Of hevenly poems, O Clyo, calde by name
In the college of musis goddess hystoriall,
Adres thé to me, whiche am both halt and lame
In elect uteraunce to make memoryall!
To thé for soccour, to thé for helpe I call
Myne homely rudnes and dryghnes to expelle
With the freshe waters of Elyconys welle.
Of noble actes auncyently enrolde,
Of famous princis and lordes of astate,
By thy report ar wonte to be extold,
Regestringe trewly every formare date;
Of thy bountie after the usuail rate
Kyndle in me suche plenty of thy noblès,
Thes sorrowfulle dities that I may shew expres.
In sesons past who hathe h[ea]rde or sene
Of formar writinge by any presidente
That vilane hastarddis in ther furious tene,
Fulfyld with malice of froward entente,
Confeterd togeder of commonn concente
Falsly to slo ther moste singular goode lorde?
It may be registerde of shameful recorde.
So noble a man, so valiaunt lorde and knight,
Fulfilled with honor, as all the worlde dothe ken;
At his commaundement, whiche had both day and night
Knyghtis and squyers, at every season when
He calde upon them, as menyall houshold men:
Were no thes commones uncurteis karlis of kynde
To slo their owne lorde? God was not in their minde.
And were not they to blame, I say also,
That were aboute hym, his owne servants of trust,
To suffre hym slayn of his mortall fo?
Fled away from hym, let hymn ly in the dust:
They bode not till the rekening were discust;
What shuld I flatter? what shulde I glose or paynt?
Fy, fy for shame, their heartes wer to faint.
In Englande and Fraunce, which gretly was redouted;
Of whom both Flounders and Scotland stode in drede;
To whome great estates obeyde and lowted;
A mayny of rude villyans made him for to blede:
Unkindly they slew hym, that holp them oft at nede:
He was their bulwark, their paves, and their wall,
Yet shamfully they slew hym; that shame mot them befall!
I say, ye commoners, why wer ye so stark mad
What frantyk frensy fyll in your brayne?
Where was your wit and reson, ye shuld have had?
What willful foly made yow to ryse agayne
Your naturall lord? alas! I can not fayne.