Classic Poem

The trewe processe of Englysh polycye,
Of utterwarde to kepe thys regne in rest
Ofoure England, that no man may denye,
Nere say of soth but one of the best
Is thys, that who seith southe, northe, est, and west,
Cheryshe marchandyse, kepe thamyralte,
That we bee maysteres of the narowe see.

Ffor Sigesmonde the grete emperoure,
Whyche yet regneth, whan he was in this londe
Wyth kynge Herry the v te prince of honoure,
Here moche glorye as hym thought he founde;
A myghty londe, whyche hadde take on honde
To werre in Ffraunce and make mortalite,
And evere welle kept rounde aboute the see.

And to the kynge thus he seyde, " My brothere, "
Whan he perceyved too townes Calys and Dovere,
" Of alle youre townes to chese of one and othere,
" To kepe the see and sone to come overe
" To werre oughtwardes and youre regne to recovere,
" Kepe these too townes, sire, and youre mageste,
" As youre tweyne eyne to kepe the narowe see. "

For if this see be kepte in tyme of werre,
Who cane here passe withought daungere and woo?
Who may eschape, who may myschef dyfferre?
What marchaundye may for by be agoo?
Ffor nedes hem muste take truse every ffoo,
Fflaundres, and Spayne, and othere, trust to me,
Or ellis hyndered alle for thys narowe see.

Therfore I caste me by a lytele wrytinge
To shewe att eye thys conclusione,
Ffor concyens and for myne acquytynge
Ayenst God and ageyne abusyon,
And cowardyse and to oure enmyes confusione;
Ffor iiij. thynges our noble sheueth to me,
Kyng, shype, and swerde, and pouer of the see.

Where bene oure shippes? where bene oure swerdes become?
Owre enmyes bid for the shippe sette a shepe.
Allas! oure reule halteth, hit is benome;
Who dare weel say that lordeshyppe shulde take kepe?
I wolle asaye, thoughe myne herte gynne to wepe,
To do thys werke, yf we wole ever the,
Ffor verry shame, to kepe aboute the see.

Shalle any prynce, what so be hys name,
Wheche hathe nobles moche lyche oures,
Be lorde of see, and Fflemmyngis to oure blame
Stoppe us, take us, and so make fade the floures
Of Englysshe state, and disteyne oure honnoures?
Ffor cowardyse, allas! hit shulde so be;
Therfore I gynne to wryte now of the see.