University of Virginia Library

THE EPISTLE DEDICATORIE, To the nine Pernassian Sisters, The Conseruers of Helicon.

You sacred Nymphes, which haunt Pernassus Hill,
Where Soron flowes, and Demthis run at will:
Out from your two-topt Valley shew me grace
And on the lower Liftes meete mee apace.
Infuse in me the Veine, I gladlie craue,
To sing the sadde FAREWELS my SOYLE must haue.
And yee Supreames of this poore MUSE of mine,
As Iudges justlie censure this Propine:
I bring no Stones from Pactole, Orient Gemmes,
Nor Bragges of Tagus, singes of Golden Stemmes:
I search not Iris, square-spread clowdie VVinges,
Nor of the strange Herculian Hydra singes,
These Franticke Fansies, I account as vaine,
In Vulgare Verse, my FAREVVELS I explaine.
If I debord in Stropiate Lines, or then
In Methode faile, attache my wandring Pen.
This Veine of Nature, and a Mother VVit,
Is more than haughtie Schollers well can hit.
So this small Fondling, borne of your nine VVombes,
Turnes backe, and in your Bosome her intombes.
Then nurse your Youngling, and repurge her Veines,
And sende her backe in haste, to yeelde mee Gaines.
In doing this, to you, and to your Fame,
I consecrate my Loue, and her new Name.

To the courteous peruser of these my sad FAREWELS.

Deare Gentle Reader, graunt mee this small suite,
Reade this ou'r kindlie, and no fault impute:
I cannot please the VVorlde, and my selfe too,
For that is more, than brauest Sprites can doe.
Heere I am plaine, and yet the plainest way,
Is fittest for the Diuine Muses aye.
A greater VVorke, I meane to put in Light,
But LONDON claimes it of a former Right.
And if thou knewst how quicke, and in small time,
This VVorke I wrote, thou wouldst admire my Rime.
Thou mightst demaund the Reason why I sing?
And done; this Answere, I would to thee bring:
There's some that sweare, I cannot reade, nor write,
And hath no judgement, for to frame or dite.
And to confound their blinde absurd conceat,
My Muse breakes foorth, to shew their Errour great.
These Calumnies, enuious VVormes spue foorth:
They grieue to see mee set at anie VVorth.
The Cause is this, These Giftes I haue, they lacke,
And from my Merite, they their Malice take.
O! if I might their Names in Print foorth set,
A just Reuenge, their just Desert should get.
But to the VVise, the Learned, and the Kinde,
The Noble Heart, and to the Vertuous Minde,
I humblie prostrate mee, my Muse, my Paines,
If I can win your Loue, there's all my Gaines.

Some Extemporaneall Lines

Written at the verie view of this Poeme going to the Presse, in cōmendation of the Author his Trauels and Poesies.

To his singular Friend, William Lithgow.

To the Kinges most excellent Majestie.

To the High and Mightie Prince, CHARLES, Prince of Great Britane. &c.

Loe heere (braue Prince) I striue thy Worth to prayse,
But cannot touch, the least of thy Desertes;
I showe good-will, let brauer Spirits rayse,
Thy Name, thy Worth, thy Greatnesse, and good partes:
Late famous Henry, did not leaue the earth,
(The Heauens esteem'd the Earth too base for him)
Till thou his second selfe, in blood, in birth,
Hadst strength to his most Princely parts to clim:
Sweet youth, in whome, thy Grandsires worth reuiues,
And noble vertues, are renew'd againe,
In Thee, the hope, of that Succession liues:
VVhose braue beginning, cannot ende in vaine.
Most hopefull Image, of thy vertuous Sire,
And greatest Hope, of that renowned Race,
These Unite Kingdomes, limite thy desire,
From seeking Conquest, in a Forraine place.
This Noble Yle yeeldes matter in such store,
For thy braue Sprite, to gaine a glorious Name:
And rayse thy State, all Europe yeeldes no more,
Heere stay, and striue, to match thy Fathers Fame.
VVho knowes, but thou, resembling him in face,
Mayst one day liue, to equall him in Place?
So euer Happie Prince, I humblie bring,
This Eccho of Farewell, Farewell I sing.

To the most Reuerende Fathers in GOD, My Lordes Archbishops of Sainct Andrewes and Glasgow, &c. And to the rest of the Reuerēd L. Bishops of Scotland.

I scorne to flatter, and yee Reuerende Lords,
I know, as much abhorre a flattring name;
What in my power, this simple meane affords
I heere submit before your eyes the same.
I haue small Learning, yet I learne to frame
My VVill agreeing to my wandring Mind;
And yee graue Pillars of Religious fame,
The onlie Paternes of Pietie wee find:
How well is plant our Church, and what a kind,
Of Ciuill Order, Policie, and Peace,
VVee haue, since Heauens, your Office haue assign'd,
That Loue aboundes, and bloodie jarres they cease:
Mechanicke Artes, and Vertues doe increase:
The Crowne made stronger, by your Sprituall care;
Yee liue as Oracles, in our learned Greece,
And shine as Lampes, throughout this Land all where:
The stiffe-neck'd Rebelles, of Religion are
By you press'd downe, with vigilance but rueth;
So liue great Lightes, and of false VVolues beware,
Yee sound the Trumpets of Eternall Trueth:
And justlie are yee call'd to such an hight,
To helpe the VVeake, defend the poore mans Right:
So sacred Columnes of our chiefest VVeale,
I humblie heere bid your great VVorths farewell.

To his euer-honoured Lords, the right noble Lords, ALEXANDER, Earle of Dvmfermeling, Lord Fyuy, Great Chanceller of Scotland, &c. THOMAS, Lord BINNIE, Lord President of the Colledge of Iustice, and his Maiesties Secretarie for Scotland, &c. And to the rest of the most Iudicious and honourable Lords, the Judges and Senatours of the high Court and Senate of this Kingdome, &c.

To the truely noble and honourable Lord, IOHN, EARLE OF MARRE, &c. Lord high Thesaurer of SCOTLAND, &c.

To the Magnanimous, Renowned, and most Valourous Lorde, IOHN Earle of Montrose, LORD GRAHAME, &c.

A CONFLICT, Betweene the Pilgrime and his Muse

Muse.
If this small sparke of thy great flame had sight,
O happie I, but more if thou suruay mee;
Thy dying Muse, bewailing comes to light,
And thus begins, halfe forc'd for to obey thee:
O restles man! thy wandring I lament,
Ah, ah, I mourn, thou canst not liue cōtent.

Pilgrime.
To liue below my minde, I cannot bow,
To loue a priuate life, O there I smart;
To mount beyonde my meanes, I know not how,
To stay at home still cross'd, I breake mine heart.
And Muse take heede, I finde such loue in Strangers,
Makes mee affect all Heathnicke tortring dangers.

Muse.
But, O deare Soule, that life is full of cares,
Great heat, great colde, great want, great feare, great paine,
A passionate toyle, with anxious despaires,
Where plagues and pestes, and murders grow amaine:
Thy Pilgrimage, a tragicke stadge of sorrow,
May spende at night, and nothing on the morrow.

Pilgrime.
No; Pilgrimage, the VVell-spring is of Wit,
The clearest Fountaine, whence graue VVisdome springs:
The Seate of Knowledge, where Science still doth sit,
A breathing Iudgement, deckt with prudent things.
This, thou call'st Sorrow, great Ioye is, and Pleasure:
If I bee rich in Minde, no VVealth I measure.

Muse.
But, O, recorde, how manie times I know,
VVith bitter Teares, thou long'dst to see this Soyle:
And come, thou weariest, and wouldst make a show,
There is no pleasure, but in Forraine Toyle.
And so forgetst the Sowre, and loath'st the Sweete,
To wracke thy Bodie, and to bruise thy Feete:

Pilgrime.
All Rares are deare, Contentment followes Paine,
No Heathnicke partes, can bee surueighed, but feare,
And dangers too: But heere's a glorious gaine,
I see those thinges, which others haue by eare:
They reade, they heare, they dreame, reportes affect,
But by experience, I trie the effect.

Muse.
In Cabines, they on Mappes, and Globes, finde out,
The wayes, the lengths, the breadth, the heights, the Pole:
And they can wander all the VVorlde about,
And lie in Bedde, and all thy sightes controle.
Though by experience, thou hast nat'rall sight,
They haue by learning, supernat'rall light.

Pilgrime.
Thou knowst Muse, I had rather see one Land,
Be true eye-sight, than all the VVorlde by Cairt:
Two Birdes in flight, and one fast in mine hand,
VVhich of them both, belonges most to my pairt:
One eye-witnesse is more, than ten which heare,
I dare affirme the Trueth, when they forbeare.

Muse.
Heere thou preuail'st, with Mis'ries I must daunt,
Thy Braines: Recall the house-bred Scorpion sting,
The hissing Serpent, in thy way that haunts,
And crawling Snakes, which dammage often bring:
The byting Viper, and the Quadraxe spred,
That serue for Courtaines, to thy Campane Bedde.

Pilgrime.
I know the VVorld-wide Fieldes my Lodging is,
And ven'mous thinges, attende my fearefull sleepe:
But in this Case, my Comfort is oft this,
The watchfull Lizard, my bare Face doeth keepe.
By day, I feede her, shee saues mee by night,
And so to trauaile, I haue more than right.

Muse.
The cracking Thunder, of the stormie Nightes.
The fierie burning, of the parching Day,
The Sauage dealing, of those Barbrous VVightes,
The Turkish Tributes, and Arabian Pay,
May bee strong meanes, to stoppe thy swift returne,
To make thee liue in rest, and heere sojourne.

Pilgrime.
All these Extreames, can neuer make mee shrinke,
Though Earth-quakes mooue mee, more than all the rest,
And I rejoyce, when sometimes I doe thinke
On what is past, what comes the LORD knowes best.
I can attempt no plotte, and then attaine,
Vnlesse I suffer losse, in reaping gaine.

Muse.
The Seas and Floods, where fatall perills lie,
The rau'nous Beastes, that liue in VVildernesse:
The irkesome VVoods, the sandie Desarts drie,
The drouth thou thol'st, in thy deare-bought distresse:
I doe conjure these Feares to make thee stay,
Since I, nor Reason, can not mooue delay.

Pilgrime.
Though scorching Sunne, and scarce of raine I bide,
These plagues thou sing'st, and else what can befall:
My minde is firme, my standart cannot slide,
The light of Nature, I must trauell call:
The more I see, the more I learne to know,
Since I reape gaine thereby, what canst thou show?

Muse.
The losse of Friendes, their counsell, and their sight,
The tender loue, in their rancountringes oft;
In this, thy brightest day, turnes darkest night,
When thou must court harde heartes, and leaue the soft.
What greater pleasure, can maintaine thy mirth,
Than liue amongst thine owne, of blood and birth?

Pilgrime.
The fremdest man, the truest friend to me,
A stranger is the Sainct, whome I adore:
For manie friendes, from faithfull friendship flee,
Law-bound affection failes than framelinges more.
What alienes show, it lastes, and comes of loue,
But consanguin'tie dies, so I remoue.

Muse.
A rolling stone, can neuer gather mosse:
Age will consume, what painefull youth vpliftes:
Bee carefull, bee, and scrape some mundane drosse,
And in thy prime, lay out thy wittie shiftes.
When thou grow'st old, & want'st both means & health,
O what a kinsman then is worldlie Wealth!

Pilgrime.
The Sea-man and the Souldiour, had they feare,
Of what ensues, might flee their fatall sorrow:
Who cloathes the lillies, that so faire appeare,
Prouides for mee to day, and eke to morrow:
Liue where I will, GODS prouidence is there,
So I triumph in minde, a figge for care.

Muse.
If (deare to mee) thou wouldst resolue to stay,
Our Noble Peares, they would maintaine thy state:
If not, I should finde out another way,
To moue the worlde to succour thine hard fate:
And I shall cloathe, and lende, and feede thee too:
Affect my veine, and all this I will doe.

Pilgrime.
To feede mee (Slaue) thou knowst I am thy Lord,
And can command thee, when I please my selfe:
VVouldst thou to rest, my restlesse minde accorde,
And ballance deare-bought Fame, with terrene Pelfe?
No, as the Earth, helde but one Alexander,
So, onelie I, auow, All where to wander.

Muse.
VVhat hast thou wonne, when thou hast gotte thy will?
A momentanie shaddowe of strange sightes:
Though with content, thou thy conceite doest fill,
Thou canst not lende the worlde these true delightes:
Though thy selfe loue, to these attemptes contract thee,
VVhere ten thee praise, there's fiue that will detract thee,

Pilgrime.
It's for mine owne mindes sake, thou knowst I wander,
Not I, nor none, the worldes great voyce can make:
Thinkst thou mee bound, to them a compt to render,
And would vaine fooles, I trauell'd for their sake:
No, I well know, there is no gallant spirit,
(Vnlesse a knaue) but will yeelde mee my merit.

Muse.
Thou trauel'st aye, but where's thy meanes to doe it?
Thou hast no landes, no exchange, nor no rent,
There's no familiare sprite doeth helpe thee to it,
And yet I maruell how thy time is spent.
This shifting of thy wittes, should breede thee loathing.
To liue at so great rate, when friendes helpe nothing,

Pilgrime.
The VVorlde is wide, GODS Prouidence is more,
And Cloysters are but Foote-stooles to my Bellie:
Great Dukes and Princes, oint my Palme with Ore,
And Romane-Clergie Golde, with griede I swellie.
It comes as VVinde, and slides away like Water:
These meritorious men, I daylie flatter.

Muse.
Mak'st thou no conscience, to deale with Church-men so?
VVhen they for Limbus, these giftes giue I know:
They freelie giue, thou prodigall letst goe:
And done, derid'st, the Charitie they show.
But friend, they binde thee, to thine holie Beades,
To Pater nosters, Mariaes, and to Creedes.

Pilgrime.
Forbeare in time, I dare not heere insist,
An Eele can hardlie well bee grip'd that's quicke:
From duetie and desert, I now desist,
It's no great fault, ten thousand Friers to tricke,
And Iesuites too, which Papall harme fore-sees,
These Ghostlie Fathers, I oft blinde their eyes.

Muse.
Desist, and I forbeare, so leaue this point,
Fear'st thou not Sicknesse, Dangers of the Pest?
The Fluxes, Feuers, Agues that disjoint,
Thy vitall powers, and spoyle thee of thy best:
If thou fall'st sicke, where bee thine Helpers then?
Then miserable Thou, forlorne of Men.

Pilgrime.
But, O my Loue, remarke what I must say,
The greatest men in trauaile that fall sicke,
In Hospitalles, for health, are forc'd to stay.
The circumstance I neede not now to speake:
Doctors they haue, good Linnen, and good Fare,
And giues it Gratis, Medicine, and VVare.

Muse.
Thou here borne North, vnder a Climate colde,
I thinke farre South, with heat should not agree:
And in my Minde, I this opinion hold,
These vigrous heats, at last thy death shall bee:
I know these Nigroes, of the Austriale Sunne,
Haue not endur'd, such heat, as thou hast done.

Pilgrime.
For to conserue mine health, I eate not much:
When I drinke Wine, it's mixt with VVater aye:
They are but Gluttones, Riote doeth auouch,
I trauaile the Night, and sleepe all Day.
My disposition and complexion gree,
I am not sanguine, nor too pale, you see.

Muse.
A murthrer judg'd, set on a wheele aboue,
How many pinnes, for murther hast thou tolde?
No lesse than twenty three, I will approue,
And dar'st thou in these dead mens wayes bee bolde?
Think'st thou thy fortune, better still than theirs?
The Foxe runnes long, at last entrapp'd in snares.

Pilgrime.
All that haue breath must die, and man much more,
Some here, some there, his Horoscope is so,
Be wee are borne, our weirds they poste before,
None can his dest'ny shunne, nor from it goe,
Nothing than death more sure, vncertaine too,
Who aymes at fame, all hazards must allowe.

Muse.
But swollen man in thy conceat, take heed,
What great distresse, of hunger hast thou tholde?
That often times, for one poore Loaue of bread,
Thou wouldst (if poss'ble) giuen a world of gold:
Remember of thy sterile Lybian wayes,
Where thou didst fast, but meate or drinke nyne dayes.

Pilgrime.
Dispeopled desartes, bred that deare-bought griefe,
No state but change, no sweete without some gall:
Yet in Tobacco, I found great reliefe,
The smoake whereof expell'd that pinching thrall:
And for that time, I graunt, I drunke the water
That through my bodie came, in steade of better.

Muse.
The vaprous Serene, of the humide night,
VVhich sprinkled oft, with foggie dew thy face,
Gaue to thy bodie, and thine head such weight,
VVhen thou awak'd, couldst scarce aduance thy pace:
And scarce of Springes, did so thy thirst increase,
Thy Skinne growne lumpie, made thy strength decrease.

Pilgrime.
I yeelde, thou knowst these thinges as well as I,
But when I slept, great care I had to couer
My naked face, and kept my bodie drie,
The manner how, I neede it not discouer.
Though thou object these mistes, the clouds forth-spew.
All thy Brauadoes cannot make mee rew.

Muse.
The Galley-threatning death, where slaues are whipt,
Each banke holdes foure, foure chaines ty'd in one ring:
VVhere twise a day, poore they are naked stript,
And bath'd in blood, their woefull handes they wring:
They roll still scourg'd, on bread and water feede,
Twise this thou scap'd, the third time now take heede.

Pilgrime.
At Cephalone, and Nigroponte I know,
And Lystra too, three Slaueries I escap'd;
And tenne times Galleotes, made a cruell show,
At Little Iles, to haue mee there intrapp'd:
But their attemptes still failde, I thanke my God,
Yet I no way can liue, if not abrode.

Muse.
But ah recall, the Hearbes, rawe Rootes yee eate,
White Snails, greene Frogs, gray streams, hard beds derayd:
And if this austiere life, seeme to thee meete,
I yeelde to thine experience long assayd.
Then stay, O stay, succeeding times agree,
To reconcile thy minde, thy meanes, and thee.

Pilgrime.
To stay at home, thou knowst I cannot liue:
To liue abroade I know, the worlde maintaines mee:
To bee beholden to a Churle, I grieue:
And if I want, my dearest friende disdaines mee.
And so the forraine face to mee is best,
I lacke no meanes, although I lacke my rest.

Muse.

Pilgrime.
I wonder Muse, thou knowst to heare a Messe,
I make no breach of Law, but for to learne.
And if not curious, then the worlde might gesse.
I hardlie could twixt good and ill discearne:
I enter not their Kirkes, as vpon doubt
Of faith; but their strange erroures to finde out.

Muse.
O well replyde, but yet a greater spotte,
Thou bowst thy knees, before their Altars hie:
And when comes the Leuation, there's the blotte:
Thou knockst thy breast, and wallowst with thine eye:
And when the little Bell, ringes through the streete,
Thou prostrate fall'st, their Sacrament to greete.

Pilgrime.
Thou fail'st therein, I still fledde Superstition:
But I confesse, I got the holie Blessing:
And vnder colour of a rare Contrition,
The Papall Panton heele, I fell a kissing.
But they that mee mistake, are base-borne Clownes:
I did it not for Loue, but for the Crownes.

Muse.
O! There's Religion, Dissimulation,
Vtrunque is thy Stile, I feare no lesse:
And from a borrow'd Æquiuocation,
Would'st frame thy Will, and then thy VVill redresse.
No, Pilgrime, no, That's not the VVay to Heauen,
To make the Euen to glee, the Gleede looke euen.

Pilgrime.
Away vaine Foole: I scorne thy pratling Braine:
When I confesse the Trueth, thou mee accuses.
I neuer solde my Soule for anie Gaine,
Nor yet abus'd my Minde, with Forraine Uses,
As manie home-bred heere Domestickes doe,
In changing State, can change their Conscience too.

Muse.
I grant there's some for Gaine, their Soules doe sell:
But learne the good, and soone forget the ill:
A Vale at home ou'r-drawne, I plainlie tell,
Is fit for thee, though not fit for thy Will.
And bee aduis'd, Repentance comes too late,
He mournes in vaine, that spendes both Time and State.

Pilgrime.
I loathe to liue, long in a priuate place:
My Soyle I loue, but I am borne to wander.
And I am glad, when I Extreames imbrace,
Sweete Sowre Delightes, must my Contentment rander.
So, so, I walke, to view Hilles, Townes, and Plaines,
Each day new Sightes, new Sightes consume all Paines.

Muse.
Liue aye in Paines, ambitious Pilgrime then,
Since thy proude Breast, disdaines thy Mindes surrandring:
It's thou who striu'st to ouer-match all men,
In Perrill, Paines, in Trauaile, and in VVandring.
Striue still, I feare that some Desasters grow,
Long swimme the Fish, so long as VVaters flow.

Pilgrime.
Leaue off, and boast no more, no more I sing:
I rest resolu'd, holde thou thy peace the while:
And to the Earle Montrose, I humblie bring,
Our mutuall Conflict, in this barren Stile.
And so Illustrious Lord, approue my saying,
Conuict my Muse, and let mee goe astraying.
To this small Suite, if that your Honour yeeldes,
Shee shall perforce with mee affront the Fieldes.

To the Right honourable and Noble Lord, ALEXANDER, Earle Home, Lord Dunglasse, &c.

THE PILGRIMES LAMENTADO,

In his second Pilgrimage.

To the Right Honourable Ladie, LADIE MARIE,

Countesse of Home, &c.

My seruile Muse low prostrate spreads her Rayes,
To ye great Dame, HOMES quintessence of fame;
The Noble Merse, admire thy vertuous wayes,
And as amaz'd, yeeld homage to the same.
The Vestall-Maides, in honour of a Dame,
Are saide to feast Minerva, and great Ioue.
But Thou beyonde great Dames deseru'st a Name:
VVhose Breast is fraught with nought but loyall loue.
O strange! a Dame should from her Soyle remoue,
And though franchizd, a Stranger in some kinde.
In this Thy Course, the Heauens thy VVorth approue,
To show these matchlesse Fruites, of thy chaste Minde.
So, Countesse, so, All HOMES in Thee finde light:
Thou doest reuiue the Day, seem'd once their Night.
Then blest art Thou, in Thy flue Babes: or rather,
More blest Thy Lord, in Thee, and them a Father.

To the right Honorable Lord, MY LORD SHEFFIELD,

President of Yorke, &c.

If not ingrate, I must recall thy VVorth,
Which binds my brest to memorize thy name:
And if I could (doubtlesse) I would set foorth
Thy great desert, to liue in endlesse fame.
In passing by at Yorke, cras'd I, halfe lame,
Had hap to finde thy noble heart so kinde.
Great thankes (Braue Lord) I yeelde thee for the same:
First, to thy Gen'rous; then, judicious Minde.
Thy Breast well read in Histories I finde,
But more Religious, in a Godlie course,
To Vertue and to Humane workes inclin'd:
Thou bound to them, they finde in thee secourse.
So as thou worthie liu'st, of thy good partes,
Thine Honour growes, in conquering of Heartes.
Long mayst thou liue, a Loade starre to the North,
That brauest Wittes, may still thy prayse sing foorth.

The Pilgrimes Farewell to Edinburgh

The Pilgrims Farewell to Northberwicke Lawe. Dedicate to Sir IOHN HOME of Northberwicke, Knight, &c.

A SONNET,

Made by the Author, being vpon Mount Ætna, in Sicilia, AN. 1615. And on the second day thereafter arriuing at Messina, he found two of his Countrey Gentlemen, Dauid Seton, of the House of Perbroith, and Matthew Dowglas, now presentlie at Court: to whome hee presented the same, they beeing at that instant time some 40. miles from thence.

High standes thy toppe, but higher lookes mine eye,
High soares thy smoake, but higher my desire:
High are thy roundes, steepe, circled, as I see,
But higher farre this Breast, whiles I aspire:
High mountes the furie, of thy burning fire,
But higher farre mine aymes transcende aboue:
High bendes thy force, through midst of Vulcanes ire,
But higher flies my sprite, with winges of loue:
High preasse thy flames, the chrystall aire to moue,
But higher farre, the scope of mine engine:
High lies the snow, on thy proude toppes, I proue,
But higher vp ascendes my braue designe.
Thine height cannot surpasse this clowdie frame,
But my poore Soule, the highest Heauens doth claime.
Meane-while with paine, I climbe to view thy toppes,
Thine hight makes fall from me, ten thousand droppes.

The Pilgrimes Passionado, on the Rhyne, when he was robbed by fiue Souldiours, French & Valloune, aboue Rhynberg, in Cleue, being assosiated by a young Gentleman, Dauid Bruce of Clakmanene house, ANNO 1614. Octob. 28. And afterwarde dedicate to the most mightie Dutchesse, ELIZABETH, Princesse Palatine, of the Rhyne, &c.

Jn his second Trauels, after his departure from ENGLAND, arriuing at Ostend: the sight whereof gaue the Pilgrime this Subject.

To the Worshipfull Gentleman, THOMAS EDMOND:

Nowe resident in the LOWE COVNTREYES.

Youth, thou mayst see (though brief) my great good will;
It's not for flattrie, nor rewarde, I prayse:
VVee are farre distant, yet my flying Quill,
Perhaps may come, within thine home-bred wayes.
I striue from Dust, thy Fathers Fame to raise,
For Scotlandes sake, and for his Martiall Skill,
VVhose fearelesse Courage, following VVarlike Frayes,
Did there surpasse, the worthiest of his dayes.
And as his matchlesse Valour, Honour wonne,
His death resign'd, the same, to thee his Sonne.

The Complaint of the late LORD, CORONALL EDMOND his Ghoste.

The author in his second Trauels beeing at PRAGE, in BOHEMIA, did sute the Emperour for some affaires, which being granted, a young vp-start Courtier ouer-threw him therein, giuing him this Subiect to expresse, after long attendance at Court, &c.

[To his vnknowne, knowne; and knowne, vnknowne Loue]

A SONNET,

Made by the Pilgrime, when hee was almost Ship-wracked, betwixt the Iles Arrane and Rossay, anno 1617. Sebtemb. 9.

What foaming Seas, in restlesse hatefull rage,
Striue to surmatch, the neuer-matched Skies?
Can bounded Reason, boundlesse VVill not swadge?
Nor spitefull Neptune, pittie my poore cries?
Now downe to Hell, now vp to Heauen I rise,
Twixt two Extreames, extreamly make debate,
Heauens thundring winds, my halfe harm'd heart denyes
All hopd-for helpe, to my hurt haplesse state,
I am content, Let fortune rule my fate,
Tymes alt'ring turnes, may change in joye my griefe,
Roare foorth yee Stormes, rebell, and bee ingrate,
I scorne to begge, from Borean blastes, reliefe.
Long-winged Boate, quicke-shake thy trembling oares,
And correspond these waues, with demi-roares.

The Pilgrime Entring into the Mouth of CLYDE, from ROSSAY, to view DUNBARTANE Castle, and LOCHLOWMOND, anno 1617. Sebtemb. 18. Hee saluted his natiue Riuer with these Verses.

The Heremites Welcome, To the Pilgrimes thirde Pilgrimage.

To the Noble, Jllustrious, and Honourable LORDES, LODOWICKE, DVKE OF LENNOXE, &c. IAMES, MARQVES OF HAMMILTON, &c. GEORGE, MARQVES OF HVNTLEY, &c.

AN ELEGIE,

Containing the Pilgrimes most humble Farewell to his Natiue and neuer conquered Kingdome of SCOTLAND.

To thee, O dearest Soyle, these mourning Lines I bring,
And with a broken bleeding Breast, my sad Farewell I sing,
Nowe melting Eyes dissolue, O windie Sighes disclose,
The airie Vapoures of my griefe, sprung from my watrie woes:
And let my Dying-day, no sorrow vncontrole,
Since on the Planets of my Plaintes, I moue about the Pole.
Shall I, O restlesse I, still thwarting, runne this round?
Whiles resting Mortalles restlesse Mount, I mouldarize the ground
And in my wandring long, in pleasure, paine, and greife,
Begges mercie of the mercielesse of sorrow, sorrowes chiefe.
Sith after two Returnes, my merites are forgot,
The third shall ende, or else repaire, my long estranging Lot.
Then kindlie come distresse, a Figge for Forraine care,
I gladlie in Extreames must walke, whiles on this masse I fare.
The Morrish frowning face, the Turkish awfull brow,
The Sarasene and Arabe blowes, poore I, must to them bow.
These Articles of Woe, my Monster-breeding paine;
As Pendicles on my poore state, vnwisht for, shall remaine.
Thus fraught with bitter Cares, I close my Malecontentes,
Within this Kalendar of Griefe, to memorize my Plaintes.
And to that VVesterne Soyle, where Gallus once did dwell,
To Gallowedian Barrons I, impart this my Farewell.
A Forraine Debt I owe, braue Garlees, to thy worth,
And to my Genrous Kenmure Knight, more than I can sing forth
To Bombee I assigne, lowe Homage for his loue:
And to Barnebarough kinde & wise, a breast whiles breath may moue.
Vnto the worthy Boyde, in Scotland, first in France,
I owe effectes of true good-will, a low-laide countenance.
And thou graue Lowdon Lord, I honour with the best,
And on the Noble Eglinton, my strong affections rest.
Kilmaers I admire, for quicke and readie wit:
And graue Glencarne, his Father deare, on honours top doth sit:
And to thee gallant Rosse, well seene in Forraine partes,
I sacrifice a Pilgrimes loue, amongst these Noble heartes.
From Carlile vnto Clyde, that Southwest shore I know:
And by the way, Lord Harreis I, remembrance duelie owe.
In that small progresse I, surueying all the VVest,
Euen to your Houses, one by one, my Lodging I adrest:
Your kindnesse I imbrac'd, as not ingrate, The same
I memorize to future times, in eternized fame.
Amongst these long Goodnightes, farewell yee Poets deare,
Graue Menstrie true Castalian fire, quicke Drummond in his spheare.
Braue Murray ah is dead, Aiton supplies his place,
And Alens high Pernassian veine, rare Poems doth embrace.
There's manie moe well knowne, whome I cannot explaine,
And Gordon, Semple, Maxwell too, haue the Pernassian veine
And yee Colledgians all, the fruites of Learning graue
To you I consecrate my Loue, enstalde amongst the leaue.
First to you Rectors, I, and Regentes, homage make,
Then from your spiring Breasts, braue Youths, my leaue I humbly take.
And, Scotland, I attest, my Witnesse reignes aboue,
In all my Worlde-wide wandring wayes, I kept to thee my Loue:
To manie Forraine Breastes, in these exyling Dayes,
In sympathizing Harmonies, I sung thine endlesse Prayse.
And where thou wast not knowne, I registred thy Name,
Within their Annalles of Renowne, to eternize thy Fame.
And this twise haue I done, in my twise long Assayes,
And now the third time thrise I wil, thy Name vnconquerd raise.
Yea, I will stampe thy Badge, and seale it with my Blood:
And if I die in thy Defence, I thinke mine Ende is good.
So dearest Soyle, O deare, I sacrifice now see,
Euen on the Altar of mine Heart, a spotlesse Loue to thee.
And Scotland now farewell, farewell for manie Yeares:
This Eccho of Farewell bringes out, from mee, a world of teares.