Poem by Alexander Montgomerie

Sonnet 63. That He Wrot Not Aganste the Madins of Edinburgh

Quhat reckles rage hes armde thy tygirs tung,
On sueit and simple soulis to speu thy spyte ?
Quhat syren suld such poysond songs haif sung ?
Quhat deuill such ditties devysit to indyte?

Quhat madnes movd such venemous vords to [write ?]
Quhat hellish hands hes led thy bluidie pen ?
Quhat furious feynd inflamde thee so to fl[yte ?]
Thee — no wyse nou to numbred be with men.

Quhat euer thou be, thou art a knave, [I ken,]
So leudly on these lassis to haif leid;
And if thou pleis, appoint hou, vhair, and vhen,
And I sall mak thee, Beist ! not to byde be [it,]

That nather they ar sik as thou hes said,
Nor I am he these rascall raylings maid.

1. The Cherrie and the Slae
2. Sonnet 30. Christen Lyndesay to Ro. Hudsone
3. Sonnet 18. To the Lords of the Session. I
4. Sonnet 61. Of the Duleweid. III
5. Sonnet 6. To M. P. Galloway

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