What man ymay the wind restrain, Or holden a snake by the tail? Who may a slipper eel constrain That it will void withouten fail? Or who can driven so a nail To maké sure newfangleness, Save women, that can gie their sail To row their boat with doubleness? At every haven they can arrive Whereat they wot is good passáge; Of innocence they cannot strive With wawés, nor no rockés rage; So happy is their lodemanage With needle and stone their course to dress, That Solomon was not so sage To find in them no doubleness. Therefore whoso doth them accuse Of any double intentión, To speaké rown, other to muse, To pinch at their conditión, All is but false collusión, I dare right well the soth express; They have no better protectión, But shroud them under doubleness. So well fortunéd is their chance, The dice to-turnen up so down, With sice and cinque they can advance, And then by revolutión They set a fell conclusión Of lombés, as in sothfastness, Though clerkés maken mentión Their kind is fret with doubleness. Sampson yhad experience That women were full true yfound When Dalila of innocence With shearés ’gan his hair to round; To speak also of Rosamond, And Cleopatra’s faithfulness, The stories plainly will confound Men that apeach their doubleness. Single thing is not ypraiséd, Nor of old is of no renown, In balance when they be ypesed, For lack of weight they be borne down, And for this cause of just reason These women all of rightwisness Of choice and free electión Most love exchange and doubleness. _L’ENVOI_ O ye women! which be inclinéd By influence of your natúre To be as pure as gold yfinéd, And in your truth for to endure, Armeth yourself in strong armúre, (Lest men assail your sikerness,) Set on your breast, yourself t’assure, A mighty shield of doubleness. Chaucer was called the Morning Star of Song, and his immediate followers proved to be satellites of far less magnitude. John Skelton, an early Poet Laureate, was of a buffoon type of humor, yet thus speaks of his own verse. Though my rhyme be ragged, Tattered and gagged, Rudely rainbeaten, Rusty, moth-eaten, If ye take well therewith, It hath in it some pith. One, at least, of his whimsical poems is not without charm. _TO MAISTRES MARGARET HUSSEY_