Classic Poem

In loftie veirs I did reheirs,
My drerie lamentatioun
And now allace, maist cairfull cace
I mak my proclamatioun.
Desyring all, baith greit and small,
That heiris me be Narratioun,
Not for to wyte my rude Indyte:
Sen maid is Intimatioun.

I do Intend, nane to offend,
That feiris God arycht,
Thocht murtherars, & blud scheddars,
Wald haif me out of sycht.
Thair malice vane, I do disdane,
And curse thair subtell flycht.
My name is knawin, yair bruit is blawin
Abrode baith day and nycht.

For I a wyfe with sempill lyfe,
Dois wyn my meit ilk day,
For small auaill, ay selling caill,
The best fassoun I may.
Besyde the Throne, I wait vpone,
My mercat but delay
Gif men thair walk, I heir thair talk
And beiris it weill away.

In felloun feir, at me thay speir,
Quhat tythands in this land?
Quhy sit I dum, and dar not mum?
Oft tymes thay do demand.
To thame agane, I answer plane,
Quhair thay beside me stand:
Na thing is heir, bot mortall weir,
Wrocht be ane bailful hand.

A wickit race of grumis but grace
Of Kedzochis curst clan,
Be tressoun vile, quha dois defyle,
Thame self both wyfe and man.
As lait is sene, with weiping Ene,
Thairfoir I sall thame ban:
Caus our Regent maist Innocent
That cursit seid ouer ran.

Quhat cruelteis thay Enemeis,
Hes wrocht be tymes past,
I lat ouer slyde, I may not byde,
Sa fair I am agast
Thair anterous actis, yair furious factis,
Auld bukis quha will ouer cast,
And men on liue, can zit descriue
Thair doings first and last.

Thairfoir my lords, as best accords
Sen se are hapnit hidder,
This I will say tuix sport and play
My wordis weill considder.
And poder yame for zour awin schame
To mark thame be not lidder:
Lat na mans feid, throw feirfull dreid,
Zour hartis mak to swidder.

For I heir say, thay will display
Thair baners on the feild:
Think and but dout, to ruit zow out,
Or cause zow seik sum b . . . . . .
At thame, rycht fane, or . . . . ane,
That ganzell will thay zeild,
Stand not abak (oh) febill pak,
Bot swordis leir to weild.

Defend zour richt in Goddis sicht
Quhome of do ze stand aw?
Rycht few I trow, will zow allow,
Gif ze zour selfis misknaw.
Stand to thairfoir, fyle not the scoir,
But all togidder draw,
Not in Cat harrowis, lyke cankrit marrowis
For feir of efter flaw.

Do ze not se that mad menez,
How thay ar warin crous?
To wirk zow tene, yai mak ye Quene,
Thair strenth and strang blokhous.
The murther fy, thay do deny,
And countis zow not ane sous
Thair proude pretence throw negligece
Will be maist dangerous.

To Lythquo toun, thay ar all boun
Quhair thay the murther wrocht,
And thinkis to de, or fortifie,
Thair fellony forethocht,
And trewlie I, can not espy
Quhat vther thing thay socht,
Bot King put doun, & clame the Croun
Be bludy murther bocht.

I pans and muse, how thay excuse
This murther perpetrate,
Or with quhat grace haldis vp yair face
Quhair it is nominate.
Gif (as I trow) thay it allow,
Like Wolfis Insatiate:
Quha can repent, that thay be schent,
With blude commaculate?

Fall to thairfoir I zow Imploir,
My Lords with ane assent.
And think it lang, ay quhil ze fang,
The feiris that did Inuent
This crueltie, be tyrannie,
To sla our rycht Regent,
For thay maist sure, dois still Indure
With hartis Impenitent.

That man in deid, is worth su meid
His fault that dois confes
Bot quhat rewarde suld be preparde,
For him that dois transgres.
And will not graunt, bot rather vaunt
In his unhappynes
Maist sure the gallous, with all his fallous,
For thair vnthankfulnes.

For gif self lufe, was from abufe
Deiectit out of heuin,
Quhen Lucifer, wald be ane bar,
To God and think him euin.
Quhat sall we wene of tratours kene,
That Ithandly hes streuin
For to deface the Nobill race,
Of Stewarts od and euin.

Considder weill, thair cakrit zeill
Hes thristit mony day,
For to posses but godlynes,
The Crowne withouttin stay,
As now of lait, thair curst consait,
With murther thay display:
Quhen thay thocht gude, to drink this blude
Be that vngodly way.

Bot Sathan sure, dois thame allure
With wordis fals and vane:
Ay promysing, thame to be King,
Quhairof thay ar full fane.
In Paradice he did Intice,
Be subtell craft and trane,
The man first maid, sa God hes said
In Sacrede Scripture plane.

He said that he, suld equall be,
To God Omnipotent,
The Appill sweit, gif he wald eit,
Quhairof was made restraint.
With small defence, he gaif credence
Bot did he not repent?
Quhen efterwart, he felt the smart,
And God aganis him bent.

Sa sall all thay, yat dois yis day
With mischant mynde maling,
Aganis the treuth but ony reuth
And Crowning of our King.
And this thay mufe for thair behufe,
To place thair awin ofspring,
But thay repent, thay will be schent,
And hell at thair ending.

Authoritie gif Just he be,
Quhy do thay this Ill will him?
His graitfull gide, throw peuische pride
Allace quhy did thay kill him?
Thair heid supreme in to this Realme
Admit gif thay not will him
Than ze my Lords, cut of with cords
Thame will be troublous till him.

Reuenge this wrang, lat tratourz hang
Gods Lawis dois sa requyre,
Lat Caleb eik, and Josue seik,
The promysit Impyre.
Thocht murmurars, and murtherars
Wald all zour deith conspyre:
In wyldernes with cursitnes,
At lenth thay will all tyre.

That Campion of Babilon,
That bludy beildar vp;
With Mytrid heid, ane homyceid,
That saikles blude dois sup.
Gar cow his Crowne, or put him doun
That he may taist the Cup
Quhair with oft tymes, for saikles crymes
Mennis lyues he Interup.

And se that neuer, ze do disseuer
From first contractit band,
Quhen ze our King of zeiris zing,
Maid Rewlar of this land.
Lat not Inuy, cause sum ly by,
Bot all togidder stand:
Than God the Lord, misericord,
Will be zour sure warrand.

From Cail mercat, quhair as I sat
Thir wordis I did Indyte,
The wyfis amag, that thocht greit lang
To se my awin hand wryte.
Gif ony be, that will judge me,
To speik bot in dispyte,
Gar mend the mis, committit is,
And Ina mair sall flyte.