Adieu, Edinburgh! thou heich triumphant town, Within whose bounds richt blithefull have I been, Of true merchánds the root of this regioun, Most ready to receive Court, King, and Queen! Thy policy and justice may be seen: Were dévotioun, wisdom, and honesty And credence tint, they micht be found in thee. In another of his poems he describes Edinburgh on a gala day, when there was a procession through its High Street, such as he himself, as Lyon King of Arms, might have marshalled. The occasion was the entry into Edinburgh in May 1537 of Magdalene, daughter of Francis I. of France, the young bride of James V.; and the dirge-like form of the description,—that of an indignant address to Death,—is accounted for by the fact that the poet is looking back on the splendours of her welcome into the Scottish capital when the too swift close of her fair young life, only a few weeks afterwards, had turned them into matter of mournful recollection,— Thief! Saw thou nocht the great preparatives Of Edinburgh, the noble famous town? Thou saw the people labouring for their lives To mak triumph with trump and clarioun: Sic pleasour never was in this regioun As suld have been the day of her entrace, With great propinis given to her Grace. Thou saw makand richt costly scaffolding, Depaintit weell with gold and silver fine, Ready preparit for the upsetting; With fountains flowing water clear and wine; Disguisit folks, like creatures divine, On ilk scaffold, to play ane sindry story: But all in greeting turnit thou that glory. Thou saw there mony ane lusty fresh galland, Weell orderit for ressaving of their Queen; Ilk craftisman, with bent bow in his hand, Full galyartly in short clothing of green; The honest burgess cled thou suld have seen, Some in scarlot, and some in claith of grain, For till have met their Lady Soverane; Provost, Bailies, and Lordis of the town, The Senatours, in order consequent, Cled into silk of purpur, black, and brown; Syne the great Lordis of the Parliament, With mony knichtly Baron and Banrent, In silk and gold, in colours comfortable: But thou, alas! all turnit into sable. Syne all the Lordis of Religioun, And Princes of the Priestis venerable, Full pleasandly in their processioun, With all the cunning Clerkis honourable: But, theftuously, thou tyrane treasonable, All their great solace and solemnities Thou turnit intill duleful dirigies.