To tell red Flodden's dismal tale,
And raise the universal wail.
Tradition, legend, tune, and song
Shall many an age that wail prolong:
Still from the sire the son shall hear
Of the stern strife and carnage drear
Of Flodden's fatal field,

Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear,
And broken was her shield!

SIR WALTER SCOTT (1771-1832).
(From Marmion.)

105

4. LAMENT FOR FLODDEN.

(1513.)

THIS lament is commonly known by the title 'The Flowers of the Forest.'

I'VE heard them lilting at our ewe-milking,

Lasses a-lilting before dawn o' day :

But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning—

The flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

At buchts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning, 5
Lassies are lonely, and dowie, and wae;

Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing,
Ilk ane lifts her leglin and hies her away.

In ha'rst at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,
Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray;

At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching—
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming,
'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play,

But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie—
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

10

15

Dool and wae for the order sent our lads to the Border!
The English, for ance, by guile wan the day;
The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,
The prime o' our land, are cauld in the clay.

We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking,
Women and bairns are heartless and wae ;
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning-
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

JEAN ELLIOT (1727-1805.)

20

5. THE KING'S BALLAD.

(circ. 1520.)

HENRY VIII. was an elegant and learned writer, and it is almost certain that he wrote songs and composed the music to them. The following ballad is taken from a MS. in the British Museum, dating from Henry's own time.

PASTIME with good company

I love and shall until I die ;

Grudge who lust but none deny

So God be pleased thus live will I.

For my pastance,

Hunt, sing, and dance

My heart is set.

All goodly sport

For my comfort,

Who shall me let?

Youth must have some dalliance,

Of good or ill some pastance:

Company methinks then best,

All thoughts and fancies to digest:

5

10

For idleness

Is chief mistress

Of vices all :

Then who can say
But mirth and play
Is best of all?

Company with honesty,
Is virtue, vices to flee :
Company is good and ill,

But every man hath his free will:
The best ensue,

The worst eschew,

My mind shall be:

Virtue to use,

Vice to refuse,

Thus shall I use me.

HENRY VIII. (1491-1547).

30

6. WOLSEY'S FAREWELL.

(1529.)

IN 1529 Henry's wrath fell on Wolsey for his dilatoriness in the matter of the divorce of Catherine of Aragon. He was suddenly deprived of all his offices and exiled to his diocese of York.

Wol. So, farewell to the little good you bear me.
Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him:
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And,-when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening,-nips his root,

And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory,

But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me, and now has left me,
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy

Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye;
I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again. . .

Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition :
By that sin fell the angels; how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't?
Love thyself last cherish those hearts that hate thee;
Corruption wins not more than honesty.

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace

10

15

20

25

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not.
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,

30

Thy God's, and truth's: then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the King ;

And, prithee, lead me in:

There take an inventory of all I have,

35

To the last penny; 'tis the King's: my robe,
And my integrity to Heaven, is all

I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell!
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.

40

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564-1616.)
(King Henry VIII., ACT III. Sc. II.)

7. EARL BOTHWELL.

(1568.)

THIS ballad seems to have been written by some supporter of Darnley, soon after Mary's escape into England. There is no foundation for the statement that Mary sent for Darnley to come to Scotland to marry her.

WOE worth thee, woe worth thee, false Scotland!
For thou hast ever wrought by sleight;

For the worthiest prince that ever was born
You hanged under a cloud by night.

The Queen of France a letter wrote,

And sealed it with heart and ring,

And bade him come Scotland within,

And she would marry him and crown him king.

To be a king, it is a pleasant thing,

To be a prince unto a peer;

But you have heard, and so have I too,
A man may well buy gold too dear.

There was an Italian in that place

Was as well beloved as ever was he; Lord David was his name,

Chamberlain to the queen was he.

If the king had risen forth of his place,

He would have sit him down in the chair,

And tho' it beseemed him not so well,
Altho' the king had been present there.

Some lords in Scotland waxed wroth,

And quarrell'd with him for the nonce; I shall you tell how it befell;

Twelve daggers were in him all at once.