 | Satirical poems of the reformation |  |
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XI. The Complaint of Scotland.
Adew, all glaidnes, sport, and play!
Adew, fair weill, baith nycht and day,
All thinge that may mak mirrie cheir,
Bot sich rycht soir in hart and say:
Allace! to Graif is gone my deir!
Adew, fair weill, baith nycht and day,
All thinge that may mak mirrie cheir,
Bot sich rycht soir in hart and say:
Allace! to Graif is gone my deir!
My lothsum lyfe I may lament
With fixit face and mynde attent,
In weiping wo to perseueir,
And asking still for punischement
Of thame hes brocht to graif my deir.
With fixit face and mynde attent,
In weiping wo to perseueir,
And asking still for punischement
Of thame hes brocht to graif my deir.
Bot lang, allace! I may complaine
Befoir I find my deir againe,
To me was faithfull and Inteir,
As Turtill trew on me tuke paine:
Allace! to graif is gone my deir!
Befoir I find my deir againe,
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As Turtill trew on me tuke paine:
Allace! to graif is gone my deir!
Sen nathing may my murning mend,
On God maist hie I will depend
My cairfull cause for to vpreir:
For he support to me will send,
Althocht to graif is gone my deir.
On God maist hie I will depend
My cairfull cause for to vpreir:
For he support to me will send,
Althocht to graif is gone my deir.
My hauie hap and piteous plicht
Dois peirs my hart baith day and nycht,
That lym nor lyth I may not steir,
Till sum reuenge with force and mycht
The Cruell murther of my deir.
Dois peirs my hart baith day and nycht,
That lym nor lyth I may not steir,
Till sum reuenge with force and mycht
The Cruell murther of my deir.
This cureles wound dois greif me soir;
The lyke I neuer felt befoir
Sen Fergus first of me tuke steir;
For now, allace! decayis my gloir
Throw cruell murther of my deir.
The lyke I neuer felt befoir
Sen Fergus first of me tuke steir;
For now, allace! decayis my gloir
Throw cruell murther of my deir.
O wickit wretche Infortunat!
O sauage seid Insatiat!
Mycht thow not, frantik fule! forbeir
To sla with dart Intoxicat,
And cruellie deuoir my deir?
O sauage seid Insatiat!
Mycht thow not, frantik fule! forbeir
To sla with dart Intoxicat,
And cruellie deuoir my deir?
Wa worth the! wretche! wa worth thy clā!
Wa worth the wit that first began
This deir debait for to vpsteir,
Contrare the Lawis of God and man
To murther cruellie my deir!
Wa worth the wit that first began
This deir debait for to vpsteir,
Contrare the Lawis of God and man
To murther cruellie my deir!
Throw the now Lawles libertie,
Throw the mischeif and crueltie,
Throw the fals men thair heidis vp beir,
Throw the is baneist equitie,
Throw the to graif is gone my deir.
Throw the mischeif and crueltie,
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Throw the is baneist equitie,
Throw the to graif is gone my deir.
Throw the ma Kinge than ane dois ring,
Throw the all Tratoure blythlie sing,
Throw the is kendlit ciuill weir,
Throw the murther wald beir the swing,
Throw the to graif is gone my deir.
Throw the all Tratoure blythlie sing,
Throw the is kendlit ciuill weir,
Throw the murther wald beir the swing,
Throw the to graif is gone my deir.
Throw the is raisit sturtsum stryfe,
Throw the the vitall breith of lyfe
Is him bereft did with the beir,
Quhen Gallow pin or cutting Knyfe
Suld stranglit the, and saift my deir.
Throw the the vitall breith of lyfe
Is him bereft did with the beir,
Quhen Gallow pin or cutting Knyfe
Suld stranglit the, and saift my deir.
Ungraitfull grome, sic recompence
Was not condigne to thyne offence;
With glowing gunne that man to teir
From doggis deith was thy defence:
To the sic mercie schew my deir.
Was not condigne to thyne offence;
With glowing gunne that man to teir
From doggis deith was thy defence:
To the sic mercie schew my deir.
O cursit Cain! o hound of hell!
O bludie bairne of Ishmaell!
Gedaliah quhen thow did steir,
To vicis all thow rang the bell,
Throw cruell murther of my deir.
O bludie bairne of Ishmaell!
Gedaliah quhen thow did steir,
To vicis all thow rang the bell,
Throw cruell murther of my deir.
Allace! my deir did not foirsie,
Quhen he gaif pardone vnto the,
Maist wickit wretche! to men sinceir
Quhat paine he brocht and miserie,
With reuthfull ruine to my deir.
Quhen he gaif pardone vnto the,
Maist wickit wretche! to men sinceir
Quhat paine he brocht and miserie,
With reuthfull ruine to my deir.
But trew it is, the godly men
Quhilk think na harme nor falset ken,
Nor haitrent dois to vthere beir,
Ar sonest brocht to deithis den,
As may be sene be this my deir.
Quhilk think na harme nor falset ken,
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Ar sonest brocht to deithis den,
As may be sene be this my deir.
Thairfoir to the I say no moir,
Bot I traist to the King of Gloir,
That thow and thyne sall ȝit reteir
Ȝour Campe, with murning mynde richt soir,
For cruell murther of my deir.
Bot I traist to the King of Gloir,
That thow and thyne sall ȝit reteir
Ȝour Campe, with murning mynde richt soir,
For cruell murther of my deir.
O nobill Lordis of Renoun!
O Barronis bauld! ȝe mak ȝow boun
To fute the field with fresche effeir,
And dintis doure the pryde ding doun
Of thame that brocht to graif my deir.
O Barronis bauld! ȝe mak ȝow boun
To fute the field with fresche effeir,
And dintis doure the pryde ding doun
Of thame that brocht to graif my deir.
Reuenge his deith with ane assent,
With ane hart, will, mynde, and Intent;
In faithfull freindschip perseueir;
God will ȝou fauour and thame schent,
Be work or word that slew my deir.
With ane hart, will, mynde, and Intent;
In faithfull freindschip perseueir;
God will ȝou fauour and thame schent,
Be work or word that slew my deir.
Be crous, ȝe commouns! in this cace,
In auenture ȝe cry, allace!
Quhen murtherars the swinge sall beir,
And from ȝour natiue land ȝow chace,
Unles that ȝe reuenge my deir.
In auenture ȝe cry, allace!
Quhen murtherars the swinge sall beir,
And from ȝour natiue land ȝow chace,
Unles that ȝe reuenge my deir.
Lat all that fische be trapt in net,
Was counsall, art, part, or reset,
With thankfull mynde and hartie cheir,
Or ȝit with helping hand him met,
Quhen he to graif did bring my deir.
Was counsall, art, part, or reset,
With thankfull mynde and hartie cheir,
Or ȝit with helping hand him met,
Quhen he to graif did bring my deir.
Defend ȝour King and feir ȝour God,
Pray to auoyde his feirfull rod,
Lest in his angrie wraith austeir
Ȝe puneist be, baith euin and od,
For not reuenging of my deir.
Pray to auoyde his feirfull rod,
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Ȝe puneist be, baith euin and od,
For not reuenging of my deir.
And do not feir the number small,
Thocht ȝe be few, on God ȝe call
With faithfull hart, and mynde sinceir:
He will be ay ȝour brasin wall,
Gif ȝe with speid reuenge my deir.
Thocht ȝe be few, on God ȝe call
With faithfull hart, and mynde sinceir:
He will be ay ȝour brasin wall,
Gif ȝe with speid reuenge my deir.
Remuif all sluggische slewth away;
Lat lurking Inuy clene decay;
Gar Commoun weill ȝour Baner beir,
And peace and concord it display,
Quhen ȝe pas to reuenge my deir.
Lat lurking Inuy clene decay;
Gar Commoun weill ȝour Baner beir,
And peace and concord it display,
Quhen ȝe pas to reuenge my deir.
With sobbing sych I to ȝou send
This my complaint, with dew commend,
Desyring ȝow all without feir
Me, pure Scotland, for to defend,
Sen now to graif is gone my deir.
This my complaint, with dew commend,
Desyring ȝow all without feir
Me, pure Scotland, for to defend,
Sen now to graif is gone my deir.
Finis.
| Satirical poems of the reformation | |