Of which I wont was han conseil and reed.
O maister dere and fader reverent,
My maister Chaucer, flour of eloquence,
Mirour of fructuous entendement,
O universel fader in science,
Allas! that thou thyn excellent prudence
In thy bed mortel mightest not bequethe!
What eyled Deeth? Allas! why wolde he slee thee?
O Deeth! thou didest not harm singuler
In slaghtre of him, but al this land it smerteth!