John Skelton was an English poet, born in 1463 and died in 1529. Thus, like Chaucer, his English is less accessible than Shakespeare's, given the huge changes that English underwent in the subsequent century.
Some Dutch scholars have been making readings of his work in the presumed reconstructed original pronunciation of the Middle English – when I ran across the reading and first listened to it, I said to myself, "that sounds like Dutch." My question is, did it sound like Dutch because they're Dutch scholars reading Middle English with a Dutch accent, or did it sound like Dutch because that's what Middle English really sounded like (in which case, it's quite handy to have Dutch scholars working on it)? Dutch has always fascinated me – I took a single quarter of Dutch among the many "one quarter languages" I studied at the University of Minnesota. I have always felt that Dutch is what English would sound like if I didn't understand English.
What I'm listening to right now.
John Skelton (read by some Dutch guy), "Speke Parott." Anyway, I like this poem – it's quite cosmopolitan for 15th/16th century.
Lectoribus auctor recipit opusculi huius auxesim.
Crescet in immensum me vivo pagina presens;
Hinc mea dicetur Skeltonidis aurea fama.
PAROT
My name is Parrot, a byrd of Paradyse,
By Nature devised of a wonderowus kynde,
Deyntely dyeted with dyvers dylycate spyce,
Tyl Euphrates, that flode, dryveth me into Inde;
Where men of that countrey by fortune me fynde,
And send me to greate ladyes of estate;
Then Parot must have an almon or a date.
A cage curyously carven, with sylver pyn,
Properly paynted, to be my covertowre;
A myrrour of glasse, that I may toote therin;
These maidens ful mekely with many a divers flowre
Freshly they dresse, and make swete my bowre,
With, ‘Speke, Parrot, I pray you,’ full curtesly they say;
‘Parrot is a goodly byrd, a prety popagey.’
With my becke bent, my lyttyl wanton eye,
My fedders freshe as is the emrawde grene,
About my neck a cyrculet lyke the ryche rubye,
My lytyll leggys, my feet both fete and clene,
I am a mynyon to wayt uppon a quene;
‘My proper Parrot, my lyttyl prety foole.’
With ladyes I lerne, and go with them to scole.
‘Hagh, ha, ha, Parrot, ye can laugh pretyly!’
‘Parrot hath not dyned of al this long day;’
‘Lyke ower pus cate, Parrot can mewte and cry.’
In Lattyn, in Ebrew, Araby, and Caldey;
In Greke tong Parrot can bothe speke and say,
As Percyus, that poet, doth reporte of me,
Quis expedivit psittaco suum chaire?
Dowse French of Parryse Parrot can lerne,
Pronounsynge my purpose after my properte,
With, Perliez byen, Parrot, ou perlez rien;
With Douch, with Spanysh, my tong can agre;
In Englysh to God Parrot can supple:
Cryst save Kyng Henry the viii., our royall kyng,
The red rose honour to florysh and sprynge!
With Kateryne incomparable, our ryall quene also,
That pereles pomegarnet, Chryst save her noble grace!
Parrot, saves habler Castiliano,
With fidasso de cosso in Turkey and in Trace;
Vis consilii expers, as techith me Horace,
Mole ruit sua, whose dictes ar pregnaunte,
Soventez foys, Parrot, en sovenaunte.
My lady maystres, dame Philology,
Gave me a gyfte in my nest whan I laye,
To lerne all language, and it to spake aptely:
Now pandez mory, wax frantycke, some men saye;
Phroneses for Freneses may not holde her way.
An almon now for Parrot, dilycatly drest;
In Salve festa dies, toto ys the beste.
Moderata juvant, but toto doth excede;
Dyscressyon is moder of noble vertues all;
Myden agan in Greke tonge we rede;
But reason and wyt wantyth theyr provyncyall,
When wylfulnes is vycar general.
Hec res acu tangitur, Parrot, par ma foy:
Ticez vous, Parrot, tenez vous coye.
Besy, besy, besy, and besynes agayne!
Que pensez voz, Parrot? What meneth this besynes?
Vitulus in Oreb troubled Arons brayne,
Melchisedeck mercyfull made Moloc mercyles;
To wyse is no vertue, to medlyng, to restles;
In mesure is tresure, cum sensu maturato,
Ne tropo sanno, ne tropo mato.
Aram was fyred with Caldies fyer called Ur;
Iobab was brought up in the lande of Hus;
The lynage of Lot supporte of Assur;
Iereboseth is Ebrue, who lyst the cause dyscus.
Peace, Parrot, ye prate, as ye were ebrius:
Howst the, lyver God van Hemrik, ic seg;
In Popering grew peres, whan Parrot was an eg.
What is this to purpose? Over in a whynnymeg!
Hop Lobyn of Lowdeon wald have e byt of bred;
The Jebet of Baldock was made for Jack Leg.
An arrow unfethered and without an hed,
A bagpype wihout 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 serveth for the erstych fether,
Ic dien is the language of the land of Beme;
In Affryc tongue byrsa is a thonge of lether;
In Palestina here is Jerusalem.
Colostrum now for Parrot, whyte bred and swete creme!
Our Thomasen she doth trip, our Jenet she doth shayle;
Parrot hath a blacke beard and 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 moveatur terra, let the world wag,
Let syr Wrig-Wrag wrastell with Syr Delarag:
Every man after his maner of wayes,
Pawbe une aruer, so the Welche man sayes.
Suche shredis of sentence, strowed in the shop
Of auncyent Aristippus and such other mo,
I gader togyther and close in my crop,
Of my wanton conseyt, unde depromo
Dilemmata docta in paedagogio
Sacro vatum, whereof to you I breke:
I pray you, let Parot have 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 dyvers 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 can say, ‘Caesar, ave,’ also;
But Parrot hath no favour to Esebon:
Above all other byrdis, set Parrot alone.
Ulula, Esebon, for Jeromy doth wepe!
Sion is in sadnes, Rachell ruly doth loke;
Madionita Jetro, our Moyses kepyth his shepe;
Gedeon is gon, that Zalmane undertoke,
Oret et Zeb, of Judicum rede the boke;
Now Geball, Amon, and Amaloch, – harke, harke!
Parrot pretendith to be a bybyll clarke.
O Esebon, Esebon! To the is cum agayne
Seon, the regent Amorraeorum,
And Og, that fat hog of Basan, doth retayne,
The crafty coistronus Cananaeorum;
And asylum, whilom refugium miserorum,
Non fanum, sed profanum, standyth in lytyll sted;
Ulula, Esebon, for Jepte is starke ded!
Esebon, Marybon, Wheston next 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 the ring;
From Scarpary to Tartary renoun therin doth spryng,
With, ‘He sayd,’ and ‘We said.’ Ich wot now what ich wot,
Quod magnus est dominus Judas Scarioth.
Tholomye and Haly were cunnynd and wyse
In the volvell, in the quadrant, and in the astroloby,
To pronostycate truly the chaunce of fortunys dyse;
Some 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 on that syde.
Monon Calon Agaton,
Quod Parato
In Graeco.
Let Parrot, I pray you, have lyberte to prate,
For aurea lingua Graeca ought to be magnyfyed,
As lingua Latina, in scole matter occupyed;
But our Grekis theyr Greke so well have applyed,
That they cannot say in Greke, rydynge by the way,
How, hosteler, fetche my hors a botell of hay!
Neyther frame a silogisme in phrisesomorum,
Formaliter et Graece, cum medio termino;
Our Grekys ye walow in the washbol Argolicorum;
For though ye can tell in Greke what is phormio
Yet ye seke out your Greke in Capricornio;
For they scrape out good scrypture, and set in gall,
Ye go about to amende, and ye mare all.
Some argue secundum quid ad simpliciter,
And yet he wolde be rekenyd pro Areopagita;
And some make distinctions multipliciter,
Whether ita were before non, or non before ita,
Nether wise nor wel lernid, but like hermaphrodita:
Set Sophia asyde, for every Jack Raker
And every mad medler must now be a maker.
In Academia Parrot dare no probleme kepe,
For Graece fari so occupyeth the chayre,
That Latinum fari may fall to rest and slepe,
And syllogisari was drowned at Sturbrydge fayre;
Tryvyals and qatryvyals so sore now they appayre,
That Parrot the popagay hath pytye to beholde
How the rest of good lernyng is roufled up and trold.
Albertus de modo significandi,
And Donatus be dryven out of scole;
Prisians hed broken now handy dandy,
And Inter didascolos is rekened for a fole;
Alexander, a gander of Menanders pole,
With Da Cansales, is cast out of the gate,
And Da Racionales dare not shew his pate.
Plauti in his comedies a chyld shall now reherse,
And medyll with Quintylyan in his Declamacyons,
That Pety Caton can scantly construe a verse,
With Aveto in Graeco, and such solempne salutacyons,
Can skantly the tensis of his conjugacyons;
Settynge theyr myndys so moche of eloquens,
That of theyr scole maters lost is the hole sentens.
Now a nutmeg, a nutmeg, cum gariopholo,
For Parrot to pyke upon, his brayne for to stable,
Swete synamum styckis and pleris com musco!
In Paradyce, that place of pleasure perdurable,
The progeny of Parrottis were fayre and favorable;
Nowe in valle Ebron Parrot is fayne to fede:
‘Cristecrosse and Saynt Nicholas, Parrot, be your good spede!’
The myrrour that I tote in, quasi diaphanum,
Vel quasi speculum, in aenigmate,
Elencticum, or ells enthymematicum,
For logicion to loke on, somwhat sophistice:
Retoricyons and oratours in freshe humanyte,
Support Parrot, I pray you, with your suffrage ornate,
Of confuse tantum avoydynge the chekmate.
But of that suppociyon that callyd is arte,
Confuse distributive, as Parrot hath devysed,
Let every man after his merit take his parte,
For in this processe Parrot nothing had surmysed,
No matter pretendyd, nor nothyng enterprysed,
But that metaphora, allegoria with all,
Shall be his pretectyon, his pavys, and his wall.
For Parrot is no churlish chowgh, nor flekyd pye,
Parrot is no pendugum that men call a carlyng,
Parrot is no woodecocke, nor no butterfly,
Parrot is no stameryng stare, that men call a starlyng;
But Parrot is my owne dere harte and my dere derling.
Melpomene, that fayre mayde, she burneshed his beke:
I pray you, let Parrot have lyberte to speke.
Parrot is a fayre byrd for a lady;
God of his goodnes him framed and wrought;
When Parrot is ded, he dothe not putrefy:
Ye, all thyng mortall shall torne unto nought,
Except mannes soule, that Chryst so dere bought;
That never may dye, nor never dye shall:
Make moche of Parrot, the popegay ryall.
For that pereles prynce that Parrot dyd create,
He made you of nothynge by his magistye:
Poynt well this probleme that Parrot doth prate,
And remembre amonge how Parrot and ye
Shall lepe from this lyfe as mery as we be;
Pompe, pryde, honour, ryches, and wordly lust,
Parrot sayth playnly, shall tourne all to dust.
Thus Parrot dothe pray you
With hert most tender,
To rekyn with this recule now,
And it to remember.
Psittacus, ecce, cano, nec sunt mea carmina Phebo
Digna scio, tamen est plena camena deo.
Secundum Skeltonida famigeratum,
In Piereorum catalogo numeratum.
Itaque consolamini invicem in verbis istis, &c.
Candidi lectores, callide callete; vestrum fovete Psittacum, &c.
[daily log: walking, 6 km]