Sebastian Brant Poems

A fole he is and voyde of reason
Whiche with one hounde tendyth to take
Two harys in one instant and season;
Rightso is he that wolde undertake
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He that his tunge can temper and refrayne
And asswage the foly of hasty langage
Shall kepe his mynde from trouble, sadnes and payne,
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Come to, Companyons: ren: tyme it is to rowe:
Our Carake fletis: the se is large and wyde
And depe Inough: a pleasaunt wynde doth blowe.
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He shows a fool in every wise
Who day and night forever hies
From feast to feat to fill his paunch
And make his figure round and staunch,
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Vile, scolding words do irritate,
Good manners thereby will abate
If sow-bell's rung from morn to late
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