To Poetry

Oh, heavenly Poesy
 . . . . . . . . . .

— The rest of this text is not
currently in the database but will be
added as soon as we obtain it. —

— This text is not currently
in the database but will be added
as soon as we obtain it. —

— This text is not currently
in the database but will be added
as soon as we obtain it. —

I that in heill was and gladnèss
Am trublit now with great sickness
And feblit with infirmitie: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
Our plesance here is all vain glory,
This fals world is but transitory,
The flesh is bruckle, the Feynd is slee: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
The state of man does change and vary,
Now sound, now sick, now blyth, now sary,
Now dansand mirry, now like to die: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
No state in Erd here standis sicker;
As with the wynd wavis the wicker
So wannis this world's vanitie: --
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
Unto the Death gois all Estatis,
Princis, Prelatis, and Potestatis,
Baith rich and poor of all degree: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
He takis the knichtis in to the field
Enarmit under helm and scheild;
Victor he is at all mellie: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
That strong unmerciful tyrand
Takis, on the motheris breast sowkand,
The babe full of benignitie: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
He takis the campion in the stour,
The captain closit in the tour,
The lady in bour full of bewtie: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
He spairis no lord for his piscence,
Na clerk for his intelligence;
His awful straik may no man flee: --
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
Art-magicianis and astrologgis,
Rethoris, logicianis, and theologgis,
Them helpis no conclusionis slee: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
In medecine the most practicianis,
Leechis, surrigianis, and physicianis,
Themself from Death may not supplee: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
I see that makaris amang the lave
Playis here their padyanis, syne gois to grave;
Sparit is nocht their facultie: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
He has done petuously devour
The noble Chaucer, of makaris flour,
The Monk of Bury, and Gower, all three: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
The good Sir Hew of Eglintoun,
Ettrick, Heriot, and Wintoun,
He has tane out of this cuntrie: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
That scorpion fell has done infeck
Maister John Clerk, and James Afflek,
Fra ballat-making and tragedie: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
Holland and Barbour he has berevit;
Alas! that he not with us levit
Sir Mungo Lockart of the Lee: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
Clerk of Tranent eke he has tane,
That made the anteris of Gawaine;
Sir Gilbert Hay endit has he: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
He has Blind Harry and Sandy Traill
Slain with his schour of mortal hail,
Quhilk Patrick Johnstoun might nought flee: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
He has reft Merseir his endite,
That did in luve so lively write,
So short, so quick, of sentence hie: --
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
He has tane Rowll of Aberdene,
And gentill Rowll of Corstorphine;
Two better fallowis did no man see: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
In Dunfermline he has tane Broun
With Maister Robert Henrysoun;
Sir John the Ross enbrast has he: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
And he has now tane, last of a,
Good gentil Stobo and Quintin Shaw,
Of quhom all wichtis hes pitie: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
Good Maister Walter Kennedy
In point of Death lies verily;
Great ruth it were that so suld be: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
Sen he has all my brether tane,
He will naught let me live alane;
Of force I man his next prey be: --
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
Since for the Death remeid is none,
Best is that we for Death dispone,
After our death that live may we: -- 
    Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Oh, heavenly Poesy
 . . . . . . . . . .

— The rest of this text is not
currently in the database but will be
added as soon as we obtain it. —