Sir Francis Kynaston

Francis James, "Upon Noble Sir Francis Kinastons Translation of Troilus and Creseide" Kynaston, Amorum Troili et Creseidae (1635) sig. **2-**2v.

Certes, yt is a thinge right harde to done
Thee myckel prayse, O doughtie KYNASTONE,
I peyne me sore to done thee grace, for here
I thee alowth there no wight nys thy peere,
And who that saith it nat he is right nice,
I dare well wage, tho mote mine herte agrise
In bytter stound, all were my life etern,
Bote if I should thee prayse both late and yern.
There was none wight couth wryte more thiftely,
Ne eke more bet, ne eke more clerkly,
There nyst none speken bet of TROILUS,
Ne of dame CRESEID ne of Pandarus.
For that thy boke beareth alder prize,
That I nat how unneth thou couth devise
To maken CHAUCER, so right wise and sage,
Who couth all craft in werkes, take pligrimgage
To ROME, and sothly there learne Latine verse
In little throwe, so seemelyche to reherse.

With sythes of connyng thou hast mowen clean,
To forne thee great Reekes; that I but glean
Fro the great shefes of wytt, with boystrous worde
In lewdness fro thilk wrytings that afforde
Swylke goodlyhede, tho stant I evyll apayd,
When men me iape and moughten me upbrayd.

Withouten maugre, thou hast mowen the flower
Fulfilled of all courtship and all honour,
Farced with pleasaunce and all goodlyhede
That deyntie is to see: thee thus I reade,
Faire mought thee fall, who are the sacred poet
From Brittons Homer nephew to Payne Roet.