Ich haue bene of laat - for resouns to me unknowe - afflyctyd by a ryght stronge malencolie. For weekys oon end ich haue ystaryd atte me wallys foure. Hyt is not a lyght matere, deere frendys, to ben putten out of onys ryght mynde and not ben in a posycyoun to answere the doore (many thankys for the pizza and peintures-moevynge on .d.v.d., Lytel Louis). But hyt is not the ende to myn troubles.
Som wikkede traytoures han yspred the rumoure that ich han ben on sum voyage to partes exotyke and enjoyyd mynselue there in maneres uncouthe. These evyl malcontentys han ymakyd and ypublishyd a false ymage to tarnysshen myn good naam. Seeth for youreseluen, gentyle redere:
Hyt is wykkede and a blowe to myn reputacion (Occleve, remoue thys nyce smyle from youre face). Fama, fama, why beeth thou so fickle?
