Chapter V: Part 5

As an illustration of ancient rustic humour and a description of low manners in its time it remains perhaps the best thing in the language. The only composition which competes with it for the first place in its class is the “Jolly Beggars” of Robert Burns. The two additional cantos which Allan Ramsay wrote for it in no way approach the spontaneity and boisterous energy of the original poem.

“Peblis to the Play” deals with a similar subject in similar manner, and has generally been considered to possess less merit than “Christis Kirk.” It certainly falls short of the riotous uproar of its companion piece, and beats the air throughout with a gentler wing; but its touches describing traits of rustic character are not less deft, the humour is here and there of a tenderer sort, and the subject displays more variety. The poem presents an admirable picture of the day’s enjoyment of rustic lads and lasses at a country fair, and is not the less artistic for its touch of rustic pathos near the end.

“The Gaberlunzieman” and “The Jolly Beggar” are said by tradition to celebrate two of James V.’s own adventures with country girls. It must be acknowledged that they are quite in keeping with the legends current regarding the too gallant monarch. One such tradition, recorded by Percy, narrates how the king used to visit a smith’s daughter at Niddry, near Edinburgh; but it is not known whether the intrigue with her had any connection with either of the poems. Whatever the facts of the case, the two compositions remain unsurpassed examples of a certain typical, pawky vein of Scottish humour. “The Jolly Beggar,” besides, contains in burlesque miniature all the essentials of a romantic drama.

Upon the strength of these four compositions a place may be claimed for James V. in the first rank of the writers of humorous pastoral poetry--poetry which finds its inspiration in the actual common life of the people. In this department the king has been rivalled, though hardly surpassed, only by the inspired peasant, Burns himself. Regarding the vitality of his work a trenchant remark has recently been made by one of the foremost critics of the day.[754] “While much of the contemporary and earlier poetry of Scotland,” he says, “is now read only as an historical illustration of the development of literature, that of James V., if he really wrote the gay pieces attributed to him, is read for its native merit.”

[754] In _The Daily News_, March 19, 1892.

PEBLIS TO THE PLAY.

At Beltane,[755] quhen ilk bodie bownis[756]
To Peblis to the play,
To heir the singin’ and the soundis,
The solace, suth to say;
Be firth[757] and forrest furth they found[758],
Thay graythit[759] tham full gay;
God wait that wald thay do that stound[760],
For it was thair feist day,
Thay said,
Of Peblis to the play.

All the wenchis of the west
War up or the cok crew;
For reiling[761] thair micht na man rest,
For garray and for glew[762].
Ane said “My curches[763] ar nocht prest!”
Than answerit Meg full blew[764],
“To get an hude I hald it best.”
“Be Goddis saull that is true!”
Quod scho[765],
Of Peblis to the play.

She tuik the tippet[766] be the end;
To lat it hing scho leit not[767].
Quod he, “Thy bak sall beir ane bend[768];”
“In faith,” quod she, “we meit not!”
Scho was so guckit and so gend[769]
That day ane byt scho eit nocht.
Than spak hir fallowis that hir kend[770],
“Be still, my joy, and greit not[771],
Now,
Of Peblis to the play!”

“Evir, allace!” than said scho,
“Am I nocht cleirlie tynt[772]?
I dar nocht cum yon mercat[773] to,
I am so evvil sone-brint[774].
Amang you merchands my dudds do[775],
Marie; I sall anis mynt[776]
Stand of far and keik[777] thaim to,
As I at hame was wont,”
Quod scho,
Of Peblis to the play.

Hop, calye, and cardronow[778]
Gaderit out thik-fald[779];
With “hey and how rohumbelow”
The young folk were full bald.
The bagpipe blew, and thai out-threw[780]
Out of the townis untald[781].
Lord, sic ane schout was thame amang
Quhen thai were ower the wald[782],
Thair west,
Of Peblis to the play!

Ane young man stert in-to that steid[783]
Als cant[784] as ony colt,
Ane birken hat upon his heid,
With ane bow and ane bolt;
Said “Mirrie madinis, think not lang[785],
The wedder is fair and smolt[786]:”
He cleikit up ane hie ruf sang[787];
“Thair fure[788] ane man to the holt[789],”
Quod he,
Of Peblis to the play.

Thay had nocht gane half of the gait[790]
Quhen the madinis come upon thame;
Ilk ane man gaif his consait[791]
How at[792] thai wald dispone[793] thame.
Ane said, “The fairest fallis me;
Tak ye the laif[794] and fone[795] thame.”
Ane-uther said “Wys lat me be!
On, Twedell syd, and on thame
Swyth[796]!
Of Peblis to the play.”

Than he to-ga and scho to-ga[797],
And never ane bad abyd you.
Ane winklot[798] fell, and her taill up,
“Wow,” quod Malkin[799], “hyd yow!
Quhat neidis you to maik it sua[800]?
Yon man will not ourryd[801] you.”
“Ar ye owr gude[802],” quod scho, “I say,
To lat thame gang[803] besyd yow,
Yonder,
Of Peblis to the play?”

Than thai come to the townis end
Withouttin more delai,
He befoir, and scho befoir,
To see quha was maist gay.
All that luikit thame upon
Leuche[804] fast at thair array:
Sum said that thai were merkat folk,
Sum said the Quene of May
Was cumit[805]
Of Peblis to the play.

Than thai to the taverne hous
With meikle oly[806] prance;
Ane spak wi’ wourdis wonder crous[807]
“A done[808] with ane mischance!”
“Braid up the burde,” he hydis tyt[809],
“We ar all in ane trance[810].
Se that our napre be quhyt[811],
For we will dyn and daunce
Thair out,
Of Peblis to the play.”

Ay as the gudwyf[812] brocht in,
Ane scorit upon the wauch[813].
Ane bad pay, ane-ither said “Nay,
Byd quhill we rakin our lauch[814].”
The gud-wyf said, “Have ye na dreid;
Ye sall pay at ye aucht[815].”
Ane young man start upon his feit,
And he began to lauche[816],
For heydin[817]
Of Peblis to the play.

He gat ane trincheour in his hand
And he began to compt;
“Ilk man twa and are happenie[818]!
To pay thus we war wount.”
Ane-uther stert upon his feit,
And said “Thow art our blunt[819]
To tak sic office upoun hand!
Be God thow servite ane dunt[820]
Of me,
Of Peblis to the play.”

“Ane dunt,” quod he, “quhat dewil is that?
Be God, yow dar not du’d!”
He stert till ane broggit stauf[821],
Wincheand as he war woode[822].
All that hous was in an reirde[823]:
Ane cryit, “The halie rude!
Help us, Lord, upon this erde[824],
That thair be spilt na blude
Heirin,
Of Peblis to the play!”

Thay thrang out at the dure at anis,
Withouttin ony reddin[825].
Gilbert in ane gutter glayde[826]--
He gat na better beddin.
Thair wes not ane of thame that day
Wald do ane-utheris biddin:
Thairby lay thre and threttie-sum[827]
Thrunland[828] in ane midding
Off draff[829],
Of Peblis to the play.

Ane cadgear on the mercat gait[830]
Hard thame bargane[831] begin;
He gaiff ane schout, his wyff came out;
Scantlie scho micht ourhye[832] him.[833]

* * * * *

He held, scho drew, for dust that day
Micht na man se ane styme[834]
To red[835] thame
Of Peblis to the play.

He stert to his greit gray meir,
And of he tumblit the creilis.
“Alace!” quod scho, “hald our gude-man!”
And on hir knees scho kneilis.
“Abyd,” quod scho; “Why, nay,” quod he;
In-till his stirrapis he lap[836];
The girding[837] brak, and he flew of,
And upstart bayth his heilis
At anis[838],
Of Peblis to the play.

His wyf came out, and gaif ane schout
And be the fute scho gat him;
All bedirtin[839] drew him out;
“Lord God, richt weil that sat[840] him!”
He said, “Quhare is yon cubroun[841] knaif?”
Quod scho, “I reid[842] ye, lat him
Gang hame his gaites[843].” “Be God,” quod he,
“I sall anis have at him
Yit,
Of Peblis to the play.”

“Ye fylit[844] me, fy for schame!” quod scho;
“Se as[845] ye have drest[846] me!
How feil ye, schir?” “As my girdin brak,
Quhat meikle[847] devil may lest[848] me.
I wait[849] weil quhat; it wes
My awin gray meir that kest me,
Or gif I wes forfochtin[850] faynt,
And syn[851] lay doun to rest me
Yonder,
Of Peblis to the play.”

Be that[852] the bargane was all playit;
The stringis stert out of thair nokks[853];
Sevin-sum that the tulye[854] maid
Lay gruffling[855] in the stokks.
John Jacksoun of the nether warde
Had lever have giffin[856] an ox
Or[857] he had cuming in that cumpanie,
He sware be Goddis lockkis
And mannis bayth,
Of Peblis to the play.

With that Will Swane come sueitand out,
Ane meikle miller man;
“Gif I sall dance have donn[858], lat se,
Blaw up the bagpyp than!
The schamou’s dance[859] I mon begin
I trow it sall not pane.”
So hevelie he hockit[860] about,
To see him, Lord, as[861] thai ran
That tyd,
Of Peblis to the play!

Thay gadderit out of the toun[862],
And neirar him thai dreuche;
Ane bade gif the daunsaris rowme;
Will Swane makis wounder teuche[863].
Than all the wenschis Te he! thai playit;
But, Lord, as Will Young leuche[864]!
“Gude gossip, come hyn your gaitis[865],
For we have daunsit aneuche[866]
At anis
At Peblis at the play.”

Sa ferslie fyr-heit[867] wes the day
His face began to frekill.
Than Tisbe[868] tuik him by the hand,
Wes new cuming fra the Seckill.
“Allace!” quod scho, “quhat sall I do?
And our doure hes na stekill[869]!”
And scho to-ga[870] as hir taill brynt,
And all the cairlis to kekill[871]
At hir,
Of Peblis to the play.

The pyper said, “Now I begin
To tyre for playing to,
Bot yit I have gottin naething
For all my pyping to you.
Thre happenis for half ane day,
And that will not undo you;
And gif ye will gif me richt nocht[872]
The meikill devill gang wi’ you!”
Quod he,
Of Peblis to the play.

Be that the daunsing wes all done,
Thair leif tuik les and mair;
Quhen the winklottis and the wawarris twynit[873]
To se it was hart sair.
Wat Atkin said to fair Ales[874],
“My bird[875], now I will fayr.”
The dewil a wourde that scho might speik,
Bot swownit that sweit of swair[876]
For kyndnes,
Of Peblis to the play.

He sippilit[877] lyk ane faderles fole;
“And be still, my sweit thing!”
“Be the halyrud of Peblis
I may nocht rest for greting[878].”
He quhissillit and he pypit bayth
To mak hir blyth that meiting:
“My hony part, how sayis the sang,
‘Thair sall be mirth at our meting
Yit,’
Of Peblis to the play.”

Be that the sone was settand schaftis,
And neir done wes the day.
Thair men micht heir schriken of chaftis[879]
Quhen that thai went thair way.
Had thair bein mair made of this sang
Mair suld I to yow say.
At Beltane ilka bodie bownd
To Peblis to the play.

[755] Beltane, believed to be from the Gaelic Beal-tein, or Baal fire, was the great Druid festival of the first of May. The sports of Beltane, it appears, were celebrated at Peebles till a recent date, when a market was established, known as the Beltane Fair.

[756] when each person sets forth.

[757] By outland.

[758] went.

[759] clad.

[760] time, occasion.

[761] turmoil.

[762] For preparation and sport.

[763] kerchiefs.

[764] gloomy.

[765] Said she.

[766] collarette.

[767] permitted not.

[768] band, ribbon.

[769] so foolish and playful.

[770] knew

[771] weep not.

[772] lost.

[773] market.

[774] so badly sunburnt.

[775] carry my rags, _i.e._ woven cloth.

[776] shall once venture.

[777] look by stealth.

[778] Man, woman, and prentice-lad (Hob, caile, curdower).

[779] Gathered out thick-fold.

[780] thronged out.

[781] steadings unnumbered.

[782] over the plain.

[783] started in that place.

[784] lively.

[785] become not weary.

[786] clear, mild.

[787] raised a high rough song.

[788] fared.

[789] wood.

[790] way.

[791] conceit, opinion.

[792] that.

[793] dispose of.

[794] remainder.

[795] play the fool with.

[796] Swiftly.

[797] encountered.

[798] young woman.

[799] maukin, a little maid.

[800] to play the mate so.

[801] override.

[802] too good.

[803] go.

[804] Laughed.

[805] Was come.

[806] jollity.

[807] words wondrous brave.

[808] Have done (?).

[809] “Set up the board,” he calls soon.

[810] dance, party.

[811] napery be white.

[812] good woman, hostess.

[813] wall.

[814] Wait till we reckon our lawing (bill).

[815] that ye owe.

[816] laugh.

[817] scorn.

[818] twopence half-penny.

[819] over stupid.

[820] deserved a blow.

[821] pointed staff.

[822] Wincing as he were mad.

[823] uproar.

[824] earth.

[825] clearance, settlement.

[826] slid.

[827] Thirty-three lay there.

[828] Tumbling about.

[829] distiller’s waste.

[830] A hawker on the market street.

[831] debate, battle.

[832] overtake.

[833] Two lines of the stanza have here apparently been lost.

[834] glimpse.

[835] separate.

[836] leaped.

[837] girthing.

[838] At once.

[839] dirtied.

[840] became.

[841] low-born.

[842] counsel.

[843] Go home his ways.

[844] defiled.

[845] See how.

[846] treated.

[847] great.

[848] hinder.

[849] know.

[850] fatigued.

[851] then.

[852] By the time that.

[853] notches (of bows).

[854] broil.

[855] grovelling.

[856] Had rather given.

[857] Ere.

[858] favourite.

[859] a dance now unknown.

[860] jerked, rocked.

[861] how.

[862] dwelling.

[863] performs wondrous long.

[864] laughed.

[865] hence your ways.

[866] enough.

[867] So fiercely fire-hot.

[868] Tibbie, Isabella.

[869] latch.

[870] encountered.

[871] all the men to cackle.

[872] quite nothing.

[873] the wenches and wooers parted.

[874] Alison.

[875] damsel.

[876] swooned that sweet one of the glen foot.

[877] sipped, uttered a sipping sound.

[878] weeping.

[879] shock of lips, _i.e._ osculation.

CHRYSTIS KIRK ON THE GRENE.[880]

Was nevir in Scotland hard nor sene
Sic dansing nor deray[881],
Nowthir at Falkland on the grene
Nor Peblis at the play,
As wes of wowaris[882], as I wene[883],
At Chryst kirk on ane day.
Thair come our kitteis[884] weschin clene
In thair new kirtillis of gray,
Full gay,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.

To dans thir damysellis thame dicht[885],
Thir lassis licht of laitis[886],
Thair gluvis wes of the raffell[887] rycht,
Thair schone wes of the straitis[888];
Thair kirtillis wer of lynkome[889] licht,
Weill prest with mony plaitis.
Thay wer so nyss[890] quhen men thame nicht[891]
Thay squeilit lyk ony gaitis[892],
So lowd,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene that day.

Of all thir madynis myld as meid
Wes nane so gympt[893] as Gillie;
As ony ross hir rude[894] wes reid,
Hir lyre[895] wes lyk the lillie;
Fow[896] yellow yellow wes hir heid,
Bot scho of lufe wes sillie[897];
Thocht all hir kin had sworn hir deid[898]
Scho wald haif bot sweit Willie
Allone,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.

Scho skornit Jok and skraipit[899] at him,
And mvrionit him with mokkis[900];
He wald haif luvit, scho wald nocht lat him,
For all his yallow loikkis:
He chereist hir, scho bad ga chat him[901];
Scho compt[902] him nocht twa clokkis[903];
So schamefully his schort goun set him,
His lymmis wes lyk twa rokkis[904],
Scho said,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.

Thome Lular wes thair menstrall meit;
O Lord! as he cowd lanss[905];
He playit so schill[906], and sang so sweit
Quhill Towsy tuke a transs[907].
Auld Lychtfute thair he did forleit[908],
And counterfutit Franss;
He vse[909] him-self as man discreit
And vp tuke moreiss danss,
Full lowd,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.

Than Stevin come stoppand in with stendis[910];
No rynk[911] mycht him arreist.
Platfute[912] he bobbit vp with bendis[913];
For Maid he maid requeist.
His lap quhill he lay on his lendis[914];
Bot rysand he wes preist[915]
Quhill that he oistit[916] at bath the endis
For honour of the feist,
That day,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.

Syne Robene Roy begowth[917] to revell,
And Dwny till him druggit[918];
“Lat be,” quo Jok; and cawd him javell[919]
And be the taill him tuggit.
The kensy cleikit to the cavell[920],
Bot Lord! than gif thay luggit[921],
Thay pairtit hir manly with a nevell[922],
God wait gif hair wes ruggit[923]
Betuix thame,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.

Ane bent a bow, sic sturt cowd steir him[924];
Grit skayth wesd to haif skard[925] him;
He chesit a flane[926] as did affeir[927] him,
The toder[928] said “Dirdum Dardum.”
Throwch baith the cheikis he thocht to cheir[929] him,
Or throw the erss haif chard[930] him;
Bot be ane akerbraid[931] it come nocht neir him,
I can nocht tell quhat mard him,
Thair,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.

With that a freynd of his cryd “Fy!”
And vp ane arrow drew;
He forgit[932] so fowriously
The bow in flenders[933] flew;
Sa wes the will of God, trow I,
For had the tre bene trew
Men said that kend[934] his archery
That he had slane anew[935],
That day,
At Chrystis kirk on the grene.

Ane hasty hensure[936] callit Hary,
Quha wes ane archer heynd[937],
Tilt[938] vp a taikle withowttin tary[939],
That torment so him teynd[940].
I wait nocht quhidder his hand cowd wary[941],
Or the man wes his freynd,
For he eschaipit[942] throw michtis of Mary
As man that no ill meynd[943],
Bot gud,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.

Than Lowry as ane lyon lap,
And sone a flane cowd fedder[944];
He hecht[945] to perss him at the pap,
Thair-on to wed a weddir[946].
He hit him on the wame a wap[947],
It buft[948] lyk ony bledder;
Bot swa his fortoun wes and hap
His dowblet wes maid of ledder,
And saift him,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.

A yaip[949] yung man that stude him neist
Lowsd[950] of a schot with yre;
He ettlit the bern[951] in at the breist,
The bolt flew our the byre[952].
Ane cryit Fy! he had slane a preist
A myll beyond ane myre;
Than bow and bag[953] fra him he keist
And fled as ferss as fyre
Of flynt,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.

With forkis and flailis thay lait[954] grit flappis,
And flang[955] togiddir lyk friggis[956];
With bowgaris[957] of barnis thay beft[958] blew kappis
Quhill thay of bernis maid briggis[959].
The reird[960] raiss rudly with the rappis,
Quhen rungis[961] wes layd on riggis[962];
The wyffis come furth with cryis and clappis,
“Lo quhair my lyking liggis[963]!”
Quo thay
At Chryst kirk of the grene.

Thay girnit and lait gird with granis[964]
Ilk gossep vder grevit[965];
Sum straik with stingis[966], sum gadderit stanis,
Sum fled and evill mischevit;
The menstrall wan within twa wanis[967],
That day full weill he previt[968],
For he come hame with vnbirsed banis[969]
Quhair fechtaris wer mischevit[970]
For evir,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.

Heich[971] Hucheoun, with a hissill ryss[972],
To red[973] can throw thame rummill[974];
He mudlet[975] thame doun lyk ony myss[976],
He wes no barty-bummill[977].
Thocht he wes wicht[978] he wes nocht wyss
With sic jangleris to jummill[979],
For fra his thowme thay dang a sklyss[980],
Quhill he cryd “Barla-fummyll[981]!
I am slane,”
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.

Quhen that he saw his blude so reid,
To fle micht no man lat[982] him;
He wend[983] it bene for auld done feid[984],
The far sarar it set[985] him.
He gart his feit defend his heid,
He thocht ane cryd haif at him,
Quhill he wes past out of all pleid[986]
He suld bene swift that gat him
Throw speid,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.

The toun sowtar[987] in greif wes bowdin[988],
His wyfe hang in his waist;
His body wes with blud all browdin[989],
He granit lyk ony gaist.
Hir glitterand hair that wes full goldin
So hard in lufe him lest[990]
That for hir saik he wes nocht yoldin,
Sevin myll quhill he wes chest[991],
And mair,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.

The millar wes of manly mak;
To meit him wes na mowis[992];
Thair durst nocht ten cum him to tak,
So nowit he thair nowis[993].
The buschment haill[994] about him brak
And bikkerit[995] him with bowis[996],
Syne tratourly behind his bak
Thay hewit him on the howiss[997]
Behind,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.

Twa that wes heidmen of the heird
Ran vpoun vtheris lyk rammis;
Than followit feymen[998] rycht on affeird[999],
Bet on with barrow trammis.
Bot quhair thair gobbis wes vngeird[1000]
Thay gat vpoun the gammis[1001],
Quhill bludy berkit[1002] wes thair beird;
As thay had wirreit[1003] lammis,
Maist lyk,
At Chryst kirk of the grene.

The wyvis kest vp ane hiddouss yell
Quhen all thir yunkeris yokkit[1004];
Als ferss as ony fyr-flaught[1005] fell
Freikis[1006] to the feild thay flokkit:
Tha cairlis[1007] with clubbis cowd vder quell[1008],
Quhill blud at breistis out bokkit[1009].
So rudly rang the commoun bell,
Quhill all the stepill rokkit
For reird,
At Christis kirk of the grene.

Quhen thay had berit[1010] lyk baitit bulis,
And branewod brynt in bailis[1011],
Thay wer als meik as ony mvlis
That mangit wer with mailis[1012].
For fantness tha forfochin fulis[1013]
Fell doun lyk flawchtir-failis[1014],
And freschmen come in and held thair dulis[1015],
And dang[1016] thame doun in dailis[1017]
Be-dene[1018],
At Chryst kirk on the grene.

Quhen all wes done, Dik with ane aix
Come furth to fell a fidder[1019].
Quod he, “Quhair ar yone hangit smaix[1020]
Rycht now wald slane my bruder?”
His wyfe bade him ga hame gub-glaikis[1021],
And sa did Meg his muder.
He turnd and gaif thaim bayth thair paikis[1022],
For he durst ding nane vdir[1023],
For feir,
At Chryst kirk of the grene that day.

[880] The Christ’s Kirk of the poem, in Tytler’s opinion, was that near Dunideer in Aberdeenshire. About the burial ground of the ancient kirk was a green where, so late as the end of last century, a yearly fair was still held on the 1st of May. “In former times,” says Tytler, “this fair was continued during the night, from which circumstance it was called by the country people Sleepy Market. On such occasions it was natural that such disorders as are so humorously described by the royal author should have taken place.”

[881] merriment, disorder.

[882] wooers.

[883] think.

[884] Kittie, now the common abbreviation of Catherine, was in James’s time the general name for a playful girl.

[885] prepared.

[886] gay of manners.

[887] doeskin.

[888] coarse woollen.

[889] Lincoln-green.

[890] simple, foolish.

[891] approached.

[892] goats, kids.

[893] slim, dainty.

[894] the ruddy part of the face.

[895] skin.

[896] Full.

[897] frail, _i.e._, she was love-sick.

[898] death.

[899] girded.

[900] mocked him by making mouths.

[901] go hang himself.

[902] counted.

[903] clucks.

[904] distaffs.

[905] how he did launch (the fiddle bow).

[906] shrill.

[907] an ancient dance.

[908] forsake.

[909] behaved.

[910] stepping in with long strides.

[911] course.

[912] Flat-footed.

[913] bounds.

[914] He leaped till he lay on his buttocks.

[915] exerted.

[916] coughed.

[917] began.

[918] dragged.

[919] drove him side-wise (gable-wards).

[920] The angry man clutched the stave.

[921] did not they have by the ears.

[922] blow of the fist.

[923] pulled.

[924] such wrath did move him.

[925] Great hurt was it to have frightened.

[926] chose an arrow.

[927] become.

[928] other.

[929] pierce.

[930] pierced.

[931] acre’s breadth.

[932] let fly.

[933] splinters.

[934] knew.

[935] enough.

[936] giddy fellow.

[937] skilful.

[938] Snatched.

[939] delay.

[940] enraged.

[941] did vary.

[942] escaped.

[943] designed.

[944] arrow did feather.

[945] offered, promised.

[946] to wager a wether.

[947] on the belly a knock.

[948] sounded.

[949] conceited.

[950] Loosed.

[951] aimed at the man.

[952] cowhouse.

[953] quiver.

[954] let (drive).

[955] kicked.

[956] stout fellows.

[957] roof beams.

[958] buffeted.

[959] Till they of men made bridges.

[960] uproar.

[961] spars.

[962] ridges, backs.

[963] my love lies.

[964] snarled and let drive with groans.

[965] vexed the other.

[966] pikes.

[967] dwellings.

[968] proved.

[969] unbruised bones.

[970] Where fighters were hurt.

[971] Tall.

[972] a hazel twig.

[973] separate.

[974] rumble.

[975] mowed.

[976] mice.

[977] inactive fellow.

[978] stout.

[979] With such wranglers to jumble.

[980] struck a slice.

[981] “A truce.”

[982] prevent.

[983] deemed.

[984] feud.

[985] distressed.

[986] debate, broil.

[987] shoemaker.

[988] swollen with rage.

[989] clotted, _lit._ broidered.

[990] delayed.

[991] till he was chased.

[992] jest.

[993] knocked he their crowns.

[994] The whole ambush.

[995] fought, rattled upon.

[996] ox-collars of bent willow.

[997] hams.

[998] crofters, country men.

[999] in warlike array.

[1000] their mouths were unclad, _i.e._ unguarded.

[1001] gums.

[1002] barked, clotted.

[1003] worried.

[1004] youngsters (perhaps Dutch _jonker_) engaged.

[1005] lightning.

[1006] stout fellows.

[1007] carls, men.

[1008] did each other quell.

[1009] belched.

[1010] bellowed.

[1011] firewood burnt in flames.

[1012] overpowered were with burdens.

[1013] these fatigued fools.

[1014] turfs cut for burning.

[1015] goals, stations.

[1016] struck.

[1017] numbers.

[1018] forthwith.

[1019] multitude, _lit._ waggon-load.

[1020] mean fellows, sneaks.

[1021] folly-mouth.

[1022] drubbing.

[1023] strike no other.

THE GABERLUNZIEMAN.[1024]

The pauky[1025] auld carle came ovir the lee,
Wi’ mony good-e’ens and days to mee,
Saying, “Goodwife, for zour courtesie,
Will ze lodge a silly[1026] poor man?”
The night was cauld, the carle was wat,
And down azont[1027] the ingle he sat;
My dochter’s shoulders he gan to clap,
And cadgily[1028] ranted and sang.

“O wow!” quo he, “were I as free
As first when I saw this countrie,
How blyth and merry wad I bee!
And I wad nevir think lang[1029].”
He grew canty[1030] and she grew fain,
But little did her auld minny ken[1031]
What thir slee twa togither were sayn
When wooing they were sa thrang[1032].

“And O!” quo he, “ann[1033] ze were as black
As evir the crown o’ your dadye’s hat
’Tis I wad lay thee by my back,
And awa wi’ me thou sould gang[1034]!”
“And O!” quoth she, “ann I were as whyte
As evir the snaw lay on the dike
Ild clead me braw[1035] and lady-like,
And awa wi’ thee Ild gang!”

Between the twa was made a plot,
They raise a wee[1036] before the cock,
And wyliely they shot the lock,
And fast to the bent[1037] are they gane.
Up the morn the auld wife raise,
And at her leisure put on her claiths,
Syne to the servants’ bed she gaes
To speir[1038] for the silly poor man.

She gaed[1039] to the bed whair the beggar lay;
The strae was cauld, he was away;
Scho clapt her hands, cry’d “Dulefu’ day!
For some of our geir[1040] will be gane.”
Some ran to coffer and some to kist[1041],
But nought was stown[1042] that could be mist.
She danced her lane[1043], cry’d “Praise be blest!
I have lodg’d a leal[1044] poor man.”

“Since naithing’s awa, as we can learn,
The kirn’s to kirn[1045] and milk to earn;
Gae butt[1046] the house, lass, and waken my bairn,
And bid her come quickly ben[1047].”
The servant gaed where the dochter lay--
The sheets was cauld, she was away;
And fast to her goodwife can say[1048],
“She’s aff with the gaberlunzieman.”

“O fy gar ride[1049], and fy gar rin,
And haste ze, find these traiters agen!
For shee’s be burnt, and hee’s be slein,
The wearifou[1050] gaberlunzieman!”
Some rade upo’ horse, some ran a-fit[1051];
The wife was wood[1052], and out o’ her wit;
She could na gang, not yet could she sit
But ay did curse and did ban.

Mean-time far hind, out owre[1053] the lee,
Fu’ snug in a glen where nane could see,
The twa, with kindlie sport and glee,
Cut frae a new cheese a whang[1054].
The prieving[1055] was gude, it pleas’d them baith;
To lo’e her for ay he gae her his aith.
Quo she, “To leave thee I will be laith,
My winsome gaberlunzieman.

“O kend my minny I were wi’ zou,
Ill-fardly[1056] wald she crook her mou’.
Sic a poor man sheld nevir trow[1057]
Aftir the gaberlunzieman.”
“My dear,” quo he, “zee’re zet owre zonge,
And hae na learnt the beggar’s tonge,
To follow me frae toun to toun,
And carrie the gaberlunzie on:

“Wi’ kauk and keel[1058] I’ll win zour bread,
And spindles and whorles[1059] for them wha need--
Whilk is a gentil trade indeed,
The gaberlunzie to carrie O!
I’ll bow[1060] my leg and crook my knee,
And draw a black clout[1061] owre my e’e;
A criple or blind they will cau me,
While we sall sing and be merry O!”

[1024] An ancient Scots name for a hawker, from gaber, a wallet, and lunyie, the loin. Literally, “The man who carries a wallet on the loin.” Throughout this poem, it will be observed, the consonant sound of “y” is represented by the letter “z.” This peculiarity is preserved to the present day in several Scottish proper names, such as Dalziel, Zair, Culzean.

[1025] sly, artful.

[1026] frail.

[1027] beyond.

[1028] cheerfully.

[1029] become weary.

[1030] lively.

[1031] her old mother know.

[1032] busy.

[1033] if.

[1034] go.

[1035] I’d clothe me gay.

[1036] a little.

[1037] open field.

[1038] enquire.

[1039] went.

[1040] goods.

[1041] chest.

[1042] stolen.

[1043] alone.

[1044] loyal, true.

[1045] churn.

[1046] Go to the outer apartment.

[1047] to the inner apartment.

[1048] did say.

[1049] O haste, cause to ride.

[1050] troublesome.

[1051] afoot.

[1052] mad, furious.

[1053] far hence, out over.

[1054] slice.

[1055] proving, tasting.

[1056] Ill-favouredly.

[1057] she’d never trust.

[1058] chalk and ruddle (for marking sheep).

[1059] small perforated stones used in spinning.

[1060] bend.

[1061] cloth, rag.

THE JOLLY BEGGAR.

There was a jolly beggar, and a-begging he was boun[1062],
And he took up his quarters in-to a land’art town[1063],
And we’ll gang nae mair a roving
Sae late in-to the night;
And we’ll gang nae mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne’er so bright.

He wad neither ly in barn, nor yet wad he in byre;
But in ahint[1064] the ha’ door, or else afore the fire.
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.

The beggar’s bed was made at e’en wi’ good clean straw and hay,
And in ahint the ha’ door, and there the beggar lay.
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.

Up raise the goodman’s dochter and for to bar the door,
And there she saw the beggar standin’ i’ the floor.
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.

He took the lassie in his arms, and to the bed he ran,
O hooly[1065], hooly wi’ me, sir, ye’ll waken our goodman.
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.

The beggar was a cunnin’ loon, and ne’er a word he spake
Until he got his turn done, syne he began to crack[1066].
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.

“Is there ony dogs into this toun? maiden, tell me true.”
“And what wad ye do wi’ them, my hinny and my dow[1067]?”
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.

“They’ll rive a’ my meal pocks, and do me meikle wrang.”[1068]
“O dool[1069] for the doing o’t! are ye the poor man?”
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.

Then she took up the meal pocks, and flang them o’er the wa’;
“The deil gae wi’ the meal pocks, my maidenhead, and a’!”
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.

“I took ye for some gentleman, at least the laird of Brodie;
O dool for the doing o’t! are ye the poor bodie?”
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.

He took the lassie in his arms, and gae her kisses three,
And four and twenty hunder merk[1070] to pay the nurice-fee[1071].
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.

He took a horn frae his side, and blew baith loud and shrill,
And four and twenty belted knights came skipping o’er the hill.
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.

And he took out his little knife, loot a’ his duddies[1072] fa’;
And he was the brawest gentleman that was amang them a’.
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.

The beggar was a cliver loon, and he lap shoulder height:
“O, ay for sicken[1073] quarters as I gat yesternight!”
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.

[1062] set forth.

[1063] country farm-steading.

[1064] behind.

[1065] cautiously.

[1066] talk.

[1067] my honey and my dove.

[1068] “They’ll tear all my meal bags, and do me great harm.” In rural districts of Scotland as late as a century ago beggars carried under each arm a wallet in which they collected the doles of the farmers’ wives. The expected gratuity, which was rarely withheld, was a “gowpen,” or double handful of oatmeal.

[1069] sorrow.

[1070] a silver coin worth 13-1/3 d. Stg.

[1071] wet-nurse wage.

[1072] rags.

[1073] such.

SIR RICHARD MAITLAND.

Many of the finest flowers of Scottish poetry previous to the middle of the sixteenth century owe their preservation to the taste and patience of two curiously contrasted collectors. One of the quaintest stories of Scottish literature is that narrating how, during time of pestilence in 1568, George Bannatyne, a young man of twenty-three, occupied the leisure of his enforced retirement with transcribing, page after page, the best works of the national makars. Little further is known of the transcriber except that he became a burgess of some substance in Edinburgh; but the work of those three months, a neatly written folio of eight hundred pages, now in the Advocates’ Library in Edinburgh, has made his name immortal.[1074] The companion picture belongs to a slightly later date. It is that of Sir Richard Maitland, the blind old judge of the Court of Session, in the last year of his life, directing the transcription by his daughter Mary of the collection which was to hand his name to posterity.

[1074] The Bannatyne MS. furnished the greater part of the contents of that effective but unreliable publication, Ramsay’s _Evergreen_, in 1724, and a further selection from its pages, under the title of _Ancient Scottish Poems_, was printed by Lord Hailes in 1770. In 1829 the Bannatyne Club published the _Memorials of George Bannatyne_, by Sir Walter Scott, containing all the ascertained facts of the collector’s life; and this and the complete contents of the famous MS. were finally printed together by the Hunterian Club, 1878-1886.

No necessity exists for comparing the merits of the two manuscripts which have been the means of preserving so much of the legacy of northern genius. To a large extent they deal with different work; in each case the task of transcription and preservation has been performed with the utmost patience and care; and in each the good taste and good faith of the collector has established his transcript as a classic authority. But while gratitude is due to Bannatyne for his services as preserver of many priceless poems, as an original poet, upon the strength of the few compositions of his own which he included in his manuscript, he remains of but small account. In this respect his contemporary, on the other hand, has a definite claim to regard. Sir Richard Maitland was not only a diligent and careful collector of the works of others; he was himself also a makar of respectable merit, and several, at least, of the original compositions which he added to his collection are entitled to a place on the page of Scottish poesy.

The son of William Maitland of Lethington in Haddingtonshire, who fell at Flodden, and of Martha, daughter of George, second Lord Seton, the poet was the representative of an ancient family. The well-known ballad of “Auld Maitland” celebrates a gallant defence of the castle of Lauder or Thirlstane against the English by an ancestor of Sir Richard about the year 1250.[1075] Again and again during the succeeding centuries the family name appears in history;[1076] in due course Thirlstane was inherited by the poet from his grandfather; and from that time, till the climax of the family fortunes in the person of the poet’s great-grandson, the Duke of Lauderdale, in Charles II.’s time, the house may be said to have been continuously in a foremost place. Born in 1496, and studying law, it is said, first at St. Andrews, and afterwards, upon his father’s death, in France, Maitland appears presently to have entered the service of James V.[1077] Nothing certain, however, is known of his early life except that, about the year 1530, he married Mary, a daughter of Sir Thomas Cranston of Corsby. By this lady he had a family of at least three sons and four daughters, of whom the former were destined to play some of the most conspicuous parts in the history of their time.

[1075] An entry in the Chartulary of Dryburgh bears that this ancestor, also a Sir Richard Maitland, disponed certain of his lands to that abbey in 1249.

[1076] During the reign of Robert III., in the year 1400, according to Wyntoun, Sir Robert Maitland took the castle of Dunbar by strategy from his mother’s brother, the Earl of March.

[1077] The letter of James VI. dated 1st July, 1584, respecting Maitland’s retirement from the bench, states that the latter had served the king’s “grandsire, goodsire, goodame, mother, and himself.”

The poet himself appears throughout to have cultivated a life of retirement and study. All the references of contemporary writers, except one, mention him with great respect, and his life would appear to have been mostly that of the quiet country gentleman. The single exception occurs in John Knox’s _History_, where he is accused of having taken bribes to allow Cardinal Beaton to escape from Seton House in 1543. Knox, however, was somewhat ready to attribute such misdemeanours to persons whom he thought inimical to the reformed faith, and in the present case there exists no evidence whatever to support the charge, except that Maitland was a relative of Lord Seton, and may have been visiting Seton House at the time of the occurrence. There exists, on the other hand, direct evidence to show that the Cardinal was set at liberty by order of the Regent Arran.[1078]

[1078] Sadler’s _State Papers_, vol. i., p. 70.

In 1552 Maitland was one of the commissioners appointed to settle the differences with England on the subject of the Debateable Land on the Borders, and it is believed that the successful issue of this undertaking was the occasion of his receiving the honour of knighthood. At anyrate, two years later, upon his appointment as an Extraordinary Lord of Session he is called Sir Richard Maitland.

Again, in 1559, he was employed as one of the commissioners to England in a conference upon the state of the Borders; Sir Ralph Sadler, one of the delegates on the other side, mentioning him then as “the olde Larde of Lethington, the wisest man of them.” The sudden termination of his stay in England at this time, and the substitution of his eldest son William in his place, has been attributed to the rapid approach of the affliction which was to darken the remainder of his life. It is at least certain that he had completely lost his sight before the arrival of Queen Mary in Scotland in 1561, as in his poem of welcome he mentions the piteous fact.

Under this terrible privation, which, with the circumstance of advancing years, most men would have considered sufficient reason for retirement from active life, Maitland seems in no way to have let his heart sink or his energies abate, and nowhere in his work does there appear a peevish or despondent note on the subject. The affliction which added his name to the honourable roll of blind Homers did not prevent his continuing to fulfil the duties of his position; and he remains one of those examples, in which the history of the blind is peculiarly rich, of men who have encountered extraordinary difficulties only to surmount them. In November, 1561, he was admitted an Ordinary Lord of Session under the title of Lethington, his son being permitted the privilege, by a special regulation, of accompanying him within the bar. In 1562 Queen Mary appointed him Keeper of the Privy Seal for life; and in the following year he and his second son, John, were “conjunctlie and severally made Factouris, Yconomuss, and Chalmirlans of hir hienes Abbacie of Haddingtoun.” The former office he resigned in 1567 in favour of this son, who by that time had obtained the Priory of Coldingham _in commendam_; but for seventeen years longer he retained his seat on the bench, where he appears to have performed his duties to the last without fear and without reproach.

The troubles which assailed Maitland’s later years came, not from his own acts, but mostly from the restless and ambitious character of his eldest son, the too famous Secretary Maitland of Mary’s reign and the succeeding regencies. The constantly changing part played by this politician in the highest events of his time has been recorded in literature by Buchanan’s biting satire, _The Camæleon_, written in 1571. Made Secretary of State by that Catholic of Catholics, James the Fifth’s widow, Mary of Guise, he nevertheless presently became one of the Protestant “Lords of Congregation”; and after taking part in the negotiations with Elizabeth as to the terms upon which she would aid the Reformers, he again, with characteristic paradox, turned round in the General Assembly of 1564 to accuse Knox of teaching sedition. Made a Lord of Session by Mary Stuart, he was, notwithstanding, implicated in the murders both of Rizzio and of Darnley; and after signing the document accusing the queen of the latter crime, and after fighting against her at Langside, he strangely enough saw fit to take her part to some extent in the conference at York, and presently united with Kirkaldy of Grange in holding Edinburgh Castle in her interest against the Regents. Finally, upon the surrender of that stronghold in May, 1573, he was taken prisoner, with his brother John and other refugees of the Queen’s party, and being conveyed to Leith, died there, not without suspicion of having poisoned himself.

This erratic policy of the son naturally brought trouble upon his father. The hardest blow which the latter received was from an act of parliament obtained by the Regent Morton as head of the king’s party in 1571. This act declared the secretary and his two brothers rebels, and forfeited their lands and property. Upon the strength of it the house and estate of Lethington, then occupied by the Secretary, were seized, spoiled, and withheld from the poet for a number of years, and his second son was left at liberty only under heavy penalties. These proceedings seem to have roused the old knight to all the indignation of which he was capable. He made earnest appeals to law and to the interest of Queen Elizabeth with the Regent. Nevertheless justice was not accorded him until the year 1581. Upon the downfall of Morton in that year his house and lands were restored to him, and under the patronage of James VI. his son John was appointed an Ordinary Lord of Session. He himself further, in 1584, was allowed the unique privilege of resigning the duties of the Bench in favour of a nominee, retaining at the same time the emoluments of the office; and presently, under the government of the young king, he obtained an act of parliament indemnifying all his losses.

This satisfaction did not, indeed, arrive too soon, for his death occurred on 20th March, 1586, when he was in his ninetieth year. His wife, the partner of his joys and sorrows for sixty years, is said to have died on his funeral day.

Maitland’s life, apart from its literary interest, possesses value for the example which it affords of private family history of the time. He was founder of the first of those great Scottish houses, the Maitlands, Dalrymples, and Dundases, which have risen one after another to the highest rank and influence by the profession of the law. His two sons and his grandson in succession occupied seats upon the bench, and in 1624 the last-named was raised to the peerage by the title of Earl of Lauderdale. John, the son of this earl, and great-grandson of the poet, was from 1663 virtually ruler of Scotland, and in 1672 was created Duke of Lauderdale by Charles II. Maitland’s third son, Thomas, was the author of several Latin poems,[1079] but is best remembered as one of the interlocutors in Buchanan’s famous treatise _De Jure Regni apud Scotos_.

[1079] Printed in the appendix to the Maitland Club volume of Sir Richard’s works.

The manuscript collection of ancient Scottish poems which forms Maitland’s best-known claim to regard, and upon which he is understood to have been engaged from 1555 onwards, is contained in two volumes, a folio and a quarto. Of the folio, believed to have been written by Sir Richard himself, “a very few parts,” says Pinkerton, “are in a small hand; the remainder is in a strong Roman hand.” The quarto consists chiefly of transcripts of Sir Richard’s own original pieces from the folio, and is in the handwriting of Miss Mary Maitland, third daughter of the collector, the first page bearing her name and the date 1585. It appears therefore to have been transcribed in the last year of Maitland’s life. After descending in the family for three generations, these manuscripts were bought, at the sale of the Duke of Lauderdale’s library, by Samuel Pepys, Secretary of the Admiralty to Charles II. and James II., and he in 1703 bequeathed them to Magdalen College, Cambridge. The value of the collection was first discovered by Bishop Percy, who printed a specimen in his _Reliques_; one also appeared in Allan Ramsay’s _Evergreen_; and a selection, including twenty-six of Sir Richard Maitland’s original compositions, was published by Pinkerton in 1786 under the title of _Ancient Scottish Poems_. Another quarto MS., bearing the title _The Selected Poemes of Sir Richard Metellan of Lydington_, was presented to the library of Edinburgh University by Drummond of Hawthornden; and from this, with the addition of the single composition which it omits, the Maitland Club printed Sir Richard’s poems complete in 1830.

Besides his original poems and his poetical collections, Maitland is known to have written a _History of the House of Seytoun_ and a volume of _Decisions_ collected by him from 1550 till 1565. The former was printed by the Maitland Club in 1829, and the MSS. of both are preserved in the Advocates’ Library, Edinburgh.

As an original poet Sir Richard Maitland cannot be placed in the foremost rank. He is understood to have produced none of his existing verse until after the age of sixty-one, and naturally his compositions possess little of the fire, brilliancy, and warmth of youthful work. For this lack, however, they atone to some extent by other qualities. Full of sage observation and shrewd worldly wisdom, they throw a light, in nearly every line, upon the life and manners of that day. Mourning the rampant oppression and strife of the nobles, and the sorrows and follies of the nation, his verse breathes the inner sadness of Queen Mary’s time. It was his fate to live through the intestine dissensions of three successive minorities, as well as through the great struggle of the Reformation in Scotland, and it is no marvel therefore that he again and again repeats the prayer, “God give the lordis grace till aggrie!” Much of his work is of a religious cast, and exhibits him in a grave and venerable light. This, however, is not his happiest strain, and his longest composition, “Ane Ballat of the Creation of the Warld,” is little more than a bald paraphrase of the Bible narrative in Genesis. It is in his satiric and moral pieces that Maitland appears at his best. These, as in the case of Lyndsay, deal with a wide range of subjects, from the vanities of ladies’ dress to the venality of courtiers and the corruptions of church and state. Much of his satire, it is true, owes it chief interest to connection with events of his own age; but elsewhere he proves himself a not unworthy inheritor of the mantle of the Lyon King, his best pieces containing touches closely applicable to the human nature of all time.

SATIRE ON THE AGE.

Quhair is the blythness that hes bein
Bayth in brugh and landwart sein[1080]
Amang lordis, and ladeis schein[1081],
Dansing, singing, game, and play?
Bot weill I wat nocht quhat thay mein;
All merriness is worne away.

For now I heir na worde of Yule
In kirk, on cassay[1082], nor in skuill:
Lordis lettis thair kitchingis cule,
And drawis thame to the Abbay,[1083]
And skant hes ane to keip thair mule;
All houshalding is worne away.

I saw no gysaris[1084] all this yeir,
Bot kirkmen cled lyk men of weir,[1085]
That never cummis in the queir[1086];
Lyk ruffianis is thair array;
To teitche and preitche that will not leir[1087];
The kirk gudis thai waste away.

Kirkmen affoir[1088] wer gud of lyfe,
Preitchit, teichit, and staunchit stryfe;
Thay feirit nather sword nor knyf,
For luif of God the faith to say;
All honorit thame, baith man and wyf,
Devotion wes nocht away.

Our fatheris wyse were, and discreit;
Thai had bayth honour, men, and meit;
With luif[1089] thai did thair tennentis treit,
And had aneuch in press to lay;
Thay wantit nather malt nor quheit,
And mirrines wes nocht away.

And we hald nather Yule nor Pace[1090],
Bot seik our meit from place to place;
And we haive nather luk nor grace.
We gar[1091] our landis dowbill pay;
Our tennentis cry Alace! Alace!
That routh[1092] and pittie is away.

Now we haive mair, it is weill kend[1093],
Nor our forbearis[1094] had to spend;
Bot far les at the yeiris end;
And never hes ane mirrie day:
God will na ryches to us send
Sua lang as honour is away.

We waist far mair now, lyk vaine fuillis,
We and our paige, to turs[1095] our muillis,
Nor thai did than, that haid grit Yuillis,
Of meit and drink said never nay;
Thay had lang furmes[1096] quhair we haive stuillis,
And mirrines wes nocht away.

Of our wanthrift sum wyttis playes[1097],
And sum thair wantoune vaine arrayis;
Sum the wyt on thair wyfes layes
That in the court wald gang[1098] sa gay
And care nocht quha the merchand payis,
Quhill[1099] part of land be put away.

The kirkmen keipis na professioune;
The temporall men commitis oppressioune,
Puttand the puire from thair possessioune;
Na kynd of feir of God haive thay:
Thay cummar[1100] baith the kirk and sessioune,
And chasis charitie away.

Quhen ane of thaime susteinis wrang
We cry for justice, heid and hang;
Bot when our neichbouris we our-gang[1101]
We laubour justice to delay:
Affectioune blindis us sa lang,
All equitie is put away.

To mak actis we haive sum feill[1102];
God watt gif that we keip tham weill!
We cum to bar with jak of steill[1103]
As we wald bost the judge and fray[1104].
Of sic justice I have na skeill[1105],
Quhair reull and ordour is away.

Our lawis ar lichtleit for abusioune[1106];
Sumtyme is clokit with collusioune;
Quhilk causis of bluid the great effusioune,
For na man spairis now to slay.
Quhat bringis cuntreis to confusioune,
Bot quhair that justice is away?

Quha is the wyte[1107], quha can schew us?
Quha bot our nobillis, that sould know us,
And till honorabill deidis draw us!
Let never comouneweill decay,
Or els sum mischief will befaw us,
And nobillnes we put away.

Put our awin lawis to executioune;
Upon transgressouris mak punitioune;
To cruell folk seik na remissioune;
For peace and justice let us pray,
In dreid sum strange new institutioune
Cum, and our custome put away.

Amend your lyfis, ane and all,
And be war of ane suddan fall,
And pray to God, that maid us all,
To send us joy that lesteis ay;
And let us nocht to sin be thrall,
Bot put all vyce and wrang away.

[1080] Seen both in town and country.

[1081] fair.

[1082] causeway.

[1083] The hospitality of the religious houses was from time to time greatly abused by the nobles. Upon one occasion an Earl of Douglas compelled the Abbot of Aberbrothock to entertain him and a thousand of his followers for a considerable time.

[1084] The performance of these mediæval masquerades, containing traces of the ancient miracle-plays and allusions to the exploits of the Knights Templar, is still a favourite pastime in rural districts on Hallowe’en.

[1085] Churchmen made no scruple of appearing armed, like lay barons, on the battlefield. Thus two bishops and two abbots fell among the Scottish nobles at Flodden.

[1086] choir.

[1087] learn.

[1088] formerly.

[1089] love.

[1090] Easter.

[1091] cause.

[1092] plenty.

[1093] known.

[1094] ancestors.

[1095] truss, caparison. _Fr._ trousse.

[1096] long forms, settles.

[1097] For our prodigality some blame plays.

[1098] go.

[1099] Till.

[1100] cumber.

[1101] trespass upon.

[1102] knowledge.

[1103] This was a common abuse of the time. The Earl of Bothwell, when called to answer for the murder of Darnley, appeared in Edinburgh with a following of five thousand men.

[1104] overbear and intimidate the judge.

[1105] approval.

[1106] slighted because of abuse.

[1107] blame.

SATIRE ON THE TOUN LADYES.

Sum wyfis of the burrows-toun
Sa wondir[1108] vane ar, and wantoun,
In warld thay watt[1109] not quhat to weir.
On claythis thay wair[1110] mony a croun;
And all for newfangilnes[1111] of geir.

Thair bodyes bravelie thay atyir,
Of carnall lust to eik[1112] the fyir;
I fairlie[1113] quhy thai have na feir
To gar men deime quhat thay desyre;
And all for newfangilnes of geir.

Thair gouns ar coistlie, and trimlie traillis,
Barrit with velvous, sleif, nek, and taillis;
And thair foirskirt of silkis seir[1114]
Of fynest camroche thair fuksaillis;[1115]
And all for newfangilnes of geir.