The Poems of Alexander Montgomerie :: :: University of Virginia Library

Not Clio nor Calliope I chuse;
Megera, thou must be my mirthles Muse,
For to inspyre my spreit with thy despyte,
And with thy fervent furie me infuse,
Quhat epithets or arguments till vse,
With fals and feinȝed Fortun for to flyte.
Both wey my words and waill my verse to wry[te,]
That curst inconstant cative till accuse,
Quhais variance of all my wois I wyt.

Sho is mair mobile mekle nor the mone:
It keeps a course, and changis not so sone,
Bot in ane ordour waxis ay and wanis;
Sing sho tua notis, the one is out of tone,
As B acre lau and B moll far abone:
In mesur not a moment sho remanes.
Sho givis by gesse; sho weyis no gold by granes.
Hir doings all ar vndiscreitly done,
Without respect of persons or of pains.

For men of merit sho no mater maks:
Bot vhen a toy intill hir heid sho taks,
But ryme or reson or respect to richt,
The worthiest and valiantest sho wraks,
And honours out-waills for wnworthie acts;
As of a kitchin knaive to mak a knicht.
That witch, that warlok, that vnworthie wic[ht]
Turnis ay the best men tittest on thair bakis;
Syn settis vp sik as somtym war bot slycht.

130

Quhen with a quhisk sho quhirlis about hir quheill,
Rude is that rattill running with a reill,
Quhill top ouer tail goes honest men atains.
Then spurgald sporters they begin to speill;
The cadger clims, neu cleikit from the creill;
And ladds vploips to lordships all thair lains:
Doun goes the bravest, brecking al their banis.
Sho works hir will; God wot if it be weill.
Sho stottis at strais, syn stumbillis not at stanis.

How sho suld hurt or help sho neuer huiks.
Luk as it lyks, sho laughis and neuer luiks,
Bot wavers lyk the widdircok in wind.
Sho counts not kings nor caȝards mair nor cuiks.
Reid bot hou scho hes bleckit Bocas buiks:
Thairin the fall of princes sall ȝe find.
That bloodie bitch, that buskit belly blind
Dings dounuards ay the duchtiest lyk duiks:
Quha hopped highest oft tyms comes behind.

I neid not nou to nominat thair names
Quhom sho hes shent, and dayly shifts and shames;
That longsome labour wold be ouer prolixt:
Ȝour selfis may sie, I think, a thousand thames
Quhilks poets, as hir pursevants, proclames.
Hir fickle freindship is not firmely fixt:
Quhair ane is nou his nichtbour may be nixt.
Sho causles culȝies, and but falt defames;
Hir mirrines with missheif ay is mixt.

Thairfor, my freinds vha nevir feirs to fall,
Resaiv my eirnest admonition all.
Quhillis ȝe ar weill I wish ȝou to be war.
Remember, shirs, that somtym ȝe war small;
And may be ȝit: I will not say ȝe sall;

131

For, I confes, that war a fut too far.
Houbeit ȝe think my harrand something har,
Quhen ȝe leist wein, ȝour baks may to the wall.
Things byds not ay in ordour as they ar.

Tak tyme in tyme, and to my taill tak tent;
Let ȝe it pass, perhaps, ȝe may repent,
And wish it war, vhen ȝe may want ȝour will.
Had Cæsar sene the cedul that wes sent,
Ȝe wat he had not with the wicked went,
Quha war concludit causles him to kill:
Bot in his bosome he put vp that bill;
The vhilk at last, thoght lait, maid him repent:
His vnadvertence only did him ill.

Judge of ȝour self by Julius, my joyes,
Quhais fenȝeid freinds wer worse then open foes,
If that ȝe stand not in a stagring stait.
Think ȝe that sho will thole ȝou more nor those
Quha war ȝour auin companȝons, I suppose,
Quhom sho gart slyde, or ȝe sat on thair seat?
Some got a blind, vho thoght they war not bleat.
Chuse or refuse my counsel; tak ȝour chose.
Fairweill, my freinds, I bot with fortun fleat.