"Yes since his dayes a cocke was in the fen, I knowe his voyce among a thousande men: He taught, he preached, he mended euery wrong; But, Coridon alas no good thing bideth long. He all was a cocke, he wakened vs from slepe, And while we slumbred, he did our foldes hepe. No cur, no foxes, nor butchers dogges wood, Coulde hurte our fouldes, his watching was so good. The hungry wolues, which that time did abounde, What time he crowed, abashed at the sounde. This cocke was no more abashed of the foxe, Than is a lion abashed of an oxe. When he went, faded the floure of all the fen; I boldly dare sweare this cocke neuer trode hen! This was a father of thinges pastorall, And that well sheweth his Church cathedrall, There was I lately about the middest of May, Coridon his Church is twenty sith more gay Then all the Churches betwene the same and Kent, There sawe I his tome and Chapell excellent. I thought fiue houres but euen a little while, Saint John the virgin me thought did on me smile, Our parishe Church is but a dongeon, To that gay Churche in comparison. If the people were as pleasaunt as the place Then were it paradice of pleasour and solace, Then might I truely right well finde in my heart. There still to abide and neuer to departe, But since that this cocke by death hath left his song, Trust me Coridon there many a thing is wrong, When I sawe his figure lye in the Chapell-side, Like death for weping I might no longer bide. Lo all good thinges so sone away doth glide, That no man liketh to long doth rest and abide. When the good is gone (my mate this is the case) Seldome the better reentreth in the place." The excellence of his subject carries the poet quite beyond himself in describing the general lamentation at the death of this worthy prelate; with an unusual power of imagination he thus pictures the sympathy of the towers, arches, vaults and images of Ely monastery: