Of the terestre rechery we fall in the flode,
Beten with stormys of many a frowarde blast,
Ensordyd with the wawys sauage and wode,
Without our shyppe be sure, it is lykely to brast,
Yet of magnyfycence oft made is the mast;
Thus none estate lyuynge of hym can be sure,
For the welthe of this worlde can not indure.
Red. Nowe semyth vs syttynge that ye then resorte 2590
Home to your paleys with ioy and ryalte.
Sad Cyr. Where euery thyng is ordenyd after your noble porte.