The Poetical Works of John Skelton (Vol. 1&2). John Skelton

HERE AFTER FOLOWETH[474] THE BOOKE CALLED ELYNOUR RUMMYNGE. THE TUNNYNG OF ELYNOUR RUMMYNG PER SKELTON LAUREAT.

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      Tell you I chyll,

      If that ye wyll

      A whyle be styll,

      Of a comely gyll

      That dwelt on a hyll:

      But she is not gryll,

      For she is somwhat sage

      And well worne in age;

      For her vysage

      It would aswage 10

      A mannes courage.

      Her lothely lere

      Is nothynge clere,

      But vgly of chere,

      Droupy and drowsy,

      Scuruy and lowsy;

      Her face all bowsy,

      Comely crynklyd,

      Woundersly wrynkled,

      Lyke a rost pygges eare, 20

      Brystled wyth here.

      Her lewde lyppes twayne,

      They slauer, men sayne,

      Lyke a ropy rayne,

      A gummy glayre:

      She is vgly fayre;

      Her nose somdele hoked,

      And camously croked,

      Neuer stoppynge,

      But euer droppynge; 30

      Her skynne lose and slacke,

Grained[475] lyke a sacke;

      With a croked backe.

      Her eyen gowndy

      Are full vnsowndy,

      For they are blered;

      And she gray hered;

      Jawed lyke a jetty;

      A man would haue pytty

      To se how she is gumbed, 40

      Fyngered and thumbed,

      Gently ioynted,

      Gresed and annoynted

      Vp to the knockels;

The bones [of] her huckels[476]

Lyke as they were with buckels[477]

      Togyther made fast:

      Her youth is farre past:

      Foted lyke a plane,

Legged[478] lyke a crane; 50

      And yet she wyll iet,

Lyke a iolly fet,[479]

      In her furred flocket,

      And gray russet rocket,

      With symper the cocket.

      Her huke of Lyncole grene,

      It had ben hers, I wene,

      More then fourty yere;

And so doth it[480] apere,

For[481] the grene bare thredes 60

      Loke lyke sere wedes,

      Wyddered lyke hay,

      The woll worne away;

      And yet I dare saye

      She thynketh herselfe gaye

      Vpon the holy daye,

      Whan she doth her aray,

And gyrdeth in her gytes[482]

Stytched and pranked with pletes;[483]

      Her kyrtel Brystow red, 70

      With clothes vpon her hed

That wey[484] a sowe of led,

Wrythen in[485] wonder wyse,

      After the Sarasyns gyse,

      With a whym wham,

      Knyt with a trym tram,

      Vpon her brayne pan,

      Lyke an Egyptian,

Capped[486] about:

      Whan she goeth out 80

      Herselfe for to shewe,

      She dryueth downe the dewe

      Wyth a payre of heles

      As brode as two wheles;

She hobles as a gose[487]

With her blanket[488] hose

Ouer the falowe;[489]

      Her shone smered wyth talowe,

      Gresed vpon dyrt

      That baudeth her skyrt. 90

       Primus passus.

      And this comely dame,

      I vnderstande, her name

      Is Elynour Rummynge,

      At