And Asmodeus of hell Maketh his membres swell With Dalyda to mell, That wanton damosell.[148] Adew, Philosophia, 210 Adew, Theologia! Welcome, dame Simonia, With dame Castrimergia, To drynke and for to eate Swete ypocras[149] and swete meate! To kepe his flesshe chast, In Lent for a repast He eateth capons[150] stewed, Fesaunt and partriche mewed, Hennes, checkynges, and pygges; 220 He foynes and he frygges, Spareth neither mayde ne wyfe: This is a postels lyfe! Helas! my herte is sory To tell of vayne glory: But now vpon this story I wyll no further ryme Tyll another tyme, Tyll another tyme, &c.[151] What newes, what newes?[152] 230 Small newes the[153] true is, That be worth ii. kues; But at the naked stewes, I vnderstande how that The sygne of the Cardynall Hat, That inne is now shyt vp, With, gup, hore, gup, now gup, Gup, Guilliam[154] Trauillian, With, iast you, I say, Jullian! Wyll ye bere no coles? 240 A mayny of marefoles, That occupy theyr holys, Full of pocky molys. What here ye of Lancashyre? They were nat[155] payde their hyre; They are fel as any fyre. What here ye of Chesshyre? They haue layde all in the myre; They grugyd,[156] and sayde Theyr wages were nat[157] payde; 250 Some sayde they were afrayde Of the Scottysshe hoste,[158] For all theyr crack[159] and bost, Wylde fyre and thonder; For all this worldly wonder, A hundred myle asonder They were whan they[160] were next; That is a trew text. What here ye of the Scottes? They make vs all sottes, 260 Poppynge folysshe dawes; They make vs to pyll strawes; They play their olde pranckes, After Huntley bankes: At the streme of Banockes burne They dyd vs a shrewde turne, Whan Edwarde of Karnaruan Lost all that[161] his father wan. What here ye of the Lorde Dakers? He maketh vs Jacke Rakers; 270 He sayes we ar but crakers; He calleth vs England men Stronge herted lyke an hen; For the Scottes and he To well they do agre, With, do thou for me, And I shall do for thé. Whyles the red hat doth endure, He maketh himselfe cock sure; The red hat with his lure 280 Bryngeth all thynges vnder cure. But, as the worlde now gose, What here ye of the Lorde Rose? Nothynge to purpose, Nat[162] worth a cockly fose: Their hertes be in thyr hose. The Erle of Northumberlande Dare take nothynge on hande: Our barons be so bolde, Into a mouse hole they wolde 290 Rynne[163] away and crepe, Lyke a mayny of shepe; Dare nat[164] loke out at dur[165]