En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Cock and The Fox

Thogh brutal beestes be irrational,
That is to say, wantand, discretioun,
Yit ilk ane in their kindes natural
Has many divers inclinatioun:
The bair busteous, the wold, the wylde lyoun,
The fox fenyeit, craftie and cautelous,
The dog to bark on night and keep the hous.

Sa different they are in properteis
Unknawin unto man and infinite,
In kind havand sa fel diversiteis,
My cunning it excides for to dyte.
Forthy as now, I purpose for to wryte
Ane case I fand whilk fell this other yeer
Betwix ane fox and gentil Chauntecleer.

Ane widow dwelt intill ane drop they dayis
Whilk wan hir food off spinning on hir rok,
And na mair had, forsooth, as the fabill sayis,
Except of hennes scho had ane lyttel flok,
And them to keep scho had one jolie cok,
Right corageous, that to this widow ay
Divided night, and crew before the day.

Ane lyttel fra this foresaid widow's hous,
Ane thornie schaw there was of greet defence,
Wherein ane foxe, craftie and cautelous,
Made his repair and daylie residence,
Whilk to this widow did greet violence
In pyking off pultrie baith day and night,
And na way be revengit on him scho might.

This wylie tod, when that the lark couth sing,
Full sair and hungrie unto the toun him drest,
Were Chauntecleer, in to the gray dawing,
Werie for night, was flowen fra hist nest.
Lowrence this saw and in his mind he kest
The jeperdies, the wayes, and the wyle,
By what menis he might this cok begyle.

Dissimuland in to countenance and cheer,
On knees fell and simuland thus he said,
'Gude morne, my maister, gentil Chantecleer!'
With that the cok start bakwart in ane braid.
'Schir, by my saul, ye need not be effraid,
Nor yit for me to start nor flee abak;
I come bot here service to you to mak.'

'Wald I not serve to you, it wer bot blame,
As I have done to your progenitouris.
Your father oft fullfillit has my wame,
And sent me meit fra midding to the muris,
And at his end I did my besie curis
To held his heed and gif him drinkis warme,
Syne at the last, the sweit swelt in my arme!'

'Knew ye my father?' quad the cok, and leuch.
'Yea, my fair son, forsooth I held his heed
When that he deit under ane birkin beuch,
Syne said that Dirgie when that he was deed.
Betwixt us twa how suld there be ane feid?
Wham suld ye traist bot me, your servitour
That to your father did so greet honour?

When I beheld your fedderis fair and gent,
Your beck, your breast, your hekill, and your kame-
Schir, by my saul, and the blissit sacrament,
My heart warmis, me think I am at hame.
You for to serve, I wald creep on my wame
In froist and snaw, in wedder wan and weit
And lay my lyart lokkes under your feit.'

This fenyeit fox, fals and dissimulate,
Made to this cok ane cavillatioun:
'Ye are, me think, changed and degenerate
Fra your father and his conditioun,
Of craftie crawing he might beer the croun,
For he weld on his tais stand and craw.
This is no le; I stude beside and saw.'

With that the cok, upon his tais hie,
Kest up his beek and sang with all his might.
Quod schir Lowrence, 'Well said, sa mot I the.
Ye are your fatheris son and heir upright,
Bot of his cunning yit ye want ane slight.'
'What?' quad the cok. 'He wald, and have na doubt,
Baith wink, and craw, and turne him thryis about.'

The cok, inflate with wind and fals vanegloir,
That mony puttes unto confusioun,
Traisting to win ane greet worship therefoir,
Unwarlie winkand walkit up and doun,
And syne to chant and craw he made him boun-
And suddandlie, by he had crawin ane note
The fox was war, and hent him by the throte.

Syne to the wood but tarie with him hyit,
Of countermand havand but lytil dout.
With that Pertok, Sprutok, and Coppok cryit,
The widow heard, and with ane cry come out.
Seand and case scho sighit and gaif ane schout,
'How, murther, reylok!' with ane hiddeous beir,
'Allas, now lost is gentil Chauntecleer!'

As scho were wod with mony yell and cry,
Ryvand hir hair, upon hir breist can beit,
Syne pale of hew, half in ane extasy,
Fell doun for care in swoning and in sweit.
With that the selie hennes left their meit,
And whyle this wyfe was lyand thus in swoon,
Fell of that case in disputacioun.

'Allas,' quod Pertok, makand sair murning,
With teeris greet attour hir cheekis fell,
'Yon was our drowrie and our day's darling,
Our nightingal, and als our orlege bell,
Our walkrife watch, us for to warne and tell
When that Aurora with hir curcheis gray
Put up hir heid betwixt the night and day.

'Wha sall our lemman be? Who sall us leid?
When we are sad wha sall unto us sing?
With his sweet bill he wald breke us the breid;
In all this warld was there ane kynder thing?
In paramouris he wald do us plesing.
At his power, as nature list him geif.
Now efter him, allas, how sall we leif?'

Quod Sprutok than, 'Ceis, sister of your sorrow,
Ye be too mad, for him sic murning mais.
We sall fare well, I find Sanct John to borrow;
The proverb sayis, 'Als gude lufe cummis as gais.'
I will put my haly-dayis clais
And mak me fresch agane this jolie May,
Syne chant this sang, 'Was never widow sa gay!'

'He was angry and held us ay in aw,
And wounded with the speir of jelowsy.
Of chalmergley, Pertok, full well ye knaw,
Wasted he was, of nature cauld and dry.
Sen he is gone, therefore, sister, say I,
Be blythe in baill, for that is best remeid.
Let quik to quik, and deid ga to the deid.'

Than Pertok spak, that feinyeit faith before,
In lust but lufe that set all hir delyte,
'Sister, ye wait of sic as him ane score
Wald not suffice to slake our appetyte.
I heecht you by my hand, sen ye are quyte,
Within ane oulk, for schame and I durst speik,
To get ane berne suld better claw oure breik.'

Than Coppok like ane curate spak full crous:
'Yon was ane verray vengeance from the hevin.
He was sa lous and lecherous,
Ceis could he noght with kittokis ma than servin,
But righteous God, haldand the balance evin,
Smytis right sair, thoght he be patien,
Adulteraris that list them not repent.

'Prydeful he was, and joyit of his sin,
And comptit not for Goddis favor nor feid.
Bot traisted ay to rax and sa to rin,
Whil at the last his sinnis can him leid
To schameful end and to yon suddand deid.
Therefore it is the verray hand of God
That causit him be werryit with the tod.'

When this was said, this widow fra hir swoun
Start up on fute, and on hir kennettis cryde,
'How, Birkye, Berrie, Bell, Bawsie, Bround,
Rype Schaw, Rin Weil, Curtes, Nuttieclyde!
Togidder all but grunching furth ye glyde!
Reskew my nobil cok ere he be slane,
Or ellis to me see ye come never agane!'

With that, but baid, they braidet over the bent,
As fire off flint they over the feildis flaw,
Full wichtlie they through wood and wateris went,
And ceissit not, schir Lowrence while they saw.
But when he saw the raches come on raw,
Unto the cok in mind he said, 'God sen
That I and thou were fairlie in my den.'

Then spak the cok, with sum gude spirit inspyrit,
'Do my counsall and I shall warrand thee.
Hungrie thou art, and for greet travel tyrit,
Right faint of force and may not ferther flee:
Swyth turn agane and say that I and ye
Freindes are made and fellowis for ane yeir.
Than will they stint, I stand for it, and not steir.'

This tod, thogh he were fals and frivolous,
And had fraudis, his querrel to defend,
Desavit was by menis right marvelous,
For falset failis ay at the latter end.
He start about, and cryit as he knend-
With that the cok he braid unto a bewch.
Now juge ye all whereat schir Lowrence lewch.

Begylit thus, the tod under the tree
On knees fell, and said, 'Gude Chauntecleer,
Come doun agane, and I but meit or fee
Sall be your man and servant for ane yeir.'
'Na, murther, theif, and revar, stand on reir.
My bldy hekill and my nek sa bla
Has partit love for ever betwene us twa.

'I was unwise that winkit at thy will,
Wherethrough almaist I loissit had my heid.'
'I was mair fule,' quod he, 'could noght be still,
Bot spake to put my my pray into pleid.'
'Fare on, fals theef, God keep me fra thy feid.'
With that the cok over the feildis tuke his flight,
And in at the widow's lewer couth he light.

Moralitas

Now worthie folk, suppose this be ane fabill,
And overheillit with typis figural,
Yit may ye find ane sentence right agreabill
Under their fenyeit termis textual.
To our purpose this cok well may we call
Nyce proud men, woid, and vaneglorious
Of kin and blude, whilk is presumptuous.

Fy, puffed up pride, thou is full poysonabill!
Wha favoris thee, on force man have ane fall,
Thy strength is noght, thy stule standis unstabill.
Tak witnes of the feyndes infernall,
Whilk houndit doun was fra that hevinlie hall
To hellis hole and to that hiddeous house,
Because in pride they were presumptous.

This fenyeit foxe may well be figurate
To flatteraris with plesand wordis white,
With fals mening and mynd maist toxicate,
To loif and le that settis their hail delyte.
All worthie folk at sic suld haif despite-
For where is there mair perrelous pestilence?-
Nor give to learis haistelie credence.

The wickit mind and adullatioun,
Of sucker sweet haifand similitude,
Bitter as gall and full of fell poysoun
To taste it is, wha cleirlie understude,
Forthy as now schortlie to conclude,
Thir twa sinnis, flatterie and vanegloir.
Are venemous: gude folk, flee them thairfoir!

poem by Robert Henryson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Testament of Cressida (excerpt)

...
Thus chydand with her drerie destenye,
Weiping, scho woik the nicht fra end to end;
Bot all in vane; hir dule, hir cairfull cry,
Micht not remeid, nor yit hir murning mend.
Ane lipper lady rais, and till hir wend,
And said, "Quhy spurnis thow aganis the wall,
To sla thyself, and mend nathing at all?

"Sen thy weiping dowbillis bot thy wo,
I counsall the mak vertew of ane neid;
To leir to clap thy clapper to and fro,
And leir efter the law of lipper leid."
Thair was na buit, bot furth with thame scho yeid,
Fra place to place, quhill cauld and hounger sair
Compellit hir to be ane rank beggair.

That samin tyme of Troy the garnisoun,
Quhilk had to chiftane worthie Troylus,
Throw jeopardie of weir had strikken down
Knichtis of Grece in number marvellous:
With greit tryumphe and laude victorious
Agane to Troy richt royallie they raid,
The way quhair Cresseid with the lipper baid.

Seing that companie, thai come all with ane stevin;
Thay gaif ane cry, and schuik coppis gude speid;
Said, "Worthie lordis, for Goddis lufe of hevin,
To us lipper part of your almous deid."
Than to thair cry nobill Troylus tuik heid,
Having pietie, neir by the place can pas
Quhair Cresseid sat, not witting quhat scho was.

Than upon him scho kest up baith her ene,
And with ane blenk it come into his thocht
That he sumtime hir face befoir had sene;
But scho was in sic plye he knew hir nocht;
Yit than hir luik into his mynd it brocht
The sweit visage and amorous blenking
Of fair Cresseid, sumtyme his awin darling.

Na wonder was, suppois in mynd that he
Tuik hir figure sa sone, and lo! now quhy!
The idole of ane thing in cace may be
Sa deip imprentit in the fantasy,
That it deludis the wittis outwardly,
And sa appeiris in forme and lyke estait
Within the mynd, as it was figurait.

Ane spark of lufe than till his hart culd spring,
And kendlit all his bodie in ane fyre,
With hait fevir ane sweit and trimbling
Him tuik, quhill he was reddie to expyre;
To beir his scheild his breist began to tyre;
Within ane quhyle he changit mony hew,
And, nevertheles, not ane ane uther knew.

For knichtlie pietie and memoriall
Of fair Cresseid, ane gyrdill can he tak,
Ane purs of gold, and mony gay jowall,
And in the skirt of Cresseid doun can swak:
Than raid away, and not ane word he spak,
Pensive in hart, quhill he come to the toun,
And for greit cair oft syis almaist fell doun.

The lipper folk to Cresseid than can draw,
To se the equall distributioun
Of the almous; but quhan the gold they saw,
Ilk ane to uther prevelie can roun,
And said, "Yone lord hes mair affectioun,
How ever it be, unto yone lazarous,
Than to us all; we knaw be his almous."

"Quhat lord is yone," (quod scho), "have ye na feill,
Hes done to us so greit humanitie?"
"Yes," (quod a lipper man), "I knaw him weill;
Schir Troylus it is, gentill and fre."
Quhen Cresseid understude that it was he,
Stiffer than steill thair stert ane bitter stound
Throwout hir hart, and fell doun to the ground.

Quhen scho, ouircome with siching sair and sad,
With many cairfull cry and cald "Ochane!
Now is my breist with stormie stoundis stad,
Wrappit in wo, ane wretch full will of wane:"
Than swounit scho oft or scho culd refrane,
And ever in hir swouning cryit scho thus:
"O, fals Cresseid, and trew knicht Troylus!

"Thy lufe, thy lawtie, and thy gentilnes
I countit small in my prosperitie;
Sa elevait I was in wantones,
And clam upon the fickill quheill sa hie;
All faith and lufe I promissit to the
Was in the self fickill and frivolous:
O, fals Cresseid, and trew knicht Troilus!

"For lufe of me thow keipt gude continence,
Honest and chaist in conversatioun;
Of all wemen protectour and defence
Thou was, and helpit thair opinioun:
My mynd in fleschelie foull affectioun
Was inclynit to lustis lecherous:
Fy, fals Cresseid! O, trew knicht Troylus!

"Lovers, be war, and tak gude heid about
Quhome that ye lufe, for quhome ye suffer paine;
I lat yow wit, thair is richt few thairout
Quhome ye may traist to have trew lufe agane:
Preif quhen ye will, your labour is in vaine;
Thairfoir, I reid ye tak thame as ye find,
For thay ar sad as widdercock in wind,

"Becaus I knaw the greit unstabilnes,
Brukkil as glas, into my self, I say,
Traisting in uther als greit unfaithfulnes,
Als unconstant, and als untrew of fay;
Thocht sum be trew, I wait richt few are thay;
Quha findis treuth, lat him his lady ruse:
Nane but my self, as now, I will accuse."

Quhen this was said, with paper scho sat doun,
And on this maneir maid hir testament:
"Heir I beteiche my corps and carioun
With wormis and with taidis to be rent;
My cop and clapper, and myne ornament,
And all my gold, the lipper folk sall have,
Quhen I am deid, to burie me in grave.

"This royall ring, set with this rubie reid,
Quhilk Troylus in drowrie to me send,
To him agane I leif it quhan I am deid,
To mak my cairfull deid unto him kend:
Thus I conclude schortlie, and mak ane end;
My spreit I leif to Diane, quhair scho dwellis,
To walk with hir in waist woddis and wellis.

"O, Diomeid! thow hes baith broche and belt
Quhilk Troylus gave me in takning
Of his trew lufe,"--and with that word scho swelt;
And sone ane lipper man tuik of the ring,
Syne buryit hir withouttin tarying:
To Troylus furthwith the ring he bair,
And of Cresseid the deith he can declair.

Quhen he had hard hir greit infirmitie,
Hir legacie and lamentatioun,
And how scho endit in sic povertie,
He swelt for wo, and fell doun in ane swoun;
For greit sorrow his hart to birst was boun:
Siching full sadlie, said, "I can no moir;
Scho was untrew, and wo is me thairfoir!"

Sum said he maid ane tomb of merbell gray,
And wrait hir name and superscriptioun,
And laid it on hir grave, quhair that scho lay,
In goldin letteris, conteining this ressoun:
"Lo, fair ladyis, Cresseid of Troyis toun,
Sumtyme countit the flour of womanheid,
Under this stane, late lipper, lyis deid!"

Now, worthie wemen, in this ballet schort,
Made for your worschip and instructioun,
Of cheritie I monische and exhort,
Ming not your lufe with fals deceptioun;
Beir in your mynd this schort conclusioun
Of fair Cresseid, as I have said befoir:
Sen scho is deid, I speik of hir no moir.

poem by Robert Henryson
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 Bludy Serk

THIS hinder yeir I hard be tald
   Thair was a worthy King;
Dukis, Erlis, and Barronis bald,
   He had at his bidding.
The Lord was ancean and ald,
   And sexty yeiris cowth ring;
He had a dochter fair to fald,
   A lusty Lady ying.

Off all fairheid scho bur the flour,
   And eik hir faderis air;
Off lusty laitis and he honour,
   Meik bot and debonair:
Scho wynnit in a bigly bour,
   On fold wes nane so fair,
Princis luvit hir paramour
   In cuntreis our allquhair.

Thair dwelt a lyt besyde the King
   A foull Gyand of ane;
Stollin he has the Lady ying,
   Away with hir is gane,
And kest her in his dungering
   Quhair licht scho micht se nane;
Hungir and cauld and grit thristing
   Scho fand into hir waine.

He wes the laithliest on to luk
   That on the grund mycht gang:
His nailis wes lyk ane hellis cruk,
   Thairwith fyve quarteris lang;
Thair wes nane that he ourtuk,
   In rycht or yit in wrang,
Bot all in schondir he thame schuk,
   The Gyand wes so strang.

He held the Lady day and nycht
   Within his deip dungeoun,
He wald nocht gif of hir a sicht
   For gold nor yit ransoun--
Bot gif the King mycht get a knycht,
   To fecht with his persoun,
To fecht with him beth day and nycht,
   Quhill ane wer dungin doun.

The King gart seik baith fer and neir,
   Beth be se and land,
Off ony knycht gif he mycht heir
   Wald fecht with that Gyand:
A worthy Prince, that had no peir,
   Hes tane the deid on hand
For the luve of the Lady cleir,
   And held full trew cunnand.

That Prince come prowdly to the toun
   Of that Gyand to heir,
And fawcht with him, his awin persoun,
   And tuke him presoneir,
And kest him in his awin dungeoun
   Allane withouten feir,
With hungir, cauld, and confusioun,
   As full weill worthy weir.

Syne brak the bour, had hame the bricht
   Unto her fadir fre.
Sa evill wondit wes the Knycht
   That he behuvit to de;
Unlusum was his likame dicht,
   His sark was all bludy;
In all the world was thair a wicht
   So peteouss for to se?

The Lady murnyt and maid grit mane,
   With all her mekill mycht--
'I luvit nevir lufe bot ane,
   That dulfully now is dicht;
God sen my lyfe were fra me tane
   Or I had seen yone sicht,
Or ellis in begging evir to gane
   Furth with yone curtass knycht.'

He said 'Fair lady, now mone I
   De, trestly ye me trow;
Take ye my serk that is bludy,
   And hing it forrow yow;
First think on it, and syne on me,
   Quhen men cumis yow to wow.'
The Lady said 'Be Mary fre,
   Thairto I mak a vow.'

Quhen that scho lukit to the sark
   Scho thocht on the persoun,
And prayit for him with all hir hart
   That lowsit hir of bandoun,
Quhair scho was wont to sit full merk
   Into that deip dungeoun;
And evir quhill scho wes in quert,
   That was hir a lessoun.

Sa weill the Lady luvit the Knycht
   That no man wald scho tak:
Sa suld we do our God of micht
   That did all for us mak;
Quhilk fullily to deid was dicht,
   For sinfull manis sak,
Sa suld we do beth day and nycht,
   With prayaris to him mak.

This King is lyk the Trinitie,
   Baith in hevin and heir;
The manis saule to the Lady,
   The Gyand to Lucefeir,
The Knycht to Chryst, that deit on tre
   And coft our synnis deir;
The pit to Hele with panis fell,
   The Syn to the woweir.

The Lady was wowd, but scho said nay
   With men that wald hir wed;
Sa suld we wryth all sin away
   That in our breist is bred.
I pray to Jesu Chryst verray,
   For ws his blud that bled,
To be our help on domisday
   Quhair lawis ar straitly led.

The saule is Godis dochtir deir,
   And eik his handewerk,
That was betrayit with Lucefeir,
   Quha sittis in hell full merk:
Borrowit with Chrystis angell cleir,
   Hend men, will ye nocht herk?
And for his lufe that bocht us deir
   Think on the BLUDY SERK!

poem by Robert Henryson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Johnny Armstrong (original)

Sum speiks of lords, sum speiks of lairds,
And siclyke men of hie degrie;
Of a gentleman I sing a sang,
Sumtyme calld Laird of Giluockie.

The king he wrytes a laving letter,
With his ain hand see tenderly:
And he hath sent it to Johnnie Armstrang,
To cum and speik with him speidily.

The Eliots and Armstrangs did convene,
They were a gallant company:
'We'ill ryde and meit our lawful king,
And bring him safe to Gilnockiel'

'Make kinnen(1) and capon ready, then,
And venison in great plenty;
We'ill welcome hame our royal king;
I hope he'ill dyne at Gilnockiel'

They ran their horse on the Langum howm(2)
And brake their speirs with mekle main;
The ladys lukit free their loft-windows,
'God bring our men weil back again!'

When Johnnie came before the king,
With all his men see brave to see,
The King he movit his bonnet to him;
He weind he was a king as well as he.

'May I find grace, my sovereign liege,
Grace for my loyal men and me?
For my name it is Johnnie Armstrang,
And subject of yours, my liege,' said he.

'Away, away, thou traytor, strang!
Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I'll not begin with thee.'

'Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king,
And a bony gift I will give to thee:
Full four-and-twenty milk-whyt steids.
Were a' foald in a yeir to me.

'I'll gie thee all these milk-whyt steids,
that prance and nicher at a speir,
With as mekle gude Inglis gilt
As four of their braid backs dow beir.'

'Away, away, thou traytor strang!
Out o' my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors Iyfe,
And now I'll not begin with thee.'

'Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king,
And a bony gift I'll gie to thee;
Gude four-and-twenty ganging mills,
That gang throw a' the yeir to me.

'These four-and-twenty mills complete
Sall gang for thee throw all the yeir,
And as mekle of gude reid wheit
As all their trappers dow to bear.'

'Away, away, thou traytor, strang!
Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I'll not begin with thee.'

'Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king,
And a great gift I'll gie to thee;
Bauld four-and-twenty sisters sons,
Sall for the fecht, tho all sould flee.'

'Away, away, thou traytor, strang!
Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I'll not begin with thee.'

'Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king,
And a brave gift I'll gie to thee;
All betwene heir and Newcastle town
Sall pay chair yeirly rent to thee.'

Away, away, thou traytor, strang!
Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I'll not begin with thee.'

'Ye lied, ye lied, now, king,' he says,
'Althocht a king and prince ye be,
For I luid naithing in all my lyfe,
I dare well say it, but honesty;

'But a fat horse, and a fair woman,
Twa bony dogs to kill a deir:
But Ingland suld half found me meil and malt,
Gif I had livd this hundred yeir!

'Scho suld half found me meil and malt,
And beif and mutton in all plentie;
But neir a Scots wyfe could half said
That eir I skaithd her a pure flie.(3)

'To seik het water beneth cauld yce,
Surely it is a great folie;
I half asked grace at a graceless face,
But there is nane for my men and me.

'But had I kend, or I came free hame,
How thou unkynd wadst bene to me,
I wad half kept the border-syde,
In spyte of all they force and thee.

'Wist Englands king that I was tane,
O gin a blyth man wald he be!
For anes I slew his sisters son,
And on his breist-bane brak a tree.'

John wore a girdle about his midle,
Imbroidered owre with burning gold,
Bespangled with the same mettle,
Maist beautiful! was to behold.

Ther hang nine targets at Johnnies hat,
And ilk an worth three hundred pound:
'What wants that knave that a king suld haif,
But the sword of honour and the crown!

'O whair get thou these targets, Johnnie,
That blink see brawly abune thy brie?'
'I get them in the field fechting,
Wher, cruel king, thou durst not be.

'Had I my horse, and my harness gude,
And ryding as I wont to be,
It sould half bene tald this hundred yeir
The meiting of my king and me.

'God be withee, Kirsty, my brither,
Lang live thou Laird of Mangertoun!
Lang mayst thou live on the border-syde
Or thou se thy brither ryde up and doun.

'And God be withee, Kirsty, my son,
Whair thou sits on thy nurses knee!
But and thou live this hundred yeir,
Thy fathers better thoult never be.

'Farweil, my bonny Gilnock-Hall,
Whair on Esk-syde thou standest stout!
Gif I had lived but seven yeirs mair,
I wad haff gilt thee round about.'

John murdred was at Carlinrigg,
And all his galant companie,
But Scotlands heart was never sae wae,
To see sae mony brave men die.

Because they savd their country deir
Frae Englishmen; nane were sae bauld,
Whyle Johnnie livd on the border-syde,
Nane of them durst cum neir his hald.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Jew's Daughter

The rain rins doun through Mirry-land toune,
Sae dois it doune the Pa:
Sae dois the lads of Mirry-land toune,
Quhan they play at the ba'.

Than out and cam the Jewis dochter,
Said, 'Will ye cum in and dine?'
'I winnae cum in, I cannae cum in,
Without my play-feres nine.'

Scho powd an apple reid and white,
To intice the zong thing in:
Scho powd an apple white and reid,
And that the sweit bairne did win.

And scho has taine out a little penknife,
And low down by her gair;
Scho has twin'd the zong thing and his life;
A word he nevir spak mair.

And out and cam the thick, thick, bluid,
And out and cam the thin;
And out and cam the bonny herts bluid:
Thair was nae life left in.

Scho laid him on a dressing borde,
And drest him like a swine,
And laughing said, 'Gae nou and pley
With zour sweit play-feres nine.'

Scho rowd him in a cake of lead,
Bade him lie stil and sleip;
Scho cast him in a deip draw-well,
Was fifty fadom deip.

Quhan bells wer rung, and mass was sung,
And every lady went hame:
Than ilka lady had her zong sonne,
Bot Lady Helen had none.

Scho rowd hir mantil hir about,
And sair, sair gan she weip,
And she ran into the Jewis castel,
Quhan they were all asleip.

'My bonny Sir Hew, my pretty Sir Hew,
I pray thee to me speik:'
'O lady, rinn to the deip draw-well,
Gin ze zour zonne wad seik.'

Lady Helen ran to the deip draw-well,
And knelt upon her kne:
'My bonny Sir Hew, an ze be here,
I pray thee speik to me.'

'The lead is wondrous heavy, mither,
The well is wondrous deip;
A keen pen-knife sticks in my hert,
A word I dounae speik.

'Gae hame, gae hame, my mither deir,
Fetch me my windling sheet,
And at the back o' Mirry-land toun
Its thair we twa sall meet.'

poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Gil Morrice. A Scottish Ballad

Gil Morrice was an erles son,
His name it waxed wide:
It was nae for his great riches,
Nor zet was mickle pride;
Bot it was for a lady gay,
That livd on Carron side.

'Quhair sall I get a bonny boy,
That will win hose and shoen;
That will gae to Lord Barnard's ha',
And bid his lady cum?
And ze maun rin my errand, Willie,
And ze may rin wi' pride;
Quhen other boys gae on their foot,
On horse-back ze sall ride.'

'O no! O no! my master dear!
I dare nae for my life;
I'll no gae to the bauld barons,
For to triest furth his wife.'
'My bird Willie, my boy Willie,
My dear Willie,' he sayd:
'How can ze strive against the stream?
For I shall be obeyd.'

'Bot, O my master dear!' he cry'd,
'In grene wod ze're zour lain;
Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze rede,
For fear ze should be tain.'
'Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha',
Bid hir cum here wi speid:
If ze refuse my heigh command,
Ill gar zour body bleid.

'Gae bid hir take this gay mantel,
'Tis a gowd bot the hem;
Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode,
And bring nane bot hir lain:
And there it is, a silken sarke,
Hir ain hand sewd the sleive;
And bid hir cum to Gill Morice,
Speir nae bauld barons leave.'

'Yes, I will gae zour blacke errand,
Though it be to zour cost;
Sen ze by me well nae be warn'd,
In it ze sall find frost.
The baron he is a man of might,
He neir could bide to taunt;
As ze will see before it's nicht,
How sma' ze hae to vaunt.

'And sen I maun zour errand rin
Sae sair against my will,
I'se make a vow and keip it trow,
It sall be done for ill.'
And quhen he came to broken brigue,
He bent his bow and swam;
And quhen he came to grass growing,
Set down his feet and ran.

And quhen he came to Barnards ha',
Would neither chap nor ca';
Bot set his bent bow to his breist,
And lichtly lap the wa'.
He wauld nae tell the man his errand,
Bot straiht into the ha' he cam,
Quhair they were set at meit.

'Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame!
My message winna waite;
Dame, ze maun to the gude grene wod,
Before that it be late.

'Ze're bidden tak this gay mantel,
Tis a' gowd bot the hem:
Zou maun gae to the gude grene wode,
Ev'n by your sel alane.

'And there it is, a silken sarke,
Your ain hand sewd the sleive:
Ze maun gae speik to Gill Morice;
Speir nae bauld barons leave.'
The lady stamped wi' hir foot,
And winked wi' her ee;
Bot a' that she coud say or do,
Forbidden he wad nae bee.

'Its surely to my bow'r-woman;
It neir could be to me.'
'I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady;
I trow that ze be she.'
Then up and spack the wylie nurse,
(The bairn upon hir knee):
'If it be cum frae Gill Morice,
It' deir welcum to mee.'

'Ze leid, ze leid, ze filthy nurse,
Sae loud I heird ze lee;
I brocht it to Lord Barnards lady;
I trow ze be nae shee.'

Then up and spack the bauld baron,
An angry man was hee;
He's tain the table wi' his foot,
Sae has he wi' his knee,
Till siller cup and 'mazer' dish
In flinders he gard flee.

'Gae bring a robe of zour cliding
That hings upon the pin;
And I'll gae to the gude grene wode,
And speik wi' zour lemman.
'O bide at hame, now, Lord Barnard,
I warde ze bide at hame;
Neir wyte a man for violence,
That neir wate ze wi' nane.'

Gil Morice sate in gude grene wode,
He whistled and he sang:
'O what mean a' the folk coming?
His hair was like the threeds of gold,
Drawne frae Minerva's loome;
His lipps like roses drapping dew;
His breath was a' perfume.

His browe was like the mountains snae
Gilt by the morning beam;
His cheeks like living roses glow;
His een like azure stream.
The boy was clad in robes of grene,
Sweete as the infant spring;
And like the mavis on the bush,
He gart the vallies ring.

The baron came to the grene wode,
Wi' mickle dule and care,
And there he first spied Gill Morice
Kameing his zellow hair
That sweetly wavd around his face,
That face beyond compare;
He sang sae sweet, it might dispel
A' rage but fell despair.

'Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morice,
My lady loed thee weel;
The fairest part of my bodie
Is blacker than thy heel.
Zet neir the less now, Gill Morice,
For al' thy great beautie,
Ze's rew the day ze eir was born;
That head sall gae wi' me.'

Now he was drawn his trusty brand,
And slaited on the strae;
And thro' Gill Morice' fair body
He's gar cauld iron gae.
And he has tain Gill Morice' head
And set it on a speir:
The meanest man in a' his train
Has gotten that head to bear.

And he has tain Gill Morice up,
Laid him across his steid,
And brocht him to his painted bowr,
And laid him on a bed.

The lady sat on castil wa',
Beheld baith dale and doun;
And there she saw Gill Morice' head
Cum trailing to the toun.

'Far better I loe that bluidy head,
Both and that zellow hair,
Than Lord Barnard, and a' his lands,
As they lig here and thair.'
And she has tain her Gill Morice,
And kissd baith mouth and chin:
'I was once as fow of Gill Morice,
As the hip is o' the stean.

'I got ze in my father's house,
Wi' mickle sin and shame;
I brocht thee up in gude grene wode,
Under the heavy rain.
Oft have I by thy cradle sitten
And fondly seen thee sleip;
But now I gae about thy grave,
The saut tears for to weip.'

And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik,
And syne his bluidy chin:
'O better I loe my Gill Morice
Than a' my kith and kin!'
'Away, away, ze ill woman,
And an il deith mait ze dee:
Gin I had kend he'd bin zour son,
He'd neir bin slain for mee.'

'Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard!
Obraid me not for shame!
Wi' that saim speir, O pierce my heart!
And put me out o' pain.
Since nothing bot Gill Morice' head
Thy jealous rage could quell,
Let that saim hand now tak hir life
That neir to thee did ill.

'To me nae after days nor nichts
Will eir be saft or kind;
I'll fill the air with heavy sighs,
And greet till I am blind.'
'Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt,
Seek not zour death frae me;
I rather lourd it had been my sel
Than eather him or thee.

'With waefo wae I hear zour plaint;
Sair, sair I rew the deid,
That eir this cursed hand of mine
Had gard his body bleid.
Dry up zour tears, my winsome dame,
Ze neir can heal the wound;
Ze see his head upon the speir,
His heart's blude on the ground.

'I curse the hand that did the deid,
The heart that thocht the ill;
The feet that bore me wi' sik speid,
The comely zouth to kill.

I'll ay lament for Gill Morice,
As gin he were mine ain;
I'll neir forget the dreiry day
On which the zouth was slain.'

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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!

Waly, Waly

O WALY, waly, up the bank,
   And waly, waly, doun the brae,
And waly, waly, yon burn-side,
   Where I and my Love 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, gin love be bonnie
   A little time while it is new!
But when 'tis auld it waxeth cauld,
   And fades awa' like 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.

Now Arthur's Seat sall be my bed,
   The sheets sall ne'er be 'filed by me;
Saint Anton's well sall be my drink;
   Since my true Love has forsaken me.
Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
   And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
O gentle Death, when wilt thou come?
   For of my life I am wearìe.

'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.
When we cam in by Glasgow toun,
   We were a comely sicht to see;
My Love was clad in the black velvet,
   And I mysel in cramasie.

But had I wist, before I kist,
   That love had been sae ill to win,
I had lock'd my heart in a case o' gowd,
   And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin.
And O! 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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Edom o' Gordon

IT fell about the Martinmas,
   When the wind blew shrill and cauld,
Said Edom o' Gordon to his men,
   'We maun draw to a hauld.

'And what a hauld sall we draw to,
   My merry men and me?
We will gae to the house o' the Rodes,
   To see that fair ladye.'

The lady stood on her castle wa',
   Beheld baith dale and down;
There she was ware of a host of men
   Cam riding towards the town.

'O see ye not, my merry men a',
   O see ye not what I see?
Methinks I see a host of men;
   I marvel wha they be.'

She ween'd it had been her lovely lord,
   As he cam riding hame;
It was the traitor, Edom o' Gordon,
   Wha reck'd nae sin nor shame.

She had nae sooner buskit hersell,
   And putten on her gown,
But Edom o' Gordon an' his men
   Were round about the town.

They had nae sooner supper set,
   Nae sooner said the grace,
But Edom o' Gordon an' his men
   Were lighted about the place.

The lady ran up to her tower-head,
   Sae fast as she could hie,
To see if by her fair speeches
   She could wi' him agree.

'Come doun to me, ye lady gay,
   Come doun, come doun to me;
This night sall ye lig within mine arms,
   To-morrow my bride sall be.'

'I winna come down, ye fals Gordon,
   I winna come down to thee;
I winna forsake my ain dear lord,
   That is sae far frae me.'

'Gie owre your house, ye lady fair,
   Gie owre your house to me;
Or I sall brenn yoursel therein,
   But and your babies three.'

'I winna gie owre, ye fals Gordon,
   To nae sic traitor as yee;
And if ye brenn my ain dear babes,
   My lord sall mak ye dree.

'Now reach my pistol, Glaud, my man,
   And charge ye weel my gun;
For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher,
   My babes, we been undone!'

She stood upon her castle wa',
   And let twa bullets flee:
She miss'd that bluidy butcher's heart,
   And only razed his knee.

'Set fire to the house!' quo' fals Gordon,
   All wud wi' dule and ire:
'Fals lady, ye sall rue this deid
   As ye brenn in the fire!'

Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man!
   I paid ye weel your fee;
Why pu' ye out the grund-wa' stane,
   Lets in the reek to me?

'And e'en wae worth ye, Jock, my man!
   I paid ye weel your hire;
Why pu' ye out the grund-wa' stane,
   To me lets in the fire?'

'Ye paid me weel my hire, ladye,
   Ye paid me weel my fee:
But now I'm Edom o' Gordon's man--
   Maun either do or die.'

O then bespake her little son,
   Sat on the nurse's knee:
Says, 'Mither dear, gie owre this house,
   For the reek it smithers me.'

'I wad gie a' my gowd, my bairn,
   Sae wad I a' my fee,
For ae blast o' the western wind,
   To blaw the reek frae thee.'

O then bespake her dochter dear--
   She was baith jimp and sma':
'O row me in a pair o' sheets,
   And tow me owre the wa'!'

They row'd her in a pair o' sheets,
   And tow'd her owre the wa';
But on the point o' Gordon's spear
   She gat a deadly fa'.

O bonnie, bonnie was her mouth,
   And cherry were her cheiks,
And clear, clear was her yellow hair,
   Whereon the red blood dreips.

Then wi' his spear he turn'd her owre;
   O gin her face was wane!
He said, 'Ye are the first that e'er
   I wish'd alive again.'

He turn'd her owre and owre again;
   O gin her skin was white!
'I might hae spared that bonnie face
   To hae been some man's delight.

'Busk and boun, my merry men a',
   For ill dooms I do guess;
I canna look in that bonnie face
   As it lies on the grass.'

'Wha looks to freits, my master dear,
   It 's freits will follow them;
Let it ne'er be said that Edom o' Gordon
   Was daunted by a dame.'

But when the lady saw the fire
   Come flaming owre her head,
She wept, and kiss'd her children twain,
   Says, 'Bairns, we been but dead.'

The Gordon then his bugle blew,
   And said, 'Awa', awa'!
This house o' the Rodes is a' in a flame;
   I hauld it time to ga'.'

And this way lookit her ain dear lord,
   As he cam owre the lea;
He saw his castle a' in a lowe,
   As far as he could see.

The sair, O sair, his mind misgave,
   And all his heart was wae:
'Put on, put on, my wighty men,
   Sae fast as ye can gae.

'Put on, put on, my wighty men,
   Sae fast as ye can drie!
For he that 's hindmost o' the thrang
   Sall ne'er get good o' me.'

Then some they rade, and some they ran,
   Out-owre the grass and bent;
But ere the foremost could win up,
   Baith lady and babes were brent.

And after the Gordon he is gane,
   Sae fast as he might drie;
And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's blude
   He 's wroken his dear ladye.

poem by Anonymous
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Edward, Edward

'Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude,
Edward, Edward?
Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude
And why sae sad gang ye, O?'
'O I hae killed my hawk sae gude,
Mither, mither;
O I hae killed my hawk sae gude,
And I hae nae mair but he, O.'

'Your hawk's blude was never sae red,
Edward, Edward;
Your hawk's blude was never sae red,
My dear son, I tell thee, O.'
'O I hae killed my red-roan steed,
Mither, mither;
O I hae killed my red-roan steed,
That was sae fair and free, O.'

'Your steed was auld, and ye've plenty mair,
Edward, Edward;
Your steed was auld, and ye've plenty mair;
Some ither dule ye dree, O.'
'O I hae killed my father dear,
Mither, mither;
O I hae killed my father dear,
Alas, and wae is me, O!'

'And whatten penance will ye dree for that,
Edward, Edward?
Whatten penance will ye dree for that?
My dear son, now tell me, O.'
'I'll set my feet in yonder boat,
Mither, mither;
I'll set my feet in yonder boat,
And I'll fare over the sea, O.'

'And what will ye do wi' your tow'rs and your ha',
Edward, Edward?
And what will ye do wi' your tow'rs and your ha',
That were sae fair to see, O?'
'I'll let them stand till they doun fa',
Mither, mither;
I'll let them stand till they doun fa',
For here never mair maun I be, O.'

'And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,
Edward, Edward?
And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,
When ye gang ower the sea, O?'
'The warld's room: let them beg through life,
Mither, mither;
The warld's room: let them beg through life;
For them never mair will I see, O.'

'And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,
Edward, Edward?
And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,
My dear son, now tell me, O?'
'The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear,
Mither, mither;
The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear:
Sic counsels ye gave to me, O!'

poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Lord Thomas And Fair Annet

Lord Thomas and Fair Annet
Sate a' day on a hill;
Whan night was cum, and sun was sett,
They had not talkt their fill.

Lord Thomas said a word in jest,
Fair Annet took it ill:
'A, I will nevir wed a wife
Against my ain friend's will.'

'Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife,
A wife wull neir wed yee;'
Sae he is hame to tell his mither,
And knelt upon his knee.

'O rede, O rede, mither,' he says,
'A gude rede gie to mee;
O sall I tak the nut-browne bride,
And let Faire Annet bee?'

'The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear,
Fair Annet she has gat nane;
And the little beauty Fair Annet haes
O it wull soon be gane.'

And he has till his brother gane:
'Now, brother, rede ye mee;
A, sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And let Fair Annet bee?'

'The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother,
The nut-browne bride has kye;
I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,
And cast Fair Annet bye.'

'Her oxen may dye i' the house, billie,
And her kye into the byre;
And I sall hae nothing to mysell
Bot a fat fadge by the fyre.'

And he has till his sister gane:
'Now, sister, rede ye mee;
O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And set Fair Annet free?'

'I'se rede ye tak Fair Annet, Thomas,
And let the browne bride alane;
Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace,
What is this we brought hame!'

'No, I will tak my mither's counsel,
And marrie me owt o hand;
And I will tak the nut-browne bride,
Fair Annet may leive the land.'

Up then rose Fair Annet's father,
Twa hours or it wer day,
And he is gane unto the bower
Wherein Fair Annet lay.

'Rise up, rise up, Fair Annet,' he says
'Put on your silken sheene;
Let us gae to St. Marie's Kirke,
And see that rich weddeen.'

'My maides, gae to my dressing-roome,
And dress to me my hair;
Whaireir yee laid a plait before,
See yee lay ten times mair.

'My maids, gae to my dressing-room,
And dress to me my smock;
The one half is o the holland fine,
The other o needle-work.'

The horse Fair Annet rade upon,
He amblit like the wind;
Wi siller he was shod before,
Wi burning gowd behind.

Four and twanty siller bells
Wer a' tyed till his mane,
And yae tift o the norland wind,
They tinkled ane by ane.

Four and twanty gay gude knichts
Rade by Fair Annet's side,
And four and twanty fair ladies,
As gin she had bin a bride.

And whan she cam to Marie's Kirk,
She sat on Marie's stean:
The cleading that Fair Annet had on
It skinkled in their een.

And whan she cam into the kirk,
She shimmerd like the sun;
The belt that was about her waist
Was a' wi pearles bedone.

She sat her by the nut-browne bride,
And her een they wer sae clear,
Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,
When Fair Annet drew near.

He had a rose into his hand,
He gae it kisses three,
And reaching by the nut-browne bride,
Laid it on Fair Annet's knee.

Up then spak the nut-browne bride,
She spak wi meikle spite:
'And whair gat ye that rose-water,
That does mak yee sae white?'

'O I did get the rose-water
Whair ye wull neir get nane,
For I did get that very rose-water
Into my mither's wame.'

The bride she drew a long bodkin
Frae out her gay head-gear,
And strake Fair Annet unto the heart,
That word spak nevir mair.

Lord Thomas he saw Fair Annet wex pale,
And marvelit what mote bee;
But when he saw her dear heart's blude,
A' wood-wroth wexed bee.

He drew his dagger that was sae sharp,
That was sae sharp and meet,
And drave it into the nut-browne bride,
That fell deid at his feit.

'Now stay for me, dear Annet,' he sed,
'Now stay, my dear,' he cry'd;
Then strake the dagger untill his heart,
And fell deid by her side.

Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa,
Fair Annet within the quiere,
And o the ane thair grew a birk,
The other a bonny briere.

And ay they grew, and ay they threw,
As they wad faine be neare;
And by this ye may ken right weil
They were twa luvers deare.

poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Battle Of Harlaw--Evergreen Version

Frae Dunidier as I cam throuch,
Doun by the hill of Banochie,
Allangst the lands of Garioch.
Grit pitie was to heir and se
The noys and dulesum hermonie,
That evir that dreiry day did daw!
Cryand the corynoch on hie,
Alas! alas! for the Harlaw.

I marvlit what the matter meant;
All folks were in a fiery fariy:
I wist nocht wha was fae or freind,
Yet quietly I did me carrie.
But sen the days of auld King Hairy,
Sic slauchter was not hard nor sene,
And thair I had nae tyme to tairy,
For bissiness in Aberdene.

Thus as I walkit on the way,
To Inverury as I went,
I met a man, and bad him stay,
Requeisting him to mak me quaint
Of the beginning and the event
That happenit thair at the Harlaw;
Then he entreited me to tak tent,
And he the truth sould to me schaw.

Grit Donald of the Ysles did claim
Unto the lands of Ross sum richt,
And to the governour he came,
Them for to haif, gif that he micht,
Wha saw his interest was but slicht,
And thairfore answerit with disdain.
He hastit hame baith day and nicht,
And sent nae bodward back again.

But Donald richt impatient
Of that answer Duke Robert gaif,
He vow'd to God Omniyotent,
All the hale lands of Ross to half,
Or ells be graithed in his graif:
He wald not quat his richt for nocht,
Nor be abusit like a slaif;
That bargin sould be deirly bocht.

Then haistylie he did command
That all his weir-men should convene;
Ilk an well harnisit frae hand,
To melt and heir what he did mein.
He waxit wrath and vowit tein;
Sweirand he wald surpryse the North,
Subdew the brugh of Aberdene,
Mearns, Angus, and all Fyfe to Forth.

Thus with the weir-men of the yles,
Wha war ay at his bidding bown,
With money maid, with forss and wyls,
Richt far and neir, baith up and doun,
Throw mount and muir, frae town to town,
Allangst the lands of Ross he roars,
And all obey'd at his bandown,
Evin frae the North to Suthren shoars.

Then all the countrie men did yield;
For nae resistans durst they mak,
Nor offer batill in the feild,
Be forss of arms to beir him bak.
Syne they resolvit all and spak,
That best it was for thair behoif,
They sould him for thair chiftain tak,
Believing weil he did them luve.

Then he a proclamation maid,
All men to meet at Inverness,
Throw Murray land to mak a raid,
Frae Arthursyre unto Spey-ness.
And further mair, he sent express,
To schaw his collours and ensenzie,
To all and sindry, mair and less,
Throchout the bounds of Byne and Enzie.

And then throw fair Strathbogie land
His purpose was for to pursew,
And whatsoevir durst gainstand,
That race they should full sairly rew.
Then he bad all his men be trew,
And him defend by forss and slicht,
And promist them rewardis anew,
And mak them men of mekle micht.

Without resistans, as he said,
Throw all these parts he stoutly past,
Where sum war wae, and sum war glaid,
But Garioch was all agast.
Throw all these feilds be sped him fast,
For sic a sicht was never sene;
And then, forsuith, he langd at last
To se the bruch of Aberdene.

To hinder this prowd enterprise,
The stout and michty Erl of Marr
With all his men in arms did ryse,
Even frae Curgarf to Craigyvar:
And down the syde of Don richt far,
Angus and Mearns did all convene
To fecht, or Donald came sae nar
The ryall bruch of Aberdene.

And thus the martial Erle of Marr
Marcht with his men in richt array;
Befoir his enemis was aware,
His banner bauldly did display.
For weil enewch they kent the way,
And all their semblance well they saw:
Without all dangir or delay,
Come haistily to the Harlaw.

With him the braif Lord Ogilvy,
Of Angus sheriff principall,
The constable of gude Dunde,
The vanguard led before them all.
Suppose in number they war small,
Thay first richt bauldlie did pursew,
And maid thair faes befor them fall,
Wha then that race did sairly rew.

And then the worthy Lord Salton,
The strong undoubted Laird of Drum,
The stalwart Laird of Lawristone,
With ilk thair forces all and sum.
Panmuir with all his men, did cum,
The provost of braif Aberdene,
With trumpets and with tuick of drum,
Came schortly in thair armour schene.

These with the Earle of Marr came on,
In the reir-ward richt orderlie,
Thair enemies to sett upon;
In awfull manner hardilie,
Togither vowit to live and die,
Since they had marchit mony mylis,
For to suppress the tyrannie
Of douted Donald of the Ysles.

But he, in number ten to ane,
Right subtile alang did ryde,
With Malcomtosch, and fell Maclean,
With all thair power at thair syde;
Presumeand on their strenth and pryde,
Without all feir or ony aw,
Richt bauldie battil did abyde,
Hard by the town of fair Harlaw.

The armies met, the trumpet sounds,
The dandring drums alloud did touk,
Baith armies byding on the bounds,
Till ane of them the feild sould bruik.
Nae help was thairfor, nane wald jouk,
Ferss was the fecht on ilka syde,
And on the ground lay mony a bouk
Of them that thair did battil byd.

With doutsum victorie they dealt,
The bludy battil lastit lang;
Each man fits nibours forss thair felt,
The weakest aft-tymes gat the wrang:
Thair was nae mowis thair them amang,
Naithing was hard but heavy knocks,
That eccho mad a dulefull sang,
Thairto resounding frae the rocks.

But Donalds men at last gaif back,
For they war all out of array:
The Earl of Marris men throw them brak,
Pursewing shairply in thair way,
Thair enemys to tak or slay,
Be dynt of forss to gar them yield;
Wha war richt blyth to win away,
And sae for feirdness tint the feild.

Then Donald fled, and that full fast,
To mountains hich for all his micht;
For he and his war all agast,
And ran till they war out of sicht;
And sae of Ross he lost his richt,
Thocht mony men with hem he brocht;
Towards the yles fled day and nicht,
And all he wan was deirlie bocht.

This is (quod he) the richt report
Of all that I did heir and knaw;
Thocht my discourse be sumthing schort,
Tak this to be a richt suthe saw:
Contrairie God and the kings law,
Thair was spilt mekle Christian blude,
Into the battil of Harlaw:
This is the sum, sae I conclude.

But yet a bonnie while abide,
And I sall mak thee cleirly ken
What slaughter was on ilkay syde,
Of Lowland and of Highland men,
Wha for thair awin haif evir bene;
These lazie lowns micht weil be spared,
Chased like deers into their dens,
And gat their wages for reward.

Malcomtosh, of the clan heid-cheif,
Macklean with his grit hauchty heid,
With all thair succour and relief,
War dulefully dung to the deid;
And now we are freid of thair feid,
They will not lang to cum again;
Thousands with them, without remeid,
On Donald's syd, that day war slain.

And on the uther syde war lost,
Into the feild that dismal day,
Chief men of worth, of mekle cost,
To be lamentit sair for ay.
The Lord Saltoun of Rothemay,
A man of micht and mekle main;
Grit dolour was for his decay,
That sae unhappylie was slain.

Of the best men amang them was
The gracious gude Lord Ogilvy,
The sheriff-principal of Angus,
Renownit for truth and equitie,
For faith and magnanimitie;
He had few fallows in the field,
Yet fell by fatall destinie,
For he naeways wad grant to yield.

Sir James Scrimgeor of Duddap, knicht,
Grit constabill of fair Dunde,
Unto the dulefull deith was dicht;
The kingis cheif bannerman was he,
A valiant man of chevalrie,
Whose predecessors wan that place
At Spey, with gude King William frie
'Gainst Murray, and Macduncan's race.

Gude Sir Allexander Irving,
The much renowit laird of Drum,
Nane in his days was bettir sene
When they war semblit all and sum.
To praise him we sould not be dumm,
For valour, witt, and worthyness;
To end his days he ther did cum
Whose ransom is remeidyless.

And thair the knicht of Lawriston
Was slain into his armour schene,
And gude Sir Robert Davidson,
Wha provost was of Aberdene:
The knicht of Panmure, as was sene,
A mortall man in armour bricht,
Sir Thomas Murray, stout and kene,
Left to the warld thair last gude nicht.

Thair was not sen King Keneths days
Sic strange intestine crewel stryf
In Scotland sene, as ilk man says,
Whare mony liklie lost thair lyfe;
Whilk maid divorce twene man and wyfe,
And mony childrene fatherless,
Whilk in this realme has bene full ryfe:
Lord help these lands, our wrangs redress.

In July, on Saint James his even,
That four and twenty dismall day,
Twelve hundred, ten score and eleven
Of theirs sen Chryst, the suthe to say,
Men will remember, as they may,
When thus the ventie they knaw,
And mony a ane may murn for ay,
The brim battil of the Harlaw.

poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Brus Book VII

[The king escapes from the hound]

The king towart the wod is gane
Wery forswayt and will of wane
Intill the wod sone entryt he
And held doun towart a vale
5 Quhar throu the woid a watter ran.
Thidder in gret hy wend he than
And begouth for to rest him thar
And said he mycht no forthirmar.
His man said, 'Schyr, it may nocht be.
10 Abyd ye her ye sall son se
Fyve hunder yarnand you to sla,
And thai ar fele aganys us twa.
And sen we may nocht dele with mycht
Help us all that we may with slycht.'
15 The king said, 'Sen that thou will sua,
Ga furth, and I sall with the ga.
Bot Ik haiff herd oftymys say
That quha endlang a watter ay
Wald waid a bow-draucht he suld ger
20 Bathe the slouth-hund and his leder
Tyne the sleuth men gert him ta.
Prove we giff it will now do sa,
For war yone devillis hund away
I roucht nocht off the lave perfay.'
25 As he dyvisyt thai haiff doyn
And entryt in the watter sone
And held down endlang thar way,
And syne to the land yeid thai
And held thar way as thai did er.
30 And Jhone off Lorn with gret affer
Come with hys rout rycht to the place
Quhar that his fyve men slane was.
He menyt thaim quhen he thaim saw
And said eftre a litill thraw
35 That he suld veng thar bloude,
Bot otherwayis the gamyn youde.
Thar wald he mak na mar dwelling
Bot furth in hy folowit the king.
Rycht to the burn thai passyt war,
40 Bot the sleuth-hund maid styntyn thar
And waveryt lang tyme to and fra
That he na certane gate couth ga,
Till at the last that Jhon of Lorn
Persavyt the hund the slouth had lorn
45 And said, 'We haiff tynt this travaill.
To pas forthyr may nocht availe
For the void is bath braid and wid
And he is weill fer be this tid,
Tharfor is gud we turn agayn
50 And waist no mar travaill in vayne.'
With that relyit he his mengye
And his way to the ost tuk he.

[An alternative account of the escape]

Thus eschapyt the nobill king,
Bot sum men sayis this eschaping
55 Apon ane other maner fell
Than throu the wading, for thai tell
That the king a gud archer had,
And quhen he saw his lord sua stad
That he wes left sa anerly
60 He ran on sid alwayis him by
Till he into the woude wes gane.
Than said he till him selff allane
That he arest rycht thar wald ma
To luk giff he the hund mycht sla,
65 For giff the hund mycht lest in lyve
He wyst rycht weile that thai wald dryve
The kingis trace till thai him ta,
Than wyst he weile thai wald him sla.
And for bhe wald his lord succur
70 He put his liff in aventur,
And stud intill a busk lurkand
Till that the hund come at his hand
And with ane arow sone him slew
And throu the woud syne him withdrew.
75 Bot quhether this eschaping fell
As I tauld fyrst or I now tell,
I wate weill without lesing
That at the burn eschapyt the king.

[Three men with a wethertry to kill the king
and kill his foster-brother]

The king has furth his wayis tane,
80 And Jhon of Lorn agayne is gane
To Schyr Aymer that fra the chace
With his men repayryt was
That sped lytill in thar chassyng
Thoucht at thai maid gret folowing
85 Full egrely thai wan bot small,
Thar fayis ner eschapyt all.
Men sayis Schyr Thomas Randell than
Chassand the kingis baner wan,
Quharthrou in Ingland with the king
90 He had rycht gret price and loving.
Quhen the chasseris relyit war
And Jhon of Lorn had met thaim thar
He tauld Schyr Aymer all the cas,
How that the king eschapyt was
95 And how that he his fyve men slew
And syne to the wode him drew.
Quhen Schyr Aymer herd this, in hy
He sanyt him for the ferly
And said, 'He is gretly to prys,
100 For I knaw nane that liffand is
That at myscheyff gan help him sua.
I trow he suld be hard to sla
And he war bodyn evynly.'
On this wis spak Schyr Aymery,
105 And the gud king held furth his way
Betwix him and his man quhill thai
Passyt out throu the forest war.
Syne in the more thai entryt ar
That wes bathe hey and lang and braid,
110 And or thai halff it passyt had
Thai saw on syd the men cummand
Lik to lycht men and waverand,
Swerdis thai had and axiys als
And ane off thaim apon his hals
115 A mekill boundyn wether bar.
Thai met the king and halist him thar,
And the king tthaim thar hailsing yauld
And askyt thaim quhether thai wauld.
Thai said Robert the Bruys thai socht,
120 For mete with him giff that thai moucht
Thar dwelling with him wauld thai ma.
The king said, 'Giff that ye will sua,
Haldys furth your way with me
And I sall ger you sone him se.'
125 Thai persavyt be his speking
That he wes the selvyn Robert king,
And chaungyt contenance and late
And held nocht in the fyrst state,
For thai war fayis to the king
130 And thocht to cum into Sculking
And dwell with him quhill that thai saw
Thar poynt, and bryng him than off daw.
Thai grantyt till his spek forthi,
Bot the king that wes witty
135 Persavyt weill be thar having
that thai luffyt him nathing
And said, 'Falowis, ye mon all thre,
Forthir aquent till that we be,
All be yourselvyn forrouth ga,
140 And on the samyn wys we twa
Sall folow behind weill ner.'
Quod thai, 'Schyr, it is na myster
To trow in us ony ill.'
'Nane do I,' said he, 'bot I will
145 That yhe ga forrourth thus quhill we
Better with othyr knawin be.'
'We grant,' thai said, 'sen ye will sua.'
And furth apon thar gate gan ga.
Thus yeid thai till the nycht wes ner,
150 And than the formast cummyn wer
Till a waist husbandis hous, and thar
Thai slew the wethir that thai bar
And slew fyr for to rost thar mete,
And askyt the king giff he wald ete
155 And rest him till the mete war dycht.
The king that hungry was, Ik hycht,
Assentyt till thar spek in hy,
Bot he said he wald anerly
Betwix him and his fallow be
160 At a fyr, and thai all thre
In the end off the hous suld ma
Ane other fyr, and thai did sua.
Thai drew thaim in the hous end
And halff the wethir till him send.
165 And thai rostyt in hy thar mete
And fell rycht freschly for till ete,
For the king weill lang fastyt had
And had rycht mekill travaill mad,
Tharfor he eyt full egrely
170 And quhen he had etyn hastily
He had to slep sa mekill will
That he mocht set na let thartill,
For quhen the vanys fillyt ar
Men worthys hevy evermar
175 And to slepe drawys hevynes.
The king that all fortravaillyt wes
Saw that him worthyt slep nedwayis.
Till his foser-broder he sayis,
'May I traist in the me to waik
180 Till Ik a litill sleping tak.'
'Ya, schyr,' he said, 'till I may dre.'
The kingbthen wynkyt a litill wey,
And slepyt nocht full encrely
Bot gliffnyt up oft sodanly,
185 For he had dreid of thai thre men
That at the tother fyr war then.
That thai his fais war he wyst,
Tharfor he slepyt as foule on twyst.
The king slepyt bot a litill than
190 Quhen sic slep fell on his man
That he mycht nocht hald up his ey,
Bot fell in slep and rowtyt hey.
Now is the king in gret perile
For slep he sua a litill quhile
195 He sall be ded fotoutyn dreid,
For the thre tratouris tuk gud heid
that he on slep wes and his man.
In full gret hy thai rais up than
And drew thar swerdis hastily
200 And went towart the king in hy
Quhen that thai saw him sleip sua,
And slepand thocht thai wald him sla.
Till him thai yeid a full gret pas, 203*
Bot in that tym throu Goddis grace 204*
205 The king up blenkit hastily 203
And saw his man slepand him by
And saw cummand the tother thre.
Deliverly on fut gat he
And drew his swerd out and thaim mete,
210 And as he yude his fute he set 208
Apon his man weill hevily.
He waknyt and rais disily,
For the slep maistryt hym sway
That or he gat up ane off thai
215 That com for to sla the king 213
Gaiff hym a strak in his rysing
Sua that he mycht help him no mar.
The king sa straitly stad wes thar
That he wes never yeit sa stad,
220 Ne war the armyng that he had 218
He had bene dede foroutyn wer.
Bot nocht-forthi on sic maner
He helpyt him in that bargane
That thai thre tratouris he has slan
225 Throu Goddis grace and his manheid. 223
Hys fostyr brother thar wes dede,
Then wes he wondre will of wayn
Quhen he saw him left allane.
His foster broder meny he
230 And waryit all the tother thre, 228
And syne his way tuk him allane
And rycht towart his tryst is gane.

[The king goes to a house, where the goodwife gives him her two sons;
he meets his companions and they take an enemy force in a
village by surprise]

The king went furth way and angri
Menand his man full tenderly
235 And held his way all him allane, 233
And rycht towart the hous is gan
Quhar he set tryst to meit his men.
It wes weill inwyth nycht be then,
He come sone in the hous and fand
240 The houswyff on the benk sittand 238
That askit him quhat he was
And quhen he come and quethir he gais.
'A travailland man, dame,' said he,
'That travaillys throu the contre.'
245 Scho said, 'All that travailland er 243
For ane his sak ar welcum her.'
The king said, 'Gud dame, quhat is he
That gerris you haiff sik specialte
To men that travaillis?' 'Schyr, perfay,'
250 Quod the gud-wyff, 'Isall you say, 248
The King Robert the Bruys is he,
That is rycht lord off this countre.
His fayis now haldis him in thrang,
Bot I think to se or ocht lang
255 Him lord and king our all the land 253
That na fayis sall him withstand.'
'Dame, luffis thou him sa weil,' said he.
'Ya, schyr,' said scho, 'sa God me se.'
'Dame,' said he, 'hym her the by,
260 For Ik am he, I say the soithly, 258
Yha certis, dame.' 'And quhar ar gane
Your men quhen ye ar thus allane?'
'At this tyme, dame, Ik haiff no ma.'
Scho said, 'It may na wys be swa.
265 Ik haiff twa sonnys wycht and hardy, 263
Thai sall becum your men in hy.'
As scho divisyt thai haiff done,
His sworn men become thai sone.
The wyff syn gert him syt and ete,
270 Bot he has schort quhile at the mete 268
Syttyn quhen he hard gret stamping
About the hous, then but letting
Thai stert up the hous for to defende,
Bot sone eftre the king has kend
275 James off Douglas. Than wes he blyth 273
And bad oppyn the durris swyth
And thai come in all that thar war.
Schyr Edward the Bruce wes thar,
And James alsua off Douglas
280 That wes eschapyt fra the chace 278
And with the kingis brother met,
Syn to the tryst that thaim wes set
Thai sped thaim with thar cumpany
That wer ane hunder and weile fyfty.
285 And quhen that thai haiff sene the king 283
Thai war joyfull of thar meting
And askyt how that he eschapyt was,
And he thaim tauld all hale the cas.
How the fyve men him pressyt fast,
290 And how he throu the water past, 288
And how he met the thevis thre
And how he slepand slane suld be
Quhen he waknyt throu Goddis grace
And how his foster brodyr was
295 Slayne he tauld thaim all haly. 293
Than lovyt thai God commounly
That tthar lord wes eschapyt sua,
Than spak thai wordis to and fra
Till at the last the king gan say
300 'Fortoun us travaillyt fast today 298
That scalyt us sa sodanly.
Our fayis tonycht sall ly traistly
For thai trow we so scalit ar *301
And fled to-waverand her and thar *302
305 That we sall nocht thir dayis thre *303
All togiddir assemblit be. *304
Tharfor this nycht thai sall trastly *305
But wachys tak thar ese and ly. 301
Quharfor quha knew thar herbery
310 And wald cum on thaim sodanly 303
With few mengye mycht thaim scaith
And eschape foroutyn waith.'
'Perfay,' quod James of Douglas,
'As I come hyddyrwart per cas
315 I come sa ner thar herbery 308
That I can bring you quhar thai ly,
And wald ye speid you yeit or day
It may sua happin that we may
Do thaim a gretar scaith weile sone
320 Than thai us all day has done, 313
For thai ly scalyt as thaim lest.'
Than thocht thaim all it wes the best
To sped thaim to thaim hastily,
And thai did sua in full gret hy
325 And come on thaim in the dawing 318
Rycht as the day begouth to spryng.
Sa fell it that a cumpany
Had in a toun tane thar herbery
Weile fra the ost a myle or mar,
330 Men said that thai twa hunder war. 323
Thar assemblyt the nobill king,
And sone eftre thar assembling
Thai that slepand assaylyt war
Rycht hidwysly gan cry and rar,
335 And other sum that herd the cry 328
Ras sa rycht effrayitly
That sum of thaim nakit war
Fleand to warand her and thar,
and sum his armys with him drew,
340 And thai foroutyn mercy thaim slew 333
And sa evyll vengeance can ta
That the twa partis of thaim and ma
War slayn rycht in that ilk sted,
Till thar oist the remanand fled.
345 The oyst that hard the noyis and cry 338
And saw thar men sua wrechytly
Sum nakit fleand her and thar,
Sum all hale, sum woundyt sar,
Into full gret effray thai rais
350 And ilk man till his baner gays 343
Sua that tthe oyst wes all on ster.
The king and thai that with him wer
Quhen on ster the oyst saw sua
Towart thar warand gan thai ga,
355 And thar in savete com thai 348
And quhen Schyr Aymer herd say
How that the king thar men had slayn
And how that thai turnyt war agayn
He said, 'Now may we clerly se
360 That nobill hart quharever it be 353
It is hard till ourcum throu maystri,
For quhar ane hart is rycht worthy
Agayne stoutnes it is ay stoute,
Na as I trow thar may na doute
365 Ger it all-out dis cumfyt be 358
Quhill body levand is and fre,
As be this melle may be sene.
We wend Robert the Bruce had bene
Sua discomfyt that be gud skill
370 He suld nother haiff haid hart ne will 363
Swilk juperty till undreta
For he put was at undre sua
That he wes left all him allane
And all his folk war fra him gayn,
375 And he sagat fortravaillyt 368
To put thaim off that him assaylit
That he suld haiff yarnyt resting
This nycht atour all other thing.
Bot his hart fillyt is off bounte
380 Sua that it vencusyt may nocht be.' 373

[The king goes hunting and is attacked by three men beside a wood]

On this wys spak Schyr Aymery,
And quhen thai off his cumpany
Saw how thai travaillit had in vayn
And how the king thar men had slayn
385 And that his wes gane all fre, 378
Thaim thocht it wes a nycete
For to mak thar langer dwelling
Sen thai mycht nocht anoy the king,
And said that to Schyr Amery,
390 That umbethocht him hastily 383
That he to Carlele wald ga
And a quhill tharin sojourn ma
And haff his spyis on the king
To knaw alwayis his contenyng,
395 And quhen that he his poynt mycht se 388
He thocht that with a gret menye
He suld schute apon him sudanly.
Tharfor with all his cumpany
Till Ingland he the way has tane,
400 And ilk man till his hous is gane. 393
In hy till Carlele wesnt is he
And tharin thinkys for till be
Till he his poynt saw off the king,
That then with all his gaderring
405 Wes in Carryk quhar umbestount 398
He wald went with his men til hunt.
Sa happynyt that on a day
He went till hunt for till assay
Quhat gamyn was in that countre,
410 And sua hapnyt that day that he 403
By a woud-syd to sett is gane
With his twa hundys him allane,
Bot his swerd ay with him bar.
He had bot schort quhile syttyn thar
415 Quhen he saw fra the woud cummand 408
Thre men with bowys in thar hand
That towart him come spedely,
And he that persayvyt in hy
Be thar affer and thar having
420 That thai luffyt him nakyn thing, 413
He rais and his leysche till him drew he
And leyte hys hundis gang all fre.
God help the king now for his mycht,
For bot he now be wys and wycht
425 He sall be set in mekill pres, 418
For thai thre men foroutyn les
War his fayis all utrely,
And wachyt him sa bysyly
To se quhen thai vengeance mycht tak
430 Off the king for Jhon Comyn his sak 423
That thai thocht than thai layser had.
And sen he hym allane wes stad
In hy thai thocht thai suld him sla,
And gyff that thai mycht chevys sua
435 Fra that thai the king had slayn 428
THat thai mycht wyn the woud agayn,
His men thaim thocht thai suld nocht dred.
In hy towart the king thai yeid
and bent thar bowys quhen thai war ner,
440 And he that dred on gret maner 433
thar arowys, for he nakyt was,
In hy a speking to thaim mais
And said, 'You aucht to schame perde
Sen ik am ane and ye ar thre
445 For to schute at me apon fer. 438
Bot had ye hardyment to cum ner
And with your swerdis till assay,
Wyn me apon sic wys giff ye may,
Ye sall wele oute mar prisyt be.'
450 'Perfay,' quod ane than off the thre 443
'Sall na man say we dred the sua
That we with arowys sall the sla.'
With that thar bowys away thai kest
And come on fast but langer frest.
455 The king thaim met full hardyly 448
And smate the fyrst sa vygorusly
that he fell dede doun on the gren.
And quhen the kingis hund has sene
Thai men assailye his maister sua
460 He lap till ane and gan him ta 453
Rycht be the nek full sturdyly.
Till top our tale he gert him ly,
And the king that his swerd out had
Saw he sa fayr succour him maid.
465 Or he that fallyn wes mycht rys 458
He him assayllyt on sic wys
That he the bak strak evyn in twa.
The thrid that saw his falowis sua
Foroutyn recoveryng be slayne
470 Tok to the wod his way agane, 463
Bot the king folowit spedyly,
And als the hund that wes him by
Wquhen he the man saw fle him fra
Schot till him sone and gan him ta
475 Rycht be the nek and till him dreuch 468
And the king that wes ner yneucht
In his ryssing sik rowt him gaff
That stane-dede to the erd he draff.
The kingis men that wer than ner
480 Quhen that thai saw on sic maner 473
The king assailyt sa sodanly
Thai sped towart him in hy
And askyt how that cas befell,
And he all haly gan thaim tell
485 How thai assaillyt him all thre 478
'Perfay,' quod thai, 'we may wele se
That it is hard till undretak
Sic melling with you to mak
That sua smertly has slayn tthir thre
490 Foroutyn hurt.' 'Perfay,' said he, 483
I slew bot ane forouten ma
God and my hund has slayn the twa.
Thar tresoun combryt thaim perfay
For rycht wycht men all thre war thai.'

[The king goes to Glen Trool; Valence follows him there]

495 Quhen that the king throu Goddis grace 488
On this maner eschapyt was
He blew his horn and then in hy
His gud men till him gan rely,
tthen hamwartis buskyt he to far
500 For that day wald he hunt no mar. 493
In Glentruell all a quhile he lay,
And went weyle oft to hunt and play
For to purches thaim venesoun,
For than der war in sesoun.
505 In all that tyme Schyr Aymery 498
With nobill men in cumpany
Lay in Carlele hys poynt to se,
And quhen he hard the certante
That in Glentrewle wes the king
510 And went till hunt and till playing, 503
He thocht with hys chevalry
To cum apon him sodanly
And fra Carlele on nychtys ryd
And in covert on dayis bid,
515 And swagate with sic tranonting 508
He thocht he suld suppris the king.
He assemblyt a gret mengne
Off folk off full gud renomme
Bath off Scottis and Inglis-men.
520 Thar way all samyn held thai then 513
And raid on nycht sa prevely
Till thai come in a wod ner by
Glentruele, quhar logyt wes the king
That wyst rycht nocht off thar cummyng.
525 Into gret perile now is he, 518
For bot God throu his gret powste
Save him he sall be slayne or tane,
For thai war sex quhar he wes ane.

[Valence sends a woman ahead to spy, but she is discovered;
Valence attacks and is discumfitted; his captains quarrel]

Quhen Schyr Amery, as Ik haiff tauld
530 With his men that war stout and bauld 523
Wes cummyn sa ner the king that thai
War bot a myle fra him away
He tuk avisement with his menm
On quhat maner thai suld do then.
535 For he said thaim that the king was 528
Logyt into sa strayt a place
That horsmen mycht nocht him assaile
And giff futemen gaiff him bataile
He suld be hard to wyn giff he
540 Off thar cummyng may wytteryt be. 533
'Tharfor I rede all prevely
We send a woman him to spy
That pouerly arrayit be.
Scho may ask mete per cherite
545 And se thar convyn halily 538
And apon quhat maner thai ly,
The quhilis we and our menye
Cumand out-throu the wode may be
On fute all armyt as we ar.
550 May we do sua that we cum thar 543
On thaim or thai wyt our cummyng
We sall fynd in thaim na sturting.'
This consaill thocht thaim wes to best,
Then send thai furth but langer frest
555 The woman that suld be thar spy, 548
And scho hyr way gan hald in hy
Rycht to the logis quhar the king
That had na drede of supprising
Yheid unarmyt mery and blyth.
560 The woman has he sene alswyth, 553
He saw hyr uncouth and forthi
He beheld hyr mar encrely,
And be hyr ccontenance him thocht
That for gud cummyn was scho nocht.
565 Then gert he men in hy hyr ta, 558
And scho that dred men suld hyr sla
Tauld how that Schyr Amery
With the Cliffurd in cumpany
With the flour off Northummyrland
570 War cummand on thaim at thar hand. 563
Quhen that the king herd that tithing
He armyt him but mar dwelling,
Sa did thai all that ever wes thar,
Syne in a sop assemblyt ar,
575 I trow thai war thre hunder ner. 568
And quhen thai all assemblit wer
The king his baner gert display
And set his men in gud aray,
Bot thai had standyn bot a thraw
580 Rycht at thar hand quhen that thai saw 573
Thar fayis throu the wod cummand
Armyt on fute with sper in hand
That sped thaim full enforcely.
The noyis begouth sone and the cry,
585 For the gud king that formast was 578
Stoutly towart his fayis gays,
And hynt out off a mannys hand
That ner besyd him wes gangand
A bow and a braid arow als,
590 And hyt the formast in the hals 583
Till thropill and wesand yeid in twa
And doun till the erd gan ga.
The laiff with that maid a stopping,
Than but mar bad the nobill king
595 Hynt fra his baneour his banar 588
And said, 'Apon thaim, for thai ar
Discumfyt all.' With that word
He swappyt swiftly out his sword
And on thaim ran sa hardely
600 That all thai off his cumpany 593
Tuk hardyment off his gud deid,
For sum that fryst thar wayis yeid
Agayne come to the fycht in hy
And met thair fayis vigorusly
605 That all the formast ruschyt war, 598
And quhen thai that war hendermar
Saw that the formast left the sted
Thai tornyt sone the bak and fled
And out off the wod thaim withdrew.
610 The king a few men off thaim slew 603
For thai rycht sone thar gat gan ga.
It discomfortyt thaim all sua
That the king with his mengne was
All armyt to defend that place
615 that thai wend throu thar tranonting 608
Till haiff wonnyn foroutyn fechtin
That thai effrayit war sodanly,
And he thaim soucht sa angyrly
That thai in full gret hy agane
620 Out off the wod rane to the plane 613
For thaim faillyt off thar entent.
Thai war that tyme sa foully schent
That fyften hunder men and ma
With a few mengne war reboytyt sua
625 That thai withdrew thaim schamfully. 618
Tharfor amang thaim sodanly
Thar rais debate and gret distance,
Ilkan wytt other off thar myschance.
Cliffurd and Waus maid a melle
630 Quhar Cliffurd raucht him a cole 623
And athir syne drew till partys,
Bot Schyr Aymer that wes wys
Departyt thaim with mekill payn,
And went till Ingland hame again.
635 He wyst fra stryff ras thaim amang 628
He suld thaim nocht hals samyn lang
Foroutyn debate or melle,
Tharfor till Ingland turnyt he
Eith mar schame then he went of ton,
640 Quhen sa mony off sic renone 633
Saw sa few men bid thaim battaill
Quhair thai ne war hardy till assaile.

poem by John Barbour
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Edward, Edward

'WHY does your brand sae drop wi' blude,
   Edward, Edward?
Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude,
   And why sae sad gang ye, O?'
'O I hae kill'd my hawk sae gude,
   Mither, mither;
O I hae kill'd my hawk sae gude,
   And I had nae mair but he, O.'

'Your hawk's blude was never sae red,
   Edward, Edward;
Your hawk's blude was never sae red,
   My dear son, I tell thee, O.'
'O I hae kill'd my red-roan steed,
   Mither, mither;
O I hae kill'd my red-roan steed,
   That erst was sae fair and free, O.'

'Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair,
   Edward, Edward;
Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair;
   Some other dule ye dree, O.'
'O I hae kill'd my father dear,
   Mither, mither;
O I hae kill'd my father dear,
   Alas, and wae is me, O!'

'And whatten penance will ye dree for that,
   Edward, Edward?
Whatten penance will ye dree for that?
   My dear son, now tell me, O.'
'I'll set my feet in yonder boat,
   Mither, mither;
I'll set my feet in yonder boat,
   And I'll fare over the sea, O.'

'And what will ye do wi' your tow'rs and your ha',
   Edward, Edward?
And what will ye do wi' your tow'rs and your ha',
   That were sae fair to see, O?'
'I'll let them stand till they doun fa',
   Mither, mither;
I'll let them stand till they doun fa',
   For here never mair maun I be, O.'

'And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,
   Edward, Edward?
And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,
   When ye gang owre the sea, O?'
'The warld's room: let them beg through life,
   Mither, mither;
The warld's room: let them beg through life;
   For them never mair will I see, O.'

'And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,
   Edward, Edward?
And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,
   My dear son, now tell me, O?'

'The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear,
   Mither, mither;
The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear:
   Sic counsels ye gave to me, O!'

poem by Anonymous
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Conscience

QUHEN halie Kirk first flurist in Ȝouthheid,
Prelatis wer chosin of all perfectioun;
For Conscience than the brydill had to leid,
And Conscience maid the hale electioun,
Syne eftir that come schrewit correctioun,
And thocht that Conscience had our large ane weid,
And of his habite out cuttit thay ane skreid.

And fra Conscience the Con thay clip away,
And maid of Conscience Science and na mair;
Bot ȝit the Kirk stude weill, full mony day, 10
For it wes rewlit be mene of wit and layre;
Syn eftir that Sciens began to payr,
And thocht at Sciens was our lang ane jaip,
The Sci away fast can thay rub and scraip;

And fra Sci of Science wes adew,
Than left thai nocht bot this sillab Ens,
Quhilk in our language singnifies that schrew
Riches and geir, that gart all grace go hens;
For Sciens baith and faythfull Consciens
Sa corruptit ar with this warldis gude,
That falset joukis in everie clerkis hude.

O hungrie Ens! cursit with cairis calde,
All kynd of folk constrenis thow to wirk;
For thé that thief Judas his Maister said;
For thé Symon infectit Halie Kirk;
To poysoun Justice thow dois nevir irk;
Thow fals Ens, go hens, thou monsture peralous,
God send Defens with Conscience in till ws!

poem by Gavin Douglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Brus Book IV

[English harshness to prisoners]

In Rawchryne leve we now the king
In rest foroutyn barganyng,
And off his fayis a quhile speke we
That throu thar mycht and thar powste
5 Maid sic a persecucioune
Sa hard, sa strayt and sa feloune
On thaim that till hym luffand wer
Or kyn or freynd on ony maner
That at till her is gret pite.
10 For thai sparyt off na degre
Thaim that thai trowit his freynd wer
Nother off the kyrk na seculer,
For off Glaskow Byschop Robert
And Marcus off Man thai stythly speryt
15 Bath in fetrys and in presoune,
And worthy Crystoll off Seytoun
Into Loudoun betresyt was
Throu a discipill off Judas
Maknab, a fals tratour that ay
20 Wes off his dwelling nycht and day
Quhom to he maid gud cumpany.
It wes fer wer than tratoury
For to betreys sic a persoune
So nobill and off sic renoune,
25 Bot tharoff had he na pite,
In hell condampnyt mocht he be.
For quhen he him betrasyt had
The Inglismen rycht with him rad
In hy in Ingland to the king,
30 That gert draw him and hede and hing
Foroutyn pete or mercy.
It wes gret sorow sekyrly
That so worthy a persoune as he
Suld on sic maner hangyt be,
35 Thusgat endyt his worthynes.
Off Crauford als Schyr Ranald wes
And Schyr Bryce als the Blar
Hangyt intill a berne in Ar.
The queyn and als Dame Marjory,
40 Hyr dochter that syne worthily
Wes coupillyt into Goddis band
With Walter Stewart off Scotland,
That wald on na wys langar ly
In the castell off Kyldromy
45 To byd a sege, ar ridin raith
With knychtis and squyeris bath
Throu Ros rycht to the gyrth off Tayne.
Bot that travaill thai maid in vayne,
For thai off Ros that wald nocht ber
50 For thaim na blayme na yeit danger
Out off the gyrth thame all has tayne
And syne has send thaim everilkane
Rycht intill Ingland to the king,
That gert draw all the men and hing,
55 And put the ladyis in presoune
Sum intill castell sum in dongeoun.
It wes gret pite for till her
The folk be troublyt on this maner.

[The siege of Kildrummy Castle]

That tyme wes in Kyldromy
60 Wyth men that wycht and hardy
Schyr Neile the Bruce and I wate weile
That thar the erle was off Adheill.
The castell weill vittalyt thai
And mete and fuell gan purvay
65 And enforcyt the castell sua
That thaim thocht na strenth mycht it ta.
And quhen it to the king was tauld
Off Ingland how thai schup till hauld
That castell, he wes all angry
70 And callyt his sone till hym in hy
The eldest and aperand ayr
A young bacheler and stark and fayr
Schyr Edward callyt off Carnauerane,
That wes the sterkast man of ane
75 That men fynd mycht in ony countre
Prynce of Walys that tyme wes he.
And he gert als call erlys twa
Glosyster and Harfurd war tha
And bad thaim wend into Scotland
80 And set a sege with stalwart hand
To the castell off Kyldromy.
And all the halderis halyly
He bad distroy for-owtyn ransoun
Or bryng thaim till him in presoune.
85 Quhen thai the commaundment had tane
Thai assemblyt ane ost onane
And to the castell went in hy
And it assegyt vigorusly
And mony tyme full hard assaylyt.
90 Bot for to tak it yeit thai failyt
For thai within war rycht worthy
And thaim defendyt douchtely
And ruschyt thair fayis oft agayne
Sum beft sum woundyt sum alslayne
95 And mony tymys ische thai wald
And bargane at the barrais hald
And wound thar fayis oft and sla.
Schortly thai thaim contenyt sua
That thai withoute disparyt war
100 And thocht till Ingland for to far
For thai sa styth saw the castell
And with that it wes warnyst weill
And saw the men defend thaim sua
That thai nane hop had thaim to ta,
105 Nane had thai done all that sesoune
Gyff it ne had bene fals tresoun
For thar with thaim wes a tratour.
A fals lourdane a losyngeour
Hosbarne to name maid the tresoun,
110 I wate nocht for quhat enchesoun
Na quham with he maid that conwyn
Bot as thai said that war within
He tuk a culter hate glowand
That yeit wes in a fyr brynnand
115 And went him to the mekill hall
That then with corn wes fyllyt all
And heych up in a mow it did,
Bot it full lang wes nocht thar hid
For men sayis oft that fyr na prid
120 But discovering may na man hid,
For the pomp oft the prid furth schawis
Or ellis the gret boist that it blawis,
Na thar may na man fyr sa covyr
Than low or rek sall it discovyr.
125 Sa fell it her, for fyr all cler
Son throu the thak-burd gan apper
Fyrst as a stern syne as a mone
And weill bradder tharefter sone
The fyr out syne in bles brast
130 And the rek rais rycht wondre fast.
The fyr our all the castell spred
That mycht na force of man it red.
Than thai within drew to the wall
That at that tyme wes bataillit all
135 Within rycht as it wes withoute
That bataillyne withoutyn dout
Savit thar lyvis, for it brak
Bles that thaim wald ourtak.
And quhen thar fayis the myscheiff saw
140 Till armys went thai in a thraw
And assaylyt the castell fast
Quhar thai durst come for fyris blast,
Bot thai within that myster had
Sa gret defence and worthy mad
145 That thai full oft thar fayis rusit
For thai nakyn perall refusyt,
Thai travaillyt for to sauff thar lyffis
Bot werd that till the end ay dryvis
The warldis thingis sua thaim travaillyt
150 That thai on twa halfys war assailyt,
In with fyr that thaim sua broilyit
And utouth with folk that thaim sua toilyit
That thai brynt magre thaim the yat
That, for the fyre that wes sua hate
155 Thai durst nocht entyr sua in hy,
Tharfor thar folk thai gan rely
And went to rest for it wes nycht
Till on the morn that day wes lycht.

[The surrender of Kildrummy and the death of Edward I]

At sik myscheiff as ye her say
160 War thai within, the-quhethyr ay
Thai thaim defendyt douchtely
And contenyt thaim sa manlily
That or day throu mekill payn
Thai had muryt up thar yat agayn.
165 But on the morn quhen day wes lycht
And sone wes ryssyn schynand brycht
Thai without in hale bataill
Come purvayt redy till assaill,
Bot thai within that sua war stad
170 That thai vitaill na fewell had
Quhar-with thai mycht the castell hald
Tretyt fyrst and syne thaim yauld
To be in-till the kingis will,
Bot that to Scottis men wes ill
175 As sone eftyr weill wes knawin
For thai war hangyt all and drawyn.
Quhen this cunnand thus tretyt wes
And affermyt with sekyrnes
Thai tuk thaim of the castell sone
180 And in-till schort tyme has done
That all a quarter of Snawdoun
Rycht till the erd thai tummyllyt doun
Syne towart Ingland went thar way.
Bot quhen the king Edward hard say
185 How Neill the Bruce held Kildromy
Agayne his sone sa stalwartly,
He gadryt gret chevalry
And towart Scotland went in hy,
And as in-till Northummyrland
190 He wes with his gret rout ridand
A sekness tuk him in the way
And put him to sa hard assay
That he mycht nocht ga na ryd.
Him worthit magre his abid
195 In-till ane hamillet tharby
A litill toun and unworthy,
With gret payne thidder thai him brocht.
He wes sa stad that he ne mocht
His aynd bot with gret paynys draw
200 Na spek bot giff it war weill law
The-quhether he bad thai suld him say
Quhat toun wes that that he in lay.
'Schyr,' thai said, 'Burch-in-the-sand
Men callis this toun in-till this land.'
205 'Call thai it Burch, als,' said he.
My hop is now fordone to me
For I wend never to thole the payne
Of deid till I throu mekill mayn
The burch of Jerusalem had tane,
210 My lyff wend I thar suld be gayne.
In burch I wyst weill I suld de
Bot I wes nother wys na sle
Till other burch kep to ta.
Now may I na wis forther ga.'
215 Thus pleynyeit he off his foly,
As he had mater sekyrly
Quhen he covyt certante
Off that at nane may certan be,
The-quhether men said enclosit he had
220 A spyryt that him answer maid
Off thingis that he wald inquer.
Bot he fulyt foroutyn wer
That gaiff throuth till that creatur,
For feyndys ar off sic natur
225 That thai to mankind has invy
For thai wate weill and witterly
That thai that weill ar liffand her
Sall wyn the sege quharoff thai wer
Tumblyt throuch thar mekill prid.
230 Quharthrou oft-tymys will betid
That quhen feyndys distrenyeit ar
For till aper and mak answar
Throu force of conjuracioun
That thai sa fals ar and feloun
235 That thai mak ay thar answering
Into doubill understanding
To dissaiff thaim that will thaim trow.
Insample will I set her now
Off a wer as I herd tell
240 Betwix Fraunce and the Flemyngis fell.
The erle Ferandis modyr was
Nygramansour, and Sathanas
Scho rasyt and him askyt syne
Quhat suld worth off the fechtyn
245 Betwix the Fraunce king and hyr sone,
And he, as all tyme he wes wone,
Into dissayt maid his answer
And said till hyr thir thre vers her,
'Rex ruet in bello tumilique carebit honore
250 Ferrandus comitissa tuus mea cara Minerva
Parisius veniet magna comitante caterva.'
This wes the spek he maid perfay
And is in Inglis toung to say,
'The king sall fall in the fechting
255 And sall faile honour off erding,
And thi Ferand Mynerve my der
Sall rycht to Parys went but wer,
Folowand him gret cumpany
Off nobill men and off worthy.'
260 This is the sentence off this saw
That the Latyn gan hyr schaw.
He callyt hyr his Mynerve
For Mynerve ay wes wont to serve
Him, till scho leffyt, at his divis
265 And for scho maid the samyn service
His Mynerve hyr callyt he,
And als throu his sutelte
He callyt hyr der hyr till dissaiff
That scho the tyttar suld consaiff
270 Off his spek the undyrstanding
That mast plesyt till hyr liking.
This doubill spek sua hyr dissavit
That throu hyr feill the ded ressavit,
For scho wes off hyr answer blyth
275 And till hyr sone scho tald it swyth,
And bad him till the batell sped
For suld victory haiff but dred.
And he that herd hyr sermonuyng
Sped him in hy to the fechting
280 Quhar he discomfyt wes and schent
And takin and to Paris sent,
Bot in the fechting nocht-forthi
The king, throu his chevalry,
Wes laid at erd and lawit bath,
285 Bot his men helpyt him weill rath.
And quhen Ferandis moder herd
How hyr sone in the bataill ferd
And at he wes sua discomfyt,
Scho rasyt the ill spyryt als tyt
290 And askyt quhy he gabyt had
Off the answer that he hyr mad,
And he said he had said suth all.
'I said ye that the king suld fall
In the bataill, and say did he,
295 And failyeid erding, as men may se.
And I said that thi sone suld ga
To Paris, and he did rycht sua,
Folowand sic a mengye
That never in his lyff-tyme he
300 Had sic a mengye in leding.
Now seis thou I maid na gabbing.'
The wyff confusyt wes perfay
And durst no mar than till him say
Thusgat throu doubill understanding
305 That bargane come till sic ending
That the ta part dissavyt was.
Rycht sagat fell yt in this cas.
At Jerusalem trowit he
Gravyn in the burch to be,
310 The-quhethyr at Burch-into-the-sand
He swelt rycht in his awn land.
And quhen he to the ded wes ner
The folk that at Kildromy wer
Come with presoneris that thai had tane,
315 And syne to the king ar gane
And for to comfort him thai tald
How thai the castell to thaim yauld
And how thai till his will war brocht,
To do off thame quhatever he thocht,
320 And askyt quhat men suld off thaim do.
Than lukyt he angyrly thaim to
And said grynnand, 'Hangis and drawys.'
That wes wonder off sik sawis,
That he that to the ded wes ner
325 Suld answer apon sic maner
Foroutyn menyng and mercy.
How mycht he traist on Hym to cry
That suthfastly demys all thing
To haiff mercy, for his criying,
330 Off him that throu his felony
Into sic point had na mercy.
His men his maundment has done
And he deyt thatefter sone
And syne wes brocht till berynes.
335 His sone syne king efter wes.

[Douglas and Boyd go from Rathlin to Arran]

To the King Robert agayne ga we
That in Rauchryne with his menye
Lay till wynter ner wes gane
And off that ile his mete has tane
340 James off Douglas wes angry
That thai langar suld ydill ly
And to Schyr Robert Boid said he,
'The pure folk off thys countre
Ar chargit apon gret maner
345 Off us that idill lyis her,
And ik her say that in Arane
Intill a styth castell off stane
Ar Inglis men that with strang hand
Haldys the lordschip off the land
350 Ga we thidder, and weill may fall
Anoy thaim in sum thing we sall.'
Schir Robert said, 'I grant thar-till,
Till her mar ly war litill skill.
Tharfor till Aran pas will we,
355 For I knaw rycht weill the countre
And the castell rycht sua knaw I
We sall cum thar sua prevely
That thai sall haiff na persavyng
Na yeit witting off our cummyng,
360 And we sall ner enbuschyt be
Quhar we thar outecome may se.
Sa sall it on na maner fall
Na scaith thaim on sum wis we sall.'
With that thai buskyt thaim on-ane
365 And at the king thar leiff has tane
And went thaim furth syne on thar way.
Into Kyntyr sone cummyn ar thai,
Syne rowyt alwayis by the land
Till that the nycht wes ner on hand,
370 Than till Arane thai went thar way
And saufly thar aryvyt thai,
And in a glen thar galay drewch
And syne it helyt weill ineuch.
Thar takyll ayris and thar ster
375 Thai hyde all on the samyn maner
And held thar way rycht in the nycht
Sua that or day wes dawyn lycht
Thai war enbuschyt the castell ner
Armyt apon thair best maner
380 And thoucht thai wate war and wery
And for lang fastyng all hungry
Thai thocht to hald thaim all preve
Till that thai weill thar poynt mycht se.

[Douglas plunders the provisions being brought to Brodick Castle]
Schir John the Hastingis at that tid
385 With knychtis off full mekill prid
And squyeris and yemanry,
And that a weill gret cumpany,
Wes in the castell off Brathwik
And oftsys quhen it wald him lik
390 He went huntyng with his menye
And sua the land abandounyt he
That durst nane warne to do his will.
He wes into the castell still
The tyme that James off Douglas
395 As Ik haiff tald enbuschit was.
Sa hapnyt that tyme throu chance
That with vittalis and purvyaunce
And with clething and with armyng
The day befor in the evynning
400 The undyr-wardane arivyt was
With thre batis weill ner the place
Quhar that the folk I spak off ar
Prevely enbuschyt war.
Syne fra tha batis saw thai ga
405 Off Inglismen thretty and ma
Chargit all with syndry thingis.
Sum bar wyne and sum armyngis,
The remanant all chargit wer
With thingis off syndry maner,
410 And other syndry yeid thaim by
As thai war maistrys ydilly.
Thai that enbuschyt war that saw
All foroutyn dreid or aw
Thar buschement on thaim thai brak
415 And slew all that thai mycht ourtak.
The cry rais hidwysly and hey
For thai that dredand war to dey
Rycht as bestis gan rar and cry.
Thai slew thaim foroutyn mercy.
420 Sua that into the samyne sted
Weill ner fourty thar war dede.
Quhen thai that in the castell war
Hard the folk sa cry and rar
Thai ischyt furth to the fechting,
425 Bot quhen the Douglas saw thar cummyng
His men till him he gan rely
And went till meit thaim hastily.
And quhen thai off the castell saw
Him cum on thaim foroutyn aw
430 Thai fled foroutyne mar debate
And thai thaim folowit to the yate
And slew of thaim as thai in past,
Bot thai thair yate barryt fast
That thai mycht do at thame na mar.
435 Tharfor thai left thaim ilkane thar
And turnyt to the se agayne
Quhar that the men war forouth slayn.
And quhen thai that war in the batis
Saw thar cummyng and wyst howgatis
440 Thai had discumfyt thar menye
In hy thai put thaim to the se
And rowyt fast with all thar mayne,
Bot the wynd wes thaim agayne
That sua hey gert the land-bryst rys
445 That thai moucht weld the se na wis.
Then thai durst nocht cum to the land,
Bot held thaim thar sa lang hobland
That off the thre batis drownyt twa
And quhen the Douglas saw it wes sua
450 He tuk armyng and cleything
Vittalis wyne and other thing
That thai fand thar and held thar way
Rycht glaid and joyfull off thar pray.

[The king comes to Arran and is joined by Douglas and Boyd]

Quhen this James off Douglas
455 And his menye throu Goddis grace
War relevyt with armyng
And with vittaill and clething
Syne till a strenth thai held thar way
And thaim full manly governyt ay
460 Till on the tend day that the king
With all that war in his leding
Aryvyt into that countre
With thretty small galayis and thre.
The king aryvyt in Arane
465 And syne to the land is gane
And in a toune tuk his herbery,
And speryt syne specially
Gyff ony man couth tell tithand
Off ony strang man in that land.
470 'Yhis,' said a woman, 'Schyr perfay
Off strang men I kan you say
That ar cummyn in this countre,
And schort quhile syne throu thar bounte
Thai haff discomfyt our wardane
475 And mony off his men has slane,
Intill a stalwart place her-by
Reparis all thar cumpany.'
'Dame,' said the king, 'wald thou me wis
To that place quhar thar repair is
480 I sall reward the but lesing,
For thai ar all off my dwelling
And I rycht blythly wald thaim se
And sua trow I that thai wald me.'
'Yhis,' said scho, 'Schir I will blythly
485 Ga with you and your cumpany
Till that I schaw you thar repair.'
'That is ineuch my sister fayr,
Now ga we forth-wart,' said the king.
Than went thai furth but mar letting
490 Folowand hyr as scho thaim led
Till at the last scho schawyt a sted
To the king in a wode glen
And said, 'Schir, her saw I the men
That yhe sper after mak logyng.
495 Her I trow be thar reparyng.'
The king then blew his horn in hy
And gert the men that wer him by
Hald thaim still and all preve
And syne agayn his horn blew he.
500 James off Douglas herd him blaw
And he the blast alsone gan knaw
And said, 'Sothly yon is the king,
I knaw lang quhill syne his blawyng.'
The thrid tym thar-with-all he blew
505 And then Schir Robert Boid it knew
And said, 'Yone is the king but dreid
Ga we furth till him better speid.'
Than went thai till the king in hy
And hm inclynyt curtasly,
510 And blythly welcummyt thaim the kimg
And wes joyfull of thar meting
And kissit thaim and speryt syne
How thai had farne in thar outyne,
And thai him tauld all but lesing.
515 Syne lovyt thai God off thar meting,
Syne with the king till his herbery
Went bath joyfull and joly.

[The king sends a man to Carrick to see if he might land there]

The king apon the tother day
Gan till his preve menye say,
520 'Ye knaw all weill and ye may se
How we are out off our cuntre
Banyst throu Inglismennys mycht
And that that suld be ouris of rycht
Throu thar maistrys thai occupy,
525 And wald alsua foroutyne mercy
Giff thai haid mycht destroy us all.
Bot God forbeid it suld sa fall
Till us as thai mak manassyng
For than war thar na recoveryng,
530 And mankind biddis us that we
To procur vengeance besy be.
For ye may se we haiff thre thingis
That makis us oft monestingis
For to be worthi wis and wycht
535 And till anoy thaim at our mycht.
Ane is our lyffis saufte
That on na wys suld sauft be
Gyff thai had us at thar liking
The tother that makys us eggyng
540 Is that thai our possessioune
Haldis strenthly agayn resoun.
The thrid is the joy that we abid
Giff that it happyn as weill may tid
That we wyn victour and maistry,
545 Till ourcum thar felony.
Therfor we suld our hartis rais
Sua that na myscheyff us abais
And schaip us alwayis to that ending
That beris in it mensk and loving.
550 And tharfor lordingis gyff ye se
Amang you giff that it speidfull be
I will send a man in Carrik
To spy and sper our kynrik
How it is led and freynd and fa.
555 And giff he seis we land may ta
On Turnberys snuke he may
Mak a fyr on a certane day
And mak takynnyng till us that we
May thar aryve in saufte.
560 And giff he seis we may nocht sua,
Luk on na wys the fyr he ma.
Sua may we thar-throu haiff wittring
Off our passage or our dwelling.'
To this spek all assentyt ar,
565 And than the king withoutyn mar
Callyt ane that wes till him preve
And off Carrik his countre,
And chargyt him in les and mar
As ye hard me divis it ar
570 And set him certane day to mai
The fyr giff he saw it war sua
That thai had possibilite
To maynteyme wer in that cuntre.
And he that wes rycht weill in will
575 His lordis yharnyng to fullfill
As he that worthy wes and leile
And couth secreis rycht weill conseil
Sad he wes boune intill all thing
For to fulfill his commaunding,
580 And said he suld do sa wisely
That na repruff suld efter ly
Syne at the king his leiff has tane
And furth apon his way is gane.

[Cuthbert the spy discovers that Percy, in Turnberry Castle,
controls Carrick]

Now gais the messynger his way
585 That hat Cuthbert as I herd say.
In Carrik sone aryvyt he
And passyt throu all the countre,
Bot he fand few tharin perfay
That gud wald off his maister say,
590 For fele off thaim durst nocht for dreid,
And other sum rycht into deid
War fayis to the nobill king,
That rewyt syne thar barganyng.
Baith hey and law the land wes then
595 All occupyit with Inglismen
That dispytyt atour all thing
Robert the Bruce the douchty king.
Carrik wes giffyn then halyly
To Schir Henry the lord Persy
600 That in Turnberyis castell then
Was with weill ner three hunder men,
And dauntyt sagat all the land
That all wes till him obeysand.
This Cuthbert saw thar felony,
605 And saw the folk sa halely
Be worthyn Inglis baith rich and pur
That he to nane durst him discur,
But thocht to leve the fyr unmaid,
Syne till his maister went but baid
610 And all thar convyne till him tell,
That wes sa angry and sa fell.

[The king thinks he sees a fire; he prepares to cross to Carrick; his hostess
predicts his ultimate success, and gives him her two sons]

The king that intill Arane lay
Quhen that cummyn wes the day
That he set till his messinger
615 As Ik divisit you lang er
Eftyr the fyr he lokyt fast
And als sone as the none wes past
Him thocht weill he saw a fyr
Be Turnbery byrnand weill schyr,
620 And till his menye it gan schaw.
Ilk man thocht weill that he it saw,
Then with blyth hart the folk gan cry,
'Gud king, speid you deliverly
Sua that we sone in the evynnyng
625 Aryve foroutyn persayving.'
'I grant,' said he. 'Now mak you yar,
God furthyr us intill our far.'
Then in schort time men mycht thaim se
Schute all thar galayis to the se
630 And ber to se baith ayr and ster
And other thingis that myster wer,
And as the king apon the sand
Wes gangand up and doun, bidand
Till that his menye redy war,
635 His ost come rycht till him thar,
And quhen that scho him halyst had
A preve spek till him scho made
And said, 'Takis gud kep till my saw,
For or ye pas I sall you schaw
640 Off your fortoun a gret party,
Bot our all specially
A wyttring her I sall you ma
Quhat end that your purpos sall ta,
For in this land is nane trewly
645 Wate thingis to cum sa weill as I.
Ye pas now furth on your viage
To venge the harme and the outrag
That Inglismen has to you done,
Bot ye wat nocht quhat-kyne forton
650 Ye mon drey in your werraying.
Bot wyt ye weill withoutyn lesing
That fra ye now haiff takyn land
Nane sa mychty na sa strenththi of hand
Sal ger you pas out off your countre
655 Till all to you abandounyt be.
Within schort tyme ye sall be king
And haiff the land at your liking
And ourcum your fayis all,
Bot fele anoyis thole ye sall
660 Or that your purpos end haiff tane,
Bot ye sall thaim ourdryve ilkane.
And that ye trowis this sekyrly
My twa sonnys with you sall I
Send to tak part of your travaill,
665 For I wate weill thai sall nocht faill
To be rewardyt weill at rycht
Quhen ye are heyit to your mycht.'

[A discourse on prophecy]

The king that herd all hyr carping
Thankit hyr in mekill thing,
670 For scho confort him sumdeill,
The-quhethir he trowyt nocht full weill
Hyr spek, for he had gret ferly
How scho suld wyt it sekyrly,
As it wes wounderfull perfay
675 How ony mannys science may
Knaw thingis that ar to cum
Determinabilly, all or sum,
Bot giff that he inspyrit war
Off Him that all thing evermar
680 Seys in his presciens
As it war ay in presens, 680*
As was David and Jeremy 681
Samuell, Joell and Ysai,
That throu His haly grace gan tell
685 Fele thingis that efter fell, 684
Bot the prophetis sa thyn ar sawyn
That nane in erd now is knawin.
Bot fele folk ar sa curyous
And to wyt thingis covatous
690 That thai, throu thar gret clergy 689
Or ellys throu thar devilry,
On thir twa maneris makis fanding
Off thingis to cum to haiff knawing.
Ane of thaim is astrologi,
695 Quhar-throu clerkys that ar witty 694
May knaw conjunctiones of planetis,
And quhethir that thar cours thaim settis
In soft segis or in angry,
And off the hevyn all halyly
700 How that the dispositioun 699
Suld apon thingis wyrk her doun
On regiones or on climatis,
That wyrkys nocht ay-quhar agatis
Bot sumquhar les and sumquhar mar
705 Eftyr as thar bemys strekyt ar 704
Othir all evyn or on wry.
Bot me think it war gud maistri
Till ony astrolog to say
'This sall fall her and on this day.'
710 For thoucht a man his lyff haly 709
Studyit sua in astrology
That on sternys his hewid he brak,
The wys man sayis he suld nocht mak
All his lyff certane dayis thre,
715 And yeit suld he ay doute quhill he 714
Saw how that it come till ending.
Than is that na certane demyng.
Or gyff thai men that will study
In the craft off astrology
720 Knaw all mennys nacioun 719
And knew the constellacioun
That kyndlik maneris gyfis thaim till
For till inclyne to gud or ill,
How that thai throu science of clergi
725 Or throu slycht off astrology 724
Couth tell quhatkyn perell apperis
To thaim that haldys kyndlik maneris,
I trow that thai suld faile to say
The thingis that thaim happyn may.
730 For quhethir-sa men inclynyt be 729
To vertu or to mavyte,
He may rychtg weill refreynye his will
Othir throu nurtur or thru skill
And to the contrar turne him all.
735 And men has mony tyme sene fall 734
That men kyndly till ivill gevyn
Throu thar gret wit away has drevyn
Thar ill and worthin off gret renoun
Magre the constellacioun,
740 As Arestotill, giff as men redis 739
He had folowyt his kyndly dedis,
He had bene fals and covatous
Bot his wyt maid him vertuous.
And sen men may on this kyn wys
745 Wyrk agayne that cours that is 744
Principaill caus off thar demyng
Me think thar dome na certane thing.
Nygromancy the tother is
That kennys men on syndry wys
750 Throu stalwart conjuracionys 749
And throu exorcizacionys
To ger spyritis to thaim apper
And giff answeris on ser maner,
As quhilum did the Phitones
755 That quhen Saul abaysyt wes 754
Off the Felystynys mycht,
Raysyt throu hyr mekill slycht
Samuelis spyrite als tite,
Or in his sted the ivill spyrite
760 That gaiff rycht graith answer hyr to, 759
Bot off hyr selff rycht nocht wyst scho.
And man is into dreding ay
Off thingis that he has herd say,
Namly off thingis to cum, quhill he
765 Knaw off the end the certante. 764
And sen thai ar in sic wenyng
Foroutyne certante off witting,
Me think quha sayis he knawis thingis
To cum he makys gret gabingis.
770 Bot quhether scho that tauld the king 769
How his purpos suld tak ending
Wenyt or wist it witterly,
It fell efter halyly
As scho said, for syne king wes he
775 And off full mekill renommé 774.

poem by John Barbour
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Lass of Lochroyan

'O WHA will shoe my bonny foot?
   And wha will glove my hand?
And wha will bind my middle jimp
   Wi' a lang, lang linen band?

'O wha will kame my yellow hair,
   With a haw bayberry kame?
And wha will be my babe's father
   Till Gregory come hame?'

'They father, he will shoe thy foot,
   Thy brother will glove thy hand,
Thy mither will bind thy middle jimp
   Wi' a lang, lang linen band.

'Thy sister will kame thy yellow hair,
   Wi' a haw bayberry kame;
The Almighty will be thy babe's father
   Till Gregory come hame.'

'And wha will build a bonny ship,
   And set it on the sea?
For I will go to seek my love,
   My ain love Gregory.'

Up then spak her father dear,
   A wafu' man was he;
'And I will build a bonny ship,
   And set her on the sea.

'And I will build a bonny ship,
   And set her on the sea,
And ye sal gae and seek your love,
   Your ain love Gregory.'

Then he 's gart build a bonny ship,
   And set it on the sea,
Wi' four-and-twenty mariners,
   To bear her company.

O he 's gart build a bonny ship,
   To sail on the salt sea;
The mast was o' the beaten gold,
   The sails o' cramoisie.

The sides were o' the gude stout aik,
   The deck o' mountain pine,
The anchor o' the silver shene,
   The ropes o' silken twine.

She hadna sail'd but twenty leagues,
   But twenty leagues and three,
When she met wi' a rank reiver,
   And a' his companie.

'Now are ye Queen of Heaven hie,
   Come to pardon a' our sin?
Or are ye Mary Magdalane,
   Was born at Bethlam?'

'I'm no the Queen of Heaven hie,
   Come to pardon ye your sin,
Nor am I Mary Magdalane,
   Was born in Bethlam.

'But I'm the lass of Lochroyan,
   That 's sailing on the sea
To see if I can find my love,
   My ain love Gregory.'

'O see na ye yon bonny bower?
   It 's a' covered owre wi' tin;
When thou hast sail'd it round about,
   Lord Gregory is within.'

And when she saw the stately tower,
   Shining both clear and bright,
Whilk stood aboon the jawing wave,
   Built on a rock of height,

Says, 'Row the boat, my mariners,
   And bring me to the land,
For yonder I see my love's castle,
   Close by the salt sea strand.'

She sail'd it round, and sail'd it round,
   And loud and loud cried she,
'Now break, now break your fairy charms,
   And set my true-love free.'

She 's ta'en her young son in her arms,
   And to the door she 's gane,
And long she knock'd, and sair she ca'd.
   But answer got she nane.

'O open, open, Gregory!
   O open! if ye be within;
For here 's the lass of Lochroyan,
   Come far fra kith and kin.

'O open the door, Lord Gregory!
   O open and let me in!
The wind blows loud and cauld, Gregory,
   The rain drops fra my chin.

'The shoe is frozen to my foot,
   The glove unto my hand,
The wet drops fra my yellow hair,
   Na langer dow I stand.'

O up then spak his ill mither,
   --An ill death may she die!
'Ye're no the lass of Lochroyan,
   She 's far out-owre the sea.

'Awa', awa', ye ill woman,
   Ye're no come here for gude;
Ye're but some witch or wil' warlock,
   Or mermaid o' the flood.'

'I am neither witch nor wil' warlock,
   Nor mermaid o' the sea,
But I am Annie of Lochroyan,
   O open the door to me!'

'Gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan,
   As I trow thou binna she,
Now tell me of some love-tokens
   That pass'd 'tween thee and me.'

'O dinna ye mind, love Gregory,
   As we sat at the wine,
We changed the rings frae our fingers?
   And I can shew thee thine.

'O yours was gude, and gude enough,
   But ay the best was mine,
For yours was o' the gude red gowd,
   But mine o' the diamond fine.

'Yours was o' the gude red gowd,
   Mine o' the diamond fine;
Mine was o' the purest troth,
   But thine was false within.'

'If ye be the lass of Lochroyan,
   As I kenna thou be,
Tell me some mair o' the love-tokens
   Pass'd between thee and me.'

'And dinna ye mind, love Gregory!
   As we sat on the hill,
Thou twin'd me o' my maidenheid,
   Right sair against my will?

'Now open the door, love Gregory!
   Open the door! I pray;
For thy young son is in my arms,
   And will be dead ere day.'

'Ye lie, ye lie, ye ill woman,
   So loud I hear ye lie;
For Annie of the Lochroyan
   Is far out-owre the sea.'

Fair Annie turn'd her round about:
   'Weel, sine that it be sae,
May ne'er woman that has borne a son
   Hae a heart sae fu' o' wae!

'Tak down, tak down that mast o' gowd,
   Set up a mast of tree;
It disna become a forsaken lady
   To sail sae royallie.'

When the cock has crawn, and the day did dawn,
   And the sun began to peep,
Up than raise Lord Gregory,
   And sair, sair did he weep.

'O I hae dream'd a dream, mither,
   I wish it may bring good!
That the bonny lass of Lochroyan
   At my bower window stood.

'O I hae dream'd a dream, mither,
   The thought o't gars me greet!
That fair Annie of Lochroyan
   Lay dead at my bed-feet.'

'Gin it be for Annie of Lochroyan
   That ye mak a' this mane,
She stood last night at your bower-door,
   But I hae sent her hame.'

'O wae betide ye, ill woman,
   An ill death may ye die!
That wadna open the door yoursell
   Nor yet wad waken me.'

O he 's gane down to yon shore-side,
   As fast as he could dree,
And there he saw fair Annie's bark
   A rowing owre the sea.

'O Annie, Annie,' loud he cried,
   'O Annie, O Annie, bide!'
But ay the mair he cried 'Annie,'
   The braider grew the tide.

'O Annie, Annie, dear Annie,
   Dear Annie, speak to me!'
But ay the louder he gan call,
   The louder roar'd the sea.

The wind blew loud, the waves rose hie
   And dash'd the boat on shore;
Fair Annie's corpse was in the faem,
   The babe rose never more.

Lord Gregory tore his gowden locks
   And made a wafu' moan;
Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet,
   His bonny son was gone.

'O cherry, cherry was her cheek,
   And gowden was her hair,
And coral, coral was her lips,
   Nane might with her compare.'

Then first he kiss'd her pale, pale cheek,
   And syne he kiss'd her chin,
And syne he kiss'd her wane, wane lips,
   There was na breath within.

'O wae betide my ill mither,
   An ill death may she die!
She turn'd my true-love frae my door,
   Who cam so far to me.

'O wae betide my ill mither,
   An ill death may she die!
She has no been the deid o' ane,
   But she 's been the deid of three.'

Then he 's ta'en out a little dart,
   Hung low down by his gore,
He thrust it through and through his heart,
   And words spak never more.

poem by Anonymous
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!