John Skelton Quotes

Stedfast of thought,
Wele made, wele wrought;
Far may be sought
Erst that ye can fynde
So courteise, so kynde
As mirry Margarete,
This midsomer flowre,
Jentyll as fawcoun
Or hawke of the towre.

Maide, wydowe, or wyffe.

O ye wretched Scottes,
Ye puaunt pyspottes,
It shalbe your lottes
To be knytte up with knottes
Of halters and ropes
About your traytours throtes.

The wolfe from the dore.

Contynually I shall remember
The mery moneth of September,
With the ix day of the same,
For then began our myrth and game.
So that now I have devysed,
And in my mynde I have comprised,
Of the prowde Scot, kynge Jemmy,
To write some lytell tragedy,
For no maner consyderacyon
Of any sorowfull lamentacyon,
But for the specyall consolacyon
Of all our royall Englysh nacyon.

When I remember again How my Philip was slain, Never half the pain Was between you twain, Pyramus and Thisbe, As then befell to me. I wept and I wailed, The tearės down hailed, But nothing it availed To call Philip again Whom Gib, our cat, hath slain.

At Branxton More and Flodden hylles,
Our Englysh bowes, our Englysh bylles,
Agaynst you gave so sharpe a shower,
That of Scotland ye lost the flower.

The honor of Englond I lernyd to spelle,
In dygnyte roiall that doth excelle.

In the spight of his teeth.

He knew what is what.

How olde proverbys says,
That byrd ys not honest
That fylythe hys owne nest.

With solace and gladness,
Much mirth and no madness,
All good and no badness;
So joyously,
So maidenly,
So womanly,
Her demeaning.

She is the violet,
The daisy delectable,
The columbine commendable,
The jelofer amiable;
For this most goodly flower,
This blossom of fresh colour,
So Jupiter me succour,
She flourisheth new and new
In beauty and virtue.

Thy myrrour may be the devyllys ars.

Thou hast to lytell myght
Agaynst Englande to fyght.