❧The Complaint of Scotland.
ADew all glaidnes, sport and play,
Adew fair weill baith nycht and day
All thing that may mak mirrie cheir,
Bot sich rycht soir in hart and say,
Allace to Graif is gone my deir.
¶My lothsum lyfe I may lament,
With ficit face and mynde attent,
In weiping wo to perseueir,
And asking still for punischement,
Of thame hes brocht to graif my deir.
¶Bot lang allace I may complaine,
Befoir I find my deir againe,
To me was faithfull and Inteir,
As Turtill trew' on me tuke paine:
Allace to graif is gone my deir.
¶Sen nathing may my murning mend,
On God maist hie I will depend
My cairfull cause for to vpreir:
For he support to me will send
Althotht to graif is gone my deir.
¶My hauie hap, and piteous plycht,
Dois peirs my hart baith day and nycht,
That lym nor lith I may not steir,
Till sum reuenge with force and mycht
The Cruell murther of my deir.
¶This cureles would dois greif me soir,
The lyke I neuer felt befoir
Sen Fergus first of me tuke steir,
For now allace decayis my gloir
Throw cruell murther of my deir.
¶O wickit wrethche Infortunat,
O Sauage seid Insatiat,
Mycht thow not frantik fule forbeir
To sia with dart Intoxicat,
And cruellie deuoir my deir.
Wa worth the wretche, wa worth thy clan
Wa worth the wit that first began
This deir debait for to vpsteir,
Contrare the Lawis of God and man
To murther cruellie my deir.
¶Throw the now Lawles libertie
Throw the mischeif and crueltie
Throw the fals men thair heidis vp beir
Throw the is baneist equitie
Throw the to graif is gone my deir.
Throw the ma Kingꝭ than ane dois ring
Throw the all Tratourꝭ blyithlie sing
Throw the is kendlit ciuill weir
Throw the murther wald beir the swing,
Throw the to graif is gone my deir.
¶Throw the is rasit sturtsum stryfe,
Throw the, the vitall breith of lyfe
Is him bereft, did with the beir:
Quhen Gallow pin, or cutting knyfe
Suld stranglit the and saift my deir.
¶Vngraitfull grome, sic recompence,
Was not condigne to thyne offence,
With glowing gunne that man to teir,
From doggis deith was thy defence:
To the sic mercie schew my deir.
¶ O cursit Cain, O hound of Hell,
O bludie baitnc of Ishmaell,
Gedaliah quhen thow did steir,
To vicis all thow rang the bell,
Throw cruell murther of my deir.
¶Allace my deir did not foirsie,
Quhen he gaif pardone vnto the
Maist wickit wretche, to men sinceir
Quhat paine he brocht and miserie,
With reuthfull ruine to my deir.
¶Bot trew it is, the godly men
Quhilk think na harme nor falset ken,
Nor haitrent dois to vtherꝭ beir,
Ar sonest brocht to deithis den:
As may be sene be this my deir.
¶Thairfoir to the I say no moir,
Bot I traist to the King of gloir,
That thow and thyne sall ȝit reteir
Ȝour Campꝭ, with murning mynd richt soir
For cruell murther of my deir.
¶O Nobill Lordis of Renoun,
O Barronis bauld ȝe mak ȝow boun
To fute the feild with fresche effeir,
And dintis doure, the pryde ding doun
Of thame that brocht to graif my deir.
¶Reuenge his deith with ane assent,
With ane hart, will, mynde, and Intent,
In faithfull freindschip perseueir:
God will ȝow fauour, and thame schent.
Be work or word that slew my deir.
¶Be crous ȝe Commouns in this cace,
In auenture ȝe cry allace,
Quhen murtherars the swing sall beir,
And from ȝour natiue land ȝow chace:
Vnles that ȝe reuenge my deir.
¶Lat all that fische be trapt in net,
Was counsall, art, part, or reset
With thankfull mynd and hartie their
Or ȝit with helping hand him met
Quhen he to graif did bring my deir.
¶Defend ȝour King and feir ȝour God,
Pray to auoyde his feirfull rod,
Lest in his angrie wraith austeir
Ȝe puneist be baith euin and od,
For not reuenging of my deir.
¶ And do not feir the number small,
Thocht ȝe be few, on God ȝe call
With faithfull hart, and mynde sinceir,
He will be ay ȝour brasin wall,
Gif ȝe with speid reuenge my deir.
¶Remufe all sluggische sleuth away,
Lat lurking Inny clene decay,
Gar Commoun weill ȝour Baner beir,
And peace and concorde it display:
Quhen ȝe pas to reuenge my deir.
¶With sobbing sych, I to ȝow send
This my complaynt with dew commend
Desyring ȝow all without feir,
Me pure Scotland for to defend
Sen now to graif is gone my deir.
☞FINIS.