Poem by Anonymous

“Auld Kyndnes Foryett”

          (Bannatyne Manuscript, of 1568)

			I.
	This warld is all bot fenyeit fair, 
		And als unstable as the wind, 
	Gud faith is flemit, I wat nocht quhair, 
		Trest fallowship is evil to find;
		Gud conscience is all maid blind,
			And cheritie is nane to gett,
		Leill, loif, and lawté lyis behind,
			And auld kyndnes is quit foryett.

			II. 
	Quihill I had ony thing to spend,
		And stuffit weill with warldis wrak,
	Amang my freinds I wes weil kend:
		Quhen I wes proud, and had a pak,
		Thay wald me be the oxtar tak,
			And at the hé buird I wes set;
		Bot now thay latt  me stand abak,
			Sen auld kyndnes is quyt foryett.

			III.
	Now I find bot freinds few.
		Sen I wes prysit to be pure;
	They hald me now bot for a schrew,
		To me thay tak bot littill cure;
		All that I do is bot injure:
			Thocht I am bair I am nocht bett,
		Thay latt me stand bot on the flure,
			Sen auld kyndnes is quyt foryett.

			IV.
	Sippois I mene, I am noch frendit,
		Sen I held pairt with poverté,
	Away sen I that my pak wes spendit,
		Adew all liberalité.
		The prowerb now is trew, I sé,
			Quaha may nocht gife, will littil gett:
		Thairfoir to say the varité,
			Now auld kyndnes is quyt foryett.

			V.
	They wald me hals with hude and hatt,
		Quhyle I wes rich and had anewch,
	About me friends anew I gatt,
		Rycht blythlie on me they lewch;
		But now they mak it wondir tewch,
			And lattis me stand befoir the yett;
		Thairfoir this warld is very frewch,
			And auld kyndnes is quyt foryett.

			VI.
	Als lang as my cop stud evin,
		I yeid bot seindill myne allane;
	I squyrit wes with sex or sevin,
		Ay quhyle I gaif thame twa for ane;
		Bot suddanly fra that wes game,
			Thay passit by with handis plett,
		With purtye fra I wes ourtame,
			Than auld kyndnes is quyt foryett.

			VII.
	Into this warld suld na man trow;
		Thow may weill sé the ressoun guhy;
	For evir bot gif littill settin by:
		Thow arte bot littill settin by;
		Thou art nocht tane in cumpany,
			Bot thair be sum fisch in thy nett;
		Thairfoir this fals warld I defy,
			Sen auld kyndnes is quyt foryett.

			VIII.
	Set that na kyndness kepit is
		Into this warld that is present,
	Gif thou wald cum to hevynis bliss,
		Thyself appleis with sobir rent;
		Leif godly, and gife with gude intent,
			To every man his proper dett;
		Quahat evir God send, halde thé content,
			Sen auld kyndnes is quyt foryett.

1. Gathering of Atholl
2. The Banks o’ Glaizart
3. Fare Ye Weel, My Auld Wife
4. The Aisle of Tombs
5. Sir Richard Whittington’s Advancement

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