Lady Fortune

"The Boke of the fayre Gentywoman, that no man shulde put his trust, or confydence in: that is to say, Lady Fortune: flaterynge euery man that coueyteth to haue all, and specyally, them that truste in her, she deceyueth them at laste"

Prologue
As often as I cosydre, these olde noble clerkes Poetis, Oratours, & Phylosophers sectes thre, Howe wanderfull they were, in all theyr werkes Howe eloquent, howe inuentyue in euery degre Halfe amased I am, and as a deed tre Stonde styll, ouer rude for to brynge forth Any fruyte or sentence, that is ought worth. Neuertheles though rude I be, in all cotryuyng Of matt's, yet sowhat to make, I nede not to care I se many a one occupyed, in the same thynge Lo vnlerned men nowe a dayes, wyll not spare To wryte, to bable, theyr myndes to declare Trowynge themselfe, gay fantasyes to drawe When all theyr cunnynge is not worth a strawe. Some i french Cronycles, gladly doth presume Some in Englysshe, blyndly wade and wandre Another in laten bloweth forth a darke fame As wyse as a great hedded Asse of Alexandre Some in Phylosophye, lyke a gagelynge gandre Bigynneth lustely the browes to set vp And at the last concludeth, in the good ale cup.

Fortune, O myghty & varyable
Fortune, O myghty & varyable What rule thou claymest, with thy cruel power Good folke thou stroyest, and louest reprouable Thou mayst not waraunt thy gyftes for one houre Fortune vnworthy men setteth in honoure Thorowe fortuneth inocent i wo & sorow [illeg.]heth The iust man she spoyleth, & the vniust enrycheth. Yonge men she kylleth, & letteth olde men lyue Vnryghtuously deuydynge, tyme and season That good men leseth, to wycked doth she gyue She hath no differece, but iudgeth all good reason Inconstaunce, slypper, frayle, and full of treason Neyther ther for euer cherysshynge, whom she taketh Nor for euer oppressynge, whom she forsaketh.

The Wordes of Fortune to the people.
Myne hyghe estate, power and auctoryte If ye ne knewe, enserche and ye shall spye That rychesse, worshyp, welth, and dygnyte Ioye, rest, and peace, and all thynge fynally That any pleasure or profyte maye come by To mannes comforte, ayde and sustenaunce Is all at my deuyse, and ordynaunce. Without my fauoure, there is no thynge wonne Many a matter haue I brought at lafte To good conclusyon, that fondly was begonne And many a purpose, bounden sure and faste With wyse prouysyon, I haue ouercaste Without good happe, there may no wyt suffyse Better is to be fortunate, than wyse. And therfore hath there some men ben or this By deedly fooes, and writen many a boke To my disprayse, and no other cause there is But for me lyst, not frendly on them loke Thus lyke the fox they fare, that ones forsoke The pleasaunt grapes, and gan for to desyr them Bycause he lept & lept, & coulde not come by the, But let them wryte, theyr labour is in vayne For well ye wot, myrth, honoure and rychesse Better is than shame, penury and payne The nedy wryteth, that lyngeryth in dystresse Without myne helpe, is euer comfortlesse A wity burden odyouse and lothe To all the worlde, and to hymselfe both. But he that by my fauoure maye ascende To myghty power, and excellent degre A comon wele to gouerne, and defende O in howe blessed condycyon, standeth he Hym selfe in honour and felycyte And ouer that, may forther and encreace An hole regyon, in ioye rest and peace. Nowe in this poynt, there is no more to saye Eche man hath of hym selfe the gouernaunce Let euery wyght, than take his own waye And he that out of pouerte, and myschaunce Lyst for to lyue, and wyll hym selfe enhaunce In welth & rychesse, come forth and wayte on me And he that wyll be a begger, let hym be.

To them that trusteth in Fortune.
Thou that art proude of honour shape or kyn, That helpest vp this wretched worldes tresure Thy fyngers shryned with golde/thy tawny skyn With fresshe appareyll, garnyshed out of mesure And wenyst to haue fortune, alway at thy plesure Cast vp thyne eye, and loke howe [illegible] per chaunce Illudeth her men with chaunge and varyaunce. Somtyme she loketh, as louely fayre & bryght As goodly Venus, mother of cupyde She becketh and smyleth vpon euery wyght But this feyned chere, may not abyde There cometh a cloude, and farewell all our pryde Lyke any serpent, she begynneth to swell And loketh as fearse, as any fury of hell. Yet for all that, we brothle men are fayne So wretched is our nature, and so blynde As soone as fortune lyst, to laughe agayne With fayre countenaunce, and deceytfull mynde To croutche and knele, and gape after the wynde Not one or twayne, but thousandes in a rout Lyke swarmyng bees, come flakerynge her about. Then as bayte, she bryngeth forth her ware Syluer, golde, ryche perle, and precious stone On whiche, the mased people gase and stare And gape therfore as dogges for the bone Fortune at them laugheth, and in her trone Amyd her tresure, and wauerynge rychesse Prowdly she loueth, as Lady and Empresse. Fast by her syde doth wery laboure stande Pale fere also and sorowe all be wepte Dysdeyne, and hatred, on that other hande Eke restles watche, fro slepe with trauayle kept His eyes drowsy, and lokynge as he slepte Before her standeth Daunger and Enuye Flatery, Dysceyte, Myschyfe, and Tyrrannye. Aboute her cometh, all the Worlde to begge He asketh londes and he to passe wolde brynge This ioye and that, and all not worth an egge He wolde in loue prospere, aboue all thynge He kneleth downe and wolde be made a kynge He forceth not, so he maye money haue Thoughe all ye worlde accompt hym for a knaue Lo thus dyuers heddys, dyuers wyttes Fortune alone, as dyuers are they all Vnstable here and there, amonge them flyttes And at auenture, downe her gyftes fall Catche who so may, she throweth great and small Not to all men, as cometh sonne or dewe But for the most parte, all amonge a fewe. And yet her brotell gyftes, maye not last He that she gaue them, loketh proude and hye She whyrleth aboute, and plucketh away as fast And gyueth them to an other, by and by And thus from man to man, contynually She vseth to gyue and take, and slyly tosse One man to wynnynge, and of an others losse. And whe she robbeth one, downe goth his pryde He wepeth and wayleth, and curseth her full sore But he that receyueth it, on that other syde Is glad, and blesseth her, a .M, tymes therfore But in a whyle whan she loueth hym no more She glydeth from hym, and her gyftes to And he her curseth, as other fooles do. Alas the folysshe people, can not seace Ne voyde her trayne, tyll they the harme fele Aboute her alwaye, besely they preace But lorde what he thynketh hym selfe, wele That maye set ones, his hande vpon her whele He holdeth fast, but vpwarde as he styeth She whyppeth her whele about, & there he lyeth. Thus fell Iulius, from his myghty power Thus fell Darius, the worthy kynge of perse Thus fell Alexandre, the souerayne conqueroure Thus many mo, then I maye well reherse Thus double Fortune, when she lyft reuerse Her slypper fauoure, fro them that in her trust She flyeth her waye, and lyeth hym in the dust. She sodenlye enhaunce hym a lofte And sodenly myscheuyth, all the flocke The hed that late laye, easely and softe In stede of pylouse, lyeth after on the blocke And yet alas, the cruell proude mocke The deyntye mouth, that ladyes kyssed haue She bryngeth in the case, to kysse a knaue. Thus whe she chaunseth, her vncertayne course Vp starteth a knaue, & downe ther falleth a knight The begger ryche, and the ryche man poore is Hatred is turned to loue, Loue to despyght This is her sport, thus proueth she her myght Great bost she maketh, yf one be by her power Welthy, and wretched, both in an houre. Pouerte that of her gyftes, wyll no thynge take With mery chere, she loketh on the prese And seeth howe fortunes, how shulde go to wrake Fast by her standeth, the wyse Socrates Aristippus, Pithagoras, and many a lyfe Of olde Phylosophers, and eke agaynst ye sonne [illegible] aketh hym pore Diogenes in his tonne With her is [illegible], whose countrey lacked defense And whylom of theyr fooes stode so in dout That eche man hastely gan to cary thense And asked hym why, he nought caryed out I bere quod he, all myne with me about Wysdome he ment, not fortunes brotell fees For nought he counted his, that he myght lese. Heraclitus to, lyst felowsshyp to kepe With glad pouerte, Democrytus also Of whiche the fyrst can neuer but wepe To se howe thycke, the blynd people go With great laboure, to purchase care and wo That other laugheth, to se the folysse apes Howe earnestly, they walke about theyr Japes Of this poore secte, it is the vsage Onely to take, that nature maye sustayne Banyshynge clene, all other surplusage They be content, and of nothynge complayne No nigarde eke, is of his golde so fayne But they more pleasure haue, a thousande folde The secrete draughtes of nature and to beholde. Set fortunes seruauntes by them and ye wull That one is fre, that other euer thrall That one content, that other neuer full That one in suerly, that other lyke to fall Who lyst to aduyse them, both perceyue ye shall As great dyfference betwene them, as we se Betwyxte wretchednes, and felycyte. Now haue I shewed you both, chese which ye list Stately fortune, or humble pouerte That is to saye, nowe lyeth it in your fyst To take you to bondage, or fre lyberte But in this poynt, and ye do after me Drawe you to fortune, and labour her to please Yf that ye thynke your selfe, to well at ease. And fyrst vpon the, louely shall she smyle And frendly on the cast, her wanderynge eyes Embrace the in her armys, and for a whyle Put the into a foles paradyse And forthwith all, what so thou lyst deuyse She wyll the graunt it, lyberally perhappes But for all that beware of after clappes. Rekyn you neuer, of her fauour sure Ye maye in the clowdes, as easely trace an hare Or in dry londe cause fysshes to endure And make the burnynge fyre his hete to spare As all this worlde encompasse to forfare As her to make by crafte, or engyne stable That of her nature, is euer varyable. Serue her daye and nyght, as reuerntly Vpon thy knees, as any seruaunte maye And in conclusion, that thou shall wynne therby Shall not be worth thy seruyce I dare saye And yet, loke what she gyueth the to daye With labour wonne, she shall haply to morowe Plucke it out of thy hande agayne with sorowe. Wherfore yf thou in suerte lyst to stande Take pouerties parte, and let proude fortune go Receyue nothynge that cometh from her hande Loue maner and vertue, for they be onely tho Whiche double fortune maye neuer take the fro The mayst thou boldely defy her turnynge chauce She can the neyther hynder, nor auaunce. But & thou wylt nedes medle with her tresure Trust not therin, and spende it lyberally Bere she not proude, nor take not out of mesure Bylde not thyne house, hyghe vp in the skye None falleth farre, but he that clynbeth hye Remembre nature sent the hyther bare The gyftes of fortune compt the, as borowed ware Who so delyteth to prouen and assaye Of wauerynge fortune, the full vncertayne lot Yf that the answere please ye not alwaye Blame not me for I comaunde ye not Fortune to trust, and eke full well ye wot I haue of her no brydle in my fyst She renneth loose, and turneth where she lyst. The rollyng dyse, in who your lucke doth stand With whose vnhappy chaunce ye be so wrought Ye knowe your selfe, came neuer in myne hande Lo in this ponde, be fysshes and frogges both Cast in your net, but be ye lyefe or loth Holde you content as Fortune lyft assygne It is your owne fysshynge and not myne. And thoughe in one chauce fortune you offende Grudge not therat, but bere a mery face In many another, she shall it amende There is no man so far out of her grace But he somtyme, hath comforte and solace Ne none agayne so set forth in her fauoure That fully satyfyed is with her behauyoure. Fortune is stately, solempne, proude, and hye And ryches gyueth, to haue seruyce therfore The nedy begger catcheth an halfepeny Some man a .M. pounde some lesse some more But for all that, she kepeth euer in store From euery man some parcell of his wyll That he may praye therfore, and serue her styll. Some man hath good, but chyldren hath none Some man hath both, but he can get none helth Some hath all thre, but vp to honoures trone Can he not crepe by no maner of stelth To some she sendeth, chyldren, ryches welth Honoure, worshyp, and reuerence all his lyfe But yet she pyncheth hym, with a shrewed wyfe. Then for as moche as it is fortunes guyse To graunt no man all thynge that he wyll axe But as her selfe lyst order and deuyse Doth euery man his parte dyuyde and taxe I counceyll you trusse vp your packys And take nothynge at all, or be content With suche rewarde, as fortune hath you sent. All thynges in this booke that ye shall rede Do as ye lyst, there shall no man you bynde Them to beleue, as surely as your crede But notwithstandynge, certyes in my mynde I durste well swere; as trewe ye shall there fynde In euery poynt, eche answere by and by As are the iudgementes of Astronomye.