He can nothing smatter
Of logike nor scole matter
Neyther silogisare

Nor of emptimeniare
Nor knoweth his eloquence
Nor his predicamence.
And yet he will mel
To amend the gospel
And wil preach and tel
What they do in hel

And he dare not wel neuen
What they do in hauen
Nor how far Temple bare is
From the seuen starres
Nowe will I goe
And tel of other moe
Semper protestando

De non impugnando
The foure orders of fryers

Thoughe some of them be lyers
As limiters at large
Wyll charge and discharge
As many a fryar God wot
Preaches for his grote
Flatterynge for a new cote
And for to have hys fees
Some to gather cheese
Lothe they are to lese
Eyther corne or mault
Sometime meale and sault
Sometime a bacon flicke
That is three fingers thycke
Of larde and of greace
Their couent to encreace

I put you out of doubt
This cannot be brought about
But they their tonges file
And make a pleasaunte style
To Margerye and to Maude
Howe they haue no fraude
And somtyme they prouoke
Bothe Gyll and Jacke at noke
Their duties to withdraw
That they ought by the lawe
Their curates to content
In open time and in Lente

God wot they take great payne
To flatter and to fayne
But it is an olde sayd saw
That neede hath no lawe
Some walke aboute in melottes
In gray russet and hery cotes
Some wil neyther golde ne grotes
Some pluck a partrich in remotes
And by the barres if her tayle
Wil know a rauen from a rayle

A quail, the raile, and the old rauen
Sed libera nos a malo. Amen.
And by dudum their clementine
Against curates repine

And say proprely they are sacerdotes
To shryue, assoyle and reles
Dame Margeries soule out of hel
But when the frier fel in the wel
He could not sing himselfe therout
But by the helpe of Christian clout
Another clementine also

How frere Fabion, with other mo
Exivit de paradiso

Whan they again thither shall come
De hoc petimus consilium

And through all the world they go With dirige and placebo.

But now my minde ye vnderstand
For they muste take in hand
To preach and to withstand
Al maner of abiections
For bishops haue protections
They say to do corrections
But they hauc no affections
To take the sayd directions
In such maner of cases
Men say they beare uo faces
To occupy such places
To sow the sede of graces
Their hartes are so faynted
And they be so attaynted
With coueitous and ambicion
And other supersticion
That they be deafe and dum
And play scylens and glum
Can say nothing but mum.

They occupy theym-so
With singing placebo
They wil no farther go
They had leuer to please
And take their worldly ease
Than to take on hand
Worshyp to wythstande

Such temporal war and bate
As nowe is made of late
Against holy churche estate
Or to mayntayne good quarelles
The lay men call them barrelles
Full of glotony

And of hypocrisye
That counterfaytes and paints
As they were saintes

In matters that them lyke
They shew them politike.
Pretending grauitie
And sygnyorytie
With all solempnitie
For their indempnitie
For they will haue no lesse
Of a peny, nor of a crosse
Of their prediall landes
That cometh to their handes
And as farre as they dare set
Al is fyshe that cometh to net
Building royally

Thier mancions curiously
With turrettes and with toures
With halles and with boures
Streching to the starres
With glasse windowes and barres
Hangyng about the walles
Clothes of golde and palles
Arras of ryche araye
Freshe as floures in Maye
Wyth dame Dyana naked
Howe lustye Venus quaked
And howe Cupide shaked
His darte and bente hys bowe
For to shote a crowe
At her tyrly tyrlowe
And how Paris of Troye
Daunced a lege de moy
Made lustye sporte and ioye
With dame Helyn the queene
With such storyes by deen
Their chambres wel be scen

With triumphes of Cesar
And of his Pompeius war
Of renowne and of fame
By them to get a name

Nowe all the world stares

How they ryde in goodly chares
Conueyed by olyphantes
With lauriat garlantes
And by vnycornes
With their semely bornes
Upon these beastes riding
Naked boyes striding

With wanton wenches winkyng
Now truly to my thinkyng
That is a speculacion
And a mete meditacion
For prelates of estate
Their courage to abate
From worldly wontonnes
Their chambre thus to dres
With such parfetnes
And all such holynes
How be it they let down fall
Their churches cathedral
Squire knight and lord
That the church remord
With all temporal people
They runne against the steeple
Thus talkyng and tellinge
How some of you are mellynge
Yet soft and fayre for swellyng
Beware of a queanes yelling
It is a besy thing

For one man to rule a kyng
Alone and make rekenyng
To gouerne ouer all
And rule a realme royall
By one mannes wit
Fortune may chaunce to flit
And when he weneth to syt

Yet may he mysse the quisshon
For I red a preposicion
Sum regibus dimicare
Et omnibus dominare
Et supra te pravare
Wherefore he hathe good vre
That can himselfe assure
How fortune wyl endure
Than let reason you support
For the communalte
That they haue great wonder
That ye kepe them so vnder
Yet they meruayle so muche lesse
For ye play so at the chesse
As they suppose and
That some of you but late
Hath played so checkmate

gesse

With lordes of great estate
After such a rate

That they shall mel nor make

Nor vpon them take
For kyng nor kayser sake
But at the pleasure of one
That ruleth the rest alone.

Helas, I saye Helas
Howe maye this come to passe
That a man shall heare a masse
And not so hardy on his head
To loke on God in forme of bread
But that the paryshe clerke
There vpon must herke

Aud graunt him at his askyng
For to see the sacryng

And how may this accord
No man to our souerayne lorde
So hardy to make sute
Nor to execute
His commaundement
Without the assent
Of our president

Not to expresse to his person
Without your assentacion
Graunt him his licence

To preace to his presence
Nor to speake to him secretly
Openly nor preuyly
Without his president be by
Or els his substitute
Whome he wyl depute
Neither earle ne duke
Permitted by sainct Luke
And by sweet sainct Marke
This is a wonderous warke
That the people talke this
Somewhat there is amis

The deuill cannot stop their mouthes
But they will talk of suche uncouthes
All that euer they ken
Against all spiritual men.

Whether it be wronge or ryghte
Or els for dispighte
Or howe euer it hape
Theyr tounges thus do clap
And through such detraction
They put you to your action
And whether they say truely
As they may abide therby
Or els that they do lye
Ye know better than I
But now, debetis scire
And groundlye audire
In your convenire
Of this præmunire
Or els in the myre

They say they will you cast
Therfore stand sure and fast.
Stand sure and take good foting
And let be al your moting
Your gasing and your toting
And your parcial promoting
Of those that stand in your grace
But olde seruauntes ye chase
And put them out of their place
Make ye no murmuracion
Though I write after this facion
Though I Colyn Clout
Among the whole route
Of you that clearkes be
Take vpon me

Thus copiously to write
I do it not for no despite
Wherfore take no disdaine
At my stile rude and playne
For I rebuke no man
That vertuous is, why than
Wreke ye your anger on me
For those that vertuous be
Haue no cause to say
That I speake out of the way.

Of no good byshop speake I
Nor good prest of the c largy

Good frere nor good chanon
Good nunne, nor good canon
Good monke, nor good clerke
Nor of no good werke
But my recountyng is
Of them that do amis
In speaking and rebelling
In hindering and disauailing
Holy church our mother
One against another
To vse such dispising
Is all my whole wryting
To hinder no man
As neare as I can

For no man haue I named
Wherfore should I be blamed.
Ye ought to be ashamed
Against me to be greued
And can tell no cause why
But that I wryte trulye
Then if any ther be

Of high or low degree
Of the spiritualty

Or of the temporaltye

That doth thinke or wene

That his conscience be not clene

And feleth hymselfe sicke
Or touched on the quicke
Such grace God them send
Themself to amend
For I wyll not pretend
Any man to offende

Wherfore as thinketh me
Great ydeottes they bee
And lytle grace they haue
This treatise to depraue
Nor wil heare no preaching
Nor no vertuous teaching
Nor wil haue no resiting
Of any vertuous wryting
Wil know none intelligence
To refourme their negligence
Bat liue stil out of facion

To their owne damnation

To do shame, they haue no sham:

But they wold no man should theim blame They haue an euil name

But yet they will occupy the same

With them the worde of God

Is counted for no rod

They count it for a railinge
That nothing is auayling
The preachers with euil hailing
Shal they vaunt vs prelates
That be their prymates:
Not so hardy on their pates
Harke how the losel prates
With a wide wesaunte
Auaunte sur Guy of Gaunt
Auaunte lewde preest auaunt
Auaunt syr doctoure Dyuers

VOL. II.

Prate of thy mattens and thy masse
And let oure matters passe

How darest thou Daucocke mel?
How darest thou losell

I say lyuetenaunt of the Toure
Make this lurden for to loure
Lodge him in litle ease
Fede him with beanes and pease
The Kinges bench or Marshalsy
Haue him thether by and by
The villaine preacheth openly
And declareth oure villany
And of our fre simplenesse
He sayes that we are rechless
And full of wylfulnesse
Shameles, and merciles
Incorrigible and insaciate
And after this rate
Against vs doth prate

At Paules crosse or els where

Openly at Westminster

And saynt Mary spittel
They set not by us a whistel

At the Austen fryers

They count vs for lyers

And at saynt Thomas of Akers
They carpe vs lyk crakers
How we wyl rule al at will
Without good reason or skyll

And say how that we be
Full of parcialitie
And how at a pronge
We turne right to wrong
Delay causes so longe
That right no man can fong
They say many matters be born
By the right of a rammes horne
Is not this a shamefull scorne?
To be treated thus and torne.

How may we thus indure
Wherfore we make you sure
Ye preachers shalbe yawde
Some shalbe sawde

As noble Ezechias

The holy prophet was

And some of you shall dye
Lyke holy Jeremy

Some hanged some slayn
Some beaten to the brayne
And we wil rule and rayne
And our matters maintaine
Who dare say there agayne
Or who dare dysdaine
At your pleasure and wil
For be it good or be it yll
As it is, it shalbe stil

For al master doctour of ciuill
Or of diuine, or doctour Dryuil
Let him cough, roughe or sneuil
Renne God, renne deuil
Renne who may renne best
And let take all the rest

We set not a nut shel

The way to heauen or to hel.

Lo, this is the gise now a dayes

It is to drede men sayes
Least they bee saducies
As they be sayd sayne
Which determine playne
We shoulde not rise agayne
At dreadful domes daye
And so it semeth they play
Which hate to be corrected
When they bee infected

U

290

Nor wyll suffer this boke
By hooke ne by crooke
Prynted for to be

For that no man should see
Nor rede in any scrolles
Of their dronken nolles
Nor of their noddy polles
Nor of theyr sely soules
Nor of some witles pates
Of diuers great estates
As well as other men

Now to withdraw my pen
And now a while to rest
Me semeth it for the beste.

The fore castel of my ship Shall glide and smothely slip Out of the waues wode Of the stormye floude Shote anker and lye at rode And sayle not farre a brode Til the cooste be clere That the lode starre appere My shyp now wyl I pere Towarde the port Salu Of our Sauiour Jesu Such grace that he us sende To rectify and amend Thinges that are amis Whan that his pleasure is, In opere imperfecto

In opere semper perfecto Et in opere plusquam perfecto

HERE AFTER FOLOWETTH

A LITLE BOKE OF PHILIP SPAROW,

COMPILED BY MASTER SKELTON, POET LAUREATE.

PLA ce bo

Who is there who

Di le xi,

Dame Margery

Fa re my my
Wherfore and why why

For the soule of Philip Sparow
That was late slaine at Carow
Amonge the nunnes blake
For that sweet soules sake
And for al Sparowes soules
Set in our bead roules
Pater roster qui
With an Aue maria

And with the corner of a creed
The more shalbe your meed.

WHAN I remembre agayne
How my Philip was slaine
Neuer halfe the paine
Was betwene you twayne
Pyramus and Thesbe

As than befell to me

I wept and I wayled
The teares down hayled
But nothing it auailed
To call Philip agayne

Whom Gib our cat hath slayne.
Gib I say our cat
Worrowed her on that
Which I loued beste
It cannot be exprest
My sorowful heavynes
But al without redres

n

For within that stound

Half slumbryng in a sounde Swoon
I fell downe to the ground

Unneth I kest mine eyes
Toward the cloudy skyes
But when I did behold
My Sparow dead and cold
No creature but that wold
Haue rewed vpon me
To behold and see

What heauines did me pange
Wherwith my handes I wrange
That my senowes cracked
As though I had ben racked
So payned and so strained
That no life welnye remained
I sighed and I sobbed
For that I was robbed
Of my Sparowes life

O mayden, widow and wife
Of what estate ye be
Of hye or low degre

Great sorow then ye might se
And learne to wepe at me
Such paynes did me freat
That mine harte did beat
My visage pale and dead
Wanne, and blue as lead
The panges of hateful death
Wel nye stopped my breathe.

Heu heu me

That I am woe for thee

Ad dominum cum tribularer clamavi
Of God nothing els craue I

BUT Philips soule to kepe
From the marees deepe
Of Acherontes wel
This is a floud of hel

And from the greate Pluto
The prince of endles woe
And from foule Alecto
With visage blacke and blo
And from Medușa that mare
That lyke a feende doth stare
And from Megeras eddes
From rufflinge of Philips fethers
And from her firy sparklinges
For burning of his winges
And from the smokes soure
Of Proserpinas boure
And from the dennes darke
Wher Cerberus doth barke
Whom Theseus did afray
Whom Hercules did out tray
As famous poetes saye
For that hel hounde

That lyeth in chaynes bound
With gastly heades three
To Jupiter pray wee

That Phillip preserued maye bee
Amen say ye wyth me,

Do mi nus

Was weary of her lyfe

When she had lost her joy
Noble Hector of Troy
In like maner also
Encreaseth my deadly woe
For my Sparow is go
It was so prety a foole
It wold syt on a stoole
And learned after my scoole
For to keepe his cut
With Phillip kepe your cut.
It had a veluet cap
And wold syt upon my lap
And seke after smal wormes

And somtime white bread crommes
And many times and ofte
Betwene my brestes soft
It wold lye and rest
It was propre and prest
Sometime he wold gaspe
When he saw a waspe
A flye or a gnat
He would fly at that

And pretely he would pant
When he saw an ant
Lord how he wold pry
After the butter fly
Lord how he wold hop
After tbe gressop

And whan I sayd, Phyp Phip
Then he wold leape and skip
And take me by the lip
Alas it wyl me sloe
That Philip is gone me fro
Si in i qui ta tes
Alas I was euil at ease

De profoundis clamavi
When I saw my Sparow dye.

NOWE after my dome
Dame Sulpicia at Rome
Whose name registred was
For euer in tables of bras
Because shee did pas
In poesy to endyte t
And eloquently to write
Though she wold pretend
My Sparow to commend
1 trow she could not amende
Reporting the vertues al
Of my Sparow royal

For it would come and go
And fle so to and fro
And on me it wold leape
Whan I was asleape
And his fethers shake
Wher wyth hee wold make
Me often for to wake
And for to take him in
Upon my naked skin

God wot we thought no syn
What though he crept so low
It was no hurt I trow
He did nothinge perdee
But syt vpon my knee

Philip though hee were nise
In hym it was no vise
Phillip had leaue to go
To pike my little too
Phillip myght be bold
And do what he wold
Philip would seke and take
All the flees blake

That he could there espye
With his wanton eye

O pe ra

La sol fa fa

Confitebor tibi domine toto corde meo
Alas I wold ride and go

A THOUSAND mile of grounde
If any such might be founde
It were worth an hundreth pounde
Of kyng Cresus golde

Or of Artalus the old

The ryche prynce of Pargame
Who so list the story to see
Cadinus that his sister sought
And he should be boughte

For gold and fee

He should ouer the see

To wete, if he coulde bryng
Any of the sprynge

Or any of the bloude
But who so vnderstode
Of medias arte

I wold I had a parte
Of her crafty magike

My Sparow than shoulde be quycke
Wyth a charme oy twaine
And play with me agayne
But al this is in vaine
Thus for to complaine

I toke my sampler ones
Of purpose for the nones EL
To sow wyth stiches of silke
My Sparow white as mylke
That by representacion
Of his image and facion
To me it might importe
Some pleasure and comfort
For my solace and sporte

But whan I was sowing his beke

Me thought my Sparow dyd speake
And open his prety bill
Saying, maid ye are in wil
Again me for to kil

Ye pricke me in the head
With that my nedle ware red
Me thought of Philyps bloude
Mine here right vpstode
And was in such a fraye
My speche was taken awaye
1 kest downe that there was
And sayd alas, alas

How commeth this to pas
My fingers dead and cold
Could not my sampler hold
My nedle and threde
I thrue awaye for drede
The best now that I may
Is for his soule to pray.
A porta inferi

Good Lord haue mercie
Upon my Sparowes soule
Written in my bede roule