Shall soone be wonne / and shall not be forlorne
These thynges sene / to the thyrde myroure clere
I went anone / and in it loked ryght ofte
Where in my syght / dyde wonderly appere
The fyrmament / with the sonne all alofte
The wynde not grete / but blowynge fayre and softe
And besyde the sonne / I sawe a meruaylous sterre
With beames twayne / the whiche were cast aferre
The one turnynge towarde the sterre agayne
The other stretched ryght towarde Phebus