FOLLY

¶Good day my Lords and also God sane, Dois nam man bid Good day again? When fuillis ar fow then ar they feign, Ken ȝe nought me? How call they me can ȝe nought tell? Now be him that herryit hell, I wait nought how they call my fell, Bot give I lie. The fiend ressaue that mouth that speirs: Goodman Gam play ȝow with ȝour feiris, With muck upon ȝour mow: Marry cummand throw the Schogait. Bot their hes be ane great debate Betwixt me and ane Sow. The Sow cried guff and I to Gam, Throw speid of foot I got avua, Bot in the amid of the cawsa, I fell into ane midding: Scho lap upon me with ane bend, Quha ever the midings should amend, God send them ane mischievous end, For that is bot Gods bidding. As I was pudlit their God wait, Bot with my club I maid debate: I'm never cum again that gait, I sweir ȝow be Alhallows I walled the officers of the town, That suffers sic confusion That they war harbreit with Mahown, Or hangit on ane gallows. Fie fie that sic ane fair country, Should stand sa Long but policy: I give them to the Devil heartily. That hes the wit: I walled the Provost walled taken in heid, Of ȝon midding to make remeid, Quhilk pat me and the Sow at feid, Quhat may I do bot flyte? The King, quhat kind of thing is that? Is ȝon he with the golden Hat? Give ȝe be King God ȝow Good day, I have ane plaint to make to ȝow: Ȝea that I have, God send his shame: Itrow be this scho is neir dead, I left ane wife bind and his heid, To schaw his sickness I think shame, Scho hes sic rumbling in his wambe: That all the Night my heart overcasts, With bocking and with thunder-blasts, Now at the beginning of my work, The fiend ressaue that graceless grim. ¶Salomon the mayest sapient King In Israel quhan he did ring, Their words in effect did write, The number of fuillis ar infinite. I think nam shame sa Christ me safe, To be ane fuill among the laife, Howbeit ane hundredth stands heir by, Preventure also great fuillis as I. ¶I have of my Genealogy, Dwelland in every country, Earls, Duiks, Kings, and Emperors, With money guckit Conquerors: Quhilk dois in Folly perseveir, And hes done sa this many ȝeir. Sum seeks to World dignities, And sum to sensual vanities Quhat vails all their vain honours, Nought being sure to leife twa houris? Sum greidie fuill dois fill ane box, Ane uther fuill cummis and breaks the lox: And spends that uther fuillis hes spaird, Quhilk never thought on them to wairde. Sum dois as they should never die, Is nought this folly, quhat say ȝe? Because their is sa many fuillis, Rydand on Horse and sum on muillis: Heir I have bocht Good chafery, Till any fuill that lists to by. And specially for the thrie estaits, Where I have money tender maits: Quhilk caused them as ȝe may see, Gang backwart throw the hail country. Give with my merchandise ȝe list to mell, Heir I have Folly Hattis to fell. Quhairfoir is this Hat walled ȝe ken? Marry for insatiabill merchant men. When God hes send them abundance Ar nought content with sufficiance. Bot saillis into the stormy blasts, In Winter to get greater castis: In money terribill great torment, Against the Acts of Parliament. Sum tynis their geir, and sum ar drowned, With this sic Merchant's should be crounde. Than my remission is in my sleife. Will ȝe leife me to speak of Kings? Marry on ane Sow. Sir scho hes sworn that scho shall sla me, Or else bite baith my balloks From me: Give ȝe be King be Sanct Allan, Ȝe should do Justice to ilk man. Had I nought kept me with my club, The Sow had drawing me in ane dub. I heir them say their is cum to the town, Ane King called Correction. I pray, ȝow tell me quhilk is he: Ȝe be Sanct Marry, Ane quart at anis it will nought tarry, And leif the Devil a drap: Than sic flobbage scho layis From his, About the wallis, God wait sic wair, When it was drunken I got to skair, The lickings of the cap. Nam keip that clois, And fuillis speak of the Prelacy, It will be hauldin for herisie. Now wally fallen that well fairde mow, Sir I pray ȝow correct ȝon Sow: Quhilk with his teith but sword or knife, Had mayest have reft me of my life: Give ȝe will nought make correction, Than give me ȝour protection Of all Swine for to be skaithles Betuix this town and Innernes. Allace I trow scho be forfairne. Scho sobbit and scho feil in sown, And than they rubbit his up and down: Scho riftit, routit and maid sic stends, Scho ȝeild and gaid at baith the ends. Till scho had castin ane cuppill of quarts Sin all turn it to ane rickill of farts. Scho blubert, bockit and braik it still, His arse gaid evin like ane wind mill. Scho stumblit and stutterit with sic stends, That scho recanti at baith the ends. Sik dismell drogs From his scho schot, Quhill scho maid all the fluir on flot. Of his hurdies scho scho had nam hauld, Quhill scho had twmed his monyfauld: Trittill trattill, scho may nought steir, His very buttoks makes sic beir, It skars baith foill and filly: Scho bocks sik baggage From his breist, He wants nam bubbils that sits his neist, And ay scho cryis a Priest a Priest, With ilk a quhillie lily. Marry I have Folly Hats to fell. Now bum baleriebum bum. Uva ȝit again now this is thryis: [] The Devil wirrie me and I rise, Bot I shall break thy pallet. Me think my pillok will nought lie down, Hauld down ȝour head ȝe lurdon loun, Ȝon fair las with the Sating Gone Gars ȝow thus bek and bend: Take their ane neidill for ȝour case Now for all the hiding of ȝour face, Had I ȝow in ane Quiet place. Ȝe walled nought wain to flend. Their bony armis that ar cled in silk, Ar evin also wanton as any wilk, I walled forbeir baith bred and milk To kiss thy bony lippis: Suppois ȝe luck as ȝe war wraith, War ȝe at Quiet behind ane claith, Ȝe walled not stick to preife my graith, With hobbling of ȝour hippis. Thou art not half sa sweir thy fell, Quhat meins this pulpit, I pray the tell? Than stryk ane hag into the post, For I hard never in all my life, Ane Bishop cum to preich in Fyfe. Give Bishops to be preichours leiris, Wallaway quhat shall word of freiris? Give Prelates preich in brugh and land, The silly freirs I understand They will get nam More meall nor malt, Sa I dreid freirs shall die for fault. Sen sa is that ȝon noble King, Will make men Bishops for preaching: Quhat say ȝe sirs, hauld ȝe nought best? That I gang preich among the rest. When I have preichit on my best ways, Then will I fell my merchandise, To my bretherin and tender maits, That dwells among the thrie estaits. For I have heir Good chaifery, Till any fuill that lists to by. Heir shall Folly hing up his hattis on the pulpit and say. ¶God sen I had ane Doctors hude. Ȝea that I walled sir be the Rude, But either flattering or fleiching. This hude to fell riched feign I walled, Till him that is baith old & called: Ready till pass to hell or heavin, And hes fair bairns sax or seavin: And is of age fourscoir of ȝeir, And takes ane lass to be his peir: Quhilk is nought fourteine ȝeir of age, And joinis with his in marriage: Geifand his traist that scho nought walled, Right hastily make him cuckald Quha Mary's beand sa neir their dead, Set on this Hat upon his head. This is ane holy Hude I say the, This Hude is ordanit I the assure, For Spiritual fuillis that takes in cure, The saullis of great Diosies, And regiment of great Abesies, For greediness of World pelf, Than can nought justly guide them self. Uther's sauls to safe it sets them well, Sin fell them a win saullis to the Devil. Quha ever dois sa, this I conclude, Upon his heid set on this Hude: Diligence, Folly is their any sic men Now in the Kirk that thou can ken? How shall I ken them?— Give I lie God nor thou behangit. For I have heir I to the tell Ane noble cap imperiell, Quhilk is nought ordanit bot for doings, Of Empreours, of Duiks and Kings. For princely and imperial fuillis, They should have luggis also Long as Muillis. The pride of Princes without in faill, Gars all the World rin top ouir taill. To win them World gloir and Good, They cure nought shedding of saikles Blood. Quhat cummer have ȝe had in Scotland, Be our old enemies of England? Had nought be the support of France, We had be brought to great mischance. Now I heir tell the Empreour, Schaippis for till be ane Conqueror. And is muifing his ordinance, Against the Noble King of France. Bot I knaw nought his joust querrell, That he hes for till make battle. All the Princes of Almanie, Spainȝe, Flanders and Italy. This present ȝeir ar in ane flocht: Sum shall their wages find deir bocht. The Paip with bombard, speir and scheild, Hes send his army to the field. Sanct Peter, Sanct Paull nor Sanct Androw, Raisit never sic ane Oist I trow. Is this fraternal charity, Or furious folly, quhat say ȝe? They leird nought this at Christis Scuillis: Therefore I think them very fuillis. I think it folly be Gods mother, Ilk Christian Prince to ding down uther: Because that this hat should belong them, Gang thou and partly it evin among them, The Prophesy withouttin weir, Of Merling beis compleit this ȝeir: For my gudame the Gyre Carling, Leirnde me the Prophesy of Marling: Quhairof I shall schaw the sentence, Give ȝe will give me audience. Flan Fran resurgent, simul Hispan viribus urgent, Dani vastabunt, Vallones valla parabunt. Sic tibi nomen in a mulier cacauit in olla: Hoc epulum comedes— Sa be this Prophesy plainly appears, That mortal weirs salbe among freirs: They shall nought knaw well in their cloisters. To quhom they shall say their Pater noster's. Walled they fallen to and fetched with speir and shield The fiend make cuir quhilk of them win the field. Now of my sermon have I maid ane end, To Gilly-mouband I ȝow all commend. And I ȝow all beseek riched hartfullie: Pray for the saull of Good Cacaphatie: Quhilk laitlic drownit himself into Loch leavin, That his sweit saull may be above the heavin. Ȝea bot wit ȝe well scho fartit fast. Bot when scho sichis my heart is sorry,