Caput. 1

Argument.
The Douglas hears his Countries shame her fall
And back returns from France with wofull Heart
Vewing herwoes her ruine wrak and all
He muche laments her lose in eurie parte,
When lo a Kinght from dumps doeth him recall
With whome he fights with valour strength and arte
When each of life dispaires and death attends
They other knoe, the fight in friendship ends,

Of Martiall deeds of dreadful warres I sing
Of Potentates, firce Knightes, & Champions bold
Who to mantaine, o're threw a valiant King
Most brave atchieuments well perform'd of old
What flamming swords, blood, terror, death can bring
Love, tyme, and fortuns wheele that still is rold.
My vrigine Muse doeth laboure to bring forth
Crownd with the golden starrs which grace the North
Those Heroese old whose glory seems obscure,
Of which in Fames steel tables nought remains,
I offer on your sacred shrines most pure,
whose strength my labours weighty swey sustains,
Those antients worth in you doth liue secure,
which once may be the subiect of my paines,
wherewith my Iaies adornd shal flie a long
And make the earth enamored of my song.
Why heau'ns powrd out such a deludge of woes
which to the world my weeping muse doth sing,
And how those sad tumultuous broiles arose,
O who can tell since heauens eternal King
After his wil earths Empires doth dispoese,
And fatal periods to all Rengs doth bring,
Who shakes the earth assunder in his wrath,
And melts the heau'ns with his consuming breath
But ô what wast involu'd those daies in warres?
Was't not that age by force gouerning al?
Which now is reuld by arte, or was't the starres?
From whose coniunctions these mishaps might fall,
Or was't helbred enuie that al things marres?
Forcing themselues destruction forth to call
No no it seemes eternal heau'ns decree,
That sines owne weight, by sine ouer'throwne, 'shold be
But soft my home-bred muse sore not too high
Least thou or'epas what erst thou did'st intend,
Send passion hence, be modest flie enuie,
With pow're deuine bring this great worke to end
Thou eu'erie verse, each line, each woord, must trie
In my fraile brest thy sacred furie send,
That who so reades these lines for those respects,
Maie praise thy deeds, and pardon my defects
In that faier Land where floweth al delight
That heauen on earth whose paradisian plains
Had drawne the Douglas farre from Fathers sight
Where he both arts and elloquence obtaines
He stai'd till dreidful warr with thundring might,
Soundes forth his countreis ruin, woes & paines
Then fortune, fate, reuenge & glories spoile
Inuites him home vnto his natiue soyl.
And once ariuing heree he might behold,
The murnfull monuments of death & feare,
It seem'd that heauen & fortune had controld
The Fates, & Joue by hoaried Stix did sweare,
Those daies in vengeance bookes shold be enrold
Those worthles times, al worthy time shold teare
From memorie, as monuments of shame,
The blotts of age and onely stains of Fame.
As one within a Garden faire in maie
Seis flora deck'd in bewtis brauest pride
Sweet smelling Roses fragrant, fresh & gaie,
Pincks, Violets, and thousand flowers beside
That parradice there onely seemes to staie.
Yet Pisces coolling once faire Phæbus side;
That fruitful place by frost & hailes disgrac'd,
So seemd this pleasant land now quite defac'd.
For loe a straunger nation doth he sie
Inhabit all the countrey round about,
And al his natiue countrie men did flie,
Yealding to feare fate, fortun, chance & dout
Waste ruinde walls, tours, touns & hamlets be
The meids and pleasant valleis in and out,
Vntil'd like deserts voyd and quite forsaken.
Abandon'd of their owne of strangers taken
And where he goes the ground did seeme to moorne
Planing for lose of her deir naturall Brood
The floodes their sweetest murmuring streames did turne
From fair cleir cristall dropes to crimsone blood
From Forrests hone the whisling winds Retoorne
Dwlce sounds of sorrows Melancholique Mood
Thus in his Eares, Earth, water, winds, and Treis,
Sad Musick make of sadder, Tragedeis.
To see so fair a kingdome desolate
And snche a mightie Nation thus forlorne
His Frends all lost him self disconsolate
Tears, sighs, and grons made speiche Long time forborne,
At last, those Doolfull words thus Intricat
With sorrows deip his woful heart has torne
Ah was I borne and must I leive to sie
The Sone to shine on this Thy Infamie?
Ah now Poore Cuntrey wofull is thy fall
But ah moire wofull is thy wretched State
Thy Blis to Bail the heavens to soone did call
But farre too swift now comes thy helples fate
For ere vndone and no remede at all.
Ah no remede, said I? yea though too late.
Can heauens thy Croun of glorie from thy brow
So soone teare of so famous stil til now?
Where was treue vallor found if not in thee?
In thee was virtue neu'r by time outworne
The source of Loue the Nursse of Vnitie
Where Faith and Treuth were bred brought forth & borne
Witts habitation Fortuns Constancie,
But now al theise euen theise are quite forlorne.
And in a dolful den thy Genius lies
Howling for Blood & vengeance to the Skyes.
Hence cursed time more wold the knight haue said
But he beheld a warriour at hand,
His furniture and Armour sanguin red,
A bunch of fethers, on his Crest did stand.
Him wold this fearce, sad, angrie Earle inuade.
And in the other like desire he fand,
Each other with tempestuous furie greet,
So in the aer the bolting thunder meet.
Loth was each spear to wond his enemie,
Their wrathful masters message while they go
Al shiuered, moorning through the aer they fly,
Complaining of vnkindly discord so,
While that the Champions chaft with anger be
For each disdaines, a match in armes to know,
Each takes the other for an English Knight,
And seeks reuenge, with force, hate, rage, dispight
Eu'n as two aged strong and sturdy Oakes
Against a thundring tempest firmly stand,
Or as two raggid Clifs of mighty Rocks
Beare of the wasting surges from the land.
So each abides the others pondrous stroaks,
These onely two, trew vallor did commaund.
Yea who so eu'r had sien that warrlike fight,
Feare would haue bred, both terror and delight.
By thrusts and foins their bloes seconded be,
Each waits occation, each aduantage spying.
Each on the other hath a watchful Eie,
Each shuns the fents, for open wards stil prying,
Where plats were iyond, and buckles ty'd they fie,
Yeat eithers foresight, others slight denying.
Stil fretting in themselues, with rage and ire,
That neither could, their conquest wisht aspire.
Somtime their Swords, forth from their helm & shield
Send firie sparkles, spangling all the Aier.
Euen so the Meteors fighting lightning yeald,
Beneath the Northern Pole, that doe prepare,
To cleare the starrie firmamental field.
With cold extream, pure, subtil, sherp, and raire.
That els wold geall, the cloustred clouds aloft,
And make a bad confusion straunge and oft.
As fast as haile, in sharpe and Iscie balles,
Vpon the tiled housses doth alight,
So thik, so fast each speedie blow doun falles,
batring their helms, and shields with furious might,
They fighting, wishe each others funerals:
Four houres it was, since they began the fight
Some litle wonds, had each of others woon,
Yeat both as fresh as when they first begun.
Now was the Sun, declining, to the West,
When both did seem of Conquest to dispair,
And yet, the Knight vnknowne, wes lustiest,
His Curage, and his strength, did still repair
For as, a loytring Slaue, in Lasie rest,
Has spent the day, that for his Task should care
And tho, to lait, at last to work doth stand
Repenting, that he took, so much, in hand.
Ev'ne so, the straunger Knight, did ferslie flie,
Against his Foe, with Vn-resisted Might,
And thogh indeed, he, some what Stronger be
His Breath, induring, Longer, yet in fight,
The Douglas, did that want with art supplie
For, holding forth, his Suord, and Sheild, outright,
He geuards him self, and bears, the others, Blo's,
Now, Out now in, now heir, now thair, he goes,
Both breathles now, both forc'd a while to staie,
Botth leane upon their swords a while to rest:
The vnknow'ne knight, thus to himselfe did saie,
Ah, foolish man with madnes thus possest,
Thy labor's great, great pains, great workes, to daie.
With sorrows new, new woes, new cares increast,
Heated by heavin, by faits, Long Coorst, ere borne,
Proud Fortune holds, Thy heighe attempts in skorne
Thy foile, thy shame, and thy disgrace receau'd,
Not onely thou, but all the world doth know
Fond man, of non but of thy selfe deceu'd,
What vallor canst thou boast, what strength can show
O thou, eu'ne thou, who once a kingdom crau'd
Ah folly great, ah great presumtion, lo,
Ah shame, thate're thou shold'st be sien or knowne,
Vanquish'd by one, ou'rcom, and overthrowne.
But so the Fates, and so, the heavin prouids
That thou, thy strength, and weaknes, might perceave
To Errors gross, Thy foolishe Mind, Thee guids
Which to abait, what doth Remaine, to Crave
Lost is thy Crowne, lost be thy frends, besids
Chaisd from thy kingdome, hunted, like a Slave.
And savadge-like, thou liu'st on herbs, and Root's
In Deserts wild, those of thy panis, ar fruits.
Then, fertill Scotland, fair, Adew, for Ay
Good was my will, and great, was my Desire
On thy blacks Hemispheare to bring the day
And to Restore, Thy Friedome, Crowne, Impire
But to my fond Attempts, the heavins said nay
Whill Thou'rt counsumd, by Jov's wraith, hot as feire
Now, wo is Mee, (for my owne wois, I say not)
Bot O Thee fain, I wold remeid, and may not,
The Douglas, also, was perplexed so
For still him self, Condem's him self, of folie
Art thou returnd from France, (quod he) to sho
Thou vow'd, thy Syrs revenge, A vow most holie
This mightie Task, when thou should vndergo
Thy first Attemp, Thy shame returneth sollie
Why then, fond man if thou be oue'rthrowne
Yeild not, but Die: and keip, thy vow on-knowne.
And if the heavins decree, Thy Ouerthrow
And that thy vow must still be vnperfected,
Yeat who the Victor is, faine would I know,
If but a priuate man, then I dispit it,
But if his praise, Fame, eu'rie where doth blow
Then on my graue, these lines shalbe ind tit,
Though chaunce, and fortune made him loose the fild,
He merits praise, whose courage scorns to yealde.
Where are my Predecessors deeds of old,
Which like a wall impregnable did stand,
And did like Pillers, firme, & strong vphold,
The weale, the peace, & saftie of the land?
Though non of those I boast, yet am I bold
The worthie name of Scot, for to demaund,
Whereof so manie Worthies still proceeds,
As makes their Contrey famous by their deeds.
Yea and this present Age, augments our Fame,
With warrlik knights, that al the world admires,
As machles Wallace, and the ualiant Grhame,
The worthie Bruce, most glorious that appears.
If one of those it were, lesse were my shame,
My credit more, and more my fortune cleers.
Therefore to cleere this doubt he thought it best
His speech shold thus be, to the knight addrest.
Stout, hardie, valliant man at armes quod he,
Before our combat end, I pray thee show,
Whom I ou'rcom, or who ou'rcommeth me,
Since non of vs, the quarrel yet doth know,
No quod the other, Sir, that may not bee,
For that you made the challenge first, and so,
As challenger, your cause must first be know'n,
The Douglas answer'd that shall soone be showne
Vnles I err, you are an English knight,
I ame a Scot, and in defence will stand
Of Scots free libertie, and auntient Right,
So long as I can bear a sword in hand,
It may be so, quod he, but in my sight
You are too weake alone for to withstand,
So great a taske, craues more then one I feare,
Against great Edward, if you mind to warre.
Quod, Douglas, tho I be alone you sie
I were enough, for to Revenge, Oure harms,
If I had Edwarde heir, as I have Thee,
Al tho the Matchles Bruce, with Conquering Arms,
Has thousands Mo, whoes valors, worth, shall flie,
For dreed Revenge, with Trumpets, Loude, alar'ms
Throgh all the Regions, of the English soill,
And havok mak, with Rewin, blood, and spoill.
Yet know an other Querrell, for Oure fight,
And my iust Caus, which Iust revenge requiers:
My Syre, that somtime, Erel, of Douglas hight,
In Edwards prisson, spent, his Aged, yeers
And their he deid, by wrong, without all Right,
Whoes guietles blood, Blood-guiltie Edward, beers
For whoes sad Death, eu'ne Th'ou, thy life, must lois
And with these words, he thunders on the Blo's.
Hold, hold, quod he, stay thy revenge, for schame,
I am thy frend, no foe, nor English I,
I am that Lukles Bruce, whose haples Name,
Thou dus so much Exalt, and magnifie
Whose froward Fortun, fate, and far-knowne fame,
Is turn'd disgrace, to all eternitie,
At these sad words, the Douglas stood, and gazed
Blushing, astonisht, speichles, and amazed:
At last he falls, before the warlik Prince,
And says, my gratious Soveragne thou may
Pardon, my hastie fault, my Rude offence,
Or, my, Death-worthie Crime, with death Repay,
That Durst offend Thy worth, thy excellence
Ah curled Tyme, Ah blacke, and dismall, Day,
No no sweit freind, quod he, Thy peace enioy,
Long may Thou liue, in spight of fates anoy,
And thus, when he had Raisd him from the Ground,
He in his Arms, him Lovinglie, imbrac'd
Whoes Love and Favour: alway, did abound,
And alway did Indure, whill life did lest,
Now both their horse, agane, at last they found
And both, theme selfe, at last, from thence addrest,
Both, vows, their Cuntries wo's for to Revenge,
Both, to Indur, eahc others, fortuns, strange.
Together then they ride a plaine throughout,
Til in a forrest faier, themselues they fand,
While night with sable curtens, Round about,
Breaths darknes out, or shaddowing all the land,
Vppon her lowring brows, sate feare and dobt:
And round about, in horror trembling stand,
The duskie clouds, that threts a second flood,
Such Seas there swelling clusters doth includ.