_Præponenda meis non sunt tua plectra camenis,_ _Nec quantum nostra fistula clara tua est:_ _Sæpe licet lyricos modularis arundine psalmos,_ _Et tremulos calamis concinis ipse modos;_ _Quamvis mille tuus digitus dat carmine plausus,_ _Nam tua quam tua vox est mage docta manus;_ _Quamvis cuncta facis tumida sub mente superbus,_ _Gratior est Phæbo fistula nostra tamen._ _Ergo tuum studeas animo deponere fastum,_ _Et violare sacrum desine, stulte, virum._ Qd[221] Skelton, laureat. [221] _Qd_, &c.] Not in Marshe’s ed. SKELTON LAUREAT, _Vppon a deedmans hed, that was sent to hym from an honorable jentyllwoman for a token, deuysyd this gostly medytacyon in Englysh, couenable in sentence, comendable, lamentable, lacrymable, profytable for the soule_. Youre vgly tokyn My mynd hath brokyn From worldly lust; For I haue dyscust We ar but dust, And dy we must. It is generall To be mortall: I haue well espyde No man may hym hyde 10 From Deth holow eyed, With synnews wyderyd, With bonys shyderyd, With hys worme etyn maw, And his gastly jaw Gaspyng asyde, Nakyd of hyde, Neyther flesh nor[222] fell. Then, by my councell, Loke that ye spell 20 Well thys gospell: For wher so we dwell Deth wyll us qwell, And with us mell. For all oure pamperde paunchys, Ther may no fraunchys, Nor worldly blys, Redeme vs from this: Oure days be datyd, To be chekmatyd 30 With drawttys of deth, Stoppyng oure breth; Oure eyen synkyng, Oure bodys stynkyng, Oure gummys grynnyng, Oure soulys brynnyng. To whom, then, shall we sew, For to haue rescew, But to swete Jesu, On vs then for to rew? 40 O goodly chyld Of Mary mylde, Then be oure shylde! That we be not exyld[223] To the dyne dale Of boteles[224] bale, Nor to the lake Of fendys blake. But graunt vs grace To se thy face, 50 And to purchace Thyne heuenly place, And thy palace, Full of solace, Aboue the sky, That is so hy; Eternally To beholde and se The Trynyte! Amen. 60 _Myrres vous y._ [222] _nor_] Marshe’s ed. “not.” [223] _exyld_] So Marshe’s ed. Pynson’s ed. “exylyd.” [224] _boteles_] Marshe’s ed. “botemles.” Womanhod, wanton, ye want; Youre medelyng, mastres, is manerles; Plente of yll, of goodnes skant, Ye rayll at ryot, recheles: To prayse youre porte it is nedeles; For all your draffe yet and youre dreggys, As well borne as ye full oft tyme beggys.