Lord Darly

My pen and hand proceed to write,

A woeful tale to tell:

My pen it cannot half indite,

Alas! how it befell.

Woe worth the men that treason first,

This thing did take in hand;

Of all men's mouths they may be curst

Throughout this English land.

Woe worth, woe worth, woe worth them all,

Woe worth to them alway.

As it befell to Lord Darly,

Whose friends they may all rue,

That ere he on Scotland ground,

Or any place therein knew.

The Queen of Scots a letter sent,

With it a heart and ring,

Desiring him to come to her,

And she would make him king.

Woe worth, woe worth, woe worth them all,

Woe worth to them alway.

He thought it was a courteous deed,

So noble a Queen as she

Would marry him, and make him King;

Thereto he did agree.

When first in Scotland that he went,

He was discreet and sage;

And when in hand he took to rule,

But twenty years of age.

Woe worth, woe worth, woe worth them all,

Woe worth to them alway.

But listen now, and give good ear,

To hear what chance befell;

For, as the proverb old doth go,

Gold may be bought too well.

There dwelt a stranger in the court,

Signior David called by name,

He was the first that went about

This treason vile to frame.

Woe worth, woe worth, woe worth them all,

Woe worth to them alway.

And Chamberlain he was to the Queen,

Who preferred him wondrous well,

As all the lords in court beheld,

Which caused their hearts to swell.

Against this David grudged the King,

A quarrel was picked for the nonce;

Within the chamber there was drawn

Twelve daggers all at once.

Woe worth, woe worth, woe worth them all,

Woe worth to them alway.

Some of the lords took the King's part,

And some took his certain;

Two daggers he had at his heart,

And so was David slain.

And when the Queen heard of this news,

She sore began to weep,

And made a vow and oath certain,

That she did mean to keep—

Woe worth, woe worth, woe worth them all,

Woe worth to them alway.

That in a twelvemonth and a day

She would not be pleased be,

Because that David so was slain,

With such great cruelty.

The twelvemonth and a day expired,

A meeting there should be;

By all the lords it was agreed

With great solemnity.

Woe worth, woe worth, woe worth them all,

Woe worth to them alway.

At Rocksborough Castle then and there

This King and Queen should meet,

And be made friends as erst they were;

Some lords the same did seek.

Three wights conspired the King's death,

Whose names are all well known:

For which, alas! the people in

The country made great moan.

Woe worth, woe worth, woe worth them all,

Woe worth to them alway.

The wights which this treason began,

For to destroy the King,

They took with them gunpowder there,

The chamber they went in.

And to them close they shut the door,

For fear of being spied;

They strewed the powder round about

Full thick on every side.

Woe worth, woe worth, woe worth them all,

Woe worth to them alway.

And thereon strewed rushes green,

To hide the powder withal,

Because they would not have it seen,

Nor nothing smelt at all.

The banquet then prepared is,

They sup and drink the wine;

The King, alas! knew not of this,

The which was wrought that time.

Woe worth, woe worth, woe worth them all,

Woe worth to them alway.

And after supper they did talk,

To pass away the time;

And every man his fancy spake

As best did please his mind:

Some men with Signior David held;

The King then, in a rage,

Up to his chamber went straightway,

None with him but a page.

Woe worth, woe worth, woe worth them all,

Woe worth to them alway.

And when he came the chamber in,

The page began to tell—

"You are betrayed, oh noble King,

For powder I do smell.

Oh flee from hence, haste you away,

And I on you will wait."

The King that hearing, presently

Leapt out the window straight.

Woe worth, woe worth, woe worth them all,

Woe worth to them alway.

One of them stood under the window,

And took him in his arm,

Saying, "Who art thou? Oh man, fear not,

For thou shalt have no harm."

"I am an Englishman," quoth he,

"Of Scotland I am King;

King Henry once my uncle was,

Which was of England King."

Woe worth, woe worth, woe worth them all,

Woe worth to them alway.

Two of them took the King straightway,

And bound him foot and hand;

On a pear-tree in the orchard

This noble King they hanged.

And when the Queen heard of this news,

She sore wept for the King;

"Peace, madam," quoth the Lord Jamie,

"You do but feign this thing."

Woe worth, woe worth, woe worth them all,

Woe worth to them alway.

"For why?" quoth she; "though he were young,

None was more meet than he

To have worn the crown; for his lineage,

He came of high degree.

But now I wish my Chamberlain

Had hanged in his room,

So that the King alive had been

For to have worn the crown."

Woe worth, woe worth, woe worth them all,

Woe worth to them alway.

Thus hath this noble King also,

His life cost, as you hear;

Therefore I say, and will do still,

He did buy gold too dear.

God grant, good Lord, with heart I pray,

Our noble Queen to guide;

And grant that never traitors false

About her Highness bide.

Woe worth, woe worth, woe worth them all,

Woe worth to them alway.