The Regentis tragedie ending with ane exhortatoun
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JAmes Erle of Murray Regent of Renoun,
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Now lyis deid and dulefullie put doun,
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Murdreist but mercy, murnand for remeid,
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Quha lost his lyfe in Lythquo with ane loun,
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Giltles God wait betraist into that toun,
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Slane with ane schot and saikles put to deid:
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Feit be our fais, throw fellonie and feid:
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Hangman to Hary, now Burrid to hir brother:
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Weill may this murther manifest the tother.
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Quhat leid on lyfe wald nocht lament his lose?
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Wais me to want him, is the commoun voce,
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For sic ane Prince sall never pure man haif,
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Tint be ane Tratour, steilling up ane close,
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Possest in purpois, lyfe for lyfe to cose,
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Bot na compair, ane Kings Sone to ane knaif,
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Sen he is gone agane my will to graif,
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Throw all this Realme I dar weill mak this ruse,
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Rang nocht his maik sen buryit was the Bruse.
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To keip gude reule, he raid and tuke na rest,
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Baith South and North, and sumtyme eist & west,
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All to decoir our commounweill ze knaw,
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Be quhome lat se wes Pirats sa opprest?
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Or zit the theiffis sa dantonit, dung, and drest?
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Argyle and Duntlie hid thame baith for aw,
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And quhen he mycht, he myst nocht in the Law
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Twyse on the day, and sleipit nocht in fleuth,
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To se na buddis suld beir thame by the treuth.
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Of this foule fact suppois our fais be fane,
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Zit efter Moyses, Josua come agane,
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To gyde the pepill, gevand the gloir to God:
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Suld thay succeid that hes him saikles slane?
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Be war with that, I wald ze war not vane,
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To haif zour waik anis wirryit with the tod,
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Think ze with ressoun thay suld reule the rod,
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With double murther maid us all ado?
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And with our King wald play Cowsauly to?
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Pray gif ze pleis, I warne zow ze haif neid,
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To keip our King fra cankrit Kedzochis seid,
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That daylie wayis Inventis to put him doun,
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His Grandschir slane at Lythquo gif I leid:
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His Gndschir thryse hes left this land in deid,
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Hary at midnycht murdreist in this toun:
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His Cousing last, and zit thay clame the Crown,
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Blynd Jok may ges, gif thir be godly deidis,
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Brunt be zone Bischop in quhome this barret brei-dis.
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Cut of that Papist Prothogall of partis,
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That with his lesingis all the laif pervertis,
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Syne Joyne zour forces to the feildis but feir,
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Because ze tak zour stoutnes all in startis:
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To Hammiltoun in haist quhill ze haif hartis,
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Devyse sum way to pay zour men of weir,
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Fra he be gane ze neid nocht gather geir:
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Fecht weill, and war yame, and wyn the ryches yair
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And gif ze de, in deid ze neid na mair.
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Curst be ze baith, bischop and bothwell hauch,
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For this foule deid, zour seid man rak ane sauch,
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Gif ze twa want the widdie, now thay wrang zow:
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Lythquo lament, zour burges may luke bauch,
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In beir seid tyme zour burrow rudis ly fauch,
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Cause of this murther laitly maid amang zaw,
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Or gif I trowit it helpit ocht to hang zow,
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Sa suld ze die: and syne zour towne in fyre,
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Sum part for sythment to asswage our Ire.
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Over thir twa housis, for thair deids inding,
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The hand of God dois over thair heidis hing
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Thame to distroy, I dout not in our dayis,
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Hepburnis will wraik, for wyrrying of the King,
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Bot Hammiltounis fy, this was ane foular thing:
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Is this zout ferme Religioun? zais? zais?
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Sic tyme sall cum I trow as Thomas sayis:
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Hirdmen sall hunt zow upthrow Garranis gyll
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Castand thair Patlis and lat the pleuch stand still.
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Apperandly thir plaigis ar powrit out,
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To wraik this warld, and wait ze quhair about?
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Because we want na vice under the hevin:
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Sen double murther markis to reule the rout,
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With Niniveiris lat us ga cry and schout,
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For to retreit zone sentence Justly gevin,
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Zit thow gude Lord that Judgis all thingis evin,
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Seand the perrell that over the pepill standis,
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Lat nocht thair blude be socht at saikles handis.
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Now Lordis & Lairdis assemblit in this place,
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Over lang we talk of Tragedeis allace,
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Away with cair, with confort now conclude:
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As gude in paper as speik it in zour face,
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Gif murtherars for geir get ony grace,
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Ze will be schent, think on I say for gude
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Sen art and part, ar gyltie of his blude:
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Quhy suld ze feir, or favour thame for fleiching?
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Ze hard zourself, quhat Knox spak at the preiching.
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First on the feildis mak schortly to lat se,
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We want bot ane, and quhat the war ar we?
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Sen God wes pleist to pas him out of pyne,
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All men on mold ar markit for to de,
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With tyme and place appointit, sa wes he:
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Lat nocht in cair zour curages declyne,
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For want of ane I wald nocht all suld tyne,
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Gar reid at Roxburgh quhen the King wes slane,
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And zit ane woman wan the hous agane.
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Sen than be wemen douchtie deidis wer done,
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Barronis be blyith, and hald zour hartis abone,
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And lat us heir quhairfoir ze hapnit hidder:
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Thay ar na partie, and ze speid zow sone,
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Albeit that boyd be daylie in Denone,
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Lang or Argyle be gadderit in togidder,
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Quhen all is done, the counsall may considder,
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Quhat is the maist zone murtheraris may do,
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Suppois that Huntlie wald cum help thame to.
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Had we ane heid wald stoutly undertakit,
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The Barronis sayis thay suld be bauldly bakit.
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Mycht thay for tyritnes tranell of thir tounis:
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Quhy stand ze aw of Tratouriris twyse detractit?
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Think ze not schame to heir zour Lordschipis lakit?
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Sum feiris yair flesche, sum grenis to gadder cronnis
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Sum happis thair heids, sum belttis yame up in gounis
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Luke gif zour partie prydis thame in thair spurring,
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Keipand the feildis and fryis not in thair furring.
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Wa worth the wyfis that fostred zow and fed,
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Ze dow not ly unles ze haif ane bed,
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Keip zow fra cauld, haif claith within zour scho:
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I think greit ferly how ze can be red,
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Or fray at thame, that last befoir zow fled,
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Wantand thair Quene, syne God agane thame to,
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Quhy ly ze heir with lytill thing ado?
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The Barronis biddis zow schortly byde or gang,
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Curage decayis fra Scottis men tarie lang
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Have Lyounis lukis, and than mak me ane lear,
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Be Hanniballis, and heis zour hartis sum hear,
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Bot keip not capua quhil zone Knaifis incluse zow,
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He neidis not work, that hes ane gude oversear,
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Nane neid ze fetch, swa that zour hartis war frear,
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Bot be my saule myself culd never ruse zow:
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I knaw weill for this cryme, Christ sall accuse zow,
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For spairing Agag, Saull wes puneist sair:
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Swa sall he zow, I dar nocht say na mair.
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The Lord of Hostes that hevin & eirth commandis,
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To keip our King from all unhappy handis,
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The Quene of Ingland and hir Counsall to:
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Ze feir the Frenchemen suld overlay thir landis,
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Bot I heir say be sum that understandis,
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The Doctouris doutis bot thay haif mair ado:
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Our Quene is keipit straitly, thair standis scho:
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Ingland will help zow, and ze help zoursellis,
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And be the contrair craif thame nathing ellis.
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This fair ze weill, I flait not to offend zow,
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In sempill veirs this Schedull that I send zow
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Beseikand zow to schort it gif ze may,
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Steill ze away, the wyfis will vilipend zow,
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And gif ze byde the burrowis will commend zow,
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Best wer I think mycht we prevene zone day
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Thair Semblis beis on Sonday I heir say,
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In Glasgow towne thinkand to fecht or fle:
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It lukis weill, thair, ze get na mair of me.
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AS men recordis, indeid my Lordis,
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I schrink not for to schaw:
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Suppois ze crak, ze ly abak,
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And lybellis be the Law.
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Ze mak not to, as men suld do,
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I trow ze stand sum aw:
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Suppois ze hecht, to se zow fecht,
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That day will never daw.
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Is na remeid, fra he be deid,
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Na man to seik ane mendis?
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Or quha is heir, dar brek ane speir,
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Upon zone lymmeris lendis?
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Ze bar not mum, quhill Saidlar cum,
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To se quhat Ingland sendis:
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Thinkand to sayit, and ay delayit,
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And swa the mater endis.
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With sychis and sobbis, and beltit robbis,
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Ze counterfite the dule:
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Quhat douchtie deidis, to weir sic weidis,
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Except it wer ane fule.
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Mak of the towne, and cow thame downe,
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Now or zour curage cule,
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For Maddie sayis, byde ze aucht dayis,
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Ze be not thair quhill Zule.
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Is this the thing, quha gydis the King,
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Ze can not all aggre:
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Now fy for schame, feche Levenox hame,
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Ze haif nane narer nor he.
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Gif he want grace to gyde that place,
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Cheis outher twa or thre:
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Thau war I fane, bot all in vane,
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To wis and will not be.
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And sum thair bene, waittis on the Quene,
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Bot gaip ay quhill thay get hir:
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And war scho beir, I tak na feir,
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The Feynd aby we sey hir.
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For we ar now, als stark I trow,
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As farnzer quhen we met hir:
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Quhen all is done, thay start over sone,
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To boist and not the better.
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I think it best, ze tak na rest,
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Gif ze durst undertak it:
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And we be trew, we ar anew,
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Ze sal be bauldly bakit.
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Bot sen I se, it will not be,
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That meter will not mak it:
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The Feynd mak cair, I say na mair,
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I rew that ever I spak it.
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FINIS.
Quod Robert Sempill.
Imprentit at Edinburgh be Robert
Lekpreuik. Anno. Do. 1570.
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