Seven arrows me assail,
Each of the arrows does me wound;
Between me and my God they come,
Such of my body is the desire.
The first one of these is Pride,
Which wounds me under my belt,
Often of a triumph it has me spoiled,
Which otherwise I might obtain.
The second arrow is Lust,
To whose power I’m such a slave;
Since this shaft trait’rously has me pierced,
I cannot live beyond its reach.
The third of these arrows is one
Which pierces ’midst my very joints;
Laziness, which suffers not
That I the right way e’er should chuse.
The fourth arrow is Covetousness,
O God, ’tis mournful where it wounds;
Deliverance I can never have
From this load of earth upon my back.
The fifth of these shafts is Gluttony,
Which has brought me much reproach;
Besides that it pains my self-respect,
From it my body is not free.
The sixth sore arrow of them all
Is Anger, which me from men divides;
May Mary stay them when they’re shot,
Otherwise I have no help.
The seventh shaft does pierce the eye,
Envy, which grudges others’ good;
A shaft which, however we may feel,
Is one which never does us good.
When these in his hand the enemy takes,
Many they are by’s arms destroyed;
He never shoots but what he strikes,
And never strikes but what he kills.
Son of God, I’ll place a pater,
And the apostles’ creed as well,
Between me and these wounding arms,
With five psalms, or six or seven.
Seven.
[277] There is a Duncan Og Albanach among the writers of religious
poetry in the MS., who was most likely one of the Mac Vurrichs, and
the author of these lines. It is hardly necessary to say that the
poet refers in this composition to the seven mortal sins of the Roman
Catholic Church.