Scottish Poetry of the Sixteenth Century. Various
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For I have socht throw all the Spirituall stait,
Quhilkis tuke na compt for to heir me complene.
Thair officiaris, thay held me at disdene;
For Symonie, he rewlis up all that rowte;
And Covatyce, that carle, gart bar me oute.
“Pryde haith chaist far frome thame Humilitie;
Devotioun is fled unto the Freris;
Sensuale plesour hes baneist Chaistitie;
Lordis of religioun, thay go lyke seculeris,
Taking more compt in tellyng thair deneris[81]
Nor thai do of thair constitutioun.
Thus are thay blyndit be ambitioun.
“Our gentyll men are all degenerat;
Liberalitie and lawte boith ar lost,
And Cowardyce with lordis is laureat,
And knychtlie Curage turnit in brag and boast.
The civele weir misgydis everilk oist[82];
Thare is nocht ellis bot ilk[83] man for hym-self;
That garris me go, thus baneist lyke ane elf.
“Tharefor, adew: I may no langer tarye.”
“Fair weill,” quod I, “and with sanct Jhone to borrow[84]!”
Bot, wyt ye weill, my hart was wounder sarye[85]
Quhen Comounweill so sopit[86] was in sorrow.
“Yit efter the nycht cumis the glaid morrow;
Quharefor, I pray yow, schaw me in certane
Quhen that ye purpose for to cum agane.”
“That questioun, it sall be sone decydit,”
Quod he, “thare sall na Scot have confortyng
Of me tyll that I see the countre gydit
Be wysedome of ane gude auld prudent Kyng,
Quhilk sall delyte him maist, abone[87] all thyng,
To put Justice tyll executioun,
And on strang traitouris mak punitioun.
“Als yit to thee I say ane-uther thyng:
I see rycht weill that proverbe is full trew,
‘Wo to the realme that hes ouer young ane King!’ ”
With that he turnit his bak, and said adew.
Ouer firth and fell[88] rycht fast fra me he flew,
Quhose departyng to me was displesand.[89]
With that, Remembrance tuk me be the hand,
And sone, me-thocht, scho brocht me to the roche
And to the cove quhare I began to sleip.
With that, one schip did spedalye approche,
Full plesandlie saling apone the deip,
And syne[90] did slake hir salis and gan to creip
Towart the land, anent[91] quhare that I lay.
Bot, wyt ye weill, I gat ane fellown fray[92]:
All hir cannounis sche leit craik of at onis:
Down schuke the stremaris frome the topcastell;
Thay sparit nocht the poulder nor the stonis[93];
Thay schot thair boltis, and doun thair ankeris fell;
The marenaris, thay did so youte[94] and yell,
That haistalie I stert out of my dreme,
Half in ane fray, and spedalie past hame.
And lychtlie dynit, with lyste[95] and appetyte,
Syne efter past in-tyll ane oratore,
And tuke my pen, and thare began to wryte
All the visioun that I have schawin afore.
Schir, of my dreme as now thou gettis no more,
Bot I beseik God for to send thee grace
To rewle thy realme in unitie and peace.
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