SIR DAVID LYNDSAY. (continued 2)

DILIGENCE. Hald thy toung, man, it seims that thou war mangit.[485] Speik thou of preists but[486] doubt thou will be hangit. PAUPER. Be Him that buir the cruell croun of thorne, I cair nocht to be hangit, evin the morne. DILIGENCE. Be sure of preistis thou will get na support. PAUPER. Gif that be trew the Feind resave the sort[487]! Sa sen I se I get na uther grace I will ly down and rest mee in this place.

PARDONER. Bona dies! Bona dies! Devoit Pepill, gude day I say yow. Now tarie ane lytill quhyll, I pray yow, Till I be with yow knawin. Wat ye weill how I am namit? Ane nobill man and undefamit, Gif that all the suith war schawin. I am Sir Robert Rome-raker, Ane perfyte publike pardoner[488] Admittit be the Paip. Sirs, I sall schaw yow, for my wage, My pardons and my pilgramage, Quhilk ye sall se, and graip[489]. I give to the Devill, with gude intent, This unsell[490] wickit New Testament, With thame that it translaitit. Sen layik[491] men knew the veritie Pardoners get no charitie Without that thay debait it. Amang the wives with wrinks[492] and wyles, As all my marrowis[493], men begyles With our fair fals flattrie. Yea, all the crafts I ken perqueir[494] As I was teichit be ane freir Callit Hypocrisie. Bot now, allace! our greit abusioun Is cleirlie knawin till our confusioun, That we may sair repent. Of all credence now I am quyte, For ilk man halds me at dispyte That reids the New Test’ment. Duill fell[495] the braine that hes it wrocht! Sa fall them that the Buik hame brocht! Als I pray to the Rude That Martin Luther, that fals loun[496], Black Bullinger, and Melancthoun, Had bene smorde in thair cude[497]. Be him that buir the crowne of thorne I wald Sanct Paull had never bene borne; And als I wald his buiks War never red in the kirk, Bot amangs freirs, into the mirk[498], Or riven amang ruiks!

My patent pardouns ye may se, Cum fra the Cane[499] of Tartarie, Weill seald with oster-schellis. Thocht ye have na contritioun Ye sall have full remissioun With help of buiks and bellis. Heir is ane relict lang and braid, Of Fin Macoull the richt chaft blaid[500], With teith and al togidder. Of Colling’s cow heir is ane horne, For eating of Makconnal’s corne Was slaine into Baquhidder. Heir is ane coird baith great and lang Quhilk hangit Johne the Armistrang,[501] Of gude hemp, soft and sound. Gude halie peopill, I stand for’d, Quha-ever beis hangit with this cord Neids never to be dround. The culum[502] of Sanct Bryd’s kow; The gruntill[503] of Sanct Antonis sow, Quhilk buir his haly bell. Quha-ever he be heiris this bell clinck Gif me ane ducat for till drink; He sall never gang[504] to hell, Without he be of Baliell[505] borne. Maisters, trow ye that this be scorne[506]. Cum win this pardoun, cum. Quha luifis thair wyfis nocht with thair hart, I have power thame for till part. Me-think yow deif and dum: Hes nane of yow curst wickit wyfis That haldis yow intill sturt[507] and stryfis, Cum tak my dispensatioun; Of that cummer[508] I sall mak yow quyte, Howbeit your-selfis be in the wyte[509], And mak ane fals narratioun. Cum win the pardoun, now let se, For meill, for malt, or for monie, For cok, hen, guse, or gryse. Of relicts heir I haif ane hunder; Quhy cum ye nocht? this is ane wounder: I trow ye be nocht wyse.

WILKIN. Hoaw! Maister, hoaw! quhair ar ye now? PARDONER. I am heir, Wilkin widdiefow[510]. WILKIN. Sir, I have done your bidding, For I have fund ane greit hors bane, Ane fairer saw ye never nane, Upon dame Flescher’s midding. Sir, ye may gar the wyfis trow It is ane bane of Sanct Bryd’s cow, Gude for the fever quartane[511]. Sir, will ye reull this relict weill, All the wyfis will baith kiss and kneill Betuixt this and Dumbartane. PARDONER. Quhat say thay of me in the Toun? WILKIN. Some sayis ye are ane verie loun, Sum sayis Legatus Natus; Sum sayis ye ar ane fals Saracene, And sum sayis ye ar for certaine Diabolus Incarnatus. Bot keip yow fra subjectioun Of the curst King Correctioun; For, be ye with him fangit[512], Becaus ye ar ane Rome-raker, Ane common publick cawsay-paker[513], But doubt ye will be hangit. PARDONER. Quhair sall I ludge into the toun? WILKIN. With gude kynde Cristiane Anderson, Quhair ye will be weill treatit. Gif ony limmer[514] yow demands, Scho will defend yow with hir hands, And womanlie debait it. Bawburdie sayis be the Trinitie That scho sall beir yow cumpanie Howbeit ye byde ane yeir[515]. PARDONER. Thou hes done weill, be God’s mother; Tak ye the taine[516] and I the tother, Sa sall we mak greit cheir. WILKIN. I reid[517] yow, speid yow heir, And mak na langer tarie; Byde ye lang thair, but weir[518], I dreid your weird yow warie[519].

PAUPER. Quhat thing was yon that I heard crak[520] and cry? I have bene dreamand, and dreveland[521] of my ky. With my richt hand my haill bodie I saine[522]; Sanct Bryd, Sanct Bryd, send me my ky againe! I se standand yonder ane halie man, To mak me help let me se gif he can. Halie Maister, God speid yow, and gude morne! PARDONER. Welcum to me, thocht thou war at the horne![523] Cum win the pardoun, and syne I sall thé saine[524]. PAUPER. Will that pardon get me my ky againe? PARDONER. Carle, of thy ky I have nathing ado: Cum win my pardon, and kis my relicts to.

Now lowse thy pursse and lay doun thy offrand, And thou sall have my pardoun evin fra hand. With raipis[525] and relicts I sall thé saine againe; Of gut[526] or gravell thou sall never have paine. Now win the pardoun, limmer, or thou art lost. PAUPER. My haly Father, quhat wil that pardon cost? PARDONER. Let se quhat mony thou bearest in thy bag. PAUPER. I haif ane grot heir, bund into ane rag. PARDONER. Hes thou na uther silver bot ane groat? PAUPER. Gif I have mair, Sir, cum and rype[527] my coat. PARDONER. Gif me that groat, man, gif thou hest na mair. PAUPER. With all my hart, Maister, lo tak it thair. Now let me se your pardon, with your leif. PARDONER. Ane thousand yeir of pardons I thee geif. PAUPER. Ane thousand yeir! I will nocht live sa lang. Delyver me it, Maister, and let me gang[528]. PARDONER. Ane thousand year I lay upon thy head, With totiens quotiens: now, mak me na mair plead: Thou hast resaifit thy pardon now already. PAUPER. Bot, I can se na-thing, Sir, be Our Lady. Forsuith, Maister, I trow I be nocht wyse To pay ere I have sene my marchandryse. That ye have gottin my groat full sair I rew. Sir, quhidder is your pardon black or blew? Maister, sen ye have tain fra me my cunzie[529], My marchandryse schaw me, withouttin sunzie[530]; Or to the bischop I sall pas and pleinzie[531] In Sanct-Androis, and summond yow to the Seinzie[532]. PARDONER. Quhat craifis[533] the carle? me-thinks thou art not wise. PAUPER. I craif my groat, or ellis my marchandrise. PARDONER. I gaif thé pardon for ane thowsand yeir. PAUPER. How sall I get that pardon, let me heir. PARDONER. Stand still and I sall tell the haill[534] storie. Quhen thow art deid, and gais to Purgatorie, Being condempnit to paine a thowsand yeir, Then sall thy pardoun thee releif, but weir. Now be content, ye ar ane mervelous man. PAUPER. Sall I get nathing for my groat quhill than[535]? PARDONER. That sall thou not, I mak it to yow plaine. PAUPER. Na than, gossop, gif me my groat againe. Quhat say ye, Maisters? call ye this gude resoun, That he suld promeis me ane gay pardoun, And he resave my mony, in his stead[536], Syne mak me na payment till I be dead? Quhen I am deid I wait full sikkerlie[537] My sillie[538] saull will pas to Purgatorie. Declair me this, now God nor Baliell bind thé, Quhen I am thair, curst carle, quhair sall I find thé? Not in heavin, but rather into hell. Quhen thow art thair thou cannot help thy-sell. Quhen will thou cum my dolours till abait? Or[539] I thee find my hippis will get ane hait[540]. Trowis thou, butchour, that I will buy blind lambis? Gif me my groat, the Devill dryte[541] in thy gambis[542]! PARDONER. Swyith! stand abak! I trow this man be mangit[543]. Thou gets not this, carle, thocht thou suld be hangit. PAUPER. Gif me my groat, weill bund into ane clout[544], Or, be Goddis breid[545], Robin sall beir ane rout[546].

DILIGENCE. Quhat kind of daffing[547] is this al day? Swyith, smaiks[548]! out of the feild, away! Intill ane presoun put them sone, Syne hang them, quhen the Play is done.

PAUPER. Marie! I lent my gossop my mear, to fetch hame coills, And he hir drounit into the querrell hollis:[549] And I ran to the Consistorie, for to pleinze, And thair I happinit amang are greidie meinze[550]. Thay gave me first ane thing thay call Citandum, Within aucht[551] dayis I gat bot Lybellandum, Within ane moneth I gat ad Opponendum, In half ane yeir I gat Interloquendum, And syne I gat, how call ye it? ad Replicandum: Bot I could never ane word yit understand him. And than thay gart me cast out many plackis[552], And gart me pay for four and twentie actis. Bot or thay came half gait[553] to Concludendum The Feind ane plack was left for to defend him. Thus thay postponit me twa yeir with thair traine[554], Syne, Hodie ad octo, bad me cum againe; And than, thir ruiks, thay roupit[555] wonder fast, For sentence silver thay cryit at the last. Of Pronunciandum thay maid me wonder faine; Bot I got never my gude gray meir againe.

Musing and marvelling on the miserie Frome day to day in erth quhilk dois incres, And of ilk[556] stait the instabilitie Proceding of the restless besynes Quhare-on the most part doith thair mynd addres Inordinatlie, on houngrye covatyce, Vaine glore, dissait, and uther sensuall vyce: Bot tumlyng in my bed I mycht nocht lye; Quharefore I fuir[557] furth in ane Maye mornyng, Conforte to gett of my malancolye, Sumquhat affore fresche Phebus uprysing, Quhare I mycht heir the birdis sweitlye syng. In-tyll ane park I past, for my plesure Decorit weill be craft of dame Nature. Quhow I resavit confort naturall For tyll discryve[558] at lenth it war too lang; Smelling the holsum herbis medicinall, Quhare-on the dulce and balmy dew down dang[559], Lyke aurient peirles on the twistis[560] hang; Or quhow that the aromatic odouris Did proceid frome the tender fragrant flouris; Or quhow Phebus, that king etheriall, Swyftlie sprang up in-to the Orient, Ascending in his throne imperiall, Quhose bricht and beriall[561] bemes resplendent Illumynit all on-to the Occident, Confortand everye corporall creature Quhilk formit war in erth be dame Nature; Quhose donke impurpurit[562] vestiment nocturnall, With his imbroudit[563] mantyll matutyne, He lefte in-tyll his regioun aurorall, Quhilk on hym waitit quhen he did declyne Towarte his Occident palyce vespertyne, And rose in habyte gaye and glorious, Brychtar nor gold or stonis precious. Bot Synthea, the hornit nychtis quene, Scho loste hir lychte and lede ane lawar saill, Frome tyme hir soverane lorde that scho had sene, And in his presens waxit dirk[564] and paill, And ouer hir visage kest are mistye vaill; So did Venus, the goddès amorous, With Jupiter, Mars, and Mercurius. Rycht so the auld intoxicat Saturne, Persaving Phebus powir, his beymes brycht, Abufe the erth than maid he no sudgeourne[565], Bot suddandlye did lose his borrowit lycht, Quhilk he durst never schaw bot on the nycht. The Pole Artick, Ursis, and Sterris all Quhilk situate ar in the Septentrionall, Tyll errand[566] schyppis quhilks ar the souer gyde[567], Convoyand thame upone the stormye nycht, Within thare frostie circle did thame hyde. Howbeit that sterris have none uthir lycht Bot the reflex of Phebus bemes brycht. That day durst none in-to the hevin appeir Till he had circuit all our Hemispheir. Me-thocht it was ane sycht celestiall To sene Phebus so angellyke ascend In-tyll his fyrie chariot triumphall, Quhose bewtie brychte I culd nocht comprehend. All warldlie cure[568] anone did fro me wend Quhen fresche Flora spred furth hir tapestrie, Wrocht be dame Nature, quent and curiouslie Depaynt with mony hundreth hevinlie hewis; Glaid of the rysing of thair royall Roye, With blomes breckand[569] on the tender bewis[570], Quhilk did provoke myne hart tyl natural joye. Neptune that day, and Eoll[571], held thame coye, That men on far mycht heir the birdis sounde, Quhose noyis did to the sterrye hevin redounde. The plesand powne prunyeand his feddrem fair[572], The myrthfull maves[573] maid gret melodie, The lustye[574] lark ascending in the air, Numerand his naturall notis craftelye, The gay goldspink, the merll rycht myrralye, The noyis of the nobyll nychtingalis Redoundit throuch the montans, meids, and valis. Contempling this melodious armonye, Quhow everilke bird drest thame for tyl advance, To saluss[575] Nature with thare melodye, That I stude gasing, halfingis[576] in ane trance, To heir thame mak thare naturall observance So royallie that all the roches[577] rang Throuch repurcussioun of thair suggurit sang.