The Poetical Works of John Skelton principally according to the edition of the Rev. Alexander Dyce. In three volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of John Skelton |  |
Arectyng my syght towarde the zodyake,
The sygnes xii for to beholde a farre,
When Mars retrogradant reuersyd his bak,
Lorde of the yere in his orbicular,
Put vp his sworde, for he cowde make no warre,
And whan Lucina plenarly did shyne,
Scorpione ascendynge degrees twyse nyne;
The sygnes xii for to beholde a farre,
When Mars retrogradant reuersyd his bak,
Lorde of the yere in his orbicular,
Put vp his sworde, for he cowde make no warre,
And whan Lucina plenarly did shyne,
Scorpione ascendynge degrees twyse nyne;
171
In place alone then musynge in my thought
How all thynge passyth as doth the somer flower,
On euery halfe my reasons forthe I sought,
How oftyn fortune varyeth in an howre,
Now clere wether, forthwith a stormy showre;
All thynge compassyd, no perpetuyte,
But now in welthe, now in aduersyte.
How all thynge passyth as doth the somer flower,
On euery halfe my reasons forthe I sought,
How oftyn fortune varyeth in an howre,
Now clere wether, forthwith a stormy showre;
All thynge compassyd, no perpetuyte,
But now in welthe, now in aduersyte.
So depely drownyd I was in this dumpe,
Encraumpysshed so sore was my conceyte,
That, me to rest, I lent me to a stumpe
Of an oke, that somtyme grew full streyghte,
A myghty tre and of a noble heyght,
Whose bewte blastyd was with the boystors wynde,
His leuis loste, the sappe was frome the rynde.
Encraumpysshed so sore was my conceyte,
That, me to rest, I lent me to a stumpe
Of an oke, that somtyme grew full streyghte,
A myghty tre and of a noble heyght,
Whose bewte blastyd was with the boystors wynde,
His leuis loste, the sappe was frome the rynde.
Thus stode I in the frytthy forest of Galtres,
Ensowkid with sylt of the myry mose,
Where hartis belluyng, embosyd with distres,
Ran on the raunge so longe, that I suppose
Few men can tell now where the hynde calfe gose;
Faire fall that forster that so well can bate his hownde!
But of my purpose now torne we to the grownde.
Ensowkid with sylt of the myry mose,
Where hartis belluyng, embosyd with distres,
Ran on the raunge so longe, that I suppose
Few men can tell now where the hynde calfe gose;
Faire fall that forster that so well can bate his hownde!
But of my purpose now torne we to the grownde.
Whylis I stode musynge in this medytatyon,
In slumbrynge I fell and halfe in a slepe;
And whether it were of ymagynacyon,
Or of humors superflue, that often wyll crepe
Into the brayne by drynkyng ouer depe,
Or it procedyd of fatall persuacyon,
I can not wele tell you what was the occasyon;
In slumbrynge I fell and halfe in a slepe;
172
Or of humors superflue, that often wyll crepe
Into the brayne by drynkyng ouer depe,
Or it procedyd of fatall persuacyon,
I can not wele tell you what was the occasyon;
But sodeynly at ones, as I me aduysed,
As one in a trans or in an extasy,
I sawe a pauylyon wondersly disgysede,
Garnysshed fresshe after my fantasy,
Enhachyde with perle and stones preciously,
The grounde engrosyd and bet with bourne golde,
That passynge goodly it was to beholde:
As one in a trans or in an extasy,
I sawe a pauylyon wondersly disgysede,
Garnysshed fresshe after my fantasy,
Enhachyde with perle and stones preciously,
The grounde engrosyd and bet with bourne golde,
That passynge goodly it was to beholde:
Within it, a prynces excellente of porte;
But to recount her ryche abylyment,
And what estates to her did resorte,
Therto am I full insuffycyent;
A goddesse inmortall she dyd represente;
As I harde say, dame Pallas was her name;
To whome supplyed the royall Quene of Fame.
But to recount her ryche abylyment,
And what estates to her did resorte,
Therto am I full insuffycyent;
A goddesse inmortall she dyd represente;
As I harde say, dame Pallas was her name;
To whome supplyed the royall Quene of Fame.
| The Poetical Works of John Skelton | |