A Ioyfull medytacyon to all Englonde of the coronacyon of our moost naturall souerayne lorde kynge Henry the eyght

Vnto this day hath made famous clerkes
For the poetes Wrote nothynge in vanyte
But grounded them on good moralyte
Encensynge out the fayre dulcet fume
Our langage rude to exyle and consume

The ryght eloquent poete and monke of bery
Made many fayre bookes / as it is probable
From ydle derkenes / to lyght our emyspery
Whose vertuous pastyme / was moche cõmendable
Presentynge his bookes / gretely prouffytable
To your worthy predecessour the .v. kynge Henry
whiche regystred is in the courte of memory

Amyddes the medowe of flora the quene
Of the goddes elycon / is the sprynge or well
And by it groweth / a fayre laurell grene
Of whiche the poetes do ofte wryte and tell
Besyde this olyue / I dyde neuer dwell
To tast the water whiche is aromatyke
For to cause me wryte with lusty rethoryke

Wherefore good souerayne / I beseche your hyghnes
To pardon me whiche do rudely endyte
As in this arte hauynge small intres
But for to lerne is all myn appetyte
In folowynge the monke whiche dyde nobly