The Tragical Death of David Beaton, Prologue – Poem
NOt lōg sence, after the houre of prime
Secretely sittyng in myne Oratorie
I to be a boke, to occupie the tyme
where I foūd, many Tragedy & storie
Which Iohn Bochas had put in memory
How many a prince, cōquerour & captaine
Were dolfully deposed from their raigne
Howe Alexander the potent conquerour
In Babilon was poysonned petiously,
And Iulius the mightie Emperour,
Murthered at Rome causeles and truelly
Prudent Pompey in Egypt shamefully,
Murthered was, what nedeth processe more
Whose Tragedies are petifull to deplore
I sittynge so, vponupon my boke readyng
Ryght sodenly, afore me dyd appeare
One wounded man, aboundauntly bledyng
Wyth visage pale, and wyth a deadly cheate
Seinyng a man of two and fyftie yeare.
In rayment red, clothed ful curiously
Wyth fyne veluet, and satten richely.
Wyth feble voice, as man opprest with payne▪
Softly he made me supplication,
Saiynge, my friende, reade, and reade agayne
Yt thou can fynde by true narration
Of one payne, lyke to my passion,
Ryght sure I am, were Iohn Bochas alyue,
My Tragedie at length he woulde discryue.
Seinge he is gone, I pray the to endyte
Of myne infortune, some remembraunce,
Or at the lests my Tragedie wryte,
As I to the, shall shewe the circumstaunce,
In termes briefe, of my vnhappy chaunce,
Sence my begynnyng, vntounto my fatall ende,
Whiche I woulde to all creatures were kende.
I woulde (sayed I) make suche memoriall
Yt of thy name, I had intelligence
I am Dauid that carefull Cardinall
Whiche doth appeare (sayed he) to thy presence,
That sometyme had so greate preeminence.
Then he beganne his deedes to endyte,
As ye shall heare, and I beganne to wryte.
The Tragedie.
¶ I Dauid Beaton some tyme Cardinall
Of noble bloude, by lyne I dyd descende
Duryng my tyme, I had no peir equall,
But nowe is come, alas, my fatall ende.
Aye, gree by gree, vp warde I dyd ascende,
So that in thys realme dyd neuer reigne
So greate a man (as I) vnderunder my soueraigne.
When I was a yonge ioyly gentleman
Princes to serue, I set my whole entent.
First to ascende, at Arbroth I began,
An abbasie of greate ryches, and rent,
Of that estate, yet was I not content,
To get more ryches dignitie and glore,
My herte was set, alas alas therfore.
I made suche seruice, vntyll our Souereigne
He dyd promote me, to more high estate,
A Prince aboue all priestes, for to Reigne,
Archbishoppe of sainct Andrewes consecrate,
To that honour, when I was eleuate
My prydefull herte, was not content at all
Tyll that I was created a Cardinall.
Yet preste I, to hauehave more authoritie
And finally was chosen Chauncelat
And for vpholdynge, of my dignitie
Was made Legate, then had I no compare,
I purchest, for my profit singulare,
My cofers, and my treasure to auaunce,
The bishopriche of Merapois in Fraunce.
Of al Scotlande, I had the gouernal
But myne aduise concluded was not certeyne
Abbot, bishoppe, archbishoppe, cardinal
In thys realme no higher coulde I reigne
But I had ben Pope, Emperour or souereigne
For shortnes of tyme, I am not able
At length to shewe myne actes honourable
For my moste princely prodigalitie
Amonge prelates in Fraunce, I toke the pryce
I dyd shewe my lordly liberalitie
In banketyng, playinge at cardes and dice
In suche wysedome I was holden wyse
And spared not, to playe wyth hynge or knyght
Thre thousand crownes of gold vpō one nyght
In Fraunce, sir, I made honest voyages
Where I dyd artes, digne of remembraunce
Thorowe me were made triumphant mariages
To our souereigne both profit and pleasaunce
Quene Magdalē, the fyrst doughter of Fraūce
With great riches, was into Scotland brought
That mariage thorow my wisdō was wrought
After whose death into Fraunce I past agayne
The seconde quene, homewarde I dyd conuoye,
That lustie Princesse, Mary de Loraine
Whiche was receiued wyth tryumph and Ioye
So serued I, our ryght redoubted Roye,
Sone after that, Henrie of Englande kynge
Of our soueraigne, desyred one communyng.
Of that metyng, our kynge was wel content
So that in Yorke, was set both tyme and place,
But our prelates and I, woulde neuer consent,
That he shoulde see, kynge Henry in the face.
But we were wel content, so that his grace,
Had sayled the sea, to speake wyth any other,
Except ye king, which was his mothers brother
Where thorowe, there arose, great war & mortal strife,
Great heirships, hūgar, darth, & desolatiō
On the other syde many dyd lose their lyfe.
If I woulde make any true narration,
I caused, all that tribulation,
For to take peace I neuer woulde consent,
Wythout the kynge of Fraunce, had ben cōtent
Duryng these warres, were taken prisoners
Of noble men, fyghtyng ful turiously
Many a Lorde, baron, and bacchillers.
Where thorowe our kynge, toke such melancoly
Whiche draue him, to the deede ryght dolefully,
Extreme dolour, ouerset dyd so his herte
That from thys lyfe, alas he dyd departe
But after yt, boeth strength & speach were losed,
A paper blanke, I gatte his grace subscriue,
Into whiche I wrought, al that me pleased.
After his death, whiche longe were to discriue,
Thorowe that wrytyng, I purposed belyue,
Wyth support of some lordes beneuolence,
In thys region, to hauehave preeminence.
As for our Lorde, our rightuous Gouernour.
If I woulde shortly, shewe the veritie,
To hym I had no maner of fauour.
Durynge that tyme, I purposed that he
Shoulde neuer come, to none authoritie,
For his support, therfore he broughte among vsus
Forth of Englande, the noble Erle of Anguishe.
Then was I put abacke from my purpose,
And sodenly caste into captiuitie,
My prideful herte, to breake, as I suppose,
Deuised by the high diuinitie.
Yet in my herte, sprange no humilitie,
But nowe the worde of God ful wel I knowe,
Who doth exalt hym selfe, God shal hym lowe.
In the meane tyme, when I was so subiected,
Ambassatours were sent into Englande,
Where they both peace, and maryage cōtracted
And more suerly for to obserue that bande
Were promised diuerse pledges of Scotlande.
Of that contracte, I was no waye content,
Nor euer woulde therto, geue my consent.
To captaines that kept me in warde
Gyftes of golde, I gaue them greate plentie
Rulars of courte, I rychely dyd rewarde,
Wherby I escaped, from captiuitie,
But when I was free, at my libertie,
Then lyke a Lyon, losed of his caige,
Out thorow this realme, I begā to raile & raige.
Contrary the Gouernour, and his companie,
Ofte tymes made I, insurrection.
Purposyng for to hauehave hym hastely,
Subdued vntounto my correction,
Or put hym to extreme subiection,
Duryng thys tyme, if it were wel dissided
Thys realme, by me, was vtterly deuided,
The Gouernour purposyng to subdue,
I raysed an hoste of many a bolde baron,
And made a rode, which Lyghgowe yet may rue
For we destroyed, one myle aboute the towne
For that I gate, many blacke malison,
Yet contrary the Gouernours entent,
Wyth our yong princesse, we to Steruiling wēt
For high contemptation of the Gouernour,
I brought the Erie of Lemox, forth of Fraunce
That lustie Lorde, lyuyng in greate pleasure
Dyd lose that laude, and honest ordinaunce,
But he and I fell cone at variaunce,
And thorowe my councell, was in short space
Forfaited, and banished, he gate no other grace.
Then thorowe my prudence, practice and ingine
Our Gouernour I caused to consente,
Ful quietly, to my councel incline,
Wherof his nobles, were not wel content,
For why, I gate, dissolued, in playne parliament
The bande of peace, contarcted with Englande,
Where thorow came harme, & heirship to Scotlande.
That peace broken, arrose newe mortall warre,
By sea and lande, suche theifte wythout releue,
Whiche to reporte, it frayeth my herte farre.
The veritie to shewe in termes breue
I was the rote of al that greate mischeue
The South countrey (may say) it had ben good,
That my nourice, had smored me in my coud.
I was the cause of mykle more mischaunce
For vpholde of my glore and dignitie,
And pleasure of the potent kynge of Fraunce▪
Wyth Englande woulde I hauehave no vnitie,
But who consider woulde, the veritie.
We myght full wel, hauehave lyued in peace and rest
Nyne or tenne yeres, and then played lose or fast
Had we wyth Englande kept our contrackes
Our noble men had lyued, in peace and rest
Our marchauntes had not lost, so many packes.
Our commune people, had not ben opprest,
On thother syde, al wronges had ben redrest,
But Endenburgh (sence that) Lyth & Kyngorne,
The day and houre, maye ban that I was borne
Our Gouernour to make hym to me sure
Wyth sw…te and subtile wordes I did hym fyle
Tyll I his sonne and heyre, gat in my cure
To that effecte, I founde that craftie wyle,
That he no maner of way myght me begyle.
Then laughed I, when his liege dyd alleage
Howe I his sonne had gotten into pleage.
The Erle of Anguishe, ▪ his germaine brother
I purposed, to ryd them out of thys lyfe,
Ryght so to hauehave destroyed many other,
Some wyth the fyre, some wt the sworde & knyfe
Especially many gentlemen of Fyfe,
And purposed, to hauehave put to torment
Al fauourers of the olde and newe testament.
Then eueryevery man toke of me suche feare
That tyme when I had, so greate gouernaunce
Greate lordes dreading, I shoulde do them deare
They dursie not come at courte, but assuraunce
Sence yt tyme, there hath not ben such variaūce
Nowe to our princesse, barons obediently
Wyth assuraunce, they come ful curteously
My hope was moste, in the kynge of Fraunce,
To gether, wyth the Popes holynes,
More then in God, my worshippe to auaunce,
I rested so into their gentlenesse,
That no man durst presume me to oppresse,
But when the daye came, of my fatal houre
Farre was from me, their support and succour
Then to preserue, my ryches, and my lyfe,
One strength, of walles high and brode, I made
Suche a fortresse was neuer founde in Fyfe,
Beleuynge there durste, no man inuade.
Now fynd I true, ye saiyng, which Dauid sayd
Without God of an house, be maister of warke
He worketh in vain, though it be neuer so starke
For I was thorowe the high power deuine
Right dolfully stroken downe, among the asshe,
Which could not be thorow mortall mās ingine
But as Dauid dyd slaye, the greate Golyasse,
Or Olopharne, by Iudeth, kylled wasse.
In mydde amonge, his triumphaunt armie
So was I slayne, in my chiefe citie
When I had greatest dominion
As Lucifer had, in the heauenly Empire
Came sodenly, my depriuation,
By them whi…he dyd my dolent conspire
So cruell was, their furious burnynge Ire
I gat, no tyme, leasure, nor libertie
To saye, In manus tuas domine.
Beholde my fatal infelicitie,
I beinge in my strength incomparable.
That dreadful doungion, made me no saftie
My greate ryches, nor rentes profitable,
My syluer warke, Iewelles inestimable,
My papall pompe, of golde, my riche treasure,
My lyfe and al, I loste in halfe an houre.
To the people, was made a spectacle
Of my dead, and deformed carion,
Some sayed it was a manifest miracle,
Some sayed it was devine punition
So to be stayne, in my stronge doungion,
When eueryevery man, had iudged as him list,
They salted me, and then closed me in a chist,
I laye vnburyed, seuen monethes and more
Or I was borne to cloyster, churche, or quiar
In a donghyll, whiche is payne to deplore,
Wythout suffrage of chanon, monke, or friar,
Al proud prelates, by me maye learne to be wisar
Whiche reigned so longe, and so triumphantly,
Sence in the dust, stroken downe, so dolefully.
¶ His exhortation. To the Prelates.
O ye my bretherne, Princes of the priestes,
I make you hertely, supplication,
Both nyght and daye, reuolue in your breastes,
The processe, of my depriuation,
Consider, what is your vocation,
To folowe me, I praye you, not pretende you,
But read at length this shedul that I sende you
Ye knowe howe Iesu his disciples sent,
Ambassatours, to eueryevery nation,
To shewe his lawe, and his commaundement,
To al people, by predication.
Therfore I make, to you narration
Seeinge you to them, are very successours,
You ought so to do, as dyd your predicessours.
Howe dare ye be so bolde, to take in hande,
To be heraldes, to so greate a Kynge,
To beare his message, boeth to borough & lande.
Ye beinge domme, and can pronounce nothynge,
Lyke minstrels, that can not playe, nor synge,
Or why shoulde men, geue suche heardes hyre,
Whiche can not guide, their ship, out of the myre
Shame ye not, to be christen seruitures,
And for your fee, hauehave greate temporal landes,
Seeinge of your office, ye can not take cures?
As cōmune lawe, & scriptures you cōmaundes?
Ye wyl not wāt, teathing sheaffe, nor offeringes,
Tithing wol, teathing lābe, teathing calfe, & like thinges
To do you true seruice, you make many abusinges
My deare bretherne do not as ye were wount
Amēd your lyfe now, while your dayes indures,
Truste wel, ye shalbe called to a count,
Of eueryevery thynge belongyng to your cures,
Leaue Idolatrie, your harlotrie and whores,
Remembryng on, my vnpromised dede,
For after death, maye no man make remede,
Ye prelates, which hauehave thousādes for to spend
Ye sende one simple fryar, for you to preache
It is your crafte, I make it to you kend,
Your selues, in your temples for to teache
Therfore marueil not, at their flattering speach
For and they playnely, shewe the veritie,
Then will they want the bishoppes charitie
Wherfore is geuen to you suche royal rent
But for to fynde the people spiritual fode
Preaching to them, the olde and newe testamēt?
The lawe of God, doeth playnly so conclude
Put not your hope in your worldly good,
As I hauehave done, beholde my greate treasure
made me no healpe, at myne vnhappy houre.
That daye when I was bishoppe consecrate
The greate Bible was bounde vponupon my backe
What was therin litle I kn…we God woate
More then a beast, bearynge a precious packe
But hastely my couenaunt I brake.
For I dyd forget, wyth myne owne consent
The lawe of God, to preache wyth good entent
Bretherne ryghte so, when ye were consecrate,
Ye so got you all, in the same wyse.
Ye maye be called, bishoppes counterfayte
As gallandes busked, to make a gyse,
Nowe thynke I princes, are nothynge wyse,
To geue a famouse office to a fole to rule
As, who woulde put a mytar, vponupon a mule.
Alas and ye, that sorowful sight had sene,
Howe I laye blentheryng bathed in my bloude
To amende your lyfe, it had occasion bene,
And lefte your olde, corrupte consuetude,
Blamynge the same, then shortly I conclude
Wythout ye from your rybauldrie aryse,
Ye shall be serued on the same wyse.
¶ His exhortation to the Princes.
Imprudent princes wythout discretion,
Hauing in earth power imperiall
Ye be the cause of thys transgression
I speake to you all in generall,
Whiche do dispone, all office spirituall,
Gyuyng the soules, whiche are Christes sheepe,
To blynde postours, wythout cōscience to keepe
When ye princes do lacke an officer
A baker, a brewer, or any maister coke,
A tryme taylour, a cunnyng cordiner
Ouer al the lande, at length ye wyll sende to loke
Moste able men suche office to broke▪
A brewer, whiche can brewe moste holsome ale,
A cunnyng coke, whiche best can season cayle.
A taylour, whiche fostered hath ben in Fraunce
That can make garmentes of the gayest gyse,
Ye princes, be the cause of thys mischaunce,
That when there doth voyed any benefice
Ye oughte to do, euen the same wyse.
Go searche and seche, both borough and lande,
The lawe of God, who beste can vnderstande,
Make him bishippe, that prudently can preache,
As doth perteyne, to his vocation.
A person, whiche his parisheners can teache,
Cause vicars, make, dewe ministration,
Also I make you, supplication,
Make your abbotes of ryghte religious men
Whiche Christes lawe can to their couent ken,
But not to rybauldes, newe come from the roste
Nor to a lackey, stollen out of a stable,
Whiche into the scholes made neuer no coste
N…r euer was to spirituall science able,
Excepte the cardes, the dice, the chest and table
To Rome rakars, nor to rude ruffianes,
To quarell pykars, nor to prophanes.
Nor to phantastatical, fantased flatterars,
Moste mete to gether muscles in Maye,
To lacke lattins, nor yet to flatterars,
That in the churche, can neither synge nor saye,
Though they be cloked vp, in clerkes araye
Iyhe doughtie doctors, newe come out of Athēs
And mumble ouer, a payre of mangled mattens.
Not qualified, to broke any benefice,
But thorowe sir Simons sollicitation
I was promoted, in the same wyse,
Alas thorowe Princes supplication,
And made in Rome, thorowe false narration
Bishoppe, Abbot, but no religious man,
Who me promoted, I nowe their banes ban.
Howbeit I was Legat, and Cardinall
Litle I knewe, therin what shoulde be done
I vnderstode no science, spirituall,
No more then dyd, blynde Alane of the mone,
I dread the kynge, that sitteth on heauēly throne
On you Princes, he shall make sore punishment,
Ryght so on ve, thorowe ryghtuous iudgement.
On you Princes, for vndiscrite gyuyng
To ignorauntes, suche offices to vse,
And we, for our importune ashyng,
Whiche shoulde hauehave done, suche dignitie refuse
Our ignoraunce, hath done the worldly abuse,
Thorowe couetice of ryches and of rent
That euer I was a prelate, I repent.
O Kynges, make you no care to gyue in cure
Uirgins profest into religion
Into the keepyng of one commune whore
To make, thynke ye not greate derision
A woman, person, of a paryson
Wherin are twentie thousande soules to guyde
That from harlottes can not hir lyppes hyde?
What, and Kynge Dauid, lyued in these dayes
Or out of heauen, what and he loked downe
The which dyd founde so many fayre Abbayes▪
Scinge the greate, abomination,
In many Abbayes of thys nation?
He would repēt, that narrowed so his boundes,
Of yerely rent, three score thousande poundes.
Wherefore I counsayle eueryevery christened Souereigne
Wythin hys realme, make reformation
And suffre no mo rybauldes for to reigne,
Abusyng Christes true congregation,
Faylyng therof, I make narration,
That ye Princes and prelates al at ones.
Shal buryed be, in hell, soule, body and bones.
That euer I broked benefice, I rewe
Or to suche height, so proudly dyd pretende,
I muste departe, therfore my friende adewe,
Where euer it pleaseth god, now must I wende,
I praye the, to my friendes me recommende,
And fayle not at length to put in wryte,
My Tragedy, as I hauehave nowe endyte.
FINIS.