The Poetical Works of John Skelton (Vol. 1&2). John Skelton
home in her wonnynge;
And as men say
She dwelt[490] in Sothray,
In a certayne stede
Bysyde Lederhede.
She is a tonnysh gyb;
The deuyll and she be syb. 100
But to make vp my tale,
She breweth noppy ale,
And maketh therof port sale[491]
To trauellars, to tynkers,
To sweters, to swynkers,
And all good ale drynkers,
That wyll nothynge spare,
But drynke tyll they stare
And brynge themselfe bare,
With, Now away the mare, 110
And let vs sley care,
As wyse as an hare!
Come who so wyll
To Elynour on the hyll,
Wyth, Fyll the cup, fyll,
And syt there by styll,
Erly and late:
Thyther cometh Kate,
Cysly, and Sare,
With theyr legges bare, 120
And also theyr fete
Hardely full vnswete;
Wyth theyr heles dagged,
Theyr kyrtelles all to-iagged,
Theyr smockes all to-ragged,
Wyth tytters and tatters,
Brynge dysshes and platters,
Wyth all theyr myght runnynge
To Elynour Rummynge,
To haue of her tunnynge: 130
She leneth them on[492] the same,
And thus begynneth the game.
Some wenches come vnlased,[493]
Some huswyues[494] come vnbrased,
Wyth theyr naked pappes,
That flyppes and flappes;
It wygges and it[495] wagges,
Lyke tawny saffron bagges;
A sorte of foule drabbes
All scuruy with scabbes: 140
Some be flybytten,
Some skewed as a kytten;
Some wyth a sho clout
Bynde theyr heddes about;
Some haue no herelace,
Theyr lockes about theyr face,
Theyr tresses vntrust,
All full of vnlust;
Some loke strawry,
Some cawry mawry; 150
Full vntydy tegges,
Lyke rotten egges.
Suche a lewde sorte
To Elynour resorte
From tyde to tyde:
Abyde, abyde,
And to you shall be tolde
Howe hyr ale is solde
To Mawte and to Molde.
Secundus passus.
Some haue no mony 160
That thyder commy,
For theyr ale to pay,
That is a shreud aray;
Elynour swered, Nay,
Ye shall not beare away
My[496] ale for nought,
By hym that me bought!
With, Hey, dogge, hay,
Haue these hogges[497] away!
With, Get me a staffe, 170
The swyne eate my draffe!
Stryke the hogges with a clubbe,
They haue dronke vp my swyllynge tubbe!
For, be there neuer so much prese,
These swyne go to the hye dese,
The sowe with her pygges;
The bore his tayle wrygges,
His rumpe[498] also he frygges
Agaynst[499] the hye benche!
With, Fo, ther is a stenche! 180
Gather vp, thou wenche;
Seest thou not what is fall?
Take vp dyrt[500] and all,
And bere out of the hall:
God gyue it yll preuynge,
Clenly as yuell cheuynge!
But let vs turne playne,
There we lefte agayne.
For, as yll a patch as that,
The hennes ron in the mashfat; 190
For they go to roust
Streyght ouer the ale ioust,
And donge, whan it commes,
In the ale tunnes.
Than Elynour taketh
The mashe bolle, and shaketh
The hennes donge away,
And skommeth it into[501] a tray
Whereas the yeest is,
With her maungy fystis: 200
And somtyme she blennes
The donge of her hennes
And the ale together;
And sayeth, Gossyp, come hyther,
This ale shal be thycker,
And flowre the more quicker;
For I may tell you,
I lerned it of a Jewe,
Whan I began to brewe,
And I haue founde it trew; 210
Drinke now whyle