Poetry. John Skelton
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 he made on me a prowde assawte,
With scornfull[300] loke meuyd all in moode;
He wente aboute to take me in a fawte;
He frounde, he stared, he stampped where he stoode.
I lokyd on hym, I wende he had be woode. 320
He set the arme proudly vnder the syde,
And in this wyse he gan with me to chyde.
DISDAYNE.
Remembrest thou what thou sayd yester nyght?
Wylt thou abyde by the wordes agayne?
By God, I haue of thé now grete dyspyte;
I shall thé angre ones in euery vayne:
It is greate scorne to see suche an hayne
As thou arte, one that cam but yesterdaye,
With vs olde seruauntes suche maysters to playe.
I tell thé, I am of countenaunce: 330
What weneste I were? I trowe, thou knowe not me.
By Goddis woundes, but for dysplesaunce,
Of my querell soone wolde I venged be:
But no force, I shall ones mete with thé;
Come whan it wyll, oppose thé I shall,
What someuer auenture therof fall.
Trowest thou, dreuyll, I saye, thou gawdy knaue,
That I haue deynte to see thé cherysshed thus?
By Goddis syde, my sworde thy berde shall shaue;
Well, ones thou shalte be chermed, I wus: 340
Naye, strawe for tales, thou shalte not rule vs;
We be thy betters, and so thou shalte vs take,
Or we shall thé oute of thy clothes shake.
DREDE.
Wyth that came Ryotte, russhynge all at ones,
A rusty gallande, to-ragged and to-rente;
And on the borde he whyrled a payre of bones,
Quater treye dews he clatered as he wente;
Now haue at all, by saynte Thomas of Kente!
And euer he threwe and kyst[301] I wote nere what:
His here was growen thorowe oute his hat. 350
Thenne I behelde how he dysgysed was:
His hede was heuy for watchynge ouer nyghte,
His eyen blereed, his face shone lyke a glas;
His gowne so shorte that it ne couer myghte
His rumpe, he wente so all for somer lyghte;
His hose was garded wyth a lyste of grene,
Yet at the knee they were broken, I wene.
His cote was checked[302] with patches rede and blewe;
Of Kyrkeby Kendall was his shorte demye;
And ay he sange, In fayth, decon thou crewe; 360
His elbowe bare, he ware his gere so nye;
His nose a[303] droppynge, his lyppes were full drye;
And by his syde his whynarde and his pouche,
The deuyll myghte daunce therin for ony[304] crowche.
Counter he coude O lux vpon a potte;
An[305] eestryche fedder of a capons tayle
He set vp fresshely vpon his hat alofte:
What reuell route! quod he, and gan to rayle
How ofte he hadde[306] hit Jenet on the tayle,
Of Felyce fetewse, and lytell prety Cate, 370
How ofte he knocked at her klycked gate.
What sholde I tell more of his rebaudrye?
I was ashamed so to here hym prate:
He had no pleasure but in harlotrye.
Ay, quod he, in the deuylles date,
What arte thou? I sawe thé nowe but late.
Forsothe, quod I, in this courte I dwell nowe.
Welcome, quod Ryote, I make God auowe.[307]
RYOTE.
And, syr, in fayth why comste not vs amonge,
To make thé mery, as other felowes done? 380
Thou muste swere and stare, man, al daye longe,
And wake all nyghte, and slepe tyll it be none;
Thou mayste not studye, or muse on the mone;
This worlde is nothynge but ete, drynke, and slepe,
And thus with vs good company to kepe.
Plucke vp thyne herte vpon a mery pyne,
And lete vs laugh a placke[308] or tweyne at nale:
What the deuyll, man, myrthe was neuer one![309]
What, loo, man, see here of dyce a bale!
A brydelynge caste for that is in thy male! 390
Now haue at all that lyeth vpon the burde!
Fye on this dyce, they be not worth a turde!
Haue at the hasarde, or at the dosen browne,
Or els I[310]