of hys peple/ As whan he speketh to hem swetly/ and co[=u]ersith with hem symply/ And all this cometh of the roote of pyte/ we rede of the Emperour Traian that his frendes repreuyd hym of that he was to moche pryue and familier wyth the comyn peple more than an emperour ought to be/ And he answerd that he wold be suche an emperour as euery man desired to haue hym/ Also we rede of Alixander that on a tyme he ladde his oost forth hastely/ and in that haste he beheld where satte an olde knight that was sore acolde Whom he dide do arise and sette hym in his owne sete or siege/ what wondre was hit though y’e knightes desired to serue suche a lord that louyd better theyr helth than his dignite/ The rookes ought also to be humble & meke After the holy scripture whiche saith/ the gretter or in the hier astate that thou arte/ so moche more oughtest thou be meker & more humble Valerius reherceth in his .vii. book that ther was an emperour named publius cesar/ That dide do bete doun his hows whiche was in the middis of y’e market place for as moche as hit was heier than other houses/ for as moche as he was more glorious in astate than other/ Therfore wold he haue a lasse hous than other And scipion of affrique that was so poure of vol[=u]tarie pouerte y’t whan he was dede/ he was buried at y’e dispencis of y’e comyn good/ They shold be so humble y’t they shold leue theyr offices/ and suffre other to take hem whan her tyme comyth/ & doo honour to other/ for he gouerneth wel y’e royame y’t may gouerne hit whan he will Valeri’9 saith In his thirde book that fabyan the grete had ben maistre counceyllour of his fader his grauntsire/ And of his grauntsirs fader & of alle his antecessours And yet dide he alle his payne and labour/ that his sone shold neuer haue that office after hym/ but for nothynge that he mystrusted his sone/ For he was noble and wise and more attemprid than other/ but he wold that the office shold not all way reste in the familye and hows of the fabyans Also he reherceth in his seuenth book that they wold make the sayd fabyan emour/ but he excused hym and sayd that he was blynde and myght not see for age/ but that excusacion myght not helpe hym/ Than sayd he to hem/ seke y’e and gete yow another/ For yf y’e make me your emour I may not suffre your maners/ nor y’e may not suffre myn/ Ther was a kynge of so subtyll engyne That whan men brought hym the crowne/ to fore that he toke hit/ he remembrid hym a lityll and saide/ O thou crowne that art more noble than happy For yf a kynge knewe well and parfaytly how that thou art full of paryls of thoughte and of charge/ yf thou were on the grounde/ he wolde neuer lyfte ner take the vp/ Remembre the that whan thou art most gloryous/ than haue some men moste enuye on the/ and whan thou haste moste seignourye and lordships than shalt thou haue moste care. thought and anguysshes/ Vaspasian was so humble that whan Nero was slayn alle the peple cryed for to haue hym emour/ and many of his frendes cam & prayde hym that he wold take hit