Schort Inveccyde Maid aganis the Delyverance of the Erle of Northumberland, Ane

Quhat faithful hairt does not for sorow burst
To heir thair realme blasont and blasphemit;
And of all other countreis comptit curst;
Discreditit, disdanit, disestimit?
And men thairof as doubil tratours demit,
And taxit with so mony schameful blot;
So poyntit out, and from all faithful flemit,
Saying, " Avoid the fals disfaitful Scot?"

" Avoid" thay bid, " tha fals and filthie tratours:"
So genralie we ar of straingers stylit;
And repute of sa fals mischievous natures
As na man may beleif us, unbegylit.
God wait how we ar railt on, and revylit,
And blamit for tressounis moniefauld;
And quhat inveccyde ballates ar compylit;
Sen the gud Erle Northumberland wes sauld.

Alas! quhy sould not wit, and worthines,
Honestie, honour, and humilitie,
Assuagit sumquhat have sic gredines?
That paragon of trew nobilitie,
And persyte patroun of civilitie,
So courtes, stout, trew, liberal, and kynd,
Sould have bene quyt with moir fidelitie;
And have with mercye movit [muche] your mynd.

That loving lord, sa voyde of all dispyte,
Of vertews having sic pluralitie;
In honest pastyme takand his delyte;
With monye rair and princelie qualitie;
So nobil port, and liberalitie;
Sic hardines, and hairt heroical;
Deservit rather immortalitie,
Then to have had ane end so tragical.

Alace that ever Scotland sould have bred
Sic to [its] awin dishonour, schame, and greif;
That, quhen ane nobilman wes thairto fled,
At neid to seik some succour and releif,
Sould have bene coulpit twyse! First be ane theif;
Then be Lochlevin, quho did thre yeir him keip;
Quho gat greit gaine to save him from mischeif,
Syne sould him to the skambils lyik ane scheip.

Our antecessours, and fathers honorabil,
Could not be movit be favour, force, nor feir,
To doe ane deid so vyle and detestabil, — —
And mekil les for gredines of geir:
As be our storeis plainlie dois appeir.
Bot oft incurrit monye doubtful daingers,
And oft-times baid the hasard of the weir,
For the reset, and succouring of straingers.

Greit lords and erles, nay dyvers duiks and kings,
For quhome this realme hes sufferit mekil paine;
Exylit from thair countries, and thair rings,
In Scotland saiflie lang tyme did remaine.
As Richard, and Henrie the Sext maks plaine.
And mony ma exempils may be gevin;
Of quhom thay micht have gottin gretar gaine; —
Quhose luk was gud thay came not in Lochlevin.

Fy on thee, Mar! that ever thow consentit
Ane nobilman sa falselie to dissave!
Thow may weil leif, quhill thow at large repent it,
That thow trowit Macgill, that drunkin knaif;
Or Dumfermling, that the sic counsale gave;
Or had to do with Mortouns fellowschip. — —
Lowse Lindsay yit did better with the laif,
That tuik thair geir, and luit thameselfis slip.

Fals mischeant Mortoun; febil and unkind;
Thy wretchit hairt could never schame eschew!
How could so small ane sowme have mov't thy mind
By this vyile act auld tressouns to renew?
Thow never wes upricht, traistie, nor trew,
To freind, to fo; nor to na other man.
On sic vyile treasoun vengeance man ensew,
On thee, and all thy fals degenerat clan.

Lochlevin, that wes ay faithles to thy brother,
To quhome thow wes so bound be benefeit!
How could thow keip thy credit to another,
That schamefullie, aganes his will and wit,
The air of Buchan, quhom he did commit
To thy keping, put on thy brothers bed;
And, sen his deith, him to dishonour yit
Hes rasit ane schameful summouns to heir red?

Thow left him falslie in adversitie,
And all his freindschip utterlie refusit.
And work buir witnes of thy loyaltie
Quhen that the quene wes in the Louch inclusit.
Baith hir and him thow tratorouslie abusit,
And gave gude tryel of thy lytil treuth.
Quhen scho escapt, how could thow be excusit
Bot thair was slicht, or els ane wilful sleuth?

Yit, tratour! this unhonest bludie blok
Surpassis far thy tresouns all of auld.
Quhair evir thow gangs thow art ane gasing stok,
For all the peopil cry, " Cum and behauld
" The tratour that the gud Lord Persey sauld;"
Wissing his bluid to be upon thy heid. — —
From age to age thy treasoun will be tauld,
And be ane schame for ever to thy seid.

Judas, that sauld our salviour to be slaine,
Ane vyler draucht nor thow did never draw;
Nor Ganyelon, aganes Charles the Maine;
Nor Andro Bell, that wicket vyle outlaw:
Nor yit the tratour Eckie of Hairlaw,
That says he sould him to redeme his pledge.
Your deid is war, as all the world dois knaw; — —
Ye can nothing bot covatice alledge.

Yit sen the act wes so inordinat,
And it behusit be chief tratours to be,
I wait ye wer thairto preordinat,
Not be ane chance, bot fatal destanie,
That nane it could have execut bot ye.
For, quha your nature cleirlie understandis,
Will think ane act of so greit villanie
Behoy't of force to fall into your handis.

As metest merchand for ane maister steik,
Baith fals of kynd, and in the craft expert:
And thairby gars your kitchins daylie reik.
Na other man could have found in thair hairt
To sell the saikles, as ane slauchter mairt.
Had Christ himself bene in the Persey's rowme,
I wait ye wald have playit Judas' pairt —
Gif Cayphas had offert yow the sowme.

Yit, for your mischeant and mischevous deid,
This country aucht not for to beir the blame;
Bot onlie that fals and degenerat seid
Of Douglassis fals, wretchit, and infame:
And cheislie Mortoun, and Lochlevin be name,
That of his bluide resavit the pygrall pryce.
So with the silver sall ye have the schame,
And sic your freinds as gave thairto advyse.

O cruel, fals, dissaitful, bludie beistis!
To faythful men how dar ye hauld up face?
How could sic tressoun breid into your breistis?
Quhy leit ye not pitie rather have place?
Sen ye yourselfs wes in the samen caice; —
And wait not quhen theirto ye sall returne.
His bluide sall be on yow, and all your race!
And ye, and yours, sall for that murther murne!

Had ye him gevin, but price, gratuitlie,
Be benefit yow thinkand thairto bound;
Or to declair your luif and amitie;
So that no profeit sould to yow redound;
Your crueltie had not bene so evil found:
Bot ye resavit the pryce, and it procurit.
Evil gottin gaine is ane ungracious ground
Quhairon to found ane Welth and Weill assurit.

The Jews wald not put in the common purs
The pryce of Christ, quhilk Judas kaist againe:
The pryce of bluid brings ay with it ane curs,
Quhilk on thy race for ever sall remaine.
Sum day, be suir, (thoch thow sic dome disdane,)
Deir of his bluid the bargane will be bocht.
Vengeance will wirk, and will nocht wirk in vaine,
Bot thee, thy sons, and name, sall bring to nocht.

Out of thy hand his bluid sall be requyrit:
Thow sall not chaip mischeif, doe quhat thow can.
Nor thay, that in that blok with the conspyrit;
Cheiflie the butchers os thy bludie clan.
Quha vant be bluid thay all thair worschip wan. —
And yit be bluid mair proudlie dois pretend. —
Be bluide thay leift; be bluide thay first began:
And so for bluide sall have ane bluidie end.
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