Exclamatioun to the Redar, Tuycheyng the Wryttyng of Vulgare and Maternall Language, Ane -
Ane Exclamatioun to the Redar, Tuycheyng the Wryttyng of Vulgare and Maternall Language
1
Gentyl redar, haif at me non dispyte,
Thynkand that I presumptuously pretend
In vulgair toung so heych mater to writ,
Bot quhair I mys, I pray the till amend.
Tyll unlernit I wald the cause wer kend
Of our most miserabyll travell and torment,
And quhow in erth no place bene parmanent.
2
Quhowbeit that divers devote cunnyng clerkis
In Latyne toung hes wryttin syndrie bukis,
Our unlernit knawis lytill of thare werkis
More than thay do the ravyng of the rukis.
Quharefore, to colyearis, cairtaris and to cukis,
To Jok and Thome my ryme sall be diractit,
With cunnyng men quhowbeit it wylbe lactit.
3
Thocht every commoun may nocht be one clerk,
Nor hes no leid except thare toung maternall,
Quhy suld of God the marvellous hevinly werk
Be hid frome thame? I thynk it nocht fraternall.
The father of hevin, quhilk wes and is eternall,
To Moyses gaif the law, on Mont Senay,
Nocht in to Greik, nor Latyne, I heir say.
4
He wrait the law, in tablis hard of stone,
In thare awin vulgare language of Hebrew,
That all the bairnis of Israell, every one,
Mycht knaw the law and so the sam ensew.
Had he done wryt in Latyne, or in Grew,
It had to thame bene bot ane sawrles jest;
Ye may weill wytt God wrocht all for the best.
5
Arristotyll, nor Plato, I heir sane,
Wrait nocht thare hie philosophie naturall
In Duche, nor Dence, nor toung Italiane,
Bot in thare most ornate toung maternall,
Quhose fame and name doith ryng perpetuall.
Famous Virgill, the prince of poetrie,
Nor Cicero, the flour of oratrie,
6
Wrait nocht in Caldye language, nor in Grew,
Nor yit in to the language Sarayene,
Nor in the naturall language of Hebrew,
Bot in the Romane toung, as may be sene,
Quhilk wes thair proper language, as I wene.
Quhen Romanis rang dominatoris in deid,
The ornat Latyne wes thare propir leid.
7
In the mene tyme, quhen that thir bauld Romance
Over all the warld had the dominioun,
Maid Latyne scolis thare glore for tyll avance,
That thare language mycht be over all commoun,
To that intent, be my opinion,
Traistyng that thare impyre sulde ay indure,
Bot of fortune, alway, thay wer nocht sure.
8
Of languagis, the first diversytie
Wes maid be Goddis maledictioun,
Quhen Babilone wes beildit in Calde;
Those beildaris gat none uther afflictioun.
Affore the tyme of that punyssioun,
Wes bot one toung, quhilk Adam spak hym self,
Quhare now of toungis thare bene thre score and twelf.
9
Nochtwithstandyng, I thynk it gret plesour,
Quhare cunnyng men hes languagis anew,
That in thare youth, be deligent laubour,
Hes leirnit Latyne, Greik, and ald Hebrew.
That I am nocht of that sorte, sore I rew,
Quharefore, I wald all bukis necessare
For our faith wer intyll our toung vulgare.
10
Christ, efter his glorious ascentioun,
Tyll his disciplis send the Holy Spreit
In toungis of fyre, to that intentioun,
Thay, beand of all languagis repleit,
Throuch all the warld, with wordis fair and sweit,
Tyll every man the faith thay suld furth schaw,
In thare awin leid delyverand thame the law.
11
Tharefore I thynk one gret dirisioun
To heir thir nunnis and systeris, nycht and day,
Syngand and sayand psalmes and orisoun,
Nocht understandyng quhat thay syng nor say,
Bot lyke one stirlyng, or ane papingay
(Quhilk leirnit ar to speik be lang usage),
Thame I compair to byrdis in ane cage.
12
Rycht so childreyng and ladyis of honouris
Prayis in Latyne, to thame ane uncuth leid,
Mumland thair matynis, evinsang and thare houris,
Thare Pater Noster, Ave , and thare Creid .
It wer als plesand to thare spreit in deid
(God have mercy on me for to say thus)
As to say Miserere mei, Deus .
13
Sanct Jerome, in his propir toung Romane,
The law of God he trewlie did translait
Out of Hebrew, and Greik, in Latyne plane,
Quhilk hes bene hid frome us lang tyme — God wait,
Onto this tyme — bot, efter myne consait,
Had Sanct Jerome bene borne in tyll Argyle,
In to Irische toung his bukis had done compyle.
14
Prudent Sanct Paull doith mak narratioun
Tuycheyng the divers leid of every land,
Sayand thare bene more edificatioun
In fyve wordis that folk doith understand,
Nor to pronunce of wordis ten thousand
In strange langage, sine wait not quhat it menis.
I thynk sic pattryng is not worth twa prenis.
15
Unlernit peple, on the holy day,
Solemnitlye thay heir the Evangell soung,
Nocht knawyng quhat the preist dois sing nor say,
Bot as ane bell, quhen that thay heir it roung.
Yit, wald the preistis in to thare mother toung,
Pas to the pulpitt, and that doctryne declare,
Tyll lawid pepyll it wer more necessare.
16
I wald prelattis and doctouris of the law
With us lawid peple wer nocht discontent,
Thocht we in to our vulgare toung did knaw
Of Christ Jesu, the lyfe and testament,
And quhow that we sulde keip commandiment,
Bot in our language lat us pray and reid
Our Pater Noster, Ave , and our Creid .
17
I wald sum prince of gret discretioun
In vulgare language planelye gart translait
The neidfull lawis of this regioun.
Than wald thare nocht be half so gret debait
Amang us peple of the law estait;
Geve every man the veryte did knaw,
We nedit nocht to treit thir men of law.
18
Tyll do our nychtbour wrang we wald be war,
Gyf we did feir the lawis punysment.
Thare wald nocht be sic brawlyng at the bar,
Nor men of law loup to sic royall rent.
To keip the law, gyf all men war content,
And ilk man do as he wald be done to,
The jugis wald get lytill thyng ado.
19
The propheit David, kyng of Israell,
Compyld the plesand psalmes of the Psaltair
In his awin propir toung, as I heir tell;
And Salamone, quhilk wes his sone and air,
Did mak his buke in tyll his toung vulgare.
Quhy suld nocht thare sayng be tyll us schawin
In our language? I wald the cause wer knawin.
20
Lat doctoris wrytt thare curious questionis,
And argumentis sawin full of sophistrye,
Thare logick and thare heych opinionis,
Thare dirk jugementis of astronomye,
Thare medecyne and thare philosophye.
Latt poetis schaw thare glorious ingyne
As ever thay pleis, in Greik or in Latyne,
21
Bot lat us haif the bukis necessare
To commoun weill and our salvatioun,
Justlye translatit in our toung vulgare.
And als I mak the supplicatioun:
O gentyll redar, haif none indignatioun,
Thynkand I mell me with so hie matair.
Now to my purpose fordwart wyll I fair.
1
Gentyl redar, haif at me non dispyte,
Thynkand that I presumptuously pretend
In vulgair toung so heych mater to writ,
Bot quhair I mys, I pray the till amend.
Tyll unlernit I wald the cause wer kend
Of our most miserabyll travell and torment,
And quhow in erth no place bene parmanent.
2
Quhowbeit that divers devote cunnyng clerkis
In Latyne toung hes wryttin syndrie bukis,
Our unlernit knawis lytill of thare werkis
More than thay do the ravyng of the rukis.
Quharefore, to colyearis, cairtaris and to cukis,
To Jok and Thome my ryme sall be diractit,
With cunnyng men quhowbeit it wylbe lactit.
3
Thocht every commoun may nocht be one clerk,
Nor hes no leid except thare toung maternall,
Quhy suld of God the marvellous hevinly werk
Be hid frome thame? I thynk it nocht fraternall.
The father of hevin, quhilk wes and is eternall,
To Moyses gaif the law, on Mont Senay,
Nocht in to Greik, nor Latyne, I heir say.
4
He wrait the law, in tablis hard of stone,
In thare awin vulgare language of Hebrew,
That all the bairnis of Israell, every one,
Mycht knaw the law and so the sam ensew.
Had he done wryt in Latyne, or in Grew,
It had to thame bene bot ane sawrles jest;
Ye may weill wytt God wrocht all for the best.
5
Arristotyll, nor Plato, I heir sane,
Wrait nocht thare hie philosophie naturall
In Duche, nor Dence, nor toung Italiane,
Bot in thare most ornate toung maternall,
Quhose fame and name doith ryng perpetuall.
Famous Virgill, the prince of poetrie,
Nor Cicero, the flour of oratrie,
6
Wrait nocht in Caldye language, nor in Grew,
Nor yit in to the language Sarayene,
Nor in the naturall language of Hebrew,
Bot in the Romane toung, as may be sene,
Quhilk wes thair proper language, as I wene.
Quhen Romanis rang dominatoris in deid,
The ornat Latyne wes thare propir leid.
7
In the mene tyme, quhen that thir bauld Romance
Over all the warld had the dominioun,
Maid Latyne scolis thare glore for tyll avance,
That thare language mycht be over all commoun,
To that intent, be my opinion,
Traistyng that thare impyre sulde ay indure,
Bot of fortune, alway, thay wer nocht sure.
8
Of languagis, the first diversytie
Wes maid be Goddis maledictioun,
Quhen Babilone wes beildit in Calde;
Those beildaris gat none uther afflictioun.
Affore the tyme of that punyssioun,
Wes bot one toung, quhilk Adam spak hym self,
Quhare now of toungis thare bene thre score and twelf.
9
Nochtwithstandyng, I thynk it gret plesour,
Quhare cunnyng men hes languagis anew,
That in thare youth, be deligent laubour,
Hes leirnit Latyne, Greik, and ald Hebrew.
That I am nocht of that sorte, sore I rew,
Quharefore, I wald all bukis necessare
For our faith wer intyll our toung vulgare.
10
Christ, efter his glorious ascentioun,
Tyll his disciplis send the Holy Spreit
In toungis of fyre, to that intentioun,
Thay, beand of all languagis repleit,
Throuch all the warld, with wordis fair and sweit,
Tyll every man the faith thay suld furth schaw,
In thare awin leid delyverand thame the law.
11
Tharefore I thynk one gret dirisioun
To heir thir nunnis and systeris, nycht and day,
Syngand and sayand psalmes and orisoun,
Nocht understandyng quhat thay syng nor say,
Bot lyke one stirlyng, or ane papingay
(Quhilk leirnit ar to speik be lang usage),
Thame I compair to byrdis in ane cage.
12
Rycht so childreyng and ladyis of honouris
Prayis in Latyne, to thame ane uncuth leid,
Mumland thair matynis, evinsang and thare houris,
Thare Pater Noster, Ave , and thare Creid .
It wer als plesand to thare spreit in deid
(God have mercy on me for to say thus)
As to say Miserere mei, Deus .
13
Sanct Jerome, in his propir toung Romane,
The law of God he trewlie did translait
Out of Hebrew, and Greik, in Latyne plane,
Quhilk hes bene hid frome us lang tyme — God wait,
Onto this tyme — bot, efter myne consait,
Had Sanct Jerome bene borne in tyll Argyle,
In to Irische toung his bukis had done compyle.
14
Prudent Sanct Paull doith mak narratioun
Tuycheyng the divers leid of every land,
Sayand thare bene more edificatioun
In fyve wordis that folk doith understand,
Nor to pronunce of wordis ten thousand
In strange langage, sine wait not quhat it menis.
I thynk sic pattryng is not worth twa prenis.
15
Unlernit peple, on the holy day,
Solemnitlye thay heir the Evangell soung,
Nocht knawyng quhat the preist dois sing nor say,
Bot as ane bell, quhen that thay heir it roung.
Yit, wald the preistis in to thare mother toung,
Pas to the pulpitt, and that doctryne declare,
Tyll lawid pepyll it wer more necessare.
16
I wald prelattis and doctouris of the law
With us lawid peple wer nocht discontent,
Thocht we in to our vulgare toung did knaw
Of Christ Jesu, the lyfe and testament,
And quhow that we sulde keip commandiment,
Bot in our language lat us pray and reid
Our Pater Noster, Ave , and our Creid .
17
I wald sum prince of gret discretioun
In vulgare language planelye gart translait
The neidfull lawis of this regioun.
Than wald thare nocht be half so gret debait
Amang us peple of the law estait;
Geve every man the veryte did knaw,
We nedit nocht to treit thir men of law.
18
Tyll do our nychtbour wrang we wald be war,
Gyf we did feir the lawis punysment.
Thare wald nocht be sic brawlyng at the bar,
Nor men of law loup to sic royall rent.
To keip the law, gyf all men war content,
And ilk man do as he wald be done to,
The jugis wald get lytill thyng ado.
19
The propheit David, kyng of Israell,
Compyld the plesand psalmes of the Psaltair
In his awin propir toung, as I heir tell;
And Salamone, quhilk wes his sone and air,
Did mak his buke in tyll his toung vulgare.
Quhy suld nocht thare sayng be tyll us schawin
In our language? I wald the cause wer knawin.
20
Lat doctoris wrytt thare curious questionis,
And argumentis sawin full of sophistrye,
Thare logick and thare heych opinionis,
Thare dirk jugementis of astronomye,
Thare medecyne and thare philosophye.
Latt poetis schaw thare glorious ingyne
As ever thay pleis, in Greik or in Latyne,
21
Bot lat us haif the bukis necessare
To commoun weill and our salvatioun,
Justlye translatit in our toung vulgare.
And als I mak the supplicatioun:
O gentyll redar, haif none indignatioun,
Thynkand I mell me with so hie matair.
Now to my purpose fordwart wyll I fair.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.