For to present to your hye worthynes,
To folowe the trace and all the perfitenes
Of my maister Lydgate with due exercise,
Suche fayned tales I do fynde and devyse.
For under a coloure a truthe may aryse,
As was the guyse in olde antiquitie,
Of the poetes olde, a tale to surmyse,
To cloke the truthe of their infirmitie,
Or yet on joye to have mortalitie.
I me excuse if by neglygence