This HTML e-text of "A ballade of the Scottysshe Kynge" (1513) by John Skelton, was created in May 2007 by Anniina Jokinen of  Luminarium. Source text: Skelton, John. "A ballade of the Scottysshe Kynge." A ballade of the Scottysshe kynge. Reproduced in facsimile. London: Elliot Stock, 1882. 93-96. This e-text was transcribed by Anniina Jokinen. It preserves the formatting of the original within the limits allowed by the medium. Line numbers have been added for ease of use. This edition is made available to the public for nonprofit purposes only. It is not represented by the publisher as a scholarly edition in the peer-reviewed sense. Unique site content is copyright ©2007 Anniina Jokinen. This e-text may not be reproduced or published in any form (including the Internet) without express written consent. Permission granted for printing and distributing in the classroom for educational purposes, with this header included. For corrections, comments, and queries, please email the publisher. A ballade of the Scottysshe Kynge Kynge Jamy, Jomy your Joye is all go Ye sommnoed our kynge why dyde ye so To you no thyng it dyde accorde To sommon our kynge your souerayne lorde. A kynge a somner it is wonder Knowe ye not salte and suger asonder In your somnynge ye were to malaperte And your harolde no thynge experte Ye thought ye dyde it full valyauntolye But not worth thre skppes of a pye; Syr squyer galyarde ye were to swyfte. Your wyll renne before your wytte. To be so scornefull to your alye, Your counseyle was not worth a flye. Before the frensshe kynge, danes, and other Ye ought to honour your lorde and brother Trowe ye syr Iames his noble grace, For you and your scottes wolde tourne his face Now ye prode scottes of gelawaye. For your kynge may synge welawaye Now must ye knowe our kynge for your regent, Your souerayne lorde and presedent, In hym is figured melchisedeche, And ye be desolate as armeleche He is our noble champyon. A kynge anoynted and ye be non Thrugh your counseyle your fader was slayne Wherfore I fere ye wyll suffre payne, And ye proude scottes of dunbar Parde ye be his homager. And suters to his parlyment, Ye dyde not your dewty therin. Wyerfore ye may it now repent Ye bere yourselfe som what to bolde, Therfore ye haue lost your copholde. Ye be bounde tenauntes to his estate. Gyue vp yovr game ye playe chekmate. For to the castell of norham I vnderstonde to soone ye cam. For a prysoner there now ye be Eyther to the deuyll or the trinite. Thanked be saynte Gorge our ladyes knythe Your pryd is paste ad we good nycht. Ye haue determyned to make a fraye Our kynge than beynge out of the waye But by the power and myght of god Ye were beten weth your owne rod By your wanton wyll syr at a worde Ye haue loste spores, cote armure, and sworde Ye had bet better to haue busked to huntey bãkes, Than in Englonde to playe ony suche prankes But ye had some wyle sede to sowe. Therfore ye be layde now full lowe, Your power coude no lenger attayne Warre with our kynge to meyntayne. Of the kynge of nauerne ye may take hede, How vnfortunately he doth now spede, In double welles now he dooth dreme. That is a kynge witou a realme At hym example ye wolde none take. Experyence hath brought you in the same brake Of the outyles ye roughfoted scottes, We have well eased you of the bottes Ye rowe ranke scottes and drõken danes Of our englysshe bowes ye haue fette your banes. It is not fyttynge in tour nor towne, A somner to were a kynges crowne That neble erle the whyte Lyon. Your pompe and pryde hath layde a downe His sone the lorde admyrall is full good. His swerde hath bathed in the scottes blode God saue kynge Henry and his lordes all And sende the frensshe kynge suche an other fall, Amen, for saynt charytë And god saue noble. Kynge Henry The viij. F  I  N  I  S.      5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 to John Skelton to Luminarium Editions ©1999-2007 Anniina Jokinen. All Rights Reserved.