And also theyr fete She leaneth them of the same Wyth theyr naked pappes Some skewed as a kytten Some looke strawrye To Elynoure resorte From tyde to tyde And to you shall be toulde HERE AFTER FOLOWETTH A LITLE BOKE OF PHILIP SPAROW, COMPILED BY MASTER SKELTON, POET LAUREATE. PLA Ce bo Who is there who Di le xi, Dame Margery Fa re my my Wherfore and why why For the soule of Philip Sparow For that sweet soules sake Set in our bead roules Pater noster qui With an Aue maria And with the corner of a creed WHAN I remembre agayne Was betwene you twayne Pyramus and Thesbe Whom Gib our cat hath slayne. What heauines did me pange For that I was robbed O mayden, widow and wife Of what estate ye be Great sorow then ye might se Wel nye stopped my breathe. Heu heu me That I am woe for thee Ad dominum cum tribularer clamavi Of God nothing els craue I BUT Philips soule to kepe Wher Cerberus doth barke Whom Theseus did afray Whom Hercules did out tray That lyeth in chaynes bound That Philip preserued maye bee Do mi nus Helpe now sweet Jesus Levavi oculos meos in montis OR Socrates the wyse Like Andromaca Hectors wife Was weary of her lyfe When she had lost her joy Noble Hector of Troy Encreaseth my deadly woe And learned after my scoole |