%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> My Lord Methwenis tragedie Sempill, Robert University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer 1572-1572 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 10/29/2018 36370

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S95165 THow emptie pen pas but experience / with dull indyte, and do thy diligence Society of Antiquaries of London - Broadsides Editor none none none none Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 18: 11 My Lord Methwenis tragedie My Lord Methwen's tragedy Sempill, Robert Printer Robert Lekpreuik 1572-1572

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THow emptie pen pas but experience With dull indyte, and do thy diligence This pure complaint with pietie to deploir Of Muses vane I ask na Eloquence Bot only God of his greit Excellence Him to ressaif in Everlasting gloir Quhonie dolent deith hes laitly done devoir Unlukellie allace, gif man micht mend it Slane with ane schot, sa is the gude Lord endit. Methwen may murne, and all the bounds about For Hary Stewart, that was bauld and stout Constant and kynd with qualiteis conding In smallest danger nane belevand dout Invyous Fortoun swa did waill him out Lyke as at Roxburgh raid scho slew our King Ane greit foirtakin of ane weill war thing To se the saikles puneist sa with roddis The scharper scurge is cummand for the Toddis. Sic is thair craft in clymming to the Crowne The pure King Hary pieteously put downe Nocht be thair force, bot fyring of ane trane The Erle of Murray murdreist with ane lowne And Lennox last ze saw in Striviling Towne. Gude George Ruthuen with thay rebalds slane, Garleis, Dundas, quhilk wer baith trew & plane Dowglas of Lyntoun, & gude Westiraw was last With lytill meaning fra the men be past. Bot to my taill and Tragedie returne The gude Lord Methuen makis me to murne That all my senses suddannly doun fais Quha hes the breist nor it in baill wald burne? To se zone tratoures do sa foule ane turne. Gif that our Lords wald craib for ony cais Wa worth the tyme he went about zone wais Wa worth the Towne, the Castell and the craig Sic tyme sall cum, that God sall pour his plaig. Wa worth his weirds (gif ony weirds can be) Parcas, Lacheses, Atrapus all thre Fy on the Fortoun with thy fenzeit smyle War deid substantiall maid of stane or tre I suld not rest bot me revenge on the. Micht thow not spair yat Lord to live a quhyle? Ane of the best was borne in all this Ile Gif it wald rute, to reckin out sic taillis Gude to be war, quhen wickitnes prevaillis. Of twentie zeiris, zing and sa discreit Meik of his maners, mansuetude and sweit, Lord lyke allace, he had ouir lytill feir Aganis his fais, ay formest on his feit With lammis vult, and with ane Lyouns spreit Quha had mair grace to governe men of weir And gif I spak, of Culvering, bow, and speir He was not borne was better of sic playis (War he not Lord) nor lyke him of his dayis. Zing, lusty, lufesum, liberall and large Ane greit defender of our chosin Barge In trublous time yow micht haif steirt ye ruther Few better heir bene Chiftane to have charge Aganis Lord Greid to beir the goldin Targe In all this land thow left not sic ane uther The sancts of God may say thay want ane brother Sic as at na tyme can thay get for graith Sa frak, sa fordwart to defend thair faith. In the was wit, wisdome, and worthynes, In the was grace, groundit with godlynes, In the was meiknes and humilitie, In the was fredom, force, and ferynes, In the was manly mowis and marynes, With mercy, science, and Civilitie, To the Dame nature gave abilitie Pringnant of wit, of policie but peir, Rype of ingyne, with judgement perqueir. In honest pastyme was thy haill delyte Thow bure the toung that never spak dispyte Walkryfe in weirs, and watcheman to the rest For na offence culd thow be forsit to flyte Aganis thy servandis, thocht thay wer to wyte.
Bot with thy wysdome weyit it at the best Thy houshald trim, and treit weill thay confest Quhairfoir thay mys the mair nor all the laif Quhen thay remember on the giftis thow gaif. Had Stewarts stoutnes, as the mater stands Thay wald not faill to fecht it with thair hands, To se yame murdreist doun yat dois belang yame Bot sum ar feirit for fyring of thair lands And sum ar lyand obleist under bands That dar not steir, suppois the tother hang yame Blist be the barne yat is not borne amang thame Thay beand beistis, that hes bene men befoir Compairit with Gedds, that dois thair fry devoir Fy on the Atholl, quhat dois thow requyre? May not thir murthers mufe thy hart to Ire Gif thow had mettall man to bring the to Thy dowbill faith may not abyde the fyre Swa misbeleif sall leif the in the myre. Or hes thy wyfe the wyte of it, quhair is scho? Defend the caus man quhill the King cum to Gif naturall kyndnes kindillis up thy breist We beand doun, na dout thow salbe neist. God save King James, thow may say allace, Except and only God mon gyde thy grace For temporall Lords thay leif the few on lyve, Thy Father murdreist in ane mischant place Syne baith thy Regents of ane Royall race With sindrie uther Nobills four or fyve And last of all, I laith wer to discryve The manly Methwen mischantly put downe Slane for thy saik, for saving of thy Crowne. For the mantenance of thy lyfe and law I note bot few, or nane with sic ovirthzaw As only Ruthwen, this my ressoun quhy His Father first, gif I the suith suld schaw Deit in exyle for honest caus ze knaw His douchtie brothers deith can nane deny Now Methwen last, belevand sorrow by, Quhilk hes mair barrat to his breist inbrocht Nor all the laif, gif he culd leif his thocht. Thocht we be subject to mortalitie Zit God Indewis us with sic qualitie, That naturall kyndnes causis us to cair Bot let na Carnall Corporalitie Complane on Christ for partialitie To tak his awin men outher lait or air Lat deid to deid, and die not in dispair Ryse and revenge the Ruthwen on zone rout Quhat will it mend to murne thy senses out. As to the Lords that hes begun this actioun I feir thair tyme be turnand to detractioun Gif thay repent not this I spak befoir Exame thair conscience of particular pactioun Gif thay be favourers of the tother factioun (And gif swa be) thair mys mon be the moir God will not be abusit with sic vanegloir, The storme approches quhen ye Poills ar fairest The langer spairit, the plaigue is ay the fairest. The day is neir, as I dar weill deplane zow The wraith of God is lyke to gang aganis zow, For spairing men of Machevillus Scuillis How may ze save zone smaiks yai wald haif slane zow And ze wer in yair hands yai wald not hane zow, Thay play the men, & ze the febill fuillis Quhat is the caus, let se zour curage cuillis? Particular proffeit durst I speik it out Zit thay ar daylie murdreist doun thay dout. To mak sic change, ye wair zour wit in vane As thairs for ouris, and ouris for thairs agane Thair mon ze grant yair ground als gude as zours Bot quhair ze gat thame, wald ze flour the grane That beand done, na dout thay wald be fane For to renounce thair Law and cum to ours, Do ze not sa, ze sall thoill scharper schours Sic vane excambion can I not considder As marrow tratours and the trew togidder.
I dar be bauld to say sen this began Had we bot usit the victorie we wan With gloir to God that gaif thame in our hands We nedit not or now to want ane man, Bot quhen we tak thame solistacioun than Dois clap thair heid, the counsall sa commandis Quhairfoir I feir, that God sal burne ye wandis As for exempill I can let zow seit For spairing sinfull how the saikles deit. As Quheit is strukin for the stra besyde And silver fyne mon to the Furnes glyde To get the dros devydit as we se Thocht King Josias did in Christ confyde Befoir the plaigue come God will sa provyde, He will not thoill the just with thame to die Bot quhair he takis away sic men as he The riche, the wyse, the Capitane, or the gyde Thair sall the pepill punischment abyde. Quhat nedit Noy for sin to suffer wrak? Nor faithfull Lot, bot for the wickits saik, Caleb and Josua in cumming to the land For Ophny and Phines that the battell straik The Innocent Ely all his banis braik, The Ark of God was caryit of thair hand And zit thair fais micht better have lattin it stand Suppois the saikles slane was for offences Zit did the Phelistims faill of thair pretences. And gredy Acan for the geir he hid Twa goldin braislettis lytill thing he did Zit was the pepill puneist for sic playis Have we sic wrangous geir? na God forbeid As Crowats, Sensours, or ane Challeis leid Quhilk will be found na fault now heir a dayis For spairing Agag as the Scripture sayis The hous of Saule was puneist and his seid Not spairing Jonathan for his douchtie deid. Siclyke King David thoillit pane and greif His wickit barnetyme brocht him to mischeif His Capitane Joab Absolone forbure Bot far ma Joabs heir for thair releif With solistatioun quhen we tak ane theif Suppois ze wist he wrocht zour self injure Swa sum belevis have baith the sydes sa sure And zit I hope thay sall not want thair hyre As Absolone set Joabs corne in fyre. The King Roboam raschely did ovirluik The auld wyse counsall, and the fulische tuik Quhairfoir he tynt his kyndlie Trybes ten And Jeroboam in that samin buik Set up new Idols and his God forsuik, Quhill Abiah flew fyve hundreth thousand men Swa Bennadab was Captive as ze ken, Bot quhair the just dois joyne thame with forsa-kin Be war thay get not wickit Acabs takin. Quhat dois it proffeit Poetrie prophane? Sen trew Preicheours speikis it to zow plane Zit never mercy in zour mynd remordis As fruteles seid it never growis a grane Bot to my taill heir I returne agane This Tragedie may staik to tell the Lordis Ane thousand fyve hundreth Sempill sa recordis Thre scoir and twelf suppois the veirse be vane The thrid of marche was worthy Methwen slane.
FINIS with the Dytone. Quod Sempill. The Lord to delyver the laif of this blude And send us ane sythment of yis suddane slauchter The King & his counsall inspyre yame with gude And mak us not an futestuil to our fais lauchter
Imprentit at Sanctandrois be Robert Lekpreuik. Anno. Do. 1572.