Volume I (1706)


Choice Collection



Scots Poems




By several Hands.




Quicquid agunt Homines, votum, timor, ira, volptus,

Gaudia, discursus, nostri est farrago Libelli.



Printed by James Watson: Sold by John Vallange.

  1. M. DCC. VI.





Christ’s Kirk on the Green

Composed (as was supposed) by King James the Fifth.

WAs ne’er in Scotland heard nor seen

Such Dancing and Deray;

Neither at Faulkland on the Green,

Nor Peebles at the Play,

As was of Wooers as I ween

at Christ’s Kirk on a day:

For there came Katie washen clean

With her new Gown of Gray,

Full gay that day.

To dance these Damosels them dight,                                                                              10

These Lasses light of laits,

Their Gloves were of the Raffal right,

Their Shoes were of the Straits;

Their Kirtles were of Lincoln-light,

Well prest with many Plaits;

They were so nice when men them neigh’d

They squell’d like any Gaits,

Full loud that day.

Of all these Maidens mild as Mead,

Was none so gimp as Gillie,                                                                                     20

As any Rose her Rude was red,

Her Lire was the Lillie,

But yellow yellow was her Head,

And she of Love so silly,


Though all her Kin had sworn her dead,

She would have none but Willie

Alone that day.

She scorn’d Jack, and scripped at him,

And murgeon’d him with Mocks;

He would have lov’d her, she would not let him                                                              30

For all his yellow Locks.

He cherisht her, she bade go chat him,

She counted him not two clocks:

So shamefully his short Jack set him,

His legs were like two Rocks,

Or Rungs that day.

Tom Lutter was their Minstrel meet,

Good Lord, how he could lance;

He play’d so shril, and sang so sweet

While Tousie took a Trance:                                                                                   40

Old Lightfoot there he could foreleet,

And counterfitted France,

He held him like a Man discreet,

And up the Morice Dance

He took that day.

Then Stephen came stepping in with stends,

No rink might him arrest;

Splayfoot did bob with many bends,

For Masie he made request,

He lap while he lay on his lends,                                                                                        50

And rising was so preast,

While he did hoast at both the Ends

For honour of the Feast,

And danc’d that day.

Then Robin Roy began to revel,

And Tousie to him drugged:


Let be, quoth Jack, and call’d him Jevel,

And by the Tail him rugged,

Then Kensie clicked to a Kevel,

God wots as they two lugged;                                                                                 60

They parted there upon a Nevel,

Men say that hair was rugged

Between them twa.

With that a friend of his cry’d fy,

And forth an Arrow drew:

He forged it so fiercefully,

The bow in flinders flew,

Such was the Grace of God, trow I,

For had the Tree been true;

Men said, who knew his Archery,                                                                                       70

That he had slain anew,

Belyve that day.

A yap young Man that stood him neist,

Soon bent his Bow in ire,

And etled the Bairn in at the Breast,

The Bolt flew ov’r the Bire:

And cry’d fy, he hath slain a Priest

A mile beyond the Mire:

Both Bow and Bagg from him he kiest,

And fled as fast as Fire,                                                                                            80

From Flint that day.

An hasty Kinsman called Hary,

That was an Archer keen,

Tyed up a tackle withoutten tarry,

I trow the Man was teen:

I wot not whether his hand did vary,

Or his Foe was his Friend:


But he escap’t by the mights of Mary

As one that nothing mean’d

But good that day.                                                                             90

Then Lawrie like a Lion lap,

And soon a Flain could fedder:

He height to pierce him at the pape,

Thereon to wed a Wedder:

He hit him on the wamb a wap,

It buff’t like any Bladder.

He scaped so, such was his hap;

His Doublet was of Leather

Full fine that day.

The buff so boisterously abaist him,                                                                                  100

That he to th’Earth dusht down,

The other Man for dead there left him,

And fled out of the Town.

The Wives came forth, and up they rest him

And found life in the Lown;

Then with three routs they raised him

And curs’d him out of sown,

Fra hand that day.

The Miller was of manly make,

To meet him it was no mowes:                                                                               110

There durst not Ten-some there him take

So cowed he there powes,

The Bushment whole about him brake

And bickered him with Bows,

Then traiterously behind his back,

They hack’d him on the howes

Behind that day.

Then Hutchon with a Hazel rice

To red gan through them rummil:


He muddl’d them down like any Mice                                                                              120

He was no petty bummil,

Tho he was wight, he was not wife,

With such jutors to jummil:

For from his Thumb there flew a slice

While he cry’d barlafummil,

I’m slain this day.

When that he saw his Blood so red

To flee might no man let him:

He trow’d it had been for old feed;

He thought and bade have at him.                                                                         130

He made his Feet defend his Head,

The far fairer it set him,

While he was past out of their dread:

They must be swift that gat him

Through speed that day.

Two that were headsmen of the Herd,

They rusht on other like Rams;

The other four which were unfear’d

Beat on with Barrow Trams.

And where their Gobs they were ungear’d,                                                                       140

They got upon the Gams,

While that all bloody was their Beards,

As they had worried Lambs,

Most like that day.

They girn’d and glowred all at anes,

Each Gossip other grieved:

Some striked stings, some gathered stanes,

Some fled, and some relieved.

The Minstrel used quiet means,

That day he wisely prieved,                                                                                    150


For he came hame with unbruis’d Banes,

Where fighters were mischeived,

Full ill that day.

With Forks and Flails they lent them slaps,

And flew together with frigs:

With bougres of Barns they pierc’d blue caps

And of their Bairns made Briggs;

The Rare rose rudely with their raps,

Then Rungs were laid on Riggs:

The Wives came forth with cries and claps,                                                                      160

See where my Likeing ligs,

Full low this day.

The black Souter of Braith was bowden,

His wife hang at his Waist:

His body was in black all browden,

He girned like a Ghaist,

Her glittering hair was so gowden,

Her love fast from him laist,

That for his sake she was unyawden

While he a mile was chac’d                                                                                     170

And mair that day.

When they had beir’d like baited Bulls,

The bone-fires burnt like bails,

And then they grew as meek as Mules

That wearied are with mails;

For those forfoughten tyred fools

Fell down like slaughtered Frails,

Fresh men came in and hail’d the Dools,

And dang them down in dails

Bedeen that day.                                                                                180

The Wives then gave a hideous yell,

When all these yonkiers yoked,

As fierce as flags of Fire-flaughts fell,

Frieks to the Field they flocked,


The Carles with clubs did other quell

On Breast, while blood outboaked,

So rudely rang the common Bell,

That all the Steeple rocked

For dread that day.

By this Tom Tailor was in his gear,                                                                                     190

When he heard the common Bell,

He said, he should make all a stear

When he came there himsell,

He went to fight with such a fear

While to the Ground he fell,

A Wife that hit him on the Ear

With a great knocking Mell,

Fell’d him that day.

The Bridegroom brought a Pint of Ale,

And bade the Piper drink it,                                                                                    200

Drink it quoth he, and it so stale,

Ashrew me if I think it.

The Bride her Maidens stood near by,

And said it was not blinked,

And Bartagesie the Bride so gay,

Upon him fast she winked.

Full soon that day.

When all was done Dick with an Ax

Came forth to fell a Fother,

Quoth he, where are you whoreson smaiks                                                                      210

Right now that hurt my Brother?

His Wife bade him go hame Gib Glaiks,

And so did Meg his Mother;

He turn’d and gave them both their paiks,

For he durst ding no other

But them that day.





The Blythsome Wedding.

FY let us all to the Briddel,

For there will be Lilting there,

For Jockie’s to be Married to Maggie

The Lass with the Gauden-hair;

And there will be Lang-kail and Pottage

And Bannocks of Barley-Meal,

And there will be good Salt-herring

To relish a Kog of good Ale,

Fy let us all to the Briddel,

            For there will be lilting there,                                                                                   10

For Jockie’s to be married to Maggie

The Lass with the Gauden-hair.


And there will be Sandie the Sutor,

And Willie with the meikle mow

And there will be Tom the Ploutter,

And Andrew the Tinkler I trow,

And there will be bow-legged Robbie,

And Thumbless Kettie’s Good-man,

And there will be blue-cheeked Dallie

And Lawrie the Laird of the Land.                                                                          20

Fy let us all &c.


And there will be Sow-libber Peatie

And plouckie fac’t Wat in the Mill,

Capper-nos’d Gibbie and Francie

That wins in the how of the Hill,

And there will be Alaster-Dowgal

            That splee fitted Bessie did woo,


And sniffling Lillie and Tibbie,

And Kirstie that Belly-god Sow,

Fy let us all &c.                                                                                                                      30


And Crampie that married Stainie

And coft him Breeks to his Arse,

And afterwards hanged for Stealing,

Great Mercy it hapned no worse;

And there will be fairntickl’d Hew,

And Bess with the lillie white Leg,

That gat to the South for Breeding

And bang’d up her wamb in Mons-Meg.

Fy let us all &c.


And there will be Geordie McCowrie,                                                                                 40

            And blinking daft Barbra and Meg,

And there will be blincht Gillie-whimple

And peuter-fac’t flitching Joug.

And there will be Happer-ars’d Nansie

And Fairie fac’d Jeanie be name,

Gleed Katie and fat-lugged Lifie

The Lass with the gauden wamb.

Fy let us all &c.


And there will be Girn-again Gibbie

And his glaked Wife Jeanie Bell,                                                                              50

And mislie-chin’d flyting Geordie

The Lad that was Skipper himsell;

There’ll be all the Lads and the Lasses

Set down in the midst of the Ha,


With Sybows and Risarts and Carlings,

That are both sodden and ra

Fy let us all &c.


There will be Tartan, Dragen and Brachen,

And fouth of good gappocks of Skate,

Pow-Sodie, and Drammock, and Crowdie                                                                        60

And callour Nout-feet in a Plate;

And there will be Partans, and Buckies,

Speldens, and Haddocks anew,

And sing’d Sheep-heids, and a Haggize

And Scadlips to sup till ye’re fow.

Fy let us all &c.


There will be good lapper’d-milk Kebucks

And Sowens and Farles, and Baps,

And Swats, and scraped Paunches,

And Brandie in Stoups and in Caps.                                                                       70

And there will be Meal-Kail and Castocks,

And Skink to sup till you rive,

And Rosts to rost on a Brander,

Of Flouks that was taken alive.

Fy let us all &c.


Scrapt Haddocks, Wilks, Dulse and Tangle,

And a Mill of good Snizing to prie,

When wearie with Eating and Drinking

We’ll rise up and Dance till we die.

Fy let us all to the Briddel,                                                                                                    80

            For there will be lilting there,

For Jockie’s to be married to Maggie

The Lass with the Gauden-hair.





The Banishment of Poverty,



POx fa that poultring Poverty

Wae worth the time that I ham saw,

Since first he laid his Fang on me

My self from him I dought ne’re draw:

His wink to me hath been a Law,

He haunts me like a penny-dog,

Of him I stand far greater awe

Than Pupil does of Pedagogue.

The first time that he met with me

Was at a Clachen in the West,                                                                                            10

Its name, I trow Kilbarchan be,

Where Habbie’s Drones blew many a blast.

There we shook hands cald be his cast,

An ill dead may that Custron die:

For there he gripped me right fast

When first I fell in Cautionrie.

But yet in hopes to be reliev’d

And free’d from that foul ledly Lown,

Fernzier when Whigs were ill mischiev’d

And forc’d to fling their weapons down.                                                                           20

When we chas’d them from Glasgow Town

I with that Swinger thought to grapple,

But when Indemnity came down

The Laydron caught me by the Thraple.


But yet in hopes of more relief

A race I made to Arinfrew,

Where they did bravely buff my Beef,

And made my Body black and blue:

At Justice Court I them pursue,

Expecting help for their Reproof,                                                                                       30

Indemnity thought nothing due,

The De’il a Farthing for my Loof.

But wishing that I might ride East,

To trot on Foot I soon would tyre,

My Page allow’d me not a Beast,

I wanted Gilt to pay the Hyre;

He and I lap o’re many a Syre,

I heuked him at Calder-cult;

But long ere I came to Clypes-myre

The ragged Rogue caught me a whilt.                                                                               40

By Holland-Bush and Brigg of Bonny

We bickered down towards Bankier,

We fear’d no Reavers for our Money,

Nor Whilly-whaes to grip our Gear;

My tatt’red Tutor took no fear,

(Though we did travel in the Mirk)

But thought it fit, when we drew near

To filsh a Forrage at Falkirk.

No Man wou’d open me the Door,

Because my Comrade stood me by,                                                                                    50

The dread full ill I was right poor

By my forsaken Company.

But Cunninghame soon me espy’d,

By hue and hair he hail’d me in,

And swore we should not part so dry,

Though I were stripped to the Skin


I bard all Night, but long ere Day

My curst Companion bade me rife;

I start up soon and took the way,

He needed not to bid me twice.                                                                                         60

But what to do I did advise,

In Lithgow I might not sit down,

On a Scots Groat we baited thrice,

And in at Night to Edinburgh Town.

We held the Lang-gate to Leith-wynd,

Where poorest Purses use to be,

And in the Caltoun lodged fyne,

Fit Quarters for such companie.

Yet I the High-Town fain wou’d see,

But that my Comrade did discharge,                                                                                 70

He wou’d me Blackburn’s Ale to prie,

And muff my Beard that was right large.

The Morn I ventur’d up the Wynd,

And slung’d in at the Nether-Bow,

Thinking that Trooker for to tyne,

Who does me dammage what he dow.

His company he does bestow

On me to my great Grief and Pain,

Ere I the Throng cou’d wrestle throw,

The Lown was at my heels again.                                                                                       80

I green’d to gang on the Plain-stains

To see if Comrades wou’d me ken,

We twa gaid pacing there our laines

The hungry Hours ‘twixt Twelve and Ane.

Then I knew no way how to fen,

My Guts rumbl’d like a Hurle Barrow.

I din’d with Saints and Noble-Men,

Ev’n sweet Saint Giles and Earl of Murray.


Tykes Test’ment take them for their Treat,

I needed not my teeth to pike,                                                                                            90

Though I was in a cruel Sweat,

He set not by, say what I like.

I call’d him Turk and traked Tyke,

And weari’d him with many a Curse,

My Banes were hard like a Stane-Dyke,

No Rig-Marie was in my Purse.

King Widow Caddel sent for me

To dine, as she did oft forsooth,

But oh alas, that might not be:

Her House was ov’r near the Tolbooth.                                                                              100

            Yet God reward her for her Love

And Kindness which I fectlie fand,

Most ready still for my behoof

Ere that Hells Hound took her in hand.

I slipt my Page and stour’d to Leith

To try my Credit at the Wine,

But foul a dribble fyl’d my Teeth,

He catch’d me at the Coffee-Sign.

I staw down through the Nether-Wynd,

My Lady Semples House was near,                                                                                     110

To enter there was my Design,

Where Poverty durst ne’er appear.

I dined there but baid not lang,

My Lady fain wou’d shelter me,

But oh alas, I needs must gang

And leave that comely Company.

Her lad convoy’d me with her Key

Out through the Garden to the Fiels,

Ere I the Links could graithly see,

My Governour was at my Heels.                                                                                        120


I dought not dance to Pipe nor Harp;

I had no stock for Cards nor Dice;

But I sure to Sir William Sharp,

Who never made his Counsel nice.

That little man he is right wise,

And sharp as any Brier can be,

He bravely gave we his Advice

How I might poison Poverty.

Quoth he there grows hard by the Dial

In Hatton’s Garden bright and sheen,                                                                               130

A soveraign Herb call’d PennyRoyal,

Which all the years grows fresh and green.

Could ye but gather it fair and clean,

Your Business would go the better,

But let account of it be seen

To the Physicians of Exchequer.

Or if that Ticket ye bring with you,

Come unto me, you need not fear;

For I some of that Herb can give you

Which I have planted this same Year.                                                                               140

Your Page it will cause disappear

Who waits on you against your will,

To gather it I shall you lear

In my own Yards of Stonny-hill.

But when I dred that wou’d not work,

I overthought me of a Wile

How I might at my leisure lurk,

My graceless Guardian to beguile.

It’s but my galloping a Mile

Through Canongate with little Loss,                                                                                 150

Till I have Sanctuary a while

Within the Girth of Abbay-closs.


There I wan in, and blyth was I

When to the Inner-Court I drew,

My Governour I did defy,

For joy I clapt my Wings and Crew.

There Messengers dare not pursue,

Nor with their Wans Mens Shoulders steer,

There dwells distressed Lairds enough

In peace, though they have little Gear.                                                                              160

I had not tarried an Hour or two

When my blest Fortune was to see

A sight, sure by the Mights of Mary,

Of that brave Duke of Albany.

Where one blink of his princely Eye

Put that foul Foundling to the Flight,

Frae me he banish’d Poverty,

And made him take his last Good-night.


F I N I S.



Lintoun Address,

To His Highness the Prince of ORANGE


Victorious Sir, still faithful to thy Word,

Who conquers more by Kindness than by Sword:

As thy Ancestors brave, with Matchless Vigour,

Caus’d Hogen, Mogen, make so great a Figure;

So thou that art Great Britain’s only Moses,

To guard our Martial Thistle with the Roses,

The discords of the Harp in Tune to bring,

And curb the Pride of Lillies in the Spring:

Permit, Great Sir, Poor Us, among the Press,

In humble Terms to make this blunt Address,                                                                   10

In Limping verse; for as Your Highness knows,

You have good store of nonsense, else in Prose.


SIR, first of all, That it may please,

Your Highness, to give us an Ease

Of our Oppressions more or less,

Especially that Knave the Cess;

And Poverty for Pity cryes,

To Modifie our dear Excise:

If ye’ll not trust us when we say’t,

Faith! we’re not able, Sir, to pay’t;                                                                                      20

Which makes us sigh when we should Sleep,

And Fast when we should go to Meat,

Yea scarce can get it for to borrow,

Yet drink we must to sloken Sorrow;

For this our grief, Sir, makes us now

Sleep seldom sound till we be Fow;


Sir, let no needless Forces stand,

To plague this poor, but Valiant Land.

And let no Rhetorick procure

Pensions, but only to the Poor,                                                                                           30

That spend-thrift Courtiers get no share,

To make the King’s Exchequer bare.

Then, valiant Sir, we beg at Large,

You will free Quarters quite discharge:

We live upon the King’s hye Street,

And scarce a day we miss some Cheat;

For Horse and Foot as they come by,

Sir, be they Hungry, Cold or Dry,

They Eat, and Drink, and burn our Peets,

With Fiend a Farthing in their Breeks,                                                                              40

Destroy our Hay, and press our Horse,

Whiles break our Heads, and that is worse,

Consume both Men and Horses meat,

And make both Wives and Bairns to Greet.

By what is said, Your Highness may

Judge if two stipends we can pay;

And therefore if Ye with us well,

You must with all speed reconcile

Two jangling Sons of the same Mother,

Eliot and Hay with one another.                                                                                         50

Pardon us, Sir, for all your wit,

We fear that prove a kittle Put,

Which tho the wiser sort Condole,

Our Lintoun Wives still blow the Coal,

And no Man here, as well we ken,

Would have us all John Thomson’s Men.

Sir, it was said ere we was born,

Who blows best, bear away the Horn,


And he that lives and preaches best,

Should win the Pulpit from the rest.                                                                                  60

The next Petition that we make,

Is, That for brave Earl Teviot’s sake,

Who had great kindness for this place,

You’l move the Duke our Master’s Grace

To put a Knock upon our Steeple,

To shew the Hours to Country People;

For we that live into the Town

Our sight grows short by Sun go down;

And charge him, Sir, our Street to mend,

And Causey it from end to end;                                                                                          70

Pay but the Workmen for their Pains,

And we shall jointly lead the Stanes,

In case Your Highness put him to ‘t,

Our Mercat Customs well may do ‘t,

For of himself he is not Rash,

Because he wants the ready Cash;

For if Your Highness for some Reasons,

Should honour Lintoun with your presence,

Your Milk-white Palfrey would turn Brown,

Ere ye Ride half out through the Town,                                                                            80

And that would put upon our Name,

A blot of everlasting Shame,

Who are reputed honest Fellows,

And stout as ever William Wallace.

Lastly, Great Sir, discharge us all

To go to Court without a Call,

Discharge Laird Isaac and Hog-yards

James Gifford and the Lintoun Lairds,

Old William Younger and Geordie Purdie,

James Douglas, Scrogs, and little Swordie,                                                                         90


And English Andrew, who has Skill,

To knap at every word so well,

Let King-Seat stay for the Town-head,

Till that old peevish Wife be Dead,

And that they go on no pretence

To put this place to great Expence,

Nor yet shall Contribute their Share,

To any who are going there,

To strive to be the greatest Minion,

Or plead for this or that Opinion;                                                                                      100

If we have any thing to spare

Poor Widows they should be our Care,

The Fatherless, the Blind and Lame,

Who starve, yet for to beg think shame.

So Farewell, Sir, here is no Treason,

But wealth of Ryme, and part of Reason:

And for to save some needless cost,

We send this our address by Post.



Thrice Noble Orange, Blessed be the time,

Such fair Fruit prosper’d in our Northern Clyme,                                                              110

Whose Sweet and Cordial Joyce affords us Matter,

And Sause to make our Capons Eat the better.

Long may thou Thrive, and still thy Arms advance;

Till England send an Orange into France:

Well guarded thro’ proud Neptun’s waves, and then

What’s sweet to us, may prove sour Sause to them:

As England doth, so CALEDONIA boasts;

She’l fight with Orange, for the LORD of Hosts,

And tho’ the Tyrant hath unsheath’d his Sword;

Fy! fear him not, he never kept his Word.                                                                           120








Poor Client’s Complaint.

Done out of BUCHANAN.

Colin, by Promise, being oblig’d to pay

Me such a Sum, betwixt and such a day:

I ask’d it, he refus’d it: I addrest

Aulus the Lawyer; he reply’d it’s best

To sue him at the Law, I’ll make him Debtor;

Your Cause is good, there cannot be a better.

Being thus advis’d away to Pete I trudge,

Pray him, and pay him to bespeak the Judge:

Engag’d thus far, be’t better be it worse

I must proceed, and thus I do depurse,                                                                             10

For writing Summons, Signing, Signeting

With a red Plaister and a Paper Ring;

For Summoning the Principal, and then

For Citing Witnesses to say Amen,

For Executions, (alias Indorsations)

For Tabling, Calling with Continuations:

Next for Consulting Aulus and his Man;

(For he must be Consulted now and then)

For Pleading in the Outter-House and Inner

From Ten to Twelve, then Aulus goes to Dinner:                                                             20


For writing Bills, for reading them, for Answers

More dubious than those of Necromancers.

For Interlocutors, for little Acts;

For large Decreets, and their as large Extracts.

For Hornings, for discussing of Suspensions,

Full stuff’d with Lies and frivolous Pretensions;

For Please your Lordships, and such like Petitions,

For raising and for serving Inhibitions,

And for Comprisings or Adjudications,

For their allowances for Registrations,                                                                              30

And many, many, many, other ations,

Which may be sum’d up in one word Vexations.

Then unexpectedly upon a small

Defect alledg’d, Colin reduces all:

We to’t again, and Aulus doth disjoint

The Process, and debates it Point by Point.

The Cause at length’s concluded, but not ended,

This made me wonder! Aulus he pretended,

Decreets must not be given out at Randum,

But must abide a serious Avisandum,                                                                                40

Conform to Course of Roll; when that will be,

Indeed I cannot tell, nor yet can he.

Thus Aulus hath for Ten years space extended

The Plea, and further more I have Expended

Vast Sums, to wit, for Washing, Lodging, Diet,

Yet seldom did I sleep or eat in quiet.

For Coal, for Candle, Paper, Pen and Ink,

And such like things, which truly one would think

Were insignificant, but yet they’re come

In ten Years space unto a pretty Sum.                                                                                50

To Macers, Turn-keys, Agents, Catchpoles, Petes,

Servants, Sub-servants, petty Foggers, Cheats;


For Morning-Drinks, Four-hours, half-Gills at Noon,

To fit their Stomack for the Fork and Spoon,

To which they go, but I poor man mean while,

Slip quietly to th’Earl of Murray’s Isle.

We meet again at Two, then to digest

Their bellyful, they’ll have a Gill at least,

Sometimes a double One; for Brandy-wine

Can only end the War call’d Intestine:                                                                              60

For Mum, Sack, Claret, White-wine, Purl, Beer, Ale.

(One he would have it new, another stale)

Both must be pleas’d: for Pipes, Tobacco, Snuff,

Twist, Coffee, Tea, and also greasie Stuff

Call’d Chocolate, Punch, Clarified Whey,

With other Drinks, all which I duely pay:

For Rolls, for Nackets, Roundabouts, Sour Cakes,

For Cheshire Cheese, fresh Butter, Cookies, Bakes,

For Panches, Saucers, Sheepheads, Cheats, Black-pyes,

Lamb Legs, Lamb Kernels and Lamb-Privities,                                                                   70

Skate, Lobsters, Oysters, Mussels Wilks Neats Tongues

One he for Leeks, Beer, and Red-herring longs.

This must be had, an other doth prefer

Raw-herring, Onions, Oyl, Spice, Vinegar,

Rare Composition, and he’s truely sorry

It’s not in Culpeper’s Dispensatory:

For Apples, Pears, Plumbs, Cherries, Nuts, Green-Pease,

Dilse, Tangles, Purslain, Turneeps, Radishes,

With fourty other Things, I have forgot,

And I’m a Villain if I pay’d them not.                                                                                 80

Moreover my Affairs at Home sustain

Both the emergent Loss, and cessant Gain;

Aulus himself terms this a double loss,

And I call him and it a triple cross.


By all these means my Expence do surmount,

Near ten times, ten times Colin’s first Acccount.

And now ere that I wholly be bereft,

Of th’ little Time and Money to me left,

I’m at the length resolved thus to do,

I’ll shun my Debitor and Lawyer too.                                                                                90

And after this I never will give Credit

Unto one Word, if either of them said it.

You’ll ask, which of the two I’d rather shun?

Aulus; ‘tis he, ‘tis he hath me undone.

I’ve words from both, yet sad Experience tells,

That Colin gives, but Aulus dearly sells.


Th’unwary Reader thinks perhaps that I

            Have pen’d a Satyre ‘gainst the Faculty:

‘Gainst those who by their accurate Debates

            Maintain our Rights, and settle our Estates;                                                          100

Who do their very Lungs with Pleading spend,

            Us ‘gainst Oppressors stifly to defend.

            A gross Mistake! for I’ll be sworn, I do

            Admire their Parts and their Profession too.

            I wish that Law and Lawyers both may thrive,

            And at the height of Grandeur so arrive,

That in all good Mens Eyes they may appear

            Like Burnisht Gold both beautiful and clear.

That this may be, (and ‘tis for this I pray)

Rust must be scour’d off, Cobwebs swept away.                                                                 110







The SPEECH of a

FIFE Laird

Newly come from the Grave.

What Accident, what strange Mishap

Awakes me from my Heav’nly nap?

What Sp’rit? what God-head by the lave,

Hath rais’d my Body from the Grave?

It is a Hundred Years almost,

Since I was buri’d in the Dust,

And now I think that I am living,

Or else, but doubt, my Brains are raving:

Yet do I feel (while as I study)

The Faculties of all my Body:                                                                                              10

I Taste, I Smell, I Touch, I Hear,

I find my Sight exceeding clear:

Then I’m alive, yea sure I am,

I know it by my Copr’al Frame:

But in what part where I can be,

My wav’ring Brains yet torture me.

Once I was call’d a great Fife Laird,

I dwelt not far from the Hall-yard:

But who enjoys my Land and Pleugh,

My Castle, and my fine Cole-heugh:                                                                                  20


I can find out no living Man,

Can tell me this, do what I can.

Yet if my Mem’ry serve me well,

This is the Shire where I did dwell;

This is the Part where I was born:

For so beneath me stands Kinghorn:

And thereabouts the Lowmond Hill

Stands as it stood yet ever still.

There is Bruntisland, Aberdore,

I see Fife’s Coast along the Shore.                                                                                       30

Yet I am right, and for my life,

This is my Native Country Fife,

O! but it’s long and many a year,

Since last my Feet did travel here.

I find great Change in old Lairds Places,

I know the Ground, but not the Faces,

Where shall I turn me first about,

For my Acquaintance is worn out?

O! this is strange, that ev’n in Fife,

I do know neither Man nor Wife:                                                                                       40

No Earl, no Lord, no Laird, no People,

But Lesly and the Mark Inch-Steeple,

Old Noble Weems, and that is all,

I think enjoy their Fathers Hall.

For from Dunfermling to Fife-ness

I do know none that doth possess

His Grandfire’s Castles and his Tow’rs:

All is away that once was ours.

I’m full of Wrath, I scorn to tarrie,

I know them no more than the Fairie:                                                                               50

But I admire and marvel strange,

What is the cause of this great Change.


I hear a murmuring Report,

Passing among the Common Sort:

For some say this, and some say that,

And others tell, I know not what:

Some say the Fife Lairds ever rues,

Since they began to take the Lews:

That Bargain first did brew their Bale,

As tell the honest Men of Creil.                                                                                           60

Some do ascribe their Supplantation,

Unto the Lawyers Congregation.

No, but this a false Suppose;

For all things wyts that well not goes.

Be what it will, there is some Source

Hath bred this universal Curse;

This Transmigration and Earth-quake,

That caus’d the Lairds of Fife to break.

He that enthrones a Shepherdling,

He that dethrones a potent King,                                                                                       70

And he that makes a Cotter, Laird,

The Baron’s Bairns to delve a Yeard:

Almighty, He that shakes the Mountains,

And brings great Rivers from small Fountains:

It is the power of His Hand,

That makes both Lords and Lairds have Land.

Yet there may be as all Men knaws

An Evident and well seen Cause,

A publick and a common Evil,

That made the meikle Master devil                                                                                   80

To cast his Club all Fife throughout,

And lent each Laird a deadly Rout.

Mark then, I’ll tell you, how it was,

What was this Wonder came to pass:


It sets me best the Truth to pen,

Because I fear no Mortal Men.

When I was born at Middle-yard weight,

There was no word of Laird or Knight:

The greatest Stiles of Honour then,

Was to be Titl’d the Good-man.                                                                                         90

But changing Time hath chang’d the Case,

And puts a Laird in th’ Good-man’s place.

For Why? my Gossip Good-man John,

And honest James, whom I think on;

When we did meet whiles at the Hawking,

We us’d no Cringes but Hands shaking.

No Bowing, Should’ring, Gambo-scraping,

No French Whistling, or Dutch gaping.

We had no Garments in our Land,

But what were spun by th’ Good-wife’s hand:                                                                  100

No Drap-de-berry, Cloaths of seal:

No Stuffs ingrain’d in Cocheneel,

No Plush, no Tissue, Cramosie;

No China, Turky, Taffety.

No proud Pyropus, Paragon,

Or Chackarally, there was none:

No Figurata, or Water-chamblet,

No cloth of Gold, or Bever hats,

We car’d no more for, than the Cats:                                                                                 110

No windy flowrish’d flying Feathers,

No sweet permusted shambo Leathers,

No Hilt or Crampet richly hatched;

A Lance, a Sword in hand we snatched.

Such base and Boyish Vanities,

Did not beseem our Dignities:


We were all ready and compleat,

Stout for our Friends, on Horse or Feet,

True to our Prince to shed our Blood,

For Kirk, and for our Common Good.                                                                                120

Such Men we were, it is well known,

As in our Chronicles are shown,

This made us dwell into our Land,

And our Posterity to stand:

But when the young Laird became vain,

And went away to France and Spain,

Rome raking, wandring here and there:

O! then became our bootless Care:

Pride puft him up, because he was

Far travel’d, and return’d an Ass.                                                                                       130

Then must the Laird, the Good-man’s Oye,

Be Knighted streight; and make convoy,

Coach’d through the Streets with Horses four,

Foot-grooms Pasmented o’er and o’er.

Himself cut out and flasht so wide,

Ev’n his whole shirt his skin doth hide.

Gowpherd, Gratnizied, Cloaks rare pointed,

Embroider’d, lac’d, with Boots disjoynted,

A Belt embost with Gold and Purle:

False Hair made craftily to curle:                                                                                       140

Side Breeks be button’d o’er the Garters,

Was ne’er the like seen in our Quarters.

Tobacco and wine Frontinack,

Potato-Pasties, Spanish Sack,

Such uncouth Food, such Meat and Drink,

Could never in our Stomachs sink:

Then must the Grandson swear and swagger,

And show himself the bravest Bragger,


A Bon-companion and a Drinker,

A delicate and dainty Ginker.                                                                                             150

So is seen on’t.  These foolish Jigs,

Hath caus’d his Worship sell his Rigs.

My Lady, as she is a Woman,

Is born a Helper to undo Man,

Her Ladiship must have a share,

For she is Play-maker and mair;

For she invents a thousand Toys,

That House and Hold and all destroys,

As Scarfs, Shephroas, Tuffs, and Rings,

Fairdings, Facings, and Powderings,                                                                                  160

Rebats, Ribands, Bands and Ruffs,

Lapbends, Shagbands, Cuffs and Muffs,

Folding outlays, Pearling sprigs,

Atrys, Vardigals, Periwigs:

Hats, Hoods, Wires and also Kells,

Washing-balls, and perfuming Smells:

French-gows cut out and double banded,

Jet Rings to make her pleasant handed:

A Fan, a Feather, Bracelets, Gloves,

All new come-busks she dearly loves:                                                                               170

For such trim bony Baby-clouts,

Still on the Laird she greets and shouts:

Which made the Laird take up more Gear

Than all the Lands or Rigs could bear.

These are the Emblems, that declares

The Marchant’s thriftless needless wares:

The Tailor’s curious vanitie,

My Lady’s Prodigalitie.

This is the truth which I discover:

I do not care for Feid or Favour;                                                                                         180


For what I was, yet still I am,

And honest, plain, true dealing Man;

And if these words of mine would mend them

I care not by, though I offend them.

Here is the cause most plainly shown,

That have our Country overthrown.

It’s said of old, that other’s harms,

Is oftentimes the wife Man’s arms:

And he is thought most wise of all,

That learns Good from his Neighbour’s fall.                                                                     190

It grieves my heart to see this Age,

I cannot stay to act more Stage:

I will ingrave me in the ground,

And rest there till the Trumpet sound;

And if I have said ought astray,

Which may a Messon’s mind dismay,

I do appeal before the Throne

Of the great Powers three in one;

The Supream Soveraignity,

The Parliament of veritie.                                                                                                   200

And if you think my words offends,

Ye must be there, I’s make a mends.









Piper of Kilbarchan


The Epitaph of Habbie Simson,

Who on his drone bore bony flags;

He made his Cheeks as red as Crimson,

And babbed when, he blew the Bags.


Kilbarchan now may say, alas!

For she has lost her Game and Grace,

Both Trixie, and the Maiden Trace:

but what remead?

For no man can supply his place,

Hab Simson’s dead.


Now who shall play, the day it daws?

Or hunt up, when the Cock he craws?

Or who can for our Kirk-town-cause,

stand us in stead?                                                                                                     10

On Bagpipes (now) no Body blaws,

sen Habbie’s dead.



Or wha will cause our Shearers shear?

Wha will bend up the Brags of Weir,

Bring in the Bells, or good play meir,

in time of need?

Hab Simson cou’d, what needs you speer?

but (now) he’s dead.


So kindly to his Neighbours neast,

At Beltan and Saint Barchan’s feast,                                                                                  20

He blew, and then held up his Breast,

as he were weid;

But now we need not him arrest,

for Habbie’s dead.


At Fairs he play’d before the Spear-men,

All gaily graithed in their Gear Men.

Steell Bonnets, Jacks, and Swords so clear then

like any Bead.

Now wha shall play before such Weir-men,

sen Habbie’s dead?                                                                                                    30


At Clark-plays when he wont to come;

His Pipe play’d trimly to the Drum,

Like Bikes of Bees he gart it Bum,

and tun’d his Reed.

Now all our Pipers may sing dumb,

sen Habbie’s dead.


And at Horse Races many a day,

Before the Black, the Brown the Gray,

He gart his Pipe when he did play,

baith Skirl and Skreed,                                                                                             40


Now all such Pastimes quite away,

sen Habbie’s dead.


He counted was a weil’d Wight-man,

And fiercely at Foot-ball he ran:

At every Game the Gree he wan,

for Pith and Speed.

The like of Habbie was na than,

but now he’s dead.


And than, besides his valiant Acts,

At Bridals he wan many Placks,                                                                                          50

He bobbed ay behind Fo’ks Backs,

and shook his Head.

Now we want many merry Cracks,

sen Habbie’s dead.


He was Convoyer of the Bride

With Kittock hinging at his side:

About the Kirk he thought a Pride

the Ring to lead.

But now we may gae but a Guide

for Habbie’s dead.                                                                                                     60


So well’s he keeped his Decorum,

And all the Stots of Whip-meg-morum,

He flew a Man, and wae’s me for him,

and bure the Fead!

But yet the Man wan hame before him,

and was not dead!



Ay whan he play’d, the Laffes Leugh,

To see him Teethless, Auld and teugh.

He wan his Pipes beside Borcheugh,

withoutten dread:                                                                                                     70

Which after wan him Gear enough,

but now he’s dead,


Ay whan he play’d, the Gaitlings gedder’d,

And whan he spake, the Carl bledder’d:

On Sabbath days his Cap was fedder’d,

a seemly Weid.

In the Kirk-yaird, his Mare stood tedder’d,

where he lies dead.


Alas! for him my Heart is fair,

For of his Springs I gat a skair,                                                                                           80

At every Play, Race, Feast and Fair,

but Guile or Greed.

We need not look for Pyping mair,

sen Habbie’s dead.









Sanny Briggs,

Nephew to Habbie Simpson, and Butler

to the Laird of Kilbarchan.

Alake for evermare and wae!

To wha shall I whan drouthie gae?

Dool Sturt and Sorrow will me flae

without remeid,

For Hardship; and alake a day!

since Sanny’s dead.


O’er Buffet-Stools and Hassocks tumble,

O how he gart the Jutters jumble,

And glowren Fow, both Reel and Rumble,

and clour their Head!                                                                                               10

Now they may Gape and Girn, and Grumble,

since Sanny’s dead.


And how he gart the Carles clatter,

And blirten Fow their Bowspreets batter,

Laughen to see them pitter-patter,

Naivel and Bleed?


He was a deadly Fae to Water,

but now he’s dead.


Wha’ll jaw Ale on my drouthy Tongue,

To cool the heat of Light and Lung?                                                                                  20

Wha’ll bid me when the Kaill-bell’s rung

to Board me speed?

Wha’ll set me by the Barrel-bung,

since Sanny’s dead?


Wha’ll set me dribbling be the Tapp,

While winking I begin to Napp,

Then lay me down and well me Happ,

and binn my Head?

I need na think to get yae Drap,

since Sanny’s dead.                                                                                                  30


Well did the Master-Cook and he,

With Giff-gaff Courtesie agree,

With Tears as fat as Kitchen-fee

drapt frae his head.

Alake a day! though kind to me,

yet now he’s dead.


It very muckle did me please,

To see him howk the Holland Cheese:

I kend the clinking o’ his Kies

in time of need.                                                                                                         40

Alake a day! though kind to me,

yet now he’s dead.



He was as Stout as was his Steel,

And gen ye’ll trow he cou’d fu’ well

At Wapenshaws the Younkers dreill,

and bra’ly lead,

Baith to the Field and frae the Field,

but now he’s dead.


When first I heard the waeful Knell,

And Dool-ding o’s Passing-Bell,                                                                                         50

It made me Yelp, and Yeul, ad Yell,

and Skirl and Skreed.

To Pantrie-Men I bid Farewell,

Since Sanny’s dead.


Fast is he bunn baith Head and Feet,

And wrapped in a Winnen-sheet:

Now cou’d I sit me down and Greet,

but what’s the need?

Shou’d I like a Bell’d-Wadder bleet,

since Sanny’s dead?                                                                                                  60




The Chiel came in his Roum, is Bauld,

Sare be his Shins, and’s Kail ay Cauld,

Which gars us ay pray for the Auld,

with Book and Beid.

Now Lord ha Mercy on his Saul,

for now he’s dead.













Compiled and Corrected by P.D.


AN Hether Man, as I heard say,

Sensyne, I think, a week or tway,

Came cantly cracking out the way,

None with him but his Meir.

Wha being late, he bade her ride,

And with a Spur did jag her Side,

But ay the filly Mare bade bide,

And further wou’d not stier.


2 . But lay down on the Fair High-street,

And shooting out both Head and Feet,                                                                             10

She meekly spake these words so sweet,

Your Spurring will not mack it.


Oft have I turft your Hether Crame,

And born your self right oft-times Hame,

With many a toom and hungry Wame,

Whan thou hast been well packit.


But now is come my Fatal End,

With you I may no further wend,

To my sweet Hussy me commend,

And all the Rest at Hame.                                                                                       20

Oft have I born that on my Banes,

Hath caus’d their Beards all wag at anes:

But now for me they may chew Stanes,

We’ll never meet again.


The silly Carl for Wae he grat,

And down upon his Arse he sat:

The Night was foul, he was all wat,

And perished of Cauld.

Yet with himself he did advise,

Longer to sit he were not wise,                                                                                           30

Then pray’d the silly Meir to rise,

And draw her to some Hauld.


But no more than she had been dead,

She cou’d remove her from that Stead,

When he did press to lift her Head,

Her Arse fell down behind.

Then in a Grief he did her hail,

And drugged both at Main and Tail,

And other parts he could best wail,

Then bade her take the Wind.                                                                                40



Then he did take forth of a Wallat,

Some Draff, whereon this Meir did mallat,

Which fiercely gart her lift her Pallat,

Nor a’ the rest before.

She ate thereof with sae good Will,

While I wat well, she had her fill,

When she was full, then she lay still,

And wou’d not eat nae more:


But start on Foot, as it wou’d be

Nane being there but she and he:                                                                                       50

The Night was cauld, and bitterly,

It blatter’d on o’ Rain:

The Carl was cauld, to sooth to say,

And fain he wou’d have been away

For passed was the light of Day,

And Night was cum again.


Yet with himself he did advise,

Longer to sit he war not wise,

The pray’d the silly Meir to rise,

And draw her to sum Hold.                                                                                    60

Then Fute for Fute they went togidder,

But aft she fell the Get was slidder:

Yet where to take her he did swidder,

While at the last he would.


He warily did her weise and weild,

To Collingtoun-Broom, a full gude Beild,

And warmest also in a’ that Field,

And there he bade her hide her;

For there if Duncan apprehend thee,


With sare sad Stroaks indeed he’ll end thee;                                                                    70

I pray thee, from his Wrath defend thee:

Sine he sat down beside her.


And said, Good-night my Darling dear,

My Bread-winner this mony a Year:

Alas, that I shou’d leave thee here

So wilsome of thy wain!

Dear Master, quoth this Meir, ye shent you,

For my Distemper to torment you:

Sober thy kind Heart, and repent you,

We’ll never meet again.                                                                                           80


With this they shed, as I heard say,

With mony a Shout and Wall-away,

Referring to a bra new Day,

To mack her Latter Will.

But truly as the Case befel,

(And here the truth I mind to tell)

They never met by twanty Ell,

That purpose to fulfil,


By which arose right great Dissention,

Much deadly Feed and het Contention:                                                                            90

For many of a wrang Intention,

Alledg’d sum of her Gear.

And they, before wha never saw her,

Nor in her Life did ever knaw her,

That they were of her Kin, did shaw her,

As after ye shall hear.



The Carl gade hame a weary Groom,

But she all Night amang the Broom

Lay still, both weary, faint and toom,

While Morn that it was Day.                                                                                   100

Then forth came Duncan on the Morrow,

As he had been to ride on Sorrow,

With a lang Sting, which he did borrow,

To chase the Meir away.


He hit her twa’r three Routs indeed,

And bade her pass sweith from his Stead,

If thou bide here, I’le be thy dead:

With that gave her a Lounder,

While Mouth and Nose rusht out of Blood,

She staggard also where she stood:                                                                                    110

For she was tint for fau’t of Food,

And sae it was nae Wonder.


Yet, quoth this Beast with heavy chear,

I pray you, Duncan, thole me here,

Until the outcum of the Year:

And then if I grow better,

I shall remove, I you assure,

Tho’ I were nere so Weak and Poor,

And seek my Meat throw Curry Moor,

As fast as I can swatter.                                                                                           120


When he perceived it was sae,

That from that Part she could not gae,

Into a Grief he past her frae,

And would no longer tarry,

But sent Pete Peacock in a Fray


For to have chaste the Meir away,

With a long Cane as I heard say:

And in a feiry farry.


Ran to the Mill and fetcht the Lowder,

Wherewith he hit her on the Shou’der,                                                                             130

That he dang’t all to drush like Powder,

He laid it on so sicker:

Then from these Bounds he bad her pack her,

Or else he swore, that he would wrack her.

Then through the Meadow she did tack her,

As fast as she might bicker.


But at the last, the Beast being poor,

Lan for to rin cou’d not endure,

He did o’rtack her in Fordel Moor,

And pat her in a Teather:                                                                                        140

Then laid upon her Houghs and Heels,

Commanding her to leave these Fields,

And bad her pass to Listoun-Shields,

And peul amang the Heather.


Yet, quoth this silly simple Beast,

I pray you Pete hear my Request,

Lat me remain this Night here East,

Amang the Broom to rest me:

And on the Morn I the behight,

Twa Hours and mair before Day-light,                                                                              150

I shall to Bavelaw tack the Flight,

And tell how ye ha’e drest me.


Thus Petie with her words contented,


Did homeward gae and sair repented,

That he this beast had sae tormented,

And in this manner drest her.

And she baith dolourous and wae,

Came poorly creeping up the Brae,

With a sare skin, baith black and blae,

And there sat down to rest her.                                                                              160


And there frae time that she sat down,

For weariness she fell in Swown

And ere she waken’d, John Calhown

Came on her with a blatter,

Accompany’d with auld Pakes Patoun

And Richie March, who dwelt in Hatoun,

And laid upon her with a Batoun,

While a’ her Harns did clatter.


To whom this Beast all wae began,

Said, Loving honest, guid sweet John,                                                                                170

Lat me but this ane Night alone,

And I wish nor I worrie,

Upon the Morn, be I alive,

If I dow either lead or drive,

With Dogs ye shall me rug and rive,

If I make not for Currie.


Thus he bewailing her Punition,

Did leave her upon that Condition,

And she but any Requisition,

Came down to the Killogie,                                                                                    180

Where she thought to have lodg’d all Night,

And ease her the best way she might:


But a false Lown soon saw that Sight,

Whose Name was Willie Scrogie.


Who came and tuik her by the Beugh,

And with a Rung both auld and teugh,

Laid on her, while she bled enough,

And for dead left her lying

Into a deadly Swown and Trance,

Bewailing Fortune’s Variance,                                                                                            190

Her hard Misluck and heavie Chance,

For Help and Pity crying.


But what shou’d any further speaking?

For all her waful Cries and Greeting,

Her loving Words and fair Intreating,

(These Follows were too tyked)

To her they would make nae Supplie,

Nor yet let her remaining be

Amang them, but twa days or three,

Say to them, what she liked.                                                                                   200


This silly Beast thus confounded,

Sae deadly hurt, misus’d and wounded,

With Messan-dogs sae chas’d and wounded,

In end directs a Letter

Of Supplication with John Aird,

To purchase Licence frae the Laird,

That she might bide about the Yeard,

While she grew sumwhat better.


But he wou’d na ways condescend

To gae the Message she did send,                                                                                      210


For fear he shou’d the Laird offend:

But bade her send John Durie.

And when they war in all their Dou’ts,

A Messenger, whase Name was Couts,

(Vengeance light on all their Snouts,)

Came on her in a Fury.


Who did tack forth his Sergeants Wand,

And gave to her a strait Command,

The self same Night to leave the Land,

Or on the Morn to burn her.                                                                                   220

Then was this Beast so sare amazed,

Into his Face the glour’d and gazed,

And wist not well she was so bazed,

To what Hand for to turn her.


But fell down on her silly Knees,

And upward lifting up her Eyes,

Said, Couts, my Misery thou sees,

Wherefore do not deride it:

But ponder my distrest Estate,

How I am handled and what gate,                                                                                     230

For I may mack na mair debate:

Na langer can I bide it.


Then did she halt lang in Dispair,

Withdraw her to a Place, even where

She thought there should be least Repair,

And that nane shou’d come near her.

But she got never perfect Rest,

Ga where she lik’d, she was opprest:

Wherefore in end it was thought best,

With Men awa to bear her.                                                                                      240



And so Rob Rodger in an Anger,

And Will Tamson wha ay bade hang her,

By Sting and Ling they did up-bang her,

And bare her down between them,

To Duncan’s Burn, and there but dread,

They left her and came hame good speed:

Ye wou’d have laughen well indeed,

So pudled to have seen them:



For Willie Tamson well I ween,

Fell in a Pool o’er baith the Een,                                                                                         250

And ne’er a bit of him left clean,

So throw the Dubs him carri’d.

And Rob who took in hand to guide him,

O’er both the Lugs he fell beside him,

Then sta away for shame to hide him,

He was so well begarri’d.


This being done but any mair,

These twa they left her lying there,

Supprest with Dolour, Grief and Care,

Who made this Protestation:                                                                                 260

If any Person far or near

Within this Parish would compear,

To lend her but ten Shillings here,

Upon her Obligation.


When the Cleck Geese leave off to clatter,

And Parasites to flietch and flatter,

And Priests, Maria’s to pitter patter,

And Thieves from Thift refrain.


Or yet again, when there shall be

Nae Water in the Ocean Sea:                                                                                              270

Then she that Sum right thankfullie

Should pay them hame again.


But, oh, alas for all their Moan,

In all these Parts there was not One,

Would condescend to give that Loan,

For never ane did mean her!

And sae alas! she lay still there

But Meat and Drink eight days and mair;

It wou’d have made a haill Heart sair,

In that Café to have seen her.                                                                                 280


Yet honest Antie in the Place,

Came and beheld her pale cauld Face,

And said, for evermair, alace!

I see the sae mischieved:

Had I known of thy weariness,

They Misery and great Distress,

I shou’d have helped mair or less,

And so thy Straits relieved.


I shou’d have put the in the Bank,

Where Nettles, Grass and Weeds grew rank:                                                                    290

Where well thou might have fill’d thy Flank,

And fed amang the Willies:

Or otherways to have rejoic’d thee,

Within the Ward I might have clos’d thee,

Where well thou mightest have repos’d thee

Amang the Laird’s best Fillies.



To whom the Beast said soberly,

Sweet Mistress, I most heartily

Do thank you for your Courtesy,

So friendly who have us’d me:                                                                                300

Who has sae lovingly reported,

And also sweetly me comforted:

And with your Alms has me supported,

When all my Kin refus’d me:


Yet mair attour, since there is nane,

To whom that I can mack my Mane,

But sweet Mistress to you alane,

Before these Villains gore me,

Though I have neither Gier nor Gains,

For to present you for your Pains:                                                                                      310

If it perturb not all your Brains,

Yet this one thing do for me:


Gae to the Cock with speedy haist,

And rin as fast as ye were chaist,

And tell me that I am dead almaist,

And if ye can allure him,

A Dishfu’ of his Broath to send me,

Which frae this cauld Night may defend me;

And if it prove a Help to mend me,

Upon my Word assure him,                                                                                    320


When Winter Cauld shall be but Frost.

And Wives for Mast’ry shall not boast,

And Men of Law wait on but Cost,

And Usurers tack nae Gains:

Or when ye shall see Pentland Hills


B’ing carri’d down amang Leith Mills,

Then I with twanty mae good Wills.

Shall please him for his Pains.


This Message Antie undertook,

And speedily ran to the Cook,                                                                                            330

Who fand him sitting in the Nook,

And as she was desired,

Requested him right earnestly

To send the silly Beast Supply:

And he again right thankfully

Did as he was required,


And without Grudging or Debate,

Did send a muckle Charger-plate

Fu’ o’ good Broath hynd down the Gate,

And bade her tack care o’d:                                                                                     340

And with her sell likewise conclude,

That if she thought it healthsome Fude,

And if it did her ony gude,

The Morn she shou’d hae mair o’d:


But frae this Time this wraked Beast

Perceiv’d the Broath gae down her Breast,

Her Tongue frae crying never ceast

Till she had made Confession:

And sae came by Sir Tamas Grant,

About the Sheens who aft did haunt,                                                                                 350

Who thought, if she did Witness want

To hear’t, it were Oppression.



Wherefore he said unto the Meir,

I see thy Death approacheth near,

Then see, that ye be very clear,

For Death to mack thee ready:

For I see by thy Viasge pale,

Nathing but Death for thee but fail,

As freely then tell me your Tale,

As if I were your Deddie.                                                                                         360


Then up she hoov’d her hinder Heels,

And said (when she lay in the Fiel’s)

Though you with me shou’d cast the Creils

And of your Help refuse me:

I will naways at all think Shame,

Tho’t be contrar to a good Name,

To you, sweet Father, to proclame,

How lang time they did use me.


My Master was a simple Man,

Wha had nathing, but what he wan                                                                                   370

By cadging Heather now and than:

At Bavelaw was his winning.

My Hussie likewise was a Wife

Ay hading into Sturt and Strife,

Wha had nathing during her Life,

But what she wan by Spinning.


And I was tossed up and down,

With Heather cadging to the Town,

For fau’t o’ Food whils did I Swown,

For a’ that e’er I wan them.                                                                                     380

But I think plain Necessitie


Was it, why sae they used me:

Wherefore I think assuredlie,

I hae nae Cause to ban them.


But yet, because they us’d me sae,

I thought to mack their Hearts as wae,

Anes to the Butler I did gae,

Postponing ev’ry Peril:

Where I fand naught but taw Sheep-breeds,

Some Haggise-bags and taw Nowt-heads,                                                                        390

With twa’r three Pecks of Sowing-seeds,

Well tramped in a Barrel.


I took the Seeds which I thought best,

With Hunger being sare opprest,

And ate of them while they mought last,

When all the Rest were sleeping.

Syne privily I did me hy

Into the Stable near hand by,

(Which is the Place wherein I ly)

On Hands and Feet fast creeping.                                                                          400


But oh I dought na sleep a Wink

For Drowth, but came back to the Bink,

Where that I took a miekle Drink,

But it was very bitter.

I trow my Hussy Meg had pisht it,

And up upon the Bink had disht it,

Oh, if that I had never toucht it,

It gart me tack the Sk—-!



But Good John Smith, my Master dear,

Upon the Morn ere Day grew clear,                                                                                   410

Before his Wife he did compear:

And said to her, my Lady,

Rise up, I pray you, with good Speed,

Hang on the Sowings, for indeed

I trow ye be right scant of Bread,

Some Hate-thing soon mack ready.


The Wife expecting for nane ill

Rase up his Biding to fulfill,

With merry Heart and right good Will,

To mack for some Provision:                                                                                  420

But when she mist the Seeds away,

She wist not what to do or say,

Cry’d many Alas, and Wall-away!

And said, John, in derision


I trow ye cry for your Disjoon:

When were ye wont to cry so soon?

It is your self this deed hath done:

And that hath made Conclusion

Of all the Seeds we got in Morton;

Or else it hath been glied Wil Morton.                                                                               430

I’ll be his Chance, his Hap and Fortune,

Who hath wrought this Confusion.


When she was macking all this Mane,

And had him tauld that all was Gane,

A Race to her the Carl hath tane,

As fast as he might Bicker,

And hit her such a Stroak but Dread,


While he thought, that she had been dead:

For he had hit her on the Head

A sad Stroak and a sicker.                                                                                       440


So when with a lang heavy Rung,

I did perceive my Hussie dung,

I was stanne-still, and held my Tongue,

And felloun closs I held me.

For if they had had any Feel,

That I had made them such a Reel,

The one of them, I wat right well,

But question wou’d have fell’d me.


Now this is the warst Turn, I say,

That e’re I did by Night or Day:                                                                                          450

Wherefore, sweet Father, I you pray,

Since you hear my Confession:

That in this Place before I die,

You grant me Pardon chearfully,

For that I wat assuredly

Belangs to your Profession.


Then spake this Father venerable

To her this Sentence comfortable,

As I a man am trowable,

I say this in submission:

Since ye desire to be remitted                                                                                           460

Of all the fau’ts ye have commited,

(Now surely on the head I hit it)

I grant you full Remission.



Then was she blyth, and said, I think,

That I am an begins to wink,

Sweet Father now take Pen and Ink

And write as I command you.

For on my Credit I dare swear,

It was some Good thing brought you here,                                                                       470

Recorded be the Time and Year,

And Day, that e’er I found you.


And first write, that it pleaseth me,

My Body be solemnously

Laid in that place with Honesty,

Where ly my Predecessors.

I nominate my Master John

And his good Brother Tam Gillon,

Executors to me alone,

These twa are nae Oppressors.                                                                               480


I know they will do nought but Right

To me and mine, for many a Night

I did them Pleasure as I might,

Wherefore you may assure them.

For often-times I wou’d them tack,

E’en as a Chap-man doth his Pack,

Upon my sillie feeble Back,

And throw the Dubs I bure them.


I leave them therefore Power all,

To meddle with Debts great and small,                                                                           490

And with all Things in general,

That any way belangs me.

First, I am awing to Andro Rid


At the Wast-port for six Gray-bread,

Five Shilling, for the which indeed

He and his Wife o’regangs me.


And in my great Necessitie,

Tam Linkie’s Wife she furnisht me,

As meekle Draff of Veritie,

The last day of December,                                                                                        500

As by the last Count we did mack,

Came to five Shilling and a Plack,

Well counted before auld John Black:

If I do right remember.


There is a cankard Carl sicklyke,

Whom I have born o’er many a Syke,

They ca’ him Jockie in the Dyke,

(I had amaste fargot it)

Some Nights, when I cou’d not win Hame,

To tell the Truth I think na Shame,                                                                                    510

For Draff and Satlings to my Wame,

Six Placks I am addebted.


No sa far as I understand,

I awe na mare in a’ this Land,

But to a silly Colibrand,

Tam Rid that dwals in Currie,

Upon a time as he may prove:

An Achison for a Remove,

But ‘t was little for my Behove,

I pray nor he may may worry.                                                                                 520



There is a Man, they ca’ him John Blair,

Beside the Hops wha macks Repair,

Him did I serve seven Years and mair,

But I saw ne’er his Conzie,

And in my Need and Povertie,

My Sickness and Calamitie,

That same Carl ne’er visit me:

Now Pox light on his Grounzie.


The Thing to me he is addebted,

I purpose not ov’r high to set it,                                                                                         530

It is if I have not forgot it,

By our just Calculation,

Three Pound: here without Dilatours,

I ordain my Executors,

To gang amang my Creditours,

And to their Contentation,


Off the first end, right chearfully,

Content them a’ with Honesty,

Lest afterward they wearie me,

When I may not amend it:                                                                                      540

And to such as are destitute

Of wardly Goods, I constitute

That all the rest be distribute,

Sae soon’s my Life is endit.


I ha’e not meekle mair free Gear,

In very deed, to speak of here:

But had I liv’d another Year,

If Folks had been good willie,

I had had mair, yet I will shaw,

The Thing I have but any aw,                                                                                              550


I have into the Castle-law,

A Meir but and a Fillie.


My Will is, and I leave the Mierie

To ane they ca’ him John Macklierie,

e cause of Foot he is not feirie,

And may not deal with Travel.

For in his Youth that Carl us’d ay,

With Wenches for to sport and play,

Where through he hath this mony a day,

Been troubled with the Gravel.                                                                               560


I leave the Fillie to John Kilmanie,

An honest Master in Balenie:

The which if it be Poor and Banie:

Yet if it be well used,

It will do Good.  Aft-times, said I,

I might have had for ‘t already,

From my sweet Masters Luckie-dedy,

Five Crowns, which was refused.


My Halter and my four New Shods,

My Turs-raips, curpel and my Sods,                                                                                   570

I list not let them gae to ods,

For that indeed wou’d Grieve me:

I leave them therefore to Tam Stean,

Who hath his winning in Smiddy-green:

For many a Night, right late at e’en,

That poor Man did relieve me.


My Main, my Tail, and a’ my Hair,

I leave but any Process mair,


To Cheasly, Matman, and Tam Blair,

Three Fishers by Vocation:                                                                                     580

For aft-times when it wou’d be Late,

And might not mack nae mare Debate,

These three wou’d lodge me by the Gate

And give me Sustenation.


I leave my bony round white Teeth

To Willie Frisel into Leith,

For on a time when Jenny Reith

With plotted Broe demaim’d me,

He fed me in his House a’ hail

Eight Days, with good Flesh Broe and Kaill,                                                                     590

And aft-times with Bread and Ale,

Where worse Chear might have gain’d me.


To honest Auntie in Collingtoun Place,

My Blissing light upon her Face,

Who was my Friend in every Case,

I cannot well forget her.

I leave her therefore to her Part,

My true, my kind, and tender Heart,

For into mony Grief and Smart,

Of her I was the better.                                                                                           600


I leave the Creash within my Wame,

With a’ my Heart to Finlay Grame,

It will be better than Swine Seam,

For any Wramp or Minzie.

First shear it small, and rind it sine,

Into a Kettle clean and fine,

It will be good against the Pine

Of any Wriest or Strienzie.



I leave my Liver, Puds and Tripes

To the twa Brethren in the Snipes,                                                                                     610

Wha though they be but greedy Gipes,

Yet being once in Cramond

Storm-sted and in great Miserie,

For very Hunger like to die,

Did give me lodging chearfullie,

And fed me well with Salmond.


My twa gray Eyes like Cristal clear,

Wherefrae great brightness did appear,

I leave in this my Test’ment here,

To silly John Mackwirrie:                                                                                          620

For going wild into the Night

Beside Blackbav’law on the Height,

He took me to an Ale-house right,

And made to be mirrie.


I leave my Tongue Rethorical,

My duice Voice, Sweet and Musical,

And all my Science Natural,

To good sweet Master Mathow:

For when I was by Mortoun Dogs,

O’erbladed through the Stanks and Bogs,                                                                         630

And had stood three Days in the Jogs,

Within the Town of Ratho;


He came into a Morning soon,

And gave Contentment lang ere Noon,

To a’ to wham I wrang had done,

Sine sent me with a Letter

With Expedition down to Cammock:


Where that for to refresh my Stamock,

I was receiv’d and fed with Dramock

Aught Days and with the better.                                                                           640


I leave my Head to Sanny Purdie,

A Man whereof I think him wurdie:

For once when that I took the Sturdie,

That Man but any Grudging,

Made me great Succour and Supply,

And used me right tenderly,

And gave me Food abundantly,

Twa Weeks within his Lodging.


I leave to Claud in Hermistoun,

For his Bounteth and Warisoun,                                                                                        650

My Hide, with my braid Bennisoun,

To be a pair of Bellies:

For whan he fand me lying Sick,

At Gogor Bridge, and dought not speak,

Upon his back he did me cleick,

And bare me to Laird Skellies.


To these Fellows of Collingtoun,

Who brought me to Contention,

I leave them my black Malison,

For here I do protest it.                                                                                           660

If these Men had licenced me

To ha’ biddin twa Nights or three,

Amang the Broom, where quietlie,

I might have ly’n and restit:



I had not then with every Lown,

With every Butcher up and down,

Been bladded frae Town to Town,

Nor gotten sick Oppression:

Nor yet had been in sick a Blunder:

Nor made then sick a a Warld’s Wonder:                                                                          670

I wish mae Mischiefs nor a hunder

On them and their Succession.


Now sweet Sir Tamas earnestly,

I pray you let me hear and see,

If that my Will and Legacie,

Be done as I directed:

For some Suspition e’en now breed I,

That you are grieved Lucki-deddy,

In that I have dispatcht already

My Goods and you neglected.                                                                                680


But surely, Sir, the Reason why

That I did so and set you by,

It was indeed, because that I

Knew not, that you were needy.

And next again, as Reason shaws.

I did it for another Cause,

Which is, that all the Warld knaws,

That such Men are not Greedy.


To wham Sir Tamas soberly

Did Answer mack, and said, truly                                                                                     690

All Things, as ye commanded me,

Are orderly perfected:

Therefore of that tack ye na Care,


And of that Matter speak nae mair:

Think on your Sickness and your Sair,

As for your Gear I quite it.


Then for final Conclusion,

This poor Beast on her Knees fell down,

And said, Sir, for my Bennisoun,

Since Death thinks to betray me:                                                                           700

And since I clearly do perceive,

That of my Breath and all the leave

Of the Five Senses that I have,

Death threatens to bewray me.


I you beseech most earnestlie,

Of your Gentrice and Courtesie,

To gae to Bav’law soon for me,

And there with Expedition,

Shew to John Smith, my Master dear,

That I am sair Siek lying here,                                                                                             710

At point of Death, and dow not steer:

And mack him Requisition,


For to come down peremptorlie,

The Morn about twa Hours or three,

To Geordie Miln, where publicklie

I will repeat this Sentence.

That I dare say in Veritie,

It were great Pleasure unto me,

That we shou’d meet before I die,

For honest auld Acquaintance.                                                                               720



Sir Tamas then began to clatter,

And told, that he wou’d nae ways flatter,

But plainly to her shew the Matter:

Sine said to her, my Dearie,

Ly still and rest you: for I think,

That I shall neither eat nor drink,

Nor with mine Eyes shall sleep a Wink,

Though I were ne’er sae wearie,


Whilst all and haill my last Direction

Be done and ended but Defection.                                                                                     730

Then unto Pluto his Protection

He heartily bequeath’d her:

And ran to Bav’law with good will,

Brought down John Smith to Gorgie-mill,

Wha sae soon as he came her till,

Into his Arms he caught her.


And said, alas for evermair!

That I shou’d see thee lying there

Sae Comfortless, baith Sick and Sair,

Sae Helpless, Poor, and Needy;                                                                               740

Sae Bruis’d and Birs’d, sae Black and Blae,

Sae ill demaim’d frae Tap to Tae:

Alas that I shou’d leave thee sae!

Fy! is there nae Remeedy?


Alas for evermair, alace!

This is a dolorous dolefu’ Case

To me, to see that well-fa’our’d Face

And Countenance sae guided:

Now where are these twa brightfu’ Een


Into thy Head, which I have seen,                                                                                      750

That now are sae yellow and green?

Oh, I cannot abide it!


Oh and alas that harmes be ay:

Dolour and Doll fell me this day.

What shall I either do or say?

This is a dolefu’ Meeting.

To whom this Beast with Voice most weak

Said, Master, my Heart do not break,

Let Sorrow be, some Comfort take,

I dow not bide your Greeting.                                                                                 760


Your Sighs, your Sobs, your Mourning sair,

Doth nathing but augment my Care:

Therefore desist and Mourn nae mair,

With Greeting ye are wrackit:

And since that ye withoutten Swither,

To visit me are come down hither,

Be blyth, and let us drink together,

For Mourning will not mack it.


And since, sweet Master, that you see,

That there is nought but Death for me,                                                                             770

I pray you tack it patientlie,

Since there is nae Redemption:

And I do mack you Supplication,

To carry hame my Commendation

To all and haill the Congregation

Of Curry, but Exemption.



As for my Goods, they’re else divided,

Na Part thereof is undecided,

Except my Sp’rit, and to guide it,

I leave the King of Fairie,                                                                                         780

Perpetually for to remain

In Wilderness with his great Train,

And never to come back again,

But in his Court to tarry.


The Speech thus ended, she sat down,

All Comfortless and fell in Swoon,

Where she in that great Passion,

Baith Heartless, Faint and Weary,

With a great Exclamation,

To Pluto macks Invocation,                                                                                                 790

Did yield her Sp’rit but Molestation:

Thus ended John Smith’s Meiry.


Now have ye heard the Tragedy,

The latter Will and Legacy

Of this Meir, and the Certainty,

When, where, and how she ended.

Which though it be both Gross and Rude,

And of all Eloquence denude:

Yet, Sirs, imbrace’t as it were good,

For I took Pains to mend it.                                                                                   800






Bonny HECK,

A Famous Grey-Hound in the Shire of Fife.


Alas, alas, quo’ bonny Heck,

On former Days when I reflect!

I was a Dog much in Respect

For doughty Deed:

But now I must hing by the Neck

Without Remeed.


O fy, Sirs, for black burning Shame,

Ye’ll bring a Blunder on your Name!

Pray tell me wherein I’m to blame?

Is’t in Effect,                                                                                                              10

Because I’m Criple, Auld and Lame?

Quo’ bony Heck.


What great Feats I have done my Sell

Within Clink of Kilrenny Bell,

When I was Souple, Young and Fell

But Fear or Dread:

John Ness and Paterson can tell,

Whose Hearts may bleid.


They’ll witness that I was the Vier

Of all the Dogs within the Shire,                                                                                        20

I’d run all Day, and never tyre:

But now my Neck

It must be stretched for my Hyre,

Quo’ bonny Heck.


How nimbly could I turn the Hair,

Then serve my self, that was right fair!


For still it was my constant Care

The Van to lead.

Now, what could sery Heck do mair,

Syne kill her dead?                                                                                                   30


At the King’s-Muir, and Kellylaw,

Where good stout Hairs gang fast awa,

So cliverly I did it Claw,

With Pith and Speed:

I bure the Bell before them

As clear’s a Beid.


I ran alike on a’ kind Grounds,

Yea in the midst of Ardry Whines,

I grip’t the Mackings be the Bunns,

Or be the Neck:                                                                                                         40

Where nathing could slay them but Guns,

Save bonny Heck:


I Wily, Witty was, and Gash,

With my auld felni packy Pash,

Nae Man might anes buy me for Cash

In some respect.

Are they not then confounded Rash,

That hangs poor Heck?


I was a bardy Tyk and bauld,

Tho’ my Beard’s Gray, I’m not so auld.                                                                              50

Can any Man to me unfald,

What is the Feid,

To stane me ere I be well Cauld?

A cruel Deed!


Now Honesty was ay my Drift,

An innocent and harmless Shift,

A Kaill-pot-lid gently to lift,

Or Amry-Sneck.


Shame fa the Chafts, dare call that Thift,

Quo’ bonny Heck.                                                                                                     60


So well’s I cou’d play Hocus Pocus,

And of the Servants mack Jodocus,

And this I did in every Locus

Throw their Neglect.

And was not this a Merry Jocus

Quo’ bonny Heck?


But now, good Sirs, this day is lost,

The best Dog in the East-Nook Coast:

For never ane durst Brag nor Boast

Me, for their Neck.                                                                                                   70

But now I must yeild up the Ghost,

Quo’ bonny Heck.


And put a period to my Talking,

For I’m unto my Exit making:

Sirs, ye may a’ gae to the Hawking,

And there Reflect,

Ye’l ne’er get sick a Dog for Makin

As bonny Heck.


But if my Puppies ance were ready,

Which I gat on a bonny Lady:                                                                                             80

They’l be baith Cliver, Keen, and Beddy,

And ne’er Neglect,

To Clink it like their ancient Deddy

The famous Heck.






Cherry and the Slae.


Compiled into Metre by

Captain Alexander Montgomery.


A Sweet Sonnet to the Blessed Trinity.


Supream Essence, Beginner Unbegun,

Ay Trinal One, and undivided Three,

Eternal Word that Victory hath won,

O’er Death, o’er Hell, triumphing on the Tree.

Fore-knowledge, Wisdom, and All-seeing Eye,

JEHOVAH, Alpha, and Omega all,

Like unto none, and none like unto Thee,

Unmov’d moving the Rounds about the Ball:

Container uncontain’d, Is, Was, and Shall

Be Sempiternal, Merciful and Just:                                                                                      10

Creator Uncreated, now I call,

Teach me thy Truth, since into Thee I trust,

Increase, Confirm, and kindle from above

My Faith, my Hope, but by the lave my Love.


About a Bank with balmy Bews,

Where Nightingales their Notes renews

With gallant Gold-spinks gay:

The Mavis, Merle, and Progne proud,

The Lintwhite, Lark and Laverock loud,

saluted mirthful May:


When Philomel had sweetly sung,

to Progne she deplored;

How Tereus cut out her Tongue,

and falsly her Deflou’red.                                                                                        10

Which Story, so sory,

To shew asham’d she she seem’d;

To hear her, so near her,

I doubted if I dream’d.


The Cushat crowds, the Corbie cryes,

The Cucko cuks, the pratling Pyes

to geck her they begin:

The Jargoun, or the jangling Jayes,

The cracking Craws, the keckling Kayes,

they deav’d me with their din:                                                                                20

The painted Pown with Argos Eyes

can on his Maycock call,

The Turtle wails on wither’d Trees:

and Echo answer’d all,

Repeating, with greeting,

how fair Narcissus fell,

By lying, and spying

his Shadow in the Well,


I saw the Hurcheon and the Hare,

In Hidlings hirpling here and there,                                                                                  30

to make their Morning-mange:

The Con, the Coney, and the Cat,

Whose dainty Downs with Dew were wet,

with stiff Mustachoes strange,

The Heart, the Hynd, the Dae, the Rae,

the Fulmart and false Fox,


The bearded Buck clamb up the Brae

with birsie Bairs and Brocks:

Some feeding, some dreading,

the Hunter’s subtile Snares,                                                                      40

With skipping, and tripping,

they plaid them all in Pairs.


The Air was sober, soft and sweet,

But misty Vapours, Wind and Weet,

but quiet, calm and clear;

To foster Flora’s fragrant flow’rs,

Whereon Apollo’s Paramours

had trickl’d many a Tear;

The which like Silver shakers shin’d,

embrodr’ing Beauty’s Bed:                                                                                      50

Wherewith their heavy Heads declin’d,

all in May’s Colours cled:

Some knopping, some dropping

of Balmy Liquor sweet:

Excelling in smelling,

through Phoebus wholesome Heat.


Me thought an Heav’nly heartsome thing,

Where Dew like Diamonds did hing,

o’er-twinkling all the Trees,

To study on the flourish’d Twists,                                                                                      60

Admiring Nature’s Alchymists,

laborious busie Bees.

Whereof some sweetest Honey sought,

to stay their Lives to sterve;

And some the Waxie Vessels wrought,

their Purchase to preserve:


So heaping, for keeping,

it in their Hives they hid:

Precisely, and wisely,

for Winter they provide.                                                                            70


To pen the Pleasures of that Park,

How ev’ry Blosome, Branch and Bark,

against the Sun did shine,

I pass to Poets to compile

In High, Heroick, Stately Stile,

whose Muse surmatches mine.

But as I looked me alone,

I saw a River rin,

Out o’er a steepy Rock of Stone,

syne lighted in a Lin:                                                                                                80

With tumbling, and rumbling,

among the Roches round,

Devalling, and falling

into a Pit profound.


Through routing of the River rang

The Roches, founding like a Sang;

where Descant did abound,

With Treble, Tenor, Counter, Meen:

An Echo blew a Basse between,

in Diapason sound,                                                                                                  90

Set with the C sol-fa-uth Clief,

with Large and Long at list,

With Quiver, Crotchet, Semibrief,

and not a Minim mist;

Compleatly, more sweetly,

she fir’d down Flat and Sharp,


Than Muses, which uses,

to pin Apollo’s Harp.


Who would have tir’d to hear that Tune

Which Birds corrob’rate ay abune,                                                                                     100

with Layes of lovesome Larks?

Which climb so high in cristal Skies,

While Cupid wak’ned with the Cries

of Nature’s Chappel-Clarks:

Who leaving all the Heav’ns above,

alighted on the Eard.

Lo, how that little Lord of Love

before me there appear’d

So mild-like, and Child-like,

with Bow three quarters skant,                                                                110

Syne moyly, and coyly,

he looked like a Saint!


A cleanly Crisp hang o’er his Eyes,

His Quiver by his naked Thighs,

hang in a Silver Lace

Of Gold, between his Shoulders grew

Two pretty Wings, wherewith he flew,

on his left Arm a Brace.

This God soon off his Gear he shook

upon the Grassie Ground,                                                                                       120

I ran as lightly for to look,

where Ferlies might be found;

Amazed, I gazed

to see his Gear so gay,

Perceiving mine having,

he counted me his Prey,



His Youth and Stature made me stout,

Of doubleness I had no Doubt;

but bourded with my Boy:

Quoth I, how call they thee, my Child?                                                                             130

Cupido, Sir, (quoth he) and smil’d,

please you me to imploy:

For I can serve you in your Suit,

if you please to impyre,

With Wings to flee, and Shafts to shoot,

or Flames to set on fire:

Make choise then, of those then,

or of a thousand Things,

But crave them, and have them;

with that I woo’d his Wings.                                                                     140


What would you give, my Heart, quoth he,

To have these wanton Wings to flee,

to sport thy Sp’rit a while?

Or, what if Love should lend thee here,

Bow, Quiver, Shafts, and Shooting-gear,

some Body to beguile?

This Gear, (quoth I) cannot be bought,

yet would I have it fain.

What if (quoth He) it cost thee Nought,

but rendring all again?                                                                                             150

His Wings then, he brings then,

and band them on my Back:

Go flee now, quoth he now,

and so my Leave I take.


I sprang up with Cupidos Wings,

Whose Shots and Shooting-gear resigns

to lend me for a Day.


As Icarus with borrow’d Flight,

I mounted higher than I might,

o’er perillous a Play:                                                                                                 160

First forth I drew the double Dart,

which sometimes shot his Mother,

Wherewith I hurt my wanton Heart,

in hope to hurt another;

It hurt me, or burnt me,

while either end I handle:

Come see now, in me now,

the Butterflee and Candle.


As she delights into the Low;

So was I browden of my Bow,                                                                                             170

as ignorant as she;

And as she flies, while she is fir’d,

So with the Dart that I desir’d,

mine hands have hurt me too;

As foolish Phaёton by suit,

his Father’s Chair obtain’d;

I longed in Love’s Bow to shoot,

not marking with it mean’d;

More wilful, than skilful,

to flee I was so fond,                                                                                   180

Desiring, Impyring,

and so was seen upon’t.


Too late I knew, who hews too hie,

The Spail shall fall into his Eye,

too late I went to Shools,

Too late I heard the Swallow Preach,

Too late Experience doth teach

the School-Master of Fools.


Too late I find the Nest I seek,

when all the Birds are flown:                                                                                   190

Too late the Stable Dorr I steek,

when as the Steed is stown;

Too late ay, their state ay,

as foolish Folk espy,

Behind so, they find so,

remeed, and so do I.


If I had ripely been advis’d,

I had not rashly enterpriz’d

to soar with borrow’d Pens,

Nor yet had sey’d the Archer-Craft,                                                                                   200

To shoot my self with such a Shaft,

as Reason quite miskens.

Fra Wilfulness gave me my Wound,

I had no force to flee:

Then came I groaning to the Ground,

Friend, welcome home, quoth he,

When flew ye, whom slew ye,

or who brings home the Booting?

I see now, quoth he now,

you have been at the Shooting.                                                                 210


As Scorn comes commonly with Skaith,

So I behov’d to bide them baith;

so stagg’ring was my State,

That under Cure I got such Check,

Which I might not remove nor neck,

but either staile or maire:

Mine Agony was so extream,

I swelt and swoon’d for fear.


But ere I waken’d off my Dream,

he spoil’d me of my Gear,                                                                                        220

With flight then, on hieghth then,

sprang Cupid in the Skies,

Forgetting, and setting,

at nought my careful Cries.


So long with Sight I follow’d him,

While both my dazled Eyes grew dim,

through staring on the Starns;

Which flew so thick before my Een,

Some red, some yellow, blue and green,

which troubled all mine Harns,                                                                              230

That ev’ry thing appeared two

to my parboiled Brain,

But long might I ly looking so,

ere Cupid came again:

Whose Thund’ring, with wond’ring,

I heard up through the Air:

Through Clouds so, he thuds so,

and flew I wist not where.


Then when I saw that God was gone,

And in a Langour left alone,                                                                                               240

and sore tormented too,

Sometime I sigh’d, while I was sad,

Sometime I mus’d, and most gone mad,

I doubted what to do:

Sometime I rav’d half in a Rage,

as one into Despair:

To be opprest with such a Page,

Lord, if my Heart was sair!


Like Dido, Cupido,

I widdle and I warie,                                                                                  250

Who rest me, and left me,

in such a feiry-farie.


Then I felt Courage and Desire

Inflame mine Heart with uncouth Fire,

to me before unknown:

But then no Blood in me remains,

Unburnt or boil’d within my Veins,

by Love his Bellows blown;

To drown it ere I was devour’d,

with Sighs I went about:                                                                                          260

But ay the more I shoop to smoor’t,

the bolder it brake out;

Ay pressing, but ceasing,

while it might break the Bounds,

Mine Hew so, forth shew so,

the Dolour of my Wounds.


With deadly Visage, pale and wan,

More like Anatomy than Man,

I wither’d clean away.

As Wax before the Fire, I felt                                                                                              270

Mine Heart within my Bosom melt,

and piece and piece decay;

My Veins by brangling like to break,

my Pulses lap with pith:

So Fervency did me infect,

that I was vext therewith:

Mine Heart ay, it start ay,

the fiery Flames to flee:


Ay hoping, through Louping,

to leap at Liberty.                                                                                       280


But (O alas!) it was abus’d,

My careful Corps kept it inclus’d

in Prison of my Breast:

With Sighs so sopite and o’er-set,

Like to a Fish fast in a Net,

in dead-thraw undeceast;

Which though (in vain) she strives by Strength

for to pull out her Head:

Which profits nothing at the length,

but hast’ning to her Dead:                                                                                       290

With thristing, and wristing,

faster still is she:

There I so, did ly so,

my Death advancing to;


The more I wrestled with the Wind,

The faster still my self I find,

no Mirth my Mind could mease,

More Noy than I, had never None,

I was so alter’d and o’ergone,

through drought of my Disease:                                                                            300

Yet weakly, as I might, I raise,

my Sight grew dim and dark,

I stagg’red at the Windlestraes,

no Token I was stark;

Both Sightless, and Mightless,

I grew almost at once:

In Anguish, I languish,

with many grievous Groans.



With sober pace yet I approach

Hard to the River and the Roch,                                                                                         310

whereof I spake before:

The River such a Murmur made,

As to the Sea it softly slade,

the Craig was stay and shore;

Then Pleasure did me so provoke,

there partly to repair;

Betwixt the River and the Rock,

where Hope grew with Despair:

A Tree then, I see then,

of Cherries on the Braes;                                                                            320

Below too, I saw too,

a Bush of bitter Slaes.


The Cherries hang about my Head,

Like trickling Rubies round and red,

so high up in the Heugh:

Whose Shadows in the River shew

Their Shape, as graithly as they grew,

on trembling Twists and teugh:

Whiles bow’d through burden of the Birth,

declining down their Tops:                                                                                     330

Reflex of Phœbus off the Firth

now colour’d all their Knops,

With Dancing, and Glancing,

in trile as Dornick Champ,

Which streamed, and leamed,

through lightness of that Lamp.


With earnest Eye, while I espy

That Fruit between me and the Sky,

half gate almost to Heaven,


The Craig so cumbersome to climb,                                                                                  340

The Tree so tall of Growth and trim,

as any Arrow even;

I call’d to Mind how Daphne did

within the Laurel shrink;

When from a Apollo she her hid,

a thousand times I think;

That Tree there, to me there,

as he his Laurel thought,

Aspiring, but tyring,

to get the Fruit I sought.                                                                            350


To climb that Craig it was no buit,

Let be to press to pull the Fruit,

in top of all the Tree:

I knew no way whereby to come,

By any Craft to get it clumb,

appearantly to me:

The Craig was ugly, stay and driegh,

the Tree long, sound and small,

I was afraid to climb so high,

for fear to fetch a Fall;                                                                                              360

Afrayed, I stayed,

and looked up aloft,

Whiles minting, whiles stinting,

my Purpose changed oft.


Then Dread, with Danger, and Despair

Forbade me minting any mair

to rax above my Reach.

What?  Tush (quoth Courage) Man, go to,


He is but daft that hath to do,

and spares for ev’ry Speech;                                                                                    370

For I have oft heard Sooth Men say

and we may see’t our sells,

That Fortune helps the Hardy ay,

but Pultrons ay repells;

Then spare not, and fear not

Dread, Danger, nor Despair,

To Fazards, hard Hazards,

is Death ere they come there.


Who speeds, but such as High aspires?

Who Triumphs not, but such as tires                                                                                380

to win a Noble Name?

Of Shrinking what but Shame succeeds?

Then do as thou would have thy Deeds

In Register of Fame.

I put the Case, thou not prevail’d,

so thou with Honour die,

Thy Life, but not they Courage fail’d,

shall Poets Pen of thee:

Thy Name then, from Fame then,

can never be cut aff.                                                                                   390

Thy Grave ay, shall have ay,

that Honest Epitaph.


What canst thou lose when Honour lives,

Renown thy Virtue ay revives,

if Valiantly thou end.

Quoth Danger, Huly Friend, take heed,

Untimous Spurring spills the Steed,

take tent what ye pretend:


Though Courage counsel thee to Climb,

be was thou kep no Skaith,                                                                                     400

Have thou none Help but Hope and him,

they may beguil thee baith.

Thy sell now, can tell now,

the Counsel of these Clarks;

Wherethrow yet, I trow yet,

thy Breast doth bear the Marks.


Burnt Bairns with Fire the Danger dreads,

So I believe thy Bosome bleeds,

since last that Fire thou felt:

Besides that, seindle times thou sees,                                                                               410

That ever Courage keeps the Keys

of Knowledge at his Belt:

Though he bid forward with the Guns,

small Powder he provides:

Be not a Novice of that Nuns,

who saw not both the sides:

Fools haste ay, almaist ay,

o’ersyles the Sight of some;

Who luiks not, who huiks not

what afterward may come.                                                                        420


Yet Wisdom wisheth the to weigh

This Figure in Philosophie,

a Lesson worth the lear;

Which is in time for to take tent,

And not, when time is past, repent,

and buy Repentance dear;

Is there none Honour after Life,

except thou slay thy sell?


Wherefore hath Atropos that Knife?

I trow thou canst not tell.                                                                                       430

Who but it, would cut it,

which Clotho scarce hath spun,

Destroying, the joying,

Before it be begun?


All o’ers are repute to be Vice,

O’er High, o’er Low, o’er Rash, o’er Nice,

o’er Hot, or yet o’er Cold,

Thou seems unconstant by thy Signs,

Thy Thoughts are on a thousand Things,

thou wots not what thou would.                                                                            440

Let Fame her Pity on thee pour,

when all thy Bones are broken:

Yon Slae, suppose thou think it sour,

would satisfy to slocken.

They Drought now of Youth now,

which dries thee with Desire:

Asswage then thy Rage then,

foul water quenches Fire.


What Fool art thou to die a-thrift,

And now may quench it if thou list,                                                                                  450

so easily but Pain?

More Honour is to Vanquish ane

Than fight with tensome and be tane,

and either Hurt or Slain.

The Practick is to bring to pass,

and not to Enterprise:

And as good drinking out of Glass,

as Gold in any wise.

(p.87)              I lever, have ever

a Fowl in hand or tway,                                                                            460

Then seeing ten flying

about me all the day.


Look where thou light before thou loup,

And slip no Certainty for Hope,

who guides thee but beguess.

Quoth Courage, Cowards take no Cure

To sit with shame, so they be sure:

I like them all the less.

What pleasure purchast is but Pain,

or Honour won with Ease?                                                                                      470

He will not ly where he is Slain,

who doubts before he dies.

For Fear then, I hear then,

but only one Remeed,

Which late is, and that is,

for to cut off the Head.


What is the way to heal thy Hurt?

What way is there to stay thy Sturt?

what Mean t0 make the Merry?

What is the Comforts that thou craves?                                                                            480

Suppose these Sophists thee deceives,

thou knows it is the Cherrie;

Since for it only thou but thirsts,

the Slae can be no Bait:

In it also thine Health consists,

and in none other Fuit.

Why quakes thou, and shakes thou,

or studies at our Strife?


Advise thee, it lies thee,

on no less than thy Life.                                                                           490


If any Patient would be Panc’d,

Why should he leap when he is Lanc’d,

or shrink when he is shorn?

For I have heard Chirurgions say,

Oft times deferring of a Day

might not be mend the Morn.

Take time in Time, ere Time be tint,

for Time will not remain;

What forceth Fire out of the Flint,

but as hard Match again?                                                                                        500

Delay not, nor fray not,

and thou shall see it sae:

Such gets ay, who sets ay,

stout Stomacks to the Brae.


Though all Beginnings be most hard,

The End is pleasant afterward,

then shrink not for no showre.

When once that thou thy Greening get,

Thy Pain and Travel is forget,

the sweet exceeds the sower:                                                                                  510

Go then quickly, fear not thir,

for Hope good Hap hath height.

Quoth Danger, be not sudden, Sir,

the Matter is of Weight.

First spy both, then try both,

Advisement doth none ill:

Thou may then, I say then,

be wilful, when thou will.



But yet to mind the Proverb call,

Who uses Perils, perish shall,                                                                                             520

short while their Life them lasts.

And I have heard (quoth Hope) that he

Should never shape to sail the Sea,

that for all Perils casts.

How many through Despair are dead,

that never Perils priev’d?

How many also, if thou read,

of Lives have we reliev’d?

Who being, even dying,

but Danger, but despair’d,                                                                         530

A hunder, I wonder,

but thou hast heard declar’d.


If we two hold not up thine Heart,

Which is the chief and noblest Part,

thy Works will not go well:

Considering these Companions can

Disswade a silly simple Man,

to hazard for his Heal.

Suppose they have deceived some,

ere we and they might meet;                                                                                  540

They get no Credance where we come,

in any Man of Sp’rit.

By reason, their Treason

by us is plainly spy’d:

Revealing their Dealing,

which dow not be deny’d.


With sleekie Sophisms seeming Sweet

As all their Doings were Discreet,


they wish thee to be Wise;

Postponing Time from hour to hour,                                                                                 550

But Faith, its underneath the Flow’r

the lurking Serpent lyes;

Suppose thou seest her not a stime,

while that she Sting thy Foot,

Perceives thou not what precious Time

thy Sleuth doth overshoot:

Alas Man, thy Case Man,

in Lingring I lament!

Go to now, and do now,

that Courage be content.                                                                           560


What if Melancholy come in,

And get a Grip ere thou begin?

then is thy Labour lost,

For he will hold thee hard and fast,

Till Time, and Place, and Fruit be past,

and thou give up the Ghost:

Then shall be Grav’n upon that Place,

which on thy Tomb is laid,

Sometime there liv’d such one, alace!

but how shall it be said?                                                                                          570

Here lyes now, but Praise now,

into Dishonour’s Bed,

A Coward, as thou art,

who from his Fortune fled.


Imagine Man, if thou were laid

In Grave, and syne might hear this said;

would thou not sweat for Shame?


Yes, faith, I doubt not but thou would:

Therefore If thou have Eyes behold,

how they would smore thy Fame.                                                                          580

Go to, and make no more Excuse,

ere Life and Honour lose;

And either them or us refuse,

there is no other chose:

Consider, together

that we do never dwell:

At length ay, by Strength ay,

the Pultrons we expell.


Quoth Danger, Since I understand,

That Counsel can be no Command,                                                                                   590

I have no more to say;

Except, if that ye think it good,

Take Counsel yet, ere ye conclude,

of Wiser Men than they;

They are but Rackless, Young and Rash,

suppose they think us sleit,

If of our Fellowship ye fash,

go with them hardly be it.

God speed you, they lead you,

who have not meikle Wit,                                                                        600

Expel us, ye’ll tell us

hereafter, comes not yet.


While Danger and Despair retir’d,

Experience came in and speir’d,

what all the Matter mean’d.

With him came Reason, Wit and Skill:


Then they began to ask at Will,

where make ye to, my Friend?

To pluck yon lusty Cherrie lo,

quoth he, and quite the Slae.                                                                                   610

Quoth they, is there no more ado,

ere ye win up the Brae:

But do it, and to it,

perforce your Fruit to pluck?

Well Brother, some other,

were better to Conduct.


We grant, ye may be good enough,

But yet the Hazard of yon Heugh

requires a greater Guide:

As Wife as ye are may go wrang,                                                                                        620

Therefore take Counsel, ere ye gang,

of some that stands beside.

But who were yon three, ye forbade,

your Company right now?

Quoth Will, three Preachers, to perswade,

the poison’d Slae to pow:

They tratled, and pratled

a long half hour and mair,

Foul fall them, they call them;

Dread, Danger, and Despair.                                                                      630


They are more Fashious than of Feck,

Yon Fazards durst not for their Neck,

climb up the Craig with us,

Fra we determined to die

Or then to climb the Cherrie Tree,

they bode about the Bush.


They are Condition’d like the Cat,

they would not weet their Feet:

But yet if any Fish they gat,

they would be apt to Eat.                                                                                        640

Though they now, I say now,

to hazard have no Heart:

Yet luck we, or pluck we

the Fruit, they would have part.


But when we get our Voyage won,

They shall not then a Cherrie cun,

who would not enterprise.

Well, quoth Experience, ye boast:

But he, who reck’ned but his Host,

oft times has counted twise.                                                                                   650

Ye sell the Boar’s skin on his Back,

but bide while ye it get:

When ye have done, its time to Crack,

ye fish before the Net.

With haste, Sir, ye taste, Sir,

the Cherrie ere ye pow it.

Beware, Sir, ye are, Sir,

more talkative than trow it.


Call Danger back again (quoth Skill)

To see what he can say to Will;                                                                                          660

we see him shod so strait,

We may not trow what each One tells.

Quoth Courage we concluded els,

he serves not for our Mait,

For I can tell you all Perquiere,

his Counsel ere he come.


Quoth Hope, whereto should he come here?

he cannot hold him Dum:

He speaks ay, and seeks ay

delay of Time and drifts,                                                                            670

To grieve us, and deive us,

with Sophistry and Shifts.


Quoth Reason, why was he debar’d?

The Tale is ill cannot be heard;

yet let us hear him anes.

The Danger to declare began,

How Hope and Courage took the Man,

to lead him all their lanes:

How they would have him up the Hill,

but either Stop or Stay;                                                                                           680

And who was welcomer than Will,

he would be foremost ay.

He could do, and should do,

who ever would or dought,

Such speeding, proceeding

unlikely was I thought.


Therefore I wisht him to beware,

And rashly not to run o’er far,

without such Guides as ye.

Quoth Courage, Friend, I hear you fail,                                                                          690

Take better tent unto your Tale,

ye said it could not be;

Besides that, he would not consent,

that ever we should Climb.

Quoth Will, for my part I Repent,

we saw them more than him:


For they are, the stayer

of us as well as he;

I think now, they shrink now,

go forward, let them be.                                                                             700


Go, go, we do nothing but Gucks,

They say the Voyage never lucks,

where each one hath a Vote.

Quoth Wisdom gravely, Sir, I grant,

We were no worse your Vote to want,

Some Sentence now I Note;

Suppose you speak it but beguess,

some Fruit therein I find,

Ye would be foremost I confess,

but comes oft-times behind.                                                                                   710

It may be, that they be

deceiv’d, that never doubted:

Indeed Sir, that Head, Sir,

hath meikle Wit about it.


Then wilful Will began to Rage,

And Swore, he saw nothing in Age,

but Anger, Ire and Grudge:

And for my self (quoth he) I swear

To quite all my Companions here,

if they admit you Judge.

Experience is grown so Old,                                                                                                720

that he begins to Rave:

The rest, but Courage, are so cold,

no hazarding they have:

For Danger, far stranger

hath made them than they were.


Go fra them, we pray them,

who neither dow nor dare.


Why may not we three lead this one?

I led an Hundred mine alone,                                                                                             730

but Counsel of them all.

I grant (quoth Wisdom) ye have led,

But I would speir how many sped,

or further’d but a fall?

But either few, or none I trow,

Experience can tell.

He says, that Man may wite but you,

the first time that he fell;

He kens then, whose Pen then

thou borrow’d him to flie:                                                                         740

His Wounds yet, with Stounds yet,

he got them then through thee.


That (quoth Experience) is true,

Will flatter’d him when first he flew.

Will set him in a Low.

Will was his Counsel and Convoy,

Will borrow’d from the blinded Boy,

both Quiver, Wings and Bow:

Wherewith before he say’d to shoot,

he’d neither yield to Youth,                                                                                    750

Nor yet had need of any Fruit

to quench his deadly Drouth;

Which Pines him, and Dwines him

to Death, I wot not how:

If Will then, did ill then,

himself remembers now.



For I Experience was there,

(Likeas I use to be all where)

what time he wyted Will,

To be the ground of all his Grief;                                                                                        760

As I my self can be a Prief,

and Witness thereuntil:

There are no Bounds but I have been,

nor Hidlings for me hid,

Nor secret things but I have seen,

that he or any did.

Therefore now, no more now

let him think to conceal’t:

For why now, even I now

am Debt-bound to reveal’t.                                                                       770


My Custom is for to declare

The Truth, and neither eek nor pair

for any Man a Jot.

If wilful Will delights in Lies,

Example in thy self thou sees,

how he can turn his Coat,

And with his Language would allure

thee yet to break thy Bones:

Thou knows thy self, if he be sure,

thou us’d his Counsel once,                                                                                     780

Who would yet, be Bold yet,

to wreck thee were not we.

Think on now, on yon now,

(quoth Wisdom then to me.)


Well (quoth Experience,) if he


Submits himself to you and me,

I wot what I should say,

Our good Advice he shall not want,

Providing always that he grant,

to put yon Will away;                                                                                               790

And banish both him and Despair,

that all good Purpose spills:

So you will mell with them no mair,

let them two flyte their fills.

Such tossing, but lossing,

all honest Men may use;

That Change now, were strange now,

quoth Reason, to refuse.


Quoth Will, Fy on him, when he flew,

That pow’d not Cherries then a new                                                                                 800

for to have stay’d his Sturt.

Quoth Reason, though he bear the Blame,

He never saw nor needed them,

while he himself had Hurt.

First, when he mister’d not, he might;

he needs, and may not, now:

Thy Folly, when he had his Flight,

empashed him to pow.

But he now, and we now

perceive they purpose plain,                                                                     810

To turn him, and burn him,

and blow on him again.


Quoth Skill, what would you longer strive?

Far better late than never Thrive,

come let us Help him yet:

Tint Time we may not get again,

We waste but present Time in vain.

Beware with that, quoth Wit,

Speak on, Experience, let’s see,

we think you hold you Dumb.                                                                                820

Of Bygones I have heard, quoth he,

I know not Things to come.

Quoth Reason, the Season

with Slouthing slides away:

First take him, and make him,

a Man if that you may.


Quoth Will, if he be not a Man,

I pray you, Sirs, what is he than?

he looks like one at least.

Quoth Reason, if he follow thee,                                                                                        830

And mind not to remain with me,

nought but a brutal Beast;

A Man in Shape doth not consist,

for all your tanting Tales;

Therefore, Sir Will, I would ye wist

your Metaphysick fails:

Go lear yet, a year yet,

your Logick at the Schools,

Some day then, you may then

pass Master with the Mools.                                                                     840


(Quoth Will) I marvel, what you mean,

Should I not trow my own two Een,

for all your Logick-Schools?

If I did not, I were not wise.


(Quoth Reason) I have told you thrise

none fairlies more than Fools:

There be more Senses than the Sight,

which ye o’er hale for haste,

To wit, if ye remember right,

Smell, Hearing, Touch, and Taste:                                                                         850

All Quick things, have sick things,

I mean both Man and Beast;

By kind ay, we find ay,

few lacks them at the least.


So by that Consequence of thine,

Or Syllogism said like a Swine,

a Cow may learn the Lear;

Thou uses only but the Eyes,

She Touches, Tastes, Smels, Hears, and Sees,

which Matches thee and mair.                                                                               860

But since to Triumph ye intend,

as presently appears,

Sir, for your Clergy to be kend,

take ye two Ass’s Ear.

No Miter, perfyter,

got Midas for his Meed

That Hood, Sir, is good, Sir,

to hap your Brain-sick-head.


Ye have no Feel for to define,

Though ye have Cunning to decline                                                                                  870

a Man to be a Mool,

With little work yet ye may vow’d,

To grow a galland Horse and good,

to ride thereon at Yool,


But to our Ground where he began,

for all your gutless Jests:

I must be Master of the Man,

but thou to brutal Beasts;

So we two, must be two

to cause both Kinds be known:                                                                880

Keep thine then, for mine then,

and each one use their own.


Then Will as angry as an Ape;

Ran ramping, swearing, rude and rape,

saw he none other Shift,

He would not want an inch of’s Will,

Ev’n whether’t did him good or ill,

for thirty of his Thrift:

He would be Foremost in the Field,

and Master if he might;                                                                                          890

Yea, he should rather die than yield,

though Reason had the Right.

Shall he now, make me now,

his Subject, or his Slave?

No rather, my Father

shall quick go to his Grave.


I height him, while mine Heart is heal,

To perish first ere he prevail,

come after what so may.

Quoth Reason, doubt you not indeed,                                                                              900

Ye hit the Nail upon the Head,

it shall be as ye say.

Suppose ye spur for to aspire,

your Bridle wants a Bit:


That Mare may leave thee in the Mire,

as sicker as ye sit;

Your Sentence, Repentance,

shall you leave I believe,

And Anger, you langer,

when you that Practick prieve.                                                                 910


As ye have dyted your Decreet,

Your Prophesy to be compleat,

perhaps and to your Pains.

It hath been said and hath been so,

A wilful Man wants never Wo,

though he gets little Gains.

But since ye think’t an easie Things

to mount above the Moon,

Of your own Fiddle to take a Spring,

and Dance when ye have done:                                                                              920

If then, Sir, the Man, Sir,

like of your Mirth he may;

And spier first, and hear first,

what he himself will say.


Then all together they began,

And said, come on, thou martyr’d Man,

what is thy Will, advise.

Abas’d a bony while I bade,

And mus’d ere I mine Answer made,

I turn’d me once or twise,                                                                                       930

Beholding every one about,

whose Motion mov’d me maist,

Some seem’d assur’d some dread for Doubt,

Will ran Red-wood for haste:


With wringing and flinging,

for Madness like to Mang;

Despair too, for Care too,

would needs himself to go Hang.


Which when Experience perceiv’d,

Quoth he, remember if I rav’d,                                                                                           940

as Will alledg’d of late:

When as he swore, nothing he saw,

In Age, but Anger slack and slaw,

and canker’d in Conceit;

Ye could not luck as he alledg’d,

Who all Opinions speir’d:

He was so Frank and fiery edg’d,

He thought us Four but fear’d.

Who panses, what chances,

quoth he, no Worship wins,                                                                      950

To some best, shall come best,

who Hap well, Rack well rins.


Yet (quoth Experience) behold,

For all the Tales he hath told,

how he himself behaves.

Because Despair could come no Speed,

Lo here he hings all but the Head,

and in a Widdie waves;

If you be true, once thou may see,

to Men that with them mells,                                                                                960

If they had hurt or helped thee,

consider by themselves.

Then chuse thee, to use thee,

by us or such as you,


Syne soon now, have done now,

make either off or on.


Perceiv’st thou not, wherefrae proceeds

That frantick Fantasie, that fees

thy furious flaming Fire,

Which doth thy bailful Breast combure,                                                                           970

That none indeed (quoth he) can Cure,

nor help thine Heart’s Desire?

The piercing Passion of thy Sp’rit,

which wastes thy vital Breath,

Doth hold thine heavy Heart with Heat,

Desire draws on thy Death.

Thy Punces renounces

all kind of quiet Rest;

That Fever hath ever

thy Person so opprest.                                                                              980


Couldst thou come once acquaint with Skill,

He knows what Humours do thee ill,

and how thy Cares contracts,

He knows the Ground of all thy Grief,

And Recipees of thy Relief,

all Medicine he makes.

Quoth Skill, come on, content am I

to put mine helping Hand,

Providing always he apply

to Counsel and Command.                                                                                     990

While we then, quoth he then,

are minded to remain,

Give place now, in case now

thou get us not again.



Assure thy self, if that we shed,

Thou shalt not get thy Purpose Sped,

take heed we have thee told;

Have done and drive not off the Day,

The man that well not when he may,

he shall not when he would.                                                                       1000

What wilt thou do?  I would we wist:

accept or give us o’er.

(Quoth I,) I think me more than Blest

to find such famous Four

Beside me, to guide me,

now when I have to do,

Considering what swiddering,

you found me first into.


When Courage cry’d a Stomach stout,

And Danger drave me into Doubt,                                                                         1010

with his Companion Dread:

Whiles Will would up above the Air,

Whiles I am drown’d in deep Despair,

whiles Hope held up mine Head.

Such pithy Reasons and Replyes

on ev’ry side they shew,

That I who was not very Wise,

thought all their Tales were true:

So mony and bony

old Problems they propon’t,                                                          1020

But quickly and likely,

I marvel meikle on’t,


Yet Hope and Courage wan the Field,


Through Dread and Danger never yield,

but fled to find Refuge:

Yet when the four came they were fain,

Because ye gart us come again,

they grien’d to get you Judge.

Where they were Fugitive before,

ye made them frank and free                                                                      1030

To speak, and stand in aw no more.

Quoth Reason, so should be,

Oft times now, but Crimes now;

but ev’n perforce it falls,

The Strong ay, with Wrong ay,

puts Weaker to the Walls.


Which is a Fault ye must confess,

Strength was not ordain’d to oppress

with Rigor by the Right:

But by contrair, to sustain                                                                                       1040

The loaden which o’erburden’d been,

as meikle as they might.

So Hope and Courage did (quoth I)

experimented like,

She skill’d and pithy Reasons why,

that Danger lap the Dike.

Quoth Danger, take head, Sir,

long spoken part must spill:

Insist not, we wist not,

we went against our Will.                                                              1050


With Courage ye were so content,

Ye never sought our small Consent,

of us ye stood not Aw;


Then Logick Lessons ye allow’d,

And were determined to trow ‘t

Alledgance past for Law;

For all the Proverbs we perus’d,

ye thought them skantly skill’d:

Our Reason had been as well rus’d

had ye been as well will’d                                                                            1060

To our side, as you side,

so truely I may term’t

I see now, in thee now

Affection doth affirm’t.


Experience then smirking smil’d,

We are no Bairns to be beguil’d,

(quoth he) and shook his Head:

For Authors who alledges us,

They still would win about the Buss

to foster deadly Feed:                                                                                   1070

For we are equal for you all,

no Persons we respect;

We have been so, are yet, and shall

be found so in Effect.

If we were, as ye are,

we had come unrequir’d:

But we now, ye see now,

do nothing undesir’d.


There is a Sentence said by some,

Let none uncall’d to Counsel come,                                                                       1080

that welcome weens to be:

Yea, I have heard another yet,


Who came uncall’d, unserv’d should sit,

perhaps sit so may ye.

Good-man, gramercie for your Geck,

(quoth Hope) and lowly louts;

If ye were sent for we suspect,

because the Doctors doubts:

Your years now appears now,

with Wisdom to be vext,                                                               1090

Rejoicing in glossing,

while ye have tint your Text.


Where ye were sent for, let us see,

Who would be welcomer than we,

prove that, and we are pay’d.

Well (quoth Experience) beware,

You know not in what Case you are,

your Tongue hath you betray’d.

The Man may able tine a Stot,

who cannot count his Kinch,                                                                      1100

In your own Bow you are o’er shot,

by more than half an Inch.

Who wats, Sir, if that, Sir,

be four which seemeth sweet;

I fear now, ye hear now

a dangerous Decreet.


Sir, by that Sentence ye have said,

I pledge, ere all the Play be plaid,

that some shall lose a Laik;

Since ye but put me for to prove                                                                            1120

Such Heads, as help for my Behove,

your Warrand is but weak.


Speer at the Man your self, and see,

suppose you strive for State,

For he regarded not, how he

hath learn’d my Lesson late:

And granted, he wanted

both Reason, Wit and Skill,

Complaining, and meaning,

our Absence did him ill.                                                    1120


Confront him farther face to face,

If that he rue his rackless Race,

perhaps and ye shall hear:

For ay since Adam and since Eve,

Who first the Leasing did believe,

I sold thy Doctrine dear.

What hath been done unto this day,

I keep in Mind almaist:

Ye promise farther than ye pay,

Sir Hope, for all your Haste;                                                            1130

Promitting, unwitting,

your Heghts you never hooked:

I show you, I know you,

your By-ganes I have booked.


I would, in case Accounts were crav’d,

Show thousand thousands thou deceiv’d,

where thou was true to one;

And, by the contrair, I may vant

Which thou must (though it grieve thee) grant

I trumped ne’er a Man;                                                                    1140

But truly told the naked Truth

to Men, that mell’d with me,

For neither Rigour nor for Ruth,

but only loath to lie.


To some yet, to come yet,

thy Succour shall be slight,

Which I then, must try then,

and Register it Right.


Ha, ha, (quoth Hope) and lowdly leugh,

Ye’re but a Prentice at the Pleugh,                                                                         1150

Experience, ye prieve.

Suppose all By-ganes as ye spake,

Ye are no Prophet worth a Plack,

nor I bound to believe.

Ye should not say, Sir, till ye see,

but when ye see it say.

Yet (quoth Experience) at thee

make many Mints I may

By Signs now, and things now,

which ay before me bears,                                                             1160

Expressing, by guessing,

the Peril that appears.


Then Hope repli’d, and that with Pith,

And wisely weigh’d his Words therewith,

sententiously and short.

Quoth he, I am the Anchor grip,

That saves the Sailers and their Ship

from Peril to their Port.

Quoth he oft-times that Anchor drives

as we have found before;                                                                             1170

And loses many thousand Lives,

by Shipwrack on the Shore.

Your Grips oft, but slips oft,

when Men have most to do;


Syne leaves them, and raves them,

of my Companions too.


Thou leaves them not thy self alone,

But to their Grief when thou art gone,

gars Courage quite them alse.

Quoth Hope, I would ye understood,                                                                    1180

I grip fast, if the Ground be good,

and fleets it where its false.

There should no Fault with me be found,

nor I accus’d at all,

With such as should have sound the Ground,

before the Anchor fall:

Their Lead ay, at Need ay,

might warn them if they would,

If they there, would stay there,

or have good Anchor-hold.                                                           1190


If ye read Right it was not I,

But only Ignorance, whereby

their Carvels all were cloven;

I am not for a Trumpet tane.

All (quoth Experience) is ane,

I have my Process proven:

To wit, that we are call’d each one,

to come before we came,

That now Objections ye have none,

your self must say the same.                                                                       1200

Ye are now, too far now,

come forward for to flie:

Perceive then, ye have then

the worst End of the Tree.



When Hope was gall’d into the Quick,

Quoth Courage, kicking at the Prick,

we let you well to wit,

Make he you welcomer than we,

Then By-ganes, By-ganes, farewell he,

except he seek us yet;                                                                                   1210

He understands his own Estate,

let him his Chiftains chuse,

But yet his Battel will be blate,

if he our Force refuse.

Refuse us, or chuse us,

our Council is, he Climb:

But stay he, or stray he,

we have none Help for him.


Except the Cherry be his chose,

Be ye his Friends, we are his Foes;                                                                         1220

his Doings we despite:

If we perceive him settled sae,

To satisfie him with the Slae,

his Company we quite.

Then Dread and Danger grew so glad,

And wont that they had won,

They thought all seal’d, that they had said,

syne they had first begun.

They thought then, they mought then,

without a Party plead:                                                                    1230

But yet there, with Wit there

they were dung down indeed.


Sirs Dread and Danger (then quoth Wit)

Ye did your selves to me submit,

Experience can prove.


That (quoth Experience) I past,

Their own Confession make them fast,

they may no more remove.

For if they right remember me,

this Maxim then they made,                                                                       1240

To wit, The Man with Wit should weigh,

what Philosophs had said.

Which Sentence, Repentance

forbade him dear to buy;

They knew then, how true then,

and press’d not to reply.


Though he dang Dread and Danger down,

Yet Courage could not be o’ercome,

Hope height him such a Hire:

He thought himself, how soon he saw                                                                   1250

His Enemies were laid so law,

it was no Time to tire:

He hit the Ir’n while it was heat,

in case it might grow cold:

For he esteem’d his Foes defeat,

when once he found them fold.

Though he now, quoth he now,

hath been so free and frank,

Unsought yet, he mought yet

for Kindness cun’d us thank.                                                         1260


Suppose it so, as thou hast said,

That unrequir’d we offer’d Aid:

at least it came of Love,

Experience, ye start too soon,

Ye dow nothing while all be done,

and then perhaps ye prove


More plain than pleasant too perchance,

some tell, that you have try’d:

As fast as ye your selves advance,

ye dow not well deny’t;                                                                                1270

Abide then the Tide then,

and wait upon the Wind:

Ye know, Sir, ye owe, Sir,

to hold you ay behind.


When ye have done some doughty Deeds,

Syne ye should see how all succeeds,

to write them as they were.

Friend, hulie, haste not half so fast,

Left (quoth Experience) as last

ye buy my Doctrine dear.                                                                            1280

Hope puts that haste into you head,

which boils your barmie Brain:

Howbe’t Fool’s haste makes hulie Speed,

fair Heghts makes Fools be fain.

Such smiling, beguiling,

bids fear not for no Freets:

Yet I now, deny now,

that all is Gold that gleets.


Suppose not Silver all that shines;

Ofttimes a tentless Merchant tines,                                                                      1290

for buying Gear beguess.

For all the Vantage and the Winning,

Good Buyers gets at the Beginning.

Quoth Courage not the less,

Whiles as good Merchants tines as wins,

if Old Men’s Tales be true:

Suppose the Pack comes to the Pins,

who can his Chance eschew?


Then, good Sir, conclude, Sir,

good Buyers have done baith:                                                       1300

Advance then, take Chance then,

as sundrie Good Ships hath.


Who wist what would be cheap or dear,

Should Need not traffique but a Year,

if things to come were kend.

Suppose all bygane things be plain,

Your Prophesy is but prophane,

ye’d best behold the End.

Ye would accuse me of a Crime,

almost before we met;                                                                                 1310

Torment me not before the Time

since Dolor pays no Debt:

What by-past, that I past,

ye wot if it was well:

To come yet, by Doom yet,

confess ye have no feel.


Yet, (quoth Experience) what than?

Who may be meetest foe the Man,

let us his Answer have.

When they submitted them to me,                                                                        1320

To Reason I was fain to flee,

his Counsel for to crave.

Quoth he, since ye your selves submit,

to do as I decreet;

I shall advise both Skill and Wit,

what they think may be meet.

They cry’d then, we bide then,

at Reason for Refuge:

Allow him, and trow him,

as Governour and Judge.                                                                1330



So said they all with one Consent,

What he Concludes, we are content

his Bidding to obey:

He hath Authority to use,

Then take his Choice whom he would chuse,

and longer not delay.

Then Reason rose and was rejoic’d,

quoth he, mine Hearts come hither,

I hope this Play may be compos’d,

that we may go together.                                                                             1340

To all now, I shall now,

his proper Place assign,

That they here, shall say here,

they think none other thing.


Come on quoth he, Companion Skill,

Ye understand both Good and Ill,

in Physick ye are fine:

Be Mediciner to this Man,

And shew such Cunning as ye can,

to put him out of Pine.                                                                                 1350

First guard the Ground of all his Grief,

what Sickness ye suspect;

Syne look what he lacks for Relief,

ere further he infect.

Comfort him, exhort him,

give him your good Advice:

And pance not, nor scance not

the Pearl nor the Price.


Though he be cumbersome, what reck,

Find out the Cause by the Effect,                                                                            1360

and Working of his Veins;


Yet while we grip it to the Ground,

See first what Fashion may be found

to pacifie his Pains.

Do what ye dow to have him heal,

and for that purpose presse;

Cut off the Cause, th’ Effect will fail,

so all his Sorrows cease;

His Fever, shall never

from henceforth have no Force:                                                   1370

Then urge him, to purge him,

he will not wax the worse.


Quoth Skill, his Senses are so sick,

I know no Liquor worth a Leek,

to quench his deadly Drouth;

Except the Cherrie help his heat,

Whose sappie Slockning, sharp and sweet,

might melt into his Mouth,

And his Melancholy reprove,

to mitigat his Mind:                                                                                     1380

None wholsomer for his Behove,

nor more cooling of his kind.

No Nectar, director

could all the Gods him give,

Nor send him, to mend him,

none like it, I believe.


For Drought decays as it digests,

Why then (quoth Reason) nothing rests,

but how it may be had.

Most true (quoth Skill) that is the Scope,                                                              1390

Yet we must have some Help of Hope.

Quoth Danger, I am red,


His hastiness breeds us Mis-hap,

when he is highly Hors’d;

I would we looked ere we lap.

Quoth Wit, that were not worst;

I mean now, conveen now,

the Council one and all:

Begin then, call in then.

Quoth Reason, so I shall.                                                               1400


Then Reason rose with Gesture grave,

Belyve conveening all the lave,

to see what they could say,

With Silver-Scepter in his Hand,

As Chiftain chosen to command,

and they bent to obey.

He panced long before he spake

and in a Study stood,

Syne he began and Silence brake,

come on, quoth he, conclude.                                                                     1410

What way now, we may now,

yon Cherrie come to catch:

Speak out Sirs, about Sirs,

have done, let us dispatch.


Quoth Courage, scourge him first that skars,

Much musing Memory but mars;

I tell you mine intent.

Quoth Wit, who will not partly pance,

In Perils perishes perchance,

o’er rackless may repent.                                                                             1420

Then quoth Experience, and spake,

Sir I have seen them baith

In bairnliness, and ly a back,

escape and come to Skaith.


But what now, of that now?

Sturt follows all extreams,

Retain then, the Mean then,

the surest Way it seems.


Where some has further’d, some has fail’d,

Where Part has perisht, Part prevail’d,                                                                  1430

alike all cannot luck;

Then neither venture with the one,

Nor with the other let alone,

the Cherrie for to pluck.

Quoth Hope, for fear Folk must not fash.

Quoth Danger, let not light.

Quoth Wit, be neither rude nor rash.

Quoth Reason, ye have right.

The rest then, thought best then,

when Reason said it so,                                                                  1440

That roundly, and soundly

they should together so,


To get the Cherrie all in haste,

As for my Safety serving maist.

Though Dread and Danger fear’d

The Peril of that irksome Way,

Left that thereby I should decay,

who then so weak appear’d:

Yet Hope and Courage hard beside,

who with them went content,                                                                     1450

Did take in hand us for to guide

unto our Journey’s end:

Empledging, and wedging

both their two Lives for mine,

Providing, the guiding

to them were granted syne.



Then Dread and Danger did appeal,

Alledging it could not be well,

nor yet would they agree:

But said they should sound their Retreat,                                                             1460

Because they thought them no ways meet

Conductors unto me,

Nor to no Man in mine Estate,

with Sickness sore opprest,

For they took ay the nearest Gate

omitting oft the best:

The nearest, perquirest

is always to them baith,

Where they, Sir, may say, Sir,

whatracks them of their Skaith.                                                   1470


But as for us two, now we swear,

By Him before whom we appear,

our full Intent is now,

To have you Whole, and alwas was,

That Purpose for to bring us pass,

so is not theirs I trow.

Then Hope and Courage did attest

the Gods at both these parts,

If they wrought not for all the best

of me with upright Hearts:                                                                          1480

Our Chiftain, then lifting

his Scepter, did enjoyn

No more there, uproar there,

and so their Strife was done.


Rebuking Dread and Danger sore,

Suppose they meant well evermore,

to me as they had sworn:


Because their Neighbours they abus’d,

In so far as they had accus’d

them, as ye heard beforn.                                                                            1490

Did he not else (quoth he) consent,

the Cherrie for to pow?

Quoth Danger, we are well content,

but yet the Manner how,

We shall now, even all now,

get this Man with us there;

It rest is, and best is,

your Counsel shall declare.


Well said, (quoth Hope and Courage) now

We thereto will Accord with you,                                                                          1500

and shall abide by them:

Likeas before we do submit,

So we repeat the samine yet,

we mind not to reclaim.

Whom we shall choose to guide the Way,

we shall him follow straight,

And further this Man what we may,

because we have so heght:

Promitting, but flitting,

to do the Thing we can,                                                                 1510

To ease both, and please both,

this sillie sicklie Man.


When Reason heard this, then (quoth he)

I see your chiefest Stay to be,

that we have nam’d no Guide:

The worthy Council hath therefore,

Thought fit, that Wit should go before,

for Perils to provide.


Quoth Wit, there is but one of three,

which I shall to you show,                                                                           1520

Whereof the first two cannot be,

for any thing I know;

The Way here, so stay here

is that we cannot climb,

Ev’n o’er now, we four now;

that will be hard for him.


The next, if we go down about,

While that this Bend of Craigs run out,

the Stream is there so stark,

And also passeth wading deep,                                                                               1530

And broader far than we dow leap,

it should be idle Wark:

It grows ay broader than the Sea,

syne o’er the Lin it came;

The running dead doth signifie

the Deepness of the same.

I leave now, to dyve now,

how that it swiftly slides,

As sleeping and creeping,

but Nature so provides.                                                                 1540


Our Way then lies about the Lin,

Where by a Warren we shall win,

it is so streight and plain;

The Water also is so shald,

We shall it pass even as we wald,

with Pleasure and but Pain.

For, as we see the Mischief grow

oft of a feckless thing:

So likewise doth this River flow

forth of a petty Spring;                                                                                 1550


Whose Throat, Sir, I wot, Sir,

ye may stop with your Nieve,

As you, Sir, I trow, Sir

Experience, can prieve.


That (quoth Experience) I can,

All that ye said, since ye began,

I know to be of Truth.

Quoth Skill the samen I approve.

Quoth Reason, then let us remove,

and sleep no more in Sleuth.                                                                       1560

Wit and Experience (quoth he)

shall come before apace,

The Man shall come with Skill and me,

into the second Place.

Attour now, you four now

shall come into a Band,

Proceeding, and leading

each other by the Hand.


As Reason ordain’d, all obey’d;

None was o’er-rash, none was afraid,                                                                    1570

our Counsel was so wise;

As of our Journey Wit did note,

We found it true in every Jot,

God bless our Enterprise.

For ev’n as we came to the Tree,

which, as ye heard me tell,

Could not be clumb, there suddenly

the Fruit for Ripeness fell:

Which tasting, and hasting,

I found my self reliev’d                                                                  1580


Of Cares all, and Snares all,

which Mind and Body griev’d.


Praise be to GOD my LORD therefore,

Who did mine Health to me restore,

being so long Time pin’d:

Yea blessed be his Holy Name,

Who did from Death to Life reclaim

me, who was so unkind.

All Nations also magnifie

this Everliving LORD;                                                                                  1590

Let me with you, and you with me,

to laud him ay accord:

Whose Love ay, we prove ay,

to us above all things.

And Kiss him, and Bless him,

whose Glore eternal reigns.




GOMERY his Lamentation.


I’ve sinn’d, Father, be merciful to me,

I am not worthy to be call’d thy Child;

That stubbornly so long have gone astray,

Not as thy Son, but as a Prod’gal wild:

My silly Soul with Sin is so defil’d,

That Satan thinks to catch it as a Prey,

Lord grant me Grace that he may be beguil’d,

Peccavi Pater, miserere mei.


I’m abas’d, Lord, how dare I be so bold,

Before thy hole Presence to appear?                                                                                  10

Or hazard once the Heavens to behold,

Who am not worthy that the Earth should bear;

Yet Damn me not whom thou hast bought so dear,


Sed salvum me fac, dulcis Fili Dei.

For out of Luke this Lesson we do lear;

Peccavi, Pater, miserere mei.


If thou, O Lord, with rigour would revenge,

What flesh before thee Faultless shall be found?

Or who is he his Conscience can him cleanse,

To Sin and Satan from his Birth’s not bound?                                                                  20

Yet of meer Grace thou tak’st away the Ground,

And sent thy Son our Penalty to pay,

To save us from the hideous Hell’s Hound:

Peccavi, Pater, miserere mei.


I hope for Mercy tho’ my Sins be huge,

I grant my guilt and groan to thee for Grace:

Though I would flee, where should I find Refuge?

In Heav’n? O Lord there is thy dwelling Place,

The Earth thy Foot-stool: and to Hell, alace!

Down to the Dead; for all must thee obey:                                                                       30

Therefore I cry, while I have time and space,

Peccavi, Pater, miserere mei.


O gracious God, my guiltiness forgive,

In Sinners Death since thou dost not delight,

But rather would they should convert and live,

As witnesseth Prophets iin Holy Write:

I pray thee Lord thy Promise to perfite

In me, that I may with the Psalmist say,

I will thy Praise and wondrous Works Indite,

Therefore, dear Father, be merciful to me.                                                           40


Though I do slide, let me not sleep in slouth,

Me to revive from sin let Grace begin:

Make, Lord, my Tongue the Trumpet of thy Truth,

And send my Verse such Wings as are Divine;

Since thou hast granted me so good Ingine,

To praise thy Name with gallant Stile and gay,

Let me no more so trim a Talent tine:

Peccavi, Pater, miserere mei.



My Sp’rit to speak, let thy Sp’rit, Lord, inspire,

Help, Holy Ghost, and be mine Heav’nly Muse;                                                              50

Fly down on me with forked Tongues of Fire,

As on th’ Apostles, with thy Fear me infuse,

All Vice expel, teach me Sin to refuse,

And all my filthy Affections, I thee pray;

Thy fervent Love on me pour Night and Day,

Peccavi, Pater, miserere mei.


Stoup stubborn Stomack that’s been ay so stout,

Stoup filthy Flesh and Carion made of clay;

Stoup hardned Heart before thy Lord and lout,

Stoup, stoup in time, defer not day by day:                                                                       60

Thou wots not when, that thou must pass away

To the great Glore, where thou must be for ay,

Confess thu Sins, and think no shame to say,

Peccavi, Pater, miserere mei.


O Great JEHOVAH, to thee all Glore be giv’n,

Who shapt my Soul to thy Similitude;

And to thy Son, whom thou sent’st down from Heav’n,

When I was lost, he bought me with his Blood,

And to the Holy Ghost, my Guider good,

Who must confirm my Faith in the right way;                                                                 70

In me cor mundum crea, I conclude,

O Heav’nly Father be merciful to me.




Like as the dum Solsequium, with Care o’ercome,

Doth sorrow when the Sun goes out of sight;

Hangs down her head, and droops as dead, and will not spread:

But lurks her Leaves through langour all the Night,

Till foolish Phaeton arise with Whip in hand,

To clear the Christal Skies, and light the Land;

Birds in their Bow’r waits on that hour,

And to their King a glad Good-morrow gives:

From thence that Flow’r likes not to lowr,

But laugh on Phebus op’ning out her Leaves.                                                                   10



So stands’t with me, except I be, where I may see

My Lamp of Light, my Lady, and my Love:

When she departs, ten thousand Darts, in sundry Airts,

Thirle through my heavy Heart, but rest or roove.

My Countenance declares my inward Grief,

And Hope almost despairs to find relief:

I die, I dwine, pain doth me pine,

I loath on ev’ry thing I look, alas!

While Titan mine, upon me shine,

That I revive through favour of her Grace,                                                                        20


Fra she appear, into her sphere, begins to clear

The dawning of my long desired Day,

When Courage cryes on Hope to rise, fra she espies

The noisome Night of absence went away:

No wo can me awake, nor yet impesh,

But on thy stately Stalk I Flowrish fresh:

I Spring, I Sprout, my Leaves break out,

My Colour changes in an heartsome hew;

No more I Lout, but stand up Stout,

As glad of her on whom I only Grew,                                                                                 30


O happy Day go not away, Apollo stay

The Cart from going down into the West,

Of me thou makes thy Zodiack, that I may take

My pleasure to behold whom I love best,

Her presence me restores from Death to rise,

Her absence also shores to cut my Breath,

I wish in vain thee to remain,

Since Primum Mobile doth say me nay;

At least thy Wain, hast so again,

Farewell with patience perforce till Day.                                                                          40



PSAL. 36.

Declina a malo, & fac bonum.

Leave Sin ere Sin leave thee, do Good,

and both without delay;

Less sit he will to Morrow be,

who is not fit to Day.



[Non trades converti as Deum]

His Morning Muse.

Let dread of pain for Sin in after time,

Let Shame to see thy self ensnared so;

Let Grief conceiv’d for foul accused Crime,

Let Hate of Sin, the worker of thy wo,

With Dread, with Shame, with Grief, with Hate enforce,

To dew thy Cheeks with Tears to deep Remorse.


So hate of Sin shall make God’s Love to grow,

So Grief shall harbour Hope within thine Heart,

So Dread shall cause the Flood of Joy to flow,

So Shame shall send sweet Solace to thy Smart,                                                               10

So Love, so Hope, so Joy, so Solace sweet

Shall make my Soul in heavenly Bless to fleet.


Wo, where no Hate doth no such Love allure!

Wo, where such Grief makes no such Hope proceed!

Wo, where such Dread doth not such Joy procure!

Wo, where such Shame doth not such Solace breed!

Wo, where no Hate, no Grief, no Dread, no Shame!

No Love, no Hope, no Joy, no Solace frame!













NYMPHÆ, quæ colitis highistima monta Fifæa,

Seu vos Pitenwema tenent, seu Crelia crofta,

Sive Anstræa domus, ubi nat Haddocus in undis,

Codlineusque ingens, & Fleucca & Sketta pererrant

Per costam, & scopulos, Lobster manifootus in udis

Creepat,  in mediis ludit Whitenius undis:

Et vos Skipperii, soliti qui per Mare breddum

Valde procul lanchare foras, iterumque redire,

Linquite skellatas Botas, Shippasque picatas,

Whistlantesque simul Fechtam memorate bloodæam,                                                  10

Fechtam terribilem, quam mavellaverat omnis

Banda Deûm, quoque Nympharum Cockelshelearum,

Maia ubi Sheepifeeda, atq; ubi Solgoosifera Bassa

Swellant in pelago, cum Sol bootatus Edenum

Postabat radiis madidis & shouribus atris.

.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .      .     .      .     .     .     .

.    .     .     .    .      .     .     .    .      .     .     .    .     .     .     .    .

Quo viso ad Fechtæ noisam cecidere volucres

Ad terram, cecidere grues; plish plashque dedere

Solgoosæ in pelago prope littora Bruntiliana;

Seasutor obstupuit, summique in margine saxi

Scartavit prælustre caput, wingasque flapavit.                                                                 20

Quodque magis alte volitans Heronius ipse

Ingeminans clig clag mediis shytavit in undis.

Namque á principio Storiam tellabimus omnem

Muckreilium ingentem turbam Vitarva per agros

Nebernæ marchare fecit, & dixit ad illos,

“Ite hodie armati grippis, dryvate caballos

Nebernæ per crofta, atque ipsas ante senestras.


Quod si forte ipsa Neberna venerit extra,

Warrantabo omnes, & vos bene defendebo.

Hic aderant Geordy Akinhedius, & little Johnus,                                                            30

Et Jamy Richæus, & stout Michel Hendersonus,

Qui jolly tryppas ante alios dansare solebat,

Et bobbare bene, & I assas kissare bonæas;

Duncan Olyphantus, valde stalvartus, & ejus

Filius eldestus jolyboyus, atque Oldmoudus,

Qui Pleugham longo Gaddo dryvare solebat;

Et Rob Gib wantonus homo, atque Oliver Hutchin

Et ploucky-fac’d Waty Strang, atque in kneed Alsinder Atken

Et Wily Dick heavy-arstus homo, pierrimus omnium,

Qui tulit in pileo magnum rubrumque favorem,                                                              40

Valde lethus pugnare, sed hunc Corngrevius heros

Noutheadum vocavit, atque illum forcit ad arma.

Insuper hic aderant Tom Taylor, & Hen. Watsonus,

Et Tomy Gilchristus, & fool Jocky Robinsonus

Andrew Atshenderus, & Jamy Tomsonus, & unus

Norland-bornus homo, valde hic Anticovenanter,

Nomine Gordonus, valde blackmoudus, & alter

(Heu piget ignoro nomen) slavry beardius homo

Qui pottas dightavit, & assas jecerit extra.

Denique præ reliquis Geordæum affatur, & inquit,                                                       50

Geordy mi formanne, inter stoutissimus omnes,

Huc ades & crooksaddelos, hemmesque, creilesque,

Brechemmesque simul omnes bindato jumentis;

Amblentemque meum Naggum, fattumque mariti

Cursorem, & reliquos trottantes sumito averos,

In Cartis yokkato omnes, extrahito Muckam

Crofta per & Riggas, atque ipsas ante senestras

Nebernæ, & aliquid sin ipsa contra loquatur,

In sydas tu pone manus, & dicito fart jade.

Nec mora, formannus cunctos flankavit averos,                                                           60

Workmannosque ad Workam omnes vocavit, & illi

Extemplo Cartas bene sillavere Gigantes:

Whistlavere viri, Workhorsosque ordine swieros

Drivavere foras, donec iterumque iterumque

Fartavere omnes, & sic turba horrida mustrat,

Haud aliter quam si cum multis Spinola troupis

Proudus ad Oftendam marchasset fortiter urbem.

Interea ante alios Dux Piper Laius heros


Præcedens, magnamque gerens cum burdine pypam

Incipit Harlai cunctis sonare batellum.                                                                             70

Tunc Neberna furens Yettam ipsa egressa, vidensque

Muck-cartas transire viam, valde angria facta

Non tulit Affrontam tantam, verum, agmine, facto,

Convocat extemplo Barrowmannos atque Ladæos

Jackmannumque, Hiremannos, Pleughdrivsters atq;

Tumulantesq; simul reecoso ex Kitchine boyos,

Hunc qui dirtiferas tersit cum dishclouty Dishas,

Hunc qui gruelias scivit bene lickere Plettas,

Et Saltpannisumos, & widebricatos Fisheros,

Hellæosque etiam Salteros duxit ab antris,                                                                      80

Coalheughos nigri girnantes more Divelli,

Lifeguardamque sibi sævas vocat improba Lassas,

Maggæam magis doctam milkare Cowæas,

Et doctam sweepare Flooras, & sternere Beddas,

Quæque novit spinnare, & longas ducere Threedas;

Nansæam, claves bene quæ keepaverat omnes,

Yellantemque Elpen, longo bardamque Anapellam,

Fartantemque simul Gyllam, gliedamque Katæam

Egregie indutam blacko caput sooty clouto;

Mammæamque simul vetulam, quæ sciverat apte                                                           90

Infantum teneras blande oscularier arsas;

Tum demum hungræos ventres Neberna Gruelis

Farsit, & guttas Rawsuinibus implet amaris,

Postea Newbarmæ ingentem dedit omnibus haustum,

Staggravere omnes, grandesque ad sydera riftas

Barmifumi attolunt, & sic ad prælia marchant.

Nec mora, marchavit foras longo ordine turma,

Ipsa prior Neberna suis stout facta Ribaldis,

Rustæum manibus gestans furibunda Gulæum:                                                               100

Tandem Muckreilios vocat ad pell-mellia flaidos,

Ite, ait, uglæi Fellows, si quis modo posthac

Muckifer has nostras tentet crossare fenestras,

Juro, quod ego ejus longum extrahabo Thrapellum,

Et totam rivabo Faciem, Luggasque gulæo hoc

Ex capite cuttabo ferox, totumque videbo

Heartbloodum fluere in terram.  Sic verba finivit.

Obstupuit Vitarva diu dirtflaida, sed inde

Couragium accipiens, Muckreilios ordine cunctos


Middini in medio Faciem turnare coёgit.                                                                          110

O qualem primo fleuram gustasses in ipso

Battelli onsetto! Pugnat Muckreilius heros

Fortiter, & Muckam per posteriora cadentem

In Creilibus shoolare ardet.  Sic dirta volavit.

O quale hoc hurly burly fuit, si forte vidisses

Pypantes Arsas, & flavo sanguine Breeckas

Drippantes, hominumque heartas as prælia faintas!

O qualis firy farie fuit, namque alteri nemo

Ne vel footbreddum yardæ yeildare volebat,

Stout erat ambo quidem, valdeque hardhearta caterva!                                                 120

Tum vero è medio Muckdryvster prosilit unus

Gallantæus homo, & greppam minatur in ipsam

Nebernam, (quoniam misere scaldaverat omnes)

Dirtavitque totam Peticotam gutture thicko,

Pearlineasque ejus skirtas, silkamque gownæam,

Vasquineamsque rubram Mucksherda begariavit.

Et tunc ille fuit valde faintheartus, & ivit

Valde procul, metuens shottam woundumque profundum.

Sed nec valde procul fuerat revengia in illum;

Extemplo Gillæa ferox invasit, & ejus                                                                                 130

In faciem girnavit atrox, & Tigrida facta

Boublentem grippans Berdam, sic dixit ad illum:

Vade domum, filthæe nequam, aut te interficiabo.

Tunc cum gerculeo magnum fecit Gilly whippum,

Ingentemque manu Sherdam levavit, & omnen

Gallantæi hominis Gashbeardem besmeariavit;

Sume tibi hoc, inquit, sneesing valde operativum,

Pro præmio Swingere tuo, tum denique fleido

Ingentem Gilly wamphra dedit, validamque nevellam,

Ingeminatque iterum, donec bis fecerit ignem                                                                140

Ambobus fugere ex oculis; sic Gylla triumphat.

Obstupuit bombaizdus homo, backumque repente

Turnavit veluti nasus bloodasset; & O fy!

Ter quarter exclamat, & ô quam fœde neezavit!

Disjuniumque omne evomuit valde hungrius homo,

Lausavitque supra atque infra, miserabile visu,

Et luggas necko imponens, sic cucurrit absens;

Non audens gimpare iterum, ne worsa tul sset.

Hæc Neberna videns yellavit turpia verba,

Et fy, fy! exclamat, prope nunc Victoria losta est.                                                            150


Nec mora, terribilem fillavit dira Canonem,

Elatisque Hippis magno cum murmure Fartam

Barytonam emisit, veluti Monsmegga cracasset.

Tum vero quackarunt hostes, flightamque repente

Sumpserunt, retrospexit Jackmannus, & ipse

Sheepheadus metuit sonitumque ictumque buleti.

Quod si King Spanius, Philippus nomine, septem

Hisce consimiles habuisset forte Canones

Batterare Sluissam, Sluissam dungasset in assam.

Aut si tot magnus Ludovicus forte dedisset                                                                      160

Ingentes fartas as mœnia Montalbana,

Ipsam continuo Townam dingasset in yerdam.

Exit Congrevius, wracco omnia tendere videns,

Consiliumque meum, si non accipitis, inquit,

Pulchras scartabo facies, & vos worriabo:

Sed needlo per Seustram broddatus, inque privatas

Partes stobbatus greitans, lookansque grivate,

Barlafumel clamat, & dixit, O Deus! O God!

Quid multis?  Sic Fraya fuit, sic Guisa peracta est,

Una nec interea spillata est droppa Cruoris.                                                                    170











Lamiarum Vestitus.

A POEM on the King and Queen



Translated into Latine by Walter Dennestone.




Ye Virtuosi hav’t to you assign’d

The Nat’ral Causes of all things to find.

We cloath the Fairies in their proper Dress:

And leav’t to you, What Force they have, to guses.




Naturam, veras rerum perpendere caussas

Sorte datum vobis, Ingeniosa cohors.

Corpora nos Lemurum tenui velamus amictu:

Dicite vos, Quæ vis? quis vigor insit eis?


[Note: for the following pages, I have altered the layout in order to make the text easier to follow on a webpage.  In the 1971 Scottish Text Society edition, the Latin translation is mirrored on the opposite page.  In this transcription, the Latin version of the ‘King of Fairy’ poem follows the English/Scots version, and I use the same layout for the ‘Queen of Fairy’ section.  I have still included the page and line numbers as they appear in the 1971 edition for ease of reference, although it should be pointed out that in the 1971 edition the page number 137 appears twice.  KG.]





On the King of FAIRY.


UPON a time the Fairy Elves,

Having first arrayed themselves,

They thought it meet to cloath their King,

In Robes most fit for Revelling.


He had a Cobweb-Shirt more thin,

Than ever Spiders since could spin;

Bleach’d in the whiteness of the Snow,

When that the Northern Winds do blow.


And in that vast and open Air

No Shirt is half so Fine or Fair:                                                                                           10

A rich Waste-Coat they did him bring

Made of the Trout-flie’s Golden Wing,


Dy’d Crimson in a Maiden’s Blush,

And lin’d with Humming Bees soft Plush.

At which his Elf-ship ‘gan to fret,

And sware ‘twould cast him in a Sweat.


He for his Coolness needs would wear

A Waste-Coat made of Downy Hair,

New taken from an Eunuch’s Chin,

It pleas’d him well, ‘twas wondrous thin.                                                                          20



His Hat was all of Ladies Love,

So passing light that it would move,

If any Gnat or Humming Fly

But beat the Air in passing by.


About it went a Wreath of Pearl

Dropt from the Eyes of some poor Girl,

Pinched because she had forgot

To leave clean Water in the Pot.


His Breeches and his Cassock were

Made of the Tinsel Garsummer:                                                                                         30

Down by it’s Seam there went a Lace

Drawn by an Unctuous Snail’s slow pace.





In Oreadum REGEM

Monticolæ quondam Lamiæ circundatæ amictu

Corpora prætenui choreis & lusivus apto;

Talibus inde suum Regem quoq; vestibus ornant

Quæ deceant numerosque leves festasque chorêas.


Ejus araneoli scutulata subucula filo

Rarior, eximiæ quod texuit artis Arachne:

Intactæque nivis fuit insolata nitore,

Quam rigidus gelidâ Boreas diffundit ab Arcto.


Nec sub Hyperboreo tam pura camisia tractu

Usque adeo tennuis tamque alba apparuit usquam:                                                          10

Proxima cura fuit tunicellam imponere Regi

Hepiali textam mirè ex aurantibus alis.


Virginis eximiæ roseo quœ tincta rubore,

Atque apis Hyblææ duplicata est vellere molli:

Tum fremere & jurare Heros gestamine tanto

Pressus, & exili manare á corpore sudor.


Post, refrigerii caussâ, subtile theristrum

Curari fecit consutum more decoro,

Nuper ab Eunuchi malâ & lanugine sumptum:

Hoc placuit, quia erat tenui subtemine textum.                                                                 10



Ejus erat (capitis tegumentum insigne) galerus,

Ut referunt, è fæmineo conflatus amore;

Qui levis usque adeo fuit ut trepidaret ad auram,

Quam musca aut cynips præter volitando feriret.


Ambiit hunc circum speciosa & gemmea spira

Ex oculis teneræ tremulis modo lapsa puellæ;

Quam malè multarunt Lemures quod linquere in ollâ

Oblita est puras, nocturno tempore, lymphas.


Denique fiebant saga cum femoralibus ejus

Lineolâ ê tenui per summa cacumina campi                                                                       30

Extensâ, quorum suturam rara tegebat

Instita ducta pigri limacis tramite pingui.



On the QUEEN.

NO sooner was their King attyr’d

as never Prince had been,

But as in Duty was requir’d

they next array their Queen.


Of shining Threed shut from the Sun

And twisted into line,

On the light Wheel of Fortune Spun

Was made her Smock so fine.


Her Gown was very colourd fair

The Rain-bow gave the dip;                                                                                     10


Perfumed by an Amber-Air

Breath’d from a Virgin’s Lips.


The Stuff was of a Morning-dawn

When Phœbus did but peep,

But by a Poet’s Pencil drawn

In Chloris lap a sleep.


Her Vail was white and pale-fac’d-by

Invented yb a Maid,

When the (poor Soul) by some bad Spy

Had newly been betray’d.                                                                                        20


Her Necklace was of subtile tye

Of Glorious Atoms, set

In the pure Black of Beauties Eye,

As they had been in Jet.


Her Shoes were all of Maiden-Heads

So passing thin and light

That all her Care was how she treads;

A Thought had burst them quite.


The Revells ended, she put off

Because her Grace was warm:                                                                                 30

She fann’d her with a Lady’s scoff,

And so she took no Harm.






Post quam Rex tali suit insignitus amictu

            Membra cui Regum nulla tulere parem.

Mox etiam, veluti ratio poscebat, & æquum,

            Reginæ parili corpora veste tegunt.


Illius ex auro clarâ de lampade solis

            Emisso, scitè facta erat interula:

Stamina cujus erant solerti pollice ducta,

            Sortis in ambiguæ torta levique rotâ.


Palla fuit, qualem spectabilis induit Iris,

            Quam varius radiis pingit Apollo suis.                                                                    10


Talis odor, qualis fragranti spirat ab ambrâ

            Halitus aut qualis Virginis esse solet.


Materies suit Auroræ de lumine primo

            Phœbus ubi Eois surgit honorus aquis.

Peniculo vatis qui pingebatur amatæ

            Chloridis in gremio membra quiete levans.


Candidulumque habuit velamen, pallidulumque;

            Dextra puellaris texuit illud opus.

Qui color idem erat ac pellucet in ore pullæ

            Prodita ab infausto quæ modo forte viro.                                                                20


Illius alba decens ornabat colla monile

            Formosum pulchris conspicuisque atomis:

Quœ velut in puro nigroque gagte fuissent

            Impositæ, miris emicuere modis.


Calceolique sui perquam tenuesque levesque

            Facti de claustris virginitatis erant.

His igitur verita est incedere, namque pisullus

            Sensus amoris eos rumperet absque morâ.


Ludis exactis, quoniam sudore madebat,

            Confestim vestes exuit ipsa suas.                                                                            30

Et se fœmineo vannavit scommate demum

            Nec quidquam damni pertulit inde sibi.





NOTA. It was thought fit to insert the following Verses,

because the one half of them (viz. from this Mark *  * to

the end) were writ by Lieutenant Colonel Clealand *of my

Lord Angus’s Regiment when he was a Student in the Col

Lege of Edinburgh, and 18 Years of Age.


Hallow my Fancie, whither wilt thou go?


IN Melancholick Fancie,

Out of my self,

In the Vulcan Dancie,

All the World surveying,

No where staying,

Just like a Fairie Elf:

Out o’er the tops of highest Mountains Skipping,

Out o’er the Hills, the Trees and Vallies tripping,

Out o’er the Ocean Seas, without an Oar or Shipping.

Hallow my Fancie, whither wilt thou go?                                                    10


Amidst the misty Vapours,

Fain would I know,

What doth cause the Tapours:

Why the Clouds benight us,

And afright us,

While we travel here below!

Fain would I know, what makes the roaring Thunder,

And what these Lightnings be that rent the clouds asunder

And what these Comets are, on which we gaze and wonder!

Hallow my Fancie, whither wilt thou go?                                                   20


Fain would I know the Reason,

Why the little Ant,

All the Summer Season,

Layeth up Provision,

On condition,

To know no Winters want:

And how there Huse-wives, that are so good and painful,


Do unto their Husbands prove so good and gainful:

And why the lazie Drons, to them do prove disdainful.

Hallow my Fancie, whither wilt thou go?                                                    30


Ships, Ships, I will decrie you,

Amidst the Main,

I will come and try you,

What you are protecting,

And projecting,

What’s your End and Aim.

One goes abroad for Merchandise and Treading,

Another stays to keep his Country from invading,

A third is coming Home with rich and wealth of loading.

Hallow my Fancie, whither wilt thou go?                                                    40


When I look before me,

There I do behold,

There’s none that sees or knows me;

All the World’s a gadding,

Running madding,

None doth his Station hold.

He that is below, envieth him that riseth,

And he that is above, him that’s below despiseth,

So ev’ry Man his Plot and Counter-plot deviseth.

Hallow my Fancie, whither wilt thou go?                                                    50


Look, Look, what Busling

Here I do espy;

Each another jusling,

Ev’ry one turmoiling,

Th’ other spoiling,

As I did pass them by.

One sitteth musing in a dumpish Passion,

Another hangs his Head, because he’s out of Fashion,

A third is fully bent on Sport and Recreation:

Hallow my Fancie, whither wilt thou go?                                                    60


Amidst the foamie Ocean,

Fain would I know,

What doth cause the Motion,

And returning,


In its journeying,

And doth so seldom swerve!

And how these little Fishes, that swim beneath salt water

Do never blind their Eye, Me thinks, it is a matter,

An inch above the reach of old Erra Pater!

Hallow my Fancie, whither wilt thou go?                                                                70


Fain I would be resolved,

How things are done!

And where the Bull was calved,

Of bloody Phalaris!

And where the Taylor is,

That works to th’ Man in th’ Moon!

Fain would I know how Cupid aims so rightly!

And how these little Fairies do dance and leap so lightly!

And where fair Cynthia makes her Ambles nightly!

Hallow my Fancie, whither wilt thou go?                                                    80


In conceit like Phaёton,

I’ll mount Phœbus Chair:

Having ne’er a Hat on,

All my Hair’s a burning,

In my journeying,

Hurrying through the Air.

Fain would I hear his fiery Horses neighing!

And see how they on foamy Bitts are playing!

All the Stars and Planets I will be surveying!

Hallow my Fancie, whither wilt thou go?                                                    90


O from what ground of Nature,

Doth the Pelican,

That self devouring Creature,

Prove so froward,

And untoward,

Her Vitals for so strain!

And why the subtile Fox, while in Death’s wounds is lying.

Doth not lament his Pangs by howling and crying!

And why the milk-white Swan doth sing when she’s a dying!

Hallow my Fancie, whither wilt thou go?                                                    100


Fain I would conclude this,

At least make Essay,


What Similitude is,

Why Fowls of a Feather,

Flock and fly together,

And Lambs know Beasts of Prey!

How Natur’s Alchymists, these small laborious Creatures!

Acknowledge still a Prince in ordering their Matters,

And suffer none to live, who slothing lose their Features.

Hallow my Fancie, whither wilt thou go?                                                    110


I’m rapt with Admiration,

When I do ruminate,

Men of an Occupation,

How each one calls him Brother,

Yet each invieth other,

And yet still intimate!

Yea, I admire to see, some Natures farther sundred,

Than Antipodes to us.  Is it not to be wondered,

In Myriads ye’ll find, of one mind scarce an hundred!

Hallow my Fancie, whither wilt thou go?                                                    120


What multitude of Notions

doth perturb my Pate,

Considering the Motions.

How th’ Heav’ns are preserved

And this World served,

In Moisture, Light and Heat!

If one Spirit sits the outmost Circle turning,

Or one turns another continuing in journeying,

If Rapid circles Motion be that which they call burning!

Hallow my Fancie, whither wilt thou go?                                                    130


Fain also would I prove this,

by considering,

What that, which you call Love, is:

Whether it be a Folly,

Or a Melancholy,

Or some Heroick thing!

Fain I’d have it prov’d, by one whom Love hath wounded

And fully upon one his desire hath founded,

Whom nothing else could please tho’ the World were rounded!

Hallow my Fancie, whither wilt thou go?                                                    140


To know this World’s Center,

Height, Depth, Breadth, and Length,

Fain I would adventure,

To search the hid Attractions,

Of Magnetick Actions,

And Adamantick strength!

Fain would I know, if in some lofty Mountain,

Where the Moon sojourns, if there be Trees of Fountain,

If there be Beasts of Prey, or yet be Fields to hunt in!

Hallow my Fancie, whither wilt thou go?                                                    150


Fain would I have it tried,

By Experiment,

By none can be denied;

If in this bulk of Nature,

There be Voids less or greater,

Or all remains compleat!

Fain would I know, if Beasts have any Reason!

If Falcons killing Eagles do commit a Treason!

If fear of Winter’s want makes Swallows fly the Season!

Hallow my Fancie, whither wilt thou go?                                                    160


Hallow my Fancie, hallow,

Stay, stay at home with me,

I can thee no longer follow,

For thou hast betray’d me

And bewray’d me;

It is too much for thee.

Stay, stay at Home with me, leave off thy lofty Soaring,

Stay thou at Home with me, and on thy Books be poring,

For he that goes abroad, lays little up in Storing:

Thou’rt wlcome Home my Fancie, welcome home to me.                                              170




Volume II (1709)


Choice Collection



Scots Poems,


Ancient and Modern.


By several Hands.


Part II.



Printed by James Watson, and Sold at his

Shop next Door to the Red-Lyon, opposite

to the Lucken-Booths.  1709.




A Choice Collection of

Scots Poems.


ROBERT the III.  King of

Scotland, His Answer to a

Summons sent Him by Henry

the IV. of England, to do

Homage for the Crown of



Dureing the Reigne of the Royal Robert;

The second of the good Stewart;

Henrie, of England the feard King

To Scotland sent and ask’d this thing;

To spier at Robert, “Why he not made

“Him Homage for his Lands braid,

“For why he ought of Heretage,

“At London to do him Homage:

“And that in Right of Brutus King,

“Who had Ingland in Governing.                                                                                        10

“Why then caused he through his Guilt

“So meikle sakless Blood he spillt.


When King Robert wise and wight

Had heard and seen this writ be sight;

Therefore he grew full matalent

To tell his Barrons, of his intent,


He called a Council to Strivling Town

And there came Lords of great renown,

And at them all he asked of it

If he should answer be his awne wit:                                                                                 20

The Lords were all faine of that thing,

And referred it to their Noble King;

So without Council of onie man,

To Dyte and Write the King began.

This was the effect of his Writeing

All is sooth and nae Liesing.

I Robert be God’s might

King of the Scots and Isles be Right,

From hight of Hills to the Ocean Sea,

Our Heretage was ever free;                                                                                                30

To thee Hary of Lancaster,

Thy ‘Pystle I have considered well.

Duke of that Ilk thou should be cal’d

It was thy righteous Style of auld,

But nae King I will call thee,

For hurting of Kings Majestie;

For I will take nae heeding

Of thy unrighteous Invading;

For what was right (as is well knawn)

Ye all defould within your awn:                                                                                          40

But we will do you understand

What we declare fornent Scotland.

Your inward Tale we have well seen,

Baith first and last what you do mean;

Therefore thou shalt an answer have,

E’en by my self, attour the leave;

The first point is, God witness bear,

No Blood for me be spilt in Weir,


But gif it be in my Defence,

Through thy usurping Violence.                                                                                        50

And whereas that thou Writest thus,

Since born were Sons to Old Brutus,

That our Antecessours should be,

Servants to Yours in ilk Degree;

Thou Lyest, thereof it is well knawn,

We was ay free within our awn.

Albeit John Balioll made a Band,

Contrar the Right of fair Scotland.

That he was false we will defend

With Lives and Fortunes to the end;                                                                                  60

For our Heretage was ever Free,

Since Scota of Ægypt tuik the Sea,

Whilst ye have ever Conquered been:

For a Thonsand Pounds of Gold schein

To Julius Cæsar Payit yee,

Of Tribute, thus ye was not free;

With Saxons syne ye were orthrawn,

With them twa Chiftans of your awn,

And other folks in Company

All Soldiers born in Germany,

Came with sik power in great hast                                                                                     70

That made your Lands baith bair and waist;

And slew you Gentles of Ingland

At Saylsbury as I understand,

In taken is the Highland Stanes,

In Latin is a Memorial,

That Saxons had orset you all.

Then Harald, the Son of Denmark King

The third time raise o’re you to Reign,                                                                              80


And in ilk House, as is well knawn,

You were defould within your awn;

They Occupyed your Maids and Wives,

In Bondage thus you led your lives.

When this was done and all bypast,

The fourth Conquest approached fast;

A Bastard came out of Normandy,

Conquest Ingland all hailily;

And yet amongst you Reigns that Blood,

And mikle uther that is nae good:                                                                                      90

Gif thou trows not, this true to be

The Register Read and thou shalt see.

Thus four times thirld and overharld

You’re the great refuse of all the Warld;

Nor got thou Righteous thy self to Reigne,

Thy awn Realm kennes well this thing;

At London thou Swair in Parliament,

Ingland ten Year thou should absent;

Then wast thou manifestly mansworn,

Or ever three Years was out worn                                                                                      100

Thou raise Treasonably for to Reigne,

And slew Richard thy Native King,

Forsooth the Proverb tells of this,

Whilk often times true founden is:

Flyte with thy Neighbour, and he will tell

All the mischiefs that thee befel.

But Scotland yet I dare well say

Was ever free unto this day,

Nor never stranger weer’d our Crown

Except of late a mansworn lowne,                                                                                      110

That was Langshanks call’d Edward,

Tuik on him to declare the pairt


Between the Bruce and John Balion,

Then through your false illusion,

Where that John Baliol had no right,

And so tuik Treasonaly to hauld by slight

Castles and Strengths of our Country

Your Edward tuik most Cheatingly,

When William Wallace wight and wise

Right worthily rescued us thrice;                                                                                        120

Then Valiant Bruce ricght racklesly

First tint, syne wan us worthily;

With him was Graham, and the Dowglas

That proved full well in many a place,

And Thomas Randolf wise and wight,

There was not then a worthier Knight,

Then thir expelled your false Barnage,

And fredd our Realm of all Thirlage.

If you trow us not of this,

Sixty Thousand you well did miss                                                                                      130

At Bannockburn discomfist was,

And Your false King away did pass

Throw an inborn Traytour as well ken’d

In England free he did him send,

Or else we then had tane your King

Who had Ingland in governing.

When an Year comen was and gane,

Then Edward of Carnarven

Discomfist he was at Byland

By Messengers I understand,                                                                                              140

Sir Walter Stewart then in hy

He chased him all openly

Twixt Scarborough Castle he him chas’d,

Syne to his Host return in hast;


But then the Clergy of Ingland

Renewed again with stalwart Hand,

At Newtoun as it was well knawn

Where hastily they were orthrawn

By the good Dowglas, sooth to say,

And Thomas Randolf Earle of Murray,                                                                               150

There Thirty thousand were dung to Dead

Withouten succour or remeid;

Syne after that, Robert the Bruce

Took hail state, and could reduce

Northumberland all to himsell,

As many Cronicles can tell.

Then ye were fain from Weirs to cease,

And sought by Mariage for a Peace,

Begging our Prince the Bruce Davie

On your Dame Jean to play a Pavie.                                                                                   160

Ye made this evident, and drew a Band

Under the great Seal of Ingland,

Whilk we have plainly for to shaw,

The verity if ye will knaw.

All this is true, I’le testifie

And proveit on Sixty against Sixty

Or Fortie for Fortie, gif You like,

Or Twentie to Twentie of ilk Kinrick,

Or Nine, Aught, Seven, Four, Three, or Two

Born of Antient Blood also,                                                                                                 170

Or Hand to Hand if You think meet,

And so Sir Duke I do you Greet.









THE 19. DAY OF MAII, 1590.




AT Edinburgh, as micht be seene,

Upon the nintene day of Maj,

Our Prences Spous, anf foueraigne Queen,

Hir nobil entry maid that day,

Maist honorable, was hir conuoy,

With gladnes gret, triumph and ioy.


To recreat hir hie renoun,

Of curious things thair wes all sort,

The stairs and houses of the toun,

With Tapestries were spred athort:                                                                                   10

Quhair Histories men micht behauld,

With Imagis and Anticks auld.


No man in mind, culd weill consaue,

The curious warks before his eis,

In Tapestries ye micht persaue,

Young Ramel, wrocht like lawrell treis:


With syndrie sorts of Chalandrie,

In curious forme of Carpentrie.


It written wes with stories mæ,

How VENVS, with a thundring thud,                                                                                 20

Inclosd ACHATES and ENÆ,

Within a mekill mistie clud:

And how fair ANNA wondrous wraith,

Deplors her sister DIDOS daith.


Thair wes the blindit artchour boy,

Schuting crafty INTICLOTES,

Thair wes defcriud the wrack of Troy,

And how the proud PHILOCLITES

Schot prudent PARIS throw the thie,

With poisond dart, quhilk gart him die.                                                                            30


Iô, with hir goldin glitring hair,

Wes portret wondrous properlie,

And POLIPHEME was pentit thair,

Quha in his foreheid had ane eie:

Beneth him but ane littill space,

Wes IANVS with the doubill face.


Of ROMOLVS I saw the wonder,

How for his interprise prophane,

In counterfeting of the thunder,

For his reward thairwith was slane:                                                                                   40

And thair wes wrocht, with goldin threid,

MEDVSA, with the monstrous heid.



Of Histories I saw anew,

That fragill wer and friuolus,

How TRITON at the Seside slew

MISENVS, sonne to ÆOLVS:

Beside that historie thair stands

BRIARIVS, with his hundreth hands.


The story of ACHILLES stout,

With gold wes browderd thair abreid,                                                                               50

And how wise PALLACE did spring out

At michtie IVPITERS foreheid:

And ICARVS, throw fleing hie

With waxit wingis fel in the see.


How IAON, SESRA did persew,

And draue ane naill into his brow,

And IEPHTE quho his dochter slew,

For till observe his aith and vowe

And how that all gret NILVS flud

Was turnd and alterd into blud.                                                                                         60


How IOVE did with the Giants do,

And how of thame he vaslage wan,

Thair PHOCOMES was portrait to,

Quho beirs baith schap of hors and man:

And how that he gat throw the hairt,

Throw schot of MOPSIS deidlie dairt.


IXION, that the quheill dois turne

In Hell, that vgly hole so mirk,

And EROSTRATVS quha did burne

The costly fair EPHESIAN Kirk:                                                                                          70


And BLIADES, quha fals in soun

With drawing buckets vp and down.


As MERCVRIE with charmit rods,

The hundreth eis of ARGVS traps,

And how that TIPHON chast the gods,

Compelling thame to change their schaps:

For PHEBVS wes turnd in a cat,

And VENVS in a fiche maist flat.


Thir things wer patent to the eis,

Of sindry as ye knaw your sell,                                                                                           80

For thay were into tapestries,

Better descriu’d nor I can tell:

Thir I beheld quhair I did go,

With mony hundreth thousand mo.


Braue nobill men of all kin sorts,

Triumphantly beside her raid,

First at hir entry at the Ports,

Trim Harangs till hir grace wes maid,

Her salutation thair wes sung

In ornat stile of Latine toung.                                                                                             90


Gif ILIONVS had bene thair,

That oratour of eloquence,

I doubt gif he could haue done mair,

For all his gret intelligence:

Declaring with a gret renown

How sche wes welcome to the town.



Nor DEMADES, quhois prais is pend

In euerie part as we persaue,

Quho for his ornate style wes send

Till ANTIPATER pece to craue:                                                                                          100

Thocht he wes eloquent and wise,

Na finer frais he cud deuise.


All curious pastimes and consaits

Cud be imaginat be man,

Wes to be sene on Edinburgh gaits,

Fra time that brauitie began:

Ye might haif hard on euerie streit

Trim melodie and musick sweit.


Thocht PHILAMON his braith had blawin,

For musick quho wes countit king,                                                                                    110

His triumphal tune had not bene knawin,

Sic sugrit voycis thair did sing,

For thair the dascant did abound,

With the sweit diapason sound.


Tennour, and trebill with sweit sence,

Ilkane with pairts gaif notes agane,

Fabourdoun fell with decadence,

With priksang, and the singing plane:

Their enfants sang and barnelie brudis,

Quho had bot new begun the mudis.                                                                                120


Musiciners thair pairts expond,

And als for joy the bells wer rung,

The instruments did corrospond

Vnto the musick quhilk wes sung:


All sorts of instruments wer thair,

As sindry can the same declair.


Organs and Regals thair did carpe,

With thair gay goldin glitttring strings,

Thair wes the Hautbois and the Harpe,

Playing maist sweit and pleasant Springs:                                                                        130

And sum on Lutis did play and sing,

Of Instruments the onely King.


Viols and Virginals were heir,

With Girthorns maist iucundious,

Trumpets and Timbrels maid gret beir,

With Instruments melodious:

The Seistar and the Sumphion,

With Clarche Pipe and Clarion.


Thir notes seemd heuinly sweit and hie,

And not like tunes terrestriall,                                                                                           140

APPOLLO thair appeird to be,

Thair sound wes so celestiall:

O PAN amang sick pleasant plais,

Thy rustick pipe can haue na prais.


Thocht ORPHEVS gat gret commend,

For Melodie and gud ingine,

His cumly springs had not bene kend,

Howbeid that they were maist deuine:

Nor AMPHION quho did begin,

Na honour heir he culd haue wyn.                                                                                     150


ANNA our welbelouit Queene,


Sat in his goldin Coche so bricht,

And after sche thir things had seene,

Syne she beheld ane heuinly sicht:

Of Nymphs who supit NECTAR cauld,

Quhois brauities can scarce be tauld.


Thir Nymphs were plantit in this place,

As mony thousands micht persaue,

Quho for thair bewties and gud grace,

Were chosin out amangst the laue:                                                                                    160

DIANAS Nymphs thay may be namd,

Be ressoun thay were vndefamd.


The circumstance can not be told,

So strange the mater dois apeir,

Sum were clad into claith of gold,

And sum in siluer schining cleir:

Thair gouns gaue glancing in the marke,

Thay were so wrocht with goldsmith warke.


Mair brauer robs were neuer bocht,

Queene SEMERAMUS til aray,                                                                                           170

With brodrie warke thair bords were wocht,

O God, gif that thair gouns wes gay:

With gubert warke wrocht wondrous sure,

Purfild with gold and silver pure.


This far I may thir Nymphs aduance,

Not speking rashly by the richt,

Thair goldin robes gaue not sick glance,

As did their heuinly bewties bricht:

Nor zit thair iewels in sic greis,


As did thair cumly cristall eis.                                                                                            180


Thair properties for to repeit,

My dull ingine can not disclose,

Thair hair like threeds of gold did gleit,

Thair facis fragrant and formose:

White was thair hyd thocht it wes hid,

Thair corall lips like rosis rid.


Sick Parragons, but peir or maik,

I wart wes never seene before,

Na properties this Nymphs did laik,

Quhilk micht thair cumly corps decore:                                                                            190

All gifts quhilk creaturs can clame,

Dame nature in thair corps did frame.


O DIONER that hes the place,

And bears Dame bewties bell I say,

And thou O DAPHNE fair of face,

Quha was the God APOLLOS pray:

Gif that thir Virgins had beene thair,

He had esteemd thame meikill mair.


O EVROPA, as Poets schaws,

Quhome IVPITER did lufe indeid,                                                                                     200

He had acquite the for thair caus,

Gif they had bene into thy steid:

He had not faild this for to do,

And PARIS likwais HELEN to.


Had they bene set in PARIS sicht,

As wes the Goddessis I mene,


He scarce culd have discernit richt,

Quhome to the Apill did pertene:

Sick equall gifts were in them lodgt,

That thay culd skantlie weill be iudgt.                                                                              210


Thir nobill Nymphis maid reuerence,

With gesture liuely and allairt,

And efter thair obedience,

Hir Grace past to ane vther pairt:

Quhair sche beheld sum to be schort,

Acoutert in an sauadge sort.


Into the seruice of our Queene,

Thay offert thair maist willing mynds

Thir are the Moirs of quhom I mene,

Quha dois inhabit in the ynds:                                                                                           220

Leving thair land and dwelling pace,

For to do honour to hir Grace.


Thay have na scant nor indigence,

Quhair thay do dwell and haue exces,

Nor zit thay haue na residence,

With PHAVNVS God of wildernes:

Bot thay do dwell quhair thay wer wont,

Beside SYNERDAS goldin mont.


Thair precious Iewels till expreme,

And costly clethings to discriue,

My simple wit can not esteme,                                                                                           230

Agains the streme quhy suld I strive:

Thocht I want language, wit and lair,

Yet as I can I sall declair.


Thir savagis I you assure,

Wer well decord as ye may knaw,

For sum wer clad in silver pure,

And sum in Taffatie white like snaw:

Ay twa and twa in ordour stands,

With battons blank into thair hands.                                                                                240


The precious stains can not be pend,

With Goldsmiths wark wes thame amang,

Thair bodies skantly culd be kend,

For cheins quhilk ouer thair shoulders hang:

Gold bracelets on thair chaklis hings,

Thair fingers full of costly rings.


That sicht wes pleasant for to se,

And wondrous nobill to behold,

Thair heids wer garnisht gallandlie,

With costly crancis maid of gold:                                                                                       250

Braid blancis hang aboue thair eis,

With Iewels of all histories.


Vpon thair forebrows thay did beir,

Targats and Tablets of trim warks,

Pendants and Carcants shining cleir,

With Plumagis of gitie sparks:

Vpon thair hyndheids set wes syne,

Buttons and brotches braue and fyne.


And Mairatour I call to mynd,

How euerie ane had on their front,                                                                                    260

And Carbuncle of Rubie kynd,

Togither with ane Diamont:


And doun thair Haffats hang anew,

Of Rubies red and Saphirs blew.


Into thair mouthis as might be seen,

Quha had bene tentife to behold,

And Emerauld of colour greene,

Set in ane pretie ring of gold:

Syne thair wes hung at thair hals bane,

The Espinell a precious stane.                                                                                            270


Vpon thair brest bravest of all,

Were precious pearls of the Eist,

The Rubie pallet and Th’opall,

Togither with the Amastist:

Thair micht ye se mangs mone mo,

The Topas and the Percudo.


Vpoun thair richt pape maist perfite,

Thair I saw sindry stains beset,

The Garned and the Agat quhite,

With mone mo quhilk I forzet:                                                                                           280

Beside thir twa did hing alone,

The Turcas and the Triapone.


Vpoun the left were likwais knit,

Twa proper stains of valure hie,

The Iasynth and Chessolit,

Iewels maist excellent to se:

Amangs the rest I saw athort,

The Rubie of the rarest sort.



Fornents thair Navils euerie one

Bure precius Iewels braue and deir,                                                                                   290

The Cornalene and Calcedon,

Quhilk of it self is quhyte and cleir:

Thay bure the Orphir in thair back,

Bot and the Onix gray and black.


All precius stains micht thair be sene,

Quhilk in the world had ony name,

Saue that quhilk CLEOPATRA Queene,

Did swallow ore into hir wame,

The veritie for till expres,

That was not thair I man confes.                                                                                        300


In Indea that goldin ground,

Mair brauitie culd neuer be,

The belts quhairwith thair waists wer bound

Wer goldin cheins as he micht se:

Also with cheins both in and out,

Thair arms wer womplit round about.


Let no man me esteme to raill,

Nor think that raschelie I report,

Thair Theis were like wais garnist haill

With gold cheins of that saming sort:                                                                               310

Thair girtens wer of gold bestreik,

Thair Legs wer thairwith furneist eik,


Fra top to tæ I you assure,

Thair corps with gold wes birnist bricht,

Thay on thair feit quhite buskins wure,

Of costly skins both trim and ticht:


To tell the truth and not to lie,

That sicht wes plesant for to se.


Ilk ane in ordour keepit place,

Als well the formest as the last,                                                                                          320

Thir MOIRS did mertch befoir her Grace,

Quhile sche intill hir Pallace past:

Far better bakit nor ane Laird,

With Burgisses to be thair gaird.


I haue forzet how in a robe,

Of clenely crispe side to his kneis,

A bony boy out of the Globe,

Gaue to hir Grace the siluer Keis:

And how that he his harang maid,

With countenance quhilk did not said,                                                                             330


Als I forzet how wes declaird,

Our nobill Kings genealogie,

And now the folks quha wer in ward,

Were frely set at libertie:

For to be schort thay spent that day,

In pastime, daliance and deray.


Forzetting als the Burgis tryne,

Without descriptioun of thair cace,

Not speiking of the riche propine,

Quhilk thay did giue vnto hir Grace:                                                                                 340

Nor how thay bure the vaill abreid,

Quhilk hang above hir gracis heid.


Gif I in mind, suld nocht omit,

Bot intill ordour, all resolue,


The vollume, wald be wondrous grit,

And very tedious to reuolue:

Leuing the rest for to declair,

Vnto thair memors quho wer thair.


The Burgissis maist honorablie,

Vpoun hir Grace did still attend,                                                                                        350

To tyme the haill solemnitie,

And trim triumphe wes put to end:

Sum special men that wer imployd,

Into hir palace hir convoyd.


The nomber of thame that wer thair,

I sall decriue thame as I can,

My Lord I mene the maister Mair,

The Prouest ane maist prudent man:

With the haill counsall of the toun

Ilkane cled in a veluet goun.                                                                                               360


That company quha did espy,

The mater wes magnificall,

The other Burgissis forby,

Wer cled in thair pontificall:

Presenting thame before hir face,

Offring thair seruice to hir Grace.


Dout my dull sensis dois defaue,

With mair magnificence I mene,

Gif that the Persians did refaue,

King DARIUS wife that nobill Queene:                                                                             370

Quhen sche did enter with renoun,

In Tipatra that nobill toun.



O Edinburghe now I will sing,

Thy prais quhilk the perteins of richt,

Thou has been ay trew to thy King,

In doing seruice day and nicht:

Quhen that his Grace did haif ado,

And in the fields ay formest to.


Not sparing for to spend thair blud,

Into thair breists thay bure sic loue,                                                                                  380

I say no more, so I conclud,

Bot I beseik the God above:

Gif that it be his godly will,

That thy estait may fluris still.















AS I went throw an wood sauage,

As did ÆNEAS to Carthage,

Compast with clouds about,

I wanderd and I wist not quhair,

As ane mad man into dispair:

Astonisht to wyn out.

The wood wes gret and wondrous lang,

Of lenth and largitude,

The treis thairof war stark and strang,

And full of fortitude:                                                                                                10

Amasing, and gasing,

Thir treis for to behald,

So schenlie, and menelie,

Thair tops thay did dounfald.


I saw the Ashtre and the Aik,

That ÆOLUS gart yeild and zaik,

By his maist bitter blast,

Thocht thay wer strang he gart thame stoup

And all the treis into that troup


That war affixit fast:                                                                                                 20

The storme so bitterlie brake out,

As wonder wes to se,

The boriall blasts, with mony schout,

In that forrest did fle:

Not caldly, bot baldlie,

They thudit throw the treis,

With rairding, and fairding,

On hie the fier fleis.


The air wes than vntemperat,

And with rubie skies ranculat,                                                                                            30

Mixit with weit and wind,

And euery fleing foul that fed

Ran bisilie hame to thair bed,

Rest and repose to find,

Not onely fleing fouls I say,

Bot beists of diuers kynds,

Laich on the ground, richt lawly lay,

Amasit in thair mynds:

Sum shaking, and quaking,

For feir, as I esteeme,                                                                                   40

Oretowing, and rowting

Into that storme extreme.


The Lyon and the Leopard,

From louping, and scouping war skard,

And faine for to fall doun,

And als the awfull Vnicorne,

For all his bost wes not forborne,

Thocht he wes nixt the croun:

Likwais the Beir, that bitter beist,


Wes fellonlie afraid,                                                                                                 50

And all the Wolfies ran west and eist,

Trowing to be betraid:

Deploring and roring,

Wes in that wildernes,

Sum lying, sum trying,

The cours of cairfulnes.


The Drummadrareis left thair feists,

With Tygers and tyrannius beists,

Thay war so faine to flit,

Thair wes the fals Camelion,                                                                                               60

With the big Eliphant anon,

A beist of bodie grit,

Howbeit, he be maist corpolent,

Zit durst he not repose,

Quhair he wes wont for to frequent,

The storme so strangely rose:

Thir two now, did go now,

Sum solit pairt to find,

To waird thame, and gaird thame,

From bitter blaists of wind.                                                                         70


The Hart with his faire forked horns,

Quhois pikes is sharpe as ony thorns,

Richt lawly did doun ly:

So fast the Deir ran to his den,

His coulour I cud skantlie ken,

Or portrature espy.

The wilie Tod came by me to,

With violence and speid,

For feir the he Fox left the scho,


He wes in sick a dreid:                                                                                             80

Quhiles louping, and scowping,

Ouer bushis, banks, and brais,

Quhiles wandring, quhiles dandring,

Like royd and wilzart rais.


The wildbair that wanhappie beist,

Quhois tusks of length war at the leist

Ane quarter land and mair,

Into ane furie he ran fast,

Throw all the placis quhair he past,

With mony rout and rair:                                                                                        90

Also the Wood Dog did sicklike,

The storme for till eschew,

This cruell and tyrranius tyke,

Vpon the hard treis knew:

No swaging his raging,

Micht mitigat or meis,

Sick badness and madness,

Throw kind he did acqueis.


The wildcat worst of all the laue,

Into that pairt I did persaue,

Fleing for his refuge,                                                                                                100

The storme wes so outragius,

And with rumlings oragius,

That I for fear did gruge:

Than out that come the akquart Aip,

That murgens wont to mak,

Richt narrowly I saw him scaip,

Vnbreking of his bak:

He hang so, and flang so,


Fast felterd be the feit,                                                                                 110

His haist than, had maist than,

Cost him ane winding sheit.


Out come the gyrnen Gennet syne,

With vther twasum in a tryne,

All of ane quantitie,

For faircenes sum fell on thair face,

So raschely thay ran out thair race,

To keip gud companie:

Thair wes na bus culd hald thame bak,

So trimly thay culd scoup,                                                                                       120

Nor yet no Tike cul thame oretak,

So lichtly thay did loup:

Not playing, but braying,

To se that tempest than,

Amaisdlie, and baisdlie,

Richt bisslie thay ran.


Thair wes the Pikit Porcapie,

The Cunning and the Con all thrie,

Merchens amangs the rest,

I wat thay wantit na gud will,                                                                                             130

To ryn with all speid possibill.

Quhill thay wan to their nest:

Also the Hare I haue forzet,

The spediest of all,

His hasty rinning made him het,

Nane neidit him to call:

Not tyring nor myring,

Among the mossis deipe,

Bot tichtly, and richtly,

His awn cours he did keipe.                                                                        140



Out come the Edder at the last,

Vpon his wamb crieping full fast,

Seikand ane hole to hide him,

Bot because he wes venimus,

And for to touch contagius,

No beist wald byde besyde him:

Vpon his wamb thus wayis he went,

Maist miserablie thair,

For na beist with him wald frequent,

Nor cum vndir his snair:                                                                                          150

They dred so, and fled so,

From his societie,

That nane thair, his wane thair

Wald support or supplie.


The Basilisque that beist maling,

Of Serpents quhilk is countit King,

Ran quhill he wes the war,

Thair wes the Viper and th’Aspect,

With the Serpent Cheliderect,

Quhois stink is felt afar:                                                                                          160

Thair wes the Serpent Cencrastus,

A beist of filthy braith,

And als the Serpent Cerastus,

Quhois byte brings sudden deith:

Thir Vipers and cripers,

Amang the grene gars lay,

Doun louring and couring,

Quhill storm wes went away.


The Fumart and the Fittret straue,

The deip and howest hole to haue,                                                                                    170


That wes in all the wood,

About the trie ruts thir twa ran,

Zit all in vaine na thing thay wan,

Bot did thole mony thud,

For cauld thay wer discomfeist clene,

The schowrs wer sa seueir,

Bot I who wes ane pure Pilgren

And half an Stronimeir:

Forschew thair, and knew thair,

Sick tempest suld betyde,                                                                           180

Than ran I, and wan I,

In ane hole me to hyde.


Out come the Quhittret furwith,

And litill besit of lim and lith,

And of ane sober schaip,

To haue ane hole he had grit hast,

Zit in the wood thair wes nane wast,

To harberie that iaip:

Than out that come the Modiwart,

Ane beist throw nature blind,                                                                                 190

Quho fast the eirth culd scraip and scart,

Rest and refuge to find:

Quhiles dodling, and todling,

Vpon fowr prettie feit,

Quhiles scrubbing, qhiles rubbing,

The ground quhair it wes weit


Thir beists heir befoir nominat,

May esilie be numerat,

The calcull is bot small,

Forby thir beists I saw anew,                                                                                               200


Quhois nams befoir I neuir knew,

Nor how men did thame call:

Sick beists as I had sene before,

Thair names I did reteene,

Bot thair wes mony in that store,

That I had neuer sene:

Sum mikill, sum litill,

Of mony syndrie sort,

That hantit, and plantit,

That place to be thair port.                                                                         210


Sum proper wer of portrature,

Of lith and lim, prettie and pure,

And hantsum to behald,

Quhois nams I na wais culd expreme,

Nor to my judgement weill esteme,

The flox into the fald:

It wes ane wonder for to se,

So gret an multitude,

Without all mediocrity,

Amangst the treis that stud:                                                                                   220

Eschewing the dewing,

Of ranie Orion,

That dropit and knopit,

Baith upon tre and stone.


Quhat farlie than thocht fouls that fleis,

With gret pains and perplexiteis

War grievously tormentit,

Quhen gret wild beists, of lim and lith,

Imployd with pissance, strength and pith,

For feir tham selfis absentit:                                                                                   230


And into hols and bors thame hyd,

The storme for till eschew,

For quhy, the wind, with mony quhyd,

Maist bitterly thair blew:

With quhirling, and dirling,

The fudder fell so thick,

Doun dryuing and ryuing,

The leiues that thay did lick,


First IOVIS foule the Eagill fair,

I saw discend down from the air,                                                                                       240

Syne to the wood went he,

The Hiron and the fleing Hairt,

Come fleing from ane vther pairt,

Beside him for to be.

Ane fellon tryne come at his taill,

Fast flichtren through the skise,

Bot suddenly that skull did skaill,

Thairfore thay wer mair wise:

Than fled thay, and sched thay,

Euery ane from ane vdder,                                                                          250

Doun louching, and coutching,

To fle the flichts of fudder.


The fiery Dragon flew on hie,

Out throw the skies, richt cuttetlie,

Syne to the ground come doun,

Into ane furie fast he flew,

To haue an hald him to reskew,

As strangers to ane toun;

Nixt come the Gorgoull and the Graip,

Twa feirfull fouls indeid,                                                                                         260


Quho usis oft to like and laip,

The blud of bodies deid:

Thame druging and ruging,

With thair maist cruell clukis,

Sick hashing and knashing,

Cums not of clenlie cukis.


The Airne and the Goshalk syne,

That dentely had wont to dyne,

On Pairtrick and on Pliuer,

With feir thair famin wes forzet,

With blasts of wind thay wer so bet,                                                                                  270

And lancit throw the liuer:

With the schairp speir of apetyte,

Howbeid thair hairts wes perst

Zit thay for meit cair not any myte,

Nor zit no succour cerst:

So fain than unslain than,

Thameselfis thay wald haue keipit,

That surelie, maist purelie,

Vpon the ground thay creipit.                                                                    280


Quhat suld I say, the Gok, the Gled,

With speidie flycht richt fast thay fled,

From feding on the plaine,

And thair I saw the milk quhyte Swan,

Conuoy the Wodcok and the Cran,

Of quhome thay wer richt faine:

The Bisset and the Corbe baith,

Flew fast befoir the laue,

Lath war thay to kep ony skaith,

Or ony harme to haue:                                                                                             290


So slelie, and frelie,

From dangers thay thame fred,

In speiding exceiding,

All vthers into tred.


The Houlet and the Herison,

Out of the airt Septenrion,

Come with an feirfull voce,

The Houlet had sick awfull cryis,

Thay corrospondit in the skyis,

As wind within a boce                                                                                              300

Quhois cryis and clamours terius,

I compare to the zell,

Of that gret tyke Cyberius,

The cruel hound of hell:

Quhois zouling and gouling,

I haue na will to heir,

Sick singing, and springing,

Is irksum to the eir.


The Arrondell so swift of flight,

Doun on the land richt law did licht,                                                                                 310

So sore he wes oprest:

The Alcions likwais left the See,

And to the schore richt fast culd flee,

For to recouer rest:

The Calicrat that lytle thing,

Bot and the honny Bie,

That wont befoir to skip and spring,

Into the air so hie:

With mumming and bumming.

The Bee now seiks his byke,                                                                        320


Quhils stinging, quhils flinging,

From hole to hole did fyke.


The Cygonie that foul so whyte,

Quhilk at the Serpents hes despyte,

Come granen to the ground,

And Mamuks that byds euer mair,

And feids into the cristall air,

Deid on the fields wer found:

The Gru befoir me thair appeirs,

Quhois legs wer lang and syde,                                                                              330

From the Septentrion quhilk reteirs,

Into the winter tyde:

This foul now did zoull now,

As it had bene ane beist,

Quhils quhinging, quhils cringing,

With paine it wes so preist.


The Tuquheit and the Sterling than,

To gidder with the Pelican,

Flew in an randell richt,

The Piet and the Papingo,                                                                                                   340

With the Goldspink I sa thame go,

Syne laich thay did doun licht:

Behaulding this horribill things,

Almaist my eis grew blind,

To se thair prettie spirtlet wing,

So felterd with the wind:

Dispairit, I stairit,

Vp to the element,

Behalding thair walding,

How thay in ordour went                                                                            350



The Merle and the Mauice trig,

Flew from the bush quher thay did big,

Syne tuke thame to the flicht,

The Osill and the Rosignell,

The Phoenix and the Nichtingell,

Twa fouls baith fair and bricht:

Quhois pretie wing I did persaue,

So spurtlit and so spred,

Thir fouls I couet faine to haue,

So clerlie thay wer cled:                                                                                           360

Thair hew so, furth schew so,

To my twa mortall eis,

That I thair, stud by thair,


Contempling to the treis.


The Stainzell and the Schakerstane,

Behind the laue wer left alane,

With waiting on thair marrows,

The Snype with syndry vther fouls,

With cairfull cryis laments and zouls,

And specially pure Sparrows:                                                                                  370

The meikill fouls were not to mene,

So meikill as the small,

Zit thay did meikill to mentene,

Thair bodies out of thrall:

Fast following with wallowing,

And mony cairfull cry,

Intransit, I pansit,

Thair pains for till espy.


The Hobie and the Hedder bluter,

Aloud the Gæ to be thair tuter,                                                                                          380


Thame to conduct and gyde,

The Cucko and the Coutchet can,

The Lawrock and the litill Wran,

Had sicker be thair syde:

And mairatour I tell to zow,

The Pown I did persaue,

Togidder with the turtill Dow,

The last of all the laue:

This fidder, togidder,

Vnto the wood ar went:                                                                               390

Sum murning and turning,

Into the firmament.


Of ilk perticuler fowle to treit,

It war ouir tedius to repeit

Quhairfore I thocht it best,

In this cathalogue to couene

Ane bonie nomber, bot I mene,

Renouncing all the rest:

Bot as I spak to zow before,

Tuitching the mvltitude,                                                                                         400

I wat thair wes ten thousand score

Of birds and beists maist brude:

To ken thame, or pen thame,

My wit it wes to waik,

Or zit thair, to sit thair,

On sick consaits to glaik.


I wes afflixt in my mynde,

And als with caris I wes inclynd,

To be in sick a stait,

I hapnit in ane wildernes,                                                                                                    410


Quhair I chanst to gang in beges,

Be ganging out the gait:

Vainlie and temerariuslie,

Into that pairt I past,

Bot he that wald faine fairles sie,

Sall find thame at the last:

Belyue syne, aryue syne,

Within the wood did I,

Quhair I ay, did apy ay,

Wild beists fast rynning by.                                                                         420


Fra time I enterd in that pairt,

I sa na passage to depairt,

Nor entrie to win out,

To heir the Wildbeists bray and beir,

My febill flesh did faint for feir,

Na tokin I wes stout:

God wat gif I wes in gret paine,

I wist not quhair to ryn,

Nor zit culd find the gait againe,

First quhair I enterd in:                                                                                            430

Bot tauren and dauren,

Like ane daft doitit fule,

Afflickit and prickit,

With dairts of cair and dule.


How culd I be bot full of cair,

And halflings put into dispair,

So to be left alone,

Quhair I with na man might confar,

Nor zit within ten myls wes nar,

Till ony toune or waine:                                                                                           440


The tempest did continew still,

Thair wes beith weit and wynd,

And EVRVS with loud schouts and schill,

His braith begud to fynd:

With quhewing, renewing,

His bitter blasts againe,

Seueirly, not sneirly,

To you I make it plaine.


The wadder wes not lyke to mend,

Nor zit to draw to ony end,                                                                                                 450

Quhairthrow it micht be fair,

Bot ay the tempest did acres,

And na wais lykin to grow les,

Bot rather to be mair.

The wildbeists crap doun quietly,

The wadder wes so rud,

For thay micht haue no facultie,

To pas and seik thair fud:

The tall beists, the small beists,

Did eit and slae thairfore,                                                                          460

The meikill fouls, the litill fouls,

In likwais did deuore.


The ritch the pureons ay oprest,

I mene the meikillest ay the lest,

Dulsullie did doun thring,

Without all pitie or respek,

Of the inferiours threw the nek,

Quhilk wes an crvell thing:

Gif ony persoun maist prophane,

Wald call sick slaughter syne,                                                                                 470


It may be answert heir agane,

Neid nakit man gars ryne:

Gret neid than, indeid than,

Compeld thame so to do,

Or els thair, thame selfs thair,

For till have perisht to.


Thay culd not do na les indeid,

Seing that thair wes na remeid

Bot ether do or die:

Gif vtherwais thay micht haue done,                                                                                 480

Thay had run furth and socht it sone,

Bot so it micht not bie:

Thair harts with hunger wes so peirst,

That thay behou’d haue fude,

For this caus thay baith socht and serst,

How thay micht haue thair blude:

Begyling and syling,

The eies of syllie beasts,

Thame taking, and making,

Provision for thair feists.                                                                            490


The litill beists maid hauie mane,

With the gret beists to be oretane,

And so to be destroyed,

Thair murning micht thame na thing mend

Bot only thair to make ane end,

Of that quhilk thay enjoyed:

Within that Wildernes desart,

Thair wes grit nomber slane,

The wyld foulis on the vther pairt,

Did play the counterpane:                                                                                       500


Abvsing and vsing,

The small fouls at thair will,

But treitie, or pitie,

Not sparing it to spill.


Sum fled for to saue thame sels,

And vther sum with zouts and zells,

Maist cairfully did cry,

Gif thay had caus our selfis may iuge,

Seing that thair wes na refuge,

How that thay micht win by:                                                                                  510

Bot as the foular casts his cair,

His catch for to preuent,

So thay wer trapit in the snair,

Into an accident:

Still waiting, and gating,

Quhyll thay wer all oretane,

Dispaching and knashing,

In ordour ane and ane.


Than struke ane terror in my mynd,

For to persaue thir pure beists pynd,                                                                                 520

Quhilk micht make na debait,

Gret boucherie and bludshed maid,

About the pairt quhair I abaid,

Sick wes thair wofull stait:

Astonisht I stud trymbling thair,

Forfant for verie feir,

And as the syllie huntit hair,

From ratchis maks reteir:

Quhils rysing, quhils vysing,

Quhils saying to my sell,                                                                             530


My stait now, and gait now,

Apeirs to pass to hell.


I thocht I ay descendit doun,

And so for feir I fell a soun,

But mouing sens or sicht,

For feir and quhat for laik of fude,

My body empty wes of blude:

In me thair wes na micht:

My spreit perturbit wes so sair,

With vysions and with dreims,                                                                               540

That I lay comfortles in cair,

In troublis and extreims:

Quhils demyng, quhils dremyng,

I lay into ane trance,

Quhils panyng, quhils vanyng,

So sudden wes my chance.


My febill corps did faint richt soun,

For I saw neither sun nor moun,

No planets did apeir,

Quhat stakren stait was this to me,                                                                                   550

To be in sick obscuritie,

Gif this wes paine I speir:

Than softlie did I suoufe and sleep,

Howbeid my bed wes hard,

Into ane den profound and deipe,

Quhair I with nane was scard:

Radoting, starnoting,

As wearie men will do.

Svpyring, quhils wyring,

My tender bodie to.                                                                                      560








First in my visioun I saw,

Mountain and Muris orecled with snaw,

And all the bewis maid bair,

And syne I thocht I saw gret Seis,

Quhois michty force NEPTVN dois meis,

As Dominator thair:

The Iland EGEOS I did se,

NEPTVNVS hallowit hill,

Quhilk stands into the Grecian Se,

Quhair fluds dois flow and fill:                                                                               10

Besyde thair, maist wyde thair,

Mount LOCAS micht be sene,


Quhair grows the Marbell greene.


ERIX that monstrus mountaine hie,

Quhois hauture he na quantitie,

As Poets dois report,

This michtie mountaine micht be sene,

Quhairon thair stands an Temple scheene,

Weill buildit thair athort:                                                                                        20

This Temple did the Trojans found,

To VENVS as we read,

The stains thairof wer marbell sound,


Lyke to the Lamer bead:

This muldrie and buldrie,

Wes maist magnificall,

Maist royall and ioyall,

Trim and pontificall.


Qvhair I sat musing mine alone,

Olimpus mont of Macedone,                                                                                              30

I thocht stud me before,

Mont Emus thair apeird to me,

Quhair ORPHEUS leird his harmonie,

And melodiuell lore:

I saw the riuer Tagus to,

Quhair goldin sands did schyne,

Quhair that the Nymphs hes ay ado,

With all the Musis nyne:


Twa Nymphs of gret renoun,                                                                      40

With CLEO and CRATO,

Till Helicone wer boun


The Rochis repercust and rang,

Qvhair that the Tritons plaid and sang,

On trumpis tresexcellent,

Thair PAN plaid on his pleasant pype,

And ORPHEVS on his harpe sicklike,

Ane pretty instrument:

That sound was so celestiall,

And so melodius,                                                                                                      50

Aboue all things terrestriall,

The maist jucundius:

Maist sweitest and meitest,


For wearie men like me,

Whois noying to ioying,

Wes changit suddenlie.


Sick mirthfull menstrellie wes thair,

I wait that never man saw mair,

Into so schort a space,

I musit and I merueld syne,                                                                                                60

To se that hie triumphant tryne,

Of peopill in that place:

Than curiously I did inqvire,

At an quho stud me by,

Quho Prences wes or had impire,

Of that maist fralick fry:

A maid than, me said than,

I sall you tell bedeene,

Our maistres and goddes,

VENVS that lustie Queene.                                                                         70


Quhair boun ye to my friend sche sais,

Astonishtly me think ye gais,

Tell me quhat mouis your mynd,

Gif ze gang wrang I sall ye gyde,

Apearandly thou wanderst wyde,

I se weill be your synd:

For this place is maist perrillus,

And dangerous indeid,

And thir mountains are meruellus,

Quhair all Wyldbeists dois breid:                                                                          80

Maist teribill and horribill,

Is this wanhappy gait,

Sick dangers puts strangers,

Into a stakren stait.



Gif thou go fordward thou sall se,

Neritos with his rochis hie,

Quhair Gyants hes thair hyuis

Thair rochis thou sall se anew,

Quhair HERCVLES the lyon slew,

As VIRGIL weill descryuis:                                                                                      90

Into thir pairts thair nane repairs,

Except it be our sells,

For heir belangs our haill affairs,

As I haue tauld the els:

Bot we than, ye se than,

Nane may make hanting heir,

Vnless now, express now,

To daith thay wald apeir.


Heir is the pairt thou may espy,

Quhair CACVS in his caue dois ly,                                                                                     100

That monster maist seueir,

Vpon his zet deid heids ar hung,

Of agit folke and children young,

Quho had bene walken heir:

This CACVS lyis not heir alon,

Bot mony Gyants mea,

The ofspring zit of GERION

Quhome HERCVLES did slay,

Pocessis and dressis,

Thir placis as thay pleis,                                                                              110

Tormenting and shenting,

Mens blud of all degreis.


I can not tell quhat thou sall do,

Bot take gud tent quhair thou gangs to,


The danger dois draw neir,

The Gyants heir are conuocat,

Agains pure pepill to combat,

Quho happins to cum heir:

Euin as the blind man gangs beges,

In houering far behynd,                                                                                           120

So dois thou dandill in distres,

Quhilk I feir thou sall find:

Bewar now, ore far now,

To pas into this place,

Consydring quhat fydring,

Lyis in your gait alace.


As hils humectat are with dew,

AVRORAS teirs for to renew,

Quhilk TYTAN dois distell,

With sackles blud, quhilk heir is shed,                                                                              130

So ar thir placis haill orespred,

Lamentabill to tell:

Ane pepill maist hyronius,

Rustick ignare and rud,

And na wais Elimosinus,

But buriours in blud:

All hours ay, in bours ay,

Expecting for thiar pray,

With gredur, but dredur,

Awaiting in the way.                                                                                    140


I wish to God gif thou wer than,

Transformd in portrait of a swan,

As IOVE did when dred,

With fedret wings to fle on hie,


So that thou micht on safetie be,

And from all dangers fred:

Gif that thou culd desryue the cairt,

The way thou wald go richt,

Or siluer DIAN do depairt,

The regent of the nicht,                                                                                           150

To fle syne on hie syne,

Out throw the cluddie air:

As bounting vp mounting,

Aboue the fields so fair.


Thir catiff miscreants I mene,

As burious hes euer bene,

Wordie to vilipend,

The practise of thair pariceid,

And barbrus cruell homiceid,

Is not till us vnkend:                                                                                                160

Quhairfore my frend it is my will,

Sum vtherway ye wynd,

For execrabill curst and ill,

Thir catiffs are of kynd:

Surprysing and vysing,

Pure Pilgrims how to trap,

Still lurking in wurking,

Sum mater of mishap.


At lenth this Pilgrim spake againe,

Except with me that ye remain,                                                                                          170

For feir my corps will cule,

Swa feiring thair for to be left,

He of his sensis wes bereft,

Besottit like ane fule:



Quho did descend to hell,

In ane mair troublus Laborith,

Not intricat him sell,

Nor I now, quhairby now,

Experience teichis plain,

Intrusit, and vsit,                                                                                          180

With pepill maist prophane.


Before I come into this cair,

Perplexitie and gret dispair,

With troubill, stryfe and tene,

Wald I had been deuord with daith,

Els in the entrels of the earth,

Intombit till haue been:

Och ATRAPVS, quhair is thy knyfe,

Quhy hes thou me misusd,                                                                                     190

Into relenting of my life,

Quhilk hes bene so abusd:

Wald God now, the rod now,

Of daith wald me deuore,

That deing, my being

Micht here remaine no more.


Better I neuer had bene borne,

Nor live in sic a life forlorne,

Byrning in flams of fier,

My dolor daylie aggrauats,

And cairs so me inuironats,                                                                                                200

That daith I do desire:

Quhen I relat my life alace,

My watrie eies distels,


Considdring my maist cairfull cace,

All plesours that expels:

O deid now, with speid now,

Cum peirs me with thy dairt,

I griue heir, to liue heir,

Sens ans I must depairt.                                                                              210


Seing na ischew till eschew,

My dolor daylie did renew,

Sic madnes did me moue,

Euin as ane persoun in dispair,

My grief aggregis mair and mair,

Without remorse or roue.

Then I begoud to exclamat,

The Gods into my greif,

And quhyls APOLLO imprecat,

To send me sum releif:                                                                                            220

Howbeid than, in neid than,

I at thir Gods socht grace,

In vaine zit, my paine zit.

Gat na releif alace.


APOLLO had compleit his cure,

And so the clouds wer all obscure,

For PHÆBVS cast no licht,

AVRORA raise with sanguine hew,

And so DIANA bad adew,

The Regent of the nicht:                                                                                          230

With this begoud to cleir the skyse,

And mirkness went away,

Fra gentill IVBAR did vprise

The leidstar of the day:


My madnes, and sadnes,

A lytill did decres,

Beleuing, my greuing

Suld turn to sum reles.


As ane abandond man I mene,

Quho for his fact durst not be sene,                                                                                   240

Fering for to be pynd,

So dreiding sum disastrus plat,

In ane concauitie I sat,

Amasit in my mind:

Remembering me of TYPHONS traps,

How he the Gods drew neir,

Compelling thame to change thair schaps,

And fle away for feir:

Fast fering, and dering

That helhound auld and hair,                                                                     250

How he to, micht me to,

Inuolue into his snair.


MEDVSVS heir reamins him sell,

With PHOBITER that furie fell,

VNTO the Gods vnfriends,

This wickit and pernicius pak,

Thair dwelling he in Limbo lak,

With the infernall feinds:

Heir is the house of miserie,

Quhair the condamd remains,                                                                                260

Quhair sauls dois duyne and neuer die,

In sempiternal pains:

Tormentit, and rentit,

Without regard or grace,


Sum lying, sum crying,

Nane to support thair cace.


Ye Potentats and Prencis,

That think it na offensis,

To leid your lyuis in lust,

And ye ô Homiciders,                                                                                                          270

Ye scorners and deriders,

And ye that wrangs the just:

Ye Brigans and ye Bougrers,

Ye spilzers of the pure,

Ye false Iudgis and Occrers,

And ye Murders obdure:

Sum day now, I say now,

Thir torments ye sall taist,

Vnles you, adres you,

For to repent in haist.                                                                                  280


Adulterers and disauers,

Backbyters, misbehauers,

Stand awe for till offend,

Ye spoilzears of the fatherles,

And robbers of the motherles,

Vnto this taill attend:

And ye ô vacabonds maist vane,

And drunkards of all pairts,

And ye ô hypocreits prophane,

That hes disaitfull hairts:                                                                                        290

All tyms ay, thir cryms ay,

Be bissie til amend,

In meriting and heriting,

The heuins into the end.



Euin as the bird into the breir,

Dois cry vpon his saudall deir,

With mony schirm and schattir,

So I to get my Nymph againe,

Expectat thair with meikill paine,

Vnto the tyme I gat hir.                                                                                           300

Amangs the mountains gret and grim,

I socht this Goddes gay:

Quhair I mont Caucasis did clym,

Quhair snaw remains for ay:

Dispairdly, vncairdly,

I hasert ouer the hill,

Allowing, and trowing

To haue obteind my will.


Gret wes the hasert quhilk I tuke,

Gif to the voyage ye wald luke,                                                                                           310

And all the perils pen,

Amang sic monstrus animals,

I mene the cruell canibals,

Quha feids on flesch of men:

Thir barbrus pepill, war not Moirs,

Thair IOVE dois not extoll,

Bot sum the Dælphin torche adoirs,

And sum the Artik poll:

Securely, vnsurely,

Still sleping into syn,

Offending, but mending,                                                                             320

Sic is the race thay ryn.


Than did I dascan with my sell,

Quhidder to heuin or unto hell,


Thir persouns suld pertene,

Quho na wais hes regard of God,

Bot as wyldbeists dois ryn abrod,

Delyting into tene:

I in my mynd againe did pance,

How all was done in sleuth,                                                                                    330

In blindnes and in ignorance,

But knawledge of the truth:

Deploring, and soring,

Thair ignorant estaits,

Quhilk marknes, and darknes,

Pairtlie thair deids debaites.


Than iudge, what dois to sic belang,

As knawis the richt way be the wrang,

And zit the same forbeirs,

Or can we call thame christians richt,                                                                               340

That seis the glorious glancing licht,

Syne to the mirke reteirs:

Sum are like lyons in effect,

Baith barbarus and rud,

And sum like woluis, without respect,

Seking thair nichbours blud:

Sic men than, ye ken than,

Amangs our selfs we se,

As bregers, and tygers,

Delyts in blud to be.                                                                                     350


Ze that your lands delapidats,

And all your actions agitates,

In sic prophane affairs,

Ze Bludsheders and buriours all,


Iust Canibals, men may you call,

As weill your deids declairs:

Thou bluddy man that dois abuse

Thy glore, bot and thy grace,

Quhat can thou find for thy excuse,

At the tribunall place:                                                                                              360

Thy scusic, and rusis,

Sall serue for na effect,

Bot rather, sall futher,

Thy knaifre to detect.


Into that terribill conflict,

Sic feirfull pains my hairt did prick,

As na man micht abyde,

Thair wandring in the corners cauld,

My Nymph I na wais culd behauld,

Amangs the mountains wyd:                                                                                  370

Feir pat my hairt in sic a flocht,

It did me mutch mischeif,

And ay the mair of his I thocht,

The greter grew my greif:

Quhyls wissing, her missing,

Out of my mynd to go,

Zit sadness, and madness,

Did aggrauat my wo.


The mair ye stop the streame within,

With gretter force the flud will ryn,                                                                                   380

As I may weill compair,

Sic fantasie on his I set,

The fainer I wald hir forzet,

Remembrie grew the mair:


O Nymphy, quod I, now to me tell,

Quhy hes thou done this deid,

Into absenting of thy sell,

Fra me in gretest neid:

Draw neir me, and heir me,

Pure catife quhair I cry,                                                                                390

Beseiking, with speiking,

Sum answer to reply.


Euin as the fiche dois take delyte,

Vpon the fichers bait to byte,

Put thairupon expres,

Euin so perchance I seik the thing,

Quhilk may redound to my maling,

Distruction and distres:

Quhyls luking comfort to resaue,

Quhyls luking for a skelp,                                                                                       400

Quhyls dreiding sche suld me disaue,

Quhyls houping for hir help:

Perplexit, and vexit,

Betwixt houp and dispair,

Quhyls transing, quhyls pansing,

How till eschew the snair.


My spreit supirs and sichs maist sair,

Quhen I rement me euer mair,

How godles men begins,

For till associat them sels,                                                                                                   410

With sic as pietie repels,

And dois delyte in sins:

Gif in your counsals ye conclud,

Far placis for to se,


Ken well your company be gud,

So sall ye happy be:

Gret sorrows, and thorrows,

Ill companie procuris,

Forese than, with me than,

This troubill that induris.                                                                            420


Incace men wald record in mynd,

Quhat hes bene wrackit and reuynd,

By siclike menis alace,

Or gif thay wald in mynd incall,

They saying Salamonicall,

Concerning sic a cace:

Or zit the danger understud,

Or culd the perils ken,

Ill companie thay would seclud,

And hant with honest men:                                                                                     430

Atend ye, and mend ye,

That loups befoir ye luke,

In venter, ye enter,

Quhair ye resaue rebuke.


Intill astonishment I stud,

For I na outgait vnderstud,

My mynd was so resolued,

And in my mynd oftimes did think,

How till claps from this Precink,

Quhairin I wes inuolued:                                                                                         440

Quhyls lipning comfort to consaue,

Quhyls lipning ill alace,

In hairt and mynd, ye may persaue,

No sympathy her place:


Quhils dowting, quhils showting,

That she my voce micht heir,

In haist now, this gaist now,

Before me did apeir.


In monstrous maner sche come thair,

As CRUSA did that dame so fair,                                                                                        450

Efter sche wes deceist,

The gifts quhilk did hir corps decore,

And forme quhairin sche wes before,

Is alterd in a beist:

Can this be thou that stands me by,

Into ane beists estait,

Sche answers me, this same is I,

That gydit thee the gait:

Perhaps now, my shap now,

Will mak thee for to feir,                                                                            460

Bot dreid not thou neid not,

Na danger sall the deir.


Than did I cry with loud alace,

Quhair is thy fair and fragrant face,

With thy gold glitring hair,

Quhair are thy cumly cristall eis,

And corall lips beneth thy breis,

With bodie debonair:

Thy cumly corps from end to end,

So clenlie wes inclosd,                                                                                             470

That MOMVS nocht culd discommend,

So weill thou wes composd:

Thy trymnes and nymnes,

Is turnd to vyld estait,


Thy grace to, and face to,

Is alterd of the lait.


I at this spreit begud to speir,

Quhilk in my presence did apeir,

Desiring it to tell,

Gif it that power had of God,                                                                                              480

Quho in his richt hand halds the rod,

Or of the deuill in hell:

The pairt of PROTHEVS thou dois play,

Quho quhyli wes changst in myst,

And culd transforme him selfe I say,

In ony schape he list:

Are ye than, as he than,

Declair the truth to me,


Ane of the furies thre.                                                                                 490


Or art thou cumd of PHOCAMES,

Or of the monster ODITES,

By MOPSIS schot to deid,

Or art thou of EURIPLIS toun,

Quhair wifis wairs horns vpon thair croun,

As Oxin on thair heid:

Or dwells thou in the Horizon,

Aboue all earthly bounds,

Or in the mount of Cocheron,

Quhair echo ay resounds:                                                                                        500

In Achyron or Flagiton,

Thois twa infernall fluds,

Repairs thou, or fairs thou,

With Diabolyk bruds.



Or come thou from dame THETIS lap,

Quhair stout ACHIL resau’d his schap,

As ancient Poets pens,

Or come thou from NEPTVNS field,

Quhair TITAN nichtly hes his beild,

As common pepill kens:                                                                                          510

Quhair PHALEMON repairs expres,

The sonne of IVNO Queene,

With ald COLANTVS hes exces,

NEPTVNVS courtiours kene:

Remane ye, or trane ye,

On see so far of schore,

Or vse ye, or mvse ye,

With them reherst before.


Thocht strange this purpos will apeir,

That mortal men demand or speir,                                                                                    520

At spreits that be vnclene,

Let na man maruell in his mynd,

For God that al things hes inclynd,

Permits thir things I mene:

He is the Lord of Sea and Land,

Quha dantons all indeid,

And hes the bridle in his hand,

Quhilk halds them by the heid:

Commanding thair standing,

Thair actions and exces,                                                                              530

His richt now, and micht now,

Commands thame mair and les.


Nor maruell not, thocht I demand,

The veritie til vnderstand,


Concerning spreits that be,

How sum are hingand in the air,

Sum in the earth and fields so fair,

And sum into the See:

This Royall King of all renoun,

Knawis quhat he hes ado,

For quhen that LVCIFER fell doun,                                                                                    540

Thir spreits descendit to.

Thy glore now, the more now,

Is kend ô potent God,

In schawing and blawing,

Thy potent power abrod.


Concerning spreits quhairof I spake,

Sum lyis into the Limbo lake,

Perplexit with wo and pane,

Sum lyis belaw, and some aboue,                                                                                       550

This is na paradox I proue,

The mater is maist plane:

O thou gret God, our onlie schield,

In quhome we do rejose,

Conduct us to ELISIAN field,

Quhair gud spreits dois respose:

That we ay, may be ay,

Conductit be thy grace,

In pureness, and sureneis,

In Heuin to haue our place.                                                                        560




Nota. The three foregoing Poems were writ by John Burel Burgess in Edinburgh; in the Year 1590, the same Year in which Captain Alexander Montgomery wrote the Cherry and the Slae.



Sir Thomas Maitland’s Satyr


Sir Niel Laing, who was a Priest, and

one of the Pope’s Knights, about,

the Time of the Reformation.


Canker’d, Cursed Creature, Crabbed,

Corbit Kittle,

Buntin-ars’d, Beugle-back’d, Bodied like

a Beetle;

Sarie Shitten, Shell-padock, ill shapen Shit,

Kid-bearded Gennet, all alike great:

Fiddle-douped, Flindrikin, Fart of a Man.

Wa worth thee, Wanwordie, Wanshapen



Sir John the Grahame’s Epitaph in Latin,

with it’s Translation.


Mente Manuque Potens, & Vallæ fidus


Conditur hic Gramius, Bello interfectus ab



Here lies the Gallant Grahame, Wallace true


Who cruellie was murthered, by the English





Upon the MARRIAGE of

MARY Queen of Scots,


Dauphin of France,

Afterwards FRANCIS II.


Done from the Latin of BUCHANAN

By ****


WHAT sudden Heat inspires my lab’ring


Why Phœbus, long a Stranger, now so kind?

Parnassus Grove, which had forbore to Sing,

Does with revived IO PÆANS ring.

Of late, I mind the Laurels wither’d were,

My Pray’rs to Muses, vanish’d in the Air:

Mercurius and Apollo, Gods of Wit,

Were stunn’d, as with a Melancholy Fit.

Now Phœbus Shrines are patent, and the sound

Of Mistic Oracles break from the Ground;                                                                        10

The Muses, with fresh Bays, adorn the Brow,

And ne’re were seen more Prodigal than now.

Their fields are gay, their Waters flow amain,

Their Woods, with verdant Beauty grace the




If Fame err not, Great Sir, the splendid


This mighty Change is wrought to Honour


Whose worthy of the Muses Care,

If we recount the Triumphs gian’d in War

By Your Ancestors, or the Calm of Peace

Devoted unto Arts and Sciences.                                                                                        20

‘Tis an undoubted Truth; hence publick Joys,

With loud Applause, invade the Azure Skies:

Nothing is heard but Jollity and Love,

Which through the universal Mass doth move.

Hymen is come, with him the Happy Day,

So long expected, chaseth Night away.


You’ve got, Most Noble Dauphin, your


What more cou’d Heav’ns bestow, or Man


No longer Blame your Stars, nor dull Delay,

Nor Sun nor Moon, for cutting slow their                                                                         30


For all Demurrs, you’re largely recompenc’d,

Which had the Heav’ns to former Times


The Grecian had not mourn’d his ravish’d Wife

No Trojan in the Quarrel lsot his Life,

And without hunder Part so much ado,

Venus to Paris had been just and true:

She had to him the fairest Woman giv’n

That e’re was drawn by Art, or fram’d by



A Prize indeed fit for him to have ta’en,

And for Combining Greece to seek again.                                                                         40

Nor is your Zeal short of the Trojan Prince,

Or Grecian, in your Spouse’s just Defence,

But kindly the indulgent Pow’rs above,

Gave you at Home an Object of your Love

That Passion which with Infancy began,

Took firmer Root still, as you grew to Man,

You by no Proxy, as most Monarchs, woo’d:

Which aggrandizes distant Qualities,

And basely sneaks when they approach the                                                                      50


No Sighs no Am’rous Billets you did vent,

Nor fear’d divulging of the Message sent:

Your own dear Self the God-like Nymph sur-


A constant Witness what she Did or Said.

Your Flame did not from Luxury arise,

Which uncontroul’d o’er-leaps all Legal Ties,

From youthful Passion, or unruly Heat,

But from a Virtue, than her Sex more Great,

From piercing Wit that in her early shin’d,

And bashful Modesty with Sceptres join’d,                                                                       60

From Divine Features, an unsampled Grace,

Which darted conqu’ring Beauty from her Face


AVANT Uncertain, and a ling’ring Care,

Your utmost Wishes to your Sight appear:

The mellow Fruits you coveted so long,

You may now gather, unafraid of Wrong:


No coy delusive Visions of the Night

Shall make you fret at your abused Sight:

The Marriage-God will now conjoin your


In the sure Ties of Sacred Nuptial Bands:                                                                         70

Ere long you may in soft Embraces twine,

Snatch Balmy Smacks, and somewhat more


How violent so ere be your Desire,

Let Moderation quench the blazing Fire:

Let others share with you the Happy Day,

You shall the Lovely Night alone enjoy;

Yet all its Sweets you shan’t Monopolize,

We in conjunction with you must rejoice:

We to the Gods with Vows and Pray’rs have


And pious Off’rings to their Altars brought;                                                                     80

Whatever Passion mov’d you, mov’d us too;

And thus we Imitate whate’er you do.

With great difficulty could we digest

These loath’d Retardments did your Bliss


Since now kind Heav’n, doth solid Mirth be-


A general Gladness dimples ev’ry Brow:

Such pond’rous Joys Mens trembling Heart-

Strings wear,

Too strong for weak Mortality to bear.


THRICE Happy Pair, Born in a lucky time,

And in a luckier Marry’d in this Clime:                                                                             90


The World’s united Harmony conspires

To feed your Hopes and favour your Desires,

And may you lead a long Triumphant Life

Marr’d by no Blemish of Domestick Strife.

If some Impostor Genius do not move

My Breast, there’s nothing can disjoin your


That Love, join’d by the Sacred Ties of Blood,

Friendship, and Leagues, and Laws, and all

that’s Good.


ADVANCE then to your Bliss, Illustrious


Let not the publick Vows and Prayers b’in vain:                                                              100

You first, Great DAUPHIN, whose Heroic Veins

The richest Stock of Royal Blood contains,

Embrace, with all the Vigour of your Mind,

The most Accomplish’d Lady of her Kind:

By Birth of your Cousin, and your Spouse by Law;

Made by her Sex of you to stand in awe,

Yet, by your Choice, o’er you to carry sway:

Who thro’ strong Love, her Beauty must obey,

By Parents Will, and helpful Aid of Life,

Design’d by Birth and Virtue for your Wife,                                                                     110

And Beauty plighted, Faith and Love, which


Together all the rest, and them units.

IF these bright Goddesses by Paris seen

Of old, upon Mount Ida’s shady Green,

Shou’d, with joint Care, you with a Spouse


Cou’d your vast Wishes crave a Nobler Bride?


If Matchless Beauty your Nice Fancy move,

Behold an Object worthy of your Love?

How loftily her Stately Front doth rise?

What gentle Lightning flashes from her Eyes?                                                                 120

What awful Majesty her Carriage bears?

Maturely Grave, even in her tender Years.


THUS outwardly Adorn’d, her Sacred Mind

In purest Qualities comes not behind:

Her Nature hath the Seeds of Virtue sow’n,

By Moral Precepts to Perfection grown:

Her wisdom doth all Vicious Weeds controul,

Such Force hath right Instruction on the Soul.


ARE you Ambitious of an Ancient Line,

Where Heraulds make the Pompous Branches                                                                130


She can a Hundred MONARCHS reckon o’er,

Who in a Race unbroke, the Royal Sceptre bore:

What House, of such Antiquity can boast,

Where full Two Thousand Years in Time

are lost?

Tempest’ous Storms have oft the Land assail’d;

Yet Foreign Conquest never here prevail’d:

What Story tells, or what Romance dare feign,

Compar’d with This, is of a Modern Strain.


ARE you affected with an Ample Dowr;

Take all the Scots, with all their Martial Pow’r.                                                                140

I shall not here describe the Fruitful Soil,

Which copiously rewards the Lab’rer’s Toil;


The Mines of Brass and Lead; how Hill & Plain

Are fill’d with Beasts, as Waves with Scaly Train;

Nor shall I sing, what Iron we command;

How Golden Ore lies mixt with common Sand;

How from Mattalier Veins the Streams so run;

These are admired by the Mob alone,

Or such who with vile Avarice possest,

The more their Wealth augments, for more                                                                     150

they thirst.


These Glories do the Valiant SCOTS com-


To which no Rival Nation must pretend;

In Hunting, bravely they surround the Woods;

And Swimming, with Address divide the Floods;

Nor Heat, nor Cold, nor Hunger them appal,

Their Bodies are their Country’s firmest Wall;

Their love of Fame, is than of Life more great;

What once they promise is of fixed Fate;

None more the Rights of Friendship do regard,

And love the Person, not his bright Reward.                                                                    160


By such like Arts, when Bloody War was


With fatal Desolation through the World,

And Nations did their Ancient Laws forgo,

Because the Victors needs would have it so;

The SCOTS alone their pristine Rights enjoy’d

And Liberty, for which they Nobly dy’d.

Here stopt the Gothic Fury; here was croft           }

The Saxon Brav’ry and the Danish Lust,                }

And all th’Efforts which Normandy cou’d boast   }


IF you the mouldy Annals will survey,                                                                  170

The Roman Conquest here was at a Bay,

Their Eagles which to Southern Countries flew

And in Revenge the rugged Parthians slew,

Whose Flights th’ Egyptian Heats cou’d not


Nor all the chilling Damps of Frozen Rhine;

When they to CALEDONIA did resort,

Their Pinions mouldred, and their Arms fell


When Romans had with other Realms to do,

A ridge of Mountains limited the Foe,

Or some huge River interpos’d his Arms,                                                                          180

Or Frontier Woods and Wastes secur’d from


These peaceful Bars, by Nature fram’d had been;

But Art, to keep off SCOTLAND, was call’d in.

A costly Wall and Trench Assistance lend,

Which did a Cross from Sea to Sea extend.

Victorious Rome did other nations drive

From their old Seats, or forc’d them meanly live,

With all the Marks of Servitude opprest,

Eternal Drudges, unacquaint with Rest:

But here she rais’d (to keep her own content)                                                                  190

A Mound, the SCOTS Incursions to prevent:

Despairing to Advance, the Cause she yields,                  }

And to God Terminus a Temple builds,                             }

Where Caron’s Waves glide through the                           }

Fruitful Fields.


THINK not these daring Sons of Mars, inur’d

To Arms, have all the Liberal Arts abjur’d;

When barb’rous Foes the Roman Bounds o’er-


Thither the Muses for Protection fled:

Hence Greek & Roman Learning in full Store                   }

By Charlemain to France was wafted o’re,                         }                                               200

And planted throve as on their nat’ral Shore:                   }

That Charlemain who liv’d and reign’d so well

In Goodness as in Greatness did excel,

That willing Nations own’d him for their


And join’d to Gallick Flow’rs th’ Imperial Bird:

This Emperour demm’d it no abusing Thing

To strick a League with CALEDONIA’s King,

A League with neither Dint of Sword can


Nor wild Sedition from it’s Center shake,

No mad Desire of Sway can give it Date,                                                                           210

But only the resistless Pow’r of Fate.


REVIEW your Triumphs since that famous


And all Confed’rats which e’re engage

To ruine France, France never won the Day,

Unless where Scotish Souldiers cut the Way:

France scarcely ever felt a dismal Blow,

Bot Floods of Scotish Gore the Fields o’reflow,

This People shar’d their Fortunes ev’ry Turn

With France they’re jovial, and with France

they mourn:

Swords threat’ning France they on themselves                                                                220

have drawn,

A Truth to Dutch and English fully known,


Witness the Po where Phaeton lay slain,

And Naples oft contended for in vain.


THIS Dowr is brought you by the Royal


The noblest Dowry ever Mortal paid,

A Nation trusty to the last Degree,

And leagu’d to yours in strictest Amitie:

And happy Omen of a Cordial Bed,

A Nation never fully conquered,

Tho’ tost with many Perills:  Hence doth rise                                                                   230

A sure Presage of future Victories.


BUT You fair Nymph, to whom propitious


A match most worthy of your self has giv’n,

The Charming Wit and Beauty do conspire,

And all the Graces which the World admire,

Themselves with anxious Consultations vex,

To dress you up the Model of your Sex.

Tho’ he whom Mankind wish’d to fill the


Inferior to his God-like Sire alone,

Tho’ he to you the Royal Scepter vail,                                                                               240

And owns you for the Empress of his Soul.

Yet know your Sex, and to the Marriage


Innure your self, which galls the more its,


Your sympathizing Love with Love constrain;

And passive Valour will a Conquest gain.


BEHOLD the foaming Ocean how he roars,

And on with-standing Rocks his Billows pours,

With such vast Force his raging Waves are


The Clifts almost from the Foundation torn;

But where the Shore in humble Sand is bow’d,                                                                250

And makes a pleasant Lodging for the God,

He checks his full Carreer & curbs his Pow’r,

Strives to be less, that he may please the more.

No sullen Frowns his angry Brows invest,

Nor froathing Menaces disturb his Breast,

But with a Visage calm, serene, and clear,

Such at the Birth of Nature did appear,

He shuns the Bank, and gliding back, apace

Comes foreward with a Lover’s mild Embrace.


SEE how the mantling Ivy doth in-fold                                                                 260

Her tender Leaves, and on an Oak takes hold,

Till with the tall aspiring Tree she rise,

And both together reach the wond’ring Skies:

Complying Arts will Sulleness enhaunce,

And Love is got and kept by Complaisance.


LET not these fonder Thoughts molest your


Your Country and your Mother’s left behind,

This too’s your Native Soil, what Shoals of


And Kindred on your Nuptial Pomp attends?

A long blest Race of Monarchs here have                                                                          270


To whom in Blood you nearly are ally’d:


Look round, all are a Kin where e’re you tread,

The Mighty living, and the Mightier dead,

Whose Actions have immortaliz’d their Name,

And stuck their Merits in the Rolls of Fame:

Besides there’s One behind doth you expect,

Compar’d to whom all else you must neglect,

The Fairest, Bravest of the Royal Line,

By Birth almost a Brother Uterine;

Or any Thing that Laws do bid us prize,                                                                           280

Or Nature stronger than all Legal Ties.


Now if the Gods do not our Vows deceive,

And we too fondly what we wish believe,

A numerous Progeny from you shall spring,

Which may your Love to firm Consistence


Such pretty Boys & Daughters be your Share,                   }

One Smile of whom may banish all your care                   }

Sons, as the Father, Brave; Girls, as the

Mother, Fair.


Grant me ye Destinies to live so long,

Till France and Scotland’s Union be my Song:                                                                  290

An Union which may Time and Death defy,

And with the Stars have Co-eternity.




Nota. In April 1558. Was the Dauphin Married to

the Queen of Scotland, which was honoured by an Epi

thalmium written by Buchanan, reckon’d to be one of

the rarest Pieces of Latin Poetry.

Burnet’s Abridg. of the Hist. of the Reformat. P.331.



William  Lithgow,

Writer in Edinburgh,


E P I T A P H.


Edinburgh may say, Ohon,

And so may Leith and Sand-hutton,

Melross-land and Dolphingstoun

But what Remeed,

All they can do, is to bemoan

Will. Lithgow’s Dead.


He was a sturdie Man of Weir,

And never Lordlie of his Geir,

He lap as well as any Steer,

Withouten dread;                                                                                                     10

But now he’s laid into his Bier,

Poor Willie’s Dead.


Galstoun-side and Darnick Town

Was never free of Thief and Lown,

Where Willie did his Sorrows drown

In Time of Need:


Had they him yet, they would him Crown,

But Oh he’s Dead.


To Melross Abbacy he went,

To pay the Minister his Stent,                                                                                             20

Who said to him, Y’are welcome Bent

To say your Creed;

Pray taste this Brandy to me sent,

It’s mild as Meed.


Tom Drouth and he was Billie-Boyes,

They took their Pint in Willie-Hoyes

With Isobel Stumpie and her Decoyes,

And few their Seed:

But now he’s left these idle Toyes,

For he is Dead.                                                                                                          30


Each Day when he came from his Bed,

Tom Drouth through Ale-houses him led

Where he the Lasses Legs did shed,

With fow great Speed;

Hame was he carried on a Sled,

But now he’s Dead.


So prettilie as he did Dance,

And how the Lasses he did Launce,

At ev’ry Step he mocked France,

That broken Reed:                                                                                                    40

But now poor Will, lies in a Trance,

For he is Dead.


He was good Company at Jeists,

And wanton when he came to Feasts,


He scorn’d the Converse of great Beasts

Or a Sheep-head,

He leugh at Stories about Ghaists,

Blyth Willie’s Dead.


He fotched sometimes thrice a Day,

Like Robin Ormston that Lump of Clay,                                                                            50

He flourish’d then like a green Bay

With upborn Head;

But now he’s vanisht quite away,

For he is Dead.


Good-fellows they took great Delight

To see him bark but never bite,

He belthred so as he did flyte,

Shaiking his Head,

At every Word he gave a Steyt,

But now he’s Dead,                                                                                                   60


Will. Keir and Jamie Clerk him knew,

And sua did all that drunken Crew,

He would not rich be as a Jew,

He wanted Greed,

For he was alwise just and true,

But now he’s Dead.


At length his Wife fell to her Tricks,

She haunted Limmers and great Licks,

She drank with them and priev’d their

But any Dread,                                                                                                          70

He valued her as rotten Sticks

Which was his Dead.



His Wife was also (as all are) Bad

She sold away all that he had,

Which broke his Heart and made it sad,

And cold as Lead;

Yet he was ay an honest Lad,

But now he’s Dead.


Ye Gentlemen that given be

To Bacchus and sweet Lecherie,                                                                                         80

Now take Example when you see

Your Neighbour bleed:

As Willie is so must you be,

Alace! he’s Dead.







Country-house and Closet.


By Sir GEORGE MACKENZIE of Rosehaugh,

Advocate to K. Charles II. and K. James VII.


[The Author invokes Friendship as his Muse.]

I SING no Triumphs, no such empty Things,

‘Tis Solid Friendship gives me Theme and


Friendship! that wiser Rival of Vain Love,

Which does more Firm, tho’ not so Fiery prove;

My Subject, thou the Muse whom I invoke,

Fire thou my Breast, but fire it without Smoke:

If thou my Thoughts wilt ripen with thy


Around my Brows shall spring Immortal Bays.

Virgil himself hath of me no such Odds,

As Friendship of his Cæsar and his Gods:                                                                         10

Friendship’s as strong, tho’ rarer than of old,

And does like Fire in Winter grow more cold.

I’ll Rise, I’ll Rise then, by a tow’ring Flight

Above my own, tho’ far below its Height:

I can my Thoughts, but cannot raise my


There’s too much Merit in her Charming



As Warmth doth Flow’rs, so Beauty ripens


And makes Men Think what’s High, and Say

what’s Fit.

Yet, Gentle Muse, let not thy Zeal conspire,

With Cælia’s Eyes, to set the World on Fire,                                                                    20

Lest her Adorer thou her Victim turn:

A Poet’s Flame should Warm, but should not



[The Palace]


UPON a Plain, where nothing bounds the


But what could Please without Variety,

A Palace, on a small Ascent, doth stand,

And views those Vallies which it doth com-


Long Rows of Orange-trees upon each Side,

The wond’ring Eye to that great Palace guide:

Betwixt which Rows, most pleasant Ponds

they see,

Which with the Avenue in Length agree.                                                                          30

Neptune with’s Trident on the Brink doth stand,

Prouder those, than the Ocean to Command:

Glaucus his Galatea does admire,

And in cool Waters feeds his Scorching Fire;

But whilst he Angles in these pleasant Lakes,

He’s more a Captive than the Fish he takes.

Two little Cupids, with a trembling Hand,

Cover their Ears, lest Triton, who does stand


Sounding his Shelly Trumpet, should them


For nothing more, than Noise does Love                                                                          40


Over those Ponds, th’inclining Trees do look,

Making a Mirror of the Glassy Brook:

Those fleecy Clouds, the Bottles of the Rain

Beget their Likeness on the Wat’ry Plain.

The dazling Sun baths there his scorching


As if he wash’d his Spots in those pure Streams.

Here our Antipodes our Fancy sees,

And Fishes seem to nestle in the Trees:

Whilst others of them Swim upon the Sky,

And Birds, at once, here and above do fly:                                                            50

Their Surface does, as pav’d with Cristal show,

Whilst we see curious Landskip drawn below.

But when those Waters shew their Lady’s Face,

The World can boast of no such Picture-Case.

There Pleasure does the Swans and Wild-ducks


Who, on their Beds of Down, rest in the Stream:

The scaly Flocks dance in the yielding Deep,

And with the warbling Birds the Cadence keep;

Like Beams lanc’t from the Sun, themselves,

they dart,

So swift, that they appear in ev’ry Part.                                                                             60


[The Wood.]


A Wood does Warm or Shade it’s either



In which the Trees do rise with equal Pride,

And to the Heavens, like Arms, their Branches


To thank these for the Rain by which they’re


Here wander those whom Love hath led astray;

But her they shun they still find in their Way:

To him whose Heart this conqu’ring Passion


Each Hill, each Tree, the Charming Image


And as with ev’ry Thing we still see Light,

So whatsoe’er we see, she’s still in Sight:                                                                           70

Each Tree’s a Cage and Consort, where we


How Liberty the very Birds does chear:

‘Tis not the Spring does them to Singing move,

But they do Sing because they’re then in Love:

Love on Gray Hairs a blooming Youth can


For Love is Nature’s Musick, Youth and Spring:

Like Youth ‘tis Gay, it like to Musick charms,

And, like the Spring, from Rigidness it warms.

In those sweet Fields, the Happy Shepherds


And, by their Looks, Speak more than we                                                                         80

can Say;

No Thought nor Face needs her a Cheating


What True Love Thinks, Kind Nature does


O! how they Laugh at Favours Bought and



And scorn the Triumphs of bewitching Gold:

May no edg’d Tool, those Friendly Boughs


Which eager Raptures of charm’d Lovers



[Her Father’s Statue.]


Above the Gate, her Father’s Statue stands,

Whose Actions did exceed his great Commands,

Whose Friendship, like his Wit, was Just and


He would not do, nor could he suffer Wrong:                                                                  90

In War, like Fire which spacious Forrests burns,

And make great Wastes where e’re its Fury


In Peace he, Angel-like, Respect did draw,

By Merit, and by Love, kept Men in Awe.

Courage did to his Reason give an Edge,

And Reason smooth’d what Courage had of


His Courage thus was Wise, his Reason Bold,

This Cool’d its Heat, That Warm’d what was

too Cold.


[The Gardens]


SPREAD to the East, embroider’d Gardens ly,

O’er which the Sun looks with a Fruitful Eye,                                                                  100

As his sweet Offspring, and seems to be vain,

That Glorious Solomon and all his Train

Were, by the greatest Master, thought outdone


By these Robes he had for the Lillies spun.

Here he doth all his Morning Blushes place

Upon a Rose’s, or a Tulip’s Face,

Whilst others of his Rays, with pow’r, are sent

The Pinks and fragrant July-flow’rs to paint,

And all the Whiteness that he can exhale

From her fair Cheeks, he lessen’d, does let fall                                                                110

On the Narcissus, but it here looks pale,

Asham’d thus from the Origine to fail.

Here Labyrinths so please, that we may doubt

If Art or Pleasure hinder getting out.

A Fountain-Nymph darts Water up on high,

And from the Centre doth the Garden spy,

Which doth with Eden in all things agree,

Save that its Mistress will not tempted be.


[An Artificial Rock]


SHE here an Artificial Rock hath rais’d,

By which, ev’n whilst we’re Cheated, we are                                                                     120


Here Nature’s equal’d, future Art defy’d,

No Lady’s Glass could have more justly ly’d.

Here do the Melancholy Pleasure find,

And Print their Thoughts upon the Mossy


From this the Bearded Streams do fall from


And as they bruised were, they Roar and Cry.

In other Rocks, wel busk’d with Trees, Birds


Some Court, some Sing, some Fly, and some

few rest.



[A Multiplying Echo]


AN Echo ready to repeat her Words,

With many Mouths a sweet Return affords;                                                                     130

And whilst she Sings, they do in Consort sound,

Her Words so please her, that they all rebound.

The Balmie Morning there doth early rise,

Deck’d with the Glories of the Eastren Skies:

But seeing far more Orient in her Face,

It. Blushing, does retire to give them Place.

The Happier Sun does rise in Pride and Haste,

That he his Eyes may on that Wonder Feast,

By which impregnate with more radiant Light,

He in fresh Lustre, soars a higher Flight:                                                                          140

But from that Height, seeing her Glories shine,

He bows in Homage, hasting to decline,

And to the other World does wisely run,

So great a Rival of his Light to shun.


[The Praise of a Country Life.]


O HAPPY Country Life, Pure like their Air,

Free from the Rage of Pride, the Pangs of Care,

Here Happy Souls ly bath’d in soft Content,

And are at once Secure and Innocent:

No Passion here but Love; Here is no Wound

But that by which Lovers their Names con-                                                                      150


On Barks of Trees, whilst with a smiling Face

They see how these kind Letters still embrace.

Here the kind Myrtles their sweet Branches



And sure no Laurel casts so sweet a Shade.

Yet all these Country Pleasures, without Love,

Would but a dull and tedious Prison prove:

But Oh! what Woods, Parks, Meadows, Gar-

dens ly

In the blest Circle of a Mistress Eye;

What Courts, what Camps, what Triumphs

do we find

In her sweet Converse, when she will be kind.                                                                 160

And what a dull thing should this World have


If charming Beauties were not to be seen;

For when we miss fair Cælia in this Place,

Her Absence does it Ruine and Disgrace.


[The Closet.]


To find Defects, or with Additions, here,

Does equally Impossible appear.

From this then, to her Closet, I’ll retire;

For what she Loves we justly may Admire:

The Rooms Quadrangle, and the Walls do rise

With so much Justness in their Squares and                                                                     170


That two Impressions by the self same Seal

Do not in all their Lines accord more well.

She in her Floor doth trample under Foot

A Glob, in rich Mosaick Marble cut:

As her Thoughts do, what that does represent,

Not like us ravish’d with It, tho’ content;

From Heav’n, which the rich Roof does re-


A Cristal Candlestick seem to be sent.



[Our Saviour’s Picture.]


OUR Saviour there so Living seems to be,

He Calvin could oblige to bow his Knee;                                                                           180

The Painter cut so deep his bleeding Wounds,

That Art and Grief, both please us and


Yet, Lord, when I these Wounds thus bleeding


I must conclude they bleed at Sight of me;

I in Thy Death o’er-act this fatal Part

Who pierc’d Thy Side, for I do pierce Thy


Upon His Head there stands a Crown of


Design’d for Torture, but He it adorns;

And since for us, the Earth was curs’d with


He bears them as the Marks of our Disease.                                                                     190

In the Floods of His Blessed Tears, I see

The Image of what’s due to Sin and me:

The Pencil here, like Aaron’s Rod, doth smite

Our Rocky Hearts, and we weep with Delight:

I fear these Tears the Painter here doth spread,

Are far more real than the Tears we shed,

Since our Hearts break not at so great a Wonder,

Which did the Rocks and Temple rent asunder.


[The Virgin Mary.]


A WELL cut Cristal, in a richer Case,


Covers and Shews at once that Virgin’s Face;                                                                   200

Who flies, yet gets from Mankind such Respect,

That seems Idolatry, or else Neglect.


[The Infant.]


THE Infant JESUS, looks so in her Arm,

As if the Painter had Him taken warm

Up from the Craddle; Art so deludes the Eye,

That men expect still when to hear Him Cry.


[Mary Magdalen.]


SAD Magdalen does here more Pity move

Than formerly she did Delight or Love:

She washes now, with constant Tears those


Which were Unfortunate in Victories;                                                                              210

And in those Streams, she nobly makes Expire

Her roving Humour and her fatal Fire:

In that Bless’d Brine she doth her Soul preserve,

Her Tears, as Pearls, for Ornament her serve:

The Floor now with these lovely Locks is


In which, as Chains, her Gallants once she


Cælia from this, most wisely does observe,

That whilst we God, our Fame we likewise,


For to this Magdalen half Europe bows,

And, with Respect, Make and Perform their                                                                     220



Nor is there any can some Tears deny

Seeing so many fall from her fair Eye.

The Book of Life gives a more lasting Name,

Than the much toil’d for Register of Fame.


[A Hermitage & Landskip.]


A REVEREND Hermite under an aged Oak,

Our Pity may, and Piety provoke:

Besides his Tears, he nothing there can sow,

Yet Herbs for Food, do by that Wat’ring grow.

The Rocks, as melting with Compassion, weep,

In these cool Cellars he his Drink doth keep:                                                                   230

No bruised Grape bleeds from his Cup; no


Needs, to preserve his, take Anothers Life:

No murder’d Beast does in his Bowels groan,

As if it did its own Death there bemoan;

Nor in Revenge, Fevers and Gouts do raise,

Glad to assist each Mutinous Disease:

All his own Flesh in Sacrifice is spent,

And when he Feasts, ‘tis on our hardest Lent.

He in the Bosom of a Grove does sit,

Where neither Sun’s, nor Envy’s Rage can hit:                                                                 240

As Mysteries do Truth, so Groves do Light,

Not Darken, but Conceal from Human Sight:

Whence ‘twas in Groves the Pagans did of old

Their Sacred Rites and Mysteries unfold.

Here, in a Soul vast like the strecht out Spheres,

He rolls Thoughts greater than what Atlas



Nothing that’s less than God shares in his


In whom the least Thing he admires is Thunder.

And whilst his Thoughts mount on Seraphick


He sees the World and Fame as little things:                                                                   250

He courts not Sleep, with soft Melodious Airs,

Nor in benumming Wine needs drown his


The rich pil’d Grass gives him a Velvet Bed,

And Trees afford him Curtains in their Shade.

What Crowned Head rests in such blessed State,

Or so confines his Wishes to his Fate.


[A Death’s Head.]

NEXT to her Mirror, a Death’s Head takes


That shews what is; This what shall be her


And sure it needs great Faith to make her think,

The Face she bears, to what she sees, can shrink:                                                            260

And it may seem, that when fair Cælia dies


She Better may, but not more Lovely Rise.


[Charles the First.]


GREAT Charles! God’s Noblest Image a-

mong Men,

Whose Life deserves his own most matchless


His Life was the best Law a King could make,

Much Liberty he gave, but none did take.


God-like his Pow’r he us’d in doing Good,

Less careful of his own, than Subjects Blood:

No Blood less Sacred could atone the Crimes

Of those Rebellious and Blasphemous Times,                                                                 270

Above all Martyrs in this Magnified

They for Religion; but it with him Dy’d,

This fixes that blest Race which long has stood;

Great by its own but Greater by this Blood:

This for Reward a matchless Son did bring,

Heav’ns only Govern’d by a Better King;

And such as cannot under him be free

To Knaves and Fools should slaves for ever be.

Freted Religion sickens into Zeal

That Holy Fever of the Common-well,                                                                              280

By this sweet Name false Men their Rage


And not to God, but Molech Sacrifice.

Making their Enemies pass through a Fire,

They do their Offerings kindle by their Ire.



NEXT Charles, Grave Seneca does choose his


The Greatest Preacher that e’er wanted Grace;

Bearing these Looks, each whereof was a Law,

Which the Rude World and Nero kept in Awe;

Till he in’s Lust himself and Rome did Burn,

Leaving bare Walls to be that Cities urn.                                                                          290

Vertue’s but Pedantry when we oppose

A Princes will, these Counsellors are Foes:

Nor can a Tyrant learn at a cheap Rate,

Since his first Tutor is his adverse Fate.



[Julius Cæsar.]


THERE we with Awe, see Cæsar’s Laurell’d


Who all the World but one Poor Trophy made;

He gave the Law to all, to Kings a Name,

And did force Virtue to submit to Fame:

What e’er his Eyes did see, his Sword did gain,

For he like Fate, did never wish in vain.                                                                            300

Rome under him, was ne’er so Great nor Low,

For he did Chains and Crowns on it bestow:

For each kill’d Roman, he to Rome did bring

An Enslav’d State, or an Enthralled King:

But when by Vict’ries he was ripe to be

Great Pompey’s Victim, then he fell as he:

And yet no Crime could Cæsar bring so low,

That he could fall, but by a Senate’s Blow.

Great Men can boast, that ev’n their Adverse


Must ruine them in Solemn Pomp and State.                                                                   310



AN other Picture shews us Pompey’s Head,

Which that great Name allows not to be Dead:

Not Death it self could make this Face look Pale,

It was the Gasping of the Common-weall:

Nor was it Pity sure, but Cæsar’s Fears

Which on the Sight of it provok’d his Tears:

Pompey no Pity needs, Cæsar cou’d see

In these Grim Looks, Rome’s Mur’dred



But when he to the Gods was known Above,

They to revenge him did just Brutus move:                                                                      320

Nor cou’d they put their Sword in Juster


For his Obedience Hallow’d their Commands.




NEXT him stands Cato, to whose Sacred


Rome’s Freedom fled for shelter when distrest:

And least it should have fall’n in Cæsar’s Pow’r,

He in his own Great Heart open’d a Door

Fo it’s Escape, that it to Heav’n mght fly,

And wait till Cæsar should by Brutus dy.

The World to his deep Judgement so did trust,

That his sole Vote declared Pompey Just.                                                                          330

Here he ‘gainst Fate and Cæsar did prevail,

And still to Cato lay the last Appeal.




MONTROSE his Countrie’s Glory and its


Who equall’d Cæsar in all Things save Fame:

His Heart,, tho’ not his Country, was as Great

As his, and he fell by a Nobler Fate:

Montrose did fall his Country to redress,

But Cæsar, whilst he did Just Rome oppress.

Duty on Valour stamps a Just Renown,

‘Tis as great to support as wear a Crown.                                                                          340





HERE Cleopatra shews those conqu’ring


Which Anthony esteem’d a greater Prize

Than Rome’s Empire: this Passion did exceed

All Things, save these bright Eyes which did

it feed:

And yet in that Brave Death whereby she fell,

She shew her Love her Beauty did excel:

Some Cæsar do for Slighting her Admire;

But my Heart warms at Anthonie’s kind Fire.

Cæsar at Rome, strove Fools and Knaves to


And did buy Danger with the Loss of Ease:                                                                       350

He Toils, and Trouble did from them endure,

Who thought his Ruine was Rome’s only Cure:

Whilst Anthony a Lovely Queen possest,

And his safe Head lean’d on her Charming


That Queen who sooner Cæsar overcame

Than he cou’d Rome; Love so far conquers


The Gods did sure Revenge in Cæsar’s Doom,

His wronging her, and not his wronging Rome:

For Blood once tainted with such horrid Stains,

Deserv’d no Place in Noble Cæsar’s Veins.                                                                       360

Love from Ambition well deserves the Prize,

For Gentle Love feeds on fair Ladies Eyes;

But Vain Ambition’s led by Vulgar Breath,

Which as it gives it Life, can give it Death:


This fiercly burns the Soul, That gently warms;

The one confounds our Thoughts, the other


Crowns cannot Men make Happy nor Secure;

Kings may Affronts and Miseries endure;

But Love and She bless us at such a Rate,

That when she Smiles, we Scorn the Frowns                                                                    370

of Fate.



AURELIA here for Jealousy does dy,

The Picture Bleeds, and those who see it Cry,

In Jealousy Love Covetous does grow,

And like swell’d Floods does wildly overflow:

It is a Love that’s run out of its Wits,

A Love that’s Sick of Hypocondri’ck Fits:

Unahppy Love! which its own Torments


Afrighted still with the wrong Side of Things.



ALL the Nine Sisters in deep Wonder stand,

Each with Great Virgil’s Poem in her Hand;                                                                      380

Whilst he with Modesty as great’s his Wit,

Adoring them, upon his Knees does sit.

Virgil to none, but to himself Severe,

Might his own Thoughts, more than his

Critics fear:

Whose Judgement’s Sprightly, and whose

Fancy’s Wise,

And as Wit ripens, so his Praises rise.





The Marble plying as the Artist pleas’d,

For fair Lucretia has a Statue rais’d:

He has inspir’d such Passion in the Stone,

That one that’s Deaf would Swear that it did                                                                    390


It was such Stones, as those which first could


Men to Idolatry, and keep in Awe

Those ruder Mortals, who could not withstand

The Winning Charms of a Great Master’s


From this she sends her Noble Soul to Crave

Revenge from Heav’n on him who strove to


Spots on her Honour, for when that is lost,

Women in vain, Birth, Wit or Beauty, boast.

Men the best Things, when Common must


Virtue’s the Soul of Fame, and when it dies,                                                                     400

Fame like a loathsome Carcase doth remain;

Each new Rememb’rance will refresh the


Thus she seems from her Body to remove,

When spotted by that Lust that some call Love:

The Frighted Blood in Streaming Sallies gush,

And the Defiled Corps do seem to blush.



[Cincinnatus return’d from his Victory to his



HERE Famous Cincinnatus holds his Pleugh,

Whilst Branchy Laurels shade his Sweating


He no Exchequer has, but these hard Toils,

And Rome, not he’s enrich’d by Forreign Spoils.                                                              410

Great Men are Servants, when they Pay receive,

And Beggars, when they Subsidies must crave:

Rich Robs are but he Livery of the State,

And Slav’ry is the Price of being Great:

But Cincinnatus Scorns the State should need

To Tax themselves, him or his Lusts to feed;

The Great Deborah might have been his Wife,

Who Judg’d, but Liv’d not by her People’s


Greatness is seldom quit, and often crost;

There most Men think to rest, but all are Lost;                                                                420

The Falsest, yet the most Provoking Cheat,

‘Tis first our Foes, then does our selves Defeat.




HERE Galileo makes the Stars draw near,

And at the End of his bright Tub appear:

In whose Just Microscope, such Things we see,

As in Blest Indies or Wild Afric be.

Thus we may travel easily at Home,

And see new Wonders in his Glasses Womb.





LILLIE who has no Rival but his Glass,

Who stops our Youth and Beauty as they pass,                                                                430

His Pencil does ‘gainst Time and Fate secure,

Gives what we want, makes what we have



[A Storm in Landskip.]


A PAINTER here troubles the Ocean so,

That it doth foam with Rage, and angry grow:

Amidst these Dales and Hills, some Ships appear,

They were Ships Stout and Tall till they

came here;

But I and they do tremble at this Sight,

And Fear does Rob what Art gives for Delight:

This brings the Storm both to my Eye and Ear,

And on dry Land makes me a Shipwrack Fear.                                                                 440


[A Church in Perspective.]


A REAL Church in Perspective we see,

I wish all Churches did as well agree

With their Original, and that Men too,

The True esteem’d, as we the Painted do:

Long Walks of Pines out from the Cloath arise,

And rather seem to meet than cheat our Eyes:

O Noble Art! O most successful Care!

Which Churches builds, and Trees plants in

the Air;


He only, who made the Great Glob to stand

On Air, in this could lead the Painter’s Hand;                                                                  450

That in all Arts, we might his Art Admire,

And by our Wonder, to his Love Aspire.


[Her Clock.]


A CURIOUS Clock doth on her Table stand,

Where Time murders it self with it’s own


No Wonder then, it ruine us and ours,

Since it like Fire, it self like Prey devours;

But Mens Revenge lies in Eternity,

Where we shall Live, and Time shall ever Die.

It’s open Cristal Sides do let her see,

How Various it’s Wheels and Motions be;                                                                       460

And yet all these conspire in the same End,

And the same Hour, to shew their Courses


Which teaches her with Pleasure to Admire

How all Mens Contrarieties Conspire

To magnify that God, who does his Praise

From our Disorders and Confusions raise.

Some do from Vices to his Altars turn,

Whilst others these with Furious Zeal do burn:

Some Love his Worship, others it Neglect,

None can pay all, tho’ each owes all Respect;                                                                   470

Some Treasures heap, whilst others do disperse

The Spoils of all the Robbed Universe;

Yet all by Force, or Love do jointly move

To manifest God’s Greatness, or his Love.


HERE Amber lies shap’d in a Thousand


And Corrals bred (like Virtue) among Storms;

Here sporting Nature shews most curious


Which tho’ most Glorious are but the Cells,

Which it with Ease doth for poor Worms


To check the Infidelity or Pride                                                                                          480

Of such, as dare not upon rely,

Or think by Art it’s Favours to envy.

Here Rocks of dazling Diamonds appear,

And we may see Clusters of Rubies here.


[Some of her Books with a Character of the



BUT Dryden’s Works did turn from them

my Eyes,

Whose lofty Lines I do above them prize:

Couly by him, whose Works are ever new,

Denham whose Lines are Sweet, whose Sense

is True;

Waller the Just, whose least corrected Line

The best may own, and I could wish it mine:                                                                  490

Here Toiling Johnson, Easy Fletcher ly,

And down into whose Mysteries few pry.


[Cælia’s own Character.]


RELIGIOUS Books she does obey, not show,

And by her Life, we do their Value know.


THIS is her Closet, and its Rar’ties these,

Which though they ravish not, like her they


Her Soul pure like the Heav’ns, from whence

it came,

Still scorns to kindle at a lower Flame;

So Great’s her Virtue, that Just Heav’n thought


T’adorn’t with Beauty, and enrich’d with                                                                          500


She got no Crown, because she none did need,

Nor do her Slaves with ever to be freed:

Her Will does charm those whom her Eyes


This Justifies the Passion which These gave.

Sure if great Solomon did Live this Day,

He would the Sheban Visit here repay,

And justly wonder at her Beauty more,

Then that Great Queen his Wisdom did adore;

He had confin’d his Thousand Loves in One,

To place the Queen on an Unrival’d Throne.                                                                    510


King James VI. having return’d to Sterling

the 18 of JULY 1617, on the Morrow

deigned with his Presence some Philoso-

phick Disputations; and gave the follow-

ing Characters of the Performers.

AS Adam was the first of Men, whence all

beginning tak:

So Adamson was President, and first Man in

this Act


The Theses Fair-lie did defend, which thogh

they Lies contein;

Yet were fair lies, and he the same right fair

lie did maintein.

The field first entred Master Sands, and there

he made me see

That not all Sands are barren Sands; but that

some fertile bee.

Then Master Young most subtilie the These

did impugne,

And kythed old in Aristotle, althogh his Name

be Young.

To him succeeded Master Reid, who, thogh

reid be his Name,

Neids neither for his disput blush, nor of his                                                                   10

speech think shame.

Last entred Master King the Lists, and disput

like a King,

How Reason reigning as a Queene shuld anger


To their deserved praise haue I, thus playd

vpon their Names:

And wil’s their Colledge hence be cal’d the

Colledge of KING IAMES.




Forth Feasting:

A Panegyricke to the King, on his

Majesty’s Happy Return to his Old

and Native Kingdom of Scotland,

after 14 Years Absence, in Anno 1617.

WHAT blustring Noise now interrupts my


What echoing Shouts thus cleaue my Chrystal


And call me hence from out my watrie Court?

What Melodie, what Sounds of Joy and Sport,

Bee these heere hurld from eu’rie neighbour


With what lowd Rumours do the Mountains


Which in unusual Pompe on tip-toes stand,

And (full of Wonder) ouer-looke the Land?

Whence come these glittring Throngs, these

Meteors bright,

This golden People set unto my Sight?                                                                              10

Whence doth this Praise, Applause, and Love


What Load-starre east-ward draweth thus all


Am I awake? or have some Dreams conspir’d

To mock my Sense with Shadowes much



Stare I that Living Face, see I those Lookes,

Which with Delight wont to amaze my


Doe I behold that Worth, that Man Diuine,

This Ages Glorie, by these Bankes of mine?

Then is it true what long I wish’d in vaine?

That my much-louing PRINCE is come againe?                                                               20

So unto Them whose Zenith is the Pole,

When sixe black Months are past, the Sun

doeth rolle:

So after Tempest to Sea-tossed Wights

Faire Helens Brothers show their chearing


So come Arabias Meruaile from her Woods,

And farre farre off is seen by Memphis Floods,

The feather’d Syluans Clowd-like by her flie,

And with applauding Clangors beate the Skie,

Nyle wonders, Seraps Priests (entranced) raue,

And in Mygdonian Stone her Shape ingraue;                                                                    30

In lasting Cedars marke the joyfull Time

In which Apollos Bird came to their Clime.

Let Mother Earth now deckt with Flowres

be seene,

And Sweet-breath’d Zephires curle the Me-

dowes greene:

Let Heauens weepe Rubies in a crimsin


Such as on Indies Shores they vse to powre:

Or with that golden Storm the Fields adorne,

Which Iove rain’d when his Blew-eyed Maid

was borne.


May neuer Houres the Webbe of Day out-


May neuer Night rise from her fable Caue.                                                                       40

Swell prowd my Billowes, faint not to declare

Your Joyes, as ample as their Causes are:

For Murmures Hoarse sound like Arions Harp,

Now delicatelie flat, now sweetlie sharpe.

And you my Nymphs, rise from your moyst


Strow all your Springs and Grotts with Lillies


Some swiftest-footed get her hence and pray

Our Floods and and Lakes, come keep this Holie-


What e’re beneath Albanias Hills does runne,

Which see the rising of the setting Sunne,                                                                        50

Which drink sterne Grampius Mists, or Ochells


Stou-rowling Taye, Tine Tortoyse like that


The pearlie Don, the Deas, the fertile Spay,

Wild Neverne which doth see our longest Day,

Nesse smoaking-Sulphure, Leaue with Moun-

tains crown’d,

Strange Loumond for his floating Isles renown’d.

The Irish Rian, Ken, the siluer Aire,

The snakie Dun, the Ore with rushie Haire,

The Chrystall-streaming Nid, lowd bellowing


Tweed which no more our Kingdomes shall                                                                     60



Rancke-swelling Annan, Lid with curled


The Eskes, the Solways where they loose their


To eu’rie one proclaime our Joyes, and Feasts,

Our Triumphes; bid all come, and be our


And as they meet in Neptunes azure Hall,

Bid Them bid Sea-Gods keepe this Festiuall.

This Day shall by our Currents bee renown’d,

Our Hills about shall still this Day resound:

Nay, that our Loue more to this Day resound:

Let us with it hence foorth begin our Yeare.                                                                     70

To Virgins Flowres, to Sunne-burnt Earth

the Raine,

To Mariners fair Winds amidst the Maine:

Cool Shades to Pilgrimes, which hot Glances


Please not so much, to us as Thy Returne.

That Day, (dear PRINCE) which rest us of

Thy Sight,

[Day, no, but Darknesse, and a duskie Night]

Did fraight our Brests with Sighs, our Eyes

with Teares,

Turn’d Minutes in sad Months, sad Months

in Yeeres:

Trees left to flourish, Medowes to beare


Brooks hid their Heads within their sedgie                                                                      80


Fair Ceres curst our Fields with barren Frost,

As if again she had her Daughter lost:


The Muses left our Groues, and for sweet Songs

Sate sadlie silent, or did weepe their Wrongs;

Yee know it Meads, yee murmuring Woods

it know,

Hilles, Dales, and Caues, Copartners of their


And ye it know my Streames, which from

their Eine

Oft on your Glasse receiu’d their pearled Brine;

O Naids deare (said they) Napæs faire,

O Nymphes of Trees, Nymphes which on                                                                         90

Hills repaire,

Gone are those maiden Glories, gone that State,

Which made all Eyes admire our Hap of late.

As lookes the Heauen when neuer Starre


But slow and wearie shroude them in their


While Tithons Wife embosom’d by Him lies,

And World doth languish in a drearie Guise:

As looks a Garden of it’s Beautie spoil’d,

As Wood in Winter by rough Boreas foil’d;

As Pourtraicts raz’d of Colours vse to be:

So lookt these abject Bounds depriu’d of Thee.                                                                100

While as my Rills enjoy’d Thy royal


They did not enuie Tibers haughtie Streames,

Nor wealthie Tagus with his golden Ore,

Nor cleare Hydaspes which on Pearles doth



Empampred Gange that sees the Sunne new


Nor Achelous with his flowrie Horne,

Nor Floods which neare Elysian Fields do fall:

For why?  Thy Sight did serue to them for all.

No Place there is so desart, so alone,

Euen from the frozen to the torrid Zone,                                                                          110

From flaming Hecla to great Quincys Lake,

Which Thine abode could not most happie


All those Perfections which by bounteous


To diuerse Worlds in diuerse Times were


The starrie Senate powr’d at once on Thee,

That thou exemplare mightst to others bee.

Thy Life was kept till the Three Sisters


Their Threeds of Gold, and then it was


With curled Clouds when Skies do look most


And no disordred Blasts disturbe the Aire,                                                                       120

When Lillies do them deck in azure Gownes;

And new-borne Roses blush with Golden


To bode, how calme we under Thee should


What Halcyonean Dayes Thy Reign should


And to two flowrie Diademes Thy Right;

The Heauens Thee made a Partner of the



Scarce wast Thou borne, when joyn’d in

friendly Bands

Two mortal Foes with other clasped Hands,

With Vertue Fortune stroue, which most

should grace

Thy Place for Theem Thee for so high a Place,                                                                 130

One vow’d thy sacred Brest not to forsake,

The Other on Thee not to turne her Backe,

And that Thou more her loues Effects mightst


For Thee shee rent her Sayle, and broke her


When Yeeres Thee vigour gave, O then

how cleare

Did smothered Sparkles in bright Flames


Amongst the Woods to force a flying Hart,

To pearce the mountaine-Wolfe with feathred


See Faulcons climbe the Clowds, the Foxe


Out-runne the wind-out-running dœdale Hare,                                                              140

To loose a trampling Steede alongst a Plaine,

And in meandring Gyres him bring againe,

The Preasse Thee making place, were vulgare


In Admiration Aire on Glories Wings

O! Thou farre from the common Pitch didst


With Thy designes to dazell Enuies Eyes:

Thou soughtst to know, this Alls eternal



Of ever-turning Heauens the restless Course,

Their fixed Eyes, their Lights which wand-

ring runne,

Whence Moone her Silver hath, his Gold the                                                                   150


If Destine bee or no, if Planets can

By fiece Aspects force the Free-will of Man:

The light and spiring Fire, the liquid Aire,

The flaming Dragons, Comets with red Haire,

Heauens titling Launces, Artillerie, and Bow,

Lowd-sounding Trumpets, Darts of Haile

and Snow,

The roaring Element with People dombe,

The Earth with what conceiu’d is in her


What on Her moues, were set unto Thy


Till Thou didst find their Causes, Essence,                                                                       160


But unto nought Thou so Thy Mind didst


As to bee read in Man, and learne to raigne;

To know the Weight, and Atlas of a Crowne,

To spare the Humble, Prowdlings pester


When from those pearcing Cares which

Thrones invest,

As Thornes the Rose, Thou weari’d wouldst

Thee rest,

With Lute in Hand, full of cœlestial Fire,

To the Pierian Groves thou didst retire:


There, garlanded with all Uranias Flowres,

In sweeter Lays than builded Thebees Towres,                                                                 170

Of them which charm’d the Dolphines in the


Or which did call Euridicè againe,

Thou sungst away the Houres, till from their


Starres seem’d to shoote, Thy Melodie to heare,

The God with golden Haire, the Sister Maides,

Left, nymphall Helicon, their Tempes Shades,,

To see Thine Isle, heere lost her native Tongue,

And in Thy world-divded Language sung,

Who of Thine After-age can count the


With all that Fame in Times hudge Annales                                                                     180


How by Example more than anie Law,

This People fierce Thou didst to Goodnesse


How while the Neighbour Worlds (tows’d

by the Fates)

So many Phaetons had in their States,

Which turn’d in heedlesse Flames their bur-

nish’d Thrones,

Thou (as ensphear’d) kepdst temperate Thy


In Africke Shores the Sands that ebbe and


The shadie Leaues on Ardennes Trees that


Hee sure may count, with all the Waues that



To wash the Mauritanian Atlas feet.                                                                                  190

Though crown’d thou wert not, nor a King

by Birth,

Thy Worth deserues the richest Crowne on


Search this Halfe-Spheare and the opposite


Where is such Wit and Beautie to bee founde?

As into silent Night, when neare the Beare

The Virgin Huntresse shines at full most cleare,

And striues to match her Brothers golden


The Hoast of Starres doth vanish in her Sight,

Arcturus dies, cool’d is the Lyons ire,

Po burnes no more with Phaetontall Fire,                                                                         200

Orion faints to see his Armes grow blacke,

And that his flamming Sword hee now doth


So Europes Lights, all bright in their Degree,

Loose all their Lustre paragond with Thee.

By just Descent Thou from moe Kings dost


Then manie can name Men in all their Line:

What most They toyle to find, and finding


Thou skornest, orient Gemmes, and flattring


Esteeming Treasure surer in Mens Brests,

Than when immur’d with Marble, closd in                                                                       210


No stormie Passions doe disturbe thy Mind,

No Mists of greatnesse euer could Thee blind:


Who yet hath been so meeke?  Thou life

didst give

To Them who did repine to see Thee liue;

What Prince by Goodnesse hath such King-

domes gain’d?

Who hath so long his Peoples Peace main-


Their Swords are turn’d in Sythes, in Culters


Some giant Post their anticke Armour beares:

Now, where the wounded Knight his Life

did bleed,

The wanton Swaine sits piping on a Reed.                                                                        220

And where the Canon did Joves Thunder


The gawdie Hunts-man windes his shril-

tun’d Horne:

Her greene Lockes Ceres void of fear doth die,

The Pilgrime safelie in the Shade doth lie,

Both Pan and Pales (carelesse) keepe their


Seas have no Dangers save the Winds and


Thou art this Isles Palladium, neither can

(While Thou art kept] it bee o’erthowne by


Let Others boast of Blood and Spoyles of


Fierce Rapines, Murders, Iliads of Woes                                                                            230

Of hated Pompe, and Trophæes reared faire,

Gore-spangled Ensignes streaming in the Aire,


Count how they made The Scythian them


The Gaditan the Souldiour of Aurore,

Vnhappie Vauntrie! to enlarge their Bounds,

Which charge themselues with Cares, their

Friends with Wounds,

Which haue no Law to their Ambitious Will,

But (Man-plagues) borne are humane Blood

to spill:

Thou a true Victor art, sent from aboue

What Others straine by Force to gaine by                                                                         240


World-wandring Fame this Prayse to thee


To bee the onlie Monarch of all Hearts.

They many feare who are of many fear’d,

And Kingdomes got by Wrongs by Wrongs

are tear’d

Such Thrones as Blood doth raise Blood

throweth downe,

No Guard so sure as Loue unto a Crowne.

Eye of our westerne World, Mars-daunting


With whose Renowne the Earths seven Cli-

mats ring,

Thy Deeds not only claime these Diadems,

To which Thame, Liffy, Taye, subject their                                                                        250


But to Thy Vertues rare, and Gifts, is due

All that the Planet of the Yeere doth view;

Sure if the World aboue did want a Prince

The World above to it would take thee hence.


That Murder, Rapine, Lust, are fled to


And in their Roomes with us the Graces dwell,

That Honour more than Riches Men respect,

That Worthinesse than Gold doth more effect,

That Pietie unmasked showes her Face,

That Innocencie keeps with Power her Place,                                                                   260

That long-exil’d Astrea leaues the Heauen,

And turneth right her Sword, her Weights

holds euen,

That the Saturnian World is come againe,

Are wish’d Effects of Thy most happy Raigne.

That dayly Peace, Loue, Trueth, Delights


And Discord, Hate, Fraude, with Incombers


That Men use Strength not to shed others


But use their Strength now to doe other


That Furie in enchain’d, disarmed Wrath,

That (saue by Natures Hand) there is no                                                                          270


That late grimme Foes like Brothers other


That Vultures prey not on the harmlesse Doue,

That Wolues with Lambs doe Friendship


Are wish’d Effects of thy most happie Raigne.

That Towns encrease, That ruin’d Temples


And their wind-mouing Vanes plant in the



That Ignorance and Sloth hence runne away,

That buri’d Arts now rowse them to the Day,

That Hyperion farre beyond his Bed

Doth see, our Lyons rampe, our Roses spred,                                                                   280

That Iber courtes us, Tyber not us charmes;

That Rhein with hence-brought Beams his

Bosome warmes,

That Euill us feare, and Good us do maintaine,

Are wish’d Effects of Thy most happie Raigne.

O Vertues Patterne, Glorie of our Times,

Sent of past Days to expiate the Crimes,

Great King, but better farre than thou art


Whom State not honours, but who honours


By Wonder borne, by Wonder first install’d,

By Wonder after to new Kingdomes call’d,                                                                       290

Young kept by Wonder neare home-bred


Old sau’d by Wonder from pale Traitours


To bee for this Thy Raigne which Wonders,


A King of Wonder, Wonder unto Kings.

If Pict, Dane, Noman, Thy smooth Yoke had


Pict, Dane and Norman had thy Subjects beene:

If Brutus knew the Blisse thy Rule doth giue,

Euen Brutus joye would vnder Thee to liue:

For Thou Thy People dost so dearlie loue,

That they a Father, more than Prince, Thee                                                                     300



O Dayes to be desir’d!  Age happy thrice!

If yee your Heauen-sent-Good could dulie


But yee (half-palsie-sicke) think neuer right

Of what ye hold, till it be from your Sight,

Prize onlie Summers sweet and musked


When armed Winters threaten you with


In pallid Sicknesse doe esteeme of Health,

And by saad Pouertie discerne of Wealth:

I see an Age when after manie Yeares,

And Reuolutions of the slow-pac’d Spheares,                                                                   310

These Days shall be to other farre esteem’d,

And like Augustus palmie Raigne bee deem’d.

The Names of Arthur, fabulous Palladines,

Grauen in Times surlie Brows in wrincked


Of Henries, Edwards, famous for their Fights,

Their Neighbour Conquests, Orders new of


Shall by this Princes Name be past as farre

As Meteors are by the Idalian Starre.

If Gray-hair’d Proteus oft a Prophet is,                                                                              320

There is a Land hence distant manie Miles,

Ovt-reaching Fiction and Atlanticke Iles,

Which (Homelings) from this little World we


That shall imblazon with strange Rites his



Shall rear him Statues all of purest Gold,

Such as Men gaue unto the Gods of old,

Name by him Fanes, prowd Pallaces, and


With some great Flood, which most their

Fields renowns.

This is that King who should make right each


Of whom the Bards and misticke Sybilles song,                                                               330

The Man long promis’d, by whose glorious


This Ile should yet her antient Name regaine,

And more of Fortunate deserve the Stile,

Than those where Heauens with double Sum-

mers smile.

Runne on (great Prince) Thy Course in

Glories Way,

The End the Life, the Euening crownes the


Heape Worth on Worth, and stronglie soare


Those Heights which made the World Thee

first to Loue,

Surmount Thy self, and make Thine Actions


Bee but as Gleames or Lightnings of Thy last,                                                                  340

Let them exceed them of Thy younger Time,

As farre as Autumne doth the flowrie Prime.

Through this Thy Empire range, like Worlds

bright Eye,

That once each Yeare survayes all Earth and



Now glaunces on the slow and restie Beares,

Then turns to drie the weeping Austers Teares,

Just vnto both the Poles, and moueth euen

In the infigur’d Circle of the Heauen.

O long long haunt these Bounds, which by

Thy Sight

Haue now regain’d their former Heate and                                                                      350


Here grow greene Woods, here siluer Brookes

doe glide,

Heere Meadowes stretch them out with pain-

ted Pride,

Embrodring all the Bankes, here Hills aspire,

To crowne their Heads with the ætherial Fire

Hills, Bulwarks of our Freedome, giant Walls,

Which neuer Fremdlings Slight, nor Sword

made Thralls;

Each circling Flood to Thetis Tribute payes,

Men heere (in Health) out-liue old Nestors


Grimme Saturne yet amongst our Rocks


Bound in our Caues, with many mettald                                                                          360


Nulls haunt our Shades like Ledas Louer white,

Which yet might breed Pasiphaê Delight,

Our Flocks faire Fleeces beare, with which

for Sport

Endemion of old the Moone did court.

High-palmed Harts amidst our Forrests runne,

And, not impall’d, the deepe-mouth’d Hounds

doe shunne;


The rough-foote Hare him in our Bushes


And lon-wing’d Haulks do pearch amidst our


The wanton Woodnymphes of the verdant


Blew, Golden, Purple, Flowres shall to Thee                                                                    370


Pomonas Fruits the Paniskes, Thetis Gyrles

Thy Thulys Amber with the Ocean Pearles;

The Tritons, Heards-men of the Glasie Field,

Shall giue Thee what farre distant Shores can


The Serean Fleeces: Erythrean Gemmes,

Vaste Platas Siluer, Gold of Peru Streames,

Antarticke Parrots, Æthiopian Plumes,

Sabæan Odoursm Myrrhe, and sweet Perfumes:

And I my self wrapt in a watchet Gowne,

Of Reeds and Lillies on mine Head a Crowne,                                                                  380

Shall Incense to Thee burne, green Altars raise,

And yearlie sing due Pæans to Thy Praise.

Ah why should Isis only se Thee shine?

Is not thy FORTH, as well as Isis Thine?

Though Isis vaunt shee hath more Wealth in


Let it suffice Thy FORTH doth loue Thee more:

Though she for Beautie may compare with


For Swannes and Sea-Nymphes with imperial


Yet in the Title may be claim’d in Thee,

Nor Shee nor all the World can match with me                                                               390


Now when (by Honour drawne) thou shalt


To Her already jelous of thy Stay,

When in Her amourous Arms Shee doth

Thee fold,

And dries Thy dewie Hairs with Hers of Gold,

Much questioning of Thy Fare, much of Thy


Much of Thine Absence long, how e’re so


And chides (perhaps) Thy coming to the


Loath not to think on Thy much-louing


O loue these Bounds, where of Thy Royal


More then an hundreth wore a Diademe.                                                                         400

So euer Gold and Bayes Thy Browes adorne,

So neuer Time may see Thy Race out-worne,

So of Thine Owne still mayst Thou be desir’d,

Of Strangers fear’d, redoubted and admir’d;

So MEMORIE the Praise, so precious Houres

May character Thy Name in starrie Flowres;

So may Thy high Exployts at last make euen,

With Earth Thy Empyre, Glorie with the



This Poeme was presented







The Three following Poems were

writ by Sir Robert Aitoun,

Secretary to Ann and Mary

Queens of Great Britain, &c.


[On Love.]

LOVE’s like a Game at Tables,

where your Dy

Of mad Affection doth by Fprtune fly;

Which, when you think you’re surest

of the same,

Proves but at best a doubtful After-


For if they find your Fancy in a Blot,

It’s two to one if then they take you not:

But being Gamesters you must boldy


And, when you see the Point ly open,


Believe me one thing, nothing brings


A Game half won so soon, as holding                                                                                 10



And next to holding out this you shall


There’s nothing worse than entring still


Yet doth not all in happy Entrance ly,

When you are on, you must throw

home and hy;

If you throw low and weak, believe me


Do what you can, they will be Bear-

            ing Men:

And if you look not all the better on,

They will play foul, bear Two instead

            of One.


Upon a Gentlewoman that was Painted.

PAmphila has a Number of good


Which Commendation to her Worth


But amongst all, in one she doth excell,

That she can Paint incomparably well;


And yet so Modest, if that prais’d for


She’ll swear she does not know what

Painting is,

But straight will blush with such a Por-

trait Grace,

That we would think Vermilion dy’d

her Face.

One of her Pictures I have oftimes


And would have sworn that She it                                                                                     10

self had been;

And when I bad her it on me bestow,

I swear I heard the Picture’s self say,


What? think you this is a Prodigy?

It’s none,

The Painter and the Picture were both



On Returning late at Night from Court.

THE other Night from Court re-

turning late,

Tir’d with Attendance, out of Love

with State,


I met a Boy, who ask’d, If he should go

Along to Light me Home?  I an-

swer’d No.

Yet he did urge the Darkness of the


The Foulness of the Way requir’d a


It’s true, good Boy, quoth I, yet thou

may’st be

More Useful to some other, then to me:

I cannot miss my Way; but they that


The Way from whence I come, had                                                                                    10

need to make

A Light their Guide; for I dare

boldly say,

It’s Ten to One but they shall lose the




The End of the Second Part.


Volume III (1711)


Choice Collection







By several Hands.


Part III.



Printed by James Watson, and Sold at his

Shop next Door to the Red-Lyon, opposite

to the Lucken-Booths.  1711.










Montgomery to Polwart.


Polwart ye peip like a Mouse among Thorns,

No Cunning ye keep, Polwart ye peip,

Ye look like a Sheep ye had twa Horns,

Polwart ye peip like a Mouse among Thorns.


Bewar what thou speaks, little Foul-earth Tade,

With thy Cannigate Breiks beware what thou


Or there shal be wat Chieks for the last thou made,

Bewar what thou speaks, thou little Foul-earth



Foul mismade Myting, born in the Merse,

By Word and by Writing, foul mismade Myting                                                              10


Leave off thy Flyting, come kiss my Erse,

Foul mismade Myting, born in the Merse.


An we mell thou shalt yell, little custron Cuist,

Thou shalt tell, ev’n thy sell, and we mell, thou

shalt yell,

Thy smell was fell, and stronger than Muist,

And we mell thou shalt yell little custron Cuist.


Thou art doeand and dridland like a foul Beast,

Fykand and fidland, thou art doeand and dridland,

Strydand and stridland, like Roben-red-breast,

Thou art doeand and dridland, like a foul Beast.                                                             20


Polwart’s Reply to Montgomery.


Despiteful Spider poor of Sprite

Begins with Babbling me to blame,

Gowk wyte me not to gar thee griet,

They Trattling, Trukier, I shall tame,

When thou believes to win a Name,

Thou shalt be banisht of all bield,

And syne receit baith Skaith and Shame,

And sae be forc’d to leave the Field.


Thy ragged Roundrels, raveand Royt,

Some short, some lang, some out of Lyne,                                                                        30

With scabrons Colours, fulsome Floyt,

Proceedand from a Pynt of Wine,

Which haults for fault of Feet like mine,

Yet Fool thou thought no Shame to write ‘m


At Mens Commands that laiks Engine,

Which doited Dyvours gart thee dite them.


But gowked Goofe, I am right glad,

Thou art begun in Write to flyte,

Sen Lown thy Language I have laid,

And put thee to thy Pen to write:                                                                                       40

Now Dog I shall thee sae despite,

With pricking put thee to sick Speid,

And cause thee (Curr) that Warkloom quite,

Syne seek a Hole to hide thy Head.


Yell, Knave; acknowledge thy Offence,

Or I grow crabbed, and so clair thee,

Ask Mercy, make Obedience,

In time, for fear lest I forfair thee:

Ill Sprite I wil na langer spair thee:

Blaid bleck thee, to bring in a Gyse                                                                                    50

And to drie Penaunce soon prepare thee,

Syne pass furth as I shall devyse.


First fair threed-bair with founderd Feit,

Recanting thy unseemly Sawes

In Pilgrimage to Aller, eit,

Syne be content to quite the Cause,

And in thy Teeth bring me the Tawes,

With Becks my Bidding to abide,

Whether thou wilt let belt thy Bawes

Or kiss all Cloffs that stands beside.                                                                                  60


And of thir twa take thou the chose,

For thy awn Profit I procure thee,

Or with a Prick into thy Nose,

To stand content I shall conjure thee.

But at this Time think I forbuir thee,

Because I cannot treat thee fairer,

Sir, thou this Charge I will assure thee,

The second shall be something fairer.


Montgomery to Polwart.


False feckless Foulmart, lo here a Defiance,

Ga sey thy Science, do Droigh what thou dow                                                                 70

Trot Tyke to a Tow, Mandrake but myance,

We will hear Tydance, peild Polwart of thy Pow,

Many yeald Yew thou hast cald over a Know,

Syne hid ‘em in a How, stark Thief when thou

staw ‘em,

Menswearing thou saw them, & made but a mow,

Syne fyld in a row when the Man came that aw



Thy Dittay was Death, thou dare not deny it,

Thy Trumpery was tried, thy Falset they fand,

But reave the Band, Cor mundum thou cryed,

Condemn’d to be died and hang up fra hand:                                                                   80

While thou paid a Pand in a Stowre thou did stand,

With a willie Wand thy Skin was well scourged,

Syne feinzedly forge how thou left the Land.

Now Sirs I demand how this Pod can be purged.


Yet wanshapen Shit thou shupe such a Sunzie,

As proud as you prunzie your Pens shal be plucked,

Come kiss where I cukied and change me that


Your Gryzes Grunzie is graceless and gowked,

Your Mouth must be mucked while ye be in-


Foul Flirdon, Wansucked, Tersel of a Tade,                                                                      90

Thy Meiter mismade hath lousily lucked,

I grant thou conducted thy Terms in a Slade.


Little angry Attercap, and auld unsel Ape,

Ye grein for to gape upon the grey Meir,

Play with thy Peir, or I’ll pull thee like a Paip,

Go ride in a Rape for this noble new Year.

I promise thee here to thy Chafts ill Chear,

Except thou go leir to lick at the Louder,

With Potangars Powder thy self oversmeir,

The Castle ye weir well seiled on your Shoulder.                                                             100


This twise sealed Trumper with his trattling


Making vain Vows, to match him with me,

With the Print of a Key well burnt on thy Brows,

Now God shall be Witnesse, wherefra came ye.

For all your Bombill ye’r warde a little we:

I think for to see thee hing by the Heils

For Termes that thou steils of old Poetrie,

Now who should trow thee that’s past baith

the Seils.



Proud poysoned Pyk-thank, perverse and perjured

I dow not indure it to be bitten with a Duik,                                                                    110

I’s fell thee like a Duik flatlings on the Fluir.

Thy Scrows obscure are borrowd fra some Buik.

Fra Lindsay thou tuik, and thou’rt Chancer’s Cuik,

Ay lying like a Ruik, if Men would not skar thee;

But Beast I debar thee the King’s Chimny Nuik,

Thou flees for a Look, but I shall ride nar thee.


False Stridand and Stickdirt I’s gar thee stink,

How durst thou mint with thy Master to mell,

One sik as thy self, little pratling Pick,

Could thou not ware Ink thy Trattling to tell.                                                                  120

Hoie Hureson of Hell amang the Fiends fell

To drink of that Well poison’d thy Pen

Where Devils in their Den do yammer and yell,

Here I thee expell from all Christen Men.


Polwart to Montgomerie.


Blierd babling Bystour-bard obey,

Learn skybald Knave to know thy sell,

Vile Vagabound, or I invey,

Custroun with Cuffs thee to compell,

Yet, tratling Truker, Truth to tell

Stoup thou not at the second Charge,                                                                                130

Mischeivous Mishant, we shall mell

With laidly Language loud and large:


Where Loun as thou loves thy Life,

I baith command and counsel thee,

For to eschew this sturtsome Strife,


And with thy manly Master gree,

To this Effect, I summond thee

By publike Proclamation,

Gowke to compear upon thy Knee

And kisse my foul Foundation.                                                                                           140


But Lord I laugh to see the bluiter,

Glory in thy Ragments, rash to raill

With maighty manked mangled Meiter.

Tratland, and tumbland Top over Taill,

As Carlings compts their Farts doyl’d Snail,

Thy rousty Ratrymes made but Mater

I could well follow, wald I sail.

Or preasse to fish within thy Water,


Only because, Owle, thou dois use it,

I will write Verse of common Kind,                                                                                    150

And Swingeour for thy sake refuse it;

To crabe thee humbler by thy Mind,

Pedlar, I pity thee a pin’d,

To buckel him that beares the Bell.

Jackstio be better anes engyn’d,

Or I shall flyte against my sell.


But briefly Beist to answer thee

In Sermon short, I am content,

And sayes thy Similitudes unflie

Are nawayes very pertinent,                                                                                               160

Thy tyr’d Comparisons a sklent

Are monstrous like the Mule that made them,

Thy borrowed Barkings violent.

Yet were they worse let Men out-war them


Also I may be Chancer’s Man,

And yet thy Master not the lesse:

But Wolfe that wastes on Cup and Kan,

In Gluttony thy Grace I guesse;

Ga drunken Dyvour thee address,

And borrow thee embassed Breiks.                                                                                   170

To hear me now thy Praise express.

Knave if thou can without wat Cheiks,


First of thy just Genealogie

Tyke I shall tell thee Truth I trow,

Thou was begotten some sayes me,

Betwixt the Devil and a dun Kow,

One Night that when the Fiend was fow

At Banquet Bridland at the Beir,

Thou sowked syne a sweit brod Sow.

Amang the Middings many a Year,                                                                                    180


On Ruites and Runches in the Field

With Nolt thou nourish’d was a Year,

Whill that thou past baith Poor and Peild

Into Argyle some Lair to leir,

As the last Night did well appeir,

When thou stood fidging at the Fire,

Fast fykand with thy Heiland Chear.

My Flyting forc’d thee sa to tyre,


Into the Land where thou was born

I read of nought but it was skant,                                                                                      190

Of Cattel, Clething, and of Corn


Where Wealth and Well-fair baith doth want.

Now Tade-face take this for no Tant,

I hear your Housing is right fair,

Where howlring Howlets ay doth hant,

With Robin-Red-brest but repair.


The Lords and Lairds within that Land

I knaw are Men of mekil Rent

And Living, as I understand,

Whill in an Innes we be content                                                                                         200

To leive and let their House in Lent,

In Lentron Month and the lang Sommer

Where twelve Knights Kitchens hath a Vent

Quhilke for to furnish dois them cummer.


For Store of Lambs and lang tail’d Wedders

Thou knawes where many Couples gaes,

For Stealing tyed fast in Tedders

In fellon Flocks of anes and twaes

Abrod athort your Banks and Braes,

Ye do abound in Coal and Calk,                                                                                         210

And think as Fools to fley all Faes,

With Targets, Tuilies and toom Talk.


Alas poor Hood-pykes, hungerbitten

Accustom’d with Scurrility,

Rydand like Boystures all beshitten,

In Fields without Fertility:

Bare barren, with Sterility,

For fault of Cattle, Corn and Gerse,

Your Banquets of most Nobility


Dear of the Dog brawen in the Merse.                                                                               220


Witlesse Vanter, were thou wise

Custroun, thou would Cor mundum cry.

Ov’rlaiden Lown, with lang tail’d Lyce.

Thy doytit Dytings soon deny,

Trouker or I thy Trumpery try

And make a Legend of thy Life.

For flyt I anes, Folk will cry fy,

Then thou’l be ward with every Wife.


Polwart’s Medicin to Montgomery, being



SIR Swingeor seeing I want Wares

And Salves to slake thee of thy Saires,                                                                               230

This present from the ‘Pothecares

Me think meet to amend thee.


First for thy Fever feed in Folly,

With fasting Stomack take Oyl-doly

Mixt with a mouthful of Melancholy

From Flyame for to defend thee.


Syne passe a Space and smell a Flowre

Thy inward Parts to purge and scowre:

Take thee three Bites of ane black Howre

And Ruebarb baach and bitter.                                                                              240


This duly done but ainy Din,

Sup syne six Sops but something thin


Of the Devil scald thy Guts within

To heal thee of thy Skitter.


Unto thy Bed syne make thee bown,

Take ane sweet Syrop worth a Crown,

And drink it with the Devil ga down

To recreat thy Sprite.


And last of all, Craig in a Cord,

Send for a Powder and pay for’t,                                                                                         250

Called the Vengeance of the Lord,

For thy Mug Mouth most meet.


If this preserve thee not frae Pain,

Pass to the ‘Pothecares again,

Some Recepies dois yet remain

To heal Bruick, Byle or Blister.


As Diadragma when ye dine,

Or Diabolicon wat in Wine,

With Powder I drait fellon fine,

And mair yet when ye mister.                                                                                 260


Montgomerie’s Answer to Polwart.


Vile venemous Viper, wanthriftest of Things,

Half an Elf, half ane Aip, of Nature deny it,

Thou slait with a Country the quhilk was the


But that Bargan, false beast, dear shall thou buy it,

The Cuff is well wared that twa hame brings,


This Proverb foul Pelt to thee is applyit,

First Spyder of Spite, thou spews out Springs,

Yet wanshapen Vowbet of the Weirds invytit,

I can tell thee how, when, were, and what gat thee,

The quhilk was neither Man nor Wife                                                                   270

Nor Human Creature on Life,

Thou stinkand Stirrer up of Strife,

False Howlet have at thee.


In the hinder-end of Harveston All-hallow-even,

When our good Neighbours dois ride, if I read


Some buckled on a Bunewand and some on a Been,

Ay trottand in Troups from the Twilight.

Some saidled a shee Ape, all grathed into green,

Some hobland on a Hemp Stalk, hovand to the


The King of Pharie and his Court with the Elf                                                                  280


With many Elfish Incubus was ridand that Night,

There an Elf on an Ape an Unsel begat,

Into a Pot by Pomathorne

That Bratchart in a Busse was born,

They fand a Monster on the Morn,

War faced nor a Cat.


The weird Sisters wandring, as they were wont


Saw Ravens rugand at that Ratton by a Ron ruit,

They mused at the Mandrake unmade like a Man,

A Beast bund with a Bunewand in an auld Buit,                                                              290


How that Gaist had been gotten to guess they


Well swill’d in a Swins Skin, and smeird o’re with


The Belly that it first bair full bitterly they ban,

Of this mismade Moidewart Mischief they muit,

The crooked Camschoch Croyl, unchristen they


They bad that Baich should not be but

The Glengore, Gravel and the Gut,

And all the Plagues that first were put

Into Pandora’s Purse.


The Coch, & the Connoch, the Collick, & the Cald,                                                         300

The Cords, & the Cout-evil, the Clasps & the Cleiks,

The Hunger, the Hartill, & the Hoiststill, the Hald,

The Botch, and the Barbles, with the Cannigate


With Bock-Blood and Benshaw spewen sprung

in the Spald,

The Fersie, the falling Evil that feels many Freiks,

Overgane all with Angleberries as thou grows ald,

The Kinkhost, the Charbucle, and Worms in the


The Snusse and the Snoit, the Chaud-peece and

the Canker,

With the Blaids and the Belly-thraw,

The Bleiring Bats and the Bean-shaw,                                                                   310

With the Mischief of the Melt and Maw,

The Clape and the Shanker.



The Frencie, the Fluxes, the Feyk and the Felt,

The Fevers, the Fearcie, with the speinzie Flies,

The Doit, and the Dismal, indifferently delt,

The Powlings, the Palsey, with Pocks like Pees,

The Swerf, and the Sweiting with Sounding to


The Weam-ill, the wild Fire, the Vomit & the Vees,

The Mair and the Migrame, with Meaths in the


The Warbles, and the Wood-worm whereof Dog                                                            320


The Teasick, the Tooth-aik, the Titts & the Tirles.

The painful Poplesie, and Pest,

The Rot, the Roup, and the auld Rest,

With Parlesse and Plurisies opprest,

And nip’d with the Nirles.


Wo worth (quoth the Weirds) the Wights that

thee wrought,

Threed-bair be their Thrift, as thou art wan-


Als hard be their Handsel that helps thee to ought,

The rottten Rim of thy Wamb with Rooks shall

be revin

All Bounds where thou bides to Bail shall be                                                                   330


Thy Gal and thy Guissern to Gleds shall be given

Ay short be thy Solace, with Shame be thou sought,

In Hell mot thou hant thee & hide thee fra heaven,

And as thou auld growes so eikand be thy anger,

To leive with Limmers and Out-lawes,


With Hurcheons eatand Hips and Hawes,

But when thou comes where the Cock crawes,

Tarry there na langer.


Shame and Sorrow on her Snout that suffers thee

to suck,

Or she that cares for thy Cradil, cauld be her Cast,                                                         340

Or brings any Bedding for thy blae Bowke,

Or louses of thy Lingals sa lang as they may last,

Or offers thee any Thing all the lang Owke,

Or first refresheth thee with Food, howbeit thou

sould fast,

Or when thy Duds are bedirten that gives them

a Douk.

All Grooms when thou greits at thy Ganting be

a Gast.

Als froward be thy Fortune as foule is thy Form.

First seven Years be thou dumb and deif,

And after that a common Thief:

Thus art thou marked for Mischief,                                                                       350

Foul unworthy Worm.


Outrow’d be thy Tongue, yet tratling all Times;

Ay the longer that thou lives thy Luck be the lesse,

All Countries where thou comes accuse thee of


And false be thy Fingers but leath to confess,

All raving and raging in rude Ratrymes,

And ill be thou usand and ay in Excesse,

Ilk Moon be thou mad frae past be the Primes,

Still plagued with Poverty thy Pride to oppresse,


With Warwolfes and wild Cats thy Weird be                                                                   360

to wander,

Dragleit through dirty Dubs and Dykes,

Tousled and tuggled with Town Tykes:

Say lousie Lyar what thou lykes,

Thy Tongue it is na Slander.


Fra the Sifters had seen the Shape of that Shit,

Little Luck be thy Lot there where thou lyes,

Thy fumard Face quoth the first to flyt shall be fit.

Nicneven quoth the next shall nourish thee twyse,

To ride Post to Elphine nane abler nor it,

To drive Dogs but to drite.  The third can devise,                                                           370

All thy Days shalt thou be of a Body but a Bit;

Als Faith is this Sentence, as sharp is thy Sise,

Syne duly they deemed what Death it should die:

The first said surely of a Shot,

The second of a running Knot,

The third be throwing of the Throat,

Like a Tyke out owre a Tree.


When all the Weird Sisters had thus voted in

one Voce

The Deid of the Dablet then syne they withdrew,

To let it ly all alane, they thought it little Loss,                                                                380

In a Den be a Dyke on the Day Dew.

Then a clear Companie came soon after closs,

Nicneven with her Nymphs, in number anew,

With Charms from Caitness and Chanrie in Ross,

Whose Cunning consists in casting a Clew,

They seeing this farie Thing, said to themselves,


This thriftless Thing is meet for us,

And for our Craft commodious,

An ugly Ape and Incubus

Gotten with an Elf.                                                                                                390


Thir venerable Virgins, whom the Warld call


In the time of their Triumph, tirr’d me the Tade,

Some backward raid on Brodsows, and some


Some instead of a Staig over a stark Monk straid,

Fra the How the Hight some hobbles, some


With their Mouths to the Moon Murgeons they


Some be Force in effect the four Winds fetches,

And ninetimes Withershins about the Throne


Some glowring to the Ground, some grievouslie


Be Craft conjure and Fiends perforce                                                                    400

Furth of a Catine beside a Cross,

Thir Ladies lighted from their Horse

And band them with Raips.


Syne bare-foot and bare-legged to baptize that


Till a Water they went be a Wood Side,

They fand the Shit all beshitten in his awn Shearn,

On threeheaded Hecatus to hear them they cry’d,

As we have found in the Field this Fundling for-



First his Father he forsakes in thee to confyde,

Be vertue of thir Words and this raw Yearn,                                                                     410

And while this thrife thretty Knots on this blue


And of thir Mens Members well sowed to a Shoe

Which we have tane from Top to Tae,

Even of a hundred Men and mae,

Now grant us Goddesse or we gae

Our Duties to doe.


Be the Hight of the Heavens, be the Howness of


Be the Winds and the Weirds, & the Charlewain,

Be the Horns, the Hand-staff, and the Kings Ell,

Be Thunder, be Fire-flaughts, be Drouth & be Rain,                                                        420

Be the Poles & the Planets, & the Signs all twell,

Be Mirkness of the Moon, let Mirkness remain,

Be the Elements all that our Craft can compell,

Be the Fiends infernal, and the Furies in pain,

Gar all the Gaists of the Dead that dwells there


In Lethe and Styx thir stinkand Strands,

And Pluto that your Court commands,

Receive this Howlat off our Hands,

In the name of Mahown.


That this Worm in our Wark some Wonders                                                                   430

may wirk,

And through the Poison of this Pouder Partiks


To cut off our Cumber fra coming to the Kirk,


For the half of our Help, and has it in their hail;

Let never this Undought of Ill-doing irk,

But ay blyth to begin all Barret and Bail,

Of all Bless let it be as bair as the Birk,

That tittest the Taidrel may tell an ill Tail,

Let no Vice in this Warld in this Wanthrift be


Be they had said the Fire-flaughts flew,

Baith Thunder, Rain and Winds blew,                                                                  440

Where be their coming Cummers knew

Their Asking was granted.


When that the Dames devotly had done the


In having this Hurcheon, they hasted them hame,

Of that Matter to make remained no more,

Saving next how that Nuns that Worlin should


They know’d all the Kytral the Face of it before,

And nib’d it fae doon near, to see it was a Shame;

They call’d it peild Powart, they puld it so sore.

Where we clip, quoth the Cummers, there needs                                                            450

na Kame,

For we have Height to Mahown for Handsel this


They made it like a scraped Swyne,

And as they cow’d they made it whryne,

It shaw’d the sell ay one sensyne,

The Beard was sa baire.


Fra the Cummers that Crab had with Pluto con-



They promeist as Parents syne for their awn pairt,

A Mover of Mischeif & they might for to make it,

As an Imp of all Ill most apt for their Art,

Nicneven as Nourish, to teach it, gart take it,                                                                  460

To fail sure in a Seif but Compass or Cart,

And Milk of a Hair Tedder, though Wives suld

be wrackt,

And a Cow give a Chopin was wont to give a


Many Babes and Bairns shall bless thy bair Bains,

When they have neither Milk nor Meil,

Compell’d for Hunger for to steil,

Then shall they give thee to the De’il

Able oftner nor anes.


Beand after Midnight their Office was ended,

At that Tyde was nae Time for Troumpours                                                                     470

to tarry,

Syne backward on Horseback bravely they


That Cam-nosed Cocatrice they quite with them


To Kait of Creif in a Creil soon they gar send it,

Where seven Year it sat baith singed and sairie

The Kin of it be the Cry incontinent kend it,

Syne fetch Food for to feed it forth from the


Ilk Elf of them all brought an Almonds House


Indeed it was a dainty Dish,

A foul flegmatick a foulsome Fish,


Instead of Sauce on it they pish,                                                                             480

Sik Food feed sik a Foster.


Syne fra the Fathers side finely had fed it,

Many Monks and Marmasites came with the


Black both fall the Breist & the Belly that bred it.

Ay ofered they that Undought fra on to an-


Where that Smatched had fuked, sa sair it was to

shed it,

But believe it began to buckle the Brother,

In the Bark of a Bourtree whilom they bed it.

All Talking with their Tongues the ane to the


With Flirting and Flyting their Physnome they                                                               490


Some seeking Lyce in the Crown of it keeks,

Some chops the Kids into their Cheeks,

Some in their Oxter hard it cleiks

Like and auld Bag-pipe.


With Mudyeons & Murgeons & moving the Brain

They lay it, they lift it, they louse it, they lace it,

They grap it, they grip it, it greets & they grane;

They bed it, they baw it, they bind it, they brace it,

It skitred and skarted, they skirl’d ilk ane,

All the Kye in the Country they skared & chased,                                                            500

That roaring they wood ran & routed in a Reane,

The wild Deer fra their Den has displaced,

The Cry was so ugly of Elfs, Apes and Owles,


That Geese and Gaisling cryes and craiks,

In Dubs douks down with Duiks and Draiks,

All Beasts for fear the Fields forsakes,

And the Town Tykes yowls.


Sik a mirthless Musick their Minstrels did make,

While Ky cast Caprels behind with their Heels,                                                               510

Little Rent to their Tyme the Town let them take,

But ay tammeist redwood, & raveld in their Reels;

Then the Cummers that ye ken came all macklack,

To conjure that Coidyoch with Clews in their


While all the Bounds them about grew blaikned

and black,

For the Din of thir Daiblets rais’d all the De’ils,

To concur in the Cause they were come sa far,

For they their God-bairn Gifts would give,

To teach the Child to steal and rive,

And ay the langer that it live

The Warld should be the warr.                                                                            520


Polwart’s Third Flyting against Mont-


Internal fraward feaming Furies fell

Curst, cankred, crabed (Coltho) help to quell

Yon Canibal, yon Cative execrable,

Provide my Pen profoundly to distel

Some dure Despite to daunt yon Devil of Hell

And drive with Dool to Death detestable

This made malicious Monster miserable,


A Tyke tormented troting out of Toon,

Then runs red wood at ilk mids of the Moon.

Renew your roaring Rage and eager Ire,                                                                            530

Inflam’d with fearful thundring Thuds of Fire,

To plague this poysoned Pykthank, Pestilent

With flying Fire-flaghts burning bright & shire

Devore yon devilish Dragon, I desire,

And waste his wearied Venom violent,

Conjure this beastly Begger impotent,

Suppresse all Power of this evil Sprite,

That bids and barks in him as black as jeit.

But reekie Rocks and Ravens or ye rive him,

Desist, delay his Death while I descrive him,                                                                    540

Syn ripely to his Raving rude reply,

To dreadful Dolour dearly or ye drie him

Through Pluto’s Power, pleasure to deprive him

The Lown may lick his Vomit, and deny

His shameless Sawsse like Satan slavish smy,

Whose Manners with his mismade Members


Doth correspond, as plainly doth appeir.

His peilet Palad and unpleasant Pow,

They fulsome Flocks of Flies doth overflow

With Wames & Wounds all blakned full of Blains                                                          550

Out owr the Neck athort his nitty Now,

Ilk Louse lyes linkand like a large Lintbow

That hurts his Harness & pierce them to his Pains

While Wit and Vertue vanish’d fra the Vains

With Scars and Scors athort his frozen Front,

In Rankels run within the Stews, all burnt.

His Lugs baith lang and lean who cannot lack


That to the Tron hath tane so many a Tack,

With blasted Bowels, bowden with bruised Blud

And hapning Haires blown withershins aback,                                                                560

Foot foundred Beasts, for fault of Food full weat

Hes not their Hair so snod as other good,

The bleard Buck and boistrous to conclude,

His right trim Teeth somewhat in a Thraw

A topped Turd right teughly for to taw.

With laidly Lips and lyning Side turned out,

His Nose well lit in Bacchus Blood about,

His stinking End, corrupt as Men well knaws.

Contagions, Cankers carves his sneaking Snout,

His shoven Shuders shaves the Marks no doubt                                                              570

Of teugh Tail there’s Tyres and other Tawes,

And Girds of Galeys growand now in gaws.

Swa all his fulsome Form thereto effeirs,

The which for Filth I will not file your Ears.


The Second Part of Polwart’s Third Flyting.

But of his Conditions to carp for a while,

And compt you his Qualities, compast with Cair,

Appardon me Poets to alter my Stile,

And wisle my Verse for fyling the Air,

Returning directly again to Argile

Where last that I left him baith bairfit and bair,                                                              580

Where rightly I reckoned his Race very vile

Descending of Devils as I declare.

But which of the Gods will guide me aright

Abhorring so abominable

So doolful and detestable,


So knavish cankred execrable

And wearied a Wight.

In Argile amang the Gaits he gaid within Glens,

Ay there using Offices of a bruit Beast,

While blesless was banisht for handling of Hens,                                                590

Syne forward to Flanders fast fled or he ceast.

From poor anes Pultrie he plucked the Pens,

Delighting in Thift, the Heart of his Breast,

And Courage enclin’d to Knav’ry Men kens,

To pestilent Purpose plainly he preast:

But trulie to tell all the Truth unto you

In nowise was he wise,

He used both Carts and Dice,

And fled no Kind of Vice,

Or few as I trow.                                                                                                   600

He was a false Schismatick notoriouslie nam’d,

Both Whoredom and Homicide unsel he used,

With all the seven Sins that Smatchet was sham’d;

Pride, Ire and Envy, this Undought abused,

For greedy Covetousness bitterly blamed,

For Baudrie and Borderling luckless he ruized:

Trist, Trines and Drunkness, the Dyvor defam’d,

False Feinzeir, with Flyting and Flattrie infused,

Maist sinful and sensual, shame to rehearse,

Whose feckless Foolishness                                                                                    610

And beastly Brukleness

Can no Man as I guess

Well put it into Verse.

A Warlock and a Warwolf, a Vowbet but Hair,

A Devil, a Dragon, a dead Dromedarie,

A counterfit Custron that cracks, does not cair,


A clavering Cohooby that cracks of the Pharie,

Whose favorless Phisnome doth duely declare

His Vices and Viciousness, although I wold vary

Arcandam’s Astrologie, a Latern of Lair,                                                                           620

Affirms his Bleaidness to Wisdom contrary,

Betakning baith Babling and Baldness of Age,

Great Fraud and fould Deceit,

Capped with quit Conceit,

Witness some Verse he wrate

Half dead in a Rage.

His Anagram also concerning that Case,

Says surelie it’s a Sign of a leacherous Lown,

His Paleness next partlie with Brown i’th’Face,

Arcandam ascrives to Babling ay bown,                                                                            630

And tratling intemperate, timeless but Place,

A Coward yet cholrick and drunk in each Town,

And als his Ass Ears they sing in short Space,

The frantick Fool shall grow mad like Mahown;

But yet shal he live long, which alas were a Loss,

For such a tried Traitour,

A babling Blasphemator

Was never form’d of Nature

So gouked a Goose,

Whose Origine noble the Note of his Name,                                                                   640

Cal’d Etymologie bears rightly record,

His Sirname doth flow from 2 Terms of Defame

From Mont & Gomorah where De’ils be th’ Lord,

His Kinsmen were clearly cast out to his Shame,

That this is the Clan whom Christ hath abhor’d,

And bears of the Birth-place their horrible Name,

Where Sodomite Sinners with stinking were smord.


Now sen all is suith that is said of this Smy

Unto that caped Clark

And pretty Peice of Wark,                                                                                       650

That bitterly doth bark,

I may this reply.


Polwart’s last Flyting against Montgomery.

Vile Villain vain, and war than I’ve tald thee,

Thy withered Wame is damnified and dried

Beshitten Bystour, baldly I forbade thee,

To mel with me, or else thou shuld dear buy it,

The Speech but Purpose, Porter is espied,

That writs of Witches, Warlocks, Wraths & Wratches,

But Invectives against him well defied,

Rob Stein thou raves, forgetting whom thou                                                                   660


Leave Bogles, Brownies, Gyre-carlings & Gaists,

Dastard thou daffs that with such Devilry mels

They Reasons savours of Reek, and nothing else,

Then Sentences of Suit sa sweetly smels,

Thou sat so near the Chimney-nuik that made’em

Fast by the Ingle, amang the Oyster Shells,

Dreidand, my Danger durst not well debar’em.

Thy tratling Truiker, wald gar Tades spew

And Carl-cats weep Vinegar with their Eine,

Thou said I borrowed Blads that is not true,                                                                     670

The contrary, false Smatchet, shall be seen,

I never had of that making ye mein

A Verse in Writ, in Print, or yet perqueir,

Whilk I can prove, and cleanse me wonder cleir,

Though single Words no Writer can forbeir.


To prove my Speeches probable and plain

Thou must confess thou used my Invention,

I reckoned first thy Race, syne thou again

In that same sort made of thy Master mention,

Thy Wit is weak with me to have Dissention,                                                                 680

For to my Speech thou never made Reply;

At Liberty to lie is thy Intention,

I answer ay which thou cannot deny,

Thy Friends are Fiends, of Apes thou feinzies mine,

With my Assistance saying all thou can,

I count such Kindred better yet nor thine,

Without which thou might have barked waist;

I laid the Ground whereon thou best began,

To big the Brig whereof thou brags maist.

Thy Lack of Judgement may be als perceived,                                                                 690

Thir twa chief Points of Reason wants in thee,

Thou attributes to Aips, where thou has reaved

The Ills of Horse, a monstrous Sight to see,

Na Marvel though ill won, ill wared be.

For all these Ills thou staw, I am right certain,

From Semple’s Ditements of a Horse did die,

Of Porterfield that dwelt into Dumbarton,

Amang the Ills of Aips that thou hast tauld,

Though to a Horse pertaining properlie,

Thou puts the Spaven in the forder Spauld,                                                                      700

That useth in the Hinder-hogh to be,

Fra Horsemen anes thy Cunning hear and see

I fear auld Allan get na mair ado,

Alas poor Man he may lay down and die,

Sine thou’s succeed to wear the Silver Shoe.

Farder thou flees with other Fowls Wings,


O’reclade with clearer Colours than thy awn,

But specially with some of Semple’s Things,

Or of a plucked Goose thou had been knawn,

Or like a Cran, in Manting soon ov’rthrawn,                                                                    710

That must take ay nine Steps before she flee,

So in the Gout thou might have stand & blawn

As long as thou lay gravel’d like to die.

I speak not of thy vicious Divisions,

Where thou pronounces & yet propones but part

Incumbred with sa manie tried Confusions,

Quhilk shaws thy Rime but Rhetoric or Art,

Thy Memorie is short beshrew thy Heart,

Telling one Thing over twice or thrice at anes,

And cannot from a proper Place depart,                                                                           720

Except I were to frig thee with Whin-stanes.

The Things I said if that thou would deny,

Meaning to wry the Verity with Wiles,

Lick where I laid and pickle of that Pye,

Thy Knavery Credence frae thee quite Exiles,

Thy feckless Folly all thy statelie Stiles,

And syne bequeath thee to thy birken Brother.

Fond Fliter, shit Shiter, Bacon Byter, all defil’d                                                                730

Blunt-bleitar, Paddock-pricker, Pudding-eater


Hen-plucker, Closet-mucker, House-cocker very


Tany Chieks, thou speaks with thy Breiks, foul


Wood Tike, Hood-pike, ay like to live in Lack,


Flouer the Pin, scabed Skin, eat in that thou spake,

Gum gade, bald skade, fould-fac’d, why slate thou


I tell you, fill tow, thou dow not defend thee,

Quha kend thy End, false Fiend, phanatick Mule,

Theif smy, thy wald cry fy, fy, to gar end thee.

Sweit Sow, doild Cow, ay fow, foul fa thy Banes,                                                              740

Very wild, defil’d, ay wood ilk Month anes,

Tany Tade thou’s defeat, now debate, if thou dow.

Huch Padle, lick Ladle, shite Sadle, do thy best.

Creishie Souter, Shoe-clouter, Winch-mouter,

dare thou,

Ragge-railer, Sheep-stealer, double Dealer, thou’s

be drest,

Follie prief, bein Thief, Mischeif fall thy Lips.

Bleird-Baird, thy Rewardis is prepar’d for thy Hips,

Erse-slaiker, glyde Glaiker, Room-raiker for Re-


Lunatick, Frenatick, Schismatick, Swingeour Sob,

Turd fac’d, ay chas’d, almaist fyl’d for a Thief,                                                                  750

Misliekite, an thou flyte, I’ll drite in thy Gob,

Tuit Mow, wild Sow, soon bow or I wand thee,

Land-louper, light Skouper, ragged Rouper like

a Raven,

Halland-shaker, Draught-raker, Bannock-baiker,

all beshitten,

Craig-in-Peril, toom Barrel, quit the Quarrel, or

be shaven,

Rud Ratler, common Tratler, poor Pratler, out-


Hell-spark, scabbed Clark, an thou bark, I shall

belt thee.


Scad Scald, over bald, soon fald, or melt thee.

Lousie Lugs, leap Jugs, toom the Mugs on the


Tanny Flank, Red-shank, Pike-thank, I must                                                                    760

pay thee.

Spew bleck, niddie Neck, come and beck at my


False Loun, make the Boun, Mahown mon have


Rank Ruiter, scurlie Whiter, and Juiter, nane


Decrest, opprest, possest with Pluto’s Power,

Capped Knave, proud Slave, ye rave ay unrocked,

Whiles slavrand, whiles ravand, whiles wavrand

with Wine,

Greedy gouked, poor plucked, ill instructed, ye’s

be knocked,

Gley’d Gangrel, auld Mangrel, to the Hungrel

and Sapine.

Calumniator, Blashphemator, vile Creature untrue,

Thy Cheiping and Peiping with Weeping thou                                                                770

shalt rue,

Mad Maunter, vain Vaunter, ay Haunter, in


Pudding-pricker, ban the Biicker, nane quicker

in Knavery.

Kaily Lips, kiss my Hips, into Grips, thou’s be


Bail Brewar, Poison Spewer, mony trouer has

been pyn’d,

Swine-keeper, Land-leeper, tir’d Sleeper, from the



Lean Limmer, steal Grimmer, I shall skimer

i’ thy Mouth.

Fly’d fool, made Mule, die with Dool, on an Aik,

Knave kend, Christ send, ill End, on thee now.

Pudden Wright, out of Sight, thou’s be dight,

like a Draik.

Jock-blunt, thrawn Frunt, Kiss the C— of the                                                                  780


Purse-peiler, Hen stealer, Cat-killer, now I quel


Rubiator, Fornicator by Nature, foul befal thee.

Tyke-sticker, poison’d Viccar, Pot-licker, I mon

pay thee.

Jock blunt, dead Runt, I shall punt while I slay


Tyr’d Clatterer, Skin Batterer, and Flatterer of


Wild widdered, misordered, Confederat with


Blind Brock, lousie Dock, bor’d Block, banish’d


Hoie Thiefs Face, there’s na Grace, for that Grunzie.

Beld bissed, marmissed, Lansprezed to thy Lowns,

Dead Dring, dry’d Sting, thou will hing, but a                                                                  790


Lick Butter, Throat-cutter, Fish-gutter, fill the


Come bleitand and greitand, fast citand thy lad-

ly Letters.




The VIII. following POEMS were

writ by Sir Robert Aytoun, Secretary

to Anne and Mary Queens of Great-



I . On Diophantus and Charidora.

WHEN Diophantus knew

The Destinies Descreet,

How he was forced to forgoe

His Dear and only Sweet,

Ov’rvaulted with the Vail

Of Beam rebeating Trees;

And gastly gazing on the Ground,

Even Death stroke in his Eyes:

Oft pressed he to speak,

But whyll he did essay                                                                                             10

The agonizing Dreads of Death

His wrestling Voice did stay.

At last, as one that strives

Against both Woe and Shame,

Dear Charidora, ah! he cryes,

My High-adored Dame;

First I attest thy Name,

And then the Gods above,

But Chief of those, the Boy that bears

The stately Styll of Love.                                                                                         20


Let those record with me

What was my constant Part;

And if I did not honour thee

With an well hallowed Heart:

I sacrific’d to thee

My secret chast Desires,

Upon the Beauties Altar burnt

With never quenching Fires:

Thou was that Idol still,

Whose Image I adored,                                                                                            30

The Saint to whom I made my Vows,

Whose Pitties I implored;

The Star that sav’d my Ship

From Tempest of Despair,

When the Horizon of my Hope

Ov’rclouded was with Care:

Thou was the sovereign Balm,

That sweet Catholicon,

Which cured me of all my Cares,

When I did grieve and groan;                                                                                 40

Tho’ now such strange Events

Are interveen’d sincesyne,

As I dare not avow to say,

Or think that thou art mine;

Which makes me thus insert

In those my sorrowing Songs,

The History of my Mishap,

My Miseries and Wrongs;

Not that I can accuse

My Charidora; no:                                                                                                     50

I only execrate the Fates,


Chief Workers of my Woe.

Should she whom I have lov’d

So many loathsome Years,

For whom my dear distilling Eyes

Has shed such Streams of Tears;

Should she, I say, be made

A Prey to such an one,

Who for her sake yet never gave

Not one untymely Groan:                                                                                        60

No surely, surely no;

The Fates may do me wrong,

And make her by their bad Decreet

To whom they please belong:

Yet I dare boldly say,

And peradventure vant,

That she is mine by Lot of Love,

Tho’ Luck in Love I want;

And tho’ my Horoscope

Envy my Worldly Things,                                                                                        70

Yet unto Love it gave me Leave

For to compare with Kings.

And if I knew the Vyer

Under the Starry Sky,

That durst avow to love my Dame

More faithfully than I,

I should tear out this Heart

That entertains my Breath,

And cast it down before her Feet,

To dy a shameful Death.                                                                                          80

But since both Time and she

Have try’d me to be true,


And found such Faithfulness in me

As shall be found in few;

I rest secure in this,

And cares not who pretend

The moe persues, the more my Pairt

Proves perfect to the End:

And others faithless Faiths

In Ballance weigh’d with mine,                                                                               90

Shall make my Faith for to triumph

And as the Sun to shine.

There shall no Change of Things,

Of Time, of Soyl, nor Air,

Inforce me to forgoe the Vows

Made to my fairest Fair,

Which here I do renew

In solemn Form again;

To witness, as I did begin,

So shall I still remain.                                                                                              100

I swear by those two Eyes,

My only dearest Dear,

And by the Stygian Stanks of Hell,

Whereby the Gods did swear;

That thou art only she

Whose Countenance I crave,

And shall be both in Life and Death

Thy best affected Slave:

That there shall no Deceits

Of lovely laughing Eyen,                                                                                          110

No sugard Sound of Syren Songs,

With far fetch’d Sighs between,

Deface out of my Mind


What Love did so ingrave.

Thy Words, thy Looks, and such Things else,

As none but Angels have.

And this which here I swear

And solemnly protest,

Those Trees, which only present are,

Shall witness and attest.

But chiefly above all                                                                                                             120

This holy Shade and Green,

On which the Cyphers of our Names

Character’d shall be seen.

O happy, happy Tree,

Into whose tender Rynd

The Trophies of our Love shall live

Eternally inshryn’d;

Which shall have Force to make

Thy Memory remain,                                                                                               130

Sequestrate from the bastard Sort

Of Trees which are prophane.

And when with careless Looks

The rest ov’rpast shall be,

Then thou shall be ador’d and kist

For Charidora’s Tree.

And peradventure too,

For Diophantus sake,

Some civil Person that comes by

Shall Homage to thee make.                                                                                   140

Thus blest shall thou remain,

While I unhappy prove,

And doubtful where I shall be blest,

When I shall leave my Love.


Indeed all is in doubt;

But thus I must depart,

The Body must a Pilgrim be,

And she retain the Heart.

The Thoughts of which Exile,

And dolorous Divorce,                                                                                             150

Works Sorrow, Sorrow doth from me

Those sad Complaints inforce:

For while I was resolv’d

To smoother up my Grief,

Because it might but move in Men

More Marvel than Belief.

The never ceasing Frowns

of male-encountrous Fates

Extorted those abrotive Births

Of importune Regretes,                                                                                           160

To witness to the World

That my Mishaps are such,

As tho’ I mourn like one half mad,

I cannot mourn too much;

For if of all Mishaps

This be the First of all,

To have been highly happy once,

And from that Heighth to fall,

I’m sure I may well say,

That Diophantus Name                                                                                           170

Is the Synonyme of Mishaps,

Or else exceed the same.

Or if there be no Hell

But out of Heav’n to be,

Consider what her Want should work,


Whose Sight was such to me.

I think all these that speak

Of Sorrow, should think shame,

When Diophantus shall be heard,

Or Charidora’s Name;                                                                                              180

Her Worth was without Spot,

His Truth was unreprov’d:

The one deserv’d at least to live,

The other to be lov’d.

Yet hath the dev’lish Doom

Of Destinies ordain’d,

That he should loss both Life and Love,

And she a faithful Friend.

Wherefore all you that hears

Those am’rous tragick Plays,                                                                                   190

Bestow on him a World of Plaints,

On her a World of Praise.


II . On Love.

There is no worldly Pleasure here below,

Which by Experience doth not Folly prove;

But amongst all the Follies that I know,

The sweetest Folly in the World is Love:

But not that Passion which with Fools Consent

Above the Reason bears imperious Sway,

Making their Lifetime a perpetual Lent,

As if a Man were born to fast and pray.

No, that is not the Humour I approve,


As either yielding Pleasure or Promotion:                                                            10

I like a mild and lukewarm Zeal in Love,

Altho’ I do not like it in Devotion;

For it has no Coherence with my Creed,

To think that Lovers die as they pretend:

If all that, say they, dy, had dy’d indeed,

Sure long e’re now the World had had an End.

Besides, we need not love but if we please;

No Destiny can force Men’s Disposition,

And how can any die of that Disease,

Whereof himself may be his own Physician:                                                        20

But some seems so distracted of their Wits,

That I would think it but a Venial Sin

To take some of those Innocents that sits

In Bedlam out, and put some Lovers in;

Yet some Men rather than incur the Slander

Of true Apostates, will false Martyrs prove.

But I am neither Iphis nor Leander,

I’ll neither drown nor hang my self for Love:

Methinks a wife Man’s Actions should be such,

As always yields to Reason’s best Advice.                                                             30

Now for to love too little or too much,

Are both Extreams, and all Extreams are Vice;

Yet have I been a Lover by Report,

Yea I have dy’d for Love, as others do:

But prais’d be God, it was in such a sort,

That I reviv’d within an Hour or two.

Thus have I liv’d, thus have I lov’d till now,

And find no Reason to repent me yet;

And whosoever otherways will do,

His Courage is as little as his Wit.                                                                          40


III . On Mrs. Margaret Lesly, Lady Ma-


Religious Relicts of that ruinous Place,

Which sometimes gloried in the Glore of


Now hath no Glore but one, whereof it vaunts

That no Saints Beauty makes it Heav’n of Grace

In Balmie Fields which fairds her flowry Face

With sweet Perfumes of Corns, of Trees, of


While Neptune swells with Pride, where there

he haunts,

And longs for Joy such Beauty to embrace:

Bear me Record, that while I passed by,

I did my dutious Homage to your Dame;                                                                       10

How thrice I sigh’d, thrice on her Name did cry,

Thrice kist the Ground for honour of the same.

Then left those Lines, to tell her, on a Tree,

That she made Them to live, and Me to dy.


IV . On a Woman’s Inconstancy, and the



I Lov’d thee once, I’ll love no more,

Thine be the Grief, as is the Blame;

Thou art not what thou wast before,

What Reason I should be the same?


He that can love unlov’d again,

Hath better Store of Love than Brain.

God send me Love my Debts to pay,

While Unthrifts fools their Love away.

Nothing could have my Love o’erthrown,

If thou had still continued mine;                                                                                     10

Yea, if thou had remain’d thy own,

I might perchance have yet been thine.

But thou thy Freedom did recal,

That if thou might elsewhere inthral;

And then how could I but disdain

A Captive’s Captive to remain.

When new Desires had conquer’d thee,

And chang’d the Object of thy Will,

It had been Lethargy in me,

No Constancy, to love thee still:                                                                                     20

Yea it had been a Sin to go

And prostitute Affection so,

Since we are taught no Pray’rs to say

To such as must to others pray.

Yet do thou glory in thy Choice,

Thy Choice of his good Fortune boast:

I’ll neither grieve, nor yet rejoice,

To see him gain what I have lost:

The height of my Disdain shall be

To laugh at Him, to blush for Thee,                                                                       30

To love thee still, but go no more

A begging at a Beggar’s Door.


The Answer, by the Author, at the King’s

   Majesty’s Command.

Thou that lov’d once, now loves no more,

For fear to show more Love than Brain;

With Heresy, unhatch’d before

Apostacy thou dost maintain.

Can he have either Brain or Love

That doth Inconstancy approve?

A Choice well made no Change admits,

All Changes argues After-wits.

Say that she had not been the same,

Should thou therefore another be?                                                                                 10

What thou in her as Vice did blame,

Can thou take Vertue’s Name in thee?

No, thou in this her Captive was,

And made thee ready by her Glass;

Example led Revenge astray,

When true Love should have kept the


True Love has no reflecting End,

The Object good set it at rest,

And Noble Breasts will freely lend

Without expecting Interest.                                                                                             20

‘Tis Merchants Love, ‘tis Trade for Gain,

To barter Love for Love again:

‘Tis Usury, yea worse than this,

For Self-idolatry it is.

Then let her Choice be what it will,

Let Constancy be thy Revenge;


If thou retribute Good for Ill,

Both Grief and Shame shall check her Change,

Thus may’st thou laugh when thou shall see

Remorse reclaim her home to thee;                                                                       30

And where thou beg’st of her before,

She now sits begging at thy Door.


V . On King James the VI.

The old Records of analized Fame

Confirms this Wonder with the World’s


The once that Isle which Delos heght by Name,

In Neptune’s Bosom like a Pilgrim went,

After when great Apollo was content

To grace it with the Bliss of his Birth-day;

Then those inconstant Motions did relent,

And it began to stand and stay.

Delos when I admire thy Hape, I needs must say,

In this our Albion none may with thee compare:                                                          10

Before our Pheobus Birth we were a Prey

To civil Motions, tossed here and there;

But since our Birth-Star did o’ershine our State,

We stand secure redeem’d from all Debate.


VI . To Queen Anne, on a New-year’s Day



WHO knows your Greatness, cannot but with



Draw near your Altar, to make Offrings there;

But whoso knows your Goodness, may make


And with a Mite as with a Mine of Gold,

As confidently sacrifice to you:

And this is it that must plead Pardon now,

Both for the poorness of my Gifts and Lines.

Princes are Gods, Gods laugh to see their Shrines

Adorn’d with any Gift but of that kind,

That Beggars may as well Cræsus find:                                                                              10

They know how Worldlings personate their


And mask with Gold Presents of Leaden Hearts.

They know how Gifts at Court are but a Train

To steal from great ones twice as good again.

Now I have no such End; my poor Oblation

At this auspicious Time of Salutation,

Had it a Tongue, this only would it say,

Heav’ns heap upon you many a New-Year’s Day.


VII . On Prince Henry’s Death, To Prince


Admired Phœnix, springing up apace

From the Ashes of another Phœnix Bones,

Which too too courteous yielded thee his Place,

Left Earth were burden’d with two Birds at


Of that rare kind which love to live alone,

Whose only Essence is to be but one.


VIII . Upon Sir William Alexander’s Mo-

   narchical Tragedies.

Well may the Programe of thy tragick Stage

Invite thy curious Pomp expecting Eyes,

To gaze on present Shows of passed Age,

Which just Desert Monarchick dare baptize.

Crowns thrown from Thrones to Tombs, de-

thron’d arise,

To match thy Muse with a Monarchick Theme,

That while her Sacred Soaring cuts the Skies,

A vulgar Subject may not wrong the same.

And which gives most of Luster to thy Fame,

The worthiest Monarch that the Sun can see,                                                               10

Doth grace thy Labour with this glorious Name,

And daigns Protector of thy Birth to be.

This All-Monarchick-Patron Subject Stile,

Makes thee the Monarch-tragick of this Isle.




The Country Wedding.

ROB’s Jock came to wooe our Jennie

On a Feast Day when he was fow;

She busked her and made her bonnie

When she heard Jock was come to wooe:

She burnish’d her baith Breast and Brow,

Made her as clear as any Clock.

Then spake our Dame, and said, I trow

You’re come to wooe our Jennie, Jock!


Ay Dame, says he, for that I yern

To lout my Head, and sit down by you:                                                                             10

Then spake our Dame, and said, My Bairn

Has Tocher of her awn to gi’ you.

Tee hee, quoth Jennie, teet I see you;

Minnie this Man makes but a Mock.

Why say ye sae, now leese me o’ you,

I came to wooe you Jennie, quoth Jock.


My Bairn has Tocher of her awn,

Although her Friends do nane her lend,

A Stirk, a Staig, an Acre sawn,

A Goose, a Gryce, a clocking Hen,                                                                                      20

Twa Kits, a Cogue, a Kirn there ben,

A Keam but and a keaming Stock,

Of Dishes and Ladles nine or ten.

Came ye to wooe our Jennie, Jock?


A Trough, a Trencher, and a Tap,

A Taing, a Tullie, and a Tub.

A Sey-dish and a Milking Cap,

A Greap into a Grupe to grub,

A Shode-shool of a Holin Club,

A Froath-stick, a Can, a Creel, a Knock,                                                                            30

A Braik for Hemp, that she may rub,

If ye will marry our Jennie, Jock.


A Furm, a Firlot and a Peck,

A Rock, a Reel, a gay Elvand,

A Sheet, a Happer, and a Sack,

A Girdle, and a good Wheel-band.


Syne Jock took Jennie by the Hand,

And cry’d a Banquet, and slew a Cock;

They held the Brydal upon Land,

That was between our Jennie and Jock.                                                                              40


The Bride upon her Wedding went

Barefoot upon a Hemlock Hill;

The Bride’s Garter was o’ Bent,

And she was born at KellieMill.

The first Purpine he heght her till

He heght to hit her Head a Knock,

She baked and she held her still;

And this Geat gat our Jennie Jock.


When she was wedded in his Name,

And unto him she was made Spouse,                                                                                50

They hasted them soon hame again,

To Denner to the Brydal-house,

Jennie sat jowking like a Mouse,

But Jock was kneef as any Cock:

He says to her, Had up your Brows,

And fa to your Meat my Jennie, quoth Jock.


What Meat shall we set them beforn,

To Jock Service loud can they cry,

Serve them with Sowce and sodden Corn,

Till a’ their Wyms do stand awray:                                                                                     60

Of Swine’s Flesh there was great Plenty,

Whilk was a very pleasant Meat,

And Garlick was a Sawce right dainty

To ony Man that pleas’d to eat.



They had six Laverocks fat and laden,

With Lang-keal, Mutton, Beef and Broos,

A Wyme of Paunches tough like Plaiden,

With good gay Butter, Milk and Cheese.

Jennie sat up even at the Meace,

And a’ her Friends her beside,                                                                                            70

They were a’ serv’d with shrewd Service;

And sae was seen upon the Bryde.


Out at the Back-door fast can she slyde,

And loos’d a Buckle wi’ some Bends,

And cakied Jockie for a’ his Pride,

And jawed out at baith the Ends,

So stoutly her Mother her defends,

And says, my Bairn’s loose in the Dock,

It comes o’ Cald to make it kend,

Think nae Ill o’ your Jennie Jock.                                                                                         80


Now Dame, says he, your Daughter I’ve married,

Although you held it never so tough,

And Friends shall see she’s no miscarried,

For I wat I have Gear enough:

I had an ald ga’d Glyde fell o’er the Heugh,

A Cat, a Cunning, and a Cock;

I wanted Eight Oxen, tho’ I’d had the Pleugh,

May not this ser’e you my Jennie, quoth Jock.


I have good Fire for Winter-weather,

A Cod o’ Caff wou’d fill a Cradle,                                                                                        90

A Halter, and a good Hay Teather,

A Duck about the Doors to padle,


The Pannel of an ald Sadle;

And Rob my Emme heght me a Stock,

Twa lov’ly Lips to lick a Ladle.

Now Jennie and I agree, quoth Jock.


A Treen Spit, a Ram-horn Spoon,

A Pair o’ Boots o’ Barked Leather,

All Graith that’s meet to coble Shoon,

A Thrawcrook for to twine a Teather,                                                                                100

A Sword, a Sweel, a Swine’s Bladder,

A Trump o’ Steel, a feathered Lock,

An ald Skull Hat for Winter-weather,

And meikle mair, my Jennie quoth Jock.


I have a Trap to catch a Mouse,

A Girse-green Cloak, but it will stenzie;

A Pitch-fork to defend the House,

A pair of Branks, a Bridle-Renzie;

Of a’ our Store we need no Plenzie,

Ten Thousand Flechs intil a Pock;                                                                                      110

And is not this a wakerife Menzie,

To gae to Bed wi’ Jennie and Jock.


Now when their Dinner they had done,

Then John himsell began t’advance,

He bad the Piper play up soon,

For be his Troth he wou’d gae dance.

The Piper piped till’s Wyme gripped,

And a’ the Rout began to revel:

The Bride about the King she skipped,

Till out starts Carle and Cavel.                                                                                            120



Well danc’d Dickie, stand aside Sandie;

Well danc’d Eppie and Jennie!

He that tynes a Stot o’ the Spring,

Shall pay the Piper a Pennie.

Well danc’d Hugh Fisher,

Come take our Bride and kiss her.

Well danc’d Bessie and Ste’en!

Now sick a Dance was never seen

Since Christ’s Kirk on the Green.



OUR Love of others is but Sense,

Against which Reason has some Fence;

But ye our Reason do subdue,

And it us Captives leads to you;

For nothing can your Charms exceed,

Except the Vertues which them breed.


They imploy Cupid and his Darts,

But without Wounding ye gain Hearts;

These no sooner begin to burn,

But in their Flames they find their Urn:                                                                            10

But, like the Sun, ye warm all here,

And but such as come too near.


Their Love can satisfy but one,

Because ‘tis Sense that’s doted on;

But so infinit your Vertues be,


That they bless as many as you see,

And such as see not Fetters wear,

For Fame does take them by the Ear.


Wishes to them, and Compliment,

Are a Liturgy when on you spent:                                                                                      20

We flatter them, but cannot you,

For ye make all our Flatteries true:

Our Nonsense on you’s more than Wit,

For it is an extatick Fit.


Yet glorie not to break poor Hearts,

Your Image will shew less in Parts,

They Subjects are, let it be seen,

You’re not a Tyrant, but a Queen,

The Tode and Spider they can kill,

But to enliven’s Divine Skill.                                                                                               30


These Hearts the Temples are where we

Do you adore; then must it be

Great Sacrilege to wrong that Place

Where hangs the Image of your Face:

But if we in your Flames must dy,

We’ll glorious Martyrs be thereby.


A Paraphrastical Translation of Ovid’s IO.

Eligie, Lib. 3. Amorum.

I Have too long endur’d her guilty Scorn,

Too long her Falseness my fond Love has born;


My Freedom and my Wit at length I claim,

Begone base Passion, fly unworthy Flame,

My Life’s sole Torment, and my Honour’s Stain,

Quit this tir’d Heart, and end my lingring Pain:

I have resolv’d to be my own once more,

Long banish’t Reason to her Rights restore,         }

And throw off Love’s tyrannick Sway, that           }

still incroaching Power.                               }

My growing Shame I see at last, tho’ late,                                                                         10

And my past Follies both despise and hate:

Hold out my Heart, and let her Beauties move,

Be constant in thy Anger, as thy Love;

Thy present Pain shall give thee future Ease,

As bitter Potions cure, tho’ they displease.

’Tis for this End, for Freedom more assur’d,

I have so long such shameful Pains endur’d,

Like a scorn’d Slave before her Door I lay,

And proud Repulses suffer’d every Day,

Without complaining; banisht from her Sight,                                                                20

On the cold Ground I spent the tedious Night,

Whilst some glad Rival in her Arms did ly,

Glutted with Love, and surfeited with Joy.

Thence have I seen the tired Favourite come,

Dragging a weak exhausted Carcass home;

And yet this Curse a Blessing I’d esteem,

Compar’d with that of being seen by him:

By him discry’d attending in the Street,

May my Foes only such Disgraces meet.

What Toil and Time has this false Woman cost?                                                             30

How much of unreturning Youth has for her

sake been lost?


How long did I, where Fancy led, or Fate,

Unthank’d, unminded, on her Rambles wait?

Her Steps, her Looks were still by mine pursued,

And watch’d by me, she charm’d the gazing


My dil’gent Love, and overfond Desire,

Has been the Means to kindle others Fire.

What need I mention ev’ry little Wrong,

Or curse the Softness of her soothing Tongue;

The private Love-signs that in publick pass,                                                                    40

Between her and some common staring Ass.

The Coquet Arts her faithless Heart allows,

Or tax her with a Thousand broken Vows:

I hear she’s sick, and with wild haste I run,

Officious haste, and visit Importune;

Entring, my Rival on her Bed I see,

The politick Sickness only was to me.

With this and more oft has my Love been try’d   }

Some other Coxcomb let her now provide,           }

To bear her Jilting, and maintain her Pride.          }                                                           50

My batter’d Bark has reach’d the Port at last,

Nor fears again, the Billows it has past:

Cease your soft Oaths, and that still ready Shower,

Those once dear Words have lost their wonted


In vain you flatter, I am now no more

That easy Fool you found me heretofore;

Anger and Love a doubtful Fight maintain,

Each strive by Turns my stagg’ring Heart to gain:

But what can long against Love’s Power contend?

My Love I fear will conquer in the End;                                                                             60


I’ll do what e’re I can  to hate you still,

And if I love, know ‘tis against my Will.

As th’ Ox fatigu’d, shuns Ploughmans Yoke to wear,

Yet, spite of him, the hated Load must bear.

So I, to Fury by her Lewdness rais’d                       }

Did often think the madding Fit had ceas’d;         }

But artful Beauty soon that Storm appeas’d:        }

And, spite of me, my self I do ensnare,

For False and Vicious is varnish’d ov’r with Fair.

Both with her and without her I’m in pain,                                                                      70

And rage to loose what I should blush to gain,

Uncertain yet at what my Wishes aim,

Loath to abandon Love, or part with Fame.

That Angel Form, ill suits a Soul all Sin:

Ah! be less fair without, or more within.

When those soft Smiles my yielding Powers in-


In vain I call her Vices to my Aid,

Tho’ now disdaining the Disguise of Art,              }

In my Esteem her Conduct claims no Part:           }

Her Face a natural Right has to my Heart,            }                                                           80

No Crimes so black are, to deform her Eyes,

Those Clouds must scatter when these Suns shall


Enough, fair Conquerour! the Day’s your own,

See at your Feet Love’s vanquish’t Rebel thrown

By those dear Joys, Joys dear tho’ they are past,

When in the kindest Links of Love we held each

other fast.

By the injured Gods your false Oaths did prophane,

By all those Beauties that inspir’d Disdain.



Formula Lauream Candidatis dandi in

Collegio (I) Buterensi.


EGO Authoritate solum.

Qua fundatores nostri olim

Donârunt Collegium nostrum,

Te Jacobum Hay (2) Magistrum,

In artibus potabilibus,

Et scientiis bibibilibus,

Creo constituto & proclamo;

(Quia te non parum amo.)

Potestatem do tibique

Compotandi bibendique                                                                                                        10

Aa summa pocula implendi

Et hausti exhauriendi

Cujusvis sint capacitatis

E rotundis aut quadratis.

In signum ut manu mittaris,

Adornet caput hic galerus

Quod tibi felix sit faustumque

Obnixè comprecor multumque.

Do tibi demum calicem

Impletum ut des specimen                                                                                                    20

Ingenii tui huic Choro

Aut cætui quod facias oro.



Terror Bajanorum.

Take heed unto your Theme,

Responde (3) Peter Butter;

Of blawn Drinks think Shame,

You’ll never get the Name,

‘Till thrice ye bed the Gutter.

E’er to my School ye go,

By me ye must be try’d;

Whether you will or no,

Drink all the Healths you know,

And one more beside.  Satis.                                                                                               10


Theses Collegii Butterensis, Anno 1699.



’Gainst any Man of Sense,

Asserimus ex pacto,

Upon his own Expense,

Quod vere datur ens

Potabile de facto.


Cogito (ergo sum)

That Thirst doth us Harm,

Sit still upon your Bum

’Till the Divet stop the Lum,

Drink o’er the left Arm.                                                                                                       10



If you expect Degrees,

Drink off your Cup and fill;

We’re not for what you please,

Our absolute Decrees

Admit of no Free-will.


Salubrius est nil

Zy ho illupulato.

Drink thrice, then pass your Skill,

Concluding with a Gill,

Sed prorsus epotato.                                                                                                              20


The Scepticks were but Fools,

Who doubted of good Drink.

When drunk within their Schools,

The Carles were in Creels,

And knew not what to think.


The longer we do sit,

The more we hate all Quarrels,

(Let none his Quarters flit)

The more we do admit

Of Vacuum in Barrels.                                                                                                         30


By Arguments most sound,

Ex capite pergravi,

’Tis evidently found

That all the Earth runs round

In spite of Tycho Brahe.



Num Beer or Ale be fitter

To settle the Disjune

Of those that have the Skitter,

Num Usquebea and Butter

Be best at Night or Noon.                                                                                                    40


Alt. (4) Phillip Præses.

Vindiciæ ad D. Alexandrum Crookshanks,



Most worthy Patron we,

Præfati Candidati,

With th’old School-Men agree,

As we shall let you see

O Tite, Tute, Tati.


’Twas Aristotle’s Wish,

Who glamped at the Truth,

And tipled like a Fish,

To drink well and to pish,

And not to die for Drouth.                                                                                                  10


The best of our great Guns

Refresh’d himself when dry;

To wit John Scot of Duns,

Swept off so many Ounce,

And gave his Reasons why.



Both Cartes and Le Grand,

Tho’ they did break no Glasses,

To tipple did not stand:

So did Pope Hildebrand,

As ev’ry Man confesses.                                                                                                       20


Mes. George Buchanan, yea

Et multi recentiores,

At Ale and Usquebea,

Sat sometimes Night and Day,

And told Jus Regni Stories.


Since Cartes took his Glass,

And so did Aristotle,

Let’s call the College Lass

When thirsty, he’s an Ass

With’s Friend will baulk a Bottle.                                                                                      30


Let Mahomet drink Wine,

And Mercury drink Nectar;

Set thou thy Foot to mine,

We hold our Ale’s as fine

As (5) Oliver’s Protector.


Diploma (6) Georgii Dorward, Novam

Caledoniam adeuntis.

TO all and sundry who shall see this,

What e’er his Station or Degree is,


We, Masters of the Butt’ry College,

Send Greeting, and to them give Knowledge,

That George Dorward, præsentium lator,

Did study at our Alma Mater

Some Years, and hated foolish Projects,

But stiffly studied liquid Logicks,

And noe he’s as well skill’d in Liquor,

As any one that blaws a Bicker;                                                                                          10

For he can make (7) our College Theme,

A Syllogism or Enthymeme.

Tho’ he confute not cum præmissis,

Yet his Conclusion never misses.

Since now we have him manumitted,

In Arts and Sciences well fitted,

To recommend him we incline

To all be South and North the Line,

To all Men unacquaint with Bruma,

To Prester John and Montezuma,                                                                                        20

To Black and White, tho’ they live as far

As Cape Good-hope and Madagascar,

Him to advance: Because he is

Juvenis bonæ indolis.

In Testimony that this true is,

Our College-Seal affix’d hereto is,

Confirm’d by our subscribing Hands.

(8) Coclay Principal, who commands.

(9) Philip, Forrest, Morison, and Hay,


Professors of Philosophy.                                                                                                    30

In gratiam Georgii is this Line,

Dated in July Ninety-nine.


Catalogus Librorum in Bibliotheca Buterensi.

Books in large Folio.

1 Maximilian Maltkist, de principiis liquidi.

2 Mr Humphry Hogshead, in usum stu-


3 Sebastianus Standfat, de operationibus Barmi-

            feris & vi spumaticâ.

4 Cornelius Caldrons de condensatione liquidi.

5 Kircherus Kettles, de eodem Themate.

Books in lesser Folio.

6 Valerius Water-Tubs Hydrostatiques, 4 Tom.

7 Opera Bibuli Barellii, ubi de conservatione li-

   quoris, & de vacuo problematice disputatur.

8 Mr. Yachus Yetling, de refrigeratione sub-


9 Symon Stands, Tractat.contrat Vinibilos, prov-

ing to a Demonstration the Zythobibi to

be the only true Philosophers.

10 Miscellanea Frederici Fatstone, cum annotatio-

            nibus Petri Butter.

11 Bellarminus Bowies, de Festinatione, 8 Vol.

Books in large Quarto.

12 Buckets Hydrostaticks.

13 Emblemata Ducis de Alva, 6 Tom.


14 Barbosa Butter-kit, Badenochenus, de Pro-

Positionibus compositis in usum Montanorum.

15 Quevedo Quarti System of Philosophy.

Books in lesser Quarto.

16 Tremellius Three-chopins, cum notis Titi Turn-

   timber, 2 Tom.

17 Celebrius Cummercap de privatis haustibus.

18 Cogita Novo-antiqua Christophori Cut-lugs.

19 Balbinus Botelus, a Neoterick Philosopher

approven by our Masters, with Principal

Thomson’s Annotations.

20 Petronius Pynteus de Philosophicis Bibendi

Legibus, in usum præsentis Principalis (10)

Georgii Leith, 12 Vol.

Books in Octavo.

21 Vulgaris Philosophia Constantini Chopin

Stoup, commented on by Mr. Morison,

Tom. 10.

22 Corbredus Chapins, de Retorquendis argu-


23 Barnabii Beer-glass, de lavando gutture.

24 Machiavel Mutchkin’s Metaphysical Enchiri-

dion, translated out of French into Scots, by

Christopher Findlay, which our Masters love

better in the Original.

25 Compendium ejus, for weaker Capacities.


(10) A young Gentleman, who keeps the College

for the most part Night and Day.


Lesser Volumes.

26 Manuale Gideonis Gill, de Syllogismis recte


27 Compendium ejus de Enthymemate.

28 Briarius Brandie-Glass, de supplemento Na-


29 Stephen Snuff-Box, a nauseous Author yet


30 Findlay Fireside, de Circulari poculorum motu.



Buterensis, Anno 1700.


Præstantissimo & generosissimo, Domino (II) D.

            Alexandro Forbes de Craigie; Aberd. Bis

prætori, viroore manuque promptissimo, mercatorum

Scoticorum Corypheo, mellitissimorum liquorum

Thesaurario fidelissimo, in rebus liquidis & hausibi-

libus versatissimo, de nostro Collegio optime merito,

illiusque institutori, funditori propensissimo, &c.

These hasce Philosophicas (quas Zithobibi aliquot

Juvenes e Collegio Butterensi, cum laureâ Magiste-

riali, emittendi ad diem Februarii fluctuandas pro-                                                           10

ponunt) in debiti amoris tesseram D. D. C. Q.

Joannes Morison, Præses & Candidati 36.



(11) A late Bin Aberdeen, who not only drank strongly

himself, but likewise furnished the College with Liquors.



Above these Thousand Years,

And Seven Hundred now,

Most clearly it appears,

That Philosophers and Friars

Have made the World ado.


My Candidates do say,

John Morison the Preses

Will end this Century

With true Philosophy,

As witnesseth my Theses.                                                                                                    10


Your Logicks heretofore

Were both jejune and dry,

Logomachies in store,

But Fancies we abhore,

That want Liquidity.


We barr each empty Notion,

All subtil Quiddities,

Unfit for Life and Motion,

Commends us to a Potion,

That puts our Head in Bees.                                                                                                20


We’ll not admit among us

Ideas void of Sense,

Ariggas ens Rationis,

Amicus sit comptonus,

Upon his own Expense.



That Logick we or Art,

Or Science will maintain,

Which Precepts do impart

To madify the Heart,

And keep the Liver clean.                                                                                                    30


As College Ale doth elevate us,

So it is good for Drouth,

And doth conduce to animate us;

Qui bene bibit est beatus,

Is an eternal Truth.


Illustriss. Principi, P—– Regi, S—–

Duci Rom. Imp. Elect. &c.  These hasce, quas ad

Diem Aprilis decimum publice propugnabunt juve-

nes aliquot, D.D.C.Q Joannes Forrest de

Greenhill Præses, & Candidati 26.


Theses Collegii Butter. Anno 1701



Since many do condole

The Dryness of our Case,

Who dwell so near the Pole;

Therefore upon Parole

We’ll take the other Glass.


’Tis lawful for to pledge,

’Tis fortior to drink:

If we with Danes engage,


Lest with a murthering Edge

They cause the Throat to shrink.                                                                                        10


The Doctrine of France,

Brought into this Nation,

We will not advance,

Unless ’tis that we chance

On the (12) Biscay Impression.


The Spirits, we do grant,

Have their Arise from Liquor,

Each Animal and Plant

(13) A Neoterick Gaunt

Of late took off his Bicker.                                                                                                  20


On Propositions cold

The Lesson to begin,

Sorites we best hold

The ad summum Trill of old,

Were Quarts unto the Brim.


The chief Sense is Tasting,

We’ll prove it a priore

Against all Contesting,

Sed bonum est, if Casting,

Quod placet in ore.                                                                                                                30


In Schola qui furit


(12) A Partin Spain, from which Wines are allowed

to be imported. (13) Mr. R… late Teacher at Aberdeen,

who used to drink freely at all times, but once drunk

to such Excess, in the E. of M… House, that he spewed



Det pænas ocius,

Et illa lex duret,

Persolvet qui jurat

Toties quoties.


(14)      Euge, Germane,

Non edis sed bibis,

Is praise-worthy, sane

Si tu sapis mane

Delum adibis.                                                                                                                         40


For to find out a Parallaxis

We’ll not our Minds apply,

Save what a Tost in (15) Corbreed makes us,

(16) Whether the Moon moves on her Axis,

Ask Black and Gregory.


That Bodies are a parte rei

To hold we think it meetest,

Some cold, some hot, some moist, some dry,

Tho’ all of them ye taste and try,

The Fluid is the sweetest.                                                                                                    50


Post sextam semi hora,

At Night no Friend refuses

To come lavare ora,

Est melior quam aurora

And fitter for the Muses.


(14) A Servant that was with my Lord H… in Germany.

(15) A Drinking Quaf, so named in the Catalogue of

their Books. (16) A controverted Point betwixt Mr. W.B.

and Mr. J.G. betwixt whom there is a hot Planetary War.



Good Ale’s the Chief of Food,

And moves us for to rest.

The Life lies in the Blood,

All Governments are good,

But Levelling the best.                                                                                                         60

Hoc bibe quod possis si tu vis vivere sanus.



The Tunnice-Court.


THE World’s a Tunnice-Court, Man is the Ball

Toss’d against the Wall;

High soaring Hopes and languishing Despairs

The Rackets are;

Contempt’s the Cord with Strames of over and under,

Like Claps of Thunder.

Bid all that build their Hopes in Tow’rs of Air,

Since fall they must, see that their Fall be fair:

Last Night I look’t up tp Promotion’s Sky,

And there I spy                                                                                                         10

A Star whose Greatness was with Glory mixt,

But was not fixt;

For when the Pleides began to play,

It shrunk away,

And taught our Stargazers to know,

That Meteors be not Substance, but a Show.

From thence I went unto the Church to pray,

’Twas Holy-day;


Where from afar the High-Priest’s Ghost did cry,

O come not nigh.                                                                                                      20

Our Sanctuary’s with Blood defil’d,

And Truth exil’d:

Bethel, Bethamen, Doeg hath trode down

The High-Priest’s Mitre, and th’Imperial Crown.

Affrighted with such horrid Shouts at last,

Mine Eyes I cast

Up to Great Charles’s Wain, and there I find

That Boreas Wind

Had blasted Atlas Hopes, and made him try

Th’Uncertainty                                                                                                          30

Of Humane Glory, who with flatt’ring Smiles

At first inebriates, and at last beguiles.

O strange! our Spiders from their Bowels spin

A tiffny Gin,

To catch a Gnat, whilst Man with anxious Care

Contrives a Snare

For his own Feet, whilst wretched he

Strives to be free.

He wills in vain, for who can shun to fall,

When Heav’ns writ Mene-tekel on the Wall?                                                                   40

Farewell you phrantick Pleasures, get you gone,

Let me alone;

I’ll drink the Brook, and taste the Honey-comb

In Peace at home,

Not striving to be great, but good, for lo

The End doth show,

That outward Guidings do not serve to hide

The rotten Ruins of an inward Side.


The Election.

Some loves a Woman for her Wit,

Some Beauty does admire,

Some loves a handsome Leg or Foot,

Some upwards does aspire;

Some loves a Mistress nice and coy,

Some Freedom does approve;

Some like their Persons to enjoy,

Some for Platonick Love.

Some loves a Widow, some a Maid,

Some loves the Old, some Young;                                                                                   10

Some love until they be betray’d,

Some till they be undone:

Some love for Money, some for Worth,

Some love the Proud and High;

Some love for Fancy, some for Birth,

Some love, and knows not why.

Some love the Little, Plump and Fat,

Some love the Long and Small:

Some loves for Kindness, and ‘tis that

Moves me beyond them all.                                                                                             20


Old-Long-syne, First Part.

Should old Acquaintance be forgot,

And never thought upon,

The Flames of Love extinguished,

And freely past and gone?


Is thy kind Heart now grown so cold

In that Loving Breast of thine,

That thou canst never once reflect

On Old-long-syne?


Where are thy Protestations,

Thy Vows and Oaths, my Dear,                                                                                          10

Thou made to me, and I to thee,

In Register yet clear?

Is Faith and Truth so violate

To the Immortal Gods Divine,

That thou canst never once reflect

On Old-long-syne?


Is’t Cupid’s Fears, or frosty Cares,

That makes thy Sp’rits decay?

Or is’t some Object of more Worth,

That’s stoll’n thy Heart away?                                                                                             20

Or some Desert, makes thee neglect

Him, so much once was thine,

That thou canst never once reflect

On Old-long-syne?


Is’t Worldy Cares so desperate,

That makes thee to despair?

Is’t that makes thee exasperate,

And makes thee to forbear?

If thou of that were free as I,

Thou surely should be Mine:                                                                                              30

If this were true, we should renew

Kind Old-long-syne:


But since that nothing can prevail,

And all Hope is in vain,

From these rejected Eyes of mine

Still Showers of Tears shall rain:

And though thou hast me now forgot,

Yet I’ll continue Thine,

And ne’er forget for to reflect

On Old-long-syne.                                                                                                               40


If e’er I have a House, my Dear,

That truly is call’d mine,

And can afford but Country Cheer,

Or ought that’s good therein;

Tho’ thou were Rebel to the King,

And beat with Wind and Rain,

Assure thy self of Welcome Love,

For Old-long-syne.


Second Part.

MY Soul is ravish’d with Delight

When you I think upon;                                                                                                      50

All Griefs and Sorrows take the Flight,

And hastily are gone;

The fair Resemblance of your Face

So fills this Breast of mine,

No Fate nor Force can it displace,

For Old-long-syne.


Since Thoughts of you doth banish Grief,

When I’m from you removed;

And if in them I find Relief,

When with sad Cares I’m moved,                                                                                       60

How doth your Presence me affect

With Ecstasies Divine,

Especially when I reflect

On Old-long-syne.


Since thou has rob’d me of my Heart

By those resistless Powers,

Which Madam Nature doth impart

To those fair Eyes of yours;

With Honour it doth not consist

To hold a Slave in Pyne,                                                                                                       70

Pray let your Rigour then desist,

For Old-long-syne.


’Tis not my Freedom I do crave

By deprecating Pains;

Sure Liberty he would not have

Who glories in his Chains:

But this I wish, the Gods would move

That Noble Soul of thine

To Pity, since thou cannot love

For Old-long-syne.                                                                                                               80


The Indifferent Lover.

’Tis not your Beauty nor your Wit,

Which did my Heart obtain,


No, those could ever conquer yet

Either my Breast of Brain;

For if ye prove not kind to me,

And true as heretofore,

Your Slave I’ll henceforth scorn to be,

Or dote upon you more.


When that I strive your Heart to move,

The further ye refuse,                                                                                                           10

Intending to increase my Love,

My Patience ye abuse:

Shall I go render Love for Hate,

Still serve you at Command,

Or be induc’d for to intreat

For Pity at your Hand?


Whilst you make Nice for to afford me

Either Look or Smile,

Or grant me one obliging Word,

My Sorrows to beguile;                                                                                                        20

Think not my Fancy t’ overcome

By proving thus unkind,

No smoothing Smile, nor shining Frown

Can satisfy my Mind.


I know the Secrets of your Sex

Most perfectly e’re now,

When Maidenheads are laid at Stakes,

What Women oft can do.

No, let Platonicks play those Pranks,

Such Folly I deride,                                                                                                               30


For Love at least I will have Thanks,

And somewhat else beside.


Then be ingenuous with me,

As I shall be with you;

Let all Actions be as free

As Vertue will allow:

If ye intend to love me still,

Then do it but Constraint;

And if that Time hath chang’d your Mind,

But tell me, I’m content.                                                                                                      40


I mind to love, but not to dote,

I love for Love again;

And when I know you love me not,

I’ll laugh at your Disdain:

If ye prove loving, I’ll prove kind,

If true, you’ll constant be;

If Fortune chance to change your Mind,

I’ll change as soon as ye.


Since our Affections then ye know

In equal Terms does stand,                                                                                                 50

’Tis in your Power to Love or no,

Min’s likewise in my Hand;

Dispense with your Austerity,

Inconstancy abhore,

Or, by Great Cupid’s Deity,

I’ll never love thee more.



The Constant Lover.

THE Adamant doth draw indeed

Iron, a Thing most heavy,

But thou doth draw both Flesh and Blood,

All who thee sees would have thee;

When thou does touch, they straight must yield,

Tho’ they were never so Witty:

To save thy Dart, there is no Art,

I never rue I lov’d Thee.


Thy Body and thy Mind’s compleat,

Nature ne’er framed better;                                                                                                10

Thy Actions are all so discreet,

The World remains thy Debtor.

The Mold is lost that did thee cast,

So much more is the Pitie:

’Tis be my Song both first and last,

I never rue I lov’d thee.


Tho’ thou should ever prove unkind,

And never show me Favour,

Yet still thou has my Heart confin’d,

My Fancy cannot waver;                                                                                                      20

The Starry Heavens I do attest,

The Firmament above me:

Then would I have my Mind at rest,

If thou would say thou lov’d me.


The Careless Lover.

I Scorn the State of that Lover’s Condition,

Who pines for her that regards not his Pain:

I scorn the State of that foolish Ambition,

That fondly requits true Love with Disdain;

I love them that loves me, my Humour is such,

And those that do hate me, I hate them as much.

Thus I am resolv’d, however it go,

And care not whether I get her or no.


What if another her Favour inherit,

Which only by Right is due unto me;                                                                                10

Or if I reap the Fruit of another Man’s Merit,

Shall that make me gladder or sadder to be?

Shall I sigh when I’m forc’d, or laugh when I’m


Shall I chid when she is angry, or mourn when

she’s mov’d?

Shall I break my Heart, being forsaken so?

No, not a whit care I whether I get her or no.


More fickle than Fortune, more light then the


More britle than Water her Sex doth remain;

Her Tempests are turn’d Calms now we do find,

And oft-times her Sun-shine doth fall into Rain.                                                             20

Thus look we or lack we, a loose Grip we have;

What comes with the Wind, must go with the


I’ll bear my Sails equal, howe’er the wind blow,

And cares not by whether I get her or no.


Lady Anne Bothwel’s Balow.


Balow my Boy, ly still and sleep,

It grieves me sore to hear thee weep;

If thou’ll be silent, I’ll be glad,

Thy Mourning makes my Heart full sad:

Balow my Boy, they Mother’s Joy,

Thy Father’s bred me great Annoy.

Balow, &c.


Balow my Darling, sleep a while,

And when thou wakes, then sweetly smile,

But smile not as thy Father did,                                                                                          10

To cozen Maids, nay, God forbid;

But in thy Face his Looks I read,

Who overthrew my Maidenhead.

Balow, &c.


I was too credulous at the first

To grant thee that a Maiden durst;

And in thy Bravery thou dids’t vaunt,

That I no Maintenance should want:

Thou swear thou lov’d, thy Mind is moved,

Which since no otherwise has proved.                                                                              20

Balow, &c.


When he began to court my Love,

And with his sugar’d Words to move,

His tempting Face and flattering Chear

In time to me did not appear;


But now I see that cruel he

Cares neither for his Babe nor me.

Balow, &c.


I wish I were a Maid again,

From young Men’s Flatt’ry I would refrain;                                                                       30

For now unto my Grief I find,

They are all faithless and unkind.

Their tempting Charms, which bred my Harms,

Witness my Babe lyes in my Arms,

Balow, &c.


I take my Fate from best to worse,

That I must needs now be a Nurse,

And lull my young Son in my Lap;

From me, sweet Orphan, take the Pap:

Balow my Boy, thy Mother Mild                                                                                         40

Shall sing, as from all Bliss exil’d.

Balow, &c.


Balow my Child, weep not for me,

Whose greatest Grief’s for wronging thee;

Nor pity her deserved Smart,

Who can blame none but her kind Heart,

For too soon trusting, latest find,

That fairest Tongues have falsest Minds.

Balow, &c.


Balow my Boy, thy Father’s dead,                                                                                    50

When he the thriftless Son has play’d;

Of Vows and Oaths forgetful, he


Preferr’d the Wars to thee and me:

But now, perhaps, thy Curse and mine,

Makes him eat Acorns with the Swine.

Balow, &c.


Farewell, farewell, thou falsest Youth,

That ever kiss’d a Woman’s Mouth;

Let never any after me

Submit unto thy Courtesy;                                                                                                  60

For if she do, O! cruel thou

Will her abuse, and care not how.

Balow, &c.


I wish I were into that Bounds

Where he lies smother’d in his Wounds,

Repeating, as he pants for Air,

My Name, whom once he call’d his Fair:

No Woman is so fiercely set,

But they’ll forgive, tho’ not forget.

Balow, &c.                                                                                                                              70


Now Peace, my Comfort, curse not him,

Who now in Seas of Grief doth swim,

Perhaps at Death, yea who can tell,

Whether the Judge of Heaven and Hell,

By some predestinate dastard Lad,

Revenging me, hath struck him dead.

Balow, &c.


If Linnen lacks for my Love’s sake,

Then quickly to him would I make


My Smock, once for his Body meet,                                                                                   80

And wrap him in that Winding-sheet:

Ay me, how happy had I been,

If he had ne’er been wrapt therein!

Balow, &c.


Balow my Boy, for this I see,

That all this Wailing is for thee;

Thy Griefs are growing to a Sum,

God grant thee Patience when they come,

Born to bewail thy Mother’s Shame;

A happles Fate, a Bastard’s Name!                                                                                     90

Balow, &c.


A Disswasive from Women.

Come away, do not pursue

A Shadow that will follow you,

Women lighter than a Feather,

Got and lost, and all together:

Such a Creature may be thought

Void of Reason, a Thing of Nought.


Come away, let not thine Eyes

Gaze upon their Vanities;

Nor thy better Genius dwell

Upon a Subject known so well;                                                                                           10

For whose Folly at the first

Man and Beast became accurs’d.



Come away, thou canst not find

One of all that’s fair and kind:

Brighter be she than the Day,

Sweeter than a Morn in May,

Yet her Heart and Tongue agrees

As we and the Antipodes.


Come away, or if thou must,

Stay a while, yet do not trust                                                                                              20

To her Sighs, nor what she swears;

Say she weeps, suspect her Tears:

Though she seem to melt with Passion,

’Tis old Deceit but in new Fashion.


Come away, admit, there be

A Natural Necessity;

Do not make thy self a Slave

For that which she desires to have.

What she will, or do, or say,

Is meant the clean contrary Way.                                                                                       30


Come away, or if to part,

Soon from her affects thy Heart;

Follow on thy Sports and smile,

Laugh and kiss and play a while;

Yet as thou loves me, trust her not,

Lest thou become I know not what.


An Answer.

Stay, O stay, and still pursue,

Bid not such Happiness Adieu.


Know’st thou what a Woman is?

An Image of Celestial Bliss:                                                                                                 40

Such a one is thought to be

The nearest to Divinity.


Stay, O stay, how can thy Eye

Feed on more Felicity?

Or thy better Genius dwell

On Subjects that do thus excel?

Had it not been for her at first,

Man and Beast had liv’d accurs’d.


Stay, O stay, has there not been

Of Beauty and of Love a Queen!                                                                                         50

Does not Goodness term a She

Worthy its only Shrine to be?

And where will Vertue choose to ly,

If not in such a Treasury?


Stay, O stay, would’st thou live free,

Then seek a Nuptial Destiny;

’Tis not Nature’s Bliss alone,

She gives but Heav’ns, and in that one.

What she will, or do, or say,

Never from Truth shall go astray.                                                                                      60


Stay, O stay, let not thine Heart

Afflicted be, unless to part

Soon from her Sport, kiss and play,

Whilst no Hours enrich the Day;

And if thou dost a Cuckold prove,

Impute it to thy want of Love.



Elegy on the Death of a Mistress.

Dear Soul farewell, thou, now with Glory


Beholds me here into Affliction drown’d;

Thy Vertue’s sad Admirer I remain,

Minsfortune’s Object, and the World’s Disdain:

I know not but the Excess of my Care

Might reach the furthest Limit of Despair,

Did not Religion dictate to my Sense,

That Heavenly Powers shall once again commence

My Happiness by Death, in viewing thee,

My Wishes Object, next the Deity.                                                                                    10

I would, if Sorrow could allay my Cares,

Pour forth my Heart, and spend my Soul in Tears;

My Blood should serve to animate my Guile,

To trace my Thoughts, and to express my Will,

And Duty both; but when I mean to speak,

My Soul it fainteth, and my Heart doth break,

Opprest with Grief to find it self depriv’d

Of thee, its Joy, for whom it only liv’d:

If Vertue, Wit, or Beauty could prevent,

(Yea Piety join’d, to a chast Intent)                                                                                    20

This sudden Change, thou might have liv’d entire

Till Heav’n and Earth had been consum’d by Fire;

Or had the Fates deferr’d thy latest Breath,

Till fraught with Years, unto the Stroke of Death,

I had lamented less; but thus to see

Thee Step, so soon, into Eternity!

Whom I so dearly lov’d! Great is my Loss,


Great, yea the greatest of all Human Cross.

The more I live, the more I shall regret

My sad Misfortune, but communicate                                                                               30

My Thoughts to none, save to the Heav’ns & thee,

’Till God be pleas’d to end my Miserie.

Then all you Follies of the present Age,

Farewell fond World, no further I’ll engage

My Trust to thee; and farewell Fortune too,

I know the utmost that thy Rage may do:

Thy highest Favours half oblige at best,

But oft thy frowns can never be redress’d.

Let others fear a Change of their Estate,

I’ll live secure now from the Frowns of Fate:                                                                    40

The worst is past, and in thy Death I find

The greatest Grief of an afflicted mind.

No second Sorrow can produce in me

So deep a Sense as this Calamity;

For losing thee, in whom I wish’d to live,

I have lost more than all the world can give,

Or Death it self hereafter take away,

Ev’n from the present to the Judgement-Day.

None will my just Resentment count a Crime,

Since Youth, nor Age, nor all consuming Time,                                                               50

Can breed Oblivion of thy high Desert,

Within the Compass of my bleeding Heart.

Thou being gone, in whom I liv’d content,

The World to me shall prove indifferent;

And when that Time shall happily portend,

By sure Presage, my near approaching End;

How gladly then shall I my Soul resign,

To be conjoin’d eternally with thine


In Happiness within the highest Heaven,

Where unto thee a Crown’s already given,                                                                       60

That so in Glory there thou may’st excel,

As here in Good.  Then once again, farewell,

Dear Soul, the Object of my faithful Love,

Whilst here on Earth, so now in Heav’n above!


On the Lady Cast – – – n.

When Aurelia first I courted,

She had Youth and Beauty too,

Killing Pleasures when she sported,

All her Charms were ever new.


Subtil Time hath now deceiv’d her,

Which her Glories did uphold;

All her Arts can ne’er reprive her,

Poor Aurelia is growing old.


Those airy Spirits, which invited,

Are retir’d, and move no more;                                                                               10

And those Eyes are now benighted,

Which were Comets heretofore.


Want of those abate her Merits,

Yet I’ve Passion for her Name:

Only kind and am’rous Spirits

Kindle and maintain a Flame.


In Praise of Women, by Montrose.

WHEN Heav’ns great Jove had made the

World’s round Frame,

Earth, Water, Air and Fire; above the fame,

The ruling Orbs, the Planets, Spheres, and all

The lesser Creatures, in the Earth’s vast Ball:

But, as a curious Alchimist, still draws

From grosser Mettals finer, and from those

Extracts another, and from that again

Another that doth far excel the same.

So fram’d he Man of Elements combin’d,

T’ excel that Substance where he was refin’d:                                                                   10

But that poor Creature, drawn from his Breast

Excelleth him, as he excell’d the rest:

Or as a stubborn Stalk, whereon there grows

A dainty Lilly or a flagrant Rose;

The Stalk may boast, and set its Vertues forth,

But take away the Flow’r, where is its Worth?

But yet, fair Ladies, you must know

Howbeit I do adore you so:

Reciprocal your Flames must prove,

Or my Ambition scorns to love:                                                                                      20

A Noble Soul doth still abhore

To strike, but where its Conquerour?


On Black Eyes, by my Lord Gordon.

Bless me, how strange a Light appears!

Shrewded within those Jettish Spheres,


Where no Vicissitude is known;

But Day still bears Dominion:

Dark Circles, which about them run,

Are but like Shadows to the Sun,

Which curious Nature only meant

Not in Defect but Ornament.


A Lovers Lamentation.

KING Priamus had no more Pain

With Echo, with Echo,

When he believ’d Thishe was slain,

With many weary Woe’s me!

With no less Sorrow I remain,

They Absence doth so grieve me.

Farewel! Adieu my only Love,

Alas that I must leave thee.


What Absence doth procure more Woe,

With Echo, with Echo,                                                                                                          10

When Lovers doth from others go

With many a weary Woe’s me!

Alas that I should part from thee,

Thy Parting doth so grieve me.

Farewel! Adieu my only Love,

Alas that I must leave thee.


What greater Torments can ye have,

With Echo, with Echo,


Nor want the Presence that ye crave,

With many a weary Woe’s me!                                                                                             20

O if I were into my Grave,

Where no Man would reprove me.

Farewel! Adieu my only Love,

Alas that I must leave thee.


Queen Dido did no more lament

With Echo, with Echo,

When fair Æneas from her went

With many weary Woe’s me!

No Earthly Joy can me content,

Of Rest thou doth bereave me.                                                                                             30

Farewel! Adieu my only Love,

Alas that I must leave thee.


When I am off the Country gone,

With Echo, with Echo,

What can I do but sigh and groan

With many weary Woe’s me!

Believe me well I must depart,

Thy Absence doth so grieve me.

Farewel! Adieu my only Love,

Alas that I must leave thee.                                                                                                  40


When I am gone out of thy Sight,

With Echo, with Echo,

I must bewail the longsome Night,

With many weary Woe’s me!

For all the Night my Bird so bright,

Of Rest thou doth bereave me.


Ten Thousand Times Adieu, my Love,

Alas that I must leave thee.


Inconstancy reproved.

I DO confess thou’rt smooth and fair,

And I might have gone near to love thee,

Had I not found, the slightest Prayer

That Lips could speak, had Power to move thee;

But I can let thee now alone,

As worthy to be lov’d by none.


I do confess thou’rt sweet, ye find

Thee such as Unthrift of thy Sweets,

Thy Favours are but like the Wind,

That kisseth every Thing it meets;                                                                                  10

And since thou canst love more than one,

Thou’rt worthy to be lov’d by none.


The Morning Rose that untouch’d stands,

Arm’d with her Briars, how sweetly smells,

But pluckt, and strain’d through ruder Hands,

Her Sweets no longer with her dwells,

But Scent and Beauty both are gone,

And Leaves fall from it one by one.


Such Fate e’re long will thee betide,

When thou hast handled been a while,                                                                          20

Like fair Flowers to be thrown aside,

And you shall sigh when I shall smile,


To see thy Love to every one

Hath brought thee to be lov’d be none.


On the Death of John Earl of Errol.

Great and Illustrious! what Tongues of Men

Or bolder Pen,

Dare draw the lively Picture of thy Fame,

Or sing thy Obsequies

In duller Lays,

Than those did flow from the great Homer’s Bays,

The Divine Vertues of thy Soul blashpeme?

Too scantie I

To aim so high,

As the vast Empire of the God of Verse,                                                                            10

Must be content

My humbler Thought to vent,

And drop my speaking Tears upon thy glorious Herse.

  1. STANZA.

Thou was not for this wretched Age design’d;

But Heaven was kind,

So to divide thy Days, as Earth might share

A Half, since such a Man on Earth was rare,

Whose Feet stood fixed on a Square

In Peace and War.

No Blast could shake the Firmness of thy Mind,                                                              20

No melting Courtier or insulting Prince,

E’er by Perswasion could prevail

Or Threat assail


The well built Fortress of thy Innocence;

For still thy Justice was its own Defence,

And Loyalty

Thy second Deity,

Which through the Conduct of the Life with

Lustre shin’d.


No Clouds could marr thy Course, thy fixed Soul                                                            30

Was both the Artick and Antartick Poll,

The Pilot of thy Judgement steer’d still right

In darkest Night;

No Broils or Wars

’Mongst little Stars,

Could darken or eclipse thy piercing Sight,

No sudden Blackness of the Horizon

Could cast thee down,

Nor no Conjunction of the Planets make thee frown

But knew Light would at last appear                                                                                 40

With all the Glories of the Hemisphere;

And well thou knew, and well thou saw how far

A Meteor differ’d from a fixed Star.

  1. STANZA.

To sum up all thy Goodness were a Theme

Too large; a Dream,

A common Text, unworthy of thy great illu-

strious Name,

Although each one were drawn at large in thee,

Yet I’ll contrive them in Epitomie.

The splendid Glories of thy ancient Race,


What can deface,                                                                                                      50

Till there’s an End of Nature, Time and Space?

The Moral Vertues of thy Noble Mind,

With Grace enthron’d, in solemn Council join’d,

At once t’astonish and attract Mankind,

The Passions were so seated in thy Breast,

That each possest

A quiet Rest,

Calm as the soft Enjoyment of the Blest:

Nor did the outward Beauties of thy Face

Want their due Place                                                                                               60

In that well order’d Symetrie

Of the wise Builder’s Architecturie,

Which temp’red it ‘twixt Mildness, Majesty and


  1. STANZA.

And now farewell, blest Shade, immortal Ghost,

While we are toss’d,

Thy welcome Soul is landed on the Coast;

All that a Muse unglorify’d can do,

Is to pursue

Thy Paths, so far as we can keep thee in our View.

But now a Blaze of Glory shining bright,                                                                           70

With uncreated Light,

Dazles our Eyes, and takes thee from our Sight,

Which flam’d about thy Sacred Dust;

Such is the Retribution of the Just.

And now the Shadows of the Grave do fly,

And Death is swallow’d up in Victory:

The Sacred Incense of thy Name

Shall in a Lambeck Flame


Aspire, and like a Constellation shine,

With Rays Divine,                                                                                                    80

In the eternal World, and Hemisphere sublime.


On the Death of Sir C . . M . . . land.

What melancholy Rumour’s this I hear,

That fills my Soul with Grief, and grates

mine Ear?

The killing Sound still nearer does approach,

And does all Hearts with Grief & Sorrow touch.

Ah! fatal Sound! But thou cans’t not be fled:

The Sweet, the Young, mild METELLANUS Dead!

Too true: He’s gone, gone like a new sprung Rose,

Whose opening Leaves does fragrant Sweets dis-


Torn from the Stalk by an untimely Blast,

And all the scattered Leaves ‘mong Weeds are                                                                 10


Ah! why should Goodness make so short a Stay?

Why was he only shown, and snatch’d away.


What e’re ripe Virgins wish for, or desire,

When they’re inflam’d with Love and Hymen’s


And in their Fancies studied Beauties wed,

Was all in Him, could all in him be had;

Sprightly and cheerful, and had every Grace

That could adorn a Body or a Face.


His Head well ballanc’d, and a generous Mind,    }

To no base, mean, ignoble Thing inclin’d             }                                                           20

And He, like Heaven, to all was just and kind.     }

In’s Conversation there was clearly writ

The active Vigour of his Youthful Wit;

But not like those who wittily offend

Heaven, or Religion, or their dearest Friend.

None’s Fame he hurt, gave no chast Ear Offence,

Still true to Friendship, Modesty and Sense.

The boyling Passions never did molest

The calmer Region of his gentle Breast:

That all was calm within we clearly knew,                                                                        30

By’s courteous Smiles and his unclouded Brow:

His Mind did with such serene Calmness move,

As did resemble the great Mind above.

But’s Merits are too noble and refin’d,

For the gross Senses of a vulgar Mind;

And had Fate mean’t to have his Vertues told,

She would have let him live till he’d been Old.

Fair were our Hopes, that he would soon aspire

To the Noble Virtues of his worthy Sire.

When Man is young, too weak to fly away,                                                                    40

Bold Vice pursues him like some Bird of Prey;

But when once wing’d with Vertue and more


He soars above her Reach, and she retires;

So he to this high Pitch was soaring fast;

Vast were our Hopes! but ah how quickly dasht!

His Faults might all be on his Forehead wore,

And the wide World be his Conferssor:


He’d Faults, but just enough to let us see

That Heaven is true; that all Men Sinners be:

Youth pleads Excuse, and lessens a Trespass.                                                                  50

How little Poyson cracks a Crystal Glass!


On the Death of Sir John the Grame.

Here lies Sir John the Grame, baith wight and


One of the Worthies, rescu’d Scotland thrice;

A better Knight not to the World was lent,

Nor was good Grame of Truth and Hardiment.


Mente manuque potens & Vallæ fidus Achates,

Conditur hic Gramus bello interfectus ab Anglis.


Of Mind and Courage strong,

And Wallace true Achates;

Here lies Sir John the Grame,

Slain by the English Baties.


Vivit post funera virtus.



            Lady Callendar’s Epitaph.  1659.

Here lies the Phœnix of her Sex, the Ark

Where Loyalty and Honour did imbark


The Day of our Deluge; what had she been,

Had She been He, a Soul so Masculine!

Bruce, Wallace should remounted have the Stage

Of Action, with the worthiest of that Age.

She was a Woman, (I’ll not shame Men much)

But had our Lords and Leaders all been such,

Our King and Country had not been sold by


Nor should we no go supplicate like Slaves.                                                                     10


On Judge Smith and Moseley, by Samuel

Colvin.  1667.

Smith, Mosely and Necessity

Resemble one another;

Necessity it hath no Law,

Nor Smith, nor Mosely neither.


Yet they have Conscience, for they are

Most liberal to the Poor;

They bribe, and, what they gain, bestow

Upon a needy Whore.


Smith courts by Day, Mosely by Night,

After the Ten-Hour-Bell;                                                                                                  10

The one the other doth relieve,

As Leda’s Sons from Hell.



They say they do not sin, but pray;

If this be a Mistake,

Their Honours prays with Breeches down,

And she prays on her Back.


The Woman’s Universe, 1652.

WIT’s Blue-ey’d Maid, Industrious Art,

By Reason’s Disquisition,

Hath so anatomiz’d each Part

Of Nature’s Constitution;

That nothing now in Nature can

Ly hid, obscure or secret,

But by the Industry of Man

Her Misteries are made naked.


How Azure Spheres do trip and dance,

How Primum Mobile capers,                                                                                            10

Whence Day affords his Radience,

How Darkness blows her Tapers;

How Hot, how Cold, how Moist, how Dry

Dwells in their several Center,

Man knows, and by his Industry

Their Discords can contemper.


What Earth doth in her Bosom keep,

How Winds blow from their Treasure,

What Alteration in the Deep,

How Clouds drop Rain by Measure;                                                                               20


What number is of Consort’s Frame,

How Bodies keep Proportion,

Man knows, and rears a Diadem

Fro this their strict Extortion.


Now while that Man, by Reason’s Frame

Proves sovereign sole Commander

O’er Nature, and makes all her Train

As Vassals for to render:

There rests yet one Thing undiscry’d,

Which Sense accounts but common;                                                                              30

Yet never Art hath well bewray’d,

And this we call a Woman.



For will ye raise Apelle’s Ghost,

And make him sit and paint her,

He’ll quit the Task, and swear he’s lost

The Colours that frequent her:

Her Eyes and Mind are so at Strife,

By Lust her inward Lurker,

That when she is labour’d to the Life,

She falsifies the Worker.                                                                                                  40



Were Reymond Lillie yet alive,

To hazard his Projection,

His Fire would fail, his Glass would rive,

E’re he attain’d Perfection;

For let him calcine to his Skill,

Coagulat and increase,


And multiply as fast’s he will,

She ay more fixeth the less.



Were Ptolomeus set to try

Her Fashions by her Figure,                                                                                             50

He’d find in her Nativity

A very World of Vigour;

For all her Stars are dignify’d,

Except that Part of Fortune,

By which ‘tis plainly signify’d,

She cares not who importune.



Hippocrates for all his Skill

In Nature’s hid Diseases,

Could never cure her Falling-ill,

Which takes her when she pleases:                                                                                60

The Symptomes of her Paroxism

Shows plainly she’s Asthmatick;

No Wonder, for her Priapism

Did first make her Aquatick.



Ask at the Divine what an Ape

She proves in Rules of Piety,

He’ll tell you that she may be Pape

For simulate Sobriety:

Her Looks are Puritain’s, her Life

Proves her to be Catholick;                                                                                              70


’Tis Reason, for she’s Peter’s Wife,

And he was Apostolick.



The Twelve pure Laws which were sometimes

Ingrav’d in Golden Tables,

Are now too weak to point her Crimes,

She flirts at them as Fables:

Her Practicks in the Innerhouse,

Made strong by Institution,

Doth make the Pandects for to pouse,

The Cods for Contribution.                                                                                              80



In Grammar she is so perfect,

To try her were but Folly,

For she has taken such Delight

In omni viro soli,

That never Man had Substantive

Yet fram’d of such Perfection,

But she o’erthrew’t with Adjective,

By way of Interjection.



In Logick she is so perquire,

She scorns all Ramus Criticks;                                                                                         90

For when her Topicks prove unsure,

She lives by’r Analyticks:

Her Demonstrations do not care

For δίöτι, but öτι


Her bocardising Captions are,

From ŏ, or else from πóτς.



Amphion’s Sense-bewitching Harp

Ne’er warbled half so sweetly,

As she can play on Lute or Harp;

And string her but discreetly:                                                                                          100

She knows a Minim by a Brief,

A Crotchet by a Quaver,

Let Beef above her be her Clief,

Her Prick-song cannot waver.



Has she Arithmetick?  Yes, at Will,

To help her Calculation,

She’ll add, divide, subtract, but still

She loves Multiplication;

Yet she’s no Usurer for to take

Hard Interest for the Hunder,                                                                                          110

But like a Saint, for Conscience Sake,

She works, and lies at under.



The Scholars being hush’d and gone,

Let’s see how Tradesmen know her:

The Merchant comes, is quite o’erthrown,

Not paying what he owes her;

He puts a Cypher to her Score,

To reckon up his Tinsel,


But yet he proves a Diver, for

He never pays the princ’pal.                                                                                             120



Ne’er Palinurus prov’d so stout

In Tempest on the Ocean,

As she can ride it bravely out

’Twixt Wind and Waves Commotion;

For, put the Helm into her Hand,

And strike the Topsail lower:

She neither fears for Rock nor Sand,

No Tempest can o’erthrow her.



For Skill in Military Sport,

She may be crown’d Commander;                                                                                   130

For she can charge, retire, extort,

And force her Foe to render:

She’ll push a Pike, and fire her Pan,

And serve in so good Order,

That never Enemy yet wan

A Foot within her Border.



The Smith, because he wears the Crown,

Thinks best he can describe her;

Upon his Forge he lays her down

To make his Graver try her.                                                                                              140

But O! her Stuthy is so fix’d,

His Hammers still retorted,


And e’er his Mettals can be mix’d

His Sinders are dissorted.



The Taylor comes some better speed,

He fits her to the Fashion;

His Elwand and his Baising-Threed

Do cure her Iliack Passion.

But O! her Trials are so quick

She’ll make a Prentice tremble,                                                                                       150

And e’er he sow a Needle Stick,

She burns him with the Thimble.



The Webster with his jumbling Hand

And Dornick-champion Napries,

Will make the coyest Wench to stand

A Prentice to his Fop’ries.

But O! his Shuttle is so short,

He wants Wast e’er the Middle,

And makes his Client to comport

With Plain instead of Twiddle.                                                                                        160



Then comes the Sutor with his Last,

Minds by her Foot to wooe her:

A long Eleven’s the fittest Last

He can present unto her.

But when he falls unto his Work

His Shoes are so unhandsome,


The she doth foil him in the Dark,

And unaware she wants him.



The Mason’s Rule, and plumbing Stones,

In no ways do suffice her;                                                                                                 170

Terquinque of them all at once

Not able are to please her:

For put a Graver in her Hand

She’ll carve a Tomb at leisure,

That all the Masons in this Land

By Art cannot it measure.



Now comes the Wright for to repair

The Bottom of her Beef-Stand,

No wonder though her Heart be sair,

She’s not the better at his Hand:                                                                                     180

For why? his Wumble is so weak,

That e’re he bore an Inch in

It makes the Couple for to break,

She may not well forbear him.



God help me!  What a Wretch is this,

Whom neither Art nor Nature,

Can paint her well in Pain or Bless,

With Colours of due Feature?

Then why strive I thus for to wed,

Euridice to fashion:                                                                                                            190


Though Orpheus got her Maiden-Head,

Yet Pluto knows her Passion.



These Seven following by Montrose.


MY dear and only Love, I pray

This noble World of thee,

Be govern’d by no other Sway

But purest Monarchie.

For if Confusion have a Part,

Which vertuous Souls abhore,

And hold a Synod in thy Heart,

I’ll never love thee more.


Like Alexander I will reign,

And I will reign alone,                                                                                                      10

My Thoughts shall evermore disdain

A Rival on my Throne.

He either fears his Fate too much,

Or his Deserts are small,

That puts it not unto the Touch,

To win or lose it all.


But I must rule and govern still,

And always give the Law,

And have each Subject at my Will,

And all to stand in awe.                                                                                                    20


But ‘gainst my Battery if I find

Thou shun’st the Prize so sore,

As that thou set’st me up a Blind,

I’ll never love thee more.


Or in the Empire of thy Heart,

Where I should solely be,

Another do pretend a Part,

And dares to Vie with me,

Or if Committees thou erect,

And goes on such a Score,                                                                                                30

I’ll sing and laugh at thy Neglect,

And never love thee more.


But if thou wilt be constant then,

And faithful of thy Word,

I’ll make thee glorious by my Pen,

And famous by my Sword.

I’ll serve thee in such noble Ways,

Was never heard before:

I’ll crown and deck thee all with Bays,

And love thee evermore.                                                                                                  40


The Second Part.

MY dear and only Love, take heed,

Lest thou thy self expose,

And let all longing Lovers feed

Upon such Looks as those.

A Marble Wall then build about,

Beset without a Door;


But if thou let thy Heart fly out,

I’ll never love thee more.


Let not their Oaths, like Vollies shot,

Make any Breach at all;                                                                                                     50

Nor Smoothness of their Language plot

Which way to scale the Wall;

Nor Balls of Wild-fire Love consume

The Shrine which I adore:

For if such Smoak about thee fume,

I’ll never love thee more.


I think thy Virtues be too strong

To suffer by Surprise:

Which Victual’d by my Love so long,

The Siege at length must rise,                                                                                          60

And leave thee ruled in that Health

And State thou was before:

But if thou turn a Common-Wealth,

I’ll never love thee more.


But if by Fraud, or by Consent,

Thy Heart to Ruine come,

I’ll sound no Trumpet as I wont,

Nor march by Tuck of Drum:

But hold my Arms, like Ensigns, up,

Thy Falshood to deplore,                                                                                                 70

And bitterly will sigh and weep,

And never love thee more.


I’ll do with thee as Nero did,

When Rome was set on fire;


Not only all Relief forbid,

But to a Hill retire;

And scorn to shed a Tear to see

Thy Spirit grown so poor:

But smiling, sing until I die,

I’ll never love thee more.                                                                                                  80


Yet for the Love I bare thee once,

Lest that thy Name should die,

A Monument of Marble-stone

The Truth shall testifie;

That every Pilgrim passing by,

May pity and deplore

My Case, and read the Reason why

I can love thee no more.


The golden Laws of Love shall be

Upon this Pillar hung,                                                                                                       90

A simple Heart, a single Eye,

A true and constant Tongue.

Let no Man for more Love pretend

Than he has Hearts in store:

True Love begun shall never end;

Love one and love no more.


Then shall thy Heart be set by mine,

But in far different Case:

For mine was true, so was not thine,

But lookt like Janus Face.                                                                                                 100

For as the Waves with every Wind,

So sails thou every Shore,


And leaves my constant Heart behind,

How can I love thee more?


My Heart shall with the Sun be fix’d

For Constancy most strange,

And thine shall with the Moon be mix’d,

Delighting ay in Change.

Thy Beauty shin’d at first most bright,

And wo is me therefore,                                                                                                   110

That ever I found thy Love so light,

I could love thee no more.


The misty Mountains, smoaking Lakes,

The Rocks resounding Echo;

The whistling Wind that Murmur makes,

Shall with me sing Hey ho.

The tossing Seas, the tumbling Boats,

Tears droping from each Shore,

Shall tune with me their Turtle Notes,

I’ll never love thee more.                                                                                                  120


As doth the Turtle chaste and true

Her Fellow’s Death regrete,

And daily mourns for his Adieu,

And ne’er renews her Mate;

So though thy Faith was never fast,

Which grieves me wond’rous sore,

Yet I shall live in Love so chast,

That I shall love no more.


And when all Gallants rides about

These Monuments to view,                                                                                              130


Whereon is written in and out,

Thou traiterous and untrue;

Then in a Passion they shall pause,

And thus say, sighing sore,

Alas! he had too just a Cause

Never to love thee more.


And when that tracing Goddess Fame

From East to West shall flee,

She shall Record it to thy Shame,

How thou hast loved me;                                                                                                 140

And how in Odds our Love was such,

As few has been before;

Thou loved too many, and I too much,

That I can love no more.



There’s nothing in this World can prove

So true and real Pleasure,

As perfect Sympathy in Love,

Which is a real Treasure.


The purest Strain of perfect Love

In Vertue’s Dye and Season,

Is that whole Influence doth move,

And doth convince our Reason.


Designs attend, Desires give place,

Hopes had no more availeth;                                                                                           10

The Cause remov’d the Effect doth cease,

Flames not maintain’d soon faileth.



The Conquest then of richest Hearts,

Well lodg’d and trim’d by Nature,

Is that which true Content imparts,

Where Worth is join’d with Feature.


Fill’d with sweet Hope then must I still

Love what’s to be admired;

When frowning Aspects cross the Will,

Desires are more endeared.                                                                                              20


Unhappy then unhappy I,

To joy in tragick Pleasure,

And in so dear and deseperate Way

T’abound yet have no Treasure.


Yet will I not of Fate despair,

Time oft in End relieveth,

But hopes my Star will change her Air,

And joy where now she grieveth.



Unhappy is the Man

In whose Breast is confin’d

The Sorrows and Distresses all

Of an afflicted Mind.


The Extremity is great,

He dies if he conceal,

The World’s so void of secret Friends,

Betray’d if he reveal.



Then break afflicted Hearts,

And live not in these Days,                                                                                              10

When all prove Merchants of their Faith,

None trusts what other says.


For when the Sun doth shine,

Then Shadows do appear;

But when the Sun doth hide his Face,

They with the Sun retire.


Some Friends as Shadows are,

And Fortune as the Sun;

They never proffer any Help

Till Fortune first begin.                                                                                                     20


But if in any Case

Fortune shall first decay,

Then they as Shadows of the Sun

With Fortune run away.



Burst out my Soul in Main of Tears,

And thou my Heart Sighs Tempest move,

My Tongue let never Plaints forbear,

But murmure still my crossed Love;

Combine together all in one,

And thunder forth my tragick Moan.


But, tush, poor Drop, cut Breath, broke Air,

Can you my Passions express?


No: rather but augment my Care,

In making them appear the less.                                                                                        10

Seeing but from small Woes Words do come,

And great ones they sing always dumb.


My swelling Griefs then bend your self

This fatal Breast of mine to fill,

The Center where all Sorrows dwell,

The Limbeck where all Griefs distil,

That silent thus in Plaints, I may

Consume and melt my self away.


Yet that I may contented die,

I only wish, before my Death,                                                                                             20

Transparent that my Breast may be,

E’re that I do expire my Breath;

Since Sighs, Tears, Plaints, express no Smart,

It might be seen into my Heart.



CAN little Beasts with Lions roar,

And little Birds with Eagles soar;


Can shallow Streams command the Seas,

And little Aunts the humming Bees?


No, no, no, no, it is not meet

The Head should stoup unto the Feet.




Epitaph on King Charles I.

Great, Good ad Just, could I but rate

My Grief to Thy too Rigid Fate!

I’d weep the World in such a Strain,

As it would once deluge again:

But since Thy loud-tongu’d Blood demands Sup-


More from Briareus Hands, than Argus Eyes,

I’ll tune Thy Elegies to Trumpet-sounds,

And write Thy Epitaph in Blood and Wounds!



On Himself, upon hearing what was his


LET them bestow on ev’ry Airth a Limb;

Open all my Veins, that I may swim

To Thee my Saviour, in that Crimson Lake;

Then place my purboil’d Head upon a Stake;

Scatter my Ashes, throw them in the Air:

Lord (since Thou know’st where all these Atoms


I’m hopeful, once Thou’lt recollect my Dust,

And confident Thou’lt raise me with the Just.



King Charles’s Lament.

You Gods and Goddesses that rules in Helicon,

            Look me upon;

   Help to relieve a Pris’ner out of Thrall,

Let not these savage Hearts, as Furies sent from Hell,

            Torment me still,

   Who have in Store no Mercy, none at all.

Alcides come for to defend me,

                           And wave thy Club about,

                        Or else they will my Person kill

                           Before they let me out.                                                                               10

                        For wicked Cerberus, my Porter,

                           Doth bear me great Despite,

                        And seeks by Death to stop my Breath;

                           He can both bark and bite.


To me most patient pensive Pris’ner left

            Of Joy bereft;

   My Griefs and Troubles cannot numbred be:

A hopeless, helpless, harmless Man lies here forlorn,

            And held in Scorn,

   By those who once were Subjects unto me;                                                                      20

                        Who through the Mercies that I used

                           While I was in full Power,

                        Most mer’lesly oppress they me,

                           And vex me every Hour:

                        I have releas’d many bond Slaves,

                           And set the Pris’ners free,

                        Yet helpless I in Prison ly,

                           Without all Remedy.



Twould make a Heart of Flint relent to see my Woes

            Done by my Foes,                                                                                                      30

   Who once had all Things at my own Command;

No Cloaths to wear, no Food for me to eat,

            No Drink or Meat,

   But what is given by my En’mies Hand.

                        My Friends are all from me departed,

                           Though sore against their Will:

                        Not one is here that comes me near,

                           But those that wish me ill.

                        A Thousand Ways they do practise

                           To work my Life’s Decay.                                                                           40

                        Hap Well, hap Wo, it must be so,

                           The bond Man must obey.


To try and vex my Patience, to my Charge they lay,

            Day after Day,

   Such horrid Crimes, of which I never knew.

Their Tongues like poys’ning Asps or double edged Swords,

            Speak byting Words,

   Which are as false as any Thing is true.

                        Even so with their false Accusations,

                           They raise a deadly Strife,                                                                          50

                        To separate and breed Debate

                           Betwixt me and my Wife;

                        My Children also are abus’d,

                           As to the World is known,

                        And others they do now enjoy

                           That which was once my own.


Besides my Keepers Cruelty is over much,

            Never was such

   A Captive Pris’ner kept in Slavery.

There is no Friend dare come my Person near,                                                                   60


            And that for Fear,

   Without Admittance from my Enemy.

                        Each Day and Hour I stand in Danger

                           Of these my desperate Foes,

                        Who do not spare, ‘tis known they dare

                           To give me bloody Blows,

                        If they but say I do offend them,

                           Though I know not the Cause;

                        They show their Might, and with me fight.

                           These are their new made Laws.                                                               70


Thus am I ev’ry Day most barbarously used,

            Basely abused

   By some of them, for whom I have done good,

And some in whom I put my Trust,

            Have prov’d unjust,

   And are most ready for to shed my Blood.

                        Ev’n as that cursed Traitor Judas

                           His Master did betray;

                        So my false Friends for their own Ends,

                           Have sold my Life away.                                                                             80

                        No faithful Friend dare come me near

                           At all to take my Part,

                        But ev’ry Man doth what he can

                           To break my wounded Heart.


How happy is the Man that labours all the Day

            For little Pay,

For he at Night may safely go to Rest;

And he that travails up and down, and takes most Pains

            Receives the Gains,

And takes his Lodging where it likes him best.                                                                   90

                        These Men have Liberty to labour,

                           A sweet and pleasant Thing;


                        And in their Fare more happy are

                           Than is a troubled King.

                        The Country Swains, the silly Shepherds,

                           And Tradesmen eek also,

                        Have Liberty, while here I ly

                           In Sorrow and in Wo.


Is’t not a Father’s chiefest Comfort for to see

            These Things to be,                                                                                                   100

   His own dear Children, ever in his Sight?

Is’t not the Mirror of a Husband’s Life

            To see his Wife,

And have her in his Presence Day and Night.

                        All these sweet Pleasures are kept from me,

                           While I on Earth remain,

                        Except the Wind will prove so kind,

                           As to turn the Tide again:

                        Till then with Patience will I wait,

                           Wishing, Health, Wealth and Peace                                                         110

                        To these that be at Liberty,

                           And wish for my Release.