In that yle thei han a custom, be alle the contree, that whan the fader is ded of ony man, and the sone list to do gret worchipe to his fader, he sendethe to alle his frendes, and to all his kyn, and for religious men and preestes, and for mynstralle also, gret plentee.

Beleeve mee nowe, I do not blame my frende To fishe in trobled streames for such a pearle, Or digge in black mowled for so ritch a myne; But to redeeme a chast and inocent sowle Forthe from the fierye jawes of lust and hell, Exprest a most comended charitye.

Scoole your ryotous bloode And teache your fancyes Wisdome; be not drawne With suche a frayle unproffytable thynge As face or person when you chusse a frende; Th'are all deceytfull.