Bow doune now & encline;
For nowe yᵉ Muses nyne,
So sacred and diuine,
In Parnase holy hyll
Haue wrought theyr worthy wyll.
And by theyr goodly skyll
Vppon that myghty mountayne
In Hellycons fountayne, &c.
...
O poete so impudent,
Whyche neuer yet was studente,
To thee the goddes prudente
Minerua is illudente!
Thou wrytest thynges dyffuse,
Incongrue and confuse,
Obfuscate and obtuse;
No man the lyke doth use
Among the Turckes or Jewes;
Alwayes inuentyng newes
That are incomparable,
They be so fyrme and stable:
Lyke as a shyppe is able,
Wythout ancre and cable,
Roother, maste, or sayle,
Pully, rope, or nayle,
In wynde, weather, or hayle,
To guyde both top and tayle,
And not the course to fayle;
So thys our poet maye,
Wythout a stopp or staye,
In cunnynge wend the way,
As wel by darke as day,
And neuer go astray,
Yf yt be as they saye.
O poet rare and recent,
Dedecorate and indecent,
Insolent and insensate,
Contendyng and condensate,
Obtused and obturate,
Obumbylate, obdurate,
Sparyng no priest or curate,
Cyuylyan or rurate,
That be alredy marryed,
And from theyr vow bene varyed,
Wherto the Scrypture them caried!
They myght as wel haue taryed;
I sweare by the north doore rood,
That stowte was whyle he stood,
That they had bene as good
To haue solde theyr best blew hood;
For I am in suche a moode,
That for my power and parte,
Wyth al my wyt and arte,
Wyth whole intent and harte,
I wyl so at them darte,” &c.
* * * * *
_The Copye of a letter, sent by John Bradford to the right honorable
lordes the Erles of Arundel, Darbie, Shrewsbury, & Penbroke, declarīg
the nature of spaniardes, and discouering the most detestable treasons,
whiche they haue pretended moste falselye againste oure moste noble
kyngdome of Englande. Whereunto is added a tragical blast of the
papisticall trōpet for mayntenaunce of the Popes kingdome in Englande.
by. T.E. If ye beleue the trueth, ye saue your liues_, &c. 12mo, and
without date or printer’s name on the title-page: the copy now before
me is imperfect at the end, where perhaps both are given. According to
Herbert’s _Ames’s Typ. Antiq._ iii. 1582, this piece was printed in 1555.
In the two subjoined passages (perhaps in more) of this tract, the author
adopts the Skeltonic metre, though the whole is printed as prose:—
“There be many other noble menne [among the Spaniards, besides the duke
of Medena-zelie] vndoubtedly very wise and politik, which can throughe
their wisdome binde themselues for a time from their nature, and applye
their condicions to the maners of those menne with whom they would
gladlye bee frended; whose mischeuouse maners a man shal neuer knowe,
till he come vnder their subiection. But then shall ye perceiue perfectly
their puffed pride, with many mischeffes beside, their prowling and
poling, their bribinge and shauing, their most deceitfull dealing, their
braging and bosting, their flatteringe and faininge, their abominable
whorehuntynge, with most rufull ruling, | their doings vniust, | with
insaciate lust, | their stout stubbernnes, | croked crabbednes, | and
vnmeasurable madnes, | in enui, pride, and lecherie, | which, thei
saie, God loueth hartelie, | vaineglorie and hipocrisie, | with al
other vilanie | of what kinde soeuer it be; | supersticion, desolacion,
extorcion, adulacion, dissimulacion, exaltacion, suppression, inuocacion,
and all abominacion; with innumerable moe mischeues, whiche I coulde
plainlie declare, that no nacion in the world can suffer. Their masking
and mumbling | in the holi time of lent | maketh many wiues brente, | the
king being present, | nighte after nighte, | as a prince of moste mighte,
| which hath power in his hande | that no man dare withstande: | yet if
that were the greatest euil, | we might suffer it wel, | for there is no
man liuing | but would suffer the king | to haue wife, sister, doughter,
maide and all, | bothe great & smal, | so many as he liste, | no man
would him resist; | but the worst of all the companie | muste haue my
wife priuelie, | when I am present bi; | this is more vilanie, | that one
muste kepe the dore; | will not that greue you sore? | & dare not speake
for your life, | when another hath youre wife,” | &c. Sig. B i.
“Ye wil say, the Spaniards kepe their olde rentaking: how can that be,
when euery poore man must pay yerely for euery chimney in his house, and
euery other place that is to make fire in, as ouen, fornes, and smithes
forge, a Frenche crowne? wil Englishmen, or can thei, suffer to be poled
and pilled moste miserably, in payeng continually suche poling pence
and intollerable tollages for all maner graine and breade, befe, beare
and mutton, goose, pigge and capone, henne, mallard and chicken, milk,
butter and chese, egges, apples & peares, | wine white and reade, | with
all other wines beside, | salt white and graye? | al thinges must pay;
| small nuttes and wallnuttes, | cheries and chestnuttes, | plumbes,
damassens, philbeardes, and al | both gret & smal, | whatsoeuer thei
maye se, | to fede the pore commenalte; | salmon and hearing; | this is
a shamefull thing; | tench, ele or conger; | this shall kepe vs vnder, |
and make vs die for hunger; | flounders, floucke, plaice or carpe; | here
is a miserable warke | that Englande must abide | to maintaine Spanishe
pride,” &c. Sig. F ii.
* * * * *
From _Doctour Doubble Ale_,—12mo, without printer’s name or date.
“Although I lacke intelligence,
And can not skyll of eloquence,
Yet wyll I do my diligence
To say sumthing or I go hence,
Wherein I may demonstrate
The figure, gesture, and estate
Of one that is a curate,
That harde is and endurate,
And ernest in the cause
Of piuish popish lawes,
That are not worth two strawes,
Except it be with dawes,
That knoweth not good from euels,
Nor Gods worde from the deuels,
Nor wyll in no wise heare
The worde of God so cleare,
But popishnes vpreare,
And make the pope Gods peare.
...
Now let vs go about
To tell the tale out
Of this good felow stout,
That for no man wyll dout,
But kepe his olde condicions
For all the newe comyssions,
And vse his supersticions,
And also mens tradycions,
And syng for dead folkes soules,
And reade hys beaderolles,
And all such thinges wyll vse
As honest men refuse:
But take hym for a cruse,
And ye wyll tell me newes;
For if he ons begyn,
He leaueth nought therin;
He careth not a pyn
How much ther be wythin,
So he the pot may wyn,
He wyll it make full thyn;
And wher the drinke doth please
There wyll he take his ease,
And drinke therof his fyll,
Tyll ruddy be his byll;
And fyll both cup and can,
Who is so glad a man
As is our curate than?
I wolde ye knewe it, a curate
Not far without Newgate;
Of a parysh large
The man hath mikle charge,
And none within this border
That kepeth such order,
Nor one a this syde Nauerne
Louyth better the ale tauerne:
But if the drinke be small,
He may not well withall;
Tush, cast it on the wall!
It fretteth out his gall;
Then seke an other house,
This is not worth a louse,
As dronken as a mouse,
_Monsyre gybet a vous!_
And ther wyll byb and bouse,
Tyll heuy be his brouse.
...
Thus may ye beholde
This man is very bolde,
And in his learning olde
Intendeth for to syt:
I blame hym not a whyt,
For it wolde vexe his wyt,
And cleane agaynst his earning,
To folow such learning
As now a dayes is taught;
It wolde sone bryng to naught
His olde popish brayne,
For then he must agayne
Apply hym to the schole,
And come away a fole,
For nothing shulde he get,
His brayne hath bene to het
And with good ale so wet;
Wherefore he may now set
In feldes and in medes,
And pray vpon his beades,
For yet he hath a payre
Of beades that be right fayre,
Of corall, gete, or ambre,
At home within his chambre;
For in matins or masse
Primar and portas,
And pottes and beades,
His lyfe he leades:
But this I wota,
That if ye nota
How this _idiota_
Doth folow the pota,
I holde you a grota
Ye wyll rede by rota
That he may were a cota
In Cocke Lorels[152] bota.
Thus the durty doctour,
The popes oune proctour,
Wyll bragge and boost
Wyth ale and a toost,
And lyke a rutter
Hys Latin wyll vtter,
And turne and tosse hym,
Wyth _tu non possum_
_Loquere Latinum_;
This _alum finum_
Is _bonus_ then _vinum_;
_Ego volo quare_
_Cum tu drinkare_
_Pro tuum caput,_
_Quia apud_
_Te propiciacio,_
_Tu non potes facio_
_Tot quam ego;_
_Quam librum tu lego,_
_Caue de me_
_Apponere te:_
_Juro per Deum_
_Hoc est lifum meum,_
_Quia drinkum stalum_
_Non facere malum._
Thus our _dominus_ dodkin
Wyth _ita vera_ bodkin
Doth leade his lyfe,
Which to the ale wife
Is very profitable:
It is pytie he is not able
To mayntayne a table
For beggers and tinkers
And all lusty drinkers,
Or captayne or beddle
Wyth dronkardes to meddle.
Ye cannot, I am sure,
For keping of a cure
Fynde such a one well,
If ye shulde rake hell:
And therefore nowe
No more to you,
_Sed perlegas ista,_
_Si velis, papista_;
Farewell and adewe,
With a whirlary whewe,
And a tirlary typpe;
Beware of the whyppe.”
[150] _With_] Old ed. “Whiche.”
[151] _se_] Old ed. “so.”
[152] _Lorels_] Old ed. “losels.”
* * * * *
From _A Commemoration or Dirige of Bastarde Edmonde Boner, alias Sauage,
vsurped Bisshoppe of London. Compiled by Lemeke Auale. Episcopatum eius
accipiet alter. Anno Domini. 1569. Imprinted by P. O._ 8vo (a tract,
chiefly in verse and of various metres: see Notes, vol. ii. 121.)
“_The fifte lesson._
_Homo natus._
“_Homo natus_
Came to heauen gatus.
Sir, you doe come to latus,
With your shorne patus:
_Frequentia falsa Euangelii_,
For the loue of your bealie,
_Cum auro & argento_,
You loued the rules of Lento,
Whiche the Pope did inuento:
You are _spurius de muliere_.
Not legittimate nor lawful here:
_O quam[153] venenosa pestis,_
_Fur, periurus, latro, mechus,_
_Homicidis[154] tantum decus!_
_De salute animarum_,
Of Christes flocke thou hadest small carum:
Thou art _filius populi_:
Go, go to _Constantinopoli_,
To your maister the Turke;
There shall you lurke
Emong the heathen soules.
Somtyme your shorne brethren of Poules
Were as blacke as moules,
With their cappes fower forked,
Their shoes warme corked;
Nosed like redde grapes,
Constant as she apes,
In nature like blacke monkes,
And shoote in sparowes trunkes,
And boule when thei haue dinde,
And kepe them from the winde;
And thei whiche are not able
Doe sitte still at the table,
With colour scarlet pale,
So small is their good ale:
Thus from God thei did tourne,
Long before their church did burne.
Then when riche men wer sicke,
Either dedde or quicke,
_Valde diligenter notant_
_Vbi diuites egrotant;_
_Ibi currunt, nec cessabunt_
_Donec ipsos tumilabunt;_
_Oues alienas tondunt,_
_Et perochias confundunt._
These felowes pilde as ganders,
Muche like the friers of Flanders,
Whiche serue Sathan about the cloisters,
Thei loue red wine and oisters.
_Qui vult Satanæ seruire,_
_Claustrum debet introire_,
And euer haue suche an hedde
As bastarde Boner that is dedde.
He would for the Pope take pain;
Therfore help, you friers of Spain,
You enquisiters, take paine:
It is a greate maine
Vnto the Pope, your hedde,
That Boner is thus dedde,
And buried in a misers graue,
Like a common k[naue].
Lo, lo, now is he dedde,
That was so well fedde,
And had a softe bedde!
_Estote fortis in bello_,
Good Hardyng and thy fellowe;
If you be papistes right,
Come steale hym awaie by night,
And put hym in a shrine;
He was the Popes deuine;
Why, shall he be forgotten,
And lye still and rotten?
Come on, and doe not fainte;
Translate with spede your sainct,
And put hym in a tombe:
His harte is now at Rome.
Come forth, you loughtes of Louen,
And steale awaie this slouen:
You are so full of ire,
And popishe desire,
And Romishe derision,
And hellishe deuision,
Therefore I am sure
Your kyngdome will not dure.”
Sig. B iii.
...
“_Responde._
_Ne recorderis peccata_,
But open heauen gata,
Sainct Peter, with your kaies;
Shewe my lorde the right waies:
He dwelt ones at Poules,
And had cure of our soules:
I wisse, he was not a baste,
But holie, meke, and chaste;
It is a greate pitie
That he is gone from our citie;
A man of greate honor;
O holy sainct Boner!
You blessed friers
That neuer wer liers,
And you holy nunnes
That neuer had sonnes,
Set this child of grace
In some angelles place.”
Sig. B vii.
[153] _O quam, &c._] A line which ought to have rhymed with this one is
wanting.
[154] _Homicidis_] Old ed. “Homicidus.”
* * * * *
From
_A Skeltonicall Salutation,_
_Or condigne gratulation,_
_And iust vexation_
_Of the Spanish Nation,_
_That in a bravado,_
_Spent many a Crusado,_
_In setting forth an Armado_
_England to invado._
_Imprinted at London for Toby Cooke._ 1589, 4to.
“O king of Spaine,
Is it not a paine
To thy heart and braine
And euery vaine,
To see thy traine
For to sustaine,
Withouten gaine,
The worlds disdaine,
Which doth dispise
As toies and lies,
With shoutes and cries,
Thy enterprise,
As fitter for pies
And butter-flies,
Then men so wise?
O waspish king,
Wheres now thy sting,
Thy dart or sling,
Or strong bow-string,
That should vs wring,
And vnderbring,
Who euery way
Thee vexe and pay,
And beare the sway
By night and day,
To thy dismay,
In battle aray,
And every fray?
O pufte with pride,
What foolish guide
Made thee provide
To over-ride
This land so wide
From side to side,
And then, vntride,
Away to slide,
And not to abide,
But all in a ring
Away to fling?
O conquering,
O vanquishing,
With fast flying,
And no replying,
For feare of frying!
...
But who but Philippus,
That seeketh to nip vs,
To rob vs, and strip vs,
And then for to whip vs,
Would ever haue ment,
Or had intent,
Or hither sent
Such ships of charge,
So strong and so large,
Nay, the worst barge,
Trusting to treason,
And not to reason,
Which at that season
To him was geson,
As doth appeare
Both plaine and cleare
To far and neere,
To his confusion,
By this conclusion,
Which thus is framed,
And must be named
_Argumentum a minore,_
_Cum horrore et timore?_
If one Drake o,
One poore snake o,
Make vs shake o,
Tremble and quake o,
Were it not, trow yee,
A madnes for me
To vndertake
A warre to make
With such a lande,
That is so mande,
Wherein there be
Of certaintie
As hungrie as he
Many a thousand more,
That long full sore
For Indian golde,
Which makes men bolde?” &c.
See also—_Jacke of the Northe_, &c. printed (most incorrectly) from
C.C.C. MS. in Hartshorne’s _Anc. Met. Tales_, p. 288.—_A recantation of
famous Pasquin of Rome. An. 1570. Imprinted at London by John Daye_,
8vo, which (known to me only from _Brit. Bibliog._ ii. 289) contains
Skeltonical passages.—_The Riddles of Heraclitus and Democritus. Printed
at London by Ann Hatfield for John Norton_, 1598, 4to, which (known to
me only from _Restituta_, i. 175) has Skeltonical rhymes on the back
of the title-page.—_The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll. As it hath bene
sundrie times Acted by the Children of Powles_, 1600, 4to, which has
some Skeltonical lines at sig. C 4.—_The Downfall of Robert Earle of
Huntington_, &c. (by Anthony Munday), 1601, 4to, and _The Death of
Robert, Earle of Hvntington_, &c. (by Anthony Munday and Henry Chettle),
1601, 4to, (two plays already noticed, p. lxxxvi.), in which are various
Skeltonical passages.—_Hobson’s Horse-load of Letters, or a President
for Epistles. The First Part_, 1617, 4to, which concludes with three
epistles in verse, the last entitled “_A merry-mad Letter in Skeltons
rime_,” &c.—_Poems: By Michael Drayton Esqvire_, &c., n. d., folio,
which contains at p. 301 a copy of verses entitled “A Skeltoniad.”—_The
Fortunate Isles_, &c. 1626, a masque by Ben Jonson (already noticed, p.
lxxxvii.), in which are imitations of Skelton’s style.—_All The Workes
of John Taylor The Water-poet_, &c. 1630, folio, which contains, at
p. 245, “_A Skeltonicall salutation to those that know how to reade,
and not marre the sense with hacking or mis-construction_” (printed
as prose).—_Hesperides: or, The Works Both Humane & Divine of Robert
Herrick Esq._, 1648, 8vo, among which, at pp. 10, 97, 268, are verses in
Skelton’s favourite metre.—_The Works of Mr. John Cleveland, Containing
his Poems, Orations, Epistles, Collected into One Volume_, 1687, 8vo, in
which may be found, at p. 306, a piece of disgusting grossness (suggested
by Skelton’s _Elynour Rummynge_), entitled “_The Old Gill_.”
A poem called _Philargyrie of greate Britayne_, 1551, printed (and no
doubt written) by Robert Crowly, has been frequently mentioned as a
“Skeltonic” composition, but improperly, as the following lines will shew;
“Geue eare awhyle,
And marke my style,
You that hath wyt in store;
For wyth wordes bare
I wyll declare
Thyngs done long tyme before.
Sometyme certayne
Into Britayne,
A lande full of plentie,
A gyaunte greate
Came to seke meate,
Whose name was Philargyrie,” &c.
“See also,” says Warton (_Hist. of E. P._ ii. 358, note, ed. 4to), “a
doggrel piece of this kind, _in imitation of Skelton_, introduced into
Browne’s _Sheperd’s Pipe_,”—a mistake; for the poem of Hoccleve (inserted
in _Eglogue_ i.), to which Warton evidently alludes, is neither doggrel
nor in Skelton’s manner.
POETICAL WORKS OF JOHN SKELTON.
OF THE DEATH[155] OF THE NOBLE PRINCE, KYNGE EDWARDE THE FORTH, PER
SKELTONIDEM LAUREATUM.
_Miseremini mei_, ye that be my frendis!
This world[156] hath formed me downe to fall:
How may[157] I endure, when that eueri thyng endis?
What creature is borne to be eternall?
Now there[158] is no more but pray for me all:
Thus say I Edward, that late was youre kynge,
And twenty two[159] yeres ruled this imperyall,
Some vnto pleasure, and some to no lykynge:
Mercy I aske of my mysdoynge;
What auayleth it,[160] frendes, to be my foo, 10
Sith I can not resyst, nor amend your complaining?
_Quia, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!_
I slepe now in molde, as it is naturall
That[161] erth vnto erth hath his reuerture:
What ordeyned God to be terestryall,
Without recours to the erth[162] of nature?
Who to lyue euer may himselfe assure?[163]
What is it[164] to trust on mutabilyte,
Sith that in this world nothing may indure?
For now am I gone, that late was in prosperyte: 20
To presume thervppon, it is but a vanyte,
Not certayne, but as a cheryfayre[165] full of wo:
Reygned not I of late in greate felycite?
_Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!_
Where was in my lyfe such one as I,
Whyle lady Fortune with me had continuaunce?
Graunted not she me to haue victory,
In England to rayne, and to contribute Fraunce?
She toke me by the hand and led me a daunce,
And with her sugred lyppes on me she smyled; 30
But, what for her dissembled countenaunce,
I coud not beware tyl I was begyled:
Now from this world she hath me excyled,
When I was lothyst hens for to go,
And I am in age but, as who sayth, a chylde,
_Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!_
I se wyll,[166] they leve that doble my ȝeris:
This[167] dealid this world with me as it lyst,[168]
And hathe me made, to ȝow that be my perys,
Example to thynke on Had I wyst: 40
I storyd my cofers and allso my chest[169]
With taskys takynge of the comenalte;
I toke ther tresure, but of ther prayȝeris mist;
Whom I beseche with pure humylyte
For to forgeve and have on me pety;
I was ȝour kynge, and kept ȝow from ȝowr foo:
I wold now amend, but that wull not be,
_[Quia,] ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!_
I had ynough, I held me not content,
Without remembraunce that I should dye; 50
And more euer to incroche[170] redy was I bent,
I knew not how longe I should it occupy:
I made the Tower stronge, I wyst not why;
I knew not to whom I purchased Tetersall;
I amendid Douer on the mountayne hye,
And London I prouoked to fortify the wall;
I made Notingam a place full[171] royall,
Wyndsore, Eltam,[172] and many other mo:
Yet at the last I went from them all,
_Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!_ 60
Where is now my conquest and victory?
Where is my riches and my royal aray?
Wher be my coursers and my horses hye?
Where is my myrth, my solas, and my[173] play?
As vanyte, to nought al is wandred[174] away.
O lady Bes, longe for me may ye call!
For I[175] am departed tyl domis day;
But loue ye that Lorde that is soueraygne of all.
Where be my castels and buyldynges royall?
But Windsore alone, now I haue no mo, 70
And of Eton the prayers perpetuall,
_Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!_
Why should a man be proude or presume hye?
Sainct Bernard therof nobly doth trete,
Seyth a man is but[176] a sacke of stercorry,
And shall returne vnto wormis mete.
Why, what cam of Alexander the greate?
Or els of stronge Sampson, who can tell?
Were not[177] wormes ordeyned theyr flesh to frete?
And of Salomon, that was of wyt the well? 80
Absolon profferyd his heare for to sell,
Yet for al his bewte wormys ete him also;
And I but late in honour dyd excel,
_Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio!_
I haue played my pageyond, now am I past;
Ye wot well all I was of no great yeld:
This[178] al thing concluded shalbe at the last,
When death approchyth, then lost is the felde:
Then sythen this world me no longer vphelde,
Nor nought[179] would conserue me here in my place, 90
_In manus tuas, Domine_, my spirite vp I yelde,
Humbly[180] beseching thé, God, of thy[181] grace!
O ye curtes commyns, your hertis vnbrace
Benyngly now to pray for me also;
For ryght wel you know your kyng I was,
_Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio_!
[155] _Of the death_, &c.] From the ed. by Kynge and Marche of _Certaine
bokes compyled by Mayster Skelton_, n. d.—collated with the same work,
ed. Day, n. d., and ed. Lant, n. d.; with Marshe’s ed. of Skelton’s
_Workes_, 1568; occasionally with the _Mirrour for Magistrates_, 1587
(in the earlier eds. of which the poem was incorporated), and with a
contemporary MS. in the possession of Miss Richardson Currer, which last
has furnished a stanza hitherto unprinted.
[156] _This world_, &c.] MS.:
“For the _world hathe_ conformid _me to fall_.”
[157] _may_] MS. “myzt.”
[158] _Now there_, &c.] MS.:
“_Now is ther no_ helpe _but pray for_ my sovle.”
[159] _twenty-two_] So MS. and _Mir. for Mag._ Eds. “xxiii.;” see notes.
[160] _it_] So other eds. Ed. of Kynge and Marche, “hit.”
[161] _That_] So MS. Eds. “As.”
[162] _the erth_] MS. “dethe.”
[163] _himselfe assure_] So _Mir. for Mag._ Eds. and MS., “be sure.”
[164] _What is it_, &c.] MS.:
“_What ys it to trust_ the _mutabylyte_
Of _this world_ whan _no thyng may endure_.”
[165] _cheryfayre_] MS. “cheyfeyre.”
[166] _I se wyll_, &c.] This stanza only found in MS.
[167] _This_] See notes.
[168] _lyst_] MS. “lust”—against the rhyme.
[169] _chest_] MS. “chestys”—against the rhyme.
[170] _euer to incroche_] Eds. of Day, and Marshe, “ouer _to_,” &c. MS.
gives this line and the next thus:
“_And more to_ encrese _was_ myne entent
And _not_ beynge ware who _shuld it ocupye_.”
[171] _full_] So _Mir. for Mag._ Not in eds. or MS.
[172] _Wyndsore_, _Eltam,_ &c.] This line and the next given thus in MS.:
“_Wynsore_ and eton _and many oder mo_
As Westmynster _Eltham_ and sone _went I from all_.”
And so, with slight variation, in Nash’s _Quaternio_: see notes.
[173] _my_] So _Mir. for Mag._ Not in eds. or MS.
[174] _wandred_] _Mir. for Mag._ “wythered.”
[175] _For I_, &c.] MS.:
“Now are we _departid_ [i. e. parted] onto _domys day_.”
[176] _Seyth a man is but_, &c.] Day’s ed. “Seeth _a man is_ nothing
_but_,” &c. Marshe’s ed. “Sythe _a man is_ nothing _but_,” &c. _Mir.
for Mag._ “Saying _a man is but_,” &c. MS. “Seinge _a man ys a sak of_
sterqueryte.”
[177] _Were not_] So Lant’s ed. and _Mir. for Mag._ Ed. of Kynge and
Marche, “Where no.” Eds. of Day, and Marshe, “Wher no.” MS. “Was _not_.”
[178] _This_] _Mir. for Mag._ “Thus;” but see note.
[179] _Nor nought_, &c.] _Mir. for Mag._:
“For _nought would conserue mee here in_ this _place_.”
MS.:
“Ne _nougt wold concerue me my place_.”
[180] _Humbly_] So other eds. Kynge and Marche’s ed. “Humble.”
[181] _thy_] Other eds. “his.”
POETA SKELTON[182] LAUREATUS LIBELLUM SUUM METRICE ALLOQUITUR.
_Ad dominum properato meum, mea pagina, Percy,_
_Qui Northumbrorum jura paterna gerit;_
_Ad nutum celebris tu prona repone leonis_
_Quæque suo patri tristia justa cano.[183]_
_Ast ubi perlegit, dubiam sub mente volutet_
_Fortunam, cuncta quæ malefida rotat._
_Qui leo sit felix, et Nestoris occupet annos;_
_Ad libitum, cujus ipse paratus ero._
[182] _Poeta Skelton_, &c.] From Marshe’s ed. of Skelton’s _Workes_,
1568, collated with a copy of the poem in a MS. vol now in the British
Museum (_MS. Reg._ 18. D ii. fol. 165), which formerly belonged to the
fifth Earl of Northumberland, son of the nobleman whose fate is here
lamented: vide _Account of Skelton_, &c. This elegy was printed by Percy
in his _Reliques of An. Engl. Poet._ (i. 95, ed. 1794), from the MS. just
mentioned.
[183] _cano_] So MS. Not in Marshe’s ed.
SKELTON LAUREAT VPON THE DOULOUR[U]S DETHE AND MUCHE LAMENTABLE CHAUNCE
OF THE MOST HONORABLE ERLE OF NORTHUMBERLANDE.