The Tragedie of the Cardinall

Nocht lang ago, efter the hour of pryme,
Secreitly sittyng in mine Oratorie,
I tuk ane Buke, till occupy the tyme,
Quhare I fand mony Tragedie and Storie,
Quhilk Jhone Bochas had put in memorie ;
Quhow mony Prencis, Conquerours, and Kingis
War dulfullie depossit frome thair ringis.

Quhow Alexander, the potent Conquerour,
In Babilone was poysonit pieteouslie ;
And Julius the mychtie Empriour,
Murdreist at Rome, causles and cruellie ;
Prudent Pompey, in Egypt schamefullie
He murdreist was : Quhat nedith proces more ?
Quhose Tragedeis war pietie tyll deplore.

I sittyng so, upon my Buke redyng,
Rycht suddantlie afore me did appeir
Ane woundit man, aboundantlie bledyng,
With vissage paill, and with ane deidlye cheir ;
Semand ane man of two and fyftie yeir ;
In rayment reid cloithit full curiouslie,
Of vellvoit, and of satyn crammosie.

With febyll voce, as man opprest with paine,
Softlye he made me supplycatioun,
Sayand, My friend, go reid and reid againe,
Geve thow can fynde, by true narratioun,
Of ony paine lyke to my passioun :
Rycht sure I am, war Jhone Bochas on lyve,
My Tragedie at lenth he wald discryve.

Sen he is gone, I pray thee tyll indyte
Of my infortune sum remembrance ;
Or at the leist, my Tragedie to wryte,
As I to thee sall schaw the circumstance,
In termes breve, of my unhappy chance,
Sen my beginnyng tyll my fatall ende,
Quhilk I wald tyll all creature war kende.

I not, said I, mak sic memoriall,
Geve of thy name I had intelligence.
I am David, that cairfull Cardinall,
Quhilk doith appeir, said he, to thy presens
That umquhyle had so gret preeminens :
Than he began his dedis tyll indyte,
As ye sall heir, and I began to wryte.

I, David Betoun, umquhyle Cardinall,
Of nobyll blude, be lyne, I did descend :
During my tyme, I had no paregall ;
Bot now is cum, allace ! my fatall end.
Aye, gre by gre, upwart I did ascende ;
Swa that in to this realme did never ryng
So greit one man as I, under ane kyng.

Quhen I was ane young joly gentyll man,
Prencis to serve I sett my hole intent.
First tyll ascende, at Arbroith I began,
Ane Abacie of greit ryches and rent,
Of that estait, yit was I nocht contente :
To get more ryches, dignitie, and glore,
My hart was set : allace ! allace ! tharefore.

I maid sic servyce tyll our Soverane kyng,
He did promove me tyll more hie estait,
One Prince abufe all preistis for tyll ryng,
Archebyschope of Sanctandrois consecrat.
Tyll that honour quhen I wes elevate,
My prydefull hart was nocht content at all
Tyll that I create wes ane Cardinall.

Yit preisit I tyll have more auctoritie,
And fynalie was chosin Chancelare.
And for uphalding of my dignitie
Was maid Legate ; than had I no compare.
I purcheist for my proffect singulare,
My boxis and my threasure tyll avance
The Byschopreik of Merapose, in France.

Of all Scotland I had the Governall ;
But my avyse, concludit wes no thyng :
Abbot, Byschope, Archebyschope, Cardinall,
In to this Realme no hiear could I ryng,
Bot I had bene Pape, Emperour, or Kyng.
For schortnes of the tyme, I am nocht abyll
At lenth to schaw my actis honorabyll.

For my moste princelye prodigalytie,
Amang prelatis in France, I bure the pryse,
I schew my lordlye lyberalitie,
In banketting, playing at cartis, and dyse ;
In to sic wysedome I was haldin wyse.
And sparit nocht to play, with Kyng nor Knycht,
Three thousand crownis of gold, upon ane nycht

In France I maid seir honest voyagis,
Quhare I did actis ding of remembrance.
Throuch me war maid triumphand mariagis
Tyll our Soverane boith proffet and plesance.
Quene Magdalene, the first Dochter of France,
With greit ryches, was in to Scotland brocht :
That mariage throuch my wysedome wes wrocht

Efter quhose deith, in France I paste agane :
The secunde Quene homwart I did convoye,
That lustye Princes, Marie de Lorane,
Quhilk wes resavit with greit tryumphe and joye.
So servit I our rycht redouttit Roye.
Sone efter that, Harye of Ingland Kyng,
Of our Soverane desyrit ane commonyng.

Of that metyng our Kyng wos weill content,
So that in York was sett boith tyme and place :
Bot our Prelatis nor I wald never consent
That he sulde se Kyng Harye in the face ;
Bot we wer weill content, quhowbeit his Grace
Had saylit the sey to speik with ony uther,
Except that Kyng, quhilk was his Mother Brother.

Quhair throuch thar rose greit weir and mortal stryfe,
Greit heirschipps, hounger, darth, and desolatioun ;
On ather syde did mony lose thair lyfe,
Geve I wald mak ane trew narratioun,
I causit all that trybulatioun :
For tyll mak peace I never wald consent,
Without the Kyng of France had bene content.

Duryng this weir war takin prisoneris,
Of nobyll men fechtyng full furiouslie,
Mony one lorde, barrone, and bachileris,
Quhair throuch our Kyng tuke sic melancolie
Quhilk drave hym to the dede, rycht dulefullie.
Extreme dolour ouirset did so his hart,
That frome this lyfe, allace ! he did depart.

Bot, efter that boith strenth and speche wes lesit,
Ane paper blank his Grace I gart subscryve,
In to the quhilk I wrait all that I plesit
Efter his deith, quhilk lang war tyll descryve,
Throuch that wrytting I purposit, belyve,
With supporte of sum Lordis benevolens,
In this regioun tyll have preemynens.

As for my Lord, our rychteous Governour :
Geve I wald schortlie schaw the veritie,
Tyll hym I had no maner of favour.
Duryng that tyme, I purposit that he
Suld nevir cum to none Auctoritie :
For his supporte, tharefor, he brocht amang us,
Furth of Ingland, the nobyll Erle of Angus.

Than was I put abak frome my purpose,
And suddantlie caste in captyvitie,
My prydefull hart to dant, as I suppose,
Devysit by the heich Divinitie :
Yit in my hart sprang no humylitie.
Bot now the Word of God full weill I knaw,
Quho dois exault hym self, God sall hym law.

In the meine tyme, quhen I wes so subjectit,
Ambassadouris war sent in to Ingland,
Quhair thay boith peace and mariage contractit ;
And more surelie for tyll observe that band,
War promeist divers pleagis of Scotland.
Of that contract I wes no way content
Nor nevir wald thareto geve my consent.

Tyll Capytanis that kepit me in waird,
Gyftis of gold I gave thame greit plentie ;
Rewlaris of court I rychelie did rewaird,
Quhair throuch I chapit frome captivitie :
Bot quhen I wes free at my libertie,
Than, lyke ane lyone lowsit of his caige,
Out throuch this realme I gan to reill and rage.

Contrare the Governour, and his companie,
Oft tymes maid I insurrectioun,
Purposyng for tyll have hym haistelie
Subdewit unto my correctioun,
Or put hym tyll extreme subjectioun.
Duryng this tyme, geve it war weill decydit,
This realme by me was utterlie devydit.

The Governour purposyng to subdew,
I raisit ane oyste of mony bald Barroun,
And maid ane raid, quhilk Lythgow yit may rew ;
For we distroyit ane myle about the town :
For that I gat mony blak malysoun :
Yit, contrare the Governouris intent,
With our Young Princess, we to Strivilyng went.

For heich contemptioun of the Governour,
I brocht the Erle of Lennox furth of France :
That lustie Lord, levand in gret plesour,
Did lose that land and honest ordinance.
Bot he and I fell sone at variance,
And throuch my counsall was within schort space,
Forfaltit and flemit, he gat none uther grace.

Than throuch my prudens, practyke, and ingyne,
Our Governour I causit to consent
Full quyetlie, to my counsale inclyne ;
Quhareof his Nobyllis war nocht weill content :
For quhy, I gart dissolve in plane Parliament,
The band of peace contractit with Ingland,
Quharthrouch come harme and heirschip to Scotland.

That peace brokin, arose new mortall weiris,
Be sey, and land, sic reif without releif,
Quhilk to report my frayit hart affeiris :
The veritie to schaw, in termes breif,
I was the rute of all that gret myscheif.
The South Countre may saye, it had bene gude
That my noryce had smorit me in my cude.

I wes the cause of mekle more myschance,
For uphald of my glore, and dignitie,
And plesour of the potent Kyng of France :
With Ingland wald I have no unitie :
Bot, quho consydder wald the veritie,
We mycht full weill have levit in peace and rest,
Nyne or ten yeiris, and than playit louse or fast.

Had we with Ingland keipit our contrackis,
Our nobyll men had levit in peace and rest ;
Our marchandis had nocht lost so mony packis,
Our commoun peple had nocht bene opprest :
On ather syde, all wrangis had bene redrest ;
Bot Edinburgh sen syne, Leith, and Kynghorne,
The day and hour may ban, that I was borne.

Our Governour, to mak hym to me sure,
With sweit and subtell wordis I did hym syle,
Tyl I his sone and air gat in my cure ;
To that effect, I fand that craftye wyle,
That he no maner of waye mycht me begyle :
Than leuch I, quhen his liegis did allege
Quhow I his sone had gottin in to plege.

The Erle of Angus, and his germane Brother,
I purposit to gar thaim lose thair lyfe;
Rycht so tyll have destroyit mony uther,
Sum with the fyre, sum with the sword and knyfe ;
In speciale mony gentyll men of Fyfe ;
And purposit tyll put to gret torment
All favoraris of the Auld and New Testament.

Than every freik thay tuke of me sic feir,
That tyme quhen I had so greit governance,
Greit Lordis dreidyng, I sulde do thame deir,
Thay durst nocht cum tyll court, bot assurance :
Sen syne thare hes nocht bene sic variance.
Now, tyll our Prince, barronis obedientlie,
But assurance, thay cum full courteslie.

My hope was moste in to the Kyng of France,
Togiddir with the Popis holynes,
More nor in God, my worschipe tyll avance.
I traistit so into thair gentylnes,
That no man durste presume me tyll oppres :
Bot, quhen the day come, of my fatall houre,
Far was frome me thair supporte and succoure.

Than to preserve my ryches, and my lyfe,
I made one strenth, of wallis heych and braid,
Sic ane Fortres wes never found in Fyfe,
Belevand thare durst no man me invaid.
Now fynd I trew the saw, quhilk David said,
Without God of ane hous be Maister of wark,
He wyrkis in vaine, thocht it be never so stark.

For I was, throuch the hie power Divine,
Rycht dulefullye doung down amang the ass,
Quhilk culd not be throuch mortall mannis ingyne :
Bot, as David did slay the gret Golyas,
Or Helopherne be Judith killit was,
In myd amang his tryumphant armye,
So was I slane into my cheiff Cietie.

Quhen I had gretest dominatioun,
As Lucifer had, in the Hevin impyre,
Came suddantlye my deprivatioun,
Be thame quhilk did my dolent deith conspyre.
So cruell was thair furious byrnand yre,
I gat no tyme, laser, nor lybertie,
To saye, In manus tuas Domine.

Behald my fatall infylicitie :
I beand in my strenth incomparabyll,
That dreidfull dungeoun maid me no supplye
My gret ryches, nor rentis profitabyll,
My sylver work, jowellis inestimabyll,
My Papall pompe, of golde my ryche thresoure,
My lyfe and all, I loste in half ane hour.

To the pepill wes maid ane spectakle
Of my dede and deformit carioun.
Sum said, it was ane manifest myrakle ;
Sum said it was Divine punitioun
So to be slane, in to my Strang dungeoun :
Quhen every man had judgit as hym lyste,
Thay saltit me, syne closit me in ane kyste.

I lay unburyit seven monethis and more,
Or I was borne to closter, kirk, or queir,
In ane mydding, quhilk paine bene tyll deplore,
Without suffrage of chanoun, monk, or freir :
All proud Prelatis at me may lessonis leir,
Quhilk rang so lang, and so triumphantlie,
Syne, in the dust doung doun so dulefullie.

To The Prelatis.

O ye my Brether ! Prencis of the Preistis,
I mak yow hartly supplycatioun,
Boith nycht and day revolve in to your breistis,
The proces of my deprivatioun.
Consydder quhat bene your vocatioun :
To follow me, I pray yow nocht pretend yow,
Bot reid at lenth this cedull that I send yow.

Ye knaw quhow Jesus his disciplis sent,
Ambassadouris tyll every natioun,
To schaw his law, and his commandement
To all pepill, by predycatioun ;
Tharefor I mak to yow narratioun,
Sen ye to thame ar verray successouris,
Ye aucht tyll do, as did your predecessouris.

Quhow dar ye be so bauld tyll tak on hand,
For to be herraldis to so greit ane Kyng,
To beir his message boith to burgh and land,
Ye beand dum, and can pronunce no thyng,
Lyke Menstralis, that can nocht play nor sing !
Or quhy suld men geve to sic hirdis hyre,
Quhilk can not gyde thair scheip about the myre.

Eschame ye nocht to be Christis servitouris,
And for your fee, hes gret temporall landis :
Syne of your office can nocht take the curis,
As Cannone Law and Scripture yow commandis !
Ye wyll nocht want teind scheif, nor offerandis,
Teind woll, teind lambe, teind calf, teind gryce, and guse;
To mak servyce ye ar all out of use.

My deir Brether, do nocht as ye war wount
Amend your lyfe, now quhill your day induris;
Traist weill, ye sall be callit to your count
Of everilk thyng belanging to your curis.
Leif hasartrie, your harlotrie, and huris,
Remembring on my unprovisit deid :
For efter deith may no man mak remeid.

Ye Prelatis, quhilkis hes thousandis for to spende,
Ye send ane sempyll Freir for yow to preiche :
It is your craft, I mak it to yow kend,
Your selfis in your Templis for to teiche.
Bot ferlye nocht, thocht, syllie freris fleiche ;
For, and thay planelie schaw the veritie,
Than wyll thay want the Byschopis charitie.

Quharefor bene gevin yow sic Royall rent,
Bot for tyll fynd the pepill Spirituall fude,
Prechand to thame the Auld and New Testament ?
The Law of God doith planely so conclude.
Put nocht your hope in to no warldly gude,
As I have done : behauld my gret thresoure
Maid me no helpe, at my unhappye houre.

That day quhen I was Byschope consecrait
The great Byble wes bound upon my bak ;
Quhat wes tharein, lytill I knew, God wait !
More than ane beist berand ane precious pak.
Bot haistelie my covenant I brak ;
For, I wes oblyssit, with my awin consent
The Law of God to preiche with gude intent.

Brether, rycht so, quhen ye wer consecrait
Ye oblyssit yow all on the samyn wyse.
Ye may be callit Byschoppis countrefait,
As gallandis buskit for to mak ane Gyse.
Now thynk I, Prencis ar no thyng to pryse,
Tyll geve ane famous office tyll ane fule ;
As quho walde putt ane myter on ane mule.

Allace ! and ye that sorrowfull sycht hade sene,
Quhow I lay bullerand, baithit in my blude,
To mend your lyfe, it had occasioun bene,
And leif your auld corruptit consuetude :
Failyeing thareof, than, schortlie I conclude,
Without ye frome your rebaldrye aryse,
Ye sall be servit on the samyn wyse.

To The Prencis.

Imprudent Prencis, but discretioun,
Havyng in erth power Imperiall
Ye bene the cause of this transgressioun :
I speik to yow all, in to generall,
Quhilk doith dispone all office Spirituall,
Gevand the saulis, quhilkis bene Chrystis scheip,
To blynd pastouris but conscience to keip.

Quhen ye, Prencis, doith laik ane officiar,
Ane baxster, browster, or ane maister cuke,
Ane trym tailyeour, ane counnyng cordynar,
Ouir all the land at lenth, ye wyll gar luke
Most abyll men sic officis tyll bruke :
Ane browster quhilk can brew most hoilsum aill,
Ane cunnyng cuke, quhilk best can sessoune caill.

Ane tailyeour, quhilk hes fosterit bene in France,
That can mak garmentis, on the gayest gyse.
Ye Prencis bene the cause of this myschance,
That, quhen thare doith vaik ony benefyse,
Ye aucht tyll do upone the samyn wyse,
Gar sears and seik, baith in to burgh and lande,
The law of God quho best can understand.

Mak hym Byschope, that prudentlie can preche,
As dois pertene tyll his vocatioun ;
Ane Persone, quhilk his parischoun can teche :
Gar Vicaris mak dew mynistratioun.
And als, I mak you supplicatioun,
Mak your Abbotis of rycht religious men,
Quhilk Christis law can to thair Convent ken :

But not to rebaldis, new cum frome the roste,
Nor of ane stuffat stollin out of ane stabill,
The quhilk in to the scule maid never na coste,
Nor never was tyll Spirituall science abill ;
Except the cartis, the dyce, the ches, and tabill,
Of Rome rakaris, nor of rude ruffianis,
Of calsay paikaris, nor of publycanis.

Nor to fantastyke fenyeit flatteraris,
Most meit to gather mussillis in to Maye,
Of cowhubeis, nor yit of clatterraris,
That in the Kirk can nother sing, nor saye,
Thocht they be clokit up in clerkis arraye,
Lyke doytit Doctoris new cum out of Athenis,
And mummyll ouer ane pair of maiglit matenis.

Nocht qualyfeit to bruk ane benefyse,
Bot throuch Schir Symonis solysitatioun,
I was promovit on the samyn wyse,
Allace ! throuch Prencis supplycatioun,
And maid in Rome, throuch fals narratioun,
Byschope, Abbote, bot no Religious man :
Quho me promovit I now thair banis ban.

Quhowbeit I was Legat, and Cardinall,
Lytill I knew tharein quhat suld be done ;
I understude no science Spirituall,
No more than did blynd Alane of the Mone.
I dreid the Kyng that syttith heych abone,
On yow Prencis sall mak sore punischement,
Rycht so, on us, throuch rychteous judgement :

On yow Prencis, for undiscreit gevyng
Tyll ignorantis sic officis tyll use ;
And we, for our inoportune askyng,
Quhilk sulde have done sic dignitie refuse.
Our ignorance hes done the warld abuse,
Throuch Covatyce of ryches, and of rent.
That ever I was ane Prelate, I repent.

O Kyngis, mak ye no cair to geve in cure,
Virginis profest in to Religioun,
In tyll the keipyng of ane commoun hure ?
To mak, think ye nocht gret derisioun,
Ane woman Persone of ane parischoun,
Quhare thare bene two thousand saulis to gyde,
That from harlottis can not hir hyppis hyde ?

Quhat, and Kyng David levit in thir dayis,
Or out of hevin, quhat and he lukit down,
The quhilk did found so mony fair Abbayis ?
Seand the gret abhominatioun
In mony Abbayis of this Natioun,
He wald repent, that narrowit so his boundis,
Of yeirly rent three score of thousand poundis.

Quharefor I counsale everyilk Christinit Kyng,
Within his realme mak Reformatioun,
And suffer no mo rebaldis for to ryng
Abufe Christis trew Congregatioun :
Failyeing thareof, I mak narratioun,
That ye Prencis, and Prelatis, all at onis,
Sall bureit be in hell, saule, blude and bonis.

That ever I brukit benefice I rew,
Or to sic hycht so proudely did pretend ;
I man depart, tharefor, my friends, adew !
Quhare ever it plesith God, now man I wend.
I pray thee tyll my freindis me recommend,
And failye nocht, at lenth, to put in wryte
My Tragedie, as I have done indyte.