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Poems of John Stewart of Baldyneiss

From the MS. in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh: Edited by Thomas Crockett

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THE . 4 . CANT.
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43

THE . 4 . CANT.

My plume Imprompt Quho sall perfytlie leed
Quhilk so converts from curssit cair to cair?
Quho sall derect my dull forwayit heed
Vith douce Indytment deulie to declair
The grivous gronyngs And the sorrow sair
Of Roland rycht, to quhom I turne againe,
Quho dalie deis in dolor and dispair?
No kynd of rest may in his brest remaine
for egar grife quhilk grwsse in euerie vaine.
O Melpomene, now ayde my daȝed dyt,
And vith thy teirs fill vp my emptiwe braine,
His percing passions till explaine perfyt,
The scorching sychs, the sorrow, and the syt,
Quhilk so vith suerfs oursets his hardie hart,
All distitude of confort and delyt.
Sen tym his ladie did from him depart,
Nocht may remeed this deedlie dolorus dart,
Except Inspection of hir fragrant face.
for sorrow sad he seims to suelt and smart,
That so hir lost, Saying full oft “alace”!
In till his bed he turns from place to place,
Quhyls vp, Quhyls doune, Quhyls hither thair and heir,
Lyk as the schadow befoir Phebus face
Of tuynkling vattir casting clairlie cleir,
Or as the nocturne beams quhilk dois appeir
But rest ay reilling throch the glansing sky.
So Roland raidgeing for his ladie deir

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Mycht nother stabill stand, sit, gang, nor ly:
Quhyls vold he birst out vith ane reuthfull cry,
And quhyls vith sobs supprest vold hold his pace,
Quhyls vold he fant, Quhyls vold he freise, and fry,
And quhyls vith teirs bebathe he vold his face,
Quhill pinching paine did pousse his speitche ane space
Vith tein, vith terror, torment, and dispyt,
Him self both cursing and his cairfull cace,
To froune, and fume, And in this form to flyt:
“O Thow my onlie darrest douce delyt,
And chefe berawar of my captiwe braine,
Vo vorth the tym that euir I did the quyt;
Vold God that hour I rather haid beine slaine,
for all the force of mychtie Charlemaine
Vas not of strenth to tak the from my hand.
Quhy vas I than so friuoll And so vaine
To rander the althocht he did command?
Quhy vold I not be battell first gainstand?
Quhy vold I not all force for the defy?
Quhy vold I not vith the haif left the land?
Quho mycht or sould haif keipit the as I?
No rycht excuse in to my part may ly.
My onlie luife, My ladie, and my lust
Gois single athort, quhilk maks my flesche to fry,
In my defalt disturbit soir I trust.
I viss my hart haid to the deth beine thrust
Quhan I departit from thy persone puir.
My lyfs releife, I haif occasion Iust
To die for dolour quhilk thow dois Induir.
As meikest lambe gois in the vods obscuir
Bot keipar suir vith vickit volfis fell,
So vanders thow, Quhois beutie vill alluir
Sum vith the flour of thy first fruite to mell;
Quhilk flour I sparit at thy chast repell,
Quhilk flour beraifs me of all erdlie thocht,
Quhilk onlie flour so maks my sorrow suell,
flour dew to me for I it darrest bocht;

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O flour conding, that I continewall socht
Hiche vith the Gods quhilk mycht haife giwene me blis,
O famus flour vnto decay now brocht,
Quhow sall I liwe for to remember this?
This onlie flour was all that I did wis,
And vissing it I fretit nycht and day,
Now duilfull day to me that did it mis.
Mishappie man am I for euir and ay,
O vofull vycht, quhois veill is vent away.
for gif this fair fresche flour so feidit bie,
Doung doune in deipest doungeon of decay
Than do I stand, And rather craifs to die.
O god eterne, Convert this cair from me
As plesis the in onie vther pyn,
Sic deedlie dolor dow I navayis drie
But disperation and my saule to tyn.
Quhair art thow now, O lustie ladie myn,
My onlie help, And confort from all cair,
Moir dar to me than dytment may defyn?
Quhair slyds thy self so seimlie sueit and fair
But thy awne trusty Rolands pert repair
Plaine to protect thy proper persone suir?”
So said he, Syn in sorrow syching sair
Inclusit held the duill he did Induir
Vith cairfull corps consumd in canckerd cuir,
Quhill Morpheus displayed his slummering scheild
Abowe his brest, Quhilk partlie did alluir
His hawie hart And veping eis to ȝeild;
Ȝit thocht he sleips, his sleiping is no beild
from his consauit coustumabill cair.
He dremd he vas in ane fair fertill feild
At plesour sporting vith his luife preclair,
Bot barran both this feild becam and bair
Be bittir blast he thocht that boreas blew,
And vith that storme he lost his ladie fair,
And quhair scho gois no maner of vay he knew.
Vith reuthfull cryis he socht and did persew

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Hir heiring sute secours to be defend,
Bot ay from him he thocht scho did eschew,
So that he cud hir navayis comprehend.
Ane vther voce, as he did wauering vend,
Pronuncit syn this sentence sad and Schort:
“Thy veilfair, Roland, now is at ane end,
Moir in this erth thow sall not Ioy nor sport.”
Now vith this vord from sleip he did resort,
His former vois beginning to renew:
“Helas,” thinks he, “my ladie suffers tort,
Quhill I hir sie no solace sall Insew;
The reed, the quhyt, the purpur, greine, and blew,
Heir I renounce, And euerie color fair,
for vofull vychts vold veir no variant hew;
Blak cleithe sould catifs cleine ourcum vith cair.”
from bed he bends, for he mycht byd na mair;
Blak vas his targe, blak vas his speir, and scheild,
And all in blak he dois him self prepair,
Vith truibill, teine, and trauell, tosd and teild.
Throche fellect fois that fumit fast in feild
Both grime and griwous but regard he gois
for till obteine his brychtest blisfull beild,
That sant celest supassing maist formois,
Desyring all thair knawledge to disclois,
Gif in thois bounds they haid hir beutie seine.
Thrie nychts and dayis he neuir did repois,
Bot tryis and spyis thair camp vith restless eine;
The narrest touns that syn adiacent beine,
The hils, the vails, the vods, and vildernes,
He bussie socht as Tygar full of teine
In dalie duyning dolor and distres.
Throch all the parts of france he past expres,
And throch Auuergne and Gasconie also,
Throch Prouance als he did his Iournay dress,
To Britannie and monie cuntreis mo,
Returning syn to Pycardie; thairfro

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He scherst the borders round about of spaine.
Quho may exprime the bussie sute and vo,
The langsum labor, And the vrgent paine,
Quhilk he susteind In stormie vind and raine,
The cumber clamor, And contineuall cair,
Vith tuynkling teirs from his tormentit braine,
All for the absence of his ladie fair?
It tedius var derectlie to declair
His vilsum vayis vent be sie and land,
Vith exploitis precelling but compair
Vrocht vith his vordie valȝant valurus hand.
Go, reid the histoir, ȝe sall vnderstand
Quhow from distres Olimpe he did restoir
first to hir Croune, And nixt quhan he hir fand
Round quhair ane monster cam hir to devoir,
Than hich abowe thois peuple grew his gloir,
Quhan thay beset him furius round about.
for as the Ours, The Sangleir, or the Boir,
Bald at the bay He stuid amyds the rout;
Nane durst assaill except vith skirll and schout,
Or stand adrich And at him dartis suak,
lyk hunters quhan the lyon Ischis out
for dreid of dainger fleing fast abak.
His sourd so snell Als thick did clinck and clak,
Quhair euir he verts his force And awfull face,
As Schour of hailstains rappan on the thak,
Or drums redoubling battell in that place.
Than no defens auaillit all the space,
His stalwart strenth so stoutlie did surmont,
Quhill euerie Chiftan tuik the feirfull chace.
Be onlie thraw of his victorius front
Both heir and thair At vill he dois tham hont,
And quhair he cums thair keinlie did he kill.
Nane docht Induir quhair Durandall did dont,
Not thow O Hector, Nor the fers Achill.