Our best picture of Darnley comes from the pen of the continuator of Knox. "He was of a comely stature, and none was like unto him within this island; he died under the age of one and twenty years; prompt and ready for all games and sports; much given to hawking and hunting, and running of horses, and likewise to playing on the lute; and also to Venus chamber he was liberal enough; he could write and dictate well; but he was somewhat given to wine, and much feeding, and likewise to inconstancy; and proud beyond measure, and therefore contemned all others; he had learned to dissemble well enough, being from his youth misled up in Popery" (Laing's "Knox," vol. ii. p. 551). Incidental references to Darnley's character will be found on [pp. 47-8], [64-5], [87-8], &c. The author of the "Histoire of James the Sext" wrote of him, "He was a comelie Prince, of a fayre and large stature of bodie, pleasant in countenance, and affable to all men, and devote, weill exercised in martiall pastymes upoun horseback as ony Prince of that age, but was sa facile as he could conceal no secret, although it might tend to his own weill." Of Darnley's literary abilities we possess two indications—a letter written to Mary Tudor, and the following ballad, both printed in Maidment's "Scottish Songs and Ballads," vol. ii. It may be noted that the figure of the turtle-dove or wood-pigeon occurs in the ballad and in one of the "Casket Letters."
Gife langour makis men licht,
Or dolour thame decoir,
In earth there is no wicht,[98]
May me compair in gloir.
Gif cairfuill thoftis restoir
My havy heart from sorrow
I am for evir moir
In joy, both evin and morrow.
Gif plesour be to pance,[99]
I playne me nocht opprest,
Or absence micht avance,
My heart is haill possesst,
Gif want of quiet rest
From cairis micht me convoy,
My mynd is nocht mollest,
Bot evir moir in joy.
Thocht that I pance in paine,
In passing to and fro,
I laubor all in vane,
For so hes mony mo,
That hes nocht servit so,
In suting of thair sueit,[100]
The nar the fyre I go
The grittar is my heit.
The turtour for hir maik,
Mair dule may nocht indure
Nor I do for hir saik,
Evin hir quha hes in cure
My hairt, quhilk salbe sure,
And service to the deid,
Unto that lady pure,
The well of woman heid.
Schaw shedfull to that sueit
My pairt so permanent
That no mirth quhill[101] we meit,
Sall cause me be content;
But still my hairt lament,
In sorrowfull siching soir,
Till tyme sho be present,
Fairweill, I say no moir.
Finis quod King Hary Stewart.
This lament for Darnley (also printed by Maidment) was doubtless used as a political weapon against Queen Mary:—
To Edinburgh about six hours at morn,
As I was passing pansand out the way;
Ane bonny boy was sore making his moan,
His sorry song was Oche, and Wallaway!
That ever I should lyve to see that day,
Ane king at eve, with sceptre, sword and crown;
At morn but a deformed lump of clay,
With traitors strong so cruelly put down!
Then drew I near some tidings for to speir,
And said, My friend, what makis thee sa way.
Bloody Bothwell hath brought our king to beir,
And flatter and fraud with double Dalilay.
At ten houris on Sunday late at een,
When Dalila and Bothwell bade good night,
Off her finger false she threw ane ring,
And said, My Lord, ane token you I plight.
She did depart then with an untrue train,
And then in haste and culverin they let craik,
To teach their feiris to know the appoint time,
About the kinge's lodging for to clap.
To dance that night they said she should not slack,
With leggis lycht to hald the wedow walkan;
And baid fra bed until she heard the crack,
Whilk was a sign that her good lord was slain.