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
