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One bade me buy a hood to cover my head;
But, for want of money, I might not be sped.
Then I hied me unto East-Cheap,

ings contain only a few good passages, he is allowed to have improved the poetical language of the country. He at one time kept a school in his monastery, for the instruction of young persons of the upper ranks in the art of versification; a fact which proves that poetry had become a favourite study among the few who acquired any tincture of letters in that age. In the words of Mr Warton," there is great soft-Some sung of Jenkin and Julian for their meed; ness and facility" in the following passage of Lydgate's Destruction of Troy :

[Description of a Sylvan Retreat.]

Till at the last, among the bowes glade,
Of adventure, I caught a pleasant shade;
Full smooth, and plain, and lusty for to seen,
And soft as velvet was the yonge green :
Where from my horse I did alight as fast,
And on the bow aloft his reine cast.
So faint and mate of weariness I was,
That I me laid adown upon the grass,
Upon a brinke, shortly for to tell,
Beside the river of a crystal well;
And the water, as I reherse can,
Like quicke silver in his streams y-ran,
Of which the gravel and the brighte stone,
As any gold, against the sun y-shone.

A fugitive poem of Lydgate, called the London Lyck-
penny, is curious for the particulars it gives respect-
ing the city of London in the early part of the
fifteenth century. The poet has come to town in
search of legal redress for some wrong, and visits, in
succession, the King's Bench, the Court of Common
Pleas, the Court of Chancery, and Westminster

The London Lyckpenny.

Within the hall, neither rich, nor yet poor
Would do for me ought, although I should die :
Which seeing, I gat me out of the door,

Where Flemings began on me for to cry, 'Master, what will you copen' or buy? Fine felt hats? or spectacles to read?

Lay down your silver, and here you may speed.'
Then to Westminster gate I presently went,
When the sun was at high prime:

Cooks to me they took good intent,

And proffered me bread, with ale, and wine,
Ribs of beef, both fat and full fine;

A fair cloth they gan for to spread,
But, wanting money, I might not be sped.

Then unto London I did me hie,

Of all the land it beareth the price; 'Hot peascods!' one began to cry,

'Strawberry ripe, and cherries in the rise !'3
One bade me come near and buy some spice;
Pepper, and saffron they gan me beed 4
But, for lack of money, I might not speed.

Then to the Cheap I gan me drawn,

One cries ribs of beef, and many a pie ;
Pewter pots they clattered on a heap;
There was harp, pipe, and minstrelsy;
Yea by cock! nay by cock! some began cry;
But, for lack of money, I might not speed.
Then into Cornhill anon I yode,

Where was much stolen gear among;
I saw where hung mine owne hood,
That I had lost among the throng;
To buy my own hood I thought it wrong:

I knew it well, as I did my creed;
But, for lack of money, I could not speed.
The taverner took me by the sleeve,

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'Sir,' saith he,' will you our wine assay?'
I answered, That can not much me grieve,
A penny can do no more than it may;
I drank a pint, and for it did pay;
Yet, sore a-hungered from thence I yede,
And, wanting money, I could not speed, &c.

The reigns of Edward IV., Richard III., and Henry VII, extending between the years 1461 and 1509, were barren of true poetry, though there was no lack of obscure versifiers. It is remarkable, that this period produced in Scotland a race of genuine poets, who, in the words of Mr Warton, displayed a degree of sentiment and spirit, a command of phra seology, and a fertility of imagination, not to be found in any English poet since Chaucer and Lydgate.' Perhaps the explanation of this seeming mystery is, that the influences which operated upon Chaucer a century before, were only now coming with their full force upon the less favourably situated nation which dwelt north of the Tweed. Overlooking some obscurer names, those of Henryson, Dunbar, and Douglas, are to be mentioned with peculiar respect.



Of this poet there are no personal memorials, except that he was a schoolmaster at Dunfermline, and died some time before 1508. His principal poem is The Testament of Cresseid, being a sequel to Chaucer's romantic poem, Troylus and Cresseide. He wrote a series of fables, thirteen in number, and some miscellaneous poems, chiefly of a moral character. One of his fables is the common story of the Town Mouse and Country Mouse, which he treats with much humour and characteristic description, and concludes with a beautifully expressed moral. [Dinner given by the Town Mouse to the Country Mouse.] their harboury was tane Intill a spence, where victual was plenty, Baith cheese and butter on lang shelves richt hie, With fish and flesh enough, baith fresh and salt, And pockis full of groats, baith meal and malt. After, when they disposit were to dine, Withouten grace they wuish' and went to meat, On every dish that cookmen can divine, Mutton and beef stricken out in telyies grit ; Ane lordis fare thus can they counterfeit, Except ane thing-they drank the water clear Instead of wine, but yet they made gude cheer. With blyth upcast and merry countenance, The elder sister then spier'd at her guest, Gif that sho thoucht by reason difference Betwixt that chalmer and her sairy2 nest. London stone is still preserved in Cannon Street, formerly Yea, dame,' quoth sho, but how lang will this last l

Where much people I saw for to stand; One offered me velvet, silk, and lawn,

Another he taketh me by the hand,

'Here is Paris thread, the finest in the land!'
I never was used to such things, indeed;
And, wanting money, I might not speed.
Then went I forth by London Stone,5
Throughout all Canwick Street:
Drapers much cloth me offered anon;

Then comes me one cried hot sheep's feet;'

One cried mackerel, rushes green, another gan greet,

1 Koopen, (Flem.) is to buy. Took notice; paid attention.
* On the twig.
4 Offer.

ralled Canwick, or Candlewick Street.

5 A fragment of

6 Cry.

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1 Washed.

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2 Sorry.

'For evermair, I wait, and langer too;'
'Gif that be true, ye are at ease,' quoth sho.
To eik the cheer, in plenty furth they broucht
A plate of groatis and a dish of meal,

A threif2 of cakes, I trow sho spared them noucht,
Abundantly about her for to deal.

Furmage full fine sho broucht instead of jeil,

A white candle out of a coffer staw,

Instead of spice, to creish their teeth witha'.

Thus made they merry, while they micht nae mair,
And, Hail Yule, hail!' they cryit up on hie;
But after joy aftentimes comes care,
And trouble after grit prosperity.
Thus as they sat in all their solity,
The Spenser cam with keyis in his hand,
Opened the door, and them at dinner fand.
They tarried not to wash, as I suppose,
But on to gae, wha micht the foremost win;
The burgess had a hole and in sho goes,
Her sister had nae place to hide her in;
To see that silly mouse it was great sin,
Sae desolate and wild of all gude rede,
For very fear sho fell in swoon, near dead.
Then as God wald it fell in happy case,
The Spenser had nae leisure for to bide,
Nowther to force, to seek, nor scare, nor chase,
But on he went and cast the door up-wide.
This burgess mouse his passage weel has spied.
Out of her hole sho cam and cried on hie,
'How, fair sister, cry peep, where'er thou be.'
The rural mouse lay flatlings on the ground,
And for the deid sho was full dreadand,3
For till her heart strake mony waeful stound,
As in a fever trembling foot and hand;
And when her sister in sic plight her fand,
For very pity sho began to greet,

Syne comfort gave, with words as honey sweet.
'Why lie ye thus ? Rise up, my sister dear,
Come to your meat, this peril is o'erpast.'
The other answered with a heavy cheer,
I may nought eat, sae sair I am aghast.
Lever I had this forty dayis fast,

With water kail, and green beans and peas.
Then all your feast with this dread and disease.

With fair 'treaty, yet gart she her rise;
To board they went, and on together sat,
But scantly had they drunken anes or twice,
When in cam Gib Huntér, our jolly cat,

And bade God speed. The burgess up then gat,
And till her hole she fled as fire of flint;
Bawdrons the other by the back has hent.
Frae foot to foot he cast her to and frae,
While up, while down, as cant as only kid;
While wald he let her run under the strae
While wald he wink and play with her buik-hid;
Thus to the silly mouse great harm he did;
While at the last, through fair fortune and hap,
Betwixt the dresser and the wall she crap.
Syne up in haste behind the paneling,

Sae hie sho clam, that Gilbert might not get her,
And by the cluiks craftily can hing,

Till he was gane, her cheer was all the better:
Syne down sho lap, when there was nane to let her;
Then on the burgess mouth loud couth sho cry,
'Fareweel sister, here I thy feast defy.
Thy mangery is mingets all with care,

Thy guise is gude, thy gane-full sour as gall;
The fashion of thy feris is but fair,

So shall thou find hereafterward may fall.

I thank yon curtain, and yon parpane wall,

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Of my defence now frae yon cruel beast; Almighty God, keep me fra sic a feast! Were I into the place that I cam frae,

For weel nor wae I should ne'er come again.'
With that sho took her leave, and forth can gae,
While through the corn, while through the plain.
When she was furth and free she was right fain,
And merrily linkit unto the muir,

I cannot tell how afterward sho fure.

But I heard syne she passit to her den,
As warm as woo', suppose it was not grit,
Full beinly stuffit was baith butt and ben,
With peas and nuts, and beans, and rye and wheat;
Whene'er sho liked, sho had enough of meat,
In quiet and ease, withouten [ony] dread,
But till her sister's feast nae mair sho gaed.
[From the Moral.]

Blissed be simple life, withouten dreid;
Blissed be sober feast in quieté ;
Wha has eneuch of no more has he neid,
Though it be little into quantity.
Grit abundance, and blind prosperity,
Oft timis make ane evil conclusion;
The sweetest life, theirfor, in this country,
Is of sickerness, with small possession.

The Garment of Good Ladies.
Would my good lady love me best,
And work after my will,

I should a garment goodliest
Gar make her body till.1

Of high honoùr should be her hood,
Upon her head to wear,
Garnish'd with governance, so good
Na deeming should her deir.?

Her sark3 should be her body next,

Of chastity so white:

With shame and dread together mixt,

The same should be perfyte.4

Her kirtle should be of clean constance,
Lacit with lesum5 love;

The mailies of continuance,

For never to remove.

Her gown should be of goodliness,
Well ribbon'd with renown;
Purfill'd7 with pleasure in ilk placo,
Furrit with fine fashioùn.

Her belt should be of benignity,
About her middle meet;
Her mantle of humility,

To thole 9 both wind and weit. 10
Her hat should be of fair having,
And her tippet of truth;
Her patelet of good pansing,11
Her hals-ribbon of ruth.12

Her sleeves should be of esperance,
To keep her fra despair:
Her glovis of good governance,
To hide her fingers fair.

Her shoen should be of sickerness,
In sign that she not slide;
Her hose of honesty, I guess,
I should for her provide.

1 Cause to be made to her shape.

injure her. 3 Shift.

4 Perfect.

6 Eyelet-holes for lacing her kirtle. 8 Each. fringed, or bordered. 11 Thinking.

2 No opinion should 5 Lawful. 7 Parfilé (French), 9 Endure. 10 Wet.

12 Her neck ribbon of pity.

Would she put on this garment gay,
I durst swear by my seill,
That she wore never green nor gray
That set her half so weel.


WILLIAM DUnbar, a poet,' says Sir Walter Scott, unrivalled by any that Scotland has ever produced,' flourished at the court of James IV., at the end of the fifteenth and beginning of the sixteenth centuries. His works, with the exception of one or two pieces, were confined, for above two centuries, to an obscure manuscript, from which they were only rescued when their language had become so antiquated, as to render the world insensible in a great measure to their many excellencies. To no other circumstance can we attribute the little justice that is done by popular fame to this highly-gifted poet, who was alike master of every kind of verse, the solemn, the descriptive, the sublime, the comic, and the satirical. Having received his education at the university of St Andrews, where, in 1479, he took the degree of master of arts, Dunbar became a friar of the Franciscan order (Grey Friars), in which capacity he travelled for some years not only in Scotland, but also in England and France, preaching, as was the custom of the order, and living by the alms of the pious, a mode of life which he himself acknowledges to have involved a constant exercise of falsehood, deceit, and flattery. In time, he had the grace, or was enabled by circumstances, to renounce this sordid profession. It is supposed, from various allusions in his writings, that, from about the year 1491 to 1500, he was occasionally employed by the king (James IV.) in some subordinate, but not unimportant capacity, in connexion with various foreign embassies, and that he thus visited Germany, Italy, Spain, and France, besides England and Ireland. He could not, in such a life, fail to acquire much of that knowledge of mankind which forms so important a part of the education of the poet. In 1500, he received from the king a pension of ten pounds, afterwards increased to twenty, and finally to eighty. He is supposed to have been employed by James in some of the negotiations preparatory to his marriage with the Princess Margaret, daughter of Henry VII., which took place in 1503. For some years ensuing, he seems to have lived at court, regaling his royal master with his poetical compositions, and probably also his conversation, the charms of which, judging from his writings, must have been very great. It is sad to relate of one who possessed so buoyant and mirthful a spirit, that his life was not, as far as we can judge, a happy one. He appears to have repined greatly at the servile courtlife which he was condemned to lead, and to have longed anxiously for some independent source of income. Amongst his poems, are many containing nothing but expressions of solicitude on this subject. He survived the year 1517, and is supposed to have died about 1520, at the age of sixty; but whether he ultimately succeeded in obtaining preferment, is not known. His writings, with scarcely any exception, remained in the obscurity of manuscript till the beginning of the last century; but his fame has been gradually rising since then, and it was at length, in 1834, so great as to justify a complete edition of his works, by Mr David Laing..

The poems of Dunbar may be said to be of three classes, the Allegorical, the Moral, and the Comic; besides which there is a vast number of productions composed on occasions affecting himself, and which may therefore be called personal poems. His chief

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allegorical poems are the Thistle and the Rose (a triumphant nuptial song for the union of James and the Princess Margaret), the Dance, and the Golden Terge; but allegory abounds in many others, which do not strictly fall within this class. Perhaps the most remarkable of all his poems is one of those here enumerated, the Dance. It describes a procesand for strength and vividness of painting, would sion of the seven deadly sins in the infernal regions, stand a comparison with any poem in the language. The most solemn and impressive of the more exclusively moral poems of Dunbar, is one in which he sides in a debate on earthly and spiritual affections, represents a thrush and nightingale taking opposite the thrush ending every speech or stanza with a recommendation of a lusty life in Love's service," and the nightingale with the more melodious declaThere is, however, something more touching to comration, All Love is lost but upon God alone.' mon feelings in the less laboured verses in which he moralises on the brevity of existence, the shortness and uncertainty of all ordinary enjoyments, and the

wickedness and woes of mankind.


This wavering warld's wretchedness
The failing and fruitless business,
The misspent time, the service vain,

For to consider is ane pain.

The sliding joy, the gladness short,
The feigned love, the false comfort,
The sweir abade, the slightful train,

For to consider is ane pain.

The suggared mouths, with minds therefra,
The figured speech, with faces tway;
The pleasing tongues, with hearts unplain,
For to consider is ane pain.

in another poem

Evermair unto this warld's joy,
As nearest heir, succeeds annoy;
Therefore when joy may not remain,

His very heir, succeedés Pain.

He is, at the same time, by no means disposed habitually to take gloomy or desponding views of life. He has one poem, of which each stanza ends with 'For to be blyth methink it best.' In another, he advises, since life is so uncertain, that the good things of this world should be rationally enjoyed while it is yet possible. Thine awn gude spend,' says he, while thou has space.' There is yet another, in which these Horatian maxims are still more pointedly enforced, and from this we shall select a few stanzas :

Be merry, man, and tak not sair in mind


The wavering of this wretched world of sorrow; To God be humble, to thy friend be kind, And with thy neighbours gladly lend and borrow; His chance to-night, it may be thine to-morrow; Be blyth in hearte for my aventure,

For oft with wise men it has been said aforow, Without Gladness availes no Treasure.

Make thee gude cheer of it that God thee sends,

For warld's wrak but welfare3 nought avails; Nae gude is thine save only that thou spends,

Remanant all thou bruikes but with bails Seek to solace when sadness thee assails; In dolour lang thy life may not endure,

Wherefore of comfort set up all thy sails; Without Gladness availes no Treasure.

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Follow on pity, flee trouble and debate,
With famous folkis hald thy company;
Be charitable and hum'le in thine estate,
For warldly honour lastes but a cry.

For trouble in earth tak no melancholy;
Be rich in patience, if thou in gudes be poor;
Who lives merrily he lives mightily;
Without Gladness availes no Treasure.
The philosophy of these lines is excellent.

Dunbar was as great in the comic as in the solemn strain, but not so pure. His Twa Married Women and the Widow is a conversational piece, in which three gay ladies discuss, in no very delicate terms, the merits of their husbands, and the means by which wives may best advance their own interests. but licentious tale. There is one piece of peculiar The Friars of Berwick (not certainly his) is a clever humour, descriptive of an imaginary tournament between a tailor and a shoemaker, in the same low region where he places the dance of the seven deadly sins. It is in a style of the broadest farce, and full of very offensive language, yet as droll as anything in Scarron or Smollett.

The Merle and Nightingale.

In May, as that Aurora did upspring,
With crystal een chasing the cluddes sable,
I heard a Merle with merry notis sing
A sang of love, with voice right comfortable,
Again' the orient beamis, amiable,
Upon a blissful branch of laurel green;
This was her sentence, sweet and delectable,
A lusty life in Lovis service been.

Under this branch ran down a river bright,
Of balmy liquor, crystalline of hue,
Again' the heavenly azure skyis light,
Where did upon the tother side pursue
A Nightingale, with sugared notis new,
Whose angel feathers as the peacock shone;
This was her song, and of a sentence true,
All love is lost but upon God alone.
With notis glad, and glorious harmony,
This joyful merle, so salust she the day,
While rung the woodis of her melody,
Saying, Awake, ye lovers of this May;
Lo, fresh Flora has flourished every spray,
As nature has her taught, the noble queen,
The field been clothit in a new array;
A lusty life in Lovis service been.

Ne'er sweeter noise was heard with living man,
Na made this merry gentle nightingale ;
Her sound went with the river as it ran,
Out through the fresh and flourished lusty vale;
O Merle! quoth she, O fool! stint of thy tale,
For in thy song good sentence is there none,
For both is tint, the time and the travail
Of every love but upon God alone.

Cease, quoth the Merle, thy preaching, Nightingale:
Shall folk their youth spend into holiness?
Of young sanctís, grows auld feindís, but fable;
Fye, hypocrite, in yeiris tenderness,
Again' the law of kind thou goes express,
That crookit age makes one with youth serene,
Whom nature of conditions made diverse:
A lusty life in Lovis service been.

The Nightingale said, Fool, remember thee,
That both in youth and eild,1 and every hour,
The love of God most dear to man suld be ;
That him, of nought, wrought like his own figour,

1 Age.

And died himself, fro' dead him to succour ;

O, whether was kythit there true love or none !
He is most true and stedfast paramour,

And love is lost but upon him alone.

The Merle said, Why put God so great beauty
In ladies, with sic womanly having,
But gif he would that they suld lovit be?
To love eke nature gave them inclining,
And He of nature that worker was and king,
Would nothing frustir put, nor let be seen,
Into his creature of his own making;
A lusty life in Lovis service been.
The Nightingale said, Not to that behoof
Put God sic beauty in a lady's face,
Of beauty, bounty, riches, time, or space,
That she suld have the thank therefor or luve,
But He, the worker, that put in her sic grace;
And every gudeness that been to come or gone
The thank redounds to him in every place:
All love is lost, but upon God alone.

O Nightingale ! it were a story nice,
That love suld not depend on charity;
And, gif that virtue contrar be to vice,
Then love maun be a virtue, as thinks me;
For, aye, to love envy maun contrar be:

God bade eke love thy neighbour fro the spleen ;
And who than ladies sweeter neighbours be?
A lusty life in Lovis service been.

The Nightingale said, Bird, why does thou rave!
Man may take in his lady sic delight,
Him to forget that her sic virtue gave,
And for his heaven receive her colour white:
Her golden tressit hairis redomite, 3
Like to Apollo's beamis tho' they shone,
Suld not him blind fro' love that is perfite;
All love is lost but upon God alone.

The Merle said, Love is cause of honour aye,
Love makis cowards manhood to purchase,
Love makis knichtis hardy at essay,
Love makis wretches full of largéness,
Love makis sweir 4 folks full of business,
Love makis sluggards fresh and well be seen,
Love changes vice in virtuous nobleness;
A lusty life in Lovis service been.

The Nightingale said, True is the contrary,
Sic frustis love it blindis men so far,
Into their minds it makis them to vary;
In false vain glory they so drunken are,
Their wit is went, of woe they are not wau,
While that all worship away be fro' them gone,
Fame, goods, and strength; wherefore well say I daur,
All love is lost but upon God alone.

Then said the Merle, Mine error I confess :
This frustis love is all but vanity:
Blind ignorance me gave sic hardiness,
To argue so again' the verity;
Wherefore I counsel every man that he
With love not in the feindis net be tone, 5

But love the love that did for his love die:
All love is lost but upon God alone.

Then sang they both with voices loud and clear,
The Merle sang, Man, love God that has thee wrought.
The Nightingale sang, Man, love the Lord most dear,
That thee and all this world made of nought.
The Merle said, Love him that thy love has sought
Fro' heaven to earth, and here took flesh and bone.
The Nightingale sang, And with his dead thee bought:
All love is lost, but upon him alone.

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Then flew thir birdis o'er the boughis sheen,
Singing of love amang the leavis small;
Whose eidant plead yet made my thoughtis grein,1
Both sleeping, waking, in rest and in travail:

Me to recomfort most it does avail,
Again for love, when love I can find none,

To think how sung this Merle and Nightingale;
All love is lost but upon God alone.

The Dance.*

Of Februar the fifteenth nicht,
Full lang before the dayis licht,

I lay intill a trance;

And then I saw baith heaven and hell: Methocht amangs the fiendis fell,

Mahoun gart cry ane Dance Of shrewis that were never shriven,3 Agains the fast of Fastern's Even,4

To mak their observance

He bade gallands gae graith a guise,5 And cast up gamonds in the skies, As varlots does in France.

Heillie 7 harlots, haughten-wise, 8
Came in with mony sundry guise,

But yet leuch never Mahoun;

While precsts came in with bare shaven necks, Then all the fiends leuch and made gecks, Black-belly and Bausy-broun.9

Let see, quoth he, who now begins.
With that the foul Seven Deadly Sins
Begoud to leap at anes.

And first in all the Dance was PRIDE,
With hair wiled back, and bonnet on side,
Like to mak vaistie wanes ;10
And round about him, as a wheel,
Hang all in rumples to the heel

His kethat12 for the nanes.13
Mony proud trumpour with him trippit;
Through scaldand fire aye as they skippit,

They grinned with hideous granes.
Then IRE came in with sturt and strife;
His hand was aye upon his knife,

He brandished like a bear; Boasters, braggarts, and bargainers, After him, passit in to pairs,

All boden in 'feir of weir,14

In jacks, and scrips, and bonnets of steel ;
Their legs were chained down to the heel;
Froward was their effeir:

Some upon other with brands beft,15
Some jaggit others, to the heft,

With knives that sharp could shear.

1 Whose close disputation yet moved my thoughts. 2 The Devil.

3 Accursed men, who had never been absolved in the other world. 4 The eve of Lent.

6 Gambols.

7 Proud.

5 Prepare a masque. 8 Haughtily. 9 The names of popular spirits in Scotland. 10 Something touching puffed up manners appears to be hinted at in this obscure line. 11 Large folds. 12 Robe. 13 For the occasion. 14 Arrayed in the accoutrements of war. 15 Gave blows.

* Dunbar is a poet of a high order. ** His Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins, though it would be absurd to compare it with the beauty and refinement of the celebrated Ode on the Passions, has yet an animated picturesqueness not unlike that of Collins. The effect of both pieces shows how much more potent allegorical figures become, by being made to fleet suddenly before the imagination, than by being detained in its view by prolonged description. Dunbar conjures up the personified sins, as Collins does the passions, to rise, to strike, to disappear. "They come like shadows, so depart." '—CAMP

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Next in the Dance followed Envy,
Filled full of feid and felony,

Hid malice and despite :

For privy hatred that traitor trembled ;
Him followed mony freik1 dissembled,
With feigned wordis white:
And flatterers into men's faces;
And backbiters in secret places,
To lee that had delight;

And rouners of fals lesings,
Alas! that courts of noble kings,
Of them can never be quit.


Next him in Dance came COVETICE,
Root of all evil and grund of vice,

That never could be content:
Caitiffs, wretches, and ockerars,2
Hood-pykes,3 hoarders, and gatherers,
All with that warlock went :
Out of their throats they shot on other
Het molten gold, methought, a fother,
As fire-flaught maist fervent ;
Ay as they toomit them of shot,
Fiends filled them new up to the throat
With gold of all kind prent.5
Syne SWEIRNESS,6 at the second bidding,
Came like a sow out of a midden,

Full sleepy was his grunyie ;7 Mony sweir bumbard belly-huddron,8 Mony slute daw, and sleepy duddron,9 Him servit ay with sunyie.10 He drew them furth intill a chenyie, And Belial with a bridle reinyie

Ever lashed them on the lunyie :"1 In dance they were sae slaw of feet, They gave them in the fire a heat,

And made them quicker of counyie.

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4 Great quantity.
7 Visage.
8 Dirty, lazy tipplers.
10 Excuse.
11 Loins.
13 Reward.

9 Slow and sleepy drabs. 12 Circulation, as of coin. 14 A compliment, obviously, to the poetical profession. 15 Pageant. In this stanza Dunbar satirises the outlandish habits and language of the Highlanders.

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