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THE PROLOGUE TO THE BOWGE OF COURTE.

In autumpne, whan the sonne in Virgine

By radyante hete enryped hath our corne;

Whan Luna, full of mutabylyte,

As emperes the dyademe hath worne

Of our pole artyke, smylynge halfe in scorne

At our foly and our vnstedfastnesse;

The tyme whan Mars to werre hym dyde dres;

I, callynge to mynde the greate auctoryte

Of poetes olde, whyche full craftely,

Vnder as couerte termes as coude be, 10

Can touche a trouth[233] and cloke it[234] subtylly

Wyth fresshe vtteraunce full sentencyously;

Dyuerse in style, some spared not vyce to wryte,[235]

Some of moralyte[236] nobly dyde endyte;

Wherby I rede theyr renome and theyr fame

Maye neuer dye, bute euermore endure:

I was sore moued to aforce the same,

But Ignoraunce full soone dyde me dyscure,[237]

And shewed that in this arte I[238] was not sure;

For to illumyne, she sayde, I was to dulle, 20

Auysynge[239] me my penne awaye to pulle,

And not to wryte;[240] for he so wyll atteyne

Excedynge ferther than his connynge is,

His hede maye be harde, but feble is his[241] brayne,

Yet haue I knowen suche er this;

But of reproche surely he maye not mys,

That clymmeth hyer than he may fotynge haue;

What and he slyde downe, who shall hym saue?

Thus vp and down my mynde was drawen and cast,

That I ne wyste what to do was[242] beste; 30

So sore enwered, that I was at the laste

Enforsed to slepe and for to take some reste:

And to lye downe as soone as I me[243] dreste,

At Harwyche Porte slumbrynge as I laye,

In myne hostes house, called Powers Keye,

Methoughte I sawe a shyppe, goodly of sayle,

Come saylynge forth into that hauen brood,

Her takelynge ryche and of hye apparayle:

She kyste[244] an anker, and there she laye at rode.

Marchauntes her borded to see what she had lode:[245] 40

Therein they founde royall marchaundyse,

Fraghted with plesure of what ye coude deuyse.

But than I thoughte I wolde not dwell behynde;

Amonge all other I put myselfe in prece.

Than there coude I none aquentaunce fynde:

There was moche noyse; anone one cryed, Cese!

Sharpely commaundynge eche man holde hys pece:

Maysters, he sayde, the shyp that ye here see,

The Bowge of Courte it hyghte for certeynte:[246]

The owner[247] therof is lady of estate, 50

Whoos name to tell is dame Saunce-pere;

Her[248] marchaundyse is ryche and fortunate,

But who wyll haue it muste paye therfore dere;

This royall chaffre that is shypped here

Is called Fauore, to stonde in her good grace.

Than sholde ye see there pressynge in a pace

Of one and other that wolde this lady see;

Whiche sat behynde a traues[249] of sylke fyne,

Of golde of tessew the fynest that myghte be,

In a trone whiche fer clerer[250] dyde shyne 60

Than Phebus in his spere celestyne;

Whoos beaute, honoure, goodly porte,

I haue to lytyll connynge to reporte.

But, of eche thynge there as I toke hede,

Amonge all other was wrytten in her trone,

In golde letters, this worde, whiche I dyde rede,

Garder[251] le fortune, que est mauelz et bone!

And, as I stode redynge this verse myselfe allone,

Her chyef gentylwoman, Daunger by her name,

Gaue me a taunte, and sayde I was to blame 70

To be so perte to prese so proudly vppe:

She sayde she trowed that I had[252] eten sause;

She asked yf euer I dranke of saucys cuppe.

And I than softly answered to that clause,

That, so to saye, I had gyuen her no cause.

Than asked she me, Syr, so God thé spede,

What is thy name? and I sayde, it was Drede.

What mouyd thé, quod she, hydder to come?

Forsoth, quod I, to bye some of youre ware.

And with that worde on me she gaue a glome 80

With browes bente, and gan on me to stare

Full daynnously, and fro me she dyde fare,

Leuynge me stondynge as a mased man:

To whome there came an other gentylwoman;

Desyre her name was, and so she me tolde,

Sayenge to me, Broder,[253] be of good chere,

Abasshe you not, but hardely be bolde,

Auaunce yourselfe to aproche and come nere:

What though our chaffer be neuer so dere,

Yet I auyse you to speke, for ony drede: 90

Who spareth to speke, in fayth he spareth to spede.[254]

Maystres, quod I, I haue none aquentaunce,

That wyll for me be medyatoure and mene;

And[255] this an other, I haue but smale substaunce.

Pece, quod Desyre, ye speke not worth a bene:

Yf ye haue not, in fayth I wyll you lene

A precyous jewell, no rycher in this londe;

Bone Auenture haue here now in your honde.

Shyfte now therwith, let see, as ye can,

In Bowge of Courte cheuysaunce to make; 100

For I dare saye that there nys erthly man

But, an[256] he can Bone Auenture take,

There can no fauour nor frendshyp hym forsake;

Bone Auenture may brynge you in suche case

That ye shall stonde in fauoure and in grace.

But of one thynge I werne[257] you er[258] I goo,

She that styreth the shyp, make her your frende.

Maystres, quod I, I praye you tell me why soo,

And how I maye that waye and meanes fynde.

Forsothe, quod she, how euer blowe the wynde, 110

Fortune gydeth and ruleth all oure shyppe:

Whome she hateth shall ouer the see boorde[259] skyp;

Whome she loueth, of all plesyre[260] is ryche,

Whyles she laugheth[261] and hath luste for to playe;

Whome she hateth,[262] she casteth in the dyche,

For whan she frouneth,[263] she thynketh to make a fray;

She cheryssheth[264] him, and hym she casseth[265] awaye.

Alas, quod I, how myghte I haue her sure?

In fayth, quod she, by Bone Auenture.

Thus, in a rowe, of martchauntes a grete route 120

Suwed to Fortune that she wold be theyre frynde:

They thronge in fast, and flocked her aboute;

And I with them prayed her to haue in mynde.

She promysed to vs all she wolde be kynde:

Of Bowge of Court she asketh what we wold haue;

And we asked Fauoure, and Fauour she vs gaue.

Thus endeth the Prologue; and begynneth the Bowge of Courte breuely compyled. [266]

DREDE.

The sayle is vp, Fortune ruleth our helme,

We wante no wynde to passe now ouer all;

Fauoure we haue tougher[267] than ony[268] elme,

That wyll abyde and neuer from vs fall: 130

But vnder hony ofte tyme lyeth bytter gall;

For, as me thoughte, in our shyppe I dyde see

Full subtyll persones, in nombre foure and thre.

The fyrste was Fauell, full of flatery,

Wyth fables false that well coude fayne a tale;

The seconde was Suspecte, whiche that dayly

Mysdempte eche man, with face deedly and pale;

And Haruy Hafter,[269] that well coude picke a male;

With other foure of theyr affynyte,

Dysdayne, Ryotte, Dyssymuler, Subtylte. 140

Fortune theyr frende, with whome oft she dyde daunce;

They coude not faile, thei thought, they were so sure;

And oftentymes I wolde myselfe auaunce

With them to make solace and pleasure;

But my dysporte they coude not well endure;

They sayde they hated for to dele with Drede.

Than Fauell gan wyth fayre speche me to fede.

FAUELL.

Noo thynge erthely that I wonder so sore

As of your connynge, that is so excellent;

Deynte to haue with vs suche one in store, 150

So vertuously that hath his dayes spente;

Fortune to you gyftes of grace hath lente:

Loo, what it is a man to haue connynge!

All erthly tresoure it is surmountynge.

Ye be an apte man, as ony can be founde,

To dwell with vs, and serue my ladyes grace;

Ye be to her yea worth a thousande pounde;

I herde her speke of you within shorte[270] space,

Whan there were dyuerse that sore dyde you manace;

And, though I say it, I was myselfe your frende, 160

For here be dyuerse to you that be vnkynde.

But this one thynge ye maye be sure of me;

For, by that Lorde that bought dere all mankynde,

I can not flater, I muste be playne to thé;

And ye nede ought, man, shewe to me your mynde,

For ye haue me whome faythfull ye shall fynde;

Whyles I haue ought, by God, thou shalt not lacke,

And yf nede be, a bolde worde I dare cracke.

Nay, naye, be sure, whyles I am on your syde,

Ye maye not fall, truste me, ye maye not fayle; 170

Ye stonde[271] in fauoure, and Fortune is your gyde,

And, as she wyll, so shall our grete shyppe sayle:

Thyse lewde cok wattes[272] shall neuermore preuayle

Ageynste you hardely, therfore be not afrayde:

Farewell tyll soone; but no worde that I sayde.

DREDE.

Than thanked I hym for his grete gentylnes:

But, as me thoughte, he ware on hym a cloke,

That lyned was with doubtfull doublenes;

Me thoughte, of wordes that he had full a poke;

His stomak stuffed ofte tymes dyde reboke: 180

Suspycyon, me thoughte, mette hym at a brayde,

And I drewe nere to herke what they two sayde.

In faythe, quod Suspecte, spake Drede no worde of me?

Why, what than? wylte thou lete men to speke?

He sayth, he can not well accorde with thé.

Twyst,[273] quod Suspecte, goo playe, hym I ne reke.

By Cryste, quod Fauell, Drede is soleyne freke:

What lete vs holde him vp, man, for a whyle?

Ye soo, quod Suspecte, he maye vs bothe begyle.

And whan he came walkynge soberly, 190

Wyth whom and ha, and with a croked loke,

Me thoughte, his hede was full of gelousy,

His eyen rollynge, his hondes faste they quoke;

And to me warde the strayte waye he toke:

God spede, broder![274] to me quod he than;

And thus to talke with me he began.

SUSPYCYON.

Ye remembre the gentylman ryghte nowe

That commaunde[275] with you, me thought, a party space?[276]

Beware of him, for, I make God auowe,

He wyll begyle you and speke fayre to your face: 200

Ye neuer dwelte in suche an other place,

For here is none that dare well other truste;

But I wolde telle you a thynge, and I durste.

Spake he a fayth no worde to you of me?

I wote, and he dyde, ye wolde me telle.

I haue a fauoure to you, wherof it be

That I muste shewe you moche[277] of my counselle:

But I wonder what the deuyll of helle

He sayde of me, whan he with you dyde talke:

By myne auyse[278] vse not with him to walke. 210

The soueraynst thynge that ony[279] man maye haue,

Is lytyll to saye, and moche[280] to here and see;

For, but I trusted you, so God me saue,

I wolde noo thynge so playne be;

To you oonly, me thynke, I durste shryue me

For now am I plenarely dysposed

To shewe you thynges that may not be disclosed.

DREDE.

Than I assured hym my fydelyte,

His counseyle secrete neuer to dyscure,[281]

Yf he coude fynde in herte to truste me; 220

Els I prayed hym, with all my besy cure,

To kepe it hymselfe, for than he myghte be sure

That noo man[282] erthly coude hym bewreye,

Whyles of his mynde it were lockte with the keye.

By God, quod he, this and thus it is;

And of his mynde he shewed me all and some.

Farewell, quod he, we wyll talke more of this:

Soo he departed there he wolde be come.

I dare not speke, I promysed to be dome:

But, as I stode musynge in my mynde, 230

Haruy Hafter[283] came lepynge, lyghte as lynde.

Vpon his breste he bare a versynge boxe;

His throte was clere, and lustely coude fayne;

Me[284] thoughte, his gowne was all furred wyth foxe;

And euer he sange, Sythe I am no thynge playne.

To kepe him frome pykynge it was a grete payne:

He gased on me with his gotyshe berde;

Whan I loked on hym, my[285] purse was half aferde.

HARUY HAFTER.[286]

Syr, God you saue! why loke ye so sadde?

What thynge is that I maye do for you? 240

A wonder thynge that ye waxe not madde!

For, and I studye sholde as ye doo nowe,

My wytte wolde waste, I make God auowe.

Tell me your mynde: me thynke, ye make a verse;

I coude it skan,[287] and ye wolde it[288] reherse.

But to the poynte shortely to procede,

Where hathe your dwellynge ben, er ye cam here?

For, as I trowe, I haue sene you indede

Er this, whan that ye made me royall chere.

Holde vp the helme, loke vp, and lete God stere: 250

I wolde be mery, what wynde that euer blowe,

Heue and how rombelow, row the bote, Norman, rowe!

Prynces of yougthe[289] can ye synge by rote?

Or shall I sayle wyth you a felashyp assaye;

For on the booke I[290] can not synge a note.

Wolde to God, it wolde please you some daye

A balade boke before me for to laye,

And lerne me to synge, Re, my, fa, sol!

And, whan I fayle, bobbe me on the noll.

Loo, what is to you a pleasure grete, 260

To haue that connynge and wayes that ye haue!

By Goddis soule, I wonder how ye gete

Soo greate pleasyre,[291] or who to you it gaue:

Syr, pardone me, I am an homely knaue,

To be with you thus perte and thus bolde;

But ye be welcome to our housholde.

And, I dare saye, there is no man here inne

But wolde be glad of your company:

I wyste neuer man that so soone coude wynne

The fauoure that ye haue with my lady; 270

I praye to God that it maye neuer dy:

It is your fortune for to haue that grace;

As I be saued, it is a wonder case.

For, as for me, I serued here many a daye,

And yet vnneth I can haue my lyuynge:

But I requyre you no worde that I saye;

For, and I knowe ony erthly thynge

That is agayne you, ye shall haue wetynge:

And ye be welcome, syr, so God me saue:

I hope here after a frende of you to haue. 280

DREDE.

Wyth that, as he departed soo fro me,

Anone ther mette with him, as me thoughte,

A man, but wonderly besene was he;

He loked hawte,[292] he sette eche man at noughte;

His gawdy garment with scornnys[293] was all wrought;

With indygnacyon lyned was his hode;

He frowned, as he wolde swere by Cockes blode;

He bote the[294] lyppe, he loked passynge coye;

His face was belymmed, as byes had him stounge:

It was no tyme with him to jape nor toye; 290

Enuye hathe wasted his lyuer and his lounge,

Hatred by the herte so had hym wrounge,

That he loked pale as asshes to my syghte:

Dysdayne, I wene, this comerous crabes hyghte.[295]

To Heruy Hafter[296] than he spake of me,

And I drewe nere to harke what they two sayde.

Now, quod Dysdayne, as I shall saued be,

I haue grete scorne, and am ryghte euyll apayed.

Than quod Heruy, why arte thou so dysmayde?

By Cryste, quod he, for it is shame to saye; 300

To see Johan Dawes, that came but yester daye,

How he is now taken in conceyte,

This doctour Dawcocke, Drede, I wene, he hyghte:

By Goddis bones, but yf we haue som sleyte,

It is lyke he wyll stonde in our[297] lyghte.

By God, quod Heruy, and it so happen myghte;

Lete vs therfore shortely at a worde

Fynde some mene to caste him ouer the borde.

By Him that me boughte, than quod Dysdayne,

I wonder sore he is in suche conceyte. 310

Turde, quod Hafter,[298] I wyll thé no thynge layne,[299]

There muste for hym be layde some prety beyte;

We tweyne, I trowe, be not withoute dysceyte:

Fyrste pycke a quarell, and fall oute with hym then,

And soo outface hym with a carde of ten.

Forthwith he made on me a prowde assawte,

With scornfull[300] loke meuyd all in moode;

He wente aboute to take me in a fawte;

He frounde, he stared, he stampped where he stoode.

I lokyd on hym, I wende he had be woode. 320

He set the arme proudly vnder the syde,

And in this wyse he gan with me to chyde.

DISDAYNE.

Remembrest thou what thou sayd yester nyght?

Wylt thou abyde by the wordes agayne?

By God, I haue of thé now grete dyspyte;

I shall thé angre ones in euery vayne:

It is greate scorne to see suche an hayne

As thou arte, one that cam but yesterdaye,

With vs olde seruauntes suche maysters to playe.

I tell thé, I am of countenaunce: 330

What weneste I were? I trowe, thou knowe not me.

By Goddis woundes, but for dysplesaunce,

Of my querell soone wolde I venged be:

But no force, I shall ones mete with thé;

Come whan it wyll, oppose thé I shall,

What someuer auenture therof fall.

Trowest thou, dreuyll, I saye, thou gawdy knaue,

That I haue deynte to see thé cherysshed thus?

By Goddis syde, my sworde thy berde shall shaue;

Well, ones thou shalte be chermed, I wus: 340

Naye, strawe for tales, thou shalte not rule vs;

We be thy betters, and so thou shalte vs take,

Or we shall thé oute of thy clothes shake.

DREDE.

Wyth that came Ryotte, russhynge all at ones,

A rusty gallande, to-ragged and to-rente;

And on the borde he whyrled a payre of bones,

Quater treye dews he clatered as he wente;

Now haue at all, by saynte Thomas of Kente!

And euer he threwe and kyst[301] I wote nere what:

His here was growen thorowe oute his hat. 350

Thenne I behelde how he dysgysed was:

His hede was heuy for watchynge ouer nyghte,

His eyen blereed, his face shone lyke a glas;

His gowne so shorte that it ne couer myghte

His rumpe, he wente so all for somer lyghte;

His hose was garded wyth a lyste of grene,

Yet at the knee they were broken, I wene.

His cote was checked[302] with patches rede and blewe;

Of Kyrkeby Kendall was his shorte demye;

And ay he sange, In fayth, decon thou crewe; 360

His elbowe bare, he ware his gere so nye;

His nose a[303] droppynge, his lyppes were full drye;

And by his syde his whynarde and his pouche,

The deuyll myghte daunce therin for ony[304] crowche.

Counter he coude O lux vpon a potte;

An[305] eestryche fedder of a capons tayle

He set vp fresshely vpon his hat alofte:

What reuell route! quod he, and gan to rayle

How ofte he hadde[306] hit Jenet on the tayle,

Of Felyce fetewse, and lytell prety Cate, 370

How ofte he knocked at her klycked gate.

What sholde I tell more of his rebaudrye?

I was ashamed so to here hym prate:

He had no pleasure but in harlotrye.

Ay, quod he, in the deuylles date,

What arte thou? I sawe thé nowe but late.

Forsothe, quod I, in this courte I dwell nowe.

Welcome, quod Ryote, I make God auowe.[307]

RYOTE.

And, syr, in fayth why comste not vs amonge,

To make thé mery, as other felowes done? 380

Thou muste swere and stare, man, al daye longe,

And wake all nyghte, and slepe tyll it be none;

Thou mayste not studye, or muse on the mone;

This worlde is nothynge but ete, drynke, and slepe,

And thus with vs good company to kepe.

Plucke vp thyne herte vpon a mery pyne,

And lete vs laugh a placke[308] or tweyne at nale:

What the deuyll, man, myrthe was neuer one![309]

What, loo, man, see here of dyce a bale!

A brydelynge caste for that is in thy male! 390

Now haue at all that lyeth vpon the burde!

Fye on this dyce, they be not worth a turde!

Haue at the hasarde, or at the dosen browne,

Or els I[310] pas a peny to a pounde!

Now, wolde to God, thou wolde leye money downe!

Lorde, how that I wolde caste it full rounde!

Ay, in my pouche a buckell I haue founde;

The armes of Calyce, I haue no coyne nor crosse!

I am not happy, I renne ay on the losse.

Now renne muste I to the stewys syde, 400

To wete yf Malkyn, my lemman, haue gete oughte:

I lete her to hyre, that men maye on her ryde,

Her armes[311] easy ferre and nere is soughte:

By Goddis sydes; syns I her thyder broughte,

She hath gote me more money with her tayle

Than hath some shyppe that into Bordews sayle.

Had I as good an hors as she is a mare,

I durst auenture to iourney thorugh[312] Fraunce;

Who rydeth on her, he nedeth not to care,

For she is trussed for to breke a launce; 410

It is a curtel[313] that well can wynche and praunce:

To her wyll I nowe all my pouerte lege;

And, tyll I come, haue here is[314] myne hat to plege.

DREDE.

Gone is this knaue, this rybaude foule and leude;

He ran as fast as euer that he myghte:

Vnthryftynes[315] in hym may well be shewed,

For whome[316] Tyborne groneth both daye and nyghte.

And, as I stode and kyste[317] asyde my syghte,

Dysdayne I sawe with Dyssymulacyon

Standynge in sadde communicacion. 420

But there was poyntynge and noddynge with the hede,

And many wordes sayde in secrete wyse;

They wandred ay, and stode styll in no stede:

Me thoughte, alwaye Dyscymular dyde deuyse;

Me passynge sore myne herte than gan agryse,[318]

I dempte and drede theyr talkynge was not good.

Anone Dyscymular came where I stode.

Than in his hode I sawe there faces tweyne;

That one was lene and lyke a pyned goost,

That other loked as he wolde me haue[319] slayne; 430

And to me warde as he gan for to coost,

Whan that he was euen at me almoost,

I sawe a knyfe hyd in his one sleue,

Wheron was wryten this worde, Myscheue.

And in his other sleue, me thought, I sawe

A spone of golde, full of hony swete,

To fede a fole, and for to preue a dawe;[320]

And on that sleue these wordes were wrete,

A false abstracte cometh from a fals concrete:

His hode was syde, his cope was roset graye: 440

Thyse were the wordes that[321] he to me dyde saye.

DYSSYMULATION.

How do ye, mayster? ye loke so soberly:

As I be saued at the dredefull daye,

It is a perylous vyce, this enuy:

Alas, a connynge man ne dwelle maye

In no place well, but foles with hym[322] fraye!

But as for that, connynge hath no foo

Saue hym that nought can, Scrypture sayth soo.

I knowe your vertu and your lytterature[323]

By that lytel connynge that I haue: 450

Ye be malygned sore, I you ensure;

But ye haue crafte your selfe alwaye to saue:

It is grete scorne to se a mysproude knaue

With a clerke that connynge is to prate:

Lete theym go lowse theym, in the deuylles date!

For all be it that this longe not to me,

Yet on my backe I bere suche lewde delynge:

Ryghte now I spake with one, I trowe, I see;

But, what, a strawe! I maye not tell all thynge.

By God, I saye there is grete herte brennynge 460

Betwene the persone ye wote of, you;[324]

Alas, I coude not dele so with a Jew![325]

I wolde eche man were as playne as I;

It is a worlde, I saye, to[326] here of some:

I hate this faynynge, fye vpon it, fye!

A man can not wote where to be come:

I wys I coude tell,[327]—but humlery, home;

I dare not speke, we be so layde awayte,

For all our courte is full of dysceyte.

Now, by saynte Fraunceys, that holy man and frere, 470

I hate these[328] wayes agayne you that they take:

Were I as you, I wolde ryde them full nere;

And, by my trouthe, but yf an ende they make,

Yet wyll I saye some wordes for your sake,

That shall them angre, I holde thereon a grote;

For some shall wene be hanged by the throte.

I haue a stoppynge oyster in my poke,

Truste me, and yf it come to a nede:

But I am lothe for to reyse a smoke,

Yf ye coude be otherwyse agrede; 480

And so I wolde it were, so God me spede,

For this maye brede to a confusyon,

Withoute God make a good conclusyon.

Naye, see where yonder stondeth the teder man!

A flaterynge knaue and false he is, God wote;

The dreuyll stondeth to herken, and he can:

It were more thryft, he boughte him a newe cote;

It will not be, his purse is not on flote:

All that he wereth, it is borowed ware;

His wytte is thynne, his hode is threde bare. 490

More coude I saye, but what this is ynowe:

Adewe tyll soone, we shall speke more of this:

Ye muste be ruled as I shall tell you howe;

Amendis maye be of that is now amys;

And I am your, syr, so haue I blys,

In[329] euery poynte that I can do or saye:

Gyue me your honde, farewell, and haue good daye.

DREDE.

Sodaynly, as he departed me fro,

Came pressynge in one in a wonder araye:

Er I was ware, behynde me he sayde, Bo! 500

Thenne I, astonyed of that sodeyne fraye,

Sterte all at ones, I lyked no thynge his playe;

For, yf I had not quyckely fledde the touche,

He had plucte oute the nobles of my pouche.

He was trussed in a garmente strayte:

I haue not sene suche an others page;

For he coude well vpon a casket wayte;

His hode[330] all pounsed and garded lyke a cage;

Lyghte lyme fynger, he toke none other wage.

Harken, quod he, loo here myne honde in thyne; 510

To vs welcome thou arte, by saynte Quyntyne.

DISCEYTE.

But, by that Lorde that is one, two, and thre,

I haue an errande to rounde in your ere:

He tolde me so, by God, ye maye truste me,

Parte[331] remembre whan ye were there,

There I wynked on you—wote ye not where?

In A loco, I mene juxta B:

Woo is hym that is blynde and maye not see!

But to here the subtylte and the crafte,

As I shall tell you, yf ye wyll harke agayne; 520

And, whan I sawe the horsons wolde you hafte,

To holde myne honde, by God, I had grete payne;

For forthwyth there I had him slayne,

But that I drede[332] mordre wolde come oute:

Who deleth with shrewes hath nede to loke aboute.

DREDE.

And as he rounded[333] thus in myne ere

Of false collusyon confetryd by assente,

Me thoughte, I see lewde felawes here and there

Came for to slee me of mortall entente;

And, as they came, the shypborde faste I hente, 530

And thoughte to lepe; and euen with that woke,

Caughte penne and ynke, and wrote[334] this lytyll boke.

I wolde therwith no man were myscontente;

Besechynge you that shall it see or rede,

In euery poynte to be indyfferente,

Syth all in substaunce of slumbrynge doth procede:

I wyll not saye it is mater in dede,

But yet oftyme suche dremes be founde trewe:

Now constrewe ye what is the resydewe.

Thus endeth the Bowge of Courte.