QUhairas of thynges iudi­cially determinit within any dominioun, to haif accompte demandit by strangeris, is to sic as be not subiect to forane iurisdictioun, baith strange, and also for the strange­nesse displeasant, to vs aboue all vther it ought to be most greuous, quha are driuen to this streight of necessi­tie, that quhase fautes we desire to co­uer, thair liues we are enforced to ac­cuse, vnlesse we will our selues be ac­compted the most wicked persons that lyue. But a great part of this gréef, is releued by your equitie (most ex­cellent Quene) quha take it no lesse displeasantly to sée your kinswoman, than we to sée our Quene thus in speche of all men to be dishonorably reported, quha alswa are for your part no lesse desirous to vnderstand the truth, than we for ours to auoide sclaunder. Thairfoir we will knit vp the mater as bréefly as possibly may be, and declare it with sic shortnesse, as we may rather seme to haue light­ly runne ouer the chéef pointes than to haue largly expressed tham, begyn­nyng [Page] at the Quenes first inconstan­cie. For as in making of her mariage, her lightnes was very hedlang & rash, so sodanely followed either inwart re­pentance, or at least outwart tokens of change of her affection without any causes appearing. For quhair before time the king was not onely neglected but also not honorably vsed, at length began open hatred to breake out a­gainst him, specially in that winter quhen he went to Peble with small traine euen too meane for the degrée of a priuate man, not being sent the­ther a hawking, but as commandit a­way into a corner far frō counsell and knawledge of publike affaires. Nou­ther is it necessarie to put in writing those thinges, quhilk as thay were than as a spectacle noted of all mens eyes, sa now as a fresh image thay re­mane imprintit in all mens hartes. And though this were the beginning of all the euills that followed, yet at the first the practises were secrit, sa as not onely the commoun pepill, but al­swa sic as were right familiar and pre­sent at the doing of many matters, could not vnderstand throughly, what [Page] thing the Quene than chéefly intended.

At the last about the moneth of A­prill in the yeare 1566. quhan the Quene was returned from Dunbarre to Edinburgh, and was lodged in the castell, she keipt her thare till the time of her trauaile of childe. After her de­liuerance immediatly the secret coun­sels of the intendit mischeif began to breake out, quhairof the effect was this, to dispatch away the king by one way or vther howsoeuer, and to mary with Bothwell. And that her selfe should not be touchit with suspicion of the murder, she began secritly by littil and littill to sow sedes of dissentioun betwene the king and the Lordes that were than in Court, and by mair and mair inflaming tham, to bring the ma­ter to deadly feude. And if at any time she espied the suspicions of the one a­gainst the vther to languish, by and by with new reportes to baith partes, she whetted tham on againe to fresch dis­pleasuris, persuading the Nobilitie a­gainst the king, and the king against the Nobilitie, that either intendit v­thers destruction. And she thought no­thing so long as to sée the mater come [Page] to strokes, for douting whether of thā she had rather to haif the victorie, she accounted the losse on either side for her auantage, as hoping thairby to auance forward one degrée neirer to that quhilk she intendit. Finally in short time she so filled all thair hartes with mutuall ialousies one against an vther, that thare was not a man of any reputatioun in the Court, but he was driuen to this necessitie, either with dishonour to yeld to rumors fai­ned against him, or to enter into com­bate with the reporters, or to with­draw him home. And though we shall passe ouer the rest for desire to hast to the cheif point of the matter, yet this one notable sclanderous practise at that time, is nat to be omitted. For on a time quhen the king had ben in talke with the Quene till it was farre in the night, the summe in a maner of all her communicatioun was, that almost all the nobilitie had conspirit his death, & wer deuising how to dispatch him. After the kinges departure from her, she sent forthwith for the Erle of Mur­ray hir brother, wha after was Regēt, with this message, that the matter was [Page] hainous, and necessarily requiring his presence without delay. He being a­waked out of sound sléepe, in great feare, cast a night gowne ouer his shirt, and as he was halfe naked ranne to her in hast. To him than she vsed euin the like talke as she had before to the king, informing him that the king boyled in such deadly hatrit against him, and tooke it so displeasantly that he stood so hyely in her grace, that he was fully determinit, so soone as any possible opportunitie serued, to mur­der him. So, as mekle as in her lay, she left no meane vnassayit to set tham together by the eares, and without all dout had done it in deid, if it had not ben Gods gude pleasure to deliuer the innocent persons frō so perilous trea­sons, & to disclose her wicked trechery.

Quhen this attempt failed her, she assayit the yong & vnexperienced gen­tlemā with ane new suttilpractise. She earnestly labored him, that quhile she was great with childe, The Quene of­freth to be baude to hir owne husband. he should choose him some yong gentlewoman, quhair­of thare was great store, quhose com­panie he might vse in the meane time. She promised him her assent and fur­therance, [Page] with pardon and leaue to cō ­mit the offence. She named to him the Erle of Murrayes wife, not for that she estemed that most noble Lady most apt for sic a villanie, but because she thought by that way to be reuenged of thrée enemies at once, the king, the Erle, and his wife, and therwithall to winne a colour and cause of diuorce to make empty bedroome for Bothwell. After that she was deliuered of childe, though she courteously enterteined all vther, yet as oft as word was brought her that the king was come to sée her, baith she and her company so framed thair speche & countenance, as if thay semed to feare nothing mair than that the king should perceaue that thay lo­thed him, and that his comming and presence was displeasant to tham all. On the vther side Bothwell alone was all in all, he alone was gouerner of all her counsels and all her affaires. And so desirous was the Quene to haue her hartie affection towart him vnder­stood of all men, that if any sute were to be made to her, thare was no way of speding for any man but by Both­well to obteine it.

[Page]Nat lang after her deliuerance, on a day very early, accompanied with very few that wer priuie of her coun­sall, sche went downe to the water side at the place called the New ha­uen, and while all maruelled whether she went in sic hast, sche sodenly en­tred into a ship there prepared for her, quhilk ship was prouided by William Blacater, Edmond Blacater, Leo­nard Robertson, and Thomas Dic­son, Bothwelles seruantes & famous robbers & pyrates. With this trayde of thiefes, all honest men wonderyng at it, sche betooke her selfe to sea, ta­kyng nat ane vther with her, na nat of her gentlemen nor necessarie atten­dantes for common honestie. In Aloe castell, where the shyp arryued, how sche behaued her selfe, I had rather e­uery man should with hym selfe ima­gine it; than heare me declare it. This ane thyng I dare affirme, that in all hir wordes and doynges sche neuer kept any regard, I will nat say of Quenelike maiestie, but nat of ma­tronelike modestie. The kyng, quhen he heard of this sodeine departure of the Quene, followed after with all [Page] the hast that he possibly cauld by land, and there ouertuke hir, in purpose and hopyng there to be her company and to enioy the mutuall louyng fel­lowshyp of mariage. But how louing­ly he was receiued of her, baith all they that wer present, and sic as haue heard tham report it, can well remem­ber. For being scarcely suffered to tar­ry there a few houres, while hys men and horses bayted, he was enforced to get hym away in hast agayne an peine of further perill. As for hir self, sche pastimed there certayne dayes, if nat in princely magnificence, yet in mair than princely or rather vnprin­cely licentiousnesse. There went sche a huntyng, ones at the riuer of Ma­gat, an vther tyme at the forest of Gle­nartue. There how coylye, yea how loftily and disdaynfully she behaued her selfe to the kyng, quhat nede it be rehearsed, for the thing was opēly done in all mens sight, & continueth emprint it in all mens memorie.

Quhen sche was returned to E­denburgh, sche tuke nat her ladgyng in her owne palace, but in a priuate house next adioyning to Ihon Bal­foures. [Page] Thense sche remoued into an vther house quhair the yerely courte, quhilk they call the Exchequer was then kept: For this house was larger, and had pleasant gardens to it, & next to the garden altogether a solitarie va­cant roome. But there was an vther mater quhilk, mair thā al these things, specially allured her thether. There dwelt hardby one Dauid Chambers, Bothwels seruāt, whoes backdore ad­ioynit to the garden of the Quenis ladging. The rest, wha gesseth nat? for the Quene hir selfe confessed the ma­ter baith to many vther & also namely to the Regent & hys mother. But sche layed all the blame vpon my ladie Re­rese a womā of maist vile vnchastitie, wha had sometime been one of Both­wels harlots, and than was one of the chefe of the Quenis priuie chamber. By this woman, wha now in her age had from the gayne of horedome beta­ken hir selfe to the craft of bawderie, was the Quene, as her selfe sayd, be­trayed. For Bothwel was through the garden brought into the Quenis cham­ber, & there forced hir agaynst hir will forsothe. But how much agaynst hir [Page] will Dame Rerese betrayed her, tyme the mother of truth hath disclosed. For within few dayes efter, the Quene intending as I suppose to reaquite force with force and to rauish hym agayne, sent Dame Rerese, (who had her selfe also before assayit the mans strength) to bryng hym captiue vnto her hygh­nes. The Quene with Margaret Car­wod, a woman priuie of all her se­cretes, dyd let her downe by a stryng ouer an auld wall into the next gar­den. But in sic weirlike affaires, all thynges can not euer be so well fore­séen, but that some incommodious chaunce may ouerthwartly happen. Behald, the stryng sodenly brake, and downe with a great noyse fell Dame Rerese, a woman very heauy baith by vnweldy age & massy substance. But sche an auld beaten soldiar, nothyng dismayed with the darkenes of the night, the heighth of the wall, nor with the sodennesse of the fall, vp sche get­teth, & winneth into Bothwels cham­ber, sche gyt the dore open, and out of his bed, euen out of his wiues armes, halfe a slepe, halfe naked, sche forcea­bly bringes the man to the Quene. [Page] This maner and circumstances of the dede, nat onely the maist pairt of tham that then wer with the Quene haue confessed, but also George Daglish Bothwelles chamberlane, a litle be­fore he was executed playnly declared the same, quhilk hys confessioun yet remayneth of recorde.

In the meane tyme, the kyng com­manded out of sight, & with iniuries and miseries banisched from her, kept hym selfe close, with a few of hys ser­uantes at Stereline. For alas quhat should he els do? He could nat créepe into any pece of grace with the quene, nor could get so much as to mainteine his dayly necessarie expenses to finde his few seruantes and hys horses: and finally with brawlynges lightly rising for euery small trifle, and querels v­sually piked he was chaced out of her presence. Yet his hart, obstinately fixed in louing hir, cauld not be restrained, but he must neidis come backe to E­denburgh of purpose with all kinde of seruiceable humblenesse to get some entrie into hir former fauour, and to recouer the kinde societie of mariage. Quho ones againe with maist disho­nourable [Page] disdaine excludit, anes again returneth frō quhense he came, thare as in solitarie desert to bewaile his woefull miseries.

Within few dayes after, quhen the king determined to goe to Iedworth to the assises thare to be halden, a­bout the beginning of October, Both­well maiketh his iorney into Liddes­dale. Thare behauing himself nouther according to the place quhairto he was called, nor according to his nobilitie of race and estimation, he was waun­ded by a poore théefe that was him selfe ready to dye, and caryed into the ca­stell called the Heremitage, with great vncertaintie of his recouerie. Quhan newes hereof was brought to Borth­wik to the Quene, she flingeth away in hast like a mad woman, by great iourneyes in poste, in the sharpe time of winter, first to Melrose and than to Iedworth. Thare though she heard sure newes of his life, yet hir affectioun impatient of delay cauld not temper it self, but nedis she must bewray hir ou­tragious lust, and in an vnconuenient time of the yere, despising all discōmo­dities of the way & wether, & all dan­gers [Page] of theifis, she betooke hir self hed­long to hir iourney with sic a company as na man of any honest degrée wald haif aduentured his life and his gudes amang tham. Thense she returneth a­gain to Iedworth, and with maist ear­nest care & diligence prouideth & pre­pareth all thinges to remoue Bothwel thether. Quhen he was ones brought thether, thair company and familiar haunt togither was sic as was smally agreing with baith thair honours. Thare, whether it were by reason of thair nightly and daily trauailes, disho­nourable to tham selfis and infamous amang the pepill, or by some secrit prouidence of God, the Quene fell in­to sic a sore and dangerous sickenesse, that scarcely thare remained any hoip of hir life.

Quhan the king heard thairof, he hasted in post to Iedworth, to visit the Quene, to comfort hir in hir weake­nesse, and by all the gentill seruices that he possibly cauld to declare hys af­fectioun and harty desire to do hir plea­sure. So far was it of that hys lodging and thynges necessary was prouidit for him agaynst his cōmyng (quhilk is [Page] wont to be done euin for meane per­sons) that he found nat any ane token toward him of a freindly minde. But this was a point of maist barbarous inhumanitie vsed against him, that the Nobilitie and all the officers of the Court that were present were special­ly forbidden, not anes to do him reue­rence at hys comming, nor to yeld him thair lodging, nor to harber him so me­kle as for ane night. And quhairas the Quene suspected that the Erle of Mur­ray, quhilk afterward was Regent, wald shew him curtesie, she practised with his wife to goe home in hast and faine hir selfe sicke, and kepe hir bed, that at least by thys colour, vnder pre­tense of hir sicknesse, the king might be shut out of doores. Being thus denied all duties of ciuile kindnesse, the next day with great gréef of hart he retur­ned to his auld solitarie corner. In the meane time quhile the king in that want of all thinges, and forsaken of all freindes, scant with begging find­eth rowme in a cotage, Bothwell out of the house quhaire he was lodged befoir, as it were in triumph ouer the king, was gloriously remoued in sight [Page] of the pepill into the Quenis a win lod­ging, and thare layed in a lower parlor directly vnder the chamber quhaire the Quene hir self lay sicke. Thare quhile thay baith were yet feebill & vnhealed, she of hir disease, and he of his wound, the Quene being very weake of hir body, yet visited him daily. And quhan thay were baith a littill recouered, and thair strengthes not yet fully settled, thay returned to thair auld pastime a­gaine, and that so openly as thay se­med to feare nathing mair than least thair wickednes should be vnknawen.

About the v. day of Nouember, being remoued from Iedworth to a towne called Calco, thare she recea­ued letters from the king. Quhilk quhan she had red in presence of the Regent, the Erle of Huntley, and the Secretary, she cast a pitious luik, and miserably tormented hir selfe as if she wald haif by and by fallen down againe into hir former sicknes, & she plainly and expresly protested, that vnlesse she mought by some meane or vther be dis­patched of the king, she should neuer haife ane gude day. And if by no vther way she cauld atteine it, rather than [Page] she wald abide to liue in sic sorow, she wald slay hir selfe.

Within few dayes after, quhile in hir returne through Marchelād she lay at Coldingham, Dame Rerese passed through the watch and was knawen and let goe. Quhat company she had, and whether she went at that time of night, it is nat vnknawen to the Quene. From thense about the end of Nouember she came to Cragmillar, a castell about twa miles from Eden­burgh. Thare in presence of the Erle of Murray (quhilk afterward was Re­gent, and now is him selfe also slaine) and of the Erles of Huntley and Ar­gyle, and the Secretarie, she fell into hir sayd former discourse, and also ad­ded the maist commodious way, as she thought, how it might be brought to passe, that is, to sue a diuorce against the king. And she douted not but it might easily be obteined, forasmuch as thay were the one to the vther in sic degrée of consanguinitie, Cosin ger­manes. as by the Popes law might not marry together, specially (quhilk was easie for hir to do) the Bull being conueyed away quhairby the same law was dispensed [Page] with. Here quhen ane had cast a doubt, that if sche should goe that way to worke, thair sonne should be made a bastard, being borne out of lawfull wedlocke, specially sith neither of hys parentes were ignorant of the causes quhairby the mariage should be voide: this answer quhen sche had a quhile tossed in hir minde, and knew that he sayd trouth, and that sche durst nat as yit disclose hir purpose to make away hir sonne, sche gaue ouer that deuise of diuorce, and yit from that day for­wart sche neuer cessed to pursue hir intentioun of murdering the king, as may easily be perceiuit by that quhilke followid.

The King being returnid from Stereline to Cragmillar, quhen he hoipid to finde hir mair gentill to­wart him, and hir displeasure by pro­cesse of tyme somequhat appeasid, he so found na tokē of change of hir affec­tioun, that he was nat allowed any thyng for his dayly sustenance, vnlesse he kept him still at Stereline. Quhilk thing exceedingly encreased the pepils suspicioun, vtherwise of it selfe alredy enough inclined to that iudgement, of [Page] the vnchast companiyng of the Quene with Bothwell

About the beginning of December, quhen there wer Embassadours come out of France and England, to the Christening of the king that now is: that Bothwell might be gorgiously be­séene amang the Nobilitie, sche hir selfe layed out the money to bye hym apparell, and sum sche baught hir selfe of the marchantes for him, and sche sa applied hir selfe with sic diligence in ouerseing the making therof, as if sche had bene, I will nat say his wife, but euen his seruaunt. In the meane time hir lawfull husband, at the Christe­ning of his awn childe, nat onely wan­ted all hir maintenance for his necessa­ry expensis, but also was cōmaundid nat ones to cum in the Embassadours sight, his ordinarie seruantis were remouid from him, the nobilitie weir enioynid nat ones to attend on him, nor to do him honor, nor in a maner to know him: the forren Ambassadouris wer warnid nat to talke wyth him, quhen yet the maist pairt of the day thay wer all in the same Castel quhere he was.

[Page]The young gentleman thus con­temptuously and vnkindly vsed, fell in sic despeire, that he departed from Stereline and went to Glascow to his father. At his departure the Quene still pursued him with hir wonted hai­tred. All his siluer plate quherewith he was serued from hys mariage tyll that day, sche tooke it away euery whit, and appointed pewter in the s [...]eede thereof. But let this serue onely to proue hir contempt of him: the rest that followed are euident argumentes of outragious crueltie and vnappeasable haitrid. Ere he was passid a mile from Stereline, all the pairtes of his bodie wer taken with sic a sore ache, as it might easily appeare that the same pro­ceded nat of the force of any sickenesse, but by playne trecherie. The tokens of quhilke trecherie, certayne blacke pimples sa soone as he was cum to Glascow, brake out ouer all his hole bodie, with sa great ache and sic peine throughout all his limmes, that he lingred out his life with very small hoipe of escape: and yet all this quhile the Quene wald nat suffir sa much as ane Phisitioun anes to cum at him.

[Page]Efter the Ceremonies of the Chri­stening ended, sche practisid with hir brother the Erle of Murray, that quhē he should go to cōduct the Erle of Bed­ford, the Quene of Inglādis Ambassa­dor to S. Andrewes, he should require Bothwell also to beare him companie. Quho in deide frankly promised sa to do, howbeit baith he and the Quene the deuiser of that dissimulatioun, thoght nathing lesse, as the successe schewed. For sa soone as the king was gone to Glascow, and the rest towart S. Andrewes, sche with hir Bothwell got hir to Drumen, and from thence to Tylebarne. In quhilke housis they sa passid the time about viij. dayes, in euery corner, and in familiar haunting together, as all (sauing themselues a­lone that had throwē away all schame) wer hiely offended with their cōtempt and vile regard of publike fame, seing them now nat ones to séeke to couer thair filthy wickednesse.

Quhen about the beginning of Ia­nuary thay wer returned to Stereline, sche begā to finde fault with the house quherein hir sonne was nursed, as in­commodious becaus it stoode in a colde [Page] and moyst place, dangerous for brin­ging the childe to a rewme. But it shall easily appeare that this was done for vther purpose, for as much as all these faultes that sche pretended baith weir nat in that house, and also wer in deid in the vther house to quhilke the childe was remeuid, beyng set in a low place and a very marishe. The childe being scarcely aboue vj. monethes olde, in the déepe of a sharpe winter, was con­ueyed to Edenburgh. There, because the first attempt preuailed nat, and the force of the poyson was ouercome by strength of nature, that at length yet sche might bring furth that qhuerwith sche had sa lang traueiled, sche entreth into new deuises for the murder of the King.

Hir self goeth to Glascow, sche pre­tendeth the cause of hir iorney to be to sée the king aliue, quhoes deith sche had continually gapid for the whole moneth befoir. But quhat was in deid the trew caus of that iorney, ech man may plainely perceiue by hir letters to Bothwell. Being now out of care of hir sonne, quhom sche had in hir awne warde, bending hir selfe to the slaugh­ter [Page] of hir husband, to Glascow sche go­eth, accompanied with the Hameltons and vther the kings naturall enemies.

Bothwell, as it was betwene tham befoir accordid, prouideth all thyngis redy that were nedefull to accomplishe the haynous act, first of all a house nat commodious for a sick mā, nor comely for a king, for it was baith torne & ru­inous, & had stand empty without any dweller for diuerse yeares befoir: in a place of small resort, betwene the auld fallen wallis of two Kirkes, neare a few almes houses for poore beggers. And that no commodious meane for committing that mischiefe might be wāting, there is a posterne dore in the towne wall hard by the house, quhere­by thay might easily passe away into the fieldes. In chusing of the place sche walde needes haif it thoght that thay had respect to the holesomnes. And to auoyde suspicioun that this was a fay­nid pretence, hir selfe the two nightes next befoir the day of the murder, lay there in a lower roome vnder the kingis chamber. And as sche did curi­ously put of the shewes of suspicioun from hir selfe, sa the executiomn of the [Page] slaughter sche was content to haue committed to vther.

About thre deyes befoir y ^t the King was slaine, sche practisit to set hir bro­ther Robart, and him at deadly feude, making reckening that it schould be gayne ta hir, quhilk sa euer of tham baith had perishit. For mater to groūd thayr dissentioun, sche made rehersall of the speach that the King had had with hir concerning her brother. And whan thay baith sa grew in talke, as the one seemed to charge the vther with the lye, at last thay were in a ma­ner come from wordes to bloes. But while thay were baith laying thayr handes on thayr weapons, the Quene fayning as thogh sche had be perilous­lously affrayit of that quhilk sche ear­nestly desirit, callith the Erle of Mur­ray her vther brother to the parting, to this intent that sche might eyther pre­sently bring him in danger to be slayne him self, or in time to come to bear the blaime of sic mischeife as than might haif happenit. Whan this way the successe fell nat out as sche desirit, sche deuisit a new way to transferre the su­spicion from her self. While the Erle [Page] of Murray dyd willinglye keipe himself from the Court, and had reaso­nable excuse for hys absence, for that his wife bying neir her time, was be­side that alswa very sicke: at the same time thare was an Embassador come from the Duike of Sauoy. This the Quene tuke for a conuenient colour to sende for her brother: but the trew cause of hyr sendyng for hym was, that sche had a desire to throw the suspyci­oun of the Kyngis murder vpon hym, and vpon the Erle Moreton, and ther­wythall alswa at ones to procure the distructioun of those twa being men acceptable to the pepill and likely ad­uersaries to her practise quha enten­dyt to set vp a tyranicall regiment. But Gods gude clemēcy that oft befoir had deliuerit the Erle of Murray fra ma­ny tresons of hys enemeis, dyd than alswa manifestly succour hym: for v­pon the sonday quhilk was the ix. day of Februarie, quhen he was going to the Kirk to ane sermon, a letter was brought him that hys wief was deliue­rit afoir hyr time, and in veray small hoip of lief. Quhen he being dismayit with these soden newes, prayd leaue of [Page] the Quene to depart, sche aunswerit, that gif the caas wer sa, it wer a super­fluous iourney for hym to go to hyr, beyng nat abill to do hyr any gude in hyr sicknesse. But quhen he was styll mair importunate, sche prayit hym, that he wauld yit tary but that one night, and take hys iourney the next day to his wyfe. But the clemencie of God, as at many vther times, baith de­liuerit the innocent gentleman fram present peril, and alswa tuke away the occasioun of sclaunder agaynst hym in time to com. Howbeit for al this thogh there were no cause of suspitioun, yit he eschaped nat free from sclander: for Huntley and Bothwell, though thay could nat iustly charge hym, yet labou­red by infamous libelles quhilk thay spread abroad, to disteyne hym wyth the maist foule spotte of that schamfull act. And quhairas the murder was cō ­mitted after midnight, they had befoyr daylight caused by speciall forapointid messengers rumors to be spred in Ingland, that the Earles of Murray and Moreton were doers of that sclaugh­ter. But that rumour, so soone as the light of the truth ones brake forth, so­denly [Page] vanisched away, as vther fal­shodes are commonly wont to do.

Quhen all thingis were redy pre­parit for perfourming this cruell fact, and yit all occasiouns cut of to diuert the blame thayrof, the partenaris of the conspyracie fearyng lest lang delay shauld eyther bryng some impediment to thair purpose, or disclose thayr coun­selles, determynit to dispatch it in hast. The Quene thairfoir, for manners sake after supper, goeth vp to the Kin­gis lodging. Thare, being determinit to shew him all the tokens of reconci­led gude will, sche spent certaine hou­res in his company, with countenance and talke mikle mair familiar than she had vsid in sixe or seuen monethis be­foyr. At the comming in of Paris sche brake of hir talk, & prepared to depart. This Paris was a yong man borne in France, & had liued certayne yeires in the houses of Bothwell, & Seton, & ef­terwart with the Quene. Quhairas the vther kayis of that lodging wair in custody of the Kingis seruants, Paris by fayning certayne fond and sclender causis, had in keipyng the keyis quhilk Bothwell kept backe, of the back gate [Page] and the posterne. He was in specyall trust with Bothwell and the Quene, touchand thayr secrete affayres. His comming (as it was befoyr agreit e­mang tham) was a waitchword that all was ready for the matter. As sone as the quene saw hym, sche rose vp im­mediatly, and feyning an vther cause to depart, sche sayid, Alas I haif mi­kle offendit towart Sebastian this day that I come not in a maske at hys ma­riage. This Sebastian was an Aruer­nois, a man in greit fauour with the quene for his cunning in musike, and his mery iesting, and was maryit the same dey. The king thus left in ma­ner alone in a desolate place, the quene departith accompanyit wyth the Erles of Argile, Huntley, and Cassilis, that attendit vpon hyr. Efter that sche was come into her chamber after midnicht, sche was in lang talke with Bothwell, none byeng present but the capitayne of her gard. And quhen he alswa with­drew him selfe, Bothwell was thare left alone without vther cumpany, and schortly efter retyred into hys awin chamber. He chainged hys apparell, because he wald be vnknawin of sic as [Page] met hym: and put on ane lose cloke, sic as the Swartrytters weare, and sa went forwart thorow the watch to ex­ecute hys intendit trayterous fact. The whole order of the duyng thayrof, may be easely vnderstude by thayr confessi­ons quhilk were put to deith for it.

Bothwell efter the dede was ended that he wēt for, returned, & as if he had ben ignorant of al that was don, he got him to bed. The Quene in the meane time in greit expectation of the succes, how finely sche played hir part (as sche thoght) it is maruell to tell. For she nat anes stirred at the noise of y ^e fall of the house, quhilk shooke the hale towne, nor at the fearfull outcryis that follow­it, & confused cryes of the pepill, (for I thinke there happenit hir nat any new thyng vnlukit for) till Bothwell fay­ning hymselfe afrayde, rose agayn out of his bed and came to hir with the Erles of Argile, Huntley, and Athole, and with the wyues of the Erles of Athole and Murray, and with the Se­cretarie. There quhile the monstrous chaunce was in tellyng, quhile euery one wondered at the thyng, that the kyngis ladging was euin from the ve­ry [Page] foundation blown vp into the ayre, & the kyng him self slayne: in this ama­sednesse & confusit feare of all sortes of persons, onely that same heroicall hart of the Quene, maintenit it selfe so far from castyng hir selfe downe into base lamentations and teares vnbesemyng the Royall name, blud, and estate, that she matched or rather farre surmoun­ted all credit of the constancie of any in former tymes. This also proceded of the same nobilitie of courage, that she sēt out the mair part of tham that wer then about hir, to enquire out the ma­ner of the doyng, and commandit the soldiars that watchit to follow, & she hir selfe settlit hir selfe to rest, with a countenance sa quyet, and mynde sa vntroublit, that she swéetely slept till the next day at noone. But least she should appere voide of all naturalnesse at the death of hir husband, by litil and litill at length she kept hir close, & pro­clamed a mournyng nat lāg to endure.

The commoun pepill, nat certainly knawyng whether she laughed or la­mented, wer diuided into sondry ima­ginations, sith it was perilous dealing with the disguising of the court, either [Page] in knawyng it to seme to mock it, or in nat cunnyngly dissemblyng to seme to knaw it. Quhile some talked of one sorte, some of an vther, in the meane tyme of any inquirie to be had of the murder, there was na mention made at all. At length, the day followyng, at efternoone, quhen baith shame and feare constrainit them thereto, Both­well the principall doer of the vyle act, with certaine vther that wer priuie to the same, assemblit together with the Erle of Argyle for that he is by inheri­tance the Iustice to deale with crimes punishable by death. First as though thay had bene vtterly ignorant of all that euer was done, thay begynne to wonder at the strangenesse of the ma­ter, sic as neuer was heard of, and in­credible. Then thay begyn to be busie a litill about thair inquirie, thay sent for a few poore silly women that dwelt there about. Quhilk poore saules stan­ding in dout whether it wer better for tham to tell or hald thair peace, though thay deintily tempered thair spech, yet quhen thay had blabbed out somwhat mair then the iudges luked for, thay wer dismissed againe as fooles that had [Page] but vndiscretly prated. For thair testi­monies, though thay touched some folkes shrewdly, yet thay were sic as thay might easily set lyght by. Then were called and examined the kyngis seruantes that wer of hys houshold, sic as wer left vndestroyit with the cruell chaunce. Thay denyed that thay had the keyes in kepyng. Beyng examined quho had tham, thay sayd the quene. So the enquirie for maners sake was adiornit, but in dede suppressit, for feare least if thay proceded further, the secretes of the court might hap to be disclosed. Yet least the mater should seme nat to be regarded, out goeth a proclamatioun with rewardes promi­sed to hym that could geue informa­tioun of it. But quho durst accuse the quene? or (quhilk was in maner mair perilous) quho durst detect Bothwell of sic a horrible offence: specially quhē he hym selfe was baith doer, iudge, in­quirer, and examiner? Yet this feare quhilk stoppit the mouthes of euery man in particular, could nat restraine the hale multitude in generall. For baith by bukes set out, & by pictures, and by cryes in the darke night, it was [Page] sa handelit, that the doers of the mis­cheuous fact might easily vnderstand that those secretes of thairs wer come abrode. And quhen euery man was now out of dout, quho dyd the mur­der, and quho gaue furtherance vnto it, the mair that thay labored to kepe thair own names vndisclosit, so much the peoples grudge restraynit brake out mair openly. Though thay tuke vpō tham as if thay regardit nat these thynges, yet sometyme the rumors sa nerely prickit them to the quick, that thay could by no meanes hyde thair anger. Thairfoir, discontinuyng thair searchyng for the kynges death, they begyn a new enquirie, farre mair ear­nest, against the authors of bukes, and the sclanderers of Bothwell as thay tham selues termed tham. These exa­minations wer sa rigorously put in ex­cutioun, as nouther money, nor labor of men nor horses was spared about it. All the paynters were callit togither, all that earned thair liuing by writyng, wer assembled, to iudge of the pictures and bukes that had ben set out. And if ane painter had nat of hys awn accord confessit, that it was he of quhoes [Page] worke thay inquirit, an vther that was not gilty therof, but touchit a li­till with a slight suspicioun, had suffred for it. There was published a procla­matioun agreable with the maner of the Inquisition, quhairin it was made death, nat onely to set out any sic ma­ter, but also to rede it beyng set out by ane vther. But these persones that with thretenyng of death practised to stoppe the speche of the pepill, yet nat satisfiit with maist cruell murder of the king, cessit nat thair hatrit against him quhē he was dead. All hys gudes, armure, horses, apparell, & vther fur­niture of his house, the quene diuidit, some to tham that slew hym, and some to hys fathers auncient deadly foes, as if thay had vpon atteinder come to hir by forfaiture: and hys fathers te­nantes, as though thay had ben alswa part of hir conquerit booty, she sa scra­ped till she brought tham in a maner to extreme beggerie.

But this was a strange example of crueltie and sic as neuer was heard of befoir, that as she had satisfied her heart with hys slaughter, sa she wold nedes fede hir eyes with the sight of [Page] hys bodie slayne. For she lang beheld, nat onely without grefe, but alswa with gredy eyes, hys dead corps, the gudlyest corps of any gentleman that euer liued in this age. And than soden­ly, without any funerall honor, in the night tyme, by commoun carriers of dead bodies, vpon a vile béere, she cau­sit hym to be buryed hard by Dauid Rizo. Quhen these doynges were knawin abrode, and that the indigna­tioun of the pepill had ouercome the threatnynges of penalties, and the frāknesse of sorrow surmounted feare, by litill and litill she beganne to set hir face, and with counterfaiting of mour­nyng she labored to appease the hartes of the grudgyng pepill. For quhair the auncient maner hath ben for quenis efter the death of thair husbandes, by the space of fortye dayes, not onely to forbeare the companie of men, but al­swa from lukyng on the open light, she attemptit a disguisit maner of mour­nyng. But the myrth of heart far pas­sing the fayned sorrow, she shut the dores in dede but she set open the win­dowes, and within fower dayes she threw away hir wayling wéede, and [Page] gane to behald baith sunne and open skye agayne. But this ane thyng fell very ouerthwartly. For quhen Henry Killegrée, was come from the quene of Ingland to comfort her, as the maner is, this gentleman strangeris hap was to marre the play and vnuisor all the disguising. For quhen he was, by the quenis commaundement come to the Court, though he beyng an auld cour­tier and a gud discrete gentleman, did nathyng hastily, yet he came in sa vn­seasonably ere the stage wer prepared and furnished, that he found the win­dowes open, the candeles nat yet ligh­ted, and all the prouision for the play out of order. Quhen of the forty dayes that are apoyntit for the mournyng, scarce twelue wer yet fully past, and the counterfaityng wald nat frame half handsomely, & to disclose hir true affections so soone she was somewhat ashamit, at length takyng hart of grace vnto hir, and neglectyng sic trifles, she commeth to her own byace, and open­ly sheweth hir owne naturall conditi­ons. She posteth to Setons house, with a very few and those not all of the saddest company. There Bothwel, [Page] though it semed that for the great fa­uor he than had in court, and for the nobilitie of hys byrth, & other respectes of honor, he should haue ben, next efter the quene, most honorably receiued, yet was ludged in a chamber hard by the kitchin. Howbeit the same was a place not altogether vnfit to asswage thair sorrowes, for it was directly vn­der the quenis chamber: and if any so­dein qualme of grefe should haue hap­ned to come ouer hir hart, there was a paire of stayres, though somewhat nar­row, yet wyde enough for Bothwell to get vp to comfort hir.

In the meane tyme, efter the rumor hereof was spred into France, Monsi­eur de Croc, quho had often befoir ben Embassadour in Scotland, came in sodenly vpon tham, God wote full vnseasonably. By hys aduise she retur­ned to Edenburgh, out of that denne quhilk euen as far as France was in­famous. But in Setons house were sa many commodious opportunities for hir purpose, that how soeuer hir gud name wer therby appeyred, nedes she must ga thether agayne. There were conselles holden of the great affaires [Page] of the realme. The end of the consul­tatioun was, that Bothwell shold be arrainit of the murder, and acquitit by iudges therto chosen for the nones and constrainit. It was concludit, that the meaner sorte of the iudges might with fauor and fayre promises. be ledde, and the rest of the greater and grauer sort (whom for fashions sake thay were driuen to call to the mater) might be drawen with feare to acquite hym. For byside libelles therof com­monly throwen abrode, the kyngis fa­ther the Erle of Lennor did openly ac­cuse hym for principall author of the murder.

The assemblie of the states in par­lament was at hand, quhilk was to be halden the xiij. of Aprill, befoir quhilk day thay wald nedes haue the arraine­ment dispatchit. That great hast was the cause, quhy in that preceding and triall nathyng hes ben done according to the forme of law, nathing in order, nathing after the auncient vsage. There ought to haue bene publike summons of the accusers, the next of the kinne, the wife, the father, and the sonne, eyther to be present thamselfis, [Page] or to send thair proctors. The law also gaue tham tyme of forty dayes. But hair the father was commaundit to cum within xiij. dayes, and that wyth­out any assembly of his frendis, wyth hys awne housholde retinue anely, quhilk by reason of his great pouertie was now brought to a few: quhile in the meane tyme Bothwell with great bandes of men, dayly mustered about the towne. And bycause he verely beleuit that in sa assurit perill na man would take vpon hym to be hys accu­ser, he grew to sic ane negligence, and sic contempt of law and iudiciall proce­dyng, Endite­ment. that the dictay was framit of ane murder supposit to be done the ix. day of February, quhen in dede the Kyng was slayne the x. day. In choosing and refusing of the Iudges, the lyke seue­ritie was vsid, for the murderers tham selfis made the choise of the Iudges▪ quhen there was na man to take ex­ceptioun against tham. The Erle of Cassiles, willing raither to pay hys amercemēt as the maner is, than to be a Iudge in the matter, quhen he had stoode in it a quhile and wald nat ap­peare at the Quenis request & mana­cing, [Page] yea though sche sent hir ring for credit baith of hir earnest prayer and threatning, at length constraynit with feare of exile and punitioun, he yelded. There sate the Iudges, nat chosin to iudge, but piked out to acquite: the cause procedit wythout any aduersa­rie: a triall in a matter of life & deith, quhen there was neuer ane accuser, but suborned by the partie accused: so as a man might well thinke it not the triall of a cause in a court but the play­ing of ane enterlude vpon a stage. In all this recklesnesse of all thinges, yet behald I pray you of quhat force is the testimony of conscience on either side. Sodenly, vnluked for, there starteth vp a youngman of the Erle of Lennor house, in quhame the respect of dutie vanquishit the feare of danger. This youngman made ane open protestati­oun that the same assembly of Iudges was nat lawfull, bycause in thair pro­ceding there was nathing done accor­ding to law nor order. At thys saying the Iudges were all striken in sic a feare, that thay all by and by with one mouth made protestatioun, with pro­mise that it should nat hereafter be pre­iudiciall [Page] to tham, in that thay acqui­ted a prisoner quhame na man accu­sed, and that thay had acquitit him of a murder allegit to be committit the ix. day of February quhen the kyng was slayne the x. day. This is that saim nobill triall and iudgement, quhairby Bothwell was, not cleansed of the crime, but as it weir washed with sowters blacking, and sa mair comely prepared to goe a wooing to wed the Quene, and sa to become a husband to hir greater schame than he was befoir an adulterer. To make vp yet the full perfectioun and encrease of this iolly acquitall, there was set vp a writyng in the most notorious place of the court, that though Bothwell had by iust triall and iudgement bene lawfully cleansed and acquitit of the murder quhairof he had ben falsely ac­cusit, yet for mair manifest declarati­oun of his innocēcie to the hale world, he was redy to trie it in combat, if any man of gude fame and a gentilman borne would charge him with the murder of the king. The next day af­ter, there was ane that set vp a bill in open place, and offred to accept the [Page] combat, sa that there might for the battell be sic a place appointed, quhair­in the partie mought safely without feare disclose his name.

Quhile maters and mens affections were in this styrre, the parlament as­sembled. There after thay had for viij. dayes together, in maner done na­thing but treated of reuersing y ^e iuge­ment, quhairby the Erle Huntleyes father had ben attaintit of treason, & for restoryng the sonne to hys fathers possessions and honors: there were al­swa certaine plausible thyngis graun­tit to please the pepill, and specially for the Kirke, namely the repellyng of certain lawes of popish tyrannie made for punisching of sic as durst ones mutter agaynst the decrées of the sée of Rome. Though these thingis were ac­ceptable among the commonaltie, yet there remainit ane thyng quhilk na lesse vexed the quene thē offended the pepil, that is to say, hir cōpanieng with Bothwel, not altogether sa openly as she wald faine haue had it, and yet not sa secretly but that the pepill perceiuit it, for that all mens eyes were gazyng vpō tham. For quhairas Bothwel had [Page] a wife of his owne, & to tarry for a di­uorce was thoght an ouerlang delay, and in the meane time the quene could nouther openly auow to haue him, nor secretly enioy hym, and yit in no wise could be without hym, some shift, though nat an honest ane, yit a shift forsothe, must be deuised. And quhen thay could nat thinke vpon a better, it semit tham a maruelous fine inuen­tioun god wote, that Bothwell should rauishe and take away the Quene by force, and sa saue hir honour. Sa with­in a few daies after, as the quene was returning from Stereline, Bothwell forceably toke hir by the way and cari­it hir to Dunbarre: whether with hir will, or agaynst hir will, euery man may easily perceiue by hir awin let­ters that sche wrote to him by the way as sche was in hir iourney. But how­soeuer it weir, that the wrong of the rauishment might be defaced with ho­nest colour of mariage, Bothwels wife was compelled, in twa courtis to sue a diuorce against hir husband.

Befoir Iudges delegate appointit by the quenis authorifie to haif iuris­dictioun in sic causis, the wife accuseth [Page] the husband of adulterie, quhilke with tham was a iust cause of diuorce. Be­foir Popishe Iudges quho in deed by law weir forbidden, yet by speciall dis­pensatioun of the Bischop of S. An­drew, weir for the hearing of this cause anely permitted, Bothwell was accu­sit, that befoir his mariage with hys wife, he had committit fornicatioun with his wiues neare kinswoman: howbeit all this quhile thay kept close the Popis Bull by quilk the same of­fence was dispensit with. The diuorce was posted forwart without any slack­nes either in the witnesses or in the Iudges. Within the space of x. dayes, the matter was taken in hand, began▪ and intented, ioynit vnto, tryit and iudged befoir baith the companies of Iudges. Quhen the sentence of di­uorce was geuen and sent to Dunbar, Bothwell by and by assembleth toge­ther frō all pairtes, all his friendis, his seruantis, and reteiners, to conuey to Edenburgh the quene, quho wauld then nedes take vpon hir to be a priso­ner. Quhen thay weir thus gatherid together, the maist pairt of tham in armour, by the way as thay weir con­ducting [Page] the quene, many of tham weir sodenly striken in some feare, least in time to cum they might be chargit for halding the quene as prisoner, and that though there were none vther e­uidence, yet this ane thing would be profe enough against tham, that in time of peace thay were found armid about hir. Quhile thay were in thys doubt, in the middest of thair iorney thay all threw away thair launces, and in mair peasabill array, at least in schew, thay conueyed hir to the castell of Edenburgh, quhilke castell was al­so the same tyme at Bothwelles com­maundement. There sche taried with Bothwell, quhile the banes weir pub­lishing. Then sche came downe out of the Castell into the towne, to the commoun assembly of the Iudges, and there pronouncit hir selfe to be frée and at hir awne libertie. And sa at length within viij. dayes sche finished that vnmatrimoniall matrimonie, all gude men sa farre detesting or at least grudgingly foreiudging the vnlucky end thereof, that Monsieur do Croc the French kinges Embassadour, a mā very well affectionit to the quene, [Page] ane of the factioun of the house of Guise, and soiorning very neare to the place, though he were earnestly re­quired, yet thoght he could nat wyth his honor be present at the feast.

These thyngis wer done about the xv. of May, in the yere. 1567. The xv. day of Iune followyng, Bothwell be­yng either dismayed with gilty consci­ence of the vile fact, or sent away by the quene, she came her selfe to the Lordes of the realme, quho earnestly requirit the publike kyng murderer to be brought forth to due executioun. Quhat hath sins ben done, perteineth nat much to this present mater. And though my spech haue perhappes ben langer than you luked for, yet I playn­ly perceiue in my selfe, that quhile I seke to make end of my tale, many thyngis I haue omittit, and many thyngis for hast I haue but lightly touchit, and nathing haue I accordyng to the haynous­nesse of the offense fully expressit.

SIth these thingis are by writings and witnesses sa prouaible, and stick sa fast emprimtit in the knaledge of all the pepill, that sic as wald maist haue thaim hidden, yet can nat deny thaim: quhat plaice is here left for cunning, or quhat neid can be of diligence, to preue or re­preue a thing sa plaine and euident? For all thingis are sa cleir, sa manifest, and sa mutually knit together, ech pairt to strengthen vther, that there is na neid of foreine probations, and all thingis sa fully witnessit, that there is na necessi­tie of vther argumentis. For if any will aske me, as in vther matters is wont to be askit, the causes of sa fowle a fact, I might alswa likewise aske of hym, sith the time, the plaice, the deede, and the autor is sufficiently knawen, to quhat purpose is it to stand vpon sear­ching the causes, or to enquire by quhat meanes it was atcheuit? Agayne quhen there be extant sa many causes of hatrit, [Page] and sa many taikens thereof do offer thamselues to knawlege, as may well be able to bryng euin thyngis vncertain to be beleuit, surely sa farre fet an expli­catioun of the act committed may right well seme superfluous. Nat the lesse, for as mikle as sa great is the impudence of the vile offenders in denyeng, & sa con­fident the boldnesse of impudent per­sones in lyeng, let vs assay to see with quhat wepons truth is able to defend innocencie agaynst those wickit mon­sters. If than thay demand the cause of sa haynous a dede, I answere, it was vnappeasable hatrit. I demand of tham agayne if thay can denye that sic hatrit was, or that the same hatrit was sa great as without blud cauld nat be sa­tisfiet? If thay denie that sic hatrit was, than let tham answere me, why she a yong woman, riche, noble, and finally a Quene, thrust away from hir in maner into exile the yong gentleman, beauti­full, nere of hir kin; of the blud royall, and (that maist is) entierly louyng hir, in depe of sharp wynter, into places nouther frutefull of thyngis necessarie, nor replenished with inhabitantes, and cōmōly perilous with haunt of theifes? why sent she him away into desert and barren craggy mountaines, without prouision, into open periles, and in ma­ner without any cōpanie? Quhat wald [Page] she els haue haue done if she had maist dedly haitit hym, & couaitit to haue him dispatchit? But I trow she feared na sic thyng. But that voydenesse of feare, I construe to be a note of maist obstinate haitrit, specially sithe she baith knew the places and was nat ignorant of the dangers. That husband thairfoir, to quhom she was but laitely weddit, a­gainst the liking of hir subiectes, against the will of the freindis on baith sides, without quhom sche cauld nat endure, quhom sche scarcely durst suffer out of her sight, hym I say she thrusteth forth to vncertaine death and maist certaine perils.

Will ye aske of me the causes of the chainge of her affectioun? quhat if I say I ken tham nat? it sufficeth for my purpose to proue that sche haitit hym. What if I aske agayne, why sche sa extremely loued the yongman quhom she neuer saw befoir? quhy she sa hastily maried him, and so vnmeasu­rably honorit him? Sic are the natures of some wemen, specially sic as can nat bruike the greatnesse of thair awne gud fortune: thay haue vehement affections baith wayes, thay loue with excesse, and hait without measure, and to quhat side sa euer thay bend, thay are not gouer­ned by aduised reason, but carried by violent motion. I cauld out of the mo­numentes [Page] of antiquitie rehearse innu­merable examples, but of hir selfe I had raithest beleue hir selfe.

Call to minde that part of hir letters to Bothwell quhairin sche maketh hir selfe Medea, that is, a woman that nou­ther in loue nor in hatrit can kepe any meane. I could alswa allege vther cau­ses of hir hatrit, although in dede nat reasonable causes, yet sic as are able to shooue forwart and to push hedlang a hart for outrage nat able to gouerne it selfe. But herein I will forbeare. And, if hir selfe will suffer me, howsoeuer she hath deseruit of hir subiects, yit sa much as the cōmoun cause wil permit, I will spare her honor, yea I will spare it mair than the cause will allow me. I omit thairfoir hir vther causes of hatrit, and returne to this, that she hatit and nat meanely hatit hym.

Wil ye see alswa an vther profe of hir hatrit? The tēder wife forsoth so louing and fond of hym, quhen she could nat do him the dutie of a wife, offreth to do him the seruice of a bawde. Hir owne bro­thers wife she made choise of, to put to hym in hir place. Quhat shal we thinke to be the cause of this sa sodein change? Sche that quhilere gapingly sought for euery small breath of suspicioun against hir husband, and quhaire trew causes weir nat to be found, sche inuentit sic as [Page] weir manifestly false, and this sche cu­riously did, nat quhen sche louid hym, but quhen sche had begon to hate hym, and quhile sche was fisching for occasi­ons to be diuorced from him, euen sche I say now of hir awne accorde offreth him a louer, declaireth hir awne conten­tatioun therewith, and promiseth hir furtherance. Quhat can we imagine to be the cause hereof? Was it to plea­sure hir husband? no, for sche hatit him, and although sche louid him, yet sic ma­ner of doing in a woman is vncredible. Was it that he knawing himselfe like­wise gilty of adulterie on his pairt, might the maire willingly beare with a partner in vse of his wife? No, for he bare withall perforce against his wyll. Was it to finde cause of diuorce, and sa to driue him to leaue his bed empty for Bothwell? Yea, that was it in deede that sche sought for, but yet nat that a­lone. For in this woman ye must ima­gine na single mischefe. Sche hatit the Erle Murrays wief, euin with sic hatrit as all vnhonest persons hait the honest. The difference of thair twa fames mikle vexit hir, & thairwithal alswa she couitit to set the gud ladies husband & the king together by the eares, & sa rid hir selfe of twa combrances at ones. Thus see you how many and how greit thingis sche practisit to dispatch with ane labour. [Page] Hir paramors enemie, the bridler of hir licentiousnes, & hir awne hatit husband she hopith to rid all at ones, quhile by sa sondry sortes of wickit doynges she ma­keth hast to hir maist wickit weddyng.

Quhairto tended that fearefull hasty callyng for the Erle Murray at mid­night? Cauld she nat tarrie til day light? quhat was the occasioun of sa sodeine feare? The gude woman, God wote, carefull for cōcord of the nobilitie, dere­ly louyng hir brother, and maist derely louing hir husband, was afrayd forsoth, least hir brother shold in the night haif ben assaltit by the kyng, quhom she hir selfe had disarmit? disarmit, sayd I? Yea she had disfurnished him of all conueni­ent companie for his estate, & made hym be shaken vp with womens scoldyng, & that by one of hir awne traine, one past all shame and of prostitute vnchastitie. She feared perdie, least the yongman, destitute of all freindes, beset with all sortes of miseries, shold make assalt in the night tyme. Upon quhat person? the Quenis brother, a man of a great repu­tatioun and power, and in hyest fauour with all estates. And quhair should he haue assailit him? in a maist strong ca­stell, quhair vpon the dede done nouther was issue for him to flee, nor meane of refuge to the Quenis mercie. For quhat cause shold he assaile hym? There was [Page] no enimitie betwene tham but sic as she had sowed. Quhat say you, if she couetit that thyng maist quhilk she most faynit hir selfe to feare? For to quhat purpose ells sent she for hir brother to come to hir in the night tyme, vnarmed? Why dyd she nat aduise him of this one thyng at least, that because he was to passe by, and hard by the kyngis dore, he shold in any wise put on his armour? Why did she nat either forewarne hym of the danger, or differre the callyng of him till the next morning? Na na, she had a far vther purpose in hād. She had but new­ly sent the kyng away, inflamed (as she hopit) with hatrit of the Erle Murray. So thoght she it nat vnlikely but that the kyng, kindlit with fresh displeasure, rash by feruor of youth, lightly beleuing hir by excesse of loue, wald haue aduen­turit to slay his supposed enemie, nakit, vnaccompanied and vnarmit. So sent she the king ragyng in anger to commit the slaughter, and practisit to draw the Erle Murray nakit, vnaccompanied, vnwarnit, to be sodenly trappit in trea­son. This was hir meanyng, this was hir desire. But wickit counsells, how suttle soeuer they be, are nat alway pro­sperous.

What meant this, that after hir deli­uerance of childe, at quhilk time vther women do cheifly comfort tham selues [Page] in the louingnes of thayr husbandes, & confes that thay finde some ease of paine by sight of tham, sche at the same time driueth her husband away? Quhat els shall we say sche meant thareby, but as the Poet sayth, for pure loue God wot, she shut him out of dores. But this ten­der creature, that eyther shutteth out hir husband, or assone as he is come chaceth him away agayne, whoes stomach tur­nit at the sight of hym, quho is sodenly taken with pangis at hys presence, quhen sche was in the pynnesse amang pyrates and theefis, sche could abide at the powpe, and ioyit to handle the boy­sterous cables. Now aske I quhame sche loued, and quham sche haytit. For that at Aloe sche droue away the com­bersome interrupter of her pastime, that agayne quhen he came to hir to Eden­burgh, sche reiected him, I blame hyr nat. I am content to beleif sche did it nat for hate to hir husband, but for hyr fansies sake. That agayne at Iedworth sche suffrit him nat to come at hir, let it be borne withall: For nat without cause sche fearit lest the force of hyr sicknesse wauld encrease at sight of him, whoes deith sche sa earnestly desyrit. That sche gaif speciall commaundement that na man shauld lodge him, na man shauld relieue him with meat or drincke, that sche in maner forbad him the vse of fyre [Page] and water: thys is vndoubtedly a to­ken of outragious haytrit. But it see­meth sche fearit the veray infectioun of hir husband, if he wer in any place neir hyr. That sche sent hym backe from Cragmillar to Stereline, I complayne nat. But that sche bereued him of all his necessaries, that sche tuke from him hys seruauntes, that sche abatit the al­lowance for hys expensis, that sche ali­enit the nobilitie from hym, that sche forbad strangeris the sight of him, and (as much as in hyr lay) tuke from him euen quhile he liued, the vse of heauen, earth, and ayre: thys, I say, I doubt quhat to call it, vnnaturalnesse, hatreit, barbarous fiercenesse, or outragious crueltie? That quhen he went from Stereline sche tuke away all his plate, let it be pardoned, for what need had he of siluer, that caryit with him present deith in his bosome? But this this I besech you consider how greit indigna­tioun of all men it hath kindlit, that quhen the King pure saule hardly shif­tit wyth lief in desolatioun, in sorrow, and in beggery, in the mean time Both­well, as an Ape in purple, was trium­phantly shewed to the Embassadoris of foreine natiounis, euin that saim parte­ner of hyr husbandes bed, nat sa mikle for loue of him selfe, as for despite of hyr husband, was caryit abroad, set out with [Page] all kindes of ornamentes, euen that a­dulterous partener I say, that neyther in byrth, nor in beautie, nor in any ho­nest qualitie was in any wise compara­ble with hyr disdayned husband. Now let tham denay that here were tokens of hatreyt.

But how great and how vnappea­sable this haitrit was, euen by this ye may gather. Hir husband sa oft shut out, sa oft sent away with dispite, driuin to extreme pouertie, banisched into a desolate corner, farre from the court, farre from presence of men, spoyled of hys seruantis and furniture of hous­shold, bereuit in a manir of his daily ne­cessary sustenance, yet by na iniuries can be shaken from hir, by na feare of deith can be withdrawen, but with seruice­ablenesse and patience he assayeth, if nat to ouercome, yit at least sumwhat to as­swage the violent crueltie of hir vnkind courage. In the meane tyme quhat doth this gude gentill wife, this mercyfull Quene, that is at beholding of mēs mi­series sa kinde and pitifull? Neither is sche anes mouit with the louing do­ingis, nor with the wretched plight, nor with the miserabill wofulnesse of hir husband, nor appeasit by tyme, nor sa­tisfy it with tormentis, but rathir wyth his seruiceablenesse sche is irritatit, with hys humble prayers sche is mair infla­mit, [Page] & at euery tyme of his comming she deuiseth some new encrease of spitefull dishonor. Quhairin quhen she had spent the vttermaist of all hir force, of witte, & bitternes of nature, quhen sche saw the poore yong gentilman, neyther to geue ouir by faintyng, beyng oppressit with pouertie, and though he weir despisit of all men, and sa oft throwen into opin perillis, neyther to despeire nor vther­wise mair cruelly to misdoe to himselfe, at length as it weir gluttit with sight of his miseries and tormentis, sche deter­minit presently to ridde him of hys cala­mities, hir selfe of irksomnesse, and hir adulterer from feare, and sa by certayne speciall personis thereto appointit, sche causit hym to be poysonit, that being ab­sent from hir, he might sa die wyth lesse suspitioun. But of the poyson I wyll say mair in an vther place.

Quhen this practise framit nat fully to hir desire, sche goeth hir selfe to Glas­cow, that quhom being absent she could nat kill, sche might hir selfe in presence satisfie baith hir cruell hart and hir eyes with sight of hys present miseries. And as if hir selfe alone weir nat sufficient to execute the cruell tormenting of hym, sche bringeth into his sight the mini­sters of hir haynous doinges, and hys auncient naturall enemies, and wyth these outragis trauailed to vexe hys [Page] saule at his last breath. But quhairto gather we argumentis as in a doubtfull case, quhen sche hir selfe will nat suffir vs to doubt at all? sche the Quene hir selfe I say opinly protestit, nat to hir lo­uer in bed, nat amang hir confederatis in secret chamber, nat befoir few and meane personis, of estait apt to flatterie, constraynit by pouertie, or of purpose affectionit, sche hir selfe I say opinly confessit, that sche could nat liue ane gude day if sche weir nat ridde of the kyng: and that nat ones, nor vnadui­sedly, but in presence of those persona­gis quhome sche vsit to call to counsell in the weightiest affaires. For it can nat be sayd vnaduisedly slipped from hir that was sa oft spoken, in sa many, sa farre distant placis, with tearis alswa addit to moue credit, befoir men nota­bill, baith for their nobilitie, wealth, & wisdome, and quhairin sche declairit hir awne opinioun, practisit to winne thair assent, and harkenit for thair aduises. But be it that she forgid al these things, be it that hir tearis weir faynit, let thaim nat beleue it that heard it, let the greatnes of the outrage make the report vncredibill. I my selfe alswa would gladly be ane of that number, to thinke these thingis vtterit by hir rathir to groape the myndis of vther, than that she hir self sa thoght in hir hart, if it weir [Page] nat sa that the thing it selfe confirmeth the report, that the outragiousnesse of the doingis farre surmounteth all bit­ternesse of vtterance.

Quhen he was preparing to depart from Glascow, sche causit poyson to be geuen hym. You will aske, by quhom? in quhat maner? quhat kind of poyson? quhair had sche it? Aske you these questi­ons? as though wickit Princis euer wantit ministeris of thayr wyckit trea­chereis. But still you presse me per­haps and still you aske me who be theis ministeris? Fyrst that poysoned he was, it is certeinly knawin: for though the schamlesnesse of men wald nat sticke to denay a thyng sa manifest, yit the kinde of disease, strange, vnknawin to the pepill, vnacquainted to phisitiones, specially sic as had nat bene in Italy and Spayne, blacke pimples breaking out ouer all his body, greuous ache in all his limbes, & intollerable stinch, dis­close it. If thys cause wer to be pleaded befoir graue Cato the Censor, all thys were easie for vs to proue befoyr hym that was perswadit, that there is na adulteresse, but the saim is alswa a poy­soner. Need we seek for a mair substan­tial witnesse then Cato, euery of whoes sentences antiquitie esteemed as sa ma­ny oracles? schall we nat in a manifest thing beleue him whoes credite hath in [Page] thingis doutfull sa oft preuayled? Loe here a man of singular vprightnes, and of maist notable faythfulnes and credite beareth witnesse, agaynst a womā bur­nyng in hatrit of hir husband, & in loue of ane adulter, and in baith theis disea­sis of corrupt affectiounis vnbridelit, vntemperable by her estayt, raging by hyr power, and indulgently following the wantonnes of hyr wealth. But let vs omit auld and dissused thingis, and let vs seuer the credite of inconstaunt multitude from the case of Princes. Let vs in sa greit a mater admit no witnesse in quhom eyther hys estait may be sus­pectit, or his manners may be blamit. Quhat witnessis than schall we vse? for by thys conditioun, we may bring forth none vnder the royall degree of a King or a Quene. But sic vile actis are nat wont to be committit by noble and gud men, but by leud and wickit ministeris. Howbeit that herin alswa the maist precise may be satisfyit, go to, let vs bring forth a royall witnesse. Read her awin letter, her letter (I say) written with her awin hand. What mean theis wor­des, He is nat mikle deformit, and yit he hes receiuit mikle. Quairof baith he re­ceauit mikle? The thing it selfe, the di­sease, the pimples, the sauour do tel you. Euin that perdy he receauit, that broght deformitie, forsoth veray poyson. But [Page] her letters name not poyson. Thys is sufficient for me that is thare sayit, that though he receauit mikle, he is nat mikle deformit, or, though he be nat mikle de­formit, yit he receauit mikle. Quhat mea­neth this word Yit? quhat els but this, that quhat sa euer it was that he recea­uit, the saim was the cause of hys defor­mitie, quhilk though it were mikle, yit was it nat mikle enough to worke sic deformitie as was desyrit. But be it, it wer not poyson. What then was it els? You can finde na thing that can with conuenience of reason be named in place of it. Finally quhat sa euer it be that is meant by thys worde mikle, it is sic, as sche hyr selfe in sa secreit and familiar a letter dare not call by the right name. Yea and though we wald schyft it of by cauillous expounding, yit sche hyr selfe will nat suffer vs. Compare that quhilk went befoir with that quhilk foloweth, and by hyr deuise and purpose for tyme to come, ye schall easely vnderstand quhat it is that sche hath done in time past. First sche sayth it is needfull that he be purged, then sche determineth to cary him to Cragmillar, quhaire baith the phisitions, and (quhilk is mair dan­gerous than any phisition) sche hyr selfe may be presēt. Finally she asketh coun­sell of Bothwell, quhether he can deuise any secreter way by medicince, and that [Page] at Cragmillar, & after a bath. See how all thingis hang together. He haith rece­uit mikle, he must be purged, and at Crag­millar, that is, in a desolate corner, in a place by reason of smale resorte very apt for a mischief to be committed. And Me­dicine he must vse, and quhat forsooth? euen the same quhairof he had befoir re­ceauit mikle. How schall that appeare? Sche wil haue the maner of ministring the medicine to be secret. If it be to heal him, quhat need that secrecie? quhy is it nat ministrit openly and in a notorious peoplid place? Now he is eased of hys sickenesse, lusty and healthy, why is he purged in an vnusuall maner and an vnhaunted corner? But perhaps it was a strange kynde of disease, it had nede of strange remedies. Quhat Phisicions then called she to counsell? to quhom is this charge committit to seke out a new medicine and curyng for the kyng? Forsothe to the kyngis enemie, to the Quenis adulterer, the vilest of all twa-footit beastes, quhoes house was in France defamit of poisonyng, & quhoes seruantis wer there for the same cause, some torturit, some emprisonit, and all suspectit. Quhen was he pointed to re­ceiue this noble medicine? either at hys bathyng quhair he should wash alone, or after his bathyng quhair he should suppe alone. So forsothe are medicines [Page] accustomit to be prouidit by enemies, in secret place, without witnesses. That thairfoir quhilk an adulterer, an adul­tresse, and the partener of his wiues bo­die, curiously prepareth, and secretly mi­nistreth: quhat kynde of medicine it is, let eche man with hym selfe weye and consider. By this tyme I suppose you see▪ the hatrit of the Quene, how vnap­peasable, how outragiously cruell, how obstinate it was agaynst hir husband, quhom she thrust amōg theiues, quhom she practisit to match in feude and bat­tail with the nobilitie and with hir bre­thren, quhom nakit & poore, loden with dispites, vexit with raylinges, assailit with poisoun, she droue away into soli­tarie corner there to dye with extremest torment. Now let vs procede to the v­ther causes.

This hatrit it self was of it self suffi­ciēt to pricke hir forwart to hir enemies slaughter, often sought, ones attemptit, and almost atcheued. Yet was there be­sides, ane stronger enforcement, able to enflame hir hatrit it selfe, I meane the loue quhairwith she intemperately fan­sied Bothwel: Quhilk loue quhosoeuer saw nat, and yet hath seen him, wil per­haps thinke it vncredible. For quhat was there in hym, that was of a womā of any honest countenance to be desired? Was there any gift of eloquēce? or grace [Page] of beautie? or vertue of mynde, garni­shit with the benefites quhilk we call of fortune? As for his eloquence and beau­tie, we nede not make lang tale of tham, sithe baith thay that haue sene hym can well remember hys countenance, his gate, and the hale forme of his bodie, how gay it was: thay that haue heard hym are not ignorant of his rude vtte­rance and blockishnesse. But, ye will say, he was in executyng attemptes, wise and politike: in auenturyng of pe­riles, hardy and valiant: in franke ge­uyng, liberall: in vse of pleasures, tem­perant. For wisedome, cuin thay that be maist affectionate vnto him, dare nat charge him with it. Of valiantnesse in dede he laborit to winne some estima­tioun, but among horsemen, on a swift stede well mountit, well prouidit for his awne safetie, a beholder of vther mens fighting, sometime hardly chacing tham that fled, but his enemies face towart him nere hand he neuer durst abide. Wil ye haue an example of his excellent va­liantnesse? Of a theife, a notable cowart, quhom beyng yelded and vnware he had deadly woundit he was throwen downe to the ground, hurt, brusit with drye strokes, and had ben starke slayne if the poore theifes strength beyng redy to dye had nat fayled hym. I cauld re­hearse hys glorious vayne braggeries [Page] in France, I cauld tell of his last feare­full flight as far as to Denmark. But I had rathest rubbe vp the remembrance of that day quhen the Quene forsakyng him, came to the nobilitie that protestit to reuenge the slaughter of the kyng. The armyes stode redy in array, Both­well in number of men was equall, in place had the auantage: there stode befoir him to be his reward beyng van­quisher, a Quene maist fansiefully lo­uing him, a kyngdome, wealth, and ho­nor, for him and his posteritie, mairo­uer impunitie for his offenses passit, extreme libertie to do quhat he list in tyme to come, abilitie to auance his freindes and be reuenged on his ene­mies, and on the vther side if he were vanquishit, dishonor, pouertie, and banishment, finally all thingis that thereafter happenit or hereafter may happen weir then befoir his eyes. There weir also present beside the twa armies, beholders and witnesses of ech mans valiance and cowardice, the Quene the price of the battayle, and Monseur de Croc the Embassadour of France. Now you luke to heare how this magnificall boaster of valiantnesse did acquit hymselfe. First, mountit vp­on an excellent horse, he came brauely fourth befoir the armye. There the man forsoth very sparing of hys countrimēs [Page] blude, and lauishe of his awne, calleth for ane to trie it wyth hym by combat man to man. And quhen there weir many on the vther side of honorabill birth and estaites, that offrid to accept the cumbat, by and by his violent heate cooled, and his glorious speche quaylit: and had it nat bene that the Quene, as it weir some God out of a ginne in a tragedie, had by hir auchoritie taken vp the mattir, and forbidden hir prety ve­nereous pigioun to do battaile, he had fayled to finde nat onely a meane but al­swa an honest colour to refuse to fight. And sa the combat interruptit, yit in the ioynit battayle he valiantly behauit hym. Farsoth the first man, almost at the beginning, and alone, he ranne hys way, and sa at length drew the rest of his pairt to flee after hym.

But his defaultes in martiall feates, parhappes the man supplied with ci­uile vertues. Alas quhat weir thay? or quhat vertues coulde be luked for in him? a man perdie broght vp in the by­schop of Murrayes palace, to wite, a maist wickit corruptit house, in dronc­kennes and horedomes, amanst maist vile ministeries of dissolute misorder. After that he was growen towart mās estait [...] ▪ at dice and amang harlottes he so wast it a maist gudely large reuenue of his inheritance, that (as the Poet [Page] sayth) at his nede he had nat lest quhair [...] with to buy him a halter to hang hym­selfe, he I say that defilit nat onely vthir mens houses with cuckoldrie, but alswa hys awne with incestuous vilanie.

This man therefoir quhen I say to haif ben belouit of the Quene, and nat onely louit, but also outragiously and vntemperately louit, they that knawe it nat, will paraduenture thinke that I tell monstrous wonders. But some man parhaps will say: was there none vther in all the troupe of the youth of nobilitie, beside him mair worthy to be belouit? Certes there were full many. And ane there was, in all thynges that are wont to allure luif, of all vther maist excellent, euen hir awn husband. Quhat was it than that ioynit sa vnegall luif and sa farre against reasoun? If I shall say it was likenesse of conditions, I shall name a likely cause of luif, though to some men parchance it shal seme ane vntrue cause of thair luif. Neither am I willing to enter into that discourse. Neither do I affrime the rumors spred of hir in France in time of hir frst mari­age▪ howbeit the wickitnes of the rest of hir life make some proofe that thay rose nat all of nathing. And many thingis that haif bene noysit of hir [...] re­turne into Scotland, I haue [...] to beleue. As for me I am content thay be [Page] buried in forgetfulnes, or if that can nat be, let thaim be discreditit, let thaim be taken for false and fainit. Neither also is it necessarie ouercuriously to examine causis in luif, quhilk is vsually sa caryit with rashe violent motioun of a mud­dy troublit minde, that for the maist pairt it endeth in madnes, quhilke if ye labour to gouerne by discrete aduise, ye do nathing els but as if ye shold ende­uour to be mad with reason. But yit here also there want na causis, for there was in thaim baith a likenesse, if nat of beautie, if nat of outwart thingis, if nat of vertues, yit of maist extreame vices. Sche a young woman, sodenly aduan­cit to the hiest degree of authoritie, quhē sche had neuer seene with hir eyes, heard with hir eares, nor considerit in hir hart the forme of a kingdome gouernit by law, and thereto was furnishit with the vntemperate counsels of hir kins­men, quho thaimselfis practisit to set vp a tyrannous rule in France, endeuou­rit to draw right, equitie, lawes, and customis of auncesters to hir awne onely becke and pleasure.

Of this immoderate desire there brast out from hir many times many wordes disclosing it. This she studied day and night. But agaynst this desire there withstode the custome of the contrey, the lawes and statutes, and principally [Page] the consent of the nobilitie, quho remai­nyng safe she cauld neuer attaine it. To the end thairfoir that she might be able violently to atcheue it, she determinit by force to remoue all that stoode in hir way. But she wist not well, by quhat meane, or by quhoes help to attempt it.

Fraude was the way to worke it, for that vtherwise it was not possible to be obteined. For this purpose thairfoir Bothwell onely semed the fittest man, a man in extreme pouertie, doutfull whe­ther he wer mair vile or mair wickit, & quho betwene factions of sondry religi­ons, despising baith sides, coūterfaitit a loue of tham baith. He quhē he had ones befoir offrit y ^e Hamiltounis his seruice to murder y ^e Erle Murray, gaue thair­by a likelihode that vpō hoipe of greater gayne he wald not sticke to aduenture some greater enterprise, beyng one quhom the ruine of his awne decayed familie pricked forwart hedlang to mis­chef, and quhom na respect of godlynesse or honestie restrainit from vngracious doyng. As for excessiue and immoderate vse of lecherie, he therin no lesse sought to be famous than vther mē do shunne dishonour and infamie. Sche thairfoir a woman gredily coueting vntemperit authoritie, quho estemit the lawes hir prison, and the bridle of iustice hir bon­dage, quhen she saw in hir husband nat [Page] mettall enough to trouble the state, she piked out a man for hir purpose, quho nouther had in his wealth any thyng left to be lost, nor in his fame any thyng remayning that might be stainit, and yet sic a one as stode nat vpon any sic strength but that he might easily be o­uerthrowen agayne quhen she should ones waxe wery of him: sic a one as she might easely snare his incontinēce with wanton allurementes, satisfie his nede with money, & binde his assuritnes vn­to hir with gilty cōscience cōfederatit in mischefis. These be the foūtaines of that same nat vnmeasurable but mad loue, infamous adulterie, and vile parricide, quhairwith, as with a pledge, that blu­dy mariage quhas plightit. These thairfoir wer the causes of enterprising that haynous act, to wyte, vnappeasa­ble hatrit of hir husband and vntempe­rabill luif of hir aduoutrer. There was mairouir a hoipe, that the crime might be diuirtit from thaim to vther, and the executioun for it might be layde vpon vpon the poore liues of thair enemies, and that men maist giltlesse of the fault might be thrust in thair place as sacrifi­ces to appease the pepils displeasure. If nat, quhairto then seruit that battaile almaist begun to be foughten betwene the kyng and Lord Robart hir brother? Quhairto tended those seedis of dis­corde [Page] scaterit betwene the kyng and the nobilitie? Quhairto reachit that curious entreatie to stay the Erle Murray wyth hir the day befoir the murder was com­mittit? Or quhat cause was there to send for hym? There was an Embassa­dour come out of Sauoy. For quhat cause? Surely it behouit to be a great cause, and sic as coulde nat be ended without assembly of the nobilitie. No, God wote. The Embassadour of Sa­uoy, being bidden to late to the christe­ning, came quhen all was ended, nat for ane Embassadour to the christening, but as ane sent to excuse the neglecting of doing that kindenesse, quhen baith he liked not to send sa farre for sa small a mattir, and he was somequhat aschamit to haif faylit in presence, quhen the Frenchmen and Inglishmen had alre­dy done it. For the maire honorabill dismissing of hym, the Earle Murray was sent for, and that with sondry mes­singers to cum from his wife that lay dying. Quhat nede was there then of his presence? to draw hym to be a part­ner in conspiracie of the slaughtir? Quhy was it neuer attemptit befoir? Thought thay it best, then at the last point, at the very instant quhen the murder shoulde be committit, to ioyne him to thair fel­lowschip, as a light man, incōstant, and shifting his purposis at euery moment [Page] of tyme, infamous in his former life, and nat well assurit in his present staite? Na there is none of these thingis that they yet dare say of hym? Sith then thay can nat imagine a false cause to stay hym, quhat was the trew cause in deid ech man may easily gather: euen the same that causit first the Earle of Athol, & afterwartis hym to depairt from the court: the same that sa oft broght hym in dangir of deith: the same that had sclan­derit hym wyth false rumors scaterit in Ingland: the same that presecutit hym with infamous libelles of the murde­rers thaimselfis: the same that made him to chuse raither to goe into banisch­ment, than to remayne in court amang ruffians weapons with great perill of his life.

But quhat auayleth thys equitie of the cause befoir hearers eyther vtterly ignorāt of the mater how it was done, or of tham selfis disfauouring this pairt and enuyous, or apt to be caryit away with faynit rumors, quhilk esteme the sclanders of maist lewd slight persons, for sad testimonies, and geue credite to these men, quho boasting at home that thay are able to do what that list, yit nei­ther dare commit thayr cause to the sen­tence of the Iudges, nor were abill to defend tham selfis in battaill. And as by giltie conscience of offensis thay fearit [Page] iugement: so by raige growen of thayr giltinesse thay runne hedlang to battail, and from battayll runne cowartly a­way: and now againe quhen standing vpon the aduantage that they haif baith in number and wealth, thay scorne the wisedome of thair aduersareis, and de­spise thair power in comparison of thair awin: yit distrusting to preuayle by trew manhoode, they fall to robbery, and turne thayr vngracious minde tor­mentit with inwart terrouris of giltie cōscience, to sclandering, cauillyng, & le­sing, quhom yet for the gude wil that I beir to my conterymē, I waid aduise to cease from thys folly, or fury, or disease of euill speiking, lest in time to come, quhen truth shall shine out, thay shut vp and stop with hatrit of tham those per­sons eares to thayr petitiounis, quhom now they new fill & lode with false ru­mouris, for thare wyll nat alway be place for forgeuenes: but as darcknes at the sunne shining, so lyes at the light of treuth must vanische away.

As for the commodious meanes for committing that vile fact, and the hoipe of hiding it, I neid nat to pursue the de­claring of tham in many wordis, sith baith the easinesse to do it, the opportu­teis of placis, and all aduauncementis of occasiouns and seasons were in their owne power. And to hide the fact quhat [Page] neidit thay, quhē thay fearit na punish­ment gif it were publishit? For quhat punischment cauld they feir in sa strang a conspiracie? quhen baith the force of lawes, quhairof tham selfis wer gouer­nours, was vtterly extinguishit, and the mindis of maist pairt of men weir eyther snarit with partenerschip of the mischieuous fact, or caryit wyth hoip, or forestallit wyth rewardis, or discou­ragit and bridelit wyth feare of sa greit a power on the vther pairt? But how sa euer thys be, yit schall it be gude to see throughly baith the order of the duing, the vnaduisidnes, inconstancie, and end of thayr deuisis. For tharwithall schall ye perceiue that thare wanted nat desire to hyde the fact, but that the furor of a distracted minde ouerthrew all the or­der of thair coūsels, quhile some time as desyrous to beguyle publike fame, thay endeuourit to keip close thayr intendit mischiefe, yit thay dealt tharein sa opin­ly, as gif carelesse of thair estimatioun thay seemit to make small accompte howe men iudged of thayr duyngis. For the poysoun at his preparyng to go to Glasco was geuen hym secretly, and thay thoght thay had sufficiently well prouidit that he should in hys absence from tham be consumit with pynyng sicknesse. But the rest of thair dealinges towart hym wer sa cruelly handlit, that [Page] though his disease shold haue happenit to be naturall, yet it wald haue ben su­spectit for poysonyng. For he hir hus­band, the father of hir onely and first borne childe, the father I say of that sonne quhoes Christenyng was solem­nisit with sa great pompe and glorie, beyng escapit away in maner nakit as it wer out of his house flamyng in fier, tormentit by the waye with greuous peine, quhē he lay at Glascow of a dan­gerous sicknesse likely to dye, quhat did hys excellent gude wife the quhile? Quhat dyd sche? At the first newes of it dyd she hast to him in post? Doth sche with her presence, with hir freindly fa­miliar spech, or with hir louyng counte­nance comfort hym in sicknesse? quhen she can nat stay him in life, commeth she to receiue his last breath? closeth she hys eyes at his deyng? doth she the vther kinde duties of honest matrones? No. But she that had now let him escape to goe and dye, and hopit that he cauld not linger out hys vnhappy life but a few dayes langer, getteth hir a cleane con­trary way into an vther contrey in pro­gresse, and with hir faire Adonis she vi­siteth noble mens houses, and stayneth the houses that harborit them with the spottes of thair vnchastities, and iust a­bout the tyme of hir husbandes death (as she gessit by the strength and wor­kyng [Page] of the poysoun) she returneth to Stereline. Quhen the mater wrought not sa fast as she lukit for & the strength of his youth had wrastlit with the sore­nesse of the peine, least she shold seme to haue altogether forsaken hir dutie, sche daily prepareth to go to Glasco, but ne­uer goeth. At the last disapointit of the hope that sche had conceiuit in hir hart, she taketh hir to vther deuises. She commeth to Edenburgh and there cal­leth to counsell hir aduoutrer and a few vther priuie of those secrets. There thay decree that in any wise the kyng must be slayne. Yet wer thay nat fully aduisit with quhat kinde of death he should be murderit. Quhilk may easily be ga­therit by hir letter quhairin she partly compareth hir selfe with Medea a blu­dy woman and a poysoning witch. Al­swa by an vther of hir letters quharin she asketh aduise about the poysonyng him. The kyng quho had alredy tastit of hir louely cuppe, doutyng whether he wer better any mair to beleue hir flatte­ring speches, or to feare the shrewdnesse of hir nature, though sometime he de­speirit not of hir reconciliation, yet euer was somewhat mair feareful and suspi­cious. But quhen he saw that nouther his life nor his death wer in his power, he was constrainit in silence to purse vp his passit iniuries, to dissemble hys pre­sent [Page] feare, and to fayne him selfe some hope for tyme to come. Sa was he led out nat as a husband, but carried out as a corse, or rather drawen as it wer to the shambles. The Quene gloriously shewyng hir selfe in pompous maner goeth befoir in triumph ouer the yong gentleman vexit with all kynde of iniu­ries, tormentit with poyson, entrappit with treasons and drawen to execution. There followe after the triumphant carre, the auncient enemies to his fa­thers house, brought thether for the nones, that thay alswa might fede thair eyes with that woefull spectacle, and quhoes death at hād thay lukit for, thay might in the meane tyme take pleasure of the sorow of his hart. And that na ce­remonie of solemne sacrifices might be wāting, Ihon Hamilton Archbishop of of S. Androwes was present as thair priest, a man befoir defiled with all kind of wickitnesse, pāpered with the spoyles and murders of hys contreymen, ane auld conquerour of many murderyng victories. The pepill, all alang the way lukyng pitiously shewit a foreboding of na gude lucke to come. The Quenes companiōs, could nouther well enough faine thair sadnesse nor hide thair glad­nesse, quhen the haynous outrage of the vile fact intēdit held thair vnmesurable ioy in some suspense vpon expectatiō of [Page] the successe. Thus led they him to Edē ­burgh, nat into the quenis palace. Why so? Least the infection of the pestilent di­sease forsoth might hurt hir yong sonne: as though thay that be poysonit wer al­swa to be shonned for feare of infection. But the truer cause was this, least hys presence should trouble tham, in inter­ruptyng thair free enioyng thair plea­sures, and thair consultations about his murder. Quhether then is he led? into the maist desolate part of y ^e town, some­time inhabitit quhile the popish priestes kingdome lastit, but for certayne yeares past, without any dweller, in sic a house as of it selfe wald haif fallen downe if it had nat bene botched vp for the tyme to serue the turne of this nightis sacrifice. Quhy was this place chiefly chosin? they pretend the holesomnesse of ayre. O good God. Going about to murder hir husband, seeketh sche for a holesome ayre? to quhat vse? not to preserue hys life, but to reserue his body to torment. Hereto tend hir wifely diligent atten­dance & hir last care of hir husbands life. She feareth least he should by preuen­ting death be deliuerit from peine, sche wald fayne haue him feele himselfe dye. But let vs see quhat maner of holesom­nesse of ayre it is. Is it amang dead mens graues to seeke the preseruing of life? For hard by there were the ruines [Page] of twa Kirkes: on the East side a Mo­nasterie of Dominike Friers: on the West a Kirke of our Ladie, quhilke for the desolatenes of the place is callit the Kirke in the fielde: on the South side the towne wal, and in the same for com­modious passage euery way is a po­sterne dore: on the North side are a few beggers cotages, thē redy to fall, quhilk sometime seruit for stewes for certayne Priestes and Monkes, the name of quhilke place doth plainely disclose the forme and nature thereof, for it is com­monly callit Theifis Lane. There is neuer an vther house nere, but the Ha­meltons house, quhilke is about a stonis cast distant, and that also stoode voyde. Thether remoueth the Archbyschop of S. Andrewes, quho alway befoir was wont to be lodgit in the maist populous pairtes of the towne. He also watchit all that night that the kyng was slayne. Now I beseche you, sith you can nat wyth your eyes, yet at the least wyth your mindes behalde, a house quhilome of auld Priests, amang grauis, betwene the ruines of twa temples, it selfe also ruinous, neere to the theefis haunt, & it selfe a receiter of theefis, nat farre from the fort and garrisoun of hys enemyes that stoode right ouer against the dore, by quhilke if any man should flye out, he could nat escape thair traiterous em­bushment. [Page] The very shape of this place quhen ye consider in your minde, quhen ye heare of the ruines of Kirkes, grauis of dead men, lurking corners of theefis, brothelhouses of harlotes, doth nat, I say, nat the house onely, but also euery pairt neare about it seeme to proclaime mischiefe and trecherie? Semeth here a king to haue gone into a house for lod­ging, or to be thrust into a den of thefis? Was not that desolate wastnesse, that vnhauntit place abil of it self to put sim­ple men in feare, to make wiser men su­spicious, & to geue naughty mē shrewd occasions? Quhat ment his enemyes vnwontit repayre into those pairtes, and watching all night in maner harde at hys gate? Quhy chose he now thys plaice for his lodging against hys for­mer vsage? The house, ye will say, was empty, and his brothers house, and neare to the kynges lodging. It was empty long befoir, quhy lodgit you ne­uer there befoir? Quhy forsooke you the populous places in the hart of the citie, and nearenesse to the Court, and thrust your selfe in a desolate corner? quhat profite, quhat commoditie, quhat plea­sure herein respectit you? was it your meaning that you beyng ane that euer had bene a gredy coueiter of popular fame, and catcher of courtiers wyth baytes of gude chere, now wald of your [Page] awne accorde goe hide your selfe in a blynde hole out of all companie and re­sort? that you one raither ouerwhelmit than laden with plentie of benefices, went thether to delite your hart in the ruines of temples? But bee it that your comming thether was but by chaunce, and that you had some causes to goe thether, though nat trew, yet somequhat likely. Quhat meant your vnwontit watching all night? quhat meant the fearefull murmuring of your seruantis that night, quhom yet in that publike tumult you commaundit, nat ones to stirre out of dores? But quhat cause had they to goe out? was it to haif vnderstanding of the matter quhairof your selfe were an autor and deuiser? no, for out of your awne watch tower, you heard with your eares the noyse of the ruine, you saw the smoke and ashes with your eyes, you dranke vp the ioy thereof in your hart, and the sauor of the gunnepouder you in maner snuffed vp at your nose. Perhappes you meant to send out some to receiue thaim that fled. but you saw no man flee. And there­fore the lightes that were seene out of the hyest part of your house all the night long, were, as vpon the lucky ending of the thing that you lookit for, euen then sodenly put out.

But let vs return to the King. Thay [Page] thought it nat enough to haue set opin the posterne in the wall, to let in thiefis thereat, nor to haue set an ambush be­foir the dore, that none shauld eschaipe, but alswa thay kept wyth tham selfis the kayis of twa doris, the one of the lower roome quhare thay had vnder­mynit the wall, and fillit the holes with gunpowder, and the vther of the vpper roome, that the murderaris might come to the King in hys bed. Than of theis few seruauntis that he had, they with­drew the greiter number, beyng sic as wer befoir set about him nat sa mikle to do him seruice, as to be spyes of hys secretes, and cary newis to the Quene. The last that was lefte, one Saunder Duraine, quhen he could finde no rea­sonable excuse to depairt, was thrust out by the Quene her selfe. Sche in the meane time, meaning not to fayle in playing hyr pairt, quhile Bothwell is in preparing the tragical stage for the mur­der, dayly visiteth the King: hys heart passionit with loue sometime sche com­forteth with sweete promisis, sometime sche vexeth with brawlinges, and styll kepeth his witte occupyit wyth suspiti­ounis, and rightly representith in acti­on the Poetes fable, quharin is faynit, that Prometheus his liuer daily grow­ing to suffice to new tormentes, is daily gnawin and tyerit vppon by an Egle. [Page] For after the veray saim manner some­time sche cherisheth and refreshith the silly yong gentleman, to none vther end but that he may haif lyfe remayning to suffer moe sorowis.

Now I beseech you euery one thinke with your selfis vpon the fresh duing of the fact, how mens hartis were mouit, quhen euin now theis thingis can not be heard reportit without indignation. There was prouidit by the maist wickit man in the warld, by hys enemie, by his wiefis aduoutrer, a house in maner se­uerit from all haunt of men, fitter for a sclaughter house, than for mans dwel­ling: it is prouidit for a yong gentil­man, vnprouident by youth, easie to be trappit in treasoun by loue, spoylit of hys seruauntes, forsaken of hys frendis: a house (I say) torne, solitarie, on euery syde not onely nat close, but alswa opin to passe through, the kayes therof in his enemeis custodie, no man lefte within but a yong man nat yit recouerit of sick­nesse, and an auld man feble by age, and twa strangeris vnacquaintit with the places, matter, and persons, no man dwelling neire but hys enemeis and thiefis. But as for danger of thiefis the gude forecasting woman had well pro­uidit, for sche had left him na thing to allure a thief withall: and as for hys e­nemeis, sche had appointed tham to be [Page] but lukers on, and nat pairtplayers in this tragedie: but the glorie of the fact sche reseruit to hyr self and Bothwell.

Quhat in the meane time doth the Quenes greit carefulnesse? quhat mea­neth hir vnwontit resort? quhat hir ma­licious, and not obsequious diligence? Sche visiteth him daily, sche prolongith hir talke with hym many houris toge­ther, twa nightis sche resteth in a lower chamber vnder him, gif giltie conscience of maist haynous duingis can from tor­mentis of furies suffer that outragious hart to rest at all. Sche fearit perdie, lest if the lower place of the house were left emptie, the noyse of the vnderminers working, and of the bringers in of the powder, should bring some of the ser­uantes in some suspitioun of treachery. Besyde that sche had a minde to see the thing done her selfe rather then to com­mit it to the trust of any vther. She had a desire to take a foretast of the ioye to come, and quhen sche could nat wyth hir earis, yit at leist with hir hart to con­ceiue aforehand the fyre, the smoke, the powder, the cracke of the house falling, the fearefull troubill, the tumulte, the confuse dismayednesse of the doers, the thiefis, and the pepill. All thingis thus preparit for that dolefull night, then en­treth sche into the last care of hir gude fame: sche endeuourith to diuert all su­spiciounis [Page] from hir, sche goeth to hir husband, sche kisseth him, sche geueth him a ring for pledge of hir loue, sche talketh with him mair louingly then she was wont to do, and promiseth mair largelie, sche faynith that sche hath greit care of his health, and yit her compani­eng with hir adulter sche surceaseth nat.

Thay that mair nerely notit these thyngis, prognosticatit na gude thyng to come. For how mekle the greater to­kens that the Quene shewit of reconci­lit affectioun, so mekle the mair crueltie dyd euery man in his hart fore conceiue of all hir intentions. For els quhense commeth that sodein chaunge? Quhense commeth sa great a care for hym quhom she had poysonit but the moneth befoir, quhom euin lately sche nat onely wishit dead but alswa desirit to see hym dye, quhoes death sche set hir brother, yea baith hir brethren, to procure, and sche like a mayster of mischef thrust forth the kyng to fight, and hir selfe in the meane tyme preparit for his buriall? Not past a few monethes befoir, sche hir selfe was desirous to dye, bycause she lothed to see the king alyue. Quhense commeth now this sodeine care for his health? I luke she shold say she was reconcilit to him. Were you reconcilit to your husband, quhom you sent away into y ^e desert, that camp of furies as the Poet calleth it? for [Page] quhom among brothellhouses of har­lottes, among beggers cotages, among theifes luckyng holes, you preparit a house sa open to passe through that you left therin mair entries then men to shut them? you that allurit and assemblit ruf­fians to his slaughter, and theifes to his spoyle? you that droue away hys ser­uantes that shold haue defendit his life? you that thrust hym out nakit, alone, vnarmie, among theifes to be slayne? quhen in all this miserable state of your husband, your adulterer in the meane tyme dwelt in your palace, dayly haun­tit your chamber, day & night all doores wer open for hym, quhile your poore husband barred from al companie of the nobilitie, his seruants forbiddē to come at hym or sent away from him, was for­saken and thrust away into solitarie de­sert for a mockyng stocke, and I wald to God it had ben for a mockyng stocke onely? Of his vther seruantes I en­quire nat. I do nat curiously questioun why thay went away, why thay then specially forsoke the kyng, quhen he chefely neded thair helpe and seruice, quhen he was newly recouerit, quhen he began to go abrode and had none vther companie. Of Sawnder Durain I can nat kepe silence, quhom you had for his keper and your spie. Quhat was there for hym to espie? was there any [Page] thyng for him to bryng newes of to an honest matrone, louyng to hir husband, faithfull in wedlocke, and fearefull of a partener of his loue? Fearit she least he a yongman, beautifull, and a king, shold cast wanton eyes vpon some vther wo­man in her absence? Na God wot. For that was it that she maist desired. For sche hir selfe had practisit to allure him thereto befoir, she hir self had offrit hym the occasions, and of hir selfe shewit him the meanes. This was it that most gre­uit hir quhile she was sekyng causes of diuorce, that she could nat finde in hym sa mekle as any sclender suspicioun of adulterie. Why then were spies set a­bout hym to watch him? was it not that none of the nobilitie, none of his ser­uantes, nor any stranger at all should come at hym, that na man should speake with him that might disclose the treason and warne hym of his daunger? This same very Sawnder how carefully sche saueth, quhen she goeth about to kill hir husbande? how late sche sendeth hym away quhen the reste were gone, euen at the very point of hir husbandes death, quhen she had now na mair nede of espialles? For the day befoir the mur­der committit, there was none of the ministers that were priuie of hir secret counsels left behinde but onely Sawn­der. He quhen he saw that night no lesse [Page] dolefull then shamefull to approche, pre­pareth, as hymselfe thought, a fine suttle excuse to be absent, so as rather chaunce might seme to haue driuen him out, then he him selfe willingly to haue forsaken his maister. He putteth fire in his awne bedstraw, and quhen the flame spred further, he made an outcrie, & threw his beddyng halfe singit out of the kyngis chamber. But the next day quhen that excuse seruit nat sa handsomly as he de­sirit, for that in the Quenis hearyng, the kyng very swetely entreatit him nat to leaue him alone that night, and alswa desirit him to lye with him selfe, as he had often vsit to do, for the kyng entier­ly louit hym aboue all the rest, Sawn­der in perplexitie wanting quhat to an­swere, addit to his first excuse feare of sicknesse, and pretendit, that for commo­dious takyng of phisike for his health he wald lye in the town. Quhen this wald nat yet serue him, the Quene addit hir authoritie and told the kyng that he dyd nat wel to kepe the yongman with him against the order of his health, and ther­with sche turnit to Saunder, & bad him goe quhair was best for hym: and forth­with as sone as the word was spokē he went his way. I will nat here precisely trace out all the footynges of the wickit doynges. Nouther will I curiously en­quire, whether that former dayes fier wer happenit by casualtie or kindlit by [Page] fraude. Neither will I aske why he that had sa oft ben receiuit to lye in y ^e kyngis awn bed, doth now this only night spe­cially refuse it. Let vs suppose that sick­nes was y ^e cause therof. This onely ane thing I aske, quhat kinde of sickenes it was, that came vpō him at the very in­stant, & befoir morning left him agayne without any phisitions helpe, and quhairof neither afoir, nor since, nor at that present, there neuer appearit any token? And I trust, though he hold his peace, ye all sufficiently vnderstand it. In the man gilty in conscience of the mischeuous intentioun, feare of death ouercame regard of dutie. Had it nat bene that Saunder, befoir time a spie & talebearer, now a forsaker and betrayer of his maister, was ioynit to hir in pri­uitie of all these wickit doinges, wald nat the Quene sa cruell in all the rest, haue founde in hir hart to bestow that ane sacrifice vpon hir husbandis fune­rallis? Quhile these thyngis were in doing, the night was farre past, & my Lady Rerese a lusty valiant soldiar, be­foir signe geuen cummeth forth into the field out of array, abroad sche goeth, getteth hir to Horsebacke, and though sche were somewhat afrayd, as ane that foreknew of the storme to cum, yit sche sate still on horsebacke tarying for the Quene, but yit a gude pretie way from the house. In the meane tyme Paris [Page] cummeth, & then the communicatioun brake, and they rose to depart. For by and by vpon sight of him came to hir re­membrance that haynous offence that without great propitiations coulde nat be purgit, forsoth that the Quene had nat dauncit at the wedding feast of Se­bastian the minstrell and vile iester, that sche sate by hir husband quho had nat yit fully recouerit his health, that at the banquet of hir domesticall parasite sche had nat played the dauncing skit. A matter surely worthy of excuse. But quhat should she els do? sche must nedes goe as sone as sche saw Paris, for sa it was agreit, and somequhat must neides be pretendit. How happenit it that the vther nightis befoir quhen sche went a­way earlyer, sche made na excuse at all, and now hir departure about midnight must nedes haif an excuse allegit? But be it sa. Coulde sche remember na bet­ter excuse than Sebastians wedding? No no, I say to the contrary that if sche had left the wedding of hir awne natu­rall brother, or hir sister, to visite hir husband though but a little crased, sche had had a iust excuse befoir all men sa to do. Quhat if sche had done the saime kindnes for the kyng being nat hir hus­band, or for any vther of the nobilitie? Is Sebastians wedding of sic a value, that a masking daunce thereat is to be [Page] preferrit befoir wiuely dutie and loue? But surely in this curious excusing and pretendit sorrow of neglectit dutie, somequhat lieth hidden, and yit nat sa hidden but that it appeareth through the closure. This ouirmickle precisenes of diligēce, in excusing quhair na nede is, haith some suspicioun of some secrit mischiefe that you are loth to haue dis­closit, and the slightnesse of the excuse, encreaseth the suspitioun, specially quhē there were vther matters enow that she might better haue allegit. But let vs admit y ^e excuse, sith y ^e quene hir self hath thought it reasonabill. Quhether then goeth sche? streight into hir chamber. Quhat doth sche next? wery it wyth the dayes trauaill and the nights watching goeth sche to bed? no, but sche falleth to talking with Bothwell first almaist a­lone, and afterwart alone altogether. Quhat talke she had, y ^e matter it self de­clareth. For Bothwell after that he had put of his clothes as if he wald haue gone to bed, by and by putteth on vther apparell. Going to do the deid, he wald nat be knawen. I like well the mās po­licie. But his way was to goe through the watch. Here I maruell at hys mad­nesse. But mens wittes beset with gil­tinesse of mischiefis, do commonly be­wray thaimselfis by their awne in­constancie, and blinde to all vther [Page] thingis, do see onely that quhilk thay haue bent thair mynde vnto. Quhat he did, the kingis deith, hys awne run­ning away, the confessioun of the gilty personis, & vther thingis that folowit the murder, do declaire. After the great vprore in the towne about it, he as ane vtterly ignorant of all, returneth tho­rough the saime watch to bed. Quhen noyse of the ruine had fillit all mens eares, and the cracke of it had shaken all the houses, onely the Quene intentiue to expectatioun of the chaunce and broade awake, heareth nathyng at all, and Bothwell heareth nathyng. O marueilous deifnesse! All vther tho­rough out the towne, as many as were awake were affrayit, and as many as slept wer awakit. At the last Bothwell ryseth agayne, and in one self enterlude sodenly shifting his part from the Poet beōmeth a messenger, he runneth to y ^e Quene, and thether resort alswa vther that lodgit in the palace. To some the matter seemit true, to some faynir, to some marueilous. Quhat doth the Quene the quhiles? Quhat should sche do? She temperately brooketh hir gude lucke, sche resteth sweetly till the next day at noone. Yit the day folowing, to obserue decorum and comely conueni­ence in hir pairt without marring the play, sche counterfeiteth a mourning, [Page] quhilke yit neyther hir ioyfulnes dwel­ling withall in hart suffreth▪ lang to be faynit, nor schaime permitteth to be quholy neglectit. Theis thingis thus lying opin befoir your eyes, thus pal­pable with handis, thus fast emprentit in mens earis and knowledge, stande we yit in enquiring for the author of the murder, as though it were doubtfull? But ye say, the Quene denyith it? What denyith sche? Forsooth that sche did the murder: as though there were sa greit a difference if ye be the author or the ex­ecutor, gif ye commaund it or commit it. Sche gaue hir counsell, hir furtherance, hir power and authoritie to the duing of it. Neither is the cause vnknawin quhy sche did it, euin that the saim filthy mariage with Bothwell might be ac­complishit. Though all which argu­mentis and sa many witnessis of thame that wer priuie to it faylit, yit by hir awin testimonie, by hir awin letters it must neidis be confessit. And though all vther thingis wantit, these thingis that folowit the murder do plainly de­clare the doer, namely, that at y ^e slaugh­ter of hir husband she sorrowit nat, but quietly restit as after a gay enterprise well atchieuit: that sche mournit nat, but in maner openly ioyed: that sche could abide not onely to luke vpon his dead body, but alswa gredely beheld it: [Page] that sche secretly in the night buryit him without funerall pompe, or rather hid him like a thief: for that fame so incon­stant counterfeiting of mourning did plainly bewray it selfe. For quhat ment that remouing to Setons? quhy shon­ned sche the townis resort and peoples eyes? Was it because sche was aschamit to mourne openly? or because sche could nat wel cloke hir ioy? or secretly to giue hir self all to sorow? No, for at Setons sche threw away all hir disguisit perso­nage of mourning, sche went daily into the fieldes among ruffians, and nat on­ly resortit to hir former custome, but al­swa affectit to exercise manly pastimes, and that among men and opinly. So lightly sche despisit the opinioun and speich of her countrey. But I beshrew that same Kiligree, and that saim Mon­sieur de Croc, that came vpon hir sa vn­seasonably, and schewit to vther hyr counterfeited person vnuisorid. For, had not they bene, many thingis that were done might haif bene denyit, ma­ny thingis might haif bene handsomely faynit, and mikle the matter might haif bene holpen by forgit rumouris.

But they will say thare was a solemn enquirie for the murder. Forsooth by Bothwell him selfe principally, and by some vther that than laboured, and yit at this day do labour to deliuer the per­sons [Page] giltie thereof, from punischement of law, and do now plainly shew quhat they than secreitly meant. But wyth quhat diligence, with quhat vpright se­ueritie was that enquirie handlit? A few poore saules the nexte dwelling neighbouris to the Kingis lodging be­ing callit, neither durst tell quhat thay had seene and heard, and gif thay tou­chit any thing neir the matter, eyther they wer with feare put to silence, or di­spisit as of na credite: the wiser sort of them durst not offende Bothwell that sate among the Iudges. Ane or twa of the Kingis seruantis that eschapit the mischaunce, wer examinit quhilk way the murderaris came in. Forsoth, sayit thay, we had not the kayes. Quho then had them? It was aunswerit that the Quene had them. So began the secrets of the Court to break out. Then was y ^e enquirie adiornit, & neuer recontinuit. Quhat can be more seuere and vpright then this enquirie? & yit they preuailit nathing by it. For quhat the examiners wald haif had kept secret, that the pepill cryit out opinly: that quhilk they supres­sit, bursteth forth: that quhilk they cloke in secreit, breaketh out into broad light. But there was a proclamation set forth, with pardon of the fact and promise of rewart to him that wald vtter it. Why? quho had ben sa mad, that he durst in sa [Page] manifest perill of his life beare witnesse or geue information agaynst the iudges tham selues in quhoes power lay hys lyfe and his death? It was likely for­sothe, that they quhilk had murderit a kyng, wald spare him that shold disclose y ^e murderer, specially quhen all men saw that the enquirie of the kingis slaughter was quite omittit, and the vther enqui­rie seuerely pursuit concernyng bukes accusing the slaughter. What maner of iugement it was quhairby Bothwell was acquitit, you haue heard. Forsothe by hym selfe procurit, the iudges by him selfe chosen, the accusers by him self subornit, lawfull accusers forbidden to be present vnlesse thay wald yeld thair throtes to thair enemies weapons: the assise apointit nouther to a day ac­cordyng to the law of the land, nor after the maner of the contrey, nor to enquire of the murder of the kyng, but of sic a murder as was allegit to be committit the day befoir that the king was slayne. Here quhen Bothwell by his frendship and power, and the Quene by prayer & threatenings trauailit with the iudges, do you now expect quhat sentence men chosen agaynst law, and agaynst the cu­stome of the land haue pronounced? In thair iugement thay touchit the mater nathyng at all: onely this thay haue de­clarit, that it was na lawfull iugement, [Page] in this that with ane speciall protestati­oun thay prouidit, that it should nat be preiudiciall to tham in tyme to come.

Then, that all men might vnderstand what it was that thay sought by sword, fire, and poisoun, thay iumble vp ma­riages: one is diuorcit, an vther is con­plit, and that in sic posting spede as thay might scant haue hastit to furnish a tri­umph of some noble victorie. Yet that in those vnlawfull weddinges, some shew of lawfull order might be obseruit, the gudely banes were openly proclamit. For publishyng wherof though the Mi­nister of the Kirk were thretenit with death if he did it not, yet at the tyme of his publishyng, hym selfe openly prote­sted that he knew cause of exceptioun why that mariage was nat lawful. But in sic a multitude assemblit, how few wer thay that knew it nat? sith all could well remember that Bothwell had then alyue twa wiues alredy not yet diuor­cit, and the thyrd nouther lawfully ma­rijt nor orderly diuorcit. But that was nat it that was intendit, to obserue the ceremonies of lawful order, but (as thay vse to do in enterludes) thay prouidit a certain shew or disguisit counterfayting of commoun vsage. For he that hath oft broken all humane lawes, and hath cast away all conscience and religion, could easily neglect the course of Gods law.

[Page]Now I suppose I haue brefely de­clarit (in respect of the greatnesse of the mater) and yet perhaps in mair wordes then nedit (the playnnesse of the proues considerit) of quhat purpose, by quhat counsell, and vpon quhat hope, that hai­nous murder was attēptit, with what cruelty it was executit, by quhat tokens, aduertisements, testimonies, and letters of the Quene hir selfe the whole mater is prouit, and sa plainly prouit, that it may be as openly seene as if it lay befoir your eyes: yet will I shew fourth the testimonie of the hale pepill, quhilk I thinke worthy nat to be neglectit. For seuerall men do commounly deceiue & ar deceiuit by vther, but na mā deceueth all men, nor is deceiuit by all. This te­stimonie of the pepill is this. Quhen at the Quenis going abrode amang the pepill, the greatest pairt of the commōs were wont to make acclamations, wi­shing hir well and happily with sic spe­ches as either luif enforceth or flatterie inuenteth: now at hir going after the kingis slaughter to the castell through y ^e chiefe and maist populous strete of the towne, there was all the way a sad glū ­ming silence. And quhen ane woman alone of the multitude had cryit God saue the Quene, an vther by and by sa cryit out as all men might heare hir, Sa be it to euery ane as thay haif deseruit.

[Page]Albeit these thingis were thus done as I haue declairit, yet there are some that stick nat to say that the Quene was nat onely hardly but also cruelly dealt with, that after sa detestabill a fact sche was remouit from regiment: and quhen thay cānat deny the fact, thay complaine of the punishment. I do nat thynke there will be any man sa schamelesse to thinke that sa horribill a fact ought to haue na punishment at all. But if thay complayne of the greuousnesse of the pe­naltie, I feare least to all gude men we may seeme nat to haue done sa gently & temperately as loosely and negligently, that haue layde sa light a peine vpon an offence▪ sa hainous and sic as was neuer heard of befoir. For quhat can be done cruelly against the author of sa outragi­ous a deid, quhairin all lawes of God and man are violate, despisit, & in ma­ner wholy extinguishit? Euery seuerall offence hath his punishment baith by God and man appointit: and as there be certaine degreis of euill deides, sa are there also encreases in the quanti­ties of punishmentis. If one haue killit a mā, it is a deid of it self very haynous. Quhat if he haue killit his familiar frend? quhat if his father? quhat if in one fowle fact he hath ioynit all these offen­ces together? Surely of sic a ane, ney­ther ran his life suffice for imposing, nor [Page] hys body for bearing, nor the Iudges policie for inuenting payne enough for him. Quhilke of these faultes is nat cō ­prisit in thys offence? I omit the meane commoun matters, the murdering of a young gentleman, an innocent, hir coū ­triman, hir kinsman, hir familiar, and hir cousin germane. Let vs also excuse the fact if it be possible. She vnadui­sitly, a youngwoman, angry, offendit, and ane of great innocencie of lyfe tyll this time, hath slaine a lewde young­man, an adulter, an vnkinde husband & a cruel king. If nat any ane, but all these respectes together, were in this matter, they ought nat to auaile to shift of all punishment, but to rayse some pitie of the case. But quhat say you that none of these thingis can sa mickle as be falsly pretendit? The fact it selfe, of it selfe is odious: in a womā, it is monstrous: in a wife nat onely excessiuely louit, but also maist zelously honorit, it is vncredibill: and beyng cōmittit against hym quhoes age crauit pardon, quhoes harty affec­tioun requirit loue, quhose nighnesse of kinrit askit reuerence, quhose innocencie might haif deseruit fauour, vpon that youngman I say, in quhom there is nat sa mickle as allegit any iust cause of of­fence, thus to execute and spend, yea to exceede all tormētis due to all offencis, [Page] in quhat degree of crueltie shall we ac­compt it? But let these thingis auayle in vther personis to rayse haitrit, to bring punishment, and to make exam­ples to posteritie. But in this case let vs beare mickle wyth hir youth, mickle with hir nobilitie, mickle with the name of a Prince. As for myne awne pait I am nat ane that thinke it alway gude to vse extreme strictnesse of lawe, na nat in priuate, meane, & commoun per­sonis. But in a maist hainous misdeed, to dissolue all force of law, and quhair is na measure of ill doing, there to descend beneath all measure in punishing, were the way to the vndoing of all lawes, & the ouerthrow of all humaine societie. But in this ane horribill act is sic a hochepot of all abhominabill doingis, sic an egernesse of all outragious cruel­tie, sic a forgetfulnesse of all naturall af­fectioun, as nathing mair can be faynit or imaginit. I omit all former matters. I will nat curiously enquire vpon prin­cis doingis, I will nat wey thaim by the cōmoun beame. I will nat restraine thaim to commoun degreis of duties. If there be any thing that without great offence may be passit ouer, I will glad­ly leaue it vnspoken of. If there be any thing that may receiue excuse, either by respect of age, or of womankinde, yea or of vnaduisitnes, I will nat vrge it. [Page] And to passe ouer all the rest, twa hay­nous offences there be, that neither ac­cording to thair greatnes be fully ex­pressit, nor accordsng to thair outrage be sufficiently punishit, I meane the vio­lating of matrimonie, and of Royall maiestie. For matrimonie (as the A­postle sayth) doth truely cōteine a great misterie. For as being obseruit, it com­priseth within it all inferior kindes of duties, sa being broken it ouerthroweth thaim all. Quho so hath misusit his fa­thar, semeth to haue cast out of hys hart all naturall reuerence: but for the hus­bandis sake, ane shall leaue baith father and mother. Of all vther duties the de­greis or like obseruancis, either are nat at all in brute creaturis, or nat sa playne to be discernit: but of matrimoniall loue there is almaist na liuing creature that hath nat some feling. This misterie therefoir quho so nat anely violateth, but also despiseth, he doth nat ouer­throw all the foundations of humayne fellowschip, but as mickle as in him lyeth, dissolueth and confoundeth all or­der of nature. Quhosoeuer, I do nat say hurteth the king that is the true image of God in earth, but slayeth hym wyth strange and vnwontit sort of crueltie, sa as the vntemperāt and vncredibill out­ragiousnes is nat contentit with simple torment, semeth he nat, as mickle as in [Page] him lyeth, to haue a desire to pull God out of heauen? Quhat refuge haue thay then left themselfis to mercie that in sa­tisfying their lust of vniust hatrit haif ex­cedit not only all measure of cruelty but also all likelihode that it can be credible?

But they will say, we ought to beare with and spare hyr nobilitie, dignitie, and aige. Be it sa, gif sche haif sparit him in quhom all theis respectes were grei­ter, or at leist egall. Let the maiestie of royall name auayle hir. How mikle it ought to auayle to hyr preseruing, hyr selfe hath shewit the example. May we commit our safetie to hyr quho a sister hath butcherly slaughterit hyr brother, a wief her husband, a Quene her King? May we committe our▪ safetie to hyr, quhome neuer shame restraynit from vnchastitie, womankinde from cruelty, nor religion from impietie? Schall we beare with hyr age, sexe, and vnaduised­nesse, that without all iust causis of ha­treit, despisit [...]ll theis thingis in hyr kinsman, hir King, hyr husband? Sche that hath sought sic executioun of hyr wrongfull wrath, quhat shall we thinke sche will do being prouoked by repro­ches to men nat knit to hyr by kindred, subiect to hyr pleasure, not matchit with hyr in egall fellowschip of lyfe, but yel­dit to hyr gouernance, and thrall to hyr tormenting crueltie? quhen rage for in­terrupting [Page] hyr pleasure, and outrage of nature strengthenit with armour of li­centious power, shall ragingly triumph vpon the goods and blude of poore sub­iectis? Quhat is then the fault quhereof we are accusit? quhat crueltie haif we shewit? That a woman raging with­out measure and modestie, and abusing to all hyr subiectis distructioun the force of hyr power that sche had receyued for theyr safety, we haif kept vnder gouer­nance of her kinsmen and well willing frendes: and quhom by right we might for hyr haynous deides haif executit, hir we haif touchit with na vther punisch­ment, but onely restraynit hyr from do­ing mair mischief. For we depriuit hyr nat of libertie, but of vnbridelit licenti­ousnes of euil duing. Quherin we mair feare among all gude men the blaime of too mikle leuitie, than among euill men the sclander of crueltie.

These were the causis that mouit the Quene to thys▪ mater. Bothwell also had hys reasons, quhilk nat a litle troublit hys mynde. For quhen that same infamous acquitall rather en­creasit than abatit the suspicioun, and the matter coulde nat be alway kept [Page] close, he fleeth to his last refuge, to obteyne of the quene a pardon of all hys offences. But quhen by the lawe of the land in sic charters of pardon, the greatest offence must be expressely mentionit, and the rest it sufficit to in­clude in general wordes: and expresse­ly to confesse, the murder of the kyng semit to stand neyther wyth hys honor nor wyth his safetie: he was driuen of necessitie eyther to inuent or commit some vther crime, eyther maire gre­uous, or at y ^e least as haynous, vnder quhilk the sclaughter of y ^e kyng might lurke in shadow of generall wordes vnexpressit. They could deuise none vther but the same counterfait ra­uishment of the Quene, quhair­by baith the Quene prouidit for enioying hir pleasure and Bothwell for hys safetie.

[Page] MEmorandum that in the ca­stel of Edenburgh there was left by the Erle Bothwell be­foir his fleing away, and was sent for by one George Daglish his seruant, quho was taken by the Erle Moreton, one small gilt cofer nat fully ane foote lang, beyng garnishit in son­dry places with the Romaine letter F vnder ane kyngis crowne, quhairin were certaine letters and writynges well knawin, and by othes to be affir­mit, to haue béen written with the quene of Scottes awne hand to the Erle Bothwell.

Beside those writynges there was alswa extant a writyng written in Ro­mane hand in French, to be auowit to be writtē by the sayd quene of Scottes hir self, beyng a promise of mariage to the sayd Bothwell: quhilk writyng be­yng without date, and though some wordes therein seme to the contrary, yet is vpon credible groūdes supposed to haue been made and written by hir befoir the death of hir husband, the te­nor quhair of thus begynneth.

There is also ane vther writyng in Scottish auowit to be quholly writ­ten by the Erle of Huntley, datit the v. of Aprill. 1567. conteyning ane forme of contract for mariage betwixt the sayd quene and Erle Bothwell, sub­scribit Marie, quhilk is to be auowit to be the proper hād of the sayd quene, and vnderneth it Iames Erle Both­wel, quhilk alswa is to be auowit to be the proper hand of the said Erle Both­well, at quhilk tyme he was commonly defamit of the kyngis slaughter and nat cleansit or acquitit therof befoir the xij. of Aprill followyng. The tenor of quhilk contract here ensueth.

Here note that this contract was made the v. of April within viij. wekes after the murder of the kyng quhilke was slayne the x. of the Februarie be­foir. Also it was made vij. dayes be­foir that Bothwel was acquitit by cor­rupt iugement of the sayd murder.

Alswa it appereth by the wordes of the contract it selfe that it was made befoir sentence of diuorce betwene Bothwell and his former wife. And alswa in very truth was made befoir any sute of diuorce intentit or begon betwene hym and his former wyfe, though some wordes in this contract [Page] seme to say vtherwise. Quhilk is thus proned. For this contract is datit the v. of Aprill, and it playnly appereth by the iudiciall actes befoir the twa seue­rall ecclesiasticall ordinarie iudges, quhairin is contained the hale processe of the diuorce betwene the sayd Erle and Dame Iane Gourdon hys wyfe that the one of the same processes was intentit and begon the xxvi. day of A­prill, and the vther the xxvij.

Alswa there be extant the recordes of the Iustice court holden at Eden­burgh the sayd xij. day of Aprill, some copies quhairof haue ben exampli­fijt and signit with the hand of Iohn Bellenden Iustice clerke, among quhilk is the dittay or enditement of Bothwell. The tenour of quhilke recordes with the assise and verdit doe here fol­lowe.

Upoun the quhilk productioun of the foir­sayd letters execute, indorsit and dittay, the sayd aduocate askit an Act of Court and in­strumentis, and desirit of the Iustice processe conforme thairto.

The sayd letters being openly red in iuge­ment with the indorsations thaireof, the Iustice by vertue of the same causit call the sayd Iames Erle Bothwell as defender on that ane part, and Mathew Erle of Leuenox and all vthers our souerane Ladies liegis, ha­uand & pretendand to pursue in the sayd mat­ter, to compere befoir him in this court of iu­stitiarie, to pursue and defend as accordes of the law.

Comperit immediatly thairefter in iuge­ment, the sayd Iames Erle Bothwell, and enterit as parsonale, and thā chusit Maister Dauid Borthuike of Luchthill, and Maister Edmund Hay prolocutoris for him, quho al­so comperit personally in iugement, and were admittit by the Iustice to that effect.

Comperit also Maister Henry Kinrof alleging him procurator for Andro maister of Errole, and producit in iugement the writing and protestatioun vnder written, desiring the same to be registerit and insert in the bukes of adiornale, quhairof the tenor followis.

The quhilke day comperit Maister Hen­ry Kinrof procurator for Androw maister of Errole Constable of Scotland, and allegit that the Constabillis for the tyme of thys realme has bene at all tymes bypast onely [Page] iudges competent to al sic persones as hes bene accusit criminally for committyng of slaughter murther of blude drawing nere to the Prince chamer, and within foure myles for the same. And thairfoir the sayd Mayster now beyng Constabill of thys realme, aught and should be Iudge competent to Iames Erle Both­well and vthers his allegit complices callit thys day, and to be accusit for acte and pairt of the allegit cruell, treasonabill slaughter of vm­quhyle Henry king of Scottis. And in caise Archebald Erle of Argyle as Iustice generall of this realme or his deputies proceid and cog­nosce in the sayd cause, the sayde Maister Henry procurator foresayd protestis solempn­lye that the same proceding therin on na wayes hurt nor preiuge the sayd Constabill his office rightis, title of rightis, intres, iurisdictioun, or inuestiment thairof in any sort, but that he may vse and exercise hys sayd iurisdictioun in all sic caisses in tymes cumming, conforme to his in­uestiment of the sayd office, and vse of cognos­cing vsit by hys predecessours and hym befoir in semblable causes. All quhilke tyme he makis it knawen either by inuestimēt or vther wayes sufficiently him to haue iurisdictioun in sic cas­ses. And desires the same protestatioun to be insert in the buke of adiornale, and admittit vnder protestatioun that he affirme not my Lord Iustice iurisdictioun in any sort in pro­cedyng in the sayd matter.

The Iustice beyng aduisit with the sayd allegeance and protestatioun fande by interlo­cutor, and ordaynit that processe should be led by hym in thys matter. Notwithstanding the same in respect that nathyng was shawin by the sayd maister Henry to verefie the cōtentes [Page] of the sayd allegeance & protestation. Quhair­uppoun the sayd Erle Bothwell askit ane note of court and instrument.

The sayd Mathew Erle of Leuenox and vthers our souerane Ladies lieges, hauand or pretendand to haue intres to pursue in the sayd matter beyng oftymes callit, to haue comperit and concurrit with the sayd aduocates, in pur­sute of the sayd actioun, comperit Robart Cunningham, allegeing hym seruaunt to the sayd Mathew Erle of Leuenox▪ and produ­cit the writing vnder written, quhilke he sub­scriuit wyth his hand in iugement. As he that had power to vse the same, and protestit and desirit conforme thairto in all pointes. Of the quhilke writing the tennor followes.

My Lordes I am cum here, sent by my mayster my Lord of Leuenox, to declare the cause of his absence thys day, and wyth hys power as the same beris. The cause of hys abscence is the shortnes of tyme: and that he he is denied of hys frendis and seruants, quho should haue accompaneit hym to hys honor & suretie of his life, in respect of the greatnes of hys party. And he hauing assistance of na frendes but onely hymselfe. And thairfoir hys L. hes commandit me to desire ane sufficient day, according to the weight of the cause, quhairthrough he may keepe the same. And if your L. will procede at thys present, I pro­test that I may without any displeasure of a­ny man, vse these thinges committit to my charge by my Lord my Mayster. Quhairof I take ane document.

Item I protest that if the personis quho [Page] passis vpoun assyse and inquest of these per­sones that shall enter on pannell thys day, clense the sayd persones of the murther of the kyng, that it shalbe wilfull error and not igno­rance, by reasoun that it is notourlye knawen these persones to be the murtherers of the kyng, as my Lord my maister allegis, vppoun the quhilke protestatioun I require ane docu­ment. Sic subscribiter. Robert Cunning­ham.

Uppon the productioun of the quhilke writing and protestatioun, the sayd Robert askit actes and instrumentis.

The Iustice beyng auisit with the foirsayd writyng and protestatioun producit and vsyt by the sayd Robert Cunningham in respect of the letters and writinges sent to our souerane by the sayd Mathew Erle of Leuenox produ­cit and red in iugement, quhairof the copeis are vnder written. By the quhilke letters and writinges the sayd Erle of Leuenox desirit schort and summare processe to be deducit in the sayd mattter, and als of the act and ordi­naunce of the Lordes of secret counsell graun­tit thereuppon, and sic lyke in respect of the earnest insisting of the aduocates, desiring pro­cesse and right sute of the sayde Erle Both­welles earnest petitioun and desire of tryall to be had in the sayd matter, wyth aduise of the Lords and Barones assessors present, fand by interlocutor that processe should be deducit in the sayd actioun thys day, conforme to the lawes of thys realme. Notwithstanding the writyng and protestatioun producit by the sayd Robart Cunningham, and als admittit him to concurr and assist to the sayd aduocates in pursute of the sayd actioun if he pleasit.

THe forenamit persons of Assise being cho­sen admitted and sworne in iugement, as vse is. And thairfore the sayd Erle Bothwell being accusit by the sayd dictay of the crime a­foresayd, and the same being denyed by hym, and referrit to the deliuerance of the sayd assi­ses, thay remouit forth of the sayd Court, and altogidder conuenit, and after lang reasoning had by thame vpoun the same dictay and poin­tis thairof, they and ilke ane of tham for tham selfis votit, deliuerit and acquite the sayd Ia­mes Erle Bothwell of act and part of the sayd slaueghter of the Kyng, and poyntes of the sayd dictay.

And since the sayd George Erle of Cayth­nes Chaunceller of the sayd assises in hys and thayr names askit instruments, that nouther the sayd aduocates, nor the sayd Robert Cun­ningham as hauād commission of my Lord of Leuenox, nor na vtheris brought into thame any writing token or verification quhairby the dictay aboue written might be fortefyit, nor the sayd assise perswadit to deliuer any vther­wise, than is aboue written. Nor yet was the sayd dictay sworne, nor no partye, except the sayd aduocates, comperit to pursew the saim, [Page] and tharfoyr in respect that they deliuerit ac­cording to thayr knawlege, protestis that thay should incur na wilfull error in any wise heirafter. Quhilk instrument and protesta­tioun immediatly after the reentry of the sayd Erle of Caythnes Chauncellor, and ane pairt of the named of the sayd persons of assyise in the sayd court of iusticiarie, befoyr the pronun­ciatioun of thayr deliueraunce foresayd at the desire of the sayd Erle of Caythnes was o­penly read in iugement. And thayrupon he of new askeit actis and instrumentis, and prote­steth in manner aboue expremit.

Note that at the same tyme prote­statioun was made by George Erle of Catnes Chanceller of the sayd Assise that the said dittay or enditement was nat in this point true, vz. in allegyng the murder to be committit the ix. day of Februarie for that in dede the mur­der was committed the next day be­yng the x. day in the mornyng at twa houres after midnight whiche in law was and ought to be truely accomptit the x. day and so the acquitall that way but cauillously defendit.

Certaine French Sonnettes writ­ten by the quene of Scottes to Both­well, befoir hir mariage with him, and (as it is sayd) quhile hir husband lyuit, But certainly befoir his diuorce from hys wife as the wordes tham selues shew, befoir quhom she here prefer­reth hir selfe in deseruing to be belo­ued of Bothwell.

IMmediatly after the death of the kyng quho was murtherit and hys house blowen vp with gonnepoulder the ix. day of February in the night. 1567. Proclamatioun was made that quhosoeuer could bewray the murthe­rers of the king should haue two thou­sand pound. Unto the quhilk procla­matioun, reply was made and set vp priuely vpoun the tolbuith doore of E­denburgh the 16. of February in this maner.

Bycause proclamatioun is made that quhosoeuer will reueale the mur­ther [Page] of the kyng shall haue two thou­sand pound, I quho haue made inqui­sitioun by them that were the doers therof, affirme that the committers of it were the Erle Bothwell, If this be not true spere at Gilbert Bawfoord M. Iames Balfoure, the Persoun of Flisk, M. Dauy Chambers, Blacke M. Iohn Spence quho quhas principall deuiser of the murther, and the quene assen­tyng thairto through the persuasioun of the Erle Bothwell, and the witch­craft of the Lady Bucklowgh.

Upon this, new proclamation was made the same day, desiryng the setter vp of the sayd Bill to come and auowe and subscribe the same, and he should haue the summe promisit in the first proclamatioun, and further accordyng to his abilitie, and sight of the quene, and hir counsell.

The aunswere thereunto was set vp in the place aforesayd, the morrow after, being the xix. of the same month.

FOrasmekle as proclamatioun hath bene made since the settyng vp of my first letter, desiryng me to sub­scribe, and auow the same, For aun­swer, I desire the mony to be consig­nit [Page] into an éeuenly mans hand, and I shall compéere on Sonday nexte with iiij. some with me, and subscribe my first letter, and abide therat. And fur­ther I desire that Senior Frauncis, Bastian, and Ioseph the quenes gold­smith be stayit, and I shall declaire quhat euery man did in particuler, with their complices.

To quhilk bill none aunswer was made.

The xiiij. day of Aprill the Erle Bothwell commyng to the Sessions at Edenburgh with antesigne dis­plaide & the stréetes full of armed men of hys factioun, was arreynit for the murther of the kyng, and acquit of the same by a pariurde iury: quhairupon he set vp a challenge to fight hand to hand with any man (beyng no person diffamed) that wald auow the matter. Hereunto aunswere was made by an vther Bill set vy in the same place a­none after. That for asmickle as the sayd Erle Bothwell had set vp a wri­tyng subscribed with his awne hand, quhairby he dyd chalenge any man (nat diffamed) that would or durst say [Page] he was giltie of the kyings death, and therwithal did giue the ly in his throte to him that wald auouch the quarell: a gentleman & a man of gude fame did by those presentes accept the offer and offers, and wald proue by the law of armes that he was the chefe author of that foule and horrible murther, al­beit an inquest for feare of death had slyghtly quyte hym. And bycause the kyng of Fraunce and the quene of England had by thair Ambassa­dours desired that tryall and punishe­ment might be had for the same, he maist hartily thairfoir craued of thair Maiesties, that thay wald desire of the quene hys souereine, that by hir consent thay might appoynt the day and place within their dominions for the triall therof accordyng to the law of armes, in thair presences or in thair deputies. Quhilk day & place he pro­mised by the faith of a gentlemā to ap­peare at, and to do his deuoyre, proui­ded alwayes that thair Maiesties by open proclamatioun shall giue assu­rance too hym and to hys companie, too passe and repasse through thair coun­tryes, without hurt or impediment. [Page] Quhat iust cause he had too desire the kyng of Fraunce and the quene of England too be iudges in the case, he remitted too the iugement of the rea­ders and the hearers, warnyng by those presentes the rest of the murthe­rers to prepare them selues, for thay should haue the lyke offer made vnto them, and thair names giuen in wry­tyng that thay might be knawin too all men.

IOhn of Bowton confessit that nyne was at the deid doing, my L. Both­well, the Lord of Ormistoun, Hob Or­mistoun, himself, Talla, Dagleish, Uil­son, Pourie, and Frentch Paris, and that he saw na moe, nor knew of na v­ther companies.

Item, he knowis nat vther but that that he was blowin in the ayre, for he was handillit with na mens handes as he saw, and if he was it was with v­thers and not with tham.

Item, as touching Sir Iames Bal­four, he saw not his subscriptioun, but [Page] I warrand you he was the principall tounsallar and deuiser.

Item, he sayd, I confesse it is the veray prouidence of God that hes brought me to his iudgement, for I am led to it as an horse to the stall, for I had schippis prouidit to flie but coulde not escape.

Item he sayd, let no man do euill for counsell of great men, or thair maysters, thinking thay shall saue tham, for surely I thought that night that the deid was done, that although knowledge should bene gotten, na man durst haue sayde it was euill done, seing the hand writtis and acknowledging the Quenis minde thairto.

Item speaking of the Quene in the Tolbuith he sayd, God make all weill, but the langer deirt is hydden it is the stronger. Quho liues, our daithes will thought na newis.

Item, hinmest he confessit, he was ane of the principall doers of the daith, and thairfoir is iustly worthy of daith, but he was assurit of the mercy of God, quho callit him to repentance.

ITem Talla confessit vt supra, agreing in all pointes as concerning the par­sons, number, and blowing in the ayre.

Item, he affirmit that in Setoun my Lord Bothwell callit on him and sayd, [Page] quhat thought you quhen thou saw him blowen in the ayre. Quho aunswerit, alas my Lord quhy speake ye that, for quhē euer I heare sic a thing, the words wound me to death, as thay ought to do you.

Item, that same tyme he saw Syr Iames Balfour put in his owne name and his brothers vnto my Lord Both­welles remissioun.

Item he knew of the deid doing three or foure dayes or it was done or therby.

Item he sayd, after that I came to the court I left the reading of Gods worde and imbrasit vanitie, and thairfoir hes God iustly brought this on me.

Quhairfoir let all men flee euill cum­pany, and to trust not in mē, for redy are we to imbrace euil as redy as hardes to receaue fyre. And further in the Tol­buith he requirit Iohn Brande minister of the congregation to passe to my Lord Lind say, & say, my Lord hartily I for­geue your L. and als my Lord Regent and all vthers, but specially tham that betrayit me to you, for I know if ye could haue sauit me ye would, desiring you as ye will aunswere before God in the latter day to do your diligence to bring the rest qhuo was the beginners of this worke to iustice, as ye haue done to me, for ye know it was not begunne in my head, but yit prayses God that his [Page] iustice hes begunne at me, by the quhilk he hes callit me to repentaunce.

ITem Daglishe sayd, as God shall be my iudge I knew nothing of the kinges daith befoir it was done, for my Lord Bothwell gangand to his bedde after the taking of of his hose, quhilke was stockit with veluet, Frenth Pa­ris cum and roundit with him, & thair­efter he taryed on me for vther hose and claithis, & his riding cloke and sworde, quhilke I gaue him, & herefter cum vp the gait to the Lord of Ormistouns lod­ging & taryit for him, and therefter that he passit to ane wynd beside the blacke Fryers, and cum to the slope of the dike quhaire he gart me stand still, and as God shalbe my iudge I knew nathing quhill I heard the blast of powder, and after this he cum hame, lay downe in his beid, quhill M. George Hakit cum and knockit at the doore, and if I dye for this, the quhilke God iudge me gif I knew maire, quhat shalbe done to tham quho was the deuisers, counsallars, sub­scriuers, and fortifi­ers of it?

[Page] Now iudge Englischmen if it be gud to change Quenis.

O vnityng confounding.

Quhen rude Scotlād hes vo­mited vp ane poisoun, must fine England lick it vp for a restoratiue?

O vile indignitie.

Quhile your Quenis enemy liueth, hir dangir cōtinueth. Desperate necessitie wyll dare the vttermost.

O cruell mercie.

O ambitioun fed with pro­speritie, strēgthned with in­dulgence, irritated with ad­uersitie, not to be neglected, trusted, nor pardouned.