Poetry. John Skelton

Чтение книги онлайн.

Читать онлайн книгу Poetry - John Skelton страница 38

Автор:
Серия:
Издательство:
Poetry - John Skelton

Скачать книгу

one a this syde Nauerne

      Louyth better the ale tauerne:

      But if the drinke be small,

      He may not well withall;

      Tush, cast it on the wall!

      It fretteth out his gall;

      Then seke an other house,

      This is not worth a louse,

      As dronken as a mouse,

       Monsyre gybet a vous!

      And ther wyll byb and bouse,

      Tyll heuy be his brouse.

      …

      Thus may ye beholde

      This man is very bolde,

      And in his learning olde

      Intendeth for to syt:

      I blame hym not a whyt,

      For it wolde vexe his wyt,

      And cleane agaynst his earning,

      To folow such learning

      As now a dayes is taught;

      It wolde sone bryng to naught

      His olde popish brayne,

      For then he must agayne

      Apply hym to the schole,

      And come away a fole,

      For nothing shulde he get,

      His brayne hath bene to het

      And with good ale so wet;

      Wherefore he may now set

      In feldes and in medes,

      And pray vpon his beades,

      For yet he hath a payre

      Of beades that be right fayre,

      Of corall, gete, or ambre,

      At home within his chambre;

      For in matins or masse

      Primar and portas,

      And pottes and beades,

      His lyfe he leades:

      But this I wota,

      That if ye nota

      How this idiota

      Doth folow the pota,

      I holde you a grota

      Ye wyll rede by rota

      That he may were a cota

      Thus the durty doctour,

      The popes oune proctour,

      Wyll bragge and boost

      Wyth ale and a toost,

      And lyke a rutter

      Hys Latin wyll vtter,

      And turne and tosse hym,

      Wyth tu non possum

      Loquere Latinum;

      This alum finum

      Is bonus then vinum;

       Ego volo quare

       Cum tu drinkare

       Pro tuum caput,

       Quia apud

       Te propiciacio,

       Tu non potes facio

       Tot quam ego;

       Quam librum tu lego,

       Caue de me

       Apponere te:

       Juro per Deum

       Hoc est lifum meum,

       Quia drinkum stalum

       Non facere malum.

      Thus our dominus dodkin

      Wyth ita vera bodkin

      Doth leade his lyfe,

      Which to the ale wife

      Is very profitable:

      It is pytie he is not able

      To mayntayne a table

      For beggers and tinkers

      And all lusty drinkers,

      Or captayne or beddle

      Wyth dronkardes to meddle.

      Ye cannot, I am sure,

      For keping of a cure

      Fynde such a one well,

      If ye shulde rake hell:

      And therefore nowe

      No more to you,

       Sed perlegas ista,

      Si velis, papista;

      Farewell and adewe,

      With a whirlary whewe,

      And a tirlary typpe;

      Beware of the whyppe.”

Скачать книгу