A new edition of the life and heroick actions of the renoun'd Sir William Wallace General and Governour of Scotland. Wherein the Old obsolete Words are rendered more Intelligible; and adapted to the understanding of such who have not leisure to study the Meaning, and Import of such Phrases without the help of a Glossary |
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| III. | CHAP. III. How WALLACE was imprisoned in Air, and escaped.
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 | CHAP. III. How WALLACE was imprisoned in Air, and escaped.
A new edition of the life and heroick actions of the renoun'd Sir William Wallace |  |
CHAP. III. How WALLACE was imprisoned in Air, and escaped.
Herrings and Water, for his Nourishment,
And such sad Stuff to Wallace they present:
Instead of what was wholesome cleanly Food,
Got the Refuse of ev'ry Thing was Good.
Thus in the Prison languishing he lay,
Till Death was pictur'd in his beauteous Clay
His vital Spirits almost spent and gone,
Then to Jehovah made his piteous Moan:
Confess'd his Sins, most humbly then implor'd
Mercy thro' CHIRST, his Saviour and LORD.
Then said, my GOD, O please for to receive
My Soul and Body, I thee humbly crave.
For if Relief thou do not quickly send,
My Days in Prison here I'll shortly End.
Please to prolong my Days O GOD to me,
Since my Belief is wholly upon thee:
Which by thy Grace thou graciously hast wrought,
And me from Hell by thine own Blood hast bought.
Why wilt thou give thy Handy-work to those,
Who are our Nation's and my mortal Foes.
And who maliciously this Land abhor,
Would me destroy with many others more.
O bruckle Sword, thy Mettal was not true,
Thy frushing Blade, me in this Prison threw:
To English Men, ov'r little Harm thou's done,
Of gallant Scots who kill'd so many a one.
Of us indeed they have not kill'd a few,
My valiant Father, and bold Brother too,
Were at Lochmabane kill'd by South'ron,
But Death resisted sure can be by none.
This Ancient Kingdom, LORD do thou relieve,
From English Thraldom and Deliverance give.
Tho' now O LORD my Pow'r be gone indeed,
Yet King of Kings help thou and send Remeed.
Of worldly Comforts now I take my leave,
I shall be shortly where I shall not grieve:
Thus heartily to all I bid adieu,
None other Gift have I to leave you now.
And such sad Stuff to Wallace they present:
Instead of what was wholesome cleanly Food,
Got the Refuse of ev'ry Thing was Good.
28
Till Death was pictur'd in his beauteous Clay
His vital Spirits almost spent and gone,
Then to Jehovah made his piteous Moan:
Confess'd his Sins, most humbly then implor'd
Mercy thro' CHIRST, his Saviour and LORD.
Then said, my GOD, O please for to receive
My Soul and Body, I thee humbly crave.
For if Relief thou do not quickly send,
My Days in Prison here I'll shortly End.
Please to prolong my Days O GOD to me,
Since my Belief is wholly upon thee:
Which by thy Grace thou graciously hast wrought,
And me from Hell by thine own Blood hast bought.
Why wilt thou give thy Handy-work to those,
Who are our Nation's and my mortal Foes.
And who maliciously this Land abhor,
Would me destroy with many others more.
O bruckle Sword, thy Mettal was not true,
Thy frushing Blade, me in this Prison threw:
To English Men, ov'r little Harm thou's done,
Of gallant Scots who kill'd so many a one.
Of us indeed they have not kill'd a few,
My valiant Father, and bold Brother too,
Were at Lochmabane kill'd by South'ron,
But Death resisted sure can be by none.
This Ancient Kingdom, LORD do thou relieve,
From English Thraldom and Deliverance give.
29
Yet King of Kings help thou and send Remeed.
Of worldly Comforts now I take my leave,
I shall be shortly where I shall not grieve:
Thus heartily to all I bid adieu,
None other Gift have I to leave you now.
Adieu
Wallace that was both strong and stout,
Long in this Prison thou must ly no doubt:
Now all thy noble Kindred brave and bold
Thy Freedom purchase cannot, no with Gold.
Thy tender Mother that in Pain thee bore,
In her soft Arms shall ne'er inclose thee more;
How seemly was thou, with thy Sword and Shield,
When thou kill'd Numbers on the bloody Field.
Long in this Prison thou must ly no doubt:
Now all thy noble Kindred brave and bold
Thy Freedom purchase cannot, no with Gold.
Thy tender Mother that in Pain thee bore,
In her soft Arms shall ne'er inclose thee more;
How seemly was thou, with thy Sword and Shield,
When thou kill'd Numbers on the bloody Field.
Complain ye Poor, with Rev'rence tell your tale,
Complain to Heavens, with Words that cannot fail:
Lift up your Voice to the great GOD above,
That's full of Mercy, Pity, and of Love.
Complain for him that sits in dismal Cells,
And in the melancholly Dungeon dwells:
With Grief and Pain; which he scarce can endure,
Pray for's Relief, to the great GOD of Pow'r:
Complain ye Birds that once were blyth and glad,
Now change your Notes, and hang the drooping Head.
Complain ye Lords, complain ye Ladies bright,
Complain for him that worthy was and wight:
Complain ye Men of War in mournful Song
For him, of Saxon's Sons that suffers Wrong.
Complain for him, who lyes both Day and Night,
In Prison, for maintaining Scotland's Right,
Complain for him who did most frequently,
Sound up the Triumphs of our Victory.
What shall I say of the brave Wallace more,
A cruel Flux in Prison, and a sore,
Did then almost reduce him to last Breath,
And left him gasping in the Jaws of Death.
The Jaylor now's commanded with great Aw,
To bring him to the Sentence of their Law.
Who, when he view'd him, to his great surprise,
Thought Death already had shut up his Eyes.
In haste returns, and does report the News,
That he had paid both Law and Prison-Dues.
Perswaded thus, that he was very dead,
For Wallace now there was no more remeed.
Being concluded, by Consent of all,
To throw him quickly ov'r the Castle-Wall.
But Providence which Interposes oft,
Directs his Fall into a Place was soft;
His Nurse which liv'd in the New-Town of Air,
Hearing the News in haste came running there
And on her Knees with Face as pale as Clay,
Did purchase leave to bear his Corps away.
With Sorrow, him unto her House she bore,
Then with warm Water bath'd his Body o'er.
His Heart she found to flighter to and fro,
His Eyes at last they did cast up also.
Then on a Bed she laid him soft as Silk,
And suckled him with her own Daughters Milk.
Her love to him and tender Care was such,
In a short Time he did recover much.
Thus secretly she did him Nurse and Feed,
And made the Word still pass, that he was Dead.
She weeped sore in ev'ry Body's sight,
Till he became both able stout and tight.
Thomas the Rhymer at that very Time,
Who prophecy'd in Ancient Scotish Rhyme,
In vulgar Estimation not the least,
Did pay a Visit to the Parish-Priest:
Whose Servant, had just at the Mercate been,
And what befel poor Wallace there, had seen.
The Priest, does on his Servant quickly call,
What News said he? Sir few or none at all.
The Priest said, that he never yet did know,
The Scots and English part without a Blow.
Good Wallace, quoth the Lad; and shook his Head,
I Saw them cast him ov'r the Wall for dead;
The Priest replyed with a heavy Heart,
For that I hope to see the South'ron smart
Wallace was Wight, and come of gentle Blood,
Thomas he said, the Tidings were not good.
The Priest said surely they would foster Feud,
But Thomas said, that Wallace was not Dead.
The Servant told, he saw a Woman there,
That did belong to the New-Town of Air:
Upon her Knees from South'ron Purchase leave
To carry Wallace somewhere to his Grave.
Pensive a little, Thomas in his Thought,
By God said he, that hath this World wrought,
And brings to pass each Thing for his own Glore,
If he be dead, Thomas shall live no more.
The honest Priest hearing him speak so plain,
He charg'd his Servant to return again,
To view the Woman's House, and carefully,
To look about, what he could hear or spy.
The Servant thus in haste is gone away,
Straight to the House, and Place where Wallace lay.
Who's this lyes here, he did demand in plain,
The Woman rose in Sorrow, Grief, and Pain;
The worthy Wallace, Oh! replied she,
Then weeped sore, and very piteously.
She on her Knees did pray, for JESUS sake;
He would conceal, and no Discovery make.
The Servant answer'd with a fearful Oath,
That he to harm him would be very loath:
Might he on Life but see him with his Eyes,
He would rejoice or curs'd might he be Thrice.
She, to good Wallace led him up the Stairs,
There saw him gladly, and he back Repairs:
To Thomas, and his Master, who attend
To hear the Story all, from End to End
He told them, the first Tidings were a Lie,
Then Thomas said, before that Wallace die.
Out of this Land he shall the South'ron send,
And Thousands on the Field make their last End.
He Scotland Thrice shall bring into great Peace,
And South'ron ay be frighted at his Face.
Then chear up Scots, cast from you Care and Sloath,
And pray believe what Thomas says is Truth.
When Wallace Actions we to light produce,
We'll find him not Inferior to Bruce:
But 'cause the Bruce, was of our Kingdom Heir,
Wallace therefore with him we'll not compare.
Yet by his Courage, and his Conduct wise,
As we have heard, he rescu'd Scotland thrice.
Unto the Nation's universal Joy,
The Time he was the Baliol's Viceroy.
Complain to Heavens, with Words that cannot fail:
Lift up your Voice to the great GOD above,
That's full of Mercy, Pity, and of Love.
Complain for him that sits in dismal Cells,
And in the melancholly Dungeon dwells:
With Grief and Pain; which he scarce can endure,
Pray for's Relief, to the great GOD of Pow'r:
Complain ye Birds that once were blyth and glad,
Now change your Notes, and hang the drooping Head.
Complain ye Lords, complain ye Ladies bright,
Complain for him that worthy was and wight:
30
For him, of Saxon's Sons that suffers Wrong.
Complain for him, who lyes both Day and Night,
In Prison, for maintaining Scotland's Right,
Complain for him who did most frequently,
Sound up the Triumphs of our Victory.
What shall I say of the brave Wallace more,
A cruel Flux in Prison, and a sore,
Did then almost reduce him to last Breath,
And left him gasping in the Jaws of Death.
The Jaylor now's commanded with great Aw,
To bring him to the Sentence of their Law.
Who, when he view'd him, to his great surprise,
Thought Death already had shut up his Eyes.
In haste returns, and does report the News,
That he had paid both Law and Prison-Dues.
Perswaded thus, that he was very dead,
For Wallace now there was no more remeed.
Being concluded, by Consent of all,
To throw him quickly ov'r the Castle-Wall.
But Providence which Interposes oft,
Directs his Fall into a Place was soft;
His Nurse which liv'd in the New-Town of Air,
Hearing the News in haste came running there
And on her Knees with Face as pale as Clay,
Did purchase leave to bear his Corps away.
With Sorrow, him unto her House she bore,
Then with warm Water bath'd his Body o'er.
31
His Eyes at last they did cast up also.
Then on a Bed she laid him soft as Silk,
And suckled him with her own Daughters Milk.
Her love to him and tender Care was such,
In a short Time he did recover much.
Thus secretly she did him Nurse and Feed,
And made the Word still pass, that he was Dead.
She weeped sore in ev'ry Body's sight,
Till he became both able stout and tight.
Thomas the Rhymer at that very Time,
Who prophecy'd in Ancient Scotish Rhyme,
In vulgar Estimation not the least,
Did pay a Visit to the Parish-Priest:
Whose Servant, had just at the Mercate been,
And what befel poor Wallace there, had seen.
The Priest, does on his Servant quickly call,
What News said he? Sir few or none at all.
The Priest said, that he never yet did know,
The Scots and English part without a Blow.
Good Wallace, quoth the Lad; and shook his Head,
I Saw them cast him ov'r the Wall for dead;
The Priest replyed with a heavy Heart,
For that I hope to see the South'ron smart
Wallace was Wight, and come of gentle Blood,
Thomas he said, the Tidings were not good.
32
But Thomas said, that Wallace was not Dead.
The Servant told, he saw a Woman there,
That did belong to the New-Town of Air:
Upon her Knees from South'ron Purchase leave
To carry Wallace somewhere to his Grave.
Pensive a little, Thomas in his Thought,
By God said he, that hath this World wrought,
And brings to pass each Thing for his own Glore,
If he be dead, Thomas shall live no more.
The honest Priest hearing him speak so plain,
He charg'd his Servant to return again,
To view the Woman's House, and carefully,
To look about, what he could hear or spy.
The Servant thus in haste is gone away,
Straight to the House, and Place where Wallace lay.
Who's this lyes here, he did demand in plain,
The Woman rose in Sorrow, Grief, and Pain;
The worthy Wallace, Oh! replied she,
Then weeped sore, and very piteously.
She on her Knees did pray, for JESUS sake;
He would conceal, and no Discovery make.
The Servant answer'd with a fearful Oath,
That he to harm him would be very loath:
Might he on Life but see him with his Eyes,
He would rejoice or curs'd might he be Thrice.
33
There saw him gladly, and he back Repairs:
To Thomas, and his Master, who attend
To hear the Story all, from End to End
He told them, the first Tidings were a Lie,
Then Thomas said, before that Wallace die.
Out of this Land he shall the South'ron send,
And Thousands on the Field make their last End.
He Scotland Thrice shall bring into great Peace,
And South'ron ay be frighted at his Face.
Then chear up Scots, cast from you Care and Sloath,
And pray believe what Thomas says is Truth.
When Wallace Actions we to light produce,
We'll find him not Inferior to Bruce:
But 'cause the Bruce, was of our Kingdom Heir,
Wallace therefore with him we'll not compare.
Yet by his Courage, and his Conduct wise,
As we have heard, he rescu'd Scotland thrice.
Unto the Nation's universal Joy,
The Time he was the Baliol's Viceroy.
34
CHAP. IV. The Battle of LOUDON-HILL.
Now to my Purpose gladly I return
Since I for Wallace need no longer mourn:
Who when he found himself in Case to ride,
Thought it not safe in New-Town to abide.
Then to the cruel South'rons great surprize,
Once more appears, them frights and terrifies:
His Nurse, her Daughter, Child, and Family,
He first dispatch'd away to Ellerslie.
When they were gone, no Weapon could he find
There; that could suit and please his anxious Mind.
Except a Sword, that in a Nook did stand,
O'er grown with Rust, which he took in his Hand.
He drew the Blade, and found it well could bite,
Which pleas'd his Fancy to a very Mite.
Then blythly said, Faith thou shall go with me,
Till with a better I provided be.
To see his Uncle good Sir Rannald, then
Fain would he go, but that the English-Men;
Who cunningly for him had laid the Snare,
He fear'd, might catch him in his Journey there.
At Richartoun then longed for to be,
To get some Horse and Armour quietly,
With all Precaution Wallace ventur'd fair,
Yet met Three South'ron riding unto Air;
Long-Castle bold, and with him Yeo-men Two,
Wallace drew back and would not with them go.
At him they ride, and said despitefully,
Thou Scot abide, for sure thou art a Spy:
Or else some Thief, that dares not show thy Face,
But Wallace answer'd with a modest Grace,
Sir, I am sick, for GOD's Love let me be,
Long-Castle said by George that shall not be,
Thy Countenance prognostick's something Odd,
To Air with me thou shalt travel the Road,
Pull'd out a Sword, that was of noble Hew,
His rusty Sword, good Wallace also drew.
Then with a single, but a dreadful Blow,
He clave his Neck-Bone cliverly in Two.
The Yeo-Men then, in haste soon lighted down,
The First miss'd not a Clink out o'er his Crown.
Which to the Craig a clean Incision made
A brave Performance by the rusty Blade.
The other fled, and durst no longer stay,
He scar'd at Blood; that was the Reason why,
But Wallace quickly brought the Culzeon back,
And there gave him the Whissle of his Plack.
Along his Ribs he gave him such a Rout,
Till all his Intralls and his Lungs hang out.
Then took their Horses, and their Armour bright,
Their noble Weapons, cliver clean and tight.
And all their Coin, syne on his Horse he cocked,
With Gold and Money jingling in each Pocket.
Then in great haste he rode to Richartoun,
A merry Meeting was at's lighting down.
Sir Richard he was there, that noble Kight,
Who mourning for him almost lost his Sight.
And his two Sons who never were so fain,
As now, to see Wallace alive again.
Sir Rannald also came to see him fast,
The Women told, by Corsby as they past,
How Wallace scap'd; Sir Rannald changed Hewes,
He wanted Faith to credit the good News.
Till he him saw, he thought the Time was long,
But when they met, who can express with Tongue,
How him he hass'd, and kiss'd so tenderly,
Till's very Soul was in an Exstasy;
The Tears of Joy which from his Eyes did flow,
E'er he could speak a long Time held him so,
But at the last, most lovingly said he,
Welcome dear Nephew, Welcome Home to me.
Thanked be GOD that hath this Wonder wrought,
And safely out of Prison hath thee brought.
His Mother came, and Kinsfolk not a Few,
With joyful Heart, to know those Tydings true.
To Robert Boyd, that worthy was and Wight,
Wallace he was a blyth and welcome Sight.
From ev'ry different Airt they crowd and come,
To visit, and to welcome Wallace home.
Thanks be to GOD, who did to him dispense
So happy, kind, and good a Providence.
Since I for Wallace need no longer mourn:
Who when he found himself in Case to ride,
Thought it not safe in New-Town to abide.
Then to the cruel South'rons great surprize,
Once more appears, them frights and terrifies:
His Nurse, her Daughter, Child, and Family,
He first dispatch'd away to Ellerslie.
When they were gone, no Weapon could he find
There; that could suit and please his anxious Mind.
Except a Sword, that in a Nook did stand,
O'er grown with Rust, which he took in his Hand.
He drew the Blade, and found it well could bite,
Which pleas'd his Fancy to a very Mite.
Then blythly said, Faith thou shall go with me,
Till with a better I provided be.
35
Fain would he go, but that the English-Men;
Who cunningly for him had laid the Snare,
He fear'd, might catch him in his Journey there.
At Richartoun then longed for to be,
To get some Horse and Armour quietly,
With all Precaution Wallace ventur'd fair,
Yet met Three South'ron riding unto Air;
Long-Castle bold, and with him Yeo-men Two,
Wallace drew back and would not with them go.
At him they ride, and said despitefully,
Thou Scot abide, for sure thou art a Spy:
Or else some Thief, that dares not show thy Face,
But Wallace answer'd with a modest Grace,
Sir, I am sick, for GOD's Love let me be,
Long-Castle said by George that shall not be,
Thy Countenance prognostick's something Odd,
To Air with me thou shalt travel the Road,
Pull'd out a Sword, that was of noble Hew,
His rusty Sword, good Wallace also drew.
Then with a single, but a dreadful Blow,
He clave his Neck-Bone cliverly in Two.
The Yeo-Men then, in haste soon lighted down,
The First miss'd not a Clink out o'er his Crown.
Which to the Craig a clean Incision made
A brave Performance by the rusty Blade.
The other fled, and durst no longer stay,
He scar'd at Blood; that was the Reason why,
36
And there gave him the Whissle of his Plack.
Along his Ribs he gave him such a Rout,
Till all his Intralls and his Lungs hang out.
Then took their Horses, and their Armour bright,
Their noble Weapons, cliver clean and tight.
And all their Coin, syne on his Horse he cocked,
With Gold and Money jingling in each Pocket.
Then in great haste he rode to Richartoun,
A merry Meeting was at's lighting down.
Sir Richard he was there, that noble Kight,
Who mourning for him almost lost his Sight.
And his two Sons who never were so fain,
As now, to see Wallace alive again.
Sir Rannald also came to see him fast,
The Women told, by Corsby as they past,
How Wallace scap'd; Sir Rannald changed Hewes,
He wanted Faith to credit the good News.
Till he him saw, he thought the Time was long,
But when they met, who can express with Tongue,
How him he hass'd, and kiss'd so tenderly,
Till's very Soul was in an Exstasy;
The Tears of Joy which from his Eyes did flow,
E'er he could speak a long Time held him so,
But at the last, most lovingly said he,
Welcome dear Nephew, Welcome Home to me.
Thanked be GOD that hath this Wonder wrought,
And safely out of Prison hath thee brought.
37
With joyful Heart, to know those Tydings true.
To Robert Boyd, that worthy was and Wight,
Wallace he was a blyth and welcome Sight.
From ev'ry different Airt they crowd and come,
To visit, and to welcome Wallace home.
Thanks be to GOD, who did to him dispense
So happy, kind, and good a Providence.
Here ends my Second Book, I say no more,
But quietly I draw a Second Score.
But quietly I draw a Second Score.
| CHAP. III. How WALLACE was imprisoned in Air, and escaped.
A new edition of the life and heroick actions of the renoun'd Sir William Wallace | |