Fortunés wheel go'th round about

A thousand timés day and night, Whose course standeth ever in doubt

For to transmue she is so light, For which adverteth in your sight

Th' untrust of worldly fickleness, Save women, which of kindly right

Ne hath no touch of doubleness.

What man ymay the wind restrain,

Or holden a snake by the tail? Who may a slipper eel constrain

That it will void withouten fail? Or who can driven so a nail

To maké sure newfangleness, Save women, that can gie their sail

To row their boat with doubleness ?

At

every haven they can arrive Whereat they wot is good passáge; Of innocence they cannot strive

With wawés, nor no rockés rage; So happy is their lodemanage

With needle' and stone their course to dress, That Solomon was not so sage

To find in them no doubleness.

Therefore whoso doth them accuse

Of any double intention,
To speaké rown, other to muse,
To pinch at their condition,

All is but false collusión,

I dare right well the soth express; They have no better protection,

But shroud them under doubleness.

So well fortunéd is their chance,

The dice to-turnen up so down, With sice and cinque they can advance,

And then by revolution They set a fell conclusión

Of lombés, as in sothfastness, Though clerkés maken mention

Their kind is fret with doubleness.

Sampson yhad experience

That women were full true yfound When Dalila of innocence

With shearés 'gan his hair to round; To speak also of Rosamond,

And Cleopatra's faithfulness, The stories plainly will confound

Men that apeach their doubleness.

Single thing is not ypraised,

Nor of old is of no renown,
In balance when they be ypesed,

For lack of weight they be borne down, And for this cause of just reason

These women all of rightwisness
Of choice and free election
Most love exchange and doubleness.

L'ENVOI.

O YE women! which be inclinéd
By influence of your natúre
To be as pure as gold yfinéd,
And in your truth for to endure,
Armeth yourself in strong armúre,
(Lest men assail your sikerness)
Set on your breast, yourself t' assure,
A mighty shield of doubleness.

John Skelton

Ladies' Darling

My name is Parrot, a byrd of paradise,
By nature devised of wondrous kind,
Daintily dieted with divers delicate spice,
Till Euphrates, that floodé, driveth me to Inde,
Where men of that countrey by fortuné me find,
And send me to great ladies of estate.
Then Parrot must have an almon or a date;
A cage curiously carv'n, with silver pin,
Properly painted, to be my coverture;
A mirror of glass, that I may toot therein.
These maidens full meeklý. with many a divers flow'r
Freshly they dress and maké sweet my bower.
"Speak, Parrot, I pray you,” full curtesly they say:
“Parrot is a goodly byrd, a pretty popagey."
With beak ybent, my little wanton eye,
My feathers fresh as is the emeraud green,
About my neck a circlet like riche ruby,
My little leggés, feet both neat and clean,
I am a minión to wait upon a queen.
"My proper Parrot, my little pretty fool,”
From ladies I learn, and go with them to school.
“Ha, ha! Parrót, ye can laugh prettily;
Parrot hath dined of all this longé day.
Like your pusscat Parrot can mute and cry
In Latin, Ebrew, Araby, and Chaldéy.
In Greek tongue Parrot can both speak and say,

As Persius, that poet, doth report of me,
“Quis expedivit psittaco suum chairé? ”
The French of Parrysé Parrot can learn,
Pronouncing my purpose after my property,
With, “ Parlez bien, Parrot, ou parlez rien."
With Dutch, with Spanish, my tongue can agree;
In English to God Parrot can supplé:
“ Christ save Henry VIII., our royal King,
The redde rose in honour to flourish and to spring!”

-“Speak, Parrot."

Fire! Fire!

SKELTON was an Englishman born as Skogyn was, and he was educated and brought up in Oxford, and there was he made a poet laureate. On time he had been to Abingdon to make merry, where he had eat salt meats; and he did come home late to Oxford, and he did lie in an inn named the Tabor, which is now the Angel. And he did drinke, and went to bed. About middle night he was so thirsty or dry that he was constrained to call to the tapster for drinke; and the tapster heard him not. “Alack," said Skelton, “I shall perish for lack of drinke!” What remede? At the last he did cry out, and said, “ Fire! fire! fire!” Skelton heard every man bustle himself upward; and some were naked, and some were half asleep and amazed. And Skelton did cry, “Fire! fire!” still, that every man knew not whither to resort. Then did Skelton go to bed, and the host and hostess, and the tapster with the ostler, did run to Skelton's chamber with candles lighted in their handes, saying, “Where, where, where is the fire?” “Here, here,