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scotianostra · 3 years

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On 8th August 1503 King James IV of Scotland married Margaret Tudor in Edinburgh.

The following is from “Collectanea de Rebus Albanicis” written by members of the Iona Club of Edinburgh in the 19th century, but taken durectly from the mediaeval Gaelic manuscript known as MS 1467, 19th century transcriptions and translations from the manuscript have long been considered inadequate; yet there is no modern, scholarly edition of the manuscript. It is held by the National Library of Scotland. MS 1467 holds loads of information on many prominent Scottish individuals, clans and events. The account is as near to full details of the wedding as you can get, some words have been translated, others not, for some reason............

The king was conveyed to the queens chamber, where she met him at her great chamber door, right honourably accompanied. At the meeting he and she made great reverences the one to the other, his head being bare, and they kissed together, and in likewise kissed the ladies, and others also. And he in especial welcomed the earl of Surrey very heartily.

Then the queen and he went aside and commoned together by long space. She held good manner, and he [was] bare headed during the time, and many courtesies passed. Incontinent [at once] was the bord [table] set and served. They washed their hands in humble reverences, and after, set them down together, where many good devices were rehearsed . . .

The town of Edinbourgh was in many places hanged with tappissery [tapestry], the houses and windows were full of lords, ladies, gentlewomen, and gentlemen, and in the streets war so great multitude, of people without number, that it was a fair thing to see. The which people war very glad of the coming of the said queen: and in the churches of the said town bells rang for mirth. The same day the king supped in his chamber, accompanied of many of the part of the said queen within her own. And after that, the king went to see her, and he danced some bass dances. This done, the king took his leave, and bade her good night joyously, and after the same to ychon [each one] also.

The 8th day of the said month every man appointed himself richly, for the honour of the noble marriage. Between 8 and 9 of the clock everychon [everyone] was ready, nobly apparelled; and the ladies above said came richly arrayed, sum in gowns of cloth of gold, the others of crimson velvet and black. Others of satin and of tinsel, of damask, and of camlet of many colours, hoods, chains and collars upon their necks, accompanied of their gentlewomen arrayed honestly their guise, for to hold company to the said queen . . .

A little after, the queen was by the said lords and company brought from her chamber to the church crowned with a very riche crown of gold garnished with pierrery [jewellery] and pearls. She was led on the right hand by the archbishop of York, and on the left hand by the earl of Surrey. Her train was born by the countess of Surrey, a gentleman usher helping her. The said queen was nobly accompanied with her ladies arrayed that is to wit, the said countess of Surrey arrayed in a rich robe, of cloth of gold; the two ladies Nevill, the lady Lille, the lady Stanneley, and the lady Guilleford, in riche apparel; and all the others following had rich collars and chains upon their necks; and good jewels. It was ordered by the said earl of Surrey, that two of the greatest ladies of England going together should take with them two of the greatest ladies of Scotland, and so all four to go together in a row; and so sewingly always two of the best ladies and gentlewomen of England and two of Scotland to go together as before, where they had room so to do: and thus they did daily.

Thus the said queen was conveyed to the said church, and placed near to the font; Mistresse Denton, her mistresse, being always near her; and all her noble company standing in order on the left side of the church. Incontinent [straight away] cam the right reverend father in god my lord the archbishop of Glasgow, accompanied with the prelates, all in pontificals, and other notable folks of the church.

Then the king was brought by a very fair company, consisting of his said brother and of the lords above said, his steward, chamberlain, the constable, and the marischall, with all their staffs of their offices, and other nobles, knights, squires, and gentlemen, richly and honestly arrayed and with good chains. The lord of Hamilton bore his sword before him. His officers of arms were in their coats, and all his nobles stood in order on the right side of the church.

Then the king coming near to the queen, made reverence and she to him very humbly. The king was in a gown of white damask, figured with gold and lined with sarsenet. He had on a jacket with sleeves of crimson satin, the lists [borders] of black velvett, under that same a doublet of cloth of gold, and a pair of scarlet hose. His shirt broided [embroidered] with thread of gold, his bonnet black, with a riche balay [ruby], and his sword about him.

The queen was arrayed in a rich robe, like himself, bordered of crimson velvet, and lined of the self. She had a very riche collar of gold, of pierrery and pearls, round her neck, and the crown upon her head; her hair hanging. Between the said crown and the hairs was a very riche coif hanging down behind the whole length of the body.

Then the noble marriage was performed by the said archbishop of Glasgow; and the archbishop of York, in presence of all, read the bulls of our holy father the Pope of Rome, consenting thereto . . .

At dinner the queen was served before king, with all the honour that might be done, the officers of arms, and the sergeants at arms, proceeding before the meal. On that day sir John Willars was sewar [attendant at the meal], sir Davie Owen carver, and sir Edward Stanneley cupbearer; and with her dined the said archbishop of Glasgow. The chamber in which she dined was richly dressed, and the cloth of estate where she sat, was of clothe of gold very rich.

At the first course, she was served of a wild boars head gilt, within a fair platter, then with a fair piece of brain, and in the third place with a gambon, which were followed by diverse other dishes, to the number of 12, of many sorts, in fair and rich vessel.

The wedding was christened the Marriage of the Thistle and the Rose, and was designed to create a stable relations between the two feuding kingdoms. In the coming century it was also to form the basis from which the Stewarts made claim to the English crown. The peace that they thought they would enjoy lasted a little over a year when on 9th September 1513 James IV took an army south and lost his life at the Battle of Flodden, which I will cover in depth in a months time.

#Scotland #england #scottish #english #Wedding #royalty #the stewarts #history

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sulfurousmirrorscapes · 3 years

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Reading Log - “Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell” by Susanna Clarke

38. From The Edinburgh Review

- No notes.

39. The two magicians

- sarsenet, a soft silk in plain or twill weaves; also: a garment made of this.

40. “Depend upon it; there is no such place.”

- Chasseur, a designation given to certain regiments of French and Belgian light infantry or light cavalry to denote troops trained for rapid action.

- "Until this moment it had never seemed to him that his magicianship set him apart from other men. But now he had glimpsed the wrong side of something. He had the eeriest feeling – as if the world were growing older around him, and the best part of existence – laughter, love and innocence – were slipping irrevocably into the past."

41. Starecross

- packhorse bridge, a bridge intended to carry packhorses (horses loaded with sidebags or panniers) across a river or stream.

- beck, (in N England) a stream, esp a swiftly flowing one.

- garth, a courtyard surrounded by a cloister.

- drift, something piled up by the wind or current, such as a snowdrift.

- parsonage, the residence of a parson who is not a rector or vicar, as provided by the parish.

- sal volatile, a solution of ammonium carbonate in alcohol and aqueous ammonia, often containing aromatic oils, used as smelling salts.

- Wedgwood, a fine china, porcelain, and luxury accessories manufacturer that was founded on 1 May 1759.

#Susanna Clarke #jonathan strange and mr norrell #bookblr #books #reading log

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cicatrid · 4 years

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a random thing for @atrophid .

“я скучала по тебе." holy , the urge to deconsecrate , unsaint —- / mouthing at rubied eleison , i bejewel in bruise : sun - scatter me , requiems ripening to aching , velvet rhapsodies . imitation latria tessellates —— the candied shards / erect my temple of worship , edenic ceremony for the starveling wolf & his rosegold tenet . namesake arcady , “...for tonight” / the saccharin timbre , threnody beckoning him home * . [ & home * is here : declaim upon my breastbone , the sarsenet acre / a kiss to hush the citrus skies ——- my sentence is thus . homeland chalice , debelling antiphon / prostrate to the three dulcet syllables . ga—brie—el . ] like the angel . it is a gasping rapture , cruor abated ; / substitute carnage for a chance at syrup , silken eucatastrophe , saccharine sparagmos & velveteen climax . i , patchwork electrified . . . sunder me , diaphane / he , the poniard dipped in dew , a study in orgasmic fluency . gabriel , n. hearken to the amaranth dungeon —- you , the hoarder of my many selves , scything myself open in the first degree . / hunger has a shape , a taste —— i pry its almandine anthem from the lips of the seraph , coronate this hallowed cathedra with a baltered breath . scialytic intoxicant , / i am undone by tongue & ten fingers . the star of babylon [...] no , my disarmament , / as untamed , ivied chorus , the rupture into firelit flux .

my diagnosis (...) rimose & contused , the flesh a lethal constellation of one thousand agonies / a star’s sepelition to ashen vesper , sunshine to congeal to wax - drip —- buried six feet under his tongue . [ 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝚂 𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙱𝚄𝚁𝙽 : baptism in kerosene , eternal undoing / prismatic addict , the ambrosia tips perilously from the chalice . ] “look at me. please.” FIGURE I. the altar takes the shape of the throat , wormwood nepenthe . FIGURE II. the breastbone houses jetsam , a lover’s waterlogged corpse ———- it is a shipwreck of bone , of vulnerose hearts . of pain budding underneath silver lining , the kind of surgery i undergo / to expose myself , naked , druxied , as a mural of bruise . terrene thew becomes bathyal / pistils parted , as lips / anon , desperation no longer veiled behind sundering stalagmite .

“... не закрывай глаза.”

#have an old icon bc i Really cba to find a new one and like . it's more abt the writing anywae.#i lied this wasn't sexy at all im sorry #can u tell i was in pain when i wrote this lmao .#whew.#ic.#atrophid

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vairuler · 5 years

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｡ﾟﾟ LIMNED IN EMBELLISHED SARSENET & ACRONYCHAL RAYS , WITH lucidity of a 𝑑𝑒𝑖𝑡𝑦 & mozart ‘tween lips . she 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚍 - 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 - 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚑 / sovereign of 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔 exemplar / * 𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 - 𝚂𝙾𝙰𝙺𝙴𝙳 , jewel - cloaked . —– —- – ❝ let us have no 𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 . ❞

lithe digits ‘round pyrex , cerise with retsina , extending / offering . ❝ if i wished for your death , 𝒊 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒍𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒕 . ❞

@76st 𝐛𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 ♡ . . . !

#76st #°｡ﾟﾟ ☼ ┊ ❪ ᵛᵉʳˢᵉ . ❫ UNDETERMINED . ❜ ╯#!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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sericate · 5 years

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"what's the matter ? what are you staring at ?"

𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 . / not accepting .

𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞 / an appellation adonised by concrete crown & earned atop ember . these identical processions begin to blister at the heels : charred sarsenet HISSING discarded siseries , grounding frenzied tarentella to its pyre as each anserine onlooker drives a new nail through beheld palm ( once made a marvel by byssine nature ; the petal plucked is to purity stain’d , i suppose , & these men are learned in art of stirring a scene . ) ❝ don’t drink that . ❞ but we have been born into higher forms , have stood as receptors of refined instruction required to employ encraty over tourmaline talons that spring forth on instinct / deign drips of realgar remnant to chase maltose . fool’s mock chalice suspended as suspect , vinaceous nectar laced in imitation of fresh aconite . bitter notes on baby’s breath . brow - raising blazon of holy hyacinth girl .

she lilts in 𝐱𝐢𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐨 ( her source of fame & notoriety ) , bittersweet songs of embedded lore . raised with firm grasp on hidden hilt / a music box’s porcelain ballerina soon to shatter & be pieced back together / more of a lark than a dove . the flames have yet to extend to where she flies . ❝ over there . baseball cap . five - eight at best . yeah . i could have sworn i saw him slip something into your drink . ❞ disdain falls as sigh , tune waning with a swift shooting of daggers across crowd . ❝ . . . god , i hate frat boys . ❞

#smfh nasties ..#but brooke n jen having their tense teenage girl power struggle thing but also?#looking out for one another ?#love that.#jennifercheck

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pouringitallout-blog1 · 7 years

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May 31,2017

Another day of loneliness, of pain, of headache, of problems. My days without her are like days in darkness. I don't know how else to put it. It's not that I don't wanna let her go. It's just me following what my heart tells me to do. It sucks knowing that you’ve felt like you’ve known that special someone for your whole life but then can’t have her around anymore because you were being clingy, selfish, possessive and strict. These four major negative points about me are the reasons we were having so many problems and arguments all the time. It was never that i didn’t trust her. I just wanted our relationship to stay safe and away from harm. But now that i think about it, i didn’t do it the proper way. And i know for a fact that the only way i'll ever get her back is by changing all four negative points.

“I loved you first: but afterwards your love

Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song

As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove.

Which owes the other most? my love was long,

And yours one moment seemed to wax more strong;

I loved and guessed at you, you construed me

And loved me for what might or might not be –

Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong.

For verily love knows not ‘mine’ or ‘thine;’

With separate ‘I’ and ‘thou’ free love has done,

For one is both and both are one in love:

Rich love knows nought of ‘thine that is not mine;’

Both have the strength and both the length thereof,

Both of us, of the love which makes us one.”

It’s 3 days since we last messaged each other and still no word, it’s 10:52 pm and still no word from her… I won’t lie, i AM worried. I AM scared. For me, it’s actually really hard to look at life without her. Without my girl, my wifey, my queen. Nothing is right. Everything is just going south without my boo.

“'I love you,' she wouldn't say: it was against her philosophy; I-love-you

didn't mean what it meant, plus the verray construction of the phrase

caused bad-old-concrete-lawman-vandal-verbal-mildew-upon-the-grape-

harvest-and-war-for-rare-minerals-required-to-manufacture-commu-

nications-devices damage; saying I-love-you damaged love, subject and

object”(Christine Sanchez);plus she could prove this in two dense and delphic languages

suitable for philosophy, opera, cursing, and racking the nerves of arti-

ficial intelligence machines that perhaps could love but would be

hard-wired giammai to dare say so. So what moved her to not-say

I-love-you? What wake-up-and-spoil-the-coffee ashtray-licking djinn? I

have to start to agree. The verbness of it impropriety (eyes glob up the

syringe when you're giving blood: semisolid spiralling); perhaps too

active... I-love-you, I sand you, I drill you, I honey and set you for wasps,

crimson you like a stolen toga, add value applying dye, fight owner-

ship, I cite you to justify skilled outrage, put your name as guarantor

on an astronomical mortgage, I admit desertification comes as a relief,

from I to O, O my oasis, O my mirage. Maybe the verb is a tending-to-

wards? A tightrope? A tropism? A station? But that's meeting him on

his own ground; plus I can't disprove entire languages; plus those

three little words aren't meant as saying. An icy drink in stormlight. A

looked-at leaf left to transpire its own way until... And sans I-love-you

the centuried moon rose above dinnermint stone; many men contin-

ued talking; a woman lifted her sarsenet skirt, peed on green lilies and,

utterly gracious, walked through the archway to join the mixed group

delighting in — word! believe it! — fresh air.”

“I wanted to be sure this was our island

so we could walk between the long stars by the sea

though your hips are slight and caught in the air

like a moth at the end of a river around my arms

I am unable to understand the sun your dizzy spells

when you form a hand around me on the sand

I offer you my terrible sanity

the eternal voice that keeps me from reaching you

though we are close to each other every autumn

I feel the desperation of a giant freezing in cement

when I touch the door you're pressed against

the color of your letter that reminds me of flamingos

isn't that what you mean?

the pleasure of hands and

lips wetter than the ocean

or the brilliant pain of

breathless teeth in a

turbulent dream on a roof

while I thought of nothing

else except you against

the sky as I unfolded you

like my very life a liquid

signal of enormous love we

invented like a comet that

splits the air between us!

the earth looks shiny wrapped in steam and ermine

tired of us perspiring at every chance on the floor

below I bring you an ash tray out of love for the

ice palace because it is the end of summer the end

of the sun because you are in season like a blue

rug you are my favorite violin when you sit and

peel my eyes with your great surfaces seem intimate

when we merely touch the thread of life and kiss”

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irishwomanquotes · 7 years

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Richard Graves, The Spiritual Quixote, 1774

The history of Miss Townsend. My father (as Mrs. Sarsenet knows) has a small estate on the borders of —shire, where he now lives.—No, says Mrs. Sarsenet, I know that Mr. Townsend has a very considerable estate, which has been in the family for many generations.—Well, says Miss Townsend, I don’t know what it is, but —shire is my native place. My poor mother has been dead about a twelvemonth, to my inexpressible misfortune, and that of the whole family. She left behind her me and two sisters, one a few years older, the other considerably younger than myself. Whilst my mother lived we saw a great deal of genteel company; and she took care to have us instructed at home in all the usual accomplishments of our sex. But soon after her death my father sent us all three (though two of us were almost grown up, and my eldest sister capable of managing his house), to a country boarding school, to the astonishment of the whole neighborhood. We soon found, however, that my father’s intention was, to make way for another housekeeper, to whom he had taken an unaccountable fancy. This was an Irish woman, whom I shall call the widow Townsend; as she came into the neighborhood about half a year before my mother’s death, in the character of an officer’s wife, on Captain Townsend, who had made a small fortune in America, and called himself a relation of ours; but he dying soon after, this woman took lodgings in a small market town, at a little distance from my father’s; and, as she did not appear to be left in very affluent circumstances, she made no scruple, I believe, of undertaking the management of my father’s family, in the capacity of a housekeeper.

The widow Townsend, as I said, is an Irish woman, and about forty; not handsome, but has something in her manner which attracts the regard of the gentlemen, as much as it disgusts the generality of our sex. My poor mother (as Mrs. Sarsenet well knows) could never bear her. She is a woman of no sort of conversation, and yet my father now makes a constant companion of her; and we have no reason to doubt, that, after a decent time, he will make her our stepmother; in which case, though I should think it my duty to show her all the respect which is due to my father’s wife, yet at present I own I could not bring my stubborn heart to submit with tolerable decency to the many mortifications I daily met with from a woman in her situation.

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