Her goodly chambre was set all about With depured myrrours of speculacion; The fragraunt fumes dyd well encense out All misty vapours of perturbacion. More lyker was her habitacyon Unto a place which is celestiall, Than to a certayne mancion fatall. Before whom, than, I dyd knele adowne, Sayeng: O sterre of famous eloquence, O gylted goddesse of hyghe renowne, Enspyred wyth the hevenly influence Of the doulcet well of complacence, Upon my mynd, wyth dewe aromatyke, Distyll adowne thy lusty rethoryke. And depaynt my tong wyth thy ryall floures Of delicate odoures, that I may ensue In my purpose to glad myne audytours, And wyth thy power that thou me endue To moralise thy lytterall censes trewe, And clense away the myst of ygnoraunce With depured beames of goodly ordinaunce. With humble eres of perfyt audience, To my request she dyd than enclyne; Sayeng she wolde in her goodly scyence In short space me so well indoctryne, That my dull mynde it shoulde enlumyne With golden beames, for ever to oppresse My rude language and all my semplenesse. I thanked her of her great gentylnes, And axed her, after, this question: Madame, I sayde, I wolde knowe doubtles What rethoryke is, without abusion. Rethoryke, she sayde, was founde by reason, Man for to governe wel and prudently; His wordes to ordre, his speche to purify. Fyve partes hath Rethoryke, for to werke trewe, Without whiche fyve there can be no sentence. For these fyve do well evermore renue The matter parfyte with good intellygence. Who that will se them with all his dyligence, Here foloweng I shall them specify, Accordyng well all unto myne ordynary. CAP. VIII. OF THE FIRST, CALLED INVENCYON, AND A COMMENDACION OF POETS. The fyrste of them is called Invencion, Whiche surdeth of the most noble werke Of v. inward wittes with hole affeccion, As writeth right many a noble-clerke, Wyth mysty colour of cloudes derke, How comyn wytte doothe full well electe What it shoulde take, and what it shall abjecte. And secondly, by ymaginacyon To drawe a matter full facundious, Full mervaylus is the operacion, To make of nought, reason sentencious, Clokynge a trouthe wyth colour tenebrous; For often under a fayre fayned fable A trouthe appereth gretely profitable. It was the guyse in old antiquyte, Of famous poets ryght ymaginatife, Fables to fayne by good auctorite; They were so wyse and so inventife, Theyr obscure reason, fayre and sugratife, Pronounced trouthe under cloudy figures, By the inventyon of theyr fatall scriptures. And thyrdly, they hadde suche a fantasy, In this hyghe arte to be intelligible, Theyr fame encresynge evermore truely, To slouth ever they were invincible: To theyr wofull hertes was nought impossible; Wyth brennynge love of insaciate fyre Newe thynges to fynde they set theyr desyre.