'In our engglish, I thenke make A bok for King Richardes sake, To whom belongeth my ligeance With al myn hertes obeissance In al that evere a liege man Unto his King may doon or can, So perforth I me recomande To him which al me may comande, Preyende unto the hihe regne Which causeth every king to regne That his corone longe stoude. I thenke and have it understoude, As it bifel upon a tyde, As thing which scholde tho betyde,-- Under the toun of newe Troye, Which tok of Brut his ferst joye, In Temse whan it was flowende As I be bote cam rowende, So as fortune hir tyme sette, My liege lord par chaunce I mette; And so befel, as I cam nyh, Out of my bot, whan he me syh, He bad me come in to his barge. And whan I was with him at large, Amonges othre thinges seid He hath this charge upon me leid, And bad me doo my besynesse That to his hihe worthinesse Som newe thing I scholde boke, That he himself it mihte loke After the forme of my writynge. And thus upon his comandynge Myn herte is wel the more glad To write so as he me bad; And eek my fere as wel the lasse That non envye schal compasse Without a resonable wite To pyne and blame that I write.' As time went on Gower lost faith in Richard. The personal reference to the King was suppressed, and instead of 'A bok for King Richardes sake,' he wrote 'A bok for Engelondes sake.' The original picture is of all the more interest, because Gower's verse is not usually allusive to the characteristics of London life. John Lydgate was a countryman and monk of Bury, born at Lydgate, near Newmarket, about 1370, as he himself tells us in the _Tale of Princes_. He was not in sympathy with the doings of the city, but his _London Lickpenny_ is an invaluable record of London life in his day; in which are related the adventures of a poor Kentishman who comes to London in search of justice, but cannot find it for lack of money. First he went to Westminster Hall, and visited successively the different courts of law--the King's Bench and the Common Pleas, and then to the Rolls, 'before the clerks of the Chancerie.' 'Within this Hall, neither rich nor yet poor Would do for me aught, although I should die. Which seeing, I got me out of the door, Where Flemings began on me for to cry, "Master, what will you copen or buy? Fine felt hats, or spectacles to read? Lay down your silver and here you may speed."' At Westminster Gate:-- 'Cooke's to me they took good intent, And proffered me bread with ale and wine, Ribs of beef, both fat and full fine, A faire cloth they gan for to sprede, But wanting money I might not then speed.'