Returning to Scotland, we find a Skelton of a higher order and a brawnier make in Sir David Lyndsay, or, as our forefathers were wont familiarly to denominate him, 'Davie Lyndsay.' Lyndsay was descended from a noble family, a younger branch of Lyndsay of the Byres, and born in 1490, probably at the Mount, the family-seat, near Cupar-Fife. He entered the University of St Andrews in the year 1505, and four years later left it to travel in Italy. He must, however, have returned to Scotland before the 12th of October 1511, since we learn from the records of the Lord Treasurer that he was presented with a quantity of 'blue and yellow taffety to be a playcoat for the play performed in the King and Queen's presence in the Abbey of Holyrood.' On the 12th of April 1512, Lyndsay, then twenty-two years of age, was appointed gentleman-usher to James V., who had been born that very day. In his poem called 'The Dream,' he reminds the King of his having borne him in his arms ere he could walk; of having wrapped him up warmly in his little bed; of having sung to him with his lute, danced before him to make him laugh, and having carried him on his shoulders like a 'pedlar his pack.' He continued to be page and companion to the King till 1524, when, in consequence of the unprincipled machinations of the Queen- mother—who was acting as Regent—he, as well as Bellenden, the learned translator of Livy and Boece, was ejected from his office. When, however, in 1528, the young King, by a noble effort, emancipated himself from the thraldom of his mother and the Douglasses, Lyndsay wrote his 'Dream,' in which, amidst much poetic or fantastic matter, he congratulates James on his deliverance; reminds him, as aforesaid, of his early services; and takes occasion to paint the evils the country had endured during his minority, and to give him some bold and salutary advice as to his future conduct. The next year (1529) he produced 'The Complaint,' a poem in which he recurs to former themes, and remonstrates with great freedom and severity against the treatment he had undergone. Here, too, the religious reformer peeps out. He exhorts the King to compel the clergy to attend to the duties of their office; to preach more earnestly; to administer the sacraments according to the institution of Christ; and not to deceive their people with superstitious pilgrimages, vain traditions, and prayers to graven images, contrary to the written command of God. He with quaint iron says, that if his Grace will lend him

'Of gold ane thousand pound or tway,'

he will give him a sealed bond, obliging himself to repay the loan when the Bass and the Isle of May are set upon Mount Sinai; or the Lomond hills, near Falkland, are removed to Northumberland; or

'When kirkmen yairnis [desire] na dignity,
Nor wives na soveranitie.'

Still finer the last lines of the poem. 'If not,' he says, 'my God

'Shall cause me stand content
With quiet life and sober rent,
And take me, in my latter age,
Unto my simple hermitage,
To spend the gear my elders won,
As did Diogenes in his tun.'

This 'Complaint' proved successful, and in the next year (1530) Lyndsay was appointed Lion King-at-Arms—an office of great dignity in these days. The Lion was the chief judge of all matters connected with heraldry in the realm; was also the official ambassador from his sovereign to foreign countries; and was inaugurated in his office with a pomp and circumstance little inferior to those of a royal coronation, the King crowning him with his own hands, anointing him with wine instead of oil, and putting on his head the Royal Crown of Scotland, which he continued to wear till the close of the feast. It is of Lyndsay in the full accoutrements of this office that Sir Walter Scott speaks in his 'Marmion,' although he antedates by sixteen years the time when he assumed it:—

'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.
On milk-white palfrey forth he paced;
His cap of maintenance was graced
With the proud heron-plume;
From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast
Silk housings swept the ground,
With Scotland's arms, device, and crest
Embroider'd round and round.
The double treasure might you see,
First by Achaius borne,
The thistle and the fleur-de-lis,
And gallant unicorn.
So bright the king's armorial coat,
That scarce the dazzled eye could note;
In living colours, blazon'd brave,
The lion, which his title gave.
A train which well beseem'd his state,
But all unarm'd, around him wait;
Still is thy name in high account,
And still thy verse has charms,
Sir David Lyndsay of the Mount,
Lord Lion King-at-Arms.'

Soon after this appointment, Lyndsay wrote 'The Complaint of the King's Papingo,' in which, through the mouth of a dying parrot, he gives some sharp counsel to the king, his courtiers and nobles, and administers severe satirical chastisement to the corruptions of the clergy. It is an exceedingly clever production, and has some beautiful poetry as well as stinging sarcasm. Take the following address to Edinburgh, Stirling, Linlithgow, and Falkland:—

Adieu, Edinburgh! thou high triumphant town,
Within whose bounds right blitheful have I been;
Of true merchandis, the rule of this region,
Most ready to receive court, king, and queen;
Thy policy and justice may be seen;
Were devotion, wisdom, and honesty,
And credence tint, they micht be found in thee.

Adieu, fair Snawdoun! [Stirling] with thy towers hie,
Thy chapel-royal, park, and table round;
May, June, and July would I dwell in thee,
Were I a man to hear the birdis sound,
Which doth against the royal rock rebound.
Adieu, Lithgow! whose palace of pleasance
Meets not its peer in Portingale or France.

Farewell, Falkland! the forteress of Fife,
Thy velvet park under the Lomond Law;
Sometime in thee I led a lusty life.
The fallow deer to see them raik on raw [walk in a row],
Caust men to come to thee, they have great awe, &c.

In the year 1535, Lyndsay wrote his remarkable drama, 'The Satire of the Three Estates'—Monarch, namely, Barons, and Clergy. It is made up in nearly three equal parts of ingenuity, wit, and grossness. It is a drama, and was acted several times—first, in 1535, at Cupar-Fife, on a large green mound called Moot-hill; then, in 1539, in an open park near Linlithgow, by the express desire of the king, who with all the ladies of the Court attended the representation; then in the amphitheatre of St Johnston in Perth; and in 1554, at Edinburgh, in the village of Greenside, which skirted the northern base of the Calton Hill, in the presence of the Queen Regent and an enormous concourse of spectators. Its exhibition appears to have occupied nearly the whole day. In the 'Pictorial History of Scotland,' chapter xxiv., our readers will find a full and able analysis with extracts of this extraordinary performance. It is said to have done much good in opening the eyes of the people to the evils of the Papacy, and in paving the way for the Reformation.

In 1536 Sir David, in company with Sir John Campbell of Lundie, was sent to the Court of France to demand in marriage for James V. a daughter of the House of Vendome; but the King chose rather to take the matter in his own hands, and, going over in person, wedded Magdalene, daughter of Francis. She died two months after her arrival in Scotland, universally regretted; and Lyndsay made the sad event the subject of a poem, entitled 'Deploration of the Death of Queen Magdalene,' whom he designates

'The flower of France, and comfort of Scotland.'

When James subsequently married Mary of Guise, Sir David's ingenuity was strained to the utmost in providing pageants, masques, and shows to welcome her Majesty. For forty days in St Andrews, festivities continued; and it was during this prolonged festival that the Lion King, as if sick and satiated with vanities, wrote two poems, one entitled 'The Justing between James Watson and John Barbour,' a dull satire on tournaments, &c., and the other a somewhat cleverer piece, entitled 'Supplication directed to the King's Grace in Contemptioun of Side Tails,' the long trains then worn by the ladies. It met, we presume,with the fate of Punch's sarcasms against crinoline,—the 'phylacteries' would for a season, instead of being lessened, be enlarged, till Fashion lifted up her omnipotent rod, and told it to be otherwise.

King James died prematurely on the 14th of December 1542, and Lyndsay closed his eyes at Falkland, and mourned for him as a brother. From that day forth he probably felt that there was 'less sunshine in the sky for him.' In the troublous times which succeeded this, he had to retire for a season from the Court, having become obnoxious to the rigid Papists on account of his writings. After the death of Cardinal Beatoun he wrote the tragedy of 'The Cardinal,' a poem in which the spectre of the Cardinal is the spokesman, and which teems with good advice to all and sundry. The execution, however, is not so felicitous as the plan. In 1548 Lyndsay went to Denmark to negotiate a free trade with Scotland. On his return in 1550 he wrote his very pleasing and chivalric 'History of Squire Meldrum,' founded on the actual adventures of William Meldrum, the Laird of Cleish and Binns, a distinguished friend of the poet, who had gained laurels as a warrior both in Scotland and in France. This poem is, in a measure, an anticipation of the rhymed romances of Scott, and is full of picturesque description and spirit-stirring adventure. In 1553 he completed his last and most elaborate work, which had occupied him for years, entitled 'The Monarchic,' containing an account of the most famous monarchies which have existed on earth, and carrying on the history to the general judgment. From this date we almost entirely lose sight of our poet. He seems to have retired into private life, and is supposed to have died about the close of 1557. He was probably buried in the family vault at Ceres, but no stone marks the spot. Dying without issue, his estates passed to his brother Alexander, and were continued in the possession of his descendants till the middle of last century. They now belong to the Hopes of Rankeillour. The office of Lord Lion was held by two of the poet's relatives successively—Sir David, his nephew, who became Lion King in 1591, and his son-in-law, Sir Jerome Lyndsay, who succeeded to it in 1621.

Sir David Lyndsay, unlike most satirists, was a good, a blameless, and a religious man. The occasional loftiness of his poetic vein, the breadth of his humour, the purity of his purpose, and his strong reforming zeal combined to make his poetry exceedingly popular in Scotland for a number of ages, particularly among the lower orders. Scott introduces Andrew Fairservice, in 'Rob Roy,' saying, in reference to Francis Osbaldistone's poetical efforts, 'Gude help him! twa lines o' Davie Lyndsay wad ding a' he ever clerkit,' and even still there are districts of the country where his name is a household word.

MELDRUM'S DUEL WITH THE ENGLISH CHAMPION TALBART.

Then clarions and trumpets blew,
And warriors many hither drew;
On every side came many man
To behold who the battle wan.
The field was in the meadow green,
Where every man might well be seen:
The heralds put them so in order,
That no man pass'd within the border,
Nor press'd to come within the green,
But heralds and the champions keen;
The order and the circumstance
Were long to put in remembrance.
When these two noble men of weir
Were well accoutred in their geir,
And in their handis strong burdouns,[1]
Then trumpets blew and clariouns,
And heralds cried high on height,
'Now let them go—God show the right.'

* * * * *

Then trumpets blew triumphantly,
And these two champions eagerly,
They spurr'd their horse with spear on breast,
Pertly[2] to prove their pith they press'd.
That round rink-room[3] was at utterance,
But Talbart's horse with a mischance
He outterit,[4] and to run was loth;
Whereof Talbart was wonder wroth.
The Squier forth his rink[5] he ran,
Commended well with every man,
And him discharged of his spear
Honestly, like a man of weir.

* * * * *

The trenchour[6] of the Squier's spear
Stuck still into Sir Talbart's geir;
Then every man into that stead[7]
Did all believe that he was dead.
The Squier leap'd right hastily
From his courser deliverly,[8]
And to Sir Talbart made support,
And humillie[9] did him comfort.
When Talbart saw into his shield
An otter in a silver field,
'This race,' said he, 'I sore may rue,
For I see well my dream was true;
Methought yon otter gart[10] me bleed,
And bore me backward from my steed;
But here I vow to God soverain,
That I shall never joust again.'
And sweetly to the Squier said,
'Thou know'st the cunning[11] that we made,
Which of us two should tyne[12] the field,
He should both horse and armour yield
To him that won, wherefore I will
My horse and harness give thee till.'
Then said the Squier, courteously,
'Brother, I thank you heartfully;
Of you, forsooth, nothing I crave,
For I have gotten that I would have.'

[1] 'Burdouns:' spears. [2] 'Pertly:' boldly. [3] 'Rink-room:' course-room. [4] 'Outterit:' swerved. [5] 'Kink:' course. [6] 'Trencliour:' head. [7] 'Stead:' place. [8] 'Deliverly:' actively. [9] 'Humillie:' humbly. [10] 'Gart:' made. [11] 'Cunning:' agreement. [12] 'Tyne:' lose.

SUPPLICATION IN CONTEMPTION OF SIDE TAILS,[1] (1538.)

Sovereign, I mene[2] of these side tails,
Whilk through the dust and dubbËs trails,
Three quarters lang behind their heels,
Express against all commonweals.
Though bishops, in their pontificals,
Have men for to bear up their tails,
For dignity of their office;
Right so a queen or an emprice;
Howbeit they use such gravity,
Conforming to their majesty,
Though their robe-royals be upborne,
I think it is a very scorn,
That every lady of the land
Should have her tail so side trailand;
Howbeit they be of high estate,
The queen they should not counterfeit.

Wherever they go it may be seen
How kirk and causey they sweep clean.
The images into the kirk
May think of their side tailËs irk;[3]
For when the weather be most fair,
The dust flies highest into the air,
And all their faces does begary,
If they could speak, they would them wary. * *
But I have most into despite
Poor claggocks[4] clad in raploch[5] white,
Whilk has scant two merks for their fees,
Will have two ells beneath their knees.
Kittock that cleckit[6] was yestreen,
The morn will counterfeit the queen. * *
In barn nor byre she will not bide,
Without her kirtle tail be side.
In burghs, wanton burgess wives
Who may have sidest tailËs strives,
Well bordered with velvet fine,
But following them it is a pine:
In summer, when the streetËs dries,
They raise the dust above the skies;
None may go near them at their ease,
Without they cover mouth and neese. * *
I think most pain after a rain,
To see them tucked up again;
Then when they step forth through the street,
Their faldings flaps about their feet;
They waste more cloth, within few years,
Nor would cleid[7] fifty score of freirs. * *
Of tails I will no more indite,
For dread some duddron[8] me despite:
Notwithstanding, I will conclude,
That of side tails can come no good,
Sider nor[9] may their ankles hide,
The remanent proceeds of pride,
And pride proceedis of the devil;
Thus alway they proceed of evil.

Another fault, Sir, may be seen,
They hide their face all but the een;
When gentlemen bid them good-day,
Without reverence they slide away. * *
Without their faults be soon amended,
My flyting,[10] Sir, shall never be ended;
But would your grace my counsel take,
A proclamation ye should make,
Both through the land and burrowstowns,
To show their face and cut their gowns.
Women will say, This is no bourds,[11]
To write such vile and filthy words;
But would they cleanse their filthy tails,
Whilk over the mires and middings[12] trails,
Then should my writing cleansed be,
None other' mends they get of me.

Quoth Lyndsay, in contempt of the side tails,
That duddrons[13] and duntibours[14] through the dubbËs trails.

[1] 'Side tails:' long skirts. [2] 'Mene:' complain. [3] 'Irk:' May feel annoyed. [4] 'Claggocks:' draggle-tails. [5] 'Raploch:' homespun. [6] 'Cleckit:' born. [7] 'Cleid:' clothe. [8] 'Duddron:' slut. [9] 'Nor:' than. [10] 'Flyting:' scolding. [11] 'Bourds:' jest. [12] 'Middings:' dunghills. [13] 'Duddrons:' sluts. [14] 'Duntibours:' harlots.