The Poetical Works of John Skelton (Vol. 1&2). John Skelton
good grace.
Than sholde ye see there pressynge in a pace
Of one and other that wolde this lady see;
Whiche sat behynde a traues[249] of sylke fyne,
Of golde of tessew the fynest that myghte be,
In a trone whiche fer clerer[250] dyde shyne 60
Than Phebus in his spere celestyne;
Whoos beaute, honoure, goodly porte,
I haue to lytyll connynge to reporte.
But, of eche thynge there as I toke hede,
Amonge all other was wrytten in her trone,
In golde letters, this worde, whiche I dyde rede,
Garder[251] le fortune, que est mauelz et bone!
And, as I stode redynge this verse myselfe allone,
Her chyef gentylwoman, Daunger by her name,
Gaue me a taunte, and sayde I was to blame 70
To be so perte to prese so proudly vppe:
She sayde she trowed that I had[252] eten sause;
She asked yf euer I dranke of saucys cuppe.
And I than softly answered to that clause,
That, so to saye, I had gyuen her no cause.
Than asked she me, Syr, so God thé spede,
What is thy name? and I sayde, it was Drede.
What mouyd thé, quod she, hydder to come?
Forsoth, quod I, to bye some of youre ware.
And with that worde on me she gaue a glome 80
With browes bente, and gan on me to stare
Full daynnously, and fro me she dyde fare,
Leuynge me stondynge as a mased man:
To whome there came an other gentylwoman;
Desyre her name was, and so she me tolde,
Sayenge to me, Broder,[253] be of good chere,
Abasshe you not, but hardely be bolde,
Auaunce yourselfe to aproche and come nere:
What though our chaffer be neuer so dere,
Yet I auyse you to speke, for ony drede: 90
Who spareth to speke, in fayth he spareth to spede.[254]
Maystres, quod I, I haue none aquentaunce,
That wyll for me be medyatoure and mene;
And[255] this an other, I haue but smale substaunce.
Pece, quod Desyre, ye speke not worth a bene:
Yf ye haue not, in fayth I wyll you lene
A precyous jewell, no rycher in this londe;
Bone Auenture haue here now in your honde.
Shyfte now therwith, let see, as ye can,
In Bowge of Courte cheuysaunce to make; 100
For I dare saye that there nys erthly man
But, an[256] he can Bone Auenture take,
There can no fauour nor frendshyp hym forsake;
Bone Auenture may brynge you in suche case
That ye shall stonde in fauoure and in grace.
But of one thynge I werne[257] you er[258] I goo,
She that styreth the shyp, make her your frende.
Maystres, quod I, I praye you tell me why soo,
And how I maye that waye and meanes fynde.
Forsothe, quod she, how euer blowe the wynde, 110
Fortune gydeth and ruleth all oure shyppe:
Whome she hateth shall ouer the see boorde[259] skyp;
Whome she loueth, of all plesyre[260] is ryche,
Whyles she laugheth[261] and hath luste for to playe;
Whome she hateth,[262] she casteth in the dyche,
For whan she frouneth,[263] she thynketh to make a fray;
She cheryssheth[264] him, and hym she casseth[265] awaye.
Alas, quod I, how myghte I haue her sure?
In fayth, quod she, by Bone Auenture.
Thus, in a rowe, of martchauntes a grete route 120
Suwed to Fortune that she wold be theyre frynde:
They thronge in fast, and flocked her aboute;
And I with them prayed her to haue in mynde.
She promysed to vs all she wolde be kynde:
Of Bowge of Court she asketh what we wold haue;
And we asked Fauoure, and Fauour she vs gaue.
Thus endeth the Prologue; and begynneth the Bowge of Courte breuely compyled. [266]
DREDE.
The sayle is vp, Fortune ruleth our helme,
We wante no wynde to passe now ouer all;
Fauoure we haue tougher[267] than ony[268] elme,
That wyll abyde and neuer from vs fall: 130
But vnder hony ofte tyme lyeth bytter gall;
For, as me thoughte, in our shyppe I dyde see
Full subtyll persones, in nombre foure and thre.
The fyrste was Fauell, full of flatery,
Wyth fables false that well coude fayne a tale;
The seconde was Suspecte, whiche that dayly
Mysdempte eche man, with face deedly and pale;
And Haruy Hafter,[269]