[Footnote 117:  His cassock for the nonce or occasion.]

[Footnote 118:  a cheat or impostor.]

[Footnote 119:  groans.]

[Footnote 120:  bear.]

[Footnote 121:  Boasters, braggarts, and bullies.]

[Footnote 122:  Arrayed in the accoutrements of war.]

[Footnote 123:  In coats of armour, and covered with iron network to the heel.]

[Footnote 124:  Wild was their aspect.]

[Footnote 125:  brands beat.]

[Footnote 126:  many strong dissemblers.]

[Footnote 127:  With feigned words fair or white.]

[Footnote 128:  spreaders of false reports.]

[Footnote 129:  usurers.]

[Footnote 130:  Misers.]

[Footnote 131:  a great quantity.]

[Footnote 132:  gold of every coinage.]

[Footnote 133:  his grunt.]

[Footnote 134:  Many a lazy glutton.]

[Footnote 135:  served with care.]

[Footnote 136:  loins.]

[Footnote 137:  quicker of apprehension.]

[Footnote 138:  neighing like an entire horse.]

[Footnote 139:  corpse.]

[Footnote 140:  grease.]

[Footnote 141:  Their reward, or their desire not diminished.]

[Footnote 142:  No minstrels without doubt—­a compliment to the poetical profession:  there were no gleemen or minstrels in the infernal regions.]

[Footnote 143:  letter of right.]

[Footnote 144:  Pageant.]

[Footnote 145:  By the time he had done shouting the coronach or cry of help, the Highlanders speaking Erse or Gaelic gathered about him.]

[Footnote 146:  croaked like ravens and rooks.]

[Footnote 147:  deafened.]

[Footnote 148:  smothered.]

SIR DAVID LYNDSAY.

(1490-1555.)

VI.  SATIRE ON THE SYDE TAILLIS—­ANE SUPPLICATIOUN DIRECTIT TO THE KINGIS GRACE—­1538.

The specimen of Lyndsay cited below—­this satire on long trains—­is by no means the most favourable that could be desired, but it is the only one that lent itself readily to quotation.  The archaic spelling is slightly modernized.

  Schir! though your Grace has put gret order
  Baith in the Hieland and the Border
  Yet mak I supplicatioun
  Till have some reformatioun
  Of ane small falt, whilk is nocht treason
  Though it be contrarie to reason. 
  Because the matter been so vile,
  It may nocht have ane ornate style;
  Wherefore I pray your Excellence
  To hear me with great patience: 
  Of stinking weedis maculate
  No man nay mak ane rose-chaplet. 
  Sovereign, I mean of thir syde tails,
  Whilk through the dust and dubis trails
  Three quarters lang behind their heels,
  Express again’ all commonweals. 
  Though bishops, in their pontificals,