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The works of Sir William Mure of Rowallan

Edited with introduction, notes, and glossary by William Tough

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19

Caledons Complaint

Against infamous Libells.

or A censure past upon the Truth-betraying Sycophant, dareing (most ignobly) to streck at the honour of this deeply afflicted Nation upon pretence of the guilt of rebellion, in justice to be represt by the power of his Majesties armes.

Laid downe (with all submission) at the feete of our Soveraigne Lord King Charles

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What raging fury, Guest of horrid night,
Comes arm'd with flames and snaikes against the Light,
Loos'd from the chaines of darknesse to disturbe
The sons of unitie, borne vice to curbe?
By Law, not force, wee move, not tumult make,
Wee Justice plead, Sedition doe forsake:
None with rebellion our attempts will brand
But who themselves to crush Religion band,
By act, or by intent. Faire vertue shines,
Reflecting everywhere from our designes:
That whither forc'd, to arme, or to entreat,
Our mildnesse, our Submission to bee great
None can denie. For, so with Truth, sweete peace
(Which in our chiefe desires hath chiefest place)
Joyn'd hands; and did from Heaven salute this Land,
Who could the excesse of his joy command?
Who would not fall before his sacred Feete,
Whom royal Vertues make a Prince compleete,
And armes lay downe, or at his will employ,
Lift Him to Honour, and his foes destroy:
Who equall with his life his people's good,
Would value, were they rightly understood.

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But by Religion's overthrow, to gaine
Dishonourable ease, with Conscience staine;
That truth be underminde by Policie,
For Peace shoud wee dispence: Who can deny
This cursed peace, this ignominious ease,
Were high rebellion, would the Lord displease.
Most sacred Soveraigne, honour of this Age,
Thy Justice wee appeale, brought on the Stage
By close Camelions; (foes who friendes appeare)
Abusing our indulgence and thine Eare,
Deserving on the parchment of their backe,
The hang-man's whips, should in characters blacke
Draw out each passage of those wicked arts,
They us'd to wound thy grievous Subjects' hearts,
And kindle in thy royall Breast a fire
Which never can be quench'd, till thy just ire
Their bloud doe expiate; till vengeance fall
And, from the heavens, confound those fire-brands all.
Lo! braine-sicke Cherelus dare brave our State,
As at his fancie thy displeasure's spaite
Were readie to breake forth. Darre hee repine
That Light, throughout this glorious Yle doth shine,
For which, too narrow Europ shall be found,
Before the worke bee with the issue crown'd.
Base lies now vents hee, now with malice stings
Those honour'd Heraulds of the King of Kings;
Chaifes, that from 'mongst our honey-bees wee drive
Those Wasps, whose venome had infect'd the hyve.
That wee, those limbs of Antichrist abjure,
Unmitring monsters that did court the Whorre
Of Rome, this Land adventuring to defile,
And make, through their abominations, vile.
Now, to our charge disloyaltie is laide,
That (Parricids) wee dare the throne invade,

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Rob Caesar of his due, disclaime our head,
And limits of alleadgeance doe exceed.
O hight of hate! O hellish impudence!
To thinke, that men of honour could dispence
With conscience, with their duetie to a King,
So good, so just, so wisely governing.
Whose Love, as of a Father's, found we have,
As of a Master wee his favour crave,
His Aide as of a Lord; since Father's love,
And Son's obedience, hand in hand doe move
To homage and protection, mutually,
Since true relation Prince and people tye.
Thy countrey's heart doth bleed, her grieves are great,
Both fraud and force conspire against her State.
Her native liberties encroach'd on are,
Which, gain'd with honour, honourably were
From time to time maintain'd, against the pride,
And power, of all that durst against her side.
Her violated Lawes; the civill Right
Of Subjects shaken; Justice, mar'd by might;
Religion vex'd and wrong'd; (that sacred Band
Of Amitie, and Union of the Land,
The solide Pillar which the State sustaines,
By which cemented, firme each piece remains;)
Christ's cause, yea Crowne, in question; by the bands
Of duetie, by the pow'r put in thy hands,
(The regall Scepter, Diadem, and Sword,
In Faith's defence, entrusted by thy LORD)
Conjure Thee, while the lowring Skies portend
A Tempest, to the danger to attend,
And wisely to His interest to advert,
Who count will crave how acted is thy part.
Those, whom eclipses, more than Sun-light please,
(The birds of prey, which gape for gaine), Those flies

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Which feed upon infection and stinke,
Our Camels, which but troubled streames can drinke,
Division's Cataracts would open keep,
And kindle quarrels which lye buried deep,
That Brethren, Pillars of the royall Throne,
By God, and Nature, under Thee, made one,
One bundell of united shafts; a Band
Not easie to be brash'd by stranger's hand,
May (thus) be weakened, and receive a wound,
Endangering both, which shall not soone be sound.
But ah! to thinke, that Thou whose aide wee call,
The people's Parent; Watch-man on our wall:
The Geometrick point, with eaven Aspect,
Bound all thy bounding Borders to respect;
The Head, the Heart of the Republicke, made
A God, a Judge, set over good and bade;
That Thou thy royall Banners shouldst display,
By Justice' Sword, to make thy passion way,
Against a Nation from defection free,
Who heavens dare face, for their integritie;
O depth of woe! O hight of passing griefe!
That Thine, who supplicate by Thee reliefe,
Must arme: and at uncertaine bloud's expense,
Bee forc'd unto an innocent defence.
Dread Soveraigne, Son of Mars, if arme thou wilt,
No drop of bloud let bee in Britaine spilt.
March, and all Europe shall be put in fray,
The Alpes, the Perinees, shall make Thee way.
Thy neighbouring state, with Olives shall attend,
Thy right's decision while thou dost suspend.
The Rhine, whose streams are swolne with tears shall smile
And fears of longer servitude exile.
Rome's wals shall tremble, proud Madrid shall quaik,
When with joynt-forces thou the fields shall take
With warriours, more then men, thy Britanies bold
Attended; who for feare nor force will fold.

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Thy sea-wall'd world huge colonies shall spair,
For peopling kingdomes which usurped are
By Tyrants bold and blinde, the foes of Truth.
Yea, Thou shall lead, with Albion's choicest youth,
(The worthies and the wits of either land)
Our Archimeds, who with industrious hand
Reach Nature's depths, reviving Dedal's arts.
Thy Scots, with Gyants' hands and Lyons' hearts,
Shall gallantly go on, who whiles they arme,
Shall give at once the stroke and the alarme,
And undismaid, at danger, death, or blows,
Shall fall, like fire and lightning on thy foes.
Thus shalt thou wing thy fame, and with skill'd hand,
Divert the wakened humours of the land;
And, to amazed Europ's terror, lead
A mighty body, moving with their head.
But base the snake is, which in splean doth smite
A suffering nation with the hight of spite,
Whom (so thou silent prove) here, shall not want
In single person, Miriads, to daunt,
And make the wretch, who with disgrace dare load
Thy country, sing a shamefull Palinode.
Or, if amongst us be the monster found,
The mother's gorge that doth invade and wound,
Not sticking superciliously, to breath
Prodigious prognosticks of thy wrath,
(As if the helme of government, to guide
Were left to serve the passion and the pride
Of desperat Sycophants, the coale which blow,
Thee and the state, alike, to overthrow;
Or of these neutrall Atheists, which frequent,
Amphibion like, a doubtsome element,)
A mother's curse let to the pit pursue
This bowel-renting, base, ambiguous crew.

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Be Ligature, the dog's sad destinie,
Who for our cure prescrives Phlebotomie.
Whips for thy back (base miscreāt), kept on pay
By hel's black officers; hold on thy way,
Spite venome still, still vomit blasphemies,
Thou Vertue canst not wrong with calumnies.
Thy jaws thou openest like a sepulcher
With presages which sad effects infer,
Bad profite. Bloud and murther thou dost breath,
As, if the issues darke of life and death,
Of Tombs and Trophees, wounds and victorie,
Were mere effects of pow'r or policie.
Heavens, heavens avert, when like the glorious Sun
Our daye's bright Planet hath his course begun,
And like a Bride-groome his bed-chamber leaves,
And comes to cure his native Delos' greeves,
That hardy Phaetons, with might and maine
Who ply the spurs, but cannot rule the raine,
Get charge, to His, and to our danger great,
To drive his royall chariot of state.
Heavens, heavens avert, that in this Hemi-sphear
A sad and ominous Eclipse appear;
That Britaine's brightest eye an uncouth flame
Should dazel: (such as to the nations came
By bold Prometheus' stealth); should marre that light
Whose purer rayes prevented day and night,
Light of th' eternal truth; light, which did shine
From mouths of all the Oracles divine,
In alder times; and which high providence,
Till time be gone, shall to all times dispense.
Shine gloriously, great Monarch, who thy light
Would lessen, let them perish in thy sight.
The meaner fires, which of thy flames pertake,
All in their orbs, their rendevous shall make,

27

And doe thee homage and submission due,
When Thou (appearing) shalt their day renew,
And, by a long-expected Fiat, fill
Their hearts with joy, which now thy frowns do kill,
Which all attend, all humbly do intreat
With suits by day, by night, reiterate.
Thus shall thy glories grow; thus heavens shall blesse
All thy endeavours; and all tongues expresse
Thy Scotland blest, that hath a Prince brought forth
Vnparallel'de; a people full of worth.
Finis.