ladie one of the moft 
delicateft and fineft morfels that euer Prince tafted 
of in the world, and in that chamber was his 
wedding bedde. The Flea drawne to the wed- 
locke bedde with the fweete fauour of hir bloud 
conueyed hir felfe ftreight betweene the fheetes, 
and in hir firfl ileepe {he fweetely fedde at will 
on this angelicall foode. Nowe fhee bit hir 
yuorie thighes, then fhee gnawed hir breeft of 
congealed milke, anone fhee fucked hir delicate 
and foft throte, another while fhe pretie playde 
hir, pinching that fweete carcafe, and when fhe 
had filled hir bellie fhee leaped away, and went 
to take hir reft, fhunning the day light. The 
Lowfe attended to fedde on Dogges flefhe (for at 
that time it was the order, that Fleas fedde of 
men, and Lyce of Dogges) and liued in Gods 
peace. The Flea, whome extreme rage did 
gnaweto bee reuenged of the Lowfe, went tofeeke 
him out with this cloked brotherly loue, and fayd 
vnto him. Brother, though no caufe mooue me 
to deale friendly with thee, hauing receyued 
continuall difpleafures and wronges at thy 
handes, yet I cannot refrayne but I muft doe 
fomewhat for thee, fince fo good occafion is 
offered me : and I am the willinger to doe it, 



bicaufe thou {halt knowe I loue thee, and wylhe 
thee well. Thou malt vnderftande I feede euerye 
nyght on the moft fweeteft bloud in the world : 
and woteft thou who it is ? it is of the beautifull 
and delicate yong Lady newly epoufed. If thou 
wilt go in my companie I am contented to carye 
thee thyther with me, and will gladly impart my 
ioyes and welfare to thee : and henceforth let 
peace for euer be concluded betweene vs. 
Agreed quoth the Loufe. And with that they 
louingly imbraced eche others : the Flea inuiting 
the Lowfe, and the Lowfe accepting hir bidding. 
With this newe cloked reconciliation togithers 
they went, to the great ioye of the Flea, not for 
the atonement made betweene them, but for 
the opportunitie of time that had fo fitted hir 
to make hir reuenge : and the more it gladded 
hir to, that hir owne force and might being 
infufficient to encounter with his ftrength, yet 
ileyght and policie fupplanted and exceeded hys 
force. The nyght was come, the Prince and his 
Ladye were layde in bedde to take their reft, the 
Flea and the Lowfe lyke brethren leaped on the 
bed, and when they fawe them at reft, and faft 
a ileepe, they difpofed themfelues to feede, and 
lyke ftaruelynges in maner famifhed they layde 
on lode, fo that they rayfed great brode fpots like 
pimples, as red as a Rofe. Thefe vermins being 



now in the only gardein of fweetneffe, continuing 
their byting euer in good earneft : this tender 
Ladie forced with their cruell and vncourteous 
bittes awaked perforce and foftly called hir Lorde 
and hufbande and tolde him. I feele myfelfe 
terriblye bitten this night with fome vermine, 
and yet I know not what it is that thus hath 
difeafed me. Hir hufband ftreight called vp 
his men, and bade them bring light. The Flea 
fo foon as me efpied light, like an olde prac- 
tifer, at fowre leapes conueyed hir felfe away, 
and fo efcaped. The poore Lowfe that was no 
great horfe to leap, was taken tardie, and not 
able to alledge for his purgation, as a dumbe 
creature receyued the lawe, condemned to die, 
and was committed to be preffed to death 
between the Maydes two nayles, where for his 
obftinacie and prefumption ihe thruft out his 
blood and milke that he prefumingly had fucked 
of fo noble a Ladie. Your highneffe alfo maye 
take this example of that olde lame creature, 
crooke backed, yll Ihaped, and deformed, which 
with all thefe impediments (drawing one fteppe 
after another) went as farre as he had his limmes 
and helth, though with longer time, and crept 
at length vnto his iourneys ende to doe any bufi- 
nefle he had. This Bull wanteth not time to 
further his pretence, hee will put his hande into 




the Pye, and fet in foote when hee feeth his 
time. And for this time I will occupy your 
Maieftie no more but two words only of the Flea, 
which hearing the cracke of the lillie Lowfe 
laughed awhile at the reuenge that others toke 
of him for hir : and to hir felfe me fayd. Ah lirra, 
gramercy my good witte yet. Thou hail done 
that on a fodeine for mee, that all the ftrength I 
haue could not bring to paffe in a long time: 
and nowe yet with another mans hande I haue 
pulled out the Crabbe out of hir hole. I am 
euen with him I warrant him. 



Why what mall wee doe then? if the cafe 
ftande as thou fetteft it forth, what way fhall we 
take? I will heare thee willingly, and follow 
thy counfell : with this condicion though, that 
in this interim my Realme and perfon be not 
touched, or that I fuftaine perill or lofle. 

Inuincible Lorde, to haue any member fef- 
tered and rankle, and plainly to fee that if it be 
not cut off it will corrupt and infe6t the whole 
bodie, and in cutting it off the bodie remayneth 
fafe and free from infection : what is he fo 
madde that will not cut it off? The fhepherde 
findinge in his nocke (I fpeake more refolutely) 
a fcabbie and infefted fheepe, doth not only cut 
off his legge, but riddeth him out of the way, 
bicaufe he mall not infet the flocke. 

Sure this fodeine matter maketh me much 
mufe, fayde the Lion. For one way draweth me 
to loue him, and that is the credit I repofe in 
him, the long experience of his good gouern- 
ment, his vertues and wifedome, and bicaufe I 
neuer founde caufe in him to detect him any 
way. The other thing that prerTeth me much, 
is feare : which is a great burthen. I would 
faine, therefore finde a way betweene both, that 
fhoulde be betwixt loue and hate, or betwixt 



feare or truft, and this it is. To call (if thou 
thinke good) the Bull, and to examine him well 
and ftreightly. And if I finde him anything at 
all blotted with this humor, I will chaftife him 
with banimment, and neuer imbrue my handes 
in his bloud, proceeding lyke a great and noble 
Prince. This determination lyked not the Moyle, 
as he that was fure to liue like a wretched 
beaft, and that his malice by this deuife mould 
appeere : and ftreight he aunfwered the King. 
Your Maieftie hath euen lighted right on the 
moft ftranglingft morfell, and the hardeft Nutte 
to cracke : if you meane to follow that you haue 
propounded. For he careth not to throwe at 
his enimie, that beleeueth he is not feene : but 
ftandeth to beholde if it light right. But if he 
beware once he is feene, then for mame he 
fticketh to his tackle, and followeth on his blowe, 
leaft he Ihoulde be counted a foole and coward, 
both in his doings. And by fuch like meanes I 
haue oft times feene a little fparckle kindle a 
great fire. O my Lorde, he that fayneth he 
hath not bene offended, maye at his eafe and 
leyfure be reuenged. Contrarie to thofe that 
neuer bring any thing to pafle that they would, 
when they fpit that out with their tongue that 
they thinke in their heart. Therefore I am de 
termined (if your maieftie will like my opinion) 



to worke another and peradventure a better way. 
J will home to his houfe, and as a friend I will 
feele him to the bottome and grope his minde : 
and he as my verie friende alfo (and that afluredly 
trufteth me) will laye himfelfe open to mee, I 
am fure of it. Such paffioned mindes will 
eafilye break out at the firft, and they cannot 
keepe it in but out it muft. They are belides 
that great boafters and vaunters. For they thinke 
they ftande in deede in that degree and termes 
of reputation and honor that they imagine them- 
felues to be in, and they make large promifes, 
and build Caftels in the aire : and at euery 
worde they faye they will make thee great, and 
bring thee into fauor, and when time ferueth 
thou malt fee what I will fay and doe both. It 
will not be long to it. Well, well I know what 
I fay. So that with fuch lyke Phrafes and 
deuifes, it mall proceede rightly. And thus in 
thefe traines appeere yet tokens euident inough 
and very notable. If he haue not capacitie and 
iudgement to conceyue mee, and that he euen 
croffe not my meaning : I that have an ynckling 
of the thing already, I will be with him in 
euery corner, I will not miffe him an ynch. If 
he rayfe men, what order he hath giuen, and 
whether his houfe be armed or no, yea, and I 
will drawe out the matter ye mail fee finely out 



of his naughtie fantailicall head. And if he go 
fo priuily to worke that I cannot fee him where 
he goes, nor know what he doth, as I am fure 
I know perfitely all his practifes : I will bring 
him to your Highneffe, and when he mail 
appeere before you, you mall eafilye finde him, 
for his heade is not without feare, and his light 
very dull, and he will not come to you with 
that cheerfull countenance he was woont to 
looke on you before. He will be verie fuf- 
picious and not continue in a tale, and I know 
your Grace mall perceyue his malicious and 
fpiteful practife by many tokens euident ynough. 
And what knoweth your Grace whether the 
penne of his hart will not write all his thoughts 
in his forhed ? as many times it falleth out 
vnhappily, contrarie to the difpofition of his 
thought that hath offended. 

This fable filled the Lions heade full, and he 
bade him not Howe to bringe his matters to paffe. 
The Moyle when he fawe this geare woorke with 
the King, and that his brayne was fwollen for 
fufpicion, fayd to him felfe, No we good man Bui 
is caught, we haue him euen as we would. So 
forthwith without delay he went to Chiarino (the 
Bull fo called) and he was as pale and melin- 
cholye as it had rained on him. O your Moil- 
fhip is welcome fayd the Bull : Jefu what hath 




become of your Lordihip fo long ? In fayth you 
haue beene longed for at the Court, that you 
haue bene thus long abfent. But I doubt me 
\ve fhal heare worfe than that feeing you thus 
leane and miferably confumed away. But I 
pray you how cometh it to paffe that I finde ye 
in this wretched ftate ? you wil not maruaile I 
truft I am thus inquiiitiue. For you muft vnder- 
ftande the loue I beare you, and partlye the dutie 
I owe you, (where I may pleafure you with my 
countenaunce or au6thoritie) are not to be put in 
Salt nor Oyle to doe you good, and to helpe you 
if you bee in anye daunger. Leaue off this fad- 
nefle of fellowfhip, and tell me your griefe, and 
I will vnfolde it well ynough be it neuer fo intri 
cate, and fpare me not I praye you but be bolde 
of mee. Tut, giue me but halfe a looke, and 
then let mee alone. With thefe wordes the 
Moyle made aunfwere. 

Truly faith hath left hir habitation on the 
earth, and bountie reigneth no more in any land : 
neyther doe I thinke your wifdome can doe more 
or leffe, that the heauens and celeftial motions 
doe difpofe you to. Lorde, what a marueylous 
thing is this ? that to come to fame and renowne 
by degrees of honor, it bringeth a thoufand 
daungers with it. We neuer (or feldome) doe 



well, when we followe our owne humor or 
counfel. And he alfo that out of the bookes of 
the ignoraunt taketh forth any fentence to ferue 
his turne, muft of neceflitie repent him when he 
feeth his folye. All the ftories of the worlde 
affirme, that a lame man can neuer go vpright. 
The Sages alfo agree, that the higheft places are 
moft daungerous to clyme. Therefore it is belt 
euer to beare a lowefaile : not to hie for the Pie, 
nor to lowe for the Crowe. 

Thy talke brother Moyle (fayde Chiarino the 
Bull) me thinketh it verye troublefome and ydle 
and without any maner of reafon. It feemeth a 
folde of wordes that the angry hart difcouereth, 
and that hee is not in good peace with hys maifter. 
How faye ye ? aunfwere me but to this. 

My good Chiarino : thou art infpired with the 
holy ghoft, the Deuill is within thee thou haft fo 
rightly hit me. It is true the King is angrie and 
fufpe6teth fomewhat, but not thorow me I affure 
thee, nor by my meanes. Now thou knoweft 
verie well the promife I made for thee, and the 
beaftly othe I tooke which bindeth me in deede 
to my worde : and let it go as it will, fure I will 
not breake my promife with my friende that I 
loue, for anye refpect in the worlde, let the 



worlde runne on wheeles as it lift. Therefore I 
will tell thee if thou hadft not beene warned of 
it before. And hearken how. 

Two Gotes my verye friendes, and of great 
Judgement came to fee me, weening to bring me 
pleafant newes, not knowing that we two are 
tyed as it were by the nauels together being both 
as one in friendfhip. And they tolde me for 
certaintie that the Lion our King is marueylous 
angrie, that he fmoked againe at the mouth, 
making fuch verfes as the cattes doe when they 
goe a catterwauling in Januarie, and in that furie, 
he fpit forth thefe wordes. Euer when I fee 
that Bull before me I am ready to fall for anger. 
An vnprofitable body, and no goodneffe in him 
at all : brought into the world but to fill his 
paunch at others coft. I can not be well, he 
doth vexe all the partes of me he doth fo much 
offend me. Well, I will take order for this well 
ynough, and fith he doth me no feruice by his 
life, I will profit my felfe by his death at leaft. 
When I heard thefe wordes fpoken, thou mayft 
imagine whether my heares floode vpright or no, 
and I could not hold but I muft needes fay. 
Well, well, fuch Lordes, in faith they are lyker 
Plowmen than thofe they reprefent. I fee they 
ftie the Hogge to fatte him vp, and fo to eate 
him. O this his ingratitude and crueltie, (I 



cannot hyde it) and his fo great beaftlyneffe 
togither hath taken mee by the nofe, as if I had 
met with the Muftarde pot. For thofe good 
qualities of thine, for that league that is betwixt 
vs (although I were fure of his Graces indig 
nation) and bicaufe me thinke thou are betray de, 
I could not choofe but come and tell it thee. 
So that good Chiarino, thou are great and olde 
ynough, looke well to thyfelf, thou needeft not 
be taught, thou art wife ynough, and there an 
ende. Thou art paft a Steere, and a Bull full 
growne, nay rather a fat oxe. But heareft 
thou me, Gods my bones not a word for thy life : 
for if thou doeft, all the fatte lieth in the fire, 
and the pottage maye be fpilt and caft on the 
Moyles backe. 

Chiarino ftoode awhile on the ground like a 
mazed bealt, as one that had bene drie beaten, 
being fronted with fo malicious a deuife. Then 
he layde his hande on his heart, and bethought 
him of all his bufinefle and matters : as of his 
gouernment, office, liuing, au&horitie, and regi 
ment : and knowing himfelfe as cleere as a 
Barbers bafen, he hit the matter rightly, ima 
gining (as it was) that fome had wrought 
knauery agaynft him, and fayde. Well, go to : 
there is nothing breedes more occafion of mortal 1 




hate than the vyle and flye pra&ifes of the per- 
uerfe and wicked. Our Court is full of anxious 
perfons, which ftirred vp perhaps with fpite to 
fee the Prince favor and lyke my feruice (being 
a corefey to their heart to abide it) doe wickedly 
pra&ife and deuife fuch mifchiefes. They fee 
ing (as I fay) the graces and benefites the Prince 
beftowed on mee, making mee honourable, and 
heapyng great thinges vppon mee, doe procure 
by indirect meanes to make his Maieftie turne 
his copie, and me to chaunge my wonted maners. 
Sure when I loke into the matter and aduife it 
well, it is me thinkes a thing not to be credited 
and makes me not a little to wonder that hys 
Grace without caufe is thus deceyued : yet in 
the ende truth I knowe wyll take place. God 
will not long fuffer fuch pra6tifes. Neyther La we 
wyll in any wyfe permit that a man mail haue 
Judgement before he be heard. Since I came 
firft as a beaft into his Highnes feruice, I neuer 
did anything that my confcience fhoulde accufe 
me in. But yet I haue as great caufe to bewayle 
my miihaps come to me, as he that putting him- 
felfe to the fea, (and might haue gone fafe by 
land) was thrown on a rock and drowned : and 
all through his owne feeking. All they which 
bulie themfelues thus in Court, and run from 
table to table, making themfelues great with 



this man and that man, ftill whifpering in their 
eares, muft (notwithstanding that the Prince 
rewarde them, or that he bee very well ferued 
of them, and lyke them) looke to be touched 
at one time or other and vnhappilye to fall 
into the Princes difgrace, and perhaps to remaine 
fo a good whyle out of favour. And this onely 
rifeth by thefe double reporters and tale bearers, 
or by the enuie of Courtiers, which is mother of 
all vyce and iniquitie. I dare boldly fhewe my 
face euery where, for anye offence I euer did 
the King. And if I had committed a fault 
throughe ignoraunce, and not of wyll : me 
thinkes I mould not be punimed neyther for 
the one nor the other. The counfell that I 
alwayes gaue him, hath euer fallen out well, 
and to good purpofe. And if perhaps they 
haue not all taken fuch effect as they ought : 
he muft thinke Fortune will play hir part in 
thefe worldly things. And this I faye for pur 
gation of my vpright and honeft meaning to 
his royall Maieftie. I am fure the Kinge will 
but proceede with iuftice, following the fteppes 
of the iuft : the which will laye no violent 
handes on any beaft but wyll firft inquire, 
whether the caufe be iuft, who are the accufers, 
whether hee be a lawfull man that doth fuch 
a thing, and if the qualitie of the offence agree 



with the conditions of the accufed, wyth fuch 
other lyke circumftances and ceremonies perti 
nent to matters of fuche importaunce. Hee 
that gathereth vnripe fruite, repenteth him of 
the marring it. Beholde the fruites eaten in 
Court : in the mouth pafling fweete and luffhi- 
ous, but in the bodie God knoweth verie bitter 
and hurtfull. Lorde, howe manye doth the 
foolifhe vayne pompe of the worlde deceyue 
and abufe ? I maye rightly take myfelfe for 
one of thofe that fcant hath tafted of the 
fhadowe of his fweetneffe, but I am euen filled 
with poyfon. The heauens beget beafts, and 
they ioyne togithers : but I would I had neuer 
ioyned with it, fince I mall leaue it fo quickly, 
foole that I was, that I coulde not knowe the 
difference betwixt him and mee, and difcerne 
his nature. Go you and ferue in a ftraunge 
countrie a Gods name. See what difference 
there is betwixt hym and mee. I muft weare 
the yoke, and he muft breake it. I am borne 
to labor, and he muft fit ftill. When I haue 
meate giuen me I eate, and tarie not his rauen- 
ing. Flies may liue abrode in the fieldes, and 
yet they flye into mens eyes : fo that fometime 
wyth death they paye for their coming, or at 
leaft are driuen awaye with hurt and mayme. 
And to conclude, I feede on the grafle, and 



fill mee, and hee feedeth on daintie fleihe, and 
fareth well. 

Thefe thy wyfe reafons O Chiarino fincke 
not into my heade fayd the Moyle (as he that 
woulde needes make him beleeue he gaue him 
a remedie for his griefe, and prefented a cup 
with poyfon). Make no more wordes, for thou 
muft put to thy hande to redreffe it, and not 
to lament it. For yll ftande wordes in place 
where deedes are requifite. To ftiewe his griefe 
fayd the Bull, and to breake his minde to his 
friend, me thinkes it is partly an eafe to the 
heart and a lightning of the minde to him that 
is afflicted. And fo much more is this in me 
bicaufe I fee my felfe in great daunger, and 
like to be vndone. And although the Lion de 
lighted not in my hurt which I may fuffer, (and 
as thou fay ft liketh him) yet the iniquity of my 
enimies notwithftanding wil fo preuaile againft 
me, that the King will giue no eare to my 
innocencie. And I am fure (for I fee it in the 
element) that the like will fall on me, that 
lighted on the Camell with an other lyke Lion : 
which tale followeth, and this it is. 

In Thelaida (a countrie fo called) before diui- 
lion of caues were made betweene the great and 



little beaftes, men abode with beaftes manye times 
in one hole, and liued lyke brothers : and men 
were then fo fcant that they coulde haue no other 
men to waite vppon them, infomuch as they tooke 
vnreafonable beaftes to feruice, as it is written of 
Olofar King of Knaues, which at that time did 
neuer other but liealongft on the ground, and was fo 
lloth full that he fuffered the Snakes to come and 
rubbe his feete to prouoke him to fleepe. Now 
this ydle beaft dwelled neare vnto a Caue where 
inhabited togithers three beaftes, to wit : A 
Woolfe, a Foxe, and a Rauen. I praye yee all 
what a foolyfhe fraternitie was amongft thefe 
three : and it might be fayde. The beft taketh 
vp the worft. This laylie knaue bichaunce got 
vppe one morning betimes at Cocke crowing, and 
hee fawe this that I will tell you now. Certayne 
Merchaunts paffed by with a marueylous number 
of Camels loden. And as a fodeine one of them 
fell downe for wearineffe, not able to goe anye 
further. Infomuch as the Merchaunts vnloded 
him of hys burden, and caft it on the reaft, to 
ech one fome, till they had it all on their backe, 
agayne amongft them, and fo left thys Camell 
behind them to the mercy of the wylde beaftes. 
The Wolfe, Foxe, and Rauen, chaunced to come 
that waye, and they fawe this poore Camell come 
as one that had neuer a whole ioynt in him, and 



as it were halfe deade. The Camell recom 
mended him felfe vnto them, and tolde them by 
what meanes he was brought to this miferable 
mifhappe. Thefe three were forie for it, and 
tooke compaflion on him, and as they might 
caried him to their Caue, where they refrefhed 
him with fuch confe&ions, as were fitte for the 
place and tyme. And thus they kept him ftill 
in cure till he recouered, and patched him vp 
agayne. They three feeing fo goodly a morfell 
of flefh as this Camell was, thought it befl to 
prefent hym to the king, which was an olde 
Lion, and his palace not farre from them. The 
Camell hearing them faye we will preferre you 
to the Lion our Emperor, King, Prince, Arch 
duke, Duke, Marqueffe, Erie, aud chiefe Lorde 
ouer vs, to be his page of his priuie Chamber, 
lyked no whitte of that eftimation and aduance- 
ment, and woulde not vnderftande the matter. 
Howbeit they made fomuch of him, and clawed 
him, that they brought him on fayre and foftly 
(as his pace is not faft) and he went as though 
one ioynt would not hang by an other. When 
hee was come to the Kings prefence, he humbly 
kneeled downe, & exhibited to his grace in writing 
the caufe of his coming to him, as he was before 
inftru6ted by the Rauen, and kifled his hande. 
The Lion hearing himfelfe called inuincible, 



moft puiflant, moft noble, right honorable, great 
Clerke, SufFragane, and Archking, Ihewed him 
felfe very gentle, thofe royall termes fo pleafed 
him, and woulde not deuour the Camell as the 
rauening Woolfe had beckened to him, and as that 
fubtill Foxe had wincked on him : but he made 
hym of hys Chamber, and treaforer of his houfe. 
And moreouer, beyonde all their expectation, he 
did affure him wyth fafe condu6t, and made 
marueloufly on hym, ftroking him a thoufand 
tymes vnder the chinne, and receyued him into 
feruice. This Camell that was fedde nowe with 
the Chariot horfes, and fared as they did, grew 
quite out of falhion he was fo full fedde, and his 
Cote was as fleeke as a Mowles fkinne. So that 
they that knewe him before, and faw him then, 
fpighted him out of malice, and gaue him many 
an yll looke. Yea, thofe chieflye that brought 
hym firft to the Court, were they that looked 
moft awrye on him. 

It fortuned one day that the Lion being a 
hunting in a great wylde Chafe, met with an 
Elephant, who beleeued and was fure hee was the 
greateft beaft of the world, and looked in all and 
for all to be the greateft King, as he was in deede 
the greateft bodyed beaft. Infomuch as after 
hote wordes, they grue to luftie ftrokes : in the 
ende the Elephante ftrake the Lion into the thigh 



with one of his teeth, that he pierfed it quite 
through. So that he was forced to fet one of his 
ftubbed feete on the backe of the Lion to plucke it 
out, that he made him haue the fquirt for wo he 
fo fqueafed him, and faid : Cedo lonis. And the 
Elephant departed his waye for the kinglieit 
beafl of beaftes. This battayle fell out yll for the 
Lyon, fo they caried him home vpon a wheele 
barrow after the fafhion of the countrie, and there 
hee was ftreight miniftered vnto with fouereygne 
Balmes, and within fhort time galantly healed. 
The Lion continued hys dyet a while at the 
Woolues prouifion, and his meales were fo 
flender that he became as leane and drie as a 
Kixe : that if one had put a candle light into his 
bodie, it would haue giuen light as through a 
Lanterne. After this foughten fraye betweene 
the Lion and Elephant, not a beafte of them 
durft once fturre to hunt, and the Lion him felfe 
was more afrayde than before leaft he mould 
meete with fuch another banket. Yet being 
this leane as he was, and fuch a dearth befides, 
he was forier for his feruaunts, than for himfelfe. 
The Rauen, the Woolfe, and the Foxe that 
were all three in maner famifhed, one day 
vnder good licence and coulour they painted 
thefe wordes vnto him. The benifites receyued 
from your Maieftie, molt excellent Prince, before 



the Elephant had thus mifvfed you, maketh vs 
greatly to pitie your cafe. Therefore we are all 
determined to our vttermoft powers to go out 
to prouide you of vittayles ynough and more 
than mall ferue you. The Lion gaue them 
agayne wordes of Sgratis volis, and that hee 
was rather bounde to them, with many other 
ceremonies : yet in the ende hee prayed them if 
they would doe anye thing to relieue him, that 
they woulde doe it quickly without delay. Thefe 
worfhipfull beailes layd their heads togither, and 
confulted on the matter, and hauing imagined 
many and fundrie wayes and deuifes, and not 
knowing which waye to bring this geare about : 
the Rauen that al wayes bringeth euyll tidings, 
fayd thus. My maifters this Camell is not of 
our league & fraternitie, neyther commeth any 
thing neare our maners and fafhions, nor liueth 
not of that that we liue of. Betides that he 
is fuch a ftalking foole, a monftrous gorbellied 
beaft, bigge as a houfe, and a lafie lowtilh thing : 
& we are wife, malicious, valiant, and ftrong. So 
that betwixt our peruerfe fantafie and his foolifh 
vnderftandinge there is as much difference as 
betwixt water and lande. Were it not beft to 
mew the King that in this neceifitie hee myght 
doe well to eate him, and the rather for that he 
is verie good flefhe, and fatte as a crammed 



capon. If any will obied and fay he doth all 
in the Court, and manigeth the whole affayres 
of the Realme, O beware what ye doe. Then 
may we anfwere. What lacke or myffe mall 
the Realme haue of any fuch paunches ? What 
wonders or feruice doth he more than others? 
How faye ye, how lyke yee my opinion : faye I 
not well ? Yes fayde the Woolfe. And I like 
it the better bicaufe of his heigth and flature. 
For I warraunt you, a good Ikeyne of threede 
and fomewhat more will not meafure his length 
he is fo tall, but all the better for vs. For there 
is fo much meate on him that when the Lion 
hath eaten all the flefhe (which will fill him, 
truft to it) and taken his pleafure, the fhauing of 
the bones will feme vs well eyght dayes. The 
Foxe was of contrarie opinion : and wifhed rather 
they mould driue a nayle in the heade of him, 
to ridde him out of the waye, fo that dying of 
himfelfe they were fure no bodie woulde come 
and eate of him, and much leffe fufpe6t that hee 
were made away. And thus fayde hee we three 
mail have meate ynough to chawe on, to ferue 
vs gallantly for a moneth, and fare lyke Lordes. 
Tufhe as for the Lions good grace, let his King- 
fhippe ihift as he lyft, neuer take thought for 
him : Gods Lord is not he King ? he may take 
and leaue where he thinkes good. O thou foole 



fayd the Rauen, art thou fo fimple as to beleeue 
that fo huge a carkas as he will dye for fo little 
a pricke or hurt ? No, no, thou thinckeft thou 
haft a Henne or Partridge in hande that are foone 
nipped in the heade, and difpatched ftreight. I 
tell it thee for this, fayd the Foxe. Sure the 
King will not giue eare to it, nor heare a worde 
fpoken agaynft him : and all bicaufe he gaue 
him hys worde, and promifed him he would not 
touch him. And what ? thinke ye the Prince 
can with his honor go backe from his worde ? 
no, he may not, and I dare warrant you he wyll 
not. The Rauen that was the wyfeft in the 
towne, and a Doctor mfurtis, like a fubtill Carin 
tooke vpon him the burden, with his malice 
to get out of thefe bryers well ynough, and fo 
togithers they went to the Princes Pallace, and 
after they had done their due negligences, pulled 
of their cappes, and giuen him lona dies, they 
fate them downe in their feates. The King 
feeing them come to him at fo rare an howre, 
beganne to playe on the bridle, and fayde to 
himfelfe. O bellie, now prepare thy felfe, good 
newes and God will. And turning him to the 
Rauen (that was reaching with his bill as though 
he would haue fpoken to the King) he aiked 
him. Ah Sira, how is it with you : what faye 
you to me worihipfull Maifter Carrin ? Haue 




you prouided vs of vittayles as yee informed vs ? 
Maifter Rauen bluming lyke a black dogge, fet 
a good face on the matter, and boldly aunfwered 

Moft mightie Prince the Prouerbe fayth. Who 
feeketh mall finde. Like as he can not fee 

that hath not eyes, nor heare that hath not 
eares : So wee poore wretches that flarue for 
hunger, thruft vp betwixt the doore and the 
wall, we I fay can not fee one another, and haue 
loft all our fenfes. And being thus blinded we 
cannot feeke, and not feeking yee may well 



thinke that we are all ready to faint and fall 
downe right. But yet we haue founde a waye 
not to famifhe : and to bee plaine with your 
Grace at a worde, we woulde haue you kill the 
Camell, and the Woolfe, and the Foxe, and I 
will be readye to affift you. He is rounde, 
plumme, fatte, and as full as an Egge, fo that 
he will feme you a great while, & alfo he is 
none of ours at any hand, neither yet is he called 
to any feruice for his richefle : for I haue knowne 
him a very beggar ywis. The Lion cut of his 
tale and deuice on a fodeine, and more than 
halfe angrie he laid to him. Get thee hence out 
of my fight thou and thy wicked counfel, vile 
(linking beaft that thou art, that doeft nothing 
elfe but plucke out eyes, a beaft without difcre- 
tion or fayth. Doft thou not remember what I 
fayd to the Camell ? Doth he not liue under 
my protection and warrant ? The Rauen lyke 
an olde theefe let him go on and faye his plea- 
fure. And though the King grounded himfelfe 
on juftice, and fought to perfourme his worde 
and promife paft him, yet he ftirred not a whit, 
no more than the wilde Bore amongft the thicke 
bufhes and briers, nor once hid himfelfe for all 
his heate and hote wordes, but took hart of grace 
on him againe. And as one that knewe he 
ftoode on a fure grounde, and that hee fpake for 



the Princes profile (a good ftaffe to leane on and 
make a man bolde I warrant ye, for it maketh 
many a bitter fray with honor, and putteth him 
oft to flight : and iuftice is more corrupted for 
commoditie, than honor doth caufe it to pro- 
ceede with equitie). He replied to the King, 
and told him a trimme tale with thefe wordes. 
Victorious Prince, your opinion is no lefle good 
than iuft, and I lyke it well that your minde 
agreeth with the greatnefle of your crowne : but 
I ftande in great feare that this your carnell 
holynefle will fall out verie hurtfull for your 
Kingdome. Sure generall honeftie banilheth 
from euery one murder : but priuate profile 
calleth it againe. We your obedient vaffals and 
fubiects, humbly befeeche your Maieftie on the 
knees of our hearts, that of two hard choyces ye 
will take the beft, or as they fay, of two euyls 
the leaft. Caft not away for Gods fake to faue 
one vnprofitable member, fo many profitable and 
necefTarie members, making them vnprofitable 
and not neceflary. Your life ftandeth yourfelfe 
and all vs vppon, and importeth all. If he liue, 
you die: if he die, you liue, and we to ferae 
you. My Lorde I faye, honor for others that 
lyft, but profit for your felfe. Your Maieftie 
once gone, your fubiectes and Realme are lyke 
to come to naught. Your preferuation is ours 



alfo. It is of neceflitie one Well muft be clenfed 
to cleere the reft. And though in deede your 
word and aflurance hath tied your handes, and 
that in that refpe6t you woulde not breake iuftice : 
let mee alone with the matter : I will worke fuch 
a feate for him, that I will make him come and 
offer himfeife vnto you and laye his necke on 
the blocke, and yet he mall little thinke my 
meaning. And when you haue his heade on the 
blocke and cannot finde meanes to choppe it 
off, in fayth you are worthie to ftarue : and then 
at your perill be it for me. You fee you are 
famiihed and we flamed, and howe lowe you are 
brought. Follow my counfell, and I will deliuer 
him you faire and fatte : fo mall ye faue your- 
felfe and vs too. 

The King gaue very good eare to his prefer, 
and bade the Rauen hie him, yet with prouifo 
alwayes his honor might bee faued, and then 
worke with what arte or deceite he woulde he 
cared not, handle it as he lifted, neither would 
he delire to be priuie to it. The Rauen repaired 
to the conliftorie with his companions, and deli- 
uered them his deuife and opinion. I woulde 
my maifters fayde he wee did deuife to ouertake 
this gorche the Camell, for the King ftandeth in 
it no more, he is confented it lhall be fo. They 
all fhronke in their moulders, and helde their 



heades awrie, and referred it ouer to his charge, 
as he that had made the promife to the King. 
Sirs if my companie like ye, I will doe thus. 
Wee muft haue the Camell with vs, that hee 
haue no time to preuent the fodeine mifchiefe. 
All we foure will goe togithers to the King, and 
looke what prefer I make, the fame ye may 
ealily make without daunger I warrant ye : And 
after vs out of doubt this fat morfell will offer 
him felfe to of necemtie (if it be but for good 
maner only) and I trow the King wyll vncafe 
him, and make him leaue his fkinne behinde 
him. And when they had called the Camell, 
they went togithers to the King. The Rauen, 
(the cunningeft fpeaker of them all) with lament 
able wordes beganne to fay vnto the king. Sir 
thefe many yeares I haue enioyed my life vntill 
this prefent of your fouereigne bountie, vnder 
your Maiefties good peace and protection, and 
waying now the extremetie of your Maieftie, it 
is more than time I (hould fatisfie your goodneffe 
to me in part, though not in all. But when I 
loke into myne owne weakneffe, alacke I fee my 
myferie great, not finding anything in me worthie 
to prefent you with, or fitte for your hyghnefle. 
I am forie to fee your Grace aliue halfe dead. 
Alas that fuch a king mould perifh for famine. 
I haue not great thyngs to offer you, and thofe 



not worthy of your Maieftie, but yet with willing 
minde I prefent my bodye to you, take and feede 
my Lorde of this my poore and fimple carcas, 
die not lir for hunger : for it better lyketh me to 
die for you. O it is but meete my Lord, that 
that which is profitable in you mould be laved, 
and the vnprofitable in me loft. And here 
he proftrated him felf at the Lyons feete, and 
made him way for his necke and flefli, lying ftill 
as he had bene deade. The Wolfe no fooner 
sawe the Rauen flatte on the grounde, but alfo 
with a Philicall hyftorie fayd, and repeated the 
felfe fame word by word, and chopped himfelfe 
ftreight vnder the Kinge, that he might take his 
pleafure of him if he lyked him. This maner of 
humilitie and offer lyked not the Foxe a whit, 
and fteppe by fteppe he came to make his oration, 
creeping as the Snake to the charme, or the 
Beare to the ftake. Now when the Camell faw 
him make no more hafte, he ftepped in before 
him and occupied the place : and kneeling downe 
he fayd. My Lord thofe that ferue faithfully 
difpatch their feruice quickly : lo, I am here for 
you, relieue your famine. The craftie Foxe that 
ftoode aloofe fayde, although my flefhe be naught 
and an vnwholefome morfell for your Maieftie, 
yet you may if you lyke tafte it, and fo he looked 
downe, and layde himfelfe on the grounde. The 



Lion feeing thefe beaftes on the grounde like 
drunken chickens, thanked them one by one, 
faying to the Rauen, that his flelhe was full of 
yll humors, and if it had bene good he would 
haue neuer haue offered it to him : and to the 
Woolfe alfo he fayde, that his was to tough to 
digeft, and at once hee put his deuouring mouth 
to the throte of the Camell, and fet his griping 
talons on him, and tore him in peeces before a 
man would haue fayde I am here, when the poore 
wretche thoughte he fhoulde haue efcaped with 
the reft. O God that fayth affured in wordes 
commeth to bee broken in deedes : euen fo 
auerice becometh enimye to all honeftie. But 
the beft was, the Lyon fent the other beaftes 
packing to the Gallowes and they would, for he 
would not giue them a bytte to relieue them 
with, fo they died miferably for hunger. Sure 
a fit death to aunfwere fo wicked a life. 

This tale I haue tolde thee fayd the Bull, 
bicaufe thou mouldeft knowe thefe courtlike 
fables, deuifes and practifes of vaine and wicked 
Courtiers. I knowe them all, and I am fo much 
the better acquainted with them, becaufe I fee 
them daily vfed againft the good and vertuous, 
and well difpofed minds. And one no fooner 
maketh waye for vertue, but they ftreight fet 



thornes in his way to prick his feete. But I 
will not hazard my life in going about to main- 
taine the place and credite I haue about the 
Prince. If the loue thou beareft me be true I 
praye thee doe but giue me a watch worde how I 
may faue my felfe, and helpe me with thy coun- 
fell in this diftrefle, for I promife thee I cannot 
counfell my felfe. And for any other to counfell 
me in fo harde a cafe, I cannot fee any light at all, 
bicaule me thinkes I fee fome beaftly part playde 
me, and I am ready to burlt for forrowe : and the 
worfl of all that I fee no ende to bring mee to 
any fure hauen. So that I praye thee helpe to 
faue me : and this thing I craue of thee, bicaufe 
it is fitte for euerye body to feeke for his helth. 

Thou haft fayd better than a Crabbe that 
hath two mouthes fayd the Moyle : and furely 
to feeke for thy health is but reafon, and a 
lawfull excufe. For he that cannot faue his 
life by force, is to be borne withall if he worke 
for his life by fubtiltie or malice. Howbeit 
aboue all thinges euery little enimie is greatly 
to be thought on and looked vnto : now iudge 
thou then howe much the great is to be feared. 
And hee that will not efteeme this and beleeue 
what I faye, it fhoulde happen to him that 
Happened to the male and female Linnet in 
making their neaft. 



A man hath no greater enimie 
than himfelfe. 

Alongeft the fea fyde, in a fewe rocks and 
clyffes full of wylde Herbes, certaine Linnets 
were wont to lay and breede : and breeding 
time beinge come to laye their egges, the Cocke 
began to make his neaft there. In fo much as 
the Henne fayd to the Cocke: me thinkes it 
were better for vs to go feeke fome other place 
to hatch our yong ones, (bicaufe this is not 
certayne, and befide that perilous,, as it is often 
feene) that we might yet once bring vp our 
poore little fooles to fome good. What fayth 
the Cock, doeft thou miflyke of this feate, and 
is it fo daungerous as thou talkeft of? Here 
pafle no people, here it is hote, no windes at 
all, and an infinite forts of Herbes doe growe 
here as thou feeft : fo that wee mall haue meate 
at all times at will. O my good fweet Honie 
hufbande quoth the Henne, it is not fitte for vs 
God knoweth. For in fuch like feats is euer 
great daunger, vppon any rage of the feas to 
lofe them all, that it is : therefore I pray thee 
let vs auoyde the daunger. Wilt thou doe as 
the Pigeon that being afked of a Pie why fhe 
returned to the Douehoufe to laye hir egges 



(where all hir yong ones were ftill taken away) 
aunfwered : my (implicitie is the caufe and hath 
euer bene of my griefe. Thou that haft great 
experience and haft pyffed in fo many fnowes, 
wilt thou not take it yll to bee handled likes 
a Coddes head in thy olde dayes ? and that it 
fhoulde bee tolde thee he knewe it, and would 
not knowe it, he beleeued it not, he did it not, 
and fo forth ? but the foolyfhe hufbande hauing 
no capacitie to conceyue his wyues words, went 
his way, and flue vp to the top of the tree, and 
the more fhee fpake, the worfe heade had he to 
vnderftande hir. So he ftoode ftill in his owne 
conceyte, thinking hee had bene handled like a 
tame foole, if he had followed his wyues fantafie. 
O how noble a foole. O what a cockes combe. 
All is one : me might fay what fhe would, but 
he would doe as hee lifted, and follow his owne 
fantafy. And fo he dwelled ftill in his opinion, 
and made his neaft, and fhee layde hir egges and 
hatched them. A man hath no greater enimye 
than himfelfe, and that beaft fpecially that know 
ing he did amiffe, did rather continue his obfti- 
nacie to his hurt, than for his profit once to 
accept the counfell of his wyfe or friende : And 
laft of all me tolde him a tale of proteftation. 

In the timings of the Sophie there was a worlde 



of Fowles that kept about it to feede of thofe 
fifties,, and amongft them was a Torteife of the 
water that had flreight friendfhip with two great 
and fat Fowles, who diuing vnder water droue 
the fiftie all about, and they no fooner appeered 
almoft aboue water, but at a choppe they had 
them in their mouthes. The Lake was full of 
cliftes, I cannot tell howe but by certayne earth 
quakes, and by little and little it beganne to 
waxe drie, ib that they were faine to voyde out 
the water to take out the great number of fifhe 
that were in it, that they mould not die in that 
drougth but rather eate them vp. The fifties 
therefore of that Lake meaning to depart out of 
that countrie, came one morning to breake their 
faft togithers, and to take their leaue of the Tor 
teife their friend. The which when fhe faw 
them forfake hir, fhe wept bitterly, & pitifully 
lamenting fhe fayd. Alas ! what fhall I doe here 
alone ? But what thing can come worfe to mee 
than to lofe the water and my friendes at one 
inftant. O poore Torteife that I am, wretched 
creature I, whither fhould I go to feeke out 
water, that am fo flowe to go ? I like not to 
tarie longer in this countrie. O good brethren 
helpe me, I pray you forfake me not in my dif- 
trefle. Ah vnhappie was I borne in this worlde, 
that I muft carie my houfe with me, and can 



put no vittayles into it. In others houfes alacke 
there is place ynough for their necefTaries : but 
in mine I can fcant hyde myfelfe. A, woe, woe 
is me, howe mail I doe ? if ye haue any pitie on 
me my brethren, & if ye haue taken me for your 
friend, helpe me for Gods fake. Leaue me not 
here to burft for thirft. I woulde gladly go with 
you, and that you woulde gladly put me in fome 
Lake, and I would followe mine olde trade as I 
haue done, therefore deare Fowles helpe me. 
Thefe wordes did penetrate the heartes of thefe 
great water Fowles, and taking no lefle pitie on 
hir, than looking to their owne profite, they fayde 
vnto hir. Deare Mother Torteife, we coulde 
not doe better than fatisfie thy defire, but alas 
what meanes haue we to carry thee hence into 
any Lake ? yet there is an eafie way to bring it 
to pafle, fo that thy hart will ferue thee to take 
vpon thee to holde a peece of wood fall in thy 
teeth a good while. And then we, (the one on 
the one fide of thee, and the other on the other 
fide) will with our bylles take the ende of the 
flicke in our mouthes alfo, and fo carye thee 
trimlye into fome Lake, and there we would 
leade our Hues and fare delicately. But in any 
cafe thou muft beware thou open not thy mouth 
at any time, bicaufe the other birdes that flie vp 
and downe will gladly play with thee and laugh 



to fee thee flie in the ayre, thou that are vfed to 
tarie on the earth, and vnder the water. There 
fore they will tell thee marueylous wonders, and 
will be verie bufie with thee, and peradventure 
they will afke thee : Oh pretie fhe beaft, whence 
commeft thou I pray thee, that thou are flying 
thus, and whither wilt thou ? But take thou no 
heede to them, fee them not, nor once harken 
to them I would aduife thee. And if they 
prattle to thee, faying, Oh what an enterprife of 
birdes, good Lorde what a peece of worke they 
haue taken in hande. Whifhte not a worde 
thou, for thy life, nor looke not that wee mould 
aunfwere them. For we hauing the fticke in our 
mouthes cannot fpeake but thou muft needes fall, 
if the fticke (by talke) fall out of our mouthes at 
any time. Well, now thou haft heard all, how 
fayeft thou ? will thy minde ferue thee, haft thou 
any fantafie to the matter ? Who I r yes that I 
haue, I am ready to doe anything : I will venter 
rather than I will tarie behinde. The Fowle 
founde out a fticke, and made the Torteife holde 
it faft with hir teeth as me could for hir life, and 
then they eche of them tooke an ende in their 
mouth, and putting themfelues vppe, ftreight 
flue into the aire : that it was one of the foolifh- 
eft fightes to fee a Torteife flie in the aire that 
euer was fcene. And beholde a whole flight of 




birdes met them, feeing them flie thus ilraungely, 
and houered rounde about them, with great 
laughteres, and noyfes, and fpeaking the vileft 
wordes to them they coulde. O here is a braue 
fight, looke, here is a goodly ieaft, whoo, what 
bugge haue we here faid fome. See, fee, me 

hangeth by the throte, and therefore me fpeakeft 
not, faide others : and the beaft flieth not, like a 
beaft. Thefe tauntes and fpiteful wordes went 
to the hart of the Torteife, that me was as madde 
as me coulde bee : fo me coulde no longer holde 
but aunfwere me would (at Ieaft as me thought) 



and when me opened hir mouth to fpeake, downe 
me fell to the grounde, and paihte hir all to 
peeces : and all bicaufe fhe fhoulde haue fayde, 
I am an honeft woman,, and no theefe. I would 
ye fhoulde knowe it : Knaues, Rafcals, and 
rauening birds that ye are. So that cotemning 
the good counfell was giuen hir, or to fay better 
bicaufe fhe woulde not beleeue them me payde 
hir folly with death. And now I returne backe 
againe whence I came. 

The Birde loft hir yong ones bicaufe the fea 
rofe high, and the furging waues caried them 
quite awaye. Now bicaufe me would lay no 
more in any fuch daungerous place, ihee affem- 
bled all hir parentage and kinfefolkes, and came 
before the Crane (Queene of all Fowles) to cite 
hir hufbande, and tolde hir the whole matter. 
The which when me fawe the little difcretion of 
hir hufband, me rebuked him, and wifely tolde 
him howe great follye it was (yea rather mad- 
neffe) to put himfelfe and his a feconde time in 
open & manifeft daunger, being fallen into it once 
already. Shewing him by example a tale of the 
Curbe, that being angry with the Well ranne 
agaynft it, thinking to make a hole in it, but 
in fine it brake in tenne peeces. Learne there 
fore fayde the Crane not to flriue with thofe 



that are greater than thy felfe, if thou meaneft 
not to haue the fhame and lofle. Therefore 
builde thy neaft no more alongeft the fea banckes. 
I thought good to tell thee this difcourfe, fayd 
the Moile to the Bui, to {how thee that thou 
canft not be in furetie to fight againft a Kinge, 
and to prooue thy flrength. But thou Ihouldeft 
go with a leaden heele : that is to fay, with 
wifedome, and malice. The Bull aunfwered. 
The beft way I can take in this matter me 
thinketh is to go before his Maieftie, and not 
to make any countenance that I am troubled 
or offended, but euen after myne olde woonted 
maner : and then mall I eafily perceiue whether 
he haue ought in his minde againft me, and that 
he ftomacke mee. If at my firft comming he 
doe not to me as King Lutorcena did to Bijenzo 
hys Captaine, who hauing him in fome fufpicion, 
with his owne handes, threw him to the grounde, 
and flue him. 

The Moyle liked not this determination, (per- 
ceiuing hys reaching heade to preuent his mal- 
lice) imagining that the King knowing his 
wifedome, and feeing in him no alteration, 
would ftreight thinke himfelfe abufed, and then 
were he vtterly mamed and vndone both. There 
fore fearing his fault hee fayde vnto him. My 



Lorde Chiarino, and brother deare (I will giue 
thee a watche worde to ferue thy turne at neede) 
when thou fhalt come before the Kinge, if per- 
chaunce thou finde him very fufpicious, and that 
he caft his deadly eyes on thee, and bende his 
fhort eares, ftanding vpright to heare what thou 
fayeft, or if any worde thou fpeakeft maketh him 
caft vp his heade, or hang it downe : then (truft 
me) beware of him that he playe thee not fome 
part, therefore carie thy eyes before thee, and 
looke to his fingers, and ftand to thy defence 
lyke a worthie Champion. For when he fhall 
fee thee prepare thyfelfe with fworde and buck 
ler to refill him, euen at that inftant he will 
chaunge his mind : and fo by this meanes thou 
malt fee what he will doe. The Bull tooke his 
(as friendly) counfell, & went forthwith to the 
Court. The Moyle alfo departed from him, and 
with great ioy flingeth to the Affe his brother, 
and tolde him I haue difpatched this matter. I 
haue done his errant I warrant him. I knowe 
he knoweth his payne by this time, feeft thou ? 
Well I fayd and did fo much, that at the laft 
I brought him to it. And though I had great 
labor to bring it to pafle, yet better late than 
neuer. My fubtill and malicious praclifes at 
length yet are brought to good purpofe I 
thanke God. Oh what fame ihall I get, Ihe 




mall be full of eyes though I haue feene light. 
Sounde thy trumpet once Ladie Fame through 
all the countries round about, farre and neere : 
and if my praclife fall out right, thou neuer 
foundeft in thy life fo goodly a double treafon. 
O what a perfite counfellor mould I be, how 
trimly coulde I bring a fpoufe to bedde ? be of 
good cheare brother, the Bull perfwaded by me 
goth to Court to feeke out the King, if he fee 
him fturre any thing at all j and the Lion alfo 
hath my Coccomber in his bodie, and in his 
heade the toyes and deuifes that I haue tolde 
him, looking for the Bull with many an yll 
thought. Now beginnes the game. I haue fo 
cunningly handeled this matter betweene them 
both, that one of them I holde ye a grote will 
leaue his fkinne behinde him, part it betwixt 
them as they lift. But I that haue my feete 
in two flirropes (as God would haue it) am 
fure inough from falling. Let them trie it out 
by the teeth and homes, I will faue one I 
warrant thee. I will ftande and giue ayme. 

When .the Bull was come to the King's 
prefence, and that he faw his head full of 
fufpicion, and perceyued in him thofe lignes 
& tokens that trayterous villeyne the Moyle 
had tolde him imagining prefently the Kings 
pawes on his backe, and his mouth on his 



throte, rememberinge the Moyles peftilent coun- 
fell, he ftoode ftreight to his defence. And the 
King on the other fide fuppofed he went to 
aflault him, and being informed before by the 
Moyle hee thought it fure fo, and that it was 
true that the Moyle tolde him : therefore with 
out any farther daliance, or tarrying his meaning, 
he rowfed himfelfe, and on him he goeth, fo 
that they began a fierfe battayle, howbeit in the 
ende the olde Lyon wearied the Bull, that he 
laye deade before him, for fuch is the iuftice 
amongeft the Nobilitie and wormipfull Courtiers 
of beafts. And yet though the Lyon was ftronger 
than the Bull : dealing wyth defperate perfons he 
had but a bloudie viftorie. The cafe was fuch, 
and fo fodeine, that all the Court was full of 
ibrowe, and the more for that it happened vn- 
looked for, and neuer a worde fpoken of it 
before : fo that they were all by this chaunce 
ftricken with a marueylous feare. The Afle 
being informed of the terror of the matter was 
very heauy, and angry with his brother, info- 
much as he fayde to him : O curfed brother, 
thou haft done a horrible and wicked fact. Haft 
thou not almoft brought the Kinge to deathes 
dore, caufed thy friend to be flayne, and put 
all the Court in feare, daunger, and forowe ? 
and woorft of all, thou haft loft thy credite and 



good name, fliamed thyfelfe, and for euer be- 
famed thy houfe and parentage. And if thy 
wicked practife were knowne,what fhould (think- 
eft thou) become of thy life ? Oh caytyfe wretch. 
I faye no more Moyle, but marke the ende, this 
mifchiefe will fall on thy neck, and thou malt 
gather of thy naughtye feede thou fowedft, 
naught elfe but prickes and thornes. For thy 
barren and drie grounde can bring forth nothing 
but Burres and Brambles. Gods diuine iuftice 
will not fuffer fuch and fo wicked a dede vn- 
punilhed. And though prefently it lighteth not 
on thy heade, the deferring of it will ihowe thee 
howe much the whip with time doth growe. 
Oh brutifhe creature thou : neuer to feare God, 
nor to loue thy neighbour, but alwayes to follow 
thyfelfe, and to purfue thy beaftly minde wyth- 
out regarde ? thou mayntayneft thy ambition, & 
wyth that thou wouldelt fubuert and ouerthrow 
a thoufand Realmes. 

The trayterous Moyle hoong downe his heade 
all the while, and knewe well ynough that it 
was true the Afle fayd, and that he mifled not 
much the marke, yet he helde his peace, and 
would not aunfwere one worde. So the Afle 
followed on his tale, and came againe to the 
matter. I fee my wordes but loft, and worke 
fmall effect : and I am fure there is no rebuke 



more caft away and blowne into the winde, 
than that that is giuen him, that is neyther 
capable of it, nor honeft and iuft? nay rather 
feareth no punilhment for his peruerfe and 
wicked works. It mall doe well therefore 
(though I be but thy brother by the fathers 
fide) to take care of thee, leaft I mould fall 
into that that a little Popingey fell into with 
an Ape of Soria. 

It looteth not to giue counfell 
where it is not followed. 

Betwixt Dalmatia and the Realme of Granata 
there is a marueylous great valley full of high 
Firre trees and Pineapples. It happened once in 
y e winter feafon that there went a mole of Apes 
togither from one countrie to another, and the 
night ouertooke them alongeft thefe trees, fo that 
they ftoode there cracking of thefe Pineapple 
kirnels, determining to take vp their lodging 
there for the night. But bicaufe the night was 
fomewhat colde, they blewe their nayles and 
chattered their teeth apace. In this meane 
while one of the Apes had fpyed a Glowe worme 
in a hedge that mewed like fire : and beleuing 
it had bene fire indeede, they ranne all to fetch 
ftrawe, ftickes, and drie Pines to lay vppon hir, 



being verie defirous to warme them. And when 
they had layde on all this wood on the backe of 
hir, they beganne to blowe, and to lay on lode 
to kindle the fire ; but all in vayne for the deuill 
of ilycke or flrawe once fmoked much lefs burned, 
fo that they were ready to goe madde for anger 
they could not warme them. Certaine Popin- 
geyes dwelt in thofe Firre trees, the goodlieft 
Birdes in that countrie. Whereof one of them 
behelde the fimplicitie of thefe Apes at leaft three 
howres, how they laboured and toyled for life 
about Moone mine in the water: So that he 
mooued with pitie and companion towards them, 
came downe out of the tree, and tolde them. 
Good wyfe Apes, it grieues me to fee your follye 
and great labour, and quite without profite, that 
ye are fo madde to beleeue to fet a fire thofe 
ilickes with that mining Glow worme. Alacke 
poore fooles, yee lofe your winde and time both, 
befides that euery body that feeth you will thinke 
yee verye beaftes in deede without wit. For the 
thing that ihineth fo is not fire in Gods name, 
but it is a certayne Worme which naturally hath 
that vile mining at his tayle, fo that ye are de- 
ceiued truly: therefore yee were beft take another 
way if ye meane to get heate. One of the me Apes 
no lefle tattling than obftinate, commeth towardes 
him, and putting hir hande by hir fide, fhee 




aunfwered him, lyke a madde, prowde, Bedlem 

Oh ydle Birde, in fayth thou haft but little 
witte to meddle with that that toucheth thee 
not. What is it to thee whether we knowe or 
not knowe ? who intreated or bade thee come to 

giue vs counfell or helpe ? If thou doe not get 
thee hence to fleepe againe, and that quickly, I 
will promife thee a broken heade at the leaft 
and I turne not thy fkinne ouer thy eares too, 
heareft thou me ? I praye yee fee how hee 
meddles in our matters. Difpatch, get thee 



hence I fay, and meddle with thy Birdes with a 
nmrren to thee, and let vs alone : leaft perhaps 
thou wifheft thou hadft, when it will be too late. 
And with that {he beganne to fhowe hir teeth, 
with an euill fauoured looke withall. 

The poore Birde when he faw hir make that 
face to him was halfe afraide, yet leaning hir he 
went to counfell the others, fuppofing by being 
importunate to make them knowe their follie : 
and fo he began to fee and repeate verie oft that 
he fayd to the other Ape before, fo that that Ape 
coulde not abyde him any longer for fpight, but 
gaue a leape or two to ketch him. But the 
Fowle being wight of winge eafilye fcaped hir : 
and fure if he had taried never fo little, and had 
not flowen awaye fo fall as he did, the Ape had 
not left a feather on his back, me had torne him. 
And like to the Ape art thou, for there is no 
good counfell will take place with thee, nor no 
admonitions or warnings that will once make 
thee beware or take heed. I fhoulde be the 
obftinate Birde that fhoulde ftill go about to 
perfwade thee, but in the ende I feare me that 
woulde happen to mee, which chaunced to a 
Pie with hir Maifter, being a fetter forth of 
Playes and Enterludes. 



He thai diggeth a pittefor others 
many times falleth into it himfelfe. 

A maker of Playes, dwellinge in a towne called 
Baccheretto, gaue to a rich Merchant a Pie (which 
one of his boyes that playde a parte euer in his 
playes had brought vppe :) that had a propertie 
to blabbe and tell all that fhe faw done in the 
houle. This Merchant had a faire wife, which 
wantonly chofe to hyde hir felfe otherwhile with 
a goodly yong man hir neighbour. The hulbande 
was many times told of it, and did in maner per- 
ceiue fomewhat himfelfe too ; but becaufe it was 
but fufpicion and no proofe (and if he mould haue 
ftirred in it had not beene able to haue taken his 
othe that it was true) he floode betweene two 
waters, as he that was verie loth to beleeue it. 
And as in fuch cafes it falleth out many times, 
that the feruants and familie (for the loue of their 
Miflrefle) doe depende rather of their Myftrefle 
than of their Maifter, and are readyer to pleafe 
hir of both. The hulbande feeking diuerfe 
meanes to come to the light of this matter, coulde 
neuer get out of them, but fure fir it is not fo, you 
are deceyued. The good man perplexed in his 
minde, not knowing what way to deuife to boulte 
out this matter, remembered at thelaft that the Pye 



hee had in his Chamber (vponthewindowe) woulde 
ferue his turne excellentlye well for the purpofe, fo 
hee brought hir to his wiues Chamber, as thoughhee 
had not cared for hir (meaning nothing lefle) and 
there he left hir a fewe dayes. When he thought 
the Meale had bene boulted, hee caufed the Pye 
to be brought againe into his Chambre, and fhee 
tolde him all things directly as they were done, 
fo that he determined to punifhe hir lewde life. 
But as many doe, whome loue doth no lefle ouer- 
come than pitie, he let it alone yet many dayes. 
All this while he hong vp the Pie in hir cage in 
the hall, and at night made hir be fetched in, and 
then he knewe all that was done in the day from 
point to point, & what had happened. Who 
was there, if hir Miftrefle went abrode, how many 
poundes of Flaxe the Maides had fpunne, and how 
many times the feruants had fet on the Flaxe of 
the Rock and pulled it off againe : when, what, 
and how. O what a vile craftie Pye was fhe. 
The poore Maydes of the houfe neuer thought 
fhe coulde haue tolde any thing in the worlde, 
nor made any reckening of hir at all. The huf- 
band at the firft, began ne to groyne and lowre, 
and to caft forth certayne wordes and Parables to 
his wife, the which feemed not to vnderftande 
him, though ihee knewe his meaning well ynough, 
and fufpeded that fome of the houfe had opened 



the matter. Howbeit, not able to burthen anye 
one particularly, bicaufe fhee woulde be fure not 
to miffe, fhe flatly fell out wyth them all, and 
tooke on with them to badde, brawling and fcold- 
ing vp and downe thehoufe lykea madde woman 
all the day long. In continuance of time, 
whether it was that they ftarued the poor Pye, or 
how the goodyere it fell out I know not, but the 
Pye had founde hir tongue & fpake plainely 
to them, and fayde : giue me fome meate, or I 
will tell my maifter. When they hearde hir 
prate thus, imagine you what fport the women 
had with hir. And bicaufe ihe was a beaft, out 
me tattled at once all that fhe knewe of the men 
as well as of the women : fo that fhe tolde them 
how hir Maifter would afke hir how they vfed 
hir, and what they did, and counterfeited his 
faihions and ieftures rightly, afking queftions, and 
aunfwering hir felfe, euen as if hir maifter had 
bene prefent to haue afked hir. 

The Myftrefle and Maydes gladde they had 
found out the tale bearer, they came about hir 
with a light, and fhut to the windowes, and with 
vifers on their faces, difguifed they daunced fuch 
a MorefTe about her with Glaffes, Fire, Water, 
and founding of Belles, beating on the bourdes, 
fhowting and whooping, that it would haue made 
the wheele of a Myll deafe, it was fo terrible. 



And after they had done this returning euerything 
to his place and openinge the Windowes as they 
were at the firft there they left hir alone, and 
woulde giue hir neuera bitteof meate. When the 
Merchant hir maifter was come home, and that 
he caufed the Pye to be brought into his Cham 
ber, {he beganne to lay out hir tongue at large, 
and fayde. O Maifter I haue had an yll night 
todaye, there hath bene fuch rayne, tempefts, 
and fuch noyfes, and I haue feene a number of 
Pyes pafs by my Cage, but none of them all 
would tarie with me. O what a foolifh time was 
it : and yet in a moment the winde and water 
ceafed, and fo it was daye againe. Bid them 
giue mee fome meate that I might dine, for it is 
eight aclock and I am a hungered. The Mer- 
chaunt when hee heard hir fpeake thus foolifhly 
and tell thefe fables, he thought they were but 
toyes in hir heade, and that fhee talked at pleafure, 
nothing touchinge hir Miftreffe matters, and fo 
let it paffe for that tyme. One nyght the Mer 
chant determined to lye out, and fo he did, and 
left the Pye in his wyues Chamber. As foone 
as it was darke his wife fent for hir Louer, and 
ftreight caufed the Pye to bee taken awaye (hir 
Cage couered ouer) and caried into a Well : and 
when he that caried hir had let hir Cage downe 
a pretie deale into the Welle, he vncouered it 



againe, tying it faft at the toppe of the Well for 
falling into it, and being Moone light the fame 
night, the feruaunt departed his waye without 
fpeaking to hir, or feeing hir, and fo let hir 
hange. A little before day the good wife of the 
houfe made the Cage be couered agayne trimlye, 
and brought into the Chamber, and fo vncouering 
it in the darcke, fell afleepe againe (hir Louer 
being gone) till brode day. The Merchant came 
home betimes in the morning before funne rifing, 
and went ftreight to the cage in his chaber. The 
Pie that hong in the Welle al night, and knew 
not in what place fhee was in, nor what houfe it 
was, would very gladly haue tolde hir Maifter 
all, and thus ihe began. Maifter the Chamber 
was carried quite awaye tonight, and I was in a 
great round Glaffe with water at the funnefhine of 
the daye, all night long almoft, and then the Glaffe 
and Cage was remoued, but I cannot tell whither : 
and fo God gyue you good morrow, Maifter. 
Nowe God giue thee forrow (quoth the Mer- 
chaunt) wicked beaft that thou art : for throughe 
thy foolyihe wordes I had well nere paide my 
pore Jone on the Petticote for thy fake. And 
with that he ranne to the bed and imbraced his 
wife and fweetely buffed hir. His wyfe that 
fawe hir time had come now to be reuenged, and 
to free hir felfe of hir hulbandes conceiued iel- 



oufie, caufed the flouenly Wittall her hufbande 
to tell hir all the Pies qualities & tales ihee had 
brought him : which when fhe had hearde, out 
on hir whoore quoth fhee, kill hir yll fauored 
harlottry, what meaneft thou to kepe that foolilh 
Birde ? Hir hulband being rather in a rage than 
well pleafed, bicaufe he would not gladly haue 
knowne that that his wife had tolde him. Toke 
the cage and Pie and thrue hir out at the window, 
& with the Fall the pore wretch died out of hand. 
Therefore none muft intermeddle in thyngs that 
belongeth not to them, neyther in wordes nor 
deedes to goe about the deftruction of any. For 
hee that diggeth a pit for others, many times 
falleth into it himfelfe. 

The Sea Crabbe difpofed to play with a Foole, 
was contented to be ridden of him, but he like a 
Cockes combe (not knowing fhe went back worde) 
put a Bridle in hir mouth, and it went to hir 
tayle, and fpurring hir forwardes, the Crabbe 
went backwardes. I am a foole (quoth the 
foole) to thincke to doe well with thee, lince I 
know not thy nature nor condicion. Now liflen 
what chaunced to an vngracious traueyler, and 
then conlider well of the matter. 

Twoo men of the Mamaleckites traueyling by 




the way togithers, founde a great bagge full of 
Golden Wedges, and fo ioyntly togithers they 
agreed to take it vp determining to carie it to the 
Citie, and to laye it vp fafe in their lodgings. 
But when they were come to the walles of the 
Citie, they altered their mindes, and one of them 

fayde to the other. Let vs diuide the treafure, 
that ache may carie home his part, and doe 
withall as he thinketh good. The other that 
was refolved to fteale it, and to haue it al to him- 
felf, meaning to eafe the good honeft man of his 
part, aunfwered ex tempore for his profite. Mee 



thinketh good brother it is not meete that our 
happe mould be common, and the friendmip per- 
ticular : but lyke as we met in pouertie, fo let us 
ioyne in richefle. Therefore for my part I will 
not deuide it, but we will enioye it friendly to- 
githers, and the good happe that lighted euenly 
vpon vs. Howbeit for this time (if thou thinke 
good) let vs take a peece out to feme our neceffi tie 
with, to defraie houfeholde expences, and other 
extraordinarie charges : and for the reaft, it mail 
not be amiffe if it runne in common betwixt vs, 
and we will hyde it in the darke in fome fecrete 
place fo as we maye from time to time (alwayes 
as we nede it) take of it at our pleafures. The 
good fielye man (I will not fay foole) did not 
thinke of his pretenfed fubtiltie, and that hee 
went about then lyke a falfe Knaue to deceyne 
him, but tooke him for a playne meaning man 
lyke himfelfe,, and fayde he was contented it 
fhoulde be fo. So for companye they tooke eche 
of them his burthen and the reft they fafely buried 
vnder the roote of an olde Elme, which the poore 
neyghbours that dwelled by called vile Knaue, and 
fo with the little burden of their neceffarie ex 
pences, ech of them repayred to their lodginges. 
Within three houres of the fame night the com 
panion that gaue counfell to leave it abrode, went 
to the place of the hidden treafure, and fecretely 



caried it home with him. When tyme had con- 
fumed the honeft man's money, hee went to the 
theefe his partener, and fayde to him. Brother I 
woulde gladly haue the reaft of my part of the 
golde that remayneth behinde, let vs goe there 
fore I pray thee togithers as wee togithers did 
fynde and hyde it, and we will bring it home 
betwixt vs : for I aflure thee I am in great neede. 
Of mine honeftie well fayde (quoth the theefe his 
companion) we are happily met : for I was euen 
nowe thinking of that thou telleft me, and I pro- 
mife thee I was comming to thee of the fame 
errant. But now thou art come, in fayth wel 
come, thou haft faued me fo much labor : come 
on, gowe, let vs take our horfes and awaye, wee 
will not dwell long about this matter, I trowe, 
we will handle it fo nimbly thou malt fee : and 
then we mall Hue merilye without anye care 
or thought, and neede not feare robbing. Now 
when they were come to the vyle Knave (the 
Elme fo called) where they had buried their 
treafure, beinge a great and hollow tree, they 
began to digge for it, but in faith they might dig 
vnder the tree till their hartes aked, as deepe and 
as farre as they lifted for the treafure was flowen. 
The theefe then played the Harlots part rightly, 
that weepeth and lamenteth to the honeft woman, 
and beganne to tell him there was no more fayth 



in friends, and that loue was loft. Truft that truft 
lyft, for by the Mafic I will neuer truft agayne. 
And when hee had often repeated this, hee be- 
ganne to throwe away his cappe, to crye out, 
and beate himfelfe, that he was lyke a madde 
man, nay a very bedlem in dede. His fellow 
hat was fo naturall, though he were fomewhat 
lyke a Mome, woulde not bee lowted fo, but 
rather laughed to fee his Knauerie and crafte 
thinking notwithftanding that he had ftolen it 
(as he had in deede) but yet hee ftoode in doubt, 
laughing ftill. Then the theefe raged like a 
beaft (as if he had reafon on his fyde) and fayde. 
None, no none but thou traytor, theefe, and 
villen (as thou art) coulde fteale this. The fiely 
man that of both had caufe to complayne (all 
hope taken from him to recouer his part) in 
fteade of acculing him, it ftoode him in hande to 
excufe him felfe, and to fweare and forfweare : 
faying I cannot tell of it, I faw it not, I touched 
it not, neither did I once think of it till now. 
But tut al would not ferue or ftaye the theefe, 
but hee cried out more and more (and that 
alowde) and called him al to naught, Oh traytor, 
oh flaue, and micherlye theefe, who but you 
knew of this ? What man alyue but thou could 
once haue layde hands on it? Tarie a little, 
by Gods paffion I will tell my L. Mayor of thee. 



I will doe thy errant trufl to it : and I trowe he 
will fet thee where thou malt fee no Sunne nor 
Moone a good while. Harken after. 

This brawling and fcolding continued a good 
while betweene them, in the ende they went 
both to the Mayor : who after longe cauillations, 
intermiflions, paremptories, exigentes, termes 
vpon termes, fauors, promifes, agreements, 
prayfes, compremifes, wagers, and a number 
of other fuch lyke conceytes and toyes, per- 
ceyued his tayle had neither head nor foote. 
Then fayd my L. Mayor to pricke out the 
core of this matter : when ye two hid this trea- 
fure, were there any others with you, or were 
yee two alone togithers ? The Knaue that had 
occupied his hands as nimbly as he that played 
on the Phife, aunfwered ftreight as if he had bene 
cleere and honeft in the matter. My Lorde, 
and if it pleafe your Honor, with your Graces 
fauour, the tree it felfe and you were there and 
fawe it, would witnefle the matter plainely. For 
we both I am fure put it betweene the rootes of 
the tree, and therefore I beleeue it will ihowe 
you the hole which the theefe hath digged. If 
God be iuft, I knowe hee will make the tree 
tell, and as it were poynt with a finger to him 
that Hale it, and fhowe you of him Sir, of him 
ihat ftandeth here before your Lordfhippes good- 



nefle (and my worfhipfull maifters) lyke a fteale 
counter nowe, for out of doubt he Hole it. My 
L. Mayor that had many times put his finger 
in the fire before, as one well acquaynted with 
fuch lyke matters, and that could fpie day at a 
little hole, fayd, well then ye ftande vpon the 
teftimonie of the tree, and feeing ye doe fo, both 
you and I will be at the doing of it God willing, 
and I will fift out to the vttermoft I warrent 
ye, feare ye not. They putting in fureties for 
their appearance, and a daye appointed for the 
matter, were difmifled the Court. This deter 
mination liked the theefe of life, for he had 
ftreight deuifed a mifchiefe to blind my L. 
Maior withall. But here I wil make a little 
digreffion. He that doth his things without 
aduife and counfell can neuer do well. The 
counfell is euer found and good that commeth 
from an olde experienced man, or at least helpeth 
in fome part. It is euery wife mans part to take 
counfell in things he goeth about, whereof he 
is either ignoraunt or doubtfull. He that repre- 
fenteth the Moyle, I hope fince he will follow 
no counfell, ye mail fee him fmart for it in the 
ende. For it is written. Heare my fonne my 
preceptes and counfayles, but the Moile was 
deafe and coulde not heare of that fide. And 
nowe liften howe. 



The theefe had imagined a mifchiefe in hys 
heade, and as foone as hee was come home he 
fayde vnto his father. O my good luftie olde 
grey bearde. I will difclose a great fecrete to 
thee, which till this daye I have kept fecret, 
fecret in my bofome manye a faire daye, and 
euer buried it within me, as he that coulde finde 
no time I tell thee to tryfle. But father, heare 
ye. To be plaine with you, the treafure I afke 
of my companion, I myfelfe haue ftollen it, that 
I might the better releeve thee in thy olde age, 
and alfo farther and aduance my poore familie, 
a thing that thou and I both long time haue 
delired. I thanke God, and my wife forefight 
(I mould haue fayd before) it goth as I would 
haue it, I would wifh it no better. Now if 
thou wilt be ruled, and haue the thing brought 
to paffe (being alreadye in good forwardnefle) 
this cheate will be ours in fpight of the Deuill. 
And fo rehearfed all to hym that had pafled 
betweene them before the Maior and the Bench, 
and adding this withall. I praye thee conuey 
thyfelfe to night into the hole vnder the rootes 
of the tree where the treafure was hidde, for it 
is long, deepe, and large. And when my Lorde 
Mayar mail afke the tree : Quern queritis ? I 
woulde faye, who caried awaye the treafure ? 
then malt thou aunfwere with a counterfeyt 



voice : Egus. That is my companion, and thou 
malt call him by his name. The old man that 
was lyke vnto his fonne in euery poynt, had 
reafon to holde of his fide, after ninetene shillings 
to the pounde : but he aunfwered foure wordes. 

Sonne it is good to be merie and wife. I care 
not to take this matter vpon me, but me thinke 
it is harde and daungerous. A wife man will 
looke ere he leape. I feare me thofe egges will 
be broken in the mouth while we are a fucking of 
them. It happeneth in an howre that happeneth 
not in feuen yeares. If thys geare come out, we 
haue fponne a fayre threede. Coniider it wel, 
milhappes are euer at hande. Howbeit, fo it 
happen not to me as it did to the Birde that 
would kill the Snake, I am contented : and now 
heare the ftorie how me did. 

In the rockes of Popolonia there was a goodlye 
tree, in the which a folitarie Birde builte hir neft : 
and laying fixe times, fiue of them mifcaried. 
Harde by this tree, there dwelled a great and 
vnhappie Snake, which (as oft as thefe little birdes 
were in maner hatched and ready to fiie) crept 
vp the tree to the neft, and deuoured them all, 
that me was readie to burft for fulnefle. So that 
the poo re Syer of them was as angry as a Beare, 



he was fo full of choler and forrowe. One day 
hee determined to afke councell in the matter, 
and confulted with a Crabbe that was a Doctor 
in Lilris. Hearing his learning, he faid naught 
elfe to him, but come and follow me. So he 
brought him to a Caue where dwelled a certayne 
beaft (a companion of his) a charmer, an enimie 
to the Snake for his lyfe, and tolde him his nature, 
how that this beafte delighted to eate fiflie, and 
made him carie a little dime full of them, and 
go fcattering of them ftill all alongft till he came 
to the Snakes hole. The charmer hauing the 
fauor of the fifhe in the winde, followed the fent, 
and when he was come to the place where the 
Snake made hir neaft, in a great furie he digged 
vp the grounde : and finding hir (as one would 
haue wyihed it) in hir firft fleepe, hee killed hir. 
But bicaufe fhee was fo well fedde, he went fur 
ther groping vp and downe, fearching if there 
had beene ought elfe to haue lyked him : and 
hauing thefe Birdes in the winde to, he got him 
vp to the tree, and deuoured them alfo. 

Father you caft beyonde the Moone, and make 
doubtes where none are : there is no fuch daunger 
in this as you fpeake of. Too it luftilye, and be 
not afrayde. I will warrant thee for an Egge at 
Eafter. What doeft thou thinke I haue not 



wayed the matter to the vttermoft ? forefeene it, 
preuented it, looked thorowe it, and feene to the 
bottome of it ? Yes that I trowe I haue. And 
if I had not feene it done as I would haue it, I 
would not buye the repentaunce of the lyfe of my 
deare, fweete, louing and tender father. There 
fore difpatche, and about thy buiinefle. The 
tyde tarieth no man. Nowe is the time that in 
difpite of our foes (doe the woorft they can) wee 
mall haue our purpofe, and that fo trimlye, that 
we mall fwime in wealth, and Hue all the dayes 
of our lyfe after like Gentlemen, and take our 
pleafure. So the vnhappie (rather than wife) 
father, daunced after the fonnes pipe, and forth 
with went and conueyed^himfelf vnder that hol- 
lowe tree, tarying there all night where the trea- 
fure had bene hidden. 

In the morning betimes, My Lord Maior, the 
Shirifes, hys brethren the Aldermen, the Recor 
der, the counfell of the Citie, my Maifters the 
Judges, the Juftices of peace, with all other of 
my Lord Maiors and the Shirifes officers attend 
ing on him, folenymly went to the appoynted 
place for triall of this matter, and hauing hearde 
the parties in partilus and spartitilus, hee re- 
folued vpon the teftimonie of the tree, and cried 
out. What ho, tree (three times) .who hath 



robbed this treafure ? Then this olde man that 
had lien vnder the tree all night, & had a couple 
of nuts in his mouth to counterfeit the Matter, 
aunfwered quickly on a fodeine the name of the 
good fimple man. When the Maior heard this 
thing, that within the barks of the trees there 
were certaine trembling voyces put forth, it fo 
amazed him, that for the time he was extaticke, 
& coulde not fpeake a word : feeming to him and 
to thofe that ftoode by, that it was a wonderful 
and flraunge thing. And thus wondering at the 
matter, to heare the voyce come out of the tree, 
he was about to fay : Lorde, fee what force truth 
is off. But with that thought alfo he beganne 
to fufpect there was fome knauery in hande, and 
becaufe he would knowe it were fo he com- 
maunded they mould lay a lode of wood or two 
about the roote of the tree, & when they had 
done, that they mould fet it on fyre : imagining 
that if there were any yll fauoured worme or ver 
min in the hollownes of the tree, either he would 
fire him out, or at the leail turne hys coate or 
tayle. And if there were any deceyte, he knewe 
by this meanes he ihould ealily boult it out : and 
hauing caufed wood to be brought and layd to- 
gither as he commaunded, they ftreight gaue fyre. 
Now the olde man hauing fyre at his tayle like 
a Gloworme, and that it began to partch him 



(thinke what heart he had) cryed out pittifully 
as lowde as he coulde. Alas alas, alas. Water, 
water, water. I burne, I burne, I burne. Helpe, 
helpe, I am fmothered, I am fmothered. Come, 
come, come. Quick, quick, quick. Open, open 
for Gods fake. I die, I die, I die. And many 
fuch wordes he fpake, that he made them all 
ready to burft with laughing. A firra (quoth my 
L. Maior) and art thou there in deede. In fayth 
the fpirite is coniured now, he is fure ynough I 
warrant him. And fo he caufed the fpirit to 
be pulled out, that God knoweth looked lyke the 
verye pi6ture of ftryfe it felfe. Whan he fa we 
the poore olde Deuill howe he was drefled, at 
the firft he laughed, and without any choler did 
ftreyght examine him. But when the troth in 
deede appeared as it was, hee payde them home 
with their owne deuice, and gaue them that they 
had iuftlye deferved, and delyuered all the trea- 
fure to the limple honeft man. So that nowe 
thou hearefl howe innocence is rewarded, and ini- 
quitie punilhed. Let ftryfe go, and we mall Hue 

Thou mayest nowe turne thys tale to thee, 
and make thee a fhort cloke, for in footh it is 
euen fit for thy back, therefore put it on thee. 
Once againe I tell it thee, that the books which 



thou haft ftudied are falfe, and the do&rine 
naught: therefore I can tell thee they will be 
throwne into the fire. And if thou followe that 
doctrine, and alleage their authorities ; out of 
doubt thou wilt frye at a flake, and thou and 
thy Doctors will be burned togithers. All will 
lye on thy neck and of thy childrens : as it did 
vpon the adultereffe, and it is not long fince it 
happened, as you fhall heare. 

In Terra Stolida, in a place called Vallona, it 
is reported there dwelled a riche Farmer, whofe 
fubftaunce laye moft in great Cattle : and at cer- 
taine times he droue them into other countries 
to pafture, where he abode with them many 
moneths. His wyfe that remayned at home, 
was good and fquare, and plumme of body, hir 
brawne as harde as a bourde, and that had hir 
face before hir as other women : fo that a great 
riche man alfo of that Countrie caft his eyes 
vpon hir, and entertayned hir in that time of 
vacation. And me that delighted not to be kept 
at the rack and maunger, fuffered hir receipt to 
runne at large, to fare more daintily. In fo 
much as at the laft (linning in gluttonie) hir 
breaftes grewe bigge, and hir belly rofe, fo when 
time came, Ihee brought forth a goodly Babe, 
which me carefully put forth to nurfe and thus 


it grewe : and in fine as hir owne in deede me 
brought it home and foftered it. Hir hufbande 
being come home that had beene long abfent, 
gladde to fee his wyfe and me (in feeming alfo) 
no leffe gladde of his comming, (but Lorde what 
feaft and ioye in outwarde fhowe betweene 
them) they fweetely kiffed, and with louing 
wordes imbraced eche other. Oh my Conye, 
welcome, quoth me. Oh my dear Muffe (fayde 
he) gramercy to thee. All wedlocke ceremonies 
duely accompliftied : hir hufbande calling his 
eyes aboute, and feeing this fayre little Boye 
running about the houfe. Muffe quoth he. I 
pray thee whence is thys little knaue? what 
knoweft thou not Conye fayde me ? it is myne 
(and this fhe tolde him as me that could cun 
ningly handle him in his kinde) and fo followed 
on, preuenting his tale. Doeft thou not remem 
ber that three yeares ago there fell a great Snowe. 
(Jefu how colde it was) and at the fame time I 
remember the Rauens and Crowes fell downe 
ftarke dead in the flreetes, and the little fifhe 
dyed in the Welles. Oh what a colde it was, 
and I tooke it in deede (God knoweth) with 
throwing of Snowe balles, the yonge maydes of 
the Countrie and I togithers : and I cannot tell 
howe, I handled fo manye, but well I wote I 
came home fayre with chylde, and I am fure it 



was no other but the Snow, and that is fene by 
the Boye, that is as faire and whyte as Snow it 
felfe and therefore I called hys name Whyte. 
And, bicaufe I knowe well ynough yee men are 
of fuch mettall, that euen ftreight yee thinke all 
the euill of vs poore women that can be, and for 
that I woulde not put any ieloufie or toye in thy 
head, I fent him out of the dores to nurfe think 
ing afterwardes at leyfure, when thou hadft 
knowne thy good wyfe, to fend for him, and 
fo to have tolde thee even plainely from point 
to point how the matter went, and howe I came 
by this good, pretie, fweete, faire, well favoured 

Hir huibande though in deede he was but an 
Affe and a dremifhe foole, was not moued a 
whit at hir yll fauoured tale, nor once honge 
downe his head for the matter, and made as 
though he beleued hir : but he knew ftreight the 
knauery of the foolifh inuention of his wife. How- 
beit what for the loue he bare hir (bicaufe fhe 
was worth the looking on ywis) and for that he 
was but a rude fellowe to beholde, and thought 
himfelfe fcant worthie of hir, and that he had 
married hir, pyning away for hir fake : he thought 
it better to carie fuch things in hys breft than in 
his heade, and the rather peraduentare bicaufe he 
doubted falfe meafure, fearing his partners yll 



will that farmed his grounde at halfes with him : 
in fine he was contented to bite it in for the time, 
determining not to be at charges with other mens 
children. So one day fpying time and place, 
he caried out of the dores with him this little Boy 
White : and fuch was his walke that the Boy was 
neuer more heard of, nor feene after that. The 
woman looked and looked againe to fee hir fonne 
returne with hir hufbande. But feeing hir huf- 
bande come home without him, Come fayth fhee 
to him : I praye thee what haft thou done with 
my Boy? Hir hufbande that had bought his 
wyt fo deare, aunfwered hir. A fweete Mufle, 
the other day vnaduifedly (I confefle it) I caried 
him abrode with me, and we walked a great 
whyle in the Sunne togithers, and thou knoweft 
how hote it was two dayes ago (alack that I 
mould tell it thee) the heate of the Sunne hath 
quite difolued him. And then I founde thy 
wordes true which before I hardly beleeued. 
Alas poore wretch, he fodanely turned all into 
water, that wo is me. His Mufle hearing this, 
in a rage nong hir away, and left Conie all alone, 
fo he neuer after fawe hir. 

I haue tolde thee thys fable, bicaufe thou 
fhouldeft know, and fee both, that all mifchiefe 
and malice in the ende commeth out, & being 



difclofed, it euer receiveth the juft reward and 
punifhment. What can be hoped for of thee that 
haft committed fo many and fundrie yll factes, 
practifed fuch wicked deedes, deuifed fuch abomi 
nable practifes, and made fo many fnares to ketch 
the pore Bull in, that at the length thou 
broughtest hym to the axe ? And moreouer 
(to giue place to thine iniquitie) haft brought 
thy friende to his death, the King in daunger, 
and thy poore kinsfolkes to fhame : and woorft 
of all, both of you brake your wordes and pro- 

Although I be brother to thee by the Fathers 
fide, I maye not, nor will not truft thee an 
ynche, nor deale with thee for pinnes. For he 
that hurteth his friende, wyll not fpare to hurt 
his brother : and he that hath once deceyued, 
knoweth how to deceyue againe. But well, 
once warned halfe armed they fay. I trow I 
wil beware of thee well ynough. Thou malt 
not colt me be fure, as the merchaunt was 
colted by an euill companion of his whom he 
trufted : and this once tolde thee, we will make 
handes and then adue. 

They faye there was a great rich Merchaunt 
that had as much bulineffe as he could turne 
him to : and amongeft other his fubftance he 
had many a thoufande weight of yron. His 



bufineffe falling oute fo that hee muft needes go 
to Calicut, (which was a good thoufand myles 
off) he gaue to his neighbour (a friende of his) 
his yron to keepe till he came home. The yron 
taried the maiiler many a faire day, and feeing 
hee came not, he tooke his leaue, and went his 
waye : but hee that had it in keeping, tooke 
reuenge well ynough of his departure, and made 
merie wyth it. The Merchannt after he was 
come home, went to his friende and afked hym 
his yron. But he that was a flye childe, had 
ilreyght deuyfed an excufe to feme hys turne, 
and fayde to him. I would to God you had 
neuer left it with me. For yee were not fo 
foone gone, but there came euen the fame nyght 
an armie of Rattes and Myfe, (drawne thither by 
the fauor of the mettall) that lay continually at 
it : fo that in fewe dayes, before I or any of my 
houfe knewe it (thinke you that heare it how 
this was likely) they had gnawen and eaten it 
vp euery whit, and had not left by eftimation 
vneaten, and not fpoyled, aboue foure ounces. 
Now imagine you whether this yll happe went 
to the ftomach of me or no. The Merchaunt 
hearing fo lowde a lye, could fcant keepe him 
from laughing, though inwardly it grieued him : 
& yet foothing him, he made as he beleeued 
him, and fayd. Sure it is a marueylous matter 



howe this fhould come to paiTe ; and but that 
I heare you fpeake it, I woulde neuer beleeue it. 
For doubtlefle it is one of the woonders of the 
worlde. A ihame take him that folde it mee. I 
cannot be perfwaded but that he noynted it with 
lome oyle, or gaue me fome of that foft yron 
that is made of the water of Steele. But well, 
let the yron go where it will, and all my ylles 
withall, although it bee of no fmall weight. I 
tell you truly I loue you fo muche that I make 
imall reckoning of my lofle, but rather I allure 
you I think it well bellowed, fyth the wicked 
Rattes yet had fomewhat to enterteine them with, 
and that they pardoned you and your familie. 
For ye may well know, that fyth they did eate 
the yron, they had the Woolues difeafe in them : 
and if that had not bene in the waye to haue 
relieued them, by my faye you had fmelt of it. 
But fince it is gone farewell it, no more wordes, 
as Cobbe fayd to his wife when his heade was 

This craftie fellow (but not fo fubtill as he 
tooke him felf for) reioyced at thefe wordes, 
fuppofing the Merchaunt had pafled no more for 
the matter, and fo was pacified : wher vpon he 
did conuite him the next day to dinner to him, 
and the Merchaunt accepted his bidding willingly. 
Howbeit he fludied all night to ferue him as 



good a turne, and he coulde at leaft, to be re- 
uenged at once of his lofle and mockes, without 
complayning to the Juftice of his wrong : and 
fure he fhowed him a right Northfolke tricke, 
and this was the ieft. 

The Merchaunt fent for to dinner to hys houfe 
that had ftollen the yron, went thyther ilreight, 
and was marueylouily feafted and made off (but 
in deede of his owne coft) howbeit the beft plea- 
fure of all was, the Merchaunt made verie much 
of a pretie little Boye, and he was the onely fonne 
and heyre of him that had bidden him to diner : 
and ftill he fed the Boy, and made him great 
cheere. After dinner playing with his fonne, 
and makinge much of him as I tolde you before, 
promifing (as they doe to children) many goodly 
thinges : whyleft the father began to nodde and 
to take a nappe, the Merchant made the Boy be 
caried to a neighbours houfe of his, and there he 
hid him. The father when he awaked, went 
forth with the Merchant, attending their bufi- 
neiTe, and thought nothing of his fonne, as he 
that was wont to go forth without any fuch care. 
So comming home at night, and not finding his 
fonne, out he went all about the towne to feeke 
him, and fpared not to afke euerye bodye that he 
met if they faw his fonne. At the laft by good 
happe hee ftumbled on this Merchaunt, that in 



deede had ftollen him (as the other had ftollen 
his yron before) and being in great perplexetie 
he forowfullye afked him of his fonne. The 
Merchaunt, all things framing as he wifhed, 
(failing the giving of his yron to hym to keepe), 
aunfwered ftreight. Yes marrie, I remember I 
fawe (not long lince the winde rofe fo great) a 
lielye Sparrowe catch a little pretie Boye by the 
heare of his heade, and in that whirle winde mee 
fnatched him vp, and caried him quite away into 
the ayre : and fure by your wordes mee thinkes 
it mould be your fonne. Therefore feeke him 
no more, for by this time he is in heaven, it 
is fo long agoe I sawe him taken vp from the 
grounde. The father hearing fo impoffible a 
thing, beganne like a madde man to crie oute, 
and fayde, O heaven, O earth, O yee people of 
the worlde : gyue eare vnto this ftraunge and 
wonderfull cafe. Who euer heard fuch a thing ? 
Who euer fawe fo ftraunge a fight as to fee little 
Sparrowes carie children into heauen ? Are 
Children become Chickens or Sparrowes Kytes ? 
What, fayth the Merchaunt, you feeme to haue 
little practife in the worlde, fyth ye remember 
not that an Eagle hath taken vp a man and caried 
him quite away. But Lorde what nedes this 
wondering : I marueyle at you aboue all men, 
fyth you are vfed to fee greater woonders and im- 



poffibilities than this. For you haue feene Rattes 
and Myfe gnawe yron, and eate it when they 
haue done : and I that did but heare it only of 
your mouth, marueiled not a whitte. By thefe 
woordes his falfe friende knewe what he ment 
well ynough, and imagined (as it was) that to be 
reuenged for his yron he kept his fonne. And 
feeing no other remedie, fallinge downe at his 
feete, he afked him forgiueneffe for God's fake, 
and put him felfe into his handes, promifing he 
woulde reftore him his yron agayne, and make 
him amendes for all his loffes. And thus hee 
came by his fonne agayne, which otherwyfe hee 
mould neuer haue heard of. 

By this that thou haft hearde (layd the AfTe 
to the Moyle) of the yll Companion thou ihalt 
know what thou mayeft hope of booties gotten 
with deceit : and confequently what thou mayeft 
looke for of the King, whome thou haft deceyued 
and betrayed. Which by fwiftneffe of Time 
(that fhortly pafleth ouer many yeares, and that 
alfo is father of Veritie) cannot nor will not fuffer 
hir to be hidden by any coloured fraude or deceit. 
So that he will difclofe all by mouth of Veritie 
vnto the King, telling him of thy wretchednefle : 
and the matter being knowne, thou malt bide 
the bitter punimment, and he will be reuenged of 
thee for the Bull. To this aunfwered the Moyle. 



There was a faire woman in loue with a 
Pothecarie, and fhee could neuer haue leyfure 
(becaufe hir hufband kept hir ftreightly) once 
to fpeake with him, or with any others to let 
him knowe it. One night hir hulband euen 
fodeinly being verye ficke, was compelled for 
prefent remedie to fend his wyfe in hafte to 
the Pothecaries. So thither me ranne with 
al fpeede, and infteade of returning with the 
medicines, fhee whipped at a trice vp into the 
Pothecaries chamber to conferre with him of 
fecret matters (you know what), and as fhee 
was running vp {he cafl hir handkircher with 
hir money downe on the fhoppe bourde to the 
Boy, and bade him make ready the medicine 
in the meane whyle. The Boye that had an 
eluifh witte, vndidde hir handkircher, and toke 
out hir money, and pretily tied it vp againe, 
hauing filled hir handkircher with the dufl of 
the ftreete, of purpofe to mocke hir, to let hir 
vnderfland, that they that came in hafle for 
ficke folks did not vfe to fport them at leyfure 
on that fafhion : and fo laid downe hir hand 
kircher againe on the bourde where he found 
it. When this woman had well paide the Col 
lector vpon hir receit, and that me faw fliee had 
bene fomewhat to long in hir account : me came 
down from the Pothecarie, matched vp hir hand 


kircher, and ran home as {he had bene feared 
with fome yll thing. But finding hir hulband 
fleping (the extremitie of the paine hailing left 
him) me fate downe foftlye by the beddes fyde, 
and opening hir handkircher, founde hir money 
turned into verye earth and duft. And euen at 
that inftant hir hufband awaked, who bicaufe he 
knew not how long he had flept, he could not 
tell whether his wife came quickly againe, or 
taried long: and cafting his eyes on the duft 
and earth which ihee was looking on, (as mee 
that knew me was mocked) he afked hir. What 
duft and baggage is that thou haft there ? what 
are ointments and medicines made of that fa- 
ihion ? his wyfe ftreight found his malice, and 
aunfwered foolifhly. 

I running haftilye from certaine that were 
fighting in the ftreetes, my money flipt out of 
my hande, and being very darke I fought to 
take it vp, and fo with my handes I tooke all 
that I coulde finde, thinking with myfelfe in 
taking vp the duft to get vp my money too 5 
but wo is me, it is fure all gone, and with 
that burft out in teares. The hufbande (imply 
beleeued hir, and giuing hir other money fent 
hir thither againe : and fo with this fecond 
commodotie me fully accomplifhed hir delyre, 
and fweetly payde the hire of hir pleafure. 



Why then doeft thou thinke with other new 
and ftraunge deuifes yet to occupie the Kings 
heade ? I befech God he may once pay thee 
home. But I would aduife thee, looke well 
to thy felfe. For thou fhalt finde great dif 
ference betweene fuch a beaft as he is, and 
another foolifh little beaft that will eafily be- 
leeue thee. Vnlefle thou wouldeft faye to me, 
that bicaufe thou haft done the moft, thou malt 
haue the leaft. To this I replie. That one 
paye payeth all. And a little theft hangeth 
vp the theefe for many a great robbery. I 
haue fayde to thee for this time, and now 


The fourth parte of Morall Philo- 
fophie, fhewing the ende of the 

treafons and miferies of the Court of 
this Worlds. 

LTHOUGH yee fynde many good 
reafones fpoken vnder the fhadow 
and colour of beaftes without 
reafon, yet ye are not to maruell 
a whit: for we alfo that repre- 
fent reafonable beaftes do oftentimes things with 
out reafon and difcretion both. And thys is 
excellent to: to fee beafts liue and worke as 
men. But howe brutilhe a thing it is to fee 
men lyue and governe themfelues like brute 
beaftes. Ye muft alfo note in this Treatife 
one thing, y* like as men fometime fay thou, 
or you, worfhipful, Honorable, Noble, or Lord- 
ihip and fo forth. And doe in deede many 
times myfle to giue to eche man his right title 
& dignitie as they ought, and is fit for eche 
man's calling and vocation : euen fo thefe beaftes 



alfo (for in the ende ye knowe them to be but 
beafts) do erre many times, fpeaking falfe Latine, 
faying thou for you, and maifter where they 
ihould fay feruaunt. Therefore you may not 
recken of fuch fcapes, nor loke after them, 
though ye fee them ftraye a little out of the 
waye, and take a Goflinge for a Goofe, and a 
Crabbe for a Whale. For it is an olde rule, that 
both men and beafts will fault in many things. 

The Lyon therefore did amiffe to kill the Bull, 
fuffering himfelfe and his iudgement to be abufed 
and ouertaken, by the deuilim and fubtill prac- 
tifes of the trayterous Moyle. Infomuch as 
when his choler was ouer, and that he had 
wreaked his anger of him, cruelly putting the 
guiltlefle beaft to death : he then to late looked 
backe on his bloudie deede, and repented him of 
his rage, knowing he had not done well to kill 
fo wyfe a fubiect, and fo graue a counfeller. 
His confcience griped him at the hart to thinke 
he had no lawful caufe to vfe fuch crueltie to 
him. Such inwarde thoughtes drawe deepe, and 
touche the quicke, and can hardly be holden in 
and kept fecrete. So that the Kinges heart 
burning thus, out he burft a fewe wordes, which 
made the Moyles eares glowe : as that peece of 
wicked flefh, that alwayes gaue attentiue eare, 
and looked to be payde home. So that vpon a 



fodeine, to take awaye thefe thoughtes from the 
Kinge, and that he fhould not thinke to much 
vppon them, belides that to continue him ftill in 
his errour : he ranne to the court, and downe he 
fell on his knees before the Kinge, and with 
all humilitie he fayd. Moft mightie and noble 
Prince, thou haft brought thy defires now to an 
ende. The Gods that day did blefle thee, in 
which they gaue thee honourable vi&orie, when 
thou ouercameft fo great and ftronge an enimie. 
The worlde, victorious Prince, woondereth, that 
thou hauing (I meane) caufe to reioyce art fo 
fadde and full of penfiveneffe. Oh fayde the 
Lyon, when I thinke of the cruell and violent 
death of Chiarino without caufe, I am ready to 
eate my fingers for forrow. And continually I 
thinke of the great wit he had, of his graue and 
prudent counfell, indowed betides with many 
noble gifts and maners. And to conclude, I 
muft tell thee plainely, I cannot comfort my- 
felfe, nor be in quiet, when I examine the caufe 
of his death. For many things runnes in my 
heade to perfwade me that things were otherwife 
than I tooke them, and that he had wrong. But 
nowe I knowe, that that my father fayde fo oft 
is true That a thing oft thought vpon, can feldome 
mifle but it falleth out true. 

Your Lorshippe (fayde this wicked Moyle) 



fhoulde not thus forow and bewayle the loffe of 
him, which made thee lyue in continuall feare 
and torment. For wife Princes oft times doe 
both punifhe and cut off many worthie perfones, 
and thofe whom they dearely loue and efteeme : 
and why? all for their owne fafetie, and the 
preferuation of their Realme. And Sir of two 
euils they choofe the leaft : to kill one, rather 
than to make a thoufand die. So here is an 
example. Doe ye not fee my Lord when one is 
bitten with a venimous ferpent, that ftreight he 
cutteth off the member that is bitten, not fuffering 
it to infect and poyfon the whole bodye, by 
meanes whereof he faveth his life, which elfe 
hee mould lofe ? The Kinge feemed to graunt 
him, and the Moyle thought thefe wordes had 
cleared the Lions hart, and he craftily made 
much of the worfhipfull Moyle, and like a 
brother intreated him. The Moyle fate him 
downe on a forme in the Chamber of prefcence 
a whyle, and began of himfelfe to think vpon 
the miferie of Princes of light credit, and of the 
malice of thefe vile tale bearers, which fet ftryfe 
and contention betwixt partie and partie, of 
their tyranie, of their opinions, and fonde fanta- 
lies, in thys maner. 

Large, great, wonderfull, and infinite are the 
wayes to offende, and innumerable are the mares 



and devifes that one wicked and naughtie difpofed 
perfon may deuife and fpread abrode, to ketch a 
good and true meaning man, to ouerthrow him 
quite. And there is not fo ftraight a friendfhip 
but is eafie to be broken, with the hand of 
naughty proceeding. As I have proued it. If 
I coulde write all the thinges that haue happened, 
the tales that have bene tolde, and the long wouen 
cloth : I mould teache Princes howe they fhoulde 
doe in all their matters, and woulde make them 
fee the difcretion that many have loft, and what 
waye they mould take not to fall into thefe 
Courtly flatterers. Thofe that beare office, and 
haue charge ouer others, ought diligently to 
fearche out the troth of thinges : and not to goe 
as Flies without heades, and lightly to turne and 
chaunge as the wauering weather Cock with 
euery winde. Truely it is a fowle fault in meane 
men to giue eafie eare to flatterers, but in great 
perfons it is a farre greater fault, and in Princes 
chiefly a thing of moil detect and ilaunder, and 
of extreeme crueltie. 

Nowe I come to knowe plainlye, what a great 
burden is layde on the peoples backes, that are 
gouerned by a Prince of fmall confideration and 
iudgment : and in what daunger their perfons 
are, befides the griefe their confcience giueth 
them for their ftate. O poo re people, how 



many thoufandes of ye recommended under the 
fcepter of fuch iuflice ? Ought not Princes to 
be like vnto God ? and if God will take account 
of all things at his will (be they neuer fo little) 
why fhoulde not the Kinge among his fubiectes 
alfo doe the lyke ? The wickedneffe of minifters 
and officers (if fo it were) woulde not then runne 
on fo farre as it doth vnpunifhed. O little faith 
to God's lawes. O little labor for a man to 
knowe himfetfe. Where we think goodneffe 
only harboreth, thence proceedeth all vice and 
wickedneffe : and where wee beleeue troth is 
lodged, there fleepeth deceyt. Who would not 
haue beleeued that in this court vertue had re- 
mayned ? but alas here is the only Court of vice. 
In outwarde lookes euerie one feemeth to carie 
troth : but in the inwarde brefts is hid all dif- 
fimulation and vntroth. Three thinges there 
are which are vnite togithers, and mould neuer 
be out of the Princes minde : To wit. To loue 
God, his neighbour, and to gouerne himfelfe. 
And three other thinges alfo there are for the 
fubiects to obferue vnto their Prince. Loue, 
fayth, and obedience. But euery one I fee hath 
forgotten them, from high to lowe. This world 
then being fo full of daungers and deceytes as it 
is, what man is he alyue fo wyfe can keepe him 
felfe from them ? 



The Lyon returned into the Chamber where 
the Moyle was, hee lycenfed him to depart, and 
the Moyle with due reuerence tooke his leeue of 
the King. Now the King left all alone, beganne 
agayne to lament, and to repent him a thoufande 
tymes that he was thus ouertaken with the 
Moyles perfwaiion : and it grieued him fo muche 
more bicaufe he remembered the Bulles wyfe 
counfels, wonderfull behauior, and noble conuer- 
fation. And to banime this inwarde conceyued 
griefe, that gryed him at the heart, he lyked to 
be amongft his Lordes and familiers, whom 
diueriely he entertained. And amongft this rowte 
was the Lybberd, one of the nobleft of bloud of 
his Kynne, and him the King trufted with many 
fecrete thinges of his lyfe. This Lybbarde one 
daye going out of the pallace to walke, pafled 
bichaunce by the houfe of the Moyle and Afle, 
and hearde the Affe crying out vppon the Moyle, 
and bitterlye reproouing him for that vyle treafon 
he vfed to the Bull : and fo hee hearde from 
poynt to poynt euerye a6te and deede he did. 
With thefe wordes the Lybbard felt a thing 
touch his heart as one had fpoken to him : and 
bade him marke well what Gods iuftice will doe. 
So that he fawe certainly the Moyle could not 
long fcape the Kings wrath, and that he mould 
dearely buye the Princes griefe, falling into that 



fnare he had layde for many others. Nowe as 
all curious fearchers doe, that deiire to heare other 
mens doings, he layde hys eare to the doore, and 
hearde the AfTe his brother fpeake thefe very 
words vnto him. O thou wouldeft needes follow 
thine owne fantalie : I coulde not rule thee. All 
is well that endeth well faye I. Marke the 
ende. Thou reie&edft my counfell, it fkilleth no 
matter : I fay naught but mum. If any mifchiefe 
light on thee, at thy perill be it : if the King doe 
puniihe thee, thou haft but well deferued it, and 
God is iuft if hee poure it on thee. O goodly 
a6t of thine, to betraye an innocent creature and 
thy faithful friende. 

Brother mine (fayde the Moyle), no more 
wordes. I praye thee : that that is done cannot 
be vndone. And it is eafier to reprooue than to 
amende. When the fteede is ftollen it is to late 
to fhut the ftable dore. I knowe Chiarino is 
flayne and that guiltlefle and I confefle I was 
caufe of his death. But let vs leaue off this 
vayne talke, and deuyfe fome waye to driue out 
the fufpition the Kinge hath taken in his heade, 
that he thinketh there hath bene fome trechery 
vfed towards him. The Libbard hauing hearde 
ynough and as much as ferued his turne, de 
parted his way and hied him to the Pallace 
of the Queene mother, whither the King had 



fent him for other affaires of his. After hee 
had done his meffage from the King hir fonne, 
he tolde the Queene mother al the circumftaunce 
of that he had hearde, and of the rebukes of the 
Affe to the Moyle, and of his horrible committed 
murder. So the Queene mother and he refolued 
to kepe it fecret, bicaufe they would not the 
Afle mould haue anye hurt, knowing hee was 
a good, honeft, playne, foolifh beaft. In the 
next morning betimes the Queene mother went 
to the Court to fee the Kinge hir fonne, and 
finding him perplexed, and in heavy cafe, me 
fayd vnto him, What aylefl thou my fonne that 
I fee thee thus troubled, and that thefe many 
dayes I faw thee not mery ? If it be for any 
thing thou haft loft, affure thy felfe that neyther 
fighes nor fobbes will once reftore it thee agayne. 
This inwarde griefe doth vexe thy minde, feebleth 
thy bodie, and tormenteth thee much I fee. 
But yet give not waye fo farre as thou canft 
not call it backe againe. Impart at leaft thy 
deepe conceyued griefe vnto thy mother, and 
familier friends, fuch as beft doe lyke thee. If 
any helpe at all there bee, wee will all put to our 
helping handes. But if ftill thou dofte burft out 
thus in teares and fighes, thou wilt rather fhowe 
thyfelfe a woman than a man. For fo doe 
women vfe, for euerye trifle when they lifter to 



bring forth a teare. Perhappes it grieues thee 
thou haft ilaine Chiarino. Out of doubt I can 
aflure thee thou defiledft thyfelf in innocent 
bloude : for without any crime, faulte, or liuing 
offence to thee thou laydeft thy handes vpon him. 
His mothers wordes at length drue thefe from 
him. It is an olde faying, and I haue heard it 
oft. Thinges loft can never bee recouered : and 
this thing goeth to the heart of me. Naye fee 
mother if I haue caufe to forrowe, that lince his 
death, and before, I neuer hard fo much as an 
yll worde of my faithful Chiarino. Sure if he 
ment yll to me, it could not haue bene but I 
Qioulde haue smelt it out, and it woulde haue 
come to mine eares one waye or other. And 
therefore to thee mother alone I confefle my 
faulte, and I maye tell it thee, the only worker 
of his mifchiefe was his cruell enimie the Moyle: 
which with practifes, inuentions, and deuifes hath 
supplanted me, and killed him, moouing me to 
wrath. Ah my fonne, nowe I muft needes tell 
thee agayne, thou haft bene betrayed and de- 
ceyued both, and this a truftie friende hath 
tolde me. The Lyon would faine haue knowne 
of whom : but the Queene mother would by no 
meanes at that time tell him ought. But this 
me did affure him, that there was no newe in- 
uention nor alteration in his Realme that fhoulde 



offende him in worde or deede : and bade him 
feeke well, and in ihorte time he mould knowe 
all. So the King lince he coulde at that time 
get no more of his Mother, determined to 
aflemble all the beaftes of his Realme, and to call 
them to Parliament to confult vppon this matter, 
and fo he did. 

When this generall Counfell was called, where 
all the great Lordes of his Realme, and the wyseft 
of the Commons, with all the foldiours were 
aflembled, he alfo fent for his Mother. Shee 
looking all the beaftes in the face that were 
prefent, and miffing the Moyle, caufed him 
ftreight to be fent for. So he came forthwith. 
But when he was come to the Pallace, and faw 
the Parliament houfe furnimed with all the 
Colledge of beaftes, then he knewe the Princes 
indignation, when looking vpon him earneftly 
he faw his colour chaunge, and that his confcience 
gnawed him for the death of the Bull. Now 
the Moyle knowing himfelfe guiltie, began to 
whet his wittes, and drawing neere to certaine 
of the great Lordes that ftoode rounde about the 
Queene mother, hee fayde vnto them. Lorde 
what ayleth our noble King ? what is the caufe 
of this conuention here ? how commeth it he is 
thus melancholy ? What is there any fodeine or 
ftraunge accident happened in the Court, that 



we may knowe the caufe? the Counfell hath 
bene called very fodainly. The Queene mother 
aunfwered ftreight. Thou needeft not marueyle 
ywis at the Kings heauinefle. For thou knoweft 
well ynough (hauing giuen him the caufe) his 
fadneffe, which with thy fweete fugred wordes 
haft giuen him bitter gall. Tell me I pray thee, 
canft thou tell who was the caufe of the death 
of the moft noble and worthie Knight of our 
Court ? Was it thou perhaps ? But the Moyle 
(as ftowte as Golyas) without any blufliing 
aunfwered ftreight. 

Now I know the faying whiche our olde 
auncient beaftes vfed in times paft is true : and I 
am out of doubt of it. That let one doe as 
much good as he can, his rewarde I warrant yee 
mall be little ynough, and that God onely is hee 
who rewardeth and giveth recompence for anye 
benifite or feruice done. O what a marueilous 
matter it is, that he that liueth well in this 
worlde, cannot continue to Hue well, but is 
compelled to daunce after euery mans pipe : to 
holde with the Hare, and runne with the Hounde. 
The true heart I have alwayes borne to the Kinge 
thy fonne, and founde counfell which (God I 
take to recorde) I haue euer giuen him, doe not 
deferue fuch rewarde. For it is knowne well 
ynough that the Moyle his feruant hath delivered 



him from many daungers, and prefent death 
alfo : and refufed no traueyle for his fafetie, and 
that I make his Lordfhip iudge off. Well I onely 
craue of his Grace but that hee will inquire of my 
life and doings. For I knowe my proceedings will 
appeere better to him than is thought for : and 
I woulde my troth and honeftie were openlye 
knowen to the world. And for my part, if the 
leaft part of that were true that is fpoken of me, 
and that I were any maner of way to be touched, 
his Maieftie may be aflured I woulde not tarie 
an houre in the Court, and much lefle haue come 
before thefe great Lords. And betides that I 
woulde not thinke my felfe fure in any place of 
the world wherefoeuer I were, if I had but once 
receyued fuche a thought in mee, and much 
Jefle if I had committed the deede. Therefore 
I praye thee noble Ladie, lende not thy eares to 
the wordes of enuious perfons, nor fuffer his 
Maieftie to laye handes on my innocencie. For 
if that feeme a ftraunge thing to you this afortiore 
were a wicked fact : a fact without reafon, iuftice, 
and anye maner of equitie. I doe not care to 
be counted wicked in that cafe, if all the Court 
doe count me fo. For God himfelfe knoweth 
well the troth, in whome I only hope, and am 
fure he will deliuer me from this fufpition and 



This Moyle in his wordes feemed to be the 
beft beaft of the world, and thofe that lyke 
ftraungers heard him, and knew not his Moylifh 
nature (a vile traitour Moyle, a whorefon cankred 
Moyle, that let a man keepe him in the ftable 
.xxv yeares, and make neuer fo much of him : 
in the end, for a farewell, and that on a fodeine 
(when a man thinketh not of it) he will yerke 
out behinde and put him in daunger of his life,) 
were very forie for his trouble, and did pitie his 
cafe. He that by nature was borne fubtill and 
craftie, perceiuing a little parcialitie amongft 
them, and that he had reafonable audience: went 
about ftreight to intricate the houfe, and fo began 
coram populo like vnto this, ftill drawing water 
to his Myll, 

A tale of the Joyners wife and the ' 

There was fometime in the countrte of Cata- 
logna a Joyner of Tharfia, and hee had a verye 
faire woman to his wife as any that came into 
that citie a thoufand yeares before hir. Thys 
faire woman became in loue with a Painter, and 
bicaufe the neighbours Ihoulde not be priuie of 
his acceffe vnto hir: me prayed the Painter to 
make him a garment to bee knowne from others. 



So that by hir eye and feelinge (if there were no 
light) fhe might yet ftreight wayes know him. 
This deuife and requefl pleafed the Painter well, 
wherevpon hee made him a white garment 
paynted with Peacock's eies, and wrought vpon 
it, and fo with this robe in the night hee went 
to hir : without calling to any, or knocking at 
the doore, hee went to a place appointed where 
he founde hir hidden, and there he fweetely 
folaced himfelfe to his great contentation. At 
this compact betweene them for their meeting, 
one of hir feruauntes had clofely put himfelfe 
into a corner, and heard all that was fayde and 
done, who cunningly diflernbled that hee knewe 
ought where his Myftrefle hid her. This Painter 
with his white robe continued his haunt vnto hir 
a great while before the feruaunt coulde come to 
beare halfe of his labor. It hapned yet on a 
night (as fortune woulde) that this Painter had 
occafion to goe oute of the towne for certaine 
bufineife he had abrode : the feruaunt when he 
knew it, hied him immediately to the Painters 
houfe, and bade his wyfe deliuer him hir huf- 
bandes white robe. And when he had it he put 
it on his back, and fo went to his Myftrefle with 
all: who when me fawe it, and knew it, and 
beleeued it had bene the Painter (perhaps too, 
shee lyked to be deceiued) bega to purfue Venus 



fport togithers. His errand delyuered, hee went 
and rendered thys robe agayne vnto the Paynters 
wyfe, who good foule knewe not what hir huf- 
bande ment to weare that robe euery night. 
Anone, after midnight as the Deuill would have 
it, the Paynter came home agayne, whether the 
fprite mooued hym that he muft needes goe con- 
iure the Deuill, or that his bufyneffe framed not 
that hee went for or what it was I cannot tell 
ye, it is ynough home he came : and putting on 
his white robe on his backe he flong out of the 
doores agayne in hafte, and to the Joyners wyfe 
hee trudged. But when he came there, he 
founde all faft mut vppe, and no noyfe at all : 
fo that hee was driuen to daunce attendaunce 
without doores and blowe his nailes, as the 
Phifition's Moyle that waiteth for his maifler, 
and ftill chaweth at the bridle. Howbeit the 
next night hee returned, and at pleafure dif- 
couered the countrie. And being haftie in his 
iourney, what man (quoth (he) remember your- 
felf, you rode farre yefter night, and you are 
not yet at your iourneys ende : I perceyue you 
haue yet a coltes tooth in your heade. Well 
wanton well, you will tyer your horfe : and with 
fuch lyke harlottrie louing wordes me entertained 
hir friende the Painter. The Painter hearing 
thefe wordes, beganne to fmell a Ratte, and 



thought ftreyght (he had taken in more horfes 
into hir ftable than two. So he tooke his leaue, 
and home he went : and when he came home, 
examining the matter, his wife told him there 
came one in his name for his robe. Then were 
they both at an afterdeale, and woorfe than euer 
they were, for none of them knewe, nor could 
gefle what he mould be : infomuch as after he 
had well fauouredly ribbe roiled his poore inno 
cent wife, he threwe his robe into the fire. So 
fhee fielye woman bare the blame that made no 
fault. The King therefore fhoulde not fo lightly 
beleeue it, before he be iuftly informed ; that 
anothers fault bee not puniihed by my inno- 
cencie. My Lords and beafts, think not I pray 
you that I fpeake this for feare of death, but to 
purge my felfe of that ye haue hearde. For death 
is common to all, and I knowe I cannot fhunne 
it, therefore I feare it not. But this I feare, that 
dying falfely accufed, my name and houfe mould 
for euer be defamed: and to this I take great 
heede. The mother of the Lion, that was the 
very daughter of impacience, coulde not abide 
to heare any more fables, but caft up hir head, 
and turned hir about at thefe words, and halfe 
in a rage, and in choler, fayde thus to the Moyle. 
If thy deedes were as good as thy wordes, 
my fonne fhoulde not be thus grieued nor 

offended : 


offended : nor the poore Bull had bene nowe 
deade. But thy double dealings and prittle 
prattle, who did but giue eare vnto thee (and 
beleeued thee) not knowing thee, are ynough 
to turne the Court toplie turuie. As thou 
diddeft heretofore to Pannonia who come home 
thou madeft him beleeue (bicaufe his wife 
woulde not graunt thy vnhoneft delire) that 
{he was naught : fo that vpon thy wordes he 
fell vpon hir with his feet, and pafhed hir to 
death. Then to late repenting his fault, he 
heaped one yll on another: for he made all 
his concubines to be burnt. And all this came 
of thy curfed wordes. Therefore it is beft for 
euerye man not to haue thy friendfhip. With 
that he lift vp his eares, and with open mouth 
thus aunfwered. 

It becommeth not Madame the Kinges mother 
to heare the caufes, reafons, contentions, obiec- 
tions, and wronges of the fubiect with two eares 
at once, but with one alone. For your Judge 
ment ought to be vpright & equall, if affection 
or partialitie carie ye not away. And if the 
matter be for Chiarino : the Moyle will not 
for that forget that the King doth yet truft 
him, and that he is a true feruaunt to his 
Maieftie. And be yee affured Madame, that 
to trouble my innocencie, and to moleft me 



that to all this Court is fo true a flaue, it is 
an offence to pitie. Imagine howe the Lionefle 
hart did rife marueyloufly againft him, bicaufe 
me knew the wickednefle of the Moyle : and 
turning to hir fonne me faid. How thinkeft 
thou of the boldnefle of this moft cruel vn- 
curbed traytor? that as many as heare him 
think he hath reafon. See I pray yee howe 
he played the Foxe. Beholde I befeech ye his 
lookes, what kinde of ieftures he makes. Thinke 
ye hee cannot hit one on the knee at a pinch 
and neede be with his heeles? Yes I warrant 
ye when ye look not for it. O fubtill beaft, 
how he hangeth downe his heade. O what a 
trayterous looke, fee his falfe leering eyes. Lorde 
how terribly he lookes on vs. Dismember my 
fonne this curfed beaft, and henceforth neither 
for friends, courtiers, nor kynfefolkes requeftes, 
euer keepe Moyles any more. The Lion for 
al thefe words ftirred not a whitte, neyther once 
caft vp his heade as though hee had bene 
mooued. The Lyonefle his mother madde for 
anger for hir fonnes griefe: why then bicaufe 
thou wilt not punifh a traytor, doeft thou not 
beleue me? doeft thou not credit thy Mother 
that telleth thee here before them all, and affirm 
ed! to his face that he is a traitour to thee ? 
Then the King called a certaine fierce beaft, 



and vgly monfter to beholde, begotten of a 
Satire and of a Griffin, and he made him take 
a chaine and chaine the Moyle. The Moyle 
feing fo horrible a horned beaft come towardes 
him, let fall his tayle for feare and forrow both, 
and thus of this helliih furie he was chained,, 
and caried to prifon, and as ye {hall heare fafely 
kept and examined. 

When the Moyle was thus apprehended, the 
Lyonefle went to the Kinge hir fonne and fayde 
to him. The imprifonment of this wicked 
member hath greatly e reioyced all the Court : 
knowinge that nowe the tyme is come thys male 
factor {hall bee punimed, and receyue iuft rewarde 
for his treafons. God, if thou diddeft but heare 
what they talke of hym in Court, of his naughtie 
tongue, of his carying of tales from one to another, 
of fpreading abrode quarrels, contentions, ftrifes, 
debates, fufpitions in euery place where he com- 
meth, thou wouldeft blefle thee, and thy eares 
woulde glowe in thy heade. O curfed Moyle. 
Neuer agree to heare him, neuer giue him audi 
ence, but referre his matter to the Counfell, and 
then let iuftice proceede. Now I thinke thy lyfe 
fafe, and dare boldelye faye thy Realme {hall 
lyue in peace : fyth the Moyle is forthcomming, 
and I hope {hall be quite difpatched. And 
bicaufe I would not haue thee thinke I fpeake 

obfcurely : 


obfcurely : I wil tell thee what reafon I haue to 
fpeake it. And here the Lionefle reciteth from 
point to point what the Lybbarde had tolde hir, 
and how fhe heard the whole matter of him. 
The King vnderftanding his fad from the mouth 
of fo credible a perfon, as that of the Libbarde : 
then he knewe it to be true, and that he had 
offended, which yet was not altogither to be 
belieued, and depended fomewhat vpon the 
Moyle. And thus determined to punifh the 
Moyle, he withdrewe himfelfe from the Counfell, 
as all fuch princes do. 

Nowe when Fame had blowne abrode the 
Moyles imprifonment, and comming to the 
Affes eares his brother, hee ranne vnto the prifon, 
and his heart panted, and bet marueylouily : as 
that Affe knewe howe this geare was brought 
about, and he tolde the Moyle. Our playe nowe 
is like to the playe of the two brethren, that 
hauing two Balles in their handes, they gaue 
them ech into other handes, and they were both 
made of one fafhion and bignefle : fo that in the 
ende to choofe this or that they faw it was all one, 
there was no choyce in neyther. To haue thee 
in prifon, alas it troubleth me : and to haue thee 
abrode alfo it grieueth me. All commeth to one 
reckening. And with that for kindeneffe he 
buril out in teares, and wept bitterly. But after- 



wardes feing him with the chaine about his 
necke he quaked for feare, and layde him downe 
on the grounde, crying out in his Affes maner, 
and fayde. O brother Moyle, what case art thou 
in now ? Alas there is no more time to reproue 
thee now, bicaufe there is no remedie, as fewe 
dayes agoe there was, when thou mighteft haue 
cancelled all : but thou like an Affeheaded foole, 
that mighteft haue cleered the countrie (knowing 
thyfelf to be guilty) why didft thou not take thee 
to thy legs? Thou defpifedft my counfels to 
thee, & yet they were good if thou hadft had 
grace to haue taken them. It is true that is 
fpoken by the mouth of beaftes that haue vnder- 
ftanding. That the falfe and vntrue man dyeth 
before his time. As me thinketh I fee by the 
Element will happen to thee. And this for none 
other but thy infolencie, and naughtineffe : and 
thy craftes and deceytes hath brought thee to this 
trouble. O how happie hadd^ft thou bene if 
thou haddeft dyed in thy birth ? Curfed, and 
no worth be thy falfe knowledge and enuye of 
others weale and profperitie : which onely is it 
hath brought thee to this infamous ende. Then 
the Moyle relented, and breaking out in teares 
alfo, aunfwered. 

My good brother Affe, no liuing creature howe 
wife and difcreete fo euer hee be, can fhunne his 



mifhappes and yll fortune : and therefore I def- 
pifed a thoufande of thy good counfels, for fo 
was it giuen me from aboue. And if pride 
and ambition had not traueiled me ftill I could 
haue withdrawne mee : but the enuie of others 
dignitie and eflimation had to much power ouer 
mee. O blind vnderflanding of mans knowledge. 
It happened to me as to the lick man, who 
hauing prepared for him moft wholefome meates, 
hee refufeth them, and giueth hymfelfe ouer to 
his will and appetite, takinge them that are hurt- 
full for him and filleth himfelfe : which doth in 
deedeboth hinder his health, and continue hisficke- 
neffe. He knoweth it & yet can not abftaine. I 
knew well ynough peruerfe vnderftandinge, but I 
neuer had reafon fufficient to bridle it. Nowe 
to late I finde my fault, and knowing the daunger 
I am in, my forrow redoubleth on me : not fo 
much for myfelfe, as for thy fake, bicaufe thou 
haft alwayes bene with me. Thou art my 
brother, and confequentlye they will beleeue and 
imagine (in deede) that thou art priuie with mee, 
and partaker of my doings. The Kinges officers 
therefore may take thee, and put thee on the 
racke, and make thee confeffe my fault, and 
when they haue done execute thee. (For fure 
they mall neuer haue it of me) and by thy con- 
feffion punifh mee without remiflion or pardon 



in this worlde. For of thy wordes dependeth 
my death, and of my wicked gouernment lhall 
growe thy yll, griefe, trouble, torment, prifon- 
ment, and extreme punimment. The Affe hear 
ing his brothers wordes, marked them well, 
that he trembled euery ioynt of him, and quaked 
like an Afpin leafe : and a beaftly feuer tooke 
him, with which he went his way home. But 
before he departed thence, he fayde vnto the 
Moyle. Brother, if thou wey my life, and 
wilt keepe me from perill (as thou canft not 
any waye auoyde it) confeffe thy fault is worthy 
of death: thus malt thou free thee from the 
wrath of the Gods and after this corporall 
punimment of thine, doubtleffe thy fpirite (hall 
forthwith be tranfported to the heauens. Well 
fayd the Moyle, the laft and extreme remidie 
lhall be this. If there be no hope of remedie 
let it be as it will be : for my bodie well I wote 
fuffereth already to much. Now get thee home, 
& hide thyfelfe, and let it light on me, as the 
world, Fortune, and the Gods will affigne. The 
Affe departed from him verye licke, and fore 
troubled in his minde, and his payne fo helde 
him, that the fame night hee ended his forrow- 
full dayes. Whofe death a Woolfe that dwelled 
harde by him greatly lamented, and was a 
witneffe afterwarde that confirmed all the wicked 



fact : who hearde in deede the fame night howe 
the Afle reprooued the Moyle his brother. The 
Lyon fent to the Libbard, "and commanded his 
officers they fhoulde vnderftand particularly the 
Moyles cafe, and to difpatch him roundlye. 

Al the beafts got them into the Parliament 
houfe, and euery one tooke his place according 
to his degree, and fate them downe : and the 
houfe being let, there was brought before them 
in chaines this folemne traytor the Moyle. And 
when he was come before the prefence of fuch 
a fight of AfTes and fooles, the Libbard ftandeth 
vp, and fpeaketh. Right honorable, it is yet 
frefh in memorie, that the King killed the 
poore innocent Chiarino, fo that from that 
time hitherto his Maieftie hath not bene quieted 
in his minde, that hee put him to death by the 
falfe accufation and enuie of my Lorde the 
Moyle. His Maieflie therefore hath liked to 
call vs to Parliament, that euery one of vs 
mould witnefle the troth, if we knowe or haue 
heard anything of his doings, in what maner 
he did it, what Arte he vfed, with whom he 
practifed, and by whom he was aflifted in this 
great treafon, to bring his wicked minde to 
purpofe. Euery one of vs is bound that knoweth 
ought to vtter it, for the preferuation of the 
Realme, and his Maiefties moft royall perfon. 



And then by iuftice it is meete fuch traytors 
{houlde be puniflied, and the good rewarded: 
by meanes whereof the good may liue vnder 
his Maiefties reigne and gouvernement with fafe- 
tie, and the yll be rooted out and cut off from 
the common weale. ' Euery one looked other 
in the face, and helde their peace. The vn- 
happie Moyle, perceyuing that euerie body was 
afhamed to take vppon them to tell fo yll a 
tale, cut off Fortune by the wafte euen at that 
pinche, and ftepped to the matter himfelfe, 
riling vp vpon his feete (being fet before) and 
boldly fayd thefe words. 

O noble and vertuous Lordes, what is the 
caufe ye are all thus filent ? O my Lordes, how 
gladde woulde I be (if I were in fault) of this 
your filence. But bicaufe I knowe mine inno- 
cencie, and my felfe cleere in that I am accufed 
off, it mall not grieue me, let euery man fay 
hardily that he knoweth. But yet with condi- 
cion, that he haue the glaffe of Veritie before 
his eies, and that he aunfwere iuftly to that 
he is afked, and fo mall he (what foeuer he be) 
fatiffie God, and the worlde, and I mall remayne 
free and contented. It is true that euery bodye 
ihoulde bee circumfpeft to fpeake onely that 
they knowe: and not to fuffer themfelues to 
be caried awaye eyther with fauour, enuie, or 



malice. For then like ynough that lofle and 
ftiame woulde come to him, that came to a 
Phifition which had the Pificke, or if I lie not, 
was well feene in Phificke. In a certaine part 
of India Pafturaca, there was a Phifition in 
diebus illis, the which cured all, all the beafts 
he vifited : and fare it was a marueilous thing 
there neuer died any vnder his hands that hee 
had cure off. This man being deade, was 
reckened for a Saint. Another Phifition called 
Maifter Marreal, (in our tongue) beganne to 
caft waters, fetting euery vrinall by himfelfe, and 
bought him bookes to reflemble the other as 
neere as he coulde : and when he had met 
with any receit, oh he kept it full dearely. 
Afterwardes he had a toye in his head, that 
he tooke himfelfe for the fame Phifition that 
was before him, both for learning and practife, 
fo that he boafted hee had done great cures, 
who coulde fcant knowe he was himfelfe aliue, 
hee was fo poore, and yet he layde on lode as 
he had bene (yea marrie had he) the cunningeft 
man in the Realme. It happened fo that the 
daughter of the King of that Citie (where this 
Phifition dwelled) fell ficke, and hir difeafe was 
this. That being with childe, hir nofe guflied 
out with bloud very oft. The King that loued 
his daughter dearely, and gladly would haue 



had remedie for hir and coulde not, hee was 
very penfive and heauie, and lighed fore for that 
worthye Phifition that was nowe deade, the 
lofle of whome went to his heart, fith none 
died vnder him that he had in cure. This 
newe come Phifition knowing the Kinges cafe, 
went to his Maieftie, and tolde him that hee 
fhoulde not forrowe for the lofle of the other 
Phifition, for he offered himfelfe to fatiffie him 
as much in his feruice, as that other excellent 
and famous man his predeceflbr : and that he 
doubted not but he woulde finde out a prefent 
and fouereigne remedie for his Graces daughter. 
The Kinge reioyced at thofe wordes, belieuing 
them as true as he had fpoken them : fo he 
payde him to minifter to hir, and to applie fuch 
prefent remedies as might with fpeede ceafe hir 
difeafe, and reftore hir to hir health. Nowe to 
Ihowe himfelfe a rare and learned man, he came 
to his bookes, and tofled and tumbled them 
pittifullye, turning their leaves vpfide downe, 
belieuing they were the bookes of the other 
famous man, and that thofe woulde able him 
in his miniftration as they did the other. Then 
he made his man bring him thofe electuaries, 
compoundes, and conceytes that the other Phifi 
tion had left behind him, and he beganne to 
mingle them and worke them togither. But 



like an vnfortunate man in all his doings, there 
came to his handes a pot of Arfenicke, and 
bicaufe hee thought hee had kept and preferued 
it with great care and diligence, hee tooke it 
for a precious oyntment, fo that he tooke of 
that the greateft quantity, and mingled it with 
the others. This Arfenicke (which he fuppofed 
as good as Ginger) prepared in potion, hee 
caried it to the Princeffe which mould haue 
dronke it : faying that ftreight it would ftoppe 
the bloud, and reftore hir to health. The King 
feing he had thus quickly difpatched his med- 
cine, thought him one of the rareft Judgements 
and fingulareft Phifitions in the worlde. The 
vnhappie Ladie had fcant dronke off a part of 
this potion, but me felt hir hart labor, and take 
on vnmercifully : fo leaning the reaft behinde 
vn dronke, making pitifull mone, and fcreking 
out for payne, me wofully in ihort time left 
hir life. The King feeing his daughter deade, 
was become the heauieft man aliue, as euery 
man maye coniehire : and apprehending this 
beggarly Phifition, made him drinke vp the 
reaft, fo that he ftreight fell downe in the 
place and died. And it happened to him as 
to the pore olde man, that brake all y e earthen 
Potles or Pipkins he found with his Cudgell. 
So that one day he met with a hare brained 



yong fellow, of his owne humor and condition, 
and feeing the Pipkin in his hand, he lift vp 
his Cudgell and brake it in peeces, fo that all 
that was in it ranne out. 

Therefore my Lordes take no fantafie in your 
heades that is not honeft, for fo yll woulde come 
of it : and take not vpon you anything that 
you are not well informed off, leaft yours bee 
the mame and loffe. Let euery man remember 
his foule, and let him not fay that he knoweth 
not : but to affirme that he hath feene, I am 
very well contented with that. Sure it were 
yll done (my Lordes) for anye man to fpeake 
that he knoweth not certainely and afluredly, 
and the wrath of the Gods with fuch lyke yll 
lucke as mine would be poured vpon them and 
their lyfe : and this none but I knoweth it 
better. The maifler cooke of the Kinges kitchin 
(as fatte as a Hogge) hearing this brauery of 
his to enforce his credite he tooke hart vpon 
him, and emboldened himfelfe notwithstanding 
his nobilitie, and beganne to fpeake in prefence 
of them all, and thus he fayde. 

Right Reuerent and Honorable audience, ye 
are very well met in this place. Our olde 
auncient fathers that wrote many bookes of 
Phifiognomie (of the which I thank the King 



I haue greafed a good number, bicaufe I ftudied 
often times in the kitchen) do tell vs many 
things, and gaue vs diuers tokens to knowe 
beaftes and men, whereby we knowing them 
to be good or bad, they mould accordingly be 
rewarded or punifhed. Id eft I meane fo, to 
pra<5tife with the good, and to flie the companye 
of the euill. So it is, yea marrie it is, in faith 
I am fure of it I. Nowe that I haue ftudied., 
and according to my fkyll, (I tell ye my Lordes 
I cannot diffemble) I finde our folemne Moyle 
here to haue manye yll parts in this matter, 
which fhowe him in all to be enuious, falfe 
and a traytor : leaning out that he is verye 
cruell, and wickedly bent befides. And ye 
marke him, he euen looketh hier with his lefe 
eie than his right, and his noftrels he turneth 
flill to the right fide, with his eiebrowes very 
thicke and long of heares, and continually he 
looketh on the grounde : which are manifeft 
tokens he is a traytor : and all thefe fignes 
(looke ye on him that lift) ye mall fee him 
haue them rightly I warrant ye. The Moyle 
feeing the Swyne groyne with fo yll a grace, 
although he was euen almoft grauelled and out 
of countenance, yet he turned to him and 



My Lords, if it were true that this malicious 
Swyne and greafie verlet here before yee all doth 
tell yee, that the heauens fhoulde place fignes in 
vs as a neceffarie caufe of wickednefle : then 
flreight anone as we fawe any beaftes brought 
forth with thofe peruerfe lines and marks, 
eyther they were to be forthwith punifhed, or 
put to death, that they mould not worke fuch 
wicked treafons and effectes : and fewe betides 
that mould bee borne, that the moft part of 
them at the leaft were not marked with thefe 
fignes, that he &: his goodely bookes doe imagine. 
I knowe not if his doctrine mail be of fuch autho- 
ritie receyued amongft you, that it mall con- 
demne my goodneffe and pure workes. Sure 
this worfhipfull beafl is deceyued, and doth as 
they that fee an olde woman prefent a yong 
woman with anything, or deliuereth hir fome 
letter with anye pitifull fhowes : flreight without 
touch of breft, not knowing no further, they take 
hir for a Bawde. My worfhipfull Hogge fhoulde 
knowe thyngs better before hee be thus bolde 
and faucie to fpeake in this prefence. But none 
is fo bolde as blinde Bayarde I fee. Thou 
weeneft to poynt at me, but thy felfe it is that is 
poynted at, and thou make it well. Thou fup- 
pofefl to detect me, and to open my defe6tes, 



and doeft not looke vpon thy felfe what thine 
owne doe ihowe thee. But harken to this tale, 
& then tell me how thou likeft it. 

Our Forefathers and elders facked a great 
Citie, had the fpoyle of all that was in it, and 
put all to the fworde faue olde men and women 
and little children of all fortes. In tyme thefe 
little ones grew, and bicaufe they left them 
nothing, men and women went naked, hyding 
only their fecrets and priuities with fome thing. 
One daye there came to the towne an olde 
countrie Cloyne to fell woode, and hee brought 
with him his two daughters, whereof the one 
went plainly to worke without any ceremonie, 
mowing fuch marke as God had fent hir, and the 
other comely couered it wyth leaues as well 
befeemed hir. The people began to fay to the 
unnofeled Mayde : oh ihame of the world, fie 
for fhame, hyde, hyde, hyde. The olde Cloyne 
bicaufe he woulde not haue that Maygame be- 
hinde him, turning him, reuiled every body that 
fpake, and was as madde as a March Hare : and 
leauing him felfe bare, gaue hir his furniture to 
hyde hir mame. Then they were all on the 
iache of him, and reuyled him to badde. His 
firll daughter that was couered, feeing hir father 
bare, fayde vnto him. So fayth me, ye haue 



made a good hande nowe : had you not bene 
better haue holden your peace, and to haue kept 
your owne priuities clofe as they were at the firft ? 
This I haue told for thee, maifter Cooke of the 
King's kitchen. Thou doeft not remember the 
vyle and infinite naughtie fignes that thou haft, 
and the great defectes and deformities placed in 
thy body. Thou, thou art vyle flowe, rauening. 
Thou art foule, ftinking, filthie, lothfome, and a 
wretched thing : borne of a Sowe, and gotten 
of a Bore, and not of a Mare and an AfTe as I 
am. Thou, a vile deuourer of all thinges, and 
a folemne fupper of broth and fwill. Thou, a 
little neck, a vile vifage, with thy fnowte for 
ward : a narrow forehead, wide noftrels, and 
ihort nofed, fo that the office thou haft is yll 
beftowed on thee. For thou haft no part in thee 
that is profitable, good, honorable, meete, nor 
fightlye for anybody, but when thou art before 
them in the dim. 

The Hogge feeing himfelfe thus well payde 
home in wordes againe, was glad to holde his 
peace : and after that neuer a one durft once 
fpeake a word any more. Thus for that time 
there was nothing elfe determined, but that the 
Moyle was caried againe to prifon by a Beare, 
who fafely kept him, and looked to him. And 



now being the fecond time again clapped into 
prifon, there came to the Court a great friend of 
the Affe his brothers, who finding him deade, 
came to aduertife the Moyle his brother being in 
prifon, and was verie forie for the death of the 
Affe, which the Moyle had not hearde of all this 
while to no we : and the Moyle tooke it fo in 
wardly that it pierced his heart, and needes die 
he would. So turning him to his friende, which 
was a Foxe well ftricken in yeares, he fayde to 
him. Brother I am determined to die, and will 
make thee mine heyre. And making him get 
Penne, Inke, and Paper, he made his Will and 
bade him write, and he bequeathed him all he 
had : which was a rich furniture. A double 
Coller with three Bafenets. A Nofell netwife 
for his mouth with a bit to the fame. A coller 
of leather hungrie to hang ouer his necke with 
belles, a broade Pattrell with diuers coloured 
fringes made of Girthweb and Canvas. A Baffe, 
a great Grouper of wood, a Souzer, a Charger, 
and mayling cords. A broade long Want, a 
tying Coller, a paire of Paftornes, and a Cranell : 
with other ciuill furnitures pertinent to his eftate. 
And then he confeffed all, and tolde him his 
wicked pra6tifes and treafon, and that he onely 
(yea marrie was he) was the caufe of all this 



fturre. The Foxe thanked him hartily, and 
offered to helpe him with the King, and to trauell 
for him the beft he coulde, bicaufe he was his 
chiefe Secretarie in Court and out of Court : and 
fo departed from him. And he was no fooner 
out of his light, but bicaufe he was in deede 
made heyre of that he had, he went to the 
Lyoneffe and Libbarde, and there confirmed the 
teflament hereditarie of the Moyle. And to 
further his defire (who defired to die) he reuealed 
it, and accufed the Moyle. So the traytor by 
another traytor was betrayed. 

In the morning betimes all the beafts met in 
the Parliament houfe, the Lawyers, Judges, 
Sergeants, Counfellers, and Attorneys, and all 
the Kinges officers togithers : and there appeared 
alfo the Lyoneffe and Lybbarde. The indite- 
ment drawne, the witneffes fworne and depofed, 
they caufed the Moyle to be brought Coram 
teftilus, and the Judges : and the Clarke of 
the peace to read his inditement to his face. 
Now think whether his eares did glow, and his 
cheeks blufh, when he heard the Foxe, the 
Woolfe, and Libbard fworne as witneffes againft 
him. Hee ftamped, hee muffed, he cried in his 
Moylifhe voice, he flong, he yerked, and tooke 
on like a furie of Hell. And when he was 



wearied with thefe ftormes and paflions downe 
he layd him, and rored out amaine. O I am 
killed, I am killed, I denie it. It is nothing 
true that is fpoken : and therefore I warrant him 
it will come to that vilaine the Foxe (who to 
haue my goodes hath thus falfely accufed mee, 
accurfed was I when I made him mine heyre) 
which happened to him that brought vp three 
Popingeyes or Parats. 

In the middeft of Tatarie there was a great 
honeft riche man, that had the moft true, faith- 
full, honeft, louing, difcretee and gentle wife 
in all that Realme : So that hir doinges were 
wonderfull, and me alone was inough to giue 
light to halfe the worlde. This fame Gentle 
man (hulbande to this wyfe) had a ftraunger 
to his man, proper of perfon, and comely to 
beholde. And this handfome feruing man be 
came marueyloullye in loue with his fayre yong 
Myftrefle, fo that night and daye he could thinke 
of nothing elfe but which waye to purfue his 
loue. And when he had manye times (by 
tarying at home) aflayde the ryuer to pafle 
ouer, there was no pollicie coutde feme hys 
turne to obteyne fauor, but to bee enterteyned 
as a feruant ftill. It fortuned him that one daye 
being a hunting, he found a Parattes neaft, and 



in the neafl three yong Parrattes : fo taking 
them vp he caried them home, and familiarlye 
brought them vp, and taught them to fpeake 
fome things in his language, (the Indian tongue) 
which in that countrie where he dwelled no 
body vnderftoode. One of them could piertly 
faye. Our Myftrefle maketh hir hufbande a 
Cuccolde. The other. O what a ihame is 
that. The thirde fayd, it is true, it is true, it 
is naught. Thefe toyes had the feruant deuifed 
to be reuenged of hir, for that he could not 
obteine his purpofe, and bicaufe me would not 
confent to his wickednefle. Thus all the daye 
thefe blefled Parattes tampered on thefe verfes 
only, and fang them ftil as they were taught. 
And for that the tongue was ftraunge, there 
was neuer none of the countrie coulde vnder- 
ftande it. There came one daye to the houfe 
of this honeft man, two Merchants, kinfefolks 
to his wife, which bicaufe they had trafficked 
India very well, they had the tongue perfitely. 
And being at the table, they talked of many 
things, and they fell at length into talke of 
Parattes. So that the good man of the houfe 
caufed his men to bring his three Parattes to 
him, only to ihowe them vnto his kinfemen. 
The little Parattes being made of, beganne to 



(ing their verfes, and to repeate it ftill apace. 
Nowe thinke yee what thoughtes thefe Mer- 
chauntes had, hearinge them fpeake fo vile and 
llaunderous wordes. And thus looking one at 
another, turninge them to the Gentleman, they 
demanded of him : Sir know ye what thefe 
harlotrie Birdes doe fpeake? No not I God 
knoweth, fayde the Gentleman that ought them : 
but me thinketh it is a paftime to heare them. 
Well, let it not miflyke you to vnderftand what 
they fay j for it behoueth you to knowe it by any 
meanes. And fo they tolde him all the ftory of 
the Parattes. The Gentleman was all amazed and 
troubled in his minde to heare this exposition. 
And then hee afked them againe : but doe they 
(ing nothing elfe all daye but this, and ftill in 
one fonge ? yea fure lince we came, no other 
tune nor fonge had they but this. With that, 
very angry and woode as he coulde bee, he 
flewe on his wyfe, and woulde haue killed hir. 
But he was ftayde by the Merchants, and his 
wife wifely committing hir felfe vnto him, be- 
fought hym diligently to inquire out the matter, 
and not to doe hir the wrong to beleeue thofe 
foolime Birdes : fo he was forced to quiet him- 
felfe. Firft he fought to knowe and if the 
Parattes could fay any other thing or no : and 



hee coulde not finde they coulde. Then the 
fault was layde vppon the feruante that had 
taught them. And calling for his man, hee 
came {freight with a Sparrowe hawke on his 
fift : who was no fooner come before hys Myf- 
treffe but ihee fayd vnto him. O wicked feruante 
thou, what haft thou taught thefe Birdes to faye ? 
Nothing aunfwered he. They fpeake lyke beaftes 
of vnderftanding, what they fee and knowe. 
Why then fayth the huiband, and is it fo as 
they fpeake ? Yea fir, fayde the naughtie fer- 
uaunt. With that the Sparrowe hawke on his 
fift beganne brokenlye to fpeake : Beleeue them 
not maifter, for they lie in their throtes euery one 
of them. Thefe wordes were no fooner fpoken, 
but the Merchantes (kinfefolkes to his wyfe) rofe 
vp and pulled out both the feruaunts eyes : and 
then to late he reftored to his miftrelfe hir good 
name agayne, which fell out to his vtter vndoing. 
Beholde therefore fayde the Moyle, fee what 
hate reygneth in mens breftes. O facred Prince, 
bee not offended with your good fubiectes for 
fynifter information giuen you. Neither de 
termine any thing that is to the hurt and fhame 
of your neighbour, through the accufations of 
the enimies of vertue. The Court doth willingly 
giue eare one to deftroy another, if the iuftice 



of the Prince fteppe not in betweene. And 
euery man that can preferre and exalt himfelfe 
(at leaft as long as he hath meanes to doe it) 
careth not for the loffe, hurt, or fhame, of 
friend, kinfman or brother. For fuch is the 
priuilege of auarice and ambition. Euery one 
that heard the Moyle (knowing his wickednefle) 
could not abyde any longe to heare him : and 
feeing his vnreyned arrogancie, the Lybbard 
ftepped forth, and gaue euidence before the 
counlell of that hee had heard and knowen. 
The Woolfe followed alfo with true and euident 
tokens, and the Foxe with his owne fubfcribed 
will confirmed his great treafon. ' The Kinge 
gaue fentence his fkinne ihoulde bee turned 
ouer hys eares, his carkas left for the Rauens, 
and his bones mould be burned for facrifice, 
done in memorie of the Bull and in teflimonie 
of his innocencie : and to this was a worthie 
punilhment for fo vile a carkas, that had wrought 
fuch mifchiefe. 

We muft all therefore indeuour, great and 
fmall, high and lowe, to worke well, and to 
Hue with puritie of minde, and an vpright con- 
fcience. For the heauens, after long abftinence 
and deferring of punimment, doe by determined 
iuftice rayne vpon vs a double plague and cor 


region, to thofe that iuftly deferue it. But the 
iuft and vertuous fort they recompence alfo, 
with infinite benefites of lyfe, eftate, comraoditie, 
honor, and eftimation. 


Here endeth the Treatife of the Royall Philofo- 

phie of Sendelar : In which is layd open many 

infinite examples for the health and life of 

reafonable men fhadowed vnder 

tales and fimilitudes of brute 

beaftes without 


Imprinted at London by Henrie 

Denham, Dwelling in Pater- 

nofter Rowe, at the 

Signe of the 



Cum Priuelegio. 



Folio Page Line 




debating with 

occupying with 



12 I 12 

of my Genitours 

of my Progeni- 


tours, etc. 

42 i 8 

if thou wilt not be 

if thou wilt not be 


called by, etc. 

42 i 8 

the goody ere ay- 
left, etc 

the goodyere ay- 
ledft, etc. 

42 I 12 

fo bake. 

fo drinke. 

69 I 19 

take hart of grace 

take hart of graffe, 



76 I II 

wearied the Bull, 

woried the Bull, 

94 i 14 

Preferuation their 

preferuation of 


their, etc. 


Printed by BAJ.LANTYNE, HANSON & Co, 
Edinburgh and London. 

PR Bidpa 1 !. Arabic version. 

2326 Kairieh wa Diirmah. English 
N6M7 The earliest English version 

18S8 of the fables of Bidpai 
cop. 2