Selected quad for the lemma: city_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A04053
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The[n]terlude of youth
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1557
(1557)
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STC 14111A; ESTC S108291
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8,828
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22
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TheÌ„terlude of youth IEsu that his armes dyd sprede And on a tree was done to dead From all perils he you defende I desyre audyence tyl I haue made an ende For am come from God aboue To occupye his lawes to your behoue And am named Charytye There maye no man saued be wythout the helpe of me For he that Charytye doth refuse Other vertues thought he do vse â—â—eâ—out charitye it wyl â—â—t â—e For it is written in the faythe Qui maneâ— in charitate in deo monet I am the gate I tell the Of heauen that ioyful citye Ther maye no mak thider come But of charyty he must haue some Or ye may not come iwis Unto heauen the citie of blysse Therfore charitie who wil hym take A pure soule it wyl him make Before the face of God In the A.B.C. of bokes the least yt is written deus charitas est Lo charytie is a great thinge Of all vertues it is the kynge Whan God in earth was here liuinge Of charyti he found none endinge I was planted in his hart We two might not departe Out of hys harte I dyd sprynge Throughe the myght of the heauen kinge And all prestes that be Maye singe no masse without charitie And chary to them they do not take Thei may not receyue him that did them make And all thys worlde of noughte youthe ¶ A backe felowes and gyue me roume Or I shall make you to auoyde sone I am goodle of persone I am pereles where euer I come My name is youth I tell the I florysh as the vine tre who may belikeneth vnto me In my youthe and Iolytye My hearte is royall and bushed thicke My body plyaunt as a hasel styck Mine armes be bothe fayre and strong My fingers be both faire and longe My chest bigge as a tunne My legges be full lighte for to runne To hoppe and daunce and make mery By the masse I recke not a chery What so euer I do I am the heyre of my fathers lande And it is come into my hande I care for nomore charite ¶ Are you so disposed to doo To folowe vyce and set vertue go youthe Ye syr euen so For nowe a dayes he is not set by Without he be vnthryftye charite You had nede to aske God mercye Why do you so prase your body youthe Why knaue what is that to the wylt thou let me to prayse my body why shuld I not praise it it be goodli I wil not let for the charite What shal it be whan thou shalt flyt For the wealth into the pyt Therfore of it be not to boolde Least thou forthink it whan thou art olde ye maye be lykened to a tre In youth floryshyng with royalte And in age it is cut downe And to the fyre is throwne So shalt thou but thou amende Be burned in hel without ende 〈◊〉 Be ware leaste thou thyder go Hence caytyfe go thy way Or with my dagger I shal the slay Hens knaue out of this place Or I shall lay the on the face Sayest thou that I shal go to hel For euer more there to dwel I had leuerthou had euyll fare charite ¶ A yet syr do by my rede And aske mercy for thy mysdede And y u shalt be an herytoure of blysse Where al ioye and myrthe is Where thou shal se a gloryus syght Of auÌ„geles singyng w t saintes bright Before the face of God youthe ¶ What syrs abowe the sky I hah nede of a ladder to climbe so hie But what and the ladder slyppe Than I am deceyued yet And if I fal I catche a quecke I may fortune to breke my necke And that ioynte is yll to set Nay nay not so charite ¶ O yet remember cal to thy minde The mercy of God passeth al thyng For it is wryten by noble clerkes The mercye of God passeth all werkes That witnesseth holy scrypture saynge thus Miseratio domini super omnia opera eius Therfore doute not goodes grace Ther of is plenty in euery place youthe ¶ what me thynke ye be clerkyshe For ye speake good gibbryshe Syr I pray you and you haue any store Soyle me a questyon or ye cast out any more Least whan your connynge is all done My question haue no solucyon Syr and it please you thys Why do men eate mustred with salfishe Sir I praye you soile me thys question That I haue put to your discrecyon charite ¶ This question is but vanitie yt longeth not to me Suche questions to assoyle youthe ¶ Sir by god that me dere bought I se your connynge is littell or nought And I shuld folowe your scole Sone ye wold make a fole Therfore crake no longer here Least I take you on the eare And make your head to ake charite ¶ Sir it falleth not for me to fight Nether by day ne be night Therfore do my counsayle I saye Than to heuen thou shalt haue thy way youthe ¶ No syr I thynke ye wyll not fighte But to take a mannes purs in the night ye wyll not say nay For suche holy caitifes Were wonte to be theues And such wolde be hanged as hye As a man may se with his eye In faith this same is true charite ¶ God saue euery christen body From such euell destenye And sende vs of his grace In heuen to haue a place youthe ¶ Nay nay I warrant the He hathe no place for the We nest thou he wyll haue suche fooles To syt on his gaie stooles Naye I warrant the naye Humilitye ¶ Well sir I put me in goddes wyll whether he wyll me saue or spyll And sir I pray you do so And truste in god what so euer ye do youthe ¶ Syr I praye the olde thy peace And talke to me of no goodnes And soone loke thou go thy waye Leste with my dagger I the slaye In faythe yf thou mene my harte Thou shalte be wearye of thy parte Or thou and I haue done charite ¶ Thynke what God suffered for the His armes to be spred vpon a tree A knight with a speare opened his side In his harte appeared a wounde wyde That bought both you and me youthe ¶ Goddes faste what is that to me Thou dawe wylte thou rede me In my youth to lose my ioylytie Hence knaue and go thy waye Or wyth my dagger I shall the slaye charite ¶ O syr heare what I you tell And be ruled after my counsell That ye might syt in heuen hye with God and his company youthe ¶ A yet of God thou wilte not ceasse Tyll I fyght in good earneste On my fayth I tell the true yf I fyght I tell the true All the dayes of thy lyfe charite ¶ Syr I â—e wen none other wise or I wyll go to my brother Humilitie And take good counsayle of hym Howe it is best to be do theryn youthe ye mary sire I pray you of that Me thinke it were a good sight of your backe I wolde se your heles hither