The Poetical Works of John Skelton (Vol. 1&2). John Skelton
he departed there he wolde be come.
I dare not speke, I promysed to be dome:
But, as I stode musynge in my mynde, 230
Haruy Hafter[283] came lepynge, lyghte as lynde.
Vpon his breste he bare a versynge boxe;
His throte was clere, and lustely coude fayne;
Me[284] thoughte, his gowne was all furred wyth foxe;
And euer he sange, Sythe I am no thynge playne.
To kepe him frome pykynge it was a grete payne:
He gased on me with his gotyshe berde;
Whan I loked on hym, my[285] purse was half aferde.
HARUY HAFTER.[286]
Syr, God you saue! why loke ye so sadde?
What thynge is that I maye do for you? 240
A wonder thynge that ye waxe not madde!
For, and I studye sholde as ye doo nowe,
My wytte wolde waste, I make God auowe.
Tell me your mynde: me thynke, ye make a verse;
I coude it skan,[287] and ye wolde it[288] reherse.
But to the poynte shortely to procede,
Where hathe your dwellynge ben, er ye cam here?
For, as I trowe, I haue sene you indede
Er this, whan that ye made me royall chere.
Holde vp the helme, loke vp, and lete God stere: 250
I wolde be mery, what wynde that euer blowe,
Heue and how rombelow, row the bote, Norman, rowe!
Prynces of yougthe[289] can ye synge by rote?
Or shall I sayle wyth you a felashyp assaye;
For on the booke I[290] can not synge a note.
Wolde to God, it wolde please you some daye
A balade boke before me for to laye,
And lerne me to synge, Re, my, fa, sol!
And, whan I fayle, bobbe me on the noll.
Loo, what is to you a pleasure grete, 260
To haue that connynge and wayes that ye haue!
By Goddis soule, I wonder how ye gete
Soo greate pleasyre,[291] or who to you it gaue:
Syr, pardone me, I am an homely knaue,
To be with you thus perte and thus bolde;
But ye be welcome to our housholde.
And, I dare saye, there is no man here inne
But wolde be glad of your company:
I wyste neuer man that so soone coude wynne
The fauoure that ye haue with my lady; 270
I praye to God that it maye neuer dy:
It is your fortune for to haue that grace;
As I be saued, it is a wonder case.
For, as for me, I serued here many a daye,
And yet vnneth I can haue my lyuynge:
But I requyre you no worde that I saye;
For, and I knowe ony erthly thynge
That is agayne you, ye shall haue wetynge:
And ye be welcome, syr, so God me saue:
I hope here after a frende of you to haue. 280
DREDE.
Wyth that, as he departed soo fro me,
Anone ther mette with him, as me thoughte,
A man, but wonderly besene was he;
He loked hawte,[292] he sette eche man at noughte;
His gawdy garment with scornnys[293] was all wrought;
With indygnacyon lyned was his hode;
He frowned, as he wolde swere by Cockes blode;
He bote the[294] lyppe, he loked passynge coye;
His face was belymmed, as byes had him stounge:
It was no tyme with him to jape nor toye; 290
Enuye hathe wasted his lyuer and his lounge,
Hatred by the herte so had hym wrounge,
That he loked pale as asshes to my syghte:
Dysdayne, I wene, this comerous crabes hyghte.[295]
To Heruy Hafter[296] than he spake of me,
And I drewe nere to harke what they two sayde.
Now, quod Dysdayne, as I shall saued be,
I haue grete scorne, and am ryghte euyll apayed.
Than quod Heruy, why arte thou so dysmayde?
By Cryste, quod he, for it is shame to saye; 300
To see Johan Dawes, that came but yester daye,
How he is now taken in conceyte,
This doctour Dawcocke, Drede, I wene, he hyghte:
By Goddis bones, but yf we haue som sleyte,
It is lyke he wyll stonde in our[297] lyghte.
By God, quod Heruy, and it so happen myghte;
Lete vs therfore shortely at a worde
Fynde some mene to caste him ouer the borde.
By Him that me boughte, than quod Dysdayne,
I wonder sore he is in suche conceyte. 310
Turde, quod Hafter,[298] I wyll thé no thynge layne,[299]
There muste for hym be layde some prety beyte;
We tweyne, I trowe, be not withoute dysceyte:
Fyrste pycke a quarell, and fall oute with hym then,
And soo outface hym with a carde of ten.
Forthwith