Poetry. John Skelton

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Poetry - John Skelton

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loueth messe to saye,

      And after ydle all daye:

      They wolde not haue you playe

      To dryue the tyme awaye,

      But brabble on the Byble,

      Whiche is but impossible

      To be learned in all your lyfe;

      Yet therin be they ryfe,

      Whiche maketh all this stryfe,” &c.

      From The Vpcheringe of the Messe: Inprinted at Lōdon by John Daye and Willyam Seres, 12mo, n. d.

      “Who hath not knowen or herd

      How we were made afeard

      That, magre of our beard,

      Our messe shulde cleane awaye,

      That we did dayly saye,

      And vtterly decaye

      For euer and for aye?

      So were we brought in doubte

      That all that are deuout

      Were like to go withoute

      The messe that hath no peere,

      Which longe hath taried here,

      Yea, many an hundreth yere,

      And to be destitute

      Of that whiche constitute

      Was of the highe depute

      Of Christe and his apostles;

      Althoughe none of the Gospels

      No mention maketh or tells,

      We must beleue (what ells?)

      Of things done by councells,

      Wherein the high professours,

      Apostlique successours,

      Take holde to be possessours;

      And some were made confessours;

      Some of them were no startars,

      But were made holi marters:

      Yet plowmen, smythes, & cartars,

      With such as be their hartars,

      Will enterprise to taxe

      Thes auncyent mens actes

      And holy fathers factes.

      Thoughe messe were made bi men,

      As popes nyne or ten,

      Or many more, what then?

      Or not of Scripture grounded,

      Is yt therfore confounded

      To be a supersticion?

      Nay, nay, they mysse the quission:

      Make better inquyssicion;

      Ye haue an euyll condicion

      To make suche exposicion;

      Ye thinke nothing but Scripture

      Is only clene and pure;

      Yes, yes, I you ensure,

      The messe shalbe hir better,

      As light as ye do set hir.

      The Scripture hath nothing

      Wherby profyte to bryng,

      But a lytyll preaching,

      With tattling and teaching;

      And nothing can ye espie

      Nor se with outwarde eye,

      But must your ears applie

      To learnyng inwardlye;

      And who so it will folowe,

      In goods though he may walow,

      If Scripture once him swalowe,

      She wyll vndo him holowe;

      Wherfore no good mes singers

      Will come within hir fyngers,

      But are hir vnder styngers,

      For she wolde fayne vndo

      All such as lyueth so.

      To the messe she is an enymye,

      And wolde distroye hir vtterlye,

      Wer not for sum that frendfully

      In time of nede will stand hir by.

      Yet is the messe and she as lyke

      As a Christian to an heretike:

      The messe hath holy vestures,

      And many gay gestures,

      And decked with clothe of golde,

      And vessells many folde,

      Right galaunt to beholde,

      More then may well be tolde,

      With basen, ewer, and towell,

      And many a prety jwelle,

      With goodly candellstyckes,

      And many proper tryckys,

      With cruetts gilt and chalys,

      Wherat some men haue malice,

      With sensers, and with pax,

      And many other knackys,

      With patent, and with corporas,

      The fynest thing that euer was.

      Alasse, is it not pitie

      That men be no more wittye

      But

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