The dedely fate, the dolefulle desteny
Of hym that is gone, alas, without restore,
Of the bloud royall descending nobelly;
Whose lordshyp doutles was slayne lamentably
Thorow treson, again him compassed and wrought,
Trew to his prince in word, in dede, and thought.
Of heuenly poems, O Clyo, calde by name
In the colege of Musis goddes hystoriall,
Adres thé to me, whiche am both halt and lame 10
In elect vteraunce to make memoryall!
To thé for souccour, to thé for helpe I call,
Mine homely rudnes and dryghnes to expell
With the freshe waters of Elyconys well.
Of noble actes aunciently enrolde
Of famous pryncis and lordes of astate,
By thy report ar wont to be extold,
Regestringe trewly euery formare date;
Of thy bountie after the vsuall rate
Kyndell in me suche plenty of thy nobles, 20
These sorowfulle dites that I may shew expres.
In sesons past, who hath herde or sene
Of formar writyng by any presidente
That vilane hastarddis in their furious tene,
Fulfylled with malice of froward entente,
Confetered togeder of commonn[184] concente
Falsly to slee[185] theyr moste singuler good lord?
It may be regestrede of shamefull recorde.
So noble a man, so valiaunt lord and knyght,
Fulfilled with honor, as all the world[186] doth ken; 30
At his commaundement which had both day and nyght
Knyghtes and squyers, at euery season when
He calde vpon them, as meniall houshold men:
Were not[187] these commons vncurteis karlis of kind
To slo their owne lord? God was not in their mynd.
And were not they to blame, I say, also,
That were aboute him, his o[w]ne[188] seruants of trust,
To suffre him slayn of his mortall fo?
Fled away from hym, let hym ly in the dust;
They bode not till the reckenyng were discust: 40
What shuld I flatter? what shuld I glose or paint?
Fy, fy for shame, their hartes were to faint.
In England and Fraunce which gretly was redouted,
Of whom both Flaunders and Scotland stode in drede,
To whom great estates obeyed and lowted,
A mayny of rude villayns made hym for to blede;
Unkyndly they slew him, that holp[189] them oft at nede:
He was their bulwark, their paues, and their wall,
Yet shamfully they slew hym; that shame mot them befal!
I say, ye comoners, why wer ye so stark mad? 50
What frantyk frensy fyll in your brayne?
Where was your wit and reson ye should haue had?
What wilful foly made yow to ryse agayne
Your naturall lord? alas, I can not fayne:
Ye armyd you with will, and left your wit behynd;
Well may you[190] be called comones most vnkynd.
He was your chefteyne, your shelde, your chef defence,
Redy to assyst you in euery time of nede;
Your worshyp depended of his excellence:
Alas, ye mad men, to far ye did excede; 60
Your hap was vnhappy, to ill was your spede:
What moued you againe him to war or to fyght?
What alyde you to sle[191] your lord again all ryght?
The ground of his quarel was for his souerain lord,
The well concerning of all the hole lande,
Demandyng suche duties as nedes most acord
To the ryght of his prince, which shold not be withstand;
For whose cause ye slew him with your owne hand:
But had his noble men done wel that day,
Ye had not bene able to haue sayd hym nay. 70
But ther was fals packing, or els I am begylde;
How be it the mater was euydent and playne,
For if they had occupied their spere and their shilde,
This noble man doutles had not bene[192] slayne.
But men say they wer lynked with a double chaine,
And held with the comones vnder a cloke,
Which kindeled the wild fyr that made al this smoke.
The commons renyed ther taxes to pay,
Of them demaunded and asked by the kynge;
With one voice importune they plainly sayd nay; 80
They buskt them on a bushment themselfe in baile to bring,
Againe the kyngs plesure to wrestle or to wring;
Bluntly as bestis with boste and with crye
They sayd they forsed not, nor carede not to dy.
The nobelnes of the north, this valiant lord and knight,
As man that was innocent of trechery or traine,
Presed forth boldly to withstand the myght,
And, lyke marciall Hector, he faught them agayne,
Vygorously vpon them with might and with maine,
Trustyng in noble men that were with him there; 90
But al they fled from hym for falshode or fere.
Barones, knyghtes, squiers, one[193] and all,
Together with seruauntes of his famuly,
Turned their backis,[194] and let their master fal,
Of whos [life] they[195] counted not a flye;
Take vp whose wold, for ther[196] they let him ly.
Alas, his gold, his fee, his annual rent
Upon suche a sort was ille bestowd and spent!
He was enuirond aboute on euery syde
With his enemyes, that wer starke mad and wode; 100
Yet[197] while[198] he stode he gaue them woundes wyde:
Allas for ruth! what thoughe his mynd wer gode,
His corage manly, yet ther he shed his blode:
Al left alone, alas, he foughte in vayne!
For cruelly[199] among them ther he was slayne.
Alas for pite! that Percy thus was spylt,
The famous Erle of Northumberland;
Of knyghtly prowes the sword, pomel, and hylt,
The myghty lyon doutted by se and lande;[200]
O dolorus chaunce of Fortunes froward hande! 110
What man, remembryng howe shamfully he was slaine,
From bitter weping himself can restrain?
O cruell Mars, thou dedly god of war!
O dolorous tewisday, dedicate to thy name,
When thou shoke thy sworde so noble a man to mar!
O ground vngracious, vnhappy be thy fame,
Which wert endyed with rede bloud of the same
Most noble erle! O foule mysuryd ground,
Whereon he gat his finall dedely wounde!
O Atropos, of the fatall systers iii 120
Goddes most cruel vnto the lyfe of man,
All merciles, in thé is no pite!
O homicide, which sleest all that thou can,
So forcibly vpon this erle thou ran,
That with thy sword, enharpit of mortall drede,
Thou kit asonder his perfight vitall threde!
My wordes vnpullysht be, nakide and playne,
Of aureat poems they want ellumynynge;
But by them to knowlege ye may attayne
Of this lordes dethe and of his murdrynge; 130
Which whils he lyued had fuyson of euery thing,
Of knights, of squyers, chyf lord of toure and towne,
Tyl fykkell Fortune began on hym to frowne:
Paregall to dukes, with kynges he might compare,
Surmountinge in honor al erlis he did excede;
To all countreis aboute hym reporte me I dare;
Lyke to Eneas benigne in worde and dede,
Valiant as Hector in euery marciall nede,
Prouydent,[201] discrete, circumspect, and wyse,
Tyll the chaunce ran agayne hym of Fortunes duble dyse. 140
What nedeth me for to extoll his fame
With my rude pen enkankered all with rust,
Whose noble actes show worshiply his name,
Transendyng far[202] myne homly Muse, that muste
Yet somwhat wright supprised with herty[203] lust,
Truly reportyng his right noble estate,
Immortally whiche is immaculate?
His noble blode neuer destayned was,
Trew to his prince for to defend his ryght,
Doblenes hatyng fals maters to compas, 150
Treytory and treason he banysht out of syght,
With truth to medle was al his holl delyght,
As all his countrey can testyfy the same:
To sle[204] suche a lorde, alas, it was great shame!
If the hole quere of the Musis nyne
In me all onely wer set and comprysed,
Enbrethed with the blast of influence deuyne,
As perfytly as could be thought or deuised;
To me also allthough it were promised
Of laureat Phebus holy the eloquence, 160
All were to lytell for his magnificence.
O yonge lyon, but tender yet of age,
Grow and encrese, remembre thyn estate;
God thé assyst unto thyn herytage,
And geue thé grace to be more fortunate!
Agayn rebellyones arme thé[205] to make debate;
And, as the lyone, whiche is of bestes kynge,
Unto thy subiectes be curteis and benygne.
I pray God sende thé prosperous lyfe and long,
Stable thy mynde constant to be and fast, 170
Ryght to mayntayn, and to resyst all wronge:
All flateryng faytors abhor and from thé cast;
Of foule detraction God kepe thé from the blast!
Let double delyng in thé haue no place,
And be not lyght of credence in no case.
With heuy chere, with dolorous hart and mynd,
Eche man may sorow in his inward thought
This lordes[206] death, whose pere is hard to fynd,
Algife Englond and Fraunce were thorow saught.
Al kynges, all princes, al dukes, well they ought, 180
Both temporall and spiritual, for to complayne
This noble man, that crewelly was slayne:
More specially barons, and those knygtes bold,
And al other gentilmen with him enterteyned
In fee, as menyall men of his housold,
Whom he as lord worshyply mainteyned;
To sorowful weping they ought to be constreined,
As oft as they call to theyr remembraunce
Of ther good lord the fate and dedely chaunce.
O[207] perlese Prince of heuen emperyall! 190
That with one word formed al thing of noughte;
Heuen, hell, and erthe obey unto thy call;
Which to thy resemblaunce wondersly hast wrought
All mankynd, whom thou full dere hast bought,
With thy bloud precious our finaunce thou did pay,
And vs redemed from the fendys pray;
To thé pray we, as Prince incomparable,
As thou art of mercy and pyte the well,
Thou bring unto thy joye eterminable
The soull of this lorde from all daunger of hell, 200
In endles blys with thé to byde and dwell
In thy palace aboue the orient,
Where thou art Lord and God omnipotent.
O quene of mercy, O lady full of grace,
Mayden most pure, and Goddes moder dere,
To sorowful hartes chef comfort and solace,
Of all women O flowre withouten[208] pere!
Pray to thy Son aboue the sterris clere,
He to vouchesaf, by thy mediacion,
To pardon thy seruaunt, and brynge to saluacion. 210
In joy triumphaunt the heuenly yerarchy,[209]
With all the hole sorte of that glorious place,
His soull mot receyue into theyr company,
Thorow bounty of Hym that formed all solace;
Wel of pite, of mercy, and of grace,
The Father, the Sonn, and the Holy Ghost,
In Trinitate one God of myghtes[210] moste!
_Non sapit, humanis qui certam ponere rebus_
_Spem cupit: est hominum raraque ficta fides._
[184] _commonn_] So MS. Marshe’s ed. “cominion.”
[185] _slee_] MS. “slo,”—as in v. 35 (yet both Marshe’s ed. and MS. have
“sleest” in v. 123).
[186] _world_] So MS. Marshe’s ed. “wold.”
[187] _not_] MS. “no.”
[188] _o[w]ne_] MS. “awne” (yet Percy gives “owne”).
[189] _holp_] MS. “help” (yet Percy gives “holp”).
[190] _you_] MS. “ye” (yet Percy gives “you”).
[191] _sle_] MS. “slo.”
[192] _bene_] MS. “be.”
[193] _one_] So MS. Not in Marshe’s ed.
[194] _backis_] So MS. Marshe’s ed. “backe.”
[195] _Of whos [life] they_, &c.] So Percy. Marshe’s ed. “_Of_ whome
_they_,” &c. MS. “_Of whos they_,” &c.
[196] _ther_] So both Marshe’s ed. and MS. Percy printed the line thus;
“Take up whos wolde for _them_, they let hym ly.”
[197] _Yet_] So MS. Marshe’s ed. “Ye.”
[198] _while_] MS. “whils.”
[199] _cruelly_] MS. “cruell” (yet Percy gives “cruelly”).
[200] _lande_] MS. “sande” (yet Percy gives “lande”).
[201] _Prouydent_] So MS. Marshe’s ed. “Prudent.”
[202] _far_] So Percy. MS. and Marshe’s ed. “for.”
[203] _herty_] MS. “hartly.”
[204] _sle_] MS. “slo.”
[205] _the_] Omitted by Percy, though both in MS. and Marshe’s ed.
[206] _lordes_] So MS. rightly, making the word a dissyllable (yet Percy
prints “lords”). Marshe’s ed. “lords.”
[207] _O_] So MS. Not in Marshe’s ed.
[208] _withouten_] So MS. Marshe’s ed. “without.”
[209] _yerarchy_] So Percy. Both Marshe’s ed. and MS. “gerarchy.”
[210] _myghtes_] So MS. (yet Percy prints “myghts”). Marshe’s ed.
“myghts.”
TETRASTICHON[211] SKELTON. LAUREATI AD MAGISTRUM RUKSHAW, SACRÆ THEOLOGIÆ
EGREGIUM PROFESSOREM.
_Accipe nunc demum, doctor celeberrime Rukshaw,_
_Carmina, de calamo quæ cecidere[212] meo;_
_Et quanquam[213] placidis non sunt modulata camenis,[214]_
_Sunt tamen ex nostro pectore prompta pio._
_Vale feliciter, virorum laudatissime._
[211] _Tetrastichon_, &c.] Follows the elegy on the Earl of
Northumberland both in Marshe’s ed. and in the MS.
[212] _cecidere_] Marshe’s ed. and MS. “occidere.”
[213] _quanquam_] Marshe’s ed. and MS. “quaqua.”
[214] _camenis_] So MS. Marshe’s ed. “carmenis.”
SKELTON LAUREATE[215] AGAYNSTE
_A comely coystrowne, that curyowsly chawntyd, and curryshly cowntred,
and madly in hys musykkys mokkyshly made agaynste the ix Musys of
polytyke poems and poettys matryculat._
Of all nacyons vnder the heuyn,
These frantyke foolys I hate most of all;
For though they stumble in the synnys seuyn,
In peuyshnes yet they[216] snapper and fall,
Which men the viii dedly syn[217] call.
This peuysh proud, thys prendergest,
When he is well, yet can he not rest.
A swete suger lofe and sowre bayardys bun
Be sumdele lyke in forme and shap,
The one for a duke, the other for dun, 10
A maunchet for morell theron to snap.
Hys hart is to hy to haue any hap;
But for in his gamut carp that he can,
Lo, Jak wold be a jentylman!
Wyth, Hey, troly, loly, lo, whip here, Jak,
Alumbek sodyldym syllorym ben!
Curyowsly he can both counter and knak
Of Martyn Swart and all hys mery men.
Lord, how Perkyn is proud of hys pohen!
But ask wher he fyndyth among hys monacordys 20
An holy water clarke a ruler of lordys.
He can not fynd it in rule nor in space:
He solfyth to haute, hys trybyll is to hy;
He braggyth of his byrth, that borne was full bace;
Hys musyk withoute mesure, to sharp is hys my;
He trymmyth in hys tenor to counter pyrdewy;
His dyscant is besy, it is withoute a mene;
To fat is hys fantsy, hys wyt is to lene.
He lumbryth on a lewde lewte, Roty bully joyse,
Rumbyll downe, tumbyll downe, hey go, now, now! 30
He fumblyth in hys fyngeryng an vgly good noyse,
It semyth the sobbyng of an old sow:
He wold be made moch of, and he wyst how;
Wele sped in spyndels and turnyng of tauellys;
A bungler, a brawler, a pyker of quarellys.
Comely he clappyth a payre of clauycordys;
He whystelyth so swetely, he makyth me to swete;
His descant is dasshed full of dyscordes;
A red angry man, but easy to intrete:
An vssher of the hall fayn wold I get, 40
To poynte this proude page a place and a rome,
For Jak wold be a jentylman, that late was a grome.
Jak wold jet, and yet Jyll sayd nay;
He counteth in his countenaunce to checke with the best:
A malaperte medler that pryeth for his pray,
In a dysh dare he rush at the rypest;
Dremyng in dumpys to wrangyll and to wrest:
He fyndeth a proporcyon in his prycke songe,
To drynk at a draught a larg and a long.
Nay, iape not with hym, he is no small fole, 50
It is a solemnpne syre and a solayne;
For lordes and ladyes lerne at his scole;
He techyth them so wysely to solf and to fayne,
That neyther they synge wel prycke songe nor playne:
Thys docter Deuyas[218] commensyd in a cart,
A master, a mynstrell, a fydler, a farte.
What though ye can cownter _Custodi nos_?
As well it becomyth yow, a parysh towne clarke,
To syng _Sospitati[219] dedit ægros_:
Yet bere ye not to bold, to braule ne to bark 60
At me, that medeled nothyng with youre wark:
Correct fyrst thy self; walk, and be nought!
Deme what thou lyst, thou knowyst not my thought.
A prouerbe of old, say well or be styll:
Ye are to vnhappy occasyons[220] to fynde
Vppon me to clater, or els to say yll.
Now haue I shewyd you part of your proud mynde;
Take thys in worth, the best is behynde.
Wryten at Croydon by Crowland in the Clay,
On Candelmas euyn, the Kalendas of May. 70
[215] _Skelton Laureate_, &c.] This poem, and the three pieces which
follow it, are given from a tract of four leaves, n. d., and without
printer’s name (but evidently from the press of Pynson), collated with
Marshe’s ed. of Skelton’s _Workes_, 1568.
[216] _they_] So Marshe’s ed. Pynson’s ed. “the.”
[217] _syn_] Marshe’s ed. “sins.”
[218] _Deuyas_] Marshe’s ed. “dellias.”
[219] _Sospitati_] Pynson’s ed. “_suspirari_.” Marshe’s ed. “Supitati,”
which the editor of 1736 changed into “supinitati.”
[220] _occasyons_] Marshe’s ed. “occasion.”
CONTRA ALIUM CANTITANTEM ET ORGANISANTEM ASINUM, QUI IMPUGNABAT
SKELTONIDA PIERIUM, SARCASMOS.
_Præponenda meis non sunt tua plectra camenis,_
_Nec quantum nostra fistula clara tua est:_
_Sæpe licet lyricos modularis arundine psalmos,_
_Et tremulos calamis concinis ipse modos;_
_Quamvis mille tuus digitus dat carmine plausus,_
_Nam tua quam tua vox est mage docta manus;_
_Quamvis cuncta facis tumida sub mente superbus,_
_Gratior est Phæbo fistula nostra tamen._
_Ergo tuum studeas animo deponere fastum,_
_Et violare sacrum desine, stulte, virum._
Qd[221] Skelton, laureat.
[221] _Qd_, &c.] Not in Marshe’s ed.
SKELTON LAUREAT,
_Vppon a deedmans hed, that was sent to hym from an honorable
jentyllwoman for a token, deuysyd this gostly medytacyon in Englysh,
couenable in sentence, comendable, lamentable, lacrymable, profytable for
the soule_.
Youre vgly tokyn
My mynd hath brokyn
From worldly lust;
For I haue dyscust
We ar but dust,
And dy we must.
It is generall
To be mortall:
I haue well espyde
No man may hym hyde 10
From Deth holow eyed,
With synnews wyderyd,
With bonys shyderyd,
With hys worme etyn maw,
And his gastly jaw
Gaspyng asyde,
Nakyd of hyde,
Neyther flesh nor[222] fell.
Then, by my councell,
Loke that ye spell 20
Well thys gospell:
For wher so we dwell
Deth wyll us qwell,
And with us mell.
For all oure pamperde paunchys,
Ther may no fraunchys,
Nor worldly blys,
Redeme vs from this:
Oure days be datyd,
To be chekmatyd 30
With drawttys of deth,
Stoppyng oure breth;
Oure eyen synkyng,
Oure bodys stynkyng,
Oure gummys grynnyng,
Oure soulys brynnyng.
To whom, then, shall we sew,
For to haue rescew,
But to swete Jesu,
On vs then for to rew? 40
O goodly chyld
Of Mary mylde,
Then be oure shylde!
That we be not exyld[223]
To the dyne dale
Of boteles[224] bale,
Nor to the lake
Of fendys blake.
But graunt vs grace
To se thy face, 50
And to purchace
Thyne heuenly place,
And thy palace,
Full of solace,
Aboue the sky,
That is so hy;
Eternally
To beholde and se
The Trynyte!
Amen. 60
_Myrres vous y._
[222] _nor_] Marshe’s ed. “not.”
[223] _exyld_] So Marshe’s ed. Pynson’s ed. “exylyd.”
[224] _boteles_] Marshe’s ed. “botemles.”
Womanhod, wanton, ye want;
Youre medelyng, mastres, is manerles;
Plente of yll, of goodnes skant,
Ye rayll at ryot, recheles:
To prayse youre porte it is nedeles;
For all your draffe yet and youre dreggys,
As well borne as ye full oft tyme beggys.
Why so koy and full of skorne?
Myne horse is sold, I wene, you say;
My new furryd gowne, when it is worne, 10
Put vp youre purs, ye shall non pay.
By crede, I trust to se the day,
As proud a pohen as ye sprede,
Of me and other ye may haue nede.
Though angelyk be youre smylyng,
Yet is youre tong an adders tayle,
Full lyke a scorpyon styngyng
All those by whom ye haue auayle:
Good mastres Anne, there ye do shayle:
What prate ye, praty pyggysny? 20
I truste to quyte you or I dy.
Youre key is mete for euery lok,
Youre key is commen and hangyth owte;
Youre key is redy, we nede not knok,
Nor stand long wrestyng there aboute;
Of youre doregate ye haue no doute:
But one thyng is, that ye be lewde:
Holde youre tong now, all beshrewde!
To mastres Anne, that farly swete,
That wonnes at the Key in Temmys strete. 30
_Here folowythe dyuers Balettys[225] and Dyties solacyous, deuysyd by
Master Skelton, Laureat._
With, Lullay, lullay, lyke a chylde,
Thou slepyst to long, thou art begylde.
My darlyng dere, my daysy floure,
Let me, quod he, ly in your lap.
Ly styll, quod she, my paramoure,
Ly styll hardely, and take a nap.
Hys bed was heuy, such was his hap,
All drowsy dremyng, dround in slepe,
That of hys loue he toke no kepe,
With, Hey, lullay, &c.
With ba, ba, ba, and bas, bas, bas,
She cheryshed hym both cheke and chyn,
That he wyst neuer where he was; 10
He had forgoten all dedely syn.
He wantyd wyt her loue to wyn:
He trusted her payment, and lost all hys pray:[226]
She left hym slepyng, and stale away,
Wyth, Hey, lullay, &c.
The ryuers rowth, the waters wan;
She sparyd not to wete her fete;
She wadyd ouer, she found a man
That halsyd her hartely and kyst her swete:
Thus after her cold she cought a hete.
My lefe, she sayd, rowtyth in hys bed; 20
I wys he hath an heuy bed,
Wyth, Hey, lullay, &c.
What dremyst thou, drunchard, drousy pate!
Thy lust and lykyng is from thé gone;
Thou blynkerd blowboll, thou wakyst to late,
Behold, thou lyeste, luggard, alone!
Well may thou sygh, well may thou grone,
To dele wyth her so cowardly:
I wys, powle hachet, she bleryd thyne I.
Qd Skelton, laureate.
* * * * *
The auncient acquaintance, madam, betwen vs twayn,
The famylyaryte, the formar dalyaunce,
Causyth me that I can not myself refrayne
But that I must wryte for my plesaunt pastaunce:
Remembryng your passyng goodly countenaunce,
Your goodly port, your bewteous visage,
Ye may be countyd comfort of all corage.
Of all your feturs fauorable to make tru discripcion,
I am insuffycyent to make such enterpryse;
For thus dare I say, without [con]tradiccyon, 10
That dame Menolope was neuer half so wyse:
Yet so it is that a rumer begynnyth for to ryse,
How in good horsmen ye set your hole delyght,
And haue forgoten your old trew louyng knyght.
Wyth bound and rebound, bounsyngly take vp
Hys jentyll curtoyl,[227] and set nowght by small naggys!
Spur vp at the hynder gyrth, with, Gup, morell, gup!
With, Jayst ye, jenet of Spayne, for your tayll waggys!
Ye cast all your corage vppon such courtly haggys.
Haue in sergeaunt ferrour, myne horse behynde is bare; 20
He rydeth well the horse, but he rydeth better the mare.
Ware, ware, the mare wynsyth wyth her wanton hele!
She kykyth with her kalkyns and keylyth with a clench;
She goyth wyde behynde, and hewyth neuer a dele:
Ware gallyng in the widders, ware of that wrenche!
It is perlous for a horseman to dyg in the trenche.
Thys greuyth your husband, that ryght jentyll knyght,
And so with youre seruantys he fersly doth fyght.
So fersly he fytyth, hys mynde is so fell,
That he dryuyth them doune with dyntes on ther day wach; 30
He bresyth theyr braynpannys and makyth them to swell,
Theyre browys all to-brokyn, such clappys they cach;
Whose jalawsy malycyous makyth them to lepe the hach;
By theyr conusaunce knowing how they serue a wily py:
Ask all your neybours whether that I ly.
It can be no counsell that is cryed at the cros:
For your jentyll husband sorowfull am I;
How be it,[228] he is not furst hath had a los:
Aduertysyng you, madame, to warke more secretly,
Let not all the world make an owtcry; 40
Play fayre play, madame, and loke ye play clene,
Or ells with gret shame your game wylbe sene.
Qd Skelton, laureat.
* * * * *
Knolege, aquayntance, resort, fauour with grace;
Delyte, desyre, respyte wyth lyberte;
Corage wyth lust, conuenient tyme and space;
Dysdayns, dystres, exylyd cruelte;
Wordys well set with good habylyte;
Demure demenaunce, womanly of porte;
Transendyng plesure, surmountyng all dysporte;
Allectuary arrectyd to redres
These feuerous axys, the dedely wo and payne
Of thoughtfull hertys plungyd in dystres; 10
Refresshyng myndys the Aprell shoure of rayne;
Condute of comforte, and well most souerayne;
Herber enverduryd, contynuall fressh and grene;
Of lusty somer the passyng goodly quene;
The topas rych and precyouse in vertew;
Your ruddys wyth ruddy rubys may compare;
Saphyre of sadnes, enuayned wyth indy blew;
The pullyshed perle youre whytenes doth declare;
Dyamand poyntyd to rase oute hartly care;
Geyne surfetous suspecte the emeraud comendable; 20
Relucent smaragd, obiecte imcomperable;
Encleryd myrroure and perspectyue most bryght,
Illumynyd wyth feturys far passyng my reporte;
Radyent Esperus, star of the clowdy nyght,
Lode star to lyght these louers to theyr porte,
Gayne dangerous stormys theyr anker of supporte,
Theyr sayll of solace most comfortably clad,
Whych to behold makyth heuy hartys glad:
Remorse haue I of youre most goodlyhod,
Of youre behauoure curtes and benynge, 30
Of your bownte and of youre womanhod,
Which makyth my hart oft to lepe and sprynge,
And to remember many a praty thynge;
But absens, alas, wyth tremelyng fere and drede
Abashyth me, albeit I haue no nede.
You I assure, absens is my fo,
My dedely wo, my paynfull heuynes;
And if ye lyst to know the cause why so,
Open myne hart, beholde my mynde expres:
I wold ye coud! then shuld ye se, mastres, 40
How there nys thynge that I couet so fayne
As to enbrace you in myne armys twayne.
Nothynge yerthly to me more desyrous
Than to beholde youre bewteouse countenaunce:
But, hatefull absens, to me so enuyous,
Though thou withdraw me from her by long dystaunce,
Yet shall she neuer oute of remembraunce;
For I haue grauyd her wythin the secret wall
Of my trew hart, to loue her best of all!
Qd Skelton, laureat.
* * * * *