That is to all this Land enlumining.

In another place of his said Book, he writes thus;

Alas my worthy Maister honourable,
This Land's very Treasure and Richess!
Death by thy Death hath harm irreparable
Unto us done: her vengeable duress
Dispoiled hath this Land of the sweetness
Of Rhetorige; for unto _Tullius_
Was never man so like among us:
Also who was here in Philosophy
To _Aristotle_, in our Tongue, but thee?
The Steps of _Virgil_ in Poesie,
Thou suedst eken men know well enough,
What combre world that thee my Master slough
Would I slaine were.

_John Lidgate_ likewise in his Prologue of _Bocchas_, of the _Fall of
Princes_, by him translated, saith thus in his Commendation:

My Master _Chaucer_, with his fresh Comedies,
Is dead alas, chief Poet of _Brittaine_,
That whilom made full pitous Tradgedies,
The faule of Princes he did complaine,
As he that was of making Soveraine;
Whom all this Land should of right preferre
Sith of our Language he was the load-sterre.

Also in his Book which he writeth of the Birth of the Virgin _Mary_, he