FLATTERY

¶Make room sirs hoaw, that I may rin, Lo see where I am new cum, egaryit all with sundry hewis: Let be ȝour din till I begin, And I shall schaw ȝow of my newis. Throuchout all Christindome I have passed, And am cum heir now at the last, Tostit on sea ay sen Ȝuill day: That we war feign to hew our Mast, Nought half and e mile beȝond the May. Bot now among ȝow I will remain, I purpois never to sail again: To put my life in chance of water: Was never seen sic wind and rain, Nor of Schipmen sic clitter clatter. Sum bade hail and sum bade standby, On steirburd hoaw aluiff fie fie: Quhill all the raipis beguith to rattil: Was never Roysa fleed as I, When all the sails played brittill brattill. To see the waws it was ane wonder, And wind that raif the sails in sunder, Bot I lay braikand Like ane Brok: And shot sa fast above and under, The Devil durst not cum neir my dok. Now am I scapit From that effray, Quhat say ȝe sirs am I nought gay? See ȝe not Flattery ȝour awin fuill? That ȝeid to make this new array, Was I not heir with ȝow at Ȝuill? Ȝes be my faith I think on well. Where ar my fallows that walled nought fail? We should have cum heir for ane cast. Hoaw Falset hoaw.— Now be my saul evin on a case. I come in sleipand at the port, Or ever I wist among this sort. Where is Dissait that limmer loun? Now be the holy Sacrament, They tydingis comforts all my heart: I wait Dissait will taken my partly. He is riched crafty as ȝe ken, And counsallour to the Merchand-men: Let us lie down heir baith and spy, Give we persaue him cummand by. Quhy Falset brother knawis thou not me? Am I nought thy brother Flattery? Marry I shall find ane thousand wiles, We man turn our claithis & change our stile: And diasagyse us that nam man ken us, Hes nam man Clarkis cleathing to len us: And let us keip graven countenance, As we war new cum out of France. Freir Now quhat is this that their monster meins? I am exemptit From Kings and Queen's, And From all humane law: Now be my faith my brother deir, I will gang counterfeit the Freir, Quhat rak man I can riched well fleich? Perchance I'll cum that honour, To be the Kings confessor. Pure Freirs ar free at any fealt, And marchellit ay among the best. Also God to hes lent them sic graces, That Bishops puts them in their places: Outthrow their Dioceis to preiche, Bot ferly nought howbeit they fleich: For schaw they all the verity, Thaill want the Bishops charity. And thought the corn war never sa skant, The gudewyfis will not let Freirs want: For quhy they ar their confessors, Their heauinlie prudent counsalours. Therefore the wyfis plainly takes their parts, And shawis the secrets of their hearts, To Freirs with better will I trow, Nor they do to their bed-fallow. Dissait, And I reft anis ane Freirs coull, Bvtuix Sanct-Iohnestoun and Kinnoull: I shall gang fetch it, give ȝe will tarry. Now play me that of companarie. Ȝe favu him nought this hundredth ȝeir, That better can counterfeit the Freir. Quha hes ane portouns for to len me? The fiend ane saull I trow will ken me. For that mater I dreid nathing, Freiris ar exemptit From the King: And Freiris will ready entries get, When Lords ar haldin at the ȝet. The devil resave the lurdoun loun, Thou hes weat all my new schawin crown. Bot I walled have or we depairtit, Ane drink to make us better hartit. But doubt my name is called Devotion. Sir give ȝe pleis to let him say, His name is SAPIENTIAM. Sir when I dwelled in Italy, I leirit the craft of Palmistry, Schaw me the Love Sir, of ȝour hand, And I shall gar ȝow understand, Give ȝour grace be infortunate, Or give ȝe be predestinate. I see ȝe will have fyfteine Queens And fyfteine scoir of Concubeines: The Virgin Marry safe ȝour grace, Saw ever man sa quhyte ane face: Sa great ane arm, sa fair ane hand, Theirs nought sic ane leg in all this land. War ȝe in armis I think nam wonder, Howbeit ȝe dang down fyfteine hunder. Brother I hauld ȝour counsel ressoun. Now let us heir quhat he will say, Old lyart beard, Good day, Good day. Swyith horsune carl, devoid this place. Now quhill Gude-Counsall is absent, Brother we mon be diligent: And make betwixt us sikker bans, When vacadns fallis in any Lands. That every man help well his fallow, Oh reverend fathers of the Spiritual stait, We counsel ȝow be wise and vigilant: Dame Verity hes lychtit now of lait, And in his hand beirand the Newtestament Be scho ressavit but doubt we ar bot schent, Let his nought Judge therefore into this Land, And this we reid ȝow do incontinent, Now quhill the King is with his luif sleipand. Quhat buik is that harlot into thy hand, Out walloway, this is the New Testament, In English tongue, and printit in England, Herisie, herisie, fire, fire incontinent. Fit down and taken ȝow rest, All Night till it be day. I'll gang to Spirituality, And preich outthrow his dyosie, Where I will be vnknawin. Or keip me Close into sum cloister, With money piteous Pater noster, Till all their blasts be blawin. I nam More will remain besyd ȝow, Bot counsel ȝow right well to guide ȝow Bid nought on Correction. Fair-weil, I will nam langer tarry, I pray the alrich Queen of Fairy, To be ȝour protection. I had be put to dead among ȝow, War nought I took on hand till hang ȝow, And sa I saisit my lyse. I heir them say they will cry down, All freirs and Nunnis in this Region, Sa far as I can feill: Because they ar nought necessary, And also they think they ar contrair, To John the common-weill. Brother Dissait cum baptise me, Now brother name the bairns name, I sweir to ȝow sir be sanct And, Ȝe met never with ane wiser man, For money a craft sir do I can, War they well knaw in Sir I have nam feill of flattery, Bot fosterit with Philosophy, Ane strange man in Astronomy, Quhilk salbe schawin. I doubt full sair be God him fell, That ȝon old churl be Gude-counsell: Get he anis to the Kings presence, We thrie will get nam audience. Have I nought chaipit the widdy well? Ȝea that I have have be sweit Sanct Geill, For I had nought be wrangit: Because I servit be Alhallows, Till have be merchellit among my fellowis: And heich above them hangit. I maid far ma faults nor my maits, I begylde all the thrie estaits, With my hypocrisy: When I had on my freirs hude All men beleifit that I was Good Now judge ȝe give I be. Taken mean rackles rubyatour, Ane thief ane tyrant or ane tratour, Of every vice the plant. Give him the habit of ane freir, The wyfis will trow withoutin weir, He be ane very Saint. I knaw that cowl ane skaplarie, Genners More hait nor charity, Thought they be black or blue: Quhat halines is their within, Ane wolf cled in ane wedders skin, Judge ȝe give this be true. Sen I have chaipit this firy fairy, Adieu I will nam Langer tarry, To cumber ȝow with my clatter: Bot I will with ane humbill spreit, Gang serve the Hermeit of Lareit: And leir him for till flatter. That shall I noch be Gods wounds Bot I shall plainly taken ȝour partis, My Lords for Gods saik let not hang me Howbeit that widdiefows walled wrang me I can make nam debate: To win my meat at pleuch nor harrowis, Bot I shall help to hang my marrowis, Baith Falset and Dissait. Quhom in trowis thou falls monster mangit?