The Pastime of Pleasure : The First Part.

Here begynneth the passe tyme of pleasure.

Ryyght myghty prynce / & redoubted souerayne
Saylynge forthe well / in the shyppe of grace
Ouer the wawes / of this lyfe vncertayne
Ryght towarde heuen / to haue dwellynge place
Grace dothe you guyde / in euery doubtfull cace
Your gouernaunce / dothe euermore eschewe
The synne of slouthe / enemy to vertewe
Grace stereth well / the grace of god is grete
Whiche you hathe brought / to your ryall se
And in your ryght / it hath you surely sette
Aboue vs all / to haue the soueraynte
Whose worthy power / and regall dygnyte
All our rancour / and our debate and ceace
Hath to vs brought / bothe welthe reste and peace
Frome whome dyscendeth / by the ryghtfull lyne
Noble pryuce Henry / to succede the crowne
That in his youthe / dothe so clerely shyne
In euery vertu / castynge the vyce adowne
He shall of fame / attayne the hye renowne
No doubte but grace / shall hym well enclose
Whiche by trewe ryght / sprange of the reed rose
Your noble grace / and excellent hyenes
For to accepte / I beseche ryght humbly
This lytell boke / opprest with rudenes
Without rethorycke / or colour crafty
Nothynge I am / experte in poetry
As the monke of Bury / floure of eloquence
Whiche was in tyme / of grete excellence
Of your predecessour / the .v. kynge henry
Vnto whose grace / he dyde present
Ryght famous bokes / of parfyte memory
Of his faynynge with termes eloquent
Whose fatall fyccyons / are yet permanent
Grounded on reason / with clowdy fygures
He cloked the trouthe / of all his scryptures
The lyght of trouthe / I lacke connynge to cloke
To drawe a curtayne / I dare not to presume
Nor hyde my mater / with a mysty smoke
My rudenes connynge / dothe so sore cōsume
Yet as I maye / I shall blowe out a fume
To hyde my mynde / vnderneth a fable
By conuert colour / well and probable
Besechynge your grace / to pardon myne ignoraunce
Whiche this fayned fable / to eschewe ydlenesse
Hane so compyled / now without doubtaunce
For to present / to your hye worthynesse
To folowe the trace / and all the parfytenesse
Of my mayster Lydgate / with due exercyse
Suche fayned tales / I do fynde and deuyse
For vnder a colour / a truthe maye aryse
As was the guyse / in olde antyquyte
Of the poetes olde / a tale to surmyse
To cloke the trouthe / of theyr infyrmyte
Or yet on Ioye / to haue moralyte
I me excuse / yf by neclygence
That I do offende / for lacke of scyence

How graunde Amoure walked in a medowe & met with fame enuyronned with tongues of fyre. ca. i.

Whan Phebus entred was / in Gemyny
Shynynge aboue / in his fayre golden spere
And horned Dyane / than but one degre
In the Crabbe hadde entred / fayre and clere
Whan that Aurora / dyde well appere
In the depured ayre / and cruddy fyrmament
Forthe than I walked / without impedyment
In to a medowe / bothe gaye and gloryous
Whiche Flora depaynted with many a colour
Lyke a place of pleasure / most solacyous
Encensynge out / the aromatyke odoure
Of zepherus brethe / whiche that euery floure
Throughe his fume / dothe alwaye engendre
So as I went / amonge the floures tendre
By sodayne chaunce / a fayre pathe I founde
On whiche I loked / and ryght ofte I mused
And than all aboute / I behelde the grounde
With the fayre pathe / whiche I sawe so vsed
My chaunce or fortune / I nothynge refused
But in the pathe / forthe I went a pace
To knowe whyther / and vnto what place
It wolde me brynge / by ony symylytude
So forthe I wente / were it ryght or wronge
Tyll that I sawe / of ryall pulcrytude
Before my face / an ymage fayre and stronge
With two fayre handes / stretched out alonge
Vnto two hye wayes / there in pertycyon
And in the ryght hande / was this dyscrypcyon
This is the streyght waye / of contemplacyon
Vnto the Ioyfull toure pedurable
Who that wyll walke / vnto that mancyon
He must forsake / all thynges varyable
With the vayneglory / somoche deceyuable
And thoughe the waye / be harde and daungerous
The laste ende therof / shall be ryght precyous
And in the other hande / ryght fayre wryten was
This is the waye / of worldly dygnyte
Of the actyfe lyfe / who wyll in it passe
Vnto the toure / of fayre dame beaute
Fame shall tell hym / of the waye in certaynte
Vnto labell pucell / the fayre lady excellent
Aboue all other / in clere beaute splendent
I behelde ryght well / bothe the wayes twayne
And mused oft / whiche was best to take
The one was sharpe /