KITTEIS CONFESSIOUN.

The Curate Kittie culd confesse,And scho tald on baith mair and lesse.Quhen scho was telland as scho wist[307],The Curate Kittie wald have kist;Bot yit ane countenance he bureDegeist[308], devote, daine[309], and demure;And syne began hir to exempne[310].He wes best at the efter game.Quod he, “Have ye na wrangous geir[311]?”Quod scho, “I staw[312]ane pek of beir.”Quod he, “That suld restorit be,Tharefor delyver it to me.Tibbie and Peter bad me speir[313];Be my conscience, thay sall it heir.”Quod he, “Leve ye in lecherie?”Quod scho, “Will Leno mowit[314]me.”Quod he, “His wyfe that sall I tell,To mak hir acquentance with my-sell.”Quod he, “Ken[315]ye na heresie?”“I wait nocht[316]quhat that is,” quod sche.Quod he, “Hard ye na Inglis bukis?”[317]Quod scho, “My maister on thame lukis.”Quod he, “The bischop that sall knaw,For I am sworne that for to schaw.”Quod he, “What said he of the King?”Quod scho, “Of gude he spak na-thing.”Quod he, “His Grace of that sall wit[318];And he sall lose his lyfe for it.”Quhen scho in mynd did mair revolve,Quod he, “I can nocht you absolve,Bot to my chalmer cum at evenAbsolvit for to be and schrevin.”Quod scho, “I wyll pas tyll ane-uther.And I met with Schir Andro,[319]my brother,And he full clenely did me schryve.Bot he wes sumthing talkatyve;He speirit mony strange case[320],How that my lufe did me inbrace,Quhat day, how oft, quhat sort, and quhare?Quod he, ‘I wald I had bene thare.’He me absolvit for ane plak[321],Thocht[322]he na pryce with me wald mak;And mekil[323]Latyne he did mummill,I hard na-thing bot hummill bummill.He schew me nocht of Goddis word,Quhilk scharper is than ony sword,And deip intill our hart dois prentOur syn, quharethrow we do repent.He pat me na-thing into feir,Quharethrow I suld my syn forbeir;He schew me nocht the maledictiounOf God for syn, nor the afflictiounAnd in this lyfe the greit mischeifOrdanit to punische hure and theif;Nor schew he me of hellis pane,That I mycht feir, and vice refraine;He counsalit me nocht till abstene,And leid ane holy lyfe, and clene.Of Christis blude na-thing he knew,Nor of His promisses full trew,That saifis all that wyll beleve,That Sathan sall us never greve.He teichit me nocht for till traistThe confort of the Haly Ghaist.He bad me nocht to Christ be kynd[324],To keip His law with hart and mynd,And lufe and thank His greit mercie,Fra syn and hell that savit me;And lufe my nichtbour as my-sell.Of this na-thing he culd me tell,Bot gave me pennance, ilk ane day[325]AneAve Mariefor to say,And Fridayis fyve na fische to eit,(Bot butter and eggis ar better meit),And with ane plak to buy ane messeFra drounkin Schir Jhone Latynelesse.Quod he, ‘Ane plak I wyll gar[326]SandieGive thee agane, with handie dandie.’Syne[327]into pilgrimage to pas—The verray way to wantounes.Of all his pennance I was glaid,I had them all perqueir[328], I said.To mow and steill I ken the pryce,I sall it set on cincq and syce[329].Bot he my counsale culd nocht keip;He maid him be the fyre to sleip,Syne cryit, ‘Colleris[330], beif and coillis[331],Hois, and schone with dowbill soillis,Caikis and candill, creische[332]and salt,Curnis[333]of meill, and luiffillis[334]of malt,Wollin and linning, werp and woft—Dame! keip the keis of your woll loft!’Throw drink and sleip maid him to raif;And swa with us thay play the knaif.”Freiris sweiris be thair professiounNane can be saif but[335]this Confessioun,And garris all men understandThat it is Goddis awin[336]command.Yit it is nocht but mennis drame[337].The pepill to confound and schame.It is nocht ellis but mennis law,Maid mennis mindis for to knaw,Quharethrow thay syle[338]thame as thay will,And makis thair law conforme tharetill,Sittand in mennis conscienceAbone Goddis magnificence;And dois the pepill teche and tyste[339]To serve the Pape the Antechriste.To the greit God OmnipotentConfess thy syn, and sore repent;And traist in Christ, as wrytis Paule,Quhilk sched his blude to saif thy saule;For nane can thee absolve bot He,Nor tak away thy syn frome thee.Gif of gude counsall thow hes neid,Or hes nocht leirnit weill thy Creid,Or wickit vicis regne in thee,The quhilk thow can nocht mortifie,Or be in desperatioun,And wald have consolatioun,Than till are preichour trew thow pas,And schaw thy syn and thy trespas.Thow neidis nocht to schaw him all,Nor tell thy syn baith greit and small,Quhilk is unpossible to be;Bot schaw the vice that troubillis thee,And he sall of thy saule have reuth,And thee instruct in-to the treuth,And with the Word of VeritieSall confort and sall counsall thee,The sacramentis schaw thee at lenth,Thy lytle faith to stark and strenth[340],And how thow suld thame richtlie use,And all hypocrisie refuse.Confessioun first wes ordanit freIn this sort in the Kirk to be.Swa to confes as I descryve[341],Wes in the gude Kirk primityve;Swa wes confessioun ordanit first,Thocht Codrus[342]kyte[343]suld cleve and birst.

The Curate Kittie culd confesse,

And scho tald on baith mair and lesse.

Quhen scho was telland as scho wist[307],

The Curate Kittie wald have kist;

Bot yit ane countenance he bure

Degeist[308], devote, daine[309], and demure;

And syne began hir to exempne[310].

He wes best at the efter game.

Quod he, “Have ye na wrangous geir[311]?”

Quod scho, “I staw[312]ane pek of beir.”

Quod he, “That suld restorit be,

Tharefor delyver it to me.

Tibbie and Peter bad me speir[313];

Be my conscience, thay sall it heir.”

Quod he, “Leve ye in lecherie?”

Quod scho, “Will Leno mowit[314]me.”

Quod he, “His wyfe that sall I tell,

To mak hir acquentance with my-sell.”

Quod he, “Ken[315]ye na heresie?”

“I wait nocht[316]quhat that is,” quod sche.

Quod he, “Hard ye na Inglis bukis?”[317]

Quod scho, “My maister on thame lukis.”

Quod he, “The bischop that sall knaw,

For I am sworne that for to schaw.”

Quod he, “What said he of the King?”

Quod scho, “Of gude he spak na-thing.”

Quod he, “His Grace of that sall wit[318];

And he sall lose his lyfe for it.”

Quhen scho in mynd did mair revolve,

Quod he, “I can nocht you absolve,

Bot to my chalmer cum at even

Absolvit for to be and schrevin.”

Quod scho, “I wyll pas tyll ane-uther.

And I met with Schir Andro,[319]my brother,

And he full clenely did me schryve.

Bot he wes sumthing talkatyve;

He speirit mony strange case[320],

How that my lufe did me inbrace,

Quhat day, how oft, quhat sort, and quhare?

Quod he, ‘I wald I had bene thare.’

He me absolvit for ane plak[321],

Thocht[322]he na pryce with me wald mak;

And mekil[323]Latyne he did mummill,

I hard na-thing bot hummill bummill.

He schew me nocht of Goddis word,

Quhilk scharper is than ony sword,

And deip intill our hart dois prent

Our syn, quharethrow we do repent.

He pat me na-thing into feir,

Quharethrow I suld my syn forbeir;

He schew me nocht the maledictioun

Of God for syn, nor the afflictioun

And in this lyfe the greit mischeif

Ordanit to punische hure and theif;

Nor schew he me of hellis pane,

That I mycht feir, and vice refraine;

He counsalit me nocht till abstene,

And leid ane holy lyfe, and clene.

Of Christis blude na-thing he knew,

Nor of His promisses full trew,

That saifis all that wyll beleve,

That Sathan sall us never greve.

He teichit me nocht for till traist

The confort of the Haly Ghaist.

He bad me nocht to Christ be kynd[324],

To keip His law with hart and mynd,

And lufe and thank His greit mercie,

Fra syn and hell that savit me;

And lufe my nichtbour as my-sell.

Of this na-thing he culd me tell,

Bot gave me pennance, ilk ane day[325]

AneAve Mariefor to say,

And Fridayis fyve na fische to eit,

(Bot butter and eggis ar better meit),

And with ane plak to buy ane messe

Fra drounkin Schir Jhone Latynelesse.

Quod he, ‘Ane plak I wyll gar[326]Sandie

Give thee agane, with handie dandie.’

Syne[327]into pilgrimage to pas—

The verray way to wantounes.

Of all his pennance I was glaid,

I had them all perqueir[328], I said.

To mow and steill I ken the pryce,

I sall it set on cincq and syce[329].

Bot he my counsale culd nocht keip;

He maid him be the fyre to sleip,

Syne cryit, ‘Colleris[330], beif and coillis[331],

Hois, and schone with dowbill soillis,

Caikis and candill, creische[332]and salt,

Curnis[333]of meill, and luiffillis[334]of malt,

Wollin and linning, werp and woft—

Dame! keip the keis of your woll loft!’

Throw drink and sleip maid him to raif;

And swa with us thay play the knaif.”

Freiris sweiris be thair professioun

Nane can be saif but[335]this Confessioun,

And garris all men understand

That it is Goddis awin[336]command.

Yit it is nocht but mennis drame[337].

The pepill to confound and schame.

It is nocht ellis but mennis law,

Maid mennis mindis for to knaw,

Quharethrow thay syle[338]thame as thay will,

And makis thair law conforme tharetill,

Sittand in mennis conscience

Abone Goddis magnificence;

And dois the pepill teche and tyste[339]

To serve the Pape the Antechriste.

To the greit God Omnipotent

Confess thy syn, and sore repent;

And traist in Christ, as wrytis Paule,

Quhilk sched his blude to saif thy saule;

For nane can thee absolve bot He,

Nor tak away thy syn frome thee.

Gif of gude counsall thow hes neid,

Or hes nocht leirnit weill thy Creid,

Or wickit vicis regne in thee,

The quhilk thow can nocht mortifie,

Or be in desperatioun,

And wald have consolatioun,

Than till are preichour trew thow pas,

And schaw thy syn and thy trespas.

Thow neidis nocht to schaw him all,

Nor tell thy syn baith greit and small,

Quhilk is unpossible to be;

Bot schaw the vice that troubillis thee,

And he sall of thy saule have reuth,

And thee instruct in-to the treuth,

And with the Word of Veritie

Sall confort and sall counsall thee,

The sacramentis schaw thee at lenth,

Thy lytle faith to stark and strenth[340],

And how thow suld thame richtlie use,

And all hypocrisie refuse.

Confessioun first wes ordanit fre

In this sort in the Kirk to be.

Swa to confes as I descryve[341],

Wes in the gude Kirk primityve;

Swa wes confessioun ordanit first,

Thocht Codrus[342]kyte[343]suld cleve and birst.

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