University of Virginia Library

Schir, thocht ȝour grace hes put gret ordour
Baith in the Hieland and the Bordour,
Ȝit mak I Supplicatioun,
Tyll haue sum Reformatioun
Of ane small falt, quhilk is nocht Tressoun,
Thocht it be contrarie to Ressoun.
Because the Matter bene so vyle,
It may nocht haue ane Ornate style;
Quharefor, I pray ȝour Excellence
To heir me with greit Pacience.
Of stinkand weidis maculate
No man may mak ane Rois Chaiplat.
Souerane, I mene of thir syde taillis,
Quhilk throw the dust and dubbis traillis,
Thre quarteris lang behind thare heillis,
Expres agane all Commoun weillis.
Thocht Bischoppis in thare pontificallis
Haue men for to beir up thare taillis,
For dignite of thare office,
Rychtso ane Quene, or ane Emprice,
Howbeit thay vse sic grauite,
Conformand to thare Maieste,
Thocht thare Rob Royallis be vpborne,
I think it is ane verray scorne
That euery Lady of the land
Suld haue hir taill so syde trailland.
Howbeit thay bene of hie estait,
The Quene thay suld nocht counterfait.
Quhare euer thay go, it may be sene,
How kirk and calsay thay soup clene.
The Imagis in to the kirk,
May think of thare syde tailis Irk,
For quhen the wedder bene most fair,
The dust fleis hiest in the air,
And all thare facis dois begarie.
Giue thay culd speik, thay wald thame warie.
To se I think ane plesand sicht,
Of Italie the Ladyis bricht,
In thare clething most triumphand
Aboue all vther christin land.
Ȝit quhen thay trauell throw the townis,
Men seis thare feit beneth thare gownis,
Four Inche abone thare proper heillis,
Circulat about als round as quheillis,
Quhare throw thare dois na poulder ryis,
Thare fair quhyte lymmis to suppryis.
Bot I think maist abusioun,
To se men of Religioun
Gar beir thare taillis throw the streit,
That folkis may behald thare feit:
I trow sanct Bernard nor sanct Blais
Gart neuer man beir vp thare clais;
Peter, nor Paule, nor sanct Androw,
Gart neuer beir vp thare taillis, I trow,
Bot I lauch best to se ane Nwn,
Gar beir hir taill abone hir bwn,
For no thing ellis, as I suppois,
Bot for to schaw hir lillie quhyte hois.
In all thare Rewlis, thay will nocht find
Quha suld beir vp thair taillis behind.
Bot I haue maist in to despyte,
Pure Claggokis cled in roiploch quhyte,
Quhilk hes skant twa markis for thare feis,
Wyll haue twa ellis beneth thare kneis.
Kittok, that clekkit wes ȝistrene,
The morne wyll counterfute the Quene.
Ane mureland Meg that mylkis the ȝowis,
Claggit with clay abone the howis,
In barn nor byir scho wyll nocht byde,
Without hir kirtyll taill be syde.
In Burrowis wantoun burges wyiffis,
Quha may haue sydest taillis stryiffis,
Weill bordourit with Ueluoit fyne:
Bot following thame, it is ane pyne,
In Somer quhen the streitis dryis;
Thay rais the dust abone the skyis:
None may go neir thame at thare eis,
Without thay couer mouth and neis,
Frome the powder, to keip thare ene.
Consider giue thare Cloiffis be clene,
Betuixt thare cleuing, and thare kneis;
Quha mycht behald thare sweitie theis,
Begairit all with dirt, and dust,
That wer aneuch to stanche the lust
Of ony man that saw thame naikit.
I think sic giglottis ar bot glaikit,
Without profite to haue sic pryde,
Harland thare claggit taillis so syde
I wald thay borrowstounis barnis had breikkis,
To keip sic mist fra Malkinnis cheikkis:
I dreid rouch Malkin de for drouth,
Quhen sic dry dust blawis in hir mouth.
I think maist pane, efter ane rane,
To se thame towkit vp agane;
Than, quhen thay step furth throw the streit,
Thare faldingis flappis about thair feit,
Thare laithlie lyning furthwart flypit,
Quhilk hes the muk and midding wypit.
Thay waist more claith within few ȝeiris,
Nor wald cleith fyftie score of freiris.
Quhen Marioun frome the midding gois,
Frome hir morne turne scho strypis the nois.
And all the day quhare euer scho go,
Sic liquour scho likkith vp also,
The Turcumis of hir taill, I trow,
Mycht be ane supper till ane sow.
I ken ane man, quhilk swoir greit aithis,
How he did lift ane Kittokis claithis,
And wald haue done, I wait nocht quhat;
But sone remeid of lufe he gat:
He thocht na schame to mak it wittin,
How hir syde taill was all beschittin.
Of filth sic flewer straik till his hart,
That he behouit for till depart.
(Quod scho) sweit schir, me think ȝe rew.
(Quod he) ȝour tail makis sic ane stew,
That be sanct Bryde, I may nocht byde it.
Ȝe war nocht wyse, that wald nocht hyde it.
Of Taillis I wyll no more Indyte,
For dreid sum Duddroun me despyte.
Nocht withstanding, I wyll conclude,
That of syde Taillis can cum na gude,
Syder nor may thare hanclethis hyde;
The remanent proceidis of pryde,
And Pryde proceidis of the Deuill;
Thus alway thay proceid of euill.

Ane vther fault, Schir, may be sene:
Thay hyde thare face all bot the ene.
Quhen gentill men biddis thame gude day,
Without Reuerence thay slyde away,
That none may knaw, I ȝow assure,
Ane honest woman be ane hure.
Without thare naikit face I se,
Thay get no mo gude dayis of me.
Hails ane Frence Lady quhen ȝe pleis,
Scho wyll discouer mouth and neis,
And with ane humill countenance,
With Uisage bair mak reuerence.
Quhen our Ladyis dois ryde in rane,
Suld no man haue thame at disdane,
Thocht thay be couerit, mouth and neis,
In that cace thay wyll nane displeis.
Nor quhen thay go to quiet places,
I thame excuse to hyde thare facis,
Quhen thay wald mak Collatioun
With ony lustie Companȝeoun,
Thocht thay be hid than to the ene,
Ȝe may considder quhat I mene.
Bot in the kirk, and market placis,
I think thay suld nocht hide thare facis.
Without thir faltis be sone amendit,
My flyting, schir, sall neuer be endit.
Bot wald your grace my counsall tak,
Ane Proclamatioun ȝe suld mak,
Baith throw the land and Borrowstounis,
To schaw thare face, and cut thare gownis.
Nane suld fra that Exemptit be,
Except the Quenis Maieste.
Because this mater is nocht fair,
Of Rethorik it man be bair.
Wemen wyll say this is no bourdis,
To wryte sic vyle and filthy wordis,
Bot wald thay clenge thare filthy taillis,
Quhilk ouir the myris and middingis traillis,
Than suld my wrytting clengit be:
None vther mendis thay get of me.
The suith suld nocht be haldin clos,
Veritas non querit Angulos.
I wait gude wemen that bene wyse,
This rurall Ryme wyll nocht dispryse.
None wyll me blame, I ȝow assure,
Except ane wantoun glorious hure,
Quhais flyting I feir nocht ane fle.
Fair weill, ȝe get no more of me.