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 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 
 RIFTS IN THE REEK
 
 
 ■I. 
 
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 RIFTS IN THE REEK 
 
 BY 
 
 JEANIE MORISON 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 
 MDCCCXCVIII 
 
 All Rights resfri'ed
 
 
 TO THE MEMORY 
 
 OF TWO 
 
 HUGH MILLERS. 

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PROLOGUE I 
 
 RIFT I. COLUM THE WHITE 5 
 
 RIFT 11. MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP — IN 
 
 EIGHT FYTTES 21 
 
 RIFT III. "naE OUTGAIT" — A TRILOGY — 
 
 I. A.D. 1572 69 
 
 II. NOVEMBER 1 572 A.D. ... 93 
 HI. AT FOTHERINGAY. — FEBRUARY 8, 
 
 1587 A.D 125 
 
 RIFT IV. "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT" 
 
 — IN FIVE ACTS 165 
 
 RIFT V. "YEA, HATH GOD SAID?" . . . 313 
 
 EPILOGUE 319
 
 "When llial which is perfect is come, then that which 
 is in part shall be done away."
 
 RIFTS IN THE REEK. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Only a block in the Building, 
 
 Only one stone in a wall, 
 To this hath it sunk, thine ambition, 
 
 O Soul, that so fain had been all ? 
 
 Only one 'mid the countless thousands 
 Of which the great Architect rears. 
 
 On our earth. His mighty Temple, 
 Whose top shall reach the spheres. 
 
 A
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Fain hadst thou stood out singly, 
 
 In a glory all thine own, 
 A Druid boulder o'er the waste, 
 
 Majestic and alone, 
 
 With rough stone finger pointing 
 From earth to Heaven alway ; 
 
 A dumb Voice for God 'mid the silence 
 Of the moor's untrodden way ; 
 
 Thou hadst not feared 'mid the stillness 
 
 To rear thy front alone. 
 From earth and its wildering noises 
 
 To the silence of God's throne ; 
 
 But to be but one stone block only 
 
 Of myriads in a wall. 
 Canst thou stoop thy proud aspirings, 
 
 O Soul ! that so fain had been all ? 
 
 Yes, that is the task He sets thee, 
 
 If thou wouldst have part in His fane, 
 
 Ere the world was, whose foundations 
 Were laid in a Lamb that was slain ;
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 His Temple whose towering summit 
 
 Evanishes in the blue, 
 AVhere the Lamb, its deep foundation, 
 
 Is its God-crowned copestone too. 
 
 No solitary sentinel, 
 
 No Druid stone o'er the waste, 
 But one stone on others resting, 
 
 In a slow growth that makes no haste. 
 
 One link in the long ascension 
 From Chaos and Night alone. 
 
 Of the golden chain that hath ending 
 In the God-man on the throne. 
 
 Ah ! better than lonely glory 
 To be poorest link of that chain, 
 
 To be meanest block of that Building 
 For aye that shall remain ; 
 
 More glorious that Nirvana 
 
 Where Self and its claims hath cease, 
 — The soldier merged in the army. 
 
 The part in the Perfect's peace. —
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Incorporate with the Author 
 
 And Finisher of faith, 
 Like His, thy living glory 
 
 Hath its deep roots in Death.
 
 RIPT I. 
 
 COLUM THE WHITE 
 
 A.D. 561-597
 
 COLUM THE WHITE. 
 
 " Ended the Battle ! On Cul-Dreimhne's 
 
 turf 
 The eagle and the vulture scent the blood; 
 They gather from the hills ; above the 
 
 slain 
 They hover; they swoop down on the 
 
 dead ; 
 Their eyes glare ghastly in the moon ; 
 they drink 
 
 From the red pools, their stream- 
 ing beaks to heaven 
 They raise, God thanking ! 
 
 Druids of Diarmaid made 
 A magic circle ; Finnian prayed ; but not 
 With thee, O Diarmaid, fought the Lord of Battles ! 
 The Red Hand of O'Neill hath triumphed. On
 
 8 RIFT I. 
 
 The hill, I, Colum, spake with God. 
 
 What say'st 
 
 Thou, Scandal?" — " Of Diarmaid's dead three thou- 
 sand 
 Lie cold, O Colum ! on Cul-Dreimhne's turf." 
 "Three thousand bloody ghosts all unannealed, 
 By Colum hurl'd into eternity, 
 For lust of Thy dear Gospel, Christ, who died 
 For men ! " 
 
 To Driumfhionn Finnian brought 
 From far-off southern land the priceless gem, 
 O Christ ! of Thy dear words : I, Columchille, 
 With a barred door, by candle's flicker, writ 
 In the dim kirk, in watches of the night. 
 A spy sent Finnian ; whereon the crane 
 That hops about the altar, spied his eye 
 Peering through cranny in the wall, and pecked 
 At it ; back howling to his master ran 
 The cateran ; — Finnian would have the book 
 Colum's right hand had writ, and Diarmaid gave 
 Judgement betwixt us : " To each cow her calf. 
 To every book its son-book." — Then in wrath, 
 I, Colum, roused the Red Hand of O'Neill.
 
 COLUM THE WHITE. 9 
 
 Like a white mist, O Christ ! their sad manes rise ! 
 They hover o'er the red field of their death, 
 As when at the sun's kiss the valleys smoke ; 
 Their doleful arms they wave, warning from hence 
 The Church's Dove, that changed to vulture slew ! 
 Hark to their woeful voices on the wind 
 That sweeps, O Cul-Dreimhne, thy red-pooled turf ! — 
 " Never, O Colum ! more, Eire thy home ! " 
 
 So comes Thy call, O Christ ! that Colum craved 
 In days of his hot youth, when first he knew 
 Prayer's breath, like perfume shed upon the wind, 
 Straight rises where God sits above the blue. 
 And answer sure brings 'neath the White Dove's wing. 
 " Foreign mould over me at last," I prayed, 
 The call Thy servants of the Thebaid deemed 
 Greatest and last, — God's perfect servants so ; 
 Yet aye shrank Colum's flesh from Colum's prayer ! 
 Strong, strong thy cords, O Eire, and entwined 
 Deep, deep in Colum's heart-strings, ne'er to be 
 Dissundered save both brake ! — Break now, O Christ ! 
 From these three thousand ghost-tongues comes Thy 
 call : 
 
 " Ended the Battle ! "
 
 lO RIFT I. 
 
 " Halcyon and sea-gull, circling o'er the wave 
 That laves thy pebbles, Glas-a-nionn-laid, 
 — Last strand to bear the print of Colum's foot 
 On thee, his Eire, — hover their Farewell ! 
 Farewell for ever ! for when first the cock 
 Of Cill-shillach shall sing the coming dawn, 
 (Would thy cock throatless were, O Cill-shillach !) 
 Must Colum's coracle spread its white wings, 
 — Like thine, thou sea-mew skimming round his prow, 
 Yet, O less happy ! for thy circles end 
 Ever in thine own nest in Eire's cliffs, 
 But Colum's white wings may no circle trace. 
 But a straight course across this bitter brine 
 That evermore divides from Eire's shore, 
 On Alba's storm-beat rocks to plant Christ's Cross. 
 — Hark ! through the still dark of yet unborn Morn 
 A far-off sound ! — The cock of Cill-shillach ! 
 Halcyon and sea-gull ! "
 
 COLUM THE WHITE. II 
 
 "Ye winds and waves that Colum bear to Hy, 
 — Green speck amid the blue, loua's Isle, 
 King Conall gifteth to King Conall's King, 
 Whereon for Columchille to raise His Sign, — 
 May ye be all that Colum sees from Hy 
 
 t 
 
 Now sinks the round sun 'neath the western wave 
 Beyond which lies the Eird of my heart ; 
 So will I mount yon hill-top thence to scan 
 The far horizon ; Christ ! may no faint haze, 
 Cloud-like and dim above the waters, speak 
 To Colum's heart of Eire, lest it break ! 
 
 'Tis well ! nought save blue sea, blue sky, goldened 
 At dip of sun ! So do I name this hill 
 Carn-cul-ri-Erinn ; ^ — here begin new life, 
 — All Colum's Past behind the sunset hid 
 And westering wave ! 
 
 And first to plant His Sign, — 
 A granite Cross within a granite Ring, 
 (The Christ within the All in All of God) ;— 
 So claiming for its Lord this little Hy, 
 — This green rock-speck amid the watery waste 
 
 1 Hill of the turning of the back on Ireland.
 
 12 RIFT I. 
 
 Of long blue billows cresting into foam, 
 
 The sea's wild horses with white flowing manes ; — 
 
 With His dear Symbol sanctifying Hy, 
 
 God and Redeemer of the whole wide world, 
 
 And of each rock lonely amid its seas. 
 
 Next, build in circle wide, rampart of earth 
 With rude stones faced, to guard the holy ground 
 Whereon of mud and wattles we may rear 
 His House of Prayer ; its little bell-tower aye 
 Pointing to Heaven, and with its iron tongue, 
 — Struck duly morn and eve, and Sabbath-day, — 
 Calling Hy's simple folk to worship Christ ; 
 Near it our bothys, — twelve and one apart, — 
 For Columchille and his companions twelve ; 
 An Hospice for the strangers whom Christ loved ; 
 A kitchen, and a dining-place for all. 
 Without, — the byre, the barn, the mill, the dam. 
 The quern and farm for daily common needs ; 
 And on the shore, cobbles and boats to reach 
 The world beyond the blue that circles Hy. 
 
 So shall we live on earth as though in Heaven ; 
 Life simple, gentle, pure, peaceful, and blest ;
 
 COLUM THE WHITE. 1 3 
 
 Self and its doleful Past forgot ; each day 
 With healthful work and holy commune full, 
 And study of His Word that givetli life ; 
 And thus from souls with heavenly manna fed 
 Teach Christ's poor flock in Hy, or at God's call 
 Seek His far sheep scattered on Alba's hills. 
 — No care for the poor body save the crust 
 Of daily bread, and water from the spring ; 
 The tunic white, and long white-hooded robe, 
 And the thick shaggy cloak of undyed wool, 
 Warder 'gainst storm and sea. 
 
 So Colum live. 
 So work, so pray, and so let Colum die ! 
 Ye winds and waves ! "
 
 14 RIFT I. 
 
 The Cross within the Circle was in Hy. 
 
 And Colum and his twelve monks dwelt in Hy, 
 And God dwelt in him, and he dwelt in God, 
 So marvels were. Healing his prayers brought ; 
 Before him sunk the surging waves to peace ; 
 Savage beasts ceased their rage ; ill spirits fled ; 
 The wild boar ravening from the wood fell dead 
 Before his feet ; the monster of the deep, 
 Roaring to seize its prey, to ocean's caves 
 Slunk back as Colum signed upon the air 
 Christ's blessed Cross. The hidden sin within 
 Men's hearts he saw and dragged it forth to day 
 For God to cleanse. He saw the angels come 
 To carry Home the blessed dead to Christ ; 
 He saw the demons fighting o'er the damned ; 
 With angels spake he on Sithean Mor ; 
 And in him dwelt the vision that foretells, 
 For all the universe before his sight 
 Lay open as within one ray of sun. 
 In the broad day men saw a heavenly light 
 Blaze round him ; and before the altar rest 
 A ball of fire like comet o'er his brow.
 
 COLUM THE WHITE. 1 5 
 
 Then died King Conall, (who gave Hy to Christ), 
 And Aidan came that Columchille might bless, 
 And lay his holy hands on him in Hy, 
 And consecrate him King. 
 
 And Crosses rose, 
 And many a moor and hill of Alba bare, 
 'Mid purple ling and bracken, Colum's spire 
 Pointing to Heaven ; and many a storm-girt isle 
 Of the far main, 'mid waves' hoarse roar that surge 
 Through rocky caves, and wild gulls' shriek, and cry 
 Of kestrel, heard, afar off, clear and sweet 
 His voice of praise. 
 
 Teaching and ruling thus ; 
 Writing within his cell Christ's blessed words. 
 Or praying lone in Desert of the Shore, 
 Or by the sound of bell bidding his monks 
 At midnight or at morn to agonise 
 Within their wattle kirk with him in prayer. 
 Humble, revered, beloved among his monks. 
 So forty years Columchille dwelt in Hy. 
 
 Then Colum saw the angels for his soul ; 
 And he was glad with more than mortal joy,
 
 l6 RIFT I. 
 
 So longed he to depart and be at rest. 
 
 But when the tidings spread in Hy, and o'er 
 
 The mountains and the valleys he had trod, 
 
 Each heart bowed down with woe, and from all lips 
 
 Went up the breath of prayer. Then Colum grieved, 
 
 Knowing such prayers prevail, and sad he saw 
 
 The angel-host that came to bear him Home 
 
 Their faces Heavenward turn, leaving him here ; 
 
 For he was weary longing for Christ's face. 
 
 Four long years more he laboured, then God sent 
 Once more the angels '; charging them to bring 
 Swiftly His Colum home, ere men could pray. 
 
 Thus it befell. 
 
 Upon a day of June, 
 When calm the sea lay like the Sea of Glass, 
 And all the mountains slept beneath the blue ; 
 Towards the evening ere the sun went down. 
 Returned from his monks' bothies, Colum clomb 
 Carn-cul-ri-Erinn, then lift up his hands 
 And blessed his Hy, and said: "This place, though 
 
 small. 
 In no small honour yet shall it be held,
 
 COLUM THE WHITE. 1 7 
 
 Not of the Scots alone but of all peoples." 
 
 Then to his hut he went and wrote upon 
 
 His Psalter, — when the words were writ, " They that 
 
 The Lord seek shall not want any good thing." 
 
 " Here at this page's foot I stop, Baithen 
 
 Shall finish it." — And so to even prayer. 
 
 This charge thereafter for his monks and Christ's 
 
 Poor flock they fed, gave he to Diarmaid ; " These, 
 
 Oh children, my last words, that ye do keep 
 
 In charity unfeigned and mutual peace ; 
 
 So will God help you, Strengthener of the Good, 
 
 And I, dwelling with Him, will pray for you ; 
 
 So shall ye have of Him not that alone 
 
 Which this life needs, but the eternal gifts 
 
 Of good things that He keeps for them that do 
 
 His will." 
 
 Then on the pavement slab, nightly 
 His couch, he laid him down, his head upon 
 The stone that was his pillow, sleeping 'neath 
 The wing of Death's great Angel. 
 
 When the bell 
 Rang for the midnight prayer, swift he arose 
 And hasted to the kirk, there first, as aye 
 His wont. Diarmaid, who running followed, saw 
 
 B
 
 l8 RIFT I. 
 
 The unlighted kirk's dark windows blaze with light 
 
 Unearthly, and the fishermen far out 
 
 At sea beheld a column of strange fire 
 
 That night stream 'twixt loua's kirk and Heaven, 
 
 As Diarmaid entered all the kirk was dark. 
 
 When lights were kindled and the folk streamed in, 
 
 All saw in his accustomed place Colum 
 
 The White, before the altar, on his knees. 
 
 — The bell ceased, and they waited for his voice 
 
 To lead their prayers as ever was his wont, 
 
 But Colum moved not : then drew Diarmaid nigh 
 
 And knew the dreaded hour, — their Colum's soul 
 
 Was winging its far flight. 
 
 Once wonderingly 
 He oped his blue-grey eyes, bright with strange light 
 Of joy within them, — a hush fell on all, — 
 They knew he saw the angels come to bear 
 Him Home : feebly he looked round on the flock 
 He loved, and strove to bless them : — mute his tongue, 
 But, passing, with his uplifted right hand, 
 Once more he made the dear sign of the Cross. 
 
 Then 'mid their sobs, in that dark hour of dule,
 
 COLUM THE WHITE. I9 
 
 Colum the White dead in their midst, his flock 
 
 Ended the prayers their Columchille began, 
 
 Ere reverent they bare his sacred corse 
 
 To the stone couch so long his nightly bed. 
 
 — Three long bright days and three short nights of 
 
 June 
 They sang beside him. — In Reilig Ohdrain 
 Within his Hy, then laid him to his rest. 
 " Foreign mould over him at last." 
 
 Few days 
 Thereafter Colum Crag and Mun met two 
 Of Hy, " Is Colum well, Colum the White ? " 
 They asked. — With solemn joy answered the twain, 
 " Aye, truly is he well, he is with Christ." 
 
 The Cross within the Circle was in Hy.
 
 RIFT II. 
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' 
 KEEP 
 
 A.D. 106S-1093
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 
 
 FYTTE I. 
 
 The nicht it was mirk, an' the wind it blew loud, 
 An' their barque it was driftin' fairly ; 
 
 The ladies they stood 'neath its tattered shroud, 
 In the chill o' the mornin' early. 
 
 Oh, dowie I wat were their faces fair, 
 
 Micht ane win the ither to see, 
 For sic blast as blew through their link lang hair 
 
 Nae lanthorn's licht micht dree ! 
 
 " O Mary, Mother," the mother she said, 
 
 " For aye a mother are ye, 
 In pity look doun frae yer throne owerhead 
 
 On a mother's extremity !
 
 24 RIFT II. 
 
 Not haughty our hearts, sweet Mary mild, 
 
 Though come o' high degree ; 
 Frae a throne 'tis he flees, my ^theling child. 
 
 Like the King that was Son to thee : 
 
 His sisters fair for their gowden hair 
 
 Seek nor diadem nor gem ; 
 The cloister pale, and the nun's black veil, 
 
 Bride-home and bride-garb for them. 
 
 Sweet Mother, frae where thou sittest on high 
 
 By thy Son on His throne of licht. 
 Look doun, look doun through the mirk, mirk sky, 
 
 On our mirk, mirk sea this nicht, 
 
 That ravens and roars like a beast o' prey, 
 
 To feast on my sweet bairns three. 
 And spare, by thy mother's agony, 
 
 And by His that died on the tree ! " 
 
 The nicht it was mirk, and the wind it blew loud, 
 Their barque drifts but sail an' helm ; 
 
 The skipper he stan's wi' the Saxon lords proud, 
 But waiting the wave that should whelm ;
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 2$ 
 
 An' some they are cursing like fiends o' hell, 
 
 An' some they are on their knees, 
 When a clear voice it fell like a heavenly spell, 
 
 'Mid the tumult o' win's and seas. 
 
 " Sweet Mary hath heard," said that voice like a bird 
 
 O' calm that broods ower the deep ; 
 The tattered sails droop, an' the blast's wild swoop 
 
 An' the tossing waves settle to sleep. 
 
 " See yonder ! See yonder ! " sweet Margaret she cried, 
 
 " Our Bethlehem Star i' the west ! " 
 An' through mirk o' the nicht the skipper espied 
 
 A gleam ower the wild waves' crest ! 
 
 '"Tis a licht frae the shore," the skipper he cried, 
 
 "We drift in a land-locked bay ! 
 Noo thanks to Our Lady aboon," he cried, 
 
 " An' our sweet lady here this day. 
 
 Noo whatsoever may be yon shore, 
 
 Whate'er this bay whar we grope, 
 Whar yon licht gleams out the mirk waters o'er 
 
 Sail aye be ca'ed ' Margaret's Hope ! ' "
 
 26 
 
 FYTTE II. 
 
 King Malcolm has come frae Northumbria's Ian', 
 
 An' a wrathfu' man is he ; 
 The auld he has slain wi' his red right han', 
 
 The young hailed to slavery. 
 
 " Because Gospatrick, Northumbria's Thane, 
 
 My Cumbria did harry. 
 Not a son o' its Saxon folk sail remain 
 
 That the Norman Bastard let tarry." 
 
 t 
 
 Wi' his English captives in servile chains 
 
 He has come to his eyrie sae high, 
 Whar the Keep o' the Maidens looks doun ower the 
 plains, 
 
 Frae its wild rock that towers gainst the sky.
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 2/ 
 
 The King he looks out frae his casement pane, 
 Ower the Firth in the mornin' early, — 
 
 "This day shall be joy in Dumfermlaine, 
 For my captives there will I carry ; 
 
 An' never a cot amang the lave, 
 
 My troth, but it shall be merry. 
 Its gude-wife at ease wi' her Saxon slave 
 
 Wood to chop, an' water to carry ! 
 
 Gospatrick may sit intil Bamburgh's Ha', 
 
 But ne'er a carl or carline 
 He'll hae to dight platter, or pit steed i' sta', 
 
 They're a' aff wi' me to Dumfermlaine ! " 
 
 He looks frae his casement out ower the Forth, 
 
 Out ower i' the mornin' early, — 
 " What, ho ! Sir Warder, look out to the North, 
 
 What lies in yon bield sae buirdly? 
 
 A battered hulk, wi' shrouds in shreds, 
 
 Yet the hulk o' a lordly wherry ! 
 Noo hie ye doun to the shore," he said, 
 
 " See what ship yon is lies at the ferry."
 
 28 RIFT II. 
 
 They cam' to the ferry, the Scottish lords a', 
 Whar the Firth frae the sea grows narrow, 
 
 An' the queenly Forth flaws twixt wa' an' wa' 
 O' wooded knoll an' hollow ; 
 
 They hae boarded the ship that lies in the bay, 
 
 The Scottish lords ane an' a'. 
 Their trusty steeds mounted an' hied them away, 
 
 To the King or the gloamin' fa', 
 
 " An' what did ye find, my Scottish lords a', 
 
 An' what is't that lies at the ferry. 
 That nae prisoners ye bring to the Maidens' Keep 
 Ha', 
 
 Nor yon proud Saxon hulk did ye harry ? " 
 
 *' To the Keep o' the Maidens nae prisoners we 
 bring, 
 
 Nor yon proud Saxon hulk did we harry, 
 For een ne'er hae seen sae goodly a thing 
 
 As yon that lies at the ferry ! 
 
 Nae galley sae proud, spite its tattered shroud, 
 E'er hath sailed ower the Firth's blue waters ;
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 29 
 
 Men sae lordly in grace, maids sae winsome o' face, 
 Can be nane but a King's sons an' daughters. 
 
 Though nae word can they speak o' our Celtic 
 tongue. 
 
 Nor we their Saxon speech follow, 
 A King's barge be sure 'tis that lies there among 
 
 The woods by the ferry's hollow ! 
 
 Ane maid aboon a' o' sae gracious a glee, 
 
 Yet sae queenly her govvden head. 
 Though a man fain wad dee but her red lips to pree, 
 
 He maun fa' on his knees i'stead." 
 
 The King he has mounted his trusty steed. 
 
 An' hied him doun to the ferry ; 
 " Noo these be the ^thelings, in very deed. 
 
 An' safe wi' me sail they tarry. 
 
 For his sake that took me, a stranger child, 
 By the bloody Macbeth hunted sorely, 
 
 To his board an' his cup, blessed Edward mild. 
 As aft times I've tauld ye the story ;
 
 30 RIFT II. 
 
 An' nane o' the saintly Edward's blood 
 E'er to Malcolm a stranger sail be ; 
 
 The half o' his cup an' the half o' his board 
 Aye are theirs, as his were to me."
 
 FYTTE III. 
 
 "O mother! My mother!" sweet Margaret, she 
 cried, 
 Whar the Maidens' Keep looks ower the sea, 
 " Let your daughter, my mother, creep close to your 
 side, 
 For the Scots' King comes wooin' to me ! 
 
 An' oh ! it is not mine to give. 
 
 My mother, this hand o' mine. 
 For lang I am trysted His maid to live, 
 
 The blessed Bridegroom Divine ; 
 
 An' how can I put this lily hand, 
 
 That He looks I keep clean for Him, 
 
 In the red right hand that our English land 
 Bathes in blood and murder grim ?
 
 32 RIFT II. 
 
 For Malcolm's rude kiss how change the bliss 
 O' my Heavenly Bridegroom's breast ? 
 
 For his savage throne how renounce my own 
 In the Kingdom o' the Blest ? " 
 
 " My daughter ! My pearl ! Sweet Margaret mine ! 
 
 Little wist I to counsel thee, 
 Yet thy Heavenly Bridegroom ne'er dread thou co 
 tyne, 
 
 Whatsoe'er thy earth's life lot may be ! 
 
 As I knelt at my lattice at dawn this day, 
 
 And the sun he rose ower the sea, 
 I knew that a sign o' the Will Divine 
 
 Ere he set should be sent to thee." 
 
 Oh, low, low he louted the Scottish knight, 
 He louted him doun to the knee ! 
 
 " A tale for your ears hae I, ladies bright, 
 Nane kens save ane ither an' me ! 
 
 Oh, vilely I plotted again' my lord. 
 Feigned vilely his friend for to be ;
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 33 
 
 I drank o' his cup, an' I sat at his board, 
 Frank an' kindly he smiled on me ! 
 
 An' a' the while the assassin's knife 
 
 I had hid 'neath my doublet rare, 
 An' the deadly drop to ease him o' life 
 
 In my chamber I did prepare ! 
 
 Ae morn to the huntin' we a' were gane 
 
 That abode in my master's Ha', 
 An' wi' wha but me maun he ride alane 
 
 O' his knights baith great an' sma' ! 
 
 We rade on thorough the gude green wood 
 
 Wi' the dew-drops sparklin' rarely, 
 Till we cam' to a pleasant glade an' good ; 
 
 The lave a' ahint us fairly. 
 
 " Noo halt we here, Sir Knight," he cried, 
 
 " Noo halt we in this hollow, 
 Whar nought by man may be espied 
 
 Through the green woods this glade that swallow ;
 
 34 RIFT II. 
 
 Noo bide ye on palfrey or licht ye doun, 
 
 Your lead will I surely follow, 
 Wi' our ain twa hands an' help frae none, 
 
 Show whilk's the best man in this hollow ! 
 
 For death i' the cup is a wiffis' way, 
 
 An' a knife i' the sleeve a thief's ; 
 Noo choose ye yer weapon like true knight this day, 
 
 Man to man dispute we your griefs ! 
 
 Ne'er plot like a murderer me to slay, 
 
 But han' to han' like a knight, 
 Stan' up wi' me in this green glade the day, 
 
 An' God defend the risht ! " 
 
 'o 
 
 Oh, low, low I louted upon my knee. 
 Kissed the dust at his feet as he spake ! 
 
 That he bore him sae knightly to unknightly me 
 My heart in my bosom it brake ! 
 
 In the dust I grovelled afore his feet, 
 
 Tauld him a' my deadly sin, 
 Swore his man to be wheresoe'er we should meet 
 
 A' my life, but his pardon to win.
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 35 
 
 Oh, gracious he stoopet an' raised me up, 
 
 An' gracious he set by his side, 
 To eat at his board an' to drink o' his cup, 
 
 An' to nane spake o' what did betide. 
 
 Nae man kens the thing, save me an' the King, 
 
 An' glad wad I gie limb an' life 
 To serve him but here whar his heart it hauds 
 dear"— 
 
 Quoth the Maid — " Bid him come for his wife."
 
 36 
 
 FYTTE IV. 
 
 There was wassail an' wine in Dumfermlaine's Ha', 
 
 Gauds rich an' rare to be seen, 
 An' Malcolm he sat 'mang his gentles a'. 
 
 By his side his young English Queen. 
 
 Oh, rich an' rare were the gauds she wore 
 
 O' purple an' cramoisie, 
 Scottish een ne'er hae seen the like afore, 
 
 Frae lands far ower the sea. 
 
 Assiettes o' gowd they did not lack, 
 
 Nor flagons o' gowd for the wine. 
 An' aye there stood at the King his back. 
 
 His guard, lest he honour should tyne ;
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 37 
 
 An' the gentles a' their kilts an' hose 
 
 They maun be o' the tartan fine, 
 To pleasure the een o' the English Rose 
 
 That wi' Scotland's rough Thistle did twine ; 
 
 The Queen she has een o' the winsome blue, 
 
 Wi' pearls binds her gowden hair, 
 An' witty her words an' wise an' true, 
 
 Ilk guid knight's heart she hands there. 
 
 The wassail an' wine it goes round an' round, 
 
 An' late, late they rise them up, 
 Quoth the Queen, " My lords, let our feast be 
 crowned, 
 
 Yet wi' ane more loving cup ; 
 
 Noo here's to the health o' that gallant knight, 
 
 Low his state be or high this day, 
 That ere frae the table he rises ilk nicht 
 
 His knightly debt who doth pay 
 
 For the meat an' the drink an' the table spread, 
 To Him who giveth all ;
 
 38 RIFT II. 
 
 The Queen drinks to him who his Ave hath said, 
 * Margaret's Grace Cup ' men sail it call." 
 
 The Queen an' the King they rise in their place, 
 
 A' the guid knights the table round, 
 An' \vi' fu' bickers quaff they Queen Margaret's 
 Grace, 
 
 To ilk knight God to thank that is found. 
 
 Oh, merry rang the axe in the good green wood, 
 
 An' merry the pick in the quarry. 
 Like a dream there rose where Dumfermlaine's Ha' 
 stood 
 
 A fair fane to God an' His glory. 
 
 Skilled workmen they cam' frae across the sea 
 
 To chisel the stone sae fine. 
 An' carvers in wood an' ivory 
 
 An' gowd for St Mary's shrine. 
 
 The Queen she wrought, 'mid her maidens all 
 
 (O' Scotland's best blood were they). 
 Altar-cloth, stole, cope an' chasuble 
 
 Decked with rarest broidery.
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 39 
 
 Oh, gleefu' they chatted her maidens a', 
 
 An' gleefu' it rang out their sang, 
 But never a word frae their red Hps did fa' 
 
 To an angel choir had done wrang ; 
 
 For the Queen sae gracious, an' young, an' fair, 
 
 Wi' a glance o' sic winsome glee, 
 Bore a soul sae white, not the hardiest dare 
 
 Wi' one speck front its purity ; 
 
 An' aye she prayed for King Malcolm's soul, 
 As her Abbey it rose 'mid the wood, 
 
 Buttress an' arch, till a perfect whole 
 As a dream o' beauty it stood; 
 
 She has won him by her winsome ways, 
 She has won him for Christ her King, 
 
 An' ne'er the least word that his Margaret says. 
 But her Canmore takes heed to that thing, 
 
 An' hundreds she gathers o' Christ His poor 
 
 Frae the country far an' wide, 
 An' to them they enter, an' shut to the door, 
 
 — The Queen wi' the King at her side,
 
 40 
 
 RIFT 11. 
 
 An' on them they wait in Christ His name, 
 
 — On ae side the Ha' the King, 
 On its ither the Queen, — nor think it shame 
 
 Food an' drink wi' their ain han's to bring. 
 
 An' aye as she rides in the King's highways 
 
 The beggars about her thrang, 
 To nane she says nay that for help do her pray, 
 
 Ilk rights that hath a wrang ; 
 
 An' that nane be kept back by her queenly state 
 
 She sits on a wayside stane. 
 That a' may come near, be they sma' or great, 
 
 Wha hae word for her ear alane. 
 
 An' aye in the forty days o' Lent 
 
 An' the forty nights or Noel, 
 Her bride-bed she quits or the hours be far spent 
 
 For God's Kirk its cauld chancel. 
 
 An' there on her face, 'neath the Holy Rood, 
 
 She prostrates herself in sorrow 
 For the sins o' the past, prays the Shepherd Good 
 
 For strength an' grace for the morrow.
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 4I 
 
 The King in his privy purse he has gold 
 For the altar on Maundy Thursday, 
 
 But alack an' alas ! when the coins are told 
 Twa punds Scots are wanting fairly ! 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! let us see ! " quoth the King, in glee, 
 " What thief 'tis that robs me sairly ! 
 
 For I hae a thocht to my mind while's been brocht, 
 An' this job 'ill settle it rarely ! " 
 
 He has gane inside his ain closet door, 
 
 He has hidden ahint the arras ! 
 An' wha but the Queen comes by to his store 
 
 O' gowd coins a' ready for High ]\Iass ! 
 
 The coffer she's oped wi' the King's ane key 
 
 An' twa gowden guineas has sto'en, 
 To gie her puir folk ; when what should she see 
 
 But the King's laughing face front her own ! 
 
 " I hae ye at last, ye wicked thief ! 
 
 I hae caught ye red-handed !" quoth he ;
 
 42 RIFT II. 
 
 " What plea hae ye noo to win ye relief 
 Frae the law's pains for robbin' o' me ? 
 
 An' blacker sin yet, ye infidel knave ! 
 
 For sacrilege sure 'tis to borrow 
 My gowd for the Mass ! — What say ye to save 
 
 Yer sawl frae that sin an' sorrow ? " 
 
 The Queen she has blushet a rosy red, 
 An' she pouts an' she smiles thegither, 
 
 " My Lord the King, mind ye what words ye said 
 When we stood at the altar wi' ither ? 
 
 Was't no that ye dowered me wi' a' yer gear, 
 Wi' the King's sell ane that day frae ? 
 
 Then hoo am I thief? Thae gowd coins here 
 The King to his ain sell doth pay ! 
 
 An' the like in the ither count, my plea, 
 Ane Christ's puir folk wi' their King, 
 
 Gin I tak frae His altar, Himsel' 'tis to gie, 
 Sae nae count again me can ye bring ! "
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 43 
 
 In the Queen her oratoire sits the King, 
 Wi' her missals an' psalters round him ; 
 
 Oh, tender he turns ower ilk dainty thing, 
 Though sair their letters confound him. 
 
 " Noo whilk o' them a' loes she best ? " quoth he ; 
 
 " To read them I hae nae skill, 
 Yet ilk crooket word it is dear to me, 
 
 Tells Mars;aret our dear Lord's will : 
 
 An' to ane an' a' for her dear sake. 
 
 An' for His that died on the Tree, 
 Malcolm Canmore this day his homage doth make. 
 
 An' kisses them here on his knee. 
 
 Come hither, come hither, Sir Priest," he cries 
 
 To Turgot, the Queen's confessor, 
 " Show the King whilk o' these the Queen most doth 
 prize. 
 
 For its words o' comfort that bless her." 
 
 The priest he has waled, and intil the King's hand 
 St John his Evangel hath laid it ;
 
 44 RIFT II. 
 
 " Noo send for a goldsmith, gie Malcolm's command 
 Wi' gowd an' wi' pearl to braid it. 
 
 For the blest words o' Him that died on the Rood 
 A' are pure gowd an' pearls maist rare ; 
 
 An' for Malcolm's ain Pearl nae pearl's ower guid 
 Wi' her saintly white sawl to compare ! "
 
 45 
 
 FYTTE V. 
 
 To the Council Ha' o' the Maidens' Keep 
 They hae come frae Loch Leven's water, 
 
 An' its Isle round whilk the blue waves sleep, 
 Or dimple in sunlit laughter, 
 
 That Brude the son o' the Picts' last king 
 
 To God an' His Keledai gifted, 
 Auld Bricius the Head an' his monks in a ring. 
 
 Their faith an' their rites to hae sifted. 
 
 The Queen she is there wi' her winsome grace, 
 An' the King wi' his buirdly favour, 
 
 An' Godwin frae England in Lanfranc's place, 
 An' Turgot the Queen's confessor.
 
 46 RIFT II. 
 
 Fu' lowly she kneels the auld Bricius afore 
 That has come frae his Hermit-cell, 
 
 Prays his saintly blessing her whole life o'er 
 Like brooding wings to dwell ; 
 
 Syne saftly she speaks in her Saxon speech 
 That the King into Scots he doth render, 
 
 As ane fain that wad learn frae ane that can teach, 
 O' the auld monk sae reverent an' tender. 
 
 " My Father, our blessed Lord, nights and days. 
 
 In the desert sae bleak and sterile 
 Fu' forty fasted, 'mang wild beasts' w^ays, 
 
 Read we not in His holy Evangile ? 
 
 Dear Father, gin He wi' His sinless soul, 
 
 Bore fu' forty days that sorrow. 
 Can we, His poor sinfu' servants, thole 
 
 But thirty-six to borrow 
 
 Frae the meat an' the drink an' the table spread. 
 As the wont is in Scotland this day ? 
 
 And wherefore o' His blest Body the bread 
 To eat should we say oursels nay
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 47 
 
 On the day He rose, His Easter Feast 
 Wi' His whole Catholic Kirk for to share 
 
 The joy o' His table as loving guest, 
 An' taste o' His heavenly fare ? 
 
 An' on His weekly Holy day 
 
 Should ony man burden bare. 
 My Father, when He bids a' to stay 
 
 Their wark for blessed prayer ? " 
 
 Sic queries an' mair wi' her queenly grace 
 
 She has set the Council afore ; 
 Auld Bricius the Abbot he rose in his place, — 
 
 'Neath the Monkish cowl he wore 
 
 The silver locks ower his broad brent breast 
 An' his age-bowed shoulders streamed, 
 
 As in monk's weeds he stood, amang Scotland's best, 
 Wi' the een o' ane that dreamed. 
 
 " My gracious ladye," the auld man he said, 
 " For thy gracious words thanks we gie, 
 
 My twelve poor monks, and I their Head, 
 Frae the Isle o' Loch Leven's sea.
 
 48 RIFT II. 
 
 Oh weel ye speak, my gracious Queen, 
 
 An' weel can auld Bricius see 
 The licht o' His blessed Spirit's sheen 
 
 That shines on the brow o' thee. 
 
 Sma' matter it is for four days more 
 
 On gruten and druchtan to fare, 
 Or the eggs an' lard o' the Easter store 
 
 Its deer's flesh an' hog's flesh we share ; 
 
 Yet since Holy Columba Scottish wont hath it been 
 Six weeks Lenten Fast but to keep ; — 
 
 An' men do say, maist gracious Queen, 
 Truth comes to auld Bricius in sleep. 
 
 An' this vision there came to his dreamin' een, 
 
 As he sat by the silver shore 
 On the lands o' Ballechristen, gien 
 
 To God an' Saint Servan of yore ; 
 
 In Cill-Righmonaigh's ^ new great kirk he seemed, 
 Lighted fair for the Easter Feast, 
 
 ^ St Andrews.
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 49 
 
 An' lo ! on its lectern he saw, as he dreamed, 
 Frae his ain Psalter 'twas read the Priest, 
 
 An' near by it his auld missal lay. 
 
 An' a voice the nicht wind seemed to send 
 
 Through the lighted kirk, " Haud fast the auld way, 
 The new beginneth the end." 
 
 Syne he stood in the cell whar he's lived an' prayed, 
 
 On the Isle of Loch Leven's sea. 
 An' lo ! wolf an' fox their nests there had made, 
 
 An' their whelps held its tenancy ; 
 
 On the ledge o' the rock the wild fowl bred 
 
 Whar he was wont to pray, 
 An' the cells whar his twelve monks their missals had 
 read 
 
 But twelve heaps o' ruin lay. 
 
 Their Isle it lay waste, deserted o' all. 
 
 Then a sough with the sad breeze did blend, 
 
 " Haud fast by the auld ways," a voice seemed to 
 call, 
 " Wi' the new ways beginneth the end." 
 
 D
 
 50 RIFT II. 
 
 Better days may ye see, gracious Ladye fair, 
 New ways may the auld ways excel, 
 
 But auld Bricius' the last, he misdoubts him sair 
 On Brude's Isle o' God's Keledai to dwell.
 
 51 
 
 FYTTE VI. 
 
 Queen Margaret she lies in the ]Maidens' Keep, 
 
 An* a sair disease it hath caught her ; 
 The King he wad aff to the castled steep 
 
 That stands by the Alne's water. 
 
 " Noo bide ye, my lord, by my side this day, 
 
 For my sawl it forbodes disaster, 
 These een ne'er sail see ye that black hour frae 
 
 That ye ride Earl Robert after. 
 
 Oh, war ! 'tis a witless an' worthless game 
 Sae frae Christ His Evangile we borrow " — 
 
 " Yet a man's hand maun keep his head a' the same, 
 An' peace wi' dishonour is sorrow ;
 
 52 RIFT II. 
 
 When the crafty Norman my castle has ta'en, 
 
 An' pit a' my men to the slaughter, 
 Sail Malcolm sit still nor lift hand for his slain, 
 
 That lie thick i' the Alne's cauld water ? 
 
 Sail Malcolm forget Earl Siward's son, 
 
 Strong Waldeof he lo'ed as a brither, 
 William trapped through a wife, like mighty Samson, 
 
 Kept in chains in his dungeon to wither ? 
 
 Noo rest ye, gude dame," quoth the King his Grace, 
 
 " Noo rest ye, my winsome marrow. 
 For Malcolm maun ride Earl Robert to face, 
 
 Yet hame will he ride on the morrow." 
 
 He has ridden away frae the Maidens' Keep, 
 Left his Queen in her dule an' her sorrow, 
 
 Wi' their twa braw sons, to the castled steep 
 By the Alne, — Wae worth the morrow ! 
 
 The King wi' his Scots an' his bonny sons twa 
 They are camped roun' the steep by the water ; 
 
 Their bagpipes they blaw, their tartans wave braw, 
 Earl Robert need crave nae quarter !
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 53 
 
 " But wha is yon frae the postern gate 
 
 Slinkin' doun by the Alne's water ? 
 He has keys in his han' ! Bid the sentries wait 
 
 Or they shoot — we can hang him after ! 
 
 By the Queen's Black Rood 'tis Morel ! " Malcolm 
 cries, 
 " Earl Robert's ain sister's son, 
 He brings us the keys ! Is't through Margaret's 
 prayers pious 
 That bloodless the castle is won ? " 
 
 Frae his tent out he springs, a' guileless an' brave, 
 
 Nor treachery dreams he to dread, — 
 Ae thrust to his heart gies that fause-hearted knave, 
 
 An' Margaret's brave Malcolm lies dead ! 
 
 Then out in a swarm Earl Robert his men, 
 Frae the castle gates come pouring doun 
 
 On the Scots a' dismayed an' bewildered then 
 When has fa'en Scotland's pride an' crown. 
 
 Young Edward fell fighting aside his sire, 
 An' a ring o' gude Scots Knights,
 
 54 RIFT 11. 
 
 They lie round their King i' the bloody mire 
 As they sat upon festal nights. 
 
 The Alne sweeps deep an' darkly doun, 
 Wi' November floods swollen its water, 
 
 An' mony a kindly Scot did it drown 
 Driven there i' the darkening after. 
 
 Nor ane true Scot at the dawn o' day 
 Was left their dead master to carry, 
 
 When his corse twa Northumbrian lads did lay 
 In a cart, by Tyne's mouth to bury. 
 
 Oh, wae for his Queen i' the Maidens' Keep 
 That he left in her dale an' her sorrow ! 
 
 An' wae for the bairns that a faither maun weep, 
 — Malcolm rides nae mair hame on the morrow !
 
 55 
 
 FYTTE YII. 
 
 The Bishop in Cill-Righmonaigli's Tower, 
 
 He sits an' looks ower the sea : 
 " An' what man comes yonder the pebbly beach ower 
 
 In priestly livery ? 
 
 Weel seem I to ken that fair face o' his, 
 
 But where was't I saw it afore ? — 
 By Margaret's Black Rood, her young priest it is. 
 
 The saintly Queen's sent to my door ! " 
 
 He has passed through the Bishop's palace door, 
 
 He has mounted the Bishop's stair, 
 An' he stands the holy Turgot before, 
 
 In his face a dark despair :
 
 56 RIFT 11. 
 
 " O Father, dear Father ! " he cries, an' stops, 
 
 Nae ither word can he say. 
 For the tears Hke heavy thunder-drops 
 
 Choke the speech that wad tell his wae. 
 
 " Oh, wae is me ! " quoth the Bishop then, 
 
 " For Scotland woe worth the day ! 
 For weel or ye speak yer message I ken, — 
 
 Our saintly Queen's won away ! 
 
 Oh, sairly my heart foreboded 'twas true, 
 
 That word or we parted she said, 
 * Ne'er here we meet more,' for her deep sawl it knew 
 
 Or lang frae earth's bonds 'twad be fled. 
 
 Ower an' ower she pled me to i^ray for her soul 
 Through the dark when it winged its lone flight. 
 
 An' her bairns left ahint have in holy control 
 For God an' His Kingdom o' light. 
 
 Oh sair, sair I wept as I bade her adieu. 
 That her dear face nae mair should I see. 
 
 For my deep heart it knew that her sawl it heard true 
 God's voice that spake privily.
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 57 
 
 Oh, why was't no I that stood by her side, 
 When her gracious soul took its flight, 
 
 For weel do I wat Heaven's door it stood wide, 
 For that white-winged bird to alight ! " 
 
 " Ower true, ower true ! " the young priest he cried, 
 
 " My Father your heart it doth tell. 
 For unworthy I 'twas that stood by her side 
 
 When Saint Margaret to earth bade farewell. 
 
 An' straight am I come frae the Maidens' Keep, 
 
 Her pure corse maks holy this day, 
 To the Father she lo'ed, how she gaed to sleep 
 
 An' the dule o' her last hours to say. 
 
 Oh ! wae is me, 'tis but Friday this day. 
 
 An' 'twas but on the Friday past 
 I stood by her side, heard her dear voice say 
 
 First words o' the wae that cam' fast ! 
 
 For as morn waxt to noon a deep darkness fell 
 
 Ower the licht o' her spirit serene ; 
 Wi' een fix't she sat, as ane under the spell 
 
 O' some horror by nane ither seen.
 
 58 RIFT 11. 
 
 Lang, lang sat she silent an' white as death, 
 
 Wi' thae terror-struck een o' amaze ; 
 At last, in low sobs, as ane gasping for breath, 
 
 The fatefu' words dropping, she says — 
 
 * It mayhap that this very day doth befall 
 
 To our Scotland sic dule an' wae, 
 As there hasna been through the lang ages a',' — 
 
 Nor anither word mair did she say. 
 
 An' that day there fell, whom her heart it lo'ed well, 
 
 On the height by Alne's water, 
 A Faither an' Son, whose tale men sail tell 
 
 In Scotland wi' tears ever after ! 
 
 An' four days thence she raise frae her bed 
 
 In her chapel to hear Holy Mass, 
 An' for the last time o' Christ's Body the bread 
 
 Through her death-whitening lips did pass. 
 
 Then her throes they cam on her like pains o' hell. 
 
 An' she laid her doun to dee, 
 An' bade us the Holy Psalter tell, 
 
 Bid her sawl to Christ fervently.
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 59 
 
 An' sair, sair she pled for her ain Black Rood 
 
 That she brought frae far Hungary, 
 That in ivore an' gowd hauds the blessed wood 
 
 O' Christ His agony. 
 
 Its kist o' aik it was ill to ope, 
 
 ' Oh, hapless, guilty me ! ' 
 She cries, ' That God forbids the hope 
 
 To kiss His Son's blessed Tree ! ' 
 
 And when that blessed Rood at last 
 
 Her glazing eyes did see, 
 She strove to kiss it, though passing fast 
 
 In Death's extremity. 
 
 An' still as her body grew cauld in death 
 
 Her spirit staid rapt in prayer, 
 David's contrite psalm gasped wi' fainting breath. 
 
 In her hands the blessed Rood bare. 
 
 An' as thus she lay at the point to yield 
 
 Her pure soul to God, there stood 
 In her chamber young Ethelred fresh frae the field 
 
 Of Alnwick, red wi' blood.
 
 60 RIFT 11. 
 
 Ae moment life's flickerin' spark or it fled 
 Flamed up her young son for to greet, 
 
 ' Hoo is't wi' yer faither an' brither ? ' she said. 
 'Weel,' the boy said, — nor daured her een meet. 
 
 ' I know it, my boy, I know it,' she said ; 
 
 'Weel — hoo could it be ither? 
 Yet by our ae blude an' this Rood,' she said, 
 
 ' Tell me true o' yer faither an' brither.' 
 
 ' Thy husband an' son they are lying slain. 
 Side by side on the height by Alne water.' 
 
 ' Then thanks an' praise to the Lord again 
 For this news o' dule an' slaughter, 
 
 That comes at the end to break the last chain 
 
 To this mortal life that bound me, 
 Maybe this deep dule is to cleanse some stain, 
 
 Or Death its dark floods close round me. 
 
 Lord Jesu Christ, who by God His will 
 
 An' the Holy Ghaist His aid. 
 By thy death givest life to the hale world still, 
 
 Deliver me,' — she said.
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 6l 
 
 An' at the word her blessed soul 
 
 The Lord Christ He did free "— 
 Wi' bended head, " Her life," Turgot said, 
 
 " May we live, her death may we dee ! "
 
 62 
 
 FYTTE VIII. 
 
 Oh, Donald Bane is a man o' might, 
 
 An' a man o' craft is he, 
 He has gathered his bare-legged caterans to fight, 
 
 Frae the Isles o' the Western Sea. 
 
 Quoth he, " My brither King ^Malcolm doth sleep 
 
 Fu' weel by the Alne's cauld waters, 
 An' wha is there noo guards the Maidens' Keep 
 
 Save a dead wife, her bairn sons an' daughters ? " 
 
 Sae frae Western Isles he has ca'd up his men, 
 To Edwin's toun he has brought them, 
 
 He has set them a' round its Castle wa's, then 
 
 Thinks he, " Scotland's heirs I hae caught them ! "
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 63 
 
 Cauld an' calm Margaret lies i' the Maidens' Keep, 
 Shrouded stately as fits a King's daughter, 
 
 Nae war's hurly-burly can wake frae that sleep, 
 Nae dread o' Donald Bane's slaughter ! 
 
 " But, oh ! " quoth young Ethelred, " Hoo may we win 
 
 Our dear Mither's will for to follow, 
 To lie the kirkyaird o' Dumfermlaine within ? 
 
 To lay her elsewhere were a sorrow. 
 
 But Donald Bane's caterans are round the wa's a', 
 
 The gates they hae guarded fairly, 
 An' hoo we may win wi' her dear corse awa', 
 
 By her ain kirk to lay, vexes sairly ! " 
 
 The easterly haar it blaws damp frae the sea, 
 
 It blaws damp in the morn in' early, 
 Sae thick ye can see neither rock, wa', nor tree, 
 
 The Keep o' the Maids it hides fairly. 
 
 " Oh, gin ye can win doun the rock's west face, 
 Frae the wee postern yett," quoth her daughter, 
 
 "Nae caterans keep guard ower yon break-neck place, 
 An' the easter haar blaws frae the water.
 
 64 RIFT II. 
 
 That nae e'e may see either rock, wa', or tree 
 I' the mist the Maids' Keep that swallows ; 
 
 Gin ye wan doun the Rock, ye may aff by the sea 
 To Dumfermlaine, or Donald Bane follows." 
 
 They hae wrappit her weel in her shroud o' silk, 
 On their shoulders her light bier they carry, 
 
 An' doun the steep rock, 'neath the easter haar's mirk, 
 They spiel, nor a moment they tarry : 
 
 An' awa' to the Forth's side; at " Margaret's Hope" 
 
 Their boat it lies at the ferry. 
 Then ower the dark waves o' the braid Firth's scope 
 
 Their blessed burden they carry. 
 
 An' thorough the woods round the Abbey's wa'. 
 
 She lang kent an' lo'ed sae dearly, 
 Nor ever her gracious corse they lat fa', 
 
 Till Dumfermlaine's kirkyaird they wan fairly. 
 
 They hae laid her aneath her ain kirk's shade, 
 Whar Dumfermlaine's green woods hide her, 
 
 An' her Malcolm they brocht frae whar he was laid, 
 To sleep his lang sleep aside her.
 
 MARGARET O' THE MAIDENS' KEEP. 65 
 
 Quoth the Pope o' Rome, " 'Tis a saint, she maun He 
 'Neath the Rood afore the High Altar." 
 
 To carry her there Monk an' Bishop they try, 
 Wi' bell an' wi' bulk, — yet they falter, 
 
 For ilk step they gang frae that kirkyaird grave, 
 
 Her corse it waxes heavier, 
 Till they stan' stock still; — quoth ane to the lave, 
 
 " Let us tak up the auld King wi' her." 
 
 Then licht grew her corse in their arms as they stood, 
 Whan her Malcolm they bare him aside her, 
 
 An' she sleeps her lang sleep where the Holy Rood 
 In the shade o' Christ's Cross doth hide her. 
 
 E
 
 RIFT III. 
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT" 
 
 A TRILOGY
 
 A.D. 1572. 
 
 — Being the musings of my Lord the Secretaire, at his house in 
 the Meal Market, and in his chamber within the Great Hall of 
 the Castle of Edinburgh, when besieged there of the Lords; 
 sent by his maist sorrowful relict Mistress Mary Maitland, 
 umquhile Mary Fleming, to her auld playmate and maist worthy 
 cousin, Mistress Mary Seton. 
 
 Cam Mister David Lindsay, Minister 
 
 At Leith, here to us yesterday at e'en, 
 
 From Mister Knox wha lies upon his bed, 
 
 Sick unto death, within his house, hard by 
 
 The Netherbow, with parting words to Grange ; 
 
 Warning and bidding, in the name of God, 
 
 To leave this evil Cause, and render up 
 
 The Castle ; and gif not, then certainly 
 
 Shall he be brought down ower its walls with shame, 
 
 And hing against the sun ; — so God assures
 
 70 RIFT III. 
 
 Him, — saith said Mister John. Somewhat movet 
 Thereat, Kirkcaldy spake with me, wha bid 
 Him send, by the said Mister David, word 
 Again. " Go, tell ye Mister Knox he's but 
 A dryttinge prophet." Whilk said David did. 
 And cam this morn to bring us word again 
 What Mister John said on receipt thereof. 
 
 In sooth, my heart goes out to the auld man, 
 Upon his deid-bed by the Netherbow : 
 A strong man was he ever, and a true, 
 In a mad world where true men count as rare 
 As phoenix of the fables ; yet austere 
 He is, and when, — to my poor thinking, — lies 
 Of other men do meet his strong desires, 
 As credulous unto the falsest tongue 
 As in his own soul true. — He slandered me 
 Full sore, this last All Hallowtide within 
 Sanct Giles's Kirk, saying I plainly spake, 
 Here in the Castle, that there neither is 
 Nor Heaven nor Hell, — God but a nursery Bogle ; 
 — Whereof never sic word I spake ! 
 
 Not sic 
 My mother's teaching, 'mang the Lammermuirs
 
 "NAE CUTGAIT." /I 
 
 In Lethington's auld Tower, — where rins the rain 
 Through grinning goblins' mouths from aff its roof; 
 And still they dwell, — the dear auld mother, worn 
 Somewhat and pale, and marred with anxious lines 
 Graved by these troublous years in the dear face 
 Where aye for me yet shines a mother's smile : 
 And the grand blind auld father by her side ; 
 — She, at her spinning-wheel in the Great Hall, 
 He, sitting upright, with white flowing locks, 
 In his big chair that he may feel the sun, 
 Where the Hall's window looks on Lammerlaw ; 
 While sister Mary taketh from his lips, 
 With patient care, in her fine hand of writ, 
 Sonnets and verses, — in whose peaceful thoughts 
 He dwells these latter days, nor mells with strife 
 Of Kirk or Crown. 
 
 Better he might have kent, 
 — Good Mister John,— the godly upbringing, 
 Upright and simple, true to God and man. 
 Of Lethington's auld Tower, where the grouse crow. 
 And wild the moor-cock fly ower Lammermuir ; 
 For scarce a short mile aff the Gifford Gait, 
 Where he was born and bred, and laddie doft
 
 72 RIFT III. 
 
 His bonnet blue to Lethington's young Laird ; 
 
 — Its auld Laird now, langsyne a Judge and blind, — 
 
 My father ; all, — Queen's men and King's men, priests 
 
 And preachouris, — " The good Sir Richard " call. 
 
 — Little dreamed Mister John, these by-gane days, 
 
 This day sic-like a message he would send 
 
 The auld Laird's son ! — Yet sair, I wis, John's heart 
 
 There on his deid-bed is for Grange and me : 
 
 For Mister David saith, he answeret 
 
 Unto my mocking words : " For thae twa men 
 
 That I have lovet dear, sair with my God, 
 
 My soul hath travaillet these mony days ; 
 
 — For ane, I am assured his soul shall live. 
 
 But for the other nae assurance is 
 
 That e'er it shall be week" Alack ! good John, 
 
 E'en from thy deid-bed are they threatenings sore ! 
 
 Stern aye to speak the truth, — as seems to thee, — 
 
 In gloomy forebodes, though thy heart it break ! 
 
 Yet little wonder is, this devils' dance. 
 Of these maist bloody Guises set asteer 
 In Paris, maddens him to lift his voice, 
 — Like him that in the desert cried lang syne, — 
 In threatenings very sore. Ower true, alack !
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." '/ 
 
 The word that Lindsay in Sanct Andros spake, 
 
 " The reek of Maister Patrick Hamylton 
 
 Infecteth every ane it blaws upon." 
 
 Gif our Queen's mother had taen tent thereto 
 
 And let the Preachouris alane, ither 
 
 Had been the tale of this poor realm, as weel 
 
 As of her ain maist luckless dochter ! — Sooth, 
 
 Sair I misdoubt nae English perfidy 
 
 E'er struck a blow sae shrewd unto the heart 
 
 Of our Queen's desperate cause, as did this French 
 
 Orgy of devils in the Paris streets 
 
 On St Barthol'mew's Eve. 
 
 Mister Knox saith 
 It is an evil Cause, and gif we leave 
 It not will draw down God's just vengeance on 
 The heads of Grange and me ; — yet know we not 
 Full oft, good causes, through the evil men 
 That work in them, do grow of ill repute ? — 
 
 Let me review, now on this Castle Rock, 
 Here hemmed in of the Lords, and kept in siege. 
 As idle I, perforce, sit through the days, 
 A helpless hulk, my messan on my lap,
 
 74 RIFT III. 
 
 — (That woman-like, poor foolish bitch, maun stick 
 
 Aye to her master be't for weal or woe I) — 
 
 And look across to Braid all green with Spring, 
 
 And our auld Tower 'mang the wild Lammermuirs ; 
 
 — Let me review, as at my mother's knee 
 
 I knelt at sundown summer days lang syne. 
 
 And tellt to her and God the day's exploits ; 
 
 — Gin I had harried some poor cushat's nest. 
 
 Or wet, wading in Leader, my new shoon ! — 
 
 Let me review as under her true een 
 
 That aye in mine could read a lie or it 
 
 Was spoke, — and afore Him whose een search hearts, 
 
 The sad and troublous story of our days, 
 
 And our poor realm's maist gracious luckless Queen, 
 
 In England pent up now of wily Bess ; 
 
 There or to languish out her weary days, 
 
 Or by some swifter stroke to end them, best 
 
 As may fit the envious purpose nurst 
 
 In the fell heart of her great rival Queen ! 
 
 — How yield the Castle to the Lords when weel 
 We wot with it her last forlorn hope dies ? 
 Sair I misdoubt no human skill may save, 
 — Yet maun the Captain go down with his ship, —
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 75 
 
 And good her Cause, or evil, — as saith John, — 
 
 Baith Grange and I abide by it to death : 
 
 Ay and in After-death to dree our weird, 
 
 Gif sae be as John threips ! ^ — But there I doubt ! — 
 
 Not Mister John will be to deal with then, 
 
 But Ane whose een search deeper, — as I think. 
 
 Yet doubtless John speaks what is truth to him ; 
 
 — Stern truth that breaks the auld man's heart : — 
 
 nor yet 
 Wanting in show of reason : — Nae fool he, 
 Auld Mister John ! yet blinded, — as I think, — 
 By very greatness of his Cause. Sae great 
 It looms afore him as God's Cause were it 
 Alane and nocht beside ; — what hinders it, 
 Hurts God's ; and sae maun be persuit to 
 The death ! — But wider to my thinking is 
 God's Cause, than " The Religion " as they name 
 Their ain ; — (though as I think theirs be a part 
 Of His — yet but a part ;) sae it may hap 
 Our Cause as weel is His, spite Mister John ! 
 Seeing it is the Cause of this poor realm's 
 True lawful Queen, our gracious Mistress, eke - 
 Forbye, (as weel may be, she innocent,) 
 
 1 Reiterates. ^ Besides.
 
 ^6 RIFT III. 
 
 A woman sair maligned and persecute. 
 " But she uphauds the Mass," saith Mister John, 
 " In her ain private chapel, warning given 
 That wha shall be convict three times in that 
 Idolatrie maun die the death, wherefore 
 'Tis just the idolatress should die. Forbye, 
 Being idolatress, the case is sure 
 That she connivet with thae wicked wights 
 That blew the King in air at Kirk o' Field." 
 — (Seeing he saith of me, 'tis sure I haud 
 God but a bogle of the nursery, else 
 How had I troublet sae the Kirk of God 
 Gif I believet ony God there were 
 Sic wickedness to punish by hell won. 
 Heaven tined ; ^ — like parity of reason hath 
 He here :) — " Did she not move, the day afore, 
 Her ain good bed and put an ill one there? 
 From whilk the case is clear ; " quoth Mister John. 
 " Be there not letters eke frae her ain hand 
 Contriving with her paramour his death ? 
 Then the deed done, the murdered man scarce cauld. 
 Or marryet on his bloody butcher ! What 
 Mair can ye need ? The Jezebel maun die ! 
 
 1 Lost.
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." yy 
 
 The Queen of England righteously doth hold 
 
 The murderess in bonds, — mair right should slay." 
 
 — Sae Mister John and all his preachouris ! 
 
 Yet bide a wee, good John, till we review 
 
 Ilk count o' the Indictment ! In good sooth. 
 
 The Mass may be account idolatry, 
 
 — And all men ken that sae I never spared 
 
 To speak my conscience, uttering my mind 
 
 In controversy of religion, be't 
 
 To Doctors of the Sorbonne or the Queen's 
 
 Ain Grace ; — and muckle need hath our poor realm, 
 
 Be quit " the Paip, that Pagan fu' o' pride," 
 
 With all his Pardoners, that give remit 
 
 Of sins in auld sheepskins, and for a plack 
 
 Letters of cursing to damn all that look 
 
 Ower a man's dyke, that better keep his corn 
 
 Than sleepy loon with a three shilling fee, 
 
 A sark and pair of new shoon ilka year ! 
 
 And Friars that sell the reek of purgatory 
 
 For gold and lands ! — Yet to my thinking that 
 
 Doth nowise prove that He that made the Feast 
 
 Doth will, that all, ower-rating of it sae 
 
 As worship in the simple bread and wine. 
 
 His ain maist blessed Body, should therefore
 
 78 • RIFT III. 
 
 Be slain ! It seemeth me proof lacketh thee 
 
 Somewhat in this count o' the Indictment, John ! 
 
 Sae much for proposition number one 
 
 In Logic of the Schoohnen ! " All who hear 
 
 Mass are Idolatries — Idolatries 
 
 Should die — The Queen hears Mass — The Queen 
 
 is an 
 Idolatress — The Queen should die." Meseems 
 A vicious middle, Mister John ! Scarcely 
 An axiom gif ye think on it ! Nor bears 
 Head-mark of His commission, as I think 
 Wha gives the Feast ! 
 
 Let us then next discern, 
 And strive to separate 'tvvixt false and true, 
 In second count o' the Indictment, John ! 
 Harder and shrewder in its issues this. 
 Since nane may say a murderer should live : 
 'Tis J> roof wants here, — that found, the rest is clear; 
 — Though even then much were there of excuse, 
 To my poor thinking, — murder scarce a crime 
 Avenging murder, — lawless justice mair. 
 Yet grant ye that e'en murderers, poltroon 
 And dastardly as that misgotten boy.
 
 " NAE OUTGAIT." 79 
 
 Whose feeble head her favours turned outright 
 
 Till nane might suffer his rank tyranny, 
 
 And " how be rid of him ? " was ilk man's cry, 
 
 Maun not be slain of private enterprise, 
 
 — How just soe'er their death, — else justice cries 
 
 " Life for a life." 
 
 " Fain she were rid of him ! " 
 How otherwise ? In her ain person, she, 
 Queen though she be, suffered of him the maist 
 And warst indignities ! Yet still her heart, 
 Maist womanlike — aye did relent gif he, 
 That sae mishandled, sorry were or sick ; 
 And when the Lords, with me for spokesman, spake 
 Openly at Craigmillar of divorce, 
 The Queen, of her good Grace, still threiped he 
 
 might 
 Repent, — she would to France — and leastways, nocht 
 Maun be attempt, but sic as weel comports 
 With her pure honour, woman's baith and Queen's ! 
 Not sic the manners to my thinking o' 
 A woman sick-infatuate with love. 
 And paramour to Bothwell ! — the fell Earl 
 Whose lawless lust ruined baith her and us.
 
 80 RIFT III. 
 
 Ance wed, — ower true she would not leave him, 
 
 though, 
 — The night the Lords brought her to Edinburgh 
 From Carberry, — I pled, gif she would quit 
 Earl Bothwell she should yet have troth as true 
 And loyal as ere she had since she was Queen 
 Of Scotland : — But aye Mary Stuart did bear 
 A spirit high and proud ; — abuse and wrong, 
 Unto her purposes, or good or ill, 
 But welded her the closer ; — hard to fright, 
 Maist impotent to turn by force or threats ! 
 The Lords had outraged her, — first put their hands 
 To help Earl Bothwell's boast he'd marry her, 
 " Yea whether she herself would or would not ; " 
 Syne, on pretence to free her frae the hauld 
 Of that maist bloody jailer, — risen in arms, 
 And when, at her ain will, at Carberry 
 She rendered her, brought her irreverent here, 
 And meanly lodget in the Provost's house 
 In the High Street ; (where 'twas I spake with her, 
 That self same day at e'en). The morrow's morn 
 Affixet a white banner in her sight, 
 Whereon was painted Henry lying dead 
 Beside the root of a green growing tree.
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 8 1 
 
 And her young prince kneeling upon his knees, 
 Crying, his face and hands raised up to Heaven, 
 " Judge and avenge my cause, O Lord ! " Whereat 
 She burst exceedingly in tears, praying 
 Unto the folk against those Lords, for Christ 
 His sake, to save her from their hands ! — Less ill 
 Even the bitter Earl, doubtless she thocht. 
 Than sic fause-hearted knaves ! She would abide 
 By the bad oath, his force and their worse fraud, 
 Drew from her at God's altar. — Wherefore 'twas, 
 (To my poor thinking), that the Queen refused 
 Bothwell to quit at bidding of the Lords. 
 
 With mine ain een saw I not the ill Bond 
 At Ainslie's Tavern the Lords subscryvt 
 That bade her take James Hepburn for husband ? 
 Was I not of her train on Saint Mark's e'en 
 When Bothwell seized her rein at Almond Bridge, 
 And led, with her, his captive to Dunbar ? 
 Where I abode in peril of my life, 
 The doleful days when out-gait she fand nane 
 Save marrying her ravisher ? Did I 
 Not hear, — (she in a closet all alone 
 With the fell Earl,) — her voice that called aloud 
 
 F
 
 82 RIFT III. 
 
 To give her knife wherewith to kill herself, 
 Sae the rude Borderer mishandled her? 
 And did not she, of her ain queenly grace, 
 Throw her royal self betwixt the Earl and me, 
 When he and Huntly fain had slain me there 
 Within the Queen's ain chamber ; crying loud 
 To Huntly, gif hair of my head were hurt 
 He should be tint of lands and goods and life ? 
 Ne'er can ye make me think, good Mister John, 
 Love 'twas that keepet her by Hepburn's side ; 
 For weel ken I what love is ! — These same days 
 Did not my heart sing in its prison-house 
 Beside her at Dunbar, daily in risk 
 Of life, only to know my Mary — mine 
 At last, — was waiting with wet een to give 
 Me welcome when an outgait I could find 
 To win at her? — Nae outgait wad Ifrae! 
 — Aye that was just what failet our poor Queen, 
 As she herself did write to France, she " fand 
 Nae outgait frae Earl Bothwell ! " 
 
 Who can tell ? 
 Mayhap an outgait had been found gif she 
 Had waited ! — but hasty royal blood runs in
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 8^ 
 
 Her veins, and when insult or wrong gars 't flush 
 Red to her brow, she tarries not, but strikes 
 On the swift instant, — though her ain hand maim 
 Her ain Cause maist ! Sae 'twas when wily Bess 
 Trifled anent her marriage with the King. 
 Marry she would, or witless be 't or wise ! 
 Yet not the foolish boy-face of my Lord 
 Of Darnley, but the English Queen 'twas, fired 
 Her blood ! Ay, time had I to woo my Mary, 
 Quit of cares of State, for mony a day. 
 Because ne'er weel my will was to the match ! 
 Alack ! she fand my judgement ower right then ; 
 And sair I misdoubt right she finds it now. 
 That I joined arms e'en with her foes the Lords, 
 To save her frae Earl Bothwell ! 
 
 Nor will I 
 Uphauld that at the first James Hepburn she 
 Halely misliket ! 'Twas a man fearless 
 And strong, gif reckless ; ane that aye had stood 
 By the Queen's cause ; 'gainst Davie's murderers first. 
 And syne against the misbegotten lad 
 That tried his foolish will at ruling her, 
 And her poor realm to boot ! and gif his way
 
 84 . RIFT III. 
 
 To rid her of the last she might suspect 
 
 Ower rough and ready, weel, to her might seem, 
 
 Zeal but outran discretion ! — 'Twas the fell 
 
 Earl's courting days forbye, and gif his suit 
 
 Were over vehement — a woman may 
 
 Forgive ower fierce a flame herself hath kindled ! — 
 
 Not until wed, did the brute-beast beneath 
 
 The courtier's gloss break out in her fell lord. 
 
 "But what," quoth Mister John, "of letters writ 
 Wi' her ain hand and found by Morton's knave 
 On George Dalgleish, the Earl Bothwell's man, 
 Yon day of June, in Candlemaker Raw ? " 
 Ay, gif ye prove me, John, thae letters writ 
 In very deed by the Queen's Grace ain hand, 
 Nae mair can man or angel ere alledge 
 She wist not of the deed of Kirk o' Field. 
 But wherefore, will ye tell me, was that same 
 " Silver box owergilt with gold " fifteen months 
 Keepet of my Lord Morton or word said ? 
 Nae tales tell dead men, John — and or word said, 
 Dalgleish had dreed his weird, — (as implicate 
 In murder o' the King) — could speak nor aye 
 Nor no : nor in his deposition said.
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 85 
 
 — A man fronting his latter end, — he word 
 
 Of that same "silver box owergilt with gold." 
 
 Nor was Sir James Balfour called to say 
 
 Gif he had gien Earl Bothwell's silver box 
 
 To George Dalgleish for Morton's knave to find ! 
 
 — " Yet were the letters writ wi' her ain hand ; " 
 
 Threips Mister John, — Letters there were I grant 
 
 Ay and sae writ, — letters and sonnettis 
 
 And marriage bonds, a' in that self same box ! 
 
 But wha for fifteen months had handlin o' 
 
 The same ? Wha but my Lord of Morton, John ? 
 
 And good occasion had he, — when the Lords 
 
 Sacket her house of Holy Rood, — to lay 
 
 His villain hands on much of privity 
 
 Within the Queen's ain chambers gif he would. 
 
 What gif that same silver casket owergilt, 
 
 Held at the first death-bond not marriage ? Bond, 
 
 — Not the Queen's hand subscryvit but the Lords, 
 
 Wi' their ain hands ; — ruling the King should die ? 
 
 " Bond turned to ashes " of the Lords since syne. 
 
 As Drury wrote to Cecil ? — The Queen's hand 
 
 Of write doubtless was there, in letteris 
 
 And sonnettis, — but nane subscrivit as 
 
 They threip, no nor addrest, nor yet halely
 
 S6 RIFT III. 
 
 Sae writ ; — sic French ne'er learnet she in France, 
 
 As doth bewray parts o' thae letteris 
 
 Be nane o' hers : — and wedded the ill French 
 
 Is aye \vi' the ill meaning, — the good French 
 
 In sense simple and innocent ! And why 
 
 Showed they her not the letters as she craved, 
 
 Gif all were fair and straight? — Wherefore might not 
 
 Cecil nor Drury see ? — Ehzabeth, 
 
 (Though nane ower-warm her love as all men ken,) 
 
 E'en hands thae letters for a forgery ! 
 
 — Our lady Queen pit pen to paper in 
 
 Sic letters as that writ, as the Lords threip, 
 Frae Glasgow? Liefer I'd believe 'twas writ 
 Wi' auld Nick's ain horn hoof ! — and in good sooth, 
 Deil's work it is we hae here ! — Where's that writ 
 Signed of the Queen, they vilely showed at York, 
 Wherein she bade the Lords subscribe the bond 
 That she should marry Bothwell ? — Showed at York, 
 With nane save Norfolk, Sussex, Sadler there ; 
 — At Westminster they daured not, lest their fraud 
 Should sit in eye of day ! When my Lord Moray, 
 
 — Shaming himself afore all honest men, — 
 Swearing he never would consent, consented 
 To lay the so-called letteris afore
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 87 
 
 The English peers, ne'er was sic warrant showed, 
 
 — Nor could be, — since ne'er sic the Queen ere writ! 
 
 What share in the base business Moray held, 
 
 Halely I wot not ; — yet let be ! since syne 
 
 Moray hath stood afore another Judge 
 
 To render up his record; sae let be ! 
 
 Ay, and or lang the Secretaire maun stand 
 
 Likewise at that tribunal with his count ; 
 
 (Sae this sickness grows, that " Mitchell Wylie's 
 
 Sair feet " full soon will land him in his grave :) 
 
 — And there anent, good Mister John hath nae 
 
 Assurance ere it shall be weel ! — Ay John, 
 
 Yet mayhap thine assurance matters not 
 
 Sae muckle as ye think afore that Judge ! 
 
 — Yet is the auld man gentler at the heart 
 
 Than his stern words — and very pitiful 
 
 Of Grange and me ! Sae go thy way in peace, 
 
 Auld John, and since thyself maun stand 
 
 First, (as it seems,) at that great Judgement-seat, 
 
 The Judge look pitiful on thee that day. 
 
 As thou on Grange and me, — nor turn deaf ear 
 
 Unto thy pleas as thou unto thy Queen's ! 
 
 — Gif she have faults, (as weel myself doth ken,) 
 
 What mortal is, hath none ? Gif crimes, mayhap.
 
 88 RIFT III. 
 
 (Though that I mair misdoubt,) be justly laid 
 Unto her door, that Judge when her day comes 
 Meseems, will bear Him gentlier than thou, 
 Good Mister John — remembering Him o' 
 The tender brows of the six-days lass-bairn 
 That bode ^ to wear our prickly thistle-crown, 
 And baby-hand kings fought for in its cradle : 
 The Guises' court in merry France about 
 Her pliant years ; smooth Cardinal Uncles, 
 Soft-voiced nuns that won her maiden heart 
 For Rome, — their ane true Church, all else accurst 
 And damned, — and bowed her soul's young reverence 
 About with glamour of the gorgeous rites. 
 Slow swinging incense censors, and soft sounds 
 That change the dim kirk aisles to gates of Heaven, 
 In the auld faith. — How might she thole, sae trained, 
 Wild nobles, homespun dight in webs their ain 
 Sheep grew on their ain heather hills, and spun 
 On their ain wheels by the right noble hands 
 Of their ain wives and daughters, winter eens 
 In chimney nooks of their ain auld peel Towers ? 
 — Rough-spoken wights that even the sweet grace 
 Of her fair face withheld not frae fierce looks, 
 
 1 Must.
 
 " NAE OUTGAIT." 89 
 
 — Nay in her very sight frae blows and blood ! 
 Stern preachouris, (all things misliking them,) 
 In Sanct Giles' Kirk railing at what they ca'd 
 "Tarjetting of her tails" — Good Mister John 
 Dieving^ her wondering ears with "Trumpet blasts 
 Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women," 
 And wha's maist civil word was, gif she wad 
 Mind weel his bidding, as content were he 
 To live beneath her Grace as Paul 'neath Nero ! 
 
 — Alack ! alack ! what outgait had she ere 
 The dauntless ill-starred lass, with her fair face 
 And queenly gracious ways ? — What wisest wit 
 And truest heart had proved sufficient for 
 Sic need ? What outgait ere, since a lass-bairn 
 She lay in her Linlithgow cradle while 
 Her heart-broke sire, turning his dying face 
 To Falkland Palace wall, with last breath gasped, 
 " Wi' lass it came, and wi' a lass will go." 
 — Outgait was nane, — a' her life through, frae mair 
 Than fell Earl Bothwell ! Ay, what outgait now 
 Frae wily England ? Nane, her Secretaire, 
 — Aye true to her though aft misdoubted, — sees : 
 
 ■^ Deafening.
 
 go RIFT III. 
 
 Nae outgait back to her ain Kingdom here, 
 Only a red road into Kingdom Come ! 
 
 Ay, will we haud her Maiden Castle, John, 
 Auld Grange and I, (ay, and this foolish fond, 
 Poor woman-hearted messan on my knee ! — ) 
 Her red flag still afloat on David's Tower 
 Here sit I, — helpless hulk, — good Mister John, 
 With her Cause, good or ill, to stand or fa', 
 Weel be't for us or ill, or here or Hence. 
 — Ilk Captain maun abide by his ain ship ! 
 
 Sae muckle was subscryvit with his hand, 
 Good Mistress Seton. Syne the cannon came 
 — Shippet frae Berwick at fause England's word ; — 
 (Auld Mister John had gane to his account 
 Or that befell :) — and or the first May moon 
 Had reached the full, were stellit ^ round the walls ; 
 Great Royal Cannon, muckle culverins, 
 Pott-pieces full two score, in the Kirk-yard 
 
 1 Planted.
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 9 1 
 
 O' the Grey Friars, and by Saint Cuthbert's Kirk, 
 And Mr Thornton's Lodging, the West Port, 
 Ay and full far afield 'yont the Nor' Loch. 
 (Never the Lords had taen the Castle but ^ 
 Wily England's aid ! — God help our Lamb 
 That 'neath her cruel claw's mercy lieth yet !) 
 — Nigh on a month mair floated the red flag 
 On David's Tower, — but syne the bonny spring 
 Of rinning water 'yont the Castle wall 
 Was cuttet aff; — the well inside choket 
 With ruins ; — and for thirst they bode to yield. 
 
 Ye wot the rest, good Mistress Seton, — How, 
 With auld Kirkcaldy, my dear Lord was brought 
 Doun frae the Castle through the rabble rout, 
 (Mad that their houses in the siege were spoiled,) 
 That jeered and jibbed, — and of fause England gien 
 Ower to the Regent, — their maist wicked foe. 
 
 At four hours of the afternoon, auld Grange 
 They hanget ower the Castle wall : — men threip 
 His face turned round to hing against the sun 
 As Mister John Knox had foresaid, — truly, 
 
 1 Without.
 
 92 RIFT III. 
 
 I wot not, aye or no. — The Secretaire, 
 
 My ain dear Lord, doubtless had likewise fared, 
 
 But for the auld disease of his sair feet, 
 
 That spared the bloody wark ; — and scarce could I 
 
 Win decent hiding for his blessed banes, 
 
 — Sic kindness hath the Regent for living 
 
 Or dead ! — till for the very shame England 
 
 Gart bury him ! — My dear Lord is with God, 
 
 Where Morton cannot harm nor England sell. 
 
 — Hers be His pity, yet in their ill power, 
 
 Our mournful maist sweet Queen, of England pent !
 
 93 
 
 II. 
 
 NOVEMBER 1572 a.d. 
 Within his house in the Canongate hard by the Netherbow. 
 
 John Knox, servant of Jesus Christ, with my 
 
 Dead hand but a glad heart, awearie o' 
 
 The world, and looking daily to resolve 
 
 My earthly tabernacle ; heart'ly I 
 
 Salute and so of all the Faithful take 
 
 My leave, desiring earnestly the help 
 
 Of their good prayers, that thus without any 
 
 Noteworthy slander to the Evangile 
 
 Of Jesus Christ I now may end my battle ; 
 
 For as the world of me is weary, so 
 
 Am I of it ; yea I have taken my 
 
 Good-night of it ; and so commit all things 
 
 To God. 
 
 Yet ne'ertheless to me it seems
 
 94 RIFT III. 
 
 A thing the most unreasonable, that 
 
 In this my auld decrepit age I be 
 
 Compelled to fight shadows and howlets that 
 
 Dare not abide the light ; — an auld man 
 
 That scarce goes, hulie and fear,i frae Sanct Giles' Kirk 
 
 To his ain door hard by the Netherbow ; 
 
 About his neck furring of martricks, staff 
 
 In the ane hand and holding up the other 
 
 Oxter good godly Richart Ballenden ! 
 
 Yet one thing in the end there is I may 
 Not pretermit, that is to give to him 
 A lie within his throat, who either dare 
 Or will say that ever I sought support 
 Against my native Country. Albeit 
 That this unthankful age wits not, what I 
 Have been unto my Country, ages yet 
 To come shall witness to the truth. 
 
 I grant, 
 And mind not to deny, that I have prayed 
 God to oppone His power unto the pride 
 Of that most wicked woman, murderess 
 Of her own husband ; one who hath whoredom 
 ^ Slowly and cautiously.
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 95 
 
 Committed and most vile adulteries, 
 
 The mother of all mischief in this realm. 
 
 Yet railing none may prove against me, till 
 
 Isay, Eseckial, Jeremy, and Saint Paul 
 
 They first compel recant, of whom I learned 
 
 Boldly to call wickedness by its name, 
 
 " A fig a fig, a spade a spade." I fear 
 
 Isay his threatening, " Woe unto them 
 
 That call light darkness, and the darkness light; 
 
 Good evil, and the evil good." 
 
 Let them 
 It imprecation call as pleaseth them, 
 Or execration, I praise God He hath 
 Ofter than once, stricken and shall strike, in 
 Despite of man, defend her who so list. 
 
 Yet one thing rests to me most bitter, ay. 
 Most fearful, (if their accusation so 
 Prove my accusers,) to wit, that I claim 
 Entrance into God's secret counsel, as 
 Thereunto I were called, (on whom may God 
 Have mercy for their rash ungodly judgement,) 
 How fearful is my conscience, and aye so 
 Hath been, the bounds of my vocation to
 
 g6 RIFT III. 
 
 Exceed, they had not so accused me had 
 
 They known. Well know I God's secrets pertain 
 
 To Him alone, but things His Law reveals, 
 
 To us and to our children. What I spake 
 
 Gainst that most wicked woman's murder, pride. 
 
 Adultery and idolatry, I spake, 
 
 Not as one in God's secret counsel, but 
 
 As one, of His great mercy, called to preach 
 
 According to His blessed will revealed 
 
 In His most holy Word. Ofter than once 
 
 Have I pronounced the threatenings of His Law 
 
 'Gainst all of counsel, knowledge or consent 
 
 To shed innocent blood, that death they meet 
 
 Not, — so the Plague be stayed from this poor realm, 
 
 (Which never shall be while that she and they 
 
 Remain unpunished). 
 
 Likewise wherein 
 I am accused of intromeddling things 
 Profane and civil with the Word of God, 
 I answer, when by written truth of God 
 They show reproof of vice a thing profane 
 And civil, (which till morn after Doomsday 
 Will not be,) then as God's Word commands me, 
 So shall I do.
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 97 
 
 Their railing I deny, 
 Their sovereign I know not ; let God's will 
 Be done in me ; so have I laid my compt ! 
 — And thus require I all that aught have to 
 Oppone against me, plainly to do it, 
 As I myself and all my doings make 
 Open to all the world. 
 
 My Brethren call 
 For me, that God of His great mercy may 
 Be pleased to put an end to this my long 
 And painful battle ; unfit now to fight 
 As He sometime gave strength, I thirst an end ; 
 To be released from this body of sin, 
 Assured to rise in glory. — Yet 
 Let my desire be moderate of Thy 
 Good Spirit Lord ! 
 
 My sun goes down in darkness. This poor 
 
 realm 
 A ship without a rudder in the midst 
 Of storms ; a flock without a pastor ! Let 
 Thy Providence watch and defend us, Lord, 
 Thir dangerous days, that so the world may see, 
 As well without the help of man as with 
 
 G
 
 98 RIFT III. 
 
 It, Thou art able to defend and rule 
 The Uttle flock depending upon Thee. 
 
 Oh Lord, what we shall add we know not ! In 
 
 Our miseries extreme we called, and Thou 
 
 In multitude of Thy great mercies heard, 
 
 And lirst delivered us from tyranny 
 
 Of strangers merciless, next from the bonds 
 
 Of vile idolatry, last from the yoke 
 
 Of that most wicked woman ; in her place 
 
 Appointing for her young son's infancy, 
 
 A Regent with such grace endued, even 
 
 The Devil can in nought justly accuse, 
 
 Excepting in this only that in him 
 
 A foolish pity did too far prevail 
 
 Concerning punishment and execution 
 
 Which Thou commandedst to be made on her 
 
 And her accomplices. 
 
 What misery. Lord, 
 Found he within this realm, and to what rest 
 And quietness brought ! — Thine image did in him 
 So clearly shine, the Devil, nor ill men, 
 (To whom he is the Prince,) could not abide 
 It, so to punish us who did not right
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 99 
 
 Esteem so great a gift, to our great grief, 
 Thou hast permitted him to fall by hands 
 Of cruel and treatorous murderers. Ay, e'en 
 While he lay cauld within Holyrood House, 
 (Or we with dolorous and heavy hearts 
 Within Sanct Giles's Kirk had laid his dear 
 And murdered corps,) the Devil (he of lies 
 The father,) found a penman meet for him. 
 Who feigned that he in conferring owerheard, 
 (He hid within a bed,) Lindsay, John Wood, 
 The Laird of Pitterow, Master MacGill, 
 The Tutor of Moncur and me, the crown 
 Offer to Moray, who to underlie 
 Its burden gave consent ; whilk conference 
 Ne'er was ! — and so its ill contriver shall 
 Die in a strange land, but a friend nearby, 
 To hold his head up ; — so am I assured. 
 
 He is at rest, O Lord ! and we are left 
 In misery extreme. — Thirsting an end, 
 For all pleasures and friendships of this world 
 I care not now. 
 
 Yet all a long day I 
 Desired to send yet once to warn yon man
 
 100 RIFT III. 
 
 Within the Castle whom so dearly I 
 Have loved, and bid him, in the name of God 
 To leave that evil Cause and render up 
 The Castle, and gif not he shall be brought 
 Down ower the walls of it with shame, and hing 
 Against the sun ; — so God assures me. Yet 
 (Of his great God, the Secretaire doubtless 
 Advised,) his mocking answer was, " Go tell 
 Ye Mister Knox he's but a drytting prophet." 
 — Anent these twa men earnest with my God 
 Have I been, — for the one, sorry I am 
 That so it shall befall, yet for his soul, 
 Of mercy God assures me, nae warrant 
 Have I for the other e'er it shall 
 Be weel. 
 
 Not so, langsyne, when Maitland sat 
 With Dun in James Syme's house, from these poor lips 
 To drink Christ's blest Evangile, unto all 
 Seeming, (despise the wilful wit that aye 
 Loved fence and parry), vessel full of grace, 
 Whose dexterous tongue brought safely through 
 
 matters 
 Of moment gladly trusted him, and won
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." lOI 
 
 England's help for The Congregation ! Not 
 Thus, when in Sanct Andros' Sea-tower I 
 Read in Saint John's Evangile with my bairns, 
 (Langniddry's boys and Arniston's), and he, 
 (The man now in the Castle), and the rest 
 Taen in the godly fact of that sworn foe 
 Of Jesus Christ, and bloody butcher called 
 Archbishop Beaton's slaughter, sat with us. 
 And so did God help His weak soldier that 
 Not only all they in the Castle but 
 Many without, did openly profess 
 At the Lord's Table those things that he taught. 
 
 Within the Castle was the Pest : without 
 French Galayes twenty-one upon the sea. 
 Yet though they shot two days and dang the sclattes'.^ 
 Of houses, neither slew they man nor hurt 
 The walls : so nothing Santa Barbara, 
 (Their gunner's goddess,) helped them, for rowers, 
 (Men to the galayes chained,) many they lost. 
 And soldiers likewise. Yet when they within 
 The Castle bragged of this their victory, 
 And thickness of their walls, aye was this said 
 ^ Broke the slates.
 
 102 RIFT III. 
 
 John Knox of other judgement, for he said, 
 They saw not what he saw, — their corrupt life 
 Could not escajDe the punishment of God. 
 "England will rescue us," they vaunted, but 
 Said John, "Ye shall not see them, but shall be 
 Carried to a strange land," — as it befell. 
 
 Much am I minded now in this my auld 
 Decrepit age to look back and rehearse 
 How at the very first, in this poor realm 
 Of Scotland, the light of Christ's Evangile 
 Hath been made manifest, after that whole 
 And horrible defection from the Truth 
 Through snares of the false Roman Antichrist : 
 How mercifully God looked on this realm. 
 Therein retaining some spunk of His light 
 Even in the time of its most deepest dark ; 
 With what mine eyes have seen of that same war 
 Which God commanded Israel against 
 The Canaanites, wherein contract of peace 
 There never can be made while virtue is 
 Contemned, and vice extolled ; Idolatries, 
 And idle bellies, bloody tyrants called 
 Bishops maintained ; and Christ's true messengers
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." IO3 
 
 Be persecute and slain. Whilk righteous war, 
 Nor God nor Nature, nor just Law forbid. 
 — " Beware of the false prophets, by their fruits 
 Shall ye know them." — Yea true it is that works 
 Make us nor good nor ill, yet aye good tree 
 Good fruit doth bear, and ill tree evil fruit. 
 
 But to our history. Of homely folk, 
 
 (As commonly God useth for to call 
 
 The simple sort His summons till express), 
 
 On the Earle Bothwell's lands at Gifford Gate, 
 
 By Haddington, opened my een first on 
 
 This troublous world. Father, Grandsire, Goodsher,i 
 
 All served my Lord's forebears,- and of mine own 
 
 Some died beneath their standards, wherefore I 
 
 A good mind bore unto their House as fits 
 
 Our Scottish kindness, and gif he, umquhile 
 
 Our Jesabel Mistress who foully wed, 
 
 Otherly ^ had in godliness abode 
 
 He had had command of me as boldly 
 
 As of any ; but as women and gold 
 
 From the beginning have corrupted all 
 
 Worldly and fleshly men, so did they him. 
 
 ^ Mother's father. - Ancestors. ^ Otherwise.
 
 104 RIFT III. 
 
 My mother was a Sinclair, (vvhilk surname, 
 
 In times of trouble I myself have writ ;) 
 
 A woman wise and godly, keeping aye 
 
 Thir darksome days, yet some spunk of God's light 
 
 Alive within her heart. Devout was she, 
 
 (Though in the gloaming of her soul there shined 
 
 Only through windows painted of the Pope 
 
 God's truth). Sabbaths and Saints' days aye to Mass 
 
 In the Fransciscan's great Kirk called the Lamp 
 
 Of Lothian, she led my brother Will 
 
 And me, and aye at bedtime when we sought 
 
 Her and our father's blessing, laid her hand. 
 
 Hard with house-labour, softly on our heads. 
 
 And prayed " Christ and His mother in the fear 
 
 Of God to keep her callants ; " and since I 
 
 Was quick at the Dame's school, at the Grace Book, 
 
 The Prymer, and Plane Donat, (as they said,) 
 
 I must have " perfyt Latin," and be Priest, 
 
 Halely God's servant, so. 
 
 Yet nowise blind 
 Was she ; weel I remember how a fire 
 Would lighten in her een, and the hot blood 
 Redden her cheek when men spake liberally 
 Of greediness of priests and friars, who bode
 
 " NAE OUTGAIT." IO5 
 
 To have the korps-cloth and the dead man's cow, 
 Though bairns and widow went but claithes and 
 
 meat. 
 Or gossip's tale how that a prelate, (ane 
 Of Bothwell's house,) a merry bourd,^ one night 
 At supper told, asking his gentlemen 
 Whilk truest served the King of Love, and when 
 They each had spoke, himself truest declared 
 By a round dozen, — seven of them men's wives ; — 
 Or Friar William Arth bade honest men 
 That loved their wives and daughters haud them frae 
 The Chapels of our Ladye of Karsgrange, 
 For gif they knew the miracles there kythed - 
 Neither God nor our Ladye would they thank ! 
 
 Yet must I wear God's livery and be Priest : 
 So from the Dame's to Burgh School I went. 
 And four good pennies Scots my father paid 
 Termly, that I might win, (from early morn 
 To even's gloaming toiling ower my books,) 
 Logic and "perfyte Latin." To Glasgow 
 Next, one Crispin's Day, with thirteen more 
 For Major's Dialectic and some Greek. 
 
 ^ Tale. 2 Hatched.
 
 I06 RIFT III. 
 
 What need rehearse the after days of dark, 
 
 That to my shame and sorrow I abode, 
 
 Tutor and Priest at Samuelston ; ay, ane 
 
 Of that most bloody butcher's regiment 
 
 James Beaton Bishop of Sanct Andros, though 
 
 Mine ears had heard and my heart quaked to 
 
 hear 
 His spite, when the bright beams of the true light, 
 Whilk God had of His grace planted within 
 The heart of Maister Patrick Hamilton, 
 First publicly burst forth. 
 
 Weel mind I how 
 My mother's face waxed pale, when the ill news 
 By a Black Friar was brought to Gifford Gate, 
 (Ane Alexander Seyton, who for fear 
 Departed afterward from this poor realm,) 
 How in Sanct Andros, (lamb among the wolves,) 
 God's innocent servant he saw stand bound 
 In midst of coals and timber for a fire, 
 (Whilk fire was slow and so his torment more,) 
 And how ane, Campbell, a Black Friar cried, 
 " Convert, call on our Lady, heretic ! " 
 Whom he appealed to the Tribunal Seat 
 Of Jesus Christ : (whilk Friar as ane despaired
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 10/ 
 
 And in a phrensy, did this life depart, 
 
 Few days thereafter.) Likewise how he gave 
 
 His long-time chamber-child his gown, his coit, 
 
 Bonnet and sic-like garments, saying, " These 
 
 In the fire will not profit, thee they may : 
 
 For after this of me thou canst nothing 
 
 Receive save the example of my death, 
 
 The whilk, albeit bitter to the flesh, 
 
 Yet is it entrance to eternal life." 
 
 — And so after long sufferance got he 
 
 The victory. 
 
 Yet when those cruel wolves 
 Had clean devoured their prey, (as they supposed,) 
 They found themselves in worse case than before ! 
 For none in the whole realm but who began 
 To ask why Maister Patrick Hamilton 
 Was brunt. God likewise of His grace reserved 
 A little treatise by this Patrick made, 
 (Whilk if ye list call " Patrick's Places,") where 
 Ye have the pith of all Divinity. 
 And so within short space many began 
 To call in doubt that which before they held 
 For sure, and smell somewhat the verity ;
 
 I08 RIFT III. 
 
 And when these cruel beasts again conferred 
 Of other sic-Uke murders in this realm, 
 John Lindsay then, (a merry gentleman 
 Familiar to the Bishop, standing by,) 
 Quoth he, " My Lord, gif ye will burn any mo 
 Let them be brunt in cellars, for the reek 
 Of Maister Patrick Hammylton infects 
 As many as it blew upon." 
 
 Yet I 
 Brooding abode long time in Samuelston, 
 Teaching my bairns, and to my endless shame 
 In that most vile idolatry the Mass 
 Doing mine office in the chapel there ; 
 Ane of these bloody butchers' regiment 
 Of darkness. 
 
 Yet, in silence of mine house 
 Ower Jerome's words, and holy Augustine's, 
 (With lurid glitter of the fires lit up. 
 Aye and anon, in whilk these cruel wolves 
 Baith men and women caused to be devoured, 
 Wha dared oppone God's light to their Kingdom 
 Of Darkness,) some spunk of God's truth kindled 
 Within my heart, yet ne'er burst forth in flame. 
 Until Maister George Wishart, — that great saint
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." IO9 
 
 Of God, — for some short season lodged within 
 Hugh Douglas' house in Langniddry, (wherein 
 I, teaching his bairns, abode,) whose face was 
 Unto me God's blessed torch of truth 
 That kindled all, and banished for aye 
 The Pope's kingdom of darkness frae my soul. 
 
 Aye had I waited on him carefully 
 Since he was come to Lothian, and that 
 Last night in Haddington, before he passed 
 To sermon, (where the auditure was small, 
 The Earl Bothwell, by the Cardinal's 
 Procurement inhibiting baith town 
 And country,) he sent for said John entering 
 In purpose that he wearied of the world. 
 For he perceived that men began of God 
 To weary ; and departing, took good night 
 Of all his friends as 't were forever ; I, 
 The said John, pressing to have gone with him. 
 He answered, " Nay, return unto your bairns 
 And may God bless you, one is sufficient 
 For one sacrifice." So from the said John 
 He caused be taen the sword twa-handed whilk 
 With the said Maister George used to be borne,
 
 no RIFT III. 
 
 Who obeyed, (albeit sadly,) and so 
 
 With Hew Douglas returned to Langniddry. 
 
 Upon that self-same night, passed Maister George, 
 (The frost being vehement,) to Ormiston 
 On foot; and supper done, he comfortable 
 Purpose held of God's own children's death. 
 Then after singing of Psalm fifty-first 
 In Scottish metre, to his chamber passed, 
 Saying " God grant quiet rest." Or midnight came 
 The Earle Bothwell, and calling for the Laird 
 Told him 'twas vain to make him hold his house, 
 For Cardinal and Governor with all 
 Their power were coming, but gif he to him 
 Would render Maister George he should be safe. 
 And it should pass power o' the Cardinal 
 To do him skaith.^ Nevertheless when gold 
 Largely the Cardinal gave, the Queen Regent 
 Promise of favours in my Lord's love suits, 
 Gif he would render up said Maister George 
 In Edinburgh Castle to be kept. 
 Though at the first, by reason of his word 
 He some resistance made, not long, a man 
 
 ^ Harm.
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT. Ill 
 
 Effeminate withstands a gracious Queen ! 
 So was God's servant taen to Edinburgh, 
 Where he abode not many days, that wolf 
 The Cardinal so travailing that or long 
 Within the Sea-tower of Sanct Andros he 
 God's blessbd martyr gat into his power. 
 
 There, on first day of Ivlarch, the fire was made, 
 And gallows at the Castle's western part 
 Near to the Priory, (the ordinance bent 
 Right 'gainst the place, lest Maister George should of 
 His friends be rescued.) Then sat the Hangman 
 Down on his knees and said, " I pray you. Sir, 
 Forgive me, for not I am guilty of 
 Your death." " Come hither to me," then said he, 
 And kissed his cheek. " Lo, here a token is 
 That I forgive you; my heart, do thine office." 
 And so was hanged and then to powder brent ; 
 So that the people who beheld the great 
 Tormenting of that Innocent might not 
 AVithhold from piteous mourning of the slaughter 
 Of that Lamb ; and in plain speech men began 
 To damn and to detest the cruelty used. 
 And openly at table to avow
 
 112 RIFT III. 
 
 The blood of Maister George should be avenged ; 
 
 Among whom, chiefly John Leslie spared not 
 
 To say "This same whinger," (showing his dirk,) 
 
 " Shall be Priest to the Cardinal." Who yet 
 
 Thought himself for all Scotland stout yneuch 
 
 In his new Block-house ! — (And the truth to write, 
 
 Most part of the Nobility had given 
 
 Their band of manrent or else promises 
 
 Of amity with him !) He only feared 
 
 Them into whose hands God delivered him ; 
 
 And for them he had laid so secretly 
 
 His nets, he deemed their feet could not escape. 
 
 Yet all did fail ! 
 
 Early on Saturday, 
 Of May the twenty-ninth, (ane had espied, 
 By privy postern shortly to depart 
 From him, his mistress Marion Ogilvie,) 
 Came said John Leslie, Normound, Leslie's son, 
 The young Kirkcaldy, Peter Carmichael 
 (A stout gentleman,) James Melvin likewise, 
 An old familiar friend to Maister George, 
 And finding the draw-brig let down and yetts ^ 
 Open for lime and stones, (his Babylon 
 
 1 Gates.
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." II3 
 
 Was almost finished,) frae the porter rived 
 The keys and cast him in the foss ; then Grange, 
 (Fearing the fox should have escaped,) took guard 
 O' the Privy Postern. The Cardinal, 
 Hearing the shouts, gat his twa-handed sword, 
 And garte his chamber-child cast kists ^ before 
 His door, but when they laid a chimney-full 
 Of burning coal unto it, then they oped. 
 The Cardinal, sitting him in a chair, 
 " I am a Priest, I am a Priest," he cried, 
 " Ye will not slay me." Then said John Leslie, 
 As he had vowed, first struck him once or twice. 
 Thereafter Peter; but James Melvin, (one 
 Of nature most gentle and modest,) said, 
 Withdrawing them, " Though it be secret, yet 
 This work of God and judgement ought to be 
 With greater gravity ; " — then showing him 
 His sword's point, " Repent thee thy wicked life. 
 Especially the shedding of the blood 
 Of Maister George Wishart, which albeit 
 The flame of fire consumed, yet vengeance cries 
 Upon thee, and we here are sent from God 
 It to avenge. For here before my God 
 1 Tore. 2 Boxes. 
 
 H
 
 114 RIFT III. 
 
 Do I protest that neither hatred of 
 
 Thy person, love of thy riches, nor fear 
 
 Of any trouble thou to me couldst do, 
 
 Move me to strike thee, but only because 
 
 Thou hast been and remain'st an enemy 
 
 Against Christ Jesus and His Evangile." 
 
 And so with a stout sword he struck him through. 
 
 And thus he fell ; never a word heard but, 
 
 " I am a Priest, I am a Priest, fy, fy, 
 
 All's gone ! " And so, (since May waxed hot,) they 
 
 gave 
 Him salt yneuch, a cope of lead, and neuk 
 In bottom of the Sea-tower, to await 
 AVhat exequies his brethren Bishops would 
 Prepare. For dolorous unto the priests, 
 The Governor, and chiefly to the Queen, 
 The death of the aforesaid tyrant was ; 
 Who bode revenge his death ; therefore besieged 
 The Castle of Sanct Andros where were hid 
 They who of his slaughter had compassed 
 The godly fact ; where to them shortly came 
 This said John Knox (with him Langniddry's bairns 
 And Ormeston's,) and so his lot was cast ; 
 For reading daily in the chapel there
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." II5 
 
 Saint John's Evangile with his bairns, anon, 
 
 They of the place — but 'specially these two, 
 
 To wit Henry Balnaves and John Rough 
 
 Preacher, perceiving of his doctrine, would 
 
 He should upon him take the preaching place, 
 
 Which utterly did he refuse and said, 
 
 " Where God had called him not he would not run," 
 
 Whereupon they privily 'mongst themselves, 
 
 Concluded publicly to give a charge 
 
 To the said John, through their said Preacher's 
 
 mouth, 
 Which did the said John Rough, charging in name 
 Of God and Christ His Son, that he refuse 
 Not this vocation, as he tendered, 
 God's glory, increase of Christ His Kingdom, 
 And comfort of the Brethren ; whereat John 
 Abashed, burst forth in most abundant tears. 
 And got him to his chamber. From that day 
 His countenance sufficiently declared 
 The grief and trouble of his heart, for none 
 Saw any sign of mirth in him, nor yet 
 Pleasure in company of any man, 
 Until the day necessity caused him 
 Express his mind in public preaching-place,
 
 Il6 RIFT III. 
 
 In answer to that rotten Papist, Dean 
 John Annan, — and so after that got rest. 
 
 On July penult was the Castle taen 
 
 Of Leon Strozzi, Capua's Prior, 
 
 Of the French Galayes Captain, (promise made 
 
 Of safe transport to all within the same ;) 
 
 — Then was there singing of this triumph song, 
 
 " Priestis content you now, Priestis content you now, 
 
 For Normound and his company has filled the 
 
 Galayes fou." 
 Whilk then passed up the waters of the Seine, 
 And lay before Rowane, whence we who looked 
 For freedom traitorously were scattered ; 
 Some into diverse prisons and some more, 
 (Of whom was this said John,) sentenced to row 
 Chained at the Galaye's oar. (For that the Pope 
 Had \vrit thanking the Governor and King 
 Of France right heartily for taking pains 
 T' avenge his most kind creature, Cardinal 
 Of Scotland, and praying they of the Castle 
 Be sharply handled.) Wherefore nineteen months 
 I, the said John, rowed in the Galayes. — God 
 Doth know the sobs of my poor heart !
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 11/ 
 
 The winter through at Nantes in Brittany 
 
 We lay ; Threatened with torments gif we would 
 
 Not reverence pay unto the Messe, yet not 
 
 The poorest of that company thereto 
 
 Consented ; yea, when on the Saturday 
 
 At night they sang their " Salve Regina," 
 
 The whole Scotsmen put on their hats and hoods ; 
 
 And after once, they were not pressed to kiss 
 
 The painted board which they call " Nostre Dame," 
 
 For thus the chance : Just we had come to Nance, 
 
 Their great Salve was sung and glorious 
 
 Gay painted Lady to be kissed was brought ; 
 
 Then one, (a Scotsman,) there chained, gently 
 
 said, 
 " Trouble me not, such idol is accursed, 
 I will not touch it ; " then said they, " Thou shalt 
 Handle it," so thrust it into his face, 
 Who seeing the extremity, took it 
 Advisedly, and in the river cast, 
 Saying, "Let now our Lady save herself, 
 She's light yneuch, then let her learn to swim ; " 
 So after that no Scottishman was urged 
 To that idolatry. 
 
 In Scotland there
 
 Il8 RIFT III. 
 
 Was nought but mirth that summer, for all went 
 
 At pleasure of the priests, yet not for long ; 
 
 For first the English came, and fought at Pinkie ; 
 
 (Of Scottish men there lay ten thousand slain 
 
 'Twixt Edinburgh and Dalkeith ;) syne came 
 
 The French ships, (flying our Scottish Lion 
 
 How soon so ever they took the plain seas, 
 
 And so to France accounted rebels, since 
 
 Peace stood 'twixt France and England, — no falsett 
 
 Such policy 'twixt princes !). Then was held 
 
 A Parliament of the whole realm within 
 
 Haddington Abbey, anent, in chief, 
 
 The marriage of our Princess, (spite contract 
 
 To young King Edward,) with the King of France. 
 
 Some were with bribes corrupted, some deceived 
 
 By flattering promises, and some by fear 
 
 Compelled were to consent. The governor 
 
 Got Order of the Cockill and Duchy 
 
 Of Chattellerault, so he stood content 
 
 To sell his Sovereign forth of his own hands, 
 
 Which will be his destruction at the end. 
 
 Huntly, Ergyle, and Angus likewise Avere 
 
 Made of the Cockill Knights, and shortly none 
 
 Resisted that unjust demand. — So was
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." II9 
 
 She sold to France that in her youth she should 
 Drink of that liquor that remains with her 
 Her life-time, for a plague to all this realm 
 And to her own destruction. 
 
 But to return. 
 In the same gallaye with the said John Knox 
 Was Mister John Balfour who oft-times would 
 Ask of his judgement if he thought e'er they 
 Should be delivered, whose answer aye was, 
 " God would deliver them from that bondage 
 Even in this life." And when the second time 
 The Galayes came to Scotland, lying 'twixt 
 Sanct Andros and Dundee, and the said John 
 So sick that few hoped for his life, he willed 
 Him look gif he might know the land, who said 
 *' Yes, weel I know it, for I here can see 
 The steeple of that place where first God oped 
 My mouth in public to His glory ; yea 
 And weel assured I am, how weak soe'er 
 I now appear that I shall not depart 
 This life till that my tongue shall glorify 
 His godly name in the same place." As was, 
 Of the said Mister James, reputed years
 
 120 RIFT III. 
 
 Before that ever the said John again 
 Set foot in Scotland. 
 
 Meantime Kirkcaldy, 
 (The man now in the Castle,) Carmichael 
 And the Leslies, held in Mont Sanct Michael, 
 Of the said John asked counsel gif they might 
 Break prison with safe conscience, whilk said John 
 Gif without blood of any spilt, affirmed. 
 And so on the King's Eve, — when Frenchmen use 
 Liberally to drink, — by a boy's help 
 They gat the keys, and binding those within, 
 Steeked all the doors upon them, and so went ; 
 Harm done to no man. As poor mariners 
 In beggars' garments travelling many weeks, 
 At length they got a French ship and so came 
 To England, where they found before them this 
 Said John, who likewise that same winter was 
 Set free, God's time for the deliverance 
 Of His poor servant being come. 
 
 Henceforth 
 The Kirk and this poor Realm knoweth right well 
 My course of life, for ne'er have I, for fear 
 Of men or favour, stinted so to speak 
 As God gave me commandment. At Berwick,
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 121 
 
 Newcastle then, and London and the South, 
 
 Until the dolourous death of that young Prince 
 
 Most virtuous and godly, whose wisdom 
 
 And gravity all expectation passed. 
 
 And yet exceeded he not sixteen years ; 
 
 Whose death all godly within Europe mourned. 
 
 Satan intending nothing less than that 
 
 The light of Jesus Christ be quite put out 
 
 In this whole Isle of Britain, — after him, 
 
 In God's hot anger, in England arose 
 
 Mischievous Mary of the Spaniards' blood, 
 
 Cruel persecutrix of God's people there ; 
 
 And in Scotland that crafty practiser 
 
 Called Mary of Lorraine, Queen-Regent named 
 
 Of Scotland. — Wherefore passed the said John Knox 
 
 Unto Geneva and to Frankfort thence, 
 
 (At call of God's most notable servant 
 
 John Calvin,) to the congregation there, 
 
 Thence to Dieppe, and so to Scotland back. 
 
 There on first day of Januar by past. 
 
 Upon all gates and ports of Friars here 
 
 Within this realm, was fixed " The Beggars' Warning," 
 
 Whilk, " in the name of all the Blind, Bedrelles,
 
 122 RIFT III. 
 
 Widows, Orphins, and Poor who might not work, 
 Demanded from the flocks of all the Friars 
 Restitution or next Whitsunday's Feast 
 For wrongs bypast, and swift removal forth 
 Their Hospitals, wrongously held by them, 
 Though for the Poor, (whilk they are not,) biggit 
 And dottit,^ and gif not, them to eject 
 Utterly forth the same, at that said Terra." 
 
 And so began that war, wherein this realm 
 
 Well knows how manifold my labours for 
 
 Christ and His Evangile, fighting against 
 
 That Idol of the Mass ; (more fearful was 
 
 That one Mass unto me, permitted to 
 
 Our Queen in her ain private chapel, than 
 
 Gif armed enemies ten thousand were 
 
 Here landed to suppress the whole religion ! 
 
 "Conscience, Conscience," they cried, "a sore thing 
 
 'tis 
 The Conscience to constrain," to whilk I said, 
 " Her liberty should be their thraldom or 
 'Twas long ; " (as well of late their malice hath 
 Been shown by that cruel murderer the King 
 
 ^ Built and gifted.
 
 " NAE OUTGAIT." 1 23 
 
 Of France, none from whose loins proceeding shall 
 
 Enjoy his throne in peace). Likewise against 
 
 These idle bellies, Black Friars and Gray ; 
 
 And those most bloody butchers, Bishops called ; 
 
 And for maintaining God's true Messengers, 
 
 And Preachers of His Word ', right ordering 
 
 Of His poor Kirk ; and godly upbringing 
 
 In learning of its bairns within the schools ; 
 
 This realm well knows, nor may I here and now 
 
 Recount the same. Only I thank my God, 
 
 By my poor means, some spunk of His true Light, 
 
 (How dimmed soe'er,) doth shine in this poor realm, 
 
 And more shall shine, though these een see it not. 
 
 An auld decrepit man I thirst an end. 
 
 Long time since hath my God taen Marjory Bowes, 
 
 My first dear bedfellow, and that honest 
 
 Poor gentlewoman, my good friend, her mother. 
 
 The dear fruits of her bosom, our two sons, 
 
 With this my younger yoke-fellow and these 
 
 Our little lasses, leave I to His care. 
 
 With you good friends who gather these last days. 
 
 Here in my house hard by the Netherbow, 
 
 Since that last Sunday when in Sanct Giles' Kirk
 
 124 RIFT III. 
 
 To Lawson I rendered mine office up, 
 And, (having told the Rising of our Lord,) 
 Crept down the High Street on good Richart's arm, 
 All my poor flock following to my door. 
 
 Go wife, bid pierce for us a cask of wine ; 
 
 — Send for it oft, good friends, while it shall last, 
 
 For never will I tarry till 't be drunk. 
 
 On earth is no stability save the Kirk 
 
 Of Jesus Christ, aye fighting 'neath His Cross, 
 
 To whose mighty protection heart'ly I 
 
 Commit you. 
 
 And so Lord Jesus I commend 
 My troubled spirit into Thy defence, 
 Thy troubled Kirk unto Thy mercy. — Now 
 Wife, go read where first I cast mine anchor.
 
 125 
 
 III. 
 
 At Fotheringay. — February 8, 1587 a.d. 
 
 " Mayhap," I said, that night of fog I sat 
 
 Till dawn upon my galley's deck to catch 
 
 At day's first streak, one farewell glimpse of France, 
 
 (Whence, even as I sailed, a ship with all 
 
 Its crew, before our eyes, and close to port 
 
 Went down ;), — " Mayhap that casualty," (by hands 
 
 Of England's Queen to die), " were better than 
 
 To live, yet in this God's good will be done." 
 
 And now it is God's will sae best for me. 
 
 Last night I had but doffed my mantle when 
 Cometh the Lord Beale to my chamber door 
 Desiring speech with me, whereon, donning 
 The same, I bade them open ; thereupon
 
 126 RIFT III. 
 
 Saluting with most dolesome face he said, 
 " Madame, I would some other one than I 
 Had brought such evil tidings on the part 
 Of England's Queen, yet as her servant must 
 I needs obey, and sae admonish you 
 To hold you ready on the morrow at 
 The tenth hour of the morning to endure 
 Sentence of death on you pronounced some time 
 Agone." 
 
 I praise and thank my God that sae 
 It pleaseth Him to put an end by this 
 To all the miseries that they have caused 
 Me to endure this nineteen years, e'en to 
 This present time ; — a prisoner evilly 
 Entreated of this Queen, my sister ; — ne'er, 
 As God is my chief witness, having done 
 Aught hurtful to her. Now I go to give 
 Into His hands my spirit ; innocent 
 And pure, and conscience-clear before His 
 Majesty divine of all the crimes 
 Whereof she caused me to be accused ; 
 And I shall carry now this innocence 
 Boldly before His face who is the sole 
 Judge of my actions.
 
 '•NAE OUTGAIT." 12/ 
 
 There when I present 
 Myself openly will I make me known ; 
 Sae better far for me than to live on 
 In this same martyrdom wherein sae lang 
 To languish they have made me without hope ; 
 (Knowing the evil nature of this Queen, 
 Her mortal hate and constant cruelty 
 To me,) who now to please her councillors 
 And other of my ancient foes doth will 
 My ruin and my death ; which patiently 
 I shall be seen to suffer, that I may 
 Reign, — if it sae please God, — perpetually. 
 Delivered from their persecutions in 
 A happier resting-place than I have had 
 The best part of my days. — Since she is bent 
 Upon such rigour, let God's will be done ! 
 
 My Father, my Creator and my God, 
 
 And Jesus Christ, His only Son, my Lord 
 
 And my Redeemer, hope of all who live. 
 
 And all who die in Thee, since Thou ordain'st 
 
 That sae my soul be separated from 
 
 This mortal body, very humbly I, 
 
 Of Thy goodness and mercy supplicate,
 
 128 RIFT III. 
 
 In this extremity not to forsake, 
 
 But that I may be covered with Thy grace, 
 
 Giving me pardon for all negligence 
 
 And faults against Thy holy ordinance, 
 
 Even as I with a good heart forgive 
 
 All those who have offended and condemned 
 
 Me wickedly to this cruel death. 
 
 Yet hold 
 I it for certain that the just judgements 
 Of God will follow this Queen, my sister, 
 Sae strictly and sae close that all her life 
 Her conscience, and after her death, God, will 
 Accuse her of my innocence, in which 
 My spirit fearlessly I render to 
 His hands. 
 
 Permit me, my God, that without 
 Offence to Thee, and in few words I tell 
 All those before whom I shall render up 
 My soul to Thee, and all my Realm, yea all 
 Of Christendom the protestation that 
 I make ; which is that never have I willed, 
 Concerted or conspired or given aid 
 Nor counsel in any conspiracy 
 Of death ; though often I have sought escape.
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 1 29 
 
 By aid of friends, Catholics of tliis realm 
 
 And elsewhere, from these prisons, by sic means, 
 
 Without offence against Thy Majesty 
 
 Divine, as guiltless I could sanction ; yea 
 
 In this place I beseech Thee, that if I 
 
 Other intent have had, my soul may be 
 
 Deprived participation in Thy grace 
 
 And mercy, and the fruits which she expects 
 
 And hopes from the maist precious passion of 
 
 Our Lord thy dearest son ; sae, innocent 
 
 Of all sic treachery, my other faults 
 
 Do I remit to Thy justice divine ; 
 
 By invocation to the glorious 
 
 Virgin, and all the saints and angels, with 
 
 All Blessed now in Paradise, that they 
 
 Will now be pleased to intercede for me 
 
 That sae I may partake and reign with them 
 
 In the celestial glory evermore. 
 
 My poor damsels and friends, it grieveth^me 
 Sae little to requite you wherewithal 
 Have I, according to my will, the good 
 And faithful services that every one 
 Of you have rendered to me in my need. 
 
 I
 
 130 RIFT III. 
 
 Yet one thing rests to do, to add a clause 
 Unto my will bidding my son the King 
 Of Scotland make to every one of you 
 Worthy contentment after I am dead. 
 And you, my desolated servants, give 
 Not up yourselves unto despair, but think 
 On all points of that patience which was shown 
 In the dear death and passion of our Lord, 
 For our example ; whom I rest upon 
 As the foundation sole of my salvation. 
 — And watch and pray to God continually 
 With me. 
 
 Now I beseech you, good my friends, 
 Not to forsake me, but be near to me 
 At my death-hour ; and have a care of this 
 Poor body, and if sae be that ye may, 
 Lay it in holy earth. Committing you 
 Sae to our blessed Lord, I bid fareweel. 
 
 And now the woeful present, and the near 
 And bloody end bethought of, let me scan, 
 (As drowning folk, men say, in one brief flash 
 See all the past clear with their closing eyes,)
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." I3I 
 
 The short, sad life, or the long livmg death 
 That now a scaffold ends, and ask myself. 
 As one that stands in sight of the White Throne 
 Whereon He sits who judges quick and dead. 
 Was there indeed " nae outgait," as I wrote 
 To my fell sister, who now dips her hands 
 In my heart's blood ? 
 
 What otherwise could I, 
 — Being this I, and standing where I stood? 
 E'en with these eyes made clear by the near gleam 
 Of Headsman's axe " nae outgait " can I see. 
 Many my faults of youth and ignorance, 
 Yet ever to correction docile, sae 
 It came in guise worthy a Queen free-born, 
 Nowise a slave. 
 
 Alack ! an evil star 
 'Twas rose above my cradle, and its ra}'. 
 Ill-omened and sinister, followed me. 
 All my life through unto this bloody end ! 
 A six-days' babe within Linlithgow's halls. 
 The shade of Scotland's thistle-crown fell ower 
 My infant sleep, dropt from despairing brows, 
 Where my young father turned his woeful face 
 To his auld Falkland palace wall and died ;
 
 132 RIFT III. 
 
 — Heart-break or foul play who shall say by which ? 
 Beaton and Arran, round my nursery door 
 Wrangled for regency. England's Henry, 
 For the soft, helpless, dimpled baby hand, 
 Bade for his Prince, while true Scots fought to save 
 Their land frae the " Auld Enemy" that fain 
 Had swallowed her, with me, poor innocent ! 
 — Begun in blood fitly in blood it ends. 
 
 Yet what knew I ? No blood-red stain for me 
 
 Shadowed the tender green of opening spring, 
 
 Or long bright hours of sunny summer days, 
 
 When by Linlithgow's Loch, or 'neath the shade 
 
 Of Stirveling's Castle Rock, amang the trees 
 
 I played, while my good Janet Sinclair watched 
 
 My merry romps ; her swift wires, (stuck in bunch 
 
 Of feathers at her girdle), twinkling as 
 
 She knit hose for John Kemp her husband, who 
 
 Comfits had aye in his big doublet pouch 
 
 For his " wee Queen," (as me he wont to call,) 
 
 When we (Janet and I) bare him the hose 
 
 To his low timber hut beside the Loch, 
 
 And I rode on his shoulder and his foot. 
 
 And supped on brose and bannocks of oatmeal.
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." I 33 
 
 Then home or dusk, and Janet brushed my hair 
 Into soft curls, and put on my white frock, 
 And tied my sash and buttoned my blue shoes, 
 And my fair stately mother played with me 
 A while in the great hall before she went 
 To sup, and I to bed in my white crib. 
 Oh ! solitary happy baby days ! 
 A lonely child with life's first dazzling dreams 
 For only playmates ! — Happier life has none ! 
 
 Then came a change ; and Inchmacomb's auld walls. 
 Used but to cowled monks' chants, rang with the glee 
 Of my four Marys and their Mary Queen ; 
 And the good fathers' garden where they grew 
 Herbs for their " potage maigre " blossomed out 
 In roses, marjoram and eglantine, 
 And great box-borders as we delved and sang, 
 Making child's gardens 'neath the auld gray walls. 
 
 A new change then. A regal progress through 
 The merry land of France, royal honours all 
 The way from Roscoff to Saint-Germain-Laye 
 For the French King's little " Reinette of Scotland," 
 Whom weel he loved and gave a mimic court ;
 
 134 RIFT III. 
 
 While she and her four Marys shared with his 
 Ain bairns, Frances, Henry, Charles, Margaret, 
 Elizabeth, and Claude, in games and tasks ; 
 And aye his " Reinette " must precede them all, 
 Whom his young Dauphin claimed to be his bride 
 Already as they danced, (some five years old,) 
 At the great wedding of the Due d'Aumale, 
 — Folk said, a fairy pair. 
 
 At Joinville next, 
 With the dear Grandmere in her black serge gown ; 
 (Her coffin ever in the gallery 
 Through which she passed to Mass,) where the quiet 
 
 hours 
 Sped on swift wings above the girlish head 
 Bent low ower book, or tapestry, or work 
 Of coarser sort, for deeds of charity. 
 And oft my uncles came, Charles of Guise, 
 Brave, soldier-like, and generous ; — severe 
 And stern, men said, — yet never stern to me ; 
 And the great Cardinal, the Diplomat, 
 With his shrewd, quick, observant, hawk-like eye ; 
 Much taught they me, and praised the ready wit, 
 And promise of their scholar. Visits too
 
 " NAE OUTGAIT." 135 
 
 To my sweet aunt, Abbess of Saint Pierre, 
 When oft at vespers low I knelt within 
 The great Rheims Minster, and rejoiced to see 
 The westering sun through its rose-window pour 
 A flood of gold besprent with dazzHng gems. 
 
 Yet even there already Sorrow showed 
 
 Her bodeful face. At eight years old I stood 
 
 By the good Grandp^re's bier; and the great joy 
 
 Of my dear mother's visit, — I sae sair 
 
 Had wept to leave in Scotland, — all owercast 
 
 By mutterings ominous, — scarce understood 
 
 Yet bodeful, — of mysterious mischief scarce 
 
 Escaped, meant me in cup of Robert Stewart ; 
 
 — Uncomprehended all yet haunting aye. 
 
 Then parting's bitter woe, alack the last ! 
 
 For ne'er again I saw my mother's face. 
 
 — Yet still Sorrow but showed her face and passed. 
 
 Leaving the joy behind. 
 
 Weel I recall, 
 — Eleventh birthday past, — the New-Year's Day, 
 And the great supper, in mine ain new house, 
 I gave the Cardinal !— and how he came 
 Monthly thereafter, to sum up accounts.
 
 136 RIFT III. 
 
 And set the house in order, and report 
 
 To the Queen-Regent what a wise house-wife 
 
 She had for daughter ! Then the letters frae 
 
 My sweet Ehzabeth, daughter of France, 
 
 Dearest and closest friend aye to my heart ; 
 
 My Odes and Poems, Brantome, Ronsard praised ; 
 
 And the great joy of mine ain Frances' love. 
 
 Crowned that sweet April morn in Notre Dame, 
 
 When he and I plighted our wedded troth. 
 
 Ere our twain ages joined made thirty years. 
 
 Ah ! thae sweet weeks at Villers-Coterets, 
 Hidden amid its trees, hard by Soissons, 
 Where I a fourteen-year-old bride, was all 
 The world to my dear Heart, as he to me ! 
 And the gay days at Henry's sparkling Court, 
 Filled full with Love, Beauty, and Chivalry, 
 The Minstrel's lay, the Courtier's homage, all 
 Life's joys brimming the dazzling cup ! — How soon 
 In fragments dashed from the uplifting hand ! 
 
 Scarcely I heeded it amid the joy, 
 
 Yet ower the gladness fell a passing shade, 
 
 When I minded the double bond I signed,
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 1 37 
 
 — The French bond and the Scots, — or we were 
 
 wed ; 
 — For ever was I prone to openness 
 In word and deed, — ower prone my mother deemed ; 
 Aye aught hidden irked me : — yet must a Queen 
 Keep counsel, (sae she taught), nor wear her heart 
 Upon her sleeve as may the simple sort. 
 Sae signed I as they bade, or I was wed, 
 The Scottish crown, (did I die issueless). 
 To Henry my good-father soon to be. 
 And aye the only father I had known ; 
 And to my France, for ancient services 
 'Gainst England, the " Auld Enemy " ; sae baith 
 The Duke and Cardinal, my uncles willed, 
 As best for the True Faith, mine ain Realm, France, 
 And me ; sae mine ain heart too urged, that loved 
 The King, my dear Heart's father, and the Land, 
 My mother's and my husband's ay and mine, 
 Far more than mine own far-off savage realm. 
 And when a fortnight after they bade sign 
 The Scots' Lords' bargain, and say ne'er a word 
 O' other bond, 'twas but state-craft, they said, 
 Sic as a Queen maun use ; — yet still it irked. 
 Though swallowed in young gladness.
 
 138 RIFT III. 
 
 Honours came 
 Crowding fast. — The matrimonial crown 
 Of Scotland with the Dauphin's badge of France 
 My Frances wore upon his dear pale brow ; 
 And when Mary of England died, they wove 
 The English Lions in our quarterings 
 Blazoned with France and Scotland, (seeing she 
 Who claimed to wear them was a bastard born, 
 — This same fell woman who now gluts the hate 
 That day had birth, in my heart's blood.) The arms 
 Were mine of right ; — now Mary Tudor dead. 
 Next heir true-born to English Henry's crown ; 
 Yet that emblazoned flag that waved sae gay 
 Above our tournament, ( — twice fatal sae, — ) 
 Of Place des Tournelles, where good Henry fell, 
 Is this day's pall to wrap a headless corpse ! 
 Yet where the outgait ? Catholic and Queen, 
 How might I quit my right to England's Throne, 
 Yield it to bastard and to heretic? 
 — Gaily our flag waved then nor breathed of woe ! 
 Yet was woe nigh, for there, a random lance, 
 Left fatherless, Frances, and France, and me ! 
 
 Then ill news came treading on ill news' heels
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT. 1 39 
 
 Frae ower the sea. In my poor Scottish realm 
 Famine and plague, lightning and hurricane 
 Strange havoc wrought, (signs, said their Preach- 
 
 ouris. 
 Of ire in Heaven against the auld True Faith ! 
 Rousing the simpler sort to wrath and riot ;) 
 Churches and monastries they ravaged, monks 
 And priests gart flee for the dear life afore 
 Their " Congregation." Frae Geneva came, 
 (Where he had sounded forth his first blast 'gainst 
 "The monstrous regiment of women," as 
 My rightful rule, and INIary Tudor's on 
 The English Throne, and the Queen-Regent's, all, 
 He bode to call !) the Heretic, John Knox, 
 Stirring sedition. At Lindores they brunt 
 The Black Friars' missels, their altars owerthrew ; 
 Their monks' habits the holy men gart doff! 
 — The Lord James, — my ain brother — giving aid. 
 Crail and Anstruther, Stirveling, Perth, they sacked, 
 And sae to Edinburgh, — whereat the Queen, 
 My maist dear mother, routed them by siege, 
 — Then desperate and shameless, they appealed 
 E'en to their Land's "Auld Enemy" for aid, 
 Whilk crafty England and its bastard Queen
 
 140 RIFT III. 
 
 Full gladly gave. Then to her ain French land 
 Wisely the Regent turned and succour craved ; 
 And French and English battled it at Leith. 
 
 Sae lowering clouds brooded ower my poor realm, 
 
 And nearer, direr came the news of dule. 
 
 How in her house in Edinburgh, hard 
 
 By the Castle, with war and care out-worn, 
 
 My Regent-mother yielded her great soul 
 
 Into God's hands who gave. Twice orphaned thus, 
 
 Alane amid the din of warring creeds 
 
 Each with its foreign succour ; — Scottish Lords 
 
 Throttling ilk ither ower the Bishops' spoils, 
 
 — The Congregation riving it frae baith 
 
 To feed their Preachouris. — James Sandilands 
 
 Dinning mine ears to sign the Treaty called 
 
 Of Edinburgh, for " all time coming " 
 
 The Arms of England to renounce, — the whilk 
 
 Nowise I bode to do ! Heresy too 
 
 In France lifting bold front, the whilk, the Duke 
 
 My uncle punishing, an evil bruit 
 
 Went forth of Frances and of me, (hunting 
 
 The while in happy ignorance !) that he, 
 
 — The King, — to cure a loathsome leprosy.
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." I4I 
 
 Made baths of little children's blood ! Sae when 
 At Blois we rode in royal procession, lo ! 
 Ilk face was turned away in horror, till 
 My Frances in his pain turned on the Duke 
 Upbraiding him, "What have I done," he said, 
 "Thus to be hated? I am shunned. Behold 
 My people look on me with horror ! Oh ! 
 My uncle Guise 'tis you that they abhor, 
 Not me." 
 
 Woes followed fast. De Barri's plot. 
 And Guises' fierce reprisals made Amboise 
 A shambles where the streets ran blood, and e'en 
 The Castle battlements, (within whilk we 
 Abode,) were gibbets, and trees in its park, 
 Ilk wi' its ghastly corpse ; and when distraught 
 With all that horror, to Chenonceau we 
 Fled, and were royally greeted there, mocking, 
 Men said " Doubtless we were weel satisfied !" 
 
 Then with the winter came worst woe of all, 
 For then my dear Heart sickened, and or passed 
 The auld decrepit year, my young King lay 
 In his untimeous grave ; and I, or yet 
 My eighteenth birthday, knew a widow's dule.
 
 142 RIFT III. 
 
 Oh ! yon lang winter's midnight when I sat 
 Alane with ray dear Heart, and the dim light 
 From the long tapers flickering, ghastly fell, 
 In moving shadows on the moveless brow, 
 And the still form beneath its shroud of white ; 
 And my heart seemed as moveless, turned to stone, 
 Ower which the world with all its weal and woe, 
 Like those dim wavering taper-lights, might play, 
 And leave it cauld and careless as that form 
 'Neath the white winding-sheet ! — Next day I gave 
 The Medicis the jewels I wore as Queen 
 Of France. What now to me ? — since nevermore. 
 My Frances, could their gleam enhance for thee 
 The beauty that thou lovedst ! Henceforth for 
 
 me, 
 White robe of dule and life as colourless. 
 — But for the Queen Douaire another son 
 And a new King ! — Why weep for Frances though 
 She gave him birth? — Me, aye she hated. Yet 
 My heart ached when my Uncles Guise as well, 
 Following the Medicis, left me next morn 
 Alane beside my dead ; — till witli no pomp, 
 Myself and Senlis' good old bishop laid 
 My Frances at Saint Dennis to his rest.
 
 )) 
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." I43 
 
 For forty days no daylight entered where 
 
 I and my grief sat lane : then requiem said 
 
 For his poor soul in the Gray Friars' church 
 
 At Orleans, there, and at Rheims I made, 
 
 — Far from the Medicis' intriguing Court, — 
 
 My sad abode. — In my white robes of dule 
 
 At mass with Grandmere Bourbon in her black 
 
 Serge gown, or vespers with Renee, my aunt, 
 
 Amid the sunset's glory flood, within 
 
 Rheims' grand old Minster's aisles, in musings sad 
 
 Knelt till the glory faded from the west ; 
 
 And in the twilight street folk started as 
 
 " The White Queen " (as they called me) glided past. 
 
 Like a dim ghost to weep through the still night. 
 
 And croon, - — for the Love chansons Ronsard 
 
 praised, — 
 Sonnets of widowed woe. — One haunts me now. 
 Singing its sad refrain within my brain. 
 Of my first love, this my last night on earth ! 
 
 En mon triste et doux chant 
 D'un ton fort lamentable 
 Je jette un ceil tranchant, 
 De perte incomperable,
 
 144 RIFT III. 
 
 Et en soupirs unsans 
 Passe mes meilleurs ans. 
 
 Fut-il tel malheur 
 
 De dure destinee, 
 
 Ny si triste douleur, 
 
 De Dame fortunee, 
 
 Qui mon coeur et mon ceil, 
 
 Vois en bierre et cercUeil. 
 
 Qui en mon doux printemps 
 Et fleur de ma jeunesse 
 Toutes les paines sens, 
 D'une extreme tristesse, 
 Et en rien n'ay plaisir, 
 Qu'en regret et desir. 
 
 Ce qui m'estoit plaisant, 
 Ores m'est peine dure, 
 Le jour le plus luisant, 
 M'est nuit noire et obscure, 
 Et n'est rien si exquis, 
 Quit de moy foit requis.
 
 " NAE OUTGAIT." I45 
 
 J'ay au coeur et a I'oeil 
 Un portrait et image 
 Qui figure mon deiiil 
 Et mon pasle visage 
 De violentes teint 
 Qui et I'amoureux teint. 
 
 Pour mon mal etranger 
 Je ne m'arreste en place 
 Mais j'en ay beau changer, 
 Si ma douleur efface, 
 En labeur, en regoy 
 Toujours est prest de moy. 
 
 Je ne vois autre objet 
 Pour beau qu'il se presente, 
 A qui que soit subjet, 
 Aucques mon coeur consente, 
 Exempt de perfection 
 A cette affliction. 
 
 Mets Chanson icy fece 
 A si triste complainte 
 
 K
 
 146 RIFT III. 
 
 Dont sera le refrene 
 Amour vraye et non fainte 
 Pour la seperation 
 N'aura diminution. 
 
 Sae passed tlie quiet days with the placid nuns 
 
 At Saint Pierre-les-Dames 'neath gentle sway 
 
 Of my sweet Abbess Aunt, and in their peace, 
 
 My bruised and broken heart grew soothed and calm, 
 
 Lending a passive ear to the intrigues, 
 
 Whose rumours from the distant Court scarce stirred 
 
 A heart-beat, mid those woodland solitudes. 
 
 Don Carlos' love, — Catherine the Florentine 
 
 Tradeswoman's hate, — what was it all to me. 
 
 Whose heart lay at Saint Dennis buried deep 
 
 In Frances' grave ? 
 
 But not for lang that dear 
 And sweet repose. Baith Scottish Catholics, 
 And (on the Congregation's part,) Lord James 
 My brother, craved return to mine ain Realm, 
 Where ilk man's hand was against every man, 
 And every man's hand lifted against ilk. 
 Fain had I stayed, simple Douaire of France, 
 Rather than strive, with my tired aimless heart.
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." I47 
 
 To rule my rugged realm on Scotland's throne, 
 But for the Medicis' fell hate that spared 
 Nought that might humble ; sae, although England 
 Denied safe conduct, bode was I to go. 
 Darkness and dule and danger all the way ! 
 
 Vainly I searched the gloom with longing eyes 
 
 E'en for an English fleet to force me back 
 
 To the dear Land that held my dearest Heart, 
 
 When from my bed upon our galley's deck 
 
 The Pilot called me at first streak of day 
 
 To gaze my last, as faded its faint shore 
 
 In the dim distance and my prophet heart 
 
 Foreboding said, " It is forever," as, 
 
 With arms outstretched towards her, sad I cried, 
 
 " Adieu, oh France, ne'er shall I see thee more ! " 
 
 And sae came I to mine ain Realm. A Land 
 In throes of revolution, where the auld 
 Faith of our fathers lay trampled beneath 
 The feet of " The Religion " as they called 
 The new, — which heretics from Germany 
 Had brought to trouble my poor Realm. 
 
 John Knox
 
 148 RIFT III. 
 
 Blawing his blasts 'gainst " monstrous regiment 
 Of women," — Lords of the Congregation, 
 In ParUament decreeing Holy Mass 
 Idolatry punished by death, Preachers 
 In Saint Giles' Kirk raving against ilk thing 
 At Court, e'en to " tarjetting of our tails," 
 And jealous nobles ilk 'gainst all the rest ! 
 What outgait there for me, a Catholic 
 And Queen? 
 
 Yet my poor best I strove. Chose Lords 
 Of Congregation for my ministers, 
 Full liberty of worship left to all, 
 Sae mine they hindered not. Craved them to play 
 Their barbarous music ower again, wherewith 
 They greeted my first night, and when a babe, 
 (Issued frae mimic cloud ower Netherbow,) 
 Their City Keys, Bible and Psalter laid 
 Thegither at my feet, I took and smiled ! 
 
 E'en stern John Knox himself I strove to win. 
 Craving his counsel for my private ear, 
 If aught I did misliked him. At hawking 
 Be-west Kinross, showed him Lord Ruthven's ring ; 
 Warned him 'gainst Athens' Bishop ; craved his help
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 1 49 
 
 In quarrel 'twixt my sister and Argyle. 
 Ay, and he wrought at my commandment in 
 That matter of Argyle ! found my words wise 
 Anent the Bishop ! yea all but was won ! 
 
 Yet all in vain ! the war was unto death ! 
 
 What amity might hold 'twixt him and me ? 
 
 The New's Apostle, he, and I a Queen 
 
 Leal to the auld true Faith, wherein had died 
 
 My Frances and my mother ; and lived all 
 
 Living I loved ! How thole its holy Mass 
 
 An Idol held worthy of death, its priests 
 
 Insulted at the altar, its churches 
 
 Desecrate, its monastries in ruins ? 
 
 How turn I my back in its adversity ? 
 
 I thank my God, now with this bloody death, 
 
 (Sae mayhap I had 'scaped,) a few hours hence 
 
 To suffer, never I did ; but ever said 
 
 True Catholic as I was born, sae would 
 
 I live and die ! 
 
 And troubles thickened fast ; 
 — Poor Chastelar's infatuation wild, 
 (Anger drowned pity then, I pity now ! ) 
 And the Sanct Andros' block whereon he dreed
 
 150 RIFT III, 
 
 Its weird. — Enterprizes of England's Queen 
 
 Anent my marrying ; — Don Carlos,' — then 
 
 The Archduke Charles, — my Lord of Dudley ; — whilk 
 
 Aye with a show of help she hindered, till 
 
 Patience ovA^erpast " the lang lad " as she called 
 
 My Lord of Darnley, — heir, next after me 
 
 To Scotland's baith and England's crown, — in haste 
 
 I wed ; (the Throne sae weel assured), his boy's 
 
 Face and slim grace, liking me as he rode 
 
 Beneath my chamber's window at the Weems ! 
 
 Never my white dule-robes I doffed until 
 The bridal morn, and then, alack ! for dule 
 Far waur in Darnley's prideful insolence, 
 And childish jealous rage that made him dupe 
 Of our worst foes. The woeful outrage then 
 Of David's death, when ghastly Ruthven risen 
 Like an ill ghost frae's sick-bed, with Lindsay 
 And mony mair, stole up the secret stair 
 Frae the King's rooms to mine ain Cabinet 
 Wherein we sat at supper ; — Darnley held 
 My waist, (poor David clinging to my skirts,) 
 My sister of Argyle, the falling lights 
 Kepping i frae the up-turning table, while 
 
 ^ Catching.
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 15 I 
 
 They dragged him shrieking, and outside the door 
 With four-and-fifty wounds they struck him through. 
 The King's red whinger left in the poor corpse ! 
 — I, all but ripe for motherhood ! — Yet I, 
 (Unwise relenting,) when with coward tears, 
 The King turned on the rest, feigned penitence, 
 And pled his youth and evil counsellors, 
 Took him with me by night unto Dunbar ! 
 
 Pardoned and rescued sae, yet plotting still ! 
 
 — Save that I bode not share or bed or board, 
 
 — How have him back in wifely kindness wha 
 
 Sae little recked o' my life or his ain 
 
 Poor bairn's within my womb ? — Aye when he 
 
 sought 
 My favours there would rise afore my een 
 That whinger red sticking in David's corpse ! 
 Pouting and sulking syne like a spoilt bairn ; 
 At Stirveling absent frae the Christening ; 
 That all men deemed the King intolerable ! 
 Yet when the Secretaire and others urged 
 Divorce, nowise I gave consent, but pled 
 That he was young, he might amend ; nocht not 
 With my pure honour weel consisting might be 
 Emprized. — Then when at Glasgow he fell sick,
 
 152 RIFT III. 
 
 Myself I went for him and brought him hame 
 To Kirk-o'-Field, — seeing men count the air 
 Wholesome and caller there ; — (the babe being 
 At Holyrood and the King's sickness o' 
 The catching sort.) — Oft sat I by his bed, 
 And my heart melting to his weakness, we 
 Vowed new beginnings, hoping better days. 
 
 Then came the woeful end. Scarce three hours I 
 Had left him wi' gift o' a ring, and kiss. 
 And lighter heart than e'er since David's death ; 
 (Going with links up the Black Friar's Wynd 
 To Holyrood, to see Sebastian's bride 
 Bedded, as wont is,) when, in the small hours 
 As wi' a sudden earthquake, shook the town, 
 And Kirk-o'-Field was blawn into the air ! 
 Search made Henry was found, his body nor 
 Broken nor bruised, (aside him his young page,) 
 Naked within the yaird, with but his sark 
 Upon him ! 
 
 Verily, scarce I might love 
 The King ! yet very pitiful it was 
 To see him lie dead there at Holyrood, 
 Ere in its abbaye he was laid near by
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 153 
 
 Poor David's corpse ; — himself untimeous slain 
 As he untimely slew ! 
 
 I could not mourn 
 For Darnley as for Frances, nor abide 
 Holyrood's darkened rooms, filled full with ghaists, 
 Red-handed or red-reeking in their gore ! 
 — Sae went to Seton or my wits should tyne 
 'Mang all that gloom and horror. 
 
 — Nocht kent I 
 Of that foul murder, nor might much surmise, 
 Seeing the King sae hated ; scarce a hand 
 Amang them all but it might stain my ain 
 In clasping it, with Henry's blood ! — Murray 
 And Morton, Bothwell, and the Secretaire, 
 The same bruit went of all ! and weel I kent 
 Ilk ane misliked the King. That murderous night 
 Bothwell was with me at Sebastian's feast. 
 And lang or it was day, Bothwell it was 
 Brought me the woeful tidings ! How between, 
 Credit him with that slaughter ? — Aye my Knight 
 Gallant and faithful he, friend of my friends. 
 And foe but to my foes ; and when the bruit 
 Went out against him, wha but he and his 
 Craved inquisition o' the murder frae
 
 154 RIFT III. 
 
 Argyle ? At the assize Lennox compeered 
 Not, (who accused,) and of five erles, five lords, 
 Five Barons was he cleansed. Yet not content 
 Challenged to single combat ony man, 
 Gentle and undefamed, wha dared to dub 
 Him murderer o' the King. — Wherefore should I 
 Hold him for guilty whom the law absolved, 
 He, aye my faithful servitor ? — 
 
 Yet was 
 I warned of ill devise of marriage he 
 Dared to propone ; my Lord o' Herries maist 
 Humbly upon his knees, prayed me to think 
 Upon mine honour and the surety o' 
 The Prince, my son ; a writing Melville brought. 
 Likewise frae Thomas Bishop, (a true Scot 
 Lang time in England,) showing siclike bruit : 
 But how believe ? Bothwell but six months wed 
 On Huntly's sister, I but scarce a widow? 
 Yet proved the bruit ower true. For coming back 
 Frae Stirveling, 'twixt Lithgo' and Edinburgh, 
 The Erie Bothwell with great company 
 Was in my gait at Almond Bridge, and laid 
 Hand on my bridle, with dark hints of ill 
 Upon my road, turning my palfrey's head.
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 155 
 
 And led me, Huntly and the Secretaire, 
 'Mazed with him to Dunbar, — the stronghold I 
 For his good service late myself had gien ! 
 
 There warst befell. — Humbled, befouled, heart-broke, 
 The brute-beast in my captor broken loose ; 
 The Secretaire, (but that I stood between), 
 Nigh slain before my een. — Their lives to save 
 I feigned content, and bade my friends depart. 
 To me, his heart-broke captive, Bothwell then 
 Showed writ, subscrived of the Lords, — Huntly, 
 — Argyle, — seven Bishops all willing me wed 
 My ravisher and jailor ! (his new bride 
 Or then he having gart sue for divorce !) 
 What outgait, nane to help ? A heart-broke Bride, 
 Dishonoured — tear-stained, — not with holy Mass, 
 But Adam Bothwell's preaching, (since John Craig, 
 Mair honest would not,) in sad wedlock I, 
 In Holyrood's great Hall was joined with fell 
 Earl Bothwell. 
 
 Nightmare yet these lang June days. 
 Scarce darkening 'twixt gloaming of eve and morn, 
 When Arthur's Seat and Salisbury Crags looked down 
 On heart-broke captive, men called Scotland's Queen,
 
 156 RIFT III. 
 
 In Holyrood, wild with a mother's fears 
 For her poor babe, his keeping sought by hands, 
 A great dread in her heart ower sure surmised 
 Red with ower sib a gore ! Herself sae sair 
 Disdainful handled that she cried aloud, 
 (As Arthur Erskine and James Melville heard,) 
 For knife to stick herself! At last a bruit 
 Arising that the Lords were minded take 
 Holyrood House and Bothwell in the same. 
 He left suiting the prince, (careful to save 
 Himself,) and fled ; — as surety, bearing me 
 With him to Borthwick and Dunbar. There he 
 Convened the men of Merse and Lothian, 
 (As though in my behoof,) to fight the Lords ; 
 — I wha ilk day shed oceans o' salt tears 
 Sae beastly was he and suspicious ! — Yea 
 When the Laird o' Grange, on my safe conduct. 
 Came to have speech of me at Carberry, 
 He set soldier to shoot him ; till I gave a cry 
 That nowise he might do me sicUke shame ! 
 And when he heard the Laird of Grange declare. 
 Gin I wad leave him wha was murderer 
 O' my ain husband, nor could be himself 
 Rightly my husband, (seeing he was wed,)
 
 " NAE OUTGAIT." 15/ 
 
 All Scotland yet would serve and honour me ; 
 
 He offered single combat to wha would 
 
 Maintain that he had done it ; yet when Grange, 
 
 And Tullibardine and Lord Lindsay all 
 
 Stood blythe and ready, held them in contempt. 
 
 — Then once again I sent for Grange, and on 
 
 The hill of Carberry I said to him, 
 
 " Gin that the Lords will do as ye have said, 
 
 My Laird of Grange I render me to you." 
 
 And so gave him my hand, whilk then he kissed, 
 
 And led me by the bridle down the brae 
 
 Unto the Lords, wha all with reverence 
 
 Came forth to meet me ; yet some rascals cried 
 
 Despitefully, till Grange drew out his sword 
 
 And struck at sic as spake irreverently. 
 
 — Then Bothwell turned his horse's head and fled. 
 
 That night within the Provost's Lodging, called 
 The Black Turnpike, I lay in Edinburgh ; 
 Oh hours of woe and dule ! All night beneath 
 My windows, in the street, and on the stairs, 
 The rascal multitude howled ribaldry 
 And wrong ! — calling me whore and murderess ! 
 Deploying in my sight at streak o' day
 
 158 RIFT III. 
 
 An ensign painted with the King thereon, 
 Beneath a green tree, dead, and our young son, 
 Beside his head, sitting upon his knees, 
 Holding his baby hands up to high Heaven 
 Crying, " Judge and avenge my cause, O Lord ! " 
 Till with the horror nigh my wits were tint ! 
 
 Then, for that I, — my heart relenting, — (as. 
 
 Alack ! too much its wont ever hath been !) 
 
 — Remembering his auld service, — some few words 
 
 Of parting kindness wrote to the fell Erie, 
 
 — Whose face ne'er I should look on more ; — the 
 
 whilk 
 The loon that bare, against his promise gave 
 Unto the Lords, — they turned their backs on me, 
 Saying I would not leave him as I said ; 
 And they, for surety o' their lives and lands. 
 And safety o' the prince, bode sequestrate 
 Me frae society o' the said Erie, 
 (Whilk nowise I desired had they kent !) 
 And baud me prisoner in Loch Leven's Keep. 
 
 Grange then, (sae hoping to make me and them 
 Baith quit o' the fell Erie,) made ready ships
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." 159 
 
 To sail to Shetland after him, — where he 
 Was fled ; — and when they sighted him, (despite 
 The Skipper's counsel, 'ware o' shallows there,) 
 Grange bode have all sails hoisted, sae by ower 
 Great haste their ship brake on a bed of sand, 
 Whilk Bothwell seeing saved him in a boat, 
 Fleeing to Denmark, where in prison strait 
 He tint his wits and miserably died. 
 — Confessing first the murder o' the King, 
 And purging me frae art or part therein : 
 — As Morton likewise, or he died, confessed 
 Though Bothwell promised him in my hand write 
 To bring warrant for the King's death, never 
 Sic writ he brought, — nor could, seeing nane was. 
 
 To me then prisoned in Loch Leven came 
 
 The rebel Lords, wiUing that I demit 
 
 The Kingdom to my son, — a two-year babe, — 
 
 That they themselves might rule, whereunto I 
 
 Refused utterly, until that Grange, 
 
 The Secretaire, Athol, and Mar, (fearing 
 
 My life amang their bloody hands,) bespake 
 
 Melville to show me how that aught I did, 
 
 — Being compelled in prison, — ne'er could haud
 
 l60 RIFT III. 
 
 Against me in the law ; sae at my Lord 
 
 O' Lindsay's coming, — under fear of death, — 
 
 I signed demission. 
 
 Then the Lords bode crown 
 The Prince, and Murray maun be Regent, — just 
 Retoured frae France, — wha to my prison came 
 Speaking sic bitter and injurious words 
 As cut the thread of love and credit 'twixt 
 Us twain forevermore. — Yet were there 
 Mony faithful, — Argyle, Huntly, Flemyng, 
 My Lord of Herries, Ross and Galloway, 
 Sanct Andros' Bishop, and a mony niair 
 Calhng themselves the Queen's Lords, banded them 
 Together at Dumbarton 'gainst the King's, 
 (Seeing they called the rebels by the name 
 Of that poor Innocent). — Ay, e'en within 
 The Castle in the Loch, gude friends I found, 
 George Douglas — though the Regent's mother's 
 
 son, — 
 Ay, the auld dame herself, keepit quiet sough 
 When little Willie Douglas stole the keys 
 Frae by the Laird's ain plate at supper time, 
 And rowed a gentlewoman o' the Queen's, 
 (Wha but the Queen herself?) ower to Kinross ;
 
 "NAE OUTGAIT." l6l 
 
 (Casting the keys intil a cannon's mouth,) 
 Where George, Lord Seton and the Hammiltons 
 Waited me and convoyed to Hammilton. 
 
 Gif they had waited as I willed, the Laird 
 
 O' Grange and Leddington's communing wi' 
 
 Lord Herries and the rest ! — Alack not sae 
 
 God willed. Ower fierce they pressed to battle. — When 
 
 Langside was lost, first I tint courage, — whilk 
 
 Never I did afore ! — That dolesome night 
 
 At the Black Turnpike, when I rendered me 
 
 Up to the Lords, — the flag with Henry dead 
 
 Beneath a growing tree and our young babe 
 
 Crying for vengeance, — the mob's shouts upon 
 
 The stairs ; all wrought sae great a fear o' mine 
 
 Ain countrymen, that fairer showed even 
 
 My sister England's promises ; and ne'er 
 
 After the battle I drew rein until 
 
 Sixty miles off, Dundrennan's Abbey reached, 
 
 And with Lord Herries rowed the Solway ower. 
 
 At Workington, I put my life within 
 
 The hungry jaws o' the " Auld Enemy " ! 
 
 — A foolish bird fluttering for refuge 'neath 
 
 Wing o' the hovering hawk ! 
 
 L
 
 l62 RIFT III. 
 
 There life had end ; 
 The rest but death in Hfe. — Why tell the tale? 
 Prisons and jailors, — Carlisle and Bowton, 
 Knollys and my Lord Scrope ; — Elizabeth's 
 Commissioners at York feigning fair play, 
 Sifting with dearest of my foes, letters 
 Of mine to Bothwell, — as they boast, Dalgleish 
 Within a silver casket found, — whereof 
 Nane were to Bothwell, maist of Morton forged. 
 — Fause Moray vowing ne'er he would consent, 
 Consenting to that shame ; nae word of mine 
 Allowed ! 
 
 Erie Shrewsbury and his jealous dame ; 
 Tutbury and Sheffield, Wingfield, Chatsworth, 
 Hardwick and Buxton, Tixal and Chartley ; 
 Sir Amias Paulet the sour Puritan, 
 And last this Fotheringay where all has end. 
 England's fell Queen's feigned friendship, — the waur 
 
 dule 
 Of mine own flesh and blood's forgetfulness, 
 (If so be that the poor boy were not wronged, 
 His letters hindered, he as helpless as 
 His mother, — as now by the near clear gleam 
 Of Headsman's axe I seem to see ;) — all friends
 
 " NAE OUTGAIT." 163 
 
 That stood for me, — the auld Northumberland, 
 Mine ain true lord of Norfolk, whose dear love 
 Shone my sole glint o' God's light in the dark ; — 
 Paying the forfeit on the bloody block. 
 — Why tell the woeful tale, — a dream now past ; 
 A nightmare of the dark, to-morrow's axe 
 Shall cleave a bloody way through to the Light 
 And to God there. — 
 
 Sae to man's earth, Fareweel.
 
 RIFT IV. 
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN 
 AND COVENANT." 
 
 A.D. 1 582- 1 688.
 
 ACT I. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSON.^. 
 
 James VI. of Scotland. 
 
 Mister Andrew Melville, Moderator of the General 
 
 Assembly of the Kirk of Scotland. 
 Mister James Melville, his Nephew. 
 Sir James Melville of Hahill. 
 James Stewart, Earl of Arran. 
 Mister Patrick Galloway, ) Commissioners from the 
 Mister James Nicolsone, ) General Assembly. 
 Two Ministers of the Kirk of Scotland. 
 Provost and Baillies of Edinburgh. 
 
 &c.
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND 
 COVENANT." 
 
 RIFTS IN THE REEK OF A CENTURY'S DRAMA. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 A throng of Ministers and Elders about the door of 
 the New Kirk^ after an extraordinary diet of the 
 General Assembly, Edinburgh, June 27, 1582. 
 
 First jSIinister. 
 
 What think ye of our Moderator's charge ? 
 'Twas a bold figure, "The bloody guUie" 
 Of the King his Grace's authority 
 In matters spiritual ! 
 
 Second Minister. 
 
 Verily, 
 A bold figure, yet a true ! What is it but
 
 ,170 RIFT IV. 
 
 To pull the Crown off Christ his head, and wring 
 The Sceptre from His hand, ay and to lay 
 A "Bloody guUie," as saith Mister Andrew, 
 Unto the throat of His dear Spouse the Kirk, 
 When the Duke's Tulchan, Robert Montgomery, 
 Of our Assembly excommunicate 
 In Kirk of Libberton this tenth of June, 
 Through mouth of good Mister Johne Davidsone, 
 And intimation thereof made Wednesday 
 Thereafter from Edinburgh pulpits, — 
 An order yet is made of the King's Grace, 
 The Lord's Day following, in most the Kirks 
 Of Glasgow and the South, to pull from out 
 The pulpit who should make sic intimation ? 
 
 First Minister. 
 
 Whilk notwithstanding Mister Johne, nothing 
 Affrighted, taught in Libberton that day ! 
 For the whilk, men say Lennox hath called him 
 " Un petit Diable." 
 
 Second Minister. 
 
 Ay, the Duke's Grace 
 
 Likes not his Tulchan mishandled, lest his
 
 "for CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." I/I 
 
 Fat Cow, the Glasgow Bishopric, hold up 
 Her milk 1 111 day was it for Scotland that 
 Brought Esme Stewart's red beard across the water, 
 (Sent of the Guises,) with his merry mate 
 Mombirneau, and his forty thousand crowns, 
 Pistoles and golden angels, to cause dance, 
 Our King's Grace (being then but a young child 
 Of twelve years,) to their Popish tunes ! 
 
 First Minister. 
 
 Heard ye ever tale of the Englishman 
 Who querried of a Scot anent the King's 
 Grace dispositions? Quoth the Scot, "Saw ye 
 Ever a Jackanapes ? Gif ye have ye 
 Will know that gif ye hold him in your hands 
 Ye can make him bite me, and gif I hold 
 Him in my hands I can make him bite you.'' 
 And so of the King's Grace ! 
 
 *& 
 
 Second Minister. 
 
 'Tis pity of him, 
 Had he abode by tutoring of our 
 Good Mister George Buchanan it had been 
 Otherwise for the profit of baith Kirk
 
 1/2 RIFT IV. 
 
 And Country ! Wist ye what saith James Melville? 
 How when he saw the King's Grace, (having then 
 Eight years,) in the auld Lady Mar's hand, walk 
 Discoursing of Knowledge and Ignorance, 
 At Stirveling, the sweetest sight he thought it, 
 For gifts extraordinaire and strange, that day 
 In Europe ? 
 
 First Minister. 
 
 The Guises' devilish device 
 Spoiled all, — not their first spoilzie in this poor 
 
 realm ! — 
 Their Messieurs d'Obignie and Mombirneau, 
 With their French toys and fashions did bewitch 
 Our Prince's youth ; our Reformation of Religion 
 And all our service done for him before, 
 Causing to seem but in his eyes 
 As dealings turbulent and treasonable, 
 Subverting of his kingly power. 
 
 Second ^Minister. 
 
 The French 
 Esme Stewart, and the Scottish James Stewart, — 
 Lennox
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 1 73 
 
 And Arran, — hunt in couples, and an ill 
 Hunting 'tis like to be for Scotland ! 
 
 [Ejiter Provost ajid Baillies. 
 
 First Baillie. 
 
 Saw ye ever sic passion of anger 
 
 In man's face as in good Mister Davidsone's 
 
 Anent the matter of John Durie ? 
 
 First Minister. 
 
 Nay, we were called forth the Assembly or 
 
 Mister Andrew ceased his exhortation, 
 
 And nought heard of Johne Durie's matter save 
 
 That secretly he was charged in his house 
 
 Of David Bryson, macer, to pass off 
 
 The town, and abstain preaching in respect 
 
 A fault he had confessed before the Council. 
 
 Second Baillie. 
 
 Thereby ye missed a notable sederunt ! 
 Scarce Mister Andrew ended, Johne Durie 
 Of the Assembly craved advice, with large 
 Discourse of the proceedings of the King
 
 174 RIFT IV. 
 
 And Council against him, (with James Lawson, 
 
 Walter Balcalquel, and David Lindsay,) 
 
 Affirming the submission they alledge 
 
 Is false, (his affirmation justified 
 
 Of the said Mister James and Mister David,) 
 
 And telling how said Mister James and he, 
 
 Being summoned on thirtieth day of May 
 
 To compear at Dalkeith to answer of 
 
 His sermon wherein he, (speaking but truth), 
 
 Named Arran and the Duke, abusers of 
 
 The King, narrowly with his life he 'scaped, 
 
 The Duke his Grace's cooks out of their kitchen 
 
 With spits and great knives after him ! The matter 
 
 Remit, and Mister Andrew deeming meet 
 
 To send unto the King to understand 
 
 His mind thereon, made choice for messengers 
 
 Of Misters Buchanan and Fergusone ; 
 
 Or they had steckt the door behind them, rose 
 
 Johne Davidsone, in a great low of wrath, 
 
 *' I disassent," quoth he, " that they should go, 
 
 For wherefore should ye seek reposing of 
 
 Johne Durie from whom hath of displacing him 
 
 No power? (Howbeit that his flock most foolishly, 
 
 Yea godlessly did yield,) for what flesh may
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." I75 
 
 Displace the Ambassador of the Great King 
 While he doth keep the bounds of his commission ? " 
 So wroth was he, the Moderator bade 
 Him moderate his zeal. 
 
 Second Minister. 
 
 Ay, did he so ? 
 Yet in his heart I wis he did applaud ! 
 In that quarrel our Mister Andrew's zeal 
 1 s as a fire white-hot ; deep down it burns, 
 But by and bye 'twill set all in a low ! ^ 
 
 First Minister. 
 And what fell next, good Master Baillie ? 
 
 First Baillie. 
 
 Then 
 Came in my Lord the Provost with all us, 
 Baillies and Council of the town, craving 
 Advice of the Assembly touching this 
 Our due obedience to the King his charge, 
 To cause Johne Durie to pass off the town ; 
 Whereto the Moderator querried, " Did 
 
 ^ Flame.
 
 176 RIFT IV. 
 
 We crave advice as touching conscience, aye 
 Or no?" answered, " Fully we were resolved 
 Of conscience," then said he, " So far as it 
 Is civil, the Assembly meddles not ; " 
 And so the heat increased betwixt us that 
 The Moderator did himself much need 
 His own admonishment ! — At the last 'twas 
 Of the most part concluded that Johne Durie 
 Should quietly depart ; gif he refused 
 Then as the King commanded should he be 
 Charged. But brethren deeming it not meet 
 He should withdraw privately off the town, 
 But abide rather the King's charge, therefore 
 (Though with much heaviness of heart,) gave we 
 The same ; whilk he, resolving to obey, 
 On Thursday after supper, at nine hours, 
 With many brethren to the Market Cross 
 Did go, and there take instruments, touching 
 His honest conversation, and sound faith, 
 Likewise of falseness of the narrative 
 Of his alledged submission, and that still 
 Where'er he had occasion he would preach 
 The Word, as our Assembly liberty 
 Hath given, the King his letter notwithstanding;
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." \JJ 
 
 (The whilk descharged him as well to preach 
 
 As to abide within the town.) Whereon 
 
 Protesting said Mister Johne Davidsone, 
 
 'Twas sight most sorrowful for Edinburgh 
 
 Ever he saw, in that to pleasure flesh 
 
 And blood they had removed their Pastor, who 
 
 Spake truth; so should plague and God's fearful 
 
 judgements 
 Ahght on the devisers, inventors, 
 Procurers, actors, authors, consentors, 
 And rejoicers at Christ His banishment 
 In that man's person ; — except speedily 
 They do repent. — Whereat the folk standing 
 There throng about them greatly were commoved. 
 — So went Johne Durie forth the Netherbow. 
 
 M
 
 178 RIFT IV. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Ante-room in King James VJ.'s Palace at Perth. 
 
 Sir James Melville of Hahill and Mr James 
 
 Melville. 
 
 Sir James Melville. 
 
 Good Mister James, gif ye do tender weel 
 Your Uncle's life give him this counsel as 
 From a true-hearted weel-wisher and cousin, 
 — Likewise in your ain person follow it, — 
 That ye depart speedily off this town ; 
 Seeing how evil your report at Court 
 Anent these sermons umquhile at the Fast 
 At Sanct Andros, and other your sayings 
 And doings at Assemblies late bygane. 
 
 Mr James Melville. 
 
 In good sooth, worthy Cousin, 'twas even 
 These same ill reports athort the country. 
 That at this Perth Convention all our brethren 
 Did stand in hazard of their lives, that moved 
 Me to repair here with all diligence,
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 1 79 
 
 To take part with my Uncle, and (in Christ,) 
 My father. 
 
 Sir James Melville. 
 
 Here comes good Mister Andrew, 
 
 Deal thou with him and that right earnestly, 
 
 Seeing 'tis politic I be not seen 
 
 To speak with him, and that my hint remain 
 
 As 'twere sub rosa. 
 
 {Enter Mr Andrew Melville. 
 
 Good morrow, Cousin, 
 And God be wi' ye ! Your worthy nephew, 
 Mister James here, hath come hot haste with words 
 Of moment for your private ear ; prithee 
 Give heed thereto. 
 
 \Exit Sir James Melville. 
 
 Mr Andrew Melville. 
 
 God speed you, nephew ! Right 
 Joyful am I at heart to see your face, 
 Yet of your unlooked coming gladly I 
 Would know the occasions.
 
 l80 RIFT IV. 
 
 Mr James Melville. 
 
 Most dear my Uncle, 
 Urgent the occasions and yet most secret; 
 — Let us withdraw to yon embrasured window 
 And there unheard confer. 
 
 [^They tvithdraw into a deep window. 
 The cause that gart 
 Me quit in haste Sanct Andros and hath now 
 Ower sure confirming, Uncle, in the words 
 Of our good cousin Hahill, is report 
 Athort the country spread, of ill intent 
 Towards our Kirk's Commissioners now called 
 To meet the King's Grace in Convention here ; 
 — Towards thee and me in special, (as but now 
 Advised me our good cousin,) on the part 
 Of the Court faction ; yea most earnestly 
 He dealt with me, as I would tender weel 
 Your life and mine, that off the town instantly 
 We do depart, or worse come of it ; ill 
 Against us both being determined of 
 Lennox and Arran ; wherefore let us go.
 
 FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." l8l 
 
 Mr Andrew Melville. 
 
 Nay verily, good nephew ! Depart thou 
 
 And with all speed, seeing thou hast no call 
 
 Of God here ; much am I, too, beholden 
 
 To our good cousin Hahill for his hint 
 
 Right friendly given, — as it doth weel behove 
 
 Ane sib of kith and kin ; — Yet do I thank 
 
 My God, nocht fleyed nor feeble-spirited 
 
 Am I, in Christ His Cause and Message. Come 
 
 What God please to send ; to the King's Grace 
 
 Maun our commission be discharged. 
 
 Mr James Melville. 
 
 Gif so 
 Your resolution steadfast be, likewise 
 Will I abide. 
 
 Mr Andrew Melville. 
 
 Here be the messengers 
 To bid us to the King. 
 
 \They etiter the Council-chamber where James 
 VI., Arran, Lennox, aiid the rest of the 
 Court are already seated. Preliminaries
 
 r82 RIFT IV. 
 
 over, Mr Andrew Melville rises with 
 a paper from ivhich he reads. 
 
 "Your Majesty, as spokesman of our Kirk, 
 
 I am commissioned to declare this day 
 
 Before the King's Grace, these our Kirk's sore griefs ; 
 
 First, that your Majesty, by the device 
 
 Of Counsellors, is caused upon your Grace 
 
 To take that spiritual authority 
 
 And power which appertain of right to Christ 
 
 Alone, as His Kirk's only King and Head ; 
 
 (Whereof the ministry and execution 
 
 He gives only to sic as office bear 
 
 In government ecclesiastical 
 
 Of the said Kirk ;) so in your Grace's person 
 
 Some do press new Popedom to erect 
 
 As though your Majesty could not be Head 
 
 And King of this our Commonwealth unless 
 
 Swords spiritual and temporal baith 
 
 Be put into your Grace's hands, and Christ 
 
 Bereft of His authority ; the quhilk 
 
 Confounds the jurisdiction God divides, 
 
 And tends directly to the wrack of all 
 
 Religion ; as by these especial heads
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 1 83 
 
 Is manifest ; that by power absolute 
 
 Are benefices given to the unworthy, 
 
 Intruset in the ministry without 
 
 The Kirk's admission, against baith the laws 
 
 Of God and Acts of Parliament ; wherethrough 
 
 The livings of the Kirk do come into 
 
 The hands of men profane, siclike as sell 
 
 Their souls and make shipwreck of Conscience, for 
 
 Men's pleasure or worldly commodity." 
 
 James Stewart, Earl of Arran {intermpting). 
 
 What ! wha dare subscribe thir treasonable 
 Articles ? 
 
 Mr Andrew Melville {taking a pen from 
 the Clerk). 
 
 We dare, and will subscribe them ; 
 And will give our lives upon this Cause. 
 
 \He signs, and all the Commissioners of the 
 Kirk add their names after his.
 
 184 RIFT IV. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Falkland Palace, October 1593. 
 
 James VL, Mr Andrew Melville, Mr James 
 Melville, Patrick Galloway, James Nicolsone, 
 Commissioners from the General Assembly. 
 
 Mr Patrick Galloway. 
 
 What were the best ordering of our discourse 
 With the King's Grace ? 
 
 Mr James Nicolsone. 
 
 Albeit Mister Andrew Melville be 
 
 Our Moderator, and in ordinar 
 
 Our spokesman, yet, seeing that Mr James 
 
 Is likewise able to propone our matter 
 
 Substantiously and weel ; and in a manner mild 
 
 And smooth quhilk the King liketh best of, good 
 
 Were it, to my thinking, gif the said 
 
 Mister James, (willing its weight to underlie,) 
 
 Proponed the matter firstly to his Grace 
 
 Himself alone. Our Mister Andrew hath,
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 1 85 
 
 (Saving his presence,) more in him of Lion 
 Than of Lamb in sic Hke controversy ! 
 
 Mr Andrew Melville. 
 
 Ay James, 'tis laid on thee to be spokesman, 
 Thou knowest the King's Grace would none of me, 
 Yet do I thank my God though I brake in 
 Uncalled on his Convention of Estates, 
 (Unto his sore displeasure,) yet or I 
 At his command departed, I discharged 
 To him and them my conscience and commission, 
 In God's name and the Kirk's. Yet is mild speech 
 Liker to win him, and an ill way hath, 
 Certes, my tongue of catching fire, when burns 
 The heart within ; wherefore good nephew, thou 
 Enter alane in the King's Cabinet. 
 Yonder his Grace's Messenger at Arms ; 
 Forward nephew, and God send thee good speed ! 
 
 [Mr James Melville enters 
 the Kin^s Cabinet. 
 
 James VL 
 
 Good Mister James, we greet you heartily 
 
 And weel ; what is your will of the King's Grace ?
 
 l86 RIFT IV. 
 
 Glad are we at the heart 'tis Mister James 
 This day, for sooth good Mister Andrew's speech 
 Is wont of digestion to be but hard 
 For a King's stomach ! 
 
 Mr James Melville. 
 
 Your Majesty, I have been sent to show 
 Unto the King's Grace that your Majesty's 
 Most loyal and loving subjects, Commissioners, 
 Of our Kirk's General Assembly, with 
 Other brethren ordained to watch its weal 
 In this so dangerous a time, convened 
 At Cowper — 
 
 James VI. {angrily). 
 
 And wherefore convenet they 
 
 At Cowper ? Ken ye not all sic convenings 
 
 And Assemblyings without the King's warrant 
 
 Be simple sedition, clean against all 
 
 Laws of right Monarchy, and of effect 
 
 To make baith ourselves and the Country fear, 
 
 Where is no cause for fear ?
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 1 8/ 
 
 Mr James Melville. 
 
 Your Majesty, 
 May it please the King's Grace — 
 
 Mr Andrew Melville (bursting into the Cabinet). 
 
 Your Majesty — 
 
 James VI. 
 
 What the Deil Mister Andrew brings jvz/ here 
 But ^ warrant or occasion ? 
 
 Mr Andrew Melville. 
 
 Even the same your Majesty that brought 
 Me here aforetime. A calling I have 
 Hither to come of Christ Jesus the King ; 
 And that your Majesty's voice, waxing loud. 
 We, waiting without, heard your Grace's railing 
 Against the brethren convened at Cowper. 
 
 James VI. 
 
 Get ye hame, Mister Andrew, and intruse 
 Not yourself without warrant on the King, 
 Lest worse thing come to you. 
 
 1 Without.
 
 l88 RIFT IV. 
 
 Mr Andrew Melville {seizing the Kin^s sleeve). 
 
 Sir, I am come 
 With a commission from the Mighty God 
 Of whom your Grace is but the silly vassal. 
 Sir, always in public will we reverence 
 Your Majesty, but since God gives us this 
 Private occasion, and the truth is, ye 
 Are brought in extreme danger baith of life 
 And crown ; and withal baith the Kirk of Christ 
 And Country like to wrack for the not telling 
 Of you the truth, and the not giving of you 
 A faithful counsel, therein maun we discharge 
 Our duty or be traitors baith to Christ 
 And you. And therefore. Sir, as diverse times 
 Afore, so now again mon I tell you 
 There is in Scotland twa Kings and twa Kingdoms, 
 The King Christ Jesus and the Kirk His kingdom. 
 Whose subject is King James the Sixth; yea, in 
 That Kingdom, not a King, nor Lord, nor Head, 
 But member ; and. Sir, when yet ye were in 
 Your swaddling-clouts, Christ Jesus freely reigned, 
 (Spite all His enemies,) within this land. 
 His officers and ministers convening
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 1 89 
 
 And assembling for His Kirk's rule and weal, 
 
 — Quhilk ever was also for your weal, fear, 
 
 Defence and preservation ; will ye now, 
 
 — When is mair nor extreme necessity 
 
 Of the continuance and true discharge 
 
 Of that duty, — drawn by a devilish 
 
 And maist pernicious council to your ain 
 
 Destruction, — hinder, depart, dishearten 
 
 Christ's servants, your ain best and maist faithful 
 
 Subjects ; quarrelling them for their convening 
 
 And care that they have of their duty baith 
 
 To Christ and you ? when rather ye should commend 
 
 And countenance them, as aye godly Kings 
 
 And good Emperors did. Anent the wisdom 
 
 Of your Council (quhilk I call devilish,) 
 
 This it is, that of all sort of men ye 
 
 Mon be servet ; — Gentile and Jew, Papist 
 
 And Protestant ; — and for that ministers 
 
 And Protestants in Scotland be ower stark. 
 
 And do control the King, they mon be weakened 
 
 And brought low and the King being equal 
 
 And indifferent, so shall baith be fain 
 
 To flee to him, and he weel servet. — But, 
 
 Sir, gif God's wisdom be the only true,
 
 190 RIFT IV. 
 
 So will this prove but mere and mad folly, 
 
 For His curse can but light on it ; 
 
 So that in keeping baith, baith ye shall lose. 
 
 James VI. 
 
 Hoot toot, Mister Andrew, you and your Kirk 
 
 Be grand hands at the making o' mountains 
 
 O' mole-hills ! On a King's troth, never I 
 
 Kent ae word of the Popish Lords' hame-coming 
 
 Till they were in the Country, and howbeit 
 
 The Estates have licensed them to make their offers, 
 
 Nane shall be taen till they themselves again 
 
 Be forth the country. Offer what they will, 
 
 Nae grace shall they win at the King's Grace's hand 
 
 Till they have satisfied the Kirk. Sae get 
 
 Ye cannily back hame, good Mister Andrew ! 
 
 [Mr Andrew a7id Mr James Melville 
 quitting the Kings Cabinet. 
 
 Mr Andrew Melville. 
 
 Gif the King's Grace's word were the King's bond ! 
 
 But— 
 
 Mr James Melville. 
 
 Sairly I misdoubt 'tis like to be 
 
 Nought but the owercome of an ower auld sang !
 
 ACT II. 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Jenny Geddes, a Kail-wife of the Lawn-Market. 
 
 Other Kail-wives and Serving-maids. 
 
 Dean James Hanna, an Episcopal Clergyman sent to read 
 
 Laud's Service- Book in Sanct Giles' Kirk, Edinburgh. 
 Bishop of Edinburgh. 
 Earl of Home. 
 Lord Lindsay. 
 Archibald Johnstone (afterwards Lord Warristone), a 
 
 young Advocate, Clerk of the General Assembly. 
 John Campbell of Lawer, Earl of Loudon, Lord Chancellor. 
 Mister Alexander Henderson, Minister of Leuchars, 
 
 Moderator of the General Assembly. 
 First Onlooker, a Stranger. 
 Second Onlooker, an Edinburgh Citizen. 
 Mister Robert Baillie, Minister of Kilwinning. 
 Mister James Bonar, Friend to Mister Robert Baillie. 
 James, Marquis of Hamilton, King Charles L's Commissioner 
 
 to the General Assembly.
 
 ACT II. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 S^ Giles^ Kirk^ Edmbnrgh, Sunday, July 23, 1637. 
 
 A great concourse of people filling the Kirk, and over- 
 floiving into the street. A group of serving-maids 
 and kail-wives i7i a corner. 
 
 First Serving-maid. 
 
 Wert here at good Mister Henderson's prayers at 
 eight o' the clock? 
 
 Second Serving-maid. 
 
 Ay that was I, and a right sad ending they had ! 
 Quoth the good man, the tears on his bonny cheeks, 
 "Adieu good folk," quoth he, "for indeed I think 
 this be the last time of my reading of prayers in this 
 
 N
 
 194 RIFT IV. 
 
 place : " and so with a sorrowful step came he down 
 from the reading place and went his way. 
 
 First Serving-maid. 
 
 Think ye, kimmer, good Mister Henderson will 
 have nane of the Archbishop's Liturgy? 
 
 Second Serving-maid. 
 
 That will he never ! " An ill-mumbled mass " as 
 the auld King himsel', honest man, (howsoever he 
 favoured but ower muckle the Bishops,) was fain 
 to confess it ; and this Laud's Buik waur than a', 
 my master says, being little other than the Popish 
 Breviary in the Scots tongue. 
 
 Jenny Geddes {a Kail-wife). 
 
 And sooth is it sae that the King's Grace hath 
 sent an order frae London for ilk minister in Scot- 
 land to use the same or be put to the horn ? 
 
 Second Serving-maid. 
 Ay, kimmer, that's the word, and thereupon good 
 Mister Henderson hath demitted his office. The 
 Dean will be here anon doubtless, — in the night-sark
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 195 
 
 they ca' their Surplices, — to din the Archbishop's 
 Papistry in our lugs. 
 
 Jenny Geddes {muttering to herself), 
 Mair nor good Mister Henderson may hae to 
 say this day is the last o' their reading o' prayers 
 in this place, or a's done ! 
 
 First Serving-maid. 
 Saw ye ever my Lord the Archbishop "i 
 
 Second Serving-maid. 
 Ay, weel mind I o' the ill-faured face o' him at 
 the King's Grace's crowning, twa years sin syne ; 
 a wee black-a-vised man, wi' the e'e o' a Corbie ! 
 Oh, woman, that was a grand sicht ! The auld 
 Cross ran wi' wine, and a muckle mound they 
 ca'd Mount Parnassus, a' green wi' birks, stood 
 where they're bigging the Tron Kirk the day, and 
 nine buxom lasses — the muses they ca'd them — 
 waiting there to welcome the King's Grace; an' 
 the auld Castle booming wi' a' its cannon, and 
 the music and the bells, and a' the streets railed 
 and sanded, and arches o' a' the flowers o' June
 
 196 RIFT IV. 
 
 owerhead ! But weel I mind my master shook 
 his head, when at the crowning the wee ill-faured 
 Laud thrust aside ane o' the Scottish Bishops, 
 honest man, for wearing of his black gown; and 
 syne the Lord's day thereafter, when the King's 
 Grace went to sermon in the High Kirk here, 
 cam ane o' the Bishops frae the King's Loft, 
 and pu'ed the Reader doun when he was about 
 beginning the Psalms o' David, and set up in his 
 place twa English choristers in their night-sarks o' 
 Surplices. And thereafter was there sic fiddling 
 and dancing on the Lord's Day as ne'er was heard 
 the like; and aye my Master said it wad come to 
 nae good ending. 
 
 First Serving-maid. 
 
 Alack ! little ending there seems to it, now 
 ministers maun teach their folk the Archbishop's 
 Papistry out of his new Buik, or be put to the 
 horn and demit of their charges ! 
 
 Jenny Geddes. 
 
 " It's a lang lane has nae turning," there may 
 be an end or weel they wot !
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 197 
 
 First Serving-maid. 
 
 See ! yonder's the Dean in his white sark ! 
 
 \Enter Dean James Hanna in his surplice 
 from the vestry. — All the people gaze at 
 him in deep silence; he enters the Reader's 
 desk, and opening his book begins to read 
 the Collect for the day. 
 
 Jenny Geddes. 
 
 Deil collick the wame o' thee, thou false thief! 
 Dost thou say the Mass at my lug ? 
 
 [^Lifting tip the folding stool on which she had 
 been sitti?ig, she hurls it at the Dean, who 
 '"Joukijig" his head escapes the bloiv. 
 
 First Kail-wife. 
 
 Ill-hanged thief ! If at that time thou wentest to 
 Court thou hadst been weel hanged, thou hadst not 
 been here to be a pest to God's Kirk this day ! 
 
 Second Kail-wife. 
 Fy an' I could get the thropple ^ out of him ! 
 
 1 Throat.
 
 198 RIFT IV. 
 
 \The Bishop of Edinburgh inountmg the 
 pulpit endeavours to speak, Imt his voice 
 is drowned in cries of 
 " A Pope ! A Pope ! Antichrist ! Pull him down ! 
 Stone him ! " 
 
 \^The windows of the Kirk are broken with 
 stones thrown by the rabble outside, who 
 attack the Prelates as they try to zualk 
 down the street, till they are glad to escape 
 in Lord Roxburgh^ carriage^ surrounded 
 by his retinue, with drawn sivords.
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 199 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 High Street, Edinburgh. 
 
 Lord Lindsay and the Earl of Home rettirning 
 from a Meeting of the Scottish Council. 
 
 Earl of Home. 
 
 In sooth, Lindsay, that shrewd rascal of thine 
 That brought the news of my Lords of Traquair 
 And Roxburgh's early rising hath weel 
 Merited of his Country ! 
 
 Lord Lindsay. 
 
 Ay, beshrew 
 The thirsty knave ! at two o' the morning 
 Addling his fool's pate in Davidson's Tavern 
 With Scottish Two-penny ! Yet a good turn 
 Did his knavery for once, when he owerheard 
 Frae my Lord Traquair's knave, his master's matter. 
 Marked ye our two Lords' faces at the Cross 
 Of Stirveling when the King's Proclamation 
 For instant receiving of the Service Book
 
 200 RIFT IV. 
 
 Being read, we rose and in due form of law 
 Protested in the name of Kirk and Country? 
 
 Earl of Home. 
 
 Ay, verily ! that turn round Torwood wood 
 
 In the dim of the February morning 
 
 Served us a shrewd turn, for had they clapt eyes 
 
 Upon us then, hardly I wot had we 
 
 Won at the Cross of Stirveling ! Heard ye word 
 
 Of my lord the Archbishop's wrath when news 
 
 Of that our morning's ride wan up to London ? 
 
 Lord Lindsay. 
 
 Nay, what said his Grace of Canterbury ? 
 
 An ill pill was it doubtless for him to swallow ! 
 
 Earl of Home. 
 
 A letter, yestreen a nimble runner 
 
 Brought me, from a good gossip at the Court, 
 
 Saith much of my Lord Laud's anger, likewise 
 
 Of the King's Grace's wrath, and specially 
 
 Of what befell therefrom to the poor knave, 
 
 Our Archie Armstrong, Fool to the King's Grace.
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 201 
 
 Lord Lindsay. 
 
 Alack, poor Archie ! Weel do I know him ! 
 Fool though he be Hkewise is he a right 
 True Scot ! Hath he too his fool's fingers brent 
 In the Archbishop's fire, that hath or now 
 Brent wiser folk ? 
 
 Earl of Home. 
 
 Ay that I wot hath he ! 
 As thou shalt hear. When news of our matter 
 At Stirveling came to Canterbury's ears, 
 Forthwith in a great low of wrath, he posts 
 To the King's cabinet, and wha should run 
 Up in the corridor against his Grace 
 But Archie in a' his fool's toggery ! 
 And coming softly up behind, whispers 
 He in his lug, '* Wha's fule now ? Doth your Grace 
 Hear the news that's come from Stirveling anent 
 The Service Buik ? " With that his Grace fetched him 
 A shrewd blow with his staff, but Archie joukt, 
 (Like the Dean frae the Kail-wife's stool, here in 
 Sanct Giles !) sae for the nonce the jaw gaed by ; 
 But Archie forgat not his Grace's intent.
 
 202 RIFT IV. 
 
 And when the King would have my Lord of Laud 
 At dinner to say grace, Fool Archie speired 
 Gin he might say it in his Grace's stead, 
 Quhilk the King granting for the sport, quoth he, 
 " All praise to God, little Laud to the Devil ! " 
 Quhilk so inflamed his Grace against him that 
 He made complaint to the Council, who bade 
 The poor Fool to be whipped, his motley coat 
 Pulled ower his head, and he banished the Court. 
 Further, my gossip doth relate how he. 
 Meeting him after in a sober suit 
 Of black, (he knowing not what had befallen,) 
 Asked him of his Fule's coat, " Oh," quoth Archie, 
 " My Lord of Canterbury hath ta'en it 
 Frae me, because either himself or some 
 Of the Scottish Bishops may have use o't 
 Themselves ; a black coat hath he given me 
 To cover up my knavery withal I " 
 
 Lord Lindsay. 
 
 Poor knave ! yet mair nor a fule's fingers hath 
 The Archbishop's fire brent and for less offence ! 
 Ower weel do worthy Dr Leighton's cheeks
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 203 
 
 Prynne's, Bastwick's, Burton's ken the taste 
 Of his Grace's branding-irons ! 
 
 Earl of Home. 
 
 In verity ! 
 There be that deem England no safe place now 
 For men free-born ! Wha fain would worship God 
 By light of His ain Word and their conscience 
 Maun even cross the brine and do it wi' 
 The wild beasts in the woods o' the Far West ; 
 — Gif or they win, the sea swallow them not ! — 
 God grant the May-flower hath won safe to shore ! 
 
 Lord Lindsay, 
 
 Ay, and preserve this our poor Scottish Realm 
 Frae Star-chambers and High-Commissioners, 
 And frae my Lord Laud's branding-irons ! — Yet 
 Will Scotland sell her freedom dear ! Witness 
 This gathering of nobles and gentry 
 Ay, of farmers and of burghers, yea e'en 
 The very serving-wenches and kail-wives 
 O' the Lawn-Market !
 
 204 RIFT IV. 
 
 Earl of Home. 
 
 In sooth Dean Hanna 
 And my Lord Bishop had had but short shrift 
 In Sanct Giles' Kirkyard, but for the retinue 
 And coach of my Lord Roxburgh ! And heard 
 Ye how the Glasgow dames handled " Mess John," 
 — As they ca' Mister William Annan, — when 
 He preached uphauding of the Service Buik ? 
 At him with fists and staves and peats, (nae stanes,) 
 I wot his hat and coat and ruff that day 
 Saw service the last time ! 
 
 Lord Lindsay. 
 
 The Magistrates 
 They say were fain to keep a calm sough ower 
 That matter, knowing that the Dames were all 
 Amang the chief folk o' the town ! 
 
 Earl of Home. 
 
 God grant 
 His grace to the Four Tables, we this day 
 Appointed for management of His Cause !
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 205 
 
 Likewise a Free Parliament and a Free Assembly 
 To this our poor afflicted Realm ! 
 
 Lord Lindsay. 
 
 Amen ! 
 For in good sooth the Fiery Cross hath past 
 Through all our Land, baith in its length and breadth ! 
 
 SCENE IIL 
 
 Greyfriars' Kirk, Edinburgh, March 9, 1638. 
 
 An ijnmense concourse of people filling the whole Kirk 
 and Kirkyard. Archibald Johnstone, a young 
 Advocate, readijig from a written paper. 
 
 " Hereby we do profess, and solemnly, before God 
 and His angels, and the world declare, that with our 
 whole hearts we agree and do resolve, all the days of 
 our life to adhere unto and defend the true Religion ; 
 and to labour to restore the Gospel's purity and lib-
 
 206 RIFT IV. 
 
 erty as before late innovations it was established and 
 professed. Likewise to stand to the defence of our 
 dread Sovereign the King, his person and authority, 
 both with our means and lives." 
 
 First Onlooker (a stranger). 
 
 Who is't that reads? 
 Somewhere I've seen that face and heard that voice. 
 
 Second Onlooker (au Edinburgh citizen). 
 
 'Tis very like, gif ye were at the Cross 
 The day of the King's Proclamation here ; 
 At that same time and place the nobles caused 
 This same Archibald Johnstone to proclaim 
 Their Protestation. 'Tis the Advocate 
 Most the Commissioners do trust ; 'tis said 
 His pen drew up our Covenant. 
 
 First Onlooker. 
 
 And this, 
 
 That riseth now ? 
 
 Second Onlooker. 
 
 John Campbell that of Lawer,
 
 ''FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 20/ 
 
 Whom at his Coronation the King gave 
 A share in his wife's title, Loudon now ; 
 The eloquentest man among them all. 
 Hist ! AVhat says he ? 
 
 Loudon {speaking earnestly). 
 
 I do beseech you as 
 In God's name, friends, that ye do keep yourselves 
 Together in a Cause common to all. 
 
 Second Onlooker. 
 
 Ay, there he hits the nail upon the head ! 
 Keep but together and who dares to thrust 
 His hand out on our Thistle ? See the folk 
 Bow down their heads and sob ! This Covenant 
 Will ne'er be signed with ink but with Scotland's 
 Hot tears and blood. 
 
 First Onlooker. 
 
 Ay, faith ! frae John o' Grots 
 (Saving black Aberdeen,) to Solway's shore ! 
 — Loudon sits down ; who rises now to pray, 
 With yon mild, grave, strong face and pointed beard. 
 And dark soft hazel eye? — a man to mark.
 
 208 RIFT IV. 
 
 Second Onlooker. 
 
 Ay, verily ! 'Tis Mister Henderson 
 
 From Leuchars ower the Firth ; a mighty man 
 
 Of valour ; he that fought at Perth against 
 
 The Articles (that thin end o' the wedge 
 
 Of Papistry and Prelacy, in our 
 
 Poor Kirk j) and was of them that wrote anent 
 
 The Perth Assembly, proving it was void ; 
 
 Of them too who petition 'gainst the Book 
 
 Now to Sanct Andros. Hist ! he prays ; 
 
 [Mister Henderson's prayer ended. 
 Amen ! Look what a handy forest, now 
 He bids the hands that be ready to sign 
 Our Covenant be raised ! Not one right hand 
 But springs to meet the summons, as war-steeds 
 Spring at the trumpet's call ! The heads drop now 
 Down on the tight clasped hands, all wet with tears. 
 Mid the deep silence nought save stifled sobs ! 
 Look ! there slow rises good auld Sutherland, 
 And solemnly through the great multitude 
 That reverently make way, the grey head moves 
 To the Clerk's Table,— eldest, so the first
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 209 
 
 To sign. How the worn fingers shake that hold 
 
 The pen, and the great tears roll slowly down 
 
 The furrowed cheeks ! — Lord ! What a shout was 
 
 that! 
 — A Nation's shout of " Liberty or Death," 
 As that first name begins the mighty roll 
 Of Scotland's children who for Christ His Crown 
 And Covenant make oath to do or die ! 
 See how eyes flash through tears, and hand clasps 
 
 hand, 
 And all the mighty crowd rise to their feet. 
 Waiting impatient each their turn to sign. 
 New eager fingers ready for the pen 
 Or the last name be writ ! — yet ordered all 
 And solemn, as each knew, weel it may be 
 For Death, as weel as " //// Death," as some write ! 
 — Now all within have signed ; See ! the Clerks bear 
 The Parchment to the Kirkyard ; let us go 
 And see the signing of the folk without. 
 They say some sixty thousand true Scots hearts 
 Be gathered here from North, South, East and West, 
 To add their names unto our Nation's Bond. 
 Why what a roar is that ! as though the sea 
 Did burst its bounds and roll unto High Heaven
 
 210 RIFT IV. 
 
 The voice of many waters, — Deep calling 
 
 To Deep ! A sound as of a mighty host 
 
 That shouts for victory ! 'Tis so they greet 
 
 The Clerks that bear our Covenant. — See ! there 
 
 They clear the folk frae yonder flat grave-stone 
 
 And lay the Parchment there, while young Johnstone 
 
 And Mister Henderson stand either side. 
 
 And all the thousands come and sign and go ! 
 
 Mid sobs and tears and solemn joy. — See ! some 
 
 Open a vein and sign with their red blood ! 
 
 First Onlooker. 
 
 God grant these be the only tears and blood 
 To wet our Covenant ! 
 
 Second Onlooker. 
 
 God grant it ! Yet 
 Sairly my heart misgives, yon Bond sail be 
 Wetter and redder baith or all be done !
 
 *' FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 211 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Glasgow, Meeting of the General Assembly, 
 November 1638. 
 
 Mr Robert Baillie, Minister of Kilwinning, and 
 Mr James Bonar. 
 
 Baillie. 
 
 Unhappy servants to so good a master ! 
 
 They cause the world suspect the King intends 
 
 Not keeping of his word ! So neghgent 
 
 Of their most gracious Master's honour. Both 
 
 Our Parhament and our Assembly hath 
 
 Our sweet Prince granted at once. Argyle was 
 
 Very plain with him, men say ; nought he 
 
 Dissembled of our Country's grievances, 
 
 Nor of his own full mislike of the Book, 
 
 The Articles of Perth, Misgovernment 
 
 O' the Bishop's ; nor yet his own resolve 
 
 To leave the Country rather than consent 
 
 Pressing of any, (let be of himself,) 
 
 With these burdens against men's consciences
 
 212 RIFT IV. 
 
 Mr James Bonar. 
 
 Yet was the Declaration of the Lord 
 Commissioner but to restore Council and Session, 
 With no word of our Covenant, — (whereat 
 Archibald Johnstone did protest,) likewise 
 At dinner afterward his Grace did cause 
 Our nobles, (all save Southesk and Argyle,) 
 Approve that Declaration as enough. 
 
 Baillie. 
 Ay, to our grief. 
 
 Mr James Bonar. 
 
 Quoth Loudon to his Grace, 
 *' We know no other band betwixt a King 
 And subjects but Religion and the Laws, 
 If these be broken men's lives be not dear ; 
 Boasted ^ we will not be, such fears are past." 
 Nor rested he till that subscryved Act 
 Was gotten back and rent in pieces small ; 
 Quhilk dealing made us s|)eak our right from God, 
 
 1 Threatened.
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 213 
 
 (Which the Prince may not take from us,) to keep 
 Our General Assembly. 
 
 Baillie. 
 
 The event 
 I groan to think on ! 'Tis the highest string 
 Yet our necessities have caused us strike ! 
 
 Mr James Bonar. 
 
 Men say our Lord Commissioner sees not 
 His godly mother, Lady Anne, and tare 
 In rage, his brother's Patent for Dunbar ; 
 Yet at first coming friendlier he seemed. 
 At his great entry, — like a King's, — at Leith. 
 
 Baillie. 
 
 'Twas a great entry ! ay, and like a King's ! 
 Nobles and gentry of all Shires, Women 
 A world, the Town of Edinburgh all 
 Met at the Water-gate, and on the Links' 
 Brae-side, five hundred of us ministers 
 All in our Cloaks, and Mister Livingstone, 
 (Strongest of voice, and most austere of face 
 Among us all,) waiting to welcome him !
 
 214 
 
 RIFT IV. 
 
 Mr James Bonar. 
 
 Yet hearing his harangue invectives held 
 Against the Bishops, his Grace discharged him, 
 CalUng harangues in pubHc, above his place. 
 Meet only for a Prince. 
 
 Baillie. 
 
 Moved was his Grace 
 To pity, e'en to tears, and wished the King 
 Were present at that sight, of a whole Country, 
 For their Religion and their Liberties, 
 Beseeching so humbly and earnestly ! 
 Would he had his will, for evil men 
 Do, on the innocent back of our Prince 
 Lay their own crimes ! 
 
 Mr James Bonar. 
 
 How lies your mind anent 
 Our matters since our Lord Commissioner 
 Would have the Lords of Session sign the King's 
 And quit our Covenant? and when blank they 
 Refused, would have Episcopacy made 
 Not questionable at this Assembly ?
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 21$ 
 
 Baillie. 
 
 Lately I was in mind that in no case 
 
 Might any Prince have been opposed, but now 
 
 Incline I to think otherwise ; yet much 
 
 I dread, (gif so be that his Grace the King's 
 
 Commissioner depart,) a field of blood. 
 
 And thereafter a poor starved province, at 
 
 Devotion of a faction too suspect 
 
 Both in Law and Religion. — But in State 
 
 Matters we meddle not, only to pray 
 
 For our dear Father, King Charles, and our 
 
 Poor Mother, Scotland's Kirk and Kingdom. Gif 
 
 They should discord much blood and many tears 
 
 'Twill cost their' bairns ! — God — who is Father to 
 
 Them both, send them good greance ! ^ 
 
 Mr James Bonar. 
 
 Amen ! — Here 
 Be we at the Kirk door. How the folk throng ! 
 
 \An immense jostling crozvd of ministers and 
 laity pressing in at the door of the Great 
 Church. Baillie and his friend 7iearly 
 carried off their feet. 
 ^ Agreement.
 
 2l6 RIFT IV. 
 
 Baillie. 
 
 Here might we learn from Canterbury, yea 
 From Pope or Turk or Pagan, modesty 
 And manners ! — At the least their reverence 
 In the House they call God's, gif it stop not 
 Till they adore its timber and its stones ! 
 So far the other way our rascals make 
 Sic din and clamour in God's very House, 
 That gif they minted use the like in mine 
 Own chamber I were not content till they 
 Were down the stairs ! 
 
 [ They struggle in, atid at last 
 get into their places. 
 At last, though sair for-foughten,i 
 We've entry to our rooms and get our breath ! 
 Let's note it weel, 'tis a rare gathering this. 
 Our Kirk's First General Assembly met 
 For thirty years ! See ! yonder sits his Grace, 
 The King's Commissioner in his chair of State, 
 And at his feet, before and on both sides. 
 The chief men of the Council, — Treasurer, 
 Lord Privy Seal, Argyle, Murray, Southesk, 
 
 1 Out of breath.
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 217 
 
 And many moe. — At yon long table on 
 
 The floor, — nobles, barons, commissioners 
 
 From Presbyteries, elders of Parishes, 
 
 Rothes, Montrose, Weems, Loudon, Keir and moe, 
 
 And round, rising up five or six degrees. 
 
 In good commodious rooms, the chief Burgess 
 
 Of every Burgh ; three from maist the whole 
 
 Sixty and three of our Kirk's Presbyteries : 
 
 The little table yonder in the midst, 
 
 Set fore anent my Lord Commissioner, 
 
 Is for our Moderator and the Clerk ; 
 
 Quhilk is our learned Mister Henderson, 
 
 (Though ill we spare his pleading, tyning so 
 
 Our best disputer — yet none saving him 
 
 Was found with parts for such occasion;) 
 
 For Clerk, a nonsuch is our Archie Johnstone ! 
 
 See how the people throng ! Young noblemen, 
 
 Ladies and gentlewomen and the rest 
 
 Up yonder in the vaults ! Hist ! They begin ! 
 
 First business is our auld Assemblies' Books 
 
 That our good Archibald hath brought to light, 
 
 Preserved in God's notable Providence, 
 
 Despite our negligence, and the desire 
 
 This forty years within the prelates' hearts
 
 2l8 RIFT IV. 
 
 For covering in darkness of our auld 
 
 Assemblies' Records, quhilk crossed their intents ! 
 
 Listen ! His Grace protests ! Yet with one voice 
 
 The whole Asserably doth accept the Books 
 
 As our Kirk's true authentic registers ! 
 
 Next purpose is anent the Bishoj^s' matter ; 
 
 — Of the Kirk's jurisdiction, their denial; — 
 
 The Moderator doth require the voice 
 
 Of the Assembly, " Gif they do find themselves 
 
 The Bishops' Judges ? " — Now his Grace would have 
 
 The Clerk to read the King's will as subscribed 
 
 And signed. 
 
 \_The Clerk reads the King's Proclamation. 
 Assuredly sundry things grants 
 He to our will ; — yet right security 
 Giveth of nought. 
 
 Mr James Bonar. 
 
 The Moderator now 
 Riseth to speak. Hist ! let us hear ! 
 
 Baillie {after the Moderator s speech). 
 
 Most grave 
 Digest and learned ! a speech worthy our Cause !
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 219 
 
 Giving for the great favours of the King 
 
 Due thanks ; telling how much we count ourselves 
 
 Obliged in conscience to give to the King 
 
 Even in Kirk matters ; he speaks as it 
 
 Becomes good Christian and good subject ; yet 
 
 " Are we the Bishops' Judges ? " aye presses 
 
 The voicing. — Now there doth fall a sad and grave 
 
 And sorrowful discourse ! Hear how doth break 
 
 His Grace's voice ! The tears stand in his eyes, 
 
 As much he saith of his sincere desire 
 
 To serve his God, his Country, and his King, 
 
 And of his grief yet his necessity 
 
 To part ; seeing the spoiling of this free 
 
 Assembly by writs from Edinburgh, 
 
 Likewise precipitate intrusion of 
 
 The Laick voice therein ; how he behooves 
 
 Renew his protest in his Master's name. 
 
 And in the names of Lords and Clergies, that 
 
 Nought here done is lawful, and discharge them 
 
 Further to proceed. Mark how sad a face 
 
 Our Lord Commissioner wears in departing ! 
 
 Mr James Bonar. 
 
 Verily,
 
 220 RIFT IV. 
 
 I pity him ! Oft hath he vented not 
 
 His wish alone, but hopes and confidence 
 
 To sit till to some good conclusion all 
 
 Was brought ; likewise 'twas bruited, that, will he 
 
 Or nill he, he behoved to take this charge 
 
 Upon him, quhilk he at the first declined, 
 
 Fearing all utterly to lose those whom 
 
 The least he would ; his gracious Master, or 
 
 His native Country ; yet was no remeid 
 
 Against the King's most peremptor demand. 
 
 Baillie. 
 
 My heart pities the man, yea and his speech 
 From many eyes drew water and I wot 
 From mine much, seeing therein the surety 
 Of tragedies inevitable ; for, ' 
 (Other evils beside,) no means be left 
 To him, for good construction of his own 
 Fidelity, but offer of his service 
 To overthrow his Country ; wherein gif 
 He prosper, evermore will Scotland curse 
 The day a child so hapless she brought forth ; 
 Or gif with Fortune he unfortunate 
 Should prove, that favour of his Master, aye
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 221 
 
 Ower dear, will take it wings, leaving him lone 
 In seas of trouble, wherein he is like, 
 From breast of any man to get small pity, 
 Save from that one of Christ, who useth not 
 To desert those who are of all deserted ! 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Dunse-Law, evening of Jime i8, 1639. 
 Mr Robert Baillie a7id Lord Lindsay. 
 
 Baillie. 
 
 Never fand I my mind in better temper 
 Than all this time frae that I came from home 
 On June's first day, to this our brave rich hill 
 Garnished with cannon towards the South and East, 
 Where the King's camp lies glittering in the sun, 
 Some six miles off on other side the Tweed, 
 In yon fair plain along the river bank. 
 God's favour have I fand shining on me, 
 Yea a most strong and vehement, yet sweet
 
 222 RIFT IV. 
 
 And humble Spirit leading me ; for I 
 Have been as one who hath ta'en leave of all 
 The World, in this service resolved to die 
 Without return. Now all hath end ! This eve 
 The last whereon our sweet Dunse-Law shall hear 
 Singing of Psalm, or words of Holy Writ, 
 Or voice of prayer from out our sojours' huts ; 
 Or see our flags, — with this ditton stamped round 
 Our Lion, " For Christ's Crown and Covenant," 
 In golden letters, — 'fore each Captain's tent ; 
 Or our great little, crooked General 
 At e'en ride from the Castle at its foot, 
 With Bayley, his Lieutenant, through the Guard, 
 (Hope's Musketeers and Durie's,) well apparelled 
 Standing with matches cocked, before his gate ; 
 Nor will Argyle's uncanny trews-men fright, 
 (Though few,) England's admiring gaze with targe. 
 And plaid, and dorlach ! At the morrow's morn 
 (Articles of Pacification read,) 
 We fire our huts, strike Standards, go our ways, 
 And thank God for this bloodless victory ! 
 
 Lord Lindsay. 
 Think ye the King means faithfully ? jMen say
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 22$ 
 
 Argyle got but cold welcome when he went 
 
 With other of our nobles to their camp, 
 
 To kiss the King's hand ; and 'twas thought contrar 
 
 His mind was Hamilton's advice to let 
 
 Loudon's protest against the Bishops as 
 
 Members of our Assembly, go with all 
 
 The rest. The folk of Edinburgh grieve 
 
 To see their Castle to Ruthven rendered. 
 
 Whom sore they hate ; nor comes — ere it break up — 
 
 The King's Grace, as he promised, to our Camp ; 
 
 Nor mints he to stir from our Borders, quhilk 
 
 Makes many much suspect that nought is sought 
 
 But to gain time for in-coming of more 
 
 English and Irish to his help ; and that 
 
 Our tenderness unto his honour — quhilk. 
 
 At Robin Leslie's word, gart us renew 
 
 Our supplication, rather than compel 
 
 The King's Grace granting of our just demands, — 
 
 Was to our own undoing. 
 
 Baillie. 
 
 Nay, joyful 
 At heart am I of this divine conclusion ! 
 Gin we had been ten times victorious
 
 224 RIFT IV. 
 
 In battles set, still our conclusion was 
 
 At the King's feet to have laid down our arms, 
 
 And on our knees presented nought but our 
 
 First supplications. No crowns did we seek, 
 
 Aimed at no lands nor honours ; we desired 
 
 But, as our forbears did, to keep our own 
 
 In service of our Prince. Were our throne voiced. 
 
 And voices sought for filling Fergus' Chair, 
 
 We would have died ere any other had 
 
 Sat down upon its fatal marble save 
 
 Charles alone ; — for aye the longer still 
 
 The better loved is our sweet Prince, as one 
 
 Most just, most reasonable and most sweet. 
 
 Much and most free communing hath there been, 
 
 — 'Tis like his Majesty's ears ne'er had been 
 
 Tickled with such discourses ! — yet was he 
 
 Of all most patient, and of clear reason, 
 
 Loving, — enamoured much likewise of us, 
 
 Of Mister Henderson and Loudon maist. 
 
 — What had we done had we to Tweedside come ? 
 
 Wilful, to hazard of his person, might 
 
 The King have been ; had he brooked any skaith, 
 
 Or been disgraced with shameful flight, our hearts 
 
 Had broke for it ! — I bless God He hath sent
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 22$ 
 
 In so fit time, a tolerable peace ! 
 Comic catastrophy be our Dunse-Law, 
 Of our most fearfiil-like Episcopal 
 Tragedy ! 
 
 — Nathless not yet have we got 
 Orders to make our solemn thanksgiving ! 
 Yea some clouds still stick in our air ; so will 
 We keep at home till after Parliament, 
 All of our Countrymen, — soldiers who left 
 Their charges, to their own exceeding loss, 
 To help their boasted ^ Mother-Kirk and Country ; 
 The quhilk our Nation never can repay. 
 
 ^ Threatened.
 
 ACT III. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Charles II. 
 
 James Graham, Marquis of Montrose. 
 Lord Napier. 
 Lord Ogilvy. 
 
 Sir George Stirling of Keir. 
 
 Mister Alexander Henderson, Minister of Leuchars. 
 Sir James Rollock. 
 The Earl of Loudon, Lord Chancellor. 
 The Marchioness of Argyle. 
 The Ladye Loudon. 
 Mistress Robert Baillie. 
 
 Mister Patrick Gillespie, Minister of Kirkcaldy. 
 Three Soldiers of the Scots Army at Newcastle. 
 Three Onlookers at Proclamation of Charles II. as King, at 
 Cross of Edinburgh.
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Camp of the Scottish Army at Newcastle. Three 
 Soldiers sitting over their Camp fire. 
 
 First Soldier. 
 
 Wert at the bonny bonfire on Dunse-Law that 
 June nicht when we fired our huts? 
 
 Second Soldier. 
 
 Na, I be but a rav/ recruit frae the plough's tail, 
 as mony ither a good fellow here, and little stomach 
 hae I yet for swords and pikes and sic-like devil's 
 tools ! A plough noo turning up the sweet yearth 
 after rain, and me whistling ahint the bonny beasts 
 o' a bright breezy morning, — that's my trade ! Wad 
 I were back at it on Solway-side ! But when the ill
 
 230 RIFT IV. 
 
 news cam, that the King, (for a' his word,) was 
 marching back again at bidding o' the Bishops, ilk 
 auld wife bode ^ up wi shears and bodkins in Stran- 
 raer, to help our Covenant ! Sic bales o' claith they 
 wove upon their wheels to theek ^ our tents here ! 
 Sic stocking-feet o' merks frae 'neath their beds they 
 brocht our Minister ! I mind he grat when ane o' 
 them, Marget Jamie they ca' her, laid doun her posy, 
 — shillings seventy-twa and ae braid piece o' gowd ! — 
 and when he speired how she was aught ^ sae muckle 
 siller, and she a poor man's wife, she said, " 'Twas 
 gathered for my ain young dochter's tocher;* the 
 Lord has taen her, sae He sail hae her tocher too." 
 And weel I wot a man that pits his hand to plough 
 in His quarrel, daurna look back ! 
 
 Third Soldier. 
 
 My certes na ! Shentlemans look not back ! Yet 
 wad a shentleman have thought that bonny June 
 night when we set our huts a-low at the good shentle- 
 man. General Leslie's word — (a right true shentleman 
 is he, and a worthy, howbeit his stature be not as 
 that of Saul among the Prophets !) could ony shentle- 
 
 1 Must. 2 Thatch. ^ Owned. ^ Portion.
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 23 1 
 
 man have thought, say I, or other summer past that 
 same goot shentleman the General with all the other 
 goot shentlemans his soldiers wad be camped on the 
 bonny Dunse-Law again in the same matters, for all 
 the King's word of a shentleman ? 
 
 First Soldier. 
 
 Saw ye Montrose, how gallantly he rode first 
 through the Tweed, wi a's men at his back ? 
 
 Third Soldier. 
 
 Tweed swallowed ane ! 
 'Tis an ill-omen, say we shentlemen of Argyle ! 
 
 First Soldier. 
 
 Tush ! be'st thou o' the whisperers that look wi' 
 doubting een on our young brave Montrose ? Threip- 
 ing ^ the man is double and hath hid and secret deal- 
 ings with the King his Grace ? Lies kythed ^ of their 
 ill minds ! Our gracious King, — though doubtless 
 misled by that blear-eyed Laud, and ither of like 
 kidney, — hatches nae plots ! Have ye not heard 
 how sweet a conference he held at London with our 
 ^ Saying constantly. ^ Bred.
 
 232 RIFT IV. 
 
 Mister Henderson? And for the gallant Graham, 
 his mettle's kent, proved in fu' mony a fight ! At 
 Aberdeen, at the sword's point he thrust our Cove- 
 nant down malignant throats, as gallantly as his was 
 the first foot in England ower the Tweed ; out on 
 all knaves whose ill-tongues whisper "fause"! 
 
 Second Soldier. 
 
 Yet hath the King's Grace ance again proclaimed 
 
 us rebels since we crossed the Tweed ! The brows 
 
 o' mony lower, and maist o' them maist sib ^ in kith 
 
 or kindness wi' James Graham ! Fleming, his cousin ; 
 
 Drunimond, his bedfellow ; his ally Boyd ! Men say 
 
 our General in the Committee's face did charge him 
 
 wi' letters sent privily to the King. Our Preachers' 
 
 diligence and the cold of our great little General 
 
 did shortlie cast water on this spunk that began to 
 
 reek, else had been flame or lang ! " Pride goes 
 
 afore a fall," so saith the Word ; through pride 'twas 
 
 the deils fell, and proud as ony deil the gallant 
 
 Graham ! 
 
 Third Soldier. 
 
 Ay, shentlemen do say the Lord Montrose liketh 
 
 1 Related.
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 233 
 
 not of the goot shentleman our General's command ! 
 nor loves, as we shentlemen of Argyle, our great 
 MacCallum More ! 
 
 First Soldier. 
 
 On guard was I yon day the King's Grace dined, 
 here in our General's house, upon his way to Edin- 
 burgh : — maist pleasantly and sweet he spake to all, 
 nane that had converse with him but wad die or 
 they mistrust sae sweet a King ! Sairly men err, 
 dividing not betwixt our gracious King and wicked 
 Councillors ! And now in Edinburgh, men do say, 
 our good Mister Henderson, baith morning and night 
 before the supper, prays and reads the Word and 
 sings King David's Psalms there in the Palace, and 
 the King maist graciously hears all ; — Argyle himself 
 did welcome him ! In sooth not far his sweet Grace 
 frae the Kingdom ! 
 
 Second Soldier. 
 
 Sae may God grant ! 'Tis a strange tale nathless 
 that, my Lord o' Loudon's knave frae London brocht ! 
 Hoo his master, sent wi' our Assembly's griefs to lay 
 afore the Throne, straight was he clapt within the
 
 234 RIFT IV. 
 
 Tower, charged wi' High Treason ! Nay the whisper 
 ran, Sir WiUiam Balfour, at three o' the clock after- 
 noon, command had o' the King's Grace, or nine 
 next morning, should Earl Loudon's head be struck 
 aff ! Ay, and the King stormed and swore roundly 
 in his bed, or he, at Hamilton's maist urgent warn- 
 ing, tore sullenly the death-warrant ! Sae his knave, 
 with him in London, (being sib to me,) doth sure 
 asseverate : and all men ken in Edinburgh, hoo in 
 her ain person his good ladye did in the Parliament 
 petition help to her dear Lord in peril of his life 
 within the Tower; — yet as a true Scots dame, did 
 qualify the same, praying the Lords, first to regard 
 the weal o' Kirk and Country, or thinking on the 
 plight o' her dear Lord ! Likewise, lies not the 
 Lord Montrose e'en noo in ward in Edinburgh 
 Castle, on the count o' letters o' the King's Grace 
 sent to him, found sewn in saddle o' Traquhair's 
 knave, Stewart ? 
 
 Third Soldier. 
 
 Ay and indeed ? and came there not a right goot 
 shentleman of great MacCallum More's here yesterday 
 at e'en, with word how his goot master with Hamilton
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 235 
 
 and Lanerick have taen but short goot night of the 
 
 King's Grace, by reason of a plot brought to their 
 
 ears by a goot shentleman of Argyle, betwixt the 
 
 King's Grace and the Lord Montrose to lay them 
 
 in a ship at Leith, and to its prisoner render up the 
 
 Castle ? 
 
 First Soldier. 
 
 My ain een first mon see, or I can think, the 
 gallant Graham and our sweet King be knaves ! 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Batiks of the Forth at Stirveli?ig Bridge. 
 
 Montrose {alo?ie, hummiitg to himself). 
 
 " As Alexander I will reign, 
 And I will reign alone. 
 My thoughts did evermore disdain 
 A rival in my throne." 
 
 Argyle first in their counsels ! the crook-backed 
 Little Leslie in the Field ! Montrose, what
 
 236 RIFT IV. 
 
 Place for thee ? Lieutenant 'neath the Crook-back ? 
 
 Councillor after Argyle ? Nay my friends, 
 
 It suits not with the mettle of Montrose ! 
 
 I signed your Covenant, — at sword's point thrust 
 
 It on black Aberdeen ! — hnt^rsf, Montrose 
 
 Or nowhere ! Seek your Lieutenants elsewhere ! 
 
 Whate'er his Cause, chief Captain is Montrose ! 
 
 Yet haste, good Mister Alexander, glad 
 
 James Graham awaits your coming for solving 
 
 His doubts of Conscience ! Innocent, good man ! 
 
 So shall he pump thee, find thy secrets, all 
 
 The Covenanters' purposes and plans ! 
 
 How shouldst thou hide them? Thy transparent 
 
 soul. 
 Clear as these limpid waters of the Forth, 
 That all things mirror this still eve of June ! 
 — Then with them to the King! — 'Tis true the 
 
 Queen 
 Slighted me late at York, despised Montrose, 
 Made Hamilton her Councillor, sent him 
 To work in Scotland for the King ! — Yet weel 
 I wot his desperate straits or lang, will send 
 His Majesty back to Montrose who fights, 
 While Hamilton protests ! Desperate his Cause !
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 237 
 
 Dear just because 'tis desperate, to Montrose ! 
 Glory or Death, nor mickle recks he which ! 
 
 " He either fears his fate too much, 
 Or his deserts are small, 
 That dares not put it to the touch 
 To gain or lose it all ! " 
 
 Here come my Lords Napier and Ogilvy 
 And worthy George of Keir : — 'Twas a wise thought, 
 Montrose, to call them here as witnesses, 
 Lest that the King mistrust thy conference 
 With poor good Henderson, King o' the Covenant ! 
 \Enter the Lords Napier and Ogilvy and 
 Sir George Stirling of Keir. 
 Good even, gentlemen, Montrose must e'en 
 Act host and bid welcome to Banks of Forth ! 
 
 Sir George Stirling. 
 Good even to the gallant Graham ! 
 
 Lords Napier and Ogilvy. 
 
 God speed 
 The brave Montrose !
 
 238 RIFT IV. 
 
 Montrose. 
 
 Yonder he comes across 
 The Bridge, our learned Mister Henderson, 
 And with him Rollock my good-brother, now 
 Argyle's good-brother likewise. Both be come 
 For solving of the doubts that daunt Montrose ! 
 
 \Enter Mr Alexander Henderson 
 and Sir James Rollock. 
 Welcome good Mister Alexander, you 
 Too good brother George ! These banks of Forth 
 Make sweet withdrawing-room this still June eve 
 As ever ladye's Bower ! The river's glass 
 Doubles the glories of the yellow whin 
 And broom and milk-white thorn so close that grow 
 Upon its edge, and what a carpet makes 
 This green-sward spangled ower with butter-cup 
 And gowan ! What ceiling like yon blue vault 
 Ower-head ? What music like the Unties' tunes 
 In ilka brake, or June be past and come 
 The time to warm their nest and quit their sangs ? 
 Right happy deems himself Montrose, that here 
 The learned Mister Henderson deigns come
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT.' 239 
 
 For solving of his doubts, — a man on whose 
 
 Wisdom, fidehty, and honesty 
 
 So sure he can rely, in matters how 
 
 Weighty soever. For some time by-past 
 
 Quiet hath he lived at home, (so to remove 
 
 Jealousies of his foes, some differences 
 
 Have late engendered) ; hence knoweth he nought 
 
 Anent your late Convention ; — at loss thus 
 
 In this so ticklish time, how it behoves 
 
 Him act, and therefore seeks his guidance whom 
 
 Most he may trust ; for whilk cause now he prays 
 
 Good Mister Henderson freely to speak 
 
 What 'tis designed to do. 
 
 Mr Alexander Henderson. 
 
 Right glad am I 
 To welcome back our gallant brave Montrose 
 To the good Cause of Kirk and Covenant ! 
 Much grief it hath been unto many hearts 
 To doubt his fealty, greater now the joy 
 To know our doubts unjust ; in proof whereof 
 Freely I trust his honour with the plans 
 Resolved at our Convention. Since no help 
 There seems, save that, or ruin of our Cause,
 
 240 RIFT IV. 
 
 (Whilk Cause is Christ's,) though with sair grief of 
 
 heart, 
 Determined 'tis to levy a great force. 
 To aid our English brethren, and to march 
 Forthwith against the King. — God save his Grace, 
 And from ill counsel turn his princely heart ! — 
 For every man of us, in both his realms, 
 Is full resolved to die rather than yield 
 In this Cause, (whilk is Christ's) ; and if so be 
 Our brave Commander late, the Lord INIontrose 
 Will, as afore his word was, lead our van, 
 Then hearty thanks will I return to God 
 That His poor Preacher He doth honour thus 
 In work so great to mediate, and weel 
 Am I assured nought that Montrose shall ask 
 Shall be denied of our Convention. 
 
 Montrose {to Sir George Rolloch). 
 
 George, 
 Sib long to me, through my dear sister dead, 
 Thy first sweet Dame, and Argyle's brother now, 
 Be thou spokesman betwixt us. Let me wot 
 Gif worthy Mister Henderson doth make
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 24I 
 
 These offers of his ain good will, or gives 
 In name of the Convention ? 
 
 Sir George Rollock. 
 
 Doubtless, Sir, 
 Good Mister Alexander hath the mind 
 Of the Convention, — speaketh in its name. 
 
 Mr Alexander Henderson. 
 
 Nay, good my Lord, I speak but as I deem ; 
 Yet never doubt but the Convention will 
 Bear out my utmost word. 
 
 Montrose. 
 
 Never Montrose 
 Makes bargain in sic wise with private folk. 
 Without the public faith to lean upon 
 Ahint them ! Good Mister Henderson, mickle 
 It irks Montrose to say thee nay, yet no 
 Conclusion may he make with private man. 
 Even wi' sic man as Mister Henderson. 
 — Good e'en good friends and comrades ane and all 
 The shades begin to fall e'en on this night 
 
 Q
 
 242 RIFT IV. 
 
 O' June when days are langest, and afar 
 Montrose maun be or midnight ! — Fare ye weel ! 
 
 \He mounts his horse, muttering 
 as he rides aivay — 
 I could not lie straight in his simple face 
 With promise false of help, — though wiser mayhap ! 
 — Now to the King at Oxford with their news ! 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 House of Mistress Robert Baillie, wife of the 
 Mifiister of Kilwimmig. 
 
 The Marchioness of Argyle, The Ladye 
 Loudon, Mistress Robert Baillie. 
 
 The Ladye Argyle. 
 
 Good Mistress Baillie, thou hast news anon 
 Frae thy dear spouse in London. How goes all ? 
 What saith he of the King's Grace' dispositions? 
 Will he accept the Propositions o' 
 The Parliament?
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 243 
 
 Mistress Baillie. 
 
 Nay, good my Ladye, that no man 
 May tell — so writes my minister. — Much talk 
 There is, he saith, of the King's obstinacy : 
 Gif he wad do his duty, spite all knaves, 
 All in one moment would go right, he deems. 
 By God's help will they try to make him take 
 The Covenant, and follow to the full 
 His Parliament's advice, gif he do so 
 Expect a happy issue, but gif so be 
 That God hath hardened him, the Parliament 
 Will strive to have him in their power to make 
 Example of him. Yea, my master saith 
 He doth abhor to think what they do speak, 
 — Even of his execution ! Nay, diverse 
 Of whom he least expected it, are for 
 Putting away of the whole royal race ! 
 
 Ladye Argyle. 
 May God forfend ! 
 
 Mistress Baillie. 
 
 Very pathetic writes
 
 244 RIFT IV. 
 
 The King for peace. Yea five or six times writ 
 
 Or answer came, — and then a cold one. 
 
 That ParHament conceived not for his good 
 
 Nor for his people's that he to London come, 
 
 Till first he grant the Propositions. 
 
 Not all the Royalists in Scotland could 
 
 Have pleaded for the Crown and King's just power 
 
 As did the Chancellor and Warristone 
 
 For many days together, so he saith. 
 
 Ladye Loudon. 
 
 My noble Lord ! Little ill-will he bears 
 For his so deadly peril in the Tower ! 
 When he was sent to lay the Assembly's griefs 
 Before the Throne, and but for warning sharp 
 Of my Lord Hamilton, the King had struck 
 His head off ! 
 
 The Ladye Argyle. 
 
 Sore truly was his peril ! 
 Most Christianly Lord Loudon doth forgive ! 
 
 Ladye Loudon. 
 Think ye 'tis true, what darkly many whisper
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 245 
 
 The King's ain hands be not ower clean of that 
 Ulster Deil's-orgy made our blood run cold ? 
 — Women ripped up, bairns thrown unto the swine, 
 Men hung up by the hands and lashed to death 
 To see how many blows an Englishman 
 Could bear or he quite died ? — My good Lord 
 Did write me privily the rebels brought 
 Commission with the King's broad seal to it, 
 As warrant for their crimes ; and certain 'tis 
 The King's Grace did, under the Great Seal, give 
 Commission to their leaders to take arms. 
 
 The Ladye Argyle. 
 
 Ower-like 'tis true ! Why not with Antrim when 
 He traffics with Montrose ? We had a taste 
 Of these same Irish devils in Argyle, 
 Joined with the Highland kernes of the fause Graham ! 
 The bonny ricks and wee theekt biggings ^ brent, 
 And ilka gallant Campbell lad they caught 
 In cold blood murdered ! till a desert all 
 Bonny Argyle ! And when my noble Lord, 
 Hasting to help his slaughtered Highland folk. 
 Fell from his horse, and hurted sore could use 
 ^ Thatched cottages.
 
 246 RIFT IV. 
 
 Nor sword nor pistol, was of his good friends 
 At Inverlochy forced into his boat, 
 Men called him coward, and said he fled the fray ! 
 — Waur still that devil of Montrose and his 
 Wild Irish dealt at Abirdene— " To kill 
 And none to spare," the cruel fiend bade, and weel 
 The word suited their Irish stomacks ! Nought, 
 Men say, was heard but howlings pitiful, 
 And crying through the streets for four full days ! 
 Nor let they e'en the Dead be buried, but 
 Territ ^ their claithes and let them naked lie ; 
 Nor daured wife weep her husband, nor mother 
 Her son or presently they too were slain ! 
 So in the King's Cause fights that Fiend James 
 Graham ! 
 
 Mistress Baillie. 
 
 Never man did the King waur service than 
 Montrose, so saith my minister, flattering 
 His madness which confounds them all. Men say 
 At Philiphaugh 'mang his papers was found 
 A letter he writ to the King, that turned 
 His Grace's heart, all in one woeful night, 
 
 ^ Tore off.
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 247 
 
 Frae what had brought him peace ! At supper all 
 
 At the Royal table were right gay at heart, 
 
 The King conceding all ; and when he 'plained 
 
 Of badness of the wine, quoth ane, " We trust 
 
 Your Majesty will better drink or lang 
 
 With the Lord Mayor at Guildhall." That same 
 
 night 
 Montrose's letter came, writ to the King 
 After his woeful victory at Kilsyth : 
 "Give me but leave," he writ, "when I have brought 
 This country from Dan to Beersheba, 
 Unto your Majesty's obedience, then, 
 As David's General to his master said. 
 Say I to the King's grace, " Come thou thyself, 
 Lest by my name this land be called." — Next morn 
 Utterly was the king's mind changed, nocht wad 
 He cede ! — My minister aye threips Montrose 
 'Tis, that will prove fatal unto the King, 
 Buoying him up with lying promises 
 Unto his undoing ! 
 
 'a 
 
 The Ladye Argyle. 
 
 Thinks he, the king 
 Will grant the Propositions ?
 
 248 RIFT IV. 
 
 Mistress Baillie. 
 
 Ay, ower late ! 
 Aye hath it been, he saith, his constant ill 
 Nothing to give in time, all things he gives 
 At last, but ever he hath lost the thanks, 
 His gifts account extorted and constrained. 
 To William Murray o' the King's Bedchamber 
 " As you would thankful to your Master be 
 For all his favours, now flatter him not 
 Unto his ruin 3 " so he writ : — for great 
 My husband's love and pity for this poor 
 Perishing Prince. "The king's madness," he saith, 
 " Confounds us all." 
 
 The Ladye Argyle. 
 
 In Ireland my good Lord, 
 For men to cast the traitors from Argyle. 
 Sae scant my news frae Court ; — tells he aught. 
 Good Mister BaiUie, of the King's coming 
 To our Scots' Army ? 
 
 Mistress Baillie. 
 
 That he doth ! The Van
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 249 
 
 O' the Army o' the Parliament was close 
 On Oxford. At midnight rode three men forth 
 The toun, one in a groom's garb, porte-mantle 
 Ahint him on the saddle ; — 'twas the King, 
 Parson Hudson, and Ashburnham his man. 
 Early of a May morn, nine days thereafter. 
 Unto our camp at Kelham came the King ; 
 With all honour, as meet, received he was, 
 On his knees did our General present 
 His sword. The King himself at first wad fain 
 Play General, giving the watchword, but 
 Auld Leslie told him in his hamely way. 
 Being the older soldier he would spare 
 His Majesty that fash ! 1 Men suspect, — sae 
 Saith my Minister, the Scots o' plotting 
 His coming to our Army, but in truth 
 Never anent it had we dealings with 
 The King. Had he not feared, either to be 
 Clapped in perpetual prison ment, or 
 Execute, gif in Oxford taen, ne'er nigh 
 Us had he come ! Gif he will not return 
 Upon just terms, what to do with him, weel 
 They cannot tell ;— the leading party nought 
 
 1 Trouble.
 
 250 RIFT IV. 
 
 So much desire as that he should refuse 
 The Propositions of the Parliament, 
 So they may deal with him as they have mind. 
 "Gif that man goeth now to tinkle on 
 Bishops, Delinquants, and such foolish joys, 
 It seemeth he is mad ! " sae Robert writes. 
 
 Ladye Loudon. 
 
 Sorely is Scotland struck, both with the Pest 
 And sword. Hard is't to understand the Lord's 
 Dealings with her ! Surely He meaneth not 
 Her to destroy, maintaining His ain Cause ? 
 
 The Ladye Argyle. 
 
 What saith thy Minister, of Cromwell's Sect ? 
 And likewise of the man ? 
 
 Mistress Baillie. 
 
 The man he holds a wise and active head, 
 Weel-loved of all, and as religious as 
 He's stout : but for the Independants, they 
 Do deviate more and more, he saith, towards 
 Errors baith auld and new ; especially 
 To Liberty of Conscience, saying all,
 
 FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 2$ I 
 
 To publicly profess their conscience, should 
 Be let, and live according thereunto, 
 Weren't never so erroneous, so thereby 
 They trouble not the public peace. E'en Jews 
 And Papists, Turks and Infidels ! "Beware" 
 Saith he " Of that pernicious liberty 
 To all ! " 
 
 The L.A.DYE Argyle. 
 
 Here comes a runner frae Argyle ! 
 God grant he bears good news o' my dear Lord ! 
 
 [Enter a Highland gillie with letters. 
 Hast letters, Donald ? Void thy scrip in haste ! 
 
 Donald. 
 
 My Ladye of Argyle we deemed not here ! 
 My Lord's ain man swift as a deer doth run 
 To Inverara ower the heather hills 
 Wi' Argyle's budget ; — for Mistress Baillie these, 
 Through favour of the Ladye of Argyle. 
 
 The Ladye Argyle. 
 
 Alack ! and must I wait my dear Heart's words 
 Frae Inverara back-coming ! Break seal. 
 Good Mistress Baillie ! — How goes all ?
 
 252 RIFT IV. 
 
 Mistress Baillie {reading from a letter). 
 
 " My Heart, — The King's answer hath broke our 
 hearts ! Afraid are we of the hardness of God's 
 decrees against that madman. After all possible en- 
 deavours, unanimous of all, Scots, English, French, 
 the King the Propositions hath refused ! On Monday 
 come the Chancellor and Argyle, with them England's 
 Commissioners ; we do fear sad votes in the Houses 
 after their report. Our aim will be to hold them 
 back from sudden measures. Very long time they 
 take to smallest things, yet I fear they be too quick 
 disposing of the King ! Many do think his obstin- 
 acy judicial, as if he were, in God's justice, bound 
 himself to destroy. Mister Henderson lies dying at 
 Newcastle — mostly of heart-break. — Grief and anxiety 
 makes me cut off. 
 
 Farewell my dearest heart." 
 
 The Ladye Argyle. 
 
 Alack, poor Charles ! 
 Whom the gods ruin, they do first make mad !
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 253 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Co7nmittee of Estates and Crowd at the Cross of 
 Edinburgh, Monday, February 5, 1649. 
 
 Loudon the Chancellor {in robe of black 
 velvet, reading proclaination). 
 
 " Hereby do we proclaim Charles the Second by 
 the Grace of God, King of Brittaine, France, and Ire- 
 land — but likewise that before being admitted to the 
 exercise of his royal power, he shall give satisfaction 
 in those things that concern the Security of Religion 
 according to the National Covenant and Solemn 
 League and Covenant. — " God save the King ! " 
 
 The great Concourse echoing 
 " God save the King ! God save the King ! " 
 
 First Onlooker. 
 
 Ay, save him from the bloody murderers 
 
 That slew his sire ! Hast heard how Pride did purge 
 
 The Parliament that voted him to death ?
 
 254 RIFT IV. 
 
 Not one good Presbyterian there — thank God ! 
 Sectaries to a man ! Forty staunch members 
 Laid by the heels in prison, — some hundred 
 Turned frae the door by soldiers' pikes ! The Rump, 
 So shorn of honourable men, 'twas voiced 
 His death. 
 
 Second Onlooker. 
 
 Surely a bloody murder ! VVeel 
 For Scotland she hath had nae hand in it ! 
 And now she first proclaims his son her King. 
 
 Third Onlooker. 
 
 Yet be there reservations in the deed ! 
 Or he, Charles the Second, King by Grace 
 Of God, shall exercise his royal power, 
 First maun he sign our Nation's Covenant, 
 Likewise that Solemn League and Covenant 
 His father bogled at. Think ye he'll sign ? 
 
 First Onlooker. 
 
 God grant it ! for no King will Scotland brook 
 Save murdered Charles' son ! The Prince is young. 
 But eighteen summers ower his bonny brow.
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 255 
 
 And he will have good guidance ; wise Argyle, 
 And Loudon here, and mony a godly Preacher, 
 — Though Mister Alexander rests with God, 
 (Wherefore we thank Him,) or this dismal day. 
 
 Third Onlooker. 
 
 Yet ill tongues threip we Scots did sell our King, 
 His sacred person who did trust with us, 
 Coming for refuge to our Army ; gave 
 Him back for England's Parliament to slay ! 
 'T has an ill-sounding that Malignants' rhyme, 
 
 " Traitor Scot 
 Sold his king for a groat." 
 
 Wist ye how verily the matter stands ? 
 
 First Onlooker. 
 
 A most malignant Malignants' Rhyme ! 
 
 Nae letter of it true ! At his ain choice 
 
 Went the King's Grace to Holmby House, when our 
 
 Army did England quit, with guarantees, 
 
 Frae baith the Houses of his Parliament, 
 
 For safety of his person, full and sure ; 
 
 And for the six and thirty carts o' cash
 
 256 RIFT IV. 
 
 The vile Malignants ca' the price o' blood, 
 
 'Twas but arrears of our poor soldiers' pay, 
 
 — Nor yet one-fourth their due, — agreed five months 
 
 Afore or ever the King's Grace left us 
 
 At Newcastle. 
 
 Second Onlooker. 
 
 Thank God nae kindly Scot 
 Doth bear the wyte of our poor Prince's blood ! 
 Men say he made a very gracious end ? 
 
 First Onlooker. 
 
 O' that be sure ! Whate'er our Prince's faults 
 
 Ever he bore him kingly. Aye a Stuart 
 
 Kens how to die ! " Nought in their life," as hath 
 
 Good Master Shakespeare, oft "becomes them as 
 
 The leaving it." His father, honest man. 
 
 Died in his bed ; but grandly, afore him, 
 
 (For all a Papist,) did his grand-dame lay 
 
 Her head upon the block at Fotheringay. 
 
 Second Onlooker. 
 
 'Twas but the soldiers shouted, — so say they 
 That brought the news yestreen,— all other burst
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 257 
 
 Out into tears and lamentations, when 
 
 The black-masked executioner held up 
 
 The bloody head on the black scaffold 'fore 
 
 The Whitehall Banquet House ; and when they read 
 
 His deed o' accusation in the Court, 
 
 As in the name o' England's people, then 
 
 A woman's voice cried frae the galleries, 
 
 " Not the tenth part o' them ! " ('Tis said the 
 
 voice 
 Was of my Lady Fairfax.) This foul deed 
 Is not the English people's, — nor the Scots', — 
 But General Cromwell's and his Sectaries', 
 And the docked Rump of the poor Parliament 
 Beneath their Army's thumb ! 
 
 Third Onlooker. 
 
 'Tis rumoured that 
 The letter Cromwell found at the Blue Boar 
 In Holborn, (where, as private soldier, he 
 Went with a single friend,) sewn in a saddle. 
 So to be sent to the Queen's Majesty 
 In France, wherein the King bade her be easy 
 What concessions soever he might grant. 
 For when the time came right weel did he ken 
 
 R
 
 258 RIFT IV. 
 
 To treat these rogues, and for a silken garter 
 To fit them wi' a hempen halter, was 
 His undoing. 
 
 First Onlooker. 
 
 How dismal sad is this 
 Proclaiming the young King ! His father's corpse 
 Yet bloody at Whitehall ; and all hearts here 
 But yester e'en broke wi' the doleful news ! 
 The very Heralds' Trumpets seem to sound 
 Gloomy forebodings ! Our eloquent Loudon, 
 In his black velvet robes, scarce choking down 
 His tears, to find a voice to name him King ! 
 Our grim Gillespie Gromach, grimmer yet 
 Sae haggard and sae pale, belike in this 
 Sae lurid sunset's blood-red Hght forgies 
 E'en the Engagers ! Our worthy Ministers 
 In their black gowns, stand all downcast and sad ; 
 E'en the crowd's half-voiced cheers sob-stifled die ! 
 May God from our young Prince avert its omens !
 
 " FOR CHRIST S CROWN AND COVENANT. 259 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Dunifermline, August 1650. 
 
 Charles II. {alone, reading from letters and papers). 
 
 " My Lord, — I intreat you to go on vigorously 
 and with your wonted courage and care in the 
 prosecution of those trusts I have committed to 
 you, and not to be startled with any reports you 
 may hear, as if I were otherwise inclined to the 
 Presbyterians than when I left you. I assure you I 
 am upon the same principles I was, and depend as 
 much as ever upon your undertakings and en- 
 deavours for my service, being fully resolved to 
 assist and support you therein to the uttermost of 
 my power, as you shall find in effect, when you shall 
 desire anything to be done by, 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 Charles R. 
 " St Germans Se-pt. 10, 1649." 
 
 {Reading from another paper.) 
 " So they now begin with his Majesty upon the
 
 26o RIFT IV. 
 
 same scores they left with his father, declaring 
 him King with provisos ; so robbing him of all 
 right, while they would seem to give some unto 
 him." 
 
 'Twas thus I wrote to James Graham of Montrose 
 
 Not yet a year by-gone, and thus he made 
 
 His declaration of my kingly rights, 
 
 Against this vile Committee of Estates, 
 
 And snivelling Psalm - singers, their Preachers ! — 
 
 'Lack ! 
 My trusty servant and to what end brought ! 
 When that news came to Breda then I knew 
 No hope save sign their canting Covenant ! 
 Poor James ! it was a desperate emprise ! 
 But trusting aye his lying witches' word. 
 He deemed himself invincible, with his 
 Poor hundred Swedes, Germans, raw Orkney men, 
 And those wild boon-fellows Sibbald and Hay, 
 Urry and Harry Graham, reckless to share 
 With brave Montrose his fortunes or his fate ! 
 When all was lost he threw his cloak away 
 That bore the Garter's Star my father gave, 
 His sword likewise, then left his horse behind,
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 26 1 
 
 And changing clothes with bare-legged Highland 
 
 kerne, 
 Three days or four he hid among the wilds, 
 Meatless and drinkless, — but Assint sold him ! 
 'Tis said ransom he offered, — then would die 
 By their hands who had taen him, — all in vain ! 
 At Southesk's house he bade them bring his bairns, 
 Yet none saw change of face ! — Then on a day 
 Of May at four hours of the afternoon 
 The truckling Covenanting Magistrates 
 And Hangman met him at the Watergate ; 
 And bare-head fastened on a cart with cords, 
 (Hangman for Coachman, with his bonnet on, 
 And gallows livery,) drove him through the town, 
 His declaration tied about his neck. 
 Never a word he said, save he was sorry 
 That in him the King's Majesty so sore 
 Should be dishonoured ! At seven o' the clock, 
 When by the Prison gate they set him down, 
 He gave the Hangman money, saying he 
 Reckoned that cart as his triumphal car ; 
 And when the ministers would question him. 
 Refused all answers till he knew what terms 
 They stood on with the King, his royal Master !
 
 262 RIFT IV. 
 
 Poor faithful James ! prouder to have his head, 
 
 Be-combed and curled, (he told sour Warristone 
 
 While 'twas his own he would dress and adorn, 
 
 To-morrow when it should be theirs they might 
 
 Do with it as they would ! ) fixed on Tolbooth, 
 
 In witness of his loyalty to his King, 
 
 Than golden statue in the Market-place, 
 
 Or picture hung in the King's Bed-chamber ! 
 
 And so in cloak of scarlet trimmed with gold, 
 
 And locks be-combed and curled, a gallant gentleman, 
 
 He went unto his death leaving his King 
 
 Bereft ! What for it then but swallow down 
 
 Their hateful Covenant ! — Oh scrupulous 
 
 They be these snivelling hypocrites ! — Have qualms ! 
 
 Scarce Mister Livingstone was brought, it seems, 
 
 Aboard my ship at Tarhay, his mind bent 
 
 Backward to Rotterdam, saying he had 
 
 No light to go aboard seeing he feared 
 
 They took the Plague of God to Scotland ! 'Guiled 
 
 There at last of Cassilis and Hutchison ! 
 
 — At the Spey's mouth maun pause or put the Test, 
 
 Until assured anent the King's sincerity ! 
 
 The rest ower-ruled him, would the written bond ! 
 
 A Covenanted King ! Ye have it, sirs !
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 263 
 
 Rest ye content ! What, doubtful yet ? Would have 
 
 Further a Declaration I lament 
 
 My father's opposition, and renounce 
 
 Baith Popery and Prelacy ? How doth 
 
 It run ? 
 
 [^Taking up a paper and reading from it. 
 
 " No enemies will I have save 
 Enemies of the Covenant, no friends 
 Save of the Covenant friends ! " Oh rest content ! 
 Your Camel swallowed, Charles scarce strains at 
 
 gnats ! 
 Here comes Mister Gillespie, pen in hand ! 
 
 [Enter Mr Patrick Gillespie and 
 other leaders of the Covenanters. 
 Welcome good Mister Patrick, and ye all 
 My Ministers, faithful and vigilant 
 Upholders of the Covenant ! Ye come 
 W^ith your ain een to see, with his ain hand 
 Your King subscribe your Declaration ? 
 
 Mr Patrick Gillespie. 
 
 My Liege, it is our mission, yet if sae be 
 That in your soul and conscience ye be not 
 Beyond all hesitation satisfied
 
 264 RIFT IV. 
 
 Of the subscription's righteousness, sae far 
 From over-driving of your Majesty 
 In this, I do obtest and charge you, in 
 My Master's name, not to subscribe, no not 
 For the three Kingdoms ! 
 
 Charles II. 
 
 Mister Gillespie, Mister Gillespie 
 Satisfied I am, therefore will subscribe. 
 
 [Mr Gillespie /Z//J the pen in the King's 
 hand, who subscribes the Declaration.
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Covenanting Family in hiding towards the close of 
 "the Killing Time."
 
 i
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Covenanter' s family in hiding itt a cave on the Solway 
 shore, i?i the wilds of Galloway. 
 
 Father, Mother, Boy, Girl, a?id Baby 
 at the breast. 
 
 Boy. 
 
 MiTHER, its awfu' dark in here and cauld, 
 And see the water draps doun ower the moss 
 And wee ferns in the roof ! I'm feart at nichts 
 To hear the howlets hoot, and the big waves 
 Roaring amang the rocks ! And ye've nae bed 
 For our wee Meg but the green brackens me 
 And Jean pu' in the Laird's woods ; can we no 
 Gang hame, and pit her in her wooden crib
 
 268 RIFT IV. 
 
 Aside the peat fire, syne she'll sleep and no 
 Greet a' the nicht, and keep ye dawting^ her? 
 
 Girl. 
 Hoots, Will ! div ye no ken we daurna bide 
 At hame in our ain wee theeked cottage on 
 The Merse, for Lag or Clavers' troopers wad 
 Shoot's a' in our beds? 
 
 Boy. 
 
 What wad thay shoot's for ? 
 We've done nae ill. 
 
 Girl. 
 
 Laddie, div ye no ken 
 Faither and Mither be Conventiclers 
 And gang to hear the outed ministers 
 Preach on the moss : sae ae day Lag's men cam 
 And thirled up our thack,^ and pit their swords 
 Through Mither's feather-bed, seeking for them 
 To shoot : but being His folk, Jesus took 
 Tent to them,3 Mither says, for Faither was 
 Frae hame, (sae kind He was,) and Mither hid 
 Wi' wee Meg in our Brownie's byre aneath 
 
 1 Petting. - Turned up our thatch. ' Care of them.
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 269 
 
 The strae, and we were at the schule, sae Lag 
 Gaed by for that time ; but we daurna bide 
 For him or Clavers coming back again. 
 
 Boy. 
 
 But wad they shoot us, Faither, gif they cam ? 
 
 Father. 
 
 Ay, lad, that wad they ! Mony a better man 
 And woman too they've shot upon the moss. 
 And mony an ane forbye, in Edinburgh's 
 Grassmarket's sealed their testimony wi' 
 Their blood. Gudewife, ye've store o' ballants cofft ^ 
 Frae the auld blind Covenanting Chapman,^ 
 Let's while awa' the darkening wi' grand words 
 O' them that's gane afore, and kept the faith. 
 And learn the bairns hoo God's ain folk can dee. 
 
 Mother. 
 
 Whilk ballant, Faither, will ye hae ?— Davie 
 Had store o' them : there's mony a bonny tale 
 O' men and women, aye and wee weans too 
 For Christ His Crown and Covenant that chose 
 1 Bought. ^ Pedlar.
 
 270 RIFT IV. 
 
 Suffering not sinning, thae bad " killing times " ; 
 And a' that Davie brocht, I hae by heart. 
 
 Father. 
 
 Gie us the Last Days o' the great Argyle. 
 
 Hist ! bairns, and hear your Mither, and talc tent^ 
 
 Hoo for Christ's Crown and Covenant men can die. 
 
 Mother {reciting). 
 
 Drunk Middleton sits in the Parliament Ha', 
 
 Wi' him his rabble crew, 
 The King's Grace' Advocate and a', 
 
 Yet is their muster few. 
 
 Afore them stands the great Argyle, 
 
 Frae London-Tower brocht by the Sea, 
 
 Whar o' his King he was taen by guile, 
 When he gaed to swear fealty. 
 
 " Not noo, 'tis Archibald, wi' ye 
 
 As when 'twixt Cross and Tron 
 Ye set the flesh-stocks up," quoth he, 
 
 Sir John Fletcher,- wi' scorn : 
 ^ Take note. ^ Pronounced Flasher
 
 FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 2/1 
 
 Gillespie Gromach turns his ee, 
 
 That baith ways looks, on him ; 
 " A Flasher dog bites sair," quo he, 
 
 Gillespie Gromach grim ! 
 
 Not great Argyle it is, I grant, 
 
 That day on trial doth stand, 
 But for Christ's Crown and Covenant 
 
 Our Covenanted Land ! 
 
 Wi' the King's murder-crime they press, 
 
 And charges thirty mair, 
 Yet bode ilk ane disproved, confess, 
 
 Sae white the bill he bare ! 
 
 Till at lang last a knocking rude 
 
 Comes at the chamber door; 
 Then joyful lauch the hellish brood, 
 
 Good angels weep fu' sore ! 
 
 Frae traitor Monk a Campbell brings 
 
 Auld letters o' Argyle ; 
 His doom they seal — though a' the King's 
 
 Men there writ like the while.
 
 272 RIFT IV. 
 
 When ilka true Scot yet was fain 
 To bow at Cromwell's feet : — 
 
 Fause Middleton doth speak his bane, 
 Trumpet and drum they beat. 
 
 When stopt their din : " I set the Crown 
 On the King's head, now he 
 
 Hastes me to better than his own," 
 Quoth Argyle quietly. 
 
 "The indemnity o' earthly King 
 Frae your hands do I miss, 
 
 Yet His ye canna frae me wring. 
 The King o' Kings who is." 
 
 They bring him to the auld Tolbooth, 
 
 His ladye waiting there ; 
 A woefu' dame is she, in sooth. 
 
 When he comes up the stair. 
 
 " Till Monday they hae gien to me 
 My Heart, wi' ye," he said ; 
 
 The waters burst out frae her ee 
 As stream frae fountain-head.
 
 FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 2/3 
 
 "The Lord will it require ! " she cries, 
 
 " The Lord will it require ! " 
 Then throws her in his arms and lies 
 
 A thing o' woe and ire. 
 
 " Forbear ! Forbear ! I pity them, 
 
 They know not what they do ! 
 What walls soe'er they please may hem, 
 
 Shut God not out I trow ! 
 
 Yea, am I as content this hour, 
 
 As in the Castle, here. 
 In Castle as content as Tower, 
 
 In Tower as any where. 
 
 And on the scaffold still hope I 
 
 There as content to be 
 As any o' them a' : then why. 
 
 Dear Heart, greet sae for me ? 
 
 Yea, shortly ye shall envy me 
 
 That am got on before ; 
 My skill doth fail, if, brethren, ye 
 
 Sin not or suffer sore, 
 s
 
 274 RIFT IV. 
 
 Aye was I of a fearfu' mood, 
 A man o' thought, not sword, 
 
 Yet now a' fear my Lord sae good 
 Hath taken frae His coward. 
 
 I thought to have concealed His grace. 
 
 But that I canna noo." 
 He turns, the tears adown his face 
 
 Coursing, the window to, 
 
 Syne coming back, " I think," saith he, 
 " His kindness owercomes me ! 
 
 Not all He lets out, lest I be 
 Owerwhelmed, sae good is He ! 
 
 Get me my cloak and let us go ; 
 
 As Roman could I die, 
 Yet rather as a Christian so 
 
 Choose I right willingly. 
 
 Come away, gentlemen, he goes 
 CleanUest wlio goes first." 
 
 Sae down the Tolbooth stairs wi' those 
 Toward the place accurst.
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 275 
 
 James Guthrie at the Tolbooth door 
 
 Stands for a last adieu : 
 " My Lord, God hath been with ye, more, 
 
 Is with ye, shall be too ; 
 
 Were I not too in Death's sentence, 
 
 Glad wad I die for you." 
 Sae part, wha met first Friday thence 
 
 In Better Place I trow ! 
 
 With hat and cloak on, down the street 
 
 And mounts the scaffold then, 
 As to a Father's House 'tis meet 
 
 Glad a son turns again. 
 
 He justifies 'fore a' folk there 
 
 His loyalty to his king, 
 And warns them o' dilemma sair 
 
 'Twixt sin and suff'ering. 
 
 Then cheerful to the Headsman gies 
 
 Some tocher in a cloth, 
 Ker, Caithness, Loudon, Lothian, these, 
 
 Mementoes, naething loath.
 
 2/6 RIFT IV. 
 
 Syne as he steps the Maiden to, 
 
 Hutchison in his ear, 
 " My Lord, haud your grip sicker noo ! " 
 
 " Nay, I fear not to fear." 
 
 A while he prays, syne wi' his hand 
 
 Beckons the Maiden's kiss, 
 That widowed leaves our poor Scots' Land 
 
 And weds his sawl to Bliss." 
 
 Father. 
 
 Weel Davie's ballant tells hoo great Argyle 
 Grandly his testimony wi' his blood 
 Hath sealed : noo let us hear hoo simple folk 
 Like us, gudewife, have kent for Christ to die 
 Gie us the Carrier's Ballant o' Priestside. 
 
 Mother {reciting). 
 
 They shot him at his cottage door. 
 And his wife was standing near, 
 
 But never a word o' grief said she. 
 Nor dimmed her ee a tear.
 
 FOR CHRIST S CROWN AND COVENANT." 2/7 
 
 They tied his hands ahint his back, 
 
 An' bound his bonny een ; 
 But her face was white, and still, and cauld 
 
 As a dead face it had been. 
 
 She held his wee lass by the hand. 
 Their babe wrapped in her plaid, 
 
 And closer yet the bairn unborn, 
 Ne'er wad mak' faither glad. 
 
 "This is the day I tellt ye o', 
 
 Isabel, or we wed ; 
 Art willing, wife, I part frae thee 
 
 For Christ's dear sake ? " he said. 
 
 "Lang syne I wove thy winding-sheet, 
 
 As for a marriage-bed, 
 At blessed Mister Peden's word. 
 
 The nicht that we were wed ; 
 
 Heartily willing, John." "'Tis all 
 
 I waited for," said he 
 " ' Oh death, where is thy sting ? Oh grave, 
 
 Where is thy victory ? ' "
 
 2/8 RIFT IV. 
 
 Dragoons six, Clavers bade them fire, 
 
 But motionless stood they ; 
 He snatched his pistol frae his belt, 
 
 Wi' his ain hand did slay. 
 
 "An' what think ye o' your gudeman noo, 
 Gudewife ? " quoth Clavers rude ; — 
 
 A flash cam' i' the tearless ee. 
 To the white cheek the blude. 
 
 » She walked wi' steady step an' prood, 
 
 To whar her gudeman lay, 
 She laid on her lap the shattered head, 
 An' she wiped the blude away. 
 
 "Aye thocht I muckle o' my gudeman, 
 
 An' far mair think I noo ; 
 He's died for the Lord that died for him ; 
 
 God forgie them that slew ! " 
 
 " 'Twere nocht but richt," quoth Clavers cruel, 
 
 " Gin ye lay by his side ; " 
 "Ay, wark your will," she answered him, 
 
 " Was never gladder bride ! "
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 279 
 
 She sat there still as the gloamin' fell, 
 
 An' they turned and rode away ; 
 Still when the heath grew dusk in nicht 
 
 On her knees the dead head lay : 
 
 But when the first star glimmered out 
 
 I' the welkin quiet an' blue, 
 Ae lang look took she o' the een 
 
 She lo'ed, sae sichtless noo ; 
 
 An' syne she shut the eyelids white, 
 
 An' kamed the clotted hair, 
 An' rowed him in his shepherd's plaid 
 
 Wi's life-blude reddened sair ; 
 
 She laid him on the purple heath. 
 
 Gently as babe that slept ; 
 Nae word said she till a' was done, — 
 
 Syne sat her down an' wept ! " 
 
 Father. 
 
 Ay, wife, the wife's weird was the sairest there ; 
 Gude soldiers aye the women-folk o' Christ ! 
 Let's hear noo Davie's Ballant o' the twa
 
 280 RIFT IV. 
 
 Margarets we kent oursels, in Wigton Bay 
 Wha drank o' Solway's flood for Christ His sake. 
 
 Mother (reciting). 
 
 " A bonny May day on the Solway's shore, 
 
 An' twa stakes fixed i' the sea ; 
 The tide, the merry west win' afore, 
 
 Comes galloping up wi' glee. 
 
 " But what is yon by the far out stake, 
 
 Glints white i' the sun this day ? 
 Is't a bonny grilse caught for the fishers to take. 
 
 Or a sea-gull that wings ower the Bay ? " 
 
 " Na, kimmer, na, yon's nae silver fish, 
 
 Nor yet is't a white sea-maw. 
 But an auld woman's siller-grey head I wis, 
 
 Whar the westerin' win' doth blaw ! " 
 
 *' An' what is yon flutters nearer by, 
 
 Frae yon ither stake i' the Bay ? 
 Is't streamers o' gowden silk that fly. 
 
 Or yellow sea- weed gay ? "
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 28 1 
 
 " Na, kimmer, na, yon's nae streamer o' silk, 
 
 Nor tresses o' sea-weed fair, 
 But a braw captured flag, o' Grierson o' Lag, 
 
 Margaret Wilson's shinin' hair ! " 
 
 Oh the merry west win' it lauchs for glee 
 
 As it chases the dancin' tide. 
 An' the ghnt o' the sun is on the sea, 
 
 Christ's Chariot that's come for His Bride ! 
 
 It has wet the auld woman's fit, — her knee, 
 
 — It creeps her waist a' round. 
 Oh God ! her mouth it's aneath the sea ! 
 
 Hark to the gurglin' sound ! 
 
 " Marget Wilson," they cry, " Look, what there ye see ! 
 
 At ye're ain knee the creepin' tide ! " 
 "What see I but Christ wrestlin' there," quoth she, 
 
 " At ane o' His members' side ? " 
 
 " The tide it creeps up, as ye may see ! 
 
 Oh Marget say ' God save the King ' ! 
 Whar Marget M'Lauchlan her weird did dree 
 
 Nae mair ye see ony thing
 
 282 RIFT IV. 
 
 But a glint o' sunlicht on the sea 
 
 Left by the Chariot wheel — " 
 " God save him, gif He will," quoth she, 
 
 " His safety wish I weel." 
 
 They hae taen her frae the dancin' tide, 
 
 Half dead drew to the shore, 
 " She's said it. Sir ! she's said it ! " cried ; 
 
 Quoth Lag, that villain hoar — 
 
 " Damned bitch, what sic prayers want we o' ? 
 
 Tender the oath ! " Then she, 
 " Christ's child am I, sae let me go," 
 
 — And drowned was in the sea. 
 
 Father. 
 
 Noo gie's the battle-ballant o' Drumclog ; 
 
 An' tell the bairns hoo whiles Christ's folk can fecht. 
 
 Mother {reciting). 
 
 Oh, Harlaw Height saw a bonny bonny sight, 
 
 In the merry merry month o' June, 
 For mony a worthy wight was at Harlaw Height,
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 283 
 
 Lang afore the set o' the moon ! the moon ! 
 Lang afore the set o' the moon ! 
 
 Oh prood was their Bond, gin it wasna beyond 
 
 Their skill to mak folk o't tak tent ! 
 Though Lauderdale sware, wi' his elbows a' bare, 
 By Jehovah ! wha didna 'd repent, repent. 
 
 By Jehovah ! wha didna 'd repent ! 
 
 Heritors ^ as I ween, when folk preach on the green, 
 
 Bode wife, bairns, servants a' keep, 
 At hame to be seen, their ain four wa's atween ! 
 My certes, they tak us for sheep, for sheep. 
 
 My certes, they tak us for sheep ! 
 
 Syne the wild Hielan' Host upon Glasgow's coast 
 
 They sent down to ravage an' rive. 
 Till the lads o' the College left gettin' o' knowledge, 
 At the Brig-end to harry that hive, that hive. 
 
 At the Brig-end to harry that hive ! 
 
 Or they gat them back hame, wi' our honey in kame ! 
 — And syne cam that sinfullest " Cess," 
 
 ^ Landed proprietors.
 
 284 RIFT IV. 
 
 Their tax as they name, — a sin an' a shame, — 
 Feeding sodgers oursels to oppress, oppress, 
 Feeding sodgers oursels to oppress ! 
 
 Sae Harlaw Height saw a bonny bonny sight. 
 
 In the merry merry month o' June ! 
 Sir Robert ^ he has come, wi' sword, pike an' drum 
 To the preachin' or set o' the moon, the moon, 
 
 To the preachin' or set o' the moon ! 
 
 An' mony mony mair, a' Avondale is there, 
 On the yellow broomy knowe that morn, 
 Wives an' bairnies a wheen, an' the tartans atween, 
 Aye a glint o' the steel pike an' horn ! an' horn ! 
 Aye a glint o' the steel pike an' horn ! 
 
 Hist ! a shot frae the hill ! Maister Douglas Stan's still. 
 
 His Bible in's han' for his text, 
 " Ye hae gotten the theory," quick doth he say, 
 " Noo gie us the practice next, next, 
 
 Noo gie us the practice next ! " 
 
 ^ Sir Robert Hamilton.
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 285 
 
 For there right across the Drumclog Moss 
 
 Stands Clavers wi' his men a' ! 
 Oh stern stern they gather, amang the heather 
 Our armed men a' in a raw, a raw, 
 
 Our armed men a' in a raw ! 
 
 Adoun the brow they are marching now, 
 
 They are singing a' thegither. 
 An' Loudon looks doun frae his rocky croun, 
 To hear that sang frae the heather, heather. 
 
 To hear that sang frae the heather. 
 
 " In Judah's land God is well known. 
 His name in Israel's great ; 
 In Salem is His Tabernacle, 
 In Sion is His seat. 
 
 Their arrows of the bow He brake, 
 The shield, the sword, the war. 
 
 More glorious Thou than hills of prey, 
 More excellent art far." 
 
 Syne slap across the Drumclog Moss 
 An' at them, ane an' a' !
 
 286 RIFT IV. 
 
 Rins mony a bride, at her gudeman's side 
 To kep him 'gin he fa', he fa' ! 
 To kep him 'gin he fa' ! 
 
 Clavers' dragoons, fause thieves an' loons, 
 
 Wavered, syne brake, syne fled, 
 His ain gude horse fell doun a corse 
 Fu' a mile ayont his dead, his dead, 
 
 Fu' a mile ayont his dead ! 
 
 And six we laid, ilk in his plaid, 
 
 'Neath Drumclog's Moss in the Glen, 
 But hoo daur we greet for them, as 'twas meet, 
 For their King that died like men, like men. 
 For their King that died like men ? 
 
 Boy. 
 
 I wish we had been there, Faither, to see 
 Clavers an' a' his men runnin' awa ! 
 I'd hae rin after them ! I'm nane frichtet 
 For sodgers ! — it's the howlets an' the sea 
 Soughin' o' nichts. —
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 287 
 
 Father. 
 
 Ay, Willie, but the howlets an' the sea 
 
 Soughin' o' nichts ye're weird ; the wee bit Cross 
 
 The King gies His wee lad to thole as His 
 
 Wee sodger ! Will maun be a man an' mind 
 
 That, when the nicht comes an' the howlets hoot. 
 
 An' his heart loups ! God's arms are aye about 
 
 His folk, my bairn, here in this Solway cave. 
 
 As in our ain theeked cottage on the Merse ; 
 
 An' though at whiles 'tis by a bloody yett ^ 
 
 Or fiery chariot that He taks them Hame, 
 
 Yet aye, couthie ^ an' safe He wraps them in His 
 
 plaidie. 
 Gie's Prophet Peden in the Moss, gudewife, 
 That fand the black mist lappet o' God's cloak. 
 
 Mother {reciting). 
 
 " Here let us pray," quoth Peden, and stood still 
 
 On the black moss ; 
 (Atween them and their foes a wee bit hill 
 
 Was a' to cross :) 
 
 1 Gate. 2 Snug.
 
 288 RIFT IV. 
 
 " If that the Lord hear not our prayers, this hour 
 
 Dead men we be ; 
 Oh God ! not idle this their day and power 
 
 Thy foes can be : 
 
 But hast nae ither wark for them but send 
 
 After us here ? 
 Send them whar Thou the strength to flee dost lend, 
 
 Worn we an' sere 
 
 Wi' strength a' gane. Twine them about the hill, 
 
 Cast Thy coat's lap 
 Ower puir auld Sandy, Lord ! this ance frae ill 
 
 Let it us hap." 
 
 — God's coat-lap was the mist that day that ower 
 
 The moss did fa', 
 Till word cam' to their foes elsewhere to scour, 
 
 An' saved them a' ! 
 
 Boy. 
 
 Let's pray to God, then, Faither, an' He'll send 
 Clavers awa, an' let us hame to milk 
 Auld Brownie in the byre, an' hear Rodger
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 289 
 
 Bark on the hill, an' puss purr at the fire, 
 An' nae mair howlets or the soughin' sea ! 
 
 Father. 
 
 Ay, pray, my bairn ! an' Hame in His gude time 
 Surely ye'll win, though maybe Hame may be, 
 Instead o' our wee cot upon the Merse, 
 Ane o' the mony Mansions He has gane 
 To get us ready by the Tree o' Life.
 
 ACT V. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONJE. 
 
 Richard Cameron. 
 
 Michael Cameron. 
 
 Three Onlookers at Proclamation of Sanquhar Declaration. 
 
 Turnkey of Edinburgh Tolbooth. 
 
 Stranger.
 
 / ■ 
 
 a
 
 ACT V. 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Sanquhar^ June 22, 1680. 
 
 Richard and Michael Cameron riding tip the 
 main street with a troop of twenty horsemen, 
 the Ca7nerons dismount at the Market Cross, 
 the rest of the horsemen for7?iing a ring about them 
 and the inhabitants flocking round. 
 
 Richard Cameron gives out a Psalm, which is su7ig, 
 then offers a Prayer. 
 
 Michael Cameron {readitig from a paper^. 
 
 " We do, by these presents, disown Charles Stuart, 
 that has been reigning, or rather tyrannising, on the 
 Throne of Britain these years bygane, as having any 
 right, title to or interest in the Crown of Scotland,
 
 y 
 
 294 RIFT IV. 
 
 for Government, — as forfeited several years since, 
 by his perjury and breach of covenant both to God 
 and His Kirk, and by his tyranny, and breach of 
 the very leges regnandi, (the very essential conditions 
 of government,) in matters civil. — We do declare a 
 war with such a tyrant and usurper, and all the men 
 of his practices." 
 
 [After another prayer from Richard Cameron, 
 they remount^ and with the other horsemen 
 ride silently and sterttly away. 
 
 First Onlooker. 
 
 Heard ever aught like that ? Certes, it is 
 
 Beginning o' the end ! Oh, not for aye 
 
 The blood o' God's saints 'neath His altar cries 
 
 " How long O Lord ? " in vain ! The Bloody House 
 
 Hath its doom spoke this day, nothing I doubt ! 
 
 Second Onlooker. 
 
 Ay, 'tis a bloody House. The Duke o' York 
 Was wroth with Monmouth for the prisoners spared, 
 Men say, at Bothwell Brig : the King himsel' 
 Said laughing, " Nae sic trouble had there been
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 295 
 
 Anent the prisoners gin I had been there ! " 
 To whilk, Monmouth replied, " Your Majesty 
 Then should have sent a butcher and not me." 
 
 Third Onlooker. 
 
 Better 't had been for mony an ane, poor souls, 
 Gin slain at Bothwell ! Greyfriars Kirkyard, 
 Wi' fifteen hundred mair, in sun and shower 
 Five months on the bare ground ; or stowed away 
 Doun under deck wi' hatches locked and chained, 
 Meatless and drinkless, till the ship gaed doun 
 In the North Seas, (though kinder yet mayhap 
 Than slavery in the Plantations where 
 'Twas bound,) were waur deathbeds nor Bothwell 
 Brig! 
 
 First Onlooker. 
 
 Men say auld Donald Cargill 'twas prepared 
 First rough draft of their Proclamation here. 
 In manner of a Covenant, that ends 
 
 " We do bind and oblige ourselves to defend each 
 other and ourselves in worshipping of God, and 
 in our natural rights and liberties, divine and civil, 
 till we shall overcome, or send them down under 
 
 I
 
 296 RIFT IV. 
 
 debate to our posterity, that where we end they may 
 begin." 
 
 Second Onlooker. 
 
 Bold men they be thae Camerons ! Sae, here 
 In full light o' the day, at Market Cross, 
 To read their Proclamation ! 
 
 Third Onlooker. 
 
 Ay, nothing 
 Doth Ritchie in a corner ! Heard ye tell 
 O's sermon when he cam frae Holland back. 
 Wherein he said, " The maist part o' the Land 
 Cry out, ' Nae other King but Caesar ! Nae 
 Other King but Charles ! ' but we maun cry 
 ' Nae other King will we but Christ.' Say ye, 
 ' Are ye against Monarchic Government ? ' 
 Not much are we taen up with that : if God 
 Let pure Government be established, that 
 Is best : but if ye would have God for you 
 Ye must cut off this King, these Magistrates. 
 If ever ye in Scotland see good days 
 Without disowning of the present King 
 Never believe me more ! I know not gif 
 This generation will be honoured to
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 297 
 
 Cast off these rulers, but whom the Lord 
 Makes instruments to bring back Christ and all 
 Our liberties, shall sic be as disown 
 This King and all his Magistrates. Let them 
 Take heed, though they to scaffolds take us, or 
 Do kill us in the fields, the Lord will raise 
 Avengers on them ! Rather had we die 
 Than live in the same country with them ; here 
 Outlive God's glory quite departing hence." 
 
 Second Onlooker. 
 
 The promise Ritchie gave the ministers. 
 Against the Indulgence not to preach, doth lie 
 Heavy upon his heart. He lodgeth wi' 
 Ane I weel ken, she saith his chamber-door 
 All day he keepeth shut, and when she speired 
 Wherefore sae sad, — for cause of that promise. 
 He said, he kent his carcass should be dung 
 Or lang upon the wilderness. 
 
 First Onlooker. 
 
 Maist like 
 It will ! Mony a precious carcass doth 
 Enrich these days our wildernesses. Sure
 
 298 RIFT IV. 
 
 A bonny hairst ^ Scotland should hae or lang ! 
 
 That sermon heard I not, yet ane he preached 
 
 By Crawfordjohn, upon that Word " Ye will 
 
 Not come unto me that ye may have life," 
 
 I'll mind unto my dying day ! — quoth he, 
 
 " My Master hath been crying unto you 
 
 In Muirkirk, Crawfordjohn and Douglas, What 
 
 Say ye ? Shall I away and tell my Master 
 
 That ye will not come ? " Then looking round him 
 
 On the great wild moor outstretching to the sky. 
 
 And to the watchers watching on the heights. 
 
 And the big hills beyond^ — " I instruments 
 
 Do take before these hills and mountains round. 
 
 That this day I have offered Him to you ; 
 
 Look over to the Shaw-head and those hills, 
 
 Witnesses all they are now. Look at them ! 
 
 When ye are dying they shall come before 
 
 Your face." — Syne fell baith he and a' the folk 
 
 In a calm weeping : ne'er shall I forget. 
 
 Third Onlooker. 
 A right true soldier Richard Cameron is 
 
 ^ Harvest.
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 299 
 
 O' his King Christ ! His Sanquhar Declaration 
 Will shake or lang King Charles' Throne, I trow ! 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Edinburgh Tolbooth, February 18, 1688. 
 
 Stranger returning from the Execution of Jatnes 
 Renwick. A Turnkey of the Tolbooth. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 " A pity 'tis he held such principles ; 
 He was a pretty lad," the Bishop said, 
 And ne'er I saw a prettier ! 
 
 Turnkey. 
 
 Ay, Sir 
 Made he a happy end ? 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Most happy, as
 
 300 RIFT IV. 
 
 It seemed. The drums beat while he spake, yet once 
 In a short pause, Uke sudden gush of song 
 When a lark soars to heaven, all heard the words 
 In tones most clear and sweet, " Soon shall I be 
 Above these clouds, soon shall I be above 
 These clouds ! To glorify Thee, O my Father ! 
 And enjoy Thee endlessly for evermore." 
 — They were his last or the axe fell. 
 
 Turnkey. 
 
 Ay, Sir, 
 And his last written here in the Tolbooth, 
 " I go to your God and to my God. Death 
 To me is as a bed to the weary." 
 And he but six-and-twenty to his years ! 
 Surely, Sir, bloodily these bloody days 
 Stand to be answered for? 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 How long hast held 
 Thy post here in the Tolbooth ? 
 
 Turnkey. 
 
 Ten bad years
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 3OI 
 
 Come July next, I've done mine office, Sir, 
 
 — A wife I hae and bairns ; — but he's the last, 
 
 — Sweet Mister Renwick — that I'll turn key on ! 
 
 Though maybe nane the waur they've fared, that auld 
 
 John shut them in ! The drap o' ink and scrap 
 
 O' paper to bid freens guid bye, that whiles 
 
 He gied's nae matter to the Council, Sir, 
 
 (Sic as it is,) I'm thinking, and maybe 
 
 'Twill stand auld John in stead wi' the ither Judge, 
 
 Wha kens ? — but nae mair turning o' their keys 
 
 On folk a hantle better nor himsel' 
 
 For him ! He's sick o't, frae first nicht he cam, 
 
 And Ritchie's bloody head had for first arles.^ 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 A sight o' things ye maun hae seen, good John, 
 In this auld grim Tolbooth. Wha's bloody head 
 Was it ye had for arles ? Let's hear the tale. 
 
 Turnkey. 
 Wha's wast, Sir ? Wha's but Ritchie Cameron's ? 
 Ye'U mind Bruce caught them, resting on a knowe, 
 Some sixty o' them, at Ayr's moss : Ritchie 
 1 Promise-money.
 
 302 RIFT IV. 
 
 Himsel', and Michael Cameron, Hackston 
 O' Rathillet, the lad James Grey, and mair ; 
 Escape they couldna, sae they bode to fecht. 
 First, three times, as they tell, did Ritchie pray, 
 " Lord spare the green, and take the ripe." Syne 
 
 said 
 To Michael, " Noo lets fecht it to the last ; 
 This day, I've longed for it, and prayed for it. 
 The day 'tis for the Crown ! Fecht weel, for all 
 O' you who fall, open I see Heaven's gates." 
 And sae fell Ritchie fighting wi' the best ! 
 Then Murray cuttet aff his head and hands 
 And brought them here, his headless body left 
 In the Ayr's moss. His auld faither we had 
 Here in the Tolbooth, — 'twas first nicht I cam, 
 A younker yet, as Turnkey. Weel I mind 
 How the cruel beasts brought him the bloody head 
 And hands, and speired at him, did he ken them. 
 I mind the auld man wi' his trembUng hands 
 Lifted and kissed them ower and ower, the tears 
 Frae his auld een washing the blood, and said 
 " I know, I know them for my ain dear son's ! 
 It is the Lord ! Good is His will ! Wrong me 
 Nor mine He canna. He has made goodness
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 303 
 
 And mercy a' our days to follow us." 
 
 Ay, Sir, I loathed the Tolbooth frae that hour ! 
 
 Stranger. 
 What did they after with the head and hands ? 
 
 Turnkey. 
 
 Murray bode show them to the Council, Sir ; 
 Ane there tellt me, he said, " There are the Head 
 And hands o' a man who lived praying and preaching, 
 And died praying and fighting." 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Other strange things ye bode to see, these ten 
 Years by-gane here in the Tolbooth ? 
 
 Turnkey. 
 
 Ay, Sir, 
 A hantle.^ Here I was that July day, 
 Young Mister Renwick ye saw die this day, 
 In the Grassmarket stood himsel' aside 
 Auld Donald Cargill's scaffold, (him that drew 
 First up the Sanquhar Declaration, as 
 
 ^ Many.
 
 304 RIFT IV. 
 
 They tell,) and heard him as he put first foot 
 
 Upon the ladder say " The Lord knows I 
 
 Go on this ladder with less fear than e'er 
 
 I mounted pulpit with. Now am I near 
 
 The getting of the Crown." — Men say 'twas there 
 
 The laddie vowed the life to Christ he's gien 
 
 This day. — Turnkey here was I too that nicht, 
 
 Hauding the Lady Sophy Lindsay's train 
 
 In his ain lacquey's livery claithes, Argyle 
 
 Wan through the Castle guard, (hearing next day 
 
 He bode to ludge wi' us in the Tolbooth,) 
 
 And 'scaped them a'. The sentry tellt mysel' 
 
 Hoo Argyle drapped her gown-tail on the ground 
 
 Just at the Castle yett, and hoo she threw 
 
 Its draggled tail into his face smearin' 
 
 It sae wi' mud that nane could ken, and ca'd 
 
 Him " Careless loon," and sae wan they safe through ! 
 
 And Turnkey was I when (four years gane by,) 
 
 They had him in the Castle at the end. 
 
 And heard him say the morning o' his death 
 
 More joy he had and comfort in that day 
 
 Than the day after he 'scaped frae the Castle. 
 
 I was wi' him that oped his chamber door, 
 
 (He taking aye a short nap after meals,)
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 305 
 
 And let the Council's messenger see him 
 After his dinner sleeping his last sleep 
 Pleasantly as a child, an hour but frae 
 The Block ! 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Saw ye Peden the Prophet, or 
 He died ? 
 
 Turnkey. 
 
 Na, Sandy jouket the Tolbooth ! 
 Fain had they had him here, but at the last, 
 (As on the Wigton Moor afore,) " God cast 
 The lap o' His coat ower him," let him ken 
 (By inner licht o' warning in his sawl,) 
 His cave discovered, sae caused him to pass 
 Unto his brother's house, there gart his foes, 
 Seeking him, pass the place he lay ; after, 
 In eight-and-forty hours, as he had said. 
 But ^ ony enemy he was at rest ! 
 Lang " O to be wi' Ritchie in Ayr's moss " 
 Was aye his cry — " to rest me in the grave. 
 For sma' regt hae I had in a' my life." 
 Yet aye he said, " Bury me where ye will 
 ^ Without. 
 U
 
 306 ' RIFT IV. 
 
 My body shall be lift again," as cam 
 
 To pass ; for frae the Laird o' Auchenleck's 
 
 Ain isle dragged they his rotting banes, and burst 
 
 His coffin and tare aff his shroud. They say 
 
 That saw, that though nae breath o' air had stirred 
 
 That day, like sudden whirlwind there cam 
 
 A blast and caught his shroud and twist it round 
 
 A great limb o' a plane-tree whilk forthwith 
 
 Withered, and stands, a black and shrivelled arm 
 
 Uplift to Heaven there this day ! — Upon 
 
 The Gallows Hill aboon Cumnock they hung 
 
 Him dead : and after, like a felon laid 
 
 Aneath the Gallows Tree, as he had said, 
 
 " Wi' place where I shall be buried at last 
 
 Ye all shall be displeased, yet I charge ye 
 
 Lift not my banes again." Sae there he lies. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Men say he prophesied afore he died 
 Anent our poor Kirk >here in Scotland ? 
 
 Turnkey. 
 
 Ay, 
 " Dark days," quoth he, " sail be, sic as our Kirk
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 307 
 
 Ne'er saw the like, nor (ance weel ower) sail see," 
 And faith his words cam true ! Twenty-eight years 
 O' Hangman's gallows and o' bloody block ! 
 Three hundred sixty-twa James Renwick maks 
 Murdered wi' form o' law ; nigh five hundred 
 In cauld blood slain without ; men do count. Sir, 
 Wi' them in battle fallen — them as slaves 
 Sent to Plantations far away, or drowned 
 In voyage there in the stormy seas ; banished 
 To the wild islands o' the North ; or shut 
 Up in our Tolbooth here or otherwhere ; 
 Them that died perished o' cauld and hunger 
 On mountains or on moors ; in our poor realm 
 O' Scotland, eighteen thousand folk have tholed ^ 
 Or died for Christ His Crown and Covenant ! 
 Dark days i' faith, as Sandy prophesied ! 
 God grant his ither words come true as weel ! 
 
 Stranger. 
 What were his other words ? 
 
 Turnkey. 
 "Yet John," he said, (to John Clark o' Muirbrook 
 
 ^ Suffered.
 
 308 RIFT IV. 
 
 It was he spake,) " Frae her grave shall the Kirk arise, 
 
 And at crack o' her winding-sheet, wi' fear 
 
 Shall sic as had hand in her burial 
 
 Be fair distraught ; then shall there be brave days 
 
 For our poor Kirk in Scotland, she shall come 
 
 Forth wi' a bonny bairn-time at her back. 
 
 I shall not live to see these days, but ye may, John." 
 
 Stranger. 
 God grant they come ! 
 
 Turnkey. 
 
 Amen, Sir, and Amen !
 
 " FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 309 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 In front of the Edinburgh Tolbooth. 
 
 The same Stranger meeting the satne Turnkey, 
 December 1688. 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Good morrow mine auld friend ! Other days now 
 Frae when I saw ye last ! Ye've tint your keys ! 
 A fine flight o' your jail-birds I hae met 
 Down yonder in the Canongate ! like swallows 
 When gean-trees redden, gathered on rails 
 For flight ! What do ye wi' the ladders here 
 Speeling ^ the Auld Tolbooth ? 
 
 Turnkey. 
 
 Ay, surely Sir, 
 Thank God they're tint, thae bloody-rusted keys ! 
 Fu' glad the Bishops and the Council be 
 To set the jail-birds loose that Clavers caught, 
 
 ^ Climbing.
 
 3IO RIFT IV. 
 
 An' see their backs afore they tell ill tales 
 
 Noo that the Papist King has won safe ower 
 
 The water ; (stealing doun his secret stairs 
 
 At Whitehall !) to his Popish friends in France. 
 
 (He's better there I'se warrant, an' we here 
 
 A sight better without him !) At Lambeth 
 
 They say he threw the Great Seal in his spite 
 
 Out o' his wherry deep into the Thames ! 
 
 Thank God we're done wi' him, and he wi' us ! 
 
 What are thae ladders for to speel Tolbooth ? 
 
 What for but to bring down thae heads that 
 
 there's 
 Stood whitening mony a year ! The Council, Sir, 
 It is that gies the word ! They arna fain 
 Gillespie Gromach an' his son up there 
 Should win first lug ^ o' the new King and Queen 
 Frae Holland wi' their tales ! An' just we've taen 
 Frae Netherbow Port, Warristone and auld 
 Donald Cargill. A student lad took doun, 
 A while syne at the hazard o' his life, 
 James Guthrie's that for seven-and-twenty years 
 Had stood aboon the Port, and buried it. 
 Ye've heard tell, hae ye no, hoo Middleton 
 
 1 Ear.
 
 "FOR CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT." 3II 
 
 (That judged him,) driving through the Port weeks 
 
 after, 
 Gude Mister Guthrie's head spat draps o' blude 
 Doun on his coach, nae washing wad tak out ? 
 
 Stranger. 
 
 Thank God these days are ower ! The words ye said 
 Auld Prophet Peden spake come true at last ; 
 At crack o' Christ His winding-sheet a' they 
 That buried Him are gane clean mad wi' fear !
 
 RIFT V. 
 
 "YEA, HATH GOD SAID?" 
 
 CLOSING YEARS OF THE NINETEENTH 
 CENTURY, A.D.
 
 "YEA, HATH GOD SAID?" 
 
 What rifts are in thy Reek, in these last days. 
 My Scotland, Land of story and of song ? 
 Changed is thy field of combat, and the haze 
 Of present battle-smoke too close and strong 
 Above thy fighters, foiled or victor, lies 
 For Rifts that tell thy tale to mortal eyes. 
 
 Yet through the Battle's Reek, not sight but sound, 
 Ghost-voices through the smoke-gloom, faint and far. 
 Come to us, listening, from thy battle-ground, 
 With fitful hint of how doth go the war ; 
 The eternal war of Truth, Freedom, and Right, 
 'Twixt Powers of Darkness and a God of Light.
 
 3l6 RIFT V. 
 
 " Yea, hath God said ? " in questioning tones we 
 
 hear, 
 (Words surely we heard spoken long ago,) 
 " Yea, hath God said ? " reverberate far and near, 
 Echoed or echoing, or loud or low ; 
 " Yea, hath God said ? " — the ancient battle-cry 
 Wherewith of old 07ie spurred to victory ! 
 
 From Rocks, unnumbered ^ons that unfold, 
 From Lower Life that claims man as its kin, 
 — What Fall in upward strife of New from Old ? 
 What place for Saviour where is none for Sin ? — 
 From Tomb and Temple of a Past long dead. 
 From Scholar's Learning sounds, " Yea, hath God 
 said ? " 
 
 Is all for nothing then ? A myth, a dream, 
 Evanishing at touch of Day-dawn's light ? 
 Hath He ne'er spoken ? Do our ears but seem 
 To hear His guiding voice athwart our night ? 
 Is no God-Cause for which our fathers bled ? 
 Is there no light of life upon our Dead ?
 
 "YEA, HATH GOD SAID?" 317 
 
 Hark ! from far cloud above the Battle's Reek, 
 Another Voice comes breaking on the ear ! 
 Elsewhere we've heard, the words it too doth speak, 
 As Rift through thunder-black of Lightning clear ; 
 " This my beloved Son, hear Him," it saith, 
 " My Living Word, my Light of Life on Death." 
 
 Myths be there if ye will ! By myths that hold 
 
 The Truth within the Fable, 'twas He taught 
 
 Ever in Parables ; if from of old 
 
 'Tis so His Father teaches, is there aught 
 
 For marvel ? Best may children understand 
 
 Father's deep Truth through Symbols at their hand. 
 
 Yea hath He spoken ; though His Truth lie furled 
 
 Hid in the Parables Truth's self we deem ; 
 
 If marred His words through man that reach His 
 
 world. 
 His Living Word, the Light, the Life, no dream ! 
 There is God-Cause wherein our fathers bled ; 
 He is the Light of Life upon our Dead !
 
 EPILOGUE
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 " And I saw no Temple therein ; for the Lord God Almighty 
 and the Lamb are the Temple of it." 
 
 One by one the mighty Builder 
 Takes our props of earth away, 
 
 Clears from scaffoldings that 'wilder, 
 Bares His Spirit-fane to-day. 
 
 Where His Temple's ancient glory, 
 Massive turrets, roofs of gold, 
 
 On Moriah's hill-top hoary, 
 
 Whence His Radiance shone of old, 
 
 Through the incense-cloud that hovered 
 
 O'er the morning Sacrifice ? 
 — Its aye-burning Lamp uncovered 
 
 On its ruined altar dies. 
 
 Its day is done. Shone his Shekinah 
 Next in the Church of Christ who died, 
 
 A living Church of Saints who twine a 
 Victor's crown for the Crucified : 
 
 X
 
 322 EPILOGUE. 
 
 Ah ! Tongues of Flame burned o'er each brow, 
 Steady and clear in her first glad youth ! 
 
 But the Fire grew dim : can she guide us now 
 Unerring to God's Truth ? 
 
 The Glory flits : — on His Written Page 
 Glows awhile as with Heaven's sole light ; 
 
 Falls an earth-shade now ? — Must our later age 
 Grope guideless then through the night ? 
 
 Not so ! Not so ! Though all Fanes that erst 
 
 Jehovah's Shekinah filled 
 Lay crumbled around us in the dust, 
 
 Oh doubting hearts, be stilled ! 
 
 Not His Temple of old that Glory could hold, 
 
 Not His Church of the Crucified, 
 Not His Word though told through Saints of old ; 
 
 — Only God and the Lamb that died ! 
 
 But avenues all to that Spirit-fane, 
 But lamps that light to the Shrine, 
 
 Left behind when the Holy of Holies we gain, 
 Swallowed up in the Light Divine.
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 323 
 
 God Himself and the Lamb the Temple there ; 
 
 Then why for earth's fanes strain our sight ? 
 How mourn His lost Shekinah where 
 
 God Himself and the Lamb are the Light ?
 
 PRINTED BV WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.
 
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