Classic Poem

T HOW emptie pen pas but experience
With dull indyre and do thy diligence
This pure Coplaint with pietie to deploir
Of Muses vane I ask na Eloquence
Bot only God of his greit Excellence
Him to ressaif in Euerlasting gloir
Quhome dolent deith hes laitly done deuoir
Unlukellie allace, gif man micht mend it
Slane with ane schot, sa is the gude Lord endit.

Methwen may murne, and all the bounds about
For Hary Stewart, that was bauld and stout
Constant and kynd with qualiteis conding
In smallest danger nane beleuand dout
Invyous Fortoun swa did waill him out
Lyke as at Roxburgh raid scho slew our King
Ane greit foirtakin of ane weill war thing
To se the saikles puneist sa with roddis
The scharper scurge is cumand for the Toddis.

Sic is thair craft in clymming to the Crowne
The pure King Hary pieteously put downe
Nocht be thair force, bot fyring of ane trane
The Erle of Murray murdreist with ane lowne
And Lennox last ze saw in Striuiling Towne.
Gude George Ruthuen with thay rebalds slane,
Garleis, Dundas, quhilk wer baith trew & plane
Dowglas of Lyntoun, & gude westiraw was last
With lytill meaning fra the men be past.

Bot to my taill and Tragedie returne
The gude Lord Methuen makis me to murne
That all my senses suddanly doun fais.
Quha hes the breist nor it in baill wald burne?
To se zone tratoures do sa foule ane turne,
Gif that our Lords wald craib for ony cais
wa worth the tyme he went about zone wais
wa worth the Towne, the Castell and the craig
Sic tyme sall cum, that God sall pour his plaig.

wa worth his weirds (gif ony weirds can be)
Parcas, Lacheses, Atrapus all thre
Fy on the Fortoun with thy fenzeit smyle
war deid substantiall maid of stane or tre
I suld not rest bot me reuenge on the.
Micht thow not spair yat Lord to liue a quhyle?
Ane of the best was borne in all this Ile
Gif it wald rute, to reckin out sic taillis
Gude to be war, quhen wickitnes preuaillis.

Of twentie zeiris, zing and sa discreit
Meik of his maners, mansuetude and sweit,
Lord lyke allace, he had ouir lytill feir
Aganis his fais, ay formest on his feit
With lamis vult, and with ane Lyouns spreit
Quha had mair grace to gouerne men of weir
And gif I spak, of Culuering, bow, and speir
He was not borne was better of sic playis
(war he not Lord) nor lyke him of his dayis.

Zing, lusty, lufesum, liberall and large
Ane greit defender of our chosin Barge
In trublous time yow micht haif steirt ye ruther
Few better heir bene Chiftane to haue charge
Aganis Lord Greid to beir the goldin Targe
In all this land thow left not sic ane vther
The sacts of God may say thay want ane brother
Sic as at na tyme can thay get for graith
Sa frak, sa fordwart to defend thair faith.

In the was wit, wisdome, and worthynes,
In the was grace, groundit with godlynes,
In the was meiknes and humilitie,
In the was fredome, force and ferynes,
In the was manly mowis and marynes,
with mercy, science, and ciuilitie
To the Dame nature gaue abilitie
Pringnant of wit, of policie but peir,
Rype of ingyne, with iudgement perqueir.

In honest pastyme was thy haill delyte
Thow bure the toung that neuer spak dispyte
Walkryse in weirs, and watcheman to the rest
For na offence culd thow be forsit to flyte
Aganis thy seruandis, thocht thay wer to wyte,
But with thy wysdome weyit it at the best
Thy houshald trim, and treit weill thay confest
Quhairfoir thay mys the mair nor all the laif
Quhen thay remember on the giftis thow gaif.

Had Stewarts stoutnes, as the mater stands
Thay wald not faill to fecht it with thair hands
To se yame murdreist doun yat dois belag yame
Bot sum ar feirit for fyring of thair lands
And sum ar lyand obleist under bands
That dar not steir, suppois the tother hang yame
Blist be the barne yat is not borne amang thame
Thay beand beistis, that hes bene men befoir
Copairit with Gedds, that dois thair fry deuoir.

Fy on the Atholl, quhat dois thow requyre?
May not thir murthers mufe thy hart to Ire
Gif thow had mettall man to bring the to
Thy dowbill faith may not abyde the fyre
Swa misbeleif fall leif the in the myre.
Or hes thy wyfe the wyte of it, quhair is scho?
Defend the caus man quhill the King cum to
Gif naturall kyndnes kindillis vp thy breist
We beand doun, na dout thow salbe neist.

God saue King James, thow may say allace,
Exceptand only God mon gyde thy grace
For temporall Lords thay leif the few on lyue,
Thy Father murdreist in ane mischant place
Syne baith thy Regents of ane Royall race
With sindrie vther Nobilis four or fyue
And last of all, I laith wer to discryue
The manly Methwen mischantly put downe
Slane for thy saik, for sauing of thy Crowne.

For the mantenance of thy lyfe and law
I note bot few, or nane with sic ouirthraw
As only Ruthwen, this my ressoun quhy
His Father first, gif I the suith suld schaw
Deit in exyle for honest caus ze knaw
His douchtie brothers deith can nane deny
Now Methwen last, beleuand sorrow by,
Quhilk hes mair barrat to his breist inbrocht
Nor all the laif gif he culd leif his thocht.

Thocht we be subiect to mortalitie
Zit God Indewis vs with sic qualitie
That natural kyndnes causis vs to cair
Bot let na Carnall Corporalitie
Conplane on Christ for partialitie
To tak his awin men outher lait or air
Lat deid to deid and die not in dispair
Ryse and reuenge the Ruthwen on zone rout
Quhat will it mend to murne thy senses out.

As to the Lords that hes begun this actiou
I feir thair tyme be turnand to detractioun
Gif thay repent not this I spak befoir
Exame thair conscience of particular pactioun
Gif thay be fauourers of the tother factioun
(And gif swa be) thair mys mon be the moir
God will not be abusit with sic vane gloir,
The storme approches quhen ye Poills ar fairest
The langer spairit, the plaigue is ay the sairest

The day is neir, as I dar weill deplane zow
The wraith of God is lyke to gang aganis zow,
For spairing men of Macheuillis Scuillis
How may ze saue zone smaiks yat wald haif slane zow
And ze wer in yair hads yai wald not hane zow
Thay play the men, & ze the febill fuillis
Quhat is the caus, let se zour curage cuillis?
Particular proffeit durst I speik it out
Zit thay ar daylie murdreist doun thay dout.

To mak sic change, ze wair zour wit in vane
As thairs for ouris, and ouris for thairs agane
Thair mo ze grant yair groud als gude as zours
Bot quhair ze gat thame, wald ze flour the grane
That beand done, na dout thay wald be fane
For to renounce thair Law and cum to ours,
Do ze not sa, ze sall thoill scharper schours
Sic vane excambion can I not considder
As marrow tratours and the trew togidder.

I dar be bauld to say sen this began
Had we bot vsit the victorie we wan
With gloir to God that gaif them in our hands
we nedit not or now to want ane man.
Bot quhen we tak thame solistatioun than
Dois clap thair heid, the counsall sa commandis
Quhairfoir I feir, that God sal burne ye wandis
As for exempill I can let zow seit
For spairing sinfull how the saikles deit

As Quheit is strukin for the stra besyde
And siluer fyne mon to the Furnes glyde
To get the dros deuydit as we se
Thocht King Josias did in Christ confyde
Befoir the plaigue come God will sa prouyde,
He will not thoill the just with thame to die
Bot quhair he takis away sic men as he
The riche, the wyse, the Capitane, or the gyde
Thair sall the pepill punischment abyde.

Quhat nedit Noy for sin to suffer wrak?
Nor faithfull Lot, bot for the wickits saik,
Caleb and Josua in cuming to the land
For Ophny and Phines that the Battell straik
The Innocent Ely all his banis braik,
The Ark of God was caryit of thair hand
And zit thair fais micht better haue lattin it stand
Suppois the saikles slane was for offences
Zit did the Phelistims faill of thair pretences.

And gredy Acan for the geir he hid
Twa goldin braislettis lytill thing he did
Zit was the pepill puneist for sic playis
Haue we sic wrangous geir? na God forbeid
As Crowats, Sensours, or ane Challeis leid
Quhilk will be found na fault now heir a dayis
For spairing Agag as the Scripture sayis
The hous of Saule was puneist and his seid
Not spairing Jonathan for his douchtie deid.

Siclyke King Dauid thoillit pane and greif
His wickit barnetyme brocht him to mischeif
His Capitane Joab Absolone forbure
Bot far ma Joabs heir for thair releif
with solistatioun quhen we tak ane theif
Suppois ze wist he wrocht zour self iniure
Swa sum beleuis haue baith the sydes sa sure
And zit I hope thay sall not want thair hyre
As Absolone set Joabs corne in fyre.

The King Roboam raschely did ouirluik
The auld wyse counsall, and the fulische tuik
Quhairfoir he tynt his kyndlie Trybes ten
And Jeroboam in that samin buik
Set vp new Idols and his God forsuik,
Quhill Abiah slew fyue hundreth thousand men
Swa Bennadab was Captiue as ze ken,
Bot quhair the iust dois ioyne thame with forsakin
Be war thay get not wickit Acabs takin.

Quhat dois it proffeit Poetrie prophane?
Sen trew Preicheours speikis it to zow plane
Zit neuer mercy in zour mynd remordis
As fruteles seid it neuer growis a grane
Bot to my taill heir I returne agane
This Tragedie may staik to tell the Lordis
Ane thousand fyue hundreth Sempill sa recordis
Thre scoir and twelf suppois the veirse be vane
The thrid of marche was worthy Methwe slane.

The Lord to delyuer the laif of this blude
And send vs ane sythmet of yis suddane slauchter
The King & his counsall inspyre yame with gude
And mak vs not an futestuil to our fais lauchter.