University of Virginia Library

Awake, awake, my Muse, and me aver,
To give a just account of that Joynture,
To the Piel and Hathern I will repair,
To Analshope and Glengeber,
To Whitup and to Black-grain,
To Commonside, and Milsanton-hill,
And Eilridge is left all alone,
Except some Town Lands in Lanton,
Now, my Muse, to the East-country go we,
And talk of Eckfoords Baronie,
Which Barony she none did miss,
But all into her Joynture was,
In Cumulo I do declare,
It's above twenty thousand merks a year,
It was a worthy Conjunct-fee,
For a Knight to give to his Lady,
That worthy House when they were but Gentrie,
Exceeded far some of Nobilitie;
O cursed Helena that the Trojans did confound,
And laid Troys pleasant Walls flat on the Ground,
Her Daughter had not match'd with Priamus race,
But her Mothers perswasion made her him imbrace;
Thirty Lairds and Lords its said hath been,
All of Buckcleugh, yet it is uncertain;
Yet I believe it may be true,
I've seen four my self, and that I'le avow,
The nine last Generations I declare,
Both whom they Married, and who they were;
At Sir Arthur Scot we begin,
In's time he was the Kings Warden,
A valiant Sp'rit for Chivalrie,
Married Lord Somervels Daughter of Cowdalie,
Sir Walter his Son did him succeed,
Whom the Borders both did fear and dread,
He was still fourty men when ever he rade,
He married with Dowglas of Drumlanrig,
Their Procreation remains unto this time,
The last honourable second brother, that of that Familie came,
From that marriage Robert of Allan-haugh sprung,
It's near two hundred years agone,
And since that time it's known to be of truth,
There was ne're a lawful Brother married from Buckcleugh,
The more we may repent, and sigh and groan,
That they'r so Phænix like still but one,
Sir William Scot was Sir Walter's eldest Son,
And in his Heritage he did succeed to him,
A valiant Knight, and of much renown,
He Married with the honourable house of Hume,
His Son Sir Walter, that durst have shown his face,
To him that was as stout as Hercules,
He was inclin'd to Blood, as was rehearst,
He was married to Ker of Ferni-harst,
To Venus her Sister, he married again,
A beautiful Creature Dame Janet Beaton;
Sir William Scot of Branksom call'd White-cloak,
He was son to Buckcleugh, call'd wicked Wat,
As Fortune smil'd or frown'd,
Content that Worthy was,
He married a Sister of the House of Angus,
The good Lord Walter was Sir William's Son,
The better in Tiviot-dale shall never come,
For Valour, Wisdom, Friendship, Love and Truth,
He married Ker a Sister of Roxburgh,
Earl Walter was Lord Walter's Son,
A Mars for Valour, Wisdom and Renown,
His Courage durst a Lyon fear,
His Frowns would terrifi'd a Boar,
He married a sister of Errol,
Earl Francis his Father, Earl Walter did succeed,
Into his Earldom, but not to his Head;
Yet he wanted neither hand, head, nor heart,
But could not Act like to his Fathers part;
His Fathers Acts were all Military,
And he was much inclin'd to study,
His Father scorn'd to suffer a stain,
Neither of himself, nor of his Name;
With the House of Rothes married he,
An equal Match by Antiquitie;
She was but the relict of such a one,
The Son of a start-up Souldier new come home.
I have been through Scotland, Holland, and Sweden,
Yet ne're heard of a Gentleman in all his Kin,
Except one Switzer, which did verifie,
He was Bacchus Nevoy, the Uncle of Brandy;
That worthy Earl was soon by death assail'd,
'Gainst whom no mortal ever yet prevail'd;
He had no Heirs-male, but Daughters left behind,
For to enjoy his great Earldom and Land;
These Infants sweet left to their Guardians to keep,
Their Tutors oft suffered controul,
Their Mother was so impudent,
That she must alwayes have her intent;
The eldest Lady, I confess, she was not able for a man,
With Earl Tarras she did VVedd, it was by perswasion of her Dame,
Alas, she liv'd not very long,
There was no Procreation them between;
I wish to God there had been a Son,
It had been better for all poor Friends;
The Countes Sister did her succeed,
Then her Mother to London by Coach did hie,
And search't her a Husband beyond the Sea.
A pretty youth, and of High-birth,
By the Name of Graves that Boy did pass,
One Mr Ross his Pedagogue was,
In France, in Holland, and in Flanders,
When the truth was known, and the Lad fetcht home,
King Charles the second's bastard he prov'd to be,
And I believe his Maiden-head, he begat him young on Mrs Barly,
A prety Lady, I have her seen,
And very gallant in her time;
Sir Thomas Barly was her Sire,
A Knight that dwelt in Devonshire,
And after the Restauration,
When Charles the second came to his home,
The Weyms Countess, and her Daughter young,
At London stay'd, and the Youth fetch'd home,
James Scot he was call'd all along,
Which did continue certain moneths,
And then to Windsor did return,
Where he was made Duke of Monmouth;
King Edwards Badge he got, the Order of the Garter,
Perform'd with great Solemnity, and then to London did repair,
His Nuptial-day did then drew near.
To Charing Cross he did resort,
The King and Duke Royal did come there;
And most Nobles of the Court,
A most proper man he in time became,
As in any Princes Court was seen,
Ten thousand hearts they may lament,
That ever he should a Rebel been;
A Rebel he was in his time,
And did the Nation much perplex;
At his Invasion he was tane,
And his Head cut off with an ax:
In England now the Dutches Dwells,
Which to her Friends is a cursed Fate,
For if they Famish, Starve, or dy,
They cannot have a groat from that Estate.
The times of Old are quite forgot,
How Inferior Friends had still relief,
And how the worthiest of the Name,
Engadged themselves to hold up their Chief,
And in requital of their Love,
His Honor took of them such pain,
They never went unto the Law,
'Gainst one another at any time,
In whose case or cause soever it was,
Debts, Riots or Possessions,
Their Chief he was immediat Judge,
The Lawyers got nought of them;
Times have been very troublesome;
Since these Rebellions first began,
Which was then but fourty eight years agone,
And then our Chief he was but young,
In the five and twenty year of's age,
In the year of Grace fifty and two,
He rendered up his Steward-ship,
And had no Issue, but Females two;
And as Dalila with Sampson dealt,
When she cry'd, the Philistines are thee upon,
Such cruel Despight, Strife and Debat,
Remain into some bad VVomen;
She's like a Gardo countenane'd like Bendo,
Cunning as Nilo peeping through a window,
Which put the wandring Jew in such amazment,
Seeing such a face look through the casement;
When Lora a Bull long nourished in Cocitus,
VVith Sulphur-horns sent by the Emperor Titus,
Asked a stegmatick peribestan question,
If Alexander ever lived Physician,
VVhen Helen was for Priamus Son a Mate,
From Greece by Paru and his Band,
VVhich caus'd the Greeks the Trojan minds abate:
Some curs't the Boyes, and other some them ban'd:
The strumpet Queen, which brought the burning Brand,
That Helen fir'd, and wrak'd old Priamus Race;
And on their Names long living shame did brand
For head-strong lust runs an unbounded race;
This beauteous piece whose feature radiant blaze,
Made Mænelaus horn mad war to wadge,
And set all Troy in a combustious bleeze,
VVhose ten years triumphs scarce was worth their wage,
For all their Conquests, and their battering Rams,
Their leaders most return'd with heads like Rams,
Lo thus the burden of adulterous guilt,
A shoring vengeance Troy, and Trojans saw,
No Age, nor Sect, no Beauty, Gold nor Guilt,
VVithstood foretold Cassandrias secret fall;
She often said, false Helens beauteous blast,
Should be the cause, this mighty Grecians Power,
Their Names and Fames with Infamy should blast,
And how the gods on them would vengeance pour,
But poor Cassandra prophesied in vain,
The clamorous cryes were to the sensles Rocks,
The youths of Troy in mirry scornful Vein,
Securely sleeps, whilst Lust the Cradle rocks,
Till bloody burning Indignation come,
And all their mirth with Mourning overcome;
Yet great's the Glory in the Noble Mind,
Where Life and Death are equal in respect,
If Fates be good or bad, unkind or kind,
Not proud in Freedom, nor in Thral deject,
With Courage scorning Fortunes worst effect,
In spitting in foul Envyes cankered face,
True honor thus doth baser thoughts subject,
Esteeming Life a Slave, that serves disgrace,
Foul abject thoughts become the mind that's base,
That deems there is no better life than this,
Or after death doth fear a worser place,
VVhere guilt is payed the Guardian of a Miss;
But let swoln Envy swell untill she burst,
The noble mind defyes her, do her worst,
The vulgar sort with open port
Said, the Scot had much renown,
That their Heretrix was intermixt,
VVith a Bastard of the Crown.
King James the fifth his bastard Son
VVas of as much regard,
He married Buckcleugh's Relict
He being but a Laird.
The bastard got into Scotland,
Was never of such renown,
To prosper as the English do,
They oft usurp their Crown;
King Arthur of the round Table,
Begotten was in Adultery;
And so was both King Edelstoun,
And William of Normandie,
But Scotlands loyal Nobility
Is of a more rare degree,
Nor suffer any Bastard seed
To claim Soveraignity.
Since the first Fergus began
To King James the seventh,
We have had none but twain,
Of Bastards that usurp'd the Crown,
And short while they did Reign:
Gillis the Tyrant he was one,
King Evenus the first Bastard-son,
Codallus of Galloway cut him off.
In the second year of's Reign;
Duncan the second usurp'd the Crown,
Malcolm the third his Bastard-son,
But from an Usurper he did it gain,
Which was from wicked Donald the seventh.
Mackpender, then of Merns the Thane,
An Earl of high renown,
He brought King Duncan to his end,
Nine Months after he was crown'd.
The Bastard Kings of Scotland then
Had but small Prosperity,
And for the future I hope none,
In Scotland shall ever be;
Then Edgar the just and lawful King,
Upon his Throne was set,
And anointed of Dunkels Bishop,
Whose name was Mr. John Scot.
Of Bastards I will speak no more,
Since I declar'd the truth,
My purpose now is to return,
And speak of bold Buckcleugh.

That worthy valiant Son of Mars,
That most illustrious one,
The United-Provinces him should blaze
To Ages that's to come:
The year and time I must exprime,
That from Holland came he,
The Sixteen hundred and thirty three,
At London he did die;
In November Month to speak the truth,
It was our woful fate,
To the Bier many Friends came,
To see him ly in State,
The Nobles of the Court repair'd,
Clad in their sable Weed,
And Country-men in Flocks came in,
To see's Herse when he was dead;
Patrick Scot then of Thirlston,
A worthy Gentleman,
He took the care of all Affairs,
Caus'd his Corps to be imbalm'd,
All being done that wit of man,
Could do or understand,
Then a Ship he fraughted on the Thames,
To bring him to Scotland,
The Ship did fall the River down,
And Greenwich did obey.
Then to Gravesend they did come,
And two days there did stay;
When Wind and Tide they both apply'd,
And hois'd their Sails on hie,
Thirlston came aboard himself,
Ere they reach'd Tilburie,
From once they past by the Lands-end,
The Storm did rise so high,
For three Months time they liv'd in pain,
Sore toil'd upon the Sea,
They were almost sunk, yet sav'd the Ship at last,
Their Sails into the shallow Seas were cast,
Yet anchor'd safely and did remain,
Whilst they did put to Sea again:
Then 'mongst their old acquaintance storm and flaws,
Each Moment near to Death's devouring jaws,
The weary day they past through many fears,
Landed at last quite sunk o're head and ears,
All famish'd, starv'd, like silly Rats all drown'd;
From succour far they left their Ship on ground,
Cast out their Water, whilst they poorly drapt,
And up and down to dry themselves they hapt;
Thus they their weary Pilgrimage did wear,
Expecting for the Weather calm and clear:
Then madly, yet study out to the Sea they thrust,
'Gainst Winds and Storms so hie,
By Prignal hidden Rocks which hidden ly,
Ten Mile within the Sea, some wet, some dry,
There they supposed their danger most of all,
If they upon these ragged Rocks should fall:
But Sol, that old continual Traveller,
From Titan can amount his flaming Car,
The Weather kept his course with fire, hail and rage,
Without appearance that it would e're aswage,
Whilst they did pass these hills, dails and downs,
Every moment they looked to be drown'd,
The Wind still blowing, and the Sea so hie,
As if the lofty Waves would kiss the Skie,
That many times they wish'd with all their hearts,
Their Ship were sunk, and they in Landward Carts,
Or any part to keep them safe and dry,
The Water raged so outragiously;
For it is said, since memory of man,
Or since Winds and Seas to ebb and flow began,
No man can mind of such stormy Weather,
And continual Rage so long together;
Thirteen long Weeks that many thought,
The Wind blew South and South-west,
And rais'd the Sea each Wave above another,
Of fair and calm Weather not an hour together,
And whither they did go by Sun or Moon,
Either by Midnight or by Noon;
The Sun did rise with most suspicious face,
Of foul forbidding VVeather purple red,
His radiant tincture East-north-east were spread;
In Norway by Slewgates antient Castle,
Against rugged Rocks and VVaves they tug'd,
The Moon and Stars were covered under Cloud,
By Rubnie and by Rubnie-marsh,
The Tide against them, and the VVind was harsh,
'Twixt Eolus and Neptune there was such strife;
That men never saw such VVeather in their life,
Tost and retost, retost and tost again,
With rumbling and tumbling on the rowling Main,
The boisterous breaking Billows of the curl'd Locks,
Did impetuously beat against the Rocks,
The wind, which like a Horse, whose wind is broke,
Blew thick and short, that they were almost choack'd,
As it outragiously the Billows waves,
The gust like dust blown in the brimish waves,
And thus the Wind and Seas these boysterous gods,
Fell by the ears stark mad at furious odds,
There Stalward Ships turmoild 'twixt Shoars and Seas,
Aloft, or Low, as Storms and Floods did please,
Sometimes upon a foaming mountain top,
Whose hight did seem the heav'n to under-prop,
Then straight to such prophanity they fell,
As if they div'd into the depths of Hell,
The Clouds, like ryp Apostoms burst and showr'd,
Their matt'ry, watry substance Head-long pour'd,
Yet though all things were mutable and fickle,
They all agreed to sauce them in a pickle;
Of water fresh and salt from seas and skyes,
Which with our sweat joyned in triplicity,
Bright Phœbus hid his golden head with fear,
Not daring to behold the dangers there;
Whilst in that strait and exigent they stand,
They see and wish to land, yet durst not land,
Like rowling hills the billows beat and roar,
Against the melancholy benchy Shoar,
That if they landed, neither strength nor wit,
Could save their Ship from being sunk or split;
To keep the sea straight puffing Æolus breath,
Did threaten still to blow them unto death,
The waves amain oft boarded them,
Whilst they almost six hours did there remain,
On every side with danger and distress,
Resolv'd to run a Shoar a dungeonness,
There stood some thirteen Cottages together,
To shelter poor Fisher-men from wind and weather;
And there some people were, as they supposed,
As though the doors and windows were all closed,
They near the Land, into the Sea soon lap,
To see what people there these houses kept;
They knockt and call'd at each from house to house,
But found no Mankind-form, Cat, Rat, nor Mouse,
These news all sad, and comfortless and cold,
Amongst the Crew it presently was told,
Assuring them, the best way they did think,
Was to leave their Ship, whether she split or sink,
Resolved thus, they altogether please
To put her Head to Shoar, and her Stern to Seas;
They leaping over-board amidst the Sea,
Almost desperat whether to live or dy,
Then from top to toe they strend,
Pluckt off their shirts, and then them wring'd,
Till Wind and Sun their want supply'd,
And made both out-side and in-side dry'd,
Two miles from thence a silly town there stood,
To which they went to bring some food:
The Town did shew their pity, but for what?
They made them pay triple for what they got,
But what they got Thirleston stood not for to pay double;
But these peasants made him to pay twice triple,
Because these Harbours where their Ship rod still,
Belong'd to men which in that Town did dwell,
At Thirlston's request they did send a man,
To possess the Crew in that hospitable Den,
With a brazen Kettle, and a wooden Dish,
To serve their need, and dress their flesh and fish:
Then from the fleshers they brought Lamb and Sheep,
Ale from the Ostler-house, and besoms for to sweep;
Their Cottage for want of usage was moisty,
Myrish, sluggish and dusty,
There twenty days they did roast, boil and broil,
And toyl and moyle, and keep a noble coyle:
For only they kept open house alone,
And he that wanted Beef, might eat a Stone,
Their Grand-dame Earth with beds did all befriend them;
And bountifully all their lengths did lend them;
That laughing, or else lying down did make,
Their backs and sides sore, and their ribs to ake;
Mean time in the Town Thirlston did remain;
His Lodging was litle better than them:
On Saturnday the winds did seem to cease,
And brawling Seas began to hold their peace:
Then they like tennents, beggarly and poor,
Intended to leave the key beneath the door:
But that the Land-lord did that shift prevent,
Who came in pudding-time and took his Rent:
Then Thirlston came before the Sun was peeping,
They lanch'd to sea, and left their house keeping,
When presently they saw the drifting skyes,
Grin pout and lowr and winds and seas 'gain ryse,
Countrey-men wish Thirlston go by Land,
To a Harbour that was near at hand;
The name of it was Fresenbered,
And there their Ship might by report, be reared:
But their council was not worth a Plack,
He'd never leave the Ship, to ride on horses back;
Yet Fortune brought them to the Harbour there,
Where that their Ship they somewhat did repair,
And then to Sea, with mounted sails on hie,
They bound for Scotland, and left Norway:
There was but small amendment all that time,
The weather was much in one kind.
The wind and weather plaid on each so wild,
As if they meant not to be reconcil'd;
She, whilst they leapt upon these liquid hills,
Where Purpoises did shew their Phins and Gills:
Yet after that both water, wind and seas,
And a pleasant Gale blew from the North North-east,
Æolus and Neptun privat, and no way brief;
By providence they did arrive at Leith.
That troublesome toilsome Journey, to be brief,
Fifteen weeks was between London and Leith.
To all Ages it should ne're be forgot,
The pains that Patrick Scot of Thirlston took.
Æneas on Anchises he took pains enough,
But Patrick Scot he took more of the Earl of Buckcleugh;
All that men can do, when Princes do command,
Their Loyalty to show, and venture Life and Land:
I have known many on Buckcleughs means was bred,
Yet one night, from home, they never lay from Bed.