Qui fuit Anglorum Vates ter maximus olim,
Galfridus Chaucer, conditur hoc Tumulo,
Annum si quaeras Domini, si tempora Mortis,
Ecce notae subsunt, quae tibi cuncta notant;
25 Octobris 1400.
AErumnarum requies Mors. 
N. Brigham hos fecit Musarum nomine sumptus.

About the Ledge of the Tomb these Verses were written;

Si rogitas quis eram, forsante Fama docebit,
Quod si Fama negat, Mundi quia Gloria transit,
Haec Monumenta lege.

The foresaid Thomas Occleve, under the Picture of Chaucer, had these Verses: 

  Although his Life be queint, the resemblance
  Of him that hath in me so fresh liveliness,
  That to put other men in remembrance
  Of his Person I have here the likeness
  Do make, to the end in Soothfastness,
  That they that of him have lost thought and mind,
  By this peniture may again him find.

In his foresaid Book, De Regimine Principis, he thus writes of him: 

  But welaway is mine heart wo,
  That the honour of English Tongue is dead;
  Of which I wont was counsaile haue and reed: 
  O Master dere, and Fadre reuerent: 
  My Master Chaucer Floure of Eloquence,
  Mirror of fructuous entendement: 
  O vniuersal fadre of Science: 
  Alas that thou thine excellent Prudence
  In thy Bed mortal mightest not bequeath. 
  What eyl’d Death, alas why would she the fle? 
  O Death, thou didst not harm singler in slaughter of him,
  But all the Land it smerteth;
  But natheless yet hast thou no power his name flee,
  But his vertue afterteth
  Unslain fro thee; which ay us lifely herteth,
  With Books of his ornat enditing,
  That is to all this Land enlumining.

In another place of his said Book, he writes thus;

  Alas my worthy Maister honourable,
  This Land’s very Treasure and Richess! 
  Death by thy Death hath harm irreparable
  Unto us done:  her vengeable duress
  Dispoiled hath this Land of the sweetness
  Of Rhetorige; for unto Tullius
  Was never man so like among us: 
  Also who was here in Philosophy
  To Aristotle, in our Tongue, but thee? 
  The Steps of Virgil in Poesie,
  Thou suedst eken men know well enough,
  What combre world that thee my Master slough
  Would I slaine were.

John Lidgate likewise in his Prologue of Bocchas, of the Fall of Princes, by him translated, saith thus in his Commendation: 

  My Master Chaucer, with his fresh Comedies,
  Is dead alas, chief Poet of Brittaine,
  That whilom made full pitous Tradgedies,
  The faule of Princes he did complaine,
  As he that was of making Soveraine;
  Whom all this Land should of right preferre
  Sith of our Language he was the load-sterre.