Works, Poem 8
Ane Suplication directit frome Schir Dauid Lyndeſay Knicht, to the Kingis grace, in Contemptioun of ſyde Taillis.
SChir, thocht ȝour grace hes put gret ordour
Baith in the Hieland and the Bordour,
Ȝit mak I Supplicatioun,
Tyll hauehave ſum Reformatioun,
Of ane ſmall fa…t, quhilk is nocht Treſſoun.
Thocht it be contrarie to Reſſoun.
Becauſe the Water bene ſo vyle,
It may nocht hauehave ane Oruate …yle.
Quharefor I pray ȝour Excellence,
To heir me with greit Pacience,
Of ſtink and weidis maculate
No man may mak ane Rois Chaiplat.
Souerane, I mene of thir ſyde taillis,
Qu…ilk throw the duſt and dubbis traillis,
Th…e quarteris lang behind thare heillis,
Expres agane all Comoun weillis.
Thocht Biſchoppis in thare pontificallis,
HaueHave men for to bei… vp thare taillis,
For dignite of thare office.
Rychtſo ane Quene, or ane Emprice,
Howbeit thay vſe ſic grauite,
Comformand to thare Maieſte.
Thocht thare Rob Royallis be vpborne,
I think it is ane verray ſcorne,
That eueryevery Lady of the land,
Suld hauehave hir taill ſo ſyde trailland,
Howbeit thay bene of hie eſtait,
The Quene thay ſuld nocht counterfait.
Quhare euer thay go, it may be ſene,
How kirk, and calſay thay ſoup clene.
The Imagis in to the kirk,
May think of thare ſyde tailis Irk,
For quhen the wedder bene moſt fair,
The duſt fleis hieſt in the air,
And all thare facis dois begarie.
GiueGive thay culd ſpeik, thay wald thame warie.
To ſe I think ane pleſand ſicht,
Of Italie the Ladyis bricht,
In thare clething moſt triumphand,
Aboue all vther chriſtin land.
Ȝit quhen thay trauell throw the townis,
Men ſeis thare feit beneth thare gownis,
Four Inche abone thare proper heillis
Circulat about als round as quheillis.
Quhare throw thare dois na poulder ryis,
Thare fait quhyte lymmis to ſuppryis.
Bot I think maiſt abuſioun,
To ſe men of Religioun,
Gar beir thare taillis throw the ſtreit,
That folkis may behald thare feit.
I trow ſanct Bernard, nor ſanct Blais,
Gart neuer man beir vp thare clais.
Peter, nor Paule, nor ſanct Androw,
Gart neuer beir vp thare taillis I trow,
Bot I lauch beſt to ſe ane Nwn,
Gar beit hir taill abone hir bwn,
For no thing ellis as I ſuppois,
Bot for to ſchaw hir lillie quhyte hois.
In all thare Rewlis, thay will nocht find,
Quha ſuld beir vp thair taillis behind.
Bot I hauehave maiſt in to deſpyte,
Pure Claggokis cled in roiploch quhyte,
Quhilk hes ſkant twa markis for thare feis,
Wyll hauehave twa ellis beneth thare kneis.
Kit, tok that clekkit wis ȝiſtrene,
The morne wyll counterfute the Quene.
Ane murcland Meg that mylkit the ȝowis,
Claggit with clay abone the howis,
In barn, nor byit, ſcho wyll nocht byde,
Without hir kirtyll taill be ſyde,
In Burtowis wantoun burges wyiffis,
Quha may hauehave ſydeſt taillis ſtryiffis,
Weill bordourit with Veluoit fyne,
Bot following thame it is ane pyne.
In Somer quhen the ſtreitis dryis,
Thay rais the duſt abone the ſkyis.
None may go neir thame at thare eis,
Without thay couer mouth and neis,
Frome the powder, to keip thare ene.
Conſider giuegive thare Cloiffis be clene.
Betuixt thare cleuing, and thare kneis,
Quha mycht behald thare ſweitie theis,
Begairit all with dirt, and duſt,
That wer a…euch to ſtanche the luſt
Of ony man that ſaw thame naikit.
I think ſic giglottis ar bot glaikit,
Without profite to hauehave ſic pryde,
Harland thare claggit taillis ſo ſyde.
I wald thay borrowſtounis barnis had breikkis
To keip ſic miſt fra Malkinnis cheikkis.
I dreid rouch Malkin de for drouth,
Quhen ſic dry duſt blawis in hir mouth.
I think maiſt pane, efter ane rane,
To ſe thame towkit vp agane.
Than quhen thay ſtep furth throw the ſtreit.
Thare faldingis flappis about thair feit.
Thare laithlie lyning furthwart flypit,
Quhilk hes the muk, and midding wypit.
Thay waiſt more claith within few ȝeitis.
Nor wald cleith fyftie ſcore of freitis.
Quhen Marioun frome the midding gois,
Frome hir morne turne, ſcho ſtrypit the nois.
And all the day quhare euer ſcho go,
Sic liquour ſcho likkith vp alſo.
The Turcumis of hir taill I trow.
Mycht be ane ſupper till ane ſow.
I ken ane man, quhilk ſwoir greit aithis.
How he did lift ane Kittokis claithis,
And wald hauehave done, I wait nocht quhat.
Bot ſone remeid of lufe he gat.
He thocht na ſchame to mak it wittin,
How hir ſyde taill was all beſchittin,
Of filth ſic flewer ſtraik till his hart,
That he behouit for till depart.
(Quod ſcho) ſweit ſchir, me think ȝe rew,
(Quod he) ȝour taill makis ſic ane ſlew,
That be ſanct Brybe, I may nocht byde it,
Ȝe war nocht wyſe, that wald nocht hyde it,
Of Caillis I wyll no more Indyte,
For dreid ſum Duddroun me deſpyte.
Nocht withſtanding, I wyll conclude,
That of ſyde Taillis can cum na gude.
Syder nor may thare hanclethis hyde,
The remanent, proceidis of pryde.
And Pryde proceidis of the Deuill.
Thus alway thay proceid of euill.
☞Ane vther fault Schir, may be ſene,
Thay hyde thare face all bot the ene.
Quhen gentill men biddis thame gude day,
Without Reuerence thay ſlyde away.
That none may knaw, I ȝow aſſure,
Ane honeſt woman be ane hure.
Without thare naikit face I ſe,
Thay get no mo gude dayis of me
Hails ane Frence Lady quhen ȝe pleis,
Scho wyll diſcouer mouth, and neis.
And with ane humill countenance,
With Viſage bair mak reuerence.
Quhen our Ladyis dois ryde in rane,
Suld no man hauehave thame at diſdane,
Thocht thay be couerit mouth and neis.
In that cace thay wyll nane diſpleis.
Nor quhen thay go to quiet places,
I thame excuſe to hyde thare facis,
Quhen thay wald mak Collatioun,
With any luſtie Companȝeoun,
Thocht thay be hid than to the ene,
Ȝe may conſidder quhat I mene.
Bot in the kirk, and market placis,
I think thay ſuld nocht hide thare facis.
Without thir faltis be ſone amendit,
My flyting, ſchir, ſall neuer be endit.
Bot wald ȝour grace my counſall tak,
Ane Proclamatioun ȝe ſuld mak,
Baith throw the land and Borrowſtounis,
To ſchaw thare face, and cut thare gownis,
Nan… ſuld fra that Exemptit be,
Except the Quenis Maieſte,
Becauſe this mater is nocht fair,
Of Rethorik it man be bair.
Wemen wyll ſay this is no bourdis,
To wryte ſic vyle and filthy wordis.
Bot wald thay clenge thare filthy taillis,
Quhilk ouir the myris and middingis traillis,
Than ſuld my wrytting clengit be.
None vther mendis thay get of me.
The ſuith ſuld nocht be haldin clos,
Veritas non querit Angulos.
I wait gude wemen that bene wyſe,
This rurall Ryme wyll nocht diſpryſe.
None wyll me blame, I ȝow aſſure,
Except ane wantoun glorious hure,
Quhais flyting I feir nocht ane fle.
Fair weill, ȝe get no more of me.
Quod Lindeſay in cōtempt of the ſyde taillis,
That duddrounis & duntibouris throu ye dubbis it ailli….