Boy, that Internet is just full of old bollocks and the utterly fascinating isn’t it? And sometimes the one will lead you right to the other.
Take, for example, that article in the Telegraph earlier this week about the American professor who claims that rap battles are a Scottish invention. Or, to be more specific:
Professor Ferenc Szasz argued that so-called rap battles, where two or more performers trade elaborate insults, derive from the ancient Caledonian art of “flyting”.
According to the theory, Scottish slave owners took the tradition with them to the United States, where it was adopted and developed by slaves, emerging many years later as rap.
Consider that griots, spirituals, work songs, the blues, etc, all offer believable, and to my mind more reasonable, explanations for the development of rap. Then consider that there’s a common, and pretty well accepted history of the dozens (and thus rap battles) that can be explained easily without needing flyting. Well, given that, I’m pretty comfortable calling the theory one of the bollocks things that float down the ‘tubes.
However, the idea of “flyting” is new to me, and bears some more investigating.
The article has a couple of paragraphs about it:
The most famous surviving example of flyting comes from a 16th-century piece in which two rival poets hurl increasingly obscene rhyming insults at one another before the Court of King James IV.
Titled the Flyting Of Dunbar And Kennedy, it has been described by academics as “just over 500 lines of filth”.
Now, you just know I’m going to want to know more about that.
And, of course, the Internet doesn’t let me down. First we can pop over to Wikipedia for an overview:
The Flyting of Dumbar and Kennedie, is the earliest surviving example of the Scottish version of the flyting genre in poetry. The genre takes the form of a contest, or “war of words”, between two poets, each trying to outclass the other in vituperation and verbal pyrotechnics. It is not certain how the work was composed, but it is likely to have been publicly performed, probably in the style of a poetic joust by the two combatants, William Dunbar and Walter Kennedy, before the Court of James IV of Scotland.
And, it comments amusingly on the contents of the battle:
The content of the insults involves a wide range of strategies in mock character assassination, from the low scatological to the high political. Many accusations involve the capital crimes of theft, treason, and heresy, which, at moments (especially if the context was the royal court), add a potentially dangerous sense of political frisson (Kennedy goes so far as to describe the Dunbar coat of arms as being a noose with “Hang Dunbar” written underneath). Both combatants took great relish in describing the terrible punishments that would be meted out upon their opponent and the pictures evoked imply the proximity of instruments of execution in the medieval landscape as bleak as that in many images of the time in art.
Most of the insults thrown by Dunbar are returned or matched in kind by Kennedy, which gives the poem a balance in overall structure. The insults are graphic and personal, and were not necessarily arbitrary. Dunbar characterises Kennedy as speaking a barbarous Highland dialect, as being physically hideous and withered like a sort of living memento mori, as being poor and hungry, and of having intercourse with mares. Kennedy, by contrast, suggests that Dunbar was descended from Beelzebub, is a dwarf, and has no control of his bowel movements (to the point of almost sinking a ship in which he is travelling). Both cast doubt on the other’s poetic skill; Kennedy states that while he ascends Mount Parnassus to drink of the insiprational waters of the Castalian Spring, Dunbar goes “in Marche or Februere” to a farm pond and drinks the frogspawn. The satire may perhaps give us caricature impressions of the physical appearance and moral vulnerabilities of the two men, even if no actual portraits of either man are known to have survived.
After reading that, of course, I wanted to go read the piece. And again, the Internet has what I think I need, with a copy of the full piece available easily online. Since that link is to a Geocities site, and they tend to just vanish from the ‘net, I’ll stick a copy in this post at the end, so just scroll down now to see it.
Now, having had a chance to read the full piece, I have no idea what the hell is going on. Sure, I can parse some of it–I’m fairly certain that “wes nocht worth ane pair of auld gray sox” turns into “was not worth any pair of old grey socks” in current English–but most of it is just painful to look at. And I suspect that rather a lot of jokes depend on topical knowledge from the period.
This is where I want the Internet to provide me with a side-by-side modern English translation, with footnotes on the references. And this is where either the Internet failed me, or my Google skills weren’t up to the task: I couldn’t find a single modernised version of the text.
So I took another pass, reading the bits phonetically in a bad Scots accent, and large chunks are relatively comprehensible, but other bits remain obscure. I’ve really got to find a translation.
The bits at the end of Kennedy’s final reply are pretty understandable, though–the final curse out, and then the explanation of Dunbar’s family tree are entertaining. I quite like this bit:
Conspiratour, cursit cocatrice, hell caa,
Turk, trumpour, traitour, tyran intemperate;
Thow irefull attircop, Pilate apostata,
Judas, jow, juglour, Lollard laureate;
Sarazene, symonyte provit, Pagane pronunciate,
Machomete, manesuorne, bugrist abhominabile,
Devill, dampnit dog, sodomyte insatiable,
With Gog and Magog grete glorificate.
I think that accuses Dunbar of being a conspirator and traitor, a cursed cockatrice, a hell cat(?), a Turk, a pissed off spider, an apostate, a Judas, a jew, a Lollardist, a juggler (really?), a Saracen, a pronouncer of paganisms, an abominable buggerist, a devil, and an insatiable sodomite, among other things. Nice.
If you happen to know of a good translation, let me know. Otherwise I’ll put in on my list of things to keep an eye out for until I get a chance to look in an analog information repository. Or maybe Baba Brinkman will do it up modern style. (I’d also like a recording of a performance of this. At some convention I should totally try to talk Hal Duncan and Gavin Grant into it, with both doing their maximal Scots burr.)
THE FLYTING OF DUNBAR AND KENNEDIE
Quod Dunbar to Kennedy
SCHIR JOHINE the Ros, ane thing thair is compild
In generale be Kennedy and Quinting,
Quhilk hes thame self aboif the sternis styld;
Bot had thay maid of mannace ony mynting
In speciall, sic stryfe sould rys but stynting;
Howbeit with bost thair breistis wer als bendit
As Lucifer, that fra the hevin descendit,
Hell sould nocht hyd thair harnis fra harmis hynting.
The erd sould trymbill, the firmament sould schaik,
And all the air in vennaum suddane stink,
And all the divillis of hell for redour quaik,
To heir quhat I sould wryt with pen and ynk;
For and I fly; sum sege for schame sould sink,
The se sould birn, the mone sould thoill ecclippis,
Rochis sould ryfe, the warld sould hald no grippis,
Sa loud of cair the commoun bell sould clynk.
Bot wondir laith wer I to be ane baird,
Flyting to use richt gritly I eschame;
For it is nowthir wynning nor rewaird,
Bot tinsale baith of honour and of fame,
Incres of sorrow, sklander, and evill name;
Yit mycht thay be sa bald, in thair bakbytting,
To gar me ryme and rais the feynd with flytting,
And throw all cuntreis and kinrikis thame proclame.
Quod Kennedy to Dumbar
Dirtin Dumbar, quhome on blawis thow thy boist?
Pretendand the to wryte sic skaldit skrowis;
Ramowd rebald, thow fall doun att the roist,
My laureat lettres at the and I lowis;
Mandrag, mymmerkin, maid maister bot in mows,
Thrys scheild trumpir with ane threid bait goun,
Say Deo mercy, or I cry the doun,
And leif thy ryming, rebald, and thy rowis.
Dreid, dirtfast dearth, that thow hes dissobeyit
My cousing Quintene and my commissar,
Fantastik fule, trest weill thow salbe fleyit,
Ignorant elf, aip, owll irregular,
Skaldit skaitbird, and commoun skamelar;
Wan-fukkit funling, that natour maid ane yrle,
Baith Iohine the Ros and thow sall squeill and skirle,
And evir I heir ocht of your making mair.
Heir I put sylence to the in all pairtis,
Obey and ceis the play that thow pretendis;
Waik walidrag, and verlot of the cairtis,
Se sone thow mak my commissar amendis,
And lat him lay sax leichis on thy lendis,
Meikly in recompansing of thi scorne,
Or thow sall ban the tyme that thow wes borne,
For Kennedy to the this cedull sendis.
Quod Dumbar to Kennedy
Iersch brybour baird, vyle beggar with thy brattis,
Cuntbittin crawdoun Kennedy, coward of kynd,
Evill farit and dryit, as Denseman on the rattis,
Lyke as the gleddis had on thy gule snowt dynd;
Mismaid monstour, ilk mone owt of thy mynd,
Renunce, rebald, thy rymyng, thow bot royis,
Thy trechour tung hes tane ane heland strynd;
Ane lawland ers wald mak a bettir noyis.
Revin, raggit ruke, and full of rebaldrie,
Scarth fra scorpione, scaldit in scurrilitie,
I se the haltane in thy harlotrie,
And in to uthir science no thing slie,
Off every vertew voyd, as men may sie;
Quytclame clergie, and cleik to the ane club,
Ane baird blasphemar in brybrie ay to be;
For wit and wisdome ane wisp fra the may rub.
Thow speiris, dastard, gif I dar with the fecht?
Ye dagorie, dowbart, thairof haif thow no dowt!
Quhair evir we meit, thairto my hand I hecht
To red thy rebald ryming with a rowt:
Throw all Bretane it salbe blawin owt
How that thow, poysonit pelor, gal thy paikis;
With ane doig leich I schepe to gar the schowt,
And nowther to the tak knyfe, swerd, nor aix.
Thow crop and rute of traitouris tressonable,
The fathir and moder of morthour and mischeif,
Dissaitfull tyrand, with serpentis tung, unstable;
Cukcald cradoun, cowart, and commoun theif;
Thow purpest for to undo our Lordis cheif,
In Paislay, with ane poysone that wes fell,
For quhilk, brybour, yit sail thow thoill a breif;
Pelour, on the I sall it preif my sell.
Thocht I wald lie, thy frawart phisnomy
Dois manifest thy malice to all men;
Fy! tratour theif; Fy! glengoir bun, fy! fy!
Fy! feyndly front, far fowlar than ane fen.
My freyindis thow reprovit with thy pen!
Thow leis, tratour! quhilk I sall on the preif,
Suppois thy heid war armit tymis ten,
Thow sall recryat, or thy croun sall cleif.
Or thow durst move thy mynd malitius,
Thow saw the saill abone my heid up draw;
Bot Eolus full woid, and Neptunus,
Mirk and moneless, wes met with wind and waw,
And mony hundreth myle hyne cowd us blaw
By Holland, Seland, Yetland, and Northway coist,
In desert quhair we wer famist aw;
Yit come I hame, fals baird, to lay thy boist.
Thow callis the rethory with thy goldin lippis:
Na, glowrand, gaipand fule, thow art begyld,
Thow art bot gluntow with thy giltin hippis,
That for thy lounry mony a leisch hes fyld;
Wan wisaged widdefow, out of thy wit gane wyld,
Laithly and lowsy, als lathand as ane leik,
Sen thow with wirschep wald sa fane be styld,
Haill, soverane senyeour! Thy bawis hingis throw thy breik.
Forworthin fule, of all the warld reffuse,
Quhat ferly is thocht thow rejoys to flyte?
Sic eloquence as thay in Erschry use,
In sic is sett thy thraward appetyte;
Thow hes full littill feill of fair indyte:
I tak on me ane pair of Lowthiane hippis
Sall fairar Inglis mak, and mair parfyte,
Than thow can blabbar with thy Carrik lippis.
Bettir thow ganis to leid ane doig to skomer,
Pynit pykpuirs pelour, than with thy maister pingill.
Thow lay full prydles in the peis this somer,
And fane at evin for to bring hame a single,
Syne rubbit at ane uthir auid wyvis ingle;
Bot now, in winter, for purteth thow art traikit;
Thow hes na breik to latt thy ballokis gyngill;
Beg the ane club, for, baird, thow sall go naikit.
Lene larbar, loungeour, baith lowsy in lisk and lonye;
Fy! skolderit skyn, thow art bot skyre and skrumple;
For he that rostit Lawarance had thy grunye,
And he that hid Sanct Johnis ene with ane womple,
And he that dang Sanct Augustine with ane rumple,
Thy fowll front had, and he that Bartilmo flaid;
The gallowis gaipis eftir thy graceles gruntill,
As thow wald for ane haggeis, hungry gled.
Commirwald crawdoun, na man comptis the ane kers,
Sueir swappit swanky, swynekeper ay for swaittis;
Thy commissar Quintyne biddis the cum kis his ers,
He luvis nocht sic ane forlane loun of laittis;
He sayis, thow skaffis and beggis mair beir and aitis
Nor ony cripill in Karrik land abowt;
Uther pure beggaris and thow ar at debaittis,
Decrepit karlingis on Kennedy cryis owt.
Mater annuche I haif, I bid nocht fenyie,
Thocht thow, fowll trumpour, thus upoun me leid;
Corruptit carioun, he sall I cry thy senyie;
Thinkis thow nocht how thow come in grit neid,
Greitand in Galloway, lyk to ane gallow breid,
Ramand and rolpand, beggand koy and ox;
I saw the thair, in to thy wachemanis weid,
Quhilk wes nocht worth ane pair of auld gray sox.
Ersch Katherene, with thy polk breik and rilling,
Thow and thy quene, as gredy gleddis, ye gang
With polkis to mylne, and beggis baith meill and schilling;
Thair is bot lys and lang nailis yow amang:
Fowll heggirbald, for hennis thus will ye hang;
Thow hes ane perrellus face to play with lambis;
Ane thowsand kiddis, wer thay in faidis full strang,
Thy lymmerfull luke wald fle thame and thair damis.
In till ane glen thow hes, owt of repair,
Ane laithly luge that wes the lippir menis;
With the ane sowtaris wyfe, off blis als bair,
And lyk twa stalkaris steilis in cokis and hennis,
Thow plukkis the pultre, and scho pullis off the penis;
All Karrik cryis, God gif this dowsy be drownd;
And quhen thow heiris ane guse cry in the glenis,
Thow thinkis it swetar than sacrand bell of sound.
Thow Lazarus, thow laithly lene tramort,
To all the warld thow may example be,
To luk upoun thy gryslie peteous port,
For hiddowis, haw, and holkit is thyne ee;
Thy cheik bane bair, and blaiknit is thy ble;
Thy choip, thy choll, garris men for to leif chest;
Thy gane it garris us think that we mon de:
I conjure the, thow hungert heland gaist.
The larbar lukis of thy lang lene craig,
Thy pure pynit thrott, peilit and owt of ply,
Thy skolderit skin, hewd lyk ane saffrone bag,
Garris men dispyt thar flesche, thow Spreit of Gy:
Fy! feyndly front; fy! tykis face, fy! fy!
Ay loungand, lyk ane loikman on ane ledder;
With hingit luik ay wallowand upone wry,
Lyke to ane stark theif glowrand in ane tedder.
Nyse nagus, nipcaik, with thy schulderis narrow,
Thow lukis lowsy, loun of lownis aw;
Hard hurcheoun, hirpland, hippit as ane harrow,
Thy rigbane rattillis, and thy ribbis on raw,
Thy hanchis hirklis with hukebanis harth and haw,
Thy laithly lymis are lene as ony treis;
Obey, theif baird, or I sall brek thy gaw,
Fowll carrybald, cry mercy on thy kneis.
Thow purehippit, ugly averill,
With hurkland banis, holkand throw thy hyd,
Reistit and crynit as hangitman on hill,
And oft beswakkit with ane ourhie tyd,
Quhilk brewis mekle barret to thy bryd;
Hir cair is all to clenge thy cabroch howis,
Quhair thow lyis sawsy in saphron, bak and syd,
Powderit with prymros, savrand all with clowis.
Forworthin wirling, I warne the it is wittin,
How, skyttand skarth, thow hes the hurle behind;
Wan wraiglane wasp, ma wormis hes thow beschittin
Nor thair is gers on grund or leif on lind;
Thocht thow did first sic foly to my fynd,
Thow sall agane with ma witnes than I;
Thy gulsoch gane dois on thy back it bind,
Thy hostand hippis lattis nevir thy hos go dry.
Thow held the burch lang with ane borrowit goun,
And ane caprowsy barkit all with sweit,
And quhen the laidis saw the sa lyk a loun,
Thay bickerit the with mony bae and bleit:
Now upaland thow leivis on rubbit quheit,
Oft for ane caus thy burdclaith neidis no spredding,
For thow hes nowthir for to drink nor eit,
Bot lyk ane berdles baird that had no bedding.
Strait Gibbonis air, that nevir ourstred ane hors,
Bla berfute berne, in bair tyme wes thow borne;
Thow bringis the Carrik clay to Edinburgh Cors
Upoun thy botingis, hobland, hard as horne;
Stra wispis hingis owt, quhair that the wattis ar worne:
Cum thow agane to skar us with thy strais,
We sall gar scale our sculls all the to scorne,
And stane the up the calsay quhair thow gals.
Off Edinburch the boyis as beis owt thrawis,
And cryis owt ay, "Heir cumis our awin queir Clerk!"
Than fleis thow lyk ane howlat chest with crawis,
Quhill all the bichis at thy botingis dois bark:
Than carlingis cryis, "Keip curches in the merk,
Our gallowis gaipis; lo! quhair ane greceles gais."
Ane uthir sayis, "I se him want ane sark,
I reid yow, cummer, tak in your lynning clair."
Than rynis thow doun the gait with gild of boyis,
And all the toun tykis hingand in thy heilis;
Of laidis and lownis thair rysis sic ane noyis,
Quhill runsyis rynis away with cairt and quheilis,
And cager aviris castis bayth coillis and creilis,
For rerd of the and rattling of thy butis;
Fische wyvis cryis, Fy! and castis doun skulls and skeilis;
Sum claschis the, sum cloddis the on the cutis.
Loun lyk Mahoun, be boun me till obey,
Theif, or in greif mischeif sall the betyd;
Cry grace, tykis face, or I the chece and sley;
Oule, rare and yowle, I sall defowll thy pryd;
Peilet gled, baith fed and bred of bichis syd,
And lyk ane tyk, purspyk, quhat man settis by the!
Forflittin, countbittin, beschittin, barkit hyd,
Clym ledder, fyle tedder, foule edder, I defy the.
Mauch muttoun, byt buttoun, peilit gluttoun, air to Hilhous;
Rank beggar, ostir dregar, foule fleggar in the flet;
Chittirlilling, ruch rilling, lik schilling in the milhous;
Baird rehator, theif of natour, fats tratour, feyindis gett;
Filling of tauch, rak sauch, cry crauch, thow art our sett;
Muttoun dryver, girnall ryver, yadswyvar, fowll fell the:
Herretyk, lunatyk, purspyk, carlingis pet,
Rottin crok, dirtin dok, cry cok, or I sall quell the.
Quod Kennedy to Dumbar
Dathane devillis sone, and dragon dispitous,
Abironis birth, and bred with Beliall;
Wod werwoif, worme, and scorpion vennemous,
Lucifers laid, fowll feyindis face infernall;
Sodomyt, syphareit fra sanctis celestiall,
Put I nocht sylence to the, schiphird knaif,
And thow of new begynis to ryme and raif,
Thow salbe maid blait, bleir eit, bestiall.
How thy forbearis come, I haif a feill,
At Cokburnispeth, the writ makis me war,
Generit betuix ane scho beir and a deill;
Sa wes he callit Dewlbeir and nocht Dumbar.
This Dewlbeir, generit of a meit of Mar,
Wes Corspatrik, Erle of Merche; and be illusioun
The first that evir put Scotland to confusioun
Wes that fals tratour, hardely say I dar.
Quhen Bruce and Balioll differit for the croun,
Scottis Lordis could nocht obey Englis lawis;
This Corspatrik betrasit Berwik toun,
And slew sevin thousand Scottismen within thay wawis,
The battall syne of Spottismuir he gart caus,
And come with Edwart Langschankis to the feild,
Quhair twelve thowsand trew Scottismen wer keild,
And Wallace chest, as the Cornicle schawis.
Scottis Lordis chiftanis he gart hald and chessone
In firmance fast, quhill all the feild wes done,
Within Dumbar, that auld spelunk of tressoun;
Sa Inglis tykis in Scotland wes abone,
Than spulyeit thay the haly stane of Scone,
The Croce of Halyrudhous, and uthir jowellis.
He birnis in hell, body, banis, and bowellis,
This Corspatrik that Scotland hes undone.
Wallace gart cry ane counsale in to Perth,
And callit Corspatrik tratour be his style;
That dampnit dragone drew him in diserth,
And sayd, he kend bot Wallace, king in Kyle:
Out of Dumbar that theif he maid exyle
Unto Edward and Inglis grund agane:
Tigris, serpentis, and taidis will remane
In Dumbar wallis, todis, wolffis and beistis vyle.
Na fowlis of effect amangis thay binkis
Biggis nor abydis, for no thing that may be;
Thay stanis of tressone as the bruntstane stinkis.
Dewlbeiris moder, cassin in by the se,
The wariet apill of the forbiddin tre
That Adame eit, quhen he tynt Parradyce,
Scho eit invennomit lyk a cokkatryce,
Syne merreit with the Divill for dignite.
Yit of new tressone I can tell the tailis,
That cumis on nycht in visioun in my sleip;
Archbald Dumbar betrasd the house of Hailis,
Becaus the yung Lord had Dumbar to keip;
Pretendand throw that to thair rowmis to creip,
Rycht crewaly his castell he persewit,
Brocht him furth boundin and the place reskewit,
Sett him in fetteris in ane dungeoun deip.
It war aganis bayth natur and gud ressoun,
That Dewlbeiris bairnis were trew to God or man;
Quhilkis wer baith gottin, borne, and bred with tressoun,
Belgebubbis oyis, and curst Corspatrikis clan:
Thow wes prestyt and ordanit be Sathan
For to be borne to do thy kin defame,
And gar me schaw thy antecessouris schame;
Thy kin that leivis may wary the and ban.
Sen thow on me thus, lymmer, leis and trattillis,
And fyndis sentence foundit of invy,
Thy elderis banis ilk nycht rysis and rattillis,
Apon thy cors vengeance, vengeance! thay cry,
Thow art the cause thay may not rest nor ly;
Thow sadis for thame few psaltris, psalmis, or credis,
Bot geris me tell thair trentalis of mysdeidis,
And thair ald sin with new schame certify.
Insensuate sow, cesse, fals Eustase air!
And knaw, kene scald, I hald of Alathya,
And cause me nocht the cause lang to declare
Off thy curst kyn, Deulber and his allya:
Cum to the Croce, on kneis, and mak a crya;
Confesse thy crime, haid Kenydy the king,
And with ane hauthorne scurge thy self and dyng;
Thus dree thy penaunce wyth Dereliquisti quia.
Pas to my commissare, and be confest,
Cour befoir him on kneis, and cum in will;
And syne ger Stobo for thy lyf protest;
Renounce thy rymis, bath ban and birn thy bill;
Heve to the hevyn thy handis, ande hald the still:
Do thou not thus, bogane, thou salbe brynt,
Wyth pik, fire, ter, gun puidre, or lint,
On Arthuris Sele, or on ane hyar hyll.
I perambalit of Pernaso the montayn,
Enspirit wyth Mercury fra his goldyn spere;
And dulcely drank of eloquence the fontayne,
Quhen it was purifit wyth frost, and flowit cleir:
And thou come, Fule! in Marche or Februere,
Thair till a pule, and drank the padok rod,
That gerris the ryme in to thy termis glod,
And blaberis that noyis mennis eris to here.
Thow lufis nane Irische, elf, I understand,
Bot it suld be all trew Scottis mennis lede;
It was the gud langage of this land,
And Scota it causit to multiply and sprede,
Quhill Corspatrik, that we of tresoun rede,
Thy forefader, maid Irisch and Irisch men thin,
Throu his tresoun broght Inglise rumpus in,
Sa wald thy self, mycht thou to him succede.
Ignorant fule! in to thy mowis and mokis,
It may be verifyit that thy wit is thin;
Quhare thow writis Densmen dryit apon the rattis,
Densmen of Denmark ar of the kingis kyn.
The wit thou suld have had, was castin in
Evyn at thyne ers, bakwart, wyth a staf slong.
Herefore, fals harlot, hursone, hald thy tong:
Deulbere! thow devis the devill, thyne eme, wyth dyn.
Quhare as thou said that I stall hennis and lammys,
I latt the witt, I have land, store and stakkis.
Thou wald be fayn to gnaw, lad, wyth thy gammys,
Under my burd, smoch banis behynd doggis bakkis:
Thow has a tome purs, I have stedis and takkis,
Thow tynt cultur, I have cultur and pleuch,
Substance and gere, thou has a wedy teuch,
On Mount Falconn, about thy crag to rax.
And yit Mount Falconn gallowis is our fair
For to be fylde with sik a fruteles face;
Cum hame, and hyng on oure gallowis of Aire,
To erd the under it I sail purchas grace;
To ete thy flesch the doggis sail have na space,
The ravyns sall ryve na thing bot thy tong rutis,
For thou sik malice of thy maister mutis,
It is wele sett that thou sik barat brace.
Small fynance amang thy frendis thow beggit,
To stanch the storm wyth haly muldis thou loste;
Thou sailit to get a dowcare for to dreg it,
It lyis closit in a ciout on Seland cost:
Sic reule gerris the be servit wyth cald rost,
And sitt unsoupit oft beyond the sey,
Criant caritas at duris amore Dei,
Barefut, brekeles, and all in duddis updost.
Deulbere hes not ado wyth a Dunbar,
The Erl of Murray bure that surname ryght,
That evyr trew to the King and constant ware,
And of that kin come Dunbar of Westfelde knyght;
That successione is hardy, wyse, and wycht,
And has na thing ado now with the devile,
Bot Deulbere is thy kyn, and kennis the wele,
And has in hell for the a chaumir dicht.
Cursit croapand craw, I sall ger crop thy tong,
And thou sall cry, Cor mundum, on thy kneis;
Duerch, I sall ding the, quhill thow dryte and dong,
And thou sall lik thy lippis and suere thou leis:
I sall degrade the, graceles, of thy greis;
Scaile the for scorne, and shere the of the scule,
Ger round the hede transforme the till a fule,
And syne wyth tresone trone the to the treis.
Rawmowit ribald, renegate rehatour,
My linage and forebearis war ay lele;
It cumis of kynde to the to be a traytoure,
To ryde on nycht, to rug, to reve, and stele.
Quhare thow puttis poysoun to me, I appelle
The in that part, preve it pelour wyth thy persone;
Clame not to clergy, I defy the, gersone,
Thow sall by it dere wyth me, duerche, and thou dele.
In Ingland, oule, suld be thyne habitacione,
Homage to Edward Langschankis maid thy kyn,
In Dunbar thai ressavit him, the false nacione,
Thay suld be exilde Scotland mare and myn.
A stark gallowis, a wedy, and a pyn,
The hede poynt of thyne elderis armes ar;
Wryttyn abone in poesie, Hang Dunbar,
Quarter and draw, and mak that surname thin.
I am the kingis blude, his trew speciall clerk,
That nevir yit ymaginit hym offense,
Constant in myn allegeance, word and werk,
Onely dependand on his excellence;
Traistand to have of his magnificence
Guerdoun, reward, and benefice bedene;
Quhen that the ravyns sal ryve out bath thine ene,
And on the rattis salbe thy residence.
Fra Etrike Forest furthward to Drumfrese
Thow beggit wyth a pardoun in all kirkis,
Collapis, cruddis, mele, grotis, grisis, and geis,
And ondir nycht quhile stall thou staggis and stirkis.
Because that Scotiand of thy begging irkis,
Thow scapis in France to be a knycht of the felde;
Thow has thy clamschellis and thy burdoun kelde,
Unhonest wayis all, wolroun, that thou wirkis.
Thou may not pas Mount Barnard for wilde bestis,
Nor wyn throw Mount Scarpre for the snawe;
Mount Nycholas, Mount Godart thare arestis,
Brigantis sik bois and blyndis thame wyth a blawe.
In Parise wyth the maister buriawe
Abyde, and be his prentice nere the bank,
And help to hang the pece for half a frank,
And, at the last, thy self sall thole the lawe.
Haltane harlot, the devill have gude thou hais!
For fault of puissance, pelour, thou mon pak the;
Thou drank thy thrift, sald and wedsett thy clais,
Thare is na lorde that will in service tak the.
A pak of flaskynnis, fynance for to mak the,
Thow sall ressave, in Danskyn, of my tailye;
With De profundis fend the, and that failye,
And I sall send the black Devill for to bak the.
Into the Katryne thou maid a foule cahute,
For thow bedrate hir doune fra starn to stere;
Apon hir sydis was sene thou coud schute,
Thy dirt clevis till hir towis this twenty yere:
The firmament na firth was nevir cler,
Quhill thou, Deulbere, devillis birth, was on the see,
The saulis had sonkin throu the syn of the,
War not the peple maid sa grete prayere.
Quhen that the schip was saynit, and undir saile,
Foul brow in holl thow preposit for to pas,
Thou schot, and was not sekir of thy tayle,
Beschate the stere, the compas, and the glas;
The skippar bad ger land the at the Bas:
Thow spewit, and kest out mony a lathly lomp,
Fastar than all the marynaris coud pomp;
And now thy wame is wers than evir it was.
Had thai bene prouvait sa of schote of gune,
By men of were but perile thay had past;
As thou was louse and redy of thy bune,
Thay mycht have tane the collum at the last;
For thou wald cuk a cartfull at a cast;
Thair is na schip that wil the now ressave;
Thou fylde faster than fyftenesum mycht lave,
And myrit thaym wyth thy muk to the myd mast.
Throu Ingland, thef, and tak the to thy fute,
And boune with the to have a fals botwand;
A horse marschall thou call the at the mute,
And with that craft convoy the throu the land:
Be na thing argh, tak ferily on hand;
Happyn thou to be hangit in Northumbir,
Than all thy kyn ar wele quyte of thy cumbir,
And that mon be thy dome, I undirstand.
Hye Souverane Lorde, lat nevir this synfull sot
Do schame, fra hame, unto your nacion!
That nevir nane sik ane be callit a Scot,
A rottyn crok, louse of the dok, thare doune.
Fra honest folk devoide this lathly lowne;
In sum desert, quhare thare is na repaire,
For fylyng aud infecking of the aire,
Cary this cankerit corrupt carioun.
Thou was consavit in the grete eclips,
A monstir maid be god Mercurius;
Na hald agayn, na hoo is at thy hips,
Infortunate, false, and furius,
Evill schryvin, wan-thryvin, not clene na curius;
A myten, full of flyting, flyrdom like,
A crabbit, scabbit, evill facit messan tyke;
A schit but wit, schyre and injurius.
Greit in the glaykis gude Maister Gilliam gukkis,
Our imperfyte in poetry or in prose,
All clocis undir cloud of nycht thou cukkis;
Rymis thou of me of Rethory the Rose;
Lunatike, lymare, luschbald, louse thy hose,
That I may touch thy toue wyth tribulation,
In recompensing of thy conspiration,
Or turse the out of Scotland: tak thy chose.
Ane benefice quha wald gyve sic ane beste,
Bot gif it war to gyngill Iudas bellis;
Tak the a fidill, or a floyte, and geste,
Undought, thou art ordanyt to not ellis!
Thy cloutit cloke, thy skryp, and thy clamschellis,
Cleke on thy cors, and fare on in to France,
And cum thou nevir agayn but a mischance;
The fend fare wyth the forthwarde our the fellis.
Cankrit Caym, tryit trowane, Tutivillus,
Marmaidyn, mymmerken, monstir of all men,
I sall ger bake the to the lard of Hillhouse,
To suelly the in stede of a pullit hen.
Fowmart, fasert, fostirit in filth and fen,
Foule fond, fiend fule, apon thy phisnom fy!
Thy dok of dirt dreipis and will nevir dry,
To tume thy tone it has tyrit carlingis ten.
Conspiratour, cursit cocatrice, hell caa,
Turk, trumpour, traitour, tyran intemperate;
Thow irefull attircop, Pilate apostata,
Judas, jow, juglour, Lollard laureate;
Sarazene, symonyte provit, Pagane pronunciate,
Machomete, manesuorne, bugrist abhominabile,
Devill, dampnit dog, sodomyte insatiable,
With Gog and Magog grete glorificate.
Nero thy nevow, Golyas thy grantsire,
Pharao thy fader, Egipya thy dame,
Deulbere, thir ar the causis that I conspire,
Termygantis temp[t]ise the, and Vaspasius thine eme;
Belzebub thy full brothir will clame
To be thyne air, and Cayphas thy sectour;
Pluto thy hede of kyn and protectour,
To hell to lede the on lycht day and leme.
Herode thyne othir eme, and grete Egeas,
Marciane, Machomete, and Maxencius,
Thy trew kynnismen, Antenor and Eneas,
Throp thy nere nece, and austerne Olibrius,
Puttidew, Baal, and Eyobulus;
Thir fendis ar the flour of thy four branchis,
Sterand the potis of hell, and nevir stanchis,
Dout not, Deulbere, Tu es Dyabolus.
Deulbere, thy spere of were, but feir, thou yelde,
Hangit, mangit, eddir-stangit, strynde stultorum,
To me, maist hie Kenydie, and flee the felde,
Pickit, wickit, convickit Lamp Lollardorum.
Defamyt, blamyt, schamyt, Primas Paganorum.
Out! out I schout, apon that snowt that snevillis.
Tale tellare, rebellare, induellar wyth the devillis,
Spynk, sink with stynk ad Tertara Termagarum.
4 comments for “Defamyt, blamyt, schamyt”