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A Ballad of the Friar of Tungland

As yung Aurora with cristall haile
In orient schew hir visage paile,
A swevyng swyth did me assaile
Of sonis of Sathanis seid.
Me thocht a Turk of Tartary
Come throw the boundis of Barbary
And lay forloppin in Lumbardy
Full lang in waithman weid.

Fra baptasing for to eschew,
Thair a religious man he slew
And cled him in his abeit new,
For he couth wryte and reid.
Quhen kend was his dissimulance
And all his cursit govirnance,
For feir he fled and come in France,
With littill of Lumbard leid.

To be a leiche he fenyt him thair,
Quhilk mony a man micht rew evirmair,
For he left nowthir seik nor sair
Unslane or he hyne yeid.
Vane organis he full clenely carvit.
Quhen of his straik so mony starvit,
Dreid he had gottin that he desarvit,
He fled away gud speid.

In Scotland than the narrest way
He come his cunnyng till assay.
To sum man thair it was no play,
The preving of his sciens.
In pottingry he wrocht grit pyne,
He murdreist mony in medecyne.
The Jow was of a grit engyne,
And generit was of gyans.

In leichecraft he was homecyd.
He wald haif, for a nycht to byd,
A haiknay and the hurt manis hyd,
So meikle he was of myance.
His yrnis was rude as ony rawchtir.
Quhair he leit blude it was no lawchtir.
Full mony instrument for slawchtir
Was in his gardevyance.

He cowth gif cure for laxatyve
To gar a wicht hors want his lyve.
Quhaevir assay wald, man or wyve,
Thair hippis yeid hiddy giddy.
His practikis nevir war put to preif
Bot suddane deid or grit mischeif.
He had purgatioun to mak a theif
To dee withowt a widdy.

Unto no Mes pressit this prelat
For sound of sacring bell nor skellat.
As blaksmyth bruikit was his pallatt
For battering at the study.
Thocht he come hame a new maid channoun,
He had dispensit with matynnis channoun.
On him come nowther stole nor fannoun
For smowking of the smydy.

Me thocht seir fassonis he assailyeit
To mak the quintessance, and failyeit.
And quhen he saw that nocht availyeit,
A fedrem on he tuke,
And schupe in Turky for to fle.
And quhen that he did mont on he,
All fowill ferleit quhat he sowld be,
That evir did on him luke.

Sum held he had bene Dedalus,
Sum the Menatair marvelus,
Sum Martis blaksmyth, Vulcanus,
And sum Saturnus kuke.
And evir the tuschettis at him tuggit,
The rukis him rent, the ravynis him druggit,
The hudit crawis his hair furth ruggit,
The hevin he micht not bruke.

The myttane and Sanct Martynis fowle
Wend he had bene the hornit howle,
Thay set aupone him with a yowle
And gaif him dynt for dynt.
The golk, the gormaw, and the gled
Beft him with buffettis quhill he bled,
The sparhalk to the spring him sped
Als fers as fyre of flynt,

The tarsall gaif him tug for tug,
A stanchell hang in ilka lug,
The pyot furth his pennis did rug,
The stork straik ay but stynt,
The bissart, bissy but rebuik,
Scho was so cleverus of hir cluik
His bawis he micht not langer bruik,
Scho held thame at ane hint.

Thik was the clud of kayis and crawis,
Of marleyonis, mittanis, and of mawis,
That bikkrit at his berd with blawis,
In battell him abowt.
Thay nybbillit him with noyis and cry,
The rerd of thame rais to the sky,
And evir he cryit on Fortoun, “Fy!”
His lyfe was into dowt.

The ja him skrippit with a skryke
And skornit him, as it was lyk.
The egill strong at him did stryke
And rawcht him mony a rowt.
For feir uncunnandly he cawkit,
Quhill all his pennis war drownd and drawkit.
He maid a hundreth nolt all hawkit
Beneth him with a spout.

He schewre his feddreme that was schene,
And slippit out of it full clene,
And in a myre up to the ene
Amang the glar did glyd.
The fowlis all at the fedrem dang
As at a monster thame amang,
Quhill all the pennis of it owtsprang
In till the air full wyde.

And he lay at the plunge evirmair,
Sa lang as any ravin did rair.
The crawis him socht with cryis of cair
In every schaw besyde.
Had he reveild bene to the ruikis,
Thay had him revin all with thair cluikis.
Thre dayis in dub amang the dukis
He did with dirt him hyde.

The air was dirkit with the fowlis
That come with yawmeris and yowlis,
With skryking, skrymming, and with scowlis,
To tak him in the tyde.
I walknit with the noyis and schowte,
So hiddowis beir was me abowte.
Sensyne I curs that cankerit rowte,
Quhairevir I go or ryde.

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A Ballad of the Friar of Tungland - WILLIAM DUNBAR