Whan that Haouk of Ioway’s faire lande
Hath slain me wyth such verses from hys hande
That I upon my floore hath felle and howl-ed
Laughing withal as I rolled upon it,
My neighborman hath knocked upon my walle
And for my swift demyse did smartlye calle,
That I didst mortify his nyght’s refreshment
Whan Weems’s petard hoist him in his vestment.
Weems talked the fool in Englaunds’s sanctuary
Now spyderwebbed, where once, knights knelt to Mary
And sware to honore Cryste, the Source of Trothe;
But where a buffoon now spake shame. Forsooth!
The rowan tree itselfe would have more smarts
Than Anglica’s oulde man, emitting farts
And stinking up the place with thoughts of Satan’s.
Mayhap Weems thynkkes to merit many virgins.
pynge
Meseems the Angle-churche hath left ye Pope
Hath left ye Catholicke Faythe and alle hoope
Hath left Reform Repentance and Reknoowne
And Right and Reason tumbled alle a-doowne
For to embrace the Musselman’s Tradition?
Yea, tis folked up past Allah recognition.