Poetry. John Skelton
href="#ulink_2bc474b7-710f-5b08-a687-5bd7a977496b">[460] Hipocentaures] Eds. “Hipocentaurius.”
[461] Adauntid] So our author in The Garlande of Laurell, where he cites this “Adycion.” Eds. “Auaunted.”
[462] Plutos] So in The Garlande of Laurell. Eds. “Plutus.”
[463] rosty] So Marshe’s ed. Other eds. “rousty.”
[464] frownsid] Supplied by The Garlande of Laurell. Not in eds.
[465] coniure] Qy. “coniure thé?” as before and after.
[466] bad] So in The Garlande of Laurell. Eds. “had.”
[467] shene] So in The Garlande of Laurell. Eds. “shyne.”
[468] Inferias] So ibid. Eds. “Infera” and “Inferia.”
[469] tuas] So ibid. Not in eds.
[470] petiit] Other eds. “persit.”
[471] pudet] Other eds. “puder.”
[472] you] Other eds. “ye.”
[473] volucrem] Other eds. “volucrum.”
HERE AFTER FOLOWETH[474] THE BOOKE CALLED ELYNOUR RUMMYNGE. THE TUNNYNG OF ELYNOUR RUMMYNG PER SKELTON LAUREAT.
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