But preiseth that is to be preised,
But he that hath his word unpeised,
And handleth with ronge any thynge,
I praie unto the heuen kynge,
Froe such tonges he me shilde,
And nethelesse this worlde is wilde,
Of such ianglinge and what befall,
My kinges heste shall not faile,
That I in hope to deserue
His thonke, ne shall his will observe,
And els were I nought excused.

He was before _Chaucer_, as born and flourishing before him, (yea, by
some accounted his Master) yet was he after _Chaucer_, as surviving him
two years, living to be stark blind, and so more properly termed our
_English Homer_. His death happened _Anno_ 1402. and was buried at St.
_Mary Overies_ in _Southwark_, on the North side of the said Church, in
the Chappel of St. _John_, where he founded a Chauntry, and left Means
for a Mass, (such was the Religion of those times) to be daily sung for
him, as also an _Obit_ within the same Church to be kept on Friday
after the Feast of St. _Gregory_. He lieth under a Tomb of stone, with
his Image also of stone over him, the hair of his head auburn long to
his shoulders, but curling up, and a small forked beard; on his head a
Chaplet, like a Coronet of four Roses; an habit of purple, damasked
down to his feet, a Collar of Esses of Gold about his neck, which being
proper to places of Judicature, makes some think he was a Judge in his
old age. Under his feet the likeness of three Books, which he compiled,
the first named _Speculum Meditantis_, written in _French_: the second,
_Vox Clamantis_, penned in _Latine_: the third, _Confessio Amantis_,
written in _English_, which was Printed by _Thomas Berthelette_, and by