ANE SUPPLICATION IN CONTEMPLATION OF SYDE TAILLIS by DAVID LYNDSAY

Schir, though your grace has put great order
Baith in the Hieland and the Border,
Yet make I supplicatioun
Till have some reformatioun
Of ane small fault whilk is nocht treason,
Though it be contrary to reason.
Because the matter been so vile
It may nocht have an ornate style:
Wharefore I pray your excellence
To hear me with great patience:
Of stinkand weedis maculate
No man may make a rose chaplet.
Soverane, I mean of thir syde taillis
Whilk through the dust and dubbis traillis
Three quarteris lang behind their heelis,
Express agane all Commoun weillis.
Though bishopis in their pontificalis
Have men for to bear up their tailis
For dignity of thier office,
Richt so ane queen or ane Emprice,
Howbeit they use sic gravity
Conformand to their majesty;
Though their robe royalis be upborne,
I think it is ane very scorn
That every lady of the land
Suld have her tail so syde trailand,
Howbeit they bene of hie estate,
The Queen they suld nocht counterfait.
Wharever they go it may be seen
How kirk and causay they soup clean.
The imagis into the kirk
May think of their syde taillis irk,
For when the wedder bene most fair,
The dust flies highest in the air
And all their faces dois begarie.
Gif they culd speak, they wald them warie.
To see I think ane pleasant sicht
Of Italy the ladyis bricht,
In their clothing maist triumphand
Above all other Christian land.
Yet when they travel through the townes
Men seis their feet beneath their gownis,
Four inch abune their proper heelis,
Circulate about as round as wheelis,
Whare through there dois na poulder rise
There fair white limbis to supprise.
Bot I have most into despite
Puir claggokis clad in raploch white
Whilk has scant twa merkis for their fees
Will have twa ellis beneath their knees.
Kittok that clekkit was yestreen,
The morn will counterfeit the Queen.
Ane muirland Meg that milks the yowis
Claggit with clay abune the bowis,
In barn nor byre she will nocht bide
Without her kirtle tail be syde.
In boroughis wanton burgess wivis
Wha may have sidest taillis strivis,
Weill borderit with velvet fine:
Bot following them it is ane pyne;
In summer when the streetis dryis
They raise the dust abune the skyis:
None may go near them at their ease
Without they cover mouth and neis,
I think maist pain after ane rain
To see them tuckit up again;
Then when they step furth through the street
Thare faldingis flappis about their feet,
Their laithlie lining furthward flypit
Whilk has the muck and midding wypit.
Bot wald you grace my counsel tak
Ane proclamation ye suld mak,
Baith through the land and borrowstounis
To shaw their face and cut their gownis.
Nane suld fra that exemptit be
Except the Queenis Majesty.

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