Ne worldlie luft, ne blinde profperitie,
Have no lordship ovir my fleshe to frele;
Thou, Lorde of refte and perfite unitie,
Put fro me vice, and kepe my foule in hele,

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And yeve me might, while I have life and space,
Me to confirme fully to thy plefaunce,
Shewe to me the abundaunce of thy grace,
And in gode werkes graunt me perfeveraunce,'
Of all my youth forget the ignoraunce,
Yeve me gode will to ferve the aie to queme,
Set all my life after thyne ordinaunce,
And able me to mercie or thou deme!

My Lordis dere, why I'this complaint write
To you whom that I love most entirely,
Is for to warne you as I can endite
That tymè lofte in youthhed folily
Grevith a wight bodily and ghostly,
I mene hym that to lufte and vice entende,
Wherefore, Lordis, I praie you specially
Your youth in vertue fhapith to dispende.

Plantith the rote of youth in foche a wife
That in vertue your growyng be alwaie,
Loke alwaie godeneffe be your exercise,
That shall you mightie make at eche affaie;
The fende to withstandin at eche affraie
Paffith wifely this perillous pilgrimage;
Thinke on this worde, and werke it every daie,
That shall you yeve a parfite flourid age.

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Takith alfo hede how that these noble clerkes
Writin in ther bokes of grete fapience,
Saiyng that faith is ded withoutin werkes,
And right fo is eftate with negligence
Of vertue, and therefore with diligence
Shapith of vertue so to plante the rote
That ye thereof have full experience,
To worship of your life and foul'isbote.

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Taketh also hede that lordship ne estate Withoutin vertue maie not long endure; Thinketh eke how vice and vertue at debate Have ben and fhal while that the worlde maie dure, And evir the vicious by avinture

Is ovirthrowe; and thinkith evirmore

That God is Lorde of all vertue' and figure,
Of all godeneffe, therfore folowe his lore.

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My maistir Chaucer, God his foulè fave! That in his langage was fo curious, He said, the fathir whiche is ded and grave Biqueth nothing his vertue with his hous To his childrin, and therefore labourous Ought ye to be, befekyng God of grace To yeve you might for to be vertuous, Thro whiche ye mightin have parte of his place. 72 Here maie ye se that vertuous nobleffe Cometh not to you by waie of aunceftrie, But it comith by lefull businesse

Of honeft life, and not by flogardrie,

Wherefore in youth Irede you

edifie

The house of vertue in foche a manere'
That in your age it maie you kepe and gie
Fro the tempeft of world'is wawis here.

Thinkith how betwixe vertue and estate
There is a parfite bleffid mariage,
Vertue is cause of pece, vice of debate,

In manne's foule, the which be full of corage;
Cherifhith then vertue, vice to outrage
Driveth it away, let it have no wonning
In your foules; lefith not the heritage
Whiche God hath yeve to vertuous livyng.
Take hede alfo how men of pore degre
Through vertue have be set in gret honour,
And evir lived in grete profperitie,
Through cherishyng of vertuous labour;
Thinkith also how many' a govirnour
Callid to eftate hath be fet full lowe
Through mifufyng of right and of errour,
Therfore I counsaile you vertue to know.

As that my maiftir Chaucer faieth expreffe,

By your aunceftirs ye maie nothing claime,

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But tempo'ral thing, that men may hurt or maime;

Then is God flocke of vertuous noblesse,

And fithe that he is Lorde of bliffidneffe,

And made us all, and for us all ydeide,
Folowe' hym in vertue with full bufineffe,

And of this thing herke how my maiftir seide: 1C4

"The first stocke, the fathir of gentilneffe,
What men that claimith gentill for to be,
Muft folowe' his trace, and all his wittis dreffe
Vertue to love and vicis for to flie,
For unto vertue longith dignitie,
And not the revers, safely dare I deme,
All were he mitre, croune, or diademe.

The firftè flocke was full of rightwifeneffe,
True of his worde, fobre, pitous, and fre,
Clene of his ghost, and lovid bufineffe,
Ayenft the vice of floth in honefte,

And but his heire love vertue as did he
He is not gentill though he richè feme,
All were he mitre, croune. or diademe.

Vicè maie be an heire to olde Richeffe,

But there maie no man, as all men maie fe,

III

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Biqueth his heire his vertuous nobleffe,

That is appropried unto no degre,

But to the first fathir of majestie,

That maketh his heiris 'hem that can him queme,

All were he mitre, croune, or diademe."

Lo! here this noble poete of Bretaine,

How lightlie he in vertuous fentence
The loffe on youth of vertue can complain!
Therefore I praie you with your diligence,
For your profite and Godd'is reverence,
Tempirith fully vertue in your mynde,
That when ye come to your judg'is presence
Ye be not founde vertuleffe then behinde,

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Many lordes have a manir now adaics, Though one fhewe hym a vertuous mattere, Ther fervent youth is of fo falfe alaies, That of that arte thei have no joye to here, But as a fhip that is without a stere Drivith up and doun without govirnaunce, Wenyng that calme would laftin yere by yere, Right fo fare thei for very ignoraunce.

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For verie fhame! knowin thei not by refon That aftir an eb cometh a flode ful rage? In the same wife when youth paffith his fefon Cometh crokid and unweldie pallid age, And fone after the kalendes of dotage, And if her youth have no vertue provided All men woll faie Fie on ther vaffalage! Thus hath ther floth fro worship 'hem divided. 149 Boecius, as men may rede and se, Saieth in his Boke of Confolacion, What man defirith of vine or of tre Plentèous fruict in the repyng seson Muft er efcue to doe oppreffion Unto the rote while it is yong and grene; Thus maie ye fe well by that inclufion That youth vertulesse doeth mochil tene.

Seeth there ayenft how vertuous nobleneffe, Rotid in youth with gode parfeveraunce, Drivith awaie all vice and wretchidnesse, As flogardrie, and riote, and diftaunce;

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