Works, Poem 9
Kitteis confeſſioun, Compylit (as is beleuit) be Schir Dauid Lindeſay of the Mont Knicht. &c. The Curate, and Kitte.
THe Curate Kitte culd Confeſſe,
And ſcho tald on baith mair and leſſe.
Quhen ſcho wes telland as ſcho wiſt,
The Curate Kitte wald hauehave kiſt.
Bot ȝit ane countenance he bute,
Degeiſt, deuote, daine, and demure.
And ſyne began hir to exempne,
He wes beſt at the efter game.
(Quod he) hauehave ȝe na wrangous geir?
(Quod ſcho) I ſtaw ane Pek of veir.
(Quod he) that ſuld reſtorit be,
Tharefore delyuer it to me.
Tibbe and Peter bad me ſpeir,
Be my conſcience thay ſall it heir.
(Quod he) leue ȝe in lecherie?
(Quod ſcho) Wyll Leno mowit me.
(Quod he) his wyfe that ſall I tell,
To mak hir acquentance with my ſell.
(Quod he) ken ȝe na Hereſie?
I wait nocht quhat that is (quod ſcho)
(Quod he) hard ȝe na Inglis Bukis?
(Quod ſcho) my Maiſter on thame lukis.
(Quod he) the Biſchop that ſall knaw,
For I am ſworne that for to ſchaw.
(Quod he) quhat ſaid he of the King?
(Quod ſcho) of gude he ſpak na thing.
(Quod he) his grace of that ſall wit,
And he ſall loſe his lyfe for it.
Quhen ſcho in mynd did mair reuolue,
(Quod he) I can nocht ȝow abſolue,
Bot to my Chalmer cum at euin,
Abſoluit for to be and ſchreuin.
(Quod ſcho) I wyll pas tyll ane vther.
And I met with ſchir Andro my brother.
And he full clenelie did me ſchryue,
Bot he wes ſumthing talkatyue.
He ſpeirit mony ſtrange cace,
Quhow that my lufe did me Inbrace.
Quhat day, how oft, quhat ſcort, and quhare?
(Quod he) I wald I had bene thare.
He me abſoluit for ane plak,
Thocht he na pryce with me wald mak.
And mekle Latyne he did mummill.
I hard na thing bot hummill bummill.
He ſchew me nocht of Goddis word,
Quhilk ſcharper is than ony ſword,
And deip in tyll our hart dois prent,
Our Syn, quhairthrow we do repent.
He pat me na thing in to feir,
Quharethrow I ſuld my ſyn forbeir.
He ſchew me nocht the Maledictioun
Of God for Syn, nor the afflictioun.
And in this lyfe, the greit miſcheif,
Ordanit to puniſche hure, and theif.
Nor ſchew he me of hellis pane,
That I mycht feir, and vice refrane.
He counſalit me nocht till abſtene,
And leid ane holy lyfe and clene.
Of Chriſtis blude, na thing he knew,
Nor of his promiſſes full trew,
That ſaifis all that wyll beleue,
That Sathan ſall vsus neuer greue.
He techit me nocht for tyll traiſt,
The confort of the haly Gaiſt,
He bad me nocht to Chriſt be kynd,
To keip his law, with hart and mynd,
And louelove and thank his greit merciemercy.
Fra Syn, and hell, that ſauit me.
And lufe my Nichtbour as my ſell.
Of this na thing he could me tell.
Bot gaue me pennance ilk ane day,
Ane Aue Marie for to ſay.
And Frydayis fyue, na fiſche to eit.
Bot butter and eggis ar better meit.
And with ane plak to by ane Meſſe,
Fra drounkin ſchir Iohne latyneleſſe.
(Quod he) ane plak I wyll gar Sande
GiueGive the agane with hande dande.
Syne in to Pilgramage to pas,
The verray way to wantounes.
Of all his pennance I was glaid,
I had thame all parqueir, I ſaid.
To mow and ſteill, I ken the pryce.
I ſall it ſet on Cincq and Syee.
Bot he my counſale culd nocht keip.
He maid hym be the fyre to ſleip.
Syne cryit, Colleris, be if, and Coillis:
Hois, and ſchone, with do… bill ſ…ill…s.
Caikis, and Candill C…eiſche, and …
Curnis of meill, and luffillis …
Wollin, and linning, werp, and woft,
Dame keip the keis of ȝour woll loft.
Throw drink and ſleip maid him to raif,
And ſwa with vsus thay play the knaif.
Freiris ſweiris be thare profeſſioun,
Nane can be ſaif, but this Confeſſioun,
And gartis all men vnderſtand,
That it is Goddis awin command.
Ȝit is it nocht bot mennis drame,
The peple to confound and ſchame.
It is nocht ellis bot mennis law,
Maid mennis myndis for to knaw.
Quharethrow thay ſyle thame as thay will,
And makis thare law conforme thare till,
Sittand in mennis conſcience,
Aboue Goddis Magnificence.
And dois the peple teiche and tyſte,
To ſerue the Paip the Antechriſte.
To the greit God Omnipotent
Confes thy Syn, and ſore repent.
And traiſt in Chriſt, as wrytis Paule,
Quhilk ſched his blude to ſaif thy Saule.
For nane can the abſolue bot he,
Nor tak away thy ſyn frome the.
GiueGive of gude counſall thow hes neid,
Or hes nocht lernit weill thy Creid,
Or wickit vicis regne in the,
The quhilk thow can nocht mortifie.
Or be in Deſperatioun,
And wald hauehave Conſolatioun,
Than till ane preichour trew thow pas,
And ſchaw thy Syn, and thy treſpas.
Thow nedis nocht to ſchaw hym all,
Nor tell thy Syn baith greit and ſmall,
Quhilk is vnpoſſible to be.
Bot ſchaw the vice that troubillis the.
And he ſall of thy ſaule hauehave reuth,
And the Inſtruct in to the treuth,
And with the word of verite,
Sall confort, and ſall counſall the.
The Sacramentis ſchaw the at lenth,
Thy lytle faith to ſtark and ſtrenth.
And how thow ſuld thame richtlie vſe,
And all Hypocriſie refuſe.
Confeſſioun firſt wes ordanit fre,
In this ſort, in the Kirk to be.
Swa to confes as I deſcryue,
Wes in the gude Kirk Primityue.
Swa wes Confeſſioun ordanit firſt,
Thocht Codrus kyte ſuld cleue and birſt.
Finis.