The Poetical Works of John Skelton principally according to the edition of the Rev. Alexander Dyce. In three volumes |
 | I. |
 |
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
Quartus passus.
|
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
|
|
|
|
| II. |
 | The Poetical Works of John Skelton |  |
Quartus passus.
Some for very nede
Layde downe a skeyne of threde,
And some a skeyne of yarne;
Some brought from the barne
Both benes and pease;
Small chaffer doth ease
Sometyme, now and than:
Another there was that ran
With a good brasse pan;
Her colour was full wan;
She ran in all the hast
Vnbrased and vnlast;
Tawny, swart, and sallowe,
Lyke a cake of tallowe;
I swere by all hallow,
It was a stale to take
The deuyll in a brake.
Layde downe a skeyne of threde,
And some a skeyne of yarne;
Some brought from the barne
Both benes and pease;
Small chaffer doth ease
Sometyme, now and than:
Another there was that ran
With a good brasse pan;
Her colour was full wan;
She ran in all the hast
Vnbrased and vnlast;
121
Lyke a cake of tallowe;
I swere by all hallow,
It was a stale to take
The deuyll in a brake.
And than came haltyng Jone,
And brought a gambone
Of bakon that was resty:
But, Lorde, as she was testy,
Angry as a waspy!
She began to yane and gaspy,
And bad Elynour go bet,
And fyll in good met;
It was dere that was farre fet.
And brought a gambone
Of bakon that was resty:
But, Lorde, as she was testy,
Angry as a waspy!
She began to yane and gaspy,
And bad Elynour go bet,
And fyll in good met;
It was dere that was farre fet.
Another brought a spycke
Of a bacon flycke;
Her tonge was verye quycke,
But she spake somwhat thycke:
Her felow did stammer and stut,
But she was a foule slut,
For her mouth fomyd
And her bely groned:
Jone sayne she had eaten a fyest;
By Christ, sayde she, thou lyest,
I haue as swete a breth
As thou, wyth shamfull deth!
Of a bacon flycke;
Her tonge was verye quycke,
But she spake somwhat thycke:
Her felow did stammer and stut,
But she was a foule slut,
For her mouth fomyd
And her bely groned:
Jone sayne she had eaten a fyest;
By Christ, sayde she, thou lyest,
I haue as swete a breth
As thou, wyth shamfull deth!
Than Elynour sayde, Ye callettes,
I shall breake your palettes,
Wythout ye now cease!
And so was made the peace.
I shall breake your palettes,
Wythout ye now cease!
And so was made the peace.
122
Than thyder came dronken Ales;
And she was full of tales,
Of tydynges in Wales,
And of sainct James in Gales,
And of the Portyngales;
Wyth, Lo, gossyp, I wys,
Thus and thus it is,
There hath ben great war
Betwene Temple Bar
And the Crosse in Chepe,
And there came an hepe
Of mylstones in a route:
She speketh thus in her snout,
Sneuelyng in her nose,
As thoughe she had the pose;
Lo, here is an olde typpet,
And ye wyll gyue me a syppet
Of your stale ale,
God sende you good sale!
And as she was drynkynge,
She fyll in a wynkynge
Wyth a barlyhood,
She pyst where she stood;
Than began she to wepe,
And forthwyth fell on slepe.
Elynour toke her vp,
And blessed her wyth a cup
Of newe ale in cornes;
Ales founde therin no thornes,
But supped it vp at ones,
She founde therin no bones.
And she was full of tales,
Of tydynges in Wales,
And of sainct James in Gales,
And of the Portyngales;
Wyth, Lo, gossyp, I wys,
Thus and thus it is,
There hath ben great war
Betwene Temple Bar
And the Crosse in Chepe,
And there came an hepe
Of mylstones in a route:
She speketh thus in her snout,
Sneuelyng in her nose,
As thoughe she had the pose;
Lo, here is an olde typpet,
And ye wyll gyue me a syppet
Of your stale ale,
God sende you good sale!
And as she was drynkynge,
She fyll in a wynkynge
Wyth a barlyhood,
She pyst where she stood;
Than began she to wepe,
And forthwyth fell on slepe.
Elynour toke her vp,
And blessed her wyth a cup
Of newe ale in cornes;
Ales founde therin no thornes,
But supped it vp at ones,
She founde therin no bones.
| The Poetical Works of John Skelton | |