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.
Skeltonus grauidam reddebat forte puellam,
Insigni forma quæ peperit puerum.
Illico multorum fama hæc pervenit ad aures,
Esse patrem nato sacrificum puero.
Skeltonum facti non pœnitet aut pudet; ædes
Ad sacras festo sed venit ipse die:
Pulpita conscendit facturus verba popello;
Inque hæc prorupit dicta vir ille bonus;
Quid vos, O scurræ, capit admiratio tanta?
Non sunt eunuchi, credite, sacrifici:
O stolidi, vitulum num me genuisse putatis?
Non genui vitulum, sed lepidum puerum;
Sique meis verbis non creditis, en puer, inquit;
Atque e suggesto protulit, ac abiit.”
p. 103.
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