The Dreme

Rycht potent Prince, of hie Imperial blude,
Unto thy Grace I traist it be weill knawin
My servyce done unto your Celsitude,
Quhilk nedis nocht at length for to be schawin;
And thocht my youtheid now be neir ouer-blawin,
Excerst in servyce of thyne Excellence,
Hope hes me hecht ane gudlie recompense.

Quhen thow wes young I bure thee in myne arme
Full tenderlie, tyll thow begouth to gang;
And in thy bed oft happit thee full warme,
With lute in hand, syne, sweitlie to thee sang:
Sumtyme, in dansing, feiralie I flang;
And sumtyme, playand farsis on the flure;
And sumtyme, on myne office takkand cure:

And sumtyme, lyke ane feind, transfigurate,
And sumtyme, lyke the greislie gaist of Gye;
In divers formis oft-tymes disfigurate,
And sumtyme, dissagyist full plesandlye.
So, sen thy birth, I have continewalye
Bene occupyit, and aye to thy plesoure,
And sumtyme, Seware, Coppare, and Carvoure;

Thy purs-maister and secreit Thesaurare,
Thy Yschare, aye sen thy natyvitie,
And of thy chalmer cheiffe Cubiculare,
Quhilk, to this hour, hes keipit my lawtie;
Lovyng be to the blyssit Trynitie
That sic ane wracheit worme hes maid so habyll
Tyll sic ane Prince to be so greabyll!

But now thow arte, be influence naturall,
Hie of ingyne, and rycht inquisityve
Of antique storeis, and deidis marciall;
More plesandlie the tyme for tyll ouerdryve,
I have, at length, the storeis done descryve
Of Hectour, Arthour, and gentyll Julyus,
Of Alexander, and worthy Pompeyus;

Of Jasone, and Medea, all at lenth,
Of Hercules the actis honorabyll,
And of Sampsone the supernaturall strenth,
And of leill luffaris storeis amiabyll;
And oft-tymes have I feinyeit mony fabyll,
Of Troylus the sorrow and the joye,
And Seigis all of Tyir, Thebes, and Troye.

The propheceis of Rymour, Beid, and Marlyng,
And of mony uther plesand storye,
Of the Reid Etin, and the Gyir Carlyng,
Confortand thee, quhen that I saw thee sorye.
Now, with the supporte of the King of Glorye,
I sall thee schaw ane storye of the new,
The quhilk affore I never to thee schew.

But humilie I beseik thyne Excellence,
With ornate termis thocht I can nocht expres
This sempyll mater, for laik of eloquence;
Yit, nochtwithstandyng all my besynes,
With hart and hand my pen I sall addres
As I best can, and most compendious:
Now I begyn: the mater hapnit thus.

In-to the Calendis of Januarie,
Quhen fresche Phebus, be movyng circulair,
Frome Capricorne wes enterit in Aquarie,
With blastis that the branchis maid full bair,
The snaw and sleit perturbit all the air,
And flemit Flora frome every bank and bus,
Throuch supporte of the austeir Eolus.

Efter that I the lang wynteris nycht
Had lyne walking, in-to my bed, allone,
Throuch hevy thocht, that no way sleip I mycht,
Rememberyng of divers thyngis gone:
So up I rose, and clethit me anone.
Be this, fair Tytane, with his lemis lycht,
Ouer all the land had spred his baner brycht.

With cloke and hude I dressit me belyve,
With dowbyll schone, and myttanis on my handis;
Howbeit the air was rycht penetratyve,
Yit fure I furth, lansing ouirthorte the landis
Toward the see, to schorte me on the sandis,
Because unblomit was baith bank and braye.
And so, as I was passing be the waye,

I met dame Flora, in dule weid dissagysit,
Quhilk in-to May wes dulce and delectabyll;
With stalwart stormis hir sweitnes wes supprisit;
Hir hevynlie hewis war turnit in-to sabyll,
Quhilkis umquhile war to luffaris amiabyll.
Fled frome the froste, the tender flouris I saw
Under dame Naturis mantyll lurking law.

The small fowlis in flokkis saw I flee,
To Nature makand greit lamentatioun.
Thay lychtit doun besyde me on ane tree,
Of thair complaynt I had compassioun;
And with ane pieteous exclamatioun
Thay said, “Blyssit be Somer, with his flouris;
And waryit be thow, Wynter, with thy schouris!”

“Allace! Aurora,” the syllie Larke can crye,
“Quhare hes thou left thy balmy liquour sweit
That us rejosit, we mounting in the skye?
Thy sylver droppis ar turnit in-to sleit.
O fair Phebus! quhare is thy hoilsum heit?
Quhy tholis thow thy hevinlie plesand face
With mystie vapouris to be obscurit, allace!

“Quhar art thow May, with June thy syster schene,
Weill bordourit with dasyis of delyte?
And gentyll Julie, with thy mantyll grene,
Enamilit with rosis red and quhyte?
Now auld and cauld Januar, in dispyte,
Reiffis frome us all pastyme and plesour.
Allace! quhat gentyll hart may this indure?

“Ouersylit ar with cloudis odious
The goldin skyis of the Orient,
Changeyng in sorrow our sang melodious,
Quhilk we had wount to sing with gude intent,
Resoundand to the hevinnis firmament:
Bot now our daye is changeit in-to nycht.”
With that thay rais, and flew furth of my sycht.

Pensyve in hart, passing full soberlie
Unto the see, fordward I fure anone.
The see was furth, the sand wes smooth and drye;
Then up and doun I musit myne allone,
Till that I spyit ane lyttill cave of stone
Heych in ane craig: upwart I did approche
But tarying, and clam up in the roche:

And purposit, for passing of the tyme,
Me to defende from ociositie,
With pen and paper to register in ryme
Sum mery mater of antiquitie:
Bot Idelnes, ground of iniquitie,
Scho maid so dull my spreitis, me within,
That I wyste nocht at quhat end to begin,

But satt styll in that cove, quhare I mycht see
The wolteryng of the wallis, up and doun,
And this fals warldis instabilytie
Unto that see makkand comparisoun,
And of this warldis wracheit variatioun
To thame that fixis all thair hole intent,
Consideryng quho most had suld most repent.

So, with my hude my hede I happit warme,
And in my cloke I fauldit boith my feit;
I thocht my corps with cauld suld tak no harme,
My mittanis held my handis weill in heit;
The skowland craig me coverit frome the sleit.
Thare styll I satt, my bonis for to rest,
Tyll Morpheus with sleip my spreit opprest.

So, throw the bousteous blastis of Eolus,
And throw my walkyng on the nycht before,
And throw the seyis movyng marvellous,
Be Neptunus, with mony route and rore,
Constraint I was to sleip, withouttin more:
And quhat I dremit, in conclusioun
I sall you tell, ane marvellous Visioun.

And thus as we wer talking, to and fro,
We saw a bousteous berne cum ouir the bent,
Bot hors, on fute, als fast as he mycht go,
Quhose rayment wes all raggit, revin, and rent,
With visage leyne, as he had fastit Lent:
And fordwart fast his wayis he did advance,
With ane rycht melancolious countynance,

With scrip on hip, and pyikstaff in his hand,
As he had purposit to passe fra hame.
Quod I, “Gude-man, I wald faine understand,
Geve that ye plesit, to wyt quhat were your name?”
Quod he, “My Sonne, of that I think gret schame,
Bot, sen thow wald of my name have ane feill,
Forsuith, thay call me John the Commounweill.”

“Schir Commounweill, quho hes yow so disgysit?”
Quod I: “or quhat makis yow so miserabyll?
I have marvell to se yow so supprysit,
The quhilk that I have sene so honorabyll.
To all the warld ye have bene profitabyll,
And weill honourit in everilk natioun:
How happinnis now your tribulatioun?”

“Allace!” quod he, “thow seis how it dois stand
With me, and quhow I am disherisit
Of all my grace, and mon pass of Scotland,
And go, afore quhare I was cherisit.
Remane I heir, I am bot perysit;
For thare is few to me that takis tent,
That garris me go so raggit, rewin, and rent:

“My tender freindis are all put to the flycht;
For Policye is fled agane in France.
My syster, Justice, almaist haith tynt hir sycht,
That scho can nocht hald evinly the ballance.
Plane wrang is plane capitane of ordinance,
The quhilk debarris laute and reasoun;
And small remeid is found for open treasoun.

“In-to the South, allace! I was neir slane;
Ouer all the land I culd fynd no releif.
Almoist betuix the Mers and Lowmabane
I culde nocht knaw are leill man be ane theif.
To schaw thair reif, thift, murthour, and mischeif,
And vicious workis, it wald infect the air,
And als langsum to me for tyll declair.

“In-to the Hieland I could fynd no remeid,
Bot suddantlie I wes put to exile:
Thai sweir swyngeoris thay tuke of me non heid,
Nor amangs thame lat me remane are quhyle.
Als, in the Oute Ylis, and in Argyle,
Unthrift, sweirnes, falset, povertie, and stryfe
Pat Policye in dainger of hir lyfe.

“In the Lawland I come to seik refuge,
And purposit thare to mak my residence;
Bot singulare profeit gart me soune disluge,
And did me gret injuries and offence,
And said to me, ‘Swyith, harlote, hy thee hence,
And in this countre see thow tak no curis,
So lang as my auctoritie induris.’

“And now I may mak no langer debait;
Nor I wate nocht quhome to I suld me mene;
For I have socht throw all the Spirituall stait,
Quhilkis tuke na compt for to heir me complene.
Thair officiaris, thay held me at disdene;
For Symonie, he rewlis up all that rowte;
And Covatyce, that carle, gart bar me oute.

“Pryde haith chaist far frome thame Humilitie;
Devotioun is fled unto the Freris;
Sensuale plesour hes baneist Chaistitie;
Lordis of religioun, thay go lyke seculeris,
Taking more compt in tellyng thair deneris
Nor thai do of thair constitutioun.
Thus are thay blyndit be ambitioun.

“Our gentyll men are all degenerat;
Liberalitie and lawte boith ar lost,
And Cowardyce with lordis is laureat,
And knychtlie Curage turnit in brag and boast.
The civele weir misgydis everilk oist;
Thare is nocht ellis bot ilk man for hym-self;
That garris me go, thus baneist lyke ane elf.

“Tharefor, adew: I may no langer tarye.”
“Fair weill,” quod I, “and with sanct Jhone to borrow!”
Bot, wyt ye weill, my hart was wounder sarye
Quhen Comounweill so sopit was in sorrow.
“Yit efter the nycht cumis the glaid morrow;
Quharefor, I pray yow, schaw me in certane
Quhen that ye purpose for to cum agane.”

“That questioun, it sall be sone decydit,”
Quod he, “thare sall na Scot have confortyng
Of me tyll that I see the countre gydit
Be wysedome of ane gude auld prudent Kyng,
Quhilk sall delyte him maist, abone all thyng,
To put Justice tyll executioun,
And on strang traitouris mak punitioun.

“Als yit to thee I say ane-uther thyng:
I see rycht weill that proverbe is full trew,
‘Wo to the realme that hes ouer young ane King!’”
With that he turnit his bak, and said adew.
Ouer firth and fell rycht fast fra me he flew,
Quhose departyng to me was displesand.
With that, Remembrance tuk me be the hand,

And sone, me-thocht, scho brocht me to the roche
And to the cove quhare I began to sleip.
With that, one schip did spedalye approche,
Full plesandlie saling apone the deip,
And syne did slake hir salis and gan to creip
Towart the land, anent quhare that I lay.
Bot, wyt ye weill, I gat ane fellown fray:

All hir cannounis sche leit craik of at onis:
Down schuke the stremaris frome the topcastell;
Thay sparit nocht the poulder nor the stonis;
Thay schot thair boltis, and doun thair ankeris fell;
The marenaris, thay did so youte and yell,
That haistalie I stert out of my dreme,
Half in ane fray, and spedalie past hame.

And lychtlie dynit, with lyste and appetyte,
Syne efter past in-tyll ane oratore,
And tuke my pen, and thare began to wryte
All the visioun that I have schawin afore.
Schir, of my dreme as now thou gettis no more,
Bot I beseik God for to send thee grace
To rewle thy realme in unitie and peace.