THE PROLOGUE TO THE BOWGE OF COURTE.
In autumpne, whan the sonne in Virgine
By radyante hete enryped hath our corne;
Whan Luna, full of mutabylyte,
As emperes the dyademe hath worne
Of our pole artyke, smylynge halfe in scorne
At our foly and our vnstedfastnesse;
The tyme whan Mars to werre hym dyde dres;
I, callynge to mynde the greate auctoryte
Of poetes olde, whyche full craftely,