[20] I suspect that, during Skelton’s lifetime, two of his most celebrated pieces, _Colyn Cloute_ (see v. 1239, vol. i. 359), and _Why come ye nat to Courte_, were not committed to the press, but wandered about in manuscript among hundreds of eager readers. A portion of _Speke, Parrot_, and the Poems _Against Garnesche_, are now for the first time printed. [21] Vol. i. 408 sqq. No poetical antiquary can read the titles of some of the lighter pieces mentioned in that catalogue,—such as _The Balade of the Mustarde Tarte_, _The Murnyng of the mapely rote_ (see Notes, vol. ii. 330), &c.—without regretting their loss. “Many of the songs or popular ballads of this time,” observes Sir John Hawkins, “appear to have been written by Skelton.” _Hist. of Music_, iii. 39. I take the present opportunity of giving from a MS. in my possession a much fuller copy than has hitherto appeared of the celebrated song which opens the second act of _Gammer Gurtons Nedle_, and which Warton calls “the first _chanson à boire_ or _drinking-ballad_, of any merit, in our language.” _Hist. of E. P._ iii. 206. ed. 4to. The comedy was first printed in 1575: the manuscript copy of the song, as follows, is certainly of an earlier date: “backe & syde goo bare goo bare bothe hande & fote goo colde but belly god sende the good ale inowghe whether hyt be newe or olde. but yf that I maye have trwly goode ale my belly full I shall looke lyke one by swete sainte Johnn were shoron agaynste the woole thowthe I goo bare take yow no care I am nothynge colde I stuffe my skynne so full within of joly goode ale & olde. I cannot eate but lytyll meate my stomacke ys not goode but sure I thyncke that I cowde dryncke with hym that werythe an hoode dryncke ys my lyfe althowgthe my wyfe some tyme do chyde & scolde yete spare I not to plye the potte of joly goode ale & olde. backe & syde, &c. I love noo roste but a browne toste or a crabbe in the fyer a lytyll breade shall do me steade mooche breade I neuer desyer Nor froste nor snowe Nor wynde I trow Canne hurte me yf hyt wolde I am so wrapped within & lapped with joly goode ale & olde. backe & syde, &c. I care ryte nowghte I take no thowte for clothes to kepe me warme have I goode dryncke I surely thyncke nothynge canne do me harme for trwly than I feare noman be he neuer so bolde when I am armed & throwly warmed with joly good ale & olde. backe & syde, &c. but nowe & than I curse & banne they make ther ale so small god geve them care & evill to faare they strye the malte & all sooche pevisshe pewe I tell yowe trwe not for a c[r]ovne of golde ther commethe one syppe within my lyppe whether hyt be newe or olde. backe & syde, &c.