Schir! though your Grace has put gret order
Baith in the Hieland and the Border
Yet mak I supplicatioun
Till have some reformatioun
Of ane small falt, whilk is nocht treason
Though it be contrarie to reason.
Because the matter been so vile,
It may nocht have ane ornate style;
Wherefore I pray your Excellence
To hear me with great patience:
Of stinking weedis maculate
No man nay mak ane rose-chaplet.
Sovereign, I mean of thir syde tails,
Whilk through the dust and dubis trails
Three quarters lang behind their heels,
Express again' all commonweals.
Though bishops, in their pontificals,
Have men for to bear up their tails,
For dignity of their office;
Richt so ane queen or ane empress;
Howbeit they use sic gravity,
Conformand to their majesty,
Though their robe-royals be upborne,
I think it is ane very scorn,
That every lady of the land
Should have her tail so syde trailand;
Howbeit they been of high estate,
The queen they should nocht counterfeit.

Wherever they may go it may be seen
How kirk and causay they soop clean.
The images into the kirk
May think of their syde taillis irk;
For when the weather been maist fair,
The dust flies highest in the air,
And all their faces does begarie.
Gif they could speak, they wald them warie...
But I have maist into despite
Poor claggocks clad in raploch-white,
Whilk has scant twa merks for their fees,
Will have twa ells beneath their knees.
Kittock that cleckit was yestreen,
The morn, will counterfeit the queen:
And Moorland Meg, that milked the yowes,
Claggit with clay aboon the hows,
In barn nor byre she will not bide,
Without her kirtle tail be syde.
In burghs, wanton burgess wives
Wha may have sydest tailis strives,
Weel bordered with velvet fine,
But followand them it is ane pyne:
In summer, when the streetis dries,
They raise the dust aboon the skies;
Nane may gae near them at their ease,
Without they cover mouth and neese...
I think maist pane after ane rain,
To see them tuckit up again;
Then when they step furth through the street,
Their fauldings flaps about their feet;
They waste mair claith, within few years,
Nor wald cleid fifty score of freirs...
Of tails I will no more indite,
For dread some duddron me despite:
Notwithstanding, I will conclude,
That of syde tails can come nae gude,
Sider nor may their ankles hide,
The remanent proceeds of pride,
And pride proceeds of the devil,
Thus alway they proceed of evil.

Ane other fault, sir, may be seen--
They hide their face all but the een;
When gentlemen bid them gude-day,
Without reverence they slide away...
Without their faults be soon amended,
My flyting, sir, shall never be ended;
But wald your Grace my counsel tak,
Ane proclamation ye should mak,
Baith through the land and burrowstouns,
To shaw their face and cut their gowns.

Women will say this is nae bourds,
To write sic vile and filthy words.
But wald they clenge their filthy tails
Whilk over the mires and middens trails,
Then should my writing clengit be;
None other mends they get of me.