Classic Poem

For he was wounder amiabill
And in all deidis honorabill,
And ay his honour did avance
In Ingland first and syne in France.
And thair his manheid did assaill
Under the Kingis greit Admirall,
Quhen the greit Navie of Scotland
Passit to the sey aganis Ingland.
And as thay passit be Ireland Coist
The Admirall gart land his Oist,
And set Craigfergus into Fyre,
And saifit nouther Barne nor Byre.
It was greit pietie for to heir
Of the pepill the bailfull cheir,
And how the Land folk wer spuilyeit;
Fair wemen underfute wer fuilyeit.
Bot this young Squyer bauld and wicht
Savit all wemen quhair he micht,
All Preistis and Freiris he did save.
Till at the last he did persave
Behind ane Garding amiabill
Ane womanis voce richt lamentabill,
And on that voce he followit fast
Till he did see hir at the last
Spuilyeit, nakit as scho was borne.
Twa men of weir wer hir beforne,
Quhilk wer richt cruell men and kene,
Partand the spuilyie thame betwene.
Ane fairer woman nor scho wes
He had not sene in onie place.
Befoir him on hir kneis scho fell,
Sayand, for him that heryit Hell,
Help me, sweit Sir, I am ane Mayd.
Than softlie to the men he said,
I pray yow give againe hir sark
And tak to yow all uther wark.
Hir Kirtill was of Scarlot reid,
Of gold ane garland of hir heid
Decorit with Enamelyne,
Belt and Brochis of silver fyne.
Of yallow Taftais wes hir sark,
Begaryit all with browderit wark
Richt craftelie with gold and silk.
Than said the Ladie quhyte as milk,
Except my sark no thing I crave;
Let thame go hence, with all the lave.
Quod thay to hir, be Sanct Fillane,
Of this ye get nathing agane.
Than said the Squyer courteslie,
Gude Freindis I pray yow hartfullie,
Gif ye be worthie Men of Weir
Restoir to hir agane hir Geir;
Or, be greit God that all hes wrocht,
That spuilyie salbe full deir bocht.
Quod thay to him, we the defy,
And drew thair swordis haistely
And straik at him with sa greit Ire
That from his Harnes flew the fyre:
With duntis sa darflie on him dang
That he was never in sic ane thrang.
Bot he him manfullie defendit,
And with ane bolt on thame he bendit
And hat the ane upon the heid
That to the ground he fell doun deid:
For to the teith he did him cleif,
Lat him ly thair with ane mischeif.
Than with the uther, hand for hand,
He beit him with his birneist brand:
The uther was baith stout and strang,
And on the Squyer darflie dang.
And than the Squyer wrocht greit wonder,
Ay till his sword did shaik in sunder.
Than drew he furth ane sharp dagair,
And did him cleik be the Collair,
And evin in at the collerbane
At the first straik he hes him slane:
He founderit fordward to the ground.
Yit was the Squyer haill and sound:
For quhy, he was sa weill enarmit,
He did escaip fra thame unharmit.
And quhen he saw thay wer baith slane
He to that Ladie past agane
Quhair scho stude nakit on the bent,
And said, tak your abulyement;
And scho him thankit full humillie,
And put hir claithis on spedilie.
Than kissit he that Ladie fair,
And tuik his leif at hir but mair.
Be that the Taburne and Trumpet blew,
And everie man to shipburd drew.
That Ladie was dolent in hart,
From tyme scho saw he wald depart
That hir relevit from hir harmes,
And hint the Squyer in hir armes
And said, will ye byde in this Land,
I sall yow tak to my Husband.
Thocht I be cassin now in cair
I am (quod scho) my Fatheris Air,
The quhilk may spend, of pennies round,
Of yeirlie Rent ane thowsand Pound:
With that hartlie scho did him kis.
Ar ye (quod scho) content of this?
Of that (quod he) I wald be fane,
Gif I micht in this Realme remane.
Bot I mon first pas into France;
Sa quhen I cum agane, perchance,
And efter that the Peice be made,
To marie yow I will be glaid:
Fair weill, I may no longer tarie;
I pray God keip yow, and sweit sanct Marie.
Than gaif scho him ane Lufe taking,
Ane riche Rubie set in ane Ring.
I am (quod scho) at your command,
With yow to pas into Scotland.
I thank yow hartfullie (quod he)
Ye ar ouir young to saill the See,
And speciallie with Men of weir.
Of that (quod scho) tak ye na feir,
I sall me cleith in mennis clais
And ga with yow quhair euir ye pleis.
Suld I not lufe him Paramour
That saifit my Lyfe and my honour?
Ladie, I say yow in certane
Ye sall have lufe for lufe agane
Trewlie, unto my Lyfis end:
Fairweill, to God I yow commend.
With that, into his Boit he past,
And to the ship he rowit fast.