THE ROCK OF DUMBARTON
Some Incidents in its History
The Castle of Dumbarton is one of the Scottish fortresses for the maintenance of which special provision was made in the Treaty of Union. In its case, however, little more than the mere letter of the law has been observed. For years past its sole garrison has consisted of a caretaker; and, in so far as any practical purpose is concerned, it has ceased to be a stronghold at all. But, though no longer possessing any military importance, the old "Fort of the Britons" is still interesting and noteworthy for the part that it played, through so many centuries, in the national history.
There is no evidence to prove that the wall built across the country by the Roman invaders extended quite as far as Dumbarton. It cannot be supposed, however, that they ignored the strategic importance of the Rock, and failed to occupy a position which was practically the key to the West of Scotland. As to the existence of a fort during the period that followed the evacuation of Britain by the Romans, there can be no doubt. The Welsh chronicles refer to it under the name of Alclud, or Alcluid, that is, "the Rock of the Clyde". Further, it is recorded in the Historia Britonum "that, as the result of a battle fought between the Britons and the sons of Ida, in 573, the greater part of the North Country fell into the hands of a king called Ryderchen, who chose as his seat the stronghold known to the Gaels by the name of Dunbraton," or the fort of the Britons—the original form of the modern Dumbarton. In confirmation of this sixth-century occupation of the Rock, there is a passage in the life of Columba where Adamnan states that the saint was consulted by King Rodorcus, son of Totail, who reigned on the Rock of the Clyde.[234] Under the date of 870, the Annals of Ulster and other Irish chronicles record that the Norse leaders Amlaiph and Imhar laid siege to Strathclyde, in Britain. Besides cutting off all provisions, they were able to draw off, "in a wonderful manner", the water of the well within the fortress. By reducing the defenders to such a state of weakness that they could not repulse their assailants, hunger and thirst gave the Norsemen possession of the fortress.[235]
At the time of the dispute between Bruce and Baliol, the Castle of Dumbarton was in the keeping of Nicholas de Segrave. By virtue of the right that he claimed as feudal superior, Edward I commanded the fortress to be handed over to the competitor in whose favour he had pronounced. It was not till 1296, however, that the English King was able to enforce his order, and to appoint a Governor of his own choosing. This was Alexander de Ledes, whom he also made Sheriff of the County. De Ledes was succeeded by Sir John Menteith, who earned an unenviable notoriety by the betrayal and capture of Wallace, and to whose keeping the illustrious prisoner was entrusted prior to his being removed to London. The Scottish hero's sword was long preserved as an historical relic in the Castle. An entry in the Accounts of the Lord Treasurer shows that it was there at the time of James IV's visit, in 1505, and that the King paid for "binding of Wallass sword with cordis of silk, and new hilt, and plomet, new skabbard, and new belt to the said sword".[236] It was not till 1888 that this interesting memorial of the patriot was transferred to Stirling.
On the doubtful authority of a passage to be found in some of the manuscript versions of Bower's continuation of Fordun, Dumbarton is made the scene of one of Bruce's many narrow escapes from falling into the hands of his enemies. The account given is to the effect that the Scottish King, wishing to obtain possession of the Castle, entered into negotiations with Menteith, by whom it was still held for the English, and that the treacherous Governor, on the understanding that he should receive the Earldom of Lennox as his reward, consented to deliver the fortress. As Bruce, with a number of followers, was on his way to enter into possession, in accordance with the agreement, he was met by a carpenter whom Bower calls Roland, who warned him that Menteith meant to capture or kill him. Being thus forewarned, the King was able to turn the tables on his intending captor, who was himself confined in the Castle till shortly before Bannockburn, when he was released on condition that he should fight against the English.[237]
Another romantic episode, to which no date can be assigned, is related by Sir William Fraser, on the authority of "tradition". The sovereign that occupied the throne of Scotland at the time, he says, had lost Dumbarton Castle, and was anxious to recover it. Having applied to one of the Colquhouns for assistance, the answer he got from the Laird of Luss was, "If I can". "Colquhoun let a stag loose on the level ground within sight of the Castle, and got up a mock hunt after it, with great blowing of horns, and other noises, to attract the attention of the garrison, hoping that they might be induced to join in the sport and leave the fortress undefended. Everything happened as Colquhoun had wished. Nearly the whole of the garrison went forth to take part in the pastime. During their absence, Colquhoun and the men that he had selected hastened into the Castle, overpowered the feeble remainder of its defenders, and made themselves its masters."[238] This incident of "early times" may possibly be authentic; but it looks rather suspiciously like an ingenious attempt to find a plausible and picturesque origin for the Colquhoun motto, "Si je puis".
At the beginning of the fifteenth century, the Castle of Dumbarton was made to serve a very singular purpose. In circumstances of which no explanation is given, an individual whom Wyntoun describes as
"Mastere Waltere off Danyelstoune, Off Kyncardyn in Nele Persowne",[239]
took possession of the fortress, and, as Fordun adds, held it "with a large military force, to the great annoyance of the King and the kingdom". The Government being unable to drive him out, was obliged to accept the condition on which he offered to surrender his capture. It was nothing less than his appointment to the See of St. Andrews; and he had his way, being elected Bishop in 1402. He did not, however, long enjoy the dignity with which he had got himself clothed,
"Agane conscience of mony men,"
for
"Sone efftyre, at the Yule deit he; Swa litill mare than a halff yere Lestyt he in his powere."[240]
The latter years of the same century witnessed one of the most important events in the history of Dumbarton Castle. In 1488, it was entrusted to the keeping of the Earl of Lennox and his eldest son, Matthew Stuart, who, in the course of the following year, engaged, with Lord Lyle and others, in a conspiracy for the overthrow of the Government, and fortified the stronghold accordingly. Repeated summons to surrender having been disregarded, messengers were dispatched through the whole county to convoke the militia; and it was arranged that, whilst James proceeded in person to Crookston and Duchal, Colin, first Earl of Argyle, should lay siege to Dumbarton Castle; and elaborate preparation was made for the transport of the most powerful artillery of the day, including the famous Mons Meg, into the rebellious West. The smaller strongholds were soon reduced, but the Rock held out, and the defenders, making a vigorous sally, dislodged their assailants by burning the town, and so raised the siege. The Royal forces, on being thus driven off, fell back upon Dunglas, where new materials were quickly collected, another great gun, "callit Duchal", being brought from Arkil, near Paisley, the boats conveyed overland from Daldres—the present Grangemouth—and from Blackness. With all this, it was not till the second week in December, fully seven months after the commencement of operations, that the stronghold was obliged to surrender. A formal sentence of forfeiture and death was passed on Lennox and his son, but annulled on their appeal by reason of some technical flaw.
Passing over the lesser siege of 1513-14, the occupation of 1543 in the interest of Henry VIII, the departure of the child-queen Mary, in 1548, and other events of slighter importance, we come to the most sensational episode of all. It was after Langside. Lord Fleming had returned from accompanying Queen Mary to England, and had resumed his governorship of the fortress which he held for her. The Regent Murray was desirous of obtaining possession of so important a position, and, negotiations having failed, went down in person to open the siege. So strict was the blockade that Fleming was on the point of surrendering when the assassination of Murray brought him some respite. Lennox, who succeeded as Regent, was equally bent on the capture of the Castle, and endeavoured to obtain help from England. But Elizabeth was opposed to hostile measures, and sent Drury to reopen negotiations with Lord Fleming and John Hamilton, Bishop of St. Andrews, who was with him. The mission nearly proved fatal to the English ambassador. He was enticed within gunshot and deliberately, though unsuccessfully, fired upon.[241] This dastardly attempt is the subject of a contemporary poem entitled The Tressoun of Dunbartane.
The siege continued to drag on slowly, when about the end of March, 1571, a man named Robertson, who had formerly belonged to the garrison, but who wished to be revenged for some punishment inflicted on his wife, suggested a plan for taking the Castle by surprise. It was adopted, and Captain Thomas Crawfurd of Jordanhill was entrusted with the desperate enterprise. On the evening of the 31st, Crawfurd sent forward some horsemen to intercept all communication with Dumbarton, he himself following about midnight with a body of resolute men. After a short halt at Dumbuck, the party, provided with ropes and ladders, proceeded to the foot of the Rock, which was to be scaled at the "Beik", for although this was the highest point, it offered the advantage of being unguarded, by reason of its supposed inaccessibility. At the first attempt the ladder slipped back with the weight of the climbers. On the second it was found that it did not reach within twenty feet of a tree to which it was intended to make it fast. The difficulty was overcome by Crawfurd, who, crawling up to the tree, threw a rope around it, and thus enabled his party to reach this first stage. The operation was being repeated for a further ascent when an accident nearly brought disaster on the whole undertaking. One of the men fell into a kind of fit whilst on the ladder, and remained clinging desperately to the rungs and blocking the way. But, even for this, Crawfurd's readiness devised a remedy. Lashing the man to the ladder, he turned it round, so that the remainder of the party could mount over their comrade's upturned body. Owing to the delay caused by these untoward occurrences, it was nearly daylight when the first of the assailants reached the top. They were seen by the sentries through the fog, which had so far favoured them, and the alarm was given. The resistance offered was, however, but feeble. Three men of the garrison were killed. Many of the others, including Fleming himself, succeeded in escaping. Amongst those that were taken prisoners was the Bishop of St. Andrews. He was subsequently hanged for complicity in the murders of Darnley and of Murray.[242]
Another noteworthy capture of Dumbarton Castle occurred in 1639. At that time the fortress was held for the king by Sir William Stewart. On the last Sunday in March, having gone to the Communion service in Dumbarton, he was invited to dinner by Provost Sempill, a zealous Covenanter. To his refusal Sempill replied, "I require you to go with me." Thereupon the Governor and his party were surrounded by forty armed men and hurried off to the Provost's house, where, under threats of death, Stewart was obliged to send for the keys and to hand them over to his captor. The sequel is told by Spalding. "Stewart," he says, "was compelled to cast off his clothes, which were shortly put upon another gentleman of his shape and quantity, and he put on his clothes upon him again. Thus, apparel interchanged, they commanded the Captain, under pain of death, to tell the watchword, which, for fear of his life, he truly told. Then they go in the night quietly, unseen by the Castilians, and had this counterfeit captain with them, who cried and called by the watchword, which heard, yetts are cast open, in go these Covenanters with greater power than was within to defend it, take in this strong strength, man and fortify the same to their mind."[243]
The further vicissitudes of Dumbarton Castle—its alternate occupation by Royalists and Parliamentarians during the Civil War, its use at various periods as a place of confinement for such different prisoners as Ogilvie the Jesuit, Carstairs and his fellow Covenanters, the Marquis of Tullibardine and other Jacobites—would require to be recorded in detail in a more complete sketch of the history of the Rock. They may be passed over without further mention in what lays no claim to do more than to recall some of the leading incidents in its chequered story.
JAMES VI AS STATESMAN AND POET
I.—AS STATESMAN
Those who accept the traditional estimate of James VI's character may deem it little short of preposterous to connect his name with the idea of statesmanship. To them he appears as a garrulous pedant and a coarse buffoon, whose rickety walk was the outward sign of a feeble, vacillating temper; as a would-be autocrat who, whilst constantly obtruding his despotic theories on his subjects, lacked the strength of mind and the energy to put them into practice; and, to express it briefly and bluntly in the words of Macaulay, as "a drivelling idiot" and "a finished specimen of all that a king ought not to be".[244] But there is another portrait that may be drawn of him. Materials for it will be found not in the rhetorical descriptions of writers whose aim was literary effect or political denunciation, but in those absolutely trustworthy, if most prosaic and unimaginative documents, the Acts of the Privy Council. And it was Professor Masson, the editor of those records, who asserted that it is impossible for anyone duly acquainted with them "to think of James as other than a man of a very remarkable measure of political ability and inventiveness, with a tenacity and pertinacity of purpose that could show itself in a savage glitter of the eye whenever he was offended or thwarted, and in a merciless rigour in hunting down and crushing his ascertained opponents".[245] It is worth going to the same sources of information for the purpose of determining to what extent this view is justified.
In any attempt at a survey of the administration of James VI it is important to remember that, although he became nominal sovereign at an early age, it was not until he had reached his thirtieth year that he got the reins of government fully into his own hands. That occurred towards the close of 1595, at the death of Lord Maitland of Thirlstane, after a Chancellorship and Premiership of over eight years. It was then that on being asked how he intended to fill up the vacant office, James replied that he was resolved no more to use great men as Chancellors in his affairs, but only such as he could correct and were hangable.[246]
The peculiar idea of kingship or sovereign authority which the enfranchised monarch thus expressed, and which he took every opportunity of repeating in both his speeches and his writings, is the more noteworthy that it was opposed to the principles which must have been inculcated upon him in his early years. For it must be remembered that his tutor, Buchanan, was a politician as well as a scholar, and that it was he who wrote the famous treatise, De Jure Regni apud Scotos, that vigorous exposition of liberal and constitutional monarchy which justifies the description of its author as "the first Whig". It is certainly not to him that James's training in autocracy is to be attributed, but rather to Thirlstane. That statesman, it is true, ruled the Court and the country for years with a fixity of purpose and a firmness of hand that bore down opposition, and did not allow the King himself any opportunity of asserting his independence. At the same time, however, he did not fail to urge upon him the necessity for dealing energetically with the abuses which had arisen owing to the turbulent insolence and the intolerable oppression of the arrogant nobility. James had not been deaf to advice so conformable with his character and disposition. He had taken it so thoroughly to heart that, although he could not shake himself free from his Minister's despotism, it had become irksome and galling to him. When Maitland lay on his deathbed his Sovereign refused repeated requests to visit him, and it was even said that he had whispered in a courtier's ear that "it would be a small matter if the Chancellor were hanged".[247] The years that intervened between Maitland's death and James's departure from Scotland at length gave the King his opportunity, and not only did he at once show his determination of becoming master within his own kingdom, but he also succeeded in actually carrying it out to a very noteworthy degree. And of the qualifications that enabled him to do so none was more conspicuously displayed than his ability to extract power to shape things according to his mind from the very incidents that the opposition to his royal will and pleasure evoked. An instance of this was afforded by his energetic conduct when the Edinburgh riot of December, 1596, originating in a demonstration in favour of the rights of Presbytery, as championed by Mr. David Black, of St. Andrews, gave him a chance of striking at the antagonists to his notion of supremacy. And the same inflexibility of purpose and dexterous management of circumstances appeared, four years later, in the use which he made of the Gowrie tragedy as an instrument for the subjection of the Scottish clergy. The monarch who could turn such occurrences as those to political profit had some right to boast of his "kingcraft". We may not approve of the system which he followed of marking out individual opponents and of striking them down with a strong and merciless hand, but we must admit that it proved effectual, and acknowledge that the man whose conduct of the bitter struggle it characterized cannot be contemptuously dismissed as "a nervous, drivelling idiot".
One of the special points with regard to which James has a claim to recognition is the zeal with which he undertook and consistently performed the task of checking the lawlessness and rebellion that had been rampant in Scotland during his minority. The Royal Declaration in which he announced his intention of bestowing his "haill travellis, moyane, and diligens" on the work of reform was not allowed to remain a dead letter. Page after page of the records testify to the resoluteness with which he enforced the laws which had for their object the restoration of order throughout the kingdom, and which were directed more particularly against two classes of offenders—the "horners" and the members of families at hereditary feud. Horners, as they were called in Scotland, were all persons who stood out in denounced disobedience to the decrees of any law court, for any kind of offence from simple debt to murder and treason. At one time the country was full of such. Mere proclamations against them having proved of little avail, James at length had recourse to a measure which proved more effectual. He established a flying police, consisting of a body of forty well-equipped horsemen, "to be in reddiness at all occasiounis to hunt, follow and perseu all and quhatsumevir rebellis within this countrie, without respect of persones, quhither thair rebellioun be for civill or criminall caussis, and to tak thair houssis and uplift thair eschaitis as thai salbe directit and commandit".[248] The beneficial result of these stringent disciplinary measures was soonest and most distinctly apparent in the Borders, or, as James desired them to be called after his accession to the English throne, "the Midland Shires of Britain", which, within the space of four or five years, were so thoroughly subdued that they ceased to be a sanctuary for rough-riding reivers, and entered upon that more peaceful era of their existence which has now lasted for three hundred years.
In an Act "anent deidly feidis", evidently emanating from James himself, the Council reminded the lieges that "The Kingis most gratious Majestie, ever since his first cuming to yeiris of perfectioun", had displayed "ain maist ernest and ardent zaill and desyer to have removit frome amange his subjectis of the cuntrey of Scotland all sic custumis, faschiounnis, and behaviouris as did in ony weyis smell of barbarity and sevegnes", and had been unremitting in his endeavours to suppress the "barbarous and detestable consuetud of deidly feids".[249] Nothing could be better founded than the claim thus put forward on the King's behalf, for one of the most commendable features in his administration is to be found in the perseverance with which he strove to put an end to this characteristically Scottish form of disorder by means both of preventive and punitive legislation. He did not succeed in wholly rooting out the "weid of deidly feid", but there is abundant evidence to prove that, thanks to vigilant care and vigorous action, he was able to check its baneful growth.
In taking the measure of James VI as a statesman, it is important not to overlook the method which he adopted to carry on the government of Scotland as an absentee king. It is assuredly no sign of weakness or incapacity that the nearest approach to that absolutism that he had set up as his ideal was made by him after his departure to take possession of the crown left him by Elizabeth. What he achieved in this respect was once set forth by him in a speech to his refractory English Parliament. "This I must say for Scotland, and may truly vaunt it: here I sit and govern it with my pen; I write and it is done; and by a Clerk of the Council I govern Scotland now—which others could not do by the sword."[250] That such was literally the case, that he kept himself fully acquainted with everything that went on in his northern kingdom, and that the measures adopted by his Ministers for its control and management were nothing but the embodiment of his Royal will, is established beyond dispute by the letters which he periodically sent to Edinburgh from his palace in the capital or one of his hunting seats in the shires.
Even the most hostile of James VI's critics give him credit for having endeavoured to promote one excellent measure—the union of England and Scotland. To what negotiations the scheme gave rise, how it was discussed in both Parliaments, what eloquent testimony Sir Francis Bacon bore to the statesmanlike character of the King's views and intentions, and in what circumstances the projected treaty broke down under the weight of English prejudice and jealousy—those are the details of a story which cannot be told now. It must suffice to recall that, if James had had his way, history would have been anticipated by a whole century.
II.—AS POET
The "bagage littéraire" of James VI is but slight, and if the profound indifference of all and the absolute ignorance of most as to its very existence be taken as representing a fair estimate of its merit it must in truth be worthless. But if, on the other hand, we consult his contemporaries we must, unless we are prepared to dismiss them all as more shamelessly fulsome in their adulation than the average of courtly flatterers, at least recognize the possibility of his having been a little better than posterity has been taught to believe. Long before James VI became James I his reputation as a poet had reached England, and helped to swell the chorus of welcome that greeted him on his arrival. In 1598 Barnfield made the King's love of poetry the point of one of his sonnets:—
And you, that discommend sweet Poesie, (So that the Subject of the same be good) Here may you see your fond simplicitie, Sith Kings have favored it, of royal Blood. The King of Scots—now living—is a poet, As his "Lepanto" and his "Furies" show it.[251]
Before this, Harvey in his Pierce's Supererogation, had already proclaimed the poetical merit of "Lepanto", declaring it, in his high-flown style, to be "a short, but heroicall worke, in meeter, but royall meeter, fitt for a David's harpe".[252] Two years later the judgment of Vaughan was that "James is a notable Poet, and daily setteth out most learned poems, to the admiration of all his subjects".[253] In 1600 Allott gave ten quotations from James in his England's Parnassus, and Bodenham claims that in "The Garden of the Muses", from "what workes of Poetrie have been put to the world's eye by that learned and right royall King and Poet, James King of Scotland, no one sentence of worth has escaped".[254] After the accession to the English throne, Jonson addressed "To King James" an epigram of ten lines, in which he expanded the idea of the monarch's excellence as both prince and poet:—
"How, best of kings, dost thou a scepter bear? How, best of poets, dost thou the laurel wear? But two things rare the Fates had in their store, And gave thee both, to show they could no more. For such a poet, while thy days were green, Thou wert, as chief of them are said t'have been. And such a prince thou art, we daily see, As chief of those still promise they will be. Whom should my Muse then fly to, but the best Of Kings, for grace; of poets, for my test?"[255]
And Sir John Beaumont, in a carefully polished poem written before, but published after James's death, and entitled "To His late Maiesty, concerning the True Forme of English Poetry", bestowed upon him the more subtle flattery of calling him the Master whose "judicious rules" have been his guide.[256] Here the reference is to James, not only as a poet but as a critic also. For one of his early prose treatises was entitled Reulis and Cautelis to be Observit and Eschewit in Scottis Poesie. This was the manifesto of a group of poets, amongst whom were, in addition to the King himself, Alexander Montgomerie, the author of The Cherry and the Slae; Fowler, and the Hudsons, and whose aim was to found a school of Scottish poetry. This document contained a passage which is interesting enough to be quoted. Setting forth the "twa caussis" that have induced him to compose his treatise, the Royal lawgiver of Parnassus says: "The ane is; as for thame that wrait of auld, lyke as the tyme is changeit sinsyne, so is the ordour of poesie changeit. The other cause is; that as for thame that has written in it of late, there has never ane of thame written in our (Scottis) languag. For albeit sindrie hes written of it in English, quhilk is lykest to our language, zit we differ from thame in sindrie reulis of poesie, as ze will find be experience."[257] And we believe there are Scotsmen who will account it to James for righteousness that he at least made an attempt, abortive though it proved, to maintain Scotland's autonomy in language and in poetry.
In forming an estimate of the King's poetical productions, it is but fair to bear in mind that "all of his poems, save three or four sonnets and the revisions of his early paraphrases of the Psalms, belong to the period of his reign in Scotland", and that "the greater portion of them were composed either before the publication of the first volume of his poems in his nineteenth year or in the time of romantic enthusiasm excited by his marriage".[258] We have "The First Verses that ever the King Made". They are written in a sententious vein which might be looked upon as characteristic of the author, were it not that this special feature "is one of the commonest in Scottish poetry of the Chaucerian tradition". And if, on the one hand, it cannot be claimed for them that they bear evidence of exceptional talent, on the other it must be admitted that, as the production of a lad of fifteen, they were quite creditable:—
Since thought is free, thinke what thow will, O troubled heart, to ease thy paine! Thought unreveeled can doe no ill, But words past out turne not again. Be cairfull, ay, for to invent The way to gett thyne owne intent.
To play thyself with thy conceate, And lett none know what thow doth meane; Hope ay at last, though it be lait, To thy intent for to atteane: Whiles, lett it breake furth in effect, By ay lett witt thy will correct.
Since fool-haste is not greatest speed, I would thou shouldest learne to know How to make vertue of a need, Since that necessitie hath no law. With patience, then, see thow attend, And hope to vanquishe in the end.[259]
James was still, as he puts it himself, in his "verie young and tender yeares: wherein nature (except shee were a monster) can admit no perfection", when he wrote his "Lepanto", which his contemporaries seem to have looked upon as the best of his poems, and to which Du Bartas paid the compliment of translating it into French. It is no masterpiece, but Mr. Westcott, the editor of the New Poems by James I of England, does not exaggerate the author's merit when he says that "his style in the description of the battle between the Christian and the Turkish navies is concrete and lively, and at times achieves an almost ballad-like simplicity". This seems to us to be justified by such lines as those which describe the gathering of the Christian forces:—
There came eight thousand Spaniards brave From hotte and barren Spaine, Good order kepars, cold in fight, With proud disdainfull braine. From pleasant, fertill Italie There came twelve thousand als, With subtill spreites bent to revenge, By craftie meanes and fals. Three thousande Almans also came, From Countries colde and wide; These monney men with awfull cheare The chok will dourelie bide.[260]
James did not make frequent use of this metre, but he adopted it for another poem of a very different kind, "A Dreame on his Mistris my Ladie Glammes", in which he displays some ingenuity and inventive skill. Interpreting one of the tokens that have been left him—an amethyst—he says:
The secret vertues that are hidd Into this pretious stone Indues me with meete qualities For serving such a one; For as this stone by secret force Can soveraignlie remeade These daizeled braines whome Bacchus' strength Ou'rcomes as they were deade, And can preserve us from the harme Of the envenomed sting, Of poysoned cuppes, that to our tombe Untymelie does us bring, So shall my hart be still preserved By vertue from above, From staggering like a drunken man Or wavering into love: Bot by this soveraigne antidote Of her whom still I serve, In spite of all the poysoned lookes, Of Dames I shall not swerve.[261]
There are 268 lines altogether, and the discovery of them ought to contribute in some degree to the poetical rehabilitation of the author.
As a knowledge of James's character would suggest, his interest in the art of poetry was mainly directed to the details of verse making and diction, and it seems natural in such a stickler for metrical propriety that in his shorter poems his favourite form should have been the sonnet. His highest achievement in this department has always been considered to be the sonnet to his son Henry, at the beginning of the Basilicon Doron:—
God gives not Kings the stile of Gods in vaine, For on his Throne his Scepter doe they swey: And as their subjects ought them to obey, So Kings should feare and serve their God againe: If then ye would enjoy a happie raigne, Observe the Statutes of your heavenly King, And from his Law make all your Lawes to spring: Since his Lieutenant here ye should remaine, Reward the just, be stedfast, true and plaine, Represse the proud, maintayning aye the right, Walk alwayes so, as ever in his sight, Who guardes the godly, plaguing the prophane; And so ye shall in Princely virtues shine, Resembling right your mightie King Divine.
Of this poem Bishop Percy said that it would not dishonour any writer of that time, and a later critic has pronounced that it is by far James's best performance, "which just misses being really fine". By the side of it there may now be placed, by reason of their "sustained music, conformity to the technique of the sonnet, and prettiness of fancy, if not elevation", at least three others which figure amongst the twenty-six hitherto unpublished poems included in the manuscript which Mr. Westcott has discovered. One of them refers to a lady, probably the daughter of Sir John Wemyss, whose name was Cicely:—
Faire famous Isle, where Agathocles rang; Where sometymes, statly Siracusa stood; Whos fertill feelds were bathed in bangster's blood When Rome and ryvall Carthage strave so lang: Great Ladie Mistriss, all the Isles amang, Which standes in Neptune's, circle mouving, flood; No, nather for thy frutefull ground nor good; I chuse the, for the subject of my sang: Nor for the ould report, of scarce trew fame; Nor heeretofore, for farelies in the found; But, for the sweet resemblance of that Name, To whom thou seemest, so sibb, at least, in sound; If then, for seeming so, thy prays bee such, Sweet She herselfe, dothe merit more than much.[262]
On the strength of this, or of anything we have quoted from James's poems, it would be supremely unreasonable to claim for him a place on the same level as that of the authors either of "The King's Quhair" or of "The Gaberlunzie Man". But it may be less unjustifiable to suggest that he is not absolutely undeserving of a corner in anthologies of the Scottish poems of the sixteenth and of the early seventeenth century. That he is altogether contemptible is an opinion that might be maintained if we had nothing better of his than the string of punning rhymes quoted in the notes to Walpole's Royal and Noble Authors, for the purpose of making him appear ridiculous.[263]