Saynge o good lorde of heuenly empyre

Let the mount with all braunches swete

Entyerly growe / god gyue vs grace to mete

 Soma had wened for to haue made an ende

Of my bokes / before he hadde begynnynge

But all vayne they dyde so comprehende

Whan they of them lacke vnderstandynge

Vaynfull was & is theyr mysse contryuynge

Who lyst the trouthe of them for to enfuse

For the reed and whyte they wryte full true

 Well sayd this lady I haue perceueraunce

Of our bokes / whiche that ye endyte

So as ye saye is all the cyrcumstaunce

Vnto the hyghe pleasure of the reed and the whyte

Which hath your trouth / and wyll you acquyte

Doubte ye no thynge / but at the last ye maye

Of your true mynde yet fynde a Ioyfull daye

A.v.

 Forsothe I sayd / dysdayne and straungenesse

I fere them sore / and fals reporte

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