A Ballad Sent to King Richard.

SOMETIME this world was so steadfast and stable, That man’s word was held obligation; And now it is so false and deceivable, deceitful That word and work, as in conclusion, Be nothing one; for turned up so down Is all this world, through meed and wilfulness, bribery That all is lost for lack of steadfastness.

What makes this world to be so variable, But lust that folk have in dissension? pleasure For now-a-days a man is held unable fit for nothing But if he can, by some collusion,* unless fraud, trick Do his neighbour wrong or oppression. What causeth this but wilful wretchedness, That all is lost for lack of steadfastness?

Truth is put down, reason is holden fable; Virtue hath now no domination; Pity exil’d, no wight is merciable; Through covetise is blent discretion; blinded The worlde hath made permutation From right to wrong, from truth to fickleness, That all is lost for lack of steadfastness.

L’Envoy.

O Prince! desire to be honourable; Cherish thy folk, and hate extortion; Suffer nothing that may be reprovable a subject of reproach To thine estate, done in thy region; kingdom Show forth the sword of castigation; Dread God, do law, love thorough worthiness, And wed thy folk again to steadfastness!