Читать книгу Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages - Various - Страница 43

Mundus.Welcome, fayre chylde, what is thy name?

Infans.I wote not, syr, withouten blame.

But ofte tyme my moder in her game

Callèd me dalyaunce.

Mundus.Dalyaunce, my swetė chylde,

It is a name that is ryght wylde,

For whan thou waxest olde.

It is a name of no substaunce

But, my fayre chylde, what woldest thou have?

Infans.Syr of some comforte I you crave—

Mete and clothe my lyfe to save:

And I your true servaunt shall be.

Mundus.Fayre chylde, I graunte thee thyne askynge.

I wyll thee fynde[15] whyle thou art yinge[16]

So thou wylte be obedyent to my byddynge.

These garments gaye I gyve to thee.

And also I gyve to thee a name,

And clepe[17] thee Wanton, in every game;

Tyll XIII yere be come and gone,

And than come agayne to me.

[Infans is now called Wanton.]

Wanton.Gramercy, Worlde, for myne araye,

For now I purpose me to playe.

Mundus.Fare well, fayre chylde, and have good daye.

All rychelesnesse[18] is kynde[19] for thee.

[Mundus goes out leaving Wanton alone.]

Wanton.Aha, Wanton is my name!

I can many a quayntė game.

Lo, my toppe I dryve in same,

Se, it torneth rounde!

I can with my scorgė-stycke

My felowe upon the heed hytte,

And wyghtly[20] from hym make a skyppe

And blere[21] on hym my tonge.

If brother or syster do me chyde

I wyll scratche and also byte.

I can crye, and also kyke,

And mocke them all berewe.

If fader or mother wyll me smyte,

I wyll wryngė[22] with my lyppe;

And lyghtly from hym make a skyppe;

And call my damė shrewe.

Aha, a newe game have I founde:

Se this gynne[23] it renneth rounde;

And here another have I founde,

And yet mo[24] can I fynde.

I can mowė[25] on a man;

And make a lesynge[26] well I can,

And mayntayne it ryght well than.

This connynge[27] came me of kynde.

Ye, syrs,[28] I can well gelde a snayle;

And catche a cowe by the tayle;

This is a fayre connynge!

I can daunce, and also skyppe;

I can playe at the chery pytte;

And I can wystell you a fytte,[29]

Syres, in a whylowe ryne.[30]

Ye, syrs, and every daye

Whan I to scole shall take the waye

Some good mannes gardyn I wyll assaye,

Perys[31] and plommes to plucke.

I can spye a sparowes nest.

I wyll not go to scole but whan me lest,

For there begynneth a sory fest[32]

Whan the mayster sholde lyfte my docke.[33]

But, syrs, whan I was seven yere of age,

I was sent to the Worlde to takė wage.

And this seven yere I have ben his page

And kept his commaundėment....

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