O connyng clergye, where ys your redynes
To practise or postyll thys prosses here and there?
For drede ye darre not medyll with suche gere,
Or elles ye pynche curtesy, trulye as I trowe,
Whyche of yow fyrste dare boldlye plucke the crowe.
The skye is clowdy, the coste is nothyng clere; 390
Tytan bathe truste vp hys tressys of fyne golde;
Iupyter for Saturne darre make no royall chere;
Lyacon lawghyth there att, and berythe hym more bolde;
Racell, rulye ragged, she is like to cache colde;