JOHN SKELTON

King Henry VIII, c1520. NPG.

A LAWDE AND PRAYSE MADE FOR OUR SOUEREIGNE LORD THE KYNG.

The rose both white and rede      In one rose now dothe grow; Thus thorow every stede      Thereof the fame dothe blow:      Grace the sede did sow: England, now gaddir flowris, Exclude now all dolowrs. Noble Henry the eight,      Thy loving sovereine lorde, Of kingis line moost streight,      His titille dothe recorde:      In whome dothe wele acorde Alexis yonge of age, Adrastus wise and sage. Astrea, Justice hight,      That from the starry sky Shall now com and do right,      This hunderd yere scantly      A man kowd not aspy That Right dwelt vs among, And that was the more wrong: Right shall the foxis chare,      The wolvis, the beris also, That wrowght have moche care,      And browght Englond in wo:      They shall wirry no mo, Nor wrote the Rosary By extort trechery. Of this our noble king      The law they shall not breke; They shall com to rekening;      No man for them wil speke:      The pepil durst not creke Theire grevis to complaine, They browght them in soche paine: Therfor no more they shall      The commouns ouerbace, That wont wer over all      Both lorde and knight to face;      For now the yeris of grace And welthe ar com agayne, That maketh England faine. Adonis of freshe colour,      Of yowthe the godely flour, Our prince of high honour,      Our paves, our succour,      Our king, our emperour, Our Priamus of Troy, Our welth, our worldly joy; Vpon vs he doth reigne,      That makith our hartis glad, As king moost soueraine      That ever Englond had;      Demure, sober, and sad, And Martis lusty knight; God save him in his right!                          Amen.                  Bien men sovient. Per me laurigerum Britonum Skeltonida              vatem.

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