The Poetical Works of John Skelton principally according to the edition of the Rev. Alexander Dyce. In three volumes |
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Septimus passus.
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 | The Poetical Works of John Skelton |  |
Septimus passus.
Soft, quod one, hyght Sybbyll,
And let me wyth you bybyll.
She sat downe in the place,
With a sory face
Wheywormed about;
Garnyshed was her snout
Wyth here and there a puscull,
Lyke a scabbyd muscull.
This ale, sayde she, is noppy;
Let vs syppe and soppy,
And not spyll a droppy,
For so mote I hoppy,
It coleth well my croppy.
And let me wyth you bybyll.
She sat downe in the place,
With a sory face
Wheywormed about;
129
Wyth here and there a puscull,
Lyke a scabbyd muscull.
This ale, sayde she, is noppy;
Let vs syppe and soppy,
And not spyll a droppy,
For so mote I hoppy,
It coleth well my croppy.
Dame Elynoure, sayde she,
Haue here is for me,
A cloute of London pynnes;
And wyth that she begynnes
The pot to her plucke,
And dranke a good lucke;
She swynged vp a quarte
At ones for her parte;
Her paunche was so puffed,
And so wyth ale stuffed,
Had she not hyed apace,
She had defoyled the place.
Haue here is for me,
A cloute of London pynnes;
And wyth that she begynnes
The pot to her plucke,
And dranke a good lucke;
She swynged vp a quarte
At ones for her parte;
Her paunche was so puffed,
And so wyth ale stuffed,
Had she not hyed apace,
She had defoyled the place.
Than began the sporte
Amonge that dronken sorte:
Dame Eleynour, sayde they,
Lende here a cocke of hey,
To make all thynge cleane;
Ye wote well what we meane.
Amonge that dronken sorte:
Dame Eleynour, sayde they,
Lende here a cocke of hey,
To make all thynge cleane;
Ye wote well what we meane.
But, syr, among all
That sat in that hall,
There was a pryckemedenty,
Sat lyke a seynty,
And began to paynty,
As thoughe she would faynty;
She made it as koy
As a lege de moy;
She was not halfe so wyse
As she was peuysshe nyse.
She sayde neuer a worde,
But rose from the borde,
And called for our dame,
Elynour by name.
We supposed, I wys,
That she rose to pys;
But the very grounde
Was for to compounde
Wyth Elynour in the spence,
To pay for her expence:
I haue no penny nor grote
To pay, sayde she, God wote,
For washyng of my throte;
But my bedes of amber
Bere them to your chamber.
Then Elynour dyd them hyde
Wythin her beddes syde.
That sat in that hall,
There was a pryckemedenty,
Sat lyke a seynty,
130
As thoughe she would faynty;
She made it as koy
As a lege de moy;
She was not halfe so wyse
As she was peuysshe nyse.
She sayde neuer a worde,
But rose from the borde,
And called for our dame,
Elynour by name.
We supposed, I wys,
That she rose to pys;
But the very grounde
Was for to compounde
Wyth Elynour in the spence,
To pay for her expence:
I haue no penny nor grote
To pay, sayde she, God wote,
For washyng of my throte;
But my bedes of amber
Bere them to your chamber.
Then Elynour dyd them hyde
Wythin her beddes syde.
But some than sat ryght sad
That nothynge had
There of theyr awne,
Neyther gelt nor pawne;
Suche were there menny
That had not a penny,
But, whan they should walke,
Were fayne wyth a chalke
To score on the balke,
Or score on the tayle:
God gyue it yll hayle!
For my fyngers ytche;
I haue wrytten to mytche
Of this mad mummynge
Of Elynour Rummynge.
Thus endeth the gest
Of this worthy fest.
That nothynge had
There of theyr awne,
Neyther gelt nor pawne;
Suche were there menny
That had not a penny,
But, whan they should walke,
131
To score on the balke,
Or score on the tayle:
God gyue it yll hayle!
For my fyngers ytche;
I haue wrytten to mytche
Of this mad mummynge
Of Elynour Rummynge.
Thus endeth the gest
Of this worthy fest.
Quod Skelton, Laureat.
| The Poetical Works of John Skelton | |