 | The Works of William Mason |  |
First, sent from Cam's fair banks, like Palmer old,
Came Tityrus slow, with head all silver'd o'er,
And in his hand an oaken crook he bore,
And thus in antique guise short talk did hold:
“Grete clerk of Fame' is house, whose excellence
“Maie wele befitt thilk place of eminence,
“Mickle of wele betide thy houres last,
“For mich gode wirkè to me don and past.
“For syn the days whereas my lyre ben strongen,
“And deftly many a mery laie I songen,
“Old Time, which alle things don maliciously
“Gnawen with rusty tooth continually,
“Gnattrid my lines, that they all cancrid ben,
“Till at the last thou smoothen 'hem hast again;
“Sithence full semely gliden my rimes rude,
“As, (if fitteth thilk similitude)
“Whannè shallow brook yrenneth hobling on,
“Ovir rough stones it makith full rough song;
“But, them stones removen, this lite rivere
“Stealith forth by, making plesaunt murmere:
“So my sely rymes, whoso may them note,
“Thou makist everichone to ren right sote;
“And in thy verse entunist so fetisely,
“That men sayen I make trewe melody,
“And speaken every dele to myne honoure.
“Mich wele, grete clerk, betide thy parting houre!”
Came Tityrus slow, with head all silver'd o'er,
And in his hand an oaken crook he bore,
And thus in antique guise short talk did hold:
“Grete clerk of Fame' is house, whose excellence
“Maie wele befitt thilk place of eminence,
“Mickle of wele betide thy houres last,
“For mich gode wirkè to me don and past.
“For syn the days whereas my lyre ben strongen,
“And deftly many a mery laie I songen,
“Old Time, which alle things don maliciously
“Gnawen with rusty tooth continually,
“Gnattrid my lines, that they all cancrid ben,
“Till at the last thou smoothen 'hem hast again;
6
“As, (if fitteth thilk similitude)
“Whannè shallow brook yrenneth hobling on,
“Ovir rough stones it makith full rough song;
“But, them stones removen, this lite rivere
“Stealith forth by, making plesaunt murmere:
“So my sely rymes, whoso may them note,
“Thou makist everichone to ren right sote;
“And in thy verse entunist so fetisely,
“That men sayen I make trewe melody,
“And speaken every dele to myne honoure.
“Mich wele, grete clerk, betide thy parting houre!”
| The Works of William Mason | |