admonitioun to the Lordis
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FOr lois thow Lythquo may miserably lament
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Thy fait Infortunat, and duilfull destanie,
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That precious peirle James our Regent
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In the was slane, dissavit duilfullie.
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O cursit hour, o deid of fellonie,
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O waryit band, o wappin violent,
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That spairit not his greit Nobilitie
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Sa undeservit suddandly to be schent.
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In wickit hour he saift the from the Gallous
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Or schew his grace to sic ane graceles grume,
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Had thow bene hangit Tratour and thy fallowis
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This commoun weill had borne the Laurell blume
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Better Justice was not from hence to Rome,
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Mair quyet peace befoir never King heir held,
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Allace that sic ane Tratour suld consume
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His dayis befoir our King had bene of eild.
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Dowglas & Hume addres yow now anone,
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His tressonabill dolent deith for to Revenge:
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With Atholl, Erskyn, and Stewartis everie one
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Grame, and Lyndsay remember on this change.
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Schaw now he lufit the manly Laird of Grange
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Glenkarne, and Sempil, convene with ane accord
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Throw out this Realme lyke Ratches se ye range,
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And seik thair blude that hes his body borde.
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All uther Erlis, and Barrounis of renoun,
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Convene your selfis with hart and haill Intent,
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All partakeris to put to confusioun:
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With him that slew that Abell Innocent.
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And in your harts perfytlie do it prent,
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Gif one of yow siclyke had loist his breith
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How day and nycht he wald be deligent
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Your cause and quarrell Revenge unto the deith.
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Edinburgh Dundie, & uther Burrowtounis,
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Remember how the Regent lufit yow weill
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Heill nor conceill, reset nane of thay lownis,
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Nother art nor part, that did his body keill.
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Sen he was keipar of your commoun weill,
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Cleik on his quarrell, and schortly yow dispone
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Lat never that Ruffians within your rowmis reill
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Bot kyith now kyndenes quhen that his grace is gone.
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Young tender King now behind dois abyde
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Thy servand schot was only for thy saik,
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Had he not tane thy Governance and gyde
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Lang mycht he levit with Lady An his maik,
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Na tratour Hammiltoun had gevin that mortal straik
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War not in hope to mak thy Grace forlorne,
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Thay thocht his deith wald mak thy power waik
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And than obtene thay socht sa lang beforne.
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Bot God that hes thy Majestie in cure,
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Will fruster all thair fulische Interprysis
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Is war thay Bouchers thy Father did combute,
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Quha flemit ar for thair devillische devysis.
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Thair fact and act, all Scotland now disprysis,
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Thair awin misdeidis hes sa undone thair weill
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Thay dar never enter in Jugement nor assysis,
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Nor clame thair lands, that did thy Father keill.
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Quhat trow ye Tygers, that God omnipotent
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Will wynk unsene sic wickitnes and wrang,
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Ye may be sure his bow is reddy bent
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Yow to ruit out, luke ford and think not lang.
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Hammiltoun and Hepburne ye will sing baith ane sang
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Shrewit is that service ye haif schawin to your King,
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Wald poysonit him self, his Father wyrreit strang,
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Now slane his Regent to mak your selfis to ring.
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Wo worth unlefull meinis manifest,
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That ye haif socht to bruik Authoritie,
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Yit un obtenit, quhill that our King may lest
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Quhome Christ conserve in his Minoritie.
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That tender plant our Superioritie
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Suld haif, quha is our kyndely King of nature,
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The King of Kingis of his Majoritie,
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Mak never ane King over Scotland of a Tratoure.
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Wo to the scheddars of his saikles blude,
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Wo cause of wo, sa mony did commend,
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Wo to thay Gylouris of godlynes denude,
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Wo to thay Pelouris, sic [I]nterprysis pretend.
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Wo thame Involve, now quhen his wo hes end,
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Wo and eik wrak, mot fa[ll] that bludy band
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Wo will thay cry, and rew that thay him kend,
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For wo quhen that thay l[o]is baith lyfe and land.
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Schamt is that sort, with schame thai wilbe schent
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Schamt schameles, schame hes schawin unto this natioun
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Schamt ar thai tratouris, [s]ic tressoun did invent
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Schame sorrowles will [b]e thair Castigatioun.
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For schame thay dar neve[r] clame now dominatioun,
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To purches place did sa h[is] deith prevent,
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Place haif thay loist, and [fu]nd thair desolatioun,
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That socht sic place, till G[o]d had bene content.
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And God thair pryde w[i]ll puneis presentlie,
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That dois pretend be mu[rt]her manifest
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To Royall roume, and he[i]ch Authoritie,
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Huiking na harme sa thay may be possest.
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In warldlie welth quhilk wisdome suld detest,
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Quhen it proceidis of fals[e]t and Invy:
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Vaine gloir, dissait, or ocht that may molest
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Gude governance throw teinfull Tratory.
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Wyse Nobill Lords my Schedull now considder
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And gif the wysest Lord the Governance,
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Sinder not now that ar assemblit togidder
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Quhill ane be chosin the commoun weill to avance.
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Sic as will puneis this last unhappy chance,
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And feiris God now sen the roume dois waik,
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Chosin lyke the tother, ye myster not to pans,
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For in all Scotland he hes not left his maik.
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Now is he weill, and ye in wo God wait,
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Your wickitnes and warkis hes the wyte,
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Your Inobedience hes purchessit Goddis hait:
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Your gredynes to eik you[r] Rentis greit.
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In vaine ye reid the Scripture as ane ryte,
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And of the pure hes na Compass[i]oun,
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Thir ar the causis, tha ye of him ar quyte
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That rewlit yow, and wald maid Reformatioun.
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