BOHAN

They subjects, whay art thou a King? Thou wilt not threap me, this whiniard has guard many better me ̄ to lope the ̄ thou: but how now? Gos saids what wilt not out? whay thou which, thou deele, gads foot may whiniard. This then, thou weart best begun first: for aylso lop thy lyms, that thouse go with half a knaves carkasseto the deele Bred ay gad, what deele is in me, whay tell me thou skipiack what art thou? And not before, then needs must needs sal: I was born a gentleman of the best blood in all Scotland, except the king, when time brought me to age, and death took my parents, I became a Courtier, where though ay list not praise my self, ay engraved the memory of Boughon on the skin-coat of some of them, and reueld with the proudest. Because my pride was vanity, my expense lose, my re ward fair words and large promises, & my Hope's spilled, for that after many years service, one outran me, and what the deele should I then do there. No no, flattering knaves that can cog and prate fastest, speed best in the Court. I then changed the Court for the country, and the wars for a wife: but I found the craft of swains more vile, then the knavery of courtiers: the charge of children more heavy then servants, and wives tongues worse then the wars it self: and therefore I gave over that, & went to the City to dwell, & there I kept a great house with small cheer, but all was never the near. because in seeking friends, I found table guests to eat me, & my meat, my wives gossops to bewray the secrets of my heart, kindred to betray the effect of my life, which when I no ted, the court ill, the country worse, and the city worst of all, in good time my wife died: ay wood she had died twenty winter sooner by the mass, leaving my two sons to the world, and shutting my self into this Tomb, where if I die, I am sure I am safe from wild beasts, but whilst I live, cannot be free from ̄ ill company. Beside, now I am sure give all my friends fail me, I shall have a graven of mine own providing: this is all. Now what art thou? Dance Humer, dance, ay rid thee. The two dance a gig devised for the nonst. Now get you to the wide world with more the ̄ my father gave me, thats learning enough, both kinds, knavery & honesty: and that I gave you, spend at pleasure. Now King, if thou be a King, I will show thee whay I hate the world by demonstration, in the year 1520. was in Scotland, a king overruled with parasites, misled by lust, & ma nigh circumstances, too long to trattle on now, much Like our court of Scotland this day, that story have I set down, gang with me to the gallery, & I'll show thee the same in Actium, by guide fellows of our country men, and then when thou seest that, judge if any wise man would not leave the world if he could. Be Gad gramersis little king for this, This sport is better in my exile life, Then ever the deceitfu l werld could yield. Then mark my stay, and the strange doubts, That follow flatterers, lust and lawless will, And then say I have reason to forsake the world, And all that are within the same. Gow shroud us in our harbour where we ele see, The pride of folly, as it ought to be. What Gam S this din of mink and baleful harm, Where every wean is all betaint with blood? What reck I then of life, Who makes the graven my tomb, the earth my wife: But mark me more. I can no more, my patience will not warp. To see these flatteries how they scorn and carp. How blessed are peur men then that know their graven, Now mark the sequel of my Gig. And he weel meet ends: the mirk and sable night Does leave the pering morn to pry abroad, Thou nill me stay, hail then thou pride of kings, I ken the world, and wot well worldly things, Mark thou my gyg, in mirkest terms that tells The loathe of sins, and where corruption dwells Hail me ne mere with shows of gudlie sights: My graven is mine, that rids me from despites. Accept my gig guide King, and let me rest, The graven with guide men, is a gay built nest. So Oberon, now it begins to work in kind, The ancient Lords by leaving him alive, Disliking of his humours and respite, Lets him run headlong till his flatterers, Sweating his thoughts of luckless lust, With vile persuasions and alluring words, Makes him make way by murder to his will, Judge fai e king, hast herd a greater ill? A Y say, whats thou? What wot I, or reck I that, whay guide man, I reck no friend, nor ay reck no foe, also ene to me, git the ganging, and trouble not may whayet, or ay Gam the recon me nene of they friend by the marry mass shall I. The deele awhit reck I thy love. For I know too well, that true love took her flight twenty winter sense to heaven, whither till ay can, weel I wot, ay sal never find love: and thou lovest me, leave me to my self. But what were those Puppets that hopt and skipped about me year whayle? The deele thou art, whay thou lookest not so big as the king of Clubs, nor so sharp as the king of Spades, nor so feign as the king Adaymonds, be the mass ay take thee to be the king of false hearts: therefore I rid thee away, or ayse so curry your Kingdom, that yous be glad to run to save your life. Would, would, would, thinkest thou those puppets can please me? whay I have two sons, that with one scottish gig shall break the neck of thy Antiques. I see thou art thine ene. Thou bonny King, if Princes fallen from high, My fallen is passed, until I fallen to die. Now mark my talk, and prosecute my gyg. Why thou shalt, how boys. Enter Slipper and Nano. Haud your clacks lads, trattle not for thy life, but gather up your legs and dance me forthwith a gig worth the sighed. Prattle and thou darest ene word more, and ais dab this whiniard in thy wembe. What means this? To change that humour stand and see the rest, I trow my son Slipper will shows a jest. Now after this beguiling of our thoughts, And changing them from sad to better glee, Lets to our S ll, and fit and see thee rest, For I believe this Jig will prcoue no jest. Else say that Bohan hath a barren skull, If better motions yet then any passed, Do not more glee to make the Fairy greet, But my small son made Pretty handsome shift, To save the Queen his Mistress by his speed. What hang my son? I trow not Obiran: I'll rather die, then see him woe begun. So these sad motions makes the fair sleep, And sleep he shall in quiet and content, For it would make a ma bell melt and weep To see these treasons gainst the innocent: But since she escapes by flight to save her life, The king may chance repent she was his wife: The rest is ruthful, yet to beguiled the time, 'Tis interlast with merriment and rhyme.