Unfortunately, this "poem" isn't one of mine .... I found it in an anthology of "nonsense poems" and it was actually written by one John Skelton ?1460-1529. [ although this one isn't really "nonsense" at all ] [ You will be surprised to hear that I have rather a lot of books of "nonsense" ] Itte be a bitt wandery abowt, sew hav I chowse " Ye beste bittes" Yore taske, shoudde you undertayke itte, is to wurkke owte watte theym byrdes be, and a-watte they be a-dwyn. To wepe with me loke that ye come, All maner of byrdes in your kynd; So none be left behynde. To mornynge loke that ye fall With dolorous songes funerall, Some to synge, and some to say, Some to wepe, and some to pray, Every byrde in his laye: The goldfynche, the wagtayle; The janglynge jay to rayle, The fleckyd pye to chatter Of this dolorous mater. And Robyn Redbrest He shall be the preest, The requiem masse to synge, Softly warbelynge, With helpe of the red sparow And the chattrynge swallow, The herse for to halow. The larke with his long to; The spynke and the martynet also; The shovelar with his brode bek; The doterell, that folyshe peck; And also the mad coote, With a bald face to toote; The feldefare and the snyte; The crowe and the kyte; The ravyn called Rolfe, His playne song to solfe; The partryche, the quayle; The plover with us to wayle; The woodhacke,that syngeth 'chur', Horsly, as he had the mur; The lusty chauntyng nyghtyngale; The popyngay to tell her tale, That toteth oft in a glasse, Shall rede the gospell at masse; The mavys with her whystell Shall rede there the pystell. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Thatt were jyste ye starrt ... mych mor to cumme. Witt ye Lorde's bowntwrfyl blessyng. I heyre thatte thatte "Stormzey" be syngyne atte Glastyrnbry .... ..... lykke thys I wysshe
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorThat's the author up there ... I was young and sprightly then. Archives
October 2022
|