Classic Poem

The Coilyear, gudlie in feir, tuke him be the hand,
And put him befoir him, as ressoun had bene;
Quhen thay come to the dure, the King begouth to stand,
To put the Coilyear in befoir, maid him to mene.
He said: "Thou art uncourtes, that sall I warrand.'
He tyt the King be the nek, twa part in tene;
"Gif thou at bidding suld be boun or obeysand,
And gif thou of Courtasie couth, thou hes foryet it clene;
Now is anis,' said the Coilyear, "kynd aucht to creip,
Sen ellis thou art unknawin,
To mak me Lord of my awin;
Sa mot I thrive, I am thrawin,
Begin we to threip.'

Than benwart thay yeid, quhair brandis was bricht,
To ane bricht byrnand fyre as the Carll bad;
He callit on Gyliane, his wyfe, thair Supper to dicht.
"Of the best that thair is, help that we had,

Efter ane evill day to have ane mirrie nicht,
For sa troublit with stormis was I never stad;
Of ilk airt of the Eist sa laithly it laid,
Yit was I mekle willar than,
Quhen I met with this man.'
Of sic taillis thay began,
Quhill the supper was graid.

Sone was the Supper dicht, and the fyre bet,
And thay had weschin, I wis, the worthiest was thair:
"Tak my wyfe be the hand, in feir, withoutin let,
And gang begin the buird,' said the Coilyear.
"That war unsemand, forsuith, and thy self unset;'
The King profferit him to gang, and maid ane strange fair.
"Now is twyse,' said the Carll, "me think thou hes foryet.'
He leit gyrd to the King, withoutin ony mair,
And hit him under the eir with his richt hand,
Quhill he stakkerit thair with all
Half the breid of the hall;
He faind never of ane fall,
Quhill he the eird fand.

He start up stoutly agane, uneis micht he stand,
For anger of that outray that he had thair tane.
He callit on Gyliane his wyfe: "Ga, tak him be the hand,
And gang agane to the buird, quhair ye suld air have gane.'
"Schir, thou art unskilfull, and that sall I warrand,
Thou byrd to have nurtour aneuch, and thou hes nane;
Thou hes walkit, I wis, in mony wyld land,
The mair vertew thou suld have, to keip the fra blame;
Thou suld be courtes of kynd, and ane cunnand Courteir.
Thocht that I simpill be,
Do as I bid the,
The hous is myne, pardie,
And all that is heir.'

The King said to him self: "This is an evill lyfe,
Yit was I never in my lyfe thus gait leird;
And I have oft tymes bene quhair gude hes bene ryfe,
That maist couth of courtasie in this Cristin eird.
Is nane sa gude as leif of, and mak na mair stryfe,
For I am stonischit at this straik, that hes me thus steird.'
In feir fairlie he foundis, with the gude wyfe,
Quhair the Coilyear bad, sa braithlie he beird.
Quhen he had done his bidding, as him gude thocht,
Doun he sat the King neir,
And maid him glaid and gude cheir,
And said: "Ye ar welcum heir,
Be him that me bocht.'