The Poetical Works of John Skelton principally according to the edition of the Rev. Alexander Dyce. In three volumes |
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SKELTON LAUREATE DEFENDAR AGEINST LUSTY GARNYSHE
WELL BESEEN CRYSTOFER CHALANGAR, ET CETERA. |
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 | The Poetical Works of John Skelton |  |
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:
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,
Thy caytyvys carkes cours and crasy;
Moche of thy maneres I can blasy.
I haue receyuyd your secunde ryme.
Thowthe ye kan skylle of large and longe,
Ye syng allway the kukkowe songe:
147
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
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!
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!
And thus there ye lost yower pray;
Get ye anothyr where ye may.
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
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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 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 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,
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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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.
| The Poetical Works of John Skelton | |