To the Kinges Most Noble Grace

To you, welle of honour and worthinesse,
Our Cristen king, the heir and successour
Un-to Justinians devout tendrenesse
In the feith of Jesu, our redemptour;
And to you, lordes of the Garter, 'flour
Of chevalrye,' as men you clepe and calle;
The lord of vertu and of grace auctour
Graunte the fruit of your loos never appalle!

O lige lord, that han eek the lyknesse
Of Constantyn, th'ensaumple and the mirour
To princes alle, in love and buxumnesse
To holy chirche, O verray sustenour
And piler of our feith, and werreyour
Ageyn the heresyës bitter galle,
Do forth, do forth, continue your socour!
Hold up Cristes baner; lat it nat falle!

This yle, or this, had been but hethenesse,
Nad been of your feith the force and vigour!
And yit, this day, the feendes fikilnesse
Weneth fully to cacche a tyme and hour
To have on us, your liges, a sharp shour,
And to his servitude us knitte and thralle.
But ay we truste in you, our prótectour;
On your constaunce we awayten alle.

Commandeth that no wight have hardinesse,
O worthy king, our Cristen emperour,
Of the feith to despute more or lesse
Openly among people, wher errour
Springeth al day and engendreth rumour.
Maketh swich lawe, and for aught may befalle,
Observe it wel; ther-to be ye dettour.
Doth so, and god in glorie shal you stalle.