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

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


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target="_blank" rel="nofollow" href="#ulink_8758462a-0d26-5295-955f-fe36a5c2bf6e">[526] dregges] So Marshe’s ed. (and Rand’s ed.) Other eds. “dragges.”

      [540] Invide] Eds. “Inuidi.”

      [541] jocis] Eds. “locis.”

      [542] qua spurca] Eds. of Day, and Marshe, “quam spuria.”

      [543] sua gesta libellus] Ed. of Day, “sua libellus.” Ed. of Marshe, “sua facta libellus.” (The Latin at the end of this poem not in Rand’s ed.)

       Table of Contents

      SKELTON LAURIATE[544] DEFEND[ER] AGENST M[ASTER] GARNESCHE CHALENGER, ET CETERA.

       Table of Contents

      Sithe ye haue me chalyngyd, M[aster] Garnesche,

      Ruduly revilyng me in the kynges noble hall,

      For Syr Frollo de Franko was neuer halfe so talle.

      But sey me now, Syr Satrapas, what autoryte ye haue

      In your chalenge, Syr Chystyn, to cale me knaue?

      What, haue ye kythyd yow a knyght, Syr Dugles the dowty,

      Ye stronge sturdy stalyon, so sterne and stowty, 10

      Ye gyrne grymly with your gomys and with your grysly face.

      But sey me yet, Syr Satropas, what auctoryte ye haue

      In your chalange, Syr Chesten, to calle me a knaue?

      Ye fowle, fers and felle, as Syr Ferumbras the ffreke,

      Syr capten of Catywade, catacumbas of Cayre,

      Thow ye be lusty as Syr Lybyus launces to breke,

      Yet your contenons oncomly, your face ys nat fayer:

      For alle your proude prankyng, your pride may apayere.

      But sey me yet, Syr Satrapas, wat auctoryte ye haue 20

      In your chalenge, Syr Chesten, to cal me a knaue?

      Of Mantryble the Bryge, Malchus the murryon,

      Nor blake Baltazar with hys basnet routh as a bere,

      Nor Lycon, that lothly luske, in myn opynyon,

      Nor no bore so brymly brystlyd ys with here,

      As ye ar brystlyd on the bake for alle your gay gere.

      [But sey me yet, Syr Satrapas, what auctoryte ye haue

      In your chalenge, Syr Chesten, to calle me a knaue?]

      Your wynde schakyn shankkes, your longe lothy legges,

      Crokyd as a camoke, and as a kowe calfles, 30

      Bryngges yow out of fauyr with alle femall teggys:

      That mastres Punt put yow of, yt was nat alle causeles;

      At Orwelle hyr hauyn your anggre was laules.

      [But sey me yet, Syr Satrapas, what auctoryte ye haue

      In your chalenge, Syr Chesten, to calle me a knaue?]

      I sey, ye solem Sarson, alle blake ys your ble;

      As a glede glowynge, your ien glyster as glasse,

      Rowlynge in yower holow hede, vgly to see;

      Howkyd as an hawkys beke, lyke Syr Topyas. 40

      Boldly bend you to batell, and buske your selfe to saue:

      Chalenge your selfe for a fole, call me no more knaue.

      Be the kynges most noble commandement.


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