Classic Poem

Yow that do wryte aganes the Scottis,
Thair actioun for to deprave;
Thame taxing with so schameful blottis,
Sould have alledgit resouns grave.
I yow advys call in your scroll;
Yow wait not quho will it controll.

Thoch sum have playit Judas' pairt
In selling gud Northumberland,
Quhy sould they thoill for thair desert
That fane wald have that fact withstand?
Or yit the countrey beir the blame?
Lat thame that sold him have the schame.

Mar, and the devilische Douglassis,
And namelic Mortoun, and Lochlevin;
Macgill, and Orknay, Scottish assis;
And Cleische, quhomto the gold wes gevin;
Dumfermling that the py prepaird;
And lowse Lindsay quho was his gaird.

These onlie wer the Juddassis;
These onlie gave thairto avyse:
And onlie these tua Douglassis
Participatit of his pryce.
So lat his bluid be on thair heidis,
On thair posteritie and seidis!

Your quene had pruif that Mortoun's race
To covatice wes hail inclynde,
And so to prosecute this caice,
Addrest hir onlie to that kynd.
And not to all, bot Mortoun rather,
Be money that corrupt his father.

Quho tuik king Hareis money so,
Our cardinal to keip in hauld;
And syne for money luit him go,
And for fyve hundreth crouns him sauld.
Of kynd so Mortoun hes it then
To chop, and change; and to sell men.

You sould not preis disestimatioun
To such as thairin no lak had;
Thoch thair be also of our natioun,
As of all others, gud and bad.
Yit blame not all, for one or two
That mein no treuth to freind nor so.

Sen France producit ane Ganyelon,
And England monye tratours bred;
Quhat fairlie than thoch we have on?
Yit is it not ane Scottische tred.
For Scotland ay, of auld and new,
To baneist wichts wes ever trew.

Henrie the Sext wes heir exylde;
For quhom we micht have had greit gane,
As for his Quene, and onlie chyild;
Yit wer thay nather sauld, nor slaine.
Your storeis schaw, wer thay perusit,
Greít stoir: bot nane that wes ill usit.

This Lordis wyse socht to Lord Home,
As Leonard Dakeris, and mony mo,
Quhome all the gold in Christindome
Wald not have movit to sell thame so.
Ye knaw quhat hairmè he hes sustaind
For that he trewlie thame manteind.

The Erle of Sussex can recoird,
Quhen he desyrit thame of his hand,
The generous answèr of that lord
That he maid to his schairpe demand,
Said he wald rather give his heid
Or he sould do so vyil a deid.

For deid wald lest bot for ane sesoun,
And pas sone with celeritie;
The vyile and filthie blot of tresoun
Wald schame his haill posteritie,
Wer it to doe he wald resave thame,
And he, nor ane, sould never have thame,

So tressoun is no Scottische gyfe;
To term it so ye have no ground,
Sen heir afflictit wichts alwyse
Hes ever ayd and favour found.
Althoch sum tratours be amang us,
In blaiming all forsuith ye wrang us.

Ye sould not all the land detract;
Nor impute falset to our kynd;
Sen monye with that filthie fact
Ar soir offendit in thair mynd,
And to avenge it wald be glaid.
Will ye concur, ye sall have ayd.

Your quene abhors thame in hir hairt,
Mislyking for thair filthie natures;
And wald be glad to sie thame smart,
Lyking the treasoun, not the tratours.
Scho knaws thay did it not for love;
It wes hir gold that did thame move.

Wald ye doe for your countrie-man,
As for our honour's caus we wald,
We sall avenge it on that clan
Your freind that to the scambils sauld.
Go pruif: and deids sall testisie
Your kyndnes, and our honestie.