The wordil beholdynge, wherat moch I wondred
To se the see and sonne to kepe both tyme and tyde,
The ayre ouer my hede so wonderfully to glyde,
And howe Saturne by circumference borne is aboute;
Whiche thynges to beholde, clerely me notyfyde,
One verray God to be therin to haue no dowte.
And as my fantasy flamyd in that occupacyon,
Fruteles, deuoyde of all maner gladnes,
Of one was I ware into greate desolacyon,
To the erthe prostrate, rauyuge for madnes;