Praise Sir Topias for a noble tale,
And scorn the story that the knighté told;
Praise him for counsel that is drunk of ale,
Grin when he laugheth that beareth all the sway,
Frown when he frowneth and groan when he is pale;
On others’ lust to hang both night and day.
None of these points would ever frame in me,
My wit is nought, I cannot learn the way.
And much the less of things that greater be,
That asken help of colours of device
To join the mean with each extremity,
With the nearest virtue to cloak alway the vice.
And as to purpose, likewise it shall fall
To press the virtue that it may not rise;
As drunkenness good fellowship to call;
The friendly foe with his fair double face,
Say he is gentle, and courteous therewithal;
And say that favell hath a goodly grace
In eloquence; and cruelty to name
Zeal of justice; and change in time and place;
And he that suffereth offence without blame
Call him pitiful; and him true and plain
That raileth reckless to every man’s shame;
Say he is rude that cannot lie and feign;
The lecher a lover; and tyranny
To be the right of a prince’s reign.
I cannot, I, no, no, it will not be!
This is the cause that I could never yet
Hang on their sleeves that way, as thou mayst see.
A chip of chance more than a pound of wit;
This maketh me at home to hunt and to hawk,
And in foul weather at my book to sit;
In frost and snow then with my bow to stalk.
No man doth mark where so I ride or go;
In lusty leas at liberty I walk;
And of these news I feel nor weal nor woe,
Save that a clog doth hang yet at my heel.
No force for that; for it is ordered so,
That I may leap both hedge and dyke full well.
I am not now in France to judge the wine,
With savoury sauce the delicates to feel;
Nor yet in Spain where one must him incline,
Rather than to be, outwardly to seem;
I meddle not with wits that be so fine.
Nor Flanders’ cheer letteth not my sight to deem
Of black and white, nor taketh my wit away
With beastliness; they beasts do so esteem.
Nor I am not where Christ is given in prey
For money, poison and treason at Rome,
A common practice used night and day.
But here I am in Kent and Christendom,
Among the Muses where I read and rhyme.
Where if thou list, my Poins, for to come,
Thou shalt be judge how I do spend my time.
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Of the Courtier’s Life continued
