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The Problem of War
The Problem of War
Darwinism, Christianity, anD their
Battle to UnDerstanD hUman ConfliCt

Michael Ruse

3
3
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers
the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education
by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University
Press in the UK and certain other countries.

Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press

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© Oxford University Press 2019

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You must not circulate this work in any other form

and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Ruse, Michael, author.
Title: The problem of war: Darwinism, christianity, and
their battle to understand human conflict / Michael Ruse.
Description: New York, NY : Oxford University Press, [2019] |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018012153 | ISBN 9780190867577 (hardcover) |
ISBN 9780190867591 (epub)
Subjects: LCSH: Social Darwinism. | War—Religious aspects—Christianity. |
War—Psychological aspects. | Darwin, Charles, 1809–1882—Influence.
Classification: LCC HM631.R87 2019 | DDC 303.4—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018012153

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc., United States of America

 To the memories of
Regimental Quartermaster Sergeant William J. Ruse, my great-grandfather;
of Staff Sergeant William A. Ruse, my grandfather;
and of William R. E. Ruse, my father.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
CONTENTS

Prolegomenon ix

1 Darwinian Evolutionary Theory 1

2 Darwinism as Religion 19
3 Two Visions of War 47
4 Darwinism After Darwin 66
5 Onward Christian Soldiers 86
6 The Biology of War 105
7 Realists and Pacifists 120
8 From Hitler to UNESCO 138
9 The Bomb and Vietnam 158
10 Darwinian Theory Comes of Age 175
11 Rival Paradigms 203
12 Moving Forward 217
Bibliography 233
Index 249
PROLEGOMENON

T
oward the end of 1859, the English naturalist Charles Robert
Darwin published On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural
Selection, or the Preservation of the Favoured Races in the
Struggle for Life. In that book, Darwin did two things. He argued for the
fact of evolution, that all organisms are descended from just a few forms
by natural processes, tracing what he called a “tree of life.” He argued for
a particular force or mechanism of change, natural selection brought on
by the struggle for existence. Today’s professional evolutionists are com-
mitted Darwinians. They think that natural selection is the chief cause of
change, and they use this conviction to great effect, explaining organisms
right across the spectrum, from the smallest microforms like E. coli to
the largest of them all: whales, dinosaurs, giant redwood trees. If ever
there was an example of what Thomas Kuhn called a “scientific revolu-
tion,” with Darwinian selection at the center of a successful “paradigm,”
this is it.
Yet, all is not happy in the Darwinian world. The very idea of evolution
is under attack from the religious right, generally evangelical Christians.
Even where some kind of change is allowed, it is felt that Darwinian se-
lection can play at best only a minor role. From the so-called Scientific
Creationists of the 1960s and 1970s, who denied that the Earth is more
than six thousand years old and who claimed that all organisms were
created miraculously in six days, to the Intelligent Design Theorists of the
1990s who insist that history is guided by an intelligence from without,
Darwinian evolutionary theory is denied and held up for scorn (Numbers
2006; Dembski and Ruse 2004). It is felt that Darwinism is not just wrong,
but in some sense deeply disturbing, off on the wrong moral foot as it
were. What is truly amazing and upsetting is that this kind of thinking
has permeated the world of academia, especially that of the philosophers.
Eminent practitioners deny Darwin, and some even go as far as to doubt
evolution itself (Plantinga 1991, 2011; Nagel 2012; Fodor and Piattelli-
Palmarini 2010). People who pride themselves on their brilliance and
commitment to rationality turn away from one of the most glorious jewels
in the crown of science. Expectedly, in all of this, it would not be too much
to say that there is not only rejection but an odor of hatred, spiced, as is so
often the case in these matters, with a good dash of fear.
This is the puzzle that lies behind this book. Why do people react to
what is after all a robust empirical science? Why this rejection and nigh
loathing? People, including religious people, do not feel this about other
sciences. Except perhaps undergraduates who have to pass the test in order
to get into medical school, no one harbors the same hostility toward or-
ganic chemistry. What is it about Darwinism that is different? It cannot be
simply a question of going against the Bible. The sun stopped for Joshua,
yet no one denies the heliocentric theory of the universe. My solution is
simple. Darwinism is not just an empirical science. It is also a religion, or if
you like, a secular religious perspective. It speaks to the ultimate questions,
matters of value and importance, as do other religions. As is the case with
religion—think Thirty Years’ War, think Muslims and Hindus on the Indian
subcontinent after partition, think Northern Ireland—those who do not ac-
cept Darwinism in this sense react as religious people are wont to do to-
ward rivals. Denial, loathing, fear. This all happens because Darwinism is
not just an empirical science. “Not just!” Let me make it very clear that
I am not in any way denying that there is a side to Darwinian thinking that
is a professional science (Ruse 1988, 2006). For convenience, I shall refer
to this as “Darwinian evolutionary theory.” It exists and it is very good
science. I am claiming that there is (and always has been) another side to
Darwinian thinking, and this is religious or akin to religious. For conven-
ience, I shall refer to this, without qualification, as “Darwinism”—rather
than “Darwinizing” or some other, rather ugly, made-up word.
This book is part of an ongoing project. In one earlier book, The
Evolution-Creation Struggle (2005), I argued that Darwinism and
Christianity are both in their ways religions, sharing millennial hopes and
aspirations, differing in that Darwinians are postmillennialists—thinking
we ourselves must make paradise here on earth—whereas Christians (no-
tably those who oppose evolution) tend to premillennialism—thinking that
we must prepare for the Second Coming, when God will put all right.
Progress versus Providence. In another, more recent book, Darwinism

x | Prolegomenon
as Religion: What Literature Tells Us About Evolution (2017a), I argued,
using poetry and fiction as my empirical base, that from the appearance
of the Origin, Darwinism has been used to speak to such religious issues
as God, origins, humans, race and class, morality, sex, sin, and salvation.
Speaking to such issues in direct conflation with what Christians have had
to say on these topics. Now, I want to take up the problem one more time,
through a case study. I want to show how Darwinism and Christianity
deal with the topic at hand; how for all of their differences they were (and
are) engaged in the same enterprise; that this enterprise is essentially re-
ligious: why therefore the hostility felt toward Darwinism—and let us be
fair the hostility felt by Darwinians toward Christianity—are nigh inevi-
table consequences.
My case study is war. This is a promising choice because—apart from
the fact that I have not discussed it at all in my previous books, so no
built-in biases—both Darwinians and Christians have written a great deal
about war. There is a lot of material to try out my claim about the nature
of Darwinism. More than this, the two sides tend to take very different
positions on the nature and causes of war, these go straight to the root
philosophies or theologies of the two systems, and partisans on one side
have often made critical comments about those on the other side. This
dispute engages us and seems still pertinent today. Near the beginning of
this decade the eminent British academic, Nigel Biggar, Regius Professor
of Moral and Pastoral Theology at the University of Oxford, published
In Defence of War (2013). Working from a conventional Christian per-
spective, he offered a full analysis of the nature of war and its likeli-
hood. He also delved deeply into the moral issues surrounding war. In the
course of his discussion, he took a swipe at a book published just a year
or two earlier, by the no-less-eminent American academic, Steven Pinker,
Johnstone Family Professor in the Department of Psychology at Harvard
University. Biggar chose his target well for, working from a conventional
Darwinian perspective, in The Better Angels of Our Nature (2011) Pinker
offered an alternative picture, a full analysis in a Darwinian mode of the
nature of war and its likelihood. He also delved deeply into the moral is-
sues surrounding war. Exactly the inquiry of Biggar, and yet chalk and
cheese. The two pictures could not be more different. War is a promising
choice to try out my hypothesis about the nature of Darwinism.
I appreciate that the reader might be feeling a sense of unease at this
point. One would hardly say that war is too sacred a topic to be merely
a case study for an inquiry about something else. With reason, how-
ever, one might feel that war is simply too big an issue—moral, political,

Prolegomenon | xi
psychological, theological, and more—to be treated in such a way. Any
discussion of war has to treat of it entirely in its own right. Let me say two
things in response to this very natural and decent feeling. First, above all,
mine is a morally driven inquiry. You may think this sounds strange and in-
sincere, for I admit candidly that there are important issues about war that
I shall ignore or at least treat in a fashion that many might find inherently
inadequate. For instance, there is today a heated discussion about whether
war was always part of our heritage. I note with much interest that there
is this debate because it feeds right into what I want to say about war and
religion. However, while it would be hard to think of a topic of more im-
portance, in the main part of my discussion I am not truly concerned about
who is right. This is not only because I am a historian and philosopher
and feel no great competence to judge, but because in important respects
it is not my topic. I am worried about the nature of Darwinian theory and
why so many reject it. I think this a matter of great moral concern—one
to which I have devoted much time and effort, writing books, giving talks,
and even appearing as a witness for the ACLU in a federal court case.
I care about science and its integrity, realizing that it is not just Darwinian
thinking under attack, but relatedly claims about global warming, about
the need for vaccination, and ways to improve the world’s food supplies.
I will not rest while one child in the Third World goes to bed hungry be-
cause well-fed people of the West have, on entirely bogus philosophical
and theological grounds, taken up arms against modern methods of agri-
culture. I need no lecturing on whether I am approaching war in an appro-
priate manner.
This said, my second point is that I have not chosen this topic of war
lightly or casually. As I write, we are noting the hundredth anniversary of
one of the worst of all conflicts, what was then known as the Great War
and more recently as the First World War. I was born in England in 1940,
at the beginning of the Second World War; but, although important, it was
always the First War that haunted my generation—the crippled, crazy, so-
sad men, wandering the municipal parks; the lonely, unmarried women,
often our primary-school teachers; the photos in the parlor of long-dead,
young soldiers, looking so proud in their new uniforms; the powerful liter-
ature, taking one down into the trenches with the bombardment above and
the mud below; the ubiquitous monuments starting with the Cenotaph in
Whitehall. Remembrance or “Poppy” Day, marking the Armistice in 1918
at the eleventh hour, on the eleventh day, of the eleventh month.
Compounding my emotions is the fact that I come from a line of profes-
sional soldiers, in the same regiment stretching back to Queen Anne. Both

xii | Prolegomenon
my great-grandfather and my grandfather fought in the First World War,
the latter being gassed on the Somme. Breaking with family tradition, al-
though he went to Spain to fight in the Civil War, in the Second World War
my father was a conscientious objector. He did contribute by working with
prisoners of war. I was raised a Quaker. War, its nature and causes, was a
matter of ongoing discussion in my family and of huge concern to me as
a child and an adolescent. Then, when twenty-two, I moved to Canada,
and realized how important war—particularly the Great War—was to the
consciousness and definition of that country. Vimy Ridge is where the
Canadians, at Easter 1917, for the first time fighting together as a group,
took a hill that had hitherto been impregnable. It has the iconic status of
Gallipoli for Australians and New Zealanders. If that were not enough,
every workday for thirty-five years, I walked coming and going past the
birthplace of Colonel John McCrea, author of “In Flanders Fields,” the
most famous poem from that war. I could talk more about my time as a
graduate student in the USA during the build-up of the Vietnam War, but
the point is made. I want to understand Darwinism and its status, but I am
doing so through a case study that has for me great emotional and moral
significance.
Finally, let me say, in a non-sanctimonious way, that I have never seen
the point of being a scholar just for the sake of being a scholar. I want to
make a difference to the world. Hence, at the end of my main discussion,
I shall pull back and see if what I have been able to find and explain does
have serious implications for how we move forward next, both beyond
the hostility between science and religion broadly construed and in our
particular case toward an understanding of war. I have been able to do
little more than sketch out a few thoughts. So perhaps it is better to think
of my final chapter less as the conclusion to this book and more as the
opening of another book. That said, I believe there are findings of huge
importance both for Darwin scholars and for war theorists—findings I had
not anticipated when I set out on this project. It is for this reason, wanting
things to emerge in their own right rather than because they were injected
surreptitiously, I have striven to let people speak in their own words rather
than mine.
In writing this book, I am hugely indebted to four men. The first is Peter
Ohlin, my editor at Oxford University Press. He has encouraged me and
supported me in this project, and through his own wise comments and
even more through the referees he carefully chose has helped me to shape
the book and to address the issues that ought to be addressed, and (as im-
portant) to ignore those matters that are not strictly relevant to my main

Prolegomenon | xiii
theme. Second, Robert Holmes, my teacher of moral philosophy over fifty
years ago at the University of Rochester. Looking back, and as shown by
our subsequent interests, I don’t think either of us really enjoyed the an-
alytic approach to philosophy that was (and in many places still is) de ri-
gueur. He let me write a term paper on punishment, the kind of exercise in
those days looked down upon as near casuistry. Through this I sensed that,
along with looking at science, value inquiry is all-important for the philos-
opher. Third, my colleague here at Florida State University, John Kelsay
in the Department of Religion. He is both an expert on just war theory in
Islam and, as a Presbyterian minister, understands the thinking of John
Calvin to the extent that his nonbelieving friend worries that it might not
be entirely healthy. He has been a constant mine of information and ever
willing to cast a critical eye. More importantly, he is a friend who believes
in my project. We team-taught a graduate course on war. It was for me a
great privilege to work with a man of such intelligence and integrity.
Fourth, thanks go to a man whom I do not think I have ever met, the
Australian historian Paul Crook. I regard his Darwinism, War and History
as one of the most important books ever written on Darwinian thought
and its influence. So impressed am I by that book that I hesitated to move
in and write anything else on the topic. I realize, however, that Crook is
writing as a historian, trying to show (very successfully) the full range
of thinking about war in the fifty or so years after the Origin. I am a phi-
losopher and my topic—as I have explained—is the understanding of
Darwinism today. I am not writing in what historians call a “Whiggish”
fashion, trying to show that everything led progressively up to the present.
I am an evolutionist, and I think that the present is best understood by
looking at the past. This is why I feel able to write my book alongside that
of Crook and why, as need be, I feel able to make full and explicit use of
his findings and interpretations.
I want also to pay homage to the memories of Lucyle and William
Werkmeister, whose generous legacy to the Philosophy Department at
Florida State University supports my professorship and made it possible
to take students on a trip to Flanders, to the battlefields of the First World
War. The Somme, especially Delville Wood, Ypres, and Passchendaele,
which are of such poignant, historical importance. Truly, one of the most
important and humbling experiences of my life. My research assistant and
friend, Jeff O’Connell, has been his usual quiet and efficient self. As al-
ways, I declare my love for Lizzie. Together with my students, my wife
and family—not forgetting the dogs!—have ever been a bright beacon in
my life, making it all worthwhile.

xiv | Prolegomenon
The Problem of War
 1 Darwinian Evolutionary Theory

C
harles Robert Darwin (1809–1882) was the son of a physician;
grandson on his father’s side of the physician and evolutionist,
Erasmus Darwin; and on his mother’s side of Josiah Wedgwood,
founder of the pottery works that still bears his name (Browne 1995, 2002).
On his way to becoming a full-time naturalist, Darwin spent five years on
HMS Beagle, circumnavigating the globe. The experiences on this trip
spurred his becoming an evolutionist. He published his great work, On
the Origin of Species (1859), when he had just turned fifty, and followed
it up twelve years later by a work on our species, The Descent of Man
and Selection in Relation to Sex (1871). As a young man, Darwin had
been raised as a fervently believing member of the Church of England.
Around the time of becoming an evolutionist, he softened into a kind of
deism, God as Unmoved Mover. Late in life he became a skeptic, what
Thomas Henry Huxley fashionably labeled an “agnostic.” No matter. The
English know a hero when they see one. When Darwin died, recognized as
one of the very greatest of scientists, he was buried in Westminster Abbey
alongside Isaac Newton. Both men have recently appeared on the backs of
English banknotes.

Evolution: The Cause

Charles Darwin was a skilled methodologist and the structure of the

Origin of Species shows this (Ruse 1975, 1979). He himself referred
to the book as “one long argument,” which one might amend as “one
very carefully constructed long argument.” Although it is the fact of
evolution that looms over his whole enterprise, Darwin begins with the
cause of change, natural selection. Always with the Newtonian gravi-
tational theory in mind—had not Immanuel Kant set the challenge for
the ambitious young naturalist by declaring that there would never
be a Newton of the blade of grass?—Darwin wanted to show that his
cause had the status of the Newtonian cause of gravitational attraction.
To do this he had to show that selection was what the theorists called
a vera causa or true cause. The physicist-philosopher John F. W.
Herschel (1830) was the authority, saying that a true cause is a force
of which one has direct experience. We know that a force is pulling
the moon down toward the earth because when we twirl a stone on
a string around our finger, we feel the pull of the string as the stone
struggles to escape. Darwin, who grew up in rural England, turned to
the barnyard for guidance. Breeders—and this also includes pigeon
fanciers and the like—select for the characteristics they desire, and
over the generations they arrive at the forms, animals, and plants, that
they want:

Youatt, who was probably better acquainted with the works of agriculturalists
than almost any other individual, and who was himself a very good judge
of an animal, speaks of the principle of selection as “that which enables the
agriculturist, not only to modify the character of his flock, but to change it
altogether. It is the magician’s wand, by means of which he may summon
into life whatever form and mould he pleases.” Lord Somerville, speaking
of what breeders have done for sheep, says:—“It would seem as if they had
chalked out upon a wall a form perfect in itself, and then had given it exis-
tence.” (Darwin 1859, 31)

Now with his hands-on force to back and guide him, Darwin turned to the
world of nature. He offered a two-part argument. First, he argued to what
was known as a “struggle for existence,” although in Darwin’s case it was
more pertinently a “struggle for reproduction.”

A struggle for existence inevitably follows from the high rate at which all
organic beings tend to increase. Every being, which during its natural life-
time produces several eggs or seeds, must suffer destruction during some
period of its life, and during some season or occasional year, otherwise, on
the principle of geometrical increase, its numbers would quickly become
so inordinately great that no country could support the product. Hence,
as more individuals are produced than can possibly survive, there must in
every case be a struggle for existence, either one individual with another
of the same species, or with the individuals of distinct species, or with the
physical conditions of life. (63)

2 | The Problem of War

Selection cannot take place unless there is something on which it can
work, differences between organisms—variations. Darwin was convinced
that there is a constant supply of new variations always appearing in any
population, domestic or wild. He had little idea about precisely why there
are such variations—later he was to devise a theory (never introduced into
the Origin) about small particles or “gemmules” being collected in the
sex cells from all over the body (Darwin 1868; Olby 1963)—but on one
thing Darwin was always firm. However variations may be caused, they
do not occur to order or to satisfy need. There is no direction to varia-
tion; it is not guided by natural or supernatural forces. In this sense, it is
“random,” meaning not that it is uncaused—Darwin was sure that there
were causes—but that it does not appear to order.
With this, Darwin was ready for the main force.

Let it be borne in mind in what an endless number of strange peculiarities

our domestic productions, and, in a lesser degree, those under nature, vary;
and how strong the hereditary tendency is. Under domestication, it may be
truly said that the whole organisation becomes in some degree plastic. Let
it be borne in mind how infinitely complex and close-fitting are the mutual
relations of all organic beings to each other and to their physical conditions
of life. Can it, then, be thought improbable, seeing that variations useful to
man have undoubtedly occurred, that other variations useful in some way to
each being in the great and complex battle of life, should sometimes occur
in the course of thousands of generations? If such do occur, can we doubt
(remembering that many more individuals are born than can possibly sur-
vive) that individuals having any advantage, however slight, over others,
would have the best chance of surviving and of procreating their kind? On
the other hand, we may feel sure that any variation in the least degree inju-
rious would be rigidly destroyed. This preservation of favourable variations
and the rejection of injurious variations, I call Natural Selection. (80–81)

One absolutely fundamental thing must be grasped right here, for it is

the key to the whole Darwinian story. Selection does not merely cause
change, but change of a particular kind. It makes for useful features or
characteristics, things that will help their possessors in the struggle. It
makes for things like the eye or the hand, the leaf or the root, the instinct
to build a nest and the fear of the predator. It makes for “adaptations.”
Change is not higgledy-piggledy, but as if contrived. “How have all those
exquisite adaptations of one part of the organisation to another part, and to
the conditions of life, and of one distinct organic being to another being,

Darwinian evolUtionary theory | 3

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That women hold in full great reverence.
Now will I turn again to my sentence.
A col fox, full of sly iniquity,
That in the grove had wonned yearés three,
By high imagination forecast.
The samé night throughout the hedges brast
Into the yard where Chanticleer the fair
Was wont, and eke his wivés to repair,
And in a bed of wortés still he lay
Till it was passed undern of the day,
Waiting his time on Chanticleer to fall,
As gladly do these homicidés all
That in await liggen to murder men.
O falsé murderer! rucking in thy den,
O newé Scariot, newé Ganelon!
O false dissimuler, O Greek Simon!
That broughtest Troy all utterly to sorrow.
O Chanticleer, accursed be the morrow
That thou into thy yard flew from thy beams
Thou were full well ywarnéd by thy dreams
That thilké day was perilous to thee:
But what that God forewot must needés be,
After the opinion of certain clerkés,
Witness on him that any perfect clerk is,
That in schoolé is great altercation
In this matteré, and great disputision,
And hath been of a hundred thousand men:
But I ne cannot boult it to the bren,
As can the holy Doctor Augustin,
Or Boece, or the Bishop Bradwardin,
Whether that Godde’s worthy foreweeting
Straineth me needly for to do a thing
(Needely clepe I simple necessity)
Or elles if free choice be granted me
To do the samé thing or do it naught
Though God forewot it ere that it was wrought,
Or if his weeting straineth never a deal
But by necessity conditional.
I will not have to do of such mattere;
My Tale is of a Cock, as ye may hear,
That took his counsel of his wife with sorrow,
To walken in the yard upon the morrow
That he had met the dream, as I you told.
Womenne’s counsels be full often cold;
Womenne’s counsels brought us first to woe,
And made Adam from Paradise to go,
There as he was full merry and well at ease:
But for I n’ot to whom I might displease
If I counsel of women wouldé blame—
Pass over, for I said it in my game.
Read authors where they treat of such mattere,
And what they say of women ye may hear,
These be the cocke’s wordés and not mine:
I can none harm of no womán devine.
Fair in the sand to bathe her merrily
Li’th Partelote, and all her sisters by,
Against the sun, and Chanticleer so free
Sang merrier than the mermaid in the sea,
(For Phisiologus sayeth sikerly
How that they singeth well and merrily).
And so befell that as he cast his eye
Among the wortés on a butterfly,
He was ware of this fox that lay full low,
Nothing he list him thenné for to crow,
But cried anon, “Cok! cok!” and up he start
As man that was affrayed in his heart,
For naturally a beast desireth flee
From his contráry if he may it see,
Though he ne’er erst had seen it with his eye.
This Chanticleer, when he ’gan him espy,
He would have fled, but that the fox anon
Said: “Gentle sir, alas! what will be done?
Be ye afraid of me that am your friend?
Now, certes, I were worse than any fiend
If I to you would harm or villany.
I am not come your counsel to espy;
But truély the cause of my coming
Was only for to hearken how ye sing,
For truély ye have as merry a steven
As any angel hath that is in heaven;
Therwith ye have of music more feeling
Than had Boece, or any that can sing.
My Lord, your father (God his soulé bless!)
And eke your mother of her gentleness,
Have in my house ybeen to my great ease,
And certés, Sir, full fain would I you please.
But for men speak of singing, I will say,
(So may I brouken well my eyen tway,)
Save you, ne heard I never man so sing
As did your father in the morrowning:
Certés it was of heart all that he sung:
And for to make his voice the moré strong
He would so pain him, that with both his eyen
He musté wink, so loud he wouldé crien,
And standen on his tiptoes therewithal,
And stretchen forth his necké long and small.
And eke he was of such discretion,
That there n’as no man in no región
That him in song or wisdom mighté pass.
I have well read in Dan Burnel the ass
Among his Vers, how that there was a cock,
That for a Priestés son gave him a knock
Upon his leg when he was young and nice
He made him for to lose his benefice;
But certain there is no comparison
Betwixt the wisdom and discretion
Of youré father and his subtilty.
Now singeth, Sir, for Sainté Charity:
Let see, can ye your father counterfeit?
This Chanticleer his wingés ’gan to beat,
As man that could not his treason espy,
So was he ravished with his flattery.
Alas! ye lordés, many a false flatour
Is in your court, and many a losengeour,
That pleaseth you well moré, by my faith,
Than he that sothfastness unto you saith.
Readeth Ecclesiast of flattery:
Beware ye lordés of their treachery.
This Chanticleer stood high upon his toes
Stretching his neck, and held his eyen close,
And ’gan to crowen loude for the nones;
And Dan Russell the fox start up at once,
And by the gargat henté Chanticleer
And on his back toward the wood him bear,
For yet ne was there no man that him sued.
O destiny! that mayst not be eschew’d,
Alas that Chanticleer flew from the beams,
Alas his wife ne raughté not of dreams!
And on a Friday fell all this mischance.
 TO MY EMPTY PURSE
To you, my purse, and to none other wight,
Complain I, for ye be my lady dear;
I am sorry now that ye be so light,
For certés ye now make me heavy cheer;
Me were as lief be laid upon a bier,
For which unto your mercy thus I cry,
Be heavy again, or ellés must I die.

Now vouchsafen this day, ere it be night,

That I of you the blissful sound may hear,
Or see your colour like the sunné bright,
That of yellowness ne had never peer;
Ye be my life, ye be my heartés steer;
Queen of comfórt and of good company,
Be heavy again, or ellés must I die.

Now, purse, that art to me my livés light,

And saviour, as down in this world here,
Out of this towné help me by your might,
Sithen that you will not be my tresór,
For I am shave as nigh as any frere,
But I prayen unto your courtesy,
Be heavy again, or ellés must I die.

BALLAD OF WOMEN’S DOUBLENESS

This world is full of variance
In everything; who taketh heed,
That faith and trust, and all Constance,
Exiléd be, this is no drede,
And save only in womanhead,
I can ysee no sikerness;
But, for all that, yet as I read,
Beware alway of doubleness.

Also that the fresh summer flowers,

The white and red, the blue and green,
Be suddenly with winter showers,
Made faint and fade, withouten ween;
That trust is none, as ye may seen,
In no thing, nor no steadfastness,
Except in women, thus I mean;
Yet aye beware of doubleness.
The crooked moon (this is no tale),
Some while isheen and bright of hue,
And after that full dark and pale,
And every moneth changeth new,
That who the very sothé knew
All thing is built on brittleness,
Save that women always be true;
Yet aye beware of doubleness.

The lusty freshé summer’s day,

And Phœbus with his beamés clear,
Towardés night they draw away,
And no longer list t’ appear,
That in this present life now here
Nothing abideth in his fairness,
Save women aye be found entere,
And devoid of all doubleness.

The sea eke with his sterné wawés

Each day yfloweth new again,
And by the concourse of his lawés
The ebbe floweth in certain;
After great drought there cometh rain;
That farewell here all stableness,
Save that women be whole and plein;
Yet aye beware of doubleness.

Fortunés wheel go’th round about

A thousand timés day and night,
Whose course standeth ever in doubt
For to transmue she is so light,
For which adverteth in your sight
Th’ untrust of worldly fickleness,
Save women, which of kindly right
Ne hath no touch of doubleness.

What man ymay the wind restrain,

Or holden a snake by the tail?
Who may a slipper eel constrain
That it will void withouten fail?
Or who can driven so a nail
To maké sure newfangleness,
Save women, that can gie their sail
 To row their boat with doubleness?

At every haven they can arrive

Whereat they wot is good passáge;
Of innocence they cannot strive
With wawés, nor no rockés rage;
So happy is their lodemanage
With needle and stone their course to dress,
That Solomon was not so sage
To find in them no doubleness.

Therefore whoso doth them accuse

Of any double intentión,
To speaké rown, other to muse,
To pinch at their conditión,
All is but false collusión,
I dare right well the soth express;
They have no better protectión,
But shroud them under doubleness.

So well fortunéd is their chance,

The dice to-turnen up so down,
With sice and cinque they can advance,
And then by revolutión
They set a fell conclusión
Of lombés, as in sothfastness,
Though clerkés maken mentión
Their kind is fret with doubleness.

Sampson yhad experience

That women were full true yfound
When Dalila of innocence
With shearés ’gan his hair to round;
To speak also of Rosamond,
And Cleopatra’s faithfulness,
The stories plainly will confound
Men that apeach their doubleness.

Single thing is not ypraiséd,

Nor of old is of no renown,
In balance when they be ypesed,
For lack of weight they be borne down,
And for this cause of just reason
These women all of rightwisness
Of choice and free electión
Most love exchange and doubleness.

L’ENVOI
O ye women! which be inclinéd
By influence of your natúre
To be as pure as gold yfinéd,
And in your truth for to endure,
Armeth yourself in strong armúre,
(Lest men assail your sikerness,)
Set on your breast, yourself t’assure,
A mighty shield of doubleness.

Chaucer was called the Morning Star of Song, and his immediate
followers proved to be satellites of far less magnitude.
John Skelton, an early Poet Laureate, was of a buffoon type of
humor, yet thus speaks of his own verse.
Though my rhyme be ragged,
Tattered and gagged,
Rudely rainbeaten,
Rusty, moth-eaten,
If ye take well therewith,
It hath in it some pith.

One, at least, of his whimsical poems is not without charm.

TO MAISTRES MARGARET HUSSEY
Mirry Margaret
As midsomer flowre,
Gentyll as faucon
Or hauke of the towre,
With solace and gladnes
Moch mirth, and no madnes,
All good and no badnes,
So joyously
So maydenly
So womanly
Her demeynynge
In every thynge
Far, far passynge
That I can endite
Or suffice to write
Of mirry Margaret
As mydsomer flowre
Gentill as faucon
Or hawke of the towre.
As pacient and as styll
And as ful of good wil
As faire Isiphyll
Coliander
Sweete pomaunder
Good Cassander;
Stedfast of thought
Wel made, wel wroght,
Far may be sought
Erst that ye can fynde
So curteise so kynde
As mirry Margaret
This midsomer flowre,
Gentyll as faucon
Or hauke of the towre.

The Troubadours and Minstrels were followed by a type of

entertainer known as the Fool or the Court Fool, who took the place
of the satirist in the great households.
Soon various jests were collected, and attributed to these
domestic fools, whose garb began to take the form of the cap and
bells, accompanied by the jester’s bauble.
As printing became more widespread, the jestbooks multiplied,
and many collections were published in England.
Skelton seems to have been quite as much Court Jester as Poet
Laureate under Henry VII and Henry VIII, and a volume of Merie
Tayles of Skelton is one of the earliest of the Jest Books.
Yet, since this was published some forty years after Skelton’s
death it is assumed that but few of the tales are really of the poet’s
origination.
Likewise, Scogin’s Jests and the stories attributed to Tarlton and
Peele are considered unauthentic as to authorship and merely the
work of the hack writers of the period.
These Jestbooks as well as the C. Mery Talys, or Hundred Merry
Tales, which, with its companion volume, Mery Tales and Quicke
Answeres, was, we are told, used by Shakespeare, are now found in
many reprints, and only a few bits of their witty or humorous lore may
be given here.
As an example of the sharp satire of Skelton, the following shows
how he regarded the prevalent practice of obtaining letters patent of
monopoly from the crown, and also is a hit at the fondness for
drinking among the Welsh.

HOW THE WELSHMAN DYD DESYRE SKELTON TO AYDE HIM IN HYS SUTE
TO THE KYNGE FOR A PATENT TO SELL DRYNKE

Skelton, when he was in London went to the kynge’s courte,

where there dyd come to him a Welshman saying, “Syr, it is so that
many dooth come upp of my country to the kynge’s court, and some
doth get of the kynge by a patent a castell, and some a parke, and
some a forest, and some one fee and some another, and they doe
lyve lyke honest men, and I should lyve as honestly as the best, if I
might have a patent for good drynke, wherefore I dooe praye you to
write a fewe woords for me in a lytle byll to geve the same to the
kynge’s handes, and I will geve you well for your laboure. I am
contented sayde Skelton. Syte downe, then, sayd the Welshman and
write. What shall I wryte? sayde Skelton. The Welshman said wryte
“dryncke.” Nowe sayde the Welshman wryte “more dryncke.” What
nowe? said Skelton. Wryte now “A great deale of dryncke.” Nowe
sayd the Welshman putte to all thys dryncke “A littell crome of
breade, and a great déale of dryncke to it,” and reade once again.
Skelton dyd reade “Dryncke, more dryncke, and a great deale of
dryncke and a lytle crome of breade and a great deale of dryncke to
it.” Then the Welshman sayde Put oute the litle crome of breade, and
sette in all dryncke and no breade. And if I myght have thys sygned
of the kynge, sayde the Welshman, I care for no more as long as I
lyve. Well, then, sayde Skelton, when you have thys sygned of the
kynge then will I labour for a patent to have bread, that you wyth
your dryncke and I with the bread may fare well, and seeke our
livinge with bagge and staffe.

Here Begynneth Certayne Merye Tales of Skelton, Poet Lauriat

HOW SKELTON CAME LATE HOME TO OXFORD FROM ABINGTON

Skelton was an Englysheman borne as Skogyn was, and hee was

educated & broughte up in Oxfoorde: and there was he made a
poete lauriat. And on a tyme he had ben at Abbington to make mery,
wher that he had eate salte meates, and hee did com late home to
Oxforde, and he did lye in an ine named ye Tabere whyche is now
the Angell, and hee dyd drynke, & went to bed. About midnight he
was so thyrstie or drye that hee was constrained to call to the tapster
for drynke, & the tapster harde him not. Then hee cryed to hys oste
& hys ostes, and to the ostler, for drinke; and no man wold here hym.
Alacke, sayd Skelton, I shall peryshe for lacke of drynke! what
reamedye? At the last he dyd crie out and sayd: Fyer, fyer, fyer!
when Skelton hard euery man bustle hymselfe upward, & some of
them were naked, & some were halfe asleepe and amased, and
Skelton dyd crye: Fier, fier! styll, that everye man knewe not whether
to resorte. Skelton did go to bed, and the oste and ostis, & the
tapster with the ostler, dyd runne to Skeltons chamber with candles
lyghted in theyr handes, saying: where, where, where is the fyer?
Here, here, here, said Skelton, & poynted hys fynger to hys moouth,
saying: fetch me some drynke to quenche the fyer and the heate and
the drinesse in my mouthe: & so they dyd. Wherfore it is good for
everye man to helpe hys owne selfe in tyme of neede wythe some
policie or crafte, so bee it there bee no deceit nor falshed used.

The Jests of Scogin

HOW JACKE BY SOPHISTRY WOULD MAKE OF TWO EGGS THREE

Scogin on a tyme had two egs to his breakfast, and Jack his
scholler should rost them; and as they were rosting, Scogin went to
the fire to warme him. And as the egs were rosting, Jacke said: sir, I
can by sophistry prove that here be three egs. Let me se that, said
Scogin. I shall tel you, sir, said Jack. Is not here one? Yes, said
Scogin. And is not here two? Yes, said Scogin; of that I am sure.
Then Jack did tell the first egge againe, saying: is not this the third?
O, said Scogin, Jack, thou art a good sophister; wel, said Scogin,
these two eggs shall serve me for my breakfast, and take thou the
third for thy labour and for the herring that thou didst give mee the
last day. So one good turne doth aske another, and to deceive him
that goeth about to deceive is no deceit.

This is a very common story. It is, in a slightly varied form, No. 67

of A C Mery Tales, and Johnson has introduced it into The Pleasant
Conceits of Old Hobson, the Merry Londoner, 1607.

HOW SCOGIN SOLD POWDER TO KILL FLEAS

Scogin divers times did lacke money, and could not tell what shift
to make. At last, he thought to play the physician, and did fill a box
full of the powder of a rotten post; and on a Sunday he went to a
Parish Church, and told the wives that hee had a powder to kil up all
the fleas in the country, and every wife bought a pennyworth; and
Scogin went his way, ere Masse was done. The wives went home,
and cast the powder into their beds and in their chambers, and the
fleas continued still. On a time, Scogin came to the same Church on
a sunday, and when the wives had espied him, the one said to the
other: this is he that deceived us with the powder to kill fleas; see,
said the one to the other, this is the selfe-same person. When Masse
was done, the wives gathered about Scogin, and said: you be an
honest man to deceive us with the powder to kill fleas. Why, said
Scogin, are not your fleas all dead? We have more now (said they)
than ever we had. I marvell of that, said Scogin, I am sure you did
not use the medicine as you should have done. They said: wee did
cast it in our beds and in our chambers. I, said he, there be a sort of
fooles that will buy a thing, and will not aske what they should doe
with it. I tell you all, that you should have taken every flea by the
neck, and then they would gape; and then you should have cast a
little of the powder into every flea’s mouth, and so you should have
killed them all. Then said the wives: we have not onely lost our
money, but we are mocked for our labour.

From Mery Tales of the Mad Men of Gottam

THE SECOND TALE

There was a man of Gottam did ride to the market with two
bushells of wheate, and because his horse should not beare heavy,
he caried his corne upon his owne necke, & did ride upon his horse,
because his horse should not cary to heavy a burthen. Judge you
which was the wisest, his horse or himselfe.

THE THIRD TALE

On a tyme, the men of Gottam would have pinned in the Cuckoo,

whereby shee should sing all the yeere, and in the midst of ye town
they made a hedge round in compasse, and they had got a Cuckoo,
and had put her into it, and said: Sing here all the yeere, and thou
shalt lacke neither meate nor drinke. The Cuckoo, as soone as she
perceived her selfe incompassed within the hedge, flew away. A
vengeance on her! said they; we made not our hedge high enough.

From Mother Bunches Merriments

HOW MADDE COOMES, WHEN HIS WIFE WAS DROWNED, SOUGHT HER
AGAINST THE STREAME

Coomes of Stapforth, hearing that his wife was drowned comming

from market, went with certayne of his friends to see if they could
find her in the river. He, contrary to all the rest, sought his wife
against the streame; which they perceyving, sayd he lookt the wrong
way. And why so? (quoth he.) Because (quoth they) you should
looke downe the streame, and not against it. Nay, zounds (quoth
hee), I shall never find her that way: for shee did all things so
contrary in her life time, that now she is dead, I am sure she will goe
against the streame.

The Pleasant Conceits of Old Hobson

HOW MAISTER HOBSON SAID HE WAS NOT AT HOME
 On a time Master Hobson upon some ocation came to Master
Fleetewoods house to speake with him, being then new chosen the
recorder of London, and asked one of his men if he were within, and
he said he was not at home. But Maister Hobson, perceving that his
maister bad him say so, and that he was within (not being willing at
that time to be spoken withall), for that time desembling the matter,
he went his way. Within a few dayes after, it was Maister Fleetwoods
chaunse to come to Maister Hobson’s, and knocking at the dore,
asked if he were within. Maister Hobson, hearing and knowing how
he was denyed Maister Fleetwoods speach before time, spake
himselfe aloud, and said hee was not at home. Then sayd Maister
Fleetwood: what, Master Hobson, thinke you that I knowe not your
voyce? Whereunto Maister Hobson answered and said: now, Maister
Fleetewood, am I quit with you: for when I came to speake with you,
I beleeved your man that said you were not at home, and now you
will not beleeve mine owne selfe; and this was the mery conference
betwixt these two merry gentlemen.
FROM CERTAINE CONCEYTS & JEASTS; AS WELL TO LAUGH DOWNE OUR
HARDER UNDIGESTED MORSELLS, AS BREAKE UP WITH MYRTH OUR
BOOKE AND BANQUET. COLLECTED OUT OF SCOTUS POGGIUS, AND
OTHERS
A certayne Poore-man met king Phillip, & besought him for
something, because he was his kinsman. The king demanded frō
whence descended. Who answered: from Adam. Then the K.
commaunded an Almes to be given. Hee replyed, an Almes was not
the gift of a king; to whome the king answered: if I should so reward
all my kindred in that kinde, I should leave but little for myselfe.

A certaine conceyted Traveller being at a Banquet, where

chanced a flye to fall into his cuppe, which hee (being to drinke)
tooke out for himselfe, and afterwards put in againe for his fellow:
being demanded his reason, answered, that for his owne part he
affected them not, but it might be some other did.
 A certaine player, seeing Thieves in his house in the night, thus
laughingly sayde: I knowe not what you will finde here in the dark,
when I can find nothing my selfe in the light.
WIT AND MIRTH. CHARGEABLY COLLECTED OUT OF TAVERNS,
ORDINARIES, INNES, BOWLING-GREENES AND ALLYES, ALEHOUSES,
TOBACCO-SHOPS, HIGHWAYES, AND WATER-PASSAGES. MADE UP,
AND FASHIONED INTO CLINCHES, BULLS, QUIRKES, YERKES, QUIPS,
AND JERKES. APOTHEGMATICALLY BUNDLED UP AND GARBLED AT
THE REQUEST OF JOHN GARRET’S GHOST
Taylor the Water-Poet was one of the favourite authors of Robert
Southey, who has given an account of his life and writings in his
Uneducated Poets, and has quoted him largely in his Common-
Place Book.
John Garret, at the request of whose ghost the Water-Poet
professes to have formed the present collection, was a jester of the
period, mentioned by Bishop Corbet and others. Heylin, author of the
Cosmography, speaks of “Archy’s bobs, and Garrets sawcy jests.” In
his dedication of the Wit and Mirth, Taylor alludes to Garret as “that
old honest mirrour of mirth deceased.”
Taylor, to forestall possible cavils at his plagiarisms from others, or
adoption of good sayings already published and well-known,
expressly says in the dedication: “Because I had many of them [the
jests] by relation and heare-say, I am in doubt that some of them
may be in print in some other Authors, which I doe assure you is
more than I doe know.”

One said, that hee could never have his health in Cambridge, and
that if hee had lived there till this time, hee thought in his conscience
that hee had dyed seven yeeres agoe.
A Judge upon the Bench did aske an old man how old he was. My
Lord, said he, I am eight and fourscore. And why not fourscore and
eight? said the Judge. The other repli’d: because I was eight, before
I was fourescore.

A rich man told his nephew that hee had read a booke called
Lucius Apuleius of the Golden Asse, and that he found there how
Apuleius, after he had beene an asse many yeeres, by eating of
Roses he did recover his manly shape againe, and was no more an
asse: the young man replied to his uncle: Sir, if I were worthy to
advise you, I would give you counsell to eate a salled of Roses once
a weeke yourselfe.

A country man being demanded how such a River was called, that
ranne through their Country, hee answered that they never had need
to call the River, for it alwayes came without calling.

One borrowed a cloake of a Gentleman, and met one that knew

him, who said: I thinke I know that cloake. It may be so, said the
other, I borrowed it of such a Gentleman. The other told him that it
was too short. Yea, but, quoth he that had the cloake, I will have it
long enough, before I bring it home againe.

OF THE WOMAN THAT FOLLOWED HER FOURTH HUSBANDS BERE AND

WEPT

A woman there was which had had iiii husbandys. It fourtuned

also that this fourth husbande dyed and was brought to chyrche
upon the bere; whom this woman folowed and made great mone,
and waxed very sory, in so moche that her neyghbours thought she
wolde swown and dye for sorow. Wherfore one of her gosseps cam
to her, and spake to her in her ere, and bad her, for Godds sake,
comfort her self and refrayne that lamentacion, or ellys it wold hurt
her and peraventure put her in jeopardy of her life. To whom this
woman answeryd and sayd: I wys, good gosyp, I have grete cause
to morne, if ye knew all. For I have beryed iii husbandes besyde this
man; but I was never in the case that I am now. For there was not
one of them but when that I folowed the corse to chyrch, yet I was
sure of an nother husband, before the corse cam out of my house,
and now I am sure of no nother husband; and therfore ye may be
sure I have great cause to be sad and hevy.
By thys tale ye may se that the olde proverbe ys trew, that it is as
great pyte to se a woman wepe as a gose to go barefote.

A C. Mery Talys
OF THE MERCHAUNTE OF LONDON THAT DYD PUT NOBLES IN HIS
MOUTHE IN HYS DETHE BEDDE

A ryche covetous marchant there was that dwellid in London,

which ever gaderyd mony and could never fynd in hys hert to spend
ought upon hym selfe nor upon no man els. Whiche fell sore syke,
and as he laye on hys deth bed had his purs lyenge at his beddys
hede, and [he] had suche a love to his money that he put his hande
in his purs, and toke out thereof x or xii li. in nobles and put them in
his mouth. And because his wyfe and other perceyved hym very
syke and lyke to dye, they exortyd hym to be confessyd, and brought
the curate unto hym. Which when they had caused him to say
Benedicite, the curate bad hym crye God mercy and shewe to hym
his synnes. Than this seyck man began to sey: I crey God mercy I
have offendyd in the vii dedly synnes and broken the x
commaundementes; but because of the gold in his mouth he muffled
so in his speche, that the curate could not well understande hym:
wherfore the curat askyd hym, what he had in his mouthe that letted
his spech. I wys, mayster parsone, quod the syke man, muffelynge, I
have nothyng in my mouthe but a lyttle money; bycause I wot not
whither I shal go, I thought I wold take some spendynge money with
me: for I wot not what nede I shall have therof; and incontynent after
that sayeng dyed, before he was confessyd or repentant that any
man coulde perceyve, and so by lyklyhod went to the devyll.
 By this tale ye may se, that they that all theyr lyves wyll never do
charyte to theyr neghbours, that God in tyme of theyr dethe wyll not
suffre them to have grace of repentaunce.

OF THE SCOLER OF OXFORDE THAT PROVED BY SOVESTRY II CHYKENS III

A ryche Frankelyn in the contrey havynge by his wyfe but one

chylde and no mo, for the great affeccyon that he had to his sayd
chylde founde hym at Oxforde to schole by the space of ii or iii yere.
Thys yonge scoler, in a vacacyon tyme, for his disporte came home
to his father. It fortuned afterwarde on a nyght, the father, the mother
and the sayd yonge scoler
5 lines wanting.
I have studyed sovestry, and by that scyence I can prove, that
these ii chekyns in the dysshe be thre chekyns. Mary, sayde the
father, that wolde I fayne se. The scoller toke one of the chekyns in
his hande and said: lo! here is one chekyn, and incontynente he toke
bothe the chekyns in his hande jointely and sayd: here is ii chekyns;
and one and ii maketh iii: ergo here is iii chekyns. Than the father
toke one of the chekyns to him selfe, and gave another to his wyfe,
and sayd thus: lo! I wyll have one of the chekyns to my parte, and
thy mother shal have a nother, and because of thy good argumente
thou shalte have the thyrde to thy supper: for thou gettyst no more
meate here at this tyme; whyche promyse the father kepte, and so
the scoller wente without his supper.
By this tale men may se, that it is great foly to put one to scole to
lerne any subtyll scyence, whiche hathe no naturall wytte.

OF THE COURTEAR THAT ETE THE HOT CUSTARDE

A certayne merchaunt and a courtear, being upon a time together

at dyner having a hote custerd, the courtear being somwhat homely
of maner toke parte of it and put it in hys mouth, whych was so hote
that made him shed teares. The merchaunt, lookyng on him, thought
that he had ben weeping, and asked hym why he wept. This curtear,
not wyllynge it to be known that he had brent his mouth with the hote
custerd, answered and said, sir: quod he, I had a brother whych dyd
a certayn offence wherfore he was hanged; and, chauncing to think
now uppon his deth, it maketh me to wepe. This merchaunt thought
the courtear had said trew, and anon after the merchaunt was
disposid to ete of the custerd, and put a sponefull of it in his mouth,
and brent his mouth also, that his eyes watered. This courtear, that
percevyng, spake to the merchaunt and seyd: sir, quod he, pray why
do ye wepe now? The merchaunt perseyved how he had bene
deceived and said: mary, quod he, I wepe, because thou wast not
hangid, when that they brother was hangyd.

OF HYM THAT SOUGHT HIS WYFE AGAYNST THE STREME

A man there was whose wyfe, as she came over a bridg, fell in to
the ryver and was drowned; wherfore he wente and sought for her
upward against the stream, wherat his neighboures, that wente with
hym, marvayled, and sayde he dyd nought, he shulde go seke her
downeward with the streme. Naye, quod he, I am sure I shall never
fynde her that waye: for she was so waywarde and so contrary to
every thynge, while she lyvedde, that I knowe very well nowe she is
deed, she wyll go a gaynste the stream.

OF THE FOOLE THAT THOUGHT HYM SELFE DEED

There was a felowe dwellynge at Florence, called Nigniaca,

whiche was nat verye wyse, nor all a foole, but merye and jocunde.
A sorte of yonge men, for to laughe and pastyme, appoynted to
gether to make hym beleve that he was sycke. So, whan they were
agreed howe they wolde do, one of them mette hym in the
mornynge, as he came out of his house, and bad him good morowe,
and than asked him, if he were nat yl at ease? No, quod the foole, I
ayle nothynge, I thanke God. By my faith, ye have a sickely pale
colour, quod the other, and wente his waye.
Anone after, an other of them mette hym, and asked hym if he
had nat an ague: for your face and colour (quod he) sheweth that ye
be very sycke. Than the foole beganne a lyttel to doubt, whether he
were sycke or no: for he halfe beleved that they sayd trouth. Whan
he had gone a lytel farther, the thyrde man mette hym, and sayde:
Jesu! manne, what do you out of your bed? ye loke as ye wolde nat
lyve an houre to an ende. Nowe he doubted greatly, and thought
verily in his mynde, that he had hadde some sharpe ague; wherfore
he stode styll and wolde go no further; and, as he stode, the fourth
man came and sayde: Jesu! man, what dost thou here, and arte so
sycke? Gette the home to thy bedde: for I parceyve thou canste nat
lyve an houre to an ende. Than the foles harte beganne to feynte,
and [he] prayde this laste man that came to hym to helpe hym home.
Yes, quod he, I wyll do as moche for the as for myn owne brother. So
home he brought hym, and layde hym in his bed, and than he fared
with hym selfe, as thoughe he wolde gyve up the gooste. Forth with
came the other felowes, and saide he hadde well done to lay hym in
his bedde. Anone after, came one whiche toke on hym to be a
phisitian; whiche, touchynge the pulse, sayde the malady was so
vehement, that he coulde nat lyve an houre. So they, standynge
aboute the bedde, sayde one to an other: nowe he gothe his waye:
for his speche and syght fayle him; by and by he wyll yelde up the
goste. Therfore lette us close his eyes, and laye his hands a crosse,
and cary hym forth to be buryed. And than they sayde lamentynge
one to an other: O! what a losse have we of this good felowe, our
frende?
The foole laye stylle, as one [that] were deade; yea, and thought
in his mynde, that he was deade in dede. So they layde hym on a
bere, and caryed hym through the cite. And whan any body asked
them what they caryed, they sayd the corps of Nigniaca to his grave.
And ever as they went, people drew about them. Among the prece
ther was a taverners boy, the whiche, whan he herde that it was the
cors of Nigniaca, he said to them: O! what a vile bestly knave, and
what a stronge thefe is deed! by the masse, he was well worthy to
have ben hanged longe ago. Whan the fole harde those wordes, he
put out his heed and sayd: I wys, horeson, if I were alyve nowe, as I
am deed, I wolde prove the a false lyer to thy face. They, that caryed
him, began to laugh so hartilye, that they sette downe the bere, and
wente theyr waye.
By this tale ye maye se, what the perswasion of many doth.
Certaynly he is very wyse, that is nat inclined to foly, if he be stered
thereunto by a multitude. Yet sapience is founde in fewe persones:
and they be lyghtly olde sobre men.

A few further bits are added, being witty sayings from Camden,
Bacon and the Jest Books and manuscripts of the period.

Queen Elizabeth seeing a gentleman in her garden, who had not

felt the effect of her favours so soon as he expected, looking out of
her window, said to him, in Italian, “What does a man think of, Sir
Edward, when he thinks of nothing?” After a little pause, he
answered, “He thinks, Madam, of a woman’s promise.” The queen
shrunk in her head, but was heard to say, Well, Sir Edward, I must
not confute you: Anger makes dull men witty, but it keeps them poor.

A certain nobleman sold a gentleman a horse for a good round

sum, which he took upon his lordship’s word, that he had no fault.
About three weeks after, he met my lord; “Why, your lordship told
me,” says he, “that your horse had no fault, and he is blind of an
eye.” Well, Sir, says my lord, it is no fault, it is only a misfortune.

A doctor of little learning, and less modesty, having talked much at

table; one, much admiring him, asked another, when the doctor was
gone, if he did not think him a great scholar? The answer was, He
may be learned, for aught I know, or can discover; but I never heard
learning make such a noise.