< Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf
How! old thief, thy wits are lame;
Certes his mouth is wried and black,
Sitteth now still and learn of me
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THE MASQUE OF QUEEN BERSABE.
secundus miles.
To clip such it is no shame;
I rede you in the devil's name,
Ye come not here to make men game;
By Termagaunt that maketh grame,
I shall to-bete thine head.
Hic Diabolus capiat eum.
This knave hath sharp fingers, perfay;
Mahound you thank and keep alway,
And give you good knees to pray;
What man hath no lust to play,
The devil wring his ears, I say;
There is no more but wellaway,
For now am I dead.
king david.
Full little pence be in his sack;
This devil hath him by the back,
It is no boot to lie.
nathan.
A little while and ye shall see
The face of God's strength presently.
All queens made as this Bersabe,
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