V. VERSES BY KING JAMES I.
[_]
In the former edition of this book were inserted, by way
of specimen of his majesty's poetic talents, some Punning
Verses made on the disputations at Sterling: but it having
been suggested to the editor, that the king only gave the
quibbling commendations in prose, and that some obsequious
court-rhymer put them into metre
; it was thought proper
to exchange them for two Sonnets of K. James's own
composition. James was a great versifier, and therefore out
of the multitude of his poems, we have here selected two,
which (to shew our impartiality) are written in his best
and his worst manner. The first would not dishonour any
writer of that time; the second is a most complete example of the Bathos.
A Sonnet addressed by King James to his son Prince Henry
God gives not kings the stile of Gods in vaine,
For on his throne his scepter do they swey:
And as their subjects ought them to obey,
So kings should feare and serve their God againe.
If then ye would enjoy a happie reigne,
Observe the statutes of our heavenly king;
And from his law make all your laws to spring;
Since his lieutenant here ye should remaine.
Rewarde the just, be stedfast, true and plaine;
Represse the proud, maintayning aye the right;
Walke always so, as ever in his sight,
Who guardes the godly, plaguing the prophane.
And so ye shall in princely vertues shine,
Resembling right your mightie king divine.
[_]
From K. James's works in folio: Where is also printed
another called his Majesty's own Sonnet; it would perhaps
be too cruel to infer from thence that this was not
his Majesty's own Sonnet.
A Sonnet occasioned by the bad Weather
which hindred the Sports at Newmarket in January 1616.
How cruelly these catives do conspire?
What loathsome love breeds such a baleful band
Betwixt the cankred king of Creta land
,
That melancholy old and angry fire,
And him, who wont to quench debate and ire
Among the Romans, when his ports were clos'd
?
But now his double face is still dispos'd,
With Saturn's help, to freeze us at the fire.
The earth ore-covered with a sheet of snow,
Refuses food to fowl, to bird and beast:
The chilling cold lets every thing to grow,
And surfeits cattle with a starving feast.
Curs'd be that love and mought continue short,
Which kills all creatures, and doth spoil our sport.
[_]
This is printed from Drummond of Hawthornden's works,
folio: where also may be seen some verses of Lord Stirling's
upon this Sonnet, which concludes with the finest Anticlimax I remember to have seen.
