%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The tragical end and death of the Lord Iames / Regent of Scotland, lately set forth in Scottish, and printed at Edinburgh. 1570. / And now partly turned in to English. Sempill, Robert University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1570-1570 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 05/04/2012 32517

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

S121849 Iames Earle of Murray Regent of renowne / Now lieth dead, and wofully put downe, Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 18337 The tragical end and death of the Lord Iames / Regent of Scotland, lately set forth in Scottish, and printed at Edinburgh. 1570. / And now partly turned in to English. The tragical end and death of the Lord Iames Regent of Scotland, lately set forth in Scottish, and printed at Edinburgh. 1570. And now partly turned in to English. The tragical end and death of the Lord James Regent of Scotland, lately set forth in Scottish, and printed at Edinburgh. 1570. And now partly turned in to English. Sempill, Robert Printer Iohn Awdely 1570-1570

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<seg n="1" rend="left">The tragical end and death of the Lord James</seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Regent of Scotland, lately set forth in Scottish, and printed at Edinburgh. 1570.</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left">And now partly turned into English.</seg>
JAMES Earle of Murray Regent of renowne Now lieth dead, and wofully put downe, Murdred without mercy, mourning for remaid Who lost his life in Lythquo by a Clowne, Giltles God wot, betrayed in to that towne. Was slayne by gunshot, and sodainly put to death, Done by the Papists our foes, through fellonous faith. Hangman to Harry, now Burrio to their brother, Well may this murther manifest the tother. What wight alyve would not lament his losse? Wo is me to want him, is the common voyce: For such a Prince shal never poore man have, Kylled by a Traytour, stealing upon him close, Purposing of purpose, life for life to lose, But no comparison twixt a Kinges sonne and a Knave Sith he is gone, we cannot againe him crave. Through al our realme I dare wel make this choise, Raigned not his fellow since buried was the Bruise. To keepe good rule he rode, and tooke no rest, Both South and North, and somtime East and West, All to decore our common wealth men know: By whom let us see, was Pirates so opprest? Or yet the theeves so throwne downe and drest? Argyle and Huntlye hid them both for aw, And when he might, he was tendant at Law, Twyse on a day, and sleeped not in sleuth, To see no fauters should beare them by the treuth. Of this foule fact suppose our foes be fayne, Yet after Moyses, Josua comes agayne, To guide the people, geve glory therfore to GOD. Should they succeede, that have Lord James so slayne? Beware of that, least that ye feele the payne, And have your weake ones wyried with the Tode. Thinke ye with reason that such should rule the rod, Which with double murder have made us such ado And with our Kyng would play like cousonage to? Pray, if you please, I warrant you ye have neede, To keepe our King from kankred Kedzochis seede, That dayly wayes inventes to put him downe: His Graundsire slayne at Lythquo as I it reede, His Gudsire thrise did leave this land in deede, Harry at midnight murdred in this towne, His Cousin now last, and yet they claime the crowne. Blinde Jocke may gesse, if these be godly deedes, Brude by that Bishop in whom this mischiefes breedes Cut of that Papist Prothogal partes, That with his leesings all the Laitie pervartes, Straight joyne your forces to the fieldes without feare, Because ye take your stoutnes al in startes, To Hammilton in hast while ye have hartes. Devise some way to pay your men of warre, For if they once begon, ye neede not gather geare. Fight well, and war them, and win the riches thore, And if ye doe thus, indeede ye neede no more. Curst be ye both, Bishop and Bothwell ech, For this foule deede, your neckes the halter stretch, If ye two want the withy, they do much wrong you: Lythquo lament, your Burgeses may looke bleach, In their sayd time your Burrow rueth the leach, Because of this murther lately made among you, For if I thought it helped ought to hang you, So should ye die, and set your towne on fire, As some part of punishment to asswage Gods ire. Over these two houses for these deedes inding, The hand of GOD doth over their heades hing, Them to destroy, I dout not in these our daies: Hepburnis wil go to wracke, for wyrring of the King, But Hamiltons fye, this was a fouler thing. Is this your firme religion, yea is, yea is? Such a time shall come I trow as Thomas saies: Heardmen shal hunt you up through Garranis hill, Casting their Plates and let the plough stand still. Apparantly these plages are poured out, To wreake this world, and wot ye where about? Because we want no vice under the heaven: Sith double murder makers seeke to rule the rout, With the Ninivites to our GOD let us go cry and shout,
For to retreate that sentence justly geven. Yet thou good Lord, that judgeth al thinges even, Seing the perril that over the people standes, Let not their blood be sought at giltles handes. Now Lordes & Lordings assembled in this place, Over long we talke of Tragedies, alas, Away with care, with comfort now conclude: As good in paper, as speake it to your face, If murtherers for this geare get any grace, Ye shal be shent, thinke on, I say for good, Sith arte and part are gilty of his blood, Why should ye feare, or favor them for fleiching? Ye herd yourselves what Knox spake at the prea-ching. First on the fieldes, make shortly to le[?] We lacke but one, and what the woorse are wee? Sith GOD was pleased to take him out of pine: Al men on moold are marked for to dye, In time and place appointed, so was he. Let not in care your couragies decline, For want of one I would not al should tine. Go seeke at Roxbrugh when the King was slaine And yet one woman wan the house agayne. Sith then by women doughty deedes were done, Ye Barrons be blithe, and hold your harts above, And let us heare wherefore ye hapned hither, They are no great partie, and ye speede you soone, Albeit that boyd be dayly in Denone, Lang or Argyle be gathered in together, When al is done, the Counsaile may consider, What is the most those murtherers may do, Suppose that Huntly would come & help them to. Had we one head would stoutly undertake it, The Barrons sayes they should be boldly backed, Mought they with speedines travel to these townes: Why stand ye afeard of Traitours twise detracted? Thinke ye not shame to heare your Lordships lacked? Some feares their flesh, som gins to gather crownes Some hides their heads, som girds them up in gownes Looke how your enmies prides them in their spurring Keping the fields, and frees not in their furring. Wo worth the wives that fostred you and fed, Ye do nothing love but lye on soften bed, And keepe you fro cold, with cloutes in your shoo: I thinke great wonder how ye can be so dred, Or fray at them that last before you fled. Wanting their Quene, sith God is gaynst them too. Why lye ye here, having here litle to do? The Barrons bids you shortly bide, or els begone, Courage decaies if Scotishmen tary long. Have Lions lookes, and then make way forth cleare, Be Hannibals, and hoyse your harts with cheare. But be not still, while those Knaves do enclose you. He needes not worke that hath one good overseeer, Nor ye neede fight, so that your hartes were freeer. But by my soule myselfe could never ruse you: I know wel for this crime Christ shal accuse you. For sparing Agag, Saul was punished sore, So shal he you, I dare not say no more. The Lord of hostes that heaven & earth commaundes, Keepe our yong King from al unhappy handes, And that good Queene of England, and her Counsel to. Ye feare the Frenchmen should overlay these landes, But I heare say by some that understandes, The Doctours doubt but they have more ado. Our Queene is kept straightly, her power is igo, England wil help you, and ye wil help yourselves, And be the contrair, crave of them nothing els. Thus fare ye wel, I spare not to offend you, In simple verse this Schedul that I send you, Beseching you to scanne it if ye may. Steale ye away, the wives wil vilypend you, And if ye byde, the Barrons wil commend you. Best were it I thinke, we might prevent that day, Their meeting is on Sonday I heare say, In Glasgow towne, thinking to fight or flee, It lookes wel there, ye get no more of mee.
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