The Poetical Works of John Skelton principally according to the edition of the Rev. Alexander Dyce. In three volumes |
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| II. |
 | The Poetical Works of John Skelton |  |
19
SKELTON LAUREATE AGAYNSTE A comely coystrowne, that curyowsly chawntyd, and curryshly cowntred, and madly in hys musykkys mokkyshly made agaynste the ix Musys of polytyke poems and poettys matryculat.
Of all nacyons vnder the heuyn,
These frantyke foolys I hate most of all;
For though they stumble in the synnys seuyn,
In peuyshnes yet they snapper and fall,
Which men the viii dedly syn call.
This peuysh proud, thys prendergest,
When he is well, yet can he not rest.
These frantyke foolys I hate most of all;
For though they stumble in the synnys seuyn,
In peuyshnes yet they snapper and fall,
Which men the viii dedly syn call.
This peuysh proud, thys prendergest,
When he is well, yet can he not rest.
A swete suger lofe and sowre bayardys bun
Be sumdele lyke in forme and shap,
The one for a duke, the other for dun,
A maunchet for morell theron to snap.
Hys hart is to hy to haue any hap;
But for in his gamut carp that he can,
Lo, Jak wold be a jentylman!
Be sumdele lyke in forme and shap,
The one for a duke, the other for dun,
A maunchet for morell theron to snap.
Hys hart is to hy to haue any hap;
But for in his gamut carp that he can,
Lo, Jak wold be a jentylman!
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Wyth, Hey, troly, loly, lo, whip here, Jak,
Alumbek sodyldym syllorym ben!
Curyowsly he can both counter and knak
Of Martyn Swart and all hys mery men.
Lord, how Perkyn is proud of hys pohen!
But ask wher he fyndyth among hys monacordys
An holy water clarke a ruler of lordys.
Alumbek sodyldym syllorym ben!
Curyowsly he can both counter and knak
Of Martyn Swart and all hys mery men.
Lord, how Perkyn is proud of hys pohen!
But ask wher he fyndyth among hys monacordys
An holy water clarke a ruler of lordys.
He can not fynd it in rule nor in space:
He solfyth to haute, hys trybyll is to hy;
He braggyth of his byrth, that borne was full bace;
Hys musyk withoute mesure, to sharp is hys my;
He trymmyth in hys tenor to counter pyrdewy;
His dyscant is besy, it is withoute a mene;
To fat is hys fantsy, hys wyt is to lene.
He solfyth to haute, hys trybyll is to hy;
He braggyth of his byrth, that borne was full bace;
Hys musyk withoute mesure, to sharp is hys my;
He trymmyth in hys tenor to counter pyrdewy;
His dyscant is besy, it is withoute a mene;
To fat is hys fantsy, hys wyt is to lene.
He lumbryth on a lewde lewte, Roty bully joyse,
Rumbyll downe, tumbyll downe, hey go, now, now!
He fumblyth in hys fyngeryng an vgly good noyse,
It semyth the sobbyng of an old sow:
He wold be made moch of, and he wyst how;
Wele sped in spyndels and turnyng of tauellys;
A bungler, a brawler, a pyker of quarellys.
Rumbyll downe, tumbyll downe, hey go, now, now!
He fumblyth in hys fyngeryng an vgly good noyse,
It semyth the sobbyng of an old sow:
He wold be made moch of, and he wyst how;
Wele sped in spyndels and turnyng of tauellys;
A bungler, a brawler, a pyker of quarellys.
Comely he clappyth a payre of clauycordys;
He whystelyth so swetely, he makyth me to swete;
His descant is dasshed full of dyscordes;
A red angry man, but easy to intrete:
An vssher of the hall fayn wold I get,
To poynte this proude page a place and a rome,
For Jak wold be a jentylman, that late was agrome.
He whystelyth so swetely, he makyth me to swete;
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A red angry man, but easy to intrete:
An vssher of the hall fayn wold I get,
To poynte this proude page a place and a rome,
For Jak wold be a jentylman, that late was agrome.
Jak wold jet, and yet Jyll sayd nay;
He counteth in his countenaunce to checke with the best:
A malaperte medler that pryeth for his pray,
In a dysh dare he rush at the rypest;
Dremyng in dumpys to wrangyll and to wrest:
He fyndeth a proporcyon in his prycke songe,
To drynk at a draught a larg and a long.
He counteth in his countenaunce to checke with the best:
A malaperte medler that pryeth for his pray,
In a dysh dare he rush at the rypest;
Dremyng in dumpys to wrangyll and to wrest:
He fyndeth a proporcyon in his prycke songe,
To drynk at a draught a larg and a long.
Nay, iape not with hym, he is no small fole,
It is a solemnpne syre and a solayne;
For lordes and ladyes lerne at his scole;
He techyth them so wysely to solf and to fayne,
That neyther they synge wel prycke songe nor playne:
Thys docter Deuyas commensyd in a cart,
A master, a mynstrell, a fydler, a farte.
It is a solemnpne syre and a solayne;
For lordes and ladyes lerne at his scole;
He techyth them so wysely to solf and to fayne,
That neyther they synge wel prycke songe nor playne:
Thys docter Deuyas commensyd in a cart,
A master, a mynstrell, a fydler, a farte.
What though ye can cownter Custodi nos?
As well it becomyth yow, a parysh towne clarke,
To syng Sospitati dedit ægros:
Yet bere ye not to bold, to braule ne to bark
At me, that medeled nothyng with youre wark:
Correct fyrst thy self; walk, and be nought!
Deme what thou lyst, thou knowyst not my thought.
As well it becomyth yow, a parysh towne clarke,
To syng Sospitati dedit ægros:
Yet bere ye not to bold, to braule ne to bark
At me, that medeled nothyng with youre wark:
Correct fyrst thy self; walk, and be nought!
Deme what thou lyst, thou knowyst not my thought.
22
A prouerbe of old, say well or be styll:
Ye are to vnhappy occasyons to fynde
Vppon me to clater, or els to say yll.
Now haue I shewyd you part of your proud mynde;
Take thys in worth, the best is behynde.
Wryten at Croydon by Crowland in the Clay,
On Candelmas euyn, the Kalendas of May.
Ye are to vnhappy occasyons to fynde
Vppon me to clater, or els to say yll.
Now haue I shewyd you part of your proud mynde;
Take thys in worth, the best is behynde.
Wryten at Croydon by Crowland in the Clay,
On Candelmas euyn, the Kalendas of May.
| The Poetical Works of John Skelton | |