Before my ladys grace, the Quene of Fame,
Where ye must breuely answere to your name.
Skelton Poeta.
Castyng my syght the chambre aboute,
To se how duly ich thyng in ordre was,
Towarde the dore,[1753] as we were comyng oute,
I sawe maister Newton sit with his compas,
His plummet, his pensell, his spectacles of[1754] glas,
Dyuysynge in pycture, by his industrious wit,
Of my laurell the proces euery whitte.