Chapter XV: Part 15

v. 380. _daucockes_] i. e. simpletons: see note, p. 113. v. 301.

v. 381. _reme_] i. e. realm.

v. 382. _Ge heme_] Scottice for—Go home (as before in _Why come ye nat to Courte_, v. 123. vol. ii. 30).

v. 383. _fonde_] i. e. foolish.

Page 79. v. 386. _mate you with chekmate_] In allusion to the king’s being put in _check_ at the game of chess. And see note, p. 355. v. 158.

v. 389. _pype in a quibyble_] The word _quibyble_, as far as I am aware, occurs only in Skelton. Chaucer has a well-known passage,

“And playen songes on a small ribible;
Therto he song somtime a loud _quinible_.”

_The Milleres Tale_, v. 3331, where Tyrwhitt (apparently against the context) supposes _quinible_ to be an instrument: and I may notice that Forby gives “_Whybibble_, a whimsy; idle fancy; silly scruple, &c.” _Voc. of East Anglia._

v. 398. _faytes_] i. e. facts, doings.

v. 399. _me dresse_] i. e. address, apply myself.

Page 80. v. 406. _auaunce_] i. e. advance.

v. 410. _nobles_] i. e. noblesse, nobleness.

v. 417. _rechelesse_] i. e. reckless.

v. 418. _a lunatyke ouerage_] See note, p. 352. v. 39.

v. 420. _ennewde_] See note, p. 144. v. 775.

v. 431. _Lyke vnto Hercules_] Barclay goes still farther in a compliment to the same monarch;

“_He passeth Hercules_ in manhode and courage.”

_The Ship of Fooles_, fol. 205. ed. 1570.

v. 436. _foy_] i. e. faith.

Page 81. v. 439. _Scipiades_] i. e. Scipio.

v. 442. _Duke Iosue_]—_Duke_, i. e. leader, lord. So Hawes;

“And in lyke wyse _duke Iosue_ the gente,” &c.

_The Pastime of Pleasure_, sig. c ii. ed. 1555.

v. 448. _animosite_] i. e. bravery.

v. 457. _to_] i. e. too.

v. 459. _losels_] i. e. good-for-nothing fellows, scoundrels.

v. 461. _astate_] i. e. estate, high dignity.

v. 468. _domage_] i. e. damage.

v. 470. _rydes or goos_] See note, p. 125. v. 186.

Page 82. v. 475. _a knappishe sorte_] “_Knappish._ Proterve, pervers, fascheux.” Cotgrave’s _Dict._ “_Knappish_. Tart, testy, snappish.” Jamieson’s _Et. Dict. of Scot. Lang._: _sorte_, i. e. set.

v. 477. _enbosed iawes_] See note, p. 301. v. 24.

v. 478. _dawes_] i. e. simpletons: see note, p. 113. v. 301.

v. 479. _fende_] i. e. fiend.

v. 487. _hart blode_] i. e. heart-blood.

v. 488. _gode_] i. e. good,—goods.

v. 494. _faytour_] See note, p. 195. v. 2.

Page 82. v. 495. _recrayed_] i. e. recreant.

v. 500. _rede ... loke_] i. e. advise ... look.

Page 83. v. 506. _Sainct George to borowe_] i. e. St. George being my surety or pledge: the expression is common in our early poetry.

v. 508. _quayre_] i. e. quire,—pamphlet, book.

v. 523. _wrate_] i. e. wrote.

—— _Lenuoy_] Concerning this second _L’envoy_, which, I believe, does not belong to the poem against Albany, see _Account of Skelton_, &c.

Page 84. v. 9. _ammas_] i. e. amice: see note, p. 134. v. 560.

—— _Ie foy enterment, &c._] i. e. Je fie entièrement, &c.

POEMS ATTRIBUTED TO SKELTON.

VERSES PRESENTED TO KING HENRY THE SEVENTH[273] AT THE FEAST OF ST. GEORGE CELEBRATED AT WINDSOR IN THE THIRD YEAR OF HIS REIGN.

O moste famous noble king! thy fame doth spring and spreade,
Henry the Seventh, our soverain, in eiche regeon;
All England hath cause thy grace to love and dread,
Seing embassadores seche fore protectyon,
For ayd, helpe, and succore, which lyeth in thie electyone.
England, now rejoyce, for joyous mayest thou bee,
To see thy kyng so floreshe in dignetye.

This realme a seasone stoode in greate jupardie,
When that noble prince deceased, King Edward,
Which in his dayes gate honore full nobly;
After his decesse nighe hand all was marr’d;
Eich regione this land dispised, mischefe when they hard;
Wherefore rejoyse, for joyous mayst thou be,
To see thy kynge so floresh in high dignetye.

Fraunce, Spayne, Scoteland, and Britanny, Flanders also,
Three of them present keepinge thy noble feaste
Of St. George in Windsor, ambassadors comying more,[274]
Iche of them in honore, bothe the more and the lesse,[275]
Seeking thie grace to have thie noble begeste:
Wherefore now rejoise, and joyous maiste thou be,
To see thy kynge so florishing in dignetye.

O knightly ordere, clothed in robes with gartere!
The queen’s grace and thy mother clothed in the same;
The nobles of thie realme riche in araye, aftere,
Lords, knights, and ladyes, unto thy greate fame:
Now shall all embassadors know thie noble name,
By thy feaste royal; nowe joyeous mayest thou be,
To see thie king so florishinge in dignety.

Here this day St. George, patron of this place,
Honored with the gartere cheefe of chevalrye;
Chaplenes synging processyon, keeping the same,
With archbushopes and bushopes beseene nobly;
Much people presente to see the King Henrye:
Wherefore now, St. George, all we pray to thee
To keepe our soveraine in his dignetye.

[273] _Verses presented to King Henry the Seventh, &c._] Ashmole, who first printed these lines from “_MS. penes Arth. Com. Anglesey, fol._ 169,” thinks that they were probably by Skelton: see _Order of the Garter_, p. 594.

[274] _more_] The rhyme requires “mo.”

[275] _lesse_] The rhyme requires “leste.”

THE EPITAFFE OF THE MOSTE NOBLE AND VALYAUNT JASPAR LATE DUKE OF BEDDEFORDE.[276]

[Sidenote: Color Ficcio.]

Bydynge al alone, with sorowe sore encombred,
In a frosty fornone, faste by Seuernes syde,
The wordil beholdynge, wherat moch I wondred
To se the see and sonne to kepe both tyme and tyde,
The ayre ouer my hede so wonderfully to glyde,
And howe Saturne by circumference borne is aboute;
Whiche thynges to beholde, clerely me notyfyde,
One verray God to be therin to haue no dowte.

And as my fantasy flamyd in that occupacyon,
Fruteles, deuoyde of all maner gladnes,
Of one was I ware into greate desolacyon,
To the erthe prostrate, rauyuge for madnes;
By menys so immoderate encreased was his sadnes,
That by me can not be compyled
His dedly sorowe and dolorous dystres,
Lyfe in hym by deth so ny was exiled.

Hym better to beholde, so ferre oute of frame,
Nerre I nyghed, farsyd with fragyllyte;
Wherwith Smert I perceyued he called was by name,
Which ouer haukes and houndes had auctoryte;
Though the roume vnmete were for his pouer degre,
Yet fortune so hym farthered to his lorde;
Wherfore him to lye in soch perplexite,
What it myghte mene I gan to mysylfe recorde.

I shogged him, I shaked him, I ofte aboute him went,
And al to knowe why so care his carayn hyued;
His temples I rubbyd, and by the nose him hente;
Al as in vayne was, he coude nat be reuyued;
He waltered, he wende, and with himsilfe stryued,
Such countenaunce contynuyng; but or I parte the place,
Vp his hede he caste; whan his woful goste aryued,
Those wordes saynge with righte a pytous face:

[Sidenote: Metricus primus. Color repeticio.]

O sorowe, sorowe beyonde al sorowes sure!
All sorowes sure surmountynge, lo!
Lo, which payne no pure may endure,
Endure may none such dedely wo!
Wo, alas, ye inwrapped, for he is go!
Go is he, whose valyaunce to recounte,
To recounte, all other it dyd surmounte.

[Sidenote: Metricus secundus. C. recitacio simplex.]

Gone is he, alas, that redy was to do
Eche thynge that to nobles required!
Gone is he, alas, that redy was to do
Eche thynge that curtesye of him desyred!
Whose frowarde fate falsely was conspyred
By Antraphos vnasured and her vngracyous charmys;
Jaspar I mene is gone, Mars son in armys.

[Sidenote: M. iii. C. narracio.]

He that of late regnyd in glory,
With grete glosse buttylly glased,
Nowe lowe vnder fote doth he ly,
With wormys ruly rente and rasyd,
His carayne stynkynge, his fetures fasyd;
Brother and vncle to kynges yesterday,
Nowe is he gone and lafte vs as mased;
Closed here lyeth he in a clote of clay:
Shall he come agayne? a, nay, nay!
Where is he become, I can nat discusse:
Than with the prophet may we say,
_Non inuentus est locus eius_.

[Sidenote: Metricus quartus et retrogradiens. Color. discripcio.]

Restynge in him was honoure with sadnesse,
Curtesy, kyndenesse, with great assuraunce,
Dispysynge vice, louynge alway gladnesse,
Knyghtly condicyons, feythful alegeaunce,
Kyndely demenoure, gracyous vtteraunce;
Was none semelyer, feture ne face;
Frendely him fostered quatriuial aliaunce;
Alas, yet dede nowe arte thou, Jaspar, alas!

[Sidenote: Metricus quintus.]

Wherfore sorowe to oure sorowe none can be founde,
Ne cause agayne care to mollyfy oure monys:
Alas, the payne!
For his body and goste,
That we loued moste,
In a graue in the grounde
Deth depe hath drounde
Among robel and stonys:
Wherfore complayne.

[Sidenote: M. vi.]

Complayne, complayne, who can complayne;
For I, alas, past am compleynte!
To compleyne wyt can not sustayne,
Deth me with doloure so hath bespraynte;
For in my syghte,
Oure lorde and knyghte,
Contrary to righte,
Deth hath ateynte.

[Sidenote: M. vii. C. iteracio.]

As the vylest of a nacyon,
Deuoyde of consolacyon,
By cruel crucyacyon,
He hath combryd hym sore;
He hath him combryd sore,
That Fraunce and Englonde bere byfore
Armys of both quarteryd,
And with _hony soyte_ was garteryd,
Se howe he is nowe marteryd!
Alas for sorowe therfore,
Alas for sorowe therfore!
Oute and weleaway,
For people many a score
For him that yel and rore,
Alas that we were bore
To se this dolorous day!

With asshy hue compleyne also, I cry,
Ladyes, damosels, mynyonat and gorgayse;
Knyghtes aunterus of the myghty monarchy,
Complayne also; for he that in his dayes
To enhaunce wonte was your honoure, youre prayse,
Now is he gone, of erthly blysse ryfyld;
For dredeful Deth withouten delayse
Ful dolorously his breth hath stifild.

[Sidenote: C. transsumpcio.]

Terys degoutynge, also complayne, complayne,
Houndes peerles, haukes withoute pereialyte,
Sacris, faucons, heroners hautayne;
For nowe darked is youre pompe, youre prodogalyte,
Youre plesures been past vnto penalyte;
Of with your rich caperons, put on your mourning hodes;
For Iaspar, your prynce by proporcyon of qualyte,
Paste is by Deth those daungerous flodys.

[Sidenote: M. viii.]

He that manhode meyntened and magnamynite,
His blasynge blys nowe is with balys blechyd;
Through Dethes croked and crabbed cruelte,
In doloure depe nowe is he drowned and drechyd;
His starynge standerde, that in stoures strechyd
With a sable serpent, nowe set is on a wall,
His helme heedles, cote corseles, woful and wrechyd,
With a swerde handeles, there hange they all.

[Sidenote: M. ix.]

Gewellys of late poysyd at grete valoyre,
He ded, they desolate of every membre,
Stykynge on stakes as thynges of none shaloyre;
For the corse that they couched cast is in sendre,
By cruel compulsyon caused to surrendre
Lyfe vp to Deth that al ouerspurneth:
O, se howe this worlde tourneth!
Some laugheth, some mourneth:
Yet, ye prynces precyous and tendre,
Whyle that ye here in glory soiourneth,
The deth of our mayster rue to remembre.

[Sidenote: C. exclamacio.]

O turmentoure, traytoure, torterous tyraunte,
So vnwarely oure duke haste thou slayne,
That wyt and mynde are vnsuffycyaunte
Agayne thy myschyf malyce to mayntayne!
We that in blysse wonte were to bayne,
With fortune flotynge moste fauourably,
Nowe thorow thrylled and persyd with payne,
Langoure we in feruente exstasy.

[Sidenote: C. reprobacio.]

O murtherer vnmesurable, withouten remors,
Monstruus of entrayle, aborryd in kynde,
Thou haste his corse dystressed by force,
Whos parayle alyue thou can not fynde!
Howe durst thou his flessh and spyryte vntynde,
Dissendynge fro Cyzyle, Jerusalem, and Fraunce?
O bazalyke bryboure, with iyes blynde,
Sore may thou rue thy vtterquidaunce!

Thou haste berafte, I say, the erthly ioye
Of one, broder and vncle to kynges in degre,
Lynyally descendynge fro Eneas of Troye,
Grete vncle and vncle to prynces thre,
Brother to a saynte by way of natyuyte,
Vncle to another whom men seketh blyue,
Blynde, croked, lame, for remedyes hourly;
Thus God that bromecod had gyuen a prerogatyue.

[Sidenote: C. newgacio.]

And yet thou, dolorous Deth, to the herte hast him stynged:
Wenest thou, felon, such murther to escape?
I say, the brewtors of Wales on the wyl be reuenged
For thy false conspyracy and frowarde fate:
We his seruantes also sole disconsolate
Haste thou lafte; so that creatures more maddyr
In erthe none wandreth atwene senit and naddyr.

[Sidenote: M. x.]

Wherfore, to the felde, to the felde, on with plate and male,
Beest, byrde, foule, eche body terrestryal!
Seke we this murtherer him to assayle;
Vnafrayde ioyne in ayde, ye bodyes celestyal;
Herry saynt, with iyes faynte to the also I cal,
For thy brothers sake, help Deth to take, that al may on him wonder;
For and he reyne, by drift sodeyne he wil ech kynd encumbre.

_Dethe._

[Sidenote: C. prosopopeya. M. xi.]

Fouconer, thou arte to blame,
And oughte take shame
To make suche pretense;
For I Deth hourly
May stande truly
At ful lawful defence:
Deth hath no myghte,
Do wronge no righte,
Fauoure frende ne fo,
But as an instrumente
At commaundemente
Whether to byde or go.

I am the instromente
Of one omnipotente,
That knowest thou fyrme and playne;
Wherfore fro Dethe
Thy wo and wreth
I wolde thou shulde reteyne,
And agayne God
For thy bromecod
Batayle to darayne.

[Sidenote: M. xii. C. Introductio.]

Than, if it be ryghte, most of myght, thy godhed I acuse,
For thy myght contrary to right thou doste gretly abuse;
Katyffes vnkind thou leuest behind, paynis, Turkes, and Iewis,
And our maister gret thou gaue wormes to ete; wheron gretly I muse:
Is this wel done? answer me sone; make, Lorde, thyn excuse.

[Sidenote: M. xiii. C. onomotopeya.]

Dyd thou disdayne that he shuld rayne? was that els the cause?
In his rayne he was moste fayne to mynester thy lawes;
Than certayn, and thou be playn and stedfaste in thy sawes,
Euery knyght that doth right, ferynge drede ne awes,
Of thy face bryghte shall haue syghte,
After this worldly wawes:
Than, gode Lorde, scripture doth record, verefieng that cause,
That our bromcod with the, gode God, in heuen shal rest and pause.

[Sidenote: M. xiiii. C. probacio.]

For first of nought thou him wroght of thy special grace,
And wers than noght him also boght in Caluery in that place;
Thou by thoght oft he were broght with Satanas to trace,
Yet, Lorde, to haue pyte thou oght on the pycture of thy face.

[Sidenote: M. xv.]

We neyther he dampned to be, willyngly thou wilt noght;
Yet dampned shal he and we be, if thy mercy helpe nought:
Discrecion hast thou gyuen, yde [Lorde?]; what wold we more ought?
After deth to lyue with the, if we offende nought.

[Sidenote: M. xvi.]

There is a cause yet of oure care, thou creatoure alofte,
That thy gospel doth declare, whiche I forgete noughte;
Howe vnwarly our welfare fro vs shal be broughte
By Deth that none wyl spare, Lorde, that knowe we noughte:
In syn drowned if we dare, and so sodenly be coughte,
Than of blysse ar we bare; that fylleth me ful of thoughte.

[Sidenote: C. degressio. M. xvii.]

Thou knowest, Lorde, beste thysylfe,
Man is but duste, stercorye, and fylthe,
Of himsylfe vnable,
Saue only of thy specyal grace,
A soule thou made to occupye place,
To make man ferme and stable;
Which man to do as thou ordeyned,
With fendes foule shal neuer be payned,
But in blysse be perdurable;
And if he do the contrarye,
After this lyfe than shal he dye,
Fendes to fede vnsaciable;
For which fendys foule thou made a centre,
In which centre thou made an entre,
That such that to breke thy commaundementes wolde auenter
Theder downe shulde dessende;
But oure maister, whan Deth hym trapte,
In pure perseueraunce so was wrapte,
That thou inuisyble his speryte thyder rapte
Where thy sheltrons him shal defende.

[Sidenote: M. quatrinalis. C. transuersio.]

If we nat offende,
He wyl purchace
A gloryous place
At oure laste ende;

To se his face
We shal assende,
By his grete grace,
If we nat offende.

Thou haste enuapored, I say, alofte
The soule of Jaspar, that thou wroughte,
Seruyce to do latrial:
And why, Lorde, I dyd the reproue,
Was for perfyte zele and loue,
To the nat preiudicyal;
For, Lorde, this I knowe expresse,
This worldly frute is bytternesse,
Farcyd with wo and payne,
Lyfe ledynge dolorously in distresse,
Shadowed with Dethes lykenesse,
As in none certayne.

[Sidenote: C. neugacio.]

Yet, me semeth so, thou art non of tho that vs so shuld begyle:
He is nat yet ded; I lay my hed, thou hast him hid for a while;
And al to proue who doth him loue and who wil be vnkynd,
Thou hast in led layde him abed, this trow I in my mynd;
For this we trow, and thou dost know, as thy might is most,
That him to dye, to lowe and hye it were to grete a lost.

[Sidenote: C. excusacio.]

And he be dede, this knowe I very right;
Thou saw, Lorde, this erth corrupt with fals adulacyon,
And thought it place vnmete for Jaspar thy knyght;
Wherfore of body and soule thou made seperacyon,
Preantedate seynge by pure predestynacyon
Whan his lyfe here shulde fyne and consum;
Wherfore, Lorde, thus ende I my dolorous exclamacyon,
Thy godenes knewe what was beste to be done.

[Sidenote: M. xviii. C. conclusio.]

As a prynce penytente and ful of contricion,
So dyed he, we his seruauntes can recorde:
And that he may haue euerlastynge fruicyon,
We the beseche, gloryous kynge and lorde!
For the laste leson that he dyd recorde,
To thy power he it aplyed, saynge _tibi omnes_,
As a hye knyghte in fidelyte fermely moryd,
_Angeli celi et potestates_;
Wherwith payne to the hert him boryd,
And lyfe him lefte, gyuynge deth entres.
Whiche lyfe, in comparyson of thyne,
Is as poynt in lyne, or as instant in tyme;
For thou were and arte and shal be of tyme,
In thy silfe reynynge by power diuyne,
Makynge gerarcyüs thre and orders nyne,
The to deifye:
Wherfore we crye,
Suffer nat Jaspar to dye,
But to lyue;
For eternally that he shal lyue
Is oure byleue.

[Sidenote: M. xix. C. prolongacio.]

And than [?] moste craftely dyd combyne
Another heuen, called cristalline,
So the thyrde stellyferal to shyne
Aboue the skye:
Wherfore we crye,
Suffer nat Jaspar to dye,
But to lyue;
For eternally that he shal lyue
Is oure byleue.

Moreouer in a zodiake pure and fyne
Synys xii. thou set for a tyme,
And them nexte, in cercle and lyne,
Saturne thou set, Iupiter, and Mars citryne,
Contect and drye:
Wherfore we crye,
Suffer nat Jaspar to dye,
But to lyue;
For eternally that he shal lyue
Is oure byleue.

Than, to peryssh, thorouthryll, and myne
The mystes blake and cloudes tetryne,
Tytan thou set clerely to shyne,
The worldes iye:
Wherfore we crye, _vt supra_.

Yet in their epycercles to tril and twyne,
Retrograte, stacyoner, directe, as a syne,
Uenus thou set, Marcury, and the Mone masseline;
Nexte fyre and ayre, so sotyl of engyne,
The to gloryfye:

Wherfore we crye,
Suffer nat Jaspar to dye,
But to lyue;
For eternally that he shal lyue
Is oure byleue.

Water, and erth with braunch and vine;
And so, thy werkes to ende and fyne,
Man to make thou dyd determyne,
Of whome cam I:
Wherfore I cry and the supplye,
Suffer nat Jaspar to dye,
But to lyue;
For eternally that he shal lyue
Is oure byleue.

With him, to comford at all tyme,
Thou ioyned the sex than of frayle femynyne,
Which by temptacyon serpentyne
Theyre hole sequele broughte to ruyne
By ouergrete folye:
Wherfore we crye,
Suffer not Jaspar to dye,
But to lyue;
For eternally that he shal lyue
Is oure byleue.

Than, of thy godenes, thou dyd enclyne
Flessh to take of thy moder and virgyne,
And vs amonge, in payne and famyne,
Dwalte, and taughte thy holy doctryne
Uulgarly:
Wherfore we crye,
Suffer nat Jaspar to dye,
But to lyue;
For eternally that he shal lyue
Is oure byleue.

Tyl a traytoure, by false couyne,
To Pylat accused the at pryme;
So taken, slayne, and buryed at complyne,
Rose agayne, of Adam redemynge the lyne
By thy infynyte mercy:
For whych mercy,

Incessantly we crye,
And the supplye,
Suffer nat our lorde to dye,
But to lyue;
For eternally that he shal lyue
Is oure byleue.

[Sidenote: M. xx.]

Kynges, prynces, remembre, whyle ye may,
Do for yoursilfe, for that shal ye fynde
Executours often maketh delay,
The bodye buryed, the soule sone oute of mynde;
Marke this wel, and graue it in youre mynde,
Howe many grete estates gone are before,
And howe after ye shal folowe by course of kynde:
Wherfore do for youresilfe; I can say no more.

Though ye be gouernours, moste precious in kynde,
Caste downe your crounes and costely appareyle,
Endored with golde and precyous stones of Ynde,
For al in the ende lytyl shal auayle;
Whan youre estates Deth lyketh to assayle,
Your bodyes bulgynge with a blyster sore,
Than withstande shal neyther plate ne mayle:
Wherfore do for youresilfe; I can say no more.

There is a vertue that moost is auaunsed,
Pure perseueraunce called of the porayle,
By whome al vertues are enhaunsed,
Which is not wonne but by diligente trauayle:
Ware in the ende; for and that vertue fayle,
Body and soule than are ye forlore:
Wherfore, if ye folowe wyll holsom counsayle,
Do for youresilfe; I can say no more.

Kynges, prynces, moste souerayne of renoune,
Remembre oure maister that gone is byfore:
This worlde is casual, nowe vp, nowe downe;
Wherfore do for yoursilfe; I can say no more.

Amen.

_Honor tibi, Deus, gloria, et laus!_

Smerte, _maister de ses ouzeaus_.

[276] _The Epitaffe of the moste noble and valyaunt Jaspar late duke of Beddeforde_] The old ed. is a quarto, n. d. Above these words, on the title-page, is a woodcut, exhibiting the author (with a falcon on his hand) kneeling and presenting his work to the king. On the reverse of the last leaf is Pynson’s device.

If not really written by Smert (or Smart), the duke’s falconer, (see stanza 3, and the subscription at the conclusion, “_Smert, maister de ses ouzeaus_”) this curious poem was not, at all events, as the style decidedly proves, the composition of Skelton, to whom it was first attributed by Bishop Tanner.

I now print it from a transcript of the (probably unique) copy in the Pepysian library,—a transcript which appears to have been made with the greatest care and exactness; but I think right to add, that have not had an opportunity of seeing the original myself.

Jasper Tudor, second son of Owen Tudor by Katherine widow of King Henry the Fifth, was created Earl of Pembroke, in 1452, by his half-brother, King Henry the Sixth. After that monarch had been driven from the throne by Edward, Jasper was attainted, and his earldom conferred on another. He was again restored to it, when Henry had recovered the crown; but being taken prisoner at the battle of Barnet, he lost it a second time. After the battle of Bosworth, Henry the Seventh not only reinstated Jasper (his uncle) in the earldom of Pembroke, but also created him Duke of Bedford, in 1485; subsequently appointed him Lieutenant of Ireland for one year, and granted to him and his heirs male the office of Earl Marshal of England with an annuity of twenty pounds. The duke married Katherine, daughter of Richard Wydevile Earl Rivers, and widow of Henry Stafford Duke of Buckingham. He died 21st Dec. 1495, and, according to his own desire, expressed in his will, was buried in the abbey of Keynsham, where he founded a chantry for four priests to sing mass for the souls of his father, his mother, and his elder brother Edmond Earl of Richmond. He left no children except a natural daughter. See Sandford’s _Geneal. Hist._ p. 292. ed. 1707.

ELEGY ON KING HENRY THE SEVENTH.[277]

... orlde all wrapped in wretchydnes,
... hy pompes so gay and gloryous,
... easures and all thy ryches
... y be but transytoryous;
... to moche pyteous,
... e that eche man whylom dred,
... by naturall lyne and cours,
... s, alas, lyeth dede!

... ryall a kynge,
... ianer the prudent Salamon;
... sse and in euery thynge,
... 10 Crysten regyon,
... not longe agone,
... his name by fame spr[e]de;
... te nowe destytute alone,
... as, alas, lyeth dede!

... ater we wretchyd creatures,
... es and tryumphaunt maiestye,
... pastymes and pleasures,
... thouten remedye;
... o wyll the myserable bodye
... n heuy lede,
... lde but vanyte and all vanytye,
... h alas, alas, lyeth dede!

... is subgectes and make lamentacyon
... o noble a gouernoure;
... ayers make we exclamacyon,
... de to his supernall toure:
... dly rose floure,
... yally all aboute spred,
... iated where is his power?
... alas, alas, lyeth dede!

Of this moost Crysten kynge in vs it lyeth not,
His tyme passed honour suffycyent to prayse;
But yet though that that thyng envalue we may not,
Our prayers of suertye he shall haue alwayes;
And though that Atropose hathe ended his dayes,
His name and fame shall euer be dred
As fer as Phebus spredes his golden rayes,
Though Henry the Seuenth, alas, alas, lyeth dede!

But nowe what remedye? he is vncouerable,
Touchyd by the handes of God that is moost just;
But yet agayne a cause moost confortable
We haue, wherin of ryght reioys we must,
His sone on lyue in beaute, force, and lust,
In honour lykely Traianus to shede;
Wherfore in hym put we our hope and trust,
Syth Henry his fader, alas, alas, lyeth dede!

And nowe, for conclusyon, aboute his herse
Let this be grauyd for endeles memorye,
With sorowfull tunes of Thesyphenes verse;
Here lyeth the puyssaunt and myghty Henry,
Hector in batayll, Vlyxes in polecy,
Salamon in wysdome, the noble rose rede,
Creses in rychesse, Julyus in glory,
Henry the Seuenth ingraued here lyeth dede!

[277] _Elegy on King Henry the Seventh_] From an imperfect broadside in the Douce Collection, now in the Bodleian Library, Oxford. This unique piece formerly belonged to Dr. Farmer, who has written on it, “Qu. the author of this Elegy? Per _J. Skelton_, tho’ not in his works?” to which Douce has added, “The Doctor is probably right in what he says concerning the Elegy on Henry the Seventh, which is a singular curiosity.”

At the top of the original is a woodcut, representing the dead king, lying on a bed or bier, crowned and holding his sceptre; on one side the royal arms, on the other the crown resting on a full-blown rose, which has the king’s initials in its centre.

Henry died April 21st, 1509: see note, p. 214.

VOX POPULI, VOX DEI.[278]

Mr. Skeltone, poete.[279]

To the Kinges moste Exellent Maiestie.[280]

I pray yow, be not wrothe
For tellyng of the trothe;
For this the worlde yt gothe
Both to lyffe and[281] lothe,
As God hymselffe he knothe;[282]
And, as all men vndrestandes,
Both lordeshipes[283] and landes
Are nowe in fewe mens handes;
Bothe substance and bandes
Of all the hole realme
As most men exteame,
Are nowe[284] consumyd cleane
From the fermour and the poore
To the towne and the towre;
Whiche makyth theym to lower,
To see that in theire flower
Ys nother malte nor meale,
Bacon, beffe, nor[285] veale,
Crocke mylke nor kele,
But readye for to steale
For very pure neade.
Your comons saye indeade,
Thei be not able to feade
In theire stable scant a steade,
To brynge vp nor to breade,
Ye,[286] scant able to brynge
To the marckytt eny thynge
Towardes theire housekeping;
And scant have a cowe,
Nor[287] to kepe a poore sowe:
This[288] the worlde is nowe.
And[289] to heare the relacyon
Of the poore mens communycacion,
Vndre what sorte and fashyon
Thei make theire exclamacyon,
You wolde have compassion.
Thus goythe theire protestacion,
Sayeng that suche and suche,
That of late are made riche,
Have to, to, to myche
By grasyng and regratinge,
By poulyng and debatynge,
By roulyng and by dating,
By checke and checkematynge,[290]
[With delays and debatynge,
With cowstomes and tallynges,
Forfayttes and forestallynges];
So that your comons[291] saye,
Thei styll paye, paye
Most willyngly allwaye,
But yet thei see no staye
Of this outrage araye:
_Vox populi, vox Dei_;
O most noble kynge,
Consydre well this thynge!

2.

And thus the voyce doth multyplye
Amonge[292] your graces commonaltye:
Thei are in suche greate penvry[293]
That thei can nother sell nor bye,
Suche is theire extreame povertye;
Experyence dothe yt verefye,
As trothe itselffe dothe testefye.
This is a marveilous myserye:
And trewe thei saye, it is no lye;
For grasyers and regraters,
Withe to[294] many shepemasters,
That of erable grounde make pastures,
Are thei that be these wasters
That wyll vndoo your[295] lande,
Yf thei contynewe and stande,
As ye shall vnderstand
By this lytle boke:
Yf you[296] yt overloke,
And overloke agayne,[297]
Yt wyll tell you playne [298]
The tenour and the trothe,
Howe nowe[299] the worlde yt gothe
Withe my neighbour and my noste,[300]
In every countre, towne, and coste,
Within the circumvisions
Of your graces domynyons;
And why the poore men wepe
For storyng of suche shepe,
For that so many do[301] kepe
Suche nombre and suche store
As[302] never was seene before:
[What wolde ye any more?]
The encrease was never more.
Thus goythe the voyce and rore:
And truthe yt is indeade;
For all men nowe do breade
Which[303] can ketche any lande
Out of the poore mans[304] hande;
For who ys so greate a grasyer
As the landlorde[305] and the laweare?
For at[306] every drawing daye
The bucher more must paye
For his fatting ware,
To be the redyare[307]
Another tyme to crave,
When, he more shepe wold have;
And,[308] to elevate the pryce,
Somewhate he must ryce
Withe a sinque or a sice,
So that the bucher cannot spare,
Towardes his charges and his fare,
To sell the very carcas bare
Vnder xijˢ or a marke,
[Wiche is a pytyfull werke.]
Besyde the offall and the flece,[309]
The flece and the fell:
Thus he dothe yt sell.
Alas, alas, alas,
This is a pitious case!
What poore man nowe is able
To have meate on his table?
An oxe at foure[310] pounde,
Yf he be any thynge rounde,
Or cum not in theire[311] grounde,
Suche laboure for to waste:
This ys the newe caste,
The newe cast from the olde;
This comon pryce thei holde;
Whiche is a very ruthe,
Yf men myght saye the truthe.
The comons[312] thus dothe saye,
They are not able to paye,
But _miserere mei_:[313]
_Vox populi, vox Dei_;
O most noble kyng,
Consydre well this thynge!

3.

Howe saye you to this, my lordes?
Are not these playne recordes?
Ye knowe as well as I,
This[314] makes the comons crye,
This makes theym crye and wepe,
Myssevsing so theire shepe,
Theire shepe, and eke theire beves,
As yll or[315] wourse then theaves:
Vnto a comonwealthe
This ys a very stealthe.
But you that welthe[316] this bete,
You landlordes[317] that be grete,
You wolde not pay so for your meate,
Excepte your grasing ware so sweate,
Or elles I[318] feare me I,
Ye wold fynde remeadye,[319]
And that[320] right shortlye.
But yet this extremytie,
None feles yt but the comynaltie:
Alas, is there no remedye,
To helpe theym of this[321] myserye?
Yf there shuld come a rayne,
To make a dearthe of grayne,
As God may send yt playne
For our covetous and disdayne,
I wold knowe, among vs[322] all,
What ware he[323] that shuld not fall
And sorowe as he went,
For Godes ponyshment?
Alas, this were a plage[324]
For poverties pocession,
Towardes theire suppression,
For the greate mens transgression!
Alas, my lordes, foresee
There may be remeadye!
For the[325] comons saye,
Thei have no more to paye:
_Vox populi, vox Dei_;
O most noble kyng,
Consydre well this thyng!

4.

And yet not long agoo
Was preachers on or twoo,
That spake yt playne inowe
To you, to you, and to you,
Hygh tyme for to repent[326]
This dyvelishe entent
[Of covitis the convente]:
From Scotland into Kent
This preaching was bysprent;
And from the easte frount
Vnto Saynct Myghelles Mount,
This sayeng[327] dyd surmount
Abrode to all mens eares,
And to your graces peeres,
That from piller vnto[328] post
The powr man he[329] was tost;
I meane the labouring man,
I meane the husbandman,
I meane the ploughman,
I meane the[330] playne true man,
I meane the handecrafteman,
I meane the victualing[331] man,
Also[332] the good yeman,
That some tyme in this realme
Had plentye of kye and creame,
[Butter, egges, and chesse,
Hony, vax, and besse]:
But now, alacke, alacke,
All theise men goo to wracke,
That are the bodye and the[333] staye
Of your graces realme allwaye!
Allwaye and at leinghe
Thei must be your streinghe,
Your streinghe and your teme,
For to defende your realme.
Then yf theise men appall,
And lacke when you do call,
Which way may you or shall
Resist your enemyes all,
That over raging streames
Will vade[334] from forreyn reames?
For me to make judiciall,
This matter is to mystycall;
Judge you, my lordes, for me you shall,
Yours ys the charge that governes all;
For _vox populi_ me thei call,
That makith but reherssall
_De parvo_,[335] but not _de_ totall,
_De locis_, but not locall:
Therfore you must not blame
The wight that wrot the same;
For the comons[336] of this land
Have[337] sowen this in theire sande,
Plowing yt withe theire hande;
I founde it wheare I stande;
And I am but the hayne[338]
That wryttes yt newe[339] agayne,
The coppye for to see,
That also learneth me
To take therby good hede
My shepe howe for to fede;
For I a shepherd am,
A sorye poore man;
Yet wolde I wyshe, my lordes,
This myght be[340] your recordes,
And make of yt no dreame,
For yt ys a worthy realme,
A realme that in tymes past
Hath made the prowdest[341] agast.
Therfore,[342] my lordes all,
Note this in especiall,
And have it in memoryall
[With youre wysse vnyversall,
That nether faver nor effection,
Yowe grawnt youre protection
To suche as hath[343] by election
Shall rewle by erection,
And doth gett the perfection
Of the powre menes refection;
Wiche ys a grett innormyte
Vnto youre grasys commynalte;
For thay that of latt did supe
Owtt of an aschyn cuppe,
Are wonderfully sprowng vpe;
That nowght was worth of latt,
Hath now a cubborde of platt,
His tabell furnyscheyd tooe,
With platt besett inowe,
Persell gylte and sownde,
Well worth towo thousand pounde.
With castinge cownteres and ther pen,
Thes are the vpstart gentylmen;
Thes are thay that dewowre
All the goodes of the pawre,
And makes them dotysche davys,
Vnder the cowler of the kenges lawys.
And yett annother[344] decaye
To youre grasys seetes alwaye;
For the statte of all youre marchantmen
Vndo most parte of youre gentyllmen,
And wrape them in suche bandes
That thay haue halle ther landes,
And payeth but halfe in hande,
Tyll thay more vnderstownde
Of the profett of there lande,
And for the other halfe
He shalbe mayd a calfe,
Excepte he haue gud frendes
Wiche well cane waye bothe endes;
And yet with frendes tooe
He shall haue mvche to doe;
Wiche ys a grett innormyte
To youre grasys regallyte.
Lett marchantmen goe sayle
For that ys ther trwe waylle;
For of one c. ye haue not ten
That now be marchantes ventring men,
That occupi grett inawnderes,
Forther then into Flanderes,
Flawnderes or into France,
For fere of some myschance,
But lyeth at home, and standes
By morgage and purchasse of landes
Owtt of all gentyllmenes handes,
Wiche showld serve alwaye your grace
With horse and men in chasse;
Wiche ys a grett dewowre
Vnto youre regall pawre.
What presydente cane thay shewe,
That fowre skore yeres agooe,
That[345] any marchant here,
Above all charges clere,
In landes myght lett to hyre
To thowsant markes by yere?
Other where shall ye fynde
A gentyllman by kynde,
But that thay wyll ly in the wynde,
To breng hyme fer behynde,
Or elles thay wyll haue all,
Yf nedes thay hyme[346] forstall?
Wiche ys the hole decaye
Of your marchantmen, I saye,
And hynderes youre grasys costome
By the yere a thowsant pawnde,
And so marryth, the more petye,
The comonwelth of yche sytte,
And vndoth the cowntre,
As prosse [?] doth make propertie;
This matter most spesyally
Wolde be loked one quiclye.
Yett for ther recreation,
In pastime and procreation,
_In tempore necessitatis_,
I wysche thay myght haue grattis
Lysens to compownde,
To purchasse fortie pownde
Or fyfte at the moste,
By fyne or wrytte of post;
And yf any marchantman,
To lyve his occupieng then,
Wolde purchasse any more,
Lett hyme forfett it therfore.
Then showld ye se the trade
That marchantmen frist mayde,
Whyche wysse men dyd marshall,
For a welth vnyversall,
Yche man this lawe to lerne,
And trewly his goodes to yerne,[347]
The landlord with his terme,
The plowghtman with his ferme,
The kneght wyth his fare,
The marchant with his ware,
Then showld increse the helth
Of yche comonwelthe],
And be not withe me wrothe[348]
For tellyng you[349] the trothe;
For I do heare yt everye daye,
How the comons thus do saye,
Yf thei hadde yt, thei wold paye:
_Vox populi, vox Dei_;
O most noble kyng,
Consydre well this thyng!

5.

But, howe, Robyn, howe!
Whiche waye dothe the wynde blowe?
Herke! hercke! hercke!
Ys not here[350] a pytious werke,
The grounde and the cheiffe[351]
Of all this hole[352] myscheiffe?
For our covetous lordes
Dothe mynde no nother[353] recordes,
But framyng fynes for fermes,
Withe to myche, as some termes,
Withe rentes and remaynders,
Withe surveye and surrenders,
Withe comons and comon ingenders,
Withe inclosyers and extenders,
Withe horde vp, but no spenders;
For a comonwealthe
Whiche[354] is a verye stealthe.
Prove it who shall
To make therof tryall,
Thus goithe theire dyall:
I knowe not whates[355] a clocke,
But by the countre cocke,
The mone[356] nor yet the pryme,
Vntyll the sonne do shyne;
Or els I coulde tell
Howe all thynges shulde be well.
The compas may stand awrye,
But the carde wyll not lye:
Hale in your mayne shete,[357]
This tempest is to grete.
[For pawre men dayly sees
How officers[358] takes their fees,
Summe yll, and some yet worse,
As good right as to pike there purse:
Deservethe this not Godes curse?
There consyenes ys sooe grett,
Thaye fere not to dischare,[359]
Yf it were as moche more,
Soe thay maye haue the stowre.
Thus is oure we[l]the vndone
By synguler commodome;
For we are in dyvision,
Bothe for reght and religion;
And, as some[360] saythe,
We stagger in our faythe:
But excepte in shortt tyme
We drawe by one lyne,
And agre with one accorde,
Bothe the plowghman and the lorde,
We shall sore rewe
That ever this statte we knewe.]
The comons so do[361] saye,
Yf thei had yt, thei wold paye:
_Vox populi,[362] vox Dei_;
O most noble kyng,
Consydre well this thynge!

6.

Thus runnes this[363] rumour about
Amongest the hole route;
Thei can not bryng aboute
How this thyng[364] shuld be,
Yt hathe suche high degree:
The coyne yt is so scante,
That every man dothe wante,
And some thincke not so scace,[365]
But even as myche to base.
Our[366] merchauntmen do saye,
Thei fynde it day by daye
To be a matter straunge,
When thei shulde make exchaunge
On the other side the sea,
Thei are dryven to theire plea;
For where oure pounde somtyme
Was better then theires by nyne,
Nowe ours, when yt comes[367] forthe,
No better then theires is worthe,
No, nor scant soo good;
Thei saye so, by the roode.
How maye the merchauntman
Be able to occupye than,
Excepte, when he comes heare,
He sell his ware to deare?
He neades must have a lyveng,
Or elles, fye on hys[368] wynneng!
This coyne by alteracion
Hathe brought this desolacyon,
Whiche is not yet all knowen
What myscheiffe it hathe sowen.
Thei saye, Woo worthe that man
That first that coyne began,
To put in any hedde
The mynde to suche a rede,
To come to suche a hiere
For covetous desyre!
I knowe not what it meanethe;
But this thei saye and deamythe,[369]
_Væ illi[370] per quem scandalum venit!_
For[371] this wyll axe greate payne
Before it be well agayne,
Greate payne and sore
To make it as it was[372] before.
The[373] comons thus do saye,
Yf thei hadde yt, thei would paye:
_Vox populi, vox Dei_;
O most noble kynge,
Consydre well this thinge!

7.

This matter is to trewe,
That many man[374] dothe rewe
Theise sorowes doo ensue;
For poore men thei doo crye,
And saye it is awrye;
Thei saye thei can not be herde,
But styll from daye defferde,
When thei have any sute,
Thei maye goo blowe theire flute:
This[375] goithe the comon brute.
The riche man wyll come in;
For he is sure to wynne,
For he can make his waye,
With hande in hande to paye,
Bothe to thicke and thynne;[376]
Or els to knowe theire[377] pleasure,
My lorde is not at leysure;[378]
The poore man at the durre
Standes lyke an Island curre,
And dares not ons to sturre,[379]
Excepte he goo his waye,
And come another daye;
And then the matter is made,
That the poore man with his spade
Must no more his farme invade,
But must vse[380] some other trade;
For yt is so agreed
That my ladye mesteres Mede[381]
Shall hym expulce with all spede,
And our master the landlorde
Shall have yt all at his accorde,
His house and farme agayne,
To make therof his vttermost[382] gayne;
For his vantage wylbe more,
With shepe and cattell it to store,
And not to ploughe his grounde no more,
Excepte the fermour wyll aryere
The rent hyere by a hole yeare:
Yet must he have a fyne too,
The bargayne he may better[383] knowe;
Which makes[384] the marcket now so deare
That there be fewe that makes good cheare;
For the fermour must sell his goose,
As he may be able to paye for his house,
Or els, for non[385] payeng the rent,
Avoyde at our Lady daye in Lent:
Thus the poore man shalbe shent;
And then he and his wyffe,
With theire children, all theire lyffe,
Doth crye oute and ban
Vpon this covetous[386] man.
I sweare by God omnypotent,
I feare me[387] that this presedent
Wyll make vs all for to be[388] shent.
Trowe you, my lordes that be,
That God dothe not see
This riche mans charitie
_Per speculum ænigmatæ_?[389]
Yes, yes, you riche lordes,
Yt is wrytten in Cristes recordes,
That Dives laye in the fyere
With Belsabub his sire,
And Pauper he above satte
In the seate of Habrahams lappe,
And was taken from thys Troye,
To lyve allwaye with God in ioye.
The[390] comons thus do saye,
Yf thei had yt, thei wold paye:
_Vox populi, vox Dei;_
O most noble kyng,
Consydre well this thynge!

8.

The prayse no les is worthe,
Godes worde is well sett forthe:
Yt never was more preached,
Nor never so playnlye teached;
Yt never was so hallowed,
Nor never so lytle followed
Bothe of highe and lowe,
As many a man dothe trowe;[391]
For this ys a[392] playne perscripcion,
We have banyshed superstycion,
But styll we kepe ambycion;
We have sent awaye all cloysterers,[393]
But styll we kepe extorcyoners;
We have taken theire landes for theire abuse,
But we convert[394] theym to a wourse vse.
Yf this tale be no lye,
My lordes, this goythe awrye;
Awrye, awrye ye goo,
With many thinges moo,
Quyte from the highe[395] waye.
The comons thus do saye,
Yff thei hadd yt, thei wold paye:
_Vox populi, vox Dei_;
O most noble kyng,
Consydre well this thinge!

9.

Off[396] all this sequell
The faute I can not tell:
Put you together and spell,
My lordes of the councell.
I feare all be not well,
Ambycion so dothe swell,
As gothe[397] by reporte,
Amonge [398] the greatest sorte;
A wonderfull sorte of selles,[399]
That _vox populi_ telles,[400]
Of those bottomlesse welles,[401]
That are este, weast, and so furthe,
Bothe by southe, and also northe,
Withe riche, riche, and riche,
Withe riche, and to myche,
The poore men to begyle,
Withe sacke and packe to fyle,[402]
[With suche as we compownd
For an offys ij thowsant pownde:
Howe maye suche men do reght,
Youre pawre men to requytt
Owtt of there trowbell and payne,
But thay most gett it agayne
By craft or such coarsyon,
By bryberey and playne exstorsyon?]
With many ferrelys moo,
That I could truly shewe:
There never was suche myserye,
Nor never so myche vserye.
The comons so[403] do saye,
Yf we had ytt, we[404] wold paye:
_Vox populi, vox Dei_;
O most noble kynge,
Consydre well this thynge!

10.[405]

And thus this ile of Brutes,
Most plentyfull of frutes,
Ys sodenlye decayede;
Poore men allmost dysmayde,
Thei are so overlayed:
I feare and am afrayde
Of the stroke of God,
Whiche ys a perelous rodde.
Praye, praye, praye,
We never se that daye;
For yf that daye do come,
We shall dyssever and ronne,
The father agaynst the sonne,
And one agaynst another.
By Godes blessed[406] mother,
Or thei begynne to hugger,
For Godes sake looke aboute,
And staye betymes this route,
For feare thei doo come oute.
I put you out of doubte,
There ys no greate trust,
Yf trothe shuld be discuste:
Therfore, my lordes, take heade
That this gere do not brede
At[407] chesse to playe a mate,
For then yt is to late:
We may well prove a checke,
But thei wyll have the neke;[408]
Yt is not to be wondered,
For thei are not to be nombred.
This the poore men saye,[409]
Yf thei hadde yt, thei wolde paye:
_Vox populi, vox Dei_;
O most noble kyng,
Consydre well this thinge!

11.[410]

Yt is not one alone
That this[411] dothe gronte and grone,
And make[412] this pytyous mone;
For yt is more then wonder,
To heare the infynyte nombre
Of poore men that dothe[413] shewe
By reason yt must be soo.
Thei wishe and do coniector[414]
That my lordes grace and protector,
That cheiffe is nowe erector
And formost of the rynge,
Vnder our noble kynge,
That he wold se redresse
Of this moste greate excesse,
For yt stondes[415] on hym no lesse;
For he is calde doubteles
A man of greate prowesse,
And so dothe beare the fame,
And dothe desyre the same;
His mynde thei saye is good,
Yf all wold followe his moode.
Nowe for to sett the frame,
To kepe styll this good name,
He must delaye all excuses,
And ponnyshe these greate abuses
Of these fynes and newe vses,
That have so many muses;
And first and pryncipallye
Suppresse this shamfull[416] vsurye,
Comonlye called husbondrye;
For[417] yf there be no remeadye
In tyme and that right shortlye,
Yt wyll breade to a pluresye,
Whiche is a greate innormytie
To all the kynges[418] comynaltye;
For there is no smale nombre
That[419] this faute dothe incombre:
Yt is a wordly wondre.[420]
The comons[421] thus do saye,
Yf thei had yt, thei wolde paye:
_Vox populi, vox Dei_;
O most noble kyng,
Consydre well this thynge!

12.[422]

Nowe, at your graces leysour,
Yf you wyll see the seisor
Of all the cheffe treasure,
Heapyd without measure,
Of the substance of your realme,
As yt were in a dreame,
I wyll make an esteame,
In the handes of a fewe,
The trothe you to showe,
Howe[423] this matter dothe goo;
For I wyll not spare
The trothe to declare;
For trothe trulye ment
Was never yet shent,
Nor never shent shalbe;
Note this text of me,
Yt may a[424] tyme be framed
For feare some shuld be blamed,
But yt wyll not be shamed;
Yt is of suche a streinghe,
Yt wyll overcome at leinghe.
Yff nowe I shall not fayne,
The trothe to tell you playne
Of all[425] those that do holde
The substance and the[426] golde
And the treasure of this realme;[427]
And shortlye to call,
Allmost thei have all;
Att least thei have the[428] trade
Of all[429] that may be made:
And fyrst[430] to declare
By[431] a bryeffe what thei are,
To make shorte rehersall,
As well spyrytuall as temporall;
The laweare and the landelorde,[432]
The greate reave and the recorde,—
The recorde I meane is he
That hathe office or els ffee,
To serve our noble kyng
In his accomptes or[433] recknyng
Of his treasure surmonttynge,—
Lorde chauncellour and chauncellours,
Masters of myntes and monyers,
Secondaryes and surveyours,
Auditors and receivours,
Customers and comptrollers,
Purvyours and prollers,
Marchauntes of greate sailes,
With the master[434] of woodsales,
With grasyers and regraters,
With Master Williams of shepe masters,
And suche lyke comonwelthe[435] wasters,
That of erable groundes make[436] pasters,
[And payemasters suche as bythe[437]
With Trappes your golden smythe,]
With iij or iiij greate clothiars,
And the hole lybell of lawyars:
Withe theise and theire trayne,
To be bryeffe and playne,
Of theire to, to myche[438] gayne
That thei take for theire payne,
Yt is knowen by ceirten sterres[439]
That thei may[440] mayntayne your graces warres
By space[441] of a hole yeare,
Be yt good chepe or deare,
Thoughe[442] we shulde withstande
Both Fraunce and Scotlande,
And yet to leave ynough
Of money, ware, and stuffe,
Both in cattell and corne,
To more then thei were borne,
By patrymonye or bloode
To enherytte so myche goode.
By cause thei be so base,
Thei wylbe neadye and scase;[443]
For _quod natura dedit_
From gentle blode them[444] ledyth;
And to force a chorlishe best
_Nemo attollere potest_:
Yet rather then thei wold goo before,
Thei wolde helpe your grace with somwhat more,
For thei be they[445] that have the store;
Those be they wyll[446] warraunt ye,
Though you toke[447] never a penye
Of your poore comynaltie.
This is trewe vndoubtelye;
I dare affyrme it certeynlye;
For yf this world do holde,
Of force you must be bolde
To borowe theire fyne golde;
For thei have all[448] the store;
For[449] your comons have no more;
Ye may it call to lyght,
For yt is your awne right,
Yf that your grace have neade:
Beleve this as your Creade.
The poore men so[450] do saye,
Yf thei had yt, thei wold paye
With a better wyll then thei:
_Vox populi, vox Dei_;
O most noble kyng,
Consyder well this thynge!

13.[451]

O worthiest protectour,
Be herin corrector!
And you, my lordes all,
Let not your honor appall,
But knocke betymes and call
For theise greate vsurers all;
Ye knowe the pryncypall:
What neadith[452] more rehersall?
Yf you do not redresse
By tyme[453] this coveteousnes,
My hed I hold and gage[454],
There wylbe greate outrage;
Suche rage as never was seene
In any olde mans tyme.
Also for this perplexyte,[455]
Of these that are most welthye,
Yt ware a deade of charyte
To helpe theym of this[456] pluresie:
Yt comes by suche greate fyttes
That it takes awaye[457] theire wyttes,
Bothe[458] in theire treasure tellynge[459],
Or els in byeng and sellynge.
Yf thei of this weare eased,
Your grace shuld be well pleased,
And thei but lytle deseased
Of this covetous dropsye,
That brynges theym to thys pluresie,
Bothe the pluresye and goute[460],
Vncurable to be holpe [out],
Excepte your grace for pytie
Provyde this foresaid remeadye;
As doctors holde opynyon,
Both Ambros and Tertulian,
Withe the Swepestake and the Mynyon,
The Herte and[461] the Swallowe,
And all the rest that followe,
Withe[462] the Gallye and the Roo
That so swyffte do[463] goo,
Goo, and that apase,
By the Henry[464] Grace,
The Herrye and the Edwarde,[465]—
God sende theym all well forwarde,
Withe all the hole fleete!
Whose councell complete
Saithe it is full mete
That greate heddes and dyscreate
Shulde loke well to theire feate.
Amen, I saye, so be ytt!
As all your comons praye
For your long healthe allwaye.[466]
Yf thei hadde yt, thei wold paye
[With a better wyll then thay]:
_Vox populi, vox Dei_,
Thus dothe wrytte, and thus doth saye,
With this psalme, _Miserere mei_;
O most noble kyng,
Consyder well this thynge!

ffinis quothe Mr. Skelton, Poete Lawriate.[467]

[278] _Vox Populi, Vox Dei_] From _MS. 2567_ in the Cambridge Public Library, collated with _MS. Harl._ 367. fol. 130. The latter, though it contains a very considerable number of lines which are not found in the former, and which I have placed between brackets, is on the whole the inferior MS., its text being greatly disfigured by provincialisms.

This poem, which is assigned to Skelton only in the Cambridge MS., was evidently composed by some very clumsy imitator of his style. The subject, however, renders it far from uninteresting.

[279] _Mr. Skeltone, poete_] Not in _MS. Harl._

[280] _To the Kinges moste Exellent Maiestie_] So _MS. Harl._ Not in _MS. C._

[281] _and_] _MS. Harl._ “_and_ to.”

[282] _knothe_] So _MS. Harl.—MS. C._ “knoweth.”

[283] _lordeshipes_] So _MS. Harl._—_MS. C._ “lordshippe.”

[284]

_As most men, &c._
_Are nowe, &c._

Transposed in _MS. Harl._

[285] _nor_] So _MS. Harl._—_MS. C._ “or.”

[286] _Ye_] _M.S. Harl._ “Nor.”

[287] _Nor_] So _MS. Harl._—Omitted in _MS. C._—(“_to kepe_” is governed by the preceding “_able_.”)

[288] _This_] _MS. Harl._ “Thus.” (But see note, p. 86.)

[289] _And_] So _MS. Harl._—Omitted in _MS. C._

[290] _matynge_] So _MS. Harl._—_MS. C._ “making.”

[291] _comons_] _MS. Harl._ “poormen.”

[292] _Amonge_] _MS. Harl._ “Amownges.”

[293] _penvry_] So _MS. Harl._—_MS. C._ “povertye” (which ends the next line but one).

[294] _to_] _MS. Harl._ “soe.”