Satirical poems of the reformation

To Edinburgh about vj. houris at morne,
As I was passand, pansand, out the way,
Ane bony boy was soir makand his mone;
His sory sang was oche and wallaway!
That euer I sould byde to se that day!
Ane King at euin, with Sceptur, Sword, & Crown,
At morne bot ane deformit lumpe of clay,
With tratouris strang sa cruellie put downe.

Than drew I neir sum tythingis for to speir,
And said; “my freind, quhat makis the sa way?”
“Bludie Bothwell hes brocht our King to beir,
And flatter and fraude with dowbill Dalyday.”
I studeit still, and nathing could I say,
My mynde was full of admiratioun:
“My bony boy, tell me without delay
The Kingis maneris, forme, and fassioun.”

“Narratioun, shir, gif I do tell,
His cruell murther ȝe will call monsterous;
For in meiknes he did all men excell,
And vnto na man was he odious.
To meit his marrow he was audatious,
On sturdie steid, with craftie feat of weir;
Mars fauourit him as fair Ascanius,
Æneas sone, that weill ane steid could steir.

“In deidis he soulde haue bene lyke Deiphoebus,
Had feinȝeit Fortoun fauourit him to Ring,
Or Theseus, or gentill Julius,
In gentill featis ferand for ane King:
Dartis about him swyftlie could he fling,
And rin ane rais and shortlie turne ane steid;
Cunning of Crosbow, cutthrot, and culuering;
Ane flaine lat fle with bow in tyme of neid.

“In gamis glaid he was rycht weill asswetit,
Rycht featlie on the fluire alswa could dance;
Bot Dalila vnto him was vanlatit,
Quhilk causit him oft to be sad and pance;
Ȝit neuer did sho se his maik in France
Off royall bluid, to fang to be hir feir:
Not hir fyrst spous, for all his greit puissance,
In portratour and game mycht be his peir.

“Cunning of Clergy, of musick meruelus,
The louing leid of Latine could declair;
Sangis set with diuers tunis expres,
With Instrument maist sweit into the eir.
With hundis hunt he could baith Da and Deir;
The faid also rycht feltlie could he set;
Ane gay gois Halk vpone his hand to beir;
Ane Falcowne fle to se he thocht delyte.

“With Romaine hand he could weill leid ane pen,
And storyis wryte of auld antiquitie;
Nobill him self and Nobill of Ingyne,
And louit weill concord and vnitie.
He swoumit in the fluidis of Poetrie,
And did exerse the science liberall;
The facund Phrase did vse of oratrie:
His gude Ingyne was rycht celestiall.

“In pulchritude to Paris perigall,
With browis brent and twinkland Cristell eine,
Of face formois and vult heroycall,
He mycht haue bene ane marrow to ane Quene.
At ten houris on Sonday lait at euin,
Quhen Dalila and Bothwell bad gudnycht,
Off hir finger fals sho threw ane Ring,
And said, ‘my Lord, ane taikin I ȝow plycht.’

“Scho did depairt than with ane vntrew traine,
And than in haist ane Culuering they leit crak,
To teiche thair feiris to knaw the appoint tyme
About the Kingis lugeing for to clap.
To dance that nycht thay said sho sould not slak,
With leggis lycht to hald the wedow walkane,
And baid fra bed vntill sho hard the crak,
Quhilk was ane signe that hir gude Lord was slane.

“And Maddie meinis sho did in Setoū sing:
Full weill was hir that day that sho was fre,
And into ioy and out of tray and tene,
So frely fred from all aduersitie.
O Stewartis stout, ha! benedicitie!
War ȝe not Royis in this Regioun,
And ay did vse Justice and equitie?
And now ȝour glas of honestie is run.

“Unles ȝe now sharplie shuit out ȝour handis,
And trewlie try the gyltie of this blude,
Ȝe wilbe repuite Lowreis ouer all landis,
And fais to Christ [that] deit on the Rude.
My Lordis, thairfoir, I think for ȝow gude,
The tresoun try and puneis equallie:
Lat not ȝour landis defylit be with blude,
And gif ȝe do, God shaw his Maiestie!

“Quhen Dauie deit our Quene rycht potentlie
Into this Realme did rais ane ryall rout,
Out of this Regioun Lordis gart sho flie:
Tresoun to try sho was that tyme maist stout;
But sho is slak to try this tresoun out,
And to him Dauy was na perigall:
Dauy and his, thair state was wont shone clout:
Our cumly King was of the blude royall.

“For dowbill Dauy sho did ȝow expell;
Think on, thairfoir, quhill ȝe haue sic ane cryme,
And ȝe defend the cruell Jesabell,
Than Baallis Preistis will cal ȝow verray kynde.
Now, euerie Dowglas of ane hartsum mynde,
Think on dame Margaret sumtyme in the towre,
And of ȝoung Charles prudent of Ingyne:
I pray God lat thame se ane ioyfull houre.

“O ȝe that dois profes Godis worde deuyne!
Se that ȝe sclander not his haly Name;
Remember Jesus Judas put to pyne,
For slak regaird of Godlynes and blame.
God he is all that layis ane stumling stane,
Quhilk may the cause be of our bretheringis fall:
Restoir againe ȝour foule polluted fame,
Gif ȝe fauoure Christ Jesus trew Gospell.

“The buik of Josua as I did reid,
And thairin ane exampill did I find,
How Acan tuik the excommunicat guid:
All Israell war threitnit for that sin.
The fauour of God be na way could he win,
Quhill trewlie tryit war faultouris of the faill,
Quhome Josua in flambis fell did burne,
And than did ceis Godis wraith celestiall.

“Gif God was wraith at ane small pegrall stouth,
And for ainis fault ane multitude did shoir,
Gif diligence to mak the giltie couth,
Or he will do to ȝow as he befoir.
Ȝe knaw ȝour cryme is wors ane greit daill moir
Nor hunders twa of sicklis siluer fyne,
To pull ane King fra his hie potent gloir,
Quhome God did place be ordinance dewyne.

“O ȝe that to our Kirk hes done subscriue,
Thir Ecanis try alsweill traist I may,
Gif ȝe do not, the tyme will cum beliue
That God to ȝow will rais sum Josuay,
Quhilk sall ȝour bairnies gar sing wallaway,
And ȝe ȝour selfis be put downe with shame:
Remember on the vgsum latter day,
Quhen ȝe rewaird sall ressaif for ȝoure blame.

“I ken rycht weill ȝe knaw ȝour dewtie;
Gif ȝe do not purge ȝow ane and all,
Than sall I wryte in prettie poetrie,
In Latine leid, in style Rethoricall,
Quhilk throw all Europe sall ring lyke ane bell,
In the contempt of ȝour malignitie:
Fy! fle fra Clitemnestra fell,
For sho was neuer lyke Penolopie.

“With Clitemnestra I do not fane to fletche,
Quhilk slew hir spous the greit Agamemnon:
Or with ony that Nynos wyfe dois matche—
Semiramus, quha brocht hir gude Lord downe.
Quha dow abstene fra litigatioun,
Or from his paper hald aback the pen,
Except he hait our Scottis Natioun,
Or than stand vp and tratouris deidis commend?

“Now all the wois that Ouid in Ibin
Into his pretty lytill buik did wryte,
And mony mo be to oure Scottis Quene,
For sho the cause is of my wofull dyte.
Sa mot hir hart be fillit full of syte,
As Herois was for Leanderis deth,
Hir self to slay for wo quha thocht delyte:
For Henryis saik to lyke our Quene war laith.

“The doloure als that peirsit Diddis hart,
Quhen King Enee from Carthage tuik the flycht,
For the Quhilk cause vnto ane brand sho start,
And slew hir self, quhilk was ane sory sycht.
Sa mot sho die as did Creusa brycht—
The worthy wyfe of dowchtie Duik Jason,
Quha brint was in ane garment wrocht be slycht
Off Medea throw incantation.

“Hir lauchter lycht be lyke to trim Thysbie,
Quhen Pyramus sho fand deid at the well;
In langour lyke vnto Penolopie,
For Vlyssis quha lang at Troy did dwell.
Hir duilsum deith be wars than Jesabell,
Quhome throw ane windo suirlie men did thraw,
Quhais blude did laip the cruell hundis fell,
And doggis could hir wickit bainis gnaw.

“War I ane hund, o gif sho war ane hair,
And I ane cat and sho ane lyttill mous,
And sho ane bairne and I ane wylde wod bair,
I ane firrat and sho Cuniculus,
To hir I salbe ay contrarius,
Quhill to me Atropus cut the fatell threid,
And feill deithis dartis dolorus:
Than sall our Spiritis be at mortall feid.

“My Spirit hir Spirit sall douke in Phlegethon,
Into that painfull fylthie flude of hell;
And thame in Styx and Lethee baith anone,
And Cerberus, that cruell hund sa fell,
Sall gar hir cry, with mony ȝout and ȝell,
O wallaway that euer sho was borne!
Or with tresoun be ony maner mell
Quhilk from all blis sould cause hir be forlorne!

“War Johne Bochas on lyue as he is deid,
Worthy workis wald wryte in hir contempt,
Alsweill of tresoun as of womanheid:
Thairto his pen wald euer mair be bent
Hir for till shame, and bludie Bothwell shent,
And wald the counsall craif his warysoun,
The quhilk King James the fyrst in Parliament
Gaif to his Father for ane hie tresoun,

“Quha did forfault him of his land and rent,
And his leuing annex[i]t to the Crown,
And to hir shame and to hir greit contempt,
Quhen that he come vnto ane strange natioun:
Than sould he mak declaratioun
The causis all of his sory banishement,
To be for trasoun done vnto the Crowne:
Gif I do lie, reid the act of Parliament.”

“My bony boy, thy murning dois me harme,
Bot thy sweit figureit speiche dois me delyte;
In poetrie I traist ȝow be na barne,
Quhilk dois reheirs the Poetis auld indyte.
At thir traytouris I find thow hes dispyte,
And I ane Menstrell is and [I] can sing:
Wald thow in Poetrie thy mater wryte,
In thair dispyte thy scellat sall I ring.

“Albeit my hart be fillit full of syte,
And mony troublis tumbland in my mynde,
Ȝit vnder neth this hauthorne sall I wryte,
Or my forwereit body preis to dyne,
In Poetrie narratioun of the cryme,
Quhilk thow may sing, except that thow be red,
In Inglis toung, quhan will gif place and tyme;
And than in Latine leid I think to spred

“My veirsis prompt in style Rethoricall,
Quhilk pas sall to the Cane of Tartarie,
And Peirs sall erthe and air Etheriall
The wickit workis done in Britannie.
My bony boy” quod I “fair mot the fa”!
With that he rais and reikit me this bill,
And tuik gude nycht and shuik our handis twa,
Sa we departit soir againis our will.

Imprentit at Edinburgh be Robert Lekpreuik.

Finis.

IV. Heir followis the testament and tragedie of vmquhile King Henrie Stewart of gude memorie.

I Henrie Stewart, vmquhile of Scotland King,
Sum tyme in houpe with reuerence to Ring
Within this Realme in dew obedience,
Traisting with ane, attoure all eirdlie thing,
Quha was the ruite quhair of I did spring,
In honour to liue be Kyndelie allyance,
Putand in hir sic faith and confidence,
Ingland I left, seducit be ignorance:
Scotland I socht in houpe for to get hir,
Quhilk I may rew, as now is cum the chance,
And vthers learne by me experience:
In tyme be war fra ainis the work misset hir.

Sum tyme sho thocht I was sa amiabill,
Sa perfect, plesand, and sa delectabill,
Lancit with luif she luid me by all wycht;
Sum tyme, to shaw effectioun fauorabill,
Gratifeit me with giftis honorabill,
Maid me, ȝe knaw, baith Lord, Duik, Erle and Knycht;

Sum tyme in mynde sho praisit me sa hycht,
Leifand all vther, hir bedfellow brycht
Chesit me to be, and maid me ȝour King:
Than was I thocht happy into menis sycht,
And puir anis did pryse thair Maker of mycht,
That send thame ane Stewart sa Kyndelie to Ring.

Thus, quhen sho had auancit me in estate,
Hir for to pleis I set my haill consait,
Quhilk now is cause of my rakles ruyne.
Hir licherous luife, quhilk kindlit ouer hait,
Cauld hes it cuild and sylit me with dissait,
Plungeit my corps into this present pyne,
Not onelie ȝow, Lordis, causand me to tyne,
Bot als, allace! fra my trew God declyne,
Quhome I imbrasit for plesoure of hir Mes:
Justlie, thairfoir, I haue deseruit this fyne,
Quha for hir saik denyit the God deuine,
That did me bring fra plesoure to distres.

Backwart fra God my Spirite fra sho wylit,
Daylie with darknes my sycht sho ouersylit:
My Princelie pretence began to decay;
Vaine houpe in hir my ressoun exilit;
My truethles toung my honoure defylit;
My doing in deid sho gart me deny;
Fra credite I crakit Kyndnes brak ray;
No man wald trow the worde I did say;
My leigis me left persauand hir Ire;
Ingland I left, and help was away;
God maid hir scurge to plaigue me for ay:
Be war the scurge he cast not in the fyre.

Thus was I than to doloure destinat,
Miserabill man and Prince infortunat;

Quhomlit in sorow and plungeit in cair,
Sum tyme in mynde with anger agitat,
Sum tyme in Spirit pansiue and fatigat,
Musand the meine mycht meis hir euer mair;
Sum tyme with doloure drewin in dispair,
Wariand the warld, welth, and weilfair,
Deid I desirid, hir falset to fle;
Sum tyme in mynd thinkand the contrare,
Sum vncouth vaiage I purpoisit prepare,
Bot not sa vncouth as was preparit for me.

Into the tyme of this my extasie,
Quhen I was in this fearfull fantasie,
With feinzeit fair and wylie wordis discreit
Scho come to me with greit humilitie,
Lamentand sair my greit calamitie,
My langsum lyfe and sair tormentit Spirite,
Promittand, with ane faithfull hart contreit,
In tyme to cum, with reuerence me treit
To my degre, in honoure, luife, and peace.
Traistand into hir wylie wordis sweit
My hart and lyfe into hir handis compleit
I put, and past vnto the Sacrifice.

Quhat sall I wryte how I was troublit thair?
I wat it wald mak ony haill hairt sair
For to reuolue my tristsum tragidie.
How that thay bucheouris blew me in the air
And stranglit me, I shame for to declair,
Nouther to God nor honoure hauand Ee.
I houpit weill to haue na ennymie
Into this Realme; fra my natiuitie
Thair was na man quhome to I did offend.
Dissauit far I fand the contrarie:
Off Tygeris quholpis, fosterit in tyrannie,
Ane treuthles troup hes drewin me to this end.

O faithles flock, denuide of godlynes!
O Serpentis seid, nurisheit in wicketnes!
Fostararis of falset, huirdome, and harlatrie,
Mantenaris of murther, witchecraft expres,
Tresoun amang ȝow dois daylie incres;
Lawtie is banist, Justice, and equitie.
Quhat sall I wryte of ȝoure wyle vanitie?
On falset is foundit ȝour haill felicitie;
Ȝour Castellis nor townis sall not ȝow defend;
God hes persauit ȝour infidelitie,
And schortlie will plaigue ȝour crewell tyrannie:
Of ȝour schort solace sorow salbe the end.

Quhat hairt so hard for petie will not bleid?
Quhat breist can beir bot man lament my deid?
Quhat toung sa thrall in silence suir can rest?
To se ane saule in sorow sowsit but feid,
Ane saikles Lambe, ane innocent but dreid,
Taine be consent of thame he luiffit best
Furth of his bed, with doloure to be drest,
By thrawart malice and murther manifest;
Jugeit by Law, and hangit syne but dome:
Sair it was to se ȝoure Prince with murther prest;
Sairar, I say, him, in his place possest,
The deid that did; than Burrio, now Brydegrome.

O wickit wemen, vennomus of nature!
Serpentis of Kynde, thocht cumlie seme ȝour statuire!
Vnstabill ioy, full of aduersitie!
In mynde malicious attoure all creatuire!
Quhais malice taine for euir dois induire:
Teichit be experience, sa may I testifie.
Ȝour craftie consaitis cloikit with flatterie,
And mylde meiknes sylit with subtilitie,
Ar Medeais helters to bring vs in ȝour net.

Gude deidis of auld gois furth of memorie;
The ruite of euill remaines but remedie
Ay in ȝoure mynde, sum vengance quhill ȝe get.

For Dawyis deid, in Maryis mynde sa prentit,
Consauit haitrent daylie mair augmentit;
Meik war hir wordis, thocht greit was hir greuance;
Oft at command, to mak hir weill contentit,
In pouertie and paine my self fra court absentit:
Paine could not pleis hir, nor ȝit obedience:
Persaue of lust the malice and mischance;
Quhair Venus anis gettis in hir gouernance
Sic sylit subiectis felterit in hir snair,
Wisdome is exilit and prudent puruoyance;
Nobilnes and honour defacit be ignorance;
And vertew banist, fra shame pas shed of hair.

This sentence trew we may persaue in deid
In sindrie authoris, quha lykis for to reid.
In luiffis raige, as storyis dois reheirs,
The crewell work of wretheit womanheid
We may persaue in Scylla to succeid:
For Minos luife, hir Father gaif na grace.
Deianira hir husband Hercules,
For Nessus saik, maist crewellie, allace!
Brocht to mischeif, for all his vassalage.
And Clytemnestra, for Egistus face,
Agamemnon, the mychtie King of Greice,
Hir husband, slew: so vyle was hir vsage.

Off Ancus Martius we reid the greit mischance,
Quha rang in Rome in proude preheminance,
Slaine be Lucinio at Tanaquillis procuire:
Samson also, for manheid and prudence,
All Israell that had in gouernance,
Dalila desauit in vnder couertoure:

Quhairfoir, lat men be war, and keip thame suire
Fra wemenis vennome vnder faithles figure,
And gif na wyfe thair counsall for to keip:
For as the woirme that workis vnder cuire
At lenth the tre consumis that is duire,
So wemen men, fra thay in credite creip.

I speik not but pruife, quhilk I may sairlie rew:
Quhat lyfe did thoill, my deid dois try it trew.
My fragill fortowne sa faithles hes bene heir,
Wald God the day that I thee, Scotland, knew,
Atropus the threid had cut Lachesis drew.
So sould not felt the change of Fortownes cheir:
My Kingdome cair, my wealth was ay in weir:
My state vnstabill me drew fra Godis feir:
My plesoure prikis my paine ay to prouoke:
My solace, sorow, sobbing to asteir;
My ryches powertie, power to empire:
My wratchet wyfe hes now put out the smoke.

Quhat warldlie ioy in earth may lang induire?
Or quhat estate may heir him self assuire
For to conserue his lyfe in sicernes?
Quha may sustene the perillous auentuire
Off fals fortowne, inconstant and vnsuire?
Or quhair sall men find steidfast Stabilnes?
All warldlie blis is mixt with bitternes,
Springand with ioy, endand with wretchitnes,
As heir my end reheirsit dois record.
Quhairfoir let Princes pryde thame not expres
In warldlie welth, in pomp nor worthynes,
Bot stablishe thair strenth, with Dauid, on the Lord.

In earth, thairfoir, sen nocht is permanent,
My soule to God I leif omnipotent;
My Bab and Childe vnder the Counsallis cuire.

To ȝow, my Lordis, of my deid Innocent,
For to reuenge I leif in Testament
My saikles bluid, my murther and iniure;
Thocht Princes wald be falset ȝow alluire,
Hurt not ȝour honouris, the samin to smuire.
First luik to God, syne to ȝour libertie.
Think weill: suppois my death ȝe wald induire,
Gif Rubbers Ring, na subiect salbe suire
Mair nor the sheip in Foxis companie.

Imprentit at Edinburgh be Robert Lekpreuik.

Finis.

XI. The Complaint of Scotland.

Adew, all glaidnes, sport, and play!
Adew, fair weill, baith nycht and day,
All thinge that may mak mirrie cheir,
Bot sich rycht soir in hart and say:
Allace! to Graif is gone my deir!

My lothsum lyfe I may lament
With fixit face and mynde attent,
In weiping wo to perseueir,
And asking still for punischement
Of thame hes brocht to graif my deir.

Bot lang, allace! I may complaine
Befoir I find my deir againe,

To me was faithfull and Inteir,
As Turtill trew on me tuke paine:
Allace! to graif is gone my deir!

Sen nathing may my murning mend,
On God maist hie I will depend
My cairfull cause for to vpreir:
For he support to me will send,
Althocht to graif is gone my deir.

My hauie hap and piteous plicht
Dois peirs my hart baith day and nycht,
That lym nor lyth I may not steir,
Till sum reuenge with force and mycht
The Cruell murther of my deir.

This cureles wound dois greif me soir;
The lyke I neuer felt befoir
Sen Fergus first of me tuke steir;
For now, allace! decayis my gloir
Throw cruell murther of my deir.

O wickit wretche Infortunat!
O sauage seid Insatiat!
Mycht thow not, frantik fule! forbeir
To sla with dart Intoxicat,
And cruellie deuoir my deir?

Wa worth the! wretche! wa worth thy clā!
Wa worth the wit that first began
This deir debait for to vpsteir,
Contrare the Lawis of God and man
To murther cruellie my deir!

Throw the now Lawles libertie,
Throw the mischeif and crueltie,

Throw the fals men thair heidis vp beir,
Throw the is baneist equitie,
Throw the to graif is gone my deir.

Throw the ma Kinge than ane dois ring,
Throw the all Tratoure blythlie sing,
Throw the is kendlit ciuill weir,
Throw the murther wald beir the swing,
Throw the to graif is gone my deir.

Throw the is raisit sturtsum stryfe,
Throw the the vitall breith of lyfe
Is him bereft did with the beir,
Quhen Gallow pin or cutting Knyfe
Suld stranglit the, and saift my deir.

Ungraitfull grome, sic recompence
Was not condigne to thyne offence;
With glowing gunne that man to teir
From doggis deith was thy defence:
To the sic mercie schew my deir.

O cursit Cain! o hound of hell!
O bludie bairne of Ishmaell!
Gedaliah quhen thow did steir,
To vicis all thow rang the bell,
Throw cruell murther of my deir.

Allace! my deir did not foirsie,
Quhen he gaif pardone vnto the,
Maist wickit wretche! to men sinceir
Quhat paine he brocht and miserie,
With reuthfull ruine to my deir.

But trew it is, the godly men
Quhilk think na harme nor falset ken,

Nor haitrent dois to vthere beir,
Ar sonest brocht to deithis den,
As may be sene be this my deir.

Thairfoir to the I say no moir,
Bot I traist to the King of Gloir,
That thow and thyne sall ȝit reteir
Ȝour Campe, with murning mynde richt soir,
For cruell murther of my deir.

O nobill Lordis of Renoun!
O Barronis bauld! ȝe mak ȝow boun
To fute the field with fresche effeir,
And dintis doure the pryde ding doun
Of thame that brocht to graif my deir.

Reuenge his deith with ane assent,
With ane hart, will, mynde, and Intent;
In faithfull freindschip perseueir;
God will ȝou fauour and thame schent,
Be work or word that slew my deir.

Be crous, ȝe commouns! in this cace,
In auenture ȝe cry, allace!
Quhen murtherars the swinge sall beir,
And from ȝour natiue land ȝow chace,
Unles that ȝe reuenge my deir.

Lat all that fische be trapt in net,
Was counsall, art, part, or reset,
With thankfull mynde and hartie cheir,
Or ȝit with helping hand him met,
Quhen he to graif did bring my deir.

Defend ȝour King and feir ȝour God,
Pray to auoyde his feirfull rod,

Lest in his angrie wraith austeir
Ȝe puneist be, baith euin and od,
For not reuenging of my deir.

And do not feir the number small,
Thocht ȝe be few, on God ȝe call
With faithfull hart, and mynde sinceir:
He will be ay ȝour brasin wall,
Gif ȝe with speid reuenge my deir.

Remuif all sluggische slewth away;
Lat lurking Inuy clene decay;
Gar Commoun weill ȝour Baner beir,
And peace and concord it display,
Quhen ȝe pas to reuenge my deir.

With sobbing sych I to ȝou send
This my complaint, with dew commend,
Desyring ȝow all without feir
Me, pure Scotland, for to defend,
Sen now to graif is gone my deir.

Finis.

V. Heir followis ane Exhortatioun to the Lordis.

My Lordis, now, gif ȝe be wyse,
Knaw weil the grace yt God hes sēd ȝow;
Gif to that leuing Lord all pryse;
Pray that from dainger he defend ȝow,
And na way lat ȝoure fais offend ȝow,
Bot gif ȝow counsell and curage
Bauldlie togidder all to bend ȝow,
That ȝe do nouther swerue nor swage.

Think it is nouther strenth nor fors,
That hes set ȝow a fuite befoir:
Think weill that nouther men nor hors
Off sic ane act sould get the gloir:
Bot he that ringis euer moir
Hes luikit on ȝoure quarrell rycht:
Gif him all thankis now thairfoir,
And pryse his name with all ȝour micht.

I grant ȝour interpryse was gude,
Ȝour purpose worthy till allow;
Bot I considder how it stude,
And how the cais is cumin now.

Had thay keipit thame self fra ȝow,
And langer taryit in thair strenth,
Thocht ȝour curage was gude, I trow,
Ȝe had ȝit irkit at the lenth.

Think weil thair wit was thame bereft,
Quhē fulishlie thay tuik the plane;
Think thay war to thair foly left,
Quhen thay in feild come ȝow agane;
Think weill ȝe aucht for to be faine,
But bluid, to win the vpper hand,
Quhair nouther mā was hurt nor slane,
To get the Jewell in ȝour hand.

Sen ȝe it haue, thairof be suire,
Or els ȝe ar rycht far to blame;
Gif ȝe hir till eschaip enduire,
Think ȝe sall haue baith skaith & shame.
Quha babishlie bourdis with his dame,
It war weill wairit he gat his quhippis;
Think neuer agane to dwell at hame,
Gif ȝe lat ga that is in ȝour grippis.

Gif sho had not cum in the feild,
For to defend the tratoure kene,
And not laubourit, with speir and sheild,
His wickit quarrell to sustene,
Ȝe had done wrang, as sum men mene,
Hir to withald agane hir will;
Bot now, quhill trew tryall be sene,
Sho moste be keipit or all will spill.

Pas fordwart in ȝour interpryse,
Reuenge in haist the cruell act;
Spair not to gif thame all ane syse,
Quhome ȝe beleif the King did sact.

Be bauld and na way turne abak,
Spair nouther midling, greit, nor small;
With wysdome syne gude tryall tak,
And cause sum ane confes thame all.

Proclaime that all quha ocht dois knaw,
To mak probatioun euident,
With diligence thay cum and shaw
In oppin and in place patent,
That sinners shortlie may be shent
And gude men fred from all defame:
Sen God hes to ȝow power lent,
Gif ye be lashe ye ar to blame.

The heid traytoure, quhair euer he be,
Gif ye haue fors, se ye persew;
Thocht he fra hoill to hoill do fle,
At last he can not weill eschew.
Lat him be slaine your King that slew,
Bring ainis his fylthie lyfe till end;
Quha wickitlie this beir did brew,
Wa worth the tyme that sho him kend!

Syne on your self ye tak gud keip,
And lat na ennimeis heir resort;
Be walkryfe and fall not on sleip,
Baith day & nycht gar walk your port.
Lat gude quarrell your hartis comfort:
The wark is greit ye haue on hand;
Think weill it is not play nor sport,
Bot outher man ye die or stand.

For Godis saik, aboue all thing,
Keip clene your handis fra wrāgus geir;
Gif ye wald haue his trew blissing,
Schaw first that ye the Lord do feir.

Exerce your selfis in gentill weir,
And fle from fylthie auarice,
Quhilk is, as I in Scriptuire leir,
The verray ruite of euerie vice.

Ȝour brether of the Nobill race
With all meiknes desyre concur;
And your querrell in this cace,
Quhilk I dout not, will be ane spur,
So that your pride cause thame not stur,
Bot your gude gyding thame alluire:
To cause thame enter, mak ane duire,
Gif ye do swa, ye may be suire.

Tak Godis quarrell als in hand,
And purge vs from Ipocrasie,
And than ye sall haue in your band
The townis and communitie.
Prouyde als for the Ministerie;
Reforme the Justice gif ye can;
Than sall tryumph your memorie
Aboue all sen this Realme began.

Sen Fergus first come in this land,
Sic gude beginning neuer was sene,
That gentilnes, at thair awin hand,
Sa iust ane quarrell did sustene.
Reuoltis hes bene ma nor fyftene,
And Princes in strang presoun set:
Quhair all from bluid was keipit clene,
Skantlie can I exampill get.

Think thā ȝe wil performe the work
That now dois your beginning blis,
And thocht your ennimeis seme stark,
He will cause thame thair purpose mis:

That all war ane, faine wald I wis;
Bot ȝit thocht sum againis yow faill,
This actioun haill sa honest is,
With Godis grace it sall preuaill.

Lat na man throuch yow harmit be,
And than ye sall na hartis tyne;
Gif euerie ane his awin degre;
Excluid na man out of his lyne.
Set all at rest, and efter syne
With all the rest concur togidder,
To mak ane ordour gude and fyne,
As your wisdomis can best considder.

Keip weil your Prince, & for him pray
That God indew him with his grace,
That he incres may day be day,
To be the best of all his race:
The trew Religioun syne imbrace;
Fra vice to vertew tak the traine,
His pepill weill in perfyte peace,
And lang in helth with thame remaine.

All vitious wycht fra him exclude;
Be walkryfe, wyse, and diligent:
Gif ony be wald him na gude,
Lat thame na way be thair present.
To teich him vertew tak gude tent;
Lat not his ȝoutheid be infectit:
Greit is the gift God hes yow lent;
Sair sall ye rew gif ye neglect it.

And thus yow shortlie till exhort,
My Lordis all, I thocht it gude;
For men oftyme of meinest sort,
That raknit war of ressoun rude,

Seing the cais and how it stude,
Hes geuin gude counsall to the wyse:
So wald I now, and, to conclude,
God blis you and your interpryse.

Finis.

Imprentit at Edinburgh be Robert Lekpreuik.

VI. Ane Exhortatiovn derect to my Lord Regent and to the Rest of the Lordis accomplisis.

Oian [OMITTED] with hir Court of Poyetis cleir,
Qu[OMITTED]is land now plesandly dois sing,
In sin[OMITTED]gis that plesoure is to heir
For io[OMITTED]nes our fair ȝoung tender King.
Quho[OMITTED]hes set aboue vs for to Ring,
Will [OMITTED] quhat I am, hes tane on hand,
Sa b[OMITTED]re, rashely in thair Court to thring,
By th[OMITTED]omission lyke Johne vpaland.

T---aine thair plesand flowre of Poyetrie
With rurall termis, and sentences denude
Of trym figuris, and painted oratrie:
From airt poetick heir I it exclude,
Desyrand ȝour Lordshippes to be sa gude
To mark the sentence rather nor the style,
And take it in gude pairt, thocht it be rude:
Will God the nixt sall haue ane sharper fyle.

To call to mynde, I think not necessair,
The warkes of God within this cuntrie shawin,
Within thir seuin ȝeiris or lytill mair,
Sen Christis trumpet throw this lād was blawin.
Unto baith pure and riche it is weill knawin,
And als ȝour selfes, my Lordis, may cleirly se
That God wil haue the pride of mā doune thrawin,
Thocht he war neuer exalted so hie.

Ȝit with myself considdering the estate
Off ȝow, my Lord Regent, quhome God preserue!
And all the rest, I thocht gude to repeate
Sum thingis that to ȝoure interprise mycht serue,
Knawing that man is reddy for till swerue,
Without continuall admonitionis be:
Man of his awin nature is so proterue,
Thairfoir I pray ȝoure Lordshippes, beir with me.

How potent was that hornit byke of hell
Into this land, quhen God did ȝow vpsteir,
It is weill knawin; ȝe will confesse your sell
Ȝour strength to thairis on na way mycht be peir.
Ȝit God Almychtie did ȝour baner beir,
And all thair mycht and prydfull pomp ouerthrew.
Because the Lord of Hostis they did not feir,
Thairis did decay, and ay ȝoure honour grew;

Quhill that, allace! ȝe begouth to neglect
The gloir of God, and sa did seik ȝour sell;
The maist pairt, I mein, that did infect,
From feruencie within proces ȝe fell.
Quhilk Godis seruandis from tyme to tyme did tel,
And shew that God wald not sic thingis ouerse.
Ȝe gaif deif earis, bot God did ȝow compell
To find his worde effectuall to be.

Ȝe knaw my minde; I neid not be mair plane;
Ȝe se all warldly gloir for to be slidder:
Quhen God is greuit, than he spairis nane:
King, Quene, and Lord, thay pas into ane fidder.
Thairfoir I warne ȝow, ane and all togidder,
To put ȝour stay vpone the leuing Lord,
And all his warkis into this land considder,
Continuing in obeying of his word.

Ȝe doing this, ȝe neid not for till feir

Deu. 28.

The boisting of ȝour ennemeis without:
The Lord will blis ȝow baith in peace and weir,

Leui. 26.

And all ȝour enemeis rudely ruit out.
Ȝe sall haue freindis of them that dwellis about,

Jos. 24.

Bot, gif that ȝe grow slak or negligent,
The clene contrare sall cum to pas but dout:
Thairfoir, I pray ȝow, to ȝour selfis tak tent.

Sa lang as Juda, in King Asais dayis,

2 Chr. 15.

Did seik the Lord with all thair hartis desyre,
Baith King and people prosperit in thair wayis,

2 Chr. 16.

Bot how sone Asa Benhadad did hyre,
That he in battell mycht with him conspyre,
And vsit meanis as God did not allow,
The Propheit threitnit, during his impyre,
That war and battell sould his land pas throw.

Als by King Saull I think ȝe may attend,
Not for till spair quhome God commandis to slay,
Gif that ȝe do, I say, behauld the end:

1 Kin. 15.

Reid quhat the buik of Kingis of him dois say.
Siclyke, of Salamon behauld the way,

3 Kin. 11.

And als Jehu with mony vther ma,
That throuchly with the Lord walkit not ay,

4 Kin. 10.

Thocht thay begouth weill: luik ȝe do not sa.

Fall to stoutly, all fantnes set asyde,
And throw this land mak reformation:
Remember thir examp[i]lls, tyme and tyde,
Quhilkis war amang the Jewis nation,

Jos. 24.

Quhairof partly is maid narration.
Dissaue not vs pure people of this land,
Quha with ane gredie expectation
Lukis for gude reformation at your hand.

To heidis politick se ȝe geue na care

2 Chr. 17.

Into reforming of this pure cuntrie;
Bot Godis buik se that with ȝow ye beare,
With godlie men of wit and feruencie.
Abuif all thingis haue syc in cumpanie,

Jos. 34.

Obeying thame quhen they command a rycht,
Without respect of blude or dignitie:
Ȝe doing sa, the Lord sall mak yow wycht.

From officis se that ye first depois,
But feid or fauour of Kindred or blude,
All wicket papistis proud, and Christis fois;
And Jak on baith the sydis will neuer do gude.
All ignorantis, and sic men ye exclude,
Syne plat me godly men into thair place,

2 Chr. 17.

Quha equally can Judge the people rude,
And rychtly reule ouer thame in euerie cace.

Let na Idolater your handis eschaip,

Deu. 7.

Or ocht that dois Idolatrie mantene;
Leif nathing that belangis to the Paip;
Unrutit out as it had neuer bene.

Jos. 23.

Anis of thay Locustis mak this cuntrie clene;
Ȝour foulishe pietie did thame spair befoir;
Thairfoir ye fand thame prickis vnto your ene,
And, gif ye spair thame, yit sall find thame moir.

Deu. 15.

Nixt principallie, I pray yow, set your cure
For till relief the greit penuritie
Off laubouraris, and of your tennentis pure,
Quha sair opprest hes bene in this cuntrie,
This mony ȝeir, by the Nobilitie.
Let thame anis knaw the defference betwene
Ȝow and the Papistis, by your charitie,
Quhilk heirtofoir amang yow was not sene.

Thir thingis to do, luik no way ye neglect,
Gif ye think lang in honour for till ring;
Bot, principallie, I pray yow to eiect
Ane cursit byke that cheiflie dois maling,
In Abirdene, of Sophistis the welspring;
And in thair place put learnit men of God:
I pray God blis James Stewart our yoūg King,
And mak him rychtly reule vs with his rod.

To thee, my Lord Regent, I turne my sang:
I pray thee now for till be circumspect;
In thy default se that na thing be wrang,
For Godis seruandis thair eyis to thee direct,
Thinking on na wayis that thow will neglect
The gloir of God in Scotland to vpreir,
Seing he hes the rasit for that effect,
That the Lord Jesus baner thow should beir.

To yow, my Lordis, als I direct my pen;
Proceid into your Godlie interpryse,
As ye begouth, curagiously, lyke men:
For quhy greit help into your handis lyis.
Thairfoir stoutlie se ye assist and ryse,
Hauing Godis gloir alwayis befoir your eine;
Than sall ye be haldin hardie and wyse,
Sa lang as men sall on the earth be seine.

Finis.

VII. ane Declaratioun of the Lordis iust quarrell.

Not lang ago, as I allone did walk
Intill ane place was plesand to behauld,
Twa leirnit men in priuie I hard talk,
And eich of thame his taill in ordoure tauld.
I vnderstuid thair sentence quhat thay wald,
And thocht it guid to put in memorie;
Thair Names als as efter ȝe sall see.

The taine him self Philandrius did call,
Quha in vertew and manheid tuik delyte:
The tother feirfull semt to be at all:
Erideilus he did his Name indyte.
Off mony thingis thay did togidder flyte,
Bot I tuik tent, abone all other thing,
Quhen thay spak of this Realme and gouerning.

Erideilus sayis: “it dois merwell me
Quhat causit hes the Lordis of Scotland
Tak on ane enterpryse of sic folie
Againe the Quene, and aganis hir husband.

Mycht thay not weill, ilk ane in his awin land,
In quyetnes leifit in peace and rest,
Guyding his awin as him had lykit best?”

To quhome Philandrius did answer mak,
And said, “that men war not deuyst onlie
Without all cair thair awin plesure to tak,
Bot to foirse the weill of that countrie,
Reularis of quhilk the Lord will that thay be.
Quhilk charge (he sayis) thay cā not weill refuse,
Les schamefullie thair office thay abuse.

“Behalding than the actis execrabill
That in this countrie hes committit bene,
The schame, the lack, the bruit abhominabill,
That saikles men with sorow did sustene,
Ane priuat hart it mycht prik vp with tene,
To seik redres and mend that cairfull caice;
Far mair the nobillis of the Royall raice.

“To se the King fyrst lychtlit schamefully,
And not chereist in chalmer nor in hall,
Syne murdreist downe causeles and crewelly—
Of that tresoun na tryall taine at all;
Thay quhome the bruit did trewlie traytouris call,
Greitest in Court, and chereist all thair best:
Quhat Lordis hart culd luik on this and lest?

“To se ane monstuire, full of fylthynes,
Abone the rest heich mountit vp in gloir,
Baith Prince and Realme and all power posses,
Ane gled ay gaipand guid men to deuoir:
Quhat hart sa hard bot this sycht sould mak soir?
Quha rychtly than dar thir men reprehend,
Sic greit mischeif quha menis till amend?

“To se the Quene furth rydand on the plaine,
Reft lyke ane huire with ruffians shamefullie—
And thocht that sum think that was bot ane traine,
Hir awin wryting dois contrar testifie,
In France, Ingland, and mony strange cuntrie,
Pleinȝeand that sho was rauyssit by hir will—
Quhat Nobill hart mycht se this, and sit still?

“To reif, to murther, and wyle licherie,
The fourt forfault is eikit euin fra hand,
To testifie that Law and honestie,
With sic ribaldis, can not ring in ane land.
The Quene is cuplit with ane wyffis husband,
And farther ȝit, he, quha the King did sack,
But Law the Quene dar into mariage tak.

“Besyde all this, thair durst na vertuous wycht
In presence of that proude tyran appeir;
Bludy boucheouris and throtcutters, on nycht,
War only hard, and only had the steir.
The Nobill men durst not the Court cum neir.
The royall hous, refuge to honest men,
Was maid ane bordell and ane theifis den.

“Our prettie Prince, the peirle of all this land,
With duilfull deid thay socht for to deuoir,
That riche relick and thresour of Scotland
Destroy, as thay his father did befoir.
Quhat duilfull mynde mycht dewlie this deploir,
In sic dainger to se that innocent,
For our relief quhome God had till vs sent?

“Quhat Nobill hart could langer this induire?
Quhat commoun breist did not for sorrow burst?
Quhat godly man of him self could be suire?
Quhat stranger thocht bot this cuntrie was curst?
Quhat preachour this repreif, I pray ȝow, durst?

Quhat chaist woman wyssit not to be deid,
To se sic vice set vp in vertewis steid?

“Gif it was sa, than quha can worthylie
Exalt and prais and magnifie the Name
Of thir Nobillis, quha durst couragiouslie
Haȝaird thame self to saif vs all fra shame?
Thair laude, thair honour, and tryumphand fame
Salbe disperst in dispyte of Inuy,
Quhen faceles fuillis sall not be settin by.”

Erideilus than answer maid againe:
“Thy talk,” he sayis, “is treuth and veritie;
Bot ȝit sum douts thair is, of quhilk rycht faine,
Gif laser lat, I wald resoluit be:
And fyrst, tuiching the Quenis libertie;
For mony thinkis thir Barronis ar to bauld
In strait keping a Princes for to hauld.”

Philandrius to answer than him sped,
And this he said Eridielus vntill:
“Gif that a freind with fayis away war led
Be wickit craft, syne tystit war till ill,
Thocht he couet in that stait to byde still,
Ȝit in that caice, his freindis, of dewtie,
Sould wis his weill, and seik his libertie.

“And gif his fantasie war sa far infectit,
That to the treuth he could not bent his eir,
He sould not be in folly ȝit neglectit,
Bot fairnes than sould mixit be with feir.
And gif all this could him na wysedom leir,
Than acht he be of all puissance denude,
To do na euill gif he could do na gude.

“Than sen that bowdin, bludy beist Bothwell
Hes trayterously in myrk put downe our King,

His wyfe the Quene syne rauyssit to him sell,
In fylthie lust, throw cullour of wedding;
Thocht sho, bewitcheit, wald in ruttery ring,
The Nobillis sould nether of thir enduire—
That lowne to leif, nor hir to be his huire.

“And gif the poysone in hir hart be sonkin,
That sho will not consent he puneist be,
Gif with his fylthie lust sho be sa dronkin
That sho forȝet office and honestie,
Than man hir Nobillis of necessitie
Cut of hir force quhill tresoun be reuengeit,
And this confusioun in ane ordour changeit.”

“In priuat persounis,” sayis Eridielus,
“I vnderstand thy taill is trew in deid,
Bot in Princes it is mair perrillous,
And few examplis thairof can I reid.
And in sic caice the subiectis all had neid
Haill to concur with ane authoritie:
Sic concurrence in Scotland nane I se.”

Philandrius sayis: “Brother, than considder
How fyrst began all dominatiounis
Quhen ruid pepill assemblit thame togidder,
And maid thair Kingis be creatiounis.
In votis than war variatiounis.
I trow rycht few was chosin be the haill,
Bot he was King quhais pairtie did preuaill.

“Rycht sa gif Princes sa thame self abuse,
That of force subiectis man put to thair hand,
Guid men sould not than to reforme refuse,
Thocht all at ainis concur not on thair band;
Naimly, gif Iustice on thair partie stand,
And maist consent gif quha wald rackin rycht,
Sen God has gein to thame baith strēth & mycht.

“Ȝea, thocht it war ane King for to depose,
For certaine crymis, I think the subiectis may,
Or fylthy faultouris fast in prisone close,
Rather than lat ane haill countrie decay.
Thay sould not sturre, thocht sum men wald say nay.
To ane purpose the haill will neuer conclude:
They haue aneuch hes force and quarrell gude.

“May thay not put ane ordoure to the heid,
Quha in beginning did the heid vp mak?
May thay not set ane better in the steid,
Gif it fra vice can not be callit back?
Les this be done, Realmes will ga to wrak,
Namely, quhen that the cryme is sa patent,
That nouther misters Juge nor argument.

“As, gif ane King his pepill wald betray,
And him and thame baith bring to seruitude,
He sould in this reformit be, I say,
Naimly be Nobillis and be men of gude.
The Baliols cause—considder how it stude:
Quhat rycht had Robert Bruice him to expell?
Because to Ingland he subiect him sell.

“And now, gif I durst speik without respect,
To huirmaisters, to murderers of Kingis,
To throtcutters our Realme was made subiect,
Quha in thair malice proudely ȝit malingis.
Lat Nobill hartis considder all thir thingis,
Thay sall weill find that this puire natioun
Greit mister had of reformatioun.

“Sic fylthie luste in Sardanapalus,
Sic crueltie in Nero did not ring,
Sic brutishe lyfe in Heliogabalus,
Sic traytour mynde to slay his Lord and King

In feinȝit Phocas breist did neuer spring,
Sic beistly bowgrie Sodome hes not sene,
As rang in him quha rewlit Realme and Quene.

“And sould the Nobill Barronis of this land
In hoilis lurk, and this mischeif behauld?
Quhair is the wittis wont to reule Scotland?
Go, reid the buik, repeit the storyis auld:
King Euenus was keipit in strang hauld,
And deit thair. Conarus was inclosit,
First being dewlie for his fault deposit.

“For wickit lyfe imprisont was Ferquhaird,
Quha slew him self of proude melancolie.
Donald the fyft, he gat the same reuaird;
And Ethus did in prisone priuate die.
And, gif ȝe list to go fra this countrie,
In euerie land examplis dois abound:
Gif thay be socht thay may be eithlie found.

“For sic misordour proude Tarquinius
Was the last King that euer did ring in Rome.
For lyke crymes the tyran Claudius
Losit his stait, and gat deid for his dome.
To speik of Nero now I haue na tome.
Off Commodus, Caius, and Caracall,
It war to lang for to descriue the fall.

“Quhat sorow into Naples than was sene!
Quha knawis the story cleirly thair may reid
Quhen Charlis dochter, Jeane, that catiue Quene,
Baith honestie forȝet and womanheid,
Hir husband and hir cousing put to deid,
Syne with his Burrio band ane new mariage.
Allace! this sample seruis ower weill our age.

“And ȝit the Lord he leit hir not eschaip,
Bot of hir tuik ane punishement conding;
Quha first hir husband hangit in ane raip,
The murtherer syne in his bed did bring;
God maid hir paine aggre with hir guyding.
As bedfoly to sic mischeif hir led,
Euin so sho endit, smorit with a bed.

“Than to conclude: Thir Nobillis dois bot rycht,
Gif thay the Quene keip still in sicker gaird,
Vntill that coward Kingslayar, on nycht,
For his demeritis get ane iust rewaird.
Than lat thame all concur, baith Lord and Laird,
Thair Realme and Quene with gude consall to guyde,
Settand all priuate profit far a syde.

“Gif thay do this, than dar I say ane thing,
Thair laude and fame sall mont abone the skyis;
Thair heich renoune sall in all Regioun ring;
Thair name sall gang quhair euer the Sone do ryse;
Thay salbe repuite hardy, wycht, and wyse.
In all storyis thay salbe cleirly kend.
The Leuing Lord bring thame to this gude end!”

As this Philandrius did frely talk,
The tother pairt, Erideilus be name,
Rais vp and quyetlie away did stalk;
And, as me thocht, he waxit reid for schame:
Quhilk, quhen I saw, I rais vp and come hame,
And put in wryt thair disputatioun,
As ȝe haue hard be this narratioun.

Imprentit at Edinburgh be Robert Lekpreuik. Anno Do. 1567.

Finis.

VIII. Ane Ansr maid to ye Sklanderaris yt blasphemis ye Regent and ye rest of ye Lordis.

Reingat rapfow! thocht þow raif,
Skorner of poitis and sklanderus knaif!
Quhat sayis thow bot we knaw or sell?
In spyte of the and all þe laif
The bastard bairne sall beir þe bell.

Ouþer thow art ane papist loun,
Hepburne, or Hoitbag Hamiltoun:
Gif þai be þa thow callis þi prence,
War ȝor richt reknit to þe croun
It myt be laid with litill menss.

Blasphemus baird and beggeris get!
The regentis self hes nocht forȝet
How gude King Williā wes ane bastard,
And þow nocht bot ane carlinge pett,
Ane daft fule or ane drukin dastard.

And, forthermoir, gif þow wald flyte,
Be weill avisit quhome þow bakbyte,

Recant and sweir þow said it nocht,
ffor he sall prosper in dispyte
Off þe and þame þat wald it not.

Revoik þi wyndie worde vane;
Ȝe knew mair quhē ye king wes slane;
Spit out and speik mair and ȝe pleis;
Wist I quhome wt to flyte agane,
The mater sould be war to meiss.

To flyt wt þe and fyle my lippis,
The sone, þe mone sould haif þe clippis:
for all þi quentance with þe quene
Thay hound þe to þe hangmāis grippis,
Quhair mony better man hes bene.

Sweingeor, cum, sweir þe saikles sone,
Deny þe evill þat þow hes done
Againis þe man þat maid na falt:
Allege, Lunatyke, to þe mone,
Or þan abone ane mask of malt.

Euir þe mair þow wald be trowit,
The les þi lounrie Is allowit;
Returnand to þi turpitude
Thow sould haif waige, durst þow avow It,
The gallowis, for þi gratitude.

Maist like, sum myllare of ane myll
had maid þe mater of þe bill,
Ouþer sum cuike or keching clerke:
be doand, fule-face! flite þi fill!
Men may nocht ding all dogge þat barke.

Palȝart! war nocht or faith defendit,
Oure cōmoun weill and knaifrie endit,

Than þow myt writte in gennerall:
All detours ar bot discommendit,
That speike dispite in speciall.

In fechting, mā, þow maid þi vant
þat þow sould sla þe Innocent
But caus, or cryme of ony querrell,
Bot, knew I the, þow sould recant,
Or þan thy pallat ly in perrell.

Luik þe first letter of euerie werss,
Hangman! gif þow can reherss,
Mark weill my name & set ane day:
In fechting war þow neuir so ferss,
Thow salbe marrowit and I may.

ffinis, quod Maddie, gar mak þe boun To all þe papistis of þis toun.

Robert Symple ys the dooer hereoff. Note by Sir William Drury.

An answer to þe Bills sett upp against the Regēt of Scotl.

117

XIV. The Kingis Complaint.

With hauie hart, on Snadoun hill,
Ane ȝoung King I hard schoutand schill;
With reuthfull rair he did record,
Prayand, as I haif writ this bill,
Judge and Reuenge my cause, O Lord.

He sayis, this causeles I not craif,
For he is now gone to his graif,
My commoun weill that maist decorde,
Na merwell albeit my hart claif
For sorrow of his deith, O Lord.

Hard is my chance all tyme and houris,
And harder to my Gouernouris:
Ȝe, hardest, (bot wo am I forde!)
To him has felt of deith the schouris,
And only for thy cause, O Lord.

Quhen I was not ȝit ane ȝeir auld,
Bothwell, that bludy Bouchour bauld,

118

My Father cruelly deuorde:
He him betrayit and his blude sauld:
Judge and Reuenge my cause, O Lord.

Than, Father slaine, Mother was schēt;
My Gudschir flemit Incontinent;
My self to poysoun it was schorde;
Me to betray was summis Intent:
Judge and Reuenge my cause, O Lord.

Than vp thow rasit to reule my Ring,
In to my tender yeiris ȝing,
My Faithfull freind that maid him forde,
James, Regent, my Uncle ding:
Judge and Reuenge my cause, O Lord.

He was my buckler and my beild;
He was my Targe, my speir, and scheild:
My stait maist hie for to restorde
He futtit euer mair the feild:
Judge and Reuenge his cause, O Lord.

For me he left Kyn, Freind, and wyfe;
For me he sufferit daylie stryfe;
For me he was haill Indeuorde;
For me now he hes loist his lyfe:
Judge and Reuenge his cause, O Lord.

For me that Nobill of Renoun
With ane Tyke, Tratour Hammiltoun,
Was schot, and throw the body borde,
For the mantening of my Crowne:
Judge and Reuenge his cause, O Lord.

Peloure, thow peirst him gaif ye peace,
Tratoure to him that gaif the grace,

119

Behind his bak thy Gunne him gorde,
Quhome thow nor nane of thyne dirst face:
Judge and Reuenge his cause, O Lord.

Lord, sen my gratious gyde is gone,
And I am left as Byrd allone,
This thing maist eirnistly I Implorde,
That Instantly thow steir vp one,
For to Reuenge his cause, O Lord.

Sen for my saik now he is slane,
Lord, for thy grace grant me agane
That deith my lyfe neuer deuorde,
Quhill that fals tressonabill trane
Be with my hand Reuengd, O Lord.

O Scotland! thy Josias trew,
That first Idolatrie ouerthrew,
He was, and Christs trew Kirk restorde:
Throw him in my Realme grace ay grew:
Judge and Reuenge his cause, O Lord.

He Abrahamis Faith, but feir, profest;
He Dauidis mercy manifest;
With Salomonis wit he was decorde;
Sampsonis strenth to him accrest:
Judge and Reuenge his cause, O Lord.

Theif and Reuer he did dant;
Justice and vertew he did plant;
Quhair thair was mys he gart remorde,
My Faithfull seruand and thy Sanct:
Judge and Reuenge his cause, O Lord.

As his Renoun is all ouerblawin,
And now his deith plainly furthschawin,

120

Sa sall all blyithnes be abhorde,
Quhill his Reuenge be alswa knawin,
Throw thy help and support, O Lord.

All ȝe, my trew Nobilitie,
That fauourit him and seruit me,
Lat not his duilfull deith be smorde,
Bot it Reuenge maist cruellie:
For it is the will of the Lord.

And quha his deith dois sair regaird,
And it to puneis will not spaird,
I wow to the in quhome he glorde,
Thay sall not mys ane riche rewaird,
For to Reuenge his cause, O Lord.

Now sall appeir, in wark and nature,
Quha is the trew man, quha is the trature,
Quha fittis the feild, quha cuiris not forde:
The trew liege be the Rubiature
In this cause salbe kend, O Lord.

And think that thay that did this deid
With lyke effect dois seik my heid,
For to be beatin downe and smorde:
All Faithfull hartis quyte thair meid,
And thow Reuenge my cause, O Lord.

For surely thair will and Intent,
That seikis of me the Gouernment
Be fraudfull factiounis, I stand forde,
Wald me forfault in Parliament,
Gif thow withstude thame not, O Lord.

My Coronatioun thay deny,
And dois maist spytefully defy

121

All thame that faithfully restorde
Me to my Crowne and Seignorie:
Thy michtie hand requyte thame, Lord.

Last, Lord, now him of me hes cure,
And in quhais handis I think me sure,
Thy puissant power I Implorde,
That he with me lang dayis Indure,
For to reuenge his cause, O Lord.

With this the Babe he gifis ane rair,
Quhilk maid my hart to sich sa sair
That farther I culd not recorde,
Bot with him sall cry euer mair:
Judge and Reuenge his cause, O Lord.

Finis.

IX. A Rhime in defence of the Queen of Scots against the Earl of Murray.

[_]

xio Decembris 1568.

TOM TRUTH TO THE ENUIOUS.

If Momus children seek to know
My name and where I dwell,
I am Tom Truth, and my aboad
I list not it to tell;
For wise men love not to enquire
Who, where, but what is said,
And hold themselves therewith content
Till further proof be made.

THE DOUBLE DEALINGS OF THE REBELS IN SCOTLAND.

If tongue coud tell or pen coud write
The craftie cloaked case,
Or yet the treasons to recite
Of this new Regents grace,
Then Tullies style, or Virgils verse,
Of God sure woud I crave,
His shameless acts here to rehearse,
As he deserves to have.
But that were far above my reach,
And more than well could be;
Sith he all others doth excell
In craft and crueltie.
Yet can I not with silence pass
His vices strange and rare,
But that I must sett forth the same,
The truth least I should spare.
And now, since that it is my luck,
Unfittest tho I be,
This Cacos offspring to advance,
As seems, to his degree,
I pray you, take it in good part
Whats'ever I shall say,
In setting forth his shameless acts
Whose shame shall not decay.

Yet can I not sett furth the same,
Nor in such wise express,
As fittest were for one past shame,
And past all godliness.
This traytor tyrant of our time,
This Satans seed, I mean
This rebel regent that his prince
To mate doth not disdain;
This perfect pattern of deceipt,
Whose high and haughty mind
Is pufft so full of pride, that hard
It were the like to find;
This sinfull seed of loathsome love,
This bastard past all grace,
At Glocester that traytor vile
A perfect pattern chase.
Who, to obtain the kingly seat
Of this most worthy land,
His brothers sons—his nephews dear—
To guide he took in hand;
The Lambs, alass! unto the wolf
To guide committed were,
Who murderd them to have their place,
As storys well declare.
But shall I say this traitor now
At him did learn his lore,
Who doth surpass his wilie wit
A thousand fold and more?

A scholar, sure, of pregnant wit,
And apt for such a place,
Who trained up was in the school
Of lying Satans grace;
Where he hath learnd a finer feat
Than Richard earst did see,
To do the deed, and lay the blame
On those that blameless be.
For he and his companions eke,
Agreeing all in one,
Did kill the King, and lay the blame
The sakeless Queen upon;
And, that this deed in each mans sight
Might seem to be most plain,
They drew her from her spouse that night,
By craft and subtile train;
And feigned that her sucking son
Was in great danger brought,
Wherefore with speed to visit him
The messenger besought.
Which subtile shift, so feately wrought,
Was cause men thought it true,
That she of purpose parted hence,
And of the murder knew.
For if that both at once had been
There murderd at that time,
Then might each babe with half an eye
Have spyed who did the crime.

And, this suspicion to encrease,
They found a new devise,
That Bothwel, cheifest murderer,
Was tryed by assiȝe,
And found not guilty by his peers,
Of whom the cheifest be
Such as the Kings death did conspire,
And knew as well as he.
They cleard him eke by Parliament,
O traytors false and vile!
That they their good and vertuous Queen
Might sooner so beguile.
And when that he was cleared both
By size and parliament,
To marry then they went about
To have her to consent,
And said that she, the realme, and they
Should so most safest be
From danger of all civil strife,
And outward enemy.
Alack! good Queen! what hap hadst thou
So oft thy foes to trust?
Coudst thou not shun those biting beasts
Whom thou hadst tryd unjust?
But who, I pray you, was the man
They willed her to take?
Forsooth, the cheifest murderer
Whom they most clear did make;
And that their purpose, once begun,
Might come unto an end,

They caused traitor Lethington
On her still to attend,
That this false Machivilian
Might tempt her evry day,
Whose poysond words so sugard were
That she coud not say nay,
But did consent to their request,
Suspecting nothing less
Than they such false deceipt to mean,
And use such doubleness.
But, when the woefull wedding day
Was finished and past,
Their boiling malice that lay hid
In rageing sort outbrast.
For they, that were of council both
To murdring of the King,
And to the marriage, gan to spread
How Bothwel did the thing;
And how he took away the Queen
By force against her will,
And sought himself to reigne as King,
And eke the prince to spill.
But, bastard! now the truth is known,
How that thy self it was
That thought to spill both prince and Queen,
And to possess their place.
But when among the simple sort
This rumour once was brought,

It ran abroad from place to place
More swift than can be thought.
So they, not privy to the sleight,
Did think it for most sure,
That she to wed the murderer
The murther did procure.
And thus this simple Queen each way
Was wrapt in woe and care,
For they that have not skill of craft
Are soonest caught in snare.
And then the traitor Ledingtone,
In treason never slack,
At hand, like pickpurse still before,
Began to start now back,
And fled unto her faithless ffoes
Her secrets to betray:
“Like will to like,” the proverb sais:
You know the old said sa.
Then Murray, that of long before
This murder did devise,
Did void the land, the rather so
To blind the simples eyes.
And then his fellow traitors all,
The more their cause to clear,
Did rise in arms against their Queen,
As though she guilty were.
But she, to save the sakeless blood,
Not willing to offend,
Did leave her power and offerd them
All things amiss to mend.

The traitors, not therewith content,
Did lead her home away,
And changed all her brave attire
Into a ffrock of grey.
That done, they lead her forth by night
Unto Lochlevin hold,
And kept her here in prison close
That no man see her could;
And when they had thus brought to pass
Their traiterous, false desire,
They send with speed to bastard James,
And willd him to retire.
Who, coming home for love he bare
The Prince, as he did say,
Did take in hand to rule the realm,
Lest it fell in decay.
How well this traytor loves this child,
Committed to his gaurd,
Is plain in that the mother dear
He kept in cruel ward,
And caused her there, by forced fact,
The present death to shun,
Her Royal crown for to resign
Unto her tender son,
And make this minion Murray eik
Cheif Regent of the land,
Untill the Prince, of lawfull age,
The same shall take in hand.
Which while he woud, as Richard did,
If he might have his will,

His nephew young, his sister's son,
By secret means to spill,
And then he woud usurp the crown,
As next heir to the same,
Which does appear in that he doth
His ffather so defame;
And saieth his mother precontract
Was in most solemn wise
Unto the King, before that he
Was married to the Guise;
Although that wise men know the truth
This sorceress how she wrought
By rings and witchcraft from the Queen
The Kings mind to have brought;
And thus this traytor doth debase
The Queen in all he can,
That from her grace withdraw he might
The hearts of every man.
A cowle, a cowle for such a Greek
Were fitter for to wear,
Than this Apostate deacon shoud
Such princely rule to bear!
But where is now true discipline?
Dare no man take on hand
To teach such false Apostate monks
Their faults to understand?
And make this base born Deacon come
Home to his former state,
From whence the Lither Lozell fled
Lest he shoud live too straight?

But, sure, no marvel tho Gods rodd
Hath plagued this noble dame,
That gave to monks shoud serve in church
Such place of worldly fame.
Yet he, not all unmindfull of
This Ladies gratefull deed,
Did purpose with a cruel death
To quick her for her need.
But God Almighty, in whose hands
The hearts of princes be,
Preservd her from these false attempts,
And vile captivity.
And when this noble prey was past
This brothers bloody might,
He raged like a tyger fell
Ffor sorrow and for spite.
So seeing that he coud not then
His noble Queen to spill,
Upon her faithfull subjects he
Began to work his will.
Ffor some he cast in prison deep—
No cause at all thereto—
And some he thurst out of the realm,
To work them greater woe.
And some he put to cruel death
His rage for to fulfill:
No means he unattempted left
Her subjects lives to spill.
Yet, not content in this great rage
On men to play his part,

In spight of God, against his Christ
He gan to shew his art,
And pulled thence both bells and lead,
With jewels many one,
That he and his companions might
More braver therein gone.
Ffor sure I am that some of them,
Amongst this traiterous train,
Have on their back more lead at once
Than covereth churches twain;
So that no hardend heart of brass
But woud lament right sore
To see prophaning of each place
As served God in yore.
And, when he had this sacriledge
Committed every where,
On lofty towers and castles strong
His rage did then appear.
On Dunbar first he spued his spight—
A castle fair and strong;
And there he wrought both day and night
Till it was laid along;
Then hasteth furth, and Lochnivar
So seemly to the view—
He spoiled them first and sackd them then:
Who coud more cruel do?
The Laird of Skirlings house likewise
Did feel the former chance,

Which traiterously he did deface,
His glory to advance.
Then Rosslin Bower, of brave attire,
Which Sinclair doth possess,
Most shamefully he ransackt so
To work him more distress.
Lord Herris lands—that Baron bold
Who let him of his will,
When he was gone throughout the same,
He did both robb and spill.
But what shoud I here longer stay
Each place here to recite,
Since few there are but that his rage
Hath now defaced quite?
When he had wrought his wicked will
And had his false intent,
To blind the eyes of simple men
He calld a parliament,
Where flockd his fellow traytors all,
Both Morton and M'Gill,
With Lindsay, Mar, and Lethingtone,
Yea, Balfour lay not still,
With others of this fruitless flock,
And falsely did invent
That all things here concluded were
By full and whole consent.
Thus sinfull Satan workd his will,
Through these his children dear,
That falsehood reigns instead of right,
As here it doth appear.

Yet have they not so slilely wrought,
Tho Satan was their guide,
But that their treason evry deal
At last is well espyd.
For they, to seem more innocent
Of this most heinous deed,
Did catch four of the murderers,
And put to death with speed;
Whereby they hopd to make men think
Therein that they were clear,
Sith justice they did execute
On some that guilty were:
As Hepburn, Dalgleish, Powrie too;
John Hay made up the mass;
Which four, when they were put to death,
The treason did confess,
And said that Murray, Morton too,
With others of their rout,
Were guilty of the murder vile,
Tho now they look full stout.
Yet some perchance do think that I
Speak for affection here,
Tho I woud so, three thousand can
Herein true witness bear,
Who present were, as well as I,
At the execution time;
And heard how these, in conscience prickd,
Confessd who did the crime.

Therefore, all princes, take good head
Let this for warning stand;
And try before you trust, I warn,
Lest check be near at hand.
But though this check it seems so sure
That mate is now at hand,
Yet may his Queen such guard procure
As shall his force withstand;
And then she may, as he began,
Bid check and mate with thee,
And warn him, since his force is done,
To yeild or else to flee:
To yeild, I mean, from false attempt,
And fly such vain request,
And guard himself with reasons rule,
And set his heart at rest,
And spend no more his time in vain
Such false attempts to try,
Lest, if they use them over oft,
He'l climb, I fear, to high.
And thus I cease, and make an end,
And wish him to beware
No more such checks and taunts to give,
Lest he be caught in snare.

Finis qd Tom Trowth.

391

XLVI. Followis the Ballat maid vpoun Margret Fleming, callit the Flemyng bark in Edinburt.

I haif a littill Flemīg Berge,
Off clenkett work, bot scho is wicht;
Quhat pylett takis my schip in chairge,
Mon hald hir clynlie, trym, and ticht;
Se that hir hatchis be handlit richt,
Wt steirburd, baburd, luf and lie:
Scho will sale all the wintirnight,
And nevir tak a telȝevie.

With evin keill befoir the wind
Scho is richt fairdy wt a saill;
Bot at ane lufe scho lyis behind,
Gar heiss hir quhill hir howbandis skaill;
Draw weill the takill to hir taill,
Scho will not miss to lay ȝor mast;
To pomp als oft as ȝe may haill,
Ȝeill nevir hald hir watter-fast.

392

To calfet hir oft can do non ill,
And talloun quhair the flud-mark flowis;
Bot gif scho lekkis, gett men of skill
To stop hir hoilis laich in þe howis:
Ffor falt of hemp tak hary towis,
Wt stane-ballest wtowttin vder;
In moneless nichtis it is na mowis,
Except ane stowt man steir hir ruder.

A fair vesschell abone þe watter,
And is bot laitly reikit, to,
Quhairto, till deif ȝow wt tome clatter,
Ar nane sic in the floit as scho.
Plum weill the grund quhat evir ȝe doo,
Haill on the fukscheit and the blind;
Scho will tak in at cap and koo,
Wtout scho ballast be behind.

Na pedderis pak scho will ressaif,
Althocht hir travell scho sowld tyne;
Na coukcald karle nor carllingis pet,
That dois thair corne and caitell cryne;
Bot, quhair scho findis a fallow fyne,
He wilbe frawcht fre for a souss;
Scho kareis nocht bot men and wyne,
And bulȝoun to þe counȝe-houss.

Ffor merchandmen I may haif mony,
Bot nane sic as I wald desyre;
And I am layth to mell wt ony,
To leis my mater in the myre.
That man that wirkis best for his hyre,
Syne he salbe my mariner:
Bot nycht and day mon he nocht tyre,
That sailis my bony ballinger.

393

Ffor anker-hald nane can be fund:
I pray ȝow, cast the leid lyne owt,
And, gif ȝe can nocht get the grund,
Steir be the compas, and keip hir rowt;
Syne treveiss still, and lay abowt,
And gar hir top twiche wind and waw;
Quhair anker dryvis, thair is na dowt,
Thir tripand tyddis may tyne ws aw.

Now is my pretty pynnege reddy,
Abydand on sum merchand blok;
Bot be scho emptie, be our leddy,
Scho will be kittill of hir dok:
Scho will ressaif na landwart Jok,
Thocht he wald frawcht hir for a croun:
Thus fair ȝe weill, sayis gud Johine Cok,
Ane nobill telȝeour in this toun.

Finis. quod Sempill.

394

XLVII. Heir followis the defence of Crissell Sandelandis ffor vsing hirself contrair the Ten Cōmandis; Being in Ward for playing of the loun with euery ane list geif hir half a croun, &c.

Pernitious peple, perciall in despyte,
Susanis judges, saweris of seditioun,
Ȝour cankert counsale is the causs and wyte,
Bowstert wt pryd, and blindit wt ambitioun,
Ffyndand na cryme, nor havand na cōmissioun
To hurt Dame Venus Virgēis as ȝe do;
Gif ȝe sa raschlie rin vpoun Suspitioun,
Ȝe may put vthiris on the pannell to.

To Sandelandis ȝe wer our sair to schame hir,
Sen ȝe wt counsale myt quyetlie cōmand hir:
Grit foulis ȝe wer wt fallowis to defeme hir,
Havand na causs bot cōmoun voce and sklander;
Syne findand no man in the houss neir hand hir,
Except ane clerk of godly conversatioun.
Quhat gif besyd Iohine Dureis self ȝe fand hir,
Dar ȝe suspect the holy congregatioun?

395

Ȝour fleslie conscience garris ȝow tak this feir:
Beleif ȝe virgynis wilbe win so sone?
Na, god forbid: Bot men [may] bourd als neir,
And wemen nocht the wor quhen that is done.
Had scho bene vndir, and he hobland abone,
That war a perllous play for to suspect thame:
Bot laddis and lassis will meit eftirnone,
Quhair Dick and Dvrie dow nocht bayth correct thame.

Sen drunkardis, gluttonis, and contentious men,
Shedderis of blude, and subiectis gevin to greid,
May not posses the hevinly gloir, ȝe ken,
As in the bybill dalie do we reid;
Lat thir be wyit allyk till every leid,
Syne fornicatioun plasit amangis the laif:
Exemp ȝour self throw all the toun in deid,
Than luke how mony ȝe onmerkit haif.

Gif ȝe beleif nocht Betoun be his word,
In hir defenss it can nocht be reffusit;
Lat him þat fallowis fecht it wt þe sword,
Ane anciēt law quhen ladeis ar accusit.
Is ministeris sic men to be abusit,
That knawis the scripteur and the ten cōmandis?
Albeit he and scho wor in ane houss inclusit,
He sew na seid in to hir Sandelandis.

As for þe rest, I knaw nocht thair vocatioun,
Thair lyfe, thair maneris; Bot I heir mony mene thame
Catholik virgenis of the holy congregatioun,
Syn wer to tyne thame, gif ȝe cowld obtene thame;
Quhat can ȝe say except þat ȝe had sene thame,
Wt rem in ra, all nakkit, but adherance?
Than tak a bowstring and draw it doun betwene thame,
And, gif it stickis, it hes ane evill apperance.

396

Catitois clerkis, quhois college ȝe frequentit,
Quhen ȝe wor wanfleris of hir wantoun band,
Now ȝe ar lamit fra labour, I lamēt it,
Ȝour pistolis twmit, and bak sprent lyk a wand:
Snapwark, adew, fra dagmen dow not stand,
And worss than that, ȝe want ȝor morsing powder:
Than cūis conscience wt crukit staf in hand,
Greitand for byganis, bowand bak and schowder.

Remembir first ȝour former qualitie,
And wrak na virgēis wt ȝor wilfull weir;
Gif ȝe will not, than or regalitie
Hes power planely to replege thame heir.
Mycht thay win to the girth, I tak no feir;
Doun by the Cānocroce, I pray ȝow, send thame,
Quhair Patrik Bānatyne hes promeist to compeir,
Wt lawfull ressonis reddy to defend thame.

On causs thair is thay can not be convict;
Ȝe had na power fra the sone wes sett;
The provest gaif na power to Gilbert Dick,
The speciall thing that sowld not bene forȝett;
Thay war nocht theivis, nor ȝit condempt in dett,
Nor ridhand tane, quhilk was na causs, ȝe knaw;
Bot ȝe latt rukis and ravynis rin throw the nett,
And saikles dowis makis subiect to þe law.

Ȝour parciall Juge, we may declyne him, to;
Bot sett me doun the persone Pennycuke;
Or Sanderis Guthrie, lat see quhat he can do:
He kēnis the caice, and keipis ȝour awin court buke.
Ffor men of law I wat nocht quhome to luke;
Auld James Bānatyne wes anis a man of skill,
And gif he cūis nocht thair, I wald we tuke,
To keip oure dyet, Maister Dauid Makgill.

397

Quhat cūmer castis the formest stane, lat see,
At tha peure winschis ȝe wranguslie suspect
Ffor sklenting bowttis: Now better war lat bee,
Nor to begin to gett ȝour selffis ane geck.
The grittest falt I find in this effect,
Ȝe baith tuke money and put thame selffis to schame;
Bot, quhen the court cūis to þe toun, quhat reck?
We sall restoir thame to þair stok agane.

In ȝour tolbuth sic presouneris to plant
Wilbe ressauit weill, ȝe may considder;
Gud Captane Adamsone will nocht lat thame want
Bedding, howbeit thay sowld lig all togidder.
As for his wyf, I wald ȝe sowld forbid hir
Hir eyndling toyis: I trow thair be no denger,
Becauss his lome is larbour grown and lidder,
But vndirstanding now to treit ane strenger.

The grittest greif I find, ȝe haif defamett
Thir leill trew luvaris, and done thair freindis bot lack;
Becauss thair bandis wer reddy to be proclamit,
The pairteis mett and maid a fair contrack;
Bot now, allace! the men ar loppin aback
Ffor oppin sklander, callit ane speikand devill:
In grit effairis ȝe had not bene sa frack,
Concernyng the rewling of ȝor cōmoun weill.

To pvneiss part is parcialitie;
To pvneiss all is hard to do in deid;
Bot send thame heir to oure regalitie,
And we sall see gif we can serve thair neid.
This rurall ryme, quha sa lyk for to reid,
To Dict and Dury is directit plane:
Quhair I offend thame in my landwart leid,
I salbe reddy to reforme agane.

Finis, quod Semple.

398

XLVIII. Followis the Ballat maid be Robert Semple of Ionet Reid, Ane Violet, and Ane Quhyt. Being slicht wemen of lyf and conversatioun, and tavernaris.

Off cullouris cleir quha lykis to weir,
Ar sindry sortis in to this toun,
Grene, ȝellow, blew, and mony hew,
Bayth Pareiss blak, and Inglis broun;
Lundoun sky quha lykis to by,
Bot Cullour derroy is clene laid doun;
Dundy gray, this mony a day,
Is lychleit bayth wt laid and loun.

Stanche my fyking, and stryd my lyking,
Ar semely hewis for sommer play;
Dundippit in ȝello ffor mony gud fallo,
As Will of Quhit-hawch bad me say;

399

I will not dennyit till nane þat will by it;
For silver nane salbe said nay;
Ȝee not to plenzie, my clayth will not stenzie,
Suppois ȝe weit it nycht and day.

And I haif Quhyt off grit delyt,
And Violett, quha lykis to weir,
Weill werand Reid, quhill ȝe be deid,
Quhilk sall nocht failzie, tak ȝe no feir.
The Quhyt is gude, and richt weill lwid,
Bot ȝit the Reid is twyiss als deir;
The Violet syne, bayth fresche and fyne,
Sall serve ȝow hosing for a ȝeir.

The Quhyt is twiche, and fresche ennewche,
Soft as the silk, as all men seis;
The Reid is bony, and socht of mony:
Thay hyve abowt the houss lyk beis.
Wt Violet, to, gif ȝe haif ado,
It meites lyk stemmyne to ȝor theis;
Seure, be my witting, not brunt in the litting,
Suppois baith laidis and lȳmeris leis.

Off all thir thre hewis I haif left clewis,
To be oure court-men wintter weid;
Twynit and small, the best of thame all
May weir the claith for woll and threid.
Bot in the walk-mill the wedder is ill;
Thir ar nocht drying dayis indeid,
And gif it be watt, I hecht for that,
It tuggis in hoilis, and gais abbreid.

Ȝit it is weill walkit, cairdit, and calkit,
Als warme a weid as weir the deule,
Weill wrocht in the lwmis with wobster gwmis:
Bayth thik and nȳmill gais the spwle.

400

Cottond and schorne, the mair it be worne
Ȝe find ȝour self the grittar fule;
Bot bony, forsuth, cum byit in my bwth,
To mak ȝow garmentis agane ȝule.

Bot mixt thir togidder, ȝourself may cōsidder,
Quhat fyner cullour can be fund,
And namely of breikis, gif ony man seikis,
Sall haif the pair ay for a pund.
Howbeid it be skant, na wowaris sall want,
That to my bidding wilbe bund:
Weill may thay brukit, thay neid not to lukit,
Bot graip it marklynis be the grund.

Ȝour court-men heir hes maid my claith deir,
And raisd it twell-pēnis of the ell;
Ȝit is my claith seuver for sadillis to ceuver,
Suppois the sessioun raid thamesell.
The Violet certane wes maid Dumbartane,
The Reid wes walkit in Dumkell,
The Quhyt hes bene dicht in mony mirk nicht,
Bot tyme and place I can not tell.

Now gif ȝe wirk wyislie, and schaip it precyslie,
The elwand wald be grit and lang;
Gif the byess be wyd, gar lay it on syd,
And sa ȝe can nocht weill ga wrang.
And, for the lang lest, it wald be schewid fast,
And cair not by how deip ȝe gang;
Bot want ȝe quhyt threid, ȝe can not cum speid:
Blak walloway mon be ȝor sang.

Bot thot it be awld, and twēty tymis sawld,
Ȝit will the freprie mak ȝow fane
With vlis to renew it, and mak it weill hewit,
And gar it glanss lyk Dūmygrane.

401

Syne wt the sleik stanis, that servis for the nanis,
Thay raiss the pyle, I mak ȝow plane;
With mony grit aith thay sell this same claith,
To gar the byeris cum agane.

Now is my wob wrocht, and arlit to be bocht;
Cum lay the paymēt in my hand,
And, gif my claith felȝie, ȝe pay nocht a melȝie:
The wobb salbe at ȝour cōmand.
The merkit is thrang, and will not lest lang:
Thay by fast in the bordour land;
Albeid I haif tynsell, ȝet mon I tak hansell,
To pay my buth maill and my stand.

My claith wald be lwd wt grit mē of gwd,
Gif lawdis aud lownis wald latt me be:
Ȝit mon I excuss thame; how can I reffuss thame,
Sen all mēis penny makis him free?
The best and the gay of it, myself tuk a say of it,
A wylie-coit, I will nocht lee,
Quhilk did me no harme, bot held my cost werme,
A symple merchant, ȝe mā see.

This far to releif me, that na man repreif me,
In Jedburgh, at the Justice air,
This sang of thre lassis was maid abone glassis,
That tyme that thay wer tapstaris thair.
The first wes ane Quhyt, a lass of delyt;
The Violett, bayth gud and fair;
Keip the Reid fra skaith, scho is worth thame baith:
Sa, to be schort, I say no mair.

Finis. Quod R. Semple.

X. Ane Tragedie, in forme of ane Diallog betwix Honour, Gude Fame, and the Authour heirof in a Trance.

In Januar the thre and twentie day,
Befoir midnycht, in Lythquo as I lay,
Tumbling sum tyme on bed abon the clais,
Now heir, now thair, quhylis doun, quhylis up I rais;
Till at the last, in tuinkling of ane Ee,
Schir Morpheus the Mair assailȝeit me,
With all his sluggische Suldarts out of number,
Quhilk led me Captiue vnto Maister Slumber,
Quha softly said: “Gar keip this pure Catiue,
And tak from him his speiche and wittis fiue.”
Than come Dame Dreming, all clad in blak Sabill,

With Sweyning Nymphis in cullouris variabill;
Amangis the quhilkis, befoir me thair appeiris
Ane woundit man, of aucht and threttie ȝeiris,
Paill of the face, baith blaiknit, blude and ble,
Deid eyit, dram lyke, disfigurat was he;
Nakit and bair, schot throw pudding and panche,
Abone the Nauil, and out abone the hanche.
Na word he said, quhairthrow I did misknaw him,
Because in sic ane stait I neuer saw him.
I wes agast, and sa begouth to feir
Bot suddanly with him thair did appeir
Twa graif lyke persounis of greit maiestie,
And with gude countenance thay said to me:
“We ar cum heir to the, o wofull wycht!
To cause the write that thing thou seis this nycht;
For we ar knit, in band maryit togidder,
And to this woundit wycht father and mother;
We him begat within thir twentie ȝeiris,
Thocht deid lyke now he so to the appeiris;
We brocht him vp, as our deir Sone and air,
And he to serue vs na traueil did spair:
Thocht Atropus hes maid his Corps decay,
Ȝit Immortall in heuin his corps dois stay,
And, als Immortall, he sall with vs rest,
And we with him, sa lang as warld may lest.”
“Gude Schir,” quod I, “and ȝe also, Madame,
Be not offendit that I speir ȝour Name,
How thay call ȝow, that talkis sa hamely with me,
And quhat is he that first appeirit vnto me—
That woundit man, quhome ȝe do call ȝour chylde?
Quhat is ȝour Names, lat se how ar ȝe stylde?”
Quod thay: “My Sone, of that we think na schame;
Honour I am, heir with my Spous, Gude Fame:
This woundit chylde of ouris thow may lament,
He was thy Maister ainis, and ȝour Regent.”
“My Maister ainis!” quod I, “ȝit is he so.”

“Nay, nay,” quod thay, “he is with vs ago;
We haif him taine out of that wickit lyfe,
And red him of all miserie and stryfe;
Because ȝe wordlingis ar ane Cursit Clan:
Ȝe war not worthie of this godly man.”
“Allace!” quod I, “deid lyke he dois appeir.”
“Be still,” quod thay, “and to our sayingis heir:
Speid, speid, go to: tak pen, Ink, paper and wryte
As we, Honour and Gude Fame, sall Indyte.

“First thow sall wit, he was sone natural
To James the Fyft, ȝour King and Prince Royal;
Thocht, beand ȝoung, to Kirkis he was promotit,
Ȝit we his hart with Martiall deidis dotit;
For than the Lord sa blissit his affairis,
That furth of Fyfe he chaist his aduersairis,
With help of gentill men and subiectis to him,
The quhilkis war willing all seruice to do him:
Thair we begat him, and maid him our awin,
As he is, was, and sa sall euer be knawin.

“Syne, efter that, he passit into France,
Quhair he did vs, and we did him auance:
Than, hauing leirnit thair sum Frenche langage,
He brocht agane with vs his pucelage.

“Now, to be schort, it war lang to discerne
The godly giftis that this our Sone did lerne;
For as in age he daily did Incres,
In vertew sa grew he and lawlynes:
First he did leirne to lufe God abone all,
And syne his Nichtbour with lufe mutuall:
Trew Faith he leirnit of gude Abraham,
With hoip and cheritie knit to the same:
He leirnit als of Salomon the wisdome,
How with the feir of God to reule ane Kingdome:
Of strang Sampsone he had also the fors
For to resist Gods foes on fute and hors;
Thocht thir tratours, that drest him in this cace,

Durst not present thair force befoir his face:
He had lykewyse the Justice of Iethro,
And als the Chastitie of Scipio:
He had of Dauid the beningnitie,
And of Titus the liberalitie.
Quhat wald thou moir? To tell of all his vertus,
For commoun welthis he did excell Camillus:
Quhen pleisit God to send ȝow Scottis ye treuth,
The same to further at Leith he was not sleuth;
Reforming first his awin with diligence,
In euerie quarter quhair he had puissence;
Than was he stylit Lord James at that tyde,
To quhome ȝour Lordis gaif sum reule and gyde.

“Sone efter that, ȝour Quene ane wedow was,
The quhilk to bring in Scotland he did pas;
In France he went, and brocht that Lady hame
Quha efterwart agane changit his name;
Bot ȝit we maryit him, quhen we thocht gude,
Unto ane Lady of hie kyn and blude:
Than did ȝour Quene make him baith Erle and lord
Of Murray land, to quhilk we did accord;
Sa condiscendit all ȝour Lordis togidder,
That, nixt ȝour Quene, he suld reule abone vther.
Bot than, allace, he did sum thing without vs,
Howbeit that all his lyfetyme he did dout vs:
He did permit ȝour Quene to haif ane Mes,
Throw quhilk at lēth scho grew in greit proudnes;
Sa did the Papistis all, athort this land,
Aganis the Lord his will, law, and command,
That ȝe almaist amangis ȝow wer deuydit,
Wer not be him all wes the better gydit.

“Sa lang in Court as our Sone had the steir,
And that ȝour Quene wald his gude counsail heir,
Sa lang all thing ȝeid weill and wes weill drest,
In quyetnes, peace, policie, and rest:
Nane durst rebell on ather syde of Forth,

Ouir all this cuntrie, Eist, West, South and North.
The hiest of thame all he maid full law,
That did rebell aganis Justice and Law.
Than did ȝour Quene sum tyme with vs abyde;
In France, and Scotland baith, we did her gyde.
Bot at the last, in hir tranquillitie,
Scho did vs all abandoun wantounlie,
And turnit day in nycht, and nycht in day,
All the nycht lang to sport, sing, dance and play;
Till at the last, baith Cupido and Venus
Furth of ye Court gart baneis, chais, and stane vs.
Than come dishonour and Infame, our fais,
And brocht in ane to reule with raggit clais:
Thocht he wes blak and Moriane of hew,
In credite sone and gorgius clais he grew:
Thocht he wes forraine, and borne in Piemont,
Ȝit did he Lords of ancient blude surmont:
He wes to hir baith secreit, trew, and traist,
With her estemit mair nor all the raist.
In yis mene tyme, cam hame yan my lord Darlie,
Of quhais rair bewtie scho did sumpart farlie,
The fairest sycht, scho thocht, that euir scho saw;
Hir bewtie als did him in hir snair draw.
For, to be schort, thay lufit sa togidder,
That thay culd not be hour of day but vther.
At last scho said, and caist in to hir mynde,
‘Quhat, quhat, sall I be thus with Cupide pynde?
That will I not, bot go to my purpois;
Ȝit first I will my mynde to sum disclois:’
Than with gude vult, and visage meik and mylde,
‘Brother,’ (quod scho) scho said vnto our Chylde:
‘Will not ȝe weill that I marie ane man,
Baith of our Surname, kynreid, blude, and clan?
Lo! this is he standing befoir ȝour face,
Lustie, gude lyke, and cum of Royall race;
Him will I marie and nane vther wycht,

Witnes heirof, to him my treuth I plycht
In ȝour presence, desyring ȝow lykewyse
That ȝe be witnes to this Interpryse.’

“Quhat wald thow mair? without all friends cōsent,
This Lord scho maryit quhen they wer absent,
Quha was bot ȝoung, and culd not reull the Ring,
And thay disperst that suld haif done sic thing.
Sa this stranger, and fallow of na kin,
In Thuring borne, and wes ane Menstrells sone,
Begouth to reule, and callit Seinȝeour Dauid,
Be quhome ȝour King and Lords war all dissauid.
It wald be lang on this mater to stand,
Our Sone thay chaist syne efter in Ingland
With sindrie vther Lordis that went vnto him,
The quhilkis wer all of ane opinioun with him.
Be this Dauid ȝour Lordis did this sustene;
Be him ȝour King was lychtlyit with ȝour Quene;
Be him all thing was reulit in the Court;
For him cum all this cummer, stryfe and stourt;
Throw him, in him, be him, ȝour Court was gydit,
Quhill that ȝour King and Lordis culd not abyde it;
The quhilkis schortly in coūsall did cōfidder,
And with ane mynde thay did consent togidder
Dauid to slay, quhair euer thay mycht haif him.
Concluding thus, on nycht thay did persaue him,
At supper tyme, quhair he was in hir Chalmer;
Than come ȝour king and sum Lords with ane glamer,
And reft him from hir in spyte of his nois,
Syne schot him furth quicklie amang his fois,
Quha stickit him, withouttin proces moir;
Bot all this mischeif come sensyne thairfoir.
Howbeit scho was sone closit vp beliue,
Hir Gairdis defendit and hir self Captiue;
Ȝit culd scho not in hart sic thing forȝet,
Bot baid her tyme, quhill scho hir tyme mycht get.

“Than come thir Lords, the nixt morne efter, hame,

And maist humblie our Sone halsit that Dame,
Quha was with Chylde & neir sax monethis gone,
And him forgaif, and maid to him hir mone,
Sayand: ‘Brother, allace, had ȝe bene heir,
I had not cum in all this sturt and steir;
My Secretar is slane in my presence,
Oh, oh, brother, allace, quhat greit offence!’
‘Madame,’ quod he, ‘cair not, that is small tynsall;
He wes our fo, and gaif ȝour grace euill coūsall.’
‘Weill, weill,’ quod scho, ‘at leist, brother, lat se
Gif ȝe can set me at full libertie;
For I am keipit as in Presoun heir,
And na servand of myne dar cum me neir.’

“With hir fair wordis, he sat hir clene at fredome,
By our aduyse, quhilk was bot lytill wysdome;
For to Dunbar that nycht scho raid in haist
Behind ane man in poist, as scho war chaist.
Thair come till her anew of men fra hand,
Quhilks chaist ȝour Lords sone efter in Ingland,
Quhair thay remanit baneist and absent,
Quhill France and Ingland maid thappoyntment.
This, quhen we thocht ilk thing wes weill aggreit,
Ȝit wes ȝour Quenis hart na wayis satisfeit,
Bot with Bothwell scho maid conspiracie,
Seikand the way to cause hir husband die.
Heir we lat pas greit tressounis thay committit,
Quhilks, for schortnes of tyme, we haif omittit.
Bot of ȝour King, schortly for to declair,
Bothwell with pulder blew him in the air
At hir requeist, quhilk is ane thing weill knawin,
As sen syne tauld sum seruands of thair awin;
The quhilk Bothwell, for all his fylthie body,
Maryit he was vnto ane Nobill Lady;
Bot ȝit ȝour Quene, be wrang law falslie forsit,
Maid him and hir from vther be devorsit.

“Than went our Sone schortly in France agane,

Quhair that we thre togidder did remane.
Sa, in our absence, maryit scho Bothwell,
Quha did hir husband kill, as thow hard tell.
Of this ȝour Nobills culd not be content;
With burghis and Cōmounis fordwarts furth thay wēt,
Quhair thay met vther vpon Carberrie hil;
Tuke hir; he fled, and na blude thay did spill.
Than in Lochleuin scho wes put as in waird,
Thocht efterwart scho had ane sleuthfull gaird.
Ȝit did ȝour Lords auyse thame of ane thing,
To crowne hir Sone ȝour Prince and mak him King;
Quhilk act thay did, with his Motheris consent,
Confirmit be the Lords in Parliament;
And than, because he wes ouer ȝoung to gouerne,
Amangis thame selfis wyslie thay did discerne,
For to elect our Sone, in his absence,
Regent to be vnto ȝour ȝoungly Prence:
Than did ȝour Lords send for him to cum hame;
With him come we, baith Honour and Gude Fame.
All burghs and cōmounis, halelie did yai loif him,
Bot sindrie said, that thay wald haif nane of him:
Sa gydit he, ane quhyle, with pacience,
Quhill he mycht to his fais mak resistence.
Bot at the last ȝour Quene wes lattin furth,
Conuoyit away be sum wes lytill gude worth;
And spedelie to Hammiltoun scho went,
Quhair scho fand men anew Incontinent,
The quhilks dispysit vs, Honour and Fame,
Thairfoir all turnit to thair vtter schame.
Our sone and we wer than in Glasgow towne;
To hald the airis in thay parts he was bowne:
Than come scho fordwart, with hir strenth & fors,
Ma than seuin thowsand, quhat on fute and hors;
Ȝea, twa for ane, we think thay wer agane vs:
The towne to leaue, yai thocht than to cōstrane vs:
Bot we the Langsyde hill befoir thame wan,

And, be Gods grace, disconfeist thame: ilk man
We tuke and slew; Scho fled into Ingland,
Quhair scho is ȝit, not at hir awin command.
Our sone cryit out, ‘Lat na mair blude be sched,
Bot tak and saif the rest that now be fled.’
In deid, yat day, yair wes slane, in yat place,
Ma Hammiltounis nor ony vther race.
Howbeit the rest of thame, maist gratiouslie,
He did intreit with pardoun and mercie:
Thay him rewardit with Ingratitude,
And traterously this nycht hes sched his blude.

“Efter this feild our Sone in Ingland went:
We left him not, bot wes with him present.
Than did sum Lords lyft vp yair hornis on hie,
Quhilks did withstand ȝour Kingis authoritie;
Bot he come hame agane or euer thay wist,
And ȝair Rebellioun schortly did resist.
Sone efter him did cum hame my Lord Duke;
For Ciuil weir yan euerie man did luke.
Bot God the Lord brocht all sa weill to pas,
That, without blude, all weill aggreit was;
Except my Lords the Duke and Hereis baith
Wer put in waird, yair wes na vther skaith;
Quhair thay ar ȝit, vnto yis tyme and tyde,
And will be thair quhill sum men get ye gyde.

“Sone efter this to Liddisdaill he went,
Quhairof the theifis, and sic, war not content;
For to thair Chyftanis he maid biggingis bair,
As efterwart thay did repent full sair.
Than come he north schortly, he tuke na rest,
Till all that countrie had componit and drest.
The hiest of thame all, that wald Rebell,
He maid him stoup and als to knaw himsell.
This being done, amang all vther thing,
He maid thame all subscriue vnto the King,
Baith far and neir, of hie and law degree,

Acknawledgeing the Kingis authoritie.
Except Lord Fleming, nane war in this land,
Bot to the Kingis grace had thay geuin thair band.

“Sa hauing stablischt all thing in this sort,
To Liddisdaill agane he did resort;
Throw Ewisdaill, Esdaill and all the Daills raid he,
And also lay thre nychtis in Cannabie,
Quhair na Prince lay thir hundreth ȝeiris befoir:
Na theif durst steir, thay did him feir so soir.
And that thay suld na mair thair thift alledge,
Thre scoir and twelf he brocht of thame in pledge,
Syne wardit yam, quhilk maid ye rest keip ordour;
Than mycht the Rasche bus keip ky on ye bordour.

“Quhen he this thocht till haif bene at his eais,
In come on him the Quene of Inglandis fais,
The quhilks to seik he tuke purpois fra hand;
Without delay he gat Northumberland;
He socht him so, and fand him at the last,
And pat him in Lochleuin, quhair he is fast.

“Than went he suddanly to Dunbartane,
In snaw, sleit, drift, wind, froist, hailstanis & rane.
In deid, lyke snaw, thair words wer soft and fair,
Lyke sleit, quhylis scharp, with promysis maist bair;
Lyke drift also thay did driue of the tyme,
Til ane fals tratour suld commit this cryme.
Lyke as the froist dois freis vp all fresche watter,
Thay freisit him in Stirling on this mater.
Windie it was, and windie was the sessoun;
As is ye Frēche Prouerb, ‘grand vant, grād tressoun.’
With scharp hailstanis thay schot him traterouslie;
Lyke rane in greit wind, syne fled suddanlie:
Sa may we weill the tyme to deid compair,
For all wes trublit, baith se, land, and air.

“On Sonday than, the quhilk wes ȝisterday,
Vnto this towne he come, soupit, and lay,
Dynit this day, and, just at aleuin houris,

Thair wes ane knaif of his Conspiratouris—
Ane Hammiltoun, within the bischoppis stair,
Quhilk schot him, as thow seis, withouttin mair;
Syne at the bak ȝet suddanlie he fled;
Sum saw him weill, and followit his hors tred;
Quhilk hors was knawin belāging to Lord Johne,
Quha with the rest this act maid to be done.
Bot to our Sone we keipit cumpanie,
Quhilk in our armes within this hour did die.
Than deit with him all vertus Cardinall,
Than deit with him Justice Imperiall:
For in his tyme Gods word was trewly preichit,
And in his tyme Collegis rychtlie teichit.
Not only lufit he vprychteousnes,
Bot als he hatit vice and vitiousnes:
Not only did he lufe God, and him ken,
Bot als he hatit all vngodly men.
To sessioun als, ilk day he went to se
Gif Justice wes thair Ministrate trewlie.
The riche and pure, he did alyke regaird,
Puneist the euill and did the gude rewaird.
He wald not lat the Papists cause ga bak,
Gif it wer Just, bot wald be for him frak:
He wald not thoill the proud oppres the pure,
Sa far as he had regiment and cure:
He did disdane pryde and ambitioun:
He lufit men meik of Conditioun:
He did disdane all foull and fylthie word,
In ony sort, outher in eirnist or bourd:
Maist diligent he wes to ryn athort
To gif the wedow and fatherles confort:
Maist diligent to heir the pure mānis bill,
And gif answer according to Gods will.
Sober he wes in meit, in drink, and claithis,
He wald not thoill blaspheming, nor na aithis;
Reddy to heir quhen ony man spak to him,

Mistraisting not yat ony wald vndo him.
Peace and concord ouer all for to mantene:
The pure durst leif yair bestiall on the grene.
For slauchter mercy wald he neuer grant;
Baith murtheraris, theifis, and Witches he did dant.
For to be schort, lay all ȝour heidis togidder,
Gif ȝe can find amang ȝow sic ane vther.”

“Get vp,” quod thay, “it is almaist midnycht;”
With yat, all thre, thay went out of my sycht.

Because ane man wes knoking at the ȝet,
Quhair I did ly, and had myself forȝet,
Sa rais I vp, all clad in bute and spur:
“Quhais yat,” quod I, “yat knokis at the dur?”
“I, ȝour gude freind and nychtbour,” answerit he;
“Gar oppin the ȝet, gude brother, now lat se.”
“Brother,” quod I, “how dois my Lord, I pray ȝow?”
“Departit, oh!” quod he, “and deid, I say ȝow.”
“Allace!” quod I, “I find my Dreme ouer trew,
And that, full sair, all Scotland sone will rew.”
Than to the palice went I and ȝeid in;
Thair weiping vocis hard I making din.
Within the chalmer I went quhair he departit,
Quhilk sycht to se, God wait, maid me sair hartit.
Than come I furthe agane, and saw my Lady,
Quhais horsis at the foir ȝet wer alreddy.
To Edinburgh scho went with hart full soir.
Reuenge his deith, ȝe Lords! I say na moir.

Epitaphe.

Heir lyis the Corps, gude pepill, of a Prince,
Quhois Saule in heuin with God is glorifeit:
James Regent was murdreist without offence
Be ane false tratour, sa knawin and notifeit,

108

XIII. The Deploratioun of the Cruell Murther of Iames Erle of Murray, vmquhile Regent of Scotland, togidder with ane admonitioun to the Hammiltounis committaris thairof, and to all thair Fortifearis, Mantenaris, or assistance, with ane Exhortatioun to the Lordis and Nobilitie, keiparis and defendaris of our Kingis Grace Maiestie.

Quhile as with flesche and blude we go about,
The wondrous warkis of God for to discriue,
Pans quhil we pleis, we sal not find yame out,
Bot sall Judge God aganis all ressoun striue,
Quhen as he tholis proude Pelours to depriue
The lyuis from sic as halelie wes his,
Be cruell murther thame reuthles for to riue?
The flesche of man can neuer considder this.

109

Bot quha that wald the mater vnderstand,
He man luke lawer, and enter in the Spreit,
And than he sall persaif the cause fra hand,
That God wirks na thing bot as a Judge discreit.
Quhen as the pepill with sinnis ar repleit
Without remors, as thay ar at thir houris,
Than, to that end his plages he may compleit,
He takis from thame thair godly Gouernouris.

And this he vsis mony sindrie sortis,
Sumtyme be seiknes in to thair beddis to de,
Sum slaine by tratouris bot not for thair confortis,
Bot to that end thay suld distroyit be,
And rutit furth clene out of memorie.
He tholis sic wickit, proude Conspiratouris
To execute thair lurking traytorie,
And bring to deith thair godly Gouernouris.

1. Jo. 3.

We se also the wickit of the warld
Still beir the godly at deidly Indignatioun;
Sum tyme be tratouris ar Innocentis ouerharld,
And, thocht trew men, haif heir bot tribulatioun.
We suld not haif sic thingis in admiratioun,
As gif it wer ane new thing chansit of man,
For sa it wes euin from the first Creatioun,
And still hes bene sen that this warld began.

This mortall feid, this haitrent and Inuie,
Did first begin, as Gods awin buke dois tell,

Gen. 4.

As in the Genesis we may plainly spie,
Betuix twa brether, Cain and Abell.
Cain aganis his brother did Rebell,
And susseit not to sched his saikles blude;
And for this cause, I pray ȝow mark it well,
His warkis war euill, and faithfull Abells gude.

110

And of thir twa this haill warld did discend,
Quhilk neuer can amangis thame selfis aggrie,
Bot baith thair Ofspringis may be cleirly kend,
Curst Cains Clan be thair Impietie,
And Abells seid for richt and equitie.
And thus all murtherars ar discendit doun
Of curst Cain and his posteritie,
As is the tyrane and tratour Hammiltoun.

For, luke how Justice was the verray cause
To curst Cain his brother for to kill;
Sa is it ȝit, but dout, th[e] only clause
That moues the wickit vnto thair Raging still.
Thay gloir na thing, bot euer in to Ill,
And makis thame euer but mercy to maligne;
And, quhen thay may thair wickit wayis fulfill,
Thay will not thole ane godly man to Rigne.

The Probatioun heirof.

To preif this part I plainly mycht propone
Exemples seir, maist Notabill and trew;
Bot for thame all I will bot vse heir one
Of our deir Maister and Sauiour, Christ Jesew,
In quhome na spot of sin it neuer grew,
Ȝit nocht theles the Bischoppis micht not byde him,
Quhill on a Croce on lenth and breid him drew,
And hangit vp for spyte twa theuis besyde him.

For to mak mentioun of the marterdome
Of Gods Prophets, it wer sum thing to lang;
And for to reckin the reuthles Rage of Rome,
Quhair sindrie godly thay dulefully doun dang,

111

It were prolixt; thairfoir I let thir gang,
And to my purpois, but proces mair, proceid,
How wickit men delytis ay in to wrang,
And may not suffer to haif ane godly heid.

Sen sa it wes that Christ, baith God and man,
With his Apostills and Prophets gat na rest,
Bot euer hatit be Cain and his clan,
As Gods trew word dois mak it manifest,
We suld not grudge howbeit we be opprest,
As wes our Maister and brethrene vs beforne,
Bot be assurit it will cum for the best,
And better to thame that thay had neuer bene borne.

I mene not heir that thay suld pas vnpunissit
For thair trespas, nor neuer sic thing thocht:
For than suld Justice and lufe be clene diminissit,
Gif thay war spairit this wickit wark hes wrocht,
That our gude gyde to bailfull beir hes brocht.
Lat vs assemble thairfoir with curage stout,
And lat thay tratouris out throw this land be socht,
And neuer leif thame till thay be ruitit out.

Ane Admonitioun to all the Hammiltoūis and thair assistaris, counsallaris, and pertakeris of this maist vile and abhominabill Murther.

O Teinfull tratouris! quhy did ȝe him deuoir
Maist schamefullie, that puneist euerie vice,
Quha wes the cheif mantenar of Gods gloir
In to this Realme, and lufit all Justice?
Ȝour bailfull blude can neuer pay the price
Of his deir deith, wrocht be ȝour wickitnes,

112

Wa worth ȝow Uillanis that slew that Prince maist wise
For na cause ellis bot for his rychteousnes!

For sen ȝe first in to this Realme began,
Ȝe wer ay callit for ȝour tyrannie
Strypis of the Schyre, the maist vnworthie clan
That euer wes bred, or sene in this countrie,
As schawis weill be ȝour Genalogie:
For thift and murther, reif and oppressiounis,
With Guldis and Rukis blasit equallie,
Is the auld armes of the Hammiltounis.

And quha wald seik ane man but conscience,
Ane Renegat for to deny his Creid,
To tak ane pure man vnder his credence,
Syne cut his throt and toung out of his heid;
To put ane hundreth for to beg thair breid,
And bring Just men vnto confusioun;
To do ane horrible and ane vnworthie deid?
Seik neuer farther than ane Hammiltoun.

Ane midding tuilȝour but manheid at assay;
Ane vailȝeand tyrane, ane febill Campioun,
Ane wyfe with Childe that manfully can slay;
Ane noysum nychtbour proude in oppressioun;
Ane teinfull tratour of rycht successioun,
To Crucifie Christ that compts not a feg;
I say to ȝow for schort conclusioun:
Come neuer a gude byrde of the Deuillis eg.

How horriblie ȝe spulȝeit vnder nycht
In his awin hous, maist schamefull for till heir,
Ane Nobill Lord, James, of Torphichen Knycht,
He can declair gif ony man lyst speir.
Ȝe left him nocht ane Malȝe nor Deneir,
Syne, vnder truste, neir schot him and his wyfe,

113

And Tymothie wes in ane felloun feir,
Bot, prasit be God, they chaipit with thair lyfe.

Our Kingis Grādschir at Lighquo feild ȝe slew;
Baneist his Gudschir from his kynde heritage;
His Fatheris murther also ȝe cleirly knew,
Myschantly hangit, ane wickit vassalage.
Thir are ȝour warks euin fra ȝour first barnage,
God wait gif ȝe be Jaips to hald in stoir,
Or bony byrdis to keip in to ane Cage:
Christ keip our King out of ȝour handis heirfoir!

Ȝe slew our Regent because his warks wer gude,
Quha wes the Lampe of lycht in to this land:
As houngrie tykis ȝe thristit for his blude,

Nu. 35.

That sauit ȝow quhen ȝe wer in his hand,

Gal. 5.

Quhen ȝe culd not resist his forcie wand;

Joa. 3.

Ane suithfast sentence heirfoir I sall ȝow tell,

Gen. 9.

Pronuncit be God, I lat ȝou vnderstand:

Apo. 23.

All Murtherars thay sall Inhereit hell.

Ane admonitioun to the assistaris, counsallaris, by lyaris, and Reioysaris in this maist detestabill murther.

Nocht only thay, bot all that sic assistis,
Or fortefeis, or ony wayis manteins,
Incurris his Curse: now luke Gods buik quha listis,
For it is not mans Judgement sa yat deims.
And quha that this seir sentence small esteims,
The tyme sall cum that he sall weip and murne,
Quhen hiddeous Hell, with greuous glowād gleims,
Baith body and Saule for euer mair sall burne.

114

Moirouer, all thay of that Genalogie,
And of that Surname, we mak thame Intimatioun,
Thay salbe repute of this foule cryme gyltie,
Quha nocht compeiris to mak Purgatioun;
Farther, all thay geuis consultatioun,
Or thame assistis in to this fylthie fact,
And not compeiris to our Conuentioun:
Thay salbe haldin pertakeris of this act.

Be war, heirfoir, and be effrayit of this:
Lat sic tryit tratouris defend thair awin curst cause;
Tyne not ȝour landis and als the heuinis blis,
Bot be obeysant to God and mans Lawis;
And be not flatterit with thair vaine wordis & sawis,
For thay can not of this foule fact be clengit.
Thocht mā wald wink, ȝit God, yat all thing knawis,
He will not leif this vile wark vnreuengit.

The Exhortatioun to the Lordis and Nobilitie persewaris of this cruell Murther, and defendaris of our King.

Psal. 5.

God sayis, my Lords, he will be aduersair
To bludy boucheris that stand of him na feir.
My Lords, thir wordis suld curage ȝow far mair
Nor the haill help of man baith far and neir.
Fall to, heirfoir, with blyith and mirrie cheir.
We ar anew, thairfoir heis vp ȝour hartis,
And fordwarts marche, sa sall we se and heir
Quhat lurkand lubers will tak thir Lymmers parts.

Thay fylde the feilds befoir quhē first yai faucht,
Quhair we for ane, thay wer in number thre;
We trowit from thence thay suld haif sittin saucht,
And suld haif tyrit of all thair tyrannie.

115

Bot now, allace! the contrare we may se:
Our vaine pietie hes maid vs this fals traine.
Gods Curse thairfoir lycht on thame all for me,
That outher hes pietie or reuth on thame againe.

Gif ȝe do nocht Reuenge this fylthie fact,
Ȝe will be schamit, ȝe may weill vnderstand;
And will be namit ane fals and febill pack,
That euer regned in ony Realme or land.
With curage, heirfoir, now be the baner stand,
And wyn for euer honour and Renoun:
Do ȝe not this ȝe ar ane bailfull band,
And seruis nocht ells bot Goddis malesoun.

For Gods Curse, his vengance, and maledictioū,
Sall neuer from ȝou, nor fra ȝour seid depart;
Ȝe sall sustene maist sorrowfull afflictioun,
That euer tholde men in ony land or airt.
Sic hauie harme sall happin to ȝour hart.
Gif this foule murther with silence be ouer past,
Thir same tratouris sall mak ȝour selfis to smart,
And salbe ȝour distructioun at the last.

And gif sa hapnis, ȝe may rycht weill considder,
This plaigue maist Justly of Gods hands ȝe craif.
Far better it is thairfoir to ryse togidder,
For to reuenge the Murther with the laif,
Nor Gods seir wraith abone ȝour heidis to haif,
For the ouerseing of sic a fylthie cryme;
For Gods plaigues approchis, I persaif,
Gif ȝe defer schort quhyle and suffer tyme.

Fall to thame fraklie, to fecht thay haif na faces;
Persew thame peirtly and ȝe sall se thame fle;
Rune is thair glas, and gone now is thair graces,
In to respect of this foule tratorie.

100

XII. The Regentis Tragedie ending with ane exhortatioun.

Iames, Earle of Murray, Regent of Renoun,
Now lyis deid and dulefullie put doun,
Murdreist but mercy, murnand for remeid,
Quha lost his lyfe in Lythquo with ane loun
(Giltles, God wait, betraist in to that toun,
Slane with ane schot, and saikles put to deid;)
Feit be our fais throw fellonie and feid;
Hangman to Hary, now Burrio to hir brother:
Weill may this murther manifest the tother!

Quhat leid in lyfe wald nocht lament his lose?
Wais me to want him! is the commoun voce:
For sic ane Prince sall neuer pure man haif,
Tint be ane Tratour steilling vp ane close,

101

Possest in purpois, lyfe for lyfe to cose,
Bot na compair, ane Kings Sone to ane knaif.
Sen he is gone agane my will to graif,
Throw all this Realme I dar weill mak this ruse:
Rang nocht his maik sen buryit was the Bruse.

To keip gude reule he raid, and tuke na rest,
Baith South and North, and sumtyme eist & west,
All to decoir our commoun weill, ȝe knaw.
Be quhome, lat se, wes Pirats sa opprest?
Or ȝit the theiffis sa dantonit, dung, and drest?
Argyle and Huntlie hid thame baith for aw;
And, quhen he mycht, he myst nocht in the Law
Twyse on the day, and sleipit nocht in sleuth,
To se na buddis suld beir thame by the treuth.

Of this foule fact suppois our fais be fane,
Ȝit efter Moysis Josua come agane
To gyde the pepill, geuand the gloir to God.
Suld thay succeid that hes him saikles slane?
Be war with that, I wald ȝe war not vane
To haif ȝour waik anis wirryit with the tod:
Think ȝe with ressoun thay suld reule the rod,
With double murther maid vs all ado,
And with our King wald play Cowsauly to?

Pray, gif ȝe pleis, I warne ȝow ȝe haif neid
To keip our King fra cankrit Kedȝochis seid,
That daylie wayis Inuentis to put him doun;
His Grandschir slane at Lythquo gif I leid;
His gudschir thryse hes left this land in deid;
Hary at midnycht murdreist in this toun;
His Cousing last, and ȝit thay clame the Crown:
Blynd Jok may ges gif thir be godly deidis:
Brunt be ȝone Bischop in quhome this barret breidis!

102

Cut of that Papist, Prothogall of partis,
That with his lesingis all the laif peruertis;
Syne Joyne ȝour forces to the feildis but feir,
Because ȝe tak ȝour stoutnes all in startis.
To Hammiltoun in haist quhill ȝe haif hartis;
Deuyse sum way to pay ȝour men of weir,
Fra he be gane ȝe neid nocht gather geir:
Fecht weill and war yame and wyn the ryches yair,
And gif ȝe de, in deid ȝe neid na mair.

Curst be ȝe baith, bischop and Bothwell-hauch!
For this foule deid ȝour seid man rak ane sauch;
Gif ȝe twa want the widdie now thay wrang ȝow;
Lythquo, lament, ȝour burges may luke bauch,
In beir seid tyme ȝour burrow rudis ly fauch
Cause of this murther laitly maid amang ȝow;
Or, gif I trowit it helpit ocht to hang ȝow,
Sa suld ȝe die; and syne ȝour towne in fyre,
Sum part for sythment to asswage our Ire.

Ouer thir twa housis, for thair deids inding,
The hand of God dois ouer thair heidis hing
Thame to distroy; I dout not, in our dayis,
Hepburnis will wraik for wyrrying of the King.
Bot Hammiltounis! fy! this was ane foular thing.
Is this ȝour ferme Religioun? ȝais? ȝais?
Sic tyme sall cum, I trow, as Thomas sayis:
Hirdmen sall hunt ȝow vpthrow Garranis gyll,
Castand thair Patlis, and lat the pleuch stand still.

Apperandly thir plaigis ar powrit out
To wraik this warld, and wait ȝe quhair about?
Because we want na vice vnder the heuin;
Sen double murther markis to reule the rout,
With Niniueitis lat vs ga cry and schout,
For to retreit ȝone sentence Justly geuin:

103

Ȝit thow, gude Lord, that Judgis all thingis euin,
Seand the perrell that ouer the pepill standis,
Lat nocht thair blude be socht at saikles handis.

Now Lordis & Lairdis assemblit in this place,
Ouer lang we talk of Tragedeis, allace!
Away with cair, with confort now conclude;
As gude in paper as speik it in ȝour face:
Gif murtherars for geir get ony grace,
Ȝe will be schent: think on, I say, for gude;
Sen art and part ar gyltie of his blude,
Quhy suld ȝe feir or fauour thame for fleiching?
Ȝe hard ȝour self quhat Knox spak at the preiching.

First on the feildis mak schortly to, lat se,
We want bot ane, and quhat the war ar we,
Sen God wes pleist to pas him out of pyne?
All men on mold ar markit for to de,
With tyme and place appointit: sa wes he.
Lat nocht in cair ȝour curages declyne,
For want of ane I wald nocht all suld tyne.
Gar reid at Roxburgh quhen the King was slane,
And ȝit ane woman wan the hous agane.

Sen than be wemen douchtie deidis were done,
Barronis, be blyith, and hald ȝour hartis abone,
And lat vs heir quhairfoir ȝe hapnit hidder:
Thay ar na partie and ȝe speid ȝow sone.
Albeit that Boyd be daylie in Denone,
Lang or Argyle be gadderit in togidder.
Quhen all is done, the counsall may considder
Quhat is the maist ȝone murtheraris may do,
Suppois that Huntlie wald cum help thame to.

Had we ane heid wald stoutly vndertak it,
The Barronis sayis thay suld be bauldly bakit,

104

Mycht thay for tyritnes trauell of thir tounis:
Quhy stand ȝe aw of Tratouris twyse detractit?
Think ȝe not schame to heir ȝour Lordschipis lakit?
Sū feiris yair flesche, sum grenis to gadder crounis,
Sū happis yair heidis, sū beltis yame vp in gounis.
Luke gif ȝour partie prydis yame in thair spurring,
Keipand the feildis, and fryis not in thair furring.

Wa worth the wyfis that fostred ȝow and fed!
Ȝe dow not ly vnles ȝe haif ane bed;
Keip ȝow fra cauld, haif claith within ȝour scho:
I think greit ferly how ȝe can be red,
Or fray at thame that last befoir ȝow fled
Wantand thair Quene, syne God agane thame to.
Quhy ly ȝe heir with lytill thing ado?
The Barronis biddis ȝow schortly byde or gang:
Curage decayis fra Scottis men tarie lang.

Haue Lyounis lukis, and than mak me ane lear;
Be Hanniballis, and heis ȝour hartis sum hear;
Bot keip not Capua quhil ȝone Knaifis incluse ȝow:
He neidis not work that hes ane gude ouersear.
Nane neid ȝe fetch, swa that ȝour hairtis war frear,
Bot, be my saule, my self culd neuer ruse ȝow:
I knaw weill for this cryme Christ sall accuse ȝow;
For spairing Agag Saull was puneist sair,
Swa sall he ȝow, I dar nocht say na mair.

The Lord of Hostes that heuin' & eirth cōmandis,
To keip our King from all vnhappy handis,
The Quene of Ingland and her Counsall to.
Ȝe feir the Frenchemen suld ouerlay thir landis,
Bot I heir say be sum that vnderstandis,
The Doctouris doutis bot thay haif mair ado:

105

Our Quene is keipit straitly, thair standis scho:
Ingland will help ȝow and ȝe help ȝour sellis,
And, be the contrair, craif thame nathing ellis.

This fair ȝe weill: I flait not to offend ȝow
In sempill veirs, this Schedull that I send ȝow;
Beseikand ȝow to schort it gif ȝe may.
Steill ȝe away, the wyfis will vilipend ȝow,
And, gif ȝe byde, the burrowis will cōmend ȝow.
Best wer, I think, mycht we preuene ȝone day.
Thair Semblie beis on Sonday, I heir say,
In Glasgow towne, thinkand to fecht or fle:
It lukis weill, thair, ȝe get na mair of me.

Finis.

The Tragedeis Lenuoy.

As men recordis, in deid, my Lordis,
I schrink not for to schaw;
Suppois ȝe crak, ȝe ly abak,
And lybellis be the Law.
Ȝe mak not to, as men suld do,
I trow ȝe stand sum aw:
Suppois ȝe hecht, to se ȝow fecht
That day will neuer daw.

Is na remeid, fra he be deid;
Na man to seik ane mendis?
Or quha is heir dar brek ane speir
Vpon ȝone lymmeris lendis?
Ȝe dar not mum quhill Saidlar cum

106

To se quhat Ingland sendis;
Thinkand to sayit, and ay delayit,
And swa the mater endis.

With sychis, and sobbis, and beltit robbis,
Ȝe counterfite the dule:
Quhat douchtie deidis to weir sic wedis,
Except it wer ane fule!
Mak of the towne, and cow thame downe,
Now or ȝour curage cule:
For Maddie sayis, byde ȝe aucht dayis,
Ȝe be not thair quhill Ȝule.

Is this the thing? quha gydis the King?
Ȝe can not all aggre:
Now fy for schame! feche Leuenox hame,
Ȝe haif nane narer nor he.
Gif he want grace to gyde that place,
Cheis outher twa or thre:
Than war I fane, bot all in vane,
To wis and will nocht be.

And sum thair bene waittis on the Quene,
Bot gaip ay quhill thay get hir:
And war scho heir, I tak na feir,
The Feynd aby we set hir.
For we ar now als stark, I trow,
As farnȝer quhen we met hir;
Quhen all is done thay start ouer sone
To boist and not the better.

I think it best ȝe tak na rest,
Gif ȝe durst vnder tak it;
And we be trew, we ar anew,

107

Ȝe salbe bauldly bakit.
Bot sen I se it will nocht be
That meter will nocht mak it,
The Feynd mak cair, I say na mair:
I rew that euer I spak it.

Finis.

Quod Robert Sempill.

Imprentit at Edinburgh be Robert Lekpreuik Anno Do. 1570.

122

XV. The Exhortatioun to all plesand thingis quhairin man can haif delyte to withvraw thair plesure from mankynde, and to deploir the Cruell Murther of vmquhile my Lord Regentis Grace.

Be Montaines, murne; ȝe valayis, vepe;
Ȝe clouds and Firmament;
Ȝe fluids, dry vp; ȝe seyis so depe,
Deploir our lait Regent!
Ȝe greinis, grow gray; ȝe gowanis, dune;
Ȝe hard rocks, ryue for sorrow;
Ȝe Mariguildis, forbid the sune
To oppin ȝow euerie morrow!

Thow Lauand, lurk; thow time, be tint;
Thow Margelene, swaif;
Thow Camomylde, ȝe balme and Mint,
Ȝour fragrant odouris laif!
Ȝe Baselik and Ionet flouris,
Ȝe Gerofleis so sweit,
And Violatis, hap ȝow with schouris
Of hailstaines, snaw, and sleit!

123

Thow grene Roismary, hyde thy heid;
Schaw not thy fair blew blūmis;
In signe of dule lat na grene blaid
On Lawraine grow, or brwmis!
Ȝe fruitfull treis, produce na frute;
And ȝe fair Rois treis, widder;
In earth, ȝe sweit flouris, tak na rute,
But wallow altogidder!

Cum, Nettillis, thornie breiris, & rew,
With all foull filthie weid,
Now plant ȝow quhair thir sweit flouris grew,
And place ȝow in their steid!
Ȝe plesant byrdis, lat be ȝour sang,
Ȝour mirth in murning turne,
And tak the Turtill ȝow amang
To leirne ȝow how to murne!

Thow luifsum Lark & gay Goldspink,
Thow mirthfull Nychtingaill,
Lat be ȝour heuinly noitis, and think
His deith for to beuaill!
Ȝe plesand Paun and Papingaw,
Cast of ȝour blyithlyke cullour,
And tak the feddrum of the Craw,
In signe of wo and dolour!

Now burne thy self, O Phenix fair!
Not to reuiue againe,
That we may him to the compair,
Quhais lyke dois not remaine.
Thow Pelican, prepair thy beik,
And grind it scharpe and lang,
To peirs our breistis, that we may seik
How to reuenge this wrang!

124

All birdis and beistis, all hillis and holtis,
All greinis and plesand treis,
All Lambis & Kiddis, all Caluis & Colts,
Absent ȝow from mens eyis!
Ȝe gleds and howlets, rauins and rukis,
Ȝe Crawis and Corbeis blak;
Thair gutts mot be among ȝour cluikis,
That did this bludy fact!

Ȝe Instruments of euerie sort,
That gaif to mankynde plesure,
Now turne ȝour melodie and sport
In murning and displesure!
Ȝe Sone and Mone and Planetis seuin,
Ȝe glystring starris bricht,
All ȝe Celestiall hoste of heuin,
Absconce ȝow from mens sicht!

Ȝe ȝeiris and monethis, dayis & houris,
Ȝour naturall course withdraw,
In Somer tyme be wynter schouris,
Sleit, hailstaines, frost, and snaw!
For why sum men dois trauell now
To turne all vpsyde downe,
And als to seik the maner how
To reif the King his Crowne.

We had ane Prince of gude Renoun
That Justice did desyre;
Aganis quhome the Hammiltoun
Did traterously conspyre.
Quha schot him of the Bischoppis stair
In Lythgow thair Londoun,
To bruik this byworde euer mair,
Fy, Tratour Hammiltoun!

125

Sen Christ hes tane him to his fader,
This is the best remeid,
That ȝe trew Lordis togidder gadder
For to reuenge his deid.
Sen thay haue wrocht sic thing agane vs,
Traist weill thay cair not neist
To kill the King, for quhy Cardanus
The Feind pat in the preist.

France hes na rest, yat is na bourdis,
Thocht sum seis not ane styme,
How France dois feide thame with fair wordis
For to dryue of the tyme.
The Frenche men sayis, “adueis le fein,”
Quhilk is as muche to say,
Quhen euer thay bring hame the Quene,
Thay sall repent that day.

Ye Lords, that now this draucht hes drawin,
Suppois ȝe haue left Rome,
Ȝit wald ȝe that ȝour Names war knawin
Athort all Cristindome.
Sa Nero did, bot not for gude,
Quha brunt Rome to considder
Quhat fyre it was, syne sched the blude
Of his Maister and mother.

Sa was he spokin of for sic thing,
We think, as ȝe wald be,
That sweir oft to manteine the King
And his authoritie.
Ȝe did him also King proclame,
And haldis of him offices;
Pensionis ȝe hald als in Name,
With teinds and benifices.

126

Now wald ȝe change and chaisson yat,
And bring on deidly feidis,
Ȝe worke maist lyke ȝe wat not quhat
With your Politick heidis.
Now wyselie wirke, be not dissauid,
For, and scho get hir will,
Scho will Reuenge the deith of Dauid,
Carbarrie, and Langsyde hill.

Ȝe Lordis, that now sa faine wald haif
Vp hir authoritie,
Can not yow clenge mair nor the laif
Of sum pointis of thir thre?
Heirfoir gif ȝe sa faine wald haue hir
To fulfill your affeckis,
Gif ye may get hir, than ressaif hir
With raipis about your neckis.

Byde ye in Burgh quhill Michaelmes,
Your money will growe skant;
Heir foir my counsell is expres,
That to your wyfis ye hant.
For quhy it is ane wyfis quarrell
Ye wald sa faine set furth,
As now ye may heir Maddie tell,
It is bot lytil gude worth.

As ye haif browne, now drink ye that;
Ye se how all is cum:
For had I witten that I wait,
Allace! is Scotts wisdume.
Now best it war to leif sic thing,
Lest strangers cum and wrang vs.
Ane God, ane faith, ane Law, ane King,
Let vs obserue amang vs.

127

And, to conclude, I mak ane end,
Praying our God of micht
To saif our King and him defend
In his vndoutit richt;
With all trew Subiectis in thir partis
Of his authoritie
Beseiking God to ioyne the heartis
Of our Nobilitie.

FINIS.

Imprentit at Edinburgh be Robert Lekpreuik. Anno Do. 1570.

128

XVI. The Cruikit liedis the blinde.

This warld it waggis I wat not how,
And na man may ane vther trow,
And euerie man dois pluke and pow,
And that the pure may finde:
Our Court it is decayit now:
The cruikit leidis the blinde.

Althocht the warldlie wise be cruikit,
This commoun weill he hes miscuikit,
Our Lordis ar blinde and dois ouerluik it:
He gydes thame as he list.
Tak thay not tent he will not huik it,
To gyde thame in the mist.

He halds our Lords at variance,
He garris the tane put esperance
Thay will get daylie help of France;
This he garris thame confide:
Sayis Ingland will bring mony Lance
Vnto the vther side.

129

Our Lords ar now delt in twa sydis,
And euerie faction in him confydis:
Ȝe will heir tell how he thame gydis,
And ȝe leif ȝeiris few:
Sen he hes maid sa mony slydis
Trow ȝe he can be trew?

Fra he in Court in credite grew
He did ay change the Court anew,
The Quene his doingis sair did rew,
And richt sa did hir Mother:
The counsall kennis gif he was trew
To him that was hir Brother.

In Edinburgh quhen thay conuene,
Our Lords to him thay gang bedene;
As he was outher King or Quene
He hes thame at his bidding:
His craftie counsall will be sene,
Quhē Doggs barkis on ye midding.

Albeit he haif the Feuer quartane,
He suld be made Knycht of the Gartane;
He rewlis Edinburgh and Dunbartane,
As Maddie dois me tell:
Gif he war Pape, I am richt certane,
He wald reule heuin and hell.

Gif he gar Athol do sic schame,
As to consent to bring hir hame,
And gif the gyding to Madame,
They will put downe the King:
The Crowne will alter fra that Name,
Than murderars may sing.

He hes gart Hume begin to tyre,
Althocht that he gat his desyre;

130

Bot he will leid him in the myre
Thocht he hecht to defend him:
And Ingland set his lands in fyre
I wat not quha will mend him.

Als he gat Setoun out of hands,
From forfalting he sauit his lands,
Thocht he be lyand vnder bands
He will not knaw the King:
Sen ȝe ken how the mater stands,
Suld he haif leif to fling?

Our richt Regent, quha was our targe,
Laid sindrie things vnto his charge,
The quhilk in deid war verray large,
As is kend with anew:
Ȝe haif geuin him ane plane discharge,
And sayis it was not trew.

I wat ȝe saw neuer ane styme,
And wantit baith ressoun and ryme,
Quhen ȝe forgaif him all his cryme,
And maid his oddis euin:
Thocht he be fristit at this tyme,
He will not be forgeuin.

I pray ȝow, Lordis, on ather syde,
That ȝe his sawis do not confyde,
For I will sweir ȝow be Sanct Bryde,
He susseis not thre strais
Quha suld be rewlar nor our gyde,
May he bruke that he hais.

All thir maters he dois bot mock;
He hes deuysit mony sic block;

131

He can begyle ane Landwart Jock,
Except he ken him weill;
Thay say he can baith quhissill and cloik,
And his mouth full of meill.

My Lordis, quhat is this that ȝe mene?
I thinke the holkis ouergangis ȝour ene;
I wald sum man wald scheir ȝow clene,
That ȝe micht se thir faultis,
And be not blinde as ȝe haif bene,
Nor led with thame that haultis.

Imprentit at Edinburgh be Robert Lekpreuik. Anno Do. 1570.

Finis.

132

XVII. The Poysonit Schot.

Gif wicked vice first sen the world began
Had age be age, but punishment, Increst,
In eirth lang syne yair had been nothing than,
Saif only vice and malice manifest;
Bot to thir dayis sic meanis God ay drest,
Aganis vice that vertew ay hes streuin:
Thocht ather vther be tyme hes oft opprest,
Last Justice Judge bure ay the ballance euin.

Sa of his plesure it plesit him prouyde
Us to exerce as ship vnder the saill,
Sum tyme in storme, sum tyme in temperate tyde,
To let vs knaw this warld is but fraill;
Betuix gude and euill markand our trauaill,
In euills flude not menand our nawfrage,
Princes be Justice he ordanit, in this vaill,
Us to conduct as Pilats dois their Barge.

133

And sa we se, in Storeis as we reid,
Ay to thir dayis sum Magistrates did ring:
Sum gude, some euill, be tyme as did succeid,
At quhais plesure vertew did fade or spring.
The gude did vertew, the wicked vice vpbring;
Quhat plesis them, the same the pepill suittis;
And sa we se the maners of the King
Is ay the mark quhairat his subiectis shuittis.

This part to preif be yair particular liues,
It war to lang in vulgare veirs expres it
At lenth, the same sen Cronickles discriues,
And als experience will cause vs to confes it.
And, last of all, how wicked vice Incresit
Amang our selues throw Mareis negligence,
And how the same began to be suppressit,
Be Murrayis meane, we haif experience.

Quhat vice rais vp, reuolue into ȝour minds;
Quhat sin, quhat shame in hir last dayis did reil,
That prudent Prince, gif yat he tuik sum pynis
That mys to mend, I hope ȝe haif ane feill.
Gif ocht he socht except ane commoun weill,
The gloir of God, and Kingis obedience,
And in that cause maid Justice ay his sheild:
I seik na Judge but ȝour awin conscience.

His awin estate he cairit ay to knaw;
For pompe nor pryde can na man say he preist.
Societie he socht and keipit curage law,
Thinkand alwayis that mesure was ane feist;
His peple luifit, and cairit for the leist;
For profite panst not nor his commoditie;
In trouble trauellit; his cūmer neuer ceist—
Ay to his wraik and our vtilitie.

134

Thus be his prudence vertew was erectit;
In him the pure oppressed had releif;
Throw him Idolatrie and vice was eiectit;
Throw him Godis Kirk and peple fand releif;
Throw him wes vinqueist the veildars of yis greif;
Throw him yis realme fand sū stabilitie;
Throw him was baneist thift, murther, & reif;
Piracie puneist, and deuillishe sorcerie.

Sa vertew sprang, and vice began to faide;
Oppressioun fled and Justice tuik the place;
His godly lyfe all godly men may aide,
Be his exemple, vertew to imbrace.
And als his lyfe may, in ane other cace,
All Princes warne heirefter to succeid,
Thair foes to flatter that hes ane double face,
And to be war to clap ane traytours heid.

Euen as the man, the quhilk be musik playis,
Mistonit stringis castis not away, we se,
But peice and peice, be sundrie wrestis & layis,
Ilk ane with vther be tyme causis agre.
Euen so that Prince thocht be humilitie
His peple wyn, and concord to contrake;
Bot as sum stringis will rather brek nor be,
Euen so the wickit be mercy will not make.

His mercy wan, bot mair his mercy tint:
Not he, bot we his mercy now may rew:
His mercy loist, we wan the swordis dint:
His mercy saifit be murther that him slew.
Suppose his mercy this bergane to vs brew,
Ȝit mene I not but men suld mercy vse
To penitents, quha myndis not vice renew,
Bot nane to sic continewis in abuse.

135

His mercy saifit quha mercy not deseruit;
His mercy did preserue the arrogant;
His mercy sum amangis us hes preseruit,
Thocht thay seme holy in deid yat ar na sanct.
His mercy saifit we wer the better want:
Thair Serpents seid to tyrans wald vs thral:
Because sic peple in tyme he did not dant,
But warldly mercy Christ sufferit him to fall.

For mortall malice and curst couetice,
With wickit Inuy, commonit all in Ire;
And prydefull arrogance, the mother of all vice,
Aganis that Prince did cruelly conspire;
His fais hartis Inflamit all in fyre,
His blude to seik, Inuyfull of his gloir;
Saikles to shuit him ane harlet feit for hyre,
Hangman to Hary that traitouris wes befoir.

O bludy bouchour, bastard of Balials blude!
Quha to this Realme had nother lufe nor ȝeill;
O tressonable tratour! be tressō yat thocht gude
Murdreis the Prince, preseruer of this weill.
O sorrowfull shot! thy poysoun did doun steill
Not only him quhom wofully thow woundit;
Bot pure & riche thy vennoume hes gart feill,
Of his deir deith the stoundis him confoundit.

That schot, allace! yis realme hes shot in tway;
That shot to vice the portis hes oppinit plane;
That shot hes Justice and vertew shot away;
That shot Idolatrie is shuitand vp agane.
Sic shottis vnpuneist gif lāg time yat remane,
Vice sall be vertew, and vertew sall be vice:
Wrang sall be richt, and richt salbe thocht vane:
Ilk ane vnpuneist sall pleis thair awin deuice.

136

That shot hes sinderit quhilk was togidder knit;
That shot hes cuillit our curage as ye leid;
That shot hes feiblit our manly force and wit;
That shot our sichts hes blindit all in deid.
We se and spyis not our sorrowis to succeid;
We meint & meinis this wickitnes correck;
We wald and will not hank yame be ye heid,
Quha hes preparit the swordis for our nek.

Vagabounds we wander in miserie & wo,
As ship but Ruther, sa ga we now but gyde:
We skail, we scatter, we wait not quhair we go,
Spyis not the rock quhairō we rashe our syde.
We haif na grace nor power to prouyde
Aganis this rage, and crueltie remeid;
Bot willingly, allace! throw arrogance & pryde
Offers this Realme as Sacrifice to deid.

In place of peace now murther weir vprasis;
In place of lufe Inuy amangis vs springis;
In place of Faith his friend falset betrasis;
In place of rest Rebellioun with vs ringis;
In place of ane we haue so mony Kingis,
The Crownit King gettis na obedience.
Sū France for aide & sum Ingland inbringis,
The ane for wrak, the tother for defence.

And so this Realme, quhilk enemeis oft sayit
With cruell weir and sturdie stormis fell,
Quhilk feirful force of Ingland neuer frayit,
Of France the feir, nor Spaine in iust quarrel,
Quhilk to thir dayis vnuenqueist buir ye bell,
Sall now, allace! be fatell destenie,
As Aiax wes, be vanquer of the sell,
On proper knyfe constraynit for to die.

137

Quhat wald, allace! our Kings & elders say,
Gif in thir dayis from heuin yai now discendit,
To se this Realme so dulefully decay,
In quhais defence yair lusty lyuis thay endit?
Thay wald, I trust, repent yair time sa spendit;
Thay wald, I wait, yair labouris loist forthink,
To se yair Babes ye blude quhilk yai defendit
Aganis nature sa cruelly vpdrink.

Justlie yis plague I dout not we deseruit,
Seikand the menis of our awin mischeif.
Bakwart from God because we haif sueruit,
Thairfoir we taist his punischment in greif.
Ȝit, in his mercy haifand ay beleif,
Still sall I pray his deuine Maiestie
Aganis this rage to send vs releif,
Our King to saif, and his Nobilitie.

Lenuoye.

Go, bony bill, deploir
Of deith the dolent stound,
Quhilk did our Prince deuoir—
James, Regent of Renoun.
I pray the go, declair the wo,
Sen syne that dois abound:
I gif command, throw burgh and land
The same ȝow gar resound.

Our cair may moue the stonis
And hauie rockis to rair:
Swa mony stormes at onis
Struke neuer land sa sair.
The cause of that the heuins wat,
Not I, I ȝow declair,
Except it be to let vs se
How kingdomes ar bot cair.

138

Ȝit lat vs not dispair
Into thir walis of wo:
God may conuert our cair
In plesure and in Jo.
He may discord turne in accord,
And mak him freind was fo:
He may, I trest, set vs at rest,
Thocht all the warld say no.

It sulde releue our greif
To se our King bening:
In him I hope releif,
Of ȝeiris thocht he be ȝing.
His future age sum great presage
Presentis vs in his Ring,
Quha our defence, in his nascence,
Tuik haill in gouerning.

Imprentit at Edinburgh be Robert Lekpreuik. Anno Do. 1570.

Finis.

139

XVIII. The Admonitioun to the Lordis.

For lois, thow, Lythquo, may miserably lamēt
Thy fait Infortunat, and duilfull destanie:
That precious peirle, James, our Regent,
In the was slane, dissauit duilfullie.
O cursit hour! o deid of fellonie!
O waryit hand! o wappin violent!
That spairit not his greit Nobilitie,
Sa vndeseruit suddandly to be schent.

In wickit hour he saift the from the Gallous,
Or schew his grace to sic ane graceles grume,
Had thow bene hangit, Tratour, and thy fallowis,
This cōmoun weill had borne the Laurell blume.
Better Justice was not from hence to Rome;
Mair quyet peace befoir neuer King heir held:
Allace! that sic ane Tratour suld consume
His dayis befoir our King had bene of eild.

140

Dowglas & Hume, addres ȝow now anone
His tressonabill dolent deith for to Reuenge,
With Atholl, Erskyn, and Stewartis euerie one;
Grame and Lyndsay, remember on this change,
Schaw now he lufit the manly Laird of Grange.
Glenkarne and Sempil, conuene with ane accord:
Throw out this Realme lyke Ratches se ȝe range,
And seik thair blude that hes his body borde.

All vther Erlis and Barrounis of renoun,
Conuene ȝour selfis, with hart and haill Intent,
All partakeris to put to confusioun
With him that slew that Abell Innocent;
And in ȝour harts perfytlie do it prent,
Gif one of ȝow siclyke had loist his breith,
How day and nycht he wald be deligent
Ȝour cause and quarrell Reuenge vnto the deith.

Edinburgh, Dundie, & vther Burrow tounis,
Remember how the Regent lufit ȝow weill:
Heill nor conceill, reset nane of thay lownis,
Nother art nor part, that did his body keill.
Sen he was keipar of ȝour commoun weill,
Cleik on his quarrell, and schortly ȝow dispone:
Lat neuer yai Ruffians within ȝour rowmis reill,
Bot kyith now kyndenes quhen that his grace is gone.

Ȝoung tender King now behind dois abyde;
Thy seruand schot was only for thy saik;
Had he not tane thy Gouernance and gyde,
Lang mycht he leuit with Lady An his maik:
Na tratour Hāmiltoun had geuin yat mortal straik,
War not in hope to mak thy Grace forlorne:
Thay thocht his deith wald mak thy power waik,
And than obtene thay socht sa lang beforne.

141

Bot God, that hes thy Maiestie in cure,
Will fruster all thair fulische Interprysis,
As war thay Bouchers thy Father did combure,
Quha flemit ar for thair deuillische deuysis.
Thair fact and act all Scotland now disprysis;
Thair awin misdeidis hes sa vndone thair weill,
Thay dar neuer enter in Jugement nor assysis,
Nor clame thair lands, that did thy Father keill.

Quhat? trow ȝe, Tygers, that God omnipotēt
Will wynk vnsene sic wickitnes and wrang?
Ȝe may be sure his bow is reddy bent
Ȝow to ruit out: luke ford and think not lang.
Hammiltoū and Hepburne, ȝe will sing baith ane sang:
Schrewit is that seruice ȝe haif schawin to ȝour King;
Wald poysonit him self, his Father wyrreit strang,
Now slane his Regent to mak ȝour selfis to ring.

Wo worth vnlefull meinis manifest,
That ȝe haif socht to bruik Authoritie!
Ȝit vn obtenit quhill that our King may lest,
Quhome Christ conserue in his Minoritie!
That tender plant our Superioritie
Suld haif, quha is our kyndely King of nature:
The King of Kingis, of his Maioritie,
Mak neuer ane King ouer Scotland of a Tratoure!

Wo to the scheddars of his saikles blude!
Wo! cause of wo, sa mony did commend!
Wo to thay Gylouris of godlynes denude!
Wo to thay Pelouris sic Interprysis pretend!
Wo thame Inuolue, now quhen his wo hes end!
Wo and eik wrak mot fall that bludy band!

142

Wo will thay cry, and rew that thay him kend!
For wo, quhen that thay lois baith lyfe and land!

Schamt is yat sort, with schame yai wilbe schēt;
Schamt schameles, schame hes schawin vnto yis natioū.
Schamt ar yai tratouris sic tressoun did inuēt;
Schame sorrowles will be thair Castigatioun.
For schame thay dar neuer clame now dominatioun,
To purches place, did sa his deith preuent:
Place haif thay loist, and fund thair desolatioun,
That socht sic place till God had bene content.

And God thair pryde will puneis presentlie,
That dois pretend, be murther manifest,
To Royall roume, and heich Authoritie,
Huiking na harme sa thay may be possest
In warldlie welth, quhilk wisdome suld detest,
Quhen it proceidis of falset and Inuy,
Vaine gloir, dissait, or ocht that may molest
Gude gouernance throw teinfull Tratory.

Wyse, Nobill Lords! my Schedull now cōsidder,
And gif the wysest Lord the Gouernance;
Sinder not now that ar assemblit togidder,
Quhill ane be chosin the commoun weill to auance:
Sic as will puneis this last vnhappy chance,
And feiris God now sen the roume dois waik,
Chosin lyke the tother, ȝe myster not to pans,
For in all Scotland he hes not left his maik.

Now is he weill, and ȝe in wo, God wait,
Ȝour wickitnes and warkis hes the wyte;
Ȝour Inobedience hes purchessit Goddis hait;
Ȝour gredynes to eik ȝour Rentis greit.

143

In vaine ȝe reid the Scripture as ane ryte,
And of the pure hes na Compassioun:
Thir ar the causis that ȝe of him ar quyte,
That rewlit ȝow and wald maid Reformatioun.

Imprentit at Edinburgh be Robert Lekpreuik. Anno Do. LXX.

Finis.

144

XIX. Maddeis Lamentatioun.

Quhen bludy Mars, with his vndantit rage,
With Saturne maid yis cruel cōspiratioun,
And curst Juno, with birnand feirs curage,
Amangis Planettis had greitest dominatioun,
I hard ane voice, with drerie lamentatioun,
Sayand: o Lord! help now with thy rycht hand!
Gone is the Joy and gyde of this Natioun:
I mene be James, Regent of Scotland.

Quhen Lachesis hir threid had drawin to lēth,
Prolonging furth this Princes lyfe in gloir,
Than Atropus, extending furth hir strenth,
This fatell threid, allace! for to deuoir.
Now Justice (oh) quha sal thy sword decoir?
This cōmoun weil quhat wicht sal now warrād,
Sen he is gone, that Gouernd vs befoir,
That vpricht Prince, James, Regent of Scotlād?

His gude beginning quha yat culd richt report?
Quhen this Regioun of reule was destitude,
In plane Parliament our Nobillis did exhort
That Innocent to tak the fortitude

145

Of this fals Ile, of Justice than denude,
And with thair aithis promysit with him to stād,
Justice to keip in mynde he did conclude,
Sa lang as he was Regent in Scotland.

Sen Fergus dayis his lyke was neuer none
In equall Justice, and deidis Martiall;
Thir Realmes twa he knat vp baith in one,
Quhilk neuer Prince befoir culd do at all.
The Souage daillis he dantonit and maid thrall;
To serue thair King he gart thame gif thair bād:
With fyre and sword for grace he gart them call:
That prudēt Prince, James, Regent of Scotlād.

His commoun weill he lufit ouer all thing;
In trew Religioun na Prince mycht be his peir;
Idolatrie but reuth he did down thring;
All sorsarars he puneist far and neir;
Na Homiceid, nor theif than durst appeir
Within his sycht for dreid of dynt of brand;
Just men he maid his fallow and his feir—
This humane Prince, James, Regēt of Scotlād.

The deuill Seand this godly Prince sa bent,
Throw auld malice he gaif to rage throw feid,
His Spreit Inferne he send Incontinent
Amangis tratours for to conspyre his deid;
And cruelly, but mercy or remeid,
With schot of gunne yai murdreist him fra hand,
Schort ouer twa yeiris quhē he had rung in deid—
This Innocent Prince, James, Regent of Scotland.

Ȝe vertuous men! lament his cairfull chance,
Sen he is gone that suld ȝow fortifie;
All ȝe that wald the trew Gospell auance,
Beuaill, beuaill for that sweit Josue,

146

Ȝour secund Moyses, that led ȝow throw ye se.
Had he Indurit ȝour Canane land had stand.
Dispair not ȝit. Christ will ȝour Capitane be,
Sen he is gone, James, Regent of Scotland.

Ȝe pure cōmounis, that lang hes bene opprest,
And ȝe Burrowis, murne and Regrait his fall!
Gif he had leifit, na man durst ȝow molest,
For quhy he was ane watcheman on ȝour wall:
Now, sen na Prince may leif vprycht at all,
In this fals Realme, onslane in Burgh and land,
Adew now, Mirrour of Justice Principall,
Maist godly Prince, James, Regent of Scotland.

This commoun weil he luifit sa tenderlie,
Quhilk to mantene na thing maid him agast:
His lufe to it he schew maist faithfullie,
And with his blude he seillit it up at last.
Had he mantenit all Tratours that trespast,
His godly lyfe in Joyis ȝit had stand;
That wald he not, and sa this Prince is past:
That Innocent, James, Regent of Scotland.

Now ȝe, his followeris of his Interpryse,
Think on the murther of that Innocent!
Extend ȝour strenthis and all togidder ryse;
Pas endlang Clyde but reuth incontinent.
Meg Lochis get, that did the mys Inuent,
That Apostat, that Feyndis awin Seriand,
Seis not quhill he and his curst Kin Repent
The slauchter of our Regent of Scotland.

That Infant Babe, that ȝe haif taine in cure,
Saif him from skaith and stif togidder byde;
Remember quhat ȝe haif in hand, be sure;
Ȝour fais will lauch quhen they se ȝow deuyde:

147

Lat na vaine gloir, couetice, nor pryde
Expell freindschip to wrak ȝow and this land.
Keip the last wordis of our Just Joy and gyde,
Quhen he deceissit, James, Regent of Scotland.

Hudge is ȝour fais within this fals Regioun,
With Ithand trystis cōtractand vp new bandis
To bring ȝow to schame and confusioun:
Gaird ȝow ȝow lufe, sen ȝe wait how it standis,
Ȝour Prince, & strenth keip weill in faithful hādis;
For, gif ȝour fais tryūphis ouer ȝow to stād,
Schaip ȝow for deid, or dwell in vther landis,
Sen he is gone, James, Regent of Scotland.

Ȝour cause is Just, gif ȝe wald all persew,
Bot quhair deuisioun lurkis it is ane pyne;
Christ hes it sed, and doutles it is trew,
That Kingdome sall come to greit ruyne
Quhen that deuissioun hes his sait and tryne.
Thairfoir be war, counsall is na command:
For, gif ȝe perische, ȝour cause & freindis sall tyne:
For now they want James, Regent of Scotlād.

Greit is the danger ȝe stand in now, but dout,
And ȝe haif schame fra ȝour purpois to fle;
Spair not for geir, bot with bauld hartis be stout,
Mantene Gods cause, to commoun weill haif Ee,
And he that is of maist Magnificie
Ȝour baner sall display with his awin hand,
To the confusioun of ȝour Enemie,
Sen he is gone, James, Regent of Scotland.

O thow that art Omnipotent conding,
Thre persounis Ringand in ane Trinitie!
Help yis pure Realme & preserue our ȝoung King
Fra Schame, and deid, and feid of Enemie.

148

Amangis our Nobillis plant peace & vnitie.
Fra mercyles strangers saif vs with thy rycht hād:
Our sinnis is greit, ȝit mercy rests with the.
Adew for ay! James, Regent of Scotland.

Imprentit at Edinburgh be Robert Lekpreuik. Anno Do. 1570.

Finis.

149

XX. Maddeis Proclamatioun.

In lofty veirs I did reheirs
My drerie lamentatioun,
And now, allace! maist cairful cace,
I mak my proclamatioun.
Desyring all, baith greit and small,
That heiris me be Narratioun,
Not for to wyte my rude Indyte,
Sen maid is Intimatioun.

I do Intend nane to offend
That feiris God arycht,
Thocht murtherars & blud scheddars
Wald haif me out of sycht.
Thair malice vane I do disdane,
And curse thair subtell Slycht.
My name is knawin, yair bruit is blawin
Abrode baith day and nycht.

For I, a wyfe with sempill lyfe,
Dois wyn my meit ilk day,
For small auaill, ay selling caill,
The best fassoun I may.

150

Besyde the Throne I walt vpone
My mercat but delay;
Gif men thair walk, I heir thair talk,
And beiris it weill away.

In felloun feir at me thay speir,
Quhat tythands in this land?
Quhy sit I dum and dar not mum?
Oft tymes thay do demand.
To thame agane I answer plane,
Quhair thay beside me stand:
Na thing is heir bot mortall weir,
Wrocht be ane bailfull hand.

A wickit race of grumis but grace,
Of Kedȝochis curst clan,
Be tressoun vile quha dois defyle
Thame self, baith wyfe and man,
As lait is sene with weiping Ene,
Thairfoir I sall thame ban,
Caus our Regent maist Innocent
That cursit seid ouer ran.

Quhat cruelteis thay Enemeis
Hes wrocht be tymes past
I lat ouer slyde; I may not byde—
Sa fair I am agast—
Thair anterous actis, yair furious factis:
Auld bukis quha will ouer cast,
And men on liue can ȝit discriue
Thair doings first and last.

Thairfoir, my Lords, as best accords,
Sen ȝe are hapnit hidder,
This I will say tuix sport and play:
My wordis weill considder,

151

And pōder yame for ȝour awin schame;
To mark thame be not lidder:
Lat na mans feid, throw feirfull dreid,
Ȝour hartis mak to swidder.

For I heir say thay will display
Thair baners on the feild,
Thinkand but dout to ruit ȝow out,
Or cause ȝow seik sum b[eild].
At thame rycht fane, or [els be sl]ane:
That ganȝell will thay ȝeild:
Stand not abak, (oh) febill pak,
Bot swordis leir to weild.

Defend ȝour richt in Goddis sicht:
Quhome of do ȝe stand aw?
Rycht few, I trow, will ȝow allow,
Gif ȝe ȝour selfis misknaw.
Stand to, thairfoir, fyle not the scoir,
But all togidder draw,
Not in Cat harrowis lyke cākrit marrowis,
For feir of efter flaw.

Do ȝe not se that mad menȝe
How thay ar warin crous?
To wirk ȝow tene yai mak ye Quene
Thair strenth and strang blokhous.
The murther, fy! thay do deny,
And countis ȝow not ane sous:
Thair proude pretence, throw negligēce,
Will be maist dangerous.

To Lythquo toun thay ar all boun,
Quhair thay the murther wrocht,
And thinkis to de or fortifie
Thair fellony forethocht;

152

And trewlie I can not espy
Quhat vther thing thay socht,
Bot King put doun & clame the Croun,
Be bludy murther bocht.

I Pans and muse how thay excuse
This murther perpetrate,
Or with quhat grace haldis vp yair face,
Quhair it is nominate.
Gif (as I trow) thay it allow
Like Wolfis Insatiate,
Quha can repent that thay be schent
With blude commaculate?

Fall to, thairfoir, I ȝow Imploir,
My Lords, with ane assent,
And think it lang ay quhil ȝe fang
The feiris that did Inuent
This crueltie, be tyrannie,
To sla our rycht Regent,
For thay maist sure dois still Indure
With hartis Impenitent.

That mā in deid is worth sū meid,
His fault that dois confes;
Bot quhat rewarde suld be preparde
For him that dois transgres,
And will not graunt, bot rather vaunt
In his vnhappynes?
Maist sure the gallous, with all his fallous,
For thair vnthankfulnes.

For gif self lufe was from abufe
Deiectit out of heuin,
Quhen Lucifer wald be ane bar
To God, and think him euin,

153

Quhat sall we wene of tratours kene,
That Ithandly hes streuin
For to deface the Nobill race
Of Stewarts, od and euin?

Considder weill thair cākrit ȝeill
Hes thristit mony day
For to posses, but godlynes,
The Crowne withouttin stay;
As now of lait thair curst consait
With murther thay display,
Quhen thay thocht gude to drink this blude,
Be that vngodly way.

Bot Sathan sure dois thame allure
With wordis fals and vane,
Ay promysing thame to be King
Quhairof thay ar full fane.
In Paradice he did Intice,
Be subtell craft and trane,
The man first maid, sa God hes said
In Sacrede Scripture plane.

He said that he suld equall be
To God Omnipotent,
The Appill sweit gif he wald eit,
Quhairof was maid restraint.
With small defence he gaif credence,
Bot did he not repent,
Quhen efterwart he felt the smart
And God aganis him bent?

Sa sall all thay yat dois yis day
With mischant mynde maling
Aganis the treuth, but ony reuth,
And Crowning of our King.

154

And this thay mufe for thair behufe
To place thair awin ofspring;
But thay repent, thay will be schent,
And hell at thair ending.

Authoritie gif Iust he be,
Quhy do thay this Ill will him?
His graitfull gide, throw peuische pride,
Allace! quhy did thay Kill him?
Thair heid supreme in to this Realme
Admit gif thay not will him,
Than ȝe, my Lords, cut of with cords
Thame will be troublous till him.

Reuenge this wrang, lat tratoure hang,
Gods Lawis dois sa requyre:
Lat Caleb eik and Josue seik
The promysit Impyre.
Thocht murmurars and murtherars
Wald all ȝour deith conspyre,
In wyldernes with cursitnes
At lenth thay will all tyre.

That Campion of Babilon,
That bludy beildar vp,
With Mytrid heid, ane homyceid
That saikles blude dois sup,
Gar cow his Crowne, or put him doun
That he may taist the Cup,
Quhairwith oft tymes, for saikles crymes,
Mennis lyues he Interup.

And se that neuer ȝe do disseuer
From first contractit band,
Quhen ȝe our King, of ȝeiris ȝing,
Maid Rewlar of this land.

155

Lat not Inuy cause sum ly by,
Bot all togidder stand;
Than God the Lord misericord
Will be ȝour sure warrand.

From Cail mercat, quhair as I sat,
Thir wordis I did Indyte
The wyfis amāg, that thocht greit lang
To se my awin hand wryte.
Gif ony be that will Judge me
To speik bot in dispyte,
Gar mend the mis committit is,
And I na mair sall flyte.

Quod Maddie.

Finis.

156

XXI. The Spur to the Lordis.

Quhat menis thir mischant murtherars
In muifing mair mischeif—
Thir Ruggars, Reifars, Romeraikars,
Waitting of na releif?
The mark that God gaif in his grief
To Cains cursit Kin
Sall brod thir Burriois in the beif,
For thair maist schamefull Sin.

Bot, breifly for to breif in bill,
Thay seme to be ouerluikit,
Seing our Lordis sa lang ly still,
Men meinis thay will miscuik it.
Ȝour siluer beis na langer huikit,
Gar pay ȝour men of weir,
Ȝone bludy Boucheours or thay bruik it:
Fordwart ȝour selfis but feir.

Thay Renigats, thay Rubiatouris
Hes stollin our Regentis lyfe,
Thay treuthles Tygars, thay trinfauld Tratours,
Hes steirit vp this stryfe.

157

Of thame sall nouther man, bairne, nor wyfe
Eschew mischeuous chance:
Thay Ruffyis, be thay neuer sa ryfe,
Thay get na helpe of France.

That dolorous deid had bene to done,
Had concord knit togidder
The Lordis and Counsall of this Rome,
Of lait that war growin lidder.
That gart our Enemeis confidder
His deith for to conspyre:
Clyde banks thairfoir thay sall find slidder,
Quhen kindlit is Gods ire.

Fra he was gane thay thocht that nane
Thair fences micht ganestand,
For why, say thay, thair is not ane
Dar tak the deid on hand,
That ar not knit all in a band;
We may the Crowne attane,
Ȝour Counsall we sall contramand,
And Crowne ȝow Kingis of baine.

Frome lyfe to deith, gif siclyke change
Had happinit ony of ȝow,
And he ȝit leuing, to Reuenge
It had not bene till now.
Reuenge ȝe not his deid, I trow
Gods vengeance is decreittit
For giltles blude, ȝe knaw not how
Denuncit, to retreitt it.

Argyle and Boyde sall to ȝow cum
To gar feche hame the Quene:
My Lords, I pray ȝow, all and sum,
To mark weill quhat I mene.

158

It suld ȝow mufe all to be tene,
Quhen ȝe the message heir,
Sen hautie wordis bot spokin bene
To gar ȝow tak sum feir.

Ȝe haif deposit hir as in deid
Not worthie for to ring:
God was ȝour ground, weill did ȝe speid,
And haif set vp the King.
Gif ȝe depois him of his Ring,
Ȝe grant the former wrang,
And syne the Quene agane inbring,
Na dout scho will ȝow hang.

Be war thairfoir or ȝe conclude
That scho in Scotland cum;
For, be my trouth, gif that ȝe dude,
It semis ȝour glas is rune.
Better it war that ȝe war dum,
Nor speik ȝour awin mischeif,
And lippin for na gude to cum,
Gif ȝe wirk hir releif.

Argyle and Boyde befoir war with ȝow,
And promysit to byde;
And now thay tak on hand to gre ȝow
With all the tother syde.
Bot I pray God ȝour hartis to gyde,
For, quhen thay find ȝow rype,
Thay sall not meiknes mix with pryde,
And playis on Dysartis pype.

Fordwart, thairfoir, with fyre and swords,
For to reuenge this cryme,
And lippin lytill in leing words;
For, thocht I speik in ryme,

159

Treuth it was only to dryue tyme
That thay war hidder sent,
And, had thay force, or it war pryme,
Ȝe wald se thair Intent.

Ȝour counsalls or thay be concludit,
The Borderis will be brokin:
Than will thay, gif ȝe vnderstuid it,
On pure trew men be wrokin.
With speiris (in sport) thocht it be spokin,
This murther sone Reuenge:
Thir haistie heitis sa sall ȝe slokin,
Thocht it seme neuer sa strange.

Not on that reuthles rageing Rebell
And his vnhappy band,
With creuell causers craifing hell,
Gods bludy curs dois stand;
Bot on the countrie of Scotland,
Till that misdeid be mendit,
Thair is na mendis bot sweir in land
With speid till thay be spendit.

This Rakles Robert did report
In raggit Ruffyis ryme;
Sen Sempill solace to this sort
Auaillis maist in this tyme.
With hardy hart Reuenge this cryme,
I say na mair: Amen.
Ga speik of Eger and Schir Gryme,
And lat the Lordis alaine.

Imprentit Anno Do. 1570.

Finis.

160

XXII. The Bird in the Cage.

A bailfull bird that wantis wingis to fle,
Nureist in a nest richt craftie wylis to hatche,
For fault of feit borne in ane Ark of tre,
In craftines to Sinon worthie matche,
A gylefull grume all gude men to dispatche,
And be a gyde to blind men in a rank,
Ȝit for sic seruice seruis bot lytill thank.

A Scuruie Schollar of Machiauellus lair,
Inuenting wylis anoyntit Kingis to thrall;
To heis on hicht pure Pesantis full of cair,
From base estait, to Throne Imperiall;
And mychtie men lyke wretchit Irus fall,
And ly alaw lyke Loytring lubbers leud,
For feir of storme full fane thair saillis to schreud;

And Doegis craft richt cunningly Imprent,
Quha can in hart pure Dauids Regne to stay;
Achitophell misordour to Inuent;
A proud Haman the faithfull to betray;

161

Sobney the Scribe fals tressoun to display;
Uproris to rais ane Atheist Abiron;
To Stalwart Knichtis ane gylefull Ganȝelon;

Ane flattring face with outwart schaw serene;
Sour Aloes with bitter gall commixt;
Ane luiring bait fond fischis to wirk tene,
Not spying deith till thay on lyne be fixt:
Quhen tyme is tynt than find yai trew this text:
Ouir lait it is the stabill dure to steik,
Quhen sturdie steid is stollin and far to seik.

To Ciuill weir and Intestine discord
This bird can blaw the Trumpet craftelie,
Quhais strenth and force cōsistis in pratting word,
With Serpentis sting, vnder simplicitie:
A wylie wicht to practeis palȝardrie,
With warldly wit weill furnissit at will,
Quhais Deuillische dryftis puttis all in poynt to spill.

This birdis counsall confoundit hes yis land,
Turnd vp syde doun of richt and equitie,
Displacit peace with discordis feirfull wand,
That mouit hes thift, reif, and crueltie,
Murther but mercy, bludie tirrannie,
Wandreth, wanrest, feirfull ambitioun,
Aspyring vp with pryde to heich renoun.

This bailfull bird richt beinly can vpbeild,
In Castellis strang, hir noysum nest to byde;
The feildis plane can not fra schame hir scheild.
Quha heichest clymmis the soner may thay slyde:
In warldly wit (by God) quha dois confyde
Will be bet doun be duilfull destanie,
And end thair lyfe with wretchit miserie.

162

O monstrous bird! God nor ye gleddis ȝe get,
Or Rauinnis the rug with bludie beik in bittis;
The Pyet pyke thy ene on gallous set,
As Haman hangit hie on hicht with tittis.
The forkit Clauer besyde the Croce that sittis
Mot be thy beir at thy last funerall,
Quhen Dustifit to dance sall furth the call.

I traist in God that anis sall cum the day,
Pluk at the Craw quhē barnis sall with yis bird;
Or blind Hary with hir to sport and play,
With fauldit neif, and tak hir mony gird.
Keip weill thy taill, gude Phillip, I am hird
The to award from buffettis, heir me by,
The bony boy with sounding voice sall cry.

Dirtin bedreidis, the Prouerb sayis of auld:
Ane scabbit hors will feill quhair he is sair:
Quha giltie bene of vicis laitly tauld
Will deme of thame all men speikis lait and air:
Quhairby thair lyfe is ay bot lasting cair,
Fretting with feir in Inward conscience,
As hoiplost wichtis without all pacience.

Euin so sum man, that menis not in his mynd
Bot monstrously for to mantene misordour,
Achitophellis air, ane Ganȝelon of strynd,
Falser than theuis that leuis on the bordour,
Quha craftelie, his awin affairis to furdour,
Will think I speik of him in this my ryme,
Johne Gukstounis Eye to bleir, quhen he thinkis tyme.

163

The Lenuoy.

Jak in the bokis, for all thy mokis
A vengeance mot the fall!
Thy subteltie and palȝardrie
Our fredome bringis in thrall.
Thy fair fals toung dois still Impung
Our Crown Imperiall,
Lyke wauering thane, thy proces vane
Will brew the bitter gall.

Thy feddrum fair will wirk the cair,
For all thy Syren sangis;
Ane futles gyde that mon abyde
To pay for all our wrangis.
With wallaway thoull curs the day,
Quhen Iustice falset fangis,
With helteris hie to ty on tre
Thy poysonit Edder stangis.

Remord in mynd thy greit madnes;
Recant thy cairfull cowardnes;
Leid not our Lordis with wilfulnes,
Lyke blind men in the myre.
Sen thow hes wrocht sic wickitnes,
Be thy auise and craftines,
Or thow depart to hell furnes,
Repent and haue thy hyre.

This bill Maddie the sendis,
And biddis to end it reid:
It schawis hir dew commendis,
But fauour or ȝit feid.
God send thame euill to speid,
Our King that vilipendis,
Or ȝit dois seik thair deid,
That dewly him defendis.

164

Amen, say ane and all
Of faithfull in this land;
And for trew concord call,
As God dois vs command.
Strang is the Lordis hand
To keip all his from thrall:
And with his threitning wand
Will mak his fais to fall.

Finis.

Quod Maddie Priores of the Caill mercat.

Imprentit at Edinburgh be Robert Lekpreuik. Anno Do. M.D. LXX.

165

XXIII. The hailsome admonitioun, &c.

O lamp of licht and peirles Peirll of pryse!
O kenely Knicht, in martiall deidis most ding!
O worthy wicht, most vailȝeant, war, & wyse!
O Capitane, ay constant to the King!
O Lustie Lord, that will na wayis maling!
O Barroun bauld, of Cheualry the floure!
O perfyte Prouest, but maik into this Ring!
O gudely Grange, but spot vnto this houre!

I the beseik to call to memorie
The worthie deids done be that Prince sinceir,
King James the Fyft, quha restis in heuin so hie,
To the quha was his tender seruand deir;
How in the day he vsit the as his peir,
And luifit the so as man culd lufe ane vthir,
At nicht in bed his fellow and his feir,
Esteming the as thow had bene his brother;

And how his Sone, our Regent of Renoun,
That restis with God, quha did thir thingis persaif,
Thocht he be gone and with his fais put doun,
Ȝit in his lyfe he luifit the by the laif;

166

Ay geuing the quhat thing that thow wald haif,
Denying nocht that lay into his handis:
For thy seruice thy fie was not to craif,
Bot recompancit with gold, with geir, and landis.

And quhen the Duke put the to banischment,
And from the held thy landis mony ȝeir,
Thow knawis thy self gif he was diligent
To get thy peax, and slaik the of that weir,
And to the get thy lands, thy guds, and geir.
Thocht thair was sum that tuik thy rowmis in few,
Ȝit he to the gat thame, as is maist cleir,
To preif he was to the ane Maister trew.

Fra tyme the Lord did call him to that cure,
Into this Realme that he suld ring allone,
He the estemit of steidfast faith most sure,
Thairfoir that hauld, and worthie hous of stone
He gaif to the with Jowallis mony one,
As vnto him that he luiffit by the rest,
The quhilk in deid he wald haue done to none
Of all his brether that he luiffit best.

Seytoun, Schir James, bot & the Schiref of Air,
Efter the feild he gaif thame in thy cure;
The Duke him self and Hereis thow had thair,
For in thy handis he thocht thame ay most sure.
Sum said to him thairin he did Iniure
To put sa mony greit men in thy bandis:
His answer was, quhill that he might Indure,
His lyfe and all he wald put in thy handis.

Hauing this hauld, as I haue done declair,
In Counsell hous the Toun, with ane consent,
Cheissit the to be thair Prouest and thair Mair,
As man thairto meit and conuenient—

167

Quhilk office is in deid richt ancient—
Under the King this Burgh to reull and steir.
During thy office, culd thow stand content,
Thow micht to Lordis be perigall and peir.

Thir officis the farther did promote,
It neidis na preif, thy self will testifie,
Amang the Lordis thow gat baith place and vote,
At Secreit Counsall, in materis most hie;
Lyke as thame selfis sa thay estemit the
Into thair caus baith bent, Just, and vpricht.
Quhen tyme requyris, it suld Reuengit be:
Think on his deith, that brocht the to sic hicht.

In humbill wyse heirfoir I the Exhort,
With tentyue eir vnto my taill attend:
I the desyre thre thingis in termis schort,
First, in Gods caus be constant to the end;
Syne nixt, our King with all thy micht defend,
Himself, his lawis, his libertie, and Croun;
Thirdly, vnto the warld thow mak it kend,
He was thy Maister Bothwell-hauch put doun.

Into Religioun thow was richt feruent;
God gif the grace thairin to perseueir!
That tyme at Leith thair was na man mair bent;
During that Seige I saw the prick full neir.
Of lyfe nor landis that tyme thow tuik na feir,
Ay venturand quhair greitest war the dangeris,
For to set furth the word of God most cleir,
And for to freith thy Natiue Realme fra strangeris.

And now thow seis how mony dois maling,
Baith tyme and tyde schawand thair force & micht,
To that Intent that Jesabell suld Ring,
Quha wald suppres the word of God most bricht,

168

And from our King (allace) wald reif his richt,
Quhome to thay swore thay suld be alwayis trew;
Als dois defend with force baith day and nicht
Thay Tratouris strang, our Royall Regent slew.

The word of God for euer sall preuaill,
And als his Kirk sall haue the ouer hand.
Pharo and his he brocht in mekill baill,
Quhen he led Israell saif throw se and sand.
And als the Kingis Authoritie sall stand,
As Dauids did, thocht Saull did him molest:
Sa sall our King at lenth posses this land,
As vtheris hes, in quyetnes and rest.

This godly caus did euer prosper still,
Sen he was King, our Gouernour, and gyde.
Baith at Carbarry and the Langsyde hill,
The michtie God was euer on his syde.
Now in the North his fais thay durst nocht byde,
Quhair throw that pak did lois thair men of weir,
And, quhen thay war the last tyme vpon Clyde,
Thair durst na fa into thair sicht appeir.

Murther thow knawis will not vnpuneist be,
Nor neuer was sen Cayn Abell slew;
The Scripture plane the same dois testifie
That murtherars Gods wraith sall not eschew.
Sall thay eschaip murdreist our Regent trew,
Of vertewis well, of euerie vice denude?
Thocht thair war nane his deith that wald persew,
The michtie God he wald Reuenge his blude.

Dois thow not se ye hand of God agane yame,
Wirking thair wrak for breking his command?
Thocht Lethingtoun with tratling he do trane thame,
Garring thame trow the Frenche men is at hand,

169

And Duke De Alb ay reddy for to land,
With mony Hulk, on hicht of Arthure sait:
Quhill that tyme cum we sall lay on the wand,
And gar our fais gif clene ouir all debait.

Quhat neids ye skar, thocht Inglād do support vs,
To puneis sic as proudly dois Rebell?
That tyme at Leith thow knawis that did comfort vs,
And maid vs fre quhen strangers did vs quell,
And neuer socht na proffite to thame sell:
Thow neids not feir, that hous thay neuer craifit:
The Regent sayis, sa far as I heir tell,
Wald thow be trew thair can na better haif it.

Thocht at this tyme thow haif that warlyke craig,
And is in hart curagious and bald,
God will nocht mys to scurge the with a plaig,
Gif in his caus thow lat thy curage cald.
As thow may se, thick scurgis monyfald
Lich vpon thame that proudly dois disdane.
Except the Lord be watche man of the hald,
Quha walkis the same, thair laubour is in vane.

Thow hes bene ane sen first this caus began,
And als hes sene how God gart it proceid,
Heirfoir, I pray, ȝit do the thing thow can
Into Gods caus, and to Reuenge his deid.
And gif thow swerue, richt sair in hart I dreid
That sindrie sall thy doingis discommend.
Auise heiron, sen now is tyme of neid.
Mark weill, I pray, this Schedull that I send.

Imprentit at Edinburgh be Robert Lekpreuik Anno Do. M.D. LXX.

170

XXIV. The Tressoun of Dunbartane.

In Mayis moneth, mening na dispyte,
Quhen luiffaris dois thair daylie obseruance
To Venus Quene, the Goddes of delyte,
The fyftene day befell the samin chance,
The Generall raid, with mony Demylance,
Downe to Dunbartaine, doand na man Ill,
Quhair furious Fleming schot his Ordinance,
Willing to wraik him wantit na gude will.

Mair I lament the great Ingratitude
Of cruell Catiues, kankirt and vnkynde;
Quhat gart ȝow schute to slay ȝone men of gude?
Lunatyke Monsters, mad, and by ȝour mynde!
Degenerat Stewartis of ane Hieland strynde,
As mix me balme and poysone put into it!
Rycht as the tre is nureist be the rynde:
Cardanus counsell causit the to do it.

That Bastard Bischop bred ane greiter blok,
Laitly expremit, I neid not speik it heir;
Thocht thow be cũmin of ane Royall stok,
The Kingis hous, and als his Cousing deir,

171

Gif naturall kyndnes coulde in the appeir,
Thow hes na cause to keip him in thy hous:
For airt and pairt ressetting him, I feir,
Of thy auld Lordschip beis not left ane sous.

Mycht thow not licence Inglis men to ryde
Throw all this Realme, vpon thair awin expensis?
Bot thow, vaine bable, bouistrit vp in pryde,
Crabit but cause, and caryit by thy sensis
Throw Sorcerie and vther vain pretensis,
Doist thow beleif the wichtnes of thy wawis
May keip ȝone knaif that slew our saikles Prēcis?
Na, weill I wait, God will reuenge that cause.

Gif that was foule, now foular may be spokin
Without respect to honour, lyfe, or landis,
Bot not the first tyme that thy faith was brokin:
Thankit be God he chaipit of thy handis.
Haifand thy traist, as all men vnderstands,
Dissaitfully thow schot but ryme or ressoun,
Bot had not bene ane slack was in the sands,
Weill had he payit ȝow tratouris for ȝour tressoū.

Ganȝelons gettis, relict of Synoins seid,
Tratouris to God, and mainsworne to the King,
Deir sall ȝe by ȝone foule vnduchtie deid,
Betraissand strangers vnderstude na thing.
I put na doubt, man, for thy deidis Inding,
To se vs shortly in thy place possest;
At euerie port a spald of the to hing,
As tratouris sould, for schuitting vnder trest.

Makcloid, Makclaine, nor he that slew Oneill,
Or ȝit quhat micht Johne Moydirnoch do mair?
Ane Turk, ane Jow, or than the mekle Deill,
To thy foule tressoun trewly na compair:

172

Weill hes thow leird it at the Bischoppis lair,
Becum his prentise, broderit in his band,
Gif thow denyis, thair was ane dosane thair,
Better nor thow, dar fecht it hand for hand.

Praise be to God he chaipit of that chance:
Ȝe plaid the Knaiffis and he the Nobill knicht:
I hope in God or ȝe get helpe of France
Of better freinds to se ane blyither sicht.
Our cause is Just, the King hes kyndly richt,
Groundit on God, and the foundatioun laid:
Thocht mē throw murther mene to moūt on hicht,
Law sall he lycht downe as the Lord hes said.

Ȝe sawe ȝour selfis the Inglis men raid neir
For all ȝour craking, caigit within ane Cro,
It is na Fables furth of France thay feir,
Cum fra the Paip and the grand Pryore to.
Thay haif ȝour Quene in keping, (quhair is scho?)
Lang may ȝe luke or sche releif ȝour weiris;
Ȝe will not wit quhat Inglismen can do,
Quhill Drureis bells be roung about ȝour eiris.

Than sall ȝe cry ‘cor mundum’ on ȝour kneis,
Murnand for mercy and able for to mys it;
Quhen ȝe luke downe to Wallace Toure, and seis
Sogeouris of Berwik brekand vp ȝour kist.
Thair sall ȝe se ȝour bastard Bischop blist
Out of his hoill weill houndit lyke ane tod.
That bludy Bouchour ever deit of thrist,
Soukand the soules furth of the Sanctis of God.

For saikles blude and murther maid sensyne,
Gone is his grace, ȝe haif ane godly part of him,
Trewly, my Lord, and I war in ȝour lyne,
The Deill a bit sulde byde within the ȝet of him.

173

Wald ȝe ga seik ane Secreit place weill set of him,
Cardanus pyn weill closand in ane Spreit,
Pull me out that, thair is na mair to get of him,
Bot as ane bledder blawin fra heid to feit.

In waryit tyme that Bischop hes bene borne:
Mars hes bene maister at that Balials byrth:
Throw him his freinds ar houndit to the horne,
Baneist and slaine, vncertane of ane gyrth:
Gone is thair game, and murning is thair myrth,
Thair cattell caryit, thair Granges set in fyre:
The worlde may se thair wisdome was na worth:
Murther left ay his Maister in the myre.

Now fair weill, Fleming, bot foule ar thy deids,
The Generall this Schedul at schort to the sends,
Thow sall heir ma nouells as farder proceids,
Bot not to thy sythment as sum men Intends.
The actioun is not honest thow defends,
Gif thow be angrie with ocht that I reheirs,
The narrest gait thow can gang seik amends
Is, mend thy maners, and I sall mend the veirs.

Imprentit at Edinburgh be Robert Lekpreuik. Anno Do. M.D. LXX.

Finis.

180

XXVI. The Exhortatioun to the Lordis.

O lusty lords & barrounis yat bene bauld,
That for gude caus are now assēblit heir,
Pluk vp ȝour harts, lat not ȝour curage cauld,
And prise ye lord, ȝour capitane in weir.
Will ȝe him serue, ȝe neid nocht for to feir
The craft, the wit, nor policie of man,
For quhy the Lord will ȝit ȝour Baner beir,
As he hes done sen first this caus began.

Haue ȝe forȝet how that he did vs luif,
That time at Leith, quhē strangers did persew?
Our enemeis harts ȝe saw that he did muif
To cum ouir Tweid vs to help and reskew,
Quhair we and thay our enemeis ouirthrew,
Making vs fre that lang in thrall had bene,
Syne in this Realme plantit his gospel trew,
but scheding blud, quhilk hes not oft bene sene.

Fra ȝe began from blude to purge this land,
Thay murtherars thay neuer durst ȝow bide;
He gaif hir anis, and put hir in ȝour hand,
But ony blude, vpon Carbarrie syde.

181

Syne efter that, quhen lymmers loust yr bryde,
He faucht for ȝow vpon the Langsyde hill:
Ȝour fais wist not in what hoil yame to hyde,
Sū chaist, sum slane, sum tane into ȝour will.

He send Moyses to gouerne ȝow and gyde,
Ȝour commoun weill to reule and als redres,
quhairthrow yis realme, but rest, did rin & ryde,
To bring the same to rest and quyetnes.
His diligence my toung can not express,
Planting Justice baith in Burgh and land,
Dāting rebels quhilke proudly did transgres:
His maik rāg not gif yat his dayis had stand.

Richt prudently the Lord he did prouyde
For ȝow, from tyme he saw yat he was slane,
And wald not thoill ȝow be without a gyde,
Bot efter Moyses he raist Josua agane,
Ȝow to conduct to ye land of Canan,
Mair Fortunat nor Moyses was befoir;
In faitis of weir ane worthy Capitane
The Gentiles lands to ȝow for to restoir.

Thair Parliament of Linlithgow he did stay;
Syne Breichen gat, it baid him not ane blast;
Down was geuin ouir, for feir of weir assay;
Paslay he wan, and now Dunbartane last.
His Capitanis maid all his fais agast,
Sum tane, sum slane, sum chaist into the se;
Thir deids suld not with silence be ouir past,
Bot worthie ar Eternall Memorie.

Ȝour godly caus hes now tane gude succes
In Ingland lait, I neid it not declair,
Quhair my lord Chancelar tuik greit besines
With your gude freind, the Clerk of Registair.

182

Thair trauell, wit, nor gudis yai did not spair,
For to vphald the Kings Authoritie,
In presence of thay strangers that wer thair,
Working for him in his Minoritie.

Ȝe do tryumph albeit that ȝe be few,
Ȝour enemeis thay day ȝow not ganestand,
Quhat ȝe do schaip, ye Lord himself dois sew,
Quhat ȝe deuyse, he wirkis it with his hand:
Thairfoir mak haist, lat nane be in this land
To leif lyke Lords, syne proudly to rebell;
Gar thame baith sweir and subscriue ye band,
Or, failȝeand this, do with thair leuings mell.

And gif ȝe dreid yat sum will aithis ouirhaill,
And will not keip nor ȝit obserue thair bands,
For startling hald the kow fast be the taill,
Appoint nane sic but pledgis in ȝour hands,
And keip thame sure, sen ȝe se as it stands;
For, cum that tyme that all yat sort desyris,
Thay will, but dout, send ȝow in vncouth lāds,
To seirche and seik ȝour meit into the myris.

Sen thair Intent to ȝow was neuer gude,
As, be thair deids, richt cleirly may be sene,
Gif thame na leif to play with yow buk heid,
As thay haif done, ay waitand on yair quene:
Bot puneis all the quhilk ye knaw vnclene
Of outher blude, & quyte yame for yair meids,
And spair all sic will serue his grace serene,
And had na wyte of nouther of thair deids.

I wald ye did sum mair at this Conuentioū
Nor did your fais at thairs thay held at Pace;
Quhat yai did yair I neid not to mak mētioū,
Bot, weill I wait, sū of yame rewis yat race.

183

[OMITTED]
Ȝit top of wit was borne vp throw ye streit;
This commoun weill had stand in better cace,
Had it fallin in his toung, fell in his feit.

Sen God hes put the sword into your hand,
Justice to do alyke to riche and pure,
Tak heid, yair foir, and na wise brek command,
Be circumspect of this your charge and cure;
Gif ȝe neglect, than God, I yow assure,
Will frō yat rowme thoill you to be detrusit,
Planting vthers into that charge ye bure,
And gif yat sword to yame can rychtly vsit.

Be bent, yairfoir, and byde not this in blūder:
Baith the word of God & cōmoun weil auāce:
Ȝe neid na ma bot Gedionis thre hunder
To quhip your fais, or yai get help of France.
Mak to, lyke mē, sen ye haif ordinance,
Ding Draffen doū, yat hald quhairin yai pryde yame:
Bring in ye north with būvart, bow, & Lance;
Gif thay rebell, with fyre and sword ouir ryde yame.

How & quhat way ye suld appost your bordour,
Maddeis counsall is verray excellent;
Scho did prescriue ane gude & godly ordour,
That to performe, had ye been diligent:
Hard ye the pure, I wait, ye wald lament,
Sa cruelly thay Tyranis dois oppres thame,
Slaying yame selfis; yair gudis, reit, and rent,
For feir of God, I pray yow to redres thame.

Quhat mā did hoip of Grāge now dois appeir:
His cloikit craft of malice dois outspring,
As in his Proclamatiouns ye may heir:
He dois Rebell and will not serue the King.

184

Traitours yai ar agane yow to maling,
He being Crownit in lauchfull Parliament:
Quha dances fastest with him into yat Ring,
To his Crowning baith sweir & gaif consent.

Quhen the Regent gaif him that hauld, ye saw
He was the Kingis & sweir theirfoir to stand,
Albeit yat now his grace he will nocht knaw,
Nor ȝit Lennox for Regent of this land.
Ȝit Robert Hepburne being in his hand,
And saifly enterit within that place,
He said he was reset by his command,
And send Robert to my Lord Regents grace.

Quhill yat he gat yat hauld and hous in hand,
Into this caus he was baith bent and bauld;
Bot fra thyne furth than he gaif ouir yat band,
And in this caus he leit his curage cauld.
This is the treuth, as trew men to me tauld;
That samin tyme his maister was on lyue,
He wald not lat him enter in that hauld,
With na seruands bot outher four or fyue.

He hes not onlie sueruit fra our actioun,
Bot dowbill murther he dois fortifie,
Desyring bargane of ony of our factioun
Of his degre, estait, and qualitie.
We haue nane sic, ye knaw, in cumpanie,
Him for to match quhilk playit ye dowbil Knaif;
For first he slew ane Maister cruellie,
And syne betraist the last, ye may persaif.

Bot ȝit I knaw yair is ane hundreth heir
Of gentill men, and cum of Royal Race,
On hors or fute with quhinger, sword, or speir,
Dar weill him matche & meit him face for face,

185

And preif him fals and Tratour in this cace:
He dar not fecht, for this is his refuge,
He wald compeir at euery tyme and place,
Gif that he had ane vnsuspectit Judge.

And als ye see, he planely dois accuse
The Regents grace of cruell Tyrannie
Aganis his fais, quhilk he dois schaw and vse,
In casting doun baith place and policie.
Sen thay misknaw thair Just Authoritie,
And will not serue, nor ȝit obey commands,
Ȝe may be Law subuert thair places hie,
Syne tak fra thame yair lyuis, geir, and lands.

I knaw thir letters ye fand into Dunbartane,
Quhilk dois declair his dowbil deids Inding,
Is only caus, I am baith sure and certane,
Quhilk garris him mak yis boist & manassing.
Bot ȝit ye knaw it is ane commoun thing,
For, weill I wait, ye haue sene mony sic:
Tuiche anis the gaw & yan the hors wil fling,
Fra tyme ye spur and hit him on the quik.

It is your hous that maks him be sa bauld,
Agane baith God and King for to disdane:
Except the Lord be watchman of the hauld,
The Psalmist sayis thair watching is in vane.
As ye haue sene, within thir monethis twane,
Ane greiter strenth ye gat, as I record,
Swa will ye ȝone, to God gif ye be bane,
And swa commits your wisdomis to the Lord.

Imprentit at Striuiling be Robert Lekpreuik Anno Do. 1571.

Finis.

186

XXVII. Ane admonitioun to my Lord Regentis Grace.

Maist loyall lord, ay ffor þi lawtie lowitt,
Now be not lakkit ffor deloyaltie;
Thocht to þe princes place thow be promowit,
Be not abusitt be authoritie,

187

Bott schaw thy treuth and thy integrytie,
Sen we sa far orsellfis hes submittit,
And King and Cowntray, lawis, and libertie,
Onto thy cair and creditt have cōmittit.

Thy hous hes ay bene trustye and enteir,
Defamitt nocht wt fraud and fickilnes;
Bott schaw thyselff both scharpe, sauge, and sinceir,
Endewit with wertew, witt, and wirthines,
Ingein, Judgment, Justice, and gentilnes,
Craft, conduct, cair, and Knawlauge to cōmand,
Heroyk hartt, honor, and hardines,
Or in this storme thy staitt will newer stande.

We haue the chosin to the cheifest charge,
Ouir tossit galay to gowerne and to gyde;
Be war wt bobbis: scho is a bruikle barge,
And may na bitter blastis weill abyde:
Thow may hir tyne in turning of a tyde;
Cast weill thy courss, thow hes ane kittle cwir;
Off parrellis pance, and ffor sum port prowyde,
And anker sikker quhair thow may be suire.

All Boreas bitter blastis are not blawin;
I feir sum boide and bobbis be behind;

188

Be tyde and tempest thow may be orthrawin,
And mony fairlie fortounes thow may find,
As channellis, craigges, beddis, and bankis blind,
Leckand, wanlukis quhairby thow may be loist,
Bewar thairfoir wt wadder, waw, and wind,
With oncouth coursis, and onknawin coist.

Be war wt strangearis in thy sterne to steir;
Thocht on ane courss we can not condiscend,
Suppois sum perntt perrell now appeir,
And sum hes wyritt and will not with us wend,
Be meitar meaines thow mon thatt make mend,
Nor daingeris be ye doubill to divertt:
Thairfoir, I pray the, prudentlie perend,
And putt not all in perell ffor a pairt.

Thow will putt all intill apperand perell,
Gif Inglis forcis In þis realme repair;
Sic ar not meitt ffor to decide our querrell,
Thocht farlandis fulis seme to have fedderis fair.
Be þai acquentitt, thai will creip innermair,
And wilbe noysum nytbors and Enorme,
and schortlie will sitt till or syddis as sair
As now the rebellis quhome thay sould reforme.

189

Thatt freindschip is ay fecfullest afar,
And langest will indwir wt lytle daile;
I feir wt ws and tyme itt wirk to war,
ffra þai aganes or partye anis prewaile;
quha waitt bot syne þai will orselffis assaile?
Ald feyis ar sindle faythfull [freindis] fund:
ffirst help þe halff, and syne orharrill the haill,
Wilbe a wofull weilfar of or wound.

Oure bretherene may remember ȝitt in France
the fayth and freindschip thatt thai wt þame fand,
And how þai did þe word of God awance,
ffra the Newhawin thay gatt into þair hand;
and how þai newir pairtitt wt þatt pand,
quhill bayt the syddis thame forcitt to reteir;
Even at Leyth gif thatt thow latt þame Land,
The samin practeiss plainlie will appeir.

Be thair exemple Lerne experience,
ane forene mache or maister to admitt;
Reid, fra þe Saxonis gat preeminence,
How sone þai socht as souueragnes to sitt.
Reid how þai forcitt the Britonis folk to flitt,
And yitt posseidis that peoples proprietie:

190

Bewar! we may be walteritt or we witt,
And lykwayis Loss or land and libertie.

Ane thowsand sick examples I could schaw,
and mony noble nationis may name,
quha lost att lenth þair libertie and Law,
And sufferitt hes greit sorrow, syt, and schame;
Thatt, for to help þair harmis and hurtt at hame,
feychitt forayne forces into þair supportt,
quha fuilȝeit syne thair fredome, force, and fame,
And thame subdewit in þe samin sorte.

ffleand Charibd be war in Scyll to fall,
and sa estchew ciuill dissentioun,
That our estaitt to straingearis be not thrall;
the canker of or auld contentioun
will keip na cūnand nor cōventioun,
Bott, gif thow gif thame creidit to correct ws,
Be craftye way, will, and Inventioun,
And subtill slyt, thay will seik to subiect ws.

This realme wt eis the rebellis may repres:
We neid na forayne forces for sa few;
thair lairdis thay loup, thatt reigne is les and les,
Sa suit not sick as seikis ws to subdew;

191

qlk gif thow do, quhatt ewir may ensew,
To Fergus bluid we rather will obey
Nor in or tyme be tratoris tryitt vntrew,
And gif or realme to Ingland as a pray.

Scoitland come newir ȝitt in seruitude
Sen Fergus first, Bott euir hes bene fre,
And hes bene alwayis bruikit be ane bluid,
and Kin of Kingis discendit grie be gre.
Gif þatt itt be in bondage brot be the,
Then warreitt war thy weirdis and wanhap,
Thairfoir thir forayne fechis sa foirse,
That cachitt we be not wt þe eftir clap.

Mark and mynt att þe honor, laud, and prais,
The vertew, word, worschip, and wassilaige,
Of sic as dochtelie did in þair dayis
To keip þis realme from thraldome and boundage.
Mark als þe wite, vise, wituper, and the waige
Off wntreid traisoun and of tyrannye,
And how sum hes honour and heretage
And lywes lost ffor þair deloyaltie.

192

Sa for thy factes thow may be sure to find
The lyke rewaird of wertew or of wyce;
Thairfoir be not sylitt as a bellie blind,
Nor latt thy selff be led vpoun the yce;
Nor, to content thy marrowis cowatyce,
Putt not þi selff in perrell ffor to perreiss,
Nor beir þe blame quhair wþeris takis the pryce,
Nor beitt þe busse thatt wþeris Eit þe berreiss.

The throne of tryall and theatrie trew
Is ffor to reigne, and rewle aboue the rest;
quha hes þe wogne, him all þe warld dois wew,
and migistratt the man dois manifest.
Sen thow art in þe princes plaice possest,
Luik to be praisitt as thow playis thy pairt,
and, as thow leiffis, so luiffit be and lest,
And alwayis delt wt efter þi desert.

Amen.

Finis.

193

XXVIII. The Bischoppis lyfe and testament.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Calling to mynde the mutabiliteis
Of this Inconstant warld sa variabill,
Lyke to ane Schip that saillis on the seis,
Tost with winds & wallis Innauigabill;
Bot sen I se na plesure permanabill,
Bot as the weid it widderis sone away,
Lat vs go seik the gloir Inestimabill,
Quhair we man pas perpetually for ay.

With spreit opprest, this plungit in to cair,
Remembring me quhat mater to compyle,
Endlang ane Park I past without repair
Be Snawdoun syde, the seuint day of Apryle;
And as I walkit, wandering not ane myle,
Ane pieteous spreit appeirit to my thocht,
Sayand: “allace! and waryit be the quhyle
That I was borne, or in this warld vpbrocht!”

194

Can I nocht tell gif be Illutioun,
Or gif be feir sic fantaseis we tak;
Bot this he said in schort conclusioun,
Deplorit ane plaint, and planelie to me spak:
“Poetis of me hes mater for to mak,
In tragedie, quhat tyme I heir remanit.”
And with that word I went sum thing abak,
And bad say on, and, with God saif me, sanit.

“I was,” said he, “ane Lord leuand on lyfe,
Ane bastard barne, that can I not deny:
My Father was ane Erle and had ane wyfe,
Thocht he abusit his body, and lay by.
In Goddis Ire begottin sa was I:
My mother was a Dame in Dundaf mure,
Bot quhidder it was in feild keipand the Ky,
Or fischand Lochis Lin, I am not sure.

“As for my surname, seik my mothers aith:
Quhylis Cuninghame yai callit me heir & yair,
Bot gude John Cowane gaif me meit and claith,
Quhill I was seuin yeir auld and sū thing mair.
The Prouest of Hammiltoun, cūmand by, for cair
Fand me with Ky ane kyndlie occupatioun,
And Hammiltoun he me huif, I ȝow declair,
Ane sorie Surname, for my awin salutatioun.

“To preif my spreit and say my scharp Ingyne,
With John of Cliddisdail yai [ro]usit me to striue,
Be worsling first in faith the feild was myne,
I brak his heid to haue prerogatiue.
Quhat sall I wryte ȝow? in my wittis fiue
I was coequall with Achitophall,
Or subtill Sinone, knaifrie to discriue,
And all my deidis mair Diabolicall.

195

“In leirning letters lang tyme at ye Scule,
My pregnant spreit surpassit all the laif,
Quhill I was cowit, and cled vp lyke ane Fule,
In Stemming Rokket, riches to ressaif.
Than twa ȝeiris Noueis, notit for ane Knaif,
Ȝond in Kiluinning my prentischip I past:
Bella fortuna to me sic giftis gaif,
To want na graith, and ay the Gallous last.

“Thā my Lord Arrane from Albany ye Duke
Obtenit the gift of Murray be ane myance,
Quhen Abbotschaw sic hauie haitrent tuik
At the haill hous of Lennox and thair alliance;
Quhaitfoir he coist and left thame at defyance.
Than I fund Jok was into Paslay plaist,
Smart in my schuitting & singular in my Sciēce,
And sum men sayis the bybill I Imbraist.

“For feir of that thay gart me fle to France,
In waryit tyme, I trow, I went of towne,
Quhair I begouth with guthorne for to dance,
To loup on Lassis, lait, and play the Lowne.
My Stēming Sark & Rokket was laid doun,
Fra tyme that I hard tell the King was deid:
Than I began, haill Tutour to the Crowne,
To steir my tyme the temporall lawis to leid.

“The first that euer vaikit was Dunkell,
And I was gaipand lyke ane gredie gled;
The Cardinall deit, and than Sanctandros fell;
My power haill vnto the Paip I sped;
Quhen thay had rypelie all my bawes red,
Aganis thair Cannoun Law thay gaif decreit,
For I was bastard borne of vnlawfull bed,
Ȝit furtherit I becaus thay fand me meit.

196

“Without respect to God or feir of faith,
Plumand but pietie I did oppres the pure;
Be fenȝeit causis I confiscat graith;
Men criminall to accuse I tuke na cure;
Quhen it was gottin I gaif it to my hure,
Quhome I possest in speciall, Stanehous wyfe;
Of all the barnis my Lady Jeltoun bure,
Scho me constranit to mak Ilk ane a lyfe.

“Rowpand for riches quhill all my barnis wer staikit,
As houngrie Lyoū, lousit out of a band,
Sum benefice I bocht or euer it vaikit;
And sum I wardit waitand on thair land;
Kilburnie haldis Drumry behind the hand,
Raith, and Bernbowgall, & mony honest man:
Na wrangous conqueis Christ wil thoil to stād:
Euill was it wairit and weill war I it wand.

“Be iustice airis I pledgit all the pepill,
Than spairit nane thocht thay wer Innocent;
To Magnifie my name I maid ane Stepill;
Of euerie pleuch I tuik fyue pund of Stent:
Swa of this lyfe the Lord was miscontent,
Seand my faith not foundit on ane Roik:
As babell fell, sa Paslay may repent
That I the maid of Malesounis of foik.

“Than was I Legat licent be the Paip,
With dispensatiounis, sawis for euerie sair;
To eik my pois I leit thame pas gude chaip;
By quha sa wald, I wantit na sic wair.
For holynes thay heipit on me mair,
Greit Metropolitane of the Kirk of God;
Quhen I was Hird the scheip was in ane snair,
Lyke till ane flok of hennis befoir ane Tod.

197

“Quha landit than bot Lennox out of France?
To battell boun with him was bernis bauld;
Sair I in dreid, quhill I deuysit that dance
Of Glasgow Castell, gat it bocht and sauld:
Greit was the riches fund within that hauld,
Plaitter nor pois we neuer left ane plak;
Coistlie apparell that can not weill be tauld;
We left him bair till all was on his bak.

“Efter the feild we followit him sa fast,
Spuilȝeit his places, & tuik baith gudis & geir,
Quhill all the land he left vs at the last,
Quhair Lawrence Neisbit chaipit verray neir;
Contrair my conscience and the actis of weir,
Murdreist his men that micht me nocht resist:
That saikles blude rang fer and twentie ȝeir,
Quhill Palmsoneuin that same day I deceist.

“Bot to my taill heir I returne agane:
Quhen ȝe began in godlynes to gloir,
I tuik my womit wickitlie, in vane:
Contrair my conscience I profest befoir,
My mynd was than the Messes to restoir;
Bot now, to lait, I lat that Law allane:
Had I fund graith my honour to decoir,
I caird not by quhat way the warld had gane.

“At Haryis Mariage I bure him Inuy,
Feirand he procreat children with the Quene:
His putting doun I publictly deny,
Ȝit botis & hūmis declairis ȝow quhat I mene.
And scho wer wrakit, all the warld may wene,
Than sould the Duke but dout ressaif ye croun.
This was my purpois planely to obtene,
Under sum craft, to cow the Stewartis doun.

198

“Than was scho caryit captiue, as thay tell,
And quha nor I was fainer of that fact?
Except the countrie cum not with our sell,
Quhilk was the only caus we bure abak.
For feir of Murray sic myance gart I mak,
Be fraud and gyle we gat hir of Lochleuin:
Seikand our gloir we gat baith schame and lak:
Our fals intent was sa tryit out in heuin.

“Ȝit cuttit I away their worldly strenth,
James, Erll of Murray, Regent of Renoun,
As I sall schaw ȝow schortly at mair lenth,
I being captiue tane to Striuiling Toun:
Dunbartane Castell—Deuill mot ding the doun!—
Quha wald beleif bot thow was wicht aneuch?
Bot ȝit the Lord is Maister of Mahoun,
Inspyrit thair spreitis, & gart thame speil that heuch.

“Bot quha may leif fra tyme his glas be run?
As I haue schawin, heir schortly to conclude,
Sone was I helterit fra the hous was wun,
To Snawdoun syne, accusit with men of gude
Of pointis four, bot stifly I withstude:
Except the Regentis deith I nocht denyit;
I was the only man gart spill his blude,
And mekle mair gif all the treuth wer tryit.

“Gude pepill heir, to haue ȝow not abusit,
Just ordour led, I lat ȝow vnderstand,
In parliament I was forfalt and accusit,
Quhair I was baith conuict of lyfe and land,
Denuncit Rebell, and fugitiue fra hand;
Quhairfoir I knew my deid gif I wer gottin:
Thay socht na law bot thay befoir yame fand,
And will he vsit quhill we be deid and rottin.

199

“And quhair ȝe speik of auld perticular,
Without auise of thair Nobilitie,
The Erll of Angous and my Lord of Mar,
Glencarne, Ruthuen, Cathcart, and Ouchiltrie,
Methuen, Lochleuin, with Lairds aboūdantlie,
The Justice Clerk my dittay red perqueir:
Than fra I saw I was condampnit to die,
This was my haill Confessioun ȝe sall heir.

Sequitur Confessio.

“Gude pepill all, I pray ȝow to pray for me,
Quhat may my rent of riches now decoir me?
This far I speik in presence of ȝow all,
Complenand heir with pietie I deploir me,
Quha is the Lord to lyfe may now restoir me.
Heirfoir, go mark this in Memoriall,
Twyse being bischop with sic beriall,
Hard to beleif sum tyme to se me hing,
Gif I had seruit my God and syne my King.

“Quhair ȝe accuse me of the Kingis d[eid],
Gif I it knew, God nor I want my heid!
Exceptand quhen I hard the hous was fyrit,
I feirit myself and dred sum deidly feid.
Than I persauit that he was past remeid,
I knew sum Tratouris had his deith conspyrit,
Thocht Johne, my seruand, said as he desyrit,
Under Confessioun speikand to ane Preist:
Mair beist was he that bure it not in his breist.

“My former faith I can not weill Recant,
Nane I accuse, I come not heir to Sant,
Gif to reueild may help me heir, I dout.
As to the Regentis deith in deid I grant,
I weill awow it, becaus he leit me want:

200

That ȝe may tell till all that standis about.
My voce is waik, I may not weill speik out,
And of my ‘Manus tuas’ I haue sic haist,
With ‘ite missa est’ said, I gaif the Gaist.”

This being said, the cludis obscurit the sky,
And I was feirit, and hamewart did me hy,
Maid to the Towne and steppit vp the streit,
And, as I past, the Potence I espy,
Quhair the anoyntit Bischop hung to dry.
I was Sanct Thomas quhill I tuichit his feit.
On Palmsoneuin this paper I compleit,
Euin word be word, as to the treuth belang[it]
And, gif I lie, God nor the liers be hangit.

Finis.

Ouod Sempill.

Imprentit at Striuiling be Robert Lekpreuik. Anno Do. M. D. LXXI.

201

XXIX. A Lewd Ballet.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

[_]

Taken wt ye L. Setons writings.

A first quhen the newis begouthe to ryse, gretly thai maid me wondre,
Quhow that so grett a gospellar so fellounly could fondre;
Bott, seing quhow all erdly thingis wor subiect to mutatioun,
Than fand I it no grett mervall, albeit the congregatioun
wor no les than þe puir Papistis Inclynit to fornicatioun.

Now is the cours Platonian completit haillely:
the sone and Mone and sevin sterris reuoluit in þe sky,
That mokis the wordle tourne top or taill, & will resson to ryde,
The plewche befoir the oxin go, the best the man to gyde,
And all things to misrewlit be, owte of all tyme and tyde.

The Subiect now commandis the Prince, and Knox is grown a king:
Quhat he willis obeyit is, that maid the Bisshop hing;

202

The soutar is the grett prechor: the gray freir moks þe shone;
Quhat mervell than thochte chaist forett, prouokit by þe mone,
Hichit on þe hure so oppinly, sen all is owtte of tone?

Quhat mervell thochte on þe fryday wyt silks he did him dek,
and on sonday his garmont wes of ane harne sek?
Quhat mervall thot þe cerimony and claith of penitence
is vsit, and þe oþr clayt of diuine reuerence
and ministration, þat Aron woure, is putt in negligence?

Ȝitt I beleiff ols mony myndis thochte, ha, loury, ha, ha!
Quhen Dauid vnder þe sek did loure, as toungs did coy or say,
Quhen þe puir preist to scaffald went, þe auld bisshop befoir,
in Aronis weidis; for quha wald not lauche qll his hart grew soir,
To se forett þe holy frere his fukking so deploire?

Bott quhat, I think, thochte Dauid, quhē he wes to lowpe the lowne?
or quhow did he his conscience so sincere cloik or gowne?
Evin as Meffan, his scuill maistre, þai se, schew him þe way,
Quha neþr wyt oþr mānis wyffe nor maid, bot wyt his awin las lay:
Than lat ws sing, O fukand flok! ȝor deid is not lyk ȝor say.

The preist, I grant, his concubine wald hyde in hoill and boire,
and quhylis quhen he tyrit of ane wold gett in oþr in stoire;
The Ministre, far todlyar, his hure in houshold chereis,
bott, quhē he listis, he schaks hir of be diuorce or hir wirreis;
Sum for þe hure garris heid þameselff, and is not þat a morreis?

Quhat mervell than thot chaist forett, mouit be luyf and ȝeill,
qlk he beris so feruently vnto þe Cōmune Weill,
That, quhē he not promouis þe sonne, he—il scantly dit þe day,
to stoir þe wordle lay on þe lass, sen it dois plainly say:
Crescite, my douis, et multiplicaminay!

203

The Duvill, þatt man kynd he may trumpe, tekis forme of Angell bryte,
bot, at þe last, þe grace of God his trumpry bringis to lychte;
Sa, lolarts, ȝor hypocrisy þat sa fane ȝe wald hyde,
Ȝe se, wyt tyme, in spyte of ȝow dois peice and peice owt slyde,
Schawing quhow, wolfis in lam skynis! þe puire scheip ȝe misgyde.

204

XXX. My Lord Methwenis Tragedie.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Thow emptie pen! pas but experience,
with dull indyte, and do thy diligence,
This pure cōplaint with pietie to deploir.
Of Muses vane I ask na Eloquence,
Bot only God, of his greit Excellence,
Him to ressaif in Euerlasting gloir,
Quhome dolent deith hes laitly done deuoir;
Unlukellie, allace! gif man micht mend it:
Slane with ane schot: sa is the gude Lord endit.

Methwen may murne, and all the bounds about,
For Hary Stewart, that was bauld and stout,
Constant and kynd, with qualiteis conding.
In smallest danger, nane beleuand dout,
Inuyous Fortoun swa did waill him out,
Lyke as at Roxburgh raid scho slew our King,
Ane greit foirtakin of ane weill war thing.
To se the saikles puneist sa with roddis:
The scharper scurge is cūmand for the Toddis.

205

Sic is thair craft in clymming to the Crowne,
The pure King Hary pieteously put downe,
Nocht be thair force bot fyring of ane trane;
The Erle of Murray murdreist with ane lowne,
And Lennox last, ȝe saw, in Striuiling Towne;
Gude George Ruthuen with thay rebalds slane;
Garleis, Dundas, quhilk wer baith trew & plane;
Dowglas of Lyntoun & gude Westiraw was last,
with lytill meaning, fra the men be past.

Bot to my taill and Tragedie returne:
The gude Lord Methuen makis me to murne,
That all my senses suddānly doun fais.
Quha hes the breist nor it in baill wald burne,
To se ȝone tratoures do sa foule ane turne?
Gif that our Lords wald craib for ony cais,
wa worth the tyme he went about ȝone wais!
wa worth the Towne, the Castell, and the craig!
Sic tyme sall cum that God sall pour his plaig.

wa worth his weirds (gif ony weirds can be!)
Parcas, Lacheses, Atrapus, all thre!
Fy on the, Fortoun, with thy fenȝeit smyle!
war deid substantiall maid of stane or tre,
I suld not rest, bot me reuenge on the.
Micht thow not spair yat Lord to liue a quhyle?
Ane of the best was borne in all this Ile.
Gif it wald rute to reckin out sic taillis,
Gude to be war, quhen wickitness preuaillis.

Of twentie ȝeiris, ȝing, and sa discreit,
Meik of his maners, mansuetude, and sweit,
Lord lyke, allace! he had our lytill feir;
Aganis his fais ay formest on his feit,
With lāmis vult, and with ane Lyouns spreit,

206

Quha had mair grace to gouerne men of weir?
And, gif I spak of Culuering, bow, and speir,
He was not borne was better of sic playis,
(war he not Lord) nor lyke him of his dayis.

Ȝing, lusty, lufesum, liberall, and large,
Ane greit defender of our chosin Barge;
In trublous time yow micht haif steirt ye ruther:
Few better heir bene Chiftane to haue charge,
Aganis Lord Greid, to beir the goldin Targe;
In all this land thow left not sic ane vther.
The Sācts of God may say thay want ane brother,
Sic as at na tyme can thay get for graith,
Sa frak, sa fordwart to defend thair faith.

In the was wit, wisdome, and worthynes;
In the was grace, groundit with godlynes;
In the was meiknes and humilitie;
In the was fredome, force, and ferynes;
In the was manly mowis and maryness,
with mercy, science, and Ciuilitie.
To the Dame nature gaue abilitie,
Pringnant of wit, of policie but peir,
Rype of ingyne, with iudgement perqueir.

In honest pastyme was thy haill delyte:
Thow bure the toung that neuer spak dispyte;
Walkryfe in weirs, and watcheman to the rest:
For na offence culd thow be forsit to flyte
Aganis thy seruandis, thocht thay wer to wyte;
But with thy wysdome weyit it at the best:
Thy houshald trim and treit weill, thay confest,
Quhairfoir thay mys the mair nor all the laif,
Quhen thay remember on the giftis thow gaif.

207

Had Stewarts stoutnes, as the mater stands,
Thay wald not faill to fecht it with thair hands,
To se yame murdreist doun yat dois belāg yame;
Bot sum ar feirit for fyring of thair lands,
And sum ar lyand obleist vnder bands,
That dar not steir, suppois the tother hang yame.
Blist be the barne yat is not borne amang thame,
Thay beand beistis that hes bene men befoir,
Cōpairit with Gedds that dois thair fry deuoir.

Fy on the! Atholl! quhat dois thow requyre?
May not thir murthers mufe thy hart to Ire?
Gif thow had mettall, man, to bring the to!
Thy dowbill faith may not abyde the fyre,
Swa misbeleif sall leif the in the myre.
Or hes thy wyfe the wyte of it? quhair is scho?
Defend the caus, man, quhill the King cum to:
Gif naturall kyndnes kindillis vp thy breist,
We, beand doun, na dout thow salbe neist.

God saue King James, thow may say, allace!
Exceptand only God mon gyde thy grace;
For temporall Lords, thay leif the few on lyue;
Thy Father murdreist in ane mischant place,
Syne baith thy Regents of ane Royall race,
with sindrie vther Nobills four or fyue;
And, last of all, I laith wer to discryue
The manly Methwen mischantly put downe,
Slane for thy saik for sauing of thy Crowne.

For the mantenance of thy lyfe and law
I note bot few, or nane, with sic ouirthraw,
As only Ruthwen: this my ressoun quhy:
His Father first, gif I the suith suld schaw,
Deit in exyle for honest caus, ȝe knaw;

208

His douchtie brothers deith can nane deny;
Now Methwen last, beleuand sorrow by,
Quhilk hes mair barrat to his breist inbrocht,
Nor all the laif, gif he culd leif his thocht.

Thocht we be subiect to mortalitie,
Ȝit God Indewis vs with sic qualitie
That naturall kyndnes causis vs to cair;
Bot let na Carnall Corporalitie
Conplane on Christ for partialitie,
To tak his awin men outher lait or air:
Lat deid to deid, and die not in dispair;
Ryse and reuenge the Ruthwen on ȝone rout:
Quhat will it mend to murne thy senses out?

As to the Lords that hes begun this actioū,
I feir thair tyme be turnand to detractioun,
Gif thay repent not this I spak befoir;
Exame thair conscience of particular pactioun,
Gif thay be fauourers of the tother factioun,
(And gif swa be,) thair mys mon be the moir;
God will not be abusit with sic vane gloir:
The storme approches quhen ye Poills are fairest,
The langer spairit, the plaigue is ay the sairest.

The day is neir, as I dar weill deplane ȝow,
The wraith of God is lyke to gang aganis ȝow
For spairing men of Macheuillus Scuillis:
How may ȝe saue ȝone smaiks yat wald haif slane ȝow?
And ȝe wer in yair hāds, yai wald not hane ȝow;
Thay play the men & ȝe the febill fuillis:
Quhat is the caus, let se, ȝour curage cuillis?
Particular proffeit, durst I speik it out,
Ȝit thay ar daylie murdreist doun thay dout.

209

To mak sic change, ȝe wair ȝour wit in vane,
As thairs for ouris, and ouris for thairs agane:
Thair mō ȝe grant yair groūd all gude as ȝours;
Bot, quhair ȝe gat thame, wald ȝe flour the grane?
That beand done, na dout thay wald be fane
For to renounce thair Law and cum to ours;
Do ȝe not sa, ȝe sall thoill scharper schours,
Sic vane excambion can I not considder,
As marrow tratours and the trew togidder.

I dar be bauld to say sen this began,
Had we bot vsit the victorie we wan,
With gloir to God that gaif thame in our hands,
we nedit not or now to want ane man.
Bot quhen we tak thame, solistatioun than
Dois clap thair heid; the counsall sa commandis:
Quhairfoir I feir that God sal burne ye wandis,
As, for exempill, I can let ȝow seit,
For spairing sinfull, how the saikles deit.

As Quheit is strukin for the stra besyde,
And siluer fyne mon to the Furnes glyde,
To get the dros deuydit, as we se,
Thocht King Josias did in Christ confyde,
Befoir the plaigue come, God will sa prouyde:
He will not thoill the iust with thame to die;
Bot, quhair he takis away sic men as he,
The riche, the wyse, the Capitane, or the gyde,
Thair sall the pepill punischment abyde.

Quhat nedit Noy for sin to suffer wrak?
Nor faithfull Lot, bot for the wickits saik?
Caleb and Josua in cūming to the land?
For Ophny and Phines, that the battell straik,
The Innocent Ely all his banis braik;

210

The Ark of God was caryit of thair hand,
And ȝit thair fais micht better haue lattin it stand:
Suppois the saikles slane was for offences,
Ȝit did the Phelistims faill of thair pretences.

And gredy Acan, for the geir he hid—
Twa golden braislettis—lytill thing he did:
Ȝit was the pepill puneist for sic playis.
Haue we sic wrangous geir—na, God forbeid—
As Crowats, Sensours, or ane Challeis leid?
Quhilk will be found na fault now heir a dayis.
For spairing Agag, as the Scripture sayis,
The hous of Saule was puneist, and his seid,
Not spairing Jonathan for his douchtie deid.

Siclyke King Dauid thoillit pane and greif:
His wickit barnetyme brocht him to mischeif:
His Capitane, Joab, Absolone forbure;
Bot far ma Joabs heir, for thair releif,
with solistatioun, quhen we tak ane theif,
Suppois ȝe wist he wrocht ȝour self iniure,
Swa sum beleuis, haue baith the sydes sa sure;
And ȝit I hope thay sall not want thair hyre,
As Absolone set Joabs corne in fyre.

The King Roboam raschely did ouirluik
The auld wyse counsall, and the fulische tuik;
Quhairfoir he tynt his kyndlie Trybes ten.
And Jeroboam, in that samin buik,
Set vp new Idols and his God forsuik,
Quhill Abiah slew fyue hundreth thousand men:
Swa Bennadab was Captiue, as ye ken,
Bot, quhair the iust dois ioyne thame with forsakin,
Be war thay get not wickit Acabs takin.

211

Quhat dois it proffeit Poetrie prophane?
Sen trew Preicheours speikis it to ȝow plane,
Ȝit neuer mercy in your mynd remordis:
As fruteles seid it neuer growis a grane.
Bot to my taill heir I returne agane:
This Tragedie may staik, to tell the Lordis,
Ane thousand fyue hundreth Sempill sa recordis
Thre scoir and twelf, suppois the veirse be vane,
The thrid of marche was worthy Methwē slane.

Finis with the Dytone

Quod Sempill.

The Lord to delyuer the laif of this blude,
And send vs ane sythmēt of yis suddane slauchter;
The King & his counsall inspyre yame with gude,
And mak vs not an futestuil to our fais lauchter.

Imprentit at Sanctandrois be Robert Lekpreuik Anno Do. 1572.

212

XXXI. Ane Premonitioun to the barnis of Leith.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Ane Cūning Clerk, Experience,
And Maister of Intelligence,
New landit in Inchekeith,
This lytill Sedull schortly sends
To all that the gude caus defends—
That is, the barnis of Leith.

Becaus I hard of ane Conuētion
Now to be maid for this dissentioun
That is into this land;
That anis thair may be finall pace,
How sone I vnderstude the cace,
I maid me to frahand,

To send this Sedull in a gayth,
That nane of ȝow kep ony skayth

213

For laik of Premonitioun;
For ofttymes, into treating trewis,
Cūis tydingis yat richt mony rewis,
Be Tratorie and Seditioun.

As, for exempillis, gif I list,
I haue anew, wald I insist,
Baith Forane and at hame:
Bot, to my purpois to proceid,
Of peace and concord thair is neid
In pure Scotland, be name;

Quhilk neuer in sic perrell stude,
Sen that our Lord deit on the Rude;
Foull fall thame hes the wyte!
For it is ouirgane with a flude
Of murther, and of saikles blude:
Allace! for leif to flyte!

Scotland this blude hes first begun,
And lang in bludschedding hes run,
Ane Patrone of mischeif:
The rest at it beginnis to leir,
Allace! that pietie is to heir:
I pray God send releif.

For innocēts ar murtherit downe,
without remors, in land and towne:
Quhat leid may leif on lyfe?
And thay hald gait, I trow, frahand
Sic murther salbe, in all land,
Of Children, man, an wyfe;

That seis als greit as Noyis flude
Sall drowne ye warld of māis blude:

214

Quhat mischeif do thay mene?
Ȝone cursit battell, as I trow,
Quhilk thay at Trent did all auow,
Thay think now to sustene.

For murtherars dois all confidder:
Thay and ye Papists rynis togidder:
Thay ar ane blyssit pak.
And thair wer not a God abone,
I wald be fleit, I tell ȝow, sone
That all suld gang to wrak.

Bot sa lang as our God dois Ring,
Quhilk salbe ay without ending,
We neid not for to feir.
Thocht yai suld all rin by yair mynd,
Our God to vs salbe sa kynd,
Thay sall us neuer deir.

Bot ȝit sen baith in France and heir
Thay haue one butt, as dois appeir,
That is, to cut all doun,
That Justice lufis and haitis vice:
Thairfoir, my ladds of Leith, be wice—
Ȝe ken ȝour warisoun.

I pray ȝow all be circumspect:
Ȝour enemeis dois not neglect
Occasiounis to ouirsyle ȝow;
And, gif thay may, thay will not spair,
Outher be foull play or be fair,
Agane ȝit to begyle ȝow.

Ȝe haue mair neid thame now to feir
Nor quhen thay come in feir of weir

215

Downe to the Gallow Ley:
For than ȝe knew thay wer ȝour fais,
Bot now thay cum in freindis clais,
Quhilk is ane sairer sey.

I speik not this that ȝe suld stay
From ȝour Cōuentioū and ȝour day,
Or ony wayis dissaue thame:
Bot that ȝe may prouyde befoir,
To haue ane pyn for euery boir,
And to be richt war with thame.

Ȝe knaw thair faith in tymes past:
Thairfoir luke that ȝe festin fast,
And tak gude tent about ȝow:
For, trewly, and ȝe be not wyse,
Ȝe sall not mys to se ane gyse,
That sall not weill content ȝow.

And ȝit I rid yame leaue yair tressoū,
And euin be weill content of ressoun,
Sen Fortoun, with a Reill,
Hes wrocht thame ane vnabill charr,
And blawin thame blind or thay wer warr,
With turnin of hir Quheill.

For quhy befoir thay did pretend
The Quenis authoritie to defend,
To gar men trow thay lude hir:
Howbeit yai wald haif wist hir swoumād
Intil a bait vpō Lochlowmōd,
But boddum, air, or Ruther.

Thairfoir hir caus thay did procure,
Becaus yai thocht yat scho was sure,

216

And keepit to thair hand;
Bot ȝit sic farleis hes bene sene
That Frāce will haif hir brocht hame Quene,
And fred out of Ingland.

And gif that be, I wald thay wist
That sū of thame mon flit thair kist,
For all this brawling beir:
Bot, sillie saulis, thay ar sa daft,
Thay ken nathing, I trow, bot craft:
Thay ar bot ȝit to leir.

It wer ane pitie to begyle thame,
I wald blind Jamie wald gang wile thame,
The moyane for till find,
How that yai micht eschew ye quene,
And that thay micht (the parrel sene)
Go saill ane vther wynd.

Ȝea, thocht sum leuch & sum did dāce,
Quhen thir blak tydingis come fra France,
Blind Jamie tauld me ells
That quyetly yai news did fyk yame,
And sum of thame dois euin mislyke thame,
Als mekle as ȝour sells.

Thairfoir, I trow, and thay be wyse,
Thay sall leaue of thair Interpryse,
And rather gre with ȝow,
Nor with the hous of Guyis to mell,
Quha is als godles as thair sell,
And kens thair gymps, I trow.

For, get yat hous yair hād abone yame,
I wed my heid yat yai sal tone yame,

217

And trym yame for thair triks:
Ȝe, thay can think on auld done deids;
For brint barne the fyre ay dreids:
Thay will not thole sic prikis.

I wald fane warne ȝow of al dāgers,
I coūsal ȝow, be war with strangers,
That halds ȝow baith in hand:
I dreid ȝe ly lang be the eiris,
Or thay think time to end the weiris
And troubill in this land.

It wer gude gif ȝe culd aggre
Amang ȝour selfis, and let thame be:
Ȝe may wit quhat I mene;
for, quhē yat strāgers reuls ȝour roist,
It wilbe, sure, on Scotlands coist,
As hes bene hard and sene.

And wer ȝe weill aggreit, I tell,
Than Scotland micht do for the sell,
And set als lytill by thame,
As thay do it, for all thair power,
Thay wald be fane to seik ȝour fauour,
And to ȝow als apply thame.

Bot till aggre and ȝe delay,
Than Scotland will be bot ane pray,
As will be schortly sene,
Till gredie Gormondis waitand on,
Quhen thay may se occasion
To rute ȝow all out clene.

For sword and derth hes ȝow opprest,
And also ȝe haue felt the pest,

218

Bot ȝit few dois amend:
Than desolatioun is the last
Of Gods plagues quhē thir ar past,
Quhilk doutles he will send.

Ȝea, I forspeik, ceis not thir weiris,
The tyme sall cum, within few ȝeiris,
That nane of Scottis blude
In Scotland dar him self auow,
Mair nor in Jurie dois the Jow,
For feir of Natiounis rude.

Than sall ȝour pure posteritie,
In wandering wyde fra this coūtrie
Amang all vther Natiounis,
Cry out and murne with woful cheir,
That pitie salbe for till heir
Thir kynd of exclamatiounis:

Allace! that euer thay wer borne,
That dwelt in Scotland vs beforne,
And loist vs sic ane land,
quhilk our forbears ans thocht ours,
with plesād castells, townis, & towrs,
And all things at command.

Sum Lords, sum Lairds, sū les degre,
Thair commoun welth and policie,
As ony Natioun, had;
And now na Scottisman dar be thair,
Allace! quhat hart will not be sair
To see Scottismen sa sad!

Than sall thay warie, curse, & ban
The murtherars yat yir weiris begā,

219

Quhen Chronickles thay reid;
Thā Edinburgh, that Castell strang,
Sall wareit be that stude sa lang,
Sic murther for to feid.

Thairfor, yir plaigs wald yai eschew,
I counsall thame in tyme to rew,
And thair mischeif repent,
Quhilk, gif thay do, ȝe may aggre,
Bot vtherwise na pace salbe,
Thocht ȝe thairto consent.

For thocht that Saul will Agag spair,
Ȝit God will haue his will, but mair,
Fulfillit or he sace:
Gif this ȝe do not vnderstand,
Speir at John Durie or John Brād:
Thay will expone the place.

thocht murtherars says yat yai thrist blude,
Ȝit let na nobill mē of gude,
Be craft that was brocht on it,
And rewis yat yai haif tane sic part,
Repenting trewly from thair hart,
Feir, thocht Johne Knox expone it.

Bot gif yat thay grow proud & heich,
And skar at ȝow as thay wer skeich,
And on na wayis will bow thame,
Let yame pas on to thair defensis,
It salbe on thair awin expensis,
Or all be done, I vow thame.

Than quhidder ȝe conuene or nocht,
Keip thir premissis in ȝour thocht,

220

Ȝe that of Leith ar barnis:
The abstinence drawis neir ane end,
Thairfoir, I pray ȝow, now attend:
Think on: Experience warnis.

Imprentit at Sanctandrois be Robert Lekpreuik. 1572.

Finis.

221

XXXII. The lamentatiō of the Cōmounis of Scotland.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Quhat thift, quhat reif, quhat murther & oppressioū,
Quhat saikless slauchter, quhat mortall meserie,
Quhat pouertie, quhat derth and Tribulatioun
Dois Ring be Grange, all leidis on lyfe may se!
The schame is thyne, thocht we the sorrow drie,
Curst Nemrod, richt of Babilone the cheif!
We Commounis all lowd vengeance cryis on the,
Blaming thy tressoun, the caus of all our greif.

We, sillie pure anis, quhair we wer wont to gang
With Coillis and Cokillis, with Fische, & sicklyke wair,
Upon our bakis, als mekill as we micht fang,
With mirrie sang all tripping into pairis,
To wyn our leuing in mercat at sic Fairis,
Now we, allace! but reuth, ar reft with theif;
Haue we ane lyart, na baid bot all is thairis:
Blaming thy tressoun, the caus of all our reif.

222

Na vther lyfe we pure men bade of better
Nor with our Naiggis to gane to Edinburgh sone,
With Peittis, with Turuis, and mony turse of Hedder;
Ay gat gude saill, syne lap, quhen we had done,
For mirrynes; and with the licht of Mone
We wald ga hame but outher fray or chace,
Quhair now in sorrow fra dure to dure we clune,
Blaming thy tressoun of all our cair, allace!

We Coilȝearis, Cadgearis, and Carteris, in ane rout,
Be bludie Wolfis, that Grange hes maid to steir,
Our hors is reft, our selfis ar doung, but dout;
Quhair we did trauell, we dar not now appeir
Out of our Ludge, we tak of thame sic feir,
Thocht it wald vs ten thousand Crownis auance:
With morning Prayer we curse thame maid this we[ir,]
Blaming thy tressoun, the caus of our mischance.

Allace! we Chapmen may with Creilmen murne
Thay sillie men that brocht thair butter and egges
To Edinburgh Croce, and did na vther turne;
And we, agane, wald by ane Fraer of Fegges,
Baith prenis and nedillis, and sell to landwart Megges:
Than micht we trauell quhair we dar not this day,
Bot lyis at hame, but meit—na drink bot dregges,
Blaming thy tressoun, the caus of all our fray.

Quhat wicht on lyfe will not vs pure pietie,
That wont to bring the woll, the skin, and hyde
To Edinburgh Towne, in peice and Cheritie,
Fra Selkirk, Hawik, and the partis of Clyde,
Quhair now, allace! in hoill and boir we byde?
As wratches werie the Corenothe we carpe;
Dar not keik out for Rebellis that dois ryde,
Blaming thy tressoun of this our sorrow scharpe.

223

We Tinklaris, Tailȝeouris, we craftismen out of nūber,
That be our craft had ay ane honest lyfe,
We wait of nocht bot mekill cair and cummer:
Our Joy is turnit in wo and mortall stryfe.
All our gay garmentis, of sindrie fassounis ryfe,
We thame wedset, our bodyis to sustene:
Na work ado bot beg, baith barne and wyfe,
Blaming thy tressoun that causis vs complene.

We Merchandis all, that with our Merchand pakkis
Did trauell ay fra Towne to Towne to Fairis,
Thow hes vs baneist, thow hes vs fleit fra crakkis:
We sit at hame, na saill is to our wairis.
Thocht we wald trauell, thy reiffaris sa vs clairis
With reif but reuth, but pietie with extortioun;
But mirth in meserie thay horribill houndis vs tairis,
Blaming thy tressoun, the caus of our oppressioun.

We commounis all, with cair we may lament,
That had sic peice, sic rest, and vnitie;
And now, allace! ar rugit, reuin, and rent;
Our steidis are stowne, our cattell reft trewlie.
With weiping, wallaway, nane may we wyte bot the,
Thou Feind Infernall! thou garris vs walk our so,
Quhair we afoir did sleip richt quyetlie:
Blaming thy tressoun, the caus of all our wo.

Bot, sen with sith ȝe Cammounis do complene,
With sob full sair richt trewly sall I tell,
I, James Dalȝell, Indwellar in the Dene,
Be Grange, smaikis, I wait, send be himsell,
Hes schot my wyfe throw birsket, lyre, and fell;
Scho, greit with barne, syne gaif the gaist with plane:
Than cryit my bairnis with mony ȝout and ȝell,
Blaming thy tressoun that had thair Mother slane.

224

Thay reuthles Ruffeis but reuth with crueltie
Did slay my husband but caus into my sicht;
Downie Ros be Name, ane Cuitlar of craft trewlie,
With Gūnis him gord but mercy on the nicht.
I and my bairnis sall craif Goddis plaigues ful richt
To fall the, Grange, thou cruell Cokadraill!
With fourtie ma nor did on Pharo licht:
Blaming thy tressoun that causis vs bewaill.

Sen not but caus we wyte the of this wa,
With panefull pech, with mony grank and grane,
The curse the wareis, but blys, fra top to ta:
Lat neuer thy freind se oucht of the bot schame,
With cursit deith, that mony man the blame.
Lucifer was heich, bot, Lord, thow threw him downe;
Sa will he the, thow graceles Grange be Name!
Blaming thy tressoun, with sorrow but Renowne.

O tenefull Tyrane! O Gyant mekill but micht!
Of vitious deidis thow art the only Fontane;
Quhairfra all vice, but vertew, springis full richt,
As dois the watter out of the Rok or Montane.
We pure sall cry, with erie hartis fast dontane,
To thee, O God! to scurge this wickit wicht,
In Just exempill to all the warld maist certane,
Blaming thy tressoun, the caus of all our plicht.

Had thow bene trew but tressoun to our Roy,
And to his Regent, gaif the that hauld to keip
As thow did sweir, we had not had this noy:
We micht had peice quhair now in weir we weip,
In wo but weill, but plesure in pane sa deip,
Be the, O Tratour! that Rebellis did ressaif
Into that hauld with the thairin to creip.
Ha! tressoun vntrew will gar ane widdie waif.

225

Now lat vs all with hart and mynde vs dres,
Baith euin and morne, richt law downe on our kne,
With hyddeous schout all we, baith mair and les,
For vengeance Just, with tene to fall on the.
O thow! O Lord and God in persoun thre!
Consume this wratche with Brinstane, fyre, and thūder,
That persecuitis thy Sanctis with crueltie.
Ha! tressoun vntrew ane tow will Schaik in Schunder.

Preserue with micht, fra slicht of fais defend
Our King, gude Lord! and als his Regent eik:
Lat neuer thair micht, but richt, with hand ay bend,
Haue strenth or power thame for to hurt or wreik.
We, thy pure liegis, sall pray and als beseik
To send the grace, lang space in weilfair wend,
That we may se the puneis vice, but meik,
And tressoun, all sessoun: with this we mak ane end.

Imprentit at Sanctandrois be Robert Lekpreuik. Anno Do. M.D. LXXII.

Finis.

226

XXXIII. The Lamentatioū of Lady Scotland, compylit be hir self, speiking in maner of ane Epistle, in the Moneth of Marche, the zeir of God 1572.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

To the Richt Honourabill and Godly leirnit Gentilman The Laird of Dune, Minister of Goddis Word and Superintendent of His Kirk in Angous, Mernis &c. P.R. His Humbill Seruant S.

To quhome suld I my Rurall veirse direct,
Bot vnto him that can thame weill correct?
Befoir quhome suld this mater ga to licht,
Bot to ane faithfull, Godly, Christin Knicht?
To quhome can I this lytill throuch propyne,
Bot vnto ane of Excellent Ingyne?
Not for the termes, nor for the worthynes
Of ony thing that I do heir expres;
Bot for because I aucht, of bound dewtie,
To dedicat to him sum Noueltie.

227

Go, bill, than, to the Laird of Dune I send the,
Beseiking him to tak his pen and mend the.
Mend the, (alaik!) quhy suld he tak that pane?
To sicht the ones, it will bot vex his brane.
For as, in sum Schyre, thair is bot ane myre,
Quhilk is ouir all, that man and beist dois tyre;
Sa into the he sall bot ane fault find,
Quhilk is ouir all, befoir, and als behind.
Ȝit not the les I knaw him sa discreit,
Gif he mend not thy veirse and haulting feet,
Ȝit at the leist sa surely he will byde the,
That poets nane sall se the to diryde the.
Pas on, than, bauldly, and to him deploir
This present stait. Fair weill: I say no moir.

The Lamentatioun of Lady Scotland, Compylit be hir self, speiking in maner of ane Epistle, in the moneth of Marche, ye zeir of God 1572.

Ȝe vapurs wak, and watters in the air!
Ȝe Seyis sa deip! ȝe fludis and fountanis fair!
Heir my complaint; to ȝow my cace I mene,
That ȝe may wellis gif to my febill ene,
To testifie with teiris my wofull cace,
And with ȝour murning weid absconse my face.

My husband, deir gude Johne, the Cōmoun-weill,
To quhome I did all my affairis reueill,
As he to me did, in our faithfull dayis,
But fraude, or gyle, or tressoun ony wayis:
Than lusty, gay, and flurisching wer we;
Trew, faithfull Children he begat on me.

228

Sic lufe and faith to vther thay did beir,
That thay knew not quhat beist was Ciuile weir.
My heid wald not disdane my leggis and feit,
My Eine foirsaw all perallis micht me meit.
My hands and armes, ay reddy to defend me,
To snib my children gif they did offend me.
My bodie was weill cled with Policie;
My Hat was of Justice and Equitie;
My Coller, of trew Nichtbour lufe it was,
Weill prenit on with Kyndnes and solas;
My Gluifis wer of fre Liberalitie;
My Sleifis wer of to borrow and len glaidlie;
My Lais and Mailȝies of trew permanence;
My stomak maid was of clene Conscience;
My waist was gyrdit with Sobrietie;
My leggs and feit schod with Simplicitie;
My hart was haill; my stomach weill disposit;
Of peice and rest my Bowellis wer composit.
Quhat wald ȝe moir? Schir commoun-weill and I
Held hous lang tyme; bot Sathan had Inuy
To see vs so; than callit he Seditioun,
With pryde his Sone, to quhome he gaif cōmissioun
To tak with thame discord, and Nichtbour feid,
Efter, I mene, that our gude bairnis wer deid,
To poysoun me with thair Infectit cryme,
With sum of my awin children of this tyme:
Of quhilks I pray the Lord God mak me fre.
Ambitioun will not lat thame aggre.
Thir mony ȝeiris thay haue me disconfortit,
I trauell ȝit as I had thame aduortit:
The malice greit, that ilk to vther beiris,
Dois ryfe my bowells with thair Ciuile weiris:
Sair boistit thay my husband commoun-weill,
And maid thair vowis and aithis him for to Keill,
In ony part quhair thay him with me fand;
Quhairfoir, for feir, he fled from me, Scotland.

229

Away, sum sayis, to Veneis is he gone,
Or to the Swisches, as thay do suppone,
Quhair he is saif from danger, hurt, or skaith;
Heir wald he deit of cauld and hounger baith.
Thus am I left as wedow in distres
For commoun-weill: my bairnis left Fatherles.

Children I had, in all vertewis perfyte:
To peice and Justice was thair haill delyte.
Sum of displesure deit for wo and cair;
Sum wyrreit was, and blawin in the air;
And sum in Stirling schot was to the deid,
That mair was geuin to peice nor Ciuile feid.
Bot ane was slane, vnto my skaith and schame,
Becaus he socht to fetch my husband hame:
He was my deir and best belouit Sone;
All that he did, for my weilfair was done.
Lyke ane gude Mediciner, or gude Syruge,
Of euill humouris he did my body purge.
Quhat wald ȝe moir? sen James in Falkland deit
Nane for my weill sa weill with me aggreit,
Nor ȝit sa weill did lufe Schir Commoun-weill,
Nor vnto me bure sic ane feruent ȝeill.
Murdreist he was in Lythgow tratrouslie;
The murtherars vnto my heid did fle,
Quhair thay tuik hald, and ȝit dois hald thame fast,
And ay sensyne my heid hes bene agast.
For quhy throw Falset and Subtillitie
Thay chaist away Justice and Equitie;
For laik of quhilks my heid dois wark and ȝaik,
And all my body trymbill dois and schaik:
For, quhen the heid is seik, the Prouerb is,
That all the members be the worse, I wis.

My claithis ar reuin, that pietie is to se;
Particular weill hes spulȝeit policie.

230

My Coller rent is be Dame Fremitnes;
The Prenis thairof ar reft be sad Nysenes;
Dame Nigartnes my Gluifis hes hint away;
Tak for himself my Sleifis dois reist and stay.
My Lace and Mailȝeis tane be Variance;
My Stomak worne is be dissimulance;
My belt is cuttit of pure Gluttonie;
My leggs and feit now schod with Pouertie;
My hart is seik; my stomach keipis na meit;
My bowells Rumbills as thay wald vther eit.
Now for to couer all this villannie,
Ane Cloik thay gif me of authoritie.
Authoritie, (alaik!) na les thay mene,
For thay desyre neuer to se thair Quene;
Bot that thay may in hir Name bruik offices,
With power to cleik vp the benefices.
Nane I excuse on ather syde; for quhy
Ilk ane his awin hous seikis to edify,
And nane dois cair for Commoun-weill ane prene.

I grant I had ane Douchter was ane Quene,
Baith gude and fair, gentill and Liberall,
Dotit with vertewis and wit Naturall;
Prignant in Spreit, in all things honourabill,
Lusty, gude lyke, to all men fauourabill;
Schamefull to euill, baith honest, meik and law;
Thir vertewis all scho had, quhyls scho stude aw
Of God Eterne, as of hir Gouernour,
And quhen scho did regaird hir hie Honour.
Bot at the last, throw filthy speiche and Counsell,
That scho did heir of sum curst Kittie vnsell,
Fra scho gaif eir to sic vyle bawderie,
God, Schame, and honour, scho forȝet all thre.

It wer to lang the vices to reheirse,
Quhairin from thyne scho did hir self exerce:

231

The Reidar wald thame think maist Insolent,
Bot I thame leif, becaus thay ar Recent:
For quhilks scho was thocht vnworthy to Ring,
Ane Crowne to bruik or ony Royall thing:
Sa all my Children, with hir awin consent,
Deposit hir in oppin Parliament.
Than wald scho that thay suld hir awin sone crowne,
Quhilk thing thay did sa Syce vp and Sink downe:
God saue his Grace: for quhy the same is he
In me that hes the trew authoritie.

Praisit be God, I haue, fre at command,
That fair ȝoung Prince in Stirling, my richt hand.
Wer not in hope I leif to se that day,
That he sall purge thir foull humouris away,
And me restoir agane vnto my helth,
Ȝea, caus my Children flurische in all welth:
Wer not he is brocht vp in all gude thing
Affeiring to ane Godly Prince and King,
Be gude Lord Deddy, my trew faithfull freind,
Cum of ane race of men to me maist kynd;
For Lady Minnie, I dar tak in hand,
Happy is he hes sic ane gouernand:
Wer not thir thingis that maks me leif in hope,
At libertie to se this Lyoun scope,
One day to Rore and Ramp vpon his fois,
To bring thame law, that now sa proudly gois:
Wer not thir thingis, I say, and vthers mo,
I wald dispair, and die for pane and wo.
To ȝow, Vapouris, and watters in the air,
And seyis sa deip, I downe my plaint declair.
Ȝe seyis, I say, gif passage, and ȝe can,
Till sum faithfull to bring hame my gude-man.

And ȝe, my Kirk, my Faithfull Mother deir,
That purgit art of Channoun, Monk, and Freir,

232

Of Papist Priest, Papist, and Papistrie,
Bot not, allace, clene of Hypocrasie,
Of auarice, pryde and ambitioun,
Thocht ȝe haue left all Superstitioun:
I grant the word of God is trewlie Preichit,
And in the schuills Exercise trewlie teichit;
Ȝit, sayis the Commounis, ȝe do not ȝour office,
For vpaland thay haue not dew seruice:
The rowmis appointit pepill to confidder,
To heir Gods word, quhair thay suld pray togidder,
Ar now conuertit in scheip Coits and Fauldis,
Or ells ar fallin, becaus nane thame vphauldis;
The Parische Kirkis, I mene, thay sa misgyde
That nane for wynd and rane thairin may byde:
Thairfoir na plesure tak thay of the tempill;
Nor ȝit to cum quhair nocht is to contempill
Bot Crawis and Dowis cryand and makand beir,
That nane throuchly the Minister may heir;
Baith Fedders, Fylth, and Doung dois ly abrod,
Quhair folk suld sit to heir the word of God;
Quhilk is occasioun to the aduersaryes
To mok and scorne sic things befoir ȝour eyes.
Thus to disdane the hous of Orisoun
Dois mak folk cauld to thair Deuotioun.
And als thay do disdane to heir Gods word,
Thinking the same to be ane Jesting bourd;
Thay go to labour, drinking, or to play,
And not to ȝow vpon the Sabboth day:
Sa thay prouoke the wraith of God, allace!
Quhilk hes maid me to fall in this distres.
Ȝit suld I not blame ȝou, that sic dois perische,
Bot Lords, and Lairds, & Cōmouns of ilk Parische,
The quhilk wer wont for to caus euerie pleuch,
In vphalding the Kirk, to pay aneuch.
To do the same ȝe suld thame ȝit exhort,
Togidder that thay suld the pure support.

233

The Prouerb is: of Palice, Kirk and brig,
Better in tyme to beit nor efter to big.

Ȝe collegis and Uniuersitie,
That to all vthers suld exempill be,
I se ȝour tempills cassin downe and reuin:
The maist part are bot theikit with the heuin.
This, quhilk to ȝow I do sa planely wryte,
The commounis speiks of ȝow and dois bakbyte.
Amend sic things, I humblie ȝow beseik,
And dit the mouths of thame that sa dois speik,
Making ȝour lyfis and Conuersatiouns
To preiche and teiche lyke vnto ȝour persouns.
It suld be ȝe, Mother, suld me instruct;
It suld be ȝe, to Christ suld me conduct;
It suld be ȝe, suld schaw me the richt way,
How I suld serue my God baith nicht and day;
It suld be ȝe, that suld do diligence
For to aggre this Ciuile difference;
It suld be ȝe, throw Preiching, suld me mufe
To Cheritie and freindly Nichtbour lufe;
It suld be ȝe, that suld gif gude exempill
Of lyfe and warks to thame dois ȝow contempill;
It suld be ȝe, that suld be at all tyme
Clene without spot, and purgit of all cryme;
It suld be ȝe, Mother, it suld be ȝe,
To quhome the pepill suld giue eir and Ee;
It suld be ȝe, schortly, I say no moir,
That to all vertewis suld ȝow Indeuoir.

And ȝe, my Barrouns and Nobilitie,
That dois oppres my pure Communitie,
Quhair is ȝour wit, ȝour ressoun, sence, and feill,
To fle away my husband Commoun-weill?
Quhat haue ȝe wyn sensyne? lat se ȝour ganis:
Gar pryse ȝour proffeit, & esteme ȝour panis.

234

The panis, I wait, the proffeit will surmont,
A greit daill moir nor ȝe can mak ȝour compt.
I find, sensyne the Ȝow hes borne the bell,
Wyfis Maisters bene in geuing haill Counsell
To Lords and Lairds; I speik generallie,
As may be sene, allace! ouir weill on me.
Hume, Huntly, Grange, and all ȝe of that syde,
Behald now how ȝe do the mater gyde,
To caus my Sisters France and Ingland scorne ȝow,
That walterars of Courts ȝe lat suborne ȝow:
Ȝit ȝe and thay did sweir with aithis conding,
And did subscryue to be trew to the King.
In takin quhairof, with all ȝe did aggre,
To Crowne and place him in authoritie.
Gif ȝe wirk weill, ȝour deids ane day will schaw,
For raising fyre aganis my actis and law,
In halding towns and strenths ȝour King aganis,
Putting the rest of ȝour brether to panis;
Quhome I excuse not, as I said befoir,
For I persaif, ambitioun and vane gloir
And gredynes to reule dois blind ȝow baith,
Quhilk dois redound to my greit hurt and skaith.
Ȝour tennents plenȝeis that thay ar opprest
Be ȝow and ȝours, that dois thame soir molest.
Ȝe hicht yair maills; yair pleuchs ȝe dowbil on yame;
Thay tyne thair tyme at sic things to opone yame;
For na rest will ȝe get into ȝour raggs,
Gif sum sect knaw that thay haue geir or baggs;
Ȝour Nichtingaills will sing sa in ȝour eiris,
That ȝe sall nichtly haue Domestik weiris.
“Ȝon carle,” quod scho, “my Joy, dois beinly dwell,
And all prouisioun hes within himsell,
In barne or byre, in hall, Girnell, and Seller;
His wyfe weiris weluot on hir Gowne and Coller;
Thay ar sa riche, that thay do vs misknaw;
Than better sone to drag nor lait to draw.”

235

Sone in his Gersum hichtit, and his Maillis;
Him self grows waik, his geir and houshald faillis:
Quhair sic wer wont to haue Guse, Cok, and Hen,
Breid, drink, and bedding, to treit honest men,
Now drink thay Mylk and Swaits in steid of Aill,
And glaid to get Peis breid and watter Caill:
Quhair sic wer wont to ride furth to the weir,
With Jak and Sword, gude hors, Knapscull, & speir;
Quhair sic wer wont brauely to mak thame bowne,
With Lord or Laird to ryde to Burrowis towne;
Quhair sic wer wont at all Games to be reddy,
To schuit or loup, for to exerce thair body:
Now mon thay wirk and labour, pech and pant,
To pay thair Maisters Maillis exhorbitant;
Ryue out the Mures; the bestialls gers intak:
Thay ar sa waik thay dow not beir a Jak,
And gets waik bairns, euill nureist, in distres:
Sa be sic wayis my Commouns dois dicres.
My torment sair constrynis me this to speik;
Na merweil quhy, for I am wondrous seik;
Beseiking ȝow my seiknes to remeid,
Quhilk may be done, ceissing ȝour Ciuile feid
To follow Christ and his Commandement,
Quha said, befoir his last department;
“Ilk one lufe vther with sic freindly lufe,
That ȝe may be the bairnis of God abufe;
And cleith ȝow with fair Garments clene & quhyte,
Without malice, contentioun, or dispyte,
Aganis my cūming quhilk trewly salbe,
Quhen ȝe leist wene, in twinkling of an Ee.”
Thus said the Lord to ȝow, and to all men,
That be thir marks thay sall God's children ken.
Heirfoir, my Nobills, seik peice, do that ȝe can
To follow Christ, and chais away Sathan,
With his Supposts, and all that taks in hand
For to diuorse me from my gude husband.

236

Now ȝe, my Burges, Craftis, & Merchand men,
And ȝe, my Commounis, with my hynd ȝemen,
To ȝow I haue sum purpois for to say,
How, quhen, and quhy, my husband fled away.
First, thair come in, lurkand vpon ȝour gait,
Pryde and Inuy, with Falset and Dissait.
Thir four socht ludgeing all the towne about.
Quhat suld thay seik? Lang time thay lay thairout,
Till ane Ȝule euin ȝour wyfes to counsall went;
Than spak ane Lawers wyfe, baith trym and gent:
“Cūmers,” quod scho, “it is a pietie to se
Folk in a towne for cauld and hounger die;
It is mair schame in Burgh for to se beggers
Nor is it skaith in Crawmont to want dreggers:
Quhairof dois serue our greit cheir and fair bigging,
Bot for to help the pure that gais a thigging?
Quhairof dois serue our husbands gold and rent,
Bot to sustene the pure and Indigent?
Ȝit lat vs ludge ȝone twa that gais befoir,
Pryde and Inuy, gif we will do no moir;
And gif our husbands speirs quhy did we so,
Answer we may, we left them vther two.
Now gif ȝe pleis, Cummers, I sall begin
This same cauld nicht to tak ane of thame in.”
“We knaw thame not,” quod thay; “bot tak ȝe ane,
We must not leif the vther bird alane.”
So thay did skaill; and scho tuke with hir Pryde;
And on the morne scho come furth lyke ane bryde,
With hir new Gaist, als proud as ane Paycok,
And in hir hart scho did hir cummers mok:
Quhilk quhen thay saw, with speid thay ran in hy,
And for dispyte amangs thame ludgit Inuy,
In counterfuting hir in all kin things,
Courche, Coller, Cloik, Belt, Braislets, & Rings.
Then wox the Lawers wyfe richt proud in hart;
Bot ȝit hir cummers callit scho apart,

237

Saying, “Cummers, quhat is the caus, and quhy,
That, in dispyte of me, ȝe treit Inuy?”
“Becaus,” quod thay, “that ȝe alone tuik Pryde,
And thocht that we suld not marche ȝow besyde;
Thairfoir we thocht in that point ȝe did wrang vs:”
“Aggre,” quod scho, “and ludge thame baith amang vs.”
Quhilk thing thay did, and all did condiscend
To treit and keip thame to the warlds end.
Thus hes ȝour wyfis thir twa tane to be thairs,
And left the vther twa for ȝour affairs.
Quhilk seing ȝe and ȝour wairs gros and grof,
And with ȝour wyfis thir two so muche maid of;
Ȝe gros geir left, and went for wyne and spyces,
Frenche claith and silks, for to cleith vp thir vyces:
Quhilks for to out with dowbill met and mesure,
The vther tway ȝe ludgeit at thair plesure.
Quhat wald ȝe moir? ȝe wait weill quhat I mene:
Disludge thame now, and chais thame from ȝow clene.

Ȝe Hammer men, ȝe that maks schois and claiths,
Ȝe treit thir twa with mony manesworne aiths;
And ȝe lykewise, all Crafts in Generall,
Alaik, I feill ȝow to thame bound and thrall:
Mairouir, ȝour drinking Extraordinair
Maks oft ȝour wyfis and bairns euill to fair:
Quhen ȝe wald drink in hous, ȝe may be bauld
To do the same at hame with ȝour houshald:
All byganis mend: in tyme to cum, luick ȝe
Begyle na man, bot wirk ȝour wark trewlie.

To ȝow, my Commouns, quhat mair can I say?
I pietie ȝow as far furth as I may;
Now pure ȝe ar, ȝit purer wald ȝe be
For vsing proud pure Prodigalitie.
Thair is na Lord nor Laird in all this land,
Bot ȝe man counterfait in claiths fra hand,

238

Fra top to ta, thocht ȝe suld beg and borrow.
Johne, ga ȝour way, for it will not be for ȝow:
Ȝe suld ȝour ground grube with Simplicitie,
And mak ȝour claiths conforme to ȝour degre;
Bot ȝe, ȝour wyfe, and bairns, can tak na rest,
Without ȝe counterfait the worthyest:
Buft brawlit hois, Coit, Dowblet, sark, and scho:
Ȝour wyfe and bairns conforme mon be thairto.
Leif of, and leirne ȝour bairns to saw and teill:
Sic doings chaist away the Commoun-weill.

All thir foirfalts that I haue done reheirs,
That Lords, Lairds, Ladys, and Lawers dois exerce,
Kirk, Burges, Merchand, Cōmouns, Crafts and all,
Hes haill the wyte of this my wofull fall.
Amend heirfoir and call to God for Grace,
Beseiking him to gif vs rest and peace,
In our lyfe tyme, that we may trewly knaw
Ane God Eterne, ane Faith, ane King, ane Law;
And at the last to bring vs to his gloir,
To Ring with him in blys for euer moir. Amen.

The Conclusion be P.R. to all and Sum.

All that this reids, the mater sad will think;
Sum that this heirs, I wait, will discommend it;
Thocht all and sum heir at partly do schrink,
Ȝit sory I that thay suld be offendit;
Heirfoir, I wald that this wer blythlie endit.
For to mak all or sum lauch at the last,
Than all and sum sall heir, in tyme bypast
Quhen Fornicatioun haldin was na cryme,
How that sum prelats did walk, pray, and fast,
And serue in Kirk according to that tyme.

239

A prelat ane day in his bed, to sport him,
Did clap his lufe with kisses soft and sweit;
In this meane tyme, thair was, to recomfort him,
Peirtryks and pleuers pyping on the speit.
Then vp he rais, and made him for thame meit,
With gude quhyte wyne and all the partinence.
Quhen he had tane this on his conscience,
He gaif ane greit pech, lyke ane weill fed stirk,
“Och, Lord,” quod he, “Now gif me patience!
Quhat stres thoill we to serue thy haly Kirk!”

Imprentit at Sanctandrois be Robert Lekpreuik.

Finis.

257

XXXVIII. Ane new Ballet set out be ane fugitiue Scottisman that fled out of Paris at this lait Murther.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Now Katherine de Medicis hes maid sic a gyis,
To tary in Paris the papistes ar tykit:
At Bastianes brydell, howbeit scho denyis,
Giue Mary slew Hary, it was not vnlykit:
Ȝit a man is nane respectand this number;
I dar not say wemen hes wyte of this cummer.

Ȝone mask the Quene Mother hes maid thame in France,
Was maikles and saikles and schamfully slane;
Bot Mary conuoyit and come with ane dance,
Quhill princes in sences was fyrit with ane trane;
Baith tressonabill murtheris the ane and the vther:
I go not in masking mair with the Quene Mother.

258

Italianes ar tyranis and tressonabill tratoris;
For gysours, deuysours, the Guysianis ar gude;
Bot Frenche men ar trew men, and not of thair natouris;
Than, Charlie, I farlie thow drank thy awin blude:
I wyte bot thy mother wit, wemen ar vane,
I greis neir to Ganȝelon nor grit Charlie Mane.

Thy style was Treschristien, maist Cristen King,
Baith hiest and friest, and neist the impyre;
Bot now Prouest Marschell in playing this spring;
And ressoun for tressoun prouokis God to ire,
Beleuis thow this trumprie sall stablische thy style?
Our God is not deed, ȝit be doand ane quhyle.

Suppois that the Papistes deuysit this at Trent,
To ding vs and bring vs with mony lowd lauchter,
With sic cruell murther is Christ sa content,
To take the and make the ane Sanct for our slauchter?
Albeit he correct vs and scurge vs in ire,
Be war with the wand syne he wapis in the fyre.

For better is pure men nor princes periurit;
Baith schameles and fameles, we find thame sa fals;
With sangis lyke the seryne our lyfis thow allurit;
Ouirsylit vs, begylit vs, with baitis in our hals;
Or as the fals fowler, his fang for to get,
Deuoiris the pure volatill he wylis to the net.

In Ilis nor in Orknay, in Ireland Oneill,
Thay dar not, thay gar not thair lieges be stickit:
Solyman, Tamerlan, nor yit the mekle Deill,
Proud Pharao, nor Nero, was neuer sa wickit:
Nouther Turk nor Infidell vsis sic thing
As be their awin burreo, being ane king.

259

Baith auld men, and wemen with babis on thair breist,
Not luking nor huking, to hurll thame in Sane!
All beand murdreist downe, quhat do ȝe neist?
Processioun, confession, and vp Mes agane:
Proud King Antiochus was sum tyme als haly,
And yet our God guschit out the guttis of his belly.

Thy syster thou maryit, thy saces was sour;
Sic cuikrie for luikrie was euill interprisit;
Ȝe maid vs the Reid Freiris, and rais in an hour,
Abhorring na gorring that micht be deuisit:
Thou playit the fals hypocreit fenȝeing the fray,
But inwart ane rageing wolf waitand thy pray.

That France was confidderat with Scotland, I grant,
Baith actit, contractit, and keipit in deid;
The kyndnes of cutthrottis we cure not to want,
Denyis thame, defyis thame, and al thair fals seid:
It was bot with honest men we maid the band,
And thou hes left leifand bot few in that land.

Our faith is not warldly, we feir not thy braulis,
Thocht hangmen ouirgang men, for gaddaring our geir,
Ȝe kill bot the carcase, ȝe get not our saulis,
Not douting our shouting is hard in Goddis eir.
The same God from Pharo defendit his pepill,
And not ȝone round Robene that standis in ȝour stepill.

Now, wyse Quene Elizabeth, luik to yourself,
Dispite them, and wryte thame ane bill of defyance;
The Papistis and Spanȝards hes partit ȝour pelf,
As newly and trewly was tald me thir tythance:
Beleue thay to land heir and get vs for nocht,
Will ȝe do as we do, it sall be deir bocht.

260

Giue pleis God we gre sa, and hald vs togidder,
Baith surely, and sturely, and stoutly gainstand thame;
They culd not weill conqueis vs, culd ȝe considder,
For our men are dour men, and likis weill to land thame:
Quhen Cesar himself was chaist, haue ȝe forȝet?
And baith the realmes be aggreit, tak that thay get.

For better it is to fecht it, defendant our lyfis,
With speir men and weir men, and ventour our sellis,
Nor for to se Frenchemen deflorand our wyfis,
Displace vs, and chace vs, as thay haue done ellis;
I meane, quhen the Inglismen helpit at Leith,
And gart thame gang hame agane, spyte of thair teith.

I cannot trow firmely that Frenchemen ar cummen,
Persayfand thame haifand thameselfis into parrell:
The Lord saue Elizabeth, thair ane gude woman,
That cauldly and bauldly debait will our quarrell,
With men and with money, baith armour and graith,
As scho hes befoir tyme defendit this Faith.

Thocht France for thair falset be drownit in dangeris,
For causis and pausis thay plait into Pareis;
Ȝit we ar in war estait, waitand on strangeris,
Not gyding, deuyding our awin men from Mareis:
So weid the calf from the corn, calk me thair dures,
And slay or ȝe be slane, gif sic thing occures.

Bot how can ȝe traist thame that trumpit ȝow ellis,
Decoir thame, do for thame, or foster thair seid?
And thay may anis se thair time, tent to ȝoursellis,
Baith haitfull, dissaitfull, ȝe deill with, in deid;
Anis wod and ay the war, wit quhat ȝe do,
And mak thame fast in the ruit gif thay cum to.

261

God blis ȝow, my brether, and biddis ȝow gud nicht;
Obey God, go say God, with prayer and fasting;
Christ keip this pure ile of ouris in the auld richt,
Defend vs, and send vs the life euerlasting:
The Lord send vs quyetnes, and keip our ȝoung king,
The Quene of Inglands Maiestie, and lang mot thai ring!

Finis.

Quod Simpell.

Imprintit at Sanctandrois be Robert Lekpriuik. Anno Do. 1572.

325

XLIII. Ane Complaint vpon Fortoun.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Inconstant warld, fragill and friuolus,
With feinȝeit Fortoun! quha confides in the,
Sall finde his lyfe cairfull and cruellus,
Led in this vale of wofull miserie;
Quhat potent princes in prosperitie
Hes sho deposd from their imperiall places!
Hir craft quotidian we may cleirly se,
As men in mirrouris may behauld their faces.

The worthie Bocas, in his morall buke,
The Fall of Princes plainly dois compyle;
Amangs thame all quha euer lykes to luke,
Sall finde Dame Fortounis fauour for a quhyle;

326

For with the one eye sho can lauch and smyle,
And with the vther lurke and play the loun;
Sum to promotioun, and some to plaine exile,
Lyke draw-well bukkets dowkand vp and doun.

That variable witch makis all the warld ado!
Quhat kingis and countreis hes sho brocht to end!
Assyrians, Persians, Grekes, and Romains to:
The monarches foure micht not hir force defend.
Bulworkis nor battellis bydis her nocht a bend;
Quha may withstand her straik quhan sho list stryke?
This nicht aneuch, the morne nathing to spend!
Imago in Luna, and sho lukis baith alyke.

To pen the speciallis it passis mony a hunder,
And makis the tyme ouer tidious to declare;
Sum sho promouis, and sum sho puttis, to, vnder,
And sum rewardes with wandring heir and thair;
And sum incastrat captiues in the snair,
And sum for flatrie dois hir freindship find;
To all estates vntruethfull, quhat sould mair,
Turnand her volt lyke woddercok in wind?

To paint her out it passis mine ingyne,
How wonderfully she wirkes in all thir thingis!
Sum fra thair birth brocht vp with doggis and swine,
Tane fra the pleuch, and placit in sait of kingis.
The brutell beist, ane barbour wolfe, vpbringis
The first borne Romain, callit Romulus,
Quhais blude as ȝit into that regioun ringis,
By expectatioun of auld Amelius.

Cyrus siclyke was be ane bitche vpbrocht,
Cround as a king, ane cruell man of weir.
Pareis in Troy, that all the toun forthocht,
Preseruit from slauchter be souking of a beir.

327

And swa was Thylaphus with ane hinde, I heir;
Medas with imates, and maid ane michtie prince;
Plato with beis, quha did sic prudence leir,
That all men meruelled of his eloquence.

Without respect to blude royall, or clan,
Pureanis promouit that na man wald presume;
Torquinius Priscus, a baneist marchant man,
Chaist out of Corinth, and cround a king in Rome.
Siclyke was Seruius from ane shipherd grome;
And Tullus Hostilius fand her fauour neist;
Is, was, and salbe quhill the day of dome,
Sic doubill dealing in Dame Fortounis breist!

Quha findis hir freindship of fauour hes aneuch;
To warldly glore sho gydes them all the gait;
Tuke sho not Gordias from the spaid and pleuch,
And quickly placit him in a princes sait?
How far may Darius bragge of her debait,
Tane fra the stabil ouer Persia to ring!
Pure Agathocles, from a law estait,
Ane potteris boy, to be ane potent King!

Of Justine, the suinehird, sho maid ane empriour,
Ouer Constantinople ane king, and cround him thair;
Gyges the gait-hird, ane michtie conquerour,
To Lydia land she maid him lord and aire;
And Wallancianus from his landwart fair,
Tane fra the pleuch to place imperiall;
Cambyses, Nero, be the contrair clair,
Was thair awin burreois to thair buriall.

Sa Fortoun mountit neuer man sa hie,
Fostered with folie, suppose she make them faine,
Bot with ane tit sho turnis the quheill, ȝe sie,
Doun gois their heid, vp gois their heillis againe!

328

Of Alexander to write I war bot vaine;
Ouer fifty landis he lord was, at the leist;
Ȝit threttie dayis lay efter he was slaine,
Unbureit in Babell, lyke a brutell beist.

Xerxes, quhose armeis maid the riueris dry,
And schippis subumbragit all the seyis on breid,
Did sho not wait him with sic foule inuy,
Pray to Pericles, that put him to his speid?
Of Julius Cesar gif thow lykes to reid,
In his triumphant toun victorious,
Slaine be his Senatis, schamefully in deid,
By his awin kinsmen Brutus and Cassus.

Sum auld exemples heir I man induce,
To bring my purpose to more speciall;
Quha was mair worthie, gif I wald make ruse,
More stout, more trew, nor hardy Hanniball?
Danter of Romaines, to Carthage ane castell wall,
The onely thing quhairin he maist reioysit;
Do quhat he docht in deidis marciall,
By his awin pepill petiously deposed.

Sicklyk was Sipio saiklesly schot furth,
That vinqueist Hanniball lyke a warriour wicht,
His valiant workes was weyit bot litill worth,
Quhen he was baneist with a bair gude nicht;
Not lyke a captaine nor a kindly knicht,
Bot lyke ane beggar baneist in exile;
Sa Fortoun montit neuer man on hicht,
Bot sho can law him within a litill quhyle.

Alchebead of Athenis was Duke,
Of princely parents and ane royall race,
To keip his toun sic trauell undertuke,
He maid his fo-men fle befoir his face;

329

To his rewarde he gat nane vther grace,
Ingraitly baneist, to their awin grit skaith;
And Tymistocles in that samin place:
By their awin burgessis thay wer baneist baith.

Experience teiches me not to flyte with Fortoun,
With auld examples that dois na thing belang vs;
Marke James of Dowglas, present Erle of Morton,
And of the best that euer was borne amang vs;
Danter of theuis that dayly dois ouer-gang vs,
Key of this countrie that kepit vs from skaith;
I speik na farther in feir thay sould gar hang vs:
Preichouris and poiettis are put to silence baith.

Few things wer done bot Mortoun interprisit them,
Dumbar, and Brichane, and mony vthair bloke;
Speik quhat thay pleis, he wrocht them and deuisit them;
He and his freindis ay formest in the flocke;
He faucht ȝour querrell as kein as ony cok,
Reuengit ȝour murthers ma nor twa or thrie;
Ane nobillman and of ane ancient stoke,
His valiant deidis demereitis not to die.

Ane of the speciallis did mentene ȝour croun,
Ȝour ferme protectour in ȝour tender ȝeiris;
He maid ȝow vp and all ȝour fo-men doun,
His marciall manheid did mentein ȝour weiris;
Gif he did wrang, rewarde him as effeiris;
Gif he did gud, God wald he sould be tret;
Bot as the prouerbe speikis, it plaine appeiris,
Auld men will die, and barnes will sone forȝet.

Was he not rewler ouer ȝour realme and rigioun,
Quhill all was pacifeit be his prudent wit?
Stude he not stoutly be the true religioun,
Ane of the first that maid the freiris to flit?

330

Franke on the feildis, and formest at the bit,
Without respect to baggis or bodie to;
Ȝour faithfull subiect, and sua he sal be ȝit,
To do gude seruice, as I haue seene him do.

Than at Carbarrie hill he held a day,
With litill bludeshed Bothwell was put a-bake,
Quha slew ȝour father and fibilly fled away,
Syne socht ȝourselfe to bring this realme to sake.
How mony clawbackes than, suppose thay crak,
Conuenit with Mortoun quhan Bothwel tuk the chase?
Try or ȝe tine him, and trow not all thay spak;
Lat workes beir witnes: vaine wordis sould haue na place.

Sone efter that the Counsell cround ȝoursell,
Quhan godly Murray as a regent rang;
Ȝit thair was some that bauldly did rebell,
That to ȝour lawis wald nouther ryde nor gang.
Quha thair conuenit for to reuenge ȝour wrang,
Albeit ȝour action was thocht innocent?
It was the Dowglassis douchtaly them dang,
And pleit ȝour proces in that parliament.

Quha could declare our langsum lyfe in Leith,
Fechtand all day, and syne lay in our clais?
Gif Lindesay lykes, that Lord can tell ȝow eith
Quha was ȝour friendis, or quha ȝour mortall fais,
Or quha gaid formest breistand vp the braies.
I dar not pen the speciallis, I do plaine ȝow;
Bot, weill I wait, howeuer the warld now gais,
Thai find maist freindship, was fardest than again ȝow.

Syne at [the] Langsyde feild ȝour grace may ken,
Mortoun was thair ane man amang the rest;
In Striuiling toun, out of his dowie den,
Maist lyke a fox thay fyrit him in his nest.

331

In Edinburgh Castell quhair thay war possest,
He them desplaced that purposit to undo ȝow.
Quhan ȝe grow auld, I wait ȝe will confest,
Mortoun hes bene ane faithfull saruand to ȝow.

Quhan Regentis deit, and all the lytes inlaikit,
The Counsell did conuene and set ane day;
Thay cheisit him Regent in that rowme that waikit,
With sad adwise, for few or nane said nay;
Bot ȝit I think thay playit ȝour grace foule play,
Gif he was knawin than of thir crymes conuict;
Gif he be saikles, surely I dar say,
They haue defamit him with ane fulich trick.

To dant the theuis had he nocht mekill ado,
Abandoned the borders that na man durst rebell?
The Armestrangis, Elliottis, and the Johnestons, to,
With twentie vther clans I can not tell—
During his dayis thai durst not ryde ane ell;
The hirdis and hinde men in their labeis lay;
Bot thair estait, as now ȝe sie ȝoursell,
All nicht to walke, and fane to wirk all day.

Aganis grit lordis committing small offence,
With iniust challenge thay aucht na man to chessoun;
Mortoun hes ay bene vpricht with his prince,
But spot of cryme, or ony point of tressoun.
Albeit gude saruice be not tane in seasoun,
His workes may witnes he neuer sparit for perrell;
Laitly accusit but outher ryme or ressoun,
As sindrie schawis me, for a saikles querrell.

Daft fulis defyis him because thay finde him sage,
And cowartis contrarious for his hardiment;
Young men for glaikrie can not agrie with age,
And waisteris inuyis him for his gouernement.

332

And sacreit counsell can not be content
To suffer lordshippis in equalitie;
Ȝit I beseik ȝour grace, of gude intent,
To play the prince but parcialitie.

Adwise ȝow weill, sen he hes not offendit;
To keip sic senattis it sall decore ȝour land;
Of rasche decreitis cums rew and may not mend it,
As Scottismens wisdome dois behinde the hand.
Wyse lordis are ill ta make, I vnderstand,
And crewelty in kingis is to abhorre:
This sempill counsall, syr, is na command,
Bot wald to God that na man louit ȝow war.

Finis,

quod Sempill.

Imprintit at Edinburgh be Robert Lekprewicke, dwelling at the Netherbow.

346

XLV. Heir followis The Legend of the Bischop of St Androis Lyfe, callit Mr Patrik Adamsone, alias Cousteane.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

[_]

The Preface.

All faytfull brether that on the Lord dependis,
Mark weill this schedule that I have send you heir,
Pestiferus prelatis that Papistrie pretendis,
Sic dewils but dout sall in or dayis appeir;
Yit God forwairns you, be the weidis they weir,
To ken the lupus in a lamb skyn lappit,
Makand thair gode of warldlie gudis and geir,
The flock new foundit, and they in furringis happit.

347

Veneriall pastoris, in vomiting thair fayt,
Lyk to ane tyke returnīg to it agane,
Filling thair purses with the spirituall grathe,
Plucking the pellotis or ever the scheip be slane,
Goddis true preceptis and preiching to prophane,
Layand thair cuires in warldlie busines:
Thir are the propheitis, I speik it to you plane,
Coverit with coule of clockit holines.

Lyk to the scrybes, closing the yeattis of heawin,
Sayand the Pope sic power to thame gave;
Hyding the keyis was trulie to thē gewin,
Thinking yt Christians shall na entres have.
A scabbit scheip wald fane infect the lave,
Causing seditione into the kirk to ryse.
Heirfoir, bewar what sermond ye resave:
In rottin bosses no balme liquor lyes.

To Bischop Balaam, brecking the law of God,
They may succeid weill as his sone and air;
Or Corah, Dathan, reving Aarons rod,
With thair vsurped preisthood playit no mair.
To Amasias I may thē weill cōpair,
Sleayand the faytfull flock wtout offences;
Tane and incarcerat, kepit heir and there,
Beggit and banist, bearing the wraith of princes.

348

In Maccabeis wha ever lykis to luike,
By Alchimas and Jason they may leir,
Mensuorne byschops that Moses law forsuike,
Renūcing God for warldlie gudis and geir,
With Kingis vnchristned cūand to the weir,
Contrair thair cōsciēce and their kyndlie freindis.
What dois our bischops now, may I not speir?
Servandis to Sathan for his takkis and teindis.

I may cōpair thē to a painted fyre,
But heit to warm you in the winteris cauld;
Or to a visorne cled with trym attyre,
Covering a skyn vncomlie to behald.
The plesant plane-trie will the leavs vnfauld
With fairest schaddow to save the sone in sȳmer—
Be thir lait bischops may this teall be tauld—
Beirand no fruite bot barren blockis of tymber.

Vntruethfull teachers, in thir tymes bypast,
Some hes bene sene from yeir to yeir;
Bot in this latter aige they flock so fast,
That I beleive in deid the day be neir.
Judas Iscariot, for a gleib of geir,
Betrayed his Maister lyk a traytor tod.
Annas and Caiphas, gif they both war heir,
Culd doe no mair to slea the sanctis of God.

349

Blind Baals bischops, provocking God to yire,
Your sinfull leaving hes the scheip oversyled;
Compared to swyne returnīg to the myre,
In thair awin filthes to get thair fames defyled.
Albeit they be now Tulchin bischops stylit,
Having proude kingis and coūsallis to decoir thē,
Auld God is God, and will not be begylit,
When Plutois palice beis provydit for them.

May Scotland beir sic bischops for the gallous,
St Androis, Glasgou, for yt gait anes grantit;
What have ye lost? forloppen, leying fellowes,
Fraudulent fellowes, that tuyse there fayt recāted.
The spreit of God was anes into thē planted,
Preiching his doctrine, as indeid they did,
But, fra they gat the drapping grise they wanted,
Thair clocked knaverie culd no moir be hid.

Vngratious guydis, yt God hes never anoynted
Lyk to our faytfull pastoris past befoir,
But be the devile, I dout not, heir appoyntit,
Godis holie scriptor for to cloik and smoir.
For no rewarde they work but warldlie gloir,
Plaing ‘placebo’ into princes faces;
With leys and letters doing thair devoir,
Pynand true preichoris for to possess there places.

350

Voratious woulfis, I wish you to rewolk,
Ere in the den of darkness ye most lye;
Of Godis true mercies, lyk to mercat focke,
Selling for lucre, quha so lykis to by;
Libidinous drūckardis they dowe not to denye;
May no mā had thē be thair yeis and nayis.
Thir are the propheitis, planelie ye may espye,
The Lord called lyers in the latter dayis.

Thair maister, Pluto, hes there spreitis possest,
Who with his Lord in lyk cōtritione fell;
Thinkand his wit and beautie by the rest,
Against the word of God he wald rebell.
Through his presūptous pryde he past to hell,
Leaving the heavinlie harbrie whair he satt.
Gif they repent not sone, assure they sall
Receave sic mercie as thair maister gat.

This Adamsone may weill be borne of Eve,
Takand hir vices of his wicked mother;
Likkest to father Adam, I beleive,
Surpassing Cain cursed, or ony vther:
For he slew nothing bot his onlie brother;
And this hes drowned hole dioceis, ye sie.
Wanting the grace, when he shuld guyde the ruther,
He lattis his scheip tak in at luife and lie.

351

Reforme thair faythis gif they be found astray,
From thair vocatione cleane degenerat;
Preis not to enter be the wrangous way,
As bastard brethrene, being reprobat;
With hart cōtreit, and handis elevat,
Seik thair salvatione of the samyn sort;
They will not find the father obstinat,
When synners knocke, in casting vp the port.

Heirfore, deir Brethrene, I wish you to bewar:
Sen ye are wairned, I wald not ye were blekkit;
To thair deceatfull doctrine come not nar,
Singand lyk syrens to deceave the elected;
Both art and part of Papistrie suspectit,
As ye may see be thair workis inventit.
To Edinburgh baillies my buike salbe directed,
Desyrand lycence to gett live to prent it.

Ground you on God, the rocke and corner stane,
As Paull dois speik to the Corrinthians.
Swa live thir lyars and thair lawis allane,
Packand thair penche lyk Epicurians;
Contrair to Christ lyk Antichristians;
The plane polluters of his holie tēple;
Lyk to Scrybes and fals Pharisians;
Bellie god bischops: Quoth your brother Semple.

352

A Lenvoye.

Now, paper, pass; and gif they speir who send the,
Tell thame, a true mā bayt to King and Croun.
Curious poyetis, I knawe, will vilipend the,
Saying, thou fares but of ane saucie lowne.
Yit, with the rascall people vp and downe,
Finding our freindis, cōfess to be myne,
From the New Castle cūing to this towne:
Concluding this, we toome a tass of wyne.

The Legend or Discourss of the Lyfe and Cōversatione and Qualiteis of the Tulchene Bischope of Sanctandrois. Set furth by R. S.

To all and sundrie be it sene,
Mark weill this mater quhat I meine,
The legend of a lymmeris lyfe,
Our Metropolitane of Fyffe;
Ane schismatyke, and gude swyne hogge,
Come of the tryb Gog Magoge;
Ane elphe, ane elvasche incubus,
Ane lewrand lawrie licherous,
Ane fals, forloppen, fenyeit freir,
Ane rāungard for greid of geir;
Still daylie drinckand or he dyne,

353

A wirriare of the gude sweit wyne;
Ane baxters sone, ane beggar borne,
That twyse his surname hes mensworne;
To be called Cōstene he thot schame:
He tuke vp Cōstantine to name.

Some to the schoolis this knave cōvoyes;
Beggand his breid amonges the boyes,
He come to letters at the lenth;
Then, when he grew to witt and strength,
He tuike the ministrie on hand,
And servit at Syres vp a land.
Bot, through presūptious height and pryde,
He layed that office sone asyde;
Manna and quales he thot no fude,
The pottis of Egypt was tuyse as gude.
Thinking that poore professione vaine,
He changed his surname over agane;
Now Doctor Adamsone at last.
Whairthrow he ower to Paris past
As pedagoge to young M'Gill,
Imploying ay his spreit to ill.
To lerne disceat and subtile sawis,
He studeis long tyme in the lawis;
Ilk day devysing sindrie wylis,
Not ane nor tua that he beguyles:
Thair was no Scotismā dwelland thair
Bot he deceaved them les or mair:
Maitland, Melwill, and Matchevellous,
Learned never mair knaifrie in a scholehous;

354

Which tua resembles, as I suppone,
Achitophell, and fals Triphone.
Then finding out ane new fas cast,
Amongis the prentars is he past,
And promeist to set foorth a buike.
Grit sowmes of money from them he tuike;
Bot Bacchus, and the bordall toe,
Maid him sic busines adoe,
That he myt gett na buikis cōpyld;
And sua the prentars were beguyld.
Now Holyglass, returnīg hame,
To play the sophist thought no schame;
Through sindrie realmes thot he had ranged,
Yit nathing in his maners changed.
Men heiring tell how Lowrie landit,
The cōgregatione him cōmandit
To serve a kirk and keip a cure.
Persaving thair professione pure,
He thot it but ane vaine vocatione.
He thristed, ane easiare occupatione,
Amongis the lawers for to lyve;
Bot fra that rang not in his sleyve,
He wald with thame no mair remane,
Bot maid him for the court agane.
The erle of Lennox, levand then,
Our regent, and a worthie man,
Vnto his brother hī directed,
With secreit earrandis vnsuspectit,
For pois to pay his men of weir;

355

Bot how, alace! as ye shall heir,
Betrayed thame bayt with a tryme cōvoy.
Makand his bargand with a boy,
Was ower to Flaunders fled and ferreit,
Cryand out, harmesay! he was herreat,
Lamēting sair his losse and skayth,
And this gait he beguylit thame bayt:
Bot yet with tyme his trickis were tryed;
He had nea toung for to denye it.
Than, gif he had not fled for feir,
Gude Matchewell had mist his meir.
To tell how he bestowit his poise,
The faice is weill sene on his noise;
For, be his craig, ye may weill ken
Gif he be ane of Bacchus men.
Than, when he had na vther vaine,
He maid him for the kirk againe;
Bot for to tell what text he tuike,
Dysertis Duschet was the buike;
And maid ane sermone, some confydis,
To plesor fock on bayth the sydis.
His mynd was mair on heich promotione,
Groundit on geir, nor gude devotione,
Without respect of true religione,
As we have manie in this regione.
Yit in the pulpet we saw him greit,
Playand the publict hypocreit;
Then men, beholding his cōtritione,
Beleavand he had changit cōditione.

356

Then through to Paislay he was send,
Lascivous maners for to amend.
What fruite come of his ganging thair?
Sic preist, sic pariche: what suld mair?
For, neather with preiching nor wt reiding,
Tuke he that faythless flock in feiding;
Bot meit in campo did cōmand them,
And left thē ffarre war nor he fand them.
To tell you quhat this cāpo meins,
Thair daylie to the drink cōveins
The obstinat papistis of the toun;
This pastor with his scheip sat doun,
Bot maid no work, I mak you plane,
To bring the lost scheip bak agane.
To copowt cōplene there he calld thame,
But never findis whair he forbade thame
Thair vglie aithis abhominable.
They finding him so favorable,
They thankat God that they had fūd him.
Ecce quā bonū et quā jucundū
Est habitare fratres in unū!
Freir Jhonstoun and Maquhane about him,
Tua pallartis that the Pope professis,
Rysing at mydnycht to there messis;
Vidi, scivi, sed non audiebam,
Potum merū cū fletu miscebam,
Carruse, and hald the cānikin clinking;
Yit wha ware there to sie thair drinking,

357

They hald it still vp for a mocke,
How Maister Patrik fedd his flock.
Then to the court this craftie lown
To be a bytescheip maid him boun;
Becaus St Androis then dependit,
To heich promotione he pretendit.
The kirk began to tak suspitione,
Then knawing weill the knaifis cōditione,
They callit him into thair assemblie,
Bot not so welcome thair as hamelie.
Grit oethes he sweirs, wt feinyit face,
That he suld never inioy that place;
And bad thame hald him vnsuspect,
He was not gewin to that effect.
Bot better packet afternone,
The foullest turne that ever was done,
Ben ower the barr he gave a brocht,
And laid among them sic a lochet,
With eructavit cor meū,
He hosted thair a hude full fra him;
For laik of rowme, that rubiature
Bespewit vp the moderator;
While the assemblie thocht grit schame,
Saying he was seik, and send him hame;
And laid him backwardis in a bed,
But not so weill nurtorit as fed.
Sone efter that, incōtinēt,
Erle of Mortoun gat the regimēt,
Then sett he to, with saill and ayre,

358

To seik some lowner harbore thayre,
And caist his anckers on the raid,
And long tyme with the lord abaid.
His towes, I find, hes bene so fyne,
For all the stormes hes bene sensyne,
His schip come never on the schalde,
But stak still on the ancker halde.
His office daylie was, indeid,
The chapter to expone and reid.
When he that sermone celebrat,
He had a worde accustomat:
“The propheit meins this, gif ye mark it;”
Auld Captane Kirkburne to him harkit,
Perceaving weill St Androis vaikit,
And syne how sone the knave was staikit,
“To all men levand he cōplenis;
I watt now what the propheit menis.”
This foirsaid bischope beand deid,
Maister Ihone Wȳrome was maid heid,
For sowmes of silwer that he had lent thē;
Bot he besoght thame to cōtent thē:
He cravit na digniteis prophane,
But his awin silver hame agane.
Fra Holiglass sone hard this thing,
He toned his dussie for a spring,
And held the Regent so in hand,
And maid him weill to vnderstand
That he sould pay the foirsaid sowme,
Gif he were enterit in the rowme;
And mair, as he wald bid him doe,
To give his servantis pensiones toe.

359

Sua, with his craft, this carlingis pett
Hes fangit ane grit fisch in his nett.
Bot fra he was a byschope stylit,
Mr Jhone Wyndrome was beguylit,
Had he not had a sure probatione,
And cald him on his obligatione.
Bot Doctor Patrik still replyed,
With trickis and delatouris he denyed,
And maid manifest to men of law
That he had his discharge to schaw.
Bot how this discharge was gotten!
When Holieglass is deid and rotten,
His smaikrie sall nocht be forgett,
How Doctor Patrik payit his debt.
Ane new cōceat this knaif hes tane;
To Willie Vylie he hes gane,
The Regents awin cubicular,
His servant and his secretare,
And him besought to lat him see
Off missive wrytingis tuo or thrie,
Fra Maister Jhone Wydrome to my Lord,
And hecht him crownes for to accord.
This simple boy, suspecting nocht,
Thrie of the wrytingis to him brought;
Ane of thame law subscryvit, ye ken,
As custome is to noble men:
He cutted off the bill abone,
And filled the blank with falset sone,
Dischargine him the foirsaid sowmes.
It cūand in the Sessiones thowmes,
To Maister Wyndrome they cōpleanet,
Wha swair that he had never sene it,

360

And tuike in hand for to impryve it.
Thair Matchewell had bene mischevit,
Were not his falsett was cōfesst,
And sic a moyen with him dresst;
Five hūdreth merkis he to him gave,
And tuik in hand to pay the leave,
At certane dayis, thair was no doubt;
Bot, fra he fand the tyme ryn out,
He pat him off with mowis and mockis,
And had no will to louse the boxe.
The superintendent saw na better,
Bot raid agane, and raist a letter,
And gat the harlat to the horne.
Bot Howliglass, lang or the morne,
New falsat forged out for to defend him:
Ane fair suspentione he hes send him.
The vther to the Sessione pleinyeit,
And said it was both fals and feinyeit,
And socht inspectione for impriving.
The lymmer, feiring lyfe and leving,
He saw na bute but bagis to louse,
And swoir he maid it but in mowis,
As Maister Andro Wilsoune wrocht it,
And secreitlie said he forthoght it;
Beseikand him to keip it close,
Or word ran to the cōmon woice.
The vther wald na mair reprive him,
But all men he forbade beleive him,
Or ever to trow ane word he spak,
But Holiglass behind thair back.

361

So in Sanctandrois happened then
Ane callit Scot, a mareit man,
Nocht verie riche in worldlie guddis,
Save tuo pure aikers of borrow ruddis;
Yit with the glaikis he was owergane,
And in adulterie he was tane;
Maid to be punissit for his paik;
But he was stubburne in his talk;
Iniurit the elders, what suld mair?
This bischop, beand present thair,
Desyrit him hame, and he suld seay
Gif he culd lerne him to obey;
For all his crackis, doe what he can
To knaw the law of God and man.
Sua to his castell tuik him hame:
This duble drunckerd thought no schame;
Foorth secreitlie he callis him syne,
And fillit him fow with aill and wyne;
Persuading him to sell his land,
And gat his letters in his hand.
This beand done, as I have said,
Vpon his duschet vpe he played,
Gevand the man so mony terroris,
That brocht him in a thousand erroris,
That for his lyfe was no remeid,
Gif he abaid the law, but deid.
The pure mā, being fleid for feir,
Gave him the land, and gat na geir;

362

Maid sayle syne to the Easter sees,
And, lyk ane dyver, thair he deis.
Whairto this bischop tuik reguard,
And enterit sone to Naboths yaird.
The sillie wedew a quhyle defendit,
But scho grew pure, and so scho endit,
And left hir malisone, cōsider,
To Lowrie, and the land together.
Whidder hir malisone tuike effect,
Or gif it was the gude wyne sect,
Or surfesting of sundrie spyces,
Or then a scurge for clockit vyces;
Bot sic ane seiknes hes he tane,
That all men trowit he had bene gaine;
For leitches myt mak no remeid:
Thair was na bute to him bot deid.
He seing weill he wald not mend,
For Phetanissa hes he send,
With sorcerie and incantationes,
Reasing the devill with invocationes,
With herbis, stanes, buikis and bellis,
Menis mēbers, and south rinnīg wellis;
Palme croces, and knottis of strease,
The paring of a preistis auld tees;
And, in principio, sought out syne,
That vnder ane alter of stane had lyne,
Sanct Jhones nutt, and the fore levit claver,
With taill and mayn of a baxter aver,

363

Had careit hame heather to the oyne,
Cutted off in the cruik of the moone;
Halie water, and the lāber beidis,
Flyntworthe, and fourtie vther weidis:
Whairthrough the charmīg tuik sic force,
They laid it on his fatt whyte horse.
As all men saw, he sone deceissit:
Thair Saga slew ane saikles beast.
This wald not serve: he sought ane vther,
Ane devill duelling in Anstruther,
Exceading Circes in cōceattis,
For chaungene of Wlisses meatis:
Medusas craftis scho culd declair,
In making eddars of hir hair:
Medeas practicques scho had plane,
That could mak auld men young agane,
By Achates, the witches god.
Mercurius, with his charmed rod,
The aunciēt King of Bactria,
That first inventit magica,
Could not so weill of stowen geir tell,
As could this vglie hund of hell.
With this the word yead through the toun,
How lurcan Lowrie played the lowne.
Heiring how witches wrang abusit him,
The Kirkmen calld him and accused him,
And scharplie of theis pointis reproved him;
That he in sorcerie beleavit him,
Whairthrough his saule myt come to skayt.

364

The witche and he cōnfessing bayth
Scho tuike some part of white wyne dreggis,
Wounded rayne, and blak hen eggis,
And maid him droggis that did him gude.
His ansr. being rashe and rude:
“Suppoise the devill maid that graith,
The seiknes sua ouersett my fayth,
At that tyme, to asswage my sair,
I wald have tane it, I tauld thame thair:”
Then did the elders him desyre,
Vpon the morne, to mak a fyre,
To burne the witches both to deid;
Bot or the morne he fand remeid.
He dred sa sair they suld have schawin
How his knaverie was to thē vnknawin;
Laich in a lymbus, whair they lay,
Then Lowrie lowsit thē long or day,
And had no will they were corrected;
Yit with the people he was suspected,
Trowing the teallis befoir was spocken,
Becaus they saw no presone brocken.
There was his pretticques weill espyed,
But with his ansr. he replyit,
And said, na man, at his cōmand,
Wald tak the presone hous in hand;
Into that dūgeon was sic din,
As Beelȝebub had bene therin,
That never a man durst stire qll day;
And sua he neckit thame with nay,
And brocht the teale bravelie about,
How Pluto come and pullit thē out.

365

Yit few or nane this Lowrie beleavit,
Becaus they culd not get it previt:
They prayit him to amend his lyfe,
And trow na witchcraft in a wife.
For oght the kirk culd him forbid,
He sped him sone, and gat the thrid;
Ane carling of the Quene of Phareis,
That ewill win geir to elphyne careis.
Through all Braid Abane scho hes bene
On horsback, on Hallow ewin;
And ay in seiking, certayne nyghtis,
As scho sayis, with our sillie wychtis;
And names out nytboris sex or sewin,
That we belevit had bene in heawin.
Scho said scho saw thame weill aneugh,
And speciallie gude auld Balcleuch,
The secretare, and sindrie vther;
Ane William Symsone, hir mother brother,
Whome fra scho hes resavit a buike,
For ony herb scho lykis to luike:
It will instruct hir how to tak it;
In sawis and sillubs how to mak it;
With stones that mekle mair can doe,
In leich craft, whair scho layis them toe.
A thowsand maladeis scho hes mēdit.
Now being tane and apprehendit,
Scho, being in the bischops cure,
And kepit in his castell sure,

366

Without respect of warldlie glamer
He past into the witchis chalmer,
Closing the dure behind his bak,
And quyetlie to hir he spak,
And said his work lome was not worthe:
Lowsing his poyntis he laid it furth.
Scho sayned it with hir halie hand,
The pure pith of the pryoris wand:
To help that raipfull scho hes rest him,
Whairfore, ye say, my ladie left him.
For scho had sayned it tuyss or thrise,
His rubigo began to ryiss:
Then said the bischop to Jhone Bell,
Goe, tak the first seye of hir yorsell.
The witche to him hir weschell gave,
The Bischops blissing to resave.
What dayis of pardone then scho wan!
The relicques of that holie man
Micht save hir saule from purgatorie.
His wyfe, cōceaving jelowsie,
Cryed out his deid when it was done,
Ran through the tovne, and tauld it sone.
Ane syiss was socht sone to the wyfe,
Whairas ane aunciēt laird of Fyiffe,
Of gude report, that may be trowit,
Befoir this Bischope weill awowit,
Eather at Semblie or at Sessione,
As he wha hard the wyffis cōfessione,

367

That this was suirlie thair proceiding.
Whair sic men gettis a flock in feeding,
The sillie scheip wilbe devorit,
And Goddis true doctrine daylie smorit.
This beand done, he thocht sic shame,
He myt not tarie weill at hame,
But ower to Edinburgh he hes past,
Procured a licence, at the last,
To ryde to Londoun with a letter,
Becaus they culd not get a better.
Wist ye what his cōmissione bure,
He myt weill serve for sic a cuire.
Sic lipps, sic lattouce; lordis and lownes:
Auld creased workis payit wt crackit crownes.
Bot heir I will no mair remane,
Returnīg to my text agane.
It may not be no mair forborne,
How he beguylit pure David Horne,
Ane honest man, ane messinger,
And was St Androis pensioner.
To all the Bischops thair befoir
He doing daylie his devoir,
He gat allowance, being leill,
Ane pensione of a chalder of meill.
Our to this Bischop now is he gane;
His letter of tak hes with him tane,
Sayand, “ye man be gude, my Lord,
And to yor man misericord.
This angle noble in my neife
Vnto yor Lordschip I will gife,

368

To cause you to renew my tackis.”
The vther little answer makis.
The Angle noble first he tuike,
And syne the letters for to luike:
With yt his byknyfe furth hes tane,
And maid him tuētie tackis of ane;
In litle crownes began to cut them;
The vther gaid hame backwards but them,
Sichand, and durst say no mair,
And left his angle noble thair.
With thir, and mony sic lyke trickis,
The haill coūtrie this loun cōvictis.
The pure men plentis yt duellis besyde him,
How he creipis in a hoill to hyde him,
And barris them fast wtout the yettis,
When they come there to crave thair debtis;
For kaill, candle, and knocked beir,
Herbis to the pot, and all sic geir,
He never payis ane pēny he takkis.
To heir the mone the pure folk makkis,
What malisones are to him gevin,
Cryand, “a wengance from the hewin
Come doun on this deceatfull Lowrie!”
I wald not for all the carse of Gowrie
To be a bischop in his esteat;
To heir, when he gangis throw the gait,
How everie wyfe on vther puttis,
Bidding the bischop pay for his guttis,

369

And cryes, “gar pay me for my eall,”
Ane vther for candle, the thrid for caill;
The fourt cryis out for knocked beir;
“How dar this dastard had our geir?
A vengeance fall his feinȝit fayt,
For poinding of the pure folkis graith!”
Efter my Lord this larowme ringis
For this and mony sic lyk thingis.
Suppose it stude on all thair lyffis,
He will not get amonges the wyffes
Ane pynt of aill in all the tovne,
Except the silver be laid doun.
Then gif ye knew his duble tackis
Amonges the coūtrie men he mackis,
With feinyeit seillis and antideatis,
And tuentie vther tryme cōceatis,
Setting the coūtrie be the earis,
And takis no thot of nytboris weiris,
So he be sure to fill his hand,
How mekle blood be in the land.
Gif siclyk bischops be admittit,
Grit God and all the warld sall wit it;
This makis his trickis, his feinyeit toyes,
What clocked knaverie he cōvoyes,
His wattir drincking, his seiknes feinyeit,
Fearand the kirk shuld on him pleinyeid.
It cōes to licht now, at the last,

370

Fra tyme the ministers are past,
The trick of Guisians devysit,
He hes bene ane to interpryse it;
Ane waikryfe devill daylie to wirk,
To saw seditione in the kirk,
Learnīg a lessone at ald Frogmortene,
As he cōfessit at his departing.
To coūterfute that fals cōceat,
And speik the Quenis Grace be the gait,
He fand his seiknes was so sair
Throw all his bodie heir and thair,
That nathing myt his panes repell,
Except it were some sacred well
In Lorane, or the well of Spaa;
But his cōmissione na man saa:
Which text cōtenit na vther thing,
Bot cōmendationes fra our kyng
Vnto the Quene of Englandis Grace,
Beseikand hir to help his case,
And to send new support againe him.
“Mortone,” sayis he, “the lawis hes slaine him,
And Gowrie hes gottin a cōdigne syse,
Conformīg to his interpryse,
With sindrie vtheris that loves thair factione,
That daylie dois menteane yt actione,
As Anguse, Mar, and Maister of Glames;
Tak thir thrie for na saikles lambes,
But proude ambitious bangesters,
With some seditious ministers,

371

Cōtempneris of our authoritie,
Subscryvit aganist our Maiestie,
For to destroy our realme and regione,
Without respect of true religione;
Beleivand we shuld bring hame the mess.
Luke what religione ye profess;
I salbe būde therby to byde:
Under grit God ye salbe guyde,
My tutrix in my tender yeiris,
Sen none in earth to me so deir is
As ye, my kyndlie cusines.
Gif I had gritter bussines,
I think ye aucht for to defend me
With succor, and support to send me.
To bring this mater to ane end,
My sacred bischop I have send,
As Semple sayis, ane subtile tod,
To bring me hame the word of God
From Italie and Almainie;
In Geneva and Germanie
To seik the trew experiēce
For libertie of cōscience.
Give ye think gud, I hald it best
That bayt our realmes myt live in rest.”
With this and vther siclyk wairis,
Befoir the coūsall he declairis
A fals, deceatfull, feinyeit taill,
Bot alwayis for thair awin availl.
Bot yit, or he bound to the read,
How yt his packmātie was maed,

372

I think it best for to declair.
His blew clock beand worne so bair,
He causit an talyeor turne it and mak it
Into wich maill: a frind he packit it,
His sarkis, his schone, his ganging gowne,
Ane fitt case for a feinyeit lowne.
Na dentie geir this Doctor seikis;
Of tottis russet his ryding breikis;
Ane hamelie hat; a cott of kelt
Weill beltit in ane lethrone belt;
A bair clock, and a bachlane naig;
His ruffe curfufled about his craig;
The one end to his belt hang doun;
The vther stude above his crovne.
Thair was a brave embassador
Befoir so noble ane auditor,
The Quene of Englandis Maiestie,
Hir coūsall, and nobilitie,
In hir tryvmphand palice placit.
May sic fellowis be defacit!
Alace! that Scotland had no schame,
To send sic howfing carles from hame!
Now or embassador is boune
With bag and bagage off the toun:
All nyt in Seytoun he remaned,
Whair wyne and aill was nothing hayned;
And fra my Lord he gat a letter,
To cause him to be treat the better,
To Monsier, to mak him speid,
The Frenche embassador indeid,

373

That daylie yit in Londoun lyis,
Wha can ane evill turne weill devise;
And syne to Berwick on the morne,
Whair all men leuch my Lord to scorne.
Na mulettis there his cofferis careis,
Bot lyk a court of auld cashmareis,
Or cadyers cūing to ane fair;
And yit some honest men gaid thair
For fewis and takkis yt he sic sett thame,
Beleivand in yt towne to get thame,
Bot may gaip lang or he get them:
As they have sped, ye may speir at them.
Tuiching his awin tryne, ye shall heir:
The Vicar of Dunbuge on a meir,
That wonder weill can turne a can,
A ganeand maister for sic a man,
With vthere fellowis tuo or thrie;
Gude Robert Melwene of Carnebie
I shuld not racken in with thea:
Of honest men he had na mea.
But he may ruse him of his ryding,
In Londoun for his longsome byding.
Thair Holieglas begane his gaidis,
As he was learned, amangis the laidis.
To Maist: Hanam sone he past,
And sowmes of silver fra him ast
In borrowing, while he come bak.
The man, beleivand it he spak,

374

Vnto this sophist sone cōsentit;
But he had efterward repentit,
Were not a man amongis thē sell,
Whose cōscience causit him to tell;
And quyetlie his coūsall gave him,
That Holieglas wald sone deceave him.
The man, perceaving it was sua,
Gave him the gek, and lute him gea,
Thankand his God and gud men baith
For his delyvering of yt skeath.
O Holyglas! thought thou no schame,
And thou but laitlie come frome hame?
Vpon the secund day at morrow
Suld our embassador gea borrow,
And want or ever he wyn ower Tweid?
Bot, God be praisit, he come no speid.
To Londoun Lowrie tuke the geat,
With traine myt staik for his esteat;
His wantone vicare on a meir;
Twa vther fellowis to turse his geir;
Bot never ane honest man had he,
Save Robert Melwene of Carnebie,
That with that bischop went about,
To sett his feinyeit falsett out;
Bot als gude he had sittin ydle,
As there ower land to leid his brydle,
Considering what reward he gatt.
Still on his owne cott taill he satt,
As shalbe tauld you or we tuyne,

375

In loco quo it shall come in.
To tell all ludgene whair he lay,
And ay on be the brek of day,
Wald be ower langsome to collect:
I wilbe breif in that respect.
Bot yit the menstrallis and the bairdis,
Thair trowand to obtene rewardis,
About his ludgene loudlie played;
Bot menstrallis, serving man, and maid,
Gat Mitchell in ane auld pocke nucke;
Save dira adew his leive he tuik;
Then be the gait with murmor passis,
“Allace! I haue forgot the lasses!
Bot yit they shall not want a plak,
Will God give I returne abak.”
This was to cloik his waine cōceat
For he come home ane vther gait;
As Culen Kyngis that Christ adorned,
Per aliam viam he returned.
In Londone he ane ludgene tuike,
A inkeiper, ane cōmone cuike,
Ane tapster bayt of aill and wyne,
That weill myt staik for sic a tryne.
Vnto the court the word is gane,
That he had sic ane ludgene tane.
Little they said, what ever they thought.
Vnto this bischop there was brought
Ane new-maid coische for to decore him,
Ane serving gentlemā send for him,

376

That stude ane lang hor at his yeatt,
Or he could ony entres geatt,
While he was grathed into his geir
Siclyke as he was wont to weir,
As I befoir have specifeit,
And Maister Willie will verefeit.
The man that was his messinger,
The Quenis Grace Latin secretare,
Being eschamit fra ever he saw him,
Said to himself, “a vengeance faa him!
Is this our brave embassador,
Whome to we doe sic honor,
That I am send for to hir Grace—
A bewe bust in a bischops place?”
Yit in the cosche he lap at last.
Into the palice are they past,
Which callit is the fair White hall;
His pintle against the palice wall
Puld out to piss, and wald not spair,
Which is a thing inhibit thair.
Ane porter sone did him persave,
And to the bischop his blissing gave,
Betuixt the schoulders a royall route,
Turnīg him wodderschins about.
To scape the fray he was so fane,
He put vp club in scheith agane.
Cūing to presence of the Quene,
Becaus he had not sic thingis seine,
He wist not weill how to behave him,
But as some vthers coūsall gave him;

377

And that was of a semple sort,
As I can tell by true report
Of gentlemen that stude besyde him,
That he had na mair grace to guyde him
Nor it had bene ane hieland quow,
Lurcane and lowring, I wat not how.
Then his cōmissione being red,
Out of the palice he was sped,
Then to the wall agane gois he
To pisch—his part of honestie.
The portars publictlie reprovit him,
And doubtles they had thair mischevit him,
Were not the gentle men excused him,
And thame forbade to stryke a stranger.
He beand scapit of that danger,
Hame through he past, and wald not spair:
They maid a midwyfe of him thair.
They bring thame farre on ābeling foiles,
Bot send thame hame throw on thair soilles.
Tuo moneth he tareit efter that,
But never presence agane he gat.
With bischops he began to fleich,
Desyring licence for to preich.
Of his auld sermon he had perqueir,
Bot they had never hard thame heir.
Of omnigatherine now his glose:
He maid it lyk a Wealchmā hose:
Tempora mutantur was his text.
The bischops vicar being vext,
To ruse his maister, and set him out,

378

Sayand to thame yt stude about,
“Gif ye his preiching could persave,
My maister is a lerned knaif:”
Placebois part, behind his bak,
Vnto the people this he spak.
The preiching done, the chapter red,
They baith gaid fow aneuch to bed.
This poysoned preicheor of Godis word
Is not vnlyk ane suple suord;
For in the fyire when ye have heat it,
To ony syde you lyk to sett it,
It will go worth, and stand therto,
So will this duble doctor doe.
For greid of geir, and warldly graith,
On baith the gaitis he grūdis his fayth.
For daylie we may se his dress,
When Monseir gaid vnto his mess,
Into ane gallerie neir besyde;
Thair wald this halie bischope byde,
Saying, forsuith, it was not smittell.
I think he weyit the mater litle
How mony messis there was done,
Sa he were packed weill at none:
For daylie thair he gaid to dyne,
To gett his fill of gude white wyne.
The denner done, he wald not spair,
Downe to a house, tuo myle and mair,
To Lambeth, bischope of Canterberrie,
Vpon his feit, but not be ferrie;

379

For archness to had in a grote,
He had no will to fie a bote;
Bot or he come neir hand the yeatt,
Vpon ane dyke doun was he sett
Into a secreit out of sicht,
And sat thair till his schone wes dicht.
He gave thame leive to dicht his schone;
To sponge his cloak durst not be done.
It hurt the woole, and wrought it bair,
Puld off the mottes, and did no mair:
He had na will to weir his cleathis.
Then to that bischop in he geas.
With mony flattering taill and fals
He held that bischop in the hals,
Seiking the secreit of his wittis,
And ay besydis he fillis his guttis,
Wachting the wyne, for it was wicht.
Then, when this turne cott tuke gude nyt,
Half way hameward vp the calsay,
Said to his servandis for a quha say,
“Alace! the porter is foryett;”
But sorrow mair the men myt gett.
Then to a sowters chope he past,
And for a pair of schone he ast.
Bot or he sperit the price to pay thē,
His thovmbis was on the soillis to say them;
Then with his knockles he on them knockit;
Eftir that he had long time blockit,
With grit difficultie he tuik thame,

380

And pat thame on: ewill mocht he bruik them!
With Monsier then he moyen maid,
Lamēting sair his lang abaid,
Thinking to borrow a hundreth pundis,
And oblist him for to be bund
To pay or he past off the toun.
The vther, na dowt, had laid it downe,
Were not bechance he had a man,
That with his maister roundit than:
“My Lord, I kend yone lowne in Parise;
He weill betydis that sometymes careis;
Ane cōdigne doctor to all lownes,
My mother lent him fyftene crownes;
Besydis some vtheris, nychboris thair,
Some lent him less, some lent him mair.
Work what we will, it was in vaine,
We culd nevir gett a grote agane.”
The vther said nothing for schame,
But held his toung while he turned hame.
Ten pundis stirling furth he tuike,
And knit it in a neapkyn nucke,
Saying: “forsuith, I have no mair
Now at this present I may spair.”
But when he gettis yt geir agane,
Thair will na river ryse for raine;
And, peitie, porter of hellis yeattis,
That day this doctor payis his debtis.
This wald not serve his turne, he thot;
Some vther moyen sone he socht.

381

The Scottis merchandis were lyand thair,
I find he maid thair baggis all bair,
And promised, vnder pane of schame,
To pay so sone as he come hame.
Bot as he payit, ye may speir,
Gif Gilbert Donaldsone were heir;
Or Patrik Quhyt, he weill can tell,
Sayand thair is no devill in hell
Could find sic falset for to deceave him,
As he, when ever he come to crave him.
Ane vther Lunden paik he playit,
Sending some letters, as he said,
With Patrik Quhyte, as he declairis,
Bearing the wecht of grit effairis,
To come in Scotland to the King.
The man mensueris he saw sic thing.
Suppose the teale be fals and feinyeit,
Yit to the Kingis Grace he hes pleinyeit.
Havand the court at his cōmand,
He gart the pure mā leave the land:
For all the fyve bairnes and the wyffe,
This Metropolitane of Fyiffe
Is enterit on his hous and geir;
But how this happened ye sall heir,
Thought it be tedious for to tell.
The mā duellis in St Androis sell:
He lent this lowne thrie hundreth marke,
Bot when he craveth Cok his clerk,
He culd not find ane vther gait,

382

Bot fred him with this fals cōceat.
Gif this be weill, the warld shall ken,
To raise sic schiftis on saikles men.
Than Robert Melwin, hame to gang,
On his awin charges lyand lang,
Sayand, “this burgh I may not bruik,”
His precept of pensione furth he tuike,
Biddand my Lord subscryve ane letter,
And swa he did, but not the better.
Hame to the prowest it was directit;
But ye shall heir whow he was geckit.
Hame to the prowest when he past,
It greived him, and he was agast;
Who tuke him by the lap and lewch:
“Ye ken his knaverie weill aneuche.
Of all his teyndis, both meill and beir,
I have discharges for a yeir.
He gart me pay thame or I ledd thame:”
The vther tuke thame vp and redd thame.
He sayned him, but he said no mair:
Tak up his Londone wsayage thair.
Ane burges mā there beand bound,
Having a trvme schop in the toun,
Vnto this Bichope sone he socht
To get a licence, gif he mocht,
For fortie last of Inglis beir;
Said: “ten pund Stirveling I have heir,
And mair, when misteris, you cōmand.”
The Bischop tuke it weill on hand:

383

To Secretare Welschingame gois he,
The pearle and flowre of courtasie;
With signitor in neif alreddie,
He send him to his Soverane Ladie
For fourtie last of Englis beir:
Bot what ane leesing maid he heir!
He said, to serve his house at hame,
But it was sauld in want of schame,
And not with him that he began;
He happened on ane vther man,
And tuentie pund Stirveling fra him tuke:
The first merchant he cleane forsuike,
Gave him the geck, and lat him gea:
Gud threttie pundis he cōqueist sea.
Amongis the Bischopis of the towne,
He played the beggar vp and downe,
Without respect of honestie,
Or office of embassadrie.
Ane scaffing warlot, wanting schame,
Thrie of thair haiknes he tuik hame.
He beggit buikis, he beggit bowis;
Tacking in earnest, asking in mowes;
As Maister Jhone Dowglass weill can tell,
How slealie he deceavit him sell;
Borrowing ane coffer to keip his claythis,
Bot with this baggage hame he geas.
This turne cott now returnīg bak,
Trowand some great reward to tak;

384

Bot Englis men are not so daft
Bot they perceaved his clocked craft.
They knew him for a sembling baird,
Whome to they wald give no rewarde;
Considering as he sett him furth,
They gave him mair then he was worthe.
Seing his copburde come to nocht,
Tua leathering bosses he hes bought.
“Thay will not brek albeit they fall:
Thir strapis of trie destroyis vs all;
They brek so mony, I may not byde it:”
Heir all the inspraich he provydit.
Returnīg hame, as ye hard tell,
He baid behind a day him sell,
The simple servantis to beguyle,
Sayand, he wald ride furth a whyle,
To seay a bow that was sūthing wicht,
Syne come agane and tak gud nycht;
Bot on lap he and went to wair.
Fairweill: adewe: they gat na mair.
Gif this be honest, ye may ken,
And, namelie, to sic honest men,
Our Legat Lord in primacie,
Besydis, his grit embassadrie
To vse swa in vncouth places.
Litle merwell in tēporall cases
He had na will to give reward,
That to his saule had no regard.
For, lying in periculo mortis,
Tua of the kirk to him resortis;

385

Balcanquhall, as ane Christiane brother,
And Maister Andro Melwill was the other:
Both being faytfull, fearing God,
Went to persuade this subtile tod
Lascivous maneris to amend,
Sen na mā knawis the hor nor end.
This, at the lenth, he lent them eiris
And brusted out in a blus of tearis.
“Brether,” he sayis, “I schame to tell
Sa oft as I misvsit my sell,
In guyding of the giftis of grace:
Gif God wald lend me tyme and space,
Twa horis in pulpit to deploir it,
My synfull lyfe sall not be smorit:”
With this agane begane to greit.
The brethrene, seing him cōtreit,
Gave thankis to God for his repentance;
But now, for all his auld acquētance,
He playis the turnecot to deceave them,
Denyand plane that ever he spak them.
To George Durrie he played a juike,
That will not be foryet this oulke:
Foure hundreth merkis he gart him get him,
For tackis of kirkis he hecht to set him,
And syne set vther men the teindis.
The vther, having force of freindis,
Concludit schortlie for to slea him,
For vyling of his syluer fra him:

386

As they had done, no doubt, in deid,
Were not he sped him there with speid,
And fand sic moyen for to meis them,
Promissand proffeit for to pleis them.
Whairto it turnes I can not tell:
But sua the sophist savit him sell.
To him I can find na cōpair,
Save anes in France when I was there,
Gud Clemet Marit had a lowne—
A knaif that cūbart all the towne,
With spreitis employed to everie vice,
As whoredome, drincking, cartis, and dyce;
To sweir, to ban, to steill and tak:
Ane never myt trow a word he spak;
In everie ludgene whair he wald licht,
Taking his leive without gud nych[t,]
Garring the wyffis sing wallaway,
Lyk to the Bischop of Galloway:
But he was sum thing pure and needie;
And this is feinyet, fals, and griedie.
Galloway with no mater meld him,
Except necessitie cōpeld him,
Taking the warld as God wald send it,
Having ane noble hart to spend it.
Bot ay the mair this smatcher gettis,
The closser garris he keip the yettis;
Feiding his bellie and his bryde,
Begging and borrowing ay besyde.

387

Galloway was a man of gude,
Discendit of a noble blude,
Franck with his freind, fordward and stout,
Having gude maneris to set them out:
And this is but ane carle, ye sie,
Ane baxteris sone of bas degrie,
Feable and fleid and nothing worth,
Wanting a face to set him furth.
What suld I lyble of this lowne?
Not all the paper of this towne,
And blek it baith vnder and abone,
May had the half that he hes done.
Wha could cleirlie descryve his cases
In Parise, and in vther places,
Gif men myt tyme and laser get?
Some thingis, indeid, I have forget.
Perceaving that he was scant of clathis,
To Londone Bischop sone he geathis,
Desyring the borrowing of a gowne,
He said, to preich in through the towne.
The Bischop, obeying the first cōmand,
Send for his wardrop man fre hand.
Tuiching that part I mā cōmend him;
Ane deligat gowne, indeid, he send him:
Bot when that gowne comes hame agane,
Winter salbe butt wind and raine.
Albeit I was not there to see,
He weiris it yit, to verefie;
Growgraine of silk, bot it is gray;
When ever ye see it, siris, ye may say

388

He gat that gowne, with this ingyne,
Weill lyned with costlie furringis fyne.
How he beguylit Jhone Harper of York,
Ane Scottis tailyeor lives on his work,
Aff fra a merchant he gart him tak
New breikis and dowblat, for to mak,
Of Turkie taffatie—na war geir:
Bot as he payeth him, ye sall heir.
This turne cott with his trickis begane,
Growand familiar with the man,
Sayand, “forsuith my siluer is done;
But Londone will me releive sone.
For in this toun I tak na cair:
The Scottis merchantis will meit me thair
With monie als mekle as I will tak.
Whairfore, to my returnīg back,
Ye wald doe weill gif ye wald thrist me,
And at this present not molest me.
Ye salbe payit: tak ye no thought:
Your tristene sall not be for nought
At our nixt meiting.” What suld mair?
The vther saw him speik so fair,
To crave him forder he thoght schame.
But turne cott, now returnīg hame,
Fand out some vther gait to gea:
Sewin pund he payit this pure mā sea.
Some sayes he played ane fouller thing,
Bespewed the pulpett befoir the King;
Or ever the preiching was midpart done
He neather held vnder nor abone.
Na ferlie; his cōtagious stomack

389

Was sa owersett with Burdeous drūmake;
And George Gipsones Iskie bae
Had all the wyte he womit sae.
Sone efter that, for sowmes of debt,
A measr vpon the gait him mett,
Gewing him charges to obey,
To enter in warde, or els to pay.
This lowrie little ansr mackis,
Bot on a gray bonnet he tackis;
A scheip hewit clock to cover his cleathis;
But lad or boy to Leyt he geathis;
Lapp in a bott, and maid him boun;
Sen syne he come not in the toun.
Ane vther trick, as I remember;
The threttene day of this November,
Vnto his bed he bownit so fow,
Sleipping and snoring lyk a sow;
Dreamand some devill he had sene,
Out of the bed he wald have bene;
But on the flure he gat a fall,
While doun come Cannabie and all
Vpon his bellie with sic a brattle,
The houshold, hearing sic a rattle,
Mervelit mekle what it suld be;
Lychtit candles, and came to sie,
And fand him lyand lyk a swyne,
Bayth bak and syde bespewit with wyne.
Seing it rid, they waxt so red,
Beleiving it had bene blood he bled,
Cryand out, harmesay, he was stickit,

390

While ane pat doun his hand and lickit:
“This is not blude, thot it be hewit,
But Burdeous wyne that he hes spewit.”
With schame and lack, I will not lane,
They laid him in his bed agane.
Therfore I wald ye vnderstude
We have na tyme for to cōclude:
Far ay the longare Lowrie leivis,
As fassione is of feinyit theives,
They wilbe daylie for doing ill.
Ewin sa I will augment my bill,
As I gett witt in mair and mair
Of his proceidingis heir and thair.
I sall leave blankis for to imbrew thame,
That he a nosebitt may beleive thame
Whometo my buik salbe directit.
Being in Paris lait suspectit
For art and part of mūbling messis,
Thought he hypocrysie professis:
Albeit this be not weill set furth,
Becaus the mater was not worth,
Desyre the Bischope to be cōtent,
Becaus I am not eloquent.
I have tane trawell for his saik,
And ryme may for a raipfull staik.
Mend ye thir heidis that I rehers,
I sall not faill to mend my vers.

Finis.

QUOD R. S.

262

XXXIX. The Sege of the Castel of Edinburgh.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Buschmēt of Beruik, mak ȝow for the gait,
To ring ȝour drūmis & rank ȝour mē of weir;
Addres ȝour armour, boūd ȝow for debait,
With sound of trūpet mak ȝour steids to steir,
Sen ȝe ar freikes that weil dar fecht but feir,
As, for exampill, we haue sene ȝow ellis:
Lyk as the last tym that ȝour Camp come heir,
Lend vs ane bourrouīg of ȝour auld blak bellis.

Ȝour camp conuoyit but cūmer throw the land,
In gude array, and rewlit by thair rank,
Reddie to pas, as plesit vs command,
Throw all our bounds to the west sey bank;
Thocht sum mē say ȝe serue bot lytill thank,
Suppose occatioun cum first of thame sellis,
As thay haue brouin yt bargane, sa thay drank,
And rewis yt tyme yt euer thay saw ȝour bellis.

263

I nill repeit na policeis put doun,
Sen plesit God that we aggrie togiddir:
Except thay crak thair credence to the Croū,
Than fair weil thay: the find ressaue the fidder!
God saue hir G. that will our cause considder,
And, as I dout not, wil ourdryue thir dangeris;
As scho, befoir tyme, send hir forces hidder
To keip yis coūtrie cline fra forrane strāgeris.

To call to mynd hir mony fauld gude dedis:
First, scho reformit the fals Idolatrie.
I am in dout, in ony realme quha redis
Of sa lang tyme with sic tranquillitie,
Sic faithful iustice with ciuillitie,
Sic frendschip keipit to hir fais sa lang:
Scotland may say, for oure vtilitie,
That neuer ane bettir prince in Inglād rang.

That beand done, scho did conferme a pace,
And maid thā freindis yt lāg tyme had bene fois,
With stancheīg bludesched wes not eith to ceice,
That men may pas, not sperand quhair he gois.
Syne at the sege of Leith scho sparit ane pois,
And dang the frenchmē, quhilk we docht not do;
Quhill hame thay past in spyt of all thair nois,
With lose of men, and left munitioun to.

Quhat toung hes langage to declair at lenth
Thair greit artalȝerie, nor thair men of weir?
France wes not able to withstand thair strenth,
For powder and bullet, bowis, and vther geir.
Quhat chargis wes hir schipis at, may I speir?
Surmonting fiftie hunder thowsand frankis;
And ȝit, for all the graith hir grace send heir,
Ingraitfull people gaue hir lytill thankis.

264

Our Regent slane syne, as I said befoir,
Stryfe and contentioun rais in to the land;
Treasoun, inuy, did vertue sa deuoir,
Quhil all wes done as murthour did cōmand.
Wes nan sa stout durst tak the steir on hand,
Sa had the cause bene quat, wer not for shame,
Quhil we sic frendschip furth of Ingland fand:
Thay send ane army heir with Leuenox hame,

Conuoyt with Drurie, duchtelie in deid,
And, as I hoip, mair haist wes neuer done;
To Glasgw past with mony trapit steid,
Thair skalit the sege, releuit the castell sone:
Doun to Dunbartane on the morne at none
He raid, bot few, not fering thame agane him:
Ȝit of that parrell, I prayse the Lord abone,
He chapit weill fra villanis wald haue slane him.

That panefull progres I think ill to tell,
Sen thay ar bowit and bruderit in our band;
Bot at this present tyme, exem ȝour sell,
Quhat confort hes thair Quene send to this land.
Is not the cannones cum at ȝour cōmand,
Strecht to distroy the tratoures wald ouir gang vs?
Commonis may crye, “lang mot that frendschip stand,”
And blis hir banis sic blythnes broucht amang vs.

At Leith thay landit harmeles in the Heuin,
With powder and bullet, gunnis, and vther geir;
Drest all thair platfurmes in to dayis seuin,
Not laiking na thing that belangit to weir.
Sum workmen had we or the camp cum heir;
Jacques Gelliam, gangand lyke ane besy be,
The gabiounes makand, kaist the trinschis neir:
Quha micht do mair but ordinance nor we?

265

The walis wes heich, we culd not weil persew thame,
Bot quhen we gat thame doun, full deir thay bocht it:
Be syde the woll at syndrie tymes we slew thame;
That euer thay saw vs, sum of thame forthocht it.
Ane poysonit woll to drink quhat docht it?
Infekit watter sowllit thame, cheik and chin:
Persauing that, sorrow mair thay socht it,
Bot keppit standfulis at the sklatis thair in.

The castell segit, and all beset about
With fowseyis wyde, inueronit be slycht;
Montanis and myndis leit neuer man luik out,
For ordinance thay dung at day and nycht
By weirlyk volyis: thocht the wallis wes wycht,
Ȝit dowbell battrie brak thame al in inschis:
Of Daueis toure, in all the toune menis sycht,
Thay riggein stanes cum tumland ouir the trinschis.

The vehement schot ȝeid in at ather syde,
By threttie Cannonis plasit at partis seuin,
Quhill thay thair in mycht not thair heidis hyde
For Pot Gun pellettis falland from the heuin.
The Bumbard stanis derectlie fell sa euin,
That in to dykis by dint it deidly dang thame,
Quhill all the houssis in the place wes reuin:
The bullatis brak sa in to bladis amang thame.

Continewand this ane dosand of dayis or mair,
Quhill tyme apointit, neuer man durst steir;
The larum rang, the Regent self wes thair,
My Lord Ambassat, to, stuid uerry neir;
The manlie Generall, lyke the god of weir,
Not vsit to sleip quhen sic thingis ar a do;
Our Cronall als, quha is ane freik bot feir,
With all his Capitanes reddie to ga to.

266

Schir Harie Leis wes present at that charge;
My Lord Burlayis sone, to, stuid besyde;
Cottoun and Dyar saw the sowt at large;
And Schir George Carie, “on the knauis!” he cryde:
Ȝit Hume and Crafurde to the laue wes gyde,
With certane Soiouris of the garysoun;
Four Capitanis followit at thair bak to byde,
Sempill and Hectour, Ramsay and Robesoun.

Bot Hume wes first that ouir the walis wan,
As I heir say—I wes not thair my sell:
The Generall sayis he playit the vailȝeant man,
With prayssis mo nor I intend to tell.
Thocht Crafurdis ledder wes to schort ane ell,
Ȝit ouir the walis he wan, I wat not how;
Dunbartan, to, quhen sic lyke fortoun fell,
Thir wes the men that wan it, I tell ȝow.

The Generallis band come bauldlie at thair bak:
Schir Frances Russall, with ane gudlie grace;
Ȝaxlie and Erintoun, nather of thame wes slak;
Twa vther Careis, Knowis, and Capitane Kace.
Than wes persewand at ane uther place
Breikwell and Lammy, Mechell & Capitan Game;
Bauld Capitane Reid, that euir held to his face,
Pickman and Wood did vailȝeantly the same.

Spreill, Spadyn, Traill, Hutsoun, and all the laue,
Bartoun and Stirlie, Capitan Duberie slane;
Thoise at the bak wall wes the brasche thay gaue;
For lake of lederis thair thay wrocht in uane,
The men within maid sic defence agane,
Thay schot gude Manfrild in athort the throit,
Quhill force did faill, and than I saw thame fane
To cry ‘Peccaui’ with the waithman noit.

267

Halyburtoun, Strauchan, with thair standarts stuid;
Seirburne & Schaftoun hes followit on thame fast;
Aueris and Barrat baith wer men of gude;
Gresseone and Hanis wes laith for to be last;
Crippis and Cantrell to the parrell past;
Auld Capitā Leirmount with ane luik to bang thame;
Gude M. Setoun maid thair grumis agast:
He gart the Cannones ga sa thik amang thame.

Out gais the Hergbut, in the Cannon glydis,
Brak al in bladdis, thay docht not weil abyde thame:
Trottar and fiftie fell, and loste the hydis;
The laue sa fleit, thay wist not quheir to hyde thame;
Dismontit cannones slew the men besyde thame;
The Suddartis swarfit, and said thay wald not sar;
The house wes gud, had thay had grace to gyde thame:
Quhen all wes done, we had not bene the nar.

Let na man lipin in to warldlie strenth;
Bot Godlie ground thay may na thing induir:
Tratouris and treasone salbe tryit at lenth,
Quhen men wald fanest all thair vices smuir.
Sa Grange beleuit the madin Castell suir,
Haueand sic forssis to defend his touris;
Bot mell with madenis quhen thay play the huir:
Win anis the entrie, and than the house is ȝouris.

The Madene Castell it wes callit lang,
With honour ay that nobill style it buir;
With wemenis will ȝe do thame lytill wrang;
To iaip thame sa, I think it na iniuir.
Na mair our Madene Castell playit the huir,
Bot tuik appointmēt quhen thair wes na parel.
Smaikis had the wyte: I say the hous wes suir,
Had thay bene gratious with ane godlie quarel.

268

Thay micht not byde it for the greit munitioun,
Bot drew in factiones quhan the larum rang:
Sum thocht it gude to cum and seik remissioun,
And sum said: “best the Secreter to hang.
To his ilusiones we beleuit owir lang:
Ane cruikit Ethnik, and ane crewall Tod,
Inuentand wichecraft, ay deuysand wrang:
Lat nane geue credance to ane drytand God.”

Thē Grange grew fleyit & wald na mair defēd it,
For want of watter, with ane poysonit well:
His men wes slane, and mekle powder spendit,
And wantit force to fill the wallis that fell.
Thair febill smaikrie I think ill to tell,
With luik lyke Lyounes, and sa lytill done.
Fy, drukin dastartis! ȝe haue schamit ȝoursell,
That said sa weill, and syne gaue our sa sone.

Durīg this pointmēt thair wes change of graith:
Sū gat ane butiene for thair being thair.
Greit wes the credence geuin to suddartis faith,
Baith gold and siluer and of Marchand wair.
[OMITTED]
Be thair expenssis for thair cuming hidder;
Than on the morne thay maid the pluk vp fair;
Baith Scottis & Inglis syne all ȝeid togidder.

Vpone that spuilȝe I will spend na tyme,
Thay socht na taileȝours for to busc thair breikis.
The suddartis luiffis wes sa ouirlaid wt lyme,
Sum gripit gold and gat the thing he seikis;

269

Sū stuid beside and gat not worth twa leikis,
As I heir say—I wes not thair to se;
Sū gat thair handfull of thir half mark steikis
Will haue na mair within ane ȝeir nor we.

Thay schot na keyis to brek the coffiris than,
Ane day of blythnes for the men of weir:
Sum stuid besyde ane wondderous sorie man,
Ane duilfull day for thame that loist thair geir,
First saw it tane, and syne thay durst not steir.
Thair wes compleit the prophecie of Knox:
“Doun fra that Crage Kirkcaldy sall reteir,
With schame and sclāder lyke ane hundit fox.”

With gild of pepile sa thay brocht thame doun,
As birdis but plumis, spuliȝeit of the nest:
Part cryde: “quhair is he? lat vs se the loun;
Go to and staen him; lat him tak na rest.”
Quhē thay yt buir him saw thame selfis opprest,
Thay cryit for succour for to saue thair lyuis:
The Generallis lugeing, thair thay thocht it best,
Thay led him in, thay war sa red for wyuis.

The Regent then gart mak ane inhibitioun
To leue the spuilȝe, under pane of deid:
He carit for [na] thing bot the Kingis munitioun;
As for the leue, thair wes bot lytill leid.
To tak the hous, thair wes na mair remeid,
With all the faultis mycht follow he wes fane;
Aganis ane Haiknay I sall wed my heid,
Grange beis not Capitan of that Craig agane.

With this the Generall wes reterit a bak;
Went doun to Leith quhair he had bene befoir:
Speik as ȝe pleis, it wes ane vailȝeant ak,
And Drurie deulie did his ful deuoir.

270

God gatand thākis, the Quene suld haue yt gloir:
We thank hir Maieste, as the mater standis:
God saue hir grace! hes scho not gart restoir
Ȝone captiue rebellis in the Regentis handis?

By expectatioun of the commoun speiking,
Wes it not thocht that Ingland suld begyle vs?
And sum allegit it wes the Regents seiking,
To sell the King, and sa thay wald ouirsyle vs,
Creip in our strenthis, and suddanelie exyle vs.
O Rurall pepill, rusticall, and rude!
We ar the men that all the warld dois style vs,
Remembring ill, and geue na thankis for gude.

Ingratious pepill! ignorant and vane!
Quhy do ȝe noit ȝour nychtboris ay with ill?
Wer thay not blyith for to get hame agane,
Thocht sum beleuit thay wald haue tareit still?
To do ȝow plesour, thay haue schauin gude will,
Baith spent thair lyues, & largelie of thair geir.
Alace, my Joyis! ȝe had bot lytill skill,
That trowit that Inglād wald haue tareit heir.

Quhat danger wes to bring sa greit munitioun
In forane landis with sic ane force indeid!
The only caus wes to auoyid suspitioun,
That men suld say thay come not heir for greid.
Thocht sum thair be of cankreit Cain seid,
Sawaris of discorde dois na vther thing:
Speik as thay pleis, schame fal thair lippis yt leid!
Thay mene na thing bot to mantene the King.

Haif thay not thre tymes in this threttene ȝeir,
Ay quhen we socht thāe, send thair forces hedder,
Baitht Schippis & Gūnis & martial mē of weir,
To win our kyndnes, geue we culd considdir?

271

And now the last tyme quhen we send to bid hir,
Hes scho not helpit to holk out ȝone Tod?
Long moit thir countreis leue in pace togidder,
And grow in freinschip to the feir of God!

The Lenuoy to the Regent.

O richteous Regent of ane Royall race!
Tratours may trimbill to behald thy face,
Fering thy furie for thair foull offencis.
Geue gloir to God that hes the geuin sic grace,
Riches with reasoun for to reuill that place.
Thow beand plantit in the sait of Prencis,
Geue thow wald prosper in thy iust pretencis,
Beir equall ballanis baith to riche and puir:
That beand done, lang mot thy dayis induir.

Sen God hes wrocht it, I am weill content
To mak of the that onlie instrument
To caus this countrie for to knaw the king.
It wes the leuing Lord Omnipotent
That maid the Barrones sa obedient,
And not the force that thow to send may bring;
Did neuir Regent in this Realme sic thing,
Considdering alwayis as the mater stude,
And maid sic greance with sa lytill blude.

To speik of Regentes, we haue had sic thre,
Sen God wes borne, thair micht na bettir be
For wisdome, manheid, and for Godlynes:
Quhairfor hes God now laid this charge on the.
Bot lat vs ken that it is onlie He
That rewlis the Realme, & not thy richteousnes.
Remember Ahab, for his febilnes,
Quha gart King Benhadab in his scherat go,
Quhilk wes his wrak: be war ȝe do not so.

272

Quhairfor put God the powar in ȝour hand?
To puneis lounes that hes ourlaid this land
By murthour, treasoun, done fra ȝeir to ȝeir.
Geue ȝe obey not, brekand that Command,
I am in dout geue ȝour estait sall stand,
Bot sone be rutit fra this Realme, I feir.
Spair neuer Agag for na brybe of geir.
Quhat come of Saull with his fatt Oxin thair?
Ga, reid the Bybill: it will sone declair.

To seik exampillis of that samin tone,
My Lord of Murray wes degradit sone
For not fulfiling of the Lordis desyre.
First, God promouit him in the place abone;
Bot fra he saw that Justice wes not done,
He leit the wickit cast the wand in fyre.
Be war sic materis moue not God to yre;
Geue ȝe be myndit on this mold remaine,
And plesit God, I wald not change agane.

Lanuoy to the Ambassade.

My Lord Ambassade I haue lang forȝet,
Quhairfor indeid I haue not done my det;
And he, sa cairfull for oure countrie men,
For wit and wisdome worthie to be tret:
In baith the landis thair is bot few to get,
That wrocht sa Godlie in this cause, ȝe ken.
My dull indyte can not direct my pen,
And thocht I culd, it wald contene ane buik
To put in paper all the panis he tuk.

He is not borne of better qualytie,
Of quiet speiche, with greit moralytie:

273

Swering nor bairdrie may he nan abyde,
Detestand pryde and prodigalitie:
As equall Juge, but persealytie,
For feid or fauour, vnto ather syde;
Abone all vices subiect leist to pryde;
Ferme in his faith, and full of Godlynes;
With marciall hart inclynit to mykenes.

Weill micht the Counsels beir the gude cōmend,
That sic Ambassade in to Scotland send,
To speik vprichtlie and the treuth declair;
For na expensis did he spair to spend,
Quhill pece wes brocht vnto ane finall end.
Quhar as he fand vs at the plukup fair,
With walkryfe labour and expensis sair,
God knawis in Scotland quhat he had ado
With baith the sydis, or he culd bring vs to.

In winter weddiris baith in wind and rane,
Sum tyme with seiknes sa ourset with pane,
He raid throw montanes many, mose, and myre.
In frost and snaw, quhen all the folkis ar fane
With double bonattis for to hap thair brane,
Then wes he worsland our ane wondie swyre,
Sum tymes at nycht, syne not to se ane fyre.
Ar we addettet to sa trew ane strangear,
That for our proffeit put him self in danger?

As Caleb send wes for to se the land,
The gydis that come gart Moyses vnderstand
The land wes feirfull, and the pepill strang:
Because he knew it wes the Lordis cōmand
He wald not stay, bot stoutlie tuik on hand
Richt vnabasitlie all that gait to gang,
Ourthrew thair castellis, & thair gyantis dang,
Brocht thāe to miserie maid ane mynt to wrāg vs:
He wes yt Caleb sen he come amāg vs.

274

I dar be bald to say, this hundreth ȝeir,
He wes not strangear borne mair welcum heir,
Nor plesit the Preichours half sa weill as he.
On pure nor riche he neuer sparit his geir;
And, geue ane Suddart had bene schot in weir,
He soinȝeit not to ga him self and se:
Quha with this countrie culd sa weill agre
To play the wise mā quhen he wes with Lordis,
Syne help the puiranis, as the cause recordis?

Sen reason wald that ȝe returne a bak,
We thank ȝow hartlie of the Godlie ak
Ȝe wrocht amang vs, for to saif our blude.
I ȝow beseik thir sempill wersis tak,
With als gude will as ony man can mak.
Because ȝe knaw my cunning is not gude,
Ȝe man excuse my rurall rymis rude.
God saif our King, and send him lytill ado,
The Quene of Ingland, and hir Counsall, to!

Finis.

Quod Sempill.

Imprentit at Edinburgh be Robert Lekpreuik. Anno M. D. LXXIII.

University of Virginia Library

III. Heir followis ane Ballat declaring the Nobill and Gude inclination of our King.

IV. Heir followis the testament and tragedie of vmquhile King Henrie Stewart of gude memorie.

XI. The Complaint of Scotland.

V. Heir followis ane Exhortatioun to the Lordis.

VI. Ane Exhortatiovn derect to my Lord Regent and to the Rest of the Lordis accomplisis.

VII. ane Declaratioun of the Lordis iust quarrell.

VIII. Ane Ansr maid to ye Sklanderaris yt blasphemis ye Regent and ye rest of ye Lordis.

XIV. The Kingis Complaint.

IX. A Rhime in defence of the Queen of Scots against the Earl of Murray.

TOM TRUTH TO THE ENUIOUS.

THE DOUBLE DEALINGS OF THE REBELS IN SCOTLAND.

XLVI. Followis the Ballat maid vpoun Margret Fleming, callit the Flemyng bark in Edinburt.

XLVII. Heir followis the defence of Crissell Sandelandis ffor vsing hirself contrair the Ten Cōmandis; Being in Ward for playing of the loun with euery ane list geif hir half a croun, &c.

XLVIII. Followis the Ballat maid be Robert Semple of Ionet Reid, Ane Violet, and Ane Quhyt. Being slicht wemen of lyf and conversatioun, and tavernaris.

X. Ane Tragedie, in forme of ane Diallog betwix Honour, Gude Fame, and the Authour heirof in a Trance.

Epitaphe.

The Probatioun heirof.

Ane Admonitioun to all the Hammiltoūis and thair assistaris, counsallaris, and pertakeris of this maist vile and abhominabill Murther.

Ane admonitioun to the assistaris, counsallaris, by lyaris, and Reioysaris in this maist detestabill murther.

The Exhortatioun to the Lordis and Nobilitie persewaris of this cruell Murther, and defendaris of our King.

XII. The Regentis Tragedie ending with ane exhortatioun.

The Tragedeis Lenuoy.

XV. The Exhortatioun to all plesand thingis quhairin man can haif delyte to withvraw thair plesure from mankynde, and to deploir the Cruell Murther of vmquhile my Lord Regentis Grace.

XVI. The Cruikit liedis the blinde.

XVII. The Poysonit Schot.

Lenuoye.

XVIII. The Admonitioun to the Lordis.

XIX. Maddeis Lamentatioun.

XX. Maddeis Proclamatioun.

XXI. The Spur to the Lordis.

XXII. The Bird in the Cage.

The Lenuoy.

XXIII. The hailsome admonitioun, &c.

XXIV. The Tressoun of Dunbartane.

XXVI. The Exhortatioun to the Lordis.

XXVII. Ane admonitioun to my Lord Regentis Grace.

XXVIII. The Bischoppis lyfe and testament.[_] The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Sequitur Confessio.

XXIX. A Lewd Ballet.[_] The attribution of this poem is questionable.

XXX. My Lord Methwenis Tragedie.[_] The attribution of this poem is questionable.

XXXI. Ane Premonitioun to the barnis of Leith.[_] The attribution of this poem is questionable.

XXXII. The lamentatiō of the Cōmounis of Scotland.[_] The attribution of this poem is questionable.

XXXIII. The Lamentatioū of Lady Scotland, compylit be hir self, speiking in maner of ane Epistle, in the Moneth of Marche, the zeir of God 1572.[_] The attribution of this poem is questionable.

The Lamentatioun of Lady Scotland, Compylit be hir self, speiking in maner of ane Epistle, in the moneth of Marche, ye zeir of God 1572.

The Conclusion be P.R. to all and Sum.

XXXVIII. Ane new Ballet set out be ane fugitiue Scottisman that fled out of Paris at this lait Murther.[_] The attribution of this poem is questionable.

XLIII. Ane Complaint vpon Fortoun.[_] The attribution of this poem is questionable.

XLV. Heir followis The Legend of the Bischop of St Androis Lyfe, callit Mr Patrik Adamsone, alias Cousteane.[_] The attribution of this poem is questionable.

A Lenvoye.

The Legend or Discourss of the Lyfe and Cōversatione and Qualiteis of the Tulchene Bischope of Sanctandrois. Set furth by R. S.

XXXIX. The Sege of the Castel of Edinburgh.[_] The attribution of this poem is questionable.

The Lenuoy to the Regent.

Lanuoy to the Ambassade.

XXVIII. The Bischoppis lyfe and testament.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

XXIX. A Lewd Ballet.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

XXX. My Lord Methwenis Tragedie.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

XXXI. Ane Premonitioun to the barnis of Leith.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

XXXII. The lamentatiō of the Cōmounis of Scotland.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

XXXIII. The Lamentatioū of Lady Scotland, compylit be hir self, speiking in maner of ane Epistle, in the Moneth of Marche, the zeir of God 1572.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

XXXVIII. Ane new Ballet set out be ane fugitiue Scottisman that fled out of Paris at this lait Murther.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

XLIII. Ane Complaint vpon Fortoun.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

XLV. Heir followis The Legend of the Bischop of St Androis Lyfe, callit Mr Patrik Adamsone, alias Cousteane.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

XXXIX. The Sege of the Castel of Edinburgh.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.