The Wolf and the Lamb

A ceewall Wolf, richt ravenous and fell,
Upon a tyme past till a revere
Discending fra a roch out of a well,
To slaik his thrist, drank of the watter cleir.
Sa upone cais a silly Lame come neir,
Bot of this Wolf the Lame na thing he wist,
And in the streme lapit to cule his thrist.

Thus drank thay baith bot nocht of ane intent:
The Wolfis thocht wes all in wicketness;
The silly Lame meik and innocent:
Upon the revir in ane uthir place,
Beneth the Wolf, he drank ane littill space,
Quhill he thocht gude, presomyng thair nane ill;
The Wolf him saw, and rampand come him till.

With girnand teith and angry austre luke,
Said to the Lamb: " Thow catyve wrechit thing
How durst thow be so bald to fyle this bruk,
Quhair I suld drink, with thy foull slavering?
It wer almouss the for till draw and hing,
That suld presume with thy foull lippis vyle,
To glar my drink, and this fair watter fyle."

The silly Lamb, quakand for verry dreid,
On kneis fell, and said: " Schir, with your leif,
Suppois I dar nocht say thairof ye leid;
Bot, be my saule, I wait ye can nocht preife
That I did ony thing quhilk suld yow greif;
Ye wait alswa your accusatioun
Felyeis fra trewth, and contrair till ressoun."

" Thocht I can nocht, nature will me defend,
And of the deid perfyt experience;
All hevie thing mone of the self discend;
Bot gif sum thing on forss mak resistance,
Thane may the streme be na wayis mak offens,
Na ryn bakwart: I drank beneth yow far;
Ergo, for me your drink is nevir the war.

" Alswa my lippis, sen that I was a Lame,
Tuichit no thing that was contagius;
Bot sowkit mylk fra pappis of my dame,
Rycht naturall, sweit, and delicious."
" Weill," quod the Wolf, " thy langage out- ragius
Cumis of kynd; sa your fader befoir
Held me at bait als with bost and schoir.

" He vexit me, and than I couth him warne
Within a yeir, and I brukit my heid,
I suld be wrokin on him, or on his barne
For his exhorbitant and thrawart pleid;
Thow sail doutles for his deidis be deid."
" Schir, it is wrang, that for the faderis gilt
The saikles sone suld puneist be and spilt.

"Haif ye nocht hard quhat Haly Scriptour sais,
Endytit with the mouth of God Almycht?
Of his awin deid ilk man sal beir the paiss,
As pyne for syn, reward for werkis rycht;
For my trespass quhy suld my sone haif plycht?
Quha did the miss lat him sustene the pane."
" Ya," quod the Wolf, " yit plyis thow agane?

" I latt the wit, quhen the fader offendis,
I will cheris nane of his successioun;
And of his bairnis may weill be tane amendis,
Unto the nynt degree discending doun.
Thy fadir thocht to mak a Strang poysoun,
And with his mouth in to my watter spew."
" Schir," quod the Lamb, " tha twa ar nowthir trew.

" The law sayis, and ye will undirstand,
Thair suld no man, for wrang nor violens,
His adversar puneis at his awin hand,
Without process of law in audiens;
Quhilk suld haif leif to mak lawchfull defens,
And thairupone summond peremptourly,
For to propone and contra and reply.

" Set me a lawchfull court, I sail compeir
Befoir the Lyone, lord and leill Justyse,
And, be my hand, I oblise me rycht heir,
That I sail byd ane unsuspect assyse.
This is the way, this is the justest wyse;
Ye suld proceid thairfoir; a summondis mak
Agane that day, to gif ressoun and tak."

" Ha! " quod the Wolf, " wald thow intruse ressoun
Quhair wrang and reif suld dwell in properte?
That is a poynt of oppin fals tressoun,
For to gar rewth remane with crewelte.
Be Groddis wondis, fals tratour, thow sail de
For thy trespas, and for thy faderis als."
With that anone he hint him be the hals.

The silly Lame mycht do na thing bot blait;
Sone wes he deid; the Wolf wald do na grace,
Syne drank his blud, and of his flesch can eit,
Till he wes fow, syne went away apace.
Of this murthour quhat sail I say, allace?
Wes this no rewth? was this nocht grit pete,
To gar this silly Lame but gilt thus de?

Moralitas

The pure peple, this Lame may signify,
As male men, merchandis, and pure lauboreris,
Of quhome the lyfe is half a purgatory,
To wyn with lawty leving as effeiris.
The Wolf betakynis fals extortioneris,
And oppressouris of pure men, as we se,
Be violens, be craft, or sutelte.

Thre kynd of Wolfis in the warld now ringis;
The first ar fals pervertaris of the lawis,
Quhilk undir poleit termis falset myngis,
Leitand that all wer gospell that thay schawis;
Bot for a bud the trew men he ourthrawis,
Smorand the rycht, garrand the wrang proceid:
Of sic Wolfis hell-fyre sal be thair meid.

O man of law! lat be thy suteltie,
With nyce gimpis and fraudis intricate,
And think that God of His Divinitie
The wrang, the rycht of all thy werkis wate:
For prayer, pryce, for he nor law estait,
Of fals querrell se thow male na defens;
Hald with the rycht, hurt nocht thy conscience.

Ane uthir kynd of Wolfis ravenous
Ar mychty men, haifand ennuch plente,
Quhilk ar sa gredie and sa covetuse,
Thay will nocht thoill the pure in pece to be;
Suppois he and his houshald baith suld de
For fait of fude, thairof thay gif na rak,
But our his heid his maling thay will tak.

O man, but mercy! quhat is in thy thocht,
War than a Wolf, and thow culd undirstand?
Thow hes ennuch; the pure husband hes nocht
Bot cote and cruse upone a clout of land.
For Godis aw, how dar thow tak on hand,
And thow in berne and byre sa bene and big,
To put him fra his tak and gar him thig?

The thrid Wolf is men of heretage,
As lordis that hes landis be Godis lane,
And settis to the maillairis a village,
For prayer, pryce, and the gersum tane;
Syne vexis him, or half the terme be gane,
With pykit querrellis, for to mak him fane
To flitt, or pay the gersum new agane.

His hors, his meir, he mone len to the laird,
To drug and draw in cairt and cariage;"
His servand or him-self may nocht be spard
To swynk or sweit, withouttin meit or wage.
Lo! as he standis in lawbour and bondage,
That skantly may he purchess by his maill,
To leif upone dry breid and wattir kaill.

Hes thow no rewth to gar thy tennent sweit
In to thi lawbour, full faynt with hungry wame,
And syne hes littill gude to drink or eit,
With his menye at evin quhen he cumis hame?
Thow suld be rad for rychteous Godis blame;
For it cryis vengeance unto the hevinnis he
To gar a pure man wirk but meit or fe.

O thow grit lord, that riches hes and rent,
Be nocht a Wolf, thus to devoir the pure;
Think that na thing crewall nor violent
May in this warld perpetualy indure:
This is a sentens suth I you assure,
For till oppress bhow sail haif als grit pane
As thow the pure anis with thy hand had slane.

God keip the Lame, that is the innocent,
Fra Wolfis byt, I mene extortioneris;
God grant that wrangus men of fals intent
Be manifest, and puneist as effeiris.
And God, as Thou all rychteous prayer heiris,
Mot saif our King, and gif him hairt and hand
All sic Wolfis to baneis out of the land.