The Poetical Works of John Skelton principally according to the edition of the Rev. Alexander Dyce. In three volumes |
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| II. |
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Le Popagay sen va complayndre.
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 | The Poetical Works of John Skelton |  |
Le Popagay sen va complayndre.
Helas! I lamente the dull abusyd brayne,
The enfatuate fantasies, the wytles wylfulnes
Of on and hothyr at me that haue dysdayne:
Som sey, they cannot my parables expresse;
Som sey, I rayle att ryott recheles;
Some say but lityll, and thynke more in there thowghte,
How thys prosses I prate of, hyt ys not all for nowghte.
The enfatuate fantasies, the wytles wylfulnes
Of on and hothyr at me that haue dysdayne:
Som sey, they cannot my parables expresse;
Som sey, I rayle att ryott recheles;
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How thys prosses I prate of, hyt ys not all for nowghte.
O causeles cowardes, O hartles hardynes!
O manles manhod, enfayntyd all with fere!
O connyng clergye, where ys your redynes
To practise or postyll thys prosses here and there?
For drede ye darre not medyll with suche gere,
Or elles ye pynche curtesy, trulye as I trowe,
Whyche of yow fyrste dare boldlye plucke the crowe.
O manles manhod, enfayntyd all with fere!
O connyng clergye, where ys your redynes
To practise or postyll thys prosses here and there?
For drede ye darre not medyll with suche gere,
Or elles ye pynche curtesy, trulye as I trowe,
Whyche of yow fyrste dare boldlye plucke the crowe.
The skye is clowdy, the coste is nothyng clere;
Tytan hathe truste vp hys tressys of fyne golde;
Iupyter for Saturne darre make no royall chere;
Lyacon lawghyth there att, and berythe hym more bolde;
Racell, rulye ragged, she is like to cache colde;
Moloc, that mawmett, there darre no man withsay;
The reste of suche reconyng may make a fowle fraye.
Tytan hathe truste vp hys tressys of fyne golde;
Iupyter for Saturne darre make no royall chere;
Lyacon lawghyth there att, and berythe hym more bolde;
Racell, rulye ragged, she is like to cache colde;
Moloc, that mawmett, there darre no man withsay;
The reste of suche reconyng may make a fowle fraye.
Dixit, quod Parrott, the royall popagay.
Cest chose maleheure[u]se,
Que mall bouche.
Que mall bouche.
| The Poetical Works of John Skelton | |