DUNBAR, a royal burgh, post, and market town of Scotland, in the county of Haddington, is pleasantly situated on a gentle acclivity rising from the shores of the German Ocean, near the mouth of the Frith of Forth. It consists of one main street, which runs the length of the town, with several others of smaller dimensions which intersect it. The whole has a neat and commodious ap pearance. Dunbar is a place of considerable antiquity, and, there is reason to believe, was built by the Picts. It originated in a castle, once of great strength and importance as a bulwark for the defence of this route into Scotland, against the invasion of the English. The site of the fortress was well chosen both for defence and convenience. The coast is here bold, and studded with rocky islets along and within the margin of the sea; and these in early times afforded room for the battlemented walls of a fort, which gradually increased by connection with the adjoining land, and with the islets by walls of great strength. It was thus admirably adapted to receive succour by sea, or allow the escape of its keepers with impunity. We find it mentioned as early as the year 856, and subsequently it stands conspicuously prominent in the various conflicts in which Scotland was embroiled. It endured several memorable sieges, the most remarkable of which was that by the English in 1337, when it was defended by a female member of the Douglas family. The place is now a total ruin. The harbour and quay of Dunbar are on a confined plan, and the usual depth of water is scarcely sufficient to float vessels of 250 or 300 tons burden. The main evil of the port arises from the existence of various craggy islets and sunken rocks near the entrance, which renders the navigation somewhat dangerous. Contiguous to the inner parts of the harbour are some large granaries and storehouses, a small graving dock, and other conveniences for shipping, which, however, exists here, to a very limited extent. There is a market on Tuesday, and there are two fairs annually. Formerly Dunbar was famous for its herring fishery, but that branch of trade has now almost totally disappeared. The manufactories of the town are a soap-work, an iron foundery, and a manufactory of steam engines. There is also here some small trade in corn. The most remarkable house in Dunbar is a large plain mansion, situated at the west end of the town, the property and residence of the family of Lauderdale. In 1819 a handsome new church was erected upon the old site, which was founded in the fourteenth century. The new building is in the semi-gothic style, and is internally commodiously and elegantly fitted up. Besides this place of worship, there are two Seceder meeting-houses and a Methodist chapel. There are two public besides several private seminaries of education in the town; and the charitable and other institutions are also extensive. The town is governed by a provost and three bailies, a treasurer, town-clerk, and chamberlain, with fifteen members of council. The annual revenue of the burgh is about L.1300. Dunbar lies twenty-eight miles almost due east from Edinburgh. The population, including the country part of the parish, amounted in 1831 to 4735.

Dunbar, William, the most eminent of all the early Scotish poets, appears to have been born about the middle of the fifteenth century. Notwithstanding the high reputation which he enjoyed among his contemporaries, the records of his personal history and character are extremely scanty; and although he belonged to the church, his progress is not to be traced by successive preferments. He describes himself as a native of Lothian. Kennedy represents him as related to the carl of March; but this perhaps is only to be considered as a poetical fiction, introduced for the purpose of heightening his invective. His latest biographer however supposes that he may have been the grandson of Sir Patrick Dunbar of Beill in the county of Haddington, a younger son of George the tenth earl of March. “This Sir Patrick,” we are informed, “signalized himself on many occasions, and was one of the hostages for James the First in 1426; and it also appears from an original charter, dated August 10th, 1440, that one of his sons was named William, who in all probability was either [7:8:269] the father or uncle of the poet. No other person of the same baptismal name can be traced during the whole of that century; and as such names generally run in families, the circumstance of our author’s alleged descent from the earls of March, in connection with his own avowal respecting his birth-place, adds some strength to the conjecture of his being the grandson of Sir Patrick Dunbar of Beill.”^[1. Laing’s Memoirs of Dunbar, p. 8 ] During the present age, the births, marriages, and deaths of persons possessing little property and less distinction may in a great variety of instances be very easily traced; but as the same diurnal records did not exist in the fifteenth century, it is only where names are connected with property, rank, or office, that in most cases we can succeed in an attempt to discover the outlines of private or domestic history. Neither the name nor the surname was uncommon: at that period Scotland certainly contained many Williams and many Dunbars; and if numerous instances of this combination of name and surname have not been detected, it is not difficult to assign a reason.

In the year 1477, William Dunbar of St Salvator’s College took the degree of A. B. in the university of St Andrews; and as the statutes required the candidate to be of three years standing, he must have been matriculated in 1474. In 1479 he took the degree of A. M.^[2. Ibid. p. 9. ] Whether this was the poet, or another individual of the same name, we have no means of ascertaining: but there is an apparent coincidence in the time; and the supposition that he studied at St Andrews, is highly probable in itself. There is likewise some reason to suppose that he studied in the university of Oxford: “Quod Dunbar at Oxenfurde,” is the colophon of one of his poems; and we need scarcely remark that Oxenford was once the current name of this seat of the Muses. But it is also to be recollected that the poet might visit Oxford in some other capacity than that of a student. In his youth he appears to have been a novice of the order of St Francis. His sentiments with regard to this profession we are enabled to glean from one of his poems; and those sentiments we shall here endeavour to exhibit in plain prose. “Before the dawn of day,” says Dunbar, “methought St Francis appeared to me with a religious habit in his hand, and said, go, my servant, clothe thee in these vestments, and renounce the world. But at the sight of him and his habit I was scared like one who sees a ghost. And why art thou terrified at the sight of the holy weed? St Francis, reverence attend thee, and thanks for this intended benefit; but with regard to those garments of which thou art so liberal, it has never entered into my mind to wear them: sweet confessor, take it not in evil part. In holy legends have I heard it alleged that bishops are more frequently canonized than friars; if therefore thou wouldst guide my soul towards heaven, invest me with the robes of a bishop. Had it ever been my fortune to become a friar, the season is now long past: between Berwick and Calais, in every flourishing town of the English dominions, have I made good cheer in the habit of thy order; in friar’s weeds have I mounted the pulpit at Dernton and Canterbury, in them have I also crossed the sea at Dover, and instructed the inhabitants of Picardy; but this mode of life compelled me to have recourse to many a pious fraud, from the guilt of which no holy water could cleanse me. What had thus appeared to me as St Francis, was a fiend in the likeness of a friar: he vanished away with stench and fiery smoke; methought he carried one end of the house along with him, and I awoke like a wight in perplexity.”^[3. Dunbar’s Poems, vol. i. p. 28. ]

From this and some other passages of his works, it is evident that Dunbar had in some degree imbibed the spirit of a reformer; and it is obvious that in all countries which have in any measure been extricated from the superstitions and delusions of the Romish church, the poets have contributed to prepare the way for the theologians. Wit and satire, when thus directed, are formidable weapons; and although ridicule is no test of truth, it has often been found a powerful instrument for exposing inveterate error. The best arguments may be employed in vain, and force commonly interposes in behalf of established opinions: but poets have in all ages claimed and exercised considerable freedom of animadversion; and, as light troops are sometimes more serviceable than the heavy-armed soldiery, the gay satirist is sometimes more successful in his attacks than the learned controversialist. Another inference to be drawn from this poem is equally obvious: as the author had preached in England and France, he must have been familiarly acquainted with the languages of both countries; or, if we suppose him to have preached at Canterbury in his native tongue, we must at least conclude that he spoke French when he instructed the inhabitants of Picardy. His travels are likewise mentioned in Kennedy’s Flyting, where we must however make some allowance for satirical exaggeration.

Fra Atrik Forrest furth ward to Drumfreiss Thow beggit with ane pardoun in all kirkis, Collapis, crudis, meill, grottis, gryce, and geiss, And undir nycht quhylis thow stall staigis and stirkis. Becauss that Scotland of thy begging irkis,

Thow schaipis in France to be a knycht of the feild;

Thow hes thy clamschellis, and thy burdoun keild,

Unhonest wayis all, wolroun, that thow wirkis∙^[4. Ibid. vol. ii. p. 81. ]

Dunbar, in one of his invectives against Kennedy, has furnished us with some further information respecting his own adventures.

Or thow durst move thy mynd malitius,

Thow saw the saill abone my heid updraw;

But Eolus full woid and Neptunus, √

Mirk and moneless, wes met with wind and waw, And mony hundreth myle hyne cowd us blaw By Holland, Seland, Zetland, and Northway coist, In desert [place] quhair we wer famist aw;

Yit come I haine, fais baird, to lay thy boist.

After the period of his travelling noviciate, Dunbar appears in the character of a court poet, and of a candidate for preferment in the church. On one occasion he speaks of his dancing “in the quenis chalmer.”

Than cam in Dunbar the makkar, On all the flu re thair was nane frakkar, And thair he daunsit the Dirrye dantoun; He hoppet lyk a fillie wantoun,

For luiff of Musgraiffe, men tellis me;

He trippet quhill he tint his pantoun:

A mirrear dance mycht na man see.

Than cam in Maistriss Musgraiffe; Scho mycht haiff lernit all the laiffe. Quhen I saw hir sa trimlye dance, Hir guid convoy and countenance, 'Than, for hir saik, I wissit to be The grytast erle or duik in France: A mirrear dance mycht na man see.

But neither his dancing nor his solicitations seem to have procured him any considerable preferment. From the strain of his earlier compositions, it is evident that his first hopes were sufficiently sanguine, and from that of his [7:8:270] later compositions, that those hopes had been completely frustrated. “Why shouldst thou,” says the desponding poct, “be induced to hope for preferment, when an Italian impostor finds means to thrust himself into the chair of an abbot? How the affairs of the church are managed, I know not; but assuredly its benefices are not distributed with an impartial hand. While some enjoy seven, I am not possessed of one; and some, unworthy as they are to fill a stall, would fain climb to the rank of cardinal, a bishopric being too mean an object for their ambition.” He addressed some stanzas to the king when many benefices were vacant; he frequently renewed his petition, and frequently complained that his life was suffered to wear away in fruitless expectation. From the wish which he expresses “To the King, that he war Johne Thomsounis Man,” it may be inferred that Queen Margaret was anxious to promote his interest: the tenor of his prayer is, that the king were more subservient to the wishes of his consort.

Sly advocat, bayth fair and sweit, The hale rejosing of my spreit, Wald speid in to my errandis than, And ye war anis Johne Thomsounis man.

Whether Dunbar’s advancement was in any degree retarded by his own imprudence, can only be conjectured. The clergy of that age do not appear to have been generally promoted for their piety or learning; and so very moderate was the ordinary standard of external decency, that it must only have been the most gross and flagrant profligacy that could operate as a disqualification for preferment. It must however be acknowledged that some of his strains are highly reprehensible: his compositions are occasionally tinctured with expressions which we cannot but regard as grossly indecent and profane; one of his addresses to the queen is such as might offend a modern courtezan; the more solemn observances of the church he has converted into topics of ridicule; the litanies are burlesqued in a parody which is not easily to be paralleled for its profanity. But it is more than probable that such indecent levities excited little or no disgust in liis contemporaries: the age was not distinguished by any uncommon share of piety, nor had it attained to that degree of refinement which frequently secures a certain ostensible decorum, a decent appearance of virtue, where virtue itself is not to be found. To whatever cause his failure may be attributed, there is reason to suspect that he never obtained a benefice. But we learn from the public records that he was indebted to the king for a regular pension, as well as for occasional grants of money. The register of the privy seal, 15th August 1500, mentions a yearly pension of ten pounds, payable at Whitsuntide and Martinmas, to “Maister William Dunbar for all the dayis of his life,” or until he should be promoted by the king to a benefice of the yearly value of forty pounds or upwards. It appears from the treasurer’s accounts that the payment due at Martinmas 1501, was deferred on account of his being then in England; and it has been considered as “probable that he accompanied the ambassadors who were sent to England to conclude the negociations for the king’s marriage in October 1501; and that he remained to witness the ceremony of affiancing the princess Margaret, which took place at St Paul’s cross, with great solemnity and splendour, on the 25th of January 1502. Under this supposition, we can have little hesitation in believing that Dunbar was the person then styled the Phymer of Scotland, who received L.6. 13s. 4d. in reward from Henry VII. on the 31st of December 1501, and a similar sum on the 7th of January following.”^[5. Laing’s Memoirs of Dunbar, p. 20. ] He speaks of his long and faithful services to the king, and of his having been employed in many foreign countries, in England, Ireland, France, Spain, Italy, and Germany. Mr Laing conjectures, perhaps with sufficient probability, that in these extensive peregrinations he was attached to diplomatic missions, in which his knowledge of Latin and French might be available to persons of higher rank and inferior learning.

On the 17th of March 1504, or, according to our present computation, 1505, Dunbar for the first time said mass in the king’s presence; and on that occasion he received a gratuity of seven French crowns, which was a larger sum than the king usually allotted for a priest’s first mass. At the term of Martinmas 1507 his pension was encreased to twenty pounds; and on the 26th of August 1510 it was encreased to eighty pounds, to be paid during his life, or until he should be promoted to a benefice of the yearly value of one hundred pounds or upwards. How long he enjoyed this pension, and whether he ever exchanged it for a benefice, no research has yet ascertained.^[6. “The treasurer’s accounts from the 8th of August 1513 (a month previous to the battle of Floddon) to the 25th of January 1515, which might have thrown some light on the subject, have not been preserved; and in those from that date to the 4th of September 1518 (from which time to the 5th of June 1522 there is another blank in the series) there is no mention of Dunbar’s name. We cannot therefore discover the date of the last payment of his pension; but although we now lose all trace of his name, it by no means follows that his pension was entirely withdrawn: it might either have been transferred to some other branch of the royal revenue, or the poet might at last have been promoted to a benefice, when consequently his pension would cease.” (Laing’s Memoirs of Dunbar, p. 34.) The treasurer’s accounts, 1st April 1513, mention a payment to Dunbar of so small a sum as forty-two shillings. ] On the 9th of September 1513 the king perished at Floddon-field; and there may be some reason to apprehend that his interest was not unaffected by that fatal event. From one of his poems, written “quhen the Governour past into France,” it is evident that he must have survived for several years. John duke of Albany, regent of the kingdom, sailed for France in June 1517, again in October 1522, and finally in May 1524; nor can we safely decide to which of those three voyages the poet refers. It is at least certain that he was dead in the year 1530, when Sir David Lindsay composed his Complaynt of the Papingo.^[7. Lindsay’s Works, vol. i. p. 285. ] He describes himself as having attained to an advanced age; nor does he appear to have been so unwise as to continue his levities to the utmost verge of life; several of his poems are written in a moral and religious strain, not unbecoming an aged priest.

The poems of Dunbar are numerous and miscellaneous, but none of them extends to any considerable length. He evidently unites a brilliant imagination with an elegant taste; nor is he less conspicuous for his skill in the mechanical part of poetry. The elasticity of his mind and the versatility of his talents enabled him to arrive at eminence in different departments of composition: his allegorical poems display a rich and fertile invention; and he is equally distinguished for his powers of description and satirical humour. His diction is often remarkable for its terseness and forcible simplicity; but it is not always free from the vicious and pedantic phraseology with which the English poetry of that period is so deeply infected. Dr Nott observes that Dunbar, “a poet of a rich and lively fancy, and possessing great natural command of language,” was nevertheless induced to use such pedantic diction as occurs in the opening of his beautiful moral [7:8:271]poem, entitled the Goldyn Targe.^[8. Nott’s Dissertation on the State of English Poetry before the Sixteenth Century, p. exci. ] He has employed a great variety of measures; and his versification, when compared with that of his most eminent contemporaries in both kingdoms, will in general appear highly ornamented and poetical.

Mr Ellis, after having quoted three of his shorter poems, subjoins the following remarks: “In these specimens we see much good sense and sound morality, expressed with force and conciseness. This indeed is Dun- , bar’s peculiar excellence. His style, whether grave or humorous, whether simple or ornamented, is always energetic; and though all his compositions cannot be expected to possess equal merit, we seldom find in them a weak or redundant stanza.”^[9. Ellis’s Specimens of the Early English Poets, vol. i. p. 385. ] The accomplished historian of English poetry likewise mentions him with no faint approbation. “I am of opinion,” says Mr Warton, “that the imagination of Dunbar is not less suited to satirical than to sublime allegory; and that he is the first poet who has appeared with any degree of spirit in this way since Pierce Plowman. His Thistle and Rose and Golden Terge are generally and justly mentioned as his capital works: but the natural complexion of his genius is of the moral and didactic cast.”^[10. Warton’s History of English Poetry, vol. iii. p. 109. ] But, subjoins Mr Pinkerton, “this remark must not be taken too strictly. The Goldin Terge is moral, and so are many of his small pieces; but humour, description, allegory, great poetical genius, and a vast wealth of words, all unite to form the complexion of Dunbar’s poetry. He unites in himself, and generally surpasses, the qualities of the chief old English poets; the morals and satire of Langland, Chaucer’s humour, poetry, and knowledge of life, the allegory of Gower, the description of Lydgate.”^[11. Pinkerton’s List of the Scotish Poets, p. xciv— i ∙ It is evident,” says Dr Drake, “that a union of talents of this wide range must necessarily be of rare occurrence; nor can we wonder that a century should elapse before a poet in any high degree approaching the genius of Chaucer made his appearance in our island. Not indeed until Dunbar arose in the sister kingdom, had we another instance of the combination of first-rate abilities for humour and comic painting, with an equally powerful command over the higher regions of fiction and imagination.” (Mornings in Spring, vol. ii. p. 4. Lond. 1828, 2 vols. 8vo.) ]

But the most striking proofs of his genius are certainly to be found in his two allegorical poems. The Thrissill and the Rois was composed in celebration of the nuptials of James the Fourth and Margaret Tudor; an event productive of very important consequences to both kingdoms, inasmuch as it ultimately led to that happy union which the nature of the territory and the kindred origin of the people rendered so suitable and so desirable. In the plan of this poem Dunbar displays boldness of invention and beauty of arrangement; and some particular passages are remarkable for their strength and even beauty of colouring. The Goldyn Targe, which is written in a different stanza, is another allegorical poem of nearly equal merit. The golden targe, or the shield of reason, is found an insufficient protection against the assaults of the train of love.

Some of his short poems, of a serious character, are likewise to be distinguished from the ordinary compositions of that period. The stanzas bearing the title of Learning vain without guid Lyfe possess superior merit as a moral descant. His Meditatioun in Wyntir is also to be classed among the best of his serious pieces: some of the stanzas are beautiful and pathetic; and they may all be perused with more than common interest as the solitary musings of neglected genius.

Nor are his satirical less remarkable than his serious productions. His poem entitled the Dance of the sevin Deidly Synnis presents many admirable strokes of comic and grotesque description. On the eve of Lent, the poet falls into a trance, and is presented with a glimpse of heaven and hell. Mahoun, or the devil, proclaims a dance of those wretches who have died without absolution; he commands them to prepare a mummery, and to “kast up ga-mountis” according to the newest French fashion. The seven Deadly Sins immediately present themselves, and are each accompanied by a select band of votaries. Pride is with evident propriety represented as leading the dance, and is dressed in the first fashion of that period: his hair is thrown back, his bonnet is placed on one side of the head, and his gown flows to his heels in ample folds.

Lat se, quoth he, now quha begynnis: With that the fowll sevin Deidly Synnis Begowth to leip at anis.

And first of all in dance was Pryd,

With hair wyld back, and bonet on syd,

Lyk to mak vaistic wanis;

And round abowt him, as a quheill, Hang all in rumpillis to the heill His kethat for the nanis.

Mony prowd trumpour with him trippit; Throw skaldand fyre ay as thay skippit, Thay gyrnd with hyddouss granis.

This group is succeeded by holy harlots; but Mahoun and the other fiends are not much entertained till a company of priests present their shaven crowns.

Heilie ħarlottis on hawtane wyiss Come in with mony sindrie gyiss, Bot yit luche nevir Mahoun,

Quhill priestis come in with bair schevin nekkis: Than all the feyndis lewche and maid gekkis, Black-belly and Baw sy-Broun.

Anger, who next makes his appearance, is very forcibly described in a single distich.

Than Yre come in with sturt and stryfe, His hand wes ay upoun his knyfe.

He is attended by a band of ruffians, who follow in pairs, all equipped for war; and, as they move along, they frequently wound each other with swords and knives. The train of Anger is followed by that of Envy. He is attended by many a dissembler, flatterer, and back-biter, with “rownaris of fals lesingis,” or whisperers of lies; from whom the poet cannot avoid expressing his regret that the courts of princes are never free. The next prominent figure in the dance is Covetousness, who is accompanied by catives, wretches, usurers, and hoarders of wealth. From their throats they discharge at each other torrents of molten gold; and when this ammunition is exhausted, the fiends replenish them with the same metal.

Nixt him in dans come Cuvatyce, ltute of all evill, and gründ of vyce, That nevir cowd be content: Catyvis, wrechis, and ockeraris, Hud-pykis, hurdaris, and gadderaris, All with that warlo went.

Out of thair throttis thay schot on udder Hett moltin gold me thocht a fudder, As fyre-flawcht maist fervent;

Ay as thay tumit thame of schot, Feyndis fild thame new up to the thrott With gold of allkin prent.

Sloth, after being twice called, joins unwillingly in the dance, attended by many suitable companions. He drags [7:8:272]them along with a chain, and Belial lashes them on the loins; but their motion is nevertheless so tardy, that they are occasionally roused by being scorched in fire. The succeeding group consists of Lust and his loathsome train; he snorts like a stallion, is led by Idleness, and is attended by many foul associates who have died in their sins. When they engage in the dance, their visages become as red as the turkis stone. The foul monster Gluttony next presents himself, followed by many a drunkard and prodigal. When they become clamorous for drink, the fiends drench them with melted lead. All these terrific exhibitions might have been expected to satisfy Mahoun himself; but he is nevertheless pleased to close the entertainment with a Highland pageant.

Than cryd Mahoun for a Heleand padyane,

Syne ran a feynd to feche Makfadyane,

Far northwart in a nuke:

Be he the correnoch had done schout, Ersehe men so gadderit him abowt, In hell grit roume Lhay tuke.

Thae tarmegantis, with tag and tatter, Full lowd in Ersehe hegowth to clatter, And rowp lyk revin and ruke.

The devill sa devit wes with thair yell,

That in the depest pot of hell He smorit thame with smuke.

Dunbar’s tale of “The twa maryit Wemen and the We-do” presents us with the only specimen of blank verse which the ancient Scotish language affords. The rhythm is of that species which the author of Piers Plowman, or some of his predecessors, borrowed from the Anglo-Saxon poets, and which appears to have derived its origin from a remote era. It was employed by the Islandic as well as by the Anglo-Saxon poets, and was constructed with some degree of nicety.^[12. Wormii Literatura Runica, p. 178. Hafniae, 1636, 4to. Olafsen oin Nordens garnie Digtekonst, dens Grundregler, Versarter, Sprog og Foredragsmaade, S. 57∙ Kiöbenhavn, 1736, 4to. Rasks Vejledning til det Islandske eller garnie Nordiske Sprog, S. 211. Ki<>benh. 1811, 8vo. Rasks Angelsaksisk Sproglaere, S. 108. Stokholm, 1817, 8vo. Hickesii Grammatica Anglo-Saxonica, p. 195. 217∙ Bosworth’s Elements of Anglo-Saxon Grammar, p. 215. Conybeare’s Illustrations of Anglo-Saxon Poetry, p. lxv. Percy’s Essay on the Metre of Pierce Plowman’s Vision: Reliques, vol. ii. p. 298. Whitaker’s Introductory Discourse on P. Ploughman, p. X. ] Their lines are generally short, and they do not rigorously confine themselves to a definite number of syllables. Here alliteration supplies the place of rhyme; the corresponding sounds are at the commencement, not at the termination of words. In two contiguous and connected lines there must be three words beginning with the same letter; and, according to the strictest rule, two of those words ought to occur in the first, and the other ought to begin the second line. It was on such a model that Dunbar and the author of Piers Plowman constructed their verses, though they have not observed all the niceties of their predecessors. In the editions, and indeed in the manuscripts of their respective poems, what is exhibited as a single verse is in reality a distich, and admits of a division without any degree of violence.

This work of Dunbar presents us with a lively though indelicate picture of ancient manners, and is a very curious relique of ancient poetry. Bishop Percy considers it as equal to one of the most humorous productions of Chaucer. The peculiarity of the versification has compelled the author to adopt many uncouth terms; and accordingly the language of this tale is more difficult to be understood, and appears more obsolete, than that of his other poems; but his shrewdness of remark and strength of description shine through the mist of obscure phraseology in which they are sometimes involved. Soon after midnight in a morning of June, the poet walks by a goodly garden, and, on hearing the sound of voices, is induced to look through the lofty hedge, when he perceives three ladies seated in a green arbour, and regaling themselves with wine: he secretly listens to their conversation, of which he professes to give a faithful report. As the wine circulates, they become more communicative, and, at the suggestion of the widow, they successively detail their experience of a married life. The sentiments which they utter, are as profligate as can well be imagined; and it is to be hoped that Dunbar did not intend this as a general representation of the ladies of his own age and nation.

Two of his satirical poems relate to a certain Italian, named John Damian, on whom James the Fourth had bestowed the abbacy of Tungland in Galloway. This adventurer appears to have been an empiric and an impostor, and to have persuaded the king that he had discovered the secret of converting baser metals into gold; nor is it surprising that Dunbar should feel some degree of indignation on seeing high preferment bestowed upon such a person. The abbot having failed to produce the promised gold, made a still more desperate attempt to maintain his reputation as an adept in science and art: he provided himself with a pair of wings, and appointed a particular day for taking his flight from the walls of Stirling castle; when the day arrived, he indeed plunged from the rampart, but instead of mounting in the air, he fell to the ground, and broke his thigh-bone. These anecdotes do not rest on the authority of a satirical poet, for this must commonly be regarded as a very dubious authority; but they are circumstantially related by Bishop Lesley in his history of that reign;^[13. Leslaeus de Rebus gestis Scotorum, p∙ 345. Romae, 1578, 4to—“Eadem tempestate rex (ut hoc quoque, quod vulgo non sine risu hucusque memoratur, dicam) Italum quendam, cujus faceto sermone ingenioque delectatus erat, abbatem Tunglandiae creavit.” See likewise Lesley’s History of Scotland, p. 76∙ Edinb. 1830, 4to. ] and the one account may so far be considered as a confirmation of the other, although the poet has added many particulars of ludicrous exaggeration. Thus, according to Dunbar’s dream, he slew a friar in Lombardy, in order to obtain possession of his habit; and having fled to France, he began to practise physic, and in this way committed many new murders. The course of his adventures at length conducted him to Scotland, where he followed his leechcraft with similar success. When raised to the dignity of a prelate, he was not to be seen at mass; he did not appear at matins in his stole and scarf, but was generally to be found in his laboratory, as sooty as a blacksmith.

In lechecraft lie was homocide;

He wald haf for a nycht to byd, Ane haknay and the hurt mannis liyd, So mekle he was of myans.

His ĩmis was rude as ony rauchtir, Quhar he leit blude it was no lauchtir,^[14. “Lors que mon frere fut en Escosse, il n’y avoit qu’un médecin, qui estoit médecin de la reyne, et de mon temps en Angleterre, il n’y avoit gueres de médecins. En Escosse un menuisier saignoit, et il y avoit des barbiers qui tondoient sculement.” (Scaligerana, p. 223.) ] Full mony instrumentis for slauchtir Was in his gardyvians.

He couth gif cure of laxatif,

To gar a wicht horse want his lyf; Quha evir assay wald, man or wyf, Thar hippis yeid hiddy-giddy.

His praktikis nevir war put to preif Bol sudand deid, or gret mischeif; He had purgacioιιn to mak a Lheif To de without a wedye.
[7:8:273]

Unto no mess preissit the prélat,

For sound of sacrying bell nor skellat; As blak smyth brukit was his pellat,

For battiring at the study.

Thocht he come hame a newe maid channoun, He had dispensit with matinnis cannoun; On him come nothir stole nor fannoun, For smwking of the smedye.

His unfortunate flight is afterwards related in a very ludicrous manner. The abbot of Tungland has furnished Dunbar with the subject of another poetical dream, which contains one passage remarkable for the strength of its satirical conception.

He sail ascend as ane horrible griphoun, Him meit sail in the air ane scho dragoun;

Thir terrible monstcris sail togidder thrist, And in the cludis gett the Antéchrist, Quhill all the air infeck of thair puysoun.

Many of the comic and satirical compositions of Dunbar are valuable memorials of ancient manners; and, if incapable of gratifying the reader of taste, they are at least objects of curiosity to the antiquary. Of this description are the stanzas entitled the DevilEs Inquest; which strongly evince that our ancestors were grossly addicted to profane swearing. “It might,” as Dr Ogden remarks, “puzzle a philosopher to trace the love of swearing to its original principle, and assign its place in the constitution of man.” This vice is now regarded as a characteristic of the vulgar, of those who are truly vulgar in their habits and associations, whatever may be their external circumstances; but during the age of Dunbar, it seems to have been practised by all ranks and denominations. To swear like a Scot, was once a proverbial expression.^[15. “I have never been able to discover,” says Lord Hailes, “from what cause our ancestors became so monstrously addicted to profane swearing. I remember Tom Brown some where uses, ‘ swear like a Scotsman,’ as a proverbial expression. There certainly must be a tradition on the continent, that the inhabitants of the whole island were apt to swear in common conversation; for in Holland, the children, when they see any British people, say, ‘ there come the G—dams and the Portuguese, when they acquire a smattering of English, say, ‘ How do you do Jack, G— damn you ?’.—Queen Elizabeth was a common swearer.” (Notes on Ancient Scottish Poems, p. 241.) Of the truth of one of these remarks we find a curious confirmation in the collection of Norman chansons subjoined to the “Vaux-de∙Vire d’Olivier Basselin.” Caen, 1821, 8vo. Mauldicte en soyt trestoute la lignye! Ils ont charge l’artellerye sus mer, Force bisquit et chascun ung bydon, Et par la mer jusq’ en Bisquaye aller Pour couronner leur petit roy Godon. Their little king G— damn was Henry the Sixth, who succeeded his father at a very tender age. The subsequent passage occurs in the works of Cretin, a Norman poet who wrote about the beginning of the sixteenth century. (Les Poesies de Guillaume Cretin, p. 168. Paris, 1723, 8vo.) Cryant qui vive aux Godons d’Angleterre. ] In this general muster of swearers, the priest takes precedence.

Me thocht as he went throw the way, Ane priest sweirit braid, be God vercy, Quhilk at the alter ressavit he.

Thou art my clerk, the devill can say, Renunce thy God, and cum to me.

Bishop Douglas, who certainly did not fall below the common standard of clerical decorum, has not scrupled to bedeck his compositions with abundance of oaths. The vice of profane swearing at length arrived at so scandalous a height as to require the interference of the legislature, and it was found necessary to extend the penalties to the clergy as well as the laity: by an act of Q. Mary in 1551, a “prelate of kirk,” earl, or lord, was to be fined in tw elve pence for the first offence committed within the next three months; different penalties were apportioned to different ranks during the first year; and for the fourth offence committed after the expiration of that period, a prelate, earl, or lord was to be banished or imprisoned for the space of a year and a day.^[16. Acts of the Parliaments of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 485. See likewise p. '482. ]

Dunbar has left some examples of a motley species of composition, which at that period was notuncommon, and in which shreds of different languages are fantastically combined. It does not strictly come under the denomination of macaronic poetry, in which Latin are mingled with vernacular words of Latin terminations, and in which the rules of prosody are observed with at least some degree of care.^[17. Dr Good has made the following remarks in reference to the English translators of Blainville’s Travels through Italy: “When they tell us that macaronic poetry, which is a mixture of Italian and Latin words, possessing a Latin termination, ς is so called from its being supposed to resemble (as being a mixture) the Italian maccheroni, these being composed of flour, cheese, and butter’—they display a woeful ignorance of the subject they attempt to elucidate. Maccherone is a term in the Italian language, significative of a blockhead, an ignoramus, or in equivalent English a puddìng-pated fellow: and Maccheronéa (Macaronies) are obviously, therefore, burlesque imitations of the unclassical style of such writers.” (Memoirs of the Rev. Alexander Geddes, LL∙ D. p. 25G. Lond. 1803, 8vo.) The style of blockheads must generally be unclassical; but the origin of the term macaronic, as applied to this motley species of composition, is nevertheless very truly explained by the translators. For this explanation we have the authority of Folengo himself, who in the Apologetica prefixed to his Opus Mdcaronicoum speaks in the following manner: i ∙ Ars ista poetica nuncupatur ars macaronica, a macaronibus derivata, qui macarones sunt quoddam pulmentum, farina, caseo, botiro compaginatum, grossum, rude, et rusticanum; ideo macaronice nil nisi grasscdinem, ruditatem, et vocabulazzos debet in se contincre.” See likewise Menage’s Origini della Lingua Italiana, p. 301. ] The earliest macaronic poet is sometimes supposed to have been Teofilo Folengo, a Benedictine monk, better known by the name of Merlinus Cocaius, who was born near Mantua in the year 1491.^[18. Tiraboschi, Storia della Letteratura Italiana, tom. vii. p. 14G9. ] Of his Macaronies the first edition bears the date of 1518; but during the preceding century a work had appeared under the title of “Typhis Odaxii Patavini Carmen Macaroni-cum de Patavinis quibusdam Arte magica delusis.”^[19. Alorellii Bibliotheca Pinelliana, tom. ii. p. 45G. Tiraboschi, tom. vii. p. 14G8. Specimens of Macaronic Poetry, p. xi. Lond.. 1831, 8vo. ] This model was followed by Folengo, and by Antonius Arena, or Antoine du Sablon, a French lawyer; and these two are the most celebrated poets of this fantastic school. Among the Scotish poets they have found a few imitators, particularly Drummond and Dr Geddes. Dunbar has not adhered to the same model; without regarding the rules of prosody, he intermingles Latin with Scotish lines, and produces an effect sufficiently ludicrous. Of this particular mode of composition, much earlier specimens are to be found; and Dante himself has written a canzone which [7:8:274]contains a mixture of three languages, Latin, Romance, and Italian. It concludes with the following lines:

Chanson, vos pogues ir per tot le niond; Namque locutus sum in lingua trina, Ut gravis mea spina

Si saccia per lo mondo, ogn’ uomo il senta: Forse pictb n’ avrà. chi mi tormenta.^[20. Opere di Dante Alighieri, tom. iv. p. 342. ed. Venezia, 1758, 4 tom. 4to.—Rodrigo de Valdes, a Jesuit, has written a long and extraordinary poem, containing a mixture of Latin and Spanish, and entitled “Poema heroyco Hispano-Latino panegyricode La Fundacion y Grandezas de la muy noble y leal Ciudad de Lima.” Madrid, 1687, 4to. ]

Skelton, the contemporary of Dunbar, has occasionally indulged in this vein of humour; and a poem of the same description occurs among the works of Dr Arbuthnot, though it has likewise been attributed to Meston. The following stanza, which forms the conclusion of Dunbar’s Testament of Kennedy, may be considered as a sufficient specimen.

I will na priestis for me sing Dies ilia, dies irae,^[21. This is an allusion to an ancient sequence, known to many English readers from the translations of Drummond and the earl of Roscommon. It begins in the following manner: Dies irae, dies ilia Solvet seclum in favilla, Teste David cum Sybilia. ]

Na y it na bellis for me ring, Sicut semper solet fieri;

Bot a bag-pipe to play a spryng, Et unum ail wosp ante me;

In stayd of baneris for to bring Quatuor lagenas cervisiae, Within the graif to set sic thing In modum crucis juxta me, To fie the feyndis, than hardely sing De terra plasmasti me.

The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy is an extraordinary effort of unrefined wit; and is at least sufficient to evince that the ancient Scotish tongue was not deficient in terms of abuse.^[22. The Poems of William Dunbar, with notes, and a memoir of his life, by David Laing: to which are added Poems by Walter Kennedy, and other contemporaries. Edinb. 1833, 2 vols. 8vo—Of the poems of Dunbar this is the first collective edition that has yet been undertaken; and it is fortunate that the task was reserved for so industrious and so skilful an editor. ] Lord Hailes is inclined to believe that this altercation may have been a mere play of illiberal fancy, without any real quarrel between the antagonists; and this opinion he supposes to be confirmed by the affectionate manner in which Dunbar afterwards speaks of Kennedy, and of Quintin Shaw, who in this literary duel seems to have acted the part of Kennedy’s second. A similar altercation was maintained by Luigi Pulci and Matteo Franco: although for the amusement of their readers they loaded each other with the grossest abuse, yet the intimacy of their friendship is said to have continued without interruption.^[23. Roscoe’s Life of Lorenzo de’ Medici, vol. i∙ p. 252. ] The example of Dunbar and Kennedy was followed by James the Fifth and Sir David Lindsay, and at a later period by Montgomery and Hume. It is not to be imagined that a king and one of his courtiers were engaged in actual hostilities; and in the verses prefixed to the “Flyting betwixt Montgomery and Pol-wart,” it is expressly stated that their altercation was not the result of a real quarrel, but of what is there described as generous emulation.

A comic tale, entitled the Freiris of Berwik, and possessing a large fund of genuine humour, seems to have been composed about the period to which our attention is now directed. Mr Pinkerton supposes it to have been written by Dunbar; but this opinion is founded on no historical evidence, nor can the internal evidence of style and manner be considered as very striking or satisfactory. “But this tale,” he remarks, “cannot at any rate be above thirteen years later than Dunbar, who must have died about 1525. In 1482, Berwick was wrested from Scotland, and was ever after in the possession of the English. Now this poem speaks of all the monasteries as actually standing and flourishing while it was written; and it is well known that in 1535 Henry VIII. suppressed the lesser monasteries, and in 1539 the greater. It follows that this tale must, at all events, have been written before 1539."^[24. Ancient Scotish Poems, vol. ii p∙ 394. Lond. 1786, 2 vols. 8vo. ] But the poet, whoever he may have been, does not speak of the monasteries of Berwick as actually flourishing; he merely avers, that when the adventures took place, friars of the different orders were not to seek, but were dwelling in the town. It is therefore evident that this chronological argument is by no means satisfactory, and that the tale may have been written after the suppression of the English monasteries.

In the Freiris of Berwik, every reader acquainted with the poems of Allan Ramsay must recognize the original of the Monk and the Miller’s Wife; and we will venture to add that the ancient is greatly superior to the modern tale. Ramsay’s tale, says Lord Woodhouselee, “would of itself be his passport to immortality, as a comic poet. In this capacity he might enter the lists with Chaucer and Boccaccio, with no great risk of discomfiture. Though far their inferior in acquired address, his native strength was perhaps not widely disproportionate. Of this admirable tale, I conceive he has the merit of the invention; as the story is not to be found in any of the older writers, as Sachetti, Boccaccio, or in the Cento Novelle antiche. In a few circumstances there is indeed a small resemblance to the 73d of the Cent nouvelles Nouvelles, entitled ‘ L’Oi-seau en la Cage,’ which barely affords a presumption that Ramsay may have read that story; but in all the material circumstances, his Monk and the Miller’s Wife is original. A story of more festive humour could not have been devised. The characters are sustained with consummate propriety; the manners are true to nature; and poetic justice is most strictly observed in the winding up of the piece.”^[25. Woodhouselee’s Remarks en the Genius and Writings of Ramsay (p. cvii.) prefixed to his Poems. Lond. 1800. 2 vols. 8vo∙ ] But whatever merit this comic tale may possess, it is evident that the praise of invention does not belong to Ramsay: he had doubtless read the old Scotish tale in Bannatyne’s MS. from which he transcribed other poems less capable of arresting his attention. It may scarcely be worth while to remark that the ecclesiastic whom he introduces is a secular, a parish-priest, and is therefore most improperly described as a monk. That the author of the Freiris of Berwik was likewise indebted to some preceding poet, may perhaps be considered as highly probable. In the collection of Le Grand d’Aussy there is a fabliau which exhibits some lineaments of the story. A poor clerk, after having studied at Paris, is returning homeward without any money in his pocket, and, on the approach of night, calls at a solitary house to entreat a lodging; but the farmer’s wife very unceremoniously refuses to shelter him during the absence of her husband. As he is leaving the house, he observes a servant bringing some wine in a basket; and at the same time the maid [7:8:275] places in a cupboard a cake which she has just made, together with a piece of fresh pork which she has taken out of the pot. A priest, wrapped in his cope, soon afterwards passes the clerk in silence, and glides into the house. The wayfaring scholar, overwhelmed with fatigue, and dying of hunger, seats himself by the road-side: there he is found by the farmer, who happens to return sooner than he is expected; and they procure admittance, after the priest has found a place of refuge in the stable, which seems to be the ground-floor under the familydwelling. While the maid is preparing some refreshment, the laboureur proposes that the clerk should either sing a song or tell a story: he declares that he knows neither song nor story, but offers to relate an adventure which happened to him in the morning; and by detailing this supposed adventure, he very dexterously contrives to take his revenge on the farmer’s wife. As he was traversing a wood, he saw a numerous herd of swine: some of them were large, others small, some white, others black, in a word, they were of all sizes and of all colours; but above all he admired the leader of this herd; he was fat, shining, plump—in a word, just such another as must have been that, of which Catherine lately took a morsel from the pot. The clerk prosecutes his tale with the same arch simplicity, and contrives to reveal the secret of the wine, the cake, and finally of the priest concealed in the stable. The enraged farmer, having seized a cudgel, chastises his wife; and the priest, anticipating the same discipline, makes an attempt to escape, but is unmercifully beaten, stripped naked, and in this condition turned out of the house, leaving the clerk to enjoy his joke, together with the supper and wine provided for another guest.^[26. Fabliaux ou Contes du XII e ∙ et du XIII e . Siede, tom. ίν. p. 1. edit. Paris, 1781, 5 tom. 12mo. ] This is certainly not the identical story of the Freiris of Berwik: several of the incidents are essentially the same, but the comic scene of the pretended conjuration is wanting. Still however the Scotish tale may have been borrowed from some preceding writer. A story not materially different occurs in a French collection published in 1665, and probably in many others: the scene is laid in Granada; the unfortunate gallant is an advocate, and the pretended magician a soldier.^[27. Les Recreations Françoises; ou nouveau Recueil de Contes à rire; pour servir de divertissement aux melancholiques, et de joyeux entretien dans les cours, les cercles, et les ruelles, part. i. p. 178. A Rouen, ch©s David Berthelin, dans la Cour du Palais, 1665, 2 part. 8vo The compiler, whose name is Nipe, professes to have gleaned from all the ancient and modern books of tales, and to have added new stories of his own invention, “plus capables de faire mourir de rire, que de faire dormir de bout.”· ] This publication is indeed of a recent date; but such a tale is too pungent and characteristic to have been devised by the obscure compiler of the collection; and it is sufficiently probable that this talc and the Freiris of Berwik were both derived from one common source.^[28. A similar incident occurs in Ravenscroft’s London Cuckolds, a Comedy, act ii. sc. ii. Lond. 1683, 4to. In reference to this scene, Langbaine has remarked that “Loveday’s discovering Eugenia’s intrigue, and pretending to conjure for a supper, is borrowed from Les Contes d’Ouville, part ii. pag. 235.” (Account of the English Dramatick Poets, p∙ 421. Lond. 1691, 8vo.) ] Many stories, both tragic and humorous, seem to have passed with rapidity from language to language, even at a period when the different nations of Europe are generally supposed to have maintained but little intercourse with each other. In many instances it is by no means easy to account for this speedy transmission; but there were some peculiar circumstances which may be conceived to have had considerable influence; as, for example, pilgrimages to remote countries; the various missions and visitations of the clergy; the extensive journeys of merchants and their attendants; and the associations of people of different nations in the same military service, particularly in the successive crusades. The original stock of materials is much more scanty than is commonly imagined;^[29. The earl of Orford professes to have derived the dreadful plot of his Mysterious Mother from an English tradition, though he afterwards discovered the supposed origin of this tradition in the novels of the queen of Navarre. A similar story, under the title of La mayor Confusion, occurs in the novels of Montalvan. (Sucessos y Prodigios de Amor, en ocho Novelas exemplares, f. 58. Sevilla, 1633, 4to.) The scene is laid in Madrid; and Bishop Taylor has quoted from Comitolus its exact parallel in “a strange and rare case happening in Venice.” (Ductor Dubitantium, or the Rule of Conscience, vol i. p. 118. Lond. 1660, 2 vols. fol.) ] and the most distinguished writers of tales, whether in prose or verse, have very frequently contented themselves with borrowing the entire skeleton of a story, but from them it still derives its flesh and blood, its life and spirit; for in most instances the chief merit consists in the mode of telling the story, and not in the story itself. (x.)