Book I

Storys to rede ar delitabill,
Suppos that thai be nocht bot fabill:
Than suld storys that suthfast wer,
And thai war said on gud maner,
Have doubill plesance in heryng.
The fyrst plesance is the carpyng,
And the tothir the suthfastnes
That schawys the thing rycht as it wes:
And suth thyngis that ar likand
Tyll mannys heryng ar plesand.
Tharfor I wald fayne set my will,
Giff my wyt mycht suffice thartill,
To put in wryt a suthfast story,
That it lest ay furth in memory,
Swa that na tyme of lenth it let,
Na ger it haly be forget.
For aulde storys that men redys,
Representis to thaim the dedys
Of stalwart folk that lyvyt ar,
Rycht as thai than in presence war.
And certis, thai suld weill have prys
That in thar tyme war wycht and wys,
And led thar lyff in gret travaill,
And oft, in hard stour off bataill,
Wan richt gret price off chevalry,
And war voydyt off cowardy.
As wes King Robert off Scotland,
That hardy wes off hart and hand;
And gud Schyr James off Douglas,
That in his tyme sa worthy was,
That off hys price and hys bounte,
In fer landis renownyt wes he.
Off thaim I thynk this buk to ma:
Now God gyff grace that I may swa
Tret it, and bryng it till endyng,
That I say nocht bot suthfast thing!

Quhen Alexander the King was deid,
That Scotland haid to steyr and leid,
The land sex yher, and mayr perfay,
Lay desolat eftyr hys day;
Till that the barnage at the last
Assemblyt thaim, and fayndyt fast
To cheys a king thar land to ster,
That, off awncestry, cummyn wer
Off kingis that aucht that reawte,
And mayst had rycht thair king to be.
Bot envy, that is sa feloune,
Maid amang thaim discencioun.
For sum wald haiff the Balleoll king;
For he wes cummyn off the offspryng
Off hyr that eldest systir was.
And othir sum nyt all that cas;
And said, that he thair king suld be
That wes in als nere degre,
And cummyn wes of the neist male,
And in branch collaterale.
Thai said, successioun of kyngrik
Was nocht to lawer feys lik;
For thar mycht succed na female,
Quhill foundyn mycht be ony male
That were in lyne evyn descendand;
Thai bar all othir wayis on hand,
For than the neyst cummyn off the seid,
Man or woman, suld succeid.
Be this resoun that part thocht hale,
That the lord off Anandyrdale,
Robert the Bruys Erle off Carryk,
Aucht to succeid to the kynryk.
The barownys thus war at discord,
That on na maner mycht accord;
Till at the last thai all concordyt,
That all thar spek suld be recordyt
Till Schyr Edward off Ingland King;
And he suld swer that, but fenyheyng,
He suld that arbytre disclar,
Off thir twa that I tauld off ar,
Quhilk sulde succeid to sic a hycht;
And lat him ryng that had the rycht.
This ordynance thaim thocht the best,
For at that tyme wes pes and rest
Betwyx Scotland and Ingland bath;
And thai couth nocht persave the skaith
That towart thaim wes apperand;
For that at the King off Ingland
Held swylk freyndschip and cumpany
To thar King, that wes swa worthy,
Thai trowyt that he, as gud nychtbur,
And as freyndsome compositur,
Wald have jugyt in lawte:
Bot othir wayis all yheid the gle.
A! blynd folk full off all foly!
Haid yhe umbethoucht yhow enkrely,
Quhat perell to yhow mycht apper,
Yhe had nocht wrocht on that maner:
Haid yhe tane keip how at that King
Alwayis, for-owtyn sojournyng,
Travayllyt for to wyn senyhory,
And, throw his mycht, till occupy
Landis that war till him marcheand,
As Walis was, and als Ireland;
That he put to swylk thrillage,
That thai that war off hey parage
Suld ryn on fute, as rebaldaill,
Quhen he wald ony folk assaill.
Durst nane of Walis in bataill ride;
Na yhet, fra evyn fell, abyd
Castell or wallyt toune with-in,
That he ne suld lyff and lymmys tyne.
In-to swilk thrillage thaim held he,
That he ourcome throw his powste.
Yhe mycht se he suld occupy
Throw slycht, that he ne mycht throw maistri.
Had yhe tane kep quhat was thrillag,
And had consideryt his usage,
That gryppyt ay, but gayne-gevyng,
Yhe suld, for-owtyn his demyng,
Haiff chosyn yhow a king, that mycht
Have haldyn weyle the land in rycht.
Walys ensample mycht have bene
To yhow, had yhe it forow sene.
And wys men sayis he is happy
That be othir will him chasty.
For unfayr thingis may fall, perfay,
Als weill to-morn as yhisterday.
Bot yhe traistyt in lawte,
As sympile folk, but mavyte;
And wyst nocht quhat suld eftir tyd.
For in this warld, that is sa wyde,
Is nane determynat that sall
Knaw thingis that ar for to fall:
But God, that is off maist poweste,
Reservyt till his majeste
For to knaw, in his prescience,
Off alkyn tyme the mowence.

On this maner assentyt war
The barownis, as I said yhow ar:
And throuch thar aller hale assent,
Messingeris till hym thai sent,
That was than in the haly land,
On Saracenys warryand.
And fra he wyst quhat charge thai had,
He buskyt hym, but mar abad,
And left purpos that he had tane;
And till Ingland agayne is gayne.
And syne till Scotland word send he,
That thai suld mak ane assemble;
And he in hy suld cum to do
In all thing, as thai wrayt him to.
But he thoucht weile, throuch thar debate,
That he suld slely fynd the gate
How that he all the senyhowry,
Throw his gret mycht, suld occupy.
And to Robert the Bruys said he;
“Gyff thow will hald in cheyff off me
“For evirmar, and thine ofspryng,
“I sall do swa thou sall be king.”
‘Schyr,’ said he, ‘sa God me save,
‘The kynryk yharn I nocht to have,
‘Bot gyff it fall off rycht to me:
‘And gyff God will that it sa be,
‘I sall als frely in all thing
‘Hald it, as it afferis to king;
‘Or as myn eldris forouch me
‘Held it in freyast rewate.’
The tothir wreythyt him, and swar
That he suld have it nevir mar:
And turnyt him in wreth away.
Bot Schyr Jhon the Balleoll, perfay,
Assentyt till him, in all his will;
Quhar-throuch fell eftir mekill ill.
He was king bot a litill quhile;
And throuch gret sutelte and ghyle,
For litill enchesone, or nane,
He was arestyt syne and tane,
And degradyt syne wes he
Off honour and off dignite.
Quhethir it wes throuch wrang or rycht,
God wat it, that is maist off mycht.

Quhen Schyr Edward, the mychty king,
Had on this wys done his likyng
Off Jhone the Balleoll, that swa sone
Was all defawtyt and undone,
To Scotland went he than in hy,
And all the land gan occupy:
Sa hale, that bath castell and toune
War in-till his possessioune,
Fra Weik anent Orknay,
To Mullyr-snuk in Gallaway;
And stuffyt all with Inglis men.
Schyrreffys and bailyheys maid he then;
And alkyn othir officeris,
That for to govern land afferis,
He maid off Inglis nation;
That worthyt than sa ryth fellone,
And sa wykkyt and covatous,
And swa hawtane and dispitous,
That Scottis men mycht do na thing
That evir mycht pleys to thar liking.
Thar wyffis wald thai oft forly,
And thar dochtrys dispitusly:
And gyff ony thar-at war wrath,
Thai watyt hym wele with gret scaith;
For thai suld fynd sone enchesone
To put hym to destructione.
And gyff that ony man thaim by
Had ony thing that wes worthy,
As hors, or hund, or othir thing,
That plesand war to thar liking,
With rycht or wrang it have wald thai.
And gyf ony wald thaim withsay,
Thai suld swa do, that thai suld tyne
Othir land or lyff, or leyff in pyne.
For thai dempt thaim eftir thar will,
Takand na kep to rycht na skill.
A! quhat thai dempt thaim felonly!
For gud knychtis that war worthy,
For litill enchesoune or than nane,
Thai hangyt be the nekbane.
Alas that folk, that evir wes fre,
And in fredome wount for to be,
Throw thar gret myschance and foly,
War tretyt than sa wykkytly,
That thar fays thar jugis war:
Quhat wrechitnes may man have mar?

A! fredome is a noble thing!
Fredome mays man to haiff liking;
Fredome all solace to man giffis:
He levys at es that frely levys.
A noble hart may haiff nane es,
Na ellys nocht that may him ples,
Gyff fredome failyhe: for fre liking
Is yharnyt our all othir thing.
Na he, that ay has levyt fre,
May nocht knaw weill the propyrte,
The angyr, na the wrechyt dome,
That is cowplyt to foule thyrldome.
Bot gyff he had assayit it,
Than all perquer he suld it wyt;
And suld think fredome mar to prys,
Than all the gold in warld that is.
Thus contrar thingis evir-mar,
Discoveryngis off the tothir ar.
And he that thryll is has nocht his;
All that he has enbandownyt is
Till hys lord, quhat-evir he be.
Yheyt has he nocht sa mekill fre
As fre liking to leyve, or do
That at hys hart hym drawis to.
Than mays clerkis questioun,
Quhen thai fall in disputacioun,
That gyff man bad his thryll owcht do,
And in the samyn tym come him to
His wyff, and askyt hym hyr det,
Quhethir he his lordis neid suld let,
And pay fryst that he awcht, and syne
Do furth his lordis commandyne;
Or leve onpayit his wyff, and do
It that commaundyt is him to?
I leve all the solucioun
Till thaim that ar off mar renoun.
Bot sen thai mek sic comperyng
Betwix the dettis off wedding,
And lordis bidding till his threll,
Yhe may weile se, thoucht nane yhow tell,
How hard a thing that threldome is.
For men may weile se, that ar wys,
That wedding is the hardest band,
That ony man may tak on hand:
And thryldome is weill wer than deid;
For quhill a thryll his lyff may leid,
It merrys him, body and banys;
And dede anoyis him bot anys.
Schortly to say, is nane can tell
The halle condicioun off a threll.

Thus-gat levyt thai, and in sic thrillage;
Bath pur, and thai off hey parage.
For off the lordis sum thai slew,
And sum thai hangyt, and sum thai drew;
And sum thai put in hard presoune,
For-owtyn caus or enchesoun.
And, amang othir, off Dowglas
Put in presoun Sir Wilyham was,
That off Dowglas was lord and syr;
Off him thai makyt a martyr.
Fra thai in presoune him sleuch,
Hys landis, that war fayr inewch,
Thai to the lord off Clyffurd gave.
He had a sone, a litill knave,
That wes than bot a litill page,
Bot syne he wes off gret vaslage;
Hys fadyr dede he vengyt sua,
That in Ingland, I underta,
Wes nane off lyve that hym ne dred;
For he sa fele off harnys sched,
That nane that lyvys thaim can tell.
Bot wondirly hard thingis fell
Till him, or he till state wes brocht.
Thair wes nane aventur that mocht
Stunay hys hart, na ger him let
To do the thing he wes on set;
For he thocht ay encrely
To do his deid avysily.
He thocht weill he wes worth na seyle,
That mycht of nane anoyis feyle;
And als for till escheve gret thingis,
And hard travalyis, and barganyngis,
That suld ger his price dowblyt be.
Quharfor, in all hys lyve-tyme, he
Wes in gret payn, et gret travaill;
And nevir wald for myscheiff faill,
Bot dryve the thing rycht to the end,
And tak the ure that God wald send.
Hys name wes James of Douglas:
And quhen he heard his fadir was
Put in presoune sa fellounly,
And at his landis halyly
War gevyn to the Clyffurd, perfay
He wyst nocht quhat to do na say;
For he had na thing to dispend,
Na thar wes nane that evir him kend
Wald do sa mekill for him, that he
Mycht sufficiantly fundyn be.
Than wes he wondir will off wane;
And sodanly in hart has tane,
That he wald travaile our the se,
And a quhile in Parys be,
And dre myscheiff quhar nane hym kend,
Till God sum succouris till hym send.
And as he thocht he did rycht sua,
And sone to Parys can he ga;
And levyt thar full sympylly.
The-quhethir he glaid was and joly;
And till swylk thowlesnes he yheid,
As the cours askis off yhowtheid;
And umquhill in-to rybbaldaill:
And that may mony tyme availl.
For knawlage off mony statis
May quhile availyhe full mony gatis;
As to the gud Erle off Artayis
Robert, befell in-till his dayis.
For oft feynyheyng oft rybbaldy
Availyheit him, and that gretly.
And Catone sayis us, in his wryt,
That to fenyhe foly quhile is wyt.
In Parys ner thre yher duellyt he;
And then come tythandis our the se,
That his fadyr wes done to ded
Then wes he wa, and will of red;
And thocht that he wald hame agayne,
To luk gyff he, throw ony payn,
Mycht wyn agayn his heritage,
And his men out off all thryllage.

To Sanct Androws he come in hy,
Quhar the byschop full curtasly
Resavyt him, and gert him wer
His knyvys forouch him to scher;
And cled him rycht honorabilly,
And gert ordayn quhar he suld ly.
A weile gret quhile thar duellyt he;
All men lufyt him for his bounte;
For he wes off full fayr effer,
Wys, curtais, and deboner;
Larg and luffand als wes he,
And our all thing luffyt lawte.

Leaute to luff is gretumly;
Throuch leaute liffis men rychtwisly:
With a vertu of leaute
A man may yheit sufficyand be:
And but leawte may nane haiff price,
Quhethir he be wycht, or he be wys;
For quhar it failyheys, na vertu
May be off price, na off valu,
To mak a man sa gud that he
May symply callyt gud man be.

He wes in all his dedis lele;
For him dedeynyheit nocht to dele
With trechery, na with falset.
His hart on hey honour wes set:
And hym contenyt on sic maner,
That all him luffyt that war him ner.
Bot he wes nocht so fayr, that we
Suld spek gretly off his beaute:
In vysage wes he sumdeill gray,
And had blak har, as Ic hard say;
Bot off lymmys he wes weill maid,
With banys gret, and schuldrys braid.
His body wes weyll maid and lenye,
As thai that saw hym said to me.
Quhen he wes blyth he wes lufly,
And meyk and sweyt in cumpany:
Bot quha in battail mycht him se
All other contenance had he.
And in spek wlispyt he sum deill;
Bot that sat him rycht wondre weill.
Till gud Ector of Troy mycht he
In mony thingis liknyt be.
Ector had blak har, as he had,
And stark lymmys, and rycht weill maid;
And wlyspit alsua as did he,
And wes fulfillyt of leawte,
And wes curtais and wys and wycht.
Bot off manheid and mekill mycht,
Till Ector dar I nane comper
Off all that evir in warldys wer.
The-quhethyr in his tyme sa wrocht he,
That he suld gretly lovyt be.

He duellyt thar, quhill on a tid,
The King Edward, with mekill prid,
Come to Strevillyne with gret mengyhe,
For till hald thar ane assemble.
Thiddirwart went mony baroune;
Byschop Wylyhame off Lambyrtoun
Raid thiddyr als, and with him was
This squyer James of Dowglas.
The byschop led him to the King,
And said: “Schyr, heyr I to yhow bryng
“This child, that clemys yhour man to be;
“And prayis yhow par cheryte,
“That yhe resave her his homage,
“And grantis him his heritage.”
“Quhat landis clemys he?’ said the King.
“Schyr, giff that it be yhour liking,
“He clemys the lordschip off Douglas;
“For lord tharoff hys fadir was.”
The King then wrethyt him encrely,
And said; ‘Schyr byschop, sekyrly
‘Gyff thow wald kep thi fewte,
‘Thow maid nane sic speking to me.
‘Hys fadyr ay wes my fay feloune,
‘And deyt tharfor in my presoun;
‘And wes agayne my majeste:
‘Tharfor hys ayr I aucht to be.
‘Ga purches land quhar-evir he may,
‘For tharoff haffys he nane, perfay:
‘The Cliffurd sall thaim haiff, for he
‘Ay lely has servyt to me.’
The byschop hard him swa ansuer,
And durst than spek till him na mar;
Bot fra his presence went in hy,
For he dred sayr his felouny:
Swa that he na mar spak tharto.
The King did that he com to do;
And went till Ingland syn agayn,
With mony man off mekyll mayn.

Lordingis, quha likis for till her,
The Romanys now begynnys her,
Off men that war in gret distres,
And assayit full gret hardynes,
Or thai mycht cum till thar entent:
Bot syne our Lord sic grace thaim sent,
That thai syne, throw thar gret valour,
Come till gret hycht, and till honour,
Magre thair fayis evirilkane,
That war sa fele, that ay for ane
Off thaim thai war weill a thowsand.
Bot quhar God helpys quhat may withstand?
Bot, and we say the suthfastnes,
Thai war sum tyme erar may then les.
Bot God that maist is of all mycht,
Preservyt thaim in his forsycht,
To veng the harme and the contrer,
At that fele folk and pautener
Dyd till sympill folk and worthy,
That couth nocht help thaim self: for-thi,
Thai war lik to the Machabeys,
That, as men in the Bibill seys,
Throw thair gret worschip and valour,
Fawcht in-to mony stalwart stour,
For to delyvir thar countre
Fra folk that, throw iniquite,
Held thaim and thairis in thrillage:
Thai wrocht sua throw thar vassalage,
That, with few folk, thai had victory
Off mychty kingis, as sayis the story,
And delyveryt thar land all fre;
Quharfor thar name suld lovyt be.

Thys lord the Bruys, I spak of ayr,
Saw all the kynryk swa forfayr;
And swa trowblyt the folk saw he,
That he tharoff had gret pitte.
Bot quhat pite that evir he had,
Na contenance thar-off he maid;
Till, on a tym, Schyr Jhone Cumyn,
As thai come ridand fra Strevillyn,
Said till him; “Schir, will yhe nocht se,
“How that governyt is this countre?
“Thai sla our folk but enchesoune,
“And haldis this land agayne resoune,
“And yhe tharoff full suld lord be.
“And gyff that yhe will trow to me,
“Ye sall ger mak yhow tharoff king,
“And I sall be in yhour helping;
“With-thi yhe giff me all the land
“That he haiff now in till yhour hand:
“And gyff that yhe will nocht do sua,
“Na swylk a state upon yow ta,
“All hale my land sall yhouris be;
“And lat me ta the state on me,
“And bring this land out off thyrllage.
“For thar is nothir man na page,
“In all this land that ne sall be
“Fayn to mak thaim-selvyn fre.”
The lord the Bruis hard his carping,
And wend he spak bot suthfast thing.
And, for it likit till his will,
He gave sone his assent thartill:
And said, ‘Sen yhe will it be swa,
‘I will blythly apon me ta
‘The state, for I wate I have rycht;
‘And rycht mays oft the feble wycht.’

The barownys thus accordyt ar;
And that ilk nycht than writyn war
Thair endenturis, and aythis maid
To hald that thai forspokyn haid.
Bot off all thing wa worth tresoun!
For thar is nothir duk ne baroun,
Na erle, na prynce, na king off mycht,
Thocht he be nevir sa wys na wycht,
For wyt, worschip, price, na renoun,
That evir may wauch hym with tresoune.
Wes nocht all Troy with tresoune tane,
Quhen ten yheris of the wer wes gane?
Then slayn wes mone thowsand
Off thaim with-owt, throw strenth of hand;
As Dares in his buk he wrate,
And Dytis, that knew all thar state.
Thai mycht nocht haiff beyn tane throw mycht,
Bot tresoun tuk thaim throw hyr slycht.
And Alexander the Conqueroure,
That conqueryt Babilonys tour,
And all this warld off lenth and breid,
In twelf yher, throw his douchty deid,
Wes syne destroyit throw pusoune,
In his awyne hows, throw gret tresoune.
Bot, or he deit, his land delt he:
To se his dede wes gret pite.
Julius Cesar als, that wan
Bretane and Fraunce, as dowchty man,
Affryk, Arrabe, Egipt, Surry,
And all Europe halyly;
And for his worschip and valour
Off Rome wes fryst maid emperour;
Syne in hys capitole wes he,
Throw thaim of his consaill prive,
Slayne with punsoune, rycht to the ded:
And quhen he saw thair wes na rede,
Hys eyn with his hand closit he,
For to dey with mar honeste.
Als Arthur, that throw chevalry
Maid Bretane maistres and lady
Off twelf kinrykis that he wan;
And alsua, as a noble man,
He wan throw bataill Fraunce all fre;
And Lucius Yber vencusyt he,
That then of Rome was emperour:
Bot yheit, for all his gret valour,
Modreyt his systir son him slew;
And gud men als ma then inew,
Throw tresoune and throw wikkitnes;
The Broite beris tharoff wytnes.
Sa fell off this conand-making:
For the Cumyn raid to the King
Off Ingland, and tald all this cas;
Bot, I trow, nocht all as it was.
Bot the endentur till him gaf he,
That soune schawyt the iniquite:
Quharfor syne he tholyt ded;
Than he couth set tharfor na rede.

Quhen the King saw the endentur,
He wes angry out of mesur,
And swour that he suld vengeance ta
Off that Bruys, that presumyt swa
Aganys him to brawle or rys,
Or to conspyr on sic a wys.
And to Schyr Jhon Cumyn said he,
That he suld, for his leawte,
Be rewardyt, and that hely:
And he him thankit humyly.
Than thocht he to have the leding
Off all Scotland, but gane-saying,
Fra at the Bruce to dede war brocht.
Bot oft failyheis the fulis thocht;
And wys mennys etling
Cummys nocht ay to that ending
That thai think it sall cum to;
For God wate weill quhat is to do.
Off hys etlyng rycht swa it fell,
As I sall efterwartis tell.
He tuk his leve, and hame is went;
And the King a parlyament
Gert set thareftir hastely;
And thidder somownys he in hy
The barownys of his reawte.
And to the lord the Bruce send he
Bydding to come to that gadryng.
And he that had na persavyng
Off the tresoun, na the falset,
Raid to the King but langir let;
And in Lundon hym herberyd he
The fyrst day off thar assemble;
Syn on the morn to court he went.
The Kyng sat into parleament;
And forouch hys consaile prive,
The lord the Bruce than callyt he,
And schawyt hym the endentur.
He wes in full gret aventur
To tyne his lyff; bot God of mycht
Preservyt him till hyer hycht,
That wald nocht that he swa war dede.
The King betaucht hym in that steid
The endentur, the seile to se,
The askyt, gyff it enselyt he?
He lukyit the seyle ententily,
And answeryt till hym humyly,
And sayd; “How that I sympill be,
“My seyle is nocht all tyme with me;
“Ik have ane othir it to ber.
“Tharfor giff that yhour willis wer,
“Ic ask yhow respyt for to se
“This lettir, and avysit be,
“Till to morn that yhe be set:
“And then, for-owtyn langir let,
“This lettir sall I entyr heyr,
“Befor all yhour consaill planer;
“And thair-till in-to bourch draw I
“Myn herytage all halily.”
The King thocht he wes traist inewch,
Sen he in bowrch hys landis drewch;
And let hym with the lettir passe,
Till entyr it, as for-spokin was.