today's poem
I feel like the lack of poems by the Scottish Makars means I'm being entirely too easy on all of you. ;)
This one is somewhat infamous, since it's generally acknowledged to be the earliest use in English of the word "fuck," although there is a weird macaronic verse called "Flen, flyys, and freres" that predates this one, although the section with "fuck" in it is technically in Latin. You can find it here; the section that contains the naughty word is in code, and reads "Non sunt in coeli, quia gxddbov xxkxzt pg ifmk," which works out to "quia fvccant wivys of hely" (because they fuck wives of Ely).
Anyway, this is not that poem, but an even sillier Scottish poem which has, since then, been set in an inappropriately ethereal setting by the Mediaeval Baebes (who only use the first verse and thus do not have to sing about raising on lofte one's quhillelille or anything like that). You will also note the Chaucer shout-out in the fourth stanza.
In secreit place this hyndir nycht
William Dunbar
In secreit place this hyndir nycht
I hard ane beyrne say till ane bricht:
"My huny, my hart, my hoip, my heill,
I have bene lang your luifar leill
And can of yow get confort nane.
How lang will ye with danger deill?
Ye brek my hart, my bony ane."
His bony beird wes kemmit and croppit,
Bot all with cale it wes bedroppit,
And he wes townysche, peirt, and gukit.
He clappit fast, he kist and chukkit
As with the glaikis he wer ouirgane.
Yit be his feirris he wald have fukkit -
"Ye brek my hart, my bony ane."
Quod he: "My hairt, sweit as the hunye,
Sen that I borne wes of my mynnye,
I never wowit weycht bot yow.
My wambe is of your luif sa fow
That as ane gaist I glour and grane.
I trymble sa, ye will not trow,
Ye brek my hart, my bony ane."
"Tehe!" quod scho, and gaif ane gawfe.
"Be still, my tuchan and my calfe,
My new spanit howffing fra the sowk,
And all the blythnes of my bowk.
My sweit swanking, saif yow allane
Na leyd I luiffit all this owk:
Full leif is me yowr graceles gane."
Quod he: "My claver and my curldodie,
My huny soppis, my sweit possodie,
Be not oure bosteous to your billie,
Be warme hairtit and not evill wille.
Your heylis, quhyt as quhalis bane,
Garris ryis on loft my quhillelille:
Ye brek my hart, my bony ane."
Quod scho: "My clype, my unspaynit gyane,
With moderis mylk yit in your mychane,
My belly huddrun, my swete hurle bawsy,
My huny gukkis, my slawsy gawsy,
Your musing waild perse ane harte of stane.
Tak gud confort, my grit-heidit slawsy:
Full leif is me your graceles gane."
Quod he: "My kid, my capirculyoun,
My bony baib with the ruch brylyoun,
My tendir gyrle, my wallie gowdye,
My tyrlie myrlie, my crowdie mowdie,
Quhone that oure mouthis dois meit at ane,
My stang dois storkyn with your towdie:
Ye brek my hairt, my bony ane."
Quod scho: "Now tak me by the hand,
Welcum, my golk of Marie land,
My chirrie and my maikles munyoun,
My sowklar sweit as ony unyoun,
My strumill stirk yit new to spane.
I am applyit to your opunyoun:
I luif rycht weill your graceles gane."
He gaiff to hir ane apill rubye.
Quod scho, "Gramercye, my sweit cowhubye!"
And thai tway to ane play began
Quhilk men dois call the dery dan,
Quhill that thair myrthis met baythe in ane.
"Wo is me," quod scho, "Quhair will ye, man?
Best now I luif that graceles gane."
This one is somewhat infamous, since it's generally acknowledged to be the earliest use in English of the word "fuck," although there is a weird macaronic verse called "Flen, flyys, and freres" that predates this one, although the section with "fuck" in it is technically in Latin. You can find it here; the section that contains the naughty word is in code, and reads "Non sunt in coeli, quia gxddbov xxkxzt pg ifmk," which works out to "quia fvccant wivys of hely" (because they fuck wives of Ely).
Anyway, this is not that poem, but an even sillier Scottish poem which has, since then, been set in an inappropriately ethereal setting by the Mediaeval Baebes (who only use the first verse and thus do not have to sing about raising on lofte one's quhillelille or anything like that). You will also note the Chaucer shout-out in the fourth stanza.
In secreit place this hyndir nycht
William Dunbar
In secreit place this hyndir nycht
I hard ane beyrne say till ane bricht:
"My huny, my hart, my hoip, my heill,
I have bene lang your luifar leill
And can of yow get confort nane.
How lang will ye with danger deill?
Ye brek my hart, my bony ane."
His bony beird wes kemmit and croppit,
Bot all with cale it wes bedroppit,
And he wes townysche, peirt, and gukit.
He clappit fast, he kist and chukkit
As with the glaikis he wer ouirgane.
Yit be his feirris he wald have fukkit -
"Ye brek my hart, my bony ane."
Quod he: "My hairt, sweit as the hunye,
Sen that I borne wes of my mynnye,
I never wowit weycht bot yow.
My wambe is of your luif sa fow
That as ane gaist I glour and grane.
I trymble sa, ye will not trow,
Ye brek my hart, my bony ane."
"Tehe!" quod scho, and gaif ane gawfe.
"Be still, my tuchan and my calfe,
My new spanit howffing fra the sowk,
And all the blythnes of my bowk.
My sweit swanking, saif yow allane
Na leyd I luiffit all this owk:
Full leif is me yowr graceles gane."
Quod he: "My claver and my curldodie,
My huny soppis, my sweit possodie,
Be not oure bosteous to your billie,
Be warme hairtit and not evill wille.
Your heylis, quhyt as quhalis bane,
Garris ryis on loft my quhillelille:
Ye brek my hart, my bony ane."
Quod scho: "My clype, my unspaynit gyane,
With moderis mylk yit in your mychane,
My belly huddrun, my swete hurle bawsy,
My huny gukkis, my slawsy gawsy,
Your musing waild perse ane harte of stane.
Tak gud confort, my grit-heidit slawsy:
Full leif is me your graceles gane."
Quod he: "My kid, my capirculyoun,
My bony baib with the ruch brylyoun,
My tendir gyrle, my wallie gowdye,
My tyrlie myrlie, my crowdie mowdie,
Quhone that oure mouthis dois meit at ane,
My stang dois storkyn with your towdie:
Ye brek my hairt, my bony ane."
Quod scho: "Now tak me by the hand,
Welcum, my golk of Marie land,
My chirrie and my maikles munyoun,
My sowklar sweit as ony unyoun,
My strumill stirk yit new to spane.
I am applyit to your opunyoun:
I luif rycht weill your graceles gane."
He gaiff to hir ane apill rubye.
Quod scho, "Gramercye, my sweit cowhubye!"
And thai tway to ane play began
Quhilk men dois call the dery dan,
Quhill that thair myrthis met baythe in ane.
"Wo is me," quod scho, "Quhair will ye, man?
Best now I luif that graceles gane."