Chapter III: Part 3

There was dwelling in Oxford a stark knaue, whose name was Swanborn; and he was such a notable knaue that, if any scoler had fallen out thone wyth thother, the one woulde call thother Swanborn, the whyche they dyd take for a worser woorde then knaue. Hys wife woulde diuers tymes in the weeke kimbe his head with a iii. footed stoole: then hee woulde runne out of the doores wepinge, and if anye man had asked hym what he dyd aile, other whyle he woulde saye hee had the megrym in hys head, or ells, there was a great smoke wythin the house: & if the doores were shut, hys wyfe woulde beate him vnder the bed, or into the bench hole, and then he woulde looke out at the cat hole; then woulde his wife saye, Lookest thou out, whoreson? Yea, woulde he saye, thou shalt neuer let me of my manly lookes. Then with her distaff she would poore in at hym. I knewe him when that he was a boye in Oxforde; hee was a littell olde fellowe, and woulde lye as fast as a horse woulde trotte. At last hee dyed, and was buried vnder the wall of S. Peters church. Then Skelton was desyred to make an epitaphe vppon the churche wall, & dyd wryte wyth a role, saying, Belsabub his soule saue, _Qui iacet hic hec_ a knaue: _Jam scio[138] mortuus est, Et iacet hic hec_ a beast: _Sepultus[139] est_ amonge the weedes: God forgiue him his misdeedes!

¶ Howe Skelton was complayned on to the bishop of Norwich. Tale vi.

Skelton dyd keepe a musket at Dys, vpon the which he was complayned on to the bishop of Norwych. The byshoppe sent for Skelton. Skelton dyd take two capons, to geue theym for a presente to the byshop. And as soone as hee had saluted the byshopp, hee sayde, My lorde, here I haue brought you a couple of capons. The byshop was blynde, and sayde, Who bee you? I am Skelton, sayd Skelton. The byshop sayd, A hoare head! I will none of thy capons: thou keepest vnhappye rule in thy house, for the whyche thou shalt be punished. What, sayde Skelton, is the winde at that doore? and sayd, God be with you, my lorde! and Skelton with his capons went hys way. The byshop sent after Skelton to come agayne. Skelton sayde, What, shal I come[140] agayne to speake wythe a madde man? At last hee retourned to the byshop, whyche sayde to hym, I would, sayd the byshop, that you shoulde not lyue suche a sclaunderouse lyfe, that all your parisshe shoulde not wonder & complaine on you as they dooe; I pray you amende, and hereafter lyue honestlye, that I heare no more suche woordes of you; and if you wyll tarye dynner, you shall be welcome; and I thanke you, sayde the byshoppe, for your capons. Skelton sayde, My lord, my capons haue proper names; the one is named Alpha, the other is named Omega: my lorde, sayd Skelton, this capon is named Alpha, thys is the fyrst capon that I dyd euer geue to you; and this capon is named Omega, and this is the last capon that euer I wil giue you: & so fare you well, sayd Skelton.

¶ Howe Skelton, when hee came from the bishop, made a sermon. Tale vii.

Skelton the nexte Sondaye after wente into the pulpet to prech, and sayde, _Vos estis, vos estis_, that is to saye, You be, you be. And what be you? sayd Skelton: I saye, that you bee a sorte of knaues, yea, and a man might saye worse then knaues; and why, I shall shew you. You haue complayned of mee to the bysop that I doo keepe a fayre wench in my house: I dooe tell you, if you had any fayre wiues, it were some what to helpe me at neede; I am a man as you be: you haue foule wyues, and I haue a faire wenche, of the whyche I haue begotten a fayre boye, as I doe thinke, and as you all shall see. Thou wyfe, sayde Skelton, that hast my childe, be not afraid; bring me hither my childe to me: the whyche was doone. And he, shewynge his childe naked to all the parishe, sayde, How saye you, neibours all? is not this child as fayre as is the beste of all yours? It hathe nose, eyes, handes, and feete, as well as any of your: it is not lyke a pygge, nor a calfe, nor like no foule nor no monstruous beast. If I had, sayde Skelton, broughte forthe thys chylde without armes or legges, or that it wer deformed, being a monstruous thyng, I woulde neuer haue blamed you to haue complayned to the bishop of me; but to complain without a cause, I say, as I said before in my antethem, _vos estis_, you be, and haue be, & wyll and shall be knaues, to complayne of me wythout a cause resonable. For you be presumptuous, & dooe exalte yourselues, and therefore you shall be made low: as I shall shewe you a famyller example of a parish priest, the whiche dyd make a sermon in Rome. And he dyd take that for hys antethem, the which of late dayes is named a theme, and sayde, _Qui se exaltat humiliabitur, et qui se[141] humiliat exaltabitur_, that is to say, he that doth exalte himselfe or dothe extoll hymselfe shalbe made meke, & he that doth humble hymselfe or is meke, shalbe exalted, extoulled, or eleuated, or sublimated, or such lyke: and that I will shewe you by this my cap. This cappe was fyrste my hoode, when that I was studente in Jucalico, & then it was so proude that it woulde not bee contented, but it woulde slippe and fall from my shoulders. I perceyuynge thys that he was proude, what then dyd I? shortly to conclude, I dyd make of hym a payre of breches to my hose, to brynge hym lowe. And when that I dyd see, knowe, or perceyue that he was in that case, and allmoste worne cleane oute, what dyd I then to extoll hym vppe agayne? you all may see that this my cap was made of it that was my breches. Therefore, sayde Skelton, _vos estis_, therfore you bee, as I dyd saye before: if that you exalte yourselfe, and cannot be contented that I haue my wenche still, some of you shall weare hornes; and therfore _vos estis_: and so farewell. It is merye in the hall, when beardes wagge all.

¶ How the fryer asked leaue of Skelton to preach at Dys, which Skelton wold not grant. Tale viii.

There was a fryer yᵉ whych dydde come to Skelton to haue licence to preach at Dys. What woulde you preache there? sayde Skelton: dooe not you thynke that I am sufficiente to preache there in myne owne cure? Syr, sayde the freere, I am the limyter of Norwych, and once a yeare one of our place dothe vse to preache wyth you, to take the deuocion of the people; and if I may haue your good wil, so bee it, or els I will come and preach against your will, by the authoritie of the byshope of Rome, for I haue hys bulles to preache in euerye place, and therfore I wyll be there on Sondaye nexte cummyng. Come not there, freere, I dooe counsell thee, sayd Skelton. The Sundaye nexte followynge Skelton layde watch for the comynge of the frere: and as sone as Skelton had knowledge of the freere, he went into the pulpet to preache. At last the freere dyd come into the churche with the bishoppe of Romes bulles in hys hande. Skelton then sayd to all hys parishe, See, see, see, and poynted to thee fryere. All the parish gased on the frere. Then sayde Skelton, Maisters, here is as wonderfull a thynge as euer was seene: you all dooe knowe that it is a thynge daylye seene, a bulle dothe begette a calfe; but here, contrarye to all nature, a calfe hathe gotten a bulle; for thys fryere, beeynge a calfe, hath gotten a bulle of the byshoppe of Rome. The fryere, beynge ashamed, woulde neuer after that time presume to preach at Dys.

¶ How Skelton handled the fryer that woulde needes lye with him in his inne. Tale ix.

As Skelton ryd into yᵉ countre, there was a frere that hapened in at an alehouse wheras Skelton was lodged, and there the frere dyd desire to haue lodgyng. The alewife sayd, Syr, I haue but one bed whereas master Skelton doth lye. Syr, sayd the frere, I pray you that I maye lye with you. Skelton said, Master freere, I doo vse to haue no man to lye with me. Sir, sayd the frere, I haue lyne with as good men as you, and for my money I doo looke to haue lodgynge as well as you. Well, sayde Skelton, I dooe see than that you wyll lye with me. Yea, syr, sayd the frere. Skelton did fill all the cuppes in the house, and whitled the frere, that at the last, the frere was in myne eames peason. Then sayde Skelton, Mayster freere, get you to bed, and I wyll come to bed within a while. The frere went, and dyd lye vpright, and snorted lyke a sowe. Skelton wente to the chaumber, and dyd see that the freere dyd lye soe; sayd to the wyfe, Geue me a washyng betle. Skelton then caste downe the clothes, and the freere dyd lye starke naked: then Skelton dyd shite vpon the freeres nauil and bellye; and then he did take the washyng betle, and dyd strike an harde stroke vppon the nauill & bellye of the freere, and dyd put out the candell, and went out of the chaumber. The freere felt hys bellye, & smelt a foule sauour, had thought hee had ben gored, and cried out and sayde, Helpe, helpe, helpe, I am kylled! They of the house with Skelton wente into the chaumber, and asked what the freere dyd ayle. The freere sayde, I am kylled, one hathe thrust me in the bellye. Fo, sayde Skelton, thou dronken soule, thou doost lye; thou haste beshytten thyselfe. Fo, sayde Skelton, let vs goe oute of the chaumber, for the knaue doothe stynke. The freere was ashamed, and cryed for water. Out with the whoreson, sayd Skelton, and wrap the sheetes togyther, and putte the freere in the hogge stye, or in the barne. The freere said, geue me some water into the barne: and there the freere dyd wasshe himselfe, and dydde lye there all the nyght longe. The chaumber and the bedde was dressed, and the sheetes shyfted; and then Skelton went to bed.

¶ Howe the cardynall desyred Skelton to make an epitaphe vpon his graue. Tale x.

Thomas Wolsey, cardynall and archbyshop of Yorke, had made a regall tombe to lye in after hee was deade: and he desyred Master Skelton to make for his tombe an epytaphe, whyche is a memoriall to shewe the lyfe with the actes of a noble man. Skelton sayde, If it dooe lyke your grace, I canne not make an epytaphe vnlesse that I do se your tombe. The cardynall sayde, I dooe praye you to meete wyth mee to morowe at the West Monesterye, and there shall you se my tombe a makynge. The pointment kept, and Skelton, seyng the sumptuous coste, more pertaynyng for an emperoure or a maxymyous kynge, then for suche a man as he was (although cardynals wyll compare wyth kyngs), Well, sayd Skelton, if it shall like your grace to creepe into thys tombe whiles you be alyue, I can make an epitaphe; for I am sure that when that you be dead you shall neuer haue it. The whyche was verifyed of truthe.

¶ Howe the hostler dyd byte Skeltons mare vnder the tale, for biting him by the arme. Tale xi.

Skelton vsed muche to ryde on a mare; and on a tyme hee happened into an inne, wher there was a folish ostler. Skelton said, Ostler, hast thou any mares bread? No, syr, sayd the ostler: I haue good horse bread, but I haue no mares bread. Skelton saide, I must haue mares bread. Syr, sayde the ostler, there is no mares bred to get in all the towne. Well, sayd Skelton, for this once, serue my mare wyth horse bread. In the meane time Skelton commaunded the ostler to sadle his mare; & the hosteler dyd gyrde the mare hard, and the hostler was in hys ierkyn, and hys shirte sleues wer aboue his elbowes, and in the girding of the mare hard the mare bitte the hostler by the arme, and bitte him sore. The hostler was angry, and dyd bite the mare vnder the tayle, saying, A whore, is it good byting by the bare arme? Skelton sayde then, Why, fellowe, haste thou hurt my mare? Yea, sayde the hostler, ka me, ka thee: yf she dooe hurte me, I wyll displease her.

¶ Howe the cobler tolde maister Skelton, it is good sleeping in a whole skinne. Tale xii.

In the parysshe of Dys, whereas Skelton was person, there dwelled a cobler, beyng halfe a souter, which was a tall man and a greate slouen, otherwyse named a slouche. The kynges maiestye hauynge warres byyonde the sea, Skelton sayd to thys aforsayd doughtie man, Neybour, you be a tall man, and in the kynges warres you must bere a standard. A standerd! said the cobler, what a thing is that? Skelton saide, It is a great banner, such a one as thou dooest vse to beare in Rogacyon weeke; and a lordes, or a knyghtes, or a gentlemannes armes shall bee vpon it; and the souldiers that be vnder the aforesayde persons fayghtynge vnder thy banner. Fayghtynge! sayde the cobbeler; I can no skil in faighting. No, said Skelton, thou shalte not fayght, but holde vp, and aduaunce the banner. By my fay, sayd the cobler, I can no skill in the matter. Well, sayd Skelton, there is no reamedie but thou shalte forthe to dooe the kynges seruice in hys warres, for in all this countrey theare is not a more likelier manne to dooe suche a[142] feate as thou arte. Syr, sayde the cobbeler, I wyll geue you a fatte capon, that I maye bee at home. No, sayde Skelton, I wyll not haue none of thy capons; for thou shalte doe the kyng seruice in his wars. Why, sayd the cobler, what shuld I doo? wyll you haue me to goe in the kynges warres, and to bee killed for my labour? then I shall be well at ease, for I shall haue my mendes in my nown handes. What, knaue, sayd Skelton, art thou a cowarde, hauyng so great bones? No, sayde the cobler, I am not afearde: it is good to slepe in a whole skinne. Why, said Skelton, thou shalte bee harnessed to keepe away the strokes from thy skynne. By my fay, sayde the cobler, if I must needes forthe, I will see howe yehe shall bee ordered. Skelton dyd harnesse the doughtye squirell, and dyd put an helmet on his head; and when the helmet was on the coblers heade, the cobler sayde, What shall those hoales serue for? Skelton sayd, Holes to looke out to see thy enemyes. Yea, sayde the cobler, then am I in worser case then euer I was; for then one may come and thrust a nayle into one of the holes, and prycke out myne eye. Therfore, said the cobler to Master Skelton, I wyll not goe to warre: my wyfe shall goe in my steade, for she can fyghte and playe the deuell wyth her distaffe, and with stole, staffe, cuppe, or candlesticke; for, by my fay, I cham sicke; I chill go home to bed; I thinke I shall dye.

¶ How Master Skeltons miller deceyued hym manye times by playinge the theefe, and howe he was pardoned by Master Skelton, after the stealinge awaye of a preest oute of his bed at midnight. Tale xiii.

When Maister Skelton dyd dwell in the countrey, hee was agreede with a miller to haue hys corne grounde tolle free; and manye tymes when hys mayden[s] shoulde bake, they wanted of their mele, and complained to their mystres that they could not make their stint of breade. Mystres Skelton, beeynge verye angrye, tolde her husbande of it. Then Master Skelton sent for his miller, and asked hym howe it chansed that hee deceyued hym of his corne. I! saide John miller; nay, surely I neuer deceyued you; if that you can proue that by mee, do with mee as you lyste. Surely, sayd Skelton, if I doe fynde thee false anye more, thou shalt be hanged up by the necke. So Skelton apoynted one of hys seruauntes to stand at the mill whyle the corne was a grindyng. John myller, beyng a notable theefe, would feyn haue deceued him as he had don before, but beyng afrayd of Skeltons seruaunte, caused his wyfe to put one of her chyldren into yᵉ myll dam, and to crye, Help, help, my childe is drowned! With that, John myller and all went out of the myll; & Skeltons seruaunte, being dilygent to helpe the chylde, thought not of the meale, and the while the myllers boye was redy wyth a sacke, and stole awaye the corne; so, when they had taken vp the childe, and all was safe, they came in agayne; & so the seruaunt, hauynge hys gryste, went home mistrustyng nothynge; and when the maydes came to bake againe, as they dyd before, so they lacked of theyr meale agayne. Master Skelton calde for hys man, and asked him howe it chaunced that he was deceaued; & hee sayd that hee coulde not tell, For I dyd your commaundement. And then Master Skelton sent for the myller, and sayde, Thou hast not vsed mee well, for I want of my mele. Why, what wold you haue me do? sayde the miller; you haue set your own man to watche mee. Well, then, sayd Skelton, if thou doest not tell me whych waye thou hast played the theefe wyth mee, thou shalt be hanged. I praye you be good master vnto me, & I wyll tell you the trutthe: your seruaunt wold not from my myll, & when I sawe none other remedye, I caused my wyfe to put one of my chyldren into the water, & to crie that it was drowned; and whiles wee were helpyng of the chylde out, one of my boyes dyd steale your corne. Yea, sayde Skelton, if thou haue suche pretie fetchis, you can dooe more then thys; and therfore, if thou dooeste not one thynge that I shall tell thee, I wyll folow the lawe on thee. What is that? sayd the myller. If that thou dooest not steale my cuppe of the table, when I am sette at meate, thou shalt not eskape my handes. O good master, sayd John miller, I pray you forgeue me, and let me not dooe thys; I am not able to dooe it. Thou shalt neuer be forgeuen, sayde Skelton, withoute thou dooest it. When the miller saw no remedye, he went & charged one of hys boyes, in an euenyng (when that Skelton was at supper) to sette fyre in one of hys hogges sties, farre from any house, for doyng any harme. And it chaunced, that one of Skeltons seruauntes came oute, and spied the fire, and hee cryede, Helpe, helpe! for all that my master hath is lyke to be burnt. Hys master, hearing this, rose from hys supper with all the companie, and went to quenche the fyre; and the while John miller came in, and stole away hys cuppe, & went hys way. The fire being quickly slaked, Skelton cam in with his frendes, and reasoned wyth hys frendes which way they thought the fyre shoulde come; and euerye man made answer as thei thought good. And as they wer resonyng, Skelton called for a cup of beare; and in no wise his cuppe whyche hee vsed to drynke in woulde not be founde. Skelton was verye angrie that his cup was mysynge, and asked whiche waye it shoulde bee gone; and no manne coulde tell hym of it. At last he bethought him of the miller, & sayd, Surely, he, that theefe, hath done this deede, and he is worthye to be hanged. And hee sent for the miller: so the miller tolde hym all howe hee had done. Truely, sayd Skelton, thou art a notable knaue; and withoute thou canste do me one other feate, thou shalte dye. O good master, sayde the miller, you promised to pardon me, and wil you now breake your promise? I, sayd Skelton; wythout thou canste steale the sheetes of my bed, when my wyfe and I am aslepe, thou shalte be hanged, that all suche knaues shall take ensample by thee. Alas, sayd the miller, whych waye shall I dooe this thinge? it is vnpossible for me to get theym while you bee there. Well, sayde Skelton, withoute thou dooe it, thou knowest the daunger. The myller went hys way, beyng very heauy, & studyed whiche waye he myght doo thys deede. He hauynge a little boy, whyche knewe all the corners of Skeltons house & where hee lay, vpon a night when they were all busie, the boie crepte in vnder his bed, wyth a potte of yeste; and when Skelton & hys wyfe were fast aslepe, hee all to noynted the sheetes with yeste, as farre as hee coulde reache. At last Skelton awaked, & felt the sheetes all wete; waked his wife, and sayd, What, hast thou beshitten the bed? and she sayd, Naye, it is you that haue doone it, I thynke, for I am sure it is not I. And so theare fel a great strife betweene Skelton and his wyfe, thinkyng that the bedd had ben beshitten; and called for the mayde to geue them a cleane payre of shetes. And so they arose, & the mayde tooke the foule sheetes and threw them vnderneath the bed, thinkynge the nexte morning to haue fetched them away. The next time the maydes shuld goe to washynge, they looked all about, and coulde not fynde the sheetes; for Jacke the myllers boy had stollen them awaye. Then the myller was sent for agayne, to knowe where the sheetes were become: & the myller tolde Mayster Skelton all how he deuised to steale the sheetes. Howe say ye? sayde Skelton to hys frendes; is not this a notable theef? is he not worthy to be hanged that canne dooe these deedes? O good maister, quoth the miller, nowe forgeue mee accordynge to youre promyse; for I haue done all that you haue commaunded mee, and I trust now you wyll pardon me. Naye, quoth Skelton, thou shalt doo yet one other feate, and that shall bee thys; thou shalte steale maister person out of hys bed at midnight, that he shall not know where he is become. The miller made great mone and lamented, saying, I can not tel in the world howe I shall dooe, for I am neuer able to dooe this feate. Well, sayde Skelton, thou shalt dooe it, or els thou shalt fynde no fauour at my hands; and therfore go thy way. The miller, beynge sorye, deuysed with himselfe which way he might bryng this thing to passe. And ii. or iii. nyghtes after, gathered a number of snailes, & greed with the sexten of the churche to haue the key of the churche dore, and went into the churche betwene the houres of a xi. and xii. in the night, & tooke the snayles, and lyghted a sorte of little waxe candles, & set vppon euerie snayle one, & the snayles crepte about the churche wyth the same candels vpon their backes; and then he went into the vestrey, and put a cope vppon hys backe, & stoode very solemnely at the hye alter with a booke in hys hand; and afterwarde tolled the bell, that the preest lyinge in the churche yard might heare hym. The preest, hearyng the bell tolle, starte oute of his slepe, and looked out of hys windowe, and sawe suche a lyght in the church, was very muche amased, and thought surely that the churche had ben on fire, and wente for to see what wonder it shoulde be. And when he came there, he founde the church dore open, and went vp into the quier; and see the miller standyng in hys vestementes, and a booke in hys hand, praying deuoutly, & all the lyghtes in the church, thought surely with hymselfe it was some angeil come downe from heauen, or some other great miracle, blessed hymselfe and sayde, In the name of the Father, the Sonne, and the Holy Ghoste, what arte thou that standest here in thys hollye place? O, sayde the myller, I am saynt Peter, whych kepe[143] the keyes of heauen gate, and thou knowest that none can enter into heauen excepte I let hym in; and I am sent oute from heauen for thee. For mee! quoth the preest: good saynt Peter, worship maye thou be! I am glad to heare that newes. Because thou hast done good deedes, sayd the myller, and serued God, hee hath sent for thee afore domes day come, that thou shalt not knowe the troubles of yᵉ worlde. O, blessed be God! sayde the preest; I am very well contented for to goe: yet if it woulde please God to let me go home and distrybute such things as I haue to the poore, I woulde bee verye glad. No, sayde the miller; if thou dooest delite more in thy goodes then in the joyes of heauen, thou art not for God; therefore prepare thyselfe, and goe into this bagge which I have brought for thee. The miller hauyng a great quarter sacke, the poore priest wente into it, thynkyng verylye hee had gon to heauen, yet was very sory to parte from hys goodes; asked saynt Peter how long it wold be ere he came there. The miller sayd he should be there quickly; and in he got the priest, and tied vp the sacke, and put out the lightes, & layed euery thynge in their place, and tooke the preest on his backe, & locked the church dores, & to go: and when he came to go ouer the church stile, the preest was verye heauye, and the miller caste hym ouer the stile that the priest cryed oh. O good seint Peter, sayde the preeste, whyther goe I nowe? O, sayde the myller, these bee the panges that ye must abyde before you come to heauen. O, quoth the preest, I would I were there once! Vp he got the priest agayn, & caried hym tyll hee came to the toppe of an hye hyll, a litle from hys house, and caste hym downe the hyll, that hys head had many shrewde rappes, that hys necke was almost burst. O good saynt Peter, said the priest, where am I nowe? You are almost nowe at heauen; & caried hym with much a doo, tyll hee came to hys owne house, and then the miller threwe him ouer the thresholde. O good saynte Peter, sayde the preeste, where am I nowe? thys is the soreste pange that euer I bydde. O, sayd the[144] myller, geue God thankes that thou haste had pacience to abide all thys payne, for nowe thou arte goyng vppe into heauen; and tyed a rope aboute the sacke, and drewe hym vppe to the toppe of the chymnye, and there let him hange. O good S. Peter, tell me nowe where I am, sayde the preest. Marye, sayd he, thou art now in the tope of John millers chimney. A vengeaunce on thee, knaue! sayde the preeste: hast thou made me beleue al this while that I was goyng vp into heauen? well, nowe I am here, & ever I come downe again, I wil make thee to repent it. But John myller was gladd that he had brought hym there. And in the mornyng the sexten rang all in to seruise; & when the people were come to churche, the preest was lackynge. The parish asked the sexten wher the preest was; and the sexten sayd, I can not tell: then the parrishe sent to master Skelton, and tolde howe their prieste was lacking to saye them seruice. Mayster Skelton meruayled at that, and bethought hym of the crafty dooyng of the miller, sent for John myller; and when the miller was come, Skelton sayd to the miller, Canst thou tell wher the parish preest is? The myller vp and told him all togither how he had doone. Maister Skelton, considering the matter, sayde to the miller, Why, thou vnreuerent knaue, hast thou hanled the poore preest on this fashion, and putte on the holy ornaments vpon a knaues backe? thou shalte be hanged, & it coste me all the good I haue. John miller fell vppon his knees, and desyred maister Skelton to pardon hym; For I dyd nothynge, sayd the miller, but that you sayd you woulde forgeue me. Nay, not so, sayd Skelton; but if thou canst steale my gelding out of my stable, my two men watching him, I will pardon thee; and if they take thee, they shall strike of thy heade; for Skelton thoughte it better that such a false knaue shoulde lose hys head then to liue. Then John miller was very sad, & bethought him how to bring it to passe. Then he remembred that ther was a man left hangyng vppon the galowes the day before, went preuely in the nyght and tooke him downe, and cut of his head, and put it vpon a pole, & brake a hole into the stable, and put in a candle lighted, thrustyng in the head a lytle & a lytle. The men watching the stable, seynge that, got them selues neare to the hole (thinkinge that it was his head), & one of them wyth hys sworde cutte it of. Then they for gladnesse presented it vnto theyr master, leauynge the stable doore open: then John miller went in, and stole away the gelding. Master Skelton, lookyng vppon the head, sawe it was the theues head that was left hangyng vpon the galowes, sayd, Alas, how ofte hath this false knaue deceiued vs! Go quickly to the stable agayne, for I thinke my geldyng is gone. Hys men, goyng backe agayn, found it euen so. Then they came agayn, and told their maister hys horse was gone. Ah, I thought so, you doltish knaues! said Skelton; but if I had sent wise men about it, it had not ben so. Then Skelton sent for the miller, and asked hym if hee coulde tell where hys horse was. Safe ynough, maister, sayde the miller: for hee tolde Skelton all the matter how hee had done. Well, sayd Skelton, consyderyng hys tale, sayd, that he was worthie to bee hanged, For thou doost excell all the theeues that euer I knew or heard of; but for my promise sake I forgeue thee, vpon condition thou wilte become an honest man, & leaue all thy crafte & false dealyng. And thus John miller skaped vnpunished.

¶ How Skelton was in prison at the commaundement of the cardinall. [Tale xiv.]

On a tyme Skelton did meete with certain frendes of hys at Charyng crosse, after that hee was in prison at my lord cardynals commaundement: & his frende sayd, I am glad you bee abrode amonge your frendes, for you haue ben long pent in. Skelton sayd, By the masse, I am glad I am out indeede, for I haue ben pent in, like a roche or fissh, at Westminster in prison. The cardinal, hearing of those words, sent for him agayne. Skelton kneling of hys knees before hym, after long communication to Skelton had, Skelton desyred the cardinall to graunte hym[145] a boun. Thou shalt haue none, sayd the cardynall. Thassistence desirid that he might haue it graunted, for they thought it should be some merye pastime that he wyll shewe your grace. Say on, thou hore head, sayd the cardynall to Skelton. I pray your grace to let me lye doune and wallow, for I can kneele no longer.

¶ Howe the vinteners wife put water into Skeltons wine. Tale xv.

Skelton did loue wel a cup of good wyne. And on a daye he dyd make merye in a tauerne in London: and the morow after hee sent to the same place againe for a quart of yᵉ same wine he drunke of before; the whiche was clene chaunged & brued again. Skelton perceiuing this, he went to the tauerne, & dyd sytte down in a chaire, & dyd sygh very sore, and made great lamentacion. The wife of the house, perceiuinge this, said to master Skelton, Howe is it with you, master Skelton? He answered and said, I dyd neuer so euill; and then he dyd reache another greate syghe, sayinge, I am afraide that I shal neuer be saued, nor cum to heauen. Why, said the wife, shuld you dispaire so much in Goddes mercy? Nay, said he, it is past all remedye. Then said the wife, I dooe praye you breake your mind vnto mee. O, sayd Skelton, I would gladlye shewe you the cause of my dolour, if that I wist that you would keepe my counsell. Sir, said shee, I haue ben made of councel of greater matters then you can shew me. Naye, nay, said Skelton, my matter passeth all other matters, for I think I shal sinke to hell for my great offences; for I sent thys daye to you for wyne to saye masse withall; and wee haue a stronge lawe that euery priest is bounde to put into hys chalice, when hee doth singe or saye masse, some wyne and water; the which dothe signifye the water & bloude that dyd runne oute of Chrystes syde, when Longeous the blynde knyght dyd thrust a speare to Christes harte; & thys daye I dyd put no water into my wyne, when that I did put wine into my chalys. Then sayd the vintiners wife, Be mery, maister Skelton, and keepe my counsell, for, by my faythe, I dyd put into the vessell of wyne that I did send you of to day x. gallandes of water; and therfore take no thought, master Skelton, for I warraunt you. Then said Skelton, Dame, I dooe beshrewe thee for thy laboure, for I thought so muche before; for throughe such vses & brewyng of wyne maye men be deceyued, and be hurte by drynkinge of suche euell wyne; for all wines must be strong, and fayre, and well coloured; it must haue a redolent sauoure; it must be colde, and sprinkclynge in the peece or in the glasse.

¶ Thus endeth the merie Tales of Maister Skelton, very pleasaunt for the recreacion of the minde.

[138] _scio_] Old ed. “sci.”

[139] _Sepultus_] Old ed. “Sepuitus.”—This epitaph is made up from portions of Skelton’s verses on John Clarke and Adam Uddersal: see vol. i. 169, 172.

[140] _shal I come_] Old ed. “_shall_ I _I come_.”

[141] _Qui se exaltat humiliabitur, et qui se_] Old ed. “Que _se exaltat_ humilabitui, _et_ que_se_.”

[142] _a_] Old ed. “as.”

[143] _kepe_] Old ed. “kepte.”

[144] _the_] Old ed. “that.”

[145] _hym_] Old ed. “gym.”

NOTICES OF SKELTON FROM VARIOUS SOURCES.

From the imperfect copy of _A C. Mery Talys_, small fol., printed by John Rastell. (See Singer’s reprint, p. 55.)

“Of mayster Skelton that broughte the bysshop of Norwiche ii
fesauntys. xl.

It fortuned ther was a great varyance bitwen the bysshop of Norwych and one mayster Skelton a poyet lauryat; in so much that the bysshop commaundyd hym that he shuld not come in his gatys. Thys mayster Skelton dyd absent hymselfe for a long seson. But at the laste he thought to do hys dewty to hym, and studyed weys how he myght obtayne the bysshopys fauour, and determynyd hemself that he wold come to hym wyth some present, and humble hymself to the byshop; and gat a cople of fesantes, and cam to the bysshuppys place, and requyryd the porter he myghte come in to speke wyth my lord. This porter, knowyng his lordys pleasure, wold not suffer him to come in at the gatys; wherfor thys mayster Skelton went on the baksyde to seke some other way to come in to the place. But the place was motyd that he cowlde se no way to come ouer, except in one place where there lay a long tree ouer the motte in maner of a brydge, that was fallyn down wyth wynd; wherfore thys mayster Skelton went along vpon the tree to come ouer, and whan he was almost ouer, hys fote slyppyd for lak of sure fotyng, and fel into the mote vp to myddyll; but at the last he recoueryd hymself, and, as well as he coud, dryed hymself ageyne, and sodenly cam to the byshop, beyng in hys hall, than lately rysen from dyner: whyche, whan he saw Skelton commyng sodenly, sayd to hym, Why, thow caytyfe, I warnyd the thow shuldys neuer come in at my gatys, and chargyd my porter to kepe the out. Forsoth, my lorde, quod Skelton, though ye gaue suche charge, and though your gatys by neuer so suerly kept, yet yt ys no more possible to kepe me out of your dorys than to kepe out crowes or pyes; for I cam not in at your gatys, but I cam ouer the mote, that I haue ben almost drownyd for my labour. And shewyd hys clothys how euyll he was arayed, whych causyd many that stode therby to laughe apace. Than quod Skelton, Yf it lyke your lordeshyp, I haue brought you a dyshe to your super, a cople of fesantes. Nay, quod the byshop, I defy the and thy fesauntys also, and, wrech as thou art, pyke the out of my howse, for I wyll none of thy gyft how [_something lost here_] Skelton than, consyderynge that the bysshoppe called hym fole so ofte, sayd to one of hys famylyers thereby, that thoughe it were euyll to be christened a fole, yet it was moche worse to be confyrmyd a fole of suche a bysshoppe, for the name of confyrmacyon muste nedes abyde. Therfore he ymagened howe he myghte auoyde that confyrmacyon, and mused a whyle, and at the laste sayde to the bysshope thus, If your lordeshype knewe the names of these fesantes, ye wold [be] contente to take them. Why, caytefe, quod the bisshoppe hastly and angrey, [what] be theyr names? Ywys, my lorde, quod Skelton, this fesante is called Alpha, which is, in primys the fyrst, and this is called O, that is, novissimus the last; and for the more playne vnderstandynge of my mynde, if it plese your lordeshype to take them, I promyse you, this Alpha is the fyrste that euer I gaue you, and this O is the laste that euer I wyll gyue you whyle I lyue. At which answere all that were by made great laughter, and they all de[sired the bishoppe] to be good lorde vnto him for his merye conceytes: at which [earnest entrety, as it] wente, the bysshope was contente to take hym vnto his fauer agayne.

By thys tale ye may se that mery conceytes dothe [a man more] good than to frete hymselfe with a[nger] and melancholy.”

From _Tales, and quicke answeres, very mery, and pleasant to rede_. 4to. n. d., printed by Thomas Berthelet. (See Singer’s reprint, p. 9.)

“Of the beggers answere to M. Skelton the poete. xiii.

A poure begger, that was foule, blacke, and lothlye to beholde, cam vpon a tyme vnto mayster Skelton the poete, and asked him his almes. To whom mayster Skelton sayde, I praye the gette the awaye fro me, for thou lokeste as though thou camest out of helle. The poure man, perceyuing he wolde gyue him no thynge, answerd, For soth, syr, ye say trouth; I came oute of helle. Why dyddest thou nat tary styl there? quod mayster Skelton. Mary, syr, quod the begger, there is no roume for suche poure beggers as I am; all is kepte for suche gentyl men as ye be.”

Prefixed to _Pithy pleasaunt and profitable workes of maister Skelton, Poete Laureate. Nowe collected and newly published. Anno 1568._ 12mo.

“If slouth and tract of time
(That wears eche thing away)
Should rust and canker worthy artes,
Good works would soen decay.
If suche as present are
Forgoeth the people past,
Our selu[e]s should soen in silence slepe,
And loes renom at last.
No soyll nor land so rude
But som odd men can shoe:
Than should the learned pas unknowne,
Whoes pen & skill did floe?
God sheeld our slouth[146] wear sutch,
Or world so simple nowe,
That knowledge scaept without reward,
Who sercheth vertue throwe,
And paints forth vyce aright,
And blames abues of men,
And shoes what lief desarues rebuke,
And who the prayes of pen.
You see howe forrayn realms
Aduance their poets all;
And ours are drowned in the dust,
Or flong against the wall.
In Fraunce did Marrot raigne;
And neighbour thear vnto
Was Petrark, marching full with Dantte,
Who erst did wonders do;
Among the noble Grekes
Was Homere full of skill;
And where that Ouid norisht was
The soyll did florish still
With letters hie of style;
But Virgill wan the fraes,[147]
And past them all for deep engyen,
And made them all to gaes
Upon the bookes he made:
Thus eche of them, you see,
Wan prayse and fame, and honor had,
Eche one in their degree.
I pray you, then, my friendes,
Disdaine not for to vewe
The workes and sugred verses fine
Of our raer poetes newe;
Whoes barborus language rued
Perhaps ye may mislike;
But blame them not that ruedly playes
If they the ball do strike,
Nor skorne not mother tunge,
O babes of Englishe breed!
I haue of other language seen,
And you at full may reed
Fine verses trimly wrought,
And coutcht in comly sort;
But neuer I nor you, I troe,
In sentence plaine and short
Did yet beholde with eye,
In any forraine tonge,
A higher verse, a staetly[er] style,
That may be read or song,
Than is this daye indeede
Our Englishe verse and ryme,
The grace wherof doth touch yᵉ gods,
And reatch the cloudes somtime.
Thorow earth and waters deepe
The pen by skill doth passe,
And featly nyps the worldes abuse,
And shoes vs in a glasse
The vertu and the vice
Of eury wyght alyue:
The hony combe that bee doth make
Is not so sweete in hyue
As are the golden leues
That drops from poets head,
Which doth surmount our common talke
As farre as dros doth lead:
The flowre is sifted cleane,
The bran is cast aside,
And so good corne is knowen from chaffe,
And each fine graine is spide.
Peers Plowman was full plaine,
And Chausers spreet was great;
Earle Surry had a goodly vayne;
Lord Vaus the marke did beat,
And Phaer did hit the pricke
In thinges he did translate,
And Edwards had a special gift;
And diuers men of late
Hath helpt our Englishe toung,
That first was baes and brute:—
Ohe, shall I leaue out Skeltons name,
The blossome of my frute,
The tree wheron indeed
My branchis all might groe?
Nay, Skelton wore the lawrell wreath,
And past in schoels, ye knoe;
A poet for his arte,
Whoes iudgment suer was hie,
And had great practies of the pen,
His works they will not lie;
His terms to taunts did lean,
His talke was as he wraet,
Full quick of witte, right sharp of words,
And skilfull of the staet;
Of reason riep and good,
And to the haetfull mynd,
That did disdain his doings still,
A skornar of his kynd;
Most pleasant euery way,
As poets ought to be,
And seldom out of princis grace,
And great with eche degre.
Thus haue you heard at full
What Skelton was indeed;
A further knowledge shall you haue,
If you his bookes do reed.
I haue of meer good will
Theas verses written heer,
To honour vertue as I ought,
And make his fame apeer,
That whan the garland gay
Of lawrel leaues but laet:
Small is my pain, great is his prayes,
That thus sutch honour gaet.

_Finis quod Churchyarde._”

[146] _slouth_] Old ed. “sloulth.”

[147] _fraes_] i. e. phrase.—In the _Muses Library_, 1737, p. 138, this word is altered to “bayes.”

From _Johannis Parkhvrsti Ludicra siue Epigrammata Juuenilia_. 1573, 4to.

“De Skeltono vate & sacerdote.

Skeltonus grauidam reddebat forte puellam,
Insigni forma quæ peperit puerum.
Illico multorum fama hæc pervenit ad aures,
Esse patrem nato sacrificum puero.
Skeltonum facti non pœnitet aut pudet; ædes
Ad sacras festo sed venit ipse die:
Pulpita conscendit facturus verba popello;
Inque hæc prorupit dicta vir ille bonus;
Quid vos, O scurræ, capit admiratio tanta?
Non sunt eunuchi, credite, sacrifici:
O stolidi, vitulum num me genuisse putatis?
Non genui vitulum, sed lepidum puerum;
Sique meis verbis non creditis, en puer, inquit;
Atque e suggesto protulit, ac abiit.”

p. 103.

From _A Treatise Against Jvdicial Astrologie. Dedicated to the Right Honorable Sir Thomas Egerton Knight, Lord Keeper of the Great Seale, and one of her Maiesties most honorable priuie Councell. Written by John Chamber, one of the Prebendaries of her Maiesties free Chappell of Windsor, and Fellow of Eaton College._ 1601. 4to.

“Not much vnlike to merrie Skelton, who thrust his wife out at the doore, and receiued her in againe at the window. The storie is well known how the bishop had charged him to thrust his wife out of the doore: but that which was but a meriment in Skelton,” &c. p. 99.

“So that the leape yeare, for any thing I see, might well vse the defence of merie Skelton, who being a priest, and hauing a child by his wife, euerie one cryed out, Oh, Skelton hath a child, fie on him, &c. Their mouthes at that time he could not stop: but on a holy day, in a mery mood, he brought the child to church with him, and in the pulpit stript it naked, and held it out, saying, See this child: is it not a pretie child, as other children be, euen as any of yours? hath it not legs, armes, head, feet, limbes, proportioned euery way as it shuld be? If Skelton had begot a monster, as a calfe, or such like, what a life should poore Skelton haue had then? So we say for the leape yeare, if it had changed the nature of things, as it is charged, how should it haue done then to defende itselfe?” p. 113.

From _The Life of Long Meg of Westminster: containing the mad merry prankes she played in her life time, not onely in performing sundry quarrels with diuers ruffians about London: But also how valiantly she behaued her selfe in the warres of Bolloingne._ 1635. 4to. (Of this tract there is said to have been a much earlier edition. I quote from the reprint in _Miscellanea Antiqua Anglicana_, 1816.)

“CHAP. II.

Containing how he [the carrier] placed her in Westminster, and
what shee did at her placing.

After the carrier had set vp his horse, and dispatcht his lading, hee remembred his oath, and therefore bethought him how he might place these three maides: with that hee called to minde that the mistresse at the Eagle in Westminster had spoken diuers times to him for a seruant; he with his carriage passed ouer the fields to her house, where he found her sitting and drinking with a Spanish knight called sir James of Castile, doctor Skelton, and Will Sommers; told her how hee had brought vp to London three Lancashire lasses, and seeing she was oft desirous to haue a maid, now she should take her choyce which of them she would haue. Marry, quoth shee (being a very merry and a pleasant woman), carrier, thou commest in good time; for not onely I want a maid, but heere bee three gentlemen that shall giue me their opinions, which of them I shall haue. With that the maids were bidden come in, and she intreated them to giue their verdict. Streight as soone as they saw Long Meg, they began to smile; and doctor Skelton in his mad merry veine, blessing himselfe, began thus:

_Domine, Domine, vnde hoc?_
What is she in the gray cassock?
Me thinkes she is of a large length,
Of a tall pitch, and a good strength,
With strong armes and stiffe bones;
This is a wench for the nones:
Her lookes are bonny and blithe,
She seemes neither lither nor lithe,
But young of age,
And of a merry visage,
Neither beastly nor bowsie,
Sleepy nor drowsie,
But faire fac’d and of a good size;
Therefore, hostesse, if you be wise,
Once be ruled by me,
Take this wench to thee;
For this is plaine,
Shee’l doe more worke than these twaine:
I tell thee, hostesse, I doe not mocke;
Take her in the gray cassocke.

What is your opinion? quoth the hostesse to sir James of Castile. Question with her, quoth he, what she can do, and then Ile giue you mine opinion: and yet first, hostesse, aske Will Sommers opinion. Will smiled, and swore that his hostesse should not haue her, but king Harry should buy her. Why so, Will? quoth doctor Skelton. Because, quoth Will Sommers, that she shall be kept for breed; for if the king would marry her to long Sanders of the court, they would bring forth none but souldiers. Well, the hostesse demanded what her name was. Margaret, forsooth, quoth she. And what worke can you doe? Faith, little, mistresse, quoth she, but handy labour, as to wash and wring, to make cleane a house, to brew, bake, or any such drudgery: for my needle, to that I haue beene little vsed to. Thou art, quoth the hostesse, a good lusty wench, and therefore I like thee the better: I haue here a great charge, for I keepe a victualling house, and diuers times there come in swaggering fellowes, that, when they haue eat and dranke, will not pay what they call for: yet if thou take the charge of my drinke, I must be answered out of your wages. Content, mistresse, quoth she; for while I serue you, if any stale cutter comes in, and thinkes to pay the shot with swearing, hey, gogs wounds, let me alone! Ile not onely (if his clothes be worth it) make him pay ere hee passe, but lend him as many bats as his crag will carry, and then throw him out of doores. At this they all smiled. Nay, mistresse, quoth the carrier, ’tis true, for my poore pilch here is able with a paire of blew shoulders to sweare as much; and with that he told them how she had vsed him at her comming to London. I cannot thinke, quoth sir James of Castile, that she is so strong. Try her, quoth Skelton, for I haue heard that Spaniards are of wonderfull strength. Sir James in a brauery would needs make experience, and therefore askt the maide if she durst change a box on the eare with him. I, sir, quoth she, that I dare, if my mistresse will giue me leaue. Yes, Meg, quoth she; doe thy best. And with that it was a question who should stand first: Marry, that I will, sir, quoth she; and so stood to abide sir James his blow; who, forcing himselfe with all his might, gaue her such a box that she could scarcely stand, yet shee stirred no more than a post. Then sir James he stood, and the hostesse willed her not spare her strength. No, quoth Skelton; and if she fell him downe, Ile giue her a paire of new hose and shoone. Mistresse, quoth Meg (and with that she strooke vp her sleeue), here is a foule fist, and it hath past much drudgery, but, trust me, I thinke it will giue a good blow: and with that she raught at him so strongly, that downe fell sir James at her feet. By my faith, quoth Will Sommers, she strikes a blow like an oxe, for she hath strooke down an asse. At this they all laught. Sir James was ashamed, and Meg was entertained into seruice.”

“CHAP. IV.

Containing the merry skirmish that was betweene her and sir
James of Castile, a Spanish knight, and what was the end of
their combat.