Poetry. John Skelton

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Poetry - John Skelton

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made fast:

      Her youth is farre past:

      Foted lyke a plane,

      Legged[478] lyke a crane; 50

      And yet she wyll iet,

      Lyke a iolly fet,[479]

      In her furred flocket,

      And gray russet rocket,

      With symper the cocket.

      Her huke of Lyncole grene,

      It had ben hers, I wene,

      More then fourty yere;

      And so doth it[480] apere,

      For[481] the grene bare thredes 60

      Loke lyke sere wedes,

      Wyddered lyke hay,

      The woll worne away;

      And yet I dare saye

      She thynketh herselfe gaye

      Vpon the holy daye,

      Whan she doth her aray,

      And gyrdeth in her gytes[482]

      Stytched and pranked with pletes;[483]

      Her kyrtel Brystow red, 70

      With clothes vpon her hed

      That wey[484] a sowe of led,

      Wrythen in[485] wonder wyse,

      After the Sarasyns gyse,

      With a whym wham,

      Knyt with a trym tram,

      Vpon her brayne pan,

      Lyke an Egyptian,

      Capped[486] about:

      Whan she goeth out 80

      Herselfe for to shewe,

      She dryueth downe the dewe

      Wyth a payre of heles

      As brode as two wheles;

      She hobles as a gose[487]

      With her blanket[488] hose

      Ouer the falowe;[489]

      Her shone smered wyth talowe,

      Gresed vpon dyrt

      That baudeth her skyrt. 90

       Primus passus.

      And this comely dame,

      I vnderstande, her name

      Is Elynour Rummynge,

      At home in her wonnynge;

      And as men say

      She dwelt[490] in Sothray,

      In a certayne stede

      Bysyde Lederhede.

      She is a tonnysh gyb;

      The deuyll and she be syb. 100

      But to make vp my tale,

      She breweth noppy ale,

      And maketh therof port sale[491]

      To trauellars, to tynkers,

      To sweters, to swynkers,

      And all good ale drynkers,

      That wyll nothynge spare,

      But drynke tyll they stare

      And brynge themselfe bare,

      With, Now away the mare, 110

      And let vs sley care,

      As wyse as an hare!

      Come who so wyll

      To Elynour on the hyll,

      Wyth, Fyll the cup, fyll,

      And syt there by styll,

      Erly and late:

      Thyther cometh Kate,

      Cysly, and Sare,

      With theyr legges bare, 120

      And also theyr fete

      Hardely full vnswete;

      Wyth theyr heles dagged,

      Theyr kyrtelles all to-iagged,

      Theyr smockes all to-ragged,

      Wyth tytters and tatters,

      Brynge dysshes and platters,

      Wyth all theyr myght runnynge

      To Elynour Rummynge,

      To haue of her tunnynge: 130

      She leneth them on[492] the same,

      And thus begynneth the game.

      Some wenches come vnlased,[493]

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