The tragical death of Dauid Beato[n] Bishoppe of sainct Andrewes in Scotland Whereunto is ioyned the martyrdom of maister George Wyseharte gentleman, for whose sake the aforesayed bishoppe was not long after slayne. Wherein thou maist learne what a burnynge charitie they shewed not only towards him: but vnto al suche as come to their hades for the blessed Gospels sake.

The Tragedie.

¶ I Dauid Beaton some tyme Cardinall Of noble bloude, by lyne I dyd descende Duryng my tyme, I had no peir equall, But nowe is come, alas, my fatall ende. Aye, gree by gree, vp warde I dyd ascende, So that in thys realme dyd neuer reigne So greate a man (as I) vnder my soueraigne.

When I was a yonge ioyly gentleman Princes to serue, I set my whole entent. First to ascende, at Arbroth I began, An abbasie of greate ryches, and rent, Of that estate, yet was I not content, To get more ryches dignitie and glore, My herte was set, alas alas therfore.

I made suche seruice, vntyll our Souereigne He dyd promote me, to more high estate, A Prince aboue all priestes, for to Reigne, Archbishoppe of sainct Andrewes consecrate, To that honour, when I was eleuate My prydefull herte, was not content at all Tyll that I was created a Cardinall.

Yet preste I, to haue more authoritie And finally was chosen Chauncelat And for vpholdynge, of my dignitie Was made Legate, then had I no compare, I purchest, for my profit singulare, My cofers, and my treasure to auaunce, The bishopriche of Merapois in Fraunce.

Of al Scotlande, I had the gouernal But myne aduise concluded was not certeyne Abbot, bishoppe, archbishoppe, cardinal In thys realme no higher coulde I reigne But I had ben Pope, Emperour or souereigne For shortnes of tyme, I am not able At length to shewe myne actes honourable

For my moste princely prodigalitie Amonge prelates in Fraunce, I toke the pryce I dyd shewe my lordly liberalitie In banketyng, playinge at cardes and dice In suche wysedome I was holden wyse And spared not, to playe wyth hynge or knyght Thre thousand crownes of gold vpō one nyght

In Fraunce, sir, I made honest voyages Where I dyd artes, digne of remembraunce Thorowe me were made triumphant mariages To our souereigne both profit and pleasaunce Quene Magdalē, the fyrst doughter of Fraūce With great riches, was into Scotland brought That mariage thorow my wisdō was wrought

After whose death into Fraunce I past agayne The seconde quene, homewarde I dyd conuoye, That lustie Princesse, Mary de Loraine Whiche was receiued wyth tryumph and Ioye

So serued I, our ryght redoubted Roye, Sone after that, Henrie of Englande kynge Of our soueraigne, desyred one communyng.

Of that metyng, our kynge was wel content So that in Yorke, was set both tyme and place, But our prelates and I, woulde neuer consent, That he shoulde see, kynge Henry in the face. But we were wel content, so that his grace, Had sayled the sea, to speake wyth any other, Except y^e king, which was his mothers brother

Where thorowe, there arose, great war & mortal strife, Great heirships, hūgar, darth, & desolatiō On the other syde many dyd lose their lyfe. If I woulde make any true narration, I caused, all that tribulation, For to take peace I neuer woulde consent, Wythout the kynge of Fraunce, had ben cōtent

Duryng these warres, were taken prisoners Of noble men, fyghtyng ful turiously Many a Lorde, baron, and bacchillers. Where thorowe our kynge, toke such melancoly Whiche draue him, to the deede ryght dolefully, Extreme dolour, ouerset dyd so his herte That from thys lyfe, alas he dyd departe

But after y^t, boeth strength & speach were losed, A paper blanke, I gatte his grace subscriue, Into whiche I wrought, al that me pleased. After his death, whiche longe were to discriue, Thorowe that wrytyng, I purposed belyue, Wyth support of some lordes beneuolence, In thys region, to haue preeminence.

As for our Lorde, our rightuous Gouernour. If I woulde shortly, shewe the veritie, To hym I had no maner of fauour. Durynge that tyme, I purposed that he Shoulde neuer come, to none authoritie, For his support, therfore he broughte among vs Forth of Englande, the noble Erle of Anguishe.

Then was I put abacke from my purpose, And sodenly caste into captiuitie, My prideful herte, to breake, as I suppose, Deuised by the high diuinitie. Yet in my herte, sprange no humilitie, But nowe the worde of God ful wel I knowe, Who doth exalt hym selfe, God shal hym lowe.

In the meane tyme, when I was so subiected, Ambassatours were sent into Englande, Where they both peace, and maryage cōtracted And more suerly for to obserue that bande Were promised diuerse pledges of Scotlande. Of that contracte, I was no waye content, Nor euer woulde therto, geue my consent.

To captaines that kept me in warde Gyftes of golde, I gaue them greate plentie Rulars of courte, I rychely dyd rewarde, Wherby I escaped, from captiuitie, But when I was free, at my libertie, Then lyke a Lyon, losed of his caige, Out thorow this realme, I begā to raile & raige.

Contrary the Gouernour, and his companie, Ofte tymes made I, insurrection. Purposyng for to haue hym hastely, Subdued vnto my correction,

Or put hym to extreme subiection, Duryng thys tyme, if it were wel dissided Thys realme, by me, was vtterly deuided,

The Gouernour purposyng to subdue, I raysed an hoste of many a bolde baron, And made a rode, which Lyghgowe yet may rue For we destroyed, one myle aboute the towne For that I gate, many blacke malison, Yet contrary the Gouernours entent, Wyth our yong princesse, we to Steruiling wēt

For high contemptation of the Gouernour, I brought the Erie of Lemox, forth of Fraunce That lustie Lorde, lyuyng in greate pleasure Dyd lose that laude, and honest ordinaunce, But he and I fell cone at variaunce, And thorowe my councell, was in short space Forfaited, and banished, he gate no other grace.

Then thorowe my prudence, practice and ingine Our Gouernour I caused to consente, Ful quietly, to my councel incline, Wherof his nobles, were not wel content, For why, I gate, dissolued, in playne parliament The bande of peace, contarcted with Englande, Where thorow came harme, & heirship to Scot∣lande.

That peace broken, arrose newe mortall warre, By sea and lande, suche theifte wythout releue, Whiche to reporte, it frayeth my herte farre. The veritie to shewe in termes breue I was the rote of al that greate mischeue The South countrey (may say) it had ben good, That my nourice, had smored me in my coud.

I was the cause of mykle more mischaunce For vpholde of my glore and dignitie, And pleasure of the potent kynge of Fraunce▪ Wyth Englande woulde I haue no vnitie, But who consider woulde, the veritie. We myght full wel, haue lyued in peace and rest Nyne or tenne yeres, and then played lose or fast

Had we wyth Englande kept our contrackes Our noble men had lyued, in peace and rest Our marchauntes had not lost, so many packes. Our commune people, had not ben opprest, On thother syde, al wronges had ben redrest, But Endenburgh (sence that) Lyth & Kyngorne, The day and houre, maye ban that I was borne

Our Gouernour to make hym to me sure Wyth sw••te and subtile wordes I did hym fyle Tyll I his sonne and heyre, gat in my cure To that effecte, I founde that craftie wyle, That he no maner of way myght me begyle. Then laughed I, when his liege dyd alleage Howe I his sonne had gotten into pleage.

The Erle of Anguishe, ▪ his germaine brother I purposed, to ryd them out of thys lyfe, Ryght so to haue destroyed many other, Some wyth the fyre, some w^t the sworde & knyfe Especially many gentlemen of Fyfe, And purposed, to haue put to torment Al fauourers of the olde and newe testament.

Then euery man toke of me suche feare That tyme when I had, so greate gouernaunce Greate lordes dreading, I shoulde do them deare They dursie not come at courte, but assuraunce

Sence y^t tyme, there hath not ben such variaūce Nowe to our princesse, barons obediently Wyth assuraunce, they come ful curteously

My hope was moste, in the kynge of Fraunce, To gether, wyth the Popes holynes, More then in God, my worshippe to auaunce, I rested so into their gentlenesse, That no man durst presume me to oppresse, But when the daye came, of my fatal houre Farre was from me, their support and succour

Then to preserue, my ryches, and my lyfe, One strength, of walles high and brode, I made Suche a fortresse was neuer founde in Fyfe, Beleuynge there durste, no man inuade. Now fynd I true, y^e saiyng, which Dauid sayd Without God of an house, be maister of warke He worketh in vain, though it be neuer so starke

For I was thorowe the high power deuine Right dolfully stroken downe, among the asshe, Which could not be thorow mortall mās ingine But as Dauid dyd slaye, the greate Golyasse, Or Olopharne, by Iudeth, kylled wasse. In mydde amonge, his triumphaunt armie So was I slayne, in my chiefe citie

When I had greatest dominion As Lucifer had, in the heauenly Empire Came sodenly, my depriuation, By them whi••he dyd my dolent conspire So cruell was, their furious burnynge Ire I gat, no tyme, leasure, nor libertie To saye, In manus tuas domine.

Beholde my fatal infelicitie, I beinge in my strength incomparable. That dreadful doungion, made me no saftie My greate ryches, nor rentes profitable, My syluer warke, Iewelles inestimable, My papall pompe, of golde, my riche treasure, My lyfe and al, I loste in halfe an houre.

To the people, was made a spectacle Of my dead, and deformed carion, Some sayed it was a manifest miracle, Some sayed it was devine punition So to be stayne, in my stronge doungion, When euery man, had iudged as him list, They salted me, and then closed me in a chist,

I laye vnburyed, seuen monethes and more Or I was borne to cloyster, churche, or quiar In a donghyll, whiche is payne to deplore, Wythout suffrage of chanon, monke, or friar, Al proud prelates, by me maye learne to be wisar Whiche reigned so longe, and so triumphantly, Sence in the dust, stroken downe, so dolefully.

¶ His exhortation. To the Prelates.

O ye my bretherne, Princes of the priestes, I make you hertely, supplication, Both nyght and daye, reuolue in your breastes, The processe, of my depriuation, Consider, what is your vocation, To folowe me, I praye you, not pretende you, But read at length this shedul that I sende you

Ye knowe howe Iesu his disciples sent, Ambassatours, to euery nation, To shewe his lawe, and his commaundement, To al people, by predication. Therfore I make, to you narration Seeinge you to them, are very successours, You ought so to do, as dyd your predicessours.

Howe dare ye be so bolde, to take in hande, To be heraldes, to so greate a Kynge, To beare his message, boeth to borough & lande. Ye beinge domme, and can pronounce nothynge, Lyke minstrels, that can not playe, nor synge, Or why shoulde men, geue suche heardes hyre, Whiche can not guide, their ship, out of the myre

Shame ye not, to be christen seruitures, And for your fee, haue greate temporal landes, Seeinge of your office, ye can not take cures? As cōmune lawe, & scriptures you cōmaundes? Ye wyl not wāt, teathing sheaffe, nor offeringes, Tithing wol, teathing lābe, teathing calfe, & like thinges To do you true seruice, you make ma∣ny abusinges

My deare bretherne do not as ye were wount Amēd your lyfe now, while your dayes indures, Truste wel, ye shalbe called to a count, Of euery thynge belongyng to your cures, Leaue Idolatrie, your harlotrie and whores, Remembryng on, my vnpromised dede, For after death, maye no man make remede,

Ye prelates, which haue thousādes for to spend Ye sende one simple fryar, for you to preache It is your crafte, I make it to you kend, Your selues, in your temples for to teache

Therfore marueil not, at their flattering speach For and they playnely, shewe the veritie, Then will they want the bishoppes charitie

Wherfore is geuen to you suche royal rent But for to fynde the people spiritual fode Preaching to them, the olde and newe testamēt? The lawe of God, doeth playnly so conclude Put not your hope in your worldly good, As I haue done, beholde my greate treasure made me no healpe, at myne vnhappy houre.

That daye when I was bishoppe consecrate The greate Bible was bounde vpon my backe What was therin litle I kn••we God woate More then a beast, bearynge a precious packe But hastely my couenaunt I brake. For I dyd forget, wyth myne owne consent The lawe of God, to preache wyth good entent

Bretherne ryghte so, when ye were consecrate, Ye so got you all, in the same wyse. Ye maye be called, bishoppes counterfayte As gallandes busked, to make a gyse, Nowe thynke I princes, are nothynge wyse, To geue a famouse office to a fole to rule As, who woulde put a mytar, vpon a mule.

Alas and ye, that sorowful sight had sene, Howe I laye blentheryng bathed in my bloude To amende your lyfe, it had occasion bene, And lefte your olde, corrupte consuetude, Blamynge the same, then shortly I conclude Wythout ye from your rybauldrie aryse, Ye shall be serued on the same wyse.

¶ His exhortation to the Princes.

Imprudent princes wythout discretion, Hauing in earth power imperiall Ye be the cause of thys transgression I speake to you all in generall, Whiche do dispone, all office spirituall, Gyuyng the soules, whiche are Christes sheepe, To blynde postours, wythout cōscience to keepe

When ye princes do lacke an officer A baker, a brewer, or any maister coke, A tryme taylour, a cunnyng cordiner Ouer al the lande, at length ye wyll sende to loke Moste able men suche office to broke▪ A brewer, whiche can brewe moste holsome ale, A cunnyng coke, whiche best can season cayle.

A taylour, whiche fostered hath ben in Fraunce That can make garmentes of the gayest gyse, Ye princes, be the cause of thys mischaunce, That when there doth voyed any benefice Ye oughte to do, euen the same wyse. Go searche and seche, both borough and lande, The lawe of God, who beste can vnderstande,

Make him bishippe, that prudently can preache, As doth perteyne, to his vocation. A person, whiche his parisheners can teache, Cause vicars, make, dewe ministration, Also I make you, supplication, Make your abbotes of ryghte religious men Whiche Christes lawe can to their couent ken,

But not to rybauldes, newe come from the roste Nor to a lackey, stollen out of a stable,

Whiche into the scholes made neuer no coste N••r euer was to spirituall science able, Excepte the cardes, the dice, the chest and table To Rome rakars, nor to rude ruffianes, To quarell pykars, nor to prophanes.

Nor to phantastatical, fantased flatterars, Moste mete to gether muscles in Maye, To lacke lattins, nor yet to flatterars, That in the churche, can neither synge nor saye, Though they be cloked vp, in clerkes araye Iyhe doughtie doctors, newe come out of Athēs And mumble ouer, a payre of mangled mattens.

Not qualified, to broke any benefice, But thorowe sir Simons sollicitation I was promoted, in the same wyse, Alas thorowe Princes supplication, And made in Rome, thorowe false narration Bishoppe, Abbot, but no religious man, Who me promoted, I nowe their banes ban.

Howbeit I was Legat, and Cardinall Litle I knewe, therin what shoulde be done I vnderstode no science, spirituall, No more then dyd, blynde Alane of the mone, I dread the kynge, that sitteth on heauēly throne On you Princes, he shall make sore punishment, Ryght so on ve, thorowe ryghtuous iudgement.

On you Princes, for vndiscrite gyuyng To ignorauntes, suche offices to vse, And we, for our importune ashyng, Whiche shoulde haue done, suche dignitie refuse Our ignoraunce, hath done the worldly abuse, Thorowe couetice of ryches and of rent That euer I was a prelate, I repent.

O Kynges, make you no care to gyue in cure Uirgins profest into religion Into the keepyng of one commune whore To make, thynke ye not greate derision A woman, person, of a paryson Wherin are twentie thousande soules to guyde That from harlottes can not hir lyppes hyde?

What, and Kynge Dauid, lyued in these dayes Or out of heauen, what and he loked downe The which dyd founde so many fayre Abbayes▪ Scinge the greate, abomination, In many Abbayes of thys nation? He would repēt, that narrowed so his boundes, Of yerely rent, three score thousande poundes.

Wherefore I counsayle euery christened Soue∣reigne Wythin hys realme, make reformation And suffre no mo rybauldes for to reigne, Abusyng Christes true congregation, Faylyng therof, I make narration, That ye Princes and prelates al at ones. Shal buryed be, in hell, soule, body and bones.

That euer I broked benefice, I rewe Or to suche height, so proudly dyd pretende, I muste departe, therfore my friende adewe, Where euer it pleaseth god, now must I wende, I praye the, to my friendes me recommende, And fayle not at length to put in wryte, My Tragedy, as I haue nowe endyte.

FINIS.