Pass to my Commisar and be confest,

Before him cour on Kneis and cum in Will; And syne gar Stobo for thy Lyfe protest :

Renunce thy Rymes, baith ban and burn thy Bill, Heive to the Heaven thy Hands and hald thee still.

Do thou not this Brigane thou sall be brint

With Pik, Tar, Fyre, Gun-powder and Lint,
On Arthur-Sate, or ony hicher Hill.
I haif ambulate on Parnaso the Mountain,

Inspyrt with Hernes frae his golden Sphere,
And dulcely drunk of Eloquence the Fountain,

Quhen purifeet with Frost, and flowand cleir,
And thou hast cum in Merch or Februeir;

There till ane Pule and drunk the Padock Rude,

That gars thee Ryme in Terms of Sence denude, And blaber Things that wyse Men hate to heir. Thou luves nae Ersch, Elf, I understand,

But it suld be all true Scotismens Beid;
It was the first gude Language of this Land,

And ScotA gart it multyplie and spreid,
Till Corspatrick that we of Treason reid,

Thy Fore-fader, made Ersch and Erschmen thin,

Throu his Treason brocht Inglis Fassouns in,
Sae wald thysell, micht thou to him succeed.
Fule Ignorant, in all thy Mowis and Makks,
It

may be verryfeit thy Wit is thin,
Quhen thou wryts Densmen dryd upon the Ratts,

Densmen of Denmark are of the Kings Kin,
The Wit thou suld have had was casten in,

Even at thy Erse backward with an Staw-slung;

Therefore, fals Harlot Hure-son, hald thy Tung; Deilber thou deives the Deil thy Eme with Din. Quhairas thou says, that I steil Hens and Lamms,

I let thee Wit I haif Land Store and Staks, Thou wald be fain to gnaw Lad with thy Gamms

Under my Burde frush Banes behind Dogs backs

Thy Purse its tume, I half baith Steids and Caiks,

Thou tint the Sok, I Coulter haif and Pleuch;

Thy Geir and Substance is a Widdy teuch, On Falconn Mount, about thy Craig to rax. And zit mount Falconn Gallows is owre fair,

For to be fleyt with sic a frontles Face;
Cum hame and hing under an Trie of Air,

To eard thee under it, I sall purchase Grace,
To eit thy Flesh the Dog sall haif nae Space.

Ravens sall ryve naething but thy Tung Rutes;

For thou sic Malice of thy Master mutes,
It is weil set that thou sic barret brace.
A small Fynance amang thy Freinds thou beggit,

To stanche thy skorne with Haly Mulds thou lost Thou saild to get a Dowkar for to dreggit;

It lyes clos'd in a Clout on Northway Coast,
Sic Revel gars thee be servt with cauld Roast,

And aft sit supperless beyond the Se,

Cryand at Doris, Caritas amore DEI, Breikles, Barefute, and all in Duds up dost. Deilber has nocht ado with a Dunbar;

The Earls of Murray bure that Surname richt,
That to their King ay true and constant war;

Of that Kin came Dunbar of Westfield Knicht,
That Succession is hardy, wyse and wicht;

And has naething ado now with the Deil,

But Deilber is thy Kin, and kens the Weil, And has in Hell for thee a Chalmer dicht. Curst crupand Craw, I sall gar crop thy Tung,

And thou sall cry Cormunduni on thy Kneis,
Derch I sall ding thee till I gar thee dung,

And thou sall lick thy Lipps and sweir thou lies:
I sall degrad the gracless of thy Greis,

Scald thee for Skorn, and scor thee af thy Sule,

Gar round thy Heid transform thee as a Fule, And with Treason gar trone thee on the Treis.

Rawmoud Rebald, and Ranegald Rehator,

My Lynage and Forbeirs war evir leil,
It cums aft to thy sell to be a Traytor,

To ryde by Nicht, to rin, to reive and steil,
Quhen thou puts Poyson to me I appeil
Thee in that Place, and prive it on thy Person,

Claim not to Clergy, I defy thee, Garsoun,
Thou sall buy it deir enouch, Derch of the Deil.
In Ingland, Owl, sould be thy Habitation;

Homage to Edward Langshanks made thy Kin,
Into Dunbar resaivt him thy fals Nation :

They sould be exylt Scotland mair and myn,
Ane stark Gallows, a Widdy and a Pin:

The Heid Poynt of thy Elders Arms are

Written abune in Poysie, Hang Dunbar, Quarter and draw, and make that Surname thin. I am the Kings Blude, his trew and special Clerk,

That nevir zit imagind his Offence,
Constant in Mynd, in Thocht, in Word, and Wark,

Dependand only on his Excellence,
Trestand to have of his Magnificence,

Gwairdoun, reward, and Benyfice bedein,

Quhair that the Ravins sall ryve out baith thy Ein And on the Rattis sall be thy Residence. Frae Atrick Forest forward to Domfreise,

Thou beggit with a Pardon in all Kirks, Collaps, Cruds, Butter, Meil, Grots, Gryce, and Geis,

And undernicht quhyles thou stall Staigs and Stirks, Because now Scotlund of thy begging irks,

Thou shaips in France to be Knicht of the field,

Thou has thy Clam Shells and thy Burdoun keild, Ilk Ways unhonest, Wolrun, that thou works. Thou may not pass Mount Bernard for wild Beists,

Nor win throw Mount Scarpary for the Snaw, Mount Nicholas, Mount Godard thee arreists,

Sic Beis of Briggand blinds them with a Blaw.

In Paris with thy Master Burreau,

Abyde and be his Prentise neir the Bank,

And help to hang Fripons for half a Frank, And at the last thy self maun thole the Law. Thou haltand Harlot neir a gude thou hais,

For Falt of Pussance, Peilor, thou may pak thee; Thou drank thy Sark, and als wedset thy Clais;

There is nae Lord in Service that will tak thee.
A Pack of Flae-Skins Fynance for to mak thee,

Thou sall receive at Danskyn of my Tailzie,

With de profundis set thee and that failzie, And I sall send the blak Deil for to bak thee. Into the Katherine thou made a foul Kahute;

For thou bedrait hir doun frae Stern to steir, Upon her Sydes was sein that thou could schute, The Dirt cleaves till hir Tows this Twenty Zeir, The Firniament nor Firth was never cleir,

Quhyle thou, Deils Birth Deilber, was on the Se,

Ilk Saul had sunkin throu the Sin of thee, War not the People made sae miekle Prayer. Quhen that the Schip was saynt and under Sail,

Foul Brow in Hoil thou purpost for to pass,
Thou schot and was not sicker of thy Tail,

Beshait the Steir, the Coinpas and the Glass,
The Skiper bad gar land thee at the Bass,

Thou spewd and custe mony a laithly Lump,

Faster nor all the Mariners coud pump, And zit thy Wame is war nor eir it was. Had they been sae provided of Schot of Gun

By Men of Weir, bot perell they had past ;
As thou was lowse and ready with thy Bun,

They neid haif tane nae towing at the last,
For thou could cuke a Cartful at a Cast;

Ther is nae Ship that thee will now resaif,

Faster thou fylt than Fyfteensum might laife, And myrd them with thy Muck to the mid Mast.

Throw Ingland theive, and tak thee to thy Fute,

And bound to haif with thee a fals Botwand, Ane Horsmanshell thou call thee at the Mute,

And with that Craft convoy thee throw the Land; Be naithing airch, but fairly tak in Hand;

Happen thou to be hangit in Northumber,

Then all thy Kin are weil quit of thy Cumber, For that maun be thy Dume I understand. Hie soverain Lord, let neir this sinful Sot

Do Schame frae hame unto zour Nation;
Let neir again sic ane be call'd a Scot,

A rotten Crok Lowse of the Dok ther doun.
Frae honest Folk devyde the laithly Loun,

On sum wyld Desert quhair ther is no Repair,

For fyling and infecting of the Air, Carry this cankert corrupt Carion. Thou was consavit in the grit Eclipps,

Ane Monster maid be grit Mercurius,
Nae Hald-again or Ho is on thy Hipps,

Infortunate, curst, false and furious,
Nl-schriven, wan-thriven, not clean nor curious,

A Myting for flyting, the Flurdome maist lyke,

A crabbit, scabbit, ill-facit Messen-tyke,
A Schit, bot Wit, schrewt and injurious.
Greit in the Glaiks, gude Maister Gwiliane Gowkks,

Maist imperfyte in Poetrie and Prose,
All closs under the Cloud of Nicht thou coukks;

Rymes thou of me, of Rethory the Rose !
Lunatick Lymmar, Luschbald, lous thy Hose,

That I may touch thy Tung with Tribulation,

In recompensing of thy Conspiration,
Or turss thee out of Scotland, tak thy Choice.
A Benifice quha wald gife sic a Beist,

But gif it wer to jingle Judas Bells,
Tak thee a Fiddle or a Flute to jest,

Undocht thou art, ordain’d for vaithing ells,