Part 48 (1/2)

This Princesse hathe by favour of nature, Repared ageine that wynter hathe defade, And foolis loustely reviv---- Theire l.u.s.ty notes, and theire ermenye glade; And under braunches, under plesant shade, Rejoyssing theire with many swete odours, And Zepherus with many fresshe odours, Copirted fayre, with motleye whyte and rede, All hilles, pleynes, and l.u.s.ty bankes grene, And made hir bawme to fleete in every mede; And fury Tytane shewe oute heer tresses sheene, And upon busshes, and hawthornes kene, The nightingale with plesant ermonye, Colde wynter stormes nowe she dothe defye.

On Parnoso, the l.u.s.ty Muses nyene, Citheera with hir sone nowe dwellis, This sayson singe, and theire notes tuwyne, Of poetrye, besyde the cristal wellis, Calyope the dytes of hem tellis; And Orpheus with hees stringes sharpe, Syngethe a roundell with his temperd herpe.

Wherfore to alle estates here present, This plesant tyme, moste of l.u.s.tynesse, May, is nowe comen to fore yowe of entent, To bringe yowe alle to joye and fresshnesse, Prosparitee, welfare, and al gladnesse; And al that may youre hyenesse qweerne and pleese, In any parte or doone youre hertes eese.

LONDON LICPENYE.

[_From the Copy in the Autograph of John Stow, in the Harleian MS._ 542, f. 102.]

In London ther I was lent, I saw myselfe where trouthe shuld be ateynte; Fast to Westminstar ward I went, To a man of lawe to make my complaynt; I sayd for Maris love, that holy seynt, Have pity on the powre that would procede; I would gyve sylvar, but my purs is faynt, For lacke of money I may not spede.

As I thrast thrughe out the thronge, Among them all my hode was gonn; Netheles I let not longe, To Kyngs benche tyll I come; Byfore a juge I knelyd anon, I prayd hym for G.o.ds sake he would take hede; Full rewfully to hym I gan make my mone, For lacke of money I may not spede.

Benethe hym set clerks a great rowt, Fast they writen by one a.s.sent; There stode up one and cryed round about, Richard, Robert, and one of Kent: I wist not wele what he ment, He cried so thike there indede, There were stronge theves shamed and shent, But they that laked money mowght not spede.

Unto the Comon place y yowde thoo, Where sat one with a sylker houde; I dyd hym reverence as me ought to do; I tolde hym my case as well as I coude, And sayd all my goods by nowrd and by sowde, I am defrawdyd with great falshed; He would not geve me a momme of his mouthe, For lake of money I may not spede.

Then I went me unto the Rollis, Before the clerks of the Chauncerie; There were many qui tollis, But I herd no man speke of me; Before them I knelyd upon my kne, Shewyd them myne evedence, and they began to reade.

They seyde trewer thinge might there nevar be, But for lacke of money I may not spede.

In Westminster hall I found one, Went in a longe gown of ray; I crowched and kneled before them anone, For Marys love of helpe I gan them pray; As he had be wrothe, he voyded away, Bakward his hand he gan me byd, I wot not what thow menest gan he say, Ley downe sylvar, or here thow may not spede.

In all Westminstar hall I could find nevar a one, That for me would do, thowghe I shuld dye; Without the dores were Flemings grete woon; Upon me fast they gan to cry, And sayd, Mastar, what will ye cepen or by?

Fine felt hatts, spectacles for to rede; Of this gay gere a great cawse why, For lake of money I might not spede.

Then to Westminster gate y went, When the sone was at highe prime; c.o.kes to me, they toke good entent, Called me nere, for to dyne, And proferyd me good brede, ale, and wyne; A fayre clothe they began to sprede, Rybbes of beffe bothe fat and fine; But for lacke of money I might not spede.

In to London I gan me hy; Of all the lond it bearethe the prise, Hot pescods, one gan cry, Strabery rype, and chery in the ryse; One bad me come nere and by some spice, Pepar, and saffron, they gan me bede, Clove, grayns, and flowre of rise; For lacke of money I might not spede.

Then into Chepe I gan me drawne, Where I sawe stond moche people; One bad me come nere, and by fine cloth of lawne, Paris thred coton and umple; I seyd there upon I could no skyle, I am not wont there to in dede, One bad me by an hewre my hed to hele; For lake of money I might not spede.

Then went I forth by London stone, Thrught out all Canywike strete; Drapors to me they called anone, Grete chepe of clothe they gan me hete; Then come ther one, and cried hot shepes fete; Risshes faire and grene, anothar began to grede, Bothe melwell and makarell I gran mete; But for lacke of money I myght not spede.

Then I hied me into Est Chepe; One cries ribes of befe, and many a pie; Pewtar potts they clatteryd or a heape; Ther was harpe, pipe, and sawtry; Ye by c.o.kke, nay by c.o.kke, some began to cry; Some sang of Jenken and Julian, to get themselves mede; Ful fayne I wold hadd of that mynstralsie, But for lacke of money I cowld not spede.

Into Cornhill anon I yede, Where is moche stolne gere amonge; I saw wher henge myne owne hode, That I had lost in Westminstar amonge the throng; Then I beheld it with lokes full longe, I kenned it as well as I dyd my crede, To be myne owne hode agayne; me thought it wrong, But for lacke of money I might not spede.

Then came the Taverner, and toke me by the sleve, And seyd Ser, a pint of wyn would yow a.s.say?

Syr, qwod I, it may not greve, For a peny may do no more then it may: I dranke a pint, and therefore gan pay; Sore a hungred away I yede, For well London lykke peny for ones eye, For lake of money I may not spede.

Then I hyed me to Byllingesgate, And cried wagge wagge gow hens; I praye a barge man, for G.o.ds sake, That they would spare me myn expens; He sayde, ryse up, man, and get the hens, What menist thow, I will do on the no almes dede, Here scapeth no man byneth ij pens, For lacke of money I myght not spede.

Then I conveyed me into Kent; For of the law would I medle no more, By caus no man to me would take entent, I dight me to the plowe even as I did before.

Thus save London that in Bethelem was bore, And every trew man of law G.o.d graunt hymsels med, And they that be othar, G.o.d theyr state restore; For he that lacketh money with them he shall not spede.

EXPLICIT LONDON LIKKE PENY.

LONDON LYCKPENY.

A BALLADE COMPYLED BY DAN JOHN LYDGATE MONKE OF BERY, ABOUT ---- YERES AGOE, AND NOW NEWLY OVERSENE AND AMENDED.

[_Harleian MSS._ 367, f. 126, 127.]