by her songs, having three sons by his wife Lynida, the very pride of all his forepassed years, thought now, seeing death by constraint would compel him to leave them, to bestow upon them such a legacy as might bewray his love, and increase their ensuing amity.  Calling, therefore, these young gentlemen before him, in the presence of all his fellow Knights of Malta, he resolved to leave them a memorial of all his fatherly care in setting down a method of their brotherly duties.  Having, therefore, death in his looks to move them to pity, and tears in his eyes to paint out the depth of his passions, taking his eldest son by the hand, he began thus: 

SIR JOHN OF BORDEAUX’ LEGACY HE GAVE TO HIS SONS

“O my sons, you see that fate hath set a period of my years, and destinies have determined the final end of my days:  the palm tree waxeth away-ward, for he stoopeth in his height, and my plumes are full of sick feathers touched with age.  I must to my grave that dischargeth all cares, and leave you to the world that increaseth many sorrows:  my silver hairs containeth great experience, and in the number of my years are penned down the subtleties of fortune.  Therefore, as I leave you some fading pelf to countercheck poverty, so I will bequeath you infallible precepts that shall lead you unto virtue.  First, therefore, unto thee Saladyne, the eldest, and therefore the chiefest pillar of my house, wherein should be engraven as well the excellence of thy father’s qualities, as the essential form of his proportion, to thee I give fourteen ploughlands, with all my manor houses and richest plate.  Next, unto Fernandyne I bequeath twelve ploughlands.  But, unto Rosader, the youngest, I give my horse, my armor, and my lance, with sixteen ploughlands; for if the inward thoughts be discovered by outward shadows, Rosader will exceed you all in bounty and honor.  Thus, my sons, have I parted in your portions the substance of my wealth, wherein if you be as prodigal to spend as I have been careful to get, your friends will grieve to see you more wasteful than I was bountiful, and your foes smile that my fall did begin in your excess.  Let mine honor be the glass of your actions, and the fame of my virtues the lodestar to direct the course of your pilgrimage.  Aim your deeds by my honorable endeavors, and show yourselves scions worthy of so flourishing a tree, lest, as the birds Halcyones, which exceed in whiteness, I hatch young ones that surpass in blackness.  Climb not, my sons:  aspiring pride is a vapor that ascendeth high, but soon turneth to smoke; they which stare at the stars stumble upon stones, and such as gaze at the sun (unless they be eagle-eyed) fall blind.  Soar not with the hobby,[1] lest you fall with the lark, nor attempt not with Phaeton, lest you drown with Icarus.  Fortune, when she wills you to fly, tempers your plumes with wax; and therefore either sit still and make no wing, or else