John Skelton Quotes (1460-1529)

“The flecked pie to chatter Of this dolorous matter. And robyn redbreast He shall be the preest, The requiem masse to synge, Softly warbelynge, With helpe of the red sparrow And the chattrynge swallow This herse for to halow.”

“Also Johnn Lydgate Wryteth after an hyer rate; It is dyffuse to fynde The sentence of his mynde, Yet wryteth he in his kynd, No man that can amend Those maters that he hath pende; Yet some men fynde a faute, And say he wryteth too haute.”

“Nowe, after my dome, Dame Sulpicia at Rome, Whose name regystred was For euer in tables of bras, Because that she dyd pas In poesy to endyte, And eloquently to wryte, Though she wolde pretende My sparowe to commende, I trowe she coude not amende Reportynge the vertues all Of my sparowe royall.”

“What memory or reason is sufficient To remembre the myracles of this lady What tong can expresse / or pen is convenient It were a pleasaunt werke for the monke of Bury For Chaucer or Skelton / fathers of eloquens Or for religious Barkley to shewe theyr diligens”

“I praye mayster Iohn Skelton late created poete laureate in the unyversite of oxenforde to oversee and correcte this sayd booke. And taddresse and expowne where as shalle be founde faulte to theym that shall requyre it. For hym I knowe for suffycyent to expowne and englysshe every dyffyculte that is therin / For he hath late translated the epystlys of Tulle / and the boke of dyodorus syculus. and diverse other werkes oute of latyn in to englysshe not in rude and olde langage. but in polysshed and ornate termes craftely. as he that hath redde vyrgyle / ovyde. tullye. and all the other noble poetes and oratours / to me unknowen: And also he hath redde the ix. muses and understande theyr musicalle scyences. and to whom of theym eche scyence is appropred. I suppose he hath dronken of Elyons well.”

“In one respect the Garlande of Laurell stands without a parallel: the history of literature affords no second example of a poet having deliberately written sixteen hundred lines in honour of himself.”

“Nor can much be said for John Skelton (1460?–1529), not the last poet-laureate hardly to deserve the first part of his title, though his idiosyncratic doggerel breathed vigour, a crude humour, and—especially in his attacks on Wolsey (Speke, Parrot and Why Come Ye Nat Courte?, 1522–3)—a genuine savagery. ... But the man who could think of commending a lady with the pedestrian lines "How shall I report/All the goodly sort/Of her features clear/That hath none earthly peer?" ... was a very long way from true poetry.”

“There is in your household that light and glory of English letters, Skelton, who is capable not only of stimulating your appetite for learning, but of satisfying your hunger well.”

“This land gently nourishes the poets who are my attendants, among whom Skelton is rightly to be celebrated.”