Wherfor he may now come agayne as he wente, _Non sine postica sanna_, as I trowe, From Calys to Dovyr, to Caunterbury in Kente, 340 To make reconyng in the resseyte how Robyn loste hys bowe, To sowe corne in the see sande, ther wyll no crope growe. Thow ye be tauntyd, Parotte, with tonges attayntyd, Yet your problemes ar preignaunte, and with loyalte acquayntyd.
_I, properans, Parrot[e],[102] malas sic corripe linguas._ _Morda puros mall desires. Portigues._ _15 kalendis Decembris, 34._
_Altior, heu, cedro, crudelior, heu, leopardo!_ _Heu, vitulus bubali fit dominus Priami!_
_Tetrastichon,—Unde species Priami est digna imperio._
_Non annis licet et Priamus sed honore voceris:_ _Dum foveas vitulum, rex, regeris, Britonum;_ _Rex, regeris, non ipse regis: rex inclyte, calle;_ 350 _Subde tibi vitulum, ne fatuet nimium._
God amend all, That all amend may! Amen, quod Parott, The royall popagay.
Go, propyr Parotte, my popagay, That lordes and ladies thys pamflett may behold, With notable clerkes: supply to them, I pray, Your rudenes to pardon, and also that they wolde Vouchesafe to defend yow agayne the brawlyng scolde, 360
Callyd Detraxion, encankryd with envye, Whose tong ys attayntyd with slaundrys obliqui.
For trowthe in parabyll ye wantonlye pronounce, Langagys diuers, yet vndyr that dothe reste Maters more precious then the ryche jacounce, Diamounde, or rubye, or balas of the beste, Or eyndye sapher with oryente perlys[103] dreste: Wherfor your remorde[r]s ar madde, or else starke blynde, Yow to remorde erste or they know your mynde.
_I, volitans,[104] Parrote, tuam moderare Minervam:_ 370 _Vix tua percipient, qui tua teque legent._
_Psittacus hi notus[105] seu Persius est puto notus,_ _Nec reor est nec erit licet est erit._
O my Parrot, _O unice dilecte, votorum meorum omnis lapis, lapis pretiosus operimentum tuum!_
_Sicut Aaron populumque, sic bubali vitulus, sic bubali vitulus, sic bubali vitulus._
Thus myche Parott hathe opynlye expreste: Let se who dare make vp the reste.
Helas! I lamente the dull abusyd brayne, The enfatuate fantasies, the wytles wylfulnes Of on and hothyr at me that haue dysdayne: Som sey, they cannot my parables expresse; Som sey, I rayle att ryott recheles; 380 Some say but lityll, and thynke more in there thowghte, How thys prosses I prate of, hyt ys not all for nowghte.