An angel host, a legion,
Breastplate many links are on,
Pennon of peacock feather,
Tall bush like a golden door,
All this lively-looking hair,
Virtue’s sun, maiden’s fetter,
Were she a goldsmith, we’d guess
Who owned its splendid brightness.
There’s something round her head then
Like summer on Rhiw Felen.
Round her, growing raiment springs,
Tent of the sun, like harpstrings,
Rush peelings, tips of harvest,
Fur upon a pinemart’s chest,
Peahen that wears, from custom,
Head to foot, the hair of broom,
Tough amber, like a twig-chain,
All inwoven, golden grain.
As tall as trees are those locks,
A crown of twigs, new beeswax.
Labour of bees brought ripeness,
Shoots of sunshine from her flesh,
Saffron on herbs of eye-bright,
Gold cherries, stars of the night.
Good was the growing harvest,
Water grasses, golden-tressed.
Pure herbs, with the lye rinsed wet,
Yellow hammer, silk thicket.
Mass of Mary Maudlen’s broom
Round her head, golden besom,
And ruddy, if it’s loosened,
Like a gold gown she has donned.
Her two breasts are overall
Roofed in gold, each a marvel.
Her skull is weighed with tresses,
Flax upon the yellow trees,
And if it’s left unravelled
Was there ever a bush so gold?
That the mark on her be patent
Of faith’s chrism from the font
And this bush hold life’s sunshine,
No bush under sun’s so fine.
DAFYDD AB EDMWND
translated by Tony Conran
To a Ladye
Sweit rois of vertew and of gentilnes,
Delytsum lyllie of everie lustynes,
Richest in bontie and in bewtie cleir,
And everie vertew that is held most deir,
Except onlie that ye ar mercyles.
In to your garthe this day I did persew,
Thair saw I flowris that fresche were of hew;
Baith whyte and reid moist lusty wer to seyne,
And halsum herbis upone stalkis grene;
Yit leif nor flour fynd could I nane of rew.
I dout that Merche, with his caild blastis keyne,
Hes slane this gentill herbe that I of mene,
Whois petewous deithe dois to my hart sic pane
That I wald mak to plant his rute agane,
So confortand his levis unto me bene.
WILLIAM DUNBAR
‘I sing of a maiden’
I sing of a maiden beyond compare:
King of all kings she chose to bear.
He came all so still where his mother was
As dew in April that falleth on the grass.
He came all so still to his mother’s bower
As dew in April that falleth on the flower.
He came all so still where 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 God’s mother be.
ANON
translated by Seamus Heaney
Shirt of a Lad
As I did the washing one day
Under the bridge at Aberteifi,
And a golden stick to drub it,
And my sweetheart’s shirt beneath it –
A knight came by upon a charger,
Proud and swift and broad of shoulder,
And he asked if I would sell
The shirt of the lad that I loved well.
No, I said, I will not trade –
Not if a hundred pounds were paid;
Not if two hillsides I could keep
Full with wethers and white sheep;
Not if two fields full of oxen
Under yoke were in the bargain;
Not if the herbs of all Llanddewi,
Trodden and pressed, were offered to me –
Not for the likes of that, I’d sell
The shirt of the lad that I love well.
ANON
translated by Tony Conran
‘The silver swan, who living had no note’
The silver swan, who living had no note,
When death approached unlocked her silent throat,
Leaning her breast against the reedy shore,
Thus sung her first and last, and sung no more:
Farewell all joys, O death come close mine eyes,
More geese than swans now live, more fools than wise.
ANON
The Blackbird of Derrycairn
Stop, stop and listen for the bough top
Is whistling and the sun is brighter
Than God’s own shadow in the cup now!
Forget the hour-bell. Mournful matins
Will sound, Patric, as well at nightfall.
Faintly through mist of broken water
Fionn heard my melody in Norway.
He found the forest track, he brought back
This beak to gild the branch and tell, there,
Why men must welcome in the daylight.
He loved the breeze that warns the black grouse,
The shout of gillies in the morning
When packs are counted and the swans cloud
Loch Erne, but more than all those voices
My throat rejoicing from the hawthorn.
In little cells behind a cashel,
Patric, no handbell gives a glad sound.
But knowledge is found among the branches.
Listen! That song that shakes my feathers
Will thong the leather of your satchels.
ANON
translated by Austin Clarke
‘Dear, if you change, I’ll never choose again’
Dear, if you change, I’ll never choose again,
Sweet, if you shrink, I’ll never think of love;
Fair, if you fail, I’ll judge all beauty vain,
Wise, if too weak, my wits I’ll never prove.
Dear, sweet, fair, wise; change, shrink nor be not weak,
And on my faith, my faith shall never break.
Earth with her flowers shall sooner heaven adorn,
Heaven her bright stars through earth’s dim globe shall move,
Fire heat shall lose and frosts of flames be born,
Air made to shine as black as hell shall prove:
Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transformed shall view,
Ere I prove false to faith, or strange to you.
ANON
May Poem
O lusty May, with Flora queen!
The balmy dropis from Phoebus sheen
Preluciand beams before the day:
By that Diana growis green
Through gladness of this lusty May.
Then Esperus, that is so bricht,
Til woful hairtis castis his light,
With bankis that bloomis on every brae;
And schouris are shed forth of their sicht
Through gladness of this lusty May.
Birdis on bewis of every birth,
Rejoicing notis makand their mirth
Richt plesantly upon the spray,
With flourishingis o’er field and firth
Through gladness of this lusty May.
All luvaris that are in care
To their ladies they do repair
In fresh morningis before the day,
And are in mirth ay mair and mair
Through gladness of this lusty May.
ANON
The Wife Who Would a Wanton Be
All night I clatter upon my creed,
Prayand to God that I were de
ad;
Or else out of this world he were:
Then should I see for some remeid.
Wo worth marriage for evermair!
Ye should hear tell (an he were gane)
That I should be a wanton ane.
To learn the law of lovis layr
In our town like me should be nane.
Wo worth marriage for evermair!
I should put on my russet gown,
My red kirtill, my hose of brown.
And let them see my yellow hair
Under my kerchief hingand down.
Wo worth marriage for evermair!
Lovers both should hear and see,
I should love them that would love me;
Their hearts for me should ne’er be sair:
But aye unweddit should I be.
Wo worth marriage for evermair!
ANON
Bring Us in Good Ale
Bring us in good ale, and bring us in good ale;
For our blessèd Lady sake bring us in good ale!
Bring us in no browne bred, for that is made of brane,
Nor bring us in no white bred, for therein is no gane,
But bring us in good ale!
Bring us in no befe, for there is many bones,
But bring us in good ale, for that goth downe at ones,
And bring us in good ale!
Bring us in no bacon, for that is passing fate,
But bring us in good ale, and gife us enought of that;
And bring us in good ale!
Bring us in no mutton, for that is often lene,
Nor bring us in no tripes, for they be seldom clene,
But bring us in good ale!
Bring us in no egges, for there are many schelles,
But bring us in good ale, and gife us nothing elles;
And bring us in good ale!
Bring us in no butter, for therein are many heres,
Nor bring us in no pigges flesch, for that will make us bores,
But bring us in good ale!
Bring us in no podinges, for therein is all Godes good,
Nor bring us in no venesen, for that is not for our blod;
But bring us in good ale!
Bring us in no capons flesch, for that is ofte dere,
Nor bring us in no dokes flesch, for they slober in the mere,
But bring us in good ale!
ANON
‘Western wind, when wilt thou blow?’
Western wind, when wilt thou blow,
The small rain down can rain?
Christ, if my love were in my arms,
And I in my bed again.
ANON
The Breach in the Wall
Alas, my love, they knocked you down,
Alas, my love, they knocked you down,
Alas, my love, they knocked you down,
In the breach in the wall.
It is a shame I was not there,
It is a shame I was not there,
It is a shame I was not there,
With four men at either hand.
The ale they brought to your wedding,
The ale they brought to your wedding,
The ale they brought to your wedding,
Was drunk at your wake.
I was a bride and a maiden,
A bride and a maiden,
A bride and a maiden
And a widow all at once.
You had no fault to speak of,
You had no fault to speak of,
You had no fault to speak of,
But that you did not betoken a long life.
ANON
translated by Meg Bateman
This is the House That Jack Built
This is the farmer sowing his corn,
That kept the cock that crowed in the morn,
That waked the priest all shaven and shorn,
That married the man all tattered and torn,
That kissed the maid en all forlorn,
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the dog,
That worried the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt
That lay in the house that Jack built.
ANON
‘They flee from me that sometime did me seek’
They flee from me that sometime did me seek
With naked foot stalking in my chamber.
I have seen them gentle tame and meek
That now are wild and do not remember
That sometime they put themselves in danger
To take bread at my hand; and now they range
Busily seeking with a continual change.
Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better; but once in special,
In thin array after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,
And she me caught in her arms long and small;
And therewithal sweetly did me kiss,
And softly said, Dear heart, how like you this?
It was no dream: I lay broad waking.
But all is turned thorough my gentleness
Into a strange fashion of forsaking;
And I have leave to go of her goodness
And she also to use newfangleness.
But since that I so kindly am served,
I would fain know what she hath deserved.
THOMAS WYATT
The Ballad which Anne Askew Made and Sang when She was in Newgate
Like as the armed knight
Appointed to the field,
With this world will I fight,
And faith shall be my shield.
Faith is that weapon strong,
Which will not fail at need;
My foes, therefore, among
Therewith will I proceed.
Thou sayst, lord, whoso knock,
To them wilt thou attend,
Undo, therefore, the lock,
And thy strong power send.
More enemies now I have
Than hairs upon my head;
Let them not me deprave,
But fight thou in my stead.
Not oft I used to write
In prose, nor yet in rhyme;
Yet will I show one sight,
That I saw in my time:
I saw a royal throne,
Where Justice should have sit;
But in her stead was one
Of moody, cruel wit.
Absorpt was rightwiseness,
As by the raging flood;
Satan, in his excess,
Sucked up the guiltless blood.
Then thought, I – Jesus, Lord,
When thou shalt judge us all,
Hard is it to record
On these men what will fall!
Yet, Lord, I thee desire,
For that they do to me,
Let them not taste the hire
Of their iniquity.
ANNE ASKEW
Satyr upon Sir Niel Laing
Canker’d, cursed creature, crabbed, corbit kittle,
Buntin-ars’d, beugle-back’d, bodied like a beetle;
Sarie shitten, shell-padock, ill shapen shit,
Kid-bearded gennet, all alike great:
Fiddle-douped, flindrikin, fart of a man,
Wa worth the, wanwordie, wanshapen wran!
SIR THOMAS MAITLAND
A— B— on the learned Bartholo Sylva
By this title, the book declares itself, and the amount of riches that it conceals,
itself trusting in its own name, it shows forth.
It promises the world, it promises the stars: what man
do such names not attact to it?
Heaven does not abhor darkness, nor the world thorns,
For thus each perceives the hand of the maker.
There was first a WOOD, but now, a still lovelier garden, so that you,
whoever you are, may attain the roses at its centre.<
br />
ANNE BACON
The Doubt of Future Foes
The doubt of future foes exiles my present joy,
And wit me warns to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy;
For falsehood now doth flow, and subjects’ faith doth ebb,
Which should not be if reason ruled or wisdom weaved the web.
But clouds of joys untried do cloak aspiring minds,
Which turn to rain of late repent by changed course of winds.
The top of hope supposed the root upreared shall be,
And fruitless all their grafted guile, as shortly ye shall see.
The dazzled eyes with pride, which great ambition blinds,
Shall be unsealed by worthy wights whose foresight falsehood finds.
The daughter of debate that discord aye doth sow
Shall reap no gain where former rule still peace hath taught to know.
No foreign banished wight shall anchor in this port;
Our realm brooks not seditious sects, let them elsewhere resort.
My rusty sword through rest shall first his edge employ
To poll their tops that seek such change or gape for future joy.
QUEEN ELIZABETH I
The Map and the Clock Page 6
