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1. On the Nativity of Christ
[Et nobis puer natus est]
Rorate, celi, desuper!
Hevins distill your balmy schouris,
For now is rissin the brycht day ster
Fro the ros Mary, flour of flouris.
The cleir sone quhome no clud devouris,
Surminting Phebus in the est
Is cumin of His hevinly touris;
Et nobis puer natus est.
Archangellis, angellis, and dompnationis,
Tronis, potestatis, and marteiris seir,
And all ye hevinly operationis,
Ster, planeit, firmament, and speir,
Fyre, erd, air, and watter cleir,
To Him gife loving, most and lest,
That come into so meik maneir;
Et nobis puer natus est.
Synnaris be glaid and pennance do,
And thank your Makar hairtfully,
For He that ye mycht nocht cum to,
To yow is cumin full humly,
Your saulis with His blud to by,
And lous yow of the feindis arrest,
And only of His awin mercy;
Pro nobis puer natus est.
All clergy do to him inclyne,
And bow unto that barne benyng,
And do your observance devyne
To Him that is of kingis King;
Ensence His altar, reid and sing
In haly kirk, with mynd degest,
Him honouring attour all thing,
Qui nobis puer natus est.
Celestiall fowlis in the are,
Sing with your nottis upoun hicht;
In firthis and in forrestis fair
Be myrthfull now at all your mycht,
For passit is your dully nycht.
Aurora hes the cluddis perst,
The son is rissin with glaidsum lycht,
Et nobis puer natus est.
Now spring up, flouris, fra the rute,
Revert yow upwart naturaly,
In honour of the blissit frute
That rais up fro the rose Mary.
Lay out your levis lustely,
Fro deid tak lyfe now at the lest
In wirschip of that Prince wirthy,
Qui nobis puer natus est.
Syng, hevin imperiall, most of hicht,
Regions of air mak armony;
All fische in flud and foull of flicht
Be myrthfull and mak melody.
All Gloria in excelsis cry -
Hevin, erd, se, man, bird, and best -
He that is crownit abone the sky
Pro nobis puer natus est.
2. Of the Passion of Christ
Amang thir freiris, within ane cloister,
I enterit in ane oritorie,
And knelit doun with ane Pater Noster
Befoir the michtie King of Glorie,
Haveing His Passioun in memorie;
Syn to His mother I did inclyne,
Hir halsing with ane gaude flore;
And sudandlie I sleipit syne.
Methocht Judas with mony ane Jow
Tuik blissit Jesu, our Salvatour,
And schot Him furth with mony ane schow,
With schamefull wourdis of dishonour,
And lyk ane theif or ane tratour
Thay leid that hevinlie Prince most hie
With manassing attour messour,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.
Falslie condamnit befoir ane juge
Thay spittit in His visage fayr;
And as lyounis with awfull ruge,
In yre thay hurlit Him heir and thair,
And gaif Him mony buffat sair
That it wes sorow for to se.
Of all His claythis thay tirvit Him bair,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.
Thay terandis, to revenge thair tein,
For scorne thai cled Him into quhyt,
And hid His blythfull glorious ene
To se quham angellis had delyt;
Dispituouslie syn did Him smyt
Saying, "Gif sone of God Thow be,
Quha straik Thee now, Thow tell us tyt?"
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.
In tene thay tirvit Him agane,
And till ane pillar thai Him band;
Quhill blude birst out at everie vane,
Thay scurgit Him bayth fut and hand;
At everie straik ran furth ane strand
Quhilk mycht have ransonit warldis thre;
He baid in stour quhill He mycht stand,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.
Nixt all in purpyr thay Him cled,
And syne with thornis scharp and kene
His saikles blude agane thay sched,
Persing His heid with pykis grene;
Unneis with lyf He micht sustene
That croune on thrungin with crueltie,
Quhill flude of blude blindit His ene,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.
Ane croce that wes bayth large and lang
To beir thay gaif this blissit Lord;
Syn fullelie, as theif to hang,
Thay harlit Him furth with raip and corde;
With bluid and sweit was all deflorde
His face, the fude of angellis fre;
His feit with stanis was revin and scorde,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.
Agane thay tirvit Him bak and syd,
Als brim as ony baris woid;
The clayth that claif to His cleir hyd
Thay raif away with ruggis rude,
Quhill fersly followit flesche and blude
That it was pietie for to se.
Na kynd of torment He ganestude,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.
On to the Crose of breid and lenth
To gar His lymmis langar wax,
Thay straitit Him with all thair strenth,
Quhill to the Rude thay gart Him rax,
Syn tyit Him on with greit irne takkis;
And Him all nakit on the Tre
Thay raissit on loft be houris sax,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.
Quhen He was bendit so on breid,
Quhill all His vanis brist and brak,
To gar His cruell pane exceid
Thay leit Him fall doun with ane swak
Quhill cors and corps and all did crak.
Agane thay rasit Him on hie,
Reddie may turmentis for to mak,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.
Betuix tuo theiffis the spreit He gaif
Onto the Fader most of micht.
The erde did trimmill, the stanis claif,
The sone obscurit of his licht,
The day wox dirk as ony nicht,
Deid bodies rais in the cité.
Goddis deir Sone all thus was dicht,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.
In weir that He wes yit on lyf,
Thay rane ane rude speir in His syde
And did His precious body ryff,
Quhill blude and watter did furth glyde.
Thus Jesus with His woundis wyde
As martir sufferit for to de
And tholit to be crucifyid,
O mankynd, for the luif of thee.
Methocht Compassioun, vode of feiris,
Than straik at me with mony ane stound,
And soir Contritioun, bathit in teiris,
My visage all in watter drownit;
And Reuth into my eir ay rounde,
"For schame, allace, behald, man, how
Beft is with mony ane bludy wound
Thy blissit Salvatour Jesu!"
Than rudelie come Remembrance
Ay rugging me withouttin rest,
Quhilk Crose and nalis, scharp scurge and lance
And bludy crowne befoir me kest;
Than Pane with passioun me opprest,
And evir did Petie on me pow,
Saying, "Behald how Jowis hes drest
Thy blissit Salvatour, Chryst Jesu!"
With greiting glaid be than come Grace
With wourdis sweit saying to me,
"Ordane for Him ane resting place,
That is so werie wrocht for thee:
The Lord within thir dayis thre
Sall law undir thy lyntell bow;
And in thy hous sall herbrit be
Thy blissit Salvatour, Chryst Jesu."
Than swyth Contritioun wes on steir,
And did eftir Confessioun ryn;
And Conscience me accusit heir
And kest out mony cankerit syn;
To rys Repentence did begin
And out at the gettis did schow.
Pennance did walk the hous within,
Byding our Salvitour, Chryst Jesu.
Grace become gyd and governour,
To keip the hous in sicker stait
Ay reddie till our Salvatour,
Quhill that He come, air or lait;
Repentence ay with cheikis wait
No pane nor pennence did eschew
The hous within evir to debait,
Onlie for luif of sweit Jesu.
For grit terrour of Chrystis deid
The erde did trymmill quhair I lay,
Quhairthrow I waiknit in that steid
With spreit halflingis in effray.
Than wrayt I all without delay,
Richt heir as I have schawin to yow,
Quhat me befell on Gud Fryday
Befoir the Crose of sweit Jesu.
3. On the Resurrection of Christ
[Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro]
Done is a battell on the dragon blak,
Our campioun Chryst confountit hes his force;
The gettis of Hell ar brokin with a crak,
The signe triumphall rasit is of the Croce,
The divillis trymmillis with hiddous voce,
The saulis ar borrowit and to the blis can go,
Chryst with His blud our ransonis dois indoce:
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.
Dungin is the deidly dragon Lucifer,
The crewall serpent with the mortall stang,
The auld kene tegir with his teith on char,
Quhilk in a wait hes lyne for us so lang,
Thinking to grip us in his clowis strang;
The merciful Lord wald nocht that it wer so,
He maid him for to felye of that fang:
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.
He for our saik that sufferit to be slane,
And lyk a lamb in sacrifice wes dicht,
Is lyk a lyone rissin up agane,
And as a gyane raxit Him on hicht;
Sprungin is Aurora, radius and bricht,
On loft is gone the glorius Appollo,
The blisfull day depairtit fro the nycht:
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.
The grit Victour agane is rissin on hicht
That for our querrell to the deth wes woundit;
The sone that wox all paill now schynis bricht,
And dirknes clerit, our fayth is now refoundit.
The knell of mercy fra the hevin is soundit,
The Cristin ar deliverit of thair wo,
The Jowis and thair errour ar confoundit:
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.
The fo is chasit, the battell is done ceis,
The presone brokin, the jevellouris fleit and flemit;
The weir is gon, confermit is the peis,
The fetteris lowsit and the dungeoun temit,
The ransoun maid, the presoneris redemit,
The feild is win, ourcumin is the fo,
Dispulit of the tresur that he yemit:
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.
4. A Ballad of Our Lady
[Ave Maria, gracia plena]
Hale, sterne superne, hale in eterne,
In Godis sicht to schyne!
Lucerne in derne for to discerne
Be glory and grace devyne;
Hodiern, modern, sempitern,
Angelicall regyne!
Our tern inferne for to dispern,
Helpe, rialest rosyne.
Ave Maria, gracia plena!
Haile, fresche floure femynyne!
Yerne us guberne, virgin matern,
Of reuth baith rute and ryne.
Haile, yhyng, benyng, fresche flurising!
Haile, Alphais habitakle!
Thy dyng ofspring maid us to syng
Befor His tabernakle.
All thing maling we doune thring
Be sicht of His signakle,
Quhilk King us bring unto His ryng
Fro dethis dirk umbrakle.
Ave Maria, gracia plena!
Haile, moder and maide but makle!
Bricht syng, gladyng our languissing
Be micht of thi mirakle.
Haile, bricht be sicht in Hevyn on hicht!
Haile, day sterne orientale!
Our licht most richt in clud of nycht
Our dirknes for to scale.
Hale, wicht in ficht, puttar to flicht
Of fendis in battale!
Haile, plicht but sicht! Hale, mekle of mycht!
Haile, glorius Virgin, hale!
Ave Maria, gracia plena!
Haile, gentill nychttingale!
Way stricht, cler dicht, to wilsome wicht
That irke bene in travale.
Hale, qwene serene! Hale, most amene!
Haile, hevinlie hie emprys!
Haile, schene unseyne with carnale eyne!
Haile, ros of Paradys!
Haile, clene bedene ay till conteyne!
Haile, fair fresche flour delyce!
Haile, grene daseyne! Hale, fro the splene,
Of Jhesu genitrice!
Ave Maria, gracia plena!
Thow baire the Prince of Prys;
Our teyne to meyne and ga betweyne
As humile oratrice.
Hale, more decore than of before,
And swetar be sic sevyne,
Our glore forlore for to restore
Sen thow art qwene of Hevyn!
Memore of sore, stern in aurore,
Lovit with angellis stevyne;
Implore, adore, thow indeflore,
To mak our oddis evyne.
Ave Maria, gracia plena!
With lovingis lowde ellevyn.
Quhill store and hore my youth devore,
Thy name I sall ay nevyne.
Empryce of prys, imperatrice,
Bricht polist precious stane;
Victrice of vyce, hie genitrice
Of Jhesu, Lord Soverayne:
Our wys pavys fro enemys
Agane the Feyndis trayne;
Oratrice, mediatrice, salvatrice,
To God gret suffragane!
Ave Maria, gracia plena!
Haile, sterne meridiane!
Spyce, flour delice of Paradys
That baire the gloryus grayne.
Imperiall wall, place palestrall,
Of peirles pulcritud;
Tryumphale hall, hie trone regall
Of Godis celsitud;
Hospitall riall, the Lord of all
Thy closet did include;
Bricht ball cristall, ros virginall,
Fulfillit of angell fude.
Ave Maria, gracia plena!
Thy birth has with His blude
Fra fall mortal originall
Us raunsound on the Rude.
5. In Praise of Women
Now of wemen this I say for me,
Of erthly thingis nane may bettir be.
Thay suld haif wirschep and grit honoring
Of men aboif all uthir erthly thing.
Rycht grit dishonour upoun himself he takkis
In word or deid quhaevir wemen lakkis,
Sen that of wemen cumin all ar we;
Wemen ar wemen and sa will end and de.
Wo wirth the fruct wald put the tre to nocht,
And wo wirth him rycht so that sayis ocht
Of womanheid that may be ony lak,
Or sic grit schame upone him for to tak.
Thay us consaif with pane, and be thame fed
Within thair breistis thair we be boun to bed;
Grit pane and wo and murnyng mervellus
Into thair birth thay suffir sair for us;
Than meit and drynk to feid us get we nane
Bot that we sowk out of thair breistis bane.
Thay ar the confort that we all haif heir -
Thair may no man be till us half so deir;
Thay ar our verry nest of nurissing.
In lak of thame quha can say ony thing,
That fowll his nest he fylis, and for thy
Exylit he suld be of all gud cumpany;
Thair suld na wyis man gif audience
To sic ane without intelligence.
Chryst to His fader He had nocht ane man;
Se quhat wirschep wemen suld haif than.
That Sone is Lord, that Sone is King of Kingis,
In Hevin and erth His majestie ay ringis.
Sen scho hes borne Him in hir halines,
And He is well and grund of all gudnes,
All wemen of us suld haif honoring,
Service and luve, aboif all uthir thing.
6. The Manner of Going to Confession
O synfull man, thir ar the fourty dayis
That every man sulde wilfull pennence dre.
Oure Lorde Jhesu, as haly writ sayis,
Fastit Himself, oure exampill to be.
Sen sic ane mychty king and lorde as He
To fast and pray was so obedient,
We synfull folk sulde be more deligent.
I reid thee, man, of thi transgressioun,
With all thi hert that thou be penitent.
Thow schrive thee clene and mak confessioun,
And se thairto that thou be deligent,
With all thi synnes into thi mynde presente,
That every syn be theselfe be schawin,
To thyne confessour it ma be kend and knawin.
Apon thi body gif thou hes ane wounde
That caussis thee gret panis for to feill,
Thair is no leiche ma mak thee haill and sounde
Quhill it be sene and clengit every deill;
Rycht sua thi schrift, bot it be schawin weill,
Thow art not abill remissioun for to get
Wittandlie, and thou ane syn forget.
Of tuenty wonddis and ane be left unhelit,
Quhat avalis the leiching of the laif?
Rycht sua thi schrift, and thair be oucht conselit,
It avalis not thi sely saule to saif,
Nor yit of God remissioun for to have.
Of syn gif thou wald have deliverance,
Thow sulde it tell with all the circumstance.
Se that thi confessour be wys and discreit,
Than can thee discharge of every doute and weir,
And power hes of thi synnes compleit.
Gif thou cannot schaw furth thi synnes perqueir,
And he be blinde and cannot at thee speir,
Thow ma rycht weill in thi mynde consydder
Than ane blynde man is led furth be aneuther.
And sa I halde that ye ar baith begylde:
He cannot speir nor thou cannot him tell
Quhen nor how thi conscience thou hes fylde.
Thairfor I reid that thou excuse thisell,
And rype thi mynde how everything befell -
The tyme, the place, and how and in quhat wys,
Sa that thi confessioun ma thi synnes pryce.
Avys thee weill or thou cum to the preist
Of all thi synnes, and namelie of the maist,
That thai be reddy prentit in thi breist;
Thow sulde not cum to schryfe thee in haist
And syne sit doun abasit as ane beist:
With humyll hert and sad contrycioun
Thow suld cum to thine confessioun.
With thine awin mouth thi synnes thou suld tell;
Bot sit and heir the preist hes not ado.
Quha kennes thi synnes better na thisell?
Thairfor I reid thee, tak gude tent thairto;
Thow knawis best quhair bindis thee thi scho;
Thairfor be wys afor or thou thair cum,
That thou schaw furth thi synnes, all and sum.
Quhair seldin compt is tane and hes a hevy charge,
And syne is rekles in his governance
And on his conscience he takis all to large,
And on the end hes no rememberance -
That man is abill to fall ane gret mischance.
The synfull man that all the yeir oursettis
Fra Pasche to Pasche, rycht mony a thing forgettis.
I reid thee, man, quhill thou art stark and young,
With pith and strenth into thi yeris grene,
Quhill thou art abill baith in mynde and toung,
Repent thee, man, and kepe thi conscience clen.
Till byde till age is mony perrell sene:
Small merit is of synnes for to irke
Quhen thou art ald and ma na wrangis wyrke.
7. The Table of Confession
To Thee, O marcifull Salviour myn, Jhesus,
My King, my Lord, and my Redemer sueit,
Befor Thy bludy figour dolorus
I schryve me cleyne, with humile spreit and meike,
That ever I did unto this hour compleit,
Baith in word, in wark, and in entent.
Falling on face full law befor Thy feit,
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
To Thee, my meik sueit Salviour, I me schrife,
And dois me in Thy marcy maist excelling,
Of the wrang spending of my wittis fyve -
In hering, seing, tuiching, gusting, smelling -
Ganestanding, greving, offending, and rebelling
Aganis my lord God omnipotent;
With teris of sorrow fra myn ene distelling,
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
I, wrachit synnar, vile and full of vice,
Of the sevin deidly synnis dois me schrif:
Of prid, invy, of ire, and covatice,
Of lichory, gluttony, with sleuth ay till ourdrife,1
Exercing vicis ever in all my life,
For quhilk, allace, I servit to be schent.
Rew on me, Jhesu, for Thy woundis five;
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
I schrif me, Lord, that I abusit have
The sevin deidis of marcy corporall:
The hungry meit, nor thristy drink I gaif,
Vesyit the seik, nor redemit the thrall,
Herberit the wilsum, nor nakit cled at all,
Nor yit the deid to bery tuke I tent.
Thow that put marcy abone Thi werkis all,
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
In the sevin deidis of marcy spirituall:
To the ignorant nocht gaif I my teching,
Synneris correctioun, nor distitud consall,
Nor unto wofull wrachis conforting,
Nor unto saulis support of my preching,
Nor wes to ask forgevinnes pacient,
Nor to forgif my nychtburis offending:
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
Lord, I have done full littill reverence
Unto the sacramentis sevin of gret renoun:
To that hie Eucarist moist of exellence,
Baptasing, Pennence, and Confirmacioun,
Matremony, Ordour, and Extreme uncioun.
Heirof sa fer as I wes necligent,
With hert contrit and teris falling doun,
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
Thy ten conmandmentis: a God for to honour,
Nocht tane in vane, na manslaar to be,
Fader and moder to worschip at all houre,
To be no theif, the haly day to uphie,
Nychtburis to luf, fals witnes for to fle,
To leif adultré, to covat no manis rent:
In all thir, Lord, culpabill knaw I me.
I cry Thee marcy and laser ro repent.
In the twelf artickillis of the treuth: a God to trow -
The Fader that all wrocht and comprehendit,
And in His only Sone, blissit Jhesu,
Of Mary borne, on Croce deid, and discendit,
The thrid day rais, to the Faderis rycht hand ascendit,
Of quik and ded to cum and hald jugement:
Into thir pointis, O Lord, quhare I have offendit,
I cry Thee marcy and lasere to repent.
I trow into the blissit Haly Spreit,
And in the Kirk, to do as it commandis,
And in the Day of Dome that we sall ris compleit
And tak oure flesche agane, baith feit and handis,
All to be saif into the stait of grace that standis.
Plane I revoik in thir quhair I myswent
Befoir Thee, Juge and Lord of sey and landis:
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
I synnit, Lord, nocht being strang as wall
In hope, faith, and fervent cherité,
Nocht with the fair foure vertuis cardinall
Agins vicis sure anarmyng me:
With fortitud, prudence, and temporance, thir thre,
With Justice ever in word, werk, and in entent:
To Thee, Crist Jesu, casting up myn ee,
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
In the sevin commandis of the Kirk, that is to say,
Thy teind to pay, and cursing to eschew,
To keipe the festuall and the fasting day,
The Mes on Sonday, the parroche kirk persew,
To proper curat to mak confessioun trew,
Anis in the yer to tak the sacrament:
Into thir pointis quhair I have offendit, sair I rew.
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
Of syn also into the Haly Spreit,
Of schrift postponit, of syn aganis natour,
Of incontricioun, of confessour undiscreit,
Of ressait synfull of my Salviour,
Of undone pennence and satisfactioun sure,
Of the sevin giftis the Haly Gaist me sent,
Of Pater Noster and sevin peticionis pure:
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
Nocht thankand Thee of gratitud and grace
That Thou me wrocht and bocht me with Thi ded;
Of this schort tyme remembring nocht the space,
The Hevinnis blis, the Hellis hiddous feid,
But mor trespas, my synnis to remeid,
Concluding never all throu myn entent,
Quhois blud on Rude for me ran reid,
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
I knaw me vicius, Lord, and rycht culpabill
In aithis, swering, lessingis, and blasflemyng,
Of frustrat speiking in court, in kirk, in tabill,
In word, in will, in wantones expremyng,
Prising myself and evill my nychtburis demyng;
And so in idilnes my dais I have myspent:
To Thee wes rent on Rude for my redeming,
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
I have synnit in discimilit thochtis joly,
Up to the Hevin extollit in myn entencioun
In hie exaltit arrogance and folly,
Imprudence, derisioun, scorne, and vilipencioun,
Presumpcioun, inobedience, and contempcioun,
In fals vanglore and deidis necligent:
O Thow that deit for my redempcioun,
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
I have synnit also in reif and in opprecioun,
In wrangus gudis taking and posceding
Contrar gud ressoun, conscience, and discrecioun,
In prodigall spending but reuth of pure folkis neding,
In foule descepcioun, in fals invencionis bredyng,
To conqueir honour, tresour, land, or rent,
In fleschely lust abone messour exceding:
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
Of mynd dissimilit, Lord, I me confes,
Of feid under ane freindlie continance,
Of parsiall juging and perverst wilfulnes,
Of flattering wordis for finyng of substance,
Of fals seling for wrang deliverance
At Counsall, Sessioun, and at Perliament:
Of everilk gilt and wicket governance
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
I schrif me of all cursit cumpany
In all tyme witting and unwiting me;
Of cryminall caus and deid of fellony,
Of ded or slauchter culpabill knaw I me,
Of tiranny, or vengabill cruelté,
In ony wise, deid, counsall, or consent:
O deir Jhesu that for me deit on Tre,
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
Thoucht I have nocht Thi precius feit to kis
As had the Magdalyn quhen scho did marcy craife,
I sall, as scho, weipe teris for my mys,
And every morrow seik Thee at Thi graife,
That seis my hert; as Thou hir forgaife,
Thairfor forgife me as synner penitent.
Thy precius body in honour I ressave;
I cry Thee Marcy and laser to repent.
Thow mak me, Jhesu, unto Thee to remember.
I ask Thy passioun in me so to abound
Quhill nocht in me unmannyit be a member,
Bot felling wo with Thee of every wound.
At every straik mak throu my hart a stound
That ever did strenye Thi fair flesche innocent,
Sa at na part be of my body sound:
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
Of all thir synnis that I heir expreme,
And hes foryet, to Thee, Lord, I me schrife,
Appelling fra Thy justice court extreme
Unto Thi court of marcy exultive;
Thou mak my schip in blissit port arrive
That sailis heir in stormes violent,
And saife me, Jhesu, for Thy woundis five:
I cry Thee marcy and laser to repent.
8. All Earthly Joy Returns to Pain
Of Lentren in the first mornyng,
Airly as did the day up spring,
Thus sang ane bird with voce upplane:
"All erdly joy returnis in pane.
"O man, haif mynd that thow mon pas;
Remembir that thow art bot as
And sall in as return agane:
All erdly joy returnis in pane.
"Haif mynd that eild ay followis yowth;
Deth followis lyfe with gaipand mowth,
Devoring fruct and flowring grane:
All erdly joy returnis in pane.
"Welth, warldly gloir, and riche array
Ar all bot thornis laid in thy way,
Ourcoverd with flouris laid in ane trane:
All erdly joy returnis in pane
"Come nevir yit May so fresche and grene
Bot Januar come als wod and kene;
Wes nevir sic drowth bot anis come rane:
All erdly joy returnis in pane.
"Evirmair unto this warldis joy
As nerrest air succeidis noy;
Thairfoir, quhen joy ma nocht remane,
His verry air succeidis pane.
"Heir helth returnis in seiknes,
And mirth returnis in havines,
Toun in desert, forrest in plane:
All erdly joy returnis in pane.
"Fredome returnis in wrechitnes,
And trewth returnis in dowbilnes
With fenyeit wirdis to mak men fane:
All erdly joy returnis in pane.
"Vertew returnis into vyce,
And honour into avaryce;
With cuvatyce is consciens slane:
All erdly joy returnis in pane.
"Sen erdly joy abydis nevir,
Wirk for the joy that lestis evir;
For uder joy is all bot vane:
All erdly joy returnis in pane."
9. Of Man's Mortality
[Quod tu in cinerem revertis]
Memento, homo, quod cinis es:
Think, man, thow art bot erd and as;
Lang heir to dwell nathing thow pres,
For as thow come sa sall thow pas.
Lyk as ane schaddow in ane glas
Hyne glydis all thy tyme that heir is;
Think, thocht thy bodye ware of bras,
Quod tu in cinerem reverteris.
Worthye Hector and Hercules,
Forcye Achill and strong Sampsone,
Alexander of grit nobilnes,
Meik David and fair Absolone
Hes playit thair pairtis, and all are gone
At will of God that all thing steiris:
Think, man, exceptioun thair is none,
Sed tu in cinerem reverteris.
Thocht now thow be maist glaid of cheir,
Fairest and plesandest of port,
Yit may thow be within ane yeir
Ane ugsum, uglye tramort.
And sen thow knawis thy tyme is schort
And in all houre thy lyfe in weir is,
Think, man, amang all uthir sport,
Quod tu in cinerem reverteris.
Thy lustye bewté and thy youth
Sall feid as dois the somer flouris;
Syne sall thee swallow with his mouth
The dragone death that all devouris.
No castell sall thee keip, nor touris,
Bot he sall seik thee with thy feiris.
Thairfore remembir at all houris
Quod tu in cinerem reverteris.
Thocht all this warld thow did posseid,
Nocht eftir death thow sall posses,
Nor with thee tak bot thy guid deid
Quhen thow dois fro this warld thee dres.
So speid thee, man, and thee confes
With humill hart and sobir teiris,
And sadlye in thy hart inpres
Quod tu in cinerem reverteris.
Thocht thow be taklit nevir so sure,
Thow sall in deathis port arryve,
Quhair nocht for tempest may indure
Bot ferslye all to speiris dryve.
Thy Ransonner with woundis fyve
Mak thy plycht anker and thy steiris
To hald thy saule with Him on lyve,
Cum tu in cinerem reverteris.
10. An Orison
Salviour, suppois my sensualité
Subject to syn hes maid my saule of sys,
Sum spark of lycht and spiritualité
Walkynnis my witt, and ressoun biddis me rys.
My corrupt conscience askis, clips, and cryis
First grace, syne space for to amend my mys,
Substance with honour, doing none suppryis,
Freyndis, prosperité, heir peax, syne Hevynis blys.2
11. Of the World's Vanity
[Vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas]
O wreche, be war, this warld will wend thee fro,
Quhilk hes begylit mony greit estait.
Turne to thy freynd, beleif nocht in thy fo.
Sen thow mon go, be grathing to thy gait;
Remeid in tyme and rew nocht all to lait;
Provyd thy place, for thow away man pas
Out of this vaill of trubbill and dissait:
Vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas.
Walk furth, pilgrame, quhill thow hes dayis licht,
Dres fra desert, draw to thy duelling place;
Speid home, for quhy anone cummis the nicht
Quhilk dois thee follow with ane ythand chaise.
Bend up thy saill and win thy port of grace,
For and the deith ourtak thee in trespas,
Than may thow say thir wourdis with "allace":
Vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas.
Heir nocht abydis, heir standis nothing stabill.
This fals warld ay flittis to and fro:
Now day up bricht, now nycht als blak as sabill,
Now eb, now flude, now freynd, now cruell fo,
Now glaid, now said, now weill, now into wo,
Now cled in gold, dissolvit now in as.
So dois this warld transitorie go:
Vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas.
12. Of Life
Quhat is this lyfe bot ane straucht way to deid,
Quhilk hes a tyme to pas and nane to duell,
A slyding quheill us lent to seik remeid,
A fre chois gevin to Paradice or Hell,
A pray to deid, quhome vane is to repell,
A schoirt torment for infineit glaidnes,
Als schort ane joy for lestand hevynes.
13. Of the Changes of Life
I seik about this warld unstabille
To find ane sentence convenabille,
Bot I can nocht in all my wit
Sa trew ane sentence fynd of it,
As say, it is dessaveabille.
For yisterday I did declair
Quhow that the seasoun soft and fair
Com in als fresche as pako fedder;
This day it stangis lyk ane edder,
Concluding all in my contrair.
Yisterday fair up sprang the flouris;
This day thai ar all slane with schouris,
And fowllis in forrest that sang cleir
Now walkis with a drery cheir,
Full caild ar baith thair beddis and bouris.
So nixt to symmer wyntir bene,
Nixt efter confort, cairis kene,
Nixt dirk mednycht the mirthefull morrow,
Nixt efter joy aye cumis sorrow.
So is this warld and ay hes bene.
14. The Lament for the Makars
[Timor mortis conturbat me]
I that in heill wes and gladnes
Am trublit now with gret seiknes
And feblit with infermité:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
Our plesance heir is all vane glory,
This fals warld is bot transitory,
The flesche is brukle, the Fend is sle:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
The stait of man dois change and vary,
Now sound, now seik, now blith, now sary,
Now dansand mery, now like to dee:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
No stait in erd heir standis sickir;
As with the wynd wavis the wickir
Wavis this warldis vanité:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
Onto the ded gois all estatis,
Princis, prelotis, and potestatis,
Baith riche and pur of al degré:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
He takis the knychtis into field
Anarmyt undir helme and scheild,
Victour he is at all mellé:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
That strang unmercifull tyrand
Takis on the moderis breist sowkand
The bab full of benignité:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
He takis the campion in the stour,
The capitane closit in the tour,
The lady in bour full of bewté:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
He sparis no lord for his piscence,
Na clerk for his intelligence;
His awfull strak may no man fle:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
Art magicianis and astrologgis,
Rethoris, logicianis, and theologgis,
Thame helpis no conclusionis sle:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
In medicyne the most practicianis,
Lechis, surrigianis, and phisicianis,
Thameself fra ded may not supplé:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
I se that makaris amang the laif
Playis heir ther pageant, syne gois to graif;
Sparit is nought ther faculté:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
He hes done petuously devour
The noble Chaucer, of makaris flour,
The monk of Bery, and Gower, all thre:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
The gud Syr Hew of Eglintoun,
And eik Heryot and Wyntoun
He hes tane out of this cuntré:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
That scorpion fell has done infek
Maister Johne Clerk and James Afflek
Fra balat making and trigidé:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
Holland and Barbour he has berevit;
Allace, that he nought with us levit
Schir Mungo Lokert of the Le:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
Clerk of Tranent eik he has tane
That maid the anteris of Gawane;
Schir Gilbert Hay endit has he:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
He has Blind Hary and Sandy Traill
Slaine with his schour of mortall haill,
Quhilk Patrik Johnestoun myght nought fle:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
He has reft Merseir his endite
That did in luf so lifly write,
So schort, so quyk, of sentence hie:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
He has tane Roull of Aberdene
And gentill Roull of Corstorphin -
Two bettir fallowis did no man se:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
In Dumfermelyne he hes done roune
With Maister Robert Henrisoun.
Schir Johne the Ros enbrast has he:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
And he has now tane, last of aw,
Gud gentill Stobo and Quintyne Schaw,
Of quham all wichtis has peté:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
Gud Maister Walter Kennedy
In poynt of dede lyis veraly -
Gret reuth it wer that so suld be:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
Sen he has all my brether tane,
He will naught lat me lif alane;
On forse I man his nyxt pray be:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
Sen for the ded remeid is none,
Best is that we for dede dispone,
Eftir our deid that lif may we:
Timor mortis conturbat me.
15. A Meditation in Winter
Into thir dirk and drublie dayis
Quhone sabill all the hevin arrayis
With mystie vapouris, cluddis, and skyis,
Nature all curage me denyis
Of sangis, ballattis, and of playis.
Quhone that the nycht dois lenthin houris
With wind, with haill, and havy schouris,
My dule spreit dois lurk for schoir;
My hairt for langour dois forloir
For laik of Symmer with his flouris.
I walk, I turne, sleip may I nocht,
I vexit am with havie thocht.
This warld all ovir I cast about,
And ay the mair I am in dout,
The mair that I remeid have socht.
I am assayit on everie syde.
Despair sayis ay, "In tyme provyde
And get sumthing quhairon to leif,
Or with grit trouble and mischeif
Thow sall into this court abyd."
Than Patience sayis, "Be not agast;
Hald Hoip and Treuthe within thee fast,
And lat Fortoun wirk furthe hir rage,
Quhome that no rasoun may assuage
Quhill that hir glas be run and past."
And Prudence in my eir sayis ay,
"Quhy wald thow hald that will away?
Or craif that thow may have no space,
Thow tending to aneuther place,
A journay going everie day?"
And than sayis Age, "My freind, cum neir,
And be not strange, I thee requeir:
Cum, brodir, by the hand me tak.
Remember thow hes compt to mak
Of all thi tyme thow spendit heir."
Syne Deid castis upe his gettis wyd
Saying, "Thir oppin sall thee abyd;
Albeid that thow wer never sa stout,
Undir this lyntall sall thow lowt -
Thair is nane uther way besyde."
For feir of this all day I drowp.
No gold in kist nor wyne in cowp,
No ladeis bewtie nor luiffis blys
May lat me to remember this,
How glaid that ever I dyne or sowp.
Yit quhone the nycht begynnis to schort,
It dois my spreit sum pairt confort
Of thocht oppressit with the schowris.
Cum, lustie Symmer, with thi flowris,
That I may leif in sum disport.
16. None May Assure in This World
Quhome to sall I complene my wo
And kyth my kairis, on or mo?
I knaw nocht amang riche nor pure
Quha is my freynd, quha is my fo,
For in this warld may none assure.
Lord, how sall I my dayis dispone?
For lang service rewarde is none,
And schort my lyfe may heir indure,
And lossit is my tyme bygone:
Into this warld may none assure.
Oft falsett rydis with ane rowt
Quhen trewth gois on his fute abowt,
And lak of spending dois him spur;
Thus quhat to do I am in dowt:
Into this warld may none assure.
Nane heir bot riche men hes renoun,
And bot pure men ar pluckit doun,
And nane bot just men tholis injure;
Sa wit is blindit and ressoun:
Into this warld may none assure.
Vertew the court hes done dispyis;
Ane rebald to renoun dois ryis,
And cairlis of nobillis hes the cure,
And bumbardis brukis the benifyis:
Into this warld may none assure.
All gentrice and nobilité
Ar passit out of he degré;
On fredome is laid foirfaltour;
In princis is thair no pety:
For in this warld may none assure.
Is non so armit into plait
That can fra truble him debait;
May no man lang in welth indure
For wo that evir lyis at the wait:
Into this warld may none assure.
Flattry weiris ane furrit goun,
And Falsett with the lordis dois roun,
And Trewthe standis barrit at the dure,
And exul is Honour of the toun:
Into this warld may none assure.
Fra everilk mowth fair wirdis proceidis;
In every hairt disceptioun breidis;
Fra everylk e gois lukis demure,
Bot fra the handis gois few gud deidis:
Into this warld may none assure.
Toungis now ar maid of quhyte quhaill bone,
And hairtis ar maid of hard flynt stone,
And ene ar maid of blew asure,
And handis of adamant laith to dispone:
Into this warld may none assure.
Yit hairt with hand and body all
Mon anser Deth quhen he dois call
To compt befoir the Juge future;
Sen all ar deid or than de sall,
Quha suld into this warld assure?
Nothing bot deth this schortly cravis,
Quhair Fortoun evir as fo dissavis
With freyndly smylingis of ane hure,
Quhais fals behechtis as wind hyne wavis:
Into this warld may none assure.
O, quha sall weild the wrang possessioun,
Or the gold gatherit with oppressioun,
Quhen the angell blawis his bugill sture,
Quhilk unrestorit helpis no confessioun?
Into this warld may none assure.
Quhat help is thair in lordschippis sevin,
Quhen na hous is bot Hell and Hevin,
Palice of licht or pitt obscure,
Quhair youlis ar hard with horreble stevin?
Into this warld may none assure.
Ubi ardentes anime,
Semper dicentes sunt, Ve Ve!3
Sall cry "allace" that wemen thame bure,
O quante sunt iste tenebre!
Into this warld may none assure.
Than quho sall wirk for warldis wrak
Quhen flude and fyre sall our it frak,
And frely fruster feild and fure
With tempest kene and hiddous crak?
Into this warld may none assure.
Lord, sen in tyme sa sone to cum
De terra surrectourus sum,
Rewarde me with non erdly cure -
Tu regni da imperium:
Into this warld may non assure.
17. Best to Be Blithe
Full oft I mus and hes in thocht
How this fals warld is ay on flocht,
Quhair nothing ferme is nor degest;
And quhen I haif my mynd all socht,
For to be blyth me think it best.
This warld evir dois flicht and vary;
Fortoun sa fast hir quheill dois cary,
Na tyme bot turne can it tak rest,
For quhois fals change suld none be sary;
For to be blyth me thynk it best.
Wald man considdir in mynd rycht weill,
Or Fortoun on him turn hir quheill,
That erdly honour may nocht lest,
His fall les panefull he suld feill;
For to be blyth me think it best.
Quha with this warld dois warsill and stryfe,
And dois his dayis in dolour dryfe,
Thocht he in lordschip be possest,
He levis bot ane wrechit lyfe;
For to be blyth me think it best.
Of wardlis gud and grit riches,
Quhat fruct hes man but mirines?
Thocht he this warld had eist and west,
All wer povertie but glaidnes;
For to be blyth me thynk it best.
Quho suld for tynsall drowp or de
For thyng that is bot vanitie,
Sen to the lyfe that evir dois lest
Heir is bot twynklyng of ane ee?
For to be blyth me think it best.
Had I for warldis unkyndnes
In hairt tane ony havines,
Or fro my plesans bene opprest,
I had bene deid lang syne, dowtles;
For to be blyth me think it best.
How evir this warld do change and vary,
Lat us in hairt nevirmoir be sary,
Bot evir be reddy and addrest
To pas out of this frawdfull fary;
For to be blyth me think it best.
18. Of Content
Quho thinkis that he hes sufficence
Of gudis hes no indigence,
Thocht he have nowder land nor rent,
Grit mycht nor hie magnificence,
He hes anewch that is content.
Quho had all riches unto Ynd
And wer not satefeit in mynd,
With povertie I hald him schent -
Of covatyce sic is the kynd.
He hes anewch that is content.
Thairfor I pray yow, bredir deir,
Not to delyt in daynteis seir;
Thank God of it is to thee sent,
And of it glaidlie mak gud cheir.
Anewch he hes that is content.
Defy the warld, feynyeit and fals,
Withe gall in hart and hunyit hals;
Quha maist it servis maist sall repent:
Of quhais subchettis sour is the sals.
He hes anewch that is content.
Giff thow hes mycht, be gentill and fre,
And gif thow standis in povertie,
Of thine awin will to it consent,
And riches sall returne to thee.
He hes aneuch that is content.
And ye and I, my bredir all,
That in this lyfe hes lordschip small,
Lat langour not in us imprent;
Gif we not clym, we tak no fall.
He hes aneuch that is content.
For quho in warld moist covatus is
In warld is purast man, iwis,
And moist nedy of his intent;
For of all gudis nothing he hes,
That of nothing can be content.
19. Without Gladness No Treasure Avails
Be mery, man, and tak nocht fer in mynd
The wavering of this wrechit vale of sorrow.
To God be hummle and to thi frend be kyind,
And with thi nichtbour glaidlie len and borow -
His chance this nycht, it may be thine tomorow.
Be mery, man, for any aventure,
For be wismen it has bene said afforow:
Without glaidnes avalis no tresure.
Mak gude cheir of it God thee sendis,
For warldis wrak but weilfar nocht avalis;
Nothing is thine sauf onlie that thow spendis -
The ramanent of all thow brukis with balis.
Seik to solace quhen saidnes thee assalis;
Thy lyfe in dolour ma nocht lang indure,
Quharfor of confurt set up all thi salis:
Without glaidnes avalis no tresure.
Follow pece, flie trubill and debait,
With famous folkis hald thi cumpany.
Be cheritable and hummle of estait,
For warldis honour lestis bot ane cry.
For truble in erd tak no malancholy.
Be rich in patiens, gife thoue in gudis be pur.
Quha levis mery, he levis michtely:
Without glaidnes avalis no tresur.
Thow seis the wrechis set with sorow and care
To gaddir gudis all thar liffis spaice;
And quhen thar baggis ar full thar self ar bar
And of thar riches bot the keping hes,
Quhill uthiris cum to spend it that hes grace,
Quhilk of the wynning no labour hed na cur.
Tak thow example and spend with mirrines:
Without glaidnes avalis no tresure.
Thocht all the wrak that evir hed levand wicht
War onlie thine, no mor thi part dois fall
Bot met and clacht, and of the laif ane sicht,
Yet to the Juge thow sall mak compt of all.
Ane raknyng richt cummis of ane ragment small;
Be just and joyus and do to none injur,
And treuth sall mak thee strang as ony wall:
Without glaidnes avalis no tresure.
20. His Own Enemy
He that hes gold and grit riches
And may be into mirrynes,
And dois glaidnes fra him expell
And levis into wrechitnes,
He wirkis sorrow to himsell.
He that may be but sturt or stryfe
And leif ane lusty plesand lyfe,
And syne with mariege dois him mell
And bindis him with ane wicket wyfe,
He wirkis sorrow to himsell.
He that hes for his awin genyie
Ane plesand prop, but mank or menyie,
And schuttis syne at ane uncow schell,
And is forfairn with the fleis of Spenyie,
He wirkis sorrow to himsell.
And he that with gud lyfe and trewth,
But varians or uder slewth,
Dois evirmair with ane maister dwell,
That nevir of him will haif no rewth,
He wirkis sorrow to himsell.
Now all this tyme lat us be mirry,
And sett nocht by this warld a chirry.
Now quhill thair is gude wyne to sell,
He that dois on dry breid wirry,
I gif him to the Devill of Hell!
21. Spend Thine Own Goods
[Thyne awin gude spend quhill thow hes space]
Man, sen thy lyfe is ay in weir,
And deid is evir drawand neir,
The tyme unsicker and the place,
Thyne awin gude spend quhill thow hes space.
Gif it be thyne, thyself it usis;
Gif it be nocht, thee it refusis -
Aneuthir of it the proffeit hes:
Thyne awin gud spend quhill thow hes spais.
Thow may today haif gude to spend
And hestely to morne fra it wend
And leif aneuthir thy baggis to brais:
Thyne awin gud spend quhill thow hes space.
Quhill thow hes space, se thow dispone
That for thy geir, quhen thow art gone,
No wicht aneuder slay nor chace:
Thyne awin gud spend quhill thow hes space.
Sum all his dayis dryvis our in vane,
Ay gadderand geir with sorrow and pane,
And nevir is glaid at Yule nor Pais:
Thyne awin gud spend quhill thow hes space.
Syne cumis aneuder glaid of his sorrow,
That for him prayit nowdir evin nor morrow,
And fangis it all with mirrynais:
Thyne awin gud spend quhill thow hes space.
Sum grit gud gadderis and ay it spairis,
And eftir him thair cumis yung airis
That his auld thrift settis on ane es:
Thyne awin gud spend quill thow hes space.
It is all thyne that thow heir spendis,
And nocht all that on thee dependis,
Bot his to spend it that hes grace:
Thyne awin gud spend quhill thow hes spais.
Trest nocht aneuthir will do thee to
It that thyself wald nevir do,
For gife thow dois, strenge is thy cace:
Thyne awin gud spend quhill thow hes space.
Luke how the bairne dois to the muder,
And tak example be nane udder
That it nocht eftir be thy cace:
Thyne awin gud spend quhill thow hes space.
22. Of Covetise
[And all for caus of cuvetice]
Fredome, honour, and nobilnes,
Meid, manheid, mirth, and gentilnes,
Ar now in cowrt reput as vyce,
And all for caus of cuvetice.
All weilfair, welth, and wantones
Ar chengit into wretchitnes,
And play is sett at littill price,
And all for caus of covetyce.
Halking, hunting, and swift hors rynning
Ar chengit all in wrangus wynnyng;
Thair is no play bot cartis and dyce,
And all for caus of covetyce.
Honorable houshaldis ar all laid doun.
Ane laird hes with him bot a loun
That leidis him eftir his devyce,
And all for caus of covetyce.
In burghis, to landwart and to sie,
Quhair was plesour and grit plentie,
Vennesoun, wyld fowill, wyne, and spyce,
Ar now decayid thruch covetyce.
Husbandis that grangis had full grete,
Cattell and corne to sell and ete,
Hes now no beist bot cattis and myce,
And all thruch caus of covettyce.
Honest yemen in every toun,
War wont to weir baith reid and broun,
Ar now arrayit in raggis with lyce,
And all for caus of covetyce.
And lairdis in silk harlis to the heill,
For quhilk thair tennents sald somer meill
And leivis on rutis undir the ryce,
And all for caus of covetyce.
Quha that dois deidis of petie
And leivis in pece and cheretie
Is haldin a fule, and that full nyce,
And all for caus of covetyce.
And quha can reive uthir menis rowmis
And upoun peur men gadderis sowmis
Is now ane active man, and wyice,
And all for caus of covetyce.
Man, pleis thy Makar and be mirry,
And sett not by this warld a chirry.
Wirk for the place of Paradyce,
For thairin ringis na covettyce.
23. Of Deeming
Musing allone this hinder nicht
Of mirry day quhen gone was licht,
Within ane garth undir a tre,
I hard ane voce that said on hicht,
"May na man now undemit be.
"For thocht I be ane crownit king,
Yit sall I not eschew deming.
Sum callis me guid, sum sayis thai lie,
Sum cravis of God to end my ring,
So sall I not undemit be.
"Be I ane lord and not lord lyk,
Than every pelour and purspyk
Sayis, 'Land war bettir warit on me.'
Thocht he dow not to leid a tyk,
Yit can he not lat deming be.
"Be I ane lady fresche and fair,
With gentillmen makand repair,
Than will thay say, baith scho and he,
That I am jaipit, lait and air.
Thus sall I not undemit be.
"Be I ane courtman or ane knycht,
Honestly cled, that cumis me richt,
Ane prydfull man than call thay me.
Bot God send thame a widdy wicht
That cannot lat sic demyng be.
"Be I bot littill of stature,
Thay call me catyve createure,
And be I grit of quantetie,
Thay call me monstrowis of nature.
Thus can I not undemit be.
"And be I ornat in my speiche,
Than Towsy sayis I am sa streiche,
I speik not lyk thair hous menyie.
Suppois hir mowth misteris a leiche,
Yit can I not undemit be.
"Bot wist thir folkis that uthir demis
How that thair sawis to uthir semis,
Thair vicious wordis and vanité,
Thair tratling tungis that all furth temis,
Sum tyme wald lat thair demying be.
"War nocht the mater wald grow mair
To wirk vengeance on ane demair,
But dout I wald cause mony de
And mony catif end in cair,
Or sum tyme lat thair deming be.
"Gude James the Ferd, our nobill king,
Quhen that he was of yeiris ying
In sentens said full subtillie,
'Do weill, and sett not by demying,
For no man sall undemit be.'"
And so I sall, with Goddis grace,
Keip His command into that cace,
Beseiking ay the Trinitie
In hevin that I may haif ane place -
For thair sall no man demit be.
24. How Should I Conduct Myself
[Lord God, how sould I governe me]
How sould I rewill me or in quhat wys
I wald sum wyse man wald devys,
Sen I can leif in no degré
Bot sum my maneris will dispys:
Lord God, how sould I governe me?
Giff I be lustye, galland, and blythe,
Than will thai say on me full swythe,
"Yon man, out of his mynd is he,
Or sum hes done him confort kythe":
Lord God, how sould I governe me?
Giff I be sorrowfull and sad,
Than will thai say that I am mad;
I do bot drowpe as I wald de,
So will thai deyme, bayth man and lad:
Lord God, how sall I governe me?
Giff I be lustie in myne array,
Than lufe I paramoris, say thai,
Or in my mynd is proud and he,
Or ellis I haif it sum wrang way:
Lord God, how sall I governe me?
And gif I be not wele besene,
Than twa and twa sayis thame betwene,
"Evill gydit is yon man, pardé -
Be his clething it may be sene":
Lord God, how sould I governe me?
Gif I be sene in court our lang,
Than will thai quhispir thame amang,
My freindis ar not worthe ane fle
That I sa lang but gwerdon gang:
Lord God, how sould I governe me?
In court rewaird gif purches I,
Than have thai malice and invy
And secreitlie on me thai lie
And dois me sklandir privaly:
Lord God, how sould I governe me?
How sould my gyding be devysit?
Giff I spend litle I am dispysit;
Be I courtas, nobill, and fre,
A prodigall man than am I prysit
Lord God, how sould I governe me?
Sen all is jugit, bayth gud and ill,
And no mannis toung I may had still,
To do the best my mynd sal be.
Lat everie man say quhat he will,
The gratious God mot governe me.
25. Rule of Oneself
[He rewllis weill that weill himself can gyd]
To dwell in court, my freind, gife that thow list,
For gift of fortoun invy thow no degré.
Behold and heir, and lat thy tung tak rest -
In mekle speiche is pairt of vanitie;
And for no malyce preis thee nevir to lie.
Als trubill nevir thyself, sone, be no tyd
Uthiris to reiwll that will not rewlit be:
He rewlis weill that weill himself can gyd.
Be war quhome to thy counsale thow discure,
For trewth dwellis nocht ay for that trewth appeiris.
Put not thyne honour into aventeure -
Ane freind may be thy fo, as fortoun steiris.
In cumpany cheis honorable feiris,
And fra vyle folkis draw thee far on syd.
The Psalme sayis, Cum sancto sanctus eiris:4
He rewlis weill that weill himself can gyd.
Haif pacience thocht thow no lordschip posseid,
For hie vertew may stand in law estait.
Be thow content, of mair thow hes no neid;
And be thow nocht, desyre sall mak debait
Evirmoir, till Deth say to thee than "Chakmait!"
Thocht all war thyne this warld within so wyd,
Quha can resist the serpent of dispyt?
He rewlis weill that weill himself can gyd.
Fle frome the fallowschip of sic as ar defamit,
And fra all fals tungis fulfild with flattry,
Als fra all schrewis, or ellis thow art eschamit.
Sic art thow callit as is thy cumpany.
Fle parrellus taillis foundit of invy.
With wilfull men, son, argown thow no tyd,
Quhome no ressone may seis nor pacify:
He rewlis weill that weill himself can gyd.
And be thow not ane roundar in the nuke,
For gif thow be, men will hald thee suspect.
Be nocht in countenance ane skornar, nor by luke,
Bot dowt siclyk sall stryk thee in the neck.
Be war also to counsall or coreck
Him that extold hes far himself in pryd,
Quhair parrell is but proffeit or effect:
He rewlis weill that weill himself can gyd.
And sen thow seyis mony thingis variand,
With all thy hart treit bissines and cure.
Hald God thy freind, evir stabill be Him stand;
He will thee confort in all misaventeur.
And be no wayis dispytfull to the peure,
Nor to no man do wrang at ony tyd.
Quhoso dois this, sickir I yow asseure,
He rewlis weill that sa weill him can gyd.
26. Discretion in Asking
[In asking sowld discretioun be]
Of every asking followis nocht
Rewaird, bot gif sum caus war wrocht;
And quhair caus is, men weill ma sie,
And quhair nane is, it wil be thocht:
In asking sowld discretioun be.
Ane fule, thocht he haif cause or nane,
Cryis ay, "Gif me," into a rane;
And he that dronis ay as ane bee
Sowld haif ane heirar dull as stane.
In asking sowld discretioun be.
Sum askis mair than he deservis,
Sum askis far les than he servis,
Sum schames to ask (as braidis of me)
And all withowt reward he stervis.
In asking sowld discretioun be.
To ask but service hurtis gud fame,
To ask for service is not to blame,
To serve and leif in beggartie
To man and maistir is baith schame.
In asking sowld discretion be.
He that dois all his best servyis
May spill it all with crakkis and cryis,
Be fowll inoportunitie.
Few wordis may serve the wyis.
In asking sowld discretioun be.
Nocht neidfull is men sowld be dum,
Nathing is gottin but wordis sum;
Nocht sped but diligence we se,
For nathing it allane will cum.
In asking sowld discretioun be.
Asking wald haif convenient place,
Convenient tyme, lasar, and space,
But haist, or preis of grit menyie,
But hairt abasit, but toung rekles.
In asking sowld discretioun be.
Sum micht haif "Ye" with littill cure,
That hes oft "Nay" with grit labour;
All for that tyme not byd can he,
He tynis baith eirand and honour.
In asking sowld discretioun be.
Suppois the servand be lang unquit,
The lord sumtyme rewaird will it.
Gife he dois not, quhat remedy?
To fecht with Fortoun is no wit:
In asking sowld descretioun be.
27. Discretion in Giving
[In geving sowld discretioun be]
To speik of gift or almous deidis:
Sum gevis for mereit and for meidis,
Sum, warldly honour to uphie,
Gevis to thame that nothing neidis.
In geving sowld discretioun be.
Sum gevis for pryd and glory vane,
Sum gevis with grugeing and with pane,
Sum gevis, in practik, for supplé,
Sum gevis for twyis als gud agane.
In geving sowld discretioun be.
Sum gevis for thank and sum for threit,
Sum gevis money and sum gevis meit,
Sum gevis wordis fair and sle,
Giftis fra sum ma na man treit.
In giving sowld discretioun be.
Sum is for gift sa lang requyrd,
Quhill that the crevar be so tyrd
That, or the gift deliverit be,
The thank is frustrat and expyrd.
In geving sowld discretioun be.
Sum gevis to littill full wretchitly,
That his giftis ar not set by,
And for a huidpyk haldin is he
That all the warld cryis on him, "Fy!"
In geving sowld discretioun be.
Sum in his geving is so large
That all ourlaidin is his berge.
Than vyce and prodigalité
Thairof his honour dois dischairge.
In geving sowld discretioun be.
Sum to the riche gevis geir
That micht his giftis weill forbeir;
And thocht the peur for falt sowld de,
His cry nocht enteris in his eir.
In geving sowld discretioun be.
Sum givis to strangeris with faces new,
That yisterday fra Flanderis flew,
And to awld servandis list not se,
War thay nevir of sa grit vertew.
In geving sowld discretioun be.
Sum gevis to thame can ask and plenyie,
Sum gevis to thame can flattir and fenyie,
Sum gevis to men of honestie
And haldis all janglaris at disdenyie.
In geving sowld discretioun be.
Sum gettis giftis and riche arrayis,
To sweir all that his maister sayis,
Thocht all the contrair weill knawis he -
Ar mony sic now in thir dayis.
In geving sowld discretioun be.
Sum gevis gudmen for thair thewis,
Sum gevis to trumpouris and to schrewis,
Sum gevis to knaiffis awtoritie,
Bot in thair office gude fundin few is.
In geving sowld discretioun be.
Sum givis parrochynnis full wyd,
Kirkis of Sanct Barnard and Sanct Bryd,
To teiche, to rewill, and to ouirsie,
That hes na wit thamselffe to gyd.
In geving sowld discretioun be.
28. Discretion in Taking
[In taking sowld discretioun be]
Eftir geving I speik of taking,
Bot littill of ony gud forsaiking.
Sum takkis our littill awtoritie,
And sum our mekle, and that is glaiking.
In taking sowld discretioun be.
The clerkis takis beneficis with brawlis,
Sum of Sanct Petir and sum of Sanct Pawlis.
Tak he the rentis, no cair hes he,
Suppois the divill tak all thair sawlis.
In taking sowld discretioun be.
Barronis takis fra the tennentis peure
All fruct that growis on the feure,
In mailis and gersomes rasit ouirhie,
And garris thame beg fra dur to dure.
In taking sowld discretioun be.
Sum takis uthir mens takkis
And on the peure oppressioun makkis,
And nevir remembris that he mon die
Quhill that the gallowis gar him rax.
In taking sowld discretioun be.
Sum takis be sie and sum be land,
And nevir fra taking can hald thair hand
Quhill he be tit up to ane tre;
And syne thay gar him undirstand
In taking sowld discretioun be.
Sum wald tak all his nychbouris geir.
Had he of man als littill feir
As he hes dreid that God him see,
To tak than sowld he nevir forbeir.
In taking sowld discretioun be.
Sum wald tak all this warldis breid,
And yit not satisfeit of thair neid,
Throw hairt unsatiable and gredie.
Sum wald tak littill and can not speid.
In taking sowld discretioun be.
Grit men for taking and oppressioun
Ar sett full famous at the Sessioun,
And peur takaris ar hangit hie,
Schamit forevir and thair successioun.
In taking sowld discretioun be.
29. Dunbar at Oxford
[Ane peralous seiknes is vane prosperité]
To speik of science, craft, or sapience,
Of vertew, morall cunnyng, or doctryne,
Of jure, of wisdome, or intelligence,
Of every study, lair, or disciplyne -
All is bot tynt or reddy for to tyne,
Nocht using it as it suld usit be,
The craft excersing, considering nocht the fyne.
Ane peralous seiknes is vane prosperité.
The curius probatcioun logicall,
The eloquence of ornat rethorye,
The naturall science filosophicall,
The dirk apirance of astronomy,
The theologgis sermon, the fablis of poetrye -
Without guid lyff, all in the selfe dois de,
As Mayis flouris dois in September drye.
Ane peralows lyff is vane prosperi |