Christs Kirk on the Green.
Composed (as is supposed) by King James the fifth. Newly Corrected according to the Original Copy.
|
WAs ever in Scotland heard nor seen
|
such dancing and deray;
|
Neither at Faulkland on the green.
|
nor Peebles at the play,
|
As was of wooers as I ween;
|
at Christs Kirk on a day:
|
For there came Kittie washen clean,
|
with her new gown of gray,
|
Ful gay that day.
|
To dance these damsels them dight,
|
these lasses light of laits:
|
Their gloves were of the raffal right,
|
their shoes were of the straits.
|
Their kirtles were of Lincoln light,
|
well prest with many plaits,
|
They were so nice when men them neight
|
they squeil'd like any gaits.
|
Ful loud that day.
|
Of all these Maidens mild as meed,
|
was none so gimp as Gillie:
|
As any rose her rude was red,
|
her lire was like the lillie,
|
But yellow, yellow was her head,
|
and she of love so sillie:
|
Though all her kin had sworn her dead,
|
she would have none but Willie,
|
Alone that day.
|
She scorned Jeck, and skripp'd at him,
|
and murgeon'd him with mocks:
|
He would have lov'd her, she would not let him
|
for all his yellow locks.
|
He cherisht her, she bad go chat him,
|
she counted not him two clocks:
|
So shamefully his short Jack set him:
|
his legs were like two rocks;
|
Or rungs that day,
|
Tom Lutter was their Minstrel meet
|
good Lord, how he could lance;
|
He play'd so shirl, and sang so sweet
|
while Tousie took a trance.
|
Old Lightfoot there he could foreleet,
|
and counterfitted France,
|
He held him like a man discreet,
|
and up the Morice dance,
|
He took that day.
|
Then Steven came stepping in with stends
|
no rink might him arrest;
|
Splay-foot did bob with many bends,
|
For Masie he made request,
|
He lap while he lay on his lends,
|
and rising so was preast,
|
While he did hoast at both the ends,
|
for honor of the feast,
|
And danc'd that day.
|
Then Robin Roy began to revel,
|
and Tousie to him drugged:
|
Let be quoth Jack, and call'd him jevel,
|
and by the tail him tugged.
|
Then Kensie clicked to a kevel,
|
God wots as they two lugged:
|
They parted there upon a nevel:
|
men say that hair was rugged
|
Between them twa,
|
With that a friend of his cry'd, Fy,
|
and forth an arrow drew:
|
He forged it so forcefully,
|
the bow in flinders flew,
|
Such was the grace of God, trow I,
|
for had the tree been true;
|
Men said who knew his archery,
|
that he had slain anew,
|
Belyve that day.
|
A yape young man that stood him neist,
|
soon bent his bow in ire,
|
And etled the bairn in at the breast
|
the bolt flew over the bire:
|
And cry'd Fy, he had slain a priest,
|
a mile beyond the myre:
|
Both bow and bag from him he kiest
|
and fled as fast as fire
|
From flint that day.
|
An hasty kins-man called Hary,
|
that was an archer keen,
|
Tyed up a tackel withouten tary,
|
I trow the man was tien:
|
I wot not whether his hand did vary,
|
or his foe was his friend:
|
But he escapt, by the might of Mary
|
as one that nothing mean'd,
|
But good that day.
|
Then Lawry like a Lyon lap,
|
and soon a flain can fedder:
|
He height to pierce him at the pape,
|
thereon to wed a wedder;
|
He hit him on the wamb a wap,
|
it bust like any bladder.
|
He scaped so, such was his hap,
|
his doublet was of leather
|
Ful fine that day.
|
The buff so boistrously abaist him,
|
that he to the earth dusht down:
|
The other men for dead then left him,
|
and fled out of the town,
|
The wives came forth, and up they reft him,
|
and found life in the lown;
|
Then with three routs there they rais'd him
|
and cur'd him out of sown,
|
Fra hand that day.
|
The Miller was a manly make,
|
to meet him, it was no mowes.
|
There durst not ten some there him take
|
so cowed he their powes,
|
That bushment whole about him brake
|
and bickered him with bows,
|
Then traitorously behind his back,
|
they hack'd him on the howes,
|
Behind that day.
|
Then Hutchen with a Hazel rice,
|
to red gan through them rummil:
|
He muddl'd them down like any mice,
|
he was no betty bummil.
|
Though he was wight he was not wise
|
with such jutors to jummil;
|
For from his thumb there flew a slice
|
while he cry'd barlasummil,
|
I'm slain this day.
|
When that he saw his blood so red
|
to flee might no man let him:
|
He trow'd it had been for old feed;
|
he thought and bade have at him.
|
He made his feet defend his head,
|
the far fairer it set him:
|
While he was past out of their plead:
|
they must be swift that got him
|
Through speed that day.
|
Two that were heads-men of the herd,
|
they rusht on other like rams;
|
The other four which were unfear'd,
|
beat on with barrow trams.
|
And where their gobs were ungear'd,
|
they got upon the gams,
|
While that all bloody was their beard
|
as they had worried lambs
|
Most like that day.
|
They girn'd and glowred all at anes,
|
each gossip other grieved:
|
Some striked stings, some gathered stanes,
|
so fled, and some relieved.
|
Their Minstrel used quiet means,
|
that day he wisely prieved;
|
For he came home with unbruis'd banes
|
where fighters were mischieved,
|
Full ill that day.
|
With forks and flails then let they flaps,
|
and flew together with frigs:
|
With bougers of barns they pierc'd blew caps
|
and of their bairns made brigs:
|
The rare rose rudely with their raps,
|
then rungs were laid on rigs:
|
Their Wives came forth with cryes and claps
|
see where my liking ligs,
|
Full low this day.
|
The black Sutar of Braith was bowden,
|
his wife hang at his waist:
|
His body was in bleck all browden,
|
he girned like a ghaist,
|
Her glittering hair that was so gowden,
|
her love fast from him laist,
|
That for his sake he was unyowden,
|
while he a mile was chast,
|
And mare that day.
|
When they had bier'd like baited bulls,
|
the bone-fires burnt like bails:
|
They grew as meek as any mules
|
that wearied are with mails.
|
For these forfoughen tyred fools,
|
fell down like flaughtered flails;
|
Fresh men came in and hail'd their dools,
|
and dang them down in dails,
|
Bedeen that day.
|
The wives then gave a hideous yell,
|
when all these yonkiers yoked;
|
As fierce as flags of fire flaughts fell,
|
frieks to the field they flocked.
|
Then karles with clubs did others quel,
|
on breast while blood out bocked,
|
So rudely rang the common bel,
|
that all the steeple rocked,
|
For dread that day.
|
By this Tom Tailzor was in his gear,
|
when he heard the common bel;
|
He said he should make all on stear,
|
when he came there him sel.
|
He went to fight with such a fear,
|
while to the ground he fel.
|
A wife that hit him on the ear,
|
with a great knocking mel,
|
Feld him that day.
|
The bridegroom brought a pint of ail,
|
and bad the pyper drink it;
|
Drink it, quoth he, and it so stail,
|
ashrew me if I think it.
|
The Bride her maidens stood nearby,
|
and said it was not blinked;
|
And Bartagasie the Bride so gay,
|
upon him fast she winked,
|
Ful soon that day
|
When all was done Dick with an ax
|
came forth to fel a fother.
|
Quoth he, where are yon whoreson smaiks
|
right now that hurt my brother;
|
His wife bade him, Go home, Gib Glaiks,
|
and so did Meg his mother;
|
He turn'd and gave them both their paiks
|
for he durst ding no other
|
But them that day.
|
|
|
|
|
|