Sir Icarus, jour sonet I haiv sene,

Nocht ignorant vhose bolt that bag come fro.

Je lent jour name to feght against jour frene,

Till one durst neuir avou him self my fo.

I mak a vou — and I heir ony mo

Such campillmuts, je better hold jou still.

Je crak so crouse, I ken, becaus je’r tuo;

Bot I am dour, and dou not want my will.

Grou I campstarie, it may drau to ill;

Thairfore it’s good in tyme that we wer shed.

My Bee’s aloft, and daggit full of skill:

It getts corne drink, sen Grissall toke the bed.

Come on, good gossopis; let vs not discord;

With Johne and George je must convoy my Lord.