Classic Poem

An exortacioun of the sure kepynge of Calise.

And for the love of God and of his blisse,
Cherishe ye Caleise better than it is;
See welle therto, and here the grete compleynte
That trewe men tellen, that woolle no lies peynte;
And as ye knowe that writynge commyth from thens,
Do not to England for sloughte so grete offens,
But that redressed it be for ony thynge,
Lest that a songe of sorow that wee synge.
Ffor lytelle wenythe the fole, who so myght chese,
What harme it were gode Caleise for to lese,
What woo it were for alle this Englysshe grounde.
Whiche welle conceyved the emperoure Sigesmounde,
That of all joyes made it one of the moste,
That Caleise was soget unto Englysshe coste.
Hym thought it was a jewel moste of alle.
And so the same in Latyn did it calle.
And if ye wolle more of Caleise here and knowe,
I caste to writte wythine a litelle scrowe,
Like as I have done byforene by and bye
In othir parties of oure pollicie.
Loke welle how harde it was at the firste to gete,
And by my counselle lyghtly let not it leete.
For if wee leese it wyth shame of face
Wylfully, it is for lake of grace.
Howe was the Hareflewe cryed upon, and Rone,
That it were likely for slought to be gone,
How was it warened and cryed on in Englonde,
I make recorde wyth this penne in myne honde.
It was warened pleynely in Normandye,
And in England, and I thereone dydverye.
The worlde was defrauded, it betid ryght soo;
Ffarewell Hareflewe! lewdely it was agoo;
Now ware Caleise, I can sey no bettere,
My soule discharge I by this presente lettere.