Satirical poems of the reformation

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.

University of Virginia Library

XXI. The Spur to the Lordis.