In autumpne, whan the sonne _in Virgine_ By radyante hete enryped hath our corne; Whan Luna, full of mutabylyte, As emperes the dyademe hath worne Of our pole artyke, smylynge halfe in scorne At our foly and our vnstedfastnesse; The tyme whan Mars to werre hym dyde dres; I, callynge to mynde the greate auctoryte Of poetes olde, whyche full craftely, Vnder as couerte termes as coude be, 10 Can touche a trouth[233] and cloke it[234] subtylly Wyth fresshe vtteraunce full sentencyously; Dyuerse in style, some spared not vyce to wryte,[235] Some of moralyte[236] nobly dyde endyte; Wherby I rede theyr renome and theyr fame Maye neuer dye, bute euermore endure: I was sore moued to aforce the same, But Ignoraunce full soone dyde me dyscure,[237] And shewed that in this arte I[238] was not sure; For to illumyne, she sayde, I was to dulle, 20 Auysynge[239] me my penne awaye to pulle, And not to wryte;[240] for he so wyll atteyne Excedynge ferther than his connynge is, His hede maye be harde, but feble is his[241] brayne, Yet haue I knowen suche er this; But of reproche surely he maye not mys, That clymmeth hyer than he may fotynge haue; What and he slyde downe, who shall hym saue? Thus vp and down my mynde was drawen and cast, That I ne wyste what to do was[242] beste; 30 So sore enwered, that I was at the laste Enforsed to slepe and for to take some reste: And to lye downe as soone as I me[243] dreste, At Harwyche Porte slumbrynge as I laye, In myne hostes house, called Powers Keye, Methoughte I sawe a shyppe, goodly of sayle, Come saylynge forth into that hauen brood, Her takelynge ryche and of hye apparayle: She kyste[244] an anker, and there she laye at rode. Marchauntes her borded to see what she had lode:[245] 40 Therein they founde royall marchaundyse, Fraghted with plesure of what ye coude deuyse. But than I thoughte I wolde not dwell behynde; Amonge all other I put myselfe in prece. Than there coude I none aquentaunce fynde: There was moche noyse; anone one cryed, Cese! Sharpely commaundynge eche man holde hys pece: Maysters, he sayde, the shyp that ye here see, The Bowge of Courte it hyghte for certeynte:[246] The owner[247] therof is lady of estate, 50 Whoos name to tell is dame Saunce-pere; Her[248] marchaundyse is ryche and fortunate, But who wyll haue it muste paye therfore dere; This royall chaffre that is shypped here Is called Fauore, to stonde in her good grace. Than sholde ye see there pressynge in a pace