With lyenge and controlleynge.
At Gynys when ye ware 40
But a slendyr spere,
Dekkyd lewdly in your gere;
For when ye dwelt there,
Ye had a knauysche cote
Was skantly worthe a grote;
In dud frese ye war schrynyd,
With better frese lynyd;
The oute syde euery day,
Ye myght no better a way;
The insyde ye ded calle 50
Your best gowne festyvalle.
Your drapry ȝe ded wante,
The warde with yow was skante.
When ye kyst a shepys ie,
… [556]mastres Andelby,
… Gynys vpon a gonge,
… sat sumwhat to longe;
… hyr husbandes hed,
… malle of lede,
… that ye ther prechyd, 60
To hyr loue ye nowte rechyd:
Ye wolde haue bassyd hyr bumme,
So that sche wolde haue kum
On to your lowsy den;
But sche of all men
Had yow most in despyght,
Ye loste hyr fauyr quyt;
Your pyllyd garleke hed
Cowde hocupy there no stede;
She callyd yow Syr Gy of Gaunt, 70
Nosyd lyke an olyfaunt,
A pykes or a twybyll;
Sche seyd how ye ded brydell,
Moche lyke a dromadary;
Thus with yow sche ded wary,
With moche mater more
That I kepe in store.
Your brethe ys stronge and quike;
Ye ar an eldyr steke;
Ye wot what I thynke; 80
At bothe endes ye stynke;
Gret daunger for the kynge,
Whan hys grace ys fastynge,
Hys presens to aproche:
Yt ys to your reproche.
Yt fallyth for no swyne
Nor sowtters to drynke wyne,
Nor seche a nody polle
A pryste for to controlle.
Lytyll wyt in your scrybys nolle 90
That scrybblyd your fonde scrolle,
Vpon hym for to take
Agennst me for to make,
Lyke a doctor dawpate,
A lauryate poyete for to rate.
Yower termys ar to grose,
To far from the porpose,
To contaminate
And to violate
The dygnyte lauryate. 100
Bolde bayarde, ye are to blynde,
And grow all oute of kynde,
To occupy so your mynde;
For reson can I non fynde
Nor good ryme in yower mater:
I wondyr that ye smatyr,
So for a knaue to clatyr;
Ye wolde be callyd a maker,
And make moche lyke Jake Rakar;
Ye ar a comly crakar, 110
Ye lernyd of sum py bakar.
Caste vp your curyows wrytyng,
And your dyrty endytyng,
And your spyghtfull despyghtyng,
For alle ys nat worthe a myteyng,
A makerell nor a wyteyng:
Had ye gonne with me to scole,
And occupyed no better your tole,
Ye xulde haue kowththyd me a fole.
But now, gawdy, gresy Garnesche, 120
Your face I wyse to varnyshe
So suerly yt xall nat tarnishe.
Thow a Sarsens hed ye bere,
Row and full of lowsy here,
As heuery man wele seethe,
Ful of grett knauys tethe,
In a felde of grene peson
Ys ryme yet owte of reson;
Your wyt ys so geson,
Ye rayle all out of seson. 130
Your[557] skyn scabbyd and scuruy,
Tawny, tannyd, and shuruy;
Now vpon thys hete
Rankely whan ye swete,
Men sey ye wyll wax lowsy,
Drunkyn, drowpy, drowsy.
Your
