The Last News from France,
Being a true Relation of the escape of the King of Scots from Worcester to London, and from
London to France, who was conveyed away by a young Gentleman in womens apparel: The
King of Scots attending on this supposed Gentlewomon in manner of a Servingman.
The Tune is, When the King injoyes, etc.
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ALL you that do desire to know,
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what is become of the King of Scots,
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I unto you will truly show,
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after the fight of Northern Rats;
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'Twas I did convey
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His Highness away,
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And faom all dangers set him free,
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In Womens attire,
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As reason did require,
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And the King himself did wait on me.
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He of me a service did crave,
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and oftentimes to me stood bare,
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In womens apparel he was most brave,
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and on his chin he had no hare;
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Where ever I came,
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My speeches did fame,
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So well my waiting-man to free,
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The like was never known,
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I think by any one,
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For the King himself did wait on me.
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My Waiting-man a Jewel had,
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which I for want of money sold,
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Because my fortune was so bad,
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we turn'd our Jewel into gold.
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A good shift indeed,
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In time of our need,
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Then glad was I, and glad was he
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Our Cause it did advance
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Until we came to France,
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And the King himself did wait on me.
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We walked through Westminster-hall,
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where Law and Justice doth take place,
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Our grief were great, our comfort small,
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we lookt grim death all in the face,
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I looked round about,
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And made no other doubt,
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But I and my man should taken be,
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Then people little knew,
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As I may tell to you,
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That the King himself did wait on me.
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FRom thence we went to the fatal place,
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where his Father lost his life,
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And there my man did weep apace,
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and sorrow with him then was rife,
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I bid him peace,
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Let sorrow cease,
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For fear that we should taken be,
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The Gallants in White-hall,
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Did little know all,
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That the King himself did wait on me.
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The King he was my Serving-man,
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and thus the plot we did contrive,
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I went by the name of Mistres Anne,
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when wt took water at Queen-hive.
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A Boat there we took,
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And London forsook,
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And now in France arrived are we,
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We got away by stealth,
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And the King is in good health,
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And he shall no longer wait on me.
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The King of Denmark's dead they say,
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then Charles is like to rule the Land,
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In France he will no longer stay,
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as I do rightly understand;
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That Land is his due
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If they be but true:
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And he with them do well agree,
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I heard a bird sing,
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If he be once their King,
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My man will then my Master be.
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Fow heaven grant them better success
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with their young King then England had,
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Free from war and from distress,
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their fortune may not be so bad.
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Since the case thus stands,
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Let neighbouring lands,
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Lay down their Arms, and at quiet be,
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But as for my part,
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I am glad with all my heart,
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That my man must now my Master be.
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And thus I have declar'd to you,
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by what means we escap'd away,
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Now we bid our cares adieu,
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though the King did [lose] the day,
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To him I was true,
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And that he w[ell] knew,
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'Tis God that must his comfort be,
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Else all ou[r] P[o]licy
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Had been but foolery,
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For the King no longer waits on me.
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