The Historie of Squyer William Meldrum, of Cleische and Bynnis

Quho that antique storeis reidis,
Considder may the famous deidis
Of our nobill progenitouris ;
Quhilk suld to us be richt mirrouris,
Thair verteous deidis to ensew,
And vicious leving to eschew.
Sic men bene put in memorie,
That deith suld not confound thair glorie,
Howbeit thair bodie bene absent,
Thair verteous deidis bene present.
Poetis thair honour to avance
Hes put thame in rememberance ;
Sum wryt of preclair conquerouris,
And sum of vailyeand empriouris ;
And sum of nobill michtie kingis,
That royallie did reull their ringis ;
And sum of campiounis, and of knichtis,
That bauldlie did defend thair richtis ;
Quhilk vailyeandlie did stand in stour,
For the defence of thair honour ;
And sum of squyeris douchtie deidis,
That wounders wrocht in weirlie weidis ;
Sum wryt of deidis amorous ;
As Chauceir wrait of Troilus,
How that he luiffit Cressida ;
Of Jason, and of Medea.
With help of Cleo I intend,
Sa Minerve wald me sapience send,
Ane nobill Squyer to discryfe,
Quhais douchtines, during his lyfe,
I knaw myself, thairof I wryte,
And all his deidis I dar indyte :
And secreitis that I did not knaw,
That nobill Squyer did me schaw.
Sa I intend the best I can,
Descryve the deidis and the man ;
Quhais youth did occupie in lufe,
Full plesantlie, without reprufe.
Quhilk did as monie douchtie deidis,
As monie ane, that men of reidis,
Quhilkis poetis puttis in memorie,
For the exalting of thair glorie :
Quhairfoir I think, sa God me saif !
He suld have place amangis the laif.
That his hie honour suld not smure,
Considering quhat he did indure,
Oft times for his ladeis sake ;
I wait Sir Lancelote du Lake,
Quhen he did lufe king Arthuris wyfe,
Faucht never better with sword, nor knyfe,
For his ladie in no battell,
Nor had not half so just querrell.
The veritie quha list declair,
His lufe was ane adulterair,
And durst not cum into hir sicht,
Bot lyke ane houlet on the nicht ;
With this Squyer it stude not so,
His ladie luifit him and no mo ;
Husband, nor lemman, had scho none,
And so he had hir lufe alone.
I think it is no happy lyfe,
Ane man to jaip his maisteris wyfe,
As did Lancelote, this I conclude,
Of sic amour culd cum na gude.
Now to my purpois will I pas,
And shaw ye how the Squyer was :
Ane gentilman of Scotland borne,
So was his father him beforne :
Of nobilnes lineallie discendit,
Quhilkis thair gude fame hes ever defendit.
Gude Williame Meldrum he was namit,
Quhilk in his honour was never defamit :
Stalwart and stout, in everie stryfe,
And borne within the schyre of Fyfe,
To Cleishe and Bynnis richt heritour,
Quhilk stude for lufe in monie stour.
He was bot twentie yeiris of age,
Quhen he began his vassalage :
Proportionat weill, of mid stature,
Feirie, and wicht, and micht indure,
Ouirset with travell, both nicht and day,
Richt hardie baith in ernist and play :
Blyith in countenance, richt fair of face,
And stude weill ay in his ladies grace :
For, he was wounder amiabill,
And in all deidis honorabill ;
And aye his honour did avance,
In Ingland first, and syne in France :
And thair his manheid did assaill,
Under the Kingis greit Admirall,
Quhen the greit Navie of Scotland,
Passit to the sey aganis Ingland.
And as thay passit be Ireland coist,
The Admirall gart land his oist,
And set Craigfergus into fyre,
And saifit nouther barne nor byre.
It was greit pietie for to heir,
Of the pepill the bailfull cheir,
And how the land folk wer spuilyeit,
Fair wemen under fute wer fuilyeit.
Bot this young Squyer bauld and wicht
Savit all wemen quhair he micht :
All preistis and freiris he did save ;
Till at the last he did persave
Behind ane garding amiabill,
Ane womanis voce richt lamentabill ;
And on that voce he followit fast,
Till he did see her, at the last,
Spuilyeit, naikit as scho was borne ;
Twa men of weir wer hir beforne,
Quhilk wer richt cruell men and kene,
Partand the spuilyie thame betwene.
Ane fairer woman nor scho wes,
He had not sene in onie place.
Befoir him on hir kneis scho fell,
Sayand, For him that heryit Hell !
Help me, sweit Sir, I am ane mayd.
Than softlie to the men he said :
I pray yow give againe hir sark,
And tak to yow all other wark.
Hir kirtill was of scarlot reid,
Of gold ane garland on hir heid,
Decorit with enamelyne ;
Belt and brochis of silver fyne,
Of yallow taftais wes hir sark,
Begaryit all with browderit wark,
Richt craftelie, with gold and silk.
Than said the Ladie, quhyte as milk,
Except my sark no thing I crave,
Let thame go hence with all the lave.
Quod thay to hir, Be Sanct Fillane,
Of this ye get nathing agane.
Than said the Squyer courteslie,
Gude friendis I pray yow hartfullie,
Gif ye be worthie men of weir,
Restoir to hir againe hir geir,
Or be greit God that all hes wrocht,
That spuilyie sall be full deir bocht
Quod thay to him, We thee defy :
And drew thair swordis haistely,
And straik at him with sa greit ire,
That from his harnes flew the fyre ;
With duntis sa derflie on him dang.
That he was never in sic ane thrang.
Bot he him manfullie defendit,
And with ane bolt on thame he bendit,
And hat the ane upon the heid,
That to the ground he fell doun deid ;
For to the teith he did him cleif.
Lat him ly thair with ane mischeif !
Than with the uther hand for hand,
He beit him with his birneist brand :
The uther was baith stout and Strang,
And on the Squyer derflie dang.
And than the Squyer wrocht greit wonder
Ay tyll his sword did shaik in sunder :
Than drew he furth ane sharp dagair,
And did him cleik be the collair,
And evin in at the collerbane,
At the first straik he hes him slaine ;
He founderit fordward to the ground ;
Yit was the Squyer haill and sound :
For quhy, he was sa weill enarmit,
He did escaip fra thaime unharmit.
And quhen he saw thay wer baith slane,
He to that Ladie past agane :
Quhair scho stude naikit on the bent,
And said, Tak your abulyement.
And scho him thankit full humillie,
And put hir claithes on spedilie.
Than kissitt he that Ladie fair,
And tuik his leif at hir but mair :
Be that the taburne, and trumpet blew,
And everie man to shipburd drew.
That Ladie was dolent in hart,
From tyme scho saw he would depart,
That hir relevit from hir harmes :
And hint the Squyer in hir armes ;
And said, Will ye byde in this land.
I sall yow tak to my husband :
Thocht I be cassin now in cair,
I am, quod scho, my fatheris air,
The quhilk may spend of pennies round,
Of yeirlie rent ane thowsand pound.
With that hartlie scho did him kis,
Are ye, quod scho, content of this ?
Of that, quod he, I wald be fane,
Gif I micht in this Realme remane :
Bot I mon first pas into France ;
Sa quhen I cum agane, perchance,
And efter that the peice be maid,
To marie yow, I will be glaid :
Fair weill ! I may no langer tarie ;
I pray God keip yow, and sweit sanct Marie.
Than gaif scho him ane lufe taking,
Ane riche rubie set in ane ring.
I am, quod scho, at your command,
With yow to pas into Scotland.
I thank yow hartfullie, quod he,
ye ar ouir young to saill the see,
And speciallie with men of weir.
Of that, quod scho, tak ye na feir :
I sall me cleith in mennis clais,
And ga with yow quhair evir ye pleis :
Suld I not lufe him paramour,
That saifit my lyfe and my honour !
Ladie, I say yow in certane,
Ye sall have lufe for lufe agane,
Trewlie unto my lyfis end :
Fairweill ! to God I yow commend.
With that into his boit he past,
And to the ship he rowit fast.
Thay weyit thair ankeris, and maid saill, :
This navie with the Admirall,
And landit in bauld Brytane.
This Admirall was Erle of Arrane,
Quhilk was baith wyse and vailyeand,
Of the blude royall of Scotland :
Accompanyit with monie ane knicht,
Quhilk wer richt worthie men and wicht.
Among the laif, this young Squyar,
Was with him richt familiar :
And throw his verteous diligence,
Of that lord he gat sic credence,
That quhen he did his courage ken,
Gaif him cure of fyve hundreth men ;
Quhilkis wer to him obedient,
Reddie at his commandement.
It wer too lang for to declair,
The douchtie deidis that he did thair ;
Becaus he was sa courageous,
Ladies of him wes amorous.
He was ane munzeoun for ane dame,
Meik in chalmer lyk ane lame,
Bot in the feild ane campioun
Rampand lyke ane wyld lyoun ;
Weill practikit with speir and scheild,
And with the formest in the feild.
No Chiftane was amangis thame all,
In expensis mair liberall.
In everilk play he wan the pryse :
With that he was verteous and wyse ;
And so, becaus he was weill pruifit,
With everie man he was weill luifit,
Hary the Aucht King of Ingland,
That tyme at Caleis wes lyand :
With his triumphand ordinance,
Makand weir on the realme of France.
The King of France his greit armie
Lay neir hand by in Picardie :
Quhair aither uther did assaill.
Howbeit thair was na sic battaill :
Bot thair wes daylie skirmishing,
Quhare men of armis brak monie sting.
Quhen to the Squyer Meldrum
Wer tauld thir novellis all and sum,
He thocht he wald vesie the weiris ;
And waillit furth ane hundreth speiris,
And futemen quhilk wer bauld and stout,
The maist worthie of all his rout.
Quhen he come to the King of France,
He wes sone put in ordinance :
Richt so was all his companie,
That on him waitit continuallie.
Thair was into the Inglis oist,
Ane campioun that blew greit boist :
He was ane stout man and ane Strang,
Quhilk oist wald with his conduct gang,
Outthrow the greit armie of France,
His valiantnes for to avance :
And Maister Talbart was his name ;
Of Scottis and Frenche quhilk spak disdane.
And on his bonnet usit to beir,
Of silver fine, takinnis of weir ;
And proclamatiounis he gart mak,
That he wald for his ladies saik,
With any gentilman of France,
To fecht with him with speir or lance.
Bot no Frenche man in all that land,
With him durst battell hand for hand.
Than lyke ane weriour vailyeand,
He enterit in the Scottis band :
And quhen the Squyer Meldrum
Hard tell this campioun wes cum,
Richt haistelie he past him till,
Demanding him quhat was his will ;
Forsuith I can find none, quod he,
On hors, nor fute, dar fecht with me.
Than said he, It wer greit schame,
Without battell ye suld pass hame ;
Thairfoir to God I mak ane vow,
The morne my self sall fecht with yow !
Outher on horsback or on fute,
Your crakkis I count thame not ane cute :
I sall be fund into the feild,
Armit on hors with speir and scheild.
Maister Talbart said, My gude chyld,
It wer maist lyk that thow wer wyld :
Thow art too young and hes no micht,
To fecht with me that is so wicht ;
To speik to me thow suld have feir,
For I have sik practik in weir,
That I wald not effeirit be,
To mak debait aganis sic three :
For I have stand in monie stour,
And ay defendit my honour ;
Thairfoir, my barne, I counsell thee,
Sic interprysis to let be.
Than said this Squyer to the Knicht,
I grant ye ar baith greit and wicht :
Young David was far les than I,
Quhen with Golias manfullie,
Withouttin outher speir or scheild,
He faucht, and slew him in the feild.
I traist that God sal be my gyde,
And give me grace to stanche thy pryde :
Thocht thow be greit like Gowmakmorne,
Traist weill I sall yow meit the morne :
Beside Montruill upon the grene,
Befoir ten houris I sal be sene.
And gif ye wyn me in the feild,
Baith hors and geir I sall yow yeild :
Sa that siclyke ye do to me.
That I sall do be God ! quod he,
And thairto I give thee my hand.
And swa betwene thame maid ane band,
That thay suld meit upon the morne.
Bot, Talbart maid at him bot scorne ;
Lychtlyand him with wordis of pryde,
Syne hamewart to his oist culd ryde.
And shew the brethren of his land,
How ane young Scot had tane on hand,
To fecht with him beside Montruill ;
Bot I traist he sall prufe the fuill.
Quod thay, The morne that sall we ken
The Scottis are haldin hardie men.
Quod he, I compt thame not ane cute,
He sall returne upon his fute,
And leif with me his armour bricht,
For Weill I wait he has no micht,
On hors nor fute, to fecht with me.
Quod thay, The morne that sall we se. .
Quhan to Monsieour De Obenie
Reportit was the veritie,
How that the Squyer had tane on hand.
To fecht with Talbart hand for hand.
His greit courage he did commend,
Syne haistelie did for him send.
And quhen he come befoir the Lord,
The veritie he did record,
How for the honour of Scotland,
That battell he had tane on hand ;
And sen it givis me in my hart,
Get I ane hors to tak my part,
My traist is sa in Goddis grace,
To leif hym lyand in the place :
Howbeit he stalwart be and stout,
My Lord, of him I have no dout.
Than send the Lord out throw the land,
And gat ane hundreth hors fra hand :
To his presence he brocht in haist,
And bad the Squyer cheis him the best.
Of that the Squyer was rejoisit,
And cheisit the best as he suppoisit,
And lap on hym delyverlie ;
Was never hors ran mair plesantlie,
With speir and sword at his command,
And was the best of all the land.
He tuik his leif, and went to rest ;
Syne airlie in the morne him drest,
Wantonlie in his weirlyke weid,
All Weill enarmit, saif the heid :
He lap upon his cursour wicht,
And straucht him in his stirroppis richt,
His speir and scheild and helme wes borne
With squyeris that raid him beforne ;
Ane velvot cap on heid he bair,
Ane quaif of gold to heild his hair.
This Lord of him tuik sa greit joy,
That he himself wald hym convoy :
With him ane hundreth men of armes,
That thair suld no man do hym harmes.
The Squyer buir into his scheild,
Ane otter in ane silver feild,
His hors was bairdit full richelie,
Coverit with satyne cramesie.
Than fordward raid this campioun,
With sound of trumpet and clarioun,
And spedilie spurrit ouir the bent,
Lyke Mars the God armipotent.
Thus leif we rydand our Squyar,
And speik of Maister Talbart mair :
Quhilk gat up airlie in the morrow,
And no manner of geir to borrow :
Hors, harnes, speir, nor scheild,
Bot was ay reddie for the feild ;
And had sic practik into weir,
Of our Squyer he tuik na feir.
And said unto his companyeoun,
Or he come furth of his pavilyeoun,
This nicht I saw into my dreame,
Quhilk to reheirs I think greit schame :
Me thocht I saw cum fra the see,
Ane greit otter rydand to me,
The quhilk was blak, with ane lang taill,
And cruellie did me assail ;
And bait me till he gart me bleid,
And drew me backwart fra my steid.
Quhat this suld mene I cannot say,
Bot I was never in sic ane fray.
His fellow said, Think ye not schame,
For to gif credence till ane dreame !
Ye knaw it is aganis our faith ;
Thairfoir go dres yow in your graith,
And think weill throw your hie courage,
This day ye sall wyn vassalage.
Then drest he him into his geir,
Wantounlie like ane man of weir,
Quhilk had baith hardines and fors ;
And lichtlie lap upon his hors.
His hors was bairdit full bravelie,
And coverit was richt courtfullie
With browderit wark, and velvot grene :
Sanct George's croce thare micht be sene
On hors, harnes, and all his geir.
Than raid he furth withouttin weir,
Convoyit with his Capitane,
And with monie ane Inglisman,
Arrayit all with armes bricht,
Micht no man see ane fairer sicht.
Than clariounis and trumpettis blew ;
And weriouris monie hither drew :
On everie side come monie man,
To behald quha the battell wan :
The feild wes in the medow grene,
Quhair everie man micht weill be sene.
The heraldis put thame sa in ordour,
That no man passit within the bordour,
Nor preissit to cum within the grene,
Bot heraldis and the campiounis kene.
The ordour and the circumstance
Wer lang to put in remembrance.
Quhen thir twa nobilmen of weir,
Wer Weill accowterit in their geir,
And in their handis Strang burdounis;
Than trumpettis blew and clariounis,
And heraldis cryit hie on hicht,
Now let tham go ! God shaw the richt !
Than spedilie thay spurrit thair hors,
And ran to uther with sic fors,
That baith thair speiris in sindrie flaw ;
Than said thay all that stude on raw,
Ane better cours, than they twa ran,
Wes not sene sen the warld began.
Than baith the parties wer rejoisit ;
The campiounis ane quhyle repoisit,
Till they had gottin speiris new,
Than with triumph the trumpettis blew :
And they with all the force thay can
Wounder rudelie at aither ran,
And straik at uther with sa greit ire,
That fra thair harnes flew the fyre.
Thair speiris wer sa teuch and Strang,
That aither uther to eirth doun dang.
Baith hors, and man, with speir and scheild,
Than flatlingis lay into the feild.
Than Maister Talbart was eschamit,
Forsuith for ever I am defamit !
And said this, I had rather die,
Without that I revengit be.
Our young Squyer, sic was his hap,
Was first on fute ; and on he lap
Upon his hors, without support :
Of that the Scottis tuke gude comfort.
Quhen thay saw him sa feirelie
Loup on his hors sa galyeardlie.
The Squyer liftit his visair,
Ane lytill space to take the air.
Thay bad him wyne, and he it drank,
And humillie he did thame thank.
Be that Talbart on hors wes mountit,
And of our Squyer lytill countit.
And cryit, Gif he durst undertak,
To run anis for his ladies saik !
The Squyer answerit hie on hicht,
That sall I do be Marie bricht !
I am content all day to ryn,
Tyll ane of us the honour wyn.
Of that Talbart was weill content,
And ane greit speir in hand he hent.
The Squyer in his hand he thrang
His speir, quhilk was baith greit and lang,
With ane sharp heid of grundin steill,
Of quhilk he wes appleisit weill.
That plesand feild was lang and braid,
Quhair gay ordour and rowme was maid :
And everie man micht have gude sicht,
And thair was mony weirlyke knicht.
Sum man of everie natioun,
Was in that congregatioun.
Than trumpettis blew triumphantlie,
And thai twa campiounis egeirlie,
Thai spurrit thair hors with speir on breist
Pertlie to preif thair pith thay preist :
That round, rink roume wes at utterance ;
Bot Talbartis hors with ane mischance
He outterit, and to ryn was laith ;
Quhairof Talbart was wonder wraith.
The Squyer furth his rink he ran,
Commendit weill with everie man ;
And him dischargeit of his speir,
Honestlie lyke ane man of weir.
Becaus that rink thay ran in vane ;
Than Talbart wald not ryn agane,
Till he had gottin ane better steid ;
Quhilk was brocht to him with gude speid.
Quhairon he lap, and tuik his speir,
As brym as he had bene ane beir.
And bowtit fordward with ane bend,
And ran on to the rinkis end,
And saw his hors was at command ;
Than wes he blyith, I understand,
Traistand na mair to ryn in vane :
Than all the trumpettis blew agane.
Be that with all the force thay can,
Thay rycht rudelie at uther ran.
Of that meiting ilk man thocht wounder,
Quhilk soundit lyke ane crak of thunder ;
And nane of thame thair marrow mist
Sir Talbartis speir in sunder brist,
Bot the Squyer with his burdoun.
Sir Talbart to the eirth dang doun.
That straik was with sic micht and fors,
That on the ground lay man and hors ;
And throw the brydell hand him bair,
And in the breist ane span and mair.
Throw curras, and throw gluifis of plait,
That Talbart micht mak na debait,
The trencheour of the Squyeris speir,
Stak still into Sir Talbartis geir.
Than everie man into that steid
Did all beleve that he was deid.
The Squyer lap rycht haistelie,
From his cursour deliverlie,
And to Sir Talbart maid support,
And humillie did him comfort.
Quhen Talbart saw into his scheild,
Ane otter in ane silver feild,
This race, said he, I may sair rew,
For I see weill my dream wes trew :
Me thocht yone otter gart me bleid,
And buir me backwart from my steid ;
Bot heir I vow to God soverane,
That I sall never just agane.
And sweitlie to the Squyer said,
Thow knawis the cunning that we maid,
Quhilk of us twa suld tyne the feild,
He suld baith hors and armour yield,
Till him that wan : quhairfoir I will,
My hors and harnes geve thee till.
Then said the Squyer courteouslie,
Brother, I thank yow hartfullie.
Of yow forsuith nathing I crave,
For I have gottin that I wald have.
With everie man he was commendit,
Sa vailyeandlie he him defendit.
The Capitane of the Inglis band
Tuke the young Squyer be the hand ;
And led him to the pailyeoun,
And gart him mak collatioun,
Quhen Talbartis woundis wes bund up fast,
The Inglis capitane to him past :
And prudéntlie did him comfort,
Syne said, Brother, I yow exhort
To tak the Squyer be the hand.
And sa he did at his command ;
And said, This bene but chance of armes :
With that he braisit him in his armes ;
Sayand, Hartlie I yow forgeve.
And then the Squyer tuik his leve ;
Commendit weill with everie man.
Than wichtlie on his hors he wan ;
With monie ane nobyll man convoyit.
Leve we thair Talbart sair annoyit ;
Some sayis of that discomfitour,
He thocht sic schame and dishonour,
That he departit of that land,
And never wes sene into Ingland.
Bot our Squyer did still remane
Efter the weir, quhill peice wes tane.
All capitanes of the Kingis gairdis
Gaif to the Squyer rich rewairdis :
Becaus he had sa weill debaitit,
With everie nobill he wes weill traitit.
Efter the weir he tuke licence,
Syne did returne with diligence,
From Pycardie to Normandie,
And thare ane space remanit he ;
Becaus the Navie of Scotland
Wes still upon the coist lyand.
Quhen he ane quhyle had sojornit,
He to the court of France returnit :
For to decore his vassalage,
From Bartanze tuke his voyage :
With aucht scoir in his companie
Of waillit wicht men and hardie ;
Enarmit weill lyke men of weir,
With hakbut, culvering, pik, and speir ;
And passit up throw Normandie,
Til Ambiance in Pycardie ;
Quhair nobill Lowes, the King of France,
Was lyand with his ordinance :
With monie ane prince and worthie man :
And in the court of France wes than
Ane mervellous congregatioun,
Of monie ane divers natioun ;
Of Ingland monie ane prudent lord,
Efter the weir makand record.
Thare wes than ane Ambassadour,
Ane lord, ane man of greit honour :
With him was monie nobill knicht
Of Scotland, to defend their richt :
Quhilk guydit thame sa honestlie,
Inglismen had thame at invie,
And purposit to mak thame cummer,
Becaus they wer of greiter number,
And sa quhairever thay with thame met,
Upon the Scottis thay maid onset,
And lyke wyld lyounis furious,
Thay layd ane seige about the hous,
Thame to destroy, sa thay intendit :
Our worthie Scottis thame weill defendit.
The Sutheroun wes ay fyve for ane,
Sa on ilk syde thare wes men slane ;
The Inglismen grew in greit ire,
And cryit swyith, Set the house in fyre.
Be that the Squyer Meldrum
Into the market streit wes cum,
With his folkis in gude array,
And saw the toun wes in ane fray ;
He did inquyre the occasioun ;
Quod thay, The Scottis ar all put doun,
Be Inglismen, into thair innis.
Quod he, I wald give all the Bynnis,
That I micht cum or thay departit.
With that he grew sa cruell hartit,
That he was lyke ane wyld lyoun,
And rudelie ran outthrow the toun,
With all his companie weill arrayit,
And with baner full braid displayit.
And quhen thay saw the Inglis route,
Thay set upon thame with ane schout :
With reird sa rudelie on thame ruschit,
That fiftie to the eirth thay duschit :
Thair was nocht ellis but tak and slay.
This Squyer wounder did that day ;
And stoutlie stoppit in the stour,
And dang on thame with dintis dour :
Wes never man buir better band ;
Thare micht na buckler byde his brand,
For it was weill sevin quarter lang.
With that sa derflie on thame dang,
That lyke ane worthie campioun,
Ay at ane straik he dang ane doun :
Sum was evill hurt, and sum wes slane,
Sum fell, quhilk rais not yit agane.
Quhen that the Sutheroun saw his micht,
Effrayitlie thay tuke the flicht ;
And wist not quhair to flie for haist,
Thus throw the toun he hes thame chaist ;
Wer not Frenchemen come to the redding,
Thar had bene mekill mair blude shedding.
Of this journey I mak ane end,
Quhilk everie nobill did commend.
Quhen to the King the cace wes knawin,
And all the suith unto him shawin ;
How this Squyer sa manfullie,
On Sutheroun wan the victorie,
He put him into ordinance,
And sa he did remane in France,
Ane certane tyme for his plesour,
Weill estemit in greit honour,
Quhair he did monie ane nobill deid.
With that, richt wantoun in his weid,
Quhen ladies knew his hie courage,
He was desyrit in mariage
Be ane ladie of greit rent ;
Bot youth maid him sa insolent,
That he in France wald not remane,
Bot come to Scotland hame agane :
Thocht Frenche ladies did for him murne,
The Scottis wer glaid of his returne.
At everie lord he tuke his leve,
Bot his departing did thame greive ;
For he was luifit with all wichtis,
Quhilk had him sene defend his richtis ;
Scottis capitanes did him convoy,
Thocht his departing did thame noy.
At Deip he maid him for the saill,
Quhair he furnischit ane gay veschaill,
For his self and his men of weir,
With artailyie, hakbut, bow, and speir ;
And furneist hir with gude victuaill,
With the best wyne that he could waill.
And quhen the schip was reddie maid,
He lay bot ane day in the raid,
Quhill he gat wind of the southeist,
Than thay thair ankeris weyit on haist ;
And syne maid saill, and fordwart past,
Ane day at morne, till at the last
Of ane greit saill thay gat ane sicht ;
And Phoebus schew his bemis bricht,
Into the morning richt airlie.
Than past the skipper richt spedelie,
Up to the top with richt greit feir,
And saw it wes ane man of weir ;
And cryit, I see nocht ellis, perdie !
Bot we mon outher fecht or fle.
The Squyer wes in his bed lyand,
Quhen he hard tell this new tydand.
Be this the Inglis artailye,
Lyke hailschot maid on thame assailye ;
And sloppit throw thair fechting saillis,
And divers dang out ouir the waillis.
The Scottis agane with all thair micht,
Of gunnis than thay leit fle ane flicht :
That thay micht weill see quhair they wair,
Heidis and armes flew in the air.
The Scottis schip scho wes sa law,
That monie gunnis out ouir hir flaw,
Quhilk far beyond thame lichtit doun ;
Bot the Inglis greit galyeoun,
Fornent thame stude, lyke ane Strang castell,
That the Scottis gunnis micht na way faill,
Bot hat hir ay on the richt syde,
With monie ane slop, for all hir pride,
That monie ane beft wer on thair bakkis ;
Than rais the reik with uglie crakkis,
Quhilk on the sey maid sic ane sound,
That in the air it did redound :
That men micht weill wit on the land,
That shippis wer on the sey fechtand.
Be this, the Gyder straik the shippis,
And ather on uther laid thair clippis ;
And than began the Strang battell,
Ilk man his marrow did assaill ;
So rudelie thay did rushe togidder,
That nane micht hald thair feit for slidder.
Sum with halbert, and sum with speir,
Bot hakbuttis did the greitest deir ;
Out of the top the grundin dartis
Did divers peirs outthrow the hartis :
Everie man did his diligence,
Upon his fo to wirk vengeance ;
Ruschand on uther routtis rude,
That ouir the waillis ran the blude.
The Inglis Capitane cryit hie,
Swyith yeild yow, doggis ! or ye sall die ;
And do yow not, I make ane vow,
That Scotland sal be quyte of yow.
Than peirtlie answerit the Squyar,
And said, O tratour Tavernar !
I lat thee wit, thow hes na micht,
This day to put us to the flicht.
Thay derflie ay at uther dang,
The Squyer thristit throw the thrang,
And in the Inglis schip he lap,
And hat the Capitane sic ane flap
Upon his heid, till he fell doun,
Welterand intill ane deidlie swoun.
And quhen the Scottis saw the Squyer,
Had strikkin doun that rank Rever,
Thay left thair awin schip standand waist,
And in the Inglis schip, in haist,
Thay followit all thair capitane ;
And sone wes all the Southeroun slane :
Howbeit thay wer of greiter number,
The Scottismen put thame in sic cummer ;
That they wer fane to leif the feild,
Cryand Mercie, than did thame yeild.
Yit wes the Squyer straikand fast
At the Capitane till at the last ;
Quhen he persavit no remeid,
Outher to yeild, or to be deid,
He said, gentill Capitane,
Thoill me not for to be slain.
My lyfe to yow sal be mair pryse.
Nor sall my deith ane thowsand syse.
For ye may get, as I suppois,
Three thousand nobillis of the rois
Of me, and of my companie ;
Thairfoir I cry yow loud mercie !
Except my life, nothing I craif :
Tak yow the schip and all the laif.
I yeild to yow baith sword and knyfe ;
Thairfoir, gude maister, save my lyfe !
The Squyer tuik him be the hand,
And on his feit he gart him stand ;
And traittit him richt tenderlie,
And syne unto his men did cry,
And gaif to thame richt strait command,
To straik no moir, bot hald thair hand.
Than baith the Capitanes ran and red,
And so thair wes na mair blude sched.
Than all the laif thay did thame yeild,
And to the Scottis gaif sword and sheild.
Ane nobill leiche the Squyer had,
Quhairof the Inglismen wes full glaid,
To quhome the Squyer gaif command,
The woundit men to tak on hand :
And so he did with diligence,
Quhairof he gat gude recompence.
Than quhen the woundit men wer drest,
And all the deand men confest,
And deid men cassin in the see,
Quhilk to behald wes greit pietie ;
Thare wes slane of Inglis band
Fyve scoir of men, I. understand,
The quhilk wer cruell men and kene ;
And of the Scottis wer slane fyftene.
And quhen the Inglis capitane
Saw, how his men wer tane and slane,
And how the Scottis, sa few in number,
Had put thame in sa greit ane cummer ;
He grew intill ane frenesy,
Sayand, Fals Fortoun ! I thee defy ;
For I belevit this day at morne,
That he wes not in Scotland borne,
That durst have met me hand for hand,
Within the boundis of my brand.
The Squyer bad him mak gud cheir,
And said, it was bot chance of weir.
Greit conquerouris, I yow assure,
Hes hapnit siclike adventure :
Thairfoir mak merrie, and go dyne,
And let us preif the michtie wyne.
Sum drank wyne, and sum drank aill ;
Syne pat the shippis under saill.
And waillit furth of the Inglis band,
Twa hundreth men, and put on land,
Quyetlie on the coist of Kent,
The laif in Scotland with him went.
The Inglis Capitaine, as I ges,
He wairdit him in the Blaknes,
And treitit him richt honestlie,
Togither with his companie ;
And held thame in that garnisoun,
Till thay had payit thair ransoun.
Out throw the land than sprang the fame,
That Squyer Meldrum wes cum hame.
Quhen thay hard tell how he debaitit,
With everie man he was sa treitit :
That quhen he travellit throw the land,
Thay bankettit him fra hand to hand,
With greit solace ; till at the last,
Out throw Straitherne the Squyer past ;
And as it did approch the nicht,
Of ane castell he gat ane sicht,
Beside ane montane in ane vaill ;
And than eftir his greit travaill,
He purpoisit him to repois,
Quhair ilk man did of him rejois.
Of this triumphant plesand place,
Ane lustie Ladie wes maistres,
Quhais lord was deid schort tyme befoir,
Quhairthrow hir dolour wes the moir :
Bot yit scho tuke sum comforting,
To heir the plesant dulce talking,
Of this young Squyer, of his chance,
And how it fortunit him in France.
This Squyer, and the Ladie gent,
Did wesche, and then to supper went.
During that nicht thare was nocht ellis,
But for to heir of his novellis :
Eneas quhen he fled from Troy,
Did not quene Dido greiter joy ;
Quhen he in Carthage did arryve,
And did the seige of Troy discryve
The wonderis that he did reheirs
Wer langsum for to put in vers ;
Of quhilk this ladie did rejois.
They drank, and syne went to repois.
He fand his chalmer weill arrayit,
With dornik work on buird displayit.
Of venisoun he had his waill,
Gude aquavite, wyne, and aill,
With nobill confeittis, bran, and geill ;
And swa the Squyer fuir richt weill.
Sa to heir mair of his narratioun,
This Ladie came to his collatioun,
Sayand, he was richt welcum hame.
Grandmercie than, quod he, Madame !
Thay past the tyme with ches and tabill,
For he to everie game was abill.
Than unto bed drew everie wicht,
To chalmer went this Ladie bricht ;
The quhilk this Squyer did convoy :
Syne till his bed he went with joy.
That nicht he sleipit never ane wink,
But still did on the Ladie think ;
Cupido, with his fyrie dart,
Did peirs him so out throw the hart,
Sa all that nicht he did but murnit ;
Sum tyme sat up, and sum tyme turnit.
Sichand with monie gant and grane,
To fair Venus makand his mane :
Sayand, Ladie, quhat may this mene ?
I was ane fre man lait yistrene :
And now ane cative bound and thrall,
For ane that I think flour of all.
I pray God sen scho knew my mynd,
How for hir saik I am sa pynd :
Wald God I had bene yit in France,
Or I had hapnit sic mischance :
To be subject or serviture
Till ane, quhilk takis of me na cure.
This Ladie ludgit neirhand by,
And hard the Squyer prively
With dreidfull hart makand his mone,
With monie cairfull gant and grone :
Hir hart fulfillit with pietie,
Thocht scho wald haif of him mercie :
And said, Howbeit I suld be slane,
He sall have lufe for lufe agane.
Wald God I micht with my honour
Have him to be my paramour !
This was the mirrie tyme of May !
Quhen this fair Ladie, freshe and gay,
Start up to take the hailsum air,
With pantonis on hir feit ane pair :
Airlie into ane cleir morning,
Befoir fair Phoebus uprising :
Kirtill alone withouttin clok,
And saw the Squyeris dure unlok,
Scho slippit in or ever he wist,
And fenyeitlie past till ane kist ;
And with hir keyis oppinit the lokkis,
And maid hir to take furth ane boxe.
Bot that was not hir erand thare ;
With that this lustie young Squyar
Saw this Ladie so plesantlie,
Cum to his chalmer quyetlie,
In kyrtill of fyne damais broun,
Hir goldin traissis hingand doun ;
Hir pappis wer hard, round, and quhyte,
Quhome to behald was greit delyte ;
Lyke the quhyte lyllie wes hir lyre,
Hir hair was like the reid gold wyre,
Hir schankis quhyte withouttin hois ;
Quhairat the Squyer did rejois ;
And said than, Now vailye quod vailye,
Upon the Ladie thow mak ane sailye.
Hir courlyke kirtill was unlaist,
And sone into his armis hir braist,
And said to hir, Madame, gude-morne,
Help me your man, that is forlorne :
Without ye mak me sum remeid,
Withouttin dout, I am bot deid;
Quhairfoir ye mon relief my harmes.
With that he hint hir in his armes,
And talkit with hir on the flure,
Syne quyetlie did bar the dure.
Squyer, quod scho, quhat is your will !
Think ye my womanheid to spill ?
Na, God forbid ! it wer greit syn,
My lord and ye wes neir of kyn :
Quhairfoir I mak yow supplicatioun,
Pas, and seik ane dispensatioun ;
Than sall I wed yow with ane ring,
Than may ye leif at your lyking :
For ye ar young, lustie and fair ;
And als ye ar your fatheris air ;
Thare is na ladie in all this land,
May yow refuse to hir husband.
And gif ye lufe me, as yow say,
Haist to dispens the best ye may ;
And thair to yow I geve my hand,
I sall yow take to my husband.
Quod he, Quhill that I may indure,
I vow to be your serviture ;
Bot I think greit vexatioun,
To tarrie upon dispensatioun,
Than in his armis he did hir thrist,
And aither uther sweitlie kist ;
And wame for wame thay uther braissit,
With that hir kirtill wes unlaissit :
Than Cupido with his fyrie dartis,
Inflammit sa thir luiferis hartis,
Thay micht na maner of way dissever ;
Nor ane micht not part fra ane uther ;
Bot like wodbind thay wer baith wrappit,
Thair tenderlie he has hir happit,
Full softlie, up intill his bed,
Judge ye, gif he hir schankis shed.
Allace ! quod scho, quhat may this mene ?
And with hir hair scho dicht hir ene.
I can not tell how thay did play,
Bot I beleve scho said not nay.
He pleisit hir sa, as I hard sane,
That he was welcum ay agane.
Scho rais, and tenderlie him kist,
And on his hand ane ring scho thrist ;
And he gif hir ane lufe dowrie,
Ane ring set with ane riche rubie ;
In takin that their lufe for ever,
Suld never frome thir twa dissever.
And than scho passit unto hir chalmer,
And fand hir madinnis sweit as lammer,
Sleipand full sound, and nothing wist,
How that thair ladie past to the kist.
Quod thay, Madame, quhare have ye bene ?
Quod scho, Into my gardine grene,
To heir thir mirrie birdis sang.
I lat you wit, I thocht not lang,
Thocht I had taryit thair quhile none.
Quod thai, Quhair wes your hose and schone !
Quhy yeid ye with your bellie bair ?
Quod scho, The morning wes sa fair,
For be him that deir Jesus sauld,
I felt na wayis ony maner of cauld.
Quod thay, Madame, me think ye sweit.
Quod scho, Ye see I sufferit heit ;
The dew did sa on flouris fleit,
That baith my lymmis ar maid weit :
Thairfoir ane quhyle I will heir ly,
Till this dulce dew be fra me dry :
Ryse, and gar mak our denner reddie.
That sall be done, quod thay, my ladie,
Efter that scho had tane hir rest,
Scho rais, and in hir chalmer hir drest ;
And efter Mes to denner went ;
Than was the Squyer diligent,
To declair monie sindrie storie,
Worthie to put in memorie.
Quhat sall we of thir luferis say ?
Bot all this tyme of lustie May,
Thay past the tyme with joy and blis.
Full quietlie with mony ane kis :
Thair was na creature that knew
Yit of thir luiferis chalmer glew.
And sa he levit plesandlie,
Ane certane tyme with his Ladie.
Sum tyme balking and hunting,
Sum time with wantoun hors rinning ;
And sum time like ane man of weir,
Full galzardlie wald ryn ane speir :
He wan the pryse above thame all,
Baith at the buttis and the futeball :
Till everie solace he was abill,
At cartis, and dyce, at ches and tabill ;
And gif ye list I sall yow tell
How that he seigit ane castell.
Ane messinger come spedilie,
From the Lennox to that Ladie ;
And schew how that Makfagon,
And with him mony bauld baron,
Hir castell had tane perfors,
And nouther left hir kow nor hors :
And heryit all that land about,
Quhairof the Ladie had greit dout.
Till hir Squyer scho passit in haist,
And schew him how scho wes opprest :
And how he wastit monie ane myle,
Betuix Dunbartane and Argyle.
And quhen the Squyer Meldrum
Had hard thir novellis all and sum ;
In till his hart thare grew sic ire,
That all his bodie brint in fyre ;
And swoir it suld be full deir sald,
Gif he micht find him in that hald.
He and his men did thame addres,
Richt haistelie in thair harnes ;
Sum with bow and sum with speir,
And he like Mars the god of weir,
Come to the Ladie, and tuke his leif ;
And scho gaif him hir richt hand gluif,
The quhilk he on his basnet bure,
And said, Madame, I yow assure,
That worthie Lanclot du Laik
Did never mair for his ladies saik,
Nor I sall do, or ellis dé,
Without that ye revengit be.
Than in hir armes scho him braist,
And he his leif did take in haist :
And raid that day, and all the nicht,
Till on the morne he gat ane sicht
Of that castell, baith fair and Strang :
Than in the middis his men amang,
To michtie Mars his vow he maid,
That he suld never in hart be glaid ;
Nor yit returne furth of that land,
Quhill that strenth wer at his command.
All the tennentis of that Ladie
Come to the Squyer haistelie,
And maid aith of fidelitie,
That thay suld never fra him flie.
Quhen to Makferland, wicht and bauld,
The veritie all haill wes tauld,
How the young Squyer Meldrum
Wes now into the cuntrie cum,
Purpoisand to seige that place ;
Than vittaillit he that fortres,
And swoir he suld that place defend,
Bauldlie, untill his lyfis end.
Be this the Squyer wes arrayit,
With his baner bricht displayit,
With culvering, hakbut, bow, and speir ;
Of Makfarland he tuke na feir.
And like ane campioun courageous,
He cryit and said, Gif ouir the house !
The Capitane answerit heichly,
And said, Tratour, we thee defy :
We sall remane this hous within,
In to despyte of all thy kin.
With that the archeris bauld and wicht,
Of braid arrowis let fle ane flicht
Amang the Squyeris companie ;
And thay agane richt manfullie,
With hakbute, bow, and culveryne,
Quhilk put Makferlandis men to pyne ;
And on their colleris laid full sikker ;
And thair began ane bailfull bikker.
Thair was bot schot and schot agane,
Till on ilk side thair wes men slane.
Than cryit the Squyer courageous,
Swyith lay the ledderis to the hous ;
And sa thay did, and clam belyfe,
As busie beis dois to thair hyfe.
Howbeit thair wes slane monie man,
Yit wichtlie ouir the wallis thay wan.
The Squyer formest of them all,
Plantit the banir ouir the wall :
And than began the mortall fray,
Thair wes nocht ellis bot tak and slay.
Than Makferland that maid the prais,
From time he saw the Squyeris face,
Upon his kneis he did him yeild,
Deliverand him baith speir and schield :
The Squyer hartilie him resavit,
Commandand that he suld be savit :
And sa did slaik that mortall feid,
Sa that na man wes put to deid
In fre waird was Makferland seisit,
And leit the laif gang quhair thay pleisit.
And sa this Squyer amorous,
Seigit and wan the ladies hous.
And left thairin ane capitane,
Syne to Stratherne returnit agane :
Quhair that he with his fair Ladie,
Ressavit wes full plesantlie,
And to tak rest did him convoy,
Judge ye gif thair wes mirth and joy.
Howbeit the chalmer dure wes cloisit,
They did bot kis, as I suppoisit.
Gif uther thing wes them betwene,
Let them discover that luiferis bene :
For I am not in lufe expart,
And never studyit in that art.
Thus thay remainit in merines,
Beleifand never to have distress,
In that meine time this Ladie fair,
Ane douchter to the Squyer bair :
Nane fund wes fairer of visage.
Than tuke the Squyer sic courage,
Agane the merrie time of May,
Threttie he put in his luferay,
In scarlot fyne, and of hew grene ;
Quhilk wes ane semelie sicht to sene.
The Gentilmen in all that land,
Wer glaid with him to mak ane band ;
And he wald plainelie tak thair partis,
And not desyring bot thair hartis.
Thus levit the Squyer plesandlie,
With musick and with menstralie :
Of this Ladie he wes sa glad,
Thair micht na sorrow mak him sad ;
Ilk ane did uther consolatioun,
Taryand upon dispensatioun.
Had it cum hame, he had hir bruikit,
Bot or it come, it was miscuikit ;
And all this game he bocht full deir,
As ye at lenth sall efter heir.
Of warldlie joy it wes weill kend,
That sorrow bene the fatall end ;
For jelousie and fals invie,
Did him pursew richt cruellie.
I mervell not thocht it be so,
For they wer ever luiferis fo :
Quhairthrow he stude in monie ane stour,
And ay defendit his honour.
Ane cruell Knicht dwelt neir hand by,
Quhilk at this Squyer had invy,
Imaginand intill his hart,
How he thir luiferis micht depart ;
And wald have had hir maryand
Ane gentilman within his land,
The quhilk wes neir to him in bluid :
Bot finallie for to conclude,
Thairto scho wald never assent :
Quhairfoir the Knicht set his intent,
This nobill Squyer for to destroy
And swore, he suld never have joy
In till his hart, without remeid,
Till ane of thame wer left for deid.
This vailyand Squyer manfully,
In ernest or play did him defy ;
Offerand himself for to assaill,
Bodie for bodie in battaill.
The Knicht thairto not condiscendit,
Bot to betrais him ay intendit.
Sa it fell anis upon ane day,
In Edinburgh, as I hard say,
This Squyer and the Ladie trew,
Was thair just matteris to persew :
That cruell Knicht full of invy,
Gart hald on thame ane secreit spy,
Quhen thai suld pas furth of the Toun,
For this Squyeris confusioun ;
Quhilk traistit no man suld him greive,
Nor of tressoun had no beleive.
And tuik his licence from his oist,
And liberallie did pay his coist ;
And sa departit blyith and mirrie,
With purpois to pas ouir the Ferrie.
He wes bot auchtsum in his rout,
For of danger he had no dout.
The spy came to the Knicht anone,
And him informit how thay wer gone,
Than gadderit he his men in hy,
With thrie scoir in his company ;
Accowterit Weill in feir of weir,
Sum with bow, and sum with speir ;
And on the Squyer followit fast,
Till thay did see him at the last ;
With all his men richt weill arrayit,
With cruell men nathing effrayit.
And quhen the Ladie saw the rout,
God wait gif scho stude in greit dout.
Quod scho, Your enemies I see,
Thairfoir, sweit hart, I reid yow fle ;
In the cuntrey I will be kend,
Ye ar na partie to defend.
Ye knaw yone Knichtis crueltie,
That in his hart hes no mercie :
It is bot ane that thay wald have,
Thair foir deir hart, yourself ye save ;
Howbeit thay tak me with this trane,
I sal be sone at yow agane :
For ye war never sa hard staid.
Madame, quod he, be ye not raid,
For, be the Halie Trinitie,
This day ane fute I will not fle.
And be he had endit this word,
He drew ane lang twa bandit sword :
And put his aucht men in array,
And bad that thay suld tak na fray.
Than to the Squyer cryit the Knicht,
And said, Send me the Ladie bricht :
Do ye not sa, be Goddis corce,
I sall hir tak away perforce.
The Squyer said, Be thow ane knicht,
Cum furth to me and schaw the richt,
Bot hand for hand without redding,
That thair be na mair blude shedding.
And gif thow winnis me in the field,
I sall my Ladie to thee yield.
The Knicht durst not for all his land,
Fecht with this Squyer hand for hand.
The Squyer than saw na remeid,
Bot outher to fecht, or to be deid :
To hevin he liftit up his visage,
Cryand to God with hie courage,
To Thee my quarrell I do commend !
Syne bowtit fordwart with ane bend ;
With countenance baith bald and stout,
He rudelie rushit in that rout :
With him his litill companie,
Quhilk thame defendit manfullie.
The Squyer with his birneist brand,
Amang his fa men maid sic hand :
That Gaudefer, as sayis the letter,
At Gadderis Ferrie faucht no better :
His sword he swappit sa about,
That he greit roum maid in the rout :
And like ane man that was dispairit,
His wapoun sa on thame he wairit,
Quhome ever he hit, as I hard say,
Thay did him na mair deir that day ;
Quha ever come within his boundis,
He chaipit not but mortall woundis ;
Sum mutilate wer, and sum wer slane,
Sum fled, and come not yit agane.
He hat the Knicht abone the breis,
That he fell fordwart on his kneis ;
Wer not Thome Giffard did him save,
The Knicht had sone bene in his grave :
Bot than the Squyer with his brand,
Hat Thomas Giffard on the hand :
From that time furth during his lyfe,
He never weildit sword nor knyfe.
Than come ane sort as brim as beiris,
And in him festnit fyftene speiris,
In purpois to have borne him doun,
Bot he as forcie campioun,
Amang thai wicht men wrocht greit wounder.
For all thair speiris he schure in sunder :
Nane durst cum neir him hand for hand,
Within the boundis of his brand.
This worthie Squyer courageous,
Micht be comparit to Tydeus :
Quhilk faucht for to defend his richtis,
And slew of Thebes fyftie knichtis.
Rolland with Brandwell his bricht brand,
Faucht never better hand for hand ;
Nor Gawin aganis Golibras ;
Nor Olyver with Pharambras ;
I wait he faucht that day als weill,
As did Sir Gryme aganis Graysteill ;
And I dar say, he was als abill,
As ony Knicht of the Round Tabill ;
And did his honour mair avance,
Nor onie of thay knichtis perchance :
The quhilk I offer me to preif,
Gif that ye pleis, Sirs, with your leif.
Amang thay knichts wes maid ane band,
That thay suld fecht bot hand for hand,
Assurit that thai suld come no mo ;
With this Squyer it stude not so :
His stalwart stour quha wald discryfe,
Aganis ane man their come ay fyfe.
Quhen that this cruell tyrane Knicht
Saw the Squyer sa wounder wicht,
And had no micht him to destroy,
Into his hart thair grew sic noy,
That he was abill for to rage,
That no man micht his ire asswage.
Fy on us ! said he to his men,
Ay aganis ane sen we are ten ;
Chaip he away, we are eschamit,
Like cowartis we sall be defamit :
I had rather be in hellis pane,
Or he suld chaip fra us unslane.
And callit thrie of his companie,
Said, Pas behind him quyetlie.
And sa thay did richt secretlie,
And came behind him cowartlie,
And hackit on his hochis and theis
Till that he fell upon his kneis :
Yit quhen his schankis wer schorne in sunder,
Upon his kneis he wrocht greit wounder ;
Sweipand his sword round about,
Not haifand of the deith na dout :
Durst nane approche within his boundis,
Till that his cruell mortall woundis
Bled sa, that he did swap in swoun ;
Perforce behuifit him than fall doun,
And quhen he lay upon the ground,
They gaif him monie cruell wound ;
That men on far micht heir the knokkis,
Like boucheouris hakkand on thair stokkis ;
And finallie without remeid,
Thay left him lyand thair for deid,
With ma woundis of sword and knyfe,
Nor ever had man that keipit lyfe.
Quhat suld I of thir traitouris say ?
Quhen thay had done thay fled away.
Bot than this lustie Ladie fair,
With dolent hart scho maid sic cair ;
Quhilk wes greit pietie for to reheirs,
And langsum for to put in vers.
With teiris scho wuische his bludie face,
Sichand with manie loud allace.
Allace ! quod scho, that I was borne !
In my querrell thow art forlorne ;
Sall never man eftir this hour,
Of my bodie have mair plesour ;
For thow wes gem of gentilnes,
And werie well of worthines.
Than to the eirth scho rushit doun,
And lay into ane deidlie swoun.
Be that the Regent of the land,
Fra Edinburgh come fast rydand :
Sir Anthony Darsie wes his name,
Ane knicht of France and man of fame,
Quhilk had the guiding haillilie,
Under Johne Duke of Albanie ;
Quhilk wes to our young King tutour,
And of all Scotland Governour.
Our King was bot fyve yeiris of age,
That time quhen done wes the outrage.
Quhen this gude Knicht the Squyer saw,
Thus lyand in till his deid thraw,
Wo is me ! quod he, to see this sicht,
On thee, quhilk worthie wes and wicht.
Wald God that I had bene with thee,
As thow in France was anis with me ;
Into the land of Picardy,
Quhair Inglis men had greit invy,
To have me slane, sa thay intendit,
Bot manfullie thow me defendit,
And vailyeandlie did save my lyfe ;
Was never man with sword nor knyfe,
Nocht Hercules, I dar weill say,
That ever faucht better for ane day ;
Defendand me within ane stound,
Thow dang seir Sutheroun to the ground.
I may thee mak no help, allace ;
Bot I sall follow on the chace,
Richt spedilie baith day and nicht,
Till I may get that cruell Knicht.
I mak ane vow, gif I may get him,
Intill ane presoun I sall set him,
And quhen I heir that thow beis deid,
Than sall my handis straik off his head.
With that he gave his hors the spurris,
And spedelie flaw ouir the furris.
He and his gaird with all thair micht,
Thay ran till thai ouirtuik the Knicht.
Quhen he approcht he lichtit doun,
And like ane vailyeand campioun,
He tuk the tyrane presonar,
And send him backward to Dumbar ;
And thair remainit in presoun,
Ane certaine time in that dungeoun.
Let him ly thair with mekil cair,
And speik we of our heynd Squyar :
Of quhome we cannot speik bot gude ;
Quhen he lay bathand in his blude,
His freindis and his Ladie fair,
Thay maid for him sic dule and cair ;
Quhilk wer greit pietie to deploir,
Of that mater I speik no moir.
Thay send for Leichis haistelie,
Syne buir his bodie tenderlie,
To ludge into ane fair ludgyne,
Quhair he ressavit medicyne.
The greitest Leichis of the land,
Come all to him without command.
And all practikis on him provit,
Becaus he was sa weill belovit.
Thay tuik on hand his life to save,
And he thame gaif quhat thay wald have.
Bot he sa lang lay into pane.
He turnit to be ane Chirurgiane :
And als be his naturall ingyne,
He lernit the art of medicyne.
He saw thame on his bodie wrocht,
Quhairfoir the Science wes deir bocht.
Bot efterward quhen he was haill,
He spairit na coist nor yit travaill,
To preif his practikis on the pure,
And on thame previt monie ane cure,
On his expensis, without rewaird,
Of money he tuik na regaird.
Yit sum thing will we commoun mair
Of this Ladie, quhilk maid greit cair,
Quhilk to the Squyer wes mair pane
Nor all his woundis in certane.
And than his freindis did conclude,
Becaus scho micht do him na gude,
That scho suld tak hir leif and go,
Till hir cuntrie, and scho did so :
Bot thir luiferis met never agane,
Quhilk wes to thame ane lestand pane :
For scho aganis hir will wes maryit,
Quhairthrow hir weird scho daylie waryit.
Howbeit hir bodie wes absent,
Hir tender hart wes ay present,
Baith nicht and day with hir Squyar,
Wes never creature that maid sic cair :
Penelope for Ulisses,
I wait, had never mair distres ;
Nor Cresseid for trew Troylus,
Wes not tent part sa dolorous:
I wait it wes aganis hir hart,
That scho did from hir Lufe depart ;
Helene had not sa mekill noy,
Quhen scho perforce wes brocht to Troy.
I leif hir than with hart full sore,
And speik now of this Squyer more.
Quhen this Squyer wes haill and sound,
And softlie micht gang on the ground,
To the Regent he did complane ;
Bot he, allace ! wes richt sone slane
Be David Hume of Wedderburne :
The quhilk gart mone Frenchemen murne.
For thair was nane mair nobill knicht,
Mair vailyeand, mair wyse, mair wicht :
And sone efter that crueltie,
The Knicht was put to libertie,
The quhilk the Squyer had opprest :
Sa wes his matter left undrest.
Becaus the King was young of age,
Than tyrannis rang into thair rage.
Bot efterward, as I hard say,
On Striviling brig upon ane day,
This Knight was slane with crueltie,
And that day gat na mair mercie,
Nor he gaif to the young Squyar ;
I say na mair, let him ly thair.
For cruell men ye may weill see,
They end oft times with crueltie ;
For Christ to Peter said this word,
Quha ever straikis with ane sword,
That man sal be with ane sword slane,
That saw is suith, I tell you plane :
He menis quha straikis cruellie,
Aganis the Law without mercie.
Bot this Squyer to nane offendit.
Bot manfullie him self defendit.
Wes never man With sword nor knyfe,
Mycht saif thair honour and thair lyfe ;
As did the Squyer all his dayis,
With monie terribill effrayis.
Wald I at lenth his lyfe declair,
I micht Weill writ ane uther quair ;
Bot at this tyme I may not mend it,
Bot schaw you how the Squyer endit.
Thair dwelt in Fyfe ane agit Lord,
That of this Squyer hard record,
And did desire richt hartfullie,
To have him in his companie :
And send for him with diligence,
And he come with obedience ;
And lang tyme did with him remane,
Of quhome this agit Lord was fane.
Wyse men desiris commounlie
Wyse men into thair companie.
For he had bene in monie ane land,
In Flanderis, France, and in Ingland ;
Quhairfoir the Lord gaif him the cure,
Of his household I yow assure ;
And in his hall cheif Merschall
And auditour of his comptis all.
He was ane richt courticiane,
And in the law ane practiciane ;
Quhairfoir during this Lordis lyfe,
Schyref Depute he wes in Fyfe :
To everie man ane equal judge,
And of the pure he was refuge ;
And with justice did thame support,
And curit thair sairis with greit comfort :
For as I did reheirs before,
Of medicine he tuke the lore,
Quhen he saw the chirurgience
Upon him do thair diligence.
Experience maid him perfyte,
And of the Science he tuke sic delyte,
That he did mony thriftie cure,
And speciallie upon the pure ;
Without rewaird for his expensis,
Without regaird or recompensis,
To gold, to silver, or to rent,
This nobill Squyer tuke litill tent :
Of all this warld na mair he craifit,
So that his honour micht be saifit.
And ilk yeir for his Ladie's saik,
Ane banket royall wald he maik ;
And that he maid on the Sonday
Precedand to Aschwednisday.
With wyld foull, venisoun and wyne :
With tairt, and flam, and frutage fyne :
Of bran and geill thair wes na skant,
And ipocras he wald not want
I have sene sittand at his tabill,
Lordis and lairdis honorabill,
With knichtis, and monie ane gay squyar,
Quhilk wer too lang for to declair :
With mirth, musick and menstrallie.
All this he did for his Ladie :
And for hir saik during his lyfe,
Wald never be weddit to ane wyfe.
And quhen he did declyne to age,
He faillit never of his courage.
Of ancient storyis for to tell,
Above all other he did precell.
Sa that everilk creature,
To heir him speik thay tuke plesure.
Bot all his deidis honorabill,
For to descryve I am not abill :
Of everie man he was commendit,
And as he levit, sa he endit.
Plesandlie till he micht indure,
Till dolent deith come to his dure ;
And cruellie with his mortall dart,
He straik the Squyer throw the hart :
His saull with joy angelicall,
Past to the hevin Imperiall.
Thus at the Struther into Fyfe,
This nobill Squyer loist his lyfe.
I pray to Christ for to convoy
All sic trew luiferis to his joy.
Say ye Amen, for Cheritie.
Adew ! ye sall get na mair of me.