The Raigne of King
Enter the Countesse.
Alas how much in vaine my poore eyes gaze,
For souccour that my soueraigne should send;
A co sin Mountague, I feare thou wants,
The liuely spirirt sharpely to solicit,
W th vehement sute the king in my behalfe:
Thou dost not tell him what a griefe it is,
To be the scornefull captiue to a Scot,
Either to be wooed with broad vntuned othes,
Or forst by rough insulting barbarisme:
Thou doest not tell him if he heere preuaile,
How much they will deride vs in the North,
And in their vild vnseuill skipping giggs,
Bray foorth their Conquest, and our ouerthrow,
Euen in the barraine, bleake and fruitlesse aire,
Enter Dauid and Douglas, Lorraine.
I must withdraw, the euerlasting soe,
Comes to the wall, Ile closely step aside,
And list their babble blunt and full of pride.
For souccour that my soueraigne should send;
A co sin Mountague, I feare thou wants,
The liuely spirirt sharpely to solicit,
W th vehement sute the king in my behalfe:
Thou dost not tell him what a griefe it is,
To be the scornefull captiue to a Scot,
Either to be wooed with broad vntuned othes,
Or forst by rough insulting barbarisme:
Thou doest not tell him if he heere preuaile,
How much they will deride vs in the North,
And in their vild vnseuill skipping giggs,
Bray foorth their Conquest, and our ouerthrow,
Euen in the barraine, bleake and fruitlesse aire,
Enter Dauid and Douglas, Lorraine.
I must withdraw, the euerlasting soe,
Comes to the wall, Ile closely step aside,
And list their babble blunt and full of pride.
K. Da: My Lord of Lorrayne, to our brother of Fraunce,
Commend vs as the man in Christendome,
That we must reuerence and intirely loue,
Touching your embassage, returne and say,
That we with England will not enter parlie,
Nor neuer make faire wether, or take truce,
But burne their neighbor townes and so persist
With eager Rods beyond their Citie Yorke,
And neuer shall our bonny riders rest:
Nor rust in canker, haue the time to eate,
Their light borne snaffles, nor their nimble spu
Nor lay a side their Iacks of Gymould mayle,
Nor hang their staues of grayned Scottish ash,
In peacefull wise, vpon their Citie wals,
Nor from their buttoned tawny leatherne belts,
Dismisse their byting whinyards, till your King,
Commend vs as the man in Christendome,
That we must reuerence and intirely loue,
Touching your embassage, returne and say,
That we with England will not enter parlie,
Nor neuer make faire wether, or take truce,
But burne their neighbor townes and so persist
With eager Rods beyond their Citie Yorke,
And neuer shall our bonny riders rest:
Nor rust in canker, haue the time to eate,
Their light borne snaffles, nor their nimble spu
Nor lay a side their Iacks of Gymould mayle,
Nor hang their staues of grayned Scottish ash,
In peacefull wise, vpon their Citie wals,
Nor from their buttoned tawny leatherne belts,
Dismisse their byting whinyards, till your King,
Chr
