Читать книгу The Poetical Works of John Skelton (Vol. 1&2) - John Skelton - Страница 60

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I haue your lewde letter receyuyd,

And well I haue yt perseyuyd,

And your skryke I haue aspyed,

That your mad mynde contryuyd.

Sauynge your vsscheres rod,

I caste me nat to be od

With neythyr of yow tewyne:

Wherfore I wryght ageyne;

How the fauyr of your face

Is voyd of all good grace; 10

For alle your carpet cousshons,

Ye haue knauyche condycyonns.

Gup, marmeset, jast ye, morelle!

I am laureat, I am no lorelle.

Lewdely your tyme ye spende,

My lyuyng to reprehende;[554]

And wyll neuer intende

Your awne lewdnes to amende:

Your Englyshe lew[d]ly ye sorte,

And falsly ȝe me reporte. 20

Garnyche, ye gape to wyde:

Yower knavery I wyll nat hyde,

For to aswage your pride.

Whan ye war yonger of age,

Ye war a kechyn page,

A dyshwasher, a dryvyll,

In the pott your nose dedde sneuyll;

Ye fryed and ye broylyd,

Ye rostyd and ye boylyd,

Ye rostyd, lyke a fonne, 30

A gose with the fete vponne;

Ye slvfferd[555] vp sowse

In my lady Brewsys howse.

Wherto xulde I wryght

Of soche a gresy knyght?

A bawdy dyscheclowte,

That bryngyth the worlde abowte

With haftynge and with polleynge,

With lyenge and controlleynge.

At Gynys when ye ware 40

But a slendyr spere,

Dekkyd lewdly in your gere;

For when ye dwelt there,

Ye had a knauysche cote

Was skantly worthe a grote;

In dud frese ye war schrynyd,

With better frese lynyd;

The oute syde euery day,

Ye myght no better a way;

The insyde ye ded calle 50

Your best gowne festyvalle.

Your drapry ȝe ded wante,

The warde with yow was skante.

When ye kyst a shepys ie,

… [556]mastres Andelby,

… Gynys vpon a gonge,

… sat sumwhat to longe;

… hyr husbandes hed,

… malle of lede,

… that ye ther prechyd, 60

To hyr loue ye nowte rechyd:

Ye wolde haue bassyd hyr bumme,

So that sche wolde haue kum

On to your lowsy den;

But sche of all men

Had yow most in despyght,

Ye loste hyr fauyr quyt;

Your pyllyd garleke hed

Cowde hocupy there no stede;

She callyd yow Syr Gy of Gaunt, 70

Nosyd lyke an olyfaunt,

A pykes or a twybyll;

Sche seyd how ye ded brydell,

Moche lyke a dromadary;

Thus with yow sche ded wary,

With moche mater more

That I kepe in store.

Your brethe ys stronge and quike;

Ye ar an eldyr steke;

Ye wot what I thynke; 80

At bothe endes ye stynke;

Gret daunger for the kynge,

Whan hys grace ys fastynge,

Hys presens to aproche:

Yt ys to your reproche.

Yt fallyth for no swyne

Nor sowtters to drynke wyne,

Nor seche a nody polle

A pryste for to controlle.

Lytyll wyt in your scrybys nolle 90

That scrybblyd your fonde scrolle,

Vpon hym for to take

Agennst me for to make,

Lyke a doctor dawpate,

A lauryate poyete for to rate.

Yower termys ar to grose,

To far from the porpose,

To contaminate

And to violate

The dygnyte lauryate. 100

Bolde bayarde, ye are to blynde,

And grow all oute of kynde,

To occupy so your mynde;

For reson can I non fynde

Nor good ryme in yower mater:

I wondyr that ye smatyr,

So for a knaue to clatyr;

Ye wolde be callyd a maker,

And make moche lyke Jake Rakar;

Ye ar a comly crakar, 110

Ye lernyd of sum py bakar.

Caste vp your curyows wrytyng,

And your dyrty endytyng,

And your spyghtfull despyghtyng,

For alle ys nat worthe a myteyng,

A makerell nor a wyteyng:

Had ye gonne with me to scole,

And occupyed no better your tole,

Ye xulde haue kowththyd me a fole.

But now, gawdy, gresy Garnesche, 120

Your face I wyse to varnyshe

So suerly yt xall nat tarnishe.

Thow a Sarsens hed ye bere,

Row and full of lowsy here,

As heuery man wele seethe,

Ful of grett knauys tethe,

In a felde of grene peson

Ys ryme yet owte of reson;

Your wyt ys so geson,

Ye rayle all out of seson. 130

Your[557] skyn scabbyd and scuruy,

Tawny, tannyd, and shuruy;

Now vpon thys hete

Rankely whan ye swete,

Men sey ye wyll wax lowsy,

Drunkyn, drowpy, drowsy.

Your sworde ye swere, I wene,

So tranchaunt and so kene,

Xall kyt both wyght and grene:

Your foly ys to grett 140

The kynges colours to threte.

Your brethe yt ys so felle

And so puauntely dothe smelle,

And so haynnously doth stynke,

That naythyr pump nor synke

Dothe sauyr halfe so souer

Ageynst a stormy shouer.

O ladis of bryght colour,

Of bewte that beryth the flower,

When Garnyche cummyth yow amonge 150

With hys brethe so stronge,

Withowte ye haue a confectioun

Agenst hys poysond infeccioun,

Els with hys stynkyng jawys

He wyl cause yow caste your crawes,

And make youer stomoke seke

Ovyr the perke to pryk.

Now, Garnyche, garde thy gummys;

My serpentins and my gunnys

Agenst ye now I bynde; 160

Thy selfe therfore defende.

Thou tode, thow scorpyone,

Thow bawdy babyone,

Thow bere, thow brystlyd bore,

Thou Moryshe mantycore,

Thou rammysche stynkyng gote,

Thou fowle chorlyshe parote,

Thou gresly gargone glaymy,

Thou swety slouen seymy,

Thou murrionn, thow mawment, 170

Thou fals stynkyng serpent,

Thou mokkyshe marmoset,

I wyll nat dy in they[558] det.

Tyburne thou me assynyd,

Where thou xulddst haue bene shrynyd;

The nexte halter ther xall be

I bequeth yt hole to thé:

Soche pelfry thou hast pachchyd,

And so thy selfe houyr wachyd

That ther thou xuldyst be rachchyd, 180

If thow war metely machchyd.

Ye may wele be bedawyd,

Ye ar a fole owtelauyd;

And for to telle the gronde,

Pay Stokys hys fyue pownd.

I say, Syr Dalyrag,

Ye bere yow bold and brag

With othyr menys charge:

Ye kyt your clothe to large: