The works of our ancient, learned, & excellent English poet, Jeffrey Chaucer as they have lately been compar'd with the best manuscripts, and several things added, never before in print : to which is adjoyn'd The story of the siege of Thebes, by John Lidgate ... : together with The life of Chaucer, shewing his countrey, parentage, education, marriage, children, revenues, service, reward, friends, books, death : also a table, wherein the old and obscure words in Chaucer are explained, and such words ... that either are, by nature or derivation, Arabick, Greek, Latine, Italian, French, Dutch, or Saxon, mark'd with particular notes for the better understanding of their original.

Another Ballad.

O Mossie Quince hanging by your stalke, The whiche no man dare plucke away nor take, Of all the folke that passe forth by or walke, Your floures fresh be fallen away and shake: I am right sorry maistresse for your sake, Ye seem a thing that all men haue forgotten, Ye be so ripe, ye wa••e almost rotten.

Your vgly cheare deinous and froward, Your greene eyen frowning, and not glad, Your chekes enbolned like a mellow C••stard, Colour of Orenge, your brestes Satournad, Gilt vpon warrantise, the colour wil not fade, Bawsin buttocked, bellied like a tonn, * Men cry S. Barbary at the losing of your gonn.

My louely leud maistres take consideration, I am so sorrowfull there as ye be absent, The flour of y^e barkfat, y^• foulest of all y^• nation, To loue you but a little is mine entent, The swert hath yswent you, y^• smoke hath you shent, I trow ye haue ben laid vpon some kell to dry, You do me so much worship there as ye be present, Of all women I loue you best a m. times fie.

Explicit.