A SUPPLICATION Directed by SIR DAVID LINDSAY OF THE MOUNT, TO THE KING'S GRACE, In Contemption of SIDE-TAILES, AND MUZZLED-FACES.  

SIR, Though your grace hath put great Order.  
Both in the Highlands and the Border.  
Yet I make supplication.  
To have some reformation,  
Of a small Fault, which is no Treason,  
Though it be contrary to Reason,  
Because the Matter been so vile,  
It may not have an ornat stile:  
Wherefore I pray your Excellence,  
To hear me with great patience:  
Of stinking Weeds macular,  
No Man may wear a Rose Chaplate.  
Sovereign, I mean of these side tails,  
Which through the dust and dubs trails,  
Three quarters long behind their heels,  
Express against all Common-weels:  
Though Bishops in their Pontificals,  
Have Men to bear up their side tails,  
For Dignity of their Office:  
Right so a Queen or an Emprice,  
Albeit they use such gravity,  
Conforming to their Majesty,  
Though their Robes Royal be upborn.  
I think it but a very scorn,  
That every Lady of the Land,  
Should have her tail so side trailand;  
Albeit they be of high estate,  
The Queen they may not counterfeit:  
Where ever they go, it may be seen.  
How Church and Calsay they sweep clean,  
The Images into the Kirk,  
May think of their side tails great irk:  
For when the Wether been most fair,  
The dust flies highest in the Air  
And all their Faces doth begaire.  
If they could speak, they would them wary.   

To see I think a pleasant sight,  
Of Italy the Lady's bright,  
In their Clothing most triumphand,  
Above all other Christian Land:  
Yet when they travel through the Towns,  
Men sees their Feet beneath their Gowns,  
Four Inches above their proper Heels,  
Circulat about as round as Wheels:  
Where through their doth no Powder rise,  
Their fair white limbs for to surprise.  
But I think most abusion.  
To see Men of Religion,  
To bear their tails through the Street,  
That Folks may behold their Feet:  
I trow Saint Bernard, nor Saint Blaise,  
Caused never Man bear up their Claise.  
Peter nor Paul, nor Saint Androw,  
Caused ne'er bear up their Tails I trow.  
But I laugh best to see a Nun,  
'Cause bear her Tail above her Bun,  
For nothing else, as I suppose,  
But for to show her lily white Hose:  
In all their rules they will not find,  
Who shall bear up their Tails behind.  
But I have most into despite,  
Poor Clagocks clad with raploch white,  
Which have scarce two marks of fees,  
Will have two else beneath their knees;  
Kittock that clecked was yestreen.  
The morn will counterfeit the Queen.  
A Mooreland Meg that milks the Yows,  
Clagged with Clay above the howes;  
In barn or byre she will not bide,  
Except her Kittle tail be side.  
In borrows wanton burgess wives,  
Who may have sidest tails strives,  
Well bordered with Velvit fine,  
But following them it is a pine.  
In Summer when the streets dries,  
They raise the dust above the skies.  
None may go near them at their ease.  
Except the cover mouth and nease,  
From the powder to keep their e'en;  
Consider if their Cloves be clean.  
Between their cleaving and their knees,  
Who would behold their sweaty thighs,  
Begaried with dirt and dust,  
It were enough to staunch the lust.  
Of any Man that saw them naked;  
I think such Giglots are but glaiked,  
Without profit to have such pride,  
Hatling their clagged tails so side.  
I would the borrowston bairns had breeches.  
To keep such mist from makins cheeks,  
I dread rough makin dry for drought,  
When such dry dust blows in her mouth;  
I think most pain after a rain.  
To s●e them touked up again.  
Then when they step out through the street,  
Their folding flappes about their feet;  
Their loathly lining forth with flyped,  
That hath the muck and midding wiped;  
They waste more cloth within few years,  
Then would  fifty score of Friars.  
When Marion from the midding goes,  
From her morn darg she strips the nose,  
And all the day where ever she go,  
Such liquor she licks up also.  
The turcums of her tail I trow,  
Might be a supper to a Sow,  
I know a Man which swear great-oaths,  
How he did lift a Kittocks clothes;  
And would have done I wots not what,  
But soon remead of love he got:  
He thought no shame to make it witten,  
How her side tail was all beshitten.  
Of filth such stowre strake to his heart,  
That he behoved for to departed.  
Said she, Good Sir, me think you rue.  
Said he, Your Tail casts such a stew,  
That by Saint Brid. I cannot bide it;  
You were not wise that would not hid it.   

Of tails I will no more indite,  
For dread some dudron me despite;  
Notwithstanding I will conclude;  
That of side tails there comes no good.  
Cider then can their hanclets hid,  
The remanent proceeds of pride.  
And pride proceedeth of the Devil:  
Thus always they proceed of evil.  
Another fault, Sir, may be seen,  
They hid their face all but the e'en,  
When Gentlemen bids them Good day,  
Without reverence they slide away;  
That none may know, I you assure,  
An honest Woman by an Whore,  
Except their naked face I see,  
They get no more good-dayes of me.  
Half a French Lady when ye please,  
She will discover mouth and nease,  
And with an humble countenance,  
With visage bore make reverence.  
When our Ladies do ride in rain▪  
Should no Man have them at disdain:  
Though they be covered mouth and nease,  
In that case they will none displease;  
Not when they go to quiet places,  
I them excuse to hid their faces,  
When they would make collation  
With any Iusty Champion;  
Though they be hid then to the e'en,  
Ye may consider what I mean.  
But in the Church and Market places,  
I think they should not hid their faces;  
Except these faults be sure amended,  
My flyting, Sir, shall never be ended.  
But would your Grace my counsel take,  
A Proclamation you should make,  
Both in the Land and Borrowstowns,  
To show their Face and cut their Gowns,  
None should from them exeemed be,  
Except the Queen's Majesty;  
Because this matter is not fair,  
Of Rhetoric it must be bair.  
Woman will say, This is no bourds  
To write such vile and filthy words:  
But would they cleanse their filthy tails,  
Which over the mire and midding trails,  
Then should my writing ended be.  
No other mends they get of me.  
The truth should not be holden closely,  
Veritas non querit angulos,  
I know good Women that been wise,  
This rural Rhyme will not disprise.  
None will me blame, I you assure,  
Except a wanton glorious Whore,  
Whose flyting I fear not a flee.  
Farewell, ye get no more of me.   

Quod Lindsay, in contempt of side tails,  
That Duddrons and Duntibouts through the dubbs trails.   
FINIS.