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Den første gang hele teksten til dødedansen fra korsgangen ved St. Paul's katedral blev trykt var i 1554. Udgiveren var Richard Tottel, der gengav en anden og langt længere tekst af Lydgate, The Fall of Princes. Tottel inkluderede The Daunce of Machabree bagerst i bogen (billedet til højre).
Teksten er en af de såkaldte A-tekster, der indeholder:
I alt 84 vers.
Disse A-tekster følger samme rækkefølge som den parisiske Danse Macabre, men den tekst, Tottel gengiver, har, ligesom manuskriptet Cambridge Trinity R.3.21, en lille ændring henimod slutningen, ikke kun for to af de personer, som Lydgate havde tilføjet, men også for to af de faste deltagere fra La Danse Macabre.
Der er enkelte fejl i rækkefølgen af linjer. I advokatens svar er linje 475 flyttet nedenunder linje 476 og 477. I de sidste fire linjer er der byttet om på linje 669 og 670, og tilsvarende på 671 og 672.
Overskriften »The Wordes of the translatour« kommer først efter oversætterens fem vers og er faktisk autoritetens/forfatterens ord.
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Tottel bruger ofte en forkortelse som ses til højre og venstre. I princippet er det bogstavet thorn (þ) med et lille t eller e over, som er en forkortelse for hhv. "that" og "the". Men for det første er det umuligt at reproducere dette tegn på en hjemmeside, og for det andet kræver det en ualmindelig god indscanning for at kunne se forskel. Dugdale må have haft samme problem, da han genudgav Tottel's tekst i 1658, for han ændrede "that" til "the" i linje 231 (fra "ere that death manace" til "ere the death manace"). Derfor skriver jeg simpelthen: "that", "the" og (i to tilfælde) "thou".
En anden forkortelse er et W med et lille t over, som jeg simpelthen skriver som "with".
Her kommer teksten. Den første og næstsidste illustration er fra Tottels bog; de øvrige er fra den franske la Danse Macabre. De små røde linjenumre følger Ellesmere-manuskriptet.
wherin is liuely expressed and shewed the state of
manne, and howe he is called at vncertaine tymes by
death, and when he thinketh least theron: made
by thaforesayde Dan John Lydgate
Monke of Burye.
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¶ The Prologe
O Ye folkes hard hearted as a stone,
Whiche to the worlde haue al your aduertence,
Lyke as it should euer lasten in one,
Where is your wit, where is your prouidence?
5
To seen aforne the sodayn violence,
Of cruel death that be so wyse and sage,
Which slayeth (alas) by stroke or pestilence,
Both yong & olde of lowe and high parage.
Death spareth nought low ne high degre
10
Popes, kynges, ne worthye Emperours,
Whan they shine most in felicite.
He can abate the freshnes of her flours,
Her bright sunne clipsen with his shours.
Make them plunge fro her sees lowe,
15
Mauger the might of al these conquerours,
Fortune hath them from her whele ythrow.
Considereth this ye folkes that been wyse,
And it emprinteth in your memoriall,
Like thensample which that at Parise,
20
I fonde depict ones in a wal,
Full notably as I rehearse shall.
Of a Frenche clarke takyng acquaintaunce,
I toke on me to translaten all,
Out of the Frenche Machabrees daunce.
25
By whose aduise and counsayle at the lest,
Through her stieryng and her mocion,
I obeyed vnto her request,
Therof to make a playn translacion,
In English tonge, of entencion
30
That proud folkes that bene stout and bolde,
As in a mirrour toforne in her reason.
Her vgly fine there clearely may beholde.
By ensample that thei in her ententes,
Amend her life in euery maner age,
35
The which daunce at sainct innocentes
Portrayed is with all the surplusage,
Youen vnto vs our liues to correct,
And to declare the fine of our passage,
Right anone my stile I wil direct,
40
To shewe this worlde is but a pilgrimage.
¶ The ende of the Prologe.
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¶ The Wordes of the translatour.
O Creatures ye that bene reasonable,
The life desiring which is eternall,
Ye may sen here doctrine ful notable
Your life to lead which that is mortall,
45
Thereby to learne in especiall,
How ye shal trace the daunce of Machabree
To man and woman ylike naturall,
For death ne spareth high ne lowe degree.
In this myrrour euery wight may fynde,
50
That him behoueth to gone vpon this daunce
Who goeth toforne, or who shall go behynde
All dependeth in goddes ordinaunce.
Wherefore lowly euery man [take] his chaunce,
Death spareth not poore ne yet bloud royall,
55
Euery man therfore haue this in remembraunce.
Of oo matter god hath yforged all.
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¶ The Daunce of Machabree.
¶ Death fyrst speaketh vnto the Pope, and after to euery degree as foloweth.
YE that been set most in high dignitie,
Of al estates in earth spirituall,
And like as Peter hath the soueraintee,
60
Ouer the church and states temporall,
Vpon this daunce ye first begin shall,
As most worthy lord and gouernour,
For al the worship of your estate papall,
And of lordship to God is the honour.
The Pope maketh aunswere.
65
FYrst me behoueth this daunce for to lede
Which sat in earth highest in my see,
The state ful perilous whoso taketh hede,
To occupie [Seynt] Peters dignitee,
But for al that, Death I may not flee,
70
On this daunce with other for to trace,
For which al honor, who prudently can see,
Is litle worth that doth so soone passe.
Death speaketh to the Emperour.
SYr Emperour, lord of al the grounde
souereine prince & highest of noblesse,
75
Ye mot forsake of gold your apple round
Scepter and swerde & al your high prowesse
Behind leten your treasour and your riches
And with other to my daunce obey,
Against my might is worth none hardines,
80
Adams children al they must deye.
The Emperour maketh aunswer.
I Note to whom that I may appeale,
Touching death which doth me so constrein
There is no g[a]in to helpen my querel,
But spade and pickoys my graue to atteyne
85
A simple shete there is no more to seyn,
To wrappen in my body and visage,
Wherupon sore I [may] me compleyne,
That lordes great haue litle auauntage.
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Death speaketh to the Cardinal.
YE been abashed it semeth and in drede,
90
Syr Cardinal, it sheweth by your chere,
But yet forthy ye folowe shall in dede,
With other folke my daunce for to lere,
Your great aray al shal leauen here,
Your hat of red, your vesture of great coste,
95
All these thynges reckoned well in feare,
In great honour good auyse is loste.
The Cardinall maketh aunswere.
I Haue great cause, certes this is no faile,
To be abashed and greatly dread me,
Sith Death is come me sodainly to assaile
100
That I shall neuer hereafter clothed be,
In grise nor Ermine like vnto my degree,
Mine hat of red leuen eke in distresse,
By which I haue learned wel and see,
How that al ioye endeth in heauines.
Death speaketh to the Kyng.
105
O Noble Kyng most worthy of renoun
Come foorth anone for al your worthines,
That whylom had about you enuiron,
Great royaltie and passing hye noblesse,
But right anon al your great highnes,
110
Sole from your men in hast ye shall it lete,
Who most aboundeth here in great riches,
Shall beare with hym but a shete.
The Kyng maketh aunswere.
I Haue nought learned here toforn to daunce
No daunce insooth of footyng so sauage,
115
Where through I se by clere demonstraunce
What pride is worth or force of high linage,
Death all fordoth this is his vsage,
Great and smal that in this world soiourne
Who is most meke I hold hym most sage.
120
For we shall all to the dead ashes tourne.
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Death speaketh to the Patriarche.
SYr Patriarche, al your humble chere,
Ne quiteth you nought nor your humilitie,
Your double crosse of gold and stones clere
Your power whole and al your dignitie,
125
Some other shall of very equitie,
Possede anon as I rehearse can,
Trusteth neuer that ye shall Pope be,
For holy hope deceiueth many a man.
The Patriarche maketh aunswere.
Worldly honour gret treasour & riches,
130
Haue me deceiued soothfastly in dede
Mine old ioyes been turned into tristesse
What auayleth such treasours to possede?
It clymbeth vp, a fall hath for his mede,
Great estates folke wasten out of number,
135
Who mounteth high, it is sure and no drede,
Great burden doth hym oft encomber.
Death speaketh to the Cunstable.
IT is my ryght to arest you and constreyne,
With vs to daunce my mayster Sir Cunstable,
For more stronger than euer was Charlemain,
140
Death hath afforced and more worshipable,
For hardines ne knighthode this is no fable.
Nor strong armure of plates nother of maile
What gayneth armes of folkes most notable,
Whan cruell death list him to assayle?
The Cunstable maketh aunswere.
145
MY purpose was and whole entencion
To assail castels & mighty fortresses.
And bryng folke vnto subieccion,
To seke honour, fame, and great richesses.
But I see that al worldly prowesse,
150
Death can abate which is a great despite,
To him alone, sorow and eke swetenes.
For agaynst death is found no respite.
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Death speaketh to the Archebishop.
SYr Archebishop, why do ye you withdrawe,
So frowardly as it wer by disdayne?
155
Ye must approche to my mortall lawe,
It to contrary it wer nought but in vayne,
For day by day there is none other gayne,
Death at the hand pursueth euery coast,
Prest and debte mot bee yelde againe,
160
And at a daye men counten with her host.
The Archebishop maketh aunswere.
ALas I wote not to what partie for to flee
For drede of death I haue so gret distres
To escape his might I can no refute see,
That who so knew his constreint and duresse
165
He would take reason to maistresse,
Adue my treasour, my pompe & pride also,
My painted chambers, my port & my freshnes
Thyng that behoueth nedes mot be do.
Death speaketh to the Barone.
YE that among Lordes and Barons
170
Haue had so long worship and renoun,
Foryet your trumpetes and your clarions,
This is no dreame nor simulacion,
Whylom your custom and entencion,
Was with Ladies to daunsen in the shade,
175
But oft it happeth in conclusion,
One man breaketh that another made.
The Baron maketh aunswere.
FUll oft sith I haue been auctorised,
To high emprises & thinges of gret fame
Of high & low my thanke also deuised
180
Cherished with Ladies & women high of name
Ne neuer on me was put no defame,
In Lordes of court which that was notable
But deathes stroke hath made me lame,
Under heauen in earth is nothyng stable.
Death speaketh to the princesse.
185
COme forth anon my Lady good princesse,
Ye must also gon vpon this daunce,
Nought may auayle your great straungnesse,
Nether your beauty nor your gret pleasaunce
Your riche aray nother your daliaunce,
190
That whylom couth so many holde in hond
In loue for al your double variaunce,
Ye mot as nowe this footyng vnderstonde.
The Princesse maketh aunswere.
ALas I see there is none other boote,
Deth hath in earth no lady nor mastres
195
& on this daunce yet mot I nedes fote
For there nis quene countesse ne dutchesse
Flouring in bountie nor in her fayrenes,
That shooe of death mot passe the passage.
When our beautie and counterfeit fairnes
200
Dieth, adue then our rimpled age.
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Death speaketh to the Bishop.
MY lord sir Bishop with miter & crosse
For al your riches soothlye I ensure,
For all your treasour kept in closse
Your worldly goodes and goodes of nature
205
Of your shepe the dredeful ghostly cure,
With charge committed to your prelacie,
For to accoumpt ye shal be brought to lure,
No wight is sure that climbeth ouer hye.
The Bishop maketh aunswere.
MIne heart truely is nother glad ne mery
210
Of sodein tidinges which that ye bring
My feast is turned into simple ferie,
That for discomfort me list nothyng syng,
The world contrarieth to me now in werking
That al folkes can so disherite,
215
He al with halt (alas) at our partyng.
Al thyng shall passe saue onely our merite.
Death speaketh to the Squyer.
COmmeth forth syr squyer, right fresh of your araye,
That conne of daunces al the new guise
If ye bare harnes fresshly horsed yesterday
220
With spere & shielde at your vncouth deuise,
And toke on you so many high emprise,
Daunseth with vs it wyl no better be,
There is no succour in no maner wyse,
For no man may fro deathes stroke flee.
The Squyer maketh aunswere.
225
SIthens that death me holdeth in his lase
Yet shal I speake oo worde ere I passe,
Adue al myrth adue now al solace,
Adue my ladies whilom so freshe of face,
Adue beautie, pleasaunce, and al solace,
230
Of deathes chaunge euery day is prime,
Thinke on your soules ere that death manace,
For all shal rot and no man wot what time.
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Death speaketh to the Abbot.
COmmeth forth syr Abbot with your brode hatte,
Beeth nought abasht if ye hauen ryght,
235
Great is your head, your belly large and fat,
Ye mot come daunce if ye be nothyng light,
Leaueth your abbey to some other wight,
Your heyre is of age your state to occupie,
Who that is fattest I haue hym behyght,
240
In his graue shall soonest putrifie.
The Abbot maketh aunswere.
OF these threts haue I none enuy,
That I shall now leaue al the gouernaunce.
But that I shal as a cloystrer dye,
This death is to me passing great greuaunce.
245
My libertie nor my great habundaunce,
What may they auayle in any maner wyse?
Yet aske I mercy with heartely repentaunce,
If in dying to late men them auise.
Death speaketh to the Abbesse.
ANd ye my lady gentle dame Abbesse,
250
With your mantels furred large and wyde,
Your veile, your wimple, passing of gret riches,
And bedes, (sister) ye mot now leyn on syde,
For to this daunce I shal be your guide,
If ye be tender borne of gentle bloode,
255
Whiles that you liue for your selfe prouide,
For after death no man hath no good.
The Abbesse maketh aunswere.
ALas that Death hath thus for me ordeined
That in no wise I maye it nought declyne.
If it so be ful oft I haue constreined,
260
Brest and throte my notes out to twyne,
My chekes round garnished for to shine,
Ungird ful oft to walken at the large,
Thus cruel death with al estates fine,
Who hath no shippe must rowe in bote or barge.
Death speaketh to the bayly.
265
COme forth. sir bayly that knowen all the guise,
By your office of trouth & rightwisnes,
Ye must come to a newe assyse,
Extorcions and wronges to redresse.
Ye be somned as lawe biddeth expresse,
270
To yeue accomptes the Iudge wil you charge
Which hath ordeined to excluden al falsnes,
That euery man shal beare his own charge.
The bayly maketh aunswere.
O Thou lord god this is a hard iourney
To which aforne I toke but litle hede
275
My chaunce is turned, & that forthinketh me,
Whilom with iudges what me list to spede,
Lay in my might by labour oft for mede.
But sith there is no rescus by battayle,
I hold him wise that couth wel seen in dede
280
Again Death that none apel may vayle.
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Death speaketh to the Astronomer.
COme foorth maister that lookest vp so farre,
With instrumentes of Astronomie,
To take the grees and hyght of euery starre
What may auaile all your astrologie?
285
Sith of Adam all the genealogie,
Made first of god to walke vpon the ground,
Death with arest thus sayth theologie,
And all shall dye for an apple rounde.
The Astronomer maketh aunswere.
FOr all my craft, cunnyng, or science,
290
I can nought find no prouision,
Nother in the starres search out no difference
By domifying, nor calculacion,
Saue finally in conclusion,
For to descriue our cunnyng euery dele,
295
There is no more by sentence of reason,
Who liueth aryght mot nedes dye well.
Death speaketh to the Burgis.
SYr Burgis, what doe ye long tarye,
For all your auoyre and youre great riches,
If ye be strong, deinous, and contrary,
300
Toward this daunce ye mot you nedes dresse
For of al treasour, plentie, and largesse,
From other it came and shall vnto strangers,
He is a foole that in such busines,
Wot nought for whom he stuffeth his garners
The Burgis maketh aunswere.
305
CErtes to me it is great displeasaunce
To leaue al this & mai it nought assure
how these rentes, treasor, & substaunce,
Death al fordoth suche is his nature,
Therefore wise is no creature,
310
That set his heart on good that may disseuer
The world it lent the worlde wil it recure,
And who most hath, lothest dyeth euer.
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Death speaketh to the Chanon Seculer.
ANd ye syr Chanon, with many great prebende,
Ye may no lenger haue distribucion
315
Of golde, siluer, largelye to dispende,
For there is nowe no consolacion
But daunce with vs for al your high renoun
For if death stode vpon the brinke,
Ye may therof haue no delacion,
320
Death commeth ay when men least on him thinke.
The Chanon maketh aunswere.
MY benefice with mony personage,
God wot ful lite may me now comfort.
Death hath of me so great auauntage,
That al my riches may me nought disport,
325
Amisse of gris they wyl ayein resorte,
Vnto the world a surples and prebende,
Al is vainglory truely to reporte,
To dyen well eche man should entende.
Death speaketh to the marchaunte.
YE rich Marchant, ye mot looke hitherwarde,
330
That passed haue ful many diuers lond
On horse, on foote, hauing most regard
To lucre & winnyng as I vnderstond.
But now to daunce ye mot geue me your hond,
For al your labour ful litle auayleth nowe
335
Adue vaynglory both of free and bonde,
None more coueit then thei that haue ynow.
The marchaunt maketh aunswere.
BY many an hyll and many a strong vale
I haue trauailed with many marchandise
Ouer the sea downe cary many a bale,
340
To sondrye Iles more than I can deuyse,
Mine heart inward ay fretteth with couetise
But al for nought now deth doth me constrein
For which I se, by record of the wyse,
Who al embraceth litle shall constrein.
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Death speaketh to the Chartreux.
345
YEue me your honde with chekes dead and pale,
Caused of watche & long abstinence.
Sir chartreux, and your self auale.
Vnto this daunce with humble pacience,
To striue ayein may be no resistence,
350
Lenger to liue set nought your memorye,
If I be lothsome as in apparence,
Aboue al men death hath the victorie.
The Chartreux maketh aunswere.
VNto the world I was dead long agon
By mine order and my profession,
355
And euery man be he neuer so strong
Dreadeth to dye by kindly mocion,
After his fleshly inclinacion.,
But please to god my soule to borowe,
Fro fiendes myght and fro damnacion,
360
Some arne to day that shal nought be to morow
Death speaketh to the Sargeaunte.
COme foorth sir Sargeaunt, with your stately mase,
Make no defence nor rebellion,
It may nought auaile to grutchen in this case
If ye be deynous of condicion,
365
For neyther pele nor proteccion
May you fraunchise to doe nature wrong,
For there is none so sturdy chaumpion,
If he be mightie, another is also strong.
The Sargeaunt maketh aunswere.
HOwe dare this death set on me arest,
370
That am the kynges chosen officer,
Which yesterday, both East and west,
Mine office dyd ful surquedous of chere,
But now this day I am arested here,
And can nought flee if I had it sworne.
375
Euery man is loth to die, both farre & nere,
That hath nought learned for to be ded aforne.
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Death speaketh to the Monke.
SYr Monke also with your blacke habite,
Ye may no lenger hold here soioure,
There is nothyng that may you here respite
380
Agein my might you for to doe succour.
Ye mot accompt touchyng your labour,
How ye haue spend it, in dede, word, & thought
To earth and ashes turneth euery floure,
The life of man is but a thyng of nought.
The Monke maketh aunswere.
385
I Had leauer in the cloyster be,
At my booke and study my seruice,
Which is a place contemplatife to see,
But I haue spent my life in mony wyse,
Like as a foole dissolute and nice,
390
God of his mercy graunt me repentaunce,
By chere outward hard is to deuise,
Al be not merye which that men seen daunce.
Death speaketh to the Vsurer.
THou vsurer, looke vp and beholde,
Unto thy wynnyng thou settest aye thy payne,
395
Whose couetise waxeth neuer colde,
Thy gredy thrust so sore the doth constraine,
But thou shalt neuer to thy desyre attayne.
Suche an etike thyne heart freten shall,
But that of pitie god his honde refraine,
400
One perilous stroke shal make thee losen al.
The Vsurer maketh aunswere.
NOw behoueth sodeinly to dye,
Which is to me great paine & eke greuance
Succour to fynde I see no maner way
Of golde nor siluer by none cheuisance,
405
Death through his hast abideth no purueiance
Of folkes blynde that can nought loke wel
Full oft happeth by kynde of fatall chaunce
Some haue fayre eyen that seen neuer adel.
The poore man boroweth of the Usurer.
VSurer to God is full great offence,
410
And in his syght a great abusion,
The poore boroweth percase for indigence.
The riche lent by false collusion,
Onely for lucre in his entencion.
Death shal both to accoumptes fette.
415
To make reconing by computacion,
No no man is quit that is behynd of dette.
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Death speaketh to the Phisicien.
MAister of Phisike which on your vryne,
So looke and gase, and stare agaynst the sunne,
For al your craft and study of medicine,
420
All the practike and science that ye cunne,
Your life course so farre forth is yrunne,
Ayein my might your craft may not endure
For al the gold that thereby ye haue wunne,
Good leche is he that himself can recure.
The Phisicien maketh aunswer.
425
FUll long agon that I vnto Phisike,
Set my wit and eke my diligence.
In speculatife and also in practike,
To geat a name through mine excellence,
To fynd out agaynst pestilence,
430
Preseruatifes to staunche it and to fine
But I dare shortly in sentence,
Say that against death is worth no medicine.
Death speaketh to the amerous Squyre.
YE that be gentle so fresh & amerous.
Of yeres yong flouring in your grene age.
435
Lusty fre of hert, & eke desirous,
Ful of deuises & chaunge in your courage,
Pleasaunt of port, of loke and of visage,
But al shal turne into ashes dead.
For al beautie is but a faynt ymage,
440
Which stealeth away or folkes can take hede.
The Squyer maketh aunswer.
ALas alas I can nowe no succour,
Agaynst Death for my selfe prouide,
Adue of youth the lusty fresh flower,
Adue vainglory, of beautie and the prouide
445
Adue all seruice of the god Cupide,
Adue my Ladies so fresh, so wel beseyn,
For agayn death nothyng may abyde,
And windes great, gon doun with litle rein
Death speaketh to the Gentlewoman.
COme forth maistresse of yeres yonge and grene,
450
Which hold your selfe of beautie souereyn
As fayre as ye, was whilom Pollixene,
Penelope and the quene Helein.
Yet on this daunce thei went both tweyne,
And so shall ye for al your straungenesse,
455
Yf daunger long in loue hath lad your rein,
Arested is your chaunge of doublenes.
The Gentlewoman maketh aunswer.
O Cruel death that spareth none estate,
To old and yong thou art indifferent,
To my beautie thou hast said checkmate
460
So hasty is thy mortall iudgement,
For in my youth this was mine entent
To my seruice many man to haue lured
But she is a foole shortly in sentment,
That in her beautie is to muche assured.
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Death speaketh to the man of law.
465
SYr Aduocate, short proces for to make
Ye mot come plete afore the high iudge,
Many quarels ye haue vndertake,
And for Lucre done to folke refuge.
But my fraunchise is so large and huge
470
That counsayle none auaile may but trouth,
He scapeth wisely of death the great deluge,
Tofore the dome who is nought teint with slouth.
The man of law maketh aunswer.
OF right & reason by natures law,
I can nought putten against deth no defence
476
For al my wit nor for al my gret prudence
477
To appeale from his dredful sentence,
475
Nother by no sleight me kepen or withdraw,
Nor nothyng in earth may a man preserue,
Agayn his might to make resistence,
480
God quiteth all men like as they deserue.
Death speaketh to maister John Rikil Tregetour.
513
MAster John Rikil whilom Tregetour
Of noble Henry king of Englond
515
& of Fraunce the mightie conquerour,
For al the sleightes and turning of thine hond
Thou must come nere my daunce to vnderstond
Nought may auayle al thy conclusions,
For death shortly nother on sea ne lond,
520
Is not deceiued by none illusions.
The Tregetour maketh aunswer.
WHat may auayle magike naturall,
Or any craft shewed by apparence,
Or course of starres aboue celestiall,
Or of the heauens al the influence,
525
Against death to stonde at defence?
Legerdemain now helpeth me right nought
Fare wel my craft and such sapience,
For death mo maistries hath [than] y wrought.
|
Death speaketh to the person.
O Sir curate that been now here present
530
That had your worldly inclinacion,
Your heart entere, your study & entent
Most of your tithes and your oblacion,
Which should haue be of conuersacion
Mirrour to other, light and examplarie,
535
Like your desert shal be your guerdon.
And to euery labour due is the salarye.
The person maketh aunswere.
MAuger my wil I must condescende
For death assaileth euery liuely thing
Here in this world who can comprehend
540
His sodein stroke and his vnware turnyng.
Fare wel tithes, and fare wel mine offring
I mot go coumpten by order by and by.
And for my shepe make a iust reckonyng,
& who that so him quiteth I hold he is happye.
Death speaketh to the Iurrour.
481
MAister Iurrour which that at assises,
And at sheres questes dydst embrace
Deper didst lond like to thy deuises
And who most gaue most stode in thy grace
485
The poore man lost both lond and place,
For golde thou couldest folke disherite,
But now let se with thy teynt face,
Tofore the Iudge how canst thee quite.
The Iurrour maketh aunswere.
WHilom I was cleped in my countrey
490
The belweather, and that was not alite.
Nought loued, but drad of high & low degree
For whom me list by craft I could endite.
Hongen the true and the thefe respite,
Al the countrey by my worde was lad.
495
But I dare sein shortly for to write,
Of my death many a man is glad.
Death speaketh to the minstral.
O Thou minstrall that can so note and pipe.
Unto folke for to done pleasaunce
By the ryght honde anone I shall the gripe,
500
With these other to gone vpon my daunce,
There is no scape nother auoydaunce,
On no syde to contune my sentence,
For in Musike by craft and accordaunce,
Who maister is shewen his sentence.
The minstrall maketh aunswere.
505
THis new daunce is to me so straunge,
Wonder diuers and passingly contrarye.
The dredefull footyng doth so oft chaunge,
And the measures so oft sith varye,
Which vnto me is now nothyng necessarye,
510
If it wer so that I might asterte,
But many a man if I shal nought tary,
Oft daunseth but nothyng of hert.
Death speaketh to the Labourer.
545
THou Labourer, which in sorowe and peyn
Hast lad thy life in great trauayle,
Ye must eke daunce, and therfore nought disdein
For if thou do it may the nought auayle.
And cause why that I thee assayle,
550
Is onely this from thee to disceuer,
The false world that can so folkes fayle,
He is a foole that weneth to liuen euer.
The labourer maketh aunswere.
I Haue wished after death ful oft,
Albe that I would haue fled him nowe
555
I had leauer to haue lyen vnsoft,
In wind & rain to haue gon at the plowe,
With spade & pikoys labored for my prowe,
Doluen and ditched, and at the cart gone,
For I may say and tell platlye howe,
560
In this worlde there is rest none.
|
Death speaketh to the frere menour.
SYr Cordelere to you mine hande is raught,
You to this daunce to conuay & leade,
Which in your preaching han ful oft ytaught
How that I am most gastful for to drede.
565
Albe that folke take thereto none hede,
Yet is there none so strong ne so hardye,
But death dare hym rest and let for no mede,
For death euery houre is present and ready.
The Frere maketh aunswere.
WHat may this be that in this world no man,
570
Here to abide may haue no suretie?
Strength, riches, nor what so that he can,
Of worldly, wisedom al is but vanitie.
In great estate nor in pouertie,
Is nothing founde that may his death defend
575
For which I saye to high and low degree,
Wise is that sinner that doth his lyfe amend.
Death speaketh to the Chylde.
LItle Faunte, that were but late borne,
Shape in this worlde to haue no pleasaunce,
Ye must with other that gone here beforne
580
Be lad in hast by fatall ordinaunce,
Learne of new to gone on my daunce,
There may none age escape in soth therefro,
Let euery wight haue this in remembraunce
Who lengest liueth most shal suffer woe,
The yong childe maketh aunswer.
585
A. a. a, a woorde I cannot speake
I am so yonge I was borne yesterday,
Death is so hasty on me to be wreake,
And list no lenger to make no delaie.
I am but now borne and now I go my way
590
Of me no more to tale shall be told,
The wyll of god no man withstonde maye,
As soone dyeth a yong as an olde.
|
Death speaketh to the yong clerke.
O Ye Syr clerke, suppose ye to be free
Fro my daunce, or your selfe defende,
595
That wend haue risen vnto high degree,
Of Benefice or some great prebende,
Who climbeth highest sometime shal descend.
Let no man grutche ayeinst his fortune,
But take at gree what euer god him sende,
600
Which punisheth al when time is oportune.
The Clerke maketh aunswere.
SHall [I], that am so yong a clerke now die
Of my seruice & haue no better guerdon.
Is there no gayn ne no better way,
No better fraunchise nor proteccion?
605
Death maketh alway a short conclusion,
To late ware when men been on the brynke,
The world shall fayle and all possession,
For much faileth of thing that folkes thinke.
Death speaketh to the Hermite.
YE that haue liued long in wildernes,
610
And there continued long in abstinence,
At the last yet ye mot you dresse,
Of my daunce to haue experience.
For there against is no resistence.
Take now leaue of thyne Hermitage,
615
Werfore euery man aduert to this sentence
That this life here is no sure heritage.
The Hermite maketh aunswere.
TO liue in desert called solitarie
May again death haue respite none nor space
At vnset houre his commyng doth not tary
620
And for my part welcom by goddes grace,
Thankyng hym with humble chere & face,
Of al his giftes and great haboundaunce,
Finally affirmyng in this place,
No man is riche that lacketh suffraunce.
Death speaketh agayn to the Hermite.
625
THat is wel sayd, and thus should euery wight
Thanken his god & al his wittes dresse
To loue & dread him with all his heart & might
Sith death to escape maye be no sikernes.
As men deserue, god quiteth of rightwisnes
630
To riche and poore vpon euery syde,
A better lesson there can no clerke expresse
Than til to-morow is no man sure to abide.
|
¶ The king ligging eaten of wormes.
YE folke that loke vpon this portrature,
Beholding here all estates daunce,
635
Seeth what ye been & what is your nature,
Meat vnto wormes, nought els in substaunce.
And haueth this mirrour aye in remembraunce,
Howe I lye here whylom crouned kyng,
To al estates a true resemblaunce,
640
That wormes foode is the fine of your liuyng.
|
¶ Machabree the Doctoure.
Man is nought els platly for to thinke.
But as wind which is transitory,
Passing ay forth whether he wake or winke
Toward this daunce haueth this in memorye
645
Remembryng aye there is no better victory
In this life here than fle syn at the least
Than shal ye reygne in paradise with glorye
Happy is he that maketh in heauen his feast!
Yet been there folke mo than sixe or seuen.
650
Recheles of life in many maner wyse
Like as there were hell none nor heauen.
Such false errour let euery man despise.
For holy saynctes and olde clerkes wyse,
Written contrary her falsenes to defame,
655
To liuen wel take thys for the best emprise,
Is much worth when men should hence passe.
|
¶ Lenuoye of the Translatoure.
O Ye my lordes & maisters all in feare,
Of auenture that shal this daunce reade
Lowely I pray with all myne heart entere,
660
To correct where as ye se nede
For nought elles I aske for my mede,
But goodly support of this translacion,
And with fauour to suppowaile drede,
Beninglye in your correccioun.
665
Out of the French I drough it of entent,
Not word by word, but folowing in substaunce
And from Paris to England it sent,
Only of purpose you to do pleasaunce.
670
Haue me excused my name is John Lidgate
669
Rude of langage, I was not borne in France
672
Her curious miters in Englishe to translate
671
Of other tong I haue no suffisance.
¶ Here endeth the Daunce of Machabree.
¶ Imprinted at London
in Flete strete within Temple barre at
the sygne of the hande and starre, by Richard
Tottel, the .x. day of September in the
yeare of oure Lorde.
1554.
Cum priuilegio ad imprimendum solum
