Christs Kirk on the green composed (as is supposed) by King James V ; newly corrected according to the original copy.

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Title
Christs Kirk on the green composed (as is supposed) by King James V ; newly corrected according to the original copy.
Author
James I, King of Scotland, 1394-1437.
Publication
[London? :: s.n.,
167-?]
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Subject terms
Albany, John Stewart, -- Duke of, 1481-1536 -- Poetry.
Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A46610.0001.001
Cite this Item
"Christs Kirk on the green composed (as is supposed) by King James V ; newly corrected according to the original copy." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A46610.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 12, 2025.

Pages

Page [unnumbered]

The Banishment of Poverty by J.D. of Albany:

To the Tune of the Last Good Night.
POx fa that pultran Poverty, Wae worth the time that I him saw Since first he laid his Fang on me My self from him I dought ne're draw: his wink to me has been a Law, He haunts me like a penny dog, Of him I stand far greater aw Than Pupil does of Pedagogue. The first time that he met with me, Was at a Clchan in the West, Its name I trow Kilbareban be; Where Habies Drons gave many a blast. There we shook hands, cald be his cast, An ill dead may that Custron die: For there he gripped me right fast When first I fell in Cautionrie. But yet in hopes to be reliev'd, And free'd from that foul Ladlie Lown, Fernʒier when Whigs were ill mischiv'd And forc'd to fling their Weapons down When we chas'd them from Glasgew Town, I with that Swinger thought to grapple, But when Indemnity came down, The Laydron caught me by the Thrple. But yet in hopes of more relief, A race I made to Arinfrew. Where they did bravely buff my Beef, And made my Body Black and Blew. At Justice Court I them pursu'd, Expecting help for their Reproof, Indemnity thought nothing due, The Devil a farthing for my Loof. But wishing that I might ride East, To trot on Foot I soon would tyre, My Page allow'd me not a Beast, I wanted Git to pay the Hyre: He and I lap o're many a Syre, I heuked him at Calder cult. But long ere I came to Clypes-myre The ragged Rogue caught me a while. By oland Bush and Bridge of Bonny We bickered down towards Bankier, We fear'd u Revers for our Money, Nor whily whaes to grip our Gear▪ My tattered Tutor took no Fear, (Though he did travel in the Mirk) But thought it fit when he drew near To filsh a Forrage at Falkirk. No Man wou'd open me the Door, Because my Comerade stood by, They dread full ill I was right poor By my forsaken Company. But Cunninghame soon me espy'd, By how and hair he hail'd me in. And swore we should not part so dry, Though I were stripped to the Skin. I baid all night but long ere day, My curst companion bade me rise, I start up soon and took the way, He needed not to bid me twice. But what to do I did advise, In Lithgw I might not sit down, On a Scots Groat we ba••••ed thrice; And in at night to Edinburgh Town. We held the Long gate to Leith Wind, Where poorest Purses use to be, And in the Caltoun iudged syne, Fit Quarters for such Companie. Yet the High-Town fain would see, But that my Comrad did me discharge, He would me Blak••••ns Ale to pi, And must my eard that was right large, The morn I ventured up the Wind, And sloug'd in at the Neather-Bow, Thinking that Trooker for to tyne, Who does me Damnage what he dow: His company he does bestow On me to my great grief and Pain, Ere I the Throng cou'd wrestle throw The Lown was at my Heels again. I green'd to gang on the Plain-stanes, To see if Comrades wou'd me ken; We twa gad pacing there our laines The hungery Howr wixt twelve and One, Then I knew no way how to en, My Guts ruml'd like a Hurle-borrow, I din'd with Saints and Noble Men, Ev'n sweet St. Giels and Earl of Murray; Tykes Testment take them for their Treat, For I needed not my Teeth to pick, Though I was in a cruel Sweat, He set not by say what I like. I call'd him Turk and traked Tyke; And wearied him with many a Curse, My Banes were hard like a Stane-Dyke No Rig Maria was in my Purse: Kind Widdow Caddel sent for me To dine, as she did oft forsooth, But oh alas that might not be! For her House was too near the Tolbooth; Yet God reward her for her Love, And kindness which I feckful sound, Most ready still for my behove Ere that Hells Hound took her in Hand. I slipt my Page and stour'd to Leith To try my Credit at the Wine But foul a drible fyl'd my Teeth, He catch'd me at the Coffee Sign I staw down through the Neather-Wyne, My Lady Semples House was near, To enter there was my design Where Poverty durst ne're appear. I dined there, but I baid not long, My Lady fain wou'd shelter me, But oh alas! I needs must gang And leave that comely Company. Her Lad convoy'd me with her Key Out through the Garden to the Fields, Ere I the Links could graithly see My Governour vvas at my Heels. I dought not dance to Pipe nor Mary I had no stock for Cards nor Dice, But I sure to Sir William Sharp Who never made his counsel nice▪ That little man he is right wise And sharp as any Brier can be; He bravely gave me his advice Hovv I might Poison Poverty. Quoth he there grovvs hard by the Dial In Hattons Garden bright and sheen a soveraign Herb, call'd Penny Royal Which all the year grovvs fresh and green. Could you but gather it fair and clean, Your Busines vvould not go backvvard, But let account of it be seen To the Physicians of Exchequer. Or if their Ticket ye bring vvith you Come unto me, ye need not fear For I some of that Herb can give you Which I have planted this same Year. It vvill cause your Page disappear Who vvait, on you against your vvill; To gather it I shall you lear In my ovvn Yards of Stony-hill, But vvhen I dread that vvould not vvork I over thought me of a Wile Hovv I might at my leisure lurk My Graceless Guardian to beguil. 'Tis but my galloping a Mile Through Cannongate vvith little loss, Till I have Sanctuary a vvhile Within the Girth of Abby Closs. There I vvan in and blyth vvas I When to the Inner-Court I drevv, My Governour I did defy, For joy I clapt my Wings and crevv▪ There Messengers dare not pursue, Nor vvith their Wands Mens Shoulders flee There dvvels distressed Lairds anue In peace tho they have little Gear: I had not tarried an Hour or tvvo, When my blest Fortune vvas to see A sight sure by the mights of Mary Of that brave Duke of Albany. Where one blink of his Princly Eye Put that son▪ Foundring to the flight, Frae me he banish'd Poverty And made him take his last Good-night▪
FINIS.
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