EMILY

I wait not well sir quhat ȝe meine, Bot suirlie I have seindill seine, Ane wower of ȝour ȝeirs sa keine, As ȝe appear to be: I think ane man sir, of ȝour ȝeiris. Should not be blyndit with the bleiris, Gam seek ane party of ȝour peires, For ȝe get nane of me. Good Dame, I have ȝow to employ. Sa ȝe my purpose can convoy: And that ȝon Lass I might enjoy, Ȝe should not want reward: Give his this Tablet and this King, This Purse of gold and spair nathing: Sa ȝe about all well may bring, Of gold taken nam regard. Now be my saull I can not lie, That their sik virtue is in me, Gudwyfe, I pray ȝow quhat is he, That man whom of ȝe meine? Goodwife all is bot Good I heir, For well I Love to make Good coheir, For honours, gold, and uther geir, They can not be refused: I grant indeed, my daily fair, Will be sufficient and More, Bot be it Good ȝe do not spair, As royally to ruse it. I grant all day to be well tret, Honours anew and hicht upset, Bot quhat entreatment shall I get, I pray ȝow in my bed? Bot with ane lairbair for to lie, Ane old dead stock, baith cauld and dry, And all my days heir I deny, That he my schankes sched, His eine half sunkin in his heid, His Lyre far caulder than the leid, His frosty flesh as he war dead, Will for nam happing heit: Unhealthsome hosting ever More, His filthsum flewme is nathing fair, Ay rumisching with rift and rair, Now, wow give that be sweit, His skin hard clappit to the bane, With Gut and Gravel baith ouirgane, Now when their troubles hes him taken, His wife gets all the wit: For Venus gains I let them Gam, I guess he be not Good of they, I could well of his manners ma, Give I list till indite. Goodwife, all is bot vain ȝe seek, To me of sik maters to speak, Ȝour purpois is not worth ane leik, I will heir ȝow nam More: Mark Dame, and this is all and sum, If ever ȝe this earand cum, Or of ȝour head I heir ane mum, Ȝea shall repent it fair. God and Good nature dois allow, That I obedient be to ȝow, And father hithertils I trow, Ȝe have nane vtherseine: And also estemis ȝow for to be, Ane loving father unto me, Therefore deir father let me see, The man of whom ȝe meine. Sweit father, mitigate ȝour rage, Ȝour wraith and anger sir, assuage, Have pity on my ȝouthlie age, Ȝour a win flesh and ȝour Blood: Give in ȝour ire I be ouerthrawin. Whom have ȝe wraikit bot ȝour awin, Sik creweltie hes not be knawin, Among the Turks sa rude. The savage beists into their kind, Their young to pity ar inclynde, Let mercy therefore muif ȝour mind, To her that humbly cryis: Taken up and lenify ȝour ire, Suspend the fury of ȝour fire. And grant me layser, I desire, Ane little to advise. The raging low, the fierce and flaming fire That dois my breist and body all combure Iucendit with the dart of grit desire, From force of these twa sparking eyis full sure, Hes me constraynit to cum and seek my cure Of her, From quhom proceidit hes my wound, Quhom neither Salve nor Syrup can assure, Bot only sho can make me saif and found. Like as the captive with ane tyrant taine, Perforce with promise toistit to and from, When that he seis all uther graces gain, Man succour seek of him that wrought his woe, Salmon I fald to my mayest friendly foe, To seek for salve of her that gave the sair: To pray for peace, thought rigour bid me go, To cry for mercy, when as I may nam More. Sa sen ȝe have me captivate as thrall, Sen ȝe prevail, let pity now have place: Have mercy sen ȝe Masters ar of all, Grudge not to grant ȝour supplicant sum grace To slay ane taine man, war bot lack allace, From that he cum voluntarily in will: Sen I am, Mistress, in the self same case, Ane thrall consenting pity war to spill. Quhat ferly thought, puir I with luif oppressed Confess the force of the blind Archer Boy? How was Apollo for his Daphne dressed, And Mars amasit his Venus to enjoy, Did not the thundering Jupiter convoy For Danae him self into ane shower, The gods above sen luif hath maid them coy, Unto his law then quhy should I not lower? As taine with ane nor Daphne More decoir Quhais vult to Venus may compairit be: And be in beauty Danae before. Suppose the God on his did cast his eye: Quhais graces to his beauty dois agrie, And in quhais fairness is no folly found, Quhat marvel Mistress than, suppose ȝe see, With willing band me to ȝour beauty bound. Quhais bricht containing beauty with the beams Nam less all uther pulchritude dois pass Nor to compair ane clud w to glancing gleams, Bricht Venus colour with ane landwart las: The quhytest layke bot with the blackest ass, The rubent Rois bot with the wallowit weid As purest gold is preciouser nor glass, Ȝour beauty sa all uther dois exceid. Ȝour hair Like gold, & like the Pole ȝour eye Ȝour snawisch cheiks like quhytest Allabast, Ȝour louesum lips sad, soft, and sweit we sie, As Roses read when that ane shower is passed: Ȝour tongue might make Demosthenes aghast, Ȝour teith y e peirls might of their place deprive With Bwillis of Indian Ebur at the last Ȝour Papis for the priority dois strive. And like as when the stamping seal is set In wax well wrought, quhill it is soft I say, The prent thereof remaining may ȝe get, Suppois the seal it self be taken away, Ȝour semly shaip sa shall abide for ay, Quhilk throw the sicht my sensis hes ressaifit, Thought absent ȝe, ȝit I shall Night and day, Ȝour presence have as in my heart ingraifit. Thought fancy be bot of ane figure fainit, Nam figure feids where their is nam effect: Evin sa sweit saull I perisch bot as painit, With fancy fed that will nam fasting breck, Suppois I have the accident quhat reck, Grant me the solid substance to attain, Give not, when ȝe to death shall me direct, Quhom bot ȝour awin have ȝe continued ̄ foundit clein? Last, sen ȝe may my meladie remeid, Relieve ȝour Sysiphus of his restless stane: Ȝour Titius breist that dois full ryfely bleid, Grant grace thereto, before the grip be gane, Cum staunch the thrist of Tantalus anon, And cure you wounds geuin with Achilles knife Accept for ȝours fair Masters, such a one, That for ȝour saik dar sacrifice his life. ȜOVR Orison sir sounds with sic skill In Cupid's Court as ȝe had be vpbrocht: Or fosterit in Parnassus forkit Hill Where Poetis hes their flame and fury sought Nought taisting of sweit Helicon for nought, As be ȝour Pleasant preface dois appear: Tending thairby, quhill as we have nam thought, To make us to ȝour purpois to adheir. With loving language tending till allure, With sweit discourse the simpill till ouirsyle, Ȝe cast ȝour craft, ȝour cunning and ȝour cure, Bot puir Orphans and Madynis to beguile, Ȝour waillit out words, inventit for a wile, To trap all those that trowis in ȝow nam train The fruit of flattery is bot to defile, And spread that we can never get again. Ȝe gar us trow that all our heids be cowit, In praising of our beauty by the Skyis: When ̄ w to ȝour words we ar nam More bot mowit This way to sie give us ȝe may surprise, Ȝour doubill heart dois every day devise, Ane thousand shifts was never in ȝour thought, Ȝe labour thus with all that in ȝow lyis, For till undo, and bring us all to nought. And this conceate is common to ȝow all, For ȝour awin lust, ȝe set not by our shame, Ȝour sweitest word, ar seasonit all with gall, Ȝour fairest phrase, disfigures bot defame, I think therefore they gritlie ar to blame, That trowis in ȝow More nor the thing they see Bot I, quhill that Emilia is my Name To trow I shall like to Sanct Thomas be. Sir surely give I vnderstude, Ȝour meining for to be as Good, I think in ane we should conclude, Before that it were Long: I am content to be ȝour wife, To Love and serve ȝow all my life, Bot rather slay me with a knife, Nor offer me ane wrang. Bot sir, ane thing I have to say, My father hes this uther day, In Marriage promisit me away, Upon ane dead old man: With whom thought I be not content, Till nane uther he will consent, Make to therefore for till invent Ane convoy, give ȝow can. Lykewayis ȝow mon first to me sweir, That ȝe to me shall do nam deir, Nor shall not cum my body neir, For villainy nor ill: Ay quhill the Nuptial day shall stand, And farther sir, give me ȝour hand, With me for to compleit the band, And promise to fulfil. All day quhairto the tr that to tell, I dar nought with that matter mell, Bot ȝit I shall devise my fell, Ane schift to serve our turn: For keeping stairt baith lait and air, Vnsend-furth may I never fair, Make I ane mint and do nam More, I may for ever murne. When I have vnbethocht me thrice, I can nam better way devise, Bot that I man me disagyse, In habit of ane man: Thus I but danger or but doubt, This business may bring about, In men array unkenned pass out, For ocht my keipars can. Therefore ȝe shall gang and provide, Ane Pages claithis in the meine tied, For all occasions me beside, Against I have ado: Let me evin as they list me call, Or quhat sumeuer me befall, I hope within thrie days I shall, Cum quietly ȝow to. Goodman quhat meine ȝe ocht bot Good Quha hes ȝow put in sik ane mude? Before I never vnderstude, The form of ȝour conjuring: Goodman quhat ministers all their mowis? As ȝe war cumbered with the cowis, Ȝe ac I think like John of Lowis, Or ane out of his mind: My luif, I think it very like, That ȝe war Licht or Lunatyke, Ȝe fear, ȝe fray, ȝe fidge, ȝe fyke, As with a Spreit possessed: Quhat is the mater that ȝe mean? Quhat garris ȝow braid? where have ȝe be? Quhat aillis ȝow joy? quhat have ȝe seen? To rage with sik unrest. Now sen my Husband hes done la But cause for to put me him From, I will unto my father Gam, Before his feit to faid: Father sa far I did offend, That I may not my miss amend, And am ouir pert for to pretend Ȝour dochter to be called. I know of nane, bot he indeed, Hes put me From him, quhat remeid? And will nam More sik fosteris feid, He says of mine estait? That war grit wrang sir, give sa be, Bot he nam Husband is to me, Than how could we twa disagree, That never had nam melling. Let reason's sir with ȝow prevail, Condemn me not first in the faill, Before that ȝe have hard my taill, The truth sin may ȝe try. Now this is all that I walled say, That Flavius took me away, About a Month and a day, Dressed in a Varlets weid: With whom I have be ever still, Ane uther Emily ay and quhill, He saw ȝow give Philotus till, And than in very dead, Supponing me ane Devil of Hell, With cruel conjuratiounes fell, Did me out of his house expel, As with a Bogill bazed: As ane out of his mind or marrit, He hes me of his house debarrit, I can not tell quhat hes him skarrit, Or hes the man amazed I grant goodwife he is riched Good, Ane man of wealth and noble Blood, Bot hes More uniter of ane Hude, And Mittanes till his hands: Nor of ane bairnelie Lass like me, More meit his Oy nor wife to be: His age and mine cannot agrie, Quhill that the World stands. Give ȝe From fury walled refrain, And patiently heir me again, I should ȝow schaw in terms plane, With reason ane excuse: Sen Marriage be but thraldom free, God and Good nature dois agree, That I where as it likes not me, May lawfully refuse. I am fourteen, and he fourescoir, I hail and found, he seek and soir, How can I give consent therefore, Or ȝit till him agree? Judge give Philotus be discreit, To seek ane match sa far meit, Thought I refuse him father sweit, I pray ȝow pardon nice. I have wone narrowly away, Ȝon Carl half put me in effray, He lay in wait and waiting ay, In changing aff my claithis: Sir, let us Gam out of his sicht, Sen I am fry, my friend gude-nicht, He lukis as all things war not riched, Lo ȝonder where he gais.