Than shal he knowe, by perfyte study, The memorial arte of rethoryke defuse, It shal to him so wel exemplefy, If that him lyst, the scyence to use; Though at the fyrste it be to hym obtuse, With exercyse he shal it well augment, Under cloudes derke and termes eloquent. But nowadayes the synne of avaryce Exyleth the mynde and the hole delyght, To coveyt connyng, which is gret prejudice, For insacyatly so blynded is theyr syght Wyth the sylver and the golde so bryght, They nothing thynke on fortune varable, Whyche al theyr ryches shal make transmutable. The olde sawes they ryght clene abject, Whych for our lernyng the poetes dyd wryte; With avaryce they arose so sore infect, They take no hede nothyng they wryte, Whyche morally dyd so nobly endyte, Reprovyng vyce, praysyng the vertue, Whiche idelnes dyd evermore eschewe. Nowe wyl I cease of lusty rethoryke; I may not tary, for my tyme is short; For I must procede, and shew of Arismetrik With divers nombres which I must reporte. Hope inwardly doth me wel comforte, To brynge my boke unto a fynyshment, Of al my matter and my true entent. CAP. XIV. A COMMENDATION OF GOWER, CHAUCER, AND LYDGATE. O thoughtful herte, tombled all aboute Upon the se of stormy ignoraunce, For to sayle forthe thou arte in grete doute, Over the waves of grete encombraunce; Wythout ony comforte, saufe of esperaunce, Whiche the exhorteth hardely to sayle Unto thy purpose wyth diligent travayle. Afrycus, Auster bloweth frowardly, Towarde the lande and habitacyon Of thy wel faverde and moost fayre lady, For whose sake and delectacyon Thou hast take this occupacyon, Principally ryght well to attayne Her swete rewarde for thy besy payne. O pensyfe herte, in the stormy pery Mercury northwest thou mayst se appere, After tempest to glad thyne emespery; Hoyse up thy sayle, for thou must drawe nere Towarde the ende of thy purpose so clere, Remembre the of the trace and daunce Of poetes olde wyth all the purveyaunce. As morall Gower, whose sentencyous dewe Adowne reflayreth with fayre golden bemes, And after Chaucers all abrode doth shewe, Our vyces to clense; his depared stremes Kyndlynge our hertes wyth the fyry lemes Of moral vertue, as is probable In all hys bokes so swete and profytable. The boke of fame, which is sentencyous, He drewe hym selfe on hys own invencyon; And than the tragidyes so pytous Of the xix. ladyes, was his translacyon; And upon hys ymaginacyon He made also the tales of Caunterbury; Some vertuous, and some glad and mery. And of Troylus the pytous dolour For his lady Cresyde, full of doublenes, He did bewayle ful well the langoure, Of all hys love and grete unhappines. And many other bokes doubtles He dyd compyle, whose godly name In printed bokes doth remayne in fame.