A merry Ballad, Called, Christ's Kirk on the Green.  

WAs never in Scotland heard nor seen,  
Such dancing, nor Deray:  
Neither at Falkland on the Green;  
Nor pebbles at the Play;   

As was (of Wooers, as I ween)  
At Christ's Kirk on a day.  
For there came Kittie washen clean,  
In her New Gown of Gray;  
So gay that day.   

To dance these Damisels them dight;  
These Lasses light of laits.  
Their gloves were of the raffall right;  
Their shoes were of the straits.   

Their Kirtles were of Lincoln light,  
Well pressed with many plaits.  
They were so nice, when men them night,  
They squeald like any Gaits,  
Full loud that day.   

Of all these maiden's mild as meed,  
Was none so gimp as Gillie:  
As any Rose, her rude was reed:  
Her lyre was like the lily,   

But yellow, yellow, was her head,  
And she of love so silly,  
Though all her kin had sworn her dead,  
She would have none but Willie,  
Alone that day.   

She scorned Jock, and Skripped at him,  
And murgeond him with mocks.  
He would have loved her, she would not let him,  
For all his yellow locks.   

He cherished her: she bade go chat him,  
She counted him not two clocks:  
So shamefully his short jack set him,  
His legs were like two rocks,  
Or rongues that day   

Tom Luter was their minstrel meet,  
Good Lord, how he could lance:  
He played so shrill, and sang so sweet;  
While Towsie took a Trance.   

Old lightfoot there he could forleet,  
And counterfeited France.  
He held him like a man discreet:  
And up the Morries Dance,  
He took that day.   

Then Stien came stepping in with stends:  
No rink might him arrest.  
Play-foot did bob with many bends.  
For masy he made request.   

He lap, while he lay on his lends:  
And rising, so was pressed,  
While he did host, at both the ends,  
For Honour of the Feast,  
And dance that day.   

Then Robin Roy began to revel.  
And Towsie to him drugged.  
Let be (Quoth Jock) and called him jevell;  
And by the tail him tugged.   

Then kensy cleiked him to a kevell.  
God wots, if they two lugged.  
They parted there upon a nevell.  
Men said, that hair was rugged,  
Between them two.   

With that, a Friend of his cried; fie!  
And forth an Arrow drew.  
He forged it so forcefully,  
The Bow in flinders flew.   

Such was the grace of God, trow I:  
For had the Tree been true,  
Men said, who knew his archery,  
That he had slain anew,  
Belyve that day.   

A yape young man that stood him neist,  
Soon bent his Bow in ire:  
And etled the Bairn in at the breist,  
The Bolt flew over the Byre:   

And cried, fie! He had slain a Priest,  
A mile beyond the Myre.  
Both Bow and Bag from him he keist,  
And fled as fast as fire,  
From flint that day.   

An hasty Kinsman, called Harrie,  
That was an Archer keen:  
Tide up a Taikell, withouten tarry;  
I trow the man was tein.   

I wot not whether his hand did vary,  
Or his foe, was his Friend.  
But he scaped by the might of Marie,  
As men that nothing meant,  
But good that day.   

Then Lowrie, like a lion lap:  
And soon a Flayn can fedder;  
He heght to pierce him at the pap,  
Thereon to wed a Wedder.   

He hit him on the womb a wap:  
It buft like any Bledder.  
He scaped so, such was his hap,  
His Doublet was of leather,  
Full fyne that day.   

The buff so bousteously abaist him,  
That he to earth dusht down.  
The other man for dead then left him,  
And fled out of the town.   

The wives came forth, and up they reft him,  
And found life in the Lown.  
Then with three routs there they raised him,  
And cured him out of sown,  
Fra hand that day.   

The miller was of manly make,  
To meet with him, it was no mows.  
There durst no Ransom there him take;  
So nowed he their news.   

The ambushment hail about him broke,  
And bickered him with bows.  
Then traitorously behind his back,  
They hacked him on the howes,  
behind that day.   

Then Hutchen, with an hazel rice:  
To red, 'gan through them rummill,  
He mudled them down, like any mice,  
He was no Bettie bummill.   

Though he was wight, he was not wise,  
With such jutors to jummill:  
For from his thumb, there flew a slice,  
While he cried, Barlafummill:  
I'm slain this day.   

When that he saw his blood so red,  
To flee might no man let him.  
He trowd it had been for old fead;  
He thought, and bade; have at him.   

He made his feet defend his head;  
The far fairer it set him:  
While he was past out of their plead,  
They must be swift that got him,  
through speed that day.   

Two that were headsmen of the heard,  
They rushed on other like Rams.  
The other four which were unfeard,  
Beat on with barrow trams.   

And where their gobs were ungeard,  
They got upon the gams:  
While all the blood-born was their beard,  
As they had worried Lambs,  
most like that day.   

They girnd, and glowred, all at ones:  
Each gossip other grieved.  
Some streiked stings, some gathered stones:  
Some fled, and some relieved.   

Their Menstrill used quiet means;  
That day he wisely prieved.  
For he came home with unbirsd bones,  
Where Fighters were mischieved,  
full ill that day.   

With forks, and flaylls, then let they flaps,  
And flew together with frigs:  
with bougers of barns they pierced blue caps,  
While of their Beirns they made brigs.   

The Reire rose rudely with their raps,  
When Rungs were laid on rigs.  
Then wives came forth with cries and claps,  
See where my liking ligs,  
full low this day.   

The black souter of Briath was bowden,  
His wis hang by his waist:  
His body was in Bleck, all browden:  
He girned like a gaist.   

Her glittering hair, that was so gowden,  
His love fast for him layst:  
That for her sake he was unyowden,  
While he a mile was chaste,  
and more that day.   

When they had beird like baited Bulls:  
The Bone-fyres burnt in baylls:  
They grew as meek as any Mules,  
That wearied were with nails.   

For tyrdness these forfoughten fools▪  
Fell down like flaughtring flaylls:  
Fresh men came in, and hailed their dules,  
And dang them down in dails,  
bedeine that day.   

The wives than gave an hideous yell,  
When all these Younkers yocked:  
As fierce as Flags of fyre-flaughts fell:  
Friecks to the field they flocked.   

Then Karls with clubs did other quell▪  
On breast, while blood out bocked:  
So rudely rang the Common-bell,  
That all the Steeple rocked,  
for dread that day.   

By this, Tom Taylor was in his gear▪  
When he heard the Common-bell:  
He said, he should make them all on steer,  
When he came there him sell.   

He went to fight with such a fear,  
While to the ground he fell.  
A Wyf then hit him on the ear,  
With a great knocking Mell,  
field him that day.   

The bride-groom brought a pint of ail;  
And bade the Pyper drink it.  
Drink it (Quoth he) and it so staill?  
I shrew me, if I think it.   

The bride her maidens stood near by,  
And said, It was not blinked.  
And Bartagasie, the bride so gay,  
Upon them fast she winked,  
full soon that day.   

When all was done, Dick with an axe,  
Came forth to fell a Foother.  
Quoth he, where is yond whoreson smakes,  
Right now that hurt my Brother?   

His Wyf bade him, go home, Gib glakes,  
And so did Meg his Mother.  
He turned, and gave them both their pakes:  
For he durst ding none other,  
But them that day.   
FINIS.   

Imprinted for PATRICK WILSON, Upon the Malt-Mercat. ANNO 1643.