Scotlands Welcome to her Native Sonne, and Soveraigne Lord, King Charles ::

Scotlands Welcome to her Native Sonne, and Soveraigne Lord, King Charles

Wherein is also contained, the maner of His Coronation, and Convocation of Parliament; The whole Grievances, and abuses of the Common-wealth of this Kingdome, with diverse other relations, never heretofore published. Worthy to be by all the Nobles and Gentry perused; and to be layd vp in the hearts, and chests of the whole Commouns, whose interests may best claime it, either in meane, or maner, from which their Priuiledges, and fortunes are drawne, as from the Loadstar of true direction. By William Lithgovv

Lithgow, William (1582-1645?)

De REGE Vaticinium

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TO HIS LOVING PILGRIMAGIOVS POET, WILLIAM LITHGOW.

TO HIS KYND FRIEND, AND RENOWNED Traveller, William Lithgovv.

THE PROLOGVE TO THE READER.

SCOTLANDS WELCOME TO HER NATIVE SONNE, AND SOVERAIGNE LORD, KING CHARLES

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TO HIS LOVING PILGRIMAGIOVS POET, WILLIAM LITHGOW.

Can not thy Travells, blaze abroad thy worth?
Which never yet did SCOT, the lyke set forth,
Nor one in Europe, can with Thee compare,
For thyne adventures, excellent, and rare,
But that thou must, in adding fame, to fame,
Thy matchles merits, in thy Muse proclayme:
I can not call it Pryde, but vertue showne,
From Thee, to vs, through this wyde Ile well knowne:
But more an obligation, which thou ought.
Vnto thy natiue Soyle; so headlong brought,
In deep distresses, grieuances, and losse,
Whilst sorrow, on sorrow, addes crosse, to crosse,
Which thou rippst vp, vnto the very roote,
Whence all these evills come, and springing sprout:
Besydes this jouiall welcome, to our King,
Which quicke Invention, now to light do'th bring:
O! rare relations! worthy of regard!
And from thy Prince, and Soyle, deserve reward;
But more for what, thou sufferd into Spaine,
For CHRIST and Countrey, and thy late Sou'raigne:
Which if it be not weighd, in tyme I feare,
That late repentance, shall buy pennance deare.
Tymes haue their turnes, and ev'ry turne a Tyme.
Men could not shift, without some changing Clyme;
For where neglect, claps merit on the face,
The errour, not the object, reaps disgrace:
Then pregnant Pilgrime, rest thou yet content,
Hope still that Tyme, shall crowne thy braue intent,
KINGS haue their mynds, and reason just demands,
For Merit, can not fall, where judgement stands.

I. A.

Uirtus repulsæ nescia sordidæ
Intaminatis fulget honoribus.

Horat.

TO HIS KYND FRIEND, AND RENOWNED Traveller, William Lithgovv.

Whilst thyne adventures past, and Travells rare,
In hotest Clymes, of vigour-parching Sunne:
Through Europe, Asia, Africk thryse thy share,
O're which brunt face, thy scorched Body runne:
Still clogd with dangers, fortunat to shunne,
Lyf-fatall hazards; which attempts procurd,
From curious drifts; and which thy worth begunne,
To knit thy fame, in memory immurd;
Renownd, admyrd, applausd, for aye assurd,
To soare on wings, of never-dyeing Toyles,
And in thy paynes, thy Countreyes name securd,
Into the Annales, of remotest Soyles:
But what I now admyre, are these thy spoyles,
Thou bringst from Pindus Tops; O rare bred straine!
And pregnant style, which thyne engyne recoyles;
To show these greefs, which Scotland, do'th sustayne:
A worke, where Trueth, most justly do'th complayne,
On the abuse, and grievance of this Land,
Which thou breks vp, from thy Patheticque veyne,
To show thy Sou'raigne, how her cace doth stand:
Then Royall Sir, but listen to peruse,
The sweet-sad songs of Lithgows matchles Muse,
And Thou shalst see, what never yet was showne,
To Scottish Kings; since Scotland first was knowne.

L W.

Tu ne cede malis, sed contra audentior ito. Virg.

THE PROLOGVE TO THE READER.

Whilst Scotlands Welcome, sends its substant show
To Mighty Charles, as bund duetie owe;
To whom sweet songs, and heavie plaints it brings,
Mixt so, and framd, discovring serious things:
Yet some blind judgements may condemne my Muse,
For touching that, which they them selues abuse:
But if it gall, their stinking sores, long wounded,
A tush for base despight, from such hate grounded:
Whose guilt may plead, and tell their conscience thus,
Shrewd faults find eyes, and Tyme must punish vs;
Which if one age ago, this Land had beene
Check'd of such faults, might now haue beene fund cleane.

As for the Critick, or the carping Slaue,
Goe hang himselfe, I care not for a knaue:
Whilst for the Commoun-wealth, I stand to plead,
To show Oppressours tyranny and greed:
And eu'ry grievous vyce, this Land affords,
Where I affect more matter, than coynd words,
Brayne-wrested straines, Ænigmatick stile,
Or epitomizd Epilogues the while:
Although I dyving could, and soaring fetch,
My top-wingd flight, too high, for vulgar reach:
Whilst I meanewhile, haue more paynes to be plaine,
Than to be curious, in the highest strayne.

For what this worke affoords, lyf-burning Taper!
I had no Bookes to read, when pennd, but Paper:
With Ink, and Pen, my Chamber-garnish bare,
Warme Bed, and Boord, none other Book was there:
But Memory, Invention, Experience great,
Whereon my labours, build their solid Seat:
Which if it bee not well done, goe and mend it,
For with the same condition, I Thee send it:
But stop, O stay! its harder to invent,
Then adding invention, to whats here meant.
This Web then see, of welcome I it Warp,
Whiles playne and prolixe, sometymes breef, and sharp;

Sadled, vnsadled, spurring on I goe,
And neither spares my friend, nor hurtes my foe,
But smoothly twixt two strugling shoares I runne,
Flat-sandy Scilla, Charibdin rocks to shunne:
For twixt like two, the golden meane may rest,
Nether too bitter, nor too sweet is best:
Which justly I set downe, and purpose lyke,
Vpon the Annill, of the Trueth I stryke:
And if I erre in one jote, I requyre,
Let mee goe headlong to deaths fatall fyre.

Say, if he come this yeare, say he come not,
Yet tyme shall praise mee, for a louing SCOT.
Which being doubtfull, precisely, how, and when,
I reddy made this worke, form Presse, from Pen:
Yet not to vent my Bookes, nor haue them sould,
Before myne eyes, his comming in behould:
To whome the first I owe, to be presented,
For onely, to him onely, its invented:
Which when it is devulgd, I dare expect,
From the judicious Lector, kynd respect.

Then read, misconster not, but wysely looke,
If reason be, the Mistrisse of my Booke,
And if I finger, what thou fayne wouldst touch,
O! thank mee, and be pleasd; whylst I avouch,
The commoun sorrowes, of this groaning Land,
Which I lay open, to thyne open hand:
Then ponder, and peruse it, thou shalst fynd,
The Sole Idea, of thy Countreyes Mynd.

Thyne, as Thou art Myne, William Lithgovv.

Non vita hæc ducenda est, quæ corpore & spiritu continetur, illa inquam, illa vita est, quæ viget memoriâ sæculorum omnium, quam posteritas alit, quam ipsa æternitas semper intuetur.

SCOTLANDS WELCOME TO HER NATIVE SONNE, AND SOVERAIGNE LORD, KING CHARLES

What dark-drawne shads, haue my sad face ore'spred?
Since Iames, the just, my peacefull King, hath fled
To court the King of Kings; and Hierarchies
Of glorious Angels; the sweet harmonies
Of Saincts and Martyrs; environing round
The old Eternall; with the joyfull sound
Of Alleluhiaes; singing fore the Throne,
Holy, Holy, Lord, to Heavens, Holy One;
The Lamb of God, hembd in, with burning glore
Praise, Might, Dominion, Majestie, and Power;
Where my Monarchick Sainct, for ever blest,
Is crownd, and raignes, in long eternall rest.

I, I, I find, my griefe, and chiefest care,
Proceeds from wanting, of his Sonne, and heyre,
So long vnviewing Mee, and my sad bounds;
Whose absence, prick'd Mee, with ten thousand wounds
Of doubts, and apprehensions, if, or not,
My lawfull King, would haue his Lawfull lot:

Whilst diverse yeares and months I am refute,
A mourning Widow, left in sable Sute.

True, and most true it is, the Proverbe proues,
That age is still injurd, by younger loues:
And so am I, thine eldest Region made,
A preye to darke obliuions winter-shade,
Even as young Nuptialls, make olde Widowes stay,
Wnwedded, till some lingring Husbands day,
Where, when advyce, makes resolution fast,
The cords of Reason, bynds him at the last.

So now, O now hee comes! O happy, Tyme!
To warme the bowells of my northren Clyme,
And to reveiwe that Loue, my Sire left.
Plight in my bosome, when the Heavens him reft:
For which I'le make him welcome, Play the part,
Of a kind Mother, with a chearefull Heart.

What meanes this goodly sight? these trouping traines?
Which trace the Marine: trade the curling plaines?
Crossing neare Tweed, my border-bounding Rod,
Would enter on my Lists, a Demi-God:
Second'd with Meteors, glistring him about,
And met with Miriads, of my noble rout.
O some rare noveltie! some Heros deare!
Who with his Prime, brings in my Springtyde here,
The Load-star of my Fortunes, and the Cime,
Of my best Scopes, most pure, and most sublime,
My flowre of Albion, O! the solide way!
And center of my Hopes, my Lyfe, my Stay:
Even CHARLES the first, that ev'r brookd that Name,
And Regall title, of my Diademe.

Than welcome Sonne, my Husband, and my Father,
All these to Mee, thou art, each one, or either,
My Sonne, and why? Dumfermling beares record,
I am thy Patrian Mother in a word:
My Husband too, by right from Parents bred,
When with my Crowne, thou hast my freedome wed:

And last my Syre, so can thy Scepter swey,
Whilst thou beares rule, I'me bund for to obey:

And now to welcome Thee, what Lesbian layes?
With Lyrick-tripping songs; what Roundelayes?
In Saphick-seasond mirth brust from the Muses,
And Cataphalion Creeks; where Triton vses,
To make the Sea-Nymphs daunce, O! shrill tund notes,
Sprang from Invention; thundring, through sweet throates
Of euer springing joyes: Rome nere had
In all her Triumphs past, one day more glad;
Than thou auspicuous Prince, shall now imbrace
From Millions of kynd Soules; the passing grace,
Of Loues extreamest force, lyke as on Earth,
Seven Town-set Loues, Heart-swelld for Homers birth.

Then what dark clowds dissolue? what showry shades?
Dissolue in Sun-shyne clearenes? what sparkling wades?
In thy transplendant rayes? what parching beames?
My worlds eye-sight imparts? what glistring gleames?
From Heavens star-spangled Roabe? what joyes abound?
Within my Bowells? O! what pleasant sound?
Loues harmony affords? O! what rare Fleece?
Acoast, myne Arathusean Springs from Greece,
With Acedalian Triumphes; O! what a blis?
And happynes, of Iubile is this?
To see my Monarch, enter in my bounds
To heale the sores, of my long bleeding wounds:
Whilst I, an Virgine, haue contingd my trueth,
Vnspotted to my all redoubted Youth.

Lyke to that floure, Panthoas into Creet,
That scornes the Sun-shyne day? and loues to greet.
The siluer Moone, in opning golden leaues,
But to the day-tyme none, then onely grieues;
And will not with none other hearbs cohere,
But with itselfe, and from it Cynthia deare,
So thou the Aurore, of my long worne night
Reverts to giue, thy chast Panthoas light!

Then welcome Soveraigne, welcome to my Soyle,
Where thou shalst pleasure, and content recoyle;
Here water Nymphs exult, here Zephire blowes
A Pandedalian luster to my Rose:
The aire resounds thy welcome, winds their part,
And all good Subjects, one true voice, one heart:
Two Marines closing, clasp Thee, in their armes
Where clouddy Silvan tip-toed, stately charmes
With sweet allurements, shaddy pyping Pan,
Whilst worlds of voyces, seeme one singing Man.

So ecchoing Birds, from sweet redoubling notes,
Sing fearing welcomes, though through diverse throates,
Ingraft from fragrant Springs, Font-gushing streames
Melting through Meeds, to welcome Thee from Thames:
Three floods sprung from one Hill, East, West, and South
Clyde, Tweed, and Annan, each with gaping mouth,
Doth bellowing roare, and kyndly tumbling slyde,
To greet thy gratefull Loue, as they divide:
So Don, and Nith, swift Dee, and head-strong Tay
Lake-linking Levin, Meandring Forth, and Spay;
Would melting murmure, rusling on fish'd Pearles,
This sweet, sweet Eccho, welcome, welcome Charles.
The Hills rebound, Bellowmound threats the Skies,
And piramized Tinto would surprise
Earths high Æthereall Seat; whilst Goatfield hill,
In Arrane greets the Mayne, with ecchoes shrill
Of Heart-growne joyes, whiles that her snow-whyte Tops,
Stoup downe, and kindly thine affection lops.
The Uayles exhale deep cryes, the whistling rounds,
Of Earths seven-Æol'd Towres, performe like sounds;
All bid Thee welcome, Lithgovv bids Thee too;
For what in meane hee wants, goodwill shall doe.

EDINBVRGHS welcome.

Let Edinburgh, my Metropole, perfite
The rest, with Pageants, of admird delite:
Where Mercury shall speake, with syde-hung wings,
And Iuno kisse soft Pallas; Uenus brings

Her golden Apple; Loue and Riches carp,
Gainst Wisedome, on, their God Appolloes Harp:
There shall shrill Trumpets sound, lowd thundring Drummes,
With roaring Cannons, cry, Hee comes, Hee comes:
Where, when receau'd, by that illustrious Towne,
Along thou rydst to Church, grac'd in renowne:
Where thou shalst heare, flow from a zealous heat
Divine drawne doctrine, mixt with welcomes great:
Besides rare speeches, at each Pageant made,
To cherish thine arrivall; make the glad
With lovely sights and prayses; Poets straine,
Sprung from quick Drvmmonds fierce Castalian veine.

The Sermon done, their Provost shall conduct
Thy sacred Person, the way, which they construct
Straight to their Banquet-house, and feasting place;
Where rarest dainties shall present thy face:
There Ceres joynes with Bacchus; Hymen trowes,
To tye to them thy Loue, by solemne vowes;
For to maintaine, their libertie and right,
Being their comfort, when they want thy sight.
And ah! too much it is, for that kind Towne,
To want thy Court and Presence; what pulles downe
Best Citties now on Earth? But want of trade,
And Courtly Commerce; O! a Soveraigne head!
Where now I leaue them, to giue Thee content,
For I'le debord no more from mine intent.

That fright-fled wandring Prince, from Ilions fire,
Neu'r coasted Carthage, with more glad desire;
And the Barbarian shoare; to find the grace,
Of loving Dido, and her pittying face;
Than thou from this, Numidia of thine,
Gets meeting, greeting, treating to bee myne:
And gladder far, to see thy safe returne,
Than Africks soile, could in affection burne,
Vnto a Stranger; for thou comes not so,
As if promiscuous, neither friend nor foe.

Nor comes thou with sterne bloody collours flying,

repugnant cōparisons.

Or with a doubtfull mynd, as one a dying:
Nor lyke these Turkish fyre-brands of Hell,
The race of Ottoman; that loue to quell,
All sorts of People; Persian, Greeke, and Iew,
Arabian, Moore, and Christian, would subdew,
The Universe to bee, but one Dominion,
Wherein, the Spanyard too, would bee his Minion:

Nay; thou comes better, so the Heavens appoynted,
Even, in the name of GOD, the LORDS anoynted:
So, I receaue Thee, as the righteous Heyre,
Of Mee, and myne inheritance, most fayre,
Which shall not crowne Thee, lyke these groaning bounds,
Hemb'd in about, with the Hircanian rounds:
Nor comes thou to encroach, on Indian Soyles,
To pillage Peru; and to cast the spoyles
Of minrall Mettalls, on sterne bloody Mars,
Wherewith sad Epitaphs, bedeck Mens Herse:
Nor, as the Worlds Vsurper, Philip did,
When hee betrayd Navarre, vnder plots hid:
Nor as hee seazd, on Portugale, and tooke,
From lost Emanuell, the golden Booke:
Nor like to Petro, basely murthring downe,
The French, at Vespers, for the Sicile Crowne:

Lyke instances, I many could afford,
But Tyme, it traitours Mee, and in a word,
O! thou comes well! and with a Conscience just;
Of right indubitable; Reason must,
On Thee, confer my neuer-conquerd Crowne,
Which now shall Crowne Thee, with the old renowne,
Of thine Auncestors; and which birth Thee brings,
Descended from one hundreth, and seuen Kings:

Scotlands Crowne never conquerd.

Which they by worth, and I by valour kept,
Whilst myne encroaching foes, with Irne I whipt.

But by thy leaue, (Sir,) I must let Thee see,
What kynd of Crowne, I now present to Thee;

A Mayden Crowne, vnconquerd, neuer wone,
Since Fergus, my first Monarch it begunne:
And so from him, to Kenneth who subdued,
The Pights, and in their blood his hands imbrewd:
Whence bloody battells, and braue chivalrye,
From race, to race, kept and maintaynd it free:
Whilst neither Danes, nor English, Saxons could,
With awfull Romans, this Crowne, get, or hould,
Such were my forces, in my Champions strong,
That still keept, it and Mee, from forraine wrong,

What should I speake of Wallace, Bruce, and Grahame?
The Dowglasses, and Stewarts, of great fame?

The valour of Scotish worthies.

With thousands moe, of much renowned worth,
Which my true Chronicle, vively sets foorth,
But leaue Thee there to reade, what deeds were wrought,
And for thy matchles Auncients, stoutly fought,

How many hundreth thowsand Lyves were lost?
Which from my bowells sprung; nay; I dare boast,
Of Millions which to saue, this Crowne for Thee,
And purchase freedome, car'd not for to dye.
So lyke I sweare, if lyke were to invade,
My Crowne, their fates, in fields of blood, should wade:
Than let not evill Counsell, Thee invest,
Nor trechrous Sicophant, thy peace molest:
For I haue none, which burrow, of Mee breath,
But rather far, will spend their lives on death;
Than suffer this, myne auncient right to goe,
To moderne friendship, ones my cruell foe,

And now to saue, this Virgin Crowne for Thee,
There is no foe, can fright Mee, make mee flee,
From right, from field, from battell, force, or fight,
So long as I haue Lyfe, blood, Lungs or might:
Whilst now; what Kingdome can their Prince renowne?
With lyke invinced, freedome of a Crowne:
Looke to my valour Past? and thou mayst spy,
Where diuerse Nations, got of Mee supply.

Fraunce can approue my Manhood, I relieu'd
Their State from thraldome, when it was surgrieu'd:
Witnesse, our mutuall League, witnesse their guard
And myne their naturaliz'd, for my reward.

Like Belgians sweare, their strength, their stoutest hand,
And Warriours best, are bred within my Land:
The Almaynes too record, what I haue done
And what my Souldiers, aunciently there wone:
Looke to my Sister Swethland, and behold!
What birth I send them, desp'rate, stout, and bold:
For Polland shee's my Nurse, brings vp my Youth,
Full thritty thousands, yearely, of a trueth;
Than loades them with, the fatnesse of her Soyle,
Which, I, in their due tyme, doe still recoyle:
Than look to Denmark, where twelue thousands ly,
Serving thine Uncle, sharpest fortunes try.

Some certaine numbers of valiant Scots

Last, step I o're to Ireland, and doe see,
Full Fourty thousand Scots, arm'd Men, there bee:
Besides, at home, one hundreth thousands moe,
Young, stout, and strong, well arm'd for Thee, to goe;
To challenge Destinie, and cruell Fate,
And all Usurpers, dare menace my State:
Then slight mee not (Dread Sir) since I, and Myne,
Still vow, to serue Thee, as wee haue done Thyne:
For by this count, and much more, thou mayst see,
What forces great, my bounds, reserue for Thee.

The World, Mans Theater, and commoun Stage,
Wherein, each acts his part, in youth or age;
Can not, nor could, produce, a Manlyer kynd
(Of Hearts invincible, of constant mynd;
Stout, strong, and Durable, Couragious too,
Ever still, formost, where, there's most adoe)
Than those my Martiall Sonnes; whose Hearts now yeeld,
Their hands, their swords, to fight for Thee, in field:
Being Buffles in cold, Elephants in rayne,
Camels in hunger, Lyons after gaine.

And now obsequious to thy new-reard Crowne,
Would lay their goods and liues before Thee downe:
Then bee thou jocund; and redound them thankes,
In private and in publict, by their ranks:
Thy great Grand-father, O! King Iames the fift,
Was merry, stout, and wise, Henrie vnwift;
The flower of Princes, mirrour of his tyme,
Made Christendome admire his Manly pryme:
So Thou his second self, by worth succeeds,
And Nature too, to all his vertuous deeds:
Then let thy chearefull face, with joviall rayes
Illuminat thy Peoples loue and praise:
Thus, thy late Syre, Salomon; my King,
When hee surveighd mee last, did comforts bring,
And joyes abundant to this Albion land;
Which hee by death did feaze into thy hand.

So, so, I come to crowne Thee, whilst the Heavens

The coronation.

O'reshaddow Thee with Seraph'd Cherubins:
Whence, glorious Angels flee with joyfull wings
Of Peace and gladnes from the King of Kings;
To blesse this sacred work, and happy vnion,
Twixt Prince and People; O! thryse blest communion!
The Springs Pœneian flow, sweet Demthen Rills,
Swell from steep Pindus; Permessis, gushing fills
The Sorean-fonted Meeds; the forked Tops,
Dissolue, and melt in Heliconean drops.

From whence the Nymphall nyne take flight, and come,
Crownd with Rose garlands, Delphian bayes, and some
With Laurell Mantles of the Oliue hew,
To grace this Coronation, Sir; of You:
And leaue the ceremoniall rest to bee
Done by the Bishop of Sainct-Andrewes; Hee
Shall blesse Thee, anoynt Thee, in word, in deed,
Then set my golden Crowne on thy blest Head:
Whilst thou in Purple Roabes of State shall stand,
To blesse thy People, with thy tongue and hand:

Which done, their Hearts and voices shall cry thus,
GOD saue and keepe King Charles long for vs.
O Hellespont! now groanes to beare the lode!
Of kynd Leanders loue to Hieroes God.
Whilst both my Sword, and Scepter downe are layd
Before thy Face, in signe I am a Mayd:
Which Guerdo-knot, none can vnty, nor twist,
Till thou my Phillipides, lyke and list:
Now thou art crownd, and since I crownd thy Syre,
Iust, threescore two yeares presently expyre:
Though Crownes bee Crownes of Care; God grant my Crowne,
May Health, Wealth, Loue, and Peace to Thee redoune;
Which long may thou enjoy, and thy Race,
So long as Sunne, or Moone, keep course or place.

The Parliament.

Now comes my Parliament, now comes these tymes,
Where thou and they should vindicate grosse crymes:
Sit then in Iudgement, and bee carefull too,
For to performe what thy great charge should doe:
First then confirme both wholesome Lawes and good,
And stablish justice; let thy Grace conclude
A finall resolution, for my State
In Counsell and in Session: ah! of late
A foggy mist dissolu'd, and broke asunder;
My Pillars from the Marble pauement vnder:

As Iudges should bee just, so should they bee
As prompt, for to doe justice speedily;
And not with long delayes, to wring the lyfe
Of poore Mens causes, to a doubtfull strife:
Which often blinds the right, and turnes the wrong,
Victorious over reason; O! sad song!
When equity is curbd; and squink respect
Involues the trueth into a base neglect;
Els in Buccardo, sealing misregard
For fauour, friendship flattry, or reward:
So thus too oft is justice wrung and wounded,
And wholesome lawes for private ends confounded.

But meanewhile, I thy greatest Care recall,
To settle true Religion, and enstall
Good godly Men and sound, in Prelats function,
Mou'd by devoution, and conscious compunction:
So shall the Gospell floorish, and thy lyfe
Made peacefull, happy, from seditious stryfe.

As for my Clergie, I affirming vow,
The solid trueth to God, and then to You;
There are no People, nor no Land so blest,
With Godly Preachers, and Gods word profest
With more sinceritie, taught, showne, and preach'd,
Than in my Kingdome, there was never teach'd
Profounder doctrine; more divine resounds
In Christs reformed Church, than in my bounds:
Which to perfite, an vniformall mynd,
God grant his Sacrament may passage find:
And scruplous stops may bee hewne downe, and made
As plaine, as Christ Himselfe; vs taught and sayd.

Now I'le degresse, and leaue this vpper part
Of Church and State to God, and thy just Heart:
I haue no lower house of Parliament,
To punish or represse each detriment;
Prest greivance, or abuse of Commonweale.
But what my suffrings must to Thee reveale;
Then heere they are, and ponder them, I pray Thee,
And let not these my just complaints dismay Thee;
But rather cause amend them, and redresse
These grosse enormities, which I'le expresse.

True and most true it is, my chiefest health

The abuse of the commounwealth.

Consists (Dread Sir) most in the Commonwealth:
Which ah allace! hath never heeretofore
Beene soundly pitch'd, lesse grounded, and far more
Disdainefully cast off, for who are they
That ever stroue a Commonn course to swey?
There is no Providence, nor publick good
Graft in my bosome, my Townes are denude

Of Policie and Uenters; Men please themselues,
And care not though my fortune split on Shelues:
Haue I not Floods and Seas, good Ships and Ports?
Braue Sea-men, Pilots, Skippers, and Consorts;
But where's the Merchand that will freely enter,
To put these Men to work; and byde the venter
Of doubtfull successe; nay; there's none I see,
That now dare hazard further than his eye:
Yet Mans not borne to please himselfe alone,
That were idolatrizing loue to one:
But totally for God, partly for friends,
Partly for Countrey, last for his owne ends.

As for my Trades, they're ruind with decay,
There few or none imployd: My Nobles play
The curious Courtizan; that will not bee
But in strange fashions; O! what Noveltie
Is this? that London, robbes Mee of my gaine:
Whilst both my Trades and Merchands suffer paine.
Nay; I must say, there is no courtly guyse,
Nor frivole toyes though frenchifyed thryse,
Bee't in or out of fashion, Myne must haue it;
Though neither meanes nor honesty would craue it.
But since they will proue fooles, yet why should Strangers
Enjoy the profit from fantastick Rangers,
And not myne owne? There is no Nation can,
Compare with my best Trades; match man for man.

Superfluous posting to Court.

Besides my Nobles, see my Gentry too
Post vp, post downe; their states for to vndoe:
Nay, they will morgadge all; and to bee breefe,
Ryde vp with gold, and turne againe with greefe:
Who better far might stay at home, and liue,
And not their meanes to louelesse labour giue.
It grieues Mee, I should yeeld them yeerely rent,
Whilst vainely it in Neighbour Lands is spent:
But ecce homo, and behold the end,
My Lands change Land-Lords, whilst my Youngsters spend.

Nay there's a gen'rall ruyne through my bounds,
Which makes my sydes to shiver: O! what wounds
By Prodigals I get? There's not a stroake
These Spend-thrifts thrust, but brings Mee in some yoke:
And thus they take my money all away
To spend abroad; whilst it should rather stay,
For to enrich my Bowels; and to barter,
For Cornes and Merchandise in evry quarter.

Then Post and Post againe, Post altogether
To Bag-shot, then to beggrie; nay, and whether?
To roote from Earth their memorie and Name,
Stamping themselues on Hippodromes of shame:
I care not for their falls, their lands ly still,
Though changd from hand to hand, from ill to ill:
And like the Weather-Cock, from Airt to Airts,
Their locall grounds are changd from pairt to pairts:
Now heere's a wedset, there's a flying off,
And heere's the prison, there's a Iaylours scoff:
In comes Thom Tumbler with his bags and bellie,
To alter Tackes and Rentals; I must tell Thee,
I pitty my poore Commouns, and their toile,
Made to new Vpstarts and their greed a spoile.

How can my Tennants liue? How can they thriue?
How can they growing stand? When dead aliue,
Slane by oppression, extortion, debate,
From Laird to Laird, in their Camelion State:
The Tennants suffer all, allace poore Soules!
Still preyd vpon, by Bankerouts and Fooles:
Then it's no wonder, though my land bee poore,
When now most Land-Lords play the errand whoore,
In shifting Rents and Styles, as many tymes,
As Lais, Corinths Strumpet did of crymes.

Beleeue Mee Sir, I feare this revocation,

Revocation.

Make many one revoke both state and station;
My Lords they post vp dayly to thy Court,
And ly there Months and Yeares; and doe resort

To London, as their Livings lay and Land,
In midst of Cheapsyde, Kingstreete, or the Strand:
My Gentry too and Knights, and oft Commissioners,
In this repenting excesse turne Practitioners:
Still vp and downe they make a play of Posting,
And laugh at lavish expence; fall a boasting
Who oftest courts thy Court, whilst here at home
Their Wiues and Children cry, when will they come?
Yea, yea, they come, but with an empty hand,
And to turne back, morgadging heere more land:
Wherein I vow, that England turnes a curse
To mee, and my spent Gentry, and their Purse.
I graunt their Tongues can make my Gallants spend,
And suck them dry, till all come to an end:
And why? cause in a Rodomunto, they
Play the Orlando Furioso aye:
As well in humours, as in lavish charges,
Which makes most femals weare such skar-clift Targes,
Where deepest strokes in strugling force are given,
Till both Mens Ribs and Rigs are backward driven:
Whilst the Defendants swallow vp such meanes,
As Reapers doe, that both cut downe and gleanes:
Then in a word, its glutttonie and lust,
That brings so many headlong to the dust.

For now at eu'ry startling peevish thing,
Iack, Thome, and Robin post vp to the King:
And will not to thy Counsels judgement stand,
Plac'd heere as Lights, the Sword of thy right hand,
To judge, if Iudges, judge aright or not,
And may declare on each sinistruous Spot:
Which by thy selfe was done, and set a sunder,
The Counsell plac'd aboue, the Iudges vnder:
But (Sir) I humbly beg, it were well done
To punish these distractions, out of tune,
And send them back, to censurd be, and stand,
Submissiue to the justice of this Land:

Els they will vexe Thee, and such custome bring,
That Woemen too will post vp to the King.

Then let an Act bee made, in my regard,
That neither Lord, nor Earle, Knight, nor Laird,
Shall post more vp to London, but remayne
At home, and spend their rents, where growes their graine:
And to succumbe themselues, and their debate,
Vnto the Lords and Pillars of my State:
For which, as duety owe, they being bund,
Posting shall cease, and Iustice here bee fund:
Nay I dare say, since thy late Fathers death,
His buriall, and his Funerall, in Faith,
There Millions two of gold from Mee transported,
And spent at London, where my Gallants sported;
And leaue at home (God knowes) a threed bare count,
Which far beyond their yearelie rents surmount.

Then deare and tender Sir, let this bee stopt,
Thine absence is enough, should I bee lopt
From Top and Middle, to the naked root;
Whilst from my Commouns all these moneys sprout:
The Merchand hee complaines, the Trads-man mournes,
The Tennant sore oppressd, in sorrow turnes,
His helplese plaints; and I mongst all must tremble,
To see myne owne bred brood with mee dissemble.

Where are these late past dayes? when Mars surviu'd;

The decay of good house keeping.

And Nobles keept good houses, Servands liu'd,
Well horsd, well arm'd, well lou'd, well clothd, well fed,
And when my Lords with such lyke troupes were cled;
O! there was plenty, and abundance too
Of eu'ry thing that Nature had to doe:
Then Lairds keept Courts, and eu'ry Lord at home
Liu'd lyke a Prince, or Cardinall of Rome;
Yea, and contract'd no debt, morgagd no land,
But wore the cloth their wiues wrought with their hand,

And now where Kitchins smoakd, good cheare hath beene,
There's cold and hunger, and bare walls now seene:

The reason why? their sinnes procur'd God's wrath,
And brought destruction on themselues with death.
How many ruind Towers, and wast falne walls
Stand namelesse now, few know their stiles, and calls:
Heere stands Castle blood, and their Castle pryde;
Yonder Castle oppression, and lust beside;
Heere Castle Gluttonie; there Castle Oathes;
Heere Castle Falshood, Incest that neu'r loathes
Of Castle Perjurie; and lower downe
Stands Desolation in a threed bare gowne:
And now, though most stand namelesse and vnknowne,
Yet by these Uerdicts may their stiles bee showne:
All which, though Moderne, some I haue as fast,
Ryde post to Nothing, and can roaring wast.

The vanitie of prodigals.

Now Coatches, Cuntbotches, Lust and Play,
And vaine Apparell, rot their rents away:
In stead of serving Men, they now keep Lads,
To fetch them brow-lac'd whoores, wrapt vp in Plads:
Els Boy-posting newes, to goe prepare
Roome; for his Master, shortly will bee there:
Where, when abroad this gallant rydes alone,
With Iack his Lacquey neare him, trotting on:
Either to Limbo in the Brothell-house,
Els to the Taverne for a deep Carrouse:
Where straight to Cards and Dyce hee fly'th amayne,
And for advantage, leaues the house his gaine.

So, so, their scores of Chaulders and their Bolles
Are brought from Mountaines downe to litle Moles:
They haue no deadly fead, that's gone of late,
But they're at deadly fead with their owne state:
And care not for Allyes, blood, wiues, nor friends,
Kinred nor bairnes, saue their owne wasting ends:
Whose Riggs speake English, and their salted furres,
Forgetting Scots, can speek with gilded Spurres.

Lawyers.

So Lawyers seaze on part, and right it stands
For lawlesse Lairds to haue Law-byding Lands:

And would the Wrytters too, could find lyke flashes,
But now the Pen, on Paper seldome dashes:
I'ts strange the Tongue, should gaine more than the Pen?
And pleading better payd, then paynefull Men:
There's here, a Labyrinth, I'le not come in,
And for to bee obsequious, were a sin:
But here I vow, they're happy thryse and blest,
Who least frequents them, liues at home in rest:
Then Lairds, and Lawyers, Scriuners flock together,
They're blind that runne, a course they know not whether;

Ah! what makes now, my Countrey looke so bare?
Thus voyd of planting, Woods, and, Forrests fayre:

the want of planting

Hedges, and Ditches, Parks, and closed grounds,
Trees, Strips, and Shaws in many fertile bounds:
But onely that the Land-Lords, set their Land,
From yeare, to yeare, and so from hand to hand;
They change and flit their Tennants as they please,
And will not giue them Leasse, Taks, Tymes, nor ease,
To prosper and to thryve; for if they should,
As soone they thrust them, out of house and hould:
And hee who bids most farme, still gets the Roome,
Whilst one aboue anothers head do'th come:
Or els to rayse his rent, or kisse the Doore,
This is the cause, my Commons, liue so poore,
And so the Peasants, can not set nor plant
Woods, Trees, and Orchards, which my Valleyes want,
But leaue Mee halfe deformd, so they're distressd:
And by their greedy Masters, still oppressd:

Then now to succour this, the onely way,
Is, that their farmes were brought, to penny pay,
And leasses let at large, for yeares or lyves,
Failling the Husbands, to their liuing Wyves:
To Heyers or Friends, and when their Tackes declyne,
To bee renewd againe; paying their Fyne,
And yearely moneyes: then the Lord or Laird,
Hee needes not of a doubtfull yeere regard:

So England, and Ireland, all Europe's brought,
To leasse and penny-rent, but victuall nought,
Then might poore Tennants thryve, set, build, and plant,
And bee relieu'd with that, which now they want,
And till such tyme, this Land can never bee,
Brought from the jawes, of willfull povertie,

As for my Tythes, which Nobles most recoyle,

The wrongfull vse of Tythes

It is another grieuance, to my Soyle,
Should Tythes belong to Laicks? should Church rent?
Bee giv'n to temp'rall Lords; by Gods intent,
Tythes were for Leuits; not for Haulks nor Hounds;
Nor no reward, of Sycophanting sounds.
Tythes may bee calld Gods rent, and they pertaine
Still to his Priests, his service to maintaine,
The very Turkes and Mahometan leyes,
Allot their Daruishes, religious feyes,
Yea, sauage Sabuncks, of Lybia, the odde,
As Tythes they dote, to serue their Garlick God:
Then how much more, should Trueth to meanes bee placd,
When brutish Ignorants, are so imbracd:

Nay more then Clergy, Tythes should too sustayne,
My Seminary Schooles with yeerely grayne:
My Colledges decay, they haue no rent,
More then the Schollers bring, for boording meant:
Thus Learning goes to ruyne, Books grow skant,
Meanes they haue none, and maintenance they want,
There is no gayne, nor no preferment neither,
Now following learning, nor desert, but rather,
The greatest Dunsse, if rich, is soonest plac'd,
And rarest Schollers, lacking meanes defac'd,
Thus Airts grow Airtles, wit repyning wit,
When Asses must in Lyons Cabines sit.

Tythes too should build blest Hospitals, and doe
Erect Schooles, Bridges, and sustaine them too:
But where they should doe good, they doe most ill,
Being abus'd by vse, and corrupt will,

For (Sir,) take heed, what greef is this and crosse?
To my poore Commouns, and a yearely losse;
That when their Cornes are shorne, stoukd, dead, and dry.
They can not get them teinded; Nay; and why?
Some grudge or malice, moves despight to wound,
The hopefull Haru'st, and rot their Cornes on ground,
This is no rare thing, on their Stowks thats seene,
Snow-coverd Tops, below they're grass-growne greene,
Which often breeds great famyne, and great skant,
And plagues my Commouns, with a Heart-broke want.
For which they grieue, in this long deformation,
And hope to haue from Thee, a reformation:
Which GOD may grant, and blesse thy judgment too,
For to considder, what Oppressours doe.

So, so, reclayme them, deale them at thy pleasure,
For GOD and godlynesse and for thy Treasure,
Which being in thine hand, and then to farme
Them back on Lords; will bread a double harme,
For worse, and worse, my Commouns shall bee crost,
And all thy good intentions, therein lost:
Then let my Tythes, be brought to money rent,
For Thee, from Land-Lord, and the poore Tennent:
So may they sheare, and lead, and stakke their Corne,
At Mid-night, Midday, afternoone, or Morne,
Which shall bee their advantage and my gayne,
When Barnes, and Yards, are fill'd with tymely grayne,

I haue some Sycophants ly at thy Court,
Disturbers of my peace, and there resort,
Still hatching of mischiefe; projecting ends,
Which to my Countreyes ruine onely tends:
And though they burrowd, Lyfe, Lands, Birth and Blood,
Of Mee, they're still repaying ill for good:
For having spent their meanes, so now their braynes,
They spend in forging of seditious straynes:
Still this, or that devysing, runne such courses,
That for their crosses, they're repayd, with curses,

Nay; I must call them, Bandits, Rebells bred,
And Fugitiues, from jure Pœna fled:
Then, then, (dread Sir) take heed, such Snakes may sting,
And wound the judgment of a prudent King.

Valuation

As for this Valuation who can tell?
Whats meant thereby? or can my Preachers well,
With one out of each Parish; lay the ground,
What euery Land is worth, or may be found:
No; no, its labour lost, and I pray God,
Wee bee not scourgd for it, by his just rod:
A lesser fault, then this made Israell quake,
When David of his People count would make,
But value, stock, and brock, Tythes, fruites and all,

the vicissitude of tymes.

God must giue encrease, or the reckning fall.

So Tymes, vntymely haue their tyme mispent.
On base Ingratitude, and bounty shent:
Whats worth, without wealth? merit without Loue?
Birth without Vertue? greatnes without Iove?
Bairnes without duetye, Parents, without care?
Friends without Credit? Towne without repayre?
Lyfe without Learning? Servants without paynes?
Faith without good works? Comerce without gaynes?
Hope without repentance? Wit without Reason?
Greefe without Patience? Mirth out of season?
Command without Pow'r? Prince without People?
State without gouernment? Church without Steeple?
Preachers without rent? Poets but reward?
Rich Men without rueth? Honour but regard?
Iudges without Iustice? Agents but sees,
Clarks without decreets? Lawyers without pleas?
Tillage without soyle? Trafficque without peace?
Grace without godlynes? Sheep without fleece?
Pryde without puissance? Loue vnles acquent?
Wyves without Children? wealth without Content?
All which are toyles, lost labour, lost in vayne,
And drudging care, for profit without gayne,

Discordant things still contrare ends oppose,
The cause not the effect, wee should suppose:
So Fates agree; so accidents and Clymes,
Conclude, this age, must see such woefull Tymes

So Grammer Schooles are ruynd, Learning rare,

The decay of Schooles

Boords are so deare, and Stipends waxe so bare;
That good house-houlders, Country-men I spy,
Can hardly boord their Bairnes abroad, and why?
Broughs are so fingring; Schoole-Masters so needy;
Lore at such rate, and Victuallers so greedy;
That now most Bairnes, with Sheep, and Ploughs are found,
Which makes so many Ignorants abound,
With Rustick Caryage; Manners harsh and rude,
And decent Comlynes, is quite seclude:

For what makes Nature, civill myld and meek?
Kynd wyse, affable, gentle, slow to speek?
But good education: well bred, well taught.
In Morall Precepts, and divynely fraught,
With learned Wisdome: whence discretion flowes,
And Vnderstanding too: for Learning growes,
To bee the light of Nature; and I fynd,
Its the ornament, of a pregnant Mynd:
And though it were, but for to read, and wryte,
It is a needfull vse; and yeelds delyte,
To euery good Conception; giues direction,
To know aright, and so serues for correction,
And thus the Ruther, which behauiour rules,
Though graft in Nature, is refynd by Schooles.
So would to GOD, in tyme a course were tane,
That Schooles, and Schollers, were repayrd againe.

Another great abuse, is this that when,

Rebells.

Men runne in Suretyship for other Men;
Or els morgadgd in debt; yet will not pay.
Their Creditors, nor thy just Lawes obey:
But scorning, horning, Caption Rebells turne;
And in despight of Pow'r, all where sojourne.

Arm'd with Rebellion, Pistols, Sword and Dagger,
Threatning to kill; they roare it out, and swagger:
They boast their Creditours, and plague the Poore,
Even rambling through, best Townes, from doore to doore,
Whilst neither Shrieue, nor Iustice will lay hould,
Vpon these Rebells: nay; although they could,
They will not, why? some one respect or other,
Dryve in delayes, whilst they thy Lawes downe smother.
And thus this Land, is ouer runne and crost,
With lawles Bankerouts and Iustice lost.

Some newly broke, as civill Cheaters doe,

Bankerouts.

Guard Barwick, and makes Barwick guard them too
It still keeps Garrison, all Men may see
In stead of Souldiers, now fled Spendthrifts bee:
This border Towne, lyke to that seat of Rome,
From Sword and Spoyle, to cousenage is come;
The one absolving sin: the other debt,
Though neither can nor could, such freedome get:
Nay; Barwick, jumps with Rome, in more then this,
Slaughter, Adultry, Incest, whats amisse?
In ciuill Law, or Church, it will protect them,
Though Iustice Uengeance, crying sins detect them,
Then who should curbe, this sheltring? or restrayne it?

The dishonest abuse of fugitiue mariages.

But thou gainst whom, and thy lawes they maintaine it.

There's too of late a new eclipsd miscaryage,
But rather ane abuse, of honest marryage:
For now young persons, fauncyeing other loues,
Without consent of Parents (thus it proues)
Or of their pastors approbation, neither
Of Towne nor Parish, nay, of Friend or Father;
Away they goe to England; there they're marryed,
And sometymes too, lyke Partyes turne miscaryed
Where fayling of Church rites, this yoke they draw,
That lawles Loue, may be made loueles Law.
For if the English Preest, be not Palmestrat,
He will not marry, they turne Ambodextrat:

How can like Nuptialls stand, and stand with reason.
Although the preest conjoynes them: O! what treason?
Of fugitive deceat, is this to see.
When mine owne brood, from my kynd bowells flee,
From Parents loue, from lawfull Pastors pow'r,
For to be matchd by stealth: and would devoure,
Religion into shame; whilst thou base Preist,
Turnes back from being Preacher, to a Beast;

What canst thou say, if such incestuous be?
Els vyld Adultrers, brand with infamie,
Or els betrothd to others; at which tyme,
Perhaps lyable to some criminall cryme;
And dares thou brand thy selfe, and marryage stayne,
For one poore peece of gold, for three, or twayne,
Nay; as by vnlawfullnes, they come to it,
Euen as vnlawfull, art thou call'd, to doe it,
O! Prelats then, and Iudges of this Land!
Which both for Church, and State should justly stand,
Away with this, O let such Nuptialls bee!
Hel'd as injust, and punishd rigrously.

Conceald money:

Now for conceald Moneyes, I dare protest,
The searching of them, breeds a commoun Pest;
The Purcifant, he goes abroad to summond,
Thome, Will, and Dick the heard scarce worth a Dunmond,
This Ambodextrat Villane, he warnes All,
Before the Exchequer; and if they fayle,
A penaltye ensues; els fill his hand
Or goe for Edinburgh, where come they stand,
Waiting, and waiting to be try'd and heard,
The Messinger he comes not; they're debard.
From audience and dismissd: and thus they're crost,
With paynes great charges, and their labour lost,
Then judge great Sir, and yee my Iudges, judge,
If this and lyke, wracks not the Ploughing Drudge.

For Chamberlanes, Baillyes and Lairds Court Clarkes,
I see the Projects, of their subtile warks:

The first they fat themselues, by greed by stealth.
And out of ruyne, worke their Mynes of wealth,
Bringing most Lords to nought, els in such debt,
That they're not able, out of it to get:
The Baillie oft makes crooked the right causes,
Takes from both Factions brybes; with fals forgd clauses
will haue deceat calld trueth; if not the Baillie,
Will make the Plaintives part, a double Faillie:
The Clarks exact on all, they will haue feyes,
Payd and repayd for Acts, although but leyes,
Then help these faults, yee Earles, Lords, and Knights,
And let Domestick Servants, rule your rights,
Yea serious, bee your selues to take a count,
Of all your dewtyes, as your Fathers wount:
So shall your States, and Rents, encrease and stand,
And poore Oppressd ones freed from Factors hand,

Transporting of Cattell.

As for my Kyne and Cattell, they're transported,
And Sheep, with Gallowedian Nages consorted,
To all the English quarters, heere and there,
Leauing my fields, halfe destitute, and bare,
Of their wont plenty and aboundance great,
Of all kind Bestiall; that content could get,
But see this droving, and this caryeing out,
Makes flesh both scarce and deare, all where about;
That now few houses great or small are kept,
As they were wont, being thus of Cattell stript:
And if it were not, for good store of fish,
There many Mouths, would find an emptie Dish:
Then cause this (Sir) be helpd by strait restraint,
To quench the murmure, of a gen'rall plaint,

Now come I to my Cornes my Wheat and Talloun,
Myne Yarne, Linning-Cloth, Oyle many a galloun;
Salmon, Salt, Herrings, Killing, Sethes, and Colle,
With Skin, and Hyde, transported still to Polle:
Of which I grant there's some, might spared bee,
For mutuall Commerce, and Commoditie:

But for my Wheat my Talloun and my Hyde,
Let them be fenss'd, within my selfe to byde,
That Leather growing cheap, Woemen may weare,
More fyner Shoes, for Leather now is deare,
And so is tawning, Tawners haue such crosses,
With taxd Gabelloes; miserable losses,
I will not here insist, although I could,
Lay open this infliction, as I should,
But since the maner, makes the meane so plaine,
I'le stryke no deeper, in a bleeding veyne.

Transporting of Cornes

And should my Cornes be caryed to thy foes,
For foure or fyve Mens ends; should gen'rall woes,
Be sowne abroad this Kingdome; should Dearth, be rays'd?
When wee haue equall plenty, God bee prays'd:
Fy, fy, on sinfull greed! O shameles blot!
That Merchands, would haue dearth, when GOD will not:
Nay they will pay before hand, rayse the pryce,
For which my Lords, approue them in their vyce:
And why? because they gayne; but ah alas?
The Tennents left, into a woefull cace:
Thus Pollicie breads famine, and base greed,
Brings wealth to Churles, to my Commouns need,
Then (Royall Sir) prefer my Commounweale,
Aboue cursd Misers, never truely deale:
And for transporting Cornes, let Acts be made,
Hence forth they may at home, bee stopd, and stay'd.

There other Towne-bred Merchands too, I know,
Vnder a peeuish, Puritanick show,

Disembling puritanicall merchands.

Of yea, and nay, forsooth its so, and ban not,
Its good, the Pryce is small, cheaper I can not,
Would weigh a Mans purse, with his Lyfe and worse,
With fals Hipocrisie, themselves they curse:
When neither Conscience, Religion, nor Trueth,
They more respect, than Harlotes, do of Youth.
But serving Tymes, they serve their ends; and why?
For gayne they sell, and for to gayne they buy:

By hook, and Crook, they care not; for deceat,
Is all the Mistresse, of their vpstart State,
Fals weights, fals measures, falshood eu'ry way,
Abound; and Cousenage, turnes Merchand pay,
He's now the wisest Man, that can deceaue,
His Nighbour, though he play the errand Knave,
Hastning their wit, on guyle they make their drift,
Trayne fraudlent craft, to court, each Catchpole shift,
Whilst neither Law, nor Reason, they regard,
Till death transport them, to their last reward.

The spoyle of Youth.

Now where are all my robust Gallants? where,
Are my Bellona-Threatners, doe, and dare?
Nay; here's the very Quintissence, of trueth,
That Peace, and Idlenes, haue spoyld my Youth.
With Cards and Drunkennesse, lashivious Lust:
And all Prophanenes, swearing and distrust:
That now their Bodyes, are not half so strong,
As Nature lent them, to giue or free wrong:
And growne effeminat, weare Woemens loks,
Freize-hanging combd, o're Shoulders, Necks, and Cloks;
That many doubt, if they bee Mayds, or Men,
Till that their Beards sprout foorth, and then they ken:
And yet their shame, hangs still about their Heads,
Whilst shaking Hayre, approue their foolish deeds,
Saint Paul forbids it, and hee tells them playne,
In doing which they're more, then shameles vayne;
And Absaloms Lyfe, hayre-hung, betwene two Trees,
Might be a Cauiat, for such vanities:
For Manly excercise, is shreudly gone,
Foot-ball and Wrestling throwing of the Stone:
Iumping and breathing, practises of Strength,
Which taught them to endure, hard things at length.

And now Tobacco, that base stinking weed,

The abuse of Tobacco

That Indian witchcraft, smoaking in their head;
Turnes Uirile Acts, and delicat discourse,
To Pot, and Pypes, reciprocall recourse:

Nay; they're so bent, though when its spent to flashes,
They'le smoake it out, even Asses, sucking Ashes,
It was a damn'd devyce, a fatall curse,
To honesty, and health, and to the Purse,
It spoyles their Memory, and blinds their sight,
Dryes vp the moisture of the carnall Wight:
It smarts the brayne, and stupifiy'th the Wit,
Benumbes the sense, and here's the plague of it;
Most brauest Mynds, turnes Coxcombs, Fooles and Sots,
And now more slayne thereby, then my best Scots.

For in a word, it is a drunken feast,
Depraving Man of senses, turnes him beast:
Some Students too, deserue to haue a dash,
For they can let it flee, smoake, flame, and flash,
And meane while wring out from Inventions brayne,
Some curious Sermon, in a whiffing strayne,
And so can Nobles, Gentry, Ploughmen too,
Each glory to doe that, which others doe.

Some take it for the fashion, some for Rheume,
Some for the Tooth-ach, others for the fleume:
Some for the Head-ake, some for Melancholy.
Some for to sharp their wits, and banish folly:
Some for their Pallet, in their warbling throt,
Some for good fellowship, to Pype and pot:
Some to quench Anger, some to put off tyme,
And some excessively, make vse a cryme,
Some Rodomuntoes, take it roaring downe,
And then rebelch it, lyke a spewing Clowne:
Some eate and chaw it, letting downe the juice,
And others steep it, for an open Sluce:
Some snuff, and sneize it, and convert in dust,
This greene Negotian leaf, in blak spent lust,
Some hungerbit, or Stomack-sick at least,
Convert Tobacco, in Duke Umphraes feast:
Casting Barmudoes, in Uirginian blocks,
They lock Uerinaes in, with Venting Knocks,

And some when drunk, to make them sober mynded,
Till both their sense, and sobernes grow blinded:

Then here's the slaurye, of this slabby sin,
Another Pype, another Pot, brings in:
The one bene spent, the other not they call,
For each of either, as their turnes may fall,
Whose Strombolizing Nosethrills, Ætna faces,
Makes halting Vulcan, change his Lemnian places,
To build his Forge, on foule Cymberian veynes,
Dying in blak, their Bowells, Guts, and braynes,
Whilst apprehension, makes their fond conceat,
To wast their bodyes, and exhaust their State.

Some Ladyes too, haue head-akes in their Toes
And for remeed, takes Phisick at their Nose:
Some suck it stinkingly, and with distast,
And yet forsooth, they take it to liue chast,
Mixt with Perfumes, and Oyles, sweet Seeds, and snuff,
They swallow downe, in gluts this Pagane stuff,
Wresting another tast, then Nature can,
Lyke to their paynted Cheekt, deceauing Man;
Some for the Chollick; some for belly-ake,
And some do loue amayne, the Pype to take,
That now most female, Ladyes of each sort:
Doe make of Pypes, and Vapour but a sport.
Yet I confesse, its far more kyndlyer too,
For Woemen to suck Pypes, then Men to do:
The one is Naturall, though oft abusd,
The other in neither, to bee excusd:
And last of all, Tobacco, I defyne,
To be the Tuba Bachi, God, of wyne,
Inviting Drunkards, clustring every where?
To swagger, sweare, debosh, and revell care.

Against the wearing of Plaids.

And I could wish, that Edinburgh would mend!
This shameles custome, which none can commend:
Should Woemen walke lyke Sprits? should Woemen weare,
Their Winding-sheets alyue? wrapt vp I sweare,

From head to foote in Plads: lyke Zembrian Ghostes;
Which haunt in Groaues, and Shades; lyke Fayry Hostes,
Or winter wandring Wreaths: Base masked Whoores,
Buskd lyke Callabrian Witches; Skin-clungd Moores;
With fyre-scorching Tayles; Æthereall Wights,
Or Nightly Eremies, that nev'r delights;
But lyke cursd Fiends in darknes; being the trick,
Of Turkish Courtezans, and to bee quick;
Of Mercenary Harlots; Now base Iads,
Must Candle-light bee viewd; O! sin-worne Plads,
With Drunkennes, and Whoredome: who can avow?
This beastly Habit; Towne, I speeke to you.

Looke to your Streets, at night see how they flock?
Lyke buriall-busked Bedlers; and provoke,
Good goers by to gaze, yea, often stand,
Till they invest them, with a Shouldring hand:
Where is their punishment? where is good order?
Where civill comelynes? O to what border?
Is honesty now fled; When thus I see,
That richest, Wyues, with Harlots masked bee:
For in a word there's none, twixt both can judge,
In show, the Matrone, from the commoun Drudge:
Then as the Hangman, had late pow're to mend it,
The Gallows or the Borrough-Loch must end it.

My Land is to surchargd, with cursing evill,

The abuse of banning & cursing.

Diuell take the lears, the whole-ware still the Diuell;
Fiend a bit, Fiend take you, the Diuell, an inch!
Diuell take them, Soule and Body; there's a pinch:
How Diuell doe you? the Diuell to you that speeres,
And some curse Heaven, and Hell, and by them sweares,
Some cursing make, conditionall diversion,
Diuell take Mee, God saue all; O? there's reversion?
That even the Chyld, the first word it can mumble,
Is Diuell, Diuell, Diuell, so Babes begin to stumble,
And why? cause Parents ban; the Servands tongue,
Spew curses forth corrupting, old and young,

But ah! poore Wretches! what a curse of euill?
Is this at ev'ry word, to name the Diuell:
This, this, and lyke, makes now this Ile abound,
With Hellish Snakes, for Diuells allwhere are found:
There's nether Russia Lituan, or LeifLand,
Norway, North Swaine, my North Iles, nor Lapland,
Can yeeld moe Witches, Warloks, Charmers too,
Then my Mayne Lands, even at this present do:
And though that some be brunt, there hundreths moe,
I hope ere long, shall through the fyre goe.
For tyme and tryall, earnest care may make,
The Diuell to vanish, and his servants quake:
Then leaue your banning, and your cursing words;
For Yea, and Nay; the happyest speach affords.

Against Coles and Witches.

But now belyke the Colles, this happy yeare,
By burning Witches, are growne wondrous deare,
And so they are, but sure the Flemings make it,
Although the Commouns, commounly mistake it:
But if my Colles to imposts, ones were put,
They soone would stay, the Hollanders were shut:
Yet Colles and Witches haue a nearer vnion,
First here by vse, then hence by dark communion:
Some Colles are fund, in Earths profoundest Cell,
Which Colliers hould adjacent neare to Hell:
And will not let, blynd Limbus ly betwene,
For Colliers haue in darknes, Lynx-bred eyne:
Where sometymes they, with Stygian streames are crost,
Throwne downe to Lethe, in oblivion lost:
Whence Colles, bene Nyghbours next, to Plutoes Pit,
Are sent as Messingers, from gaping it:
To hurle downe below, with posting fyre,
These damn'd Gehennists, to their endles hyre:
Thus Hell and Witches, Diuells, and Warloks bee,
Linkd in with Colles, in hot affinitie:
Which GOD may grant! long may their vnion stand,
Till Witchcraft quyte, be rooted from this Land,

For cheating Brockers, and cursd Usrers they,

Against Brockers.

Iu eu'ry Towne, and Corner, beare great swey:
They're Money-Mongers, and they know tymes, slaurye
When need brings Vertue, halting to their knavery:
The Brocker, must haue Pawnes, and double Pawnd;
And cares not for no caution, writ, nor Hand.
But quarterly, monthly, by week, or day,
Must haue the Gabelle, of his cheating pay:
Els fayling of the Tyme, off goes the Pawne,
And thus is povertie, in bondage drawne.

The Usrer will take suretye, Bonds, and Bills,

Against Vsurers.

Or els Morgadgement, at disposers wills:
For fyftene a hundreth, yea, sometymes twenty,
And fills his Coffers, with such ill wonne Plenty:
Yea, lets it all runne on, till day and date,
Be long expyrd; and than to rayse his State,
Out flies horning, Caption, fensing Commands,
Imprisonment; or els comprysing Lands.
Whilst the distress'd Debter, rests pinchd, or slayne,
Vnder the crueltye, of this Tigers gayne:
O! miserable wealth! O! wretched greed!
That eats the very bowells, out of need:
But for to mend this, whilst they're plaguing fangd,
The Brocker should be scourgd, the Usrer hangd.

There's to a needfull Cauiat, I'le set forth,

Concerning vagabonding Greeks.

For eu'ry Noble Lord, and Man of worth,
For Bishops, Preachers, euery towne, and place,
Where vagabounding Greeks, vse now to trace
Deluding and deceauing you, with leyes.
And Testimonials fals; base forgeryes.
Of blynd inveiglings; making you beleeue,
They must their wives, their Bairnes, or friends releiue;
From slauerye, and from thraldome; by Turks there tane,
Either in Greece, in Asia, Iles, or Mayne
Whom they would haue redeemd; from bondage brought.
And Ransomes payd, for what dissembling wrought.

But I assure Thee, as GOD liues in Heauen,
There's no such matter; nether are they driuen,
To any such distresse; my reason's here,
The Greeks, vnder the Turke, borne eu'ry where;
Haue freedome peace, and safety; liue as free,
As any Subjects heere, can, or may bee:
For now the Turke, being Lord, and they too sworne,
How can he thrall them, they his Subjects borne:
Nay; neither Tythes of Children, Female Dote,
They pay more now, for Achmet, rent that lot;
Yet when they payd them both, their lyues and Lands.
Were then as free, as ours are in our hands.

And far les for Religion, can they bee,
Exyld or thrald, or els where, forcd to flee:
Whilst there's libertie of Conscience giuen,
To Greeks and all kynd Christianes vnder Heaven,
Through all his large Dominions: want nought els,
Saue onely this, the vse of ringing Bells:
Nay I vow God; they liue more free of cares,
Vnder their Lords, then Myne do vnder theirs:
Then be no more deceau'd; recall tymes past!
How Greeks, haue gulld you, goulding them so fast,
But if you will bee fooles, when knaves thus passes?
Yee merit what they make you, Dolts and Asses.

The flatry of Hostillaries.

My Hostes, and Hostesses, in every house,
Can make their Guests so welcome they'le carrouse:
With merryment and laughter; tell a Tale,
Of Robin Hood, and Wallace; make their Ale,
Flee out of Pynts in Quarts: but being come,
To whats to pay? the Hostesse beats the Drumme!
Vp, vp, Good-man; away; there's one in haist!
Must speeke with you, Come? fy, he's almost past,
The Hoste thus gone, the honest Guest must stay,
And for Thome Tratler, all the reckning pay.

The scarcity of small Moneyes.

So now, my Coyning-house, doth idle stand,
And there no Pictures, stampd with Irne nor hand:

There are no moneyes going, nor golden collours,
Saue Dutch, and Holland, Saxone, Austrian dollours:
Now all are Dollors; Dollors ought can doe,
And when they want them, they haue Dollours too:
For but them, with them, Dollors frequent be,
Dollors in want, and Dollers when they flee:
But worst, ther's no small money can bee had,
Nor change for gold or silver; Men are made
Often for lack of change, to leaue, or losse
Whole, half, or part, of their twyse Dollourd drosse:
Men can not buy nor sell; Men can not barter;
And Hostlaries smart too in eu'ry quarter.

So Charity is curbd; Men can not giue
Their Almes, that would faine the poore relieue:
Then (Sir) there's Copper, Copper too is cheap,
Grieue not thy government, nor Moneyes keep,
Of so small valew, from thy Commouns hand,
Which still breeds wealth, and Commerce in my Land:
In this both Spaine, and Italy are blest,
With France and Germany, and Holland best;
Where most part of their moneys are in brasse,
And freely too from hand to hand do passe:
Then (Sir) cause coyne, Plaks, Achesons, and Turners;
Ought will suffice to stop the mouths of Mourners.

Now eu'ry office beares the name of Lord,

The abuses of diverse offices falsly intitulated Lords.

And honour much injurd by wrong record:
First then, for Lords of Session, none should be
Call'd Lords for no respect, of what degree;
Saue onely two, Lord Chauncelor for his place,
And the Lord President; the rest I trace
But worshipfull and reverend, they're no more,
All Europe with the lyke, the lyke decore;
And next my Shrieue, by heritage, or yeare,
Must be call'd Lordship, els he will not heare:
Then there's Lord Provost plac'd in eu'ry towne,
And Iack made Lord was yesterday a clowne:

Yea, some-where there's Lord Baillie, and Men must
Vpon his Sheep-drawne shaddow Lordship thrust:
So Deanes of Gild are Lords; O Burges boords!
Whilst Towne and Church Treasurers too are Lords;
And yet their Lordships in a commoun tale,
Can mixe their graue discourse with Pynts of Ale.
Some Kirks and Colledges afford I see
Lord Rector, Lord Archdeane, Lord how do yee?
So also is Lord Lyon grauely Lorded,
Who more for worth than stile, is here recorded:
Next, there Lord Doctor of the shyting Potion,
Who for some recipe, (not for devotion)
Must be palmestrat, with red imag'd Ore,
For which his Lordship thanks the good grandgore.

In comes Lord Commisser, and he protests
For Clyents and decreets, whilst yet, there rests
Some fatall Testments, which he must recall,
To be confirmed, then thanks death for all:
Then there's Lord Constable with his Nights Crue;
Of frozen Bussards, that will call on you,
Come to the Lord Constable, come, or go
To prison: speek, what say you? yea; or no;
The Passenger, before his greatnesse come,
One single quart will stryke his Lordsheep dombe.

And last, to Lord them all, there are Trone Lords,
Which beare sad Burdens, bund with rops and cords,
That sometimes serue the Hangman, Scaffolds make
For execution, and for justice sake:
All which are Lords; of diverse ranks each Creature,
Even from the judges to the scume of Nature:
But if that any Kingdome can afford,
In all the world, the like name of a Lord;
I'le be content to pawne my Pilgrimes lyfe,
For he best knowes how to decyde such stryfe:
Yet anagram me Lordes, O now take heed!
And yee shall find my Lords turne drols indeed:

And so most are, (both Colledges exceptd)
And true Lord Barons, falsly interceptd
By Ruffian Fopperyes; which corruption brings,
On Noble stiles, not given them of Kings;
Which if it be not help'd, whats more ado?
But stile my Pilgrime, Lord Traveller too.

As for my Castles, and my Marine Ports,

The ruyne of Castles and Sea Ports.

The first decay, the other, they want forts:
Would Leith, Inchkeith, and May, were sconsd and block'd,
Is for Dunbertane it is stongly rock'd:
But more by Nature, than by Airt I see,
Whose mouldrlng walls brought low, defective be:
Which if thine eyes surveigh, Thou'll cause amend it,
And for its situat strength (doubtles) commend it:
Blaknes that Dungeon must be still kept dry,
Least with the levell ground it swaking ly:
Yet stately Snadoun, Strivelings Castelld beauty,
It still reserues for Thee a thankfull duety:
Yea; if when need, a fort of great Defence,
Whence linking Forth, Meander-crook'd, runnes thence.

As for thy Pallace, Lithgovv, Fawlkland too,
And Halyrude-house, Mansions, when ado;
Though now well kept, I feare long absence may,
Turne thine Auncestors Stations to decay:
And no great wonder, how can they abide?
When Thou and Thine shall els where still resyde:
For Edinburghs fortresse it stoutely stands,
High-tip-toe rockd, o'relooking Sea and Lands:
Where Iames the Iust, of blest renowne, thy Syre,
Was borne, and got the Crowne of this Empyre.

Would Soundbroughhead, in Zetland were intrenchd,
And Skalloway, neare Laxford too reflanchd;
And that Orcadian Kirkwall, eke rampierd,
With Cafasound, that harbour much admir'd:
Then would these Iles, Septentrion fafer bee,
When made defensiue gainst the Hostile Sea:

But for most other parts, few can offend them,
Sea-sandy Shelfs, and Craggy Coasts defend them:
As for my westerne Iles, they need no hould;
Each Ilander himselfe is Bulwark bould:
Yet (Sir) looke to it, least my Forts decay,
And these thy Mansions fall, and rot away.

Now come I to Land-passages, and see,
I find defects, would God could helped bee:
Where are these Bridges, over Rivers plac'd?
Which sometymes haue my Body maynely grac'd
Nay; they're ruind, els vtterly decay'd
Whose vntectd Arches, spoil'd, are quite deray'd:
Most waters now haue neither Bridge nor Boat,
Which makes so many sink, or helplesse float.

The defect of Bridges.

What should I speake of Perths outragious Tay?
That shortly twyse hath tane her Bridge away:
But wayle the losse, that Towne receav'd thereby;
And for remeed to Thee, my Sou'raigne cry!
O Gracious Sir! cause build that Bridge againe,
And flank each Columne with hornd Arches twaine:
The stones more long and larger than before,
The Arches wyder, doubling on each Shoare:
Which made more high and wyde, the strugling flood,
May calmely vent, and not proue half so rude:
For which good work, the Countrey being easd,
Thou shalst be praisd, and God therein well pleasd.

There many other Rivers, Brookes, and Strands,
Streames, Rills, and Torrents, march-divyding Lands:
Would faine be bridg'd, made passable and plank'd,
Men might find way, and Benefactors thank'd:
But where's the Earle, Baron, Laird, or Knight?
Will prove so charitable, though he might:
Nay; there's no Commoun-wealth, nor commoun works,
Most of them building Nests for Chimney Storks:
But to speake trueth, in times past, and of late,
When Friers and Cloisters had their swaggring state:

These good and beneficiall deeds abounded,
Which now by vs are ruind, rent, and wounded:
And yet my Nobles, brooke these Tythes and rents,
Supply'd this charge, which many one repents:
For them, what good they doe therewith, its knowne,
They fat themselues, then leaue it to their owne.

Then to helpe this, cause eu'ry Land-Lord, lo!
Through whose just bounds, thy Market Streets do goe;
To build, sustaine, repayre, whats in decay,
And over lets, to make free passage way:
But if this task may seeme to great for one,
Then let the Shyre helpe him where it's done:
And as the work to modifie the meane,
Wherein the vulgars formost still are seene:
So shall this Nation blesse Thee, praise them too,
When Landed Men this Christian good shall do.

Now for my losses, by the Hostile Sea,

Incursary Losses by Sea.

These long fiue yeares, in numbers many be:
The Divelish Dunkirker ransacks my Ships,
And with the scourge of Pryde my fortune whips,
Along the shivring tops of rouzing billowes,
Menassing Mars and Neptune; all he swallowes
Within the throat of Hatred; and he fills
Their Flandrian Ports with Masts, as high as Hills:
My Men are captiues, and their goods are lost
To them and theirs; thy foe of too free cost,
Enjoyeth all, and then, at randon lets
Mens liues and freedome; if he ransome gets:
And ly even as they please on Ærmouths coast
Or Humber mouth, where all my Ships are lost:
Where then my Cursars? Where thy Men of war?
Nay, when they see them, hover off a far;
And basely suffer thine Enemies to prey,
Vpon thy subjects, making no supply:
If this be right, or if warres be intended?
I wish a better course, els they were ended.

The misery of War.

Besides these Sea-bred griefs; ah! now I see,
Through spatious Europe a deformitie:
What strange combustions, tumults, and vproares?
Are here and there, alwhere the Sword it goares:
O wretched Tyme! most barbarous and rude,
To see the Christian World, drunk dead with blood;
And not one Kingdome left without cursd jarres,
So vniversall are these woefull warres:
Kings against Kings, Nation against Nation,
Perfites the Prophecy of Desolation:
The like deludge, reciprocating stryfe,
Was not, since last, Rome lost her Tribune lyfe:

O woefull warre! which lessens wealth, and strength,
And brings the ruynes of ruine at length:
It doth dishonour Honour, and degrad
The mighty Man from what his greatnesse had:
Even like the rage of the impetuous flood,
Debording from his banks, leaues slyme and mood.
To choke the fertile plaines, supplants the rootes
Of Hearbs and Trees, defaceth quite the fruits
Of grapes and grayne; and often breaks the walls
Of strongest Townes, whereon destruction falls.

Even so the fury of the bloody Warre!
In breking downe the bonds of Peace, debarre
The links of Loue and Alliance, quite defaceth
The libertie of Nature, and disgraceth
The ornaments of Tyme, and cuts the throat
Of Martiall Darlings; then casts vp the lot
Of desolation, which destroyeth all,
Which can to meane, or mighty Men befall:
What though to lyfe, we all but one way came;
Yet diverse wayes we go out of the same:
So fatall Sword decrees Deaths worst and best;
Mans Epilogue to be, nunc mortuus est.
Then heere's the Catastrophe! warfare brings,
For Preter losse the present thought of things.

As Christendome may curse that Counte of Torne,
The day that he was got, bred, breathd, or borne:
For diverse causes in Matthias tyme,
Which ah of late! turn'd to a vulgar cryme.
So may a lesser World, a greater curse
Impose on some, whose ruind drifts were worse:
But tush, let Fortune wag, the Balls runne on;
The Wheele in pieces chatter, all is One:
There is a day, when Tyme shall bring to dust,
There falshood and false honours most injust:
Let Caperculion, Musick Nigromancers,
French fidling playes, and blind dissembling Dauncers,
Enveigle heavie Tymes, and runne the Snout
Of trecherie vpon a fakeles rout:
There is a Maskerat, will ones discover
The lenth twixt Reize and Calz, from Calz to Dover.

Take heed of Sinons teares, take heed of this
False-smyling Clepho, with a Iudas kisse:
Mongst sweetest flowres the link-layd Serpents ly,
And lurking sting, the harmelese goers by:
So vnder fairest words, the falsest heart
Doth pry, and dyue, to work some grievous smart:
For it is incident to Courteours still,
To speak one way and haue another will:
But much more in the Minion, who pretends
A Sou'raigne Mateship for his trechrous ends:
Which, though his greatnesse springs not from true merit,
But from the pow'r of loue, which Kings inherit:
Yet often, and too often, ah! I find,
That Kingly favours, breed a false, false mynd:
And seldome eu'r escapes without retort,
So doubtful are the dangers of a Court.

So present tymes, may for example trade

The trechery of Mineons.

On Duke de Lerma, whom Don Phillip made
His Mineon, and his Oracle, his guide;
The King being simple, meek, and mollify'd.

This meane borne gentle-man, now made a Prince,
Did swallow vp ambition; and from thence,
The dregs of Avarice, dishonest greed,
And from his Prince hee stole, not having need;
In nyne yeares tyme, full eight Millions of gould,
Whilst Phillips Lone was dearer bought, than sould:
At last detect'd, and all his knaveries knowne,
His Spanish Motto in these words were showne:
El mayor ladron del Mondo; Para non morir aorcado,
Uestiose de collorado, &c. and englishd thus,
The greatest Theefe, the oldest Knaue
That Hell, the Divell, or Spane could haue;
To shunne the Gallowes, hee with speed,
Did cloth himselfe in collour red.

For he turnd Cardinall, and gaue the Pope,
Two hundreth thousand Crownes to flee the rope:
So had this Duke his Mineon, eke a Don,
Made Marques too, call'd Roderick Calderon:
Who following Lermaes footsteps, wax'd so bould,
That he stole too four Millions of pure gould:
Which being discouerd for his fellonie,
This courtly Theefe hee was condemn'd to dye:
The lyke and like againe I could produce,
But this may serue for to shut vp the sluce.

Admonitious for Rings.

O! if that Kings! as they are Kings would look,
And read lyke records of as blak a book:
Sure they would see great errours they commit,
In giving trust to any Parasit;
But thou blest King, thou art not cary'd so,
Thou canst discerne thy friend from secret foe:
And will not be the same that thou do'st seeme,
How fond soever vulgare censures deeme:

Yet in times past, the like erronious errours,
Haue bred to Kings and Kingdomes, helples terrours:
Who from himselfe bequeaths himselfe, and State.
(And in his crowne would haue a rivall Mate)

Vnto anothers gouernment, and will;
God knowes some Puppy, voyd of wit and skill
He is but half a Man, and not his owne,
Yea sometymes scarce, the half that I haue showne,
For he thats led, and ruld by others pleasure,
In judgement, nor in justice, keeps no measure.

As KINGS are absolute, so, should they be,
As absolute, in sound dexteritie.
Saue in great matters, than to be advysd,
By Counsells graue, or they be interprysd:
If not and so, that one, must needs rule all,
Be't Lyf, or Honour, Liberty, or thrall:
Looke to the events, doubtfully confusd,
Whilst or the Bird be hatchd the Egge is bruisd;
What Dauid sayd of lyke? I'le praysing tell,
He begd of GOD, to send them quick to Hell:

So KINGS haue perishd, and their Kingdomes falne
In cruell bondage, and their People thralne:
Lyke made young Osman, loose his Princely Lyfe,
Which filld his Kingdomes, with intestine stryf,
So the last Hungar King, was crossd and sackt,
And by his Minion, sould, ruynd, and wrackt:
But why? should I, examplify, so much,
Since thou hast deep experience of such:
Yet he is happy, makes anothers fall,
A warning to prevent vntymely thrall.

Ah! and thryse ah! so Germany is layd,

The ruine of Germany.

Vnder the Spanyards foote; and Austria made,
The head of that Empyre: greef beyond sorrow,
To see proud Tirants, from ten Princes burrow:
Such helples loanes; that neither sword nor might,
Nor Law nor Reason, can recall their right.
O! that one blow! one Tyme! O! angry fates!
Should ruyne both Religion there, and States:
Cursd be the spight of that vntymely doome,
Which Spaine divyseth, and confirmd by Rome:

Spaine seekes dominion, and the Popes impart,
Them power to swallow all, so they haue part:
And Thee, and thy three Kingdomes too, they would,
Cast in the fornace, of a Spanish Mould.

The Spanyards insatiable greed of dominion.

Yet Tyme may lash, the force of thy prowd foe,
And make ambition, subject to lyke woe:
Who seeks Kings ruine, and would domineere
O're all the Vniverse, yea, and vpreare,
The base record, of Uandals Gothes, and Hunnes,
Of whome they're come Men, Daughters, Wyues, and Sonnes,
Whose greed most Indian Soyles, can not contayne,
Nor large Americk the old, and new namd Spaine:
The Sea coast Affrick Townes; Atlantick Iles;
Nor Ballearen, nor Sardinian Styles:
The fat Sicilian playnes, got by the blood,
Of murtherd Gaules, can not his pryde includ,
Nor the Apulian, Callabrian Lands, and more,
The Seate of Naples, the Lavorean Shoare:
The Millane Dutchy, nor Pavian bounds;
The racked Belgia, nor the high Burgounds;
The Pyrheneian Navarre, the Voltelyne;
Can not this Monsters Monarchy, confyne:
For if he could, he would, himselfe invest,
From Pole, to Pole, and so from East to West:
Yet doubtles Tyme, his pryde and greed shall dash,
And raze his might, for so can fortune lash.

Thou mayst recall herein, that cruell payne.

Lithgows iniust and cruell torturs inflicted vpon him in Malaga.

And bloody Tortures, Lithgovv had in Spaine,
Which for CHRISTS sake, his Countrey and thy Syre,
He patiently endur'd, O! thou mayst admyre:
His constancy for Trueth, and for that Treason,
Injustly layd on him, beyond all reason:
Being in tyme of Peace, and no suspect,
Of breach; but what they falsly did detect:
And hauing too, thy Fathers Seales, and Hand,
For to protect him, to the Æthiope Land:

Whose lyfe, the English factors seeing surgrieud,
By meanes of Noble Aston, him relieud:
What Tongue? what Pen? what Mynd can well expresse?
Or Heart conceaue? his Torments mercyles:
Nay; none but thy late Father, rightly weighd,
And Parliament; how they his Peace inveighd:
For which (deare royall IAMES,) had full regard,
His Suffrings, and his Trauells, to reward:
Yea, graciously maintaynd him, tooke delight,
To heare his rare discourse, of forraine sight:
Then (Sir) make fals, this Proverbe, turne his Debter,
There seldome, comes (Men say) a Father better,

Say though hee had not for thy Crowne, bene crost,
Rackd, bruisd, disjoynted, and his Fortunes lost:
With all these moneyes, thy Syre did him gift,
And Thow Thy self, for to advance his drift:
With Papers, Observations, Patents, Seales.
Which now are lost, and lost for aye, he feeles:
Yet doe his Trauells merit, his rare adventers:
His wandring long, beyond the Earths full Centers:
His curious drifts, his slighting wretched gaines;
His much-admyrd attempts! his matchles paines,
His Fame hee wonne thereby, to Mee and Myne,
Leauing my stamp, on Earths remotest Shryne:
And where I was not knowne, did annalize,
My Name in records, of true Sacrifice:

Yea did acquaint Mee, with each kynd of thing.
That pregnant Knowledge, could contentment bring;
Strengths, Townes, Castles, Cittadales and Forts,
Distance of places, Regions, Iles, and Ports,
Their maners too, and living, rites, and Lawes,
Customes and gouernment, Religious Sawes:
Of Turke, and Iew, Arabian, Greek, and Moore,
Sabunck, and Coptie, the Egyptian glore:
The Cypriot, Tartyr, Creet, and Turcoman,
The grosse Armenian, Sun-burnt Affrican;

The Abasine and whyte Moore; the Nestorian,
The Chelfane, Iacobin, Syriack Georgian;
The Amaronite, Lybian, and Nigroe black,
Besydes all Europe, in a word to take:
All these and reasons, many hundreds moe,
Deserve that (Sir) thou shouldst appease his woe.

For he's the first, of Trauells, ever wrot,
Since my all-Virgine Wombe, first bred a Scot:
The Prince of Pilgrimes, Father of them all,
And greatest Traueller, Earths circling Ball,
Can Europs eye affoord: O happy Man!
Whose mynd feasts, on rare sights; which none els can;
There Thousand Thousands, eu'ry where complayne,
That thy just bounty, should him not sustayne,
But hath imposd vpon him, a sore greef,
To make my Bowells, yeeld him now releef:
Where ah! there's nought, but povertie and pryde.
And misregard to Merit, so wele try'd:
I could be more Pathetick, in his greef,
But that were too indulgent, I'le be breef,
Then (Sir) for my request, thy Soyle, thy Nation,
Help Lithgovvs want, relieue his desolation.
Then shall thy bounty praise Thee, place thine Heart,
On merits Glory, gracious to desert.

To speek of ruind Churches, vntectd, vnwalld,

Decayed Churches.

Left vnprovyded, stipend-vnenstalld,
Into my Borders, Iles, and High-land parts,
Which deep experience, to my sight imparts.
It would too tedious be, and prolixe proue;
So I'le desist, the helpe ly'th in thy Loue;
Which euer yet, thou zealously exprest,
For GODS true Glory, in thy lyfe profest.
But true it is, the Lairds which owe the ground,
Are causes why, they thus abusd are found.

But more than this, there Preachers, that are placd,
Within my Maine, and orderly imbracd

Yet can not get their stipends, and Church rent,
Without contestion, and great discontent.
The Parish Laird, or Lord, objects some clause,

Ministers wrongd by their Parish Lairds

Against the Pastors, Ministeriall cause,
Els thus in robbing, of his yearely fee,
To force him both, from Church and Parish flee:

This done for law they goe, to plead it out,
Till slyding yeares, and months, runne thryse about.
Which now makes Edinburgh, each Session bee,
So full of Preachers, swarming as I see:
Whilst ah, their flocks at home, are evill taught,
And Gods blest Sabboth, too prophanely fraught,
With drunken Vyce, and lewd laschivious sin,
Which without Doctrine, soone comes creeping in:
Thus many Preists are plagud; and vnrelieu'd,
The people perish, honest hearts are grieud,
The Lairds triumph, in their ambitious hate,
And care not for GODS: worship, nor Mans state,
Which if it be not helpd. O grieuous crosse!
I feare Religion, shall haue the losse.

So with this grieuance, I bequeath the rest,
To be reformd by Thee, and soone redrest:
Then weigh them right, into thy judgement just,
That these confusions may be brought to dust:
So shall this Land be happy, liue in rest,
By thy good Gouernment; when Trueth thryse blest,
Shall Crowne thy Iustice; and when Vyce shall be,
And errours grosse, repayrd in equitie.

The Parliament done, now I must commend,
Some Nobles to thy Loue, and so I'le end:

A recommendation of all the Protestant Nobles to his Maiestie.

Make much of Hamilton, my Princely Peere;
Thy choysest Subject, and thy Cousing Deare.
Whose Syre, whose Grandsyre, whose Pedegree,
For faithfull service, to thy Crowne and Mee;
Deserve the Mausolaeon Tombe; Cariaes wonder,
To blaze thereon, their fame; and for to thunder.

To Tymes succeeding; in mem'rie of worth,
Their Noble actions: set so lyvely forth:
To each declyning Age: That even his part,
Their former Lyves, stamps in his hopefull Heart:
Whose greatnes is my Mirrour, and whose light,
Illuminats my Westerne bounds by right:
Whence gratefull Clyde, redounds from chearefull banks,
To that Illustrious Youth, ten thousand thanks.

The house of Mar.

To pen, and praise to Thee, that house of Mar,
In Mee were odious; since thou knowst how far;
It do'th surpasse most others: for that Lord,
Deserues my Chronicle, for to record,
His Providence, and Wisdome; whilst his deeds,
Do trample vpon Vertue; whence succeeds:
So many Sonnes and Daughters: O! rare birth!
Whome GOD may long blesse, and preserue on Earth:
That as their Syre, in his matchles fame,
So they them selues, may still retayne the same;
Whilst Glory, vpon Glory, shall redowne,
To Them and Theirs, an euer-fixd renowne:

Montrose.

As for that hopefull Youth, the young Lord Grahame,
Iames Earle of Montrose; whose war-lyke Name,
Sprung from redoubted worth, made Manhood try,
Their matchles deeds, in vnmatchd Chiualry:
I doe bequeath him, to thy gracious Loue,
Whose Noble Stocke, did euer faithfull prove:
To thyne old-agd Auncestors; and my bounds,
Were often freed, from thraldome, by their wounds:
Leauing their roote, the stamp, of fidele trueth,
To be inherent, in this noble Youth:
Whose Hearts, whose Hands, whose Swords, whose Deeds, whose Fame
Made Mars for valour, cannonize the Grahame.

Munteith.

Wherein Muntieth, that auncient Earle may,
Plead for his part, whose right retaines it aye,
In One, and the same Stock, being branchd, and graft,
By discent in it, and whose Lawrell shaft:

Of Honour aymes it, for his worth may clayme;
The Caledonean Mantle, in the Grahame.

To rouze the trueth, which still must passage find,

Rothouse.

Of worthy Rothus, and his learned Mynd;
I doe admyre him, for his gifts most rare,
Which few can paralell, nor yet compare;
With him for auncient Blood, nor present worth,
Which pregnant deeds, and Learned parts set forth.

Now plead I for the Earle Home, and see,

The Earle Home.

That Martiall Name, did much for Thyne, and Mee:
They were my Bulwark, in the easterne Border,
And keept my Nyghbour foes, in awfull order:
For Home, deryvd of Homo, is a Man,
And Merse, of Mars, so Home, and Merse, I scan:
Whose auncient services, and moderne Loue,
Deserve of Thee great thanks, rewards of Iove:
Who by just merit, weare the Sanguine Rose,
Of all these Confynes, which my Lists enclose.

So paynt I foorth, with pensile-drawing hand,
That noble Mirrour, Marshall of my land:

There's Noble Cassells too, and gallant Mortoun,

The Earle, in generall.

Deserue, as they enjoy, Auspicuous Fortune,
With Murray, Ainzie, Sutherland, and Lorne,
Lithgow, Eglintoun, Wigton, and Kingorne:
Buckcleuch, and Buchan, Hadington, Glencarne;
Roxbrough, Galloway, Sea-Forth, Tillibarne;
Cathnes, Dumfermling, Kellie, Lawderdale;
Perth, Louthian too; Crawfurd, and Annandale,
And last, though first, so first, and last now looke,
Vpon thy blood and kinsman, Lennox Duke.

All which are Peeres, by true Religion Crownd,
And Honour too, thy faithfull friends renownd.
Though here I place most, not as order growes,
But from; my kyndnes, as affection flowes,
Let Heraulds rank them, its enough for Mee,
To show their Names, and keepe true Poesie.

As for Lord Barons, Lyndesay and Cath Cart,

Lord Barons.

Boyd, Rosse, and Yester, Forbus, pious Heart:
Lord Viscont Dupline, Chauncelor of my State,
With Marcheston, as good, as now made great:
Sinclair, and Saltoun; Lowdon, in the West,
With Elphingston, and Burley, I protest:
Borthwick, and Dalyiell, Oglebie, and Skune,
Cowper, and Ramsay, Bruntilland, Lord Doune:
Lovit, Halyrudehouse, Cranston, Blantyre,
Kinclevin, Balmarinoch, Lindores, Kintyre:
Madertie, Torphichen, and Uiscont Aire;
Carnagy, Drumlanerk, Weems, and Traquaire:
Desfurd, and Iedbrugh, Colvin: And how far,
May I, even with the best, bring Lochinvar:
With Luce, and Waghton, Iohnson, too and Keire,
Who know'th but they may Lords be the next yeare?
Drum and Glennorchy too, I well may rank,
In way of Honour, sitting at their flank.

All these bee thyne, thy Darlings, and the knot,
Which tye my freedome, to each worthy Scot;
Being religious Lords, and wele reformd,
From Superstition, and to trueth conformd:
And if some be not so, (dissemblers then)
They're scoffing Atheists, irreligious Men:
For if the inward, with the outward show
Agree not; then they're Hipocrits I know,
But each and all of them, doe make profession,
Of CHRISTS reformed Church, by cleare confession.

As for my Papist Lords, its hard to say,

The Condition of Papist Lords.

Whether the Pope, or Thee, they best obey,
For Mee, I will not count them, nor make doubt,
But they may soone be tould, being here left out,
But this I may avouch, though they're enclynd,
In show to Thee; Rome keeps their heart and mynd:
Contayning more, seven Hills within her walles,
And why, not too, their silly Hearts and Saules:

For there are holes and Caues, and ruind Pits,
And Uineyards too, to which my Papist flits:
Yea; stinking Pudles, of Sodomitick lyues,
Where best the Boy with the Cardinall thryues.

Yea; and this Pope Urban, ones my Protector,
To Masculine mis'rye was Architector:
Witnesse Bullogne, Ravenna, Ferrare Torine,
Ancona too, plac'd by the Adrian Marine,
What then Romes Legat, that's now Pope committed?
It were an odious thing to be omitted:
For when my Youths, he then surnamd my head
Came to him, seeking succour: O! then with speed!
If that the face was good, he soone calld in,
And gaue them Crownes, with blak Gomorrahaes sin:
Witnesse Iack Ogelbie, thou canst report,
What way this Pope, thy screeking Bomb did court?
For which this Lad beene grieu'd in very spight,
He stole nyne hundreth Crownes, and took the flight,
From this same Pope, then Card'nall Barbarino;
And came to Uenice, crossd the Alpes to Rhino.

I could tell tyme and place, and how he vsd
This Youth with many moe, whom he abusd:
But now Divell fetch him, what should I reveale?
He lou'd my Lads posteriour parts too wele:
In Rome and Italy was never seene,
A greater Sodomit than he hath beene:
He was my Scots Protector, and infectd them,
With beastly filthinesse, so he protectd them.

Then heere's their Pope, his Holinesse indeed;
CHRISTS Uiccar, St. Peters heyre, their Churches head!
O! Monster against Nature! O Desolation!
O filthy Wretch! O vyld abomination!
Downe stinking Sow, downe Beast to Plutoes Cell,
In stead of Heaven, keepe there the Ports of Hell.

Now Priest haue with thee, for a single bout,

Against the Priest and his Masse.

For well could I (if tyme seru'd) paynt thee out:

What's now thy Masse? (come tell me) nay its such;
A foolish fopprie, that I dare avouch.
It is the sink of Sinne, the nest of errour;
The gulfe of Superstition; and the Mirrour
Of blinded Ignorance; whose mumbling mood;
Even in the action is not vnderstood.

And there's the Masse, Idolatrie compleets!
The Priest, his owne Creator frames and eats:
But more thy Blasphemy; O subtile foxe!
That dares to lock thy God within a Boxe;
To be consum'd with Mothes, and wormish gnats,
Yea; worne with Tyme, and eaten vp with Rats:
As for thy Miracles, and penny-pardons,
Thy purging Pit, Indulgences, and Guerdons:
I know what thou confessd, thou touldst mee plaine,
They were but forged leyes, for getting gayne:
I could at length show hundreths of like errours:
Whose works, and wayes, of Hell, are meerest Mirrours.
O what delusions? and what Divelish drifts?
Of cursd suggestions, in the jugling shifts;
Of false Opinion, intricat their braines
With blind diversion; and with halting straynes,
Of bould Presumption; thus dare cast the Mould,
Of their incestuous lust; for now behould!
They trust in their owne labours, and degresse
From Gods true worship, in their mumbling Masse.

The ignorance of Papists.

But for my Noble Brood, and crew of Papists,
They liue more by opinion, as do Atheists,
Than any sound construction; for tradition
Is all they looke for in their superstition:
Yet when my Church threats excomunication,
As soone they find some wrested dispensation,
Or els forbearance: why? Because they're Earles,
And court Thy Court, to beg Thy favour Charles:
Let this be help'd, for both to hould, and hunt,
Is more than ever sound Religion wont.

And call to minde what David he would do,
First clenge his house, and then his Kingdome too:
Say, if the Spring be sowre, how can the streame
Be sweet; or how can light from darknesse gleame?
For great Ones they are Presidents, and may
Bring good or bad into a commoun swey:
So People by example, more than Loue,
Are brought to follow what Superiours moue.
O! if I might, as Pastors ought and should
Gods judgements show, and not for flattry hould;
I soone would show the cause why Gods offended,
And plagues vs so in all our drifts intended.

But now allace! Mens earthly mynded savour,
Can wound their zeale, and blind their sight for favour:
Yet of all Preachers, which my bounds contayne,
There's onely Ramsay of Drumfreis takes payne;
To curb, and to convert, or els bring vnder
These stinging Wasps of ignorance the wonder;
For he is placd in midst of the worst fry,
Of all these Locusts, which Gods word deny.

But true it is, these Idole-servers may,

Lack of Charity.

Laugh at our coldnesse in good works this day:
There is no Charity, nor true intent,
By the disposers of it, done, or meant;
As ringing Bells cite others to the Church,
But they themselues neu'r enter at the Porch:
So many Cymballs sound through diverse throates,
And rayse their voyces contrare to their notes:
Whilst all their Tunes in such distracted mirth,
Are clog'd with clay, heart-grown vnto the Earth:
Which Lithgovvs surveigh of my bounds, I know.
More amply shall in plainer tearmes show:
There's heere a mystery, which few can tell,
Vnles Theology the passage spell.

Yet aboue all, let Priests, and Papists be,
Forc'd to convert, or banish'd quite from Mee:

And show them no more ruth, then they show Myne,
In Spaine, and Rome, who strictly punish Thyne:
For it stands good, that lyke, for lyke againe,
Should be inflictd, lyke punishment, lyke paine.

Sir William Alexander Lord Secretary of Scotland

Now touch I Menstrie, fraught with crimson flames,
Of Acedalian fyre; whom Hymen frames,
The Muses Darling; whilst Appollo vowes,
To sit betwene the Temples of his browes;
And there knit Garlands, twist with Delphian bayes,
To crowne his sacred strayne, with divyne prayse:
Whence hee proclaymes him, Prince, of Poets all,
That ever Albion bred, or could enstall:

But what I most admyre, and must commend,
Are these his rare adventures, he do'th send:
Hence t'Americk; whence Cannada confynes,
His new layd limits: Reason too combynes,
A constant resolution, there to plant,
My Noua Scotia; where nothing can want,
For grounds both fat, and fertile; their curling plaines,
Are cled with Woods; there wealth to Countrey Swaines,
May copiously aryse: Their Rye and Wheat,
With Cornes and grayne, might soone be brought compleet:
There Pastorage excells, their fish abound,
There flying Foule, and speedy Cerfs are found:
The Soyle, a Climat cleare, the Seasons fayre,
Where fragrant fruits surpasse, Hearbs grow most rare.

To which if that my Nobles, would but lend,
Their helping hands, and their provision send,
Of Folks and Bestiall, Seed, and euery thing,
O what encrease should this Plantation bring!
In doing which, they should enlarge my Name,
Making my bowells, famous, in their fame:
And to which end, I vow, my Pilgrime would
Adventure too, provyding he had gould.

There Christ shall be professd, the Gospell preachd,
And savage Bruites borne there, Salvation teachd:

For which braue Menstrie, in his matchles merit,
Shall prayse on Earth, reward from Heaven inherit:
Then Alexander, let that Province be,
Call'd Alexandria, from this Name of Thee;
That after Ages may the same record,
Thou was the first Plantator there, and Lord;
Which simpathizeth well with that great King,
The Macedonian Conqu'rour, who did bring
The easterne World in bonds, made Ganges be,
The Frontier of his fortunes; leaving Thee,
This Patrimoniall place, the westmost Mayne;
For to renew his memorie againe:
So Menstrie, Thou, with Asiaes great Commander,
Shall twise succeed, a second Alexander.

Last plead I for my selfe, now my request,
Most Royall Sir, flowes from a prostrat brest;

Scotlands recommendation to his Maiestie.

Even from the Torrid Zone of myne affection;
I beg Thy deepest Loue, and deare Protection:
That twixt Thy Heart and Soule, two Tropicks great,
I vnder-plac'd, may find Thy radiant heat:
Whose tender Care, whose Deeds, whose Zeale Divyne,
May be Heavens Æquinox to Mee, and Mine:
That from Thy Beames, I frozen, may recoile,
As hot a flame, as Parcheth, Æthiops Soile:
So shall these Circles, Hemi-spheares of Loue,
And these fix'd Planets, which no storme can moue;
Be my sole Zodiack, and the Horizon,
For to perfite, and crowne my glistring Zone:
That Thou my Worlds great eye, and thy designes,
May happy be, through Heavens Celestiall signes:
So shall my Faith, and duety, be the Polles,
Whereon the Axle-Tree, of thy Scepter rolles:
Whence let these rayes Antartick, thy best glory
Reflexe on Mee, thine Artick Soile, growne hoary.

And though my Saturne Cape salutes the Starre,
Which guides most Pilots, yet who can debarre?

Mine Iles, and Mayne dimensious bounds to yeeld
Thee, Martialists, the best on earth for field:
I am thine eldest Daughter, and my Birth;
Thy nearest Subjects living vpon Earth.

But why plead I so much? Why paint I forth?
My Sonnes in their illuminary worth:
Since thou art postng back to Isis banks,
And leaues me naked, onely cled with thanks.

Scotlands sorrow for his Maiesties quick returne.

Now must I spinne my long spunne web, and knit
Penelope, within the length of it:
Whilst Memphis groanes, to see sad Sparta mourne,
Twixt two arryvalls, and a quick returne:
Ah! well I see the Sunne, when at the hight,
Must soone declyne to bring on darksome night:
And are my joyes fled, my Darling gone,
Like to the shaddow of some wandring One;
I, I, thy stay to Mee, and Thy goodnight,
Seem'd but the glauncing of a Faulcons flight;
Which makes my Bowells roare, my griefe resounds it,
There's none can heale my sore, but Thow who wounds it.

That shearing Sword, which sharply stroke the Heart,
Of bleeding Loue, when Æneas did depart;
Neu'r rent kynd Dido with a deeper wound,
Than thy departure makes my Soule to stound:
Even like Palmeno, paunting on his Bed,
Still wishing Death, or els his ayme to wed.

But more kynd Turtle-set, O Heart-growne-griefe!
To groane, till Heavens soone send my playnts reliefe;
I see ebbe foords, though shallow, bellowing roare,
Whilst deepest streames, in silence court the Shoare;
So mighty Cares grow mute, when slender woes
Find choisest tearmes, slight sorrowes to disclose:
As deepest Loue is ever safest kept,
So is pale griefe more sadly closd, than weept:
What then, though woes get words, I'le deeply mourne
With sighs, salt teares, and sobs till Thy returne.

The wasting Winter of the Sommers gayne,
Neu'r wishd the Spring, the Spring, the Harust againe;
With more celeritie, than I implore
Thy Presence, were as oft renew'd, and more.

Lyke to the Day-worne Pilgrime, shut from light;
Closd with dark Coverts of the clowdie night,
Longs for the Aurore of the sequell Morne,
To see the face-blushd Thetis Sonne, new borne:

So I wrapt vp, within the gloomy shade
Of sad oblivion, am a Mourner made;
Till thy returne, (like to Nocturnall dew,)
Resume, refresh this flame, that burnes for you:
Which soone I wish might be reveiu'd and seene,
Cled with like glory, as Thow now hast beene:
Which if it were reciprocall, O well!
My Comforts could aboue my griefe excell:
Yet since Thine absence must my Patience proue;
I'le cease to mourne, but never cease to loue.

Then in a word, (though thousands ly in store)
I'le end, and thus, on my low knees implore;
Yea Heavens which shaddow, and protect just Kings,
With Might and Mercy; deoperculat wings,
Of Light and Glory, still saue, and defend
Mine happie Monarch, both in lyfe, and end,
With present Blessings, future Hopes in Iove,
Peace heere on Earth, and hence eternall Love.

FINIS.

University of Virginia Library

TO HIS LOVING PILGRIMAGIOVS POET, WILLIAM LITHGOW.

TO HIS KYND FRIEND, AND RENOWNED Traveller, William Lithgovv.

THE PROLOGVE TO THE READER.

SCOTLANDS WELCOME TO HER NATIVE SONNE, AND SOVERAIGNE LORD, KING CHARLES