[i]

SCOTTISH POETRY OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY

[ii]

Published by
William Hodge & Co., Glasgow
Williams & Norgate, London and Edinburgh

[iii]

Abbotsford Series
of the
Scottish Poets
Edited by GEORGE EYRE-TODD

Glasgow: WILLIAM HODGE & CO
1892

[iv]

[v]

Many of the best editions of the Scottish poets, even of recent date, increase the difficulties of archaic language by such unnecessary stumbling-blocks as the use of the old straight s, and of Anglo-Saxon symbols for certain letters. Some even appear in the added obscurity of Old English type. And when these hindrances are not present, an irritating punctuation too often remains a barrier to all enjoyment. To these obstacles, as much, perhaps, as to the actual scarcity and costliness of the works, is to be attributed the popular neglect of a noble heritage in recent years. In the present volume, as in the previous volumes of this series, an effort has been made, while preserving the text intact in its original form, to improve in these respects upon the readableness of previous editions. A running glossary has, for the same object, been furnished in the margin of each page. For practical perusal of the text, as poetry, it is believed that this arrangement, translating obsolete words, as it does, without a break in the reading, is better than footnotes, or a glossary at the end of the volume. Few now-a-days, it is to be feared, save the most ardent students, can afford the time necessary for the elucidation by[vi] means of a dictionary even of so short a poem as “Chrystis Kirk on the Grene.”

While avoiding a burden of distracting comment, all necessary information, it is hoped, has been included in the separate introductions.

All the poems not otherwise indicated are here printed entire; and in particular it may be pointed out that the four pieces attributed to King James the Fifth are now reproduced complete and together for the first time since 1786.

[vii]

[1]

Flodden Field, that long slope looking north-ward by the “deep and dark and sullen Till,” where on a September afternoon in 1513 the flower of Scotland fell round James the Fourth, stands darkly marked on the page of history both of the Scottish nation and of Scottish poetry. It was for the North the burial-place of one era and the birth-place of another. The English billmen who on Flodden closed round the last desperate ring of Scottish spears hewed down with their ghastly weapons not only James himself and his nobles, but the feudal system in church and state, with all that sprang from it, the civilization and poetry of the Middle Ages in Scotland. The national spirit which had burst into leaf at Bannockburn was touched now as by an autumn frost, and a time of storm and darkness must ensue before the country could feel the re-awakening influences of a new spring. The mediæval world, with its charm and its chivalry, its splendour, cruelty, and power, was[2] passing away, while the modern world was in the throes of being born.

Had James IV. lived he would doubtless have continued, firm-handed as he was, to hold in check both churchmen and nobles, and the reforms which were in the air might have taken effect like leaven, and not, as they did, like gunpowder. They might have been grafted upon the existing stem, as in England, instead of overturning it. But during the long minority of James V. the abuses of the feudal system, political and ecclesiastical, attained too rank a growth to be pruned by the hand of that king when he came of age, notwithstanding his energy and good intentions. The system, as Macaulay has pointed out, had served its purpose in the Middle Ages as perhaps no more modern system could have done. In the feudal castles and monasteries had been preserved certain lights of chivalry and learning which, without such shelter, must, amid the storms of these centuries, have flickered and disappeared. These lights were now, however, burning more and more dimly. The corruptions of the clergy and the rapacity of the nobles outran all bounds, and between the two no man’s life was safe and no woman’s honour. Like other human institutions, therefore, which have outlived their usefulness, feudalism was doomed.

[3]

Renaissance was to come, not from within, but from without, and in the north the new influence took the form of a militant religious enthusiasm. Already in James the Fourth’s time the war-horns of the Reformation sounded on the Continent had made their echoes heard in Scotland; and during the reign of his successor these were taken up and resounded at home with tremendous effect by the iconoclast trio, Lyndsay, Buchanan, and Knox. The new era was to be one of strife and tempest, in which the root of poesy was little likely to bring to perfection its rarest blossoms.

Goethe has said that the Reformation cost Europe three centuries’ growth of civilization. So far as poetry is concerned the statement must be taken as true in Scotland to a modified extent. No one would be so foolish as to deny the immense advantages, in the purification of morals and the setting up of new perfervid ideals, which the Reformation brought to the north. But it is too frequently forgotten that the era of Scotland’s highest achievement in arms and in poetry was not the era of Knox and Buchanan, but the era of Bishop Lamberton, Archdeacon Barbour,[1] and the preaching friar Dunbar. Against the unquestionable benefits of the Reformation in Scotland must be set[4] the fact that it not only broke the stem of the existing feudal civilization, but itself, intent only upon things of a future life, and modelled overmuch upon Judaic ideals, gave scant encouragement to the carnal arts of this world.

There is strong reason to believe that Scottish character, so far as social qualities go, suffered a certain withering change in the sixteenth century. Under feudalism, with all its faults, the country had been characterized by a generous joyousness which may be read between the lines of its contemporary history and poetry. Bruce, in the intervals of his heroic undertaking, could recite long romances of chivalry. The accomplishments of James I. as musician, poet, and player at all games and sports, are too well known to need repetition. Blind Harry was only one of the wandering minstrels who everywhere earned feast and bed by their entertainments. And the madcap court of James IV. lives in the poems of William Dunbar and the letters of the Spanish ambassador, Pedro de Ayala. All this was changed at the Reformation, and there seems to have been imposed then upon the life of the people a certain ascetic seriousness which has left its traces on the national character to the present day. Mirth and entertainment of all sorts not strictly religious were severely discountenanced by the Reformers, as tending to[5] render this life too attractive, and to withdraw attention from the great object of existence, preparation for the tomb. The attitude of the new rulers towards poetical composition in particular may be judged from two instances. In 1576, in the first book printed in Gaelic—Knox’s Forms of Prayer and Catechism—Bishop Carswell, the translator, in his preface condemns with pious severity the Highlanders’ enjoyment of songs and histories “concerning warriors and champions, and Fingal the son of Comhal, with his heroes.” And the title-page of that curious collection, The Gude and Godlie Ballates, published in 1578,[2] bears that the contents consist in great part of pious compositions “changed out of prophaine Sangis, for avoyding of sinne and harlotrie.” So strongly, indeed, burned the ardour of the Reformers that for a considerable period nothing was printed in the Scottish press but what was tinged with religion in the strictest sense; and the effect of the condemnation of[6] “profane” literature at that time is to be traced in the prejudice with which novel-reading has been regarded in Scotland almost to the present day.

There was in the air, besides, another depressing influence which must not be overlooked.

Simultaneously with the dawn of the Reformation the Scottish language began to decay. The causes of this decay are sufficiently ascertained.[3] For the first forty years of the Reformation movement there was no translation of the Scriptures into the northern dialect. The copies used were obtained from England. Carried everywhere by the popular wave, the English book, as it was called, must by itself have done much to change the tongue of the country. Further, as the Catholic party in Scotland naturally looked for support to the ancient alliance with Catholic France, the adherents of Protestantism were forced into intimate relations and constant communication with Protestant England. In the works of Sir David Lyndsay, the earliest poet of the new period, the influence of this connection is seen taking effect, English forms of words, like go, also, and one, constantly taking the place of the mediæval Scottish. John Knox was a greater innovator[7] than Lyndsay in this respect; and the deterioration went steadily on until, shortly after the close of the century, the coup de grâce was given to the tongue by the transference of James VI. and his court to England. Upon that event Lowland Scottish went out of favour, and practically ceased to be a literary language.[4]

In face of these adverse influences—the decay of the language, religious disfavour, and the overturn of the ancient social system—a brilliant poetic era was not to be looked for in Scotland in the sixteenth century. The marvel is that so much was produced that had vigour, humour, and tenderness. Justice has hardly yet been done to a period which, opening with the iconoclast thunders of Sir David Lyndsay, included the compositions of the gallant James V., of “the Scottish Anacreon” Alexander Scot, and of the author of “The Cherrie and the Slae.” These Scottish singers have their own place and charm, and it has to be remembered that their work was composed while the strange silence of more than a hundred years which followed the death of Chaucer south of the Tweed was still all but unbroken.

[8]

The early period of Scottish poetry, corresponding to the heroic era of the national history, had been one of geste, chronicle, and patriotic epic, and remains illustrious with the names of Thomas the Rhymer, Barbour, Wyntoun, and Henry the Minstrel. The mediæval period, that in which the temper of the nation changed from one of strenuous, single-hearted purpose to one of conscious reflection, individual assertion, and restless personal desire, had been the period in which, lit anew by the torch of Chaucer, and fed by the genius of James I., Henryson, Dunbar, and Douglas, Scottish poetry shot forth its most splendid flame. The sixteenth century, no less clearly marked, was a period of change. With Flodden Field and the Reformation the old order of things passed away. As the feudalism of the Middle Ages passed out of church and state the mediæval spirit passed out of the national poetry, and amid the strife of new ideals the last songs were sung in the national language of Scotland. Before the close of the century a new light had risen in the south, the brilliant Elizabethan constellation was flashing into fire, and under its influence the singers of the north were to make a new departure, and, like their kings who were seated on the English throne, were to adopt the accents of the southern tongue.

[9]

[10]

[11]

For more than two hundred years, until the appearance of Robert Burns, the most popular of all the Scottish poets was Sir David Lyndsay of the Mount. During that time more than twenty editions of his works were published; next to the Bible they were perhaps the most familiar reading of the people; and in any question of phraseology, “Ye’ll no fin’ that in Davie Lyndsay” was a common condemnation against which there was no appeal. Popularity is not always a sign of worth; but in Lyndsay’s case its justice must be admitted. The qualities which made him popular also make him great. No more honest, fearless, and admirable figure stands out from the page of Scottish history than that of this clear-sighted and true-hearted poet, who in a corrupt age filled so many parts without question and without stain. If effects are to be considered in judgment, a great place must be accorded the man who began by moulding the mind of a prince and ended by reforming that of a nation.

The Juvenal of Scotland was descended from a younger branch of the Lyndsays of the Byres in[12] Haddingtonshire, and is believed to have been born in 1490 either at The Mount, near Cupar-Fife, or at Garleton, then Garmylton, in East Lothian. From the former small estate the poet’s father and himself in succession took their title, but the latter was apparently the chief residence of the family. There were grammar schools then established both in Haddington and in Cupar; and at one of these, it is probable, the poet received his early education. All that is definitely known of his early years, however, has been gathered from the fact that his name appears in 1508 or 1509 among the Incorporati or fourth-year students of St. Salvator’s College, St. Andrews. He must therefore have matriculated there in 1505, the year of John Knox’s birth. Next Lyndsay’s name in the register follows that of David Beaton, afterwards archbishop and cardinal, and the most formidable opponent of the Reformation in Scotland. It has been inferred from two references in his poems[5] that upon leaving college Lyndsay visited the Continent and travelled as far as Italy. But information on the subject remains uncertain.

The next definite notice shows him attached to the royal court, and taking part in the amusements[13] which were there in vogue. It is an entry in the treasurer’s accounts on 12th October, 1511, of £3 4s. for blue and yellow taffeties “to be a play coat to David Lyndsay for the play playit in the king and queen’s presence in the Abbey of Holyrood.” In the same year appear the first quarterly payments of an annual salary of £40, which he received henceforth for his duties at court. The exact position which he at first filled is uncertain, but on the birth of Prince James, afterwards James V., on 12th April, 1512, Lyndsay was appointed chief page or usher to the infant. The description of his services in this capacity makes a delightful picture in the “Epistil to the Kingis Grace” prefixed to “The Dreme,” and again in the “Complaynt” of 1529. The lines of the latter may be quoted—

Whatever may have been the severity of character which in other matters James sometimes considered it his duty to show, there remains as testimony to the real nature of “the King of the Commons” that he never forgot these early services of his faithful attendant.

When the prince was a year old, that is, in 1513, just before Flodden, Lyndsay was witness to that strange scene in the Church of St. Michael in Linlithgow which is related upon his authority both by Pitscottie and Buchanan, and which is popularly known through Sir Walter Scott’s version in Marmion. On the eve of setting forth upon his fatal campaign James IV., according to Pitscottie, was with his nobles attending prayers in the church at Linlithgow when a tall man came in, roughly clad in a blue gown and bare-headed, with a great pikestaff in his hand, “cryand and spearand for the King.” He advanced to James, and with small reverence laid his arm on the royal praying-desk. “Sir King,” he said, “my mother has sent me to you desiring you not to passe, at this time, where thou art[15] purposed; for if thou does thou wilt not fair well in thy journey, nor none that passeth with thee. Further, she bade ye melle with no woman, nor use their counsell, nor let them touch thy body, nor thou theirs; for, and thou do it, thou wilt be confounded and brought to shame.” “Be this man,” proceeds the chronicler, “had spoken thir words unto the King’s Grace, the Even-song was neere doone, and the King paused on thir words, studying to give him an answer; but in the mean time, before the King’s eyes, and in presence of all the Lords that were about him for the time, this man vanished away, and could no wayes be seene nor comprehended, but vanished away as he had beene ane blink of the sunne, or ane whiss of the whirlwind, and could no more be seene.”

It has been suggested that the episode might be an effort of Queen Margaret to dissuade her husband from the campaign by working upon his superstition, and that Lyndsay, through whose hands the apparition “vanished away,” probably knew more of the affair than he cared to confess. The whole matter, however, is wrapped up in mystery.

After the death of James IV. at Flodden, Lyndsay appears to have remained in constant attendance upon the young king, sometimes being styled “the Kingis maister usher,” sometimes “the Kingis maister of houshald.” It was probably in the course of these duties that he made the acquaintance of the lady who became his wife. Whether she was related to the great historic house is unknown, but her name[16] was Janet Douglas, and from numerous entries in the treasurer’s accounts she appears, notwithstanding her marriage, to have held the post of sempstress to the king till the end of his reign. The union took place about the year 1522.

In 1524 affairs in Scotland took a turn which for a time deprived Lyndsay of his office. On 20th May in that year the Regent Albany finally retired to France, and the reins of government were assumed by Queen Margaret, who, to strengthen her position against her divorced husband, the powerful Earl of Angus, withdrew the young prince from his tutors, and placed the sceptre nominally in his hand. Angus, however, prevailed, and getting possession of the person of James, ruled Scotland in the Douglas interest for four years. Lyndsay’s opinion of the effect of this proceeding may be gathered from the lines of his “Complaynt”—

Discharged from his duties, though, at the instance of James, his salary continued to be paid, Lyndsay retired to his estates, and occupied his leisure by casting into verse some of his reflections upon the events and character of his time. These, in the form of a scarcely veiled satire, with a finely poetic setting, he published under the title of “The Dreme,” probably in 1528. In the autumn of the same year, it is believed, he wrote his “Complaynt to the Kingis Grace,” a performance in which, as has been seen, he recounts his early services, and asks some token of royal recognition, declaiming fearlessly the abuses which have been practised by the recent governors of the realm, and ending with congratulations and sound counsel on James’s own sudden assumption of power.

This reminder would hardly appear to have been needed by the young king. On a night in May of that year James had escaped from Falkland, and dashing through the defiles of the Ochils with only a couple of grooms in his train, had established himself in[18] Stirling, successfully defied the Douglas power, and, though no more than sixteen years of age, had in a few hours made himself absolute master of Scotland. Among the first to benefit by his assumption of power were his old attendants. His chaplain, Sir James Inglis, he made Abbot of Culross; his tutor, Gavin Dunbar, he made Archbishop of Glasgow, and afterwards Lord High Chancellor; while upon Lyndsay he conferred the honour of knighthood and appointed him Lyon King at Arms.

This was in 1529, and the appointment marks Lyndsay’s entry into the larger public life of his time. The office of the Chief Herald was then an active one, its holder being employed on frequent state envoys to foreign courts. Thus in 1531 Lyndsay was sent to the Netherlands to renew a commercial treaty of James I. which had just lapsed. Upon that occasion he had an interview at Brussels with the Queen of Hungary, then Regent of the Netherlands, and her brother the Emperor Charles V.; and in a letter still extant[8] he describes the tournaments, of which he was spectator, at the royal court.

Again, in 1536, he was one of the embassy sent to France to conclude a marriage between James and Marie de Bourbon, daughter of the Duc de Vendôme. Negotiations in this case were all but completed when by the personal interference of James the treaty was broken off and espousals arranged instead with Magdalene, the daughter of the French king, Francis I.

[19]

The sad sequel of this romantic union is well known. The fate of the fragile young princess formed the subject of Lyndsay’s elegy, “The Deploratioun of the Deith of Quene Magdalene.”

Strangely enough, the Lyon Herald’s next employment was, in the following year, the superintendence of ceremonies at reception of James’s new bride, Mary, the daughter of the Duc de Guise. These, like the other events of the time, are fully described by Lindsay of Pitscottie, the contemporary historian. Among other “fersis and playis” they included one curious device. “And first sche was receivit at the New Abbay yet (gate); upon the eist syd thairof thair wes maid to hir ane triumphant arch be Sir David Lindsay of the Mount, knicht, alias Lyon Kyng at Armis, quha caussit ane greyt cloud to cum out of the hevins down abone the yeit; out the quhilk cloude come downe ane fair Lady most lyk ane angell, having the keyis of Scotland in hir hand, and delyverit thayme to the Queinis grace in signe and taikin that all the harts of Scotland wer opin for the receveing of hir Grace; withe certane Oratiouns maid be the said Sir David to the Quein’s Grace, desyring hir to feir hir God, and to serve him, and to reverence and obey hir husband, and keip her awin body clein, according to God’s will and commandment.”[9]

A more momentous piece of work, and one more worthy of the poet’s genius, was Lyndsay’s next performance. In 1530, in his “Testament and[20] Complaynt of our Soverane Lordis Papyngo,” he had already ventured with great boldness to expose the disorders of the time in church affairs. He now went further, and in the guise of a stage-play attacked with fearless and biting satire the corruptions of clergy and nobles. This play, “Ane Pleasant Satyre of the thrie Estaitis,” appears to have been first performed at Linlithgow at the feast of Epiphany on 6th January, 1539–40, when, occupying no less than nine hours in representation,[10] it was witnessed by the king, the queen, and ladies of the court, the bishops, nobles, and a great gathering of people.

As Lyon Herald, Lyndsay superintended the preparation of the Register of Arms of the Scottish nobility and gentry. This work, now in the Advocates’ Library, Mr. Laing commends for its careful execution and proper emblazonment of the arms, as most creditable to the state of heraldic art in Scotland. It was completed in 1542.

On the 14th of December in the same year Lyndsay was one of those who stood by the bedside of the dying king at Falkland, when, overwhelmed by sorrow and disappointment, he “turned his back to his lordis and his face to the wall,” and presently passed away. The friendship between the king and the poet, which had begun in the prince’s cradle-days, appears to have had not a single break, one of James’ last acts being to assign to Lyndsay, “during all the days of his life, two chalders of oats, for horse-corn, out of the King’s lands of Dynmure in Fife.”

[21]

The Lyon Herald survived his master about fifteen years, and lived to see signs that the reforms which he had urged would one day be carried out.

In 1546 occurred the first crisis of the Reformation. In consequence of the cruel burning of George Wishart at St. Andrews in that year, the castle there was stormed by Norman Lesley and fifteen others, and Cardinal Beaton, the prelate most obnoxious to the reforming party, was assassinated. On the 4th of August, Lyndsay, as commissioner for the burgh of Cupar, was in his seat in Parliament when the writ of treason was issued against the assassins; and on the 17th, as Lyon Herald, he appeared with a trumpeter before the castle in the vain effort to bring the garrison to terms. But whatever might be his official duties, his sympathies were clearly on the side of the reformers. Regarding the death of Beaton he wrote, probably sometime in the following year, his satire, the “Tragedie of the Cardinall”; and in May, 1547, he was one of the inner circle of those who, in the parish church of St. Andrews, gave John Knox his unexpected but memorable call to the ministry.

In 1548 Lyndsay was sent to Denmark to negotiate a treaty of free trade in corn, and with the successful issue of this embassy he appears to have closed his career as envoy to foreign courts. Henceforth he seems to have devoted himself to poetical composition. In 1550 appeared what has been esteemed by some critics the most pleasing of all his works, “The Historie and Testament of Squyer Meldrum,”[22] a romance somewhat in the style of the ancient heroic narratives, founded on the adventures of an actual personage of his own day. And in 1553 he finished his last and longest work, “The Monarche, Ane Dialog betuix Experience and Ane Courteour on the Miserabyll Estait of the World.”

Once more he appears in history in the dignity of his office as Lyon King. On 16th January, 1554–5, he presided at a chapter of heralds convened at Holyrood for the trial and punishment of William Crawar, a messenger, for abuse of his function. But before the 18th of April in the same year he had passed away. By a letter of that date in the Privy Seal Register it appears that his wife had predeceased him, and that, in the absence of children, his estates were inherited by his younger brother, Alexander Lyndsay.

Four years later the Reformation, of which also he may be said to have been the Lyon Herald, had begun in earnest. John Knox had returned to Scotland, the assassins of Beaton had received pardon, and the leaders of the new church which was to rise out of the ashes of the old had assumed the name of “The Congregation.”

Such was the consistent career of the poet who, in the words of Dryden, “lashed vice into reformation” in Scotland. In high position, with everything to lose and nothing to gain by the part he took, he must be adjudged entire disinterestedness in his efforts. Patriotism, the virtue which more than any other has from century to century made the renown[23] of Scotland, must be acknowledged as his chief motive. Of his “Dreme” one writer has said, “We almost doubt if there is to be found anywhere except in the old Hebrew prophets a purer or more earnest breathing of the patriotic spirit.” His attack, it is true, was directed, not against the doctrines, but merely against the abuses of the church, a fact which sufficiently accounts for his freedom from persecution. There can be no question, however, that but for the brilliant, burning satire of Lyndsay the later work of the reformers would have proved infinitely more arduous, and might have been indefinitely delayed. Professor Nichol[11] has compared the service rendered by Lyndsay in Scotland to that rendered in Holland by Erasmus. All great movements probably have had some such forerunner, from John the Baptist downwards. At anyrate it is certain that when Lyndsay laid down his pen the time was ripe for Knox to mount the pulpit.

During the early troubles of the Reformation the works of Lyndsay were, it is said, printed by stealth; and Pitscottie states that an Act of Assembly ordered them to be burned. Their popularity, nevertheless, remained undiminished, and edition after edition found its way into the hands of the people. The best editions now available are that by George Chalmers, three volumes, London, 1806, that of the Early English Text Society by various editors,[24] 1865–1871, and the edition by David Laing, LL.D., three volumes, Edinburgh, 1879. The last is taken in the present volume as the standard text.

Of Lyndsay’s compositions “The Dreme” has generally been considered the most poetical, and the “Satyre of the Thrie Estaitis” the most important. The former is an allegory in the fashion of Dante and Chaucer, in which, after a prologue which has been much admired for its descriptive charm, a historical lesson is drawn from the abuse of power by rulers of the past, and the political grievances of Scotland are set boldly forth. To the latter belongs the credit of being the earliest specimen of the Scottish drama now in existence, the ground having been previously occupied only by the old mysteries and pageants, the “fairseis and clerk-playis” mentioned by Sir Richard Maitland.[12] Technically it is neither a morality-play nor a regular drama, but what is known as an interlude: it has no regular plot, and upon its stage real men and women move about among allegorical personages. Its author, however, confined the term “interlude” to the burlesque diversions which occupied the intervals of the main action. “Lyndsay’s play,” says Chalmers, “carried away the palm of dramatic composition from the contemporary moralities of England till the epoch of the first tragedy in Gorboduc and the first comedy in Gammer Gurton’s Needle.” The work was more, however, than a dramatic pioneer; it was the greatest[25] blow which Lyndsay struck at the vices and follies of his age, the ignorance and profligacy of the priesthood, and the insolence and unscrupulous ambition of the courtiers; and it is perhaps not too much to say of it that by its performance again and again before multitudes of all classes of the people it prepared the way more than anything else for the great movement of the Reformation in Scotland. For the modern reader, apart from its merits as a tour de force of satire, this work remains the most vivid picture we possess of the grievances by which the common people of Scotland were oppressed during the last days of feudalism.

“The Monarche,” a still longer poem, possesses nothing like the interest of the “Satyre.” In dialogue form, it follows the historic fashion of an earlier time, attempting to give a complete history of the human race from the creation to the day of judgment. Gloom and sadness reign throughout its pages, and notwithstanding one or two fine descriptive passages and the exhibition of much learning and sagacious reflection, it must be ranked among the less vital of its author’s works. An English version of “The Monarche,” nevertheless, was repeatedly printed in London from 1566 onwards, and a translation into Danish was published at Copenhagen in 1591.

“The Testament and Complaynt of the Kyngis Papyngo” is a composition frequently referred to. It opens with a prologue in praise of the makars, who, from Chaucer to the writer’s contemporary Bellenden, are named in order. In form of a fable—the death-bed[26] of the king’s parrot, attended by the pye, a canon regular, the raven, a black monk, and the hawk, a holy friar—it satirizes mercilessly the vices of the clergy and the abuses of the church.

Lyndsay’s lesser productions are satires on minor subjects, such as court patronage and the absurdities of female fashions, showing their author in a lighter vein. But “Kitteis Confessioun” is another hard hit at the church abuses of the time, and the “Deploratioun of the Deith of Quene Magdalene” possesses interest as a picture of a royal welcome in the sixteenth century.

“The Tragedie of the Cardinall,” apart from a suggestion in the prologue, the appearance of Beaton’s ghost—

displays no striking poetic power. The poem recounts in detail, as by the mouth of the prelate himself, the damaging part which Beaton had played in the contemporary history of Scotland, and it ends with serious admonitions addressed respectively to prelates and to princes to avoid the abuses which were then rampant in the government of the church.

“The Historie of Squyer Meldrum” is written in a different vein from the rest of Lyndsay’s works. As has already been said, it is modelled on the gestes and heroic epics of an earlier century. The narrative is lively, with vivid descriptive passages and great smoothness of versification. “In all Froissart,” says Dr. Merry Ross, “there is nothing more[27] delightful in picturesque details than the description of the jousts between Meldrum and the English knight Talbart on the plains of Picardy.”

It has been the habit to regard Lyndsay in the character rather of a reformer than of a poet, and it cannot be doubted that his own purpose was to edify rather than to delight. But the merit of a satirist consists, not in his display of the more delicate sort of poetic charm, but in the brilliance and keenness of his satire. No critic can aver that in these qualities Lyndsay was lacking. If evidence of power in other fields be demanded, there are, according to the estimate of Professor Nichol, passages in “The Dreme,” “Squyer Meldrum,” and “The Monarche,” “especially in the descriptions of the morning and evening voices of the birds, which, for harmony of versification and grace of imagery, may be safely laid alongside of any corresponding to them in the works of his predecessors.” But it is as a satiric poet that he must chiefly be appraised, and in this character he stands the greatest that Scotland has produced. He remained popular for more than two centuries because he sympathised with the sorrows of the people and satirized the abuse of power by the great. In this respect he was not excelled even by his great successor, Robert Burns. For the reader of the present day the interest of Lyndsay, apart from the broad light which he throws upon the life and manners of his time, lies in his shrewd common-sense, his irresistible humour, vivacity, and dramatic power, with the consciousness that behind these[28] burns a soul of absolute honesty. But the first value of his work, as of the work of every satiric poet, consisted in its wholesome effect upon the spirit of his age. With this fact in view it would be difficult to formulate a better summing-up of Lyndsay’s titles to regard than that by Scott in the fourth canto of Marmion. There, by a poetic license, he is introduced in the character of Lyon Herald on the eve of Flodden, sixteen years before he obtained that office—

[29]

Epistil to the Kingis Grace.

Prolog.

[35]

Complaynt of the Commounweill of Scotland.

[40]

Prolog.

Adew.

The Commonyng betuix the Papyngo and hir Holye Executouris.

[64]

[67]

The Curate, and Kittie.

[72]

[84]

[85]

[102]

From the Prologue to “The Monarche.”

[105]

[106]

[107]

Last in the list of makars enumerated by Lyndsay in the prologue to his “Complaynt of the Papyngo” is mentioned “ane plant of poeitis, callit Ballendyne,” who seems to have excited both respect and anticipation among his early contemporaries. The prophecy of Lyndsay’s lines appears to have been more than fulfilled. The new makar of 1530, having gained the ear of the court, not only wrote poems which, whether they excelled those of his rivals or not, have at least outlived most of them, but produced works in prose regarding which a critic of the first rank has said, “No better specimen of the middle period (of the Scottish language) in its classical purity exists.”[579]

Some obscurity has been cast upon the life of this scholar and poet by confusing him with an eminent contemporary of the same name, Sir John Bellenden of Auchinoul. The latter was secretary to the Earl of Angus at the time of that nobleman’s downfall in[108] 1528, appearing twice before parliament as agent for the Douglases on the 4th of September. Some time afterwards he became Justice-Clerk.[580] These functions of Bellenden the lawyer have been attributed, however incongruously, to Bellenden the churchman, and have again and again led to a hopeless confusion of parentage and other details. As a matter of fact the Justice-Clerk seems to have survived the poet by more than twenty-seven years.[581]

Of the poet’s life few facts are known with certainty. Born towards the close of the fifteenth century, he is believed to have been a native of Haddingtonshire, and to have entered St. Andrew’s University in 1508. At least the matriculation of one John Ballentyn of the Lothian nation is recorded in that year. He completed his education at the University of Paris, where he took the degree of Doctor of Divinity. From the fourth stanza of his proheme to the Cosmographé, and from the prose epistle to James V. at the close of his translation of Boece’s History, it is gathered that, returning to this country, he was employed at court during that monarch’s youth as Clerk of Accounts, but was presently cast from his post by certain court intrigues. His loss of place probably coincided with that of Sir David Lyndsay, and was probably owed to the same cause, the seizure of power by the Douglases in 1524. It seems clear, moreover, that it was upon the downfall of[109] that house that he returned to court favour; and circumstances would lead to the belief that he was among those for whom James, mindful of early services, made provision shortly after his accession to power in 1528. At anyrate, in 1530 and the three following years Bellenden was engaged by express command of James in translating the histories of his contemporary Boece and of Livy. The Treasurer’s accounts from October 30th, 1530, to November 30th, 1533, contain notes of payment for this work. In all, he received during that time the sum of £114; £78 being for the translation of Boece, and £36 for that of Livy.

A year or two later, during the vacancy of the bishopric of Moray, the archdeaconry of that see also became vacant, and its gift in consequence fell to the crown. Two clergymen, however, John Duncan, parson of Glasgow, and Alexander Harvey, solicited the Pope to confer the benefice upon James Douglas. For this they were brought to trial, and, by the statutes under which Gavin Douglas had suffered, were declared rebels, and had their property escheated to the king. The emoluments of this property for the years 1536 and 1537 were conferred successively upon Bellenden, who for the two years’ income paid compositions respectively of 350 marks and £300 Scots. About the same time, it is believed, occurred his promotion to the archdeaconry itself, and his appointment as a canon of Ross.

Little more is known of the poet’s life. A strenuous opponent of the new heresy, as the movement of the[110] Reformation was called, he appears to have done all in his power to resist its progress, and at last, finding his utmost efforts in this direction vain, to have betaken himself to the headquarters of counsel at Rome, where he died in 1550.[582]

The catalogue of Bellenden’s works, though important in more than one detail, is not of great length. He is said to have written a treatise, De Litera Pythagoræ—the letter upsilon, in the form of which Pythagoras had chosen to see certain emblematical properties. Of this treatise nothing is now known. It is to his translations of Boece and Livy that the Archdeacon of Moray owes his chief fame. The first edition of the Latin History of Scotland by Hector Boece, consisting of seventeen books, had been printed at Paris in 1526, and dedicated to James V.[583] That king’s knowledge of Latin must have been strictly limited, as we know from Lyndsay he was withdrawn from school at twelve years of age. His desire, therefore, for a translation into the vernacular may be understood. Bellenden’s translation, with Boece’s “cosmographé,” or description of Scotland, prefixed, was published at Edinburgh in[111] 1541,[584] and has the credit of being the earliest existing prose work in the Scottish language. The translator divided Boece’s books into chapters, and, from a reference in his proheme, apparently meant to bring the history down to his own time. As a translation the work is somewhat free, Bellenden having taken the liberty of correcting errors and supplying omissions where he thought right. Nevertheless it soon became the standard translation of the historian, and was the version which, with interpolations from the histories of Major, Lesley, and Buchanan, was used by Hollinshed, being the direct channel, therefore, through which Shakespeare derived the story of Macbeth. As a contribution to literature it remains the earliest and the most ample specimen we possess of Scottish prose. “Rich,” as its latest editor has said, “in barbaric pearl and gold,” while “the rust of age has not obscured the fancy and imagery with which the work abounds,” it affords an admirable illustration of the force and variety of the language in which it was written.

At the end of his translation Bellenden appended an epistle to the king—one of these sound, if somewhat plain, admonitions which his courtiers apparently did not scruple to address to James the Fifth. It deals boldly with the distinction between a king and a tyrant, and does not hesitate to hold up by way of[112] example the fate which has constantly overtaken the wickedness of princes.

The best edition of Bellenden’s Boece is that edited, with a biographical introduction by Thomas Maitland, Lord Dundrennan, and published at Edinburgh in two volumes, quarto, in 1821. The only edition of the Livy is one by the same editor, printed in 1822 from a manuscript in the Advocates’ Library. The translation extends only to the first five books of the original, though it was Bellenden’s intention to furnish a complete version of his author. The work actually done is characterised, like the translation of Boece, by great fluency and vividness, and a natural happiness of style.

But it is to Bellenden’s work as a poet that the chief consideration is here due. To each of his three translations he prefixed a poetical proheme, or preface, of some length; before the title-page of his Boece appears a quaint “Excusation of the Prentar” which must be attributed to him; and a separate poem of twenty-two stanzas by him, entitled “The Benner of Pietie, concerning the Incarnatioun of our Saluiour Chryst,” forms one of the duplicate articles in the Bannatyne MS., printed by the Hunterian Club, 1878–86.[585] These five compositions represent his entire poetical achievement so far as is known.[113] Though printed each in its due place, as above indicated, they have never been collected in a single volume.[586]

Bellenden’s chief poem is the proheme to the cosmographé prefixed to his translation of Boece. It bears no real relation to the work which it precedes, and is believed to have been written before 1530. Modelled upon the classical allegory of the “Choice of Hercules,” it is addressed to James V., and with great tact seeks to convey a somewhat pertinent moral lesson to that youthful monarch. The original title of the composition is understood to have been “Virtew and Vyce”; and after the poetic fashion of its time the allegory is cast in form of a dream. It describes the wooing of a handsome young prince, whose personality can hardly be mistaken, by two lovely and splendidly attired ladies, Delight and Virtue. With quaint shrewdness the poet contrives to awaken at the proper moment, saving himself the invidious task of describing the prince’s choice.

The proheme to the history is a graver and less poetical production, though bearing a closer relation to the work which follows. The chief object of history, it declares in effect, is to set forth the noble deeds of the past as an example to the present—a task performed with great array of classic information. The most striking passage of the poem is the[114] descant on nobility, which occupies nine out of the twenty-nine stanzas. Some of the lines in this have all the incisiveness of the clearest-cut aphorism.

Somewhat the same theory of history forms the burden of the prologue to Livy. The chief interest of this piece consists, perhaps, as Lord Dundrennan pointed out, in its representation of James V. as a patron of literature. The opening stanzas, however, are not without a certain warlike resonance suited to a prelude of Roman deeds of arms.

Altogether, though not of the era-making order, and though comparatively limited in quantity, the poetry of Bellenden is worthy of more attention than it has hitherto received. In allegoric method and in form of verse it follows the fashion of its day, and it shares that fashion’s faults; but, these drawbacks apart, it is marked by great skill and smoothness of versification, by no small descriptive charm, and by a certain happy vividness of imagery which again and again surprises and delights the reader. One can almost feel the breath of

and a seascape rises instantly before the eye at mention of the

Beyond this, Bellenden shows himself a careful student of human nature, with more than one significant word to say upon the subject.

[115]

The Proheme of the Cosmographé prefixed to Boece’s History.

[129]

From the Proheme to the Translation of Boece’s History.

[132]

From the “Proloug apoun the Traduction of Titus Livius.”[702]

[134]

Prefixed to the Translation of Boece’s History.

[136]

The opening stanzas of “The Benner of Pietie.”

[139]

[140]

[141]

More romance is associated in the popular mind of Scotland with the career of James the Fifth than with that of any other of the romantic race of Stuart, except perhaps the last of the line, the hero of the ’45. For three centuries stories of the amours and escapades of “the Gudeman of Ballengeich” have formed the familiar tradition of the countryside; his exploits have been the subject of innumerable songs, ballads, and minstrel lays, from “The Jolly Beggar” itself, to “The Lady of the Lake”; and even at the present day the eye of a Scotsman kindles with lively reminiscence; at mention of the kindly “King of the Commons.”

Son of that gallant James who fell at Flodden, and of Margaret, the hot-blooded sister of Henry VIII., he might have been predicted to make for himself a life more eventful than that of most men. His time, besides, fell at a crisis in Scottish history—the meeting of the counter currents of the old order and the new in the Reformation. Whatever the causes, the fact remains that from his birth at Linlithgow on 10th April, 1512, till his death at Falkland on 14th[142] December, 1542, the career of James V. presents a continuous series of personal episodes as dramatic as anything on the historic stage. Dating his reign from the most tragic disaster in Scottish history, he was crowned King of Scotland before he could speak, a month after his father’s death on the battlefield. Smiled on by the Muses in his cradle, his childish gambols have been made a sunny picture for all time by the verses of his childhood’s companion, one of the greatest of the national poets. Invested with the sceptre at twelve years of age, at sixteen he suddenly astonished his enemies by proving that he could wield it, making himself at one stroke and in a few hours absolute master of Scotland.

Nothing, perhaps, shows one side of the character of James—his decision, daring, and resolute energy—better than the transaction of the night in May, 1528, when, slipping the Douglas leash at Falkland, he galloped through the defiles of the Ochils with Jockie Hart, and appeared at once as unquestioned king among his nobles at Stirling. As energetic, however, and almost as dramatic were the young monarch’s measures for restoring order in his disordered realm. Under the Douglas usurpation every abuse had been rampant, might had everywhere overridden right, and outrage had everywhere scorched the land with sorrow and fire. Such a state of things was only to be righted by an iron hand, and if the acts of James have sometimes appeared severe to modern eyes, there can be no doubt that severity was needed. In particular, the young king’s descent upon the Border[143] has been remembered in story and song.[743] Shutting up the Border lords beforehand in Edinburgh, he swept suddenly through Ettrick Forest, Eskdale, and Teviotdale, surprising freebooters like Cockburn of Henderland, Scott of Tushielaw, and Johnnie Armstrong, in their own fastnesses, and by the execution of swift, sharp justice reduced these lawless regions forthwith to tranquillity. Rebellions in the Orkneys and the Western Isles were quelled with tact and promptitude; the attempts of the Douglases upon the marches were met and defeated by superior force, and the insidious approaches of Henry VIII. were checkmated by sending a force of seven thousand Highlanders over seas to assist O’Donnel, the Irish chief, in his efforts to shake off the English yoke.

One incident in the life of James illustrates vividly the spirit of extravagant devotion which the character of the Stuarts from first to last seems to have been capable of exciting in their followers. During a royal progress through his dominions the young king was entertained by the Earl of Athole in a sumptuous palace of wood erected for the occasion on a meadow at the foot of Ben y Gloe. Hung with tapestries of silk and gold, and lit by windows of stained glass, this palace, surrounded by a moat and by towers of defence in the manner of a feudal castle, lodged the king more luxuriously than any of his own residences. Yet on the departure of the royal cavalcade the Earl, declaring that the palace which had lodged[144] the sovereign should never be profaned by accommodating a subject, to the astonishment of the Papal legate who was present, ordered the whole fabric, with all that it contained, to be given to the flames.

It was at this period of his life that James engaged in most of those romantic adventures by which, under his assumed name of “the Gudeman of Ballengeich,” he is popularly remembered. He was as fearless as he was energetic, and upon tidings of misdeeds, however remote, he made no hesitation in getting instantly on horseback and spurring at the head of his small personal retinue to attack and punish the evil-doers. In these excursions he constantly shared extreme perils and privations with his followers. These and the perils of his too frequent intrigues with the fair daughters of his subjects form the burden of most of the traditions current regarding him. One of the most characteristic of these traditions is preserved by Scott in his Tales of a Grandfather, was used by the great romancist for the plot of “The Lady of the Lake,” and forms the subject of the favourite drama of “Cramond Brig.” Another, hardly less dramatic and amusing, also preserved by Scott, is that of James’s turning the tables upon Buchanan of Arnpryor, the bold “King of Kippen.”

None of his adventures, however, surpasses in romantic incident the weightier matter of the king’s own marriage. In the hope of withdrawing Scotland from the support of France in the great continental rivalry then going on, the Emperor Charles V. had in turn offered James alliance with his sister, the Queen[145] of Hungary, his niece the daughter of the King of Denmark, and with a second niece the Princess Mary of Portugal; while Henry VIII. had offered his own daughter Mary to the young monarch. In one case the whole of Norway was offered by way of dowry. But James had a mind of his own on the subject, and was not to be tempted from the ancient policy of the country. Sir David Lyndsay was accordingly despatched to arrange a marriage with the daughter of the Duc de Vendôme, the head of the princely house of Bourbon. The treaty was all but concluded, when suddenly, among the attendants of some nobles freshly arrived from Scotland, the princess recognised James himself. Irking at his envoy’s delay he had hit upon this device for forming personal acquaintance with his bride, but his identity was betrayed by a portrait which he had previously sent her. For eight days he was sumptuously entertained by the Bourbons, but, dissatisfied in some way with the choice which had been made for him, he formed an excuse to visit the court of Francis I. There he fell in love with the king’s eldest daughter, the fragile Princess Magdalene. She, it appears, became also passionately attached to him, and, notwithstanding all obstacles—the warnings of the physicians and the reluctance of Francis to expose his daughter to an inhospitable climate, the two were married on 1st January, 1537, and after four months of rejoicings and utmost happiness sailed for Scotland. The gallant fleet of fifty ships sailed up the Firth of Forth on the 28th of May, and it is narrated that as[146] she landed to pass to Holyrood the fair young queen stooped down and kissed the soil of her husband’s country.

This romantic method of royal match-making, however, must be considered to have cost James dear. His continued absence from the country had left room for the machinations of his enemies; his previous good fortune seemed, upon his return, to fail him; and worst of all, amid the increasing troubles of the time he seems to have been oppressed by a certain foreboding.

Forty days after landing, and while preparations were being made for her triumphal progress through the country, the seventeen-year-old queen died. “And,” says Lindsay of Pitscottie, “the king’s heavy moan that he made for her was greater than all the rest.” A second marriage, it is true, was, for political reasons, and with the approval of Francis, forthwith arranged for James, and in the summer of 1538 Marie, daughter of the Duc de Guise, was received with gallant display by her royal consort at St. Andrews. But three months later, news arrived from France that the daughter of the Duc de Vendôme had sickened of her disappointment, and was dead. “Quhairat,” to quote Pitscottie again, “when the King of Scotland got wit, he was highlie displeased (distressed), thinkand that he was the occasion of that gentlewoman’s death also.”

Meanwhile the intrigues of Henry VIII. and the banished Douglases had succeeded in corrupting a great part of the Scottish nobility. Twice was the life of James attempted; first by the Master of Forbes, a brother-in-law of the Earl of Angus, and next by[147] Angus’s sister, Janet Douglas, Lady Glammis. With envious eyes and diminishing loyalty the Scottish nobles saw the English peers enriched by Henry’s distribution of the confiscated church lands, while James consistently refused to carry out the same plan of spoliation in Scotland. The climax of the young king’s troubles was reached in 1542. Hitherto Henry VIII., in his designs upon the independence of the northern kingdom, had confined himself to the arts of policy and bribery, suborning the trusted servants of the crown, and embroiling James between the rights of the church and the ambition of the nobles. Now, however, the time seemed ripe, and he sent the English forces openly across the Border. These were met and routed with courage and promptitude; and, overjoyed at his success, the Scottish king had made full preparations for retaliating, and was marching south at the head of his army, when at Fala his nobles suddenly refused to carry war into England, and forced him to abandon the campaign. This dishonour before his people, followed immediately by the disgraceful rout of a Scottish army at Solway Moss, broke the gallant young monarch’s heart. To add to his sorrows his two infant sons had died within a short time of each other. Upon hearing of the destruction of his troops he shut himself up in the palace of Falkland, where, overwhelmed with grief and despair, he sank under a burning fever. One hope still sustained him: the birth of an heir to the throne was hourly expected. On the 7th of December news arrived that the queen had been safely delivered. To[148] the king’s eager question the messenger replied that the infant was “ane fair dochter.” “Is it so?” said James; “Fairweill! The crown cam with a lass, and it will gang with a lass.” Whereupon, in the quaint words of Pitscottie, “he commendit himselff to the Almightie God, and spak litle from thensforth, bot turned his back to his lords and his face to the wall.” On the 14th of December he passed away.

There exists an interesting description of James from the pen of Ronsard, who accompanied the queen from France and was a servant at the Scottish court.

Not yet thirty-one years of age at his death, and notwithstanding the corrupting influences to which in early youth he had been purposely exposed by the Douglases, James had shown himself a noble and active prince. Had he gone with the tide and consented to gratify his courtiers with the plunder of the monasteries, like Henry VIII., his reign might have been less troubled and his memory less maligned by interested historians. He has been chiefly accused of an unrelenting severity towards members of the house of Douglas, and of cruelty in assenting to the death of Lady Glammis. Buchanan’s assertion, how[149]ever, of the innocence of this lady, though followed by many historians, has been sufficiently answered by Tytler;[744] and James’s consistent refusal to show favour to the Douglases can be blamed by no one who takes into consideration the king’s early treatment by that house, the insult and ravage with which they met his assumption of power, their persistent attempts to undermine his authority and take his life, and the final success which, by his death in the prime of manhood, finally crowned their efforts. Like his ancestor, the first of his name, James succeeded for a time in making “the bush keep the cow” in Scotland, and had he only been moderately supported by those who should have been his lieutenants, there can be no doubt that he would presently have made his realm a model of just administration. As it is, his reign must be honourably remembered for what he accomplished in this direction, and for the wise laws which he made for the restraint of feudal violence. A monument of his administrative power exists in the establishment of the College of Justice, which, under the name of the Court of Session, remains the supreme tribunal of Scotland to the present day.

But there is reason for believing that James the Fifth left evidence of genius in another field. Drummond of Hawthornden in his History (p. 346) states that “James V. was naturally given to poesie, as many of[150] his works yet extant testifie.” Bellenden in his prologue to Livy thus addresses the king:

And one of Lyndsay’s poems, the “Answer maid to the Kingis Flyting” leaves no doubt on the subject. The writer begins by stating that he has read the monarch’s “ragment,” and he ends with a compliment on the royal verse:

The fame of James V.’s poetical talents is even understood to have spread as far as Italy, and to have led to his mention by Ariosto.[745]

Four separate poems attributed to James are extant at the present day—“Peblis to the Play,” “Christis Kirk on the Grene,” “The Gaberlunzieman,” and “The Jolly Beggar.” The authorship of the last two of these has at no time been seriously questioned. The authenticity of “Peblis to the Play” and “Christis Kirk,” however, has been the subject of considerable debate, some critics assigning these two poems to James the First. The evidence on both sides may be briefly stated.

John Mair, who wrote his history De Gestis Scotorum in 1518, states that James I., among his other compo[151]sitions, wrote a pleasant and skilful song, “At Beltayn,” which, since the original was inaccessible, certain persons had sought to counterfeit. It happens that the opening stanza of “Peblis to the Play” begins with “At Beltane.” This, with the fact of the poem’s mention in “Christis Kirk,” forms the chief plea for attributing “Peblis to the Play” to James I. Next, the earliest known copy of “Christis Kirk,” that in the Bannatyne MS. (1568), is subscribed “Quod K. James the First.” This is the only external evidence for ascribing the poem to that monarch. On the other hand, by those who dispute the authorship of James I., the slightness of Mair’s evidence regarding “Peblis to the Play,” and the presumption of Bannatyne’s blundering regarding “Christis Kirk,” have been dwelt upon. “At Beltayn,” it is remarked, was in the sixteenth century, by Mair’s own statement, a hackneyed opening to a poem; while, as for Bannatyne’s colophon, it is pointed out that in the title of the next poem but one in his collection he writes “James the Fyift,” or as some read it, “the Fyrst,” in mistake for James the Fourth, and he may have made a similar error in regard to “Christis Kirk.” In support of this view it is asserted[746] that by common tradition, previous to the discovery of the Bannatyne MS., these poems were invariably attributed to James V.; and this assertion is supported by the usage of the early writers, Dempster in the beginning of the seventeenth century, Bishop Gibson in 1691, and James Watson in 1706. The authority[152] of these writers, however, no less than that of common tradition, has in turn been questioned by the supporters of the claim of James I.,[747] and it has been pointed out that in Maitland’s MS. (1585) no name is appended to “Peblis to the Play,” an omission which, it is suggested, could hardly have occurred had Maitland known James V. to be the author. But again, in support of James V. it may reasonably be urged that the important poem of “Christis Kirk” is mentioned in their histories neither by Mair nor by Bellenden when dealing with James I.; that that king is not even mentioned among the makars by Dunbar in his famous “Lament”; that none of the four poems is to be found in the MS. of John Asloan, written before James V.’s time, in 1515; and that while Lyndsay in his earlier composition, the prologue to the “Papyngo,” in 1530,[748] makes no mention of James I. as a reputed author, in 1538, in his “Justyng betuix Watsoun and Barbour,” he pays “Christis Kirk” the compliment of copying several conspicuous expressions,[749] the natural inference being that “Christis[153] Kirk” was not composed before the former year. On the whole, therefore, the external evidence may be considered almost evenly balanced. The internal evidence is somewhat more delicate.

The familiarity with peasant manners and character which both poems display had been made much of as an argument. This, however, can be held to prove nothing, since both James I. and James V. are said to have had the habit of wandering among their subjects in disguise. Neither can the language of the compositions be taken as of much account. The more antique words, as in the expressions, “Ye sall pay at ye aucht,” “He hydis tyt,” and “On thame swyth,” are paralleled by James V.’s contemporaries, Douglas and Lyndsay, and probably lingered late in the use of the common people whom the poems describe; while, on the other hand, more modern words, like “ane,” “quha” (in the sense of “who”),[750] “began,” and “happenis” (halfpence), which might be used to support the claims of James V., may be accounted for by changes introduced in transcription. An ingenious argument has been adduced from the use, or rather misuse of archery in “Christis Kirk.”[751] James I., it appears, upon his return from captivity, made a law compelling the constant practice of the bow; and it has been suggested that that king, wishing to fortify the statutes of law by the aid of ridicule, wrote the poem as a satire upon the clumsiness of the Scottish peasantry in the use of the[154] weapon. The same critics aver further that archery had become obsolete in the time of James V., hagbut and arquebus having taken its place. The argument, however, appears somewhat conjectural. According to Barbour’s Bruce the bow was one of the chief Scottish weapons of war from the earliest times, and an island in Loch Lomond still bears the yew-trees said to have been planted by King Robert for its supply; while so late as the time of Queen Mary the bow remained a favourite weapon in the field of sport, if not in the field of battle.[752] A serious obstacle in the way of attributing these poems to James I. has been pointed out by Professor Skeat in the lateness of their style and metre. He remarks, as an instance, that in stanza 19 of “Peblis to the Play” we find stokks rhymed with ox, whereas in the time of James I. the plural of stok was stokkis.[753] Further, he remarks, “It will be found by no means easy to point out any undoubted example of the use of the rollicking metre (of these poems) anterior to the year 1450; whereas James I. died in 1437.” Another point might be made of the fact that poems of this burlesque description seem to have been greatly in vogue about James V.’s time. It is enough to cite “The Tournament of Tottenham” printed by Percy, Dunbar’s “Justis betuix the Tailyour and the Sowtar,” Lyndsay’s[155] “Justing betuix James Watsoun and Jhone Barbour,” and Scot’s “Justing at the Drum.” The most cogent argument, however, should naturally be one derived from the general tone of the poems. On this point one writer, Guest, in his English Rhythms, has said, “One can hardly suppose those critics serious who attribute this song (‘Christis Kirk’) to the moral and sententious James I.”; and Professor Skeat has added that “while there is no resemblance to ‘The Kingis Quair’ discoverable (in these poems), there is a marked dissimilarity in the tone, in the vocabulary, and in the metre.” On the other hand, it is to be observed that the style and strain of humour, both of “Peblis to the Play” and of “Christis Kirk,” resemble as closely as possible those of “The Gaberlunzieman” and “The Jolly Beggar,” which have always been attributed to James V., while they are also in entire keeping with what is known of the actual humour and temper of that king.

Absolute proof of the authorship, it must be admitted, is wanting, but upon the whole the available evidence appears to favour James V.; the majority of the critics, from Warton and Ritson to Stopford Brooke, have favoured this view; and, to quote Sibbald, “it appears safer in this instance to trust to vulgar tradition than to the ipse dixit of Bannatyne, who seems to have had but an indistinct notion of our different kings of the name of James.”

The earliest and best copy of “Christis Kirk on the Grene” is that contained in Bannatyne’s MS., now made available by the Hunterian Club. The poem is[156] also contained in the Maitland MS., from which it was printed by Pinkerton in his Ancient Scottish Poems (Appendix II., 444). “Peblis to the Play” is also contained in the Maitland folio, and was printed from it by Pinkerton in his Select Scottish Ballads in 1783. Of both poems there have been many other editions. Most of these, however, contain texts very much corrupted, and none of the editors except Pinkerton appears to have seen the Maitland MS. “The Gaberlunzieman” and “The Jolly Beggar” have shared the haphazard fortune of their sister compositions, and in their case it is more difficult to ascertain a standard text. All four pieces are printed in the Perth edition of “The Works of James I.”, 1786, though the editor mentions that “The Gaberlunzieman” and “The Jolly Beggar” are commonly ascribed to James V. In the present volume “The Gaberlunzieman” follows the text given in Percy’s Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, while “The Jolly Beggar” follows that in Ritson’s Scottish Songs.

“Christis Kirk” has for several hundred years been one of the most popular of Scottish poems. Dr. Irving cites as a proof of its fame and popularity in the eighteenth century the lines of Pope:

As an illustration of ancient rustic humour and a description of low manners in its time it remains perhaps the best thing in the language. The only composition which competes with it for the first place in its class is the “Jolly Beggars” of Robert Burns.[157] The two additional cantos which Allan Ramsay wrote for it in no way approach the spontaneity and boisterous energy of the original poem.

“Peblis to the Play” deals with a similar subject in similar manner, and has generally been considered to possess less merit than “Christis Kirk.” It certainly falls short of the riotous uproar of its companion piece, and beats the air throughout with a gentler wing; but its touches describing traits of rustic character are not less deft, the humour is here and there of a tenderer sort, and the subject displays more variety. The poem presents an admirable picture of the day’s enjoyment of rustic lads and lasses at a country fair, and is not the less artistic for its touch of rustic pathos near the end.

“The Gaberlunzieman” and “The Jolly Beggar” are said by tradition to celebrate two of James V.’s own adventures with country girls. It must be acknowledged that they are quite in keeping with the legends current regarding the too gallant monarch. One such tradition, recorded by Percy, narrates how the king used to visit a smith’s daughter at Niddry, near Edinburgh; but it is not known whether the intrigue with her had any connection with either of the poems. Whatever the facts of the case, the two compositions remain unsurpassed examples of a certain typical, pawky vein of Scottish humour. “The Jolly Beggar,” besides, contains in burlesque miniature all the essentials of a romantic drama.

Upon the strength of these four compositions a place may be claimed for James V. in the first rank[158] of the writers of humorous pastoral poetry—poetry which finds its inspiration in the actual common life of the people. In this department the king has been rivalled, though hardly surpassed, only by the inspired peasant, Burns himself. Regarding the vitality of his work a trenchant remark has recently been made by one of the foremost critics of the day.[754] “While much of the contemporary and earlier poetry of Scotland,” he says, “is now read only as an historical illustration of the development of literature, that of James V., if he really wrote the gay pieces attributed to him, is read for its native merit.”

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Many of the finest flowers of Scottish poetry previous to the middle of the sixteenth century owe their preservation to the taste and patience of two curiously contrasted collectors. One of the quaintest stories of Scottish literature is that narrating how, during time of pestilence in 1568, George Bannatyne, a young man of twenty-three, occupied the leisure of his enforced retirement with transcribing, page after page, the best works of the national makars. Little further is known of the transcriber except that he became a burgess of some substance in Edinburgh; but the work of those three months, a neatly written folio of eight hundred pages, now in the Advocates’ Library in Edinburgh, has made his name immortal.[1074] The companion picture belongs to a slightly later date. It is that of Sir Richard Maitland, the blind[186] old judge of the Court of Session, in the last year of his life, directing the transcription by his daughter Mary of the collection which was to hand his name to posterity.

No necessity exists for comparing the merits of the two manuscripts which have been the means of preserving so much of the legacy of northern genius. To a large extent they deal with different work; in each case the task of transcription and preservation has been performed with the utmost patience and care; and in each the good taste and good faith of the collector has established his transcript as a classic authority. But while gratitude is due to Bannatyne for his services as preserver of many priceless poems, as an original poet, upon the strength of the few compositions of his own which he included in his manuscript, he remains of but small account. In this respect his contemporary, on the other hand, has a definite claim to regard. Sir Richard Maitland was not only a diligent and careful collector of the works of others; he was himself also a makar of respectable merit, and several, at least, of the original compositions which he added to his collection are entitled to a place on the page of Scottish poesy.

The son of William Maitland of Lethington in Haddingtonshire, who fell at Flodden, and of Martha, daughter of George, second Lord Seton, the poet was the representative of an ancient family. The well-known ballad of “Auld Maitland” celebrates a gallant defence of the castle of Lauder or Thirlstane against the English by an ancestor of Sir Richard about the[187] year 1250.[1075] Again and again during the succeeding centuries the family name appears in history;[1076] in due course Thirlstane was inherited by the poet from his grandfather; and from that time, till the climax of the family fortunes in the person of the poet’s great-grandson, the Duke of Lauderdale, in Charles II.’s time, the house may be said to have been continuously in a foremost place. Born in 1496, and studying law, it is said, first at St. Andrews, and afterwards, upon his father’s death, in France, Maitland appears presently to have entered the service of James V.[1077] Nothing certain, however, is known of his early life except that, about the year 1530, he married Mary, a daughter of Sir Thomas Cranston of Corsby. By this lady he had a family of at least three sons and four daughters, of whom the former were destined to play some of the most conspicuous parts in the history of their time.

The poet himself appears throughout to have cultivated a life of retirement and study. All the references of contemporary writers, except one, mention him with great respect, and his life would appear to have been mostly that of the quiet country[188] gentleman. The single exception occurs in John Knox’s History, where he is accused of having taken bribes to allow Cardinal Beaton to escape from Seton House in 1543. Knox, however, was somewhat ready to attribute such misdemeanours to persons whom he thought inimical to the reformed faith, and in the present case there exists no evidence whatever to support the charge, except that Maitland was a relative of Lord Seton, and may have been visiting Seton House at the time of the occurrence. There exists, on the other hand, direct evidence to show that the Cardinal was set at liberty by order of the Regent Arran.[1078]

In 1552 Maitland was one of the commissioners appointed to settle the differences with England on the subject of the Debateable Land on the Borders, and it is believed that the successful issue of this undertaking was the occasion of his receiving the honour of knighthood. At anyrate, two years later, upon his appointment as an Extraordinary Lord of Session he is called Sir Richard Maitland.

Again, in 1559, he was employed as one of the commissioners to England in a conference upon the state of the Borders; Sir Ralph Sadler, one of the delegates on the other side, mentioning him then as “the olde Larde of Lethington, the wisest man of them.” The sudden termination of his stay in England at this time, and the substitution of his eldest son William in his place, has been attributed to the rapid approach of the affliction which was to[189] darken the remainder of his life. It is at least certain that he had completely lost his sight before the arrival of Queen Mary in Scotland in 1561, as in his poem of welcome he mentions the piteous fact.

Under this terrible privation, which, with the circumstance of advancing years, most men would have considered sufficient reason for retirement from active life, Maitland seems in no way to have let his heart sink or his energies abate, and nowhere in his work does there appear a peevish or despondent note on the subject. The affliction which added his name to the honourable roll of blind Homers did not prevent his continuing to fulfil the duties of his position; and he remains one of those examples, in which the history of the blind is peculiarly rich, of men who have encountered extraordinary difficulties only to surmount them. In November, 1561, he was admitted an Ordinary Lord of Session under the title of Lethington, his son being permitted the privilege, by a special regulation, of accompanying him within the bar. In 1562 Queen Mary appointed him Keeper of the Privy Seal for life; and in the following year he and his second son, John, were “conjunctlie and severally made Factouris, Yconomuss, and Chalmirlans of hir hienes Abbacie of Haddingtoun.” The former office he resigned in 1567 in favour of this son, who by that time had obtained the Priory of Coldingham in commendam; but for seventeen years longer he retained his seat on the bench, where he appears to have performed his duties to the last without fear and without reproach.

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The troubles which assailed Maitland’s later years came, not from his own acts, but mostly from the restless and ambitious character of his eldest son, the too famous Secretary Maitland of Mary’s reign and the succeeding regencies. The constantly changing part played by this politician in the highest events of his time has been recorded in literature by Buchanan’s biting satire, The Camæleon, written in 1571. Made Secretary of State by that Catholic of Catholics, James the Fifth’s widow, Mary of Guise, he nevertheless presently became one of the Protestant “Lords of Congregation”; and after taking part in the negotiations with Elizabeth as to the terms upon which she would aid the Reformers, he again, with characteristic paradox, turned round in the General Assembly of 1564 to accuse Knox of teaching sedition. Made a Lord of Session by Mary Stuart, he was, notwithstanding, implicated in the murders both of Rizzio and of Darnley; and after signing the document accusing the queen of the latter crime, and after fighting against her at Langside, he strangely enough saw fit to take her part to some extent in the conference at York, and presently united with Kirkaldy of Grange in holding Edinburgh Castle in her interest against the Regents. Finally, upon the surrender of that stronghold in May, 1573, he was taken prisoner, with his brother John and other refugees of the Queen’s party, and being conveyed to Leith, died there, not without suspicion of having poisoned himself.

This erratic policy of the son naturally brought trouble upon his father. The hardest blow which the[191] latter received was from an act of parliament obtained by the Regent Morton as head of the king’s party in 1571. This act declared the secretary and his two brothers rebels, and forfeited their lands and property. Upon the strength of it the house and estate of Lethington, then occupied by the Secretary, were seized, spoiled, and withheld from the poet for a number of years, and his second son was left at liberty only under heavy penalties. These proceedings seem to have roused the old knight to all the indignation of which he was capable. He made earnest appeals to law and to the interest of Queen Elizabeth with the Regent. Nevertheless justice was not accorded him until the year 1581. Upon the downfall of Morton in that year his house and lands were restored to him, and under the patronage of James VI. his son John was appointed an Ordinary Lord of Session. He himself further, in 1584, was allowed the unique privilege of resigning the duties of the Bench in favour of a nominee, retaining at the same time the emoluments of the office; and presently, under the government of the young king, he obtained an act of parliament indemnifying all his losses.

This satisfaction did not, indeed, arrive too soon, for his death occurred on 20th March, 1586, when he was in his ninetieth year. His wife, the partner of his joys and sorrows for sixty years, is said to have died on his funeral day.

Maitland’s life, apart from its literary interest, possesses value for the example which it affords of private family history of the time. He was founder of the[192] first of those great Scottish houses, the Maitlands, Dalrymples, and Dundases, which have risen one after another to the highest rank and influence by the profession of the law. His two sons and his grandson in succession occupied seats upon the bench, and in 1624 the last-named was raised to the peerage by the title of Earl of Lauderdale. John, the son of this earl, and great-grandson of the poet, was from 1663 virtually ruler of Scotland, and in 1672 was created Duke of Lauderdale by Charles II. Maitland’s third son, Thomas, was the author of several Latin poems,[1079] but is best remembered as one of the interlocutors in Buchanan’s famous treatise De Jure Regni apud Scotos.

The manuscript collection of ancient Scottish poems which forms Maitland’s best-known claim to regard, and upon which he is understood to have been engaged from 1555 onwards, is contained in two volumes, a folio and a quarto. Of the folio, believed to have been written by Sir Richard himself, “a very few parts,” says Pinkerton, “are in a small hand; the remainder is in a strong Roman hand.” The quarto consists chiefly of transcripts of Sir Richard’s own original pieces from the folio, and is in the handwriting of Miss Mary Maitland, third daughter of the collector, the first page bearing her name and the date 1585. It appears therefore to have been transcribed in the last year of Maitland’s life. After descending in the family for three generations, these manuscripts were bought, at the sale of the Duke of Lauderdale’s[193] library, by Samuel Pepys, Secretary of the Admiralty to Charles II. and James II., and he in 1703 bequeathed them to Magdalen College, Cambridge. The value of the collection was first discovered by Bishop Percy, who printed a specimen in his Reliques; one also appeared in Allan Ramsay’s Evergreen; and a selection, including twenty-six of Sir Richard Maitland’s original compositions, was published by Pinkerton in 1786 under the title of Ancient Scottish Poems. Another quarto MS., bearing the title The Selected Poemes of Sir Richard Metellan of Lydington, was presented to the library of Edinburgh University by Drummond of Hawthornden; and from this, with the addition of the single composition which it omits, the Maitland Club printed Sir Richard’s poems complete in 1830.

Besides his original poems and his poetical collections, Maitland is known to have written a History of the House of Seytoun and a volume of Decisions collected by him from 1550 till 1565. The former was printed by the Maitland Club in 1829, and the MSS. of both are preserved in the Advocates’ Library, Edinburgh.

As an original poet Sir Richard Maitland cannot be placed in the foremost rank. He is understood to have produced none of his existing verse until after the age of sixty-one, and naturally his compositions possess little of the fire, brilliancy, and warmth of youthful work. For this lack, however, they atone to some extent by other qualities. Full of sage observation and shrewd worldly wisdom, they throw a light,[194] in nearly every line, upon the life and manners of that day. Mourning the rampant oppression and strife of the nobles, and the sorrows and follies of the nation, his verse breathes the inner sadness of Queen Mary’s time. It was his fate to live through the intestine dissensions of three successive minorities, as well as through the great struggle of the Reformation in Scotland, and it is no marvel therefore that he again and again repeats the prayer, “God give the lordis grace till aggrie!” Much of his work is of a religious cast, and exhibits him in a grave and venerable light. This, however, is not his happiest strain, and his longest composition, “Ane Ballat of the Creation of the Warld,” is little more than a bald paraphrase of the Bible narrative in Genesis. It is in his satiric and moral pieces that Maitland appears at his best. These, as in the case of Lyndsay, deal with a wide range of subjects, from the vanities of ladies’ dress to the venality of courtiers and the corruptions of church and state. Much of his satire, it is true, owes it chief interest to connection with events of his own age; but elsewhere he proves himself a not unworthy inheritor of the mantle of the Lyon King, his best pieces containing touches closely applicable to the human nature of all time.

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Of several poets who owe the preservation of their works and memory entirely to the writer of the Bannatyne Manuscript, the chief is Alexander Scot. Pinkerton termed him the Anacreon of old Scottish poetry, and placed him at the head of the ancient minor poets of his country—a judgment in which succeeding critics have uniformly agreed.

As with many other of these ancient singers, almost nothing is certainly known of the facts of Scot’s life, the little information we possess consisting almost wholly of deduction from the poet’s works themselves. Dr. Laing was inclined to set his birth about the year 1520, and quoted a precept of legitimation from the Privy Seal Register of 1549 as possibly concerning him. This precept, if proved to refer to the poet, would declare him a natural son of Alexander Scot, prebendary of the Chapel Royal of Stirling. The presumption, however, is somewhat slight. From the refrain of “The Justing at the Drum” it has been inferred that he resided in the neighbourhood of Dalkeith, near Edinburgh. One of his pieces, in the opinion of Lord Hailes, expresses the “Lament of[218] the Maister of Erskyn,” who was killed at Pinkie-cleugh in 1547, and from this and other allusions it is gathered that Scot began writing at least so early as 1545, while, of course, none of his extant verse can be of later date than 1568, the year in which Bannatyne compiled his MS. The general strain of the poems declares Scot to have been a layman; from the occurrence of several legal terms in his work it has been suggested that he was a jurist; and from expressions such as that in “Ane New Yeir Gift to the Quene Mary,” in which he prays God to give the young ruler grace “to punisch papistis and reproche oppressouris,” it seems clear that he favoured the principles of the Reforming party. On only one point of his personal history, however, entire certainty exists. The colophon of his poem “To luve vnluvit” expressly states that the piece was written “quhen his wyfe left him.” From two of his compositions, “Luve preysis,” and “Vp, helsum hairt,” it might be gathered that his lady was of higher rank than himself, a fact which, if true, might account for his wedded unhappiness. Perhaps he was one of those whose love, too complete and obvious, fails to exact adequate return. This possibility, indeed, he seems to have discovered, as in more than one of his later poems he sorrowfully counsels something of reserve and self-restraint as the best policy of the lover. His experience had also the effect of opening his eyes to the shortcomings of the other sex, and induced him to allude to these in lines of biting satire. A passage in a poem of his contemporary Montgomerie informs us that Scot lived[219] to advanced years. In a sonnet to Robert Hudson, written about the year 1584, the author of “The Cherrie and the Slae” refers to “old Scot” as still alive.

With a few exceptions, the poems of Scot[1216] are all of the amatory kind, and, taken together, form a fairly complete comment on the pains, the pleasures, and the arts of love. His longest composition, the “New Yeir Gift to Quene Mary” sheds much curious light upon the social conditions of 1562; and in “The Justing at the Drum,” an imitation of “Chrystis Kirk on the Grene,” he has followed the initiative of Dunbar and Lyndsay, and in a quaint strain of humour has burlesqued the practice of the tourney. Of the general tenor of his work the lines of Allan Ramsay may be taken as a fair description.

Exhibiting mastery of a surprising variety of stanza forms, his verse possesses an ease and finish unsurpassed in his time. Here and there he flashes out[220] in a terse aphoristic style, as when he gives his views on womankind—

Not less is he at home in paradox:

And for expression of downright democratic sentiment, the author of “A man’s a man for a’ that” might have written the lines—

But, apart from its poetic fascination, a peculiar interest attaches to the work of the man who struck the first distinctly modern note in Scottish poetry. Breaking away from the conventional forms of the old makars, Alexander Scot wrote in a direct, natural fashion, and but for their rich quaintness of expression and their antique language, many of his pieces might almost be the work of a poet of the nineteenth century. The form of his work, its aptness to turn upon some single thought or situation, and its general tendency to direct expression of personal feeling and experience, entitle him to be considered the earliest of the more distinctly lyrical poets of Scotland.

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