Sometime we song of myrth and play, But now our joy is gone away, 170 For so many fal in decay Sawe I never: Whither is the welth of England gon? The spiritual saith they have none, And so many wrongfully undone Saw I never. It is great pitie that every day So many brybors go by the way, And so many extorcioners in eche cuntrey Sawe I never. 180 To thé, Lord, I make my mone, For thou maist healpe us everichone: Alas, the people is so wo begone, Worse was it never! Amendment Were convenient, But it may not be; We have exiled veritie. God is neither dead nor sicke; He may amend al yet, 190 And trowe ye so in dede, As ye beleve ye shal have mede. After better I hope ever, For worse was it never. Finis. J. S. [601] _The Maner of the World now a dayes_] Was _Imprinted at London in Flete Strete at the signe of the Rose Garland by W. Copland_, n. d. This piece (of the original impression of which I have not been able to procure a sight) is now given from _Old Ballads_, 1840, edited by J. P. Collier, Esq., for the Percy Society. [602] _baylies_] Qy. “bayles?” [603] _lyers_] Qy. “lyes?” HERE AFTER FOLOWETH THE BOKE ENTYTULED WARE THE HAUKE,[604] PER SKELTON, LAUREAT. PROLOGUS SKELTONIDIS LAUREATI SUPER WARE THE HAWKE. This worke deuysed is For such as do amys; And specyally to controule Such as haue cure of soule, That be so farre abused, They cannot be excused By reason nor by law; But that they play the daw, To hawke, or els to hunt From the aulter[605] to the funte, 10 With cry vnreuerent, Before the sacrament, Within the holy church bowndis, That of our faith the grounde is. That pryest that hawkys so, All grace is farre him fro; He semeth a sysmatyke, Or els an heretyke, For fayth in him is faynte. Therefore to make complaynte[606] 20 Of such mysaduysed Parsons and dysgysed, This boke we haue deuysed, Compendiously comprysed, No good priest to offende, But suche dawes to amende, In hope that no man shall Be[607] myscontent withall. I shall you make relacion, By waye of apostrofacion, 30 Vnder supportacion Of youre pacyent tolleracion, How I, Skelton Laureat, Deuysed and also wrate Vpon a lewde curate, A parson benyfyced, But nothing well aduysed: He shall be as now nameles, But he shall not be blameles, Nor he shal not be shameles; 40 For sure he wrought amys, To hawke in my church of Dis. This fonde frantyke fauconer,[608] With his polutid pawtenar,[609] As priest vnreuerent, Streyght to the sacrament He made his hawke to fly, With hogeous showte and cry.