Читать книгу Poetry - John Skelton - Страница 17

There was dwelling in Oxford a stark knaue, whose name was Swanborn; and he was such a notable knaue that, if any scoler had fallen out thone wyth thother, the one woulde call thother Swanborn, the whyche they dyd take for a worser woorde then knaue. Hys wife woulde diuers tymes in the weeke kimbe his head with a iii. footed stoole: then hee woulde runne out of the doores wepinge, and if anye man had asked hym what he dyd aile, other whyle he woulde saye hee had the megrym in hys head, or ells, there was a great smoke wythin the house: & if the doores were shut, hys wyfe woulde beate him vnder the bed, or into the bench hole, and then he woulde looke out at the cat hole; then woulde his wife saye, Lookest thou out, whoreson? Yea, woulde he saye, thou shalt neuer let me of my manly lookes. Then with her distaff she would poore in at hym. I knewe him when that he was a boye in Oxforde; hee was a littell olde fellowe, and woulde lye as fast as a horse woulde trotte. At last hee dyed, and was buried vnder the wall of S. Peters church. Then Skelton was desyred to make an epitaphe vppon the churche wall, & dyd wryte wyth a role, saying, Belsabub his soule saue, Qui iacet hic hec a knaue: Jam scio[138] mortuus est, Et iacet hic hec a beast: Sepultus[139] est amonge the weedes: God forgiue him his misdeedes!