Deeth, by thy deeth, hath harm irreparable
Unto us doon; hir vengeable duresse
Despoiled hath this land of the swetnesse
Of rethoryk; for unto[[181]] Tullius
Was never man so lyk amonges us.
Also who was heyr[[182]] in philosophye
To Aristotle, in our tonge, but thou?
The steppes of Virgyle in poesye
Thou folwedest eek, men wot wel y-now.
That combre-world, that thee (my maister) slow—