ALEXANDER SCOT.
Reading edition
Of several poets who owe the preservation of their works and memory entirely to the writer of the Bannatyne Manuscript, the chief is Alexander Scot. Pinkerton termed him the Anacreon of old Scottish poetry, and placed him at the head of the ancient minor poets of his country—a judgment in which succeeding critics have uniformly agreed.
As with many other of these ancient singers, almost nothing is certainly known of the facts of Scot’s life, the little information we possess consisting almost wholly of deduction from the poet’s works themselves. Dr. Laing was inclined to set his birth about the year 1520, and quoted a precept of legitimation from the Privy Seal Register of 1549 as possibly concerning him. This precept, if proved to refer to the poet, would declare him a natural son of Alexander Scot, prebendary of the Chapel Royal of Stirling. The presumption, however, is somewhat slight. From the refrain of “The Justing at the Drum” it has been inferred that he resided in the neighbourhood of Dalkeith, near Edinburgh. One of his pieces, in the opinion of Lord Hailes, expresses the “Lament of the Maister of Erskyn,” who was killed at Pinkie-cleugh in 1547, and from this and other allusions it is gathered that Scot began writing at least so early as 1545, while, of course, none of his extant verse can be of later date than 1568, the year in which Bannatyne compiled his MS. The general strain of the poems declares Scot to have been a layman; from the occurrence of several legal terms in his work it has been suggested that he was a jurist; and from expressions such as that in “Ane New Yeir Gift to the Quene Mary,” in which he prays God to give the young ruler grace “to punisch papistis and reproche oppressouris,” it seems clear that he favoured the principles of the Reforming party. On only one point of his personal history, however, entire certainty exists. The colophon of his poem “To luve vnluvit” expressly states that the piece was written “quhen his wyfe left him.” From two of his compositions, “Luve preysis,” and “Vp, helsum hairt,” it might be gathered that his lady was of higher rank than himself, a fact which, if true, might account for his wedded unhappiness. Perhaps he was one of those whose love, too complete and obvious, fails to exact adequate return. This possibility, indeed, he seems to have discovered, as in more than one of his later poems he sorrowfully counsels something of reserve and self-restraint as the best policy of the lover. His experience had also the effect of opening his eyes to the shortcomings of the other sex, and induced him to allude to these in lines of biting satire. A passage in a poem of his contemporary Montgomerie informs us that Scot lived to advanced years. In a sonnet to Robert Hudson, written about the year 1584, the author of “The Cherrie and the Slae” refers to “old Scot” as still alive.
With a few exceptions, the poems of Scot[1216] are all of the amatory kind, and, taken together, form a fairly complete comment on the pains, the pleasures, and the arts of love. His longest composition, the “New Yeir Gift to Quene Mary” sheds much curious light upon the social conditions of 1562; and in “The Justing at the Drum,” an imitation of “Chrystis Kirk on the Grene,” he has followed the initiative of Dunbar and Lyndsay, and in a quaint strain of humour has burlesqued the practice of the tourney. Of the general tenor of his work the lines of Allan Ramsay may be taken as a fair description.
Licht-skirtit lasses, and the girnand wyfe, Fleming and Scot haif painted to the lyfe. Scot, sweit-tungd Scot, quha sings the Welcum hame To Mary, our maist bony Soverane Dame. How lyflie he and amorous Stuart sing Quhen lufe and bewtie bid them spred the wing![1217]
Exhibiting mastery of a surprising variety of stanza forms, his verse possesses an ease and finish unsurpassed in his time. Here and there he flashes out in a terse aphoristic style, as when he gives his views on womankind—
Thay wald be rewit, and hes no rewth; Thay wald be menit, and no man menis; Thay wald be trowit, and hes no trewth; Thay wiss thair will that skant weill wenys.
Not less is he at home in paradox:
For nobillis hes nocht ay renown, Nor gentillis ay the gayest goun; Thay cary victuallis to the toun That werst dois dyne. Sa bissely to busk I boun, Ane-vthir eitis the berry doun That suld be myne.
And for expression of downright democratic sentiment, the author of “A man’s a man for a’ that” might have written the lines—
For quhy? as bricht bene birneist brass As siluer wrocht at all dewiss, And als gud drinking out of glass As gold, thocht gold of grittar pryss.
But, apart from its poetic fascination, a peculiar interest attaches to the work of the man who struck the first distinctly modern note in Scottish poetry. Breaking away from the conventional forms of the old makars, Alexander Scot wrote in a direct, natural fashion, and but for their rich quaintness of expression and their antique language, many of his pieces might almost be the work of a poet of the nineteenth century. The form of his work, its aptness to turn upon some single thought or situation, and its general tendency to direct expression of personal feeling and experience, entitle him to be considered the earliest of the more distinctly lyrical poets of Scotland.
THE JUSTING AND DEBAIT VP AT THE DRUM BETUIX WILLIAM ADAMSONE AND JOHINE SYM.
The grit debait and turnament Off trewth no toung can tell, Wes for a lusty lady gent[1218], Betuix twa freikis[1219] fell. For Mars the god armipotent Wes nocht sa ferss him-sell, Nor Hercules, that aikkis vprent, And dang[1220] the devill of hell, With hornis; Vp at the Drum[1221] that day. Doutles wes nocht so duchty deidis Amangis the dowsy peiris[1222], Nor yit no clerk in story reidis Off sa tryvmphand weiris[1223]; To se so stowtly on thair steidis Tha stalwart knychtis steiris[1224], Quhill bellyis bair for brodding[1225] bleidis With spurris als scherp as breiris[1226], And kene, Vp at the Drum that day. Vp at the Drum the day wes sett, And fixit wes the feild Quhair baith thir noble chiftanis mett Enarmit vndir scheild. Thay wer sa haisty and sa hett[1227] That nane of thame wald yeild, Bot to debait or be doun bett And in the quarrell keild Or slane, Vp at the Drum that day. Thair wes ane bettir and ane worss, I wald that it wer wittin[1228]; For William wichttar wes of corss[1229] Nor Sym, and bettir knittin. Sym said he sett nocht by his forss, Bot hecht[1230] he sowld be hittin, And[1231] he micht counter Will on horss; For Sym wes bettir sittin Nor Will, Vp at the Drum that day. To se the stryfe come yunkeirs[1232] stowt, And mony galyart[1233] man; All denteis deir wes thair but dowt, The wyne on broich[1234] it ran. Trumpettis and schalmis[1235] with a schowt Playid or the rink[1236] began, And eikwall juges satt abowt To se quha tynt or wan[1237] The feild, Vp at the Drum that day. With twa blunt trincher speiris squair It wes thair interpryiss, To fecht with baith thair facis bair For lufe, as is the gyiss[1238]. Ane freynd of thairis throw hap come thair, And hard the rumor ryiss, Quha stall away thair styngis[1239] baith clair, And hid in secreit wayiss, For skaith[1240], Vp at the Drum that day. Strang men of armes and of micht Wer sett thame for to sidder. The harraldis cryd “God schaw the rycht!” Syne bad thame go togidder. “Quhair is my speir?” sayis Sym the knycht; “Sum man go bring it hidder.” Bot wald thay tary thair all nycht, Thair lanciss come to lidder[1241] And slaw, Vp at the Drum that day. Syme flew als fery as a fowne[1242]; Doun fra the horss he slaid, Sayis, “He sall rew my staff hes stowin[1243], For I sal be his deid[1244].” William his vow plicht to the powin[1245], For favour or for feid[1246]; “Als gude the tre had nevir growin, Quhairof my speir wes maid, To just!” Vp at the Drum that day. Thir vowis maid to syn and mone[1247], Thay raikit[1248] baith to rest, Thame to refress with thair disione[1249] And of thair armour kest. Nocht knawing of the deid wes done, Quhen thay suld haif fairin best, The fyre wes pischt out lang or none[1250] Thair dennaris suld haif drest And dicht[1251], Vp at the Drum that day. Than wer thay movit owt of mynd Far mair than of beforne. Thay wist nocht how to get him pynd[1252] That thame had drevin to skorne. Thair wes no deth mycht be devynd, Bot ethis[1253] haif thay sworne, He suld deir by be[1254] thay had dynd, And ban that he wes borne Or bred; Vp at the Drum that day. Than to Dalkeith thai maid thame boun, Reidwod[1255] of this reproche. Thair wes baith wyne and vennisoun, And barrellis ran on broche. Thay band vp kyndness in that toun, Nane fra his feir to foche[1256]; For thair wes nowdir lad nor loun[1257] Micht eit are baikin loche[1258], For fowness[1259], Vp at Dalkeith that day. Syne eftir denner raiss the din, And all the toun on steir[1260]. William wes wyiss, and held him in, For he wes in a feir[1261]. Sym to haif bargan cowld nocht blin[1262], But bukkit Will on weir[1263]; Sayis, “Gife thow wald this lady win, Cum furth and brek a speir With me!” Vp at Dalkeyth that day. This still for bargan Sym abyddis, And schowttit Will to schame. Will saw his fais on bath the syddis; Full sair he dred[1264] for blame. Will schortly to his horss he slydis, And sayis to Sym be name, “Bettir we bath wer byand hyddis[1265] And weddir[1266] skynnis at hame, Nor heir;” Vp at Dalkeyth that day. Now is the growme[1267] that wes so grym Rycht glaid to leif in lie[1268]. “Fy, theif, for schame!” sayis littill Sym, “Will thow nocht fecht with me? Thow art moir lerge of lyth[1269] and lym Nor I am, be sic thre[1270].” And all the feild cryd fy on him, Sa cowartly tuk the fle[1271] For feir, Vp at Dalkeyth that day. Than every man gaif Will a mok[1272], And said he wes our meik[1273]. Sayis Sym, “Send for thy broder Jok; I sall nocht be to seik. For wer ye foursum[1274] in a flok, I compt yow nocht a leik, Thocht I had rycht nocht bot a rok[1275], To gar your rumpill reik[1276] Behynd!” Vp at Dalkeith that day. Thair wes rycht nocht[1277] bot haif and ga; With lawchter lowd thay lewche[1278] Quhen thay saw Sym sic curage ta[1279], And Will mak it sa twche[1280]. Sym lap on horsbak lyk a ra[1281], And ran him till a huche[1282], Sayis “William, cum ryd doun this bra[1283], Thocht ye suld brek ane bwche[1284], Fo lufe!” Vp at Dalkeith that day. Sone doun the bra Sym braid[1285] lyk thunder, And bad Will fallow fast. To grund for fersness he did funder Be he midhill had past. William saw Sym in sic a blunder, To ga he wes agast; For he affeird[1286] it wes na winder His cursour suld him cast And hurt him, Vp at Dalkeith that day. Than all the yunkerris bad Will yeild Or doun the glen to gang[1287]. Sum cryd the koward suld be keild; Sum doun the hewche he thrang[1288]. Sum ruscht, sum rummyld[1289], sum reild[1290]; Sum be the bewche[1291] he hang. Thair avairis[1292] fyld vp all the feild, Thay wer so fow and pang[1293] With drafe[1294], Vp at Dalkeith that day. Than gelly[1295] Johine come in a jak[1296] To feild quhair he wes feidit[1297], Abone[1298] his brand ane bucklar blak, Baill fell the bern that bedit[1299]. He slippit swiftly to the slak[1300], And rudly doun he raid it. Befoir his curpall[1301] wes a crak Culd na man tell quha maid it, For lawchter, Vp at Dalkeith that day. Be than the bowgill gan to blaw; For nycht had thame ourtane. “Allaiss!” said Sym, “for falt of law, That bargan get I nane.” Thuss hame with mony crak and flaw[1302] Thay passid every ane; Syne pairtit at the Potter raw, And sindry gaitis[1303] ar gane, To rest thame, Within the toun that nicht. L’ENVOY. This Will wes he begyld the may, And did hir marriage spill. He promeist hir to lat him play, Hir purposs to fulfill. Fra[1304] scho fell fow[1305] he fled away, And come na mair hir till: Quhairfoir he tynt[1306] the feild that day, And tuk him to ane mill, To hyd him, As coward fals of fey[1307].
HENCE, HAIRT.
Hence, hairt, with hir that most depairte, And hald thé with thy souerane; For I had lever want ane harte Nor haif the hairt that dois me pane. Thairfoir go, with thy lufe remane, And lat me leif thus vnmolest; And se that thou cum nocht agane, Bot byd with hir thow luvis best. Sen scho that I haif scheruit lang[1308] Is to depairt so suddanly, Address[1309] thé now, for thow sall gang And beir thy lady cumpany. Fra scho be gon, hairtles am I; For quhy? thow art with hir possest; Thairfoir, my hairt, go hence in hy[1310], And byd with hir thow luvis best. Thocht this belappit[1311] body heir Be bound to scheruitude and thrall, My fathfull hairt is fre inteir, And mynd to serf my lady at all[1312]. Wald God that I wer perigall[1313], Vnder that redolent ross to rest; Yit at the leist, my hairt, thow sall Abyd with hir thow lufis best. Sen in your garth[1314] the lilly quhyte May nocht remane amang the laif[1315], Adew the flour of haill[1316] delyte, Adew the succour that ma me saif! Adew the fragrant balmé suaif[1317], And lamp of ladeis lustiest! My faythfull hairt scho sall it haif, To byd with hir it luvis best. Deploir, ye ladeis cleir of hew, Hir abscence, sen scho most depairte; And specialy ye luvaris trew That woundit bene with luvis darte. For sum of yow sall want ane parte Als weill as I; thairfoir at last Do go with myn, with mynd inwart, And byd with hir thow luvis best.
OPPRESSIT HAIRT INDURE.
Oppressit hairt indure In dolour and distress, Wappit without recure[1318] In wo remidiless. Sen scho is merciless, And caussis all thy smert, Quhilk suld thy dolour dress[1319], Indure, oppressit hairt. Perforss tak paciens, And dre[1320] thy destany. To lufe but recompens Is grit perplexitie. Of thyne aduersitie Wyt[1321] thy-self and no mo, For quhen that thow wes fre Thow wald nocht hald thé so. Thow langit ay to prufe The strenth of luvis lair[1322], And quhat kin[1323] thing wes lufe, Quhilk now settis[1324] thé so sair. Off all thy wo and cair It mendis thé nocht to mene[1325]: Howbeid thow suld forfair[1326], Thy-self the causs hes bene. Quhen thow wes weill at eiss, And subiect to no wicht, Thow hir for lufe did cheiss[1327] Quhilk settis thy lufe at licht; And thocht thow knew hir slicht[1328] Yit wald thow [nocht] refrane, Thairfoir it is bot rycht That thow indure the pane. Bot yit my corpss, allace, Is wrangusly opprest Be thé in-to this cace, And brocht to grit wanrest[1329]. Quhy suld it so be drest[1330] Be thé, and daly pynd[1331], Quhilk still it ay detest? Thy wantoun folich mynd. The blenkyne[1332] of ane e Ay gart thé goif and glaik[1333]; My body bad lat be, And of thy siching slaik[1334]. Thow wald nocht rest, bot raik[1335], And lair[1336] thé in the myre; Yit felyeit thow to faik[1337] That thow did maist desyre. Thocht thow do murn and weip, With inwart spreit opprest, Quhen vthir men takis sleip Thow wantis the nychtis rest. Scho quhome thow luvis best Off thé takis littill thocht, Thy wo and grit wanrest And cair scho countis nocht. Thairfoir go hens in haist, My langour to lament, Do nocht my body waist, Quhilk nevir did consent. And thocht thow wald repent That thow hir hes persewit. Yit man[1338] thow stand content, And drynk that thow hes brewit.
TO LUVE VNLUVIT.
To luve vnluvit it is ane pane; For scho that is my souerane, Sum wantoun man so he[1339] hes set hir That I can get no lufe agane, Bot brekis my hairt, and nocht the bettir. Quhen that I went with that sweit may To dance, to sing, to sport and pley, And oft-tymes in my armis plet[1340] hir, I do now mvrne both nycht and day, And brekis my hart, and nocht the bettir. Quhair I wes wont to se hir go Rycht trymly passand to and fro With cumly smylis quhen I met hir; And now I leif in pane and wo, And brekis my hart, and nocht the bettir. Quhattane ane glaikit fule[1341] am I, To slay my-self with malancoly, Sen weill I ken[1342] I may nocht get hir? Or quhat suld be the caus, and quhy, To brek my hart, and nocht the bettir? My hairt, sen thow may nocht hir pleiss, Adew! As gud lufe cumis as gaiss[1343]. Go chuse ane-vdir and foryet hir. God gif him dolour and diseiss[1344] That brekis thair hairt, and nocht the bettir.
Quod Scott quhen his Wyfe left him.
LO, QUHAT IT IS TO LUFE.
Lo, quhat it is to lufe, Lerne, ye that list to prufe, Be me, I say, that no ways may The grund of greif remvfe, Bot still decay, both nycht and day; Lo, quhat it is to lufe. Lufe is ane fervent fyre Kendillit without desyre, Schort plesour, lang displesour, Repentence is the hyre. Ane pure[1345] tressour, without mesour, Lufe is ane fervent fyre. To lufe and to be wyiss, To rege[1346] with gud adwyiss. Now thus, now than, so gois the game, Incertane is the dyiss. Thair is no man, I say, that can Both lufe and to be wyiss. Fle alwayis frome the snair; Lerne at me to be ware. It is ane pane, and dowbill trane Of endles wo and cair. For to refrane that denger plane Fle alwayis from the snair.