The Tunning of Elynor Rummynge

Some have no moneyThat thither comey,For their ale to pay;That is a shrewd array!Elinour sweared, "Nay,Ye shall not bear awayMy ale for nought,By Him that me bought."With, "Hey, dog, hey,Have these hogs away!"With, "Get me a staff,The swine eat my draff!Strike the hogs with a club,They have drunk up my swilling-tub!"For, be there never so much prese,These swine go to the high dese;The sow with her pigs;The boar his tail wrigs,His rump also he frigsAgainst the high bench!With, "Fo, there is a stench!Gather up, thou wench;Seest thou not what is fall?Take up dirt and all,And bear out of the hall:God give it ill previngCleanly as evil cheving!"But let us turn plainThere we left again.For as ill a patch as thatThe hens run in the mash-fat;For they go to roostStraight over the ale-joust,And dung, when it comes,In the ale tuns.Then Elinour takethThe mash-bowl, and shakethThe hens' dung away,And skommeth it in a trayWhereas the yeast is,With her mangy fistis,And sometime she blensThe dung of her hensAnd the ale together;And saith, "Gossip, come hither,This ale shall be thicker,And flower the more quicker;For I may tell you,I learned it of a Jew,When I began to brew,And I have found it true;Drink now while it is new;And ye may it brook,It shall make you lookYounger than ye be,Years two or three,For ye may prove it by me.Behold," she said, "and seeHow bright I am of ble!Ich am not cast away,That can my husband say,When we kiss and playIn lust and in liking;He calleth me his whiting,His mulling and his miting,His nobs and his cony,His sweeting and his honey,With, 'Bas, my pretty bonny,Thou art worth good and money!'Thus make I my falyre fonny,Till that he dream and dronny,For after all our sport,Then will he rout and snort;Then sweetly together we lie,As two pigs in a sty."To cease meseemeth best,And of this tale to rest,And for to leave this letter,Because it is no better,And because it is no sweeter;We will no farther rhymeOf it at this time,But we will turn plainWhere we left again.