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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 dewe

Wyth a payre of heles

As brode as two wheles;

She hobles as a gose[487]

With her blanket[488] hose

Ouer the falowe;[489]

Her shone smered wyth talowe,

Gresed vpon dyrt

That baudeth her skyrt. 90

Primus passus.

And this comely dame,

I vnderstande, her name

Is Elynour Rummynge,

At home in her wonnynge;

And as men say

She dwelt[490] in Sothray,

In a certayne stede

Bysyde Lederhede.

She is a tonnysh gyb;

The deuyll and she be syb. 100

But to make vp my tale,

She breweth noppy ale,

And maketh therof port sale[491]

To trauellars, to tynkers,

To sweters, to swynkers,

And all good ale drynkers,

That wyll nothynge spare,

But drynke tyll they stare

And brynge themselfe bare,

With, Now away the mare, 110

And let vs sley care,

As wyse as an hare!

Come who so wyll

To Elynour on the hyll,

Wyth, Fyll the cup, fyll,

And syt there by styll,

Erly and late:

Thyther cometh Kate,

Cysly, and Sare,

With theyr legges bare, 120

And also theyr fete

Hardely full vnswete;

Wyth theyr heles dagged,

Theyr kyrtelles all to-iagged,

Theyr smockes all to-ragged,

Wyth tytters and tatters,

Brynge dysshes and platters,

Wyth all theyr myght runnynge

To Elynour Rummynge,

To haue of her tunnynge: 130

She leneth them on[492] the same,

And thus begynneth the game.

Some wenches come vnlased,[493]

Some huswyues[494] come vnbrased,

Wyth theyr naked pappes,

That flyppes and flappes;

It wygges and it[495] wagges,

Lyke tawny saffron bagges;

A sorte of foule drabbes

All scuruy with scabbes: 140

Some be flybytten,

Some skewed as a kytten;

Some wyth a sho clout

Bynde theyr heddes about;

Some haue no herelace,

Theyr lockes about theyr face,

Theyr tresses vntrust,

All full of vnlust;

Some loke strawry,

Some cawry mawry; 150

Full vntydy tegges,

Lyke rotten egges.

Suche a lewde sorte

To Elynour resorte

From tyde to tyde:

Abyde, abyde,

And to you shall be tolde

Howe hyr ale is solde

To Mawte and to Molde.

Secundus passus.

Some haue no mony 160

That thyder commy,

For theyr ale to pay,

That is a shreud aray;

Elynour swered, Nay,

Ye shall not beare away

My[496] ale for nought,

By hym that me bought!

With, Hey, dogge, hay,

Haue these hogges[497] away!

With, Get me a staffe, 170

The swyne eate my draffe!

Stryke the hogges with a clubbe,

They haue dronke vp my swyllynge tubbe!

For, be there neuer so much prese,

These swyne go to the hye dese,

The sowe with her pygges;

The bore his tayle wrygges,

His rumpe[498] also he frygges

Agaynst[499] the hye benche!

With, Fo, ther is a stenche! 180

Gather vp, thou wenche;

Seest thou not what is fall?

Take vp dyrt[500] and all,

And bere out of the hall:

God gyue it yll preuynge,

Clenly as yuell cheuynge!

But let vs turne playne,

There we lefte agayne.

For, as yll a patch as that,

The hennes ron in the mashfat; 190

For they go to roust

Streyght ouer the ale ioust,

And donge, whan it commes,

In the ale tunnes.

Than Elynour taketh

The mashe bolle, and shaketh

The hennes donge away,

And skommeth it into[501] a tray

Whereas the yeest is,

With her maungy fystis: 200

And somtyme she blennes

The donge of her hennes

And the ale together;

And sayeth, Gossyp, come hyther,

This ale shal be thycker,

And flowre the more quicker;

For I may tell you,

I lerned it of a Jewe,

Whan I began to brewe,

And I haue founde it trew; 210

Drinke now whyle it is new;

And ye may it broke,

It shall make you loke

Yonger than ye be

Yeres two or thre,

For ye may proue it by me;

Beholde, she sayde, and se

How bryght I am of ble!

Ich am not cast away,

That can my husband say, 220

Whan we kys and play

In lust and in lykyng;

He calleth me his whytyng,

His mullyng and his mytyng,[502]

His nobbes and his conny,

His swetyng and his honny,

With, Bas, my prety bonny,

Thou art worth good and monny.

This make I my falyre fonny,[503]

Til that he dreme and dronny; 230

For, after all our sport,

Than wyll he rout and snort;

Than swetely together we ly,

As two pygges in a sty.

To cease me semeth best,

And of this tale to rest,

And for to leue this letter,

Because it is no better,

And because it is no swetter;

We wyll no farther ryme 240

Of it at this tyme;

But we wyll turne playne

Where we left agayne.

Tertius passus.

Instede of coyne and monny,[504]

Some brynge her a conny,

And some a pot with honny,

Some a salt, and some a spone,

Some theyr hose, some theyr shone;

Some ran[505] a good trot

With a skellet or a pot; 250

Some fyll theyr pot full

Of good Lemster woll:

An huswyfe of trust,

Whan she is athrust,

Suche a webbe can spyn,

Her thryft is full thyn.

Some go streyght thyder,

Be it slaty or slyder;

They holde the hye waye,

They care not what men say, 260

Be that as be maye;

Some, lothe to be espyde,

Start[506] in at the backe syde,

Ouer the hedge and pale,

And all for the good ale.

Some renne tyll they swete,

Brynge wyth them malte or whete,

And dame Elynour entrete

To byrle them of the best.

Than cometh an other gest; 270

She swered by the rode of rest,

Her lyppes are so drye,

Without drynke she must dye;

Therefore fyll it by and by,

And haue here a pecke of ry.

Anone cometh another,

As drye as the other,

And wyth her doth brynge

Mele, salte, or other thynge,

Her haruest[507] gyrdle, her weddynge rynge, 280

To pay for her scot

As cometh to her lot.

Som bryngeth her husbandes hood,

Because the ale is good;

Another brought her his cap

To offer to the ale tap,

Wyth flaxe and wyth towe;

And some brought sowre dowe;

Wyth, Hey, and wyth, howe,

Syt we downe a rowe, 290

And drynke tyll we blowe,

And pype tyrly tyrlowe!

Some layde to pledge

Theyr hatchet and theyr wedge,

Theyr hekell and theyr rele,

Theyr rocke, theyr spynnyng whele;

And some went so narrowe,

They layde to pledge theyr wharrowe,

Theyr rybskyn and theyr spyndell,

Theyr nedell and theyr thymbell: 300

Here was scant thryft

Whan they made suche shyft.

Theyr thrust was so great,

They asked neuer for mete,

But drynke, styll drynke,

And let the cat wynke,

Let vs washe our gommes

From the drye crommes.

Quartus passus.

Some for very nede

Layde[508] downe a skeyne of threde, 310

And some a skeyne of yarne;

Some brought[509] from the barne

Both benes and pease;

Small chaffer doth ease

Sometyme, now and than:

Another there was that ran

With a good brasse pan;

Her colour was full wan;

She ran in all the hast

Vnbrased and vnlast; 320

Tawny, swart, and sallowe,[510]

Lyke a cake of tallowe;

I swere by all hallow,

It was a stale[511] to take

The deuyll in a brake.

And than came haltyng Jone,

And brought a gambone

Of bakon that was resty:

But, Lorde, as she was testy,

Angry as a waspy! 330

She began to yane and gaspy,

And bad Elynour go bet,

And fyll in good met;[512]

It was dere that was farre fet.

Another brought a spycke

Of a bacon flycke;

Her tonge was verye quycke,

But she spake somwhat thycke:

Her felow did stammer and stut,

But she was a foule slut, 340

For her mouth fomyd

And her bely groned:

Jone sayne[513] she had eaten a fyest;

By Christ, sayde she, thou lyest,

I haue as swete a breth

As thou, wyth shamfull deth!

Than Elynour sayde, Ye callettes,

I shall breake your palettes,

Wythout ye now cease!

And so was made the peace.[514] 350

Than thyder came dronken Ales;

And she was full of tales,

Of tydynges in Wales,

And of sainct James in Gales,

And of the Portyngales;

Wyth, Lo, gossyp, I wys,

Thus and thus it is,

There hath ben great war

Betwene Temple Bar

And the Crosse in Chepe, 360

And there came an hepe

Of mylstones in a route:

She speketh thus in her snout,

Sneuelyng in her nose,

As thoughe she had the pose;

Lo, here is an olde typpet,

And ye wyll gyue me a syppet

Of your stale ale,

God sende you good sale!

And as she was drynkynge, 370

She fyll[515] in a wynkynge

Wyth a barlyhood,

She pyst where she stood;

Than began she to wepe,

And forthwyth fell on slepe.

Elynour toke her vp,

And blessed her wyth a cup

Of newe ale in cornes;

Ales founde therin no thornes,

But supped it vp at ones, 380

She founde therin no bones.[516]

Quintus passus.

Nowe in cometh another rabell;

Fyrst one wyth a ladell,

Another wyth a cradell,

And wyth a syde sadell:

And there began a fabell,

A clatterynge and a babell

Of folys fylly[517]

That had a fole wyth wylly,

With, Iast you, and, gup, gylly! 390

She coulde not lye stylly.

Then came in a genet,

And sware by saynct Benet,

I dranke not this sennet

A draught to my pay;

Elynour, I thé pray,

Of thyne ale let vs assay,

And haue here a pylche of gray;

I were skynnes of conny,

That causeth I loke so donny. 400

Another than dyd hyche her,

And brought a pottel pycher,

A tonnel, and a bottell,

But she had lost the stoppell;

She cut of her sho sole,

And stopped therwyth the hole.

Amonge all the blommer,

Another brought a skommer,

A fryinge pan, and a slyce;

Elynour made the pryce 410

For good ale eche whyt.

Than sterte in mad Kyt,

That had lyttle wyt;

She semed somdele seke,

And brought[518] a peny cheke

To dame Elynour,

For a draught of lycour.

Than Margery Mylkeducke

Her kyrtell she did vptucke

An ynche aboue her kne, 420

Her legges that ye myght se;

But they were sturdy and stubbed,[519]

Myghty pestels and clubbed,

As fayre and as whyte

As the fote of a kyte:

She was somwhat foule,

Crokenecked lyke an oule;

And yet she brought her fees,

A cantell of Essex chese

Was well a fote thycke, 430

Full of maggottes quycke;

It was huge and greate,

And myghty stronge meate

For the deuyll to eate;

It was tart and punyete.

Another sorte of sluttes,

Some brought walnuttes,[520]

Some apples, some peres,

Some brought theyr clyppynge sheres,

Some brought this and that, 440

Some brought I wote nere what,

Some brought theyr husbandes hat,

Some podynges and lynkes,

Some trypes that stynkes.[521]

But of all this thronge

One came them amonge,

She semed halfe a leche,

And began to preche

Of the tewsday in the weke

Whan the mare doth keke; 450

Of the vertue of an vnset leke;

Of her husbandes breke;

Wyth the feders of a quale

She could to Burdeou[522] sayle;

And wyth good ale barme

She could make a charme

To helpe wythall a stytch:

She semed to be a wytch.

Another brought two goslynges,

That were noughty froslynges; 460

She[523] brought them in a wallet,

She was a cumly callet:

The goslenges were untyde;

Elynour began to chyde,

They[524] be wretchockes[525] thou hast brought,

They are shyre shakyng nought!

Sextus passus.

Maude Ruggy thyther skypped:

She was vgly hypped,

And vgly thycke lypped,

Lyke an onyon syded, 470

Lyke tan ledder hyded:

She had her so guyded

Betwene the cup and the wall,

That she was there wythall

Into a palsey fall;

Wyth that her hed shaked,

And her handes quaked:

Ones hed wold haue aked

To se her naked:

She dranke so of the dregges,[526] 480

The dropsy was in her legges;

Her face glystryng lyke glas;

All foggy fat she was;

She had also the gout

In all her ioyntes about;

Her breth was soure and stale,

And smelled all of ale:

Suche a bedfellaw

Wold make one cast his craw;

But yet for all that 490

She dranke on the mash fat.

There came an old rybybe;

She halted of a kybe,

And had broken her shyn

At the threshold comyng in,

And fell so wyde open

That one myght se her token,

The deuyll thereon be wroken!

What nede all this be spoken?

She yelled lyke a calfe: 500

Ryse vp, on Gods halfe,

Said Elynour Rummyng,

I beshrew thé for thy cummyng!

And[527] as she at her did pluck,

Quake, quake, sayd the duck

In that lampatrams lap;

Wyth, Fy, couer thy[528] shap

Wyth sum flyp flap!

God gyue it yll hap,

Sayde Elynour for shame, 510

Lyke an honest dame.

Vp she stert, halfe lame,

And skantly could go

For payne and for wo.

In came another dant,

Wyth a gose and a gant:

She had a wide[529] wesant;

She was nothynge plesant;

Necked lyke an olyfant;

It was a bullyfant, 520

A gredy cormerant.

Another brought her garlyke hedes;[530]

Another brought her bedes

Of iet or of cole,

To offer to the ale pole:

Some brought a wymble,

Some brought a thymble,

Some brought a sylke lace,

Some brought a pyncase,

Some her husbandes gowne, 530

Some a pyllow of downe,

Some of[531] the napery;

And all this shyfte they make

For the good ale sake.

A strawe, sayde Bele, stande vtter,

For we haue egges and butter,

And of[532] pygeons a payre.

Than sterte forth a fysgygge,[533]

And she brought a bore pygge;

The fleshe therof was ranke, 540

And her brethe strongly stanke,

Yet, or she went, she dranke,

And gat her great thanke

Of Elynour for her ware,

That she thyther bare

To pay for her share.

Now truly, to my thynkynge,

This is a solempne drinkynge.

Septimus passus.

Soft, quod one, hyght[534] Sybbyll,

And let me wyth you bybyll. 550

She sat downe in the place,

With a sory face

Wheywormed about;

Garnyshed was her snout

Wyth here and there a puscull,

Lyke a scabbyd muscull.

This ale, sayde she, is noppy;

Let vs syppe and soppy,

And not spyll a droppy,

For so mote I hoppy, 560

It coleth well my croppy.[535]

Dame Elynoure, sayde she,

Haue here is for me,

A cloute of London pynnes;

And wyth that she begynnes

The pot to her plucke,

And dranke a good lucke;

She swynged[536] vp a quarte

At ones for her parte;

Her paunche was so puffed, 570

And so wyth ale stuffed,

Had she not hyed apace,

She had defoyled the place.

Than began the sporte

Amonge that dronken sorte:

Dame Eleynour, sayde they,

Lende here a cocke of hey,

To make all thynge cleane;

Ye wote well what we meane.

But, syr, among all 580

That sat in that hall,

There was a pryckemedenty,

Sat lyke a seynty,

And began to paynty,

As thoughe she would faynty;

She made it as koy

As a lege de moy;[537]

She was not halfe so wyse

As she was peuysshe nyse.

She sayde neuer a worde, 590

But rose from the borde,

And called for our dame,

Elynour by name.

We supposed, I wys,

That she rose to pys;

But the very grounde

Was for to compounde

Wyth Elynour in the spence,

To pay for her expence:

I haue no penny nor grote 600

To pay, sayde she, God wote,

For washyng of my throte;

But my bedes of amber

Bere them to your chamber.

Then Elynour dyd them hyde

Wythin her beddes syde.

But some than sat ryght sad

That nothynge had

There of theyr awne,[538]

Neyther gelt nor pawne; 610

Suche were there menny

That had not a penny,

But, whan they should walke,

Were fayne wyth a chalke

To score on the balke,

Or score on the tayle:

God gyue it yll hayle!

For my fyngers[539] ytche;

I haue wrytten to mytche

Of this mad mummynge 620

Of Elynour Rummynge.

Thus endeth the gest

Of this worthy fest.

Quod Skelton, Laureat.