The diction of Barclay’s version is exceptionally fine.  Jamieson calls it “a rich and unique exhibition of early art,” and says:—­“Page after page, even in the antique spelling of Pynson’s edition, may be read by the ordinary reader of to-day without reference to a dictionary; and when reference is required, it will be found in nine cases out of ten that the archaism is Saxon, not Latin.  This is all the more remarkable that it occurs in the case of a priest translating mainly from the Latin and French, and can only be explained with reference to his standpoint as a social reformer of the broadest type, and to his evident intention that his book should be an appeal to all classes, but especially to the mass of people for amendment of their follies.”

As the original work belonged to the German satirist, the extract from the ‘Ship of Fools’ is placed under the essay entitled ’Sebastian Brandt.’  His ‘Eclogues’ show Barclay at his best.  They portray the manners and customs of the period, and are full of local proverbs and wise sayings.  According to Warton, Barclay’s are the first ‘Eclogues’ that appeared in the English language.  “They are like Petrarch’s,” he says, “and Mantuans of the moral and satirical kind; and contain but few touches of moral description and bucolic imagery.”  Two shepherds meet to talk about the pleasures and crosses of rustic life and life at court.  The hoary locks of the one show that he is old.  His suit of Kendal green is threadbare, his rough boots are patched, and the torn side of his coat reveals a bottle never full and never empty.  His wallet contains bread and cheese; he has a crook, and an oaten pipe.  His name is Cornix, and he boasts that he has had worldly experience.  The other shepherd, Coridon, having seen nothing, complains of country life.  He grumbles at the summer’s heat and the winter’s cold; at beds on the flinty ground, and the dangers of sleeping where the wolves may creep in to devour the sheep; of his stiff rough hands, and his parched, wrinkled, and weather-beaten skin.  He asks whether all men are so unhappy.  Cornix, refreshing himself at intervals with his bottle and crusts, shows him the small amount of liberty at court, discourses upon the folly of ambition, lays bare the rapine, avarice, and covetousness of the worldly-minded, and demonstrates that the court is “painted fair without, but within it is ugly and vile.”  He then gives the picture of a courtier’s life, which is cited below.  He tells how the minstrels and singers, philosophers, poets, and orators are but the slaves of patronizing princes; how beautiful women deceive; describes to him, who has known nothing but a diet of bread and cheese, the delights of the table; dilates on the cups of silver and gold, and the crystal glass shining with red and yellow wine; the sewers bearing in roasted crane, gorgeous peacocks, and savory joints of beef and mutton; the carver wielding his dexterous knife; the puddings, the pasties, the fish fried in sweet oils and garnished with herbs; the costumes of the men and women in cloth of gold and silver and gay damask; the din of music, voices, laughter, and jests; and then paints a picture of the lords and ladies who plunge their knives into the meats and their hands into platters, spilling wine and gravy upon their equally gluttonous neighbors.  He finishes by saying:—­