And this comely dame, I vnderstande, her name Is Elynour Rummynge, At home in her wonnynge; And as men say She dwelt[490] in Sothray, In a certayne stede Bysyde Lederhede. She is a tonnysh gyb; The deuyll and she be syb. 100 But to make vp my tale, She breweth noppy ale, And maketh therof port sale[491] To trauellars, to tynkers, To sweters, to swynkers, And all good ale drynkers, That wyll nothynge spare, But drynke tyll they stare And brynge themselfe bare, With, Now away the mare, 110 And let vs sley care, As wyse as an hare! Come who so wyll To Elynour on the hyll, Wyth, Fyll the cup, fyll, And syt there by styll, Erly and late: Thyther cometh Kate, Cysly, and Sare, With theyr legges bare, 120 And also theyr fete Hardely full vnswete; Wyth theyr heles dagged, Theyr kyrtelles all to-iagged, Theyr smockes all to-ragged, Wyth tytters and tatters, Brynge dysshes and platters, Wyth all theyr myght runnynge To Elynour Rummynge, To haue of her tunnynge: 130 She leneth them on[492] the same, And thus begynneth the game. Some wenches come vnlased,[493] Some huswyues[494] come vnbrased, Wyth theyr naked pappes, That flyppes and flappes; It wygges and it[495] wagges, Lyke tawny saffron bagges; A sorte of foule drabbes All scuruy with scabbes: 140 Some be flybytten, Some skewed as a kytten; Some wyth a sho clout Bynde theyr heddes about; Some haue no herelace, Theyr lockes about theyr face, Theyr tresses vntrust, All full of vnlust; Some loke strawry, Some cawry mawry; 150 Full vntydy tegges, Lyke rotten egges. Suche a lewde sorte To Elynour resorte From tyde to tyde: Abyde, abyde, And to you shall be tolde Howe hyr ale is solde To Mawte and to Molde. _Secundus passus._