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 The next definite notice shows him attached to the royal court, and taking part in the amusements 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 Than playit I twenty spryngis, perqueir, Quhilk wes gret piete for to heir. Fra play thow leit me never rest, Bot Gynkartoun 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 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 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 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 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.” 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 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,” 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 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, 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. “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 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 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 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! 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 Excerst Hope hes me hecht Quhen thow wes young I bure thee in myne arme Full tenderlie, tyll thow begouth to gang And in thy bed oft happit With lute in hand, syne Sumtyme, in dansing, feiralie 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 In divers formis oft-tymes disfigurate, And sumtyme, dissagyist full plesandlye. So, sen Bene occupyit, and aye to thy plesoure, And sumtyme, Seware, Coppare, and Carvoure Thy purs-maister and secreit Thesaurare Thy Yschare And of thy chalmer cheiffe Cubiculare, Quhilk, to this hour, hes keipit my lawtie Lovyng Tyll sic ane Prince to be so greabyll! But now thow arte, be influence naturall, Hie of ingyne Of antique storeis, and deidis marciall; More plesandlie the tyme for tyll ouerdryve, I have, at length, the storeis done descryve 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 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, And of mony uther plesand storye, Of the Reid Etin, and the Gyir Carlyng, 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, Throuch supporte of the austeir Eolus. Efter that I the lang wynteris nycht Had lyne walking 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 Ouer all the land had spred his baner brycht. With cloke and hude I dressit me belyve With dowbyll schone, and myttanis on my handis; Howbeit the air was rycht penetratyve, Yit fure I furth, lansing ouirthorte Toward the see, to schorte Because unblomit was baith bank and braye And so, as I was passing be the waye, I met dame Flora, in dule weid dissagysit Quhilk in-to May wes dulce and delectabyll; Hir hevynlie hewis war turnit in-to sabyll, Quhilkis umquhile 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 “Allace! Aurora,” the syllie “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 With mystie vapouris to be obscurit, allace! “Quhar art thow May, with June thy syster schene 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 Allace! quhat gentyll hart may this indure? “Ouersylit 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 Till that I spyit ane lyttill cave of stone Heych But tarying And purposit, for passing of the tyme, Me to defende from ociositie 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 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 Thare styll I satt, my bonis for to rest, Tyll Morpheus with sleip my spreit opprest. [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 Bot 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 Quod he, “My Sonne, of that I think gret schame, Bot, sen thow wald of my name have ane feill 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 The quhilk that I have sene so honorabyll. To all the warld ye have bene profitabyll, And weill honourit in everilk 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 And go, afore quhare I was cherisit. Remane I heir, I am bot perysit For thare is few to me that takis tent That garris “My tender freindis are all put to the flycht; For Policye is fled agane in France. My syster, Justice, almaist haith tynt That scho can nocht hald evinly the ballance. Plane wrang is plane capitane of ordinance, The quhilk debarris laute 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 And vicious workis, it wald infect the air, And als langsum “In-to the Hieland I could fynd no remeid, Bot suddantlie I wes put to exile: Thai sweir swyngeoris 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 And did me gret injuries and offence, And said to me, ‘Swyith And in this countre see thow tak no curis So lang as my auctoritie induris.’ “And now I may mak no langer debait; 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 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 Thare is nocht ellis bot ilk 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 Bot, wyt ye weill, my hart was wounder sarye Quhen Comounweill so sopit “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 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 Quhose departyng to me was displesand. 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 Towart the land, anent Bot, wyt ye weill, I gat ane fellown fray All hir cannounis sche leit craik of at onis: Down schuke the stremaris frome the topcastell; Thay sparit nocht the poulder nor the stonis Thay schot thair boltis, and doun thair ankeris fell; The marenaris, thay did so youte That haistalie I stert out of my dreme, Half in ane fray, and spedalie past hame. And lychtlie dynit, with lyste 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 “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 Adew, fair Snawdoun Thy Chapell Royall, park, and tabyll rounde! 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 Mycht be one patrone Fair-weill, Falkland! the fortrace of Fyfe, Thy polyte park, under the Lowmound Law! Sum-tyme in thee I led ane lustye The fallow deir, to see thame raik on raw Court men to cum to thee, thay stand gret awe, Sayand thy burgh bene of all burrowis baill 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 “Sister,” said he, “alace! quho hes yow slane? I pray yow, mak provisione for your spreit, Dispone your geir I have power, be your contritioun, Of all your mys “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 So did the Gled 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 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; So tyll our brether ye will geve sum gude; God wat geve we hes 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 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, “The roukis sall rair, that men sall on thame rew, And crye Commemoratio Animarum. We sall gar chehnis cheip Suppose the geis and hennis suld crye alarum: And we sall serve Secundum usum Sarum And mak you saif: we fynd Sanct Blase to borgh Cryand for yow the cairfull corrynogh “And we sall syng about your sepulture Sanct Mongois matynis and the mekle creid 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 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 Your fals consait boith duke and draik sore dreidis I marvell, suithlie 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 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 “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 Wald God I wer this daye with hym confest, And my devyse “The myrthfull Maveis, with the gay Goldspink, The lustye My infortune, forsuith, thay wald forthink And comforte me that bene so impotent. The swyft Swallow, in prattick I wate scho wald my bledyng stem belyve 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 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 Syne nyxt the Poill the plaige “So, be thyne heych ingyne Of all countreis thou knawis the qualiteis; Quharefore, I thee conjure, be God of lyve, The veritie declare, withouttin leis 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 Of your caces, ye knaw, I have no cure; Demand thame quhilk in prudence doith precell. And als, perchance, ye wyll nocht stand content To knaw the vulgare pepyllis jugement. “Yit, wyll the deith alyte 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 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 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 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 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 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 Ane potent prince was namit Constantyne; 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 Under the pane of peirsyng of hir eine That with the Kirk scho sulde no more be seine. “Sanct Sylvester that tyme rang Pope in Rome 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 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 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 “Soune thay foryet 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 “Apperandlye thay did expell thair wyffis That thay mycht leif at large, without thirlage At libertie to lede thair lustie lyffis 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 Dame Sensuall one letter gart proclame, And hir exilit Italy and France. In Inglande couthe scho get none ordinance Than to the kyng and courte of Scotlande Scho markit hir “Traistyng in-to that court to get conforte, Scho maid hir humyll supplycatioun. Schortlye thay said scho sulde get na supporte, Bot bostit hir ‘To preistis go mak your protestatioun. It is,’ said thay, ‘mony one houndreth yeir Sen Chaistitie had ony entres “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 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 Passe hyne 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 Thay gaif hir presens, with processioun, Ressavand hir with honour, laud, and glore, Purposyng to preserve hir ever-more. Of that novellis To Ryches, and to Sensualytie; “Quhilkis sped thame at the post rycht spedalye, And sett ane seage proudlye about the place. The sillye And humyllye of that gylt askit grace, Syne gave thair bandis of perpetuall peace. Ressavand thame, thay kest up wykkets wyde 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 Profest amang the Systeris of the Schenis. “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 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 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 Boith nycht and daye thay wyrk, lyke besye beis, For thair defence reddye to stande in stoure And hes sic watcheis on thair utter toure That dame Sensuall with seage dar not assailye, Nor cum within the schote of thair artailye 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 “Quhow long, traist ye, those ladyis sall remane So solytar, in sic perfectioun?” The Papingo said, “Brother, in certane So lang as thay obey correctioun, Cheisyng 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 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.” “
verse">Ye do me wrang, schir Gled, I schrew “Tak thare,” said he, “the puddyngis for thy parte.” Than, wyt ye weill, my hart wes wounder sair For to behalde that dolent departyng 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 And thow get this tyll outher kyng or duke!” The Pyote said, “Plene Than in ane smedie I be smorit With that the Gled the pece claucht in his cluke And fled his way: the lave 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 And to the quair 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 With coit unclene, Clame kynrent Steil in ane nuke Quhen thay lyste on thee luke. For smell of smuke Men wyll abhor to beir thee. Heir I manesweir Quhairfor, to lurke go leir QUOD LYNDESAY, AT COMMAND OF KING JAMES THE FYFT. And sweitlie to the Squyer said, “Thow knawis the cunning Quhilk of us twa suld tyne 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 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 Sayand, “Hartlie I yow forgeve.” And then the Squyer tuik his leve, Commendit weill with everie man. Than wichtlie 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. Spoken by DILIGENCE. The Father and founder of faith and felicitie, That your fassioun And his Sone, our Saviour, scheild in necessitie, That bocht yow from baillis Repleadgeand The Halie Gaist, governour and grounder of grace, Of wisdome and weilfair baith fontane and flude, Saif yow all that I sie seisit And scheild yow from sinne, And with his spreit yow inspyre, Till I have schawin my desyre! Silence, Soveraine, I requyre, For now I begin. Prudent Peopill I pray yow all Tak na man greif in speciall, For wee sall speik in generall, For pastyme and for play: Thairfoir till all our rymis be rung And our mistoinit Let everie man keip weill ane toung And everie woman tway. An Interlude of the Puir Man and the Pardoner.[Heir sall entir Pauper the puir man. PAUPER. Of your almis, gude folks, for God’s luife For I have motherles bairns either sax or seavin. Gif ye’ill gif me na gude Wische DILIGENCE. Quhair haif wee gottin this gudly companzeoun? Swyith God wait Fy on yow officiars, that mends nocht thir failyies I gif yow all till the Devill, baith Provost and Bailzies! Without ye cum and chase this carle away, The devill a word ye’is get mair of our play. Fals huirsun, raggit carle, quhat Devil is that thou rugs PAUPER. Quha Devill, maid thee ane gentill man, that wald cut not thy lugs DILIGENCE. Quhat now! me-thinks the carle begins to crack Swyith, carle, away, or be this day I’se break thy back. [Heir sall the Carle clim up and sit in the King’s tchyre. Cum doun, or be God’s croun, fals loun, I sall slay thee. PAUPER. Sa sune as thay leir DILIGENCE. Me-thocht the carle callit me knave, evin in my face. Be Sanct Fillane! thou sal be slane bot gif Loup PAUPER. [Heir Diligence castis away the ledder. [Heir sall the Carle loup aff the scaffald. DILIGENCE. PAUPER. I will not gif, for al your Play, worth an sowis fart: For thair is richt lytill play at my hungrie hart. DILIGENCE. Quhat devill ails this cruckit carle? PAUPER. Marie! meikill I can not get, thocht I gasp, to beg nor to borrow. DILIGENCE. Quhair, devill, is this thou dwels? or quhat’s thy intent? PAUPER. I dwell into Lawthiane, ane myle fra Tranent. DILIGENCE. Quhair wald thou be, carle? the suth PAUPER. Sir, evin to Sanct-Androes, for to seik law. DILIGENCE. For to seik law, in Edinburgh was the neirest way. PAUPER. Sir, I socht law thair this monie deir day, Bot I culd get nane at Sessioun nor Seinzie; Thairfor the meikill din Devill droun all the meinzie DILIGENCE. Schaw me thy mater, man, with all the circumstances, How that thou hes happinit on thir unhappie chances. PAUPER. Gude man, will ye gif me of your charitie, And I sall declair yow the black veritie. My father was ane auld man and ane hoir And was of age fourscoir of yeirs and moir. And Mald, my mother, was fourscoir and fyfteine, And with my labour I did thame baith susteine. Wee had ane meir that caryit salt and coill And everie ilk Wee had thrie ky Nane tydier into the toun of Air. My father was sa waik of blude and bane That he deit Then scho deit, within ane day or two; And thair began my povertie and wo. Our gude gray meir was baittand And our land’s laird tuik hir for his hyreild. The vickar tuik the best cow be the heid, Incontinent, quhen my father was deid. And quhen the vickar hard tel how that my mother Was deid, fra hand he tuk to him ane-uther. Then Meg, my wife, did murne baith evin and morrow, Till at the last scho deit for verie sorrow. And quhen the vickar hard tell my wyfe was dead The thrid cow he cleikit The vickar gart his clark bear them away. Quhen all was gane I micht mak na debeat, Bot with my bairns past for till beg my meat. Now haif I tald yow the blak veritie How I am brocht into this miserie. DILIGENCE. How did the person PAUPER. The Devil stick him! he curst me for my teind, And halds me yit under that same proces That gart me want the Sacrament at Pasche. In gude faith, Sir, thocht he wald cut my throt, I have na geir except ane Inglis grot Quhilk I purpois to gif ane man of law. DILIGENCE. Thou art the daftest fuill that ever I saw. Trows Of men of Kirk! Na, nocht till thou be deid. PAUPER. Sir, be quhat law, tell me, quhairfoir or quhy That ane vickar suld tak fra me thrie ky? DILIGENCE. Thay have na law exceptand consuetude, Quhilk law, to them, is sufficient and gude. PAUPER. Ane consuetude against the common weill Suld be na law, I think, be sweit Sanct Geill. Quhair will ye find that law, tell gif ye can, To tak thrie ky fra ane pure husband-man? Ane for my father, and for my wyfe ane-uther, And the third cow he tuke fra Mald my mother. DILIGENCE. PAUPER. Sir, I wald speir Behauld sum prelats of this regioun— [Here the Puir Man recites further legalised oppressions by the priesthood, but is interrupted.] DILIGENCE. Hald thy toung, man, it seims that thou war mangit. Speik thou of preists but PAUPER. Be Him that buir the cruell croun of thorne, I cair nocht to be hangit, evin the morne. DILIGENCE. Be sure of preistis thou will get na support. PAUPER. Gif that be trew the Feind resave the sort Sa sen I se I get na uther grace I will ly down and rest mee in this place. [Heir sall the Puirman ly doun in the feild, and the Pardoner sall cum in and say. PARDONER. Bona dies! Bona dies! Devoit Pepill, gude day I say yow. Now tarie ane lytill quhyll, I pray yow, Till I be with yow knawin. Wat ye weill how I am namit? Ane nobill man and undefamit, Gif that all the suith war schawin. I am Sir Robert Rome-raker, Ane perfyte publike pardoner Admittit be the Paip. Sirs, I sall schaw yow, for my wage, My pardons and my pilgramage, Quhilk ye sall se, and graip I give to the Devill, with gude intent, This unsell With thame that it translaitit. Sen layik Pardoners get no charitie Without that thay debait it. Amang the wives with wrinks As all my marrowis With our fair fals flattrie. Yea, all the crafts I ken perqueir As I was teichit be ane freir Callit Hypocrisie. Bot now, allace! our greit abusioun Is cleirlie knawin till our confusioun, That we may sair repent. Of all credence now I am quyte, For ilk man halds me at dispyte That reids the New Test’ment. Duill fell Sa fall them that the Buik hame brocht! Als I pray to the Rude That Martin Luther, that fals loun Black Bullinger, and Melancthoun, Had bene smorde in thair cude Be him that buir the crowne of thorne I wald Sanct Paull had never bene borne; And als I wald his buiks War never red in the kirk, Bot amangs freirs, into the mirk Or riven amang ruiks! [Heir sall he lay doun his geir upon ane buird, and say, My patent pardouns ye may se, Cum fra the Cane Weill seald with oster-schellis. Thocht ye have na contritioun Ye sall have full remissioun With help of buiks and bellis. Heir is ane relict lang and braid, Of Fin Macoull the richt chaft blaid With teith and al togidder. Of Colling’s cow heir is ane horne, For eating of Makconnal’s corne Was slaine into Baquhidder. Heir is ane coird baith great and lang Quhilk hangit Johne the Armistrang, Of gude hemp, soft and sound. Gude halie peopill, I stand for’d, Quha-ever beis hangit with this cord Neids never to be dround. The culum The gruntill Quhilk buir his haly bell. Quha-ever he be heiris this bell clinck Gif me ane ducat for till drink; He sall never gang Without he be of Baliell Maisters, trow ye that this be scorne Cum win this pardoun, cum. Quha luifis thair wyfis nocht with thair hart, I have power thame for till part. Me-think yow deif and dum: Hes nane of yow curst wickit wyfis That haldis yow intill sturt Cum tak my dispensatioun; Of that cummer Howbeit your-selfis be in the wyte And mak ane fals narratioun. Cum win the pardoun, now let se, For meill, for malt, or for monie, For cok, hen, guse, or gryse. Of relicts heir I haif ane hunder; Quhy cum ye nocht? this is ane wounder: I trow ye be nocht wyse. [A grotesque episode is here introduced in which the Pardoner, for the price of “ane cuppill of sarks” (shirts), divorces a malcontent sowtar, or shoemaker, and his wife. Upon their despatch, east and west, the Pardoner’s boy cries from the hill.] WILKIN. Hoaw! Maister, hoaw! quhair ar ye now? PARDONER. I am heir, Wilkin widdiefow WILKIN. Sir, I have done your bidding, For I have fund ane greit hors bane, Ane fairer saw ye never nane, Upon dame Flescher’s midding. Sir, ye may gar the wyfis trow It is ane bane of Sanct Bryd’s cow, Gude for the fever quartane Sir, will ye reull this relict weill, All the wyfis will baith kiss and kneill Betuixt this and Dumbartane. PARDONER. Quhat say thay of me in the Toun? WILKIN. Some sayis ye are ane verie loun, Sum sayis Legatus Natus; Sum sayis ye ar ane fals Saracene, And sum sayis ye ar for certaine Diabolus Incarnatus. Bot keip yow fra subjectioun Of the curst King Correctioun; For, be ye with him fangit Becaus ye ar ane Rome-raker, Ane common publick cawsay-paker But doubt ye will be hangit. PARDONER. Quhair sall I ludge into the toun? WILKIN. With gude kynde Cristiane Anderson, Quhair ye will be weill treatit. Gif ony limmer Scho will defend yow with hir hands, And womanlie debait it. Bawburdie sayis be the Trinitie That scho sall beir yow cumpanie Howbeit ye byde ane yeir PARDONER. Thou hes done weill, be God’s mother; Tak ye the taine Sa sall we mak greit cheir. WILKIN. [Heir sall Pauper rise, and rax him. PAUPER. Quhat thing was yon that I heard crak I have bene dreamand, and dreveland With my richt hand my haill bodie I saine Sanct Bryd, Sanct Bryd, send me my ky againe! I se standand yonder ane halie man, To mak me help let me se gif he can. Halie Maister, God speid yow, and gude morne! PARDONER. Welcum to me, thocht thou war at the horne! Cum win the pardoun, and syne I sall thÉ saine PAUPER. Will that pardon get me my ky againe? PARDONER. Carle, of thy ky I have nathing ado: Cum win my pardon, and kis my relicts to. [Heir sall he saine him with his relictis. Now lowse thy pursse and lay doun thy offrand, And thou sall have my pardoun evin fra hand. With raipis Of gut Now win the pardoun, limmer, or thou art lost. PAUPER. My haly Father, quhat wil that pardon cost? PARDONER. Let se quhat mony thou bearest in thy bag. PAUPER. I haif ane grot heir, bund into ane rag. PARDONER. Hes thou na uther silver bot ane groat? PAUPER. Gif I have mair, Sir, cum and rype PARDONER. Gif me that groat, man, gif thou hest na mair. PAUPER. With all my hart, Maister, lo tak it thair. Now let me se your pardon, with your leif. PARDONER. Ane thousand yeir of pardons I thee geif. PAUPER. Ane thousand yeir! I will nocht live sa lang. Delyver me it, Maister, and let me gang PARDONER. Ane thousand year I lay upon thy head, With totiens quotiens: now, mak me na mair plead: Thou hast resaifit thy pardon now already. PAUPER. Bot, I can se na-thing, Sir, be Our Lady. Forsuith, Maister, I trow I be nocht wyse To pay ere I have sene my marchandryse. That ye have gottin my groat full sair I rew. Sir, quhidder is your pardon black or blew? Maister, sen ye have tain fra me my cunzie My marchandryse schaw me, withouttin sunzie Or to the bischop I sall pas and pleinzie In Sanct-Androis, and summond yow to the Seinzie PARDONER. Quhat craifis PAUPER. I craif my groat, or ellis my marchandrise. PARDONER. I gaif thÉ pardon for ane thowsand yeir. PAUPER. How sall I get that pardon, let me heir. PARDONER. Stand still and I sall tell the haill Quhen thow art deid, and gais to Purgatorie, Being condempnit to paine a thowsand yeir, Then sall thy pardoun thee releif, but weir. Now be content, ye ar ane mervelous man. PAUPER. Sall I get nathing for my groat quhill than PARDONER. That sall thou not, I mak it to yow plaine. PAUPER. Na than, gossop, gif me my groat againe. Quhat say ye, Maisters? call ye this gude resoun, That he suld promeis me ane gay pardoun, And he resave my mony, in his stead Syne mak me na payment till I be dead? Quhen I am deid I wait full sikkerlie My sillie Declair me this, now God nor Baliell bind thÉ, Quhen I am thair, curst carle, quhair sall I find thÉ? Not in heavin, but rather into hell. Quhen thow art thair thou cannot help thy-sell. Quhen will thou cum my dolours till abait? Trowis thou, butchour, that I will buy blind lambis? PARDONER. Swyith! stand abak! I trow this man be mangit Thou gets not this, carle, thocht thou suld be hangit. PAUPER. [Heir sall thay fecht with silence; and Pauper sal cast down the buird, and cast the relicts in the water. THE POOR MAN’S MARE.PAUPER. Marie! I lent my gossop my mear, to fetch hame coills, And he hir drounit into the querrell hollis: And I ran to the Consistorie, for to pleinze, And thair I happinit amang are greidie meinze Thay gave me first ane thing thay call Citandum, Within aucht Within ane moneth I gat ad Opponendum, In half ane yeir I gat Interloquendum, And syne I gat, how call ye it? ad Replicandum: Bot I could never ane word yit understand him. And than thay gart me cast out many plackis And gart me pay for four and twentie actis. Bot or thay came half gait The Feind ane plack was left for to defend him. Thus thay postponit me twa yeir with thair traine Syne, Hodie ad octo, bad me cum againe; And than, thir ruiks, thay roupit For sentence silver thay cryit at the last. Of Pronunciandum thay maid me wonder faine; Bot I got never my gude gray meir againe. From the Prologue to “The Monarche.” Musing and marvelling on the miserie Frome day to day in erth quhilk dois incres, And of ilk Proceding of the restless besynes Quhare-on the most part doith thair mynd addres Inordinatlie, on houngrye covatyce, Vaine glore, dissait, and uther sensuall vyce: Bot tumlyng in my bed I mycht nocht lye; Quharefore I fuir Conforte to gett of my malancolye, Sumquhat affore fresche Phebus uprysing, Quhare I mycht heir the birdis sweitlye syng. In-tyll ane park I past, for my plesure Decorit weill be craft of dame Nature. Quhow I resavit confort naturall For tyll discryve Smelling the holsum herbis medicinall, Quhare-on the dulce and balmy dew down dang Lyke aurient peirles on the twistis Or quhow that the aromatic odouris Did proceid frome the tender fragrant flouris; Or quhow Phebus, that king etheriall, Swyftlie sprang up in-to the Orient, Ascending in his throne imperiall, Quhose bricht and beriall Illumynit all on-to the Occident, Confortand everye corporall creature Quhilk formit war in erth be dame Nature; Quhose donke impurpurit With his imbroudit He lefte in-tyll his regioun aurorall, Quhilk on hym waitit quhen he did declyne Towarte his Occident palyce vespertyne, And rose in habyte gaye and glorious, Brychtar nor gold or stonis precious. Bot Synthea, the hornit nychtis quene, Scho loste hir lychte and lede ane lawar saill, Frome tyme hir soverane lorde that scho had sene, And in his presens waxit dirk And ouer hir visage kest are mistye vaill; So did Venus, the goddÈs amorous, With Jupiter, Mars, and Mercurius. Rycht so the auld intoxicat Saturne, Persaving Phebus powir, his beymes brycht, Abufe the erth than maid he no sudgeourne Bot suddandlye did lose his borrowit lycht, Quhilk he durst never schaw bot on the nycht. The Pole Artick, Ursis, and Sterris all Quhilk situate ar in the Septentrionall, Convoyand thame upone the stormye nycht, Within thare frostie circle did thame hyde. Howbeit that sterris have none uthir lycht Bot the reflex of Phebus bemes brycht. That day durst none in-to the hevin appeir Till he had circuit all our Hemispheir. Me-thocht it was ane sycht celestiall To sene Phebus so angellyke ascend In-tyll his fyrie chariot triumphall, Quhose bewtie brychte I culd nocht comprehend. All warldlie cure Quhen fresche Flora spred furth hir tapestrie, Wrocht be dame Nature, quent and curiouslie Depaynt with mony hundreth hevinlie hewis; Glaid of the rysing of thair royall Roye, Quhilk did provoke myne hart tyl natural joye. Neptune that day, and Eoll That men on far mycht heir the birdis sounde, Quhose noyis did to the sterrye hevin redounde. The plesand powne prunyeand his feddrem fair The myrthfull maves The lustye Numerand his naturall notis craftelye, The gay goldspink, the merll rycht myrralye, The noyis of the nobyll nychtingalis Redoundit throuch the montans, meids, and valis. Contempling this melodious armonye, Quhow everilke bird drest thame for tyl advance, To saluss That I stude gasing, halfingis To heir thame mak thare naturall observance So royallie that all the roches Throuch repurcussioun of thair suggurit sang. |