Ballad The Tunning of Elinor

Lyrics

Rumming Tell you I will If that ye will A-while be still Of a comely Jill That dwelt on a hill: She is somewhat sage And well worn in age: For her visage It would assuage A man's courage Droopy and drowsy Scurvy and lowsy Her face all bowsy Comely crinkled Wondrously wrinkled Like a roast pig's ear Bristled with hair Her nose some deal hookéd And camously-crookéd Never stopping But ever dropping; Her skin loose and slack Grained like a sack; With a crooked back Jawed like a jetty; A man would have pity To see how she is gumméd Fingerеd and thumbéd Gently jointed Greasеd and anointed Up to the knuckles; Like as they were with buckles Together made fast Her youth is far past! And yet she will jet Like a jollivet In her furréd flocket And gray russet rocket With simper and cocket Her hood of Lincoln green It has been hers, I ween More than forty year; And so doth it appear For the green bare threadés Look like sere weedés Withered like hay The wool worn away And yet, I dare say She thinketh herself gay Upon the holiday When she doth her array And girdeth on her geets Stitched and pranked with pleats; Her kirtle, Bristol-red With clothes upon her head That weigh a sow of lead Writhen in wondrous wise After the Saracen's guise With a whim-wham Knit with a trim-tram Upon her brain-pan; Like an Egyptian Cappéd about When she goeth out And this comely dame I understand, her name Is Elinor Rumming At home in her wonning; And as men say She dwelt in Surrey In a certain stead Beside Leatherhead She is a tonnish gib The devil and she be sib But to make up my tale She breweth nappy ale And maketh thereof pot-sale To travellers, to tinkers To sweaters, to swinkers And all good ale-drinkers That will nothing spare But drink till they stare And bring themselves bare With 'Now away the mare! And let us slay care' As wise as an hare! Come who so will To Elinor on the hill With 'Fill the cup, fill!' And sit there by still Early and late Thither cometh Kate Cisly, and Sare With their legs bare They run in all haste Unbraced and unlaced; With their heelés daggéd Their kirtles all jaggéd Their smocks all to-raggéd With titters and tatters Bring dishes and platters With all their might running To Elinor Rumming To have of her tunning She lendeth them on the same And thus beginneth the game Some wenches come unlaced Some housewives come unbraced Some be flybitten Some skewed as a kitten; Some have no hair-lace Their locks about their face Such a rude sort To Elinor resort From tide to tide Abide, abide! And to you shall be told How her ale is sold To Maud and to Mold Some have no money That thither comé For their ale to pay That is a shrewd array! Elinor sweared, 'Nay Ye shall not bear away Mine ale for nought By him that me bought! ' With 'Hey, dog, hey! Have these hogs away! ' With 'Get me a staffé The swine eat my draffé! Strike the hogs with a club They have drunk up my swilling-tub!' Then thither came drunken Alice And she was full of talés Of tidings in Walés And of Saint James in Galés And of the Portingalés With 'Lo, Gossip, I wis Thus and thus it is: There hath been great war Between Temple Bar And the Cross in Cheap And there came an heap Of mill-stones in a rout ' She speaketh thus in her snout Snivelling in her nose As though she had the pose 'Lo, here is an old tippet An ye will give me a sippet Of your stale ale God send you good sale! ' 'This ale', said she, 'is noppy; Let us suppé and soppy And not spill a droppy For, so may I hoppy It cooleth well my croppy Then began she to weep And forthwith fell asleep ('With Hey! and with Ho! Sit we down a-row And drink till we blow.') Now in cometh another rabble: And there began a fabble A clattering and babble They hold the highway They care not what men say Some, loth to be espied Start in at the back-side Over the hedge and pale And all for the good ale (With Hey! and with Ho! Sit we down a-row And drink till we blow.) Their thirst was so great They asked never for meat But drink, still drink And 'Let the cat wink Let us wash our gummés From the dry crummés!' Some brought a wimble Some brought a thimble Some brought this and that Some brought I wot ne'er what And all this shift they make For the good ale sake 'With Hey! and with Ho! Sit we down a-row And drink till we blow And pipe "Tirly Tirlow!" * * * But my fingers itch I have written too much Of this mad mumming Of Elinor Rumming! Thus endeth the geste Of this worthy feast