George Wishart, and Peter Carmichael, a stout gentleman. Knox In this meantime, while they force at the door, the Cardinal 1572 hides a box of gold under coals that were laid in a secret corner. At length he asked: Will ye save my life?' The said John answered: 'It may be that we will.' 'Nay,' says the Cardinal; 'swear unto me by God's wounds, and I will open unto you.' Then answered the said John: 'It that was said is unsaid;' and so cried, 'Fire, fire' (for the door was very stark); and so was brought a chimleyful of burning coals. Which perceived, the Cardinal or his chamber-child (it is uncertain) opened the door, and the Cardinal sat down in a chair, and cried: 'I am a priest; I am a priest : ye will not slay me.' The said John Lesley (according to his former vows) struck him first once or twice, and so did the said Peter. But James Melvin (a man of nature most gentle and most modest) perceiving them both in choler, withdrew them, and said: "This work and judgment of God (although it be secret) ought to be done with greater gravity;' and presenting unto him the point of the sword, said: 'Repent thee of thy former wicked life, but especially of the shedding of the blood of that notable instrument of God, Master George Wishart, which albeit the flame of fire consumed before men, yet cries it a vengeance upon thee, and we from God are sent to revenge it. For here, before my God, I protest that neither the hetterent1 of thy person, the love of thy riches, nor the fear of any trouble thou could have done to me in particular, moved, nor moves me to strike thee; but only because thou hast been, and remains, an obstinate enemy against Christ Jesus and his holy Evangel.' And so he struck him twice or thrice through with a stog 2 sword; and so he fell, never word heard out of his mouth, but I am a priest, I am a priest: fie, fie: all is gone.'

While they were thus occupied with the Cardinal, the fray 3 rises in the town. The Provost assembles the community, 2 Stabbing.

1 Hatred (?)

3 Panic.

Knox and comes to the fosse's side, crying: 'What have ye done 1572 with my Lord Cardinal? Where is my Lord Cardinal ? Have ye slain my Lord Cardinal? Let us see my Lord Cardinal!' They that were within answered gently: 'Best it were unto you to return to your own houses; for the man ye call the Cardinal has received his reward, and in his own person will trouble the world no more.' But then, more enragedly, they cry: 'We shall never depart till that we see him.' And so was he brought to the east blockhouse head, and shown dead over the wall to the faithless multitude, which would not believe before it saw how miserably lay David Beaton, careful Cardinal. And so they departed, without Requiem æternam, and Requiescat in pace, sung for his soul. Now, because the weather was hot (for it was in May, as ye have heard), and his funerals could not suddenly be prepared, it was thought best, to keep him from stinking, to give him great salt enough, a cope of lead, and a nook in the bottom of the Sea-Tower (a place where many of God's children had been imprisoned before) to await what exequies his brethren the bishops would prepare for him.

These things we write merrily. But we would that the reader should observe God's just judgments, and how that he can deprehend the worldly wise in their own wisdom, make their table to be a snare to trap their own feet, and their own presupposed strength to be their own destruction. These are the works of our God, whereby He would admonish the tyrants of this earth, that in the end He will be revenged of their cruelty, what strength soever they make in the contrary. But such is the blindness of man (as David speaks), 'That the posterity does ever follow the footsteps of their wicked fathers, and principally in their impiety.' For how little differs the cruelty of that bastard, that yet is called Bishop of St. Andrews, from the cruelty of the former, we will after hear. John Knox.

B

A SCOT ABROAD

ECAUSE I said before that Scotland received never a greater benefit at the hands of God nor this man, I will shortly set down, first, a little discourse of his life before his coming home, and syne what he brought with him. He was born in Baldowy, a place pleasant, fertile, and well aired, lying within a mile to the town of Montrose, upon the southwest, hard by the Estuarium fluminis Eskae meridionalis, in the year of Christ's birth 1545, the first day of the month August, begotten of gentle and honest parents, Richard Melvill of Baldowy, brother-german of John Melvill of Dysart, and Gills Abercrombie, daughter to Thomas Abercrombie, burgess of Montrose, of the house of Murthley. He was the youngest of nine brothers, all left alive when their father was slain with the greatest part of the gentlemen of Angus, in the vanguard of the field of Pinkie. His mother lived an honourable widow till he was twelve years of

age, trained up in letters in the school of Montrose, under Mr. Thomas Anderson, esteemed the best master in his time, howbeit not the most learned. She left six of her sons in honest rooms; all, even then or shortly thereafter, bearing office in Kirk or commonweal, and with the best esteemed in their rank and above. They were, Richard Melvill of Baldowy, and minister of Christ's Evangel soon after, the eldest: Mr. Thomas, a fine scholar, well travelled in France and Italy, Secretary-Depute of Scotland: Walter, burgess, and oft bailie of Montrose, a wise and stout man: Roger, burgess of Dundee, a man of singular gifts of nature and God's grace, but was not trained up in letters (I heard that faithful pastor of Dundee, William Christison, a little after his death, with tears say, 'Alas! when God took this Roger Melvill, he took from me my father, and the care

Melvill 1574

Melvill fullest father that ever Dundee had. His name will be 1574 remembered so long as Dundee is a town'): Mr. James, minister of Christ's Evangel: John, then guidman and ruler of his mother's affairs, and after a minister in the Kirk: the rest were Robert, David, and Andrew; whereof the first two were kept at the school till they tired, and were put to crafts; the last was a sickly, tender boy, and took pleasure in nothing so mickle as his book. So, with the portion that was left him, he spent a year or two in Montrose, namely, hiring a France man, called Petrus de Marsiliers, teach the Greek grammar, and something of that language, honestly conduced to the same as a rare thing in the country, not heard of before, by that notable instrument in the Kirk, John Erskine of Done, of most honourable and happy memory; wherein he profited so, that, entering thereafter in the course of Philosophy within the University of St. Andrews, all that was teached of Aristotle he learned and studied it out of the Greek text, which his masters understood not. He passed his course in the New College, tenderly beloved of Mr. John Douglas, Provost of that College and Rector of the University; who would take him betwixt his legs at the fire in winter, and warm his hands and cheeks, and, blessing him, say, 'My silly fatherless and motherless child, it's ill to wit what God may make of thee yet!'

So, ending his course of philosophy, he left the University of St. Andrews with the commendation of the best philosopher, poet, and Grecian of any young master in the land; and with all possible diligence made his preparation and past to France. By the way he was extremely tormented with sea-sickness and storm of weather, so that ofttimes, whiles by danger. of shipwreck, whiles by infirmity and sickness, he looked for death. He arrived first in England, and again embarking came to Bordeaux, where he tarried not long, but embarking from that came to Dieppe; from that to Paris, where he remained in the University two

years at his own studies, hearing the lights of the most shining Melvill age in all good letters, the king's public professors, Andreas 1574 Tornebus in Greek and Latin Humanity; Petrus Ramus in Philosophy and Eloquence; Johannes Mercerus in the Hebrew language, whereupon he was specially set. In the last year of they two, he grew so expert in the Greek, that he declaimed and teached lessons, uttering never a word but Greek, with such readiness and plenty, as was marvellous to the hearers. From Paris he passed to Poitiers, where he regented in the College of St. Marcian three years. There he had the best lawyers, and studied so mickle thereof as might serve for his purpose, which was Theology, whereto he was dedicate from his mother's womb. And when the Colleges were given up, because of the siege laid to the town, which was long and fearful, he was employed by an honourable Councillor to instruct his only son. The bairn profited exceeding well, and was of a sweet inclination, taken away from him and his parents by a shot out of the camp, which parted the wall of his chamber, and wounded him deadly in the thigh. He called incontinent for his master, whom how soon he saw, he caught him in his arms, and uttered the words of the apostle in Greek, didáσkade, τὸν δρόμον μοῦ τετέληκα, ‘Master, I have perfected my course!' and so, with many other godly and sweet words, he died. That bairn gaed never out of his heart; but in teaching of me, he often remembered him with tender compassion of mind. He tarried in that house, which was well furnished, during the time of the siege. There was a corporal with a few suddarts 2 put to keep the house, who espied him in his prayers and speeches to be holy and devout; and one day (being a Papist and man of war), with a great oath he challenged Mr. Andrew that he was a Huguenot, and would help to betray the town; therefore, because the alarm was stricken, he could not trust him in 1 Acted as regent or professor.

2 Soldiers.