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Lament For The Makers By William Dunbar

Lament For The Makers by William Dunbar, illustration
Scene of Lamentation, Miniature, France, probably Paris, around 1460

Lament For The Makers

By William Dunbar

I that in heill wes and gladnes,
Am trublit now with gret seiknes,
And feblit with infermite;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

Our plesance heir is all vane glory,
This fals warld is bot transitory,
The flesche is brukle, the Fend is sle;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

The stait of man dois change and vary,
Now sound, now seik, now blith, now sary,
Now dansand mery, now like to dee;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

No stait in erd heir standis sickir;
As with the wynd wavis the wickir,
Wavis this warldis vanite.
Timor mortis conturbat me.

On to the ded gois all estatis,
Princis, prelotis, and potestatis,
Baith riche and pur of al degre;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

He takis the knychtis in to feild,
Anarmit under helme and scheild;
Victour he is at all mellie;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

That strang unmercifull tyrand
Takis, on the moderis breist sowkand,
The bab full of benignite;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

He takis the campion in the stour,
The capitane closit in the tour,
The lady in bour full of bewte;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

He sparis no lord for his piscence,
Na clerk for his intelligence;
His awfull strak may no man fle;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

Art-magicianis, and astrologgis,
Rethoris, logicianis, and theologgis,
Thame helpis no conclusionis sle;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

In medicyne the most practicianis,
Lechis, surrigianis, and phisicianis,
Thame self fra ded may not supple;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

I se that makaris amang the laif
Playis heir ther pageant, syne gois to graif;
Sparit is nocht ther faculte;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

He hes done petuously devour,
The noble Chaucer, of makaris flour,
The Monk of Bery, and Gower, all thre;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

The gude Syr Hew of Eglintoun,
And eik Heryot, and Wyntoun,
He hes tane out of this cuntre;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

That scorpion fell hes done infek
Maister Johne Clerk, and Jame Afflek,
Fra balat making and tragidie;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

Holland and Barbour he hes berevit;
Allace! that he nocht with us levit
Schir Mungo Lokert of the Le;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

Clerk of Tranent eik he has tane,
That maid the Anteris of Gawane;
Schir Gilbert Hay endit hes he;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

He hes Blind Hary and Sandy Traill
Slaine with his schour of mortall haill,
Quhilk Patrik Johnestoun myght nocht fle;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

He hes reft Merseir his endite,
That did in luf so lifly write,
So schort, so quyk, of sentence hie;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

He hes tane Roull of Aberdene,
And gentill Roull of Corstorphin;
Two bettir fallowis did no man se;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

In Dumfermelyne he hes done roune
With Maister Robert Henrisoun;
Schir Johne the Ros enbrast hes he;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

And he hes now tane, last of aw,
Gud gentill Stobo and Quintyne Schaw,
Of quham all wichtis hes pete:
Timor mortis conturbat me.

Gud Maister Walter Kennedy
In poynt of dede lyis veraly,
Gret reuth it wer that so suld be;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

Sen he hes all my brether tane,
He will nocht lat me lif alane,
On forse I man his nyxt pray be;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

Sen for the deid remeid is none,
Best is that we for dede dispone,
Eftir our deid that lif may we;
Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

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Done is a battle by William Dunbar

Done is a battle by William Dunbar
William Dunbar, Done is a bottle. Illustration – a miniature from the Chansonnier Provençal (1250-1300), Bibliothèque Nationale de France (BNF Français 854)

Done is a battle on the dragon black,
Our champion Christ confoundit has his force;
The yetis of hell are broken with a crack,
The sign triumphal raisit is of the cross,
The devillis trymmillis with hiddous voce,
The saulis are borrowit and to the bliss can go,
Christ with his bloud our ransonis dois indoce:
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.

Dungan is the deidly dragon Lucifer,
The cruewall serpent with the mortal stang;
The auld kene tiger, with his teith on char,
Whilk in a wait has lyen for us so lang,
Thinking to grip us in his clawis strang;
The merciful Lord wald nocht that it were so,
He made him for to failye of that fang.
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.

He for our saik that sufferit to be slane,
And lyk a lamb in sacrifice was dicht,
Is lyk a lion risen up agane,
And as a gyane raxit him on hicht;
Sprungen is Aurora radious and bricht,
On loft is gone the glorious Apollo,
The blissful day departit fro the nicht:
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.

The grit victour again is rissen on hicht,
That for our querrell to the deth was woundit;
The sun that wox all pale now shynis bricht,
And, derkness clearit, our faith is now refoundit;
The knell of mercy fra the heaven is soundit,
The Christin are deliverit of their wo,
The Jowis and their errour are confoundit:
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.

The fo is chasit, the battle is done ceis,
The presone broken, the jevellouris fleit and flemit;
The weir is gon, confermit is the peis,
The fetteris lowsit and the dungeon temit,
The ransoun made, the prisoneris redeemit;
The field is won, owrecomen is the fo,
Dispuilit of the treasure that he yemit:
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.

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A Ballad of Our Lady (Ave Maria, gracia plena)

A Ballad of Our Lady (Ave Maria, gracia plena)

A Ballad of Our Lady (Ave Maria, gracia plena)

Hale, sterne superne, hale in eterne,
In Godis sicht to schyne!
Lucerne in derne for to discerne
Be glory and grace devyne;
Hodiern, modern, sempitern,
Angelicall regyne!
Our tern inferne for to dispern,
Helpe, rialest rosyne.
Ave Maria, gracia plena!
Haile, fresche floure femynyne!
Yerne us guberne, virgin matern,
Of reuth baith rute and ryne.Haile, yhyng, benyng, fresche flurising!
Haile, Alphais habitakle!
Thy dyng ofspring maid us to syng
Befor His tabernakle.
All thing maling we doune thring
Be sicht of His signakle,
Quhilk King us bring unto His ryng
Fro dethis dirk umbrakle.
Ave Maria, gracia plena!
Haile, moder and maide but makle!
Bricht syng, gladyng our languissing
Be micht of thi mirakle.Haile, bricht be sicht in Hevyn on hicht!
Haile, day sterne orientale!
Our licht most richt in clud of nycht
Our dirknes for to scale.
Hale, wicht in ficht, puttar to flicht
Of fendis in battale!
Haile, plicht but sicht! Hale, mekle of mycht!
Haile, glorius Virgin, hale!
Ave Maria, gracia plena!
Haile, gentill nychttingale!
Way stricht, cler dicht, to wilsome wicht
That irke bene in travale.

Hale, qwene serene! Hale, most amene!
Haile, hevinlie hie emprys!
Haile, schene unseyne with carnale eyne!
Haile, ros of Paradys!
Haile, clene bedene ay till conteyne!
Haile, fair fresche flour delyce!
Haile, grene daseyne! Hale, fro the splene,
Of Jhesu genitrice!
Ave Maria, gracia plena!
Thow baire the Prince of Prys;
Our teyne to meyne and ga betweyne
As humile oratrice.

Hale, more decore than of before,
And swetar be sic sevyne,
Our glore forlore for to restore
Sen thow art qwene of Hevyn!
Memore of sore, stern in aurore,
Lovit with angellis stevyne;
Implore, adore, thow indeflore,
To mak our oddis evyne.
Ave Maria, gracia plena!
With lovingis lowde ellevyn.
Quhill store and hore my youth devore,
Thy name I sall ay nevyne.

Empryce of prys, imperatrice,
Bricht polist precious stane;
Victrice of vyce, hie genitrice
Of Jhesu, Lord Soverayne:
Our wys pavys fro enemys
Agane the Feyndis trayne;
Oratrice, mediatrice, salvatrice,
To God gret suffragane!
Ave Maria, gracia plena!
Haile, sterne meridiane!
Spyce, flour delice of Paradys
That baire the gloryus grayne.

Imperiall wall, place palestrall,
Of peirles pulcritud;
Tryumphale hall, hie trone regall
Of Godis celsitud;
Hospitall riall, the Lord of all
Thy closet did include;
Bricht ball cristall, ros virginall,
Fulfillit of angell fude.
Ave Maria, gracia plena!
Thy birth has with His blude
Fra fall mortal originall
Us raunsound on the Rude.

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The Amendis to the Telyouris and Sowtaris for the Turnament maid on thame

The Amendis to the Telyouris and Sowtaris for the Turnament maid on thame

The Amendis to the Telyouris and Sowtaris for the Turnament maid on thame

by William Dunbar (1450-1513 or 1530)

 

Betuix twell houris and ellevin,
I dremed ane angell came fra Hevin
With plesand stevin sayand on hie,
Telyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

In Hevin hie ordand is your place,
Aboif all Sanctis in grit solace,
Nixt God grittest in dignitie:
Tailyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

The caus to yow is nocht unkend,
That God mismakkis ye do amend,
Be craft and grit agilitie:
Tailyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

Sowtaris, with schone weill maid and meit,
Ye mend the faltis of ill maid feit,
Quhairfoir to Hevin your saulis will fle;
Telyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

Is nocht in all this fair a flyrok,
That hes upoun his feit a wyrok,
Knowll tais, nor mowlis in no degrie,
Bot ye can hyd thame: blist be ye.

And ye tailyouris, with weil maid clais
Can mend the werst maid man that gais,
And mak him semely for to se:
Telyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

Thocht God mak ane misfassonit man,
Ye can him all schaip new agane,
And fassoun him bettir be sic thre:
Telyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

Thocht a man haif a brokin bak,
Haif he a gude telyour, quhatt rak,
That can it cuver with craftis slie:
Telyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

Off God grit kyndnes may ye clame,
That helpis his peple fra cruke and lame,
Supportand faltis with your supple:
Tailyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

In erd ye kyth sic mirakillis heir,
In Hevin ye salbe Sanctis full cleir,
Thocht ye be knavis in this cuntre:
Telyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

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      You Personify God’s Message by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi

      You personify God’s message.
      You reflect the King’s face.
      There is nothing in the universe that you are not
      Everything you want, look for it within yourself-
      you are that.

      —————

      The End

      And that’s the End of the Poem

      © Poetry Monster, 2021.

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      Who Says Words With My Mouth? by Rumi

      Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
      I have no idea.
      My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that,
      and I intend to end up there.

      This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
      When I get back around to that place,
      I’ll be completely sober. Meanwhile,
      I’m like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
      The day is coming when I fly off,
      but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?
      Who says words with my mouth?

      Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
      I cannot stop asking.
      If I could taste one sip of an answer,
      I could break out of this prison for drunks.
      I didn’t come here of my own accord, and I can’t leave that way.
      Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.

      This poetry, I never know what I’m going to say.
      I don’t plan it.
      When I’m outside the saying of it,
      I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.

      —————

      The End

      And that’s the End of the Poem

      © Poetry Monster, 2021.

      Poems by topic and subject.

      Poetry Monster — the ultimate repository of world poetry.

      Poetry Monster — the multilingual library of poetic works. Here you’ll find original poems, poetry translations, ancient verses, ballads and even folk tales.

      Poetry Monster (or even The Poetry Monster) — is also an international multilingual community of poets and poetry connoisseurs. Join us:

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      Who is at my door? by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi

      He said, “Who is at my door?”
      I said, “Your humble servant.”
      He said, “What business do you have?”
      I said, “To greet you, 0 Lord.”
      He said, “How long will you journey on?”
      I said, “Until you stop me.”
      He said, “How long will you boil in the fire?”
      I said, “Until I am pure.
      “This is my oath of love.
      For the sake of love
      I gave up wealth and position.”
      He said, “You have pleaded your case
      but you have no witness.”
      I said, “My tears are my witness;
      the pallor of my face is my proof.’
      He said, “Your witness has no credibility;
      your eyes are too wet to see.”
      I said, “By the splendor of your justice
      my eyes are clear and faultless.”
      He said, “What do you seek?”
      I said, “To have you as my constant friend.”
      He said, “What do you want from me?”
      I said, “Your abundant grace.”
      He said, “Who was your companion on the journey?
      I said, “The thought of you, 0 King.”
      He said, “What called you here?”
      I said, “The fragrance of your wine.”
      He said, “What brings you the most fulfillment?”
      I said, “The company of the Emperor.”
      He said, “What do you find there?”
      I said, “A hundred miracles.”
      He said, “Why is the palace deserted?”
      I said, “They all fear the thief.”
      He said, “Who is the thief?”
      I said, “The one who keeps me from -you.
      He said, “Where is there safety?”
      I said, “In service and renunciation.”
      He said, “What is there to renounce?”
      I said, “The hope of salvation.”
      He said, “Where is there calamity?”
      I said, “In the presence of your love.”
      He said, “How do you benefit from this life?”
      I said, “By keeping true to myself
      Now it is time for silence.
      If I told you about His true essence
      You would fly from your self and be gone,
      and neither door nor roof could hold you back!

      —————

      The End

      And that’s the End of the Poem

      © Poetry Monster, 2021.

      Poems by topic and subject.

      Poetry Monster — the ultimate repository of world poetry.

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      Register.

      Some external links: The Bat’s Poetry Cave. — Fledermaus’s poetry site. Talking Writing Monster. — the irreverent and irrelevant chatter on subjects both serious and not quite. A free for all board. You can scribble anything on it without registration (but it doesn’t let spammers in). You can even post your poems. Qwant.com. — a search engine from France. It’s an alternative because there are a few alternatives, like Bing, Duckduckgo, and Ecosia. And there is Yandex, the ultimate language-oriented search engine for the Russophone world. Commercial Links: Russian Commerce – the foreign trade assistance agency Other links: Poems and poetry in Russian (if you are reading this in English, as you obviously are, then you’d have to switch the language, the language switch is on the menu. More on languages)

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      When I am asleep and crumbling in the tomb by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi

      When I am asleep and crumbling in the tomb, should you come
      to visit me, I will come forth with speed.
      You are for me the blast of the trumpet and the resurrection,
      so what shall I do? Dead or living, wherever you are, there am I.
      Without your lip I am a frozen and silent reed; what melodies
      I play the moment you breathe on my reed!
      Your wretched reed has become accustomed to your sugar lip;
      remember wretched me, for I am seeking you.
      When I do not find the moon of your countenance, I bind up
      my head [veil myself in your mourning]; when I do not find your
      sweet lip, gnaw my own hand.

      —————

      The End

      And that’s the End of the Poem

      © Poetry Monster, 2021.

      Poems by topic and subject.

      Poetry Monster — the ultimate repository of world poetry.

      Poetry Monster — the multilingual library of poetic works. Here you’ll find original poems, poetry translations, ancient verses, ballads and even folk tales.

      Poetry Monster (or even The Poetry Monster) — is also an international multilingual community of poets and poetry connoisseurs. Join us:

      Register.

      Some external links: The Bat’s Poetry Cave. — Fledermaus’s poetry site. Talking Writing Monster. — the irreverent and irrelevant chatter on subjects both serious and not quite. A free for all board. You can scribble anything on it without registration (but it doesn’t let spammers in). You can even post your poems. Qwant.com. — a search engine from France. It’s an alternative because there are a few alternatives, like Bing, Duckduckgo, and Ecosia. And there is Yandex, the ultimate language-oriented search engine for the Russophone world. Commercial Links: Russian Commerce – the foreign trade assistance agency Other links: Poems and poetry in Russian (if you are reading this in English, as you obviously are, then you’d have to switch the language, the language switch is on the menu. More on languages)

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      What Hidden Sweetness Is There by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi

      217
      What hidden sweetness there is in this emptiness of the belly!
      Man is surely like a lute, no more and no less;
      For if, for instance, the belly of the lute becomes full, no
      lament high or low will arise from that full lute.
      If your brain and belly are on fire through fasting, because of
      the fire every moment a lament will arise from your breast.
      Every moment you will burn a thousand veils by that fire; you
      will mount a hundred steps with zeal and endeavor.
      Become empty of belly, and weep entreatingly like the reed
      pipe; become empty of belly, and tell secrets with the reed pen.
      If your belly is full at the time of concourse, it will bring Satan
      in place of your reason, an idol in place of the Kaaba.
      When you keep the fast, good habits gather together before
      you like slaves and servants and retinue.
      Keep the fast, for that is Solomon’s ring; give not the ring to
      the div, destroy not your kingdom.
      Even if your kingdom has gone from your head and your army
      has fled, your army will rise up, pennants flying above them.
      The table arrived from heaven to the tents of the fast, by the
      intervention of the prayers of Jesus, son of Mary.
      In the fast, be expectant of the table of bounty, for the table of
      bounty is better than the broth of cabbages.

      —————

      The End

      And that’s the End of the Poem

      © Poetry Monster, 2021.

      Poems by topic and subject.

      Poetry Monster — the ultimate repository of world poetry.

      Poetry Monster — the multilingual library of poetic works. Here you’ll find original poems, poetry translations, ancient verses, ballads and even folk tales.

      Poetry Monster (or even The Poetry Monster) — is also an international multilingual community of poets and poetry connoisseurs. Join us:

      Register.

      Some external links: The Bat’s Poetry Cave. — Fledermaus’s poetry site. Talking Writing Monster. — the irreverent and irrelevant chatter on subjects both serious and not quite. A free for all board. You can scribble anything on it without registration (but it doesn’t let spammers in). You can even post your poems. Qwant.com. — a search engine from France. It’s an alternative because there are a few alternatives, like Bing, Duckduckgo, and Ecosia. And there is Yandex, the ultimate language-oriented search engine for the Russophone world. Commercial Links: Russian Commerce – the foreign trade assistance agency Other links: Poems and poetry in Russian (if you are reading this in English, as you obviously are, then you’d have to switch the language, the language switch is on the menu. More on languages)

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      Weary not of us, for we are very beautiful by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi

      Weary not of us, for we are very beautiful; it is out of very jealousy and proper pride that we entered the veil.
      On the day when we cast of the body’s veil from the soul, you will see that we are the envy of despair of man and the Polestars.
      Wash your face and become clean for beholding us, else remain afar, for we are beloveds of ourselves.
      We are not that beauty who tomorrow will become a crone; till eternity we are young and heart-comforting and fair of stature.
      If that veil become worn out, the beauty has not grown old; the life of the Veil is transient, and we are boundless life.
      When Eblis saw the veil of Adam, he refused; Adam called to him, “You are the rejected one, not I.”
      The rest of the angels fell down prostrate, saying as they bowed themselves, “We have encountered a beauty:
      “Beneath the veil is an idol who by his qualities robbed us of reason, and we, prostrate, fell.”
      If our reason does not know the forms of the foul old men from those of the beauties, we are apostates from love.
      What place is there for a beauty? For he is the Lion of God. Like a child we prattled, for we are children of the alphabet.
      Children are beguiled with nuts and raisins, else, how are we meet for nuts and sesame-grains?
      When an old woman is hidden in helmet and chainmail, she says, “I am the illustrious Rostam of the battle ranks.”
      By her boast all know that she is a woman; how should we make a mistake, seeing that we are in the light of Ahmad?
      “The believer is discriminating” – so said the Prophet; now close your mouth, for we are guided rightly without speech.
      Hear the rest of from Shams the Pride of Tabiz for we did not take the end of the story from that king.

      —————

      The End

      And that’s the End of the Poem

      © Poetry Monster, 2021.

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