The Poetical Works of John Skelton :: :: University of Virginia Library

Sithe ye haue me chalyngyd, M[aster] Garnesche,
Ruduly revilyng me in the kynges noble hall,
Soche an odyr chalyngyr cowde me no man wysch,
But yf yt war Syr Tyrmagant that tyrnyd with out nall;
For Syr Frollo de Franko was neuer halfe so talle.
But sey me now, Syr Satrapas, what autoryte ye haue
In your chalenge, Syr Chystyn, to cale me knaue?

What, haue ye kythyd yow a knyght, Syr Dugles the dowty,
So currysly to beknaue me in the kynges place?

133

Ye stronge sturdy stalyon, so sterne and stowty,
Ye bere yow bolde as Barabas, or Syr Terry of Trace;
Ye gyrne grymly with your gomys and with your grysly face.
But sey me yet, Syr Satropas, what auctoryte ye haue
In your chalange, Syr Chesten, to calle me a knaue?

Ye fowle, fers, and felle, as Syr Ferumbras the ffreke,
Syr capten of Catywade, catacumbas of Cayre,
Thow ye be lusty as Syr Lybyus launces to breke,
Yet your contenons oncomly, your face ys nat fayer:
For alle your proude prankyng, your pride may apayere.
But sey me yet, Syr Satrapas, wat auctoryte ye haue
In your chalenge, Syr Chesten, to cal me a knaue?

Of Mantryble the Bryge, Malchus the murryon,
Nor blake Baltazar with hys basnet routh as a bere,
Nor Lycon, that lothly luske, in myn opynyon,
Nor no bore so brymly brystlyd ys with here,
As ye ar brystlyd on the bake for alle your gay gere.

134

[But sey me yet, Syr Satrapas, what auctoryte ye haue
In your chalenge, Syr Chesten, to calle me a knaue?]

Your wynde schakyn shankkes, your longe lothy legges,
Crokyd as a camoke, and as a kowe calfles,
Bryngges yow out of fauyr with alle femall teggys:
That mastres Punt put yow of, yt was nat alle causeles;
At Orwelle hyr hauyn your anggre was laules.
[But sey me yet, Syr Satrapas, what auctoryte ye haue
In your chalenge, Syr Chesten, to calle me a knaue?]

I sey, ye solem Sarson, alle blake ys your ble;
As a glede glowynge, your ien glyster as glasse,
Rowlynge in yower holow hede, vgly to see;
Your tethe teintyd with tawny; your semely snowte doth passe,
Howkyd as an hawkys beke, lyke Syr Topyas.
Boldly bend you to batell, and buske your selfe to saue:
Chalenge your selfe for a fole, call me no more knaue.
Be the kynges most noble commandement.

135

SKELTON LAURYATE DEFENDER AGENST M[ASTER] GARNESCHE CHALANGAR, WITH GRESY, GORBELYD GODFREY [ET] CETERA.

How may I your mokery mekely tollerate,
[Your] gronynge, ȝour grontynge, your groinynge lyke a swyne?
[Your] pride ys alle to peuiche, your porte importunate;
[You] mantycore, ye maltaperte, ye can bothe wins and whyne;
[Your] lothesum lere to loke on, lyke a gresyd bote dothe schyne.
Ye cappyd Cayface copious, your paltoke on your pate,
Thow ye prate lyke prowde Pylate, be ware yet of chek mate.

Hole ys your brow that ye brake with Deu[ra]ndall your awne sworde;
Why holde ye on yer cap, syr, then? your pardone ys expyryd:
Ye hobble very homly before the kynges borde;

136

Ye countyr vmwhyle to capcyously, and ar ye be dysiryd;
Your moth etyn mokkysh maneres, they be all to myryd.
Ye cappyd Cayface copyous, your paltoke on your pate,
Thow ye prate lyke prowde Pylate, be ware of cheke mate.

O Gabionyte of Gabyone, why do ye gane and gaspe?
Huf a galante Garnesche, loke on your comly cors!
Lusty Garnysche, lyke a lowse, ye jet full lyke a jaspe;
As wytles as a wylde goos, ye haue but small remorrs
Me for to chalenge that of your chalennge makyth so lytyll fors.
Ye capyd Cayfas copyous, your paltoke on your pate,
Tho ye prate lyke prowde Pylate, be ware of cheke mate.

Syr Gy, Syr Gawen, Syr Cayus, for and Syr Olyuere,
Pyramus, nor Priamus, nor Syr Pyrrus the prowde,
In Arturys auncyent actys no where ys prouyd your pere;

137

The facyoun of your fysnamy the devyl in a clowde;
Your harte ys to hawte, I wys, yt wyll nat be alowde.
Ye capyd Cayfas copyus, your paltoke on your pate,
Thow ye prate lyke prowde Pylate, be ware of cheke mate.

Ye grounde yow vpon Godfrey, that grysly gargons face,
Your stondarde, Syr Olifranke, agenst me for to splay:
Baile, baile at yow bothe, frantyke folys! follow on the chase!
Cum Garnyche, cum Godfrey, with as many as ȝe may!
I advyse yow be ware of thys war, rannge yow in aray.
Ye cappyd Cayfas copyous, [your paltoke on your pate,
Thow ye prate lyke prowde Pylate, be ware of cheke mate.]

Gup, gorbellyd Godfrey, gup, Garnysche, gaudy fole!
To turney or to tante with me ye ar to fare to seke:
For thes twayne whypslouens calle for a coke stole:

138

Thow mantycore, ye marmoset, garnyshte lyke a Greke,
Wranglynge, waywyrde, wytles, wraw, and nothyng meke.
Ye cappyd [Cayfas copyous, your paltoke on your pate,
Thow ye prate lyke prowde Pylate, be ware of cheke mate.]

Mirres vous y,
Loke nat to hy.

By the kynges most noble commaundment.

139

SKELTON LAWRYATE DEFENDER AGENYST LUSTY GARNYCHE WELLE BE SEYN CRYSTEOUYR CHALANNGER, ET CETERA.

I haue your lewde letter receyuyd,
And well I haue yt perseyuyd,
And your skrybe I haue aspyed,
That your mad mynde contryuyd.
Sauynge your vsscheres rod,
I caste me nat to be od
With neythyr of yow tewyne:
Wherfore I wryght ageyne;
How the fauyr of your face
Is voyd of all good grace;
For alle your carpet cousshons,
Ye haue knauyche condycyonns.
Gup, marmeset, jast ye, morelle!
I am laureat, I am no lorelle.
Lewdely your tyme ye spende,
My lyuyng to reprehende;
And wyll neuer intende
Your awne lewdnes to amende:
Your Englyshe lew[d]ly ye sorte,
And falsly ȝe me reporte.
Garnyche, ye gape to wyde:

140

Yower knavery I wyll nat hyde,
For to aswage your pride.

Whan ye war yonger of age,
Ye war a kechyn page,
A dyshwasher, a dryvyll,
In the pott your nose dedde sneuyll;
Ye fryed and ye broylyd,
Ye rostyd and ye boylyd,
Ye rostyd, lyke a fonne,
A gose with the fete vponne;
Ye slvfferd vp sowse
In my lady Brewsys howse.
Wherto xulde I wryght
Of soche a gresy knyght?
A bawdy dyscheclowte,
That bryngyth the worlde abowte
With haftynge and with polleynge,
With lyenge and controlleynge.

At Gynys when ye ware
But a slendyr spere,
Dekkyd lewdly in your gere;
For when ye dwelt there,
Ye had a knauysche cote
Was skantly worthe a grote;
In dud frese ye war schrynyd,
With better frese lynyd;
The oute syde euery day,
Ye myght no better a way;

141

The insyde ye ded calle
Your best gowne festyvalle.
Your drapry ȝe ded wante,
The warde with yow was skante.
When ye kyst a shepys ie,
------ mastres Andelby,
------ Gynys vpon a gonge,
------ sat sumwhat to longe;
------ hyr husbandes hed,
------ malle of lede,
------ that ye ther prechyd,
To hyr loue ye nowte rechyd:
Ye wolde haue bassyd hyr bumme,
So that sche wolde haue kum
On to your lowsy den;
But sche of all men
Had yow most in despyght,
Ye loste hyr fauyr quyt;
Your pyllyd garleke hed
Cowde hocupy there no stede;
She callyd yow Syr Gy of Gaunt,
Nosyd lyke an olyfaunt,
A pykes or a twybyll;
Sche seyd how ye ded brydell,
Moche lyke a dromadary;
Thus with yow sche ded wary,
With moche mater more
That I kepe in store.

142

Your brethe ys stronge and quike;
Ye ar an eldyr steke;
Ye wot what I thynke;
At bothe endes ye stynke;
Gret daunger for the kynge,
Whan hys grace ys fastynge,
Hys presens to aproche:
Yt ys to your reproche.
Yt fallyth for no swyne
Nor sowtters to drynke wyne,
Nor seche a nody polle
A pryste for to controlle.

Lytyll wyt in your scrybys nolle
That scrybblyd your fonde scrolle,
Vpon hym for to take
Agennst me for to make,
Lyke a doctor dawpate,
A lauryate poyete for to rate.
Yower termys ar to grose,
To far from the porpose,
To contaminate
And to violate
The dygnyte lauryate.

Bolde bayarde, ye are to blynde,
And grow all oute of kynde,
To occupy so your mynde;
For reson can I non fynde
Nor good ryme in yower mater;
I wondyr that ye smatyr,
So for a knaue to clatyr;

143

Ye wolde be callyd a maker,
And make moche lyke Jake Rakar;
Ye ar a comly crakar,
Ye lernyd of sum py bakar.
Caste vp your curyows wrytyng,
And your dyrty endytyng,
And your spyghtfull despyghtyng,
For alle ys nat worthe a myteyng,
A makerell nor a wyteyng:
Had ye gonne with me to scole,
And occupyed no better your tole,
Ye xulde haue kowththyd me a fole.

But now, gawdy, gresy Garnesche,
Your face I wyse to varnyshe
So suerly yt xall nat tarnishe.
Thow a Sarsens hed ye bere,
Row and full of lowsy here,
As heuery man wele seethe,
Ful of grett knauys tethe,
In a felde of grene peson
Ys ryme yet owte of reson;
Your wyt ys so geson,
Ye rayle all out of seson.

Your skyn scabbyd and scuruy,
Tawny, tannyd, and shuruy,
Now vpon thys hete
Rankely whan ye swete,
Men sey ye wyll wax lowsy,
Drunkyn, drowpy, drowsy.

144

Your sworde ye swere, I wene,
So tranchaunt and so kene,
Xall kyt both wyght and grene:
Your foly ys to grett
The kynges colours to threte.
Your brethe yt ys so felle
And so puauntely dothe smelle,
And so haynnously doth stynke,
That naythyr pump nor synke
Dothe sauyr halfe so souer
Ageynst a stormy shouer.
O ladis of bryght colour,
Of bewte that beryth the flower,
When Garnyche cummyth yow amonge
With hys brethe so stronge,
Withowte ye haue a confectioun
Agenst hys poysond infeccioun,
Els with hys stynkyng jawys
He wyl cause yow caste your crawes,
And make youer stomoke seke
Ovyr the perke to pryk.

Now, Garnyche, garde thy gummys;
My serpentins and my gunnys
Agenst ye now I bynde;
Thy selfe therfore defende.
Thou tode, thow scorpyone,
Thow bawdy babyone,
Thow bere, thow brystlyd bore,
Thou Moryshe mantycore,
Thou rammysche stynkyng gote,

145

Thou fowle chorlyshe parote,
Thou gresly gargone glaymy,
Thou swety slouen seymy,
Thou murrionn, thow mawment,
Thou fals stynkyng serpent,
Thou mokkyshe marmoset,
I wyll nat dy in they det.
Tyburne thou me assynyd,
Where thou xulddst haue bene shrynyd;
The nexte halter ther xall be
I bequeth yt hole to thé:
Soche pelfry thou hast pachchyd,
And so thy selfe houyr wachyd
That ther thou xuldyst be rachchyd,
If thow war metely machchyd.

Ye may wele be bedawyd,
Ye ar a fole owtelauyd;
And for to telle the gronde,
Pay Stokys hys fyue pownd.
I say, Syr Dalyrag,
Ye bere yow bold and brag
With othyr menys charge:
Ye kyt your clothe to large:
Soche pollyng paiaunttis ye pley,
To poynt yow fresche and gay.

And he that scryblyd your scrolles,
I rekyn yow in my rowllys,
For ij dronken sowllys.

146

Rede and lerne ye may,
How olde proverbys say,
That byrd ys nat honest
That fylythe hys owne nest.
Yf he wyst what sum wotte,
The flesche bastyng of his cote
Was sowyd with slendyr thre[de]:
God sende you wele good spede,
With Dominus vobiscum!
Good Latyn for Jake a thrum,
Tyll more matyr may cum.

By the kynges most noble commaundment.

SKELTON LAUREATE DEFENDAR AGEINST LUSTY GARNYSHE WELL BESEEN CRYSTOFER CHALANGAR, ET CETERA.

Garnyshe, gargone, gastly, gryme,
I haue receyuyd your secunde ryme.
Thowthe ye kan skylle of large and longe,
Ye syng allway the kukkowe songe:

147

Ye rayle, ye ryme, with Hay, dog, hay!
Your chorlyshe chauntyng ys all o lay.
Ye, syr, rayle all in deformite:
Ye haue nat red the properte
Of naturys workys, how they be
Myxte with sum incommodite,
As prouithe well, in hys Rethorikys olde,
Cicero with hys tong of golde.
That nature wrowght in yow and me,
Irreuocable ys hyr decre;
Waywardly wrowght she hath in thé,
Beholde thi selfe, and thou mayst se;
Thow xalte beholde no wher a warse,
They myrrour may be the deuyllys ars.
Wyth, knaue, syr knaue, and knaue ageine!
To cal me knaue thou takyst gret payne:
The prowdyst knaue yet of vs tewyne
Within thy skyn he xall remayne;
The starkest knaue, and lest good kan,
Thou art callyd of euery man;
The corte, the contre, wylage, and towne,
Sayth from thy to vnto thi croune,
Of all prowde knauys thow beryst the belle,
Lothsum as Lucifer lowest in helle.
On that syde, on thys syde thou dost gasy,
Thou thynkyst thy selfe Syr Pers de Brasy,

148

Thy caytyvys carkes cours and crasy;
Moche of thy maneres I can blasy.

Of Lumbardy Gorge Hardyson,
Thow wolde haue scoryd hys habarion;
That jentyll Jorge the Januay,
Ye wolde haue trysyd hys trowle away:
Soche paiantes with your fryndes ye play,
With trechery ye them betray.
Garnyshe, ye gate of Gorge with gaudry
Crimsin velvet for your bawdry.
Ye haue a fantasy to Fanchyrche strete,
With Lumbardes lemmanns for to mete,
With, Bas me, buttyng, praty Cys!
Yower lothesum lypps loue well to kyse,
Slaueryng lyke a slymy snayle;
I wolde ye had kyst hyr on the tayle!

Also nat fare from Bowgy row,
Ye pressyd pertely to pluk a crow:
Ye lost your holde, onbende your bow,
Ye wan nothyng there but a mow;
Ye wan nothyng there but a skorne;
Sche wolde nat of yt thow had sworne
Sche seyd ye war coluryd with cole dust;
To daly with yow she had no lust.
Sche seyd your brethe stanke lyke a broke;
With, Gup, Syr Gy, ye gate a moke.
Sche sware with hyr ye xulde nat dele,
For ye war smery, lyke a sele,
And ye war herey, lyke a calfe;
Sche praiid yow walke, on Goddes halfe!

149

And thus there ye lost yower pray;
Get ye anothyr where ye may.

Dysparage ye myn auncetry?
Ye ar dysposyd for to ly:
I sey, thow felle and fowle flessh fly,
In thys debate I thé askry.
Thow claimist thé jentyll, thou art a curre;
Haroldis they know thy cote armur:
Thow thou be a jantyll man borne,
Yet jentylnes in thé ys thred bare worne;
Haroldes from honor may thé devors,
For harlottes hawnte thyn hatefull cors:
Ye bere out brothells lyke a bawde;
Ye get therby a slendyr laude
Betweyn the tappett and the walle,—
Fusty bawdyas! I sey nat alle.
Of harlottes to vse soche an harres,
Yt bredth mothys in clothe of Arres.

What eylythe thé, rebawde, on me to raue?
A kyng to me myn habyte gaue:
At Oxforth, the vniversyte,
Auaunsid I was to that degre;
By hole consent of theyr senate,
I was made poete lawreate.
To cal me lorell ye ar to lewde:
Lythe and lystyn, all bechrewde!
Of the Musys nyne, Calliope
Hath pointyd me to rayle on thé.
It semyth nat thy pyllyd pate
Agenst a poyet lawreat

150

To take vpon thé for to scryue:
It cumys thé better for to dryue
A dong cart or a tumrelle
Than with my poems for to melle.

The honor of Englond I lernyd to spelle,
In dygnyte roialle that doth excelle:
Note and marke wyl thys parcele;
I yaue hym drynke of the sugryd welle
Of Eliconys waters crystallyne,
Aqueintyng hym with the Musys nyne.
Yt commyth thé wele me to remorde,
That creaunser was to thy sofre[yne] lorde:
It plesyth that noble prince roialle
Me as hys master for to calle
In hys lernyng primordialle.
Auaunt, rybawde, thi tung reclame!
Me to beknaue thow art to blame;
Thy tong vntawte, with poyson infecte,
Withowte thou leue thou shalt be chekt,
And takyn vp in such a frame,
That all the warlde wyll spye your shame.
Auaunt, auaunt, thow slogysh ------
And sey poetis no dys ------
It ys for no bawdy knaue
The dignite lawreat for to haue.

151

Thow callyst me scallyd, thou callyst me mad:
Thow thou be pyllyd, thow ar nat sade.
Thow ar frantyke and lakkyst wyt,
To rayle with me that thé can hyt.
Thowth it be now ful tyde with thé,
Yet ther may falle soche caswelte,
Er thow be ware, that in a throw
Thow mayst fale downe and ebbe full lowe:
Wherfore in welthe beware of woo,
For welthe wyll sone departe thé froo.
To know thy selfe yf thow lake grace,
Lerne or be lewde, I shrow thy face.

Thow seyst I callyd thé a pecok:
Thow liist, I callyd thé a wodcoke;
For thow hast a long snowte,
A semly nose and a stowte,
Prickyd lyke an vnicorne:
I wold sum manys bake ink horne
Wher thi nose spectacle case;
Yt wold garnyche wyll thy face.

Thow demyst my raylyng ouyrthwarthe;
I rayle to thé soche as thow art.
If thow war aquentyd with alle
The famous poettes saturicall,
As Percius and Iuuynall,
Horace and noble Marciall,
If they wer lyueyng thys day,
Of thé wote I what they wolde say;
They wolde thé wryght, all with one steuyn,
The follest slouen ondyr heuen,

152

Prowde, peuiche, lyddyr, and lewde,
Malapert, medyllar, nothyng well thewde,
Besy, braynles, to bralle and brage,
Wytles, wayward, Syr Wryg wrag,
Dysdaynous, dowble, ful of dyseyte,
Liing, spying by suttelte and slyght,
Fleriing, flatyryng, fals, and fykkelle,
Scornefull and mokkyng ouer to mykkylle.

My tyme, I trow, I xulde but lese
To wryght to thé of tragydese,
It ys nat mete for soche a knaue;
But now my proces for to saue,
I have red, and rede I xall,
Inordynate pride wyll haue a falle.
Presumptuous pride ys all thyn hope:
God garde thé, Garnyche, from the rope!
Stop a tyd, and be welle ware
Ye be nat cawte in an hempen snare.
Harkyn herto, ye Haruy Haftar,
Pride gothe before and schame commyth after.

Thow wrythtyst I xulde let thé go pley:
Go pley thé, Garnyshe, garnysshyd gay;
I care nat what thow wryght or sey;
I cannat let thé the knaue to play,
To dauns the hay or rune the ray:
Thy fonde face can me nat fray.
Take thys for that, bere thys in mynde,
Of thy lewdenes more ys behynde;
A reme of papyr wyll nat holde
Of thi lewdenes that may be tolde.

153

My study myght be better spynt;
But for to serue the kynges entent,
Hys noble pleasure and commandemennt,
Scrybbyl thow, scrybyll thow, rayle or wryght,
Wryght what thow wylte, I xall thé aquyte.

By the kyngys most noble commandemennt.