Sir if my robe and garbe were richly worth
The dainger of a statute comming forth
Were I or man of law or law maker
Or man of Courte to be an undertaker
For judgement, I would then comme in and say
The manye honours of your staple play.
But being nothing so, I dare not haile
The mightie floates of ignorance who saile
With winde and tide, their Sires as stories tell
In our eigth Harries time crownd Skeltons Nell  
And yͤ foule Boss of Whittington   with greene
Bayes which on living frontes are rarelye seene,
Soone sprung soone fading but deserving verse
Must take more lasting glorie from yͤ herse
When vulgars loose their sight and sacred peeres
Of poetrie conspire to make your yeeres
Of memorie eternall, then you shalbe read
By all our race of Thespians, board and bed
And banck and Court, vallie and mountaine will
Rejoice to knowe somme pieces of your skill,
Your rich Mosaique workes inled by arte
And curious industrie with every parte
And choice of all yͤ Aucients. So I write
Though for your sake I dare not say and fight.

(fol. 9)