CHISWICK PRESS:PRINTED BY C, WHITTINGHAM, TOOKS COURT,
Incipit Liber Sextus.
Eft gula, que noftrum maculavit prima parentem
Ex vetito pomo, quo dolet omnis homo
Hec agit, ut corpus anime contraria fpirat,
Quo caro fit craffa, fpiritus atque macer.
Intus et exterius fi que virtutis habentur,
Potibus ebrietas conviciata ruit.
Merfa fopore labis, que Bachus inebriat hofpes,
Indignata Venus ofcula raro premit.
HE grete finne originall,
Hic in fexto libro
tractare intendit de
Which every man in gen- illo capitali vicio,
eral [venimed, quod gula dicitur,
Upon his birth hath en-
In paradis it was mif-
timed,
Whan Adam of thilke appel bote,
His fwete morcel was to hote,
Which dedly made the mankinde.
And in the bokes as I finde
This vice, which fo out of reule
Hath fet us all, is cleped gule,
nec non et de eiuf
dem duabus fo
lummodo fpeciebus, videlicet ebri
etate et delicacia, ex quibus humane concupifcencie oblectamentum habundancius augmentatur.
Of which the braunches ben fo great,
That of hem all I wol nought treat,
But only as touchend of two
I thenke fpeke and of no mo.
Wherof the first is dronkeship,
Which bereth the cuppe felaship.
Ful many a wonder doth this vice,
He can make of a wifman nice
And of a fool, that him fhall feme,
That he can all the lawe deme
And yiven every jugement,
Which longeth to the firmament
Both of the fterre and of the mone.
And thus he maketh a great clerk fone
Of him, that is a lewde man.
There is no thing, whiche he ne can,
While he hath dronkeship on honde,
He knoweth the fee, he knoweth the ftronde,
He is a noble man of armes,
yet no strength is in his armes.
There he was stronge inow to-fore,
With dronkeship it is forlore
And all is chaunged his estate
And wext anone so feble and mate,
That he may nouther go ne come,
But all to-gider he is benome
The power both of honde and fote,
So that algate abide he mote
And all his wittes he foryete.
The which is to him fuch a lete,
That he wot never what he doth, Ne which is fals, ne which is foth, Ne which is day, ne which is night, As for the time he knoweth no wight, That he ne wot fo moch as this, What maner thing him felven is Or he be man, or he be beste. That holde I right a sory feste, Whan he, that refon understode, So fodeinlich is woxe wode Or elles lich the dede man, Which nouther go ne fpeke can. Thus ofte he is to bedde brought, But where he lith yet wot he nought, Till he arife upon the morwe
And than he faith: O, which a forwe
It is for to be drinkeles,
So that half drunke in fuch a rees
With drie mouth he fterte him up
And faith: Now baillez ça the cuppe.
That made him lefe his wit at eve
Is than a morwe all his beleve,
The cuppe is all that ever him pleseth
And also that him moft difefeth,
It is the cuppe whom he ferveth,
Which alle cares from him kerveth
And all the bales to him bringeth.
In joy he wepeth, in forwe he fingeth,
For dronkeship is fo divers,
It may no while ftonde invers,
He drinketh the wine, but ate last
The wine drinketh him and bint him faft
And laith him drunke by the walle
As him, which is his bonde thralle
And all in his subjection.
[hove druntonnesy] And lich to fuch condicion
As for to fpeke it otherwise
It falleth, that the most wife
Ben other while of love adoted
And fo bewhapped and affoted
Of dronken men, that never yit
Was none, which half fo loft his wit
Of drinke, as they of fuch thing do,
Which cleped is the jolif wo,
And waxen of her owne thought
So drunke, that they knowe nought,
What refon is or more or leffe.
Such is the kinde of that fikneffe,
And that is nought for lacke of braine,
But love is of fo great a maine,
That where he taketh a herte on honde,
There may nothing his might withstonde.
The wife Salomon was nome,
And ftronge Sampfon overcome,
The knightly David him ne might
Refcoue, that he with the fight
Of Berfabe ne was beftade.
Virgile alfo was overlade,
And Aristotle was put under.
Forthy my fone, it is no wonder,
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