Classic Poem

A froward knave pleynly to descryve
And a sloggard schortly to declare:
A precious knave that cast hym neuer to thryve,
His mouth wel wet, his slevis riht thredbare,
A turnebroche, a boy for Hogge of Ware,
With louryng face, noddyng and slombryng,
Of newe crystened and callid Iakke Hare:
Wich of a boll can plukke out the lynyng.

This boy Maymond, ful styborne of his bonys,
Sloggy on morwen his lemes vp to dresse,
A gentel harlot chose out for the nonys:
Son and cheef eyr to dame Idylnesse,
Cosyn to Wecok, brother to Reklesnesse,
Wich late at eve and morwe at his rysyng
Ne hath no ioie to do no besynesse,
Saue of a tancard to plukke out þe lynyng.

A boy Chekrelyk was his sworen brother
Of euery dyssh a lypet out to take.
And Fafyntycol also was another
Of euery brybe the caryage for to make.
He can wel waytyn on an oven cake
And of newe ale been at the clensyng:
And of purpos his thruste for to slake
Kan of a pechur plukke out the lynyng.

This knave be leyser wil don al his massage
And holde a tale with euery maner wight:
Ful pale dronk, wel vernysshed of visage
(Whos tonge ay faileth whan it draweth to nyht)
Of o candell he weneth too wer lyght.
As barkyd leder his face ys schynyng,
Glasy-eied wol cleyme of dew right
Out of a boll to plukke out the lynyng.

He can abedd an horskambe wel shake
Lyk as he wold coray his masters hors.
And with his on hand his masters doublet take
And with the tother preuly kutt hys purs.
Al swech knavis shul haue Cristys curs
Erly on morwe at ther vprysyng.
To fynde a boy I trow ther be non wors
Out of a pot to plukke out the lynyng.

He may be sold vpon warantyse
As for a truant that no thyng wil doon:
To sel hors prouendre is his chef marchaundise
And for a chevesaunce can pluk of ther shoon.
And at the dyse pley the mony soon
And with hys wynnyngs he maketh his offryng,
At the ale-stakes, sittyng ageyn the moon,
Out of a cup to plukke out the lynyng.

L'envoye

Wassail to Maymond and to his iousy pate,
Vnthryft and he be togedre met.
Late at eve he wol onspere the gate
And grope on morwe yif Riggis bak be wet
And yif the bak of Togace be out-het.
Hys heuy noll at mydmorwe vplyfftyng
With onwassh hands, not lased his doublet,
Out of a boll to plukke out the lynyng.