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Various

SCOTTISH POETRY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY

Published by
William Hodge & Co., Glasgow
Williams & Norgate, London and Edinburgh

Abbotsford Series
of the
Scottish Poets
Edited by GEORGE EYRE-TODD

SCOTTISH POETRY OF THE

SIXTEENTH CENTURY

SIR DAVID LYNDSAY

JOHN BELLENDEN

KING JAMES THE FIFTH

SIR RICHARD MAITLAND

ALEXANDER SCOT

ALEXANDER MONTGOMERIE

Glasgow: WILLIAM HODGE & CO
1892

NOTE.

Many of the best editions of the Scottish poets, even of recent date, increase the difficulties of archaic language by such unnecessary stumbling-blocks as the use of the old straight s, and of Anglo-Saxon symbols for certain letters. Some even appear in the added obscurity of Old English type. And when these hindrances are not present, an irritating punctuation too often remains a barrier to all enjoyment. To these obstacles, as much, perhaps, as to the actual scarcity and costliness of the works, is to be attributed the popular neglect of a noble heritage in recent years. In the present volume, as in the previous volumes of this series, an effort has been made, while preserving the text intact in its original form, to improve in these respects upon the readableness of previous editions. A running glossary has, for the same object, been furnished in the margin of each page. For practical perusal of the text, as poetry, it is believed that this arrangement, translating obsolete words, as it does, without a break in the reading, is better than footnotes, or a glossary at the end of the volume. Few now-a-days, it is to be feared, save the most ardent students, can afford the time necessary for the elucidation by means of a dictionary even of so short a poem as “Chrystis Kirk on the Grene.”

While avoiding a burden of distracting comment, all necessary information, it is hoped, has been included in the separate introductions.

All the poems not otherwise indicated are here printed entire; and in particular it may be pointed out that the four pieces attributed to King James the Fifth are now reproduced complete and together for the first time since 1786.

CONTENTS.

PAGE Scottish Poetry of the Sixteenth Century

,

1 Sir David Lyndsay

,

9

The Dreme,

29

The Testament and Complaynt of our Soverane Lordis Papyngo,

40

The Justing Betuix James Watsoun and Jhone Barbour,

64

Kitteis Confessioun,

67

Squyer Meldrumis Justyng,

72

The Squyeris Adew,

84

Ane Pleasant Satyre of the Thrie Estaitis,

85

Daybreak in May,

102 John Bellenden

,

105

Virtew and Vyce,

115

Nobilnes,

129

Address to Bellona and King James V.,

132

The Excusation of the Prentar,

134

Anno Domini,

136 King James the Fifth

,

139

Peblis to the Play,

159

Chrystis Kirk on the Grene,

168

The Gaberlunzieman,

176

The Jolly Beggar,

180 Sir Richard Maitland

,

183

Satire on the Age,

195

Satire on the Toun Ladyes,

199

Na Kyndnes at Court without Siller,

204

On the Folye of ane Auld Manis Maryand ane Young Woman,

206

Aganis the Theivis of Liddisdaill,

208

Advyce to Lesom Mirriness,

212 Alexander Scot

,

215

The Justing and Debait vp at the Dram betuix William Adamsone and Johine Sym,

221

Hence, Hairt,

229

Oppressit Hairt Indure,

231

To Luve Vnluvit,

234

Lo, Quhat it is to Lufe,

236 Alexander Montgomerie

,

237

The Cherrie and the Slae,

245

The Night is Neir Gone,

263

An Admonitioun to Young Lassis,

266

To His Maistres,

267

To His Maistres,

268

To Thé for Me,

269

SCOTTISH POETRY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

Flodden Field, that long slope looking north-ward by the “deep and dark and sullen Till,” where on a September afternoon in 1513 the flower of Scotland fell round James the Fourth, stands darkly marked on the page of history both of the Scottish nation and of Scottish poetry. It was for the North the burial-place of one era and the birth-place of another. The English billmen who on Flodden closed round the last desperate ring of Scottish spears hewed down with their ghastly weapons not only James himself and his nobles, but the feudal system in church and state, with all that sprang from it, the civilization and poetry of the Middle Ages in Scotland. The national spirit which had burst into leaf at Bannockburn was touched now as by an autumn frost, and a time of storm and darkness must ensue before the country could feel the re-awakening influences of a new spring. The mediæval world, with its charm and its chivalry, its splendour, cruelty, and power, was passing away, while the modern world was in the throes of being born.

Had James IV. lived he would doubtless have continued, firm-handed as he was, to hold in check both churchmen and nobles, and the reforms which were in the air might have taken effect like leaven, and not, as they did, like gunpowder. They might have been grafted upon the existing stem, as in England, instead of overturning it. But during the long minority of James V. the abuses of the feudal system, political and ecclesiastical, attained too rank a growth to be pruned by the hand of that king when he came of age, notwithstanding his energy and good intentions. The system, as Macaulay has pointed out, had served its purpose in the Middle Ages as perhaps no more modern system could have done. In the feudal castles and monasteries had been preserved certain lights of chivalry and learning which, without such shelter, must, amid the storms of these centuries, have flickered and disappeared. These lights were now, however, burning more and more dimly. The corruptions of the clergy and the rapacity of the nobles outran all bounds, and between the two no man’s life was safe and no woman’s honour. Like other human institutions, therefore, which have outlived their usefulness, feudalism was doomed.

Renaissance was to come, not from within, but from without, and in the north the new influence took the form of a militant religious enthusiasm. Already in James the Fourth’s time the war-horns of the Reformation sounded on the Continent had made their echoes heard in Scotland; and during the reign of his successor these were taken up and resounded at home with tremendous effect by the iconoclast trio, Lyndsay, Buchanan, and Knox. The new era was to be one of strife and tempest, in which the root of poesy was little likely to bring to perfection its rarest blossoms.

Goethe has said that the Reformation cost Europe three centuries’ growth of civilization. So far as poetry is concerned the statement must be taken as true in Scotland to a modified extent. No one would be so foolish as to deny the immense advantages, in the purification of morals and the setting up of new perfervid ideals, which the Reformation brought to the north. But it is too frequently forgotten that the era of Scotland’s highest achievement in arms and in poetry was not the era of Knox and Buchanan, but the era of Bishop Lamberton, Archdeacon Barbour,[1] and the preaching friar Dunbar. Against the unquestionable benefits of the Reformation in Scotland must be set the fact that it not only broke the stem of the existing feudal civilization, but itself, intent only upon things of a future life, and modelled overmuch upon Judaic ideals, gave scant encouragement to the carnal arts of this world.

There is strong reason to believe that Scottish character, so far as social qualities go, suffered a certain withering change in the sixteenth century. Under feudalism, with all its faults, the country had been characterized by a generous joyousness which may be read between the lines of its contemporary history and poetry. Bruce, in the intervals of his heroic undertaking, could recite long romances of chivalry. The accomplishments of James I. as musician, poet, and player at all games and sports, are too well known to need repetition. Blind Harry was only one of the wandering minstrels who everywhere earned feast and bed by their entertainments. And the madcap court of James IV. lives in the poems of William Dunbar and the letters of the Spanish ambassador, Pedro de Ayala. All this was changed at the Reformation, and there seems to have been imposed then upon the life of the people a certain ascetic seriousness which has left its traces on the national character to the present day. Mirth and entertainment of all sorts not strictly religious were severely discountenanced by the Reformers, as tending to render this life too attractive, and to withdraw attention from the great object of existence, preparation for the tomb. The attitude of the new rulers towards poetical composition in particular may be judged from two instances. In 1576, in the first book printed in Gaelic—Knox’s Forms of Prayer and Catechism—Bishop Carswell, the translator, in his preface condemns with pious severity the Highlanders’ enjoyment of songs and histories “concerning warriors and champions, and Fingal the son of Comhal, with his heroes.” And the title-page of that curious collection, The Gude and Godlie Ballates, published in 1578,[2] bears that the contents consist in great part of pious compositions “changed out of prophaine Sangis, for avoyding of sinne and harlotrie.” So strongly, indeed, burned the ardour of the Reformers that for a considerable period nothing was printed in the Scottish press but what was tinged with religion in the strictest sense; and the effect of the condemnation of “profane” literature at that time is to be traced in the prejudice with which novel-reading has been regarded in Scotland almost to the present day.

There was in the air, besides, another depressing influence which must not be overlooked.

Simultaneously with the dawn of the Reformation the Scottish language began to decay. The causes of this decay are sufficiently ascertained.[3] For the first forty years of the Reformation movement there was no translation of the Scriptures into the northern dialect. The copies used were obtained from England. Carried everywhere by the popular wave, the English book, as it was called, must by itself have done much to change the tongue of the country. Further, as the Catholic party in Scotland naturally looked for support to the ancient alliance with Catholic France, the adherents of Protestantism were forced into intimate relations and constant communication with Protestant England. In the works of Sir David Lyndsay, the earliest poet of the new period, the influence of this connection is seen taking effect, English forms of words, like go, also, and one, constantly taking the place of the mediæval Scottish. John Knox was a greater innovator than Lyndsay in this respect; and the deterioration went steadily on until, shortly after the close of the century, the coup de grâce was given to the tongue by the transference of James VI. and his court to England. Upon that event Lowland Scottish went out of favour, and practically ceased to be a literary language.[4]

In face of these adverse influences—the decay of the language, religious disfavour, and the overturn of the ancient social system—a brilliant poetic era was not to be looked for in Scotland in the sixteenth century. The marvel is that so much was produced that had vigour, humour, and tenderness. Justice has hardly yet been done to a period which, opening with the iconoclast thunders of Sir David Lyndsay, included the compositions of the gallant James V., of “the Scottish Anacreon” Alexander Scot, and of the author of “The Cherrie and the Slae.” These Scottish singers have their own place and charm, and it has to be remembered that their work was composed while the strange silence of more than a hundred years which followed the death of Chaucer south of the Tweed was still all but unbroken.

The early period of Scottish poetry, corresponding to the heroic era of the national history, had been one of geste, chronicle, and patriotic epic, and remains illustrious with the names of Thomas the Rhymer, Barbour, Wyntoun, and Henry the Minstrel. The mediæval period, that in which the temper of the nation changed from one of strenuous, single-hearted purpose to one of conscious reflection, individual assertion, and restless personal desire, had been the period in which, lit anew by the torch of Chaucer, and fed by the genius of James I., Henryson, Dunbar, and Douglas, Scottish poetry shot forth its most splendid flame. The sixteenth century, no less clearly marked, was a period of change. With Flodden Field and the Reformation the old order of things passed away. As the feudalism of the Middle Ages passed out of church and state the mediæval spirit passed out of the national poetry, and amid the strife of new ideals the last songs were sung in the national language of Scotland. Before the close of the century a new light had risen in the south, the brilliant Elizabethan constellation was flashing into fire, and under its influence the singers of the north were to make a new departure, and, like their kings who were seated on the English throne, were to adopt the accents of the southern tongue.

SIR DAVID LYNDSAY.

For more than two hundred years, until the appearance of Robert Burns, the most popular of all the Scottish poets was Sir David Lyndsay of the Mount. During that time more than twenty editions of his works were published; next to the Bible they were perhaps the most familiar reading of the people; and in any question of phraseology, “Ye’ll no fin’ that in Davie Lyndsay” was a common condemnation against which there was no appeal. Popularity is not always a sign of worth; but in Lyndsay’s case its justice must be admitted. The qualities which made him popular also make him great. No more honest, fearless, and admirable figure stands out from the page of Scottish history than that of this clear-sighted and true-hearted poet, who in a corrupt age filled so many parts without question and without stain. If effects are to be considered in judgment, a great place must be accorded the man who began by moulding the mind of a prince and ended by reforming that of a nation.

The Juvenal of Scotland was descended from a younger branch of the Lyndsays of the Byres in Haddingtonshire, and is believed to have been born in 1490 either at The Mount, near Cupar-Fife, or at Garleton, then Garmylton, in East Lothian. From the former small estate the poet’s father and himself in succession took their title, but the latter was apparently the chief residence of the family. There were grammar schools then established both in Haddington and in Cupar; and at one of these, it is probable, the poet received his early education. All that is definitely known of his early years, however, has been gathered from the fact that his name appears in 1508 or 1509 among the Incorporati or fourth-year students of St. Salvator’s College, St. Andrews. He must therefore have matriculated there in 1505, the year of John Knox’s birth. Next Lyndsay’s name in the register follows that of David Beaton, afterwards archbishop and cardinal, and the most formidable opponent of the Reformation in Scotland. It has been inferred from two references in his poems[5] that upon leaving college Lyndsay visited the Continent and travelled as far as Italy. But information on the subject remains uncertain.

The next definite notice shows him attached to the royal court, and taking part in the amusements which were there in vogue. It is an entry in the treasurer’s accounts on 12th October, 1511, of £3 4s. for blue and yellow taffeties “to be a play coat to David Lyndsay for the play playit in the king and queen’s presence in the Abbey of Holyrood.” In the same year appear the first quarterly payments of an annual salary of £40, which he received henceforth for his duties at court. The exact position which he at first filled is uncertain, but on the birth of Prince James, afterwards James V., on 12th April, 1512, Lyndsay was appointed chief page or usher to the infant. The description of his services in this capacity makes a delightful picture in the “Epistil to the Kingis Grace” prefixed to “The Dreme,” and again in the “Complaynt” of 1529. The lines of the latter may be quoted—

I tak the Quenis Grace, thy mother,

My Lord Chancelare, and mony uther,

Thy Nowreis, and thy auld Maistres,

I tak thame all to beir wytnes;

Auld Willie Dillie, wer he on lyve,

My lyfe full weill he could discryve:

Quhow, as ane chapman beris his pak,

I bure thy Grace upon my bak,

And sumtymes, strydlingis on my nek,

Dansand with mony bend and bek.

The first sillabis that thow did mute

Was Pa, Da Lyn,[6] upon the lute;

Than playit I twenty spryngis, perqueir,

Quhilk wes gret piete for to heir.

Fra play thow leit me never rest,

Bot Gynkartoun[7] thow lufit ay best;

And ay, quhen thow come frome the scule

Than I behuffit to play the fule;

As I at lenth, in-to my Dreme

My sindry servyce did expreme.

Thocht it bene better, as sayis the wyse,

Hape to the court nor gude servyce,

I wate thow luffit me better, than,

Nor, now, sum wyfe dois hir gude-man.

Than men tyll uther did recorde,

Said Lyndesay wald be maid ane lord:

Thow hes maid lordis, Schir, be Sanct Geill,

Of sum that hes nocht servit so weill.

Whatever may have been the severity of character which in other matters James sometimes considered it his duty to show, there remains as testimony to the real nature of “the King of the Commons” that he never forgot these early services of his faithful attendant.

When the prince was a year old, that is, in 1513, just before Flodden, Lyndsay was witness to that strange scene in the Church of St. Michael in Linlithgow which is related upon his authority both by Pitscottie and Buchanan, and which is popularly known through Sir Walter Scott’s version in Marmion. On the eve of setting forth upon his fatal campaign James IV., according to Pitscottie, was with his nobles attending prayers in the church at Linlithgow when a tall man came in, roughly clad in a blue gown and bare-headed, with a great pikestaff in his hand, “cryand and spearand for the King.” He advanced to James, and with small reverence laid his arm on the royal praying-desk. “Sir King,” he said, “my mother has sent me to you desiring you not to passe, at this time, where thou art purposed; for if thou does thou wilt not fair well in thy journey, nor none that passeth with thee. Further, she bade ye melle with no woman, nor use their counsell, nor let them touch thy body, nor thou theirs; for, and thou do it, thou wilt be confounded and brought to shame.” “Be this man,” proceeds the chronicler, “had spoken thir words unto the King’s Grace, the Even-song was neere doone, and the King paused on thir words, studying to give him an answer; but in the mean time, before the King’s eyes, and in presence of all the Lords that were about him for the time, this man vanished away, and could no wayes be seene nor comprehended, but vanished away as he had beene ane blink of the sunne, or ane whiss of the whirlwind, and could no more be seene.”

It has been suggested that the episode might be an effort of Queen Margaret to dissuade her husband from the campaign by working upon his superstition, and that Lyndsay, through whose hands the apparition “vanished away,” probably knew more of the affair than he cared to confess. The whole matter, however, is wrapped up in mystery.

After the death of James IV. at Flodden, Lyndsay appears to have remained in constant attendance upon the young king, sometimes being styled “the Kingis maister usher,” sometimes “the Kingis maister of houshald.” It was probably in the course of these duties that he made the acquaintance of the lady who became his wife. Whether she was related to the great historic house is unknown, but her name was Janet Douglas, and from numerous entries in the treasurer’s accounts she appears, notwithstanding her marriage, to have held the post of sempstress to the king till the end of his reign. The union took place about the year 1522.

In 1524 affairs in Scotland took a turn which for a time deprived Lyndsay of his office. On 20th May in that year the Regent Albany finally retired to France, and the reins of government were assumed by Queen Margaret, who, to strengthen her position against her divorced husband, the powerful Earl of Angus, withdrew the young prince from his tutors, and placed the sceptre nominally in his hand. Angus, however, prevailed, and getting possession of the person of James, ruled Scotland in the Douglas interest for four years. Lyndsay’s opinion of the effect of this proceeding may be gathered from the lines of his “Complaynt”—

The Kyng was bot twelf yeris of aige

Quhen new rewlaris come, in thair raige,

For Commonweill makand no cair,

Bot for thair proffeit singulair.

Imprudentlie, lyk wytles fuilis,

Thay tuke that young Prince frome the scuilis,

Quhare he, under obedience,

Was lernand vertew and science,

And haistelie platt in his hand

The governance of all Scotland;

As quho wald, in ane stormye blast,

Quhen marinaris bene all agast

Throw dainger of the seis raige,

Wald tak ane chylde of tender aige

Quhilk never had bene on the sey,

And to his biddyng all obey,

Gevyng hym haill the governall

Off schip, marchand, and marinall,

For dreid of rockis and foreland,

To put the ruther in his hand.

Without Goddis grace is no refuge:

Geve thare be dainger ye may juge.

I gyf thame to the Devyll of Hell

Quhilk first devysit that counsell!

I wyll nocht say that it was treassoun,

Bot I dar sweir it was no reassoun.

I pray God, lat me never se ryng,

In-to this realme, so young ane Kyng!

Discharged from his duties, though, at the instance of James, his salary continued to be paid, Lyndsay retired to his estates, and occupied his leisure by casting into verse some of his reflections upon the events and character of his time. These, in the form of a scarcely veiled satire, with a finely poetic setting, he published under the title of “The Dreme,” probably in 1528. In the autumn of the same year, it is believed, he wrote his “Complaynt to the Kingis Grace,” a performance in which, as has been seen, he recounts his early services, and asks some token of royal recognition, declaiming fearlessly the abuses which have been practised by the recent governors of the realm, and ending with congratulations and sound counsel on James’s own sudden assumption of power.

This reminder would hardly appear to have been needed by the young king. On a night in May of that year James had escaped from Falkland, and dashing through the defiles of the Ochils with only a couple of grooms in his train, had established himself in Stirling, successfully defied the Douglas power, and, though no more than sixteen years of age, had in a few hours made himself absolute master of Scotland. Among the first to benefit by his assumption of power were his old attendants. His chaplain, Sir James Inglis, he made Abbot of Culross; his tutor, Gavin Dunbar, he made Archbishop of Glasgow, and afterwards Lord High Chancellor; while upon Lyndsay he conferred the honour of knighthood and appointed him Lyon King at Arms.

This was in 1529, and the appointment marks Lyndsay’s entry into the larger public life of his time. The office of the Chief Herald was then an active one, its holder being employed on frequent state envoys to foreign courts. Thus in 1531 Lyndsay was sent to the Netherlands to renew a commercial treaty of James I. which had just lapsed. Upon that occasion he had an interview at Brussels with the Queen of Hungary, then Regent of the Netherlands, and her brother the Emperor Charles V.; and in a letter still extant[8] he describes the tournaments, of which he was spectator, at the royal court.

Again, in 1536, he was one of the embassy sent to France to conclude a marriage between James and Marie de Bourbon, daughter of the Duc de Vendôme. Negotiations in this case were all but completed when by the personal interference of James the treaty was broken off and espousals arranged instead with Magdalene, the daughter of the French king, Francis I.

The sad sequel of this romantic union is well known. The fate of the fragile young princess formed the subject of Lyndsay’s elegy, “The Deploratioun of the Deith of Quene Magdalene.”

Strangely enough, the Lyon Herald’s next employment was, in the following year, the superintendence of ceremonies at reception of James’s new bride, Mary, the daughter of the Duc de Guise. These, like the other events of the time, are fully described by Lindsay of Pitscottie, the contemporary historian. Among other “fersis and playis” they included one curious device. “And first sche was receivit at the New Abbay yet (gate); upon the eist syd thairof thair wes maid to hir ane triumphant arch be Sir David Lindsay of the Mount, knicht, alias Lyon Kyng at Armis, quha caussit ane greyt cloud to cum out of the hevins down abone the yeit; out the quhilk cloude come downe ane fair Lady most lyk ane angell, having the keyis of Scotland in hir hand, and delyverit thayme to the Queinis grace in signe and taikin that all the harts of Scotland wer opin for the receveing of hir Grace; withe certane Oratiouns maid be the said Sir David to the Quein’s Grace, desyring hir to feir hir God, and to serve him, and to reverence and obey hir husband, and keip her awin body clein, according to God’s will and commandment.”[9]

A more momentous piece of work, and one more worthy of the poet’s genius, was Lyndsay’s next performance. In 1530, in his “Testament and Complaynt of our Soverane Lordis Papyngo,” he had already ventured with great boldness to expose the disorders of the time in church affairs. He now went further, and in the guise of a stage-play attacked with fearless and biting satire the corruptions of clergy and nobles. This play, “Ane Pleasant Satyre of the thrie Estaitis,” appears to have been first performed at Linlithgow at the feast of Epiphany on 6th January, 1539–40, when, occupying no less than nine hours in representation,[10] it was witnessed by the king, the queen, and ladies of the court, the bishops, nobles, and a great gathering of people.

As Lyon Herald, Lyndsay superintended the preparation of the Register of Arms of the Scottish nobility and gentry. This work, now in the Advocates’ Library, Mr. Laing commends for its careful execution and proper emblazonment of the arms, as most creditable to the state of heraldic art in Scotland. It was completed in 1542.

On the 14th of December in the same year Lyndsay was one of those who stood by the bedside of the dying king at Falkland, when, overwhelmed by sorrow and disappointment, he “turned his back to his lordis and his face to the wall,” and presently passed away. The friendship between the king and the poet, which had begun in the prince’s cradle-days, appears to have had not a single break, one of James’ last acts being to assign to Lyndsay, “during all the days of his life, two chalders of oats, for horse-corn, out of the King’s lands of Dynmure in Fife.”

The Lyon Herald survived his master about fifteen years, and lived to see signs that the reforms which he had urged would one day be carried out.

In 1546 occurred the first crisis of the Reformation. In consequence of the cruel burning of George Wishart at St. Andrews in that year, the castle there was stormed by Norman Lesley and fifteen others, and Cardinal Beaton, the prelate most obnoxious to the reforming party, was assassinated. On the 4th of August, Lyndsay, as commissioner for the burgh of Cupar, was in his seat in Parliament when the writ of treason was issued against the assassins; and on the 17th, as Lyon Herald, he appeared with a trumpeter before the castle in the vain effort to bring the garrison to terms. But whatever might be his official duties, his sympathies were clearly on the side of the reformers. Regarding the death of Beaton he wrote, probably sometime in the following year, his satire, the “Tragedie of the Cardinall”; and in May, 1547, he was one of the inner circle of those who, in the parish church of St. Andrews, gave John Knox his unexpected but memorable call to the ministry.

In 1548 Lyndsay was sent to Denmark to negotiate a treaty of free trade in corn, and with the successful issue of this embassy he appears to have closed his career as envoy to foreign courts. Henceforth he seems to have devoted himself to poetical composition. In 1550 appeared what has been esteemed by some critics the most pleasing of all his works, “The Historie and Testament of Squyer Meldrum,” a romance somewhat in the style of the ancient heroic narratives, founded on the adventures of an actual personage of his own day. And in 1553 he finished his last and longest work, “The Monarche, Ane Dialog betuix Experience and Ane Courteour on the Miserabyll Estait of the World.”

Once more he appears in history in the dignity of his office as Lyon King. On 16th January, 1554–5, he presided at a chapter of heralds convened at Holyrood for the trial and punishment of William Crawar, a messenger, for abuse of his function. But before the 18th of April in the same year he had passed away. By a letter of that date in the Privy Seal Register it appears that his wife had predeceased him, and that, in the absence of children, his estates were inherited by his younger brother, Alexander Lyndsay.

Four years later the Reformation, of which also he may be said to have been the Lyon Herald, had begun in earnest. John Knox had returned to Scotland, the assassins of Beaton had received pardon, and the leaders of the new church which was to rise out of the ashes of the old had assumed the name of “The Congregation.”

Such was the consistent career of the poet who, in the words of Dryden, “lashed vice into reformation” in Scotland. In high position, with everything to lose and nothing to gain by the part he took, he must be adjudged entire disinterestedness in his efforts. Patriotism, the virtue which more than any other has from century to century made the renown of Scotland, must be acknowledged as his chief motive. Of his “Dreme” one writer has said, “We almost doubt if there is to be found anywhere except in the old Hebrew prophets a purer or more earnest breathing of the patriotic spirit.” His attack, it is true, was directed, not against the doctrines, but merely against the abuses of the church, a fact which sufficiently accounts for his freedom from persecution. There can be no question, however, that but for the brilliant, burning satire of Lyndsay the later work of the reformers would have proved infinitely more arduous, and might have been indefinitely delayed. Professor Nichol[11] has compared the service rendered by Lyndsay in Scotland to that rendered in Holland by Erasmus. All great movements probably have had some such forerunner, from John the Baptist downwards. At anyrate it is certain that when Lyndsay laid down his pen the time was ripe for Knox to mount the pulpit.

During the early troubles of the Reformation the works of Lyndsay were, it is said, printed by stealth; and Pitscottie states that an Act of Assembly ordered them to be burned. Their popularity, nevertheless, remained undiminished, and edition after edition found its way into the hands of the people. The best editions now available are that by George Chalmers, three volumes, London, 1806, that of the Early English Text Society by various editors, 1865–1871, and the edition by David Laing, LL.D., three volumes, Edinburgh, 1879. The last is taken in the present volume as the standard text.

Of Lyndsay’s compositions “The Dreme” has generally been considered the most poetical, and the “Satyre of the Thrie Estaitis” the most important. The former is an allegory in the fashion of Dante and Chaucer, in which, after a prologue which has been much admired for its descriptive charm, a historical lesson is drawn from the abuse of power by rulers of the past, and the political grievances of Scotland are set boldly forth. To the latter belongs the credit of being the earliest specimen of the Scottish drama now in existence, the ground having been previously occupied only by the old mysteries and pageants, the “fairseis and clerk-playis” mentioned by Sir Richard Maitland.[12] Technically it is neither a morality-play nor a regular drama, but what is known as an interlude: it has no regular plot, and upon its stage real men and women move about among allegorical personages. Its author, however, confined the term “interlude” to the burlesque diversions which occupied the intervals of the main action. “Lyndsay’s play,” says Chalmers, “carried away the palm of dramatic composition from the contemporary moralities of England till the epoch of the first tragedy in Gorboduc and the first comedy in Gammer Gurton’s Needle.” The work was more, however, than a dramatic pioneer; it was the greatest blow which Lyndsay struck at the vices and follies of his age, the ignorance and profligacy of the priesthood, and the insolence and unscrupulous ambition of the courtiers; and it is perhaps not too much to say of it that by its performance again and again before multitudes of all classes of the people it prepared the way more than anything else for the great movement of the Reformation in Scotland. For the modern reader, apart from its merits as a tour de force of satire, this work remains the most vivid picture we possess of the grievances by which the common people of Scotland were oppressed during the last days of feudalism.

“The Monarche,” a still longer poem, possesses nothing like the interest of the “Satyre.” In dialogue form, it follows the historic fashion of an earlier time, attempting to give a complete history of the human race from the creation to the day of judgment. Gloom and sadness reign throughout its pages, and notwithstanding one or two fine descriptive passages and the exhibition of much learning and sagacious reflection, it must be ranked among the less vital of its author’s works. An English version of “The Monarche,” nevertheless, was repeatedly printed in London from 1566 onwards, and a translation into Danish was published at Copenhagen in 1591.

“The Testament and Complaynt of the Kyngis Papyngo” is a composition frequently referred to. It opens with a prologue in praise of the makars, who, from Chaucer to the writer’s contemporary Bellenden, are named in order. In form of a fable—the death-bed of the king’s parrot, attended by the pye, a canon regular, the raven, a black monk, and the hawk, a holy friar—it satirizes mercilessly the vices of the clergy and the abuses of the church.

Lyndsay’s lesser productions are satires on minor subjects, such as court patronage and the absurdities of female fashions, showing their author in a lighter vein. But “Kitteis Confessioun” is another hard hit at the church abuses of the time, and the “Deploratioun of the Deith of Quene Magdalene” possesses interest as a picture of a royal welcome in the sixteenth century.

“The Tragedie of the Cardinall,” apart from a suggestion in the prologue, the appearance of Beaton’s ghost—

Ane woundit man, aboundantlie bledyng,

With vissage paill and with ane deidlye cheir—

displays no striking poetic power. The poem recounts in detail, as by the mouth of the prelate himself, the damaging part which Beaton had played in the contemporary history of Scotland, and it ends with serious admonitions addressed respectively to prelates and to princes to avoid the abuses which were then rampant in the government of the church.

“The Historie of Squyer Meldrum” is written in a different vein from the rest of Lyndsay’s works. As has already been said, it is modelled on the gestes and heroic epics of an earlier century. The narrative is lively, with vivid descriptive passages and great smoothness of versification. “In all Froissart,” says Dr. Merry Ross, “there is nothing more delightful in picturesque details than the description of the jousts between Meldrum and the English knight Talbart on the plains of Picardy.”

It has been the habit to regard Lyndsay in the character rather of a reformer than of a poet, and it cannot be doubted that his own purpose was to edify rather than to delight. But the merit of a satirist consists, not in his display of the more delicate sort of poetic charm, but in the brilliance and keenness of his satire. No critic can aver that in these qualities Lyndsay was lacking. If evidence of power in other fields be demanded, there are, according to the estimate of Professor Nichol, passages in “The Dreme,” “Squyer Meldrum,” and “The Monarche,” “especially in the descriptions of the morning and evening voices of the birds, which, for harmony of versification and grace of imagery, may be safely laid alongside of any corresponding to them in the works of his predecessors.” But it is as a satiric poet that he must chiefly be appraised, and in this character he stands the greatest that Scotland has produced. He remained popular for more than two centuries because he sympathised with the sorrows of the people and satirized the abuse of power by the great. In this respect he was not excelled even by his great successor, Robert Burns. For the reader of the present day the interest of Lyndsay, apart from the broad light which he throws upon the life and manners of his time, lies in his shrewd common-sense, his irresistible humour, vivacity, and dramatic power, with the consciousness that behind these burns a soul of absolute honesty. But the first value of his work, as of the work of every satiric poet, consisted in its wholesome effect upon the spirit of his age. With this fact in view it would be difficult to formulate a better summing-up of Lyndsay’s titles to regard than that by Scott in the fourth canto of Marmion. There, by a poetic license, he is introduced in the character of Lyon Herald on the eve of Flodden, sixteen years before he obtained that office—

He was a man of middle age;

In aspect manly, grave, and sage,

As on king’s errand come;

But in the glances of his eye

A penetrating, keen, and sly

Expression found its home;

The flash of that satiric rage

Which, bursting on the early stage,

Branded the vices of the age,

And broke the keys of Rome.

Still is thy name of high account

And still thy verse has charms,

Sir David Lindesay of the Mount,

Lord Lion King-at-arms!

THE DREME.

Epistil to the Kingis Grace.

Rycht potent Prince, of hie Imperial blude,

Unto thy Grace I traist it be weill knawin

My servyce done unto your Celsitude,

Quhilk nedis nocht at length for to be schawin;

And thocht[13] my youtheid now be neir ouer-blawin,

Excerst[14] in servyce of thyne Excellence,

Hope hes me hecht[15] ane gudlie recompense.

Quhen thow wes young I bure thee in myne arme

Full tenderlie, tyll thow begouth to gang[16];

And in thy bed oft happit[17] thee full warme,

With lute in hand, syne[18], sweitlie to thee sang:

Sumtyme, in dansing, feiralie[19] I flang;

And sumtyme, playand farsis on the flure;

And sumtyme, on myne office takkand cure:

And sumtyme, lyke ane feind, transfigurate,

And sumtyme, lyke the greislie gaist of Gye[20];

In divers formis oft-tymes disfigurate,

And sumtyme, dissagyist full plesandlye.

So, sen[21] thy birth, I have continewalye

Bene occupyit, and aye to thy plesoure,

And sumtyme, Seware, Coppare, and Carvoure[22];

Thy purs-maister and secreit Thesaurare[23],

Thy Yschare[24], aye sen thy natyvitie,

And of thy chalmer cheiffe Cubiculare,

Quhilk, to this hour, hes keipit my lawtie[25];

Lovyng[26] be to the blyssit Trynitie

That sic[27] ane wracheit worme hes maid so habyll[28]

Tyll sic ane Prince to be so greabyll!

But now thow arte, be influence naturall,

Hie of ingyne[29], and rycht inquisityve

Of antique storeis, and deidis marciall;

More plesandlie the tyme for tyll ouerdryve,

I have, at length, the storeis done descryve[30]

Of Hectour, Arthour, and gentyll Julyus,

Of Alexander, and worthy Pompeyus;

Of Jasone, and Medea, all at lenth,

Of Hercules the actis honorabyll,

And of Sampsone the supernaturall strenth,

And of leill luffaris[31] storeis amiabyll;

And oft-tymes have I feinyeit mony fabyll,

Of Troylus the sorrow and the joye,

And Seigis all of Tyir, Thebes, and Troye.

The propheceis of Rymour, Beid, and Marlyng,[32]

And of mony uther plesand storye,

Of the Reid Etin, and the Gyir Carlyng,[33]

Confortand thee, quhen that I saw thee sorye.

Now, with the supporte of the King of Glorye,

I sall thee schaw ane storye of the new,

The quhilk affore I never to thee schew.

But humilie I beseik thyne Excellence,

With ornate termis thocht I can nocht expres

This sempyll mater, for laik of eloquence;

Yit, nochtwithstandyng all my besynes,

With hart and hand my pen I sall addres

As I best can, and most compendious:

Now I begyn: the mater hapnit thus.

Prolog.

In-to the Calendis of Januarie,

Quhen fresche Phebus, be movyng circulair,

Frome Capricorne wes enterit in Aquarie,

With blastis that the branchis maid full bair,

The snaw and sleit perturbit all the air,

And flemit[34] Flora frome every bank and bus[35],

Throuch supporte of the austeir Eolus.

Efter that I the lang wynteris nycht

Had lyne walking[36], in-to my bed, allone,

Throuch hevy thocht, that no way sleip I mycht,

Rememberyng of divers thyngis gone:

So up I rose, and clethit me anone.

Be this, fair Tytane, with his lemis[37] lycht,

Ouer all the land had spred his baner brycht.

With cloke and hude I dressit me belyve[38],

With dowbyll schone, and myttanis on my handis;

Howbeit the air was rycht penetratyve,

Yit fure I furth, lansing ouirthorte[39] the landis

Toward the see, to schorte[40] me on the sandis,

Because unblomit was baith bank and braye[41].

And so, as I was passing be the waye,

I met dame Flora, in dule weid dissagysit[42],

Quhilk in-to May wes dulce and delectabyll;

With stalwart[43] stormis hir sweitnes wes supprisit[44];

Hir hevynlie hewis war turnit in-to sabyll,

Quhilkis umquhile[45] war to luffaris amiabyll.

Fled frome the froste, the tender flouris I saw

Under dame Naturis mantyll lurking law.

The small fowlis in flokkis saw I flee,

To Nature makand greit lamentatioun.

Thay lychtit doun besyde me on ane tree,

Of thair complaynt I had compassioun;

And with ane pieteous exclamatioun

Thay said, “Blyssit be Somer, with his flouris;

And waryit[46] be thow, Wynter, with thy schouris!”

“Allace! Aurora,” the syllie[47] Larke can crye,

“Quhare hes thou left thy balmy liquour sweit

That us rejosit, we mounting in the skye?

Thy sylver droppis ar turnit in-to sleit.

O fair Phebus! quhare is thy hoilsum heit?

Quhy tholis[48] thow thy hevinlie plesand face

With mystie vapouris to be obscurit, allace!

“Quhar art thow May, with June thy syster schene[49],

Weill bordourit with dasyis of delyte?

And gentyll Julie, with thy mantyll grene,

Enamilit with rosis red and quhyte?

Now auld and cauld Januar, in dispyte,

Reiffis[50] frome us all pastyme and plesour.

Allace! quhat gentyll hart may this indure?

“Ouersylit[51] ar with cloudis odious

The goldin skyis of the Orient,

Changeyng in sorrow our sang melodious,

Quhilk we had wount to sing with gude intent,

Resoundand to the hevinnis firmament:

Bot now our daye is changeit in-to nycht.”

With that thay rais, and flew furth of my sycht.

Pensyve in hart, passing full soberlie

Unto the see, fordward I fure anone.

The see was furth, the sand wes smooth and drye;

Then up and doun I musit myne allone[52],

Till that I spyit ane lyttill cave of stone

Heych[53] in ane craig: upwart I did approche

But tarying[54], and clam up in the roche:

And purposit, for passing of the tyme,

Me to defende from ociositie[55],

With pen and paper to register in ryme

Sum mery mater of antiquitie:

Bot Idelnes, ground of iniquitie,

Scho maid so dull my spreitis, me within,

That I wyste nocht at quhat end to begin,

But satt styll in that cove, quhare I mycht see

The wolteryng[56] of the wallis, up and doun,

And this fals warldis instabilytie

Unto that see makkand comparisoun,

And of this warldis wracheit variatioun

To thame that fixis all thair hole intent,

Consideryng quho most had suld most repent.

So, with my hude my hede I happit warme,

And in my cloke I fauldit boith my feit;

I thocht my corps with cauld suld tak no harme,

My mittanis held my handis weill in heit;

The skowland[57] craig me coverit frome the sleit.

Thare styll I satt, my bonis for to rest,

Tyll Morpheus with sleip my spreit opprest.

So, throw the bousteous[58] blastis of Eolus,

And throw my walkyng on the nycht before,

And throw the seyis movyng marvellous,

Be Neptunus, with mony route[59] and rore,

Constraint I was to sleip, withouttin more:

And quhat I dremit, in conclusioun

I sall you tell, ane marvellous Visioun.

[In the company of Dame Remembrance the poet visits the centre of the earth, and there amid the torments of hell discovers the “men of Kirk,” from cardinals to friars, with historic characters, from Bishop Caiaphas and Mahomet to queens and dukes, whose causes of punishment are described. He visits purgatory and the place of unbaptised babes, then passing upward through the four elements and the spheres of the seven planets, from that of the moon, “Quene of the see and bewtie of the nycht,” he reaches the heaven of heavens, and beholds the throne of God, with all its glorious surroundings. Upon leaving heaven Remembrance displays and describes the three parts of the earth to the poet, and after affording him a view of paradise with its four walls of fire, brings him to Scotland. Here he enquires the causes of all the unhappiness which he sees. These are attributed to political turpitude and mismanagement. As Remembrance is speaking a third personage appears on the scene.]

Complaynt of the Commounweill of Scotland.

And thus as we wer talking, to and fro,

We saw a bousteous berne cum ouir the bent[60],

Bot[61] hors, on fute, als fast as he mycht go,

Quhose rayment wes all raggit, revin, and rent,

With visage leyne, as he had fastit Lent:

And fordwart fast his wayis he did advance,

With ane rycht melancolious countynance,

With scrip on hip, and pyikstaff in his hand,

As he had purposit to passe fra hame.

Quod I, “Gude-man, I wald faine understand,

Geve that ye plesit, to wyt[62] quhat were your name?”

Quod he, “My Sonne, of that I think gret schame,

Bot, sen thow wald of my name have ane feill[63],

Forsuith, thay call me John the Commounweill.”

“Schir Commounweill, quho hes yow so disgysit?”

Quod I: “or quhat makis yow so miserabyll?

I have marvell to se yow so supprysit[64],

The quhilk that I have sene so honorabyll.

To all the warld ye have bene profitabyll,

And weill honourit in everilk[65] natioun:

How happinnis now your tribulatioun?”

“Allace!” quod he, “thow seis how it dois stand

With me, and quhow I am disherisit

Of all my grace, and mon[66] pass of Scotland,

And go, afore quhare I was cherisit.

Remane I heir, I am bot perysit[67];

For thare is few to me that takis tent[68],

That garris[69] me go so raggit, rewin, and rent:

“My tender freindis are all put to the flycht;

For Policye is fled agane in France.[70]

My syster, Justice, almaist haith tynt[71] hir sycht,

That scho can nocht hald evinly the ballance.

Plane wrang is plane capitane of ordinance,

The quhilk debarris laute[72] and reasoun;

And small remeid is found for open treasoun.

“In-to the South, allace! I was neir slane;

Ouer all the land I culd fynd no releif.

Almoist betuix the Mers and Lowmabane

I culde nocht knaw are leill man be ane theif.

To schaw thair reif[73], thift, murthour, and mischeif,

And vicious workis, it wald infect the air,

And als langsum[74] to me for tyll declair.

“In-to the Hieland I could fynd no remeid,

Bot suddantlie I wes put to exile:

Thai sweir swyngeoris[75] thay tuke of me non heid,

Nor amangs thame lat me remane are quhyle.

Als, in the Oute Ylis, and in Argyle,

Unthrift, sweirnes, falset, povertie, and stryfe

Pat Policye in dainger of hir lyfe.

“In the Lawland I come to seik refuge,

And purposit thare to mak my residence;

Bot singulare profeit gart[76] me soune disluge,

And did me gret injuries and offence,

And said to me, ‘Swyith[77], harlote, hy thee hence,

And in this countre see thow tak no curis[78],

So lang as my auctoritie induris.’

“And now I may mak no langer debait;

Nor I wate[79] nocht quhome to I suld me mene[80];

For I have socht throw all the Spirituall stait,

Quhilkis tuke na compt for to heir me complene.

Thair officiaris, thay held me at disdene;

For Symonie, he rewlis up all that rowte;

And Covatyce, that carle, gart bar me oute.

“Pryde haith chaist far frome thame Humilitie;

Devotioun is fled unto the Freris;

Sensuale plesour hes baneist Chaistitie;

Lordis of religioun, thay go lyke seculeris,

Taking more compt in tellyng thair deneris[81]

Nor thai do of thair constitutioun.

Thus are thay blyndit be ambitioun.

“Our gentyll men are all degenerat;

Liberalitie and lawte boith ar lost,

And Cowardyce with lordis is laureat,

And knychtlie Curage turnit in brag and boast.

The civele weir misgydis everilk oist[82];

Thare is nocht ellis bot ilk[83] man for hym-self;

That garris me go, thus baneist lyke ane elf.

“Tharefor, adew: I may no langer tarye.”

“Fair weill,” quod I, “and with sanct Jhone to borrow[84]!”

Bot, wyt ye weill, my hart was wounder sarye[85]

Quhen Comounweill so sopit[86] was in sorrow.

“Yit efter the nycht cumis the glaid morrow;

Quharefor, I pray yow, schaw me in certane

Quhen that ye purpose for to cum agane.”

“That questioun, it sall be sone decydit,”

Quod he, “thare sall na Scot have confortyng

Of me tyll that I see the countre gydit

Be wysedome of ane gude auld prudent Kyng,

Quhilk sall delyte him maist, abone[87] all thyng,

To put Justice tyll executioun,

And on strang traitouris mak punitioun.

“Als yit to thee I say ane-uther thyng:

I see rycht weill that proverbe is full trew,

‘Wo to the realme that hes ouer young ane King!’”

With that he turnit his bak, and said adew.

Ouer firth and fell[88] rycht fast fra me he flew,

Quhose departyng to me was displesand.[89]

With that, Remembrance tuk me be the hand,

And sone, me-thocht, scho brocht me to the roche

And to the cove quhare I began to sleip.

With that, one schip did spedalye approche,

Full plesandlie saling apone the deip,

And syne[90] did slake hir salis and gan to creip

Towart the land, anent[91] quhare that I lay.

Bot, wyt ye weill, I gat ane fellown fray[92]:

All hir cannounis sche leit craik of at onis:

Down schuke the stremaris frome the topcastell;

Thay sparit nocht the poulder nor the stonis[93];

Thay schot thair boltis, and doun thair ankeris fell;

The marenaris, thay did so youte[94] and yell,

That haistalie I stert out of my dreme,

Half in ane fray, and spedalie past hame.

And lychtlie dynit, with lyste[95] and appetyte,

Syne efter past in-tyll ane oratore,

And tuke my pen, and thare began to wryte

All the visioun that I have schawin afore.

Schir, of my dreme as now thou gettis no more,

Bot I beseik God for to send thee grace

To rewle thy realme in unitie and peace.

THE TESTAMENT AND COMPLAYNT OF OUR SOVERANE LORDIS PAPYNGO.

Prolog.

Suppose I had ingyne[96] angelicall,

With sapience more than Salamonicall[97],

I not quhat mater put in memorie;

The poeitis auld, in style heroycall,

In breve[98] subtell termes rethorycall,

Of everlike[99] mater, tragedie and storie,

So ornatlie, to thair heych[100] laude and glorie,

Haith done indyte; quhose supreme sapience

Transcendith far the dull intellygence

Of poeitis now in-tyll our vulgare toung.

For quhy? the bell of rethorick bene roung

Be Chawceir, Goweir, and Lidgate laureate.

Quho dar presume thir poeitis tyll impung

Quhose sweit sentence throuch Albione bene sung?

Or quho can now the workis countrafait

Of Kennedie with termes aureait,

Or of Dunbar, quhilk language had at large,

As may be sene in-tyll his Goldin Targe?

Quintyn, Merser, Rowle, Henderson, Hay, and Holland,[101]

Thocht thay be deid thair libellis bene levand[102],

Quhilkis to reheirs makeith redaris to rejose.

Allace for one quhilk lampe wes of this land,

Of eloquence the flowand balmy strand[103]

And in our Inglis rethorick the rose!

As of rubeis the charbunckle bene chose,

And as Phebus dois Cynthia precell,

So Gawane Dowglas, Byschope of Dunkell,

Had, quhen he wes in-to this land on lyve[104],

Abufe vulgare poeitis prerogatyve

Both in pratick and speculatioun.

I say no more; gude redaris may descryve[105]

His worthy workis in nowmer more than fyve,

And specallye the trew translatioun

Of Virgill, quhilk bene consolatioun

To cunnyng men, to knaw his gret ingyne,

Als weill in naturall science as devyne.

And in the courte bene present in thir[106] dayis

That ballattis brevis lustellie[107], and layis,

Quhilkis tyll our Prince daylie thay do present.

Quho can say more than Schir James Inglis[108] sayis,

In ballattis, farses, and in plesand playis?

But Culrose hes his pen maid impotent.

Kyd, in cunnyng and pratick rycht prudent,

And Stewarte,[109] quhilk desyrith ane staitly style,

Full ornate werkis daylie dois compyle.

Stewart of Lorne wyll carpe[110] rycht curiouslie;

Galbraith, Kynlouch, quhen thay lyst tham applie

In-to that art, ar craftie of ingyne.

Bot now of lait is starte up haistelie

Ane cunnyng[111] clerk quhilk wrytith craftelie,

Ane plant of poeitis callit Ballendyne,

Quhose ornat workis my wytt can nocht defyne.

Gett he in-to the courte auctorite

He wyll precell Quintyn and Kennedie.

So, thocht[112] I had ingyne, as I have none,

I watt[113] nocht quhat to wryt, be sweit Sanct Jhone;

For quhy? in all the garth[114] of eloquence

Is no-thyng left bot barrane stok and stone;

The poleit termes are pullit everilk one[115]

Be thir fornamit poeitis of prudence;

And sen I fynd none uther new sentence

I sall declare, or[116] I depart yow fro,

The complaynt of ane woundit papingo[117].

Quharefor, because myne mater bene so rude

Of sentence, and of rethorike denude,

To rurall folke myne dyting[118] bene directit,

Far flemit[119] frome the sycht of men of gude[120];

For cunnyng men, I knaw, wyll soune conclude

It dowe[121] no-thyng bot for to be dejectit;

And quhen I heir myne mater bene detractit

Than sall I sweir I maid it bot in mowis[122]

To landwart lassis quhilks kepith kye and yowis[123].

[The “Complaynt” begins with a homily on the text “Quho clymmis to hycht, perforce his feit mon faill.” To illustrate this apophthegm the story of the king’s papyngo is told. The unfortunate bird, climbing to the topmost twig of a tree in the royal garden, is thrown to earth by a gust of wind, and hopelessly injured on a stob of timber. In her last hour she addresses one epistle to the king, deriving lessons to royalty from the chronicles of Scotland, and another to her “brether of the court” upon the text “Quho sittith moist hie sal fynd the sait most slidder.” The latter epistle ends with an adieu to Edinburgh, Stirling, and Falkland, and the chief scene of the satire immediately ensues.]

Adew.

Adew, Edinburgh! thou heych tryumphant toun,

Within quhose boundis rycht blythfull have I bene,

Of trew merchandis the rute of this regioun,

Most reddy to resave Court, King, and Quene!

Thy polecye and justice may be sene.

War devotioun, wysedome, and honestie,

And credence, tynt[124], thay mycht be found in thee.

Adew, fair Snawdoun[125]! with thy touris hie,

Thy Chapell Royall, park, and tabyll rounde![126]

May, June, and July walde I dwell in thee,

War I one man, to heir the birdis sounde

Quhilk doith agane thy royall roche redounde.

Adew, Lythquo[127]! quhose Palyce of plesance

Mycht be one patrone[128] in Portingall or France!

Fair-weill, Falkland! the fortrace of Fyfe,

Thy polyte park, under the Lowmound Law!

Sum-tyme in thee I led ane lustye[129] lyfe,

The fallow deir, to see thame raik on raw[130].

Court men to cum to thee, thay stand gret awe,

Sayand thy burgh bene of all burrowis baill[131],

Because in thee thay never gat gude aill.

The Commonyng betuix the Papyngo and hir Holye Executouris.

The Pye persavit the Papyngo in paine,

He lychtit doun, and fenyeit him to greit[132]:

“Sister,” said he, “alace! quho hes yow slane?

I pray yow, mak provisione for your spreit,

Dispone your geir[133], and yow confes compleit.

I have power, be your contritioun,

Of all your mys[134] to geve yow full remissioun.

“I am,” said he, “one Channoun regulare,

And of my brether Pryour principall:

My quhyte rocket my clene lyfe doith declare;

The blak bene of the deith memoriall:

Quharefor I thynk your gudis naturall

Sulde be submyttit hole into my cure;

Ye know I am ane holye creature.”

The Ravin come rolpand[135], quhen he hard the rair;

So did the Gled[136], with mony pieteous pew;

And fenyeitlye thay contrafait gret cair.

“Sister,” said thay, “your raklesnes we rew;

Now best it is our juste counsall ensew,

Sen we pretend to heych promotioun,

Religious men, of gret devotioun.”

“I am ane blak Monk,” said the rutlande[137] Ravin;

So said the Gled, “I am ane holy freir,

And hes power to bryng yow quyke to hevin.

It is weill knawin my conscience bene full cleir;

The blak Bybill[138] pronunce I sall perqueir[139],

So tyll our brether ye will geve sum gude;

God wat geve we hes[140] neid of lyves fude!”

The Papyngo said, “Father, be the Rude,

Howbeit your rayment be religious lyke,

Your conscience, I suspect, be nocht gude.

I did persave quhen prevelye ye did pyke[141]

Ane chekin from ane hen under ane dyke.”

“I grant,” said he. “That hen was my gude freind,

And I that chekin tuke bot for my teind.

“Ye knaw, the faith be us mon be susteind;

So be the Pope it is preordinate

That spirituall men suld leve upon thair teind:

Bot weill wat I ye bene predestinate

In your extremis to be so fortunate,

To have sic holy consultatioun;

Quharefore we mak yow exhortatioun:

“Sen dame Nature hes grantit yow sic grace,

Layser to mak confessioun generall,

Schaw furth your syn in haist, quhil ye haif space;

Syne of your geir mak one memoriall.

We thre sal mak your feistis funerall,

And with gret blys bury we sall your bonis,

Syne trentalls[142] twenty trattyll[143] all at onis.

“The roukis sall rair, that men sall on thame rew,

And crye Commemoratio Animarum.

We sall gar chehnis cheip[144], and geaslyngis pew,

Suppose the geis and hennis suld crye alarum:

And we sall serve Secundum usum Sarum[145],

And mak you saif: we fynd Sanct Blase to borgh[146],

Cryand for yow the cairfull corrynogh[147].

“And we sall syng about your sepulture

Sanct Mongois matynis and the mekle creid[148],

And syne devotely saye, I yow assure,

The auld Placebo bakwart, and the beid;

And we sall weir for yow the murnyng weid

And, thocht your spreit with Pluto war profest,

Devotelie sall your diregie be addrest.”

“Father,” said scho, “your facunde[149] wordis fair,

Full sore I dreid, be contrar to your dedis.

The wyffis of the village cryis with cair

Quhen thai persave your mowe ouirthort thar medis[150].

Your fals consait boith duke and draik sore dreidis

I marvell, suithlie[151], ye be nocht eschamit

For your defaltis, beyng so defamit.

“It dois abhor, my pure perturbit spreit,

Tyll mak to yow ony confessioun.

I heir men saye ye bene one ypocrite

Exemptit frome the Senye[152] and the Sessioun.

To put my geir in your possessioun,

That wyll I nocht, so help me Dame Nature!

Nor of my corps I wyll yow geve no cure[153].

“Bot, had I heir the nobyll Nychtingall,

The gentyll Ja, the Merle, and Turtur trew,

My obsequeis and feistis funerall

Ordour thay wald, with notis of the new.

The plesand Pown[154], most angellyke of hew,

Wald God I wer this daye with hym confest,

And my devyse[155] dewlie be hym addrest!

“The myrthfull Maveis, with the gay Goldspink,

The lustye[156] Larke, wald God thay war present!

My infortune, forsuith, thay wald forthink[157],

And comforte me that bene so impotent.

The swyft Swallow, in prattick[158] moste prudent,

I wate scho wald my bledyng stem belyve[159]

With hir moste verteous stone restringityve.”

“Compt me the cace, under confessioun,”

The Gled said proudlye to the Papingo,

“And we sall sweir, be our professioun,

Counsall to keip, and schaw it to no mo.

We thee beseik, or[160] thou depart us fro,

Declare to us sum causis reasonabyll

Quhy we bene haldin so abhominabyll.

“Be thy travell thou hes experience,

First, beand bred in-to the Orient,

Syne be thy gude servyce and delygence

To prencis maid heir in the Occident.

Thow knawis the vulgare pepyllis jugement

Quhare thou transcurrit[161] the hote Meridionall,

Syne nyxt the Poill the plaige[162] Septentrionall.

“So, be thyne heych ingyne[163] superlatyve,

Of all countreis thou knawis the qualiteis;

Quharefore, I thee conjure, be God of lyve,

The veritie declare, withouttin leis[164],

Quhat thou hes hard, be landis or be seis,

Of us kirkmen, boith gude and evyll reporte;

And quhow thay juge, schaw us, we thee exhorte.”

“Father,” said scho, “I catyve creature,

Dar nocht presume with sic mater to mell[165].

Of your caces, ye knaw, I have no cure;

Demand thame quhilk in prudence doith precell.

I maye nocht pew[166], my panes bene so fell[167]:

And als, perchance, ye wyll nocht stand content

To knaw the vulgare pepyllis jugement.

“Yit, wyll the deith alyte[168] withdrawe his darte,

All that lyis in my memoryall

I sall declare with trew unfenyeit hart.

And first I saye to you in generall

The commoun peple sayith ye bene all

Degenerit frome your holy pirmityvis[169],

As testyfeis the proces of your lyvis.

“Of your peirles prudent predecessouris

The beginnyng, I grant, wes verray gude:

Apostolis, martyres, virgines, confessouris,

The sound of thair excellent sanctitude

Was hard ouer all the warld, be land and flude,

Plantyng the faith, be predicatioun[170],

As Christe had maid to thame narratioun.

“To fortyfie the faith thay tuke no feir

Afore prencis, preching full prudentlie;

Of dolorous deith thay doutit nocht the deir[171],

The veritie declaryng ferventlie;

And martyrdome thay sufferit pacientlie:

Thay tuke no cure of land, ryches, nor rent;

Doctryne and deid war boith equivolent.

“To schaw at lenth thair workis wer gret wunder,

Thair myracklis thay wer so manifest.

In name of Christe thay hailit mony hounder[172],

Rasyng the dede, and purgeing the possest,

With perverst spreitis quhilkis had bene opprest.

The crukit ran, the blynd men gat thair ene,

The deiff men hard, the lypper war maid clene.

“The prelatis spousit wer with povertie,

Those dayis, quhen so thay flurisit in fame,

And with hir generit[173] lady Chaistitie

And dame Devotioun, notabyll of name.

Humyll thay wer, simpyll, and full of schame.

Thus Chaistitie and dame Devotioun

Wer principall cause of thair promotioun.

“Thus thay contynewit in this lyfe devyne

Aye tyll thare rang[174], in Romes gret cietie,

Ane potent prince was namit Constantyne;[175]

Persavit the Kirk had spowsit Povertie,

With gude intent, and movit of pietie,

Cause of divorce he fande betuix thame two,

And partit thame, withouttin wordis mo.

“Syne, schortlie, with ane gret solempnitie,

Withouttin ony dispensatioun,

The Kirk he spowsit with dame Propirtie,

Quhilk haistelye, be proclamatioun,

To Povertie gart[176] mak narratioun,

Under the pane of peirsyng of hir eine[177],

That with the Kirk scho sulde no more be seine.

“Sanct Sylvester that tyme rang Pope in Rome[178],

Quhilk first consentit to the mariage

Of Propirtie, the quhilk began to blome,

Taking on hir the cure with heych corrage.

Devotioun drew hir tyll one heremytage

Quhen scho considerit lady Propirtie

So heych exaltit in-to dignitie.

“O Sylvester, quhare was thy discretioun?

Quhilk Peter did renounce thow did resave.

Androw and Jhone did leif thair possessioun,

Thair schippis, and nettis, lynes, and all the lave[179];

Of temporall substance no-thing wald thay have

Contrarious to thair contemplatioun,

Bot soberlye thair sustentatioun.

“Johne the Baptist went to the wyldernes.

Lazarus, Martha, and Marie Magdalene

Left heretage and guddis, more and les.

Prudent Sanct Paule thocht Propertie prophane;

Frome toun to toun he ran, in wynde and rane,

Upon his feit, techeing the word of grace,

And never was subjectit to ryches.”

The Gled said, “Yit I heir no-thyng bot gude.

Proceid schortlye, and thy mater avance.”

The Papyngo said, “Father, be the Rude,

It wer too lang to schaw the circumstance,

Quhow Propertie, with hir new alyance,

Grew gret with chylde, as trew men to me talde,

And bure two dochteris gudelie to behalde.

“The eldest dochter named was Ryches,

The secunde syster, Sensualytie;

Quhilks did incres, within one schorte proces,

Preplesande[180] to the Spiritualytie.

In gret substance and excellent bewtie

Thir Ladyis two grew so, within few yeiris,

That in the warlde wer non mycht be thair peiris.

“This royall Ryches and lady Sensuall

Frome that tyme furth tuke hole the governance

Of the moste part of the Stait Spirituall:

And thay agane, with humbyll observance,

Amorouslie thair wyttis did avance,

As trew luffaris, thair ladyis for to pleis.

God wate geve than[181] thair hartis war at eis.

“Soune thay foryet[182] to study, praye, and preche,

Thay grew so subject to dame Sensuall,

And thocht bot paine pure pepyll for to teche;

Yit thay decretit, in thair gret Counsall,

Thay wald no more to mariage be thrall,

Traistyng surely tyll observe Chaistitie,

And all begylit quod[183] Sensualytie.

“Apperandlye thay did expell thair wyffis

That thay mycht leif at large, without thirlage[184],

At libertie to lede thair lustie lyffis[185],

Thynkand men thrall that bene in mariage.

For new faces provokis new corrage.

Thus Chaistitie thay turne in-to delyte;

Wantyng of wyffis bene cause of appetyte.

“Dame Chaistitie did steill away for schame,

Frome tyme scho did persave thair proviance[186].

Dame Sensuall one letter gart proclame,

And hir exilit Italy and France.

In Inglande couthe scho get none ordinance[187].

Than to the kyng and courte of Scotlande

Scho markit hir[188], withouttin more demande.

“Traistyng in-to that court to get conforte,

Scho maid hir humyll supplycatioun.

Schortlye thay said scho sulde get na supporte,

Bot bostit hir[189], with blasphematioun,

‘To preistis go mak your protestatioun.

It is,’ said thay, ‘mony one houndreth yeir

Sen Chaistitie had ony entres[190] heir.’

“Tyrit for travell, scho to the preistis past,

And to the rewlaris of religioun.

Of hir presens schortlye thay war agast,

Sayand thay thocht it bot abusioun

Hir to resave: so, with conclusion,

With one avyce[191] decretit and gave dome

Thay walde resset no rebell out of Rome.

“‘Sulde we resave that Romanis hes refusit,

And baneist Inglande, Italye, and France,

For your flattrye, than wer we weill abusit[192].

Passe hyne[193],’ said thay, ‘and fast your way avance,

Amang the nonnis go seik your ordinance;

For we have maid aith of fidelytie

To dame Ryches and Sensualytie.’

“Than paciently scho maid progressioun

Towarde the nonnis, with hart syching[194] full sore.

Thay gaif hir presens, with processioun,

Ressavand hir with honour, laud, and glore,

Purposyng to preserve hir ever-more.

Of that novellis[195] come to dame Propertie,

To Ryches, and to Sensualytie;

“Quhilkis sped thame at the post rycht spedalye,

And sett ane seage proudlye about the place.

The sillye[196] nonnis did yeild thame haistelye,

And humyllye of that gylt askit grace,

Syne gave thair bandis of perpetuall peace.

Ressavand thame, thay kest up wykkets wyde[197]:

Than Chaistytie walde no langer abyde.

“So for refuge, fast to the freris scho fled;

Quhilks said thay wald of ladyis tak no cure.”

“Quhare bene scho now?” than said the gredy Gled.

“Nocht amang yow,” said scho, “I yow assure.

I traist scho bene upon the Borrow-mure

Besouth[198] Edinburgh, and that rycht mony menis[199],

Profest amang the Systeris of the Schenis.[200]

“Thare hes scho found hir mother Povertie,

And Devotioun, hir awin syster carnall.

Thare hes scho found Faith, Hope, and Charitie,

Togidder with the Vertues Cardinall.

Thare hes scho found ane convent yit unthrall

To dame Sensuall, nor with riches abusit;

So quietlye those ladyis bene inclusit.”

The Pyote said, “I dreid, be thay assailyeit,

Thay rander thame, as did the holy nonnis.”

“Doute nocht,” said scho, “for thay bene so artalyeit[201],

Thay purpose to defend thame with thair gunnis.

Reddy to schute thay have sax gret cannounnis,

Perseverance, Constancye, and Conscience,

Austerytie, Laubour, and Abstynance.

“To resyste subtell Sensualytie

Strongly, thay bene enarmit, feit and handis,

Be Abstynence, and keipith Povertie,

Contrar Ryches and all hir fals servandis.

Thay have ane boumbard braissit up in bandis[202]

To keip thair porte, in myddis of thair clois,

Quhilk is callit, Domine custodi nos;

“Within quhose schote thare dar no enemeis

Approche thair place, for dreid of dyntis doure[203].

Boith nycht and daye thay wyrk, lyke besye beis,

For thair defence reddye to stande in stoure[204],

And hes sic watcheis on thair utter toure

That dame Sensuall with seage dar not assailye,

Nor cum within the schote of thair artailye[205].”

The Pyote said, “Quhareto sulde thay presume

For to resyste sweit Sensualytie,

Or dame Ryches, quhilkis reularis bene in Rome?

Ar thay more constant, in thair qualytie,

Nor the prencis of Spiritualytie,

Quhilkis plesandlye, withouttin obstakle,

Haith thame resavit in their habitakle[206]?

“Quhow long, traist ye, those ladyis sall remane

So solytar, in sic perfectioun?”

The Papingo said, “Brother, in certane[207],

So lang as thay obey correctioun,

Cheisyng[208] thair heddis be electioun,

Unthrall to Ryches or to Povertie,

Bot as requyrith thair necessitie.

“O prudent prelatis, quhare was your presciance,

That tuke on hand tyll observe Chaistitie,

But[209] austeir lyfe, laubour, and abstenance?

Persavit ye nocht the gret prosperitie

Apperandlye to cum of Propertie?

Ye knaw gret cheir, great eais, and ydelnes

To Lychorie was mother and maistres.”

“Thow ravis unrockit[210],” the Ravin said, “be the Rude,

So to reprove Ryches or Propertie.

Abraham, and Ysaac war ryche, and verray gude;

Jacobe and Josephe had prosperitie.”

The Papingo said, “That is verytie.

Ryches, I grant, is nocht to be refusit,

Providyng alwaye it be nocht abusit.”

Than laid the Ravin ane replycatioun,

Syne said, “Thy reasone is nocht worth ane myte,

As I sall prove, with protestatioun

That no man tak my wordis in dispyte.

I saye, the temporall prencis hes the wyte[211],

That in the Kirk sic pastours dois provyde

To governe saulis, that not tham-selfis can gyde.

“Lang tyme efter the Kirk tuke propertie,

The prelatis levit in gret perfectioun,

Unthrall to ryches or sensualytie,

Under the Holy Spreitis protectioun,

Orderlye chosin be electioun,

As Gregore, Jerome, Ambrose, and Augustyne,

Benedict, Bernard, Clement, Cleit, and Lyne.

“Sic pacient prelatis enterit be the porte[212],

Plesand the peple be predicatioun[213].

Now dyke-lowparis[214] dois in the Kirk resort,

Be symonie, and supplycatioun

Of prencis be thair presentation.

So sillye[215] saulis, that bene Christis scheip,

Ar gevin to hungrye gormande[216] wolfis to keip.

“No marvell is thocht we religious men

Degenerit be, and in our lyfe confusit:

Bot sing, and drynk; none uther craft we ken,

Our spirituall fatheris hes us so abusit.

Agane our wyll those treukouris[217] bene intrusit.

Lawit[218] men hes now religious men in curis;

Profest virgenis in keipyng of strong huris.

“Prencis, prencis, quhar bene your heych prudence

In dispositioun of your beneficeis?

The guerdonyng of your courticience[219]

Is sum cause of thir gret enormyteis.

Thare is one sorte wattand[220], lyke houngre fleis,

For spirituall cure, thocht thay be no-thing abyll,

Quhose gredie thristis[221] bene insaciabyll.

“Prencis, I pray yow, be no more abusit,

To verteous men havyng so small regarde.

Quhy sulde vertew, throuch flattrye, be refusit,

That men for cunnyng[222] can get no rewarde?

Allace! that ever one braggar or ane barde,

Ane hure-maister, or commoun hasarture[223],

Sulde in the Kirk get ony kynde of cure!

“War I one man worthy to weir ane croun,

Aye quhen thare vakit[224] ony beneficeis,

I suld gar call ane congregatioun,

The principall of all the prelaceis,

Moste cunnyng clerkis of universiteis,

Moste famous fatheris of religioun,

With thair advyse mak dispositioun.

“I suld dispone all offices pastorallis

Tyll doctouris of devynitie, or jure[225];

And cause dame Vertew pull up all hir saillis,

Quhen cunnyng men had in the Kirk moist cure;

Gar lordis send thair sonnes, I yow assure,

To seik science, and famous sculis frequent;

Syne thame promove that wer moste sapient.

“Gret plesour wer to heir are byschope preche,

One deane, or doctour in divinitie,

One abbote quhilk could weill his convent teche,

One persoun[226] flowing in phylosophie.

I tyne[227] my tyme to wys[228] quhilk wyll nocht be.

War nocht the preaching of the Begging Freris,

Tynt war the faith amang the seculeris.”

“As for thair precheing,” quod the Papingo,

“I thame excuse, for quhy, thay bene so thrall

To Propertie, and hir ding[229] dochteris two,

Dame Ryches, and fair lady Sensuall,

That may nocht use no pastyme spirituall;

And in thair habitis thay tak sic delyte

Thay have renuncit russat and raploch quhyte[230],

“Cleikand[231] to thame skarlote and crammosie[232],

With menever, martrik, grice, and ryche armyne[233].

Their lawe hartis exaultit ar so hie,

To see thair papale pompe it is are pyne[234].

More ryche arraye is now, with frenyeis[235] fyne,

Upon the bardyng[236] of ane byscheopis mule,

Nor ever had Paule or Peter agane Yule.

“Syne fair ladyis thair chene may not eschape,

Dame Sensuall so sic seid haith in tham sawin.

Les skaith[237] it war, with lycence of the Pape,

That ilke[238] prelate one wyfe had of his awin,

Nor se thair bastardis ouirthort[239] the countre blawin;

For now, be[240] thay be weill cumin frome the sculis,

Thay fall to work as thay war commoun bullis.”

“Pew,” quod the Gled, “thow prechis all in vaine:

Ye seculare floks hes of our cace no curis.”

“I grant,” said scho; “yit men wyll speik agane,

Quhow ye haif maid a hundreth thousand huris

Quhilkis nevir had bene war not your lychorous luris.

And geve I lee[241], hartlye I me repent;

Was never bird, I watt, more penitent.”

Than scho hir shrave, with devote contynance,

To that fals Gled quhilk fenyeit hym one freir;

And quhen scho had fulfyllit hir pennance,

Full subtellye at hir he gan inqueir:

“Cheis yow,” said he, “quhilk of us brether heir

Sall have of all your naturall geir the curis.

Ye knaw none bene more holye creaturis.”

“I am content,” quod the pure Papingo,

“That ye frier Gled, and Corby[242] monk, your brother,

Have cure of all my guddis, and no mo,

Sen at this tyme freindschip I fynd non uther.”

“We salbe to yow trew, as tyll our mother,”

Quod thay, and sweir tyll fulfyll hir intent.

“Of that,” said scho, “I tak ane instrument.”

The Pyote said, “Quhat sall myne office bee?”

“Ouirman[243],” said scho, “unto the tother two.”

The rowpand Revin said, “Sweit syster, lat see

Your holy intent; for it is tyme to go.”

The gredie Gled said, “Brother, do nocht so;

We wyll remane, and haldin up hir hede,

And never depart from hir till scho be dede.”

The Papingo thame thankit tenderlye,

And said, “Sen ye have tane on yow this cure,

Depart myne naturall guddis equalye,

That ever I had or hes of dame Nature,

First, to the Howlet[244], indigent and pure,

Quhilk on the daye, for schame, dar nocht be sene;

Tyll hir I laif my gaye galbarte[245] of grene.

“My brycht depurit ene[246], as christall cleir,

Unto the Bak[247] ye sall thame boith present;

In Phebus presens quhilk dar nocht appeir,

Of naturall sycht scho bene so impotent.

My birneist[248] beik I laif, with gude entent,

Unto the gentyll, pieteous Pellicane,

To helpe to peirs hir tender hart in twane.

“I laif the Goik[249], quhilk hes no sang bot one,

My musyke, with my voce angelycall;

And to the Guse ye geve, quhen I am gone,

My eloquence and toung rhetoricall.

And tak and drye my bonis, gret and small,

Syne close thame in one cais of ebure[250] fyne,

And thame present onto the Phenix syne,

“To birne with hir quhen scho hir lyfe renewis.

In Arabye ye sall hir fynde but weir[251],

And sall knaw hir be hir moste hevinly hewis,

Gold, asure, gowles, purpour, and synopeir[252].

Hir dait is for to leif fyve houndreth yeir.

Mak to that bird my commendatioun.

And als, I mak yow supplycatioun,

“Sen of my corps I have yow gevin the cure,

Ye speid yow to the court, but tareyng,

And tak my hart, of perfyte portrature,

And it present unto my Soverane Kyng:

I wat he wyll it clois in-to one ryng.

Commende me to his Grace, I yow exhorte,

And of my passion mak hym trew reporte.

“Ye thre my trypes sall have, for your travell[253],

With luffer and lowng[254], to part equale amang yow;

Prayand Pluto, the potent prince of hell,

Geve ye failye, that in his feit he fang[255] yow.

Be to me trew, thocht I no-thyng belang yow.

Sore I suspect your conscience be too large.”

“Doute nocht,” said they, “we tak it with the charge.”

“Adew, brether!” quod the pure Papingo;

“To talking more I have no time to tarye;

Bot, sen my spreit mon fra[256] my body go,

I recommend it to the Quene of Farye,

Eternallye in-tyll hir court to carye,

In wyldernes among the holtis hore[257].”

Than scho inclynit hir bed, and spak no more.

Plungit in-tyll hir mortall passioun,

Full grevouslie scho gryppit to the ground.

It war too lang to mak narratioun

Of sychis sore, with mony stang and stound[258].

Out of hir wound the blude did so abound,

One compas round was with hir blude maid reid:

Without remeid, thare wes no-thyng bot dede[259].

And be scho had In Manus tuas said,

Extinctit wer hir naturall wyttis fyve;

Hir heid full softlye on hir schulder laid,

Syne yeild the spreit, with panes pungityve[260].

The Ravin began rudely to rug and ryve[261],

Full gormondlyke[262], his emptie throte to feid.

“Eit softlye, brother,” said the gredy Gled:

“Quhill scho is hote, depart hir evin amang us.

Tak thow one half, and reik[263] to me ane-uther.

In-tyll our rycht, I wat, no wycht dar wrang us.”

The Pyote said, “The feind resave the fouther[264]!

Quhy mak ye me stepbarne, and I your brother?

Ye do me wrang, schir Gled, I schrew[265] your harte.”

“Tak thare,” said he, “the puddyngis for thy parte.”

Than, wyt ye weill, my hart wes wounder sair

For to behalde that dolent departyng[266],

Hir angell fedderis fleying in the air.

Except the hart, was left of hir no-thing.

The Pyote said, “This pertenith to the Kyng,

Quhilk tyll his Grace I purpose to present.”

“Thow,” quod the Gled, “sall faill of thyne entent.”

The Revin said, “God! nor I rax in ane raipe[267],

And thow get this tyll outher kyng or duke!”

The Pyote said, “Plene[268] I nocht to the Pape

Than in ane smedie I be smorit[269] with smuke.”

With that the Gled the pece claucht in his cluke[270],

And fled his way: the lave[271], with all thair mycht,

To chace the Gled, flew all out of my sycht.

Now have ye hard this lytill tragedie,

The sore complent, the testament, and myschance

Of this pure bird quhilk did ascend so hie.

Beseikand[272] yow excuse myne ignorance

And rude indyte[273], quhilk is nocht tyll avance[274].

And to the quair[275], I geve commandiment,

Mak no repair quhair poetis bene present.

Because thow bene

But Rethorike, so rude,

Be never sene

Besyde none other buke,

With Kyng, nor Quene,

With lord, nor man of gude[276].

With coit unclene,

Clame kynrent[277] to sum cuke;

Steil in ane nuke

Quhen thay lyste on thee luke.

For smell of smuke

Men wyll abhor to beir thee.

Heir I manesweir[278] thee;

Quhairfor, to lurke go leir[279] thee.

THE JUSTING BETUIX JAMES WATSOUN AND JHONE BARBOUR.[280]

In Sanct Androis on Whitsoun Monnunday

Twa campionis thair manheid did assay,

Past to the barres, enarmit heid and handis.

Was never sene sic justing in no landis.

In presence of the Kingis Grace, and Quene,

Quhare mony lustie lady mycht be sene,

Mony ane knicht, barroun, and banrent[281],

Come for to se that awfull Tornament.

The ane of thame was gentill James Watsoun,

And Jhone Barbour the uther campioun.

Unto the King thay wer familiaris,

And of his chalmer boith cubicularis.

James was ane man of greit intelligence,

Ane medicinar[282] ful of experience;

And Jhone Barbour, he was ane nobill leche[283],

Crukit carlinnis, he wald gar[284] thame get speche.

From tyme thay enterit war into the feild

Full womanlie thay weildit speir and scheild,

And wichtlie waiffit[285] in the wynd thair heillis,

Hobland lyke cadgeris[286] rydand on thair creillis;

But ather ran at uther with sic haist

That they could never thair speir get in the reist.

Quhen gentill James trowit best with Jhone to meit,

His speir did fald among his horsis feit:

I am richt sure gude James had bene undone,

War nocht that Jhone his marke tuke be the mone.

Quod Jhone, “Howbeit thou thinkis my leggis lyke rokkis[287],

My speir is gude; now keip ye fra my knokkis.”

“Tary,” quod James, “ane quhyle, for be my thrift[288]

The feind ane thing I can se bot the lift[289].”

“No more can I,” quod Jhone, “be Goddis breid[290],

I see na-thing except the steipill heid.

Yit, thocht thy braunis be lyk twa barrow-trammis,

Defend thee, man!” Than ran thay to, lyk rammis.

At that rude rink[291] James had bene strykin down

War nocht that Jhone for feirsnes fell in swoun;

And rycht sa James to Jhone had done greit deir[292],

Wer not amangis his hors feit he brak his speir.

Quod James to Jhone, “Yit for our ladyis saikis,

Lat us togidder straik three market straikis[293].”

“I had,” quod Jhone, “that sall on thee be wrokin[294]!”

Bot or[295] he spurrit his hors his speir was brokin.

From tyme with speiris nane could his marrow[296] meit

James drew ane swerd with ane richt awfull spreit,

And ran til Jhone, til haif raucht him ane rout[297].

Johnis swerd was roustit, and wald no way cam out.

Than James leit dryfe at Jhone with boith his fistis.

He mist the man, and dang[298] upon the lystis;

And with that straik he trowit that Jhone was slane.

His swerd stak fast, and gat it never agane.

Be this, gude Jhone had gottin furth his sword,

And ran to James with mony awfull word.

“My furiousness, for suith[299], now sall thou find!”

Straikand at James his swerd flew in the wind.

Than gentill James began to crack[300] greit wordis.

“Allace!” quod he, “this day for falt of swordis.”

Than ather ran at uther with new raicis,

With gluifis[301] of plait thay dang at utheris facis.

Quha wan this feild na creature culd ken[302],

Till at the last Johne cryit, “Fy! red[303] the men.”

“Yea! red,” quod James, “for that is my desyre;

It is ane hour sen I began to tyre.”

Sone be[304] thay had endit that royall rink,

Into the feild micht no man stand for stink.

Than every man, that stude on far, cryit, Fy!

Sayand adew; for dirt partis company.

Thair hors, harnis, and all geir[305], wes so gude,

Lovyng[306] to God! that day was sched no blude.

QUOD LYNDESAY, AT COMMAND OF KING JAMES THE FYFT.

KITTEIS CONFESSIOUN.

The Curate, and Kittie.

The Curate Kittie culd confesse,

And scho tald on baith mair and lesse.

Quhen scho was telland as scho wist[307],

The Curate Kittie wald have kist;

Bot yit ane countenance he bure

Degeist[308], devote, daine[309], and demure;

And syne began hir to exempne[310].

He wes best at the efter game.

Quod he, “Have ye na wrangous geir[311]?”

Quod scho, “I staw[312] ane pek of beir.”

Quod he, “That suld restorit be,

Tharefor delyver it to me.

Tibbie and Peter bad me speir[313];

Be my conscience, thay sall it heir.”

Quod he, “Leve ye in lecherie?”

Quod scho, “Will Leno mowit[314] me.”

Quod he, “His wyfe that sall I tell,

To mak hir acquentance with my-sell.”

Quod he, “Ken[315] ye na heresie?”

“I wait nocht[316] quhat that is,” quod sche.

Quod he, “Hard ye na Inglis bukis?”[317]

Quod scho, “My maister on thame lukis.”

Quod he, “The bischop that sall knaw,

For I am sworne that for to schaw.”

Quod he, “What said he of the King?”

Quod scho, “Of gude he spak na-thing.”

Quod he, “His Grace of that sall wit[318];

And he sall lose his lyfe for it.”

Quhen scho in mynd did mair revolve,

Quod he, “I can nocht you absolve,

Bot to my chalmer cum at even

Absolvit for to be and schrevin.”

Quod scho, “I wyll pas tyll ane-uther.

And I met with Schir Andro,[319] my brother,

And he full clenely did me schryve.

Bot he wes sumthing talkatyve;

He speirit mony strange case[320],

How that my lufe did me inbrace,

Quhat day, how oft, quhat sort, and quhare?

Quod he, ‘I wald I had bene thare.’

He me absolvit for ane plak[321],

Thocht[322] he na pryce with me wald mak;

And mekil[323] Latyne he did mummill,

I hard na-thing bot hummill bummill.

He schew me nocht of Goddis word,

Quhilk scharper is than ony sword,

And deip intill our hart dois prent

Our syn, quharethrow we do repent.

He pat me na-thing into feir,

Quharethrow I suld my syn forbeir;

He schew me nocht the maledictioun

Of God for syn, nor the afflictioun

And in this lyfe the greit mischeif

Ordanit to punische hure and theif;

Nor schew he me of hellis pane,

That I mycht feir, and vice refraine;

He counsalit me nocht till abstene,

And leid ane holy lyfe, and clene.

Of Christis blude na-thing he knew,

Nor of His promisses full trew,

That saifis all that wyll beleve,

That Sathan sall us never greve.

He teichit me nocht for till traist

The confort of the Haly Ghaist.

He bad me nocht to Christ be kynd[324],

To keip His law with hart and mynd,

And lufe and thank His greit mercie,

Fra syn and hell that savit me;

And lufe my nichtbour as my-sell.

Of this na-thing he culd me tell,

Bot gave me pennance, ilk ane day[325]

Ane Ave Marie for to say,

And Fridayis fyve na fische to eit,

(Bot butter and eggis ar better meit),

And with ane plak to buy ane messe

Fra drounkin Schir Jhone Latynelesse.

Quod he, ‘Ane plak I wyll gar[326] Sandie

Give thee agane, with handie dandie.’

Syne[327] into pilgrimage to pas—

The verray way to wantounes.

Of all his pennance I was glaid,

I had them all perqueir[328], I said.

To mow and steill I ken the pryce,

I sall it set on cincq and syce[329].

Bot he my counsale culd nocht keip;

He maid him be the fyre to sleip,

Syne cryit, ‘Colleris[330], beif and coillis[331],

Hois, and schone with dowbill soillis,

Caikis and candill, creische[332] and salt,

Curnis[333] of meill, and luiffillis[334] of malt,

Wollin and linning, werp and woft—

Dame! keip the keis of your woll loft!’

Throw drink and sleip maid him to raif;

And swa with us thay play the knaif.”

Freiris sweiris be thair professioun

Nane can be saif but[335] this Confessioun,

And garris all men understand

That it is Goddis awin[336] command.

Yit it is nocht but mennis drame[337].

The pepill to confound and schame.

It is nocht ellis but mennis law,

Maid mennis mindis for to knaw,

Quharethrow thay syle[338] thame as thay will,

And makis thair law conforme tharetill,

Sittand in mennis conscience

Abone Goddis magnificence;

And dois the pepill teche and tyste[339]

To serve the Pape the Antechriste.

To the greit God Omnipotent

Confess thy syn, and sore repent;

And traist in Christ, as wrytis Paule,

Quhilk sched his blude to saif thy saule;

For nane can thee absolve bot He,

Nor tak away thy syn frome thee.

Gif of gude counsall thow hes neid,

Or hes nocht leirnit weill thy Creid,

Or wickit vicis regne in thee,

The quhilk thow can nocht mortifie,

Or be in desperatioun,

And wald have consolatioun,

Than till are preichour trew thow pas,

And schaw thy syn and thy trespas.

Thow neidis nocht to schaw him all,

Nor tell thy syn baith greit and small,

Quhilk is unpossible to be;

Bot schaw the vice that troubillis thee,

And he sall of thy saule have reuth,

And thee instruct in-to the treuth,

And with the Word of Veritie

Sall confort and sall counsall thee,

The sacramentis schaw thee at lenth,

Thy lytle faith to stark and strenth[340],

And how thow suld thame richtlie use,

And all hypocrisie refuse.

Confessioun first wes ordanit fre

In this sort in the Kirk to be.

Swa to confes as I descryve[341],

Wes in the gude Kirk primityve;

Swa wes confessioun ordanit first,

Thocht Codrus[342] kyte[343] suld cleve and birst.

SQUYER MELDRUMIS JUSTYNG.[344]

Hary the Aucht, King of Ingland,

That tyme at Caleis wes lyand,[345]

With his triumphand ordinance[346],

Makand weir[347] on the realme of France.

The King of France his greit armie

Lay neir hand by in Picardie,

Quhair aither uther did assaill.

Howbeit thair was na sic battaill,

Bot thair wes daylie skirmishing,

Quhare men of armis brak monie sting[348].

Quhen to the Squyer Meldrum

Wer tauld thir novellis[349] all and sum,

He thocht he wald vesie[350] the weiris;

And waillit[351] furth ane hundreth speiris,

And futemen quhilk wer bauld and stout,

The maist worthie of all his rout.

Quhen he come to the King of France

He wes sone put in ordinance:

Richt so was all his companie

That on him waitit continuallie.

Thair was into the Inglis oist[352]

Ane campioun[353] that blew greit boist.

He was ane stout man and ane strang,

Quhilk oist wald with his conduct gang[354]

Outthrow[355] the greit armie of France

His valiantnes for to avance;

And Maister Talbart was his name,[356]

Of Scottis and Frenche quhilk spak disdane,

And on his bonnet usit to beir,

Of silver fine, takinnis of weir[357];

And proclamatiounis he gart mak[358]

That he wald, for his ladies saik,

With any gentilman of France

To fecht[359] with him with speir or lance.

Bot no Frenche-man in all that land

With him durst battell hand for hand.

Than lyke ane weriour vailyeand[360]

He enterit in the Scottis band:

And quhen the Squyer Meldrum

Hard tell this campioun wes cum,

Richt haistelie he past him till,

Demanding him quhat was his will.

“Forsuith I can find none,” quod he,

“On hors nor fute dar fecht with me.”

Than said he, “It wer greit schame

Without battell ye suld pass hame;

Thairfoir to God I mak ane vow,

The morne[361] my-self sall fecht with yow

Outher on horsback or on fute.

Your crakkis[362] I count thame not ane cute[363].

I sall be fund into the feild

Armit on hors with speir and schield.”

Maister Talbart said, “My gude chyld,

It wer maist lyk that thow wer wyld[364].

Thow art too young, and hes no micht

To fecht with me that is so wicht[365].

To speik to me thow suld have feir,

For I have sik practik[366] in weir

That I wald not effeirit[367] be

To mak debait aganis sic three;

For I have stand in monie stour[368],

And ay defendit my honour.

Thairfoir, my barne, I counsell thee

Sic interprysis to let be.”

Than said this Squyer to the Knicht,

“I grant ye ar baith greit and wicht.

Young David was far les than I

Quhen with Golias manfullie,

Withouttin outher speir or scheild,

He faucht, and slew him in the feild.

I traist that God sal be my gyde,

And give me grace to stanche thy pryde.

Thocht thow be greit like Gowmakmorne,[369]

Traist weill I sall yow meit the morne.

Beside Montruill upon the grene

Befoir ten houris I sal be sene.

And gif ye wyn me in the feild

Baith hors and geir[370] I sall yow yeild,

Sa that siclyke[371] ye do to me.”

“That I sall do, be God!” quod he,

“And thairto I give thee my hand.”

And swa betwene thame maid ane band[372]

That thay suld meit upon the morne.

Bot Talbart maid at him bot scorne,

Lychtlyand[373] him with wordis of pryde,

Syne hamewart to his oist culd ryde,

And shew the brethren of his land

How ane young Scot had tane[374] on hand,

To fecht with him beside Montruill;

“Bot I traist he sall prufe the fuill.”

Quod thay, “The morne that sall we ken[375];

The Scottis are haldin hardie men.”

Quod he, “I compt thame not ane cute.

He sall returne upon his fute,

And leif with me his armour bricht;

For weill I wait[376] he has no micht,

On hors nor fute, to fecht with me.”

Quod thay, “The morne that sall we se.”

Quhan to Monsieour De Obenie[377]

Reportit was the veritie,

How that the Squyer had tane on hand

To fecht with Talbart hand for hand,

His greit courage he did commend,

Syne haistelie did for him send.

And quhen he come befoir the lord

The veritie he did record,

How for the honour of Scotland

That battell he had tane on hand;

“And sen it givis me in my hart,

Get I ane hors to tak my part,

My traist is sa, in Goddis grace,

To leif hym lyand in the place.

Howbeit he stalwart be and stout,

My lord, of him I have no dout.”

Than send the Lord out throw the land,

And gat ane hundreth hors fra hand.

To his presence he brocht in haist,

And bad the Squyer cheis[378] him the best.

Of that the Squyer was rejoisit,

And cheisit the best as he suppoisit,

And lap on hym delyverlie[379].

Was never hors ran mair plesantlie

With speir and sword at his command,

And was the best of all the land.

He tuik his leif and went to rest,

Syne airlie in the morne him drest

Wantonlie in his weirlyke weid[380],

All weill enarmit, saif the heid.

He lap upon his cursour wicht,

And straucht[381] him in his stirroppis richt.

His speir and scheild and helme wes borne

With squyeris that raid him beforne[382].

Ane velvot cap on heid he bair,

Ane quaif[383] of gold to heild[384] his hair.

This Lord of him tuik sa greit joy

That he himself wald hym convoy,

With him ane hundreth men of armes,

That thair suld no man do hym harmes.

The Squyer buir into his scheild

Ane otter in ane silver feild.

His hors was bairdit[385] full richelie,

Coverit with satyne cramesie[386].

Than fordward raid this campioun

With sound of trumpet and clarioun,

And spedilie spurrit ouir the bent[387],

Lyke Mars the God armipotent.

Thus leif we rydand our Squyar,

And speik of Maister Talbart mair:

Quhilk gat up airlie in the morrow[388],

And no manner of geir to borrow,

Hors, harnes, speir, nor scheild,

Bot was ay reddie for the feild;

And had sic practik into weir,

Of our Squyer he tuik na feir,

And said unto his companyeoun,

Or he come furth of his pavilyeoun,

“This nicht I saw into my dreame,

Quhilk to reheirs I think greit schame,

Me-thocht I saw cum fra the see

Ane greit otter rydand to me,

The quhilk was blak, with ane lang taill,

And cruellie did me assail,

And bait[389] me till he gart[390] me bleid,

And drew me backwart fra my steid.

Quhat this suld mene I cannot say,

Bot I was never in sic ane fray[391].”

His fellow said, “Think ye not schame

For to gif credence till ane dreame?

Ye knaw it is aganis our faith,

Thairfoir go dres yow in your graith[392],

And think weill throw your hie courage

This day ye sall wyn vassalage.”

Then drest he him into his geir

Wantounlie like ane man of weir

Quhilk had baith hardines and fors,

And lichtlie lap upon his hors.

His hors was bairdit full bravelie,

And coverit was richt courtfullie

With browderit[393] wark and velvot grene.

Sanct George’s croce thare micht be sene

On hors, harnes, and all his geir.

Than raid he furth withouttin weir[394],

Convoyit with his capitane

And with monie ane Inglisman

Arrayit all with armes bricht;

Micht no man see ane fairer sicht.

Than clariounis and trumpettis blew;

And weriouris monie hither drew.

On everie side come monie man

To behald quha the battell wan.

The feild wes in the medow grene,

Quhair everie man micht weill be sene.

The heraldis put thame sa in ordour

That no man passit within the bordour

Nor preissit to cum within the grene

Bot heraldis and the campiounis kene.

The ordour and the circumstance

Wer lang to put in remembrance.

Quhen thir twa nobilmen of weir

Wer weill accowterit in their geir

And in their handis strang burdounis[395],

Than trumpettis blew and clariounis,

And heraldis cryit hie on hicht,

“Now let tham go! God shaw the richt!”

Than spedilie thay spurrit thair hors,

And ran to uther with sic fors

That baith thair speiris in sindrie flaw.

Than said thay all that stude on raw,

Ane better cours than they twa ran

Wes not sene sen the warld began.

Than baith the parties wer rejoisit.

The campiounis ane quhyle repoisit

Till they had gottin speiris new.

Than with triumph the trumpettis blew,

And they with all the force thay can

Wounder[396] rudelie at aither ran,

And straik at uther with sa greit ire

That fra thair harnes flew the fyre.

Thair speiris wer sa teuch[397] and strang

That aither uther to eirth doun dang[398].

Baith hors and man, with speir and scheild,

Than flatlingis[399] lay into the feild.

Than Maister Talbart was eschamit.

“Forsuith for ever I am defamit!”

And said this, “I had rather die

Without that I revengit be.”

Our young Squyer, sic was his hap,

Was first on fute; and on he lap

Upon his hors, without support.

Of that the Scottis tuke gude comfort,

Quhen thay saw him sa feirelie[400]

Loup on his hors sa galyeardlie[401].

The Squyer liftit his visair

Ane lytill space to take the air.

Thay bad hym wyne, and he it drank,

And humillie he did thame thank.

Be that Talbart on hors wes mountit,

And of our Squyer lytill countit.

And cryit gif he durst undertak

To run anis[402] for his ladies saik?

The Squyer answerit hie on hicht,

“That sall I do, be Marie bricht!

I am content all day to ryn,

Tyll ane of us the honour wyn.”

Of that Talbart was weill content,

And ane greit speir in hand he hent[403].

The Squyer in his hand he thrang[404]

His speir, quhilk was baith greit and lang,

With ane sharp heid of grundin steill,

Of quhilk he wes appleisit weill[405].

That plesand feild was lang and braid,

Quhair gay ordour and rowme was maid,

And everie man micht have gude sicht,

And thair was mony weirlyke knicht.

Sum man of everie natioun

Was in that congregatioun.

Than trumpettis blew triumphantlie,

And thai[406] twa campiounis egeirlie

Thai spurrit thair hors, with speir on breist

Pertlie to preif thair pith thay preist[407].

That round, rink roume wes at utterance[408];

Bot Talbartis hors with ane mischance,

He outterit[409], and to ryn was laith;

Quhairof Talbart was wonder wraith.

The Squyer furth his rink[410] he ran,

Commendit weill with everie man;

And him dischargeit of his speir

Honestlie lyke ane man of weir.

Becaus that rink thay ran in vane

Than Talbart wald not ryn agane

Till he had gottin ane better steid;

Quhilk was brocht to him with gude speid.

Quhairon he lap, and tuik his speir,

As brym[411] as he had bene ane beir.

And bowtit[412] fordward with ane bend[413],

And ran on to the rinkis end,

And saw his hors was at command.

Than wes he blyith, I understand,

Traistand na mair to ryn in vane.

Than all the trumpettis blew agane.

Be that with all the force thay can

Thay rycht rudelie at uther ran.

Of that meiting ilk[414] man thocht wounder,

Quhilk soundit lyke ane crak of thunder.

And nane of thame thair marrow[415] mist:

Sir Talbartis speir in sunder brist,

Bot the Squyer with his burdoun[416]

Sir Talbart to the eirth dang doun.

That straik was with sic micht and fors

That on the ground lay man and hors;

And throw the brydell-hand him bair,

And in the breist ane span and mair.

Throw curras[417] and throw gluifis of plait,

That Talbart micht mak na debait,

The trencheour of the Squyeris speir.

Stak still into Sir Talbartis geir.

Than everie man into that steid[418]

Did all beleve that he was deid.

The Squyer lap rycht haistelie

From his cursour deliverlie,

And to Sir Talbart maid support,

And humillie did him comfort.

Quhen Talbart saw into his scheild

Ane otter in ane silver feild,

“This race,” said he, “I may sair rew,

For I see weill my dreme wes trew.

Me-thocht yone otter gart me bleid,

And buir me backwart from my steid.

Bot heir I vow to God soverane

That I sall never just[419] agane.”

And sweitlie to the Squyer said,

“Thow knawis the cunning[420] that we maid,

Quhilk of us twa suld tyne[421] the feild

He suld baith hors and armour yield

Till him that wan: quhairfoir I will

My hors and harnes geve thee till.”

Then said the Squyer courteouslie,

“Brother, I thank yow hartfullie.

Of yow forsuith nathing I crave,

For I have gottin that I wald have.”

With everie man he was commendit,

Sa vailyeandlie he him defendit.

The Capitane of the Inglis band

Tuke the young Squyer be the hand,

And led him to the pailyeoun[422],

And gart him mak collatioun.

Quhen Talbartis woundis wes bund up fast

The Inglis capitane to him past,

And prudentlie did him comfort,

Syne said, “Brother, I yow exhort

To tak the Squyer be the hand.”

And sa he did at his command;

And said, “This bene but chance of armes.”

With that he braisit[423] him in his armes,

Sayand, “Hartlie I yow forgeve.”

And then the Squyer tuik his leve,

Commendit weill with everie man.

Than wichtlie[424] on his hors he wan,

With monie ane nobyll man convoyit.

Leve we thair Talbart sair annoyit.

Some sayis of that discomfitour

He thocht sic schame and dishonour

That he departit of that land,

And never wes sene into Ingland.