Mr. Skeltone, poete.[279]
To the Kinges moste Exellent Maiestie.[280]
I pray yow, be not wrothe
For tellyng of the trothe;
For this the worlde yt gothe
Both to lyffe and
[281] lothe,
As God hymselffe he knothe;
[282]And, as all men vndrestandes,
Both lordeshipes
[283] and landes
Are nowe in fewe mens handes;
Bothe substance and bandes
Of all the hole realme
As most men exteame,
Are nowe
[284] consumyd cleane
From the fermour and the poore
To the towne and the towre;
Whiche makyth theym to lower,
To see that in theire flower
Ys nother malte nor meale,
Bacon, beffe, nor
[285] veale,
Crocke mylke nor kele,
But readye for to steale
For very pure neade.
Your comons saye indeade,
Thei be not able to feade
In theire stable scant a steade,
To brynge vp nor to breade,
Ye,
[286] scant able to brynge
To the marckytt eny thynge
Towardes theire housekeping;
And scant have a cowe,
Nor
[287] to kepe a poore sowe:
This
[288] the worlde is nowe.
And
[289] to heare the relacyon
Of the poore mens communycacion,
Vndre what sorte and fashyon
Thei make theire exclamacyon,
You wolde have compassion.
Thus goythe theire protestacion,
Sayeng that suche and suche,
That of late are made riche,
Have to, to, to myche
By grasyng and regratinge,
By poulyng and debatynge,
By roulyng and by dating,
By checke and checkematynge,
[290][With delays and debatynge,
With cowstomes and tallynges,
Forfayttes and forestallynges];
So that your comons
[291] saye,
Thei styll paye, paye
Most willyngly allwaye,
But yet thei see no staye
Of this outrage araye:
Vox populi, vox Dei;
O most noble kynge,
Consydre well this thynge!
And thus the voyce doth multyplye
Amonge
[292] your graces commonaltye:
Thei are in suche greate penvry
[293]That thei can nother sell nor bye,
Suche is theire extreame povertye;
Experyence dothe yt verefye,
As trothe itselffe dothe testefye.
This is a marveilous myserye:
And trewe thei saye, it is no lye;
For grasyers and regraters,
Withe to
[294] many shepemasters,
That of erable grounde make pastures,
Are thei that be these wasters
That wyll vndoo your
[295] lande,
Yf thei contynewe and stande,
As ye shall vnderstand
By this lytle boke:
And overloke agayne,
[297]Yt wyll tell you playne
[298]The tenour and the trothe,
Howe nowe
[299] the worlde yt gothe
Withe my neighbour and my noste,
[300]In every countre, towne, and coste,
Within the circumvisions
Of your graces domynyons;
And why the poore men wepe
For storyng of suche shepe,
For that so many do
[301] kepe
Suche nombre and suche store
As
[302] never was seene before:
[What wolde ye any more?]
The encrease was never more.
Thus goythe the voyce and rore:
And truthe yt is indeade;
For all men nowe do breade
Which
[303] can ketche any lande
Out of the poore mans
[304] hande;
For who ys so greate a grasyer
As the landlorde
[305] and the laweare?
For at
[306] every drawing daye
The bucher more must paye
For his fatting ware,
Another tyme to crave,
When, he more shepe wold have;
And,
[308] to elevate the pryce,
Somewhate he must ryce
Withe a sinque or a sice,
So that the bucher cannot spare,
Towardes his charges and his fare,
To sell the very carcas bare
Vnder xijˢ or a marke,
[Wiche is a pytyfull werke.]
Besyde the offall and the flece,
[309]The flece and the fell:
Thus he dothe yt sell.
Alas, alas, alas,
This is a pitious case!
What poore man nowe is able
To have meate on his table?
An oxe at foure
[310] pounde,
Yf he be any thynge rounde,
Or cum not in theire
[311] grounde,
Suche laboure for to waste:
This ys the newe caste,
The newe cast from the olde;
This comon pryce thei holde;
Whiche is a very ruthe,
Yf men myght saye the truthe.
The comons
[312] thus dothe saye,
They are not able to paye,
Vox populi, vox Dei;
O most noble kyng,
Consydre well this thynge!
Howe saye you to this, my lordes?
Are not these playne recordes?
Ye knowe as well as I,
This
[314] makes the comons crye,
This makes theym crye and wepe,
Myssevsing so theire shepe,
Theire shepe, and eke theire beves,
As yll or
[315] wourse then theaves:
Vnto a comonwealthe
This ys a very stealthe.
But you that welthe
[316] this bete,
You landlordes
[317] that be grete,
You wolde not pay so for your meate,
Excepte your grasing ware so sweate,
Or elles I
[318] feare me I,
Ye wold fynde remeadye,
[319]And that
[320] right shortlye.
But yet this extremytie,
None feles yt but the comynaltie:
Alas, is there no remedye,
To helpe theym of this
[321] myserye?
Yf there shuld come a rayne,
To make a dearthe of grayne,
As God may send yt playne
For our covetous and disdayne,
I wold knowe, among vs
[322] all,
What ware he
[323] that shuld not fall
And sorowe as he went,
For Godes ponyshment?
Alas, this were a plage
[324]For poverties pocession,
Towardes theire suppression,
For the greate mens transgression!
Alas, my lordes, foresee
There may be remeadye!
For the
[325] comons saye,
Thei have no more to paye:
Vox populi, vox Dei;
O most noble kyng,
Consydre well this thyng!
And yet not long agoo
Was preachers on or twoo,
That spake yt playne inowe
To you, to you, and to you,
Hygh tyme for to repent
[326]This dyvelishe entent
[Of covitis the convente]:
From Scotland into Kent
This preaching was bysprent;
And from the easte frount
Vnto Saynct Myghelles Mount,
This sayeng
[327] dyd surmount
Abrode to all mens eares,
And to your graces peeres,
That from piller vnto
[328] post
The powr man he
[329] was tost;
I meane the labouring man,
I meane the husbandman,
I meane the ploughman,
I meane the
[330] playne true man,
I meane the handecrafteman,
I meane the victualing
[331] man,
Also
[332] the good yeman,
That some tyme in this realme
Had plentye of kye and creame,
[Butter, egges, and chesse,
Hony, vax, and besse]:
But now, alacke, alacke,
All theise men goo to wracke,
That are the bodye and the
[333] staye
Of your graces realme allwaye!
Allwaye and at leinghe
Thei must be your streinghe,
Your streinghe and your teme,
For to defende your realme.
Then yf theise men appall,
And lacke when you do call,
Which way may you or shall
Resist your enemyes all,
That over raging streames
Will vade
[334] from forreyn reames?
For me to make judiciall,
This matter is to mystycall;
Judge you, my lordes, for me you shall,
Yours ys the charge that governes all;
For vox populi me thei call,
That makith but reherssall
De parvo,
[335] but not
de totall,
De locis, but not locall:
Therfore you must not blame
The wight that wrot the same;
For the comons
[336] of this land
Have
[337] sowen this in theire sande,
Plowing yt withe theire hande;
I founde it wheare I stande;
And I am but the hayne
[338]That wryttes yt newe
[339] agayne,
The coppye for to see,
That also learneth me
To take therby good hede
My shepe howe for to fede;
For I a shepherd am,
A sorye poore man;
Yet wolde I wyshe, my lordes,
This myght be
[340] your recordes,
And make of yt no dreame,
For yt ys a worthy realme,
A realme that in tymes past
Hath made the prowdest
[341] agast.
Therfore,
[342] my lordes all,
Note this in especiall,
And have it in memoryall
[With youre wysse vnyversall,
That nether faver nor effection,
Yowe grawnt youre protection
To suche as hath
[343] by election
Shall rewle by erection,
And doth gett the perfection
Of the powre menes refection;
Wiche ys a grett innormyte
Vnto youre grasys commynalte;
For thay that of latt did supe
Owtt of an aschyn cuppe,
Are wonderfully sprowng vpe;
That nowght was worth of latt,
Hath now a cubborde of platt,
His tabell furnyscheyd tooe,
With platt besett inowe,
Persell gylte and sownde,
Well worth towo thousand pounde.
With castinge cownteres and ther pen,
Thes are the vpstart gentylmen;
Thes are thay that dewowre
All the goodes of the pawre,
And makes them dotysche davys,
Vnder the cowler of the kenges lawys.
And yett annother
[344] decaye
To youre grasys seetes alwaye;
For the statte of all youre marchantmen
Vndo most parte of youre gentyllmen,
And wrape them in suche bandes
That thay haue halle ther landes,
And payeth but halfe in hande,
Tyll thay more vnderstownde
Of the profett of there lande,
And for the other halfe
He shalbe mayd a calfe,
Excepte he haue gud frendes
Wiche well cane waye bothe endes;
And yet with frendes tooe
He shall haue mvche to doe;
Wiche ys a grett innormyte
To youre grasys regallyte.
Lett marchantmen goe sayle
For that ys ther trwe waylle;
For of one c. ye haue not ten
That now be marchantes ventring men,
That occupi grett inawnderes,
Forther then into Flanderes,
Flawnderes or into France,
For fere of some myschance,
But lyeth at home, and standes
By morgage and purchasse of landes
Owtt of all gentyllmenes handes,
Wiche showld serve alwaye your grace
With horse and men in chasse;
Wiche ys a grett dewowre
Vnto youre regall pawre.
What presydente cane thay shewe,
That fowre skore yeres agooe,
That
[345] any marchant here,
Above all charges clere,
In landes myght lett to hyre
To thowsant markes by yere?
Other where shall ye fynde
A gentyllman by kynde,
But that thay wyll ly in the wynde,
To breng hyme fer behynde,
Or elles thay wyll haue all,
Yf nedes thay hyme
[346] forstall?
Wiche ys the hole decaye
Of your marchantmen, I saye,
And hynderes youre grasys costome
By the yere a thowsant pawnde,
And so marryth, the more petye,
The comonwelth of yche sytte,
And vndoth the cowntre,
As prosse [?] doth make propertie;
This matter most spesyally
Wolde be loked one quiclye.
Yett for ther recreation,
In pastime and procreation,
In tempore necessitatis,
I wysche thay myght haue grattis
Lysens to compownde,
To purchasse fortie pownde
Or fyfte at the moste,
By fyne or wrytte of post;
And yf any marchantman,
To lyve his occupieng then,
Wolde purchasse any more,
Lett hyme forfett it therfore.
Then showld ye se the trade
That marchantmen frist mayde,
Whyche wysse men dyd marshall,
For a welth vnyversall,
Yche man this lawe to lerne,
And trewly his goodes to yerne,
[347]The landlord with his terme,
The plowghtman with his ferme,
The kneght wyth his fare,
The marchant with his ware,
Then showld increse the helth
Of yche comonwelthe],
And be not withe me wrothe
[348]For tellyng you
[349] the trothe;
For I do heare yt everye daye,
How the comons thus do saye,
Yf thei hadde yt, thei wold paye:
Vox populi, vox Dei;
O most noble kyng,
Consydre well this thyng!
But, howe, Robyn, howe!
Whiche waye dothe the wynde blowe?
Herke! hercke! hercke!
Ys not here
[350] a pytious werke,
The grounde and the cheiffe
[351]Of all this hole
[352] myscheiffe?
For our covetous lordes
Dothe mynde no nother
[353] recordes,
But framyng fynes for fermes,
Withe to myche, as some termes,
Withe rentes and remaynders,
Withe surveye and surrenders,
Withe comons and comon ingenders,
Withe inclosyers and extenders,
Withe horde vp, but no spenders;
For a comonwealthe
Whiche
[354] is a verye stealthe.
Prove it who shall
To make therof tryall,
Thus goithe theire dyall:
I knowe not whates
[355] a clocke,
But by the countre cocke,
The mone
[356] nor yet the pryme,
Vntyll the sonne do shyne;
Or els I coulde tell
Howe all thynges shulde be well.
The compas may stand awrye,
But the carde wyll not lye:
Hale in your mayne shete,
[357]This tempest is to grete.
[For pawre men dayly sees
How officers
[358] takes their fees,
Summe yll, and some yet worse,
As good right as to pike there purse:
Deservethe this not Godes curse?
There consyenes ys sooe grett,
Thaye fere not to dischare,
[359]Yf it were as moche more,
Soe thay maye haue the stowre.
Thus is oure we[l]the vndone
By synguler commodome;
For we are in dyvision,
Bothe for reght and religion;
And, as some
[360] saythe,
We stagger in our faythe:
But excepte in shortt tyme
We drawe by one lyne,
And agre with one accorde,
Bothe the plowghman and the lorde,
We shall sore rewe
That ever this statte we knewe.]
The comons so do
[361] saye,
Yf thei had yt, thei wold paye:
Vox populi,[362] vox Dei;
O most noble kyng,
Consydre well this thynge!
Thus runnes this
[363] rumour about
Amongest the hole route;
Thei can not bryng aboute
How this thyng
[364] shuld be,
Yt hathe suche high degree:
The coyne yt is so scante,
That every man dothe wante,
And some thincke not so scace,
[365]But even as myche to base.
Our
[366] merchauntmen do saye,
Thei fynde it day by daye
To be a matter straunge,
When thei shulde make exchaunge
On the other side the sea,
Thei are dryven to theire plea;
For where oure pounde somtyme
Was better then theires by nyne,
Nowe ours, when yt comes
[367] forthe,
No better then theires is worthe,
No, nor scant soo good;
Thei saye so, by the roode.
How maye the merchauntman
Be able to occupye than,
Excepte, when he comes heare,
He sell his ware to deare?
He neades must have a lyveng,
Or elles, fye on hys
[368] wynneng!
This coyne by alteracion
Hathe brought this desolacyon,
Whiche is not yet all knowen
What myscheiffe it hathe sowen.
Thei saye, Woo worthe that man
That first that coyne began,
To put in any hedde
The mynde to suche a rede,
To come to suche a hiere
For covetous desyre!
I knowe not what it meanethe;
But this thei saye and deamythe,
[369]Væ illi[370] per quem scandalum venit!
For
[371] this wyll axe greate payne
Before it be well agayne,
Greate payne and sore
To make it as it was
[372] before.
The
[373] comons thus do saye,
Yf thei hadde yt, thei would paye:
Vox populi, vox Dei;
O most noble kynge,
Consydre well this thinge!
This matter is to trewe,
That many man
[374] dothe rewe
Theise sorowes doo ensue;
For poore men thei doo crye,
And saye it is awrye;
Thei saye thei can not be herde,
But styll from daye defferde,
When thei have any sute,
Thei maye goo blowe theire flute:
This
[375] goithe the comon brute.
The riche man wyll come in;
For he is sure to wynne,
For he can make his waye,
With hande in hande to paye,
Bothe to thicke and thynne;
[376]Or els to knowe theire
[377] pleasure,
My lorde is not at leysure;
[378]The poore man at the durre
Standes lyke an Island curre,
And dares not ons to sturre,
[379]Excepte he goo his waye,
And come another daye;
And then the matter is made,
That the poore man with his spade
Must no more his farme invade,
But must vse
[380] some other trade;
For yt is so agreed
That my ladye mesteres Mede
[381]Shall hym expulce with all spede,
And our master the landlorde
Shall have yt all at his accorde,
His house and farme agayne,
To make therof his vttermost
[382] gayne;
For his vantage wylbe more,
With shepe and cattell it to store,
And not to ploughe his grounde no more,
Excepte the fermour wyll aryere
The rent hyere by a hole yeare:
Yet must he have a fyne too,
The bargayne he may better
[383] knowe;
Which makes
[384] the marcket now so deare
That there be fewe that makes good cheare;
For the fermour must sell his goose,
As he may be able to paye for his house,
Or els, for non
[385] payeng the rent,
Avoyde at our Lady daye in Lent:
Thus the poore man shalbe shent;
And then he and his wyffe,
With theire children, all theire lyffe,
Doth crye oute and ban
Vpon this covetous
[386] man.
I sweare by God omnypotent,
I feare me
[387] that this presedent
Wyll make vs all for to be
[388] shent.
Trowe you, my lordes that be,
That God dothe not see
This riche mans charitie
Per speculum ænigmatæ?
[389]
Yes, yes, you riche lordes,
Yt is wrytten in Cristes recordes,
That Dives laye in the fyere
With Belsabub his sire,
And Pauper he above satte
In the seate of Habrahams lappe,
And was taken from thys Troye,
To lyve allwaye with God in ioye.
The
[390] comons thus do saye,
Yf thei had yt, thei wold paye:
Vox populi, vox Dei;
O most noble kyng,
Consydre well this thynge!
The prayse no les is worthe,
Godes worde is well sett forthe:
Yt never was more preached,
Nor never so playnlye teached;
Yt never was so hallowed,
Nor never so lytle followed
Bothe of highe and lowe,
As many a man dothe trowe;
[391]For this ys a
[392] playne perscripcion,
We have banyshed superstycion,
But styll we kepe ambycion;
We have sent awaye all cloysterers,
[393]But styll we kepe extorcyoners;
We have taken theire landes for theire abuse,
But we convert
[394] theym to a wourse vse.
Yf this tale be no lye,
My lordes, this goythe awrye;
Awrye, awrye ye goo,
With many thinges moo,
Quyte from the highe
[395] waye.
The comons thus do saye,
Yff thei hadd yt, thei wold paye:
Vox populi, vox Dei;
O most noble kyng,
Consydre well this thinge!
Off
[396] all this sequell
The faute I can not tell:
Put you together and spell,
My lordes of the councell.
I feare all be not well,
Ambycion so dothe swell,
As gothe
[397] by reporte,
Amonge
[398] the greatest sorte;
A wonderfull sorte of selles,
[399]That
vox populi telles,
[400]Of those bottomlesse welles,
[401]That are este, weast, and so furthe,
Bothe by southe, and also northe,
Withe riche, riche, and riche,
Withe riche, and to myche,
The poore men to begyle,
Withe sacke and packe to fyle,
[402][With suche as we compownd
For an offys ij thowsant pownde:
Howe maye suche men do reght,
Youre pawre men to requytt
Owtt of there trowbell and payne,
But thay most gett it agayne
By craft or such coarsyon,
By bryberey and playne exstorsyon?]
With many ferrelys moo,
That I could truly shewe:
There never was suche myserye,
Nor never so myche vserye.
The comons so
[403] do saye,
Yf we had ytt, we
[404] wold paye:
Vox populi, vox Dei;
O most noble kynge,
Consydre well this thynge!
And thus this ile of Brutes,
Most plentyfull of frutes,
Ys sodenlye decayede;
Poore men allmost dysmayde,
Thei are so overlayed:
I feare and am afrayde
Of the stroke of God,
Whiche ys a perelous rodde.
Praye, praye, praye,
We never se that daye;
For yf that daye do come,
We shall dyssever and ronne,
The father agaynst the sonne,
And one agaynst another.
By Godes blessed
[406] mother,
Or thei begynne to hugger,
For Godes sake looke aboute,
And staye betymes this route,
For feare thei doo come oute.
I put you out of doubte,
There ys no greate trust,
Yf trothe shuld be discuste:
Therfore, my lordes, take heade
That this gere do not brede
At
[407] chesse to playe a mate,
For then yt is to late:
We may well prove a checke,
But thei wyll have the neke;
[408]Yt is not to be wondered,
For thei are not to be nombred.
This the poore men saye,
[409]Yf thei hadde yt, thei wolde paye:
Vox populi, vox Dei;
O most noble kyng,
Consydre well this thinge!
Yt is not one alone
That this
[411] dothe gronte and grone,
And make
[412] this pytyous mone;
For yt is more then wonder,
To heare the infynyte nombre
Of poore men that dothe
[413] shewe
By reason yt must be soo.
Thei wishe and do coniector
[414]That my lordes grace and protector,
That cheiffe is nowe erector
And formost of the rynge,
Vnder our noble kynge,
That he wold se redresse
Of this moste greate excesse,
For yt stondes
[415] on hym no lesse;
For he is calde doubteles
A man of greate prowesse,
And so dothe beare the fame,
And dothe desyre the same;
His mynde thei saye is good,
Yf all wold followe his moode.
Nowe for to sett the frame,
To kepe styll this good name,
He must delaye all excuses,
And ponnyshe these greate abuses
Of these fynes and newe vses,
That have so many muses;
And first and pryncipallye
Suppresse this shamfull
[416] vsurye,
Comonlye called husbondrye;
For
[417] yf there be no remeadye
In tyme and that right shortlye,
Yt wyll breade to a pluresye,
Whiche is a greate innormytie
To all the kynges
[418] comynaltye;
For there is no smale nombre
That
[419] this faute dothe incombre:
Yt is a wordly wondre.
[420]The comons
[421] thus do saye,
Yf thei had yt, thei wolde paye:
Vox populi, vox Dei;
O most noble kyng,
Consydre well this thynge!
Nowe, at your graces leysour,
Yf you wyll see the seisor
Of all the cheffe treasure,
Heapyd without measure,
Of the substance of your realme,
As yt were in a dreame,
I wyll make an esteame,
In the handes of a fewe,
The trothe you to showe,
Howe
[423] this matter dothe goo;
For I wyll not spare
The trothe to declare;
For trothe trulye ment
Was never yet shent,
Nor never shent shalbe;
Note this text of me,
Yt may a
[424] tyme be framed
For feare some shuld be blamed,
But yt wyll not be shamed;
Yt is of suche a streinghe,
Yt wyll overcome at leinghe.
Yff nowe I shall not fayne,
The trothe to tell you playne
Of all
[425] those that do holde
The substance and the
[426] golde
And the treasure of this realme;
[427]And shortlye to call,
Allmost thei have all;
Att least thei have the
[428] trade
Of all
[429] that may be made:
And fyrst
[430] to declare
By
[431] a bryeffe what thei are,
To make shorte rehersall,
As well spyrytuall as temporall;
The laweare and the landelorde,
[432]The greate reave and the recorde,—
The recorde I meane is he
That hathe office or els ffee,
To serve our noble kyng
In his accomptes or
[433] recknyng
Of his treasure surmonttynge,—
Lorde chauncellour and chauncellours,
Masters of myntes and monyers,
Secondaryes and surveyours,
Auditors and receivours,
Customers and comptrollers,
Purvyours and prollers,
Marchauntes of greate sailes,
With the master
[434] of woodsales,
With grasyers and regraters,
With Master Williams of shepe masters,
And suche lyke comonwelthe
[435] wasters,
That of erable groundes make
[436] pasters,
[And payemasters suche as bythe
[437]With Trappes your golden smythe,]
With iij or iiij greate clothiars,
And the hole lybell of lawyars:
Withe theise and theire trayne,
To be bryeffe and playne,
Of theire to, to myche
[438] gayne
That thei take for theire payne,
Yt is knowen by ceirten sterres
[439]That thei may
[440] mayntayne your graces warres
By space
[441] of a hole yeare,
Be yt good chepe or deare,
Thoughe
[442] we shulde withstande
Both Fraunce and Scotlande,
And yet to leave ynough
Of money, ware, and stuffe,
Both in cattell and corne,
To more then thei were borne,
By patrymonye or bloode
To enherytte so myche goode.
By cause thei be so base,
Thei wylbe neadye and scase;
[443]For quod natura dedit
From gentle blode them
[444] ledyth;
And to force a chorlishe best
Nemo attollere potest:
Yet rather then thei wold goo before,
Thei wolde helpe your grace with somwhat more,
For thei be they
[445] that have the store;
Those be they wyll
[446] warraunt ye,
Though you toke
[447] never a penye
Of your poore comynaltie.
This is trewe vndoubtelye;
I dare affyrme it certeynlye;
For yf this world do holde,
Of force you must be bolde
To borowe theire fyne golde;
For thei have all
[448] the store;
For
[449] your comons have no more;
Ye may it call to lyght,
For yt is your awne right,
Yf that your grace have neade:
Beleve this as your Creade.
The poore men so
[450] do saye,
Yf thei had yt, thei wold paye
With a better wyll then thei:
Vox populi, vox Dei;
O most noble kyng,
Consyder well this thynge!
O worthiest protectour,
Be herin corrector!
And you, my lordes all,
Let not your honor appall,
But knocke betymes and call
For theise greate vsurers all;
Ye knowe the pryncypall:
What neadith
[452] more rehersall?
Yf you do not redresse
By tyme
[453] this coveteousnes,
My hed I hold and gage
[454],
There wylbe greate outrage;
Suche rage as never was seene
In any olde mans tyme.
Also for this perplexyte,
[455]Of these that are most welthye,
Yt ware a deade of charyte
To helpe theym of this
[456] pluresie:
Yt comes by suche greate fyttes
That it takes awaye
[457] theire wyttes,
Or els in byeng and sellynge.
Yf thei of this weare eased,
Your grace shuld be well pleased,
And thei but lytle deseased
Of this covetous dropsye,
That brynges theym to thys pluresie,
Bothe the pluresye and goute
[460],
Vncurable to be holpe [out],
Excepte your grace for pytie
Provyde this foresaid remeadye;
As doctors holde opynyon,
Both Ambros and Tertulian,
Withe the Swepestake and the Mynyon,
The Herte and
[461] the Swallowe,
And all the rest that followe,
Withe
[462] the Gallye and the Roo
That so swyffte do
[463] goo,
Goo, and that apase,
The Herrye and the Edwarde,
[465]—
God sende theym all well forwarde,
Withe all the hole fleete!
Whose councell complete
Saithe it is full mete
That greate heddes and dyscreate
Shulde loke well to theire feate.
Amen, I saye, so be ytt!
As all your comons praye
For your long healthe allwaye.
[466]Yf thei hadde yt, thei wold paye
[With a better wyll then thay]:
Vox populi, vox Dei,
Thus dothe wrytte, and thus doth saye,
With this psalme, Miserere mei;
O most noble kyng,
Consyder well this thynge!
ffinis quothe Mr. Skelton, Poete Lawriate.
[467]