Poem by John Skelton

Cardinal Wolsey in Hell

Such a prelate, I trow,
Were worthy to row
Thorow the straits Marocke
To the gibbet of Baldock.
He would dry up the streams
Of nine kinges' realms,
All rivers and wells,
All waters that swells,
For with us he so mells
That within England dwells,
I would he were somewhere els;
For else by and by
He will drink us so dry,
And suck us so nigh,
That men shall scantly
Have penny or halpenny.
God save his noble Grace,
And grant him a place
Endless to dwell
With the Devil of hell!
For and he were there
We need never fear
Of the fiendes blake,
For I undertake
He would so brag and crake
That he would then make
The devils to quake,
To shudder and to shake,
Like a fire-drake,
And with a coal rake
Bruise them on a brake,
And bind them to a stake,
And set hell on fire,
At his own desire.
He is such a grim sire
And such a potestolate,
And such a potestate,
That he would break the brains
Of Lucifer in his chains,
And rule them each one
In Lucifer's trone.
I would he were gone.

1. Duke of Albany
2. The Prelates
3. A Lawde and Prayse
4. Woefully Arrayed
5. To the Second Person

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