Vnto diuers people that remord this rymynge

I am now constrayned,
With wordes nothynge fayned,
This inuectiue to make,
For some peoples sake
That lyst for to iangyll
And waywardly to wrangyll
Agaynst this my makynge,
Their males therat shakynge,
At it reprehending,
And venemously stingynge,
Rebukynge and remordyng,
And nothing according.
Cause haue they none other,
But for that he was brother,
Brother vnnatural
Vnto our kynge royall,
Against whom he dyd fighte
Falsly agaynst all ryght,
Lyke that vntrue rebell
Fals Kayn agaynst Abell.
Who so therat pyketh mood,
The tokens are not good
To be true Englysh blood;
For, yf they vnderstood
His traytourly dispyght,
He was a recrayed knyght,
A subtyll sysmatyke,
Ryght nere an heretyke,
Of grace out of the state,
And died excomunycate.
And for he was a kynge,
The more shamefull rekenynge
Of hym should men report,
In ernest and in sport.
He skantly loueth our kynge,
That grudgeth at this thing:
That cast such ouerthwartes
Percase haue hollow hartes.