The Shoreditche Tale
The Twatte's Prologue
In Olde Streete nat far fro Shoreditchey
Theyre goeth unt a layne of revelre
A twatte lived there many a daye
As any peykock he was a proude ande gaye
Dance he could, and drinke and pisse,
Act the foole and fighte and sniffe.
And aye his belt was bigge and bolde
And on his skulle a peaked cappe of golde
His croppe was skuplted as grease and dirt
Was dare no man to touch for fear of hurt
His toppe half was brighte and tight in the hose
Shapely was his face and camus was his nose
A music podd beare him in his pouche
On long journey's he woulde liken to touche
A taverne he a dwelle, one olde blue last...
Where frothedde ales were drainede faste
Until one fine daye his ful sorrow did showe
To thee, to me and others that knowe,
And so atope ye oldee Shoreditchey church spire
Our once feir proud twattee did solummley goe.
Theyre he stood and looketh up and doun,
Fyve teers did run doun his nowe crookyed nose and as he dropped his croyn
He spak 'Eek! Weylaway! Curss'd is that rite full daye
When i did to Shoreditchey astray,
To swyve yon wenches and sunff wikkid powdyre,
for now my pricketh be soore and my mynd dothe flownder!'
And so in right full blast as ever he mighte
He caste off his pod, his jackete and cappe into the nyte,
And he did followe that toppe half birghte
As he fil backward from that spyre wiv face held tight,
Until the grounde he met with speede aright and fulle,
Where a bloody streem did run from his brok'n skulle.
The twatte's Tale II
The were in Hoxtoun Foure Houses fulle
And Strangeres nere to tales of cack n bulle
Weere slender colerikes clerks did end their trenchers
and youngen did for starteres hunt for wenches
And nere games more happilie to meete
than those them all in greate Easterne Streete
Where ounce the home of dance and bounderie
was now of gentil clubbes and founderie
one day two personnes each of those fulle drunken
were leaving late all dryssed up like as punken
The first all heavy sanguine brode
the second spindlie like a rodde
Each a belly full of ginne
each in pantalonnes skinne
the first manne said he to his brouthere
"Move now fynde your path anothere"
But sure our tinie of his steade
The othere man he drouped his heade
"I walk heere, fellowe, every darke
and on to faire Hoxtoun parke"
Anouthere tyme these mighte have foughte
And many times you'll say they oughte
But at this moment broughte
Aloung the Clerk of Shoreditche's Doughte
At this the Tensioun faste Contracted
As each of these was quick distracted
The wyf most faire was walking slowe
(Her buttocks Brode as belles of Bowe)
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