The good Sir Hew of Eglintoun,
Ettrick, Heriot, and Wintoun,

He has tane out of this cuntrie:-
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

That scorpion fell has done infeck
Maister John Clerk, and James Afflek,
Fra ballat-making and tragedie:-
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Holland and Barbour he has berevit;
Alas! that he not with us levit
Sir Mungo Lockart of the Lee :-
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Clerk of Tranent eke he has tane,
That made the aventeris of Gawaine;
Sir Gilbert Hay endit has he:-
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He has Blind Harry and Sandy Traill
Slain with his schour of mortal hail,
Quhilk Patrick Johnstoun might nocht flee:-
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He has reft Mersar his endite
That did in luve so lively write,
So short, so quick, of sentence hie
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He has tane Rowll of Aberdene,
And gentill Rowll of Corstorphine;
Two better fallowis did no man see:-

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

aventeris] adventures.

fallowis] fellows.

schour] shower.

endite] inditing.

22

In Dunfermline he has tane Broun
With Maister Robert Henrysoun;
Sir John the Ross enbrasit has he:-
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

And he has now tane, last of a,
Good gentil Stobo and Quintin Shaw,
Of quhom all wichtis hes pitie:-
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Good Maister Walter Kennedy
In point of Dedth lies verily ;
Great ruth it were that so suld be:-

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Sen he has all my brothers tane,
He will nocht let me live alane;
Of force I mon his next prey be:-
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

--:

Since for the Death remeid is none,
Best is that we for Death dispone
After our death that live may we :-
Timor Mortis conturbat me.

ANONYMOUS

May in the Green-Wood

N somer when the shawes be sheyne,

IN

And leves be large and long,

Hit is full merry in feyre foreste

To here the foulys song.

15th Cent.

27. wichtis] wights, persons.

mon] must.

dispone] make

disposition.

22. sheyne] bright.

C

To se the dere draw to the dale
And leve the hilles hee,

And shadow him in the leves grene
Under the green-wode tree

Hit befell on Whitsontide

Early in a May mornyng,
The Sonne up faire can shyne,

And the briddis mery can syng.

"This is a mery mornyng,' said Litulle Johne
'Be Hym that dyed on tre;

A more mery man than I am one
Lyves not in Christiantè.

'Pluk up thi hert, my dere mayster,'
Litulle Johne can say,

And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tyme
In a mornynge of May.'

24.

He came al so still

To his mother's bour,

As dew in April

That falleth on the flour.

He came al so still

There his mother lay,

As dew in April

That falleth on the spray.

Mother and maiden

Was never none but she;
Well may such a lady

Goddes mother be.

Quia Amore Langueo

Na valley of this restles mind

IN

I sought in mountain and in mead,
Trusting a true love for to find.
Upon an hill then took I heed;
A voice I heard (and near I yede)
In great dolour complaining tho:
See, dear soul, how my sides bleed
Quia amore langueo.

Upon this hill I found a tree,
Under a tree a man sitting;

From head to foot wounded was, he;

His hearte blood I saw bleeding:

A seemly man to be a king,
A gracious face to look unto.
I asked why he had paining;
[He said,] Quia amore langueo.

24. yede] went.

15th Cent. (?)

I am true love that false was never;
My sister, man's soul, I loved her thus.
Because we would in no wise dissever
I left my kingdom glorious.

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

My fair love and my spouse bright!

I saved her from beating, and she hath me bet;
I clothed her in grace and heavenly light;
This bloody shirt she hath on me set;
For longing of love yet would I not let;
Sweete strokes are these: lo!

I have loved her ever as I her het

Quia amore langueo.

I crowned her with bliss and she me with thorn;

I led her to chamber and she me to die;

I brought her to worship and she me to scorn;

I did her reverence and she me villany.

To love that loveth is no maistry;

Her hate made never my love her foe:
Ask me then no question why-

Quia amore langueo.

Look unto mine handes, man!

These gloves were given me when I her sought;
They be not white, but red and wan;

Embroidered with blood my spouse them brought.

het] promised.