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aduersyte agayne Agaynst Alasse behynde boke brynge bytter coude countenaunce Counterfet Court Dame deuyll doth drede Elynour euery Fansy Faukes's fayre faythe fole foly fresshe fynde gaue goodly gose grace grete gyue harte hath hede hert hyght John Skelton Kele's kepe knaue Kynge and Marche Lant's largesse latria laureat loke lorde loue lyberte lyfe lyke lyst lytell Magn Magnyfycence maner Marshe Marshe's mayster moche myght mynde myne neuer noble nothynge nyght ouer playne Poet Laureat poetes quod rede ryght saue Sawe I never sayd saye shewe sholde shulde shyne sodenly Somtyme sparowe speke styll swete synge tell ther theyr thou Thow thynge thynke trouth trowe tyll tyme vnder vnto vpon wele welth whan Wherfore whyle wolde Worde's wote wryte wyde wyfe wyll wyse wyst wyth ye haue
Page 292 - Ye, syr, yesterday wyll not be callyd agayne : But yet, syr, nowe in this case, Take it mekely, and thanke God of his grace ; For nowe go I wyll begge for you some mete ; 2060 It is foly agaynst God for to plete ; I wyll walke nowe with my beggers baggys, And happe you the whyles with these homly raggys. Discedendo^ dicat ista verba.
Page c - The ltory, or plot, is the trial of Simony and Avarice: the Devil is the judge, and the Notary Public acts as an assessor or scribe. The prisoners, as we may suppose, are found guilty, and ordered into hell immediately. There is no sort of propriety in calling this play The Necromancer; for the only business and use of his character, is to open the subject in a long prologue,, to evoke the Devil, and summon the court.
Page 55 - Lord, how he wolde pry After the butterfly ! Lorde, how he wolde hop After the gressop ! And whan I sayd, 'Phyp, Phyp,' Than he wold lepe and skyp, And take me by the lyp.
Page 61 - Alas, my face waxeth pale, Tellynge this pyteyus tale, How my byrde so fayre, That was wont to repayre, And go in at my spayre, And crepe in at my gore...
Page 52 - I syghed and I sobbed For that I was robbed Of my sparowes lyfe. O mayden, wydow, and wyfe, Of what estate ye be Of hye or lowe degre Great sorowe than ye myght se And lerne to wepe at me...
Page xcix - The NIGRAMANSIR, a morall ENTERLUDE and a pithie written by Maister SKELTON laureate and plaid before the king and other estatys at Woodstoke on Palme Sunday' . It was printed by Wynkin de Worde in a thin quarto, in the year 1504.
Page 265 - That some of them renneth strayght to the stuse ; To thefte and bryboury I make some fall, And pyke a locke and clyme a wall ; And where I spy a nysot gay, That wyll syt ydyll all the day...
Page 287 - He knewe not hymselfe, his harte was so hye; Nowe is there no man that wyll set by hym a flye: He was wonte to boste, brage, and to brace; Nowe dare he not for shame loke one in the face: All worldly welth for hym to lytell was; Nowe hath he ryght nought, naked as an asse: Somtyme without measure he trusted in golde, And now without mesure he shal haue hunger and colde.
Page 139 - O RADIANT Luminary of lyght intermynable, Celestial Father, potenciall God of myght, Of heauen and earth, O Lord incomperable, Of all perfections the essencial most perfyght ! O Maker of mankynde, that formyd day and nyghte, Whose power imperyal comprehendeth euery place ! Myne hert, my mynde, my thought, my hole delyght Is, after this lyfe, to see thy glorious face : Whose magnifycence is incomprehensybyll, All argumentes of reason which far doth excede, Whose Deite dowtles is indiuysybyll...