As reason requyreth in euery case

I Sapyence do rule his noble grace

In his ryght hand he hath a septure

That doth sygnyfye by ryght his rygoure

 Yll men to punysshe for theyr offence

By his ryghtwysnes whome the loue

Of vertue shynynge in experyence

Doth not extoll nor yet now remoue

A lampe doth hange his heed aboue

Alway lyght and clerely brennynge

Whiche sygnyfyeth the mercy of a kynge

||

 The olde philosophers by theyr prudence

Fonde the seuen scyences lyberall

And by theyr exercyse & grete dylygence

They made theyr dedes to be memoryall

And also poetes that were fatall

Craftely colored with clowdy fygures

The true sentence of all theyr scryptures

 O Iustyce lady and souerayne goddesse

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