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Devysyd by Master Skelton, Laureat.
(i)
With, ‘Lullay, lullay’, lyke a chylde,
Thou slepyst to long, thou art begylde!
‘My darlyng dere, my daysy floure,
Let me’, quod he, ‘ly in your lap.’
‘Ly styll’, quod she, ‘my paramoure,
Ly styll hardely, and take a nap.’
Hys hed was hevy, such was his hap,
All drowsy dremyng, dround in slepe,
That of hys love he toke no kepe,
With, hey, lullay, &c.
With ‘Ba, ba, ba’, and ‘bas, bas, bas’,
She cheryshed hym both cheke and chyn
That he wyst never where he was;
He had forgoten all dedely syn.
He wantyd wyt her love to wyn:
He trusted her payment, and lost all hys pray:
She left hym slepying, and stale away,
With, hey, lullay, &c.
The ryvers rowth, the waters wan;
She sparyd not, to wete her fete.
She wadyd over, she found a man
That halsyd her hartely and kyst her swete.
Thus after her cold she cought a hete.
‘My lefe’, she sayd, ‘rowtyth in hys bed;
I wys he hath an hevy hed,’
With, hey, lullay, &c.
What dremyst thou, drunchard, drousy pate?
Thy lust and lykyng is from the gone;
Thou blynkerd blowboll, thou wakyst to late;
Behold, thou lyeste, luggard, alone!
Well may thou sygh, well may thou grone,
To dele wyth her so cowardly;
I wys, powle hachet, she bleryd thyne I!
Quod Skelton, laureate.
(ii)
The auncient acquaintance, madam, betwen us twayn,
The famylyaryte, the formar dalyaunce,
Causyth me that I can not myself refrayne
But that I must wryte for my plesaunt pastaunce
Remembryng your passyng goodly countenaunce,
Your goodly port, your bewteous visage,
Ye may be countyd comfort of all corage.
Of all your feturs favorable to make tru discripcion,
I am insuffycyent to make such enterpryse;
For thus dare I say, without tradiccyon,
That Dame Menolope was never half so wyse;
Yet so it is that a rumer begynnyth for to ryse,
How in good horsmen ye set your hole delyght,
And have forgoten your old trew lovyng knyght.
Wyth bound and rebound, bounsyngly take up
Hys jentyll curtoyl, and set nowght by small naggys!
Spur up at the hynder gyrth, with, ‘Gup, morell, gup!’
With, ‘Jayst ye, jenet of Spayne, for your tayll waggys,
Ye cast all your corage uppon such courtly haggys!
Have in sergeaunt ferrour, myne horse behynd is bare.’
He rydeth well the horse, but he rydeth better the mare.
Ware, ware, the mare wynsyth wyth her wanton hele!
She kykyth with her kalkyns and keylyth with a clench;
She goyth wyde behynde, and hewyth never a dele:
Ware gallyng in the widders, ware of that wrenche!
It is perlous for a horseman to dyg in the trenche.
Thys grevyth your husband, that ryght jentyll knyght,
And so with youre servantys he fersly doth fyght.
So fersly he fytyth, his mynde is so fell,
That he dryvyth them doune with dyntes on ther day wach.
He bresyth theyr braynpannys and makyth them to swell,
Theyre browys all to-brokyn, such clappys they cach;
Whose jalawsy malycyous makyth them to lepe the hach!
By theyr conusaunce knowing how they serve a wily py:
Ask all your neybours whether that I ly.
It can be no counsell that is cryed at the cros:
For youre jentyll husband sorowfull am I;
How be it, he is not furst hath had a los.
Advertysyng you, madame, to warke more secretly,
Let not all the world make an owtcry;
Play fayre play, madame, and loke ye play clene,
Or ells with gret shame your game wylbe sene.
Quod Skelton, laureat.
(iii)
Knolege, aquayntance, resort, favour with grace;
Delyte, desyre, respyte wyth lyberte;
Corage wyth lust, convenient tyme and space;
Dysdayns, dystres, exylyd cruelte;
Wordys well set with good habylyte;
Demure demenaunce, womanly of porte;
Transendyng plesure, surmountyng all dysporte;
Allectuary arrectyd to redres
These feverous axys, the dedely wo and payne
Of thoughtfull hertys plungyd in dystres;
Refresshyng myndys the Aprell shoure of rayne;
Condute of comforte, and well most soverayne;
Herber enverduryd, contynuall fressh and grene;
Of lusty somer the passyng goodly quene;
The topas rych and precyouse in vertew;
Your ruddys wyth ruddy rubys may compare;
Saphyre of sadnes, envayned wyth Indy blew;
The pullyshed perle youre whytenes doth declare;
Dyamand poyntyd to rase oute hartly care;
Geyne surfetous suspecte the emeraud comendable;
Relucent smaragd, objecte imcomperable;
Encleryd myrroure and perspectyue most bryght,
Illumynyd wyth feturys far passyng my reporte;
Radyent Esperus, star of the clowdy nyght,
Lodestar to lyght these louers to theyr porte,
Gayne dangerous stormys theyr anker of supporte,
Theyr sayll of solace most comfortably clad,
Whych to behold makyth hevy hartys glad:
Remorse have I of youre most goodlyhod,
Of youre behavoure curtes and benynge,
Of your bownte and of youre womanhod,
Which makyth my hart oft to lepe and sprynge
And to remember many a praty thynge;
But absens, alas, wyth tremelyng fere and drede,
Abashyth me, albeit I have no nede.
You I assure, absens is my fo,
My dedely wo, my paynfull hevynes.
And if ye lyst to know the cause why so,
Open myne hart, beholde my mynde expres.
I wold ye coud! Then shuld ye se, mastres,
How there nys thynge that I covet so fayne
As to enbrace you in myne armys twayne.
Nothynge yerthly to me more desyrous
Than to beholde youre bewteouse countenaunce:
But, hatefull absens, to me so envyous,
Though thou withdraw me from her by long dystaunce,
Yet shall she never oute of remembraunce;
For I have gravyd her wythin the secret wall
Of my trew hart, to love her best of all!
Quod Skelton, laureat.
(iv)
Cuncta licet cecidisse putas discrimina rerum,
Et prius incera nunc tibi certa manent,
Consiliis usure meis tamen aspice caute,
Subdola non fallat te dea fraude sua:
Sepe solet placido mortales fallere vultu,
Et cute sub placida tabida sepe dolent;
Ut quando secura putas et cuncta serena
Anguis sub viridi gramine sepe latet.
Though ye suppose all jeperdys ar paste,
And all is done that ye lokyd for before,
Ware yet, I rede you, of Fortunes double cast,
For one fals poynt she is wont to kepe in store,
And under the fell oft festered is the sore:
That when ye thynke all daunger for to pas,
Ware of the lesard lyeth lurkyng in the gras.
Quod Skelton, laureat.
(v)
Go, pytyous hart, rasyd with dedly wo,
Persyd with payn, bleding with wondes smart,
Bewayle thy fortune, with vaynys wan and blo.
O Fortune unfrendly, Fortune unkynde thow art,
To be so cruell and so overthwart,
To suffer me so carefull to endure,
That wher I love best I dare not dyscure!
One ther is, and ever one shalbe,
For whose sake my hart is sore dyseasyd;
For whose love, welcom dysease to me!
I am content so all partys be pleasyd:
Yet, and God wold, I wold my payne were easyd!
But Fortune enforsyth me so carefully to endure,
That where I love best I dare not dyscure.
Skelton laureat, at the instance of a nobyll lady.
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