Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE AUNCIENT ACQUAINTANCE, MADAM, by JOHN SKELTON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE AUNCIENT ACQUAINTANCE, MADAM, by             Poem Explanation     Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: The auncient acquaintance, madam, between us twain
Last Line: Or ells with gret shame your game wilbe sene.
Subject(s): Jealousy


The auncient acquaintance, madam, betwen us twain,
The familiarite, the formar daliaunce,
Causith me that I can not myself refraine
But that I must write for my pleasaunt pastaunce:
Remembring your passing goodly countenaunce,
Your goodly port, your beuteous visage,
Ye may be countid comfort of all corage.
Of all your feturs favorable to make tru discripcion,
I am insufficient to make such enterprise;
For thus dare I say, without contradiccion,
That dame Melanippe was never half so wise:
Yet so it is that a rumer beginnith for to rise,
How in good horsmen ye set your hole delight,
And have forgoten your old trew loving knight.
With bound and rebound, bounsingly take up
His jentill curtoil, and set nought by small naggis!
Spur up at the hinder girth, with, gup, morell, gup!
With, jaist ye, jenet of Spaine, for your taill waggis!
Ye cast all your corage uppon such courtly haggis.
Have in sergeaunt ferrour, mine horse behinde is bare;
He rideth well the horse, but he rideth better the mare.
Ware, ware, the mare winsith with her wanton hele!
She kikith with her kalkins and keilith with a clench;
She goith wide behinde, and hewith never a dele:
Ware galling in the widders, ware of that wrenche!
It is perlous for a horseman to dig in the trenche.
This grevith your husband, that right jentill knight,
And so with youre servantis he fersly doth fight.
So fersly he fitith, his minde is so fell,
That he drivith them downe with dintes on ther daywach;
He bresith their brainpannis and makith them to swell,
Theire browis all to-brokin, such clappis they cach;
Whose jalausy malicious makith them to lepe the hach;
By their conusaunce knowing how they serve a wily py:
Ask all your neibours whether that I ly.
It can be no counsell that is cried at the cros:
For your jentill husband sorowfull am I;
How be it, he is not furst hath had a los:
Advertising you, madame, to warke more secretly,
Let not all the world make an outcry;
Play faire play, madame, and loke ye play clene,
Or ells with gret shame your game wilbe sene.





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