The Complaynt of Schir David Lyndesay to the Kingis Grace

Schir, I beseik thyne Excellence,
Heir my Complaynt with pacience :
My dolent hart dois me constrane
Of my infortune to complane,
Quhowbeit I stand in gret dowtance
Quhome I sall wyte of my mischance ;
Quhidder Saturnis creueltie,
Ryngand in my Natyvitie,
Be bad aspect, quhilk wyrkis vengeance ;
Or utheris hevinlye influence :
Or geve I be predestinate,
In Courte, to be infortunate,
Quhilk hes so lang in servyce bene,
Contynewallie with Kyng and Quene,
And enterit to thy Majestie
The day of thy Natyvitie :
Quharethrow my freindis bene eschamit,
And with my fais I am defamit,
Seand that I am nocht regardit,
Nor with my brether, in Courte rewardit ;
Blamand my sleuthfull neclygence,
That seikis nocht sum recompence ;
Quhen divers men dois me demand,
Quhy gettis thow nocht sum peis of land,
Als Weill as uther men hes gottin ?
Than wys I to be dede, and rottin,
With sic extreme discomfortyng,
That I can mak no answeryng.
I wald sum wyse man did me teche
Quhidder that I suld flatter, or fleche :
I will nocht flyte, that I conclude,
For crabyng of thy Celsitude ;
And to flatter I am defamit :
Want I reward, then am I schamit.
Bot I hope thow sall do als weill
As did the Father of fameill,
Of quhome Christ makis mentioun,
Quhilk, for ane certane pensioun,
Feit men to wyrk in his wyne-yaird,
But quho come last gat first rewaird,
Quharethrow the first men wer displesit :
Bot he thame prudentlie amesit ;
For, thocht the last men first wer servit,
Yit gat the first that thay deservit.
So, am I sure thy Majestie
Sall anis rewarde me, or I de,
And rub the ruste off my ingyne,
Quhilk bene, for langour, lyke to tyne.
Althocht I beir nocht lyke ane baird,
Lang servyce yarnis ay rewaird.
I can nocht blame thyne Excellence,
That I so lang want recompence.
Had I solistit, like the laif,
My rewarde had nocht bene to craif ;
Bot now I may weill understand,
Ane dum man yit wan never land,
And, in the court, men gettis na thyng
Withoute inopportune askyng.
Allace ! my sleuth and schamefulnes,
Debarrit fra me all gredynes.
Gredie men, that ar delygent,
Rycht oft obtenis thair intent,
And failyeis nocht to conqueis landis,
And namelye, at young Prencis handis.
But I tuke never non uther cure,
In speciall, bot for thy plesour.
Bot now I am na mair dispaird,
Bot I sall get Princely rewaird ;
The quhilk, to me, sall be mair glore
Nor thame thow did reward afore.
Quhen men dois aske ocht at ane kyng,
Sulde aske his grace ane nobyll thyng,
To his Excellence honorabyll,
And to the asker proffitabyll.
Thocht I be, in my askyng, Lidder,
I praye thy Grace for to considder ;
Thow hes maid baith lordis and lairdis,
And hes gevin mony ryche rewardis
To thame that was full far to seik,
Quhen I lay nychtlie be thy cheik.
I tak the Quenis Grace, thy mother,
My Lord Chancelare, and mony uther,
Thy Nowreis, and thy auld Maistres,
I tak thame all to beir wytnes ;
Auld Willie Dillie, wer he on lyve,
My lyfe full weill he could discryve :
Quhow, as ane chapman beris his pak,
I bure thy Grace upon my bak,
And sumtymes, strydlingis on my nek,
Dansand with mony bend and bek.
The first sillabis that thow did mute
Was PA, DA LYN, upon the lute
Than playit I twenty spryngis, perqueir,
Quhilk wes gret piete for to heir.
Fra play thow leit me never rest
Bot Gynkartoun thow lufit ay best ;
And ay, quhen thow come frome the scule,
Than I behuffit to play the fule :
As I at lenth, in to my Dreme,
My sindry servyce did expreme.
Thocht it bene better, as sayis the wyse,
Hape to the court nor gude servyce,
I wate thow luffit me better, than,
Nor, now, sum wyfe dois hir gude man.
Than men tyll uther did recorde,
Said Lyndesay wald be maid ane lorde :
Thow hes maid lordis, Schir, be Sanct Geill,
Of sum that hes nocht servit so weill.
To yow, my Lordis, that standis by,
I sall you schaw the causis quhy :
Geve ye lyst tary, I sall tell,
Quhow my infortune first befell ;
I prayit daylie, on my knee,
My young maister that I mycht see,
Of eild, in his Estait Royall,
Havand power imperyall :
Than traistit I without demand,
To be promovit, to sum land.
Bot my askyng, I gat ouer soun,
Because ane clips fell in the mone,
The quhilk all Scotland maid on steir,
Than did my purpose ryn arreir,
The quhilk war langsum to declare;
And als my hart is wounder sare,
Quhen I have in remembrance
The suddand cheange, to my myschance.
The Kyng was bot twelf yeris of aige,
Quhen new rewlaris come, in thair raige,
For Commounweill makand no cair,
Bot for thair proffeit singulair.
Imprudentlie, lyk wytles fuilis,
Thay tuke that young Prince frome the scuilis,
Quhare he, under obedience,
Was lernand vertew, and science,
And haistelie platt in his hand
The governance of all Scotland ;
As quho wald, in ane stormye blast,
Quhen marinaris bene all agast
Throw dainger of the seis raige,
Wad tak ane chylde of tender aige,
Quhilk never had bene on the sey,
And to his biddyng all obey,
Gevyng hym haill the governall
Of schip, marchand, and marinall,
For dreid of rockis and foreland,
To put the ruther in his hand :
Without Goddis grace, is no refuge :
Geve thare be dainger, ye may juge.
I gyf thame to the Devyll of hell,
Quhilk first devysit that counsell,
I wyll nocht say, that it was treassoun ;
Bot I dar sweir, it was no reassoun.
I pray God, lat me never se ryng,
In to this realme, so young ane Kyng.
I may nocht tary to decyd it,
Quhow than the Court, ane quhyle, was gydit
Be thame, that peirtlye tuke on hand
To gyde the Kyng, and all Scotland :
And als langsum, for to declare
Thair facound flatteryng wordis fair.
Schir, sum wald say, your Majestie
Sall now go to your lybertie ;
Ye sall to no man be coactit,
Nor to the scule no more subjectit :
We thynk thame verray naturall fulis,
That lernis ouir mekle at the sculis.
Schir, ye mon leir to ryn ane speir,
And gyde yow lyke ane man of weir ;
For we sall put sic men aboute yow,
That all the warld and mo sall doute yow.
Than, to his Grace, they put ane gaird,
Quhilk haistelie gat thair rewaird.
Ilk man, eftir thair qualitie,
Thay did solyst his Majestie.
Sum gart hym raiffell at the rakkat ;
Sum harld hym to the hurly hakkat ;
And sum, to schaw thair courtlie corsis,
Wald ryid to Leith, and ryn thair horsis,
And wychtlie wallope ouer the sandis :
Yea nother spairit spurris, nor wandis ;
Castand galmoundis, with bendis and beckis,
For wantones, sum brak thair neckis.
Thare was no play bot cartis and dyce :
And ay Schir Flatterie bure the pryce ;
Roundand and rowkand, ane tyll uther,
Tak thow my part, quod he, my bruther,
And mak betuix us sicker bandis,
Quhen ocht sall vaik, amangs our handis,
That ilk man stand to help his fallow.
I hald thareto, man, be Alhallow,
Swa thou fysche nocht within my boundis.
That sall I nocht, be Goddis woundis,
Quod he, bot eirar tak thy part.
Swa sall I thyne be Goddis hart ;
And geve the Thesaurair be our friend,
Than sall we get baith tak, and teind.
Tak he our part, than quha dar wrang us ?
Bot we sall part the pelf amang us :
Bot haist us, quhill the Kyng is young,
And lat ilk man keip weill ane toung,
And in ilk quarter have ane spye
Us tyll adverteis haistelie,
Quhen ony casualiteis
Sall happin in tyll our countreis :
Lat us mak sure provisioun,
Or he cum to discretioun.
No more he wate nor dois ane Sanct,
Quhat thyng it bene to have, or want :
So, or he be of perfyte aige,
We sall be sicker of our waige;
And syne, lat ilk ane carle craif uther ;
That mouth speik mair, quod he, my brother.
For God, nor I rax in ane raipe,
Thow mycht geve counsale to the Pape.
Thus lauborit thay within few yeiris,
That thay become no pagis peiris,
Swa haistelye thay maid ane hand :
Sum gadderit gold, sum conqueist land.
Schir, sum wald say, be Sanct Dionyce
Geve me sum fat benefyce,
And all the proffet ye sall have ;
Geve me the name, tak yow the lave :
Bot, be his bowis war weill cumit hame,
To mak servyce, he wald thynk schame ;
Syne slyp awaye, withouttin more,
Quhen he had gottin that he sang fore.
Me thocht it was ane pieteous thyng,
To se that fair, young, tender Kyng,
Of quhome thir gallandis stude no awe,
To play with hym, pluke at the crawe.
Thay become ryche, I yow assure,
Bot aye the Prence remanit pure.
Thare wes few of that garnisoun
That lernit hym ane gude lessoun ;
Bot sum to crak, and sum to clatter,
Sum maid the fule, and sum did flatter.
Quod ane, The Devyll stik me with ane knyfe,
Bot Schir, I knaw ane maid in Fyfe,
Ane of the lusteiest wantoun lassis,
Quhare to, Schir, be Goddis blude, scho passis.
Hald thy toung, brother, quod ane uther,
I knaw ane fairar, be fyftene futher :
Schir, quhen ye pleis to Lythgow pass,
Thare sall ye se ane lustie lass.
Now trittyll, trattyll, trolylow.
Quod the thrid man ; thow dois bot mow,
Quhen his Grace cumis to fair Sterlyng,
Thare sall he se ane dayis derlyng.
Schir, quod the fourt tak my counsall,
And go all to the hie bordall ;
Thare may we loupe at lybertie,
Withouttin ony gravitie.
Thus every man said for hym self,
And did amangis thame part the pelf;
Bot I, allace ! or ever I wyste,
Was trampit doun in to the duste,
With hevy charge, withouttin more,
Bot I wyst never yit quharefore ;
And haistellie, before my face,
Ane uther slippit in my place,
Quhilk rychelie gat his rewaird,
And stylit was the Ancient laird.
That tyme I mycht mak no defence,
Bot tuke, perforce, in pacience ;
Prayand to send thame ane myschance
That had the Court in governance,
The quhilkis aganis me did malyng
Contrar the plesour of the Kyng ;
For Weill I knew his Grace's mynd
Was ever to me trew and kynd;
And, contrar thair intentioun,
Gart pay me, weill, my pensioun.
Thocht I, ane quhyle, wantit presence,
He leit me have no indigence :
Quhen I durst nother peip nor luke
Yit wald I hyde me in ane nuke,
To se those uncouth vaniteis,
Quhow thay, lyke ony beisy beis,
Did occupy thair goldin houris,
With help of thair new governouris.
Bot, my Complaynt for to compleit,
I gat the soure, and thay the sweit :
Als Jhone Makrery, the kyngis fule,
Gat dowbyll garmoundis agane the Yule,
Yit, in his maist tryumphant glore,
For his rewarde, gat the grandgore ;
Now in the court seindell he gois,
In dreid men stramp upon his tois ;
As I, that tyme, durst nocht be sene
In oppin court, for baith my eine.
Allace ! I have no tyme to tary,
To schaw yow all the fery fary :
Quhow those that had the governance
Amangis thame selfis raisit variance ;
And quho maist to my skaith consentit,
Within few yeris full sore repentit,
Quhen thay could mak me no remeid ;
For they war harlit out be the heid,
And utheris tuke the governyng,
Weill wors than thay, in alkin thyng.
Thay lordis tuke no more regaird,
Bot quho mycht purches best rewaird :
Sum to thair friendis gat benefyceis,
And uther sum gat Byschopreis.
For every lord, as he thocht best,
Brocht in ane bird to fyll the nest;
To be ane wacheman to his marrow,
Thay gan to draw at the cat harrow.
The proudest Prelatis of the Kirk
Was faine to hyde thame in the myrk,
That tyme, so failyeit wes thair sycht.
Sen syne thay may nocht thole the lycht
Of Christis trew Gospell to be sene,
So blyndit is thair corporall ene
With warldly lustis sensuall,
Takyng in Realmes the governall,
Baith gyding Court, and Sessioun,
Contrar to thair professioun ;
Quhareof I thynk thay sulde have schame,
Of spirituall preistis to tak the name.
For Esayas, in to his wark,
Callis thame lyke doggis that can nocht bark,
That callit ar preistis, and can nocht preche,
Nor Christis law to the pepill teche.
Geve for to preche bene thair professioun,
Quhy sulde thay mell with Court, or Sessioun,
Except it war in Spirituall thyngis ;
Referryng unto lordis and kyngis
Temporall causis to be decydit :
Geve thay thair spirituall office gydit
Ilke man mycht say, thay did thair partis :
Bot, geve thay can play at the cairtis
And mollet moylie on ane mule,
Thocht thay had never sene the scule,
Yit at this day, als weill as than,
Wyll be maid sic ane spirituall man.
Prencis that sic prelatis promofis
Accompt thareof to geve behuffis,
Quhilk sall nocht pas but puneischement,
Without thay mend, and sore repent,
And, with dew ministratioun,
Wyrk efter thair vocatioun.
I wys that thyng quhilk wyll nocht be,
Thir perverst Prelatis ar so hie :
Frome tyme that thay bene callit Lordis,
Thay ar occasioun of discordis,
And lairglie wyll propynis hecht,
To gar ilk lord with uther fecht :
Geve for thair part it may availl,
Swa to the purpose of my taill.
That tyme, in court, rais gret debait,
And everilk lord did stryve for stait,
That all the realme mycht mak no reddyng,
Quhill on ilk side thare was blude scheddyng,
And feildit uther, in land and burgh,
At Lythgow, Melros, and Edinburgh.
Bot, to deplore I thynk greit paine
Of nobyll men that thare was slane,
And, als, langsum to be reportit
Of thame quhilk to the court resortit ;
As tyrranis, tratouris, and transgressouris,
And commoun publict plaine oppressouris,
Men murdreisaris, and commoun theiffis.
In to that court gat all releiffis.
Thare was few lordis, in all thir landis,
Bot tyll new Regentis maid thair bandis.
Than rais ane reik, or ever I wyste,
The quhilk gart all thair bandis bryste :
Than thay allone quhilk had the gyding,
Thay culde nocht keip thair feit frome slyding;
Bot of thair lyffis thay had sic dreid,
That thay war faine tyll trott ouer Tweid.
Now, Potent Prince, I say to thee,
I thank the Haly Trinitie,
That I have levit to se this daye,
That all that warld is went awaye,
And thow to no man art subjectit,
Nor to sic counsalouris coactit
The foure gret Vertues cardinalis,
I see thame, with the principalis:
For Justice haldis hir sweird on hie,
With hir ballance of equitie,
And, in this realme, hes maid sic ordour,
Baith throw the Heland and the Bordour,
That Oppressioun and all his fallowis
Ar hangit heych apon the gallowis.
Dame Prudence hes thee be the heid,
And Temporance dois thy brydill leid ;
I see dame Force mak assistance,
Berand thy targe of assurance ;
And lusty lady Chaistitie
Hes baneist Sensualitie ;
Dame Ryches takis on thee sic cure,
I pray God, that scho lang indure,
That Povertie dar nocht be sene
In to thy hous, for baith hir ene,
Bot fra thy Grace fled mony mylis,
Amangis the hountaris in the Ylis ;
Dissimulance dar nocht schaw hir face,
Quhilk wount was to begyill thy Grace ;
Foly is fled out of the toun,
Quhilk ay was contrair to ressoun :
Polycie and Peace begynnis to plant,
That verteous men can no thyng want ;
And, as for sleuthfull idyll lownis,
Sall fetterit be in the gailyeownis :
Jhone Upeland bene full blyith, I trow,
Because the rysche bus kepis his kow ;
Swa is thare nocht, I understand,
Withoute gude ordour in this land,
Except the Spiritualitie :
Prayand thy Grace thareto have ee,
Cause thame mak ministratioun
Conforme to thair vocatioun,
To preche with unfenyeit intentis,
And trewly use the Sacramentis,
Eftir Christis institutionis,
Levyng thair vaine traditiounis,
Quhilkis dois the syllie scheip illude,
Quhame for Christ Jesus sched his blude,
As superstitious pylgramagis,
Prayand to gravin ymagis,
Expres aganis the Lordis command.
I do thy Grace tyll understand,
Geve thow to mennis lawis assent,
Aganis the Lordis commandiment,
As Jeroboam, and mony mo,
Prencis of Israell also,
Assentaris to ydolatrie,
Quhilkis puneist war rycht pieteouslie,
And frome thair realmes wer rutit oute ;
So sall thow be, withouttin doute,
Baith heir and hyne, withouttin more,
And want the everlestyng glore ;
Bot, geve thow wyll thy hart inclyne,
And keip his blyssit law devyne,
As did the faithfull Patriarkis,
Boith in thair wordis, and thair warkis,
And as did mony faithfull kyngis
Of Israell, duryng thair ryngis,
As kyng David and Salomone,
Quhilkis ymagis wald suffer none
In thair ryche tempillis for to stand,
Because it was nocht Goddis command ;
Bot, distroyit all ydolatrie,
As in the Scripture thow may see ;
Quhose ryche rewarde was hevinly blys,
Quhilk sall be thyne, thow doand this.
Sen thow hes chosin sic ane gaird,
Now am I sure to get rewaird ;
And, sen thow art the rychest Kyng
That ever in this Realme did ryng,
Of gold, and stonis precious,
Maist prudent, and ingenious,
And hes thy honour done avance,
In Scotland, Ingland, and in France,
Be merciall deidis honourabyll
And art tyll every vertew abyll,
I wat thy Grace wyll nocht misken me,
Bot thow wyll uther geve, or len me.
Wald thy Grace len me, to ane day,
Of gold ane thousand pound, or tway,
And I sall fix, with gude intent,
Thy Grace ane daye of payment
With seillit oblygatioun,
Under this protestatioun,
Quhen the Basse and the Yle of Maye
Beis sett vpon the Mont Senaye ;
Quhen the Lowmound, besyde Falkland,
Beis lyftit to Northumberland ;
Quhen kirkmen yairnis no dignitie,
Nor wyffis no soveranitie ;
Wynter but frost, snaw, wynd, or rane ;
Than sall I geve thy gold agane;
Or, I sall mak the payment
Efter the Daye of Jugement,
Within ane moneth, at the leist,
Quhen Sanct Peter sall mak ane feist
To all the fyscharis of Aberladye,
Swa thow have myne aquittance reddye ;
Failyeand thareof, be Sanct Phillane,
Thy Grace gettis never ane grote agane.
Geve thow be nocht content of this,
I man requeist the Kyng of blys,
That he to me have sum regaird,
And cause thy Grace me to rewaird :
For David, Kyng of Israell,
Quhilk was the gret Propheit Royall,
Sayis, God hes haill at his command
The hartis of Prencis in his hand :
Even as he lyste thame for to turne,
That mon thay do withoute sudgeorne ;
Sum tyll exault to dignitie,
And sum to depryve in povertie ;
Sum tyme of layid men to mak lordis,
And, sum tyme, lordis to bynd in cordis,
And thame alutterlye distroye,
As plesis God, that ryall roye.
For thow art bot ane instrument
To that gret Kyng, Omnipotent :
So, quhen plesis his Excellence,
Thy Grace sall mak me recompence ;
Or He sall cause me stand content
Of quiet lyfe, and sober rent,
And tak me, in my latter aige,
Unto my sempyll herytage,
And spend it that my eldaris woun,
As did Diogenes in his toun.
Of this Complaynt, with mynd full meik,
Thy Grace's Answeir, Schir, I beseik.