What could be dafter <br />Than John Skelton’s laughter? <br />What sound more tenderly <br />Than his pretty poetry? <br />So where to rank old Skelton? <br />He was no monstrous Milton, <br />Nor wrote no “Paradise Lost,” <br />So wondered at by most, <br />Phrased so disdainfully, <br />Composed so painfully. <br />He struck what Milton missed, <br />Milling an English grist <br />With homely turn and twist. <br />He was English through and through, <br />Not Greek, nor French, nor Jew, <br />Though well their tongues he knew, <br />The living and the dead: <br />Learned Erasmus said, <br />Hic ’unum Britannicarum <br />Lumen et decus literarum. <br />But oh, Colin Clout! <br />How his pen flies about, <br />Twiddling and turning, <br />Scorching and burning, <br />Thrusting and thrumming! <br />How it hurries with humming, <br />Leaping and running, <br />At the tipsy-topsy Tunning <br />Of Mistress Eleanor Rumming! <br />How for poor Philip Sparrow <br />Was murdered at Carow, <br />How our hearts he does harrow <br />Jest and grief mingle <br />In this jangle-jingle, <br />For he will not stop <br />To sweep nor mop, <br />To prune nor prop, <br />To cut each phrase up <br />Like beef when we sup, <br />Nor sip at each line <br />As at brandy-wine, <br />Or port when we dine. <br />But angrily, wittily, <br />Tenderly, prettily, <br />Laughingly, learnedly, <br />Sadly, madly, <br />Helter-skelter John <br />Rhymes serenely on, <br />As English poets should. <br />Old John, you do me good!<br /><br />Robert Graves<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/john-skelton/
