To the Richt High Lodvvik Duke of Lenox :: :: University of Virginia Library

I wil decist, ma notes for till imbring,
Of sik as did, thair ventrous spreits imploy,
Bot lat vs praise, our Prence and natife king,
King Iames the sixt, that richt redouted Roy,
Gif ye wald marke, his courage and conuoy:
He dois deserue, far greter laud and glore,
Nor all the rest, reherst herein before.

I wisch at God, if it were not offence,
And als I craue into thir present dais,
For to haue sum of Ciceros eloquence,
Togither with ane part of Ovids frais,
That I micht speik, into this Prences prais:
Quha for his wisedome, and ventorious deids,
All vther Monarchis, in the warld exceids.

Strabo dois write, in his cosmographie,
And Titvs Livivs, as I vnderstand,
How Paris past, and saild to Grece by Sie,
To rauish Helene, lady of that land,
Quhair he fair Helene, in hir palace fand:
Thocht Poets of his duchtie deids declair,
Yit Paris to our Prence is na compair.

Paris performd ane maist vngodly gyse,
Quhilk efter tendit, to gret sturt and stryfe,
Bot our Prence, had ane honest interpryse,

He saild the sea, to fetch his nobill wife,

Paris

His interprise, gart mone los thair life,
Bot blist be God, ours come to better end,
Than Iudge quho dois demerit maist commend.

Iason that valient knight, quho dwelt in Greice,
To Colchos came, vnto ane dame maist fair,
Bot fra tyme, that he gat the goldin fleice,
He with Medea, wald remane na mair,
Thoch he wes duchte, as thay do declair:
Yet wes this Knight, maist wordie to dispyis,
Quha past away, but pitie of hir cryis.

This prence but peir, and lamp of God elect,
Quhome to gret prais, dois dewly apertene,
Vnto Medea, had far mair respect,
Nor he had to the goldin fleis I mene,
I mene our King respekit, mair our Queene:
Sic gracis in hir persoun, did apeir,
That he regardit, nether gold nor geir.

Quhat Prence, this prences wald in mind omit,
Considring quhat gret gifts, in hir apeirs,
Sche is a second Saba, for hir wit,
Lang mot sche leue, in Nestors happy yeirs
In lufe and fauour, as it best effeirs:
And in gud stait, a lang time for to stand,
To be ane gouernatrix of this land.

Ane ill report, the persoun ay rejakis,
Bot honnest fame, sall neuer faid nor faill,
Of fair Evphinia sum men mentioun makis,
Of Corynth land, the heritrix allhaill,
How mekil fier procedis, bot from a spaill:
Althocht sche wes graue, constant and degest,
One imperfectioun, stenzit all the rest.

This imperfectioun, ye sall sone persaue,
And as it stands, I sall the mater tell,
Sche mariet Acharist, hir fathers slaue,
Dishonoring, baith the cuntry and hir sell,
Sum wemen be of ane complexioun fell:
Quha dois resembill, the Basilik flour,
Quhilk changis hewis, and coulours euery hour,

To count thir thingis, occasions me compels,
That Queens take Kings, and vilipend a Squire,
Our souerane Queene, this prencis far excels,
Thocht sche of Corynth, had the haill impire,
Till ony prences, sche may weil espire:
Becaus sche hes espousit, for hir feir,
Ane nobill prence, quhois persoun hes na peir.

Laud to thois Ladeis, that thair cuntries leuis,
To be conjoynd, with wise and nobill Kingis,
For to thair cuntry, it gret comfort geuis,
Quhair be the contrair, it dishonour bringis,
Concerning sic misgiding, and malingis:
Luk how gret schame, the Corynthis did resaue,
Als mekill honour, may the Densis haue.

As wikit folkis, ar for thair vice abhord,
So for thair gud, the godly gets commend,
We suld giue praise, and laud vnto the Lord,
That sik a vertuous dame is till vs send,
Gud qualities, intill hir corps are kend:
As precious stains, gifis glancing in the nicht,
So schins hir gracis in the pepils sicht.

Hir cumly fame, in sick a stait dois stand,
That Momvs selfe, na imperfectioun knawis,
The pretious stains, that are in Persie land,
Into thair naturs, not sick splendeur schawis,
Hir fame and name, out throw this country blawis:

In gudly gracis, so sche dois excell,
For by hir gifts, sche beirs dame bewties bell.

As heit from fire, can not be tane away,
Quhair ingle is, with fierie flamis anew,
Na mair can lufe, deminish or decay,
Betwixt twa lufers, that are traist and trew,
I neid not oft, thair namis for to renew:
Quhat lufe hes bene, betwixt twa prences heir,
The awin effect, haue maid the mater cleir.

Anna our Queene, of nobill royall blud,
Quhom now our Soueraigne, hes chosin for his feir,
Respectit sche, the Boriall blasts so rud,
To take the hasert, till hir husband deir,
Bot in the cumming to this cuntry heir:
Hir selfe I say, and all hir companie,
With stormie winds, were troublit on the Se.

As Palinvrvs Pilot, till Enæ,
Throw storme of wind, out of the way did mar,
Euin so the tempest rais, amang thame swæ,
That scarce thay kend the pairt, quhairin thay war,
Na wounder wes, howbeid thay went a scar:
For Thetis wes, in sick a rage and ire,
That all hir fluds appeird, like flams of fire.

In nauigating, to our nobill Prence,
Vpon the Sea, sche sufferd meikill paine,
For Zephirvs blew, with sick violence,
Sche wes constraind, for to turne back againe,
Considring, how the storme did still remaine:
And how the raging wadder, wes so rud,
Hir gracis persoun, in gret perrill stud.

To pas to hir, our Prence than tuke consait,
Suppose the mater, syndrie did displeis,

Quho hering tell, of this hir troublous stait,
And how sche wes, so tossit on the Seis,
This duchtie Prence, deliberats and decreis:
To sail to Denmarke, to his darling deir,
Without respect, vnto the time of yeir.

To sick a Prence, so pissant and so hie,
The interpryse, wes ventrous for to tell,
In winter seasoun, for to tak the Se,
Quhen Satvrn did, his frostie teirs distell,
Thy richteous fame, sen na man can repell:
Maist hardy Cocles, lang time mot thou leiue,
That thir thy deids, may thy renoun reueiue,

Sen sick ventoriousnes, is in a King,
I think it suld, make mene men to be frack,
Think ye that this, wes ony litle thing,
Himselfe to hasert, on Neptvnvs bak,
Quhair Capharvs, quhilk Schips & botis dois wrak:
Lies in the Sea, beside the sands so schald,
With vther dangers, dreidfull to behald:

Respectit he, the perrilous scapie rock,
Quhair Triton plais, that monstrous vglie page,
Or caird he by Caribdis feirfull chok,
Quhair Scilas dogs, baith nicht and day dois rage,
This valiant Prence, baith ventrous, wise and sage:
Thir perrils gret, respekit not a Preine,
So fast he langd, to se his lustie Queine.

Respectit he, the furious raging Sie,
Or of God Æolvs, did he take cair,
Or of the father of Malancolie,
Quhilk rang into the regioun of the air,
Thir perrils, na wais mou'd him to dispair:
Sick courage did consist, into him sell,
That his gud purpose, did all feir expell.

He tuke na thocht, of Ciclops cragie cleuch,
Nor Sirtes sands, his courage did not moue,
O Apivs, thy skeill wes scant aneuch,
For till haue framd, ane schip for his behoue,
Namely throw Sea, a Monarche to remoue:
Abounding gretly, into gifts of grace,
Proceiding baith, of Mars and Pallace race.

This valiant King, iustly deseruis the croun,
Lang mot he liue, with sick a worthy name,
His ventrous acts, and royall hie renoun,
Ingrauit is, within the house of fame,
But ony spot, infirmitie or blame:
O God, gif it, a gret reioysing be,
Sick properties, intill a Prence to se.

Vnto the crafty Crocadils false teirs,
With confidence, thou neuer did confide,
O wise Vlisses, with thy waxit eirs,
That did eschew, the Cyren songs aside,
So weill thy selfe, thou did gouerne and gide:
Howbeid, occasioun oft times did procure,
From Cvpids schots, thy corps wes keipit sure.

Ye furious lufers, but respect or cair,
That for ane seasoun, liuis in lufe profane,
Vnto the stra, your persons I compair,
Quhilk kendils sone, and sone slakis out agane,
Thay lufe a space, to pacifie thair pane:
Thocht it from feruensie, dois na wais flow,
And so thay woundit are, with Cvpids bow.

Ane parabill maist apt, I will repeit,
Quhilk to trew lufers, iustly dois belang,
Albeid, that iroun be slaw to take a heit,
Yit being het, it halds the samin lang,
Seing the stra, is na materiall strang:

Full water sone, sick fierie flamis may stell,
Bot ardent heit, is ill for till expell.

How far are lufers, for to lake alace,
That for ane schort time, onely lufe menteens,
His highnes, I compair into this cace,
Vnto the iroun, as properly perteens,
In honour we may speik, of Kings and Queens:
Thocht heit was slaw, to enter in his vains,
Maist ardently with him, it now remains.

He being sick a abill plesant plant,
As in our natioun, neuer rang before,
This wes na small gift, as our selfis may grant,
For by gret gifts, the quhilk he hes in store,
We haue gud cause, his honour to decore:
And to reioyse, vpon ane gud pretence,
That God hes send vs sick a prudent Prence.

His laud and fame, is widely blawn abrod,
Because himselfe, so weill he hes behauid,
Na dout, bot he, is welbelou'd of God,
Quha at his hands, sick gracis hes resauid,
Gud properties, may plainly be persauid:
Into this Prence, and monarche of gret micht,
God grant that he, may vse his gracis richt.

Concerning his departure, from this land,
Vnto ane cuntry vncow, and vnkend,
His haill attempts, quhilk he hes tane in hand,
God hes thame blist, and brocht thame to gud end,
With all the actions, quhilk he did intend:
Gif that his grace, wald with himselfe confar,
Vnto his God, he is addettit far.

This God hes bene, maist mercifull I mene,
In doing and performing his decreis,

Quha of his Schip, hes prenspall pilat bene,
And him conductit saifly throw the Seis,
The Lord will luke, with kind and louing eis:
On sic as dois thair faith, vpon him found,
And from all dangers, keip thame saife and sound.

From perrils, he his persoun did preuent,
So cairfully, from skaith he did him keipe,
Quhair raging wauis, and waters turbilent,
Did flow and fleet, into the dangerous deipe,
His wakrife eis, dois walk and neuer sleipe:
Ouer Heuin, earth, hell, and euery liuing thing,
And he of Sea and land, is Lord and king.

From Heuin so hie, he seis all things belaw,
And of his awin, he hes gret cair and cure,
From storms of wind, and tempests that did blaw,
His michtie power, preseru'd him saife and sure,
His deuine power, quhilk euer sall indure:
Can calme gret storms, and make thame to be still,
All creaturs, obais his blessit will.

Our nobill Prence, maist pregnant into wit,
Now with his Queene, conioynd in marage band,
This gracious God, quhois mercies ar maist grit,
Hes brocht thame baith, in saifty to this land,
I pray the Lord, lang that thair stait may stand:
That God thairby, may glore and honour haue,
And that the cuntry comfort may resaue.

Sen God aboue, be his hie power deuine,
Hes the conductit, at thy harts desire,
It the becums, this Pilot to propine,
With rich rewards, in recompence of hire,
Because he wes, thy gide and onely squire,
With doubill thanks, for by his Pilot fe,
Weill he deseruis, rewardit for to be.

He wes thy ankour, and thy onely chance,
Togither with thy cabill tow so teuch,
This Pilot, thou can neuer recompance,
Nor zit, with thanks, reward him weill aneuch,
He can preserue thy Schip, from craig and cleuch:
O gif that kippage blist, and happie be,
Hes sick a Pilot in thair compane.

Wardly rewards, this Pilot will not haife,
For gold nor geir, he dois not seik nor clame,
Bot the reward and wage, quhilk he dois craife,
Is praise and honour, to his holy name,
Maist valiant Prence, of nobill brute and fame:
Sen that his mercy, did thy Schip mentene,
Gif praise to God, quho hes thy Pilot bene.

Forzet not for to thank him day and nicht,
Quho did thy interprise, so weill aply,
And in this land, his name caus reuerence richt,
So far as it into thy handis dois ly,
Trators to God, seik out and warly try:
Gud men mentene, and punish that opres,
So sall thy actions, haif ane gud succes.

Sen God hes geuin, the swourd into thy hand,
And the promotit, to ane Kingly place,
Lat justice likwais, flurish in this land,
So sall the Lord bestow, his giftis of grace,
In doing this, he sall mentene thy race:
And thou of all men, sall receiue commend,
With praise immortall, to the warlds end.

As Cliominvs, King of Cret, be God,
Wes for his justice, estemat maist sure,
So let thy fame, be likwais blawin abrod,
In doing justice, baith to ritch and pure,

Like to the Laurell leife, thy fauie sall flure,
And thou not onely, sall in honour leiue,
Bot thy renoun, sall mair and mair reveiue.

I pray the Lord, thy nobill stait mentene,
In pece and rest, lang time for to proceid,
Lang for to liue, with thy maist lusty Quene,
That we may se, sum of thy nobill seid,
Like to the vinetre, that the same may spreid:
And like a frutfull tre, for to acres,
God of his grace, to send the gud succes.

Thou Caliop, that wryts of ventrous acts,
Thy ornat pen, I pray the to prepair,
And Thalida, that wryts of famous facts,
Into thy Chronikils, his deids declair,
To pen his praise, ze Poets do not spair:
And I beseik, you Musis euery one,
To praise this Prence, with mouthis of Helicone.

FINIS.

BE HONOR I LEVE.