Classic Poem

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

Bot breifly for to breif in bill,
Thay seme to be ouerluikit:
Seing our Lordis sa lang ly still,
Men meinis thay will miscuikit.
Zour siluer beis na langer huikit
Gar pay zour men of weir,
Zone bludy Boucheours or thay bruikit,
Fordwart zour selfis but feir.

Thay Renigats, thay Rubiatouris
Hes stollin our Regentis lyfe,
Thay treuthles Tygars, thay trinfauld Tratours
Hes steirit vp this stryfe.
Of thame sall nouther man, bairne, nor wyfe
Eschew mischeuous chance:
Thay Ruffyis be thay neuer sa ryfe,
Thay get na helpe of France.

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

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

Frome lyfe to deith, gif siclyke change,
Had happinit ony of zow,
And he zit leuing to Reuenge
It had not bene till now.
Reuenge ze not his deid I trow,
Gods vengeance is decreittit:
For giltles blude ze knaw not how
Denuncit to retreittit.

Argyle and Boyde sall to zow cum
To gar feche hame the Quene:
My Lords I pray zow all and sum
To mark weill quhat I mene.
It suld zow mufe all to be tene
Quhen ze the message heir,
Sen hautie wordis bot spokin bene
To gar zow tak sum feir.

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

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

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

Fordwart thairfoir with fyre and swords,
For to reuenge this cryme,
And lippin lytill in leing words:
For thocht I speik in ryme.
Treuth it was only to dryue tyme,
That thay war hidder sent:
And had thay force or it war pryme
Ze wald se thair Intent.

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

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

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