Satirical poems of the reformation

In lofty veirs I did reheirs
My drerie lamentatioun,
And now, allace! maist cairful cace,
I mak my proclamatioun.
Desyring all, baith greit and small,
That heiris me be Narratioun,
Not for to wyte my rude Indyte,
Sen maid is Intimatioun.

I do Intend nane to offend
That feiris God arycht,
Thocht murtherars & blud scheddars
Wald haif me out of sycht.
Thair malice vane I do disdane,
And curse thair subtell Slycht.
My name is knawin, yair bruit is blawin
Abrode baith day and nycht.

For I, a wyfe with sempill lyfe,
Dois wyn my meit ilk day,
For small auaill, ay selling caill,
The best fassoun I may.

150

Besyde the Throne I walt vpone
My mercat but delay;
Gif men thair walk, I heir thair talk,
And beiris it weill away.

In felloun feir at me thay speir,
Quhat tythands in this land?
Quhy sit I dum and dar not mum?
Oft tymes thay do demand.
To thame agane I answer plane,
Quhair thay beside me stand:
Na thing is heir bot mortall weir,
Wrocht be ane bailfull hand.

A wickit race of grumis but grace,
Of Kedȝochis curst clan,
Be tressoun vile quha dois defyle
Thame self, baith wyfe and man,
As lait is sene with weiping Ene,
Thairfoir I sall thame ban,
Caus our Regent maist Innocent
That cursit seid ouer ran.

Quhat cruelteis thay Enemeis
Hes wrocht be tymes past
I lat ouer slyde; I may not byde—
Sa fair I am agast—
Thair anterous actis, yair furious factis:
Auld bukis quha will ouer cast,
And men on liue can ȝit discriue
Thair doings first and last.

Thairfoir, my Lords, as best accords,
Sen ȝe are hapnit hidder,
This I will say tuix sport and play:
My wordis weill considder,

151

And pōder yame for ȝour awin schame;
To mark thame be not lidder:
Lat na mans feid, throw feirfull dreid,
Ȝour hartis mak to swidder.

For I heir say thay will display
Thair baners on the feild,
Thinkand but dout to ruit ȝow out,
Or cause ȝow seik sum b[eild].
At thame rycht fane, or [els be sl]ane:
That ganȝell will thay ȝeild:
Stand not abak, (oh) febill pak,
Bot swordis leir to weild.

Defend ȝour richt in Goddis sicht:
Quhome of do ȝe stand aw?
Rycht few, I trow, will ȝow allow,
Gif ȝe ȝour selfis misknaw.
Stand to, thairfoir, fyle not the scoir,
But all togidder draw,
Not in Cat harrowis lyke cākrit marrowis,
For feir of efter flaw.

Do ȝe not se that mad menȝe
How thay ar warin crous?
To wirk ȝow tene yai mak ye Quene
Thair strenth and strang blokhous.
The murther, fy! thay do deny,
And countis ȝow not ane sous:
Thair proude pretence, throw negligēce,
Will be maist dangerous.

To Lythquo toun thay ar all boun,
Quhair thay the murther wrocht,
And thinkis to de or fortifie
Thair fellony forethocht;

152

And trewlie I can not espy
Quhat vther thing thay socht,
Bot King put doun & clame the Croun,
Be bludy murther bocht.

I Pans and muse how thay excuse
This murther perpetrate,
Or with quhat grace haldis vp yair face,
Quhair it is nominate.
Gif (as I trow) thay it allow
Like Wolfis Insatiate,
Quha can repent that thay be schent
With blude commaculate?

Fall to, thairfoir, I ȝow Imploir,
My Lords, with ane assent,
And think it lang ay quhil ȝe fang
The feiris that did Inuent
This crueltie, be tyrannie,
To sla our rycht Regent,
For thay maist sure dois still Indure
With hartis Impenitent.

That mā in deid is worth sū meid,
His fault that dois confes;
Bot quhat rewarde suld be preparde
For him that dois transgres,
And will not graunt, bot rather vaunt
In his vnhappynes?
Maist sure the gallous, with all his fallous,
For thair vnthankfulnes.

For gif self lufe was from abufe
Deiectit out of heuin,
Quhen Lucifer wald be ane bar
To God, and think him euin,

153

Quhat sall we wene of tratours kene,
That Ithandly hes streuin
For to deface the Nobill race
Of Stewarts, od and euin?

Considder weill thair cākrit ȝeill
Hes thristit mony day
For to posses, but godlynes,
The Crowne withouttin stay;
As now of lait thair curst consait
With murther thay display,
Quhen thay thocht gude to drink this blude,
Be that vngodly way.

Bot Sathan sure dois thame allure
With wordis fals and vane,
Ay promysing thame to be King
Quhairof thay ar full fane.
In Paradice he did Intice,
Be subtell craft and trane,
The man first maid, sa God hes said
In Sacrede Scripture plane.

He said that he suld equall be
To God Omnipotent,
The Appill sweit gif he wald eit,
Quhairof was maid restraint.
With small defence he gaif credence,
Bot did he not repent,
Quhen efterwart he felt the smart
And God aganis him bent?

Sa sall all thay yat dois yis day
With mischant mynde maling
Aganis the treuth, but ony reuth,
And Crowning of our King.

154

And this thay mufe for thair behufe
To place thair awin ofspring;
But thay repent, thay will be schent,
And hell at thair ending.

Authoritie gif Iust he be,
Quhy do thay this Ill will him?
His graitfull gide, throw peuische pride,
Allace! quhy did thay Kill him?
Thair heid supreme in to this Realme
Admit gif thay not will him,
Than ȝe, my Lords, cut of with cords
Thame will be troublous till him.

Reuenge this wrang, lat tratoure hang,
Gods Lawis dois sa requyre:
Lat Caleb eik and Josue seik
The promysit Impyre.
Thocht murmurars and murtherars
Wald all ȝour deith conspyre,
In wyldernes with cursitnes
At lenth thay will all tyre.

That Campion of Babilon,
That bludy beildar vp,
With Mytrid heid, ane homyceid
That saikles blude dois sup,
Gar cow his Crowne, or put him doun
That he may taist the Cup,
Quhairwith oft tymes, for saikles crymes,
Mennis lyues he Interup.

And se that neuer ȝe do disseuer
From first contractit band,
Quhen ȝe our King, of ȝeiris ȝing,
Maid Rewlar of this land.

155

Lat not Inuy cause sum ly by,
Bot all togidder stand;
Than God the Lord misericord
Will be ȝour sure warrand.

From Cail mercat, quhair as I sat,
Thir wordis I did Indyte
The wyfis amāg, that thocht greit lang
To se my awin hand wryte.
Gif ony be that will Judge me
To speik bot in dispyte,
Gar mend the mis committit is,
And I na mair sall flyte.

Quod Maddie.

Finis.

University of Virginia Library

XX. Maddeis Proclamatioun.