So new, so fresch, so pleasant to behold,
The plumys eke like to the floure jonettis,
And other of schap, like to the floure jonettis;
And, above all this, there was, wele I wote,
Beautee eneuch to mak a world to dote.

About hir neck, quhite as the fayre anmaille,
A gudelie cheyne of small orfeverye,
Quhare by there hang a ruby, without faille
Like to ane hert schapin verily,
That, as a sperk of lowe so wantonly

Semyt birnying upon hir quhite throte.
Now gif there was gud pertye, God it wote.

And for to walk that fresche Mayes morowe,

Ane huke she had upon her tissew quhite, That gudeliare had not bene sene to forowe, As I suppose, and girt sche was alyte; Thus halflyng lowse for haste, to suich delyte, It was to see her youth in gudelihed, That for rudenes to speke thereof I drede.

To dance thir damysellis them dicht,
These lasses licht of laitis;

Their gloves were of the raffell right,
Their schone were of the straitis,
Their kirtles were of lyncome light,
Well prest with many plaitis;
They were so nyss when men them nigh'd,
They squelit like any gaitis,
Full loud,
At Christ's Kirk on the green, that day.

Of all these maidens mild as meid,
Was none so gymp as Gillie;
As any rose her rude was red,
Her lyre was like the lily:
Fow yellow, yellow was her head,
But she of love was silly,
Though all her kin had sworn her dead,
She would have but sweet Willie

She scorned Jock and skraipet at him,
And murgeon'd him with mokkis,
He would have luvit, she would not let him,
For all his yellow lokkis;

He cherisht her, she bad go chat him,
She comptit him not two clokkis;
So shamefully his short gown set him,
His limbs were like two rokkis,
She said,
At Christ's Kirk on the green, that day.

Tom Lutar was their minstrel meet,

O Lord, as he could lanss,
He played so schill, and sang so sweet,
While Towsy took a transs;
Old Light-foot, there he did forleit,
And counterfeited France,
He us'd himself as man discreet,
And up took morrice dance,
Full loud,
At Christ's Kirk on the green, that day.

Then Stephen came stepping in with stends,
No rink might him arrest,
Splayfoot he bobbit up with bends,

For Maud he made request:
He lap while he lay on his lends
But rising he was priest,
While that he hostit, at both ends,
For honour of the feast,

That day,
At Christ's Kirk on the green, that day.

Syne Robin Roy began to revel

And Downy till him druggit, Let be, quoth Jock, and call'd him javell, And by the tail him tugged;

They girnit, and leit gird, with granis,
Each gossip other grevit;

Some struck with stingis, some gathered stanis,
Some fled, and evil eschewit;

The minstrel wan within two wanis,

That day, full well he previt;

For he came home with unbirs'd banis,
Where fechtaris were mischevit,
For ever,
At Christ's Kirk on the green, that day.
Heich Hucheoun, with an hissel ryss;
To red can throw them rummill;
He mudlet them down, like any mice,
He was no batie-bummil;
Though he was wicht, he was not wise,
With such jangleris to jummil;
For from his thumb they dang a slice,
While he cried barla-fummill,
I'm slain,
At Christ's Kirk on the green, that day.

When that he saw his blood so reid,
To flee might no man lat him;
He would it had been for auld feid;
He thought one cried, have at him;
He gart his feet defend his heid,
The far farar it set him;

While he was past out of all pleid,
He suld been swift that gat him,
Through speed,
At Christ's Kirk on the green, that day.

The town sowtar in grief was bowdin,
His wife hang in his waist:

His body was with blood all browdin,

He granit like any gaist;

His glittering hair, that was full gowden,
So hard in love him laist;

That for her sake he was not zowdin,
Seven mile while he was chaist,
And more,

At Christ's Kirk on the green, that day.

The miller was of manly mak,

To meet him was no mowis;
Their durst not ten come him to tak,
So nowit he their nowis;

The buschment haill about him brak,
And bikkerit him with bowis,
Syne traitourly behind his back,
They hewed him on the howis,
Behind,
At Christ's Kirk on the green, that day.

Two that were heidsmen of the herd,
Ran upon uderis like rammis;
Than follow it feymen, right unaffeir'd,
Bet on with barrow trammis;
But where their gobbis were ungeird,
They got upon the gammis;
While bloody barkit was their beird;
As they had werreit lammis

Most like,

At Christ's Kirk on the green, that day.

The wives kest up an hideous yell,

When all the yunkeris yokkit;

As fierce as any fyr-flaught fell,

Frickes to the field they flokkit:

The carlis with clubbis could other quell,
While blood at briestis out bokkit;
So rudely rang the commoun bell,
While all the steeple rokkit,
For reird,

At Christ's Kirk on the green, that day.
When they had beirit, like baited bullis,
And branewod, brynt in bailis,

They wox as meek as any mulis,

That mangit were with mailis:
For faintness thir forfochin fulis

Fell down, like flauchtir failis;
Fresh men came in and haild the dulis
And dang them down in dailis,

Bedene,
At Christ's Kirk on the green, that day.

When all was done, Dick, with an aix,
Came forth, to fell a futher;
Quod he, Where are yon hangit smaiks,
Right now wald slain my bruther?
His wife bad him go home, good glaiks,
And so did Meg his mother;

He turn'd, and gave them both their paiks;
For he durst ding none other,
For feir,
At Christ's Kirk on the green, that day.

DIVINE TRUST.1

Sen throw vertew incressis dignitie,
And vertew is flour and rute of nobles ay,
Of ony wit or quhat estait thou be

His steppis follow, and dreid for none effray;
Eject vice, and follow truth alway;
Lufe maist thy God that first thy lufe began,
And for ilk inche He will thé quyte ane span.

Be not ouir proude in thy prosperitie,

For as it cummis, sa will it pas away;
The tyme to compt is schort, thow may weill se,
For of grene grass sone cummis wallowit hay.
Labour in truth quhilk suith is of thy fay;
Traist maist in God, for He best gyde thé can,
And for ilk inche He will thé quyte ane span.

Sen word is thrall, and thocht is only fre,
Thou dant thy toung that power hes and may
Thou steik thy ene fra warldis vanitie,

Refraine thy lust and harkin quhat I say:
Graip or tho slyde, and keip furth the hie way,
Thou hald the fast upon thy God and man,
And for ilk inche He will thé quyte ane span.

Lord Hailes conjectures that he acted as preceptor to the

called The Gude and Godlie Ballates, published in 1570, It has been entitled by Dr. Rogers "Divine Trust.”—ED.

Benedictine convent of that town. It is supposed that he was born about the year 1430, and it is known that he died at an advanced age, as Sir Francis Kinaston tells us that being very old, he died of a diarrhoe or fluxe." It is also known that he passed away early in | the sixteenth century, as his name appears among the latest of the poets lamented by Dunbar in his poem on the "Deth of the Makkaris," printed in the year 1508:--

"In Dumfermling he hes tane Bronn,
With gude Mr. Robert Henrysoun."

On the poet's own testimony he appears to have lived to a good old age, and happily not to have been without the comforts so necessary in advanced years. In the opening stanzas of the "Testament of Faire Creseide," the longest of his productions, he says:

"I made the fire, and beked me aboute,

Then toke I drink, my spirits to comforte,
And armed me well fro the cold thereoute.
To cutte the winter night, and make it shorte,
I took a quere, and lefte all other sporte,
Writen by worthy Chaucer glorious,
Of faire Creseide and lusty Troilus."

Of this poem a critic says, "Wittily observing that Chaucer, in his fifth book, had related the death of Troilus, but made no mention what became of Crescide, he learnedly takes upon him, in a fine poetical way, to express the punishment and end due to a false inconstant, which commonly ends in extreme misery." The poem was first printed by Henry Charteris in 1593, and has been appended to various editions of Chaucer's Troilus and Creseide. The "Testament of Creseide" and Henryson's pastoral poem of "Robene and Makyne," the earliest of bucolics in the Scottish language, was printed (sixty-five copies) for the Bannatyne Club in 1824 by George Chalmers. Of the latter poem a writer in Blackie's Dictionary of Eminent Scotsmen remarks, "I consider it superior in many respects to the similar attempts of Spenser and Broune; it is free from the glaring improprieties which sometimes appear in the pastorals of those more recent writers, and it exhibits many

genuine strokes of poetical delineation." His poetical tale entitled "The Traitie of Orpheus Kyng, and how he came to yeid to hewyn and to hel to seik his Quene," was first published in 1508. Portions of both of these poems have been highly commended by Sir Walter Scott, Warton, and other competent judges; but it is in his fables that Henryson's poetical powers appear to greatest advantage. The best of his "Fabils," thirteen in number, is the common story of the "Town Mouse and the City Mouse," which he treats with much humour and characteristic description, and concludes with a beautifully expressed moral. He gives it the Scotch title of "The Borrowstoun Mous and the Landwart Mous." This collection, in manuscript, is still preserved in the Harleian Library, and is dated 1571.

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The "Fables" of Henryson were reprinted in 1832 for the Bannatyne Club, from the edition of Andrew Hart, printed in Edinburgh, 1621, -of which the only known copy is in the Advocates' Library-with a memoir prefixed by Dr. Irving, the editor. Nearly the whole of Henryson's poems," says a critic, "bear evidence of having been composed in the decline of life. In this he resembled his model Chaucer, whose Canterbury Tales, the best of all his works, were written when on the verge of threescore years and ten. Henryson had not, however, like Chaucer, cause to blame a vagrant muse in his dying hours, for anything in his writings which might pollute to future ages the stream of future morals. His sentiments are uniformly worthy of his years-pure, chastened, and instructive; and whatever share of the poetical art he displays it is solely employed in giving to the lessons of virtue some heightening charm, or rendering the ways of vice more odious." Until recently it was a subject of regret that only specimens of Henryson's poems were to be met with in the collections of Hailes, Pinkerton, Ramsay, Sibbald, Irving, and Ellis. The desideratum was at length supplied by David Laing, who first collected his poetical writings and prepared a memoir of his life, issued at Edinburgh in 1865.

Esope, myne autour, makis mentioun
Of twa myiss; and they war sisters deir;
Off quhom the elder dwelt in borrowstown;

The yonger wend up-on-land, weil neir Rycht solitair; quhyle under busk and breir, Quhyle in the corn, in uther menys schacht, As outlawis dois that levis on ylin wacht.

The rurall mouss into the winter tyde

Had hungar, cauld, and tholit grit distress;
The tothir mouss that in the burgh can byde
Was gilt brother, and made ane free burgess.
Tol-free alswa, but custom, mair or less,
And freedom had to ga quhair eir sche list
Amang the cheiss and meill, in ark and kist.

Ane tyme quhen scho was full, and on fute fure,
Scho tuk in mynd her sister up-on-land,
And langit for her cheir, and her welfair,
And se quhat lyfe scho led under the wand:
Barefute allane, with pykstaff in her hand,
As pure pilgrim, scho passit out of town,
To seik her sister, baith our daill and down.

Throw mony wilsum wayis couth scho walk, Throw mure and moss, throwout bank, busk, and breyir,

Fra fur to fur, cryand fra balk to balk,

Cum furth to me, myne sueit sister deir! Cry peip anis-with that the mouse couth heir, And knew her voce, as kynnismen will do By verry kind; and furth scho came her to.

Their hairtly cheir, Lord God! gif ye had seen, Was kyind quhen thir sisters twa wer met, Quhilk that oft syss was schawin thame betwene; For quhyles thai leuch, and quhyles for joy thay gret;

Quhyles kissit sucit, and quhyles in armis plet. And thus they fure, quhill sobirt was their meid, Then fute for fute onto thair chalmer yeid.

As I hard say, it was a simple wane

Off fog and ferne, full maikly was it maid, A silly scheill under a yerd-fast stane,

Of quhilk the entry was not hie nor bred:
And in the same thai went bot mair abaid,
Withoutten fyre or candell burnand bricht,
For commonly sic pykers lykes not lycht.

Quhen they war lugit thus, thir silly myss,
The yungest sister until her butrie hyied,
Brought forth nuttis, and peiss, instead of spyss;
Gif that was weilfarn doit, on thame besyd.
This burgess mouss permyngit full of pryd,

1 Sibbald says, "This fable is written with much naïveté, and being the very first example of that manner in the Scottish language, is eminently curious."-ED.

Than said, sister, is this your daily fude?
Quhy not, quod scho, think ye this mess not gude?

Na, be my saul, me think it but a skorn;

Ma dame, quod sche, ye be the mair to blame; My moder said, after that we wer born, That ye and I lay baith within her wame; I kep the rycht auld custom of my dame, And of my syre, lyvand in povertie, For landis haif we nane of propertie.

My fair sister, quod scho, haif me excusit;
This rude dyet and I can not accord;
With tender meit my stomach ay is usit;
For quhy, I fair as weill as ony lord:
Thir widderit peiss and nuttis, or thai be bord,
Will brek my teith, and mak my mouth full
sklender,

Quhilk usit wer befor to meit mair tender.

Weill, weill sister, than quoth the rural mouss, Gif that ye pleiss sic things as ye se heir, Baith meit and drink, and arbourie and house, Sall be your awin-will ye remain all yeir, Ye sall it haif, with blyth and hairtly cheir; And that suld make the messes that are rude, Amang friendis richt tendir, sueit and gude.

Quhat plesans is in feists feir dilicate,

The quhilk ar given with a gloumand brow; A gentle heart is better recreate

With blyth usage than seith to him a cow; Ane Modicum is better, yeill allow, Sae that gude-will be carver at the dess, Than a thrawn vult, and mony a spycie mess. For all this moral exhortatioun,

The burges mous had little will to sing, But hevely scho kest her visage doun,

For all the daintys scho couth till her bring; Yit at the last scho said, half in hiething, Sister, this vittell and your ryal feist May weill suffice for sic a rural beist.

Let be this hole, and cum unto my place,
I sall you schaw, by gude experience,
That my Gude-Fridays better than your Pase,
And a dish licking worth your hale expence;
Houses I haif enow of grit defence,

Of cat, nor fall, nor trap, I haif nae dreid.
I grant, quod sche, convinced, and furth they
yeid.

In skugry ay throw rankest gras and corn,

And wonder slie prively throw they creip; The eldest was the gyde, and went beforn, The yunger to her wayis tuke gude keip; On nicht they ran, and on the day did sleip,