AS onn a hylle one eve sittynge, <br />At oure Ladie's Chyrche mouche wonderynge, <br />The counynge handieworke so fyne, <br />Han well nighe dazeled mine eyne; <br />Quod I; some counynge fairie hande <br />Yreer'd this chapelle in this lande; <br />Full well I wote so fine a syghte <br />Was ne yreer'd of mortall wighte. <br />Quod Trouthe; thou lackest knowlachynge; <br />Thou forsoth ne wotteth of the thynge. <br />A Rev'rend Fadre, William Canynge hight, <br />Yreered uppe this chapelle brighte; <br />And eke another in the Towne, <br />Where glassie bubblynge Trymme doth roun. <br />Quod I; ne doubte for all he's given <br />His sowle will certes goe to heaven. <br />Yea, quod Trouthe; than goe thou home, <br />And see thou doe as hee hath donne. <br />Quod I; I doubt; that can ne bee; <br />I have ne gotten markes three. <br />Quod Trouthe; as thou hast got, give almes-dedes soe; <br />Canynges and Gaunts culde doe ne moe.<br /><br />Thomas Chatterton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/onn-oure-ladies-chyrche/
