PARDONER

¶Devoit peopill, Good day I say ȝow, Now tarry ane little quhyll I pray ȝow, Till I be with ȝow knawin: Wait ȝe well how I am namit? Ane noble man and vndefamit Give all the with war schawin. I am sir Robert Rome-raker, Ane perfect public pardoner Admittit be the Paip: Sirs I shall schaw ȝow for my wage My pardons and my pilgrimage, Quhilk ȝe shall see and graip: I give to the devil with Good intent, This sell wicked New-testament. With them that it translait it: Sen layik men knew the verity, Pardoners gets no charity, Without that they debate it. Among the wives with wrinks and wiles, As all my marrowis, men begyles, With our fair falls flattery: Ȝea all the crafts I ken perqueir, As I was teichit be ane Freir, Called Hypocrisy. Bot now allace, our great abusion Is clearly knawin till our confusion, That we may sair repent: Of all credence now I am quite, For ilk man halds me at despite, That reids the New-test'ment. Duill fell the brain that hes it wrought, Sa fallen them that the Buik hame brought: Also I pray to the Rude That Martin Luther that falls loun, Black Bullinger and Melancthoun, Had be smorde in their cude. Be him that buir the crown of thorn, I walled Sanct Paull had never be born, And also I walled his bulks: War never read in the kirk, Bot amangs freirs into the mirk, Or riven among ruiks. My patent pardons ȝe may see, Cumfra the Cave of Tartary, Well sealed with oster-schellis. Thought ȝe have nam contrition; Ȝe shall have full remission With help of Buiks and bellis. Heir is ane relict Long and braid, Of fine Macoull the the riched chafed blaid, With teith and all together: Of Collings cow heir is ane horn, For eating of Makconnals corn, Was slain into Baquhidder. Heir is ane coird baith great and Long, Quhilk hangit John the Armistrang, Of Good hemp soft and found: Good holy peopill I stand for'd, Quha ever beis hangit with this cord, Neids never to be drowned. The culum of Sanct Bryds kow, The gruntill of Sanct Antonis sow, Quhilk buit his holy bell: Quha ever he be heiris this bell clinck, Give me ane ducat for till drink, He shall never gang to hell. Without he be of Baliell born, Masters trow ȝe that this bescorne? Cum win this Pardon, cum: Quha luifis their wyfis nought with their heart I have power them for till partly, Me think ȝow deif and dum. Hes naine of ȝow cursed wicked wyfis, That halds ȝow into sturt and stryfis, Cum taken my dispensation: Of that cummer I shall make ȝow quite, How be it ȝour selfis be in the wit, And make ane falls narration. Cum win the Pardon now letse, For meill, for malt or for money, For cok, hen, guse or grise: Of relicts heir I have ane hunder, Quhy cum ȝe nought this is ane wonder? I trow ȝe be nought wise. I shall ȝow pairt but More demand, Sa I get money in my hand, Therefore let see sum cunȝe: Quhat kind of woman is thy wife, Fair dame give ȝe walled be ane wower, To partly ȝow twa I have ane power, Tell on ar ȝe content? To partly sen ȝe ar baith content, I shall ȝow partly incontinent, Bot ȝe mon do command. My will and final sentence is, Ilk ane of ȝow uthers arse kiss: Slip down ȝour hois, me thinks the carl is glaikit, Set thou not by howbeit scho kiss and slaik it, Heir shall scho kiss his arse with silence. Lift up his clais, kiss his hoill with ȝour heart, Dame pass ȝe to the east end of the town, And pass ȝe west evin like ane cuckald loun, Go hence ȝe baith with Baliels braid blissing, Schirs saw ȝe ever More sorrowles pairting? Quhat say they of me in the town? Where shall I ludge into the town? Thou hes done well be Gods mother Taken ȝe the taine and I the tother: Sa shall we make great coheir. Carl of thy ky I have nathing ado, Cum win my my pardon and kiss my relicts to. Ane thousand ȝeir of pardons I the geif Ane thousand ȝeir I lay upon thy head, With tetiens quotiens: now make me nam More plead: Thou hast resaifit thy pardon now already. I gaif the pardon for ane thousand ȝeir, Stand still and I shall tell the hail story: When thou art dead and gais to Purgatory, Being condempit to pain a thousand ȝeir: Then shall thy Pardon the relief but weir, Now be content ȝe ar ane mervelous man: That shall thou not I make it to ȝow plain Quhat will ȝe give me for ȝour partly Ane cuppill of sarks with all my heart, The best claith in the land: Welcum to me thought thou war at the horn, Cum win the Pardon and sin I shall the sane, Now lows thy purse & lay down thy offrand, And thou shall have my pardon evin fra-hand. With raipis and relicts I shall the sane again, Of Gut or gravel thou shall never have pain. Now win the pardon limmer, or thou art lost: Let see quhat money thou bearest in thy bag: Hes thou nam uther silver bot ane groat? Give me that grot man, give thou hest nam More, I am heir Wilkin widdy fow. Qi hat craifis the carle'me thinks thou art not wise. Suyith stand abak, I trow this man be mangit: Thou gets not this carl, thought you should be hangit