Classic Poem

The Regentis Tragedie ending with ane
exhortatioun.

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

Quhat leid on lyfe wald nocht lament his lose?
Wais me to want him, is the commoun voce
For sic ane Prince sall neuer pure man haif,
Tint be ane Tratour, steilling vp ane close,
Possest in purpois, lyfe for lyfe to cose,
Bot na compair, ane Kings Sone to ane knaif,
Sen he is gone agane my will to graif,
Throw all this Realme I dar weill mak this ruse,
Rang nocht his maik sen buryit was the Bruse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apperandly thir plaigis are powrit out,
To wraik this warld, and wait ze quhair about?
Because we want na vice vnder the heuin:
Sen double murther markis to reule the rout,
With Niniueitis lat vs ga cry and schout,
For to retreit zone sentence Justly geuin,
Zit thow gude Lord that Judgis all thingis euin,
Seand the perrell that ouer the pepill standis,
Lat nocht thair blude be socht at saikles handis.

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

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

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

Had we ane heid wald stoutly vndertakit,
The Barronis sayis thay suld be bauldly bakit,
Mycht thay for tyritnes trauell of thir tounis:
Quhy stand ze aw of Tratouriris twyse detractit?
Think ze not schame to heir zour Lordschipis lakit?
Sum feiris yair flesche, sum grenis to gadder cronnis,
Sum happis thair heids, sum belttis yame vp in gounis,
Luke gif zour partie prydis thame in thair spurring,
Kerpand the feildis and fryis not in thair furring.

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

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

The Lord of Hostes that heuin & eirth commandis,
To keip our King from all vnhappy handis,
The Quene of Ingland and hir Counsall to:
Ze feir the Frenchemen suld ouerlay thir landis,
Bot I heir say be sum that vnderstandis,
The Doctouris doutis bot thay haif mair ado:
Our Quene is keipit straitly, thair stands scho:
Ingland will help zow, and ze help zour sellis,
And be the contrair, craif thame na thing ellis.

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

The Tragedeis Lenuoy

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

Is na remeid, fra he be deid,
Na man to seik ane mendis:
Or quha is heir, dar brek ane speir,
Upon zone lymmeris lendis?
Ze dar not mum, quhill Saidlar cum,
To sa quhat Ingland sendis:
Thinkand to sayit, and ay delayit,
And swa the mater endis.

With sychis and sobbis, and beltit robbis,
Ze counterfite the dule:
Quhat douchtie deidis, to weir sic weidis,
Except it wer ane fule.
Mak of the towne, and cow thame downe,
Now or zour curage cule:
For Maddie sayis, byde ze aucht dayis,
Ze be not thair quhill Zule.

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

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

I think it best, ze tak na rest,
Gif ze durst vndertak it
And we be trew, we ar anew,
Ze salbe bauldly bakit.
Bot sen I se, it will not be,
That meter will not mak it:
The Feynd mak cair, I say na mair,
I rew that euer I spak it.