Classic Poem

Now is the Fox drevin to hole; hoo to hym, hoo! hoo!
Ffor and he crepe out, he wille yow alle undo.
Now ye han founde parfite, love welle your game;
For and ye renne countre thenne be ye to blame.
Sum of yow holdith with the Fox, and rennythe hare;
But he that tiede Talbot oure doge, evylle mot he fare!
Ffor now we mys the black doge withe the wide mouthe;
Ffor he wolde have ronnen welle at the Fox of the southe.
And alle gooth bacwarde, and Donne is in the myre;
As they han deservede, so pay they ther hire.
Now is tyme of Lent, the Fox is in the Towre;
Therfore sende hym Salesbury to be his confessoure.
Many mo ther bene, and we kowde hem knowe;
But wonne most begynne the daunce, and alle come arowe.
Loke that your hunte blowe welle thy chase;
But he do welle is part, I beshrew is face!
This Fox at Bury slowe oure grete gandere;
Therfore at Tyborne mony monne one hym wondere
Jack Napys, with his clogge,
Hath tiede Talbot oure gentille dogge.
Wherfore Beamownt, that gentille rache,
Hath brought Jack Napis in an eville cache.
Be ware, al menne, of that blame,
And namly ye of grete fame,
Spiritualle and temperalle, be ware of this,
Or els hit wille not be welle, iwis.
Gave save the kynge, and God forbede
That he suche apes any mo fede.
And of the perille that may befalle
Be ware, dukes, erles, and barons alle.
Gens erit australis rector regni generalis,
Et regit injuste, periet quoque postea juste.
He is wise that is wode, he is riche that hase no goode;
He is blynde that may se, he is riche that shalle never ithe;
He is fledde that is not ferde, and he abideth that makethe alle your berdes.