Assys erys for our folys a lyuray is
And he that wyll be wroth for a thynge of nought
Of the same leuray is nat worthy to mys
For who that by wrathe to suche a wyll is brought
To sle his Asse for hir pas slowe and soft
Shall after his fury, repent his mad foly
For to a clere mynde, mad wrathe is ennemy
Come nere, ye wrathfull men, take your rowme and place
Within our shyp, and to slake our hastynes
Mount on an Asse slowe of hir gate and pace
Syns troublous wrath, in you, styreth this madnes
Often lacke of myght asswagyth cruelnes
To a wylde cowe god doth short hornys sende
Wrath is great foly, where myght may nat extende
O man yll myndyd what helpeth the this yre