English

And all those horses
our man of the tall hills
comes riding on
have tufts of hair
like the brahman urchins

Bless you. Listen to me:

my man wore the flowers,
and there were young leaves for me;

their blossoms gold,
their buds, sapphire;

tell me, what do you call
those trees on his mountain slopes?

Akananuru 82

In his country,

summer west wind blows
flute music
through bright beetle-holes in the waving bamboos.
The sweet sound of waterfalls is continuous,
dense as drums.
The urgent lowing voices of a herd of stags
are oboes,
the bees on the flowering slopes
become lutes.

Excited by such teeming voices,
an audience of female monkeys
watches in wonder
the peacock in the bamboo hill
sway and strut
like a dancer
making an entrance

Kuruntokai 3

Bigger than earth, certainly,
higher than the sky,
more unfathomable than the waters
is this love for this man

of the mountain slopes
where bees make rich honey
from the flowers of the kurinci
that has such black stalks.

Bailie

I Can perceiue none other, I speke it from my hart
But either ye ar in al the fault or els in ye greatest part

D. Rat

If it be counted his fault, besides all his greeues
When a poore man is spoyled: and beaten among theeues?
Then I confesse my fault herein, at this season,
But I hope you wil not iudge so much against reason.

Baily

And me thinkes by your owne tale, of all that ye name,
If any plaid the theefe you were the very same.
The women they did nothing, as your words make probation

D. Rat

A Man were better twenty times be a bandog & barke,
Then here among such a sort, be parish priest
Where he shal neuer be at rest, one pissing while a day
But he must trudge about the towne, this way, and that way,
Here to a drab, there to a theefe, his shoes to teare and rent
And that which is worst of al, at euery knaues commauindement
I had not sit the space, to drmke two pots of ale
But Gammer gurtons sory boy, was straite way at my taile,
And she was sicke, and I must come, to do I wot not what,

Hodge

Sym glouer yet gramercy, chain meetlye well sped now,
Thart euen as good a felow as euer kyste a cowe,
Here is a thonge in dede, by ye masse though ich speake it
Tom tankards great bald curtal, I thinke could not breake it
And when he spyed my neede to lie so straight and hard,
Hays lent me here his naull, to set the gyb for-ward,
As for my Gammers neele, the flyenge feynd go weete,
Chill not now go to the doore againe with it to meete:

Chould make shyfe good inough and chad a candels ende,

Backe and syde go bare, go bare, booth foote and hande go colde:
But Bellye god sende thee good ale ynoughe, whether it be newe or olde.
I Can not eate but lytle meate, my stomacke is not good:
But sure I thmke that I can drynke with him that weares a hood.
Thoughe I go bare take ye no care, I am nothinge a colde:
I stuffe my skyn so full within, of ioly good Ale and olde.

Backe and syde go bare go bare, booth foote and hand go colde:
But belly god send the good ale inoughe whether it be new or olde.

Diccon

Many a myle haue I walked, diuers and sundry waies
And many a good mans house haue I bin at in my daies
Many a gossips cup in my tyme haue I tasted
And many a broche and spyt, haue I both turned and basted
Many a peece of bacon haue I had out of thir balkes
In ronnyng ouer the countrey, with long and were walkes,
Yet came my foote neuer, within those doore cheekes,
To seeke flesh orfysh Garlyke Onyons or Leekes,
That euer I saw a sorte, in such a plyght
As here within this house appereth to my syght,

BOOK III

Incipit liber tercius.

Invocation

O God of science and of lyght,
Appollo, thurgh thy grete myght,
This lytel laste bok thou gye!
Nat that I wilne, for maistrye,
Here art poetical be shewed,
But for the rym ys lyght and lewed,
Yit make hyt sumwhat agreable,
Though som vers favle in a sillable;
And that I do no diligence
To shewe craft, but o sentence.
And yif, devyne vertu, thow
Wilt helpe me to shewe now