Satirical poems of the reformation

Now Katherine de Medicis hes maid sic a gyis,
To tary in Paris the papistes ar tykit:
At Bastianes brydell, howbeit scho denyis,
Giue Mary slew Hary, it was not vnlykit:
Ȝit a man is nane respectand this number;
I dar not say wemen hes wyte of this cummer.

Ȝone mask the Quene Mother hes maid thame in France,
Was maikles and saikles and schamfully slane;
Bot Mary conuoyit and come with ane dance,
Quhill princes in sences was fyrit with ane trane;
Baith tressonabill murtheris the ane and the vther:
I go not in masking mair with the Quene Mother.

258

Italianes ar tyranis and tressonabill tratoris;
For gysours, deuysours, the Guysianis ar gude;
Bot Frenche men ar trew men, and not of thair natouris;
Than, Charlie, I farlie thow drank thy awin blude:
I wyte bot thy mother wit, wemen ar vane,
I greis neir to Ganȝelon nor grit Charlie Mane.

Thy style was Treschristien, maist Cristen King,
Baith hiest and friest, and neist the impyre;
Bot now Prouest Marschell in playing this spring;
And ressoun for tressoun prouokis God to ire,
Beleuis thow this trumprie sall stablische thy style?
Our God is not deed, ȝit be doand ane quhyle.

Suppois that the Papistes deuysit this at Trent,
To ding vs and bring vs with mony lowd lauchter,
With sic cruell murther is Christ sa content,
To take the and make the ane Sanct for our slauchter?
Albeit he correct vs and scurge vs in ire,
Be war with the wand syne he wapis in the fyre.

For better is pure men nor princes periurit;
Baith schameles and fameles, we find thame sa fals;
With sangis lyke the seryne our lyfis thow allurit;
Ouirsylit vs, begylit vs, with baitis in our hals;
Or as the fals fowler, his fang for to get,
Deuoiris the pure volatill he wylis to the net.

In Ilis nor in Orknay, in Ireland Oneill,
Thay dar not, thay gar not thair lieges be stickit:
Solyman, Tamerlan, nor yit the mekle Deill,
Proud Pharao, nor Nero, was neuer sa wickit:
Nouther Turk nor Infidell vsis sic thing
As be their awin burreo, being ane king.

259

Baith auld men, and wemen with babis on thair breist,
Not luking nor huking, to hurll thame in Sane!
All beand murdreist downe, quhat do ȝe neist?
Processioun, confession, and vp Mes agane:
Proud King Antiochus was sum tyme als haly,
And yet our God guschit out the guttis of his belly.

Thy syster thou maryit, thy saces was sour;
Sic cuikrie for luikrie was euill interprisit;
Ȝe maid vs the Reid Freiris, and rais in an hour,
Abhorring na gorring that micht be deuisit:
Thou playit the fals hypocreit fenȝeing the fray,
But inwart ane rageing wolf waitand thy pray.

That France was confidderat with Scotland, I grant,
Baith actit, contractit, and keipit in deid;
The kyndnes of cutthrottis we cure not to want,
Denyis thame, defyis thame, and al thair fals seid:
It was bot with honest men we maid the band,
And thou hes left leifand bot few in that land.

Our faith is not warldly, we feir not thy braulis,
Thocht hangmen ouirgang men, for gaddaring our geir,
Ȝe kill bot the carcase, ȝe get not our saulis,
Not douting our shouting is hard in Goddis eir.
The same God from Pharo defendit his pepill,
And not ȝone round Robene that standis in ȝour stepill.

Now, wyse Quene Elizabeth, luik to yourself,
Dispite them, and wryte thame ane bill of defyance;
The Papistis and Spanȝards hes partit ȝour pelf,
As newly and trewly was tald me thir tythance:
Beleue thay to land heir and get vs for nocht,
Will ȝe do as we do, it sall be deir bocht.

260

Giue pleis God we gre sa, and hald vs togidder,
Baith surely, and sturely, and stoutly gainstand thame;
They culd not weill conqueis vs, culd ȝe considder,
For our men are dour men, and likis weill to land thame:
Quhen Cesar himself was chaist, haue ȝe forȝet?
And baith the realmes be aggreit, tak that thay get.

For better it is to fecht it, defendant our lyfis,
With speir men and weir men, and ventour our sellis,
Nor for to se Frenchemen deflorand our wyfis,
Displace vs, and chace vs, as thay haue done ellis;
I meane, quhen the Inglismen helpit at Leith,
And gart thame gang hame agane, spyte of thair teith.

I cannot trow firmely that Frenchemen ar cummen,
Persayfand thame haifand thameselfis into parrell:
The Lord saue Elizabeth, thair ane gude woman,
That cauldly and bauldly debait will our quarrell,
With men and with money, baith armour and graith,
As scho hes befoir tyme defendit this Faith.

Thocht France for thair falset be drownit in dangeris,
For causis and pausis thay plait into Pareis;
Ȝit we ar in war estait, waitand on strangeris,
Not gyding, deuyding our awin men from Mareis:
So weid the calf from the corn, calk me thair dures,
And slay or ȝe be slane, gif sic thing occures.

Bot how can ȝe traist thame that trumpit ȝow ellis,
Decoir thame, do for thame, or foster thair seid?
And thay may anis se thair time, tent to ȝoursellis,
Baith haitfull, dissaitfull, ȝe deill with, in deid;
Anis wod and ay the war, wit quhat ȝe do,
And mak thame fast in the ruit gif thay cum to.

261

God blis ȝow, my brether, and biddis ȝow gud nicht;
Obey God, go say God, with prayer and fasting;
Christ keip this pure ile of ouris in the auld richt,
Defend vs, and send vs the life euerlasting:
The Lord send vs quyetnes, and keip our ȝoung king,
The Quene of Inglands Maiestie, and lang mot thai ring!

Finis.

Quod Simpell.

Imprintit at Sanctandrois be Robert Lekpriuik. Anno Do. 1572.

University of Virginia Library

XXXVIII. Ane new Ballet set out be ane fugitiue Scottisman that fled out of Paris at this lait Murther.[_] The attribution of this poem is questionable.

XXXVIII. Ane new Ballet set out be ane fugitiue Scottisman that fled out of Paris at this lait Murther.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.