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I know your grace knows scholars are but poor; And therefore, as I blush to beg a fee, Your mightiness is so magnificent, You cannot choose but cast some gift apart, To ease my bashful need that cannot beg. As for your love, O, might I be employ'd, How faithfully would Ateukin compass it! But princes rather trust a smoothing tongue, Than men of art that can accept the time. Ateukin, if so thy name, for so thou say'st, Thine art appears in entrance of my love; And since I deem thy wisdom match'd with truth, I will exalt thee, and thyself alone Shalt be the agent to dissolve my grief.

The Scottish History of James the Fourth 1598

Sooth is, I love, and Ida is my love; But my new marriage nips me near, Ateukin, For Dorothea may not brook th' abuse. These lets are but as motes against the sun, Yet not so great; like dust before the wind, Yet not so light. Tut, pacify your grace: You have the sword and sceptre in your hand; You are the king, the state depends on you; Your will is law. Say that the case were mine: Were she my sister whom your highness loves, She should consent, for that our lives, our goods, Depend on you; and if your queen repine, Although my nature cannot brook of blood, And scholars grieve to hear of murderous deeds, But if the lamb should let the lion's way, By my advice the lamb should lose her life.

Thus am I bold to speak unto your grace, Who am too base to kiss your royal feet, For I am poor, nor have I land nor rent, Nor countenance here in court, but for my love, Your grace shall find none such within the realm. Wilt thou effect my love? I'll gather moly, crocus, and the herbs That heal the wounds of body and the mind; I'll set out charms and spells, naught shall be left To tame the wanton if she shall rebel: Give me but tokens of your highness' trust.

Thou shalt have gold, honour, and wealth enough; Win my love, and I will make thee great. These words do make me rich, most noble prince; I am more proud of them than any wealth. Did not your grace suppose I flatter you, Believe me, I would boldly publish this;— Was never eye that saw a sweeter face, Nor never ear that heard a deeper wit: O God, how I am ravish'd in your worth! Ateukin, follow me; love must have ease. I'll kiss your highness' feet, march when you please.

Stand back, sir; mine shall stand highest. Come under mine arm, sir, or get a foot-stool; or else, by the light of the moon, I must come to it. Agree, my masters; every man to his height: though I stand lowest, I hope to get the best master. Ere I will stoop to a thistle, I will change turns; as good luck comes on the right hand as the left: here's for me, and me, and mine.

But what can you do worthy preferment? Marry, I can smell a knave from a rat. And I can lick a dish before a cat. And I can find two fools unsought,—how like you that? But, in earnest, now tell me of what trades are you two? How mean you that, sir, of what trade? Marry, I'll tell you, I have many trades: the honest trade when I needs must; the filching trade when time serves; the cozening trade as I find occasion.

And I have more qualities: I cannot abide a full cup unkissed, a fat capon uncarved, a full purse unpicked, nor a fool to prove a justice as you do.

Why, sot, why callest thou me fool? For examining wiser than thyself. So do many more than I in Scotland. Yea, those are such as have more authority than wit, and more wealth than honesty. This is my little brother with the great wit; 'ware him! Any thing that concerns a gentleman to do, that can I do.

So you are of the gentle trade? Then, gentle sir, leave us to ourselves, for here comes one as if he would lack a servant ere he went.

The Scottish history of James the Fourth, 1598

Why, so, Ateukin, this becomes thee best, Wealth, honour, ease, and angels in thy chest: Now may I say, as many often sing, "No fishing to the sea, nor service to a king. And first, to fit the humours of my lord, Sweet lays and lines of love I must record; And such sweet lines and love-lays I'll indite, As men may wish for, and my liege delight: And next a train of gallants at my heels, That men may say, the world doth run on wheels; For men of art, that rise by indirection To honour and the favour of their king, Must use all means to save what they have got, And win their favours whom they never knew.

If any frown to see my fortunes such, A man must bear a little, not too much. But, in good time, these bills portend, I think, That some good fellows do for service seek. By my faith, a good servant: which is he? Truly, sir, that am I. And why dost thou write such a bill? O Lord, ay, sir, and a great many more, some better, some worse, some richer, some poorer. Why, sir, do you look so? Truly, no, for they are naught, and so art thou: if thou hast no better qualities, stand by.

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O, sir, I tell the worst first; but, an you lack a man, I am for you: I'll tell you the best qualities I have. Be brief, then. Yea, there would I use thee. Why, there you kill me, there am I, and turn me to a horse and a wench, and I have no peer. Art thou so good in keeping a horse? I pray thee tell me how many good qualities hath a horse?

Why, so, sir: a horse hath two properties of a man, that is, a proud heart and a hardy stomach; four properties of a lion, a broad breast, a stiff docket,—hold your nose, master,—a wild countenance, and four good legs; nine properties of a fox, nine of a hare, nine of an ass, and ten of a woman. A woman! O, master, know you not that? First, a merry countenance; second, a soft pace; third, a broad forehead; fourth, broad buttocks; fifth, hard of ward; sixth, easy to leap upon; seventh, good at long journey; eighth, moving under a man; ninth, alway busy with the mouth; tenth, ever chewing on the bridle.

Thou art a man for me: what's thy name? An ancient name, sir, belonging to the chamber and the night- gown: guess you that.

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What's that? By my faith, well guessed; and so 'tis indeed. You'll be my master? I mean so. Read this first. What of this? He is my brother, sir; and we two were born together, must serve together, and will die together, though we be both hanged. What's thy name?

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  8. The etymology of which word is a dwarf. Art not thou the old stoic's son that dwells in his tomb? Thou art welcome to me. Wilt thou give thyself wholly to be at my disposition? In all humility I submit myself. Then will I deck thee princely, instruct thee courtly, and present thee to the queen as my gift: art thou content? Yes, and thank your honour too. Then welcome, brother, and fellow now. What are you? By birth a gentleman; in profession a scholar; and one that knew your honour in Edinburgh, before your worthiness called you to this reputation: by me, Andrew Snoord. Andrew, I remember thee: follow me, and we will confer further, for my weighty affairs for the king command me to be brief at this time.

    Sir Bar. But tell me, lovely Eustace, as thou lov'st me, Among the many pleasures we have pass'd, Which is the rifest in thy memory, To draw thee over to thine ancient friend?

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    7. What makes Sir Bartram thus inquisitive? By sweet Saint Andrew and may sale I swear, As welcome is my honest Dick to me As morning's sun, or as the watery moon In merkest night, when we the borders track. I tell thee, Dick, thy sight hath clear'd my thoughts Of many baneful troubles that there woon'd: Welcome to Sir Bartram as his life! Tell me, bonny Dick, hast got a wife? A wife! God shield, Sir Bartram, that were ill, To leave my wife and wander thus astray: But time and good advice, ere many years, May chance to make my fancy bend that way. What news in Scotland?

      Why, man, our country's blithe, our king is well, Our queen so-so, the nobles well and worse, And weel are they that are about the king, But better are the country gentlemen: And I may tell thee, Eustace, in our lives We old men never saw so wondrous change. But leave this trattle, and tell me what news In lovely England with our honest friends?

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      The king, the court, and all our noble friends Are well; and God in mercy keep them so! The northern lords and ladies hereabouts, That know I come to see your queen and court, Commend them to my honest friend Sir Bartram, And many others that I have not seen. Amongst the rest, the Countess Elinor, From Carlisle, where we merry oft have been, Greets well my lord, and hath directed me By message this fair lady's face to see. I tell thee, Eustace, 'less mine old eyes daze, This is our Scottish moon and evening's pride; This is the blemish of your English bride.

      Who sail by her are sure of wind at will; Her face is dangerous, her sight is ill; And yet, in sooth, sweet Dick, it may be said, The king hath folly, there's virtue in the maid. But knows my friend this portrait? Is it not Ida, the Countess of Arran's daughter's?

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      So was I told by Elinor of Carlisle: But tell me, lovely Bartram, is the maid Evil-inclin'd, misled, or concubine Unto the king or any other lord? Should I be brief and true, then thus, my Dick. All England's grounds yield not a blither lass, Nor Europe can surpass her for her gifts Of virtue, honour, beauty, and the rest: But our fond king, not knowing sin in lust, Makes love by endless means and precious gifts; And men that see it dare not say't, my friend, But we may wish that it were otherwise.