Select Works of the British Poets

In likewise ech of them tooke a knight
Clad in greene, and forth with hem they fare,
To an hegge, where they anon right
To make their justs they would not spare
Boughes to hew down, and eke trees square,
Wherwith they made hem stately fires great,
To dry their clothes that were ringing weat.

And after that of hearbs that there grew, They made for blisters of the sunne brenning, Very good and wholesome ointments new, Where that they yede the sick fast anointing, And after that they yede about gadering Pleasaunt salades which they made hem eat, For to refresh their great vnkindly heat.

The lady of the Leafe than began to pray
Her of the Floure (for so to my seeming
They should be as by their array)

To soupe with her, and eke for any thing,
That she should with her all her people bring:
And she ayen in right goodly manere,
Thanketh her of her most friendly cheare,

Saying plainely that she would obay

With all her herte all her commaundement,
And than anon without lenger delay
The lady of the Leafe hath one ysent
For a palfray, after her intent,
Arrayed well and faire in harneis of gold,
For nothing lacked, that to him long shold.

And after that to all her company

She made to puruey horse and euery thing
That they needed, and than full lustily,
Euen by the herber where I was sitting
They passed all so pleasantly singing,
That it would haue comforted any wight,
But than I sie a passing wonder sight.
For than the nightingale, that all the day
Had in the laurer sete, and did her might
The whole seruice to sing longing to May,
All sodainly gan to take her flight,
And to the lady of the Leafe forthright
She flew, and set her on her hond softly,
Which was a thing I marueled of greatly.
The goldfinch eke, that fro the medle tree
Was fled for heat into the bushes cold,
Unto the lady of the Flower gan flee,
And on her hond he set him as he wold,
And pleasauntly his winges gan to fold,
And for to sing they pained hem both as sore,
As they had do of all the day before.

And so these ladies rode forth a great pace,
And all the rout of knights eke in fere,
And I that had seen all this wonder case,
Thought I would assay in some manere,
To know fully the trouth of this matere,
And what they were that rode so pleasantly,
And whan they were the herber passed by,

I drest me forth, and happed to mete anone
Right a faire lady I you ensure,
And she come riding by her selfe alone,
All in white, with semblance ful demure:
I saluted her, and bad her good auenture
Might her befall, as I coud most humbly,
And she answered, "My doughter gramercy."

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"See ye not her that crowned is," quod she,
"All in white ?"-" Madame," quod I, "yes:"
"That is Diane, goddesse of chastite,

And for because that she a maiden is,
In her hond the braunch she beareth this,
That agnus castus men call properly,
And all the ladies in her company

"Which ye se of that hearb chaplets weare,
Be such as han kept alway hir maidenheed :
And all they that of laurer chaplets beare,
Be such as hardy were and manly indeed,
Victorious name which neuer may be dede,
And all they were so worthy of their hond,
In hir time that none might hem withstond.

"And tho that weare chaplets on their hede
Of fresh woodbind, be such as neuer were
To loue vntrue in word, thought, ne dede,
But aye stedfast, ne for pleasance ne fere,
Thogh that they shuld their hertes all to tere,
Would neuer flit but euer were stedfast,
Till that their liues there asunder brast."

"Now faire madame," quod I, " yet I would pray, Your ladiship if that it might be,

That I might know by some maner way, Sith that it hath liked your beaute, The trouth of these ladies for to tell me, What that these knights be in rich armour, And what tho be in grene and weare the flour? "And why that some did reuerence to that tre, And some vnto the plot of floures faire :" "With right good will my fair doghter," quod she, "Sith your desire is good and debonaire, Tho nine crowned be very exemplaire, Of all honour longing to chiualry,

And those certaine be called the nine worthy,

"Which ye may see riding all before,
That in hir time did many a noble dede,
And for their worthinesse full oft haue bore
The crowne of laurer leaues on their hede,
As ye may in your old bookes rede,
And how that he that was a conquerour,
Had by laurer alway his most honour.
"And tho that beare bowes in their hond
Of the precious laurer so notable,
Be such as were I woll ye vnderstond,
Noble knights of the round table,
And eke the douseperis honourable,
Which they beare in signe of victory,
It is witnesse of their deeds mightily.

"Eke there be knights old of the garter,
That in hir time did right worthily,
And the honour they did to the laurer,
Is for by they haue their laud wholly,
Their triumph eke, and marshall glory,
Which vnto them is more parfit richesse,
Than any wight imagine can or gesse.

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"But aie keping their beautie fresh and greene,
For there nis storme that may hem deface,
Haile nor snow, wind nor frosts kene,
Wherfore they haue this property and grace
And for the floure within a little space
Woll be lost, so simple of nature

They be, that they no greeuance may endure.

"And euery storme will blow them soone away,
Ne they last not but for a season,
That is the cause, the very trouth to say,
That they may not by no way of reason
Be put to no such occupation."

"Madame," quod I, "with all mine whole seruise, I thanke you now in my most humble wise.

"For now I am ascertained throughly,
Of euery thing I desired to know."
"I am right glad that I haue said soothly
Ought to your pleasure if ye will me trow:"
Quod she ayen, "but to whom do ye owe
Your seruice, and which will ye honour,

Tel me I pray, this yere, the Leafe or the Flour."

"Madame," quod I, "though I least worthy,
Unto the Leafe I owe mine obseruaunce:'
"That is," quod she, "right well done certainly,
And I pray God to honour you auaunce,
And kepe you fro the wicked remembraunce
Of male bouch, and all his crueltie,
And all that good and well conditioned be.

"For here may I no lenger now abide,
I must follow the great company
That ye may see yonder before you ride,"
And forth as I couth most humbly,
I tooke my leue of her as she gan hie,
After them as fast as euer she might,
And I drow homeward, for it was nigh night:

And put all that I had seene in writing
Under support of them that lust it to rede.
O little booke, thou art so vnconning,
How darst thou put thy self in prees for drede,
It is wonder that thou wexest not rede,
Sith that thou wost full lite who shall behold
Thy rude language, full boistously vnfold.

EXPLICIT.

GOOD COUNSAIL OF CHAUCER.

FLY fro the prease, and dwell with soothfastnesse,
Suffise vnto thy good though it be small,
For horde hath hate, and climbing tikelnesse,
Prease hath enuy, and wele is blent ouer all,
Sauour no more than thee behoue shall,
Rede well thy selfe that other folke canst rede,
And trouth thee shall deliuer, it is no drede.

Paine thee not ech crooked to redresse
In trust of her that tourneth as a ball,
Great rest standeth in little businesse,
Beware also to spurn againe a nall,
Striue not as doth a crocke with a wall,
Deme thy selfe that demest others dede,
And trouth thee shall deliuer it is no drede.

That thee is sent receiue in buxomnesse,
The wrastling of this world asketh a fall,
Here is no home, here is but wildernesse,
Forth pilgrime, forth beast out of thy stall,
Looke vp on high, and thanke God of all,
Weiue thy lusts, and let thy ghost thee lede,
And trouth thee shall deliuer, it is no drede.

EXPLICIT.

TO HIS EMPTY PURSE.

To you my purse and to none other wight
Complaine I, for ye be my lady dere,

I am sorry now that ye be light,
For certes ye now make me heauy chere,
Me were as lefe laid vpon a bere,
For which vnto your mercy thus I crie,
Be heauy againe, or els mote I die.

Now vouchsafe this day or it be night,
That I of you the blissful sowne may here,
Or see your colour like the sunne bright,
That of yelowness had neuer pere,
Ye be my life, ye be my hertes stere,
Queene of comfort and of good companie,
Be heauy againe, or els mote I die.

Now purse that art to me my liues light,
And sauiour, as downe in this world here,
Out of this towne helpe me by your might,
Sith that you woll not be my treasure,
For I am shaue as nere as any frere,
But I pray vnto your curtesie,
Be heauy againe, or els mote I die.

EXPLICIT.

JOHN SKELTON.

DIED 1529.

NEITHER the time nor place of Skelton's birth is known; it is thought that he was born in Norfolk, but descended from an ancient family in Cumberland, whose chief place of residence for many generations was at Armathwaite Castle, and who are supposed by their name to have come from Skelton, (Scaletown) "a village in the forest of Englewood, in that place, where of ancient time the country people that had their sheep, swine, and milk-beasts agisted in the forest, had certain scaler, skeels (chalets) or little cottages to rest in, while they gathered the summer profits of such goods." It appears that he belonged to both Universities, having taken the degree of Poet Laureate at Oxford, and being permitted to wear the laurel at Cambridge. What the office of royal Orator was, which Henry VIII, to whom he had been tutor, conferred upon him, on his accession to the throne, is not well understood. His reputation must have been very high, for Erasmus calls him Britannicarum literarum decus et lumen. But neither his court favour, nor his erudition and extraordinary talents, obtained him that preferment to which they might so easily have led. His satirical temper was probably the cause, for he was a "a pleasant conceited fellow, and of a very sharp wit: exceeding bold, and could nip to the very quick when he once set hold."

The pre

Skelton was curate of Trompington, near Cambridge, the well-known scene of the Miller's Tale, and rector of gloomy Dis in Norfolk, in the diocese of that infamous persecutor, bishop Nix. late, in his own atrocious language, might well have considered Skelton as one savouring of the frying-pan, for the poet had directed his merciless satire in full force against the friars and the clergy; but he seems to have balanced the account by attacking the reformers in the same strain. The bishop suspended him for keeping a concubine. On his death-bed he declared that he conscientiously considered her as his wife, but that cowardliness had prevented him from acknowledging her in that character; for that he would rather have confessed adultery than marriage.

;

The greater part of Skelton's poems were collected into one volume in 1568, re-printed in 1736, and inserted in Chalmers's collection of the English Poets. Not the slightest care has been bestowed upon them they are even printed without punctuation. A complete edition is much to be desired. To edite them critically would be a difficult task; but the parts which are most obscure, are probably those which least deserve explanation, and might well be left in obscurity. They are worthy of preservation, as illustrating, in no common degree, the state and progress of our language, and the history of a most important age, and for their intrinsic merit also. Warton has undervalued him; which is the more remarkable, because Warton was a generous as well as a competent critic. He seems to have been disgusted with buffooneries, which, like those of Rabelais, were thrown out as a tub for the whale; for unless Skelton had written thus for the coarsest palates, he could not have poured forth his bitter and undaunted satire in such perilous times. Well might he say of him

Though my rhyme be ragged,
Tattered and jagged,
Rudely rain-beaten
Rusty and moth-eaten
If ye take well therewith
It hath in it some pith.

The power, the strangeness, the volubility of his language, the intrepidity of his satire, and the perfect originality of his manner, render Skelton one of the most extraordinary poets of any age or country.

The frequent recurrence of rhyme in short verses is to be found before him in the French poet Alain Chartres, and after him in Jean Marot. But they use it occasionally only, and intermixed with longer

verses.

If, however, he was wanting in moral courage, no The first moralities in our language which bear man of that age displayed greater temerity in his the name of their author are by Skelton; one of these writings. He attacked Wolsey in the plenitude of entitled Magnificence, was in Garrick's collection, his power, satirized him not for his faults alone and and is still preserved. The Nigromanser (which is in those parts of his character where he was vulner- the name of the other), it is to be feared is irreable, but for his "greasy genealogy," instead of ren-coverably lost. It was in the possession of Collins dering justice to those qualities, which having raised him from low birth, did not discredit his high estate; and thus at length he provoked the vengeance which he deserved. Orders were issued for apprehending him he took sanctuary at Westminster, and remained there under Abbot Islip's protection, till his death, which took place not long before the cardinal's fall. He was buried in the chancel of St. Mar

the poet, who showed it not long before his death to Warton as a very rare and valuable curiosity: and Warton read and has described the piece. When Ritson afterwards declared it to be utterly incredible that this work ever existed, the assertion must be regarded only as an example of that peculiar species of malignant and brutal insolence in criticism, which ought from him to be denominated Ritsonism.

HERE AFTER FOLOWETH A LITLE | Rudely rayne beaten,

BOKE CALLED

COLYN CLOUT,

COMPILED BY MASTER SKELTON

POET LAUREATE.

Quis consurgat mecum adversus malignantes? aut quis stabit mecum adversus operantes iniquitatem? Nemo domine.

WHAT can it auaile
To dryue forth a snayle,
Or to make a sayle
Of an herynges taile,
To ryme or to rayle,
To write or to indyte,
Eyther for delite
Or els for despite,
Or bookes to compile
Of diuers maner of style
Vyce to reuile,
And sinne to exyle;
To teache or to preche,
As reason wyll reach?
Saye thys and saye that,
His head is so fat
He wotteth neuer what
Nor wherof he speaketh;
He cryeth and he creketh,
He pryeth and he peketh,
He chydes and he chatters,
He prates and he patters,
He clytters and he clatters,
He medles and he smatters,
He gloses and he flatters;
Or if he speake plaine,
Than he lacketh brayne
He is but a foole!
Let him go to scoole,
A three footed stoole
That he may downe syt,
For he lacketh wit;
And if that he hit
The nayle on the head
It standeth in no stede.

The deuyll they say is dead!"
The deuill is dead!

It may wel so be;
Or els they wold see
Otherwise, and flee
From worldly vanitie,
And foule covetousnes,
And other wretchednes,
Fickell falsenesse,
Varyablenesse

With vnstablenesse,

And if ye stand in dout

Who brought this ryme about?
My name is Colyn Clout.

propose to shake out

All my conning bagge,

Lyke a clarkely hagge;

For though my rime be ragged,
Tattered and iagged,

Rusty and moothe eaten,
If ye talke well therewyth
It hath in it some pith.
For as farre as I can see,
It is wrong with eche degree;
For the temporalty
Accuseth the spiritualty;
The spirituall agayn
Doth grudge and complain
Upon temporall men;
Thus eche of other blother,
The tone against the tother:
Alas they make me shoder!
For in hoder moder

The churche is put in faulte;
The prelates ben so haut
They say, and loke so hye,
As though they wold flye
Aboue the sterry sky.

Lay men say indede
How they take no hede
Their sely shepe to fede,
But plucke away and pul
The fleces of their wull;
Unnethes they leve a locke
Of wull amonge their flocke.
And as for theyr connyng
A glumming and a mummyng,
And make therof a iape,
They gaspe and they gape
Al to haue promocion;
There is their whole deuocion,
With money, if it will hap
To cath the forked cap,
Forsoth they are to lewd
To say so all be shrewd.

What trow ye they say more
Of the byshoppes lore,
How in matters they be raw,
They lumber forth the law,
To herke Jacke and Gyl
Whan they put vp a bil,
And judge it as they will,
For other mens skill,
Expounding out their clauses,
And leaue their owne causes.
In their principal cure
They make but lytle sure,
And meddels very light
In the churches right.
But ire and venire
And sol fa, so alamire,
That the premenire
Is like to be set a fire,
In their jurisdictions,
Through temporall afflictions,
Men say they haue prescriptions
Against the spiritual contradic-
tions,
Accompting them as fictions.

And whiles the heades doe
this,

The remnaunt is amis
Of the clergy all
Both great and small.

I wot neuer how they warke,
But thus the people carke.
And surely thus they say,
Byshoppes if they may
Smal houses wold kepe,
But slumbre forth and slepe,
And assay to crepe
Within the noble walles
Of the kinges halles,
To fat their bodies full,
Their soules lame and dul,
And haue ful litle care
How euil their shepe fare.

The temporality say plain
How bishoppes disdain
Sermons for to make,
Or such labour to take;
And for to say trouth,
A great part is ful slouth,
But the greatest part
Is for they haue but smal art,
And right sclender cunnyng
Within their heades wunning.
But this reason they take,
How they are able to make
With their gold and treasure
Clerkes out of measure,
And yet that is a pleasure.
How be it some there bee
Almost two or three
Of that dignity,

Full worshipful Clerkes,

As appeareth by their werkes;
Like Aaron and Ure,
The wolfe from the dore
To wary, and to kepe.
From their gostly shepe,
And their spiritual lammes
Sequestred from rammes,
And from the berded gotes,
With their hery cotes,
Set nought by gold ne grotes
Their names if I durst tel.

But they are lothe to mel,
And lothe to hang the bel
About the cattes necke,
Fro dred to haue a checke;
They are fain to play, deuz

deck.

How be it they are good men,
Much harted lyke an hen,
Their lessons forgotten they haue
That Becket them gaue,

Thomas manum mittit ad fortia,
Spernit damna spernit opprobria,
Nulla Thomam frangit injuria.
But now euery spirituall father,
Men say they had rather
Spende muche of their share,
Than to be combred with care.
Spende, nay but spare!

For let see who that dare

Shoe the mockish mare!

They make her winch and kicke,
But it is not worthe a leeke,
Boldnesse is to seeke

The churche for to defende.
Take me as I intende!
For lothe I am to offende

In thys that I haue pende,
I tell you as men say
Amend when ye may!
For usque ad montem fare,
Men say ye cannot appare,
For some say ye hunt in parkes
And hanke on hobby larkes,
And other wanton warkes
When the night darkes.

What hath laymen to doe
The gray gose for to shoe?
Lyke houndes of hell
They cry and they yell,
How that ye sell

The grace of the Holy Gost;
Thus they make their bost
Through euery cost,
How some of you do eat
In Lenton season flesh meat
Fesauntea patriche and cranes;
Men call you therfore prophanes,
Ye picke no shrympes nor pranes,
Saltfish, stock fish nor herring,
It is not for your wearing,
Nor in holy Lenton season
Ye wil neither beanes ne peason,
But ye looke to be let loose
To a pygge or to a goose,
Your george not endewed
Without a capon stewed,
Or a stewed cocke,
Under her surfled smocke,
And her wanton wodicocke.

And how when ye geue orders
In your prouinciall borders,
As insipientes,

Some are insufficientes,

Some parum sapientes,

Some nihil intelligentes,

Some valde negligentes,
Some nullum sensum habentes,
But bestially and vntaught;
But whan they haue once caught
Dominus vobiscum by the hed,
Than renne they in euere stede,
God wot with dronken nolles!
Yet take they cures of soules,
And woteth neuer what they
rede,

Pater noster nor Crede.
Construe not worth a whistle
Nether Gospel nor Pistle,
They Mattins madly sayde,
Nothing deuoutly praid,
Their learning is so small,
Their prymes and houres fal
And lepe out of their lippes,
Lyke sawdust or dry chippes,
I speake not now of al,

But the moste parte in general.
Of suche vagabundus
Speaketh totus mundus.
How some syng let abundus
At euerye ale stake

With welcome hake and make,
By the bread that God brake,
I am sory for your sake.

I speake not of the god wife
But of their apostles lyfe,
Cum ipsis vel illis

Qui manent in villis,
Est uxor vel ancilla,
Welcome Jacke and Gilla,
My prety Petronylla,
And you wil be stilla,
You shall haue your wylla.
Of such pater noster pekes
All the worlde speakes.

In you the faut is supposed;
For that they are not apposed
By just examinacion,

By conning and conuersation:
They haue none instruction
To make a true construction;
A priest without a letter
Without his virtue be greater,
Doutlesse were much better
Upon him for to take
A mattocke or a rake.
Alas for very shame!

Some can not declyne their name,
Some cannot scarsly rede,
And yet will not drede
For to kepe a cure,
And in nothing is sure
This domine vobiscum
As wyse a Tom a thrum,
A chaplayne of truste
Layth all in the dust.

Thus I Colin Clout
As I go about,

And wandryng as I walke,
I heare the people talke;
Men say for syluer and golde
Miters are bought and sold;
There shall no clergy appose
A myter nor a crosse
But a full purse.

A straw for Goddes curse!
What are they the worse?
For a simoniake,
Is but a hermoniake,
And no more ye make
Of

symony men say

But a childes play.

Ouer this the forsayd laye,
Report how the pope maye
A holy anker call

Out of the stony wall,
And hym a bysshopp make,
If he on him dare take
To kepe so hard a rule,
To ryde vpon a mule
Wyth golde all be trapped,
In purple and paule be lapped,
Some hatted and some capped,
Rychely be wrapped,

God wot to theyr great paynes,
In rotchettes of fine raynes;
Whyte as morowes mylke,
Their tabertes of fine silke,
Their stirops of mixt golde be-
garded,

Their may no cost be spared.
Their moyles golde doth eate,
Theyr neighbours dye for meat.
What care they though Gill sweat,

Of Jacke of the Noke?
The pore people they yoke
With sommons and citacions
And excommunications,
Aboute churches and market;
The byshop on his carpet
At home full soft doth syt,
This is a feareful fyt,
To heare the people iangle!
Now warely they wrangle,
Alas why do ye not handle,
And them all mangle?
Full falsly on you they lye,
And shamefully you ascry,
And say as vntruly,
As the butter fly

A man might say in mocke
Ware the wethercocke
Of thee steple of Poules,
And thus they hurt their soules,
In sclaunderyng you for truth,
Alas it is great ruthe!
Some say ye sit in trones
Like prynces aquilonis,

And shryne your rotten bones
With pearles and precious stones,
But how the commons grones
And the people mones
For preestes, and for lones
Lent and neuer payde,
But from day to day delaid,
The commune welth decayd,
Men say ye are tunge tayde,
And therof speake nothing
But dissimuling and glosing.
Wherfore men be supposing
That ye geue shrewd counsel
Against the commune wel,
By pollyng and pillage
In cities and village,
By taxyng and tollage,

Ye haue monks to haue the culerage
For coueryng of an old cottage,
That committed is a collage
In the charter of dottage,
Tenure par service de sottage,
And not par service de socage,
After old segnyours

And the learning of Lifleton te

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Select Works of the British Poets: From Chaucer to Jonson, with Biographical ...