Woe worth, woe worth thee, false Scotlande!
For thou hast ever wrought by sleight;
The worthyest prince that ever was borne,
You hanged under a cloud by night.
The Queene of France a letter wrote,
And sealed itt with harte and ringe;
And bade him come Scotland within,
And shee would marry and crowne him kinge.
To be a king is a pleasant thing,
To bee a prince unto a peere:
But you have heard, and soe have I too,
A man may well buy gold too deare.
There was an Italyan in that place,
Was as well beloved as ever was hee;
Lord David was his name,
Chamberlaine to the queene was hee.
If the king had risen forth of his place,
He wold have sate him downe in the cheare,
And tho itt beseemed him not so well,
Altho the kinge had beene present there.
Some lords in Scotlande waxed wrothe,
And quarrelled with him for the nonce;
I shall you tell how it befell,
Twelve daggers were in him att once.
When the queene saw her chamberlaine was slaine,
For him her faire cheeks shee did weete,
And made a vowe for a yeare and a day
The king and shee wold not come in one sheete.
Then some of the lords they waxed wrothe,
And made their vow all vehementlye,
For the death of the queenes chamberlaine,
The king himselfe, how he shall dye.
With gun-powder they strewed his roome,
And layd greene rushes in his way;
For the traitors thought that very night
This worthye king for to betray.
To bedd the king he made him bowne;
To take his rest was his desire;
He was noe sooner cast on sleepe,
But his chamber was on a blasing fire.
Up he lope, and the window brake,
And hee had thirtye foote to fall;
Lord Bodwell kept a privy watch,
Underneath his castle wall.
“Who have wee here?” Lord Bodwell sayd;
“No answer me, that I may know.”
“King Henry the Eighth my uncle was;
For his sweete sake some pitty show.”
“Who have we here?” Lord Bodwell sayd;
“Now answer me when I doe speake.”
“Ah, Lord Bodwell, I know thee well;
Some pitty on me I pray thee take.”
“Ile pitty thee as much,” he sayd,
“And as much favor show to thee,
As thou didst to the queenes chamberlaine,
That day thou deemedst him to die.”
Through halls and towers the king they ledd,
Through towers and castles that were nye,
Through an arbor into an orchard,
There on a peare-tree hanged him hye.
When the governor of Scotland heard
How that the worthye king was slaine,
He pursued the queen so bitterlye,
That in Scotland shee dare not remanie.
But shee is fledd into merry England,
And here her residence hath taine,
And through the queene of Englands grace,
In England now shee doth remaine.
More Poetry from Anonymous British:Anonymous British Poems based on Topics: Man, Night, Death & Dying, Kings & Queens, Place, Fire, Name, Letters, Desire, Betrayal, England
- An Excellent Ballad Of George Barnwell, An Apprentice Of London (Anonymous British Poems)
- Poetical Reflections On A Late Poem Entitled Absalom And Achitophel (Anonymous British Poems)
- The Midnight Messenger. or A Sudden Call From An Earthly Glory To The Cold Grave. (Anonymous British Poems)
- The Bride's Burial. To The Tune Of The Lady's Fall (Anonymous British Poems)
- The Spanish Virgin, Or Effects Of Jealousy (Anonymous British Poems)
- The Origin of All-Fool Day, Which Happened In The Isle of Chiekock, On The 7th Of The Ni-ada (Anonymous British Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:Based on Topics: Man Poems, Night Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Place Poems, Name Poems, Kings & Queens Poems, Fire Poems, Desire Poems, Letters Poems, England Poems, Betrayal Poems
Based on Keywords: beene, arbor, sayd, hye, cheare, quarrelled, remaine, sweete, himselfe, nonce, itt