Prologue to the same Book, in these words,

As it befell upon a tide,
As thing, which should tho betide,
Under the town of New Troie,
Which toke of Brute his first ioye,
In Themese, when it was flowende,
As I by Bote came rowende;
So as fortune hir tyme sette,
My leige Lord perchance I mette,
And so befelle as I cam nigh,
Out of my Bote, when he me sigh,
He bad me come into his Barge,
And when I was with him at large,
Amonges other things seyde,
He hath this charge upon me leyde,
And bad me doe my businesse,
That to his high worthinesse,
Some newe thynge I should boke,
That he hymselfe it might loke,
After the forme of my writynge,
And this upon his commandynge
Myne herte is well the more glad
To write so as he me bad.
And eke my fear is well the lasse,
That none enuie shall compasse,
Without a reasonable wite
To seige and blame that I write,
A gentill hert his tongue stilleth,
That it malice none distilleth,