fancy is a fickle thing, and beauty's paintings are tricked up
with time's colors, which, being set to dry in the sun, perish with
the same. Venus is a wanton, and though her laws pretend liberty, yet
there is nothing but loss and glistering misery. Cupid's wings are
plumed with the feathers of vanity, and his arrows, where they pierce,
enforce nothing but deadly desires: a woman's eye, as it is precious
to behold, so is it prejudicial to gaze upon; for as it affordeth
delight, so it snareth unto death. Trust not their fawning favors, for
their loves are like the breath of a man upon steel, which no sooner
lighteth on but it leapeth off, and their passions are as momentary as
the colors of a polype, which changeth at the sight of every object.
My breath waxeth short, and mine eyes dim: the hour is come, and I
must away: therefore let this suffice, women are wantons, and yet men
cannot want one: and therefore, if you love, choose her that hath eyes
of adamant, that will turn only to one point; her heart of a diamond,
that will receive but one form; her tongue of a Sethin leaf, that
never wags but with a south-east wind: and yet, my sons, if she have
all these qualities, to be chaste, obedient, and silent, yet for that
she is a woman, shalt thou find in her sufficient vanities to
countervail her virtues. Oh now, my sons, even now take these my last
words as my latest legacy, for my thread is spun, and my foot is in
the grave. Keep my precepts as memorials of your father's counsels,
and let them be lodged in the secret of your hearts; for wisdom is
better than wealth, and a golden sentence worth a world of treasure.
In my fall see and mark, my sons, the folly of man, that being dust
climbeth with Biares to reach at the heavens, and ready every minute
to die, yet hopeth for an age of pleasures. Oh, man's life is like
lightning that is but a flash, and the longest date of his years but
as a bavin's[2] blaze. Seeing then man is so mortal, be careful that
thy life be virtuous, that thy death may be full of admirable honors:
so shalt thou challenge fame to be thy fautor,[3] and put oblivion to
exile with thine honorable actions. But, my sons, lest you should
forget your father's axioms, take this scroll, wherein read what your
father dying wills you to execute living." At this he shrunk down in
his bed, and gave up the ghost.

[Footnote 1: falcon.]

[Footnote 2: faggot's.]

[Footnote 3: patron.]

John of Bordeaux being th