Classic Poem

Vnto the rial egles excellence
I, humble clerc, with al hertes humblesse,
This book presente, and of your reuerence
Byseeche I pardoun and foryeuenesse
þat of myn ignorance and lewdenesse
Nat haue I write it in so goodly wyse
As þat me oghte vnto your worthynesse.
My yen hath custumed bysynesse
So daswed þat I may no bet souffyse.

I dreede lest þat my maistir Massy,
þat is of fructuous intelligence,
When he beholdith how vnconnyngly
My book is metrid, how raw my sentence,
How feeble eek been my colours, his prudence
Shal sore encombrid been of my folie.
But yit truste I þat his beneuolence
Conpleyne wole myn insipience
Secreetly, and what is mis rectifie.

Thow book by licence of my lordes grace,
To thee speke I, and this I to thee seye.
I charge thee, go shewe thow thy face
Beforn my seid maistir and to him preye
On my behalue þat he peise and weye
What myn entente is þat I speke in thee,
For rethorik hath hid fro me the keye
Of hir tresor, nat deyneth hir nobleye
Dele with noon so ignorant as me.Cest tout.