Faythe, very littill, Sir, in sober sadnes, For there disorder hurryes perfect thyngs To mere confussyon; nothing there hath forme But that which spoyles all forme, & to be shorte Vice only thrives & merrytt starves in courte.

Thys I founde (Mongst other thyngs) in haplesse

But I (that had my syght dull and blynd wyth wepyng, so that I knew not what woman this was hauyng soo great aucthoritie) was amasyd or astonyed, and lokyng downeward, towarde the ground, I began pryvyle to look what thyng

a parasytte; Thou & thy fortunes wayte uppon my father And like an evyll aungell make hym doe Those fearful thyngs I tremble to delyver.

right so it schalle ben to othere aftre the: and from hens schal thou bere no thyng; but as thou were born naked, righte so alle naked schalle thi body ben turned in to erthe, that thou were made of.

For that no matter, I darre fortunes worst In ryghte of vertue; & if you'le be pleased Thys screane may be removed that keepes away All comfortable heate from everye man Which he stands neare, Ile tell you thyngs that shall Confyrme you I am yours.

Sir, tys a thyng I labour to mystake But cannot, for my starrs will have it thus.