Leaulte Vault Richesse
This warldly joy is only fantasy,
Of quhich non erdly wicht can be content;
Quho most has wit, lest suld in it affy,
Quho taistis it most, most sall him repent;
Quhat valis all this richess and this rent,
Sen no man wat quho sall his tresour have?
Presume nocht gevin that god has don but lent,
Within schort tyme the quhiche he thinkis to crave.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Cradle Song
O MY deir hert, young Jesus sweit,
Prepare thy creddil in my spreit,
And I sall rock thee in my hert
And never mair from thee depart.
But I sall praise thee evermoir
With sangis sweit unto thy gloir;
The knees of my hert sall I bow,
And sing that richt Balulalow!
Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes
Chorus:
Ca' the yowes to the knowes,
Ca' them where the heather grows,
Ca' them where the burnie rowes,
My bonie dearie
As I gaed down the water-side,
There I met my shepherd lad:
He row'd me sweetly in his plaid,
And he ca'd me his dearie.
Chorus
Will ye gang down the water-side,
And see the waves sae sweetly glide
Beneath the hazels spreading wide,
The moon it shines fu' clearly.
Chorus
Ye sall get gowns and ribbons meet,
Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet,
And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep,
An' ye sall be my dearie.
Chorus
If ye'll but stand to what ye've said,
I'se gang wi' thee, my shepherd lad,
And ye may row me in your plaid,
And I sall be your dearie.
Chorus
While waters wimple to the sea,
While day blinks in the lift sae hie,
Till clay-cauld death sall blin' my e'e,
Ye sall be my dearie.
Chorus
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Cradle Song
O my deir hert, young Jesus sweit,
Prepare thy creddil in my spreit,
And I sall rock thee in my hert
And never mair from thee depart.
But I sall praise thee evermoir
With sangis sweit unto thy gloir;
The knees of my hert sall I bow,
And sing that richt
Balulalow!
poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Sara
.
ONE happy year has fled, Sall,
Since you were all my own,
The leaves have felt the autumn blight,
The wintry storm has blown.
We heeded not the cold blast,
Nor the winter's icy air;
For we found our climate in the heart,
And it was summer there.
II.
The summer's sun is bright, Sall,
The skies are pure in hue;
But clouds will sometimes sadden them,
And dim their lovely blue;
And clouds may come to us, Sall,
But sure they will not stay;
For there's a spell in fond hearts
To chase their gloom away.
III.
In sickness and in sorrow
Thine eyes were on me still,
And there was comfort in each glance
To charm the sense of ill.
And were they absent now, Sall,
I'd seek my bed of pain,
And bless each pang that gave me back
Those looks of love again.
IV.
Oh, pleasant is the welcome kiss,
When day's dull round is o'er,
And sweet the music of the step
That meets me at the door.
Though worldly cares may visit us,
I reck not when they fall,
While I have thy kind lips, my Sall,
To smile away them all.
poem by Joseph Rodman Drake
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Sarah
I
One happy year has fled, Sall,
Since you were all my own,
The leaves have felt the autumn blight,
The wintry storm has blown.
We heeded not the cold blast,
Nor the winter's icy air;
For we found our climate in the heart,
And it was summer there.
II
The summer's sun is bright, Sall,
The skies are pure in hue;
But clouds will sometimes sadden them,
And dim their lovely blue;
And clouds may come to us, Sall,
But sure they will not stay;
For there's a spell in fond hearts
To chase their gloom away.
III
In sickness and in sorrow
Thine eyes were on me still,
And there was comfort in each glance
To charm the sense of ill.
And were they absent now, Sall,
I'd seek my bed of pain,
And bless each pang that gave me back
Those looks of love again.
IV
Oh, pleasant is the welcome kiss,
When day's dull round is o'er,
And sweet the music of the step
That meets me at the door.
Though worldly cares may visit us,
I reck not when they fall,
While I have thy kind lips, my Sall,
To smile away them all.
poem by Joseph Rodman Drake
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Robin and Makyne
ROBIN sat on gude green hill,
Kepand a flock of fe:
Mirry Makyne said him till
'Robin, thou rew on me:
I haif thee luvit, loud and still,
Thir yeiris twa or thre;
My dule in dern bot gif thou dill,
Doutless but dreid I de.'
Robin answerit 'By the Rude
Na thing of luve I knaw,
But keipis my scheip undir yon wud:
Lo, quhair they raik on raw.
Quhat has marrit thee in thy mude,
Makyne, to me thou shaw;
Or quhat is luve, or to be lude?
Fain wad I leir that law.'
'At luvis lair gif thou will leir
Tak thair ane A B C;
Be heynd, courtass, and fair of feir,
Wyse, hardy, and free:
So that no danger do thee deir
Quhat dule in dern thou dre;
Preiss thee with pain at all poweir
Be patient and previe.'
Robin answerit hir agane,
'I wat nocht quhat is lufe;
But I haif mervel in certaine
Quhat makis thee this wanrufe:
The weddir is fair, and I am fain;
My scheip gois haill aboif;
And we wald prey us in this plane,
They wald us baith reproif.'
'Robin, tak tent unto my tale,
And wirk all as I reid,
And thou sall haif my heart all haill,
Eik and my maiden-heid:
Sen God sendis bute for baill,
And for murnyng remeid,
In dern with thee bot gif I daill
Dowtles I am bot deid.'
'Makyne, to-morn this ilka tyde
And ye will meit me heir,
Peraventure my scheip may gang besyde,
Quhyle we haif liggit full neir;
But mawgre haif I, and I byde,
Fra they begin to steir;
Quhat lyis on heart I will nocht hyd;
Makyn, then mak gude cheir.'
'Robin, thou reivis me roiff and rest;
I luve bot thee allane.'
'Makyne, adieu! the sone gois west,
The day is neir-hand gane.'
'Robin, in dule I am so drest
That luve will be my bane.'
'Ga luve, Makyne, quhair-evir thow list,
For lemman I luve nane.'
'Robin, I stand in sic a styll,
I sicht and that full sair.'
'Makyne, I haif been here this quhyle;
At hame God gif I wair.'
'My huny, Robin, talk ane quhyll,
Gif thow will do na mair.'
'Makyn, sum uthir man begyle,
For hamewart I will fair.'
Robin on his wayis went
As light as leif of tre;
Makyne murnit in hir intent,
And trowd him nevir to se.
Robin brayd attour the bent:
Then Makyne cryit on hie,
'Now may thow sing, for I am schent!
Quhat alis lufe at me?'
Makyne went hame withowttin fail,
Full wery eftir cowth weip;
Then Robin in a ful fair daill
Assemblit all his scheip.
Be that sum part of Makynis aill
Out-throw his hairt cowd creip;
He fallowit hir fast thair till assaill,
And till her tuke gude keip.
'Abyd, abyd, thow fair Makyne,
A word for ony thing;
For all my luve, it sall be thyne,
Withowttin departing.
All haill thy hairt for till haif myne
Is all my cuvating;
My scheip to-morn, quhyle houris nyne,
Will neid of no keping.'
'Robin, thow hes hard soung and say,
In gestis and storeis auld,
The man that will nocht quhen he may
Sall haif nocht quhen he wald.
I pray to Jesu every day,
Mot eik thair cairis cauld
That first preissis with thee to play
Be firth, forrest, or fauld.'
'Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry,
The weddir is warme and fair,
And the grene woid rycht neir us by
To walk attour all quhair:
Thair ma na janglour us espy,
That is to lufe contrair;
Thairin, Makyne, baith ye and I,
Unsene we ma repair.'
'Robin, that warld is all away,
And quyt brocht till ane end:
And nevir agane thereto, perfay,
Sall it be as thow wend;
For of my pane thow maid it play;
And all in vane I spend:
As thow hes done, sa sall I say,
"Murne on, I think to mend."'
'Makyne, the howp of all my heill,
My hairt on thee is sett;
And evirmair to thee be leill
Quhill I may leif but lett;
Never to faill as utheris feill,
Quhat grace that evir I gett.'
'Robin, with thee I will nocht deill;
Adieu! for thus we mett.'
Makyne went hame blyth anneuche
Attour the holttis hair;
Robin murnit, and Makyne leuche;
Scho sang, he sichit sair:
And so left him baith wo and wreuch,
In dolour and in cair,
Kepand his hird under a huche
Amangis the holttis hair.
poem by Robert Henryson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Robin and Malkin
Robene sat on gud grene hill,
Kepand a flok of fe;
Mirry Makyne said him till,
"Robene, thow rew on me;
I haif the luvit lowd and still,
Thir yeiris two or thre;
My dule in dern bot gif thow dill,
Dowtless but dreid I de."
Robene answerit, "Be the rude,
Nathing of lufe I knaw,
Bot keipis my scheip undir yone wid,
Lo quhair they raik on raw:
Quhat hes marrit the in thy mude,
Makyne, to me thow schaw;
Or quhat is lufe, or to be lude?
Fane wald I leir that law."
"At luvis lair gife thow will leir,
Tak thair ane a b c;
Be heynd, courtass, and fair of feir,
Wyse, hardy, and fre;
So that no denger do the deir,
Quhat dule in dern thow dre;
Preiss the with pane at all poweir,
Be patient and previe."
Robene anserit hir agane,
"I wait nocht quhat is luve;
But I haif mervell in certane
Quhat makis the this wanrufe:
The weddir is fair, and I am fane,
My scheip gois haill aboif;
And we wald play us in this plane,
Thay wald us bayth reproif."
"Robene, tak tent unto my taill,
And wirk all as I reid,
And thow sall haif my hairt all haill,
Eik and my maidenheid.
Sen God sendis bute for baill
And for murnyng remeid,
In dern with the bot gif I daill,
Dowtles I am bot deid."
"Makyne, to morne this ilk a tyde,
And ye will meit me heir,--
Peraventure my scheip may gang besyd,
Quhill we haif liggit full neir;
Bot mawgre haif I and I byd,
Fra thay begin to steir;
Quhat lyis on hairt I will nocht hyd;
Makyn, than mak gud cheir."
"Robene, thow reivis me roif and rest;
I luve bot the allane."
"Makyne, adew, the sone gois west,
The day is neir hand gane."
"Robene, in dule I am so drest,
That lufe wilbe my bane."
"Ga lufe, Makyne, quhair evir thow list,
For lemman I lue nane."
"Robene, I stand in sic a styll;
I sicht, and that full sair."
"Makyne, I haif bene heir this quhyle;
At hame God gif I wair."
"My huny, Robene, talk ane quhyle,
Gif thow will do na mair."
"Makyne, sum uthir man begyle,
For hamewart I will fair."
Robene on his wayis went
Als licht as leif of tre;
Mawkin murnit in hir intent,
And trowd him nevir to se.
Robene brayd attour the bent;
Than Mawkyne cryit on hie,
"Now ma thow sing, for I am schent!
Quhat alis lufe at me?"
Mawkyne went hame withowttin faill,
Full wery eftir cowth weip.
Than Robene in a ful fair daill
Assemblit all his scheip.
Be that sum pairte of Mawkynis aill
Outthrow his hairt cowd creip;
He fallowit hir fast thair till assaill,
And till hir tuke gude keip.
"Abyd, abyd, thow fair Makyne,
A word for ony thing;
For all my luve it sal be thyne,
Withowttin depairting.
All haill thy harte for till haif myne
Is all my cuvating;
My scheip to morne quhill houris nyne
Will neid of no keping."
"Robene, thow hes hard soung and say,
In gestis and storeis auld,
'The man that will nocht quhen he may
Sall haif nocht quhen he wald.'
I pray to Jesu every day
Mot eik thair cairis cauld,
That first preissis with the to play,
Be firth, forrest, or fauld."
"Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry,
The wedder is warme and fair,
And the grene woid rycht neir us by
To walk attour all quhair;
Thair ma na janglour us espy,
That is to lufe contrair;
Thairin, Makyne, bath ye and I
Unsene we ma repair."
"Robene, that warld is all away
And quyt brocht till ane end,
And nevir agane thairto perfay
Sall it be as thow wend;
For of my pane thow maid it play,
And all in vane I spend;
As thow hes done, sa sall I say,
Murne on, I think to mend."
"Mawkyne, the howp of all my heill,
My hairt on the is sett,
And evirmair to the be leill,
Quhill I may leif but lett;
Nevir to faill, as utheris feill,
Quhat grace that evir I gett."
"Robene, with the I will nocht deill;
Adew, for thus we mett."
Malkyne went hame blyth annewche,
Attour the holttis hair;
Robene murnit, and Makyne lewche;
Scho sang, he sichit sair;
And so left him, bayth wo and wrewche,
In dolour and in cair,
Kepand his hird under a huche,
Amangis the holtis hair.
poem by Robert Henryson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Twa Corbies
AS I was walking all alane
I heard twa corbies making a mane:
The tane unto the tither did say,
'Whar sall we gang and dine the day?'
'--In behint yon auld fail dyke
I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there
But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.
'His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady 's ta'en anither mate,
So we may mak our dinner sweet.
'Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pike out his bonny blue e'en:
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair
We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.
'Mony a one for him maks mane,
But nane sall ken whar he is gane:
O'er his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair.'
Twa Corbies
As I was walking all alane
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the t'other say,
"Where sall we gang and dine to-day?"
"—In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.
"His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady's ta'en another mate,
So we may mak our dinner sweet.
"Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pick out his bonnie blue een;
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair
We'll theek our nest when it grows bare
"Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken where he is gane;
O'er his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair."
Twa Corbies
As I was walking all alane
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the t'other say,
"Where sall we gang and dine to-day?"
"—In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.
"His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady's ta'en another mate,
So we may mak our dinner sweet.
"Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pick out his bonnie blue een;
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair
We'll theek our nest when it grows bare
"Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken where he is gane;
O'er his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair."
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Twa Corbies
As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the t'other say,
"Where sall we gang and dine to-day?"
"In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.
"His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame;
His lady's ta'en another mate,
So we may mak our dinner sweet.
"Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pike out his bonny blue een;
Wi ae lock o his gowden hair
We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.
"Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken where he is gane;
Oer his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair."
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Aeneid (excerpts)
-0-
Laude, honor, prasingis, thankis infynite
-0-
To the, and thi dulce ornate fresch endite,
-0-
Mast reverend Virgill, of Latyne poetis prince,
-0-
Gemme of ingine and fluide of eloquence,
-0-
Thow peirles perle, patroun of poetrie,
-0-
Rois, register, palme, laurer, and glory,
-0-
Chosin cherbukle, cheif flour and cedir tree,
-0-
Lanterne, leidsterne, mirrour, and a per se,
-0-
Master of masteris, sweit sours and springand well,
-0-
Wyde quhar our all ringis thi hevinle bell:
-0-
I mene thi crafty werkis curious,
-0-
Sa quik, lusty, and mast sentencious,
-0-
Plesable, perfyte, and felable in all degre,
-0-
As quha the mater held to foir thar ee;
-0-
In every volume quhilk the list do write,
-0-
Surmonting fer all uther maneir endite,
-0-
Lyk as the rois in June with hir sueit smell
-0-
The marygulde or dasy doith excell.
-0-
Quhy suld I than, with dull forhede and vane,
-0-
With ruide engine and barrand emptive brane,
-0-
With bad harsk speche and lewit barbour tong,
-0-
Presume to write quhar thi sueit bell is rong,
-0-
Or contirfait sa precious wourdis deir?
-0-
Na, na, nocht sua, bot knele quhen I thame heir.
-0-
For quhat compair betuix midday and nycht,
-0-
Or quhat compare betuix myrknes and lycht,
-0-
Or quhat compare is betuix blak and quhyte,
-0-
Far gretar diference betuix my blunt endyte
-0-
And thi scharp sugurat sang Virgiliane,
-0-
Sa wyslie wrocht with nevir ane word in vane;
-0-
My waverand wit, my cunnyng feble at all,
-0-
My mynd mysty, thir ma nocht myss ane fall.
-0-
Stra for this ignorant blabring imperfyte
-0-
Beside thi polyte termis redemyte;
-0-
And no the les with support and correctioun,
-0-
For naturall luife and freindfull affectioun
-0-
Quhilkis I beir to thi werkis and endyte,
-0-
Althocht, God wait, I knaw tharin full lyte,
-0-
And that thi facund sentence mycht be song
-0-
In our langage als weill as Latyne tong--
-0-
Alswele, na, na, impossible war,per de,
-0-
Yit with your leif, Virgill, to follow the,
-0-
I wald into my rurale vulgar gros,
-0-
Write sum savoring of thi Eneados.
-0-
Bot sair I drede for to distene the quyte,
-0-
Throu my corruptit cadens imperfyte;
-0-
Distene the, na forsuith, that ma I nocht,
-0-
Weill ma I schaw my burell busteous thocht;
-0-
Bot thi work sall enduire in laude and glory,
-0-
Bot spot or falt, conding eterne memory.
-0-
Thocht I offend, onhermit is thine fame,
-0-
Thyne is the thank, and myne sal be the shame.
...
THE FIRST BUIK OF ENEADOSCAP. XII
Eneas first excusis him, and syne
Addressis to rehers Troys rwyne.
-12-
Thai ceissit all at anis incontinent,
-12-
With mowthis clois, and visage takand tent.
-12-
Prince Eneas, frome the hie bed, with that,
-12-
Into his seige riall quhar he sat,
-12-
Begouth and said: Thi desyir, lady, is
-12-
Renewing of ontellable sorow, I wis,
-12-
To schaw how Grekis did spuilye and destroy
-12-
The greit riches and lamentable realm of Troy,
-12-
And huge misery quhilk I thair beheld,
-12-
Quharof myself ane greit part bair and feld;
-12-
Quhat Marmidon, or Gregion Dolopes,
-12-
Or knycht wageor to cruell Ulixes,
-12-
Sic materes to rehers, or yit to heir,
-12-
Mycht thaime contene fra weping mony ane teir?
-12-
And now the hevin ourquhelmis the donk nycht,
-12-
Quhen the declining of the sternis brycht
-12-
To sleip and rest perswades our appetite;
-12-
But sen thou hes sic plesour and delite
-12-
To knaw our chance, and fall of Troy in weir,
-12-
And schortlie the last end thairof wald heir,
-12-
Albeit my spreit abhorris, and doth grise
-12-
Thairon for to ramembir, and oft sise
-12-
Murnand eschewis thairfra with greit diseis,
-12-
Yit than I sall begyne yow for to pleis.
Finis Libri Primi.
poem by Gavin Douglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The King's Quire (excerpt)
...
Bewailing in my chamber thus allone,
Despeir{.e}d of all joye and remedye,
For-tirit of my thoght, and wo begone,
Unto the wyndow gan I walk in hye,
To se the warld and folk that went forby;
As for the tyme, though I of mirthis fude
Myght have no more, to luke it did me gude.
Now was there maid fast by the touris wall
A gardyn faire, and in the corneris set
Ane herbere grene:--with wandis long and small
Railit about; and so with treis set
Was all the place, and hawthorn hegis knet,
That lyf was none walking there forby,
That myght within scarse ony wight aspye;
So thik the bewis and the lev{.e}s grene
Beschadit all the aleyes that there were.
And myddis every herbere myght be sene
The scharp{.e} gren{.e} suet{.e} jenepere,
Growing so faire with branchis here and there,
That, as it semyt to a lyf without,
The bewis spred the herbere all about;
And on the small{.e} gren{.e} twistis sat
The lytill suet{.e} nyghtingale, and song
So loud and clere, the ympnis consecrat
Off lufis use, now soft, now lowd among,
That all the gardyng and the wallis rong
Ryght of thaire song and of the copill next
Off thaire suete armony, and lo the text:
CANTUS
"Worschippe, ye that loveris bene, this May,
For of your blisse the kalendis are begonne,
And sing with us, 'Away, winter, away!
Cum, somer, cum, the suete sesoun and sonne!'
Awake for schame! that have your hevynnis wonne,
And amorously lift up your hedis all,
Thank lufe that list you to his merci call."
Quhen thai this song had song a lytill thrawe,
Thai stent a quhile, and therewith unaffraid,
As I beheld and kest myn eyne a-lawe,
From beugh to beugh thay hippit and thai plaid,
And freschly in thaire birdis kynd arraid
Thaire fetheris new, and fret thame in the sonne,
And thankit lufe, that had thaire makis wonne.
This was the plan{.e} ditee of thaire note,
And there-with-all unto my self I thoght,
"Quhat lyf is this that makis birdis dote?
Quhat may this be, how cummyth it of ought?
Quhat nedith it to be so dere ybought?
It is nothing, trowe I, bot feynit chere,
And that men list to counterfeten chere."
Eft wald I think; "O Lord, quhat may this be?
That Lufe is of so noble myght and kynde,
Lufing his folk, and suich prosperitee
Is it of him, as we in bukis fynd?
May he oure hert{.e}s setten and unbynd?
Hath he upon oure hertis suich maistrye?
Or all this is bot feynyt fantasye!
"For gif he be of so grete excellence,
That he of every wight hath cure and charge,
Quhat have I gilt to him or doon offense,
That I am thrall, and birdis gone at large,
Sen him to serve he myght set my corage?
And gif he be noght so, than may I seyne,
'Quhat makis folk to jangill of him in veyne?'
"Can I noght ell{.e}s fynd, bot gif that he
Be lord, and as a god may lyve and regne,
To bynd and louse, and maken thrallis free,
Than wold I pray his blisfull grace benigne,
To hable me unto his service digne;
And evermore for to be one of tho
Him trewly for to serve in wele and wo."
And there-with kest I doun myn eye ageyne,
Quhare as I sawe, walking under the toure,
Full secretly, new cummyn hir to pleyne,
The fairest or the freschest yong{.e} floure
That ever I sawe, me thoght, before that houre,
For quhich sodayn abate, anon astert
The blude of all my body to my hert.
And though I stude abaisit tho a lyte,
No wonder was; for-quhy my wittis all
Were so overcom with plesance and delyte,
Onely throu latting of myn eyen fall,
That sudaynly my hert became hir thrall
For ever, of free will; for of manace
There was no takyn in hir suete face.
And in my hede I drewe ryght hastily,
And eft-son{.e}s I lent it forth ageyne,
And sawe hir walk, that verray womanly,
With no wight mo, bot onely wommen tueyne.
Than gan I studye in my-self, and seyne,
"A! suete, ar ye a warldly cr{.e}ature,
Or hevinly thing in likenesse of nature?
"Or ar ye god Cupidis owin princesse,
And cummyn are to louse me out of band?
Or ar ye verray Nature the goddesse,
That have depaynted with your hevinly hand
This gardyn full of flouris, as they stand?
Quhat sall I think, allace! quhat reverence
Sall I minister to your excellence?
"Gif ye a goddesse be, and that ye like
To do me payne, I may it noght astert;
Gif ye be warldly wight, that dooth me sike,
Quhy lest God mak you so, my derrest hert,
To do a sely prisoner thus smert,
That lufis yow all, and wote of noght bot wo?
And therefor, merci, suete! sen it is so."
Quhen I a lytill thrawe had maid my moon,
Bewailling myn infortune and my chance,
Unknawing how or quhat was best to doon,
So ferre I fallen was in lufis dance,
That sodeynly my wit, my contenance,
My hert, my will, my nature, and my mynd,
Was changit clene ryght in an-othir kynd.
Off hir array the form gif I sall write
Toward, hir goldin haire and rich atyre
In fret-wise couchit were with perllis quhite
And grete balas lemyng as the fyre,
With mony ane emeraut and faire saphire;
And on hir hede a chaplet fresch of hewe,
Off plumys partit rede, and quhite, and blewe;
Full of quaking spangis bryght as gold,
Forgit of schap like to the amorettis,
So new, so fresch, so plesant to behold,
The plumys eke like to the floure-jonettis,
And othir of schap like to the round crokettis,
And, above all this, there was, wele I wote,
Beautee eneuch to mak a world to dote.
About hir nek, quhite as the fyre amaille,
A gudely cheyne of smale orfeverye,
Quhareby there hang a ruby, without faille,
Lyke to ane hert{.e} schapin verily,
That, as a sperk of lowe, so wantonly
Semyt birnyng upon hir quhyt{.e} throte;
Now gif there was gud partye, God it wote!
And forto walk that fresch{.e} May{.e}s morowe,
An huke sche had upon hir tissew quhite,
That gudeliare had noght bene sene toforowe,
As I suppose; and girt sche was a lyte.
Thus halflyng louse for haste, to suich delyte
It was to see hir youth in gudelihede,
That for rudenes to speke thereof I drede.
In hir was youth, beautee, with humble aport,
Bountee, richesse, and wommanly facture,
(God better wote than my pen can report)
Wisedome, largesse, estate, and connyng sure.
In every poynt so guydit hir mesure,
In word, in dede, in schap, in contenance,
That nature myght no more hir childe avance.
Throw quhich anon I knew and understude
Wele, that sche was a warldly creature;
On quhom to rest myn ey{.e}, so mich gude
It did my wofull hert, I yow assure,
That it was to me joye without mesure;
And, at the last, my luke unto the hevin
I threwe furthwith, and said thir versis sevin:
"O Venus clere! of goddis stellifyit!
To quhom I yelde homage and sacrifise,
Fro this day forth your grace be magnifyit,
That me ressavit have in suich a wise,
To lyve under your law and do servise;
Now help me furth, and for your merci lede
My herte to rest, that d{"e}is nere for drede."
poem by James I of Scotland
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Freedom
A! Fredome is a noble thing!
Fredome mays man to haiff liking;
Fredome all solace to man giffis,
He levys at ese that frely levys!
A noble hart may haiff nane ese,
Na ellys nocht that may him plese,
Gyff fredome fail; for fre liking
Is yarnyt our all othir thing.
Na he that ay has levyt fre
May nocht knaw weill the propyrte,
The angyr, na the wretchyt dome
That is couplyt to foule thyrldome.
Bot gyff he had assayit it,
Than all perquer he suld it wyt;
And suld think fredome mar to prise
Than all the gold in warld that is.
Thus contrar thingis evirmar
Discoweryngis off the tothir ar.
poem by John Barbour
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fredome
A! Fredome is a noble thing!
Fredome mays man to haiff liking;
Fredome all solace to man giffis,
He levys at ese that frely levys!
A noble hart may haiff nane ese,
Na ellys nocht that may him plese,
Gyff fredome fail; for fre liking
Is yarnyt our all othir thing.
Na he that ay has levyt fre
May nocht knaw weill the propyrtè,
The angyr, na the wretchyt dome
That is couplyt to foule thyrldome.
Bot gyff he had assayit it,
Than all perquer he suld it wyt;
And suld think fredome mar to prise
Than all the gold in warld that is.
Thus contrar thngis evirmar
Discoweryngis off the tothir ar.
poem by John Barbour from The Brus
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Jock of Hazeldean
Why weep ye by the tide, ladie?
Why weep ye by the tide?
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,
And ye sall be his bride:
And ye sall be his bride, ladie,
Sae comely to be seen"--
But aye she loot the tears sown fa'
For Jock of Hazeldean.
"Now let this wilfu' grief be done,
And dry that cheek so pale;
Young Frank is chief of Errington,
And lord of Langley-dale;
His step is first in peaceful ha'
His sword in battle keen"--
But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock of Hazeldean.
"A chain of gold you sall not lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair;
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
And you, the foremost o' them a',
Shall ride our forest queen"--
But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock of Hazeldean.
The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide,
The tapers glimmer'd fair;
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
And dame and knight are there.
They sought her baith by bower and ha';
The ladie was not seen!
She's o'er the Border and awa'
Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wapping Old Stairs
'Your Molly has never been false, she declares,
Since the last time we parted at Wapping Old Stairs;
When I said that I would continue the same,
And I gave you the 'bacco-box marked with my name.
When I passed a whole fortnight between decks with you,
Did I e'er give a kiss, Tom, to one of your crew?
To be useful and kind to my Thomas I stay'd,
For his trousers I washed, and his grog too I made.
Though you promised last Sunday to walk in the Mall
With Susan from Deptford and likewise with Sall,
In silence I stood your unkindness to hear
And only upbraided my Tom with a tear.
Why should Sall, or should Susan, than me be more prized?
For the heart that is true, Tom, should ne'er be despised;
Then be constant and kind, nor your Molly forsake,
Still your trousers I'll wash and your grog too I'll make.'
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Brus Book XII
[The king prepares his division]
Now Douglas furth his wayis tais,
And in that selff tyme fell throw cais
That the king off Ingland quhen he
Was cummyn with his gret menye
5 Ner to the place, as I said ar,
Quhar Scottismen arayit war,
He gert arest all his bataill
And other alsua to tak consaill
Quhether thai wald herbry thaim that nycht
10 Or than but mar ga to the fycht.
The vaward that wist na thing
Off this arest na his dwelling
Raid to the Park all straucht thar way
Foroutyn stinting in gud aray,
15 And quhen the king wist that thai wer
In hale bataill cummand sa ner
His bataill gert he weill aray.
He raid apon a litill palfray
Laucht and joly arayand
20 His bataill with ane ax in hand,
And on his bassynet he bar
Ane hat off quyrbolle ay-quhar,
And thar-upon into taknyng
Ane hey croune that he wes king.
[The king kills Henry de Bohun]
25 And quhen Glosyster and Herfurd wer
With thar bataill approchand ner
Befor thaim all thar come ridand
With helm on heid and sper in hand
Schyr Henry the Boune the worthi,
30 That was a wycht knycht and a hardy
And to the erle off Herfurd cusyne,
Armyt in armys gud and fyne
Come on a sted a bow-schote ner
Befor all other that thar wer,
35 And knew the king for that he saw
Him sua rang his men on raw
And by the croune that wes set
Alsua apon his bassynet,
And towart him he went in hy.
40 And quhen the king sua apertly
Saw him cum forouth all his feris
In hy till him the hors he steris.
And quhen Schyr Henry saw the king
Cum on foroutyn abaysing
45 Till him he raid in full gret hy,
He thocht that he suld weill lychtly
Wyn him and haf him at his will
Sen he him horsyt saw sa ill.
Sprent thai samyn intill a ling,
50 Schyr Hanry myssit the noble king
And he that in his sterapys stud
With the ax that wes hard and gud
With sua gret mayne raucht him a dynt
That nother hat na helm mycht stynt
55 The hevy dusche that he him gave
That ner the heid till the harnys clave.
The hand-ax schaft fruschit in twa,
And he doune to the erd gan ga
All flatlynys for him faillyt mycht.
60 This wes the fryst strak off the fycht
That wes perfornyst douchtely,
And quhen the kingis men sa stoutly
Saw him rycht at the fyrst meting
Foroutyn dout or abaysing
65 Have slayne a knycht sua at a strak
Sic hardyment tharat gan thai tak
That thai come on rycht hardely.
Quhen Inglismen saw thaim sa stoutly
Cum on tthai had gret abaysing
70 And specially for that the king
Sa smartly that gud knycht has slayne
That thai withdrew thaim everilkane
And durst nocht ane abid to fycht
Sa dred thai for the kingis mycht.
75 And quhen the kingis men thaim saw
Sua in hale bataill thaim withdraw
A gret schout till thaim gan thai mak
And thai in hy tuk all the bak,
And thai that folowit thaim has slane
80 Sum off thaim that thai haf ourtane
Bot thai war few forsuth to say
Thar hors fete had ner all away.
Bot how-sa quhoyne deyt thar
Rebutyt foulily thai war
85 And raid thar gait with weill mar schame
Be full fer than thai come fra hame.
[Douglas admires the struggle of Moray and his men]
Quhen that the king reparyt was
That gert his men all leve the chas
The lordis off his cumpany
90 Blamyt him as thai durst gretumly
That he him put in aventur
To mete sa styth a knycht and sture
In sic poynt as he than wes sene,
For thai said weill it mycht haiff bene
95 Cause off thar tynsaill everilkan.
The king answer has maid thaim nane
Bot menyt hys handax schaft that sua
Was with the strak brokyn in twa.
The Erle Thomas wes yete fechtand
100 With fayis apon athyr hand
And slew off thaim a quantite,
Bot wery war his men and he
The-quhether with wapynnys sturdely
Thai thaim defendyt manlely
105 Quhill that the Douglas come ner
That sped him on gret maner,
And Inglismen that war fechtand
Quhen thai the Douglas saw ner-hand
Thai wandyst and maid ane opynnyng.
110 James of Douglas be thar relying
Knew that thai war discumfyt ner,
Than bad thaim that with him wer
Stand still and pres na forthyrmar.
'For thai that yonder fechtand ar,'
115 He said, 'ar off sa gret bounte
That thar fayis weill sone sall be
Discumfyt throu thar awne mycht
Thocht na man help thaim for to fycht,
And cum we now to the fechting
120 Quhen thai ar at discumfiting
Men suld say we thaim fruschit had,
And sua suld thai that caus has mad
With gret travaill and hard fechting
Los a part of thar loving,
125 And it war syn to les thar prys
That off sa soverane bounte is.
And he throu plane and hard fechting
Has her eschevyt unlikly thing
He sall haff that he wonnyn has.'
[Moray's victory over Clifford's men]
130 The erle with that that fechtand was
Quhen he hys fayis saw brawland sua
And hy apon thaim gan he ga,
And pressyt thame sa wonder fast
With hard strakys quhill at the last
135 Thai fled that dust abid ne mar.
Bath hors and men slane left thai thar
And held thar way in full gret hy
Nocht all togydder bot syndryly
And thai that war ourtane war slayn,
140 The lave went till thar ost agayne
Off thar tynsall sary and wa.
The erle that had him helpyn sua
And his als that wer wery
Hynt off thar bassynettis in hy
145 Till avent thaim for thai war wate,
Thai war all helyt into swate.
Thai semyt men forsuth Ik hycht
That had fandyt thar force in fycht
And sua did thai full douchtely.
150 Thai fand off all thar cumpany
That thar wes bot a yuman slayne
And lovyt God and wes full fayne
And blyth that thai eschapyt sua.
Towart the king than gan thai ga
155 And till him weill sone cummyn ar.
He wyttyt at thaim of thar far
And glaidsome cher to thaim mad
For thai sa weile thaim borne had.
Than pressyt into gret daynte
160 The erle off Murreff for to se,
For his hey worschip and gret valour
All yarnyt to do him honour,
Sa fast thai ran to se him thar
That ner all samyn assemblit ar.
165 And quhen the gud king gan thaim se
Befor thaim sua assemblit be
Blyth and glaid that thar fayis wer
Rabutyt apon sic maner
A litill quhill he held him still,
170 Syne on this wys he said his will.
[The king asks his men whether they should stay and fight]
'Lordingis, we aucht to love and luff
Allmychty God that syttis abuff
That sendis us sa fayr begynnyng.
It is a gret discomforting
175 Till our fayis that on this wis
Sa sone has bene rabutyt twis,
For quhen thai off thar ost sall her
And knaw suthly on quhat maner
Thar vaward that wes sa stout,
180 And syne yone othyr joly rout
That I trow off the best men war
That thay mycht get amang thaim thar,
War rebutyt sa sodanly,
I trow and knawis it all clerly
185 That mony ane hart sall waverand be
That semyt er off gret bounte,
And fra the hart be discumfyt
The body is nocht worth a myt,
Tharfor I trow that gud ending
190 Sall folow till our begynnyng.
The-quhether I say nocht this you till
For that ye suld folow my will
To fycht, bot in you all sall be,
For gyff you thinkis spedfull that we
195 Fecht we sall, and giff ye will
We leve, your liking to fulfill.
I sall consent on alkyn wis
To do rycht as ye will dyvys,
tharfor sayis off your will planly.'
200 And with a voce than gan thai cry,
'Gud king, foroutyn mar delay
Tomorne alsone as ye se day
Ordane you hale for the bataill,
For doute off dede we sall nocht faill
205 Na na payn sall refusyt be
Quhill we haiff maid our countre fre.'
[The king's address to his men: the reasons for the fight]
Quhen the king had hard sa manlily
Thai spak to fechting and sa hardely
In hart gret gladschip can he ta
210 And said, 'Lordingis, sen ye will sua
Schaip we us tharfor in the mornyng
Sua that we be the sone-rysing
Haff herd mes and buskyt weill
Ilk man intill his awn eschell
215 Without the palyounys arayit
In bataillis with baneris displayit,
And luk ye na wis brek aray.
And, as ye luf me, I you pray
That ilk man for his awne honour
220 Purvay him a gud baneour,
And quhen it cummys to the fycht
Ilk man set hart will and mycht
To stynt our fayis mekill prid.
On hors thai will arayit rid
225 And cum on you in full gret hy,
Mete thaim with speris hardely
And think than on the mekill ill
That thai and tharis has done us till,
And ar in will yeit for to do
230 Giff thai haf mycht to cum tharto.
And certis me think weill that ye
Forout abasing aucht to be
Worthy and of gret vasselagis
For we haff thre gret avantagis
235 The fyrst is that we haf the rycht
And for the rycht ay God will fycht.
The tother is that thai cummyn ar
For lyppynyng off thar gret powar
To sek us in our awne land,
240 And has brocht her rycht till our hand
Ryches into sa gret quantite
That the pourest of you sall be
Bath rych and mychty tharwithall
Giff that we wyne, as weill may fall.
245 The thrid is that we for our lyvis
And for our childer and for our wyvis
And for our fredome and for our land
Ar strenyeit in bataill for to stand,
And thai for thar mycht anerly
250 And for thai lat of us heychtly
And for thai wald distroy us all
Mais thaim to fycht, bot yeit may fall
That thai sall rew thar barganyng.
And certis I warne you off a thing
255 That happyn thaim, as God forbed,
Till fynd fantis intill our deid
That thai wyn us opynly
Thai sall off us haf na mercy,
And sen we knaw thar felone will
260 Me think it suld accord to skill
To set stoutnes agayne felony
And mak sa-gat a juperty.
Quharfor I you requer and pray
That with all your mycht that ye may
265 That ye pres you at the begynnyng
But cowardys or abaysing
To mete thaim at sall fyrst assemble
Sa stoutly that the henmaist trymble,
And menys of your gret manheid
270 Your worschip and your douchti deid
And off the joy that we abid
Giff that us fall, as weill may tid,
Hap to vencus this gret bataill.
In your handys without faile
275 Ye ber honour price and riches
Fredome welth and blythnes
Giff you contene you manlely,
And the contrar all halily
Sall fall giff ye lat cowardys
280 And wykytnes your hertis suppris.
Ye mycht have lyvyt into threldome,
Bot for ye yarnyt till have fredome
Ye ar assemblyt her with me,
Tharfor is nedfull that ye be
285 Worthy and wycht but abaysing.
[The king's address to his men: practical advice]
And I warne you weill off a thing,
That mar myscheff may fall us nane
Than in thar handys to be tane,
For thai suld sla us, I wate weill
290 Rycht as thai did my brothyr Nele.
Bot quhen I mene off your stoutnes
And off the mony gret prowes
That ye haff doyne sa worthely
I traist and trowis sekyrly
295 To haff plane victour in this fycht,
For thoucht our fayis haf mekill mycht
Thai have the wrang, and succudry
And covatys of senyoury
Amovys thaim foroutyn mor.
300 Na us thar dreid thaim bot befor
For strenth off this place as ye se
Sall let us enveronyt to be.
And I pray you als specially
Bath mar and les commonaly
305 That nane of you for gredynes
Haff ey to tak of thar riches
Ne presonaris for to ta
Quhill ye se thaim contraryit sa
That the feld anerly youris be,
310 And than at your liking may ye
Tak all the riches that thar is.
Giff ye will wyrk apon this wis
Ye sall haff victour sekyrly.
I wate nocht quhat mar say sall I
315 Bot all wate ye quhat honour is,
Contene you than on sic a wis
That your honour ay savyt be.
And Ik hycht her in leaute
Gyff ony deys in this bataille
320 His ayr but ward releff or taile
On the fyrst day his land sall weld
All be he never sa young off eild.
Now makys you redy for to fycht,
God help us that is maist of mycht.
325 I rede armyt all nycht that we be
Purvayit in bataill sua that we
To mete our fayis ay be boune.'
Than answeryt thai all with a soune,
'As ye dyvys all sall be done.'
330 Than till tha innys went thai sone
And ordanyt thaim for the fechting
Syne assemblyt in the evynnyng,
And suagat all the nycht bad thai
Till on the morn that it wes day.
[The English prepare: the night before the battle]
335 Quhen the Cliffurd, as I said ar,
And all his rout rebutyt war
And thar gret vaward alsua
War distrenyeit the bak to ta
And thai had tauld thar rebuting -
340 Thai off the vaward how the king
Slew at a strak sa apertly
A knycht that wycht wes and hardy,
And how all haile the kingis bataill
Schup thaim rycht stoutly till assaill
345 And Schyr Edward the Bruce alsua
Quhen thai all haill the bak gan ta
And how thai lesyt of thar men,
And Cliffurd had tauld alsua then
How Thomas Randell tuk the plane
350 With a few folk and how wes slane
Schyr Gilyame Danecourt the worthi,
And how the erle faucht manly
That as ane hyrchoune all his rout
Gert set out speris all about
355 And how that thai war put agayne
And part off thar gud men slayne -
The Inglismen sic abasing
Tuk and sic drede of that tithing
That in fyve hunder placis and ma
360 Men mycht se samyn routand ga
Sayand, 'Our lordis for thar mycht
Will allgate fecht agane the rycht,
Bot quha-sa werrayis wranguysly
Thai fend God all to gretumly
365 And thaim may happyn to mysfall,
And swa may tid that her we sall.'
And quhen thar lordys had persaving
Off discomfort and rownnyng
That thai held samyn twa and twa,
370 Throu-out the ost sone gert thai ga
Heraldis to mak a crye
That nane discomfort suld be,
For in punye is oft hapnyne
Quhile for to wyn and quhile to tyne,
375 And that into the gret bataill
That apon na maner may faill
Bot giff the Scottis fley thar way
Sall all amendyt be perfay.
Tharfor thai monest thaim to be
380 Off gret worschip and off bounte
And stoutly in the bataill stand
And tak amendis at thar hand.
Thai may weill monys as thai will
And thai may hecht als to fulfill
385 With stalwart hart thar bidding all
Bot nocht-forthi I trow thai sall
Intill thar hartis dredand be.
The king with his consaill preve
Has tane to rede that he wald nocht
390 Fecht or the morne bot he war socht,
Tharfor thai herberyd thaim that nycht
Doune in the Kers, and gert all dycht
And maid redy thar aparaill
Agayne the morne for the bataill,
395 And for in the Kers pulis war
Housis thai brak and thak bar
To mak briggis quhar thaim mycht pas,
And sum sayis that yeit the folk that was
In the castell quhen nycht gan fall
400 For that thai knew the myscheiff all
Thai went full ner all that thai war
And duris and wyndowys with thaim bar,
Swa that thai had befor the day
Briggyt the pulis swa that thai
405 War passyt our everilkane,
And the hard feld on hors has tane 406
All reddy for till gif batale 407
Arayit intill thar apparaill. 406
[The Scottish and English preparations on the morning]
The Scottismen quhen it wes day
410 Thar mes devotly gert thai say 408
Syne tuk a sop and maid thaim yar,
And quhen thai all assemblyt war
And in thar bataillis all purvayit
With thar braid baneris all displayit
415 Thai maid knychtis, as it afferis 413
To men that usys thai mysteris.
The king maid Walter Stewart knycht
And James of Douglas that wes wycht,
And other als of gret bounte
420 He maid ilkane in thar degre. 418
Quhen this wes doyne that I you say
Thai went all furth in gud aray
And tuk the plane full apertly,
Mony gud man wicht and hardy
425 That war fulfillyt of gret bounte 423
Intill thai routis men mycht se.
The Inglismen on other party
That as angelis schane brychtly
War nocht arayit on sic maner
430 For all thar bataillis samyn wer 428
In a schilthrum, but quhether it was
Throu the gret straitnes of the place
That thai war in to bid fechting
Or that it was for abaysing
435 I wate nocht, bot in a schiltrum 433
It semyt thai war all and sum,
Outane the avaward anerly
That rycht with a gret cumpany
Be thaimselvyn arayit war.
440 Quha had bene by mycht have sene thar 438
That folk ourtak a mekill feild
On breid quhar mony a schynand scheld
And mony a burnyst brycht armur
And mony man off gret valour
445 And mony a brycht baner and schene 443
Mycht in that gret schiltrum be sene.
[Umfraville's advice to Edward II rejected]
And quhen the king of Ingland
Swa the Scottis saw tak on hand
Takand the hard feyld sa opynly
450 And apon fute he had ferly 448
And said, 'Quhat, will yone Scottis fycht?'
'Ya sekyrly, schir,' said a knycht,
Schyr Ingrame the Umfravill hat he,
And said, 'Forsuth now, schyr, I se
455 It is the mast ferlyfull sycht 453
That evyre I saw quhen for to fycht
The Scottismen has tane on hald
Agayne the mycht of Ingland
In plane hard feld to giff bataile.
460 Bot and ye will trow my consaill 458
Ye sall discomfy thaim lychtly.
Withdrawys you hyne sodandly
With bataillis and with penounys
Quhill that we pas our palyounys,
465 And ye sall se alsone that thai 463
Magre thar lordys sall brek aray
And scaile thaim our harnays to ta.
And quhen we se thaim scalit sua
Prik we than on thaim hardely
470 And we sall haf thaim wele lychtly 468
For than sall nane be knyt to fycht
That may withstand your mekill mycht.'
I will nocht,' said the king, 'perfay
Do sa, for thar sall na man say
475 That I sall eschew the bataill 473
Na withdraw me for sic rangaile.'
Quhen this wes said that er said I
The Scottismen commounaly
Knelyt all doune to God to pray
480 And a schort prayer thar maid thai 478
To God to help thaim in that fycht,
And quhen the Inglis king had sycht
Off thaim kneland he said in hy,
'Yone folk knelis to ask mercy.'
485 Schyr Ingrahame said, 'Ye say suth now, 483
Thai ask mercy bot nane at you,
For thar trespas to God thai cry.
I tell you a thing sekyrly,
That yone men will all wyn or de,
490 For doute of dede thai sall nocht fle.' 488
'Now be it sa,' than said the king,
And than but langer delaying
Thai gert trump till the assemble.
On ather sid men mycht than se
495 Mony a wycht man and worthi 493
Redy to do chevalry.
[The English attack Edward Bruce's division]
Thus war thai boune on ather sid,
And Inglismen with mekill prid
That war intill thar avaward
500 To the bataill that Schyr Edward 498
Governyt and led held straucht thar way
The hors with spuris hardnyt thai
And prikyt apon thaim sturdely,
And thai met thaim rycht hardely
505 Sua that at thar assemble thar 503
Sic a fruschyng of speris war
That fer away men mycht it her.
At that meting foroutyn wer
War stedis stekyt mony ane
510 And mony gude man borne doune and slayne, 508
And mony ane hardyment douchtely
Was thar eschevyt, for hardely
Thai dang on other with wapnys ser.
Sum of the hors that stekyt wer
515 Ruschyt and relyt tycht rudlye, 513
Bot the remanand nocht-forthi
That mycht cum to the assembling
For that led maid na stinting
` Bot assemblyt full hardely,
520 And thai met thaim full sturdely 518
With speris that wer scharp to scher
And axys that weile groundyn wer
Quhar-with was roucht mony a rout.
The fechting wes thar.sa fell and stout
525 That mony a worthi man and wicht 523
Throu fors wes fellyt in that fycht
That had na mycht to rys agane.
The Scottismen fast gan thaim payn
Thar fayis mekill mycht to rus,
530 I trow thai sall na payn refuse 528
Na perell quhill thar fayis be
Set in weill hard perplexite.
[Moray's men attack the main English host]
And quhen the erle of Murref swa
Thar vaward saw sa stoutly ga
535 The way to Schyr Edward all straucht 533
That met thaim with full mekill maucht,
He held hys way with his baner
To the gret rout quhar samyn wer
The nyne bataillis that war sa braid,
540 That sa fele baneris with thaim haid 538
And of men sa gret quantite
That it war wonder for to se.
The gud erle thidder tuk the way
With his battaill in gud aray
545 And assemblit sa hardily 543
That men mycht her that had bene by
A gret frusch of the speris that brast,
For thar fayis assemblyt fast
That on stedis with mekill prid
550 Come prikand as thai wald our-rid 548
The erle and all his cumpany,
Bot thai met thaim sa sturdely
That mony of thaim till erd thai bar,
For mony a sted was stekyt thar
555 And mony gud man fellyt under fet 553
That had na hap to rys up yete.
Thar mycht men se a hard bataill
And sum defend and sum assaile
And mony a reale romble rid
560 Be roucht thar apon ather sid 558
Quhill throu the byrnys bryst the blud
That till erd doune stremand yhude.
The erle of Murreff and his men
Sa stoutly thaim contenyt then
565 That thai wan place ay mar and mar 563
On thar fayis the-quhether thai war
Ay ten far ane or may perfay,
Sua that it semyt weill that thai
War tynt amang sa gret menye
570 As thai war plungyt in the se. 568
And quhen the Inglismen has sene
The erle and all his men bedene
Faucht sa stoutly but effraying
Rycht as thai had nane abasing
575 Thaim pressyt thai with all thar mycht 573
And thai with speris and swerdis brycht
And axis that rycht scharply schar
Ymyddis the vesag met thaim thar.
Thar mycht men se a stalwart stour
580 And mony men of gret valour 578
With speris mas and knyffis
And other wapynnys wyssyll thar lyvis
Sua that mony fell doune all dede,
The greys woux with the blud all reid
585 The erle that wycht wes and worthi 583
And his men faucht sa manlyly
That quha-sa had sene thaim that day
I trow forsuth that thai suld say
That thai suld do thar devor wele
590 Swa that thar fayis suld it fele. 588
poem by John Barbour
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Waly, Waly.
O Waly, waly, up the bank,
O wary, waly, doun the brae,
And waly, waly, yon burn-side,
Where I and my love wer wont to gae!
I lean'd my back unto an aik,
I thocht it was a trustie tree,
But first it bow'd and syne it brak',-
Sae my true love did lichtlie me.
O waly, waly, but love be bonnie
A little time while it is new!
But when its auld it waxeth cauld,
And fadeth awa' like the morning dew.
O wherefore should I busk my heid,
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true love has me forsook,
And says he'll never lo'e me mair.
Noo Arthur's seat sall be my bed.
The sheets sall neir be press'd by me;
Saint Anton's well sall be my drink;
Since my true love's forsaken me.
Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves off the tree?
O gentle death, when wilt thou come?
For of my life I am wearie.
'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
Nor blawing-snaw's inclemencie,
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry;
But my love's heart grown cauld to me.
Whan we cam' in by Glasgow toun,
We were a comely sicht to see;
My love was clad in the black velvet,
An' I mysel' in cramasie.
But had I wist before I kiss'd
That love had been so ill to win,
I'd lock'd my heart in a case o' goud,
And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin.
Oh, oh! if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse's knee;
And I mysel' were dead and gane,
And the green grass growing over me!
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Edom O' Gordon
It fell about the Martinmas,
Quhen the wind blew shril and cauld,
Said Edom o' Gordon to his men,
'We maun draw to a hauld.
'And quhat a hauld sall we draw till,
My mirry men and me?
We wul gae to the house o' the Rodes,
To see that fair ladie.'
The lady stude on hir castle wa',
Beheld baith dale and down,
There she was ware of a host of men,
Cum ryding towards the toun.
'O see ze nat, my mirry men a'?
O see ze nat quhat I see?
Methinks I see a host of men:
I marveil quha they be.'
She weend it had been hir luvely lord,
As he cam ryding hame;
It was the traitor Edom o' Gordon,
Quha reckt nae sin nor shame.
She had nae sooner buskit hirsel,
And putten on hir goun,
Till Edom o' Gordon and his men
Were round about the toun.
They had nae sooner supper sett,
Nae sooner said the grace,
Till Edom o' Gordon and his men
Were light about the place.
The lady ran up to hir towir head,
Sa fast as she could hie,
To see if by her fair speeches,
She could wi' him agree.
But quhan he see this lady saif,
And hir yates all locked fast,
He fell into a rage of wrath,
And his look was all aghast.
'Cum doun to me, ze lady gay,
Cum doun, cum doune to me;
This night sall ye lig within mine armes,
To-morrow my bride shall be.'
'I winnae cum doun, ze fals Gordon,
I winnae cum doun to thee;
I winnae forsake my ain dear lord,
That is sae far frae me.'
'Give owre zour house, ze lady fair,
Give owre zour house to me,
OR I sall brenn yoursel therein,
Bot and zour babies three.'
'I winnae give owre, ze fals Gordon,
To nae sik traitor as zee;
And if ze brenn my ain dear babes,
My lord sall make ze drie.
'But reach me hether my guid bend-bowe,
Mine arrows one by one;
For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher,
My babes we been undone.'
She stude upon her castle wa',
And let twa arrows flee;
She mist that bluidy butchers hart,
And only raz'd his knee.
'Set fire to the house,' quo' fals Gordon,
All wood wi' dule and ire;
'Fals lady, ze sall rue this deid,
As ze brenn in the fire.'
'Wae worth, wae worth ze, Jock my man,
I paid ze weil zour fee;
Quhy pow ze out the ground-wa' stane,
Lets in the reek to me?
'And ein wae worth ze, Jock my man,
I paid e weil zour hire;
Quhy pow ze out the ground-wa' stane,
To me lets in the fire?'
'Ze paid me weil my hire, lady;
Ze paid me weil my fee;
But now I'm Edom o' Gordons man,
Maun either doe or die.'
O than bespaik hir little son,
Sate on the nourice' knee,
Sayes, 'Mither deare, gi owre this house,
For the reek it smithers me.'
'I wad gie a' my gowd, my childe,
Sae wad I a' my fee,
For ane blast o' the westlin wind,
To blaw the reek frae thee.'
O then bespaik hir dochter dear,
She was baith jim[ and sma:
'O row me in a pair o' sheits,
And tow me owre the wa.'
The rowd hir in a pair o' sheits,
And towd hir owre the wa;
But on the point of Gordons spear
She gat a deadly fa.
O bonnie, bonnie was hir mouth,
And cherry were hir cheiks,
And clear, clear was hir zellow hair,
Whereon the reid bluid dreips.
Then wi' his spear he turnd hir owre;
O gin her face was wan!
He sayd, 'Ze are the first that eir
I wisht alive again.'
He turnd hir owre and owre again;
O gin hir skin was whyte!
'I might ha spared that bonnie face,
To hae been sum mans delyte.
'Busk and boun, my merry man a',
For ill dooms I doe guess;
I cannae luik in that bonny face,
As it lyes on the grass.'
'Thame luiks to freits, my master deir,
Then freits wil follow thame;
Let it neir be said brave Edom o' Gordon
Was daunted by a dame.'
But quhen the ladye see the fire
Cum flaming owre hir head,
She wept and kist her children twain,
Sayd, 'Bairns, we been but dead.'
The Gordon then his bougill blew,
And said, 'Awa', awa';
This horse o' the Rodes is a' in flame,
I hauld it time to ga'.'
O then he spyed hir ain dear lord,
As hee cam owr the lee;
He sied his castle all in blaze
Sa far as he could see.
Then sair, O sair his mind misgave,
And all his hart was wae;
'Put on, put on, my wighty men,
So fast as ze can gae.
'Put on, put on, my wighty men,
So fast as ze can drie;
For he that is hindmost of the thrang,
Sall neir get guid o' me.'
Than sum they rade, and sum they rin,
Fou fast out-owr the bent;
But eir the foremost could get up,
Baith lady and babes were brent.
He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,
And wept in teenefu' muid:
'O traitors, for this cruel deid
Ze sall weep teirs o' bluid.'
And after the Gordon he is gane,
Sa fast as he might drie;
And soon i' the Gordon's foul hartis bluid
He's wroken his dear ladie.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!