To guard our state against all aduerse feare,
We left at home to manage all affaires,
Mordred the brother of my Gawin deare,
Our faithlesse nephew, that false hearted peere,
Th’ignoble sonne of Loth the Pictish king:
From whose blacke treason my sad fall did spring.
70.
Whose loyaltie I little did suspect,
Though on my death his hopes did then depend:
But who so wise hath been that can detect