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[Chronicle of Fabyan]

[by Robert Fabyan

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The Wardis of London
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The Wardis of London

Prologus.

Now wolde I fayne
In wordys playne
Some honoure sayen
And brynge to mynde
Of that auncient Cytie
That so goodly is to se
And full trewe euer hath be
And also full kynde
To Prynce and Kynge
That hath borne iust rulynge
Sene the fyrste wynnynge
Of this Ilelande by Brute
So that in great honoure
By passynge of many a showre
It hath euer borne the flowre
And lawdable Brute
Of euery Cytie and Towne
To seche the worlde rowne
Neuer yet caste downe
As other many haue be
As Rome and Cartage
Ierusalem the sage
With many other of age
In story as ye may se
This so oldly foundyd
Is so surely groundyd
That no man may confounde it
It is so sure a stone
That it is vpon sette
For thoughe some haue it thrette
With manassys grym and grete
yet hurt had it none
Cryste is the very stoon
That the Cytie is sette vpon
Whiche from all his foon
Hath euer preseruyd it


By meane of dyuyne seruyce
That in contynuell wyse
Is kepte in deuout guyse
Within the mure of it
As howsys of Relygyon
In dyuerse placys of this Towne
Whiche in great deuocion
Been euer occupyed
Whan one hath done another begyn
So that of prayer they neuer blyn
Suche ordre is theyse howsys within
With all vertue allyed
The parysshe Churches also to rekyn
Of which noūber as I shall spekyn
Wherein speke many preest & dekyn
And Cryste dayly they serue
By meane of whyche Sacryfyce
I trust that he in all wyse
This Cytie for hir seruyce
Doth euer more preserue
This Cytie I meane as Troynouaūte
Where honour & worshyp doth haunte
With vertue and ryches accordaunte
No Cytie to it lyke
To speke of euery cōmodytie
Flesshe and Fysshe and all deyntye
Cloth and Sylke with wyne plentye
That is for hoole and syke
Brede & ale with spycis fyne
With howses fayre to sowpe and dyne
Nothynge lackynge that is cōdyngne
For man that is on molde
With Ryuers fresshe & holsom ayer
With wymen that be good and fayre
And to this Cytie doon repayre
Of straungers many folde
The vytayle that herein is spente
In thre housholdys dayly tente
Atwene Rome and Ryche Kent
Are none may them compare
As of the Mayre and shryues twayne
What myght I of the Iustyce sayne
Kept within this Cytie playne
It were longe to declare
For thoughe I shulde all day tell
Or chat with my ryme dogerell
Myght I not yet halfe dospell
This townys great honoure
Therefore shortly as I began
Pray for it bothe chylde and man
That it may contynewe an
To bere of all the Flowre
And so to dwelle in rest & peace
Good lorde graunt that it not sease
But euer to haue more encreace
If it be thy wyll
And to contynewe the olde fame
The Kynges chaūbre yt the right name
London to kepe without blame
As it hath hyther tyll.
Who so hym lykyth theyse vrses to rede
With fauour I pray he wyll them spell
Let not the rudenesse of them hym lede
For to dyspraue thys ryme dogerell
Some ∥te of ye honoure it doth you tell
Of this olde Cytie Troynouaunt
But not there of the halfe dell
Cun̄ynge in the maker is so adaunt
But thoughe he had the eloquence
Of Tully and the moralytie
Of seneck and the Influence
Of the swete sugred Armone
Of that fayre lady Caliope
yet had he not cūnynge parfyght
This Cytie to prayse in eche degre
As it shulde duely aske of Ryght.