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.

How the final destruction of Thebes is compen∣diously rehearsed in the Knights tale.

First how that he when he herd hem speke, For very routh he felt his heart breke, And her sorrowes when he gan aduart, From his courser downe anone he start, Hem comforting in full good entent, And in his armes he hem all vp hent, The Knights tale rehearsen euerydele, From point to point, if ye looke it wele, And how this Duke, without more abode, The same day toward Thebes rode, Full like in sooth a worthy conquerour, And in his coast of cheualry the flour:

And finally to speaken of this thing, With old Creon, that was of Thebes king, How y^• he faught, & slough him like a knight, And all his hoast put vnto the flight, Yet as some authors make mentioun, Or Theseus entred into the toun, The women first with pekois & with malles, With great labour beat downe the walles, And in her writing, also as they saine, Campaneus was in the wals slaine, With cast of stones he was so ouerlade, For whom Adrastus such a sorrow made, That no man may release him of his paine, And Iocasta, with her doughters twaine, Full wilfully oppressed of her cheres, To Athenes were sent as prisoners, What fell of hem, more can I not saine, But Theseus, mine author write certaine, Out of the field, ere he from Thebes went, He beat it downe, and the houses brent, The people slough, for all her crying loud, He made her wals and her toures proud, Round about, euen vpon a row, With the soile to be saied full low, That nought was left but the soile bare, And to the women, in release of her care,