Selected quad for the lemma: prince_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
prince_n	edward_n	king_n	scot_n	2,478	5	9.8785	5	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A12282	Here after foloweth certayne bokes, co[m]pyled by mayster Skelton, Poet Laureat whose names here after shall appere. Speke parrot The deth of the noble prince Kyng Edwarde the fourth. A treatyse of the Scottes. Ware the hawke The tunnyng of Elynour Rummynge.; Selections	Skelton, John, 1460?-1529.	1545 (1545)	STC 22598; ESTC S110976	19,532	66

¶ Here after foloweth certayne bokes cōpyled by mayster Skelton Poet Laureat whose names here after shall appere Speke Parrot The deth of the noble prince Kyng Edwarde the fourth A treatyse of the Scottes Ware the Hawke The Tunnyng of Elynour Rummynge ¶ Printed at London by Richard Lant for Henry Tab dwelling in Pauls churchyard at the sygne of Iudith My name is Parrot a byrd of paradyse By nature deuysed of a wonderuos kynde Dyentely dyeted with dyuers dylycate spyce Tyl Euphrates that flode dryueth me into Inde where men of that countrey by fortune me fynd And send me to greate ladyes of estate Then parot must haue an almon or a date ¶ A cage curyously caruen with syluer pyn Properly paynted to be my couertowre A myrrour of glasse that I may toote therin These maidens ful mekely with many a diuers flowre Freshly they dresse a●d make swete my bowre with speke parrot I pray you full curtesly they say Parrot is a goodly byrd a prety Popag●y ¶ With my becke bent my lyttyl wanton eye My fedders freshe as is the Emrawde grene A bout my neck a cyrculet lyke the ryche rubye My lyttyll leggys my feet both fete and clene ● am a mynyon to wayt vppon the quene My proper Parrot my lyttyl prety foole ●ith ladyes I lerne and go with them to scole ¶ Hagh ha ha Parrot ye can laugh pretyly Parrot hath not dy●ed of al this long day ●yke your pus cate Parrot can mute and cry ●n lattyn in Ebrew Araby and Caldey ●n greke tong Parrot can bothe speke and say ●s Percyus that poet doth reporte of me ●uis expediuit ꝑsitacio suum Chire Dowse french of parryse Parrot can lerne Pronoūsynge my purpose after my properte With perlie● byen Parrot ou perle● rien With Douch with Spanysh my tong can agre In Englysh to god Parrot can snpple Cryst saue Kyng Henry the viii our Royall Kyng The red rose in honour to florysh and sprynge with Kateryne Incōparable our Ryall quene also That pereles pomegarnet chryst saue her noble grac● Parrot sauies habler castiliano With sidasso de cosso in turkey and in trace Uis consilii expers as techith me borace Mole ruit sua whose dictes ar pregnaunte Souente● foys Parrot en souenaunte My lady maystres dame philology Gaue me a gyfte in my nest whan I laye To lerne all language and it to spake aptely Now pande● mory wax frantycke some men saye Phroneses for freneses may not holde her way An almo● now for Parrot dilycatly drest In salue fest a dies toto theyr doth best Moderata iuuant but toto doth excede Dyscressyon is moder of noble vertues all Niden agan in greke tonge we rede But reason and wyt wantyth theyr prouyncyall When wylfulnes is vycar geuerall Hecres acu tangitur Parrot parmafoy Tice● vous Parrot Tene● vous coye Besy besy besy and besynes agayne Que pense● vo● Parrot what meneth this besynes Uitulus in Oreb troubled Aro●s brayne Melchisedeck mercyfull made Molot mercyles To wyse is no vertue to medlyng to restles In mesure is tresure cum sensu mat●rato Ne tropo sanno ne tropo mato Aram was fyred with Caldies fyer called Ut Iobab was brought vp in the lande of Hus The lynage of Lo● toke supporte of Assur Iereboseth is Ebrue who lyst the cause dyscus Peace Parrot ye prate as ye were ebrius Howst the lyur● god van hemrik ic seg In popering grew peres whan Parrot was an eg What is this to purpose ouer in a whynnymeg Hop Lobyn of Lowdeon wald haue e byt of bred The Iebet of Baldock was made for Iack Leg A narrow vnfethered and withont an hed A Bagbyte without blowynge standeth in no sted Some run to far before some run to far behynde Some be to churlysshe and some be to kynde ¶ Ic dien serueth for the Exstrych fether Ic dien is the language of the land of Beme In Affryc tongue Byrsa is a thonge of lecher In Palestina there is Ierusalem Collustrū now for parot whyte bred swete creme Our thomasē she doth trip our ienet she doth shayle Parrot hath a blacke beard a fayre grene tayle● Moryshe myne owne shelfe the costermonger sayth Fate fate fate ye Irysh water lag In flattryng fables men fynde but lyttyl fayth But moueatur terra let the world wag Let syr wrig wrag wrastell with syr delarag Euery man after his maner of wayes Pawbeunearuer so the welche man sayes ¶ Suche shredis of sentence strowed in the shop Of auncyent Aristippus and such other mo I gader to gyther and close in my crop Of my wanton conseyt v●de do promo Dilemata docta in pedagogio Sacro vatum where of to you I breke I pray you let parot haue lyberte to speke ¶ But ware the cat parot ware the fals cat with who is there a mayd nay nay I trow ware ryat parrot ware ryot ware that Mete mete for parrot mete I say how Thus dyners of language by lernyng I grow with bas me swete parrot bas me swete swete To dwell amonge ladyes parrot is mete ¶ Parrot parrot parrot praty popigay with my beke I can pyke my lyttel praty too My delyght is solas pleasure dysporte and pley Lyke a wanton whan I wyll I rele to and froo Parot ca● say Ceser aue also But parrot hath no fauour to Esebon Aboue all other byrdis set parrot alone ¶ Ulula Esebon for Ieromy doth wepe Sion is in sadnes Rachell ruly doth loke Madionita Ietro our moyses kepyth his shepe Gedeon is gon that zalmane vndertoke Oreb et zeb of Iudicum rede the boke Now Geball Amon Amaloch harke harke Parrot pretendith to be a bybyll clarke ¶ O Esebon Esebon to the is cum agayne Seon the regent amorreorum And Og that fat hog of basan doth retayne The crafty coistronus canaueor●m And assilum whilom refugium miserorum Non pha●ū sed prophanū standyth in lyttyll sted Ulula Esebon for Iepte is starke ded ¶ Esebon Marybon wheston nert Barnet A trym tram for an horse myll it were a nyse thyng Deyntes for dammoysels Chaffer far fet Bo ho doth bark wel but hough ho he rulyth that rīg Frō scarpary to tartary renoun therin doth spryng with he sayd we said ich wot now what ich wot Quod magnus est dominus Iudas scarioth ¶ Tholomye and haly were cunny●g and wyse In the vol vell in the quadrāt and in the astroloby To pronosty cate truly the chaūce of fortunys dyse Som trete of theyr tirykis som of astrology Som pseudo propheta with Ciromancy yf fortune be frendly and grace be the guyde Honowre with renowne wyll ren o● that syde Monon Calon Agatō qd parato In greco ¶ Let parrot I pray you haue lyerte to prate For aurea lyngua greca ought to be magnyfyed yf it were co●d perfytely and after the rate As lyngua latina in scote matter occupyed But our grekis theyr greke so well

away O lady Bes long for me may ye call For I am departyd tyldomys day But loue ye that lorde that is souerayn of all Where be my castels and buyldynges royall But Wyndsore alone now I haue no mo And of Eton the prayers perpetuall Et ecce nunc in puluere dormio ¶ Why sholde a man be proud or presume hye Saynt Bernard thereof nobly doth trete Seyth a man is but a sack of stercorty And shall returne vnto wormys mete Why what cam of Alexaunder the greate Orels of strong Sampson who can tell Were not wormes ordeyned theyr flesh to fre●e And of Salamon that was of wyt the well Absolon profferyd his heare for to sell Yet for all his bewte wormys ete him also And I but late in honour dyd excell Et Ecce nunc in puluere dormio I haue pleyd my pageyond now am I past Ye wot well all I was of no great yeld This al thyng concludyd shal be at the last when deth approchyth then lost is the felde Then sythen this world me no lenger vp helde Nor nought wolde conserue me here in my place In manus tuas domine my sprite vp I yelde Humbly besechyng the god of thy grace O ye curtes commyns your hertys vnbrace Benyngly now to pray for me also For ryght wel you know your kyng I was Et Ecce nunc in puluere dormio Finis ¶ Skelton Laureate agaynst the Scottes ¶ Agaynst the prowde Scottys claterynge That neuer wyll leue theyr tratlynge Wan they the felde and lost theyr kynge They may well say fye on that wynnynge TO these fond sottes And tratlyng Skottys How they are blynde In theyr owne mynde And wyll not know Theyr ouer throw At branxton more They are so stowre So frantyke mad They say they had And wan the felde With spere and shelde That is as trew As blacke is blew And grene is gray What euer they say Iemmy is ded And closyd in led That was theyr owne kynge Fy on that wynnyng ¶ At Floddon hyllys Out bowys our byllys Slew all the floure Of theyr honoure Are nat these scottys Folys and sottys Such boste to make To prate and crake To face to brace All voyde of grace So prowde of hart So ouerthwart So out of frame So voyde of shame As it is enrolde Wrytten and tolde With in this quaire Who lyst repayre And ther in reed Shall fynde in deed A mad rekenynge Consydrynge all thynge That the scottys may synge Fy on the wynnynge ¶ When the Scotte lyued IOly Iemmy ye scornefull Scot Is it come vnto your lot A solempne sumner for to be It greyth nought for your degre Our Kynge of England for to sygh● Your souerayne lord our prynce of myght Ye for to sende suche a Cytacyon It shameth all your noughty nacyon In comparyson but kynge Koppynge Unto one prince anoynted kyng Ye play Hop Lobbyn of Lowdean ye shew ryght well what good ye can ye may be lorde of Locryan Chryst fence you with a fryinge pan Of Edynge borrow and saynt Ionys towne A dieu syr sumner cast of your crowne ¶ When the Scot was slayne COntynually I shall remember The mery moneth of september With the xi day of the same For then began our myrth and game So that now I haue deuysed And in my mynde I haue comprised Of the prowde Scot kynge Iemmy To write some lytell tragedy For no maner consyderacyon Of any sorowfull Lamentacyon But for the specyall consolacyon Of all our royall englysh nacyon ¶ Melnomone O muse tragedy all Unto your grace for grace now I call To guyde my pen and my pen to enbybe Illumyn me your Poete and your Sstybe That with myrture of Aloes and bytter gall I may compounde confectures for A●cordyall To angre the Scottes Irysh keterynges with all That late were discomfect with battayle mar●yall ¶ Thalya my Muse for you also call I To touche them with tauntes of your armony A medley to make of myrth with sadnes The hertes of England to comfort with gladnes And now to begyn I wyll me adres To you rehersyng the somme of my proces KInge Iamy Iemmy Iocky my Io ye Summond our kyng why dyd ye so To you nothing it dyd accorde To Summon our kyng your soueraygne lorde A kyng a Sumner it was great wonder Know ye not suger and salt a sonder your Sumner to saucy to malapert your harrold in armes not yet halfe expert ye thought ye dyd yet valyauntly Not worth thre skyppes of a Pye Syr skyr galyard ye were so skyt your wyll than ran before your wyt your lege ye layd and your aly your frantyck fable not worth a fly Frenche kyng or one or other Regardyd ye shuld your lord your brother Trowyd ye syr Iemy his nobull grace From you syr scot wolde turne his lace With guy syr scot of Galaway Now is your pryde fall to decay Male vryd was your fals entent For to offend your presydent your soueraygne lorde most reuerent your lorde your brother and your regent ¶ In him is sygured Melchisedec And ye were disloyall Amalec He is our noble Scipione Anoynted kyng and ye were none Though ye vntruly your father haue slayne His tytle is true in Fraunce to raygne And ye proud scot Dunde Dunbar Pardy ye were his homager And su●er to his parlyament For your vntruth now arye shent ye bare your selfe som what to bold Therfore ye lost your copye hold ye were bonde tenent to his estate Lost is your game ye art check mate ¶ Unto the castell of Norram I vnderstand to sone ye came At Branxston more and Floddrn hylles Our Englysh bowes our Englysh bylles Agaynst you gaue so sharpe a shower That of Scotland ye lost the flower The white lyon there rampaunt of moode He ragyd and rent out your hart bloode He the white and ye the red The white there slew the red starke ded Thus for your guerdon quyt ar ye Thankyd be god in Trinyte And swete saynt George our ladyes knyghe youre eye is out a dew good nyght ¶ ye were starke mad to make a fray His grace beyng out of the way But by the power and myght of god For youre owne tayle ye made a rod ye wantyd wyt sir at a worde ye lost your spurrys ye lost your sworde ye myght haue buskyd you to huutley bankys your pryde was peuysh to play such prankys youre pouerte cowde not attayne with our kyng royall war to mayntayne Of the kynge of Nauer●e ye might take heed Ungraciously how he doth speed In double delyng so he dyd dreme That he is kyng without a Reme And for example he wold none take Experiens hath brought you in such a brake your welth yonr ioy your sport your play your braggyng bost your royall aray your beard so brym as bore at bay your seuen systers that Gun so gay All haue ye lost and cast away Thus fortune hath tourned you I dare well say Now from a kyng to