miller to haue hys corne grounde tolle free; and manye tymes when hys
mayden[s] shoulde bake, they wanted of their mele, and complained to
their mystres that they could not make their stint of breade. Mystres
Skelton, beeynge verye angrye, tolde her husbande of it. Then Master
Skelton sent for his miller, and asked hym howe it chansed that hee
deceyued hym of his corne. I! saide John miller; nay, surely I neuer
deceyued you; if that you can proue that by mee, do with mee as you
lyste. Surely, sayd Skelton, if I doe fynde thee false anye more,
thou shalt be hanged up by the necke. So Skelton apoynted one of hys
seruauntes to stand at the mill whyle the corne was a grindyng. John
myller, beyng a notable theefe, would feyn haue deceued him as he had
don before, but beyng afrayd of Skeltons seruaunte, caused his wyfe to
put one of her chyldren into yᵉ myll dam, and to crye, Help, help, my
childe is drowned! With that, John myller and all went out of the myll;
& Skeltons seruaunte, being dilygent to helpe the chylde, thought not
of the meale, and the while the myllers boye was redy wyth a sacke, and
stole awaye the corne; so, when they had taken vp the childe, and all
was safe, they came in agayne; & so the seruaunt, hauynge hys gryste,
went home mistrustyng nothynge; and when the maydes came to bake againe,
as they dyd before, so they lacked of theyr meale agayne. Master Skelton
calde for hys man, and asked him howe it chaunced that he was deceaued;
& hee sayd that hee coulde not tell, For I dyd your commaundement. And
then Master Skelton sent for the myller, and sayde, Thou hast not vsed
mee well, for I want of my mele. Why, what wold you haue me do? sayde
the miller; you haue set your own man to watche mee. Well, then, sayd
Skelton, if thou doest not tell me whych waye thou hast played the theefe
wyth mee, thou shalt be hanged. I praye you be good master vnto me, & I
wyll tell you the trutthe: your seruaunt wold not from my myll, & when I
sawe none other remedye, I caused my wyfe to put one of my chyldren into
the water, & to crie that it was drowned; and whiles wee were helpyng
of the chylde out, one of my boyes dyd steale your corne. Yea, sayde
Skelton, if thou haue suche pretie fetchis, you can dooe more then thys;
and therfore, if thou dooeste not one thynge that I shall tell thee, I
wyll folow the lawe on thee. What is that? sayd the myller. If that thou
dooest not steale my cuppe of the table, when I am sette at meate, thou
shalt not eskape my handes. O good master, sayd John miller, I pray you
forgeue me, and let me not dooe thys; I am not able to dooe it. Thou
shalt neuer be forgeuen, sayde Skelton, withoute thou dooest it. When
the miller saw no remedye, he went & charged one of hys boyes, in an
euenyng (when that Skelton was at supper) to sette fyre in one of hys
hogges sties, farre from any house, for doyng any harme. And it chaunced,
that one of Skeltons seruauntes came oute, and spied the fire, and hee
cryede, Helpe, helpe! for all that my master hath is lyke to be burnt.
Hys master, hearing this, rose from hys supper with all the companie, and
went to quenche the fyre; and the while John miller came in, and stole
away hys cuppe, & went hys way. The fire being quickly slaked, Skelton
cam in with his frendes, and reasoned wyth hys frendes which way they
thought the fyre shoulde come; and euerye man made answer as thei thought
good. And as they wer resonyng, Skelton called for a cup of beare; and
in no wise his cuppe whyche hee vsed to drynke in woulde not be founde.
Skelton was verye angrie that his cup was mysynge, and asked whiche
waye it shoulde bee gone; and no manne coulde tell hym of it. At last he
bethought him of the miller, & sayd, Surely, he, that theefe, hath done
this deede, and he is worthye to be hanged. And hee sent for the miller:
so the miller tolde hym all howe hee had done. Truely, sayd Skelton, thou
art a notable knaue; and withoute thou canste do me one other feate, thou
shalte dye. O good master, sayde the miller, you promised to pardon me,
and wil you now breake your promise? I, sayd Skelton; wythout thou canste
steale the sheetes of my bed, when my wyfe and I am aslepe, thou shalte
be hanged, that all suche knaues shall take ensample by thee. Alas, sayd
the miller, whych waye shall I dooe this thinge? it is vnpossible for me
to get theym while you bee there. Well, sayde Skelton, withoute thou dooe
it, thou knowest the daunger. The myller went hys way, beyng very heauy,
& studyed whiche waye he myght doo thys deede. He hauynge a little boy,
whyche knewe all the corners of Skeltons house & where hee lay, vpon a
night when they were all busie, the boie crepte in vnder his bed, wyth a
potte of yeste; and when Skelton & hys wyfe were fast aslepe, hee all to
noynted the sheetes with yeste, as farre as hee coulde reache. At last
Skelton awaked, & felt the sheetes all wete; waked his wife, and sayd,
What, hast thou beshitten the bed? and she sayd, Naye, it is you that
haue doone it, I thynke, for I am sure it is not I. And so theare fel a
great strife betweene Skelton and his wyfe, thinkyng that the bedd had
ben beshitten; and called for the mayde to geue them a cleane payre of
shetes. And so they arose, & the mayde tooke the foule sheetes and threw
them vnderneath the bed, thinkynge the nexte morning to haue fetched
them away. The next time the maydes shuld goe to washynge, they looked
all about, and coulde not fynde the sheetes; for Jacke the myllers boy
had stollen them awaye. Then the myller was sent for agayne, to knowe
where the sheetes were become: & the myller tolde Mayster Skelton all
how he deuised to steale the sheetes. Howe say ye? sayde Skelton to hys
frendes; is not this a notable theef? is he not worthy to be hanged that
canne dooe these deedes? O good maister, quoth the miller, nowe forgeue
mee accordynge to youre promyse; for I haue done all that you haue
commaunded mee, and I trust now you wyll pardon me. Naye, quoth Skelton,
thou shalt doo yet one other feate, and that shall bee thys; thou shalte
steale maister person out of hys bed at midnight, that he shall not know
where he is become. The miller made great mone and lamented, saying,
I can not tel in the world howe I shall dooe, for I am neuer able to
dooe this feate. Well, sayde Skelton, thou shalt dooe it, or els thou
shalt fynde no fauour at my hands; and therfore go thy way. The miller,
beynge sorye, deuysed with himselfe which way he might bryng this thing
to passe. And ii. or iii. nyghtes after, gathered a number of snailes,
& greed with the sexten of the churche to haue the key of the churche
dore, and went into the churche betwene the houres of a xi. and xii.
in the night, & tooke the snayles, and lyghted a sorte of little waxe
candles, & set vppon euerie snayle one, & the snayles crepte about the
churche wyth the same candels vpon their backes; and then he went into
the vestrey, and put a cope vppon hys backe, & stoode very solemnely at
the hye alter with a booke in hys hand; and afterwarde tolled the bell,
that the preest lyinge in the churche yard might heare hym. The preest,
hearyng the bell tolle, starte oute of his slepe, and looked out of hys
windowe, and sawe suche a lyght in the church, was very muche amased, and
thought surely that the churche had ben on fire, and wente for to see
what wonder it shoulde be. And when he came there, he founde the church
dore open, and went vp into the quier; and see the miller standyng in hys
vestementes, and a booke in hys hand, praying deuoutly, & all the lyghtes
in the church, thought surely with hymselfe it was some angeil come downe
from heauen, or some other great miracle, blessed hymselfe and sayde, In
the name of the Father, the Sonne, and the Holy Ghoste, what arte thou
that standest here in thys hollye place? O, sayde the myller, I am saynt
Peter, whych kepe[143] the keyes of heauen gate, and thou knowest that
none can enter into heauen excepte I let hym in; and I am sent oute from
heauen for thee. For mee! quoth the preest: good saynt Peter, worship
maye thou be! I am glad to heare that newes. Because thou hast done good
deedes, sayd the myller, and serued God, hee hath sent for thee afore
domes day come, that thou shalt not knowe the troubles of yᵉ worlde. O,
blessed be God! sayde the preest; I am very well contented for to goe:
yet if it woulde please God to let me go home and distrybute such things
as I haue to the poore, I woulde bee verye glad. No, sayde the miller;
if thou dooest delite more in thy goodes then in the joyes of heauen,
thou art not for God; therefore prepare thyselfe, and goe into this bagge
which I have brought for thee. The miller hauyng a great quarter sacke,
the poore priest wente into it, thynkyng verylye hee had gon to heauen,
yet was very sory to parte from hys goodes; asked saynt Peter how long it
wold be ere he came there. The miller sayd he should be there quickly;
and in he got the priest, and tied vp the sacke, and put out the lightes,
& layed euery thynge in their place, and tooke the preest on his backe, &
locked the church dores, & to go: and when he came to go ouer the church
stile, the preest was verye heauye, and the miller caste hym ouer the
stile that the priest cryed oh. O good seint Peter, sayde the preeste,
whyther goe I nowe? O, sayde the myller, these bee the panges that ye
must abyde before you come to heauen. O, quoth the preest, I would I were
there once! Vp he got the priest agayn, & caried hym tyll hee came to the
toppe of an hye hyll, a litle from hys house, and caste hym downe the
hyll, that hys head had many shrewde rappes, that hys necke was almost
burst. O good saynt Peter, said the priest, where am I nowe? You are
almost nowe at heauen; & caried hym with much a doo, tyll hee came to hys
owne house, and then the miller threwe him ouer the thresholde. O good
saynte Peter, sayde the preeste, where am I nowe? thys is the soreste
pange that euer I bydde. O, sayd the[144] myller, geue God thankes that
thou haste had pacience to abide all thys payne, for nowe thou arte goyng
vppe into heauen; and tyed a rope aboute the sacke, and drewe hym vppe
to the toppe of the chymnye, and there let him hange. O good S. Peter,
tell me nowe where I am, sayde the preest. Marye, sayd he, thou art now
in the tope of John millers chimney. A vengeaunce on thee, knaue! sayde
the preeste: hast thou made me beleue al this while that I was goyng vp
into heauen? well, nowe I am here, & ever I come downe again, I wil make
thee to repent it. But John myller was gladd that he had brought hym
there. And in the mornyng the sexten rang all in to seruise; & when the
people were come to churche, the preest was lackynge. The parish asked
the sexten wher the preest was; and the sexten sayd, I can not tell:
then the parrishe sent to master Skelton, and tolde howe their prieste
was lacking to saye them seruice. Mayster Skelton meruayled at that, and
bethought hym of the crafty dooyng of the miller, sent for John myller;
and when the miller was come, Skelton sayd to the miller, Canst thou
tell wher the parish preest is? The myller vp and told him all togither
how he had doone. Maister Skelton, considering the matter, sayde to the
miller, Why, thou vnreuerent knaue, hast thou hanled the poore preest
on this fashion, and putte on the holy ornaments vpon a knaues backe?
thou shalte be hanged, & it coste me all the good I haue. John miller
fell vppon his knees, and desyred maister Skelton to pardon hym; For I
dyd nothynge, sayd the miller, but that you sayd you woulde forgeue me.
Nay, not so, sayd Skelton; but if thou canst steale my gelding out of my
stable, my two men watching him, I will pardon thee; and if they take
thee, they shall strike of thy heade; for Skelton thoughte it better that
such a false knaue shoulde lose hys head then to liue. Then John miller
was very sad, & bethought him how to bring it to passe. Then he remembred
that ther was a man left hangyng vppon the galowes the day before, went
preuely in the nyght and tooke him downe, and cut of his head, and put it
vpon a pole, & brake a hole into the stable, and put in a candle lighted,
thrustyng in the head a lytle & a lytle. The men watching the stable,
seynge that, got them selues neare to the hole (thinkinge that it was his
head), & one of them wyth hys sworde cutte it of. Then they for gladnesse
presented it vnto theyr master, leauynge the stable doore open: then
John miller went in, and stole away the gelding. Master Skelton, lookyng
vppon the head, sawe it was the theues head that was left hangyng vpon
the galowes, sayd, Alas, how ofte hath this false knaue deceiued vs! Go
quickly to the stable agayne, for I thinke my geldyng is gone. Hys men,
goyng backe agayn, found it euen so. Then they came agayn, and told their
maister hys horse was gone. Ah, I thought so, you doltish knaues! said
Skelton; but if I had sent wise men about it, it had not ben so. Then
Skelton sent for the miller, and asked hym if hee coulde tell where hys
horse was. Safe ynough, maister, sayde the miller: for hee tolde Skelton
all the matter how hee had done. Well, sayd Skelton, consyderyng hys
tale, sayd, that he was worthie to bee hanged, For thou doost excell
all the theeues that euer I knew or heard of; but for my promise sake I
forgeue thee, vpon condition thou wilte become an honest man, & leaue all
thy crafte & false dealyng. And thus John miller skaped vnpunished.
¶ How Skelton was in prison at the commaundement of the cardinall. [Tale
xiv.]
On a tyme Skelton did meete with certain frendes of hys at Charyng
crosse, after that hee was in prison at my lord cardynals commaundement:
& his frende sayd, I am glad you bee abrode amonge your frendes, for you
haue ben long pent in. Skelton sayd, By the masse, I am glad I am out
indeede, for I haue ben pent in, like a roche or fissh, at Westminster
in prison. The cardinal, hearing of those words, sent for him agayne.
Skelton kneling of hys knees before hym, after long communication to
Skelton had, Skelton desyred the cardinall to graunte hym[145] a boun.
Thou shalt haue none, sayd the cardynall. Thassistence desirid that he
might haue it graunted, for they thought it should be some merye pastime
that he wyll shewe your grace. Say on, thou hore head, sayd the cardynall
to Skelton. I pray your grace to let me lye doune and wallow, for I can
kneele no longer.
¶ Howe the vinteners wife put water into Skeltons wine. Tale xv.
Skelton did loue wel a cup of good wyne. And on a daye he dyd make merye
in a tauerne in London: and the morow after hee sent to the same place
againe for a quart of yᵉ same wine he drunke of before; the whiche was
clene chaunged & brued again. Skelton perceiuing this, he went to the
tauerne, & dyd sytte down in a chaire, & dyd sygh very sore, and made
great lamentacion. The wife of the house, perceiuinge this, said to
master Skelton, Howe is it with you, master Skelton? He answered and
said, I dyd neuer so euill; and then he dyd reache another greate syghe,
sayinge, I am afraide that I shal neuer be saued, nor cum to heauen. Why,
said the wife, shuld you dispaire so much in Goddes mercy? Nay, said he,
it is past all remedye. Then said the wife, I dooe praye you breake your
mind vnto mee. O, sayd Skelton, I would gladlye shewe you the cause of my
dolour, if that I wist that you would keepe my counsell. Sir, said shee,
I haue ben made of councel of greater matters then you can shew me. Naye,
nay, said Skelton, my matter passeth all other matters, for I think I
shal sinke to hell for my great offences; for I sent thys daye to you for
wyne to saye masse withall; and wee haue a stronge lawe that euery priest
is bounde to put into hys chalice, when hee doth singe or saye masse,
some wyne and water; the which dothe signifye the water & bloude that dyd
runne oute of Chrystes syde, when Longeous the blynde knyght dyd thrust
a speare to Christes harte; & thys daye I dyd put no water into my wyne,
when that I did put wine into my chalys. Then sayd the vintiners wife, Be
mery, maister Skelton, and keepe my counsell, for, by my faythe, I dyd
put into the vessell of wyne that I did send you of to day x. gallandes
of water; and therfore take no thought, master Skelton, for I warraunt
you. Then said Skelton, Dame, I dooe beshrewe thee for thy laboure, for
I thought so muche before; for throughe such vses & brewyng of wyne maye
men be deceyued, and be hurte by drynkinge of suche euell wyne; for
all wines must be strong, and fayre, and well coloured; it must haue a
redolent sauoure; it must be colde, and sprinkclynge in the peece or in
the glasse.
¶ Thus endeth the merie Tales of Maister Skelton, very pleasaunt for the
recreacion of the minde.
[138] _scio_] Old ed. “sci.”
[139] _Sepultus_] Old ed. “Sepuitus.”—This epitaph is made up from
portions of Skelton’s verses on John Clarke and Adam Uddersal: see vol.
i. 169, 172.
[140] _shal I come_] Old ed. “_shall_ I _I come_.”
[141] _Qui se exaltat humiliabitur, et qui se_] Old ed. “Que _se exaltat_
humilabitui, _et_ que_se_.”
[142] _a_] Old ed. “as.”
[143] _kepe_] Old ed. “kepte.”
[144] _the_] Old ed. “that.”
[145] _hym_] Old ed. “gym.”
NOTICES OF SKELTON FROM VARIOUS SOURCES.
From the imperfect copy of _A C. Mery Talys_, small fol., printed by John
Rastell. (See Singer’s reprint, p. 55.)
“Of mayster Skelton that broughte the bysshop of Norwiche ii
fesauntys. xl.
It fortuned ther was a great varyance bitwen the bysshop of Norwych
and one mayster Skelton a poyet lauryat; in so much that the bysshop
commaundyd hym that he shuld not come in his gatys. Thys mayster Skelton
dyd absent hymselfe for a long seson. But at the laste he thought to do
hys dewty to hym, and studyed weys how he myght obtayne the bysshopys
fauour, and determynyd hemself that he wold come to hym wyth some
present, and humble hymself to the byshop; and gat a cople of fesantes,
and cam to the bysshuppys place, and requyryd the porter he myghte come
in to speke wyth my lord. This porter, knowyng his lordys pleasure, wold
not suffer him to come in at the gatys; wherfor thys mayster Skelton
went on the baksyde to seke some other way to come in to the place. But
the place was motyd that he cowlde se no way to come ouer, except in one
place where there lay a long tree ouer the motte in maner of a brydge,
that was fallyn down wyth wynd; wherfore thys mayster Skelton went along
vpon the tree to come ouer, and whan he was almost ouer, hys fote slyppyd
for lak of sure fotyng, and fel into the mote vp to myddyll; but at the
last he recoueryd hymself, and, as well as he coud, dryed hymself ageyne,
and sodenly cam to the byshop, beyng in hys hall, than lately rysen
from dyner: whyche, whan he saw Skelton commyng sodenly, sayd to hym,
Why, thow caytyfe, I warnyd the thow shuldys neuer come in at my gatys,
and chargyd my porter to kepe the out. Forsoth, my lorde, quod Skelton,
though ye gaue suche charge, and though your gatys by neuer so suerly
kept, yet yt ys no more possible to kepe me out of your dorys than to
kepe out crowes or pyes; for I cam not in at your gatys, but I cam ouer
the mote, that I haue ben almost drownyd for my labour. And shewyd hys
clothys how euyll he was arayed, whych causyd many that stode therby
to laughe apace. Than quod Skelton, Yf it lyke your lordeshyp, I haue
brought you a dyshe to your super, a cople of fesantes. Nay, quod the
byshop, I defy the and thy fesauntys also, and, wrech as thou art, pyke
the out of my howse, for I wyll none of thy gyft how [_something lost
here_] Skelton than, consyderynge that the bysshoppe called hym fole so
ofte, sayd to one of hys famylyers thereby, that thoughe it were euyll
to be christened a fole, yet it was moche worse to be confyrmyd a fole
of suche a bysshoppe, for the name of confyrmacyon muste nedes abyde.
Therfore he ymagened howe he myghte auoyde that confyrmacyon, and mused
a whyle, and at the laste sayde to the bysshope thus, If your lordeshype
knewe the names of these fesantes, ye wold [be] contente to take them.
Why, caytefe, quod the bisshoppe hastly and angrey, [what] be theyr
names? Ywys, my lorde, quod Skelton, this fesante is called Alpha, which
is, in primys the fyrst, and this is called O, that is, novissimus the
last; and for the more playne vnderstandynge of my mynde, if it plese
your lordeshype to take them, I promyse you, this Alpha is the fyrste
that euer I gaue you, and this O is the laste that euer I wyll gyue you
whyle I lyue. At which answere all that were by made great laughter, and
they all de[sired the bishoppe] to be good lorde vnto him for his merye
conceytes: at which [earnest entrety, as it] wente, the bysshope was
contente to take hym vnto his fauer agayne.
By thys tale ye may se that mery conceytes dothe [a man more] good than
to frete hymselfe with a[nger] and melancholy.”
From _Tales, and quicke answeres, very mery, and pleasant to rede_. 4to.
n. d., printed by Thomas Berthelet. (See Singer’s reprint, p. 9.)
“Of the beggers answere to M. Skelton the poete. xiii.
A poure begger, that was foule, blacke, and lothlye to beholde, cam vpon
a tyme vnto mayster Skelton the poete, and asked him his almes. To whom
mayster Skelton sayde, I praye the gette the awaye fro me, for thou
lokeste as though thou camest out of helle. The poure man, perceyuing
he wolde gyue him no thynge, answerd, For soth, syr, ye say trouth; I
came oute of helle. Why dyddest thou nat tary styl there? quod mayster
Skelton. Mary, syr, quod the begger, there is no roume for suche poure
beggers as I am; all is kepte for suche gentyl men as ye be.”
Prefixed to _Pithy pleasaunt and profitable workes of maister Skelton,
Poete Laureate. Nowe collected and newly published. Anno 1568._ 12mo.
“If slouth and tract of time
(That wears eche thing away)
Should rust and canker worthy artes,
Good works would soen decay.
If suche as present are
Forgoeth the people past,
Our selu[e]s should soen in silence slepe,
And loes renom at last.
No soyll nor land so rude
But som odd men can shoe:
Than should the learned pas unknowne,
Whoes pen & skill did floe?
God sheeld our slouth[146] wear sutch,
Or world so simple nowe,
That knowledge scaept without reward,
Who sercheth vertue throwe,
And paints forth vyce aright,
And blames abues of men,
And shoes what lief desarues rebuke,
And who the prayes of pen.
You see howe forrayn realms
Aduance their poets all;
And ours are drowned in the dust,
Or flong against the wall.
In Fraunce did Marrot raigne;
And neighbour thear vnto
Was Petrark, marching full with Dantte,
Who erst did wonders do;
Among the noble Grekes
Was Homere full of skill;
And where that Ouid norisht was
The soyll did florish still
With letters hie of style;
But Virgill wan the fraes,[147]
And past them all for deep engyen,
And made them all to gaes
Upon the bookes he made:
Thus eche of them, you see,
Wan prayse and fame, and honor had,
Eche one in their degree.
I pray you, then, my friendes,
Disdaine not for to vewe
The workes and sugred verses fine
Of our raer poetes newe;
Whoes barborus language rued
Perhaps ye may mislike;
But blame them not that ruedly playes
If they the ball do strike,
Nor skorne not mother tunge,
O babes of Englishe breed!
I haue of other language seen,
And you at full may reed
Fine verses trimly wrought,
And coutcht in comly sort;
But neuer I nor you, I troe,
In sentence plaine and short
Did yet beholde with eye,
In any forraine tonge,
A higher verse, a staetly[er] style,
That may be read or song,
Than is this daye indeede
Our Englishe verse and ryme,
The grace wherof doth touch yᵉ gods,
And reatch the cloudes somtime.
Thorow earth and waters deepe
The pen by skill doth passe,
And featly nyps the worldes abuse,
And shoes vs in a glasse
The vertu and the vice
Of eury wyght alyue:
The hony combe that bee doth make
Is not so sweete in hyue
As are the golden leues
That drops from poets head,
Which doth surmount our common talke
As farre as dros doth lead:
The flowre is sifted cleane,
The bran is cast aside,
And so good corne is knowen from chaffe,
And each fine graine is spide.
Peers Plowman was full plaine,
And Chausers spreet was great;
Earle Surry had a goodly vayne;
Lord Vaus the marke did beat,
And Phaer did hit the pricke
In thinges he did translate,
And Edwards had a special gift;
And diuers men of late
Hath helpt our Englishe toung,
That first was baes and brute:—
Ohe, shall I leaue out Skeltons name,
The blossome of my frute,
The tree wheron indeed
My branchis all might groe?
Nay, Skelton wore the lawrell wreath,
And past in schoels, ye knoe;
A poet for his arte,
Whoes iudgment suer was hie,
And had great practies of the pen,
His works they will not lie;
His terms to taunts did lean,
His talke was as he wraet,
Full quick of witte, right sharp of words,
And skilfull of the staet;
Of reason riep and good,
And to the haetfull mynd,
That did disdain his doings still,
A skornar of his kynd;
Most pleasant euery way,
As poets ought to be,
And seldom out of princis grace,
And great with eche degre.
Thus haue you heard at full
What Skelton was indeed;
A further knowledge shall you haue,
If you his bookes do reed.
I haue of meer good will
Theas verses written heer,
To honour vertue as I ought,
And make his fame apeer,
That whan the garland gay
Of lawrel leaues but laet:
Small is my pain, great is his prayes,
That thus sutch honour gaet.
_Finis quod Churchyarde._”
[146] _slouth_] Old ed. “sloulth.”
[147] _fraes_] i. e. phrase.—In the _Muses Library_, 1737, p. 138, this
word is altered to “bayes.”
From _Johannis Parkhvrsti Ludicra siue Epigrammata Juuenilia_. 1573, 4to.
“De Skeltono vate & sacerdote.