THE
DAUNCE OF MACHABREE:
WHEREIN IS LIVELY EXPRESSED AND SHEWED THE STATE OP MANNE, AND HOW HE ISCALLED AT UNCERTAYNE TYMES BY DEATH, AND WHEN HETHINKETH LEAST THEREON:
MADE BY
THE PROLOGE.
O ye folkes hard hearted as a stone,Which to the world have all your advertence,Like rfs it should ever lasten in one,
Where is your wit, where is your providence,To seen aforne the sodayn violenceOf cruel death that be so wise and sage,Which slayeth, alas, by stroke or pestilenceBoth young and old of low and high parage.
Death spareth nought low ne high degre,Popes , Kings, ne worthy Emperours,
When they shine most in felicityHe can abate the freshness of her flours,
Her bright Sun clipsen with his shours,
ake them plunge fro her sees lowe.
Wauger the might of all these Conquerours,Fortune hath them from her whele ythrow.
Considereth this ye folkes that been wise,And it imprinteth in your memorial,
Like thensample which that at Parise,
1 fonde depict ones in a wallFull notably as I rehearse shall,
Of a French Clerke taking acquaintance,
I took on me to translaten all
Out of the French Macchabrees daunce.
By whose advise and counsail at the last,Through her stiering and her motion,
I obeyed unto her requestThereof to make a playn translacyon
In English tonge, of entencion
That proud folkes that been stout and bolde,
As in a mirrour toforne in her reason
Her ugly fine there clearly may behold.
By ensample that thei in her entents,Amend her life in every maner age,
The which Daunce at Saint Innocents,Portrayed is with all the surplusage;
Yoven unto us our lives to correct,
And to declare the fine of our passage,
Right anone my stile I will directTo shew this world is but a pilgrimage.
The End of the ProlOge.
The Words of the Translator.
O Creatures ye that been reasonable,The life desiring which is eternal,
Ye may seen heer doctrine full notableYour life to lead, which that is mortal,Thereby to learne in specialHow ye shall trace the daunce of Macbabree,To man and woman ylike natural,
For death ne spareth high ne low degree.
In this myrrour every wight may fynde,That him behoveth to gone upon this daunce,Who goeth toforne, or who shall go behind,All dependeth in Goddes ordinance;
Wherefore lowly every man his chance,
Death spareth not poor, ne yet Blood-royall,Every man therfore have this in remembrance,Of oo matter God hath yforged all.