THE LAIRD OF DYSARTS
DREAME.
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I The Laird of Dysert, Melvine by name,
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In the reigne of King Charles, I dream'd a dreame,
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The like apparition (as all men sayes)
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Was never seene, since Thomas Rymers dayes:
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And so because the Lords of the Session,
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And all the Advocates and their profession,
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Gets no imployment (for the people moanes,
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For want of Justice, shading teares with groanes:
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They vow, and swear they'l never be too faine
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While that the Session shall sit down againe.
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And so to make our Law-men laugh or smile,
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I'le tell them this dreame to sport them a while.
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I went to my Bed being drunk at night,
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When the Moone was mounted to her full hight,
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I thought I saw a Dove flie from the Skye,
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In bignesse of the Turtles quantitie.
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This Bird she lighted on a withered bough,
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Into a faire Wood spatious eneugh.
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And there by open Proclamation,
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She sommonds the ramping roaring Lyon,
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The wood Wolfe, and the Asse, only these three,
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She cits them to confesse their villanie.
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She commands the Wolf the Lyon to shrive,
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And to give account of his prerogative.
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She bides the Lyon the Wolf to confesse,
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And likewise to shrive the sillie simple Asse,
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And so Cardinall Wolfe first thus begins,
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To confesse the Lyon of his deadly sins.
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Since quoth the Wolfe, great Lyon ye are prince,
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And King of beasts by divine providence,
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Confesse your faults, for now I am your priest,
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To pardon and calme your conscience to rest.
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Then said the Lyon, I confesse I am
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The bloudiest beast that ever God did frame,
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For right and wrong with me indifferent are,
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Lawlesse I leave, what I desire, I dare,
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I make Religion a clocke for my cause,
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But I am carelesse to defend her Lawes,
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I devour all beasts, I murther, I kill,
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Horse, Kyne, and Sheepe, to glut my roaring will,
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My conscience is a gulfe which nought can stuff,
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My stomack is hell which never gets annuffe,
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O! what a monster am I to depaint,
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I swime in sin, and I cannot repent.
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I pray thee holy Wolfe grant me a pardon,
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For all my faults, and let me raigne at randum
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Tush, sayes the Wolfe, My soveraigne king and prince,
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Feare not, nor care not, for your small offence.
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Ye may commit, and never give a groane,
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The seven deadly sins bondled-up in one:
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A large prerogative to you is given,
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To rule on earth, as God doth rule in heaven.
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So I absolve you, for the truth I tell,
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Kings are exempted from the plagues of hell.
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Thankes, sayes the Lyon, ye have set me free,
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And my roome conscience runs at libertie:
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But Jesuite-Wofe, since ye absolve me so,
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I must confesse you now before you go:
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Tell me your sins, and tell them all in briefe,
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For I know well ye are a common thiefe.
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Yes, sayes the Wolfe, I cannot abhor it
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Albeit Gods wrath should fall upon me for it.
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Except the devil, and his fraternitie,
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God never made a creature like to me.
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I am a deadly foe to man, and beast,
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And to my kyne; but yet I am a priest,
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I feed on carion horses, Beeffe and Mutton,
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My stomacke like my conscience is a glutton:
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I will not cry for mercie, I will goe
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And hang myselfe, to end my endlesse woe.
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Dispaire not, sayes the Lyon, for I tell thee,
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Thy sins are small, and sillie that befell thee,
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For what thou doeth, it is thy kindly nature,
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Inclines thee to it, ordain'd by thy Creator,
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Thy stomacke is so sharpe, it cannot want
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Flesh, though it were the carcage of a Saint,
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So I absolve thee from thy hearts affliction,
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God in his mercie is without restriction.
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Now saith the Lyon, Godlesse Asse come hither,
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Its you that yockes men by the eares together.
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No, sayes the Asse, I sweare in all my life,
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I never injur'd neither man nor wife:
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Nor lad, nor lasse, I never yet did wrong,
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To cat, or dog, either by teeth or tongue.
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The Lion saith, Thou art a reprobate,
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Who thinke to live and die without a falt.
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One thing torments my conscience, quoth the Asse,
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Remarke, and I shall tell you how it was,
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My master in his shoone did put some stray,
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To keepe his feete warme, walking out the way:
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I beeing faint, some straes I plucked out,
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To glut my stomacke, and my greedie gut:
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This is the greatest sin I boldly sweare,
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That ever I committed late or aire.
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O! cryes the Lyon, common thiefe and knave,
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Thou did thy master wickedly deceive,
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For which I doome thee to remaine with Sathan,
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To burne in hell with Corah and with Dathan.
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So I the Laird of Dysart flang and started
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And at these words I wakned all agasted:
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I dream'd this dreame, soft sleeping at mine ease,
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Let all mens mindes expound it as they please.
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To make my Law-men laugh it's my intent,
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Although I made myselfe a foole in print.
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