to iest,
Of all suche thinge the best?
For if she were supprest,
A pyn for all the rest.
…
A, good mestres Missa,
Shal ye go from vs thissa?
Wel, yet I muste ye kissa:
Alacke, for payne I pyssa,
To se the mone here issa,
Because ye muste departe!
It greueth many an herte
That ye should from them start:
But what then? tushe, a farte!
Sins other shifte is none,
But she must neades be gone,
Nowe let vs synge eche one,
Boeth Jak and Gyll and Jone,
Requiem eternam,
Lest penam sempiternam
For vitam supernam,
And vmbram infernam
For veram lucernam,
She chaunce to enherite,
According to hir merite.
Pro cuius memoria
Ye maye wel be soria;
Full smale maye be your gloria,
When ye shal heare thys storia;
Then wil ye crie and roria,
We shal se[151] hir no moria:
Et dicam vobis quare
She may no longer stare,
Nor here with you regnare,
But trudge ad vltra mare,
And after habitare
In regno Plutonico
Et euo acronyco,
Cum cetu Babilonico
Et cantu diabolico,
With pollers and piller[s],
And al hir well willers,
And ther to dwel euer:
And thus wil I leaue hir.”
From Phylogamus, 12mo, without date or printer’s name—of which the title-page and five leaves are preserved in a volume of Ballads and Fragments in the British Museum. The late Mr. Douce has written below the title-page “Probably by Skelton;” but it is certainly not his.
“Gyue place, ye poetes fine,
Bow doune now & encline;
For nowe yᵉ Muses nyne,
So sacred and diuine,
In Parnase holy hyll
Haue wrought theyr worthy wyll.
And by theyr goodly skyll
Vppon that myghty mountayne
In Hellycons fountayne, &c.
…
O poete so impudent,
Whyche neuer yet was studente,
To thee the goddes prudente
Minerua is illudente!
Thou wrytest thynges dyffuse,
Incongrue and confuse,
Obfuscate and obtuse;
No man the lyke doth use
Among the Turckes or Jewes;
Alwayes inuentyng newes
That are incomparable,
They be so fyrme and stable:
Lyke as a shyppe is able,
Wythout ancre and cable,
Roother, maste, or sayle,
Pully, rope, or nayle,
In wynde, weather, or hayle,
To guyde both top and tayle,
And not the course to fayle;
So thys our poet maye,
Wythout a stopp or staye,
In cunnynge wend the way,
As wel by darke as day,
And neuer go astray,
Yf yt be as they saye.
O poet rare and recent,
Dedecorate and indecent,
Insolent and insensate,
Contendyng and condensate,
Obtused and obturate,
Obumbylate, obdurate,
Sparyng no priest or curate,
Cyuylyan or rurate,
That be alredy marryed,
And from theyr vow bene varyed,
Wherto the Scrypture them caried!
They myght as wel haue taryed;
I sweare by the north doore rood,
That stowte was whyle he stood,
That they had bene as good
To haue solde theyr best blew hood;
For I am in suche a moode,
