But al shal passe that men prose or ryme;
Take every man his turn, as for his tyme.
Envoy.
Scogan, that knelest at the stremes heed
Of grace, of alle honour and worthinesse,
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In thende of which streme I am dul as deed,
Forgete in solitarie wildernesse;
Yet, Scogan, thenke on Tullius kindenesse,
Minne thy frend, ther it may fructifye!