Chapter VI: Part 6

But this one thynge ye maye be sure of me;
For, by that Lorde that bought dere all mankynde,
I can not flater, I muste be playne to thé;
And ye nede ought, man, shewe to me your mynde,
For ye haue me whome faythfull ye shall fynde;
Whyles I haue ought, by God, thou shalt not lacke,
And yf nede be, a bolde worde I dare cracke.

Nay, naye, be sure, whyles I am on your syde,
Ye maye not fall, truste me, ye maye not fayle; 170
Ye stonde[271] in fauoure, and Fortune is your gyde,
And, as she wyll, so shall our grete shyppe sayle:
Thyse lewde cok wattes[272] shall neuermore preuayle
Ageynste you hardely, therfore be not afrayde:
Farewell tyll soone; but no worde that I sayde.

DREDE.

Than thanked I hym for his grete gentylnes:
But, as me thoughte, he ware on hym a cloke,
That lyned was with doubtfull doublenes;
Me thoughte, of wordes that he had full a poke;
His stomak stuffed ofte tymes dyde reboke: 180
Suspycyon, me thoughte, mette hym at a brayde,
And I drewe nere to herke what they two sayde.

In faythe, quod Suspecte, spake Drede no worde of me?
Why, what than? wylte thou lete men to speke?
He sayth, he can not well accorde with thé.
Twyst,[273] quod Suspecte, goo playe, hym I ne reke.
By Cryste, quod Fauell, Drede is soleyne freke:
What lete vs holde him vp, man, for a whyle?
Ye soo, quod Suspecte, he maye vs bothe begyle.

And whan he came walkynge soberly, 190
Wyth whom and ha, and with a croked loke,
Me thoughte, his hede was full of gelousy,
His eyen rollynge, his hondes faste they quoke;
And to me warde the strayte waye he toke:
God spede, broder![274] to me quod he than;
And thus to talke with me he began.

SUSPYCYON.

Ye remembre the gentylman ryghte nowe
That commaunde[275] with you, me thought, a party space?[276]
Beware of him, for, I make God auowe,
He wyll begyle you and speke fayre to your face: 200
Ye neuer dwelte in suche an other place,
For here is none that dare well other truste;
But I wolde telle you a thynge, and I durste.

Spake he a fayth no worde to you of me?
I wote, and he dyde, ye wolde me telle.
I haue a fauoure to you, wherof it be
That I muste shewe you moche[277] of my counselle:
But I wonder what the deuyll of helle
He sayde of me, whan he with you dyde talke:
By myne auyse[278] vse not with him to walke. 210

The soueraynst thynge that ony[279] man maye haue,
Is lytyll to saye, and moche[280] to here and see;
For, but I trusted you, so God me saue,
I wolde noo thynge so playne be;
To you oonly, me thynke, I durste shryue me
For now am I plenarely dysposed
To shewe you thynges that may not be disclosed.

DREDE.

Than I assured hym my fydelyte,
His counseyle secrete neuer to dyscure,[281]
Yf he coude fynde in herte to truste me; 220
Els I prayed hym, with all my besy cure,
To kepe it hymselfe, for than he myghte be sure
That noo man[282] erthly coude hym bewreye,
Whyles of his mynde it were lockte with the keye.

By God, quod he, this and thus it is;
And of his mynde he shewed me all and some.
Farewell, quod he, we wyll talke more of this:
Soo he departed there he wolde be come.
I dare not speke, I promysed to be dome:
But, as I stode musynge in my mynde, 230
Haruy Hafter[283] came lepynge, lyghte as lynde.

Vpon his breste he bare a versynge boxe;
His throte was clere, and lustely coude fayne;
Me[284] thoughte, his gowne was all furred wyth foxe;
And euer he sange, Sythe I am no thynge playne.
To kepe him frome pykynge it was a grete payne:
He gased on me with his gotyshe berde;
Whan I loked on hym, my[285] purse was half aferde.

HARUY HAFTER.[286]

Syr, God you saue! why loke ye so sadde?
What thynge is that I maye do for you? 240
A wonder thynge that ye waxe not madde!
For, and I studye sholde as ye doo nowe,
My wytte wolde waste, I make God auowe.
Tell me your mynde: me thynke, ye make a verse;
I coude it skan,[287] and ye wolde it[288] reherse.

But to the poynte shortely to procede,
Where hathe your dwellynge ben, er ye cam here?
For, as I trowe, I haue sene you indede
Er this, whan that ye made me royall chere.
Holde vp the helme, loke vp, and lete God stere: 250
I wolde be mery, what wynde that euer blowe,
Heue and how rombelow, row the bote, Norman, rowe!

Prynces of yougthe[289] can ye synge by rote?
Or shall I sayle wyth you a felashyp assaye;
For on the booke I[290] can not synge a note.
Wolde to God, it wolde please you some daye
A balade boke before me for to laye,
And lerne me to synge, Re, my, fa, sol!
And, whan I fayle, bobbe me on the noll.

Loo, what is to you a pleasure grete, 260
To haue that connynge and wayes that ye haue!
By Goddis soule, I wonder how ye gete
Soo greate pleasyre,[291] or who to you it gaue:
Syr, pardone me, I am an homely knaue,
To be with you thus perte and thus bolde;
But ye be welcome to our housholde.

And, I dare saye, there is no man here inne
But wolde be glad of your company:
I wyste neuer man that so soone coude wynne
The fauoure that ye haue with my lady; 270
I praye to God that it maye neuer dy:
It is your fortune for to haue that grace;
As I be saued, it is a wonder case.

For, as for me, I serued here many a daye,
And yet vnneth I can haue my lyuynge:
But I requyre you no worde that I saye;
For, and I knowe ony erthly thynge
That is agayne you, ye shall haue wetynge:
And ye be welcome, syr, so God me saue:
I hope here after a frende of you to haue. 280

DREDE.

Wyth that, as he departed soo fro me,
Anone ther mette with him, as me thoughte,
A man, but wonderly besene was he;
He loked hawte,[292] he sette eche man at noughte;
His gawdy garment with scornnys[293] was all wrought;
With indygnacyon lyned was his hode;
He frowned, as he wolde swere by Cockes blode;

He bote the[294] lyppe, he loked passynge coye;
His face was belymmed, as byes had him stounge:
It was no tyme with him to jape nor toye; 290
Enuye hathe wasted his lyuer and his lounge,
Hatred by the herte so had hym wrounge,
That he loked pale as asshes to my syghte:
Dysdayne, I wene, this comerous crabes hyghte.[295]

To Heruy Hafter[296] than he spake of me,
And I drewe nere to harke what they two sayde.
Now, quod Dysdayne, as I shall saued be,
I haue grete scorne, and am ryghte euyll apayed.
Than quod Heruy, why arte thou so dysmayde?
By Cryste, quod he, for it is shame to saye; 300
To see Johan Dawes, that came but yester daye,

How he is now taken in conceyte,
This doctour Dawcocke, Drede, I wene, he hyghte:
By Goddis bones, but yf we haue som sleyte,
It is lyke he wyll stonde in our[297] lyghte.
By God, quod Heruy, and it so happen myghte;
Lete vs therfore shortely at a worde
Fynde some mene to caste him ouer the borde.

By Him that me boughte, than quod Dysdayne,
I wonder sore he is in suche conceyte. 310
Turde, quod Hafter,[298] I wyll thé no thynge layne,[299]
There muste for hym be layde some prety beyte;
We tweyne, I trowe, be not withoute dysceyte:
Fyrste pycke a quarell, and fall oute with hym then,
And soo outface hym with a carde of ten.

Forthwith he made on me a prowde assawte,
With scornfull[300] loke meuyd all in moode;
He wente aboute to take me in a fawte;
He frounde, he stared, he stampped where he stoode.
I lokyd on hym, I wende he had be woode. 320
He set the arme proudly vnder the syde,
And in this wyse he gan with me to chyde.

DISDAYNE.

Remembrest thou what thou sayd yester nyght?
Wylt thou abyde by the wordes agayne?
By God, I haue of thé now grete dyspyte;
I shall thé angre ones in euery vayne:
It is greate scorne to see suche an hayne
As thou arte, one that cam but yesterdaye,
With vs olde seruauntes suche maysters to playe.

I tell thé, I am of countenaunce: 330
What weneste I were? I trowe, thou knowe not me.
By Goddis woundes, but for dysplesaunce,
Of my querell soone wolde I venged be:
But no force, I shall ones mete with thé;
Come whan it wyll, oppose thé I shall,
What someuer auenture therof fall.

Trowest thou, dreuyll, I saye, thou gawdy knaue,
That I haue deynte to see thé cherysshed thus?
By Goddis syde, my sworde thy berde shall shaue;
Well, ones thou shalte be chermed, I wus: 340
Naye, strawe for tales, thou shalte not rule vs;
We be thy betters, and so thou shalte vs take,
Or we shall thé oute of thy clothes shake.

DREDE.

Wyth that came Ryotte, russhynge all at ones,
A rusty gallande, to-ragged and to-rente;
And on the borde he whyrled a payre of bones,
_Quater treye dews_ he clatered as he wente;
Now haue at all, by saynte Thomas of Kente!
And euer he threwe and kyst[301] I wote nere what:
His here was growen thorowe oute his hat. 350

Thenne I behelde how he dysgysed was:
His hede was heuy for watchynge ouer nyghte,
His eyen blereed, his face shone lyke a glas;
His gowne so shorte that it ne couer myghte
His rumpe, he wente so all for somer lyghte;
His hose was garded wyth a lyste of grene,
Yet at the knee they were broken, I wene.

His cote was checked[302] with patches rede and blewe;
Of Kyrkeby Kendall was his shorte demye;
And ay he sange, In fayth, decon thou crewe; 360
His elbowe bare, he ware his gere so nye;
His nose a[303] droppynge, his lyppes were full drye;
And by his syde his whynarde and his pouche,
The deuyll myghte daunce therin for ony[304] crowche.

Counter he coude _O lux_ vpon a potte;
An[305] eestryche fedder of a capons tayle
He set vp fresshely vpon his hat alofte:
What reuell route! quod he, and gan to rayle
How ofte he hadde[306] hit Jenet on the tayle,
Of Felyce fetewse, and lytell prety Cate, 370
How ofte he knocked at her klycked gate.

What sholde I tell more of his rebaudrye?
I was ashamed so to here hym prate:
He had no pleasure but in harlotrye.
Ay, quod he, in the deuylles date,
What arte thou? I sawe thé nowe but late.
Forsothe, quod I, in this courte I dwell nowe.
Welcome, quod Ryote, I make God auowe.[307]

RYOTE.

And, syr, in fayth why comste not vs amonge,
To make thé mery, as other felowes done? 380
Thou muste swere and stare, man, al daye longe,
And wake all nyghte, and slepe tyll it be none;
Thou mayste not studye, or muse on the mone;
This worlde is nothynge but ete, drynke, and slepe,
And thus with vs good company to kepe.

Plucke vp thyne herte vpon a mery pyne,
And lete vs laugh a placke[308] or tweyne at nale:
What the deuyll, man, myrthe was neuer one![309]
What, loo, man, see here of dyce a bale!
A brydelynge caste for that is in thy male! 390
Now haue at all that lyeth vpon the burde!
Fye on this dyce, they be not worth a turde!

Haue at the hasarde, or at the dosen browne,
Or els I[310] pas a peny to a pounde!
Now, wolde to God, thou wolde leye money downe!
Lorde, how that I wolde caste it full rounde!
Ay, in my pouche a buckell I haue founde;
The armes of Calyce, I haue no coyne nor crosse!
I am not happy, I renne ay on the losse.

Now renne muste I to the stewys syde, 400
To wete yf Malkyn, my lemman, haue gete oughte:
I lete her to hyre, that men maye on her ryde,
Her armes[311] easy ferre and nere is soughte:
By Goddis sydes; syns I her thyder broughte,
She hath gote me more money with her tayle
Than hath some shyppe that into Bordews sayle.

Had I as good an hors as she is a mare,
I durst auenture to iourney thorugh[312] Fraunce;
Who rydeth on her, he nedeth not to care,
For she is trussed for to breke a launce; 410
It is a curtel[313] that well can wynche and praunce:
To her wyll I nowe all my pouerte lege;
And, tyll I come, haue here is[314] myne hat to plege.

DREDE.

Gone is this knaue, this rybaude foule and leude;
He ran as fast as euer that he myghte:
Vnthryftynes[315] in hym may well be shewed,
For whome[316] Tyborne groneth both daye and nyghte.
And, as I stode and kyste[317] asyde my syghte,
Dysdayne I sawe with Dyssymulacyon
Standynge in sadde communicacion. 420

But there was poyntynge and noddynge with the hede,
And many wordes sayde in secrete wyse;
They wandred ay, and stode styll in no stede:
Me thoughte, alwaye Dyscymular dyde deuyse;
Me passynge sore myne herte than gan agryse,[318]
I dempte and drede theyr talkynge was not good.
Anone Dyscymular came where I stode.

Than in his hode I sawe there faces tweyne;
That one was lene and lyke a pyned goost,
That other loked as he wolde me haue[319] slayne; 430
And to me warde as he gan for to coost,
Whan that he was euen at me almoost,
I sawe a knyfe hyd in his one sleue,
Wheron was wryten this worde, _Myscheue_.

And in his other sleue, me thought, I sawe
A spone of golde, full of hony swete,
To fede a fole, and for to preue a dawe;[320]
And on that sleue these wordes were wrete,
_A false abstracte cometh from a fals concrete_:
His hode was syde, his cope was roset graye: 440
Thyse were the wordes that[321] he to me dyde saye.

DYSSYMULATION.

How do ye, mayster? ye loke so soberly:
As I be saued at the dredefull daye,
It is a perylous vyce, this enuy:
Alas, a connynge man ne dwelle maye
In no place well, but foles with hym[322] fraye!
But as for that, connynge hath no foo
Saue hym that nought can, Scrypture sayth soo.

I knowe your vertu and your lytterature[323]
By that lytel connynge that I haue: 450
Ye be malygned sore, I you ensure;
But ye haue crafte your selfe alwaye to saue:
It is grete scorne to se a mysproude knaue
With a clerke that connynge is to prate:
Lete theym go lowse theym, in the deuylles date!

For all be it that this longe not to me,
Yet on my backe I bere suche lewde delynge:
Ryghte now I spake with one, I trowe, I see;
But, what, a strawe! I maye not tell all thynge.
By God, I saye there is grete herte brennynge 460
Betwene the persone ye wote of, you;[324]
Alas, I coude not dele so with a Jew![325]

I wolde eche man were as playne as I;
It is a worlde, I saye, to[326] here of some:
I hate this faynynge, fye vpon it, fye!
A man can not wote where to be come:
I wys I coude tell,[327]—but humlery, home;
I dare not speke, we be so layde awayte,
For all our courte is full of dysceyte.

Now, by saynte Fraunceys, that holy man and frere, 470
I hate these[328] wayes agayne you that they take:
Were I as you, I wolde ryde them full nere;
And, by my trouthe, but yf an ende they make,
Yet wyll I saye some wordes for your sake,
That shall them angre, I holde thereon a grote;
For some shall wene be hanged by the throte.

I haue a stoppynge oyster in my poke,
Truste me, and yf it come to a nede:
But I am lothe for to reyse a smoke,
Yf ye coude be otherwyse agrede; 480
And so I wolde it were, so God me spede,
For this maye brede to a confusyon,
Withoute God make a good conclusyon.

Naye, see where yonder stondeth the teder man!
A flaterynge knaue and false he is, God wote;
The dreuyll stondeth to herken, and he can:
It were more thryft, he boughte him a newe cote;
It will not be, his purse is not on flote:
All that he wereth, it is borowed ware;
His wytte is thynne, his hode is threde bare. 490

More coude I saye, but what this is ynowe:
Adewe tyll soone, we shall speke more of this:
Ye muste be ruled as I shall tell you howe;
Amendis maye be of that is now amys;
And I am your, syr, so haue I blys,
In[329] euery poynte that I can do or saye:
Gyue me your honde, farewell, and haue good daye.

DREDE.

Sodaynly, as he departed me fro,
Came pressynge in one in a wonder araye:
Er I was ware, behynde me he sayde, Bo! 500
Thenne I, astonyed of that sodeyne fraye,
Sterte all at ones, I lyked no thynge his playe;
For, yf I had not quyckely fledde the touche,
He had plucte oute the nobles of my pouche.

He was trussed in a garmente strayte:
I haue not sene suche an others page;
For he coude well vpon a casket wayte;
His hode[330] all pounsed and garded lyke a cage;
Lyghte lyme fynger, he toke none other wage.
Harken, quod he, loo here myne honde in thyne; 510
To vs welcome thou arte, by saynte Quyntyne.

DISCEYTE.

But, by that Lorde that is one, two, and thre,
I haue an errande to rounde in your ere:
He tolde me so, by God, ye maye truste me,
Parte[331] remembre whan ye were there,
There I wynked on you,—wote ye not where?
In A _loco_, I mene _juxta_ B:
Woo is hym that is blynde and maye not see!

But to here the subtylte and the crafte,
As I shall tell you, yf ye wyll harke agayne; 520
And, whan I sawe the horsons wolde you hafte,
To holde myne honde, by God, I had grete payne;
For forthwyth there I had him slayne,
But that I drede[332] mordre wolde come oute:
Who deleth with shrewes hath nede to loke aboute.

DREDE.

And as he rounded[333] thus in myne ere
Of false collusyon confetryd by assente,
Me thoughte, I see lewde felawes here and there
Came for to slee me of mortall entente;
And, as they came, the shypborde faste I hente, 530
And thoughte to lepe; and euen with that woke,
Caughte penne and ynke, and wrote[334] this lytyll boke.

I wolde therwith no man were myscontente;
Besechynge you that shall it see or rede,
In euery poynte to be indyfferente,
Syth all in substaunce of slumbrynge doth procede:
I wyll not saye it is mater in dede,
But yet oftyme suche dremes be founde trewe:
Now constrewe ye what is the resydewe.

_Thus endeth the Bowge of Courte._

[232] _The Bowge of Courte_] From the ed. of Wynkyn de Worde, n. d., in the Advocates’ Library, Edinburgh, collated with another ed. by Wynkyn de Worde, n. d., in the Public Library, Cambridge, and with Marshe’s ed. of Skelton’s _Workes_, 1568.

[233] _trouth_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., and Marshe’s ed. W. de Worde’s ed. A. L. E., “troughte.”

[234] _it_] Not in Marshe’s ed.

[235] _wryte_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., and Marshe’s ed. W. de Worde’s ed. A. L. E. “wrythe.”—Qy. “wyte” (i. e. blame)?

[236] _moralyte_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C. Other eds. “mortalyte,” and “mortalitie.”

[237] _dyscure_] Both eds. of W. de Worde, “dysture.” Marshe’s ed, “dyscur.”

[238] _I_] So Marshe’s ed. Not in eds. of W. de Worde.

[239] _Auysynge_] W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., and Marshe’s ed. “Aduysynge.”

[240] _wryte_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., and Marshe’s ed. W. de Worde’s ed. A. L. E., “wrythe.”

[241] _his_] Not in Marshe’s ed.

[242] _was_] Marshe’s ed. “waa.”

[243] _me_] Eds. “my.”

[244] _kyste_] W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., “keste.” Marshe’s ed. “kast.”

[245] _lode_] Not in Marshe’s ed.

[246] _certeynte_] So Marshe’s ed. Eds. of W. de Worde, “certeynet” and “certayne.”

[247] _owner_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., and Marshe’s ed. W. de Worde’s ed. A. L. E., “awnner;” and so, perhaps, Skelton wrote: compare _Elynour Rummyng_, v. 609.

[248] _Her_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., and Marshe’s ed. W. de Worde’s ed. A. L. E., “Here.”

[249] _traues_] Eds. “tranes.”

[250] _clerer_] Marshe’s ed. “clere.”

[251] _Garder_] Marshe’s ed. “_Garde_.” (Qy. “_Gardez_?”)

[252] _had_] So Marshe’s ed. Not in W. de Worde’s eds.

[253] _Broder_] Marshe’s ed. “brother.”

[254] _spede_] Marshe’s ed. “sped.”

[255] _And_] Marshe’s ed. “But.”

[256] _an_] W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., and Marshe’s ed. “and.”

[257] _werne_] Marshe’s ed. “warne.”

[258] _er_] W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., “or.”

[259] _see boorde_] Marshe’s ed. “shyp _borde_.”

[260] _plesyre_] W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., and Marshe’s ed. “pleasure.”

[261] _laugheth_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., and Marshe’s ed. W. de Worde’s ed. A. L. E., “laughed.”

[262] _hateth_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., and Marshe’s ed. W. de Worde’s ed. A. L. E., “hateh.”

[263] _frouneth_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., and Marshe’s ed. W. de Worde’s ed. A. L. E., “fronneth.”

[264] _cherysseth_] Eds. “cherysshed.”

[265] _casseth_] W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., “casteth.” Marshe’s ed. “chasseth.”

[266] _and begynneth ... compyled_] Not in Marshe’s ed.

[267] _tougher_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., and Marshe’s ed. W. de Worde’s ed. A. L. E., “toughther.”

[268] _ony_] Marshe’s ed. “any.”

[269] _Hafter_] Eds. “Haster.” See notes.

[270] _shorte_] W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., “a _shorte_.”

[271] _stonde_] Marshe’s ed. “stande.”

[272] _Thyse lewde cok wattes_] Marshe’s ed. “These _lewd cok_ witts.”

[273] _Twyst_] W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., “Whist.” Marshe’s ed. “Twysshē.”

[274] _spede, broder_] Marshe’s ed. “sped, brother.”

[275] _commaunde_] W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., “commened.”

[276] _a party space_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C. Other eds. “_a party_ spake.” Qy. “a _praty_ (pretty) space?”

[277] _moche_] Marshe’s ed. “muche.”

[278] _auyse_] Marshe’s ed. “aduyse.”

[279] _ony_] Marshe’s ed. “any.”

[280] _moche_] Marshe’s ed. “muche.”

[281] _dyscure_] So Marshe’s ed. Eds. of W. de Worde, “dysture.”

[282] _man_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., and Marshe’s ed. W. de Worde’s ed. A. L. E., “wan.”

[283] _Hafter_] Eds. “Haster.”

[284] _Me_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., and Marshe’s ed. W. de Worde’s ed. A. L. E., “My.”

[285] _my_] Marshe’s ed. “me.”

[286] _Hafter_] Eds. “Haster.”

[287] _skan_] So Marshe’s ed. Eds. of W. de Worde, “stan.”

[288] _it_] Not in Marshe’s ed.

[289] _yougthe_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C. Other eds. “youghte.”

[290] _I_] So Marshe’s ed. Not in eds. of W. de Worde.

[291] _pleasyre_] Marshe’s ed. “pleasure.”

[292] _hawte_] Marshe’s ed. “hawtie.”

[293] _scornnys_] Eds. of W. de Worde, “storunys.” Marshe’s ed. “scornes.”

[294] _the_] W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., “his.”

[295] _this comerous crabes hyghte_] Eds. of W. de Worde, “his _comerous_ carbes _hyghte_.” Marshe’s ed. “his _comerous crabes hyghte_.”

[296] _Hafter_] Eds. “Haster.”

[297] _our_] Marshe’s ed. “your.”

[298] _Hafter_] Eds. “Haster.”

[299] _layne_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C. Other eds. “sayne.”

[300] _scornfull_] Marshe’s ed. “scorfull.”

[301] _kyst_] W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., “kest.”

[302] _checked_] Marshe’s ed. “checkerd.”

[303] _a_] Not in Marshe’s ed.

[304] _ony_] Marshe’s ed. “any.”

[305] _An_] Marshe’s ed. “And.”

[306] _hadde_] Not in Marshe’s ed.

[307] _auowe_] So Marshe’s ed. Eds. of W. de Worde, “auwe.”

[308] _placke_] Marshe’s ed. “plucke,”—perhaps, the right reading.

[309] _was neuer one_] Marshe’s ed. “is here within.”

[310] _I_] Not in W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C.

[311] _armes_] So Marshe’s ed. Eds. of W. de Worde, “harmes.”

[312] _thorugh_] Marshe’s ed. “through.”

[313] _curtel_] So Marshe’s ed. Eds of W. de Worde, “curtet.”

[314] _is_] Not in Marshe’s ed.; but see notes.

[315] _Vnthryftynes_] So Marshe’s ed. Eds. of W. de Worde, “Vnthryftnes.”

[316] _whome_] So Marshe’s ed. Other eds. “home.”

[317] _kyste_] Marshe’s ed. “caste.”

[318] _agryse_] Eds. “aryse.” See notes.

[319] _me haue_] W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., “haue me.”

[320] _preue a dawe_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C. Other eds. “preye a dawe.”

[321] _that_] So Marshe’s ed. Not in other eds.

[322] _hym_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C. Not in other eds.

[323] _lytterature_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C. Other eds. “lytterkture.”

[324] _you_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C. Other eds. “Iou.”

[325] _a Jew_] W. de Worde’s ed. A. L. E., “_a_ yew.” W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., and Marshe’s ed., “an yew.”

[326] _to_] So other eds. W. de Worde’s ed. A. L. E., “te.”

[327] _tell_] W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C., “not _tell_.”

[328] _these_] So W. de Worde’s ed. P. L. C. Other eds. “this.”

[329] _In_] Marshe’s ed. “To.”

[330] _hode_] Marshe’s ed. “body.”

[331] _Parte_] Qy. “Parde” (_Par dieu_—in sooth)?

[332] _drede_] So other eds. W. de Worde’s ed. A. L. E., “drde.”

[333] _rounded_] So other eds. W. de Worde’s ed. A. L. E., “roynded.”

[334] _wrote_] So other eds. W. de Worde’s ed. A. L. E., “wroth.”

HERE AFTER[335] FOLOWETH THE BOKE OF PHYLLYP SPAROWE, COMPYLED BY MAYSTER SKELTON, POETE LAUREATE.

_Pla ce bo_,
Who is there, who?
_Di le xi_,
Dame Margery;
Fa, re, my, my,
Wherfore and why, why?
For the sowle of Philip Sparowe,
That was late slayn at Carowe,
Among the Nones Blake,
For that swete soules sake, 10
And for all sparowes soules,
Set in our bederolles,
_Pater noster qui_,
With an _Ave Mari_,
And with the corner of a Crede,
The more shalbe your mede.
Whan I remembre agayn
How mi Philyp was slayn,
Neuer halfe the payne
Was betwene you twayne, 20
Pyramus and Thesbe,
As than befell to me:
I wept and I wayled,
The tearys downe hayled;
But nothynge it auayled
To call Phylyp agayne,
Whom Gyb our cat hath slayne.
Gib, I saye, our cat
Worrowyd her on that
Which I loued best: 30
It can not be exprest
My sorowfull heuynesse,
But all without redresse;
For within that stounde,
Halfe slumbrynge, in a sounde
I fell downe to the grounde.
Vnneth I kest myne eyes
Towarde the cloudy skyes:
But whan I dyd beholde
My sparow dead and colde, 40
No creatuer but that wolde
Haue rewed vpon me,
To behold and se
What heuynesse dyd me pange;
Wherewith my handes I wrange,
That my senaws cracked,
As though I had ben racked,
So payned and so strayned,
That no lyfe wellnye remayned.
I syghed and I sobbed, 50
For that I was robbed
Of my sparowes lyfe.
O mayden, wydow, and wyfe,
Of what estate ye be,
Of hye or lowe degre,
Great sorowe than ye myght se,
And lerne to wepe at me!
Such paynes dyd me frete,
That myne hert dyd bete,
My vysage pale and dead, 60
Wanne, and blewe as lead;
The panges of hatefull death
Wellnye had[336] stopped my breath.
_Heu, heu, me_,
That I am wo for thé!
_Ad Dominum, cum tribularer, clamavi_:
Of God nothynge els craue I
But Phyllypes soule to kepe
From the marees deepe
Of Acherontes well, 70
That is a flode of hell;
And from the great Pluto,
The prynce of endles wo;
And from foule Alecto,
With vysage blacke and blo;
And from Medusa, that mare,
That lyke a fende doth stare;
And from Megeras edders,
For[337] rufflynge of Phillips fethers,
And from her fyry sparklynges, 80
For burnynge of his wynges;
And from the smokes sowre
Of Proserpinas bowre;
And from the dennes darke,
Wher Cerberus doth barke,
Whom Theseus dyd afraye,
Whom Hercules dyd outraye,
As famous poetes say;
From[338] that hell hounde,
That lyeth in cheynes bounde, 90
With gastly hedes thre,
To Jupyter pray we
That Phyllyp preserued may be!
Amen, say ye with me!
_Do mi nus_,
Helpe nowe, swete Jesus!
_Levavi oculos meos in montes_:[339]
Wolde God I had Zenophontes,[340]
Or Socrates the wyse,
To shew me their deuyse, 100
Moderatly to take
This sorow that I make
For Phyllip Sparowes sake!
So feruently I shake,
I fele my body quake;
So vrgently I am brought
Into carefull thought.
Like Andromach,[341] Hectors wyfe,
Was wery of her lyfe,
Whan she had lost her ioye, 110
Noble Hector of Troye;
In lyke maner also
Encreaseth my dedly wo,
For my sparowe is go.
It was so prety a fole,
It wold syt[342] on a stole,
And lerned after my scole
For to kepe his cut,
With, Phyllyp, kepe your cut!
It had a veluet cap, 120
And wold syt vpon my lap,
And seke after small wormes,
And somtyme white bred crommes;
And many tymes and ofte
Betwene my brestes softe
It wolde lye and rest;
It was propre and prest.
Somtyme he wolde gaspe
Whan he sawe a waspe;
A fly or a gnat, 130
He wolde flye at that;
And prytely he wold pant
Whan he saw an ant;
Lord, how he wolde pry
After the butterfly!
Lorde, how he wolde hop
After the gressop!
And whan I sayd, Phyp, Phyp,
Than he wold lepe and skyp,
And take me by the lyp. 140
Alas, it wyll me slo,
That Phillyp is gone me fro!
_Si in i qui ta tes_,
Alas, I was euyll at ease!
_De pro fun dis cla ma vi_,
Whan I sawe my sparowe dye!
Nowe, after my dome,
Dame Sulpicia[343] at Rome,
Whose name regystred was
For euer in tables of bras, 150
Because that[344] she dyd pas
In poesy to endyte,
And eloquently[345] to wryte,
Though she wolde pretende
My sparowe to commende,
I trowe she coude not amende
Reportynge the vertues all
Of my sparowe royall.
For it wold come and go,
And fly[346] so to and fro; 160
And on me it wolde lepe
Whan I was aslepe,
And his fethers[347] shake,
Wherewith he wolde make
Me often for to wake,
And for to take him in
Vpon my naked skyn;
God wot, we thought no syn:
What though[348] he crept so lowe?
It was no hurt, I trowe, 170
He dyd nothynge perde
But syt vpon my kne:
Phyllyp, though he were nyse,
In him it was no vyse;
Phyllyp had leue to go
To pyke my lytell too;
Phillip myght be bolde
And do what he wolde;
Phillip wolde seke and take
All the flees blake 180
That he coulde there espye
With his wanton eye.
_O pe ra_,
La, soll, fa, fa,
_Confitebor tibi, Domine, in[349] toto corde meo_.
Alas, I wold ryde and go
A thousand myle of grounde!
If any such might be found,
It were worth an hundreth pound
Of kynge Cresus golde, 190
Or of Attalus[350] the olde,
The ryche prynce of Pargame,
Who so lyst the story to se.
Cadmus, that his syster sought,
And he shold be bought
For golde and fee,
He shuld ouer the see,
To wete if he coulde brynge
Any of the ofsprynge,[351]
Or any of the blode. 200
But whoso vnderstode
Of Medeas arte,
I wolde I had a parte
Of her crafty magyke!
My sparowe than shuld be quycke
With a charme or twayne,
And playe with me agayne.
But all this is in vayne
Thus for to complayne.
I toke my sampler ones, 210
Of purpose, for the nones,
To sowe with stytchis of sylke
My sparow whyte as mylke,
That by representacyon
Of his image and facyon,
To me it myght importe
Some pleasure and comforte
For my solas and sporte:
But whan I was sowing his beke,
Methought, my sparow did speke, 220
And opened[352] his prety byll,
Saynge, Mayd, ye are in wyll
Agayne me for to kyll,
Ye prycke me in the head!
With that my nedle waxed[353] red,
Methought, of Phyllyps blode;
Myne hear ryght vpstode,
And was in suche a fray,
My speche was taken away.
I kest downe that there was, 230
And sayd, Alas, alas,
How commeth this to pas?
My fyngers, dead and colde,
Coude not my sampler holde;
My nedle and threde
I threwe away for drede.
The best now that I maye,
Is for his soule to pray:
_A porta inferi_,
Good Lorde, haue mercy 240
Vpon my sparowes soule,
Wryten in my bederoule!
_Au di vi vo cem_,
Japhet, Cam, and Sem,
_Ma gni fi cat_,
Shewe me the ryght path
To the hylles of Armony,
Wherfore the birdes[354] yet cry
Of your fathers bote,
That was sometyme aflote, 250
And nowe they lye and rote;
Let some poetes wryte
Deucalyons flode it hyght:
But as verely as ye be
The naturall sonnes thre
Of Noe the patryarke,
That made that great arke,
Wherin he had apes and owles,
Beestes, byrdes, and foules,
That if ye can fynde 260
Any of my sparowes kynde,
God sende the soule good rest!
I wolde haue yet[355] a nest
As prety and as prest
As my sparowe was.
But my sparowe dyd pas
All sparowes of the wode
That were syns Noes flode,
Was neuer none so good;
Kynge Phylyp of Macedony 270
Had no such Phylyp as I,
No, no, syr, hardely.
That vengeaunce I aske and crye,
By way of exclamacyon,
On all the hole nacyon
Of cattes wylde and tame;
God send them sorowe and shame!
That cat specyally
That slew so cruelly
My lytell prety sparowe 280
That I brought vp at Carowe.
O cat of carlyshe[356] kynde,
The fynde was in thy mynde
Whan thou my byrde vntwynde!
I wold thou haddest ben blynde!
The leopardes sauage,
The lyons in theyr rage,
Myght catche thé in theyr pawes,
And gnawe thé in theyr iawes!
The[357] serpentes[358] of Lybany 290
Myght stynge thé venymously!
The dragones with their tonges
Might poyson thy lyuer and longes!
The mantycors of the montaynes
Myght fede them on thy braynes!
Melanchates, that hounde
That plucked Acteon to the grounde,
Gaue hym his mortall wounde,
Chaunged to a dere,
The story doth appere, 300
Was chaunged to an harte:
So thou, foule cat that thou arte,
The selfe same hounde
Myght thé confounde,
That his owne lord bote,
Myght byte asondre thy throte!
Of Inde the gredy grypes
Myght tere out all thy trypes!
Of Arcady the beares
Might plucke awaye thyne eares! 310
The wylde wolfe Lycaon
Byte asondre thy backe bone!
Of Ethna the brennynge hyll,
That day and night brenneth styl,
Set in thy tayle a blase,
That all the world may gase
And wonder vpon thé,
From Occyan the greate se
Vnto the Iles of Orchady,
From Tyllbery fery 320
To the playne of Salysbery!
So trayterously my byrde to kyll
That neuer ought thé euyll wyll!
Was neuer byrde in cage
More gentle of corage
In doynge his homage
Vnto his souerayne.
Alas, I say agayne,
Deth hath departed vs twayne!
The false cat hath thé slayne: 330
Farewell, Phyllyp, adew!
Our Lorde thy soule reskew!
Farewell without restore,
Farewell for euermore!
And it were[359] a Jewe,
It wolde make one rew,
To se my sorow new.
These vylanous false cattes
Were made for myse and rattes,
And not for byrdes smale. 340
Alas, my face waxeth pale,
Tellynge this pyteyus tale,
How my byrde so fayre,
That was wont to repayre,
And go in at my spayre,
And crepe in at my gore[360]
Of my gowne before,
Flyckerynge with his wynges!
Alas, my hert it stynges,
Remembrynge prety thynges! 350
Alas, myne hert it sleth
My Phyllyppes dolefull deth,
Whan I remembre it,
How pretely it wolde syt,
Many tymes and ofte,
Vpon my fynger aloft!
I played with him tyttell tattyll,
And fed him with my spattyl,
With his byll betwene my lippes;
It was my prety Phyppes! 360
Many a prety kusse
Had I of his[361] swete musse;
And now the cause is thus,
That he is slayne me fro,
To my great payne and wo.
Of fortune this the chaunce
Standeth on[362] varyaunce:
Oft tyme after pleasaunce
Trouble and greuaunce;
No man can be sure 370
Allway to haue pleasure:
As well perceyue ye maye
How my dysport and play
From me was taken away
By Gyb, our cat sauage,
That in a[363] furyous rage
Caught Phyllyp by the head,
And slew him there starke dead.
_Kyrie, eleison,_
_Christe, eleison,_ 380
_Kyrie, eleison!_
For Phylyp Sparowes soule,
Set in our bederolle,
Let vs now whysper
A _Pater noster_.
_Lauda, anima mea, Dominum!_
To wepe with me loke that ye come,
All maner of byrdes in your kynd;
Se none be left behynde.
To mornynge loke that ye fall 390
With dolorous songes funerall,
Some to synge, and some to say,
Some to wepe, and some to pray,
Euery byrde in his laye.
The goldfynche, the wagtayle;
The ianglynge iay to rayle,
The fleckyd pye to chatter
Of this dolorous mater;
And robyn redbrest,
He shall be the preest 400
The requiem masse to synge,
Softly[364] warbelynge,
With helpe of the red sparow,
And the chattrynge swallow,
This herse for to halow;
The larke with his longe to;
The spynke, and the martynet also;
The shouelar with his brode bek;
The doterell, that folyshe pek,
And also the mad coote, 410
With a balde face to toote;
The feldefare, and the snyte;
The crowe, and the kyte;
The rauyn, called Rolfe,
His playne songe to solfe;
The partryche, the quayle;
The plouer with vs to wayle;
The woodhacke, that syngeth chur
Horsly, as he had the mur;
The lusty chauntyng nyghtyngale; 420
The popyngay to tell her tale,
That toteth oft in a glasse,
Shal rede the Gospell at masse;
The mauys with her whystell
Shal rede there the pystell.
But with a large and a longe
To kepe iust playne songe,
Our chaunters shalbe the cuckoue,
The culuer, the stockedowue,
With puwyt the lapwyng, 430
The versycles shall syng.
The bitter[365] with his bumpe,
The crane with his trumpe,
The swan of Menander,[366]
The gose and the gander,
The ducke and the[367] drake,
Shall watche at this wake;
The pecocke so prowde,
Bycause his voyce is lowde,
And hath a glorious tayle, 440
He shall syng the grayle;
The owle, that is[368] so foule,
Must helpe vs to houle;
The heron so gaunce,[369]
And the cormoraunce,[370]
With the fesaunte,
And the gaglynge gaunte,
And the churlysshe chowgh;
The route and the kowgh;[371]
The barnacle, the bussarde, 450
With the wilde[372] mallarde;
The dyuendop to slepe;
The water hen[373] to wepe;
The puffin[374] and the tele
Money they shall dele
To poore folke at large,
That shall be theyr charge;
The semewe and the tytmose;
The wodcocke with the longe nose;
The threstyl with her warblyng; 460
The starlyng with her brablyng;
The roke, with the ospraye
That putteth fysshes to a fraye;
And the denty curlewe,
With the turtyll most trew.
At this _Placebo_
We may not well forgo
The countrynge of the coe:
The storke also,
That maketh his nest 470
In chymneyes to rest;
Within those walles
No[375] broken galles
May there abyde
Of cokoldry syde,
Or els phylosophy
Maketh a great lye.
The estryge, that wyll eate
An horshowe so great,
In the stede of meate, 480
Such feruent heat
His stomake doth freat;[376]
He can not well fly,
Nor synge tunably,
Yet at a brayde
He hath well assayde
To solfe aboue ela,
Ga,[377] lorell, fa, fa;
_Ne quando_
_Male cantando_, 490
The best that we can,
To make hym our belman,
And let hym ryng the bellys;
He can do nothyng ellys.
Chaunteclere, our coke,
Must tell what is of the clocke
By the astrology
That he hath naturally
Conceyued and cought,[378]
And was neuer tought[379] 500
By Albumazer
The astronomer,
Nor by Ptholomy
Prince of astronomy,
Nor yet by Haly;
And yet he croweth dayly
And nightly[380] the tydes
That no man abydes,
With Partlot his hen,
Whom now and then 510
Hee plucketh by the hede
Whan he doth her trede.
The byrde of Araby,
That potencyally
May neuer dye,
And yet there is none
But one alone;
A phenex it is
This herse that must blys
With armatycke gummes 520
That cost great summes,[381]
The way of thurifycation
To make a[382] fumigation,
Swete of reflary,[383]
And redolent of eyre,[384]
This corse for to[385] sence
With greate reuerence,
As patryarke or pope
In a blacke cope;
Whyles[386] he senseth [the herse], 530
He shall synge the verse,
_Libera me_,
In de, la, soll, re,
Softly bemole
For my sparowes soule.
Plinni sheweth all
In his story naturall
What he doth fynde
Of the phenyx kynde;
Of whose incyneracyon 540
There ryseth a new creacyon
Of the same facyon
Without alteracyon,
Sauyng that olde age
Is turned into corage
Of fresshe youth agayne;
This matter trew and playne,
Playne matter indede,
Who so lyst to rede.
But for the egle doth flye 550
Hyest in the skye,
He shall be the[387] sedeane,
The quere to demeane,
As prouost pryncypall,
To teach them theyr ordynall;
Also the noble fawcon,
With the gerfawcon,[388]
The tarsell gentyll,
They shall morne soft and styll
In theyr amysse of gray; 560
The sacre with them shall say
_Dirige_ for Phyllyppes soule;
The goshauke shall haue a role
The queresters to controll;
The lanners and the[389] marlyons
Shall stand in their morning gounes;
The hobby and the muskette
The sensers and the crosse shall fet;
The kestrell in all this warke
Shall be holy water[390] clarke. 570
And now the darke cloudy nyght
Chaseth away Phebus bryght,
Taking his course toward the west,
God sende my sparoes sole good rest!
_Requiem æternam dona eis,[391] Domine_!
Fa, fa, fa, my, re, re,[392]
_A por ta in fe ri_,
Fa, fa, fa, my, my.
_Credo videre bona Domini_,
I pray God, Phillip to heuen may fly! 580
_Domine, exaudi orationem meam!_
To heuen he shall, from heuen he cam!
_Do mi nus vo bis cum!_
Of al good praiers God send him sum!
_Oremus._
_Deus, cui proprium est misereri et parcere_,
On Phillips soule haue pyte!
For he was a prety cocke,
And came of a gentyll stocke,
And wrapt in a maidenes smocke, 590
And cherysshed full dayntely,
Tyll[393] cruell fate made him to dy:
Alas, for dolefull desteny![394]
But whereto shuld I
Lenger morne or crye?
To Jupyter I call,
Of heuen emperyall,
That Phyllyp may fly
Aboue the starry sky,
To treade the prety wren, 600
That is our Ladyes hen:
Amen, amen, amen!
Yet one thynge is behynde,
That now commeth to mynde;[395]
An epytaphe I wold haue
For Phyllyppes graue:
But for I am a mayde,
Tymerous, halfe afrayde,
That neuer yet asayde
Of Elyconys well, 610
Where the Muses dwell;
Though I can rede and spell,
Recounte, reporte, and tell
Of the Tales of Caunterbury,
Some sad storyes, some mery;
As Palamon and Arcet,
Duke Theseus, and Partelet;
And of the Wyfe of Bath,
That[396] worketh moch scath
Whan her tale is tolde 620
Amonge huswyues bolde,
How she controlde
Her husbandes as she wolde,
And them to despyse
In the homylyest wyse,
Brynge other wyues in thought
Their husbandes to set at nought:
And though that rede haue I
Of Gawen and syr Guy,
And tell can a great pece 630
Of the Golden Flece,
How Jason it wan,
Lyke a valyaunt man;
Of Arturs rounde table,
With his knightes commendable,
And dame Gaynour, his quene,
Was somwhat wanton, I wene;
How syr Launcelote de Lake
Many a spere brake
For his ladyes sake; 640
Of Trystram, and kynge Marke,
And al the hole warke
Of Bele Isold his wyfe,
For whom was moch stryfe;
Some say she was lyght,
And made her husband knyght
Of the comyne[397] hall,
That cuckoldes men call;
And of syr Lybius,
Named Dysconius; 650
Of Quater Fylz Amund,[398]
And how they were sommonde
To Rome, to Charlemayne,
Vpon a great payne,
And how they rode eche one
On Bayarde Mountalbon;
Men se hym now and then[399]
In the forest of[400] Arden:
What though[401] I can frame
The storyes by name 660
Of Judas Machabeus,
And of Cesar Julious;
And of the loue betwene
Paris and Vyene;
And of the duke Hannyball,[402]
That[403] made the Romaynes all
Fordrede and to quake;
How Scipion dyd wake
The cytye of Cartage,
Which by his vnmerciful[404] rage 670
He bete downe to the grounde:
And though I can expounde
Of Hector of Troye,
That was all theyr ioye,
Whom Achylles slew,
Wherfore all Troy dyd rew;
And of the loue so hote
That made Troylus to dote
Vpon fayre Cressyde,
And what they wrote and sayd, 680
And of theyr wanton wylles
Pandaer bare the bylles
From one to the other;
His maisters loue to further,
Somtyme a presyous thyng,
An ouche, or els a ryng;
From her to hym agayn
Somtyme a prety chayn,
Or a bracelet of her here,
Prayd Troylus for to were 690
That token for her sake;
How hartely he dyd it take,
And moche therof dyd make;
And all that was in vayne,
For she dyd but fayne;
The story telleth playne,
He coulde not optayne,
Though his father were a kyng,
Yet there was a thyng
That made the[405] male to wryng; 700
She made hym to syng
The song of louers lay;
Musyng nyght and day,
Mournyng all alone,
Comfort had he none,
For she was quyte gone;
Thus in conclusyon,
She brought him in abusyon;
In ernest and in game
She was moch to blame; 710
Disparaged is her fame,
And blemysshed is her name,
In maner half with shame;
Troylus also hath lost
On her moch loue and cost,
And now must kys the post;
Pandara, that went betwene,
Hath won nothing, I wene,
But lyght for somer grene;
Yet for a speciall laud 720
He is named Troylus baud,
Of that name he is sure
Whyles the world shall dure:
Though I remembre the fable
Of Penelope most stable,
To her husband most trew,
Yet long tyme she ne knew
Whether he were on lyue or ded;
Her wyt stood her in sted,
That she was true and iust 730
For any bodely lust
To Ulixes her make,
And neuer wold him forsake:
Of Marcus Marcellus
A proces I could tell vs;
And of Anteocus;
And of Josephus
_De Antiquitatibus_;
And of Mardocheus,
And of great Assuerus, 740
And of Vesca his queene,
Whom he forsoke with teene,
And of Hester his other wyfe,
With whom he ledd a plesaunt life;
Of kyng Alexander;
And of kyng Euander;
And of Porcena the great,
That made the Romayns to sweat:[406]
Though I haue enrold
A thousand new and old 750
Of these historious tales,
To fyll bougets and males
With bokes that I haue red,
Yet I am nothyng sped,
And can but lytell skyll
Of Ouyd or Virgyll,
Or of Plutharke,
Or[407] Frauncys Petrarke,
Alcheus or Sapho,
Or such other poetes mo, 760
As Linus and Homerus,
Euphorion and Theocritus,
Anacreon and Arion,
Sophocles and Philemon,
Pyndarus and Symonides,[408]
Philistion[409] and Phorocides;
These poetes of auncyente,
They ar to diffuse for me:
For, as I tofore haue sayd,
I am but a yong mayd, 770
And cannot in effect
My style as yet direct
With Englysh wordes elect:[410]
Our naturall tong is rude,
And hard to be enneude
With pullysshed termes lusty;
Our language is so rusty,
So cankered, and so full
Of frowardes, and so dull,
That if I wolde apply 780
To wryte ornatly,[411]
I wot not where to fynd
Termes to serue my mynde.
Gowers Englysh is olde,
And of no value told;[412]
His mater is worth gold,
And worthy to be enrold.
In Chauser I am sped,
His tales I haue red:
His mater is delectable, 790
Solacious, and commendable;
His Englysh well alowed,
So as it is enprowed,
For as it is enployd,
There is no Englysh voyd,
At those dayes moch commended,
And now men wold haue amended
His Englysh, whereat they barke,
And mar all they warke:
Chaucer, that famus clerke, 800
His termes were not darke,
But plesaunt, easy, and playne;
No[413] worde he wrote in vayne.
Also Johnn Lydgate
Wryteth after an hyer rate;
It is dyffuse to fynde
The sentence of his mynde,
Yet wryteth he in his kynd,
No man that can amend
Those maters that he hath pende; 810
Yet some men fynde a faute,
And say he wryteth to haute.
Wherfore hold me excused
If I haue not well perused
Myne Englyssh halfe abused;
Though it be refused,
In worth I shall it take,
And fewer wordes make.
But, for my sparowes sake,
Yet as a woman may, 820
My wyt I shall assay
An epytaphe to wryght
In Latyne playne and lyght,
Wherof the elegy
Foloweth by and by:
_Flos volucrum[414] formose, vale!_
_Philippe, sub isto_
_Marmore jam recubas,_
_Qui mihi carus eras._
_Semper erunt nitido_ 830
_Radiantia sidera cœlo;_
_Impressusque meo_
_Pectore semper eris._
_Per me laurigerum_
_Britonum Skeltonida vatem_
_Hæc cecinisse licet_
_Ficta sub imagine texta._
_Cujus eras[415] volucris,_
_Præstanti corpore virgo:_
_Candida Nais erat,_ 840
_Formosior ista Joanna est;_
_Docta Corinna fuit,_
_Sed magis ista sapit._
_Bien men souient._

THE COMMENDACIONS.