The Complaint of Cresseid

“O sop of sorrow, sonken into cair!
O cative Cresseid! for now and ever-mair
    Gane is thy joy, and all thy mirth in eird;
Of all thy blyithnes now art thow blaiknit bair;
Thair is na salve may saif the of thy sair.
    Fell is thy fortoun, wickit is thy weird;
    Thy blys is baneist, and thy baill on breird;
Under the eirth God gif I gravin wer,
    Quhair nane of Grece nor yit of Troy micht heird.

“Quhair is thy chalmer wantounlie besene,
With burely bed and bankouris browderit bene,
    Spycis and wyne to thy collatioun,
The cowpis all of gold and silver schene,
The sweit meitis, servit in plaittis clene,
    With saipheron sals of ane gud sessoun,
    Thy gay garmentis with mony gudely goun,
Thy plesand lawn pinnit with goldin prene?
    All is areir, thy greit royall renoun.

“Quhair is thy garding with thir greissis gay,
And fresche flowris, quhilk the Quene Floray
    Had paintit plesandly in everie pane,
Quhair thow was wont full merilye in May
To walk, and tak the dew be it was day,
    And heir the merle and mavis mony ane,
    With ladyis fair in carrolling to gane,
And see the royall rinkis in their array,
    In garmentis gay, garnischit on everie grane?

“Thy greit triumphand fame and hie honour,
Quhair thou was callit of eirdlye wichtis flour—
    All is decayit; thy weird is welterit so,
Thy hie estait is turnit in darknes dour,
This Lipper Ludge tak for thy burelie bour,
    And for thy bed tak now ane bunche of stro;
    For waillit wyne and meitis thow had tho,
Tak mowlit breid, peirrie, and ceder sour:
    Bot cop and clapper, now is all ago.

“My cleir voice and my courtlie carrolling,
Quhair I was wont with ladyis for to sing,
    Is rawk as ruik, full hiddeous, hoir and hace;
My plesand port, all utheris precelling,
Of lustiness I was hald maist conding;
    Deformit is the figour of my face;
    To luik on it na leid now lyking has,
Sowpit in syte, I say with sair siching—
    Ludgeit amang the lipper-leid—Allace!

“O ladyis fair of Troy and Grece attend
My miserie, quhilk nane may comprehend,
    My frivol fortoun, my infelicitie,
My greit mischief, quhilk na man can amend;
Be war in tyme, approchis neir the end,
    And in your mynd ane mirrour mak of me;
    As I am now, peradventure that ye,
For all your micht, may cum to that same end,
    Or ellis war, gif ony war may be.

“Nocht is your fairnes, but ane faiding flour,
Nocht is your famous laud and hie honour,
    Bot wind inflat in uther mennis eiris;
Your roising reid to rotting sall retour.
Exempill mak of me in your memour,
    Quhilk of sic thingis wofull witnes beiris,
    All welth in eird away as wind it weiris;
Be war, thairfoir, approchis neir the hour;
    Fortoun is fikkill, quhen scho beginnis and steiris.”

Thus chydand with hir drerie destenye,
    Weiping, scho woik the nicht fra end to end;
Bot all in vane; hir dule, hir cairfull cry,
    Micht not remeid, nor yit hir murning mend.
    Ane lipper lady rais, and till hir wend,
And said, “Quhy spurnis thow aganis the wall,
To sla thyself, and mend nathing at all?

“Sen thy weiping dowbillis bot thy wo,
    I counsall the mak vertew of ane neid;
Go leir to clap thy clapper to and fro,
    And live efter the law of Lipper-Leid.”
    Thair was na buit, bot furth with thame scho yeid,
Fra place to place, quhill cauld and hungir sair
Compellit hir to be ane rank beggair.

That samin tyme of Troy the garnisoun,
    Quhilk had to chiftane worthie Troÿlus,
Throw jeopardie of weir had strikken doun
    Knichtis of Grece in number marvellous:
    With greit tryumphe and laude victorious
Agane to Troy richt royallie they raid,
The way quhair Cresseid with the lipper baid.

Seing that companie, thai come all with ane stevin;
    Thay gaif ane cry, and schuik coppis gude speid;
Said, “Worthie Lordis, for Goddis lufe of hevin,
    To us lipper part of your almous deid.”
    Than to thair cry nobill Troÿlus tuik heid,
Having pietie, neir by the place can pas
Quhair Cresseid sat, not witting quhat scho was.

Than upon him scho kest up baith hir ene
    And with ane blenk it come into his thocht,
That he sum time hir face befoir had sene;
    Bot scho was in sic plye he knew hir nocht;
    Yit than hir luik into his mynd it brocht
The sweit visage and amorous blenking
Of fair Cresseid, sumtymé his awin darling.

Na wonder was, suppois in mynd that he
    Tuik hir figure sa sone, and lo! now quhy?
Thẹ idole of ane thing in case may be
    Sa deip imprentit in the fantasy,
    That it deludis the wittis outwardly,
And sa appeiris in forme and lyke estait
Within the mynd as it was figurait.

Ane spark of lufe than till his hart coud spring,
    And kendlit all his bodie in ane fyre,
With hait fevir ane sweit and trimbling
    Him tuik, quhill he was reddie to expyre;
    To beir his scheild his breist began to tyre;
Within ane quhyle he changit mony hew,
And, nevertheless, not ane ane-uther knew.

For knichtlie pietie and memoriall
    Of fair Cresseid, ane gyrdill can he tak,
Ane purs of gold, and mony gay jowall,
    And in the skirt of Cresseid doun can swak:
    Than raid away, and not ane word he spak,
Pensive in hart, quhill he come to the toun,
And for greit cair oft syis almaist fell doun.

The lipper-folk to Cresseid than can draw,
    To se the equall distributioun
Of the almous; bot quhen the gold thay saw,
    Ilk ane to uther prevelie can roun,
    And said, “Yone Lord hes mair affectioun,
How-ever it be, unto yone Lazarous
Than to us all; we knaw be his almous.”

“Quhat Lord is yone,” quod scho, “have ye na feill,
    Hes done to us so greit humanitie?”
“Yes,” quod a lipper man, “I knaw him weill;
    Schir Troÿlus it is, gentill and fre.”
    Quhen Cresseid understude that it was he,
Stiffer than steill thair stert ane bitter stound
Throwout hir hart, and fell doun to the ground.

Quhen scho, ourcom with siching sair and sad,
    With mony cairfull cry and cald—“Ochane!
Now is my breist with stormie stoundis stad,
    Wrappit in wo, ane wretch full will of wane.”
    Than swounit scho oft or scho culd refrane.
And ever in hir swouning cryit scho thus:
“O, fals Cresseid! and trew Knicht Troÿlus!

“Thy lufe, thy lawtie, and thy gentilnes,
    I countit small in my prosperitie,
Sa elevait I was in wantones,
    And clam upon the fickill quheill sa hie;
    All faith and lufe, I promissit to the,
Was in the self fickill and frivolous:
O, fals Cresseid! and trew Knicht Troylus!

“For lufe of me thow keipt gude continence,
    Honest and chaist in conversatioun,
Of all wemen protectour and defence
    Thow was, and helpit thair opinioun:
    My mynd in fleschlie foull affectioun
Was inclynit to lustis lecherous:
Fy, fals Cresseid! O, trew Knicht Troylus!

“Lovers, be war, and tak gude heid about
    Quhome that ye lufe, for quhome ye suffer paine;
I lat you wit, thair is richt few thairout
    Quhome ye may traist, to have trew lufe agane;
    Preif quhen ye will, your labour is in vaine;
Thairfoir, I reid ye tak thame as ye find,
For thay ar sad as widdercock in wind.

“Becaus I knaw the greit unstabilnes,
    Brukkill as glas into my self I say.
Traisting in uther als greit unfaithfulnes,
    Als unconstant, and als untrew of fay;
    Thocht sum be trew, I wait richt few are thay;
Quha findis treuth, lat him his lady ruse:
Nane but my-self, as now, I will accuse.”

Quhen this was said, with paper scho sat doun,
    And on this maneir maid hir Testament:
“Heir I beteiche my corps and carioun
    With wormis and with taidis to be rent;
    My cop and clapper, and myne ornament,
And all my gold, the Lipper-folk sall have,
Quhen I am deid, to burie me in grave.

“This royall ring, set with this rubie reid,
    Quhilk Troylus in drowrie to me send,
To him agane I leif it quhen I am deid,
    To mak my cairfull deid unto him kend:
    Thus I conclude schortlie, and mak ane end;
My spreit I leif to Diane, quhair scho dwellis,
To walk with hir in waist woddis and wellis.

“O Diomeid! thow hes baith broche and belt,
    Quhilk Troylus gave me in takining
Of his trew lufe”—and with that word scho swelt;
    And sone ane lipper man tuik of the ring,
    Syne buryit hir withouttin tarying:
To Troylus furthwith the ring he bair,
And of Cresseid the deith he can declair.

Quhen he had hard hir greit infirmitie,
    Hir legacie and lamentatioun,
And how scho endit in sic povertie,
    He swelt for wo, and fell doun in a swoun;
    For greit sorrow his hart to brist was boun:
Siching full sadlie, said, “I can no moir;
Scho was untrew, and wo is me thairfoir!”

Sum said he maid ane tomb of merbell gray,
    And wrait hir name and superscriptioun,
And laid it on hir grave, quhair that scho lay,
    In goldin letteris, conteining this ressoun:
    “Lo, ladyis fair, Cresseid of Troyis toun,
Sumtyme countit the flour of womanheid,
Under this stane, lait Lipper, lyis deid.”

Now, worthie Wemen, in this ballet schort,
    Made for your worschip and instructioun,
Of cheritie I monische and exhort,
    Ming not your lufe with fals deceptioun;
    Beir in your mynd this schort conclusioun
Of fair Cresseid, as I have said befoir:
Sen scho is deid, I speik of hir no moir.