The Poetical Works of John Skelton, Volume 1 (of 2)Skelton, John
General
The Poetical Works of John Skelton, Volume 1 (of 2)
Skelton, John
English poetry -- Early modern, 1500-1700
[869] _neglygence_] Qy., did Skelton write, for the rhyme, “neglygesse?”
[870] _Fyrst, &c._] Ed. leaves this speech unappropriated.
[871] _a letter_] Qy. some corruption? This line ought to rhyme with the
preceding line but one.
[872] _annexyd_] Ed. “amexyd.”
[873] _sentence_] Qy. some corruption? This line ought to rhyme with the
preceding line but one.
[874] _Faythfull_] Ed. “Faythfully.”
COLYN CLOUTE.[875]
HERE AFTER FOLOWETH A LITEL BOKE CALLED COLYN CLOUTE, COMPYLED BY MAYSTER
SKELTON, POETE LAUREATE.
_Quis consurget[876] mecum adversus malignantes? aut quis stabit mecum
adversus operantes iniquitatem? Nemo, Domine!_
What can it auayle
To dryue forth a snayle,
Or to make a sayle
Of an herynges tayle;
To ryme or to rayle,
To wryte or to indyte,
Eyther for delyte[877]
Or elles for[878] despyte;[879]
Or bokes to compyle
Of dyuers maner[880] style, 10
Vyce to reuyle
And synne to[881] exyle;
To teche or to preche,
As reason wyll reche?[882]
Say this, and[883] say that,
His hed is so fat,
He wotteth[884] neuer what
Nor wherof he speketh;
He cryeth and[885] he creketh,
He pryeth and[886] he peketh, 20
He chydes[887] and he chatters,
He prates and he patters,
He clytters and he clatters,
He medles and he smatters,
He gloses and he flatters;
Or[888] yf he speake playne,
Than he lacketh brayne,
He is but a fole;
Let hym go to scole,
On[889] a thre foted stole 30
That he may downe syt,
For he lacketh wyt;
And yf that he hyt
The nayle on the hede,
It standeth in no stede;
The deuyll, they say, is dede,
The deuell is dede.[890]
It may well so[891] be,
Or els they wolde se
Otherwyse, and fle 40
From worldly[892] vanyte,
And foule couetousnesse,
And other wretchednesse,
Fyckell[893] falsenesse,
Varyablenesse,
With vnstablenesse.
And if ye[894] stande in doute
Who brought this ryme aboute,
My name is Colyn Cloute.
I[895] purpose to shake oute 50
All my connyng bagge,
Lyke a clerkely hagge;
For though my ryme be ragged,
Tattered and iagged,
Rudely rayne beaten,
Rusty and moughte[896] eaten,
If ye[897] take well therwith,
It hath in it some pyth.
For, as farre as I can se,
It is wronge with eche degre: 60
For the temporalte
Accuseth the spiritualte;
The spirituall[898] agayne
Dothe grudge and complayne
Vpon the[899] temporall men:
Thus eche of other blother[900]
The tone agayng[901] the tother:
Alas, they make me shoder!
For in hoder moder
The Churche is put in faute; 70
The prelates ben[902] so haut,
They say, and loke so hy,
As though they wolde fly
Aboue the sterry skye.
Laye men say indede
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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