FORTVNES FASHION, Pourtrayed in the troubles of the Ladie Elizabeth Gray, wife to EDWARD the fourth.

Written by Tho. Sampson.

ANCHORA SPEI

LONDON, Printed for William Iones, and are to be sold at his shop at White-crosse streete end by the Church. 1613.

TO HIS MANY WAIES INDEERED FRIEND M r. Henry Pilkington of Gadsby, in the Countie of Leicester, Gentleman.

SIR, this Tragicall history being no fiction, but a true relation of the many troubles of a distressed Queene, I offer to your patro­nage for two especiall causes; the one, for the long continued loue betweene vs; the other, for that I know your name is a suffici­ent protection for it and me, against the ma­ny find-faults that this age is pestered with, who themselues being not able, or too idle to do any thing worth the reading, yet are composed of such a snarling substance, that nothing can escape their eye or eare with­out a scoffe: how euer it displeaseth such, I care not; if it content you, I haue my desire, [Page] not doubting but when you are wearied with more serious studies, you will at some times peruse this. And so I leaue you to liue happily.

Your assured friend THO. SAMPSON.

The Argument for the better vnderstanding of the Readers.

WHen Henry the sixt king of that name in England, was by the Earle of Warwicke, and others, thought vnmeete to gouerne the kingdome: and Edward the fourth claimed the Crowne, in a battell neare to Saint Albans: Henry the sixt was taken prisoner in the 39 yeare of his reigne, Anno Dom. 1461. All king Henries forces were slaine, or put to flight, amongst whom was slain on king Henries part, one Sir Iohn Gray, husband of this Lady Elizabeth Gray, of whose troubles this historie now discourseth. This Lady was after maried to king Edward the fourth: she was daughter to the Lady Iaquet, daughter to Peter Earle of Saint Paul, neece to the Lord Lewis of Leutzenbrugh, which Lady Iaquet was first married to Iohn Duke of Bedford and Regent of France; and after­ward she was married to Sir Richard Woodvile Lord Ri­uers, by whom she had this Lady Elizabeth and others. When king Edward was setled in his kingdome, and had imprisoned Henry the sixt in the Tower of London: the Earle of Warwicke was sent into France, to intreate a mar­riage betweene King Edward the fourth and the Lady Bo­na, daughter to Lewis Duke of Sauoy, and sister to the La­dy Carlot then wife to the French King, in whose Court this Lady Bona then was: which motion was well liked of by the French King, and all things sorted to the Earle of Warwicks desire. But in the meane time, while these things were working in France, King Edward going to his Man­nor of Grafton, in the countie of Northampton; in the time [Page] of the Kings remaining there, this Lady Gray was an hum­ble suter to the King, that she might haue her Ioynter gi­uen her; which because her husband was slaine on King Henries part, was since his death detained from her. King Edward liked her so well, that after many amorous dis­courses she was married to him at Grafton, where first he fancied her. The Kings mother and many of the Nobilitie did dislike of this mariage, because she was a widow, and his subiect. This King was married to this Lady Gray, before the Earle of Warwicke was returned from France, which some say, who will talke much and know little, was the cause of the warres afterwards betweene the King and the Earle. But the Earles hatred against the King was for another cause, as in the Chronicles you may reade. What troubles and griefe happened to this Queene in the time of her husband the Kings life, and after his death, you may imagine. You see her newly risen out of her graue, and in the extremity of her griefe speaking as followeth.

The troubles of the Ladie Eliza­beth Gray wife to Edward the fourth.

SOmetime I was, vnhappie was that time,
Wherein I liu'd, and neuer tasted ioyes,
That did not wither, ere they were in prime:
Honors are such vncertaine fading toyes.
I was king Edwards wife, a wofull Queene,
As in this history may plaine be seene.
O had my loue in my first choice remaind,
How happie had I bene, from griefe how free?
Of wofull haps I neuer had complaind,
But that must needs be, that the fates decree.
The Cottage seated in the dale below,
Stands safe, when highest towers do ouerthrow.
My youth was blest in loue with equall choice,
The matter fit prepared for loues fier:
In which while I consum'd, nere did my voice,
Nor thoughts consent, to wish my fortunes higher.
Thus in the valley, whil'st my loue did rest,
My loue though lowly, none more highly blest.
But fatall powers, with vnreuersd decree,
Whom hecatombs of prayers may not perswade,
To adde one minute to the blisse they see,
[Page]Or spare one day, what but a day was made:
Their course is fixt, and cannot be preuented,
They best abide their might, that are contented.
Whose power in me distressed erst was knowne,
When Edward fourth of name, obtaind the Crowne,
And put sixt Henry from his regall throne,
Raising himselfe by casting others downe.
Greedy Ambition, endlesse in desiring,
On others ruine foundeth her aspiring.
There first began the groundworke of my woe,
There lost I him that had my prime of loue:
And then the prime of sorrowes I did know,
In prime of ioy, which did more sorrowes moue.
The daintiest palate, with exactest skill,
Distasts the relish of the bitter pill.
There was my husband slaine on Henries part,
Then was I left a widow desolate:
Yet once againe, loue chose another dart,
Whose golden head I thought would raise my fate;
King Edwards loue I meane; but what ensude?
The Crowne I gain'd, I euer after rewde.
To Witchwood forrest when this King did go,
For his delight to hunt the fearfull Deere:
He went to Grafton; thence my second woe
Did spring, it was my hap then to be there,
Attendant on my mother, in which space,
I was an humble Suter to his Grace,
That he would please to pitie my estate,
That I might haue my Ioynter giuen me:
Seeing my hopes were then so ruinate,
That I was like to taste of miserie.
Such was my case, except it were relieued:
At my complaint, he very much was grieued.
And mou'd with pitie, did commiserate
My cause, my selfe he seem'd to fancie then:
With gracious words lamenting my estate,
Bad me take comfort; ô the wiles of men!
He courted me, and I at last did yeeld,
My honor sau'd, that he should win the field.
A King to woo his subiect in such sort,
As no dishonor by his loue might rise:
Blame me not then, if to that princely port,
I was contented to be led as prize:
Where honor grac'd with regall maiestie,
Was Pilot to my ship in ieopardie.
Though long he sude, I granted at the last
To be his wife, such shew of honest loue
His princely heart did seeme to haue embrac'd:
I was content the nuptiall sports to proue.
No wanton lust did harbour in my thought,
Although too deare I haue my pleasure bought.
When it was bruted, that the King affected,
And would without the liking of his Lords
Espouse me; seeing that he not respected
[Page]Their discontent, nor smooth intreating words:
But like a loyall and a royall King,
Would still make good his vowes in euery thing.
Then they deuisde against me to obiect,
My widowhood, ô that was chiefly it,
Wherewith they thought me fouly to detect,
Alledging it was rare, and farre vnfit,
A King should fancie such a one as I,
That was a widow, and in pouertie.
But all in vaine they sought him to disswade,
He gaue his word, and constantly did stand,
Vnto the oathes betwixt vs firmly made,
With interchange of hearts, and gift of hand.
He did desire our marriage day to see,
And I did wish that time as much as he.
When the Kings mother thought it was in vaine,
To vse perswasions to her sonne the King:
A precontract she spared not to faine,
That he had made, his honor so to bring
Into reproch; supposing that the way,
From marriage a while to cause him stay.
But then the King those cauils did disproue,
And we at Grafton married were with speed:
And there with holy rites did seale our loue,
Which God and man allow as sacred deed.
There were we ioyn'd in holy mariage state,
Which during life should be inuiolate.
Whether the King did keepe his plighted faith
To me, as marriage strictly doth require:
Or if it be that he it broken hath,
Which I to know, or proue, do not desire:
I liu'd and lou'd him in such duteous sort,
As let my life and actions make report.
Before the Earle made his returne from France,
Richard Neuil then Earle of Warwicke.
Being sent to treate a mariage for the King
With Lady Bona, time brought forth this chance,
The King was married, which some say did bring
The fall and ruine of King Edwards seed,
(The vulgar peoples saying is no creed.)
How dares a subiect contradict his King?
Must subiects wils limit their Princes loue?
It's more then vaine, yea a presumptuous thing,
Inferiors should such bold commanders proue,
To tie Kings thoughts to fancie none but them
That please their subiects, ô aspiring men!
What though things sorted to the Earles desire?
And Lewis Duke of Sauoy was content,
To grant as much as Warwicke did require:
Must princely Edward suffer banishment?
Or be obedient to his subiects frowne,
Or hazard all the glorie of a Crowne?
It was not this that causd the Earle rebell,
Nor was it conscience of King Henries right:
Another cause, some histories do tell,
[Page]Enraged Warwicke, and did cause him fight
Against his King; yet Kings can giue no cause,
Sufficient motiues for the breach of lawes.
O neuer let succeeding ages heare
Vnto the staine of his nobilitie,
The wauering faith that Warwicke then did beare,
Constant in nothing, but vnconstancie:
First fauouring one, then changed to the other,
Faithfull to none, although he were his brother.
Yet will I giue him, being dead, his due,
For sure it is a sinne to wrong the dead,
Though to his King he was vnkind, vntrue,
His valour was by vanitie misled:
Who so him pleasd, to raise vnto the Crowne;
And when he list, by force to cast them downe.
A valiant Knight, and fortunate in warre,
Vlysses-like for prudent policie:
Yet this did all his other vertues marre,
And was a blot to his posteritie,
That right or wrong he car'd not how it was,
But as he would, so things should come to passe.
O no, another fire the world doth know,
Betwixt the King and Warwicke kindled was:
Which I by no meanes to the world will show,
It was too much (if so it was) alas,
That such a blot should blemish such a King,
That was so royall else in euery thing.
Ile nere beleeue that euer Edwards mind,
Would passe the limits of true honors name:
Although in histories you there may find,
Some things set downe that might empaire his fame:
I was his wife, he lou'd me as I thought;
I paid his loue with dutie, as I ought.
The next yeare after that we married were,
At Westminster I then was crowned Queene:
Attended there by many a noble Peere,
In such rare sort as at such times are seene.
My father and my friends he did aduance,
To greater place, but more vnhappie chance.
And in this yeare, into the world I brought
A daughter, which combin'd King Edwards loue
In double knot with mine: for sure tis thought
The pleasingst ioy that man and wife do proue,
When of their honest loues, such fruite they see,
As farre beyond all other treasures be.
But oh, what pleasure euer lasteth long?
Some enuious fate maligning that our blisse
Should long continue, with iniurious wrong
Did ouerthrow our mirth, and forc'd vs misse
The path that would haue led vs on to ioy,
And made vs tread the maze of all annoy.
To sowre our sweet, lo what mishap befell,
An insurrection in Northamptonshire:
Robin of Redsdale, cursed impe of hell,
[Page]Who like some furie, with his hel-bred fire,
Enrag'd the madnes of the rebels so,
They like distracted men to Grafton go.
Where by the force of boisterous cursed hand,
My father, then Earle Riuers, they did take:
My brother, Sir Iohn Woodvile, did withstand
The rebels force, but oh he was too weake.
Farre ouermatch'd was sonne and fathers force,
For without law, or iustice, or remorse,
They in Northampton, each did lose his head:
Nor Iudge, nor Iurie, had them ouerthrowne:
With cruell rigor was their sentence read,
It nothing booted them to make their mone.
Thus an oblation to that furious faction,
Their blouds were made, ô most detested action!
Malicious Warwicke, in a shew of loue,
Wrapt his displeasure at his Soueraignes match:
And gained leaue, for health fresh aire to proue,
When Serpent-like he time and meanes did watch,
To plucke King Edward from his throne inuested,
That so the seeds of ciuill warre detested.
And subtilly with faire alluring words,
Did draw the hearts of all he could perswade:
Not to obey, but to resist with swords,
Their lawfull King, against the oath they made.
And so misled the people, to attempt
That which with losse of liues they did repent.
See here the fickle minds the common sort
Of people beare, that not respecting right,
Nor iust succession, onely by report,
And light beliefe of others, bend their might,
Hazard their liues and lands, pollute their fame,
With shamefull blot of traitors hatefull name.
I grant my state was meane, yet not so base,
Iustly to be reputed odious:
Nor did I spring from such a seruile race,
As might moue VVarwicke to be trecherous
Vnto his King: for oft it hath bene seene,
As meane a Lady hath bene made a Queene.
But when vile rancor boyld in Warwicks brest,
He gladly tooke the simplest shew of cause,
To leuie armes; and neuer would giue rest
Vnto his thoughts, vntill against all lawes
He raisd an armie gainst King Edwards force,
And by ill fortune gaue the King the worse.
For in the night he sodainly surprisde
King Edwards tent neare Wolney, where the King
Litle suspecting what his foe deuisde,
Securely slept, but then oh piteous thing,
Hearing a noise he cald vnto his guard,
But they were slaine, and he was clapt in ward.
And thence from Warwicke, in the night conueyed
To Midlam Castle, where he did remaine:
There in the Bishops charge a while he stayed,
[Page]Vntill he did for want of aire complaine:
And by that meanes had leaue for pleasure sake,
To hawke or hunt, the change of aire to take.
Which being once obtaind, King Edward thought
It was the high way to his libertie:
Plotting how this and that might best be wrought,
And not procure his keepers iealousie,
Ought to mistrust; tis hard for to deuise
A secret slight, to circumuent the wise.
Whether the Bishop of himselfe did giue
So large a scope vnto the captiue King:
Or Warwicks conscience inwardly did grieue,
That he had done so trecherous a thing:
And therefore will'd the Bishop let him haue,
What libertie soeuer he did craue.
Ile not dispute how it did come to passe,
Though many thinke, that Warwicke did consent
To set him free: but be it as it was,
All doubts to cleare, the King did soone preuent
The fury of his foes, with heedfull care,
To tread the path that might escape the snare.
And by good fortune it did happen so,
Sir William Stanley with a troupe of men,
Met with the King as he to hunt did go:
It was in vaine to argue where or when
He should be redeliuered, for decree
Had cleare resolu'd, to set King Edward free.
And those that had the charge of his returne,
Vnto whose care the Bishop did commit
The guarding of the King, were loth to spurne
Against the pricke, accounting it no wit
To offer force, where such attempts were vaine,
Which rash resistance might procure their paine.
Determinately therefore they agreed,
With swiftest speed vnto their Lord to tell:
How euilly their sport that day did speed,
Which newes they knew would nothing please him well:
But well or ill, there was no remedie,
The King was gone past their recouerie.
To Lancaster, where then Lord Hastings lay,
The King made thither with all speed he might:
From thence, assur'd of friends, he tooke his way
To London, whence (although his cause was right)
He was enforc'd to Lin to shape his course,
Of raging seas t'abide good hap or worse.
To Burgondie with wind and saile he plide,
There to recouer forces, helpe and aide,
Of that great Duke: now marke what did betide,
The boisterous waues and aduerse winds delayd
His direct course; the Easterlings at sea,
Thought to haue made K. Edwards ship their prey.
His ship being small, with helpe of saile did beare
Such forewind speed, that in despite of foe,
It ranne so neare the shore, at Alquemare
[Page]Their ships drew deeper, that they could not go
So neare the towne, but were compeld to ride
At ancor there, attending the next tide.
In the meane time Lord Gronture gouernor,
In humblest maner welcomed the King,
And charg'd the Easterlings to touch no shore,
Commanding them not to attempt the thing,
That to the English might offensiue be:
Thus was the King from dangerous foes set free.
But when the rumor through the land was blowne,
That Edward was inforc'd to flie the land:
And that the certaintie thereof was knowne,
O in what desperate state did all they stand
That were his friends! but vnto me his wife,
No hope was left of safetie, friends, or life.
Now to the hardest censure I appeale,
What world of woes opprest my soule with griefe:
How could I hide my sorrowes, or conceale
My horror? for no hope of my reliefe,
On any side, I no way could descrie,
But gloomy death, and endlesse miserie.
Which sad prospect did threaten hard euent,
To wretched me, of all good hap forsaken:
Despaire attended me; no way I went,
But by sad thoughts my thoughts were ouertaken.
Pale death my master was, and at my helme
Stood terror, all my ioyes to ouerwhelme.
In this red sea which was not nauigable,
My weather-beaten barke was runne aground:
I thought to find some place auaileable,
Where I might strike my saile, and not be drownd▪
The sanctuary a most sacred place,
I fled vnto, hoping to find some grace.
Such grace I meane, as to a wretched soule
Yeelds comfort in extremes, neare drownd in griefe:
There willingly my selfe I did inrole
'Mongst miserable soules voide of reliefe:
But that the reuerence of that holy place,
Was a protection to them in that case.
And in that place I had not long remaind,
But to the world Edward the fift I brought:
Where like a poore mans child I not disdaind
To haue him Christned, though so meane a thought
Did nothing fit the mind of any Queene,
(Who chuseth least of ils we wise esteeme.)
The poorest man, whose labour gets his pay,
Whose court a cottage is, doth at such time,
More cost bestow on such a solemne day,
Then I had meanes to giue that child of mine:
The Gossips and chiefe credit of the troope,
Were th'Abbot, Prior, and the Lady Scroope.
Where was my cloth of state, my canopie,
Ladies of honor to attend my will?
Where my rich hangings of rare tapestrie,
[Page]The stateliest banquets, that deuice or skill
Could set before vs? where the songs of mirth,
To tell the world, we ioyd a Princes birth?
My state and grace, of all the world neglected,
Onely a naked name of Queene then left me:
My nearest friends arrested or suspected,
With traitors blot, from which they were as free
As new borne babes, yet were they ouerthrowne;
Was euer such a cruell tyrant knowne.
The troope of gallants, that once fawn'd on me,
My fortune-followers, now they all are gone:
My pompe and complements for my degree,
Are vanisht cleane, and I am cast vpon
The rocke, whereon alas I was vndone,
Before my prime of pleasure was begun.
O all was gone, and I my selfe deiected
From Court and Crowne to fatall miserie:
Of Lord nor Lady graced nor respected,
But headlong throwne into aduersitie.
Oh let no creature liue secure of state,
For Kings themselues are subiects vnto fate.
Let meane mens wiues imagine what it is
To want things fitting them in such a case:
I of all princely ornaments did misse,
Was glad of such as seruile were and base:
Thus fortunes wheele, some vp, some downe doth tosse,
And I enforc'd perforce did beare this crosse.
O that I had a world of willing eares,
That patiently would heare my sorrowes told:
And in this sad discourse to lend me teares,
When they the map of my mishaps behold:
But ô the world shrowds in obliuion,
Their name and fame, that to the earth are gone.
My King was fled, my friends themselues did shrowd
Vnder the couert of my enemies:
The new made gouerner, insolent and proud;
Hatefull to me, and all my progenie:
Ten thousand deaths, yea trebled mischiefe fall
Vpon his head, that sowrd my sweet with gall.
Nay more then so, that wrongd not onely me,
But to their King were instruments of ill:
Cursed and odious let such traitors be,
That howsoeuer to effect their will,
Regardlesse of all wrong, against all right,
Dares to take armes against their King to fight.
So long, too long, with small or no regard,
I in that sanctuary did remaine,
Vntill at length for certaine truth I heard,
That princely Edward, with a martiall traine,
At Rauensprugh neare Humber head was landed,
With many a gallant warlikly attended.
Which how it ioyd my soule, no tongue can tell:
Then vnto God I did deuoutly pray,
To cast all Edwards foes as low as hell,
[Page]And giue to him a safe victorious day,
That he in triumph, with hearts ioy might see
His litle sonne presented him by me.
Whether my prayers were effectuall,
Or Edwards valor, which the world renown'd:
But all his foes got such a heauie fall,
That he with victory againe was crown'd,
And many slaine; the rest that reattempted
Rebellious factions, they such faults repented.
Warwicke and others of that traiterous faction,
Being slaine and ouerthrowne, a iust reward
For them that dealt in such rebellious action;
Their peacocks plumes were pluckt, their brauerie mard:
Victorious Edward by the helpe of heauen,
Reign'd after this, of yeares iust eleuen.
But then, ô then, for seldome good things last,
Fates enuious of earthly creatures good,
With swiftest speed, and with a heedlesse haste,
Cruell in action, glut themselues in bloud
Of any one that cometh next to hand:
All men perforce within their furie stand.
But Atropos the cruelst of the three,
That spins and winds, and cuts our threed of life,
As one inchanted, seeing did not see,
When she did cut the threed that bred such strife:
For by his too soone death my woes began,
And tragicke fall of many a mightie man.
My forepast sorrowes might be termed ioyes,
And all my griefes were ioyes compard to this:
King Edward dide, with him dide all my ioyes,
And I was banisht from all earthly blisse,
To the sad tortures of an earthly hell,
The least of all my woes no tongue can tell.
Seuen royall children to this King I bare,
Edward the fift, by treason murthered;
Richard his brother had a deadly share,
For they were both together smothered:
Fiue daughters by this King I also had,
Wose fortunes, some were good and others bad.
When palefac'd death had seiz'd vpon my King,
My Lord, my loue, the hope of all my ioy;
And by that stroake had blemisht euery thing,
That might preserue and keepe me from annoy:
The Nobles droopt, the common people mournd,
And all my hopes to sad despaire were turnd.
Some sparke of future good I hop'd to see,
Since to the Crowne my sonne by due descent
Was heire apparent: but what state so free,
But trust in treason brings to hard euent?
Vsurping Richard such a plot laid downe,
To work their deaths; and gain himself the Crown.
Such fearfull thoughts my senses so did fright,
That some mishap I feared would befall
To the yong King: sad visions in the night
[Page]So troubled me, I could not sleepe at all:
Deuouring beasts, but most of all the Boare,
My tender child, me thought, with tusks did goare.
From Ludlow towards London the yong King
Did go to haue his right, the royall Crowne:
Litle suspecting trechery would spring,
Nor that his vnkle Gloc'ster would put downe
The lawfull King, the sonne of his owne brother;
But tyrannie regards ne one ne other.
To heape more sorrowes on my wounded heart,
My brother the Lord Riuers was arrested:
Sir Richard Gray and Vaughan bare a part,
As guiltie of the fact, which they detested:
Whilst in Northampton in their Inne they stayed,
Vnwares alas they guiltlesse were betrayed.
The keyes of all the doores were safely kept
By those that sought to worke their ouerthrow;
Whilst they nothing misdoubting, soundly slept,
Litle suspecting vndeserued woe
Would light on thē that to their Prince were loyal;
But truth by treason tript, nere comes to triall.
Gloc'ster and Buckingham hauing effected
Their bloudy plots gainst such as were my friends;
A warrant was with speed by them directed,
To bring those prisoners to vntimely ends:
And from Northampton vnto Ponfret, they
Like lambes to slaughter led, were sent away.
Sir Richard Ratcliffe hauing the commission
To him directed, that by such a day
He should be carefull, with all expedition,
Those innocents most bloudily to slay:
He acted it without due course of lawes,
Or asking why, or what should be the cause.
The cruell Dukes then poasted with all speed
To Stony stratford, where the King then lay:
The King, alas, not knowing of this deed,
Said, Where's my vnkle? what doth cause him stay?
Gloc'ster replide, my kinred traitors were,
As by due proofe his Maiestie should heare.
Saying, they had conspir'd to rule the State,
To ouerthrow the Nobles of the land,
To rule the King, and giue him the checke mate;
All the Nobilitie in great feare did stand
Of them that had of late bene too much grac'd,
And now high time they should be all displac'd.
And that the Lord Gray, brother to the King,
And with the King in presence at that time,
Might well be charged with the selfe same thing;
Thus did they plot the fall of me and mine.
The King replide, that iustly he might sweare,
His brother Gray was innocent and cleare.
And with those words, teares trickled from his eies;
But though that sight was pitifull to see,
It nought reclaimd them from their cruelties.
[Page]What sadder signe of griefe could euer be,
Then that a King, whose word should be a law,
With teares should plead, as though he stood in aw?
My father and my brethren murthered,
In this might well be seene the future hap,
Of ill presaged fortune furthered,
By those two bloudie Dukes, that sought to wrap
In sad despaire and death, me and my friends,
And bring vs quickly to vntimely ends.
When I had heard of this vnlookt for lot,
This vndeserued crueltie inflicted
Vpon my brother, who without all spot
Had cleare remaind, and could not be conuicted
Of any one conceiued thought of ill
Against his King, in heart, in mind or will.
Vnto the Sanctuary then I fled,
My friends and children I did take with me:
To scape their hands that sought our blouds to shed,
Cleare out of hope that euer I should see
My son receiue the Crowne; my feare prou'd true,
Which shortly after I had cause to rue.
The litle King was brought vnto the Tower,
As surest place of safetie for his person:
Accursed be that day and fatall hower,
That ere he entred there: for his subuersion
Was by the Dukes in cruell fashion wrought,
When least of death, alas, he had a thought.
And to cut off Edwards posteritie
From sitting in their Fathers regall seate,
My yonger sonne with me in Sanctuarie,
They plotted how they might by false deceit
Take him from me; that to augment my paine,
Euen at one instant they might both be slaine.
Which to effect, the Cardinall was sent
To deale with me, to get my second sonne
Into their hands, which deed I now repent:
I thought full litle that they would haue done,
In action or in thought the smallest thing,
That any way might preiudice their King.
The Cardinall alledg'd the Kings desire
To haue his brother in his companie:
And that it kindled had the Nobles ire,
That I should doubt, or be in iealousie
Of them that were the rulers of the land,
And were allide to them in natures band.
I not denide, but that I thought it fit,
For brethren then in their minoritie
To be together, if that were onely it,
That caused them of the nobilitie
To wish to haue my sonne sent to his brother,
That they might sport and play one with another.
My trembling heart did inwardly so quake,
That I did feare, as then I knew not what:
My inward thoughts enforc'd my ioynts to shake,
[Page]As fearing this, and then misdoubting that:
But what to feare, alas I could not tell,
But that my sonne was sickly, and not well.
I told the Card'nall, that not long before,
A dangerous sicknesse had afflicted him,
And that cold aire would aggrauate it more;
And therefore I being nearest of his kin,
Was fittest yet to keepe him there with me,
For then his mother who could dearer be?
And to the Card'nall I with teares did say,
Recall to mind my Lord, the grace and loue,
The King my husband gaue you many yeares,
As by experience you did daily proue:
Requite that loue to his posteritie,
When most you thinke them in extremitie.
And as I here deliuer vnto you
This litle Duke, the brother to your King:
If you to him hereafter proue vntrue,
Rest most assur'd that such a hainous thing
Shall euer be a blemish to your fame,
And vtterly extinguish your good name.
And though perhaps you thinke my words are vaine,
And that I vndertake a needlesse taske,
To giue aduice, where I should entertaine
Your sacred counsell: and of you should aske,
What I should do in such a case as this,
Whereon depends the hope of all my blisse.
The sacred reuerence, and the great esteeme
I beare to you, forbids me to mistrust
Your loyaltie, and yet you must not deeme
My feare is causlesse, my misdoubts vniust:
For many men to gaine themselues a Crowne,
Haue bene regardlesse whom they did cast downe.
But you vpon your soule do here protest,
You will defend, to th'vtmost of your power,
My sonnes, if any seeme them to molest.
Their yeares are yong, yet springing is their flower;
Long may they liue, increase of ioyes to see:
It fits them die that old and withered be.
I know you may, and doubt not but you will
Be a strong stay to the vnsure estate
Of both my sonnes: if any seeke to spill
Their blouds, you may in time preuent the hate,
And crueltie of such, if you haue care,
With watchfull eye for to discerne the snare.
Since on your trust I do my hopes repose,
And all my future good doth now rely
On the performance of your vowes and oathes,
Feare still the worst, lest all too suddenly
Their deaths be wrought; ô let no foule corruption
Make you consent to innocents destruction.
Yet since the King and Councell did require,
And sent for him, I would not say them nay,
But gaue consent to that they did desire:
[Page]And to the Cardinall, without longer stay,
My litle sonne I gaue, and with a kisse
Tooke leaue of him, and of all earthly blisse.
Whole seas of teares did ouerflow my face,
Griefe stopt my tongue, I could not speake at all:
The little child distild salt teares apace,
And on his mothers name he oft did call:
I was chiefe mourner, he to beare a part,
Sent sighs and teares from his lamenting heart.
Richard the third.
When thus the Boare had seiz'd into his hand,
Them whom he thought were obiects in his way,
He did not long in doubtfull censure stand,
But fell to action without all delay,
Foreknowing well that he that acts an euill,
Must neither thinke on God, nor feare the deuill.
And hauing found a meanes and instrument,
That dared speake vntruths in any thing:
One Doctor Shaw, with scandalous intent,
Preach'd at Pauls crosse, that my deceassed King
A bastard was, vnlawfully begotten:
What hel-hound would such infamie haue spoken?
And that the Duke then being but Protector,
He was the perfect picture of his father;
And therefore he was true and right successor
Vnto the Crowne: the hearers straight did gather
The falshood of the words that he did teach;
And went their way, & wold not heare him preach.
And with his tongue, the touchstone of defame,
He most vntruly there to them did say,
My children bastards were: thus voide of shame,
He sought to worke the ruine and decay
Of me and mine: ô let his soule in hell,
For euermore in endlesse torments dwell.
And more then that, if more then that may be,
Let those that liue of his posteritie,
Hatefull to all, of high or low degree,
Leade odious liues in depth of miserie,
Where neither Sunne nor Moone may giue them light:
Loe this shall be my prayer day and night.
But whither wade I now? I must not rage,
Though extreame griefe doth make my heart to vexe,
And passe decorum for a pensiue stage,
It's but the imperfection of my sexe:
A woman hath no meanes to right her wrong,
But by the sharpe and bitternesse of tongue.
Which if too much I seeme herein to vse,
Condemne me not, but passion that doth cause
Me thus the bounds of mildnesse to refuse,
And vse my tongue, the weapon of our lawes,
And scourge for them that wrongfully offend vs,
And onely refuge left for to defend vs.
When this was bruted by this slandering Doctor,
And that with bastardie my bloud was tainted:
For he was fit to be the diuels Proctor,
[Page]Or tell a tale of Belsabub new painted,
By some magitian lately came from hell:
Such fained things he spared not to tell.
Then did vsurping Richard claime the Crowne,
And by the helpe of Buckingham he gaind
The regall Seate, not caring who went downe,
So he might hit the marke whereat he aimd:
The Crowne by bloud and tyrannie he won,
To friend or foe regardlesse what was done.
Yet though King Richard did desire to see
The death of both my children, whom he thought
Did dim his title to the Crowne; yet he
Could not deuise by whom to haue it wrought:
The fact so odious was, that neuer any
Would vndertake it, though he proued many.
New meanes to trie, a letter was directed
To him that was Lieutenant of the Tower,
One Brackenbury, that as he respected
King Richards fauour, at the instant hower
And sight thereof, he then with speed should slay
The two yong Princes, without all delay.
Sir Robert Brackenbury hauing read
The letter, he did presently reply,
Their bloud should neuer by his meanes be shed,
Though for refusing he were sure to die.
Which answer when the King did heare, he then
Did deeply sweare, there was no trust in men.
I see, quoth he, this world is full of euill,
Promotions soone forgotten, fauors vaine:
I would ha [...]e sent my man vnto the deuill,
But he will giue me leaue to take that paine
My selfe: but yet I hope to find some friends,
That will not faile to bring them to their ends.
And at the last he did find out a mate,
No man, a monster of some tygers kind,
Hoping to raise by crueltie his state;
When he perceiu'd King Richards bloudy mind,
Voide of all grace, possest with villanie,
Offerd himselfe to worke their tragedie.
But now prepare your eares to heare the sound
Of saddest woe, and extreame crueltie:
Was euer such a bloudy butcher found,
That euer dared act such tyrannie,
As was this traitor, Terrill was his name,
That gaue consent to worke his Princes bane?
A strict command, the King by Terrill sent
To Brackenbury, charging him thereby,
That all the keyes he should incontinent
Deliuer vp to Terrill willingly,
For that one night he did the King obay,
Yeeld the keyes, and sadly went his way.
Night being come, that shrowdeth many a sinne
From eyes of men, but not from sight of God:
He knowes the thoughts before the deeds begin,
[Page]And will reuenge and punish with his rod,
Without respect of persons, all alike:
The mightiest King he will in iustice st [...]ike.
Into the Tower by secret dores that night,
Terrill with such as were wrought to his will,
Forrest and Dighton entered by slight
Into their chamber, resolute to kill
The sleeping Princes, who being voide of feare,
Did litle thinke their deaths had bene so neare.
And when the Princes both within one bed
Together slept, embracing one the other,
Those cruell villaines by the diuell led,
The litle brethren in their beds did smother:
Thus from the sleepe that nature forc'd them to,
They neuer wak'd to tell who wrought their wo.
Whether in water, or in sacred ground,
They cast or laid the bodies murthered,
It's yet vnknowne, the place was neuer found,
But in their beds they thus were smothered:
O neuer villaines acted such a deed,
The thought wherof doth make my soule to bleed.
This murther done, this most detested fact,
Being once performed by that damned crew,
Vpon the litle Princes; Terrill packt,
And like some fury to the Court he slew,
The maner how, vnto the King to tell,
And euery accident as it befell.
They had no wounds, by which it might appeare
That violently so their blouds were shed;
But as by natures course they perisht were;
And that their bodies being scarcely dead,
Vnder a paire of stayres within the Tower,
Were cast a prey for Serpents to deuoure.
The bloudy King was pleased with the deed,
But did dislike the basenesse of the place,
Where they had cast the bodies; and with speed,
Terror of conscience, or some sparke of grace
Did worke remorse in him, and therefore he
Gaue charge their bodies should remoued be.
But whither, where, or to what place assign'd,
No history doth to this age relate:
A Priest, some say, their bodies there did find,
And mou'd with pitie, did commiserate,
Such royall babes, of life and Crowne bereft,
Should in so vile a filthy place be left.
And did remoue them, where he thought more fit
And sacred place for princely obsequies:
Which reu'rent deed deserueth to be writ
In golden letters, that posterities
May learne of him, that Christians ought to haue
A decent place to lay their dead in graue.
Then if a generall regard be had
Of those that die, although they be but such,
Whose births were base, whose liues were thought but bad:
[Page]The honor due to Princes is so much,
As gods on earth they honor'd ought to be
Of all estates, of high or low degree.
When I had heard of this extremest ill,
Griefe stopt my speech, sorrowes opprest my heart:
I was enforc'd, although against my will,
From all delights and pleasures to depart,
Nothing was left but sorrow, griefe and care,
Thus all my hope was turnd to sad despaire.
Let neuer heauens yeeld such a chearfull smile,
That may yeeld comfort to that damned soule,
That did not feare to do a deed so vile;
Let hellish furies, all their names inrole
In that blacke book, which to augment their paine,
As record of their deeds doth still remaine.
Let vgliest shape of most abhorred deuill,
Fire-spitting fiends in that infernall lake,
Dayly torment them that deuisde this euill,
Or gaue consent, or the least part did take,
To murther him that was their lawfull King,
And crop his flower, whilst it was in the spring.
To breake the branch that did but newly bud;
Nay more then so, to plucke vp by the roote,
The springing plant next of the royall bloud:
Though this to tell my griefe, is litle boote,
And all in vaine I do my woes repleate,
Because in me all sorrowes are compleate.
Yet needs I must, nature enforceth me,
I was their mother, they the royall seed
Of my deare Lord, whom yet me thinkes I see
Vrging reuenge for this most wicked deed;
And shall not I with him still beare a part,
In prayer, in woe, in ioy, or griefe of heart?
O needs I must, and euer gladly will
Follow his ghost, with seruiceable loue,
And euermore be prest and ready still,
With sighes and teares t'importune mightie loue,
To grant the prayers of my beloued King,
For his desires were iust in euery thing.
If more I speake then well be cometh me;
In curious eye and eare if I too farre
Forget my selfe, let this my answer be,
He was my glorious Sun, no twinkling starre:
They that on earth do beare the Scepter royall,
To them their subiects hearts ought to be loyall.
Then if a subiect must adore his King;
If he that is the King of Kings, command
Faith, dutie, loue, of all in euery thing
To be performd, if firme his act shall stand;
Why then much more should I that was his wife,
Performe my dutie in and after life.
For after life the ghost hath libertie,
Of ioyes or griefe to beare a feeling part:
And though some women through infirmitie,
[Page]Their frailtie or their ficklenesse of heart,
When death once seizeth on their dearest friend,
Their former loues are quickly at an end:
Yet what of that, my thoughts were pitcht on hie,
I lou'd no meaner person then a King;
Then with his life why should my fancies die?
Why should succeeding ages after sing
To my reproch, that I that was a Queene,
In baser choice to sport was euer seene?
Richard the third, rightly cald th'vsurper,
Requited those that were his trustie friends
With sodaine death; and his deuice to further,
Plotted vntruths to bring them to their ends:
Then whē they thought their fortunes were at hiest,
Then was their woe their fall, and death the niest.
But good or bad, this tyrant being King,
Who so he hated, or did stand in doubt,
Would not consent to him in euery thing,
To take their liues, all wayes he cast about,
By sodaine action, or surmisde pretence,
Without their heads he sent them packing thence.
In this extreame, alas, what way was left
For wretched me, but to despaire and die?
Of hope and hap, of friends and all bereft,
What should I do, or whither should I flie?
But still in danger of my mortall foe,
To wish for death the end of earthly woe.
Two yeares he reign'd in feare and bloudie strife,
In which meane time in Sanctuarie I
Did shroud my selfe, to saue my wretched life,
And linger out my dayes in miserie:
Though death farre better was in such a case,
My womans heart could hardly death embrace.
His breach of faith, his odious cruelties,
First caused Buckingham to leuie armes:
And in the North it caused mutinies,
Men sought to 'venge the many grieuous harmes,
That wrongfully they saw him dayly do
To all estates, as well to friend as foe.
This made Earle Richmond find so many friends,
When he layd claime vnto the English Crowne:
Who doth not wish all tyrants speedie ends?
Who will not helpe to cast a tyrant downe?
The King of Kings that all mens acts doth see,
Will neuer let such men vnpunisht be.
Not long before Earle Richmond came to shore,
King Richard sent to me, perswading men
To make excuse for what was done before,
With promises of gracious proffers then:
They layd long siege vnto my weake defence,
With vowes and oaths to cleare him from offence.
With kindest promises of future good,
To me or any one that I could name:
I well considering in what case I stood,
[Page]Grew milder, and at last did seeme to frame
My selfe as pliant to their masters will,
Yet was my heart free from one thought of ill.
The Eagle towring in the loftie skie,
If he vnto his prey do kindnesse vse,
Vnder whose stroake their life or death doth lie:
Were it not madnesse in them to refuse
His profferd fauour, since they must obay
His will, because they cannot scape away?
Such was my case, although not so considered:
He was the Eagle that was mounted hie,
I and my friends the prey discomforted,
Stood at his will to liue or else to die;
Our safeties he did proffer, gold and loue,
I was content our better haps to proue.
He did desire, but that I would conceiue
A good opinion of his deeds to come,
And not my selfe so fondly to deceiue,
Mistaking things that then were past and done:
Alas, I knew it was then in his power,
To date our liues one day, or but an hower.
My secret foes, if any such there were,
They knew, or at the least they might haue knowne,
I wisht Earle Richmond well, and ioyd to heare
That Richards state should soone be ouerthrowne:
I did procure my friends, with power and will,
To aide the Earle, King Richards bloud to spill.
Which though in secret to my friends I said,
I durst not but seeme pleased to forgiue
All former faults, although in heart I praid,
That cruell Richard might no longer liue
To bathe in bloud: full oft on bended knee,
With teares I praid, that I his death might see.
What should I hold you in a long discourse?
Faire words preuaild, and I did giue consent;
Knowing our fortunes hardly could be worse,
I with my daughters to his pallace went:
Where he did giue cōmand, and straightly charge,
Our welcome should be great, our freedome large.
I knew the time was neare, and then at hand,
That Henry Earle of Richmond meant to trie,
In warlike battell, with a valiant band,
Either to winne the Crowne, or else to die:
I knew what Noble men would take his part,
I gaind him friends, and gaue to his my heart.
I ioyd to heare that Richard lost the field;
Who did not pray to see his ouerthrow?
He being slaine, who did not freely yeeld?
Each man was glad, and wisht it might be so:
Of Yorke and Lancaster then grew the vnion,
Whose former strife wrought many mens cōfusion.
The conquering King, according to his oath,
Was married to my daughter presently:
Which to helpe forward no man seemed loth,
[Page]But all were aiders, as fidelitie
Did bind them to performe: this being done,
I ioyd once more to haue a King my sonne.
Foole that I was, to glorie in the thing
Which prou'd to me vnpleasant in the end:
I like the swan, before my death did sing,
As litle knowing what they did intend,
That secretly conspir'd to worke my fall,
And sodainly did turne my sweete to gall.
Henry the 7.
The second yeare of this King Henries raigne,
The Councell did decree, that wretched I,
The more to aggrauate my griefe and paine,
Should lose my lands, and liue in penurie,
Because I did accept in outward show,
Of Richards kindnesse. They did litle know,
How easily a captiuated man,
Will yeeld to him that is his conqueror,
And gladly please in any thing he can,
The fury of a sauage tormenter,
Especially in such a case as this,
Where wil might hurt, but could not help my wish.
I had too lately knowne his bloudy mind,
I was vnable to withstand his force:
I knew no place of safetie where to find,
My state was like to grow from bad to worse:
Which made me willingly accept the good
That he did vow to me and to my blood.
Alas, what could a silly woman do?
My female frailtie might haue colourd this:
I feard to taste the furie of my foe,
Because my strength was all too weake for his:
I timorously did feare the bloudie slaughters,
That he might do to me and to my daughters.
What hurt or danger to Earle Richmonds plot,
Could my dissembled peace with Richard be?
What face so faire, but that a fault or spot,
A partiall Iudge will say, he there doth see?
It's better die, and not to liue at all,
Then be so weake, with euery blast to fall.
When I was grac'd with fauour of my King,
Whilst he did liue that did support and stay
Those whom I pleasde into his grace to bring,
All then was iust that I would do or say:
He being gone, and that I was declining,
At my estate how many were repining?
Had I bene cruell, couetous or strange,
When poore distressed suters to me cride,
From good conceit to bad, then might they change:
Had I the needy naked soule denide
Of any helpe, that then was in my power,
Then had I liu'd too long, if but an hower.
But if my heart did pitie widowes teares,
The fatherlesse if I did helpe to right,
And set the needie free from many feares,
[Page]Wherewith they were opprest by men of might:
To all estates since I was then a friend,
Why should their gratefulnesse so quickly end?
And more then so, not onely to forget
Good turnes once done, but to requite them ill,
That well deseru'd of all in each respect;
So farre so blindly to be led by will,
Or vile ingratitude, the filthiest sinne,
That euer humane creatures liued in.
If this had hapned in a land vnknowne,
Where I had neuer liued as a Queene:
Had this bene done by any but my owne,
My griefes should lesse in all respects haue beene:
What made the mightie Caesar wish to die?
The griefe that Brutus was his enemie.
I thought all stormes of misery were past,
My daughter being married to the King;
I thought my pleasures then would euer last,
I neuer lookt for any change of thing:
My innocencie would not let me feare,
The grieuous censure that was then so neare.
Bermondsey Abbey in Southwarke neare London
With wounded heart, the remnant of my dayes,
In th'Abbey of Bermondsey in teares I spent:
Still death I wisht, and hated those delayes,
That fearfull frailtie did to me present:
I cald for death, and weary was to liue,
For well I knew life could no pleasures giue.
And when the end of all my griefes drew nie,
And that my date of life was neare expired,
With willing heart I was content to die:
And Atropos I earnestly desired,
To cut the threed that did prolong my life,
Because in me all sorrowes were so rife.
My corps being dead, to Windsor was conuaid,
And there interred fitting my degree,
Euen in that place where my deare Lord was laid,
There at this day the tombe is yet to see:
Vnto which place, now I my griefes haue told,
I must returne and shroud my selfe in mold.
Then did this Queene returne vnto her rest,
And vanisht, leauing to my memorie
Here to relate what she to me rehearst:
In which recitall, if infirmitie
Cause me forget that which I should haue spoken:
Imagine that which I haue now forgotten.
If such the world in former times hath beene,
That highest states most subiect were to fall:
How true said she, that late was Englands Queene,
When she her selfe at that time was in thrall,
Loe yonder milk-maid liues more merrily,
It was the say­ing of Queene Elizabeth, when she was prisoner in the time of Queen Mary.
Then I, that am of noble progenie?
Not to be great, is therefore to be sure
From fortunes wracke: for this we dayly see,
The highest trees do sharpest stormes endure;
[Page]When those that planted in the valley be,
Do seldome feare, and neuer feele the frowne
Of boisterous stormes, that others doth cast downe.
A vertuous life suruiues, when cruell death
Hath soule from earthly body seuered,
And hath bereft vs of our vitall breath,
Yet worthy deeds should be remembered:
Succeeding ages should them deifie,
Whose liues and deaths were full of pietie.
But what auaileth it to haue bene great,
Or what, to haue bene friendly vnto many?
When they shall come to sit in sorrowes seate,
Themselues shall seldome be relieu'd by any:
For misery hath many lookers on,
And some that pitie, but adiutors none.
This Queene was by descent of noble blood,
Of vertuous life: yet in obliuions graue,
How long hath she in darke obscurenesse stood?
Shall good deserts, such cold requitall haue?
Vngratefull minds, that were by dutie bound,
Her name and fame vnto the world to sound.
Queenes Colledge, which of her did take the name,
In Cambridge as a monument doth stand,
A worthy deed, deseruing endlesse fame;
VVhich to maintaine, she gaue sufficient land:
And some which in that Colledge haue bene bred,
Might wel haue raisd her fame though she be dead.
Thus haue you heard, although abruptly pend,
The fortunes of this Queene, and of her friends:
Princes as well as beggers do depend
On the Almighties will: what ere he sends,
None can preuent, or alter his decree,
So firme, so sure his secret iudgements be.
FINIS.

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