Patrick Gordon Poems >>
The Famous Historie: Cap. IX

The Argument.
An English visard with great arte foreshowes
The Douglas of spring great to these our daies
And how that happie famelie aroise
To fortunes height where at the world may gaize
The secound time he doeth him self apoise
Against his foe and their with endles praise
 Oure throwes the captain of his cheifest streinth
 Then back to ead his Prince returnes at leinth.

Now with this English captaine did abyde
His Uncle old graue learned wise and trew
Whoes iudgement deep was rairlie deified
Highe misteries and secreitts hidd he kneu
One day by chance the Douglas he espyde
Who thus vnto the Captane quicklie drew
 From this infused spiriet and flowing minde
 This Historie by hea'une long since deuinde.

The righteous heire of that most famous line
That shall the Scots ferce natione still adorne
To whome and not without tight doeth incline
These Lordshipes great which Clifford holdes in scorne
Who once hath wunn this strength without ingine
Whoes virtue be no time can be outworne
 Shall winne the land againe and it posses
 In vaine wold mightie England him oppres.

O're him to triumphe ne're shall England bost
But victor he shall ouermore remaine
He shall not feare to meet their mightie host
With his small troupe the garland still to gaine
Whill fortune his attempts hath neuer crost
He cloi'd with conquest heir shall croce the maine
 His Princes vnperformed vow to beare
 Where infidells his worth shall knou and feare

Nought without cause the west shall feare him still
Their cheefest nationes force his sword shall tame
And all the Eist his worthie praise shall fill
To Ganges soundes the terror of his name
But there a dreadful tempest shall him kill
Yet of his death none dare the conquest clame
 His courage fearce shall arme his foes deceat
 And thus him self subdewes him self to fate.

Heer silence staies his tounge his speech is crost
Both Joie and greef at once his heart opprest
Greef for so rare a knight that should be lost
Ioy that his death should cure riche Englands pest
But now enamord of his worth almost
The Caiptaine him intreatts to sheu the rest
 And needs wold know if heauens should nature will
 From such a roote to bring such branches still.

Ah quod his vncle thence doeth greef proceid
For as great Joue ordaind ane hatred still
Betuixt the serpent and the womans seid
So shall his line beare vs and oures il will.
Whill their ambitious mindes on fame doeth feid
Yet heaune shall raise for to with stand this ill
 A famous race their dreadful wraith to beare
 Whoes worth shall proue right fortunat in warre.

Now first of him discendes that valiaunt Lord
Whoes heighe atchiuements shall his foes with stand
His victoreis most rare shall be decor'd
With valour flowing frome his conquering hand
Yet crueltie in him shall be deplord
Which hermitage doeth fatallie demand
 But for his valour worthelie renound
 Whoes deades almost are all by fortune cround.

Then cums his vnkle whoes all matchles brood
Seems thundring flammes with fire consumeing breath
A new deludge ane ouerwhelming floode
A storme that nipes our springes fair floures to daith
For he like thundring Mars embreud with blood
To dreadfull armes shall all his daies bequeath
 But reuling for his Prince with roialtie
 Too forwad in his countreies cause shall die.

His brother bold ane Englishe dame shall beare
Whoes famous line in wondrous giftes exceids
This man a mightie familie shall rare
That shall the world astonishe with their deids
Which at this time to sheu I will for beare
Till thou haue knowne who from the first proceeds
 Who valiantlie in battell spends his lyif
 To bring to end his countreies endles stryif.

Then shall appeir that first great sheining light
That dimes thoise blazing stars his heauins bright sune
In midst of armes and thonndring warrs dread sight
At him is honoures title first begune
Conquestes first fruits deoth much ogment his might
Penwick his wraith they wealth shall ouer rune
 And Berweick strong his angers birning fire
 Shall turne to ashe yet shall not quench his yre.

His brothers worth shall to all tymes be told
Whoise sone shall sore on princelie Egels wings
By wertueis rare and valour so extold
That he's preferd to princes lordes and kings
In armes his fortune strength and courage bold
Shall stryue whoes mereits most the muses sings
 From this faire imp shall spring a faerer tree
 Whoes fruit shall much adorne this familie.

But o thou Bellicous what man may know
Thy verteus mind thy worth and warrlyk deades
The brightest lightning of thy workes doeth show
Daizling the beames that from thy peers proceides
Heauins lampes remoues their painted silring so
To bright Apollos fyrie flamming steids
 Yea thy rare lyne thy rarest vertues cleames
 In whom still shynes thy former glories beames.

The deades of all, thy deades doeth ouerturne
All fortunes rare thy fortune foylleth still
E're victor thow ne'r conquest shall returne
And Yonkes proud walls beares witnes of thy skill
Lastlie that euer famous otterburne
Seals all thy conquests gainst thy countreyes will
 Whill thow thrice wounded victor sheeds a flood
 To dy thy latest triumphes with thy blood,

Thy valiant brother shall to the succeid
Whose aufull looks presageth wrath t'insewe
With him shall fortune lyk vayes furth proceid
And Lintone battell shall his prais renewe
But o his sone shall all that aige exceid
In witt and courage strength and valour trewe
 To princelie steat in Europs gairden faire
 He shall be reasd and honours great shall beare.

Yet all in vaine since fortune proud heath sworne
The worlde shall build no trophe to his neame
Nature doeth him with such reare gifts adorne
That shee invying cuts the wings of feame
He tryes hir fauour oft but she doeth scorne
His sute, and doeth hir fauour quyt recleame
 Thus he whom nature freames for gloreis throne
 Fortune throues doune for fate to treed vpone,

Then cumes that lordlie Erle whoes pourfull might
Is both suspect and feard and vist more small
Whoes race once run his sones with out all right
Most frie the vay to rule by their great fall
Which turnes the Scotts calme day to stormmie night
Whoes tempest threats the kingdome croun and all
 Yet he that must succed shall flie mischeif
 And vislie to his End conceall his greif

This starr gone doune ane other doeth appeir
Whose bolde minde feeds the flame of martiall fire,
Yet shoots furth beams illustred white and cleire,
Which shows to warre or peace a like desire,
At Honours croune he aims, though ner'e so deare,
His conquering looks presageth martial Ire,
 To honours great he shall his breether raise,
 But he offends his prince, who ends his daies,

His brother then inrag'd vpbraids there King,
Whose minds bursts forth a storme of desolation,
What he heapd vp in silence forth they bring,
A flood of warre, a fearful invndation,
That wel might choake their foes or'e flowing spring,
But vented wrong flowes to their Princes statioun,
 Yet this hudge flood eu'ne in the height shall turne
 And of a boundles Ocean seeme a burne.

For with the wecht of their owne heauie swey
The currents swiftest motione they recal
Their too too loftie mindes doeth mount so hie
That skoarchd with Ph