A briefe and summarie discourse upon that lamentable and dreadfull disaster at Dunglasse. Anno 1640. the penult of August Collected from the soundest and best instructions, that time and place could certainly affoord, the serious enquirie of the painfull and industrious author. By William Lithgovv.

Times sorrowfull disaster at Dunglasse , containing infallible grounds and reasons , how that most execrable and parracidiall deed was committed . LEt melting flouds , sad silent groaves , and winds Bank-falling brooks , & shril woods that blinds Prest Nymphall lists ; let frowning time , & all The Elements admyre , this monstrous fall , And marveilous mishape , done under tract Of homicide , by an abortive fact : Come let them roare , and rent the azure skies , ( Lamenting this lament ) with shrinking cries , And agitat reports : let ecchoing hills , From their wide sighted tops , rebounding fills , The solitarie plains , with trembling sounds , Of dreadfull Massacres ; gorging stressd bounds , With laborinths of fears ; come spend their time , To sift the Traitour , and that treacherous cryme : Which this black herse averrs : let heavens , and all , That move , and live , within earths massie ball ; Adhere , and witnesse bear , of these disasters , And by their kindes , turne prodigall worne wasters , Of watrie woes : let darkned dens and caves , Steep rocks sunk glens , dead creatures from their graves Shout forth their plaints , sowre stormy showres of grief To plead our pleading losse . And to be brief ; Come soul set mourners , for untimely death , That can expresse your sighes , and panting breath With hollow groanes , come shed with me salt teares , And plunging sobs , for mourning now appeares : Say , if deep sorrow , may from passive mood , Turn watrie woes , in a Palmenian floud : It s more then time , Coepartners had their share , Grim grief is easde , when care reforgeth care , For if the minde ( like to a soul tormented ) Make passion speak , melancholy is vented . What shaking terrour stroke me to the heart , Whilst I conceivd the fact , and saw the part Left desolate and spoild , and so confounded That my forcd cryes , from Ecchoes twice rebounded , Fell flatlings down , where they and I lay so , Alive or dead , I knew not , if , or no : For passion ( like to rapsodies ) subverts The vitall sense , extreames construct our smarts . And none so shallow , but they may conceave That sudden news , if bad , our souls do leave , Laid in a litargie , of sensllesse sleep , Till rouzd , and then pale eyne begin to weep : Such pearling drops , with windy sighs and sobs Heart groaning grief , and Cataphalion blobs , When brust , begets a voice , that voice sad words Which now my self ; to my sought self affords . O fatall stroke ! O dolefull day and houre ! What raging hate , made time to lurk and loure , To murder such brave sparks , ( beside all others ) A noble Lord , two Knights , and two kinde brother All Hammiltons of note ? with many moe , Which in a Catalogue , I will thee show , Placd here at the conclusion , for direction So far by tryall , as I got inspection , With cost and toylsome paines : who can deplore Their tragick end ? else who can keep in store Their fatall names ? full threescore young and old , Were killd and quelld , in that unhappie hould ; And smotherd down with stones : like fearfull end Was ne'er heard of : what ? did a cloud portend That blustring blow , which rose on sunday morne , Forth from the sea , and to Dunglasse was borne . O pitifull presage ! which they did see , Yet had no luck , from that hard luck to flee . But what ? who can expresse this grievous act ? Hearts may conceive , what no pen can extract : Some few of all were safe , and onely nine , Of which there two , this mem'rie I propyne ; Young Dalmahoy and happie Prestongrange , Who by heavens marv'lous mercy , in this change Did wondrously escape ; and yet both wounded , Have in that harme , their health again refounded , All thanks to Jove : Lord make them wise to know Their lives sweet safetie , in that dreadfull blow . For in the twinkling of a rolling eye , Their friends and they were severd : But come , see , How all the rest lye shent , some undiscoverd Are there shut up , with heaps of fragments coverd , And bodies torne and crushd : what shall I say ? But curse th' accident , of that dismall day . What , had the destinies , or angrie fates , Crossde constellations , deaths prodigious Mates , Or ominous aspects , self-bloudy Comets , That like prest whirlewindes , their furie vomits , With anxious threats on man , decreed this wonder ! That dye they must , and dye with such a thunder . O sterne mortalitie ! that with their death , Reft blind posteritie , of lookd for breath , And natures tract , for they thryce hopefull Syres , Might have had children to their full desires ▪ Which now we want , whilst they themselves are laid As low as dust , by deaths predom'nant spade . But stay sad soul , what means these heaps of stones , And lumps of walls , spread as confused ones ; Trace here and there : where , when I went a spying , My heart it faild me , and I fell a crying : O Heavens ! ( said I ) how came this deed to passe ? So many Worthies slain , in sackt Dunglasse : For what ? by whom ? what evill had they done ? That one black sudden blast , they could not shun : Wa st their Ancestors fault ? their owne much worse ? Their kinreds guilt or friends ? their childrens curse ? Or hyrelings scourge ? O Heavens will ye conceal This stratagem , and not the truth reveal : If mortall men were angels , we should know The cause , the sin , the Wretch , the hand the blow : But this combustion , ah ! confused tort , Was but a crack : and now to make it short , There 's one suspect'd , and that suspitions true , Actor he was , if done of spight , judge you , As after you shall hear : But I 'le proceed In method and in matter , so take heed . Lo , I have searchd , and tryde , and seen the place , And spoke with some alive ; but for the cace And manner how , they know no more , then they Who never saw 't , so sudden was the fray : That even the thought , of that prepostrous fit , Was sensible , to have robbd them of their wit , If deeply weighd : as who would from a rock , Leap headlong in the sea , such was that knock , These Innocents receivd : a Lyons heart Would shake in pieces , to conceive their smart , And short farewell . So quick was their goodnight , Like to a Faulcon in his hungrie flight . That lends the eye a glance , that heart nor minde Can show the like , except the rushing winde . Which forceth me , ( if melting woes may mourne ) Backwards to look , and to my plaints returne : O sad disaster ! so monstrous and cruel , As if hells mouth , had lent the action fewell , Is more then admirable : what flesh can Dascon the fault , and that short fury scan . Afore the floud and after , the like blow Was never heard of , nor no time can show So foule a tragick act : done , and undone , Was both the deed , and dead ; the glimpsing Moone Was in the wayning hushd , as if the night That followd on , had lost its borrowd light From curling Thetis ▪ Like crack , nor like smoake Made never Strombolo , that burning rock In the Eufemian gulf ; nor Vulcans shop In the Aeolian Iles , can this o'retop , Nor no like furious flame ; nor Aetnaes fire In three set parts , may with this crack aspire , For all its force : was malice so incensde , That neither space nor favour , was propensde To harmelesse honestie . O dreadfull doome ! That with a clap , did threescore lives consume . Or was it so , that flesh and bloud may shrink , To ruminat on them ? or shall we think But our deserts are worse ; the good with bad Do suffer oft , for destinie is mad . Me thinks that hell broke loose , and that the Divell Had got his reynes , the actor of this evill : O divine providence ! how could this be ? When he that s kept in chains , was now set free Is he not limitd , and thy mighty power Set to controle him , else he would devoure Thy Saints , and choicelings , but belike it s so Thou lets him smite , yet sa●es thy people tho : He could not torture Job , without commission Nor yet work here , without thy large permission : Was there no way to death , but by the rage Of a tempestuous sound ? could nought asswage Thine angrie face , O God! but dye they must , And with a violent rapt , be throwne to dust , As Doomesday had been set , to raze the world With twinckling speed , so were they from us hurld . If done in field or battell , it had been No cause of sorrow , lesse of weeping eyne . For Mars conceives no sturt , nor will allow His Darlings should , to peevish wayling bow , Which we must yeeld to : yet if we compare Acts past , with present , this fact must be rare . How Kings were murderd , & their Kingdoms thrown Downe to destruction , is distinctly known By pen and pensile ; and preceeding times Have left to us the reason , and their crymes . Proud Pyrhus with a stone , from a weak hand Lost life and Kingdome , and his great command : And Agamemnon , after ten yeares warres , Returnd ; when done , were vanquisht Phrigian jarres , Was by his page transactd , ( with a back thrust ) From high bred honour , to disdainfull dust . What bloud was shed , in the Pharsalian field , Where Caesar fought with Pompey ; both did weild The accidents of fortune , for they strove To lord the earth , next to imperiall Jove ; Caesar was victor , and that Romane floure Lost all the world , within one dismall houre : Yet Caesar smarts , ( the Fates his doome extend ) He rose with bloud , and made a bloudy end . I will not speak , of Tamberlanes great fight Five hundred thousands , put to death and flight : Nor from the Thebane Captaines will I bring Their bloudy Trophees , nor of Carthage sing , And her subverted Champion ; nor sackt Tyre , Nor Ilions doome , shall my pen set on fire : Nor siege I Jebus , ( Iosephs sacred storie ) Where vanquishd Jews , lost with themselves their glory Nor of the eastern Monarchy I le sing , How Philips son , was made a Persian King , And spread his wings to Ganges ; whence returnde , To Babels delicates ; where fortune spurnd , Against his pride , and by a slave ( made slave ) Was rest , of what he rest , nay , worse the grave . Like instances , I many could produce , But these may serve , for to shut up the sluce : Yet what of all , can all these paralell This horrid murder : No , I will thee tell Like villany and fact , read never man , If with the matter , you the manner scan . Traitours to Castles fled , fraught with dispaire , Have blown themselves , and fortunes in the aire But that was madnesse : Voluntarie acts Are murders , the Devil constructs such facts : But this malheure , ah ! unexpectd disdain , Came thundring forth , and with its crack they 're slaine , A ravishd thing , like to a thought or gleame Of fancies fled ; so was this deed a dream , To sight and swift conceit : O wondrous wonder ! And fearfull blacknesse , of a boystrous thunder , Which rent the clouds : Oh! what shall I report , To correspond this all predominant tort : But stay and muse , on accidents have been , Or voluntary deeds , too often seen ; Crossd ships at sea misled , by chance , or spight , Or for revenge , been vanquishd by strong fight Have blown themselves aloft . Looke for the nones , How men were burnt , and slaine , and drownde at ones : Take here the Popes armado , lately shrunk , Where seas with Papists bloud , were soundly drunk Along the Kentish shoare , till Neptune staggerd , Whilst hyrelings on , his tumbling sides they swaggerd : We thank thee Martin Trump , thou playd a spring On thy great Trumpes , made Tritons dancers sing Spaine and Romes overthrow ; and set us free From their damnd plots , perfidious policie . I will not here insist , although I can Discusse their projects , subject , craft , and man . Then to illustrate all , take Eighty Eight , Take merchant fights , take Pirats , & more slight Take Tartarets and Frigots , you shall see When stressd and claspd , how desperatly they die : This word , Give fire , transcends them through the aire Where with themselves , their foes the like doe share , And seldome failes , unlesse a distance be , The one been sackt , the other back doth flee . What of like accidents , they 're but extreames Forcd on revenge , self-murder crownes their names With endlesse torture : But ah ! this deed now done , Can not be matchd , with nought beneath the Sunne . Yet some I le point , to let you see what wounds Depend on Climats , and their sun-scorchd bounds . Then I to Earthquakes come , and deafning thunder , Where I le touch three grosse accidents of wonder , At Berat near Castras in Languedock , A thunder bolt upon thee steeple broke ( The folk been fled for safetie to the Church ) Full sixteen hundreds , closd within its Porch ) The steeple ( stroke ) fell down , and with its fall Down came the Church , the tecture , roof , and al Which smotherd the whole people : Never one Escapd that roaring shot , save twelve alone That kept at home , been sicklie , agd , and lame , And had no strength , to court this falling frame , This stone-welld town laid waste , the sequel day I came to view it , fearfull was the fray : This thundring blow fell out , on fryday morne One thousand , six hundred , and thirteen worne . From thence to Lombardie , I le quicklie trace , To Pearie , that incorprat haplesse place , Set on the river Ladishae , and closd Between two hills , the Alpes are here disclosde Which bend to Rhetiaes land : this citie crownd For Orenge , Fig , and Le●●●n , was renownd : The tenth of August , and on sunday night , At eight a clock , appeard a fearfull sight : An earthquake shook the hill , above , and under : The town streets trembled , like quagmyres asunder : The rock falls from above , the towne it sunk Ingulfd within earths bosome : as it shrunk , There was none savd , not woman , man , nor childe , Nor gold , nor goods , ( the truth been here instyld ) Except a bell , that from the steeple brust , When it was swallowd , with a counter-thrust : The river followd on , and in it run Long five houres space , till all was full , and done Returnd to its own course : the Bell was found On th' other side of Ladish , dasht on ground : Three thousand lives were lost , and ly interrd , Within one grave : behold , how fortune errd . Last to Bizantium , I amazed come , To reckon on mishaps , and there 's the summe , In winter ( not in Harv'st the usuall time , When Terramoti court , each parched clyme ) An earthquake movd , and in the town it fals , Near Bosphores side , and razd a myle of wals , Which fencd the place ; and in that glutting downe Three thousand houses , land , and sea did drowne , Which held ten thousand people : but its true , There were few Greeks , the most were Turke and Jew , And so the lesser losse : I will not stand Here to expostulate ( from hand to hand ) How that ground was recoverd ; but it cost The great Turke more , than all was drownd and lost : But for their sepulchre , I daring swear , I never saw the like , as I saw here . Lo , this great judgement fell , in dark December , One thousand six hundred , ten , as I remember . Yet to comment on this , these incidents , Arise as Bassads , from their elements , Of fire , and aire : the one through clouds it brusts , The other choaks it , with retorting gusts : Composde of contraries , lightning , and raine , The former forcd , the sequell addes the straine . The last as reinvestd , in earth is found , When hollow sun-scorchd chinks , divide the ground : The winde rushd in , begets a monstrous birth , That can transplant , or raze mountaines of earth . Townes , forts , or Cittadales , transforme a lake , In heaps of sand ; so , so , the earth can quake : Not done by airt nor hand , or hellish plots , As this abortive deed ( exposd on Scots ) Was by the Devill devisde , he actd his part And causd distress , with groaning Patients smart Done by Ned Paris , arraignd at the Court Of Heaven , and Earth , for this tremenduous tort Enforcd on death . Come let thy ghost appear , To answer for thy fact , that s sifted here : Wast done of malice ? or of negligence ? If not of purpose , lesse was thine offence ▪ And yet no oversight , nor carelesse minde , Can thee excuse , for that would judgement blind ; No , it s not so , thy bloudy oathes and curses Bewrayd thy drift ; thy foure times mounting horses , That afternoon : and still would flee , yet stayd , The train was laid , but thou the fact delayd , Till thy Lords comming back , with knights and gentry Wherein the inner Court , just at the entrie , To mount the stairs , there , there , thou smote thy maister And many Gallants with that damnd disaster : Which in thy looks was seen , ere it was done , Mischief hung in thy face , that after noone , With railing , swearing , cursing , boasting some , ( Whom thou affectd ) to haste soon to their home : And yet one scapd , whom thy menacing throat Did spur away , the greater his good lot , The stable keeper there , Will Paterson , That did attend thee then , set me this down . But I le come near , and try more strict conclusions , Base mindes ill set , are fosters of confusions ; Then what meant that irne ladle in thine hand Tane from the Kitchin hot ( O hels fyrebrand ! ) Whence to the magazin , thou kept thy way , Where eighteen hundred weight of powder lay , Of which thou hadst the charge , and onely thou Came onely there : what ? did thy Lord bestow On thee that trust , and durst thou play the knave To kill thy Maister : Vile opprobious slave , Mad were thy brains , and still were known for madnesse All times absurd , and rammage in thy badnesse : A great blasphemer of Gods name , and more Thy proverb was , Devill damne me , there 's the gore , That slew thee with that slaughter : O cursde wretch ! And wicked drudge how could thou this way stretch Thy cruel hands , was there no pittie left To save the saiklesse ? was thou so far reft , ( O senselesse sot ) from reason and respect Of men and Maister , that thou wouldst infect The earth and aire with murder : Oft I said To thine and my consorts , this English blade Is neither sound nor civil : O! how can His Lord give trust , to such a frantick man : A daily drunkard , sotting here and there , Led with deboshrie , and infernall care . Another thing condemnes thee , that same night , An houre before the deed , in deep despight , Thou wouldst not give to souldiers , match , nor ball , Nor powder , save two shots : And worst of all These Carabines thou chargd , and didst deliver To Troupers were half chargd : nor seldome ever Had half of them flint stones : their bals were choakd Half ●aches downe , and could not be revokd , Nor shot undread , though time and place cravd aid , Bred from that Barwick fray , was there defrayd . Thy speech disclosd thy spight , thy rammage looke And glooming browes , gave signes ( if not mistook ) Of unafronted drifts : thy grumbling words , And chattring lips , were sharper far then swords , Which erst had been more calme : this tale was thine , Some Scots ere long should smart , as they at Tine , Which wore the Papall badge : which thou performd , When that brave house , with thy cursd hands thou stormd Which was made known to some three dayes before The deed was done , it would be done , and more These news from Barwick came , and many heare it , But could not know the manner how to feare it : Which shows it was devisd , and sought , and wrought By Traitours in both lands , ere it was brought To such a dreadfull passe . Had this Wretch livd , Doubtlesse some had , in both the Kingdomes grievd , And lost their Hydra necks : Now I le returne To cavell with the Traitour , and this turne . Thy body in three parts , sore torne was found And one of them thy legge , ●●ich on the ground , Lay twelve weeks hid mongst stones , and this I saw Two Swyne its flesh , from thy cursde bones did gnaw A just and loathsome sight : In thy left hand The irne ladle stuck fast ; the grip and band Was hard and sure , that scarce one man could throw The ladle from thy fingers ; there 's a blow . Would God before Breda , that thou hadst died Three yeares ago , where thou wast vilifyed With every souldier ; then this wofull deed Had not been done , nor such deep grievance spread In honest hearts , O vyle barbarian barbour , And son of a poore Porter , could thou harbour So deadly damnd disdain , as for to kill All kinde of sex , in thy most sceleratill : Nay , could not spare thy self ; had thou no wit To save thy self and flee , when time thought fit . Away unhappie beast , what shall I conster ? But curse thy birth , bred for a murdring monster : Did not thy Maister cloath thee , like a Knight , And stuff thy purse with gold : O thanklesse wight ! His love thy life abusde , whilst drunken snake , The Tavern turnd thy Church ; did thou forsake The law of duetie , but curst Malandrine , Thy brain-sick pate , must run on his ruine . Might not seven yeares twice o're command thy part . To honour his familiar noble heart : Were ever any knew him , but admyrd How his rich minde , was with great gifts inspyrd , And hardinesse of Heart ; Lord W. W. may , Recall that combat , of his vanquishd day : And could this Ruffian , th' abject of a Traitour , Injure so high a sprite , so kynde a Nature . And yet he lives , ( so great was his good name ) Christs Martyr , truths mirrour , faiths soul-plight fame The cause was good he dyed for , but the fact And parracide , was hatefull , here 's the tract . O inhumane ! most execrable deed ! So barbrous neckt , with a Cyclopian head , Framd like Enceladus ; that thrice me thinks , He 's worse than Villane , at this murder winks . What heathnick , or what pagane ? savage bloud What infidel ? could have provd half so rude As this cursde cative , Englands Monster borne , That with the fact , left life and soul forlorne . What Jamnite ? or what Sabunck ? garlick slaves Would not to nature stoupe ? whose light conceaves A tender kindnesse , to conserve the race Of mankinde , Vertue , having the first place : But this Cerberian snake , had no regard To great nor small , like doome was never heard As he decreed : ah ! I want words and breath For to detect this Charon , and their death . But he like Erostratus would aspire , That set Dianas Temple in a fire , To purchase flying fame : So frantick he In this Catastrophe , would living be , Which I adhere to , and for longer time , I le fix on brasse , his filthy fact and cryme . If any be suspectd , more than this wretch , Let justice , and sound judgement to it stretch , And let our Parliament , sift and search out The plot , the man , the guilt , if there be doubt . For common fame I leave 't , and for like torts , Of tortring tongues , I le not build on reports . Why ? that s absurd to follow flying fame , It s deep experience , reares up truth a Name . Now I le return to my Pathetick style , And mourne with mourning Ladies grievd the while , For losse of their dear husbands ; O pale woe ! When two made one , the knot dissolves in two , Rent by the Fates , egregious whirling rage , And not by frequent death , done by a Page , And quintiscencd Salpeter : O who can ! Their melancholy mindes , in sadnes scan ! Each soul reserves its grief , each hath like losse , For life there 's death , for comfort sorrows cross A common woe ; peculiar to each one Graft , and engraves , a sympathizing moane : First , thou great Dame , thryce noble by thy birth , Sprung from a princely stock : what tongue on earth With words can swage thy woes ? thy sorrows show , From heart-grown grief , that foule pernicious blow , Attachd fore thee : thy face , thy food , thy rest , And sleep denote , how thy sad soul 's opprest With helplesse care : whilst scarcely half a year Did thou enjoy this dearest Jewell , thy Dear : Great was that love , thy loving Hadington Bore to thy soul : thy love again did crowne His fixt respect : By which your tender hearts Knit up in one , made love act both your parts : That Hymen blushd ( the god of sacred rites ) To see how love involvd in one , two sprites : And why ? no wonder , both alike excelld , The one the other , in goodnesse paralelld , He spoke , you smild , he winkd , & you conceivd His mentall scope , what great content receivd Your mutuall intents , whilst demonstration Reciprocat , brought Paphos one oblation : And yet he left thee , not to live alone , But left thee his fair Phenix , being gone . A pledge of comfort , representing still His face , thy stamp , his heart , thy love , his will . O like Penolope ! if thou couldst spinne A daily threed , and that same threed untwinne , Till he turnd back , so that the fates had sworne Thy pennance should be , twentie winters borne , And he redeemd : But stay sad Muse , returne , Galld grief and love , can not together mourne . Two passions , two extreams , and here I finde , They 're violent rapts , in either of each kinde ▪ Away with Didoes stroke , Lucretiaes smart , Faire Hieroes thrust , Palmeniaes fatall dart , Which grim despaire ( not love ) forcd them to act Their self-sought murder , in a tragick fact : Call , call to mind ! Gods providence , and see Nought comes to passe , without heavens high decree , Which mortals must embrace : then Lady spare Thy ruthlesse grief , lay on the Lord thy care . And ye the rest , deare Ladies in your kindes , Let sorrow smart , take comfort , lift your mindes Above all worldly crosses ; you shall see , The length of dayes ; hence soules eternitie In endlesse peace : Cast all your griefe on God , He can release , and chasten , bruise the rod . Lo , deepest streames , in smoothest silence slyde , Whilst Channels roar , so shallow mourners glyde , With words at will , but mighty cares sit dumbe , Like livelesse corps , laid in a livelesse Tombe : Whence moistned vapours , forcd from humid woes Lye in oblivion terrd . And now to close , As quickly went their soules to heaven , we hope , As their lives quickly fled : the traitours scope Was set on murder : but their Angels watchd And caught their sprites , as with a twinkling catchd To Paradise : Where now thrice blest they be , With glorie crownde ; heires of eternitie , And endlesse joyes : for they as Martyres died , And now sweet souls , with triumphs dignified : Set up mongst Hierarchies , of sacred sprites , That to their blest societie , them invites , To seale their Martyredome , in Jesus hand Cled with his righteousnesse : Who can demand A better state ? then face for face , to face , The face of faces , in that glorious place ; Where Saints and Martyres , environing round , The old Eternall , with the joyfull sound Of Aleluhiaes , sing before the throne Holy , holy , Lord , to Heavens holy One , The Lambe of God , hembd in with burning glore , Praise , might , dominion , Majestie , and power : Where they ( thrice hopefull happie ) ever blest , Are crownd and raigne , in long eternall rest . So , so forbear , ye who keep grief in store , Take up your crosse , and for them mourne no more .

And now followeth the names of the most part of them that died at Dunglasse , the penult of August , 1640. so farre as possibly the Author could collect by serious instruction , and diverse informations , both of the vulgars , and better sort . THomas Earle of Hadington . Robert Hammilton of Binny his brother . Master Patrick Hammilton , his naturall brother . Sir Alexander Hammilton of Lawfield . Sir John Hammilton of Redhouse . Colonel Erskine , son to John late Earl of Mar. John Keith , son to George late earle Marshall Sir Gideon Baillie of Lochend . Laird of Ingilstoun elder . Laird of Gogor elder . Alexander Moore , heritour of Skimmer . John Gate Minister at Bunckle . Niniane Chirneside in Aberladie . James Sterling Lieutenant . Alexander Cuningham Lieutenant . David Pringle Barbour Chirurgion . Robert Faulconer , Sergeant . George Vach , Haddingtons Purveyer . John White Plaistrer , an English man . William Symington , Lochends servant . George Neilson in Alhamstocks . James Cuningham in Hadington . John Manderstoun . Matthew Forrest . Patrick Batie . Alaster Drummond , alias Gundamore . John Campbell . John Idington . James Foord , John Arnots post boy . John Orre . Andrew Braidie . John Tillidaff . John Keith , a childe . Women five . Margaret Arnot , daughter to the Postmaister at Cockburnspeth . Marjorie Dikson , John Keiths servant . Marion Carnecrosse . Aleison Gray . With twelve bore armes , whose names I could not ken , Souldiers for time , not mercenary men : The rest ( unfound ) ly terrd , corps , clothes , and bones Under huge heaps of glutinated stones . Lo , I have done , as much as lay in me , To try the truth , and blaze it , likes it thee , Imepleasde : if not , a figge for Carpers checks , Whose chattring spight , the rule of reason brecks . And now to close , let Criticks of all ranks , Convince their censures , and yeeld me kinde thanks For what gain I , save labour , pains , and cost , To show the living , how the dead were lost . FINIS .