告诉你我chyll,如果你们wyll whyle styll, Of a comely gyll That dwelt on a hyll: But she is not gryll, For she is somwhat sage And well worne in age; For her vysage It would aswage A mannes courage. Her lothely lere Is nothynge clere, But ugly of chere, Droupy and drowsy, Scurvy and lowsy; Her face all bowsy, Comely crynkled, Woundersly wrynkled, Lyke a rost pygges eare, Brystled wyth here. Her lewde lyppes twayne, They slaver, men sayne, Lyke a ropy rayne, A gummy glayre: She is ugly fayre; Her nose somdele hoked, And camously croked, Never stoppynge, But ever droppynge; Her skynne lose and slacke, Grained lyke a sacke; With a croked backe. Her eyen gowndy Are full unsowndy, For they are blered; And she gray hered; Jawed lyke a jetty; A man would have pytty To se how she is gumbed, Fyngered and thumbed, Gently joynted, Gresed and annoynted Up to the knockles; The bones of her huckels Lyke as they were with buckels Togyther made fast: Her youth is farre past: Foted lyke a plane, Legged lyke a crane; And yet she wyll jet, Lyke a jollyvet, In her furred flocket, And gray russet rocket, With symper the cocket. Her huke of Lyncole grene, It had ben hers, I wene, More then fourty yere; And so doth it apere, For the grene bare thredes Loke lyke sere wedes, Wyddered lyke hay, The woll worne away; And yet I dare saye She thynketh herselfe gaye Upon the holy daye, Whan she doth her aray, And gyrdeth in her gytes Stytched and pranked with pletes; Her kyrtel Brystow red, With clothes upon her hed That wey a sowe of led, Wrythen in wonder wyse, After the Sarasyns gyse With a whym wham, Knyt with a trym tram, Upon her brayne pan, Lyke an Egyptian, Capped about: When she goeth out Herselfe for to shewe, She dryveth downe the dewe Wyth a payre of heles As brode as two wheles; She hobles as a gose With her blanket hose Over the falowe; Her shone smered wyth talowe, Gresed upon dyrt That baudeth her skyrt. Primus passus And this comely dame, I understande, her name Is Elynour Rummynge, At home in her wonnynge; And as men say She dwelt in Sothray, In a certayne stede Bysyde Lederhede. She is a tonnysh gyb; The devyll and she be syb. But to make up my tale, She breweth noppy ale, And maketh therof port sale To travellars, to tynkers, To sweters, to swynkers, And all good ale drynkers, That wyll nothynge spare, But drynke tyll they stare And brynge themselfe bare, With, "Now away the mare, And let us sley care, As wyse as an hare!" Come who so wyll To Elynour on the hyll, Wyth, "Fyll the cup, fyll," And syt there by styll, Erly and late: Thyther cometh Kate, Cysly, and Sare, With theyr legges bare, And also theyr fete, Hardely, full unswete; Wyth theyr heles dagged, Theyr kyrtelles all to-jagged, Theyr smockes all to-ragged, Wyth titters and tatters, Brynge dysshes and platters, Wyth all theyr myght runnynge To Elynour Rummynge, To have of her tunnynge: She leneth them on the same. And thus begynneth the game. Instede of coyne and monny, Some brynge her a conny, And some a pot with honny, Some a salt, and some a spone, Some theyr hose, some theyr shone; Some ran a good trot With a skellet or a pot; Some fyll theyr pot full Of good Lemster woll: An huswyfe of trust, Whan she is athrust, Suche a webbe can spyn, Her thryft is full thyn. Some go streyght thyder, Be it slaty or slyder; They holde the hye waye, They care not what men say, Be that as be maye; Some, lothe to be espyde, Start in at the backe syde, Over the hedge and pale, And all for the good ale. Some renne tyll they swete, Brynge wyth them malte or whete, And dame Elynour entrete To byrle them of the best. Than cometh an other gest; She swered by the rode of rest, Her lyppes are so drye, Without drynke she must dye; Therefore fyll it by and by, And have here a pecke of ry. Anone cometh another, As drye as the other, And wyth her doth brynge Mele, salte, or other thynge, Her harvest gyrdle, her weddyng rynge, To pay for her scot As cometh to her lot. Som bryngeth her husbandes hood, Because the ale is good; Another brought her his cap To offer to the ale-tap, Wyth flaxe and wyth towe; And some brought sowre dowe; Wyth, "Hey, and wyth, Howe, Syt we downe a-rowe, And drynke tyll we blowe, And pype tyrly tyrlowe!" Some layde to pledge Theyr hatchet and theyr wedge, Theyr hekell and theyr rele, Theyr rocke, theyr spynnyng whele; And some went so narrowe,