Chapter 11

Pla ce bo,Who is there, who?Di le xi,Dame Margery;Fa, re, my, my,Wherfore and why, why?For the sowle of Philip Sparowe,That was late slayn at Carowe,Among the Nones Blake,For that swete soules sake,10And for all sparowes soules,Set in our bederolles,Pater noster qui,With anAve Mari,And with the corner of a Crede,The more shalbe your mede.Whan I remembre agaynHow mi Philyp was slayn,Neuer halfe the payneWas betwene you twayne,20Pyramus and Thesbe,As than befell to me:I wept and I wayled,The tearys downe hayled;But nothynge it auayledTo call Phylyp agayne,Whom Gyb our cat hath slayne.Gib, I saye, our catWorrowyd her on thatWhich I loued best:30It can not be exprestMy sorowfull heuynesse,But all without redresse;For within that stounde,Halfe slumbrynge, in a soundeI fell downe to the grounde.Vnneth I kest myne eyesTowarde the cloudy skyes:But whan I dyd beholdeMy sparow dead and colde,40No creatuer but that woldeHaue rewed vpon me,To behold and seWhat heuynesse dyd me pange;Wherewith my handes I wrange,That my senaws cracked,As though I had ben racked,So payned and so strayned,That no lyfe wellnye remayned.I syghed and I sobbed,50For that I was robbedOf my sparowes lyfe.O mayden, wydow, and wyfe,Of what estate ye be,Of hye or lowe degre,Great sorowe than ye myght se,And lerne to wepe at me!Such paynes dyd me frete,That myne hert dyd bete,My vysage pale and dead,60Wanne, and blewe as lead;The panges of hatefull deathWellnye had[336]stopped my breath.Heu, heu, me,That I am wo for thé!Ad Dominum, cum tribularer, clamavi:Of God nothynge els craue IBut Phyllypes soule to kepeFrom the marees deepeOf Acherontes well,70That is a flode of hell;And from the great Pluto,The prynce of endles wo;And from foule Alecto,With vysage blacke and blo;And from Medusa, that mare,That lyke a fende doth stare;And from Megeras edders,For[337]rufflynge of Phillips fethers,And from her fyry sparklynges,80For burnynge of his wynges;And from the smokes sowreOf Proserpinas bowre;And from the dennes darke,Wher Cerberus doth barke,Whom Theseus dyd afraye,Whom Hercules dyd outraye,As famous poetes say;From[338]that hell hounde,That lyeth in cheynes bounde,90With gastly hedes thre,To Jupyter pray weThat Phyllyp preserued may be!Amen, say ye with me!Do mi nus,Helpe nowe, swete Jesus!Levavi oculos meos in montes:[339]Wolde God I had Zenophontes,[340]Or Socrates the wyse,To shew me their deuyse,100Moderatly to takeThis sorow that I makeFor Phyllip Sparowes sake!So feruently I shake,I fele my body quake;So vrgently I am broughtInto carefull thought.Like Andromach,[341]Hectors wyfe,Was wery of her lyfe,Whan she had lost her ioye,110Noble Hector of Troye;In lyke maner alsoEncreaseth my dedly wo,For my sparowe is go.It was so prety a fole,It wold syt[342]on a stole,And lerned after my scoleFor to kepe his cut,With, Phyllyp, kepe your cut!It had a veluet cap,120And wold syt vpon my lap,And seke after small wormes,And somtyme white bred crommes;And many tymes and ofteBetwene my brestes softeIt wolde lye and rest;It was propre and prest.Somtyme he wolde gaspeWhan he sawe a waspe;A fly or a gnat,130He wolde flye at that;And prytely he wold pantWhan he saw an ant;Lord, how he wolde pryAfter the butterfly!Lorde, how he wolde hopAfter the gressop!And whan I sayd, Phyp, Phyp,Than he wold lepe and skyp,And take me by the lyp.140Alas, it wyll me slo,That Phillyp is gone me fro!Si in i qui ta tes,Alas, I was euyll at ease!De pro fun dis cla ma vi,Whan I sawe my sparowe dye!Nowe, after my dome,Dame Sulpicia[343]at Rome,Whose name regystred wasFor euer in tables of bras,150Because that[344]she dyd pasIn poesy to endyte,And eloquently[345]to wryte,Though she wolde pretendeMy sparowe to commende,I trowe she coude not amendeReportynge the vertues allOf my sparowe royall.For it wold come and go,And fly[346]so to and fro;160And on me it wolde lepeWhan I was aslepe,And his fethers[347]shake,Wherewith he wolde makeMe often for to wake,And for to take him inVpon my naked skyn;God wot, we thought no syn:What though[348]he crept so lowe?It was no hurt, I trowe,170He dyd nothynge perdeBut syt vpon my kne:Phyllyp, though he were nyse,In him it was no vyse;Phyllyp had leue to goTo pyke my lytell too;Phillip myght be boldeAnd do what he wolde;Phillip wolde seke and takeAll the flees blake180That he coulde there espyeWith his wanton eye.O pe ra,La, soll, fa, fa,Confitebor tibi, Domine, in[349]toto corde meo.Alas, I wold ryde and goA thousand myle of grounde!If any such might be found,It were worth an hundreth poundOf kynge Cresus golde,190Or of Attalus[350]the olde,The ryche prynce of Pargame,Who so lyst the story to se.Cadmus, that his syster sought,And he shold be boughtFor golde and fee,He shuld ouer the see,To wete if he coulde bryngeAny of the ofsprynge,[351]Or any of the blode.200But whoso vnderstodeOf Medeas arte,I wolde I had a parteOf her crafty magyke!My sparowe than shuld be quyckeWith a charme or twayne,And playe with me agayne.But all this is in vayneThus for to complayne.I toke my sampler ones,210Of purpose, for the nones,To sowe with stytchis of sylkeMy sparow whyte as mylke,That by representacyonOf his image and facyon,To me it myght importeSome pleasure and comforteFor my solas and sporte:But whan I was sowing his beke,Methought, my sparow did speke,220And opened[352]his prety byll,Saynge, Mayd, ye are in wyllAgayne me for to kyll,Ye prycke me in the head!With that my nedle waxed[353]red,Methought, of Phyllyps blode;Myne hear ryght vpstode,And was in suche a fray,My speche was taken away.I kest downe that there was,230And sayd, Alas, alas,How commeth this to pas?My fyngers, dead and colde,Coude not my sampler holde;My nedle and thredeI threwe away for drede.The best now that I maye,Is for his soule to pray:A porta inferi,Good Lorde, haue mercy240Vpon my sparowes soule,Wryten in my bederoule!Au di vi vo cem,Japhet, Cam, and Sem,Ma gni fi cat,Shewe me the ryght pathTo the hylles of Armony,Wherfore the birdes[354]yet cryOf your fathers bote,That was sometyme aflote,250And nowe they lye and rote;Let some poetes wryteDeucalyons flode it hyght:But as verely as ye beThe naturall sonnes threOf Noe the patryarke,That made that great arke,Wherin he had apes and owles,Beestes, byrdes, and foules,That if ye can fynde260Any of my sparowes kynde,God sende the soule good rest!I wolde haue yet[355]a nestAs prety and as prestAs my sparowe was.But my sparowe dyd pasAll sparowes of the wodeThat were syns Noes flode,Was neuer none so good;Kynge Phylyp of Macedony270Had no such Phylyp as I,No, no, syr, hardely.That vengeaunce I aske and crye,By way of exclamacyon,On all the hole nacyonOf cattes wylde and tame;God send them sorowe and shame!That cat specyallyThat slew so cruellyMy lytell prety sparowe280That I brought vp at Carowe.O cat of carlyshe[356]kynde,The fynde was in thy myndeWhan thou my byrde vntwynde!I wold thou haddest ben blynde!The leopardes sauage,The lyons in theyr rage,Myght catche thé in theyr pawes,And gnawe thé in theyr iawes!The[357]serpentes[358]of Lybany290Myght stynge thé venymously!The dragones with their tongesMight poyson thy lyuer and longes!The mantycors of the montaynesMyght fede them on thy braynes!Melanchates, that houndeThat plucked Acteon to the grounde,Gaue hym his mortall wounde,Chaunged to a dere,The story doth appere,300Was chaunged to an harte:So thou, foule cat that thou arte,The selfe same houndeMyght thé confounde,That his owne lord bote,Myght byte asondre thy throte!Of Inde the gredy grypesMyght tere out all thy trypes!Of Arcady the bearesMight plucke awaye thyne eares!310The wylde wolfe LycaonByte asondre thy backe bone!Of Ethna the brennynge hyll,That day and night brenneth styl,Set in thy tayle a blase,That all the world may gaseAnd wonder vpon thé,From Occyan the greate seVnto the Iles of Orchady,From Tyllbery fery320To the playne of Salysbery!So trayterously my byrde to kyllThat neuer ought thé euyll wyll!Was neuer byrde in cageMore gentle of corageIn doynge his homageVnto his souerayne.Alas, I say agayne,Deth hath departed vs twayne!The false cat hath thé slayne:330Farewell, Phyllyp, adew!Our Lorde thy soule reskew!Farewell without restore,Farewell for euermore!And it were[359]a Jewe,It wolde make one rew,To se my sorow new.These vylanous false cattesWere made for myse and rattes,And not for byrdes smale.340Alas, my face waxeth pale,Tellynge this pyteyus tale,How my byrde so fayre,That was wont to repayre,And go in at my spayre,And crepe in at my gore[360]Of my gowne before,Flyckerynge with his wynges!Alas, my hert it stynges,Remembrynge prety thynges!350Alas, myne hert it slethMy Phyllyppes dolefull deth,Whan I remembre it,How pretely it wolde syt,Many tymes and ofte,Vpon my fynger aloft!I played with him tyttell tattyll,And fed him with my spattyl,With his byll betwene my lippes;It was my prety Phyppes!360Many a prety kusseHad I of his[361]swete musse;And now the cause is thus,That he is slayne me fro,To my great payne and wo.Of fortune this the chaunceStandeth on[362]varyaunce:Oft tyme after pleasaunceTrouble and greuaunce;No man can be sure370Allway to haue pleasure:As well perceyue ye mayeHow my dysport and playFrom me was taken awayBy Gyb, our cat sauage,That in a[363]furyous rageCaught Phyllyp by the head,And slew him there starke dead.Kyrie, eleison,Christe, eleison,380Kyrie, eleison!For Phylyp Sparowes soule,Set in our bederolle,Let vs now whysperAPater noster.Lauda, anima mea, Dominum!To wepe with me loke that ye come,All maner of byrdes in your kynd;Se none be left behynde.To mornynge loke that ye fall390With dolorous songes funerall,Some to synge, and some to say,Some to wepe, and some to pray,Euery byrde in his laye.The goldfynche, the wagtayle;The ianglynge iay to rayle,The fleckyd pye to chatterOf this dolorous mater;And robyn redbrest,He shall be the preest400The requiem masse to synge,Softly[364]warbelynge,With helpe of the red sparow,And the chattrynge swallow,This herse for to halow;The larke with his longe to;The spynke, and the martynet also;The shouelar with his brode bek;The doterell, that folyshe pek,And also the mad coote,410With a balde face to toote;The feldefare, and the snyte;The crowe, and the kyte;The rauyn, called Rolfe,His playne songe to solfe;The partryche, the quayle;The plouer with vs to wayle;The woodhacke, that syngeth churHorsly, as he had the mur;The lusty chauntyng nyghtyngale;420The popyngay to tell her tale,That toteth oft in a glasse,Shal rede the Gospell at masse;The mauys with her whystellShal rede there the pystell.But with a large and a longeTo kepe iust playne songe,Our chaunters shalbe the cuckoue,The culuer, the stockedowue,With puwyt the lapwyng,430The versycles shall syng.The bitter[365]with his bumpe,The crane with his trumpe,The swan of Menander,[366]The gose and the gander,The ducke and the[367]drake,Shall watche at this wake;The pecocke so prowde,Bycause his voyce is lowde,And hath a glorious tayle,440He shall syng the grayle;The owle, that is[368]so foule,Must helpe vs to houle;The heron so gaunce,[369]And the cormoraunce,[370]With the fesaunte,And the gaglynge gaunte,And the churlysshe chowgh;The route and the kowgh;[371]The barnacle, the bussarde,450With the wilde[372]mallarde;The dyuendop to slepe;The water hen[373]to wepe;The puffin[374]and the teleMoney they shall deleTo poore folke at large,That shall be theyr charge;The semewe and the tytmose;The wodcocke with the longe nose;The threstyl with her warblyng;460The starlyng with her brablyng;The roke, with the osprayeThat putteth fysshes to a fraye;And the denty curlewe,With the turtyll most trew.At thisPlaceboWe may not well forgoThe countrynge of the coe:The storke also,That maketh his nest470In chymneyes to rest;Within those wallesNo[375]broken gallesMay there abydeOf cokoldry syde,Or els phylosophyMaketh a great lye.The estryge, that wyll eateAn horshowe so great,In the stede of meate,480Such feruent heatHis stomake doth freat;[376]He can not well fly,Nor synge tunably,Yet at a braydeHe hath well assaydeTo solfe aboue ela,Ga,[377]lorell, fa, fa;Ne quandoMale cantando,490The best that we can,To make hym our belman,And let hym ryng the bellys;He can do nothyng ellys.Chaunteclere, our coke,Must tell what is of the clockeBy the astrologyThat he hath naturallyConceyued and cought,[378]And was neuer tought[379]500By AlbumazerThe astronomer,Nor by PtholomyPrince of astronomy,Nor yet by Haly;And yet he croweth daylyAnd nightly[380]the tydesThat no man abydes,With Partlot his hen,Whom now and then510Hee plucketh by the hedeWhan he doth her trede.The byrde of Araby,That potencyallyMay neuer dye,And yet there is noneBut one alone;A phenex it isThis herse that must blysWith armatycke gummes520That cost great summes,[381]The way of thurifycationTo make a[382]fumigation,Swete of reflary,[383]And redolent of eyre,[384]This corse for to[385]senceWith greate reuerence,As patryarke or popeIn a blacke cope;Whyles[386]he senseth [the herse],530He shall synge the verse,Libera me,In de, la, soll, re,Softly bemoleFor my sparowes soule.Plinni sheweth allIn his story naturallWhat he doth fyndeOf the phenyx kynde;Of whose incyneracyon540There ryseth a new creacyonOf the same facyonWithout alteracyon,Sauyng that olde ageIs turned into corageOf fresshe youth agayne;This matter trew and playne,Playne matter indede,Who so lyst to rede.But for the egle doth flye550Hyest in the skye,He shall be the[387]sedeane,The quere to demeane,As prouost pryncypall,To teach them theyr ordynall;Also the noble fawcon,With the gerfawcon,[388]The tarsell gentyll,They shall morne soft and styllIn theyr amysse of gray;560The sacre with them shall sayDirigefor Phyllyppes soule;The goshauke shall haue a roleThe queresters to controll;The lanners and the[389]marlyonsShall stand in their morning gounes;The hobby and the musketteThe sensers and the crosse shall fet;The kestrell in all this warkeShall be holy water[390]clarke.570And now the darke cloudy nyghtChaseth away Phebus bryght,Taking his course toward the west,God sende my sparoes sole good rest!Requiem æternam dona eis,[391]Domine!Fa, fa, fa, my, re, re,[392]A por ta in fe ri,Fa, fa, fa, my, my.Credo videre bona Domini,I pray God, Phillip to heuen may fly!580Domine, exaudi orationem meam!To heuen he shall, from heuen he cam!Do mi nus vo bis cum!Of al good praiers God send him sum!Oremus.Deus, cui proprium est misereri et parcere,On Phillips soule haue pyte!For he was a prety cocke,And came of a gentyll stocke,And wrapt in a maidenes smocke,590And cherysshed full dayntely,Tyll[393]cruell fate made him to dy:Alas, for dolefull desteny![394]But whereto shuld ILenger morne or crye?To Jupyter I call,Of heuen emperyall,That Phyllyp may flyAboue the starry sky,To treade the prety wren,600That is our Ladyes hen:Amen, amen, amen!Yet one thynge is behynde,That now commeth to mynde;[395]An epytaphe I wold haueFor Phyllyppes graue:But for I am a mayde,Tymerous, halfe afrayde,That neuer yet asaydeOf Elyconys well,610Where the Muses dwell;Though I can rede and spell,Recounte, reporte, and tellOf the Tales of Caunterbury,Some sad storyes, some mery;As Palamon and Arcet,Duke Theseus, and Partelet;And of the Wyfe of Bath,That[396]worketh moch scathWhan her tale is tolde620Amonge huswyues bolde,How she controldeHer husbandes as she wolde,And them to despyseIn the homylyest wyse,Brynge other wyues in thoughtTheir husbandes to set at nought:And though that rede haue IOf Gawen and syr Guy,And tell can a great pece630Of the Golden Flece,How Jason it wan,Lyke a valyaunt man;Of Arturs rounde table,With his knightes commendable,And dame Gaynour, his quene,Was somwhat wanton, I wene;How syr Launcelote de LakeMany a spere brakeFor his ladyes sake;640Of Trystram, and kynge Marke,And al the hole warkeOf Bele Isold his wyfe,For whom was moch stryfe;Some say she was lyght,And made her husband knyghtOf the comyne[397]hall,That cuckoldes men call;And of syr Lybius,Named Dysconius;650Of Quater Fylz Amund,[398]And how they were sommondeTo Rome, to Charlemayne,Vpon a great payne,And how they rode eche oneOn Bayarde Mountalbon;Men se hym now and then[399]In the forest of[400]Arden:What though[401]I can frameThe storyes by name660Of Judas Machabeus,And of Cesar Julious;And of the loue betweneParis and Vyene;And of the duke Hannyball,[402]That[403]made the Romaynes allFordrede and to quake;How Scipion dyd wakeThe cytye of Cartage,Which by his vnmerciful[404]rage670He bete downe to the grounde:And though I can expoundeOf Hector of Troye,That was all theyr ioye,Whom Achylles slew,Wherfore all Troy dyd rew;And of the loue so hoteThat made Troylus to doteVpon fayre Cressyde,And what they wrote and sayd,680And of theyr wanton wyllesPandaer bare the byllesFrom one to the other;His maisters loue to further,Somtyme a presyous thyng,An ouche, or els a ryng;From her to hym agaynSomtyme a prety chayn,Or a bracelet of her here,Prayd Troylus for to were690That token for her sake;How hartely he dyd it take,And moche therof dyd make;And all that was in vayne,For she dyd but fayne;The story telleth playne,He coulde not optayne,Though his father were a kyng,Yet there was a thyngThat made the[405]male to wryng;700She made hym to syngThe song of louers lay;Musyng nyght and day,Mournyng all alone,Comfort had he none,For she was quyte gone;Thus in conclusyon,She brought him in abusyon;In ernest and in gameShe was moch to blame;710Disparaged is her fame,And blemysshed is her name,In maner half with shame;Troylus also hath lostOn her moch loue and cost,And now must kys the post;Pandara, that went betwene,Hath won nothing, I wene,But lyght for somer grene;Yet for a speciall laud720He is named Troylus baud,Of that name he is sureWhyles the world shall dure:Though I remembre the fableOf Penelope most stable,To her husband most trew,Yet long tyme she ne knewWhether he were on lyue or ded;Her wyt stood her in sted,That she was true and iust730For any bodely lustTo Ulixes her make,And neuer wold him forsake:Of Marcus MarcellusA proces I could tell vs;And of Anteocus;And of JosephusDe Antiquitatibus;And of Mardocheus,And of great Assuerus,740And of Vesca his queene,Whom he forsoke with teene,And of Hester his other wyfe,With whom he ledd a plesaunt life;Of kyng Alexander;And of kyng Euander;And of Porcena the great,That made the Romayns to sweat:[406]Though I haue enroldA thousand new and old750Of these historious tales,To fyll bougets and malesWith bokes that I haue red,Yet I am nothyng sped,And can but lytell skyllOf Ouyd or Virgyll,Or of Plutharke,Or[407]Frauncys Petrarke,Alcheus or Sapho,Or such other poetes mo,760As Linus and Homerus,Euphorion and Theocritus,Anacreon and Arion,Sophocles and Philemon,Pyndarus and Symonides,[408]Philistion[409]and Phorocides;These poetes of auncyente,They ar to diffuse for me:For, as I tofore haue sayd,I am but a yong mayd,770And cannot in effectMy style as yet directWith Englysh wordes elect:[410]Our naturall tong is rude,And hard to be enneudeWith pullysshed termes lusty;Our language is so rusty,So cankered, and so fullOf frowardes, and so dull,That if I wolde apply780To wryte ornatly,[411]I wot not where to fyndTermes to serue my mynde.Gowers Englysh is olde,And of no value told;[412]His mater is worth gold,And worthy to be enrold.In Chauser I am sped,His tales I haue red:His mater is delectable,790Solacious, and commendable;His Englysh well alowed,So as it is enprowed,For as it is enployd,There is no Englysh voyd,At those dayes moch commended,And now men wold haue amendedHis Englysh, whereat they barke,And mar all they warke:Chaucer, that famus clerke,800His termes were not darke,But plesaunt, easy, and playne;No[413]worde he wrote in vayne.Also Johnn LydgateWryteth after an hyer rate;It is dyffuse to fyndeThe sentence of his mynde,Yet wryteth he in his kynd,No man that can amendThose maters that he hath pende;810Yet some men fynde a faute,And say he wryteth to haute.Wherfore hold me excusedIf I haue not well perusedMyne Englyssh halfe abused;Though it be refused,In worth I shall it take,And fewer wordes make.But, for my sparowes sake,Yet as a woman may,820My wyt I shall assayAn epytaphe to wryghtIn Latyne playne and lyght,Wherof the elegyFoloweth by and by:Flos volucrum[414]formose, vale!Philippe, sub istoMarmore jam recubas,Qui mihi carus eras.Semper erunt nitido830Radiantia sidera cœlo;Impressusque meoPectore semper eris.Per me laurigerumBritonum Skeltonida vatemHæc cecinisse licetFicta sub imagine texta.Cujus eras[415]volucris,Præstanti corpore virgo:Candida Nais erat,840Formosior ista Joanna est;Docta Corinna fuit,Sed magis ista sapit.Bien men souient.THE COMMENDACIONS.Beati im ma cu la ti in via,O gloriosa fœmina!Now myne hole imaginacionAnd studyous medytacionIs to take this commendacyonIn this consyderacion;850And vnder pacyent tolleracyonOf that most goodly[416]maydThatPlacebohath sayd,And for her sparow praydIn lamentable wyse,Now wyll I enterpryse,Thorow the grace dyuyneOf the Muses nyne,Her beautye to commende,If Arethusa wyll send860Me enfluence to endyte,And with my pen to wryte;If Apollo wyll promyseMelodyously it to[417]deuyseHis tunable harpe strynggesWith armony that syngesOf princes and of kyngesAnd of all pleasaunt thynges,Of lust and of delyght,Thorow his godly myght;870To whom be the laude ascrybedThat my pen hath enbybedWith the aureat droppes,As verely my hope is,Of Thagus, that golden flod,That passeth all[418]erthly good;And as that flode doth pasAl floodes that euer wasWith his golden sandes,Who so that vnderstandes880Cosmography, and the stremysAnd the floodes in straunge remes,Ryght so she doth excedeAll other of whom we rede,Whose fame by me shall spredeInto Perce and Mede,From Brytons AlbionTo[419]the Towre of Babilon.I trust it is no shame,And no man wyll me blame,890Though I regester her nameIn the courte of Fame;For this most goodly floure,This blossome of fresshe coulour,So Jupiter me socour,She floryssheth new and newIn bewte and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,Retribue servo tuo, vivifica me!900Labia mea laudabunt te.But enforsed am IOpenly to askry,And to make an[420]outcriAgainst odyous Enui,That euermore wil ly,And say cursedly;With his ledder ey,And chekes dry;With vysage wan,910As swarte[421]as tan;His bones crake,Leane as a rake;His gummes rustyAre full vnlusty;Hys herte withallBytter as gall;His lyuer, his longe[422]With anger is wronge;His serpentes tonge920That many one hath stonge;He frowneth euer;He laugheth neuer,Euen nor morow,But other mennes sorowCauseth him to grynAnd reioyce therin;No slepe can him catch,But euer doth watch,He is so bete930With malyce, and freteWith angre and yre,His foule desyreWyll suffre no slepeIn his hed to crepe;His foule[423]semblauntAll displeasaunte;[424]Whan other ar glad,Than is he sad;Frantyke and mad;940His tong neuer styllFor to say yll,Wrythyng and wringyng,Bytyng and styngyng;And thus this elfConsumeth himself,Hymself doth sloWyth payne and wo.This fals EnuySayth that I950Vse great follyFor to endyte,And for to wryte,And spend my tymeIn prose and ryme,For to expresThe noblenesOf my maistres,That causeth meStudious to be960To[425]make a relationOf her commendation;And there agayneEnuy doth complayne,And hath disdayne;But yet certayneI wyll be[426]playne,And my style dresTo this prosses.Now Phebus me ken970To sharpe my pen,And lede my fystAs hym best lyst,That I may sayHonour alwayOf womankynd!Trouth doth me byndAnd loyalteEuer to beTheir true bedell,980To wryte and tellHow women excellIn noblenes;As my maistres,Of whom I thynkWith pen and ynkFor to compyleSome goodly[427]style;For this most goodly[428]floure,This blossome of fresh coloure,990So Jupyter me socoure,She flourissheth new and newIn beaute and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,Legem pone mihi, domina,[429]in viam justificationum tuarum!Quemadmodum desiderat cervus ad fontes aquarum.How shall I reportAll the goodly sortOf her fetures clere,1000That hath non erthly pere?Her[430]fauour of her faceEnnewed all with[431]grace,Confort, pleasure, and solace,Myne hert doth so enbrace,And so hath rauyshed meHer to behold and se,That in wordes playneI cannot me refrayneTo loke on[432]her agayne:1010Alas, what shuld I fayne?It wer a plesaunt payneWith her aye to remayne.Her eyen gray and stepeCauseth myne hert to lepe;With her browes bentShe may well representFayre Lucres, as I wene,Or els fayre Polexene,Or els Caliope,1020Or els Penolope;For this most goodly floure,This blossome of fresshe coloure,So Jupiter me socoure,She florisheth new and newIn beautye and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,Memor esto verbi tui servo tuo!Servus tuus sum ego.1030The Indy saphyre blewHer vaynes doth ennew;The orient perle so clere,The whytnesse of her lere;The[433]lusty ruby ruddesResemble the rose buddes;Her lyppes soft and meryEmblomed lyke the chery,It were an heuenly blysseHer sugred mouth to kysse.1040Her beautye to augment,Dame Nature hath her lentA warte vpon her cheke,Who so lyst to sekeIn her vysage a skar,That semyth from afarLyke to the radyant star,All with fauour fret,So properly it is set:She is the vyolet,1050The daysy delectable,The columbine[434]commendable,The[435]ielofer amyable;[For][436]this most goodly floure,This blossom of fressh colour,So Jupiter me succour,She florysheth new and newIn beaute and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,1060Bonitatem fecisti cum servo tuo, domina,Et ex præcordiis sonant præconia!And whan I perceyuedHer wart and conceyued,It cannot be denaydBut it was well conuayd,And set so womanly,And nothynge wantonly,But ryght conuenyently,And full congruently,1070As Nature cold deuyse,In most goodly wyse;Who so lyst beholde,It makethe louers boldeTo her to sewe for grace,Her fauoure to purchase;The sker upon her chyn,Enhached[437]on her fayre skyn,Whyter than the swan,It wold make any man1080To forget deadly synHer fauour to wyn;For this most goodly[438]floure,This blossom of fressh coloure,So Jupiter me socoure,She flouryssheth new and newIn beaute and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,Defecit in salutatione tua[439]anima mea;1090Quid petis filio, mater dulcissima? babæ![440]Soft, and make no dyn,For now I wyll begynTo haue[441]in remembraunceHer goodly dalyaunce,And her goodly pastaunce:So sad and so demure,Behauynge her so sure,With wordes of pleasureShe wold make to the lure1100And any man conuertTo gyue her his hole hert.She made me sore amasedVpon her whan I gased,Me thought min hert was crased,My eyne were so dased;For this most goodly flour,This[442]blossom of fressh colour,So Jupyter me socour,She flouryssheth new and new1110In beauty and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,Quomodo dilexi legem tuam, domina!Recedant vetera, nova sint[443]omnia.And to amende her tale,Whan she lyst to auale,And with her fyngers smale,And handes soft as sylke,Whyter than the[444]mylke,1120That are so quyckely vayned,Wherwyth my hand she strayned,Lorde, how I was payned!Vnneth I me refrayned,How she me had reclaymed,And me to her retayned,Enbrasynge therwithallHer goodly[445]myddell smallWith sydes longe and streyte;To tell you what conceyte1130I had than in a tryce,The matter were to nyse,And yet there was no vyce,Nor yet no villany,But only fantasy;For this most goodly floure,This[446]blossom of fressh coloure,So Jupiter me succoure,She floryssheth new and newIn beaute and vertew:1140Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,Iniquos odio habui!Non calumnientur me superbi.But whereto shulde I noteHow often dyd I toteVpon her prety fote?It raysed myne hert roteTo se her treade the groundeWith heles short and rounde.1150She is playnly expresseEgeria, the goddesse,And lyke to her image,Emportured with corage,A louers pylgrimage;Ther is no beest sauage,Ne no tyger so wood,But she wolde chaunge his mood,Such relucent graceIs formed in her face;1160For this most goodly floure,This blossome of fresshe coloure,So Jupiter me succour,She flouryssheth new and newIn beaute and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,Mirabilia testimonia tua!Sicut novellæ plantationes in juventute sua.So goodly as she dresses,1170So properly[447]she pressesThe bryght golden tressesOf her heer so fyne,Lyke Phebus beames shyne.Wherto shuld I discloseThe garterynge of her hose?It is for to supposeHow that she can wereGorgiously her gere;Her fresshe habylementes1180With other implementesTo serue for all ententes,Lyke dame Flora, queneOf lusty somer grene;For[448]this most goodly floure,This blossom of fressh coloure,So Jupiter me socoure,She florisheth new and newIn beautye and vertew:Hac claritate gemina1190O gloriosa fœmina,Clamavi in toto corde, exaudi me!Misericordia tua magna est super me.Her kyrtell so goodly lased,And vnder that is brasedSuch plasures that I mayNeyther wryte nor say;Yet though I wryte not with ynke,No man can let me thynke,For thought hath lyberte,1200Thought is franke and fre;To thynke a mery thoughtIt cost me lytell nor[449]nought.Wolde God myne homely styleWere pullysshed with the fyleOf Ciceros eloquence,To prase her excellence!For this[450]most goodly floure,This[451]blossome of fressh coloure,So Jupiter me succoure,1210She flouryssheth new and newIn beaute and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,Principes persecuti sunt me gratis!Omnibus consideratis,Paradisus voluptatisHæc virgo est dulcissima.My pen it is vnable,My hand it is vnstable,1220My reson rude and dullTo prayse her at the full;Goodly maystres Jane,Sobre, demure Dyane;Jane this maystres hyghtThe lode star[452]of delyght,Dame Venus of all pleasure,The well of worldly treasure;She doth excede and pasIn prudence dame Pallas;1230[For][453]this[454]most goodly floure,This blossome of fresshe colour,So Jupiter me socoure,She floryssheth new and newIn beaute and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina!Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine!With this psalme,Domine, probasti me,Shall sayle ouer the see,1240WithTibi, Domine, commendamus,On pylgrimage[455]to saynt Jamys,For shrympes, and for pranys,And for stalkynge[456]cranys;And where my pen hath offendyd,I pray you it may be amendydBy discrete consyderacyonOf your wyse reformacyon;I haue not offended, I trust,If it be sadly dyscust.1250It were no gentle gyseThis treatyse to despyseBecause I haue wrytten and saydHonour of this fayre mayd;Wherefore shulde I be blamed,That I Jane haue[457]named,And famously proclamed?She is worthy to be enroldeWith letters of golde.Car elle vault.1260Per me laurigerum Britonum Skeltonida vatem[458]Laudibus eximiis merito hæc redimita puella est:Formosam cecini,[459]qua non formosior ulla est;Formosam potius quam commendaret Homerus.Sic juvat interdum rigidos recreare labores,Nec minus hoc titulo tersa Minerva mea est.Rien que playsere.Thus endeth the boke of Philip Sparow, and here foloweth an adicyon made by maister Skelton.The gyse now a dayesOf some ianglynge iayesIs to discommende1270That they cannot amend,Though they wold spendAll the wyttes they haue.What ayle them to deprauePhillip Sparowes graue?HisDirige, her CommendacyonCan be no derogacyon,But myrth and consolacyonMade by protestacyon,No man to myscontent1280With Phillyppes enterement.Alas, that goodly mayd,Why shuld she be afrayde?Why shuld she take shameThat her goodly name,Honorably reported,Sholde be set and sorted,To be matriculateWith ladyes of estate?I coniure thé, Phillip Sparow,1290By Hercules that hell dyd harow,And with a venemous arowSlew of the EpidauresOne of the Centaures,Or Onocentaures,Or Hipocentaures;[460]By whose myght and mayneAn hart was slayneWith hornes twayneOf glytteryng gold;1300And the appels of goldOf Hesperides withhold,And with a dragon keptThat neuer more slept,By marcyall strengthHe wan at length;And slew GerionWith thre bodyes in one;With myghty corageAdauntid[461]the rage1310Of a lyon sauage;Of Dyomedes stableHe brought out a rableOf coursers and rounsesWith leapes and bounses;And with mighty luggyng,Wrestlyng and tuggyng,He plucked the bullBy the horned skull,And offred to Cornucopia;1320And so forthper cetera:Also by Ecates bowerIn Plutos[462]gastly tower;By the vgly Eumenides,That neuer haue rest nor ease;By the venemous serpent,That in hell is neuer brent,In Lerna the Grekes fen,That was engendred then;By Chemeras flames,1330And all the dedly namesOf infernall posty,Where soules frye and rosty;[463]By the Stygyall flood,And the streames woodOf Cocitus botumles well;By the feryman of hell,Caron with his beerd hore,That roweth with a rude oreAnd with his frownsid[464]fore top1340Gydeth his bote with a prop:I coniure[465]Phylyp, and callIn the name of kyng Saul;Primo Regumexpresse,He bad[466]the PhitonesseTo wytchcraft her to dresse,And by her abusyons,And dampnable illusyonsOf marueylus conclusyons,And by her supersticyons,1350And wonderfull condityons,She raysed vp in that stedeSamuell that was dede;But whether it were so,He wereidem in numero,The selfe same Samuell,How be it to Saull dyd he tellThe Philistinis shuld hym ascry,And the next day he shuld dye,I wyll my selfe dyscharge1360To lettred men at large:But, Phylyp, I coniure theeNow by these names thre,Diana in the woodes grene,Luna that so bryght doth shene,[467]Procerpina in hell,That thou shortly tell,And shew now vnto meWhat the cause may beOf this perplexite!1370Inferias,[468]Philippe, tuas[469]Scroupe pulchra JoannaInstanter petiit:[470]cur nostri carminis illamNunc pudet?[471]est sero; minor est infamia vero.Than suche as haue disdaynedAnd of this worke complayned,I pray God they be paynedNo worse than is contaynedIn verses two or threThat folowe as you[472]may se.Luride, cur, livor, volucris pia funera damnas?1380Talia te rapiant rapiunt quæ fata volucrem![473]Est tamen invidia mors tibi continua.

Pla ce bo,

Who is there, who?

Di le xi,

Dame Margery;

Fa, re, my, my,

Wherfore and why, why?

For the sowle of Philip Sparowe,

That was late slayn at Carowe,

Among the Nones Blake,

For that swete soules sake,10

And for all sparowes soules,

Set in our bederolles,

Pater noster qui,

With anAve Mari,

And with the corner of a Crede,

The more shalbe your mede.

Whan I remembre agayn

How mi Philyp was slayn,

Neuer halfe the payne

Was betwene you twayne,20

Pyramus and Thesbe,

As than befell to me:

I wept and I wayled,

The tearys downe hayled;

But nothynge it auayled

To call Phylyp agayne,

Whom Gyb our cat hath slayne.

Gib, I saye, our cat

Worrowyd her on that

Which I loued best:30

It can not be exprest

My sorowfull heuynesse,

But all without redresse;

For within that stounde,

Halfe slumbrynge, in a sounde

I fell downe to the grounde.

Vnneth I kest myne eyes

Towarde the cloudy skyes:

But whan I dyd beholde

My sparow dead and colde,40

No creatuer but that wolde

Haue rewed vpon me,

To behold and se

What heuynesse dyd me pange;

Wherewith my handes I wrange,

That my senaws cracked,

As though I had ben racked,

So payned and so strayned,

That no lyfe wellnye remayned.

I syghed and I sobbed,50

For that I was robbed

Of my sparowes lyfe.

O mayden, wydow, and wyfe,

Of what estate ye be,

Of hye or lowe degre,

Great sorowe than ye myght se,

And lerne to wepe at me!

Such paynes dyd me frete,

That myne hert dyd bete,

My vysage pale and dead,60

Wanne, and blewe as lead;

The panges of hatefull death

Wellnye had[336]stopped my breath.

Heu, heu, me,

That I am wo for thé!

Ad Dominum, cum tribularer, clamavi:

Of God nothynge els craue I

But Phyllypes soule to kepe

From the marees deepe

Of Acherontes well,70

That is a flode of hell;

And from the great Pluto,

The prynce of endles wo;

And from foule Alecto,

With vysage blacke and blo;

And from Medusa, that mare,

That lyke a fende doth stare;

And from Megeras edders,

For[337]rufflynge of Phillips fethers,

And from her fyry sparklynges,80

For burnynge of his wynges;

And from the smokes sowre

Of Proserpinas bowre;

And from the dennes darke,

Wher Cerberus doth barke,

Whom Theseus dyd afraye,

Whom Hercules dyd outraye,

As famous poetes say;

From[338]that hell hounde,

That lyeth in cheynes bounde,90

With gastly hedes thre,

To Jupyter pray we

That Phyllyp preserued may be!

Amen, say ye with me!

Do mi nus,

Helpe nowe, swete Jesus!

Levavi oculos meos in montes:[339]

Wolde God I had Zenophontes,[340]

Or Socrates the wyse,

To shew me their deuyse,100

Moderatly to take

This sorow that I make

For Phyllip Sparowes sake!

So feruently I shake,

I fele my body quake;

So vrgently I am brought

Into carefull thought.

Like Andromach,[341]Hectors wyfe,

Was wery of her lyfe,

Whan she had lost her ioye,110

Noble Hector of Troye;

In lyke maner also

Encreaseth my dedly wo,

For my sparowe is go.

It was so prety a fole,

It wold syt[342]on a stole,

And lerned after my scole

For to kepe his cut,

With, Phyllyp, kepe your cut!

It had a veluet cap,120

And wold syt vpon my lap,

And seke after small wormes,

And somtyme white bred crommes;

And many tymes and ofte

Betwene my brestes softe

It wolde lye and rest;

It was propre and prest.

Somtyme he wolde gaspe

Whan he sawe a waspe;

A fly or a gnat,130

He wolde flye at that;

And prytely he wold pant

Whan he saw an ant;

Lord, how he wolde pry

After the butterfly!

Lorde, how he wolde hop

After the gressop!

And whan I sayd, Phyp, Phyp,

Than he wold lepe and skyp,

And take me by the lyp.140

Alas, it wyll me slo,

That Phillyp is gone me fro!

Si in i qui ta tes,

Alas, I was euyll at ease!

De pro fun dis cla ma vi,

Whan I sawe my sparowe dye!

Nowe, after my dome,

Dame Sulpicia[343]at Rome,

Whose name regystred was

For euer in tables of bras,150

Because that[344]she dyd pas

In poesy to endyte,

And eloquently[345]to wryte,

Though she wolde pretende

My sparowe to commende,

I trowe she coude not amende

Reportynge the vertues all

Of my sparowe royall.

For it wold come and go,

And fly[346]so to and fro;160

And on me it wolde lepe

Whan I was aslepe,

And his fethers[347]shake,

Wherewith he wolde make

Me often for to wake,

And for to take him in

Vpon my naked skyn;

God wot, we thought no syn:

What though[348]he crept so lowe?

It was no hurt, I trowe,170

He dyd nothynge perde

But syt vpon my kne:

Phyllyp, though he were nyse,

In him it was no vyse;

Phyllyp had leue to go

To pyke my lytell too;

Phillip myght be bolde

And do what he wolde;

Phillip wolde seke and take

All the flees blake180

That he coulde there espye

With his wanton eye.

O pe ra,

La, soll, fa, fa,

Confitebor tibi, Domine, in[349]toto corde meo.

Alas, I wold ryde and go

A thousand myle of grounde!

If any such might be found,

It were worth an hundreth pound

Of kynge Cresus golde,190

Or of Attalus[350]the olde,

The ryche prynce of Pargame,

Who so lyst the story to se.

Cadmus, that his syster sought,

And he shold be bought

For golde and fee,

He shuld ouer the see,

To wete if he coulde brynge

Any of the ofsprynge,[351]

Or any of the blode.200

But whoso vnderstode

Of Medeas arte,

I wolde I had a parte

Of her crafty magyke!

My sparowe than shuld be quycke

With a charme or twayne,

And playe with me agayne.

But all this is in vayne

Thus for to complayne.

I toke my sampler ones,210

Of purpose, for the nones,

To sowe with stytchis of sylke

My sparow whyte as mylke,

That by representacyon

Of his image and facyon,

To me it myght importe

Some pleasure and comforte

For my solas and sporte:

But whan I was sowing his beke,

Methought, my sparow did speke,220

And opened[352]his prety byll,

Saynge, Mayd, ye are in wyll

Agayne me for to kyll,

Ye prycke me in the head!

With that my nedle waxed[353]red,

Methought, of Phyllyps blode;

Myne hear ryght vpstode,

And was in suche a fray,

My speche was taken away.

I kest downe that there was,230

And sayd, Alas, alas,

How commeth this to pas?

My fyngers, dead and colde,

Coude not my sampler holde;

My nedle and threde

I threwe away for drede.

The best now that I maye,

Is for his soule to pray:

A porta inferi,

Good Lorde, haue mercy240

Vpon my sparowes soule,

Wryten in my bederoule!

Au di vi vo cem,

Japhet, Cam, and Sem,

Ma gni fi cat,

Shewe me the ryght path

To the hylles of Armony,

Wherfore the birdes[354]yet cry

Of your fathers bote,

That was sometyme aflote,250

And nowe they lye and rote;

Let some poetes wryte

Deucalyons flode it hyght:

But as verely as ye be

The naturall sonnes thre

Of Noe the patryarke,

That made that great arke,

Wherin he had apes and owles,

Beestes, byrdes, and foules,

That if ye can fynde260

Any of my sparowes kynde,

God sende the soule good rest!

I wolde haue yet[355]a nest

As prety and as prest

As my sparowe was.

But my sparowe dyd pas

All sparowes of the wode

That were syns Noes flode,

Was neuer none so good;

Kynge Phylyp of Macedony270

Had no such Phylyp as I,

No, no, syr, hardely.

That vengeaunce I aske and crye,

By way of exclamacyon,

On all the hole nacyon

Of cattes wylde and tame;

God send them sorowe and shame!

That cat specyally

That slew so cruelly

My lytell prety sparowe280

That I brought vp at Carowe.

O cat of carlyshe[356]kynde,

The fynde was in thy mynde

Whan thou my byrde vntwynde!

I wold thou haddest ben blynde!

The leopardes sauage,

The lyons in theyr rage,

Myght catche thé in theyr pawes,

And gnawe thé in theyr iawes!

The[357]serpentes[358]of Lybany290

Myght stynge thé venymously!

The dragones with their tonges

Might poyson thy lyuer and longes!

The mantycors of the montaynes

Myght fede them on thy braynes!

Melanchates, that hounde

That plucked Acteon to the grounde,

Gaue hym his mortall wounde,

Chaunged to a dere,

The story doth appere,300

Was chaunged to an harte:

So thou, foule cat that thou arte,

The selfe same hounde

Myght thé confounde,

That his owne lord bote,

Myght byte asondre thy throte!

Of Inde the gredy grypes

Myght tere out all thy trypes!

Of Arcady the beares

Might plucke awaye thyne eares!310

The wylde wolfe Lycaon

Byte asondre thy backe bone!

Of Ethna the brennynge hyll,

That day and night brenneth styl,

Set in thy tayle a blase,

That all the world may gase

And wonder vpon thé,

From Occyan the greate se

Vnto the Iles of Orchady,

From Tyllbery fery320

To the playne of Salysbery!

So trayterously my byrde to kyll

That neuer ought thé euyll wyll!

Was neuer byrde in cage

More gentle of corage

In doynge his homage

Vnto his souerayne.

Alas, I say agayne,

Deth hath departed vs twayne!

The false cat hath thé slayne:330

Farewell, Phyllyp, adew!

Our Lorde thy soule reskew!

Farewell without restore,

Farewell for euermore!

And it were[359]a Jewe,

It wolde make one rew,

To se my sorow new.

These vylanous false cattes

Were made for myse and rattes,

And not for byrdes smale.340

Alas, my face waxeth pale,

Tellynge this pyteyus tale,

How my byrde so fayre,

That was wont to repayre,

And go in at my spayre,

And crepe in at my gore[360]

Of my gowne before,

Flyckerynge with his wynges!

Alas, my hert it stynges,

Remembrynge prety thynges!350

Alas, myne hert it sleth

My Phyllyppes dolefull deth,

Whan I remembre it,

How pretely it wolde syt,

Many tymes and ofte,

Vpon my fynger aloft!

I played with him tyttell tattyll,

And fed him with my spattyl,

With his byll betwene my lippes;

It was my prety Phyppes!360

Many a prety kusse

Had I of his[361]swete musse;

And now the cause is thus,

That he is slayne me fro,

To my great payne and wo.

Of fortune this the chaunce

Standeth on[362]varyaunce:

Oft tyme after pleasaunce

Trouble and greuaunce;

No man can be sure370

Allway to haue pleasure:

As well perceyue ye maye

How my dysport and play

From me was taken away

By Gyb, our cat sauage,

That in a[363]furyous rage

Caught Phyllyp by the head,

And slew him there starke dead.

Kyrie, eleison,

Christe, eleison,380

Kyrie, eleison!

For Phylyp Sparowes soule,

Set in our bederolle,

Let vs now whysper

APater noster.

Lauda, anima mea, Dominum!

To wepe with me loke that ye come,

All maner of byrdes in your kynd;

Se none be left behynde.

To mornynge loke that ye fall390

With dolorous songes funerall,

Some to synge, and some to say,

Some to wepe, and some to pray,

Euery byrde in his laye.

The goldfynche, the wagtayle;

The ianglynge iay to rayle,

The fleckyd pye to chatter

Of this dolorous mater;

And robyn redbrest,

He shall be the preest400

The requiem masse to synge,

Softly[364]warbelynge,

With helpe of the red sparow,

And the chattrynge swallow,

This herse for to halow;

The larke with his longe to;

The spynke, and the martynet also;

The shouelar with his brode bek;

The doterell, that folyshe pek,

And also the mad coote,410

With a balde face to toote;

The feldefare, and the snyte;

The crowe, and the kyte;

The rauyn, called Rolfe,

His playne songe to solfe;

The partryche, the quayle;

The plouer with vs to wayle;

The woodhacke, that syngeth chur

Horsly, as he had the mur;

The lusty chauntyng nyghtyngale;420

The popyngay to tell her tale,

That toteth oft in a glasse,

Shal rede the Gospell at masse;

The mauys with her whystell

Shal rede there the pystell.

But with a large and a longe

To kepe iust playne songe,

Our chaunters shalbe the cuckoue,

The culuer, the stockedowue,

With puwyt the lapwyng,430

The versycles shall syng.

The bitter[365]with his bumpe,

The crane with his trumpe,

The swan of Menander,[366]

The gose and the gander,

The ducke and the[367]drake,

Shall watche at this wake;

The pecocke so prowde,

Bycause his voyce is lowde,

And hath a glorious tayle,440

He shall syng the grayle;

The owle, that is[368]so foule,

Must helpe vs to houle;

The heron so gaunce,[369]

And the cormoraunce,[370]

With the fesaunte,

And the gaglynge gaunte,

And the churlysshe chowgh;

The route and the kowgh;[371]

The barnacle, the bussarde,450

With the wilde[372]mallarde;

The dyuendop to slepe;

The water hen[373]to wepe;

The puffin[374]and the tele

Money they shall dele

To poore folke at large,

That shall be theyr charge;

The semewe and the tytmose;

The wodcocke with the longe nose;

The threstyl with her warblyng;460

The starlyng with her brablyng;

The roke, with the ospraye

That putteth fysshes to a fraye;

And the denty curlewe,

With the turtyll most trew.

At thisPlacebo

We may not well forgo

The countrynge of the coe:

The storke also,

That maketh his nest470

In chymneyes to rest;

Within those walles

No[375]broken galles

May there abyde

Of cokoldry syde,

Or els phylosophy

Maketh a great lye.

The estryge, that wyll eate

An horshowe so great,

In the stede of meate,480

Such feruent heat

His stomake doth freat;[376]

He can not well fly,

Nor synge tunably,

Yet at a brayde

He hath well assayde

To solfe aboue ela,

Ga,[377]lorell, fa, fa;

Ne quando

Male cantando,490

The best that we can,

To make hym our belman,

And let hym ryng the bellys;

He can do nothyng ellys.

Chaunteclere, our coke,

Must tell what is of the clocke

By the astrology

That he hath naturally

Conceyued and cought,[378]

And was neuer tought[379]500

By Albumazer

The astronomer,

Nor by Ptholomy

Prince of astronomy,

Nor yet by Haly;

And yet he croweth dayly

And nightly[380]the tydes

That no man abydes,

With Partlot his hen,

Whom now and then510

Hee plucketh by the hede

Whan he doth her trede.

The byrde of Araby,

That potencyally

May neuer dye,

And yet there is none

But one alone;

A phenex it is

This herse that must blys

With armatycke gummes520

That cost great summes,[381]

The way of thurifycation

To make a[382]fumigation,

Swete of reflary,[383]

And redolent of eyre,[384]

This corse for to[385]sence

With greate reuerence,

As patryarke or pope

In a blacke cope;

Whyles[386]he senseth [the herse],530

He shall synge the verse,

Libera me,

In de, la, soll, re,

Softly bemole

For my sparowes soule.

Plinni sheweth all

In his story naturall

What he doth fynde

Of the phenyx kynde;

Of whose incyneracyon540

There ryseth a new creacyon

Of the same facyon

Without alteracyon,

Sauyng that olde age

Is turned into corage

Of fresshe youth agayne;

This matter trew and playne,

Playne matter indede,

Who so lyst to rede.

But for the egle doth flye550

Hyest in the skye,

He shall be the[387]sedeane,

The quere to demeane,

As prouost pryncypall,

To teach them theyr ordynall;

Also the noble fawcon,

With the gerfawcon,[388]

The tarsell gentyll,

They shall morne soft and styll

In theyr amysse of gray;560

The sacre with them shall say

Dirigefor Phyllyppes soule;

The goshauke shall haue a role

The queresters to controll;

The lanners and the[389]marlyons

Shall stand in their morning gounes;

The hobby and the muskette

The sensers and the crosse shall fet;

The kestrell in all this warke

Shall be holy water[390]clarke.570

And now the darke cloudy nyght

Chaseth away Phebus bryght,

Taking his course toward the west,

God sende my sparoes sole good rest!

Requiem æternam dona eis,[391]Domine!

Fa, fa, fa, my, re, re,[392]

A por ta in fe ri,

Fa, fa, fa, my, my.

Credo videre bona Domini,

I pray God, Phillip to heuen may fly!580

Domine, exaudi orationem meam!

To heuen he shall, from heuen he cam!

Do mi nus vo bis cum!

Of al good praiers God send him sum!

Oremus.

Deus, cui proprium est misereri et parcere,

On Phillips soule haue pyte!

For he was a prety cocke,

And came of a gentyll stocke,

And wrapt in a maidenes smocke,590

And cherysshed full dayntely,

Tyll[393]cruell fate made him to dy:

Alas, for dolefull desteny![394]

But whereto shuld I

Lenger morne or crye?

To Jupyter I call,

Of heuen emperyall,

That Phyllyp may fly

Aboue the starry sky,

To treade the prety wren,600

That is our Ladyes hen:

Amen, amen, amen!

Yet one thynge is behynde,

That now commeth to mynde;[395]

An epytaphe I wold haue

For Phyllyppes graue:

But for I am a mayde,

Tymerous, halfe afrayde,

That neuer yet asayde

Of Elyconys well,610

Where the Muses dwell;

Though I can rede and spell,

Recounte, reporte, and tell

Of the Tales of Caunterbury,

Some sad storyes, some mery;

As Palamon and Arcet,

Duke Theseus, and Partelet;

And of the Wyfe of Bath,

That[396]worketh moch scath

Whan her tale is tolde620

Amonge huswyues bolde,

How she controlde

Her husbandes as she wolde,

And them to despyse

In the homylyest wyse,

Brynge other wyues in thought

Their husbandes to set at nought:

And though that rede haue I

Of Gawen and syr Guy,

And tell can a great pece630

Of the Golden Flece,

How Jason it wan,

Lyke a valyaunt man;

Of Arturs rounde table,

With his knightes commendable,

And dame Gaynour, his quene,

Was somwhat wanton, I wene;

How syr Launcelote de Lake

Many a spere brake

For his ladyes sake;640

Of Trystram, and kynge Marke,

And al the hole warke

Of Bele Isold his wyfe,

For whom was moch stryfe;

Some say she was lyght,

And made her husband knyght

Of the comyne[397]hall,

That cuckoldes men call;

And of syr Lybius,

Named Dysconius;650

Of Quater Fylz Amund,[398]

And how they were sommonde

To Rome, to Charlemayne,

Vpon a great payne,

And how they rode eche one

On Bayarde Mountalbon;

Men se hym now and then[399]

In the forest of[400]Arden:

What though[401]I can frame

The storyes by name660

Of Judas Machabeus,

And of Cesar Julious;

And of the loue betwene

Paris and Vyene;

And of the duke Hannyball,[402]

That[403]made the Romaynes all

Fordrede and to quake;

How Scipion dyd wake

The cytye of Cartage,

Which by his vnmerciful[404]rage670

He bete downe to the grounde:

And though I can expounde

Of Hector of Troye,

That was all theyr ioye,

Whom Achylles slew,

Wherfore all Troy dyd rew;

And of the loue so hote

That made Troylus to dote

Vpon fayre Cressyde,

And what they wrote and sayd,680

And of theyr wanton wylles

Pandaer bare the bylles

From one to the other;

His maisters loue to further,

Somtyme a presyous thyng,

An ouche, or els a ryng;

From her to hym agayn

Somtyme a prety chayn,

Or a bracelet of her here,

Prayd Troylus for to were690

That token for her sake;

How hartely he dyd it take,

And moche therof dyd make;

And all that was in vayne,

For she dyd but fayne;

The story telleth playne,

He coulde not optayne,

Though his father were a kyng,

Yet there was a thyng

That made the[405]male to wryng;700

She made hym to syng

The song of louers lay;

Musyng nyght and day,

Mournyng all alone,

Comfort had he none,

For she was quyte gone;

Thus in conclusyon,

She brought him in abusyon;

In ernest and in game

She was moch to blame;710

Disparaged is her fame,

And blemysshed is her name,

In maner half with shame;

Troylus also hath lost

On her moch loue and cost,

And now must kys the post;

Pandara, that went betwene,

Hath won nothing, I wene,

But lyght for somer grene;

Yet for a speciall laud720

He is named Troylus baud,

Of that name he is sure

Whyles the world shall dure:

Though I remembre the fable

Of Penelope most stable,

To her husband most trew,

Yet long tyme she ne knew

Whether he were on lyue or ded;

Her wyt stood her in sted,

That she was true and iust730

For any bodely lust

To Ulixes her make,

And neuer wold him forsake:

Of Marcus Marcellus

A proces I could tell vs;

And of Anteocus;

And of Josephus

De Antiquitatibus;

And of Mardocheus,

And of great Assuerus,740

And of Vesca his queene,

Whom he forsoke with teene,

And of Hester his other wyfe,

With whom he ledd a plesaunt life;

Of kyng Alexander;

And of kyng Euander;

And of Porcena the great,

That made the Romayns to sweat:[406]

Though I haue enrold

A thousand new and old750

Of these historious tales,

To fyll bougets and males

With bokes that I haue red,

Yet I am nothyng sped,

And can but lytell skyll

Of Ouyd or Virgyll,

Or of Plutharke,

Or[407]Frauncys Petrarke,

Alcheus or Sapho,

Or such other poetes mo,760

As Linus and Homerus,

Euphorion and Theocritus,

Anacreon and Arion,

Sophocles and Philemon,

Pyndarus and Symonides,[408]

Philistion[409]and Phorocides;

These poetes of auncyente,

They ar to diffuse for me:

For, as I tofore haue sayd,

I am but a yong mayd,770

And cannot in effect

My style as yet direct

With Englysh wordes elect:[410]

Our naturall tong is rude,

And hard to be enneude

With pullysshed termes lusty;

Our language is so rusty,

So cankered, and so full

Of frowardes, and so dull,

That if I wolde apply780

To wryte ornatly,[411]

I wot not where to fynd

Termes to serue my mynde.

Gowers Englysh is olde,

And of no value told;[412]

His mater is worth gold,

And worthy to be enrold.

In Chauser I am sped,

His tales I haue red:

His mater is delectable,790

Solacious, and commendable;

His Englysh well alowed,

So as it is enprowed,

For as it is enployd,

There is no Englysh voyd,

At those dayes moch commended,

And now men wold haue amended

His Englysh, whereat they barke,

And mar all they warke:

Chaucer, that famus clerke,800

His termes were not darke,

But plesaunt, easy, and playne;

No[413]worde he wrote in vayne.

Also Johnn Lydgate

Wryteth after an hyer rate;

It is dyffuse to fynde

The sentence of his mynde,

Yet wryteth he in his kynd,

No man that can amend

Those maters that he hath pende;810

Yet some men fynde a faute,

And say he wryteth to haute.

Wherfore hold me excused

If I haue not well perused

Myne Englyssh halfe abused;

Though it be refused,

In worth I shall it take,

And fewer wordes make.

But, for my sparowes sake,

Yet as a woman may,820

My wyt I shall assay

An epytaphe to wryght

In Latyne playne and lyght,

Wherof the elegy

Foloweth by and by:

Flos volucrum[414]formose, vale!

Philippe, sub isto

Marmore jam recubas,

Qui mihi carus eras.

Semper erunt nitido830

Radiantia sidera cœlo;

Impressusque meo

Pectore semper eris.

Per me laurigerum

Britonum Skeltonida vatem

Hæc cecinisse licet

Ficta sub imagine texta.

Cujus eras[415]volucris,

Præstanti corpore virgo:

Candida Nais erat,840

Formosior ista Joanna est;

Docta Corinna fuit,

Sed magis ista sapit.

Bien men souient.

THE COMMENDACIONS.

Beati im ma cu la ti in via,O gloriosa fœmina!Now myne hole imaginacionAnd studyous medytacionIs to take this commendacyonIn this consyderacion;850And vnder pacyent tolleracyonOf that most goodly[416]maydThatPlacebohath sayd,And for her sparow praydIn lamentable wyse,Now wyll I enterpryse,Thorow the grace dyuyneOf the Muses nyne,Her beautye to commende,If Arethusa wyll send860Me enfluence to endyte,And with my pen to wryte;If Apollo wyll promyseMelodyously it to[417]deuyseHis tunable harpe strynggesWith armony that syngesOf princes and of kyngesAnd of all pleasaunt thynges,Of lust and of delyght,Thorow his godly myght;870To whom be the laude ascrybedThat my pen hath enbybedWith the aureat droppes,As verely my hope is,Of Thagus, that golden flod,That passeth all[418]erthly good;And as that flode doth pasAl floodes that euer wasWith his golden sandes,Who so that vnderstandes880Cosmography, and the stremysAnd the floodes in straunge remes,Ryght so she doth excedeAll other of whom we rede,Whose fame by me shall spredeInto Perce and Mede,From Brytons AlbionTo[419]the Towre of Babilon.I trust it is no shame,And no man wyll me blame,890Though I regester her nameIn the courte of Fame;For this most goodly floure,This blossome of fresshe coulour,So Jupiter me socour,She floryssheth new and newIn bewte and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,Retribue servo tuo, vivifica me!900Labia mea laudabunt te.But enforsed am IOpenly to askry,And to make an[420]outcriAgainst odyous Enui,That euermore wil ly,And say cursedly;With his ledder ey,And chekes dry;With vysage wan,910As swarte[421]as tan;His bones crake,Leane as a rake;His gummes rustyAre full vnlusty;Hys herte withallBytter as gall;His lyuer, his longe[422]With anger is wronge;His serpentes tonge920That many one hath stonge;He frowneth euer;He laugheth neuer,Euen nor morow,But other mennes sorowCauseth him to grynAnd reioyce therin;No slepe can him catch,But euer doth watch,He is so bete930With malyce, and freteWith angre and yre,His foule desyreWyll suffre no slepeIn his hed to crepe;His foule[423]semblauntAll displeasaunte;[424]Whan other ar glad,Than is he sad;Frantyke and mad;940His tong neuer styllFor to say yll,Wrythyng and wringyng,Bytyng and styngyng;And thus this elfConsumeth himself,Hymself doth sloWyth payne and wo.This fals EnuySayth that I950Vse great follyFor to endyte,And for to wryte,And spend my tymeIn prose and ryme,For to expresThe noblenesOf my maistres,That causeth meStudious to be960To[425]make a relationOf her commendation;And there agayneEnuy doth complayne,And hath disdayne;But yet certayneI wyll be[426]playne,And my style dresTo this prosses.Now Phebus me ken970To sharpe my pen,And lede my fystAs hym best lyst,That I may sayHonour alwayOf womankynd!Trouth doth me byndAnd loyalteEuer to beTheir true bedell,980To wryte and tellHow women excellIn noblenes;As my maistres,Of whom I thynkWith pen and ynkFor to compyleSome goodly[427]style;For this most goodly[428]floure,This blossome of fresh coloure,990So Jupyter me socoure,She flourissheth new and newIn beaute and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,Legem pone mihi, domina,[429]in viam justificationum tuarum!Quemadmodum desiderat cervus ad fontes aquarum.How shall I reportAll the goodly sortOf her fetures clere,1000That hath non erthly pere?Her[430]fauour of her faceEnnewed all with[431]grace,Confort, pleasure, and solace,Myne hert doth so enbrace,And so hath rauyshed meHer to behold and se,That in wordes playneI cannot me refrayneTo loke on[432]her agayne:1010Alas, what shuld I fayne?It wer a plesaunt payneWith her aye to remayne.Her eyen gray and stepeCauseth myne hert to lepe;With her browes bentShe may well representFayre Lucres, as I wene,Or els fayre Polexene,Or els Caliope,1020Or els Penolope;For this most goodly floure,This blossome of fresshe coloure,So Jupiter me socoure,She florisheth new and newIn beautye and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,Memor esto verbi tui servo tuo!Servus tuus sum ego.1030The Indy saphyre blewHer vaynes doth ennew;The orient perle so clere,The whytnesse of her lere;The[433]lusty ruby ruddesResemble the rose buddes;Her lyppes soft and meryEmblomed lyke the chery,It were an heuenly blysseHer sugred mouth to kysse.1040Her beautye to augment,Dame Nature hath her lentA warte vpon her cheke,Who so lyst to sekeIn her vysage a skar,That semyth from afarLyke to the radyant star,All with fauour fret,So properly it is set:She is the vyolet,1050The daysy delectable,The columbine[434]commendable,The[435]ielofer amyable;[For][436]this most goodly floure,This blossom of fressh colour,So Jupiter me succour,She florysheth new and newIn beaute and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,1060Bonitatem fecisti cum servo tuo, domina,Et ex præcordiis sonant præconia!And whan I perceyuedHer wart and conceyued,It cannot be denaydBut it was well conuayd,And set so womanly,And nothynge wantonly,But ryght conuenyently,And full congruently,1070As Nature cold deuyse,In most goodly wyse;Who so lyst beholde,It makethe louers boldeTo her to sewe for grace,Her fauoure to purchase;The sker upon her chyn,Enhached[437]on her fayre skyn,Whyter than the swan,It wold make any man1080To forget deadly synHer fauour to wyn;For this most goodly[438]floure,This blossom of fressh coloure,So Jupiter me socoure,She flouryssheth new and newIn beaute and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,Defecit in salutatione tua[439]anima mea;1090Quid petis filio, mater dulcissima? babæ![440]Soft, and make no dyn,For now I wyll begynTo haue[441]in remembraunceHer goodly dalyaunce,And her goodly pastaunce:So sad and so demure,Behauynge her so sure,With wordes of pleasureShe wold make to the lure1100And any man conuertTo gyue her his hole hert.She made me sore amasedVpon her whan I gased,Me thought min hert was crased,My eyne were so dased;For this most goodly flour,This[442]blossom of fressh colour,So Jupyter me socour,She flouryssheth new and new1110In beauty and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,Quomodo dilexi legem tuam, domina!Recedant vetera, nova sint[443]omnia.And to amende her tale,Whan she lyst to auale,And with her fyngers smale,And handes soft as sylke,Whyter than the[444]mylke,1120That are so quyckely vayned,Wherwyth my hand she strayned,Lorde, how I was payned!Vnneth I me refrayned,How she me had reclaymed,And me to her retayned,Enbrasynge therwithallHer goodly[445]myddell smallWith sydes longe and streyte;To tell you what conceyte1130I had than in a tryce,The matter were to nyse,And yet there was no vyce,Nor yet no villany,But only fantasy;For this most goodly floure,This[446]blossom of fressh coloure,So Jupiter me succoure,She floryssheth new and newIn beaute and vertew:1140Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,Iniquos odio habui!Non calumnientur me superbi.But whereto shulde I noteHow often dyd I toteVpon her prety fote?It raysed myne hert roteTo se her treade the groundeWith heles short and rounde.1150She is playnly expresseEgeria, the goddesse,And lyke to her image,Emportured with corage,A louers pylgrimage;Ther is no beest sauage,Ne no tyger so wood,But she wolde chaunge his mood,Such relucent graceIs formed in her face;1160For this most goodly floure,This blossome of fresshe coloure,So Jupiter me succour,She flouryssheth new and newIn beaute and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,Mirabilia testimonia tua!Sicut novellæ plantationes in juventute sua.So goodly as she dresses,1170So properly[447]she pressesThe bryght golden tressesOf her heer so fyne,Lyke Phebus beames shyne.Wherto shuld I discloseThe garterynge of her hose?It is for to supposeHow that she can wereGorgiously her gere;Her fresshe habylementes1180With other implementesTo serue for all ententes,Lyke dame Flora, queneOf lusty somer grene;For[448]this most goodly floure,This blossom of fressh coloure,So Jupiter me socoure,She florisheth new and newIn beautye and vertew:Hac claritate gemina1190O gloriosa fœmina,Clamavi in toto corde, exaudi me!Misericordia tua magna est super me.Her kyrtell so goodly lased,And vnder that is brasedSuch plasures that I mayNeyther wryte nor say;Yet though I wryte not with ynke,No man can let me thynke,For thought hath lyberte,1200Thought is franke and fre;To thynke a mery thoughtIt cost me lytell nor[449]nought.Wolde God myne homely styleWere pullysshed with the fyleOf Ciceros eloquence,To prase her excellence!For this[450]most goodly floure,This[451]blossome of fressh coloure,So Jupiter me succoure,1210She flouryssheth new and newIn beaute and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina,Principes persecuti sunt me gratis!Omnibus consideratis,Paradisus voluptatisHæc virgo est dulcissima.My pen it is vnable,My hand it is vnstable,1220My reson rude and dullTo prayse her at the full;Goodly maystres Jane,Sobre, demure Dyane;Jane this maystres hyghtThe lode star[452]of delyght,Dame Venus of all pleasure,The well of worldly treasure;She doth excede and pasIn prudence dame Pallas;1230[For][453]this[454]most goodly floure,This blossome of fresshe colour,So Jupiter me socoure,She floryssheth new and newIn beaute and vertew:Hac claritate geminaO gloriosa fœmina!Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine!With this psalme,Domine, probasti me,Shall sayle ouer the see,1240WithTibi, Domine, commendamus,On pylgrimage[455]to saynt Jamys,For shrympes, and for pranys,And for stalkynge[456]cranys;And where my pen hath offendyd,I pray you it may be amendydBy discrete consyderacyonOf your wyse reformacyon;I haue not offended, I trust,If it be sadly dyscust.1250It were no gentle gyseThis treatyse to despyseBecause I haue wrytten and saydHonour of this fayre mayd;Wherefore shulde I be blamed,That I Jane haue[457]named,And famously proclamed?She is worthy to be enroldeWith letters of golde.Car elle vault.1260Per me laurigerum Britonum Skeltonida vatem[458]Laudibus eximiis merito hæc redimita puella est:Formosam cecini,[459]qua non formosior ulla est;Formosam potius quam commendaret Homerus.Sic juvat interdum rigidos recreare labores,Nec minus hoc titulo tersa Minerva mea est.Rien que playsere.

Beati im ma cu la ti in via,

O gloriosa fœmina!

Now myne hole imaginacion

And studyous medytacion

Is to take this commendacyon

In this consyderacion;850

And vnder pacyent tolleracyon

Of that most goodly[416]mayd

ThatPlacebohath sayd,

And for her sparow prayd

In lamentable wyse,

Now wyll I enterpryse,

Thorow the grace dyuyne

Of the Muses nyne,

Her beautye to commende,

If Arethusa wyll send860

Me enfluence to endyte,

And with my pen to wryte;

If Apollo wyll promyse

Melodyously it to[417]deuyse

His tunable harpe stryngges

With armony that synges

Of princes and of kynges

And of all pleasaunt thynges,

Of lust and of delyght,

Thorow his godly myght;870

To whom be the laude ascrybed

That my pen hath enbybed

With the aureat droppes,

As verely my hope is,

Of Thagus, that golden flod,

That passeth all[418]erthly good;

And as that flode doth pas

Al floodes that euer was

With his golden sandes,

Who so that vnderstandes880

Cosmography, and the stremys

And the floodes in straunge remes,

Ryght so she doth excede

All other of whom we rede,

Whose fame by me shall sprede

Into Perce and Mede,

From Brytons Albion

To[419]the Towre of Babilon.

I trust it is no shame,

And no man wyll me blame,890

Though I regester her name

In the courte of Fame;

For this most goodly floure,

This blossome of fresshe coulour,

So Jupiter me socour,

She floryssheth new and new

In bewte and vertew:

Hac claritate gemina

O gloriosa fœmina,

Retribue servo tuo, vivifica me!900

Labia mea laudabunt te.

But enforsed am I

Openly to askry,

And to make an[420]outcri

Against odyous Enui,

That euermore wil ly,

And say cursedly;

With his ledder ey,

And chekes dry;

With vysage wan,910

As swarte[421]as tan;

His bones crake,

Leane as a rake;

His gummes rusty

Are full vnlusty;

Hys herte withall

Bytter as gall;

His lyuer, his longe[422]

With anger is wronge;

His serpentes tonge920

That many one hath stonge;

He frowneth euer;

He laugheth neuer,

Euen nor morow,

But other mennes sorow

Causeth him to gryn

And reioyce therin;

No slepe can him catch,

But euer doth watch,

He is so bete930

With malyce, and frete

With angre and yre,

His foule desyre

Wyll suffre no slepe

In his hed to crepe;

His foule[423]semblaunt

All displeasaunte;[424]

Whan other ar glad,

Than is he sad;

Frantyke and mad;940

His tong neuer styll

For to say yll,

Wrythyng and wringyng,

Bytyng and styngyng;

And thus this elf

Consumeth himself,

Hymself doth slo

Wyth payne and wo.

This fals Enuy

Sayth that I950

Vse great folly

For to endyte,

And for to wryte,

And spend my tyme

In prose and ryme,

For to expres

The noblenes

Of my maistres,

That causeth me

Studious to be960

To[425]make a relation

Of her commendation;

And there agayne

Enuy doth complayne,

And hath disdayne;

But yet certayne

I wyll be[426]playne,

And my style dres

To this prosses.

Now Phebus me ken970

To sharpe my pen,

And lede my fyst

As hym best lyst,

That I may say

Honour alway

Of womankynd!

Trouth doth me bynd

And loyalte

Euer to be

Their true bedell,980

To wryte and tell

How women excell

In noblenes;

As my maistres,

Of whom I thynk

With pen and ynk

For to compyle

Some goodly[427]style;

For this most goodly[428]floure,

This blossome of fresh coloure,990

So Jupyter me socoure,

She flourissheth new and new

In beaute and vertew:

Hac claritate gemina

O gloriosa fœmina,

Legem pone mihi, domina,[429]in viam justificationum tuarum!

Quemadmodum desiderat cervus ad fontes aquarum.

How shall I report

All the goodly sort

Of her fetures clere,1000

That hath non erthly pere?

Her[430]fauour of her face

Ennewed all with[431]grace,

Confort, pleasure, and solace,

Myne hert doth so enbrace,

And so hath rauyshed me

Her to behold and se,

That in wordes playne

I cannot me refrayne

To loke on[432]her agayne:1010

Alas, what shuld I fayne?

It wer a plesaunt payne

With her aye to remayne.

Her eyen gray and stepe

Causeth myne hert to lepe;

With her browes bent

She may well represent

Fayre Lucres, as I wene,

Or els fayre Polexene,

Or els Caliope,1020

Or els Penolope;

For this most goodly floure,

This blossome of fresshe coloure,

So Jupiter me socoure,

She florisheth new and new

In beautye and vertew:

Hac claritate gemina

O gloriosa fœmina,

Memor esto verbi tui servo tuo!

Servus tuus sum ego.1030

The Indy saphyre blew

Her vaynes doth ennew;

The orient perle so clere,

The whytnesse of her lere;

The[433]lusty ruby ruddes

Resemble the rose buddes;

Her lyppes soft and mery

Emblomed lyke the chery,

It were an heuenly blysse

Her sugred mouth to kysse.1040

Her beautye to augment,

Dame Nature hath her lent

A warte vpon her cheke,

Who so lyst to seke

In her vysage a skar,

That semyth from afar

Lyke to the radyant star,

All with fauour fret,

So properly it is set:

She is the vyolet,1050

The daysy delectable,

The columbine[434]commendable,

The[435]ielofer amyable;

[For][436]this most goodly floure,

This blossom of fressh colour,

So Jupiter me succour,

She florysheth new and new

In beaute and vertew:

Hac claritate gemina

O gloriosa fœmina,1060

Bonitatem fecisti cum servo tuo, domina,

Et ex præcordiis sonant præconia!

And whan I perceyued

Her wart and conceyued,

It cannot be denayd

But it was well conuayd,

And set so womanly,

And nothynge wantonly,

But ryght conuenyently,

And full congruently,1070

As Nature cold deuyse,

In most goodly wyse;

Who so lyst beholde,

It makethe louers bolde

To her to sewe for grace,

Her fauoure to purchase;

The sker upon her chyn,

Enhached[437]on her fayre skyn,

Whyter than the swan,

It wold make any man1080

To forget deadly syn

Her fauour to wyn;

For this most goodly[438]floure,

This blossom of fressh coloure,

So Jupiter me socoure,

She flouryssheth new and new

In beaute and vertew:

Hac claritate gemina

O gloriosa fœmina,

Defecit in salutatione tua[439]anima mea;1090

Quid petis filio, mater dulcissima? babæ![440]

Soft, and make no dyn,

For now I wyll begyn

To haue[441]in remembraunce

Her goodly dalyaunce,

And her goodly pastaunce:

So sad and so demure,

Behauynge her so sure,

With wordes of pleasure

She wold make to the lure1100

And any man conuert

To gyue her his hole hert.

She made me sore amased

Vpon her whan I gased,

Me thought min hert was crased,

My eyne were so dased;

For this most goodly flour,

This[442]blossom of fressh colour,

So Jupyter me socour,

She flouryssheth new and new1110

In beauty and vertew:

Hac claritate gemina

O gloriosa fœmina,

Quomodo dilexi legem tuam, domina!

Recedant vetera, nova sint[443]omnia.

And to amende her tale,

Whan she lyst to auale,

And with her fyngers smale,

And handes soft as sylke,

Whyter than the[444]mylke,1120

That are so quyckely vayned,

Wherwyth my hand she strayned,

Lorde, how I was payned!

Vnneth I me refrayned,

How she me had reclaymed,

And me to her retayned,

Enbrasynge therwithall

Her goodly[445]myddell small

With sydes longe and streyte;

To tell you what conceyte1130

I had than in a tryce,

The matter were to nyse,

And yet there was no vyce,

Nor yet no villany,

But only fantasy;

For this most goodly floure,

This[446]blossom of fressh coloure,

So Jupiter me succoure,

She floryssheth new and new

In beaute and vertew:1140

Hac claritate gemina

O gloriosa fœmina,

Iniquos odio habui!

Non calumnientur me superbi.

But whereto shulde I note

How often dyd I tote

Vpon her prety fote?

It raysed myne hert rote

To se her treade the grounde

With heles short and rounde.1150

She is playnly expresse

Egeria, the goddesse,

And lyke to her image,

Emportured with corage,

A louers pylgrimage;

Ther is no beest sauage,

Ne no tyger so wood,

But she wolde chaunge his mood,

Such relucent grace

Is formed in her face;1160

For this most goodly floure,

This blossome of fresshe coloure,

So Jupiter me succour,

She flouryssheth new and new

In beaute and vertew:

Hac claritate gemina

O gloriosa fœmina,

Mirabilia testimonia tua!

Sicut novellæ plantationes in juventute sua.

So goodly as she dresses,1170

So properly[447]she presses

The bryght golden tresses

Of her heer so fyne,

Lyke Phebus beames shyne.

Wherto shuld I disclose

The garterynge of her hose?

It is for to suppose

How that she can were

Gorgiously her gere;

Her fresshe habylementes1180

With other implementes

To serue for all ententes,

Lyke dame Flora, quene

Of lusty somer grene;

For[448]this most goodly floure,

This blossom of fressh coloure,

So Jupiter me socoure,

She florisheth new and new

In beautye and vertew:

Hac claritate gemina1190

O gloriosa fœmina,

Clamavi in toto corde, exaudi me!

Misericordia tua magna est super me.

Her kyrtell so goodly lased,

And vnder that is brased

Such plasures that I may

Neyther wryte nor say;

Yet though I wryte not with ynke,

No man can let me thynke,

For thought hath lyberte,1200

Thought is franke and fre;

To thynke a mery thought

It cost me lytell nor[449]nought.

Wolde God myne homely style

Were pullysshed with the fyle

Of Ciceros eloquence,

To prase her excellence!

For this[450]most goodly floure,

This[451]blossome of fressh coloure,

So Jupiter me succoure,1210

She flouryssheth new and new

In beaute and vertew:

Hac claritate gemina

O gloriosa fœmina,

Principes persecuti sunt me gratis!

Omnibus consideratis,

Paradisus voluptatis

Hæc virgo est dulcissima.

My pen it is vnable,

My hand it is vnstable,1220

My reson rude and dull

To prayse her at the full;

Goodly maystres Jane,

Sobre, demure Dyane;

Jane this maystres hyght

The lode star[452]of delyght,

Dame Venus of all pleasure,

The well of worldly treasure;

She doth excede and pas

In prudence dame Pallas;1230

[For][453]this[454]most goodly floure,

This blossome of fresshe colour,

So Jupiter me socoure,

She floryssheth new and new

In beaute and vertew:

Hac claritate gemina

O gloriosa fœmina!

Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine!

With this psalme,Domine, probasti me,

Shall sayle ouer the see,1240

WithTibi, Domine, commendamus,

On pylgrimage[455]to saynt Jamys,

For shrympes, and for pranys,

And for stalkynge[456]cranys;

And where my pen hath offendyd,

I pray you it may be amendyd

By discrete consyderacyon

Of your wyse reformacyon;

I haue not offended, I trust,

If it be sadly dyscust.1250

It were no gentle gyse

This treatyse to despyse

Because I haue wrytten and sayd

Honour of this fayre mayd;

Wherefore shulde I be blamed,

That I Jane haue[457]named,

And famously proclamed?

She is worthy to be enrolde

With letters of golde.

Car elle vault.1260

Per me laurigerum Britonum Skeltonida vatem[458]

Laudibus eximiis merito hæc redimita puella est:

Formosam cecini,[459]qua non formosior ulla est;

Formosam potius quam commendaret Homerus.

Sic juvat interdum rigidos recreare labores,

Nec minus hoc titulo tersa Minerva mea est.

Rien que playsere.

Thus endeth the boke of Philip Sparow, and here foloweth an adicyon made by maister Skelton.

The gyse now a dayesOf some ianglynge iayesIs to discommende1270That they cannot amend,Though they wold spendAll the wyttes they haue.What ayle them to deprauePhillip Sparowes graue?HisDirige, her CommendacyonCan be no derogacyon,But myrth and consolacyonMade by protestacyon,No man to myscontent1280With Phillyppes enterement.Alas, that goodly mayd,Why shuld she be afrayde?Why shuld she take shameThat her goodly name,Honorably reported,Sholde be set and sorted,To be matriculateWith ladyes of estate?I coniure thé, Phillip Sparow,1290By Hercules that hell dyd harow,And with a venemous arowSlew of the EpidauresOne of the Centaures,Or Onocentaures,Or Hipocentaures;[460]By whose myght and mayneAn hart was slayneWith hornes twayneOf glytteryng gold;1300And the appels of goldOf Hesperides withhold,And with a dragon keptThat neuer more slept,By marcyall strengthHe wan at length;And slew GerionWith thre bodyes in one;With myghty corageAdauntid[461]the rage1310Of a lyon sauage;Of Dyomedes stableHe brought out a rableOf coursers and rounsesWith leapes and bounses;And with mighty luggyng,Wrestlyng and tuggyng,He plucked the bullBy the horned skull,And offred to Cornucopia;1320And so forthper cetera:Also by Ecates bowerIn Plutos[462]gastly tower;By the vgly Eumenides,That neuer haue rest nor ease;By the venemous serpent,That in hell is neuer brent,In Lerna the Grekes fen,That was engendred then;By Chemeras flames,1330And all the dedly namesOf infernall posty,Where soules frye and rosty;[463]By the Stygyall flood,And the streames woodOf Cocitus botumles well;By the feryman of hell,Caron with his beerd hore,That roweth with a rude oreAnd with his frownsid[464]fore top1340Gydeth his bote with a prop:I coniure[465]Phylyp, and callIn the name of kyng Saul;Primo Regumexpresse,He bad[466]the PhitonesseTo wytchcraft her to dresse,And by her abusyons,And dampnable illusyonsOf marueylus conclusyons,And by her supersticyons,1350And wonderfull condityons,She raysed vp in that stedeSamuell that was dede;But whether it were so,He wereidem in numero,The selfe same Samuell,How be it to Saull dyd he tellThe Philistinis shuld hym ascry,And the next day he shuld dye,I wyll my selfe dyscharge1360To lettred men at large:But, Phylyp, I coniure theeNow by these names thre,Diana in the woodes grene,Luna that so bryght doth shene,[467]Procerpina in hell,That thou shortly tell,And shew now vnto meWhat the cause may beOf this perplexite!1370

The gyse now a dayes

Of some ianglynge iayes

Is to discommende1270

That they cannot amend,

Though they wold spend

All the wyttes they haue.

What ayle them to depraue

Phillip Sparowes graue?

HisDirige, her Commendacyon

Can be no derogacyon,

But myrth and consolacyon

Made by protestacyon,

No man to myscontent1280

With Phillyppes enterement.

Alas, that goodly mayd,

Why shuld she be afrayde?

Why shuld she take shame

That her goodly name,

Honorably reported,

Sholde be set and sorted,

To be matriculate

With ladyes of estate?

I coniure thé, Phillip Sparow,1290

By Hercules that hell dyd harow,

And with a venemous arow

Slew of the Epidaures

One of the Centaures,

Or Onocentaures,

Or Hipocentaures;[460]

By whose myght and mayne

An hart was slayne

With hornes twayne

Of glytteryng gold;1300

And the appels of gold

Of Hesperides withhold,

And with a dragon kept

That neuer more slept,

By marcyall strength

He wan at length;

And slew Gerion

With thre bodyes in one;

With myghty corage

Adauntid[461]the rage1310

Of a lyon sauage;

Of Dyomedes stable

He brought out a rable

Of coursers and rounses

With leapes and bounses;

And with mighty luggyng,

Wrestlyng and tuggyng,

He plucked the bull

By the horned skull,

And offred to Cornucopia;1320

And so forthper cetera:

Also by Ecates bower

In Plutos[462]gastly tower;

By the vgly Eumenides,

That neuer haue rest nor ease;

By the venemous serpent,

That in hell is neuer brent,

In Lerna the Grekes fen,

That was engendred then;

By Chemeras flames,1330

And all the dedly names

Of infernall posty,

Where soules frye and rosty;[463]

By the Stygyall flood,

And the streames wood

Of Cocitus botumles well;

By the feryman of hell,

Caron with his beerd hore,

That roweth with a rude ore

And with his frownsid[464]fore top1340

Gydeth his bote with a prop:

I coniure[465]Phylyp, and call

In the name of kyng Saul;

Primo Regumexpresse,

He bad[466]the Phitonesse

To wytchcraft her to dresse,

And by her abusyons,

And dampnable illusyons

Of marueylus conclusyons,

And by her supersticyons,1350

And wonderfull condityons,

She raysed vp in that stede

Samuell that was dede;

But whether it were so,

He wereidem in numero,

The selfe same Samuell,

How be it to Saull dyd he tell

The Philistinis shuld hym ascry,

And the next day he shuld dye,

I wyll my selfe dyscharge1360

To lettred men at large:

But, Phylyp, I coniure thee

Now by these names thre,

Diana in the woodes grene,

Luna that so bryght doth shene,[467]

Procerpina in hell,

That thou shortly tell,

And shew now vnto me

What the cause may be

Of this perplexite!1370

Inferias,[468]Philippe, tuas[469]Scroupe pulchra JoannaInstanter petiit:[470]cur nostri carminis illamNunc pudet?[471]est sero; minor est infamia vero.

Inferias,[468]Philippe, tuas[469]Scroupe pulchra Joanna

Instanter petiit:[470]cur nostri carminis illam

Nunc pudet?[471]est sero; minor est infamia vero.

Than suche as haue disdaynedAnd of this worke complayned,I pray God they be paynedNo worse than is contaynedIn verses two or threThat folowe as you[472]may se.

Than suche as haue disdayned

And of this worke complayned,

I pray God they be payned

No worse than is contayned

In verses two or thre

That folowe as you[472]may se.

Luride, cur, livor, volucris pia funera damnas?1380Talia te rapiant rapiunt quæ fata volucrem![473]Est tamen invidia mors tibi continua.

Luride, cur, livor, volucris pia funera damnas?1380

Talia te rapiant rapiunt quæ fata volucrem![473]

Est tamen invidia mors tibi continua.

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