Ella elabora beidas (fermentadas-alcoholicas),
Y los pone a la venta
Para los viajeros, para los caldereros,
Para suéteres, para intercambiadores,
Y todos los buenos bebedores,
She breweth nappy ale,
And maketh thereof pot-sale
To travellers, to tinkers,
To sweaters, to swinkers,
And all good ale-drinkers,
En algún momento alrededor de 1517, John Skelton se sentó y escribió uno de los poemas más conocidos de la época moderna temprana. Poeta y sacerdote, Skelton estaba acostumbrado a moverse en círculos de élite, desde las cortes reales a los hogares aristocráticos, a las salas abovedadas de Oxford y Cambridge, y así había producido una gran cantidad de poesía leída por muchos miembros prestigiosos de la sociedad. Debido a estas nobles asociaciones, sus escritos también disfrutaron de un lugar prominente dentro de los círculos literarios del día, una posición que continuaría en la erudición moderna. Sus poemas eran ligeros, con una sátira aguda y mordaz. Pero este trabajo en particular serviría para iluminar un cambio sísmico en las vidas y las circunstancias económicas de las mujeres. El poema era The Tunning of Elynour Rummyng, y este trabajo encarnaba la sentencia de muerte para las alewives.
TELL you I chyll,
If that ye wyll
A whyle be styll,
Of a comely gyll
That dwelt on a hyll :
But she is not gryll,
For she is somwhat sage
And well worne in age ;
For her vysage
It would aswage
A mannes courage.
Her lothely lere
Is nothynge clere,
But vgly of chere,
Droupy and drowsy,
Scuruy and lowsy ;
Her face all bowsy,
Comely crynklyd,
Woundersly wrynkled,
Lyke a rost pygges eare,
Brystled wyth here.
Her lewde lyppes twayne,
They slauer, men sayne,
Lyke a ropy rayne,
A gummy glayre :
She is vgly fayre ;
Her nose somdele hoked,
And camously croked,
Neuer stoppynge,
But euer droppynge ;
Her skynne lose and slacke,
Grained lyke a sacke ;
With a croked backe.
Her eyen gowndy
Are full unsowndy,
For they are blered ;
And she gray hered ;
Jawed lyke a jetty ;
A man would have pytty
To se how she is gumbed,
Fyngered and thumbed,
Gently ioynted,
Gresed and annoynted
Vp to the knockles ;
The bones [of] her huckels
Lyke as they were with buckles
Togyther made fast :
Her youth is farre past :
Foted lyke a plane,
Legged lyke a crane ;
And yet she wyll iet,
Lyke a iolly fet,
In her furred flocket,
And gray russet rocket,
With symper the cocket.
Her huke of Lyncole grene,
It had ben hers, I wene,
More then fourty yere ;
And so doth it apere,
For the grene bare thredes
Loke like sere wedes,
Wyddered lyke hay,
The woll worne away ;
And yet I dare saye
She thynketh herselfe gaye
Vpon the holy daye,
Whan she doth her aray,
And gyrdeth in her gytes
Stytched and pranked with pletes ;
Her kyrtel Brystow red,
With clothes vpon her hed
That wey a sowe of led,
Wrythen in wonder wyse,
After the Sarasyns gyse,
With a whym wham,
Knyt with a trym tram,
Vpon her brayne pan,
Like an Egyptian,
Capped about :
When she goeth out
Herselfe for to shewe,
She dryueth downe the dewe
Wyth a payre of heles
As brode as two wheles ;
She hobles as a gose
With her blanket hose
Ouer the falowe ;
Her shone smered wyth talowe,
Gresed vpon dyrt
That baudeth her skyrt.
Primus passus
And this comely dame,
I vnderstande, her name
Is Elynour Rummynge,
At home in her wonnynge ;
And as men say
She dwelt in Sothray,
In a certayne stede
Bysyde Lederhede.
She is a tonnysh gyb ;
The deuyll and she be syb.
But to make vp my tale,
She breweth noppy ale,
And maketh therof port sale
To trauellars, to tynkers,
To sweters, to swynkers,
And all good ale drynkers,
That wyll nothynge spare,
But drynke tyll they stare
And brynge themselfe bare,
With, Now away the mare,
And let vs sley care,
As wyse as an hare !
Come who so wyll
To Elynour on the hyll,
Wyth, Fyll the cup, fyll,
And syt there by styll,
Erly and late :
Thyther cometh Kate,
Cysly, and Sare,
With theyr legges bare,
And also theyr fete
Hardely full vnswete ;
Wyth theyr heles dagged,
Theyr kyrtelles all to-iagged,
Theyr smockes all to-ragged,
Wyth tytters and tatters,
Brynge dysshes and platters,
Wyth all theyr myght runnynge
To Elynour Rummynge,
To haue of her tunnynge :
She leneth them on the same,
And thus begynneth the game.
Some wenches come vnlased,
Some huswyues come vnbrased,
Wyth theyr naked pappes,
That flyppes and flappes ;
It wygges and it wagges,
Lyke tawny saffron bagges ;
A sorte of foule drabbes
All scuruy with scabbes :
Some be flybytten,
Some skewed as a kytten ;
Some wyth a sho clout
Bynde theyr heddes about ;
Some haue no herelace,
Theyr lockes about theyr face,
Theyr tresses vntrust,
All full of vnlust ;
Some loke strawry,
Some cawry mawry ;
Full vntydy tegges,
Lyke rotten egges.
Suche lewde sorte
Eo Elynour resorte
From tyde to tyde :
Abyde, abyde,
And to you shall be tolde
Howe hyr ale is solde
To Mawte and to Molde.
Secundus Passus
Some haue no mony
That thyder commy,
For theyr ale to pay,
That is a shreud aray ;
Elynour swered, Nay,
Ye shall not beare away
My ale for nought,
By hym that me bought !
With, Hey, dogge, hay,
Haue these hogges away !
With, Get me a staffe,
The swyne eate my draffe !
Stryke the hogges with a clubbe,
They haue dronke vp my swyllynge tubbe !
For, be there neuer so much prese,
These swyne go to the hye dese,
The sowe with her pygges ;
The bore his tayle wrygges,
His rumpe also he frygges
Agaynst the hye benche !
With, Fo, ther is a stenche !
Gather vp, thou wenche ;
Seest thou not what is fall ?
Take vp dyrt and all,
And bere out of the hall :
God gyue it yll preuynge
Clenly as yuell cheuynge !
But let vs turne playne,
There we lefte agayne.
For, as yll a patch as that,
The hennes ron in the mashfat ;
For they go to roust
Streyght ouer the ale ioust,
And donge, whan it commes,
In the ale tunnes.
Than Elynour taketh
The mashe bolle, and shaketh
The hennes donge away,
And skommeth it into a tray
Whereas the yeest is,
With her maungy fystis :
And somtyme she blennes
The donge of her hennes
And the ale together ;
And sayeth, Gossyp, come hyther,
This ale shal be thycker,
And flowre the more quicker ;
For I may tell you,
I lerned it of a Jewe,
Whan I began to brewe,
And I haue founde it trew ;
Drinke now whyle it is new ;
And ye may it broke,
It shall make you loke
Yonger than ye be
Yeres two or thre,
For ye may proue it by me ;
Beholde, she sayde, and se
How bryght I am of ble !
Ich am not cast away,
That can my husband say,
Whan we kys and play
In lust and in lykyng ;
He calleth me his whytyng,
His mullyng and his mytyng,
His nobbes and his conny,
His swetyng and his honny,
With, Bas, my prety bonny,
Thou art worth good and monny.
This make I my falyre fonny,
Til that he dreme and dronny ;
For, after all our sport,
Than wyll he rout and snort ;
Than swetely together we ly,
As two pygges in a sty.
To cese me semeth best,
And of this tale to rest,
And for to leue this letter,
Because it is no better,
And because it is no swetter ;
We wyll no farther ryme
Of it at this tyme ;
But we wyll turne playne
Where we left agayne.
Tertius passus
Instede of coyne and monny,
Some brynge her a conny,
And some a pot with honny,
Some a salt, and some a spone,
Some theyr hose, some theyr shone ;
Some ran a good trot
With a skellet or a pot ;
Some fyll theyr pot full
Of good Lemster woll :
An huswyfe of trust,
Whan she is athrust,
Suche a webbe can spyn,
Her thryft is full thyn.
Some go streyght thyder,
Be it slaty or slyder ;
They holde the hye waye,
They care not what men say,
Be that as be maye ;
Some, lothe to be espyde,
Start in at the backe syde,
Ouer the hedge and pale,
And all for the good ale.
Some renne tyll they swete,
Brynge wyth them malte or whete,
And dame Elynour entrete
To byrle them of the best.
Than cometh an other gest ;
She swered by the rode of rest,
Her lyppes are so drye,
Without drynke she must dye ;
Therefore fyll it by and by,
And haue here a pecke of ry.
Anone cometh another,
As drye as the other,
And wyth her doth brynge
Mele, salte, or other thynge,
Her harvest gyrdle, her weddynge rynge,
To pay for her scot
As cometh to her lot.
Som bryngeth her husbandes hood,
Because the ale is good ;
Another brought her his cap
To offer to the ale tap,
Wyth flaxe and wyth towe ;
And some brought sowre dowe ;
Wyth, Hey, and wyth, howe,
Syt we downe a rowe,
And drynke tyll we blowe,
And pype tyrly tyrlowe !
Some layde to pledge
Theyr hatchet and theyr wedge,
Theyr hekell and theyr rele,
Theyr rocke, theyr spynnyng whele ;
And some went so narrowe,
They layde to pledge theyr wharrowe,
Theyr rybskyn and theyr spyndell,
Theyr nedell and theyr thymbell :
Here was scant thryft
Whan they made suche shyft.
Theyr thrust was so great,
They asked neuer for mete,
But drynke, styll drynke,
And let the cat wynke,
Let vs washe our gommes
From the drye crommes.
Quartus Passus
Some for very nede
Layde downe a skeyne of threde,
And some brought from the barne
Both benes and pease ;
Small chaffer doth ease
Sometyme, now and than :
Another there was that ran
With a good brasse pan ;
Her colour was full wan ;
She ran in all the hast
Vnbrased and vnlast ;
Tawny, swart, and sallowe,
Lyke a cake of tallowe ;
I swere by all hallow,
It was a stale to take
The deuyll in a brake.
And than came haltyng Jone,
And brought a gambone
Of bacon that was resty :
But, Lorde, as she was testy,
Angry as a waspy !
She began to yane and gaspy,
And bad Elynour go bet,
And fyll in good met ;
It was dere that was farre fet.
Another brought a spycke
Of a bacon flycke ;
her tonge was verye quycke,
But she spake somwhat thycke :
her felow did stammer and stut,
But she was a foule slut,
For her mouth fomyd
And her bely groned :
Jone sayne she had eaten a fyest ;
By Christ, sayde she, thou lyest,
I haue as swete a breth
As thou, wyth shamfull deth !
Than Elynour sayde, Ye callettes,
I shall breake your palettes,
Wythout ye now cease !
And so was made the peace.
Than thyder came dronken Ales ;
And she was full of tales,
Of tydynges in Wales,
And of sainct James in Gales,
And of the Portyngales ;
Wyth, Lo, gossyp, I wys,
Thus and thus it is,
There hath ben great war
Betwene Temple Bar
And the Crosse in Chepe,
And there came an hepe
Of mylstones in a route :
She speketh thus in her snout,
Sneuelyng in her nose,
As thoughe she had the pose ;
Lo, here is an olde typpet,
And ye wyll gyue me a syppet
Of your stale ale,
God sende you good sale !
And as she was drynkynge,
She fyll in a wynkynge
Wyth a barlyhood,
She pyst where she stood ;
Than began she to wepe,
And forthwyth fell on slepe.
Elynour toke her vp,
And blessed her wyth a cup
Of newe ale in cornes ;
Ales founde therin no thornes,
But supped it vp at ones,
She founde therin no bones.
Quintus Passus
Nowe in cometh another rabell ;
Fyrst one wyth a ladell,
Another wyth a cradell,
And wyth a syde sadell :
And there began a fabell,
A clatterynge and a babell
Of folys fylly
That had a fole wyth wylly,
With, Iast you, and, gup, gylly !
She coulde not lye stylly.
Then came in a genet,
And sware by saynct Benet,
I drank not this sennet
A draught to my pay ;
Elynour, I thé pray,
Of thyne ale let vs assay,
And haue here a pylche of gray
I were skynnes of conny,
That causeth I loke so donny.
Another than did hyche her,
And brought a pottel pycher,
A tonnel, and a bottell,
But she had lost the stoppell ;
She cut of her sho sole,
And stopped therwyth the hole.
Amonge all the blommer,
Another brought a skommer,
And vgly thycke lypped,
Lyke an onyon syded,
Lyke tan ledder hyded :
She had her so guyded
Betwene the cup and the wall,
That she was there wythall
Into a palsey fall ;
Wyth that her hed shaked,
And her handes quaked :
Ones hed wold haue aked
To se her naked :
She dranke so of the dregges,
The dropsy was in her legges ;
Her face glystryng lyke glas ;
All foggy fat she was ;
She had also the gout
In all her ioyntes about ;
Her breth was soure and stale,
And smelled all of ale :
Suche a bedfellaw
Wold make one cast his craw ;
But yet for all that
She dranke on the mash fat.
There came an old rybybe ;
She haltedof a kybe,
And had broken her shyn
At the threshold comyng in,
And fell so wyde open
That one myght se her token,
The deuyll thereon be wroken !
What nede all this be spoken ?
She yelled lyke a calfe :
Ryse vp, on Gods halfe,
Said Elynour Rummyng,
I beshrew thé for thy cummyng !
And as she at her did pluck,
Quake, quake, sayd the duck
In that lampatrams lap ;
Wyth, Fy, wouer thy shap
Wyth sum flyp flap !
God gyue it yll hap,
Sayde Elynour for shame,
Lyke an honest dame.
Vp she stert, halfe lame,
And skantly could go
For payne and for wo.
In came another dant,
Wyth a gose and a gant :
She had a wide wesant ;
She was nothynge plesant ;
Necked lyke an olyfant ;
It was a bullyfant,
A gredy cormerant.
Another brought her garlyke hedes ;
Another brought her bedes
Of iet or of cole,
To offer to the ale pole :
Some brought a wymble,
Some brought a thymble,
Some brought a sylke lace,
Some brought a pyncase,
Some her husbandes gowne,
Some a pyllow of downe,
Some of the napery ;
And all this shyfte they make
For the good ale sake.
A strawe, sayde Bele, stande vtter,
For we haue egges and butter,
And of pygeons a payre.
Than sterte forth a fysgygge,
And she brought a bore pygge ;
The fleshe thereof was ranke,
And her brethe strongly stanke,
Yet, or she went, she dranke,
And gat her great thanke
Of Elynour for her ware,
That she thyther bare
To pay for her share.
Now truly, to my thynkynge,
This is a solempne drinkynge.
Septimus passus
Soft, quod one, hyght Sybbyll,
And let me wyth you bybyll.
She sat downe in the place,
With a sory face
Wheywormed about ;
Garnyshed was her snout
Wyth here and there a puscull,
Lyke a scabbyd muscull.
This ale, sayde she, is noppy ;
Let vs syppe and soppy,
And not spyll a droppy,
For so mote I hoppy,
It coleth well my croppy.
Dame Elynoure, sayde she,
Haue here is for me,
A cloute of London pynnes ;
And wyth that she begynnes
The pot to her plucke,
And dranke a good lucke ;
She swynged vp a quarte
At ones for her parte ;
Her paunche was so puffed,
And so wyth ale stuffed,
Had she not hyed apace,
She had defoyled the place.
Than began the sporte
Amonge that dronken sorte :
Dame Eleynour, sayde they,
Lende here a cocke of hey,
To make all thynge cleane ;
Ye wote well what we meane.
But, syr, among all
That sat in that hall,
There was a pryckemedenty,
Sat lyke a seynty,
And began to paynty,
As thoughe she would faynty ;
She made it as koy
As a lege de moy ;
She was not halfe so wyse
As she was peuysshe nyse.
She sayde neuer a worde,
But rose from the borde,
And called for our dame,
Elynour by name.
We supposed, I wys,
That she rose to pys ;
But the very grounde
Was for to compounde
Wyth Elynour in the spence,
To pay for her expence :
I haue no penny nor grote
To pay, sayde she, God wote,
For washyng of my throte ;
But my bedes of amber
Bere them to your chamber.
Then Elynour dyd them hyde
Wythin her beddes syde.
But some than sat ryght sad
That nothynge had
There of theyr awne,
Neyther gelt nor pawne ;
Suche were there menny
That had not a penny,
But, whan they should walke,
Were fayne wyth a chalke
To score on the balke,
Or score on the tayle :
God gyue it yll hayle !
For my fyngers ytche ;
I haue wrytten to mytche
Of this mad mummynge
Of Elynour Rummynge.
Thus endeth the gest
Of this worthy fest.
Quod Skelton, Laureat.
Skelton, John. "The Tunnyng of Elynour Rummyng." The Poetical Works of John Skelton. Vol I.
Rev. Alexander Dyce, Editor. Boston: Little, Brown, and Company, 1866. 109-131.
Rummyng es crucial porque ella 'breweth nappy ale', es decir, era una alewives. Skelton hizo grandes esfuerzos para ilustrar lo que él declaró ser la atrocidad de su rostro: después de largas descripciones de los estragos del tiempo, terminó declarando que "su juventud ya pasó". Esta fealdad se describe en detalle. Rummyng era una mujer de proporciones grotescas, tenía la espalda torcida, la piel floja y una nariz ganchuda y goteante, por nombrar sólo algunos de los epitafios arrojados en su dirección. Si bien la fealdad quizás no sea la mejor manera de ser ilustrada en un poema, en sí misma no da necesariamente crédito a una caída significativa en la estación de alewives, y de hecho, puede no parecer del todo horrible. Rummyng era feo, pero tal vez todavía elabora una pinta maravillosa. Si bien hasta ahora las fallas contra ella parecen algo inocuas, a medida que el poeta sigue tejiendo su historia se vuelven cada vez más horribles, y tal vez lo más importante, estas acusaciones se vuelven peligrosas, tanto para su negocio y posición social, como para su vida. Elynour Rummyng no era más que un ejemplo único, un arquetipo, del odio dirigido a los alewives durante los periodos medievales tardío y temprano moderno.
Y no fue solo Rummyng quien cargó con la peor parte de la virulencia. Skelton describió a su clientela como a todas las mujeres demacradas, borrachas, con harapos, con las piernas desnudas y "desprotegidas y sin ataduras". Todos y todos estos son 'un tipo tan grosero'. De hecho, afirmó que algunos vienen,
With their naked pappes
That flippes and flappes
That wigges and wagges
Like tawny saffron bagges.
Pappes es la palabra inglesa para los senos, por lo que Skelton sugirió que estas mujeres vengan con los pechos colgando para que todos las vean, tan determinados están en su búsqueda de la cerveza de Rummyng, tan concentrados en la embriaguez que se han divorciado completamente de la moral y razonar a sus contemporáneos. Y Rummyng fue insultada por poder de tener este tipo de clientes. La idea es que si ella alentó este comportamiento y sirvió a este tipo de clientes, entonces ella es culpable de facilitar y facilitar.
Rummyng también es representada por una mujer de negocios sin escrúpulos, engañando a sus clientes y llenando sus tazas con desagradables cervezas y persuadiéndolas de que abandonen todo tipo de pertenencias en su búsqueda para beber su cerveza. Por ejemplo, Skelton declaró que mezclaría su cerveza con sus puños costrosos, y que permitió que sus gallinas se posaran sobre las cubas de cerveza. De hecho, ella a veces mezclaba los excrementos de las gallinas con la cerveza a propósito para crear un tónico:
When I began to Brew
And I have found it to be true
Drink now while it is new
An ye may it brook
It shall make you look
Younger than ye be
two yeares or three
for ye may prove it by me.
Rummyng parecía estar hablando de mezclar una poción específica que hace que el bebedor parezca más joven. Esto funciona tan bien que declaró que hace que su marido sea tonto cuando 'se besan y juegan / en la lujuria y el gusto'. Después de su relación ella dice que 'entonces dulcemente mentimos / Como dos cerdos en una pocilga'. Una vez más, Skelton reiteró su obscenidad por discutir un tema así y hacer alusiones a su disgusto hacia ella con la referencia de pocilga.
A medida que el autor continuó enumerando sus deficiencias, las cosas toman un giro quizás más siniestro. De mayor importancia crítica es la sugerencia de Skelton de que "el diablo y ella sean hermanos". Lo que significa que ella podría ser pariente del mismísimo diablo, especialmente cuando se combina con otras representaciones de brujería y actividades heréticas, como se ve en la creación de pociones. También se refirió a que ella aceptó el pago de una mujer que parecía ser una bruja, específicamente, una dijo que podía hacer un hechizo con una buena levadura de cerveza. ¡Rummyng también aceptó todo tipo de pagos inmorales, incluidos anillos de bodas y rosarios!
Aunque Skelton no sale y declara directamente que Rummyng es una bruja, sin dudas está muy cerca de hacerlo: se la representa aceptando el pago de una, mezclando pociones, e incluso parece ser pariente del mismísimo diablo. Además, ella es retratada como involucrada en prácticas comerciales inescrupulosas sirviendo medidas ilegales y adulterando su cerveza con todo tipo de cosas desagradables. Skelton también se complace en asociarla con la lujuria y la prostitución; a lo largo del poema mantuvo la compañía de mujeres lascivas y alentó este comportamiento. También discutió sus relaciones con su marido en lo que se habría visto de una manera muy cruda. En la Edad Media y la Edad Moderna durante la cual se escribieron estos cuentos, las mujeres, y de hecho las brujas, fueron retratadas como seres insaciables de lujuria carnal, como se evidencia en textos como el infame Malleus Maleficarum, El Martillo de las Brujas, que declaró , 'Para concluir. Toda la brujería proviene de la lujuria carnal, que en todas las mujeres es insaciable ".
Si el Tunning de Elynour Rummyng se ha escrito en un vacío, un ejemplo singular de un retrato tal, puede ser que sea una cosa. En cambio, es una de las muchas fuentes narrativas que representan alewives de esta manera. Desde Beton the Brewster de William Langland en Piers Plowman hasta la balada de John Lydgate en un vendedor de Ale, se les representa vendiendo cervezas arruinada y adulteradas en medidas ilegales y generalmente mintiendo y seduciendo en el mundo literario de la sociedad moderna tardía y medieval. , particularmente en Inglaterra.
Es importante tener en cuenta que no son solo las alewives quienes soportan la mayor parte de las acusaciones de hacer trampa y mentir. James Davis exploró la desconfianza de finales de la Edad Media y principios de la Edad Moderna de victullars, cerveceros, panaderos y molineros, como un todo. Esto, argumentó, era evidente en textos como el poema de John Lydgate 'Put Thieving Millers and Bakers in the Pillory', donde Lydgate afirmó que:
Let mellerys and bakerys / gadre hem a gilde, And alle of Assent / make a fraternite ; Vndir the pillory / a litil Chapelt bylde.
Aquí, Lydgate estaba declarando que los molineros y los panaderos deberían construir su capilla de gremio bajo la picota ya que muchos de los miembros terminarían allí en algún momento de todos modos y él continuó diciendo que, 'sobre ese bastile / hacer una endeble' lo que significa que deberían ahorcarse si continúan con su comportamiento de engaño.
Sin embargo, mientras este poema ilumina las ansiedades comunes que las personas medievales y de los primeros tiempos modernos tenían acerca de ser estafados por aquellos que las fabricaban, les producían o les servían alimentos y bebidas, estas acusaciones literarias se centran principalmente en medidas ilegales o trampas. No lo hicieron, como las representaciones de alewives, los acusan de ser sexualmente anormales, o cruzan la línea en cargos similares a los dados en tándem a la brujería.
Pero quizás lo más importante es que estas representaciones reflejan una realidad vivida. ¿Las alewives medievales engañaban a sus clientes? Además, ¿se estaba acusando de brujería a las mujeres cerveceras? Esta ideología vitriólica podría no estar limitada a la palabra escrita. Elynour Rummyng podría estar basada en la muy auténtica alewife Alianora Romyng.
"The Tunning of Elinor" (Inglés moderno) at REC Music Foundation
Ballad The Tunning of Elinor
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,
Fingered and thumbéd,
Gently jointed,
Greased 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.
Glossary
camously-crookéd -- snub-nosed
cocket -- coquetry
daggéd -- muddy
draffé -- hog-wash
Egyptian -- gipsy
fabble -- jabbering
Galés -- Galicia
geets -- clothes
gib -- cat
hoppy -- have good luck
jetty -- a projection
jollivet -- gay young girl
kirtle -- skirt
Mold -- Molly
nappy/noppy -- foaming
Portingalés -- Portuguese
pose -- catarrh
pranked -- decked
rocket -- dress
sib -- akin
stead -- place
swinkers -- toilers
tonnish -- beery
trim-tram -- pretty trifle
tunning -- brewing
whim-wham -- trinket
wimble -- gimlet
wonning -- dwelling
Fuentes:
- Judith Bennett, Ale, Beer and Brewsters in England:Women’s work in a changing world 1300–1600, (New York, 1996).
- James Davis, Medieval Market Morality: Life, Law and Ethics in the English Marketplace 1200-1500 (New York, 2012).
- Katherine L. French, The Good Woman of the Parish: Gender and Religion After the Black Death, (Philadelphia, 2008).
- Barbara Hanawalt, ‘Of Good and Ill Repute’: Gender and Social Control in Medieval England, (New York, 1998).
- Ralph Hanna, ‘Brewing Trouble: On Literature and History- and alewives’ in Barbara Hanawalt and David Wallace (eds.) Bodies and Disciplines: Intersections of Literature and History in the 15th Century, (Minneapolis, 1996), pp. 1-18.
- Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, Malleus Maleficarum, (trans. and intro.) Montague Spencer (New York, 1984), p. 47.
- John Lydgate, ‘Put Thieving Millers and Bakers in the Pillory’, (c. 1460-1470) (originally found flarf. MS. 2255, ;«a/ 137 and last) published in Frederick J. Furniville (ed) Political, Religious, and Love Poems (London, 1866), p.56.
- Michelle M. Sauer, Gender in Medieval Culture (London, 2015).
- John Skelton, ‘The Tunning of Elynour Rummyng’, in Marie Loughlin, Sandra Bell, and Patricia Brace (ed.) The Broadview Anthology of Sixteenth-Century Poetry and Prose, pp. 1-8.
- Theresa Vaughan, ‘The Alewife: Changing Images and Bad Brews’ in AVISTA Forum Journal Vol. 21 No. 1/2 (2012), pp. 34-41.
