In Scotland is a bonnie kinge,
As proper a youth as neede to be, 10
Well given to every happy thing,
That can be in a kinge to see:
Yet that unluckie country still,
Hath people given to craftie will.
Alas for woe, &c. 15
On Whitsun eve it so befell,
A posset was made to give the king,
Whereof his ladie nurse hard tell,
And that it was a poysoned thing:
She cryed, and called piteouslie; 20
Now help, or els the king shall die!
Alas for woe, &c.
One Browne, that was an English man,
And hard the ladies piteous crye,
Out with his sword, and bestir'd him than, 25
Out of the doores in haste to flie;
But all the doores were made so fast,
Out of a window he got at last
Alas for woe, &c.
He met the bishop coming fast, 30
Having the posset in his hande:
The sight of Browne made him aghast,
Who bad him stoutly staie and stand.
With him were two that ranne awa,
For feare that Browne would make a fray. 35
Alas for woe, &c.
Bishop, quoth Browne, what hast thou there?
Nothing at all, my friend, sayde he;
But a posset to make the king good cheere.
Is it so? sayd Browne, that will I see, 40
First I will have thyself begin,
Before thou go any further in;
Be it weale or woe, it shall be so,
This makes a sorrowful heigh ho.
The bishop sayde, Browne I doo know, 45
Thou art a young man poore and bare;
Livings on thee I will bestowe:
Let me go on, take thou no care.
No, no, quoth Browne, I will not be
A traitour for all Christiantie: 50
Happe well or woe, it shall be so,
Drink now with a sorrowfull, &c.
The bishop dranke, and by and by
His belly burst and he fell downe:
A just rewarde for his traitery. 55
This was a posset indeed, quoth Brown!
He serched the bishop, and found the keyes,
To come to the kinge when he did please.
Alas for woe, &c.
As soon as the king got word of this, 60
He humbly fell uppon his knee,
And praysed God that he did misse
To tast of that extremity:
For that he did perceive and know,
His clergie would betray him so: 65
Alas for woe, &c.
Alas, he said, unhappie realme,[664]
My father, and grandfather slaine:
My mother banished, O extreame!
Unhappy fate, and bitter bayne! 70
And now like treason wrought for me,
What more unhappie realme can be!
Alas for woe, &c.
The king did call his nurse to his grace,
And gave her twenty poundes a yeere; 75
And trustie Browne too in like case,
He knighted him with gallant geere;
And gave him 'lands and' livings great,
For dooing such a manly feat,
As he did showe, to the bishop's woe, 80
Which made, &c.