His char of golde his cours so swiftly ran:
And whyl the twylight and the rowes rede
Of Phebus light were dëaurat a lyte,
A penne I took, and gan me faste spede
The woful playntë of this man to wryte
600
Word by wordë, as he did endyte;
Lyk as I herde, and coude him tho reporte,
I have here set, your hertes to disporte.
If ought be mis, layeth the wyte on me,