ane new ballet set out be ane Fugitiue Scottisman that fled out of Paris at this lait Murther.
- Ballad Title
- ane new ballet set out be ane Fugitiue Scottisman that fled out of Paris at this lait Murther.
- Ballad Location
- Reproduction of original in the British Library, STC / 22203, Huth 50 [11]; EEBO Record (institutional login required).
- Event Date
- 1572
- Printing Location
-
Imprentit at Sanctandrois be Robert Lekpreuik
[Printed at St André by Robert Lekprevik] - Ballad Author
- Robert Simpell, 1530? - 1595
- Crime
- murder
- Gender of Accused
- male
- Category
- Crime and Punishment Ballads
- Sub-Category
-
Execution Ballads
- Transcription
-
NOw Katherine de Medicis hes maid sic a Gyis
To tary in Paris the Papistes ar tykit
At Bastianes brydell howbeit scho denyis
Giue Mary slew Hary, it was not vnlykit
Yit a man is nane respectand this number
I'dar not say wemen hes wyte of this cummer.
Yone Mask the Quene mother hes maid thame in France
Was maikles and saikles, and schamfully slane
Bot Mary conuoyit and come with ane dance
Quhill Princes in Sences was fyrit with ane trane
Baith tressonabill murtheris, the ane and the vther
I go not in Masking mair with the Quene Mother.
Italianes ar Tyranis, and tressonabill Tratoris:
For gysours deuysours, the Guysianis ar gude
Bot Frenche men ar trew men, and not of thair natouris
Than Charlie I farlie thow drank thy awin blude
I wyte bot thy Mother wit, wemen ar vane
In greis neir to Ganyelon nor grit Charlie Mane.
Thy style was Treschristien maist Cristen King
Baith hiest and friest, and neist the Impyre
Bot now Prouest Marschell in playing this spring
And ressoun for tressoun prouokis God to Ire
Beleuis thow this trumprie sall stablische thy style?
Our God is not deid yit, be doand ane quhyle.
Suppois that the Papistes deuysit this at Trent
To ding vs and bring vs with mony lowd lauchter
With sic cruell Murther is Christ sa content
To take the and make the ane Sanct for our slauchter
Albeit he correct vs, and scurge vs in Ire
Be war with the wand syne he wapis in the fyre.
For better is pure men nor Princes periurit
Baith schameles and fameles, we find thame sa fals
With sangis lyke the Seryne our lyfis thow allurit
Ouirsylit vs begylit vs with baitis in our hals
Or as the fals Fowler his fang for to get,
Deuoiris the pure volatill he wylis to the net.
In Ilis nor in Orknay, in Ireland Oneill
Thay dar not, thay gar not, thair liegis be stickit
Solyman, Tamerlan, nor yit the mekle Deill
Proud Pharao, nor Nero, was neuer sa wickit
Nouther Turk nor Infidell vsis sic thing
As be their awin burreo, being ane King.
Baith auld men and wemen, with babis on thair breist
Not luking nor huking, to hurll thame in Sane
All beand murdreist downe, quhat do ye neist
Processioun, Confession, and vp Mes agane
Proud King Antiochus was sum tyme als haly
And yit our God guschit out the guttis of his belly
Thy Syster thou maryit, thy Saces was sour
Sic cuikrie for luikrie was euill Interprisit
Ye maid vs the Reid Freiris, and rais in an hour
Abhorring na gorring that micht be deuisit
Thou playit the fals Hypocreit fenyeing the fray
But inwart ane rageing wolf waitand thy pray.
That France was confidderat with Scotland I grant,
Baith actit, contractit, and keipit in deid
The kyndnes of Cutthrottis, we cure not to want
Denyis thame, defyis thame, and all thair fals seid
It was bot with honest men we maid the band
And thou hes left leifand bot few in that land.
Our faith is not warldly we feir not thy braulis
Thocht hangmen ouirgang men, for gaddaring our geir
Ye kill bot the Carcase, ye get not our Saulis
Not douting our shouting is hard in Goddis eir
The same God from Pharo defendit his pepill
And not yone round Robene that standis in your stepill.
Now wyse Quene Elizabeth luik to your self
Dispite them, and wryte thame, ane bill of defyance
The papistis and Spanyards, hes partit your pelf
As newly and trewly was tald me thir tythance
Beleue thay to land heir, and get vs fornocht
Will ye do as we do, it salbe deir bocht.
Giue pleis God we gre sa, and hald vs togidder
Baith surely and sturely, and stoutly gainstand thame
They culd not weill conqueis vs, culd ye considder
For our men are dour men, and likis weill to land thame
Quhen Cesar him self was chaist, haue ye foryet
And baith the Realmes be aggreit, tak that thay get.
For better it is to fecht it, defendant our lyfis
With speir men and weir men, and ventour our sellis
Nor for to se frenche men deflorand our wyfis
Displace vs, and chace vs, as thay haue done ellis
I meane quhen the Inglismen helpit at Leith
And gart thame gang hame agane spyte of thair teith.
I cannot trow firmely that Frenchmen ar cummen
Persayfand thame haifand, thame selfis into parrell
The Lord saue Elizabeth, thair ane gude woman
That cauldly and bauldly, debait will our quarrell
With men and with money, baith Armour and graith
As scho hes befoir tyme defendit this Faith.
Thocht France for thair falset be drownit in dangeris
For causis and pausis thay plait into Pareis
Yit [...]e ar in war estait waitand on strangeris
No[...] gyding deuyding, our awin men from Mareis
Go weid the calf from the corn, calk me thair dures
And slay or ye be slane, gif sic thing occures.
Bot how can ye traist thame, that trumpit yow ellis
Decoir thame, do for thame, or foster thair seid
And thay may anis se thair time, tent to your sellis
Baith haitfull, dissaitfull, ye deill with in deid
Anis wod and ay the war, with quhat ye do
And mak thame fast in the ruit gif thay cum to.
God blis yow my brether, and biddis yow gudnicht
Obey God, go say God, with prayer and fasting
Christ keip thie pure Ile of ouris in the auld rihct
Defend vs and send vs, the life Euerlasting
The Lord send vs quyetnes, and keip our young king
The Quene of Inglands Maiestie, & lang mot yai Ring.
Quod Simpell.
FINIS.
Part of ane new ballet set out be ane Fugitiue Scottisman that fled out of Paris at this lait Murther.