Scot, Walter (b. 1613, d. in or after 1688)

Satchels's Post'ral: Humbly presented to his Noble and Worthy Friends of the Names of Scot and Elliot. [from A True History Of several Honourable Families of the Right Honourable Name of Scot, In the Shires of Roxburgh and Selkirk, and others adjacent. Gathered out of Ancient Chronicles, Histories, and Traditions of our Fathers. By Capt. Walter Scot, An old Souldier, and no Scholler, And one that can Write nane, But just the Letters of his Name]

Edinburgh

Printed by the Heir of Andrew Anderson [etc.]

1688

"Sole Queen of my affections and desire, / That like to Ætna sets my heart on fire,"

Star of the Earth, and Empress of my Soul,
Thy Love and Life, that doth my thoughts controul,
Sole Queen of my affections and desire,
That like to Ætna sets my heart on fire,
Thy Golden Locks resembling Titans Amber,
Most fit to Grace some mighty Monarchs Chamber:
Thine Eyes Ecclipssing Titan in his rising,
Thy Face surpassing natures best devising,
Thy lips evaporats most sweet perfums,
Thy voice the Musick of the Sphers assums;
Perfections wound more than Loves shaft and bow,
Thy Red the Rose doth shame, thy White the Snow,
Thou worlds wonder, Natures clearest feuel,
Stain not thy vertues with thy being cruel,
Besides it is an easie thing to prove,
It is a soveraign remedy for Love,
As suppose your thoughts at hourly strife,
Half mad, and almost weary of your Life:
All for the Love of some fair female Creature,
And that you are intangled with her Feature;
That you are glad, and sad, and mad, and tame,
Seeming to burn in Frost, and frieze in Flame;
In one breath, singing, laughing, weeping,
Dream as you walk, and waking in your sleeping,
Accounting hours for years, and months for ages,
Till you enjoy her that your heart engages,
And she hath sent you answers long before,
That her intent is not to be your whore;
And you, for your part mean upon your Life,
Ne're while you live to take her to your wife;
The VVest-border Seed, it is not fit for you,
You may procure better than there doth grow;
Thou art the Brother by thy place unto a lovely Swain,
The son of that renowned Squire, John Scot of Rennal-burn,
Thy Father Robert yet survives,
Thy Guid-sir was by the Napiers slain,
Thy Grand-sir the first Laird of Bow-hill,
VVas son to John Scot of Thirlston.
A worthy Squire John Scot of Rennal-burn,
He was the Son of that Sir John Scot,
VVhom the Muses lov'd, and hovered at his Gate.
And Sir John was son of that learned Man,
Mr. Arthur Scot who was stil'd of New-burgh than,
And Mr. Arthur was brave Simons son,
He who was Tutor to the Pupills of Thirlston;
And John of Thirlston that brave fellow,
Was Son to David Scot of Howpaslaw,
And David was the first Sir Walters son:
So, James, the Genealogy I have done,
And spoken nothing but the very truth,
Thy Original is from Buckcleugh;
Since Fates allow the harmless beasts such store,
I hope of Jasons Fleece thou shalt have more and more.

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05/27/2005