ELYNOUR RUMMIN, The famous Alewife of England.  
Written by Mr. Skelton, Poet Laureate to King Henry the egiht.   depiction of Elynour Rummin 
When Skelton wore the Laurel Crown,  
My Ale put all the Alewives down.  
LONDON, Printed for Samuel Rand. 1624.   

 depiction of Elynour Rummin   

SKELTON'S GHOST.  
TO all Tapsters and Tiplers,  
And all Alehouse Victuallers,  
Innkeepers, and Cooks,  
That for pot-sale looks,  
And will not give measure,  
But at your own pleasure,  
Contrary to Law,  
Scant measure will draw,  
In Pot, and in Can,  
To cozen a Man  
Of his full Quart a penny,  
Of you there's to many:  
For in King Harry's time,  
When I made this Rhyme  
Of Elynor Rumming,  
With her good Ale tunning;  
Our Pots were full quarted,  
We were not thus thwarted,  
With froth-Canne and nick-pot,  
And such nimble quick-shot,  
That a dowzen will score,  
For twelve pints, and no more.  
Full Winchester gage,  
We had in that age,  
The Dutchmans' strong Beer,  
Was not hoped over here;  
To us 'twas unknown.  
Bare Ale of our own,  
In a Bowl we might bring,  
To welcome the King,  
And his grace to beseech,  
With Wassall my Leigh.  
Nor did that time know  
To puff and to blow  
In a piece of white clay,  
As you do at this day,  
With fire and coal,  
And a leaf in a hole,  
As my Ghost hath late seen,  
As I walked between  
Westminster Hall  
And the Church of Saint Paul,  
And so thorough the City,  
Where I saw and did pity,  
My Countrymens' cases,  
With fiery-smoke faces,  
Sucking and drinking  
A filthy weed stinking  
Was ne'er known before  
Till the Devil, and the More,  
In th'Indies did meet,  
And each other there greet,  
With a health they desire  
Of stink, smoke and fire:  
But who e'er doth abhor it,  
The City smokes for it;  
Now full of fire shops,  
And fowl spitting chaps,  
So sneezing and coughing,  
That my Ghost fell to scoffing,  
And to myself said,  
Here's filthy fumes made:  
Good Physic of force  
To cure a sick horse.  
Nor had we such slops,  
And shag-hair on our tops:  
At wearing long hair,  
King Harry would swear,  
And gave a command  
With speed out of hand,  
All heads should be pulled,  
Aswell young as old,  
And his own was first so,  
Good ensample to show.  
Y'are so out of fashion,  
I know not our Nation,  
Your Ruffs and your Bands,  
And your Cuffs at your hands,  
Your Pipes and your smokes,  
And your short curtal Cloaks,  
Scarves, Feathers, and Swerds,  
And thin bodkin Beards;  
Your Wastes a span long,  
Your knees with points hung,  
Like Morris-daunce Bells,  
And many toys else,  
Which much I distaste,  
But Skelton's in haste  
My Masters, Farewell,  
Read over my Nell,  
And tell what you think  
Of her and her drink;  
If she had brewed amiss,  
I had never wrote this.   

THE TUNNING OF ELYNOUR OF RUMMING.  
TEll you I chill, if that you will,  
A While be still, of a merry Gyll,  
That dwelled on a Hill, but she is not grill:  
For she is somewhat sage, & well worn in age,  
For her visage it would assuage  
A man's courage.  
Her loathly leer, is nothing clear,  
But ugly of cheer, droupy and drowsy,  
Scurvy and lousy, her face all bowsie;  
Comely crinkled, wondrously wrinkled,  
Like a roast Pig's ear, bristled with hair,  
Her lewd lips twain, they slaver men sayne  
Like a ropie rain.  
A gummy glaire, she is ugly fair,  
Her Nose somedeal hooked, and camously crooked,  
Never stopping, but ever dropping,  
Her Skin loose and slack, grained like a sack,  
With a crooked back.  
Her Eyes gowndy, are full unsoundy,  
For they are bleared, and she gray-haired,  
jawed like a jetty, a man would have pity,  
To see how she's gumd, fingered and thumbd,  
Gently jointed, greased and anointed▪  
Up to the knuckels, the bones her buckels  
Together made fast, her youth is far p●st▪  
Footed like a plane, legged like a Crane,  
And yet she will jet, like a jolly set,  
In her furred flocket, and grey ru●●ed rocket,  
With symper the cocket.  
Her Huke of Lyncolne green, it had been h●●● I ween  
More than forty year, and so it doth appear,  
The green bare threads, look like fear weeds  
Withered like hay, the wool worn away,  
And yet I dare say, she thinks herself gay,  
Upon the holiday, when she doth her array,  
And girdeth in her geetes, stitched with pleetes,  
Her Kirtle Bris●ow red, with clothes on her head,  
That weigh a sow of lead.  
writhe in a wonder wise, after the 〈◊〉 guise,  
With a whim wham, knit with a trim tram,  
Upon her brainpan, like an Egyptian  
Capped about, when she goeth out  
Herself for to show, she driveth down the dew  
With a pair of heels, at broad as two wheels;  
She hobbles like a Goose, with her blauked hose,  
Her 〈◊〉 smeared with tallow greased upon dirt,  
That ●●●deth her skirt.  

Primus Passus.  
And this comely dame, I understand her name  
Is Elynour Rumming at home in her woning,  
And as men say, she dwelled in Sothray,  
In a certain steed, beside L●derhede.  
She is a Tonnish gyb, the devil and she be sib,  
But to make up my tale, she brueth nappy ale,  
And makes thereof pot-sale.  
To Travellers and Tinkers, to sweaters and 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 Elinour on the hill,  
With fill the cup fill and sit thereby still  
Early and late, thither comes Kate,  
Cicely and Sare, with their legs bare,  
And also their feet, hardly unsweet.  
With their heels dagged, their kirtles all to jagged,  
Their smocks all to ragged.  
With titters and tarters, bring dishes and platters,  
Withal their might running, to Elinour Rumming,  
To have of her Tunning.  
She gives them of the same, and thus begins the game,  
Some wenches unbraced, and some all unlaced,  
With their naked paps, their flips and flappes,  
It wigs and it wags, like tawny saff'ron bags;  
A sort of foul drabs, all scurvy with scabss,  
Some be flye-bitten, some skewed like a kytten.  
Some with a shoe-clout, bind their heads about;  
Some have no hairlace, their locks about their face,  
Their tresses untrust, all full of unlust,  
Some look strawry, some cawry mawry;  
Some untydie tegges, like rotten eggs,  
Such a lewd sort to Elinour resort,  
From tide to tide, abide, abide,  
And to you shall betold, how her Ale is sold  
To Mawte and to Mold.   

Secundus Passus.  
Some have no money, that thither commy  
For their Ale to pay, that is a shrewd array:  
Elinour swears nay, ye bear not away  
My Ale for nought, by him that me bought,  
With hay dog hay, have these dogs away,  
With get me a staff, the swine eat all my draff,  
Strike the Hogs with a club, they have drunk up my tub;  
For be there never so much press, the swine go to the hy dese,  
The sow with her pigs, the bore his tail wrigges,  
Against the high bench, with fough here's a stench,  
Gather up then wench, seest thou not what's fall,  
Take up dirt and all, and bear out of the hall,  
God give it ill preeving, cleanly as evil chieving,  
But let us turn plain, where we left again,  
For as ill a patch as that, the hens run in the mash-fat;  
For they go to roost, strait over the ale just,  
And dung when it comes, in the ale tonnes:  
Then Eliinour taketh the mash-boule, and shaketh  
The hen's dung away, and scomes it in a trey  
Where the yeast is, with her mangy fistiss,  
And sometime she blens the dung of her hens  
And the ale together, and says 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 look  
Younger than you be, years two or three,  
For ye may prove it by me, behold I say and see  
How bright I am of blee,  
Ich am not cast away, that can my husband say,  
When we kiss and play in lust and in liking,  
He calls me his whiting, his mulling and his mittine,  
His nobes and his coney, his sweeting and honey,  
With Basse my pretty bonny, thou art worth good & money,  
This make I my falyre fanny, till 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 me seemeth best of this tale to rest,  
And leave this letter, because it is no better,  
Because 'tis no sweeter, we will no farther rhyme  
Of it at this time, but we will turn plain,  
Where we left again.   

Tertius Passus.  
In steed of quoin and money, some bring her a coney,  
And some a pot with honey, some a salt, some a spoon,  
Some their hose, some their shoes, some ran a good trot,  
With skillet or pot, some fill a bag full  
Of good Lemster wool, an huswife of trust,  
When she is a thirst, such a web can spin,  
Her thrift is full thin.  
Some go strait thither, be it slaty or slidder,  
They hold the highway, they care not what men say,  
Be they as be may. Some loath to be espied,  
Start in at the backside, Over hedge and pale,  
And all for good ale, some ran till they sweat,  
And bring Malt or Wheat, and Elinor entteate,  
To byrle them of the best; then comes another guest,  
She sweared by the rood of rest, her lips are so dry,  
Without drink she must die, therefore fill by and by,  
And have her peck of Rye.  
Anon comes another, as dry as the to there,  
And with her doth bring meal, salt, or other thing,  
Girdle or wedding ring, to pay for her scot,  
As comes to her lot: Some brings their husband's hood,  
Because the Ale is good; another brought his cap  
To offer at the Ale-tap, with flax and with toe,  
And some brought sour dough, with hay and with ho,  
Sat we down a-row, and drink till we blow,  
And pipe tirly, tirly low.  
Some laid to pledge, their hatchet and their wedge,  
Their hickell and their reel, their rock & spinning wheel,  
And some went so narrow, they laid to pledge their wharrow,  
Their ribskin and spindle, their needle and thimble;  
here was scant thirft, when they made such shift,  
Their thirst was so great, they never asked for meat,  
But drink still drink, and let the cat wink,  
Let us wash our gums from the dry crumbs.   

Quartus Passus  
Some for very need lay down a skaine of thread,  
Some beans and pease, some chaffer doth ace;  
Sometime now and than, another there ran  
With a good brass pan, her cullourfull wan;  
She ran in all haste, unbraced and 〈◊〉,  
Tawny swart and sallow, like a cake of tallow,  
I swear by all hallow, It was a stare to take  
The Devil in a brake.  
Then came balting jove, and brought a 〈◊〉  
Of Bacon that was 〈◊〉, but Lord how 〈◊〉,  
Angry and waspie, she began to yawn and gaspie,  
And bad Elinour go bet, and fill in good met,  
It was dear that was far fet.  
Another brought a spick, of a Bacon stick,  
Her tongue was very quick, but she spoke somewhat thick.  
Her fellow did sammer and stut, but she was a foul slut;  
For her mouth foamed, and her belly groaned.  
jove sane she had eaten a fyest, queen (quoth saint; he) thou liest,  
I have as sweet a breath, as thou with shameful death,  
Then Elinour said, ye Callets, I shall break your pallets,  
Without you now cease, and so was made a drunken peace.  
Then came drunken Alice, and she was full of tales  
Of tidings in Walls, and St. james in Gales,  
And of the Portugese's, 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 a heap of Millstones 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,  
You shall give me a sippet of your strong Ale,  
And God send good sale, and as she was drinking,  
She fell in a winking with a barley hood,  
She pissed where she stood, then began she to weep,  
And forthwith fell a sleep: Elinour took her up,  
And blest her with a Cup of new Ale in corns,  
Alice found therein no thorns, but supped it up at once,  
She found therein no bones.   

Quintus Passus.  
Now in cometh another rabble, first one with a ladle  
Another with a cradle, and with a side saddle  
And 〈◊〉 began a fable, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and a babble,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 silly 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 with willy,  
Up she start half lame, and scantly could go,  
For pain and for woe.  
In came another daunt, with a Goose and a Gant,  
She had a 〈◊〉 wesant, she was nothing pleasant,  
Necked like an Elephant, it was a Bullifant,  
A greedy 〈◊〉  
Another brought Garlike-heads, another brought her bends  
Of let or of Cole, to offer to the Ale pole.  
Some brought a wimble, and some brought a thymble:  
Some brought a silk lace, and some a pincase:  
Some her husband's Gown, some a Pillow of down;  
And all this shift they make for the good Ale sake.  
Then start forth a Phisgigge, and she brought a Bore-pigge,  
The flesh thereof was rank, and her breath strongly stanlke,  
Yet ere she went she drank, and gate her great thank  
Of Elinour for her ware, that she thither bare,  
To pay for her share. Now truly to my thinking,  
This was a solemn drinking.   

Septimus Passus.  
Soft quoth one hight Sibbill,  
First let me with you bibbill;  
She sat down in the place  
With a sorry face,  
Whey-wormed about,  
Garnished was her snout,  
With here and there a puscull,  
Like a scabbed muscull:  
This Ale said she is noppy,  
Let us sipp and soppy,  
And not spill a droppy,  
For so more I hoppy,  
It cooleth will my copy.  
Dame eleanor said she,  
Have, here's for me,  
A clout of London pins,  
And with that she begins  
The pot to her pluck,  
And drank a good luck,  
She swinged up 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
At once for 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
Her paunch was so 〈◊〉  
And so with 〈◊〉,  
Had she 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
She had 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
Then began the 〈◊〉  
Amongst the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
Dame Elinor said they,  
Lend here a lock of 〈◊〉,  
To make all things 〈◊〉,  
You wot well 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
But sir among all:  
That sat in 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
There was a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
Sat like a Sainty,  
And began to painty,  
As though she would fainty,  
She made it as coy  
As a league demoy,  
She was not half so wise  
As she was peevish 〈◊〉,  
She said never a 〈◊〉,  
But rose from the 〈◊〉,  
And called for our Dame,  
Elinor by name.  
WWe supposed Iwis,  
That she rose to piss,  
But the very ground,  
Was to compound  
With Elinor in the speace,  
To pay for her expense,  
I have no penny nor great,  
To pay said she, God wot,  
For washing of my throat,  
But my Beads of 〈◊〉,  
Bear them to your chamber,  
Then Elinor did there hide  
Within her bedside;  
But some sa●● 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
That nothing had,  
There of their own,  
Neither gelt nor paw●●,  
Such were 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
That had not a penny:  
But when they should walk,  
Were 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 chalk,  
To score on the balk,  
Or score on the tail,  
God give it ill 〈◊〉,  
For my singer's itch,  
I have written to much,  
Of this mad 〈◊〉  
Of Elinor Rumming  
Thus endeth the 〈◊〉,  
Of this worthy feast.  
FINIS.