The Deploratioun of the Deith of Quene Magdalene
1
O cruell Deith! To greit is thy puissance!
Devorar of all erthlie levyng thingis.
Adam, we may the wyit of this mischance!
In thy default this cruell tyrane ringis,
And spairis nother empryour nor kingis.
And now, allace, hes reft furth of this land,
The flour of France and confort of Scotland.
2
Father Adam, allace that thow abusit
Thy fre wyll, being inobedient!
Thow chesit deith, and lesting lyfe refusit.
Thy successioun, allace, that may repent,
That thow hes maid mankynd so impotent
That it may mak to Deith no resistance:
Exemple of our quene, the flour of France.
3
O dreidfull dragoun with thy dulefull dart,
Quhilk did nocht spair of feminine the flour,
Bot cruellie did pers hir throuch the hart,
And wald nocht give hir respite for ane hour,
To remane with hir prince and paramour,
That scho at laiser mycht have tane licence.
Scotland, on the, may cry ane loud vengeance!
4
Thow leit Mathusalem leif nine houndreth yeir
Thre score and nyne, bot, in thy furious rage,
Thow did devore this young princes but peir,
Or scho was compleit sevintene yeir of age.
Gredie gorman! Quhy did thow nocht asswage
Thy furious rage contrair that lustie quene
Tyll we sum fruct had of hir bodie sene?
5
O dame Nature! Thow did no diligence
Contrair this theif, quhilk al the warld confoundis!
Had thow, with naturall targis, maid defence,
That brybour had nocht cummit within hir boundis,
And had bene savit frome sic mortall stoundis
This mony ane yeir. Bot quhair was thy discretion,
That leit hir pas til we had sene succession?
6
O Venus, with thy blynd sone, Cupido,
Fy on yow baith, that maid no resistance!
In to your court ye never had sic two,
So leill luffaris, without dissimulance,
As James the Fift and Magdalene of France,
Discending boith of blude imperiall,
To quhome in lufe I find no perigall.
7
For, as Leander swame outthrow the flude
To his fair lady Hero mony nichtis,
So did this prince, throw bulryng stremis wode,
With erlis, baronis, squyaris and with knichtis,
Contrair Neptune and Eol and thare michtis,
And left his realme in greit disesperance,
To seik his lufe, the first dochter of France.
8
And scho, lyke prudent quene Penelope,
Ful constantlie wald change hym for none uther.
And, for his plesour, left hir awin countre,
Without regard to father or to mother,
Takyng no cure of sister, nor of brother;
Bot schortlie tuke hir leif, and left thame all,
For lufe of hym to quhome lufe maid hir thrall.
9
O dame Fortune! Quhare was thy greit confort
Till hir to quhome thow was so favorable?
Thy slyding gyftis maid hir no support —
Hir hie lynage, nor riches intellible.
I se thy puissance bene bot variable,
Quhen hir father, the most hie cristinit king,
Till his deir chyld mycht mak no supporting.
10
The potent prince, hir lustie lufe and knicht,
With his most hardie noblis of Scotland,
Contrair that bailfull bribour had no micht.
Thocht all the men had bene at his command
Of France, Flanderis, Italie, and Ingland,
With fiftie thousand millioun of tresour,
Mycht nocht prolong that ladyis lyfe ane hour.
11
O Paris! Of all citeis principall!
Quhilk did resave our prince with laud and glorie,
Solempnitlie, throw arkis triumphall
(Quhilk day bene digne to put in memorie),
For, as Pompey, efter his victorie,
Was in to Rome resavit with greit joy,
So thow resavit our richt redoutit roy.
12
Bot at his mariage maid upon the morne,
Sic solace and solempnizatioun
Was never sene afore, sen Christ was borne,
Nor to Scotland sic consolatioun.
Thare selit was the confirmatioun
Of the weill keipit Ancient Alliance,
Maid betwix Scotland and the realme of France.
13
I never did se one day more glorious:
So mony, in so riche abilyementis
Of silk and gold, with stonis precious!
Sic banketting! Sic sound of instrumentis,
With sang, and dance, and martiall tornamentis!
Bot, lyke ane storme efter ane plesand morrow,
Sone was our solace changit in to sorrow.
14
O traytour Deith, quhom none may contramand,
Thow mycht have sene the preparatioun
Maid be the Thre Estaitis of Scotland,
With greit confort and consolatioun,
In everilk ciete, castell, toure, and town;
And how ilk nobill set his hole intent
To be excellent in habilyement.
15
Theif! Saw thow nocht the greit preparativis
Of Edinburgh, the nobill famous toun?
Thou saw the peple labouring for thare lyvis
To mak triumphe, with trump and clarioun.
Sic plesour was never in to this regioun
As suld have bene, the day of hir entrace,
With greit propynis gevin till hir grace.
16
Thow saw makand rycht costlie scaffalding,
Depayntit weill with gold and asure fyne,
Reddie preparit for the upsetting
With fontanis, flowing watter cleir, and wyne;
Disagysit folkis, lyke creaturis devyne,
On ilk scaffold to play ane syndrie storie:
Bot all in greiting turnit thow that glorie.
17
Thow saw mony ane lustie fresche galland
Weill ordourit for resaving of thair quene.
Ilk craftisman, with bent bow in his hand,
Full galyeartlie in schort clething of grene.
The honest burges cled, thow suld have sene,
Sum in scarlot and sum in claith of grane,
For till have met thare lady soverane.
18
Provest, baillies, and lordis of the toun;
The senatouris, in ordour consequent,
Cled in to silk, of purpure, blak, and brown;
Syne the greit lordis of the parliament,
With mony knychtlie barroun and baurent
In silk and gold, in colouris confortable:
Bot thow, allace, all turnit in to sable!
19
Syne, all the lordis of religioun,
And princes of the preistis venerable,
Full plesandlie in thare processioun,
With all the cunnyng clerkis honorable.
Bot thiftuouslie, thow tyrane tresonable,
All thare greit solace and solempniteis
Thow turnit in till dulefull dirigeis.
20
Syne, nixt in ordour, passing throw the toun,
Thow suld have hard the din of instrumentis,
Of tabrone, trumpet, schalme, and clarioun,
With reird redoundand throw the elementis!
The herauldis with thare awfull vestimentis,
With maseris, upon ather of thare handis,
To rewle the preis with burneist silver wandis.
21
Syne, last of all, in ordour triumphall,
That most illuster princes honorable;
With hir, the lustie ladyis of Scotland,
Quhilk suld have bene ane sycht most delectable.
Hir rayment to rehers I am nocht able:
Of gold and perle, and precious stonis brycht,
Twynkling lyke sternis in ane frostie nycht.
22
Under ane pale of gold scho suld have past,
Be burgessis borne, clothit in silkis fyne.
The greit maister of houshold all thare last;
With hym, in ordour, all the kingis tryne,
Quhais ordinance war langsum to defyne.
On this maner, scho, passing throw the toun,
Suld have resavit mony benisoun
23
Of virginis, and of lustie burges wyiffis,
Quhilk suld have bene ane sycht celestiall,
" Vive la Royne!" cryand for thare lyiffis;
With ane harmonious sound angelicall,
In everilk corner myrthis musicall.
Bot thow, tyrane, in quhome is found no grace,
Our " Alleluya !" hes turnit in " Allace!"
24
Thow suld have hard the ornate oratouris
Makand hir hienes salutatioun,
Boith of the clergy, toun, and counsalouris,
With mony notable narratioun.
Thow suld have sene hir coronatioun,
In the fair abbay of Holy Rude,
In presence of ane myrthfull multitude.
25
Sic banketing, sic aufull tornamentis,
On hors and fute that tyme quhilk suld have bene!
Sic Chapell Royall, with sic instrumentis,
And craftie musick, singing frome the splene,
In this countre was never hard nor sene!
Bot all this greit solempnite and gam
Turnit thow hes, in Requiem aeternam .
26
Inconstant warld, thy freindschip I defy,
Sen strenth, nor wisdome, riches, nor honour,
Vertew, nor bewtie, none may certefy
Within thy boundis for to remane ane hour.
Quhat valith to the king or empryour,
Sen pryncely puissance may nocht be exemit
From deith, quhose dolour can nocht be expremit?
27
Sen man in erth hes na place permanent,
Bot all mon passe be that horrible port,
Lat us pray to the Lord omnipotent,
That dulefull day, to be our greit comfort;
That in his realme we may with hym resort
(Quhilkis from the hell with his blude ransonit bene),
With Magdalene, umquhyle of Scotland quene.
28
O Deith! Thocht thow the bodie may devore
Of every man, yit hes thow no puissance
Of thare vertew for to consume the glore;
As salbe sene of Magdalene of France,
Umquhyle our quene, quhom poetis sal avance
And put hir in perpetuall memorie:
So sall hir fame of the have victorie.
29
Thocht thou hes slane the hevinly flour of France,
Quhilk impit was in to the thrissill kene,
Quharein all Scotland saw thair hail plesance,
And maid the lyoun rejoysit frome the splene;
Thocht rute be pullit frome the levis grene,
The smell of it sall, in dispyte of the,
Keip, ay, twa realmes in peice and amite.
O cruell Deith! To greit is thy puissance!
Devorar of all erthlie levyng thingis.
Adam, we may the wyit of this mischance!
In thy default this cruell tyrane ringis,
And spairis nother empryour nor kingis.
And now, allace, hes reft furth of this land,
The flour of France and confort of Scotland.
2
Father Adam, allace that thow abusit
Thy fre wyll, being inobedient!
Thow chesit deith, and lesting lyfe refusit.
Thy successioun, allace, that may repent,
That thow hes maid mankynd so impotent
That it may mak to Deith no resistance:
Exemple of our quene, the flour of France.
3
O dreidfull dragoun with thy dulefull dart,
Quhilk did nocht spair of feminine the flour,
Bot cruellie did pers hir throuch the hart,
And wald nocht give hir respite for ane hour,
To remane with hir prince and paramour,
That scho at laiser mycht have tane licence.
Scotland, on the, may cry ane loud vengeance!
4
Thow leit Mathusalem leif nine houndreth yeir
Thre score and nyne, bot, in thy furious rage,
Thow did devore this young princes but peir,
Or scho was compleit sevintene yeir of age.
Gredie gorman! Quhy did thow nocht asswage
Thy furious rage contrair that lustie quene
Tyll we sum fruct had of hir bodie sene?
5
O dame Nature! Thow did no diligence
Contrair this theif, quhilk al the warld confoundis!
Had thow, with naturall targis, maid defence,
That brybour had nocht cummit within hir boundis,
And had bene savit frome sic mortall stoundis
This mony ane yeir. Bot quhair was thy discretion,
That leit hir pas til we had sene succession?
6
O Venus, with thy blynd sone, Cupido,
Fy on yow baith, that maid no resistance!
In to your court ye never had sic two,
So leill luffaris, without dissimulance,
As James the Fift and Magdalene of France,
Discending boith of blude imperiall,
To quhome in lufe I find no perigall.
7
For, as Leander swame outthrow the flude
To his fair lady Hero mony nichtis,
So did this prince, throw bulryng stremis wode,
With erlis, baronis, squyaris and with knichtis,
Contrair Neptune and Eol and thare michtis,
And left his realme in greit disesperance,
To seik his lufe, the first dochter of France.
8
And scho, lyke prudent quene Penelope,
Ful constantlie wald change hym for none uther.
And, for his plesour, left hir awin countre,
Without regard to father or to mother,
Takyng no cure of sister, nor of brother;
Bot schortlie tuke hir leif, and left thame all,
For lufe of hym to quhome lufe maid hir thrall.
9
O dame Fortune! Quhare was thy greit confort
Till hir to quhome thow was so favorable?
Thy slyding gyftis maid hir no support —
Hir hie lynage, nor riches intellible.
I se thy puissance bene bot variable,
Quhen hir father, the most hie cristinit king,
Till his deir chyld mycht mak no supporting.
10
The potent prince, hir lustie lufe and knicht,
With his most hardie noblis of Scotland,
Contrair that bailfull bribour had no micht.
Thocht all the men had bene at his command
Of France, Flanderis, Italie, and Ingland,
With fiftie thousand millioun of tresour,
Mycht nocht prolong that ladyis lyfe ane hour.
11
O Paris! Of all citeis principall!
Quhilk did resave our prince with laud and glorie,
Solempnitlie, throw arkis triumphall
(Quhilk day bene digne to put in memorie),
For, as Pompey, efter his victorie,
Was in to Rome resavit with greit joy,
So thow resavit our richt redoutit roy.
12
Bot at his mariage maid upon the morne,
Sic solace and solempnizatioun
Was never sene afore, sen Christ was borne,
Nor to Scotland sic consolatioun.
Thare selit was the confirmatioun
Of the weill keipit Ancient Alliance,
Maid betwix Scotland and the realme of France.
13
I never did se one day more glorious:
So mony, in so riche abilyementis
Of silk and gold, with stonis precious!
Sic banketting! Sic sound of instrumentis,
With sang, and dance, and martiall tornamentis!
Bot, lyke ane storme efter ane plesand morrow,
Sone was our solace changit in to sorrow.
14
O traytour Deith, quhom none may contramand,
Thow mycht have sene the preparatioun
Maid be the Thre Estaitis of Scotland,
With greit confort and consolatioun,
In everilk ciete, castell, toure, and town;
And how ilk nobill set his hole intent
To be excellent in habilyement.
15
Theif! Saw thow nocht the greit preparativis
Of Edinburgh, the nobill famous toun?
Thou saw the peple labouring for thare lyvis
To mak triumphe, with trump and clarioun.
Sic plesour was never in to this regioun
As suld have bene, the day of hir entrace,
With greit propynis gevin till hir grace.
16
Thow saw makand rycht costlie scaffalding,
Depayntit weill with gold and asure fyne,
Reddie preparit for the upsetting
With fontanis, flowing watter cleir, and wyne;
Disagysit folkis, lyke creaturis devyne,
On ilk scaffold to play ane syndrie storie:
Bot all in greiting turnit thow that glorie.
17
Thow saw mony ane lustie fresche galland
Weill ordourit for resaving of thair quene.
Ilk craftisman, with bent bow in his hand,
Full galyeartlie in schort clething of grene.
The honest burges cled, thow suld have sene,
Sum in scarlot and sum in claith of grane,
For till have met thare lady soverane.
18
Provest, baillies, and lordis of the toun;
The senatouris, in ordour consequent,
Cled in to silk, of purpure, blak, and brown;
Syne the greit lordis of the parliament,
With mony knychtlie barroun and baurent
In silk and gold, in colouris confortable:
Bot thow, allace, all turnit in to sable!
19
Syne, all the lordis of religioun,
And princes of the preistis venerable,
Full plesandlie in thare processioun,
With all the cunnyng clerkis honorable.
Bot thiftuouslie, thow tyrane tresonable,
All thare greit solace and solempniteis
Thow turnit in till dulefull dirigeis.
20
Syne, nixt in ordour, passing throw the toun,
Thow suld have hard the din of instrumentis,
Of tabrone, trumpet, schalme, and clarioun,
With reird redoundand throw the elementis!
The herauldis with thare awfull vestimentis,
With maseris, upon ather of thare handis,
To rewle the preis with burneist silver wandis.
21
Syne, last of all, in ordour triumphall,
That most illuster princes honorable;
With hir, the lustie ladyis of Scotland,
Quhilk suld have bene ane sycht most delectable.
Hir rayment to rehers I am nocht able:
Of gold and perle, and precious stonis brycht,
Twynkling lyke sternis in ane frostie nycht.
22
Under ane pale of gold scho suld have past,
Be burgessis borne, clothit in silkis fyne.
The greit maister of houshold all thare last;
With hym, in ordour, all the kingis tryne,
Quhais ordinance war langsum to defyne.
On this maner, scho, passing throw the toun,
Suld have resavit mony benisoun
23
Of virginis, and of lustie burges wyiffis,
Quhilk suld have bene ane sycht celestiall,
" Vive la Royne!" cryand for thare lyiffis;
With ane harmonious sound angelicall,
In everilk corner myrthis musicall.
Bot thow, tyrane, in quhome is found no grace,
Our " Alleluya !" hes turnit in " Allace!"
24
Thow suld have hard the ornate oratouris
Makand hir hienes salutatioun,
Boith of the clergy, toun, and counsalouris,
With mony notable narratioun.
Thow suld have sene hir coronatioun,
In the fair abbay of Holy Rude,
In presence of ane myrthfull multitude.
25
Sic banketing, sic aufull tornamentis,
On hors and fute that tyme quhilk suld have bene!
Sic Chapell Royall, with sic instrumentis,
And craftie musick, singing frome the splene,
In this countre was never hard nor sene!
Bot all this greit solempnite and gam
Turnit thow hes, in Requiem aeternam .
26
Inconstant warld, thy freindschip I defy,
Sen strenth, nor wisdome, riches, nor honour,
Vertew, nor bewtie, none may certefy
Within thy boundis for to remane ane hour.
Quhat valith to the king or empryour,
Sen pryncely puissance may nocht be exemit
From deith, quhose dolour can nocht be expremit?
27
Sen man in erth hes na place permanent,
Bot all mon passe be that horrible port,
Lat us pray to the Lord omnipotent,
That dulefull day, to be our greit comfort;
That in his realme we may with hym resort
(Quhilkis from the hell with his blude ransonit bene),
With Magdalene, umquhyle of Scotland quene.
28
O Deith! Thocht thow the bodie may devore
Of every man, yit hes thow no puissance
Of thare vertew for to consume the glore;
As salbe sene of Magdalene of France,
Umquhyle our quene, quhom poetis sal avance
And put hir in perpetuall memorie:
So sall hir fame of the have victorie.
29
Thocht thou hes slane the hevinly flour of France,
Quhilk impit was in to the thrissill kene,
Quharein all Scotland saw thair hail plesance,
And maid the lyoun rejoysit frome the splene;
Thocht rute be pullit frome the levis grene,
The smell of it sall, in dispyte of the,
Keip, ay, twa realmes in peice and amite.
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