On My Lord Croft's And My Journey Into Poland, Poem by John Denham

FROM WHENCE WE BROUGHT L, FOR HIS MAJESTY, BY
THE DECIMATION OF HIS SCOTTISH SUBJECTS THERE.

Toll, toll,
Gentle bell, for the soul
Of the pure ones in Pole,
Which are damn'd in our scroll.

Who having felt a touch
Of Cockram's greedy clutch,
Which though it was not much,
Yet their stubbornness was such,

That when we did arrive,
'Gainst the stream we did strive;
They would neither lead nor drive;

Nor lend
An ear to a friend,
Nor an answer would send
To our letter so well penn'd;

Nor assist our affairs
With their moneys nor their wares,
As their answer now declares,
But only with their prayers.

Thus they did persist
Did and said what they list,
'Till the Diet was dismiss'd;
But then our breech they kiss'd.

For when
It was moved there and then,
They should pay one in ten,
The Diet said, Amen.

And because they are both
To discover the troth,
They must give word and oath,
Though they will forfeit both.

Thus the constitution
Condemns them every one,
From the father to the son.

But John
(Our friend) Mollesson
Thought us to have outgone
With a quaint invention.

Like the prophets of yore,
He complain'd long before,
Of the mischiefs in store,
Ay, and thrice as much more;

And with that wicked lie,
A letter they came by
From our King's majesty.

But fate
Brought the letter too late,
'Twas of too old a date
To relieve their damn'd state.

The letter's to be seen,
With seal of wax so green,
At Dantzig, where 't has been
Turn'd into good Latin.

But he that gave the hint,
This letter for to print,
Must also pay his stint.

That trick,
Had it come in the nick,
Had touch'd us to the quick;
But the messenger fell sick.

Had it later been wrote,
And sooner been brought,
They had got what they sought;
But now it serves for nought.

On Sandys they ran aground,
And our return was crown'd
With full ten thousand pound.