The Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins

Of Februar the fyiftene nycht
Full lang befoir the dayis lycht
I lay in till a trance,
And than I saw baith Hevin and Hell.
Me thocht amangis the feyndis fell
Mahoun gart cry ane dance
Of schrewis that wer nevir schrevin
Aganis the feist of Fasternis Evin
To mak thair observance.
He bad gallandis ga graith a gyis
And kast up gamountis in the skyis
That last came out of France.

“Lat se,” quod he, “now, quha begynnis?”
With that the fowll Sevin Deidly Synnis
Begowth to leip at anis.
And first of all in dance wes Pryd,
With hair wyld bak and bonet on syd,
Lyk to mak waistie wanis.
And round abowt him as a quheill
Hang all in rumpillis to the heill
His kethat for the nanis.
Mony prowd trumpour with him trippit,
Throw skaldand fyre ay as thay skippit
Thay gyrnd with hiddous granis.

Heilie harlottis on hawtane wyis
Come in with mony sindrie gyis,
Bot yit luche nevir Mahoun
Quhill preistis come in with bair schevin nekkis –
Than all the feyndis lewche and maid gekkis,
Blak Belly and Bawsy Broun.

Than Yre come in with sturt and stryfe,
His hand wes ay upoun his knyfe,
He brandeist lyk a beir.
Bostaris, braggaris, and barganeris
Eftir him passit into pairis,
All bodin in feir of weir.
In jakkis and stryppis and bonettis of steill,
Thair leggis wer chenyeit to the heill,
Frawart wes thair affeir.
Sum upoun udir with brandis beft,
Sum jaggit uthiris to the heft
With knyvis that scherp cowd scheir.

Nixt in the dance followit Invy,
Fild full of feid and fellony,
Hid malyce and dispyte.
For pryvie hatrent that tratour trymlit.
Him followit mony freik dissymlit
With fenyeit wirdis quhyte,
And flattereris into menis facis,
And bakbyttaris in secreit places
To ley that had delyte,
And rownaris of fals lesingis –
Allace, that courtis of noble kingis
Of thame can nevir be quyte.

Nixt him in dans come Cuvatyce,
Rute of all evill and grund of vyce,
That nevir cowd be content.
Catyvis, wrechis, and ockeraris,
Hudpykis, hurdaris, and gadderaris
All with that warlo went.
Out of thair throttis thay schot on udder
Hett moltin gold, me thocht a fudder,
As fyreflawcht maist fervent.
Ay as thay tomit thame of schot,
Feyndis fild thame new up to the thrott
With gold of all kin prent.

Syne Sweirnes, at the secound bidding,
Come lyk a sow out of a midding,
Full slepy wes his grunyie.
Mony sweir, bumbard-belly huddroun,
Mony slute daw and slepy duddroun
Him servit ay with sounyie.
He drew thame furth in till a chenyie,
And Belliall with brydill renyie
Evir lascht thame on the lunyie.
In dance thay war so slaw of feit,
Thay gaif thame in the fyre a heit
And maid thame quicker of counyie.

Than Lichery, that lathly cors,
Come berand lyk a bagit hors,
And Lythenes did him leid.
Thair wes with him ane ugly sort
And mony stynkand fowll tramort
That had in syn bene deid.
Quhen thay wer entrit in the dance,
Thay wer full strenge of countenance
Lyk turkas birnand reid.
All led thay uthir by the tersis.
Suppois thay fycket with thair ersis,
It mycht be na remeid.

Than the fowll monstir Glutteny,
Of wame unsasiable and gredy,
To dance he did him dres.
Him followit mony fowll drunckart
With can and collep, cop and quart,
In surffet and exces.
Full mony a waistles wallydrag
With wamis unweildable did furth wag
In creische that did incres.
“Drynk!” ay thay cryit, with mony a gaip.
The feyndis gaif thame hait leid to laip,
Thair lovery wes na les.

Na menstrallis playit to thame, but dowt,
For glemen thair wer haldin owt
Be day and eik by nycht,
Except a menstrall that slew a man,
Swa till his heretage he wan
And entirt be “breif of richt.”

Than cryd Mahoun for a Heleand padyane.
Syne ran a feynd to feche Makfadyane
Far northwart in a nuke.
Be he the correnoch had done schout
Erschemen so gadderit him abowt,
In Hell grit rowme thay tuke.
Thae tarmegantis, with tag and tatter,
Full lowd in Ersche begowth to clatter
And rowp lyk revin and ruke.
The Devill sa devit wes with thair yell
That in the depest pot of Hell
He smorit thame with smuke.

Nixt that a turnament wes tryid
That lang befoir in Hell wes cryid
In presens of Mahoun,
Betuix a telyour and ane sowtar,
A pricklous and ane hobbell clowttar,
The barres wes maid boun.
The tailyeour baith with speir and scheild
Convoyit wes unto the feild
With mony lymmar loun
Of seme-byttaris and beist knapparis,
Of stomok-steillaris and clayth-takkaris –
A graceles garisoun.

His baner born wes him befoir
Quhairin wes clowttis ane hundreth scoir,
Ilkane of divers hew,
And all stowin out of sindry webbis.
For quhill the Greik Sie fillis and ebbis,
Telyouris will nevir be trew.
The tailyour on the barrowis blent,
Allais, he tynt all hardyment,
For feir he chaingit hew.
Mahoun come furth and maid him knycht –
Na ferly thocht his hart wes licht
That to sic honor grew.

The tailyeour hecht hely befoir Mahoun
That he suld ding the sowtar doun,
Thocht he wer strang as mast.
Bot quhen he on the barrowis blenkit
The telyouris curage a littill schrenkit,
His hairt did all ourcast.
And quhen he saw the sowtar cum
Of all sic wirdis he wes full dum,
So soir he wes agast.
For he in hart tuke sic a scunner
Ane rak of fartis lyk ony thunner
Went fra him, blast for blast.

The sowtar to the feild him drest,
He wes convoyid out of the west
As ane defender stout.
Suppois he had na lusty varlot,
He had full mony lowsy harlott
Round rynnand him aboute.
His baner wes of barkit hyd
Quhairin Sanct Girnega did glyd
Befoir that rebald rowt.
Full sowttarlyk he wes of laitis,
For ay betuix the harnes plaitis
The uly birsit out.

Quhen on the talyeour he did luke,
His hairt a littill dwamyng tuke.
Uneis he mycht upsitt.
Into his stommok wes sic ane steir
Of all his dennar quhilk cost him deir,
His breist held never a bitt.
To comfort him or he raid forder,
The devill of knychtheid gaif him order,
For stynk than he did spitt.
And he about the devillis nek
Did spew agane ane quart of blek,
Thus knychtly he him quitt.

Than fourty tymis the feynd cryd, “Fy!”
The sowtar rycht effeiritly
Unto the feild he socht.
Quhen thay wer servit of thair speiris,
Folk had ane feill be thair effeiris,
Thair hairtis wer baith on flocht.
Thay spurrit thair hors on adir syd,
Syne thay attour the grund cowd glyd
Than tham togidder brocht.
The tailyeour was nocht weill sittin,
He left his sadall all beschittin
And to the grund he socht.

His birnes brak and maid ane brattill,
The sowtaris hors start with the rattill
And round about cowd reill.
The beist, that frayit wes rycht evill,
Ran with the sowtar to the Devill,
And he rewardit him weill.
Sumthing frome him the feynd eschewit,
He wend agane to bene bespewit,
So stern he wes in steill.
He thocht he wald agane debait him.
He turnd his ers and all bedret him
Quyte our from nek till heill.

He lowsit it of with sic a reird
Baith hors and man he straik till eird,
He fartit with sic ane feir.
“Now haif I quitt thee,” quod Mahoun.
The new maid knycht lay into swoun
And did all armes forswer.
The Devill gart thame to dungeoun dryve
And thame of knychtheid cold depryve,
Dischairgeing thame of weir,
And maid thame harlottis bayth forevir,
Quhilk still to keip thay had fer levir
Nor ony armes beir.

I had mair of thair werkis writtin
Had nocht the sowtar bene beschittin
With Belliallis ers unblist.
Bot that sa gud ane bourd me thocht,
Sic solace to my hairt it rocht,
For lawchtir neir I brist,
Quhairthrow I walknit of my trance.
To put this in rememberance
Mycht no man me resist,
To dyte how all this thing befell
Befoir Mahoun, the air of Hell.
Schirris, trow it gif ye list!

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