Part 29 (1/2)

Here are a few quotations from it:--

”Pla ce bo,*

Who is there who?

Di le sci, Dame Margery; Fa re my my, Wherefore and why why?

For the soul of Philip Sparrow That was late slain at Carowe Among the nuns black, For that sweet soul's sake, And for all sparrows' souls, Set in our bead rolls, Pater Noster qui, With an Ave Mari, And with the corner of a creed, The more shall be your need.

*Placebo is the first word of the first chant in the service for the dead. Skelton has here made it into three words. The chant is called the Placebo from the first word.

I wept and I wailed, The tears down hailed, But nothing it availed To call Philip again, That Gib our cat hath slain.

Gib, I say, our cat Worried her on that Which I loved best.

It cannot be expressed My sorrowful heaviness And all without redress.

It had a velvet cap, And would sit upon my lap, And seek after small worms, And sometimes white bread-crumbs.

Sometimes he would gasp When he saw a wasp, A fly or a gnat He would fly at that; And prettily he would pant When he saw an ant; Lord, how he would fly After the b.u.t.terfly.

And when I said Phip, Phip Then he would leap and skip, And take me by the lip.

Alas it will me slo,*

That Philip is gone me fro.

*Slay.

For it would come and go, And fly so to and fro; And on me it would leap When I was asleep, And his feathers shake, Wherewith he would make Me often for to wake.

That vengeance I ask and cry, By way of exclamation, On all the whole nation Of cats wild and tame.

G.o.d send them sorrow and shame!

That cat especially That slew so cruelly My little pretty sparrow That I brought up at Carowe.

O cat of churlish kind, The fiend was in thy mind, When thou my bird untwined.*

I would thou hadst been blind.

The leopards savage, The lions in their rage, Might catch thee in their paws And gnaw thee in their jaws.

*Tore to pieces.

These villainous false cats, Were made for mice and rats, And not for birdies small.

Alas, mine heart is slayeth My Philip's doleful death, When I remember it, How prettily it would sit, Many times and oft, Upon my finger aloft.

To weep with me, look that ye come, All manner of birds of your kind; So none be left behind, To mourning look that ye fall With dolorous songs funeral, Some to sing, and some to say, Some to weep, and some to pray, Every bird in his lay.

The goldfinch and the wagtail; The gangling jay to rail, The flecked pie to chatter Of the dolorous matter; The robin redbreast, He shall be the priest, The requiem ma.s.s to sing, Softly warbling, With help of the red sparrow, And the chattering swallow, This hea.r.s.e for to hallow; The lark with his lung too, The chaffinch and the martinet also; . . . .

The l.u.s.ty chanting nightingale, The popinjay to tell her tale, That peepeth oft in the gla.s.s, Shall read the Gospel at ma.s.s; The mavis with her whistle Shall read there the Epistle, But with a large and a long To keep just plain song.

The peac.o.c.k so proud, Because his voice is loud, And hath a glorious tail He shall sing the grayle;*