A Royal Nightingale

Born as her sire prepared to die Shipped to the shores of Catholic France Wed and widowed by eighteen years Mary, fashioned for love and dance. Claimed her throne in a cold country Velvet dress and a cross of gold Faced John Knox and his bigotry Papist heretic he would scold Darnley married her, sired a king. Profligate pup, by plot and knife Spilled her favourite's blood, and paid For perfidy with his own sour life. Went to a masque, like a crimson flame Wooed by the man that killed her Lord Three short months and she was his wife Till the ties were severed by flight and sword High white ruff, hooped farthingale Crossed the Solway, her need laid bare Caught and caged like a nightingale In barren Elizabeth's silken snare. Twenty years as a prisoner Closely watched in a living tomb 'In manus tuas, Domini Confide spiritum meum. ' Laid her graceful neck on the block Thoughts on more than a kingdom, winning Dressed in her martyr's robes of red In her end, was her beginning.