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Ne drank I never at Pegases well; The pale Pirus saw I never also Ne wist I never where the Muses dwelle, Ne of golden Tagus can I no thinge telle; And to wete my lippes I coud not attain, In Cithero or Elicon, sustres twain. The craft of speche that some time founde was Of the famous philosophers most perfite -- Aristotle, Gorgias, Hermagorus -- Not have I. So I have lered but a lite; As for my party, though I repent I may go quit Of Tullius, Fraunces, and Quintilian. Fain wolde I lere, but I not conceive can. The noble poet Virgil the Mantuan, Homer the Greek and Torquat soverein Naso aso, that sith this world firste began The marvelest transforminge all best can devine Terence the mery and plesant theatrine Porcius, Lucan, Martian, and Horace, Stace, Juvenall, and the laureate Bocase. All these hath seyne your innate sapience, Ye have gadred flowres in this motly mede To you is given the verray price of excellence Though they be go, yet the wordes be not dede; Th' enlumined boke wherein a man shall rede. This and mo be in this londe legible; Ye be the same, ye be the golden bible. O, yet I trust to be holde and see This blisfull book with the golden claspes seven Ther I will begin and lerne mine a.b.c. That were my paradise, that were my heaven; Greter felicitee can no man neven, So God my soule save -- a, benedicite! -- Maister Lydgate, what man be ye! Now God, my maister, preserve you long on live That yet I may be your prentice or I die Then sholde mine herte at the port of bliss arrive. Ye be the flowre and tresure of poesye, The garland of ivy, and laure of victorye By my thought; and I might ben a emperour For your konninge I shulde your heres honour L'Envoy Writen at th' abbey of Bylegh Chebri Place With frosty fingers, and nothinge pliaunt When from the high hill -- I mene the Mount Canace -- Was sent into Briton the stormy persaunt, That made me loke as lede and chaunge semblant. And eke the sturdy wind of Hyperborye Made me of chere unlusty, sad, and sorry. The last moneth that men clepe Decembre, When Phebus' chare was driven aboute the heven If we reken right and well remembre, Four times ones and aferward seven -- That is to say, passed ther were days eleven Of the moneth when this unadvised letter Writ was, but with your helpe here-after better. Explicit Per magistrum burgh ad Ioannem lidgate. [By Master Burgh to John Lydgate.]
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two sisters learned but little Frances Petrarch learn Torquat = Boethius Naso = Ovid theatrical writer Boccaccio seen variegated meadow prize name ere, before laurel and = if heres = hair CHECK lead North Wind chariot
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