A fole also he is withouten doute,
  And in his porpose sothly blyndyd sore,
  Which doth entende labour or go aboute
  To serve god, and also his wretchyd store
  Of worldly ryches:  for as I sayde before,
  He that togyder will two maysters serve
  Shall one displease and nat his love deserve.

  For be that with one hounde wol take also
  Two harys togyther in one instant
  For the moste parte doth the both two forgo,
  And if he one have:  harde it is and skant
  And that blynd fole mad and ignorant
  That draweth thre boltis atons[A] in one bowe
  At one marke shall shote to[o] high or to[o] lowe. 
  He that his mynde settyth god truly to serve
  And his sayntes:  this worlde settynge at nought
  Shall for rewarde everlastynge joy deserve,
  But in this worlde he that settyth his thought
  All men to please, and in favour to be brought,
  Must lout and lurke, flater, laude, and lye: 
  And cloke in knavys counseyll, though it fals be.

  Wherfore I may prove by these examples playne
  That it is better more godly and plesant
  To leve this mondayne casualte and payne
  And to thy maker one god to be servaunt. 
  Which whyle thou lyvest shall nat let the want
  That thou desyrest justly, for thy syrvyce,
  And than after gyve the, the joyes of Paradyse.

From the German of SEBASTIAN BRANDT.

Translation of ALEXANDER BARCLAY.

[Footnote A:  At once.]

* * * * *

RELIGION AND DOCTRINE.

  He stood before the Sanhedrim;
  The scowling rabbis gazed at him;
  He recked not of their praise or blame;
  There was no fear, there was no shame
  For one upon whose dazzled eyes
  The whole world poured its vast surprise. 
  The open heaven was far too near,
  His first day’s light too sweet and clear,
  To let him waste his new-gained ken
  On the hate-clouded face of men.

But still they questioned, Who art thou? 
What hast thou been?  What art thou now? 
Thou art not he who yesterday
Sat here and begged beside the way,
For he was blind.
And I am he;
For I was blind, but now I see.

He told the story o’er and o’er;
It was his full heart’s only lore;
A prophet on the Sabbath day
Had touched his sightless eyes with clay,
And made him see, who had been blind. 
Their words passed by him like the wind
Which raves and howls, but cannot shock
The hundred-fathom-rooted rock.

  Their threats and fury all went wide;
  They could not touch his Hebrew pride;
  Their sneers at Jesus and his band,
  Nameless and homeless in the land,
  Their boasts of Moses and his Lord,
  All could not change him by one word.