Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 5

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 n.o.ble 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 c.u.n.trie:-- Timor Mortis conturbat me.

That scorpion fell has done inf.e.c.k 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.

heill] health. bruckle] brittle, feeble. slee] sly. dansand]

dancing. sicker] sure. wicker] willow. wannis] wanes. mellie]

mellay. sowkand] sucking. campion] champion. stour]

fight. piscence] puissance. straik] stroke. supplee]

save. makaris] poets. the lave] the leave, the rest. padyanis]

pageants. anteris] adventures. schour] shower. endite]

inditing. fallowis] fellows. wichtis] wights, persons. man]

must. dispone] make disposition.

Anonymous. 15th Cent.

22. May in the Green-Wood

IN somer when the shawes be sheyne, And leves be large and long, Hit is full merry in feyre foreste To here the foulys song.

To se the dere draw to the dale And leve the hilles hee, And shadow him in the leves grene Under the green-wode tree.

Hit befell on Whitsontide Early in a May mornyng, The Sonne up faire can shyne, And the briddis mery can syng.

'This is a mery mornyng,' said Litulle Johne, 'Be Hym that dyed on tre; A more mery man than I am one Lyves not in Christiante.

'Pluk up thi hert, my dere mayster,'

Litulle Johne can say, 'And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tyme In a mornynge of May.'

sheyne] bright.

Anonymous. 15th Cent.

23. Carol

I SING of a maiden That is makeles; King of all kings To her son she ches.

He came al so still There his mother was, As dew in April That falleth on the gra.s.s.

He came al so still To his mother's bour, As dew in April That falleth on the flour.

He came al so still There his mother lay, As dew in April That falleth on the spray.

Mother and maiden Was never none but she; Well may such a lady G.o.ddes mother be.

makeles] matchless. ches] chose.

Anonymous. 15th Cent. (?)

24. Quia Amore Langueo

IN a valley of this restles mind I sought in mountain and in mead, Trusting a true love for to find.

Upon an hill then took I heed; A voice I heard (and near I yede) In great dolour complaining tho: See, dear soul, how my sides bleed Quia amore langueo.

Upon this hill I found a tree, Under a tree a man sitting; From head to foot wounded was he; His hearte blood I saw bleeding: A seemly man to be a king, A gracious face to look unto.

I asked why he had paining; [He said,] Quia amore langueo.

I am true love that false was never; My sister, man's soul, I loved her thus.

Because we would in no wise dissever I left my kingdom glorious.

I purveyed her a palace full precious; She fled, I followed, I loved her so That I suffered this pain piteous Quia amore langueo.

My fair love and my spouse bright!

I saved her from beating, and she hath me bet; I clothed her in grace and heavenly light; This b.l.o.o.d.y s.h.i.+rt she hath on me set; For longing of love yet would I not let; Sweete strokes are these: lo!

I have loved her ever as I her het Quia amore langueo.

I crowned her with bliss and she me with thorn; I led her to chamber and she me to die; I brought her to wors.h.i.+p and she me to scorn; I did her reverence and she me villany.