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And Guthrie, who did me oppose,
By hanging he his days did close;
And Warriston the worst of all,
By my friend Fletcher he did fall.
Thus wonderfully he did please me,
When of these rebels he did ease me;
For which good service he doth sit
Among the princes of my pit.
And my dear cousin, Provost Mill,
Burnt covenants, yet thought no ill,
At Lithgow cross, with more disgrace,
Than ever was at any place.
He burnt Lex Rex, and other books,
Which sourly on my interest looks;
And many acts of kirk and state,
Which he knew well that I did hate,
'Cause they advanc'd a reformation,
That shook my kingdom thro' the nation.
He burnt old brechams, rocks and reel,
Also the picture o' the Deil;
I mean myself, 'cause he did think
My effigies would make all stink,
That he burnt on that solemn day,
Upon the twenty-ninth of May.
But my dear cousin was mista'en,
The covenants remain'd in fame,
By some that did love them so well,
That with their blood they did them seal;
Yet Provost Mill was not to blame,
Since he so basely did defame
All covenants, all acts and laws,
That favour'd the fanatic cause;
Himself to me he did surrender,
And for a time liv'd in great splendour;
