Among the Irish pieces there are several satirical productions by an Irish Earl Gerald, the fourth Earl of Desmond, directed against the fair sex. The ruthless and vindictive spirit which at this time prevailed in Scotland may be gathered from the following verses of a battle-incitement on the eve of the invasion of the English, which ended on the fatal field of Flodden:— Burn their women, lean and ugly! Burn their children, great and small! In the hut and in the palace, Prince and peasant, burn them all! Plunge them in the swelling rivers, With their gear, and with their goods; Spare, while breath remains, no Saxon; Drown them in the roaring floods! These lines have been translated by Professor Blackie, as well as the next piece of banter. Black John Macgregor of Glenstrae, who was buried at Dysart, in Glenorchy, May 26, 1519, was a kind patron to the red-haired bard Finlay MacNab, who begins his praises as follows:— I’ve been a stranger long To pleasant-flowing matter; I’m tired of lashing fools With unproductive satire. I’ve dwarfed my Muse for nought, But now she shall grow bigger By chant of lofty theme— The praise of the Macgregor. A prince indeed is he, Who knows the craft of ruling; Well taught in each degree Of proper princely schooling. Men make boast of noble blood: Though money has its praises, I’d much liefer be well-born Than count the wealth of Crœsus. Hear me gentles and commons all, Cease your blame and banter; When I my pedigree rehearse, You’ll find I am no vaunter. From great Clan Dougall I descend; No better blood is flowing, But richer made in me from founts That I will soon be showing. From the MacCailein a good part Of my life’s blood I borrow, MacCailein bountiful to bards, Then how should I find sorrow? In Earla I was born and bred, I tell you true the story, A very noble place it is, ’Twixt Aros and Tobermory, Macdonald lies off to the west: I dwell with good Clan Gillean, Brave men who stood in battle’s breast, A hundred ’gainst a million. MacNeill of Barra, too, most sure, Gives gentle blood to me, sir; And Colonsay doth make her boast, I’m kin to the MacFie, sir. The mighty masterful MacSween, Clan Ranald and Macleod, sir. The stoutest chiefs e’er tramped on green, Give substance to my blood, sir. The Cattanachs and the Macintoshes Both make a goodly figure In my proud line; and linked with them, Clan Cameron and Macgregor: And Stewart’s seed, though sown on earth More wide than any other, The tale is true that one of them Was my grandsire’s grandmother; And if you will to do me harm I rede you will consider