The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy

“Schir Johine the Ros, ane thing thair is compild
In generale be Kennedy and Quinting,
Quhilk hes thameself aboif the sternis styld.
Bot had thay maid of mannace ony mynting
In speciall, sic stryfe sould rys but stynting;
Howbeit with bost thair breistis wer als bendit
As Lucifer that fra the hevin discendit,
Hell sould nocht hyd thair harnis fra harmis hynting.

The erd sould trymbill, the firmament sould schaik,
And all the air in vennaum suddane stink,
And all the divillis of Hell for redour quaik,
To heir quhat I suld wryt with pen and ynk;
For and I flyt, sum sege for schame sould sink,
The se sould birn, the mone sould thoill ecclippis,
Rochis sould ryfe, the warld sould hald no grippis,
Sa loud of cair the commoun bell sould clynk.

Bot wondir laith wer I to be ane baird.
Flyting to use richt gritly I eschame,
For it is nowthir wynnyng nor rewaird,
Bot tinsale baith of honour and of fame,
Incres of sorrow, sklander, and evill name.
Yit mycht thay be sa bald in thair bakbytting
To gar me ryme and rais the feynd with flytting
And throw all cuntreis and kinrikis thame proclame.”
Quod Dumbar to Kennedy

“Dirtin Dumbar, quhome on blawis thow thy boist,
Pretendand thee to wryte sic skaldit skrowis,
Ramowd rebald, thow fall doun att the roist
My laureat lettres at thee and I lowis.
Mandrag mymmerkin, maid maister bot in mows,
Thrys scheild trumpir with ane threidbair goun,
Say ‘Deo mercy’ or I cry thee doun,
And leif thy ryming, rebald, and thy rowis.

“Dreid, dirtfast dearch, that thow hes dissobeyit
My cousing Quintene and my commissar.
Fantastik fule, trest weill thow sal be fleyit.
Ignorant elf, aip, owll irregular,
Skaldit skaitbird and commoun skamelar,
Wanfukkit funling that Natour maid ane yrle,
Baith Johine the Ros and thow sall squeill and skirle
And evir I heir ocht of your making mair.

“Heir I put sylence to thee in all pairtis.
Obey and ceis the play that thow pretendis,
Waik walidrag and werlot of the cairtis;
Se sone thow mak my commissar amendis,
And lat him lay sax leichis on thy lendis
Meikly in recompansing of thi scorne,
Or thow sall ban the tyme that thow wes borne:
For Kennedy to thee this cedull sendis.”
Quod Kennedy to Dumbar

Juge in the nixt quha gat the war

“Iersche brybour baird, vyle beggar with thy brattis,
Cuntbittin crawdoun Kennedy, coward of kynd,
Evill-farit and dryit as Denseman on the rattis,
Lyk as the gleddis had on thy gulesnowt dynd,
Mismaid monstour, ilk mone owt of thy mynd,
Renunce, rebald, thy rymyng, thow bot royis.
Thy trechour tung hes tane ane Heland strynd,
Ane Lawland ers wald mak a bettir noyis.

“Revin raggit ruke, and full of rebaldrie,
Skitterand scorpioun, scauld in scurrilitie,
I se the haltane in thy harlotrie
And into uthir science nothing slie,
Of every vertew voyd, as men may sie.
Quytclame clergie and cleik to thee ane club,
Ane baird blasphemar in brybrie ay to be,
For wit and woisdome ane wisp fra thee may rub.

“Thow speiris, dastard, gif I dar with thee fecht.
Ye, Dagone dowbart, thairof haif thow no dowt.
Quhairevir we meit, thairto my hand I hecht,
To red thy rebald rymyng with a rowt.
Throw all Bretane it sal be blawin owt,
How that thow, poysonit pelour, gat thy paikis.
With ane doig leich I schepe to gar thee schowt
And nowther to thee tak knyfe, swerd, nor aix.

“Thow crop and rute of tratouris tressonable,
The fathir and moder of morthour and mischeif,
Dissaitfull tyrand with serpentis tung unstable,
Cukcald, cradoun cowart, and commoun theif,
Thow purpest for to undo our lordis chief
In Paislay with ane poysone that wes fell,
For quhilk, brybour, yit sall thow thoill a breif.
Pelour, on thee I sall it preif mysell.

“Thocht I wald lie, thy frawart phisnomy
Dois manifest thy malice to all men.
Fy, tratour theif, fy, glengoir loun, fy, fy!
Fy, feyndly front far fowlar than ane fen,
My freyindis thow reprovit with thy pen.
Thow leis, tratour, quhilk I sall on thee preif,
Suppois thy heid war armit tymis ten,
Thow sall recry it, or thy croun sall cleif.

“Or thow durst move thy mynd malitius,
Thow saw the saill abone my heid up draw.
Bot Eolus, full woid, and Neptunus,
Mirk and moneles us met with wind and waw,
And mony hundreth myll hyne cowd us blaw,
By Holland, Seland, Yetland, and Northway coist,
In sey desert quhair we wer famist aw.
Yit come I hame, fals baird, to lay thy boist.

“Thow callis thee rethore with thy goldin lippis.
Na, glowrand gaipand fule, thow art begyld.
Thow art bot gluntoch, with thy giltin hippis,
That for thy lounry mony a leisch hes fyld.
Wan-visaged widdefow, out of thy wit gane wyld,
Laithly and lowsy, als lauchtane as ane leik,
Sen thow with wirschep wald sa fane be styld,
Haill, soverane senyeour, thy bawis hingis throw thy breik.

“Forworthin fule, of all the warld reffuse,
Quhat ferly is thocht thow rejoys to flyte?
Sic eloquence as thay in Erschry use,
In sic is sett thy thraward appetyte.
Thow hes full littill feill of fair indyte.
I tak on me ane pair of Lowthiane hippis
Sall fairar Inglis mak and mair parfyte
Than thow can blabbar with thy Carrik lippis.

“Bettir thow ganis to leid ane doig to skomer,
Pynit pykpuris pelour, than with thy maister pingill.
Thow lay full prydles in the peis this somer
And fane at evin for to bring hame a single,
Syne rubb it at aneuther auld wyvis ingle.
Bot now in winter for purteth thow art traikit,
Thow hes na breik to latt thy bellokis gyngill,
Beg thee ane bratt, for baird, thow sall go naikit.

“Lene, larbar loungeour, lowsy in lisk and longe,
Fy, skolderit skyn, thow art bot skyre and skrumple:
For he that rostit Lawrance had thy grunye,
And he that hid Sanct Johnis ene with ane wimple,
And he that dang Sanct Augustyne with ane rumple
Thy fowll front had, and he that Bartilmo flaid.
The gallowis gaipis eftir thy graceles gruntill,
As thow wald for ane haggeis, hungry gled.

“Cummerwarld crawdoun, na man comptis thee ane kers.
Sueir swappit swanky, swynekeper ay for swaittis,
Thy commissar, Quintyne, biddis thee cum kis his ers.
He luvis nocht sic ane forlane loun of laittis,
He sayis thow skaffis and beggis mair beir and aitis
Nor ony cripill in Karrik land abowt.
Uther pure beggaris and thow for wage debaittis,
Decrepit karlingis on Kennedy cryis owt.

“Mater annwche I haif, I bid not fenyie,
Thocht thow, fowll trumpour, thus upoun me leid.
Corrupt carioun, he sall I cry my senyie.
Thinkis thow nocht how thow come in grit neid,
Greitand in Galloway lyk to ane gallow breid,
Ramand and rolpand, beggand koy and ox.
I saw thee thair into thy wathemanis weid,
Quhilk wes nocht worth ane pair of auld gray sox.

“Ersch katherene, with thy polk breik and rilling,
Thow and thy quene as gredy gleddis ye gang
With polkis to mylne and beggis baith meill and schilling.
Thair is bot lys and lang nailis yow amang,
Fowll heggirbald, for henis thus will ye hang.
Thow hes ane perrellus face to play with lambis.
Ane thowsand kiddis, wer thay in faldis full strang,
Thy lymmair luke wald fle thame and thair damis.

“Intill ane glen thow hes, owt of repair,
Ane laithly luge that wes the lippir menis.
With thee ane sowtaris wyfe of blis als bair,
And lyk twa stalkaris steilis in cokis and henis.
Thow plukkis the pultrй and scho pullis of the penis.
All Karrik cryis, ‘God gif this dowsy be drownd!’
And quhen thow heiris ane guse cry in the glenis,
Thow thinkis it swetar than sacryne bell of sound.

“Thow Lazarus, thow laithly lene tramort,
To all the warld thow may example be,
To luk upoun thy gryslie, peteous port;
For hiddowis, haw, and holkit is thyne ee,
Thy cheikbane bair and blaiknit is thy ble.
Thy choip, thy choll garris men for to leif chest;
Thy gane, it garris us think that we mon de.
I conjure thee, thow hungert Heland gaist.

“The larbar linkis of thy lang lenye craig,
Thy pure pynit thrott, peilit and owt of ply,
Thy skolderit skin, hewd lyk ane saffrone bag,
Garris men dispyt thar flesche, thow spreit of Gy.
Fy, feyndly front, fy, tykis face, fy, fy!
Ay loungand lyk ane loikman on ane ledder
With hingit luik, ay wallowand upone wry,
Lyk to ane stark theif glowrand in ane tedder.

“Nyse nagus nipcaik with thy schulderis narrow,
Thow lukis lowsy, loun of lounis aw,
Hard hurcheoun hirpland, hippit as ane harrow,
Thy rigbane rattillis and thy ribbis on raw,
Thy hanchis hirklis with hukebanis harth and haw,
Thy laithly lymis ar lene as ony treis.
Obey, theif baird, or I sall brek thy gaw.
Fowll carrybald, cry mercy on thy kneis.

“Thow pure, pynhippit, ugly averill
With hurkland banis holkand throw thy hyd,
Reistit and crynit as hangit man on hill,
And oft beswakkit with ane ourhie tyd
Quhilk brewis mekle barret to thy bryd.
Hir cair is all to clenge thy cabroch howis,
Quhair thow lyis sawsy in saphron, bak and syd,
Powderit with prymros, savrand all with clowis.

“Forworthin wirling, I warne thee, it is wittin
How, skyttand skarth, thow hes the hurle behind.
Wan wraiglane wasp, ma wormis hes thow beschittin
Nor thair is gers on grund or leif on lind.
Thocht thow did first sic foly to me fynd,
Thow sall agane with ma witnes than I.
Thy gulsoch gane dois on thy bak it bind,
Thy hostand hippis lattis nevir thy hos go dry.

“Thow held the burch lang with ane borrowit goun
And ane caprowsy barkit all with sweit,
And quhen the laidis saw thee sa lyk a loun,
Thay bickerit thee with mony bae and bleit.
Now upaland thow leivis on rubbit quheit,
Oft for ane caus thy burdclaith neidis no spredding
For thow hes nowthir for to drink nor eit,
Bot lyk ane berdles baird that had no bedding.

“Strait Gibbonis air, that nevir ourstred ane hors,
Bla, berfute berne, in bair tyme wes thow borne.
Thow bringis the Carrik clay to Edinburgh Cors,
Upoun thy botingis hobland, hard as horne.
Stra wispis hingis owt quhair that the wattis ar worne.
Cum thow agane to skar us with thy strais,
We sall gar scale our sculis all thee to scorne
And stane thee up the calsay quhair thow gais.

“Of Edinburch the boyis as beis owt thrawis
And cryis owt, ‘Hay, heir cumis our awin queir clerk!’
Than fleis thow lyk ane howlat chest with crawis
Quhill all the bichis at thy botingis dois bark.
Than carlingis cryis, ‘Keip curches in the merk –
Our gallowis gaipis – lo, quhair ane greceles gais!’
Aneuthir sayis, ‘I se him want ane sark –
I reid yow, cummer, tak in your lynning clais.’

“Than rynis thow doun the gait with gild of boyis
And all the toun tykis hingand in thy heilis.
Of laidis and lownis thair rysis sic ane noyis
Quhill runsyis rynis away with cairt and quheilis
And cager aviris castis bayth coillis and creilis
For rerd of thee and rattling of thy butis.
Fische wyvis cryis ‘Fy!’ and castis doun skillis and skeilis,
Sum claschis thee, sum cloddis thee on the cutis.

“Loun lyk Mahoun, be boun me till obey,
Theif, or in greif mischeif sall thee betyd.
Cry grace, tykis-face, or I thee chece and fley,
Oule, rare and yowle, I sall defowll thy pryd,
Peilit gled, baith fed and bred of bichis syd
And lyk ane tyk, purspyk, quhat man settis by thee!
Forflittin, countbittin, beschittin, barkit hyd,
Clym ledder, fyle tedder, foule edder, I defy thee!

“Mauch muttoun, byt buttoun, peilit gluttoun, air to Hilhous,
Rank beggar, ostir dregar, flay fleggar in the flet.
Chittirlilling, ruch rilling, lik schilling in the milhous,
Baird rehator, theif of nator, fals tratour, feyindis gett,
Filling of tauch, rak sauch – cry crauch, thow art oursett!
Muttoun dryver, girnall ryver, yadswyvar, fowll fell thee!
Herretyk, lunatyk, purspyk, carlingis pet,
Rottin crok, dirtin dok – cry cok, or I sall quell thee!”
Quod Dumbar to Kennedy

“Dathane, deivillis sone, and dragone dispitous,
Abironis birth and bred with Beliall,
Wod werwoif, worme, and scorpion vennemous,
Lucifers laid, fowll feyindis face infernall,
Sodomyt syphareit fra sanctis celestiall,
Put I nocht sylence to thee, schiphird knaif?
And thow of new begynis to ryme and raif.
Thow sal be maid blait, bleir eit bestiall.

“How thy forbear is come I haif a feill:
At Cokburnispeth, the writ makis me war,
Generit betuix ane scho-beir and a deill,
Sa wes he callit Dewlbeir and nocht Dumbar.
This Dewlbeir, generit on a meir of Mar,
Wes Corspatrik, erle of Merche, and be illusioun.
The first that evir put Scotland to confusioun
Wes that fals tratour, hardely say I dar.

“Quhen Bruce and Balioll differit for the croun,
Scottis lordis could nocht obey Inglis lawis.
This Corspatrik betrasit Berwik toun
And slew sevin thousand Scottismen within thay wawis.
The battall syne of Spottismuir he gart caus,
And come with Edwart Langschankis to the field
Quhair twelf thowsand trew Scottismen wer keild
And Wallace chest, as the carnicle schawis.

“Scottis lordis chiftanis he gart hald and chessone
In firmance fast quhill all the feild wes done,
Within Dumbar, that auld spelunk of tressoun.
Sa Inglis tykis in Scottland wes abone.
Than spulyeit thay the haly stane of Scone,
The croce of Halyrudhous, and uthir jowellis.
He birnis in Hell – body, banis, and bowellis –
This Corspatrik that Scotland hes undone.

“Wallace gart cry ane counsale into Pert
And callit Corspatrik tratour be his style.
That dampnit dragone drew him in disert
And sayd he kend bot Wallace, king in Kyle.
Out of Dumbar that theif he maid exyle
Unto Edward and Inglis grund agane.
Tigiris, serpentis, and taidis will remane
In Dumbar wallis, todis, wolffis, and beistis wyle.

“Na fowlis of effect amangis tha binkis
Biggis nor abydis, for nothing that may be.
Thay stanis of tressone as the bruntstane stinkis.
Dewlbeiris moder, cassin in by the se
The wariet apill of the forbiddin tre
That Adame eit quhen he tint Parradyce,
Scho eit, invennomit lyk a cokkatryce,
Syne merreit with the divill for dignitй.

“Yit of new tressone I can tell thee tailis
That cumis on nycht in visioun in my sleip:
Archebauld Dumbar betrasd the hous of Hailis
Becaus the yung lord had Dumbar to keip;
Pretendand throw that to thair rowmis to creip,
Rycht crewaly his castell he persewit,
Brocht him furth boundin and the place reskewit,
Sett him in fetteris in ane dungeoun deip.

“It war aganis bayth natur and gud ressoun
That Dewlbeiris bairnis wer trew to God or man,
Quhilkis wer baith gottin, borne, and bred with tressoun,
Belgebubbis oyis and curst Corspatrikis clan.
Thow wes prestyt and ordanit be Sathan
For to be borne to do thy kin defame
And gar me schaw thy antecessouris schame.
Thy kin that leivis may wary thee and ban.

“Sen thow on me thus, lymmer, leis and trattillis,
And fyndis sentence foundit of invy,
Thy elderis banis ilk nycht rysis and rattillis:
Apon thy cors vengeance, vengeance thay cry –
Thow art the cause thay may not rest nor ly.
Thow sais for thame few psaltris, psalmis, or credis
Bot geris me tell thair trentalis of mysdedis
And thair ald sin wyth new schame certify.

“Insensuate sow, cesse, false Eustase air,
And knaw, kene scald, I hald of Alathya,
And cause me not the cause lang to declare
Of thy curst kyn, Deulber and his allya.
Cum to the Croce on kneis and mak a crya,
Confesse thy crime, hald Kenydy the king,
And wyth ane hauthorne scurge thyself and dyng.
Thus dree thy penaunce wyth deliquisti quia.

“Pas to my commissare and be confest,
Cour before him on kneis and cum in will,
And syne ger Stobo for thy lyf protest.
Renounce thy rymis, bath ban and birn thy bill,
Heve to the hevyn thy handis ande hald thee still.
Do thou not thus, bogane, thou sal be brynt
Wyth pik, fire, ter, gun puldre, and lynt
On Arthuris Sete or on ane hyar hyll.

“I perambalit of Pernaso the montayn,
Enspirit wyth Mercury fra his goldyn spere,
And dulcely drank of eloquence the fontayne
Quhen it was purifit wyth frost and flowit clere.
And thou come, fule, in Marche or Februere
Thare till a pule and drank the padok rod
That gerris the ryme into thy termes glod
And blaberis that noyis mennis eris to here.

“Thou lufis nane Irische, elf, I understand,
Bot it suld be all trew Scottis mennis lede.
It was the gud langage of this land
And Scota it causit to multiply and sprede
Quhill Corspatrik, that we of tresoun rede,
Thy forefader, maid Irisch and Irisch men thin,
Throu his tresoun broght Inglise rumplis in.
Sa wald thyself, mycht thou to him succede.

“Ignorant fule, into thy mowis and mokis
It may be verifyit that thy wit is thin;
Quhare thou writis ‘Densmen dryit apon the rattis,’
Densmen of Denmark ar of the kingis kyn.
The wit thou suld have had was castin in
Evyn at thyne ers bakwart wyth a staf slong.
Herefore, false harlot hursone, hald thy tong,
Deulbere, thou devis the devill thyne eme wyth dyn.

“Quhareas thou said that I stall hennis and lammys,
I latt thee witt I have land, store, and stakkis.
Thou wald be fayn to gnaw, lad, wyth thy gammys
Under my burd smoch banis behynd doggis bakkis.
Thou has a tome purs, I have stedis and takkis;
Thou tynt cultur, I have cultur and pleuch.
For substance and gere thou has a wedy teuch
On Mount Falcoun about thy crag to rax.

“And yit Mount Falcoun gallowis is our fair
For to be fylde wyth sik a fruteles face.
Cum hame and hyng on oure gallowis of Aire –
To erd thee undir it I sall purchas grace;
To ete thy flesch the doggis sall have na space,
The ravyns sall ryve nathing bot thy tong rutis.
For thou sik malice of thy maister mutis,
It is wele sett that thou sik barat brace.

“Small fynance amang thy frendis thou beggit
To stanch the storm wyth haly muldis thou loste.
Thou sailit to get a dowcare for to dreg it,
It lyis closit in a clout on Seland cost.
Sik reule gerris thee be servit wyth cald rost
And sitt unsoupit oft beyond the sey
Criant “caritas,” at duris, “amore Dei,”
Barefut, brekeles, and all in duddis updost.

“Deulbere has not ado wyth a Dunbar.
The erlis of Murray bure that surname ryght,
That evyr trew to the king and constant ware,
And of that kyn come Dunbar of Westfelde knyght.
That successione is hardy, wyse, and wicht
And has nathing ado now wyth the Devile.
Bot Deulbere is thy kyn and kennis thee wele
And has in Hell for thee a chaumir dicht.

“Cursit croapand craw, I sall ger crop thy tong
And thou sall cry cor mundum on thy kneis.
Duerch, I sall dyng thee quhill thou dryte and dong,
And thou sal lik thy lippis and suere thou leis.
I sall degrade thee, graceles, of thy greis,
Scaile thee for scorne and shere thee of thy scule,
Ger round thy hede, transforme thee till a fule,
And syne for tresone trone thee to the treis.

“Raw-mowit ribald, renegate rehatour,
My linage and forebearis war ay lele.
It cumis of kynde to thee to be a traytoure,
To ryde on nycht, to rug, to reve and stele.
Quhare thou puttis poysoun to me, I appelle
Thee in that part – preve it, pelour, wyth thy persone!
Clame not to clergy, I defy thee, gersone.
Thou sall by it dere wyth me, duerche, and thou dele.

“In Ingland, oule, suld be thyne habitacione.
Homage to Edward Langschankis maid thy kyn,
In Dunbar thai ressavit hym, the false nacione:
Thay suld be exilde Scotland, mare and myn.
A stark gallowis, a wedy, and a pyn
The hede poynt of thyne elderis armes ar,
Wryttyn abone in poesi: “Hang Dunbar,
Quarter and draw, and mak that surname thin!”

“I am the kingis blude, his trew speciall clerk
That nevir yit ymaginit hym offense,
Constant in myn allegeance, word, and werk,
Onely dependand on his excellence,
Traistand to have of his magnificence
Guerdoun, reward, and benefice bedene
Quhen that the ravyns sal ryve out bath thine ene
And on the rattis sal be thy residence.

“Fra Etrike Forest furthward to Drumfrese
Thou beggit wyth a pardoun in all kirkis
Collapis, cruddis, mele, grotis, grisis, and geis,
And onder nycht quhile stall thou staggis and stirkis.
Because that Scotland of thy begging irkis,
Thou scapis in France to be a knycht of the felde;
Thou has thy clamschellis and thy burdoun kelde –
Unhonest wayis all, wolroun, that thou wirkis.

“Thou may not pas Mount Barnard for wilde bestis,
Nor wyn throu Mount Scarpre for the snawe;
Mount Nycholas, Mount Godart – thare arestis
Brigantis sik bois and blyndis thame wyth a blawe.
In Parise wyth the maister buriawe
Abyde, and be his prentice nere the bank,
And help to hang the pece for half a frank,
And at the last thyself sall thole the lawe.

“Haltane harlot, the devill have gude thou hais!
For fault of puissance, pelour, thou mon pak thee.
Thou drank thy thrift, sald and wedsett thy clais.
Thare is na lorde that will in service tak thee.
A pak of flaskynnis fynance for to mak thee
Thou sall ressave in Danskyn, of my tailye;
With De profundis fend thee, and that failye,
And I sall send the blak devill for to bak thee.

“Into the Katryne thou maid a foule cahute,
For thou bedrate hir doun fra starn to stere.
Apon hir sydis was sene thou coud schute –
Thy dirt clevis till hir towis this twenty yere.
The firmament na firth was nevir cler
Quhill thou, Deulbere, devillis birth, was on the see.
The saulis had sonkyn throu the syn of thee
War not the peple maid sa grete prayere.

“Quhen that the schip was saynit and undir saile,
Foul brow, in holl thou preposit for to pas.
Thou schot and was not sekir of thy tayle,
Beschate the stere, the compas, and the glas.
The skippar bad ger land thee at the Bas.
Thou spewit and kest out mony a lathly lomp
Fastar than all the marynaris coud pomp,
And now thy wame is wers than evir it was.

“Had thai bene prouvait sa of schote of gune
By men of were, but perile thay had past.
As thou was louse and redy of thy bune,
Thay mycht have tane the collum at the last,
For thou wald cuk a cartfull at a cast.
Thare is na schip that wil thee now ressave,
Thou fylde faster than fyftenesum mycht lawe,
And myrit thaym wyth thy muk to the myd-mast.

“Throu Ingland, thef, and tak thee to thy fute,
And boun with thee to have a false botwand.
A horse marschall thou call thee at the mute
And with that craft convoy thee throu the land.
Be nathing argh, tak ferily on hand.
Happyn thou to be hangit in Northumbir,
Than all thy kyn ar wele quyte of thy cumbir,
And that mon be thy dome, I undirstand.

“Hye souverane lorde, lat nevir this synfull sot
Do schame fra hame unto your nacion!
Lat nevir nane sik ane be callit a Scot,
A rottyn crok, louse of the dok, thare doun!
Fra honest folk devoide this lathly lown
In sum desert quhare thare is na repaire;
For fylyng and infecking of the aire,
Cary this cankerit corrupt carioun.

“Thou was consavit in the grete eclips,
A monstir maid be god Mercurius,
Na hald agayn, na hoo is at thy hips.
Infortunate, false, and furius,
Evill-schryvin, wanthryvin, not clene na curius,
A myten full of flyting, flyrdom like,
A crabbit, scabbit, evill facit messan tyke,
A schit but wit, schir and injurius.

“Greit in the glaykis, gude maister Gilliam gukkis,
Our imperfyte in poetry or in prose.
All clocis undir cloud of nycht thou cukkis.
Rymis thou of me, of rethory the rose?
Lunatike lymare luschbald, louse thy hose
That I may touch thy tone wyth tribulation
In recompensing of thy conspiration,
Or turse thee out of Scotland – tak thy chose!

“Ane benefice quha wald gyve sic ane beste
Bot gif it war to gyngill Judas bellis?
Tak thee a fidill or a floyte, and geste!
Undought, thou art ordanyt to not ellis.
Thy cloutit cloke, thy skryp, and thy clamschellis
Cleke on thy cors, and fare on into France,
And cum thou nevir agayn but a mischance.
The Fend fare wyth thee forthward our the fellis.

“Cankrit Caym, tryit trowane Tutivillus,
Marmaidyn, mymerken, monstir of all men,
I sall ger bake thee to the lard of Hillhouse
To suelly thee in stede of a pullit hen.
Fowmart, fasert, fostirit in filth and fen,
Foule fond, flend fule, apon thy phisnom fy!
Thy dok of dirt drepis and will nevir dry,
To tume thy tone it has tyrit carlingis ten.

“Conspiratour, cursit cocatrice, hell caa,
Turk trumpour, traitour, tyran intemperate,
Thou irefull attircop, Pilate apostata,
Judas, Jow, juglour, Lollard laureate,
Sarazene, Symonyte provit, pagane pronunciate,
Machomete, manesuorne, bugrist abhominabile,
Devill, dampnit dog, sodomyte insatiable,
With Gog and Magog grete glorificate.

“Nero thy nevow, Golyas thy grantsire,
Pharao thy fader, Egiptia thy dame,
Deulbere, thir ar the causis that I conspire.
Termygantis tempise thee, and Vaspasius thine eme,
Belzebub, thy full brothir, will clame
To be thyne air, and Cayphas thy sectour,
Pluto thy hede of kyn and protectour,
To Hell to lede thee on lycht day and leme.

“Herode thyne othir eme, and grete Egeas,
Marciane, Machomete, and Maxencius,
Thy trew kynnismen Antenor and Eneas,
Throp thy nere nece, and austern Olibrius,
Puttidew, Baal, and Eyobulus –
Thir fendis ar the flour of thy four branchis,
Sterand the potis of Hell and nevir stanchis.
Dout not, Deulbere, tu es dyabolas!

“Deulbere, thy spere of were but feir thou yelde –
Hangit, mangit, edir-stangit, strynde stultorum –
To me, maist hie Kenydie, and flee the felde.
Prikkit, wickit, conwickit lamp Lollardorum,
Defamyt, blamyt, schamyt primas paganorum,
Out, out, I schout, apon that snowt that snevillis!
Tale tellare, rebellare, induellar wyth the devillis,
Spynk, sink wyth stynk ad Tertera Termagorum.”
Quod Kennedy to Dumbar

Juge ye now heir quha gat the war

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