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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 :JUmiy, JS33
 
 LIVES 
 
 OF 
 
 SCOTTISH WOKTIIIES. 
 
 BY 
 
 PATRICK FRASER TYTLER, ESQ., 
 
 F.R. S. AND F.S.A. 
 
 VOL. IIL 
 
 jpijj *>^ f 
 
 LONDON: 
 JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET. 
 
 MDCCCXXXIII.
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES, 
 
 Stamford Street. 
 
 . . . * t . • ' ' > '
 
 7irc> 
 
 r 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 V3 
 
 JAMES I. 
 (Continued from Vol. 11.) 
 
 Good Effects of the King's Return to his Dominions, page 2. — In- 
 ternal Administration of his Kingdom, 3. — Birtli of the Princess 
 Margaret; Embassy from Charles VII. of France, 3. — Institution 
 of the ' Session,' 5. — Acts of the Parliament assembled at Perth, 
 12th March, 1425, C— State of the Highlands, and James's Pro- 
 gress to the North, 8. — Rebellion of Alexander of the Isles : he 
 is compelled to submit, 9. — The King's Sternness, 13. — Consti- 
 tution of the Scottish Parliament ; important Change iu it, 14. 
 
 — Marriage with France, 16. —James's Attention to the Condi- 
 tion of the Poorer Tenantry and Labourers, 1". — Parliament at 
 Perth, April, 1429; its Sumptuary Laws, 19. — State of the Navy, 
 19. — Rebellion of Donald Balloch, 20. — Feuds in Strathnaver, 
 21. — Royal Progress to the North, 22. — Pestilence revisits Scot- 
 land, 23. — Persecution of the Wickliffites, and burning of Paul 
 Crawar, 24. — James's Efforts to strengthen the Royal Authority. 
 Power of the Earl of March, 2S. — Stripped of his Lands, he 
 flies to England, .'O. — Jealousy and Alarm of the Nobles, ,'i2. — 
 Hostilities with England on the Borders ; Skirmish at Piperden,34. 
 
 — Blarriage of the Princess Margaret of Scotland to the Dauphin, 
 35. — War with England ; the King besieges Roxburgh, but sud- 
 denly retires, 35. — Conspiracy against James I. ; its Secret His- 
 tory investigated, 36. — Graham's Flight to the Highlands, 41. — 
 His League withAthole and Stewart, 4.3. — A Spae-wife attempts 
 to warn James of his Danger, 43. — The King arrives at Perth, 44. 
 
 — His Murder, 45. —The Murderers escape, 49. — They are appre- 
 hended and executed, 50. — James's great T.ilents, 51. — His Ge- 
 nius as a Poet, 52. — The King's Quhair ; Criticism of this Poem, 
 52. — Its Opening, 53. — Description of \Vindsor, .^)r). — The Gar- 
 
 b '2 
 
 f^,a v^ *-ir _i. tJ? -ic-
 
 IV CO>'TENTS. 
 
 den, 56." — Appearance of his Mistress, 59. — Introduction of the 
 . Vision, 62. — Its Conclusion, 67. — Remarks upon it, 68. — 
 Humorous Poetry of James I., 69. — ' Christ's Kirk on the Green,' 
 70. — 'Peebles at the Play,' 72. — James's varied AccomplisU- 
 ments, 7i. 
 
 HOBERT HENRYSOhX. 
 
 Scantinessof our Biographical Notices of Henryson, 76. — Passage 
 from Urry, 77. — Character of his Poetry, 7S. — Fine Picture of 
 Saturn, 78. — Troilus and Cressida, 7&. — Fine description of a 
 AVinter Night, SI. —Analysis of the Poem, 82. — ' Praise of Age,' 
 83. — 'Town and Country Mouse,' 85. — Criticism on the Poem 
 and Extracts, 87. — Conclusion, 88. 
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 Little known of Dunbar, 89. — Error of Pinkerton, 89. — Educated 
 . for the Church, 90. — Received a small Annual Pension, 90. — 
 His Address to the Lords of the King's Checquer, 91. — He at- 
 taches himself to the Court of James IV'., 92. — Character of this 
 Monarch, 93. — Dunbar's Description of the Court, 94. — Verified 
 by the curious Manuscript Accounts of the Lord High Treasurer, 
 96. — Poverty of Dunbar, and Neglect nith which he is treated, 
 99. — Poem of the ' Thistle and the Rose,' 100. — Its beautiful 
 Commencement, 101. — Criticis^m of the Poem, and Extracts, 102. 
 ' — Fine Picture of the Lion, 104. — Coronation of the Rose as 
 Queen of Flowers, 105. — Digression on the Marriage of James 
 IV., 107. — Particulars of this Event, from the Treasurer's Ac- 
 counts, 108. — Dunbar's humorous Address to Jamie Doig, 109. 
 — Complaint of the Grey Horse, Auld Dunbar, 111. — Reply of 
 James IV., 112.^ Flytings of Dunbar and Kennedy, 112. — Dance 
 in the Queen's Chamber, 114. — Reform in Edinburgh ; Address 
 to its Merchants, 115. — Dunbar's Allegorical Taste ; his Dream, 
 116. — Dunbar's Satirical Powers; his ' Twa Married Women 
 and the Widow,' 118.— His ' Friars of Berwick,' 120. — Criticism 
 of this Poem, and Extracts, 121.— ' The Golden Targe,' 128. — 
 Its line Opening, 129. — Address to Chaucer and Gower, 131. — 
 Dunbar's Religious Poetry, 132. — Conclusion of the Life, 133.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS^ 
 
 Douglas's noble Birth ; born about '1474, 137. — Anecdote of his 
 Father, the Earl of Angus, 138. — Death of his Brethren at Flod- 
 den, 140. — Douglas made Rector of Hawick, 140. — His Poem 
 of ' King Hart,' 141. — His own Analysis of the Story, 14L'. — 
 Its spirited Opening, 143. — Criticism on its Merits and Defects, 
 144. — ' Castle of Dame Plesaiice,' 14j. — Progress of the Poem, 
 146. — Marriage of King Hart, and Hapjiy Life, 147. — Arrival of 
 Age, and King Hart's Distress, 14S. — His Queen and her Sub- 
 jects desert him, 149. — His Death and Testament, 149. — Dou- 
 glas's 'Palace of Honour,' 151. — Indiscriminate Panegyric of 
 Sage, 151. — True Character of the Poem, 152. — Extracts, 153. 
 Progress of the Story, ISa. — Court of Minerva, 157. — Court of 
 Venus, 15S. — Fine Picture of Mars, l-IS. — The Castalian Spring, 
 159. — Apparition of the Muses, IGl. — Palace of Honour, 162. — 
 Description of King Honour, 165. — Conclusion of the Poem, 168, 
 — Douglas's Translation of Virgil, 169. — Extracts, 170. — Great 
 Beauty of his Prologues to each Boolv, 172. — Prologue to the 7th 
 Book, 173. — Douglas's Language, 176. — His Adieu to las Poeti- 
 cal Studies, 177. — His future Life troubled and eventful, 179. — 
 Nominated Archbishop of St. Andrew's, 180. — Hepburn and 
 Forman compete with him for the Primacy, 180. — Douglas retires 
 from the Contest, ISO. — He is elected to till the See of Dnnkeld, 
 
 181. — Difficulty in obtaining possession of liiis Dignity, 132 
 
 Factions amongst the Nobles and the Clergy, 183. — Bishop 
 Douglas takes refuge at the Court of Henry Vlll., 185. — He is 
 seized with the Plague ; Dies, 186. — His Character, 187. 
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 Lindsay's Birth in the Reign of James IV., 191. a- Antiquity and re- 
 spectability of his Family, 191. — His early introduction at Court, 
 192, — Singular .\pparition at Linlithgow, 193. — Lindsay's Picture 
 of the Infancy of James V., 194. — Troubled state of the Country, 
 196. — Letter of Lord Dacre, 197. — English Incursions, 198. — 
 James's promising Boyliood, 199. — Revolution which deprives 
 Lindsay of his Office, 200. — Servitude under which the younj; 
 King is kept; he escapes, 201.-- Lindsay writes his ' Dream;' 
 its defects and beauties, 202. — A Winter Landskip, 203. — Ana- 
 
 l lysis of the Poem, 204. — Appearance of Johne Commonweill ; 
 his Description of the state of Scotland, _20j. — Nervous Lines
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 on the same Subject by Stewart, 207. — Lindsay's Poem of the 
 ' Complaint,' 210. — His Picture of the Venality of the Courtiers, 
 211-. — mismanagement of the young King's Education, 213. — 
 James V. assumes the Supreme Power, 214. — His Expedition 
 against the Border Thieves, 215. — Execution of Johnnie Arm- 
 strong, 216. — Remarks on this Event, 217. — Traditions which 
 remain in the Country regarding this Expedition, 218. — Lindsay 
 promoted to the office of Lord Lion, 219. — Its Nature and Anti- 
 quity, 220. — He writes the ' Complaint of the King's Papingo,' 
 221. — Its graceful Introduction, 222. — Progress of the Poem, 
 224. — Disaster of the Papingo, 225. — Her dying Counsel to the 
 King, 226. — To her Brethren, the Courtiers, 227. — Character of 
 James IV., 228. — The Papingo's Adieu to Stirling, 229. — Her 
 Expostulation with her Executors, 230. — Attack upon the Cor- 
 ruptions of the Church, 231. — Death of the Papingo, 232.— Her 
 last Legacy, and conduct of her Executors, 233. — Lindsay's 
 Alission to Brussels in 1531, 234. — His Marriage, 235. — His 
 • Satire of the Three Estates,' 235. — Early Scottish Stage, 236. 
 
 — Remarks on this Primitive Drama, 237. — The same Subject 
 continued, 238. — Prologue and First Part, 239. — Second Part : 
 Avarice of the Clergy, 240. — Dialogue between the Spiritual 
 Estate and Correction, 241. — Consistory Courts ; their Abuses, 
 242. — John Commnnweill dressed in a New Suit, 243. — Conclu- 
 sion of the Piece, 244. — JIanner of its Performance, 245. — 
 James V. disposed at first to favour the Reformation of the 
 Church, 246. — Lindsay's Mission to the Court of France in 1536, 
 247- — James pays a Visit to that Country : his splendid reception 
 at the Palace of Vendosme, 248. — His meeting with Francis I : 
 falls in love with Princess Magdalen, 249. — Marries her, 250. — 
 Conveys her to Scotland, 251. — Her sudden Death, 252. — Lind- 
 say writes his ' Deploration for the Death of Queen Magdalen,' 
 253. — Criticism on this Poem, 254. — Lindsay's deep Enmity to 
 the Romanist Religion, 255. — Remarks on the Scottish Refor- 
 mation, 256. — James V. marries Mary of Guise, 257. — Lindsay's 
 splendid Pageants, 257. — Justing between Watson and Barbour, 
 258. — Answer to the Kind's ' Flyling,' 259. — Digression on tlie 
 Poetical Talents of James V., 260. — Anecdotes of James V., :.'61. 
 
 — Lindsay's Satire against Side-Tails, 2G3. — And ' Mussal'd 
 Faces,' 264. — His Tragedy of ' The Cardinal,' 263. — Remarks on 
 the Murder of Beaton, 266. — History of Squire Meldrum, 267. — 
 Value of this Poem as a Picture of Manners ; Quotations, 268. — 
 Authenticity of the Story; Sack of Carrickfergus, 2G9. — Ad- 
 venture with the Irish Lady, 270.— Meldrum arrives in Brittany;
 
 CONTENTS, Vll 
 
 his challenge of Talbart, 271.— Kindness of Aubigny, 2"2. — 
 Arrangement of the Lists, 273. — The Combat, 274. — Meldrum's 
 Courtesy and Generosity, 275. — His Voyage home, and arrival in 
 Scotland, 276. — Kind reception by the Lady of Strathern, 277. 
 
 — Waylaid by Stirling of Keir, 278. — He is desperately wounded, 
 279. — His Recovery, and mode of after Life, 280. — Faithfulness 
 to his Jlistress of Strathern, 281.— His last Sickness and Testa- 
 ment, 282. — Further Remarks on this singular Composition, 284. 
 
 — Lindsay bears no active part in the Reformation of Religion 
 in Scotland, 286. — He composes his ' Monarchy,' 287. — Fine In- 
 troduction to this Poem, 288. —Moral Nature of the Work; 
 Striking Picture of E.xperience, 289. — Idolatry of the Church of 
 Rome, 290. — Lindsay's judicious Distinction upon this Subject, 
 
 291. — Temporal Power of the Pope ; Evil Effects of Pilgrimages, 
 
 292. — Sweet Conclusion of tbe Poem, 293. — It is Lindsay's last 
 Work. His Death. Family Estate of the Mount. Traditions. 
 
 CHAPTER OF ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 Henry the Minstrel. 
 Conjecture regarding the value to be attached to the Poem of Wal- 
 lace by this Ancient Author, 299. — Singular mixture of Truth 
 and Error in his Details, 300. — Proofs of this; History of the 
 Siege of Berwick in 1296. — Carte's Account, 301. — Buchanan's 
 Account, 302. — Narrative of Henry the Minstrel, 303. — Proofs 
 of his Accuracy from Hemingford, 303. — From Fordiin, 304. -— 
 From other Authors, 305. — Minute Particulars in Henry the 
 Minstrel's Account corroborated, 30G. — Inference from the whole 
 that he must have had access to some accurate Chronicle of the 
 Times, 307. — Another Example and Proof of this ; Taking of 
 Dunbar, 308.— A Third Example; Corroboration by the Rotuli 
 Scotise, 309. — Additional Confirmations of his occasional Accu- 
 racy in minute Particulars, 310. — Conjectures as to the original 
 Materials possessed by this Writer, 312. — His reference to the 
 Latin Book of Wallace's Life, 313. — Major's Account of Blind 
 Harry, 313. — Conclusion of Remarks, 314. 
 
 Bruce and St. Fill.in. 
 St. Fillan ; his History, 314. — His luminous Arm; carried by 
 Bruce to Bannockburn, 315. — Relic of St. Fillan, called the 
 Quigrich, 316.— Charter to Malise Doire, 317. — Remarks, 318. 
 
 Battle of Bannockbur.v. 
 Best mode of examining the Field of Bannockburn, 319. — Line of
 
 VIU CONTENTS. 
 
 Edward's Mareli, 319. — Place where he encamped, 319.— Re- 
 marks, 320. 
 
 Death of Sir James Dougl.\s in Spain. 
 Obscurity which hangs over the Particulars of this Event ; Illus- 
 trated by some Passages in the Chronicle of Alonso XI., 321. — 
 Kemarks on these Extracts, 322. — Account of Barbour corrobo- 
 rated by the Chronicle, 323. — Conclusion, 324. 
 
 Randolph, Earl of Morat. 
 
 His minute Directions regarding his Sepulture, 325. — Quotation 
 from an Ancient unpublished Charter. 
 
 Feudal Governments of Europe. 
 Coincidences in the Feudal Governments of England, France, and 
 Scotland, 326. — Struggle between the King and the Nobles, 327. 
 — In France, 327. — In Scotland, 328. — Influence of the Per- 
 sonal Character of the King, 329. — Miseries of the Feudal Sys- 
 tem, 330. 
 
 J.VMES IV.'S ToiTRNAME.NTT FOR THE BlACK LADT. 
 
 MS. Accounts of- the High Treasurer of Scotland, collected by the 
 Bev. Blr. Macgregor Stirling ; James IV. and his Blackamoors, 
 331. — Tournament for the Black Lady ; Articles of Defiance 
 sent to France, 332.— Items in the Accounts illustrative of the 
 Tournament, 333. — Dunbar's Poem on tiie Blackamoor, 334. 
 
 J.^MES IV. .\ND THE FlyING AbBOT OF TUNGLAND. 
 
 James's Passion for Empirics of all Kinds, 335. — Lesly's Account 
 of the Abbot of Tungland's Attempt to fly, 335. — History of 
 John Daniidne; his pretended Skill in Alchemy, 336. — His 
 Familiarity with the King, 337. — Other strange Characters who 
 haunted the Court, 33S. — The King's Passion for Surgery. 
 
 ArRIV.^L OF THE GiPSIES IN SCOTLA.ND. 
 
 Curious Letter of James IV. upon this subject, 339. 
 Ancient Scottish Games. 
 
 Value of the Accounts of the High Treasurer in illustrating Scottish 
 Sports and Pastimes, 340. — James IV. an enthusiastic Lover of 
 Music, 341. — Common Games, 341.^ — Obscure Games, 342. — 
 Tale-tellers, 343. — Singular Mixture of Levity and Austerity in 
 the Character of this Monarch ; St. Duthoc's Relic, 343. — His 
 
 [ Iron Girdle probably apocryphal, 344. — Conclusion.
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 1424—1437. 
 
 The return of James the First to his dominions 
 had been signalized, as we have seen", by a me- 
 morable example of retributive justice, from the 
 sternness of which tlie mind revolts with horror. 
 We must be careful indeed to regard his conduct 
 to the house of Albany, not through the more 
 humane feelings of our own age, but in relation 
 to the dark feudal times in which he lived. To 
 forgive, or rather not to revenge an injury was 
 a jirinciple which in such days was invariably 
 regarded as a symptom of pusillanimity. James 
 had a long account to settle with the house of 
 his uncle. The blood of his brother, the broken 
 heart of his father, the usurpation of his here- 
 ditary throne for eighteen years, and the scenes 
 of rapine and cruelty which had been permitted to 
 take place during his captivity in ]']ngland, all 
 called upon him to whet the sword of justice 
 with no ordinary edge ; to make an impression 
 upon a peo])le accustomed to laxity and disorder, 
 which should powerfully afi'ect their minds, and 
 convince them that the reign of misrule was at 
 an end. In assuming the government, his ob- 
 ject was to be feared and respected ; but making 
 * Vol. ii. pp. 314, 315. 
 VOL. III. B
 
 2 JAMES TKE FIRST. 
 
 everv allowance for such considerations, and 
 taking fully into view the circumstances under which 
 lie returned to his kingdom, it is impossible to 
 deny that in the catastrophe of the family of Al- 
 bany, the King appears to have attended to the 
 gratification of personal revenge, as much as to 
 the satisfaction of offended justice. 
 
 The effects however of his conduct upon a feu- 
 dal age were such as might easily have been anti- 
 cipated, and within a wonderfully short interval 
 matters appeared to be rapidly approaching that 
 state when as James himself had predicted " the 
 key should keep the castle, and the braken bush 
 the cow." The first cares of the monarch were 
 wiselv directed to the internal administration of 
 the country. From without he had at present 
 nothing to dread. England was at peace, the 
 marriage with Jane Beaufort had secured the inte- 
 rest of the governors of that kingdom, during the 
 minority of Henry the Sixth. France was the 
 ancient ally of Scotland, and the commercial inte- 
 rests of the Netherlands were too essentially pro- 
 moted by their Scottish trade not to be anxious 
 to preserve the most friendly relations. James 
 therefore was permitted to direct his undivided at- 
 tention to his affairs at home, and his great prin- 
 ciple seems to have been to rule the country through 
 his Parliament ; to assemble that great national 
 council as frequently as possible, to enact or to 
 revive wholesome and salutary laws, suited to the 
 emergency in which he found his kingdom, and 
 to insist on their rigid observance. In the same 
 Parliament which beheld the downfal of the house 
 of Albany, we have seen that the administration
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 3 
 
 of justice and the defence of the kingdom fomied 
 two principal subjects of consideration; and his 
 attention to the commercial interests of the state 
 was equally active, though not equally enlightened. 
 The acts of the legislature upon this subject are 
 pervaded by that jealousy of exportation, and the 
 narrow policy in restricting the settlement of Scot- 
 tish merchants in foreign parts which mark an 
 unenlightened age. During the detention of the 
 monarch in England, the Flemings as allies of 
 that kingdom, had committed repeated aggressions 
 on the Scottish merchant vessels, and the king on 
 his return had removed the staple of the Scottish 
 commerce to Middleburg in Zealand. Soon after, 
 however, an embassy from the States of Flanders 
 arrived at the Scottish Court, with the object of 
 j)rocuring the restoration of the trade, and James 
 not only received the Envoys with distinction, but 
 consented to their request on the condition of more 
 ample jnivileges being conferred on his subjects 
 who traded to these parts*. 
 
 About this time the Queen was delivered of a 
 daughter, and with an affectionate recurrence to 
 the virtues of the sainted consort of Malcolm Can- 
 more, the Princess was christened Margaret. The 
 event was received with almost as much satisfac- 
 tion in France as in Scotland, and Charles the 
 Seventh, anxious to procure the assistance of that 
 country in his protracted struggle with the arms 
 of England, immediately opened a negociation 
 for the marriage of the Dauphin with the infant 
 daughter of James. Stewart ol' Derneley, Constable 
 of the Scottish Army in France, and the Arch- 
 * Fordun, vol. ii., p. 484. 
 
 13 2
 
 4 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 bishop of Ivheims visited the Scottish Court ; the 
 king returned his answers to their proposals by 
 Leighton, Bisliop of Aberdeen, and Ogih y, Jus- 
 ticiar of Scotland, and it was determined that after 
 five years the parties' should be solemnly betrothed, 
 and the Princess conveyed to the Court of France*. 
 It was another part of the prudent policy of James 
 to cultivate the friendship of the church, to secure 
 the co-operation of the numerous and influential 
 body of the Catholic Clergy in the execution of 
 his schemes for the reduction of the country, under 
 a system of order and good government; and with 
 this view we find him about the same time dis- 
 patching an embassy to the Court of Rome, and 
 directing a Commission to the Bishop of St, An- 
 drews, by which that Prelate was empowered to 
 resume all alienations of ecclesiastical lands which 
 had been granted under the administration of the 
 two Albanies. Tiie deed also conferred upon him 
 the dreaded power of placing the party under the 
 anathema of the Church. 
 
 The collection of the sum due for the King's 
 ransom was a matter of grave consideration ; and 
 in the first Parliament after his return, a tax of 
 twelve pennies in the pound was directed to be 
 levied upon the whole lands of the kingdom t ; 
 but as the zeal of the people cooled, complaints 
 were made of tlie impoverishment and distress 
 which were occasioned by so general a burden ; 
 and James, admonished by the defalcation in the 
 second collection, witli equal prudence and gene- 
 rosity, directed that no further efforts should be 
 
 • Fordun, vol. ii., p. 484. 
 f Acts of the Parliament of Scotland, vol. ii, p. 4.
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 5 
 
 made to levy the imposition*. la his tliirtl Parlia- 
 ment, which assembled at Perth on the 12th of 
 March, 1425, the administration of justice, through- 
 out every portion of the kingdom, was provided for 
 by the institution of a new ambulatory court, deno- 
 minated the ' Session.' It consisted of the Chan- 
 cellor and certain persons of the three estates, to 
 be selected by the King, who were to hold tlieir 
 sittings, three times in the year, at whatever place 
 the royal will should appoint, for the determination 
 of all causes and quarrels which might be brought 
 before them f. Another material object was the 
 amendment of the laws, and their promulgation 
 throughout the most distant parts of the country. 
 For this purpose a committee of six of the most 
 able and learned counsellors, to be chosen from 
 each of the three estates was directed to examine 
 the books of the law, Regiam Majestatem and 
 Quoniam Attachiamenta, to exphiin their obscuri- 
 ties, reconcile their contradictions, and, in the 
 ancient and simple language of the times, ' to 
 mend such as need mending.' Copies of the- 
 statutes of the realm were directed to be distri- 
 buted to all sheriffs throughout the country ; and 
 these judges were, in their turn, enjoined to publish 
 them in the principal places of their sheritlUom, 
 and to furnish copies to all prelates, barons, and 
 other persons of authority, who applied for them. 
 Although enjoving a profound j)eace both at 
 home and abroad, James did not neglect that warlike 
 j)olicy which is its best preservation ; armed musters, 
 or ' weapon schawings,' were appointed to be iield 
 
 * Fonitin, vol. ii. p. 482. 
 f Acts of Parliaiiieiitj vul. ii., jj. 11.
 
 6 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 in every county, under tlie superintendence of the 
 sheriff, four times in tlie year, at wliich all, capable 
 of bearing arms, were compelled to attend for the 
 purpose of having their weapons inspected, and 
 devoting a portion of their time to the cultivation 
 of warlike exercises. The baron, the yeoman, the 
 wealthy burgher, the hind, the vassals of the church, 
 were all equally called out on such occasions. Every 
 yeoman, between sixteen and sixty years of age, 
 was obliged to furnish himself with a bow and a 
 sheaf of arrows ; gentlemen, possessing ten pounds 
 value in land, were to arm themselves with sword, 
 spear, and dagger, a steel cap and iron greaves, or 
 leg-harness ; and those of less substance, in propor- 
 tion to their estate ; whilst it was made incumbent 
 on all merchants trading beyond seas, to bring 
 home along with tlieir other cargoes, a good store 
 of harness and quilted armour, besides spears, bows, 
 and bowstrinirs. Duriurr his residence in England, 
 and his campaigns in France under Henry the 
 Fifth, the Scottish monarch had personally wit- 
 nessed the fatal superiority of the English archers. 
 He had himself arrived at great perfection in this 
 martial exercise, and he was anxious to promote it 
 amongst his subjects. 
 
 The King next directed his attention to a still 
 more arduous inquiry, — the state of the Highlands 
 and Isles ; but he soon found, that without his 
 personal presence in these remote districts, little 
 success could be anticipated. He determined, 
 therefore, to remedy this defect, and set out on a, 
 ])rogress to Inverness, with a resolution not to 
 return till he had eflectually reduced the northern 
 portion of his dominions under the control of legi-
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 7 
 
 timate authority. The condition of the Higlilands 
 at tiiis period, so far as we can discern it by the 
 feeble light of contemporary history, was in a high 
 degree rude and uncivilized. There was to be 
 found in them a singular admixture of the Scoto- 
 Norinan, Celtic, and Scandinavian races. The 
 tenure of lands by charter and seisin, the rights 
 of the overlord, the duties of the vassal, the 
 bonds of manrent, the baronial jurisdiction, the 
 troops of armed retainers, the pomp of feudal 
 life, and the ferocity of feudal manners, were all 
 there to be met with in as fidl force as in the 
 more southern parts of the kingdom. ' Powerful 
 chiefs of Norman name and Norman blood had 
 penetrated into their remotest fastnesses, and. 
 ruled over multitudes of vassals and serfs, whose 
 strange and uncouth appellatives proclaim their 
 difi'erence of race in the most convincing manner*.' 
 But the gloomy castles and inaccessible fortresses 
 of these northern regions were also inhabited by 
 many fierce chiefs of the pure Celtic race. They 
 spoke a different language, lived under a totally 
 different system of manners from the Norman 
 barons, and regarded all intrusion into a coun- 
 try which had been originally their own, with 
 mingled feelings of disdain and abhorrence. Over 
 their separate septs or clans, these haughty poten- 
 tates exercised an equally despotic authority as the 
 baron over his military followers; and whilst both 
 disdained to acknowledge an allegiance to the 
 monarch, of whose existence they were scarcely 
 aware, and derided tlie authority of laws which 
 they hardly understood, the perpetual disputes 
 * History of Scotland, vol. iii., p. 2Jl.
 
 8 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 which arose between them, and the jealousy and 
 ferocity of their followers, led inevitably to such 
 scenes of spohation, imprisonment, and murder, 
 as threatened to cut off the country beyond the 
 range of the Grampians from all communication 
 with the more pacific parts of the realm. It was, 
 if possible, to put a period to this state of things, 
 that James now determined to visit his northern 
 dominions. 
 
 Surrounded by liis barons, who were accom- 
 panied by troops of armed retainers, and attended 
 by a military force which rendered resistance 
 hopeless, he took his progress to Inverness, from 
 which lie issued to these northern chiefs his writs 
 commanding their attendance at a Parliament to 
 be held in that burgh. It is singular that they did 
 not dare to disobey his summons, and the fact seems 
 to point to some proceedings upon the part of the 
 King of which all record has been lost, but bitterly 
 did they repent their weakness or their credulity. 
 Scarcely had they entered the hall of Parliament, 
 when they were seized, manacled hand and feet, 
 and cast into separate prisons, whilst the Monarch 
 is described by Fordun as turning triumphantly to 
 liis courtiers and reciting some monkish rhymes, 
 applauding the skill by which they had been 
 circumvented, and warning them of the folly of 
 entertaining any hope of mercy. Amongst these 
 victims the most noted were Alexander of the 
 Isles, Angus Dhu or black Angus of Strathnarvern, 
 with his four sons, Kenneth More or big Kenneth, 
 his son-in-law Angus of Moray, Alexander Ma- 
 crory of Garmoran, John Macarthur, AVilliam 
 Lesley, and James Campbell. Macrory, Macar-
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 9 
 
 tliur, and Campbell, men notorious for the law- 
 lessness of their lives and the murders whicli they 
 had committed, were instantly tried, convicted, and 
 executed. Of the rest, some were imprisoned, 
 others were suffered on a trial of amendment to 
 return to their homes, whilst Alexander of the Isles, 
 after a temporary restraint, was restored to liis 
 liberty and permitted again to place himself at the 
 head of those vassals whose allegiance, as well as 
 his own, he solemnly engaged should never again 
 be brought into question. 
 
 But the promises of this fierce cliief, who had 
 long been accustomed to a life of independence 
 and piratic warfare, were broken so soon as he saw 
 the gathering of his clansmen and the white sails 
 of his galleys. At the head of an army of ten 
 thousand men, embracing the whole strength of 
 Ross and the Isles, he broke down from his northern 
 retreats, and sweeping every thing before him, let 
 loose the hottest of his wrath against the hinds 
 belonging to the crown, whilst he concluded his 
 expedition by rasing to the ground the royal burgh 
 of Inverness *. 
 
 The Highlander, however, had yet to learn tlie 
 uncommon energy of the King, and the roval 
 wrath overtook him with a strength and a rapidity 
 for which he was not prepared. Scarcely had he time 
 to divide his spoil, when he found himself furiously 
 attacked in Lochaber by a force hastily levied and 
 led by James in person, which scattered his undis- 
 ciplined troops, more solicitous to escape with the 
 plunder which they had secured, than to risk its loss 
 by making head against the enemy. Deserted by 
 
 * Fordun a Hearne, vol. iv. p. 1485. f Ibid. p. 128G.
 
 10 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 tlieclan Chattan and Cameron, who deemed it pru- 
 dent to make their peace before the King's wrath 
 was kindled to the uttermost, and convinced of his 
 inability to maintain the strufr""le, tlie Island Prince, 
 wliose pride was yet unconquered, dispatched am- 
 bassadors to sue for peace, but they were dismissed 
 from court with the utmost contempt, and the 
 iiaughty monarch, deriding this feeble effort of a 
 fugitive and outlaw to assume the state of an inde- 
 pendent prince, commanded his sheriffs and officers 
 to bring the rebel dead or alive into his presence. 
 Hunted like a noxious animal from place to place, 
 aware of the stern character of the King, and dis- 
 trusting the fidelity of the few followers who were 
 left, the unhappy man was driven at last to sue for life 
 in a humiliating form. On a great solemnity when 
 the King, surrounded by his prelates and nobles, 
 stood in front of the high altar at Holyrood, a 
 wretched-looking mendicant, squalid from suffering 
 and misery, clothed only in his shirt and drawers, 
 and holding a naked sword in his hand, threw him- 
 self on his knees before the monarch, and holding 
 his weapon by the point, presented it to James 
 and implored his clemency. Jtwas the Highland 
 Prince who had secretly travelled to the capital, 
 and adopted this mode of conciliating tlie royal 
 indignation*. James granted liim his life, but 
 instantly shut him up in Tantallan Castle under 
 the charge of the Earl of Angus, and at the same 
 time imprisoned the Countess of Ross, his mother, 
 a proud matron who was believed to have en- 
 couraged her son in his rebellious courses. Both, 
 however, were released not long after, and the 
 * Fordun a Hearne, vol. iv., p. 1485.
 
 JAMES THE FIRST, 11 
 
 example of mingled severity and mercy had a happy 
 effect in securing for a while the peace of tliese 
 remote districts. 
 
 The state of insubordination indeed to which 
 they had arrived during the long usurpation of 
 Albany can scarcely be conceived, and some anec- 
 dotes have been preserved by our ancient histo- 
 rians which paint it more forcibly than the most 
 laboured descrij)tion. The highland districts, to 
 use the language of the Chronicle of Moray, were 
 little else at this moment than a den of robbers *, 
 where might made right ; and it happened that 
 under this state of misrule a poor Highland widow 
 had been plundered by one of the Ketheran 
 chiefs, who had stripjied her of her substance, and 
 left her utterly destitute. Yet the spoiler walked 
 abroad, and none dared to seize him. In the 
 a^-onv of her heart, however, she confronted the 
 robber chief, upbraided him with his cowardice, 
 and declared she would never wear shoes again 
 till she had herself carried her complaint before 
 the Kins:. ' It shall be a broken vow,' said the 
 monster, ' you shall be shod before you stir from 
 this spot;' and instantly seizing the defenceless 
 creature, he had two horse-shoes nailed to her 
 naked feet, and thus bleeding and in agony she 
 was thrust upon the highway. But superior to 
 the sense of pain, and wrought up by her wrongs 
 to a pitch of supernatural endurance, she main- 
 tained her purpose, and falling into the hands of 
 some humane persons, who removed the iron shoes, 
 she travelled to Court, told her story to the King, 
 and held up her feet, still torn and bleeding by the 
 * MS. Chron. of i\Ioray, Cast. Moray, p. 220.
 
 12 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 inhuman treatment vvliich she liad received. Tlie 
 character of James has been already described. 
 In a tumult of commiseration for the victim who 
 stood before him, and of uncontrollable wrath 
 against her oppressor, he directed his instant 
 orders to the Sheriff of the county where the out- 
 rage had been committed, commanding him, on 
 the peril of his head, to have the robber-chief 
 apprehended, and sent to Perth, where the Court 
 was then held. The energy of the King commu- 
 nicated itself to his officers, and in a short time 
 the miscreant was hurried into his presence, and 
 instantly ordered to execution. A shirt, on which 
 was painted a rude representation of his crime, 
 was thrown over hiin ; and after having been 
 dragged at a horse's heels, he was hanged, a 
 memorable example of the speedy vengeance of 
 the laws *. 
 
 It is in circumstances like these that we applaud 
 the stern severity of a character peculiarly fitted 
 to rule over the cruel and iron-hearted hordes 
 which then peopled his northern dominions, but 
 there were other occasions when the lieart revolted 
 at the royal severity. A nobleman, nearly related 
 to the King, having quarrelled with anotlier baron, 
 so far forgot himself as to strike his antagonist in 
 presence of the Monarch : the crime, by the law, 
 was capital ; but the King unsheathed the short 
 cutlass which hung at his side, and with a look 
 which forbade all further question, ordered the 
 delinquent to stretch upon the table the hand which 
 liad olfended. A thrill of horror ran through the 
 Court, as he next turned to the baron who had 
 
 * Fordun, vol. ii., p. 510.
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 13 
 
 received tlie blow, and giving him the cutlass, 
 commanded him to chop oft" the worthless member, 
 which had dared to lift itself against the law. In 
 vain his councillors and prelates implored forgive- 
 ness for the culprit; James was inexorable, and 
 the sentence would have been carried into execu- 
 tion, had not the Queen, in an agony of distress, 
 thrown herself at the feet of her husband, who, 
 moved by her tears, consented to change the sen- 
 tence into banishment *. 
 
 It is remarkable, however, what dissimilar qua- 
 lities were found united in this Prince. Prudence, 
 political sagacity, generosity to his friends, cour- 
 tesy, and even gentleness to those who submitted 
 themselves to his authority, were conspicuous fea- 
 tures in his character, and if distinguished for the 
 inexorable severity with which he pursued the 
 proudest offender, he was no less remarkable for 
 his anxiety to consult the interests of the lowest 
 classes of his subjects, and to give redress to the 
 poorest sufferer. His first endeavours liad been 
 <lirected to the redress of abuses in the adminis- 
 tration of justice, but nothing escaped his attention. 
 Ey the frequency with which he assembled his 
 Parliaments, the barons and prelates were accus- 
 tomed to the operation of an established and re- 
 gular government ; they were compelled to res})ect 
 the cliaracter of the sovereign, of whose wisdom 
 and vigour they were constant witnesses, and no 
 longer able to remain for an indefinite period at 
 their castles, where they had been accustomed to 
 live in an independence which owned no superior, 
 * Fordun a Hearne, vol. iv., i>p. 1334, 1335.
 
 14 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 they dared no longer to disobey the laws, for the 
 execution of which they were sure, within a short 
 period, to be made personally responsible. 
 
 These observations are, however, principally 
 applicable to the highest ranks of the feudal nobi- 
 lity, for the lesser barons appear soon to have 
 complained against the grievance of a too frequent 
 attendance upon Parliament, and this remonstrance 
 led to a change which is well worthy of notice. 
 It was declared in a General Council held at Perth, 
 on the 1st of March, 1427, that the smaller barons 
 and free-tenants who had hitherto been summoned 
 to Parliament, should be excused their attend- 
 ance, provided from their number there were 
 chosen for each sheriffdom two or more in pro- 
 portion to its extent, who should be returned to 
 Parliament as the representatives of the sheriifdoni 
 from which they came. The Commissaries or re- 
 presentatives were next directed to elect from 
 their body an expert or able person, to be called 
 the Common Speaker of the Parliament, whose 
 duty it should be to bring forward all cases of 
 importance involving the rights and privileges of 
 the Commons ; and it was declared that they 
 should enjoy a delegated power from their con- 
 stituents to discuss and determine all such causes 
 involving the rights of the lesser barons, which it 
 might be expedient to bring before the Great 
 Council or Parliament. The expenses of tliese 
 commissaries were directed to be paid by the 
 electors who owed suit and presence in the Par- 
 liament, but were thus excused their attendance, 
 wliilst it was added, that this should in no-
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 15 
 
 way interfere with the bishops, abbots, earls, 
 and other lords, who were to be summoned 
 as usual by the King's special precept *. Tliis 
 remarkable law contains the first introduction 
 of tlie principles of a representative government 
 in Scotland, and although expressed in brief and 
 simple terms, we can discern in them the rude 
 draught of a Lower House, under the form of a 
 Committee or Assembly of the Commissaries of the 
 Shires, who deliberated by tliemselves on the various 
 subjects whicli they thought proper to be brought 
 by their Speaker before the higher court of Par- 
 liament. It is thus evident that an institution, 
 which was afterwards to be claimed as the most 
 valuable privilege of every free subject, the right 
 of having a voice, by means of his representative, 
 in the great council of the nation, arose, by a sin- 
 gular contradiction out of an attempt to avoid it ; 
 the lesser barons considered tlie necessity of at- 
 tending Parliament an expensive grievance, and 
 tlie King permitted them to be absent on condition 
 of their electing a substitute and defraying his 
 expenses. 
 
 There were few subjects, in any way con- 
 nected with the prosperity of the kingdom, which 
 escaped the attention of tliis monarch ; the agri- 
 culture, the manufactures, the foreign commerce, 
 the fisheries, the state of the labouring classes, 
 the provision regarding the increase of pauperism, 
 the prices of manufactured commodities, and of 
 labour, all were included in his inquiries, and 
 became the subject of parliamentary enactment, 
 if not always of parliamentary wisdom. It was 
 
 * Acts of Parliament of Scotland, vol. ii., p. IG, c. 2.
 
 16 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 made incumbent upon the farmers and Imsband- 
 men, and tlie greater barons, that they sliould 
 annually sow a stated proportion of grain, pease 
 and beans, under a fixed penalty ; a provision 
 was introduced for the repair of the castles, for- 
 talices, and manor places, which had been allowed 
 to fall into decay in the remoter mountainous dis- 
 tricts of the kingdom ; the transportation of bul- 
 lion out of the realm was strictly prohibited ; four 
 times in the year regular days were appointed in 
 each barony for hunting the wolves, and a reward 
 fixed for every wolf's-whelp which should be 
 brought in, whilst the tenantry were enjoined, under 
 a heavy penalty, to assist their masters in the ex- 
 tirpation of such noxious animals. 
 
 In these homely but not unenlightened cares for 
 the prosperity of his kingdom, James was interrupted 
 by a second embassy from France, to arrange more 
 definitely the preliminaries for the marriage of the 
 Princess Margaret with the Dauphin. At this mo- 
 ment the Scottish King was little able to advance a 
 dowry suitable to the rank of the royal bride ; for 
 his revenues were still impoverished by the dilapi- 
 dations of Albany and the payment of the heavy 
 debt incurred during his detention in England. 
 But the circumstances of France rendered men 
 more acceptable than money; James agreed to 
 send to that country a force of six thousand sol- 
 diers in transports to be furnished by Charles the 
 Seventh. In return, tlie Scottish Princess was to 
 be ])rovidcd in an income as ample as any hitherto 
 settled upon the Queens of France, and the county 
 of Xaintongc and lordship of Rochfort were made 
 over in property to her royal father. It is by no
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 17 
 
 means improbable, tbat a jealousy on the part of 
 England of this intimate connexion with tlieir 
 enemy led to a proposal of Cardinal Beaufort, at 
 this time the leading person in the English govern- 
 ment, for a personal interview witii James, but it 
 was declined. The Monarch deemed it beneath 
 his dignity to confer in person with a subject, 
 although he declared his anxiety that the amicable 
 relations of the two kingdoms should be inviolably 
 preserved. 
 
 His attention to the interests of the poorer classes 
 has been already noticed ; and in a Parliament 
 held at Perth in A])ril, 14-29, a new proof of this 
 was given, which, as leading to one of the most 
 important rights of the subject, deserves atten- 
 tion. It had not escaped the notice of the king^ 
 that a fertile source of distress to the poorer 
 tenantry and the labourers of the soil arose from 
 the right possessed by their landlords of ex- 
 pelling them from their farms, whenever they 
 chose to grant a lease of the estate to a new ])ro- 
 prietor. This hardship James was anxious to 
 remove ; but he was compelled also to respect the 
 customary law of the land, and by it such was then 
 the miserable condition of a great proportion of 
 the lower classes in Scotland, that their over-lord 
 had a right to remove and dispose of them as if 
 they were little better than the cattle u})on his 
 property. It was beyond the })o\ver of the prince 
 at once to raise them from this degraded state, 
 but he remonstrated with his prelates and barons 
 upon the evil consequences of its continuance, and 
 he at least paved the way for its removal by 
 making it a request to them, (which, coming froiu 
 
 VOL. III. c
 
 T8 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 such a quarter, no one, }3robably, would be disposed 
 to refuse,) that where their lands had been leased 
 out to a new tenant, they would not suddenly 
 remove the poorer labourers, but would permit 
 them to continue in possession for a year after the 
 transaction. There can be little doubt that this 
 benevolent enactment is to be considered as the 
 first step towards that invaluable privilege which 
 was, twenty years after, under the reign of James's 
 successor, conferred on the body of the Scottish 
 tenantry and labourers, whicli secured to them an 
 undisturbed possession of their lands till the ex- 
 piration of their lease, and which is familiarly 
 known by the name of the real right of tack. 
 
 Yet whilst the King showed himself thus so- 
 licitous for the real interests of the great body of 
 his people, he kept a strict eye upon the growth 
 of idleness, or unnecessary luxuries and refine- 
 ments. Their occupation as artizans or trades- 
 men, their mode of travelling from place to place, 
 their amusements, and even their dress — all were 
 superintended and provided for with a' minute 
 vigilance, and some of the sumptuary laws passed 
 at this time convey a curious picture of the 
 costume of the times. For example, we find it 
 provided, that no person under the rank of a 
 knight is to wear clothes of silk, adorned with 
 furs, or embroidered with gold or pearls. An ex- 
 ception was made in favour of aldermen, baillies, 
 and councillors in the magistracy, who were per- 
 mitted to wear furred gowns, whilst others were 
 enjoined to equip themselves in such plain and 
 honest apparel as became their station. It was 
 the natural effect of the increase of wealth amongst
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 19 
 
 the commercial classes, that the wives of the opu- 
 lent burghers imitated, and probably exaggerated 
 the dress of their superiors. Against this the 
 law directed its anathema. ' Long trains, rich 
 hoods and ruffs, purfled sleeves, and costly curches 
 of lawn, were henceforth banished from the ward- 
 robe of a commoner's wife, and permitted only as 
 part of the bravery of a gentlewoman*.' 
 
 In the same Parliament something- like an at- 
 tempt is discernible for the establishment of a 
 navy ; — one of the sources of national strength 
 wherein the country was greatly deficient, and the 
 want of which had been lately severely felt during 
 the rebellion of the Lord of the Isles. All barons 
 possessing lands within six miles of the sea were 
 commanded to contribute towards the building of 
 galleys for the public service at the rate of one oar 
 for every four marks of land — a proportion whose 
 exact value it is now impossible to discover. 
 
 It is probable this enactment had some reference 
 to the condition of the Highlands and Isles, where 
 symptoms of disturbance again began to exhibit 
 themselves, and whose fierce chieftains, in defiance 
 of the recent examples, renewed their attempts to 
 set the laws at defiance. Alan Stewart, Earl of 
 Caithness, and Alexander Earl of Mar had been 
 stationed by James in Lochaber for the })urpose of 
 keeping this important district in subjection. Caith- 
 ness was a brave, Mar a distinguished, soldier, 
 and they commanded a force which was judged 
 sufficient to keep its ground against any enemy 
 likely to attack them. But Donald 13alloch, a 
 fierce Ketheran leader, nearly related to the Lord 
 * Acts of the Parliament of Scotland, vol.ii., pp. 17> 18. 
 
 C 2
 
 20 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 of the Isles, assembled a formidable fleet and army, 
 ran his galleys into tlie narrow sea which divides 
 Morven from Lismore, disembarked his troops, 
 and breaking down suddenly upon Lochaber, at- 
 tacked the royal forces at Inverlochy. Such was 
 the irresistible fury of the assault, that the dis- 
 ciplined squares of the Lowland warriors were 
 broken by the wild hordes which threw themselves 
 upon them. Caithness, with sixteen of his per- 
 sonal retinue and many other knights, were left 
 dead on the field. Mar was more fortunate, vet 
 it was with difficulty that he effected his retreat 
 with the remains of the army, which narrowly es- 
 caped being entirely cut to pieces. Lochaber now 
 lay at the mercy of the victor, and had Donald 
 Ealloch made an immediate advance, the conse- 
 quences might have been serious; but this wild 
 chief partook of the character of the northern 
 pirates, who were commonly afraid of trusting 
 themselves too far from their ships. He contented 
 himself accordingly with the plunder of Lochaber, 
 and reimbarking in liis galleys retired at first to 
 the Isles, and soon afterwards to Ireland *. 
 
 Some time previous to this the Queen was deli- 
 vered of twin sons, a joyful event which, in the 
 prospect it gave of a successor to the throne, alle- 
 viated James's disappointment at the continued dis- 
 turbances which arose in the north. The defeat of 
 his army, however, and a desperate feud or private 
 war which had broke out in Caithness between 
 Angus Dow Mackay and Angus Murray called 
 for his iumiediate presence, and, with his wonted 
 activity, he determined to lead an army against his 
 * Fordun a Ilcarne, vol. iv., p. 1289.
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 21 
 
 reLels in person. Before lie couW reach the re- 
 moter Hitjlilands tlie rival armies of the two 
 Catlieran ciiiefs had met in Strallmaver, a remote 
 valley in Caithness which is watered by the river 
 Naver, and the conflict was maintained with so 
 fierce and exterminating a spirit, that out of twelve 
 hundred only nine men returned from the field. 
 Amid such a butchery it cannot be ascertained, and 
 the information is scarce worth seeking, to wliom 
 the victory belonged ; but to the peaceable inhabi- 
 tants of the country the consequences of the conflict 
 were peculiarly grievous, by throwing it into a 
 state of insecurity and terror. Every man who 
 had lost a friend or a relative in tlie battle con- 
 sidered it a sacred duty to allow himself no rest till 
 he had inflicted a bloody retaliation on those by 
 whom he had fallen ; and this feudal privilege, or 
 rather duty, drew after it a series of spoliations, 
 slaughters, and atrocities which interrupted for the 
 time all regular industry and improvement. 
 
 Determined that these things should have an end, 
 James, notwithstanding the advanced season of the 
 year, summoned his nobles with their feudal ser- 
 vices to meet him at Perth : whence, having first 
 held a Parliament, and raised supi)lies to defray the 
 expenses of the exj.'edilion, lie proceeded at the 
 head of a force suflicient to overawe all opposition 
 to Dunstaffinch Castle. From this it was his 
 determination to pass into the Western Isles and 
 inflict an exemplary punishment upon the piratic 
 chiefs who had been lately concerned in the rebel- 
 lion of Donald Balloch, but any further progress 
 ivas found unnecessary. The royal standard had 
 scarcely waved from the towers of Dunstathncli,
 
 22 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 when the monarch found himself surrounded by 
 crowds of suppliant chieftains, who brought their 
 men and their ships to his assistance ; and, im- 
 ploring pardon for a co-operation with a tyrant 
 whose power it would have been death to resist, 
 renewed their homage with every expression of 
 devoted loyalty. James, however, as the price of 
 his mercy, insisted that they should deliver over to 
 him the principal offenders in the late disgraceful 
 scenes of outrage and rebellion ; and although many 
 of these were their friends and vassals, disobedience 
 to the demand was impossible. Three hundred 
 robbers, men hardened in crime and trained from 
 their early years to blood and rapine, were brought 
 bound hand and foot and delivered to the monarch. 
 The spectacle of this ferocious troop, marching 
 along, and guarded by the officers of the King, 
 had a salutary effect in impressing upon the 
 people of this district an idea of the certainty 
 and severity of the law, which was not lessened 
 when, with that inexorable justice which distin- 
 guished, and almost blemished, his character, James 
 ordered them all to immediate execution*. 
 
 Having by sucli methods, perhaps, the only 
 course which could have succeeded in this iron 
 age, re-established the order and security of his 
 northern dominions, the King found time to de- 
 vote himself to more pacific cares. His twin sons 
 were baptized with great splendour and solemnity, 
 the Earl of Douglas standing godfather. Of these 
 hoys tlie eldest was named Alexander, and died 
 very young ; but the second took the name of his 
 
 * Acts of Parliament, vol. ii., p. 20 ; Buchanan, b. x., 
 c. 33— 3G.
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 23 
 
 father, and succeeded him in the throne. Both 
 the infants were created knights at the font ; and 
 in honour of tlie occasion the Monarcli hestowed 
 the same dignity upon fifty other youths selected 
 from the noblest families in the country. Feast- 
 ing, games, tournaments, and every species of 
 feudal revelry accompanied the ceremony ; and the 
 people, who had perhaps been somewhat alarmed. 
 at the excessive sternness with which the laws had 
 been executed against the guilty, w"ere pleased to 
 discover that to the peaceable and orderly-disposed 
 classes of his subjects no prince could be more 
 courteous, accessible, and even affectionate. 
 
 In the midst of these rejoicings a terrible guest 
 revisited Scotland. So far back as 1348 the pes- 
 tilence had carried off almost a third of the whole 
 population. It bad returned in 1361, — again in 
 1378 had committed very fatal ravages ; and now, 
 after an interval of more than half a century, it 
 once more broke out, to the dismay of the people, 
 who had scarcely begun to enjoy the sweets of 
 security under a regular government, when they 
 were attacked by this new calamity. Nearly about 
 the same time there occurred a total eclipse of the 
 sun, which for a short time involved the whole 
 country in darkness as deep as midnight ; and 
 whilst the pestilence stalked abroad, and the 
 blessed and healthy light of heaven was with- 
 held, mens' minds became agitated with super- 
 stitious terror of the pestilence ; the ravages were 
 very great*. There can be little doubt that the 
 poverty of the lower classes, the cessation of 
 the labours of agriculture by the prevalence of 
 * Fordun a Hearne. vol. iv., p. 1307.
 
 24 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 private war, the plunder of the industrious pea- 
 santry, and the consequent relapse of large 
 districts, once fertile and cultivated, into a state 
 of nature, aggravated, to the greatest degree, if 
 they did not actually occasion this dreadful national 
 scourge. 
 
 It is melancholy to find that amid this general 
 distress the fires of religious persecution were 
 again kindled in the heart of the country. The 
 reader is already femiliar with the fate of Resbj', 
 the undaunted disciple of Wickliff, who, twenty- 
 eight years before this, was condemned by Lau- 
 rence of Lindores, and fearlessly refusing to retract 
 his opinions, suffered at the stake in 1405. The 
 Church were not then, probably, aware of the ex- 
 tent to which his doctrines had spread amongst 
 the people ; but it is certain that they had been 
 adopted by a very considerable sect of disciples 
 who met in secret, freely and boldly attacked the 
 fundamental errors of the Romish faith, and appeal- 
 ing to the written word of God as the single test of 
 truth, rejected its splendid and imposing ceremo- 
 nial, as founded on the fallible traditions of man. 
 It was natural that these supporters of the truth, 
 whilst they concealed their opinions from the 
 world, should be anxious to open a communication 
 with their brethren on the Continent who had 
 adopted the doctrines of "Wickliff, and for this 
 purpose Paul Crawar, a Bohemian jdiysician, 
 arrived in Scotland, soon after James's return 
 from his second expedition to the nortli. His 
 ostensible object seemed to be the practice of his 
 art, regarding his eminence in which he brought 
 letters which spoke in the highest terms, but it
 
 JAMES THE FIRST, 25 
 
 was soon discovered that, in the exercise of a pro- 
 fession which admitted him into the confidence 
 and privacy of domestic life, lie seized every op- 
 portunity of disseminating principles subversive 
 of the ancient doctrines of the Church, and of 
 exposing the ignorance, cunning, and rapacity of 
 the priesthood. 
 
 It was not to be expected that such conduct 
 should long escape the jealous vigilance of the 
 clergy, and that same Laurence of Lindores, who 
 had signalized himself by his zeal against Resby, 
 determined that his successor should also feel the 
 strength of his inquisitorial powers. Crawar was 
 accordingly summoned before him, and although 
 lie defended his tenets with remarkable courage 
 and acuteness, his piety and learning were little 
 convincing to the tribunal before which he pleaded. 
 It a])peared indeed at his examination, that, under 
 the garb of a physician, he was a zealous minister 
 of the word of God, and had been deputed by the 
 citizens of Prague, a city which had adojited the 
 tenets of Wicklitf, lo keep alive in Scotland the 
 flame of reformation originallv kindled by Resby. 
 An ancient historian of these times has left us a 
 sunnnary of tlie articles of his creed. He taught 
 that the Bible ought to be freely communicated 
 to the people ; that the civil magistrate had a right 
 to arraign and punish delinquent ecclesiastics ; 
 that the efficacy of pilgrimages, the existence of 
 ])urgatory, the doctrine of transubstantiation, the 
 system of penance and absolution, and the power 
 of the keys claimed by the Roman pontiff, were 
 all inventions and delusions of men. In the
 
 26 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 administration of the Lord's Supper, he and his 
 disciples, renouncing as too complicated and 
 artificial the splendid ceremonial of the Romish 
 church, adhered as much as possible to the primi- 
 tive simplicity of apostolic times. They com- 
 menced the service by repeating the Lord's Prayer ; 
 the chapters of the New Testament were then read 
 which contained the history of the institution of 
 the Supper, and they then proceeded to distribute 
 the elements, using common bread and a common 
 chalice*. 
 
 It is very evident that, in such tenets and prac- 
 tices, we discover not merely the twilight, but a 
 near approximation to the full blaze of the Refor- 
 mation ; and when they once detected the powerful, 
 consistent, and systematic attack which had thus 
 teen made against the whole fabric of their 
 Church, we are not to wonder that the Romanists 
 became seriously alarmed. L'nfortunately, James 
 the First had imbibed under Henry the Fourth and 
 Fifth an early disposition towards religious per- 
 secution. These monarchs were ever ready to 
 purchase the friendship of the influential body of 
 the Clergy, at the price of religious persecution, 
 and the Scottish monarch, in tiie prosecution of 
 his schemes for humbling the power of the greater 
 barons, was ready to pay in the same coin for the 
 same commodity : Crawar, therefore, had nothing 
 to hope for from the clemency of the sovereign, 
 and refusing to retract liis belief in the great 
 truths which he had so ably defended, he was con 
 demned, and led to the stake. The sight of the 
 * Fordun, vol. ii., p. 495.
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 27 
 
 flames did not shake liis resolution even for a 
 moment, and he suffered not only with constancy, 
 but with triumph. 
 
 On his return to his dominions after his long 
 detention in England, James, as it might have 
 been anticipated, found the royal lands and reve- 
 nues in a dilapidated condition, and his power 
 as an independent monarch proportionably weak- 
 ened. It arose from the same causes, that, during 
 this interval, the strength, pride, and independence 
 of the greater barons had increased to an alarming 
 degree. The Duke of Albany, anxious to secure 
 their support, had not dared to restrain their 
 excesses ; and there can be little doubt that many 
 grants out of the royal customs, many portions 
 silently cut off from the estates belonging to the 
 crown, were presented by this crafty and sagacious 
 usurper to those barons whose good offices he was 
 anxious to secure, or whose enmity he was de- 
 sirous to neutralize. That all this had taken place 
 could not long be concealed from the King, but 
 on his first assuming the government he was 
 neither fully informed of the extent of the abuse, 
 nor prepared to administer a remedy. AV hen, 
 however, he became more firmly seated on the 
 throne, when he felt his own strength, and had 
 exhibited to his nobles and his people that remark- 
 able mixture of wisdom, vigour and severity, which 
 formed his character, the purposes of the prince 
 and the feelings of tlie pco])le exj)erienced a cliange. 
 It became evident to the monarch, that, unless he 
 succeeded in curtailing the overgrown power of 
 his nobles, and recovering for the crown the wealth 
 and the influence which it had lost, he must be
 
 28 James the first. 
 
 contented to be little more than a nominal sove- 
 reign ; and, on the other hand, it was not long 
 before the aristocracy were convinced that the 
 time had arrived when they must consent quietly 
 to part with no small portion of that license to do 
 wrong which they had arrogated to themselves 
 under the unprincipled administration of Albany. 
 Some sacrifice they were probably ready to make 
 rather than come into collision with a monarch of 
 whose indomitable energy of cliaracter they had 
 witnessed some appalling specimens; but James 
 had determined to abridge their authority still 
 more effectually than they imagined, and he began 
 with the most powerful baron in the country — the 
 Earl of March. 
 
 The extent, and, still more, the situation of his 
 estates, rendered this feudal potentate a person of 
 high consequence, and entrusted him with a power 
 which was too great for a subject. He possessed 
 the strong castle of Dunbar, and his lands, 
 which stretched out into a little principality along 
 the borders, gave him a command of the prin- 
 cipal ])asses by which an enemy could enter. It 
 was thus a common saying that March held at 
 his girdle the keys of the kingdom; and the 
 frequent attempts on the part of England, during 
 the whole course of our history, to seduce the 
 Earls of March from their allegiance, sufficiently 
 proved that the kings of that country were well 
 aware of the im])ortance of the accession. Nor 
 had James to go far back for a proof that this 
 exorbitant power was a thorn in the side of the 
 country. The Earl who then wielded it was in- 
 deed more pacific and unoffending than his fore-
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 29 
 
 fathers ; but his father, a man of powerful talents 
 and restless ambition, had been the cause of great 
 misery to Scotland. AVe have seen that when the 
 Duke'of Rolhsay, James's elder brother, broke his 
 plighted faith to Elizabeth of Dunbar, March's 
 daughter, this haughty baron fled in disgust to 
 England ; and, renouncing his allegiance, invaded 
 his native country in company with Hotspur*. 
 The calamitous defeat at Homildon had been 
 chiefly ascribed to his military skill, and for eight 
 years he had remained in England an able rene- 
 gade, attached to the interests of Henry the 
 Fourth. These were circumstances which it was 
 natural should impart to James an early antipathy 
 against this baron ; and his return to Scotland, on 
 the accession of Albany, where he continued to 
 enjoy the favour and protection of tlie usurper, 
 was not calculated to diminish the impression. 
 The elder March, whose career we have just de- 
 scribed, continued to reside in Scotland from 1408 
 to 1420, the period of his death, in the full pos- 
 session of Ills hereditary power and estates, and 
 his son succeeded quietly to the immense property 
 of his father. 
 
 Certainly, in strict justice, nothing could be more 
 irregular tlian all this. Tiie elder March had been 
 guilty not of an act but of a life of treason ; and 
 there can be no doubt that, under Robert the 
 Third, his whole estates were forfeited to the 
 Crown. Albany's government, on the other hand, 
 was one long act of usurpation, that of his son 
 IMurdoch stood exactly in the same predicament ; 
 and although by their authority the father and the 
 * Vol. ii., Lives of Scottish M'ortlues, p. 2-iO.
 
 to JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 son had been permitted for sixteen years to pos- 
 sess their estates, yet it will not admit of a doubt 
 that, according to the strict principles of the feudal 
 law, this could not remove the sentence of for- 
 feiture ; James rightly reasoned that nothing short 
 of an act of pardon and indemnity by his father 
 or himself could have restored the Earl to the le- 
 gitimate possession of the lands which he had 
 forfeited. Till then, in the eye of the law, his 
 blood was tainted, his title extinct, his possessions 
 the sole property of the Crown, and he himself a 
 nameless and landless traitor : but although such 
 were the strict principles by which we must con- 
 sider the situation of tliis powerful baron, the King 
 appears, for ten years after his return to his do- 
 minions, to have permitted him to enjoy his here- 
 ditary estate and title. It may be observed, how- 
 ever, that the Earl of March was one of those 
 barons who were arrested by James immediately 
 previous to the execution of Duke Murdoch and 
 his sons ; and it is quite possible that some trans- 
 action may have then taken place, of which no 
 record now remains, but which, if known, would 
 have placed the conduct of the king in a less 
 harsh light than we view it through the meagre 
 records which have been left. Yet, it must be 
 allowed that all that we know of the character of 
 this monarch renders it })robable that he dissembled 
 his designs against March till he found himself 
 strong enough to carry them into execution, per- 
 mitting him to enjoy his title and his lands, but 
 abstaining from every act which might be pleaded 
 on as having removed the forfeiture. 
 
 The period, however, had now arrived when
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 31 
 
 the long-protracted sentence was to be enforced 
 against him. In the Parliament which as- 
 sembled at Perth, in January, 1434, the question 
 regarding the property of the late Earl of March, 
 and its reversion to the crown, was discussed with 
 great solemnity. The advocates of the king, 
 and the counsel for the person then in possession, 
 were first heard, after which the judges declared 
 it to be their unanimous opinion, that, in con- 
 sequence of the treason of Lord George of Dunbar, 
 formerly Earl of March, the lands held by that 
 baron, and the feudal dignities attached to them, 
 had reverted to the King, to wiiom as the foun- 
 tain of all honour and property, they now be- 
 longed. The strict justice of this sentence could 
 not be questioned, and it met with no oppo- 
 sition either from the Earl or his adherents ; but 
 it becomes not a sovereign to inflict, on all occa- 
 sions, the extremest sentence of the law, and nei- 
 ther the nobiHty nor tlie people could see without 
 emotion a baron of ancient and noble lineage re- 
 duced at once to the condition of a nameless out- 
 cast, and estates, which for many centuries had 
 been possessed without challenge, torn from 
 his hands to enrich the coffers of the Crown. 
 The King himself appears to have been solicitous 
 to soften the blow to March : he created liim Earl 
 of Buchan, and out of the revenues of this northern 
 principality bestowed on him an annual pension 
 of four hundred marks ; but he disdained to accept 
 a title which he considered as a badije of his desra- 
 dation, and, forsaking his country with mingled feel- 
 ings of grief and indignation, retired to England*. 
 * Acts of the Parliament of Scotland, vol. ii., p. 23.
 
 32 JAMES THE FIRST, 
 
 In a former Parliament, a statute had been passed 
 by which all alienations of lands made by the 
 governor of the realm, in consequence of the de- 
 mise of a bastard, were declared to be revocable 
 by the Crown, although the transaction had been 
 completed by feudal investiture. It is by no 
 means unlikely that this was connected with other 
 acts, by which all transactions of Albany and 
 Murdoch, in relation to the landed property of the 
 kingdom, might become subject to challenge. 
 These statutes, when viewed in connexion with 
 the fate of March, were enough to alarm the nobi- 
 lity, and by degrees, as the stern character of the 
 King developed itself, and the patient but unbending 
 vigour with which he pursued his designs became 
 apparent, a dark suspicion began to arise in their 
 minds that should he live to complete them, the 
 power and independence of the Scottish aristocracy 
 would be at an end. Tliey could not conceal 
 from themselves th;it, if rigidly scrutinised, the 
 titles by wliich they held their estates were, in 
 some cases, as questionable as that of March, 
 and their conscience probably brought to their 
 recollection many transactions during James's 
 captivity in England, which if strictly investigated, 
 approached indefinitely near to treason. These 
 circumstances did not fail to create feelings of 
 distrust and insecurity on the part of his nobles 
 towards their sovereign, which, although con- 
 cealed at present under an affected acquiescence 
 in the royal will, could not long exist in a 
 fendal government, witliout leading to some open 
 rupture. An unusual transjaction took place 
 before the Parliament was dissolved; the King
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 33 
 
 required the whole lords temporal and spiritual, as 
 well as the commissaries of the burghs, to give 
 their bonds of adherence and fealty to the Queen 
 before returning to their homes *. It may, per- 
 haps, be inferred from this that James had already 
 causes for distrust and suspicion, but this is con- 
 jectural. 
 
 The truce with England still continued, and the 
 government of Henry the Sixth, alarmed by the 
 successes of the Maid of Orleans, who had wrested 
 from the English a great portion of their French 
 conquests, became anxious for the conclusion of a 
 lasting peace between the two countries. To pur- 
 chase this, the English Regency declared them- 
 selves ready to deliver Berwick and Roxburgh into 
 the hands of the Scots, and the King having as- 
 sembled a Parliament, the proposal appeared to 
 the temporal barons and the majority of the pre- 
 lates far too advantageous to be declined. There 
 appears, however, to have been a strong ])arty, 
 headed by the Abbots of Scone and Inchcolm, 
 which, from their attachment to the interests of 
 France, contended that it was impossible to go 
 into these proposals without breaking the late 
 treaties of alliance and marriage between that coun- 
 try and Scotland ; and such was the force of the 
 arguments they employed, that the Parliament 
 at first delayed their answer, and finally rejected 
 the overtures of peace f. This appears to have 
 led to a renewal of hostilities upon the borders, 
 and a wanton infraction of the truce by Sir Robert 
 Ogle, one of those stirring feudal knights who 
 
 * Acts of Parliament, vol. ii., p. 292. 
 t Forduu a Ileanic, vol. iv., pp. loOD, 1310 
 VOL. III. D
 
 34 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 languislied under any 'long continuance of peace. 
 Breaking across the marches at the head of a 
 strong body of men at arms, and without any 
 object but phnider and defiance, he was met by the 
 Earl of Angus, Hepburn of Hailes, and Ramsay 
 of Dalhousie, near Piperden, and completely de- 
 feated, liimself taken prisoner, and almost the 
 whole of his party cut to pieces. 
 
 It was now time to send the Princess Margaret, 
 who had reached her tenth year, to her consort the 
 Dauphin. A small squadron of three ships and 
 six barges was fitted out, and placed under the 
 command of the Earl of Orkney, High Admiral of 
 Scotland. A guard of a hundred and forty youthful 
 squires, selected from the noblest families in the 
 land, and a thousand men at arms, attended the 
 bride; and the Bishop of Brecliin, Ogilvy the 
 High Treasurer, Sir John Maxwell, Sir John 
 AVischart, and many other barons and knights, 
 accompanied her to France. Anxious by every 
 niethod to prevent an alliance in which they saw 
 an increase of the hostility of Scotland, and a 
 dangerous accession of strength to France, the 
 English Regents fitted out a large fleet, which was 
 anchored off Brest, with the object of intercepting 
 and seizing the Princess on her passage to her 
 husband. It was impossible that the Scottish 
 monarch should be unmoved at an insult like this, 
 committed in a time of truce, and wliich reminded 
 him of the parallel treachery of which he had 
 himself been the victim. The scheme, however, 
 fortunately failed, the little fleet of the Princess, 
 having escaped the vigilance of the English, en- 
 tered the port of Rochelle, where she was received
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 35 
 
 by the Archbishop of Rheims, and a brilliant 
 train of French nobility, and the marriage was 
 afterwards celebrated with great magnificence at 
 Tours. The character of the French Prince, to 
 whom she was united, and who became afterwards 
 known as Lewis the Eleventh, is familiar to most 
 readers, and her lot as his wife was singularly 
 wretched. 
 
 The late infraction of the truce, and this un- 
 worthy attempt to intercept the Princess, effectually 
 roused the King, and he determined to renew the 
 war. It is not improbable that there were other 
 motives : James may have deemed a renewal of 
 hostilities the best method of giving employment 
 to many discontented spirits, who in peace were 
 likely to be more mischievously engaged. But 
 the army which he assembled, although numerous, 
 was weakened by disaffection ; and after having 
 for fifteen days laid siege to Roxburgh, the cam- 
 paign concluded in an abrupt and mysterious 
 manner. The Queen suddenly arrived in the 
 camp, and although the place was not expected to 
 hold out many days longer, the King, with a haste 
 which inferred some secret cause of danger and 
 alarm, disbanded his army and precipitately re- 
 turned to his capital*. This was in August. 
 Two months after a Parliament assembled at 
 Edinburgh, in which nothing transpired or was 
 enacted which throws light upon these suspicions. 
 The probability is that discontentment, perhaps 
 conspiracy, continued to exist ; but we have no 
 clue to unravel it, and events for a short space 
 seemed to reassume their ordinary tenor. 
 
 * Fordun a Goodal, vol. ii., p. 502. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 We are now arrived at that gloomy jieriod when 
 a reign, hitherto more than commonly prosperous, 
 and in wliich the Monarch carried through his 
 schemes with an energy and ability which seemed 
 to promise a long career, was destined to close 
 with an a])palling suddenness. It is to be regretted 
 that, at this interesting moment, the accounts of 
 our contemporary historians, and the evidence of 
 our national records, are both extremely indistinct 
 and unsatisfactory, so that the causes of the con- 
 spiracy against James the First are involved in 
 much obscurity. In the feelings indeed of a great 
 pro])ortion of persons in the country, any daring 
 individuals desirous of effecting a revolution, might 
 have discovered ample ground for hope and encou- 
 ragement. The rigour with which the King carried 
 on the administration, whilst it gave a happy in- 
 terval of comfort and security to the people, was 
 disjileasing to a large portion of the nobility j 
 and the contrast between the feudal license and 
 privileged disorder of the government of Albany, 
 ■with the rigid justice and severity of James, was 
 deplored by many fierce spirits to whom rapine had 
 become a trade and a delight. To these, any 
 prospect of a change could not fail to be accept- 
 able ; and it must be remembered, tliat, according 
 to the miserable principles of the feudal system 
 then in full force in Scotland, the disaffection of 
 any baron was sure to draw along with it the enmity 
 of the whole body of his followers. 
 
 But in accounting for the designs against this 
 Monarch, it is also to be remembered, that there 
 must have been many, and these of tlie highest 
 rank, who were animated by a still deeper enmity.
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 37 
 
 The impression made upon the numerous con- 
 nexions of the unfortunate Albany and Lennox, 
 by the unmeasured severity of their punislnnent, 
 was not to be easily eradicated. Revenge was a 
 feudal duty, and such were the dark principles of 
 this iron time, that the longer it was delayed the 
 more fully and the more unsparingly was the debt 
 of blood exacted. These circumstances, how- 
 ever, are to be considered not as the causes, but 
 the encouragements, of a conspiracy, the actual 
 history of which is involved in obscurity. The 
 great actors in the plot were Sir Robert Graham, 
 Walter, Earl of Athole, a son of Robert the Se- 
 cond, and his grandson. Sir Robert Stewart, 
 Chamberlain to the King. In Graham, the mo- 
 tives which led to his mortal enmity against the 
 King have been clearly ascertained. At the time 
 of the execution of Albany this baron had been 
 imprisoned, in common with other adherents of 
 that powerful family, but, in addition to this cause 
 of quarrel, the conduct of James in seizing, or 
 resuming the Earldom of Strathern, had created 
 a determined purpose of revenge. David, Earl of 
 Strathern, was the eldest son of Robert the Second, 
 by his second marriage with Euphemia Ross. 
 This David left an only child, a daughter, who 
 married Patrick Graham, son of Sir Patrick Gra- 
 ham of Kincardine, and, in right of his wife, 
 by the acknowledged law of Scotland, which al- 
 lowed the transmission of feudal dignities through 
 females, Earl of Strathern. To her eldest son, 
 by the same law, the estates and the dignity of 
 tills earldom unquestionably belonged ; but the 
 King contended that it was a male fief, and that, 
 
 f-y, ,j > -"^ ^ ^ 'f
 
 ^8 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 upon the death of David, Earl of Strathern, it 
 ought to have reverted to the crown. He accord- 
 ingly dispossessed Mahse Graham, and seized the 
 estates of Strathern ; but, to reconcile his nobility 
 in some degree to the severity of such a proceed- 
 ing, he conferred the life-rent of the earldom upon 
 Athole, and erected the new earldom of Menteith 
 in favour of Graham. 
 
 At the time that he was thus deprived of his 
 paternal inheritance, Malise was in England, de- 
 tained as one of the hostages for the payment of 
 the money due by James ; but Robert Graham, 
 his uncle, indignantly remonstrated against the 
 wrong done to his nephew; and finding his repre- 
 sentations ineffectual, determined on revenge. The 
 character of tliis baron was of tliat dark and power- 
 ful kind which made him a danarerous enemv. He 
 was cruel, crafty, and eloquent ; he could conceal 
 his private ambition under the specious veil of zeal 
 for the public good ; he pursued his purposes with 
 a courage superior to the sense of danger, and 
 followed the instinct of his revenge with a delijjht 
 unchecked either by mercy or remorse. Of all 
 these qualities he gave amj)le proof in the events 
 which followed. 
 
 It may be doubted whether he at first ven- 
 tured to explain to the nobles, whom he had at- 
 tached to his party, any more serious design 
 than that of abridging the power of the King 
 under which they had lately suffered so severely, 
 and resuming into their own hands not only the 
 lands of which they had been deprived, but the 
 feudal prerogatives which had been, by the late 
 -acts of the legislature, so materially curtailed.
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 39 
 
 Animated by this desire it was determined that 
 they should draw up a list of their grievances, for 
 the purpose of presenting it to the monarch. The 
 first was an easy task to discontented men ; but 
 all shrunk from laying it before the Parliament, 
 till Graham, having first made them promise that 
 they would support him against the royal disj)lea- 
 sure, undertook the dangerous commission. His 
 daring character, however, hurried him into an 
 ■ excess for which his associates were not pre- 
 pared. He described, in glowing colours, the 
 tyranny of the government; adverted to the ruin 
 which had fallen on the noblest houses ; to the 
 destruction which might be meditated against them 
 -at that moment by a Prince who wrested the ancient 
 laws and customs of the kingdom to suit the pur- 
 poses of his own ambition ; and, appealing to the 
 barons who surrounded him, implored them to save 
 themselves and the country, were it even at the ex- 
 pense of subjecting to restraint the person of the 
 sovereign. This au<lacious speech was pronounced 
 in the royal presence ; and the barons, habituated to 
 respect, or rather to fear their prince, gazed silently 
 on each other. It was a moment of fearful sus- 
 pense ; and all hvmg upon the resolution of the 
 Monarch. But this was a quality in which James 
 was never deficient. A glance of his eye con- 
 vinced him that his enemies were hesitating ; he 
 started from his throne, and in a stern voice com- 
 manding them to arrest the traitor who had dared to 
 insult him to his face, was promptly obeyed. The 
 result, for the time, appeared to strengthen the 
 party of the King ; and Graham, uttering impre- 
 cations against the weakness of his associates, was
 
 40 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 hurried to prison ; soon after banished from court, 
 and his estates confiscated to the crown. 
 
 It is evident, I think, that this first plot which 
 conckided in the banishment of Graham, and the 
 temporary triumph of the King, must be distin- 
 guished from the second conspiracy whose termi- 
 nation was so fatal Iv different. The first was an 
 association of tlie barons entered into for the pur- 
 pose of imposing some restraint upon that un- 
 scrupulous severity with which they were treated. 
 That a large proportion of his nobility were 
 disaffected to the government of James can- 
 not be doubted, and the sudden arrival of the 
 Queen in the camp before Roxburgh, the imme- 
 diate disbanding? of the armv, and the return of 
 the monarch to his dominions, demonstrate very 
 clearly that he had received information of the 
 association against him, and that he suspected his 
 enemies were amongst the leaders of his army. But 
 whilst such was the case, it is equally clear that the 
 conspiracy was against the authority, not against 
 the life of the monarch, and that the farthest point 
 to which Graham had brought his associates was 
 to make a bold and simultaneous eflbrt to abridire 
 the power of which they had lately experienced 
 such mortifying effects. In this first association 
 also it is manifest that Athole and Stewart took not 
 a more prominent part than others of the nobility. 
 We may be assured that a Sovereign possessed of 
 the vigour and acuteness of James, having re- 
 ceived so appalling a warning, would not rest till 
 he had thoroughly investigated the whole matter, 
 and the single banishment of the principal traitor 
 appears to prove that although aware of the disaf-
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 41 
 
 fection which had united his nobility against him, 
 he deemed the disease too general to render it 
 prudent in him to make it the subject of punish- 
 ment. 
 
 In the mean time, Graham, a proscribed and 
 landless fugitive, buried himself in the recesses 
 of the Highlands, where he brooded over his 
 wrongs and meditated a desperate revenge. But 
 it is impossible to deny that there was some- 
 thing great in the mode in which he proceeded. 
 He sent a letter to the King, in which he renounced 
 his allegiance, defied him as a cruel tyrant, who 
 had ruined his house, and warned him that, wher- 
 ever they met, he would slay him as his mortal 
 enemy. The circumstance was well known at 
 Court, and men aware of the dark character of its 
 author, and the fierce spirits whom a man of his 
 family and connexions might muster for the accom- 
 plishment of his purposes, wondered at the indif- 
 ference with which it was received ; but, although 
 James despised his threats as proceeding from a 
 vagabond traitor, a proclamation was made tor 
 his apprehension, and a large sum fixed on liis 
 head. It is from this moment we may date the 
 connexion between Graham and the Earl of 
 Athole, and now the conspiracy appears to have 
 been concerted which aimed at nolliiiig les-s than 
 the destruction of the monarch and the settlement 
 of the Crown upon the children of Kupheniia Ross. 
 In unravelling this dark plot it must be recollected 
 that Athole was the son of Robert the Second by 
 Euphemia Ross, the second queen of that monarch. 
 It is said to have been early predicted to him by a 
 Highland seer, that he should not die belore his
 
 42 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 brows were encircled by a crown, and a singular 
 and unexpected combination of events had undoubt- 
 edly brought him not very far from the accom- 
 plishment of the prediction. By the murder of 
 the Duke of Rothsay, the death of Albany, and 
 the execution of Murdoch and his sons, the whole 
 descendants of the first marriage of Robert the 
 Second were removed, with the exception of James 
 the First and his son, an infant. Although nothing 
 could be more legitimate or unquestionable than 
 the right of the King then reigning to the throne, 
 still we are not to wonder that Athole, whose rea- 
 sonings were coloured by his ambition, easily per- 
 suaded himself there was a flaw in his title. Ro- 
 bert the Third, he contended, had been born out of 
 lawful wedlock, and that no subsequent marriage 
 could confer legitimacy upon a child so situated: 
 the extinction of the line of Albany and Buchan 
 therefore opened up the succession to the children 
 of the second marriage of Robert with Euphemia 
 Ross, and these children were himself, and David, 
 Earl of Strathern. Shallow as were these pre- 
 tences, — for Athole could not be ignorant of the 
 papal deed which destroyed all his reasonings — they 
 apj)eared sutRcient to his ambition, and the ex- 
 ample of Henry the Fourth, who had expelled from 
 the throne his hereditary sovereign, upon a claim 
 still more unsound, held out encouragement to the 
 Scottish conspirators. With the excejjtion of Gra- 
 ham, Athole, and Stewart, the other persons en- 
 gaged in the plot were few in number, and of low 
 rank. Christopher and Thomas Chambers, who 
 appear to have been dependants on the House of 
 Albany, and a knight named Hall, with his brother.
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 43 
 
 are the only individuals whose names have been 
 preserved; but the influence of the leaders had 
 raised a body of three hundred Highlanders, with- 
 out whose assistance it would have been difficult 
 to have effected their designs. 
 
 Whilst Graham thus matured his sanguinary 
 purpose in the Highlands, the Earl of Athole and 
 his grandson, Stewart, who was chamberlain to the 
 King, and a great favourite with James, continued 
 at court eagerly watching the most favourable mo- 
 ment to carry it into execution. Christmas ap- 
 proached, and the monarch determined to keep 
 the festival at Perth, a resolution which the con- 
 spirators heard with satisfaction, as it facilitated 
 •their designs by bringing their victim to the 
 confines of the Highlands. They accordingly re- 
 solved that the murder should be perpetrated at 
 this sacred season, and having completed their 
 preparations, awaited the arrival of the King, who 
 soon after set out on liis progress to the North. 
 As he was about to pass the Forth surrounded by 
 his nobles, a Highland Spae Wife, or prophetess, 
 suddenly started from the crowd, and addressing 
 the monarch, implored him to desist from his 
 journey, adding, ' that if he crossed that water, he 
 woukrnever reUirn alive.' James was sti'uck by 
 the boldness and solemnity in the manner of the 
 ancient sybil, and reining up his horse for a mo- 
 ment, commanded a knight who rode beside him 
 to inquire into her meaning. But, whether from 
 carelessness or treachery, the commission was 
 hurriedly executed, the courtier ])ronounced her 
 either mad or intoxicated, and the King, giving
 
 44 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 orders to proceed, crossed the fatal river, and rode 
 on to Perth. On his arrival there he took up his 
 residence in the Monastery of the Dominicans, 
 which was situated at some little distance from the 
 town, but, from its ample dimensions, was fitted to 
 contain the whole royal retinue. The court is said 
 to have been unusually splendid : the days were spent 
 in hunting, in tournaments, and martial games ; 
 the masque, the dance, the liarp, and the song 
 occupied the night : and Athole and Stewart, 
 communicating with Graham, had matured their 
 plans, and fixed tlie liour for the murder, whilst 
 their unconscious victim believed that every dis- 
 content had been forgotten, and gave himself up to 
 unrestrained enjoyment. It was on the night be- 
 tween the 20th and 21st of February that they re- 
 solved to consummate their atrocious purpose. 
 On that evening the King liad been unusually gav, 
 and the revels were kept up to a late hour. James 
 even jested about a propliecy which had foretold 
 that a king should be slain that year ; and bemg 
 engaged in a game of chess with a young knight 
 whom, from his singular beauty, he was accus- 
 tomed to call the King of Love, warned him play- 
 fully to look well to himself, as they two were the 
 only kings in the land. 
 
 During these pastimeSj Stewart, whose office of 
 chamberlain facilitated his treachery by giving him 
 immediate access to the royal apartments, had 
 removed the bolls and destroyed the locks of the 
 King's bedchamber, and also of the outer apart- 
 ment beyond it which connnunicated with the 
 passage, lie had likewise placed wooden boards
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 45 
 
 across the moat which surrounded the monastery 
 over which the conspirators miglit pass without 
 alarming tlie warder, and lie anxiously awaited 
 the moment when the King sliould retire to rest. 
 At this moment, when James was still engaged 
 at chess, Christopher Chamhers, one of the con- 
 spirators, seized with a sudden fit of remorse, 
 approached the monarch, intending to warn him of 
 his danger; but, unable to press through the crowd 
 which filled the presence-chamber, he was com- 
 pelled to desist. It was now past midnight, and the 
 monarch expressed his wish that the revels should 
 break up, a resolution which Athole heard with se- 
 cret satisfaction, for he knew that Graham was 
 now near, and only waited for the signal that the 
 palace was at rest. But at this moment, when 
 James had called for the parting cup, and the com- 
 pany were dispersing, a last effort was made to 
 save him. The faithful Highland Sybil, who inter- 
 rupted his progress at the Forth, had followed the 
 court to Perth, and, in an agony of grief and 
 emotion, presented herself once more at the door 
 of the presence-chamber, loudly demanding to see 
 the King. James was informed of her wishes ; 
 and on the decision of the moment his fate seemed 
 to hang. Had he admitted her, it was not yet too 
 late to have defeated the purposes of his enemies; 
 but, after hesitating for a moment, he bade her 
 return and tell her errand in the morning, and she 
 was forced to leave the monastery, observing, 
 mournfully, tliat they would never meet again. 
 
 The King by this time had undressed himself, 
 Athole and Stewart, the chamberlain, who were 
 the last to leave the apartment, had retired,
 
 46 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 and James stood in his night gown gaily talking^ 
 witli the Queen and her ladies of the bedchanibeiv 
 when the noise of a clang of weapons and a 
 sudden glare of torches in the outer court threw 
 them into alarm. It was then, for the first time, 
 that a suspicion of treason, and a dread that it 
 might be the traitor Graham, darted into his 
 mind ; and whilst the Queen and her women flew 
 to secure the door of the apartment, James anxi- 
 ously examined the windows, which, to his dismay, 
 he found were secured by iron bolts of such 
 strength as to make escape impossible. It was 
 discovered at the same moment that the locks of 
 the door were removed, and, convinced beyond a 
 doubt that his destruction was intended, the King, 
 as a last resource, seized the tongs which stood 
 in the fireplace, and forcibly wrenching up one of 
 the boards of the floor, let himself down into a 
 small vault situated beneath the bedchamber ; 
 dropping the plank again, which fitted into 
 its original place, and thus completely concealed 
 him. During this, a feeble attempt to barricade 
 the door was made by the Queen, and one of 
 the ladies, a daughter of the house of Douglas, 
 with heroic resolution, thrust her arm into the iron 
 sta))le from which the bolt Jiad been removed. But 
 the fragile impediment was soon snapped by the 
 brutal violence opposed to it, and the next moment 
 the conspirators, having slain one of the royal 
 pages whom they met in the passage, burst into the 
 apartment, brandishing their naked weapons, and 
 calling loudly for the King. They had even the 
 brutality to wound the Princess, who, paralysed 
 with horror, stood rooted to the floor, clad only
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 47 
 
 in her kirtle, with her hair loosely streaming ovex- 
 her shoulders*. A son of Graham, however, up- 
 braiding them with their cowardice, and perceiving 
 that the King had escaped, commanded them to 
 leave the women and search the chamber. So 
 efl'ectually, however, had James concealed himself, 
 that their labour was vain, and, suspecting that the 
 victim whom they sought was concealed elsewhere, 
 they extended their scrutiny to tlie outer chambers, 
 and afterwards dispersed themselves over the re- 
 moter parts of the monastery. 
 
 There appeared, therefore, a probability that 
 James would still escape ; and, in the agony of 
 the moment, he joyfully recollected that the vault 
 where he was now hid had a communication with 
 the outer court by means of a drain large enough 
 to admit his body: but, on examining it, tlie aper- 
 ture had been built up, because the tennis balls 
 liad frequently been lost in it. and this last hope 
 was cut off. 
 
 The alarm, however, had now sjjread from the 
 monastery to the town ; the nobles who were 
 quartered there, having risen in arms, were has- 
 tening to the spot ; and, although Graham had 
 secured the outer court by his Highlanders, they 
 could not long liave withstood the numbers which 
 would have mustered against them. The con- 
 cealment where the King lay had as yet completely 
 eluded the utmost search of the conspirators, and, 
 as rescue was near, it seemed likely that, had he 
 remained quiet for a very short interval, he must 
 have escaped. But he v/as ruined by his impa- 
 tience. Hearing no stir, and imagining that his 
 * Contemporary account published by Pinkertuii; Hist.;, 
 vol. i., p. 468.
 
 48 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 enemies had left the apartment not to return, James 
 called to tliose above to take the sheets from the 
 bed, and draw him out of tlie narrow chamber 
 where he stood. The strength of the Queen and 
 her ladies was insufficient to tlie task ; and Eli- 
 zabeth Douglas, in attempting it, fell down into the 
 vault, whilst the noise occasioned by the accident 
 recalled Thomas Chambers, one of the conspirators, 
 who immediately recollected the small closet be- 
 neath the bed-chamber, and traced the sound to 
 that quarter. A moment's inspection showed him 
 the broken plank, and, holding his torch to the place, 
 he saw clearly the King and the unfortunate lady 
 who had fallen beside him. A savage shout made 
 his companions aware of the discovery, and calling 
 out that they had found the bride for whom they 
 had sought and carolled all night long, Sir John 
 Hall leapt down with his drawn sword, followed 
 by his brother. James, however, who was an 
 athletic and very powerful man, made a desperate 
 resistance, although unarmed and almost naked. 
 Seizing first Hall, and afterwards his brother, by 
 the throat, lie grappled with them in a mortal 
 struggle, and succeeded in throwing both below 
 his feet. Such \vas the convulsive strength with 
 which they had been handled, that at their execu- 
 tion a month after, the marks of the King's grasp 
 were discernible upon their persons. But in these 
 efforts his hands were dreadfully cut, and his 
 strength exhausted. Sir Robert Graham, at this 
 juncture, rushed into the apartment, and instantly 
 threw himself, with his drawn sword, upon his 
 victim, who earnestly implored his life, though it 
 were at tlie expense of half his kingdom. But his 
 mortal enemy was deaf to his entreaties. ' Thou
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 49 
 
 cruel tyrant,' said he, ' thou never hadst compas- 
 sion on thine own noble kindred : wherefore expect 
 none now.' ' At least,' said James, ' let me have 
 a confessor, for the good of my soul.' ' None,' 
 cried Graliam, ' none shall thou have, but this 
 sword.' Saying this he wounded him mortally in 
 the body, and his unhappy victim, exhausted by 
 his former struggles, fell clown covered with blood, 
 yet still faintly imploring his life. It is said that, at 
 this moment, even the iron heart ol the murderer 
 revolted from the piteous scene, and he was about 
 to come up, leaving the King still breathing, when 
 his companions, who stood above, threatened him 
 with instant death, unless he completed the work. 
 This he at length did, assisted by tlie two Halls ; 
 but so tenacious was the miserable sufferer of life, 
 that he was almost cut to pieces by repeated wounds 
 before he expired. The whole scene was most 
 shocking, and rather a butchery than a murder. 
 The ruffians now sought anxiously for the Queen^ 
 but the lengthened resistance of her husbantl Mu 
 given her time to escape ; and, as the tu«iult 
 increased in the town, and some of the nobles 
 were seen hastening to the monastery, the con- 
 spirators deemed it prudent to retire. They were 
 seen crossing the outer moat, and flying in the 
 direction of the Highlands. One of tiiem onI}% 
 and he a person of inferior note, was overtaken 
 and slain, but the rest succeeded in burying them- 
 selves in the remote fastnesses of Athole. 
 
 Here, however, they were not long suffered to 
 remain ; and such was the liorror and execration 
 with whicli the accounts of James's death were re- 
 ceived throughout the country, and the activity of 
 
 VOL. III. E
 
 50 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 the pursuit, that in less than a month all the mur- 
 derers were taken and executed. Graham, the 
 arch-traitor, who had been the principal contriver 
 and executioner of the whole, maintained his firm 
 and vindictive character to the last, — enduring 
 without a murmur the complicated tortures inflicted 
 on him, and not only justifying his conduct but 
 glorying in his success. He audaciously pleaded 
 before his judges, that, having renounced his alle- 
 giance, he could not be accused of treason to a 
 monarch of whom he was no longer a subject ; 
 tliat he had defied the King as his mortal enemy, 
 and had a right to slay him wherever they met^ as 
 his feudal equal, without being amenable to any 
 human tribunal. As for the rest, he said, although 
 they might now exhaust their ingenuity in his tor- 
 tures, the time would soon arrive when they would 
 gratefully acknowledge that his sword had de- 
 livered them from a merciless tyrant. These sen- 
 timents were no vain or empty boasts. They 
 wore uttered in the midst of tortures, at the recital 
 of which humanity shudders, — when the flesh of 
 the victim was torn off" by burning pincers, and his 
 son, who had been the companion of his crime, 
 was exposed, mangled and dying, before the eyes 
 of his father. The rest of the conspirators, Sir 
 Eobert Stewart, Chambers, the two Halls, and 
 Athole, were all executed at the same time. This 
 aged conspirator, who was now on the borders of 
 seventy, although he admitted his knowledge of 
 the plot, denied his being, in any degree, con- 
 cerned in it. 
 
 We liave traced the history of James as a cap- 
 tive and as a monarch. It remains to speak of
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 51 
 
 him as a man of varied and remarkable accom- 
 plishments, and, without entering too deeply into 
 antiquarian discussion, to give the general reader 
 some idea of his excellence as a poet and his en- 
 dowments as a scholar. In both these respects, 
 the circumstances of his checquered life conferred 
 on him great advantages. His education in Scot- 
 land under Wardlaw, his lengthened nurture in 
 England, his repeated residence in France, and 
 the leisure for studv and mental cultivation which 
 was given by his tedious imprisonment, were much 
 in his favour ; yet, giving full weight to all this, 
 James the First was unquestionably endowed by 
 nature with original genius ; — that rare quality of 
 mind, which, had he been a subject instead of a 
 sovereign, would still have marked him for an ex- 
 traordinary man. As a boy, it is probable he had 
 read and delighted in the works of Barbour*, and 
 we may conjecture that the exploits of the re- 
 nowned Bruce, the chivalry of tlie good Sir James, 
 and the counsels, sage and calm, of the great 
 Randolph, cheered many a lonely hour in his con- 
 finement at Windsor. From the ' Chronicle,' too, 
 of the venerable Prior of Lochlevenf, with which it 
 is impossible that a mind so eager and inquisitive 
 as his sliould not have been acquainted, he must 
 have derived, not a bare chronology of the history 
 of his kingdom, but many fresh and romantic 
 pictures, descriptive of the scenery of the period 
 and the manners of a feudal age. But whilst tlie 
 literature of his own country could furnish him 
 with two such authors, he has iiimself informed us 
 that his poetical ambition was chiefly kindled by 
 
 * Life of Barbour, vol. ii., p. 158. f Ibid, p. 173- 
 
 E 2
 
 52 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 the study of Chaucer and Gower. ' His maisters 
 dere ' — 
 
 ' that on steppes sate 
 
 Of ilietoricj while they were Ijvaiid' here,' 
 
 Of Chaucer, a man whose genius, in many of its 
 distinguishing pecuh'arities, has been yet unrivalled 
 in tlic history of English literature, it was the 
 highest praise that he created a new style, and 
 clothed it in a new language ; that out of the rude 
 and unformed materials of his native tongue, which 
 lay scattered around him, disdained and deserted 
 by the pedantry of the age, he erected a noble and 
 original edifice, full of delightful chambers of 
 imagery, furnished with the living manners and 
 crowded with the breathing figures of liis own age, 
 clothed in their native dresses, and speaking their 
 native language. 
 
 The same praise, though certainly in an inferior 
 degree, is due to James the First. Although pre- 
 ceded by Barbour and AVinton, he is the father of 
 tlie tender and romantic poetry of Scotland, — the 
 purifier and the reformer of the language of his 
 country. His greatest work, the ' King's Quhair,' 
 or ' King's Book,' is in no part unworthy of 
 Chaucer, and, not unfrequently, in the delicacy 
 and tenderness of its sentiment, superior even to 
 that master of the shell. ' The design, or theme, 
 of this work,' says that excellent author, to whose 
 taste and research the literary world is indebted 
 for its first publication, ' is the royal poet's love 
 for his beautiful mistress, Jane Beaufort, of whom 
 he became enamoured whilst a prisoner at the 
 castle of Windsor. The recollection of the mis- 
 
 - living.
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 53 
 
 fortunes of his youth, his early and long captivity, 
 the incident which gave rise to his love, its purity, 
 constancy, and happy issue, are all set forth by way 
 of allegorical vision, according to the reigning 
 taste of the age, as we find in the poems of 
 Chaucer, Gower, and Lydgate, his contempora- 
 ries*.' 
 
 This interesting and beautiful poem opens by 
 a description of the captive prince and poet 
 stretched upon his couch at midnight. He awakes 
 suddenly from sleep at that silent season when the 
 moon, like a yellow crescent, was seen in the 
 heavens surrounded by the stars ' twinkling as 
 the fire:'— 
 
 ' High in the hevynis figure circulare 
 The ruddy sterris ' twinkhngas the fire, 
 And in Aquary Cynthia the clear 
 Rinsed her tresses, hke the golden wire, 
 That late tofore, in fair and fresh attire, 
 Through Capricorn heaved hir hornis bright, 
 North northiward approached the midnight.' 
 
 It is easy, with a slight difference, to present this 
 fine stanza in a modern dress, yet not without 
 diluting its strength, and marring its venerable 
 aspect : — 
 
 ' High in the heavenly circle of the sky, 
 Twinkled the ruddy stars like sparks of fire, 
 And in Aquarius Cynthia shook on high 
 Her tresses like the threads of golden wire ; 
 She that of late in fair and fresh attire 
 Had heaved through Cajiricorn her crescent bright, 
 Now rose, whilst from the north came deep midnight.' 
 
 Unable to compose himself to rest, from the crowd 
 of divers fancies which flit through his mind, he 
 
 * Tytler's Poetical Remains of James the First, p. 47. 
 ' stars.
 
 54 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 takes up a book, the treatise of Boethius — ' De Con- 
 solatioiie PliilosophiiB,' a work — 
 
 ' Schewingthe counsel of philosophy 
 Compylit by that noble senatouie 
 Of Rome, whilom that was the worldis floure.' 
 
 And after reading till his eyes began to smart, and 
 his head to be confused with study, he again seeks 
 his couch, and falls naturally into a reverie upon 
 the variety and fickleness of human fortune, and 
 his own early calamities : — 
 
 ' Among thir thoughtis rolling to and fro, 
 Fell me to mind of my fortune and ure': 
 In tender youth how "she was first my foe, 
 And eft my friend ; and how I got recure^ 
 Of my distress and all my aventure, — 
 I gan o'erhale that longer sleep ne rest, 
 Ne might I not, so were my wittis wrest ^. 
 
 In the midst of these perplexing thoughts the 
 mind of the royal captive subsides into the dreamy 
 state between sleeping and waking, in which out- 
 ward sounds are often invested by the power of fancy 
 with strange meaning. He hears the bell for 
 matins, and imagines that its silver tones bid him 
 compose the story of his life : — 
 
 ■ ' I listened sodaynlye, 
 
 And sone I herd the bell to matins ring, 
 
 And up I rase, no longer wald 1 lye ; 
 
 But now how trow ye* such a fantasy 
 
 Fell to my mind?— that aye methoiight the bell 
 
 Said to me — Tell on, man, what thee befel.' 
 
 In whatever way it arose, the poet determines to 
 
 obey the suggestion of the matin bell ; and, after 
 
 an apology for the feebleness of his powers, lie 
 
 compare's his difficulties in ' inditing this lytill 
 
 1 trouble. ^ relief. s tortured. * how think ye ?
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 55 
 
 treatise ' to the perplexities of a mariner covered 
 witli a starless sky, and steering his fragile bark 
 through an unknown and wintry sea. He than 
 invokes Calliope, Polyhymnia, and their fair sisters, 
 to pilot him with tlieir bright lanterns through 
 the darkness wliich surrounds his unripe intellect, 
 that his pen may be enabled to describe his tor- 
 ment and his joy. ^ r^ .^i-i^ | 
 
 It would far exceed our limits to pursue this 
 analysis throughout the whole course of the poem. 
 The royal minstrel describes his days of happy 
 boyhood, his embarkation for France, his unfore- 
 seen seizure by the English, and imprisonment at 
 AVindsor. It was his custom, he tells us, in the 
 sunnner mornings to rise by daybreak, and enjoy, 
 as much as a captive might, the sweet hour of 
 prime, devoting it to exercise and study : — 
 
 ' For which, against distress, comfort to seke, 
 My custom was, on moruis, for to rise 
 Early as day. Oh ! happy exercise ! ' 
 
 He informs us that the tower wherein he was con- 
 fined overlooked a beautiful garden, in which there 
 was a green arbour, and trellised walk, so thickly 
 overshadowed with foliage, that they who stood be- 
 low were concealed completely by the umbrageous 
 screen. Upon the branches sat the little sweet 
 nightingales pouring from their loving hearts so 
 full a flood of song that all the garden rung with 
 jov and harmony. The poet listens and imagines 
 that the hynm of these feathered choristers is a 
 welcome to I\Iay. The verses are tender and 
 beautiful : — 
 
 ' Worship ye all that lovers bene this May, 
 For of your bliss the Kalends are beguu,
 
 56 JAMKS THE FIRST. 
 
 And sing with us, — Away, Winter ! away ! 
 
 Come, Summer! come! the sweet season, and sun; 
 
 Awake ! for shame ! that have your heavenis won. 
 And amorously Uft up yoTU' hedes * all ; 
 Thank Love, that list you to his mercy call. 
 
 ' When they this song had sung a little thrawe ^, 
 They stent awhile, and therewith unafraid, 
 As I beheld, and cast mine eyes alawe, 
 
 From bough to bough they hoppit and they played, 
 And freshly in their birdis kind arraj'ed 
 Their feathers new, and fret them in the sun, 
 And thanked Love they had their makis^ won.' 
 
 A witness to the transports of these free and 
 happy birds, trimming their coats in their leafy 
 chambers, and singing the praises of their mates, 
 the youthful prince, a captive, and cut off from 
 the pleasures of his kind, is led to ruminate on 
 that mysterious passion, which seems to confer, 
 even on the irrational creation, such perfect en- 
 joyment. ' What may this love be,' he asks him- 
 self, ' which seems to exercise such a mastery 
 over the heart? Is it not, after all, a fantasy — 
 a counterfeited bliss — a mere creature of the 
 imagination ?' — 
 
 ' Is it of hym as we in bukis find ? 
 May he our hertis ■• settin and unbynd ! 
 Hath he ujion our hertis such maistery, 
 Or is this all bot feynit fantasye. 
 
 * Is Love the power that we in books him find ? 
 May he our wills thus fetter and unbind ? 
 Hath ho upon our hearts such mastery. 
 Or is this all but feigned fantasy ?' 
 
 It is at this moment of pensive scepticism on 
 the reality of the ])assion that the poet, with much 
 taste, introduces that charming object, who was 
 
 ^ heads. ^ a short space; ' mates. ■• hearts.
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 57 
 
 destined in a moment to put an end to all his 
 doubts, and to enlist him a happy captive in her 
 service. He accidentally casts his eyes from the 
 latticed window of his tower upon the garden 
 below, and there beholds a youthful lady of sucli 
 exquisite loveliness, that never till that instant had 
 he seen or imagined any human thing so beautiful. 
 It was the Lady Jane Beaufort coming forth to 
 her morning orisons : — 
 
 ' And therewith kest I down mhie eye agej'ne, 
 Quhare, as I sawe walking under the toure, 
 
 Full secretly, new comjMi her to ])leyne ', 
 The fairest or the freschest zounge flower, 
 That e'er I sawe, methoiight, before that hour ; 
 
 For which sudden ahate*, anon astert^ 
 
 The blood of all my body to my heart. 
 
 ' And tho' I stood abaysit there a lite\ 
 
 No wonder was ; for why ? — my wittis all 
 Were so o'ercome with plesance and delyte, 
 Only thro' lettin of mine eyen fall, 
 That sodenly my heart became her thrall 
 For ever, of free will ; for of menace ^ 
 There was no token seen in her sweet face.' 
 
 Thus slightly modernised : 
 
 ' Then as it hapt, mine eyes I cast below, 
 
 And there I spied, beneath my prison tower, 
 Telling her beads, in walking to and fro, 
 
 The fairest and tlie freshest youthful flower, 
 That ever I beheld, before that hour; 
 Entranced I gazed, and. with the sudden start, 
 Rushed instant all my blood into my heart. 
 
 Awhile I stood abased, and speechless quite ; 
 
 Nor wonder was ; for why ? — my senses all 
 "Were so o'ercome with pleasure and delight, 
 
 Only with letting thus my eyes to fall, 
 
 ' to petition ; to make her morning orisons. 
 * abate J siukmg down. -^started. ■> a Utile. 'pride.
 
 58" JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 That instantly mine heart became her thrall 
 For ever, of free will ; for nought was seen 
 But gentleness in her soft looks sereue. 
 
 In the Prince's situation, says an excellent critic, 
 viewing from his prison window the beautiful Jane 
 walking below in the palace garden, he could not 
 with propriety or verisimilitude have given a mi- 
 nute description of her features ; but he describes 
 the sweetness of her countenance, untinctured by 
 the slightest expression of pride or haughtiness ; 
 her beauty, health, and blooming youth, and the 
 sudden and irresistible passion with which these 
 had inspired him *. He paints also her rich attire ; 
 and the picture is not only a charming piece of 
 highly-finished poetry, but interesting as bringing 
 before us the female costume of the time : — 
 
 Of her array the form gif I shall wryte, 
 Toward her gulden hair and rich attire, 
 
 In fretwise couchet with the perles white, ' 
 And grtat balas,^ lemyng like to the fire, 
 With many an emerant and fair saphire ; 
 
 And on her head a chaplet fresch of hue 
 
 Of plumys parted, red and white and blue. 
 
 Full of the quakyng spaugis bright as gold, 
 Forged of shape like to the amorettys'. 
 
 So new, so fresh, so pleasant to behold ; 
 
 The plumys eke like to the flower jonettcs,'* 
 
 And other of shape like to the flower joucjuettes ; * 
 
 And above all this there was, well I wot, 
 
 Beauty enow to make a world to dote. 
 
 * Tytler's Poetical Remains of James I. p. 80. 
 
 ' covered with a net, or fretwork of pearls, 
 balas, a precious stone of the ruby kind, from Balassia 
 in India. 
 ^ love knots. ^ uukuown. * jonquils. 
 
 s
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 59 
 
 About her neck, white as the fine amaille ', 
 
 A goodly chain of small orfeveiye *, 
 Quhareby there hung a ruby without faille ^j 
 
 Like to ane herte schapen, verily, 
 
 That as a spark of lowe ■* so wantonly 
 Semj t byrning upon her quhite throte ; 
 Now gif there was gude pertye, God it wote: 
 
 And for to walk that fresche Mayis morrowe, 
 Ane huke* she had upon her tissue white, 
 
 That goodlier had not bene seen to forowe, 
 As 1 suppose — and girte she was alyte 
 Thus halilyng loose for haste, to suich delyte 
 
 It was to see her j'outh in gudelihed, 
 
 That for rudeness to speak thereof 1 drede. 
 
 In her was zouth. beauty, with humble port, 
 
 Bountee, richesse, and womanly feature, 
 God better wote than can my pen report ; 
 
 ■Wisdom, largesse, estate and cunning sure, 
 
 In every poynt so guided her mesure 
 In word, in deed, in shape, in countenance, 
 That Nature might no more her child advance. 
 
 Throw which anon I knew and understood 
 
 Wele that she wUs a wardly^ creature, 
 On whom to rest myne eyen, so mich gude 
 
 It did my woful hert ; 1 zovv assure 
 
 That it was to me joy without mesure ; 
 And at the last my louk unto the Hevin 
 I threw forthwith, and said thir verses seven. 
 
 It is not difficult, giving almost line for line, to 
 present the English reader with a transcript of 
 these sweet verses — 
 
 Write I of her array and rich attire, — 
 
 A net of pearl enclosed her tresses round, 
 Wherein a Balas flamed as bright as fire, 
 
 And midst the golden curls, an emerant hotmd, 
 Painted with greeny light the flowery ground. 
 Upon her head a chaplet, fresh of hue, 
 Of plumes divided, red and white and blue. 
 
 ^ enamel. ' goldsmith's work. ^ without flaw. 
 
 ^ fire. * clasp. " worldly.
 
 60 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 Which, waving, showed their spangles carved in gold, 
 Formed by nice art Hke amorous love-knots all ; 
 
 Glancing most bright, and pleasant to behold, 
 
 Aud shaped like that sweet flower, that on the wall 
 Grows fragrant, which young lovers jonquil call ; 
 
 Yet still above all this, she had, I wote, 
 
 Beauty enough to make a world to dote. 
 
 About her neck, that whiter was than snow, 
 
 She wore a chain of rich orfeverye ; 
 Where pendant hung a ruby, formed I trow 
 
 Like to a heart — so seemed its shape to me; 
 
 Which bright as spark of fire danced wantonly 
 Whene'er she moved, u pon her throat so white, 
 That I did wish myself that jewel bright. 
 
 Early astir to taste the morn of Ma}', 
 
 Her robe was loosely o'er her shoulders thrown, 
 
 Half open as in haste, yet maidenly. 
 
 And clasped, but slightly, with a beauteous zone, 
 Through which a world of such sweet youthhead shone. 
 
 That it did move in me intense delight, 
 
 Most beauteous — yet whereof I may not write. 
 
 In her did beauty, youth, and bounty dwell, 
 
 A virgin port and features feminine ; 
 Far better than my feeble pen can tell. 
 
 Did meek-ejed wisdom in her gestures shine ; 
 
 She seemed perfay — a thing almost divine 
 In word, in deed, in shape, in countenance. 
 That Nature could no more her child advance. 
 
 We pass over the address to Venus, but the 
 lines wliich succeed are too beautiful to be omitted : 
 
 Quhen I with gude intent this orison 
 Thus endit had, I sfynt a lytil stound'. 
 
 And eft mine eye full pitously adoun 
 I kest, behalding there hir lyttill hound. 
 That with his bellis playiton the ground ; 
 
 Then wold I say, and sigh therewith a lyte*, 
 
 Ah wele were him that now were in thy plyte', 
 
 * staid a little while. * little. ^ collar or chaiu.
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 61 
 
 An other quhyle the lytill nightingale 
 That sat upon the twip^gis wold 1 chicle, 
 
 And say licht thus, — Quhare are thy notis small 
 That thou of love hast sung this morowe tyde r" 
 Sees thou not her that sittis thee besyde, 
 
 For Venus' sake the blissful goddesse cleie, 
 
 Sing on agane and make my ladye chere. 
 
 The feelings of the lover, who envies the little 
 dog that wears the chains of his mistress and plays 
 around her with his bells, and his expostulation 
 with the nightingale, who is silent when she to 
 whom she should pour her sweetest melody was 
 sitting near her, are conceived in the sweetest vein 
 of poetry. But to the delight of seeing his mis- 
 tress succeeds a train of melancholy reflection on 
 his miserable fate as a prisoner, cut off from all 
 hope of intercourse or acquaintance. The thought 
 overwhelms him with distress; he sits in his soli- 
 tary chamber, till the golden sun had sunk in the 
 west, 
 
 Bidding farewell to every leaf and flower. 
 Then ' Hesperus gan light his lamp on high ;' and 
 as sorrow and darkness deepen around liim, he 
 leans his head on the cold stone, and, overcome with 
 weariness and languor, falls into a dreamy sleep. 
 Suddenly a bright ray of light pierces his lattice, 
 illuminating the whole apartment ; a gentle voice 
 addresses him in words of comfort and encourage- 
 ment, and he finds himself lifted inlo the air, and 
 conveyed in a cloud of crystal to the sphere of 
 Venus : — 
 
 Methought that thus all soJcynly a lycht 
 
 In at the v\iudow came (juhaieat 1 lent, 
 Of which the chamber window sihoiie fidl brycht, 
 And all my bodye so it hath o't-rwent.
 
 62 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 That of my sicht the verteu hale I bleat, 
 And that withal a voice unto me said, 
 I bring comfort and hele — be not afraid. 
 
 And fiirth anon it passit sodeynly 
 
 Where it come in by, the rycht way ageyne, 
 
 And sone methocht furth at the door in hye, 
 I went my way, was nething me ageyne, 
 And hastily, by bothe the armes tweyne, 
 
 I was araisit up into the aire, 
 
 Clipt in a cloud of crystal cleare and faire. 
 
 In this resplendent chariot the royal lover is con- 
 veyed from sphere to sphere, till he reaches 
 
 the glad empire 
 Of blissful Venus, 
 
 which he finds crowded, as was to be expected, 
 with all descriptions of lovers — 
 
 Of every age and nation, class and tongue — 
 
 the successful, the unfortunate, the faithful, tlie 
 selfish, the hypocritical, accompanied by tliose alle- 
 gorical personages — Prudence, Courage, Benevo- 
 lence, Fair Calling — which abound in the poetry 
 of this period, and whose introduction is rather the 
 fault of the age than of the author. Through the 
 various chambers peopled bv his amorous devotees 
 we cannot follow him ; and we fear the reader, 
 should he make tlie attempt for himself, would find 
 it rather a tedious pilgrimage, altliough the way 
 would be lightened by many touches of genuine 
 poetry. Cupid, in his chair of state, his yellow 
 locks bound with a verdant chaplet, his fatal quiver 
 glittering at his side, and his body 
 
 With wingis bright all plumed, but' his face, 
 
 is a fine personification ; and the discourse of 
 
 ^ Except.
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 63 
 
 Venus, somewliatplatonic and metapliysical for the 
 queen of ' becks and wreathed smiles,' contains 
 some beautiful poetry. Nor is it unworthy of 
 notice, that although a pagan divinity is intro- 
 duced, her counsels do not breathe the licentious 
 spirit of the Cyprian queen of classical antiquity, 
 but are founded on better and holier principles : 
 the Venus of the royal bard is the goddess of 
 lawful disport and pure and virtuous love. She 
 first ascertains that her votary is none of those 
 
 That feynis truth in love but for a while, 
 The silly ianocent woman to beguile : 
 
 comparing them to the fowler, imitating the various 
 notes of the birds that he may decoy them into 
 his net ; and after having satisfied herself that he 
 is consumed by the flame of a virtuous attach- 
 ment, he is addressed in the language of encou- 
 ragement, assured of her benign assistance, and 
 despatched, under proper guidance, to seek counsel 
 of Minerva. The precepts of this sage goddess 
 present rather a monotonous j)arallel to the advice 
 of Venus; after which, the votary of love is dis- 
 missed from her court, and, like Milton's Uriel, 
 descends upon a sunbeam to the earth: — 
 
 right anon 
 
 I took my leave, as straight as any line, 
 Witliiu a beam that IVoni the clime divine 
 She piercing thro the firmament extemled, 
 And thus to earth my sprite again descended. 
 
 We cannot follow the poet in his quest of For- 
 tune, which occu])ies the fifth canto, but its opening 
 verses are singularly beautiful: — 
 
 Quhare in a lusty ' plane I took my way 
 Endlang* a ryver, plesand to behold, 
 
 ' delightful. * along the brink of a river.
 
 64 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 Embrontlin all with fiesche fli)inis gay, 
 
 Quhare thro' the gravel, bright as ony gold, 
 The cristal water ran so clere and cold, 
 
 That in mine ear it made continually 
 
 A maner soini mellit with harmony '. 
 
 That full of lytill fischis by the brym, 
 
 Now here now there with bakkis blewe as lede, 
 
 Lap and playit, and in a rout gan swym 
 So prettily-, and dressit thame to sprede 
 Their crural fynnis, as the ruby red, 
 
 That in the sonne upon their scabs brycht. 
 
 As gesserant ' ay glitterit in my sight. 
 
 Beside this pleasant river he finds an avenue of 
 trees covered with delicious fruits, and in the 
 branches and under their umbrageous covert are 
 seen the beasts of the forest; — 
 
 The lyon king and his fere lyonesse; 
 
 The pantere like unto the smaragdyne; 
 The lytill sc^uerell full of besynesse; 
 
 The blawe asse, the druggaie beste of pyne^ ; 
 
 The nyce ape, and the werely'' porpapyne ; 
 ; The percying lynx, the lufare unicorn 
 That voidis veiiym with his evoure^ home. 
 
 Thare sawe I dress hym new out of his haunt 
 
 The fere figere, full of felony ; 
 The dromydare, the slander elephant; 
 
 The wyly fox, the wedowis enemy ; 
 
 The clymbare gayte, tlie elk for arblasfrye^ ; 
 The herkner boav'', the holsom grey for sportis, 
 The haire also that oft gootli to the hortis. 
 
 ' a pleasant sound mingled with harmonj'. '-^ jacinth, 
 
 ^ the sluggish ass, beast of jiaiiiful drudgery. 
 * warlike. * ivory. 
 
 " the strings of the arblast or cross-bow, were probablj 
 formed out of the tough sinews of the elk. 
 
 ^ heiknere boar — probably hcurkcniny boar. It is the habit 
 of the buffalo to listen for the breath of any person extended, 
 on the ground before attacking him, so as to ascertain 
 whether he be a living being. The same propensity, in all
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 65 
 
 Thus slightly modernised : 
 
 The lion kinij and his fierce lioness ; 
 
 The panther spotted like the smaragdine ; 
 The tiny squirrel, full ot" business ; 
 
 The patient ass that drudgeth still in pine ; 
 
 The cunning ape ; the warlike porcupine ; 
 The fire-eyed Ij'nx ; the stately unicorn, 
 That voideth venom from his ivory horn. 
 
 There saw I rouse, fresh-wakening from his haunt, 
 
 The brindled tiger, full of felony; 
 The dromedare and giant elephant ; 
 
 The wily fox, the widow's enemy ; 
 
 The elk, with sinews fit for arblastrye; 
 The climbing goat, and eke the tusked boar, 
 And timid hare that flies the hounds before. 
 
 These stanzas are, as it will be seen, scarcely 
 altered from the original ; and it would be diffi- 
 cult, in any part of Chaucer or Spenser, to dis- 
 cover comprised in so small a compass so pic- 
 turesque and characteristic a description of th3 
 tenants of tlie forest. 
 
 Being guided by Good Hope to the goddess 
 Fortune, he finds her sitting beside her wheel, 
 clothed in a parti-coloured petticoat and ermine 
 tippet, and alternately smiling and frowning, as 
 it became so capricious a lady. The meeting and 
 the parting with her are described in such a man- 
 ner as rather to excite ludicrous ideas than any 
 feelings befitting the solemnity of the vision. She 
 inquires into his story, rallies him on his pale and 
 
 probability, belongs to the wild boar. I remember hearing 
 that the late Dr. Jl. saved himstlf from the attack of a wild 
 boar, when botanising in a German forest, by resolutely 
 keeping himself quite motionless till tlie creature, tired of 
 snutiing and walking round him, went off'. I have extracted 
 the above ingenious conjecture from the letter of a literary 
 friend. 
 
 VOL. III. F
 
 66 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 wretched looks ; and when he pleads his love and 
 despair, places him upon the wheel, warning him 
 to hold fast there for half an hour. She then bids 
 him farewell, assures him that he will be fortunate 
 m his love, and in departing gives him a shake, 
 not by the hand, but by the ear ; the prince now 
 suddenly awakes, and pours out this beautiful 
 address to his soul : — 
 
 Oh besy ghoste I ay flickering to and fro, 
 
 That never art in quiet nor in rest 
 Till thou come to that place that thou come fro, 
 
 Which is thy first and very proper nest ; 
 
 From day to day so sore here art thou drest, 
 That with thy flesch a}^ waking art in trouble, 
 And sleeping eke, of pyne so hast thou double. 
 
 Walking to his prison window in much per- 
 plexity and discomfort, he finds himself unable to 
 ascertain to what strange and dreamy region his 
 spirit had wandered, and anxiously wishes he 
 might have some token whether the vision was of 
 that heavenly kind to whose anticipations he might 
 give credit — 
 
 Is it some dream, by wandering fancy given, 
 
 Or may I deem it, sooth, a vision sent from heaven. 
 
 At this moment he hears the fluttering of wings, 
 and a milk-white dove flies into his window. She 
 alights upon his hand, bearing in her bill a stalk 
 of giiliflowers, on the leaves of which, in golden 
 letters, is written the glad news, that it is decreed 
 he is to be happy and successful in his love : — 
 
 This fair bird rycht into her bill gan hold, 
 
 Of red jerroHeris, with stalkis greno, 
 A fair brauche, quhairin written was with gold. 
 
 On every lefe with letters bryclit and sheue, 
 
 la compas fair, full plesaudly to seue,
 
 JAMKS THK FIRST. 67} 
 
 A plane sentence, which, as I can devise, , 
 
 And have in mind, said rycht upon this wise : 
 
 Awake, awake, I bring, lufar, I bring 
 
 The newis glad that blissful bene and sure 
 
 Of thy comfort ; now laugh, and play, and sing, 
 Tliat art beside so glad an aventure, 
 For in the heav'n decretit is thy cure, 
 
 And unto me the flowers did present ; 
 
 With wyngis spread, her ways furth then she went. 
 
 How easy do these sweet verses, with scarce 
 any alteration, throw themselves into a modern 
 dress ! 
 
 This lovely bird within her bill did hold, 
 Of ruddy gilliflowers, with stalkis green, 
 
 A branch, whereon was writ, in words of gold, 
 
 Pourtray'd most plain, with letters bright and sheen, 
 A scroll, that to my heart sweet comfort told ; 
 
 For wheresoe'er on it 1 cast mine eyes, 
 
 This hopeful sentence did before me rise : 
 
 Awake, awake, I, lover, to thee bring 
 
 Most gladsome news, that blissful are and sure ; 
 
 Awake to joy — now laugh and play and sing. 
 Full soon shalt thou achieve thine adventure, 
 For heav'n thee favours, and decrees thy cure ! 
 
 So with meek gesture did she drop the flowers, 
 
 Then spread her milk-white wings, and sought her airy 
 bowers. 
 
 From these extracts the reader may have some 
 idea of the ' King's Quhair,' the principal work of 
 James I. That it is faultless, nothing but a blinded 
 enthusiasm would aflirm ; but whatever may be its 
 defects, it is certainly not inferior in fancy, ele- 
 gance of diction, and tender delicacy of feeling 
 to any similar work of the same period, produced 
 either in England or in his own country. It has 
 been already remarked that its blemishes are those 
 
 f2
 
 68 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 rather of the age than of the poet. The rage for 
 allegorical poetry, at best a most insipid inven- 
 tion, was then at its height. It began with 
 the great models of Greece and Rome, although 
 their taste taught them to use it sparingly ; it was 
 adopted by the monks of the middle age, was fos- 
 tered by Chaucer, revelled in the luxuriant fancy 
 of Spenser, and even lingered in the polished ele- 
 gance of Pope. Strange that these great geniuses 
 should not have felt, what is now acknowledged 
 by almost every reader, that even in those parts 
 where they have produced the highest effect, it 
 is the poetry, not the allegory, that pleases. 
 Another defect in the poem results from the sin- 
 gular, and almost profane mixture of classical 
 mythology and Christian agency ; but for this, 
 too, James has to plead the prevailing taste of 
 the times, and we can even find an approximation 
 to it in Milton. 
 
 The poem of which we have been speaking is of 
 that serious and plaintive character which neces- 
 sarily excluded one characteristic feature of the 
 author's genius, his humour. For this we must 
 look to his lesser productions, ' Christ's Kirk on the 
 Green,' and ' Peebles at the Play.' With regard 
 to the first of these excellent pieces of satirical 
 and humorous poetry, some controversy has been 
 raised by antiquarian research, whether it be the 
 genuine production of the first James ; Gibson, 
 Tanner, and the Editor of Douglas's Virgil ascrib- 
 ing it to James V. The absurdity of this hypo- 
 thesis, however, was very clearly exposed by the 
 excellent author of a ' Dissertation on the Life of 
 James the First;' and from this time the learned
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 69 
 
 world have invariably adopted his opinion, that 
 both poems are the composition of this monarch. 
 
 In ' Christ's Kirk on the Green,' the king ap- 
 pears to have had two objects in view: not only 
 to give a popular, faithful, and humorous picture 
 of those scenes of revelry and rustic enjoyment 
 which took place at this annual fair or wake, but 
 in his descriptions of the awkwardness of the Scot- 
 tish archers, to employ his wit and ridicule as the 
 means of encouraging amongst his subjects a dis- 
 position to emulate the skill of the English in the 
 use of the long bow. He had, as we have seen, 
 made archery the subject of repeated statutory 
 provisions, insisting that from twelve years of age 
 every person should busk or equip himself as an 
 archer, and practise sliooting at the bow-marks 
 erected beside the parish churches ; and his poem 
 of Christ's Kirk is almost one continued satire 
 upon the awkward management of the bow, and 
 the neglect into which archery had then fallen 
 in Scotland. To make his subjects sensible of 
 the disgrace they incurred by their ignorance of 
 the use of their arms, and to re-establish the disci- 
 pline of the bow amongst them, were objects 
 worthy the care of this wise and warlike mo- 
 narch.* The poem opens with great spirit, paint- 
 ing, in a gay and lively measure, the Hocking 
 of country lads and lasses, wowers and Kilties, to 
 the play or weaponschawing at Christ's Kirk on 
 the Cxreen, a village of tiiis name traditionally re- 
 })orted to have been situated in the parish of Ken- 
 nethmont in Aberdeenshire : — 
 
 * Tytler's Dissertation on the Life of James I., p. -10.
 
 70 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 Wes never in Scotland hard nor sene 
 
 Sic dansing nor deray ', 
 t Nouthir at Falkland on the Greue ^, 
 
 Nor Pcblisatthe Play^ 
 As was of wowers '' as I wene 
 
 At Christ 's Kirk on a day ; 
 There came our Kitties*, weshen clene, 
 
 In their new kirtles gray, 
 Fidl gay 
 At Christ Kirk of the Grene that day. 
 
 To dans thir damysells thame dicht^, 
 
 Thir lasses licht of laitis '; 
 Thair gluvis war of the rafiel richt®, 
 
 Thair shone wer of the straits, 
 Thair kirtillis wer of the lincome licht % 
 
 Weill jirest with mony plaits ; 
 They were so nyss when men thaim nicht '", 
 
 They squeilt like ony gaitis, 
 Sa loud 
 At Christ's Kirk of the Grene that day. 
 
 ! From tlie colloquial antiquity of the language, 
 and the breadth and occasional coarseness of the 
 native humour which runs through this production, 
 it is impossible to present the English reader, as 
 we have attempted in the 'King's Quhair,' with any- 
 thing like a translation. The picture of the scorn 
 of a rural beauty, the red-cheeked, jimp, or nar- 
 row-waisted Gillie, is admirably given : 
 
 ' merriment. 
 
 ^ palace of Falkland, in Fifeshire. 
 
 ^ an ancient town in Tweedale, where annual games 
 
 were held. 
 
 * -wowers — suitors. * country lasses or girls. 
 
 ^ dressed. ^ frolicksome in their manners. 
 
 ^ gloves of the roe-deer skin. 
 
 ' gowns of Lincoln manufacture, 
 
 '" thaim nicht — came near them.
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. Tl 
 
 Scho' scornlt Jok, and scrapit at him ', 
 
 And murgeonit^ him with mokkis ; 
 He wald haif luvit, scho wald not lat him, 
 
 For all his zellow locks ; 
 He cherish'd hir, scho bad gae chat him^, 
 
 Scho compt him not twa clokkis *, 
 Sae schamefuUy his schort goun set him, 
 
 His lymmis were like twa rokkis, 
 Scho said, 
 At Christ's Kirk on the Grene that day. 
 
 The attempts of the different archers, and the 
 ludicrous failure with which they are invariably- 
 accompanied, are next described with great force 
 and happiness of humour. Lourie's essay with the 
 long-bow is perhaps the best : — 
 
 Thau Lourie as ane lyon lap, 
 
 And soneane flane gan fedder'j 
 He hecht^ to perss him at the pap, 
 
 Thereon to wed a wedder^. 
 He hit him on the wamo a vvap, 
 
 It buft like ony bledder*. 
 But sa his fortune was and hap, 
 
 His doublet was of ledder ', 
 And saifit him 
 At Christ's Kirk on the Grene that day. 
 
 The huff sa boisterously ahaift'" him, 
 
 He to the eard duisht down " ; 
 The uther man fur dcid then left him, 
 
 And fled out o' the tonne, 
 
 ' mocked him. 
 
 2 made mouths at him. * go to the gallows. 
 
 * she valued him not the wortli of two beetles. 
 
 * soon feathered an arrow. * meant. 
 
 ' to wager or pledge a sheep. 
 
 * a wap on the wame — a blow on the belly — making 
 
 a so\nul like a bladder. 
 
 ^ leather. »» stunned lum. " fell suddenly down.
 
 72 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 The wyves cam furth, and up they heft him, 
 
 And fand lyfe in the loun ', 
 Then with three routtis^ up thai reft him. 
 
 And curd him of his soune, 
 
 Fra hand that day', 
 At Christ's Kirk of the Grene, &c. 
 
 ' Peebles at the Play ' partakes miicli of the 
 same character as ' Christ's Kirk on the Green,' 
 j^resenting a highly humorous picture of the inci- 
 dents occurring at a Scottish fair and weaponschaw- 
 ing held near that ancient town. ' The anniver- 
 sary games or plays at Peebles,' says the same 
 able critic whose "Dissertation" we have already 
 quoted, ' are of so high antiquity, that at this 
 day it is only from tradition, joined to a few re- 
 mains of antiquity, we can form any conjecture of 
 the age of their institution, or even trace the ves- 
 tiges what these games were . . . .That this town, 
 situated on the banks of the Tweed, in a pastoral 
 country, abounding with game, was much resorted 
 to by our ancient Scottish ju'inces is certain : 
 King Alexander III. is said to have had a hunting- 
 seat here : the place where it stood is still pointed 
 out. We are told by Boetius that the monastery 
 of Cross Church, now in ruins, was built by that 
 prince, and anciently our monarchs occasionally 
 took up their residence in religious houses. Con- 
 tiguous to it is a ])iece of ground, of old surrounded 
 by walls, and still called the King's Orchard; and 
 on the opposite side of the river is the King's 
 Green. The plays were probably the golf, a game 
 peculiar to the Scots, football, and shooting for 
 prizes with bow and arrow. The shooting butts 
 
 * found hfe in the rogue. * loud bellowings, 
 
 * instantly.
 
 JAMES THE First. 73 
 
 still remain ; and an ancient silver prize-arrow, 
 with several old medallions appended to it, is, as I 
 am informed, still preserved in the tuwn-house of 
 Peebles.' * Our limits will only permit us to give 
 some of the opening stanzas : — 
 
 At Bt'ltaiie ' when each body bownis 
 
 To Peblis at the Play, 
 To hear the singing and the sownis, 
 
 The solace, sooih to say, 
 By filth and forest, furth they found, 
 
 They grathit^ them full gay ; 
 God wot ' that would they do that stound,' 
 
 For it was their feast-day, 
 The J' said, 
 OfPeblistothePlay. 
 
 All the wenches of the West 
 
 Were up ere the cock crew, 
 For reeling there might no man rest 
 
 For garay^ and for glow *. 
 One said my curches are not prest, 
 
 Then answered Meg, full blue, 
 To get a hood I hold it best, 
 
 I wow hot that is true, 
 Quoth she, 
 Of Peblis to tlie Play. 
 
 Hope, Cayley, and Cardronow *, 
 
 Gatherd out thick fold, 
 With heigh-ho w-rumbelow, 
 
 The young fools were fidl bold ; 
 The bag-pipe blew, and they outthrew 
 
 Out of the towns luitold ; 
 Lord such a shout was tbein among, 
 
 When they were o'er the wold. 
 
 There west, 
 
 To Peblis at the Play. 
 
 * Dissertation on the Life of James T. 
 
 ' Beltane, an ancient festival on the 1st of May. 
 * clothed themselves. ^ preparation. ■• glee, 
 
 * the names of villages en the Tweed.
 
 74 JAMES THE FIRST. 
 
 The late Mr. George Chalmers, in his little 
 work entitled the ' Poetic Remains of the Scottish 
 Kings,' has, without assigning any sufficient 
 reasons, reverted to the exploded theory of Tan- 
 ner and Gibson, and printed 'Christ's Kirk on 
 the Green,' amongst the productions of James V. 
 He has also hazarded an assertion, which is com- 
 pletely contradicted by the intrinsic evidence of 
 the work itself. ' He wrote his " Quhair," (says 
 he,) when he was yet a prisoner, and while he was 
 young. Had he read the 6th stanza of the second 
 canto, or the epilogue, he would have found that 
 in the one, he speaks of his captivity or detention 
 in England having endured for eighteen years ; 
 and in the other, commemorates in strains of high 
 enthusiasm, his happiness subsequent to liis mar- 
 riage ; a certain proof that the poem was not 
 completed till after his union with Johanna Beau- 
 fort, and his return to his own dominions. 
 
 This monarch, however, in addition to his poeti- 
 cal powers, was a person of almost universal ac- 
 complishment. He sang beautifully, and not only 
 accompanied himself upon the harp and the 
 organ, but composed various airs and pieces of 
 sacred music, in which there was to be recognized 
 the same original and inventive genius which dis- 
 tinguished him in everything to which he applied 
 Lis mind. It cannot be doubted, says Mr. Tytler, 
 in his ' Dissertation on Scottish Music,' that under 
 such a genius in poetry and music as James I., 
 the national music must have greatly improved. 
 One great step towards this was, the introduction 
 of organs by this prince, into the cathedrals and 
 abbeys in Scotland ; and, of course, the establish-
 
 JAMES THE FIRST. 75 
 
 ment of a choral service of church music. The 
 testimony of Tassoni is still more remarkable : 
 ♦ We may reckon among us moderns,' says he, 
 in his 'Pensiera Diversi,' lib. 10, 'James, King of 
 Scotland, vvlio not only composed many sacred 
 pieces of vocal music, but also of himself invented 
 a new kind of music, plaintive and melancholy, 
 different from all other ; in which he has been 
 imitated by Carlo Gesualdo, Prince of Venosa, 
 wlio, in our age, has improved music with new 
 and admirable inventions.'
 
 ROBERT HENRYSOUN. 
 
 It says little for the gratitude of Scotland, that 
 of some of her sweetest poets, whose works liave 
 been admired and sought after by future times, 
 little is known but the name. Their life is a 
 mere blank ; they have spent it in some remote 
 province, unacknowledged and almost unseen 
 by the world ; struggling, perhaps, against the 
 attack of poverty and the iniquity of fortune ; 
 yet, nursing amidst this neglect, a mind of su- 
 perior powers — finding a solace in the cultivation 
 of their intellect and the exercise of their genius 
 which lias more than rej)aid them ; and from a 
 full, and sometimes a weeping heart, pouring out 
 strains which were destined to be as imperishable 
 as the language and literature of the country. 
 Such has been the fate of Robert Henryson, of 
 whom the following passage in Urry, the editor of 
 ♦ Chaucer,' contains almost the sum of our know- 
 ledge : — • The author of the " Testament of Cre- 
 seide," which might pass for the sixth book of 
 this story, I have been informed by Sir James 
 Erskine, late Earl of Kelly, and divers aged 
 scholars of the Scottish nation, was one Mr. 
 Robert Ilcnryson, chief schoolmaster of Dum-
 
 ROBERT HENRYSOUN. 77 
 
 fermline, a little time before Chaucer was first 
 printed, and dedicated to Henry VIII., by Mr. 
 Thynne, which was near the end of his reign. 
 Mr. Henryson wittily observing, that Chaucer, in 
 his fifth book, had related the death of Troilus, 
 but made no mention what became of Creseide, — 
 learnedly takes upon him, in a fine poetical way, 
 to express the punishment and end due to a false 
 inconstant woman, which commonly terminates 
 in extreme misery *.' 
 
 It has been supposed by Lord Hailes, that 
 Henryson officiated as preceptor in the Bene- 
 dictine Convent at Dumfermline ; but as the idea 
 is solely founded on the lines of Dunbar, in his 
 * Complaint on the Death of the Makars,' which 
 simply state that gude ]\Ir. Robert Henrysoun 
 died in that ancient burgh, nothing can be more 
 vague and inconclusive, ^^'e know not the exact 
 period of his birth, (which must have been under 
 the reign of James II.,) tlie time of his death is 
 involved in equal obscurity ; and the intermediate 
 period must be abandoned to those whose in- 
 genuity is delighted with wandering in the la- 
 byrinths of conjectural biography. 
 
 But of the works of this remarkable man it is 
 difficult, when we consider the period in which 
 they were written, to s])eak in terms of too warm 
 encomium. In strength, and sometimes even in 
 sublimity of painting, in pathos and sweetness, in 
 the variety and beauty of his pictures of natural 
 scenery, in the vein of quiet and playful humour 
 which runs through many of liis pieces, and in 
 that fine natural taste, whicli, rejecting the faults 
 * Urry's Chaucer.
 
 78 ROBERT HENRYSOUN. 
 
 of his age, lias dared to think for itself, — he is 
 altogether excellent ; and did the limits of these 
 sketches permit, it would be easy to justify this 
 high praise by examples. Where, for instance, 
 could we meet, even in the works of Chaucer or 
 Spenser, with a finer personification than this early 
 poet has given us of Saturn, sitting shivering in 
 his cold and distant sphere, his matted locks fall- 
 ing down his shoulders, glittering and fretted with 
 hoar frosts; the wind whistling through his grey 
 and weather-beaten garments, and a sheaf of 
 arrows, feathered with ice and headed with hail- 
 stones, stuck under his girdle ? 
 
 His face frouned, his lere ' was like the lede, 
 His teeth chattered and shivered with the chin, 
 
 His eyin droujiid,* whole sonkiii in his hede; 
 Out at his nose the mildrop fast gan rin, 
 With lippis blew, and chekis lene and thin; 
 
 The icicles that fro his heer doime honge, 
 
 Were wonder grete, and as a speer was longe. 
 
 Attour his helte his 13'art lokkis' laie 
 Feltrid * mifair or fret with frostis hore, 
 
 His garment and his gite^ full gay of graie, 
 His withered wede iro him the winde out wore j 
 A bousteaus bow within his hande he bure ; 
 
 Under his girdle a fasche of felon flains 
 
 Fedrid'' with ice, and headed with holstains. 
 
 Let us turn now for a moment from this wintry 
 picture, and observe with what a fresh and glow- 
 ing pencil, with what an ease and gracefulness of 
 execution, tlie same hand can bring before us a 
 summer landscape : — 
 
 ' flesh or skin. ^ droped. '^ hoary. "• matted. 
 * fashion of his clothing. ^ feathered.
 
 ROBERT HENRYSOUNi 79 
 
 In middis of Jmie, that joly swete sessoun, 
 
 Quheii that fair Phoebus with his heamis brycht 
 
 Had dryit up the dew fra daill and down, 
 
 And all the land maid with his lemyss ' lycht, 
 In a moriiinjj;, between midday and nycht, 
 
 I rais and put all sloth and sleep aside, 
 
 Ontill a wod I went alone, but gyd '^. 
 
 Sweet was the smell of flouris quhyt and reid. 
 The nois of birdis lycht delitious, 
 
 The bewis brod blumyt abone my heid, 
 The (rrund growand with grasses gratious, 
 Of all plesans that place was plenteous 
 
 With sweit odours and birdis armouie, 
 
 The morning myld, my mirth was mair forthy. 
 
 The roses red arrayit, the rone and ryss ■', 
 
 The primrose and tbe purpure viola ; 
 To heir, it was a point of paradyss, 
 
 Sic mirth, the mavis and the merle couth ma* ; 
 
 The blossomyss blyth brak up on bank and bra *, 
 The smell of herbis, and of foidis the cry. 
 Contending quha suld have the victory. 
 
 Henryson's greatest work is that to which we 
 have already alluded, the completion of Chaucer's 
 beautiful poem of Troilus and Cressida, in a 
 strain of poetry not imworthy of the original. 
 ' Henryson,' says Mr. Godwin, in his " Life of 
 Chaucer," perceived what was defective in the 
 close of the story of Troilus and Creseide, as 
 Chaucer had left it. The inconstant and un- 
 feeling Creseide, as she appears in the last book, 
 is the just object of aversion, and no reader can 
 be satisfied that Troilus, the loyal and heroic 
 lover, should suffer all the consequences of her 
 crime, whilst she escapes with impunity. The 
 
 ^ beams. * without guide. 
 
 3 the brambles and bushes. ■• ma'ce. * a hill side.
 
 80 ROBERT HENRYSOUN. 
 
 poem of Henryson,' he continues, ' has a degree of 
 merit calculated to make us resrret that it is not a 
 performance standing by itself, instead of thus 
 serving merely as an appendage to the work of 
 another. The author has conceived, in a very 
 poetical manner, his description of the season in 
 which lie supposes himself to have written this 
 dolorous tragedy. The sun was in Aries — his 
 setting was ushered in with furious storms of 
 hail, the cold was biting and intense, and the 
 poet sat in a little solitary building, which he 
 calls his oratoure. The evening star had just 
 
 risen.' 
 
 A (loly seascHi for a careful dite * 
 
 Suld correspond and be equivalent ; 
 Richt so it was when I bej^an to write 
 
 This tragedy ; the weather right fervent, 
 
 Whan Aries in middis of the Lent, 
 Shouris of haile gan fro the north descende, 
 That scantly from the cold I mighteu me defende. 
 
 Yet neerthelesse within mine oratoure 
 
 I stode, whan Titan had his bemis brjxht 
 
 Withdrawin doun, and seylid under cure% 
 And faire Venus the beaute of the night 
 Upraise, and sette unto the weste full right. 
 
 Her golden face, in oppositioun 
 
 Of God Phoebus, directe disceuding down. 
 
 Throughout the glasse her bemis brast ' so faire, 
 That I might see on every side me by ; 
 
 The northern winde had purified the aire, 
 And shedde his misty cloudis fro the skie; 
 The freste fresid, tlie l)lasfs bitterly 
 
 From Pole Arcticke came whisking loud and shrill, 
 
 And caused me remove agenst my will. 
 
 ' a sad season for a melancholy story. 
 * unknown. ^ pierced.
 
 ROBERT HENRYSOUri. 81 
 
 For I trusted, that Venus, lovers Queue, 
 To whom sometime 1 hight obf dieuce, 
 
 My faded heart of love she wad make grene ; 
 And thereupon, with humble reverence, 
 I thought to praie her hie magnificence. 
 
 But for grete cold as then I lettid was, 
 
 1 in my chambre to the tire gan pass. 
 
 Though love be hote, yet in a man of age 
 It kindlith not so sone as in youthheid, 
 
 Of whom the hlode is flowinij ni a ra<re. 
 And in the old the corage dull and dede, 
 Of which the fire outward is best remeid, 
 
 To helpe by phisiche vvhere that nature faild 
 
 I am experte, for both I have assailed. 
 
 I made the fire and bukid me aboute ', 
 
 Then toke I drinke my spirits to comforte, 
 
 And armed me wele fro the cold thereoute ; 
 To cutt the winter night, and mak it schort, 
 I took a queie''', ancl l«fte all othir sporte, 
 
 Writtin by worthy C'haucer glorious, 
 
 Of fair Creseide and lusty TroiUis. 
 
 The picture presented in these striking- lines 
 possesses tlie distinctness of outline and concep- 
 tion, and the rich poetic colouring, which marks 
 the hand of genius. We see the aged bard 
 sitting in a winter's evening in his oratory ; we 
 hear the bitter northern blast sliaking tlie case- 
 ment ; the hail-stones arc pattering on the glass; 
 the sun has sunk ; l)ut as the storm subsides, the 
 air clears up to an intense frost, and tlie beautiful 
 evening star, the jtlanet of love, shows her golden 
 face in the west. For awhile, with the enlhu- 
 siasm of a lover of nature, the poet contemplates 
 the scene ; but, warned by the increasing cold, he 
 closes his shutters, stirs his fire, wheels in his 
 oaken chair, — and, after warming his sluggard 
 
 ^ warmed myself on every side. 
 YOL. III.
 
 82 ROBERT HENRYSOUN. 
 
 blood with a cup of generous wine, takes up a 
 volume of Chaucer, and happens to light upon 
 the story of Cresid fair and lusty Troilus, 
 
 In tlie poem, to use the words of an excellent 
 critic, ' Creseide is represented as deserted by 
 Diomed, filled with discontent, and venting her 
 rage in bitter revilings against Venus and Cupid. 
 Her ingratitude is resented by these deities, who 
 call a council of the seven planets, in which it is 
 decreed that Creseide shall be punished with 
 leprosy. Cynthia is deputed in a vision to inform 
 her of her fate : she wakes, and finds that the 
 dream is true. She then entreats her father to 
 conduct her to a hospital for lepers, by the go- 
 vernors of which she is compelled to go as a 
 beggar on the highway. Among the passers by 
 comes Troilus, who, in spite of the dreadful dis- 
 figurement of her person, finds something in her 
 that he had seen before, and even draws, from a 
 glance of her horrible countenance, a confused 
 recollection of the sweet visage and amorous 
 glances of his beloved Creseide. His instinct 
 leads him no farther ; he does not suspect that 
 his mistress is actually before him ; yet 
 
 For knightly pitie, and memorial 
 Of faire Creseide, 
 
 he takes a girdle, a purse of gold, and many a 
 gaie Jewell, and shakes them doun in the skirt of 
 the miserable beggar, 
 
 Then rode awaye, and not a worde he spake. 
 
 No sooner is he gone, than Crcseid becomes 
 aware that her benefactor is no otiier than Troilus 
 himself. Allected by this unexpected occurrence.
 
 ROBERT HENRYSOUN. 83 
 
 she falls into a frenzy ; betrays her real name and 
 condition ; bequeaths to Troilus a ring which he 
 had given her in dowry — and dies. Troilus laments 
 her fate, and builds her a monument *. 
 
 There is a fine moral strain, a tone of solemn 
 and impressive thought, which runs through 
 many of the pieces of Henryson : of this we have 
 a striking example in his poem entitled ' Praise of 
 Age:'- 
 
 Within ane garth, imder a red roseir, 
 
 Ane auld man, and decrepit, hard I sing ; 
 Gay wes the note, sweet was the voice and cleir, 
 
 It wes grit joy to heir of sic a thing. 
 
 And as methocht he said in his dyting, — 
 For to be young I wad nocht, for my wyss 
 
 Of all this warld to mak me lord and kyng : 
 The more of aige the nerrer hevynnys bliss. 
 
 Fals is this warld and full of variance, 
 
 Besoucht with sin and uther sytis mo ; 
 Trewth is all tynt, gyle hes the governance, 
 
 Wretchitnes hes wrocht all welthis weill to wo. 
 
 Freedome is tynt, and flemit the Lordis fro ; 
 And cuvettice is all the cause of this; 
 
 I am content that youth-heid is ago : 
 The moir of aige the nerrer hevynnys bliss. 
 
 * 
 
 Suld no man traist this wrefchit warld ; for quhy .'' 
 
 Of erdly joy ay sorrow is the end: 
 The stait of it can no man certify; 
 
 Tliis day a king — to raorne na gude to spend. 
 
 Quhat haif we here hot grace us to defend ? 
 The quhilk, God grant us till amend our miss ; 
 
 That to his gloir he may our saulis send: 
 The moir of aige the nerrer hevynnys bliss. 
 
 With little alteration these verses throw them- 
 selves into a modern garb, which does not spoil 
 
 * Godwin's Life of Chaucer, vol. L, p. 493. 
 
 Q 2
 
 84 ROBERT HENRYSOUN. 
 
 the striking picture of the aged moralist singing 
 under the rose-tree — 
 
 In garden green, beneath a sweet rose-tree, 
 
 1 heard an aged man serenely sing ; 
 Gay was the note, his voice was full and free, 
 
 It gave me joy to see so strange a thing. 
 
 And thus he sung: — 1 would not, to he king 
 Of all this v.orld, live o'er a life like this. 
 
 Oh Youth ! thy sweetest flowers have sharpest sting : 
 The more of age the nearer heavenly bliss. 
 
 False is the world, and full of changes vile; 
 O'eirun with sin, and penury, and pain : 
 
 Truth is all fled — the helm is held by guile- 
 Fell coward treason hath high honour slain, 
 And freedom languisheth in iron chain. 
 
 'Tis the low love of power hath brought all this. 
 Ah ! weep not then that youth is on the wane : 
 
 The more of age the nearer heavenly bliss. 
 
 Trust then no more this wretched world — for why P 
 All earthly joy doth still in sorrow end ; 
 
 His mortal state can no man certify : 
 
 To-day a king — to-morrow none will lend 
 Thy regal head a shelter : — may God mend, 
 
 With his sweet grace, so sad a wreck as this ; 
 And to his glory soon our spirits send : 
 
 The more of age the nearer heavenly bliss. 
 
 Again, wliat can be sweeter than these lines on 
 the blessings of simple life? 
 
 Blessit be symple life withoutcn dreid', 
 
 Blessit be sober feast in qiiietie, 
 Quha hes aneuch^ of nae mair'' hes he neid, 
 
 Thocbt it be lytil into quantitie. 
 
 Abondance great and blind prosperitic 
 Mak aftentimes a very ill conclusioun ; 
 
 The sweetest lyfe therefore in this countrie, 
 Is sickerness'' and peace with small possessioun. 
 
 ' dread. ^ enough, 3 more. * security.
 
 ROBERT HENRYSOUN'. 85 
 
 Friend, thy awin' fire thocht it he hat ane gleid-, 
 Will warm thee wliI, and is worth gold to tliee ; 
 
 And Solomon, the sage, says, (gif ze reid*,) 
 Under the hevin, I can nocht better see, 
 Then ay he blyth, and live in honestie : 
 
 Qiihairfore I mayconchnle me with this reason, — 
 Of early hliss it bears the best degree , 
 
 Blythness of heart, iu peace, with small possession. 
 
 The well-known apologue, of which this is the 
 ' moralitie ' — that of tlic Town and Country- 
 Mouse — has been delightfully translated, or rather 
 paraphrased, both by Pope and La Fontaine ; 
 yet our ancient Scottish bard need not dread a 
 comparison with either. There is not, indeed, 
 in his production (what it would be unreason- 
 able to look for) the polished elegance, the grace- 
 ful court-like expressions, and the pointed allusions 
 to modern manners which mark the versification 
 of these great masters ; but there is a quiet vein 
 of humour, a succession of natural pictures, both 
 burgh and landwart, city and rural ; and a felicity 
 in adapting the sentiments to the little four-footed 
 actors in the drama, which is peculiarly its own. 
 Henryson's mice speak and reason exactly as one 
 of these long-whiskered, tiny individuals might be 
 expected to do, were they suddenly to be per- 
 mitted to express their feelings. There is, if we 
 may be allowed the expression, a more mouse-like 
 verisimilitude about his story, than either of his 
 irifted successors. The tale is introduced with 
 great spirit : — 
 
 Easop relates a tale, weil worth renown. 
 
 Of twa wee mice*, and they war sisters dear; 
 
 ' own. * unknown. ■' if you read. 
 
 * two small mice.
 
 86 ROBERT HENRYSOUN. 
 
 Of qiihom the elder dwelt in Boirowstoun, 
 The ziinger' scho wond upon land weil neir, 
 Richt solitair beneath the buss and breir ; 
 
 Quh) le on the corns and wraith * of labouring men, 
 As outlaws do, scho maid an easy fen'*. 
 
 The rural mous, unto the winter tyde 
 
 Thold * cauld and hunger oft, and great distress ; 
 
 The uther mous, that in the brugh gan hide, 
 Was gilt-brother, and made a free burgess, 
 
 Toll-free, and without custom mair or less, 
 And freedom had to gae' whereer she list. 
 
 The burgli or city mouse is seized with a 
 sudden desire to pay her country sister a visit, and 
 with staff in hand, 
 
 As pilgrim pure^ scho past out of the toun, 
 To seek her sister baith'' in dale and down. 
 
 The meeting of the two relatives is described 
 with much naivete : — 
 Thro mony toilsom ways then couth she walk. 
 
 Thro muir and moss, throughout bank, busk, and breir, 
 Fra fur to fur^, cryand, frae balk to balk, 
 
 Come forth to me my ain sweet sister dear. 
 
 Cry ' Peep' anes. With that the mous couth hear. 
 And knew her voice, as kindly kinsmen will, 
 Scho^ heard with joy, and furth scho cam her till. 
 
 The entertainment given by tlie rural mouse, 
 the poverty of the beild and board, the affectation 
 and nice stomach of the city dame l.er sister, are 
 admirably given : — 
 
 Quhen thus were lugit '" thir twa sillie mice, 
 The youngest sister to her buttry hied, 
 And brocht furth nuts and pease, instead of spice. 
 
 And sic i)lain cheer, as she had her beside. 
 
 The biirgc'ss mouse sae dynk" and full of pride, 
 Said, Sister mine, is this your daily food ? 
 
 Why not, quoth she, think ye this mess not good ? 
 
 * younger. * waste, 'life, ''bore. 'go. "poor. ? both. 
 " furrow to furrow. ' she. ^^ lodged. " nice.
 
 ROBERT HENRYSOUN. 87 
 
 My sister fair, quoth she, have rae excused, 
 
 This diet rude and I can ueer accord ; 
 
 With tender meat my stomach still is us'd — • 
 For why, I fare as well as any lord : 
 
 Thir withir'd nuts and pease, or they be bored. 
 
 Will break my chaffs, and mak my teeth full slender, 
 ^Vhich have been us'd before to meat more tender. 
 
 The rest of the story and the catastrophe are 
 well known; the invitation of the city mouse, its 
 acceptance, their perilous journey to town, their 
 delicious meal, and its fearful interruption by 
 Hunter Gib, (tlie jolly cat,) the pangs of the rural 
 mouse, whose heart is almost frightened out of its 
 little velvet tenement, her marvellous escape, and 
 the delight with which she again finds herself in her 
 warm nest in the country, are described with great 
 felicity of humour. No one who has witnessed 
 the ingenuity of the torment inflicted by a cat on 
 its victim, will fail to recognize the perfect nature 
 of ' Hunter Gib's ' conduct, when the unfortunate 
 rural citizen is under his clutches : — 
 
 From foot to foot he cast her to and frae, 
 Whiles up, whiles down, as tait ' as ony kid. 
 
 Wiles would he let her run beneath the strae^, 
 
 Whiles woidd he wink and play with her bubhid' : 
 Thus to the silly mous great harm he did, 
 
 Till at the last, tluo fortune fair and hap, 
 
 Betwixt the dresser and the wall she crap ■*. 
 
 Syne up in haste beside the panaling 
 
 Sae high she clam '', that Gibby might not get her, 
 And by the cleeks" sae craftily gan huig 
 
 Till he was gune^ ; her cheer was all the better ; 
 
 Syne doun she lap when there was nane to let her. 
 Then on the burgess mouse aloud did cry, 
 Sister, farewell, thy feast I here defy. 
 
 ' tenderly. * straw. ^ hide and seek. * crep 
 ^ climbed. ^ hooks or pins. ' gone.
 
 88 ROBERT }IENRYSOUN'. 
 
 Pinkerton has declared that this is the only 
 fable of Henryson's worthy of preservation ; a 
 clear proof that he liad little feeling for true 
 poetry. The ' Lion and the Mous' completely 
 refutes his tasteless criticism. It commences with 
 that sweet picture of the rural dehghts of the 
 leafy-month June, which we have already quoted ; 
 and, besides the truth and spirit with which the 
 story is given, is curious, from its evident allusion 
 to that treasonable combination of the nobles, 
 which cost James III. his crown and his life: — 
 
 Tliir cruel men that stentit has the net ', 
 
 In which the lion suddenly was tane, 
 Waited allway that they amends might get 
 
 For hurt men write with steel in marble stane. 
 
 Mail- till expone as now I let alane ; 
 But king and lord may well wote what I mean, 
 The figure hereof aftymes has been seen. 
 
 When this was said, quoth Easop, My fair child, 
 Persuade the Kirkmen eyedentlie" to pray 
 
 That treason fra this cuntne be exil'd ; 
 That justice ring and nobles keep their fay 
 Unto their sovereign lord baith night and day : 
 
 And with that word he vanish'd, and I woke, 
 
 Sine thro the schaw hameward my journey toke. 
 
 ^ Stretche<l have the net. 
 ' constantly and with earnestness.
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 Of this great genius, who has enriclied the poetry 
 of his country with a strain of versification su- 
 perior in power, originality, and sweetness to any 
 of his predecessors, we liave to repeat, ahis ! the 
 same story of unavailing regret, that little is 
 known ; and that little, founded on very imperfect 
 evidence. Pinkerton, relying upon a stanza in 
 ' Kennedy's Flyting (or Railing) against Dunbar,' 
 conjectures that he was born at Salton, a village 
 on the delightful coast of the Forth, in East 
 Lothian ; but, unfortunately, the acuteness of a 
 future antiquary discovered that the true reading 
 of the passage was Mount Falcon ; a circumstance 
 which gave rise to a new hypothesis, equally 
 vague and unsatisfactory. It seems not impro- 
 bable, however, that he first saw the light some- 
 wliere in Lothian, about the year 1465; and 
 from his own works, a few circumstances may be 
 gleaned, whicli illustrate his individual history. 
 
 He was educated for the church ; and, undoubt- 
 edly, travelled over England and a part of the 
 Continent, as a noviciate of the order of St. 
 Francis. This is evident from his satirical poem, 
 entitled ' The Visitation of St. Francis.' The
 
 90 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 saint appears to the poet in a vision, shortly 
 before the dawn, and holding in his hand the 
 habit of his order, commands him to renounce 
 the world and become his servant. Dunbar ex- 
 cuses himself, observing, that he has read of 
 many bishops, but exceeding few friars, who had 
 been admitted to the honour of canonization ; but 
 he allows that, in his early years, he had worn 
 the habit : — 
 
 Gif ever my fortoun' wes to be a frier*, 
 The date thereof is past full mony a year ; 
 
 For into every lusty town and place 
 Of all Ingland, fro Berwick to Cales, 
 
 I haif into thy habit maid gutle clieir*. 
 
 In freiris weid full sairly* haif I fleichit*; 
 
 In it haif I in pulpit gone and prechit ; 
 In Derneton Kirk and eke in Canterbury ; 
 
 In it I past at Dover cure the ferry, 
 Thro Picardy, and there the pepil teichet. 
 
 As lang as I did bear the freiris style, 
 
 In me, God wit, wes mony wink and wile; 
 
 In me wes falset with ilk wight to flatter, 
 Whilk might be flemit '' with na haly water ; 
 
 I wes ay reddy all men to beguile *. 
 
 Where he received his education it is impossible 
 to discover ; but from the colophon of one of his 
 poems, it is presumable that he had studied at 
 Oxford ; and we may conclude from his address 
 ' To the Lordes of the King's Chekkar,' that he 
 was in the receipt of an annual pension which was 
 scarcely suflicient to supply his ordinary wants. 
 ' Ye need not,' says he to these grave personages, 
 
 ' fortune. * friar. ^ cheer. * earnestly. 
 
 * entreated. ® washed awaj% 
 
 * Poems, vol. i. p. 28.
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 91 
 
 ' spend your time or tire your thumbs, or consume 
 your ink and paper in the reckoning up my rents 
 or annuities. It is a short story : I got a sum 
 of money from my lord-treasurer, which is all 
 gone. Is not that a sad enough tale without more 
 labour V 
 
 My Lordis of Chacker, pleis yow to heir 
 My compt, I sail it mak yow cleir 
 
 But ony circumstance or sonyie ^ ; 
 
 For left is neither cors nor cunyie^ 
 Of all that I tuik in the yeir. 
 
 For rekkyninfT of my rentis and roumes 
 Ye need not for to t jtb your thowmes ' ; 
 
 Na for to par your comitaris clink, 
 
 Nor paper for to spend nor ink 
 In the ressaving of my soumes''. 
 
 I tuik fra my Lord Thesanrair 
 Ane soume of money for to wair ; 
 
 I can nocht tell yow how it is spendit, 
 
 But Weill I wat that it is endit: 
 And that methink ane compt our sair *. 
 
 I trowlt in time whain that I tuik it 
 That lanp in burgh I suld haif bruikit, 
 
 Now the remaines are eith® to turss : 
 
 I haiffno preif heir but my purss, 
 Quhilk wald noch lie an it war lukit. 
 
 Even when thrown into a modern dress, the 
 spirit does not wholly evaporate: — 
 
 My Lords of Chequer, please you hear 
 My compt — the which I'll make full clear 
 
 Sans circumstance or theft ; 
 
 Nor cross nor copper is there left 
 Of all I had within the year. 
 
 ' pretence. * cross nor coin. ^ thumbs. 
 * sums. * too sore. ' easy.
 
 92 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 Spend not grave looks, with hawsand hums, 
 Nor paper waste, nor tire your thumbs 
 
 And bid your counters clink ; 
 
 Or drain your reservoirs of ink 
 In reckoning up my sums. 
 
 My Lord the Treasurer gave roe, 
 Some certain monies for my fee ; 
 
 I cannot tell how far they went, 
 
 But well I know, the gear is spent, 
 
 Whilst I myself am sorely shent. 
 And this without more words, 1 trow, 
 Is a summation sad euow. 
 
 Why should I entries more rehearse ? 
 Mj^ Lords, inquire ye of my purse, 
 And look into its empty maw, 
 It will you tell the selfsame saw. 
 
 In the privy seal we find, under the date of 
 August 15, 1500, a grant by King James IV. 
 to Master William Dunbar, of an annual pen- 
 sion of ten pounds, until he be provided with 
 a benefice of forty pounds or more yearly ; and 
 from this period the poet became an attendant 
 upon the court of this gay and gallant monarch. 
 James was devoted to his pleasures ; and if 
 we may judge from the account books of 
 the lord high treasurer, which present, iu their 
 various items, a curious picture of the manners of 
 the times, large sums of money were lavished, 
 with indiscriminate prodigality, upon idle amuse- 
 ments and unworthy objects. The character of 
 the king, indeed, was inconsistent and almost con- 
 tradictory. He liad many great points about him, 
 which made him deservedly beloved. His anxiety 
 for the due administration of justice, and the inde- 
 fatigable activity witii which he visited the most 
 remote portions of his kingdom ; his attention to
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 03 
 
 the navy and the artillCT-y, as those sources of 
 national strength which liad been neglected or un- 
 known before his time ; his anxiety for the pre 
 servation of an amicable intercourse with foreign 
 states ; his fondness for the clergy, undoubtedly 
 the wisest and most learned amongst liis subjects ; 
 his familiar friendship and intercourse with his 
 nobles, and his accessibility and kindness to the 
 lowest classes of his people : all these qualities 
 were highly to be commended, and rendered the 
 monarch deservedly popular. But, on the other 
 hand, James had weaknesses and vices which, but 
 for the excuse of youth and a mismanaged edu- 
 cation, must have rendered him contemptible. 
 His love of amusement was wild and reckless : 
 plays, dances, dice, occupied every leisure mo- 
 ment ; hawkes, apes, jugglers, jesters, and every 
 sort of itinerant buflbon, received a ready wel- 
 come at court, and ])artook largely of the royal 
 bounty, whilst his indiscriminate gallantry and 
 admiration of the fair sex destroyed his health 
 and grievously impoverished his exchequer. The 
 universal jiatronage of the monarch, and the pic- 
 ture of the court, are admirably pourtrayed by 
 Dunbar in his poem entitled a ' Remonstrance to 
 the King' — 
 
 Sir, ye have mon)' servitours 
 And officers of divers cures — 
 Kirkmen, courtmen, craftsmen fine, 
 Doctors in jure and medicine, 
 Philosophers, diviners, rhetors, 
 Artists, astrologs, orators, 
 Men of arms and valiant knights, 
 And mony other gnd'iy wights ; 
 Musicians, minstre'S; merry singers, 
 ChevalourSj callanders, French tlingers,
 
 94 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 Coiners, carvers, carpentaris. 
 Builders of barks and ballingaris, 
 Masons building on the land, 
 And shipwrights hewing on the strand ; 
 Glasswrights, goldsmiths, lapidaries, 
 Printers, painters, poticaries, — 
 Labouring all, baith fore and aft, 
 And wondrous cunning in their craft; 
 Which pleasant is and honorable, 
 And to your highness profitable, 
 And right convenient to be 
 With your high regal majesty, 
 Deserving of your grace most ding^ 
 Both thanks, reward, and cherishing. 
 And though that I among the heap 
 Unworthy be a ])lace to keep, 
 Or in their number to be told, 
 Yet long as their's my work shall hold, 
 Complete in every circumstance, 
 In matter, form, and eke substance; 
 But wearing or corruption. 
 Rust, canker, or corruption, 
 As perfect as their workes all, 
 Altho' my guerdon be but small. 
 
 The poet proceeds to observe, that he can nei- 
 ther blame nor envy any expenditure upon such 
 worthy thoug-h multifarious artists ; but then, says 
 he, with much boldness, addressing his royal 
 master, ' Your highness is so gentle and accessible 
 that your court is crowded with a different and far 
 less respectable sort.' The enumeration must be 
 given in his own words, and a translation would 
 be almost impossible : — 
 
 Fenyeouris, fleichouris, flatteraris, 
 Cryaris, crackaris, and clatteraris, 
 Sonkaris, gronkaris. gleddaris, gunnaris, 
 Monsouris of France, giid clarat cunnaris : 
 
 * worthy.
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. D5 
 
 Inopportoun askaris of Yrland kynd, 
 
 And meit reivaris, lyk out o mind 
 
 Scaffaiis, and scamhiris in the nuke 
 
 And hall huntaris of draik and duke, 
 
 Thrinlaris and thiiitaris, as they war wod ; 
 
 Kokenis, that kens na man of gude, 
 
 Schoulderaiis and schowaris that hes no schanie, 
 
 And to no cunning that can clame 
 
 And ken none uther craft nor curis 
 
 Bot to mak thrang schir in your duris, 
 
 And rush in whar thej' counsel hear, 
 
 And will at na man nurture leir 
 
 In quintessence, eke ingynouris joly 
 
 That far can multiply in foly ; 
 
 Fantastic fulis, bayth fals and greedy, 
 
 Of tongue untrue and hand unsteady. 
 
 Few dar of all this last additioun 
 
 Come in Tolbuith without remission *. 
 
 "When the first are provided for, says he, I may 
 not complain ; but wlien tlie king's purse opens 
 to these last, and I am passed over, my very heart 
 is ready to burst for despite: — 
 
 My mind so fer ' is set to flyt 
 That of nochtels I can inilyt, 
 For owther man my hert to breik. 
 Or with my pen 1 man me wreik; 
 And syne the tane most nedis be, 
 Into malancolie to dee, 
 Or lat the venym ische all out — 
 Bewar, anone for it will spout, 
 Gif that the treacle com not tyt* 
 To swage the swalme of my despyt. 
 
 Whether this remonstrance and threatening, on 
 the part of Dunbar, had any effect in procuring 
 him a more generous treatment at court cannot 
 be ascertained ; but the perfect truth of his de 
 
 * Poems, vol. i. p. 145—147. 
 1 fierce. ' quick.
 
 96 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 scription, and liis picture of the multifarious ver- 
 min which infested the court, may be verified by 
 those interesting manuscript records which reflect 
 so strongly the manners of the times — the accounts 
 of the lord high treasurer. We shall open them 
 almost at random. On the 11th of February, 1488, 
 we find the king bestowing nine pounds on gentil 
 John, the English fule ; on the 10th of June, we 
 have an item to English pypers, who played to 
 the king at the castle gate, of eight pounds eight 
 shillings; on the 31st of August, Patrick Johnson 
 and his fallows, that })layit a play to the king, in 
 Lithgow, receive three pounds ; Jacob, the lutar, 
 the king of bene, Swanky that brought balls to 
 the king, twa wemen that sang to his highness, 
 Witherspoon, the foular, that told tales and brought 
 fowls, Tom Pringill the trumpeter, twa fitlielaris, 
 that sang Grey Steill to the king, the broken- 
 bakkit fiddler of St. Andrews, Quhissilgybbourie, 
 a female dancer, Wat Sangster, young Rudman 
 the lutar, the wife that kept the hawks' nest in 
 Craigforth, Willie Mercer, who lap in the stank 
 by the king's command — and innumerable others 
 who come in for a high share of the regal bounty, 
 
 And ken none other craft nor curis 
 But to mak thrang within the duris — 
 
 confirm the assertions of the indignant poet, and 
 evince the extravagance and levity of the mo- 
 narch. 
 
 The same records not only corroborate Dun- 
 bar's description, but bring before us, in fresh 
 and lively colours, the court itself, with its gay 
 and laughter-loving monarch. Let not history
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 97 
 
 deride the labours of the patient antiquary ; for 
 never, in lier moments of happiest composition, 
 could slie summon up a more natural and striking 
 picture than we can derive from these ancient 
 and often neglected records. We are enabled, 
 by the clear and authentic lights which they 
 furnish, to trace the motions of the court and 
 of its royal master, not only from year to year, 
 but to mark the annals of every day. We see 
 his Majesty before he rises on the new-year's 
 morning ; we stand beside his chamberlain, and 
 see the nobles, with their gifts and offerings, crowd 
 hito the apartment ; nor is his favourite, gentle 
 John, the English fool, forgotten, who brings his 
 present of cross-bows ; then enters the King of 
 Bene, enacted by Tom Pringle ; Jok Goldsmith 
 chaunts his ballat below tlie window ; the gysars 
 dance ; and in the evening the Bishop of Glasgow, 
 the Earl of Bothwell, the Lord Chaircellor, and the 
 Treasurer, play at cards with his Highness. 
 
 Such are but a few of the characteristic touches 
 of these remarkable records. They would furnish us 
 with a thousand more, had we time or limits to detail 
 them. They enable us to accompany the ])rince 
 to his chapel royal at Stirling ; we see the boys of 
 the choir bending down to remove his spurs, and 
 receive their accustomed largesse : we follow him 
 m ins progresses through his royal burghs, and 
 listen to the thanks of the gudewife of the king's 
 lodging, as the generous jn-ince bestows his gra- 
 tuity ; we climb the romantic crag on which St. 
 Anthony's chapel is situated, and almost hear his 
 confession ; we can follow him into his study, and 
 find him adding to the scanty library which was 
 
 VOL. HI. ' H
 
 98 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 all the times permitted even to a king — the works 
 of Quintillian and Virgil, and the sang-buiks in 
 whicli he took so much delioht ; his shootins- at 
 the butts with his nobles ; his bandying jokes 
 with his ai'tillervmen : his issuincr to the chase or 
 the tournament, from his royal castles of Stirling 
 or Falkland, surrounded by a cavalcade of noble 
 knights and beautiful damsels ; liis presence at 
 the christening of the Earl of Buchan's son, and 
 the gold piece which he drops into the caudle, — 
 all are brought before us as graphically as at the 
 moment of their occurrence. And whilst our inte- 
 rest is heightened and our imagination gratified 
 by the variety and brilliancy of the scenery which 
 is thus called up, we have the satisfaction to know 
 that all is tme to nature, and infinitely more au- 
 thentic than the pages even of a contemporary 
 historian *. 
 
 We need scarcely offer any apology for this 
 digression regarding the character of that monarch 
 who was the patron of Dunbar, and the manners 
 of the court in which it was his fortune to ])ass 
 the greater part of his life. In the extreme paucity 
 of materials for the history of his life, tlie only 
 sources of information are to be found in his own 
 works, and in the history of the age. He appears 
 to have lived in great familiarity with the king and 
 
 * If this be true, how much gratitude do we owe to 
 the learned Mr. Pitcairn, for liis admirable Collection of 
 Criminal Trials ; and to that able and amiable antiquar)', 
 the llev. Mr. M'Gregor Stirling, whose Manuscrij)t Collec- 
 tions, although less known, have thrown so much useful 
 light on the early history of his coiuitry. It is from these 
 last that the above picture of the court and amusements of 
 James IV. has been taken.
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 99 
 
 his nobles ; but at the same time it is easy to see 
 that his poverty was often extreme, subjecting 
 him to the most mortifying repulses from the 
 lowest officers about the court. The pangs of de- 
 ferred hope, the pride of insulted genius, the bitter 
 repentance that he had devoted himself to so thank- 
 less and ill-requited a service, and the biting satire 
 against kings and favourites, by which many of 
 his productions are distinguished, all form a pain- 
 ful but instructive commentary on the history of 
 a man of letters, who has relinquished the more 
 humble walk in which, with a little labour, he 
 might have provided for his own wants, and finds, 
 when it is perhaps too late, that distinction is not 
 synonymous with independence. It seems to have 
 been in one of these moods that he indited his 
 complaint addressed to the king : — 
 
 Of wrangis and of great injures 
 That nobles in their days indures, 
 And men of virtue and cunning, 
 Of wit and wisdom in guiding ; 
 That nocht can in this court conquess ', 
 For lawte, love, or long service *. 
 
 But it is time we should leave these ebullitions 
 of wounded ])ride, or disappointed ambition, to 
 consider some of the higher efforts of his genius. 
 On the 8th of August, 1503, James IV. was 
 espoused to the Princess Margaret of England, an 
 event which it was eamestly hoped would have the 
 most beneficial effects in removing, or at least di- 
 luting, the feelinfjs of mutual hostilitv which had 
 SO long and so frequently arrayed the two knig- 
 doms in mortal warfare against each other. The 
 
 ^ acquire 
 * Poems, vol. ii. p. 142. 
 
 h2
 
 TOO WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 ceremony was accompanied with every species of 
 feudal triumph and solemnity ; and the event was 
 <;ommemorated by Dunbar, in a poem entitled the 
 * Thistle and the Rose,' which, had he never 
 written another line, is of itself amply sufficient to 
 ;place him in a high rank of genius. It com- 
 mences with the following beautiful stanzas; — 
 
 Quhen Marche wes with variand windis past, 
 And April hadde, with her silver showris, 
 
 Taiie lelf of Nature ' with ane orient blast ; 
 And lusty May, that mudder is of flowris, 
 Had maid the birdes to begin their houris, 
 
 Amang the tender colours, red and quhyt, 
 
 Quhois ^ harmony to heir it wes delyt. 
 
 In bed ae morrow, sleeping as I la}'', 
 Methocht Aurora, with her cristall ene, 
 
 In at the window lukit by the day, 
 
 And halsit me' with visage pale and grene, 
 Upon whose hand a lark sang fra the splene, 
 
 Awalk, luvaris, out of your slomering, 
 
 See how the lusty morrow does up spring. 
 
 Methocht fresh May befoir my bed up.stude, 
 In weid depaynt of mony divers hew, 
 
 Sober, benign, and full of mansuetude, 
 In brydit atteir'' of flouris forgit new; 
 Hevinly of colour, quhyt, reid, broun, and blew, 
 
 Balmct in dew and gilt with Phoebus' bemys^ 
 
 Quhill all the house illumynit of hir lemyss". 
 
 Slugird, she said, awalk anone for schame, 
 And in my honour somthing thou go write ; 
 
 The lark his done the mirry day proclamo. 
 To raise up luvaris with comfort and delyt ; 
 Yet noch incressis thy courage to indyte, 
 
 Quhois hart sum tyme hes glaid and blissful bene, 
 
 Sangis to mak under the levis grene*. 
 
 bade adieu to Nature. ^ whose. ^ saluted me. 
 
 * bright attire. ' beams. ^ glitters. 
 
 * Poems, vol. i. pp. 3, 4.
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 101 
 
 AVith scarce the difference of a word, the whole 
 of this fine description may be read as English 
 poetry, not inferior in the brilliancy of its fancy 
 or the polish of its versification to Spenser : — 
 
 When March with varying winds had onward past, 
 And gentle April, with her silver showers, 
 
 Bade Nature farewell ia an orient blast, 
 And lusty May, that mother is of flowers, 
 Had waked the birds in their melodious bowers. 
 
 Amongst the tender borders, red and white ; 
 
 Whose harmony to hear was great delight. 
 
 In bed at dawning, as I sleeping lay, 
 Aurora, with her eyne as crystal clear. 
 
 In at my window look'd, while broke the day. 
 And me saluted with benignant cheer. 
 Upon whose hand a lark sang loud and clear, 
 
 Lovers, awake out of your slumbering. 
 
 See how the lovely morning doth upspring. 
 
 Methought fresh May beside my bed upstood, 
 In weeds depayut of many divers hue, 
 
 Sober, serene, and full of mansuetude, 
 
 In liright attire of flowers all budding new. 
 Heavenly of colour, white, red, brown, and blue, 
 
 All bathed in dew, and gilt with Phoebus' beams, 
 
 While all the room with golden radiance gleams. 
 
 Sluggard, she said, awake, arise for shame. 
 
 And in mine honour something new go write ; 
 
 He.u"st not the lark the merr) day proclaim, 
 Lovers to raise with solace and delight. 
 And slumbers yet thy courage to indite 
 
 Whose heart hath whilome glad and blissful been. 
 
 Weaving thy songs beneath the leaves so green ? 
 
 The poet having excused his slumbers on the 
 ground of the inclemency of the season and the 
 boisterous blasts of Lord ^Eolus, which had silenced 
 himself and many other tuneful birds, is reminded 
 by May that he h^ul promised, when her sweet
 
 102 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 season began, to describe the rose. Now rise, 
 therefore, says she, and do thine observance — 
 
 Go see the birdis how they sing and dance, 
 Illumyt cure with orient skyis brycht, 
 Annamylet ^ richly with new azure lycht. 
 
 He arises, casts his ' serk and mantill ' over him, 
 and follows the goddess into a lovely garden, 
 redolent with flowers, which are glittering in the 
 morning dew. The sun rises, and as his first level 
 rays gild the face of nature, a blissful song of wel- 
 come bursts from every bush and grove. The 
 whole description is exquisite : — 
 
 The purpour sone, with teudyr bemys reid, 
 In orient bricht as angell did appeir, 
 
 Throw golden skyis putting up his heid, 
 Quhois gilt tressis schone so wondir cleir, 
 That all the world tuke confort, ier and near, 
 
 To luke upone his fresche and blissful face, 
 
 Doing all sable from the hevynnis chace. 
 
 And as the blessful soune of cherachy, 
 
 The fowlis song throw confort of the licht ; 
 
 The birdis did with oppen voices crj', 
 O luvaris fo, away thou dully Nycht, 
 And welcum Day that comfortis every wicht, 
 
 Hail May, hail Flora, haill Aurora schene, 
 
 Hail princis Nature, haill Venus, luvis quene *. 
 
 The glorious sun, with beams as ruby red. 
 In orient bright as angel did appear, 
 
 Through the glad sky advancing up his head ; 
 Whose gilded tresses shone so wondrous clear, 
 That all the world took comfort, far and near, 
 
 To look upon his fresh and blissful face, 
 
 Which soon all sable from the heavens did chase. 
 
 ' enamelled. 
 * Poems, vol. i. p. 5.
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR, 103 
 
 And as the glorious orb drove up the sky, 
 
 Sang every bird through comfort of the light, 
 
 And with their sweet melodious throats 'gan cry, 
 Lovers awake, away thou dully Night ; 
 Welcome, sweet Day, that comforts every wight ; 
 
 Hail May, hail Flora, hail Aurora, sheen, 
 
 Hail princess Nature, hail Love's loveliest Queen. 
 
 Dame Nature, having first commanded fierce 
 Neptune and Eolus the bald not to perturb the 
 uater nor the air — 
 
 And that na schouris snell S nor blastes cauld, 
 Effray should flouris, nor fowlis on the fold, — 
 
 issues next her mandate to the beasts, the birds, 
 and the flowers, to attend her court, as they are 
 wont on the first of May : — 
 
 Scho ordaind eik that every bird and heist, 
 Befoir her hienes suld annone compeir, 
 
 And every flour of verteu, most and leist. 
 And every herb be field, fer and neir, 
 As they had wont in May, fro yeir to }-eir, 
 
 To her their makar to mak obediens. 
 
 Full law iuclynand, with all dew reverens *. 
 
 She then ordain'd that every bird and beast. 
 Before her highness should anon appear, 
 
 And every ilower of virtue, most and least. 
 And every herb, by field or forest near, 
 As they were wont in May, from year to year. 
 
 To her, their Queen, to make obedience. 
 
 Inclining low, with all due reverence. 
 
 The swift-footed roe is despatched as the herald 
 to warn the beasts of the forest, the restless swal- 
 low to bear her commands to the denizens of the 
 air, and, obedient to the summons, all instantly 
 appear before the queen — 
 
 * Piercing. 
 * Poems, vol. i. p. 6.
 
 104 WILLIAM DUNBAR. ' 
 
 All present were in twinkling of an ee, 
 
 Baith beast, and bird, and flower, before the Queen. 
 
 And first the lion, greatest of degree, 
 
 Was called there, and he most fair to sene, 
 With a full hardy countenance and keen, 
 
 Before dame Nature came, and did incUne, 
 
 W^ith visage bold, and courage leonine. 
 
 This awful heast was terrible of cheir, 
 
 Piercing of look, and stout of countenance ; 
 
 Right strong of corps, in fashion fair, but tier, 
 Lusty of shape, light of deliverance, 
 Red of his colour as the ruby glance ; 
 
 On field of gold he stood full mightily, 
 
 With flower de luces circled pleasantly *. 
 
 This description is not only noble, containing as 
 fine a picture of the monarch of the beasts as is to 
 be found in the whole range of poetry, but is pe- 
 culiarly appropriate, being a blazon of the Scottish 
 arms, — a red lion rampant upon a field of gold, 
 encircled with a border of fleurs-de-luces ; Nature 
 permits him to lean his paws upon her knee, and 
 placing the royal crown upon his head, commands 
 him as king, and protector of the smallest as well 
 as the greatest of his subjects, to rule over them 
 with benignity, and to temper justice with mercy. 
 A fine moral lesson to the prince, of whom the 
 lion is meant to be the personification : — 
 
 The lady lifted up his clav/is clear, 
 
 And let him lightly lean upon her knee, 
 
 And crowned him with diadem full dear 
 Of radiant stones, most royal there to see, 
 Saying, The king of all beasts make I thee, 
 
 And the protector cheif in woods and shaws, 
 
 Go forth — and to thy lieges keep the laws. 
 
 * There Is scarce a word changed, except from the old to 
 the more modern spelling.
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. lOS 
 
 Justice exerce with mercy and conscience, 
 And let na small beast suffer scaith nor scorn 
 
 Of {greater beasts that bene of more puissance : 
 Do law alike to apes and unicorns, 
 And let no bow^le with his boistrous horn 
 
 Oppress the meek plough ox, for all his pride, 
 
 But in the yoke go quietly him beside. 
 
 Then crowned she the eagle king of fowls, 
 
 And sharp as darts of steel she made his pens, 
 
 And bad him be as just to whaups and owls, 
 As unto peacocks, papingoes, or cranes ; 
 And make one law for strong fowls and for wrens ; 
 
 And let no fowl of rapine do affray, 
 
 Nor birds devour but their own proper prey *. 
 
 The queen next addresses herself to the flowers, 
 and, with great beauty and })ropriety, selecting 
 the thistle, whose warlike thorns peculiarly fitted 
 him to protect the softer plants from scaith or 
 scorn : — 
 
 Then called she all the flowers that grew in field, 
 Describing both their fashion and efit-'irs ' ; 
 
 Upon the awfull thistle she beheld. 
 
 And saw him guarded with a bush of spears ; 
 Considering hiin so able for the weirs ^, 
 
 A radiant crown of rubies she him gave. 
 
 And said; in field go forth and fend the lave ^. 
 
 Nature then proceeds to the coronation of the 
 rose, as queen of flowers ; and the praises, be- 
 stowed on tlie beauty and rare qualities of this 
 gem of the garden, are gracefully a])plied to the 
 illustrious English princess, who was about to 
 bestow her hand and her heart upon his royal 
 master: — 
 
 * Poems, vol. i. pp. 7, 8. 
 ^ proiwrties. * wars. ^ defend the rest.
 
 106 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 Then to the rose sche turned her visage, 
 And said, O lovely daughter, most bening, 
 
 Above the lily, — lustrous in lynage \ 
 
 From the stock royal, rising fresh and ying^, 
 But any spot or macall doing spring^; 
 
 Come bloom of joy, with richest gems be erown'd, 
 
 For o'er them all thy beauty is reuown'd. 
 
 A costly crown, with stones all flaming bright, 
 This comely queen did on her head enclose, 
 
 While all the land illumined was with hght ; 
 
 Wherefore, methought, the flowers did all rejolse'' — • 
 Crying at once — Hail to the fragrant rose ! 
 
 Hail empress of all plants ! fresh queen of flowers ! 
 
 To thee be praise and honour at all hours *. 
 
 The crown is no sooner placed on the head of 
 the queen of flowers, than the birds, led by the 
 mavis and tlie nightingale, strain their little 
 throats in one loud, but melodious song of 
 triumph and loyalty ; with the noise of which the 
 poet awakes, and starting from his couch, half 
 afraid, anxiously looks round for the brilliant and 
 fragrant court, in which he had beheld these 
 wonders ; but the garden, the birds, the flowers, 
 and Dame Nature, have all faded into empty air ; 
 and he consoles himself by describing the vision. 
 
 This sweet poem was written, as we already 
 know, in commemoration of the union of James 
 IV. with the lady Margaret Tudor. It was 
 finished, as he intimates in the concluding verses, 
 on the ninth of May. The marriage did not 
 take place for some months after ; but the pre- 
 parations for it had connnenced as early as the 
 iburtli of May, when a commission was given by 
 
 ' lineage. * young. 
 
 ^ springing without spot or taint. * rejoice. 
 
 * Poems, vol. i. p. 0.
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 107 
 
 Henry VII. to several of his nobles, to treat witli 
 the King of Scots regarding the dowry. Some 
 of the minute particulars attending the journey of 
 the princess to Scotland, and her first meeting 
 with the king, as recorded by Leland in his 
 Collectanea, are characteristic of the limes. On 
 the 1st of August she left Berwick, and was 
 conducted to Lambertoun Kirk, where she w'as 
 delivered, free of all expense, to the messengers of 
 the King of Scots ; w ho conducted her from 
 thence to Fast Castle, and thence through Dunbar, 
 where they ' schott ordnance for the kive of her.' 
 On the 3d she reached the Earl of Morton's 
 liouse at Dalkeith, where she was immediately 
 visited by the king, — ' his leure behind his back, 
 and his berde something long,' attended by his 
 brother the Archbishop of St. Andrew's, the Bishop 
 of Caithness, the Earls of Huntley, Argyle, and 
 Lennox, the Lord Hamilton, and many other 
 lords and gentlemen, to the number of sixty 
 horse. The king w as then conveyed to the queen's 
 chamber, and she met him at the chamber-door, 
 honourably accompanied ; and at the meeting, he 
 and she, after making great reverences the one to 
 the other, kissed together ; and in like manner, 
 kissed the ladies and others also. And he, in 
 especial, welcomed the Earl of Surrey very heartily. 
 After which, the queen and he went aside, and 
 communed together for long space. On the 7th, 
 the princess lett Dalkeith, nobly accompanied and 
 in fair array, seated in her litter, which was very 
 richly adorned. Half way between that and 
 Edinburgh, the king met her, mounted on a bay 
 horse, running at full speed as he would run after
 
 108 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 tlie hare, and surrounded by a troop of Iiis nobles. 
 On reaching his capital, he mounted a palfrey, 
 having placed the princess on a pillion behind 
 him; in which honest and antique fashion, the 
 gallant monarch rode through the good town to 
 his palace, amid the acclamations of his subjects. 
 On the 8th of August the marriage took place in 
 the chapel of Holyrood. James was then in his 
 thirty-third year, his youthful queen just fourteen ; 
 and some characteristic touches of manners may 
 be gleaned from the ' Treasurer's Accounts.' In 
 his description of the king's first interview with 
 his bride at Dalkeith, Young, the English herald, 
 seems to have been struck with the length of 
 James's beard ; and his young bride was probably 
 a little annoyed at it, for on the day after the 
 marriage we find, that the gallant monarch em- 
 ployed the Countess of Surrey, and her daughter 
 Lady Gray, to clip his beard ; for which service, 
 these noble tonsors received — the first, thirty-five 
 ells of cloth of gold ; and the last, fifteen ells of 
 damask gold *. 
 
 U we may judge from the expensive prepara- 
 tions, and the costly dresses of the nobles, as they 
 appear in the same ancient records, the marriage 
 must have been celebrated with imcommon pomp 
 and magnificence : and amidst the various pre- 
 sents and hymeneal otterings, which on that joyous 
 occasion were laid at the feet of the princess, few 
 
 * Item, tlic 9 day of Auj;-usf, aftur the marriage, for 25- 
 ehi cloth of iroUl to the ComUass of Hurry of la-laud, quhea 
 sche and her dochter, Lady (iiay, cHppit (he King's herde, 
 iii'^xxxib. Item, for xv ehi of danuis go!d, by tiie King's 
 commande to the said Lady (iray of tnghmd, j"^ xxx lb. — 
 MS. Collections by the J'vuv. Win. M'Ciregor Siirling.
 
 ■WILLIAM DUNBAR. 109 
 
 could be more beautiful or appropriate than 
 Dunbar's fine allegorical vision, the ' Thistle and 
 the Rose.' We have no reason to believe, how- 
 ever, that its author experienced any substantial 
 instance of royal gratitude. He continued to 
 reside at court, to share in the amusements, and 
 bear a part in the revels of his gay and tliought- 
 less master ; but he saw otliers preferred, whilst 
 he was thrust back or neglected ; and his poetry 
 is, in many places, little else than a severe and 
 biting commentary ou the arrogance of court 
 minions, the insolence of wardrobe keepers, deputy 
 treasurers, and other minor officials. One of 
 these indignant castigations is, from its humour, 
 worthy of notice. The queen's keeper of the 
 robe was Jamie Doig, or as it was then probably 
 pronounced in Scotland — Dog; who, on some 
 occasion, had been ordered by the queen to pre- 
 sent the poet with a velvet doublet, a command 
 which he obeyed with so ill a grace, that Dunl)ar 
 addressed this poetical complaint to the prin- 
 cess — 
 
 ON JAMES DOIG, KEEPAR Ol" THE QUEEN'.S WARDROP. 
 TO THE QUEEN, 
 
 The 'Wardroper of Vemis bowrc, 
 To f;ive a doublet is as doiire', 
 As it were for ane fute side frot» : 
 Madame, ye have a dangerous Dog. ^ 
 
 AVhen that I sliow to him your marks, 
 He turns to me aj^ain and barks, 
 As he were worryint; ane hof^ : 
 Madame, ye have a dangerous Dog. 
 
 ' obslniaie or difficult.
 
 Ho WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 When that I show to him j'Oiir writing, 
 He girns ' that I am red for flyting, 
 I would he had a heavy clog : 
 Madame, ye have a dangerous Dog. 
 
 When that I speak to him friend-like. 
 He growls like ony tnidden tike"^, 
 War-chasing cattle thro a bog : 
 Madame, ye have a dangerous Dog. 
 
 He is ane mastiff, strong of might, 
 To keep your wardrobe over night 
 From the great Soldan, Gog-magog: 
 Madame, ye have a dangerous Dog. 
 
 Oure large he is to be your messan^, 
 I you advise to get a less ane *, 
 His tread gars all your chambers schog: 
 Madame, ye have a dangerous Dog. 
 
 Jamie Doig, however, appears soon after to have 
 relented, the promised suit is delivered from the 
 wardrobe, and the poet changes his verses as 
 easily and readily as he does his doublet. The 
 dangerous Dog is tranformed into a Lamb ; and in 
 the lines ' on the said James wlien he had pleased 
 liim,' we learn some particulars which say little 
 for the matrimonial felicity of the worthy ward- 
 raipair : — 
 
 The wife that he had in his inns, 
 
 That with the tangs ^ wad break his shins, 
 
 I wad she drownd were in a dam, 
 
 He is na Dog — he is ane Lamb *. 
 
 Jamie Doig himself, whose strength and make 
 were so great that his step shook the chambers 
 of his royal mistress, is one of those whom the 
 
 ^ complaining bitterly. ^ dunghill cur. 
 
 ' lap-dog. •* a smaller one. * tongs. 
 
 * Poems, vol. ii. pp. 110, 111,
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. Ill 
 
 treasurer is ordered to furnish with a dress of state 
 for the marriage*. 
 
 On another occasion the poet addresses the 
 King in the character of the ' Grey Horse, auld 
 Dunhar,' comphaining that, when idler steeds are 
 tenderly cared for, and clothed in gorgeous trap- 
 pings, iie who had done his Majesty good service 
 is neglected in his old age : 
 
 Thocht in the stall I be nocht clappit, 
 As coursours that in silk beine trappit, 
 ■\Yith ane new hous I wald be happit, 
 Against this Christmas for the cauld ' ; 
 Sir, let it nevir in town be tald ^ 
 That I suld be a Yuillis yald^ 
 
 I am ane auld horse, as ye knaw *, 
 That evir in dule ^ dois dring and draw ; 
 Great court-horse puttis me ira the staw", 
 To fang the fog^ be firth and fald ; 
 Sir, let it nevir in town be tald 
 That 1 suld be a Yuillis yald. 
 
 I half lang run forth in the field, 
 On pastouris that ar plane and peil'd^, 
 I micht be now tane in for eild '^, 
 My banes are showing he and bald. 
 Sir, let it nevir in town be tald. 
 That I suld be a Yuillis yald. 
 
 My mane is turned into quhyte^", 
 And thereof ye haif all the wyte ", 
 Qidian uther horse had bran to bite, 
 I had but gress '^, knip gif 1 wald ; 
 Sir, let it nevir in town i)e tald 
 That I suld be a Y'uillis yald. 
 
 * Treasurer's Books, August 3, 1503. 
 
 1 cold. - told. 
 
 ' a useless old horse, turned into a straw-yard at Y'ule, or 
 
 Christmas. 
 
 * know. = sorrow. « stall. " bear the fog. 
 
 « bare and worn out. ^ age. '" white. 
 
 " blame. ^^ grass, if 1 would pick a little.
 
 112 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 The court has done my curage cuill ', 
 And maid me ane forriddin muil^, 
 Yet to weir trappourris ^ at this Yule, 
 I wad be spurr'd at everie spald ••. 
 Sir, let it nevir in town be tald 
 That I snld be a Yuillis yald. 
 
 Whether this remonstrance was attended by any 
 substantial or permanent benefit to the ' Auld 
 Grey Horse ' is doubtful ; but it is certain the 
 King replied in the following fashion, which, as 
 the only poetical effort of this gallant prince, is 
 worth preservation : 
 
 RESPONSIO REOIS. 
 
 Efter our writtingis treasurer, 
 
 Tak in this Grey Horse, auld Dunbar, 
 
 Quhilk in my aucht with service trew ' 
 
 To 13'art changeit is his hew ^. 
 
 Gar liowse him now aganis this Yuill, 
 
 And busk ' him like ane bischoppis muilP; 
 
 For with my hand I have indost ^ 
 
 To pay quhat evir his trappouris ^'' cost. 
 
 A curious feature in the poetical literature of 
 this age is to be found in that si^ecies of rhyth- 
 mical invective termed Flyting or Scolding, for 
 which Dunbar appears to have made himself 
 especially illustrious. It is difficult to determine 
 whether the enmity and rivalry of two poets, who 
 gave themselves up to this coarse sort of buf- 
 foonery, was real or pretended. The probability 
 seems to be, that it was considered both by the 
 authors and their audience, as a mere pastime of 
 the imagination — a licence to indulge in every 
 kind of poetical vituperation — a kind of literary 
 
 ' cool. ^ over-worked mule. ^ trappings 
 
 * spurred at every bone. 
 
 ' true. ' hue. ^ adorn. ^ mule, 
 
 ^ indorsed, '" trappings.
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 113 
 
 Saturnalia or licentious badinage, which, in its 
 commencement, and in the received principles by 
 which it was regulated, did not imply any real 
 hostility of feeling, but was very likely to lead 
 to it. Lord Hailes has well remarked, that Luigi 
 Pulci and JMatteo Franco, althouoh dear and in- 
 Innate friends, for their own amusement, and the 
 gratification of their readers, have indulged in a 
 similar species of abuse ; and it seems impossible 
 to believe that the affectionate regret with which 
 Dunbar mentions Kennedy, in liis ' Lament for 
 the Death of the Makars,' could have proceeded 
 from an enemy. AVilh regard to the poetry itself, 
 if we may use so high a name, it consists of a 
 succession of stanzas of coarse and vulgar invec- 
 tive, of such strange antiquarian Billingsgate, that 
 they are happily almost wholly unintelligible. A 
 single stanza from Kennedy's attack, and the 
 reply of his antagonist, is amply sufficient : — 
 
 Dreid, diitf.ist dearch, that thou hes dissohey it, 
 ]\I}' cousing Quintenc and m)- commissar. 
 
 Fantastick fule — traist well thou sail be fleyit. 
 Ignorant elf, ape, owl, irregular 
 Skaldit skaithird, and common skamelar, 
 
 Wan thriven funling. that Natme made ane }rle, 
 
 Baith Johne the Ross and thou sail squeill and skirle. 
 
 To this trash Dunbar, with equal perspicuity 
 and elegance, rej)lies : — 
 
 Revin ragged rukc, and full of rehaldrie, 
 
 Scarth fra scorpione, skaldit in scurrilitie ; 
 I see thee haltane in thy venomie, 
 
 And into uther science nathing slie. 
 Of every vorteu void as men may see ; 
 
 Quytelame clergie, and clerk to the' ane club; 
 Ane haird blasphemar, in brybrie ay to be, 
 
 For wit and wisdom ane wisp fra thee may rub. 
 VOL. III. I
 
 114 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 To follow these flyters farther into the depths 
 of their scurrility, would be both unprofitable and 
 disgusting. 
 
 In his verses, entitled a ' Dance in the Queen's 
 Chamber,' Dunbar presents us with a picture of 
 himself, and adds the circumstance of his being in 
 love with Mistress Musgrave, probably one of the 
 court ladies who had arrived with the youthful 
 queen : — 
 
 Then came in Dunbar the makkar ', 
 On all the floor there was none frakkar^, 
 
 And there he danced the dirrie dantoun, 
 
 He hoppit like a pilly-wantoun, 
 For love of Musgrave, men tells me ; 
 
 He tript until he tint his pantoun^; 
 A merrier dance might no man see. 
 
 Then came in Mistress Musgrave, 
 She might have learned all the lave *, 
 
 When I saw her so trimly dance, 
 
 Her good convoy and countenance, 
 Tlien for her sake 1 wished to be 
 
 The greatest Earl or Duke in France : 
 A merrier dance might no man see *. 
 
 The lighter and shorter pieces of Dunbar pre- 
 sent us with great variety in subject, in humour, 
 and in beauty. Some of the stanzas in his ad- 
 dress to the merchants of Edinburgh, and the hints 
 he submits to them for the reformation of the 
 ' gude [town,' are excellent; nor has the march of 
 modern improvement, on which the citizens of that 
 ancient city are so fond of descanting, entirely 
 removed the nuisances tlierein described: — 
 
 ^ maker or poet. * nimbler. ^ pantaloons, 
 
 * the rest, 
 
 * Poems, vol. i. p. 128.
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 115 
 
 Why will ye, merchants of renown, 
 
 Let Edinbruch, your noble town, 
 
 For lak of reformation, 
 Tlie common profit, tyne and fame ? 
 
 Think ye no shame, 
 
 That any other regioun, 
 Should with dishonour hurt your name ? 
 
 Nane may pass thro your cheifest gates. 
 
 For stench of haddocks and of scales ; 
 
 Loud cries of carlings, and debates, 
 And fensum fly tings of defame : 
 
 Think ye not shame. 
 
 Before strangers of all estates, 
 That such dishonour hurt your name? 
 * * * * 
 
 At your high cross, where gold and silk 
 
 Should be, there is but cr\ids and milk ; 
 
 And at your Tron, cokill and whilk, 
 Paunches, and puddings of Jok and Jame, 
 
 Think ye not shame. 
 
 Syne that the hail warld says that ilk ' 
 In hurt and slander of your name ? 
 
 Since for the court, and eke the sessioun. 
 
 The great repair of this regioun 
 
 Is to your burgh, therefore be boun 
 To mend all faults that are to blame, 
 
 And eschew shame ; 
 
 Gif they pass to another toun. 
 Ye will decay, and your great name. 
 
 It is to be regretted that, in some of his 
 sweetest pieces, he lias permitted himself to be run 
 away with by tlie unfortunate passion of the age 
 for the introduction of those allegorical personages 
 with whom it is impossible for us to have much 
 sympathy or ])atience. Thus his Dream com- 
 mences beautiluUy, and we anticipate from its 
 continuation a harvest of the richest fancy and 
 
 ^ this same thing. 
 
 I 2
 
 J 16 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 the most graceful diction, when the dreary damsel 
 Distress, her sorry sister Heaviness, two other 
 very tedious rehitives, entitled Comfort and Plea- 
 sure, a doleful gentleman yclept Languor, and a 
 whole crowd of other airy personifications — 
 Nobleness, Discretion, Wit, Considerance, Blind 
 Affection, Reason, wlio tells he has been a lord of 
 session, Opportunity, Temperance, and Sir John 
 Kirkepakker, a pluralist, are all introduced to be- 
 stow their tediousness upon us, and to banish 
 truth and nature from the deliglitful Uttle produc- 
 tion into which they have thrust themselves. The 
 commencement is beautiful: — 
 
 The hinder nicht, half-sleeping as I lay, 
 Methought my chambtr in a new array 
 
 Wns all depaynt with manj' divers hue, 
 
 Of all the nuble stories, old and new, 
 Since cur first father formed was of clay. 
 
 Methouglit the lift' all gleam'd with radiance bright, 
 And therein entred many a lusty wight ; 
 
 Some young, some old, in sundry wise arraj-d ; 
 
 Some sung, some danc'd, on instruments some play'd ; 
 Some made dasport with hearts most glad and light. 
 
 Their pleasing song, their sweet melodious trade, 
 Aiul jdj'ous look, my heart no confort made, 
 
 For why ? the dreary damsel, hight Distress, 
 
 And eke her sorry sister, Heaviness, 
 Heavy as lead, in bed above me laid 
 
 Their doleful length — and, at my couch's head 
 Sat Languor, with shut ej'e, most like the dead 
 And she did play a strain, so sad to hear, 
 Blethought one little hour did seem a year: 
 Wan was her hue, and bluey cold like lead*. 
 
 ' sky. 
 * Poems, vol.i. pp. 31, 32.
 
 ■WILLIAM DUXBAR. 117 
 
 Of these verses, the two last stanzas are sliglitly 
 altered from the original. 
 
 The description of Sir Jolin Kirkpakker, the 
 pluralist, and the contrast drawn by the poet be- 
 tween himself, wlio had waited long and patiently 
 for some preferment, and this mighty 'undertakker,' 
 already possessed of seven, and trusting soon to 
 have eleven churches, is humorous : — 
 
 Then came anone one call'd Sir John Kirkpakker, 
 
 Of many cures a mighty undertakker, 
 
 Quoth he, I am possest of churclies seven, 
 And soon I think they grow shall to eleven, 
 
 Before he come to one, yond groaning hallad-maker. 
 
 Then Patience to me said, Friend, make good cheer, 
 And on thy Prince depend with duteous fear; 
 For I full well do know his fixed intent, 
 He would not, for a bishop's princely rent, 
 Let thee go unrewarded halt-an-year.^ 
 
 At what precise date this remonstrance was 
 written is not certain ; but tlie hint and compli- 
 ment probably had its effect, for on the 26th of 
 August, 1510, the king bestowed a yearly pension 
 of eighty pounds upon the poet, to be continued 
 till he was provided in a benefice of a hundred or 
 more yearly*. 
 
 One of Dunbar's most characteristic poems, 
 and which exhibits in a strong light his powers 
 as a satirist, is that entitled ' The Twa Married 
 Women and the ^^ idow.' Its object is to ex- . 
 pose the licentiousness of tlie female manners of 
 the times ; and although deformed by coarse- 
 ness, and full of ])assages which cannot be read 
 without disgust, there are some pictures in it, 
 
 • The Privy Seal, IV. 80.
 
 118 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 given with a freshness, truth, and humour, which 
 strongly reminds us of the muse of Chaucer. 
 The metre is the only specimen of blank verse to 
 be met with in the Scottish language. The poet, 
 in a sweet midsummer's night, walks forth to 
 enjoy the season in a garden, where he has 
 scarcely solaced himself for a few moments, when 
 he is startled by the sounds of mirth and revelry 
 proceeding from a shady arbour hard by. He 
 approaches unperceived, and sees three fair ladies 
 sitting at a table, on which is a rich banquet, with 
 wine, of which they have evidently partaken. 
 These are of course the dramatis persona? of the 
 tale, the two married women and the widow. 
 Their apparel is of the most costly description, 
 their talk loud, and the subjects which they discuss 
 the miseries of matrimony, and the delights of wi- 
 dowed freedom. I shall endeavour to give the 
 verses with no very material change, except from 
 the ancient to the modern spelling : — 
 
 On a midsummer's even, that merriest is of nights, 
 
 I moved forth alone, when midnight near was past, 
 
 Beside a lovely garden, all full of gaj'est flowers, 
 
 And highly hedged around with trees of hawthorn sweet, 
 
 On which a joyous bird her notes gan sing so lond, 
 
 That ne'er methought a blyther bird on bough was ever 
 
 heard. 
 Pleased with the fragrance sanative of these sweet midnight 
 
 flowers, 
 And with the winged minstrels song, so full of gladsomeness, 
 I drew in secret to the hedge, intent on mirthful cheer, 
 Whilst nightingales the dew drops sipt to make their notes 
 
 more clear. 
 Sudden I heard beneath a holly, cloth'd in heavenly green, 
 Beside my hand, a strife of words, with haughty argument, 
 And drawing nearer to the hedge, I thrust my body thro', 
 Ensconced in the hawthorn white, and hid with leafy screen.
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 119 
 
 And thus thro' crannies of the thorn that thickly plaited 
 
 were 
 I prest to see if any wight were in that garden there. 
 Then straight I saw three ladies gay sitting in arbour green. 
 Their heads all garlanded with flowers of fairest, freshest 
 
 hues, 
 Their braided tresses shone like gold, and such their beau- 
 ties were, 
 That all the ground seemed light around, gleaming with 
 
 gladsome beams ; 
 Comb'd were those waving locks so bright, and curiously 
 
 did part 
 Straight down their shoulders, fair and round, in folds of 
 
 wavy length ; 
 Their curches cast were them above, of muslin thin and 
 
 clear, 
 And green their mantles were as grass that grows in May 
 
 season, 
 Bordered with feathers curious wrought, around their 
 
 graceful sides; 
 With wondrous favour meek and gent their goodly faces 
 
 shone, 
 All blooming in their beauty bright, like flowers in middle 
 
 June : 
 Soft, seemly, white, their skin did show, like lilies newly 
 
 blown, 
 Tinted with damask, as the rose whose little bud just opes. 
 * * * 
 
 A marble table covered stood before these ladies three, 
 With glittering, goodly cups in rows, replenished all with 
 
 wine ; 
 And of these lightsome dames were two wedded to lords 
 
 I ween. 
 The third in widowhood did live, a wanton she and gay. 
 Full loud they talked, and struck the board, and many a 
 
 tale they knew. 
 And deep and oft they drain'd the cup, and loud and louder 
 
 grew 
 Their mirth and words, ana faster still from tale to tale 
 
 they flew *. 
 
 * Poems, vol. i. pp. 61, 62.
 
 120 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 Such is a moderately close ti'anslation of the 
 opening of this satirical tale ; but it is impossible 
 to follow the widow or the married ladies farther. 
 We are not, however, to form our ideas of the 
 female manners of the age from the conversation 
 and loose principles of Dunbar's ' Cummeris.' It 
 is not to be forgotten that it is a satirical poem, 
 and probably did not profess to give an exact pic- 
 ture of the times. 
 
 The ' Friars of Berwick,' which Pinkerton, on 
 very probable grounds, has ascribed to this poet, 
 affords a still finer example of his vigour as a 
 satirist. Its object is to expose the licentious lives 
 of some of the monkish orders, and nothing can be 
 more rich than the humour with which the story is 
 told. Friar Robert and Friar Allan, two of the 
 order of White Jacobin Friars, set off from Ber- 
 wick to visit their brethren in the country. On 
 their return they are benighted : — 
 
 "Whiles on a time they purposed to pass hame ', 
 But very tired and wet was friar Allane, 
 For he was old and nii^lit not well travel, 
 And he had too a little spice of gravel ; 
 Young was friar Robert, strong and hot of blood, 
 And by the way he bore both cloths and hood, 
 And all their gear, for he was wise and wight. 
 By this it drew near hand towards the night ; 
 As they were comming toward the town full near, 
 Thus spoke friar Allan, ' My good brother dear. 
 It is so late, I dread the gates be closed ; 
 And tired are we, and very ill disposed 
 To lodge out of the toun, perchance then we 
 In some good house this night may lodged be*.' 
 
 This is scarcely spoken when they find them- 
 
 * home. 
 * Poems, vol. ii. p. 4.
 
 \VILLTAM DUNBAR. 121 
 
 selves at the door of the hostelrie of Sniion 
 Lauder, an honest innkeeper, whose wife, Dame 
 AHson, is somewhat simihir in her disposition to 
 tlie two married women and the widow, witli wliom 
 we are already acquainted — fond of good cheer 
 and good company, and not very correct in her 
 morals. The friars knock at the gate, inquire for 
 the ' gudeman,' and find that he has gone to the 
 country to buy corn and hay. They then com- 
 plain of being wondrous thirsty, and the dame, 
 with ready hospitality, fills a stoup of ale, and 
 invites them to sit down and refresh themselves, 
 to which they at once assent : 
 
 The friars were blyth, and merry tales could tell, 
 And ev'n with that they heard the vesjier bell 
 Of their own abbey ; then they were aghast, 
 Because they knew the gates were closed fast*. 
 
 The friars in dismay entreat Dame Alison, seeing 
 they are shut out from tlieir own abbey, to give 
 tliem a night's lodging ; but this she steadily re- 
 fuses, alleging the scandal which would be likely 
 to arise should she in the absence of her husband 
 be known to have harboured two friars. 8he 
 points, however, to a barn or outhouse, where 
 they are welcome to take up their quarters, and to 
 which she sends her niaideu to prepare their bed, 
 and there they lie down accordingly ; friar Allan, 
 who was old and fatigued with travel, to sleej), 
 but friar Robert is wakeful, and at last rises to 
 see if he may spy or meet with any merriment. 
 The story then turns to the goodwife, Dame 
 Alison, who, in the absence of her husband, had 
 invited friar John, a neighbouring monk, of great 
 * Poems, vol. ii. p. o.
 
 122 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 riches and dignity, to sup with her that evening. 
 Her preparations for the feast, and her rich toilet 
 are admirably described : — 
 
 She thristit on fat capons to the spit, 
 And rabbits eke to fire she straight did lay, 
 Syne bad the maidin in all haste she may 
 To flam, and tm-n and roast them tenderly, 
 
 And to her chamber then she went in hy^ 
 
 * * • * 
 
 She cloth'd her in a gown of finest red, 
 
 A fair white curch she placed upon her head, 
 
 Her kirtle was of silk and silver fine, 
 
 Her other garments like red gold did shine, 
 
 On every finger she wore ringis two. 
 
 And trod as proud as any papingo. 
 
 Then spread the board with cloth of costly green, 
 
 And napery plac'd above right well be sene.* 
 
 The expected guest at last tirls at the gate, and 
 the meeting, which is seen through a cranny in 
 the chamber by friar Robert, is described with 
 great spirit and humour. Nor does the friar come 
 empty handed : he brings a pair of ' bossis' or bot- 
 tles 
 
 ' good and fine. 
 That hold a gallon full of Gascogne wine j' 
 
 two plump partridges, and some rich cakes in a 
 basket. They now sit down to their feast, but in 
 the middle of supper, their merriment is inter- 
 rupted by a loud knocking at the door, and to 
 their dismay it turns out to be honest Simon him- 
 self, who, having completed his business, arrives 
 suddenly. All is in confusion in a moment : friar 
 John runs from corner to corner, not knowing 
 where to escape, but at last, finding it impossible 
 
 ' haste. 
 * Poems, vol. ii. p. 8.
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 123 
 
 to effect his retreat, he ensconces himself in a 
 large meal-trough or girnel, which lay in a nook 
 of the chamber, the rich feast is then whirled off 
 the board, the rabbits, capons, partridges, wine, 
 and dainties, shut up in the aumry or closet, the 
 fire slackened or put out, the house swept, and 
 the dame herself, stripjjing off her gay apparel, 
 creeps to bed. Meanwhile, as might be expected, 
 Simon gets impatient — 
 
 And on his Alison began to cry, 
 ■yMiilst at the last she answered crabbedly — 
 Ah who is this that knows so well my name ? 
 Go hence, she says, for Simon is fra hame, 
 And I will harbour here no guests perfay ; 
 Therefore I pray you that ye wend your way, 
 For at this time ye may not lodged be. 
 Then Simon said, Fair dame, ken ye not me * ? 
 
 The goodman is at length admitted, and, being 
 cold and hungry, asks hastily for his supper ; 
 Alison remonstrates, and ridicules the idea of 
 getting meat at this unseasonable hour: — 
 
 The goodwife shortly said, ye may me trow. 
 
 Here is no meat that can be drest for you. 
 
 How so, fair dame .'' go get me cheese and bread, 
 
 Then fill the stoup, hold me no more in plead, 
 
 For I am very weary, wet, and cold. 
 
 Then up slie rose, and durst no more be bold, 
 
 Cover'd the board, thereon set meat in hy, 
 
 And soused riolt's foot, and sheep's head cunningly, 
 
 And some cold meat she to him serv'd meanwhile, 
 
 Syne filled the stoup ; the gudeman then gan smile, 
 
 And sat him down to taste the hearty cheer, 
 
 Said, nought want I but a companion here f . 
 
 This hospitable wish of the honest innkeeper, is 
 overheard by the friars, who are in the adjoining 
 
 * Poems, vol. ii. p. 11. + Ibid, p. 12.
 
 124 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 loft, and brother Robert, indignant tliat the lord 
 of the manor should be put off with sheep's head, 
 when he had just witnessed such dainty viands hid 
 in the pantry, determines to bring to light the 
 cunning of dame Alison. He coughs loud ; Si- 
 mon, starting up, asks what sound was this ? and 
 his wife informs him of the arrival of the two friars 
 during his absence : 
 
 Yond is friar Robert and aged friar AUane, 
 That all this day has travelled with great pain; 
 That when they here arriv'd it was so late, 
 Curfew was rung, and closed was the gate ; 
 So in our loft I gave them harherye. 
 The gudeman said — Wife, prudently did ye ; 
 These friars two are hartly welcome hither ; 
 Go call them down that we may drink together. 
 
 The two friars are not slow to obey tlie hospit- 
 able invitation ; and after a kindly meeting honest 
 Simon laments that he has not a more dainty 
 supper to set before them — 
 
 Yet would I give a crown of gold for me, 
 
 For some good meat and drink among us three*. 
 
 • My excellent friend,' said friar Robert, ' let ma 
 know only what kind of meat or drink you most 
 long for. I was educated in Paris, and acquired 
 in that university some little skill in the occult 
 sciences, which I would gladly use for your profit, 
 and the comfort of this kind landladv, to whom 
 we are indebted for a lodoini; : — 
 
 I take on hand, an ye will counsel keep, 
 
 That I shall make you taste, before you sleep, 
 
 Of the best meat that is in this countrie, 
 
 With Gascoign wine if any in it be, — 
 
 Nay shoidd it be within a hundred mile, 
 
 It shall be here before a little while f. 
 
 * Poems, vol. ii. p. 14. f Ibid, p. 14.
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 125 
 
 Simon is delighted with the proposal, and friar 
 Robert, at his entreaty, commences his pretended 
 conjurations. He starts upon the floor, opens a 
 little volume which he has in his hand, turns first 
 to the east, next to the west, then to the aumry or 
 pantry, and lastly strikes with his wand the trough 
 or girnel in which friar John lay trembling. After 
 many complicated gestures and incantations, the 
 hooded magician starts up ' full stoure,' and de- 
 clares that his work is completed : — 
 
 Now it is done, and ye shall have plenty 
 Of bread and wine the best in this countrie ; 
 Therefore, good dame, get up thou speedily, 
 And march ye strait unto yon aumery, 
 Then open it, and see ye bring us syne 
 A pair of bottles filled with Gascoign wine. 
 They hold a gallon and more, that wot I weil. 
 Thence also bring the main bread in a creill, 
 A pair of rabbits, fat and piping hut. 
 The capons also, rostet well, 1 wot 
 Two pair of bonny partridges are there, 
 And eke of plewers a most dainty pair*. 
 
 Dame Alison at once perceives that her prac- 
 tices have been discovered ; but, proceeding to the 
 cupboard, and disclosing each savoury dish as it 
 is named by the necromancer, she assumes a well- 
 acted astonishment, whilst lionest Simon cannot 
 contain either his wonder or his a])petite : — 
 
 He had great wonder, and swore by the mone ', 
 That friar Robert well his debt had done ; 
 He may be called a man of great science, 
 That hath so quickly made this purviance, 
 And brought it here through his great subtilty, 
 And through his knowledge in philosophy. 
 
 * Poems, vol. ii. p. IG, 
 ^ moon.
 
 126 WILLIAM DUNBA.R. 
 
 The innkeeper, however, is hungry, and has no 
 inclination to waste time in empty compliments ; 
 so sitting down without question or debate, he 
 does excellent justice to the capons, plovers, par- 
 tridges, and washes all down with many a lusty 
 draught of the good Gascoign wine, little careful 
 by what strange and unlawful practices it seemed 
 to be procured ; but, on the contrary, wonderfully 
 pleased with that substantial philosophy which had 
 provided him so excellent a repast. Having as- 
 suaged his appetite, however, he becomes inquisi- 
 tive as to the mode by which so extraordinary a feat 
 of necromancy has been performed, and earnestly 
 begs friar Robert to show him his familiar ; but he 
 is answered, that were the spirit to appear in its 
 own dreadful shape, it is as much as his senses or 
 his life were worth : he adds, however, that it is 
 possible to make him change himself into some 
 less questionable form, and bids the innkeeper say 
 what that shall be : — 
 
 Tlien Simon said in likeness of a frier, 
 In colour white right as your self it wear, 
 For white colour to hurt no man will dare. 
 
 ' It may not be so,' says friar Robert, ' for it were 
 a despite to our order that so lubbard a fiend 
 should be honoured by bearing our livery ; yet 
 since you desire it, he shall assume the likeness 
 of a friar, but it shall be a black one.' 
 
 But since it pleases you that now are here, 
 Ye shall him see in likeness of a frier. 
 In habit black it was his kind to wear*. 
 
 Simon then receives directions to take his stand 
 
 at the door with a stout oak cudgel in his hand, 
 
 * Poems, vol. ii. p. 19.
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 127 
 
 and to hold himself ready to strike with all his 
 might the moment he received his orders, but to 
 be careful not to speak a word. The catastrophe 
 may be readily anticipated. Friar Robert, ad- 
 vancing to tlie trough, beneath which friar John 
 has lain ensconced during the whole of this adven- 
 ture, evokes him to make his instant appearance, 
 by the name of Hurlyhass. 
 
 Ha ! how, Sir Hurlybass — I conjure thee — 
 That thou uprise, and soon to me appear 
 In habit black, in hkeness of a frier, 
 Out of this trough — wherein thou now dost ly. 
 Thou raise thee soon, and make no din or cry, 
 But tumble up the trough that we may see, 
 And unto us now show thoe openly. 
 But in this place take care thou no man grieve, 
 And draw thy lubbard hands within thy sleeve, 
 And pull the cowl quite o'er thine ugsome face ; 
 Thou mayest thank heav'n thou gettestso much grace. 
 
 ***** 
 With that the friar beneath the trougli that lay, 
 Raxit him sone, but he was in a fray ' ; 
 And up he rose, and wist na better wayn^, 
 But from the trough he tuinl)led oer the stane^. 
 Syne fra the samyn " where he thought it lang 
 Unto the door he pressed him to gang. 
 With heavy cheer and dreary countenance, 
 For neer before him liappened such a chance : 
 And when friar Robert saw him gangand by*, 
 Full loudly to the gudeman did he cry — 
 Strike, strike, man, hardily— 'tis time for thee : 
 With that Simon a fellon flap let flie, 
 And with his cudgel hit him on the neck : 
 He was so fierce he fell out o'er the sack. 
 And broke his head upon a mustard staae, — 
 Be this friar John out o'er the stair is gane". 
 
 ^ fright. ^ way. ■' stone. 
 
 * Then from the same. * going past. ^ * gone.
 
 128 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 But in sic haste, that mist he has tlie trap, 
 
 And in the mire he fell, such was his hap, 
 
 "Well forty foot in breadth beneath the stair ; 
 
 Yet got he up — with clothing nothing fair, 
 
 All drearily upon his feet he stude. 
 
 And thro' the mire full smartly than he yude ' j 
 
 And o'er the wall he clambured hastily, 
 
 Which round about was laid with cope stones dr}'. 
 
 Of his escape in heart he was full fain, 
 
 I trow he shall be loath to come again*. 
 
 There are few of Chaucer's tales wliich are 
 equal, and certainly none of them superior to this 
 excellent piece of satire. I have dwelt upon 
 it the rather, because without the coarseness and 
 licentiousness which infects the poetry of the age, 
 it gives us a fine specimen of its strength and na- 
 tural painting. The wliole management of the 
 story, its quiet comic humour, its variety and na- 
 tural delineation of human character, the fresh- 
 ness and brilliancy of its colouring, the excellence 
 and playfulness of its satire upon the hj-pocritical 
 and dissolute lives of many of the monastic orders, 
 and the easy and vigorous versification into 
 which it is thrown, are entitled to the liighest 
 praise. 
 
 Another beautiful poem of this author is, the 
 ' Golden Targe,' but our limits will hardly permit 
 us to touch upon it. Its subject is, the Power of 
 Love ; and nothing, certainly, can breathe a 
 sweeter or truer spirit of poetry than its opening 
 stanzas. 
 
 Brycht as'the sterne of day begonth to schyne, 
 Quhen goa to bed war Vesper and Lucyne, 
 
 ' past. 
 * Poems, vol. i. pp. 21, 22.
 
 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 129 
 
 I raiss, and by a rosere did me rest : 
 T7p sprang the golden candle matutyne, 
 AA ith clere depurit bemes crystalline, 
 
 Glading the merry foulis in their nest : 
 
 Or Phoebus was in purpour cape revest ; 
 Upraise the lark, the hevyn's menstrale fyne, 
 
 In May in till a morrow myrthfuUest. 
 
 Full angellike thir birdis sang their houris 
 Within thair curtyns grene, into their bouris, 
 
 Apparalit quhite and red, wyth blomes swete ; 
 Anamalit wes the felde wyth all colouris ; 
 The perly droppis schuke in silvir schouris ; 
 
 Quhile all in balme did branch and levis flete ; 
 
 To part fra Phcebus did Aurora grete : 
 Hir crystall teris I saw hyng on the flouris 
 
 Quhilk he for luve all drank up with his hete *. 
 
 Chanfring only the old spelling, scarce a word 
 requires alteration or transposition : — 
 
 Bright as the star of day began to shine, 
 When gone to bed were \^esper and Lucyne, 
 
 I rose, and by a rose-tree did me rest ; 
 Up sprung the golden candle matutyne, 
 "With clear and purest radiance crystalline, 
 
 To glad the merry birds within their nest, 
 For Phoebus was in purple garment drest ; 
 Up rose the lark, the heaven's minstrel fine, 
 
 In May — whose mornings are the mirthfullest. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Most angel-like the sweet birds sang their hours, 
 Knclosed in curtains green within their bowers, 
 
 Thro' blossoms white and red they gan to peep ; 
 Knamelled was the field with all colours. 
 Down fell the pearly drops in silver showers, 
 
 And all in balm did leaves and branches steep. 
 To part from Phoebus did Aurora weep ; 
 Her crystal tears hung he?vy on the flowers, 
 
 Which he anon drank up, so warm his love and deep. 
 
 * Poems, vol. i. p. 11. 
 VOL. III. K
 
 130 WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 The poet, as is rather too usual with him, falls 
 asleep, and sees a vision. 
 
 LuU'd by the birds delightful harmony, 
 And wiihthe rivers sound that ran me by ; 
 
 On Flora's cloak sleep seiz'd me as I lay, 
 Where soon into my dreams came fantasy. 
 I saw approach against the orient sky, 
 
 A sail as white as hawthorn biul on spray. 
 With ropes of gold, bright as the star of day, 
 And still she near'd the land full lustily, 
 Swift as the falcon pouncing on her prey. 
 
 The ship anchors, and a hundred beautiful 
 nymphs leap smilingly from its deck ; amongst 
 whom he recognises love's mirthful queen, at- 
 tended by 
 
 Cupid, the king, with how in hand ybent, 
 And dreadful arrows grundin ' sharp and keen. 
 
 Secretly drawing near to behold this wondrous 
 sight arid creeping through the leaves, he is 
 discovered by Venus, who commands Beauty and 
 others of her archers who attend on her, to seize 
 the culprit ; but wlien tliey are drawing their 
 bows to pierce him to the heart, Eeason, with his 
 golden targe or shield, throws himself between 
 these assailants and their victim : 
 
 Then Reason came with shield of gold so clear, 
 
 In plate of mail, like Mars, armipotint, 
 Defended me this noble chevalier. 
 
 Presence, however, throws a powder in the eyes 
 of this noble knight; and when his defender has 
 thus been blinded, the unliappy poet is abandoned 
 to all tlie tyranny of IJcauty, who wounds him 
 nearly to death. Lord zEolus now gives a flourish 
 on his bugle, and the whole scene, but a few 
 
 ^ ground.
 
 WILLIAM DUXBAR. 131 
 
 moments before so fresh and brilliant, fades away 
 into empty air — 
 
 Leaving no more but birds, and bank, and brook. 
 
 This fine piece,, which well deserves the high 
 encomium bestowed on it by Warton, concludes 
 with a spirited address to Chaucer, Gower, and 
 Lydgate, whom Dunbar compliments as the great 
 improvers of the language and poetry of England. 
 
 Oh, reverend Chaucer, rose of rhetors all, 
 And of our tongue the flower imperial ; 
 
 Sweetest that ever rose to give delight. 
 Thou beaist of makers the triumjih riall ; 
 Thy fresh enamelled works most coelical, 
 
 This matter could illumined have full bright — 
 Wast thou not of our English all the light ; 
 Surmounting every tongue terrestrial. 
 
 As far as JIay's fresh morning duth midnight. 
 
 Oh, moral Gower, and Lj^dgate laureate, 
 Your sugard lips and tongues most aureate 
 
 Have to our ears been cause of great delight ; 
 Your angel voices most mellifluate 
 Our language rude has clear illuminate, 
 
 And gilded oer our speech, that imperfvte ^ 
 Stood, tdl your golden pens began to urite ; 
 This isle till then was bare and desolate 
 
 Of rhetorick or lusty fresch endyte. 
 
 Thou little book be still obedient, 
 Hubmle and meek, and simple in intent; 
 
 Before the face of every cunning wight, 
 I know that thou of rhetoiick art schent"; 
 Of all her lovely ruses redolent, 
 
 Is none into thy garland set on hight ; 
 Ashamed be then — and draw thee out of sight. 
 Rude is thy weed, distained, bare, and rent, 
 
 ^Yell may'st thou be afraid to face the light *. 
 
 * imperfect. - shorn, deprived. 
 
 * Poems, vol. i. pp. 20, 21, The spelling is altere<l« 
 
 K 2
 
 132 "WILLIAM DUNBAR. 
 
 The power and variety of Dunbar's genius 
 must be evident, from tlie extracts already given. 
 It is difficult to say whether liis humorous, or his 
 moral and didactic vein, is the richest and most 
 original. He has attempted also, and frequently 
 with great felicity, a style of poetry which appears 
 to have been extremely popular in those days ; 
 altlioucrh it is somewhat difficult to find a name 
 for it. It commences or concludes with some 
 Latin quotation taken from the ' Psalms ' or the 
 ' Gospels' ; or, sometimes only from the words of 
 an ancient Christian prayer or mass ; and upon 
 this, as a text, the poet builds a sacred ode or 
 religious hymn, making his concluding English 
 lines to rhyme in rather an uncouth manner with 
 the Latin final syllables. Thus in his lines on 
 'The Resurrection' : — 
 
 Done is the battle on the dragon black; 
 
 Our champion, Chribt, contounded hath his force. 
 The gates of hell are broken with a crack; 
 
 The sign triumphal raised is of the cross, 
 Tlie devils tremble with a hideous voice; 
 
 The souls are purchased, and to bliss may go. 
 Christ, with his blood, our ransom doth indorse; 
 
 Surrexit Dominus de Sepulchro. 
 ***** 
 
 The victor great again is ris'n on liight; 
 
 Tliat for our quarrel to the death was woinided. 
 Tlie sun, that wax'd all pale, again shines bright, 
 
 And darkness clears; our faith is now reibunded. 
 The knell of mercy from the heavens is sounded ! 
 
 The (.'bristians are delivered from their woe ; 
 The Jews, and their gross errors are confounded. 
 
 Surrexit Dominus de Sepidchro*. 
 
 It is deeply to be regretted, that of a poet 
 * Poems, vol. i. p. 247,
 
 AVILLIAM DUNBAR. 133 
 
 whose genius is so unquestionable, and wlio 
 shines with a dazzling brightness amonc-st the 
 inferior luminaries by whom he is surrounded, 
 nothing almost is known. From his own verses 
 it appears that he followed the court. lie lived 
 a companion of the great and opulent, yet poor 
 and often in want; he died in such extreme 
 obscurity, that the place where he closed liis eyes, 
 and the time where he was gathered to his fathers, 
 are both alike unknown. In his curious poem 
 entitled a ' Lament for the Makars,' composed, in 
 all probability, during his last sickness, he pa- 
 thetically laments his having survived all his 
 tuneful brethren. 
 
 Syne he lies all my brethren fane, 
 He will not lat me live alane. 
 Perforce I man his next jirey be, 
 Timor Mortis Conturbat ^"Me. 
 
 My learned friend Mr. Laing, of Edinburgh, 
 the secretary of the Bannatyne Club, has kindly 
 communicated to me an edition of the whole 
 works of Dunbar, containing many pieces hitherto 
 unpublished, which he means shortly to present 
 to the world. From this edition the quotations in 
 the above life of the j)oet are taken; and I only 
 regret that his biographical collections regarding 
 Dunbar, with the notes illustrative of his poetry 
 and the times in which he lived, were not in such 
 a state as to allow of my consulting them. The 
 whole work however, will, I trust, soon be before 
 the public.
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 1474—1522.
 
 137 
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS 
 
 1474—1522. 
 
 The life of Bishop Douglas, the admirable trans- 
 lator of ' Virgil,' has already been written by- 
 Mackenzie, Sage, and Dr. Irving; and little can 
 be added to the particulars which have been col- 
 lected by the industry and erudition of these 
 authors. He appears to have been born about 
 the year 1474, and, unlike his celebrated com- 
 patriot, Dunbar, enjoyed the advantage of illus- 
 trious descent, a circumstance of no small im- 
 portance in those feudal days. His father was 
 Archibald, sixth Earl of Angus ; his mother, the 
 lady Elizabeth Boyd, daughter of Robert Lord 
 Boyd, high-chamberlain ; and of this marriage, 
 Gavin was the third son. If we arc to believe the 
 * Eulogy' of the historian of the House of Angus, 
 tlie father of the future poet was a remarkable 
 person. ' He was a man," says this quaint 
 writer, 'every way accomplisliod, both for mind 
 and body. He was of stature tall, and strong 
 made ; his countenance full of majesty, and such 
 as bred reverence in the beholders; wise and 
 eloquent of speech, upright and square in his 
 actions, sober and moderate in his desires, valiant 
 and courageous, liberal, loving, and kind to hia
 
 138 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 friends, which made him to be reverenced and 
 respected of all men.'* 
 
 The same author lias preserved an anecdote of 
 this ancient baron, which, whilst it undoubtedly 
 reflects credit on his personal valour, says little 
 for his sobriety and moderation. ^ The king,' 
 says he, (it was James IV. of Scotland,) ' on a 
 time was discoursing at table on the personages of 
 men, and by all men's confession, the prerogative 
 was adjudged to the Earl of Angus ; but a courtier 
 that was by, one Spens, of Kilspindy, whether out 
 of envy to hear him so praised, or of his idle 
 humour only, cast in a word of doubt and dis- 
 paraging. It is true, said he, if all be good that 
 is upcome ; meaning, if his actions and valour 
 were answerable to his personage and body. This 
 spoken openly, and coming to the earl's ears, 
 otlended him highly ; and it fell out soon after, as 
 Angus was riding from Douglas to Tantallon, 
 that he sent all liis company the nearest way, 
 whilst he himself, with one only of his servants, 
 liaving each of them a hawk on his fist, in lioj)e 
 of belter sport, took the way by Borthwick towards 
 Fala ; where, alighting at the brook at the west 
 end of the town, they bathed their hawks. 
 
 ' In the mean time, this Spens happened to 
 come that way ; whom the earl espying, said to 
 liis man, " Is not this he that made question of my 
 manhood? I will go to him and give him a trial 
 of it, that we may know which of us is the better 
 man." "No, my lord," said his servant, " itis adis- 
 paragcment fur your lordship to meddle with him ; 
 
 * Hume's Hist, of tlie House of Douglas and Angus, 
 vul. ii. p. 57.
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 139 
 
 I will do that sufficiently, if it please your honour 
 to give me leave." " I see," said the earl, " he hath 
 one with him ; grapple you with him, but leave 
 me to deal with liis master." So, fastening their 
 hawks, that they might not fly away in the mean 
 time, they rode after him, and liaving come up, 
 "\\ hat reason had you," said the earl, " to speak 
 so contemptuously of me, doubting whether my va- 
 lour were answerable to my personage." Spens 
 would fain have excused the matter, but Anirus 
 plainly told him this would not serve his turn. 
 " Thou art a big fellow," said he, " and so am I ; 
 one of us must and shall pay for it." " If it may 
 be no better," said the other, " there is never an 
 earl in Scotland, but I will defend myself from 
 him as well as I can ; and rather kill him than 
 Buffer him to kill me." So, aliohtin"; from their 
 horses, they fought, till at last the Earl of Angus, 
 with a stroke, cut Spens's thigh-bone asunder, so 
 that he fell to the ground, and died soon after. 
 *' Go now," said Angus to the servant of the slain 
 knight, "and tell my gossip, the king, there was 
 nothing here but fair play, — I know he will chafe, 
 — but Hermitage is a strong castle, and there will 
 I abide till his anger be over *." 
 
 Such was the stalwart fatljer of the poet, — a sire 
 more filled to teach his children how to couch a 
 lance than polish a sonnet ; and Gavin's elder 
 brethren, George, master of Angus, and Sir 
 "W ilham Douglas, of Glenbervie, were bred up in 
 this warlike school. They fell, with their sove- 
 reign, in the fatal battle of Flodden ; and two 
 
 * Hume's History of the House of Douglas and Angus, 
 vol. ii. p. 59.
 
 140 GAVIX DOUGLAS. 
 
 hundred knights and gentlemen of the same 
 name — 
 
 ' The flowers of the forest, 
 That aye were the foremost,' 
 
 lay stretched around them. Their father, the okl 
 earl, who had in vain dissuaded the monarch from 
 a ruinous war, bending under the weight of pub- 
 lic and individual sorrow, retired into Galloway, 
 where he soon after died. 
 
 Meanwhile a gentler fortune awaited liis third 
 son, Gavin, who had been educated as an eccle- 
 siastic ; and having entered into holy orders, 
 was early promoted to the rectory of Hawick, 
 a town in Roxburghshire, situated in a beau- 
 tiful pastoral country, at the confluence of the 
 rivers Teviot and Slitterick. Here, living in 
 the mi4st of romantic natural scenery, endowed 
 with a fine imagination, and having a mind 
 imbued with no common stores of learning and 
 knowledge, (considering the darkness of the 
 times,) he appears to have early devoted himself 
 to poetry. ' The intimacy of his act]^uaintance 
 Avith ancient literature,' says Dr. Irving, ' was, in 
 that age, rarely paralleled. His favourites amongst 
 the ancient poets were, apparently, Virgil and 
 Ovid; and among the Christian fathers, St. 
 Augustin, whom he denominates the Chief of 
 Clerks. His knowledge of the Latin language 
 was, undoubtedly, extensive ; and as he has in- 
 formed us that Lord Sinclair requested him to 
 translate Homer, we may conclude that he pos- 
 sessed also an accjuaintance with Greek, an ac- 
 complishment rarely to be met with at that tmie 
 in Scotland. We learn also from his ancient
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 141 
 
 biograplier, Mylne, that he was profoundly read 
 in theology and in the canon law *.' 
 
 His first work of any extent was ' King Hart,' 
 an allegorical poem, upon human life, of which it 
 is impossihle to give an analysis in more striking 
 language than his own. ' The hart of man,' 
 says he, ' beand his maist noble part, and the 
 fountain of his life,' is here put for man in ge- 
 neral, and holds the chief place in the poem, 
 under the title of ' King Hart.' This mystical 
 king is first represented in the bloom of youtheid, 
 jvith his lusty attendants, the attributes or quali- 
 ties of youth. Next is pictured forth the Palace 
 of Pleasure, near by the castle of King Hart, 
 with its lovely inhabitants. Queen Pleasance, with 
 the help of her ladies, assails King Hart's castle, 
 and takes him and most of his servitors prisoners. 
 Pity at last releases them, and they assail the 
 Queen Pleasance, and vanquish lier and her ladies 
 in their turn. King Hart then weds Queen 
 Pleasance, and solaces himself long in her deli- 
 cious castle. So far is man's dealing with plea- 
 sure; but now when King Hart is past mid-eild, 
 comes another scene. For Age, arriving at the 
 castle of Queen Pleasance, with whom King 
 Hart dwelt ever since his marriage with her, 
 insists for admittance, which he gains. So King 
 Hart takes leave of Youthlieid with much sorrow. 
 Age is no sooner admitted, tlian Conscience 
 comes also to the castle and forces entrance, be- 
 ginning to chide the Kin?, whilst Wit and Ivcason 
 take part in the conference. After this and 
 
 * In'iiig's Lives, vol. ii.p. 27.
 
 142 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 other adventures, Queen Pleasance suddenly 
 leaves the King, and Reason and Wisdom persuade 
 King Hart to return to his own palace : that is, 
 when pleasure and the passions leave man, reason 
 and wisdom render him his own masters. After 
 some other matters, Decrepitude attacks and 
 mortally wounds the King, who dies after making 
 his testament. 
 
 Such is Douglas's nervous and condensed de- 
 scription of his own poem. The allegory, al- 
 though insipid and tedious to our modern taste, 
 was probahly delightful, in all its intricate and 
 endless personifications, to his feudal readers. 
 There is a curious contrast, in these iron times, 
 between the fierce activity of the barons in the 
 lists or in the field, and the patience and resig- 
 nation with which they seem to have sat down to 
 wade through the interminable pages of their 
 romances, and listened to the long drawn-out 
 legends of their minstrels, or their jongleurs. To 
 tliem the business of life was full of passion, 
 violence, and bloodshed ; whilst their amusements 
 and their literature, were solemn, grave, and 
 tedious. In our days, life stagnates in repose 
 and mdolence ; whilst the productions of our lite- 
 rature must be striking, abrupt, highly wrought — 
 al)ove all, brief; and we keep our violence and 
 impatience for the unhappy authors who dare to 
 draw upon us for anything which requires serious 
 thought, sustained attention, or a prolonged 
 perusal. 
 
 But although uninteresting and somewhat heavy, 
 as a lengthened allegory, ' King Hart ' abounds 
 with much noble poetry ; and we often forget.
 
 GAVIX DOUGLAS. 1-13 
 
 in the vivid descriptions and stirring incidents, 
 the moral aim of the author. The King is a 
 real feudal monarcli, holding his state nobly 
 amongst his living subjects and vassals; whilst 
 Queen Pleasance, in her enchanted castle, charms 
 us, not only by her beauty, but is invested with so 
 much nature and verisimilitude, that we believe 
 her a real enchantress, surroun-ded by her beautiful 
 and captivating syrens. The first canto opens 
 with great spirit : — 
 
 Kinnj Hart into his comely cast el Strang^, 
 
 Closed about with craft and mt'ikle iire"^, 
 So seemly \vas he set his folk amang, 
 
 That he no doubt had of misaventure. 
 
 So proudly was he jioUshed, plain, and pure, 
 V\ ith Youthheid and his lustj- levis greue, 
 
 So fiiir, so fresh, so likely to endure, 
 And also blyth as bird in summer schene. 
 
 For, was he never yet with shouris schot. 
 
 Nor yet o'er run with rouk^ or imy raine, 
 In all his lusty lecam ■* not ane s])ot, 
 
 Na never had experience into paine. 
 
 But alway into lyking mocht to layne', 
 Only to love and very tjentleness ; 
 
 He was inclynit cleaidie to remain, 
 And wonn '' under the wing of ^Vantonness. 
 
 Thus slightly modernised — 
 
 King Hart sat in his comely castle strong, 
 
 All closed about with craft and cunning sure, 
 So proudly was he placed his folks among, 
 
 That he no doubt h.ul of misadventure ; 
 
 His state did promise it should long endure; 
 His youth was fresh, his lusty leaves were green, 
 
 His cheek show'd mantling blood, as ruby pure, 
 His voice was blyth as bird in summer sheen. 
 
 ^ strong. - toil. 3 moisture. ■* body. 
 
 * might incline to pleasure . * live.
 
 144 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 Like p:oo(\ly tree whom tempest ne'er had torn, 
 
 Or fresh-blown rose, wliose beauty ne'er could wane, 
 Kiu;:^ Hart stood firm ; his curling locks, unshorn, 
 
 Play'd round his brows ; he never dreamt of pain ; 
 
 But always thought in liking soft to layne^ 
 Love's servant, nurst in lap of gentleness, — 
 
 He fondly dreamt that he should aye remain, 
 And won beneath the wing of Wantonness. 
 
 The poet proceeds to tell us that, however bold 
 Le looked, this king did not enjoy freedom. Since 
 Nature had commissioned various " ythand ser- 
 vitouris," or diligent servants, to guide and govern 
 him : under which description he includes the 
 many evil passions and wicked propensities to 
 which the heart of man is a prey: — 
 
 First was their Strength and Rage and Wantonness ; 
 
 Green Lust, Disport, Jelosy, and Invy, 
 Freschness, new gate, Waist-gude and Wilfulness; 
 
 Deliverness, Full-hardiness thairhy, 
 
 Gentrice, Freedom, Pitie. Privy, espy, 
 "Want-wit, Vain-gloir, and Prodigalitie, 
 
 Unrest, Night-walk, and felon Gluttony, 
 Unricht, Dym-sicht, with Slycht and Subtiltie. 
 
 "While King Hart is surrounded by these subjects. 
 Honor arrives at the gate, but is denied admit- 
 tance : — 
 
 Honor persewit to the Kingis yet ^, 
 
 Thir folk said all thai wald not let liim in, 
 Becaus thai said the laird to feast was set, 
 
 AVith all his lusty servants more and myn^; 
 
 But he ane port had entered with a gyn: 
 And \i]) he came in haist to the great toiue ; 
 
 And said he suld it peralP all with fine 
 And fresh delight, with many a richest flower. 
 
 The castle of dame Pleasure is next described 
 * lie. *.ga(e. ^ moj-g and less. ^decorate it.
 
 GAVIX DOUGLAS. 145 
 
 The quhilk was parallel all about with pride, 
 
 and from tliis fortress, into which no care or sor- 
 row can force its entrance, this beauteous queen 
 issues on a day to take her sport in the forest : — 
 
 Happend this worthj' queen upon a day, 
 With her fresh court arrayet wcill at rycht, 
 
 Hunting- to ride her, to disport and plaj-, 
 With mony a lustre ladie fair and brycht, 
 Hir banner scbene displayit and on hycb.t 
 
 W^as seen above tlier heedis; where they raid 
 The green ground was illuminyt of the lycbt, — 
 
 Fresh Beauty had the vanguard and was guide. 
 
 Thus slightly changed — 
 
 It hapt this lovely queen upon a day, 
 
 A\ ith her gay court in glittering weeds bedighf^ 
 Rode to the chace, intent on sport and play, 
 
 Circled with many a lady fair and bright. 
 
 Their radiant banner was display 'd on height. 
 And from its sun-lit wavy Iblds was shed 
 
 Upon the verdant turf a flood of light ; ' 
 Whilst Beauty, huntress sweet, the joyous vanguard led. 
 
 "When the lovely queen and her trooj) of briglit 
 and captivating ladies approach the castle of Kmg 
 Hart, with tlieir banner waving, and the sounds 
 of joyousness and melody, the warders alarmed, 
 inform the monarch, and advise that he should send 
 some messenger to discover their intentions ; upon 
 this, Youthheid and Delight instantly oiler their 
 services : — 
 
 Youtheid upstert and cleckit ' on his cloke, 
 AVas broudin all with lustre levis grene — 
 
 Eise Fresclie Delyt, hit not ihis mater soke ^, 
 A\ e will go se qubat may this muster mene ; 
 So Weill we sail us it copi betwene. 
 
 That thair sail nothing pass away unspyit, 
 
 ' buckled. - slacken. 
 
 VOL. III. L
 
 14G GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 Syne sail we tell the King as we have sene, 
 And thair sail nothing trewlie be deuyit. 
 
 The catastrophe of Youthheid and Fresh Delight, 
 wlio are dazzled and disarmed by Beauty, and 
 carried prisoners to her castle, is sweetly told. 
 With scarce any change except the substitution 
 of the ancient for the modern spelling, the stanzas 
 throw themselves into beautiful poetry ; — 
 
 Youthheid forth far'd — he rode on Innocence, 
 A milk-white steed that ambled as the wind ; 
 
 Whilst Fresh Delight bestrode Benevolence, 
 A palfrey fair, that would not bide behind : 
 The glorious beams had almost made them blindj 
 
 That forth from Beauty burst, beneath the cloud 
 "With which the goddess had herself enshrined, 
 
 Sitting, like Eastern queen in her pavilion proud. 
 
 But these young wights abased at the sight, 
 
 Full soon were staid in their courageous mood ; 
 Instant within them died all power and might: 
 
 And gazing, rooted to the earth they stood ; 
 
 At which Fair Calling, seeing them subdued, 
 Seized on their slackened rein with rosy hands : 
 
 Then to her castle swift away she yude', 
 And fastened soon the twain in Venus' silken bands. 
 
 The consequences of this capture may be easily 
 anticipated. King Hart, discomposed at the dis- 
 appearance of his espials, sends others of liis sub- 
 jects to inquire the cause : these, with equal ease, 
 are made prisoners, and the monarch, beholding 
 from the battlements the total discomfiture of this 
 second party, calls to arms, and at the head of his 
 host, liis broad banner waving over a wood of 
 spears, issues forth to attack his fair antagonists. 
 As we already know, he is grievously wounded 
 
 ^ went.
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 147 
 
 and taken prisoner. The story now gets ingeni- 
 ously intricate, but tedious withal, and we cannot 
 follow the subjects of the king into their several 
 dungeons : he himself is closely confined witliin a 
 grated chamber, near the ' donjon ' tower, where, 
 as he lies sick with love, and hopeless of escape, 
 his only comfort is to listen to the melody which 
 issues from the palace of dame Pleasance. The 
 prisoners, however, by means of Pity, one of her 
 ladies who deserts her service, subtilely effect their 
 escape. The lovely queen, when asleep in her 
 jDavilion, is surprised, and in her turn becomes a 
 captive. Conscious of her power, she requests an 
 interview with King Hart, and he, as may be ex- 
 pected, is too happy to become her liberator ; — 
 the canto concluding, in all due propriety, with 
 their espousals and marriage-feast. The opening 
 of the second Canto, and the arrival of Age is given 
 witli great spirit : — 
 
 Quha is at eis quhen baith ar now in bliss. 
 But fresche King Hart tbat cieirlie is above, 
 
 And wantis nocht in warld that he cuhl wis^, 
 And traistis nocht that eer he sail remove 
 Scoir years and more, Schir Lyking and Schyr Luif 
 
 Of him thai haif the cure and governance ; 
 Quhile at the last befell, and sa behuif ^, 
 
 Ane changeiug new, that grevit J)ame Plesance. 
 
 Ane morning tide qidien that the sun so schene, 
 
 Out-raschet had his bemys from the sky, 
 Ane auld gude man before the yett' was seue 
 
 Upon ane steid that raid full easilie. 
 
 He rapjiit at the yett — but curtaslie, 
 Yet at the straik the grit dungeon gau din ; 
 
 Then at the last he schouted fellonly, 
 And bade thaim rise, and said he man'* come in. 
 
 ^ vsish, - beliovcd. " gate. ^ must.
 
 148 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 The arrival of Age is the signal for a change in 
 the pleasant life of poor King Hart, His gay and 
 merry subjects desert him : Youthheid, amongst 
 the first, demands his wages, and is soon followed 
 by Disport and Fresh Delight ; whilst Conscience 
 arrives before the gate, and, impatient of delay, 
 breaks in without question or resistance. Dame 
 Pleasance now remonstrates with the king for the 
 loss of some of her pleasantest servants, and the 
 intrusion of very old and disagreeable persons in 
 their stead. To appease her, he somewhat quaintly 
 and abruptly orders supper, and all appears to be 
 made up, when, on retiring to their chamber. Sad- 
 ness, an uncomely damsel, intrudes herself, and 
 approaching the couch, whispers something in the 
 king's ear, who had fallen asleep. Disgusted with 
 this new arrival, the queen loses all patience, and 
 rising suddenly, collects her train and deserts the 
 castle, whilst her royal consort is still asleep. 
 The scene of confusion and misery which ensues 
 may be easily imagined : Jealousy and Disease 
 attack and distract the unhappy monarch, whilst 
 at the last Wisdom raises Ids voice and solenmly 
 counsels him to return home — 
 
 Go to thy jilace, and there thyself present, 
 The castul yet is stronj^ enough to hold; 
 
 Tlien Sadness said, Sir King, ye man assent ; 
 ■\Vhat have ye now ado ia this waste fald' ? 
 
 Tlie king takes the advice in good part, and 
 leaving the desolate ])alace of Queen Pleasance, 
 rides to his own castle, where he meets with but 
 poor comfort, for Languor welcomes him at the 
 yett, and ' Strength, who although faded of his 
 
 ' deserted fold.
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 149 
 
 flowers' had still abided witli him, ' couris upon 
 his hochis,' and creeps out at tlie postern : — 
 
 Thoup^li Strenr^th was now much faded in his flowers, 
 
 Still with the aged king he did abide ; 
 But at the last upon his houghs he cowers, 
 
 And privily out at the yett did slide : 
 
 Then stole away, and went on wayis wide. 
 Full soon he Youthheid and his fellows foiuid 
 
 (Nor miss'd the road, albeit he had no guide) — 
 Behind a hill they lay, upon a grassy mound. 
 
 The departure of Strength makes way for the 
 arrival of Decrepitude, whose hideous host is 
 descried coming over the ' muir,' by Wisdom and 
 the King, as they sit conversing together. The 
 description is excellent : — 
 
 Right as they two in talk the hours beguil'd, 
 
 A hideous host they saw come o'er tb.e muir: 
 Decrepitude (his banner torn and suil'd) 
 
 Was near at hand, with many a chieftain sture 'j 
 A bony steed, full thin, that caitiff' bore, 
 
 And crooked were his loathly limbs with eld ; 
 No smile e'er grae'd his countenance demure; 
 
 No fere" dar'd joke with him — with rigour all he 
 quell'd *. 
 
 It is at first determined to defend the castle ; 
 but all efforts are in vain against sucli a liost 
 as Decrepitude brings along with him : the great 
 tower is cast down, the barmekin battered to 
 pieces, and King Hart, mortally wounded, de- 
 cently prepares himself for death. He remembers, 
 however, that he iias not disposed of his treasures, 
 and the ])oem concludes willi his quaint and fan- 
 ciful testament. He bequeaths his jiroud palfrey, 
 Unstedfastness, to his fair but faithless consort, 
 
 ' stern. * companion. 
 
 * The above is very slightly altered from the original.
 
 150 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 Dame Pleasance ; to Chastity, the task of scouring 
 Ills conscience ; to Freedom, his thread-bare 
 cloak ; to 
 
 Business that ne'er was wont to tire, 
 
 Bear thou this stool, and bid him now sit down ; 
 
 For he has left his master in the mire, 
 
 And scorn'd to draw him out, tho' he should drown. 
 
 Some of King Hart's items are a little coarse ; 
 but there is much of tlie peculiar satirical humour 
 of the age in his codicil to Reve Supper : — 
 
 To Reve' Supper, be he amang the route, 
 
 Ye me commend — he is ane fallow fine : 
 Tliis ugsome stomach that 1 bear about, 
 
 Rug ye it out, then bear it to him syne ; 
 Por he has hindered me of mony dine. 
 
 And often e'en at kirk has gart me sleep ; 
 My wits he too has weakened sore with wine, 
 
 And made my breast with lustis hot to leap. 
 
 Tlie legacy of his wounded brow to Foolhardi- 
 ness, and his broken spear to Dame Danger, 
 conclude King Hai't's testament and history : a 
 singular poem, deformed by the faults of the age, 
 but full of the out-breakings of a rich fancy and 
 no common powers of language and versification. 
 It was Douglas's first work, and in many places 
 betrays marks of haste and youth. 
 
 Of the ' Palace of Honour,' his next great 
 work, it is impossible, within our limits, and if 
 possible, it would be tedious, to give anything like 
 a full analysis. Nor is this to be regretted, as the 
 task has been performed by the author of the 
 Lives of the Scottish Poets, with much care and 
 erudition. ' The poet's excellent design,' says 
 
 ^ reve — a steward or butler.
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 151 
 
 Bishop Sage, in his Life of Douglas, ' is to re- 
 present, under the similitude of a vision, the 
 vanity and inconstancy of all worldly pomp and 
 glory ; and to show that a constant inflexible 
 course of virtue and goodness is the only true way 
 to honour and felicity, which he allegorically 
 describes as a magnificent palace, situated on a 
 very high mountain, of most difficult access. He 
 illustrates the whole with a variety of examples, 
 not only of those noble and heroic souls whose 
 eminent virtues procured them admittance into 
 that blessed place, but also of those wretched crea- 
 tures whose vicious lives have fatally excluded 
 them from it for ever, notwithstanding all their 
 worldly state and grandeur. The work is addressed 
 to James IV., on purpose to inspire that brave 
 prince with just sentiments of true honour and 
 greatness, and incite him to tread in the paths of 
 virtue, which alone could conduct him to it. To 
 make it more agi'eeable and entertaining, the poet 
 has adorned it with several incident adventures, 
 discovering throu2:hout the whole a vast and com- 
 prehensive genius, an exuberant fancy, and extra- 
 ordinary learning for the time he lived in. He 
 seems to have taken the plan of it from the 
 " Palace of Happiness," described in the picture 
 of Cebes ; and it is not improbable that his coun- 
 tryman, Florentius Volusenus, had it in view, and 
 improved his design in his admirable but too little 
 known book, " De Tranquillitate Animi."'* 
 
 This praise is somewhat too encomiastic and 
 indiscriminate ; for the ' Palace of Honour' can- 
 
 * Sage's Life of Douglas, prefixed to liis Virgil, p. 15,
 
 152 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 not lay claim either to a high moral tendency or 
 to much unity of composition and effect. It is, 
 on the contrary, confused in its arrangement, 
 often obscure in its transitions, and crowded with 
 persons and scenery of all ages and countries, 
 laeaped together ' in most admired disorder;' 
 — palaces and princes, landscapes and ladies, 
 groups of Pagan sages and Christian heroes, po- 
 pulous cities and silent solitudes, succeed so ra- 
 pidly, that we lose ourselves in the profusion of 
 its actors and the unconnected but brilliant variety 
 of its scenery. Yet it is justly characterised as 
 exhibiting, in many places, an exuberant fancy and 
 an extraordinary extent of learning for the age in 
 which it was written. The learning, indeed, is 
 rather ambitiously intruded in many parts, com- 
 municating a coldness and tedium to the narra- 
 tive, and betraying an anxiety in the author to 
 display at once the whole extent of his stores ; 
 whilst making every allowance for the obscurities, 
 which are occasioned by a purer Scottish dialect, 
 it is impossible not to feel that the poetry is infe- 
 rior in genius to Dunbar. There is not that 
 masterly clearness of outline and brilliancy of 
 colouring in his grand groups, — that power of 
 keeping under all minor details — the perspective of 
 descriptive poetry, which is necessai'y for the pro- 
 duction of a strong and uniform effect. All is 
 too much of equal size, crowded into the fore- 
 ground ; and the author loses his purpose in the 
 indiscriminate prominence of his details. Yet 
 there are many charming passages. In the month 
 of May, the ])oct, as is usual with his tuneful bre- 
 thren of these olden times, rises early, before
 
 GAVIX DOUGLAS. IJO 
 
 dawn, and wanders into a garden of pleasance and 
 delight. Aurora, with her countenance sweet yet 
 pale, and her mantle bordered with sable, had not 
 yet unclosed the curtains of the couch within which 
 lay Flora, the goddess of flowers, but a delicious 
 fragrance was breathed from its flowery carpet, 
 and a rich melodious song burst from the groves 
 ai'ound it : — 
 
 The fragrant flouris blomand in their seis ^, 
 Ourspreid the levis of Nature's tapestries ; 
 Abone the quhilk, with heavenly harmonies, 
 The binles sat on twistes and on greis^, 
 Slelodiouslj' makand their kindlie gleis, 
 Quhais schill-- notis fordinned'* all the skyis; 
 
 Of repercussit air the echo cryis, 
 Amang the branches of the blomeid treis, 
 
 And on the laurers silver droppis lyis. 
 
 Quhile that I roomed^ in that paradj'ce, 
 Replenished and full of all delice ", 
 
 Out of the sea Eous lift his held', 
 I mene ' the hors qidiilk drawis at device 
 The assiltrie and golden chair of price 
 
 Of Tytau, quhilk at morrow semis reid ; 
 
 The new colour that all ihe nicht lay deid 
 Is restorit, baith foulis, Houris, and rice '•* 
 
 Recomfort was, throw Phoebus gudlyheid. 
 
 The daisy and the mariguld unlappit, 
 
 Quhilks''° all the nycht lay with their levis happit, 
 
 Thame to preserve fra reumes " piuigitive, 
 The umbrate treis, that Titan about wappit, 
 War portrait and out fra eirth yschappit, 
 
 Be golden beinis vivificative, 
 
 Quhair amenu heit is maist restorative; 
 The gresshopperis amangst the vurgeris'^ gnappit, 
 
 And beis wrocht material for their hive. 
 
 1 season, -twigs and grass. ^ shrill, ''resounded through. 
 
 ^ roamed. ^ delight. ^ head. " I mean, 
 ^bushes. 1" which. ^' rime or frost. >- small brushwood.
 
 154 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 Eicht hailsum ' wes the sessoun ^ of the yeir 
 Phoebus furth j-et depured bemis cleir, 
 
 Maist nutritive till all thini^^s vegetant; 
 God Eohis of wind durst nocht appeir ; 
 Kor auld Saturne, with his mortal speir 
 
 And bad aspect — contrair till every plant, 
 
 Neptanus n'old* within that palice hant ; 
 The bereall stremis •* rynnand men mich heir ; 
 
 By bonkes^ grene with glancis variant. 
 
 It will be instantly perceived by the reatler that 
 the language in these verses is more obscure and 
 latinized, and the rhythm less melodious than in 
 the earlier poetry of Dunbar ; yet if we attend to 
 the rules given by Mr. Tyrwhitt for the ])roper 
 reading of Chaucer, and make allowance for a 
 little learned affectation in the idiom, the descrip- 
 tion will be found both liarmonious and poetical. 
 To cast it into a modern dress is not so easy, 
 however, as in the case of Dunbar. Let us at- 
 tempt it : — 
 
 In broider'd beds unnumber'd flowers were seen, 
 Of Nature's couch the living tapestry ; 
 And, hid within their leafy curtains green," 
 Tlie little birds pour'd forth such harmony, 
 As fill'd my verj' heart with joy and glee ; 
 A flood of music followed, wave on wave, 
 ^Vhich Echo answered from her airy cave ; 
 And sprinkled o'er the laurels blooming near, 
 The silver dew-drops shone, like diamonds bright and. 
 clear. 
 
 Whilst in this paradise my senses fed,'' 
 And filled mj' heart with every rich ilelight, 
 Up from the sea Eous raised liis head, 
 I mean the horse to whose aetherial might 
 Is given to draw the golden chariot bright 
 
 ^ wholesome. * season. ^ dar'd not. * streams. 
 * green banks.
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 155 
 
 Of Titan — which by night looks dark and dead, 
 But chaiis^t'th in the morn t-i ridiy red ; 
 Whilst birds, and fields, and fiowers.on holm and hight , 
 New life assume in glittering vests hedight. 
 
 The daisy sweet, the marigold and rose, 
 That all the night their silken buds did close, 
 Lest icy rimes their tender twigs should sear, 
 Expanded fragrant ; and, as Titan rose, 
 Each ancient tree his greeny glories shows. 
 Emerging joyous from the darkness drear, 
 All living things the kindly warmth did cheer ; 
 The idle grasshoppers both chirpt and play'd. 
 The sweet laborious bees melodious music made. 
 
 Delightful was the season. May's first hour, 
 The glorious sun uprising in his power, 
 B.ithed with a kindly heat all growing things, 
 Nor boisterous Eolus, with blast and shower. 
 Nor Saturn, with his aspect sad and sour, 
 Dar'd in that place unfurl his icy wings, 
 But sweet Favonius thither fragrance brings, 
 And little streams, half-hid in moss, do run, 
 IMakiiig a pleasant chime, and glancing in the sun. 
 
 Encircled with these varied delight?, tlie poet 
 desires anxiously to pour forth a strain worthy of 
 the occasion, to 
 
 Nature queen, and eke to lusty May ; 
 
 when, for what reason he fails to inform us, his 
 faculties become weak, and he is seized with a 
 trembling which incapacitates him — 
 
 With spreit anaisit, and every wit away, 
 
 Quaking for fear both pulse and vein and nervis. 
 
 Upon this he very sensiblv determines to go 
 home, but is suddenly arrested on his road by an 
 extraordinary incident, whicb he thus describes:— 
 
 Out of the air cam ane imiiressioun, 
 Tlirou quhais licht in extacie or sonn
 
 156 GAVm DOUGLAS. 
 
 Amid the virgultis, all iiitill a fary ', 
 
 As feminine so feblet fell I down ; 
 And with that gleme sa desyit was my micht, 
 Quliell thair remanet nouther voice nor sicht, 
 
 Breith, motion, nor heiring naturall ; 
 Saw never man so faint a levand- wieht; 
 And na ferly^, for ouer excelland lieht 
 
 Corruptes the wit, and garris'' the blude availl, 
 
 Until the hart thocht* it na danger aill. 
 Quhen it is smorit, memberis wirkis^ nocht richt. 
 
 The dreidful terrour swa did me assaill. 
 
 Yet at the last, I n't how long a space, 
 A lytte lieit^ appeirit in my face, 
 
 Quhilk^ had tofoir bene paill and voide of blude: 
 Tho in my sueven^ I met a feily "^ cace ;— 
 I thocht me set within a desert place, 
 
 Amidst a forest by a hideous flude, 
 
 With gr}'sly fische ; and schortly till conclude, 
 I sail descry ve as God will give me grace, 
 
 My visioun in rural termis rude. 
 
 The language liere is so antique and remote 
 from Emjlish, that a translation must be attempt- 
 ed:— 
 
 Forth from the skies a sudden light did glance. 
 
 That threw me into extacy or swoon ; 
 Instant I fell in an enchanted trance, 
 
 And feeble as a woman sunk I down: 
 
 With that strange gleam, all faded was my might, 
 Silent my voice, and dizzied grew my sight ; 
 
 Sans motion, breath, or hearing, iranc'd 1 stood, — 
 Was never seen so weak a living wight. 
 Nor was it strange, for such celestial light 
 
 Confounds the brain, and chases back the blood 
 
 Unto the sinking heart in ruby Hood : 
 And the faint mumliers of the body, all 
 Refuse to work — when terror doth appal. 
 
 ^ a faery — an enchanted trance. '^living. ^ no wonder. 
 
 ■* makes. ^ although. '^ work not right. ^ heat. 
 
 * which. * swoon. ^" wonderful.
 
 GAVIX DOUGLAS. 157 
 
 'Twere hard to tell how long the fit did last : 
 
 At length iny colour came, though sore aghast, 
 And a wild wondrous vision met mine ee ' : 
 
 Thro a huge forest I did seem to roam, 
 
 In louelj' gloom far far from mortal home, 
 Fast by the margin of a sullen sea, 
 In whose dead waters griesly fishes be : 
 'Twas hideous all — yet here I shall essay 
 To tell mine aveutm-e, though rude may be the lay. 
 
 Finding himself in this doleful region, — (I fol- 
 low Dr. Irving's analysis of the Palace of Ho- 
 nour,) — he begins to complain of the iniquity of 
 Fortune ; but his attention is soon attracted by the 
 arrival of a magnificent cavalcade ' of ladies fair 
 and guidlie men,' who pass before him in bright 
 and glorious procession. Having gone by, two 
 caitiffs approach, one mounted on an ass, the other,. 
 on a hideous horse, who are discovered to be the 
 arch-traitors Sinon and Achituphel. From Sinon 
 the poet learns that the brilliant assembly whom he 
 has just beheld is the court of Minerva, who are 
 journeying through this wild solitude to the palace 
 of Honor. He not unnaturally asks how such 
 villains were permitted to attend upon the goddess, 
 and receives for answer, that they apjiear there 
 on the same principle that we sometimes find 
 thunder and tornadoes intruding themselves into 
 Uie lovely and placid month of May. The merry 
 horns of hunters are now heard in the wood, and 
 a lovely goddess is seen surrounded by buskined 
 nymphs, mounted upon an elephant, cheering on 
 her hounds after an unhai)i)y stag, who proves to 
 be Actceon, ])ursued by Diana and his own dogs. 
 Melodious music succeeds to this stirring scene, 
 
 ^ eye.
 
 15S GAVIX DOUGLAS. 
 
 and tlirougli an opening in the forest the court of 
 Yenus approaches, shedding a transcendent bright- 
 ness over the groves, and composed of every hero 
 and heroine of classical and romantic story. The 
 description of Mars upon his barded courser ' stout 
 and bald' is noble; — 
 
 Everie invasablll wapon ^ on him he bair ; 
 
 His hiik" wes grym, his bodie larj^e and squair, 
 
 His Ijmmis weill entailjiet ' to be Strang, 
 His neck was grit a span breadth weill or mair, 
 His visage bald ■* with crisp broun curland hair ; 
 
 Of stature not ouir grit nor yet oiiir lang, 
 
 Behaldand* Venus Oh ye, my lufe, he sang: 
 And scho again with dalliance sa fair, 
 
 Her knycht hym cleipis* quhair sa he ride or gang. 
 
 Thus modernized : 
 
 The mighty Mars a barded courser bore, 
 
 Grim was his look, his body large and square, 
 His sinewy neck in breadth a span or more, 
 
 Eound which did shortly curl bis crisp brown hair ; 
 
 His limbs well-knit, and of proportion fair, 
 Were clothed in panoply of radiant steel. 
 
 On Venus still he gaz'd with amorous air, 
 And she her knight him call'd in woe or weal, 
 Whilst o'er his noble form her love-lit glances steal. 
 
 This brave apparition is scarcely past, when it 
 is succeeded by the court of Minerva, composed 
 of ' wise, eloquent fathers, and pleasant kdies of 
 fresli beauty,' all of them directing their course to 
 the Palace of Honour, and cheering the tedium of 
 the journey by rehearsing Greek and Latin his- 
 tories, and chaunting to their lyre Sajiphic and 
 Elegiac Odes. We regret it is impossible to 
 
 ^ invulnerable weapon. ^ look. ^ well knit. '* bold. 
 * beholding, ^ calls.
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 159 
 
 follow them in their progress ; but some of the 
 insulated pictures are beautiful. The poet mounts 
 a gallant steed, caparisoned with woodbine ; and, 
 under the guidance of a sweet nymph to whom 
 he had been introduced by Calliope, he takes his 
 joyous way with the Muses, and at length 
 arrives at the Castalian fount : — 
 
 Beside that cristall weill ^ swett and dip;ist °, 
 Thame to repois, their hors refresch and rest ; 
 
 Ahchtit-^ douu thir Musis cleir of hue. 
 The companie all liaillelie lest and best, 
 Thrang to the well to drink, quhilk ■* ran south-west, 
 
 Throut ane meid whair alkiu ^ flouris grew 
 
 Amang the laif^ full fast I did persew 
 To drink ; bot sa the great press me opprest, 
 
 That of the water I micht not taste eeu a drew ^. 
 
 Our horsis pasturit^ in ane plesaud plane. 
 Law at the fiite of ane fair greeue montaiue, 
 
 Amid ane muid schaddowit with cedar trees ; 
 Saif fra all heit, thair micht we weill remain. 
 All kind of herbis, flouris, frute, and greine, 
 
 With everie growaud tree thair men micht clieis'. 
 
 The boeriall streams, rinnand ouir stauerie greis, 
 Made sober noyis ; the schaw dinnit '" agane, 
 
 For birdis sang, and sounding of the beis. 
 
 The ladies fair on divers instrumentes 
 
 Went pla}'and, siugand, dansand ouir the bentis'^ ; 
 
 Full angellik and hevenlie was thair souu. 
 Quhat creature amid his hart imprintis 
 The fresche beautie, the gudelie representis. 
 
 The merrie speeche, fair haveing, hie renoun, 
 
 Of thame, wad sit a wise man lialf in swoun ; 
 Their womanlines, myithit the elementis'-, 
 
 Stoneist the heviu, and all the eirth adoun. 
 
 ^ well. ^ wholesome. ' alighted. * which. 
 
 5 all kind. " crowd. ^ drop. '^ pastured. " choose. 
 
 ^^ resounded. *^ fields. ^^ charmed the elements.
 
 160 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 The warld may not consider nor descrive^ 
 The hevinlie joj^, the bliss I saw belive ; 
 
 Sa ineffable above my wit, sa hie, 
 I will na mair thairon my forehead rive 
 Bot briefly forth my febill process drive; — 
 
 Law in the meid ane palyeon picht^ I see, 
 
 Maist gudeliest, and richest that micht be : 
 My governour aftncr than tymis five 
 
 Unto that hald to pass commandit me. 
 
 I attempt a free translation of these fine stanzas, 
 as the language is so obscure: — 
 
 Beside that fount, with clearest crystal blest, 
 Alighted down the Muses bright of hue, 
 
 Themselves to solace and their steeds to rest ; 
 And all their followers ou the instant drew 
 To taste the stream, which sparkling leapt to vicw^ 
 
 Thro' freshest meads with laurel canopied. 
 Then trembling to the well renown'd I flew, 
 
 But the rude crowd all passage there defied, 
 
 Nor might 1 snatch a drop of that celestial tide, 
 
 Our horses pastured in a pleasant field. 
 
 Verdant and rich, beneath a mountain green, 
 ■yVhere, from the mid-day heat a siiade to yield, 
 
 Some ancient cedars wove a leafy screen ; 
 
 On the bmooth turf unnumbered flowers were seen 
 Weaving a carpet 'neath umbrageous trees. 
 
 And o'er their channels, pav'd with jewels sheen, 
 The waters gliding did the senses please, 
 ^Mingling their quiet tunes with hum of honied bees. 
 
 On many an instnunent of breath or string 
 
 These gentle ladies play'd or playing sung ; 
 Some sat beneath the trees in lovely ring, 
 
 Some solitary stray'd the flowers among ; 
 
 Ev'n the rude elements in silence hung, 
 And wooed their music with intense delight ; 
 
 Whilst from their charms such dazzling rays were flon^,. 
 As utterly amaz'd all mortal sight. 
 And might have thaw'd the heart of sternest anchorite* 
 
 * describe. ^ a pavilion pitched.
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS). IGl 
 
 Far (loth it pass all powers of living speech 
 
 To tell tliL' joy that from theso sights I took ; 
 And if so high the wondrous theme doth reach, 
 
 How should my vein the great endeavour brook ! 
 
 AVe may not soar so high, my litile book. 
 But pass we on : — Upon the field I spied, 
 
 Woven of silk, with golden post and hook, 
 A goodly tent unfold its wings of pride, 
 To whose delightsome porch me drew my lovely guide. 
 
 Obeying his sweet conductress, Master Gavin 
 enters this rich paviUon, and there sees the Muses 
 sitting on ' deissis,' or elevated seats of distinc- 
 tion, served by familiars with ippocras and mead, 
 and partaking, much in tlie same fashion as mortal 
 ladies, of delicate meats and varied dainties. After 
 the feast, Calliope commands Ovid, wliom she 
 quaintly calls her " Clerk Register,'' to recreate 
 tliem with a song ; and this favoured minstrel 
 chaunts the deeds of the heroes of ancient days, 
 not forgetting a digression upon transfigurations 
 and the art and remedy of love. He is followed 
 by other eminent bards ; but the enumeration 
 forms rather a ludicrous calalotrue than a charac- 
 teristic or animated picture. It is wound up by 
 Poggius, who stood, a groaning, girning fallow, 
 SpiUing, and cryand Fy, on great Laurentius Valla. 
 
 The trumpet now sounds to horse, and the 
 Muses, with their whole attendants and followers, 
 throwing themselves on their steeds, gallop on at 
 a goodly pace till they reach a charming vallev, 
 "wherein a mighty rock is seen, which we innne- 
 diately discover to be some sacred and glorious 
 place, for tlie moment it is descried the whole 
 assembly bow their heads and give thanks that 
 they are permitted to bcliolJ the end of tlieir 
 journey. 
 
 VOL,. III. M
 
 162 GAVIX DOUGLAS. 
 
 It is here that tlie allegory, in its profane ad- 
 mixture of the Pagan mythology with the Chris- 
 tian system, becomes unnatural and painful. We 
 find that the palace built upon this rock is in- 
 tended to shadow forth the bliss of heaven ; and 
 that under the word Honour, which, to our 
 modern ears, conveys a very different idea, we 
 are to understand that heavenly honour and dis- 
 tinction to which the Christian aspires. This 
 being the case, why does the explanation of such 
 mysteries proceed from the lips of a Pagan god- 
 dess ? — and what has Venus, the most meretri- 
 cious, though sometimes the most elegant, of 
 classical personifications, to do with that sacred 
 and blessed system, that " state of grace," as the 
 poet himself ^denominates it, which ought ever to 
 be kej)t pure and undefiled, as the heavenly source 
 from which it has proceeded ? ^Vith how much 
 fmer taste and holier feeling has a later poet, 
 but he, indeed, " the miglitiest master of the 
 Christian lyre," described the desertion of the 
 Pagan shrines, the silence of the oracles, the 
 terror of the priests and flamens, and the passing 
 away of the dark and unholy mysteries wliich 
 constituted the system of heathen worslii]), at the 
 birth of our Redeemer : 
 
 The oracles are dumb, 
 No voice or liideous hum 
 Ruus thiouirli ihe arched root' in words deceivinir. 
 AjioUo troia his .shrine 
 C.'an no uiore divine, 
 "With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leavin;j. 
 No nightly trance, or l)reailied spell 
 Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
 
 GAVIX DOUGLAS. 1G3 
 
 The lonely mountains o'er, 
 And the resounding shore, 
 A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; 
 From haunted spring, and dale 
 Edged with poplar pale, 
 The parting Genius is with sighing sent : 
 'With Hower-inwoven tresses torn. 
 The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. 
 
 In consecrated earth, 
 And on the holy hearth, 
 The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint ; 
 In urns, and altars round, 
 A drear and dying sound 
 Affrights the flamens at their service quaint ; 
 And the chill marlde seems to sweat, 
 ^Vlulo each peculiar power foregoes his wonted seat. 
 
 Peor and Baalim 
 Forsake their temples dim, 
 "With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine ; 
 And mooned Ashtaroth, 
 Heaven's queen and mother both, 
 Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine ; 
 The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn. 
 In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz motn-n.* 
 
 The Bishop of Dunkeld would, prol)ably, have 
 rested his defence, as his encomiasts may still be 
 inclined to do, upon the plea, that the Palace of 
 Honour is a vision or dream; that dreams are 
 remarkable for their wild transitions, confined 
 within no rules of waking realities, and becoming 
 only the more natural as they assume more 
 mixed, multiform, and extravagant phases. All 
 this is true ; but tliere is little in the defence 
 which can excuse the no doubt unintentional 
 insult oflered to the feelings of a pious reader. 
 W hilst our souls are pent in mortal clay, we niav, 
 
 * Milton's Ode on the Nativity. 
 
 M 2
 
 164 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 and too often are, visited by dreams, which ouglit 
 not to be written : but we can have no excuse if, 
 when awake, we communicate these extravagant 
 and sinful fancies to others, and insist on writing 
 wliat cannot, without injury, be read. 
 
 On entering the Palace of Honour, the poet 
 behokls Venus seated on a splendid throne, having 
 before her a magic mirror, supported by three 
 golden trees : 
 
 Bot straicht before Venus' visaj^e, but let 
 
 Stude emeiant stages twelve, grene precious greis ', 
 
 Quliairoii thair grew three curious golden treis. 
 
 Suitendaiul weill, the goddes face beforne 
 
 Aiie fair Mirroiu-, be them quaintly upborne. 
 
 In terrae'd pomp before the Cyprian Queen, 
 Rose twelve bright stages as the emerald green ; 
 Al)ove them wav'd, most glorious to behold, 
 Three wondrous trees with leaves of rustling gold ; 
 And on their stems supported, clear and bright, 
 A magic Mirror stood, and shed miearthly light. 
 
 This mirror reflects the shadowy train of past 
 ages, the most remarkable events recorded in 
 history float over its surface, — and the poet, of 
 course, beholds an infinite variety of incongru- 
 ous personages ; amongst the ancient warlike 
 worthies, tlie supporters of the authenticity of 
 Ossian will be pleased to discover the mighty 
 Fingal, and Gaul the son of Morni ; Great Gow- 
 n^akmorc, and Fyn Mac Cowl ; and how 
 
 Thai suld^ be goddis in Ireland, as thai say. 
 
 It reflects, also, the necromantic tricks of tlie 
 famous Roger Eacon and other astrologers, who 
 are seen diverting themselves by many subtla 
 
 ' grass. ^ should. =
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 165 
 
 points of juggling, changing a nutmeg into a 
 monk, and a penny pie into a parish ciiuvch : — 
 
 The necromanc)- there saw I elie anone, 
 
 Of Benytas, Buiii^o, and Frier Becone, 
 Witli many subtel point of jugji^lery ; 
 
 Of Flanders pyes made mony precious stone, 
 
 Ane great laid saddle of a cliicken bone ; 
 Of a nutmeg they made a monk iu hy ' ; 
 A parish kirk out of ane penny pie: 
 
 And Benytas of ane mussil made an aj^e, 
 
 With many other subtle mow and jaip'^- 
 
 "What connexion these amusements of tlie as- 
 trologers are supposed to liave with tlie Palac(! of 
 Honour, it would be hopeless to inquire. The 
 poet now presses on to an eminence, from whicli 
 he beholds the attempts of tlie multitude to scale 
 its walls, and the disasters with which they are 
 accompanied. Equity stands as warder on the 
 battlements, denouncing vengeance against Envy, 
 Falsehood, and Covetousncss ; Patience officiates 
 as porter, and instantly admits him and his con- 
 ductress. We shall give the description of the 
 palace, and the monarch, King Honour, who in- 
 habits it, in his own words : — 
 
 Tlie durris and the winders all were brcddit' 
 "With niassie gold, quhairof the fynes scheddit, 
 
 With burnist i vir'', liailh pallice and touris, 
 War theikit'' weill niaist craftilie that cled it; 
 For St) the nuhilely blanchit bone ourspred it, 
 jMidlit witli golii'', anamalit all colouris, 
 Importurait' with birdis and sweet tlouris; 
 Curious knottis and mony a hie device, 
 Quliilkis" to behald war perfite^ paradyce. 
 
 ^ haste. '-' cheat. •'' broidered. * ivory. * roofed. 
 •^ inlaid. ^ decorated. " which. '■' perfect.
 
 166 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 And to proceed, my iiymphe and I fiirth went 
 Straight to the hall, throwout the palice gent, 
 
 And ten stages of topaz did ascend ; 
 Schute was the door, in at a boir I blent', 
 Quliair I beheld the gladdest represent 
 
 That ever on earth a wretched caititf kend. 
 
 Brielily this process to couclud and end ; 
 Metlioclit the flure was all of amethyst, 
 Bot quhairof war the wallis I not wist. 
 
 The multitud of precious stainis seii-®, 
 Thairon sa schone, my febell sicht but weir ^ 
 
 Micht not behald their verteous gudeliness. 
 Por all the riiif * as did to me appear 
 Hung full of plesand, lowped sapphires cleir : 
 
 Of diamontis and rubeis as 1 ges, 
 War all the burdis ^ maid of maist riches : 
 Of sardanis, of jasji, and smaragd ane, 
 Traists, formes, and benkes, war polist plane. 
 
 Baith to and fro amid the hall thai went : 
 Royal princes in plait and armoviris quent. 
 
 Of bernist^ gold couchit with precious stanis ; 
 Enthronit 1 sawe ane king gret and potent, 
 Upon quhais maist bricht visage, as I blent^ 
 In wonderment, be his brichtnes at anis. 
 He smote me doune, and brissit® all my banis' 
 Thair lay I still in swoun with colour blaucht, 
 Quhile at the last my nymphe up hes me caught. 
 
 Sine with grit paine with womenting'" and cair, 
 
 In lier armis scho bare me doim the stair, 
 And in the clois fuUsoftlie laid me down; 
 
 Ujiheld my held to tak the hailsome" air; 
 
 For of my life scho sttule in gri.it dispair. 
 Me till awak wes stdl that lady boun '", 
 Quhilk Hiuillie out of that deidlie " soun. 
 Iswyitb overcome, and up mine ene did cast, 
 Be nierr)-, man, quoth scho, the worst is past. 
 
 ' looked in at a window. ^ various. '•' without injury» 
 
 * rouf. ^ boards. ^ burnislied. ^^ looked. 
 
 * bruised. ® bones. '"fomenting. " uholesome. 
 
 ^* that lady was busied — or intent to wake me. '-^ deadly.
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS. Ift7 
 
 It will be perceived that the description, al- 
 tliough l)eautiful, is, to the general reader, more 
 thicklv sown with obscure words than the poetry 
 of Dunbar or Henrysoun. This must plead our 
 excuse for attempting to present it in a modern 
 garb. 
 
 In hij^li relief of rich and massive gold, 
 
 The borders round the doors and windows shone ; 
 Each tower and turret, beauteous to behold, 
 
 Of polish'd ivory form'd — ne was there one 
 That dill not show inlaid its walls upon 
 
 BriL^ht shapes of birds, midst sweet enamell'd flowers. 
 And curious knots, carv'd in the snow-white bone, 
 
 With matchless cunning by the artist's powers. — 
 So perfect and so pure, were Honor's lordly Ijowers. 
 
 But ])ass we on — the nymph and I did wend 
 
 Straight to the hall — and climb'd a radiant stair, 
 Form'd all uf topaz clear — from end to end. — 
 
 The gate was shut — but through a lattice there 
 Of beryl, gazing, a transcendaut glare 
 
 Broke dazzlingly on mine astonished sight. — 
 A room I saw — but oh, what tongue shall dare 
 
 To paint that chamber, so surpassing bright ! 
 Sure never such a view was given to mortal wight. 
 
 From every part comhin'd, roof, wall, and floor, 
 
 A flood of light most gloriously was cast ; 
 And as the stream upon mine eyes gan pour, 
 
 Blinded I stood awhile : that sight surpast 
 Aught that in Eastern story read tluu hast 
 
 Of richest palace, or of gorgeous stall; 
 
 On diamond pillars, tall as any mast. 
 Clustering, and bound with ropes of rubies all, 
 The sapphire arches leant of that celestial hall. 
 
 The very benches, forms, and footstools mean, 
 AVere sbap'd of smaragdinc and precious stone, 
 
 And on the carpet brillia-it groups were seen 
 Of heroes old, whose steely corslets shone 
 Euibost with jewels ; — near them, on a throne 
 
 Sat Honor, mighty prince, with look severe,
 
 168 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 And deep-set awful eye, whose rrlance alone 
 So full of might and glorious did apjieav, 
 That all ray senses reel'd, and down I dropt with fear. 
 
 Within her snow\- arms that Lady sweet 
 Me caught, and swiftly to the portal hied, 
 
 For wing'd with love and pity were her feet, 
 And sol't she hore me to inhale the tide 
 Of the fresh air — she deem'd I woidd have died, 
 
 So sudden and so deadly pale I grew ; 
 But fondly each reviving art she tried, 
 
 And hath'd my brow with Heliconian dew, 
 Till, faint and slow, mine eyes imclos'd to meet her view. 
 
 The vision now liastens to a conclusion. On 
 his recovery, tlie Poet, under tlie protection of lier 
 who has so faithfully conducted him, proposes to 
 visit a delightful garden, wliere the Muses are em- 
 ployed in gathering the choicest flowers of poesy, 
 which spring beneath trees bearing precious stones 
 instead of fruit. In the description of this retreat 
 there is a strange admixture of the beautiful and 
 the ridiculous. The scenery is sweetly jiainted ; 
 but what shall we say of the trees on which geese 
 or chickens are seen growing ; to the transplant- 
 ing of the extraordinary fables of Boece into the 
 gardens of tlie Palace of Honour? Into this gar- 
 den, liowever, in whatever fashion it may be fur- 
 nished, tlie bard himself is not destined to enter. 
 The only access to it lies beyond a moat, across 
 which a tree is thrown. Over this slender and 
 precarious rural bridge, the Nvmph passes with 
 ease; but the Poet, whose head has not yet reco- 
 vered the effects of his swoon, in making the 
 attempt, slips a foot, and is immersed in the 
 stream. Tiiis effectuallv awakens him from the 
 trance into which he had fallen, and restores his
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 1G9 
 
 senses to the sober realities of a lower sphere. He 
 then, according to poetic use and wont, describes 
 his wondrous vision, and lays it at the feet of his 
 sovereign, James IV. 
 
 In his interview with Venus in the Palace of 
 Honour, Douglas informs us, that the goddess 
 presented him, as the richest gift she could bestow, 
 with a copy of Virgil's TEneid, commanding him 
 to translate it into his native language — a task, 
 says Dr. Irving, which he has performed with 
 much felicity. ' To pronounce it,' continues this 
 learned critic, ' the best version of this wonderful 
 poem, which ever was or ever will be executed, 
 would be ridiculous ; but it is certainly the pro- 
 duction of a bold and energetic writer, whose 
 knowledge of the language of his original, and 
 command of a rich and variegated phraseology, 
 peculiarly qualified him for the performance of so 
 arduous a task. Indeed, whether we consider the 
 state of British literature at that era, or the ra- 
 pidity with which he completed the work, (it was 
 the labour of but sixteen months,) he will be 
 found entitled to a high degree of admiration. In 
 either of the sister languages, few translations of 
 sacred authors had been attempted ; and the rules 
 of the art were conserpiently little understood. 
 Even in English, no metrical version of a classic 
 had yet appeared, except of Boethius ; who 
 scarcelv merits that appellation. On the destruc- 
 tion of Troy, Caxton had published a species of 
 prose romance, which he professes to liave trans- 
 lated from the French ; and the English reader 
 was taught to consider this motley and ludicrous 
 composition as a version of the /Eneid. Douglas,
 
 170 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 however, bestows severe castigation on Caxton, 
 for his presumptuous deviation from classical 
 storv ; and affirms, tliat his work no more resem- 
 bles Virgil than the Devil resembles St. Austin j 
 and yet he has fallen into an error, which he ex- 
 poses in his predecessor, — proper names being 
 often so disfigured in his translation, as only to be 
 recognized with the greatest ditnculty. In many 
 instances too, he has been guilty of the bad taste 
 of modernizing the notions of his original ; con- 
 verting the Sibyl into a nun, and admonishing 
 ^Eneas, the Trojan baron, to be fearful of any 
 neglect in counting his beads. Of the general 
 principle of translation, however, he appears to 
 have formed no inaccurate notion. His version 
 is neither rashly licentious, nor too tamely literal. 
 In affirming that he has invariably rendered one 
 verse by another, Dempster and Lesly betray 
 their ignorance of the work of which they speak ; 
 and JJouglas well knew that such a project 
 would have been wild and nugatory. The verses 
 of Virgil and his translator must commonly 
 differ in length by at least three syllables, and 
 they may even differ by no fewer than seven. 
 Dr. Irving concludes his judicious remarks upon 
 this translation by selecting, as a specimen, the 
 celebrated passage on tlie descent of /Eneas into 
 the infernal regions : — 
 
 " Facilis descensus Averni, 
 Nodes atquc dies patet atri Janua Ditis. 
 Sed revocaie jrraduin, superasque evadere ad auras — 
 Hue opus, hie labui- est : pauci, (juos aeqiuis amavit 
 J muter, aut ardens evexit ad set hem vutus, 
 Dis geiiiti potuere ; tenent media omnia silvse» 
 Cocylusqiie sinu labeas circunitluit atro."
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 171 
 
 It is riclit facill and eith ' tiate, I thee tell 
 
 For to descend, and pass on doun to lifll. 
 
 The black zettis of Pluto, and that dirk - wa}', 
 
 Stand evir open and patent nicht and day. 
 
 But therefra to return agaiae on hicht, 
 
 And heire above recovir this airis licht, 
 
 That is difficil werk, thair labour lyis. 
 
 Full few thair bene quhom hiech above the skyis, 
 
 Thare ardent vertue has rasit and upheit ', 
 
 Or zit quhame equale Jupiter deifyit, 
 
 Thay quhilkis bene geudrit of goddes may thydder 
 
 attane, 
 All the mydway is wildernes unplane, 
 Or wilsum forest ; and the laithlie'' flude, 
 Cocytus, with liis drery bosom unrude, 
 Flows environ round about that place. 
 
 Perhaps a happier specimen of this remarkable 
 work of DoujTlas is to be found in tbe translation 
 of that ex(juisite passat^e in the sixth book, in 
 which vEneas and tlie Sibyl arrive at the Elvsiau 
 Fields : 
 
 * His demum exactis, pcrfecto munere divae, 
 Devenere locos laetos et amcEna vireta, 
 Fortunatonim nemorum sedesqiie beatas. 
 Largior hie campos sethc-r, et lumine vestit 
 Purpureo, sulemque suum sua sideia norunt. 
 Pars in gramineis exercent membra paUcstris, 
 Contendimt hido, et fidva luctantur arena ; 
 Pars pi'dibus jilaudunt choreas, et carmina dicunt. 
 Nee non Threicius longa cum veste sacerdos 
 Obk'ctat numeris septem discrimina viicum, 
 Jamque eadem digiiis, jam pectiiie pulsat eburuo.' 
 
 The golden branclie he sticks up fair and wele, 
 This beand done at last ; and every dele 
 Prefuruist*, langiug" the goddyss gift gay, 
 Unto ane plesand grund' cumin ar thay 
 
 ' easy. * daik. ^ upheld. ■* loathsome. 
 * all things or rites fuliilled. * belonging. '' groiuid.
 
 172 GAVIX DOUGLAS. 
 
 With battel ^ gers, fresche herbis, and grene swardis, 
 
 The kisty orchailis, and the halesome" j'ardis 
 
 Of happy sauhs ^ and wele fortvniale 
 
 To blissit wichiis the places preparate, 
 
 Thir fieldis bene largeare"*, and hevinis biycht 
 
 Revestis thaim with pmpour schyning lycht; 
 
 The sternes^ for this place convenient 
 
 Knavvis wele thtir sun, and obseivis his went®. 
 
 Sum thare amid the gersy 7 planis grene, 
 
 In to palestral playis thame betvvene : 
 
 Thare menibris ^ gan exerce, and hand for hand 
 
 They fall to wershng^ on the golden sand, 
 
 Assayand honest gammis "* thaym to schorte '', 
 
 Sum uthir banting'"^ g-m**! ane uther sporte, 
 
 Als for to dansing, and to hede the rnig 
 
 To sing ballettis'-' and go in karolling. 
 
 Thare wes also the priest and menstrale sle '*, 
 
 Orpheus of Thrace, in syde robe harpand '^ he, 
 
 Playing proporcions and springs "* divine 
 
 Apoun his harp, sevin divers soundis fyne^ 
 
 Kow with gynip '" fvngeris doing stringis smyte, 
 
 And now viith subtell evorie poyutals lyte'". 
 
 Douglas commences each book witli a prologue 
 or original introduction, generally descriptive of the 
 season and circumstances under which it was writ- 
 ten. Thus, in the prologue to the seventh book, we 
 have as noble a description of winter as is to be 
 found in the whole range of ancient Scottish poetry. 
 The poet tells us that the sun liad just entered the 
 cloudy sign of Capricorn, and approached so near 
 liis winter stage that his heat perceptibly de- 
 clined — 
 
 ! ' thick. * wholesome. ^ souls. * larger. 
 
 ' stars. ^ path. ? grassy. ^ members. 
 
 ^ wrestling. '" games. " divert. ^- hiuiting. 
 
 ^^ ballads. ••• skilful. '^ harping. ^^ tunes. 
 
 '? beautiful and slender. ^^ little.
 
 GAVIX DOUGLAS. 173 
 
 Altho he be the lamp and heart of hevin ^ 
 Forfeblit wox his leiiiand gilded levin*, 
 Thro tlie declining of his large round sjihere, 
 The frosty regiouu ringis of the zere ^. 
 
 Everything is melancholy and dreary ; the trees 
 leafless and bare; tlie rivers running red in spate *; 
 the burns or smaller streams, so sweet and quiet 
 in smnmer tide, tearing down their banks ; the 
 surges dashing on the shore with a noise louder 
 than the roar of a chafed lion ; the heavens dark 
 and louring, or, if the sky clears for a moment, 
 only opening to show the wintry constellations, 
 rainy Orion, and the chill, pestilential Saturn, 
 
 ' Shedding infection from his tresses hoar.' 
 
 The earth, says the poet, pursuing his fine winter 
 picture, is now barren, hard, and unlovely ; the 
 meadows have put on their brown and withered 
 coats ; Hebe, the beautiful daughter of Juno, hath 
 not even a single flower with which she may 
 adorn herself; and through a cold and leaden 
 atmosphere, the mountain tops are seen capt with 
 snow. As these melancholy images present them- 
 selves, shadowy dreams of age and death steal into 
 the mind — 
 
 Goustj- schadowis of eild and grisly dede. 
 
 All living creatures seem to sympathise with 
 the decay of the year. The deer are seen retreat- 
 ing from their high summer ])astures, into the more 
 sheltered valley ; the small l)irds, congregating in 
 flocks, change their pleasant songs into a melan- 
 
 ^ heaven. ^ flashes of light. ' year. 
 
 * A stream overflowing its banks from heavy raiuSj is- 
 Baid in Scotland to be in spate.
 
 174 GAVIX DOUGLAS. 
 
 choly chirm, or low complaining murmur ; the 
 wind, either carrying all before it, tears the forest 
 in its strength, or sinks into a subdued or ominous 
 moaning. The poor husbandmen and labourers, 
 with their slioes covered with clay, and their gar- 
 ments drenched in rain, are seen toiling about the 
 doors ; the little herd-boy, with his silly sheep, 
 creeps under the lee of some sheltered hill-side, 
 whilst the oxen, horses, and ' greater bestial, the 
 tuskit boars, and fat swyne,' comfortably stabled 
 and housed, have the well-stored provender of the 
 harvest thrown down before them. As the night 
 approaches, the sky clears up ; the air, becoming 
 more pure and penetrating, at length settles into 
 an intense frost ; and the poet, after having bekit, 
 or warmed himself at the fire, and armed his body 
 against the piercing air by ' claithis thrynfeld,' 
 threefold happings, retires to rest : — 
 
 Recreate wele' and by the chimney bekit'. 
 At evin lietime doiin in ane bed me strekit^, 
 ■Waipit my hede, kest on claithis thryni'ald, 
 For to expell the perellous persand canld ••, 
 I crossit me, syne bownid for to slepe \ 
 
 For some time he is unable to sleep: he watches 
 the moon shedding her rays through his casement ; 
 he hears the owl hooting in her midnight cave, 
 and when she ceases, a strange sound breaks the 
 stillness of the night, — he listens, and recognizes 
 the measured creaking strokes proceeding from the 
 wings of a flock of wild geese, as they glide high 
 in air over the city — an inimitable picture, true to 
 nature, and eminently poetical : — 
 
 ' well. * warmetl. ' stretched. ■* cold. 
 
 * sleep.
 
 GAVIX DOUGLAS. 175 
 
 The horned bird, quhilk' we clepe^ the n3-ch owle, 
 Within her caverne heard I shout and zoule^, 
 Laithely * of forme with crukit camscho* beik, 
 Ugsome® to hear was her wild ehische skreik'^, 
 The wild ^is eke clakin2^ by nychtes tide, 
 Attuur^ the city iieand^, heard I glide. 
 
 He is at last surprised by sleep, nor does he 
 waken till the cock — Piioebus' crowned bird, the 
 clock of the night — had thrice clapped his wings, 
 and proclaimed the approach of dav. The same 
 truth and excellence which marks the preceding 
 part of the picture, distinguishes this portion : the 
 jackdaws are heard chattering on the roof, the 
 moon is declining near the horizon, the gled or 
 kite, taking her station on the high leafless trees 
 beside the poet's window, whistles with that singular 
 and characteristic note vvliich proclaims the dawn- 
 ing of a winter day ; and having had his hre 
 stirred, and his candle lighted, he rises, dresses 
 himself, and for a moment opens the casement to 
 look out u])on the scene : but it is only for a mo- 
 ment ; the hail-stones hopping on the leads, and 
 the gust of cold and rimy air which sweeps in, 
 admonish him that this is no time for such obser- 
 vation, and quickly closing the lattice, he hurries, 
 shivering with cold, to the fire-side. As he warms 
 himself, the faggots crackle on the heartli, the 
 cheerful blaze lights up his chamber, and glancing 
 from the precious and richly gilded volumes which 
 are ranged in their oaken ])resscs, his eve liuhts 
 upon ' Virgil' lying open upon a reading-desk. 
 He is thus reminded of how much of his task yet 
 
 J which. ^call. -'yell. •• uirly. * sfern looking. 
 
 « frijjhtful. 7 shriek. « above. ^ flying.
 
 176 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 remains, and addresses himself diligently to his 
 translation. It is difficult to conceive a more 
 pleasing or picturesque description than what is 
 here given. It is distinguished by a minute ob- 
 servation of nature, a power of selection and 
 grouping, rich colouring and clearness of outline, 
 which we invariably trace in the works of a true 
 poet. 
 
 It has been already remarked, that in his 
 phraseology, Douglas is more obscure than Dun- 
 bar or Henryson. ' The Friars of Berwick,' or, 
 the tale of the ' Landwart Mouse,' may be under- 
 stood by a purely English reader, with compa- 
 rative facility ; wliilst in the ' Palace of Honour,' 
 and still more in the ' Translation of the iEneid,' 
 passages are perpetually recurring which require 
 some study to make out their meaning. We find 
 the explanation of this given by the poet himself. 
 Dunbar represents himself as writing in the 
 English tongue ; but the translator of ' Virgil,' as 
 " kepand na Soudron hot ouir avvin langage." 
 
 In the time of James V., we know from a 
 curious passage quoted in ' Hailes' Life of John 
 Hamilton,' that to " knapp Sudrone," was con- 
 sidered the mark of a traitor ; and even so late as 
 James VI., Winzet speaks of his being ignorant 
 of " Southeron," and knowing only his proper 
 language, tlie ' auld brade Scottis *." The passage 
 in Douglas above referred to, is interesting in this- 
 point of view : — 
 
 And yet forsoith I set my besy pane, 
 
 As that I couth to mak it biade and plane, 
 
 Kepand no Soudroun, hot our awin langage, 
 
 * Irving's Lives of the Scottish Poets, vol. i., p. 59^.
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 177 
 
 And speke as I lerne<l quheu I wos ane page ; 
 
 Ka yet ' sa clene all Siulroun I refuse, 
 
 Bot some wonle I proiuuice as njchboure ilois ; 
 
 Like as in Latine bene, i^rewe termes sum, 
 
 So me behuffit- qiihilnm or be dum, 
 
 Sinn bastard Latyne, Fienscbe or YuLjlis, ois ; 
 
 Quhaiie scant wes Scottis ; I bad nane utber chois : 
 
 Not tliat oure touni^ is in tbe selvin slcant^, 
 
 Bot for tliat I the fouth '^ of langa^re want *. 
 
 It was at tlie request of Henry, Lord Sinclair, 
 cousin of tlie poet, and a liberal and learned 
 patron of literature, that this remarkable transla- 
 tion was undertaken ; and Doup;las has informed 
 us, that he completed it on the 22d of July, 1513, 
 about twelve years after he had com])osed his 
 ' Palace of Honour,' and not two months before 
 tlie death of his sov'ereign, James IV., in the 
 battle of Flodden ; fatal not only to the monarch 
 and the country, but especially disastrous to the 
 family and lineage of the poet. Deeply alTected 
 by this calamity, and deprived of his father, who 
 died soon after, he bade farewell to tlie Muses, 
 and in the conclusion of his translation of the 
 iEneid, intimates his resolution of devoting his 
 remaining days to the glory of God and the good 
 of his country. 
 
 The passage in wliich he bills adieu to his 
 poetical studies is striking and characteristic, in- 
 timating a strong consciousness of the perpetuity 
 of his fame : — 
 
 Now is my werk^ all finist and complete, 
 Quhoni Jovis ire nor fyris birnand** hete, 
 
 ^ nor yet. " behoved. ^ scanty. * plenty. 
 
 ^ work. <5 burning. 
 
 * Irving's Lives of the Scottish Poets, vol. i. p. GO. 
 VOL. III. >-
 
 178 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 Nor trenscheand swerd, sail defajs ', nor doiin thring, 
 
 Nor lanp proces of a^je, consumes all thing: 
 
 Quhen that unkaawin- day sail him address, 
 
 Qiihilk not but on this body power hes, 
 
 And ends the date of mine uncertiiin eild ^, 
 
 The better part of nie shall be upheild'' 
 
 Above the sternis perpetuallie to riiig^, 
 
 And here my name remane but® emparing; 
 
 Throwuut the isle, yclipt'it Albione, 
 
 Read shall i bee, and sung by many a one. 
 
 Thus up my pen and instruments full zore^ 
 
 On Virgil's post I fix for evermore, 
 
 Kevir from thens sic matters to descrive^: 
 
 My muse shall now be clene contemplative ' 
 
 And solitair ; as doth the bird in caige 
 
 Sen fer by worne, all is my childis aige^"; 
 
 And of my days near passit the half date, 
 
 That Nature sold me granting, wele I wate ; 
 
 Thus sen 1 feile " down sweyand '- the ballance, 
 
 Here I resign my youngkeris'^ observance, 
 
 And will direct my labours evermoir''', 
 
 Unto the Common-welth and goddis gloir '^. 
 
 Adiew, gude redaris '®, God gif you all gude nycht '^, 
 
 And, after death, grant us his hevinly lycht'". 
 
 The life of Douglas now became troubled and 
 eventful. It had before glided on serenely in 
 happy literary enjoyment, undisturbed bv pomp 
 or terror. Its after-course was destined to par- 
 take largely of both. 
 
 The widowed queen of James IV., who had 
 been deprived of her husband when she was yet 
 in the prime of youth and beauty, fixed her aflec- 
 tions on the Earl of Angus, one of the handsomest 
 
 ' defeat. * imknown. 
 
 ^ old age. ■* upheld. * reign. * without. 
 
 ^ expert. ^ describe. ^ altogether contemplative. 
 
 '" age. " feel. '^ down inclining. 
 
 *^ observance of my youth. '* evermore. * glory. 
 
 '^ good readers. '^ good night. '" light.
 
 GAVIX DOUGLAS. 1"C^ 
 
 noblemen at the court, and nephew to Douglas ; 
 but, from his extreme youth, little calculated to 
 act with prudence under circumstances so flatter- 
 ing to his vanity and ambition. ' To the surprise 
 and regret of all ranks/ says Pinkerton, ' Marga- 
 ret, hardly recovered from the languor of child- 
 birth, suddenly wedded the Earl of Angus — a 
 precipitate step, which was fatal to her ambition, 
 as, by the laws of the country, it terminated her 
 regency. A birth, distinguished by an ancestry of 
 heroes, opulent possessions, a potent vassalry, 
 above all, a person blooming with youth and ele- 
 gance, transported the woman, whilst they ruined 
 the queen *.' 
 
 13y tliis imprudent union, Douglas became 
 nearly connected with the royal family; and, as 
 the archbishopric of St. Andrew's was now vacant 
 by the death of Alexander Stewart in the battle 
 of Fiodden, the queen nominated him to the 
 primacy, recommending him, in a letter addressed 
 to Leo X., as ' second to none in learning and 
 virtues.' He accordingly took possession of the 
 archiepiscopal palace, and prepared to enter upon 
 his ecclesiastical functions ; but these were the 
 iron times, in which the bishop often found it a» 
 difficult to preach peacefully in his cathedral as the 
 baron to live quietly in his castle. His right was 
 contested by Hepburn, prior of St. Andrew's, who 
 had been elected by the canons, and Forman, 
 bishop of Moray, a crafty and grasping pluralist, 
 whose wealth and address had procured the pre- 
 sentation from the Pope. Hepburn, at the head 
 
 * Pinkurlon's History, vol.ii. p. 121.
 
 180 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 of a large body of troops, expelled the servants of 
 Douglas, and took possession of the castle ; whilst 
 Forman, acquiring the assistance of Lord Hume, 
 one of the most powerful of the Scottish nobles, 
 first published the papal bull at Edinburgh at the 
 head of an army of ten thousand men, and then 
 marched to St. Andrew's. It says much for 
 Douglas's moderation and love of peace, that he 
 immediately retired from the contest, and left his 
 furious rivals to pursue the stormy courses of their 
 amibition, which concluded by Forman obtaining 
 possession of the primacy. 
 
 Not long after this the see of Dunkeld, con- 
 sidered at that time as the third in the realm in 
 point of emolument, became vacant, and the queen 
 once more nominated Douglas, who, by the inte- 
 rest of Henry VIII., obtained a papal bull in his 
 favour. The chapter at the same moment, how- 
 ever, had elected Stewart, a brother of the Earl of 
 Athole ; and the postulate bishop, at the head of 
 his clansmen and ketherans, lost no time in taking 
 possession of his new dignity, fortifying the palace 
 and cathedral, stationing parties of armed retainers 
 in the passes where he might be attacked, and de- 
 claring his resolution to be expelled only at the 
 point of the sword. Nay, the persecution of 
 Dou2;las was carried still further: beinfr arraigned 
 under some acts of parliament, which had seldom 
 been carried into effect, of the crime of procuring 
 bulls from Rome, he was found guilty, subjected 
 to a temporary imprisonment, ami committed to 
 the custody of Hepburn, his former rival for tlie 
 primacy. A compromise between the two parties 
 at length took place, and Douglas was consecrated
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 781 
 
 at Glasgow by Archbishop Beaton. ' Having 
 first visited on his journey the metropolitan city 
 of St. Andrew's, he proceeded from thence to Diin- 
 keld, where all ranks exhibited the utmost delight 
 at his arrival, extolling to the clouds his learninor 
 and virtues, and uttering their thanks to heaven for 
 the gift of so noble and eminent a prelate.' The 
 pope's bull was then proclaimed with the usual 
 solemnities at the high altar, and the bishop re- 
 tired to the house of the dean, where he was splen- 
 didly entertained. There was a very sufficient 
 reason for this, as the servants and soldiers of 
 Stewart still held the episcopal palace and catlie- 
 dral, declaring their determination not to sur- 
 render it till they received their master's orders. 
 Their steel coats were seen glancing on the walls, 
 the cannon pointed from the battlements, and even 
 the steejilehad been transformed into a garrison of 
 troops, so that the new bishop was constrained to 
 perform divine service in the house in which he 
 lodged. Here too he administered the oaths to 
 his canons ; and having afterwards held a solemn 
 consultation with the powerful nobles and gentry by 
 whom he was accompanied, their deliberations were 
 interrupted by a sudden discharge of camion, w hilst 
 news arrived at the same moment that Stewart 
 was on his march to take possession of the bene- 
 fice. Force had now to be opj)()sed to force ; the 
 feudal friends who surrounded Douglas marshalled 
 their retamers ; messengers were sent ofl" to Fife 
 and Angus, and next morning so powerful a rein- 
 forcement arrived, that Stewart retired to the 
 neighbouring woods. The cathedral was then 
 carried by one of Douglas's supporters, and his
 
 182 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 opponents, being summoned to capitulate, at last 
 thought it prudent to obey. ' A circumstance,' 
 says Sage, ' very acceptable to the good bishop, 
 who, in all the actions of his life discovered a 
 gentle and merciful disposition, regulating the 
 warlike and heroic spirit that was natural to his 
 family, by the excellent laws of the Christian 
 religion*.' 
 
 His near relationship to the powerful and tur- 
 bulent Earl of Angus was an unfortunate circum- 
 stance for the prelate, and often involved him in 
 scenes deeply repugnant to his feelings. One of 
 these is worthy of record, as it presents an ex- 
 traordinary picture of the times, and brings out 
 the Christian meekness of Douglas in fine relief 
 to tlie dark and ferocious characters by whom 
 he was surrounded. In 1520 a fection of the 
 nobles, headed by Arran, Argyle, and Huntley, 
 and secretly su])ported by Archbishop Beaton, 
 determined to humble the ])ower of Angus. 
 In April they assembled at Edinburgh in great 
 strength, and holding their rendezvous at the 
 house of the Archbishop, resolved to seize 
 Angus, whose power, they alleged, was too 
 exorbitant for a subject. Apprised of this, the 
 earl commissioned his uncle, the Bishop of Dun- 
 kekl, to confer with his op])0)ients, and if possible 
 to bring matters to an amicable agreement. It 
 was in vain, however, that he addressed himself 
 to barons of turbulent and warlike habits, wiio 
 deemed it an indignity to forgive an injury. 
 Turning, therefon;, to Beaton, he implored him by 
 
 * Irving's Lives, vol. ii. p. 11.
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 183 
 
 Jiis sacred character to become the advocate of 
 peace, and to promote a reconciliation between 
 tlie liostile factions. ' It may not be,' said the 
 preLite ; ' Angus is too insolent and powerful ; and 
 of Arran's designs, upon my conscience ! I know 
 nothing.' As he said this, the churchman incau- 
 tiously struck his hand upon his heart, and a steel 
 hauberk, which he wore concealed under his cas- 
 sack, rung with the blow. ' I perceive, my lord,* 
 said Doughis, ' that your conscience is not sound, 
 for I hear it clatter.' Turning next to Sir James 
 Hamilton, he besought him to appease his brother 
 the Earl of Arran ; and Hamilton appeared in- 
 clined to be a {jeacemaker, when Arran's natura. 
 son, a man of brutal and turbulent manners, up- 
 braided him with cowardice. ' Bastard sniaik, 
 said Sir James, ' thou liest falsely; I shall fight 
 . tills day where thou darest not be seen ! ' and 
 rushing into the street with his drawn sword, at 
 the head of his vassals, Hamilton threw himself 
 upon the party of Angus, and was almost instantly 
 slain. A fierce contest ensued, during which the 
 Bishop of Dunkeid retired to his chamber, where 
 he piously oiTered up his prayers to God for the 
 staunching of these unchristian feuds. Mean- 
 while the conflict raged, and Angus was at last 
 victorious, seventy of his antagonists being slain, 
 and the rest put to flight ; whilst Beaton, the arch- 
 bishop, who seems to have been personally en- 
 gaged, fled for refuge behind the altar of the Black 
 Friars' Church. Trc^mbling for the safelv of the 
 prelate, Douglas flew l'ix)m his retreat, and arrived 
 at the moment when the enraged followers of his 
 nephew had torn their victim from the sanctuary
 
 184 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 
 
 to which he had retreated. A few minutes longer, 
 and the tragedy of Becket might have been re- 
 peated in Scothuid : the rochet had been already 
 torn from his shoulders, and their swords were at 
 his throat, when Douglas eftectually interposed, 
 and by his remonstrances averted the meditated 
 destruction. 
 
 Not long after, one of those sudden revolutions, 
 which were of so frequent occurrence in a feudal 
 government, overwhelmed the party of Angus, 
 and compelled that nobleman and Bishop Douglas 
 to take refuge at the court of Henry VIII., at 
 that time described by Erasmus as a ' truly regal 
 abode, where learning and the best studies had 
 found a favoured seat.' He here not only found 
 an asylum, but was rewarded by a pension, and 
 enjoyed the society and literary converse of various 
 eminent scholars. One of these was the noted 
 Polydore Virgil, then employed in composing liis 
 history of England. To him Douglas communi- 
 cated the only prose production which he appears 
 to have written, a Commentary on the early history 
 of his country. ' The jjublication of Mairs' History 
 of Scotland,' says Dr. Irving, ' in which that au- 
 thor ventured to expose the Egyptian fables of his 
 predecessors, had excited the indignation of such 
 of his countrymen as delighted to trace their 
 origin to the daughter of Pharaoh. Douglas was 
 studious to warn his new friend against adopting 
 the opinions of this writer, and presented him with 
 a brief commentary in which he pursued the fabu- 
 lous line of our ancestry from Athens to Scotland. 
 This tractate, which was probably written in Latin, 
 seems to have shared the common fate of the
 
 GAVIX DOUGLAS. 185 
 
 writinsjs entrusted to Polvdore, wlio, to secure tlie 
 faults of I'-is \A-ork from the danger of detection, is 
 said to liave destroyed many invaluable monu- 
 ments of antiquity *.' Fi"om this quotation the 
 historical talents of the prelate aj)pear to have been 
 of a tar inferior description to his poetical abilities ; 
 and the conduct of his Italian friend, if it only led to 
 the destruction of aLatin commentaryon the descent 
 of the Scots from the daughter of Pharaoh, how- 
 ever unjustifiable in point of principle, was not 
 very calamitous in its effects. It was the misfor- 
 tune of Douglas to live in an age when national 
 vanity, a love of traditionary fable, and a warm 
 imagination, formed the chief sources from whence 
 Scottish history was derived. 
 
 The party of Albany and the enemies of the 
 bishop were now all-powerful ; and in his absence 
 a sentence of proscription was jiassed against him 
 as a fugitive traitor, who had devoted himself to 
 the service of the King of England. The reve- 
 nues of his cathedral were sequestrated, and all ])er- 
 sons interdicted from holding connnunication with 
 him under liigh penalties ; at the same time the 
 governor individually, and the three estates of the 
 reahn in their collective capacity, addressed letters 
 to the pope, requesting his holiness to beware of 
 nominating the traitor, GavinDougias, to the arch- 
 bishoprick of St. Andrews and the abbacy of Duni- 
 fermline, — a caution which rather betrays their 
 high opinion of his abilities and virtues than mili- 
 tates against his integrity. In the midst of these 
 scenes of proscri])tion and exile, Douglas, whose 
 
 * Irving's Lives, vol. i. p. 17.
 
 186 GAVIN' DOUGLAS. 
 
 life since the period that he had forsaken liis 
 tranquil literary labours had been the sport of 
 persecution and calamity, was seized with the 
 plague and died at London, in the year 1522. 
 The character of this man, as it is drawn by the 
 classical pen of Buchanan, is highly to his honour, 
 but may be perhaps suspected of partiality. ' lie died 
 at London, having proceeded so far on his journey 
 to Rome, to the great regret of all those good 
 men who admired his virtues. To splendour of 
 birth, and a handsome and dignified person, he 
 united a mind richly stored with the learning of 
 the age, such as it then existed. His temperance 
 and moderation were very remarkable ; and livinQ- 
 m turbulent tmies, and surrounded by factions at 
 bitter enmity with each other, such was the general 
 opinion of his honesty and uprightness of mind, 
 that he possessed a high influence with all parlies. 
 He left behind him various monuments of his 
 genius and learning of no common merit, written 
 in his native tongue *.' A still b.igher strain of 
 panegyric is indulged in by Dr. Irving: ' Con- 
 nected,' says he, ' as Douglas was with a powerful 
 and factious family, which had often shaken the 
 unstable throne of the Stuarts, instead of co-ope- 
 rating in their unwarrantable designs, he invariably 
 comported himself with that meekness which ought 
 always to distinguish the character of the man 
 who devotes himself to the service of the altar. . . 
 With the fortitude incident to a great niiiul, he 
 submilted to the numerous disappointments and 
 niortilications which thwarted him in the career of 
 
 * Buchanan's History, b. 14, c. 13.
 
 GAVIN DOUGLAS. 187 
 
 |)referment ; and when at length he obtahied an 
 accession of power, he never sought to avenge the 
 Avrongs to which he had formerly been exposed. 
 His character as apoUliciau appears to have com- 
 manded the reverence of his comitrymen ; antl in 
 the discharge of his duty as a Christian pastor, he 
 exhibited a model of primeval purity. By his 
 exemplary piety and learning, by his public and 
 private acts of charity and munificence, he reflected 
 distinguished honour on the illustrious fomily from 
 which he descended, and on the sacred profession 
 to which he had devoted his honourable life.' 
 
 This is the language of generous but somewhat 
 exaggerated and indiscriminate panegyric. In h'ls 
 political conduct Douglas supported a party which 
 had been called into existence by the precipitate and 
 imprudent marriage of the queen, and was animated 
 by the selfish and often treacherous policy of the 
 Earl of Angus. In his individual conduct he was 
 pacific, temperate, and forgiving ; but his secret 
 correspondence with Henry VHl. and his minis- 
 ters, instead of commanding the reverence, was 
 probably the great cause of the animosity with 
 which he was treated by his countrymen ; nor can 
 he be very consistently held up as a model of 
 primeval purity, whom we find in the next sentence 
 to have been the fiither of a natural daughter, from 
 whom the house of Foulewood is descended. His 
 genius and learning are unquestionable ; his tem- 
 per was mild and aflectionate ; and we may hops 
 that his munificence rests on a more certain 
 evidence than his patriotic feelings or poliiical 
 integrity.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 1-190— 1557.
 
 191 
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 1490—1557. 
 
 The fine feudal portrait given of him in ' Mar- 
 mion,' and the lahorious edition of his works 
 presented to the world by Chalmers, have ren- 
 dered the name of Sir David Lindsay familiar to 
 the general reader, and to the patient antiquary. 
 Inferior in high poetical genius to Dunbar or 
 Douglas, he vet pleases by the truth and natural 
 colouring of his descriptions, his vein of native 
 humour, his strong good sense, and tiie easy flow 
 of his versification. For the age in which he 
 lived, and considering the court-like occu])ations 
 in which his time was spent, his learning was 
 various and respectable ; and vvere he only known 
 as a man whose writings contributed essentially 
 to the introduction of the Reformation, this cir- 
 cumstance alone were sufficient to make him an 
 object of no common interest. 
 
 The exact period of his birth is unknown, but 
 it was in the reign of James IV. His family 
 was ancient, and the paternal estate, the Mount, 
 near Cupar, Fife, is still pointed out as the 
 probable birth-place of Lindsay. Mackenzie 
 asserts, but without giving any authority, that 
 he received his education at the University 
 of St. Andrew's, and afterwards travelled into 
 FrancCj Italy, and Germany. It is certain that
 
 192 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 lie mentions the appearance of the Italian ladies, 
 as if he had been an eye-witness ; but his re- 
 maining travels, and their having been performed 
 in the period of youth, although not improbable, 
 are conjectural. The truth is, that of the youth 
 of Lindsay nothing is known. We first meet 
 with him in the manuscript accounts of the Lord 
 Treasurer, when, on the 12lh October, 1511, he 
 ^^•as presented with a quantity of' blew and yellow 
 tafl'ety to be a play coat for the play performed in 
 the king and queen's presence in the Abbey of 
 Holyrood.' In 1512 he was appointed servitor 
 or gentleman - usher to the prince, afterwards 
 James V. ; and in the succeeding year, he 
 makes liis appearance on a very strange and 
 solemn occasion. He was standing' beside the 
 king in the church at Linlithgow, when that ex- 
 traordinary apparition took place (immediately 
 before the battle of Flodden) wliich warned 
 the monarch of his approaching danger, and 
 solemnly entreated him to delay his journey. 
 The scene is thus strikingly described by Pits- 
 cottie : — ' The king,' says this author, ' came to 
 Linlithgow, where he happened to be for the time 
 at the council, very sad and dolorous, making his 
 devotion to God to send him good chance and 
 fortune in his voyage. In the mean time, there 
 came a man, clad in a blue gown, in at the kirk 
 door, and belted about him with a roll of linen 
 cloth, a pair of bootikins on his feet, to the grit 
 of his legs, with all other liose and clothes con- 
 form thereto ; but he had nothing on his head, 
 but syde red-yellow hair behind, and on his halhts, 
 which wan down to liis shoulders, but his forehead
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 193 
 
 was bald and bare. He seemed to be a man of 
 two-and-fifty years, with a great pyke-staff in his 
 hand, and came first forward among the lords, 
 crying and speiring for the king, saying, " he 
 desired to speak to him." While at the last, he 
 came where the king was sitting in the desk at 
 his prayers ; but when he saw the king he made 
 him little reverence or salutation, but leaned 
 down familiarly on the desk before him, and said 
 to him on this manner, as after follows: — " Sir 
 king, my mother has sent me to you, desiring you 
 uot to pass at this time where thou art purposed ; 
 for if thou doest, thou wilt not fare well in thy 
 journey, nor none that })asseth willi thee. Fur- 
 ther, she bade tliee converse with no woman, nor 
 use their counsel ; for if thou do it, thou wilt be 
 confounded and brought to shame." By the time 
 this man had spoken thir words unto the king's 
 grace, the evening song was near done, and the 
 king paused on thir words, studying to give him 
 an answer ; but, in tlie mean time, before the 
 king's eyes, and in presence of all the lords who 
 were about him for the time, this man vanished 
 away, and could no ways be seen or compre- 
 hended, but vanished away as he had been a 
 blink of tlie sun, or a whiss of the whirlwind, and 
 could no more be seen. I heard say, Sir David 
 Lindsay, (Lion Herald,) and John Inglis, (the 
 Marshall,) who were at that time young men 
 and special servants to the king's grace, were 
 standing presently beside the king, who thought 
 to have laid hands on this man, that they might 
 have spiered further tidings at him ; but all for 
 nought ; they could not touch him, for he vanished 
 
 VOL. HI. O
 
 194 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 away betwixt them, and was no more seen*/ 
 There can be little doubt that the mysterious 
 and unearthly -looking personage, who appeared 
 in the royal chapel and vanislied like a whiss of 
 the whirlwind, was a more substantial spectre 
 than was at that time generally believed. James, 
 with tlie recklessness which belonged to his cha- 
 racter, was hurrying into a war, which proved 
 disastrous in its consequences, and was highly 
 impopular with a great proportion of his nobles ; 
 and the vision at Linlithgow may have been in- 
 tended to work upon the well-known superstitious 
 feelings of the monarch. It is even by no 
 means impossible, that Sir David Lindsay knew 
 more of this strange old man than he was 
 willing to confess ; and, whilst he asserted to 
 Buchanan the reality of the story t, concealed the 
 key which he could have given to the super- 
 natural appearance of the unknown monitor. 
 
 Our next information regarding Lindsay is 
 derived from liis own works. After the fatal 
 battle of Flodden, and the death of the king, he 
 continued his attendance on the infant monarch 
 who succeeded him ; and he presents us with a 
 natural and beautiful picture of himself and liis 
 royal charge. ' AV' hen thou wert young, and had 
 not begun to walk, how tenderly did I bear tliee 
 in mine arms, — how warmly wrap thee in thy little 
 bed,— how sweetly sing, with lute in hand, to give 
 thee pleasure, — or dance riotously, or play farces 
 before thee on the floor :' — 
 
 * Lindsay of Pitscottie, Hist, of Scotland, p. 172. 
 •}■ Bucliauaui Hist.; b. 13, c. 31.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 195 
 
 Quhen thow was zounp;, I bure tliee in ray arme 
 Full tendeilie, til thow begowth' to gang'''. 
 
 And in thy bed oft happit thee full warm ; 
 With lute in hand syne sweitlj"^ to thee sang; 
 Sum tyme in ilansing fiercely I flang, 
 
 And sum tyme playand farsis on the flure ; 
 
 And sum tyme of my oflfice takand cure. 
 
 Again in his ' Com])laint,' directed to the king's 
 grace, we have the same subject touched upon in 
 a more playful vein, but with a minuteness and 
 delicacy, which reminds us in a sister art of the 
 family pieces of Netscher or Gerard Dow : — 
 
 How, as ane chapman^ beirs his pack, 
 I bare thy grace upon my back, 
 And s>im tymes strydlings on ray neck, 
 Dansing >vith niony bend and beck. 
 The first sillabis that thou did mute 
 Was Pa, Da. Lyn '' ; upon the lute 
 Then playd I twenty springs perqueir', 
 Qidrilk was great plesure for to heir. 
 
 Fra play thou let me nevir rest ; 
 Bot gynkerton thou lov'd ay best ; 
 And ay whan thow cam fra the sciile, 
 Than I behov'd to play the fule ; 
 As 1 at length iutt) ray Drerae 
 My bindre service did exprerae. 
 
 Thoct^ it bene better, as says the wise, 
 Hap to the court nor gude service, 
 I wot thou lov'd me better than 
 Nor now some wyf does her gudeman. 
 Then men til others did record, 
 Said Lyudsay wad be maid ane lord. 
 Thow lias maid lords, sir, by Sanct Geill ! 
 Of some that lies nocht servd sa weill'. 
 
 ^ begun. * go. ' jiedlar. 
 
 •• Pa. J)a. Lyn — Papa, David Lindsay. 
 
 • by heart, off-hand. * although. '' well. 
 
 o2
 
 196 SIR DAVID LIXDSAY. 
 
 The unhappy scenes of feudal turbulence and 
 disorder which occupied the minority of James V. 
 must have frequently involved Lindsay, not only in 
 distress and difficulties, but in absolute proscription. 
 Torn between contending factions, who each aimed 
 at possessing themselves of the person of the mo- 
 narch and ruling in his name, the country lan- 
 guished in vain for something like a regular and 
 established government. Men ranged themselves 
 respectivelv according to their interests or their pre- 
 judices : their fears of English influence, or their 
 confidence in French integrity, compelled them 
 into the ranks of the English or French parties ; the 
 first led by the queen-mother and the Earl of 
 Angus her husband, the second by the Governor 
 Albany. We are not to wonder that many of the 
 nobles, disgusted by the imprudent marriage of the 
 Queen, and the violent and domineering temper 
 of her brother Henry VIII., resolutely opposed 
 the interference of this prince in the affairs of 
 the country ; nor, on the other hand, are we to 
 be surprised that some good men, whilst they 
 deprecated the idea of their country being wholly 
 governed bv English interest, believed that, with 
 due caution, the mediation of Henry might be ser- 
 viceable in reducing the kingdom of his infant 
 nephew into a state of order and good govern- 
 ment. 
 
 It happened here, however, as in all cases of 
 political commotion, that the proportion of those 
 who were actuated by a sincere desire of peace 
 and a love of order was small, when compared 
 with the ambitious and selfish spirits who found 
 their interest and their consequence increased by
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 197 
 
 anarchy and confusion ; and the consequence was 
 what might have been anticipated, — till the king 
 arrived at an age, when he developed tlie strength 
 and tiie vigour of his character, and grasped with 
 his own energetic hand the reins which imd been 
 wrested from him by private ambition, everything 
 was one wild scene of misrule, oppression, and 
 disorder. The picture given by Lord Dacre, the 
 English Warden of the Marches, in his letter to the 
 Council, although coming from an enemy, was not 
 overcharged : — ' My lords, there is so great brutil- 
 nesse, mutability, and instableness in the counsaill 
 of Scotland, that truly no man can or may trust 
 them or their sayings or devices, without it be of 
 things concluded or determined at a Parliament 
 season, or General Council of the Lords Spiritual 
 and Temporal ; of which determined mind and 
 pin-poses, irom time to time, as often as they have 
 sitten, and as far as I could get knowledge by 
 mine espies, I certified the king's grace or you*.' 
 As to the nature of Henry's interference, and 
 the conscientiousness of that anxiety which he 
 professed for the prosperity of Scotland, there is 
 a passage in the conclusion of Lord Dacre's letter 
 which is very characteristic : — ' Upon the West 
 Marches of Scotland 1 have burnt and destroyed 
 the townships of Annan, Dronoch, Dronochwood, 
 Tordoft", Fishgrenche, Stokes, Estridge, Hycland, 
 Blavvetvvood, ioulsyke, Westhill, Berghe, Higge, 
 Stapilton,' et cetera, adding twentv other townships, 
 ' with the water of Esk, from Stabil Gorton down 
 to Canonby, which is six miles in length ; where, 
 
 * Pinkertou's Hist. A\>\\, vol. ii. p. 4j1}.
 
 198 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 as there was in all times past four hundred pleughs 
 and above, they are now clearly wasted, and no 
 man dwelling in any of them at this day, save 
 only in the towers of Annand, Staple, and Walgh- 
 opp.' And so he adds, with extreme complacency, 
 ' I shall continue my service with diligence.* 
 Whilst such was the miserable condition of the 
 borders, the interior of the country exhibited 
 an equally melancholy picture : — ' I assure you,' 
 says Gavin Douglas, in a letter to a friend in 
 England, written in 1515, ' the people of this 
 realm are so oppressed for lack of justice, by 
 thieves, robbery, and other extortions, that they 
 would be glad to live under the Great Turk, to 
 have justice *.' 
 
 In the midst of this unhappy state of things, 
 Lindsay had the satisfaction of seeing the youth- 
 ful monarch, to whose household he was attached, 
 exhibiting daily indications of a generous temper 
 and a powerful capacity. ' There is not,' says the 
 queen-mother in a letter to the Earl of Surrey, 
 written in 1522, ' a wiser child, or a better liearted, 
 or a more able.' And Surrey himself, in writing 
 to Wolsey, declares of James, ' that he speaks 
 sure for so young a tiling f.' AVhen this was 
 written lie was only eleven years old ; but as he 
 advanced from boyhood towards youth, the fea- 
 tures of his character became still more i)romisinsf 
 and decided. ' In person, countenance, and man- 
 ner,' says Pinkerton, ' if we believe the English 
 ambassadors, James V. very much resembled his 
 uncle Henry : he displayed a spirit and firnmess 
 
 * Pinkerton's History, Append., vol. ii. p. 464. 
 t Ibid., p. 216.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 199 
 
 above his age; he rode well, tilted at the glove 
 with a spear not unskilfully, sung with force and 
 precision, danced with elegance, and his conver- 
 sation did honour to his preceptor Gavin Dunbar, 
 a man of science, being replete with masculine 
 sense and information. In nothing would he per- 
 mit himself to be regarded as a boy. Dr. Mag- 
 nus, in requesting Wolsey to send an ornamented 
 buckler to James, who desired to have one on 
 hearing that his uncle sometimes used that piece 
 of defensive armour, informs the Cardinal that it 
 must be of manly size, for the young king had no 
 puerile weapon nor decoration ; even his sword 
 being a yard long before the hilt, and yet he 
 could draw it as well as any man. In hawks and 
 hounds he delighted ; nor was he a stranger to any 
 noble exercise or amusement*.' 
 
 In. 1524, by the intrigues of the queen-mother, 
 now at enmity with her husband the Earlof Auirus, 
 the prnicipal lords and councillors, to whom the 
 administration of affairs had been entrusted, were 
 removed. The personal household of the young 
 king, amongst whom were Sir David Lindsay, and 
 Bellenden, a brother poet, and the well-known 
 translator of Boece and Livy, were dismissed at 
 the same time. Of tliis state revolution, the last- 
 mentioned author, Bellenden, thus speaks in his 
 proem to his Cosmographie : — 
 
 And fyrst occurrit to my reinemberiiifj, 
 How that I was in service with the king; 
 
 Flit to his grace in zeris ' tender*st, 
 Clerk of his Coi/ipiis, — tho' I was indiug-, 
 "With liartaud hand, and cvury other thing 
 
 ^ years. * unworthy. 
 
 * Pinkerton's Hist., vol. ii. p. '<i40.
 
 200 SIR DAVID LINDSAY 
 
 Tliat mycht him pleis in ony manner best, 
 Till hie invy me from his service kest ', 
 By them that had the comt in governing', 
 As bird but plumes '^ herrjat out o' the nest *. 
 
 Ejected from his office of usher to the young 
 king, Lindsay retired with a small pension; and 
 in the interval between 1524 and 152S, beheld, 
 without the possibility of giving assistance or 
 counsel, the confusions and misrule which accom- 
 panied the domination of the Douglases over the 
 monarch and his people. Wherever Angus went, 
 he took care to carry along with him the young 
 king ; and James, who daily felt his ambition 
 growing stronger within him, regarded with re- 
 sentment and disgust the durance to which he was 
 subjected. At last, in 1528, when he had reached 
 the age of sixteen, he succeeded, chiefly by his 
 own vigour and address, in breaking his chains 
 and procuring his liberty. ' It was from the 
 palace of Falkland that he escaped ; where, al- 
 though strictly watched by the Douglases, he 
 was permitted to hunt in the park, and indulge in 
 the sports befitting his youthful years. With a 
 sagacity superior to his age, he contrived to carry 
 on a correspondence with Beaton, the Archbishop 
 of St. Andrew's ; and having seized an opportu- 
 tunity when, Angus being absent, his adherents 
 were less vigilant than usual, he ordered prepara- 
 tions for a solemn hunting ; and, to lull suspicion, 
 retired early to rest, that he might commence 
 the chace with the dawn. Scarce, however, had 
 the captain of the guard gone to his chamber, 
 
 ' cast. ^ without plumes. 
 
 * Irvhig's Lives, vol. ii. p 122.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 201 
 
 after walking the rounds and placing the usual 
 watches, when James, disguised as a groom, with 
 two trusty attendants, passed to the stables, threw 
 themselves on fleet horses, and ridino: hard all 
 night, reached Stirling Castle hefore sunrise. The 
 gates were instantly opened to him ; and, having 
 snatched a few hours of repose, the monarch, re- 
 joicing in his freedom, hastily assemhled a council, 
 and issued a royal proclamation, interdicting any 
 one of the house or name of Douglas, on pain 
 of treason, from approaching within six miles of 
 the court. Meanwhile the alarm spread through 
 the palace of Falkland, that the king had fled ; 
 and Sir George Douglas, brother of Angus, shout- 
 ing ' treason,' assembled his followers and set off 
 in pursuit. On their journey, however, they met 
 tlie royal herald, who boldly read the proclama- 
 tion for their banishment ; and such was the terror 
 of the royal authority, although exercised by a 
 boy of sixteen, that after a short deliberation, they 
 deemed it prudent to disperse. Thus, by one of 
 those rapid, and sometimes unaccountable, transi- 
 tions, which astonish us in the history of feudal 
 Scotland, the overgrown power of the house of 
 Douglas, which had shot up into almost resistless 
 strength, sunk in the course of a single day into 
 feebleness and impotence. 
 
 The change, however, was favourable to Sir 
 David Lindsay, whose gentleness and talents had 
 already recommended him to the king, and with 
 whom the recollections of his childhood were 
 pleasingly associated. His pension, although in- 
 considerable, was faithfully paid him, notwith- 
 standing the many claims which his master had to
 
 202 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 satisfy out of an impoverished exchequer ; and 
 aware of James's early love of literature and es- 
 pecial predilection for poetry, he produced his 
 ' Dream,' which has been highly, but not unde- 
 servedly, commended by Warton. It undoubtedly 
 contains some fine passages ; but the subject is 
 too similar to various poems of Dunbar. There is, 
 indeed, an unpleasant and somewhat monotonous 
 sameness in the subjects of the ancient Scottish 
 poets ; nor can we exclude from the same censure 
 their great contemporaries of the English school. 
 It is their fashion to be too constantly composing 
 dreams or visions ; some of their finest pieces, 
 although they do not assume the title, resolve into 
 the same thing, and we almost invariably find 
 the poet dropping asleep. It is better, indeed, 
 that these soporific propensities should be exhi- 
 hibited by the poet than his readers, but their 
 perpetual recurrence is tedious : Chaucer, Gower, 
 James I., Henryson, Dunbar, Douglas, and Sir 
 David Lindsay, may be all arraigned as guilty of 
 this fault ; and it is to be found running through the 
 works of many of their contemporaries whose names 
 are unknown. It seems almost to have grown, by 
 frequent use, into an established and accredited mode 
 of getting rid of one of the greatest diificulties 
 with whicli a writer has to struggle — the natural 
 and easy introduction of his main subject. The 
 ' King's Quhair,' the ' Thistle and the Rose,' the 
 ' Golden Terge,' the ' Palace of Honour,' the 
 * General Satire,' the ' Praise of Age,' the ' Vision 
 of Dame Vertue,' — all, in a greater or less degree, 
 commence after the same monotonous manner ;— 
 the poet either walks into a delicious garden,
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 203 
 
 where he falls asleep, and of course is visited by a 
 dream, or he awakes from sleep, rises from his 
 couch, walks into a garden, and reclining in some 
 flowery arbour, again falls asleep, and sees a 
 vision. In the present case, the Dream of Sir 
 David partakes of a very slight variety. After 
 having spent a long winter night without sleep, 
 he rises from his bed, and bends his course to- 
 wards the sea-shore. His description of the faded 
 winter landscape is beautiful — 
 
 I met dame Flora, iu dule ^ weid disagysit ^, 
 Quhilk^ into May was duke and delectabill: 
 
 With stalwart *stormis her swtetuess was surprisit ; 
 Her heviuly hewis^ war turned iuto sabill, 
 Quhilkis umquhill^ war to luffaris amlabill. 
 
 Fled from the froist ', the tender flouris 1 saw 
 
 Undir dame Nature's mantill lurking law ^. 
 
 The small fowlis iu flokkis sawe I fle, 
 
 To Kature makand lamentaciou; 
 Thay lichtit^ douu beside me ou ane tre, 
 
 Of thair complaint I had compassioun ; 
 
 And with ane piteous exclamatiouu 
 Thay said, ' Blissit be somer with his flouris ! 
 And waryit be thou winter with thy schouris !' 
 
 Allace, Aurora ! the sillie lark gan cry, 
 
 Quhair his thow left thy balmy li(iuour sweit 
 
 That us rejosit"*, we mounting in the sky ? 
 Thy silver droppis ar tiunit into sleit ; 
 Oh, fair Phoebus ! quhair " is thy holsom heit ? 
 
 Quhy tholis ^ thow thy heviuly, pksand face 
 
 "VVith mistie vapours to be obscurit, allace ? 
 
 Thus, slightly modernised — 
 
 I met sweet Flora, in dark weed arrayed. 
 
 She that in May was erst so lovely drest : 
 Fell storms of all her sweets a wreck had made, 
 
 ' sad. ^ disguised. ^ the same, that, or which. 
 
 ■* fierce. ' hues. * formerly. ' frost. * low. 
 
 * alighted. '" rejoiced. ^' where. '* permittest.
 
 204 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 And chang'd to sable was her verdant vest, 
 Which j-outhful lovers beauteous deem and best. 
 Shunning the frost, I saw each tender flower 
 Beneath dame Nature's mantle lowly cower. 
 
 The birds, in flocks, of late so blithe and free, 
 
 Flew, drench'd and shivering, through the sleety sky ; 
 
 They perch'd beside me on a leafless tree, — 
 They were, I ween, a dismal company. 
 And all with piteous note began to cry, 
 
 Away, thou wicked Winter ! fierce and cold ; 
 
 Come, blessed Summer ! come, thy thousand flowers 
 unfold ! 
 
 Oh, sweet Aurora ! the poor lark would sing. 
 Where be thy balmy dews, thou goddess dear, 
 
 Which, when we sipt, made our small throats so clear, 
 And washed with silver drops our quiv'ring wing. 
 As high we flew to heav'n's gate carolling .'' 
 
 Ah why, oh Phoebus ! doth the wintry storm 
 
 Thy glorious golden tresses all deform ? 
 
 ' The poet,' says Dr. Irving, ' now enters a 
 cave, and purposes to register in rhyme some 
 merry matter of antiquity ; but finding himself 
 oppressed and languid, lie wraps himself in his 
 cloak, and is overpowered by sleep. He fancies 
 himself accosted by a beautiful female, named 
 Remembrance, who conducts him to many un- 
 known regions. They first direct their steps to 
 the infernal regions, where they behold innume- 
 rable crowds of popes, emperors, kings, cardinals, 
 bishops, and barons ; and after having surveyed 
 this dreary region, they travel onwards to heaven, 
 visiting the sun and planets on their journey.' It 
 is impossible to follow him into his abstruse astro- 
 nomical speculations, and still less inclination will 
 be felt by any general reader to dive into those 
 mysterious theological disquisitions with which 
 this portion of Sir David's Dream abounds. He
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 205 
 
 obtains a view of the terrestrial paradise, and is 
 next gratified with a distant prospect of his native 
 land. Expressing his astonishment tliat a country 
 possessed of so many natural advantages, and in- 
 habited by so ingenious a race of men, should 
 still continue in a hopeless state of poverty, his 
 conductress replies that wealth can never increase 
 where policv (meaning good government) is not 
 found ; and that equity can only reside with 
 peace. A nation must of necessity be unpros- 
 perous when those who ought to administer jus- 
 tice are guilty of slumbering on the tribunal. 
 These observations are enforced by the sudden 
 apparition of a remarkable figure — 
 
 And thus, as we were speiking to and fro, 
 
 We saw ane busteous beirne ' come o'er the bent, 
 
 But hors, on fute^, as fast as he micht go, 
 
 Quhais' raiment was all ragit, revin, and rent, 
 With visage lene, as he had fastit Lent : 
 
 And forward on his wa3es he did avance 
 
 With ane richt melancholioiis countenance — 
 
 With scrip on hip, and pyke-staff in his hand. 
 As he had bene purposit to pas fra hame. 
 
 Quod I, ' Gudeman, 1 wald fane understand, 
 
 Gif that ze plusit, to wit, what were your name ?' 
 Quod he, ' My sone, of that I think great schame ; 
 
 Bot sen thou wald of my name have ane feil ■*, 
 
 Forsuith they call me Johne the Commonweill,' 
 
 ' Schir Commonweill declares his resolution of 
 abandoning a country where lie has only expe- 
 rienced neglect or insult from people of every de- 
 nomination. " My friends," says he, " are all 
 fled ; Policy is returned to France. My sister, 
 
 * a boisterous person. ^ without horse, and on foot. 
 ^ whose. •* infurmatiou.
 
 206 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 Justice, is no longer able to hold the balance — 
 Wrong is now ajipointed captain of the ordinance. 
 No Scottishman shall again find favour with me 
 until the realm be governed by a king who shall 
 delight in equity, and bring strong traitors to 
 condign punishment. Woe to the country that 
 has our zoung ane king." Having closed this 
 pathetic oration he departs. Remembrance con- 
 ducts the poet back to the cave on the sea- shore, 
 and he is speedily roused by a discharge of artil- 
 lery from a vessel, which, rather too opportunely, 
 appears under sail*.' 
 
 That Schir Johne Commonweill has not given 
 an exaggerated picture of the miseries of the 
 country during the minority of James V., is appa- 
 rent from the repetition of the same plaintive re- 
 monstrances in various passages written by Lind- 
 say's contemporaries. Thus, in the 'Vision of 
 Dame Veritie,' by Stewart, we have a striking 
 passage descriptive of the universal public disor- 
 ders. Stewart, like all his tuneful brethren, falls 
 asleep, and sees a vision of ' Lady Veritie,' 
 with cristal corps, translucent as the glass. 
 
 On hearing her name, he humbly entreats her 
 to inform him when the kingdom of Scotland is 
 likely to be at peace. Her answer conveys a 
 fearful picture of civil dissension : — 
 
 Then said this burd of beauty maist benigne, 
 Sone thou sail haif solution siifficifut, 
 
 Quheu tliir bainiis ar banished' fia zour King 
 I"ro counsale, sessioun, and parliament, 
 
 * banished. 
 * living's Lives, voi.ii. p. 109.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 207 
 
 Off quhome the nam is schortly subsequent, 
 I sail declair dewly, with diligence, 
 
 Or I depairt furth ^ of this place presint, 
 An thou thairto sail give thy audience. 
 
 First WillfuU Wrang in ane widdy * maun waif,^ 
 
 And hid Hatrit be hangit be the heid*, 
 And Young Counsale that dois you all dissaif*, 
 
 And Singular Profeit "^ stolHng of the steid ^ ; 
 
 Dissimiilance that does j^our lawis leid, 
 Flattery and Falsheid that your fame hes fylit", 
 
 And Ignorance be put to beg thair breid, 
 And all thair kin out of tlie court exilit. 
 
 Than Treason man be tyrvit ^ to ane tre. 
 
 And Miirther merkit '" for his grit mischeif. 
 And the foul fiend that ye call Simone 
 
 Maun " plainly be deprived without repreif '*. 
 
 Quhill this be done ye sail haif no relief, 
 But schaineful slawchler, dirth, and indigens ; 
 
 And fak this for thy answer into brief, 
 Quhilk I the pray present unto thy prince. 
 
 For all this sort with schame mon be exilit, 
 
 Or than demanit ^* as I haif devysit, 
 And uther persones in thair placis stylit ; 
 
 The quhilk sen Flowdoun Field has bene despysit 
 
 In this cuntrie, and in all uthers prysit ; 
 Quhois namis I sail cause the for to knaw, 
 
 That thou may sleip thairw} th, and be awj^sit'^. 
 Syne bahh the sortis to thy soverane schaw. 
 
 First Justice, Prudens, Forss, and Temperans, 
 "With Couunonweill and auld Experiens, 
 
 Concord, Correction, Cunning, and Constans, 
 Liife, Lawty, Sciens, and Obediens, 
 Gude Consciens, Treuth, and als '* Intelligens, 
 
 Mercy, Mesom-, Fa3'th, Hou]i, and Cherite,— 
 Tbir iu his court maiui mak thair residens, 
 
 Or ye get plenty and j)rosperite. 
 
 ^ before I depart forth. * gallows. ^ wave. ■* head. 
 
 • deceive. ' selfish profit. ^ stealing the horse. 
 
 ' stained. « tied up. '" fined. " must. '- reprieve. 
 
 " esiled. " condemned. '^ advised, '^ also.
 
 208 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 This beins^ said, this Lady luminuss 
 
 Fra iny presens her persoun did depairt ; 
 
 And I avvaikit, and suddanly uprois, 
 Syne tuk my pen and put all in report, 
 As ye half hard. — Thairfor I you exhort, 
 
 My soverane lord, unto this taile attend. 
 And yon to serve seik suddanly this sort ; 
 
 Sen ' veritie this counsale to you send. 
 
 These nervous lines, witli scarce any further 
 alteration than the occasional substitution of the 
 modern for the ancient spelling, will become per- 
 fectly intelligible to the English reader : — 
 
 Then spoke this bird of beauty most bening, 
 And fled all doubts before her argument : — 
 
 When all those fiends are banished by your King 
 From council, session, peers and parliament, 
 Whose names and crimes in manner subsequent 
 
 I shall declare, in sentence brief and clear. 
 Before from this sad realm my steps are bent ; 
 
 Then list — and to this fearful scroll give ear. 
 
 First Wilful Wrong must in a halter dangle. 
 
 Then hidden Hatred have his death decreed, 
 And Young Advise be gagg'd no more to wrangle , 
 
 Next vile Self-Seeking, that doth richly feed ; 
 
 And rank Dissembling, who the Law doth lead ; 
 Flattery and Falsehood, that your fame have fyled, 
 
 And Ignorance, that sows his rankest seed 
 Within your schools, must be quick froiii this court 
 
 exiled. 
 
 Then Treason must be tuck'd up to a tree. 
 
 And Murder have a tippet made of tow ; 
 And that foul fiend, whom men call Simony, 
 
 Be straight condemn'd, spite all his flattering show. 
 
 Till this be done no resj)ite shall ye know. 
 But shameful slaughter, waste, and indigence, 
 
 Shall overtake thy lieges high and low : 
 Then spare not exhortation — tell the prince
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 209 
 
 That all these caitiffs from the realm be chas'd, 
 
 Or put to silence, as 1 have devised, 
 And fulks more honest in their seats be placed, 
 
 Whom since dark Flodden have been all despised 
 
 In this poor coiintrj', though in others prized. 
 Then list — their names I'll recapitulate ; 
 
 Question me not — but having well advised, 
 Sleep thou thereon, then rise, and to the King them 
 state. 
 
 First Justice, Prudence, Force, and Temperance, 
 With Common-weal and old Experience ; 
 
 Concord, Correction, Cunning, and Constance, 
 Love, Fealty, Science, and Obedience, 
 Conscience upright. Truth, and Intelligence, 
 
 Mercj', and Justice, Faith, Hope, Charity — • 
 These in his court must make their residence, 
 
 And then this much wrong'd land shall have prosperity. 
 
 Thus having sweetlj- spoke, that lady bright. 
 In radiant clouds her glorious shape withdrew ; 
 
 And 1 awoke, all dazzled with the light, 
 And penned the vision, in a parchment true, 
 As ye have heard. Then let me counsel you, 
 
 My sovereign lord, unto this tale attend ; 
 Search out with pious zeal this blessed crew, 
 
 So to thy throne shall Truth strength adamantine lend. 
 
 Oh ! let that hideous rout she branded hath, 
 
 From thy fair borders instant banish'd be ; 
 Lest Heaven their poisoned counsels use in wrath 
 
 To bring thy little flock to penury. 
 
 Thy God that on earth's circle sits must see 
 How the foul weed doth choke the useful corn ; 
 
 Then list, oh list the bruised poor man's plea. 
 Lest thou should'st one day be tlie mark ot scorn 
 Before that awful Judge who wore the crown of thorn. 
 
 The reader will forgive a somewhat long extract, 
 when he learns that this vigorous picture of the 
 anarchy of Scotland, during the minority of 
 James V., is unpublished, and the effusion of a 
 poet, AVilliam Stewart, whose talent cannot be 
 
 VOL. III. p
 
 210 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 questioned, but wliose life and works are little else 
 than a blank in our national literature. 
 
 It was soon after the king's recovery of his 
 personal freedom, and the termination of the 
 power of the Douglases, that Lindsay addressed 
 to the monarch his ' Complaint,' in which he 
 states his own services, remonstrates in a manly 
 tone against the neo^lect with which he had been 
 treated, and compliments his master upon the 
 efforts which were already made for the esta- 
 blishment of order and good government through- 
 out the realm. It is written throughout, to use 
 the words of Warton, no mean judge of poetry, 
 with vigour, and occasionally with much tenderness 
 and elegance ; whilst its pictures of the govern- 
 ment and manners of the times, and its digres- 
 sions upon the author's individual history and feel- 
 ings, render it interesting and valuable. It is 
 singularly bold in its remonstrances against the 
 injury inflicted both upon the monarch and the 
 kingdom by the reins of government being en- 
 trusted too early to his hands. ' They who flat- 
 tered and indulged thee,' say a he, ' for their own 
 selfish ends, took thee, when still a boy, from the 
 schools, and haistely entrusted to thine inexpe- 
 rience the governance of all Scotland :' — 
 
 Imprudently, like witless fools, 
 
 They took the young prince from the schools, 
 
 Quhare he, under obedience, 
 
 Was k-arning virtue and science, 
 
 And hastily put in his hand 
 
 The government of all Scotland. 
 
 As who, when roars the stormy blast, 
 
 And mariners are all aghast, 
 
 Through dangers of the ocean's rage, 
 
 Would take a child of tender age,
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 211 
 
 That never had been on the sea, 
 
 And to his bidding all obey, 
 
 Putting the rudder in his hand, 
 
 For dread ot" rocks and the foreland ? 
 ****** 
 
 ' I may not call it treason,' he continues, ' but 
 was it not folly and madness ? May God defend 
 us from aijain seeina: in this realm so vounsr a 
 king ! Itwei'e long to tell,' he continues, ' in what 
 a strange manner the court was then guided by 
 those who petulantly assumed the whole power, 
 how basely they flattered the young monarch.' 
 The passage is not only spirited and elegant, but 
 valuable in an historical point of view. I shall 
 give it, only altering the ancient language or 
 spelling, and nearly word for word : — 
 
 Sir, some woidd say, your Majesty 
 Shall now know what is liberty : 
 Ye shall by no man be restrained. 
 Nor to the weary school-bench chained. 
 For us, we think them very fools 
 That stiil are drudgiug at the schools: 
 'Tis time ye learn to couch a spear, 
 And bear ye like a man of weir; 
 And we shall jmt such men about you, 
 That all the world shant dare to flout you. 
 'Twas done ; they raised a royal guard, 
 And royally each soldier fared ; 
 Whilst every one with Mattering speedi 
 His Majesty did something teach. 
 Some gart him ravel at the racket ', 
 Some harl'd him to the liurly-hacket, 
 And some, to show their courtly coiu-ses, 
 Would ride to Leith and run their horses, 
 And wightly gallop o'er the sand, 
 They neither spared the spur nor wand. 
 
 ^ made him play at the racket. * a school-boy game. 
 
 P 2
 
 212 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 Castini^ [^almonds, with benns and becks, 
 For wantonness some broke their necks ; 
 There was no game but cards and dice, 
 And siill Sir Flattery bore the price. 
 
 Lindsay, wiili much spirit and humour, repre- 
 sents the interested and avaricious motives with 
 which all this was done : the courtiers and go- 
 vernors of the young monarcii engrossing and 
 dividing amongst themselves the richest offices : — 
 
 Roundand and ■whispering to each other, 
 
 Tak thou my part, quoth he, my brother ; 
 
 Be there between us stedfast bands, 
 
 When aught shall vaik ' into our hands, 
 
 That each man stand to help his fallow; 
 
 I shall thereto man be all hallow — 
 
 And if the Treasurer be our friend, 
 
 Then shall we get baith tack and teind*; 
 
 Tak he our part, then who dare wrong us ? 
 
 But we shall pairt^ the pelf amang us. 
 ****** 
 
 So hastily they made a hand. 
 
 Some gather'd gold, some conquest land: 
 
 Sir, some would say, by St. Denis, 
 
 Give me some lusty benefice. 
 
 And ye shall all the profit have ; 
 
 Give me the name, take thou the lave * ; 
 
 But e'er the bulls were weill come hame 
 
 His conscience told him 'twas a shame ; 
 
 An action awful and prodigious. 
 
 To make such pactions with the lieges,^ 
 
 So to avoid the sin and scandal, 
 
 'Twas right both name and rent to handle. 
 
 INIethocht it was a piteous thing 
 
 To see that fair, young, tender king, 
 
 ^ any office shall become vacant. " both lease and tithe. 
 ^ divide. * remainder.
 
 SIR DAVID LIXDSAY. 213 
 
 Of whom these gallants had none awe, 
 
 But played with him ' pluck-at-the-craw ^.' * 
 
 From this sad scene of selfishness and misgo- 
 vernment, occasioned by tlie Queen's marriage 
 with the Earl of Angus, and the seizure of the go- 
 vernment and person of the young king by the 
 Doug-lases, Lindsay naturallv ])asse3 to his own 
 extrusion from office. ' They tieprived me of my 
 place,' says he, 'yet, through the kindness of my 
 master, the young king, my pension was punc- 
 tually paid. Not daring to sliow my face at 
 court openly, I yet could hide myself in a corner, 
 from wliicli 1 watched their vanities :' — 
 
 When I durst neither peep nor look, 
 I yet could hide me in a nook ; 
 To see these wondrous vanities, 
 And how, like any husy bees, 
 They occupied their golden hours, 
 With help of their new governours.f 
 
 It is impossible within our limits to pursue the 
 analysis of this interesting poem with any mi- 
 nuteness. It proceeds to describe, in vigorous 
 numbers, the torn and distracted state of the coun- 
 try ; the rapid revohitions which took place upon 
 the expulsion of the Douglases by Archbishop 
 Beaton and the Regent Albany, — 
 
 And others took the governing, 
 Far worse than they in ilka^ thing ; 
 
 the return of Angus to power; tlie tumult, misery, 
 and bloodshed by which it was accomj)anicd ; and 
 fmally the escape of tlic king, with tlie sudden 
 
 To play at pluck and crow, to pigeon or cheat one. 
 
 * every. 
 * Poems, vol. i. p. 204. f ib. vol. i. p. 207.
 
 214 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 flight of those who had kept him in such ignomi- 
 nious durance, — 
 
 When of their lives they had sic dreed, 
 That they were fain to trot o'er Tweed*. 
 
 Soon after James's assumption of the supreme 
 power, the state of the borders arrested liis atten- 
 tion. Murder, robbery, and excess of every 
 description had for many years held their fa- 
 vourite haunts in these unhappy districts. — 
 Nor were the crimes which disgraced the country 
 confined to broken men and common thieves, — 
 they were openly perpetrated by lords and barons ; 
 amongst whom, Cockburn of Henderland, and 
 Adam Scott of Tuschielaw, who was called the 
 ' King of Thieves,' particularly distinguished 
 themselves. The husbandmen and labourers were 
 grievously oppressed ; property and human life 
 recklessly invaded and destroyed ; ' black maill' 
 levied openlv, and all regular industry suspended. 
 Under such circumstances, the king exhibited the 
 energy of his character by levying an army and 
 marching in person against the border thieves. 
 Henderland and Tuschielaw were seized and exe- 
 cuted ; and the famous Johnny Armstrong, who, 
 by his depredations, had raised himself to power 
 and opulence, met that fate, whicli, with some jus- 
 tice, has been stigmatised as needlessly severe. 
 The account of this expedition, and of the execu- 
 tion of this noted freeboter, given by Pitscottie, 
 is excellent : — 
 
 ' To this effect charge was given to all earls, 
 barons, lords, freeholders, and gentlemen, to pass 
 
 * Poems, vol. i. p. 272. .
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 215 
 
 with the king to daunton the thieves of Tliividaill 
 and Anandaill. Also, the king desired all gen- 
 tlemen that had doggis that were gud, to bring 
 them with them to hunt in the said bounds, quhilk 
 the most part of the noblemen of the highlands 
 did ; such as the Earls of Huntly, Argyle, and 
 Athole, who brought their deer-hounds with them, 
 and hunted with his Majesty. These lords, with 
 many other barons and gentlemen, to the number 
 of twelve thousand men, assembled at Edinburgh, 
 and therefra went with the King's grace to Meg- 
 getland, in the quhilk bovmds were slain at that 
 time eighteen score of deer. 
 
 ' Efter this hunting, the king hanged Johne 
 Armstrong, Laird of Gihiockie, whom mony 
 Scottismen heavily lamented ; for he was ane re- 
 doubted man, and as gude a chieftane as ever was 
 upon the borders either of Scotland or of Eng- 
 land ; and albeit lie was ane loose living man, and 
 sustained the number of twenty-four well-horsed 
 able gentlemen with him, yet he never molested 
 nae Scottis man ; but it is said, from the Scottis 
 border to Newcastle in England, there was not ane, 
 of whatsoever estate, but paid to this Johnnie Arm- 
 strong a tribute to be free of his cumber, — he was 
 so doubted in England. So when he entered in 
 before the king he came very reverentlic, with the 
 foresaid number of twenty-four gentlemen, very 
 richly apparelled, trusting that in respect he had 
 come to the king's grace wittingly and vohnitarily, 
 not being apprehended by the king, he should 
 obtain the more favour. But when the king saw 
 him and his men so gorgeous in their apparel, and 
 so mony braw men under a tirant's command-
 
 216 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 ment, throwwardlie he turned about his face, and 
 bad tak that tirant out of his sight, saying " What 
 wants yon knave that a king shoukl have ?" But 
 when Johne Armstrong perceived that the king 
 kindled in a furie against liim, and had no hope 
 of his Hfe, notwithstanding of many great and 
 fair offers which he proposed to the king ; that is, 
 that he should sustain himself, with forty gentle- 
 men, ever ready to await upon his Majesty's ser- 
 vice, and never to tak a penny fra Scotland, or 
 Scottisman ; and that, secondly, there was not a 
 subject in England, duke, earl, lord, or baron, but 
 within a certain day he would bring any of them 
 to his Majesty, quick or dead : he, seeing no hope 
 of the king's favour to him, said, very proudly, " I 
 am but a fool to seek grace at a graceless face ; 
 but liad I known, Sir, that ye would have taken 
 my life this day, I should have lived upon the 
 borders in despite of King Harrie and you both ; 
 for I know King Harrie would weigh down my 
 best horse with gold to know that I were con- 
 demned this day." So he was led to the scaffold, 
 and he and all his men hansred *.' 
 
 It is still a tradition in tlie country that the trees, 
 on which this brave freebooter and his gallant 
 company suffered, not long after withered away: — 
 
 The treis on which the Armstrongs died 
 
 Wi' summir's leaves were gay, 
 But lanjif before the harvist tide 
 
 Tliey withered all away. 
 
 Every reader of the ' Minstrelsy of the Scottish 
 Border ' is familiar with the spirited ballad of 
 
 * Pitscotiie's Hist, of Scotland, pp. 249, 25?.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 217 
 
 Johnny Armstrong, In one material respect the 
 traditionary account of the deatli of this prince of 
 freebooters is apocryphaL There was no letter of 
 safe-conduct granted by James ; no direct commu- 
 nication of any kind between the sovereign and 
 the outlaw previous to liis being taken. From the 
 account, quoted by Mr. Pitcairn in that vakiable 
 collection of criminal trials which throws so much 
 clear and useful light on the liistory of the coun- 
 try, it appears, ' that Johne, enticed by the king's 
 servants, forgetting to seek a letter of protection, 
 accompanied with fifty horsemen unarmed, coming 
 to the king, lighted upon some outwatclies, who, 
 alleging they had taken him, brought him to the 
 king, who presently caused hang liim, with a great 
 number of his accomplices*. Anderson, from 
 whose manuscript history this narrative is taken, 
 observes, that the Lord Maxwell himself, who was 
 then Warden of the West Marches, feared his 
 power, and sought all possible means for his de- 
 struction. It is not impossible that some of Max- 
 well's servants may have deceived Armstrong with 
 assurances of safety, having no authority from 
 the king, and concealing such promises from their 
 master. Johnny was brother to the laird of 
 Mangertown, chief of the clan Armstrong, nor is 
 there any reason to think that the ballad exagge- 
 rates either his power or his magnificence : — 
 
 They ran their liorse on the Lanf^holm-hows, 
 Thev lirak tlii'ir spears \v\' mk-kle main ; 
 
 The Ic'dilit'S look'd frae their loft windows — 
 ' God send our men weel hame again.' 
 
 * Pitcairn's Criminal Trials, vol. i. pp. 152, 153.
 
 218 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 When Johnny cam before the king 
 
 With all his men sa gallautlie, 
 The king he mov'd his bonnet to him, 
 
 He trow'd him a king as well as he. 
 
 To this day the tradition of the country has 
 preserved many recollections of this regal expe- 
 dition against the border thieves. The wild and 
 romantic pass through which James penetrated 
 into Ettrick is still known by the appellation of 
 the King's Eoad ; the ruins of the castle of Heii- 
 derland are pointed out in the vale of Megget ; 
 and near it the Dow's Linn, a romantic waterfall, 
 at the side of which is a wild natural cavern. To 
 this spot, it is said, the unhappy wife o'f the border 
 freebooter retreated wliilst her husband was ma- 
 nacled before his own gate. In the valley of the 
 Ettrick, opposite to Rankleburn, is seen the dark 
 tower of Tuschielavv, where Adam Scott, the King 
 of the Border, so long kept the neighbourhood in 
 terror, and levied his black mail from the trem- 
 bling inhabitants. It is to this famous expedition 
 of James that Lindsay alludes in these enco- 
 miastic verses : — 
 
 Now Justice holds her sword on high, 
 With her balance of Efiuity ; 
 And in this realm has made sic ordour, 
 Baith thro' the hiuhind and the hordour, 
 That Oppression and all his fallows 
 Are hanged high ujKm the gallows. 
 Dame Prudence has thee be the heed, 
 And Temperance doth thy bridle lead; 
 I see dame Force mak assistance, 
 Bearing thy targe of assurance; 
 And lusty Lady Chastity 
 Has banished Sensualitie. 
 
 ******
 
 SIR DAVID LINOS A.Y. 2J9 
 
 Policy and Peace begin to plant, 
 That virtuous men can nathing want ; 
 And masterful and idle lowns ' 
 Shall banished be in the Galzeownis; 
 Johne Upland ben full blyth, I trow, 
 Because the rash-bush keeps the cow*. 
 
 Lindsay concludes this piece by some admirable 
 advice to the young king on the subject of his 
 duties and his responsibility, not neglecting a pru- 
 dent hint that if his Majesty made provision for 
 his old servant, or, at least, lent him 
 
 Of gold ane thousand pound or tway, 
 it would be for the credit and advantage of both : 
 ' If not,' says he, in a tone of calm Christian phi- 
 losopliy, ' My God 
 
 Shall cause me stand content 
 With quiet life and sober rent, 
 And take me in my latter age 
 Unto my simple hermitage. 
 To spend the gear my elders won, 
 As did Diogenes in his tun-j-. 
 
 It is pleasing to find, that soon after the presen- 
 tation of this poem to his sovereign, the same 
 affection which prompted the punctual ])ayment 
 of Lindsay's pension induced James to promote the 
 servant of his early years to the honourable office 
 of Lion King at Arms, — a situation the duties of 
 which were probably of as high antiquity as the 
 bearing of coats armorial, but which under this 
 name does not appear earlier than the reign of 
 Robert the Second. At the coronation of this 
 monarch, as it is described in a manuscript quoted 
 
 * fellows. 
 * Poems, vol. i., pp. 273, 274. f Ibid. p. 279.
 
 220 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 by Chalmers, the Lion King at Arms was called 
 in by the Lord Marshal, attended by the heralds, 
 who came in tlieir coats or tabards, ' those awful 
 vestments ' of which Sir David speaks in his 
 ' Lament for Queen Magdalen ;' the Lion then 
 sat down at the king's feet, and the heralds went 
 to the stage ]>repared for them ; after which, the 
 Marshal, by the moiuh of the Bishop of St. An- 
 drew's, did swear the Lion, who, being sworn, 
 put on his crown ordained him to wear for the 
 solemnity*. The coronation of the Lion himself, 
 when he was appointed to this dignity, was a matter 
 of great state and solemnity. The ancient crown 
 of Scotland was placed on his head by the hand of 
 the king himself, and it was his privilege, on the 
 day of his enthronization, to dine at the royal 
 table, wearing tlie crown during the continuance 
 of the feast f. 
 
 Shortly after his promotion, Lindsay appears to 
 have written the ' Complaint of the King's Pa- 
 pingo,' a satirical poem, which may be regarded 
 as his first open declaration of war against the 
 abuses of the Romanist religion in Scotland. 
 In the concluding verses of his ' Complaint,' he 
 had congratulated the king upon the happy cir- 
 cumstance that all things throughout the realm 
 had been reduced into good order except ' the spi- 
 rituality,' and he now introduces the ' Papingo.'to 
 expose the ignorance, avarice, and licentiousness 
 which, as he alleges, then disgraced the church. 
 The fiction of throwing his observations into the 
 
 * Chalmers' Life, prefixed to his edition of Lindsay's 
 Pojms, vol. i. p. 13. 
 t Ibid. p. 51.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 221 
 
 mouth of this feathered satirist, so well known for 
 its petulance, garrulity, and licentiousness of re- 
 mark, was ingenious and prudent : ingenious, be- 
 cause it enabled him to be severe under the dis- 
 guise of being natural ; and prudent, as in case of 
 any threatened ecclesiastical persecution, it per- 
 mitted him to substitute the papingo for the poet. 
 To give anything like a complete analysis of the 
 poem is impossible within our limits ; but some pas- 
 sages may be quoted, which are remarkable for 
 their light and graceful spirit. After lamenting, in 
 his initiatory stanzas, that his genius does not 
 permit him to soar so high as his elder and more 
 illustrious brethren of the lyre, he warns the reader 
 that since in the garden of eloquence and poetry 
 every rich and resplendent flower hath been already 
 plucked by these master-spirits, he must be con- 
 tented with a lower theme, ' The Complaint of a 
 wounded Parrot : — ' 
 
 And syne I find nane other new sentence, 
 
 I sail declare, or 1 depart you fro, 
 
 The complaint of ane wounded papingo. 
 
 ' As for the rudeness of my composition,' he 
 adds, ' I can only say, it was addressed to rural 
 folk, and must hide itself far from the eyes of men 
 of learning. Should they, however, search it out, 
 and run it down as idle and foolish, my defence is, 
 that it was made in sport for country lasses : — ' 
 
 Then shall I swear, I made it but in mows ' 
 To landwart lassis quhilkis keep ky and yowis*. 
 
 Althougli thus deprecating the severity of 
 ^ sport. - cows and sheep.
 
 222 Sia DXVID LINDSAY. 
 
 learned criticism, and addressing himself to less 
 fastidious readers, nolliing can be more graceful 
 or pleasing than our first introduction to the 
 papingo: — 
 
 Ane papingo, right plesand and perfyte', 
 Preseiitit wes till our maist nobill King, 
 
 Ofqiihome his Grace ane laug tyme had delyte,^ 
 Mair fair of forme 1 wot flew ne'er on wing : 
 This proper ^ bird he gave in governing 
 
 To me, quhilk ' was his simpiil servitoure, 
 
 On qiihoine I did my diligence and cure, 
 
 To learn her language artificial, 
 
 To play ' platf ute ' and quhissill ' futebefore * :' 
 
 Bot of her inclinatioun natural!, 
 
 Sche counterfeit all fowlis less or more 
 
 Of hir enrage*. She wald, without my lore, 
 
 Syng like the merle, and craw like to the cock. 
 
 Pew like the gled ®, and chaunt like the laverock^, 
 
 Bark like a dog, and kekill like ane kae^, 
 Biait like ane hog", and buUer like ane bull, 
 
 AVail like aue gouk'', and gieit quhen she wes wae'^,. 
 Climb on ane cord, syne lauch aud play the fule '*; 
 Sche micht have bene ane minstrel agains ¥ule '^ : 
 
 This blyssit bird was to me sa plesand, 
 
 "Where'er 1 fare "* I bure hir on my hand. 
 
 With scarce any alteration tliese graceful lines 
 may be made easy to an EngUsh reader : — 
 
 A parrot once most pleasant and perfyte, 
 Presented was unto our noble king, 
 
 In whom his Majesty took great delight, 
 For never flew a \Yittier bird on wing : 
 It hap't to me was giv'n the governing 
 
 ^ accomjilished. ^ elegant. ^ who. 
 
 * popular games and tunes. ' of her own self. 
 
 ® hawk. 7 lark. ^ jackdaw. ^ sheep. 
 
 '" cuckoo. '^ sorry. '° fool. 
 
 " Christmas. " went.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 223 
 
 Of this accomplished creature ; for my place 
 Was, in my youth, at court, an usher to his grace. 
 
 And soon my pleasing labour I began, 
 
 And soon far wiser than my lore she grew,. 
 
 For she would talk like any Christian man, 
 
 And other wond'rous thmgs full well she knew; 
 She counterftited every bird that flew, — 
 
 Like thrushes chaunted, trilled like sky-lark clear, 
 
 Pew'd as-a.hawk, or crowed, as^ loud as chanticleer ; 
 
 Like bull she groaned, then chattered as a jay, 
 BarkM as a hoiuid, or bleated like a sheep ; 
 
 The cuckoo-note full well she knew, perfay ; 
 Next, like a tight-rope dancer would she leap, 
 And swing, and fall, and slyly seem to weep, 
 
 Whilst to her face her cunning claw she prest ; 
 
 Then woidd she start, and. laugh, and swear 'twas all 
 in. jest. 
 
 With her conversing not an hour was sad, 
 So happily she knew to play the fool — 
 
 So many a song, so many a trick she had — 
 She might, have been a minstrel sweet at Yule. 
 I bore to her a love that ne'er could cool, 
 
 And she to me : where'er I turned my feet 
 
 This deai- papingo had, upon my wrist, her seat. 
 
 With bis pleasant companion sitting on his 
 hand, Lindsay, one sweet summer's morning, 
 strolls into a garden to enjoy himself 
 
 Amang the fragrant flowers 
 Walking alane, nane but my bird and I. 
 
 He wishes to ' say his hours,' — to repeat his 
 morning orisons — and, in the interval, places his 
 little green friend on a branch beside him ; and 
 she, delighted with her liberty, instantly begins 
 to climb from t\wg to twig, till she reaches the 
 dizzy height of the topmost bough —
 
 224 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 Sweet bird, said I, bewair ! mount not ouir hie ', 
 Returne in tyme, perchance thy feet may Tailzie ; 
 
 Thou art richt fat, and nocht Weill us'd to flie — 
 The greedie gled I dreid she thee assailzie. 
 I will, said she, ascend, vailzie quod vailzie ; 
 
 It is my kj-ne^ to climb aye to the hicht ; 
 
 Of feather and bone I wat weill I am wicht^. 
 
 So on the heichest lytill tendir twist *, 
 
 With wing displayit, scho sat full wantonlye ; 
 
 But Boreas blew aue blast, or e'er she wist, 
 
 Quhilk brak ^ the branch, and blew her suddanlye 
 Down to the ground, with mouy careful cr^'e. 
 
 Trow ye, gif that my hart was wo-begone 
 
 To see that fowl tiychter® amang the flowirs, — 
 
 Quhilk, with greit murnyng, gan to make her mone. 
 Now cummin are, she said, the fatal houris 
 Of bitter death ; now mon I thole ' the schouris. 
 
 Oh, dame Nature ! I pray thee, of thy grace, 
 
 Lend me laiser to speik ane lytill space, 
 
 For to complene my fate infortunate, 
 And to dispone my geir®, or I departe, — 
 
 Sen of all comfort 1 am desolate, 
 
 Allane, except the deith, heir with his dart, 
 "With awfid cheir, reddy to perse my hart. 
 
 And with that word she tuke ane passioun, 
 
 Syne flallyngis fell and swappit into swoun*. 
 
 With sorry hart, persit '" with compassioun, 
 And salt teris distilling from myne ene, 
 
 To heir that birdis lamentatiouu, 
 
 I did approche undir ane hawthorne grene, 
 Quhair I micht hear, and see, and be unseen ; 
 
 And quhen this 1 ird had swooned twice or thryse, 
 
 Scho gan to speik ", saying upon tliis wyse. 
 
 Thus modernised — 
 
 ^ high. - nature. ' strong. * twig. 
 ^ broke. " flutter. 7 bear. ® wealth. 
 
 ^ sunk over in a swoon. '" pierced. " speak.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 2Z0 
 
 Sweet bird, said I, beware ! mount not too high, 
 
 Hawks may be near — perchance thou'lt slip thy foot ; 
 
 Besides thou'rt very fat, nor used to fly. 
 
 Tush, I will movuit, she answered, cuittequi coutc ; 
 Am I a bird .'' a popinjay to boot P 
 
 And shall I not climb up a sorry tree ? 
 
 Have I my nature lost P talk uot such stuff to me. 
 
 So climbing to the highest twig she past, 
 
 And her green wings most wantonly outspread ; 
 
 But e'er she wist fell Boreas sent a blast, 
 
 Broke the slim perch — then down she dropt like lead 
 Upon a stake — a fearful wound it made 
 
 In her fair breast — out rushed the sanguine rill, 
 
 Whilst ill faint tones she cried, I wish to make my will . 
 
 Thou canst not doubt ray heart was woe-begone. 
 To see my favourite weltering mid the flowers, 
 
 Fluttering in death, and pouring forth her moan. 
 Adieu, she cried ; adieu, my liappy hours ! 
 Now cruel death thy shadow o'er me lours. 
 
 Thus spoke my sweet and most poetic bird, 
 
 Ah spare me but a while, my last request regard ! 
 
 Though I have much mismanaged mine estate, 
 I have some wealth to leave ere I depart ; 
 
 Friends may be blest, though I be desolate. 
 Thus kindly and considerate was the heart 
 Of poor papingo ; but a sudden smart 
 
 Now coming o'er her, from the mortal wound, 
 
 Shook every inmost nerve, and falling fiat she swoon'd. 
 
 Pierced with compassion at her wretched plight, 
 
 Down my warm cheek there dropt full many a tear; 
 
 Yet I was anxious to be out of siglit, 
 
 That her last words I might more trulj- hear. 
 So by the hawthorns screen'd I drew me near — 
 
 Thrice did she swoon, by poignant pain opprest, 
 
 Then oped her languid eyes, and thus her woes exprest. 
 
 In her last moments, the unfortunate pipingo 
 addresses an epistle, first to tlie king, her royal 
 master, as in duty bound, next to her brethren at 
 
 VOL. III. Q
 
 226 SIR DAVID LINDSAY, 
 
 court, and, lastly, she enters into a long expostu- 
 lation with her executors, a pye, a raven, and a 
 hawk, who personate the characters of a canon 
 regular, a black monk, and a holy friar. In this 
 manner, somewhat inartificial, if we consider that 
 the poem is long, and the papingo in the agonies 
 of death, Lindsay contrives to introduce his advice 
 to the king, his counsel to the courtiers and nobles, 
 and his satire upon the corruptions of the clergy. 
 Much in each of these divisions is excellent, the 
 observations are shrewd, the political advice sound 
 and honest, the poetry always elegant, often bril- 
 liant, and the wit of that light and graceful kind, 
 which, unlike some of his other pieces, is not de- 
 formed by coarseness or vulgarity. It may in- 
 deed be generally remarked of Lindsay's poetry, 
 that there is in it far greater variety, both in 
 subject and invention, than in any of his predeces- 
 sors, not excepting even Dunbar or Douglas. I 
 regret that I may not delay long upon any of these 
 epistles. A stanza or two from each will be suffi- 
 cient to prove the truth of my criticism. In the 
 epistle to the king, after alluding to his fine na- 
 tural genius and accomplishments, he introduces 
 these nervous lines : — 
 
 Quharefore sen thou hes sic capacitie 
 
 To lerne to play sae pleasandly, and sing, 
 
 Ride hors, rin speiris, with grit audacitie ; 
 
 Schute with handbow, crossbow, and culvering ; 
 Ainang the rest, sir, learn to be ane king. 
 
 Kyith^ on that craft, thy pregnant fresh ingyne*, 
 
 Grantit to thee by influence divine. 
 
 ****** 
 
 ^ practice, ^ genius.
 
 SIR DAVID LIXDSAY. 227 
 
 Pray tliou to Him that rent wes on the rude, 
 
 The to defend from deidis ' of defame, 
 That na poeit report of the hot gude -, 
 
 For princis days indmis bot ane drame ; 
 
 Sen fyrst king Fergus bnre ane dj'adame 
 Thou art the last king of five scoir and fyve, 
 And all are deid, and nane bot thou on lyve. 
 
 Treit ilk trew baron as he wes thy brother, 
 
 Quhilk mon ' at neid thee and thj' realm defend, 
 
 Quhen suddaulie ane doth oppress ane other, 
 Let justice, mixed with mercy, thame amend. 
 Have thou their hartis, thou lies yueuch* to spend. 
 
 And be the contrair thou art bot king of bone, 
 
 From tyme thy lordis' harts bene fro the gone*. 
 
 The epistle to his dear brother at court contains 
 an excellent commentary on the disasters to which 
 kings and nobles have been generally exposed in 
 all countries, with a more particular allusion to 
 the history of Scotland, from the period of Robert 
 the Third to the fatal field of Flodden, and the 
 troubled minority of his own sovereign. In the 
 rapid sketches which he gives of the characters and 
 misfortunes of the various nionarchs who pass 
 before us, the poet shows great discrimination, as 
 well as a remarkable command of powerful and 
 condensed versification. Tlie miserable assassi- 
 nation of the Duke of Rotlisay, the broken heart 
 of his royal father, the captivity and cruel murder 
 of James the First, the sudden death of his suc- 
 cessor, the rebellion of the nobles, and of his 
 own son against James the Tliird, the hanging 
 of Cochrane and bis ' Cative Companie' over 
 Lander Brig, the brilliant and gallant court, and 
 
 ^ deeds. ~ nothing but good. ^ must. * enough. 
 * Poems, vol. i., pp. 300, SO.', 303. 
 
 Q2
 
 "228 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 tlie popular government of the fourth Jarnes, 
 and its sudden and sanguinary close at Flodden, 
 are all brought before us with great vigour and 
 clearness of detail, and at the same time with a 
 brevity which marks the hand of a master. I 
 select the character of James the Fourth : — 
 
 Allace ! quhare bene that richt redouted Roy, 
 
 That potent prince, gentle King James the Feird '. 
 
 I pray to Christ his saul for to convoye ; 
 Ane greater nobill rang not in the eird\ 
 Oh, Atropos ! warye^ we may thy weird*. 
 
 For he was mirroiir of humiUtie, 
 
 Lodesterre and lamp of liberalitie. 
 
 During his tyme did justice sa prevail, 
 The savage His then tremblit for terrour ; 
 
 Eskdale, Euesdale, Lidsdale, and Annandale, 
 Durst nocht rebel, douting his dintis dour'; 
 And of his lordis had sic perfyte favour. 
 
 So, for to shaw® that he afeird not ane. 
 
 On thro his realm he wald ryde him alane. 
 
 And of his court thro Europe sprang the fame 
 Of lusty lordis and lufesome ladies ying^. 
 
 Triumphant tournays, justings, knichtly game, 
 With all pasty me according for a king. 
 He was the glore * of princely governing ; 
 
 Quhilk ' through the ardent love he had to France, 
 
 Against England did move his ordinance*. 
 
 Tlie poet describes with still greater power the 
 ' reif mischief and misgovernment ' during the 
 'tender youth and innocence' of his master 
 James the Fifth. ' It was then,' says he, with a 
 mixture of that high and homely imagery which 
 
 * Fourth. ^ earth. ^ curse. * destiny. 
 
 ' dreading his sore strokes. ^ show. '' young. 
 
 ^ glory. * which. 
 
 * Poems, vol. i., pp. 313, 314, 315.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 22& 
 
 we constantly meet with in Lindsay's poems, ' that 
 Oppression blew his bugle, and Jok Upland 
 (John the Countryman) lost his mare, alluding 
 to the constant horse-stealing on the borders. 
 The successive changes which were exhibited at 
 that time in the troubled government of the 
 state, the domination and subsequent banish- 
 ment of the Douglases, the power of Archbishop 
 Beaton, and his sudden fall, when he was com- 
 pelled to skulk through the country in the disguise 
 of a freebooter, are next described, and parallel 
 examples of the misery, deceit, and insecurity of 
 courts, drawn from the history of other coun- 
 tries ; after which the poet directs the mind of his 
 youthful sovereign, with great solemnity, to the 
 celestial court above the skies, where sorrow and 
 mutability can never enter ; thinking in his own 
 person, although the papingo is the speaker, 
 and overlooking for a moment the absurdity 
 and profanity of introducing so sacred an exhor- 
 tation in the circumstances under which it occurs. 
 With more verisimilitude the epistle of the dying 
 favourite to his brother at court, concludes with a 
 sweet address to Stirling, Lithgow, and Falkland, 
 the royal palaces in whose gardens of pleasure 
 and delight he had passed so many happy hours. 
 
 Adieu, fair Snowdoun, with thy towris hie, 
 Thy chapel-royal, park, and table round ; 
 
 May, June, and July, would 1 dwell in thee, 
 Were 1 a man, to hear the birdis sound, 
 ^Vhich doth against thy royal rock redound. 
 
 Adieu, Lithgow, whose palace of plesance 
 
 Meets not its peer in Portingale or France.
 
 230 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 Farewell, Falkland, the forteress of Fife, 
 Thy velvet park under the Lomond law ; 
 
 Sometime in thee I led a lusty life, 
 
 The fallow-deer to see them raik on raw ^. 
 Court men to come to thee they have great awe, 
 
 Saying thy burgh bene to all burrows baill^. 
 
 Because in thee they never got good ale*. 
 
 It will be seen from these extracts, that the poet 
 often forgets the papingo, fluttering and bleeding 
 amidst the flowers, to indulge in a strain of moral 
 and philosophic reflection, which proceeds rather 
 ludicrously from a bird so situated ; and if the 
 remark applies to this portion of the poem, it may 
 be directed still more strongly against that third 
 division in which she addresses an expostulation of 
 great length, severity, and vigor against the 
 abuses of the spiritual estate. There is much truth, 
 much learning, and abundance of playful satire in 
 this 'expostulation of the papingo with her exe- 
 cutors the jay, the hawk, and the raven, whilst, at 
 the same time, it cannot be denied that Lindsay's 
 ideas are founded on some of the very questionable 
 theories of Wickliff, who, not considering religion 
 as reduced to a civil establishment, and because 
 our Saviour and his apostles were poor, imagined 
 that secular possessions were inconsistent with the 
 simplicity of the gospelt.' It is asserted, that in 
 the primitive and purer ages of Christianity, the 
 cliurch was wedded to Poverty, whose children 
 were Chastity and Devotion. The Emperor Con- 
 
 * walk in a row. 
 
 * thy burgh is the most wretched of all. 
 
 * Poems, vol. i., pp. 323, 324. 
 
 f Warton, Hist. English Poetry, vol. iii., p. 149.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 231 
 
 stantine unfortunately took upon him to divorce 
 this holy couple, and without leave asked, or dis- 
 pensation granted, espoused the church to Dame 
 Property, upon vvjiich Devotion withdrew herself 
 to a hermitage, and, in due time. Dame Property 
 produced two daughters, so beautiful, that all 
 persons, especially the spirituality, pronounced 
 them peerless. These were named Riches and 
 Sensualitie, and so universal was the admiration 
 and regard which they attracted, that very soon all 
 spiritual matters fell under their direction. The 
 rich dresses of the clergy, under this new state of 
 things, are well described : — 
 
 Cleikandto them skarlet and cramos)-e ', 
 
 With miniver", martnell ', gryss'*, and rich armyne 
 
 Their ance low hearts exaUed are so high. 
 To see their papal pomp it is a pyne ; 
 More rich array is now, with fringes fine, 
 
 Upon the trappings of a bishop's mule, 
 
 Nor e'er had Paul or Peter agains yule^ 
 
 The scene which takes place at the death of 
 poor papingo is described with great felicity and 
 humour. The gled or hawk, who pretends to be 
 a friar, holding up her head, whilst the raven 
 stands on one side, and the magj)ie on the other, 
 enquires tenderly to wiiich of the three she chooses 
 to leave her fortune and goods: — 
 
 Chuse you, she said, which of us brethren here 
 Shall have of all your natural geir** the curis, 
 Ye know none bene more holy creaturis. 
 
 ' crimson. ^ white fur. - fur of the martin. 
 * a rich foreign fur. ' Christmas. ® wealth.
 
 232 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 I am content, quoth the poor papingo, 
 
 That ye, Friar Gled, and Corbie' Monk, your brother. 
 Have cure of all my gudis, and no mo^, 
 
 Since at this time friendship I find none other. 
 
 "VVe shall be to you true as to our mother, 
 Quoth they, and swore to fulfill her intent ; 
 Of that, said she, I take ane instrument. 
 
 She then leaves her green mantle to the quiet 
 and unobtrusive owl, her golden and brilliant 
 eyes to the bat, her sharp polished beak to the 
 affectionate pelican — 
 
 To help to pierce her tender heart in twain ; 
 
 lier angelical voice to tlie single-songed cuckoo, 
 • her eloquence and ' tongue rhetorical ' to tire 
 goose ; her bones, whicli she directs to be enclosed 
 in a case of ivory, to the Arabian phoenix, her 
 lieart to the king her master, and her intestines, 
 liver, and lungs, to lier three executors. With 
 scarce the alteration of a word, these last stanzas 
 throw themselves into graceful poetry : — 
 
 To the lone owl so indigent and poor. 
 Which, by the day, for shame dare not be seen, 
 I leave my glossj', glittering coat of green. 
 
 Mine eyes, of liquid gold and cristal clear, 
 Unto the bat ye shall them twain present 
 
 In Phoebus' presence, who dares not appear, 
 So dim hfr natural sight, and impotent. 
 My burnished beak I leave with good intent 
 
 Unto the gentle, piteous pelicane. 
 
 To b.elp to pierce her tender heart in twain. 
 
 I leave the gouk', who hath no song but one, 
 
 My musick, with my voice angelical ; 
 And give ye to the goose, when I am gone, 
 
 ^ crow. ^ no more. ^ cuckoo.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 233^ 
 
 My eloquence, and tongue rhetorical ; 
 
 Then take and dry my bones, both great and small, 
 Next close them in a case of ivory fair, 
 And them present unto the phoenix rare. 
 
 To burn with her when she her life renews ; 
 
 In Arabic the blest she makes her beir ; 
 Soon will ye know her, by her heavenly hues, 
 
 Gold, azure, purple, ruby, synopeir ^ ; 
 
 Her date it is to live five hundred year — 
 So haste ye need not, but when her you see 
 Bear her my tender love. Now, farewell, brethren three ! 
 
 Having finished her last injunctions, Polly dis- 
 poses herself to die, and falling into her mortal 
 passion, after a severe struggle, in which the blood 
 pitifully gushes from her wounds, she at last 
 breathes out her life. 
 
 Extinguish'd were her natural wittisfive. 
 Her executors then proceed to divide her 
 body in a very summary manner. ' My heart 
 was sad,' says Lindsay, ' to see this doleful par- 
 tition of my favorite ; her angel feathers scattered 
 by these greedy cormorants in the air.' Nothing 
 at last is left except the heart, which the magpye, 
 with a sudden fit of loyalty, vindicates as belong- 
 ing to the king. The portion, however, is too 
 tempting to the raven. " Now, may 1 be hanged," 
 says he, " if this piece shall be given either to 
 king or duke;" a tussle ensues, the greedy hawk, 
 seizing the heart in her talons, soars away, whilst 
 the rest pursue her with a terrible din, and disaj)- 
 pear in the air.' So ends the tragedy of the pa- 
 pingo ; the poet dismissing his little quhair or 
 book with the usual acknowledgment of its rude- 
 
 ^ synopeir green
 
 234 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 ness and imperfection, a very unnecessary apology, 
 for, as the extracts we have given abundantly 
 demonstrate, it is in point of elegance, learning, 
 variety of description, and easy playful humour, 
 worthy to hold its place with any poem of the 
 period, either English or Scottish. 
 
 Soon after writing this work, Lindsay, in 1531, 
 was dispatched by the government on a political 
 mission to Brussels. Its object was the renewal 
 of the commercial treaty concluded by James 
 the First between Scotland and the Netherlands ; 
 his fellovv ambassadors were David Panter, Se- 
 cretary to the King, and Sir James Campbell, 
 of Lundie. Margaret, the Governess of the Ne- 
 therlands, was lately dead, upon which the Queen 
 of Hungary had been raised to that splendid 
 prefecture, and the Scottish ambassadors were 
 received by this princess and the Emperor Charles 
 the Fifth, then at Brussels, with great state 
 and solemnity. They were soon after dismissed, 
 having succeeded in every point of their nego- 
 ciation. In a letter from Antwerp to his friend 
 the Scottish Secretary of State, Lindsay thus 
 expresses himself: — ' It war too langsome to 
 write to your L. the triumphs that I have seen, 
 since my cumin to the court imperial, that is to 
 say, the triumphs and justings, the terrible tourna- 
 ments, the fighting on foot in barras, the names 
 of lords and kniglits that were hurt that day of 
 the great tournament, whose circumstances I have 
 written at lengtli in articles to show the King's 
 Grace at my home coming*.' It is a pity that 
 
 * Chalmers' Life, p. 14.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 235 
 
 these ' articles,' containing an account of such 
 splendid entertainments, and, it is to be presumed, 
 some description also of Antwerp, the great com- 
 mercial emporium of Europe, cannot now be 
 discovered. 
 
 On his return from this mission, Lindsay's mind 
 was occupied with two great subjects, his marriage, 
 and his celebrated ' Satire of the three Estates.' 
 His marriage was unhappy, originating probably 
 in ambition, (for he united himself to a daughter 
 of the house of Douglas,) and ending in disap- 
 pointment. He had no children, and from the 
 terms in which he commonly talks of the sex, it 
 may be plausibly conjectured that the Lady Lioness 
 was not possessed of a very amiable disposition. 
 
 His ' Satire of the three Estates ' was a more 
 successful experiment, and is well deserving of 
 notice, as the first approach to the regular drama 
 which had yet been made in Scotland. In this 
 country, as in the other European kingdoms, 
 we may believe there was the same progress 
 in the history of the stage from the ancient ex- 
 hibitions entitled mysteries, to the more com- 
 plicated pageants known by the name of mo- 
 ralities, and from thence the transition must have 
 been easy to the mixed species of drama of 
 winch Lindsay's satire presented probably a per- 
 fect specimen. .higglers, minstrels, buffoons, 
 and masqued characters, appear at the Scottish 
 court, anterior to, and during the reign of James 
 tlie First. ' At the celebration of the nuptials of 
 James the Fourth and the Lady Margaret, a com- 
 pany of English comedians, under the manage- 
 ment of John English, regaled the court with a
 
 236 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 dramatic representation.' It may be suspected 
 that John English is the ' Gentle Johne the English 
 Fule,' whom we have already noticed as making so 
 prominent a figure in the accounts of the Lord 
 High Treasurer. Of this exhibition it is to bs 
 regretted that we have only a very brief account 
 by a contemporary autlior: — ' After dinnar,' says 
 Johne Younge, ' a moralitie was played by the 
 said Master Inglishe and his companions, in the 
 presence of the kyng and quene ; and then daunces 
 were daunced*.' In 1515, when John, Duke of 
 Albany, arrived from France to assume the re- 
 gency, we learn from Lesly, that he was received 
 by many lords and barons, on the 26th of May, 
 and sundrie farces and good playes were made by 
 the burgesses to his honor and praisef. Lindsay, 
 as we have already seen, played farces on the 
 floor, ' for the amusement of his youthful and royal 
 master; and now, in 1535, when his genius was 
 more vigorous, and his acquaintance with human 
 nature more extensive, he produced a moralitie, 
 which, in the regularilie of its form, the breadth 
 and boldness of its satire, and the variety of its 
 delineations of character, was superior to the pro- 
 ductions of any of the early English dramatists.' 
 ' Whether,' says Chalmers, ' the matter or the 
 manner of this drama be considered, it must be 
 allowed to be a very singular performance, and to 
 have carried away the palm of dramatic composi- 
 tion from the contemporaiy moralities of England, 
 till the epoch of tlie first tragedy in Gorboduc, 
 
 * Leland Collect., vol. iv., p. 2.')8. 
 •J- Lesly's History, Bainiat. Ed., p. 102.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 237 
 
 and of tlie first comedy in Gammer Gurton's 
 Needle.' 
 
 Some things are remarkable in this early dra- 
 matic composition. It was acted before as re- 
 fined an audience as could then be assembled. 
 The king and queen, the ladies and nobles of the 
 court, with the spiritual estate, were present, and 
 yet its coarseness and licentiousness is extreme, 
 and on many subjects its wit of such a kind as 
 to preclude all quotation. Yet Lindsay wrote in 
 the character of a professed reformer of manners ; 
 but, if its grossness and vulgarity give us a low 
 picture of the morality or delicacy of the age, 
 the boldness of the author, and the liberality 
 or folly of the audience, are equally conspicu- 
 ous. The representation took place before the 
 kintr, with his favorite ministers and advisers, 
 yet it lashes his youthful excesses, and their 
 profligate and selfish devices, with unsparing se- 
 veritv. It was performed in presence of the 
 bishops and clergy, and before an immense multi- 
 tude of the people, the burgesses, the^ yeomen, 
 the poor labourers, and tacksmen, and yet it ex- 
 poses with a poignancy of satire, and a breadth 
 of humour which must have made the deepest im- 
 pression, the abuses of the Catholic religion, the 
 evils of pluralities and non-residence, the igno- 
 rance of the priests, the grievances of tithes, the 
 profligacy of the prelates, and the happy effects 
 which would result from a thorough and speedy 
 reformation. Hitherto what had been written 
 against these excesses had never reached the 
 people ; it was generally shut up in a learned lan- 
 guage, which they did not understand ; if com-
 
 238 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 posed in English, there were few printing-presses 
 to multiply books, or if printed, the great body of 
 the people could not read them. But Lindsay, 
 when he wrote a play in the language of the 
 people, and procured permission to have it acted 
 before them, at once acquired a moral influence 
 over the times, and gave a strength and edge to 
 his satire, which probably neither the king, the 
 clergy, nor the author himself contemplated. 
 Had it been otherwise, it is difficult to believe 
 that the prince or prelates would have suffered, or 
 any author have dared the trial of such an expe- 
 riment. 
 
 Another singular feature in this dramatic cu- 
 riosity is its extravagant length and tediousness. 
 These are certainly such as to impress us with a high 
 admiration of the patience of a feudal audience. 
 * We may learn,' says Chalmers, ' from the length 
 of the perusal of this production, that its exhibition 
 must have consumed the live long day ; and we are 
 informed by Charteris,the bookseller, who was him- 
 self present, that its representation, in 1554, before 
 the Queen-Regent, lasted " fra nine hours afore- 
 noon till six hours at even." And yet this is 
 nothing to the extended representation of the 
 English mysteries during the persevering curiosity 
 of feudal times.' 'In 1391,' honest Stow tells 
 us, ' that a play was acted by the parish-clerks of 
 London, which continued three days together, the 
 ting, queen, and nobles of the realm being pre- 
 sent ; and another was performed in 1409, uhich 
 lasted eight dayes, containing matter from the 
 creation of the world, whereat was ])resent most 
 of the nobility and gentry of England,*
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 239 
 
 The satire of the ' Three Estates ' is divided 
 into three parts. Of tliese great divisions, the 
 first appears to have been directed against the evil 
 councillors, who, under the minority of James the 
 Fifth, neglected the virtuous and prudent education 
 of the young monarch, and permitted his youth to 
 be polluted by idleness and vice. The dramatis 
 personcB are numerous : we have King Humanity, 
 Rex Humanitas, Diligence, Good Counsel, Hame- 
 liness, Verity, Cliastity, and Divine Correction. 
 In addition to these, such low and disreputable 
 interlocutors as Flattery, Falsehood, Sensuality, 
 intrude themselves, with occasional appearances of 
 abbots, prioresses, parsons, placebo, Deceit, Dan- 
 ger, Solace, and Soutar's wife. The proceedings 
 open with a sort of prologue by Diligence, who 
 requests the audience to remember that no satire 
 is intended against any person in particular; that 
 all is general, offered in pastime, and to be heard 
 in silence. ' Therefore,' says he, ' let every man 
 keep his one tongue, without permitting it to wag 
 against us, and every woman her two.' 
 
 Prudent people, I pray you all, 
 Take na man griet' in special, 
 For we shall speik in general, 
 
 For pastime and for play. 
 Therefore, till all our rhymes be rung, 
 Let every man keep weill ane tongue, 
 
 And everj' woman tway '. 
 
 The plot of the first part, if it deserves such a 
 name, is extremely simple. King Humanity, with a 
 disposition naturally easy and amial)lc, is seduced 
 into evil and wicked courses by Flattery and Sen- 
 
 ^ two.
 
 '^40 SIR DAVID LIXDSAY. 
 
 suality, from which he is at last redaimed by- 
 Divine Correction and Good Counsel. He then 
 declares himself ready to redress all grievances 
 and correct all abuses, for which end Diligence is 
 ordered to summon the Three Estates of the 
 Eealm. ' Here,' says the stage direction, ' shall 
 the messenger Diligence return, and crying, oyez, 
 oyez, oyez, say thus' — 
 
 At the command of King Humanitie, 
 
 I warne and charge all members of Parliament, 
 
 Baith spiritual estate and temporalitie, 
 That till his Grace they be obedient, 
 And speid them to the court incontinent 
 
 In glide ordour', arrayit royallie. 
 Wha beis absent, or inobedient, 
 
 The king's displeasure they shall underlye. 
 Also I mak you exhortatioun, 
 
 Since ye have heard the first part of our play, 
 Go tak ane drink, and mak collatioim. 
 
 Ilk man drink till his marrow, I you pray. 
 
 The second part opens with an attack upon 
 the extreme severity with which the churchmen 
 exacted their tithes, a poor mendicant appear- 
 ing on the stage, and asking charity, with a 
 miserable story of the oppression under which 
 he had sunk. During the dialogue which takes 
 place between the Pau])er, Diligence, and a Par- 
 doner, or retailer of the papal indulgences, the 
 Three Estates of the TJealm issue from the ' pal- 
 .zeoun,' or tent, in procession ; but, to the horror 
 and astonishment of the audience, they approach 
 the king's presence, not in the usual fashion, with 
 their faces turned towards the sovereign, but going 
 
 ^ order.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 241 
 
 backwards. Correction enquires the cause of tliis 
 strange procedure — 
 
 Correctioun. 
 
 My tender friends, I pray you, with my hart, 
 Declair to me the thing that I wad speir ^ 
 
 "What is the eause that ye gang'-' all backwart? 
 The veritie thereof fain wald I hear. 
 
 Spiritualitie. 
 
 Soverane, we have gain so this mony ' a year, 
 Howbeit ye think we gang indecently, 
 We think we gang richt wondrous pleasauflie. 
 
 Diligence. 
 Sit down, my lords, into your proper places, 
 Syne let the King consider all sic cases ; 
 Sit down, Sir Scribe, and Dempster sit down, too, 
 And fence the court as ye were wont to do. 
 
 The sovereign now announces his readiness to 
 redress all abuses, but is reproved for his hasty 
 resolution by the Spirituality, upon which, Correc- 
 tion, declaring his astonishment that such abomi- 
 nable counsel should proceed from these grave 
 sages, orders Diligence to make open proclama- 
 tion that every man who feels himself aggrieved 
 should give in his bill, or come forward and tell 
 his story: — 
 
 Haste, Diligence, proclaim it is our will 
 That every man opprest give in his bill. 
 
 No sooner is this invitation made public, than 
 John the Commonweill comes dancing in upon 
 the stage in the highest possible spirits, although 
 rather sorrily clad ; uj)on which, this homely dia- 
 logue ensues between him and Ilex Humanitas: — 
 
 ^ enquire. ^ go. •' many. 
 VOL. III. R
 
 242 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 Rex Humanitas. 
 Show me thy name, gudeman, I thee command. 
 
 Johiie. 
 Marry, Johne Commonweill of fair Scotland. 
 
 Rex. 
 The Commonweill has been amang his faes '. 
 
 Johne. 
 Yes, sir, that gars the Commonweill want claes*. 
 
 Rex. 
 What is the cause the Commonweill is crukit ^ ? 
 
 Johne. 
 Because the Commonweill has been o'erlukit*. 
 
 Rex. 
 What gars ' thee look so with ane dreary heart ? 
 
 Johne. 
 Because the three estates gang ^ all backwart. 
 
 A long catalogue of abuses is now presented 
 by Jolin, which it is impossible to analyse parti- 
 cularly, although, in some instances, they pre- 
 sent a singular picture of the times. The pauper's 
 description of the law's delay, in the Consistory 
 Court, is excellent. He had brought an aclion 
 for the recovery of damages against a neighbour, 
 to whom he had lent his good grey mare :— 
 
 Marry, I lent my mear to fetch hame coals, 
 And he hir drownit in the quarry holes ; 
 And I ran to the Consistore to pleinzie^, 
 And there I happt amangane greedy meinzie^; 
 They gave me first ane thing they call ciiandum, 
 Within aucht^ dayis I got but dehellanditm, 
 Within ane moneth '" I gat ad opponendum, 
 In half ane yeir I got inter loquendum, 
 And syne ^', how call ye it ? ad rep/icandum ; 
 But 1 could ne'er ane word yet understand him ; 
 
 ^ foes. * clothes. * crooked. ■* overlooked, neglected. 
 
 •5 causes. ® go. ^ complain. ^ miiititude. 
 
 3 eight. *» a month. '^ then.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 243 
 
 And then they gart * me cast out mony plakkis ^, 
 And gait me pay lor four-aiid-tueiitie actis ; 
 Bot or they cam half gate ^ to cnnciudendum, 
 The I'eiiid ane plack was left for to defend him. 
 Thus they postpon'd me twa yeir with their traiue, 
 Syne, hudie ad oclo, hade me come agaiue. 
 And then thir rukis they rowpit '• wonder fast, 
 For sentence silver they cry'd at the last ; 
 Oi pronunciandum they made wonder fain, 
 But I gat never ray gude grey mear again. 
 
 Many interesting sketclies of national manners 
 are to be found in tiiis satire ; yet we must be on 
 our guard against the error of considering Lind- 
 say's descriptions as exactly faillil'ul to truth and 
 nature. The probability is, that tliey were strong 
 caricatures, the trick of all political satirists, who, 
 getting hold of an idea originally true, pare it 
 down, or dress it up, to suit their own purposes, 
 till it loses its identity, although it gains in the 
 power of exciting- ridicule. 
 
 All abuses having been duly investigated, and a 
 remedy provided. Correction proposes that John 
 Coniinonweill should be strippetl of his ragged 
 habiliments, clothed in a new suit ' of satin daaias, 
 or of velvet fine,' and placed amongst the lords in 
 the parliament. He is accordingly arrayed gor- 
 geously, and, having taken his place, Correction 
 congratulates the audience — 
 
 All vertuous pepill* now may be rejosit®, 
 
 Sen Common Weill has gotlin ane gay garmount', 
 
 And ignorants out of the kirk deposit; 
 Devout ductouiis, and clarkis of reiioun, 
 Now in the kirk shall have dominioun ;J 
 
 * made. ^ pennies. ^ halfway. 
 
 * those rooks croaked fast. 
 
 ' people. ® rejoiced. ' garment. 
 
 R 2
 
 244 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 And glide Counsall, with ladie Verifie, 
 Are ministeris to our King's Majesty. 
 
 Blist is that reahn that hes ane prudent king, 
 Quhilk dois del)te to heir the veritie, 
 
 Punisching thame that plainly dois maling, 
 Contrair the Coinmonweill and equitie. 
 
 Proclamation is then made of the acts of the 
 parHament ; Theft, Deceit, and Falsehood are 
 hanged, after having severally addressed the peo- 
 ple ; Folly is indulged with a reprieve, and the 
 piece concludes with an epilogue by Diligence, 
 entreating the audience to take 'their lytil sport* 
 (such is the term he uses for a play lasting nine 
 hours) in patience, making allowances for the 
 rudeness of the matter, and the poverty of the 
 style. 
 
 As to the manner in which this piece was per- 
 formed, it seems to have been acted in the open air, 
 the king, lords and ladies occupying raised seats, 
 or covered galleries, and the dramatis pcrso?icr, 
 according to the progress of the entertainment, 
 coming out or going into a pavilion pitched on the 
 green field, where the stage was erected. This is 
 evident from some of the marginal directions, such 
 as, ' Here shall Gude Counsall show himself in 
 the fields ; here they depart and pass to the pail- 
 zion ; here shall the carle loup off the scaffold.' 
 Of scenery there can be traced no vestige ; but as 
 a hill and a running stream appear in the play, the 
 ground where it was acted was so chosen that na- 
 ture supplied them ; and, in other respects, the 
 machinery required seems to have been extremely 
 simple. A throne or royal seat for the mimic 
 king, benches for his parliament, a pulpit from
 
 SIR DAVID LIXDSAY. 245 
 
 which Folly preaches his sermon, the stocks, which 
 are frequently used as a punishment throughout 
 the piece, and a gallows on which malefactors are 
 hanged, constitute the whole. Some of the stage - 
 directions are quaint and amusing. ' Here shall 
 the wyvis ding their gudemen with silence.' ' Here 
 shall Flattery spy Veritie witli ane dumb counte- 
 nance.' ' Here sail Johne Commonweill loup the 
 stank, or else fall in it ;' a singular alternative to 
 be left to honest Johne, who, at this time, is re- 
 presented as clothed in tattered garments and 
 almost naked. 
 
 There is a letter published by Pinkerton, in 
 the appendix to his History, from Sir Ralph 
 Evre to the Lord Privy Seal of England, in 
 which a marked allusion is made to this play 
 of Lindsay's having been acted before the king. 
 It appears that Sir Ralph liad been commis- 
 sioned by Henry the Eighth to sound the Scot- 
 tish monarch as to his disposition to reform the 
 spiritual estate in his dominions after the same 
 system that his uncle had pursued in England. 
 ' I had divers communings,' says Evre, ' with Sir 
 Thomas Bellenden, one of the said councillors for 
 Scotland, a man by estimation, appearing to be the 
 age of fifty years or above, and of gentle and sage 
 conversation, touching the stave of the spiritua- 
 litie in Scotland. And gathering him to be a man 
 inclined to the sort used in our sovereign's realm 
 of England, I did so largely break with him in 
 those behalves, as to move to know of liim what 
 minde the king and council of Scotland was in- 
 clined unto, concerning the Bishop of Rome, and 
 for the reformation of the misusing of the spiri-
 
 246 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 tualitie in Scotland. Whereunto he gently and 
 lovingly answered, shewing liimself well contented 
 of that communing, and did say that the King of 
 Scotland himself, with all liis temporal council, was 
 greatly given to the reformation of bishops, reli- 
 gious persons, and priests within the realme ; and 
 so much, that by the king's pleasure, he being privy 
 thereunto, they have had ane interlude played in 
 the feast of the Epiphanie of our Lorde last paste, 
 before the king and queen, at Lithgow, and the 
 whole counsil spiritual and temporal. The whole 
 matter thereof concluded upon the declaration of 
 the naughtiness in religion, the presumption of 
 bishops, the collusion of the spiritual courts, 
 called the consistory courts, in Scotland, and mis- 
 using of priests. I have obtained a note from a 
 Scotsman of our sorte being present at the play- 
 ing of said enterlude ; of the effect thereof, which 
 I send unto your lordship, by this bearei'. My lord, 
 the same Mr. Bellenden ihewed me that after 
 the said interlude finished, the King of Scots did 
 call upon the Bishop of Glasgow, being Chan- 
 cellor, and divers other bishops, exhorting them 
 to reform their factions and manner of living, 
 saying, that unless they so did, he would send sax 
 of the proudest of them unto his uncle of Eng- 
 londe ; and as those were ordered, so he would 
 order all the rest who would not amend.' The 
 note of the play here alluded to, and transmitted 
 along with this letter, clearly proves tliat the in- 
 terlude enacted at Linlithgow, in 1540, was ma- 
 terially difl'erent from the play as pubUshed by 
 Lindsay. 
 
 Lindsay had already been employed in a sue-
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 247 
 
 eessful negociation with the Estates of the Nether- 
 lands, and in 153G he was dispatched by his royal 
 master on a matrimonial mission to the court of 
 France, along with Sir John Campbell, of London. 
 James's object was to demand a daughter of the 
 house of Vendosme, and the ambassadors, who 
 soon after followed Lindsay's mission, selected 
 Marie de Bourbon. The king sent her his pic- 
 ture, and a treaty of marriage was actually in the 
 course of negociation, when some unforeseen dif- 
 ficulties occurred to interrupt it. Angry at the 
 delay, and intent upon effecting an alliance with 
 France, the youthful monarch determined to pro- 
 ceed tliither in person, and set sail in 1536, tbough 
 the expedhion was much against the opinion of 
 many of his nobles. Sir James Hamilton had the 
 courage, when he slept, to steer again to Scot- 
 land, but no excuses could mollify the king, who 
 embarked again, and at Dieppe paid a visit at 
 the palace of Vendosme, where, notwithstanding 
 liis strict incognito, the Princess Mary, from his 
 resemblance to llie picture he had sent her, soon 
 discovered her royal lover. Upon this, James 
 ardently embraced the duke and duchess, and 
 saluted them, with their daughter, not passing 
 over the grandees and ladies of the court who 
 were present. On the i)art of his host no respect 
 was omitted which befitted such an occasion. 
 Music, with galliard dancing in masques, farces 
 and plays, witli justing and running at the ring, 
 and every species of gallant amusement, occu- 
 pied the time. A costly palace was prepared 
 for the Scottish monarch, the apartments of which 
 were splendidly decorated, hung with tapestry of
 
 248 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 clotli of gold and silk, the floor was spread with 
 green frieze, a rarity in those times, when the 
 apartments were generally strewed with rushes ; 
 the beds glittered with curtains of cloth of gold ; 
 and when the king sat at meat, a circlet of gold, 
 studded with precious stones, was suspended 
 from the ceiling immediately above his head ; the 
 halls and chambers were perfumed with sweet 
 odours ; and, in short, the noble Vendosme ex- 
 hausted his exchequer and his imagination in 
 providing every species of pleasure for the youthful 
 monarch. James was now in his twenty-fourth 
 year, and, from Eonsard's description, who was 
 intimately acquainted with him, must have been a 
 very handsome prince : — 
 
 Ce Roi d'Escosse estoit en la fleur de ses ans 
 
 Ses cheveux non tondus comme fin or linsans. 
 Cordonnez et crespez, flottans dessus sa face, 
 Et sur son col de lait liii donnoit bou grace. 
 Son port estoit royal, son regard vigoureux, 
 De vertii, et d'honneur, et de guerre amoureux. 
 La douceur, et la force illustroient son visage, 
 Si que Venus et Mars en avoient fait partage. 
 
 A prince in the flower of his years, his long 
 golden ringlets floating, in the style of the times, 
 down his shoulders, or gracefully curling on his 
 white neck ; a countenance in which manliness, 
 energy, and beauty, were blended ; a kingly man- 
 ner, and a mind devoted to virtue, honour, and 
 war ; such a suitor was well calculated to engage 
 the afi'ections of the daughter of Vendosme, but 
 from some reason not now discoverable, the king 
 seems to have been disappointed in the choice of 
 his ambassadors. He left the palace abruptly,
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 249 
 
 and hearing that Francis the First was about to 
 set out for Provence, with the design of attack- 
 ing the imperial forces, he resolved to join him. 
 On the road between Tarray and St. Sa])liorin, 
 the Scottish monarch was met by the French 
 dauphin, with a message from the king, informing 
 Lim, that the emperor having been obHged to quit 
 the kingdom, he had delayed his military prepa- 
 rations, and had sent the dauphin to conduct him 
 to Paris. In Francis, James, on his arrival at the 
 capital, found the affectionate tenderness of a 
 parent, who omitted no endearment that could 
 shew the satisfaction he received in the attach- 
 ment he had manifested to France. It was 
 in vain, however, that he urged him to marry 
 Marie de Bourbon. The young sovereign was 
 now bent on uniting himself to the Princess Mag- 
 dalen, the daughter of the French king. When 
 he first saw her, she was in a chariot, on account 
 of her ill health, but the delicacy of her constitu- 
 tion did not discourage him ; the tender passion 
 seemed to have mutually seized them, and tliey 
 declared they would never consent to any other 
 marriage. The danger of exposing so tender a 
 frame to an inhospitable climate was strongly 
 urged, and the royal lover was even warned that 
 he must not look for an heir to his throne from 
 such a union ; but all was unavailing, and Francis 
 at last reluctantly consented. 
 
 James instantly sent the news to Scotland, order- 
 ing an addition to his attendants of six earls, six 
 lords, six bishops, and twenty great barons, who 
 were directed not to leave their best garments 
 behind them. Tiiey complied with their sove-
 
 250 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 reign's desire, and the marriage was performed 
 January 1, 1537, in the church of Notre Dame, 
 in the presence of the Kings of France and Na- 
 varre, the queen, dauphin, and other members of 
 the royal family, seven cardinals, and a numerous 
 and splendid assemblage of French and Scottish 
 nobility, with many illustrious strangers. Ronsard, 
 in a kind of epithalamium, not inelegantly, and 
 very minutely describes the persons of the royal 
 bride and bridegroom. The poet was then a page 
 in the suite of the Duke of Orleans, who presented 
 him to the Queen, and she afterwards carried hi in 
 into Scotland. To honour tlie wedding France dis- 
 played all her riclies and gallantry, so that it was 
 said nothing had ever before equalled its splendour. 
 Nor was the bridegroom behindhand in magnifi- 
 cence : amongst other noble presents he ordered a 
 number of covered cups or macers, filled with coined 
 gold, and standing on frames of the same metal, 
 to be presented to the guests as the produce of the 
 mines of Scotland. He was the most brilliant and 
 conspicuous figure in all the martial games ; and 
 as he had won the Princess, so did he every prize 
 that was contended for at the ring*. All this 
 must have been a gratifying sight to what Chal- 
 mers calls ' the heraldic eyes of Lindsay.' ' For,' 
 says the garrulous and pleasant Fitscottie, ' there 
 was such jousting and tournament, both on horse 
 and foot, in burgh and land, and also upon the sea 
 with ships, and so much artillerye shot in all parts 
 of France, that no man might hear for the reard 
 thereof, and also the riotous banquetings, delicate 
 
 * Mltchell'd Scutsniau'd Libiary, pp. 518, 519.
 
 SIR DxVVID LINDSAY, 251 
 
 and costly clothings, triumphant plays and feasts, 
 pleasant sounds of instruments of all kinds, and 
 cunning carvers having the art of necromancy, 
 to cause things appear that were not, as flying 
 dragons in the air, shots of fire at other's heads, 
 great rivers of water running through the town, 
 and ships fighting thereupon, as it had been in 
 buUering streams of the sea, shooting of guns 
 like cracks of tlmnder ; and these wonders were 
 seen by the nobihty and common people. All 
 this was made by men of ingyne, for outsetting 
 of the triumph, to do the King of Scotland and 
 the Queen of France their master's pleasure ^.' 
 
 It formed part of Lindsay's duties, as Lord 
 Lion, to marshal processions on occasions of state 
 and rejoicing, to invent and superintend the ex- 
 ecution of pageants, plays, moralities, or inter- 
 ludes ; and for all this his genius appears to have 
 been cast in a happy mould. He possessed inge- 
 nuity, wit, and that playful satirical turn which, 
 under the license permitted by the manners of tlie 
 age to such performances, could lash the vices 
 and laugh at the follies of the times with far greater 
 ettect than if the lesson had been conveyed through 
 a graver medium. Of his pageants one of the most 
 brilliant appears to have been intended for exhibi- 
 tion on the coronation of Magdalen, the youthful 
 queen of James the Fifth. This beautiful princess 
 after her marriage, attended by her royal husband, 
 and accoinpanied by the Bishop of Limoges, had 
 sailed from France, and landed in Scotland in 
 May, 1537. On stepping from the ships upon 
 
 * Pitscottie's Iliitory of Scotland, pp. 249, 251.
 
 252 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 the strand, she hfted a liandful of sand to her mouth, 
 and thanking God for her safety, prayed with 
 emphatic sensibility for prosperity to the land 
 and its people. Her countenance and manners 
 were impressed vvitli the most winning sweet- 
 ness, but her charms were already touched by the 
 paleness of disease, and only forty days after she 
 had entered her capital, amid shouts of joy and 
 applause, the voice of universal gratulation was 
 changed into lamentation for her death. 
 
 It was on this occasion that Lindsay composed 
 his pathetic ' Deploratioun for the Death of Quene 
 Magdalen :'— 
 
 Oh, traitor death, whom none may countermand, 
 
 Thou might have sene the preparatioun 
 Maid be the thre estaittis ' of Scotland 
 
 With great comfort and consolatioun 
 In every city, castell, toure, and town, 
 
 And how each noble set his whole intent 
 
 To be excelling in habiliment. 
 
 Theif ! saw thou not the great preparatives"] 
 Of Edinburgh, the noble, famous town ? 
 
 Thou saw the people labouring for their lives 
 To mak triumph, with trump and clarioun ; 
 
 Sic pleasure never was in this regioun, 
 
 As should liave been the day of her entrace, 
 With richest presents given to her Grace. 
 
 It has been well observed by Warton, that the 
 verses which immediately follow, exclusive of this 
 artificial and very poetical mode of introducing a 
 description of those splendid spectacles, instead of 
 saying jdainly and prosaically that the Queen's 
 death interrupted the superb ceremonies which 
 would have attended her coronation, possess the 
 
 * estates.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 2o3 
 
 merit of transmitting the ideas of the times in the 
 exhibition of a royal entertainment*. We have 
 the erection of the costly and gilded scaffolding; 
 fountains spouting wine, troops of actors on each 
 stage, disguised like divine creatures ; rows of lusty 
 fresh gallants, in splendid apparel ; the honest yeo- 
 men and craftsmen, with their long bows in their 
 hands, lightly habited in green ; and the ricber 
 burgesses in their coats of scarlet. Next come — 
 
 Provest and bailUes, lordis of the town, 
 The senators, in order consequent, 
 
 Clad into silk of purple, black, and brown ; 
 Then the great lords that form the parliament, 
 "With many knightly baron and banrent, 
 
 In silk and gold in colouris ^ comfortable : 
 
 By thee, alas ! all turned into sable. 
 
 He next describes the procession of the Lords 
 of Religion, the venerable dignitaries of the 
 Church, surrounded by the inferior clergy; then 
 the din of the trumpets and clarions, the heralds 
 in their " awful vestments," and the macers mar- 
 shalling the procession with their silver wands. 
 
 Then last of all, in order triumphal, 
 That most lUuster Princess honorabill, 
 
 "With her the lovely ladies of Scotland, 
 
 Which should have been a sight most delectabill ; 
 Her raiment to reherse I am nocht habill, 
 
 Of gold and pearl and precious stonis briglit, 
 
 Twinkling like stars in a clear frosty night. 
 
 The Princess was to have walked under a canoi)y 
 of gold borne by burgesses in robes of silk, mar- 
 slialled by the great master of the household, and 
 
 ' colours. 
 * Warton's History of English Poetry, vol. iii., p. 142.
 
 254 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 followed by the King's train. She was to have 
 been received by a troop of beautiful virgins, cry- 
 ing ' Vive la Reine,' 
 
 With a harmonious sound angelical. 
 
 Thou should have heard the ornate oratouris, 
 
 Making her highness salutation, 
 Both of the clergy, town, and councillors, 
 
 With many a notable narration. 
 
 Thou should have seen her coronatioun, 
 In the fair Abbey of the Holyrood, 
 In presence of a mirthful multitude. 
 
 Sic ^ banquetting, sic awful tornaments 
 
 On horse and foot, that time whicli should have been, 
 
 Sic chapel royal, with sic instriunents 
 
 And crafty music singing from the splene^, 
 In this country was never heard nor seen. 
 
 But all this great solemnitie and gam '■', 
 
 Turned thou hast in requiem seternam. 
 
 The poem concludes with a patriotic wish very 
 gracefully exprest. Altlioughthe heavenly flower 
 of France, the flower de luce, be rooted up by 
 death, yet its fragrance will remain ; and, dispers- 
 ing itself through both realms, preserve them in 
 peace and amity: — 
 
 Tho' death has slain the heavenly flower of France, 
 Whicli wedded was unto the thistle keen. 
 
 Wherein all Scotland saw their whole plesance, 
 And made the lion joyful from the splene* ; 
 Tho' root be pull'd, and shed its leaves so green, 
 
 The fragrance ne'er shall die — despite of thee 
 
 'Twill keep these sister realms in peace and amitie. 
 
 Of Lindsay's private life and character we know 
 so little, tliat it is difficult to ascertain whether it 
 was exclusively from deej) convictions on tlie sub- 
 
 ^ such. ^ from the heart. - game. * heart.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 255 
 
 ject of religion, or from more interested motives, 
 tliat with such earnest and early zeal he threw the 
 whole weight of his abilities into the scale of the 
 reformers ; attacking the Catholic clergy and the 
 ancient ceremonies of the Catholic church with a 
 coarseness and bitterness of satire, of which the 
 gross indelicacv renders quotation impossible. 
 That the lives of many of the prelates, the licen- 
 tiousness of the monastic orders, the gross igno- 
 rance inwhich they retained ihe minds of the people, 
 the shutting up the Bible in an unknown language, 
 and the mischievous assumption of temporal power 
 by the Papacv, all called loudly for that reforma- 
 tion, which, under the blessing of God, was intro- 
 duced into the country, no one who tries the sub- 
 ject by the test of Scripture will deny. But, whilst 
 this is admitted, nothing can be more erroneous 
 than the very common idea that, in those dark 
 and troubled times, the name of a reformer was 
 synonymous with truth and religious sincerity, 
 whilst that of a Romanist was only another word 
 for all that was licentious, bigoted, and hypo- 
 critical. It is tlie ])rerogative of an infinitely 
 wise, good, and powerful God to overrule even 
 the most corrupted instruments, so that unknow- 
 ingly they shall accomjjlish liis predestined pur- 
 poses ; and never was this divine attribute more 
 signally displayed than in the history of the Scottish 
 reformation. At first, regarding this great event 
 with a haslv and somewhat superficial eye, we see 
 two great parties, two living phalanxes of human 
 opinion, ranged in mortal opposition to each other ; 
 the one proclaiming themselves to be the congre- 
 gation of the Lord, and not unfrequently brandmg
 
 256 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 their antagonists with the epithet of the Congre- 
 gation of Satan : and the other, vvliilst they repel 
 this odious charoje, arrogatino^ to themselves the 
 exclusive character of being the sole supporters 
 of the Church of Christ. A second and more at- 
 tentive consideration will probably be shocked at 
 the discovery of the selfishness, the hypocrisy, and 
 the sin whicii often lurked under the professions of 
 both. A third, a more profound, a more heavenly- 
 guided examination, will see the working of that 
 Almighty arm, which, in the moral as well as in 
 the physical world, can guide the whirlwind and di- 
 rect the storm ; which educes good out of evil, and 
 compels the wrath of man to praise him. These 
 observations are peculiarly applicable to the satirical 
 effusions of Lindsay ; for, whilst it cannot be denied 
 that his writings had a powerful effect in preparing 
 the way for the reformation, none will be so liavdy 
 as to attempt a defence, and it will even be diffi- 
 cult to discover an extenuation for their occasional 
 grossness and profanity. 
 
 Cast down as he must have been by the sudden 
 death of his scarcely wedded Queen, James V. was 
 not prevented from looking to France for her suc- 
 cessor : and a matrimonial embassy, consisting of 
 the Cardinal Beaton, Lord Maxwell, and the Master 
 of Glencairn, having proceeded to that kingdom, 
 the Scottish King selected Mary of Guise, widow 
 of the Duke of Longueville, who proceeded to 
 Scotland in June, 1538. She was conducted 
 by D'Annabault, an Admiral of France, and hav- 
 ing landed at Balcomie, in Fife, was met by the 
 King, who carried her to St, Andrew's, where the 
 marriage was celebrated with much rejoicing.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 2o7 
 
 Here the talents of Sir David Lindsay were again 
 brought into request in the construction and com- 
 position of tlie court festivals and pageants. ' James,' 
 says Pitscottie, ' entertained his bride with great 
 honors and playes made for her ; and first slie 
 was received at the New Abbey, upon the east side 
 whereof there was made a triumphant arcli by Sir 
 David Lindsay, lyon herauld, wliich caused a 
 great cloud to come out of the heavens, above the 
 gate, and open instantly, and there a])peared a fair 
 lady most like an angel, having the keys of Scot- 
 land in her hand, and delivered them to the Queen, 
 in sign that all the hearts of Scotland were open 
 to receive her Grace, with certain orations and 
 exhortations made by the said Sir David Lindsav 
 to the Queen, instructing her to serve God, and 
 obey her husband according to God's command- 
 ments. Here the King and Queen remained forty 
 days, with great merriness, such as justing, running 
 at the lists, archery, hunting, hawking, with singing 
 and dancing in masquery, and playing, and all 
 other princely games, according to a King and 
 Queen*.' It was during these festivities that the 
 Lion King composed his satirical poem entitled 
 *■ The Justing between James Watson and John 
 Barbour,' in which his object was to ridicule the 
 splendid solemnities and unnecessary bloodshed 
 often caused by the tournaments. It is the least 
 happy of his productions, — ponderous, laboured, 
 and fjir inferior to a contemporary piece written 
 w ith the same design by an English author, ' The 
 Tournament of Tottenham.' It will be seen at 
 
 * Lindsay of Pitscottie, rp- 248, 249. 
 VOL. III. S
 
 258 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 once by a short quotation that Lindsay's measure 
 cramps the easy flow of his liumour : — 
 
 In St. Andrew's, on Whitsun-Monoday, 
 Two campions thair manhood did assay 
 Past to the barres, enarmed, head and hands, 
 Was never seen sic justing in na ^ lands. 
 In presence of the kingis grace and queen, 
 Where mony ^ kistre ladie micht be seen. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 The ane of them was gentle James Watsoun, 
 And Johne Barbour the other campiouu^ ; 
 Unto the king thej' were familiars, 
 And of his chalmer both cubiculars. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Fra time they entered were into the field 
 Full womanlie they weilded spear and schield ; 
 Aud wightly waiffit^ in the wind their heels, 
 Hobbling like cadgers ^, ryding on their creels. 
 
 The poet of ' The Tournament of Tottenham 
 has wisely selected a merrier species of rhythm. 
 
 He that beareth him best in the tournament 
 Shall be granted the gree ^ by the common assent, 
 
 For to win mj' daughter with do\ighty dent, 
 Andcopple my brood hen that was brought out of Kent, 
 And my dim cow ; 
 For no spenee will I spare, 
 For no cattle will I care, 
 He shall have my grey mare and my spotted sow. 
 
 Neither of these parodies, however, possess any' 
 high merit. 
 
 It was, perhaps, a little previous to tliis that 
 Lindsay composed his answer to the King's Flyting. 
 It appears that James had attacked his Lord Lion 
 in some verses, whose ' ornate metre Sir David 
 
 ^ no, ^ many. ^ champion. * waved. 
 
 ^ a pedlar who rides with panniers. ' victory.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 259 
 
 highly commends, although their object was to 
 make him ' abominable in the sight of the ladies, 
 and to banish him, on account of his age and in- 
 firmities, from tlie Court of Venus. In tliese abu- 
 sive poetical contests, entitled ' Flytings,' it is no 
 disparagement to Lindsay when we say he does not 
 equal the multifarious and recondite scurrility of 
 Dunbar or Kennedy ; whilst, if we are to judge of 
 the ' dittay ' of the king by the coarseness and vul- 
 garity of the reply, it is not much to be regretted 
 that the royal Flyting has perished. In his con- 
 cluding stanza, the monarch is highly compli- 
 mented on his poetical talents ; he is styled ' of 
 flowing rhetorick the flower;' nor, — making all 
 due allowance for the strain in which a poet 
 may be supposed to indulge himself when address- 
 ing a prince, — was the praise of the Lion King 
 overstrained. We have seen the vicious and neg- 
 lected education under which the youth of James V. 
 had been blighted; yet there emerged out of this 
 ungenial nurture a character of that strength and 
 vigour which soon enabled him to make up for the 
 time which he had lost. Amongst other qualities, 
 he possessed that genius for the fine arts, and. 
 more especially for poetry and architecture, which 
 had distinguished the first and third James ; and 
 it is easy to see that a congenialitv of taste had 
 recommended the Lion Herald to liisroval master. 
 We learn from Drunnnond that the king ' was 
 naturally given to poesie, as many of his verses 
 yet exstant testify;' and few readers of Scottish 
 poetry are unacquainted with the admirable ballad 
 of ihe ' Gaberlunzieman,' which we owe to this 
 monarch. 
 
 s 2
 
 260 SIR DAVID LINDSAV. 
 
 The pauky auld carle cam o'er the lea, 
 Wi' mony glide eens and daj'S to me, 
 Saying, gude wife, for 30ur courtesy, 
 Will ye lodge a silly auld man. 
 
 The night was cauld ', the carle was wat ', 
 And down ayont^ the ingle ■* he sat ; 
 My daughter's shoulders he gan to clap. 
 And cadgily^ ranted and sang. 
 
 O wow, quoth he, were I as free 
 As first when I saw this countrie, 
 How blythe and merry wad I be. 
 And I would ne'er think lang. 
 
 He grew canty ^ and she grew faiu^ j 
 Eut little did her auld minny ^ ken 
 What these slee^ twa thegither were saying, 
 Whan wooing they were sae thrang'". 
 
 Tlie result of the adventure is well known, in 
 the elopement of the old woman's daughter with 
 the Gaberlunzie. Nothing can be more felicitously 
 described than the consequences of the discoverv. 
 The picture of the auld wife's despair, when she 
 finds that the beggar had decamped, the anticipa- 
 tion that some of their gear must have walked avvay 
 with him, and the complacent awakening of her 
 charitable feelings on finding all safe, are finely 
 true to nature. 
 
 Upon the morn the auld wife raise. 
 And at her leisure put on her claes '^j 
 Syne to the servant's bed she gaes, 
 To speer '^ for the silly puir man. 
 
 She gaed to the bed where the beggar lay : 
 The sfrae'^ was cauld, he was away. 
 She clapp'd her hands, cryed dulefa day ! 
 For some of our gear ** will be gane. 
 
 ^ cold. " wet. ^ beyond. * fire. * merrily. ^ cheerful. 
 
 ^ fond. " mother. * sly. ^^ busy. 
 
 ^' clothes. '* inquire. ^' straw. ^* goods.
 
 SIR D.U'ID LINDSAY. 261 
 
 Some ran to coffers, and some to kists^ ; 
 But nought was stown ^ that coukl be mist. 
 Sche danc'd her lane,* cryed praise be blest ! 
 I've lodg'd a leil * puir man. 
 
 Since naething's awa^, as we can learn, 
 The kirns ^ to churn and milk to earn ^ ; 
 Gae but ^ the house, lass, and wauken the bairn, 
 And bid her come quickly ben". 
 
 It is not too much to say that this picture, and 
 the rest of the ballad, are, in point of humour, 
 superior to anything of Dunbar's or of Lindsay's. 
 From his zeal for the administration of strict justice 
 to the lowest classes of his subjects, and his anxiety 
 personally to inspect the conduct of his officers and 
 judges, it was James's frequent practice to disguise 
 himself and mingle much with the common people. 
 ' The dangers of the wilderness,' says Pinkerton, 
 in one of his Gibijonian flights, ' the gloom of 
 night, the tempests of winter, could not prevent 
 his patient exertions to protect the helpless, to 
 punish the guilty, to enforce the observance of 
 the laws. From horseback he often pronounced 
 decrees worthy of the sagest seat of justice ; and, 
 if overtaken by night, in the progresses which he 
 made through liis kingdom, or separated by design 
 or by accident from his company, he would share 
 the meal of the lowest peasant with as hearty a 
 relish as the feast of his highest noble.' It was on 
 one of these occasions that the following pleasing 
 anecdote is related of him : — ' Being benighted 
 when hunting, he entered a cottage, situated in 
 the midst of a moor, at the foot of the Ochil hills, 
 
 ' chests. ^ stolen. ^ danced alone. ■* honest. 
 
 * away. *' churn. ' ciudle. 
 
 ^ but, the outer apartment of the house. * the inner.
 
 262 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 near Alloa, where, known only as a stranger who 
 had lost his way, he was kin<lly received. To regale 
 their unexpected guest, the gudeman desired the 
 gudewife to fetch the hen that roosted nearest the 
 cock, which is always the plumpest, for the 
 stranger's supper. The king, highly pleased with 
 his night's lodging and hospitable entertainment, 
 told mine host at parting that he should be glad 
 to return his civility, and requested that the first 
 time he came to Stirling he would call at the 
 Castle, and inquire for the gudeman of Ballan- 
 geich, when his astonishment at finding the royal 
 rank of his guest afforded no small amusement to 
 the merry monarch and his courtiers; whilst, to 
 carry on the pleasantry, he was thenceforth desig- 
 nated by James with the title of King of the 
 Moors, ' which name,' says Mr. Campbell, the in- 
 telligent minister, from whose account of the 
 parish of Alloa this passage is taken, ' has de- 
 scended from father to son ever since, the family 
 having remained undisturbed proprietors of the 
 identical spot where the unknown monarch was 
 so hospitably treated.' 
 
 From this short digression on the character and 
 genius of his royal master and patron we return 
 to the Lion King, whom we find ' aggravating his 
 roar' against the extravagance of 'female orna- 
 ment,' by his supplication to the King's Grace 
 against the length of the trains worn by the ladies, 
 and then known by the name of ' sy de-tails.' ' Fe- 
 male attire lias been the marked object of the 
 poet's ridicule in every age. The English an- 
 tiquaries trace the origin of high head-dresses and 
 long trains to the luxurious reign of Richard II.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 263 
 
 Camden tells us that Anne, the wife of this mo- 
 narch, brought in the fashion of high caps and 
 long gowns. We learn from Hemingford that 
 a zealous ecclesiastic of that age wrote a trea- 
 tise, ' Contra Caudas Doniinarum.' Chaucer's 
 parson protests against the ' costlie claithing' both 
 of men and women, especially reprehending the 
 superfluity in ladies' gowns. Lydgate raises his 
 voice against the high attire of women's heads ; 
 Hoccleve against ' waist claithing.' Dunbar lashes 
 the splendour of the ' farthingaillis ;' and, finally, 
 Lindsay presents his supplication against ' syde- 
 tailUs.*' ' Your Majesty,' says he, ' has now intro- 
 duced order and good government both into the 
 highlands and border ; there is yet ana small fault 
 which requires reformation.' 
 
 Sir, tho your Grace has put great order 
 Baith in the higliland and the border, 
 Yet make I sujiphcatioun 
 To have some ret'ormatioun 
 Of ane small fault which is not treason, 
 Tho it be coutrair unto reason, 
 Because the matter is so vile, 
 It may not have an ornate stile j 
 Therefore I pray jour Excellence 
 To hear me with great patience. 
 Sovereign, I mean of these syde-tails. 
 That thro the dust and puddle trails, 
 Three-fjuarters long, behind their heels, 
 Express against all ccmmonweills j 
 Tho bishops in pontificals 
 Have men to bear well up their tails, 
 For dignity of their office. 
 Right so a king or an empress; 
 Howbeit they use such dignity, 
 Conforming to their majesty. 
 
 .* Chalmers' Works of Lindsay, vol. ii. p. 196.
 
 284 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 Tho their robe-royals be upborne, 
 
 I think it is a very scorn 
 
 That every lady of the land 
 
 Should have her side-tail sa trailland ; 
 
 How high soe'er be their estate, 
 
 The queen they should not counterfeit. 
 
 Where'er they go, it may be seen 
 
 How kirk and caiiseway they sweep clean. 
 
 To see I think a pleasant sight, 
 
 Of Italie the ladies bright ; 
 
 In their clothing most triumphant 
 
 Above all other Christian land ; 
 
 Yet when they travel thro the towns, 
 
 Men sees their feet beneath their gowns, 
 
 Four inch above their proper heels, 
 
 Circular about as round as wheels. 
 
 In the same poem Lindsay complains violently 
 of a fashion introduced by the Scottish ladles, in 
 covering up their faces, so that nothing is seen but 
 their eyes. 
 
 Another fault, sir, may be seen. 
 They hide their face all but their een. 
 When gentlemen bids them gude day, 
 Without reverence they slide away : 
 Unless their naked face I see, 
 They get no more gude days fra me. 
 
 These veiled faces of the women excited the 
 indignation of the Parliament of James II., which 
 published an ordinance, " that na woman come 
 to the kirk or market with her face mussal'd, that 
 she may not be kend, under the pain of escheit of 
 the curch." Lindsay's concluding admonition to 
 the king upon the long trains is brief and emphatic. 
 
 Wad yoiu- Grace my counsel tak ', 
 Ane i)r()chuuation ye should mak^, 
 Baith thro the laiul and burrowstouns^, 
 To shaw their face and cut their gowns, 
 
 ' take. ^ make. ' burghs.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 2G5 
 
 The only other work of our autlior's written dur- 
 ing the lifetime of his roval master was his attack 
 upon auricular confession, known by the title of 
 ' Kitty's Confession ;' of which the coarseness is 
 not redeemed either by its wit or its poetry. 
 
 The death of the king in 1542 left Lindsay at 
 full liberty to join the party of the reformers. 
 However disposed James might have been in 1540 
 to favour the schemes vvhicli were then agitated 
 for the reformation of the church, it is well known 
 that he soon after determined upon a war with 
 England, chose for his principal adviser the Cardi- 
 nal Beaton, and adopted principles entirely opposed 
 to all alliance with Henry VIII., or any changes 
 in the ecclesiastical establishment of the kingdom. 
 Lindsay, to a certain degree, must have been in- 
 fluenced by the opinions of a monarch by whose 
 patronage he had been cherished, and in whose 
 service he filled an honourable and ancient office. 
 Now he was at liberty to act uninfluenced by self- 
 interest, without any outrage oflercd to the decen- 
 cies of gratitude or affection, and he hesitated not 
 a moment to unite himself to the party of the 
 reformers ; one of the results of this was his publi- 
 cation of the tragedy of the ' Cardinal.' 
 
 The murder of Beaton, one of the most flagrant 
 acts which has been perpetrated in any age or 
 country, took place, as is well known, at St. 
 Andrew's on the 29th May, 1546. Into its secret 
 history we will not now enter, remarking only that 
 the plot can be traced upon evidence of the most 
 unquestionable authenticity to Henry VIII., that 
 the assassins have been detected in intimate corre- 
 spondence with that monarch, proposing the cut-
 
 266 !-lR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 ting off this able enemy, receiving his approval of 
 the design, supported by his money, and encou- 
 raged by the promise of a shelter in his dominions *. 
 To Lindsay, and many of the reformers, the atro- 
 city of the deed was forgotten in the feelings of 
 triumph and gratulation with which they regarded 
 the removal of their ablest and most determined 
 enemy. The tone of the Lord Lion, however, is 
 more quiet and decorous than that adopted by 
 Knox. Sitting in his oratory, and pondering 
 in a thoughtful and melancholy mood over Boccac- 
 cio's work on the ' Downfall of Princes,' a grisly 
 ghost glides into the chamber with a pale coun- 
 tenance, and the blood flowing from many wounds 
 over its rich ecclesiastical vestments : — 
 
 I sitting so upon my book reading, 
 Richt suddenly afore me did appear 
 
 Ane woiindit man abundantlie bleiding. 
 With visage pale, and with a deidly cheer, 
 Seeming a man of twa-and-fifty year, 
 
 In raiment red, clothed full courteously 
 
 Of velvet and of satin cramosye. 
 
 This, as may be easily anticipated, is the appari- 
 tion of the once proud Cardinal, who is made to 
 rehearse his own story, to expose his ambition, 
 prodigality, and oppression ; from which he takes 
 occasion to admonish his brethren the prelates 
 upon the criminal courses in which they indulged, 
 and to enter a solemn caveat to all earthly princes 
 against their indiscriminate presentation of eccle- 
 siastical benefices to ignorant and unworthy pastors. 
 
 Mak him bishop that prudentlie can preich 
 As doth pertain till his vocation ; 
 
 * Appendix to the Life of Sir Thomas Craig, No. I.
 
 SIR DAVID LIXDSAY. 267 
 
 Ane persoun quhilk his parochouii can teiche, 
 
 Gar vicars mak dew ministratioua, 
 
 And als, I mak you sujiplicatioun, 
 Mak your abbottis of richt religious men, 
 Quilk Christis law can to their convent ken. 
 
 Any further quotation from this piece is unneces- 
 sary. 
 
 In the pages of our contemporary historians dur- 
 ing this period, we see so little of the private life 
 and manners of the times, that everything must be 
 welcome which can supply this defect ; and in such 
 a light ' Lindsay's History of Squire Meldrum ' is 
 particularly valuable and interesting. It was 
 composed about the year 1550, and contains a 
 biography of a gallant feudal squire of those days, 
 drawn up from his own recital by the aflectionate 
 hand of his friend and contemporary. 
 
 With help of Clio I intend, 
 
 Sa Minerve would me sapience lend, 
 
 Ane noble Squyer to descrive, 
 
 Whose douchtiness during his lyfe 
 
 I knew myself, thereof I write. 
 
 And all his deeds I dare indite, 
 
 And secrets that I did not know 
 
 That noble Squire to me did show. 
 
 So I intend the best I can 
 
 Describe the deeds, and eke the man*. 
 
 We have accordingly the birth, parentage, edu- 
 cation, adventures, death, and testament of ' Ane 
 noble and vailiant Squire, William Meldrum, 
 umquhyle (lately) Laird of Cleish and Binns.' 
 AVe first learn that he was of noble birth. 
 
 Of noblesse lineally desceudit 
 Quhilk their gude fame has aye defendit. 
 Gude Williame Meldrum he was named, 
 Whose honour bricht was ne'er defamed. 
 
 * Poems, vol. ii., p. --!-'•
 
 268 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 After having been educated in all the exercises 
 of cliivalry, this noble squire began his ' vassalage' 
 at twenty years of age. His portrait at this time 
 is prepossessing. His countenance was handsome, 
 his expression cheerful and joyous, his stature of 
 middle height, his figure admirably proportioned, 
 yet strong and athletic ; his manners were amiable, 
 and his love of honor and knightly deeds so ardent 
 that he determined to win his spurs both in Eng- 
 land and in France, 
 
 Because he was so courageous, 
 Ladies of him was amorous. 
 He was ane lover for a dame, 
 Meek in chalmer hke a lame ; 
 But in the field ane campioun, 
 Rampand lyke ane wild lyoun *. 
 
 At this moment James IV. had despatched, a 
 fleet to assist his ally the King of France against 
 the attack of Henry VIII. It conveyed an army 
 of three thousand men, commanded by the Earl of 
 Arran, whilst the office of Admiral was entrusted to 
 Gordon of Letterfury. Under Arran young Squire 
 Meldrum determined to commence his warlike 
 education, and an adventure soon occurred which 
 is strongly characteristic of the times. In passing 
 the coast of Ireland a descent was made upon 
 Carrickfergus, whicli was taken and sacked with 
 great barbarity. In the midst of those dreadful 
 scenes which occur under such circumstances, a 
 young and beautiful lady had been seized by some 
 of the brutal soldiery, and was discovered by Mel- 
 drum imploring them to spare her life, and what 
 was dearer to her than life, her honour. They had 
 stript her of her rich garments, and she stood 
 
 * Poems, vol. ii., p. '253.
 
 SIR DAVID LIXDSAY. 2G9 
 
 lielpless and almost naked uiien tliis brave youth 
 flew to her assistance, and upbraided tliem for their 
 cruelty and meanness. He was instantly attacked 
 by the ruffians, but the struggle ended in his 
 slaying them both, and saving the lady from the 
 dreadful fate which seemed impending over her. 
 Tlie description of her dress is graceful and 
 curious : — 
 
 Her kirtlewas of scarlet red, 
 Of tjold ane sjarland on her head 
 Decorit with enamelyue , 
 Belt and brochis of silver fyue ; 
 
 Scarce had Squire Meldrum rescued tiiis beauti- 
 ful and unknown lady than the trumpet sounded, 
 and it became his duty to liurry on board. But 
 his noble and generous conduct had made an im- 
 pression on her which can be easily imagined. 
 To be saved from death and dishonour, to see lier 
 deliverer only for a moment, but to see enough of 
 him in that brief interval to be convinced that he 
 was the very mirror of youthful beauty and valor, 
 all this was what few gentle hearts could resist, 
 and we do not wonder when she throws herself in 
 a transport of gratitude and admiration at his feet, 
 informs him of the high rank of lier father, and 
 in very unequivocal terms offers liim her hand and 
 her heart. But it might not be ; Squire Meldrum 
 dared not desert the banner of his lord the high 
 admiral; he must pass on to take his fortune in 
 France. ' Ah !' said the lady, ' if it must be thus, 
 let me dress myself as thy page, and follow thee 
 but for love V ' Nay ; thou art too young to be 
 thus exposed to danger,' said Meldrum ; ' but let 
 
 ^ fuamel.
 
 270 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 this warlike expedition be brought to an end, and 
 when the peace is made, I will be right glad to 
 xnarry you.' 
 
 Ladie, T say you in certane, 
 Ye shall have lufe for lufe agaue. 
 Trewlie unto my lifis end. 
 Farewell, T you to God commend. 
 
 Meldrum now embarks, after having received a 
 love-token from his mistress, a rich ruby set in a 
 ring, and the fleet reaches the shores of Brittany, 
 where the army is disembarked, and the Squire 
 entrusted with the command of five hundred men. 
 ' Harry the Eighth of England,' pursues the his- 
 tory, ' was at that time lying with his army at 
 Calais, making war on the realm of France ; and 
 although there was no pitched battle, yet daily 
 skirmishing took place between the hosts, for the 
 King of France with his great army was encamped 
 near hand in Picardy. Squire ^Meldrum hearing of 
 this, immediately chose a hundred spears, the best 
 men in his company, and riding to the French 
 quarters, was courteously received by the King.' It 
 chanced that at this moment there was amongst the 
 English a hardy and excellent soldier, named in the 
 story Maister Talbart, probably Talbot, who used 
 to stalk about with * silver tokens of war ' in his 
 bonnet, speaking somewhat lightly of the French, 
 and proclaiming that, for his lady's sake, he was 
 ready to break his spear with any man who would 
 accept his challenge. His defiance had not been 
 answered previous to IMeldrum's arrival in the 
 camp. Talbart next addresses the Scots, and the 
 young squire, without a moment's hesitation^, 
 takes up his gage : — .
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 271 
 
 And when the Squj^er MeliU-um 
 Hard tell this campioun was come, 
 Richt hastilj' he past him till 
 Demandin|T him what was his will? 
 Forsooth, 1 can find none, quoth he, 
 On horse or foot dare fecht ' me. 
 Then, said he, it wer great schame 
 Without battle ye should pass hame^, 
 Therefore to God I make a vow 
 The morne mj'self shall fight with yow. 
 
 Talbot, an experienced champion, with an iron 
 frame and great skill in his weapons, dissuades the 
 young adventurer from a contest in which he re- 
 presents him as certain to lose his life. Meldrum, 
 however, derides his assurance, and assures him 
 that, with the assistance of God, he trusts to tame 
 his pride : — 
 
 I trust that God shall be my guide, 
 And give me grace to stanche thy pride, 
 Tho thou wert great as Gow Mak Morue. 
 
 The Englishman now returns to his brethren 
 in the camp, and informs them of the combat 
 which he is to have on the morrow with a young 
 Scot, whose pride he means to take down. 
 
 He showed his brethren of his land 
 How ane yoimg Scot had tacu on hand 
 To fecht with him beside IMontreuil, 
 Bot I trust he shall pruife the full. 
 Quoth they, the morn that sail we ken, 
 The Scots are haldin ^ hardie men*. 
 
 ' AVhen,' continues Lindsay, ' it was reported 
 to Monsieur D'Aubigny tliat the squire had taken 
 on hand to fight with Talbart, he greatly com- 
 
 ^ fight. ^ home. ^ esteemed. 
 
 * Poems, vol. ii., p. 257.
 
 272 SIR DAVID LIXDSAY. 
 
 mended his courage, and requesting his presence 
 in his tent, interrogated him upon the subject. ' 
 Meldrum then modestly acknowledged that lie 
 had for tlie lionour of Scotland undertaken that 
 battle ; adding, that were he as well horsed as he 
 was armed, he had little doubt of the victory. 
 Upon this D'Aubigny sent tlirough the host, and 
 collecting a liundred liorse, bade the squire select 
 the steed which pleased him best. He did so ac- 
 cordingly, and lightly leaj)ing on his back, pushed 
 liim to his speed and checking him in liis career, 
 declared that no horse in the world could run more 
 pleasantly. The ])icture of the youtliful warrior 
 setting out for the combat all armed except the 
 head, with his hehnet borne before him by his 
 squire, is charmingly given : — 
 
 He took his leave, and went to rest. 
 Then early in the morn him drest 
 Wantonly in his warlike weed, 
 All bravely armed, except the head. 
 He leapt upon his coarser good, 
 And proudly in his stirrups stood. 
 His spear and shield and helm was borne 
 By squyers that rode him beforne ; 
 A velvet cap on head he bare, 
 A coif of gold confined his hair. 
 * » * * * 
 
 The Squyer bore into his shield 
 An otter in a silver field. 
 His horse was barded full rlchlie. 
 Covered with satin cramosie. 
 Then forward rode this campiouu 
 With sound of trumpet and clarioun, 
 And speedilie spurrit o'er the bent, 
 Like Mars, the God armipotent. 
 
 Talbart, in tlie mean time, is greatly disturbed 
 by a dream, in vvliich he sees a great black otter
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 273 
 
 rise from the sea, and fiercely attack Iiim, pulling 
 him down from his horse. He relates the vision 
 to his friends, who ridicule his consternation ; and, 
 ashamed of his weakness, he arms himself at all 
 points, and mounting his horse, proceeds to the 
 lists. The arrangement of the lists, and the meet- 
 ing of the combatants, is extremely spirited. 
 
 Than clariouns and trumpettis blew, 
 And WL'irioiiris ^ mony hither drew ; 
 On everie side come nionie^ man, 
 To behald wha the battel wan^. 
 The field was in a medow grene, 
 Quhare everie man micht Weill be seue. 
 The heraldis put thame sa in ordour, 
 That no man past within the bordour, 
 Nor preissit to come within the urrene, 
 Bot heraldis and the campiounis kene. 
 The ordour and the circumstance 
 AVer lang to put in remembrance. 
 Quhen ther twa nobill men of weir 
 Wer Weill accouterit in thair geir'', 
 And in their handis strang bourdounes', 
 Than trumpets blew, and clariounis ; 
 And heraldis cryit, hie on hichf, 
 Now let them go — God schaw the richt^. 
 Than speedilie thay spurrit their hors. 
 And ran to uther" with sic fors, 
 That baith thair speiris in sindrie flaw. 
 
 Thus slightly modernised. 
 
 Then clarions bray'd and trumpets blew, 
 And many a warrior hither drew, 
 Princes and peers, a glorious sight, 
 To crowd the lists and view the fight. 
 The field was fenc'd in meadow green, 
 Where every man might well be seen, 
 
 ' warriors. ^ many a man. ^ won. 
 
 * warlike habiliments. ^ strong spears. " heiglif. 
 
 ' the right* « against each other. 
 
 VOL. III. X
 
 274 SIR, DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 All duly marshall'd row on row, — 
 An awful and resplendent show. 
 To pass the barrier none might dare, 
 The champions twain alone were there, 
 In burnish'd weed, from head to heel, 
 Enclos'd in panoply of steel. 
 Sudden the trumpets sounded clear; ' 
 In rest was plac'd the ready spear; 
 The solemn heralds cried on height, 
 Pass on, and God defend the right ! 
 Then flying forward, fleet as wmd, 
 With slacken'd rein and head inclin'd, 
 Unswerving, and with giant force, 
 The warriors met in middle course*. 
 
 After an obstinate contest Talbart's dream is 
 realised : he is vanquished, and thrown to the 
 earth with such force, that his companions believe 
 him dead. ' Then it was,' says the legend, ' that the 
 squire leaped lightly from his horse, and taking 
 the wounded knight in his arms, courteously sup- 
 ported and comforted him ; but when he looked 
 up and saw his shield, with the device of an otter 
 upon a silver field, " Ah," said he, " now hath 
 my dream proved true : your's is the otter that 
 lialh caused me to bleed ; but never shall I just 
 again. Here, therefore, according to our agree- 
 ment, I yield to thee both horse and harness." ' 
 
 Then said the squire most courteously, 
 I thank yon, brother, heartily; 
 But nothing from thee must I take, — 
 1 fight for love and honour's sake ; 
 "Who covets more is but a churl, 
 Be he a belted knight or earl. 
 
 Delighted with these noble sentiments, the cap- 
 
 * Poems, vol. ii., p. 261. The verses are slightly altered 
 and modernised. *
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 275 
 
 tain of the English takes Meldrum by the hand, 
 and leads him into tlie pavilion, where he is served 
 with a sumptuous collation, and highly commended 
 by all for his valour and generosity. Meanwhile, 
 Talbard's wounds are dressed ; and the squire, 
 before taking his leave, embraces him with ten- 
 derness, and bids him be of good cheer, for this 
 was but the chance of arms. He then mounts 
 his horse, and returns to his own camp, where he 
 is received with much honour. 
 
 From Picardy the squire proceeded to Nor- 
 mandy, as the navy of Scotland was still lying on 
 that coast ; and finding little opportunity of gain- 
 ing distinction, he put himself at the head of a 
 company of a hundred and sixty men-at-arms, — 
 
 Enarmed well, like men of weir, 
 
 With hakbut, culvering, pike, and spear ; 
 
 and returned to Amiens, where Lewis of France 
 was then encamped. As the war had terminated, 
 however, he found no military employment ; and 
 although much courted in France, and ' asked in 
 marriage by a lady of great possessions,' youth, 
 made him so ' liyht-headed,' that he did not 
 choose to wed ; and having fitted out a ship 
 for himself and his soldiers, well furnished with 
 * artillery, bow, and speir,' besides the best wine 
 that he could select, he set sail from Dieppe for 
 Scotland. On the voyage, he was borne down 
 upon by an English privateer, of far greater size 
 and strength than his own vessel ; yet he disdained 
 to attempt an escape; and, alter a desperate en- 
 gagement, captured the hostile galzeon, by board- 
 • ing her. He then continued his voyage ; and, on 
 
 T 2
 
 •276 SIR DWID LINDSAY. 
 
 his arrival in Scotland, was welcomed home with 
 miicli delight, and feasted by all his friends. 
 
 Out thro the land then sprang the fame 
 That Squyer Meldnim was come hanae. 
 Quhen they heard tell how he debaitit, 
 "With every man he was so traitit, 
 That when he travelled thro the land 
 They feasted him fra hand to hand. 
 With great solace, till, at the last, 
 Out thro Strathern the sqiiver past ; 
 And as it did approach the night, 
 Of ane castell he got a sight, 
 Beside a mountain in a vale ; 
 And there, after his long travail, 
 He piirposit him to repois ^, 
 "\Miereat his men did much rejois*. 
 Of this triumphant pleasant place 
 A lovely ladie mistress was, 
 "Whose lord was dead short time before, 
 "Wherethrow her dolour was the more ; 
 But yet she took some comforting 
 To hear the pleasant dulce talking 
 Of this young squyer, of his chance, 
 And how it fortuned him in France. 
 
 The manners of the times are strongly marked 
 in the passage describing the squire's bedchamber. 
 
 He found his chalmer weiU arravit 
 With domik •* work, on board displayit. 
 Of venisoun he had his waill', 
 Gude aquavitse, wine, and aill, 
 "With noble comfits, bran, and geilP; 
 And so the squyer fared right weill. 
 
 This adventure concluded, as might be expected, 
 in the gallant Meldrum gaining the heart of this 
 voung widow ; but discovering that he is related 
 
 ^ repose. - rejoice. ® naperv. 
 
 * choice. ^ brawn and jelly.
 
 SIR DAVID LIXDSAY. 277 
 
 to her late husband, they delay the marriage till a 
 dispensation can be procured from Rome. Mean- 
 while, as they have plighted their troth to each 
 other, he remains at the castle. 
 
 And sa he levit pleasantlie 
 Ane certain time with his ladie : 
 Sometime with hawking and hunting, 
 Sometime with wanton liorse rinning ; 
 And sometime like ane man of weir, 
 Full galzeardlie wald rin ane speir. 
 He wan the prize above them all, 
 Baith at the butts and the futeball ; 
 Till every solace he was abill. 
 At cartis and dyce, at chess and tabill ; 
 And gif ye list, I shall yow tell 
 How he beseigit ane castell. 
 
 Into the particulars of this siege we may 
 not enter ; but messengers having arrived in 
 Strathern to inform his beautiful mistress that a 
 baron, named Macpharlane, had violently occupied 
 one of her castles in the Lennox, the squire de- 
 clares his determination to proceed instantly 
 against him. 
 
 Intill his hart there grow sic ire, 
 That all his body brint like fire. 
 And swore it sukl full dear be said, 
 Gif he should find him in that hald '. 
 
 The squire now arms himself, assembles his men, 
 and with his lady's right-hand glove in his helmet, 
 rides day and night till he reaches the castle, 
 which, after an obstinate defence, he carries by 
 escalade, exhibiting as much clemency in sparing 
 
 * Swore if he found him in that hold it should be a dear 
 purchase.
 
 278 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 Macpharlane when he lay in his power, as he had 
 shown courage and martial skill in the siege. 
 
 And so ihis sqiiyer amorous 
 Seij^fit and won the ladies house, 
 And left therein a capitane, 
 Then to Strathern returned ao;ane, 
 Quhare that he by his fair ladie 
 Receivit was full pleasantlie *. 
 
 In the midst of this solace there occurs a sudden 
 and melancholy change, which is thus sweetly in- 
 troduced by Lindsay — 
 
 Of warldlie joy it is weill keun'd 
 That sorrow bene the fatal end ; 
 For jealousy and false envy 
 Did him persew richt cruellie. 
 I marvel not tho it be so. 
 For they were ever lovers' foe. 
 
 Stirling of Keir, a cruel knight, who possessed 
 an estate near this lady's castle, in Strathern, had, 
 it seems, determined that a gentleman of his ac- 
 quaintance should marry her, and disappointed in 
 his hopes, by the arrival of Squire Meldrum, he 
 lays a cowardly plot for his destruction. Accord- 
 ingly, when about to cross the ferry between Leith 
 and Fife, on his return from Edinburgh, where he 
 had been called by business, he finds himself beset 
 by his mortal enemy, with a party of sixty men. 
 Yet, although only eight servants were in his com- 
 pany, such is his indomitable valour, that he dis- 
 dains to fly ; and, after a desperate contest, is 
 left for dead on the field, bathed in his blood, and 
 
 * Poems, vol. ii. p. 289,
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 279 
 
 almost cut to pieces by unnumbered wounds. 
 Anthonv D'Arcy, Seigneur de la Bastie, a French 
 knight of great valour and accomplishment, was, 
 at this moment, lieutenant or sub-governor of 
 Scotland, appointed by the Duke of Albany, then 
 regent. He happened to be passing with his suite 
 near the spot where the unfortunate JMeldrum had 
 been left by his cruel assailants, and instantly 
 ordering a pursuit, and personally engaging in 
 it, he apprehended the assassin, and had him 
 lodged in ward before a few hours had elapsed. 
 Before, however, the trial came on, he was himself 
 most cruelly waylaid and murdered, by Hume of 
 Wedderburn ; and Meldrum, who now slowly re- 
 covered from his wounds, had the mortification to 
 see his mortal enemy liberated from confinement, 
 and to hear that his lovely mistress had been com- 
 pelled to marry, in spite of the strongest resistance 
 on her side. "When the squire lay so grievously 
 wounded in his lodging, the wisest physicians in 
 the country are described as flocking unsought to 
 give him their advice ; and so ably did he profit 
 by their attendance and instructions, that, in the 
 course of his recovery, he himself became an ex- 
 jiert ' leech,' and greatly benefited the poor by 
 prescribing for them. 
 
 The j^reatest leeches of the land 
 Came to him all without command, 
 And all practikis on him provit, 
 Because he was sa weill helovit ; 
 They took on hand his life to save, 
 And he them gave what they would have ; 
 But he sa lang lay into pane. 
 He turned to be aue chirurgiane ;
 
 280 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 And als by his natural inc^yne ^, 
 He learnd the art of medicine. 
 He saw them on his bodye wrocht, 
 Quarefor the science was dearlie bought. 
 But afterward when he was haill 
 He sparit na cost, nor yet travail, 
 To prove his prackticks on the pure, 
 And on them workit many a cure *. 
 
 Greatly weakened in his constitution by his 
 wounds, but bearing a liigh reputation, not only 
 for warlike experience, but civil wisdom, Mel- 
 drum was courted by an " aged lord, who de- 
 lighted in his company, and prevailed on to become 
 his chief marshal!, and auditor of his accounts." 
 He was also made sherift'-depute of Fife, and 
 proved not only an equal judge and generous friend 
 to the poor, but, from his wonderful knowledge 
 of medicine, he delighted in visiting those who 
 were sick or wounded, and distributing to all his 
 advice and his medicines without recompense. 
 The conclusion shows in a very pleasing manner 
 his faithfulness to those vows which he had so 
 solemnly made to his betrothed mistress in Strath- 
 <5rn — 
 
 Then each year, for his lady's sake, 
 
 A banijiiet royal he would make, 
 
 "With wild fowl, venison, and wine, 
 
 AVith tart, and flam, and frutaj^e fine; 
 
 Of bran or f^eili there was no scant, • 
 
 And Ippocras he wald not want. 
 
 I have seen sittinj:^ at his tabill 
 
 Lords and lairdis honorabill, 
 
 AVitb knif^htis and mony a i^ay squyar, 
 
 "Which were too lang for to declair; 
 
 ' genius. 
 * Poems, vol. ii. p. 300.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 281 
 
 With mirth, musick, and minstrelsy. 
 
 All this he did for his ladie, 
 
 And for her sake, durinji; his life, 
 
 Wad never be weddid til ane wife. 
 
 And when he did decline to age 
 
 He faillit neer of his courage. 
 
 Of ancient stories for to tell, 
 
 Above all uther he did precell ; 
 
 So that everilk creature 
 
 To hear him speak took great pleasure. 
 
 After some years this illustrious squire was 
 seized with a mortal illness, and expired at tlie 
 Strutlier in Fife, the castle of his noble friend and 
 patron, the Earl of Crawfurd. During his sick- 
 ness, however, he had leisure to write his testa- 
 ment, which has been thrown into verse by Sir 
 David Ijindsay with much spirit and beauty. It is 
 a remarkable production, and, independent of its 
 poetical merit, which is of a high kind, may be 
 studied with advantage as an authentic picture of 
 a dying warrior of those times. It breathes from 
 beginning to end the soul of chivalry. First, 
 we have the squire's acknowledgment of the insta- 
 bility and brevity of all human existence ; — my 
 body, says he, is now weak, I plainly feel I am 
 about to pay my debt to Nature ; but I liere resign 
 to God my s])irit which he hath made immortal. 
 
 My spreit hartlie I recommend, 
 
 In manns tuas, Domine; 
 My hope to thee is to ascend, 
 
 Rex (piia redimisti nie. 
 From sin resurrexi^ti me. 
 
 Or else my saul had been forlorn ! 
 With sapience docuisti me — 
 
 Blest be the hour that tboii wast born. 
 
 Having declared his faith and trust in God, he
 
 282 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 proceeds to nominate three noble lords, all of the 
 name of Lindsay, to be his executors ; — David, 
 Earl of Crawfurd, John, Lord Lindsay, his ' mas- 
 ter special,' and Sir Walter Lindsay, Lord St. John, 
 a noble travelled knight. ' I do so,' says he, 
 ' because the surname of Lindsay never failed to 
 the crown, and will never fail to me.' His in- 
 junctions now become minute. ' Dispose,' says 
 he, ' of my wealth to my next of kin, according to 
 your pleasure. It is well known I was never ad- 
 dicted to heaping or hoarding. I cared no more 
 for gold than for glass. And ye, my dear friends, 
 who are my relatives by blood, fail not, I beseech 
 you, to be present at my funeral feast. Ye know 
 how magnanimously I have defended that family 
 fame which is dear to us all. As to the disposal 
 of my body, it is my command that ye first disem- 
 bowell it, and, having washed it well with wine, 
 enclose it in a costly carved shrine of cedar or 
 Cyprus, anointing it with delicious balm, cinnamon, 
 and the most precious spices.' 
 
 In cases twain, of gold and precious stones, 
 Enshrine my heart and tongue right craftily, 
 
 Then raise a monument ahove my bones 
 In holy abbaye, placM trium])hantly ; 
 Of marble blocks insculptur'd curiously ; 
 
 Therein my coffin and my dust enclose, 
 
 Within these solemn precincts to repose. 
 
 There succeeds a curious specimen of the 
 general belief in judicial astrology in these times. 
 ' It is certain,' says the squire, ' that the con- 
 stellations of Mars, Venus, and Mercury pre- 
 sided over my nativity. To their influence I owe 
 my fame in foreign lands. Wherefore,' says he,
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 283 
 
 * I leave my body to Mars, my ornate tongue to 
 Mercury, and my faithful heart to Venus.' This 
 conduct is eulogised by Lindsay as devout, pious, 
 and charitable, so there evidently appeared nothing 
 improper in this Pagan style of te&tament, which to 
 our ears sounds so profane and unchristian. The 
 same strange mixture of warlike triumph, and 
 joyous devotion, of Christian and c'assical imagery 
 runs through the whole. ' Let me be buried,' says 
 he, ' in everyway like a warrior; let there be no 
 monks or friars, or anything in a black livery about 
 my beir.' 
 
 Duill ^ weeds I think hj-pocrisie, and scorne 
 With heudis heklit^ doiin athwart their eue^, 
 
 Bj' men of arms my hody shall be borne ; 
 Into that band see that no black be seen, 
 But let the liveries be red, blue, and green. 
 
 The funeral procession, or rather the martial 
 triumph, is directed to be under the heraldic care 
 of his friend. Sir David Lindsay. 
 
 My friend, Sir David Lindsay, of the Mount, 
 
 Shall put in order my processioun. 
 I will that there pass foremost in <he front. 
 
 To bear mj^ pensil, a stout champion, 
 
 With him a band of Mars religion — 
 That is to say, instead of monks and friers, 
 In gude ordour ane thousand hagbutteirs. 
 
 Next them a thousand footmen in a rout, 
 
 With spear and shield, with buckler, bow, and brand, 
 
 In liveries rich, young stalwart men and stout; 
 Thirdly, in ordir there shall come a band 
 Of warriors, that know well to wraik their harmes*— 
 
 Their captain with my standard in his hand : 
 
 On barbed steeds a hundred men-at-arms. 
 
 * avenge their wrongs. 
 
 ^ eyesi
 
 284 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 It would be tedious to marshal the whole pro- 
 cession. The silver banner with the three sable 
 otters, tlie helmet carried by a knight, the sword, 
 gloves of plate, shield, and the coat armour, are 
 all dwelt on by the dying squire with affectionate 
 earnestness ; and their places fixed for them 
 in the procession. Then follow his barbed horse, 
 and his spear carried by some brave man of 
 his own kindred. After which the procession 
 is to be closed by a multitude of earls, lords, and 
 knights, clothed in the livery of the deceased, and 
 bearing each a laurel branch in their hands — as a 
 proof that the warrior, whom they are carrying to 
 the grave, never fled from any field, or yielded 
 himself prisoner to an enemy. 
 
 Each baroa bearing in his hand on high 
 
 A laurel bough, ensign of victory, 
 Because I never lied out of the field, 
 
 Nor yet as prisoner to my foes did yield. 
 
 Having arrived at tlie cathedral, after the gos- 
 pel and the offertory, the squire directs an orator 
 to ascend the pul])it, where, with ornate eloquence 
 and at great leisure he is to read the book of the 
 legend of his life from end to end. ' Then,' says 
 he, ' enclose my body in its sepulture, but let no 
 knell be rung.' 
 
 Let not be rung for me that day soul knells, 
 But great caunounis gar them crack for bells. 
 
 I have given a full, but, I trust, not a tedious 
 analysis of this remarkable poem, from a con- 
 viction that in all essential particulars tlie his- 
 tory is real, and that it presents an accurate picture 
 of the mariners and principles of the age, although
 
 SIR DAVID LI.XDSAY. 285 
 
 richly coloured, and given with that freshness and 
 spirit which most matters of fact receive when they 
 pass through the mind of a man of genius. The 
 reader will perhaps be amused at the high praises 
 which the squire bestows u])on himself. But we 
 must recollect that Lindsay somewhat inartificially 
 places his own sentiments in the mouth of his 
 hero. Thus, in the conclusion of his 'Testament,' 
 where he introduces an adieu to the noble lords and 
 ladies of his acquaintance, the dying Meldrum, 
 with complacent vanity, and a strongly expressed 
 conviction of his own delightful and amiable qua- 
 lities, which runs through the whole story of his 
 life, considers it certain that all will be inconso- 
 lable for his departure. The fairest eyes of France 
 will be dimmed by weeping; the beauteous stars of 
 London eclipsed by sorrow, and the lamps of love- 
 liness, which illuminate the night of the north, 
 shrouded in the darkness of grief. But most 
 heartily does he bid farewell to the fairest of them 
 all — the star of Strathern : — 
 
 Ten thousand times adieu, above them all, 
 Star of Stratherne, my Lady Sovcreii^n, 
 For whom I shed my blood with mickle pain. 
 
 Brethren in arms, adieu — in {general 
 
 For me I wist your hearts will be full sore ; 
 
 All true companions, into special, 
 I say to you, adieu for evermore 
 
 Till that we meet again with God in gloir. 
 Sir (lurate — now give me incontinent 
 My crisme, with the holy sacrament. 
 
 Although the writings of Lindsay may be consi- 
 dered no mean instrument in preparing the way for 
 the reformation in Scotland, it is remarkable that 
 we lose siuht of their author when the revolution
 
 286 SIR DAVID LINDSAY, 
 
 began in earnest ; this was, perhaps, to his honor, 
 as it affords a strong presumption of the purity of 
 his motives, and the disinterestedness of his con- 
 victions. He died indeed before the final and happy 
 triumph of Protestantism over the Romanist reli- 
 gion, but much progress had been made previous to 
 his death, and we might have expected that the fer- 
 vour of his zeal, the vigour of his talents, his ex- 
 perience and knowledge of liuman nature, and the 
 considerable station which he already occupied, 
 would have pushed him into the foreground as one 
 of the most active partisans in promoting those 
 mighty changes which convulsed the country. 
 But it was not so, and we are left to conjecture 
 the causes which made him a spectator rather than 
 an actor. It is not improbable that they are to 
 be found in that penetration, which, at an early 
 period, detected the selfish motives which prompted 
 many of tliose persons vvlio became the lords of 
 the congregation ; and that whilst he fervently 
 prayed for tlie success of the work, he shrunk, with 
 the feelings of a man of probity and virtue, from 
 an over-promiscuous association with some of 
 its agents. Age, too, had by this time checked 
 the power of action, and cooled the fiery intensity 
 of ambition, whilst heavenly wisdom had purified 
 and irradiated his mind. The world appeared to 
 liim in its true colours, a scene of sorrow and 
 vicissitude, the theatre of successful guilt and 
 neglected virtue ; the cradle, for a few short hours, 
 of youtliful happiness ; the grave, for many a long 
 yearj of withered and disappointed hope ; a once 
 beautiful and blessed scene, on which man was the 
 friend of God, and reflected, in his life and cha-
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 287 
 
 racter, the image of his Maker, clianged by sin 
 into a gloomy wilderness, covered by the awful 
 shadow of the divine vengeance ; instructed by 
 such lessons of Christian philosophy, and full of 
 heavenly musings, Lindsay, to use his own sweet 
 language, appears to have 
 
 ' stood content 
 With quiet life and sober rent ; 
 And ta'en him, in liis latter age, 
 Unto his simple hermitage.' 
 
 It was, however, no idle or unprofitable retreat, 
 for in it he produced his longest, and, in many re- 
 spects, his most useful work, ' The Monarchic.' 
 It embraces the history of the most famous mo- 
 narchies that have existed in the world ; but, with 
 a similar love of tracing the stream of time to its 
 fountain head, which is so remarkable a charac- 
 teristic in the Gothic chronicles upon ihe same sub- 
 ject, it commences with the creation, and only 
 concludes with the general judgment. To enter 
 into any laboured critique, or analysis of so inter- 
 minable and multifarious a work, would exhaust 
 even the most gentle reader. The author throws 
 liis narrative into the form of a dialogue between 
 Experience and a Courtier, opening the poem with 
 a sweet, rural landscape. Disturbed by iiis morn- 
 ing ponderings on the com})licated distresses of 
 this mortal scene, he rises early from his couch, 
 and walks forth, on a May morning, into a de- 
 lightful park — 
 
 Somewhat before fresh Phcebus uprising. 
 Where he might hear the free birds sweetly sing; 
 Into a park he past for his pleasure, 
 Decorit weill by crait of darae Nature.
 
 288 SIR DAVID LIXDSAY. 
 
 The whole scene was beautiful. The dews 
 hung like orient pearls upon the branches, the 
 tender flowers, beginning to open, exhaled their 
 richest fragrance. The lord of day, springing up 
 from the gorgeous east, ascended his throne, in 
 his glorious golden robes, whilst Cynthia waxed 
 paler, and, at last, her silver crescent faded away 
 into empty air ; the birds, awakening, sang their 
 morning welcome to the day, and all nature seemed 
 to rejoice : but the charming scene failed to in- 
 spire with mirth the pensive bosom of the aged 
 poet. He refuses to address any invocation to the 
 fabled muses of Greece or Rome. ' Such a strain,' 
 says he, ' befits not a man mourning over the mi- 
 series of this world, and shut up in a vale of sor- 
 row. I call no fabled muses, Minerva, Melpo- 
 mene, Euterpe, or even Apollo' — 
 
 For I did never sleep on Parnaso, 
 
 As did the jioetys of lang tyme ago; 
 
 And speciallie the ornate Ennius. 
 
 Nor ever drank I with Hesiodus, 
 
 Of Greece, the perfect poet soverane — 
 
 Of HeHcon, the source of eloquence — 
 
 Of that mellifluous famous fresh fountane ; 
 
 Quharefore to them I owe no reverence, 
 
 I purpose not to make obedience 
 
 To such mischeant muses, nor mahmutrie 
 
 Afore time usit intill poetrie. 
 
 ' Were I,' he continues, ' to invoke any, it would 
 be reverend TJhamnusia, the goddess of despite, but 
 I scorn,' continues he, ' all such heathenish inven- 
 tions, and only implore the great God, who created 
 lieaven and earth, to impart to me somewhat of 
 that spirit which gave wisdom to Solomon, grace 
 to David, and strength to the mighty Sampson. Let
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 289 
 
 me repair, then, not to Mount Parnassus, but to 
 Mount Calvary ; let me be refreshed, not by the 
 fabled Heliconian rill, but by the blessed and real 
 fountain which flowed from the pierced side of 
 my Redeemer. Walking onward, with his mind 
 filled with these holy aspirations, he sees an aged 
 man, sitting under a holly : — 
 
 Into that park I saw appear 
 
 An aged man, that drew me near ; 
 
 Quhais herd was near three-quarter lang, 
 
 His hair down o'er his shoulders hang. 
 
 The quhilk as ony snaw was white, 
 
 Whom to behold I thought delight. 
 
 His habyte angelyke of hue, 
 
 Of colour like the sapphire blue. 
 
 Under a holly he reposit, 
 
 Of whose presence I was rejosit. 
 
 I did salute him reverentlie, 
 
 Sa did he me richt courteouslie ; 
 
 To sit down he requested me. 
 
 Under the shadow of that tre, 
 
 To save me from the sonnis heat, 
 
 Among the flowers soft and sweet, 
 
 For I was weary for walking ; 
 
 Then we began to fall talking ; 
 
 I sperit his name, with reverence, 
 
 I am, said he, Experience. 
 
 The picture of the aged man, reclining under 
 the shade of the holly, his heard descending down 
 his breast, liis white locks scattered over his 
 shoulders, his flowing robe of sapphire blue, con- 
 trasted with the green of the soft, natural couch 
 on which he lies, the grave and placid deportment 
 •which ins})ired reverence, and the courtesy which 
 won affection, is finely conceived and executed. 
 The poem liencel'orth assumes the form of a dia- 
 logue between the author and this venerable sage, 
 
 VOL. III. u
 
 290 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 who, with great shrewdness and learning, and 
 often with much eloquence and poetic fervour, deli- 
 vers a kind of chronicle of human error and sin, 
 from its earliest appearance in Eden, till its final 
 doom in the day of judgment. The tedium of this 
 narrative is occasionally relieved hy little episodes, 
 in which the author speaks in his own person. 
 Thus, in imitation of Chaucer and Lydgate, in 
 England, and of his Scottish brethren, Douglas and 
 Wedderburn, Lindsay introduces ' an Exclamation 
 to the Eeader, touching the Writing of his Poem 
 in the vulgar and maternal Language.' His 
 argument or apology is sound and unanswerable. 
 ' I write,' says he, ' for Jok and Thom, coilzears, 
 carters, and cooks ; and I, therefore, make use of 
 their language.' ' Aristotle and Plato,' says he, 
 ' did not communicate their philosophy in Dutch 
 or Italian ; Virgil and Cicero did not write in 
 Chaldee or Hebrew, Saint Jerome, it is true, 
 translated the Bible into Latin, but if Saint Je- 
 rome had been born in Argyleshire, he would have 
 translated it into Gaelic *.' 
 
 One of the most interesting portions of Lind- 
 say's ' Monarchy ' is that in the second book, 
 where he considers the subject of the Catholic 
 worship of images, and draws a vigorous parallel 
 between the idolatries of the Gentiles and that of 
 the Romish church. Unlike the more violent 
 reformers who succeeded him, he is far from utter- 
 ing an uncompromising anathema against the use 
 of images ; on the contrary, if properly era- 
 ployed, he considers them useful helps to devotion, 
 means which may be instrumental to the instruc- 
 
 * Warton's Hist. Eng. Poet., vol. iii. p. 137.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 291 
 
 tion and the fortifying the faith of the unlearned. 
 It is only when we kneel and pray to them that 
 they become sinful and unscriptural. 
 
 But wc, by counsel of clergy, 
 
 Have license to make imagery ; 
 
 ^Vhich of unlearned are the liooks, 
 
 For when the people on them looks, 
 
 It bringeth to remembrance 
 
 Of Saintis lives the circumstance, 
 
 How the faith to fortify 
 
 They suffered pain richt patientlj^. 
 
 Seeinfr the imaiie of the Rude, 
 
 Men should remember on the blude 
 
 Which Christ, intil his passion, 
 
 Did shed for our salvation ; 
 
 Or when thou seest ane portraiture 
 
 Of blessed Mary Virgin j)ure, 
 
 Ane lovely babe upon her knee, 
 
 Then in thy mind remember thee 
 
 The wordis which the prophet said. 
 
 How she should be both mother and maid. 
 
 But who sittis down upon their knees, 
 
 Praying to any images. 
 
 With orison or offerand. 
 
 Kneeling with cap into their hand, 
 
 Ne diflference bene, I say to thee, 
 
 From the Gentile's idolatry *. 
 
 In the followin<^ stanza, Lindsay alludes to an 
 image of St. Giles, the patron saint of Edinburgh, 
 which was afterwards connected with a noted event 
 in the history of the reformation — 
 
 Of Edinborough the great idolatrie, 
 
 And manifest abominatioiui ; 
 On their feast-day, all creatures may see — 
 
 They bear an auld stock image thro' the town, 
 With talbrone, trumpet, schalme, and clarion, 
 
 Whilk has usit mony a year begone, 
 
 * Poems, vol. iii. p. 5, 
 
 U2
 
 292 SIR DAVID LINDSAV. 
 
 With priestes and freiris into processioim, 
 Sic lyke as Bel was borne thro' Babylon. 
 
 The fate of this image Lindsay did not live to 
 see. It was destroyed by the populace, on the 
 1st of September, 155S, during one of the annual 
 processions in which the priests and friars paraded 
 it through the city, on which occasion, to use the 
 words of Knox, ' One took the idol by the heels, 
 and dadding his head to the street, left Dagon 
 without head or hands. The Grey Friars gaped, 
 the Black Friars blew, the priests panted and fled, 
 and happy was he that first gat the house*.' 
 
 The use and abuse of the temporal power of the 
 Popedom, the unholv lives of many of the clergv, 
 the injurious effects of pilgrimages, the disastrous 
 consequences which spring from the ignorance of 
 the people, the happy results to be anticipated 
 from the publication of the Scriptures and missals 
 in the vernacular language of the countrv, are 
 all enlarged upon by Lindsay, in a strain of 
 vigorous and convincing, though sometimes homely 
 argument ; at last, Experience, having concluded 
 his heavenly lessons, takes leave of his pupil in 
 these sweet stanzas — 
 
 Of our talking; now let us make an end, 
 Behald' bow Phoebus downwart dois descend 
 Towait bis palice in the Occident ; 
 Dame Cynthia, I see, she does pretend 
 Intill her watrv rej^ioim till ascend 
 "With visage paill" up from the orient. 
 The dew now doukis^ the rosis redolent, 
 The marigoldis. that all <lay wer rejusit * 
 Of Phcebus belt, now craftUie ar closit^. 
 
 'behold. ^pale. ^steeps. ■'rejoiced. 'closed. 
 * Knox'sHibt, p. 104.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 293 
 
 The blissful birdis bownis ' to the treis, 
 And ceasis of their heavenlie harmoneis ; 
 The corn-crak^, iii the croft', I hear her cry, 
 The bat, the howlat, febill of their eis *, 
 For their pastyme now in the evening fleis^; 
 The nif^htingale, with mirthful melody, 
 Her natural notis pierceth thro' the sky — 
 Till Cynthia makand® her observance, 
 Quhilk on the nicht dois tak her dalliance. 
 
 I see Pole Artick in the north appear, 
 And Venus rising with hir bemis cleir ; 
 Quharefore^, my sone, I hald it time to go. 
 "Wald God, said I, ye did remain all yeir ", 
 That I micht of your hevinly lessons leir ^ ; 
 Of your departing I am wonder wo '". 
 Tak pacience, said he, it mon be so ; 
 Perchance I sail return witli diligence. 
 Thus I departed from Experience. 
 
 Thus imitated — 
 But see descending to the glorious west, 
 
 'Midst spiry clouds of ruby, fring'dwith gold, 
 Bright Phoebus seeks the palace of his rest — 
 
 And earth's sweet roses, bath'd in dew-drops cold, 
 Breathe richer incense, as their leaves they fold 
 
 To gentle Cynthia, lady chaste and bright, 
 Whose silver orb, behind yon moinitain old 
 
 Slow rising, through the dark blue vault of night. 
 Sheds o'er each tower and tree a tlood of hazy light. 
 
 Amid the woods the birds are sound asleep, 
 
 The dim-ey'd bat tlits darkling through the sky ; 
 No note is heard to break the silence deep, 
 
 Save, in the sward, the land-rail's shrilly cry: 
 'Tis time, my son, we cease these reasonings high, 
 
 And leave the reverend owl a peaceful reign. 
 See, where she glares, with her large lustrous eye, 
 
 From that old oak that time hath rent in twaui, 
 Wond'ring what busy tongue invades her still domain. 
 
 ' hie. ^ land-rail. ' field. ■* eyes. 
 
 * flies. * making. ^ wherefore. " year. 
 
 3 learn. ^° wondrous sad.
 
 294 SIR DAVIO LINDSAY. 
 
 Hush ! the sweet nightinjj^ale salutes the moon, 
 
 And Venus' star unveils her love-Ht glance; 
 I deem'd nut the soft goddess rose so soon — 
 
 And yonder, high in the profound expanse, 
 Arcttirus doth his brilliant spark advance, 
 
 That fix'dly burns — Once more, my son, Farewell- 
 Nay, grieve not that we part ; — I may, perchance, 
 
 Return, and to thine ear more vponders tell; — 
 Meanwhile, 'tis meet I seek my hoary, time-worn cell. 
 
 The ' Monarchy ' appears to have been Lind- 
 say's last, and it is, in many respects, his best 
 work. It is nervous, original, learned, and pious 
 — full indeed of many poignant, satirical attacks 
 upon the corruptions and licentiousness of the 
 Romanist clergy, yet less bitter, coarse, and scur- 
 rilous than most of his earlier productions. It is 
 pleasing, as he advances in years, to find the au- 
 thor receding from the indecency which was the 
 poetical vice of the age, — to mark the improved 
 tendency and higher moral tone of his writings ; 
 and while we sympathise with the pensive me- 
 lancholy which tinges his last poetical legacy to 
 his countrymen, to know that when he entered 
 his quiet oratory, he met there that stedfast faith, 
 and rested on those blessed hopes which fur- 
 nished him with a key to all the sorrow, darkness, 
 and vicissitude of this fluctuatinsr existence. 
 
 r> 
 
 Be not to much solyst in temporall thingis. 
 
 Sen thow persiives Pape, emperor, and kingis 
 
 Into the erth hath na place permanent. 
 
 Thou sees the deth them schamefuUie down thringis, 
 
 And rives thame from their rent, riches and ringis; 
 
 Tharefor on Christ contirme thine haill intent, 
 
 And of thy calling be richt Weill content; 
 
 Then God, that feedes the fuwlis of the air, 
 
 All needful thingis for thee he sail prepair.
 
 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 295 
 
 Of the exact time and circumstances of Sir 
 Davitl Lindsay's death nothing is known. It 
 happened, probably, a short time before the dis- 
 graceful immolation of the venerable martyr, old 
 Walter Mill, who was burnt at St. Andrew's, in 
 April, 1558. It seems, at first, extraordinary that 
 a man whose writings evidently enjoyed a high 
 degree of popularity, should have expired without 
 any record or memorial, so that we in vain 
 search the family burying-place for a stone to mark 
 the spot where tlie Lord Lion sleeps with his an- 
 cestors ; but the fact is explained by the virtuous 
 retirement in which he passed the latter years of 
 his life, and the distracted condition of the country. 
 
 The family estate of Lindsay, called the Mount, 
 from which he took his title, continued in the pos- 
 session of his descendants when Sibbald published 
 his ' History of Fife,' in 1710. It is now the 
 property of General Sir Alexander Hope, of Ran- 
 keilour. In 1806, a farmer, of patriarchal age, who 
 had lived for seventy years on the spot, pointed out 
 to the literary curiosity of Mr. George Chalmers 
 the site of the baronial family mansion ; adding, 
 that, within his memory, the walls of the castle 
 remained. All traces of them are now obliterated, 
 but a pleasing tradition still points out a shaded 
 walk, on the top of the mount, where Lindsay is 
 said to have composed some of his poems. It was 
 called, in the youth of this aged man, Sir David's 
 walk; and, in 1801, when the woods of the 
 Mount were cutting, the same venerable enthu- 
 siast interceded with General Sir Alexander Hope
 
 296 SIR DAVID LINDSAY. 
 
 for three ancient trees, which stood near the castle, 
 and were known by the name of Sir David's trees. 
 The liberal spirit of that gentleman probably 
 needed no such monitor ; but the trees were 
 spared. It is likely they still remain, and the 
 literary pilgrim may yet stand beneath their 
 shade, indulging in the pleasing dream that he is 
 sheltered by the same branches under which the 
 Lord Lion was wont to ruminate, when he poured 
 forth the lays which gave dignity to the lessons of 
 Experience, and accelerated the progress of the 
 Eeformation.
 
 A CHAPTER 
 
 OF 
 
 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 I. Henry the Minstrel. 
 
 II. Bruce and St. Fillan, 
 
 III. Battle of Bannockburn. 
 
 IV. Death of good Sir James Douglas in Spain, 
 
 V. Randolph, Earl of Moray. 
 
 VI. Early Feudal Governments. 
 
 VII. Tournaments for the Black Lady, by James 
 
 THE Fourth. 
 
 VIII. James IV. and the Flyinq Abbot of Tunqland. 
 
 IX. Arrival of the Gypsies in Scotland, 
 
 X. Ancient Scottish Games and Amusements.
 
 299 
 
 I. HENRY THE MINSTREL. 
 
 In the course of the researches connected with 
 these lives, I have sometimes come upon points 
 and illustrations, the discussion of which would 
 have interrupted the continuity of the main sub- 
 ject. I have, therefore, preferred the method of 
 throwing them together, into the form of a chapter 
 of antiquarian adversaria, making no attempt at 
 laborious arrangement ; and, without further pre- 
 face, I begin by saying a few words upon that 
 person so well known to all enthusiasts in ancient 
 Scottish poetry, Henry the Minstrel, or, to give him 
 his more familiar soubriquet, ' Blind Harry.' 
 
 Of this ancient bard, whose poetical genius lias 
 been honoured by the praise of Warton and Ellis, 
 no life has been given in these volumes, because 
 no materials for such existed ; but, with regard to 
 his work, the well-known ' Book of Wallace,' I 
 must express a doubt whether, as a biography, it 
 deserves the unmeasured neglect or contempt with 
 which it has been treated. Of this neglect I plead 
 guilty, amongst the rest of my brethren, for I have 
 scrupulously avoided consulting him as an historical 
 authority ; but some late researches, and an atten- 
 tive perusal of his poem, comparing it as I went 
 along witli contemporary documents, have placed 
 the ' Life of Wallace ' ir. a different light. I am 
 persuaded that it is the work of an ignorant man, 
 who was yet in possession of valuable and authen- 
 tic materials. On what other supposition can we
 
 300 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 account for the fact, that, whilst in one page we 
 meet with errors which show a deplorable perver- 
 sion of history, in the next we find circumstances 
 unknown to other Scottish historians, yet corro- 
 borated by authentic documents, by contemporary 
 English annalists, by national muniments and 
 records, only published in modern times, and to 
 which the minstrel cannot be supposed to have had 
 access. The work, therefore, cannot be treated as 
 an entire romance — still less is it to be regarded 
 as a uniformly veracious chronicle : but it exhibits 
 the anomalous and contradictory appearance of a 
 poem full of much confusion, error, and absurdity, 
 yet through which there occasionally runs a valu- 
 able vein of historic truth. I am quite aware that 
 to the orthodox investigators of Scottish history 
 this must be a startling proposition, but it is 
 uttered with no love of paradox, and I jn'oceed to 
 prove it by some examples. 
 
 Tlie famous siege and sack of Berwick, by 
 Edward the First, in the year 1296, has hzen 
 variously represented by the English and Scottish 
 historians. Carte's account is as follows : — ' Ed- 
 ward, well enough pleased that the Scots had been 
 the aggressors, advanced upon this disaster with 
 all his forces to fFerk, and there encamped, not 
 proposing to enter Scotland till after the Easter 
 holidavs. In the mean time, the Scots had o-ot 
 together an army of 500 horse, and 40,000 foot, 
 under the Earls of Buchan, Menteith, Strathern, 
 Lenox, Ross, Athole, and Mar: and on Easter 
 Monday, March 26, marched out of Annandale, 
 through the forest of Nicholay, to Carlisle, killing 
 all they found in iheir way, and sparing neither
 
 HENRY THE MINSTREL. 301 
 
 age nor sex in their fury. Their attempt upon 
 that city miscarrying, they retired back into their 
 own country, to make head against the King of 
 England, who, passing the Tweed at Coldstream, 
 on March 28, lay still all the next day, expecting 
 the inhabitants of Berwick to make their submis- 
 sion. The gentlemen of Fife, with a considerable 
 body of troops, had undertaken the defence of the 
 town, which was ill fortified, and secured on the 
 Scottish side by wooden barricades, rather than 
 entrenchments. Edward, seeing them resolved on 
 war, advanced early, on March 30, before the 
 place, fixing his head-quarters in a nunnery, half 
 a league distant, and drawing up his forces on a 
 plain before the town, knighted Henry de Percy 
 and several other gentlemen. This being a so- 
 lemnity ordinarily used before an engagement, the 
 seamen of the Cinque Ports, who lay with twenty- 
 four ships off the port, imagined that an assault 
 was to be given immediately, and in their eager- 
 ness to have a share, either in the attack or in the 
 plunder of the town, entered the harbour with so 
 little caution that three of the vessels ran aground, 
 and, after an obstinate combat, were burnt by the 
 enemy. Edward, hearing of that disorderly action, 
 and seeinsf the smoke mounting from the ships, 
 ordered an assault to be given, perhaps not so 
 much in hopes of taking the place, as to favour 
 the retreat of the seamen ; but the English attacked 
 the barricades with so much vigour, that they broke 
 through them in a moment and entered the town, 
 before the Scots thought of standing on their de- 
 fence. They were so surprised at this unexpected 
 event that they made no resistance, and about
 
 302 AXTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATION'S. 
 
 7500 of them were put to the sword, the castle 
 surrenderino- the same evening'*.' 
 
 Such is the narrative of Carte, who quotes, as 
 his authorities, Hemingford, "Walsingham, and 
 Mathews of Westminster. Let us turn from this 
 to the very different account of the Scottish histo- 
 rians as it is thus abridged by Buchanan. ' Ed- 
 ward, soon after finding that he made no progress 
 against the town, on account of the strength of the 
 garrison, pretended to raise the siege, as if de- 
 spairing of taking it, and caused reports to be 
 spread, by some Scots of the Bruce faction, that 
 Baliol was in the neisrhbourhood with a larjie army. 
 U hen the principal persons of the garrison heard 
 of the approach of their king, they, in order to 
 give liim the most honourable reception, hastened 
 out promiscuously both horse and foot to meet 
 him ; on which a body of cavalry sent forward by 
 Edward advanced, and having j^artly trode down 
 those who were in front, and partly separated the 
 others from their friends, seized on the nearest 
 gate, and entered the city. The English king 
 followed with the infantry, and made a miserable 
 slaughter of all ranks : there were killed of the 
 Scots upwards of 7000, and among them the 
 flower of the nobilitv of Lothian and Fife f.' 
 
 Leaving for a moment these conflicting stories, 
 let us turn to Henry the Minstrel's more particular 
 detail of the matter. He asserts that Edward 
 made himself master of Berwick by means of a 
 stratagem of Patrick, Earl of Dunbar. His 
 words are — ' He (that is, Edward) raised his host, 
 
 * Carte, vol. ii., p. 263. 
 -}- Buchanan, by Aikman, vol, i., book viii., c. xv., p. 405,
 
 HENRY THE MINSTREL. 303 
 
 and came to Werk on Tweed : to Corspatrick of 
 Dunbar he sent to ask his counsel, for he knew 
 the country we'll, and he was brought to the king's 
 presence, and by a subtil band (covenant) they 
 cordyt (agreed) uyjon this thing.' He proceeds to 
 explain that the tiling they cordyt, or determined 
 on, was, that Dunbar should proceed to Berwick, 
 and at midnight deliver the town to the English. 
 ' Earl Patrick,' he continues, ' then vi^ent to Ber- 
 wick. He was received and trulv trusted ; the 
 king followed with his renowned army, when the 
 town after midnight was at rest. Then Corspa- 
 trick arose, and let the bridge and the portcullis 
 down, and drew up the gates, so that his banner 
 could be seen ; and the army was aware of it, and 
 drew towards him, and Edward entered, and 
 hastily '• gar'd slay " 7050 men*.' So that by this 
 false conduct no true Scotsman escaped. 
 
 Now we know from Hemingford, an Enghsli 
 contemporary historian, of excellent authority, 
 that one principal part of Blind Harry's assertion 
 is perfectly accurate, although the fact does not 
 appear in our common historians. Patrick, Earl 
 of March, whom the Minstrel denominates Cors- 
 patrick, and some of the English chronicles Earl 
 Patrick with the black beard, did resort to Edward 
 when he was encamped at Werk ; and Heming- 
 ford (vol. i. p. 102) gives us the original bond or 
 agreement which they cordyt between them, dated 
 25th March, 1295, the last day of the year 1295. 
 Berwick, we know, was taken by the English on 
 the 30th of the same month, which brings it into 
 the year 1296. So far, therefore, we find the 
 * Wallace, by Janiieson, p. 4.
 
 304 ANTIQUARIAN- ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Minstrel corroborated ; and if the curious reader 
 will look into the second volume of the ' Chronicle 
 of Langtoft,' also a contemporary English au- 
 thority, he will find a further confirmation of this 
 account. 
 
 In what manner Dunbar got possession of the 
 gates, and on the advance of Edward opened them 
 to the English, does not appear in the poem of the 
 Minstrel, who informs us that his narrative is 
 merely introductory to the ' Life of Wallace,' and 
 therefore that he does not delay upon it. 
 
 I may not put all thai dedis in rhyme 
 Of Cornykle — why suld I tarry lang? 
 To Wallace now briefly will I gang, 
 Scotland was lost when he was but a child. 
 
 But we see in Buchanan that a report was 
 spread, by Edward, of the approach of Baliol at 
 the head of an army ; and we learn from Fordun, 
 (vol. ii. p. 160,) that ' it was by means of the stan- 
 dard of a certain earl (who, says he, shall be name- 
 less, lest his fraud should be repeated) that the 
 citizens of Berwick were circumvented.' The 
 sentence is taken by Fordun from a monkish poem, 
 written in Leonine verse, and probably coeval with 
 the taking of the town. 
 
 Hie villae turmas cautc statuit perimendas, 
 Cujusdam fniiide, qui semper erit sine laude, 
 Vexillum ctijtts cives decipit — et hujus 
 Nomen siletur, Comitis ne fraus iteretur. 
 
 Tlirough all this it is not difficult to discover 
 the truth, if we put together these various circum- 
 stances derived from different sources. We see, 
 from the account of Carte, that Edward had not 
 given orders for the attack of the town by his
 
 HENRY THE MINSTREL. 305 
 
 ships, or the assault of the barricades by his army. 
 The ships sailed in, mistaking the muster ol" the 
 army for the preparations of an assault ; and the 
 army attacked the town, not with the idea of 
 storming it, but merely for the purpose of covering 
 the retreat of the ships. AVe next gather from 
 Hemingford and Henry the Minstrel, that, in a 
 secret council held between Edward, and Patrick, 
 Earl of March, the Scottish noble profiosed a scheme 
 by which he trusted to deliver Berwick into the 
 hands of the English king, which piece of treachery 
 he accomplished. We learn from Buchanan, that 
 Edward caused reports to be spread by some Scots of 
 the Bruce faction * that Baliol was in the neigh- 
 bourhood with a large army, and that seeing an army 
 or body of cavalry advance, the principal jiersons in 
 the town, imagining it was the King, hastened out 
 to meet them ; and lastly, we are informed by 
 Fordun, that the mode in which the citizens were 
 deceived was by the ' standard or banner of a cer- 
 tain earl,' whose name he passes over in silence, 
 lest his fraudulent stratagem should be aaain re- 
 peated. The reason assigned is absurd ; the true 
 motive for the author of the monkish lines conceal- 
 ing the name of the delinquent was, that the trea- 
 son had prospered, and its author was in power. 
 Now, another ancient historian, quoted by Hut- 
 chinson in his History of Durham, informs us that 
 
 * This is a remarkable expression, and it serves to corro- 
 borate Henry the Minstrel ; for we learn from Hemingford, 
 vol. i. p. lOJ, that at this time ' Bruce, the son of the 
 Competitor, and his son Robert Bruce, afterwards king, 
 along with Dunbar, Earl of March^ and the Earl of Angus, 
 had repaired to Edward, and renewed their oaths of homage.' 
 Dunbar, therefore, was a lord of the Bruce faction. 
 
 VOL. III. X
 
 306 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 the manner in wliich Berwick fell into the hands 
 of Edward was this: — The English king, after in 
 vain attempting to carry the town, pretended to 
 raise the siege, having spread a report, which soon 
 reached the citizens, that Baliol was advancing at 
 the head of an army. He then marched away, 
 but returned suddenly and secretly, during the 
 Tiight, and concealing the greater part of his force 
 by the nature of the ground, sent forward a detach- 
 ment upon whose standard the royal arms of 
 Scotland were emblazoned, whereuponthe citizens, 
 imagining it to be Baliol himself, precipitately and 
 tumultuously opened their gates, and found, when 
 it was too late, that they were enemies instead of 
 friends. Edward then pushed on with the main 
 body of his army, and the town was carried and 
 sacked. Who does not in this account at once detect 
 the ' standard of the earl which deceived the citi- 
 zens T 
 
 Vexillum cujus cives decipit, et hujus 
 Nomen siletur : Comitis ne fraus iteretur. 
 
 The whole story, then, runs thus. — Corspatrick, 
 or Patrick, Earl of Dunbar, came to Werk and 
 had a secret consultation with Edward, who found 
 Berwick too strong to be taken by open assault ; 
 and this minute particular, which is a key to the 
 whole truth, which does not appear in any other 
 Scottish historian, and which is corroborated by 
 Hemingford, we learn solely from Henry the 
 Minstrel. They agreed to employ stratagem ; 
 a report was spread that Baliol was at hand with 
 his army ; Edward struck his tents and raised 
 the siege, but secretly, under cover of night, 
 returned. Dunbar, at the head of an advanced
 
 HENRY THE MINSTREL. 307 
 
 party, and having the royal arms of Scotland on 
 his standard, proceeded to the gates, and the reader 
 already knows the result — tlie town was betrayed, 
 and mercilessly sacked and plundered. Now, 
 what is the inference which 1 draw from this, and 
 from which 1 do not see how any one, who will 
 candidly weigh tlie evidence, can escape ? — simply 
 this : that the account of the taking of Berwick, 
 by Henry the Minstrel, although garbled, is corro- 
 borated by the most authentic contemporary docu- 
 ments, both English and Scottish, and that when 
 he composed it, he must have had access to some 
 accurate chronicle of the times. 
 
 Let me take another example. Henry's ac- 
 count of the taking of Dunbar, by Edward, might 
 be shown to be minutely confirmed by the ' Rotuli 
 Scotise,' vol. i. p. 22 ; and by the valuable Eng- 
 lish Chronicle of Langtoft. He affirms that four 
 Scottish earls, namely Mar, Menteith, Athole, and 
 Ross threw themselves into the Castle of Dunbar. 
 
 Thir four erlis enterit in that place, 
 
 Of Mar, Menteith, Athol — Ross upon cace. 
 
 Now, in turning to Langtoft, we at first find 
 something like a contradiction, or at least an omis- 
 sion, on the part of Henry, for this English author 
 gives us only three earls — 
 
 Rosse, Menteith, Assetelle, thir Erlis thrie. 
 
 But, looking to Trivet, p. 288, another con- 
 temporary chronicler, we find tlie missing noble- 
 man. Mar : again, after tlie defeat of the Scots, at 
 Dunbar, and the termination of the campaign, the 
 Minstrel informs us of the precaution lie took to 
 
 X 2
 
 308 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 ensure tlie tranquillity of Scotland, by carryini^^- the 
 principal of the Scottisli nobles with him into 
 England : — 
 
 Seven score thai led of the greatest that they /and, 
 Of heirs with them, and Bruce out of Scotland. 
 Edward gave him his father's heritage, 
 But he thought aye to hold him in thirlage', 
 Baith Blalock Moor was his, and Huntingdon. 
 
 Now, I request the reader to turn to Heming- 
 ford, pp. 101, 102, 103, where he will find a 
 striking" corroboration of the first two lines : — 
 ' Statuit Rex (Edwardus) et pr^ecepit ut Joannes 
 quondam Eex Scotise et uterque Joannes Comyn, 
 et ceeteri mai^nates terrye illius, vel in suo itinera 
 vel faciem ejus prtecederent ad partes australes, 
 morarenturque in partibus iisdem, ultra aquam 
 quae Trenta dicitur, non revertentes sub poena ca- 
 pitis quousque inter ipsum et Regem Franciae 
 omnino guerra finiretur.' If he will next turn 
 to ' Langtoft's Chronicle,' p. 278, and to the ' Ro- 
 tuli ScotiiB,' vol. i. p. 44, he will find an addi- 
 tional confirmation of the Minstrel's statement, 
 and a list of the names of the Scottish prisoners 
 of rank who were carried out of Scotland. 
 
 Once more, the Minstrel describes the injuries 
 committed at this time in Scotland by the English, 
 in some strong lines. ' They did much wrong,' 
 says he, ' in the land ; they took the richest ecclesias- 
 tical livings, the bishoprics that were of greatest 
 value, and gave them to their archbishops and 
 their own clergy ; they seized the kirks, and 
 would not forbear, even from fear of the Pope, 
 but violently grasped at all : — 
 
 ^ Thirlage, bound to his service.
 
 HENRY THE MINSTREL. 309 
 
 The English did much wrong then in Scotland — 
 The bishopricks that were of greatest waile '■ 
 They tak in hand of their archbishops haile; 
 No for the Pope they wald ^ na kirks forbear, 
 But grippit ^ all by violence of war. 
 
 Now, this is strikingly supported by the ' Ro- 
 tuli Scotiie,' vol. i. pp.' 6, 7, 9, 10, 20. The 
 reader will there find an instrument, annexinsf the 
 towns of Berwick and Hadington to the see of 
 Durham ; and, p. 24, a deed by which the church 
 lands in Scotland were restored to the abbots, 
 priors, and other English clergy wlio had been 
 expelled by Baliol. 
 
 It would be ridiculous to expect that we should 
 bring from the public records, or the English or 
 Scottish historians, a confirmation of all the bio- 
 graphical particulars of Wallace's early life, as they 
 are given by the Minstrel, with a freshness of na- 
 tural character which has made his book so deserv- 
 edly popular amongst the lower classes of Scotland ; 
 but it is certainly remarkable, that when, in the 
 course of his narrative, he alludes to general cir- 
 cumstances, these are found to be correct, and that 
 €ven in some of the more minute biographical par- 
 ticulars he is confirmed by Fordun, a high autho- 
 rity. Thus, we are told by the Minstrel, that 
 when the father of Wallace fleil to the Lennox 
 with his eldest son Malcolm, AV illiam, the future 
 champion, and his mother, retreated from El- 
 lerslie, passed into Goury, and dwelt at Kilspin- 
 die. His uncle. Sir Ronald Crawford, then, as we 
 are informed, sent him to his (Wallace's) uncle, 
 an aged man, who put William Wallace to school 
 at Dundee. Now, it is worthy of note, that almost 
 
 ^ value. ^ would. ^ grasped violently.
 
 310 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 the only anecdote preserved by Fordun regarding 
 Wallace's boyhood, relates to a monkish Latin 
 rhyme, which, he asserts, when he was a boy he 
 learnt yrom his uncle. The reader is already ac- 
 quainted with the circumstance, which is stated in 
 vol. i. p. 166; but, to save trouble, we may again 
 quote the lines — 
 
 Dico tibi verum Libertas optima rerum. 
 Nunquam servili sub nexu vivito fill. 
 
 Again, let us take an example of a general 
 confirmation of minute particulars. After having 
 slain young Selby, Wallace was saved by the good 
 wife of his eyme or uncle, who disguised him in 
 woman's apparel, and when the house was searched, 
 set him down to spin ; after which, he escaped to 
 his mother, who fled with him to Elderslie, and 
 from thence sent a message to her brother, who 
 had made his peace with Edward, and was Sheriff 
 of Ayr, her object being to entreat him to use his 
 influence with the Lord Percy to have Wallace, 
 her son, admitted to the peace of the king. Now, 
 the biographical details here rest solely on the au- 
 thority of the Minstrel ; but we know that Wal- 
 lace's mother was a daughter of Sir Reginald 
 Crawford, and we find, by an instrument in the 
 ' Rotuli Scotiae,' vol. i. p. 23, that in the year 
 1296, when the event is stated to have happened, 
 this knight, who was Wallace's uncle, was Sheriff 
 of Ayr. The deed is thus entitled : — ' Reginaldo 
 de Crawford committitur Vicecomitatus Aerae.* 
 Again, we find in the same valuable collection of 
 ancient muniments, vol. i. }>. 31, that Lord Henry 
 Percy was the English governor in those parts 
 for Edward, by whom any of the Scots who had
 
 HENRY THE MINSTREL. 311 
 
 appeared in arms against Edward were received, 
 and sworn, on making proper submission, into the 
 peace of the king. The instrument, establishing 
 this, is thus inscribed : ' Custodia Galvvedia:^ et Aerae 
 committitur Henrico de Percy.' Do not these 
 corroborations, in the only particulars where Henry 
 can be checked by undoubted documents, entitle 
 us to suspect, at least, that the whole story cannot 
 be fabulous, but that he had before him some 
 authentic records which have unfortunately pe- 
 rished ? Again, we find it stated by the Minstrel, 
 that after the defeat of Fenwick and his convoy by 
 Wallace, at Loudon-hill *, Lord Henry Percy held 
 a consultation at Glasi^ow, to which he summoned 
 Sir Reginald Crawford, and where it was agreed 
 that a short truce should be concluded with the 
 Scottish insurgents under Wallace, and an attempt 
 made by Crawford to induce his nephew to give 
 up his desperate courses. This event is said to 
 have happened in the month of August, 1296; 
 and, in turning up the ' Kotuli Scotiise,' we find 
 that a temporary pacification did actually take 
 place about this time. Again, when Wallace 
 takes Kinclevin Castle, the Minstrel asserts, that 
 out of a garrison of ninety men, sixty, with 
 Butler, their captain, were slain ; and we find, by 
 the ' Rotuli Scotia;,' vol. i. p. 38, that Sir James 
 Butler was then keeper of Kinclevin. 
 
 Previous to the month of May, 1297, the ' Book 
 of Wallace ' represents its Iuto as engaging only 
 in insulated and unconnected efforts against the 
 English, in which he had been chiefly supported 
 by his own friends and relatives ; Sir John the Gra- 
 * Scottish Worthies, vol. i. pp. 176, 177.
 
 312 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 hame being tlie only man of note and lineage who 
 had joined him; but, in this year, 1497, a great 
 change took place ; men of ancient family and 
 powerful connexions, ' the worthy Scots,' from 
 many quarters, come trooping to his banner, and 
 choose him as their leader. This account is corro- 
 borated by ' Winton's Chronicle,' an unsuspected 
 authority, and by the English historians, Heming- 
 ford,pp."ll9, 121,and Trivet, p. 299. These writers 
 now, for the first time, take notice of him as a popular 
 and daring leader, whose successes began to alarm 
 the captain of Edward in Scotland. It were easy to 
 point out many additional particulars, which appear 
 to prove the same fact, that there is, in the ' Book 
 of Wallace,' by Henry the Minstrel, an extraor- 
 dinary admixture of glaring error and absurdity, 
 with minute historical trutli ; and that he must 
 have had access to some valuable materials ; and 
 I may now mention, that, in more than one place, 
 he refers to original authorities which have 
 perished, and represents himself as little else than 
 the transcriber from another author. In his ac- 
 count of the seizure of Percy's baggage by Wal- 
 lace, he adds, ' As my autor me tald.' In speak- 
 ing of the hero's marriage, he observes, ' Mine 
 autor says she was his richteous wyf.' In his spi- 
 rited account of the romantic skirmish in Elcho 
 Park, he again tells us, ' I but rehearse, as my 
 autor will say ;' and lastly, in his fifth book, 
 V. 533, we have this curious passage, from which 
 a conjecture may be formed who this author was — 
 
 Maister Johne Blair was oft in that message, 
 
 A worthy clurk, baith wise and rych sawage, 
 
 Levyt before he was in Paris town. 
 
 * Ms * * *
 
 HENRY THE MINSTREL. 313 
 
 He was the man that principal undirtuk, 
 That first compyht in dyte the Latyne Buk 
 Of Wallace's Lyf: richt famous of renoune, 
 And Thomas Gray, persoun of Libertoun ; 
 With him thai war, and put in story all 
 Of ane or baith ; meikle of his travaill. 
 
 It was, therefore, in all probability, the ' Latyne 
 Buk of Wallace's Life,' compiled by this worthy 
 ecclesiastic Master John 131air, who, as we are 
 elsewhere informed, officiated as liis chaplain, 
 from which Henry the Minstrel derived those au- 
 thentic particulars which may be detected, crop- 
 ping out, as geologists say, from beneath the more 
 fabulous superficies of his history. There is a 
 curious passage in ' Major's History of Scotland,' 
 whicli gives us some insight into the mode in 
 which Blind Harry pursued his vocation. ' The 
 book of William Wallace,' says this author, ' was 
 composed during my infancy, by Henry, a man 
 blind from his birth. He wrote in popular rhymes, 
 a species of composition in which he was no mean 
 proficient, such stories as were then current among 
 the common people. From these compilations I 
 must not be blamed if I withhold an implicit be- 
 lief, as the author was one, who, by reciting them 
 to the great, earned his food and raiment, of which 
 indeed he was worthy *.' It is thus easy to con- 
 ceive, that whilst the main groundwork of his nar- 
 rative was authentic, his recitation of his verses 
 in the halls or at the tables of the great might 
 lead him to omit some fact, to introduce another, 
 to alter, or perhajiS add to a third, according to 
 the feelings or ])rejudices of his audience, and 
 thus gradually bring confusion and contradiction 
 * Major, Historia Britt. p. 1G9.
 
 314 ANTIQUARIAN- ILLTJSTRATIONS. 
 
 into his history; nor is it to be forgotten, that 
 many errors may be traced to the ignorance of 
 those who transcribed the poem, and that other 
 blunders may have crept in from the carelessness 
 of succeeding copyists. • But my object in these 
 few remarks on the noted poem of the blind Min- 
 strel 'is attained if I have established grounds for 
 the doubt or question with which they commenced, 
 namely, whether the ' Book of Wallace ' is to be 
 considered as wholly, or even principally, a work 
 of fiction ; whether, amidst all its palpable con- 
 tradictions which are so easily detected, there does 
 not run through it, in many places, a vein of his- 
 toric truth. 
 
 II. BRUCE AND ST. FILLAN. 
 
 There is a curious piece of traditionary super- 
 stition connected with Bruce and Bannockburn, 
 which, as it was not to be found in Fordun or 
 Winton, I omitted in the text. Perhaps I was 
 wrong in doing so, as the circumstance is charac- 
 teristic of the times. It relates to an alleged mi- 
 racle regarding the luminous arm of St. Fillan ; 
 and it may first be necessary to inform the reader 
 that this saint has given his name to many cha- 
 pels and holy fountains in Scotland. Camerarius 
 informs us he was Abbot of Pittenweem, in Fife, 
 and afterwards died a hermit, in the wild and 
 romantic district of Glenurquhay, A. D. 649. The 
 legend asserts, that when engaged in transcrib- 
 ing the Scriptures, his left hand or arm emitted 
 a supernatural eflulgence, by which he was ena- 
 bled, without resorting to the more natural
 
 BRUCE AND ST. FILLAN". 315 
 
 expedient of using torches or candles, to carry 
 on his labours at midnight as easily as at mid- 
 day. This luminous arm was ever after pre- 
 served as a relic, and Bruce, who neglected nothing 
 which might give confidence to his soldiers, and 
 whose own mind was probably not insensible to 
 the influence of such ideas, carried it along with 
 him, inclosed in its silver shrine, to Bannockburn. 
 The chaplain of the king, however, dreading lest 
 the precious relic should, in the subsequent battle, 
 perhaps fall into the hands of the English, secretly 
 abstracted it, and left nothing but the silver shrine 
 in the royal tent. At nigbt, Robert, with his 
 mind agitated by his various affairs, scarce allowed 
 himself any sleep, but consumed the night in watch- 
 ing, and directed his prayers to St. Fillan, whose 
 arm he believed to be shut up in the silver shrine 
 which was carried with the army ; when to his 
 surprise the casket was observed to open and shut 
 suddenly, and on inspection it was found that the 
 saint had deposited his arm in the shrine as an as- 
 surance of victory. 
 
 There yet lingers in the northern parts of the 
 kingdom a strong superstitious belief in the powers 
 of the same saint to cure lunacy, and the magical 
 operations by which his aid is invoked are still per- 
 formed at his chapel and pool of Slralhfiilan, in 
 Breadalbane. A curious relic of St. Fillan existed 
 not very long ago at Kiilin, where it was seen in 
 July, 1782, by Mr. William Thomson. The fol- 
 lowing letter from that gentleman, to the late Earl 
 of Buchan, gives a minute description of it : — 
 ' At Kiilin, July 5, 1782, in the house of Malise 
 Doire, a day I was shown what he called the
 
 316 
 
 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Quigrich. It is the head of a Croisier, formerly 
 belonging to St. Fillan, who gave his name to a 
 neighbouring strath. * * With it is 
 
 shown a copy of the king's letters of appropriation 
 and security, which I have carefully transcribed. 
 The neighbours conducted me to the envied pos- 
 sessor of this relic, who exhibited it, according to 
 the intent of the royal investment. A youth of 
 nineteen, the representative of his father's name, 
 and presumptive heir to this treasure, lay droop- 
 ing in an outer apartment, under the last gasp of 
 a consumption. The relic weighs about seven or 
 eight pounds, is of silver gilt, and hollow at one 
 end, A. On the other end, c, which is flat, is en- 
 graved a crucifix, having a star on each side. An 
 oval crystal is set in the front of the staff, and is 
 here seen in profile b. 
 
 ' The document shown with this curious 
 of antiijuity is in the following terms : — 
 
 piece
 
 BRUCE AND ST. FILL AN. 317 
 
 ' " At Edinburgh, the 1st day of November, 
 1734, in presence of the lords of council and ses- 
 sion, compeared Mr. John Lookup, advocat, as 
 procurator for Malise Doire after designed, and 
 gave in the letters of gift underwritten, desiring the 
 same to be registrat in their lordships' books, as a 
 probative writ ; whicli desire the said lords found 
 reasonable, and therefore they ordain the same to 
 be done accordingly, conform to act of Parliament, 
 made anent the registration of probative writs, in 
 all points, whereof the tenor follows : — 
 
 ' " James, be the grace of God, king of Scottis, 
 to all and sindrie oure leigis and subditis spirituule 
 and temporale, to whais knawledge thir oure let- 
 ters sail come greeting : for as meikle as we half 
 understud that oure servitor, Malise Doire, and 
 his forbears, lies had ane relic of Saint Filane, 
 callit the Quigrich, in keping of us and of oure 
 progenitouris of maist noble mynde, quham God 
 assoilzie, sen the tyme of King Robert the Bruce, 
 and of before, and made nane obedience nor an- 
 swer to na persoun spirituale nor temporale, in ony 
 thing concerning the said haly relic, uthirwayis 
 than what is contenit in the auld inlcftment thereof 
 maid and granlit be oure said progenitouris. We 
 charge you thairfore straitly, and commandis that in 
 tyme to cum ye, and ilk ane of you, redily answer, 
 intend, and obey to the said ]\ialise Doire, in the 
 peceable bruiking and joisingof the said relick. And 
 that ye, or nane of you, tak ujion hand to comjml 
 nor distrenziehim to mak obedience nor answer to 
 you, nor til ony uther hot allenarly to us and oure 
 successouris, according to the said infeftment and 
 fundatun of the said relick, and siclike as wes use
 
 318 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 and wont in the tyme of oure said progenitouris of 
 maist noble mynde of before. And that ye make 
 him nana impediment, letting nor distroublance in 
 the passing with the said relick thro the cuntrie, as 
 he and his forbears was wont to do. And that ye, 
 and ilk ane of you, in oure name and autorite, 
 kepe him unthrallit, bot to remane in siclike free- 
 dom and liberty of the said relick, like as is con- 
 tenit in the said infeftment, under all the hiest pain 
 and charge, that ye, and ilk ane of you, may amit 
 and inrin anent us in that pairt. Givin under oure 
 privie seale at Edinburgh, the xi day of July, the 
 yeir of God, i".iiiiMxxxvii yeiris, and of oure regn 
 the xxvii yere. Sic subscribitur, 
 
 James R. 
 
 ' " Litera pro Malisio Doire, 
 in Strathfinane." 
 
 * The privy seal is appended to the principal' 
 ' It thus appears that from a period anterior to 
 the reign of Robert Bruce this remarkable relic 
 liad been handed down from father to son, in the 
 family of Malise Doire, for nearly five centuries ; 
 an extraordinary instance of uninterrupted posses- 
 sion and traditionary superstition. 
 ^'I am informed by my much-respected and intel- 
 ligent friend Mrs. Douglass Maclean Clephane, an 
 enthusiastic antiquary in everything connected with 
 Scottish history, that when in Strathfinane, in the 
 year 1800, she saw the Quigrich. It was then in 
 the possession of a very old Highland woman, who 
 exhibited also the copy of the Royal Charter : by a 
 pencil note on the letter to the Earl of Buchan, 
 it appears that the owner of the relic afterwards 
 emigrated to America, carrying the quigrich along 
 with him.
 
 319 
 
 III. BATTLE OF BANNOCKBURN. 
 
 To the enthusiast in Scottish history and anti- 
 quarian research, who wishes to spend a pleasant 
 day in his favourite pursuits, I would recommend 
 a walk over the field of Bannockburn, taking in 
 his hand the admirable poem of ' Barbour,' and 
 the English historian Hemingford. It is neces- 
 sary, however, to warn him, that on reaching the 
 toll at the Torwood, about a mile beyond the vil- 
 lage of Larbert, he ought to turn to the left hand, 
 leaving the main road, which would lead him to 
 the modern village of Bannockburn, and ascend 
 the hill through the Torwood, along the ancient 
 road, which was undoubtedly the line of march pur- 
 sued by Edward on his advance to the battle. 
 He will thus traverse the Plean muir, by the back 
 of the Plean hill, and passing a small line of 
 houses, still called the camp, discern an elevated 
 field on his left, situated on the property of Major 
 Lowes. There tradition still points out the S])ot 
 where Edward halted and encamped the night be- 
 fore the battle ; and her voice, too often imagina- 
 tive and uncertain, is here confirmed by the 
 more solemn evidence of history ; whilst it is ])leas- 
 ing to find that every countryman round can 
 show where the royal tent was pitched, and the 
 royal standard of England unfurled. The spot 
 enjoys a commanding prospect. It is about 
 two miles and a half or three miles from the New 
 Park, where Bruce was encamped. On the right 
 is the beautiful line of the Ochil hills; Stirling 
 Castle, with a noble background of Highland 
 hills, being seen to the north. A small red-tiled cot-
 
 320 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 tage, which overtops Bannockburn Wood, marks 
 a spot still distinguished in the neighbourhood by 
 the name of the Bloody Faulds, where such was 
 the slaughter of the English in their flight, that 
 the little burn or stream which is hard by, is said 
 to have been choked by the dead bodies, and to 
 have run red with blood for twenty-four hours. 
 Beyond the Bloody Faukls, and to the north, is a 
 spot denominated the Cat's Crag, where a stone 
 still stands which is said to mark the position of 
 another standard — probably that of the advance or 
 vanguard of the English, under the command of the 
 Earls of Gloucester and Hereford. Bruce's posi- 
 tion was completely defended from any attack in 
 the direct line, by the rugged ravine in which the 
 Bannock runs; but at Milton, or Beaton's Mill, is 
 a narrow pass, where the enemy might cross, 
 avoiding the ravine of the Bannock, and extend- 
 ing themselves on some firm ground which 
 stretches to tlie left. I am persuaded they adopted 
 this line of attack, as the nature of the ground left 
 them no other alternative. In accomplishing it, 
 however, their columns must have been crowded 
 into a very small space, which probably occasioned 
 the appearance mentioned in the text, vol. ii., pp. 
 39, 40. It is still reported in the traditions of 
 the neighbourhood tliat the English came down 
 by the old Torvvood road, from their encamp- 
 ment on the Plean Muir; and this road runs 
 down past Coalheugh farm to Pirnhall,and thence 
 to Milton. Taking this line of walk, therefore, 
 the reader will traverse very nearly the line of ad- 
 vance of the army of Edward against the strong 
 position occupied by Bruce.
 
 321 
 
 IV. DEATH OF THE GOOD SIR JAMES 
 DOUGLAS.* 
 
 It is to be wished that some Spanish antiquary 
 would amuse himself by investigating the circum- 
 stances and locality of the death of this renowned 
 warrior. The common Spanish historians, Ma- 
 riana, Rodericus Santius, and Francis Tarapha, 
 give us little information on the subject ; but I 
 have met with some passages in the Ancient Chro- 
 nicle of Alfonso XL, (' Cronica del Rey Alfonso 
 El Onceno,') published at Madrid in 1787, which 
 throw a little light on the subject. We find from 
 this source that Alfonso concluded a temporary 
 truce with the Sultan of Granada, in 1330, and 
 that soon after, in the course of the same year, 
 this Mahometan prince passed over to Africa, and 
 entered into a league with Alboacen, Kinj? of 
 Marocco, who promised to assist him in his wars 
 with Alfonso, and to send over his son with 6000 
 cavalry to Spain. The title of Alboacen, as we 
 learn by a passage in the same chronicle, was El 
 Rey Albohacen de Benamarin, and his son was 
 named Abomelique. Now turning to p. 184 of 
 the same chronicle, we find that when the two 
 Saracen princes were making these arrangements 
 in Africa, there arrived at the camp of Alfonso, 
 in 1330, a body of French, German, Gascon, and 
 English knights, who partook in the tournaments 
 and festivities, and received from the king presents 
 of horses and arms with which they justed. ' E 
 el Roy,' says the Chronicle, * mandaban Ics dar 
 caballos et armas con que justasen.' We know 
 
 * Vol. ii. pp. 206, 207. 
 VOL. III. Y
 
 322 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 from Barbour, p. 415, that the king Alfonso re- 
 ceived Douglas with great distinction, and pre- 
 sented him with ' gold and tresour, hors and 
 arming.' These, as is already mentioned in the 
 text (vol. ii. p. 206), Douglas with all due cour- 
 tesy declined ; but he oftered to the king his ser- 
 vices, and those of the knights, his companions, 
 against the infidels ; and ' many foreign captains, 
 who had heard of the fame of Douglas, crowded 
 round him.' From these passages I conjecture 
 that Sir James Douglas, having landed at Seville, 
 took his journey with the knights and squires who 
 were in his suite, to the court and camp of King 
 Alfonso, which was then at Burgos ; and that the 
 Chronicle, when it notices the arrival of a distin- 
 guished body of knights from foreign countries, 
 meant to include amongst the English Sir James 
 Douglas and his companions. Now once more 
 turning to the Chronicle, it appears (p. 196) that 
 not long after this, Abomelique, son of Albohacen 
 of Benamarin, according to his agreement, landed 
 in Spain at the head of 6000 cavalry, and passed 
 to Algeziras : upon which the Sultan of Granada 
 a^ain declared war ao^ainst Alfonso. I entreat the 
 reader to remark how completely this corresponds 
 to the passage in Barbour, where Douglas and his 
 company are described as being inactive, until 
 news came that the ' high King of Balmeryne 
 had entered the land of Spain.' 
 
 Upon this maiier still they lay. 
 Quhil thro the couiitiie they hard say 
 That the high Kinrj of Balmeryne, 
 With many a moody Sarazine, 
 Was entrit intill the land of Spayne. 
 
 In the high King of Balmeryne of Barbour, it
 
 DEATH OF SIR JAMES DOUGLAS. 323 
 
 is easy to recognise the Sultan Abomelique of 
 Benamarin (tlms called from his father Albohacen) ; 
 and, indeed, if we look to the Latin historians of 
 Spain, Rodericus Santius, (vol. ii. Wechelii Rer. 
 Hisp. Script., p. 386,) and Marineus Siculus, 
 (vol. ii. p. 820,) we find the kings of Benamarin 
 designated Reges Bellamarini, from which the 
 transition to Balmeryne is still easier. It next 
 appears from the Chronicle, that Abomelique, after 
 concerting measures with the Sultan of Granada, 
 laid siege to Gibraltar; and that Alfonso, having 
 collected a great army, resolved to raise the siege, 
 by attacking the infidels ; for which purpose he 
 collected his best captains, and amongst others 
 sent for Don Yasco Rodriguez, Master of Santi- 
 ago. It is shown by tlie Chronicle that Abome- 
 lique laid siege to Gibraltar in the last week of 
 February, 1330, and it was not till the 8th of 
 June, 1331, (the siege having then lasted above 
 three months,) that Alfonso arrived in Seville 
 with the design of concentrating his forces, and 
 attacking the Saracens. It was here that Dou- 
 glas's ships were laid up, and there can be little 
 doubt that at this time he and his companions were 
 in the Spanish camp. A slight circumstance 
 seems to corroborate this : — On coming to Seville, 
 Alfonso found there the Grand Master of Santiago. 
 Now, it is stated by Barbour, who probably had 
 his information from some of the survivors, that, 
 in the battle which ensued, the King gave the 
 leadmg of the first battle or vaward to Douglas ; 
 that he entrusted the conduct of the second to the 
 Grand Master of Santiago ; 
 
 Andtlu' great Muster of Saint Jak 
 
 The tothyr battail gurt he tuk. 
 
 y2
 
 324 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 It is necessary to consider for a moment the 
 circumstances under which the battle was fought 
 in which Douglas met his death, as they have not 
 hitherto been explained by any of our historians. 
 After a long and gallant defence, Gibraltar was 
 treacherously betrayed by its governor, Vasco 
 Perez, and delivered to the Sultan Abomelique, 
 (Chronica del Rey Alonso, p. 224,) who placed 
 in it a strong garrison. Alfonso, in his turn, laid 
 siege to it ; and the King of Granada, with his 
 African ally, Abomelique, or, as Barbour styles 
 liim, the ' high King of Balmeryne,' advanced 
 with their combined forces to its rescue. The 
 Spanish monarch met and defeated these two sol- 
 dans ; and if the reader will consult Fordun, vol. 
 ii. p. 302, he will find a detailed account of the 
 manner in which the good Sir James was slain. 
 It has been abridged in the text, vol. ii. p. 207, 
 and may be compared with the description of the 
 battle in the ' Chronicle of Alonso XL, pp. 227, 
 228, 229. Douglas is generally believed to have 
 been slain on the 25th of August, 1330, according 
 to the tenor of an ancient epitaph, preserved by 
 Fordun, where he is said to have fallen ' apud 
 Castruni Tibris.' It seems to me almost certain 
 that he was slain in August, 1331, a year later; 
 for in 1330 there was a truce between the Moors 
 and the Spaniards ; and the war does not appear 
 to have recommenced till Abomelique landed in 
 Spain with his reinforcement, which happened in 
 1331. As for the expression, ' apud Castrum 
 Tibris,' I have in vain attempted to discover its 
 locality, and suspect some false reading of the 
 manuscript.
 
 325 
 
 V. RANDOLPH, EARL OF MORAY* 
 
 In the manuscript Cartulary of Dumfermling, 
 preserved in the Advocates' Library at Edinburgh, 
 (p. 243 of Macfarlane transcript, and fol. 21 in 
 the original,) there is to be found a charter of the 
 great Randolph. In it he declares his desire that 
 his body shall be buried ' in capella sua infra Ec- 
 clesiam Conventualem de Dumfermlyn,' — in his 
 chapel situated beneath the Conventual Church of 
 Dumfermline, — and devotes forty shillings sterling 
 for the support of a priest, who is to say mass for 
 liis soul, and the souls of his ancestors, every day 
 in the year — ' tarn in vita nostra quam post 
 mortem, corpore nostro ibidem sepulto vel non 
 sepulto,' — as well during his life as after his death, 
 and whether his body be then buried there or not. 
 During the continuance of the mass, he gives 
 minute directions that ' duo cerei solennes ardcant 
 a principio missse usque ad finem, quorum unus 
 stet apud caput et alter ad pedes,' — two great wax 
 tapers should burn from the beginning of the mass 
 till its conclusion, the one at his head, the other 
 at his feet. Unfortunately, this deed has neither 
 date nor witnesses. 
 
 VL FEUDAL GOVERNMENTS.— POWER OF THE 
 PEOPLE TO BE TRACED TO THE MEASURES 
 OF THE CROWN. 
 
 The encroachments made by the power of the 
 feudal nobles on the authority of the crown seem 
 to have taken place in England, France, and Scot- 
 
 * Vol. ii. p. 209.
 
 326 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 land under nearly similar circumstances, although 
 not precisely at the same lime ; and in the three 
 countries, the different monarchs, anxious to de- 
 fend their own prerogative, and to diminish the 
 power of the great feudal aristocracy, appear to 
 have adopted for this purpose very nearly the same 
 methods. Tlie nobles became jealous of the in- 
 crc ase of the royal authority, because it was a 
 check and counterpoise to their own ; and altiiough 
 with little success, it endeavoured at least to reduce 
 them under the obedience of the laws. It is thus 
 in Scotland that, during the long minorities, when 
 the royal power was necessarily feeble ; or during 
 periods of foreign war, when the king required 
 soldiers and money, — we see the nobles ever on 
 the watch to increase their own power, and the 
 king frequently compelled to give way, till a more 
 f^ivourable crisis for asserting his prerogative ar- 
 rived. The reign of Edward I., one of the firmest 
 and wisest of the English kings, affords many 
 instances of this. We find the same struggle 
 taking place in France ; and out of the measures 
 adopted by the crown during this struggle arose 
 much of the power of the people. It became the ob- 
 ject of the feudal monarch, in order to put down, or 
 at least, to check the encroachments of his nobles, 
 to increase the power of the burgesses and middle 
 classes of the citizens ; to raise them in rank and 
 esteem ; to give charters of freedom to towns and 
 communities ; to admit the burgesses into the great 
 Council, or Parliament ; to enact laws in favour 
 of commerce and manufactures; to put an end to 
 the right of private war; to abolish servitude and 
 bondage ; and in everything to increase that third
 
 FEUDAL GOVERXMENTS, ETC. 327 
 
 power in the state upon which the barons looked 
 with contempt, but the sovereign with compla- 
 cencv. It woukl not be difficult to adduce many 
 historical proofs of these assertions, and to point 
 out the great struggle against the exorbitant 
 tyranny of the feudal aristocracy, of which we 
 discern the workings in France, England, and 
 Scotland. 
 
 In France, the kings, at a very early period, so 
 soon as the middle of the twelfth century, saw the 
 necessity of making a stand against the gigantic 
 strength of the nobles. In that country, Louis le 
 Gros was contemporary with David I. in Scotland, 
 and Henry I. in England ; and it was to this 
 Louis that the body of the feudal vassals owed so 
 much. He established free communities, by grant- 
 ing chartered privileges ; he adopted every means 
 of enfranchising the numerous and unfortunate 
 class of serfs, or slaves ; he abridged the odious 
 seignorial jurisdictions, and appointed royal depu- 
 ties, or commissaries (missi dominici), whose 
 business it was to make circuits through the king- 
 dom ; to inquire into and remedy all the abuses of 
 the baronial courts ; and cither to sit in judgment 
 and redress tbem, or send the appeal to the courts 
 of the king. These wise and excellent measures 
 originated with Garland and the Abbe Suger, his 
 ministers*. 
 
 In Scotland, it is evident that David I. raised up 
 the power of the clergy as a check upon the fierce 
 despotism of his feudal barons, and of the wealthy 
 burghers. By his encouragement of agriculture, 
 commerce, and manufactures ; by his charters to 
 towns and burghs; by his judicial progresses 
 * Renault, Abrege Chioiiologiq^ue, vol. i. p. 17'J.
 
 328 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 through the kingdom, and the frequent instances in 
 his reign, and in those of his successors, where we 
 see the serfs and bondsmen recovering their liberty, 
 either by grant or purchase, we can discern the 
 same object of humbling and reducing the ex- 
 cessive powers of the nobles, giving security to 
 the rights and property of the middle classes of 
 the people, and additional strength to the royal 
 authority. Under the reign of Malcolm IV., the 
 struggle between the king and the encroachments 
 of the barons becomes again discernible *. They 
 assaulted, we know, and attempted to make them- 
 selves masters of his person. It is even asserted 
 by the same historian, that, dissatisfied with the 
 administration of the king, they compelled his 
 brother William to assume the regency. On the 
 death of Malcolm, during the reign of William the 
 Lion, a monarch of great energy and determina- 
 tion, the barons appear to have kept within due 
 bounds ; and the increasing consequence of the 
 commercial classes is seen by a remarkable grant 
 of six thousand merks paid down by the boroughs, 
 as their portion of a sum due to England f. Under 
 his successor, Alexander II., Roger de Quincy, 
 one of the most powerful of the feudal barons, 
 who had married the heiress of Alan, Lord of 
 Galloway, carried his oppressions and extortion to 
 such a height, that his vassals grew infuriated, 
 and, besieging him in his castle, would have torn 
 him to pieces ; but, clothing himself in complete 
 armour, he cut his way, sword in hand, through 
 the midst of them. This happened in 1247. We 
 are not to suppose, however, that a regular and 
 
 * Fordun a (Jooilal, book viii. c. 4. 
 f Ibid., book viii. c. 73.
 
 FEUDAL GOVERNMENTS, ETC. 329 
 
 continuous system can be discerned in progress, 
 which wrought an increase of power to the crown, 
 and of consequence to the lower orders, along with 
 a proportionate loss of authority by the nobles, 
 under each successive reign. On the contrary, 
 when the sceptre chanced to fall into a hand natu- 
 rally weak, or infirm with age, under the frequent 
 minorities which occur in the history of Scotland, 
 and during the captivity of some of its sovereigns, 
 the nobles were ever on the alert to regain their 
 ancient strength, or to acquire new privileges. 
 
 In this manner it happened that the personal 
 character of the king, his courage, firmness, and 
 wisdom, exercised a very evident influence upon 
 the public happiness, — an observation which is 
 strikingly confirmed by the history of Scotland 
 during tlie reigns of David I. and Alexander II. 
 Alexander III., as we have seen, vol. i. p. 4, 
 succeeded when yet a boy ; and we instantly 
 see the violent commotions between the different 
 parties of the nobles which occurred during his 
 minority, the various plots for the purpose of 
 seizing the person of the king, and thus pos- 
 sessing themselves of a royal warrant to op- 
 press and domineer over all classes of the country, 
 — a history which, in a greater or lesser degree, 
 applies to every feudal government when it has 
 experienced the misfortune of a minority. We 
 have seen, however, that the character of Alex- 
 ander, by its early energy and sagacity, put an 
 end to these abuses, and established the govern- 
 ment, as his reign proceeded, upon the foundation 
 of just laws, administered with a wholesome se- 
 verity. Against these laws, indeed, and their due
 
 330 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 execution, the spirit of the feudal system offered 
 the utmost opposition. The enormous estates of 
 the barons, their right of private war, and of hold- 
 inof their own courts, and their ahnost unlimited 
 authority over their vassals and retainers ; the 
 custom of deadly feud, or of transmitting their 
 fierce and implacable quarrels along with their 
 inheritance to their children ; and that indomitable 
 pride, which broke out in contentions for prece- 
 dence in the field, or in the councils of their sove- 
 reign, too often at times of the utmost emergency 
 and danger ; — all these marked and predominating 
 circumstances were just so many barriers in the 
 progress of the country to security, liberty, and 
 the blessings of good government. It is impos- 
 sible, indeed, to study the history of Scotland 
 (luring this remote period without being forcibly 
 struck with the correctness of this observation ; 
 and it applies with particular force to the annals 
 of the long war of liberty, to the struggles of 
 Wallace, and the early difficulties encountered by 
 Bruce. To the immense body of the lower feudal 
 vassals and retainers the service of their lord was 
 the only road to distinction ; their neglect of it 
 was sure to be visited with punishment, if not with 
 ruin. In reading the history of these dark times, 
 it is easy to see that personal security and comfort 
 being involved in the issue, this great body, which 
 composed, in truth, the whole strength of the 
 country, regarded the desertion of the king, or 
 their loss of national independence, as an affair 
 of less moment than a single act of disobedience 
 to their liege lord. It was by the iron laws of 
 this cruel system tiiat Wallace at last found him-
 
 TOURNAMENT FOR THK BLACK LADY. 331 
 
 self compelled to abandon the attempt to lead the 
 Scottish barons and their vassals against England, 
 and yet without it Bruce, perhaps, could not have 
 succeeded. 
 
 VII. TOURNAMENT FOR THE BLACK LADY, 
 BY JAMES IV. 
 
 It appears from the unpublished extracts from 
 the accounts of the High Treasurer of Scotland, 
 collected by the Rev. Mr. M'Gregor Stirling, a 
 gentleman of rare but unobtrusive talent in the 
 investigation of the sources of Scottish history, 
 that, amongst the various curiosities, animate and 
 inanimate, which James IV. vvas fond of amassing, 
 were a party of blackamoors. These sable orna- 
 ments of his court he treated with great kindness 
 and distinction ; and the expenses upon their cloth- 
 ing and entertainment occupy a prominent place in 
 the books of tlie Treasurer. They were captured 
 in a Portuguese ship, which brought other curiosi- 
 ties ; amongst the rest, a musk cat, and ' Portin- 
 gale horse, with a red tail*.' James ordered one 
 of the Moor lasses to be christened ; upon which 
 occasion, such is the minuteness of the accounts, 
 that we are informed his Majesty put nine shil- 
 lings in the caudle f. A tournament appears 
 afterwards to have been held in honour of the 
 ' black ladye,' in which this sable beauty was 
 
 * Nov. 8, 1 504. To Mossmau Polingaire, to red (settle) 
 the More's exiienst'S, the Portin^ail liorse and beasts, and 
 folk with them, 30sh. — MS. Accounts of the High Trea- 
 surer. 
 
 -j- Item, when the More lasse wes cristinit, given to put 
 in the caudill, 9 shillings.
 
 332 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 introduced in a triumphal chariot, and gallant 
 knights contended for the prize which she was to 
 adjudge ; nay, such was the solemnity and grave 
 importance with which these feudal amusements 
 were prepared, that articles of defiance were sent 
 to France, in which a Scottish champion, under 
 the name of a wild or savage knight, (probably 
 the king himself,) challenged the chivalry of 
 that court to break a spear in honour of the 
 black lady*. On this occasion. Sir Anthony 
 D'Arsy, a French cavalier of great skill in all 
 warlike exercises, who was afterwards cruelly 
 murdered in Scotland, appears to have gained 
 much distinction. He arrived at the Court of 
 Scotland, accompanied by a numerous suite, and 
 was received by James with high honour. His 
 mission, probably, was not solely of a chivalrous 
 nature, but involved subjects of political import- 
 ance, which could be readily concealed from com- 
 mon observation under the gorgeous disguise of 
 the tournament. Whatever was its nature, the 
 consideration in which he was held may be inferred 
 from the generosity of his reception and the splen- 
 did presents with which he was dismissed. I copy 
 some of the items as a specimen of those valuable 
 documents from which we may derive so much in- 
 formation upon the manners of the country. AVhen 
 Sir Anthony arrived, his horse's feet seem to have 
 been swelled and beat by the journey, and Kobert 
 Galloway was ordered to bathe them with wine : — 
 ' Item, to Robt. Galloway, for wyne to baiss the 
 
 * Item, to two quires of gold to illiimyne the articles 
 sent to France lor the justying of the Wila Knight for the 
 black lady.
 
 TOURN^AMENT FOR THE BLACK LADY. 333 
 
 French knychtis hors feit, 4sh. Item, for the 
 French knychtis collaciounes, belcheir, servandis, 
 wages, fra the 11th day of December instant to 
 this day, £4. 4sh. 5d. Item, for his folkis ex- 
 pensis in Edinburgh quhilk remanit behind him, 
 £T. 13sh. Item, to the French knight himself, 
 £\\2. * * Item, ane ducat of wecht, to gild the 
 knop of the goblets that was the Bishop of Mur- 
 ray's, and given to Anthony Darsey, 15sh. 6d. 
 Item, to the said Anthony, the French knight, 
 400 French crowns in English money, summa 
 i£'280. Item, for a twelbe-piece silver vessel, 
 new made in Flanders, weighing 12 pound, 8 
 ounces, ^£"280. Item, ane salt fat of the lady of 
 gold, given by the queen on New Year's Day, the 
 year of God 1504, and given to the said knycht. 
 Item, ane stoup and ane flaggat of silver, brought 
 Lame be Master James IMerchanstoun, with their 
 cases given to him. Item, the ten goblets of 
 silver, given by the Bishop of ]\Iurray on New 
 Year's Day by past, given to him. Item, for bur- 
 nishing and grathing of the same, 13sh. Item, 
 that day after the French knight departed sent to 
 Hadington to his servants fifty French crowns, 
 summa ^£'30. Item, to the French knyclit's ex- 
 penses in Hadington, and on the morrow to his 
 dinner, horse's meat, and belcher, £b. 15sh. 8d. 
 Item, to seven French saddles to him, £9. 15sh. 
 Item, to James Ackman, for the French knight's 
 lodging from Michaelmas to Candlemas, which is 
 18 weeks, eacli week 24£h., summa ^21. 13sh.' 
 
 These entries occur towards the end of the 
 year 1506 ; but, in the succeeding summer of 
 1507, the king appears to have instituted another
 
 334 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS, 
 
 gorgeous tournament in lionour of the black lady. 
 She again appeared in a triumphal chariot, and was 
 arrayed in a robe of damask silk, powdered with 
 gold spangles ; whilst her two damsels were clothed 
 in gowns of green Flanders tafleta. On this oc- 
 casion there were introduced a troop of wild men. 
 The books of the High Treasurer conduct us be- 
 hind the scenes, and let us know that the ' goat- 
 skins and harts' horns in which these civilized 
 savages enacted their parts, were sent by Sir 
 William Murray from TuUibardine, at the expense 
 of six shillings.' It was probably on this occasion 
 that Dunbar indited his lines on ' Ane Black Moir.' 
 
 Lang have I siinj^ of ladies white, 
 Now of ane black I will indite 
 
 That landed forth from the last ships; 
 Whom fain I would describe perfyte', 
 
 My ladye with the meikle- lippis. 
 
 How she is tute mow'd like an ape, 
 And like a gangaral unto graip; 
 
 And how her short cat-nose up skips ; 
 And how she shines like ony saip', — 
 
 My ladye with the meikle lips. 
 
 When she is clad in rich apparel, 
 She blinks as bright as ane tar-barrel ; 
 
 When she was born, the sun thol'd clipse, 
 The nycht be fain fought in her quarrel, — 
 
 My ladye with the meikle lips. 
 
 It appears from the books of the High Trea- 
 surer, under December 2, 1512, that the queen 
 liad a black maiden who waited on her. ' Item, 
 for three ells i French russet to the queen's black 
 maiden, 3/. 16s. 6d.' 
 
 ' perfectly. ^ large. ^ soap.
 
 335 
 
 VIII. JAMES IV. AND THE FLYING ABBOT OF 
 TUNGLAND. 
 
 This monarch had a singular passion for collect- 
 ing all sorts of quacks about him. Of these, one 
 of the most extraordinary was a French adept, 
 who pretended to possess not only great skill in 
 medicine, but other still more attractive and mys- 
 terious secrets. He was an alchymist, and per- 
 suaded the credulous monarch that lie had either 
 discovered, or was on the point of discovering, 
 the philosopher's stone. He represented himself 
 as eminently skilful in detecting gold and silver 
 mines ; and, on the occasion of an embassy setting 
 out from Stirling to the Court of France, had the 
 assurance to declare that he had constructed a 
 pair of artificial wings, by whicli he undertook to 
 fly to Paris, and arrive long before the ambassa- 
 dors. ' This time,' says Bishop Lesly, ' there was 
 an Italiane with the king, wha wes made Abbot 
 of Tungland. He causit the king believe that, by 
 multiplying, and uthers his inventions, he would 
 make fine pold of other metal, quhilk science he 
 called the Quintessence : whereupon the king made 
 great cost; but all in vain. This abbot tuke in 
 hand to flie with wings, and to be in France before 
 the said ambassadors ; and to that effect he caused 
 make ane pair of wings of feathers, quhilk being 
 festinitt uponn him, he flew off the castle-wall of 
 Stirling; but shortly he fell to the ground, and 
 broke his thie-bane ; but the wyte (blame) thereof 
 he ascribed to their bcand some hen feathers in 
 the wings, quhilk yarnit and coveted the myddin, 
 and not the skies*.' 
 
 * Lesly's Historic S cotl and, p. 76.
 
 336 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 It was on this famous occasion that Dunbar 
 composed his humorous satirical stanzas, entitled 
 " Of the Fenyeit Frier of Tungland.' The real 
 name of this bold empiric was John Damidne, and 
 he first appeared at the Court of James in the ca- 
 pacity of a French leech, or physician *. He soon 
 recommended himself to the king's good graces 
 by his chemical knowledge and his extravagant 
 pretensions ; so that he and his servants appear to 
 have lived wholly at the royal expense ; and we 
 find him comfortably established in his laboratory 
 at the palace, receiving, from time to time, various 
 sums of gold, which he undertook to multiply. 
 Thus, under the 3d of March, 1501, ' the king 
 sent to Striveline four Hary nobles in gold,' — a 
 sum equal, as it is stated, to nine pounds Scots 
 money, — ' for the leech to multiply.' These, how- 
 ever, were not his sole occupations ; for after the 
 mysterious labours of the day were concluded, 
 Master John was wont to play at cards with the so- 
 vereign, — a mode by which he probably transferred 
 the contents of the royal exchequer into his own 
 purse as efficaciously as by his distillationst. Salt- 
 petre, bellows, two great stillatours, brass mor- 
 tars, coals, and numerous vessels, of various shape, 
 uses, and denominations, form the items in the 
 Treasurer's accounts connected with the studies of 
 this foreign adept ; and so beloved was he by his 
 
 * It is thus noticed in the books of the High Treasurer, 
 under the 12th of January, 1501 : — ' Item, to ane man of 
 Mdister Johne Leiches, to fee him a horse fra Edinburgh 
 to Striveline, and to his expenses 13 shillings.' 
 
 \ Item, to the king and the French leich to play at the 
 cartis, £9. 5sh., March 4, 1501.— MS. Accounts of the 
 High Treasurer.
 
 THE FL"VING ABBOT OF TUNGLAND. 337 
 
 royal pupil, that, on a temporary visit, which he 
 found it necessary to jjay to France, James made 
 him a present of his own horse and two hundred 
 pounds *. 
 
 On his return to the Scottish court, he enter- 
 tained the king by a new kind of morris-dance, 
 which he had imported from tlie Continent. It is 
 thus quaintly mentioned in the books of the High 
 Treasurer: — ' Item, payit to Johne Francis, for 
 twenty-one elne of red tafieta and blue, quhilk 
 was sax dansing cotes in Maister Johne's dans, 
 i£l3. 13sh. Item, for five elne blue taffeta to the 
 woman's goune in the said dans, £'3. lOsh.' Soon 
 after this, the Abbot of Tungland, in Galloway, 
 died ; and the king, with that reckless levity and 
 which was so strangely blended with superstition 
 in his character, appointed this adventurer, — half 
 doctor, half alchymist, half morris-dancer, — to the 
 vacant dignity f. 
 
 According to Lesly, it was in September, 1507-8, 
 that the abbot exhibited himself in the form of a 
 bird on the battlements of Stirling Castle, and, by 
 the low-minded propensities of the ' hen-feathers,' 
 which he had inadvertently admitted into the con- 
 struction of his wings, was dragged to the earth, 
 and broke his thigh-bone. Having recovered from 
 this accident, he afterwards obtained, on the Sth 
 
 * MS. Acc.of HighTrea. sub. May 29 andJuneS, 1501. 
 
 Item, to Gareoch Pursuivant to pass to Tungland for the 
 Abbacie to French Maister Johne, 13sh. Item, payit to 
 Bardus Altorite, Lumbard, for Maister Johne, the French 
 medicinar, new-made Abbot of Tuntjland, he aucht the said 
 Bardus, £35. — MS. Accounts of High Treasurer of Scot- 
 land, sub. March 11 and 12, 1503. 
 
 + Privy Seal, III. 187. 
 
 VOL. III. Z
 
 338 ANTIQUARIAX ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 of September, iSOS, the royal permission to pursue 
 his studies abroad, but soon again returned to 
 Scotland. The last glimpse which we have of this 
 impostor is quite in character. He is found, on 
 the 29th March, 1513, receiving twenty pounds from 
 the king for his journey to the mine in Crawford 
 Moor, where his Majesty expected to find gold. 
 
 The Abbot of Tungland, however, was only one 
 of a multitude of empirics who resorted to James's 
 court, and seem to have been received w'ith equal 
 senerositv and credulitv. ' The leech with the 
 curland hair,' ' the lang Dutch doctor,' one Ful- 
 lertone, who possessed the secret of making pre- 
 cious stones, Dr. Ogilvy, who laboured hard at 
 ' quinta essencia,' and many others, were kept in 
 pay by this monarch, who not only supported them 
 in their experiments, but himself assisted in their 
 laboratory, and delighted to show his attainments 
 in medicine and surgery. On one occasion, the 
 monarch gave Kinnard, his barber, thirteen shil- 
 lings for two teeth which he was pleased to draw 
 out of his liead with his own royal hand. On 
 another, we find the following characteristic entry 
 in the books of the High Treasurer: — ' Item, to 
 Jamie Dog, for claith to be bandages to John 
 Balfour's leg, qnhilk the king helit^, twa shillings 
 and aucht pennies.* 
 
 IX. ARRIVAL OF THE GIPSIES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 The date of this remarkable event is fixed by 
 the books of the High Treasurer. On the 22d 
 of April, 1505, we find this entry: — ' Item, to the 
 ^ which the king cured.
 
 ARRIVAL OF THE GIPSIES IN SCOTLAND. 339 
 
 Egyptianis, be the king's command, seven pomids.' 
 Their leader was Anthony Gavino, Lord of Little 
 Egypt, as he styled himself ; and after he and his 
 company had sojourned for some months in Scot- 
 land, they determined to pass over to Denmark. 
 It was on this occasion that the king addressed to 
 his uncle, the King of Denmark, the following 
 curious letter, which was found by Pinkerton in 
 the manuscripts of the King's Library, and pub- 
 lished by him in his Appendix, vol. ii., No. 4 : — 
 ' Most Illustrious Prince, — Anthony Gavino, Earl 
 of Little Egypt, along with his company, an 
 afflicted and miserable race of men, in the pro- 
 gress of his peregrination round the Christian 
 world, undertaken, as he affirms, by order of the 
 Pope, hath at length reached the borders of our 
 kingdom, and entreated that, out of our ruyal 
 humanity, he might be permitted, with his goods, 
 chattels, and company, to travel through our terri- 
 tories, where he may find some refuge for his 
 helpless fortunes and miserable subjects. You 
 may believe that a request of this kind, proceeding 
 from the unfortunate, could not be refused ; and, 
 accordingly, after having lived here for several 
 months, compoi'ting himself, as I am informed, 
 after a conscientious and Catholic fashion, he is 
 now preparing, my excellent king and uncle, to 
 pass over to Denmark, liefore crossing the sea, 
 however, he hath requested our letters, by which 
 your highness might not only be informed of the 
 truth of these particulars, but might also be moved 
 to extend your kindness and munificence towards 
 relieving the calamities of this people. Yet, as 
 the kingdom of your Highness is nearer to Egypt 
 
 z 2
 
 340 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 than our dominions, and as there must conse- 
 quently be a greater resort of these people within 
 your territories than to these our realms, it follows 
 that the fate, manners, and extraction of these 
 Egyptian wanderers must be more familiar to 
 vour Highness than to ourselves, — Farewell, most 
 Illustrious Prince*.' 
 
 X. ANCIENT SCOTTISH GAMES AND 
 AMUSEMENTS. 
 
 A valuable and curious additional chapter might 
 be added to Strutt's ' Sports and Pastimes,' from the 
 pages of the manuscript accounts of the Lord High 
 Treasurer, during tlie reign of the Fourth James. 
 The king's fondness for games, glee, and merriment 
 of every kind is ludicrous ; and, when we consider 
 the many grave and valuable qualities which James 
 undoubtedly possessed, presents a singular picture 
 of human nature. The multitude of persons 
 whom he kept in pay, for the sole purposes of 
 amusement, was very great. Take one item for 
 example, which belongs to his expenses in 1506. 
 ' Payments to divers menstrales, schawmourers, 
 trumpeters, tambrownars, fithelaris, lutars, clars- 
 charis, and pyparis, extending to eighty-nine per- 
 sons, fortv-one pounds eleven shillings.' He ap- 
 pears to have been passionately fond of rnusic, 
 both vocal and instrumental. When he took his 
 progresses through his kingdom he was generally 
 met at the gates of the town by maidens, who wel- 
 comed him" with songs ; and wherever he went the 
 royal taste appears to have found out those who could 
 
 * The original epistle is in Latin.
 
 ANCIENT SCOTTISH GAMES. 341 
 
 please him in his favourite art *. Thus, in tlie trea- 
 surer's accounts, as regularly as the king comes 
 to Dumfries, ' a little crukit backit vicar ' makes 
 his appearance, who sings to the king; and this 
 deformed vocalist figures from year to year as a 
 recipient of the royal bounty. On his journeys he 
 took his organs, organists, harpers, lutars, and 
 Italiane minstrels along with him ; and when the 
 noted papal embassy arrived at his court, which 
 brought him from his Holiness a splendid sword 
 of justice, still to be seen amongst the Scottish 
 regalia, the first attitude in which we discover the 
 king, is ' listhening' not to the ambassador, but 
 to the Paip's ambassador's servant, who was 
 a celebrated singer. Many other examples 
 might be given, but let us pass to the games 
 m vogue at court. Chess-tables, dice, and cards 
 we find common ; and the king seems almost 
 invariably to have played for money. Thus, 
 in 1488, we have 'Item, on Yule-day, for the king 
 himself to play at the dice and cards, 2SL Item, on 
 St. John's day at even sent with Archie Dickson to 
 the king to play at the dice at Lithgow, 42Z.' The 
 Bishop of Murray and the queen seem to have been 
 James's most frequentpartnersatthecard-table ; but 
 there are other games of which the names only re- 
 main, whilst the meaningand mode of plaving have 
 passed away. What, for instance, arc we to un- 
 derstand by the king playing at the proy; in Stralli- 
 bogy, and losing four shillings and fourpence ? 
 
 * He himself played on the lute ; thus, in the high trea- 
 surer's accounts, under Cth December, 1496, we have, 
 ' Item to Johne Jamesone for a hite to the kinf^, fish. Sd.' 
 He performed also on the monocordis, April 10, 1497.
 
 342 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 and what is the difference between the ' lang 
 bowlis ' with which his Majesty amused himself 
 at St. Andrew's, on tlie 2Sth of April, 1487, and 
 the ' row bowlis ' which contributed to his royal 
 diversion on the 20th June, 1501 ? on which oc- 
 casion Sir John Sinclair, and the prothonotary, 
 Andrew Forman, were his partners in the game. 
 AVhat, again, are we to understand by ' the kiles ' 
 which the king played at in Glenluce, on the 29th 
 March, 1506 .' anclwhatis the distinction between 
 the game of ' Irish gamyne ' (March 17, 1507), 
 and the ' tables ' which occur so constantly ? 
 Archery, and shooting at the butts, shooting with 
 the cross bow, and culveryng, playing at the golf 
 and football, not only occur continually, but in 
 all of them the king himself appears to have been 
 no mean proficient. Another favourite sport of 
 James was the exhibition of his skill and strength 
 in striking with the great sledge hammer used by 
 smiths in their forge. Thus, when Sir Anthony 
 D'Arsy came into Scotland from the French court, 
 and distinguished himself at the tournaments held 
 at Stirling, in 1506, we find, on the 25th June, 
 this entry in the books of the high treasurer — 
 ♦ Item to the smith quhen the king and the French 
 knycht strak at the steddye, 13 shillings.' 
 
 Other examples might be given of such exercises 
 of power and dexterity ; but we must look for a 
 moment to the king's more sedentary amusements, 
 — amongst these, listening to story-tellers or tale- 
 tellers seems to have been one of the most frequent. 
 Thus, on the 9th November, 1496, the accounts 
 introduce us to ' Wedderspoon the Foular, that 
 laid tales, and brocht foulis to the king :' on the
 
 ANCIENT SCOTTISH GAMES. 343 
 
 12th of the same month we meet with Watschod 
 the tale-teller ; on the 19th of April, 1497, we dis- 
 cover the king ' listhening to twa filhilaris, who 
 sung to him the ballad of " Grey Steel " ' — (pity 
 that the lord-treasurer had not given us the ballad 
 itself). And on the 13th March, 1506, ' a poor 
 man, wha tald tales to the Majesty of Scotland,' 
 received for the issue of his brain the reward of 
 six shillings and eight pence. It would be easy to 
 increase the catalogue of the royal amusements 
 from the same authentic records. Hunting, hawk- 
 ing, racing, plays, and tournaments, are constantly 
 recurring, whilst the King of Bene, the Abbot of 
 Unreason, the Queen of May, the daft Queen of the 
 Canongate, all contribute their stated and periodic 
 portions of mirth, license, and absurdity. One sin- 
 gular instance of James's love of practical jokes 
 and vulgar merriment is to be met with under the 
 14th August, 1491 — ' Item to a wife at Bathgate 
 bog that the king revit a rung fra^ 18 shillings.' 
 
 In the midst of all this reckless dissipation 
 of the royal mind, it is curious to remark the 
 outbreakings of superstitious feelings, the strange 
 mixture of levity and austerity which distin- 
 guishes his character. Pilgrimages and panto- 
 mimes succeed each other with startling rapidity. 
 In the midst of his career of gaiety the monarch 
 seems to be awakened suddenly by a sting of 
 remorse, and a messenger is despatched for St. 
 Duthoc's relic, or a profuse donation is made to 
 the grey friars for additional prayers and musses ; 
 or, in a still more homely frame of superstition, the 
 monarch borrows an angel, or gold noble, from 
 ^ wrested a stick from.
 
 344 ANTIQUARIAN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 his high treasurer, and after criikino-, or bending 
 it, fixes the taHsman to liis beads. I may here be 
 permitted to add a word on the common story of 
 James's iron girdle, which, it is said, the king ever 
 wore as a penance for his having appeared inarms 
 against his father. No evidence of the instrument is 
 to be traced in the treasurer's accounts, and yet 
 such is the minuteness of their information, that 
 we might have expected it to be noticed. It ap- 
 pears, however, that on the 3d of March, 1496, 
 the king employed a goldsmith to make a case of 
 gold, which was to be worn about his halse, or 
 neck, and that three days after this the same case 
 was made larger or heavier than it had been ori- 
 ginally. It has been conjectured that the wearing 
 this case of gold may have been a penance, and the 
 origin of the story of the iron girdle ; but I am 
 inclined to think that it partook rather of orna- 
 ment than of mortification. It was probably no- 
 thing more than a golden collar or gorget. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 London : W. Clowks, Stamford-street.
 
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