Selected quad for the lemma: truth_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
truth_n	word_n	world_n	write_n	163	4	8.2492	4	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A03715	Here begynneth the egloges of Alexa[n]der Barclay prest wherof the fyrst thre conteyneth the myseryes of courters [et] courtes of all prynces in generall, the matter wherof was translated into Englyshe by the sayd Alexander in fourme of dialoges, oute of a boke named in latin Miserie curialiu[m], compyled by Eneas Siluius poete and oratour, whiche after was Pope of Rome, [et] named Pius.; De curialium miseria. English	Pius II, Pope, 1405-1464.; Barclay, Alexander, 1475?-1552.	1530 (1530)	STC 1384; ESTC S104473	92,935	200

I aske no treasour nor store of worldely gode But a quyet lyfe and onely clothe and fode With homely lodgyng to kepe me warme and dry Enduryng my lyfe for sorthe no more aske I If I were certayne this lyueng styll to haue Auoyde of trouble no more of god I craue ¶ Codrus ¶ This lyueng hast thou what nedes the cōplayne Nothing y u wantest whiche may thy lyfe sustayne What fele man parde thy chekes be nat thynne No lacke of vitayle causeth a double chynne ¶ Mynalcas ¶ Some beest is lusty and fatte of his nature Though he sore labour and go in badde pasture And some beest agayne styll leane and poore is sene Though it fatly fare within a medowe grene Though thou Codrus styll argue tyll to morowe I lycke no dysshes whiche sauced is with sorowe Better one smale dysshe with ioye and hert lyking Than dyuers denties with murmure grutching And men vnlerned can neuer be content Whanscolers common and clerkes be present As soone as clerkes begyn to talke and chat Some other gloumes and hath enuy therat It is a tourment a clerke to sytte at borde Of his lernyng nat for to talke one worde Better were to be with clerkes with a crust Than at suche tables to fare at wyll and lust Lette me haue the borde of olde Pytagoras Whiche of temperaunce a very father was Of philosophers the moderate rychesse In youthe or age I loued neuer excesse Some bost and promes and put men in confort Of large gyftes moost men be of thissort With mouthe and promes for to be lyberall Whan nede re●reth than gyue they nought at all All onely in the is fired all my trust If thou fayle promes than roule I in the dust My hope is faded than shall my song be dom Lyke a nightyngale at the solsticium If thou fayle promes my confort clene is lost Than may I hang my pype vpon the post Shytte thy shop wyndowes for lacke of marchādice Or els for bycause that easy is the price ¶ Codrus ¶ Mynalcas if thou the court of Rome hast sene With forked cappes or els if thou hast bene Or noble prelates by richesse exellent Thou wele parceyuest they be magnifycent With them be clerkes and plesaunt oratours And many poetes promoted to honours There is abundaunce of all that men desyre There men haue honour before they it requyre In suche fayre feldes without labour or payne Bothe welth and richesse y u mayst lightly optayne ¶ Mynalcas ¶ Thou art abused and thynkest wronge doutlesse To thynke that I am desyrous of richesse To fede on rawe flesshe it is a wolues gyse Wherfore he weneth all beestes do lykewise Bycause the blynde man halteth and is lame In mynde he thynketh that all men do the same So for that thy selfe desyrest good in store All men thou iugest infected with lyke sore Codrus I coueyt nat to haue abundaunce Small thyng me pleaseth I aske but suffisaunce Graunt me a lyueng suffycient and small And voyde of troubles I aske no more at all But with that lytell I holde me selfe content If sauce of sorowe my mynde nat tourment Of the court of Rome for sothe I haue herde tell With forked cappes it folly is to mell Mycene and Morton be deed and gone certayne They nor their lyke shall neuer retourne agayne O Codrus Codrus Augustus and Edwarde Be gone foreuer our fortune is more harde The scarlet rebes in song hath smale delyte What shulde I traueyle in Rome is no profyte It gyueth mockes and skornes many folde Styll cratchyng coyne and gapyng after golde Fraunde and disceyt dothe all the worlde fyll And money reigneth and dothe althyng at wyll And for that people wolde more entende to gyle Uertue and trouthe be driuen into eryle We are cōmaunded to trust for tyme to come Tyll care and sorowe hath wasted our wysdome Hope of rewarde hath poetes them to fede Nowe in the worlde fayre wordes be their mede ¶ Codrus ¶ Than write of batayls or actes of men bolde Or mighty princes they may the wele vpholde These worthy rulers of fame and name royall Of very reason ought to be lyberall Some shalt thou fynde bitwene this place and Kent Whiche for thy labour shall the ryghtwell cōtent ¶ Mynalcas ¶ ye some shall I fynde whiche be so prodigall That in vayne thyng spende clene wasteth all But howe shulde that man my pouertie sustayne Whiche nought reserueth his honour to mētayne For auncyent blode nor auncyent honour In these our dayes be nought without treasour The coyne auaunceth nede dothe the name deiect And where is treasour olde honour hath effect But suche as be riche and in promocion Shall haue my writyng but in derisyon For in this season great men of exellence Hath to poemys no greatter reuerence Than to a brothell or els a brothelshous Madde ignorance is so contagyous ¶ Codrus ¶ It is nat semyng a poete thus to iest In wrathfull speche nor wordes dis honest ¶ Mynalcas ¶ It is no iestyng be thou neuer so wrothe In open langage to say nothyng but trouthe If parauenture thou wolde haue trouthe kept styll Prouoke thou nat me to angre at thy wyll Whan wrathe is moued than rayson hath no might The tonge forgetteth discrecyon and right ¶ Codrus ¶ To moue thy myndes I truely were full lothe To gyue good coūsaile is far from beyng wrothe ¶ Mynalcas ¶ As touchyng counsaile my mynde is plentifull But nede and troubles make all my reason dull If I had counsaile and golde in lyke plente I tell the Codrus I had no nede of the Howe shulde a poete poore bare and indygent Indyte the actes of princes exellent Whyle scant is worthe a knyfe his pype to mende To rounde the holles to clense or pyke the ende Beholde my whittell almost hath lost the blade So long tyme past is sithe the same was made The hafte is brused the blade nat worthe a strawe Rusty and tothed nat moche vnlyke asawe But touchyng this hurt it is but lyght and small But care and trouble is greuous payne withall Good counsaile helpeth makyng the wyttes stable Ill counsaile maketh the myndes varyable And breketh the brayne deminysshing the strength And all the reason confoundeth at the length Great men are shamed to gyue thyng poore or small And great they deny thus gyue they nought at all Besyde this Codrus princes and men royall In our enditynges hath pleasure faynt and small So moche power haue they with men of might As symple douues whan eglys take their flyght Or as great wyndes careth for leaues dry They lyue in pleasure and welthe cōtinually In lust their lyking is and in ydlenesse Fewe haue their myndes from all vicyousnesse Pleasure is thyng wherto they must entende That they most cherisshe they wolde haue men cō cende If poetes shulde their maners magnify They were supporters of blame and lechery Than shulde their writyng ●e nothyng cōmendable Conteyning iestes and dedes detestable