 | Satirical poems of the reformation |  |
201
XXIX. A Lewd Ballet.
A first quhen the newis begouthe to ryse, gretly thai maid me wondre,
Quhow that so grett a gospellar so fellounly could fondre;
Bott, seing quhow all erdly thingis wor subiect to mutatioun,
Than fand I it no grett mervall, albeit the congregatioun
wor no les than þe puir Papistis Inclynit to fornicatioun.
Quhow that so grett a gospellar so fellounly could fondre;
Bott, seing quhow all erdly thingis wor subiect to mutatioun,
Than fand I it no grett mervall, albeit the congregatioun
wor no les than þe puir Papistis Inclynit to fornicatioun.
Now is the cours Platonian completit haillely:
the sone and Mone and sevin sterris reuoluit in þe sky,
That mokis the wordle tourne top or taill, & will resson to ryde,
The plewche befoir the oxin go, the best the man to gyde,
And all things to misrewlit be, owte of all tyme and tyde.
the sone and Mone and sevin sterris reuoluit in þe sky,
That mokis the wordle tourne top or taill, & will resson to ryde,
The plewche befoir the oxin go, the best the man to gyde,
And all things to misrewlit be, owte of all tyme and tyde.
The Subiect now commandis the Prince, and Knox is grown a king:
Quhat he willis obeyit is, that maid the Bisshop hing;
The soutar is the grett prechor: the gray freir moks þe shone;
Quhat mervell than thochte chaist forett, prouokit by þe mone,
Hichit on þe hure so oppinly, sen all is owtte of tone?
Quhat he willis obeyit is, that maid the Bisshop hing;
202
Quhat mervell than thochte chaist forett, prouokit by þe mone,
Hichit on þe hure so oppinly, sen all is owtte of tone?
Quhat mervell thochte on þe fryday wyt silks he did him dek,
and on sonday his garmont wes of ane harne sek?
Quhat mervall thot þe cerimony and claith of penitence
is vsit, and þe oþr clayt of diuine reuerence
and ministration, þat Aron woure, is putt in negligence?
and on sonday his garmont wes of ane harne sek?
Quhat mervall thot þe cerimony and claith of penitence
is vsit, and þe oþr clayt of diuine reuerence
and ministration, þat Aron woure, is putt in negligence?
Ȝitt I beleiff ols mony myndis thochte, ha, loury, ha, ha!
Quhen Dauid vnder þe sek did loure, as toungs did coy or say,
Quhen þe puir preist to scaffald went, þe auld bisshop befoir,
in Aronis weidis; for quha wald not lauche qll his hart grew soir,
To se forett þe holy frere his fukking so deploire?
Quhen Dauid vnder þe sek did loure, as toungs did coy or say,
Quhen þe puir preist to scaffald went, þe auld bisshop befoir,
in Aronis weidis; for quha wald not lauche qll his hart grew soir,
To se forett þe holy frere his fukking so deploire?
Bott quhat, I think, thochte Dauid, quhē he wes to lowpe the lowne?
or quhow did he his conscience so sincere cloik or gowne?
Evin as Meffan, his scuill maistre, þai se, schew him þe way,
Quha neþr wyt oþr mānis wyffe nor maid, bot wyt his awin las lay:
Than lat ws sing, O fukand flok! ȝor deid is not lyk ȝor say.
or quhow did he his conscience so sincere cloik or gowne?
Evin as Meffan, his scuill maistre, þai se, schew him þe way,
Quha neþr wyt oþr mānis wyffe nor maid, bot wyt his awin las lay:
Than lat ws sing, O fukand flok! ȝor deid is not lyk ȝor say.
The preist, I grant, his concubine wald hyde in hoill and boire,
and quhylis quhen he tyrit of ane wold gett in oþr in stoire;
The Ministre, far todlyar, his hure in houshold chereis,
bott, quhē he listis, he schaks hir of be diuorce or hir wirreis;
Sum for þe hure garris heid þameselff, and is not þat a morreis?
and quhylis quhen he tyrit of ane wold gett in oþr in stoire;
The Ministre, far todlyar, his hure in houshold chereis,
bott, quhē he listis, he schaks hir of be diuorce or hir wirreis;
Sum for þe hure garris heid þameselff, and is not þat a morreis?
Quhat mervell than thot chaist forett, mouit be luyf and ȝeill,
qlk he beris so feruently vnto þe Cōmune Weill,
That, quhē he not promouis þe sonne, he—il scantly dit þe day,
to stoir þe wordle lay on þe lass, sen it dois plainly say:
Crescite, my douis, et multiplicaminay!
qlk he beris so feruently vnto þe Cōmune Weill,
That, quhē he not promouis þe sonne, he—il scantly dit þe day,
to stoir þe wordle lay on þe lass, sen it dois plainly say:
Crescite, my douis, et multiplicaminay!
203
The Duvill, þatt man kynd he may trumpe, tekis forme of Angell bryte,
bot, at þe last, þe grace of God his trumpry bringis to lychte;
Sa, lolarts, ȝor hypocrisy þat sa fane ȝe wald hyde,
Ȝe se, wyt tyme, in spyte of ȝow dois peice and peice owt slyde,
Schawing quhow, wolfis in lam skynis! þe puire scheip ȝe misgyde.
bot, at þe last, þe grace of God his trumpry bringis to lychte;
Sa, lolarts, ȝor hypocrisy þat sa fane ȝe wald hyde,
Ȝe se, wyt tyme, in spyte of ȝow dois peice and peice owt slyde,
Schawing quhow, wolfis in lam skynis! þe puire scheip ȝe misgyde.
| Satirical poems of the reformation | |