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The Poetical Works of John Skelton

principally according to the edition of the Rev. Alexander Dyce. In three volumes
Skelton, John (1460?-1529)

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VOLUME I.
  
OF THE DEATH OF THE NOBLE PRINCE, KYNGE EDWARDE THE FORTH, PER SKELTONIDEM LAUREATUM.
  
SKELTON LAUREAT VPON THE DOULOUR[U]S DETHE AND MUCHE LAMENTABLE CHAUNCE OF THE MOST HONORABLE ERLE OF NORTHUMBERLANDE.
  
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.
  
SKELTON LAUREAT, Vppon a deedmans hed, that was sent to hym from an honorable jentyllwoman for a token, deuysyd this gostly medytacyon in Englysh couenable, in sentence comendable, lamentable, lacrymable, profytable for the soule.
  
[Womanhod, wanton, ye want]
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Here folowythe dyuers Balettys and Dyties solacyous, deuysyd by Master Skelton, Laureat.
  
MANERLY MARGERY MYLK AND ALE.
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HERE BEGYNNETH A LYTELL TREATYSE, NAMED THE BOWGE OF COURTE.
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HERE AFTER FOLOWETH THE BOKE OF PHYLLYP SPAROWE.
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HERE AFTER FOLOWETH THE BOOKE CALLED ELYNOUR RUMMYNGE.
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POEMS AGAINST GARNESCHE.
  
SKELTON LAVREATE, ORATORIS REGIS TERTIUS, AGAINST VENEMOUS TONGUES ENPOYSONED WITH SCLAUNDER AND FALSE DETRACTIONS, &C.
  
[Ye may here now, in this ryme]
  
PRAYER TO THE FATHER OF HEAUEN.
  
TO THE SECONDE PARSON.
  
TO THE HOLY GOOSTE.
  
[Woffully araid]
  
[Now synge we, as we were wont]
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HERE AFTER FOLOWETH THE BOKE ENTYTULED WARE THE HAUKE, PER SKELTON, LAUREAT.
  
EPITHAPHE.
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SKELTON LAUREATE AGAINST THE SCOTTES.
  
VNTO DIUERS PEOPLE THAT REMORD THIS RYMYNGE AGAYNST THE SCOT JEMMY.
  
VILITISSIMUS SCOTUS DUNDAS ALLEGAT CAUDAS CONTRA ANGLIGENAS.
  
Why were ye Calliope embrawdred with letters of golde?
  
THE BOKE OF THREE FOOLES.
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A replycacion agaynst certayne yong scholers abiured of late, &c.
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VOLUME II.

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[Womanhod, wanton, ye want]

Womanhod, wanton, ye want;
Youre medelyng, mastres, is manerles;
Plente of yll, of goodnes skant,
Ye rayll at ryot, recheles:
To prayse youre porte it is nedeles;
For all your draffe yet and youre dreggys,
As well borne as ye full oft tyme beggys.
Why so koy and full of skorne?
Myne horse is sold, I wene, you say;
My new furryd gowne, when it is worne,
Put vp youre purs, ye shall non pay.
By crede, I trust to se the day,
As proud a pohen as ye sprede,
Of me and other ye may haue nede.
26

Though angelyk be youre smylyng,
Yet is youre tong an adders tayle,
Full lyke a scorpyon styngyng
All those by whom ye haue auayle:
Good mastres, Anne, there ye do shayle:
What prate ye, praty pyggysny?
I truste to quyte you or I dy.
Youre key is mete for euery lok,
Youre key is commen and hangyth owte;
Youre key is redy, we nede not knok,
Nor stand long wrestyng there aboute;
Of youre doregate ye haue no doute:
But one thyng is, that ye be lewde:
Holde youre tong now, all beshrewde!
To mastres Anne, that farly swete,
That wonnes at the Key in Temmys strete.
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