He ruleth all the roste. - John Skelton

When I remember again How my Philip was slain, Never half the pain Was between you twain, Pyramus and Thisbe, As then befell to me. I wept and I wailed, The tearės down hailed, But nothing it availed To call Philip again Whom Gib, our cat, hath slain.

She is the violet,
The daisy delectable,
The columbine commendable,
The jelofer amiable;
For this most goodly flower,
This blossom of fresh colour,
So Jupiter me succour,
She flourisheth new and new
In beauty and virtue.

O ye wretched Scottes,
Ye puaunt pyspottes,
It shalbe your lottes
To be knytte up with knottes
Of halters and ropes
About your traytours throtes.