The Poetical Works of John Skelton principally according to the edition of the Rev. Alexander Dyce. In three volumes |
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Quintus passus.
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 | The Poetical Works of John Skelton |  |
123
Quintus passus.
Nowe in cometh another rabell;
Fyrst one wyth a ladell,
Another wyth a cradell,
And wyth a syde sadell:
And there began a fabell,
A clatterynge and a babell
Of folys fylly
That had a fole wyth wylly,
With, Iast you, and, gup, gylly!
She coulde not lye stylly.
Fyrst one wyth a ladell,
Another wyth a cradell,
And wyth a syde sadell:
And there began a fabell,
A clatterynge and a babell
Of folys fylly
That had a fole wyth wylly,
With, Iast you, and, gup, gylly!
She coulde not lye stylly.
Then came in a genet,
And sware by saynct Benet,
I dranke not this sennet
A draught to my pay;
Elynour, I thé pray,
Of thyne ale let vs assay,
And haue here a pylche of gray;
I were skynnes of conny,
That causeth I loke so donny.
And sware by saynct Benet,
I dranke not this sennet
A draught to my pay;
Elynour, I thé pray,
Of thyne ale let vs assay,
And haue here a pylche of gray;
I were skynnes of conny,
That causeth I loke so donny.
Another than dyd hyche her,
And brought a pottel pycher,
A tonnel, and a bottell,
But she had lost the stoppell;
She cut of her sho sole,
And stopped therwyth the hole.
And brought a pottel pycher,
A tonnel, and a bottell,
But she had lost the stoppell;
She cut of her sho sole,
And stopped therwyth the hole.
Amonge all the blommer,
Another brought a skommer,
A fryinge pan, and a slyce;
Elynour made the pryce
For good ale eche whyt.
Another brought a skommer,
124
Elynour made the pryce
For good ale eche whyt.
Than sterte in mad Kyt,
That had lyttle wyt;
She semed somdele seke,
And brought a peny cheke
To dame Elynour,
For a draught of lycour.
That had lyttle wyt;
She semed somdele seke,
And brought a peny cheke
To dame Elynour,
For a draught of lycour.
Than Margery Mylkeducke
Her kyrtell she did vptucke
An ynche aboue her kne,
Her legges that ye myght se;
But they were sturdy and stubbed,
Myghty pestels and clubbed,
As fayre and as whyte
As the fote of a kyte:
She was somwhat foule,
Crokenecked lyke an oule;
And yet she brought her fees,
A cantell of Essex chese
Was well a fote thycke,
Full of maggottes quycke;
It was huge and greate,
And myghty stronge meate
For the deuyll to eate;
It was tart and punyete.
Her kyrtell she did vptucke
An ynche aboue her kne,
Her legges that ye myght se;
But they were sturdy and stubbed,
Myghty pestels and clubbed,
As fayre and as whyte
As the fote of a kyte:
She was somwhat foule,
Crokenecked lyke an oule;
And yet she brought her fees,
A cantell of Essex chese
Was well a fote thycke,
Full of maggottes quycke;
It was huge and greate,
And myghty stronge meate
For the deuyll to eate;
It was tart and punyete.
Another sorte of sluttes,
Some brought walnuttes,
Some apples, some peres,
Some brought theyr clyppynge sheres,
Some brought this and that,
Some brought I wote nere what,
Some brought theyr husbandes hat,
Some podynges and lynkes,
Some trypes that stynkes.
Some brought walnuttes,
Some apples, some peres,
Some brought theyr clyppynge sheres,
125
Some brought I wote nere what,
Some brought theyr husbandes hat,
Some podynges and lynkes,
Some trypes that stynkes.
But of all this thronge
One came them amonge,
She semed halfe a leche,
And began to preche
Of the tewsday in the weke
Whan the mare doth keke;
Of the vertue of an vnset leke;
Of her husbandes breke;
Wyth the feders of a quale
She could to Burdeou sayle;
And wyth good ale barme
She could make a charme
To helpe wythall a stytch.
She semed to be a wytch.
One came them amonge,
She semed halfe a leche,
And began to preche
Of the tewsday in the weke
Whan the mare doth keke;
Of the vertue of an vnset leke;
Of her husbandes breke;
Wyth the feders of a quale
She could to Burdeou sayle;
And wyth good ale barme
She could make a charme
To helpe wythall a stytch.
She semed to be a wytch.
Another brought two goslynges,
That were noughty froslynges;
She brought them in a wallet,
She was a cumly callet:
The goslenges were untyde;
Elynour began to chyde,
They be wretchockes thou hast brought,
They are shyre shakyng nought!
That were noughty froslynges;
She brought them in a wallet,
She was a cumly callet:
The goslenges were untyde;
Elynour began to chyde,
They be wretchockes thou hast brought,
They are shyre shakyng nought!
| The Poetical Works of John Skelton | |