Poetry. John Skelton. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: John Skelton
Издательство: Bookwire
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Жанр произведения: Языкознание
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isbn: 4064066309909
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let hym ryng the bellys;

      He can do nothyng ellys.

      Chaunteclere, our coke,

      Must tell what is of the clocke

      By the astrology

      That he hath naturally

      By Albumazer

      The astronomer,

      Nor by Ptholomy

      Prince of astronomy,

      Nor yet by Haly;

      And yet he croweth dayly

      That no man abydes,

      With Partlot his hen,

      Whom now and then 510

      Hee plucketh by the hede

      Whan he doth her trede.

      The byrde of Araby,

      That potencyally

      May neuer dye,

      And yet there is none

      But one alone;

      A phenex it is

      This herse that must blys

      With armatycke gummes 520

      The way of thurifycation

      With greate reuerence,

      As patryarke or pope

      In a blacke cope;

      He shall synge the verse,

      Libera me,

      In de, la, soll, re,

      Softly bemole

      For my sparowes soule.

      Plinni sheweth all

      In his story naturall

      What he doth fynde

      Of the phenyx kynde;

      Of whose incyneracyon 540

      There ryseth a new creacyon

      Of the same facyon

      Without alteracyon,

      Sauyng that olde age

      Is turned into corage

      Of fresshe youth agayne;

      This matter trew and playne,

      Playne matter indede,

      Who so lyst to rede.

      But for the egle doth flye 550

      Hyest in the skye,

      The quere to demeane,

      As prouost pryncypall,

      To teach them theyr ordynall;

      Also the noble fawcon,

      The tarsell gentyll,

      They shall morne soft and styll

      In theyr amysse of gray; 560

      The sacre with them shall say

      Dirige for Phyllyppes soule;

      The goshauke shall haue a role

      The queresters to controll;

      Shall stand in their morning gounes;

      The hobby and the muskette

      The sensers and the crosse shall fet;

      The kestrell in all this warke

      And now the darke cloudy nyght

      Chaseth away Phebus bryght,

      Taking his course toward the west,

      God sende my sparoes sole good rest!

      Requiem æternam dona eis,[391] Domine!

      A por ta in fe ri,

      Fa, fa, fa, my, my.

      Credo videre bona Domini,

      I pray God, Phillip to heuen may fly! 580

       Domine, exaudi orationem meam!

      To heuen he shall, from heuen he cam!

       Do mi nus vo bis cum!

      Of al good praiers God send him sum!

       Oremus.

      Deus, cui proprium est misereri et parcere,

      On Phillips soule haue pyte!

      For he was a prety cocke,

      And came of a gentyll stocke,

      And wrapt in a maidenes smocke, 590

      And cherysshed full dayntely,

      But whereto shuld I

      Lenger morne or crye?

      To Jupyter I call,

      Of heuen emperyall,

      That Phyllyp may fly

      Aboue the starry sky,

      To treade the prety wren, 600

      That is our Ladyes hen:

      Amen, amen, amen!

      Yet one thynge is behynde,

      An epytaphe I wold haue

      For