The minor poems of William Lauder playwright, poet, and minister of the word of God, (mainly on the state of Scotland in and about 1568 A.D., that year of famine and plague) ... Edited from the unique originals belonging to S. Christie-Miller ... By F. J. Furnivall |
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| ANE EXCLAMATIOUN AGANIS ALL FENȜEIT YPOCREITIS,
AND SPECIALLIE AGANIS ALL GREDIE DISSEMBLIT FALS PROTESTANTES. |
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 | The minor poems of William Lauder |  |
ANE EXCLAMATIOUN AGANIS ALL FENȜEIT YPOCREITIS, AND SPECIALLIE AGANIS ALL GREDIE DISSEMBLIT FALS PROTESTANTES.
O fie on ȝow that callis ȝour selffs professours,Syne notit ar for manifest transgressours!
Gods wourd is heauylie sclanderit for ȝour caus,
Seing ȝe do nothing obserue his Lawis!
Ȝe skar the wayklings from the wourd receauyng,
Throw ȝour vngodlie and vicius behauyng!
Quhat sayis the pure, behalding ȝour transgression?
“Grit God preserue ws from this lewd professiōn!
“Is this Gods wourd that learnis thame this euyll?
“It semis rather this wourd cummis of the Deuyll!
“Wer it Gods wourd, we mycht rycht weill be sure,
“Tha wald nocht in sic deuylrie indure,
“Puft vp in pryde, sik as wes neuer sene
“Before with ony mortall mannis Eine.”
Moir grit expens is maid, as I suppose,
Upon ane pair of prophane Monstruus hose,
Nor wald do cleith ane hundreth of the pure
That gois nakit, begging frome dure to dure.
Salyke sic Pryde pertenis to trew teaching,
Or ony poynt of the Appostillis preaching!
The Godlie aucht nocht to hald vile pryde in pryce,
Moir grit expens is maid, as I suppose,
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Nor wald do cleith ane hundreth of the pure
That gois nakit, begging frome dure to dure.
Salyke sic Pryde pertenis to trew teaching,
Or ony poynt of the Appostillis preaching!
Seing it is the Mother of all vyce,
Quhairof proceidis all distructioun,
And bring[i]s Kingdomes to confusioun.
For Pryde, Lucypheir from Heauinnis glore he fell,
And daylie is tormentit in the Hell
With mony thousandis of his oppynnioun,
Throw verray pryde from Heauin with him fell doun.
Pharao, for pryde, wes drownit in the Seye,
With all his Horsis and crewell Companye.
Sennacherib, for all his bost and schore,
Wes put to flycht; syne, be his Sone forlore.
And Nabuchodonezer, for his Pryde—
As Daniell dois distinclie weill discyde—
Wes, for his hicht, transformit in ane beist,
Quhill he agane of lawlynes did taist,
Granting him self to be ane mortall wicht,
And God allone to be the Lord of micht.
In to the buke of Hester is declaird,
How on that gallous, proude Aman had prepaird
To put gude Merdocheus to the dead,
Him self wes hangit, withouttin moir remead.
This to be schort: quho list to pryde pretend,
May be assurde of ane mischeuous end;
And in the contrair, quha wald exaltit be,
Go learne at Christ, to lead Humelytie.
Ȝe clois ȝour ears, and turnis away ȝour eyis,
Quhair ȝe ȝour pure and nedye brethren seyis!
Ȝour Cheritie, it is be-cum sa cauld,
Ȝe thole thame de but reuth, I der be bauld;
And euerie fatt Souch fedis and flammis ane vther!
Grit God thairfor will plaig that faithles futher!
And ȝit ȝe ar nothing of this eschamit;
Ȝour Cheritie, it is be-cum sa cauld,
Ȝe thole thame de but reuth, I der be bauld;
And euerie fatt Souch fedis and flammis ane vther!
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Bot ȝe will all, Protestantis still be nemmit!
So ar ȝe nocht! for Ihone sayis ȝe do lie.
Ȝe knaw nocht God, nor ȝit his wourd trewlie,
That seis ȝour nedie Brother in distres,
Syne helps him nocht, bot layfis him mercyles.
Ȝour gredynes! it stinkis and fylis the air!
I vg ȝour Murthour and Hirschip to declair!
For thocht ȝe sla nocht pure men with ȝour knyues,
Ȝit with ȝour dearth ȝe tak from thame the lyues!
Quhat differs dearth frome creuell briganrye,
Quhen that ȝe mak the Pure for hunger dye?
No thing at all! most trewlie to conclude,
Except of thame ȝe do nocht draw the blude;
For ȝe contryne thame,—as wyse men merkis and seis,—
Till one of thir two grit Extremiteis:
Till vtter hirschip, with bying of thair fude;
And want tha money? than, schortlie to conclude,
Thair is no credeit, bot of Necessitie,
The Pure Broder, for Hunger he man die.
God send ȝow nocht the Uictall of the ground
No thing at all! most trewlie to conclude,
Except of thame ȝe do nocht draw the blude;
For ȝe contryne thame,—as wyse men merkis and seis,—
Till one of thir two grit Extremiteis:
Till vtter hirschip, with bying of thair fude;
And want tha money? than, schortlie to conclude,
Thair is no credeit, bot of Necessitie,
The Pure Broder, for Hunger he man die.
That ȝe the pepill suld Fameis and confound;
Bot that ȝe sould thairof gude Stewarts be,
Helpand the Pure in thair necessite.
Wo be till him that hurdis vp his Corne,
Syne kepis it vp to dearth, fra morne to morne!
Bot Gods blissing sall lycht vpon his head,
That latis it furth, that pure men may get bread.
Bot as ȝe cloise ȝour Girnallis frome the puris,
Quhilkis now thairby grit miserie induris,
So God sall cloise on ȝow, for ȝour grit Sin,
His Heauinlie Porte, quhen ȝe wald faine cum in.
So God sall cloise on ȝow, for ȝour grit Sin,
His Heauinlie Porte, quhen ȝe wald faine cum in.
God sall ȝow Plaig agane for that, be sure!
Experience daylie teachis ws of this:
Merk quhen ȝe please, ȝe sall nocht find it mis.
Experience daylie teachis ws of this:
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I neid nocht rekkin ȝour filthye Harlotrie:
It is so knawin our alquhair, oppinlie;
Quhilk to rehearse, It mak[i]s me abhor!
Bot as the Townis of Sodome and Gomor,
The Creaturis and all that in thame was,
With fyre frome Heauin consumit was with as
For that foule stinkand Sin of Lychorie,
Richt so, ȝe Harlotis, but dout sall Plagit be
Be the grit Michtie God Omnipotent,
Except that ȝe moir spedylie repent!
For mony ane tyme, and daylie it is sene,
Quhilk to rehearse, It mak[i]s me abhor!
Bot as the Townis of Sodome and Gomor,
The Creaturis and all that in thame was,
With fyre frome Heauin consumit was with as
For that foule stinkand Sin of Lychorie,
Richt so, ȝe Harlotis, but dout sall Plagit be
Be the grit Michtie God Omnipotent,
Except that ȝe moir spedylie repent!
How sic vile harlotis for Hurdome Plagit bene
With most extreme and vrgent pouertie,
Quhilk sumtyme had of ryches grit plentie;
Sumtyme with maist detestebill odious schame,
Loyssing for euer thair honour and thair fame,
And sumtyme plagit be God with suddand dead;
But quho that list with wisedome to take head,
May daylie merk, and als perfytlie se,
The Harlotis oftymes plagit with all thre.
Quhill Saule & bodie be damnit to hellis pane.
For tha perceaue nocht that thair Miserie,
Dois licht on thame for thair Iniquytie.
For tha perceaue nocht that thair Miserie,
Dois licht on thame for thair Iniquytie.
Bot rycht as Pharao on Godis plaigs wald not pance,
Bot thocht tha come be fortune & be chance,
No moir the Harlot can think his hart within,
That God dois plaig him for his filthie Sin,
And so as Palȝeartis in Peltrie perseueiris,
Quhill of thair strenth consumit be the ȝeris.
Bot thocht tha come be fortune & be chance,
No moir the Harlot can think his hart within,
That God dois plaig him for his filthie Sin,
And so as Palȝeartis in Peltrie perseueiris,
Quhill of thair strenth consumit be the ȝeris.
The pure Plewmen & laubouraris of ȝour lands,
Quhen tha haue nocht to fill ȝour gredie hands,
Quhair ȝe can spye ane man to geue ȝow mair,
Ȝe schute thame furth; syne puts ane vthir thair.
Howbeit the first haue Barnis aucht or nyne,
Ȝe tak no thocht, thocht man and all sulde tyne;
Within few ȝeris ȝe herye him also,
Syne puts him furth; to beggin most he go;
Thus schift ȝe our, in to most gredie wyse,
The quhilk ane Uengeance frome the Heauin cryis.
Ȝit for all this ȝe neuer ar content!
Quhair ȝe can spye ane man to geue ȝow mair,
Ȝe schute thame furth; syne puts ane vthir thair.
Howbeit the first haue Barnis aucht or nyne,
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Within few ȝeris ȝe herye him also,
Syne puts him furth; to beggin most he go;
Thus schift ȝe our, in to most gredie wyse,
The quhilk ane Uengeance frome the Heauin cryis.
Howbeit ȝe haue, be fer, moir land and rent
Nor euer had ȝour Fatheris ȝow before;
Bot euer gredie, and gaping still for more.
And all this is, for to setfurth ȝour pryde!
Ȝour housis halding is down, & laid on syde:
Quhair hunders wount ȝour faders to conuoye,
Now will ȝe ryde with ane man and ane boye.
Nocht hes the wyte of this ȝour filthie Uice
Quhair hunders wount ȝour faders to conuoye,
Now will ȝe ryde with ane man and ane boye.
Bot that fals gredie Idole Auerice,
Quhilk chokkit hes ȝour harts so haillelie,
That nothair to God nor honour ȝe haue Ee.
Grit meruell is, of ȝow that gettis this muk,
Bot ȝe sould haue aboundance with gude luk.
And ȝit we se thair dois nothing succeid,
Bot barrane ground, with mony frutles weid,
Moir emptye now of warldlis gear and gude
Nor wes ȝour Faders, that fand rycht mony fude,
Quhilks had nocht half sa mekill for to spend,
Ȝit had grit ryches, and honour to thair end.
And ȝe ar nedye, thriftles, and threid-bair!
Of wrangus gude, no better man can fair.
Iudge ȝe ȝour selfis, in ȝour awin conscience,
Quhat is the cause of ȝour grit Indigence!
I saye for me, God will nocht send incresse
To thame that wrangus Conqueis dois possesse!
Syne knawis Gods wourd, syne dois the contrarie!
How can sic pepill, with grit God fauourd be?
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And be his rycht and most Iust Iudgement,
Wes stond to death, as Iosue concluds,
Because the tuke of Excommunicat guds.
Gyf ȝe haue done with siclyke gudis mell,
I can nocht say; Iudge that amangs ȝour sell.
Quho list the Storie of Achab to persew,
And Iesabell his wyfe, that Naboth slew
For his wyne Ȝaird, throw gredie Couatyce,
Thair sall ȝe find how God did plaig that Uyce,
And maid thame both most miserablie to de
For thair foule Murthour and Cupeditie.
Saule lost his Kingdome throw his gredines.
And riche Naball, for his grit churlyschenes
Schewin to Dauid, almaist had bene distroyit,
Gyf Abygall had nocht it weill conuoyit,
And measit Dauid verray Prudentlie;
Ȝit God maid Naball schortlie for to de,
And him bereft frome all his wardlie wrak,
For ony fence the churlysche Carll could mak.
As sall all wrachit Churlis layf thair geir,
And vtheris thairof sall mak mirrye cheir,
That nocht pertenit to thame be kin nor blude!
All wrachis wrak thus endis, to conclude.
Ȝit mony of Naballis blude dois rest behind,
Bot verray few of Abygallis to find!
Paule dois pronunce in wourdis plane & euin,
That Couatus men sall nocht inherit Heuin,
And dois forbid that we expreslie
Suld bear the Couatus ony companie.
Lo we se heir,—quhat nedis processe mair?—
That Godis trew wourd maist plainlie dois declair
That Couatus men, quhat way that euer tha wend,
Sall nocht at lenth eschaip ane sorye end.
The Mes, that Idoll,—praysit be God!—is past;
Bot Couatyce, the quhilk is cum in last,
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Gyf that this Idoll Rax, it will all mer,
All will be brocht vnto confusioun,
Gods wourd and Lawis vnto abusioun,
The Ciueill Iustice, sall peruertit be,
Uproris sall ryse, and start vp haistelie,
No man sall leue at rest and peace with vther,
Except this Idoll be banist with the tother;
And wer we quyte of thir fals Idols baith,
The Godlie than micht soundlie sleip but skaith.
Refrane in tyme! with speid repent and mend!
Or God ane sudand plaig sall on ȝow send,
And punysche ȝow be fer moir creuellie
Nor Ignorantis befoir wes wint to be!
Without ȝe mend, maist certainlie I say ȝow,
Gods holy wourd but dout sall be tane fra ȝow.
Because with ȝow it is nothing regardit,
Thairfor with God ȝe sall be so rewardit,
That vncouth Strangears of ane forene Natioun
Sall disapoynt ȝour Kirk and Congregatioun,
Quhilk is the gritest Plaig that God can send:
This sall nocht mis! without ȝe schortlie mend,
Ȝe sall be Plagit so, and on sik wyse,
That ȝe sall wysse ȝour death ane hundreth syse.
And quhen ȝe wald, ȝit sall ȝe no wayis de;
That death ȝe Ȝairne, it sall fast frome ȝow fle.
For Disobedience vnto Gods wourd,
Ȝe sall be Plagit with Hunger, Pest, and swourd,
With Hirschip, Fyre, with Dearth, and Pestelence,
Because ȝe Sin aganis ȝour Conscience;
For God[i]s wourd wes neuer moir trewlie teachit
Nor it is now in mony placis preachit,
And neuer sa mony vngodlie pepill sene
In to this earth, sen it Inhabit bene!
Quhairfor, gyf ȝe grit God wald glorefie,
Imbrace his wourd and learne to fructefie,
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That euerye man may graip, and als considder,
It is Gods wourd and pure Religioun
That ȝe obserue in ȝour professioun.
Quhat helpis it, thocht we the wourd professe,
Except the Frute proceid thairof expresse?
Thus lat ȝour deids so schyne in tymes to cum,
Tha sall be sene, and kend till all and sum,
That the Behaldars may crye with Ioyfull steuin,
“Grace, glore, and honour, be to the Father of Heuin!”
So quhen ȝour werks dois with ȝour wourds aggre,
No dout ȝe sall the Father glorefie.
The secund proffit, rycht as our Text it merks,
Tuytching the bringing furth of Godlie werks,
With faithfull Pepill that dois thair God regaird,
Semplie I haue heir in few wourds declaird,
So that thair rests of this mateir no mair,
Bot the thrid proffit onlie to declair,
Quhilk schortlie now, be Gods grace, I sall end:
Gyf earis heirfor, and to my wourds attend!
| The minor poems of William Lauder | |