Classic Poem

FIT THE FIRST

And this comely dame,
I understand, her name
Is Elinour Rumming,
At home in her wonning;
And as men say
She dwelt in Surrey,
In a certain stead
Beside Leatherhead.
She is a tonnish gib,
The devil and she be sib.

But to make up my tale,
She breweth nappy ale,
And maketh thereof pot-sale
To travellers, to tinkers,
To sweaters, to swinkers,
And all good ale-drinkers,
That will nothing spare
But drink till they stare
And bring themselves bare,
With " Now away the mare!
And let us slay care."
As wise as an hare!

Come whoso will
To Elinour on the hill
With " Fill the cup, fill!"
And sit there by still,
Early and late.
Thither cometh Kate,
Cisly and Sarah,
With their legs bar─ù,
And also their feet
Hardely full unsweet;
With their heel─ùs dagged,
Their kirtles all to-jagged,
Their smock─ùs all to-ragged,
With titters and tatters,
Bring dishes and platters,
With all their might running
To Elinour Rumming
To have of her tunning.
She lendeth them on the same,
And thus beginneth the game.
Some wenches come unlaced,
Some housewives come unbraced,
With their naked papp─ùs,
That flipp─ùs and flapp─ùs,
That wigg─ùs and wagg─ùs
Like tawny saffron bagg─ùs;
A sort of foul drabb─ùs
All scurvy with scabb─ùs.
Some be flybitten,
Some skewed as a kitten;
Some with a shoe-clout
Bind their head─ùs about;
Some have no hair-lace,
Their locks about their face,
Their tresses untrussed
All full of unlust;
Some look strawry,
Some cawry-mawry;
Full untidy tegg─ùs,
Like rotten egg─ùs.
Such a lewd sort
To Elinour resort
From tide to tide.
Abide, abide!
And to you shall be told
How her ale is sold
To Maud and to Mold.