William Dunbar C

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William Dunbar c. 1460 - 1520

Contents:

Biography...... Page 1 Lament for the Makers (Timor Mortis conturbat me)...... Pages 2 - 6 Meditatioun on Wyntir...... Pages 6 - 9 Dunbar and The Birth of Scottish Publishing...... Pages 9 - 10 Fight or Flyte ?...... Pages 11 - 16 Further Reading / Contacts...... Pages 17 - 20

Biography:

William Dunbar (c. 1460 - 1520) : has left vivid images of Scotland during the reign of James IV, but much of his own life remains obscure. It is certain, however, that Dunbar was a Lowlander, from the Lothian region, and spent many years in Edinburgh. He was well- educated and studied at St Andrews, where he obtained a bachelor’s degree in 1477, and masters degree in 1479. it is assumed that he spent the subsequent years travelling abroad, possibly to Denmark, France, and England. Between 1500 and 1513, he received a ‘Pensioun’ or annual salary, from James IV as a member of the royal household and may have fulfi lled clerical functions there. He was ordained in 1504, but occasionally acted as advocate in the law courts. The last mention of him in the court record is in May 1513, the year of the battle of Flodden, in which King James IV died. Dunbar may have survived into the reign of James V, but there is no evidence to back it up.

Much of his poetry is addressed to the king and queen of fellow courtiers, from humble fools to powerful offi cials, and there is some festive poetry, written for specifi c occasions, such as royal weddings (The Thissil and the Rose for the marriage of James IV and Margaret Tudor) and tournaments.

Much of his poetry, however, is satirical in its analyses of courtly life, and reveals an uneasy atmosphere of envy and distrust.

His verse is very brief and compressed, and he himself labelled his writings ‘ballatis’ and defi ned himself as a Makar, a term that lays stress on the poet as a skilled and versatile craftsman. Indeed, he experimented with many genres, elegy, panegyric, love epistle, fable, satire, and dream poetry. He is at his most personal in The Lament for the Makers. The last verse of that poem offers both the reader and himself a glimmer of hope, in what has become a prayer for his immortality. Through this poem, at least, he achieved it.

Sen for the ded remeid is none Best is that we for ded dispone Eftir our deid that lif may we 1 Timor mortis conturbat me Copyright © 2003 Scottish Literary Tour Trust. All Rights Reserved. William Dunbar c. 1460 - 1520

The Lament for The Makers:

I that in heill wes and gladnes, Heill: health Am trublit now with gret seiknes, And feblit with infermite: Timor mortis conturbat me. Fear of death disturbs me

Our plesance heir is all vane glory, Plesance: joy This fals warld is bot transitory, The fl esche is brukle, the Fend is sle: Brukle: fragile; fend: fi end; sle: sly Timor mortis conturbat me.

The stait of man dois change and vary, Now sound, now seik, now blith, now sary, Seik: sick Now dansand mery, now like to dee: Dansand: dancing; dee: die Timor mortis conturbat me.

No stait in erd heir standis sickir; Erd: Earth; sickir: securely As with the wynd wavis the wickir, Wickir: willow Wavis this warldis vanité: Timor mortis conturbat me.

On to the ded gois all estatis, On to the ded: into Death Princis, prelotis, and potestatis, Prelotis: prelates; potestatis: men Baith riche and pur of al degré: of high rank Timor mortis conturbat me.

He takis the knychtis in to feild, Field: battle Anarmit under helme and scheild; Anarmit: armed; Victour he is at all mellie: Mellie: fi ghting Timor mortis conturbat me.

That strang unmercifull tyrand Tyrand: tyrant Takis, on the moderis breist sowkand, Moderis: mother’s; sowkand: suck- The bab full of benignite: ling; Bab: baby; benignitie: love Timor mortis conturbat me.

He takis the campion in the stour, Campion: champion; stour: battle The capitane closit in the tour, Closit: locked The lady in bour full of bewté: Bour: bower(private room) 2 Timor mortis conturbat me.

He sparis no lord for his piscence, Piscence: strength Na clerk for his intelligence; His awfull strak may no man fl e: Strak: blow Timor mortis conturbat me.

Art-magicianis, and astrologgis, Rethoris, logicianis, and theologgis, Thame helpis no conclusionis sle: Sle: cunning Timor mortis conturbat me.

In medicyne the most practicianis, Most practicianis: best practicion- Lechis, surrigianis, and phisicianis, ers; Lechis: doctors Thame self fra ded may not supplé: Timor mortis conturbat me.

I se that makaris amang the laif Laif: rest of us Playis heir ther pageant, syne gois to graif; Syne: then; graif: greif Sparit is nocht ther faculté: Faculté: profession Timor mortis conturbat me.

He hes done petuously devour, Petulously: impudently The noble Chaucer, of makaris fl our, The Monk of Bery, and Gower, all thre: Timor mortis conturbat me.

The gude Syr Hew of Eglintoun, And eik Heryot, and Wyntoun, Eik: also He hes tane out of this cuntré: Tane: taken Timor mortis conturbat me.

That scorpion fell hes done infek Fell: ruthless; infek: infected Maister Johne Clerk, and Jame Affl ek, Fra balat making and tragidie: Balat: ballad Timor mortis conturbat me.

Holland and Barbour he hes berevit; Allace! that he nocht with us levit Levit: left Schir Mungo Lokert of the Lea: Timor mortis conturbat me.

Clerk of Tranent eik he has tane, That maid the Anteris of Gawane; Schir Gilbert Hay endit hes he: 3 Timor mortis conturbat me. Copyright © 2003 Scottish Literary Tour Trust. All Rights Reserved. William Dunbar c. 1460 - 1520

He hes Blind Hary and Sandy Traill Slaine with his schour of mortall haill, Quhilk: which Quhilk Patrik Johnestoun myght nocht fl ee: Timor mortis conturbat me. Reft: taken away; endite: writing He hes reft Merseir his endite, Lifl y: vividly That did in luf so lifl y write, So schort, so quyk, of sentence hie: Timor mortis conturbat me.

He hes tane Roull of Aberdene, And gentill Roull of Corstorphin; Two bettir fallowis did no man see: Timor mortis conturbat me.

In Dumfermelyne he hes done roune With Maister Robert Henrisoun; Enbrast: embraced Schir Johne the Ros enbrast hes he: Timor mortis conturbat me.

And he hes now tane, last of aw, Gud gentill Stobo and Quintyne Schaw, Wichtis: beings Of quham all wichtis hes peté: Timor mortis conturbat me.

Gud Maister Walter Kennedy Dede: death In poynt of dede lyis veraly, Reuth: pity Gret reuth it wer that so suld be: Timor mortis conturbat me

Sen he hes all my brether tane, Lat: let He will nocht lat me lif alane, On forse: inevitably; man: must; On forse I man his nyxt pray be: pray: prey Timor mortis conturbat me. Sen: since; remeid: remeid Sen for the deid remeid is none, Dispone: prepare Best is that we for dede dispone, Eftir our deid that lif may we: Timor mortis conturbat me

At its heart this poem is a mournful necronomicon, a litany of the names of the great poets, or Makars, who have passed away. They range from the very dead Chaucer (who died 4 in 1400, roughly 100 years before Dunbar wrote the poem) to the barely living Walter Copyright © 2003 Scottish Literary Tour Trust. All Rights Reserved. William Dunbar c. 1460 - 1520

Kennedy, his rival from The Flyting (as Dunbar writes he is “in poynt of dede”). But the poem is something else besides. More than merely a lament for the Makars, it is a lament for a way of life that was changing beyond all recognition. The coming century would see massive upheaval across the whole of Europe – and it is likely that Dunbar sensed this coming change. The poem is also a meditation on death; it is a dirge on the passing of his own life – and more than that, it is a petition by Dunbar to future readers to keep his name immortal. It has succeeded on all counts. Not only that, it has helped to immortalise a whole host of poets whom we would not otherwise have heard of.

The poem begins with the “I” voice of the author: “I that in heill wes and gladnes/ Am trublit now with gret seiknes/ And feblit with infermité”. In the fi rst verse, he establishes the motive from which he is writing, which the fi nal line confi rms. He is ill, possibly dying. The poem is given a sonorous weight with the sustained repetition of the Latin phrase “Timor mortis conturbat me” (fear of death disturbs me). It is like a congregational re- sponse in a mass, which gives the feeling that the whole poem is like a prayer, or requiem.

But the “I” voice is soon replaced in the second verse: “Our plesance heir is all vane glory.” Our plesance.plesance. He speaks forfor all of us since,since, after all, wwee all mmustust diedie.. From this moment on, we read the repeated phrase not as William Dunbar’s fears – but as our own.

The next few verses describe the various pleasures that human beings enjoy, and the various affl ictions and infi rmities. No matter your status, your wealth, your power; whether you are a soldier armed to the teeth, or a baby at your mother’s breast; whether you are strong, or beautiful, intelligent – death will come for you anyway. Not even our society’s healers, our doctors, surgeons, or physicians, can save themselves. Death is the great level- ler.

It is indeed a disturbing thought.

But Dunbar makes it bearable for us because he writes about it with such rare grace. It is a pleasure to read this poem, even though its subject is utterly morbid. There are beautiful alliterative verses that so beguile you that their terrible meaning only occurs to you after the fact: “No stait in erd heir standis sickir:/ As with the wynd wavis the wickir/ Wavis the warldis vanité” (As with the wind waveswaves the willow/willow/ WavesWaves the world’sworld’s vanityvanity). This is hohoww fragile we are. We bend to and fro, depending on which way the wind is blowing. But there is always that dry, deadening beat at the end of the verse to hit the message home.

However, there is one group of professionals which may be exempt from the annihilating hand of Death – writers. The really great ones. Those whose works survive will live on in memory, in their work. When we read them, do we not bring them back to life? Is Dunbar consciously after a place in history? The poem certainly indicates he was aware of his own skill as a poet, and it is likely he would have an eye to posterity. These days we consider that a bit uncouth, a bit presumptuous – but Dunbar seems like an uncouth kind of guy. 5 It is a bold, maybe even arrogant, gesture to align himself with established greats such as Copyright © 2003 Scottish Literary Tour Trust. All Rights Reserved. William Dunbar c. 1460 - 1520

Chaucer – but why not? No-one likes to think they have lived their life in vain; we all want to have some kind of achievement by which future generations will remember us, even if it is just the preservation of a family name.

If this poem was only about Dunbar’s quest for ever-lasting greatness and a place in the hallowed halls of literature, then we probably wouldn’t be reading it. Dunbar’s greatness comes in part from his ability to shine a light through his individual circumstances, complaints and epiphanies so that he illuminates the world for all of us. In the second last verse, Dunbar refl ects on all his “brether tane” – his fellow poets who have died – and speculates that he’s next: “I man his nyxt pray be”. And here, just when it looks like Dun- bar is at his most self-interested, in the fi nal verse all of us are swept up in his meditations: we share his notion that, since we cannot help the dead (and we cannot help but die) the best we can do is to prepare in our own ways, for our own deaths.

Meditatioun in Wyntir:

In to thir dirk and drublie dayis, Drublie: dismal Whone sabill all the hevin arrayis, Sabill: black; arrayis: arranges With mistie vapouris, cloudis, and skyis, Nature all curage me denyis Of sangis, ballattis, and of plays. Sangis: songs; ballattis: ballads

Whone that the nicht dois lenthin houris With wind, with haill, and havy shouris, My dule spreit dois lurk for shore, Dule: depressed; spreit: spirit; lurk: My hart for languor dois forlore cower; shore: fear; Forlore: weaken For lack of simmer with his fl ouris. Simmer: summer; fl ouris: fl owers

I wak, I turn, sleep may I nocht. I vexit am with havy thocht. This warld all owre I cast about, And ay the mair I am in dout, Ay: ever The mair that I remied have socht. Remeid: salvation

I am assayit on everie side. Assayit: attacked Despaire sayis ay, “In time provide And get sum thing whairon to leif, Leif: live Or with grit trouble and mischief Grit: great Thou sall in to this court abide.”

And let Fortoun work furth hir rage, Whome that no rasoun may assuage, Rasoun: reason While that hir glass be run and past.”

And Prudence in my ear sayis ay, “Why wad thou haud that will away? Or crave that thou may have no space, Thou tending to ane other place, A journey going everie day?”

And then sayis Age, “My friend, cum neir, And be not strange, I thee requeir: Requeir: require Cum, brodir, by the hand me tak, Brodir: brother Remember thow hes count to mak Count: account Of all thy time thou spendit heir.”

Syne Deid casts ope his yettis wide, Deid: Death; yettis: gates Saying, “Thir open sall thee abide: Albeit that thou wer neer sae stout, Neer: never Under this lyntall sall thou lout, Lyntall: stone above a doorway;\ Thair is nane other way beside.” lout: stoop

For fear of this all day I droop: No gowd in kist, not wine in coop, Gowd: gold; kist: chest; coop: cup No ladies bewtie, nor luvis bliss May let me to remember this, How glaid that e’er I dine or soop. Soop: sup

Yet, whone the nicht beginnis to short, It dois my spreit sum pairt confort, Of thocht oppressit with the shouris. Cum, lustie simmer! With thy fl ouris, Lustie: beautiful That I may leif in sum disport. Disport: happiness

Meditatioun in Wyntir begins with an evocationevocation of some thoroughlthoroughlyy dismal Scottish weather which echoes the poet’s dismal mood accentuated in the fi rst line by the pound- ing rhythm of the alliterating /d/ – “dirk . . . drublie . . . dayis”. A quick inventory of the various vocabularies operating in the fi rst three lines gives us a strong and immediate sense of what is going on in the poem. There are three main lexical sets:

1) Obscurity and Darkness: dirk, drublie, sabill, mistie, cloudis, dule. 2) Negativity: drublie, denyis, lurk, shore, languor, forlore, nocht, vexit, dout. 7 3) Bad weather: mistie vapouris, cloudis, haill, wind, havy shouris. Copyright © 2003 Scottish Literary Tour Trust. All Rights Reserved. William Dunbar c. 1460 - 1520

These create an effective setting for the poem and leave the reader in no doubt as to the psychological state of the poet. He is in no mood for “sangis, ballattis, and plays”: light- hearted activities that usually give him pleasure. We believe, rightly, that this is a poem about the artist himself. These are pleasures we readily associate with a man of letters. But does the poem transcend the specifi c complaints of Dunbar himself?

The triple rhythm (the alliterating /d/s) established in line one is echoed throughout the poem, slowing the pace down, and providing an almost exaggerated sense of foreboding. In line three there are three natural elements listed: “mistie vapouris, cloudis, and skyis.” Line 5 has “sangis, ballattis, and . . . plays”. We fi nd it too in line 7: “wind . . . haill . . . and havy shouris.” And also in line 11: “I wak, I turn, sleep may I nocht.” Note that the groups of three have shifted here from things to actions, turning the focus of the poem gradually towards the narrator himself.

There are echoes throughout the poem. For example, “havy shouris” (line 7) is echoed in “havy thocht” (line 12). The purpose of this is simply to draw our attention: we are about to learn more of these “havy thochts”. But what is it exactly that’s making him depressed?

The next fi ve verses present what is essentially Dunbar having a conversation with himself. Despair, Patience, Prudence, Age and Death appear as allegorical personae. They argue, or debate, among themselves as to the best course the poet should take in life. It’s a little bit like talking to a careers guidance counsellor, except the advice is your own.

The use of allegory is common in medieval poetry, and is used as a way of presenting moral positions or philosophical truths in a vivid and entertaining way. Dunbar uses allegory to sublime effect in many of his poems, including The Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins.

By now, the poem has really stopped being about Dunbar himself – if it ever was – and by personalising aspects of the human psyche it becomes a poem all of us can share in. Just as we can all identify with the dreadful weather he describes, so too can we share in his insights about the way we live our lives. This debate concerns us all.

First up is Despair, which we may expect, as this is the dominant tenor of the poet’s mood established in the fi rst three verses. Despair says that he should get out and fi nd “sum thing wheiron to leif” – something to keep body and soul together, something to lend meaning to his life, otherwise he’ll end up living in a state of despair himself. The advice is essentially a take on “the devil makes work for idle hands.” We can, of course, interpret “provide” in a material sense: to provide for his future.

Patience answers by saying: don’t worry about it. Believe in yourself, put your life in the hands of fate. You can’t rationalise and be reasonable about everything. Go out and live the life you want to live – and life will take care of itself. Isn’t this advice a bit dangerous? LeaLeavingving it all 8 to Hope and Truth? What about qualifi cations! A good salary! Prudence has a turn and Copyright © 2003 Scottish Literary Tour Trust. All Rights Reserved. William Dunbar c. 1460 - 1520

counters Patience by suggesting that he’s wishing his life away by always wanting something else.

Age steps forward now, with a chilling message couched in a friendly manner – it even calls him brother. Age beckons Dunbar, or the reader, closer. I won’t bite, it seems to say; we’re pals, right? This oover-familiarityver-familiarity is a little bit menacing, a little bit creepcreepy.y. At least com- pared to the impersonal formality of the previous three. But then, Age is something we are all well-acquainted with, though we may not often think about it. Dunbar is forced to think now about Age, because it says: This is just to remind you, by the way, that all the time you spend here on Earth gets added up in the end. In other words: use your time wisely.

The next verse introduces us to Death (“Deid”). Truly we’d have to be in the utter depths of depression for this fi gure to appear. As usual, Death has the last word, it throws open the gates to the afterlife and says: Look! That’s where you’re heading. Whether you live your life well or not, it doesn’t matter because you’ll end up here anyway.

Dunbar tells us these thoughts plague him all day. Even when he’s fl ush with cash, or has a drink in front of him, and not even the beauty of women, or the bliss of being in love can take his mind off these dark thoughts. But! In the fi nal verse there’s a glimmer of hope. The prospect of shorter nights and better weather put more of a spring in his step, and he can’t wait for summer to come again so he can enjoy himself better, take his mind off the gloom of winter.

Nobody who has ever lived in Scotland – indeed nobody who has ever lived – can fail to understand this train of thought Dunbar elucidates in this poem. The mood swings as the days grow longer, the feeling that you’re not making the best of your life – or the opposite, that you’re worrying about things too much: the ultimate dread of death, and worse, dying without accomplishing anything. And the whole thing kicked off by a season of grim weather. These days the psychologists call it Seasonal Affect Disorder. Or, SAD for short. The Birth of Scottish Publishing:

William Dunbar was one of the fi rst Scottish poets to benefi t from a book deal – Chepman and Myllar were the very fi rst publishers in Scotland, and they were the fi rst to mass-produce the works of Scotland’s great poets. Their series of books were published in 1508, about fi fty years after the world’s fi rst printed book – the Gutenburg Bible in c.1455, in Mainz, Germany – and about 30 years after William Caxton established the fi rst printing press in England.

Prior to the invention of moveable type by Johannes Gutenberg, manuscripts were copied by hand or printed using a cumbersome system invented by the Chinese where entire pages would be carved by hand then inked and pressed onto paper to make multiple 9 copies. Gutenberg’s system allowed individual letters to be rearranged for each new page, Copyright © 2003 Scottish Literary Tour Trust. All Rights Reserved. William Dunbar c. 1460 - 1520

making the printing of entire books much cheaper and easier.

Androw Myllar, an Edinburgh bookseller, travelled widely in Europe and learned his printing skills in France. He teamed up with Walter Chepman, a merchant also from Edinburgh, and with a special licence from King James IV they established the fi rst Scottish press in 1507. Books were not unheard of before this, however, since many Scots went to Europe – Germany and France especially – for their education, bringing home a huge range of books (and, more importantly, new ideas) with them.

Diffi cult to believe now, but Edinburgh was once one of the centres of the publishing industry in the United Kingdom. This grew mainly from its status as a major fi nancial, legal and educational centre – three of the most paper-dependent professions. Edinburgh was home to some of the biggest names in publishing – like Oliver & Boyd, Blackwood & Sons, Chambers dictionaries, and the Encyclopaedia Britannica. However, during the early to mid-20th century Scottish publishing went into severe decline, with many publishers moving to London. Today, Canongate Books in Edinburgh is one of the few publishing successes north of the border.

The reading public in the 15th and 16th centuries wasn’t what we have today. For a start, the ability to read was not as widespread: it would have been mostly scholars, lawyers and clergymen who formed the market for books. The publication of poetry so early in the history of printing in Scotland is considered unusual since the publishing industry in the 16th century catered primarily for the religious and legal institutions, not for private entertainment. In fact, it is thought that the main purpose for setting up the Chepman and Myllar press was to publish a handbook containing the daily service for Roman Catholic priests.

But from 1508 Chepman and Myllar published a great deal of Dunbar’s poetry along with other major contemporary works, including several by Robert Henryson and Blind Harry’s Wallace. His inclusion in the Chepman and Myllar books certainly assisted in gaining Dunbar a wider readership for his work and preserving his name for posterity. Some of these books survive only in fragments, whole parts lost forever, while others remain complete. You can view electronic images of the Chepman and Myllar publications and read more about the early history of Scottish publishing at the Scottish National Library website: www.nls.uk/digitallibrary/chepman/books.htm 10 Copyright © 2003 Scottish Literary Tour Trust. All Rights Reserved. William Dunbar c. 1460 - 1520

Fight or Flyte:

Nobody does insults like the Scots.

Maybe it’s the guttural consonants, the rapid staccato accent of the Scottish accent that makes insulting people sound so wonderfully and lavishly abusive. Maybe it’s the quick wits and the sharp retorts learned in the school playground. Maybe it’s a survival mechanism we’ve adapted in a culture that seems to delight in putting others down. Maybe it’s all the practice we get on the football terraces.

Whatever it is, the Scots are world champions. These days we have slagging matches, 600 years ago they called it fl yting. (Which is not the same as fl irting, though sometimes it’s hard to tell.)

The Makars developed fl yting into an art-form which reached its pinnacle in The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy, a long tirade of abuse written by William Dunbar directed at his poetic rival Walter Kennedy. Flyting was a test of verbal dexterity, a duel with words instead of swords, razor sharp wit instead of just razors. And Dunbar – one of Scotland’s literary heavyweights – remains the unbeaten champion.

Take this for starters:

Revin, raggit ruke, and full of rebaldrie, Scarth fra scorpione, scaldit in scurrilitie I se the haltane in thy harlotrie And into uthir science no thing slie, Of every vertew void, as men may sie; Quytclame clergie and cleik to the ane club, Ane baird blasphemar in brybrie ay to be; For wit and woisdom ane wisp fra the may rub. Raven, ragged rook, and ridden with rudeness Spawn of a scorpion, scolded in scurrilousness I see you arrogant in your baseness And skilled in no other knowledge, Devoid of every virtue, as men may see; Disclaim your education and stick to the one trade, A blaspheming bard will always resort to bribery; The slightest thing would rob you of your wit and wisdom.

Nasty – but it pays to read it in the Scots. No English translation can really do justice. 11 Further on, we learn that Kennedy has thrown down the gauntlet, which Dunbar readily Copyright © 2003 Scottish Literary Tour Trust. All Rights Reserved. William Dunbar c. 1460 - 1520

accepts:

Thou speiris, dastard, gif I dare with the fecht: Ye! dagone dowbart, thairof haif thow no doubt. Quhairevir we meir, thairto my hand I hecht To red the rebald rymyng with a rowt. Throw all Bretaine it sal be blawing owt How that thow, poisonit pelour, gat thy paikis; With ane dog-leich I schepe to gar the schowt, And nowther to the tak knyfe, swerd nor aix

You ask me, you coward, if I dare fi ght with you: Yes! worthless villain, have no doubt. Wherever we meet, I give you my word, To purge your perverted poetry with a punch. Through all Britain it shall be well-known How you, poisonous monster, got a beating; With a dog-leash I’m going to make you scream And not to take to you a knife, sword or axe

As well as casting doubt on Kennedy’s poetic abilities, Dunbar creatively insults his appearance, informing him that :

Thow hes ane perrilous face to play with lambis. You’ve got a dangerous face for playing with lambs

Perhaps because his face is:

Lyk as the gleddis had on thy gulesnowt dynd As if buzzards had dined on your yellow snout

He also suggests Kennedy might be a werewolf:

Mismaid monstour, ilk mone owt of thy mynd Misshapen monster, every month you’re out of your mind

And it’s not just Kennedy that gets his share of the abuse, The Flyting has a swipe at speakers of the Gaelic:

Thy trechour tung has tane ane helang strynd – Ane lawland ers wald mak a bettir noyis

Your treacherous tongue has taken a Highland accent – 12 A Lowland arse would make a better noise Here too: Copyright © 2003 Scottish Literary Tour Trust. All Rights Reserved. William Dunbar c. 1460 - 1520

Thow art but gluntoch You’re nothing but a hairy highlander

And:

Ersche katherene, with thy polk briek and rilling Gaelic marauder, with your tartan bag and your tattered shoes

But he saves his best insults for last. The poem ends with a virtuoso display of invective, though some of the insults to our ears are just plain odd (e.g. button biter?):

Mauch-muttoun, byt buttoun, peilit gluttoun, air to Hilhous, Rank beggar, ostir-dregar, fl ay-fl eggar in the fl et, Chittirlilling, ruch rilling, lik-schilling in the milhous, Baird rehatour, theif of nator, fl as tratour, feyindis gett, Filling of tauch, rak-sauch – cry-crauch, thow art oursett! Muttoun-dryver, girnall-ryver, yadswyvar – fowll fell the! Herretyk, lunatyk, purspyk, carlingis pet, Rottin crok, dirtin dok – cry cok, or I sall quell the!

Maggoty mutton, button biter, bankrupt glutton, heir to Hillhouse Foul beggar, oyster-dredger, fl ea-frightener in the hallway Chitterlilling, rough boot, greedy scavenger in the millhouse Abominable poet, thief by nature, false traitor, born of a fi end Lump of grease, gallows bird - give up, you are beaten! Sheep-driver, grain-thief, horse-shagger – a curse on you! Heretic, lunatic, pick-pocket, old hag’s fart, Rotten old ewe, fi lthy arse – give up or I shall knock you down!

Old Flyting is characterised by language which is heavily consonantal and strongly alliterative, and makes liberal use of internal rhyme. It’s also very rude.

But what characterises this strange skill is that while it remains adversarial, almost gladiatorial, at heart there lies a warmth and a strong bond of friendship between the two poets. Of course, being pals as well as rivals isn’t unheard of. But taken a bit further, the notion of being able to hold two opposing and contradictory ideas or feelings at the same time is at the heart of Scottish culture. It’s like saying: “I support the Scottish football team – but I can’t stand Scottish football.” Or “We’ve got the best culture in the world, we’re such a talented bunch of people, wha’s like us! – but I’m emigrating to Australia ‘cos Scotland’s rubbish.” Consequently, our literature is full of it, perfectly embodied today in the Glasgow Zen of Alan Spence at the opposite end of the railway line from Irvine Welsh’s Leith terminus, both of whom embrace contrasting yet compatible aspects of 13 contemporary Scottishness. Copyright © 2003 Scottish Literary Tour Trust. All Rights Reserved. William Dunbar c. 1460 - 1520

Arguably, the Scots were the best at fl yting, though it was a tradition which by no means stopped at the Border. A hundred years or so after Dunbar, another William – Mr Shakespeare – was developing a reputation as a writer with a wicked way with words. Many of his plays demonstrate his skill with a put-down:

From the perfunctory : I saw the man today, if man he be. (All’s Well That Ends Well)

to the vicious: He is deformed, crooked, old and sere, ill faced, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere, vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind, stigmatical in making, worse in mind. (Comedy of Errors)

the utterly ridiculous: You lisp and wear strange suits! (As You Like It)

the withering: Away, you three inch fool. (The Taming of the Shrew)

and the nearly beautiful: You have such a February face, so full of frost, of storm and cloudiness. (Much Ado About Nothing)

Impressive, but it’s better when a real person is on the receiving end. Or even an entire nation. Samuel Johnson had plenty of things to say about Scotland and the Scots – none of them complimentary. Such as this:

Much may be made of a Scotsman, if he is caught young.

Or this:

Sir, let me tell you, the noblest prospect which a Scotchman ever sees, is the high road that leads him to England!

He even immortalised his loathing in his Dictionary:

Oats: a grain, which in England is generally given to horses, but in Scotland supports the people. 14 One of the glories of exploring literature is that you get to hear great writers slagging Copyright © 2003 Scottish Literary Tour Trust. All Rights Reserved. William Dunbar c. 1460 - 1520

each other off – often centuries apart. In the 18th century Robert Fergusson published a retort to Johnson’s famous Dictionary entry:

Mind ye what Sam, the lying loun! Had in his Dictionar laid down? That aits in England are a feast To cow an’ horse an’ sican beast While in Scots ground this growth was common To gust the gab o’ man a woman.

(To the Principal and Professors of St Andrews on their Superb Treat to Samuel Johnson)

Though never quite reaching Dunbar’s foul-mouthed triumph of slander, Ferusson does have the pompous old windbag Dr Johnson striving to draw breath under the weight of a delicious-sounding (if a little stodgy) menu composed entirely of Scottish food.

Robert Burns was no stranger to the fl yting, either. He turned out many epigrams and epitaphs and satires, sometimes directed at individuals, sometimes at whole groups; sometimes he disguised his targets’ identities, sometimes he put their names in the title. Like On Andrew Turner:

In se’enteen hunder’n forty-nine, The deil gat stuff to mak a swine, An’ coost it in a corner; But wilily he chang’d his plan, An’ shap’d it something like a man, An’ ca’d it Andrew Turner.

The fl yting tradition in Scotland lives on. A few years ago a Herald columnist invited contributions to his Diary of memorable insults and collected them in his book Not the Worst of Tom Shields (1999). They included some peculiarly Scots phrases:

. . . a face like a Gregg’s Hallowe’en cake . . . a face like a torn melodeon with the tune hingin oot. . . . a face like a poun’ o’ knitted mince.

Some of them employ the Makar device of alliteration:

. . . a face that would frighten the French. . . . a rerr face for hauntin hooses.

. . . a face like the north end of a south-bound cow . . . a face like a battered fart.

But curiously, even these more modern insults, or fl ytes, seem to belong to a past generation. Perhaps it’s telling that we need to collect them in books. It seems a great deal of our insults we get now from TV comedians, catch-phrases, soap-operas. Where’s the combativeness gone? The sharp words? The razor wit? Has ribaldry succumbed to politically correctness? Has rivalry given way to a chummy we’re-all-in-it-together-ness?

Unlikely. Not until hell freezes over, Celtic fans wear orange, Rangers fans adopt the shamrock and everybody learns to love the English. The fl yting tradition is safe.

Written By Colin Clark