[Footnote 29:  foolishly.]

[Footnote 30:  if.]

[Footnote 31:  many.]

[Footnote 32:  holy.]

[Footnote 33:  strange perversion of words. Droorie in its antient signification stood for modesty.]

[Footnote 34:  another.]

LETTER TO THE DYGNE MASTRE CANYNGE.

    Straunge dome ytte ys, that, yn these daies of oures,
    Nete[35] butte a bare recytalle can hav place;
    Nowe shapelie poesie hast loste yttes powers,
    And pynant hystorie ys onlie grace;
    Heie[36] pycke up wolsome weedes, ynstedde of flowers, 5
    And famylies, ynstedde of wytte, theie trace;
    Nowe poesie canne meete wythe ne regrate[37],
    Whylste prose, & herehaughtrie[38], ryse yn estate.

    Lette kynges, & rulers, whan heie gayne a throne,
    Shewe whatt theyre grandsieres, & great grandsieres bore, 10
    Emarschalled armes, yatte, ne before theyre owne,
    Now raung’d wythe whatt yeir fadres han before;
    Lette trades, & toune folck, lett syke[39] thynges alone,
    Ne fyghte for sable yn a fielde of aure;
    Seldomm, or never, are armes vyrtues mede, 15
    Shee nillynge[40] to take myckle[41] aie dothe hede.

    A man ascaunse upponn a piece maye looke,
    And shake hys hedde to styrre hys rede[42] aboute;
    Quod he, gyf I askaunted oere thys booke,
    Schulde fynde thereyn that trouthe ys left wythoute; 20
    Eke, gyf[43] ynto a vew percase[44] I tooke
    The long beade-rolle of al the wrytynge route,
    Asserius, Ingolphus, Torgotte, Bedde,
    Thorow hem[45] al nete lyche ytte I coulde rede.—­

    Pardon, yee Graiebarbes[46], gyff I saie, onwise 25
    Yee are, to stycke so close & bysmarelie[47]
    To hystorie; you doe ytte tooe moche pryze,
    Whyche amenused[48] thoughtes of poesie;
    Somme drybblette[49] share you shoulde to yatte[50] alyse[51],
    Nott makynge everyche thynge bee hystorie; 30
    Instedde of mountynge onn a wynged horse,
    You onn a rouncy[52] dryve yn dolefull course.

    Cannynge & I from common course dyssente;
    Wee ryde the stede, botte yev to hym the reene;
    Ne wylle betweene crased molterynge bookes be pente, 35
    Botte soare on hyghe, & yn the sonne-bemes sheene;
    And where wee kenn somme ishad[53] floures besprente,
    We take ytte, & from oulde rouste doe ytte clene;
    Wee wylle ne cheynedd to one pasture bee,
    Botte sometymes soare ’bove trouthe of hystorie. 40