POEMS: By Michaell Draiton Esquire.
N L
LONDON, Printed for N. Ling. 1605.
The Arguments.
- THe Barrons warres.
- Englands Heroicall Epistles.
- Idea.
- The Legend of Robert Duke of Normandie.
- The Legend of Matilda.
- The Legend of Pierce Gaueston.
To Sir Walter Aston, Knight of the honourable order of the Bath, and my most worthy Patron.
I Will not striue m'invention to inforce,
With needlesse words your eyes to entertaine,
T'obserue the formall ordinarie course
That euerie one so vulgarly doth faine:
Our interchanged and deliberate choise,
Is with more firme and true election sorted,
Then stands in censure of the common voice,
That with light humor fondly is transported:
Nor take I patterne of an others praise,
Then what my pen may constantly avow,
Nor walke more publique nor obscurer waies
Then vertue bids, and iudgement will allow;
So shall my loue, and best endeuours serue you,
And still shall studie, still so to deserue you.
Michaell Drayton.
To the Reader.
THat at first I made choise of this argument, I haue not as yet repented me for if the Muse haue not much abvsed me, it was most worthy to haue found a more worthie Pen then mine owne; for the Barrons warres, (omitting the qualitie of those Armes, whereof I haue not heere to speake) were surely as well for their length in continuance, as for their manifold bloodshed, and multitude of horrid accidents, meet matter for trumpet or tragedy. Therefore, as at first the dignitie of the thing was the motiue of the doing, so the cause of this my second greater labour was the insufficient handkung of the first, which though it were more then boldnesse to venter on so noble an argument without leisure, and studie cōpetent, either of which trauell hardly affoords; yet the importunitie of friends made me, contrarie to mine own iudgement, take, vndertakem & publish it, so as the world hath seene; but herein I intend not to be too exact, as if eyther it needed too much excuse (knowing, that euen as it was it ought to haue passed for better then some would suffer, who can hardly thinke any thing hath sauour but their own, though neuer so vnsauoury) or as if I should seeme now to haue excelled my selfe, and failing in my hopes, be kept without excuse. Grammaticasters haue quarreled at the title of Mortimeriados, as if it had beene a sinne against Syntaxis to haue subscribed it in the second case, but not their idle reproofe hath made mee now abstaine from fronting it by the name of Mortimer at all, but the same better aduise which hath caused me to alter the whole; and where before [Page] the stanza was of seauen lines, wherein there are two couplets, as in this figure appeareth.
the often harmonie thereof softned the verse more then the maiesty of the subiect would permit, vnlesse they had all bin Geminels, or couplets. Therefore, (but not without fashioning the whole frame) I chose Ariostos stanza, of all other the most complete and best proportioned, consisting of eight, six interwouen, and a couplet in base.
The Quadrin doth neuer double, or to v [...]e a word of He raldrie, neuer bringeth forth Gemells. The Quiazain too soone. The Sostin hath Twinnes in the base, but they detaine not the Musicke nor the Cloze (as Musitians terme it) long enough for an Epicke Poeme; The stanza of seauen is touched before; This of eight both holds the tune cleane through to the base of the columne, (which is the couplet, the foote or bottome) and closeth not but with a full satisfaction to the care, for so long detention.
Briefely, this sort of stanza hath in it, maiestie, perfection and soliditie, resembling the pillar which in Architecture is called the Tuscan, whose shaft is of six diameters, and bases of two. The other reasons this place will not beare, but generally all stanzas are in my opinion but tyrants and torturers, when they make inuention they their number, which sometime would otherwise scantle it selfe. A fault that [Page] great Maisters in this Art striue to auoide. Concerning the diuision which I vse in this Poeme, I am not ignorant that antiquitie hath vsed to distinguish workes into Bookes, and euery one to beare the number of their order, Homers [...]liads, and Vlysiads indeede are distinguished by seuerall letters of the Greeke Alphabet, as all the world kn [...]wes, and not by the numerall letters onely, which to lot [...] are digit, and afterward compound; the Alpha being our vnite, for the Greeks had no figures nor ciphers in their Arithmeticke. Virgils Aeneis, Statius Theba [...]s, Silius worke of the Carthaginian warre, Illyricus Argonauticks, Vidas Christeis, are all diuided into books. The Italians vse Cantos, and so our first late great Reformer Master Spenser; that I assume another name for the sections in this volume, cannot be disgratious nor vnauowable.
Lastly, if I haue not already exceeded the length of an Epistle, I am to intreats, that he who will (as any man may that will) make himselfe a partie to this of ours, would be pleased to remember that Spartan Prince, who being found by certaine Ambassadors playing among his children, requested them to forbeare to censure, till also they had some of their owne. To such I giue as ample power and priuiledge as euer Ius lib [...]rorum coulain Rome, crauing backe againe at their hands by a regrant, the like of that which I impart; for great reason there is, that they should vndergoe the licence which themselues challenge, and suffer that in their fames which they would wrongly put vpon others, according to the most indifferent law of the Talio. Fare you well.
To M. Michaell Drayton.
WHat ornament might I deuise to fit
Th'aspiring height of thy admired spirit?
Or what faire Garland worthy is to sit
On thy blest browes, that compasse in all merit?
Thou shalt not crowned be with common Bayes,
Because for thee it is a crowne too low,
Apolloes tree can yeeld thee simple praise,
It is too dull a vesture for thy brow;
But with a wreathe of starres shalt thou be crown'd,
VVhich when thy working temples do sustaine,
VVill like the Spheares be euer moouing round,
After the royall musicke of thy braine:
Thy skill doth equall
Phoebus, not thy birth,
He to heauen giues musicke, thou to earth.
Thomas Greene.
To M. Michaell Drayton.
THose painefull wits, which natures depth admire,
And view the causes of vnconstant strife,
Doe tremble least the Vniuerse expire,
Through lasting iarres, the enemies of life,
On earthly signes let not such Sages looke,
Nor on the cleere aspects of hopefull starres;
But learne the worlds continuance from thy booke,
which frames past natures force eternall warres;
wherein the Mases shewing perfect glory,
Adorne it so with gracefull harmonie,
That all the acts of this lamented story,
Seeme not perform'd for peoples libertie:
Nor through the awe of an imperious King,
But that thy verses their deepe wounds might sing.
Iohn Beaumont.
THE FIRST BOOKE of the Barrons warres.
The Argument.
The grieuous plagues and the prodigious signes
That this great warre and slaughter doe foreshow,
Th'especiall cause the Baronage combines,
The Queenes strong griefe, whence many troubles grow,
The time by course vnto our fallinclines,
And how each country doth to battell goe;
What cause to yeeld, the
Mortimers pretend,
And their commitment perfecting the end.
1
THe bloodiefactions, and rebellious pride
Of a strong nation, whose vnmanag'd might
Them from their naturall Soueraigne did diuide,
Their due subiection, and his lawfull right,
Whom their light error loosely doth misguide,
Vrg'd by lewd Minions tyrannous despight;
Me from soft layes, and tender loues doth bring,
Of dreadfull fights, and horred warres to sing.
2
What hellish furie poysned your hie blood,
Or should bewitch you with accursed charmes,
That by pretending of the generall good,
Rashly extrudes you to tumultuous armes,
And from the safetie wherein late you stood,
Re
[...]t of all taste, and feeling of your harmes,
That France and Belgia with affrighted eyes,
Were sad beholders of your miseries.
3
T
[...]ueterate ranckor in their bosoms bred,
Who for their charter wag'd a former war,
Or through your veines, this raging venom spred,
Whose next-succeeding Nephewes now you are,
Or that hote gore your bowes in conquest shed,
Hauing enlarg'd your Countries bounds so far,
Ensigne to ensigne furiously oppose,
With blades of Bilbo dealing English blowes.
4
O thou the great director of my Muse,
On whose free bountie all my powers depend,
Into my breast a sacred fire infuse,
Rauish my spirit this great worke to attend;
Let the still night my laboured lines peruse,
That when my Poems gaine their wished end,
They whose sad eyes shall reade this tragique story,
In my weake hand shall see thy might and glory.
5
What Care would plot, Dissentions quickely crosse,
Which like an earthquake rends the tottering state,
By which abroade we beare a publique losse,
Betrayd at home by meanes of priuate hate;
Whilst vs those strange calamities doe tosse,
(The daily nurse of mutinous debate)
Confusion still our countries peace confounds,
No helpe at hand, and mortall all our wounds.
6
Thou Church then swelling in thy mightinesse,
Tending the care and safetie of the soule;
O nurse not factions flowing in excesse,
That with thy members shouldst their griefe condole,
In thee rests power this outrage to represse,
Which might thy zeale and sanctitie enrole,
Come thou in purenesse meekely with the word,
Lay not thy hand to the vnhalowed sword.
7
Blood-thirsting warre arising first from hell,
And in progression seizing on this Ile,
Where it before neere forty yeeres did dwell,
And with pollution horribly defile,
By which so many a woorthy English fell,
By our first
Edward banished awhile,
Transferd by Fortune to the Scottish meare,
To ransacke that, as it had rauinde heere.
8
Where hovering still with inauspicious wings
About the verge of these distempered climes,
Returning now, new errour hether brings,
To stirre vs vp to these disastrous crimes,
Weakeneth our power by oft diminishings;
And taking holde on these vnsetled times,
Forcing our frailty sensually at length,
Crackt the stiffe nerves that knit our antient strength.
9
Whose frightfull vision, at the first approach,
With violent madnes strooke that desperate age,
So many sundry miseries abroach,
Giuing full speed to their vnbrideled rage
That did our antient libertie encroach,
And in these strong conspiracies ingage,
The worthiest blood the subiects losse to bring,
By innaturall wrongs vnto their naturall king.
10
When in the North whilst horror yet was yoong,
These dangerous seasons swiftly comming on,
Whilst o're our heads portentious meteors hung,
And in the skies sterne Comets brightly shone,
Prodigious births oft intermixt among,
Such as before to times had beene vnknowne,
In bloody issues forth the earth doth breake,
Weeping for vs, whose woes it could not speake.
11
When by the rankenes of contagious aire,
A mortall plague inuadeth man and beast,
Which soone disperst, and raging every where,
In doubt the same too quickely should have ceast,
More to confirme the certaintie of feare
By cruell famine haplesly enereast;
As though the heauens in their remisfull doome,
Tooke those best lou'd from wor
[...]er daies to come.
12
The leuell course that we propose to goe
Now to th'intent you may more plainely see,
And that we euery circumstance may show
The state of things, and truely what they be,
And with what skill, or proiect we bestow,
As our accurrents happen in degree.
From these portents we now diuert our view,
To bring to birth the horrors that ensue.
13
The calling backe of banisht
Gaueston,
Gainst which the Barrons were to
Longshanks sworne,
That insolent lascivious Minion,
A Soueraignes blemish, and a countries scorne,
The signiories, and great promotion,
Him in his lawlesse courses to suborne,
Stirres vp that hatefull and outragious strife,
That cost ere long so many an English life,
14
O worthy
La
[...]y, hadst thou sparde that breath
Which shortly after Nature thee denide,
To
Lancaster deliuered at thy death,
To whom thy onely daughter was affide,
That this sterne warre too quickely publisheth,
To ayde the Barrons gainst that Minions pride,
Thy Earledomes, lands, and titles of renowne,
Had not so soone returnd vnto the Crowne.
15
The Lordships
Bruse vnto the
Spensers past,
Crossing the Barrons vehement desire,
As from
Ioues hand that fearefull lightning cast,
When fifty townes lay spent in enuious fire,
Alas too vaine and prodigall a waste;
The strong effect of their conceived ire,
Vrging the weake King with a violent hand,
T'abiure those false Lordes from the troubled land.
16
When the faire Queene that progressing in
Kent,
Lastly denide her entrance into
Leedes,
Whom
Badlesmere vnkindly dooth preuent;
Who gainst his Soueraigne in this course proceedes,
As adding further to this discontent,
One of the springs which this great mischiefe feedes,
Heaping on rage and horror more and more,
To thrust on that which went too fast before.
17
Which more and more, a kingly rage increast,
Moou'd with the wrongs of
Gaueston disgraded,
Which had so long beene setled in his breast,
That all his powers it wholy had inuaded,
Giuing the
Spensers an assured rest,
By whom his reasons chiefly are perswaded,
By whose lewd counsells he is onely led,
To leaue his true Queene, and his lawfull bed,
18
That now herselfe who while she stood in grace,
Applied her powers these discords to appease
When yet confusion had not fully place,
Nor former times so dangerous as these,
A party now in theyr afflicted case,
A willing hand to his destruction layes,
That time whose soft palme heals the wound of war,
May cure the soare, but neuer close the scar.
19
In all this heate his greatnes first began,
The serious subiect of our sadder vaine,
Braue
Mortimer, that euer-matchlesse man,
Of the old Heroes great and God-like straine,
For whom invention dooing best it can,
His weight of honour hardly can sustaine,
Bearing his name immortaliz'd and hie,
When he in earth vnnumbred times shall lie.
20
That vncle now (whose name this Nephew bare,
The onely comfort of the wofull Queene)
Who from his cradle held him as his care,
In whom the hope of that great name was seene,
For this young Lord now wisely doth prepare,
Whilst yet this deepe hart-goaring wound is greene,
And on this faire aduantage firmely wrought,
To place him highly in her princely thought.
21
At whose deliberate and vnusuall byrth,
The heauens were said to counsell to retire,
And in aspects of happinesse and mirth,
Breath'd him a spirit insatiatly t'aspire,
That tooke no mixture of the ponderous earth,
But all comprest of cleere ascending fire,
So well made vp, that such an one as he,
Ioue in a man like
Mortimer would be.
22
The temper of that nobler moouing part,
With such rare purenesse rectified his blood,
Raising the powers of his resolued hart,
Too prowd to be lockt vp within a flood,
That no misfortune possibly could thwart;
Which from the natiue greatnesse where it stood,
Euen by the vertue of a piercing eye,
Shew'd that his pitch was boundlesse as the sky.
23
Worthy the grand-child of so great a Lord,
Who whilst first
Edward fortunately raign'd,
Reedified great
Arthurs auncient boord,
The seate at goodly
Kennelworth ordain'd,
The order of old Knighthood there restor'd,
To which a hundreth duely appertain'd
With all the grace, and beauties of a Court,
As best became that braue and martiall sport.
24
The hart-swolne Lords with furie set on fire,
Whom
Edwards wrongs to vengeance still prouoke,
With
Lancaster and
Hartfoord now conspire
No more to beare the
Spensers seruile yoke.
And thus whilst all a mutuall change desire,
The ancient bonds of their allegeance broke,
Resolu'd with blood their libertie to buy,
And in this quarrell vow'd to liue and dye.
25
What priuiledge hath our free birth? (say they)
Or in our blood what vertue doth remaine,
To each lasciuious Minion made a pray,
That vs, and our nobilitie disdaine,
Whilst they tryumphing boast of our decay?
Either those spirits we do not now retaine
That were our fathers, or by fate we fall
Both from their greatnes, liberty and all.
26
Honour deiected from that soueraigne state,
From whence at first it challenged a being,
Now prostitute to infamy and hate,
As with it selfe in all things disagreeing,
So out of order, disproportionate,
From her faire course preposterously flying,
Whilst others as themselues, and onely wee
Are not held those we would but seeme to bee.
27
Then to what end hath our great conquest seru'd,
Those acts achiued by the Norman sword,
Our Charters, patents, or our deeds reseru'd,
Our offices, and tytles to record,
The crests that on our monuments are caru'd,
If they to vs no greater good affoord?
Thus doe they murmure euery one apart,
With many a vext soule, many a grieued hart.
28
Whilst this sad Queene to depth of sorrow throwne,
Wherein she wastes her flower of youth away,
Beyond beliefe to all but heauen vnknowne,
This quickning sparke, where yet it buried lay,
By the sharpe breath of desperate faction blowne,
Conuerts her long night to the wished day,
The wofull winter of misfortune cheering,
As the darke world at the bright sunnes appearing.
29
Yet ill perplex'd amid these hard extreames,
All mean
[...]s deprest her safety to preferre,
Depriu'd of those late comfortable beames,
Whose want might make her the more easly erre,
Her hopes relinquisht like deceiptfull dreames,
Which in her breast such sundry passions stirre,
Where strugling which ech other should controule
Worke strange confusion in her troubled soule.
30
That now disabled of all soveraigne state,
That to her graces rightly did belong,
To be reiected, and repudiate,
So true a Lady, goodly, faire and yoong,
Which with more feruor still dooth intimate
Her too-deepe-setled and inveterate wrong,
What wisedome would, a womans will denies,
With arguments of her indignities.
31
When to effect the angry Fates pursue
In heauens high Court that long time did depend,
When these full mischiefes to a ripenesse grew,
And now the haruest hastning in the end,
And all these lines into one centre drew,
Which way soe're they seemingly extend;
All these together in proportion laide,
Each breath of hope, a gale of certaine aide.
32
Now is the time when
Mortimer doth enter,
Of great imployment in this tragicke act,
His youth and courage boldly bid him venter,
And tell him still how strongly he was backt;
And at this instant in due season sent her,
When the streight course to her desire is tract,
(And but vpon more certaintie doth stay)
By a direct, what though a dangerous way?
33
This dreadfull Commet drew her wondring eie,
Which now beganne his golden head to reare,
Whose glorious fixure in so faire a skie,
Strikes the beholder with a chilly feare,
And in a Region eleuate and hie,
And by the forme wherein it did appeare,
As the most skilfull seriously divine,
Foreshew'd a kingdome shortly to decline.
34
Yet still recoyling at the
Spencers power,
As often checkt with their intemperate pride,
Th'vnconstant Barrons wauering euery howre,
The fierce incounter of this boysterous tide,
That easily might their liuelihoode deuoure,
Had she not those that skilfully could guide,
She from suspition craftily retires,
Carelesse in shew, of what she most desires.
35
Dissembling griefe, as one that knew not ill;
So can she rule the greatnes of her mind,
As a most perfect Rectoresse of her will,
Aboue the vsuall weakenes of her kind;
For all this storme immooueable and still,
Her secret drift the wisest misse to find;
Nor will she know what (yet) these factions meant,
With a pleasd eie to sooth sad Discontent.
36
The least suspition cunningly to heale,
Still in her lookes humilitie she beares,
The safest way with mightinesse to deale,
So Policie Religions habite weares;
Tis now no time her greeuance to reueale,
Hee's mad which takes a Lyon by the eares,
This knew the Queene, exampled by the wise,
This must they learne that rightly temporize.
37
The learnedst Bishop
Torleton in the land,
Vpon a text of Politickes to preach,
Which he long studying, well did vnderstand,
And by a methode could as aptly teach,
That was a Prelate of a potent hand,
Wise were the man could goe beyond his reach:
This subtile Tutor
Isabell had taught,
In nicer poynts than euer
Edward sought.
38
Rage which no limits longer can containe,
Lastly breakes foorth into a publique flame,
Then slipp'd occasion better to regaine,
When to their purpose things sofitly frame,
And now discerned visibly and plaine,
When treason boldly dare it selfe proclaime,
Casting aside all secular disguise,
Leading prowd legions furiously to rise.
39
As
Severne lately in her ebbes that sanke,
Vast and forsaken leaues th'vncouered sands,
Fetching full tides, luxurious, hie, and ranke,
Seemes in her pride t'inuade the neighbouring lands,
Breaking her limits, couering all the banks,
Threatning the prowde hilles with her watry handes,
As though she meant her Empery to haue,
Where euen but lately she beheld her graue.
40
Through all the land, from places farre and neere,
Led to the field as Fortune lots their side,
(With th'auntient weapons vsde in warre to beare)
As those directed whom they chose their guide,
Or else perhaps as they affected were,
Or as by friendship, or by duetie tide,
Swayde by the strength and motion of their blood,
No cause examin'd, be it bad or good.
41
From Norfolke, and the countries of the East,
That with the long pyke best could mannage fight,
The men of Kent vnconquer'd of the rest,
That to this day maintaine their ancient right,
And for their strength that we account the best,
The Cornishmen, most actiue, bold, and light,
Those neere the plaine that gleaue and polax weeld,
And claime for due vaward of the field.
42
The noble Britton sprung of
Illyon race,
From Lancashiere most famous for their bowes,
With those of Cheshiere, chiefest for their place,
Men of such bone, as onely made for blowes,
That for their faith are had in speciall grace,
And as the guard vnto the Soueraigne goes;
Those of the North in feuds so deadly fell,
That for their speare and horsemanship excell.
43
For euery vse experience could espy
Such as in Fens and Marsh-lands vse to trade,
The doubtfull foards and passages to try,
With stilts and loapstaues that do aptliest wade,
And fit'st for scowts and Currers to discry,
Those from the Mines with pickaxe, and with spade,
For Pyoners best, that for intrenching are,
Men chiefly needefull in the vse of war.
44
O noble Nation furnished with Armes,
So full of spirit, so eminent alone,
Had heauen but blest thee to foresee these harmes,
And as thy valiant Nephewes to haue gone,
Paris,
[...]oan, Orleance shaking with alarmes,
As the bright Sunne thy glorie then had shone;
To other Realmes thou hadst transferd this chance,
Nor had your sons been first that conquerd France.
45
And thus on all hands making for their rest,
And now set forward for this mightie day,
Where euery one prepares to do his best,
When in successe their liues and fortunes lay;
No crosse euent their purposes to wrest,
Where now they stand in so direct a way;
And whilst they play this strange & doubtfull game,
The Queene stands by, and onely giues the ayme.
46
When this braue Lord his foote had scarcely set
Into the road where Fortune had to deale,
But she disposd his forward course to let,
Her lewd condition quickly doth reueale,
Glory to her vaine deitie to get,
By him, whose birth did beare her omenous seale,
Winning occasion from this very hower,
In him to proue and manifest her power.
47
As when we see the earely rising Sunne,
With his faire beames to emulate our sight,
And when his course but newly is begunne,
The humorous fogges depriue his wished light,
Till through the moist clouds his cleare forehead run,
Climing the noonsted in his gorgeous height:
His bright beginning fortune hindreth thus,
To make the rest more rich, more glorious.
48
The King discreetely that considered,
The space of earth whereon the Barrons stand,
What were their powers to them contributed,
Now being himselfe but partner of his land,
And of the strength and army that heeded,
Gainst them that doe so great a power command,
In which t'was well he did so wisely looke,
The taske was great that now he vndertooke.
49
And warn'd by danger to mis-doubt the worst,
In equall scales whilst eithers fortune hung,
Must now performe the vtmost that he durst,
Or vndergoe the burden of his wrong;
As good to stirre, as after be inforst
To stop the head whence many euills sprung:
Now with the marchers thinkes it best beginne,
Which first must loose, ere he could hope to winne.
50
The
Mortimers being men of greatest might,
Whose name was dreadfull, and commanded far,
Sturdie to manage, of a haughtie spright,
Strongly aly'd much followed, popular,
On whom if thus he happily could light,
He hopes more easly to conclude this war;
Which he intendeth speedily to try,
To quit that first, which most stood in his eye.
51
For which he expeditiously prouided
That part of land into his power to get,
Which if made good, might keepe them still diuided,
Their combination cunningly to let,
Who being couioyn'd, would be too strongly sided,
Two, so great strengths together safely met,
The face of warre would looke so sterne and great,
As well might threat to heaue him from his seate.
52
Wherefore from London strongly setting forth,
With a faire Army furnish'd of the best,
Accompany'd with frends of greatest worth,
With whom there's many a gallant spirit is prest;
Great
Lancaster, the Lord of all the North,
The
Mortimers are Maisters of the West,
Hee towards mid England makes, the way twixt either,
Which they must crosse, ere they could com together.
53
And thus inueagled with delightfull hope,
Stowtly to front and shoulder with debate,
Knowing to meete with a resolued troupe
That came prepar'd with courage, and with hate,
Whose stubborne Crests if he inforc'd to stoope,
He now must tempt some great and powrefull fate;
And through sterne guards of swords & i
[...]efull flame,
Make way to peace, and propagate his name.
54
When now the Marchers well vpon their way,
(Expecting such should promis'd succour bring
Which all this while abus'd them by delay)
Are suddainely encountred by a King,
And now perceiue their dilatory stay
To be the causer of their ruining,
How neere their bosoms blacke destruction stood,
With open iawes prepared for their blood.
55
And by the shifting of inconstant wind,
Seeing what weather they were like to meet,
Which (euen) at first so aukwardly they find
Ere they could yet giue sea-roomth to their fleet,
Cleane from their course, and cast so far behind,
And yet in perrill euery howre to split,
Some vnknowne harbor suddainely must sound,
Or runne their fortunes desprately on ground.
56
The elder peere, graue, politique, and wise,
Which had all dangers absolutely scand,
Finding high time his Nephew to aduise,
Since now their state stood on this desperate hand,
And from this mischiefe many more to rise,
With long experience learn'd to vnderstand:
Nephew (saith he) t'is longer vaine to striue,
Counsell best serues our safetie to contriue.
57
The downe-right perill present in our eye
Not to be shund, what certaine end t'assures;
The next, the weight that on our fall doth lie,
And what our life to our designe procures,
Each hope, and doubt that doth arise thereby,
Prouing with iudgement how the same endures:
For who obserues strict pollicies true lawes,
Shifts his proceeding to the varying cause.
58
To hazard fight with the Emperiall powers,
May our small troupes vndoubtedly appall,
A desperate end vs willingly deuours;
Yeelding our selues, by this wee loose not all,
We leaue our friends this litttle force of ours,
Reseru'd for them, though haplesly we fall;
That shew of weaknes hath a glorious hand,
That falls it selfe, to make the cause to stand.
59
Twixt inexpected and so dangerous ills,
That's best wherein we smallest perrill see,
A course that reason necessary wills,
And that doth most with pollicie agree,
The idle vulgar breath it nothing skils,
T'is sound discretion must our Pylot be,
He that doth still the fayrest meane preferre,
Answers opinion how so ere he erre.
60
And to the worl
[...]
[...]s eye seeming yet so strong,
By our discending willingly from thence,
May vrge the shew of our opposed wrong
Rather b'inforcement then fore-thought pretence,
Leauing th'aduantage doth to vs belong,
May qualifie the nature of th'offence,
Men are not alwayes incident to losse,
When Fortune seemes their forward cause to crosse.
61
Nor giue we enuie absolute accesse,
To lay our fall vpon thy forward mind,
Ther's neerer meanes this mischiefe to redresse,
And make succesfull what is yet behinde,
Nor of our hope vs wholy dispossesse,
Fortune is euer variously inclind,
And a small vantage to the course of Kings,
Guides a slight meanes to compasse mighty things.
62
Which speech so caught his Nephews pliant youth,
Fastning vpon a dutiful respect,
Which he with such celeritie pursu'th,
(Well could he counsell, well could he direct)
Proceeding from integritie and truth,
And working with such prosperous effect,
Shewes wisemens counsels, by a powerfull fate,
(Seeming from reason) yet proue fortunate.
63
To which they awfull Maiestie inuite
By the most due and ceremonious way,
With circumstance, and each conditi'nall rite
Might winne respect vnto this new essay,
Or might opinion any way excite,
To which the King doth willingly obay;
Who as themselues in finding danger neere,
Rather accepts doubt, then a certaine feare.
64
Which he receaues in presage of his good,
To his successe auspiciously apply'd,
which cooles the heat of his distemperd blood,
Before their force in doubtfull Armes was try'd,
In his protection when they onely stood,
At his disposing wholy to abide,
vvhereon in safety he dismist their power,
Sends them away as prisoners to the Tower.
65
O all-preparing prouidence Diuine,
In thy large Booke what secrets are enrold?
What sundry helps doth thy great powre assigne,
To stay the course thou stedfastly doost hold?
What mortall sence is able to define
Thy mysteries, thy counsells manifold;
By these digressions strangely that extends
Thy obscure proceedings to aparent ends?
66
This was the meane, by which the Fates dispose
More threatned plagues vpon that age to bring,
Vtter confusion on the heads of those
That were before the Barrons ruining,
With the subuersion of so many foes,
The murther of the miserable King;
And that which came as Epilogue to all,
Lastly, his fearefull, and so violent fall.
67
Which to their hope giues time for further breath,
As the first pawse in this their great affaire,
That yet awhile deferr'd this threatning death,
Trusting this breach by leysure to repaire,
And heere a while this furie limetteth:
Whilst in this manner things so strangely fare,
Horror beyond the wonted bounds doth swell,
As the next Canto dreadfully shal tell.
The end of the first Canto.
❧ The second Booke of the Barrons warres.
The Argument.
At
Burton-bridge the puissant armies me
[...],
The forme and order of the doubtfull fight,
Whereas the King the victory doth get,
And the prowd Barrons lastly forcde to flight;
How they againe towardes
Burrough forward set,
Where then the Lords are vanquished outright,
Lastly, the lawes doe execute their power,
On those the sword before did not deuoure.
1
THis chance of warre, that dreadfully had swept
So large a share from their full-reckned might,
Which their prowd hopes so carefully had kept
Whilst yet their state stoode equally vpright,
That could at first so closely intercept,
That should haue seru'd them for a glorious fight,
Musters supplies of footemen, and of horse,
To giue a new strength to their ruinde force.
2
Th'inueterate griefe so deepe and firmely rooted,
Yet slightly curde by this short strengthelesse peace;
To assay t'remoue, since it but vainely booted,
That did with each distemprature increase,
And being by euery offerd cause promooted,
Th'effect too firmely setled to surcease:
When each euasion sunday passions brought,
Strange formes of feare in euery troubled thought.
3
And put in action for this publique cause,
Whilst euery one a party firmely stoode,
Taxt by the letter of the censuring lawes,
In the sharpe tainder of his honoured blood;
And he thats free'st, entangled by some clause,
Which to this mischiefe giues continuall food;
For where confusion gets so strongly hold,
Till all consumde, can hardly be controlde.
4
Where now by night, euen when pale leaden sleepe,
Vpon their eie-lids heauily did dwell,
And, step by step, on euery sence did creepe,
Mischiefe (that blacke inhabitant of hell)
Which neuer failes continuall watch to keepe,
Fearefull to thinke, a horred thing to tell,
Entred the place where now these warlike Lordes
Lay maild in armour, girt with irefull swords.
5
Mischiefe with sharpe sight, and a meager looke,
And alwaies prying where she may do ill,
In which the fiend continuall pleasure tooke,
Her starued body Plenty could not fill,
Searching in euery corner, euery nooke,
With winged feete, too swift to worke her will;
Hung full of deadly instruments she went,
Of euery sort to hurt where ere she meant,
6
And with a viall fild with banefull wrath,
Brought from
Cocytus by this cursed spright,
Which in her blacke hand readily she hath,
And drops the poison vpon euery wight;
For to each one she knew the readie path:
Now in the midst and dead-time of the night,
Whose enuious force inuadeth euery Peere,
Striking with furie, and impulsiue feare.
7
The weeping morning breaking in the East,
When with a troubled and affrighted mind,
Each whom this venom lately did infest,
The strong effect soone inwardly do find;
And lately troubled by vnquiet rest,
To sad destruction euery one inclind;
Rumours of spoile through euery eare doth flye,
And fury sits in eu'ry threatning eye.
8
This doone, in haste vnto King
Edward hies,
Which now growne proude vpon his faire successe,
The time in feasts and wantonnesse implies
With crowned cups his sorrowes to redresse,
That on his fortune wholy now relies,
And in the bosome of his Courtly presse
Vaunting the glory of this late wonne day,
Whilst the sick Land with sorrow pines away.
9
Thether she comes, and in a Minions shape
Shee creepeth neere the person of the King,
Warm'd with the verdure of the swelling grape,
In which, she poyson secretly doth wring,
Not the least drop vntaynted doth escape,
To which intent she all her store did bring,
Whose rich commixtu
[...]e making it more strong,
Fills his hote veines with arrogance and wrong.
10
And hauing both such courage, and such might
As to so great a businesse did belong,
Neuer considering their pretended right
Should be inducement to a trebled wrong,
When misty error so deludes their sight,
Which still betwixt them, and cleere reason hong;
By which opinion falsly was abusde,
As left all out of order, all confusde.
11
Now our
Minerua tells of dreadfull Armes,
Inforc'd to sing of worse then ciuill warres,
Of Ambuscades, stratagems, alarmes,
Vnkind discentions, fearfull massacars,
Of gloomy magiques, and benumming charmes,
Fresh-bleeding wounds, and neuer-healed skarrs,
And for the sock wherein she vsde to tread,
Marching in greaues, a helmet on her head.
12
Whilst hate, and griefe, their weakned sence delude,
The Barrons draw their forces to a head,
(Whome
Edward spur'd with vengeance still pursude)
By
Lancaster, and noble
Herford led,
This long proceeding lastly to conclude;
Whilst now to meet, both Armies freshly sped
To
Burton, both incamping for the day,
With expectation for a glorious pray.
13
Vpon the East, from
Needwoods bushy side,
There riseth vp an easie clyming hill,
At whose faire foote the siluer
Trent doth glide,
With a deep murmure permanent and still,
With liberall stor
[...] of many Brooks supplide,
Th'
[...]n
[...]atiate Meades continually doe fill,
Vpon whose streame, a bridge of wondrous strēgth
Doth stretch it selfe in forty arches length.
14
Vppon this Mount the Kings pauillion fixt,
And in the towne, the foe intrench'd in sight,
When now the flood is risen so betwixt,
That yet a while prolong'd th'unturall fight,
With tributarie waters intermixt,
To stay the furie dooing all it might,
Things which presage both good and ill there bee,
Which heauen fore-shewes, but mortals cannot see.
15
The heauen euen mourning o're our heads doth sit,
As greeu'd to see the time so out of course,
Looking on them who neuer looke at it,
And in meere pittie melting with remorce,
Longer from teares that cannot stay a whit,
Whose confluence on euery lower sourse,
From the swolne fluxure of the clowdes doth shake
A ranke Impostume vpon euery lake.
16
O warlike Nation! hold thy conquering hand,
Euen sencelesse things admonish thee to pawse,
That Mother soyle on whom thou yet doost stand,
That would restraine thee by all naturall lawes.
Canst thou (vnkinde) inuiolate that band,
When even the earth is angry with the cause?
Yet stay thy foote in mischiefes vglie gate,
Ill comes too soone, repentance still too late.
17
And can the clowdes weepe ouer thy decay,
And not one drop fall from thy droughtie eyes?
See'st thou the snare, and wilt not shun the way,
Nor yet be warn'd by passed miseries?
T'is yet but early in this fatall day;
Let late experience learne thee to be wise,
Mischiefe foreseene, may easly be preuented,
But hap'd, vnhelp'd, though nere enough lamented.
18
Cannot the Scot of your late slaughter boast?
And are you yet scarce healed of the sore?
I'st not enough you haue alreadie lost,
But your owne madnesse needsly make it more?
Will you seeke safety in a forraine Coast?
Your wiues and children pittied you before;
But when your own blood your own swords imbrue,
Who pitties them which once did pittie you?
19
The neighbouring groues dispoiled of their trees,
For boates, and timber to assay this flood,
Where men are laboring as the Summer bee,
Some hollowing truncks, som binding heaps of wood,
Some on their breasts, some working on their knees,
To winne the bancke whereon the Barrons stood,
Which o're this current they by strength must tew,
To shed that blood that many ages rew.
20
Some sharpen swords, some on their Murrians set
The Greaues, and pouldrons others riuet fast,
The archers now their bearded arrowes whet,
Whilst euery where the clamerous Drums are bra'st,
Some taking view where surest ground to get,
And euery one advantage doth fore-cast;
In ranks and fyles each plaine and meadow swarmes,
As though the land were clad in angry Armes.
21
The crests and honours of the English name,
Against their owne opposed rudely stand,
As angry with th'atchieuements whence they came,
That to their vertues gaue the generous brand;
O you vnworthy of your ancient fame,
Against your selues to lift your conqu'ring hand!
Since forraine swords your height could not abate,
By your owne powre your selues to ruinate.
22
Vpon his surcoate valiant
Neuell bore
A siluer saltoyre grac'd on martiall red;
A Ladies sleeue hie-spirited
Hastings wore,
Ferrer his Taberd with rich verry spred,
Wel knowne in many a warlike match before;
A Rauen sate on
Corbets warlike head,
Cou'ring his Helmet;
Culpepper inrayld,
On maiden Armes, a bloodie bend engrayld,
23
The noble
Percy in this furious day,
With a bright Cressant in his guide-home came,
In his faire Cornet
Verdoon dooth display
A Geuly fret, priz'd in this mortall game
That had beene taskt in many a doubtfull fray,
His launces pennons stained with the same;
The angry horse chafde with the stubborne bit,
The ruinous earth with rage and horror smit.
24
I could the summe of
Staffords arming show,
What colours
Courtney, Rosse and
Warren holde,
Each sundry blazon I could let you know,
And all the glorious circumstance haue tolde,
What all the Ensignes standing in arow,
But wailing in a Muse, (ah me) thou arte controlde,
When in remembrance of this horred deede,
My pen for inke euen drops of blood doth sheede.
25
Th'imperiall standard in this place is pitcht,
With all the hatchments of the English crowne,
Great
Lancaster with all his power enricht,
Sets the same Leopards in his Colours downe;
O if with furie you be not bewitcht,
Haue but remembrance, on your selfe you frowne,
A little note, or difference is in all,
How can the same stand, when the same dooth fall?
26
Behold the Eagles, Lyons, Talbots, Beares,
The badges of your famous ancestries,
And shall they now by their inglorious heires,
Stand thus oppos'd against their families?
More honoured markes no Christian nation weares,
Reliques vnworthie of their progenies;
Those beasts you beare, do in their kindes agree.
O that than beasts more sauage men should bee!
27
But whilst the king no course concluded yet,
In his directions variably doth houer,
See how misfortunes still her time can fit,
Such as were sent the Country to discouer;
As vp and downe, from place to place they flit,
Had found a foord to land their forces ouer:
Ill newes hath wings, and with the winde doth goe,
Comfort's a Cripple, and comes euer slow.
28
When
Edward fearing
Lancasters supplies,
Prowd
Richmond, Surry and great
Penbrooke sent,
On whose successe his chiefest hope relies;
Vnder whose conduct halfe his Army went,
The neerest way, conducted by thespies;
And he himselfe, and
Edmond Earle of Kent,
Vpon the hill, in sight of
Burton lay,
Watching to take aduantage of the day.
29
Stay,
Surry stay, thou mai'st too soone be gone,
Pawse till this rage be somewhat ouer past,
Why runn'st thou thus to thy destruction?
Richmond and
Penbrooke, whither doe you haste?
You labour still to bring more horror on;
Neuer seeke sorrow, for it comes too fast:
Why do you striue to passe this fatall flood,
To fetch new wounds, and shed your natiue blood?
30
Great
Lancaster, sheath vp thy angry sword,
On
Edwards armes whose edge thou shouldst not whet,
Thy naturall kinsman, and thy soueraigne Lord;
Are you not one, both true
Plantaginet?
Call but to mind thy once-engaged word,
Canst thou thy oath to
Longshankes thus forget?
Consider well, before all other things
Our vowes be kept we make to Gods and Kings.
31
The windes are hush'd no little breath doth blow,
Which seemes so still as though it listning stood,
With trampling crouds the verie earth doth bow,
And through the smoke the sunne appeares like blood;
What with the shout, and with the dreadfull show,
The heirds and flockes runne bellowing to the wood.
When drums and trumpets giue the fearfull sound,
As they would shake the clowds vnto the ground.
32
The Earles then charging with their power of horse,
Taking a signall when they should beginne,
Being in view of the imperiall force,
Which at the time assay'd the bridge to winne;
That now the Barrons change th'intended course,
T'auoide the danger they were lately in;
Which on the suddaine had they not fore-cast,
Of their blacke day this howre had beene the last.
33
When from the hill the Kings maine power comes downe,
Which had
Aquarius to their valiant guide,
Braue
Lancaster and
Herford from the towne
Now issue forth vpon the other side,
Peere against peere, the crowne against the crowne,
The one assailes, the other munifide,
Englands red crosse vpon both sides doth flie,
Saint
George the king, S.
George the Barrons crie.
34
Like as an exhalation hote and dry,
Amongst the ayre-bred moistie vapors throwne,
Spetteth his lightning forth outragiously,
Rending the grosse clowdes with the thunder-stone,
Whose fierie splinters through the thin ayre flie,
That with the terror heauen and earth doth grone;
With the like clamor and confused woe,
To the dread shocke these desp'rate Armies goe.
35
Now might you see the famous English Bowes
So fortunate in times we did subdue,
Shoote their sharpe arrowes in the face of those
which many a time victoriously them drew,
Shunning their aime, as troubled in the loose;
The winged weapons mourning as they slew.
Cleaue to the string, (now in potent and slacke)
As to the Archers they would faine turne backe.
36
Behold theremnant of
Troyes auntient stocke,
Laying on blowes, as Smiths on Anuils strike,
Grapling together in this fearefull shocke,
whereas the like incountreth with the like,
As firme and ruthlesse as th'obdurate Rocke,
Deadly opposed at the push of pike;
Still as the wings, or battels brought together,
when Fortune yet giues vantage vnto neither.
37
From battred caskes with euery enuious blow,
The scattred plumes flie loosly heere and there,
which in the ayre dooth seeme as drifts of snow,
which euery light breath on his wings dooth beare,
As they had sence and feeling of our woe;
And thus affrighted with the present feare,
Now backe, now forward such strange windings make,
As though vncertaine which way they should take.
38
Slaughter runnes wildely through th'afflicted hoste
Whilst yet the battaile strongly dooth abide,
That in this strange distemprature is lost,
Where hellish fury sensibly doth guide,
Neuer suffisde, where tyrannizing most,
That now their woundes (with mouthes euen opend wide,)
Lastly inforcde to call for present death,
That wants but tongues, your swords do give them breath.
39
Heere lies a heape halfe slaine, and halfly drownd,
Gasping for breath among the watry segs,
And there a sort falne in a deadly swownd,
Troade with the presse into the muddy dregs,
Other lie bleeding on the firmer ground,
Hurt in the bodies, maimde of armes and legs,
One kills a foe, his braine another cuts;
Ones feete intangled in anothers guts.
40
One his assayling enemie beguiles,
As from the bridge hee happily dooth fall,
Crusht with his weight vpon the forced piles,
Some in their gore vpon the pauement spraule,
That euery place so loathsomely defiles,
The careasses lie heaped like a wall,
Such hideous shreekes yet stil the souldiers breathe,
As though the spirits had howled from beneathe.
41
The faction still defying
Edwards might,
Edmond of
Woodstocke with the men of
Kent,
Charging afresh, reuiues the doubtfull fight,
Vpon the Barrons languishing and spent,
New preparation for a tragicke fight;
when they againe supplies immediate sent
A second battaile prowdly to beginne;
The noblest spirits but newly entred in.
42
As at
Troyes sacke, faire
Thetis godlike sunne,
Couragious
Talbot with his shield him bare,
Clifford and
Mowbray brauely following on,
Awdley and
Gifford thronging for a share;
These seconding, the former being gone,
Elmsbridge and
Baldsmere in the thickest are,
Pell mell together flie this furious powre,
when they perceiue that death will all deuoure.
43
Mountfort and
Teis, your woorth I faine would speake,
But that your valu
[...]e dooth so ill deserue,
And
Denuile heere from thee perforce must breake,
And from thy praises
Willington must swerue,
Your deeds permit not I your wrongs should wreake,
Prowd
Damory, heere must thy glorie starue:
Concealing many most deseruing blame,
Because your actions quench my sacred flame.
44
O had you fashion'd your great deedes by them,
Who sommond
Acon with an English drumme,
Or marcht before that faire Ierusalem,
With the vnited powres of Christendome,
Eternall then had beene your Diadem,
And with Christs warriors slept about his toombe:
Then ages had immortalizde your name,
Where now my song can be but of your shame.
45
O age inglorious, armes vntimely borne,
When now this prooued and victorious shield
Must in this ciuill massacre be torne,
Which bare the markes of many a bloody field;
And lastly, in their ouerthrowne forlorne,
When now to flight the Barrons basely yeeld,
That since that time the stones for very dreed,
Against foule storms smal drops of moisture sheed.
46
When now those wretched and vnstedfast frends,
Which all this while stoode doubtfully to pawse,
When they perceiue what desteny intends,
And his successe dooth iustifie his cause,
Their faintnesse now more comfort apprehends,
For victory both feare and friendship drawes,
T'an open smile, conuert a couered frowne,
All lend their hands to hew the conquered downe.
47
That part of power th' emperiall seemde to lacke,
whilst yet the aduerse bare an vpright face,
when now constraind to giue a recreant backe,
Quickely returnes to prosecute the chase,
where now the Barrons wholy goe to wracke,
In the iust trial of so neere a case;
Inforede to prooue the fortune of the coast,
When they perceine the glorious goale is lost.
48
And to the fortunes of the conqu'ring King,
Which well confirmde his long and tendred hope,
His faire successe still more incouraging,
which now had gote so large and ample scope,
The Earle of
Carlell happily dooth bring
His light-armde bands the valiant Northerne troope,
Armed too lately, and with too much speed,
To doe most harme, euen when we least had need.
49
When now the Barrons making out their way,
Through partes for safety, and aduantage knowne,
Keeping their force still bodied as they may,
Into the depth of this misfortune throwne;
And in pursuite, deuising day by day
T' offend th' assailant, and defend their owne,
In their last hope the vtmost to endure,
To deferre th' effect, although the end were sure.
50
And whilst their fortune suting sadly thus,
To
Burrough-bridge conducted by their fate,
Bridges to Barrons euer ominous,
And to this place their fall preordinate,
That ministring such cause of griefe to vs,
By the remembrance of their passed state;
The very soile by deepe impression yit,
Euen to this day doth still remember it.
51
New courage now, new fights, new battells rangde,
New breath (but what might make destruction new)
They change the ground, but yet their fate vnchangde,
Which too directly doth their course pursue,
Nor from their former misery estrangde,
Their strength decayes, their dangers daily grew,
To shorten that which whilst it did depend,
Gaue a long breathing to a fearefull end.
52
Like to a heird of weary heartlesse deere,
whom hote-sporrde huntsmen seriously doe chase,
In brakes and bushes falling heere and there,
Proouing each couert, euery secret place,
Yet by the hounds recouered euery where,
with eager yearning in the sented trace;
Hem'd on each side with hornes rechating blast,
Headlong themselues into the toyles doe cast.
53
Ensigne beards ensign, sword genst sword doth shake,
Wing against wing, and ranke doth ranke oppose,
In, on each other furiously they brake,
And death in earnest to his bus'nesse goes,
A generall hauocke as disposde to make,
And with destruction dooth them all inclose,
Dealing it selfe impartially to all,
Friend by his friend, and foe by foe doth fall.
54
This parte of life which yet they did respire,
In spite of Fortune, as they stood preparde,
With courage chargde, with comelinesse retire,
Make good their ground, & then relieue their guarde,
Withstand the entrer, then pursue the flier,
New forme their battell, shifting euery warde,
As your hie courage; but were your quarrell good,
O noble spirits, how deare had bin your blood?
55
The Northerne bands th' ambitious
Herckley led
On the weake Barrons mangled so before,
That now towards
Burrough make a puissant head,
Incouraging th' emperiall power the more;
O day so fatall, and so full of dread,
When ere shall time thy ruinous waste restore,
Which to amend although thou shalt perseuer,
Thou still maist promise, but performe it neuer.
56
Pale death beyond all wonted bounds doth swell,
Caruing prowd flesh in cantells now at large,
As leaues in Autumne, so the bodies fell
Vnder rough steele at euery boystrous charge,
O what sad pen can the destruction tell,
Where scalps lay beaten as the battred targe;
And euery one he claimeth as his right,
That not prouides t' escape away by flight.
57
Those ensignes erst, that in the glittring field
With their curld foreheads threat th' ambitious foe,
Like wetherd foule the drowping pinions yeeld,
Stouping their prowde heads to the dust below,
There sits a helmet, and there lies a shield,
O ill did fate these noble Armes bestow,
Which as a quarry on the soilde earth lay,
Seizde on by conquest as a glorious pray.
58
Heere noble
Bohune that braue, issued peere,
Herford so hie in euery gracious heart,
Vnto his country so receiude, and deere,
Wounded by treason in the lower part.
(As o're the bridge his men returning were)
Through those ill-ioynd planckes by an enuious dart:
But
Lancaster, whose lot not yet to die,
Taken, reseru'd to greater infamie.
59
O subiect for some sadder Muse to sing,
Of fiue great Earledomes happily possest,
Of the direct line of the English king,
with fauours friends, and earthly honours blest,
If so that all these happinesse could bring,
Or could endow assurednes of rest;
But what estate stands free from fortunes powre?
The Fates haue guidance of our time and howre.
60
Some few themselues in sanctuaries hide,
In mercie of that priuiledged place,
Yet are their bodies so vnsanctifide,
As scarce their soules can euer hope for grace;
Whereas they still in want and feare abide,
A poore dead life this draweth out a space,
Hate stands without, and horror sits within,
Prolonging shame, but pard'ning not their sinne.
61
Here is not death contented with the dead,
As though of some thing carelesly denide,
Till which might firmely be accomplished
His vtmost fully were not specifide,
That all exactly might be perfected
A further torment vengeanec dooth prouide,
That dead men should in misery remaine,
To make the liuing die with greater paine.
62
You soueraine Citties of th' afflicted Ile,
In Cipresse wreathes, and widowed attire,
Prepare yee now to build the funerall pile;
Lay your pale hands vnto this latest fire,
All mirth and comfort from your streetes exile,
Till you be purgde of this infectious ite,
The noblest blood yet liuing to be shed,
That euer dropt from your rebellious dead.
63
When this braue Lord great
Lancaster, who late
This pu
[...]ssant force had now thus long retainde,
As the first Agent in this strange debate
At fatall
Pomfret for those facts arraignde;
[...] whom of all things they articulate,
To whom these factions chiefly appertainde:
Whose proofes apparant so directly sped,
As from his body reft a reuerent head.
64
Yet
Lancaster, it is not thy deere breath
Can ransome backe the safety of the Crowne,
Nor make a league of so great powre with death,
To warrant what is rightfully our owne,
But they must pay the forfait of their faith,
Which sondly broke with their ambition,
when now reuenge vnto the vtmost rackt,
The Agents iustly suffer with the act.
65
Euen in that place where he had lately led,
As this darke path vnto the rest to show,
It was not long ere many followed,
In the same steps that he before did goe;
London, thy freedom is prohibited,
The first in place (O would the first in woe)
Others in blood did not excell thee farre,
That now deuoure the remnant of this warre.
66
O parents ruthfull, and hart-renting sight,
To see that sonne thy tender bosome fed,
A mothers ioy, a fathers sole delight,
That with much cost, yet with more care was bred;
A spectacle euen able to affright
Th' most sencelesse thing, and terrifie the dead;
His blood so deere vpon the cold earth powr'd,
His quarter'd coarse of birds and beasts deuour'd.
67
But t'is not you that heere complaine alone,
Or to your selues this fearefull portion share,
Heere's choice, and strange variety of moane,
Poore childrens teares with widdowes mixed are;
Many a friends sigh, many a maidens grone,
So innocent, so simply, pure, and rare;
As though euen Nature that long silent kept,
Burst out in plaints, and bitterly had wept.
68
O wretched age, had not these things beene done,
I had not now in these more calmer times
Into the search of former troubles runne;
Nor had my virgine impolluted rimes,
Altred the course wherein they first begunne,
To sing these bloodie and vnnaturall crimes,
My layes had still beene to
Ideas bowre,
Of my deere
Ankor, or her loued
Stoure.
69
Or for our subiect your faire worth to chuse,
Your birth, your vertue, and your hie respects,
That gently daine to patronize our Muse,
Who our free soule ingeniously elects
To publish your deserts, and all your dues
Maugre the Momists, and Satyricke sects,
Whilst my great verse eternally is sung,
You still may liue with me in spight of wrong.
70
But greater things reserued are in store,
Vnto this taske my armed Muse to keepe,
Still offering me occasion as before,
Matter whereof my tragicke verse may weepe;
And as a vessell being neere the shore,
By aduerse windes enforced to the deepe,
Am driuen backe from whence I came of late,
Vnto the bus'nes of a troubled state.
The end of the second Canto.
❧ The third Booke of the Barrons warres.
The Argument.
By asleepie potion that the Queene ordaines,
Lord
Mortimen escapes out of the Tower,
And by false slights, and many subtile traines,
Shee gets to France to raise aforraigne power;
The French King leaues his sister; neede constraines
The Queene to
Henault in a happie hower:
Edward her sonne to
Philip is affide,
And for inuasion presently prouide.
1
SCarce had these passed miseries their ends,
When other troubles instantly begunne,
As (still) new matter mischiefe apprehends,
By things that inconsid'rately were done;
And further yet this insolence extends,
Whilst all not yeelded that the sword had wonne;
For some there were that secretly did lie,
That to this bus'nes had a watchfull eye.
2
Whenas the King (whilst things thus fairely went)
Who by this happy victory grew strong,
Sommons at
Yorke a present Parlement,
To plant his right, and helpe the
Spensers wrong,
By which he thinkes t'establish his intent,
Whence (more & more) his Minions greatnes sprong,
Whose counsells still in all proceedings crossde
Th'inraged Queene, whom all misfortunes tossde.
3
When now the eldst, a man extreamely hated,
Whom yet the King not aptly could preferre,
The edge of their sharpe insolence abated,
This Parlement makes Earle of
Winchester,
Where
Herckley Earle of
Carlell is created,
And
Baldocke likewise is made Chancellor,
On whom the king had for his purpose wrought,
A man as subtile, so corrupt, and nought.
4
When now mishaps that seldome come alone,
Thicke in the necks of one an other fell,
The Scot pretends a new inuasion,
And France doth thence our vse-full powre expell,
Treasons suspected to attend his throne,
The grieued Commons euery day rebell,
Mischiefe on mischiefe, curse doth follow curse,
One ill scarce past, when after comes a worse.
5
For
Mortimer this winde yet fitly blew,
Troubling their eyes which else perhaps might see,
Whilst the wise Queene, who all aduantage knew,
Is closly plotting his deliuery,
(Which now she dooth with all her powres pursue)
Aptly continu'd by her deepe policie,
Against opinion, and the course of might,
To worke her will, euen through the jawes of spite.
6
A sleepy drinke she secretly hath made,
Whose operation had such wondrous powre,
As with cold numnesse could the sense inuade,
And mortifie the patient by an houre,
The lifelesse coarse in such a slumber laide,
As though pale death did wholy it deuoure:
Nor for two dayes take benefite of eyes,
By all meanes Arte or Physicke could deuise.
7
For which she Plantane and colde Lettice had,
The water Lilly from the marrish ground,
with the wanne Poppy, and the Night-shade sad,
And the short mosse that on the trees is found,
The poysning Henbane, and the Mandrake drad,
With Cypresse flowers that with the rest are pownd;
The braine of Cranes like purposely she takes,
Mixt with the blood of Dormise, and of Snakes.
8
Thus sits the great Enchauntresse in her Cell,
Strongly engi
[...]t with ceremonious charmes,
Her cleansed body sensde with halowing smell,
With vestall fire her potent liquor warmes,
Hauing full heate, vnto her busnes fell,
When her with Magicke instruments she armes:
And from the herbs the powrefull verdure wrong,
To make the medcine forcible and strong.
9
The sundry doubts that incident arise,
Might be supposde her trembling hand to stay,
If she considred of the enterprise,
To thinke what perill in th'attempting lay,
The secret lurking of deceitfull spies,
That on her steps continually do pray:
But when they leaue off vertue to esteeme,
Those greatly erre which take them as they seeme.
10
Their plighted faith for liberty they leaue,
Their loue is colde, their lust hote, hote their hate,
With smiles and teares they serpent-like deceaue,
In their desires they be insatiate,
There's no restraint their purpose can bereaue,
Their will no bound, nor their reuenge no date,
All feare exempt where they at ruine aime,
Couering their sinne with their discouered shame.
11
The elder of the
Mortimers this space,
(That many sundry miseries had past,)
So long restrainde within that healthlesse place,
Redeemde by death, yet happily at last
That much auailes the other in this case,
And from this Lord that imposition cast:
Which the deare safety of his vncles breath
within the tower so strictly limiteth.
12
Put there was more did on his death depend,
Than heauen was pleasde the foolish worlde shoulde know,
And why the Fates thus hasted on his end,
Thereby intending greater things to show;
Braue Lord, in vaine thy breath thou didst not spend,
From thy corruption further matters grow,
And some beginning fruitfully to spring,
New formes of feare vpon the time to bring.
13
All things preparde in readinesse, and fit,
The Queene attends her potions powre to proue,
Their stedfast friends, their best assisting it,
Their seruan
[...]s seale their secrets vp in loue;
And he expresse his valure and his wit,
Whome of the rest it chiefly doth behoue,
Places resolu'd where guide and horses lay,
And where the ship him safely to conuay.
14
As his large bounties liberally were heap't
To all deseruing, or to those that heede,
His solemne birth-dayes festiuall was kept
At his free charge, all in the Tower to feede,
which may suspition cleerely intercept,
A strong assistant in so great a neede,
VVhen midd'st their cates, their furious thirst to quench,
Mixing their wine with this approoued drench.
15
Which soone each sence, and eu'ry power doth seize,
when he that knew the strength of euery warde,
And to the purpose sorting all his keyes,
His corded ladders readily preparde;
And lurking foorth by the most secret wayes
Not now to learne his Compasse by the Carde,
To winne the walles couragiously doth goe,
which looke as scorning to be maistied so.
16
They soundly sleepe whilst his quicke spirites awake,
Opposde to perill, and the stern'st extreames,
Alcydes labours new to vndertake,
Of walls, of gates, of watches, and of streames,
Through which his passage he is now to make,
And let them tell king
Edward of their dreames:
For ere they rose out of the brainsicke fraunce,
He hopes to tell this noble jeast in Fraunce.
17
The sullen night hath her blacke curtaines spred,
Lowring the day had tarried vp so long,
Whose faire eyes closing softly steales to bed,
When all the heauens with duskie clowdes are hung,
And
Cynthia now pluckes in her horned head,
And to the West incontinently flung;
As she had long'd to certifie the sunne,
What in his absence in her Court was done.
18
The glimmering lights, like Sentinels in warre,
Behind the clowdes stand craftily to pry,
And through false loope-holes looking from afarre,
To see him skirmish with his desteny;
Not any fix'd, nor any wandring starre,
As they had held a counsell in the skie;
And had before concluded with the night,
It should not looke for any cheerefull sight.
19
In deadly silence all the shores are hush'd,
Onely the Skreech-howle sounds to the assault,
And
Isis with a troubled murmure rush'd,
As if consenting, and would hide the fault;
And as his foote the sand or grauell crush'd,
A little whisp'ring mou'd within the vault,
Made by the treading softly as he went,
Which seem'd to say, it furthred his intent.
20
This wondrous Queene whom care yet restlesse kept,
Now for his speede to heauen holds vp her hands,
A thousand strange thoughts in her bosome heap't,
As in her closet listning still she stands,
That many a sigh spent, many a warme teare wept,
And though diuided, as in sundry strands,
Most absent, present in desires they bee,
Our mindes discerne where eyes do cease to see.
21
The small clowdes issuing from his lips she saith,
Labouring so fast, as he the ladder clame,
Should purge the ayre of pestilence and death;
And as sometime that filch'd
Promethian flame,
Euen so the power and vertue of his breath,
New creatures in the elements should frame;
And to what part of heauen it happ'd to stray,
There should path out another milkie way.
22
Attainde the top, halfe spent a while to blow,
Now round about he casts his longing eyes,
The gentle earth salutes him from below,
And couered with the comfortable skies,
Viewing the way that he is now to goe,
Cheer'd with the beames of
Isabels faire eyes,
Downe from the turret desperately doth slide,
Night be successefull, fortune be his guide.
23
With his descent, her eye so still descends,
As feare had fix'd it to fore-warne his fall,
On whom her hope and fortune now depends,
When suddaine feare her sences doth appall;
For present aide her god-like hand extends,
Forgets herselfe, and speedie aide doth call;
Silent againe, if ought but good should hap,
She begs of heauen his graue may be her lap.
24
Now she intreates the darke distempred ayre,
Then by strong Magicks she coniures the wind,
Then she inuokes the gloomie night by prayre,
Then with her spells the mortall sence to bind;
And fearing much lest these yet frustrate are,
Now by the burning tapers she diuin'd,
Intreating
Thames to giue a friendly passe,
The deerest fraught ere on her bosome was.
25
The rushing murmure stills her like a song,
But yet in feare the streame should fall in loue,
Suspects the drops that on his tresses hung,
And that the billowes for his beautie stroue,
To this faire body that so closely clong,
Which when in swimming with his breast he droue;
Palled with griefe she turnes away her face,
Iealous that he the waters should embrace.
26
This angry Lyon hauing slipp'd his chaine,
As in a feuer makes King
Edward quake,
Which knew (too well) ere he was caught againe,
Deere was the blood must serue his thirst to stake,
Many the labours had beene spent in vaine,
And he inforc'd a longer course to take,
Saw further vengeance hanging in the wind,
That knew the pride and greatnes of his mind.
27
The faction working in this lingring jarr
[...],
How for the Scot free passage might be made,
To lay the ground of a succesfull warre,
That hope might breede fresh courage to inuade;
And whilst our safetie standeth out so farre,
More dangerous proiects eu'ry where are layd;
That some in hand home troubles to enure,
Others in France do forraigne broiles procure.
28
By these discentions that were lately sowne,
Inciting
Charles to open Armes againe,
Who seazing
Guyne, pretended as his owne,
That
Edward should vnlawfully detaine,
Proceeds to make a further title knowne.
T'our Lands in
Pontieu, and in
Aquitaine,
When wanted homage hath desolu'd the truce,
Waking his wrongs by
Isabels abuse.
29
This plot concluded that was long in hand,
(Which to this issue prosperously had thriu'd)
The Base whereon a mightie frame must stand,
With mickle Art, yet with more fcare cont
[...]iu'd;
So strongly builded by this factious band,
As from the same their safetie is deriu'd,
Till their full-rooted and inueterate hate,
Getting more strength might deepely penetrate.
30
When choise of such to sway this French affaire,
Which as a sharpelesse and vnweldie masse,
Might well imploy the strength of all their care;
So hard and perlous to be brought to passe,
Which it behooues them quickly to prepare,
That being now so setled as it was,
Craues a graue spirit, whose eminence and powre,
Might like a stiffe gale checke this threatning showre.
31
This must a Session seriously debate,
That depth of iudgement crau'd to be discust,
That so concernes the safetie of the state,
And in a case so plausible and iust,
As might haue quench'd all sparckes of former hate,
[...]
[...]ight be thought euen pollicie might trust,
Could enuy master her distracted will,
Or apprehend sacietie in ill.
32
Tarleton, whose tongue mens eares in chaines could tie,
And as a fearefull thunder-bolt could pierce,
In which there more authoritie did lie,
Then in the
Sybils sage propheticke verse,
Whose sentence was so absolute and hie,
As had the power a iudgement to reuerse;
On the Queenes part with all his might doth stand,
To lay this charge on her well-guiding hand.
33
What helpes her presence to the cause might bring,
Being a wife, a sister, and a mother,
And in so great and pertinent a thing,
To right her lonne, her husband, and her brother,
Her gratious helpe to all distributing,
To take of her what they should holde of other;
Which colour serues t'effect in these extreames,
That which (God knowes) King
Edward neuer dreames.
34
Torleten, is this thy spirituall pretence?
Would God thy thoughts were more spirituall,
Or lesse perswasiue were thy eloquence.
But O! thy actions are too temporall;
Opinion lends too great preheminence,
Thy reasons subtile, and sophisticall;
Would all were true thy supposition saith,
Thy arguments lesse force, or thou more faith.
35
These suddaine broiles that were begun of late,
Still kept in motion by their secret sleight,
By false suggestions so interminate;
That as a ballast of some solide weight,
Betwixt these aduerse currents of debate,
Kept their proceeding in a course so streight,
As lends the Queene an ampler colour still,
By generall meanes to worke a generall ill.
36
She which thus fitly found both wind and tyde,
And sees her leisure serue, the howre so neare,
All her endeuours mutually apply'd,
Whilst for her purpose things so fitly were,
And thus aduantage quickly had espy'd,
As one whose fortunes taught the worst to feare,
Seeing the times so variously inclinde,
And eu'ry toy soone altring
Edwards minde.
37
Her followers such as friendlesse else had stood,
Suncke, and deiected by the
Spensers pride,
Who bare the brands of treason in their blood,
Which but with blood there was no way to hide;
Whose meane was weake, whose will was but too good,
Which to effect did but the howre abide,
And knew all meanes that mischiefe could inuent,
That any way might further her intent.
38
Whilst
Mortimer which now so long hath laine
From our iust course, by fortune lately crosst,
In Fraunce now strugling how he might regaine
That which before he had in England lost,
All present meanes doth gladly entertaine,
No jote dismaide in all these tempests tosst:
Nor his great minde can thus be ouerthrowne,
All men his friends, all countries are his owne.
39
And Muse, transported by thy former zeale,
Led in our progresse where his fortune lies,
To thy faire ayde I seriously appeale,
To sing this great man his magnanimous guise,
The auntient Heroes vnto me reueale,
whose worths may raise our nobler faculties,
That in my verse, transparent, nete, and cleere,
His character more liuely may appeere.
40
Such one he was, of him we boldely say,
In whose rich soule all soueraigne powres did sute,
In whome in peace th'elements all lay
So mixt, as none could soueraignty impute;
As all did gouerne, yet all did obey,
His liuely temper was so absolute,
That t'seemde when heauen his modell first began,
In him it shewd perfection in a man.
41
So throughly seasond, and so rightly set,
As in the leuell of cleere iudgements eye,
Time neuer tuch't him with deforming fret,
Nor had the powre to wrap him once awry,
Whose stedfast course no crosse could euer let,
His eleuation was so heauenly hie,
Those giddy tempests that the base world proue,
State vnder where he Planet like did moue.
42
Which this faire Queene that had a knowing spirite,
And sawe the beauties resting in his minde,
One that had throughly lookt into his merit,
Aboue the value of the vulgar kinde,
That rightly did his Grandsires deedes inherit,
When now the ages in their course declinde,
when the old world, being weake began to bow,
To th'effeminate basenes that it rests at now.
43
What weighs he wealth, or what his
Wigmore left?
Let needlesse heapes, things momentary stand,
He counts not his that can be rapde by theft,
Man is the sole Lord both of sea and land,
And still is rich of these that is not reft,
Who of all creatures hath an vpright hand;
And by the starres is onely taught to know,
That as they progresse heauen, he earth should do.
44
Wherefore wise Nature forcde this face of ground,
And through the deeps shewd him the secret way,
That in the flouds her iudgements might be found,
Where she for safety did her treasure lay;
Whose store, that he might absolutely sound,
Shee gaue him courage for her onely kay,
That he alone of all her creatures free,
Her glory, and her wondrous works should see.
45
Let wretched worldlings sweate for mud and earth,
whose groueling bosomes licke the recreant stones,
And pesants carke for plenty, and for dearth,
Fame neuer lookes vpon these prostrate drones,
Man is allotted at his princely birth,
To manage Empires, and to sit on thrones,
Frighting coy Fortune when she sternst appeares,
Which else scornes sighes, and jeeteth at our teares.
46
When now Report with her fleet murmuring wing,
Tucht the still entrance of his listning eare,
A fleete preparde this royall Queene to bring,
And her arriuall still awaited neare,
When euery sound a note of loue doth sing,
The ioyfull thoughts that in his bosome were:
The soule in doubt to make her function lesse,
Denies the vtterance fully to expresse.
47
Quoth he, Slide billowes gently for her sake,
Whose sight can make your aged
Nereus yong,
For her faire passage euen allies make,
On the sleeke waters wast her sailes along;
And whilst she glides vpon the pleasant lake,
Let the sweete Syrens rocke her with a Song:
Though not Loues mother that dooth passe this way,
Fairer than she thats borne vpon the sea.
48
You Sea-bred creatures, gaze vpon her eie,
And neuer after with your kinde make warre;
O steale the accents from her lip that flie,
Which like the musickes of the Angels are,
And them vnto your amorous thoughts apply,
Comparde with which,
Aryons did but jarre:
Wrap them in aire, and when blacke tempests rage;
Vse them as charmes the rough seas to asswage.
49
France, send to fetch her with full sholes of oares,
With which her fleete may euery way be plide,
And being landed on thy happie shoares,
As the vast nauie dooth at anckor ride;
For her departure when the wilde sea roares,
Ship mount to heauen, there brightly stellifide:
Next
Iasons Argo on the burnisht throne,
Assume thee there a constellation.
50
Her person hence conuaide with that delight,
Which best the languish of her iournies easde,
That to her pleasure dooth it selfe inuite,
Whereon her mind, and subtil fancie seasde,
And that (most deare) her liking might excite,
Which then this Lorde, naught more her presence pleasd,
where, when with state she first her time could take,
Thus the faire Queene her
Mortimer bespake.
51
O
Mortimer, great
Mortimer, quoth shee,
What angry power did first this meane deuise,
To seperate Queene
Isabell and thee,
whome loues eternall vnion strongly ties;
But if supposde this fault beganne by mee,
For a iust pennance to my longing eyes:
(Though guiltlesse they) this punishment assignde,
To gaze vpon thee, till they leaue me blinde.
52
Tis strange, sweete friend, how thou arte altred thus,
Since first in Court thou didst our fauours weare,
whose shape seemde then not mortall vnto vs,
when in our eye thy brow was beauties spheare,
In all perfection so harmonious,
A thousand seuerall graces mooving there;
But what then couldst thou be, not now thou arte,
An alien first, last home-borne in my heart.
53
That powerfull fate thy safetie did inforce,
And from the worst of danger did thee free,
Still regular, and constant in one course,
Wrought me a firme and euen path to thee,
Of our affections as it tooke remorce,
Our birth-fix't starres so happily agree;
Whose reuolution seriously directs
Our like proceedings, to the like effects.
54
New forme of counsaile in the course of things,
To our dissignement findes a neerer way,
That by a cleere and perfect managing,
Is that firme prop whereon we onely stay;
Which in it selfe th'authoritie doth bring,
That weake opinion hath no power to sway;
Confuting such, whose sightlesse iudgement sit,
In the thicke ranke with euery vulgar wit.
55
Then since pleasde Time our wish'd content assures,
Imbrace the blessings of our mutuall rest;
And whilst the day of our good hap endures,
And we as fauorites leane on Fortunes breast,
Which doth for vs this vacancie procure,
In choice make free election of the best;
Ne're feare the s
[...]orme before thou feele the shower,
My sonne a King, an Empire is my dower.
56
Of wanton
Edward when I first was woo'd,
Why cam'st thou not into the Court of France?
Thy selfe alone then in my grace hadst stood;
Deere
Mortimer, how good had beene thy chance?
My loue attempted in that youthfull mood,
I might haue beene thine owne inheritance;
Where entring now by force, thou hold'st thy might,
And art deseisor of anothers right.
57
Honour thou Idole women so adore,
How many plagues doost thou retaine to grieue vs,
When still we finde there is remaining more,
Then that great word of Maiesty can giue vs;
Which takes more from vs then it can restore,
And of that comfort often doth depriue vs,
That with our owne selues sets vs at debate,
And mak'st vs beggars vnder our estate.
58
Those pleasing raptures from her graces rise,
Strongly inuading his impressiue breast,
That soone entranced all his faculties,
Of the prowd fulnesse of their ioyes possest;
And hauing throughly wrought him in this wise,
Like tempting Syrens sing him to his rest,
When eu'ry power is passiue of some good,
Felt by the spirits of his high-rauisht blood.
59
Like as a Lute that's touch'd with curious skill,
In musickes language sweetely speaking plaine,
When eu'ry string his note with sound doth fill,
Taking the tones, and giuing them againe,
And the eare bath's in harmony at will,
A diapason closing eu'ry straine;
So their affections set in keyes so like,
Still fall in consort as their humors strike.
60
When now the path to their desire appeares,
Of which before they had been long debar'd,
By desolution of some threatning feares,
That for destruction seem'd to stand prepar'd,
Which the smooth face of better safetie beares,
And now protected by a stronger guard,
Giues the large scope of leisure to fore-cast
Euents to come, by things alreadie past,
61
These great dissignements setting easly out,
By due proportion measuring eu'ry pace,
T'auoide the cumbrance of each hindring doubt,
That might distort the comlinesse and grace,
Comming with eu'ry circumstance about,
Strictly obseruing person, time and place;
All ornaments in faire discretions lawes,
Could giue attire to beautifie the cause.
62
The Embassie in termes of equall height,
As well their state and dignity might fit,
Apparelling a matter of that weight,
In ceremony well beseeming it,
To carry things so steddy, and so right,
Where Wisedome with cleare maiesty might sit;
All things still seeming strictly to effect,
That Loue commaunds, and Greatnesse should respect.
63
Whose expedition by this faire successe,
That doth againe this antient league combine,
when
Edward should by couenant release,
And to the Prince the Prouinces resigne,
With whome king
Charles renues the happy peace,
Receiuing homage due to him for
Guyne:
And lastly now to consumate their speede,
Edwards owne person to confirme the deede.
64
Who whilst he stands yet doubtfull what to do,
The
Spensers chiefely that his counsels guide,
Nor with their Soueraigne into Fraunce durst goe,
Nor in his absence durst at home abide;
Now whilst the weake king stands perplexed so,
His listning eares with such perswasion plide,
As he at last to stay in England's wonne,
And in his place, to send the Prince his sonne.
65
Thus is the King encompasst by their skill,
A meane to worke what
Herford doth deuise,
To thrust him on, to draw them vp the hill,
That by his strength they might get powre to rise:
Thus they in all things are before him still,
This perfect steersman of their policies
Hath cast to walke whilst
Edward beares the light,
And take that aime that must direct his sight.
66
And by th'allowance of his liberall will,
Supposde his safety, furthering their intent,
Stands as a test to iustifie their ill,
Made sound and currant by this late euent,
And what yet wanting lastly to fulfill,
Things in their course to fall in true consent,
Giues full assurance of that happy end,
On which they now laboriously attend.
67
Nor finding reason longer to protract,
Or in suspence their home-left friends to holde,
By being now so absolutely backt,
And thereby waxing confident and bold,
By their proceedings publishing their act,
whenas their powre was ripened as they would,
Now with an armed and erected hand,
To abet their faction absolutely stand.
68
When now the fearefull fainting
Exceter,
A man experiencde in their counsels long,
Whether himselfe thought his way to preferre,
Or moou'd in conscience with king
Eawards wrong,
Or t'was his frailty forede him thus to erre,
Or other fatall accident among,
The onely first that backe to England flew,
And knowing all, discouered all he knew.
69
The plot of treason lastly thus disclosde,
And
Torletons drift by circumstaunces found,
With what conueyance things had beene disposde;
The cunning vsde in casting of the ground,
The meanes and apt aduantages he chosde,
When better counsell coldely comes to sound,
Awakes the King to see his owne estate,
When the preuention comes too vaine and late.
70
And whilst the time she daily dooth adjourne,
Charles as a brother, by perswasions deales,
Edward, with threates, to hasten her returne,
And
Iohn of Rome with Papall curse assaies,
Tis but in vaine against her will to spurne,
Perswasions, threats, nor curses aught preuailes:
Charles, Edward, Iohn, do th'vtmost of your worst,
The Queene fares best when she the most is curst.
71
The subtile
Spensers which French humors felt,
(And with their Soueraigne had deuisde the draught)
with Prince and Peeres now vnder-hand had dealt,
with golden baites that craftily were caught,
whose flexed temper soone begins to melt,
On which they now by sleights so throwly wrought,
As with great summes now lastly ouer-waide,
The wretched Queene is desperate of aide.
72
Nor can all this amaze this mighty Queene,
with all th'affliction neuer yet contrould,
Neuer such courage in her sex was seene,
Nor was she cast in other womens mould,
(Nor can rebate the edge of her hie spleene)
But can endure warre, trauell, want, and cold:
Strugling with Fortune, ne're with griefe opprest,
Most cheerefull still, when she was most distrest.
73
And thus resolu'd to leaue ingratefull France,
And in the world her fortune yet to trie,
Changing the ayre, hopes time may alter chance,
As one whose thoughts were eleuate more hie,
Her weakned state still seeking to aduance,
Her mighty minde so scorneth misery;
Yet ere she went, her grieued heart to east,
Thus to the King this grieued Lady saies.
74
Is this a King and brothers part, quoth she?
And to this end did I my griefe vnfold?
Came I to heale my wounded heart to thee,
Where slaine outright I now the same behold?
Proue these thy vowes, thy promises to mee,
In all this heate, thy faith become so cold,
To leaue me thus forsaken at the worst?
My state more wretched than it was at first.
75
My frailty vrging what my want requires,
To thy deere mercy should my teares haue tide,
Our bloods maintained by the selfe-same fires,
And by our fortunes as our birth alide;
My sute supported by my iust desires,
All arguments I should not be denide.
The grieuous wrongs that in my bosome be,
Should be as neere thy care, as I to thee.
76
Nature that easly wrought vpon my sex,
To thy vile pleasure thus mine honour leaues,
And vnder colour of thy due respects,
My settled trust disloyally deceaues,
That me and mine thus carelesly neglects,
And of all comfort wholy me bereaues;
Twixt recreant basenes, and disord
[...]nate will,
To expose my fortunes to the worst of ill.
77
But for my farewell this I prophecie,
That from my wombe that glorious fruit doth spring,
Which shall deiect thy neere posteritie,
And leade a captiue thy succeeding King,
That shal reuenge this wretched iniury.
To fatall Fraunce I as a
Sybel sing,
Her citties sackt, the slaughter of her men,
When of the English, one shall conquer ten.
78
Bewmount in Fraunce that had this shuffling seene,
whose soule by kindnes
Isabel had wonne,
For
Henault now perswades the grieued Queene,
By full assurance what might there be done;
Now in the anguish of this tumerous spleene,
Offring his faire Neece to the Prince her sonne:
The lurest way to gaine his brothers might,
To backe yong
Edward, and vphold her right.
79
This gallant Lord, whose name euen filld report,
To whom the souldiers of that time did throng,
A man that fashiond others of his sort,
As that knew all to honour did belong,
And in his youth traind vp with her in Court,
And fully now confirmed in her wrong,
Crosst by the faction of th'emperiall part,
In things that sat too neerely to his hart.
80
Sufficient motiues to inuite distresse,
To apprehend the least and poorest meane,
Against those mischiefes that so strongly presse,
Whereon their lowe dejected state to leaue,
And at this season, though it were the lesse,
That might a while their sickely powre sustaine;
Till prosprous times by milde and temprate dayes,
Their drooping hopes to former height might raise
81
Where finding cause to breathe their restlesse state,
where welcome lookt with a more milder face,
From those dishonours she receiu'd of late,
Where now she wants no due officious grace,
Vnder the guidance of a gentler fate,
Where bounteous offers mutually embrace:
And to conclude all ceremonies past,
The Prince affies faire
Philip at the last.
82
All couenants signde with wedlockes sacred seale,
A lasting league eternally to binde,
And all proceeding of religious zeale,
And suting right with
Henaults mighty minde,
That to his thoughts much honour dooth reueale,
What ease the Queene is like thereby to finde,
The sweete contentment of the louely Bride,
Yong
Edward pleasde, and ioy on euery side.
The end of the third Canto.
❧ The fourth Booke of the Barrons warres.
The Argument.
The Queene in
Henault mightie power doth winne,
In
Harwich hauen safely is arriu'd,
Great troubles now in England new beginne,
The King of friends and safety is depriu'd,
Flieth to
Wales, at
Neath receiued in,
Many strange acts and outrages contriu'd:
Edward betrayde, deliu'red vp at
Neath,
The
Spensers, and his friends are put to death.
1
NOw seauen times
Phoebus had his welked waine,
Vpon the top of all the Tropike set,
And seauen times descending downe againe,
His firy wheeles had with the fishes wet;
In the occurrents of this haplesse raigne,
Since treason first these troubles did beget:
which through more strange varieties had runne,
Than it that time celestiall signes hath done.
2
Whilst our ill thriuing in those Scottish broiles,
Their strength and courage greatly doth aduance,
That being made fat and wealthy by our spoiles.
When we still weakned by the jarres in France,
And thus dis-hartned by continuall foiles,
Yeeldes other cause, whereat our Muse may glance;
And
Herckleys treasons lastly brings to view,
Whose power of late the Barrons ouer-threw.
3
Now when the Scot with an inuasiue hand,
By daily inroads on the borders made,
Had spoilde the Country of Northumberland,
whose buildings leuell with the ground were laide;
And finding none that dare his power withstand,
Without controlement eu'ry where had praide,
Bearing with pride what was by pillage got,
As our last fall appointed to their lot.
4
For which false
Herckley by his Soueraigne sent,
T'intreate this needefull, though dishonored peace,
Cloking his treasons by this fain'd intent,
Kinling the warre which otherwise might cease;
And with a Scot, new mischiefes doth inuent,
T'intrap King
Edward, and their feare release;
For which, their faith they constantly haue plight,
In peace and warre, to stand for eithers right.
5
For which the King his sister doth bestow,
Vpon this false Lord, which to him affy'd,
Maketh too plaine and euident a show,
Of what before his trust did closely hide;
But being found from whence this match should grow
By such as now into their actions pry'd,
Displaies the treasons, which not quickly crost,
Would shed more blood then all the wars had cost.
6
Whether the Kings weake Counsells, causes are
That eu'ry thing so badly sorteth out,
Or that the Earle did of our state dispaire,
when nothing prosperd that was gone about;
And therefore, carelesse how these matters fare
(Ile not define, but leaue it as a doubt)
Or some vaine title his ambition lackt,
Hatch'd in his breast this treasonable act.
7
Which now reueal'd vnto the jealous King,
For apprehension of this trait'rous Peere,
To the Lord
Lucy leaues the managing,
One, whose knowne faith he euer held so deere;
By whose dispatch, and trauell in this thing,
(He doth well worthy of his trust appeare)
In his owne Castell carelesly desended,
The trecherous
Herckley closely apprehended.
8
For which ere long vnto his triall led,
In all the roabes befitting his degree,
Where
Scroope chiefe Iustice in King
Edwards sted,
was now prepar'd his lawfull Iudge to bee,
Vrging the proofes by his enditement read,
Where they his treasons euidently see;
Which now themselues so plainely do expresse,
As might at first declare his bad successe.
9
His honor'd title backe againe restord,
Noted with termes of infamie and scorne,
And then disarmed of his knightly sword,
On which his faith and loyalty was sworne,
And by a varlet of his spurres dispur'd,
His coate of Armes in peeces hal'd and torne;
To taste deserued punishment is sent,
T'a traitrous death that traitrously had meant.
10
When such the fauorers of this fatall warre,
Whom this occasion dóth more sharpely whet,
Those for this cause that yet impris'ned are,
Boldly attempt at libertie to set,
Whose purpose frustrate by the others care,
Doth greater wounds continually beget;
Warning the King more strictly looke about,
These secret fires still daily breaking out.
11
And
Hereford in Parlement accusde
Of treasons, which apparantly were wrought,
That with the Queene, and
Mortimers were vsde,
Whereby subuersion of the Realme was sought,
And both his calling and his trust abusde;
Which now to answer when he should be brought,
Seizde by the Clergie in the Kings despight,
Vnder the colour of the Churches right.
12
Whilst now the Queene from England day by day,
That of these troubles still had certaine word,
Whose friends much blamde her tedious long delay,
When now the time occasion doth afford,
With better haste doth for her selfe puruay,
Bearing prouision presently abord;
Ships of all vses daily rigging are,
Fit'st for inuasion to transport a warre.
13
The Earle of Kent by's soueraigne brother plac'd,
As the great Generall of his force in
Gwine,
Who in his absence heere at home disgrac'd,
And frustrated both of his men and coine,
By such lewd persons to mainetaine their waste,
From the Kings treasures ceas'd not to proloine;
Th'lasciuious Prince, though mou'd, regardlesse still,
Both of his owne losse, and his brothers ill.
14
Whose discontentment being quickly found,
By such as all aduantages await,
That still apply'd strong corsiues to the wound,
And by their sharpe and intricate deceit,
Hindred all meanes might possibly redound,
This fast-arising mischiefe to defeate;
Vntill his wrongs were to that fulnesse growne,
That they haue made him absolute their owne.
15
Whose selfe-like followers in these faithlesse warres,
Men most experienc'd, and of worthiest parts,
Which for their pay receiued onely scarres,
Whilst the inglorious reap'd their due desarts,
And Mineons hate of other hope debarres,
With too much violence vrg'd their grieued harts,
On
Iohn of
Henault wholy doe rely,
Who led a great and valiant company.
16
That in this conquest do themselues combine,
The Lords
Pocelles, Sares, and
Boyseers,
Dambretticourt, the young and valiant
Heyn.
Estoteuill, Comines, and
Villeers,
Others his Knights, Sir
Michaell de la Lyne,
Sir
Robert Balioll, Boswit, and
Semeers,
Men of great power, whom spoile & glory warmes,
Such as were wholy dedicate to Armes.
17
Three thousand souldiers mustred men in pay,
Of French, Scotch, Almaine, Swiser, and the Dutch,
Of natiue English, fled beyond the sea,
Whose number neere amounted to asmuch;
which long had look'd for this vnhappie day,
whom her reuenge did but too neerely tutch,
Her friends now ready to receiue her in,
And new commotions eu'ry day begin.
18
When she for England fitly setting forth,
Spreading her prowd sailes on the watry plaine,
Shaping her course directly to the North,
with her young
Edward Duke of
Aquitaine,
with th'other three of speciall name and worth,
(The destainde scourges of his lawlesse raigne)
Her souldier
Beumount, with the Earle of Kent,
And
Mortimer, that mightie malconsent.
19
A fore-winde now for
Harwich fitly blowes,
Blow not too fast to kindle such a fire,
whilst with full saile, and fairer tide shegoes,
Turne gentle winde, and force her to retire;
The fleete thou driu'st is fraughted with our woes,
But windes and seas, do
Edwards wracke conspire;
For when iust heauen to chastice vs is bent,
All things conuert to our due punishment.
20
Thy coasts be kept with a continuall ward,
Thy Beacons watch'd her comming to discry;
O had the loue of subiects beene thy guard,
T'had beene t'effect that thou didst fortifie;
But whilst thou standst gainst forraigne foes prepard,
Thou art betraide by thy home enemy;
Small helpe by this thou art but like to win,
Shutting death out, thou keep'st destruction in.
21
When
Henry brother to that haplesse Prince,
The first great engine of this ciuill strife,
(Deere
Lancaster) who law did late conuince,
And that at
Pomfret left his wretched life;
This
Henry, in whose great hart euer since
Reuenge lay couerd, smotherd vp in griefe,
Like fire in some fat minerall of the earth,
Finding the least vent, giues it selfe a birth.
22
That being Earle Marshall, great vpon the coast,
With bells and bon-fires welcomes her ashore,
And by his office gath'ring vp an hoast,
Shewes the old malice in his breast he bore,
Nor of his helpe abash'd at all to boast,
The Clergies power in readinesse before,
Vpon their friends a great taxation laide,
To raise munition for the present aide.
23
And to confusion all their power expose,
On the rent bosome of this Ile, where long
Warre did it selfe so stedfastly inclose;
(warre from our owne lewd desolutenesse sprong)
Whom no inuasion euer yet could lose;
So old the malice, and so great the wrong,
Vrg'd with the force that forraigne fire doth bring,
A greater spoile, and horror menacing.
24
This inuouation by an altred state,
Lent this new action such a violent hand,
That it thus boldly dare insinuate,
On the cold faintnesse of the feebled Land;
And being arm'd with all the power of fate,
Finding a way so openly to stand
To their intendments, which endeuoured well,
Might get that height from whence at first they fel.
25
When all their strength in order strictly set,
All helps and doubts by warres best counsailes waid,
What well might further, what their course might let,
And their reliefes conueniently had laid,
A meane reseru'd securitie to get,
Whereon at worst their fortune might be stayd,
And furnish'd fully as themselues desir'd,
Of all this action needefully requir'd.
26
And at Saint
Edmonds doe a while repose,
To rest themselues, and their new welcom'd force,
Better to learne the manner of their foes,
To th'end, not vainely to direct their course;
And seeing daily how the Armie growes,
To take a full view both of foote and horse;
With such discretion managing the war,
Truly to shew them what indeede they are.
27
When now the King of these proceedings heard,
And of the troopes that to them daily runne,
And little strength at
London yet preparde,
Where he expected fauour to haue wonne,
He now commits the Cittie to the guard
Of his approu'd most-trusted
Stapleton,
To
Iohn of
Eltham (his faire sonne) the Tower,
Himselfe to
Wales to raise a speedy power.
28
Yet whilst his name doth any hope admit,
Proclaimes in forfait both of goods and life,
All that enioyde a subiects benefit,
Should lend their power against his sonne and wife,
And doth all slaughters generally acquite
Were done vpon the moouers of this strife:
And who could bring in
Mortimers prowd head,
Should freely take th'reuenewes of the dead.
29
Which strait encountred by the Queenes Edict,
who making knowne the iustnes of her cause,
That she proceeded in a course so strict,
T'vphold their antient liberties and lawes;
Nor that she did this punishment inflict
For priuate hate, or popular applause,
Onely the
Spensers to account to bring,
Whose wicked counsells had abusde the King.
30
Which ballasing the multitude that stood
As a light barke thats tosst twixt winde and tide,
Turnd in the mixture of th'opposed flood,
when yet opinion not their course could guide,
And wau'ring thus in their inconstant moode,
Till by the weakenes of th'emperiall side,
Suffers the seisure of it selfe at last,
which to the Queene all free aduantage cast.
31
When friendlesse
Edward followed by his foes,
whom danger dooth to recreant flight debase,
As poore in hope, as he is rich in woes,
Depriu'd all princely ornament and grace,
whose force th'more weakened further that he goes,
His safety now suspecting eu'ry place;
No helpe at home, no succour seene abroade,
His minde small rest, his body lesse abode.
32
One scarce to him his sad discourse hath done
Of
Henaults power, and what the Queene intends,
But whilst he speakes, another hath begunne,
A third dooth take it where the second ends,
when now abroade theres other rumours runne,
Some of new foes, some of reuolting friends;
These scarcely past when more reports are spred,
Of many that rebell, of many fled.
33
What plagues doth
Edward for himselfe prepare,
Forsaken king, O whither doost thou she?
Men change their clime, but sildome change their care,
Thou fli'st thy foes, but follow'st misery,
The euill fates in number many are,
That to thy footsteps doe themselues apply;
And still thy conscience prickt with inward griefe,
Thy selfe pursues thy selfe, both robd, and thiefe.
34
Accepting succour offerd next at hand,
At last for
Wales commits him to the seas;
And seeing
Lundy that so faire dooth stand,
Puts in for succour, (neede would faine haue ease)
This little modell of his banisht land,
Which for a while his fancie seemes to please,
Faine would he be king of a little Ile,
Although his Empire bounded in a mile.
35
And ready now to strike his prosp'rous saile,
As vnder lee, past danger of the flood,
A suddaine storme of mixed
[...]leet and haile,
Not suffers him to rule this peece of wood.
What doth thy labour, what thy toyle auaile,
When thou art still with greater powers with-stood?
Edward, thy hopes all vainely do delude,
By Gods and men, incessantly pursude.
36
In this blacke tempest long turmoild and tost,
Quite from their course, & well they know not where,
Mongst rockes and sands, in danger to be lost,
without in perrill, and within in feare,
At length perceiuing they are neere the coast,
And that the place more plainely doth appeare,
Knowes by the mountaines insolently tall,
That part of Wales that we
Glamorgan call.
37
To
Neath, a Castell fortifi'd and strong,
Commanding entrance with his banish'd crew,
The Earle of
Gloster, worker of much wrong,
The Chancelor
Baldocke that much euill knew,
Reding his Marshall is the rest among,
Heere hid from eyes, but not from enuies view;
where for a while committing them to dwell,
We must prepare more dreadfull things to tell,
38
You lighter Muses, leaue me, and be gone,
Your weake complaints are matters much too slight,
More horred plagues are heere approching on,
Yee ghastly spirits that haunt the gloomie night,
Lend me your shreeks t'expresse the depth of moane,
with ghastly howling all approach my sight;
And round about with funerall tapers stand,
To giue a sad light to my sadder hand.
39
Each line shall leade to some dire point of wo,
And eu'ry cadence as a torturde cry,
Now must my teares in such aboundance flow,
That they surround the circle of mine eye;
And whilst these great calamities I show,
All loose affections stand you idely by,
Once more our cleere Muse dips her wing in gore,
The dreerest tale that pen did ere deplore.
40
New sorts of vengeance threatned to the earth,
The raging Ocean past the bounds to rise,
Strange apparitions, and prodigious birth,
Vnheard of sicknesse, and mortalities,
More inaccustom'd, and vnlook'd for dearth,
New sorts of Meteors gazing from the skies;
As what before had small or nothing bin,
And onely now our miseries begin.
41
And whilst these discordes and dissentions breede,
The land layd naked to all offered ill,
The lawlesse exile now returnes with speed,
Not to defend his countrey, but to kill,
And all the prisons dissolutely freed,
Both field and towne with wretchednes to fill,
London first author of our latest shame,
Soonst that repentst, most plagued for the same.
42
Whose giddy commons mercilesse and rude,
Let loose to mischiefe in this cursed day,
Their hands in blood of
Edwards friends imbrude,
Neuer content till they were made away;
Th'implacable and wicked multitude
On the Lieutenant
Stapleton doe pray,
who dragg'd and torne by this tumultuous heape,
Cut off his head before the Crosse in Cheape.
43
Reade wofull Citty on thy ruinde wall,
Thy sad destruction which is drawing nie,
Where on thy gates is charactered thy fall,
In mangled bodies thine Anatomy,
Now thy lewd errours to a reckning call,
Which may exstract teares from thy ruthlesse eye:
And if the thicke ayre dim thy hatefull sight,
Thy buildings are on fire to giue thee light.
44
Thy chanels serue for incke, for paper, stones,
And on the ground write murther, incest, rape,
Aud for thy pennes, a heape of dead mens bones,
Let euery letter besome monstrous shape,
Thy poynts and accents be departing groanes,
And let no vile, nor desperate act escape,
And when with pride thou arte againe ore'gon,
Then take this booke, and sadly looke thereon.
45
Poore wretch dispoilde of thy late Virgins name,
Now for thy sinne what impious villaine shent,
Blacke is my incke, but blacker thy defame,
Who shall reuenge whilst I thy state lament,
What might be done to remedy thy shame,
When now too late these mischieses to preuent,
Against these horrors thou doost idely striue,
Thou seest thy selfe deuoured, yet aliue.
46
Thou wantst redresse, and tyrannie remorce,
To whom shouldst thou thy helples woes complaine?
But yeelde thy selfe to the adulterers force,
Thy wordes vntimely, and returne in vaine,
The more thou grieu'st, thy fault is still the worse;
This remedy there onely dooth remaine,
Dispoylde of fame, be prodigall of breath,
And make thy life cleere by a resolute death.
47
For worlds that were, the present times complaine,
when men might haue beene buride when they di'de,
And children safely in their cradles laine,
And when the husband might enioy his bride,
when in some bounds ill could it selfe containe,
The sonne haue kneeld by's fathers death-bed side,
The liuing wrongde, the dead no right can haue,
The father sees his sonne to want a graue.
48
But tis too late thy head-strong course t'recall,
Depriude all feeling of externall feare;
These deadly sounds by their continuall fall,
Settle confusion in thy deafned eare,
This is the last, O would the worst of all!
Shreekes be the musicke thou delightst to heare,
Armes thy attire, and wounds be all thy good,
Thy end consists in rapine and in blood.
49
In glorious age of whom it should be said,
That all these mischieues should abound in thee,
That all these sinnes should to thy charge be laid,
From no calumnious nor vile action free,
O let not time vs with thy ills vpbrayd,
Lest feare what hath beene, argue what may be;
And fashioning so a habite in the minde,
Make vs alone the haters of our kinde.
50
O powrefull heauen, in whose all-soueraigne raine,
Those thy pure bodies mooue in harmony,
And by a strong and euerlasting chaine,
Together linckt in sacred vnitie;
In which you doe continually remaine,
Stayd in one certaine course eternally,
Why his due motion keepeth eu'ry star,
Yet what they gouerne so irregular?
51
Muse, in the course of this vnnaturall warre,
Tell me from whence this height of mischiefe grew,
That in so short time spread it selfe so farre,
Whereon such strange calamities ensue;
The true occasions faithfully declare:
O men religious, was the fault in you?
Which euen growne resty by your powre, withdraw
Your stifned neckes, as free from ciuill awe.
52
What wonder then the people grow prophane,
When Church mens liues giue lay-men leaue to fall;
Their former Doue-like humblenesse disdaine,
For coates of haire, now clad in costly pall,
The holy Ephod made a cloke for gaine,
And what most cunning, most cannonicall,
And blinde promotion shuns that dangerous road,
Which the old Prophets diligently troad.
53
Hence ist that God so slightly is ador'd,
The rocke remoou'd whereon our faith is gounded,
Conscience esteemde but as an idle word,
Which weake before, by vaine opinion wounded,
Professors liues so little fruit affoord,
And in her sects religion lies confounded;
The sacred things a merchandize become,
None talks of texts, and prophecying dumbe.
54
And of the former being thus possest,
Like to the venome of infectious ayre,
That hauing got into the secret breast,
Is not prescribde, nor long times staies it there;
But from this ground to seize vpon the rest,
The rancke contagion spreading eu'ry where;
That ere this euill hath the vtmost done,
The solide body lastly ouer-runne.
55
Cauells breake forth to cancell wholesome lawes,
And caching hold vpon the publique weale,
Where doubts should cease, they rise in euery clawse,
The sword that wounds ordaind a salue to heale,
One mischeefe still another forward drawes,
Each striuiug others vilenesse to conceale,
By lewd corruptions in a needefull vse,
Right cloakes all wrong, and couers all abuse.
56
When now the King late taken to this hold,
And in this poore imprisned libertie,
Liuing a death in hunger, want, and cold,
Euen in depth of woe and miserie;
By hatefull treason secretly is sold,
Before he could the trecherous drift espy;
For when oppression's vp vnto the chin,
Who lends not hand to thrust him boldly in?
57
In th'lucklesse fortunes of this wretched King,
whose person's seised by th'inuading part,
Vnto his friends sad matters menacing,
VVith bloodlesse terror striking eu'ry hart,
All expectation now discouraging,
VVhen no euasion from the foe to start;
And that the clowd which threatned greatest feare,
Rose whence their hopes most brightest did appeare.
58
Which breaking in now with a generall force,
On the two
Spensers, from whose onely hate
This warre first sprung, distracted in their course,
Their latest power confined by their fate,
Of whom theres none takes pittie or remorce;
Which to avoide, as cankers of the state,
The eldest first to death at
Bristow led,
Where hangde to death, his body quartered.
59
Whenas the heire to
Winchester late dead,
The bloody lot to th'Earle of
Gloster fell,
Reding the Marshall, marshald with the dead,
When soone succeedes the Earle of
Arundell,
To pay the forfait of a reuerent head,
Then
Muchelden, and wofull
Daniell,
Who followed him in his lasciuious waies,
Must go before him to his fatall daies.
60
Euen like some pillar, on whose goodly height,
A pondrous building onely doth depend,
Which when not able to sustaine the weight,
And that his strong backe hath begun to bend,
As quite depriued of his former might,
The massy load vnto the ground doth send,
Crushing the lesser props, and murdring all
That stand within the compasse of the fall.
61
That state whereon the strength of Princes leanes,
Whose hie ascent we trembling do behold,
From whence by coynesse of their chaste disdaines,
Subiection is imperiously controld;
Their earthly weaknesse euermore explaines,
Exalting whom they please, not whom they should,
When their owne fall (showes how they
[...]ondlyer'd)
Procur'd by those vnworthily prefer'd.
62
Merit goes vnregarded and vngrac'd,
When by his fauters ignorance held in,
And Parasites in wise mens roomes are plac'd,
Onely to sooth the great ones in their sin,
From such whose gifts, and knowledge is debac'd,
Theres many strange enormities begin,
Forging great wits into most factious tooles,
When mightiest men oft proue the mightiest fooles.
63
But why so vainely doe I time bestow,
The fowle abuse of th'wretched world to childe,
Whose blinded iudgement eu'ry howre doth show,
What follie weake mortalitie doth guide?
Wise was the man that laugh'd at all thy woe,
My subiect still more sorrow doth prouide,
And this late peace more matter still doth breede,
To hasten that which quickly must succeede.
The end of the fourth Canto.
❧ The fifth Booke of the Barrons warres.
The Argument.
Th'imprisoned King his gouernement for sakes,
And to the Peeres his weakenesse so excused,
Who him ere long from
Leisters keeping takes,
That with much woe his soueraigne Lord refused,
His torturers of him a mockery makes,
And basely, and reproachfully abused,
By secret waies to
Berckley being led,
And cruelly in prison murthered.
1
THe wretched King vnnaturally betrayd,
By lewd coruption of his natiue Land,
From thence with speede to
Kennelworth conuayd,
By th'Earle of
Leister with a mightie band,
Some few his fauorers quickely ouer-wayd,
And now a present Parlement in hand,
To ratifie the generall intent,
His resignation of the gouernment.
2
Falne through the frailtie of intemperate will,
That with his fortunes it so weakely farde,
To vndergoe that vnexpected ill,
For his deserued punishment preparde,
The measure of that wretchednesse to fill,
To him alotted as a iust reward,
Armes all with malice, either lesse or more,
To strike at him that strooke at all before.
3
And being a thing the commons daily craue,
To which the great are resolutely bent,
Such forward helpes on eu'ry side to haue,
T'effect their strong and forcible intent,
Which now that speede vnto their action gaue,
That ratifi'd by generall consent,
Still hastned on to execute the thing,
Which for one ill, two worse should shortly bring.
4
Bishops, Earles, Abbots, and the Barrons all,
Each in due order as becomes the state,
Set by the Heraults in that goodly hall,
The Burgesses for places corporate,
Whom this great busnes at this time doth call,
For the Cinque-ports the Barrons conuocate,
And other Knights, for the whole body sent,
Both on the South, and on the North of Trent.
5
From his impris'ning chamber clad in blacke,
Before th'assembly sadly he is brought,
A dolefull hearse vpon a dead mans backe,
whose heauy lookes might tell his heauier thought,
In which there doth no part of sorrow lacke,
Nor fained action needes to grieue be taught:
His funerall solemniz'd in his cheere,
His eyes the mourners, and his legs the Beere.
6
Torleton, as one select to this intent,
The best experienc'd in this great affaire,
A man graue, subtile, stowt, and eloquent,
First with faire speech th'assembly doth prepare,
Then with a voyce austere and eminent,
Doth his abuse effectually declare,
As winnes each sad eye with a reuerent feare,
With due attention drawing eu'ry eare.
7
The great exactions raised by the King,
With whose full plenty he is Mineons fed,
Himselfe and subiects so impou'rishing,
And that deere blood he lauishly had shed,
Which desolation to the land should bring,
And the chiefe cause by his lewd riots bred;
The losse in warre sustained through his blame,
The during scandall to the English name.
8
Proceeding forward to the future good,
That their dissignements happily intend,
And with what vpright policie it stoode,
No after hopes their for tunes to amend,
The resignation to his proper blood,
That might the action lawfully defend,
The present neede that willd it strictly so,
Whose imposition they might not sorslowe.
9
Pardon me Art, that striuing to be short,
To this intent a speech deliuering,
And that at full I doe not heere report
Matters that tuch deposing of the King,
My faithfull Muse, O doe not thou exhort
The after times to so abhorr'd a thing,
To shew the reasons forcibly were laide,
Out of thy feelings what hee might haue saide.
10
The strong deliu'ry of whose vehement speech,
Borne with a dauntlesse, and contracted brow,
That with such steme seueritie did teach,
His reasons more authentique to allow,
Which the more easly made the dang'rous breach,
By the remembrance of a generall vow:
To which they heere must openly contest,
When
Edward comes to consumate the rest.
11
His faire cheeke couerd in pale sheets of shame,
And as a dumbe shew in a swowne began,
Where passion dooth such sundry habites frame,
As eu'ry sence a right Tragedian,
Truely to shew from whence his sorrow came,
Beyond the compasse of a common man,
where Nature seemes a practiser in Art,
Teaching Dispaire to act a liuely part.
12
Ah Pitty, dost thou liue, or wert thou not,
Mortalls by such sights haue to flint bin turned,
Or what men haue beene, hath their seed forgot,
Or was it neuer knowne that any mourned,
In what so strangely are we ouershot?
Against our owne selfe hath our frailtie spurned,
Or teares hence forth abandon humane eies,
And neuer-more to pit
[...]y miseries.
13
He takes the Crowne yet scornefully vnto him,
With slight regarde, as scarcely thinking on it,
As though not sencelesse that it should forgoe him,
And sildome casts a scornefull eie vpon it,
would seeme to leaue it, and would haue it woe him,
Then snatching it, as loath to haue forgone it,
Yet puts it from him, yet he will not so,
would faine retaine what faine he would forgoe.
14
In this confused conflict of the minde,
Teares drowning sighes, and sighs confounding teares,
Yet whenas neither libertie could finde,
Oppressed with the multitude of
[...]eares,
Stands as a man affrighted from his kinde,
Griefe becomes senslesse when too much it beares,
whilst speech & silēce striues which place shuld take
From his ful bosome thus his sorrowee brake.
15
If that my title rightfully be planted,
Vpon a true indubitate succession,
Confirmd by nations as by nature granted,
That freely hath deliuerd me possession,
Impute to heauen sufficiencie t'haue wanted,
which must deny it power, or you oppression,
which into question by due course may bring,
The grieued wrongs of an annointed King.
16
That halowed vnction by a sacred hand,
which once was powrde on this emperious head,
which wrought th'iudument of a strict command,
And round about me the rich verdure spred,
Either my right in greater stead must stand,
Or why in vaine was it so idely shed,
whose prophanation and vnreueret tuch,
Iust heauen hath often punisht alwayes much.
17
When from the bright beames of our soueraine due,
Descends the strength of your enated right,
And prosperously deriues it selfe to you,
As from our fulnes taking borrowed light,
which to your safeties alwayes firme and true,
Why thus repugne you by prepostrous might?
But what heauen lent me vertuously t'haue vsed,
Leaues to your power what weaknes hath abused.
18
But heere I doe resigne it to your King,
Pawsing heereat as though his tongue offended,
with griping throwes seemes forth that word to bring,
Sighing a full point as he there had ended,
O how that sound his grieued heart doth wring,
Which he recalling gladly would haue mended:
Things of small moment we can scarcely holde,
But griefes that touch the heart are hardly colde.
19
But being past, he prosecutes in teares,
Calming that tempest with a shower of raine,
As he had stroue to keepe it from his eares,
Quoth he, the liegeman to your Soueraigne?
O in his lippes how vile that word appeares,
Whereat ashamde doth sadly pawse againe,
Yes, yes, euen say so vnto him you beare it,
Ift be yong
Edward that you meane shall weare it.
20
Let him account his bondage from that day
That he is with the Diademe inuested,
A glittering Crowne hath made this haire so gray,
Within whose circle he is but arrested,
To true content this not the certaine way,
With sweeter cates a meane estate is feasted,
And when his prowd feet scorne to tuch the mold,
His head a prisner in a gayle of golde.
21
His subiects numbred, numbring of his care,
And when with showts the people doe beginne,
Let him suppose th'applause but prayers are
T'escape the danger that they see him in,
Wherein t'aduenture he so boldly dare;
The multitude hoth multitudes of sinne,
And he thats first to cry, God saue the King,
Is the first man doth newes of sorrow bring.
22
Appeasing tumults hate cannot appease,
Soothde with deceits, and fed with flatteries,
Thy selfe displeasing, other sought to please,
Obeyd as much as hee shall tyrannize,
The least in safety being most at ease,
Feare forcing friends, inforcing enemies:
And when hee fitteth in his greatst estate,
His foot-stoole danger, and his chaire is hate.
23
Raigne he alone, whilst he no King, was one
Disarmde of power, and heere deiected is,
By whose deposing he enioyes a throne,
Nor should I suffer that, nor he doe this,
I must confesse th'inheritance his owne,
But whilst I liue it should be none of his,
The sonne climes vp to thrust the father downe,
And thus the crowned left without a Crowne.
24
Hauing performd this hard constrained part,
His speech, his raigne, the day all ioyntly ended,
Strangely transformd, not being what thou art,
Carde for of none, vnlookt on, vnattended,
Sadly departing with a heauy heart,
To his strong lodging straightly recommended,
Left to bemoane his miserable plight,
To the rude walls, and solitarie night.
25
Whilst things are thus disastrously decreed,
Seditious libels euery day are spred,
By such as like not of their violent deede,
That he by force should be deliuered,
Whether his wrong remorce in some did breede,
That him at last vntimely pittied,
Or else deuisde in pollicie by some,
To cloake that mischiefe afterward to come.
26
And hate that each where hearkning stil doth lurke,
And yet suspitions
Edward is not sure,
Thinking what blood with
Leicester might wurke,
Or else, what friends his name might him procure,
Which yet their thoughts continually doth yrke
The time he should at
Kenelworth endure:
Fore thinke some place t'which secretly conuaide,
Vnknowne his being, be securde from aide.
27
And though the great to hide their close intent,
(Seeme ne're so cleare from knowing those know ill)
Not vnprouided of the instrument,
Which they keepe ready to performe their will,
Such haue th'in store to their damnation bent,
In villanie notorious for their skill,
Dishonest, desperate, mercilesse, and rude,
To all vile actions ready to intrude.
28
Matreuers and base
Gurney are the men
In this lewd act that must confedered be,
Whose hatefull names pollute our maiden pen,
But I intreate you, be not grieu'd with mee
To whome the same doe worthily pertaine,
Some bought grow crooked from the streightest tree:
Nor shall you be partakers of their shame,
The fault lies in their deede, not in your name.
29
These secretly to
Killingworth dispatcht,
Fitted of all things that their hearts desire,
At such a time as few their purpose watcht,
After whose busnes none is to enquire,
Which by their warrant subtilly was matcht,
Onely to them knowne whither to retire:
Taking the King, his guardian to acquit,
And to bestow him where they thought most fit.
30
With a crew of ribalds, villainous, and nought,
As their coagents in this hatefull thing,
To th'earle of
Leister their commission brought,
Commaunding the deliu'ry of the King
which (with much griefe) they lastly frō him wrought,
About the Castell closely houering,
watching a time till silence, and the night,
Might with conuenience priuiledge their flight.
31
With shamefull scoffes, and barbarous disgrace,
Him on a leane ill fauord jade they set,
In a vile garment, beggarly, and base,
Which, it should seeme, they purposely did get,
And in a wretched miserable case,
B
[...]numd and beaten with the colde, and wet,
Depriu'd of all repose and naturall rest,
with thirst and hunger grieuously opprest.
32
Yet still suspitious that he should be knowne,
They shaue away his ornament of haire,
The last thing his that he could call his owne,
Neuer left Fortune any wight so bare;
Such tyranny on king was neuer showne,
Thus voide of comfort, were he voide of care:
No, no, our ioyes are shadowes, and deceiue vs,
But till our death our sorrowes neuer leaue vs.
33
To which intent, when farthest from resort,
Forcing him light from his poore wearie beast,
Vpon a mole-hill (O most sad report)
With puddle-water him they lewdly drest,
Whilst at his woes and miseries they sport,
An yron skull the Bason, like the rest,
VVhose lothing eyes in this more lothed glasse,
Well may discerne how much deformd he was.
34
Th'abundant drops that from his eyes do fall,
A poole of teares still rising by this raine,
VVhich wrastling with the water, and withall,
A troubled circle makes it to retaine,
His endlesse griefes vnto his minde might call,
Billowde with sighes like to a little maine,
water with teares contending whether should
Make water warme, or make the warme tears cold.
35
Vile traitors, hold off your vnhalowed hands,
His brow the state of maiestie still beares,
Dare you thus keepe your soueraigne Lord in bands,
How can your eyes behold th'annointeds teares?
Or if your sight thus all remorce with-stands,
Are not your harts euen pierced through your eares?
The minde is free, what ere afflict the man,
Hee's yet a King, do Fortune what she can.
36
Who's he should take what God himselfe hath giuen,
Or spill that life his holy spirit infused,
All powers be subiect to the power of heauen,
Wrongs passe not vnreueng'd how ere excused,
If of all sense griefe hath thee not bereauen,
Rise maiestie when thou art thus abused,
O whither shall authoritie betake,
When in this sort it doth it selfe forsake.
37
And in despight and mockery of a Crowne,
A wreathe of grasse they for his temples make,
Which when he felt, as comming from a swoune,
And that his powers a little gan awake,
Fortune (quoth he) thou doost not alwaies frowne,
I see thou giu'st aswell as thou doost take,
That wanting naturall couert for, my braine,
For that defect, thou lend'st me this againe.
38
To whom, O heauen, should I my griefes complaine
Since thou art iust and prouident in all?
How should this body naturall strength retaine,
To suffer things so much innaturall?
My cogitations labour but in vaine,
Except thou be partaker in my fall;
And when at once so many mischiefes meete,
By change of sorrow mak'st my torment sweete.
39
Wherefore my fate I should but fondly grutch,
Tis vaine contention when with heauen we striue,
Which preordaines my miseries for such,
That by one woe another should suruiue,
To shew how it mortalitie can tutch,
My wretchednesse so strangely to contriue,
That all my comfort in mishaps should rest,
And else in nothing but misfortune blest.
40
To
Berckley thus they led this wretched King,
The place of horror that was long fore-thought,
What power should suffer so defilde a thing,
Or can behold this murther to be wrought,
That might the Nation into question bring,
But that your waies with iudgement still are fraught;
Thus art thou hap'd into thy earthly hell,
Now take thy leaue, and bid the world farewell.
41
Berekley, whose faire seate hath beene famous long,
Let thy faire buildings shreeke a deadly sound,
And to the ayre complaine thy greeuous wrong,
Keeping the figure of King
Edwards wound,
That as thou waxest old, their shame still yong,
Their wretched foote-steps printed on the ground,
That when report shall lend their vile act breath,
All tongues may adde damnation to their death.
42
The omenous Rauen with a dismall cheere,
Through his hoarse beake, of following horror tells,
Begetting strange imaginarie feare,
With heauie ecchoes like to passing-bells;
The howling dogge a dolefull part doth beare,
As though they chimde his latest burying knells,
Vnder his caue the buzzing shreech-owle sings,
Beating his windowes with her fatall wings.
43
And still affrighted in his fearefull dreames,
With raging fiends and goblins that he meetes,
Of falling downe from steepe Rockes into streames,
Of toombes, of burialls, and of winding-sheetes,
Of wandring helpelesse in far forraigne Realmes,
Of strong temptations by seducing sprites,
Wherewith awakde, and calling out for aide,
His hollow voyce doth make himselfe afraide.
44
Next comes the vision of his bloody raine,
Masking along with
Lancasters sterne ghost,
Of Barrons twenty eight or hangd, or slaine,
Attended with the ruefull mangled host,
That vnreuengde yet all this while remaine,
At
Borough battell, and at
Burton lost,
Threatning with frownes, and trembling eu'ry lim,
As though in peeces they would torture him.
45
And if it chance that from the troubled skies,
The least small starre through any chincke giue light,
Straitwaies on heapes the thronging cloudes arise,
As though the heauen were angry with the night,
That it should lend that comfort to his eies,
Deformed shadowes, glimpsing in his sight
As darkenes, for it would more darkened be,
Through those poore crannies for
[...]de it selfe to see.
46
When all th'affliction that they could impose,
Euen to the full, and vtmost of their hate,
Aboue his torment yet his strength arose,
As Nature made a couenant with Fate,
When now his watchfull and two wary foes,
That cease not still his woes to aggrauate,
All further helps suspected to preuent,
To take his life to
Berckley closely sent.
47
And subtilly a letter fashioning,
Which in the wordes a double sence doth beare,
Which seemes to bid them, not to touch the King,
Shewing withall how, vile a thing it were,
But by false poynting, is another thing,
And to dispatch him, bids them not to feare,
which taught to find, these murderers need no more,
For which they stood too ready long before.
48
Whereas he haps a Chronicle to find
Of former kings, their raignes, their deaths, and deedes,
which some their lodgde forgotten had behind,
On which to passe the houres he falls to reede,
Thinking thereby to recreate his mind,
But in his breast this greater woe doth breede,
For when deepe sorrow on the fancie seaseth,
What ere we see, our misery increaseth.
49
First of great
William, Conquerour of this Ile,
(From whom hee's tenth that in succession lies)
Whose power inforcde the Saxon to exile,
Planting new lawes, and forraine subtilties,
Force and subiection, so to reconcile
The punishment of
Harolds tyrannies,
which he applies with arguments so strong,
To the due course of his iust punisht wrong.
50
Rufus his sonne, duke
Robert farre abroade,
Receiues the rule in weake infeebled state,
His fathers steps that euidently troade,
Depressing those who had beene conquerd late,
Wishing release of this their gricuous loade,
Vnder the guidance of their former fate,
The place for men that did to beasts intend,
A bestiall life had last a beastly end.
51
Henry the yongst, his brother
William dead,
Taketh the Crowne from his vsurpfull hand,
Due to the eldest good duke
Roberts head,
Bearing our Red Crosse in the Holy Land,
whose force farre off so much diminished,
That his returne disabled to withstand,
when those for whom th'unnaturall war was done,
The sea deuours, he left without a sonne.
52
To
Mawd the Empresse he the Scepter leaues,
His onely daughter, which by false pretext
Stephen Earle of
Bolloine forcibly bereaues,
Henries false nephew in succession next,
By which the Land a stranger warre receaues,
wherewith it grew so miserably vext:
Till
Stephen failing, and his issue reft,
T'the heires of
Mawd the regall Scepter left.
53
The second
Henry, Mawd the Empresse sonne,
Of th'English line
Plantagenet the first,
By
Stephens death a glorious raigne begunne,
whose youth prolongd to make his age accurst,
By his sonne
Henries coronation,
Which to his dayes much woe and sorrow nurst,
when those for whom he conquerd, to make great,
Abroad his townes, at home vsurpde his seate.
54
Richard his sonne that after him succeedes,
Who not content with what was safely ours,
A man lift vp to great and glorious deedes,
Into the East transportes our valiant powres,
Where with his sworde whilst many a Pagan bleedes,
Relentlesse Fate hastes on vntimely howres,
And makes a period to this hopefull story,
Euen in the spring and blossome of his glory.
55
When him succeedes his faithlesse brother
Iohn,
Murthring yong
Arthur by oppressefull might,
Climing by sorce to his vsurped throne,
Iustly with poyson was repayde his spight,
His life to all men is so hatefull growne,
Who grieues his wrongs that ne're did any right?
That on the Cleargie ryrannously fed,
Was by the Cleargie iustly punished.
56
Henry his sonne now crowned very yong,
Who for the hate they to his father bare,
His state of raigning stoode in question long,
Or to be left vnto a strangers care;
With whom the Barrons, insolent and strong,
For the old Charter in commotion are,
Which his long raine so carefully attends
Granting, his daies in peace securely ends.
57
From him proceedes a Prince, iust, wise, and sage,
(In all things happy but in him his sonne)
For whom euen nature did herselfe engage,
More then in man, in this Prince to haue done,
Whose happy raigne, recur'd the former rage,
By the large bounds he to his Empire wonne,
As the first
Edward had the second beene,
O what a flow of glory had we seene!
58
Turning the leafe as finding vnawares,
What day yong
Edward Prince of
Wales was borne,
Which letters seeme like Magique Characters,
Or to despight him they were made in scorne,
Marking the paper like dis-figuring stars,
O let that name (quoth he) from bookes be torne,
Lest in that place the sad displeased earth,
Doe loath it selfe as slaundered with my birth.
59
From thence heereafter humane birth exil'd,
By th'earth deuour'd, or swallowed by the sea,
And fame enquiring for that lucklesse child,
Say twas abortiue, or else stolne away;
And lest, O Time, thou be therewith defil'd,
In thy vnnumbred course deuoure that day;
Let all be done that power can bring to passe,
Onely forget that such there euer was.
60
The troubled teares now standing in his eyes,
Through which as glasses he is forc'd to looke,
Make letters seeme as rondlets that arise,
By a stone cast into a standing brooke,
Appearing to him in such various wise,
And at one time such sundry fashions tooke,
Which like deluding monsters do affright,
And with their fowle shapes terrifie his sight.
61
When on his saint bed falling downe at last,
His troubled spirit fore-telling danger nie,
When (forth) the doores a fearefull howling cast,
To let those in by whom a King should die;
Whereat he starts, amaz
[...]d and agast,
These ruthlesse villaines all vpon him flie,
Sweete Prince, alas in vaine thou call'st for aide,
By these accursed homicides betraide.
62
O be not authors of so vile an act,
My blood on your posteritie to bring,
Which after times with horror shall distract,
When Fame euen hoarce with age your shame shall ring,
And by recounting of so vile a fact,
Mortalitie so much astonishing,
That they shal count their wickednesse scarce sinne,
To that which long before their time hath bin.
63
And if your hate be deadly, let me liue,
For that aduantage angry heauen hath left,
That except life, takes all that it could giue,
But for iust vengeance should not quite bereft;
Me yet with greater misery to grieue,
Reserue a while this remnant of their theft,
That that which spent frō th'rest should interdict me,
Alone remaining, doth withall afflict me.
64
Thus spake this wofull and distressed Lord,
As yet his breath found passage to and fro,
With many a short pant, many a broken word,
Many a sore grone, many a grieuous throw,
whilst yet his spirit could any strength affoord,
Though with much paine disburdning of his woe,
Till lastly gasping by their maist
[...]ring strength,
His kingly heart subiects it selfe at length.
65
When twixt two beds they close his wearied corse,
Basely vncou'ring of his secret part,
Without all humane pittie and remorce,
With burning yron thrust him to the hart,
O that my Muse had but sufficient force,
T'explaine the torment in the which thou art,
Which whilst with words we coldy do expresse,
Thy paine made greater that we make it lesse.
66
When those in dead and depth of all the night,
Good simple people that are dwelling neare,
From quiet sleepe whom care did now affright,
That his last shreeke and wofull cry do heare,
Euen pittying that miserable wight,
As twixt compassion, and obedient feare,
Lift their sad eyes with heauy sleepe opprest,
Praying to heauen to giue the soule good rest.
67
Still let the buildings sigh his bitter grones,
And euermore his sad complaints repeate,
And let the dull walls and the sencelesse stones,
By the impression of his torment, sweate,
As wanting sounds wherewith to shew his mones,
With all sharpe paine and agony repleate,
That all may thether come that shall be told it,
As in a mirror cleerely to behold it.
68
When now the
Genius of this wofull place,
Beeing the guide to his affrightfull ghost,
With haire dis
[...]eued, and a gastly face,
Shall haunt the prison where his life was lost;
And as the denne of horror and disgrace,
Let it be fearefull vnto all the coast,
That those heereafter that do trauell neere,
Neuer behold it but with heauy cheere.
The end of the fifth Canto.
❧ The sixth Booke of the Barrons warres.
The Argument.
Lord
Mortimer made Earle of March; when he
And the faire Queene rule all things by their might,
The pompe wherin at Nottingham they be,
The cost wherewith their amorous Court is dight,
Enuide by those their hatefull pride that see,
The King attempts the dreadfull caue by night,
Entring the Castell, taketh him from thence,
And
March at London dies for the offence.
1
INforc'd of other accidents to sing,
(Bearing faire showes of promised delight,
Somewhat to slacke this melancholie string,)
That new occasions to our Muse excite,
To our conceit strange obiects fashioning,
Doth our free numbers liberally inuite,
Matter of moment much to be respected,
Must by our pen be seriously directed.
2
And now the time more cuuningly redeeming,
These fraudfull courses fitly to contriue,
How ill so e're, to beare the fairest seeming,
For which they now must diligently striue,
Casting all waies to gaine the same esteeming,
That to the world it prosprously might thriue,
This farre gone on, now with the hand of might,
Vpon this wrong to build a lasting right.
3
The pompous Synod of these earthly Gods;
At
Salsbury selected by their King,
To set all euen that had beene atods,
And into fashion their dissignes to bring,
And strongly now to settle their abodes,
That peace might after from their actions spring;
Firmely t'establish what was well begunne,
Vnder which colour mighty things were done.
4
When
Mortimer pursuing his desire,
Whilst eu'ry engine had his temperate heate,
To b'Earle of
March doth suddainely aspire,
T'increase the honor of his antient seate,
That his command might be the more entire;
Who now but onely
Mortimer is great?
Who knew a kingdome as her lot was throwne,
Which hauing all, would neuer starue her owne.
5
Now stand they firme as those celestiall Poles,
Twixt which the starres in all their course do moue,
Whose strength this frame of gouernement vpholds,
An argument their wisedomes to approue.
Which way soe're the time in motion roles,
So perfect is the vnion of their loue;
For right is still most absolute alone,
Where power and fortune kindely meete in one.
6
Whilst
Edwards non-age giues a further speede,
To th'antient foe-man to renew the warre,
Which to preuent they must haue speciall heede,
Matters so strangely manag'd as they are,
Which otherwise, if their neglect should breede,
Nothing yet made, it might not easily marre,
Which with the most, reseruing their estate,
Inforc'd to purchase at the deerest rate.
7
So much t'release the homage as suffic'd,
Mongst which that deed namde
Ragman, of renown,
By which the kings of Scotland had deuisde,
Their fealty vnto the English crowne,
With other Reliques that were highly prizde,
As that which forc'd the greatest part to frowne;
Th'blacke Crosse of Scotland (men did omenous deeme)
Being a Relique of so hie esteeme.
8
To colour which, and to confirme the peace,
They make a marrige twixt the Scot and vs,
To giue more strength vnto this strange release,
Which vnto all men seemd so dangerous
Whilst
Roberts raigne, and after his decease,
The league might euer be continued thus,
Dauid the Prince the Lady
Iane should take,
which twixt the Realms a lasting bond shuld make.
9
When th'Earle of
Kent that being one of those,
Which in their actions had a powerfull hand,
Perceiuing them of matters to dispose,
To the subiection of so great a land,
Finding the inconuenience that growes
Vnder the guidance of their wilfull hand,
To shake their power whilst he strangely doth cast,
His fatall end too violently doth haste.
10
Which giuing out his brother yet to liue,
(Long now supposed the deceased King)
Vnto his nephew might that scandall giue,
As into question might his title bring:
Ill this report beganne, and worse it thriue,
Being so foule and dangerous a thing,
Which being the motiue of intestine strife,
The time not long ere it bereft his life.
11
Whilst
Edward takes what late their power did giue,
Whose non-age craues their bountifull protection,
Which know to rule whilst he must learne to liue,
From their experience taking his direction,
Which more and more their doubtfull hopes reuiue,
When borne to raigne, yet crownd by their election,
Th'allegiance duely dooth to him belong,
Now makes their faction absolutely strong.
12
Prouiding for protection of the king,
Men of most power, and noblest of the Pecres,
That no distaste vnto the realme might bring,
For ripened iudgement, or well seasoned yeeres,
With comelines all matters managing,
Yet whilst they row, tis
Mortimer that steeres,
wel might we think the man were worse than blind,
That wanted sea-roome, and could rule the wind.
13
To smoothe the path wherein this course was gone,
Which as a test might to their actions stand,
And giue more full possession of their owne,
In being receiued from a soucraine band,
Into their bosomes absolutely throwne,
Both for the good, and safety of the land:
When their proceedings colourd with this care,
To the worlds eye so faire an out-side bare.
14
All complement that appertainde to state,
By giuing greatnes eu'ry honored rite,
To feed those eies that did their houres avvaite;
And by all meanes to nourish their delight,
That entertaining loue, they welcome hate,
And vvith free bounty equally inuite,
A Princes wealth in spending still doth spred,
Like to a brooke with many fountaines fed.
15
To
Nottingham the Norths emperious eye,
Which as a
Pharus guardes the goodly soile,
And armd by Nature danger to defie,
There to repose him safely after toile,
Where treason least aduantage might espie,
Closely conuaies this great in-valued spoile:
That by residing from the publique sight,
He might more freely relish his delight.
16
Nine score in checke attending in their court,
Whom honored Knighthood knitts in mutuall bands,
Men most select, of speciall worth and sort,
Much might they doe that haue so many hands,
Who payes not tribute to this lordly port?
This hie-rearde Castell eu'ry way commands;
Thus like those Giants gainst great heauen they rise,
Which darted Rockes at the emperiall skies.
17
It seemes in him Fame meanes hir power to show,
And twixt her wings to beare him through the skies,
He might more easly see the things below,
Hauing aboue them mounted him so hie,
Vnto whose will they meckely seeme to bow,
Vnder whose greatnes meaner powers doe
[...]e:
All things concurre with faire succeslefull chance,
To raise that man whom Fortune will aduance.
18
Heere all along the flower enameld vales,
The siluer.
Trent on pearly sand
[...] dooth slide,
And to the medowes telling wanton tales,
Her Cristall limbs lasciuiously in pride,
(As rauished with the enamored gales,)
with often turnings casts from side to side,
As loath she were the sweete soyle to for sake,
And cast her selfe into the German lake.
19
Neare whom; faire
Sherwood wildely bent to roue,
Twines her loose armes about the flattering Towers,
By the milde shadowes of her scattered groue,
Lends winter shelter, and giues' summer bowers,
As with the flood in curtesie it stroue,
And by repulsing the sharpe Northerne showers:
Courts the prowd Castell, who by turning to her,
Smiles to behold th'lasciuious wod-nymph wo hir.
20
Who being retirde so strictly to this place,
To this faire sted the Princes person drawes,
When Fortune seemes their greatnes to embrace,
That as a working and especiall cause,
Effects each formall ceremonious grace,
As by her iust and necessary lawes,
That in the towne retaines his kingly seate,
With
Marches Court the Castle is repleate.
21
Occasiond where, in counsels to debate,
And by the king conueniently is met,
So soueraigne and magnificent in state,
As might all eies vpon his greatnesse set,
Prizing his honour at that costly rate,
As to the same due reuerence might beget,
which as the obiect sundry passions wrought,
Stirring strange forms in many a wandring thoght.
22
Could blind ambition find the meanest stay
His disproportiond and vaine course to guide,
Tassure some safety in that slippery way,
Where the most worldly prouident doe slide,
Feeling the steep fall threatning sure decay,
Besotted in the wantonnesse of pride,
The minde assuming absoluter powres,
Might checke the fraile mortality of ours.
23
But still in pleasure sitting with excesse,
His sauory junkett tasted with delight,
Ne're can that glutton appetite suppresse,
Where eu'ry dish inuites a licorish sight,
Nor hauing much, is his desire the lesle,
Till tempted past the compasse of his might,
The pampered stomacke more than well suffizde,
Casts vp the surfet lately gurmundizde.
24
And when som brook from th'ouer moistned ground
By swelling waters prowdly ouer slowd,
Stoppeth his
[...]rrent, shouldrrth downe his mownd,
And from his course dooth quite himselfe vnloade,
The bordring meddowes eu'ry where surrownd,
Dispersing his owne riches all abroade,
Spending the store he was maintained by,
Leaues his first channell desolate and dry.
25
When now those few that many teares had spent,
And long had wept on murthered
Edwards graue,
Muttring in corners, grieud, and discontent,
And finding some a willing care that gaue,
Sti
[...] as they durst, bewraying what they meant,
Tending his pride and greatnes to depraue,
Vrging withall, what some might iustly do,
If things thus borne, were rightly lookt into,
26
Some giue it out, that
March by blood to rise,
Had cut off
Kent, the man might next succeed,
And his late treasons falsly did surmise,
As a meere colour to this lawlesse deede,
That his ambition onely did deuise,
In time the royall family to weede,
When in account there was but only one,
That kept him off from stepping to the throne.
27
And those much busied in the former times,
Then credulous that honour was his end,
And by the hate they bare to others crimes,
Did not his faults so carefully attend,
Perceiuing how he desolutely climes,
(Hauing thus brought his purpose to an end)
With a seuere eye now more strictly looke
Into the course that his ambition tooke.
28
All fence the tree that serueth for a shade,
Whose large growne body doth repulse the winde,
Vntill his wastefull branches do inuade,
The straighter plants, and them in prison binde,
And as a tyrant to the weaker made;
When like a foule deuourer of his kinde,
Vnto his roote all put their hands to hew,
Whose romth but hinders others that would grow.
29
Thus at his ease whilst he securely sate,
And to his will these things assured were,
With a wel gouernd and contented fate,
Neuer so much freed from suspitious feare,
Wel fortifide, and in so good estate,
As not admits of danger to be neare,
But still we see before a sodaine shower,
The sunne shines hotst, and hath the greatest power.
30
Within the Castle hath the Queene deuisde
A chamber with choice rarities so frought,
As in the same she had imparadizde
Almost what man by industrie hath sought,
where, with the curious pensill was comprizde,
what could with colours by the Arte be wrought,
In the most sure place of the Castle there,
which she had namde the Tower of
Mortimer.
31
An orball forme with pillers small composde,
Which to the top like paralels doe beare,
Arching the compasse where they vvere inclosde,
Fashioning the faire roofe like the hemisphere,
In whose partitions by the lines disposde,
All the cleere Northerne Asterismes were
In their corporeall shapes with starres inchased,
As by th'old Poets they in heauen were placed.
32
About which lodgings, towards the vpper face,
Ran a fine bordure circularly led,
As equall twixt the hi'st point and the base,
That as a Zone the waste ingirdled,
That lends the sight a breathing or a space,
Twixt things neere view, and those farre ouer head;
Vnder the which the Painters curious skill,
In liuely formes the goodly roome did fill.
33
Heere
Phoebus clipping
Haycinthus stood,
whose liues last drops his snowie breast imbrew,
The ones teares mixed with the others blood,
That shoul't be blood or teares, no sight could view,
So mix'd together in a little flood,
Yet heere and there they seu'rally with-drew,
The pretty wood-nimphs chafing him with balme,
To bring the sweete boy from his deadly qualme.
34
With the Gods Lire, his quiuer and his bow,
His golden mantle cast vpon the ground,
T'expresse whose geiefe, Art euen her best did show,
The sledge so shadowed still seem'd to rebound,
To counterfet the vigor of the blow,
As still to giue new anguish to the wound,
The purple flowre sprung from the blood that run,
That opneth since, and closeth with the Sun.
35
By which the heyfer
Io, Ioues faire rape,
Gazing her new tane figure in a brooke,
The water shadow'd to obserue the shape,
In the same forme that she on it doth looke:
So cunningly to clowde the wanton scape,
That gazing eyes, the portrature mistooke,
By prospectiue deuisde beholding now,
This way a maiden, that way
[...]t seemde a Cow.
36
Swist
Mercury like to a Sheepheards boy,
Sporting with
Hebe by a fountaine brim,
with many a sweete glance, many an amorous toy,
He sprinckling drops at her, and she at him;
wherein the Painter so explainde their ioy,
As though his skill the perfect life could lim;
Vpon whose browes the water hung so cleere,
As throgh the drops the faire skin might appeare.
37
And Ciffy
Cynthus with a thousand birds,
whose freckled plumes adorne his bushy crowne,
Vnder whose shadow graze the stragling heards,
Out of whose top the fresh springs trembling downe,
Dropping like fine pearle through his shaggy beards,
With mosse and climing Ivie ouer-growne,
The Rocke so liuely done in eu'ry part,
As Nature could be paterned by Art.
38
The naked Nimphs some vp and downe descending,
Small scattering flowers at one another flung,
With nimble turnes their limber bodies bending,
Cropping the blooming branches lately sprung,
(Vpon the briers their coloured mantles rending)
Which on the Rockes grew heere and there among;
Some combe their haire, some making garlands by,
As with delight might satisfie the eye.
39
There comes prowde
Phaeton tumbling through the clowdes,
Cast by his Palfraies that their raines had broke,
And setting fire vpon the welked shrowdes,
Now through the heauen run madding from the yoke,
The elements together thrust in crowdes,
Both Land and Sea hid in a reeking smoke,
Drawne with such life, as some did much desire,
To warme themselues, some frighted with the fire.
40
The riuer
Po, that him receiuing burnde,
His seauen sisters standing in degrees,
Trees vnto women seeming to be turnde,
As the gods turnde the women into trees,
Both which at once so mutually that mournde,
Drops from their boughs, or tears fell from their eyes,
The fire seemde to be water, water flame,
Such excellence in shewing of the same.
41
And to this lodging did the light inuent,
That it should first a naturall course reflect,
Through a short roome into the window sent,
Whence it should come expressiuely direct,
Holding iust distance to the lineament,
And should the beames proport onably proiect;
And being thereby condensated and graue,
To eu'ry figure a sure colour gaue.
42
In part of which, vnder a golden Vine,
Whose broad leau'd brauches cou'ting ouer all,
Stood a rich bed, spred with this wanton twine,
Doubling themselues in their lasciuious fall,
Whose rip'ned clus
[...]ers seeming to decline,
VVhereas among the naked
Cupids sprawle,
Some at the sundry coloured birds do shute,
Some swaruing vp to plucke the purple fruite.
43
On which a Tissue counterpoint was cast,
Arachnes web the same did not surpasse,
Wherein the story of his fortunes past,
In liuely pictures neatly handled was;
How he escap'd the Tower, in France how grac'd,
with stones embroyd'red of a wondrous masse;
About the border in a curious fret,
Emblems, Empresas, H
[...]oglifiques set.
44
This flattering calme, congeales that thickned shower,
Which the full clowdes of poisnous enuy fed,
whose desolution waits th vnhappy hower,
To let the fury on his hatefull head,
which now was of that violence and power,
As his delights yet not imagined,
when men suppose in safety most to stand,
Then greatest dangers are the neer'st at hand.
45
Yet finding the necessitie is such,
To execute what he doth vndertake,
And that his crowne it did so neerely tuch,
If they too soone his sleeping power awake;
Th'attempt was great, the danger was as much,
Must secretly prouide some course to take,
By which he might th'enterprise effect,
And most offend, where he might least suspect.
46
A deepe blacke caue low in the earth is found,
whose duskie entrance like pale
Morpheus Cell,
with strange Meanders windeth vnder ground,
where sooty darkenes euermore doth dwell;
That with such dread and horror doth abound,
As might be deemde an entrance into hell;
which Architects to serue the Castell made,
Whenas the
Dane this Iland did inuade.
47
Now on along this cranckling path doth keepe,
Then by a rocke turnes vp another way,
Now rising vp, now falling towards the deepe,
As the ground leuell, or vnlevell lay;
And now direct, now angular doth creepe,
Nor in the course keepes any certaine stay,
Till in the Castell in a secret place,
He casts the fowle maske from his clowdy face.
48
By which the King with a selected crew,
Of such as he with his intent acquainted,
And well affected to this action knew,
That in reuenge of
Edward neuer fainted,
And to their vtmost zealously pursue,
Such, whose cleere blood no time had euer tainted;
Aduentures now this labirinth t'assay,
To rowze the beast which kept them all at bay.
49
What time the Sunne with this day-laboring teames,
Is driuing downe vnto the West apace,
T'refresh his cauples in the Ocean streames,
And coole the feruor glowing in his face,
Which now appeares by his hic-coloured beames,
To rest him from our Hemisphere a space,
Leauing fowle darkenesse to possesse the skies,
The fittest times for bloody tragedies.
50
With torches now attempting the sad caue,
Which at their entrance seemeth in a fright,
At the reflection that the brightnesse gaue,
As till that time it neuer saw the light;
Where light and darknesse with the power they haue,
Strongly for the preheminence do fight,
And each confounding other, both appeare,
As to their owne selues they contrary were.
51
The craggy cleeues which crosse them as they go,
Make as their passage they would haue denide,
And threatning them their iourney to forslow,
As angry with the path that was their guide,
As they their griefe and discontent would show,
Cursing the hand that did them first diuide;
The combrous falls and risings seeme to say,
This wicked action could not brooke the day.
52
The gloomy lamps this troope still forward led,
Forcing shadowes follow on their backe,
Are like the mourners waiting on the dead,
And as the deede, so are they vgly blacke;
Hate goes before, confusion followed,
The sad portents of blood-shed, and of wracke;
These faint dim-burning lights as all amazed,
At those deformed shades whereon they gazed.
53
The clattering armes their maisters seeme to chide,
As they would reason wherefore they should wound,
And striking with the points from side to side,
As though euen angry with the hallow ground,
That it this vile and ruthlesse act should hide,
whose stony roofe lock'd in their dolefull sound,
And hanging in the creekes, draw backe againe,
As willing them from murther to refraine.
54
Now waxing late, and after all these things,
Vnto her chamber is the Queene withdrawne,
To whom a choice Musitian plaies and sings,
Reposing her vpon a state of Lawne,
In night attire diuinely glittering,
As th'approaching of the cheerefull dawne,
Leaning vpon the breast of
Mortimer,
Whose voice more then the musick pleas'd her eare.
55
Where her faire breasts at liberty are let,
where violent veines in curious branches flow,
where
Venus Swans and milkie Doues are set,
Vpon the swelling mounts of driuen snow,
where Loue whilst he to sport himselfe doth get,
Hath lost his course nor findes which way to goe,
Inclosed in this Labyrinth about,
Where let him wander still, yet ne're get out.
56
Her loose golde haire, O gold, thou arte too base,
were it not sinne to name those silke threeds haire,
Declining downe to kisse her fairer face,
But no word faire enough for thing so faire,
O what hie wondrous epethite can grace,
Or giue the due praise to a thing so rare!
But where the pen failes, pensill cannot show it,
Nor can be knowne vnlesse the mind do know it.
57
She laies those fingers on his manly cheeke,
The gods pure Scepters, and the dartes of loue,
which with a touch might make a tygre meeke,
Or the maine
Atlas from his place remoue,
So so
[...]t, so feeling, delicate, and sleeke,
As Nature ware the lillies for a gloue,
As might beget life where was neuer none,
And put a spirite into the flinty stone.
58
The fire of precious wood the lights perfume,
vvhose perfect cleerenesse on the painting shone,
As eu'ry thing to sweetnes did consume,
Or eu'ry thing had sweetnes of it owne,
And to it selfe this portrayed did resume,
The smell wherewith his naturall is growne,
That light gaue colour on each thing it fell,
And to the colour the perfume gaue smell.
59
Vpon the sundry pictures they deuise,
And from one thing they to another runne,
Now they commend that body, then those eyes,
How well that bird, how well that flowre was done,
Now this part shadowed, and how that doth rise,
This top is clouded, and that traile is spunne,
The landskip mixtures, and delineatings,
And in that Arte a thousand curious things.
60
Looking vpon prowde
Phaeton wrapt in fire,
The gentle Queene doth much bewaile his fall,
But
Mortimer more praising his desire,
To loose a poore life, or to gouerne all;
And though he did ambitiously aspire,
And by his minde is made prowde Fortunes thrall,
Yet in despight when she her worst hath done,
He perisht in the chariot of the Sunne.
61
The Queene saith
Phoebus is much forcde by Arte,
Nor can she find how his embraces be,
But
Mortimer now takes the Painters part,
Why thus great Empresse, thus, and thus, quoth he,
Thus holdes the boy, thus clips his fainting hart,
Thus twine their armes, and thus their lips you sec:
You shalbe
Phoebus, Hyacinthus I,
It were a life thus eu'ry houre to die.
62
By this time neere, into the vpper hall,
Is rudely entred this disordered rowt,
When they within suspecting least of all,
Dischargde the guard that should haue watcht without
O see how mischiefe sodainely doth fall,
And steales vpon vs, being freest from doubt.
How ere the life, the end is euer sure,
And oft in death fond man is most secure.
63
Whilst his lou'd
Neuill, and deere
Turrington,
Amongst the Ladies that attended there,
Relating things that antiently were done,
With such discourse as women loue to heare,
Staying delight, whilst time so fast doth runne,
Thus in the Lobby as they freely were,
Chargde on the sodaine by this armed traine,
Both in the entrance miserably slaine.
64
As from the snow-crownd Skidos lofty cleeues,
Som fleet wingd haggard towards the euening houre,
Stooping amongst the More-bred Mallard driues,
And th'aire of all her featherd flockes doth skowre,
when backe vnto her former pitch she striues,
The feely fowle all prostrate to her powre:
Such a sharp shreek doth ring through all the vault,
Made by the Ladies at the first assault.
65
March now vnarmde (she onely in his armes,
Too faire a shield, not made for fouler blowes)
That least of all exspected these alarmes,
And to be thus intrapped by his foes,
When he is most improuident of harmes,
O, had he had but weapons like his woes,
Either his valure had his breath redeemde,
Or in her sight dide happily esteemde.
66
Amongst the others looking for the king,
In this blacke shew that (he assures him) is,
Though much disguisde, yet him imagining
By the most perfect lineaments of his,
Quoth he, the man thee to the Crowne did bring,
Might at thy hands the least haue lookt for this,
And in this place, vnseeming of the rest,
Where onely sacred solitude is blest.
67
Her presence frees th'offender of his ill,
And as the essence makes the place diuine,
What strong Decree can countermaund the will,
That gaue to thee the power that now is thine,
And in her armes preseru'd in safety still,
As the most pure inuiolable shrine,
Though thou thus irreligiously despise,
And dar'st profane these halowed liberties.
68
But as when
Illion fatally surprisde
The Grecians issuing from the woodden horse,
Their rage and fury prowdly exercisde,
Opening the wide gates, letting in their force,
Putting in act what was before deuisde,
Without all sence of pitty or remorce,
With cries, shreekes, rumors in confused sound,
words are broken off, complaints abruptly drownd.
69
Dissolu'd to drops she followes him, O teares,
Elixar like turne all to pearle you touch,
To weepe with her the building scarce forbeares,
The sorrowes that she vttereth are such,
Able to wound th'impenitrabl'st eares,
Her plaints so piercing, and her woes so much,
when with th'abundance words wold hardly come,
Her eyes in silence spake when lips were dumbe.
70
Sweete sonne (quoth she) let not that blood be spilt,
Once prizd so deere as did redeeme thy Crowne,
Whose purity if
[...]ainted now with guilt,
The cause thereof efficiently thine owne,
That from the ruines of thy country built,
(Razde with dissentions) thy substantiall throne,
And broke those bounds thy kingdomes once confinde,
Into large
France, to exercise thy minde.
71
For the deere portion of that naturall blood,
Which lends thee heate, and nutriment of life,
Be not a nigg
[...]rd of so small a good,
Where bounty should be plentifully rife,
Begg'd on those knees at which thou oft hast stood,
In those armes circles might co
[...]re this strife,
O God! that breath from such a bosome sent,
Should thus in vaine be prodigally spent.
72
When in this vproare with the sodaine fright,
Whilst eu'ry one for
[...]afety seekes about,
And none regarding
[...]o preserue the light,
Which being wasted sadly goeth out,
Now in the midst and terrour of the night,
At the departure of this armed rowt,
The Queene alone (at least if any neare)
Her wretched women, yet halfe dead with feare.
73
When horror, darkenes, and her present woe,
Begin to worke on her afflicted minde,
And eu'ry one his tyranny doth show,
Euen in the fulnes of his proper kinde,
In such
[...]x
[...]sse her accusations flow,
This liberty vnto their power assignde,
Racking her conscience by this torture due,
It selfe t'accuse with whatsoere it knew.
74
O God, to thinke (that not an houre yet past)
Her greatnes, freedome, and her hopes so hie,
The sweet content wherein her thoughts were placde,
Her great respect in eu'ry humbled eye,
How now she is abused how disgracde,
Her present shame, her after misery,
When eu'ry woe could by despaire be brought,
Presents his forme to her distracted thought.
75
To
London now a wretched prisner led,
London where oft he triumpht with the Queene;
And but for spite of no man followed,
Scarcely thought on, who had for many beene,
Of all regard and state impou'rished,
Where in excesse he often had bin seene:
Which at his fall doth make them wonder more,
Who sawe the pompe wherein he liu'd before.
76
O misery! where
[...]nce thou doost infest,
How soone thy vile contagion alters kinde,
That like a
Circe metamorphisest
The former habite of the humane minde,
That euen from vs doost seeme our selues to wrest,
Striking our fraile and fading glories blinde,
And with thy vicious presence in a breath,
Chain'st vs as slaues vnto pale fainting Death.
77
At
Westminster a Parliment decreed,
To th'establishing the safetie of the Crowne,
Where to his end they finally proceede,
All laying hand to dig this mountaine downe,
To which Time wills they haue especiall heede,
Now whilst the Fates thus angerly doe frowne,
The blood of
Edward, and the
Spensers fall,
For their iust vengeance hastily doe call.
78
The death of
Kent that foule and loathsome blot,
Th'assuming of the Wardes and Liueries,
With
Ione the Princesse married to the Scot,
he summes oft seized to his treasuries,
And that by this might well haue beene forgot,
The signe at
Stanhope to the enemies,
Or what else ript from the records of Time,
That any way might aggrauate his crime.
79
O dire Reuenge, when thou in time arte rakde,
From the r
[...]de ashes which preseru'd thee long,
In the dry cindars where it seemde as slakde,
Matter to feed it forcde with breath of wrong,
How soone his hideous fury is awakde,
From the small sparks what flames are quickly sprong,
And to that top dooth naturally aspire,
Whose weight and greatnes once represt his fire.
80
And what auailes his answer in this case,
Which now the time doth generally distast?
Where iudgement lookes with so seuere a face,
And all his actions vtterly disgrac'd,
What fainting bosome giues him any place,
From out the faire seate of opinion cast?
With pen and incke his sorrowes to deceiue,
Thus of the faire Queene takes his latest leaue.
81
Most mighty Empresse s'daine not to peruse,
The Swan like dirges of a dying man,
Vnlike those raptures of the fluent Muse,
In that sweete season when our ioyes began,
That did my youth with glorious fire infuse,
When for thy gloue at Tilt I prowdly ran;
Whereas my start
[...]ing Courser strongly set,
Made fire to flie from
Hartfords Burgone
[...].
82
The King your sonne, which hastneth on my death,
(Madam) you know I tendred as mine owne,
And when I might haue grasped out his breath,
I set him gently on his fathers throne,
Which now his power too quickly witnesseth,
Which to this height and maiesty is growne;
But our desert forgot, and he forgiuen,
As after death we wish to liue in heauen.
83
And for the sole rule whereon thus he stands,
Came bastard
William but himselfe on shore,
Or borrowed not our fathers conqu'ring hands,
Which in the field our ancient ensignes bore,
(Guarded about with our well ordred bands)
Which his prowd Leopards for their safety wore,
Raging at
Hastings like that ominous Lake,
From whose dread waues our glorious name we take
84
Had I beene chargde vpon mine armed horse,
As when I came vnto the walles of
Gaunt,
Before the Belgike and Burgonian force,
There challenging, my Countries Combattant,
Borne from my seate in some robustious course,
That of my spoiles the enemy might vaunt,
Or had I falne vnder my battered shield,
And lent mine honour to some conquered field.
85
I haue not followed Fortun like a slaue,
To make her bounty any whit the lesse,
By my desert her iudgement to depraue,
Nor lent me aught I freely not confesse,
And haue returnd with intrest what she gaue,
A minde that suted with her mightinesse,
He twice offends which sinne in flattry beares,
Yet eu'ry houre he dies that euer feares.
86
I cannot feare what forceth others quake,
The times and I haue tuggd together so,
Wonting my way through sword and fire to make,
So oft constraind against the streame to rowe,
To doubt with Death a couenant to make,
When I am growne familiar with my woe:
And nothing can th'afflicted conscience grieue,
But he can pardon, that doth all forgiue.
87
And thus thou most adored in my heart,
Whose thoghts in death my humbled sprite doth raise
Lady most faire, most deere, of most desart,
Worthy of more than any mortall praise,
Condemned
March, thus lastly doth depart
From her, the greatest Empresse of her dayes:
Nor in the dust mine honor I interre,
Thus
Caesar dide, and thus dies
Mortimer.
88
To
Nottingham this Letter brought vnto her,
Which is subscribde with her Emperious stile,
Puts her in minde how once that hand did wooe her,
With this short thought to please herselfe a while,
Thus sorrow can so subtilly vndooe her,
That with such flattery doth her sence beguile.
To giue a sharper feeling to that paine,
Which her grieu'd heart was shortly to sustaine.
89
Putting her fingers to vnrip the seale,
Cleaning to keepe those sorrowes from her eyes,
As it were loth the tidings to reueale,
Whence griefe should spring in such varieties;
But strongly vrg'd doth to her will appeale,
When the soft waxe vnto her touch implies,
Sticking vnto her fingers bloody red,
To shew the bad newes quickly followed.
90
Thus by degrees she easly doth begin,
As the small fish plaies with the baited hooke,
Then more and more to swallow sorrow in,
As threatning death at eu'ry little looke;
Where now she reades th'expences of her sin,
Sadly set downe in this blacke dreadfull booke,
And those deere summes were like to be desray'd,
Before the same were absolutely pay'd.
91
An hoast of woes her suddainely assaile,
As eu'ry letter wounded like a dart,
As though contending which should most preuaile,
Yet eu'ry one doth pierce her to the hart,
As eu'ry word did others case bewaile,
And with his neighbour seemde to beare a part,
Reason of griefe each sentence is to her,
And eu'ry line a true remembrancer.
92
Greefe makes her reade, yet straitwaies bids her leaue,
With which ore-charg'd she neither sees nor heares,
Her sences now their Mistris so deceiue,
The words do wound her eyes, the sound her eares,
And eu'ry organe of the vse bereaues,
When for a fescue she doth vse her teares;
That when some line she loosely ouer-past,
The drops do tell her where she left the last.
93
O now she sees, was neuer such a sight,
And seeing, curs'd her sorrow-seeing eye,
Yet thinkes she is deluded by the light,
Or is abusde by the orthography;
And by some other t'is deuisde for spight,
Or pointed false, her schollership to try;
Thus when we fondly sooth our owne desires,
Our best conceits oft proue the greatest liers.
94
Her trembling hand as in a feauer shakes,
Wherewith the paper doth a little stirre,
Which she imagines at her sorrow shakes,
And pitties it, who she thinkes pitties her,
Each small thing somwhat to the greater makes,
And to the humor something doth infer;
Which when so soone as she her tongue could free,
O worthy Earle, deere loued Lord quoth shee.
95
I will reserue thy ashes in some Vrne,
Which as a relique I will onely saue,
Mixt with the teares that I for thee shall mourne,
Which in my deere breast shall their buriall haue,
From whence againe they neuer shall returne,
Nor giue the honor to another graue,
But in that Temple euer be preserued,
Where thou a Saint religiously art serued.
96
When she breakes out to cursing of her sonne,
But
March so much still runneth in her mind,
That she abruptly ends what she begunne,
Forgets her selfe, and leaues the rest behind,
From this she to another course doth runne,
To be reuengde in some notorious kind:
To which she deepely doth ingage her troth,
Bound by a strong vow and a solemne oth.
97
For pen and incke she calles her maides without,
And the kings dealings will in griefe discouer,
But soone forgetting what she went about,
She now begins to write vnto her louer,
Heere she sets downe, and there she blotteth out.
Her griefe and passion doe so strongly moue her:
When turning backe to reade what she had writ,
She teares the paper, and condemnes her wit.
98
And thus with contrarieties araised,
As waters chilnesse wakeneth from a swownd,
Comes to her selfe, the agony appeased,
When colder blood more sharpely feeles the wound,
And griefe her so incurably hath seized,
That for the same no remedie is found,
As the poore refuge to her restlesse woes,
This of her griefe she lastly doth dispose.
99
That now vnkinde King as thou art my sonne,
Leauing the world, some legacie must giue thee,
My harts true loue the dying
March hath wonne,
Yet that of all I will not quite bereaue thee;
The wrong and mischiefe to thy mother done,
I thee bequeathe, so bound that they out liue thee,
That as my breast it hourely doth torment,
Thou maist enjoy it by my Testament.
100
Henceforth within this solitary place,
Abandoning for euer generall sight,
A priuate life I willingly embrace,
No more rejoycing in the obuious light,
To consumate the weary lingering space,
Till death inclose me with continuall night:
Each small remembrance of delight to flie,
A conuertite and penitently die.
Finis.
To the Reader.
SEing these Epistles are now to the world made publike, it is imagined that I ought to be accountable of my priuate meaning, chiefely for mine owne discharge, lest being mistaken, I fall in hazard of a inst and vniuersall reprehension, for:
Hae nugae seria ducent
In mala derisum semel exceptumque sinistre.
Three points are especially therefore to bee explained. First, why I entitle this worke Englands Heroicall Epistles; then, why I obserue not the persons dignitie in the dedication; lastly, why I haue annexed notes to euery Epistles end. For the first, the title I hope carrieth reason in it selfe, for that the most and greatest persons heere in, were English, or else, that their loues were obtained in England. And though (heroicall) bee properly vnderstood of demi-gods, as of Hercules and Aeneas, whose parents were said to be, the one celestall, the other mortall, yet is it also transferred to them, who for the greatnesse of minde come neere to Gods. For to bee borne of a celestiall Incubus, is nothing else but to haue a great and mightie spirit, farre aboue the earthly weaknesse of men; in which sence, Ouid (whose imitator I partly professe to bee) doth also vse Heroicall. For the second, seeing none to whom I haue dedicated any two Epistles, but haue their states ouer-matched by them, who are made to speake in the Epistles, howeuer the order is in dedication, yet in respect of their degrees in my deuotion, and [Page] the cause before recited, I hope they suffer no disparagement, seeing euery one is the first in their particular interest, hauing in some sort, sorted the complexion of the Epistles to the character of their iudgements to whom I dedicate them, excepting onely the blamefulnes of the persons passion, in those poynts wherin the passion is blamefull. Lastly, such manifest diffrence being betwixt euery one of them, where, or howsoeuer they be marshalled, how can I be iustly appeached of vnaduisement. For the third, because the worke might in trueth be iudged brainish, if nothing but amorous humor were handled therein, I haue enter-wouen matters historicall, which vnexplaned, might defraude the minde of much content, as for example, in Queene Margarites Epistle to William de la Poole,
My Daizie flower, which once perfumde the aire,
Margarite in French signifies a Daizie, which for the allusion to her name, this Queene did giue for her deuise; and this as others more, haue seemed to me not worthy the explaning.
Now, though no doubt I hadde neede to excuse other things beside, yet these most especially, the rest I ouerpasse to eschue tedious recitall, or to speake as malicious enuy may, for that in trueth I ouersee them. If they be as harmelesly taken, as I meant them, it shall suffice to haue only touched the cause of the title of the Dedications, and of the Notes, whereby emboldned to publish the residue, (these not being accounted in mens opinions relishlesse) I shall not lastly be afraide to beleeue and acknowledge thee a gentle Reader.
M. D.
To M. Michaell Drayton.
HOw can he write that broken hath his penne;
Hath rent his paper, throwne his incke away;
Detests the world, and company of men,
Because they growe more hatefull day by day?
Yet with these broken reliques, mated mind,
And what a iustly-grieued thought can say:
I giue the world to know, I ne're could find,
A worke more like to liue a longer day.
Goe Verse, an object for the prowdest eye;
Disdaine those which disdaine to reade thee ouer,
Tell them they know not how they should descry,
The secret passions of a wirty louer.
For they are such, as none but those shall know,
Whom Beauty schooles to hold the blind Boies bow.
Once I had vowd, (O who can all vowes keep?)
Henceforth to smother my vnlucky Muse;
Yet for thy sake she started out of sleepe,
Yet now she dies: Then doe as kinsfolkes vse;
Close vp the eyes of my new-dying stile,
As I haue op'ned thy sweeet babes ere-while.
E. St. Gent.
Duris decus omen:To M. Michaell Drayton.
LOng haue I wisht and hopde my weaker Muse,
(In nothing strong but my vnhappy loue)
Would giue me leaue my fortune to approue,
And view the world, as named, Poets vse;
But still her fruitlesse bosome doth refuse
To blesse me with indifferencie of praise,
Not daring (like to many) to abuse
That title which true worth should onely raise;
Thus bankerout, and despairing of mine owne,
I set my wish and hope (kind friend) on thee,
Whose fruite approu'd, and better fortune knowne,
Tells me thy Muse my loues sole heire must be,
So barren wombs embrace their neighbors yong,
So dumbe men speake by them that haue a tong.
Thomas Hassall, Gent.
To M. Michaell Drayton.
NOw I perceiue
Pithagoras diuinde,
When he that mocked
Maxim did maintaine,
That spirits once spoilde, reuested were againe,
Though changde in shape, remaining one in mind;
These loue sicke Princes passionate estates;
Who feeling reades, he cannot but allow,
That
Ouids soule reuines in
Drayton now,
Still learnd in loue still rich in rare conceits,
This pregnant spirit affecting further skill,
Oft altring forme, from vulgar wits retirde,
In diuers Ideoms mightily admirde,
Did prosecute that sacred study still;
While to a full perfection now attainde,
He sings so sweetly that himselfe is stainde.
William Alexander-Scotus.
¶ To the excellent Lady Lucie Countesse of Bedford.
MAdam, after all the admired wittes of this excellent age, which haue labored in the sad complaints of faire and unfortunate Rosamond, and by the excellencie of inuention, haue sounded the depth of her sundry passions; I present to your Ladiship this Epistle of hers to King Henry, whome I may rather call her louer than beloued. Heere must your Ladiship behold variablenes in resolution; woes constantly grounded; laments abruptly broken off; much confidence, no certainty, words begetting teares, teares confounding matter, large complaint [...] in little papers; and many deformed cares, in one vniformed Epistle. I striue not to effect singularitie, yet would faine flie imitation, & prostrate mine owne wants to other mens perfections. Your iudiciall eye must model forth what my pen hath layd together, much would shee say to a King, much would I say to a Countesse, but that the method of my Epistle must conclude the modestie of hers, which I wish may recommend my euer vowed seruice to your Honour.
Michaell Drayton.
The Epistle of Rosamond to King Henry the second.
The Argument.
Henry the second of that name, King of England, the son of Geffrey Plantaginet, Earle of Anlow, and Mawd the Empresse, hauing by long sute and Princely gifts, won (to his vnlawfull desire) faire Rosamond, the daughter of the Lord Walter Clyfford and to auoyde the danger of Ellinor his iealous Queene, had caused a Labyrinth to be made within his Pallace at Woodstocke, in the centre wherof he had lodged his beauteous paramour. Whilest the king is absent in his warres in Normandie, this poore distressed Lady, inclosed in this solitary place, toucht with remorce of conscience, writes to the king of her distresse and miserable estate, vrging him by all meanes and perswasions, to cleere himselfe of this infamie, and her of the griefe of minde, by taking away her wretched life.
IF yet thine eies (great
Henry) may endure
These tainted lines, drawne with a hand impure,
Which fain would blush, but feare keeps blushes back,
And therefore suted in dispairing black,
This in loues name, O that these lips might craue,
But that sweete name (vile I) prophaned haue,
[Page] Punish my fault, or pittie mine estate,
Reade
[...] for loue, if not for loue, for hate.
If with my shame thine eies thou faine wouldst feed,
Heere let them su
[...]feit, on my shame to reede;
This scribled paper which
[...] send to thee,
If noted rightly, doth resemble mee;
As this pure ground, whereon th
[...]se letters stand,
So pure was I, er
[...]stained by thy hand;
Ere I was blotted with this foule offence,
So cleere and spotlesse was mine innocence,
Now like these marks which taint this hatefull scroule,
Such the blacke sinnes which spot my l
[...]prous soule.
O
Henry, why by losse thus shouldst thou win?
To get by conquest? to enrich with sinne?
Why on my name this slaunder doost thou bring,
To make my fault renowmed by a King?
Fame neuer stoopes to things but meane and poore,
The more our greatnes, makes our fault the more.
Lights on the ground, themselues doe less
[...]n farre,
But in the ayre, each small sparke seemes a starre.
Why on a womans frailtie wouldst thou lay
This subtile plot, mine honour to betray?
Or thy vnlawfull pleasure shouldst thou buy
With vile expence of kingly maies
[...]ie?
T'was not my minde consented to this ill,
Then had I beene transported by my will:
For what my body was inforcde to doe,
(Heauen knowes) my soule did not consent vnto;
For through mine eyes had she her liking seene,
Such as my loue, such had my louer beene.
True loue is simple, like his mother Truth,
[Page 2] Kindly affection, youth to loue with youth;
No sharper corsiue to our blooming yeeres,
Then the colde badge of winter-blasted haires.
Thy kingly power makes to withstand thy foes,
But canst not keepe backe age, with Time it growes,
Though honour our ambitious sex doth please,
Yet in that honour, age a foule disease,
Nature hath her free course in all, and then,
Age is alike in Kings, and other men,
Which all the world will to my shame impute,
That I my selfe did basely prostitute;
And say that gold was fuell to the fire,
Gray haires in youth not kindling greene desire.
O no; that wicked woman wrought by thee,
My tempter was to that forbidden tree,
That subtile Serpent, that seducing deuill,
Which bade me taste the fruit of good and euill;
That
Circe, by whose magicke I was charmd,
And to this monstrous shape am thus transform'd,
That viperous hag, the foe to her owne kinde,
That wicked spirite vnto the weaker minde;
Our frailtes plague, our natures only curse,
Hels deepst damnation, the worst euills worse.
But
Henry, how canst thou affect me thus,
T'whom thy remembrance now is odious?
My haplesse name, with
Henries name I found,
Cut in the glasse with
Henries Diamond,
That glasse from thence faine would I take away;
But then I feare the aire would me betray;
Then doe I striue to wash it out with teares,
But then the same more euident appeares.
[Page] Then doe I couer it with my guilty hand,
Which that names witnes doth against me stand;
Once did I sinne, which memory doth cherrish,
Once I offended, but I euer perrish.
What griefe can be, but time doth make it lesse?
But infamie time neuer can suppresse.
Sometimes to passe the tedious irkesome houres,
I climbe the toppe of
Woodstockes mounting towres,
Where in a Turret secretly I lie,
To view from farre such as doe trauell by,
Whether (me thinkes) all cast their eies at mee,
As through the stones my shame did make them see,
And with such hate the harmelesse walls doe view,
As vnto death their eies would me pursue.
The married women curse my hatefull life,
Which wrong a lawfull bed, a Queene, a wife;
The maidens wish I buried quicke may die,
The loathsome staine to their virginitie.
Well knewst thou what a monster I vvould be
When thou didst build this Labyrinth for me,
Whose strange
Meanders turning euery way,
Be like the course wherein my youth did stray;
Onely a Clue to guide me out and in,
But yet still walke I circular in sin.
As in the Ta
[...]ras heere this other day,
My maide and I did passe the time away,
Mongst many pictures which we passed by,
Theseely gerle at length hapt to espie
Chaste
Lucrece picture, and desires to knowe,
What she should be herselfe that murdred so?
Why getle (quoth I) this is that Roman Dame,
[Page 3] Not able then to tell the rest for shame,
My tongue doth mine owne guiltinesse betray;
With that
I send the pratling girle away,
Lest when my lisping guilty tongue should hault,
My lookes should be the index to my fault.
As that life blood which from the heart is sent,
In beauties field pitching his crimson Tent,
In lonely sanguine sutes the Lillie cheeke,
Whilst it but for a resting place doth seeke;
And changing often-times with sweete delight,
Conuerts the white to red, the red to white.
The louely blush the palenesse doth distaine;
The palenesse makes the blush more faire againe;
Thus in my breast a thousand thoughts
I carry,
Which in my passion diuersly do vary.
Whenas the Sunne hales towards the Westerne slade,
And the trees shadowes three times greater made,
Forth goe
I to a little current neere,
Which like a wanton traile creepes heere and there,
Wherewith mine angle casting in my baite,
The little fishes (dreading the deceit)
With fearefull nibbling flie th'inticing gin,
By nature taught what danger lies therein.
Things reasonlesse thus warnde by nature be,
Yet
I deuour'd the baite was laid for me;
Thinking thereon, and breaking into grones,
The bubling spring which trips vpon the stones,
Chides me away, lest sitting but too nie,
I should pollute that natiue puritie.
Rose of the world, so doth import my name,
Shame of the world, my life hath made the same.
[Page] And to th'vnchaste this name shall giuen be,
Of
Rosamond, deriu'd from sinne and me.
The
Cliffords take from me that name of theirs,
Famous for vertue many hundred yeeres.
They blot my birth with hatefull bastardie,
That I sprang not from their nobilitie;
They my alliance vtterly refuse,
Nor will a strumpet shall their name abuse.
Heere in the garden wrought by curious hands,
Naked
Diana in the fountaine stands,
With all her Nimphes got round about to hide her,
As when
Acteon had by chance espide her;
This sacred Image I no sooner view'd,
But as that metamorphosde man pursu'd
By his owne hounds; so by my thoughts am I,
Which chase me still, which way so ere I flie.
Touching the grasse, the honny-dropping dew,
Which falls in teares before my limber shue,
Vpon my foote consumes in weeping still,
As it would say, why wentst thou vnto ill?
Thus to no place in safetie can I goe.
But euery thing doth giue me cause of woe.
In that faire Casket of such wondrous cost,
Thou sentst the night before mine honor lost
Amimone was wrought, a harmelesse maide,
By
Neptune that adult'rous God betraide;
She prostrate at his feete begging with praiers,
Wringing her hands, her eyes swolne vp with teares;
This was not the entrapping baite of men,
But by thy vertue gentle warning then;
To shew to me for what intent it came,
[Page 3] Lest
I therein should euer keepe my shame.
And in this Casket (ill I see it now)
What
Ioues loue
I-o, turnde into a Cow.
Yet was she kept with
Argus hundred eyes,
So wakefull stil
[...] be
Iunoes jealousies:
By this
I well might haue forewarned beene,
T'haue cleerde my selfe to thy suspecting Queene,
Who with more hundred eyes at endeth mee,
Then had poore
Argus single eyes to see.
In this thou rightly imitatest
Ioue,
Into a beast thou hast transformde thy loue.
Nay, worser farre, (degenerate from kinde)
A monster, both in body and in minde.
The waxen taper which
I burne by night,
With his dull vapory dimnesse mocks my sight,
As though the dampe which hinders his cleere flame,
Came from my breath, in that night of my shame,
When it did burne as darknesse vgly eye,
When shot the starre of my v
[...]ginitie,
And if a starre but by the glasse appeare,
I strait intreat it not to looke in heere;
I am already hatefull to the light,
It is enough betray me not to night.
Then sith my shame so much belongs to thee,
Rid me of that by onely murdering mee;
And let it iustly to my charge be laide,
Thy royall person
I would haue betraide;
Thou shalt not neede by circumstance t'accuse me,
If
I deny it, let the heauens refuse me.
My life's a blemish which doth clowd thy name,
Take it away, and cleere shall shine thy fame.
[Page] Yeelde to my sute, if euer pittie moou'd thee,
In this shew mercy, as I euer lou'd thee.
¶ Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
Well knewst thou what a monster I would bee,
When thou didst build this Labyrinth for mee.
IN the Cretean Labyrinth a monster was inclosed, called a Minotaur, the history whereof is well knowne, but the Labyrinth was framed by Daedalus, with so many [...]icate waies, that being entred, one could either hardly or neuer return, being in maner of a maze, saue that it was larger, the waies being walld in on euery side, out of the which Theseus by Ariadnes helpe (lending him a clu [...] of thrid) escaped. Some report that it was a house, hauing one halfe bene [...]th the ground, another aboue, the chamber doores therin so deceitfully enwrapped, and made to open so many wais, that it was held a matter almost impossible to return.
Some haue held it to haue beene an Allegory of mans life, true it is that the comparison wil hold, for what liker to a Labyrinth then the maze of life? But it is affirmed by antiquity, that there was indeede such a building, though Daedalus being a [...] applied to the workmans excellencie, make it suspected: for Daedalus is nothing else but engenious, or artificiall. Heereupon it is vsed among the antient Poets, for any thing curiously wrought.
Rosamonds Labyrinth, whose ruins together with her well being paued with square stone in the bottome, & also her Tower from which the Labirinth did run, (are yet remaining) was altogether vnder ground, being vaults arched & walld with brick & stone, almost inextricably wound one within another, by which if at any time her lodging were laid about by the Queene, she might easly auoid perill imminent, & if need be, by secret issues take the aire abroad, many furlongs round about Woodstock in Oxfordshire, wherin it was situated. Thus much for Rosamonds labirinth.
Whose strange Meanders turned euery way.
Meander is a riuer in Lycia, a prouince of Natolia, or Asia minor, famous for the sinuosity & often turning thereof, rising from certaine [Page 5] hills in Maeonia, heerevpon are intricate turnings by a transumtiue & metonimicall kind of speech, called Meanders, for this Riuer did so strangely path it selfe, that the foote seemed to touch the head.
Rose of the world, so doth import my name,
Shame of the world, my lise hath made the same.
It might be reported, how at Godstow, where this Rose of the world was sumptuously interted, a certaine Bishop in the visitation of his Diocesse, caused the monument which had bin erected to her honour, vtterly to be demolished, but be that seuere chastisement of Rosamond then dead, at this time also ouer-passed, lest she should seeme to be the Shame of the world.
Henry to Rosamond.
WHen first the Post arriued at my Tent,
And brought the letters
Rosamond had sent,
Thinke from his lips but what sweete comfort came,
When in mine eare he softly breath'd thy name,
Straight I enioyne him of thy health to tell,
Longing to heare my
Rosamond did well;
With new enqui
[...]ies then I cut him short,
When of the same he gladly would report,
That with the earnest haste my tongue oft trips,
Catching the words halfe spoke out of his lips:
This told, yet more
I vrge him to reueale,
To loose no time while
I vn
[...]ipt the seale.
The more
I reade, still do
I erre the more,
As though mistaking somewhat said before.
Missing the point, the doubtfull sence is broken,
Speaking againe, what
I before had spoken,
Still in a swound, my heart reuiues and faints,
Twixt hopes, dispaires, twixt smiles and deepe complaints.
[Page] As these sad accents sort in my desires,
Smoothe calmes, rough storms, sharp frosts, & raging
[...]es,
Put on with boldnes, and put back with feares,
My tongue with curses, when mine eyes with teares.
O how my hart at that blacke line did tremble!
That blotted paper should thy selfe resemble;
O were there paper but neere halfe so white!
The Gods thereon their sacred lawes would write
With pens of Angells wings, and for their
[...]ke,
That heauenly Nactar, their immortall drinke.
Maiesticke courage striues to haue supprest
This fearefull passion stird vp in my breast;
But still in vaine the same I go about,
My hart must breake within, or woe breakes out,
Am I at home pursu'd with priuate hate,
And war comes raging to my pallace gate?
Is meager
[...]nuie stabbing at my throne,
Treason attending when
I walke alone?
And am
I branded with the curse of Rome,
And stand condemn'd by dreadfull counsels dombe?
And by the pride of my rebellious sonne,
Rich Normandie with Armies ouer-runne?
Fatall my birth, vnfortunate my life,
Vnkinde my children, most vnkind my wife.
Griefe, cares, old age, suspition to torment me,
Nothing on earth to quiet or content me,
So many woes, so many plagues to finde,
Sicknes of body, discontent of minde;
Hopes left, helpes reft, life wrong'd, ioy interdicted,
Banish'd, distress'd, forsaken and afflicted,
Of all reliefe hath fortune quite bereft me?
[Page 6] Onely my loue vnto my comfort left me,
And is one beautie thought so great a thing,
To mittigate the sorrowes of a King?
Barr'd of that choise the vulgar often proue,
Haue we (then they) lesse priuiledge in loue?
Is it a King, the wofull widdow heares?
Is it a King dries vp the Orphans teares?
Is it a King regards the Clyants cry?
Giues life to him by law condemnd to die?
Is it his care the Common-wealth that keepes,
As doth the Nurse her babie whilst it sleepes?
And that poore king, of all those hopes preuented,
Vnheard, vnhelp'd, vnpittied, vnlamented,
Yet let me be with pouertie opprest,
Of earthly blessings rob'd, and dispossest,
Let me be scornde, reiected and reuilde,
From Kingdome, Country, and from Court exilde;
Let the worlds curse vpon me still remaine,
And let the last bring on the first againe:
All miseries that wretched man may wound,
Leaue for my comfort, onely
Rosamond;
For thee swift Time her speedie course doth stay,
At thy command the Destinies obay;
Pittie is dead that comes not from thine eyes,
And at thy feete, euen mercy prostrate lies:
If I were feeble, rheumatike, or cold,
These were true signes that I were waxed old;
But I can march all day in massie steele,
Nor yet my armes vnweldy weight do feele,
Nor wak'd by night with bruise or bloody wound,
The tent my bed, no pillow but the ground:
[Page] For very age had
I laine bedred long,
One smile of thine againe could make me yong.
Were there in Art a power but so diuine,
As is in that sweete Angel-tongue of thine,
That great Enchantresse which once tooke such pains,
To force young blood in
Aesons witherd veines,
And from groues, mountaines, and the moorish Fen,
Vs'd all the hearbes ordainde to vse of men,
And in the powerfull potion that she makes,
Puts blood of men of birds, of beasts, of snakes,
Neuer had needed to haue gone so farre,
To seeke the soiles where all those simples are,
One accent from thy lips, the blood more warmes,
Then all her philters, exorcismes and charmes.
Thy presence hath repaired in one day,
What many yeeres and sorrowes did decay,
And made fresh beauties fairest branches spring,
From wrinkled furrowes of times ruining.
Euen as the hungry winter-starued earth,
When she by nature labours towards her birth,
Still as the day vpon the darke world creepes,
One blossome forth after another peepes,
Till the small flower whose roote is now vnbound,
Gets from the frostie prison of the ground,
Spreading the leaues vnto the powerfull noone,
Deck'd in fresh colours, smiles vpon the sunne.
Neuer vnquiet care lodg'd in that breast,
Where but one thought of
Rosamond did rest;
Nor thirst, nor trauaile, which on warre attend,
E're brought the long day to desired end;
Nor yet did pale Feare, or leane Famine liue,
[Page 7] Where hope of thee did any comfort giue,
Ah what iniustice then is this of thee
That thus the guiltlesse doost condemne for me?
When onely she (by meanes of my offence)
Redeemes thy purenesse, and thy innocence,
When to our wills perforce obey they must,
That iust in them, what e're in vs vniust,
Of what we doe, not them account we make,
The fault craues pardon for th'offenders sake,
And what to worke a Princes will may merit,
Hath deepst impression in the gentlest spirite;
Ift be my name that dooth thee so offend,
No more my selfe shall be mine owne names friend,
And
[...]ft be that which thou doost onely hate,
That name, in my name, lastly hath his date.
Say tis accu
[...]st, and fatall, and dispraise it,
If written, blot it, if engrauen, raze it.
Say that of all names tis a name of woe,
Once a Kings name, but now tis not so.
And when all this is done, I know
[...]vvill grieue thee,
And therfore (svveet) whie should I now belieue thee?
Nor shouldst thou thinke those eies with enuie lower,
Which passing by thee, gaze vp to thy tower;
But rather praise thine owne which be so cleere,
Which from the Turret like tvvo staires appeare;
Aboue the sunne dooth shine, beneath thine eie,
Mocking the heauen to make another skie,
The little streame which by thy tovver dooth glide,
Where oft thou spendst the wearie euening tide,
To view thee vvell his course would gladly stay,
As loath from thee to part so soone away;
[Page] And with salutes thy selfe would gladly greete,
And offer vp those small drops at thy feete,
But finding that the enuious banks restraine it,
T'excuse it selfe, doth in this sort complaine it,
And therefore this sad bubling murmure keepes,
And in this sort within the channell weepes.
And as thou doost into the water looke,
The fish which see thy shadow in the brooke,
Forget to feede, and all amazed lie,
So daunted with the lustre of thine eie.
And that sweet name which thou so much dost wrong
In time shalbe some famous Poets song;
And with the very sweetnes of that name,
Lions and tygers men shall learne to tame.
The carefull mother from her pensiue breast,
With
Rosamond shall bring her babe to rest;
The little birds, (by mens continuall sound)
Shall learne to speake, and pr
[...]le
Rosamond.
And when in Aprill they beginne to sing,
Wi
[...]h
Rosamond shall welcome in the spring;
And she in whom all ra
[...]ities are found,
Shall still be said to be a
Rosamond.
The little flowers which dropping honied dew,
Which (as thou writst) doe weepe vpon thy shue,
Not for thy fault (sweet
Rosamond) doe moane,
But weepe for griefe that thou so soone art gone,
For if thy foote
[...]uch Hemlocke as it goes,
That Hemlocke's made more sweeter than the Rose,
Of
Ioue or
Neptune how they did betray,
Nor speake of
I
[...]o, or
Amimone,
when she for whome
Ioue once became a Bull,
[Page] Comparde with thee, had beene a tawny trull;
He a white Bull, and she a whiter Cow,
Yet he, nor she, neere halfe so white as thou.
Long since (thou knowst) my care prouided for
To lodge thee safe from iealous
Ellenor,
The labyrinths conueyance guides thee so,
(Which only
Vaghan, thou, and I doe know)
If she doe guard thee with a hundred eies,
I haue an hundred sub
[...]ile
Mercuries,
To watch that
Argus which my loue doth keepe,
Vntill eie, after eie, fall all to sleepe.
Those starres looke in by night, looke in to see,
Wondring what starre heere on the earth should be.
As oft the Moone amidst the silent night,
Hath come to ioy vs with her friendly light,
And by the curtaine helpt mine eie to see
What
[...] night and darkenes hid from mee;
When I haue wisht that she might euer sta
[...],
And other worl
[...] might still enioy the day:
What should I say? words,
[...]eares, and sighs be spent,
And want of
[...] doth further helps preuent:
My campe r
[...]sounds with fearefull shockes of warre,
Yet in my breast the worser conflicts are;
Yet is my signall to the battels sound,
The blessed name of beauteous
Rosamond.
Accursed be that heart, that tongue, that breath,
Should thinke, should speake, or whisper of thy death.
For in one smile, or lower from thy sweete eie,
Consists my life, my hope, my victorie.
Sweet
Woodstocke, where my
Rosamond doth rest,
Blessed in her, in whom thy King is blest;
[Page] For though in
France a while my body be,
(Sweete Paradice) my heart remaines in thee.
Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
Am I at home pursued with priuate hate,
And warre comes raging to my Pallace gate?
RObert erle of Leicester, who took part with yong king Henry, entred into England with an armie of 3000. Flemmings, and spoild the countries of Norsfolk and Susfolke, being succored by many of the Kings priuate enimies.
And am I branded with the curse of Rome?
King Henry the second, the first Plantaginet, accused for the death of Tho. Becket, archbishop of Canterbury, staine in the cathedrall church, was accursed by Pope Alexander, although hee vrgde sufficient proofe of his innocencie in the same, and offered to take vpon him any penance, so he might escape the curse and interdiction of the Realme.
And by the pride of my rebellious sonne,
Rich Normandie with armies ouer-runne.
Henry the yong K. whom king Henry had caused to be crowned in his life (as he hoped) both for his owne good and the good of his Subiects, which indeed turned to his owne sorow, and the trouble of the Realme, for he rebelled against him, and raising a power, by the meanes of Lewes king of France, and William K: of Scots, who tooke part with him, inuaded Normandie.
Vnkinde my children, most vnkinde my wise:
Neuer king more vnfortunate then K: Henry, in the disobedience of his children: first Henry, then G [...]ssrey, then Richard, then Iohn, all at one time or other, first or last, vnnaturally rebelled against him; then the iealousie of Elinor his Qu. who suspected his loue to Rosamond, which grieuous troubles the deuout of those times attributed to happen to him iustly, for refusin: to take on him the gouernment of Ierusalem, offred to him by the patriarke there; which country was mightily afflicted by the Souldane.
[Page 9]
Which onely
Vaghan, thou, and I doe know.
This Vaghan was a Knight whom the King exceedingly loued, who kept the Pallace at Woodstocke, and much of the Kings iewels and treasure, to whom the King committed many of his secretes, and in whom he reposed such trust, that he durst commit his loue vnto his charge.
King Iohn to Matilda.
The Argument.
After that King Iohn had assayed by all meanes possible, to win the faire and chaste Matilda, to his vnchaste and vnlawful bed and by vniust courses & false accusation had banished the Lord Robert Fitzwater her noble Father, and many other of his alies, who iustly withstood the desire of this wanton King, seeking the dishonour of his faire and vertuous daughter; this chaste Lady, still solicited by this lasciuious King, flies vnto Dunmow in Essex, where in a Nunnery she becomes a Nunne, whether the King (stil persisting in his sute) solicites her by his Epistle; her reply confirmes her vowed and inuincible chastitie, making knowne to the King her pure vnspotted thoughts.
WHen these my Letters come vnto thy view,
Think them not forcde, or faind, or strange, or new,
Thou knowst no way, no means, no course exempted,
Left now vnsought, vnproou'd, or vnattempted,
All rules, regardes, all secret helps of Art,
What knowledge, wit, experience can impart;
And in the olde worlds Ceremonies doted,
Good daies for loue, times, houres and minutes noted;
[Page] And where Arte left, loue teacheth more to finde,
By signes in presence to expresse the minde.
Oft hath mine eie tolde thine eie, beauty grieu'd it,
And begd but for one looke to haue relieu'd it,
And still with thine eies motion, mine eie mou'd,
Labouring for mercy, telling how it lou'd.
If blusht, I blusht, thy cheeke pale, pale was mine,
My red, thy red, my whitenesse answered thine;
If sigh'd, I sigh'd, alike both passion proue,
But thy sigh is for griefe, my sigh for loue;
If a word past, that insufficient were.
To help that word, mine eies let forth a teare,
And if that teare did dull or senslesse proue,
My heart would fetch a sigh, to make it moue.
Oft in thy face, one fauour from the rest
I singled forth, that likes my fancie best;
This likes me most, another likes me more,
A third exceeding both those likde before;
Then one that doth deriue all wonder thence,
Then one whose rarenes passeth excellence.
Whilst I behold thy Globe like rowling eie,
Thy louely cheeke (me thinks) stands smiling by
And tells me, those but shadowes and supposes,
And bids me thether come and gather Roses;
Looking on that, thy brow dooth call to mee
To come to it, if wonders I will see:
Now haue
I done, and now thy dimpled chinne
Againe doth tell me I but new beginne,
And bids me yet to looke vpon thy lip,
Lest wondring least, the greatst I ouerslip;
My gazing eie, on this and this doth sease,
[Page 10] Which surffets, yet cannot desire appease.
Then like I browne, (O louely browne thy haire)
Onely in brownenesse, beauty dwelleth there.
Then loue I blacke, thine eye, ball blacke as jet,
Then cleere, that ball is there in cristall set,
Then white, but snow, nor swan, nor yuorie please,
Then are thy teeth more whiter then all these;
In browne, in blacke, in purenes, and in white,
All loue, all sweetes, all rarenes, all delight;
Thus thou vile thiefe, my stolne hart hence doost carry,
And now thou fliest into a Sanctuary;
Fie peeuish gerle, ingratefull vnto Nature,
Did she to this end frame thee such a creature,
That thou her glory shouldst increase thereby,
And thou aloue doost scorne societie?
Why, heauen made beauty like herselfe to view,
Not to be lockt vp in a smoaky mew,
A rosie-tainted feature is heauens gold,
Which all men ioy to touch, all to behold.
It was enacted when the world begunne,
That so rare beauty should not liue a Nunne.
But if this vow thou needes wilt vndertake,
O were mine armes a Cloister for thy sake,
Still may his paines for euer be augmented,
This superstition that at first inuented,
I
[...]l might he thriue, that brought this custome hether,
That holy people might not liue together.
A happy time, a good world was it then,
When holy women liu'd with holy men;
But kings in this yet priuiledgde may be,
Ile be a Monke, so I may liue with thee.
[Page] Who would no
[...]se to ring the mornings knell,
When thy sweet lips might be the sacring bell?
Or what is he not willingly would fast,
That on those lips might feast his lips at last?
Who vnto Mattens early would not rise,
That might reade by the light of thy faire eies?
On worldly pleasures who would euer looke,
That had thy curles his beades, thy browes his booke?
Wert thou the crosse, to thee who would not creepe?
And wish the crosse, still in his armes to keepe.
Sweet gerle, Ile take this holy habite on mee,
Of meere deuotion that is come vpon me,
Holy
Matilda, thou the Saint of mine,
Ile be thy seruant, and my bed thy shrine.
When I doe offer, be thy breast the Altare,
And when I pray thy
[...] shall be my Psalter.
The beades that we will bid shalbe sweet kisses,
Which we will number, if one pleasure misses,
And when an
Auie comes to say Amen,
We will beginne, and tell them o're againe,
Now all good fortune giue me happy thrift,
As I should ioy t'absol
[...]e thee after shrift.
But see how much I doe my selfe beguile,
And doe mistake thy meaning all this while,
Thou tookst this vow to equall my desire
Because thou wouldst haue me to be a Frier,
And that we two should comfort one another,
A holy sister, and a holy brother,
Thou as a Votresse vnto me alone,
Shee is most chaste thats but enioyd of one,
Yea, now thy true deuotion doe I finde,
[Page 11] And sure in this
I much commend thy minde,
Else heere thou doost but ill ensample giue,
And in a Nunry thus thou shouldst not liue.
Ist possible the house that thou art in
Should not be tucht, (though with a veniall sin)
When such a she-priest comes her masse to say,
Twenty to one they all forget to pray?
Well may we wish they would their hearts amend,
When we be witnesse that their eyes offend,
All creatures haue desires, or else some lie,
Let them thinke so that will, so will not I.
Doost thou not thinke our ancestors were wise,
That these religious Cels did first deuise?
As Hospitalls were for the sore and sicke,
These for the crook'd, the hault, the stigmaticke,
Lest that their seede mark'd with deformitie,
Should be a blemish to posteritie.
Would heau'n her beautie should be hid from sight,
Nere would she thus her selfe adorne with light,
With sparkling lamps; nor would she paint her throne,
But she delighteth to be gaz'd vpon:
And when the golden glorious Sunne goes downe,
Would she put on her star-bestudded crowne,
And in her masking sute the spangled skie,
Come forth to bride it in her reuelrie,
And gaue this gift to all things in creation,
That they in this should imitate her fashion.
All things that faire, that pure, that glorious beene,
Offer themselues of purpose to be seene;
In sinks and vaults, the vgly toades do dwell,
The diuels since most vgly, they in hell:
[Page] Our mother Earth, nere glorious in her fruite,
Till by the Sunne clad in her Tinsell sute.
Nor doth she euer smile him in the face,
Till in his glorious armes he her embrace;
Which proues she hath a soule, sence, and delight
Of generations feeling appetite.
Well hypocrite (in faith) wouldst thou confesse,
What ere thy tongue say, thy hart saith no lesse.
Note but this one thing, (if naught else perswade)
Nature, of all things male, and female made,
Shewing her selfe in our proportion plaine,
For neuer made she any thing in vaine;
For as thou art, should any haue beene thus,
She would haue left ensample vnto vs.
The Turtle that's so true and chaste in loue,
Shewes by her mate something the spirit doth moue;
Th'arabian bird that neuer is but one,
Is onely chaste, because she is alone:
But had our mother Nature made them two,
They would haue done as Doues & Sparrowes doe;
But therefore made a Martire in desire,
And doth her pennance lastly in the fire;
So may they all be rosted quicke that bee
Apostataes to Nature, as is she.
Finde me but one so young, so faire, so free,
(Woode, sude & sought, by him that now seekes thee)
But of thy minde, and heere I vndertake,
Strait to erect a Nunry for her sake;
O hadst thou tasted of these rare delights,
Ordainde each where to please great Princes sights,
To haue their beauties and their wits admirde,
[Page 12] (Which is by nature of your sexe desirde)
Attended by our traines, our pompe, our port,
Like Gods adorde abroad, kne
[...]d to in Court,
To be saluted with the cheerefull cry,
Of highnes, grace, and soueraigne maiestie;
But vnto them that know not pleasures price,
Al's one, a prison, and a Paradice.
If in a dungeon, closde vp from the light,
There is no difference twixt the day and night,
Whose pallate neuer tasted daintie cates,
Thinkes homely dishes princely delicates.
Alas poore girle, I pitty thine estate,
That now thus long hast liu'd disconsolate;
Why now at length let yet thy hart relent,
And call thy father backe from banishment;
And with those princely honours heere inuest him,
That aukward loue, not hate hath dispossest him.
Call from exile, thy deere alies and friends,
To whom the fury of my griefe extends;
And if thou take my counsaile in this case,
I make no doubt thou shalt haue better grace,
And leaue the
Dunmow, that accursed Cell,
There let blacke night and melancholie dwell;
Come to the Court, where all ioyes shall receiue thee,
And till that howre, yet with my griefe I leaue thee.
¶ Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
THis Epistle of King Iohn to Matilda, is much more poeticall then historicall, making no mention at al of the occurrents of the time, or state, touching onely his loue to her, and the extreamitie of his passions forced by his desires, rightly fashioning the humor of this king, as hath bin truely noted by the [Page] most authnticall Writers; whose nature and disposition is truliest discerned in the course of his loue; first iesting at the ceremonies of the seruices of those times, then going about by all strong and probable arguments, to reduce her to pleasures and delights; next with promises of honour, which he thinketh to be last and greatest meane, and to haue greatest power in her sexe, with promise of calling home of her friends, which he thought might be a great inducement to his desires.
Matilda to King John.
NO sooner I receiu'd thy letters here,
Before I knew from whom, or whence they were
But suddaine feare my bloodlesse veines doth fill,
As though diuining of some future ill:
And in a shiuering extasie I stood,
A chilly coldnesse runnes through all my blood;
Opening thy letters, I shut vp my rest,
And let strange cares into my quiet breast,
As though thy hard vnpittying hand had sent me,
Some new deuised torture to torment me;
Well had I hop'd, I had beene now forgot,
Cast out with those things thou remembrest not:
And that prowd beautie which enforst me hether,
Had with my name now perished together:
But O (I see) our hoped good deceiues vs,
But what we would forgoe, that seldome leaues vs;
Thy blamefull lines bespotted so with sin,
Mine eyes would clense, ere they to reade begin.
But I to wash an Indian go about,
For ill so hard set on, is hard got out.
[Page 13] I once determinde still to haue beene mute,
Onely by silence to refell thy sute,
But this againe did alter mine intent,
For some will say, that silence doth consent:
Desire, with small encouraging growes bold,
And Hope, of euery little thing takes hold.
I set me downe at large to write my minde,
But now, nor pen, nor paper can I finde;
For dread and passion, are so powerfull o're me,
That I discerne not things that stand before me:
Finding the pen, the paper, and the waxe,
This at command, and now inuention lacks;
This sentence serues, and that my hand out-strikes,
That pleaseth well, and this as much mislikes,
I write, indite, I point, I raze, I quote,
I enterline, I blot, correct,
I note;
I hope, dispaire, take courage, faint, disdaine,
I make, alleadge,
I imitate,
I faine:
Now thus it must be, and now thus, and thus,
Bold, shame-fac'd, fearelesse, doubtfull, timorous;
My faint hand writing, when my full eye reedes,
From euery word strange passion still proceedes.
O! when the soule is fettered once in wo,
T'is strange what humors it doth force vs to;
A teare doth drowne a teare, sigh, sigh doth smother,
This hinders that, that interrupts the other:
Th'ouer-watched weaknesse of a sicke conceit,
Is that which makes small beautie seeme so great,
Like things which hid in troubled waters lie,
Which crook'd, seem straight, if straight, seem contrary:
And thus our vaine imagination shewes it,
[Page] As it conceiues it, not as iudgement knowes it,
(As in a Mirrhor, if the same be true)
Such as your likenes, iustly such are you:
But as you change your selfe, it changeth there,
And shewes you as you are, not as you were;
And with your motion doth your shadow moue,
If frowne or smile; such the conceit of loue.
Why tell me, is it possible the minde
A forme in all deformitie should finde?
Within the compasse of mans face we see,
How many sorts of seuerall fauours be;
And that the chin, the nose, the brow, the eye,
If great, if small flat, sharpe, or if awry,
Alters proportion, altereth the grace,
And makes a mighty difference in the face;
And in the world, scarce two so likely are,
One with the other which if you compare,
But being set before you both together,
A iudging sight doth soone distinguish either.
How woman like a weaknesse is it then?
O what strange madnesse so possesseth men!
Bereft of sence; such sencelesse wonders seeing,
Without forme, fashion, certaintie, or being?
For which so many die to liue in anguish,
Yet cannot liue, if thus they should not languish;
That comfort yeeldes not, and yet hope denies not,
A life that liues not, and a death that dies not;
That hates vs most, when most it speakes vs faire,
Doth promise all things, alwaies paies with aire,
Yet sometime doth our greatest griefe appease,
To double sorrow after little ease.
[Page 14] Like that which thy lasciuious will doth craue,
Which if once had, thou neuer more canst haue;
Which if thou get, in getting thou doost waste it,
Taken, is lost, and perrish'd if thou hast it;
Which if thou gain'st, thou ne're the more hast wonne,
I loosing nothing, yet a
[...] quite vndone;
And yet of that, if that a King depraue me,
No King restores, though he a kingdome gaue me.
Doost thou of father and of friends depriue me?
And tak'st thou from me all that heauen did giue me?
What Nature claimes by blood, alies or neerenesse,
Or friendship challenge, by regard or deerenesse.
Mak'st me an Orphan ere my father die,
A wofull widdow in virginitie?
Is thy vnbrideled lust the cause of all?
And now thy flattering tongue bewailes my fall.
The dead mans graue with fained teares to fill,
So the deuouring Crocodile doth kill,
To harbor hate in shew of sweetest things,
So in the Rose the poisned serpent stings.
To lurke farre off, yet lodge destruction by,
The Basiliske doth poison with the eye;
To call for aide, and then to lie in wait,
So the Hiena murthers by deceit;
By sweete inticements, suddaine death to bring,
So from the rockes th'alluring Mir-maides sing;
In greatest wants, t'inflict the greatest woe,
This is the vtmost tyranny can doe.
But where (I see) the tempest thus preuailes,
What vse of ankors, or what neede of sailes?
Aboue vs blustring windes and dreadfull thunder,
[Page] The waters gape for our destruction vnder;
Heere on this side the furious billowes flie,
There rocks, there sands, & dang'rous whirl-poole lie.
Is this the meane that mightinesse approues?
And in this sort do Princes woo their loues?
Mildenesse would better sute with maiestie,
Then rash reuenge and rough seueritie.
O in what safety Temperance doth rest,
Obtaining harbor in a soueraigne breast.
Which if so praisefull in the meanest men,
In powerfull Kings, how glorious is it then?
Alas, and fled
I hether from my so,
That innocence should be betraied so?
Is Court and Country both her enemy,
And no place found to shrowd in chastitie?
Each house for lust a harbour, and an Inne,
And euery Cittie a receite for sinne;
And all do pittie beautie in distresse,
If beautie chaste, then onely pittilesse,
Thus is she made a tempting stale to lust,
Or vnreleeued, nedsly perrish must.
Lasciuious Poets which abuse the truth,
Which oft teach age to sinne, infecting youth,
For the vnchaste make trees & stones to mourne,
Or as they please, to other shapes do turne:
Cinyras daughter, whose incestuous minde,
Made her wrong Nature and dishonour Kinde;
Long since by them is turnde into a Mir,
Whose dropping liquor euer weepes for her;
And in a fountaine,
Biblis doth deplore
Her fault so vile and monsterous before:
[Page 15]
Silla, which once her father did betray,
Is now a bird, (if all be true they say.)
Shee that with
Phoebus did the foule offence,
Now metamorphosde into frankencense.
Other, to flowers, to odors, and to gumme,
At least
Ioues leman is a starre become;
And more; they faine a thousand fond excuses,
To hide their scapes, and couer their abuses,
The virgine onelie they obscure and hide
Whilst the vnchaste, by them are deifide;
Yet if a Vestals name be once exprest,
She must be set together with the rest.
I am not now, as when thou sawst me last,
That fauour soone is vanished and past;
That Rosie-blush, lapt in a Lilly-vale,
Now with the morphew ouer-growne and pale,
And down my cheeks with showres of swelling tears,
Remaine the furrowes that continuance weares,
And in the circles of my withered eies,
In aged wrinckles Beautie buried lies;
And in my grace, my presence, gesture, cheere,
Ruine, distresse, woe, anguish, doth appeere.
That breast, that hand, that cheeke, that eie, that brow,
Faded, decayed, fallen, darkned, wrinckled now;
Such was my beautie once, now is it such,
Once thought most rare, now altred more than much,
Nor I regarde all that thou canst protest,
My vovv is taken, I a Nunne profest.
This vestall habite doth content me more,
Then all the robes that yet I euer wore.
Had
Rosamond, (a recluse of our sort)
[Page] Taken our Cloister, left the wanton Court,
Shadowing that beauty with a holy vale,
Which she (alas) too loosely set to sale,
She neede not like an vgly Minotaur,
Haue beene lookt vp from jealious
Ellenor,
But bin as famous by thy mothers wrongs,
As by thy father subiect to all tongues.
To shadow sinne, might can the most pretend,
Kings, but the conscience, all things can defend.
A stronger hand restraines our wilfull powres,
A will must rule aboue this will of ours,
Not following what our vaine desires doe wooe
For vertues sake, but what we (only) doe.
And hath my father chose to liue exilde,
Before his eyes should see my youth defilde?
And to withstand a tyrants lewd desire,
Beheld his towers and castles razde with fire:
Yet neuer tucht with griefe, so only I,
Exempt from shame might with true honor die.
And shall this jewell which so deerly cost,
Now after all, by my dishonour lost?
No, no, his reuerend words, his holy teares,
Yet in my soule too deepe impression beares
His latest farewell at his last depart,
More deepely is ingraued in my hart,
Nor shall that blot, by me his name shall haue,
Bring his gray haires with sorrow to his graue,
Better his teares to fall vpon my tombe,
Then for my birth to curse my mothers wombe.
Though
Dunmow giue no refuge heere at all.
Dunmow can giue my body buriall.
[Page 16] If all remorcelesse, no teare-shedding eie,
My selfe will moane my selfe; so liue, so die.
Notes of the Chronicle history.
THis Epistle containeth no particular points of Historie, more than the generality of the argument layeth open; for after the banishment of the Lord Robert Fitzwater, and that Matilda was become a Recluse at Dunmow, (from whence this reply is imagined to be written.) the King still earnestly persisting in his sute. Matild. [...]ith this chaste and constant deniall, hopes yet at length to find some comfortable remedy, and to rid her selfe of doubts, by taking vpon her this monasticke habite, and to shew that shee still beareth in minde his former cruelty, bred by the impatience of his lust, shee remembreth him of her fathers banishment, and the lawlesse exile of her alies and friends.
Doost thou of father and of friends depriue me?
Then complaining of hir distresse, that flying thether, thinking there to find reliefe, she sees herselfe most assaild where she hoped to haue found most safety.
Alas, and fled I hether from my fo
[...],
That, &c.
After againe, standing vpon the precise poynts of conscience, not to cast off this habite she had taken.
My vow in taken, I a Nunne profest.
And at last laying open more particularly the miseries sustaind by her father in England, the burning of his Castles and houses, which she prooueth to be for her sake: as respecting only her honour, more then his natiue Country and his owne fortunes.
And to withstand a tyrants lewd desire,
Beheld his Towers and Castles set on fire.
Knitting vp her Epistle with a great and constant resolution.
Though
Dunmow giue no refuge heere at all,
Dunmow can giue my body buriall.
Finis.
¶ To the vertuous Lady, the Lady Anne Harrington, wife to the honorable Gentleman, sir Iohn Harrington Knight.
MY singuler good Lady, your many vertues knowne in generall to all, and your gracious fauors to my vnworthy selfe, haue confirmed that in me, which before I knew you, I onlie saw by the light of other mens iudgements. Honour seated in your breast, findes her selfe adorned as in a rich Pallace, making that excellent which makes her admirable; which like the Sunne (from thence) begetteth most pretious things of this earthly world, onely by the vertue of his rayes, not the nature of the mould. Worth is best discerned by the worthy, deiected minds want that pure fire which should giue vigor to vertue. I referre to your great thoughts (the vnpartiall Iudges of true affection) the vnfained zeale I haue euer borne to your honourable seruice; and so rest your Ladiships humbly to commaund.
Mich: Drayton.
Queene Isabell to Mortimer.
The Argument.
Queene Isabel, (the wife of Edward the second, called Edward Carnaruan,) beeing the daughter of Philip de Beau, King of France, forsaken by the King her husband, who delighted onely in the company of Piers Gaueston, his minion and fauorite, and after his death seduced by the euil counsel of the Spencers. This Queene thus left by her husband, euen in the glory of her youth, drew into her especiall fauour Roger Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore, a man of a mightie and inuincible spirit. This Lord Mortimer rising in armes against the King with Thomas Earle of Lancaster, and the Barons, was taken ere he could gather his power, & by the King committed to the tower of London. During his imprisonment, he ordained a feast in honor of his birth-day, to which he inuited Sir Stephen Segraue, Lieutenant of the Tower, and the rest of the officers, where, by meanes of a drinke prepared by the Queene, he cast them all into a heauie sleepe, and with Ladders of coards being ready prepared for the purpose, he escapeth and flieth into Fraunce, whither she sendeth this Epistie, complaining her owne misfortunes, and greatly reioycing at his safe escape.
THough such sweet comfort comes not now from her
As Englands Queene hath sent to
Mortimer.
Yet what that wants, which might my power approue
If lines can bring, this shall supply with loue,
[Page] Me thinks affliction should not fright me so,
No
[...] should resume these sundry shapes of woe;
But when I faine would finde the cause of this,
Thy absence shewes me where the errour is.
Oft when I thinke of thy departing hence,
Sad sorrow then possesseth eu'ry sence:
But finding thy deere blood preseru'd thereby,
And in thy life, my long-wisht liberty,
With that sweet thought my selff I only please
Amidst my griefe, which sometimes giues me case,
Thus doe extreamest ills a ioy possesse,
And one woe makes another woe seeme lesse.
That blessed night, that milde-aspected howre,
Wherein thou madst escape out of the Tower,
Shall consecrated euermore remaine;
What gentle Planet in that houre did raigne;
And shall be happy in the birth of men,
Which was chiefe lord of the Ascendant then.
O how I feard that sleepy iuyce I sent,
Might yet want power to further thine intent!
Or that some vnseene mysterie might lu
[...]ke,
Which wanting order, kindly should not worke;
Oft did I wish those dreadfull poysned lees,
That closde the euer-waking Dragons eies,
Or I had had those sence-ber
[...]auing stalkes,
That grow in shady
Proserpines darke walkes;
Or those blacke weedes on
Lethe bankes below,
Or
Lunary that doth on
Latmus flow;
Oft did I feare this moist and soggy clime,
Or that the earth, waxt barren now with time,
Should not haue hearbes to help me in this case,
[Page 18] Such as do thriue on
Indiaes parched face,
That morrow, when the blessed Sunne did rise,
And shut the liddes of all heauens lesser eies,
Forth from my pallace by a secret staire,
I steale to Thames, as though to take the ayre;
And aske the gentle floud as it doth glide,
Or thou didst passe or perish by the tide?
If thou didst perish, I desire the streame
To lay thee softly on her siluer teame,
And bring thee to me to the quiet shore,
That with hir tears thou mightst haue some tears more.
When sodainely doth rise a rougher gale,
With that (me thinkes) the troubled waues looke pale,
And sighing with that little gust that blowes,
With this remembrance seeme to knit their browes.
Euen as this so daine passion doth affright me,
The cheerfull Sunne breaks from a cloude to light me,
Then doth the bottome euident appeere,
As it would shew me, that thou wast not there,
Whenas the water flowing where I stand,
Doth seeme to tell me, Thou art safe on land.
Did
Bulloyne once a festiuall prepare,
For
England, Almaine, Cicile, and
Nauarre?
When
France enuied those buildings (only blest)
Gracde with the
Orgies of my Bridall feast,
That English
Edward should refuse my bed,
For that incestuous shamelesse
Ganimed?
And in my place, vpon his regall throne,
To set that gerle-boy, wanton
Gaueston.
Betwixt the feature of my face and his,
My glasse assures me no such difference is,
[Page] That a foule witches bastard should thereby
Be thought more worthy of his loue than I.
What doth auaile vs to be Princes heires,
When we can boast our birth is onely theirs?
When base dissembling flatterers shall deceiue vs,
Of all our famous auncestors did leaue vs;
And of our princely iewels and our dowres,
We but enjoy the least of what is ours;
when minions heads must weare our monarks crowns
To raise vp dunghills with our famous townes;
When beggars-brats are wrapt in rich perfumes,
Their buzzard wings impt with our Eagles plumes;
And matcht with the braue issue of our blood,
Alle the kingdome to their crauand brood.
Did
Longshankes purchase with his conquering hand,
Albania, Gascoyne, Cambria, Ireland?
That yoong
Carnarnan (his vnhappy sonne)
Should giue away all that his father wonne?
To backe a stranger, prowdly bearing downe
The brake alies and branches of the crowne?
And did great
Edward on his death-bed giue
This charge to them which afterwards should liue,
That that prowde Gascoyne banished the land,
No more should treade vpon the English sand?
And haue these great Lords in the quarrell stood,
And sealde his last will with their decrest blood,
That after all this fearefull massacre,
The fall of
Beauchamp, Lacy, Lancaster,
Another faithlesse fauòrite should arise,
To cloude the sunne of our Nobilities?
And gloried I in
Gauestons great fall,
[Page 19] That now a
Spenser should succeede in all?
And that his ashes should another breed,
Which in his place and Empire should succeede;
That wanting one a kingdomes wealth to spend,
Of what that left, this now shall make an end;
To waste all that our father won before,
Nor leaue our sonne a sword to conquer more.
Thus but in vaine we fondly do resist,
Where power can doe (euen) all things as it list,
And with vniust men to debate of lawes,
Is to giue power to hurt a rightfull cause;
Whilst Parlements must still redresse their wrongs,
And we must starue for what to vs belongs;
Our wealth but fuell to their fond excesse,
And we must fast to feast their wantonnesse.
Think'st thou our wrongs then insufficient are,
To moue our brother to religious warre?
And if they were, yet
Edward doth detaine
Homage for Pontiu, Guyne, and Aquytaine;
And if not that, yet hath he broke the truce,
Thus all accurre, to put backe all excuse.
The sisters wrong, ioynde with the brothers right,
Me thinks might vrge him in this cause to fight.
Be all those people sencelesse of our harmes,
Which for our Country ought haue manag'd armes?
Is the braue Normans courage now forgot?
Or the bold Brittaines lost the vse of shot?
The big-bonde Almaines, and stowt Brabanders,
Their warlike Pikes, and sharpe-edg'd Semiters?
Or do the Pickards let their Crosse-bowes lie,
Once like the Centaurs of old Thessalie?
[Page] Or if a valiant Leader be their lacke,
Where thou art present, who should driue them back?
I doe coniure thee by what is most deere,
By that great name of famous
Mortimer,
By antient
Wigmors honourable cr
[...]st,
The tombes where all thy famous grand-sires rest;
Or if than these, what more may thee approue,
Euen by those vowes of thy vnfained loue,
That thy great hopes may moue the Christian King,
By forraigne armes some comfort yet to bring,
To curbe the power of traitors that rebell,
Against the right of princely
Isabell.
Vaine witlesle woman, why should I desire.
To adde more heate to thy immortall fire?
To vrge thee by the violence of hate,
To shake the pillars of thine owne estate,
When whatsoeuer we intend to doe,
To our misfortune euer sorts vnto;
And nothing else remaines for vs beside,
But teares and coffins (onely) to prouide,
When still so long as
Burrough beares that name,
Time shall not blot out our deserued shame;
And whilst cleere Trent her wonted course shall keep,
For our sad fall, her christall drops shall weepe.
All see our ruine on our backes is throwne,
And to our selues our sorrowes are our owne.
And
Torlton now whose counsell should direct,
The first of all is slaundred with suspect;
For dang'rous things dissembled seldome are,
Which many eyes attend with busie care.
What should I say? My griefes do still renew,
[Page 20] And but begin when I should bid adiew,
Few be my words, but manifold my woe,
And still I stay, the more I shiue to goe.
As accents issue forth, griefes enter in,
And where I end, me thinks I but begin;
Till then faire time some greater good affords,
Take my loues paiment in these ayrie words.
¶ Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
O how I feard that sleepte drinke I sent,
Might yet want power to further thine intent.
MOrtimer being in the Tower, and ordaining a feast in honor of his birth-day, as he pretended, and inuiting there-vnto Sir Stephen Segraue, Constable of the Tower, with the rest of the officers belonging to the same he gaue them a sleepie drinke, prouided him by the Queene, by which meanes he got liberue for his escape.
I steale to Thames, as though to take the aire,
And aske the gentle streame as it doth glide,
Mortimer being got out of the Tower, swamme the riuer of Thames into Kent, whereof she hauing intelligence, doubteth of his strength to escape, by reason of his long imprisonment, being almost the space of three yeares.
Did Bulloyne once a festiuall prepare,
For England, Almaine, Cicile and Niuarr
[...]?
Edward Càrnaruan, the first Prince of Wales of the English blood, married Isabell, daughter of Philip the Faire at Bulloine, in the presence of the Kings of Almaine, Nauarre, and Cicile, with the chiefe Nobilitie of France and England: which marriage was there solemnized with exceeding pompe and magnificence.
And in my place, vpon his regall throne,
To set that girle-boy, wanton
Gaueston.
Noting the effeminacie and luxurious wantonnesse of Gaueston, the Kings Minion, his behauiour and attire euer so womanlike, to please the eye of his lasciuious Prince.
[Page]
That a fowle Witches bastard should thereby.
It was vrged by the Queene & the Nobility, in the disgrace of Piers Gauestone that his mother was conuicted of witchcraft, and burned for the same, and that Piers had bewitched the King.
Albania, Gascoine, Cambria, Ireland.
Albania, Scotland, so called of Albanact, the second son of Brutus, and Cambria; Wales, so called of Camber the third sonne, the foure Realmes and Countries, brought in subiection by Edward Longshanks.
When of our princely Iewells and our dowers.
We but enioy the least of what is ours.
A complaint of the prodigalitie of King Edward, giuing vnto Gauestone the jewels and treasure which was left him, by the ancient Kings of England; and enriching him with the goodly Manor of Wallingford, assigned as parcell of the dower, to the Queenes of this famous [...]le.
And ioyn'd with the braue issue of our blood,
Alie our kingdome to their crauand brood.
Edward the second, gaue to Piers Gaueston in marriage, the daughtet of Gilbert Clare, Earle of Glocester, begot of the Kings sister, lone of Acres, married to the said Earle of Glocester.
Should giue away all that his father won,
To backe a stranger.
King Edward offered his right in France, to Charles his brother in law, and his right in Scotland to Robert Bruse, to be aided against the Barrons, in the quarrell of Piers Gaueston.
And did great
Edward on his death-bed giue.
Edward Longshankes, on his death-bed at Carlile, commanded yong Edward his sonne on his blessing, not to call backe Gaueston, which (for the mis-guiding of the Princes youth) was before banished by the whole counsell of the Land.
That after all this fearefull massaker,
The fall of
Beuchamp, Lasy, Lancaster.
Thomas, Earle of Lancaster, Guy, Earle of Warwicke, and Henry Earle of Lincolne, who had taken their oaths before the deceased King at his death, to withstand his sonne Edward if he should call Gaueston frō exile, being a thing which he much feared: now seeing Edward to violate his fathers commandement, rise in armes [Page 21] against the King, which was the cause of the ciuill warre, and the ruine of so many Princes.
And gloried I in
Gauestons great fall,
That now a
Spenser should succeede in all.
The two Hugh Spensers, the father & the son, after the death of Gaueston, became the great fauorites of the king, the son being created by him lord Chamberlain, & the father Earl of Winchester.
And if they were, yet
Edward doth detaine
Homage for Pontiu, Guyne, and Aquitaine.
Edward Longshankes, did homage for those Citties and Territories to the French King, which Edward the second neglecting, moued the French King, by the subornation of Mortimer, to sease those Countries into his hands.
By antient
Wigmors honourable Crest.
Wigmore in the marches of Wales, was the antient house of the Mortimers, that noble and couragious familie.
That still so long as
Borrough beares that name.
The Queene remembreth the great ouerthrow giuen to the Barrons, by Andrew Herckley, Earle of Carlil, at Borrough bridge, after the battaile at Burton.
And
Torlton now whose counsells should direct.
This was Adam Torlton, Bishop of Herford, that great Polititiā, who so highly fauored the faction of the Queene & Mortimer, whose euil counsel afterward wroght the destruction of the king.
Mortimer to Queene Isabell.
AS thy salutes my sorrowes do adiourne
So backe to thee their interest I turne;
Though not in so great bounty (I confesse)
As thy heroicke princely lines expresse:
For how should comfort issue from the breath,
Of one condemn'd, and long lodg'd vp in death?
From murthers rage thou didst me once repriue,
[Page] Now in exile, my hopes thou doost reuiue;
Twice all was taken, twice thou all didst giue,
And thus twice dead, thou mak'st me twice to liue.
This double life of mine, your onely due,
You gaue to me; I gaue it backe to you;
Ne're my escape had, I aduentur'd thus,
As did the sky-attempting
Daedalus;
And yet to giue more safetie to my flight,
Haue made a night of day, a day of night.
Nor had
I backt the prowd aspiring wall,
Which held without, my hopes, within, my fall,
Leauing the cords to tell where
I had gone,
For gazing eyes with feare to looke vpon;
But that thy beautie (by a power diuine)
Breath'd a new life into this spirit of mine.
Drawne by the Sunne of thy celestiall eyes,
With fiery wings made passage through the skies,
The heauens did seeme the charge of me to take,
And sea and land be friend me for thy sake;
Thames stopt her tide, to make me way to go,
As thou hadst charg'd her that it should be so;
The hollow marmuring windes their due time kept,
As they had rock'd the world, while all things slept;
One billow bore me, and another draue me,
This stroue to helpe me, and that stroue to saue me;
The brisling reedes mou'd with the aire did chide me,
As they would tell me that they meant to hide me;
The pale-fac'd night beheld thy heauy cheere,
And would not let one little starre appeare,
But ouer all her smokie maptle hurl'd,
And in thicke vapors mu
[...]d vp the world;
[Page 22] And the pure ayre became so calme and still,
As it had beene obedient to my will;
And euery thing disposde vnto my rest,
As when on Seas the
Alcion buildes her nest.
When those rough waues which late with furie rusht,
Slide smoothely on, and suddainely are husht;
Nor
Neptune lets his surges out so long,
As Nature is in bringing forth her yong;
Nor let the
Spencers glory in my chance,
That I should liue an exile heere in France:
That I from England banished should be,
But England rather banished from me:
More were her want, France our great blood should beare,
Then Englands losse should be to
Mortimer.
My grandsire was the first since
Arthurs raigne,
That the Round-table rectifide againe;
To whose great Court at Kenelworth did come,
The peerelesse knighthood of all Christendome:
Whose princely order, honoured England more,
Then all the Conquests she atchiu'd before.
Neuer durst Scot set foote in English ground,
Nor on his backe did English beare a wound,
Whilst
Wigmore flourisht in our princely hopes,
And whilst our Ensigne march'd with
Edwards troups:
Whilst famous
Longshankes bones (in Fortunes scorne)
As sacred reliques to the field were borne;
Nor euer did the valiant English doubt,
Whilst our braue battailes guarded them about.
Nor did our wiues and wofull mothers mourne,
The English blood that stained
Banocksburne,
Whilst with his Minions sporting in his Tent,
[Page] Whole daies and nights in banquetting were spent,
Vntill the Scots (which vndersafegard stood)
Made lauish hauocke of the English blood?
And battered helmes lay scattered on the shore,
Where they in conquest had beene borne before.
A thousand kingdomes will we seeke from far,
As many Nations waste with ciuill war,
Where the disheuel'd gastly Sea-nimph sings,
Or well-rigd ships shall stretch their swelling wings,
And drag their ankors through the sandy fome,
About the world in euery clime to rome,
And those vnchristned Countries call our owne,
Where scarce the name of England hath bin knowne;
And in the dead-sea sinke our houses fame,
From whose sterne waues we first deriu'd our name,
Before fowle blacke-mouth'd infamy shall sing,
That
Mortimer e're stoop'd vnto a King.
And we will turne sterne-visag'd furie backe,
To seeke his spoile, who sought our vtter sacke:
And come to beard him in our natiue Ile,
E're he march forth to follow our exile.
And after all these boistrous stormie shockes,
Yet will we grapple with the chaulkie rockes:
Nor will we come like Pirates, or like the eues,
From mountaines, forrests, or sea-bordering Cleeues,
But fright the ayre with terror (when we come)
Of the sterne trumpet, and the bellowing drum:
And in the field aduance our plumy Crest,
And march vpon faire Englands flowrie breast;
And Thames which once we for our life did swim,
Shaking our dewy tresses on her brim,
[Page 23] Shall beare my nauie; vaunting in her pride,
Falling from
Tanet with the powerfull tide;
Which fertile
Essex, and faire
Kent shall see,
Spreading herflags along the pleasant lee,
When on her stemming poope she prowdly beares
The famous Ensignes of the Belgicke Peeres,
And for the hatefull sacrilegious sinne,
Which by the Pope he stands accursed in,
The Canon text shall haue a common glosse,
Receits in parcels, shall be paide in grosse.
This doctrine preachde,
who from the Church doth take,
At least shall trebble restitution make:
For which
Rome sends her curses out from farre,
Through the sterne throte of terror-breathing warre,
Till to th'vnpeopled shores she brings supplies
Of those industrious Roman Colonies.
And for his homage, by the which of olde
Prowd
Edward Guyne and
Aquitaine doth hold.
Charles by inuasiue armes againe shall take,
And send the English forces o're the lake;
When
Edwards fortune stands vpon this chance,
To loose in England, or expulsde from France;
And all those townes great
Longshankes left his sonne,
Now lost againe, which once his father wonne.
Within their strong percullizde Ports shall lie,
And from their walls his sieges shall defie.
And by that firme and vndissolued knot,
Betwixt their neighboring French, and bordring
Scot,
Bruse now shall bring his Red-shanks from the seas,
From th'Iled Oreads, and the Hebrydes.
And to his westerne hauens giue free passe,
[Page] To land the warlike
Irish Galiglasse,
Marching from
Tweede to swelling
Humber sands,
Wasting along the Northerne netherlands.
And wanting those which should his power sustaine,
Consumde with slaughter in his bloody raigne,
Our warlike sword shall driue him from his throne,
Where he shall lie for vs to treade vpon;
And those great lords now after their attaints,
Canonized amongst the English Saints;
And by the superstitious people thought,
That by their Reliques, miracles are wrought,
And thinke that flood much vertue doth retaine,
Which tooke the blood of famous
Bohun slaine;
Continuing the remembrance of the thing,
To make the people more abhorre their King.
Nor shall a
Spenser (be he ne're so great)
Possesse our
Wigmore, our renowned seate.
To raze the antient Trophies of our race,
With our deserts their monuments to grace;
Nor shall he leade our valiant marchers forth,
To make the
Spensers famous in the North;
Nor be the Gardants of the British pales,
Defending England, and preseruing Wales.
At first our troubles easily reculde;
But now growne head-strong hardly to be rulde;
With grauest counsell all must be directed,
Where plainest shewes are openly suspected;
For where mis-hap our errour dooth assault,
There doth it eassiest make vs see our fault,
Then (sweet) represse all fond and wilfull spleene,
Two things to be a woman, and a Queene;
[Page 24] Keepe close the cindars, lest the fire should burne,
It is not this which yet must serue our turne.
And if I doe not much mistake the thing,
The next supply shall greater comfort bring;
Till when I leaue my Princesse for a while,
Liue thou in rest, though I liue in exile.
Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
Of one condemnd, and long lodgde vp in death.
ROger Mortimer Lord of Wigmore, had stoode publikely condemned, for his insurrection with Thomas erle of Lancaster, and Bohune earle of Herford, by the space of three months: and as the report went, the day of his execution was determined to haue bin shortly after, which he preuented by his escape.
Twice all was taken, twice thou all didst giue.
At what time the two Mortimers, this Roger lord of Wigmore and his vncle Roger Mortimer the elder, were apprehended in the west, the Queene by meanes of Torlton Bishop of Hereford, and Becke Bishop of Duresme, and Patriarke of Ierusalem, being then both mighty in the state, vpon the submission of the Mortimers, somewhat pacified the king, and now secondly shee wrought meanes for his escape.
Leauing the cordes to tell where I had gone,
With strong ladders made of cords prouided him for the purpose, he escaped out of the Tower, which when the same were found fastned to the walles, in such a desperate attempt they bred astonishment to the beholders.
Nor let the
Spensers glory in my d
[...]awe.
The two Hugh Spensers, the father, and the sonne, then being so highly fauored of the King, knew that their greatest safety came by his exile, whose high and turbulent spirit could neuer brooke any corriuall in greatnes.
My grandsire was the first since Arthurs raigne,
That the Round-table rectifide againe.
Roger Mortimer, called the great Lord Mortimer, Grandfather [Page] to this Roger, which was afterward the first Earle of March, ree [...]ected againe the Round-table at Kenelwoorth, after the ancient order of king Arthurs table, with the retinue of a hudred knights, and a hundred ladies in his house, for the entertaining of such aduentures as came thither from all parts of Christendome.
Whilest famous
Longshanks bones in Fortunes scorne.
Edward Longshanks willed at his death, that his body should be boyled, the flesh from the bones, and that the bones should bee borne to the wars in Scotland, which he was perswaded vnto by aprophecie, which told that the English should still be fortunate in conquest, so long as his bones were caried in the field.
The English blood that stained
Banocksburne.
In the great voyage Edward the second made against the Scots, at the battell at Striueling neere vnto the riuer of Banocksburne in Scotland, where there was in the English campe such banket [...]ing and excesse, such riot and misorder, that the Scots, (who in the meane time laboured for aduauntage) gaue to the English a great ouerthrow.
And in the Dead-sea sincke our horses fame,
From whose, &c.
Mortimer, so called of Mare mortuum, and in French Mort mer, in English the Dead-sea, which is said to be where Sodom [...]nd Go morra once were, before they were destroyed by fire frō Heauen.
And for that hatefull sacrilegious sin
Which by the Pope he stand
[...]
[...]ursed in.
Gaustelinus and Lucas, two Cardinals, sent into England from Pope Clement, to appease the auncient hate betweene the King and Thomas. Earle of Lancaster, to whose Embassie the king seemed to yeeld, but after their departure hee went backe from his promises, for which he was accursed at Rome.
Of those industrious Roman Colonies.
A Colony is a sort or number of people, that come to inhabite a place before not inhabited, whereby he seemes here to prophecie of the subuersion of the land; the Pope ioyning with the power of other Princes against Edward for the breach of his promise.
Charles by inuasiue Armes againe shall take.
[Page 25] Charles the French King, mooued by the wrong done vnto his sister, seiseth the Prouinces which belonged to the King of England into his hands, stirred the rather thereto by Mortimer, who solicited her cause in France, as is expressed before in the other Epistle, in the glosse vpon this poynt.
And those great Lords now after their attaints,
Canonized among the English Saints.
After the death of Thomas Earle of Lancaster at Pomfret, the people imagined great myracles to be done by his reliques: as they did of the body of Bohune earle of Hereford, slaine at Borough bridge.
Finis.
❧ To my worthy and honored friend, Sir Walter Aston Knight of the Bath.
SIR, though without suspition of flatterie I might in more ample and free tearmes, intimate my affection vnto you, yet hauing so sensible a taste of your generous and noble aisposition, which without this habite of ceremony can estimate my loue: I will rather affect bre [...], though it should seeme my fault, than by my tedious complement, to trouble mine owne opinion setled in your iudgement and discretion. I make you the Patron of this Epistle of the Blacke-Prince, which I pray you accept, till more easie houres may offer vppe from mee some thing more worthy of your view, and my trauell.
Yours truely deuoted, Mich: Drayton.
¶ Edward the Blacke-Prince to Alice Countesse of Salisbury.
The Argument.
Alice Countesse of Salisbury, remaining at Roxborough castle in the North, in the absence of the earle her husband, who was by the Kings commaund sent ouer into Flaunders, and there deceased ere his returne. This Lady being besieged in her castle by the Scots, Edward the Blacke-Prince being sent by the King his father to relieue the north parts with an Armie, and to remooue the siege of Roxborough, there fell in loue with the Countesse; when after she returned to London, hee sought by diuers and sundry meanes to winne her to his youthfull pleasures, as by forcing the Earle of Kent her father, and her mother, vnnaturally to become his Agents in his vaine desire; where after a long and assured triall of her inuincible constancie, hee taketh her to his wife, to which end he only frameth this Epistle.
REceiue these papers from thy wofull Lord,
With farre more woes than they with wordes are storde,
Which if thine eie with rashnes do reproue,
Thei'le say they came from that imperious loue.
In euery letter thou maist vnderstand,
Which loue hath signde and sealed with his hand;
And where no farther processe he refers,
In blots set downe, for others Characters,
This cannot blush, although you doe refuse it,
[Page] Nor will reply how euer you shall vse it;
All, one to this, though you should bid dispaire,
This still intreates you, this still speakes you faire;
Hast thou a liuing soule? a humane sence?
To like, dislike p
[...]oue, order and dispence,
The depth of reason soundly to aduise,
To loue things good things hurtfull to despise;
The tuch of iudgement, which should
[...] things proue,
And hast thou toucht, yet not allowst my loue?
Sound moues his sound, voyce doth beget his voyce,
One Ec
[...]ho makes another to reioyce,
One well tunde string set truely to his like,
Strooke neere at hand doth make another strike.
How comes it then that our affections jarre?
What opposition doth beget this warre?
I know that Nature franckly to thee gaue,
That measure of her bounty that I haue,
And with that sence she likewise to vs lent
Each one his organ, each his instrument,
But euery one, because it is thine owne,
Doth p
[...]se it selfe, vnto it selfe alone.
Thy d
[...]y hand, when it it selfe doth tuch,
That feeling tells it there was neuer such;
When in thy gl
[...]sse thine eie it selfe doth see,
That thinkes theres none, like to it selfe can be,
And euery one doth iudge it selfe diuine.
Because that thou doost challenge it for thine;
And each it selfe,
Narcissus. like dooth smother,
And loues it selfe, not like to any other;
Fie be not burnd thus in thine owne desire,
Tis needlesse beauty should it selfe admire,
[Page 27] The Sunne, by which all creatures lightned bee,
And seeth all, it selfe yet cannot see;
And his owne brightnesse his owne foile is made,
And is to vs the cause of his owne shade.
When first thy beautie by mine eye was prou'd,
It saw not then so much to be belou'd;
But when it came a perfect view to take,
Each looke of one, doth many beauties make:
In little circlets first it doth arise,
Then somewhat larger seeming in mine eyes,
And in this gi
[...]ing compasse as it goes,
So more and more, the same in greatnes growes,
And as it yet at libertie is set,
The motion still do
[...]h other formes beget;
Vntill
[...]t length, looke any way I could,
Nothing there was but beautie to behold.
Art thou offended that thou art belou'd?
Remoue the cause, th'effect is soone remou'd;
Indent with Beautie how farre to extend,
Set downe desire, a limmit where to end;
Then charme thine eies, their glances shal not wound,
And teach the sence, the depth of loue to sound:
If thou do this, nay then thou shalt do more,
And bring to passe what neuer was before;
Make anguish sportiue, crauing all delight,
Mirth solemne, sullen, and inclinde to night;
Ambition lowly, enuie speaking well,
Loue, his reliefe of nigardize to sell;
Our war-like father did these forts deuise,
As surest holds against our enemies,
The safest places for our sexe to rest,
[Page] Feare soone is setled in a womans breast,
Thy breast is of another temper farre,
And then thy Castell fitter for the warre,
Thou doost not safely in thy Castell rest,
Thy Castell should be safer in thy breast,
That keepes out foes, but doth thy friends inclose,
But thy breast keepes out both thy friends and foes;
That may be batterd, or be vnderminde,
Or by strait siege, for want of succour pinde;
But thy heart is inuincible to all,
And more defensiue then thy Castell wall;
Of all the shapes that euer
Ioue did proue,
Wherewith he vsde to entertaine his loue;
That likes me best, when in a golden shower,
He
[...]ainde himselfe on
Danae in her Tower,
Nor did I euer enuie his command,
In that he beares the thunder in his hand;
But in that showrie shape
I cannot bee,
And as he came to her,
I come to thee,
Thy Tower with foes, is not begirt about,
If thou within, they are besieg'd without,
One haire of thine, more vigor doth retaine
To binde thy foe, then with an yron chaine:
Who might be gyu'd in such a golden string,
Would not be captiue, though he were a King;
Hadst thou all India heap'd vp in thy fort,
And thou thy selfe besieged in that sort,
Get thou but out, where they can thee espie,
They'le follow thee, and let the treasure lie.
I cannot thinke what force thy Tower should win,
If thou thy selfe doost guard the same within;
[Page 28] Thine eye retaines artillary at will,
To kill who euer thou desir
[...]st to kill;
For that alone more deepely wounds their hearts,
Then they can thee, though with a thousand darts;
For there entrenched little
Cupid lies,
And from those turrets all the world defies:
And when thou letst downe that transparant lid,
Of entrance, there an Armie doth forbid.
And as for Famine, thou needes neuer feare,
Who thinkes of want when thou art present there,
Thy onely sight giues spirit vnto the blood,
And comforts life, though neuer tasting foode.
And as thy souldiers keepe their watch and ward,
So chastitie thy inward breast doth guard,
Thy modest pulse serues as a latum bell,
Which watched by a wakefull Sentinell,
Is stirring still with euery little feare,
Warning, if any enemy be neare.
Thy vertuous thought, when all the others rest,
Like carefull Skowts passe vp and downe thy breast,
And still they round about that place doe keepe,
Whilst all the blessed garrison do sleepe.
But yet I feare, if that the truth were told,
That thou hast robbde, and fl
[...]st vnto this bolde
I thought as much, and didst this Fort deuise,
That thou in safety heere mightst tyrannize.
Yes, thou hast robbde the heauen and earth of all,
And they against thy lawlesse theft doe call;
Thine eies with mine, that wage continuall warres,
Borrow their brightnesse of the twinckling starres;
Thy breath, for which mine still in sighes consumes,
[Page] Hath rob'd sweete flowres, rich odors and perfumes,
Thy cheeke, for which mine all this penance proues,
Steales the pure whitenes both from Swans & doues.
Thy lips from mine, that in thy maske be pent,
Haue filch'd the blushing from the orient;
O mighty Loue! bring hether all thy power,
And fetch this heauenly theefe out of her Tower,
For if she may be suffred in this sort,
Heauens store will soone be hoarded in this fort.
When I arriu'd before that state of loue,
And saw thee on the battlement aboue,
I thought there was no other heauen but there,
And thou an Angel didst from thence appeare.
But when my reason did reproue mine eye,
That thou wert subiect to mortalitie,
I then excusde the Scot before had done,
No maruaile though he would the fort haue wonne;
Perceiuing well those enuious walls did hide,
More wealth then was in all the world beside;
Against thy foe, I came to lend thee aide,
And thus to thee my selfe, my selfe betraide;
He is besieg'd, the siege that came to raise,
There's no assault that not my breast assaies,
Loue growne extreame, doth finde vnlawfull shifts,
The Gods take shapes, and do allure with gifts,
Commanding
Ioue, that by great
Stix doth sweare,
Forsworne in loue, with louers oathes doth beare,
Loue causelesse still, doth aggrauate his cause,
It is his law to violate all lawes;
His reason is, in onely wanting reason,
And were vntrue, not deepely tuch'd with treason;
[Page 29] Th'vnlawfull meanes, doth make his lawfull gaine,
Hee speakes most true, when he the most doth faine;
Pardon the faults that haue escapde by mee,
Against faire vertue, chastitie and thee;
If Gods can their owne excellence excell,
Is it in pardoning mortalls that rebell?
When all thy trialls are enrol'd by fame,
And all thy sexe made glorious by thy name,
Then I a captiue shall be brought heereby,
To adorne the triumph of thy chastitie;
I sue not now thy Paramore to bee,
But as a husband to be linck'd to thee.
I am Englands heire, I thinke thou wilt confesse,
Wert thou a Prince, I hope
I am no lesse;
But that thy birth doth make thy stocke diuine,
Else durst
I boast, my blood as good as thine;
Disdaine me not, nor take my loue in scorne,
Whose brow a crowne heereafter may adorne.
But what I am, I call mine owne no more,
Take what thou wilt, and what thou wilt, restore;
Onely I craue, what ere I did intend,
In faithfull loue, now happily may end.
Farewell sweete Lady, so well maist thou fare,
To equall
[...]oy with measure of my care;
Thy vertues more then mortall tongue can tell,
A thousand, thousand times, farewell, farewell.
Notes of the Chronicle history.
Receiue these papers from thy wofull Lord.
BAndello, by whō this history was made famous, being an Italiā as it is the peoples custom in that clime, rather to faile somtime [Page] in the truth of circumstance, then to forgoe the grace of their conceit; n like manner as the Grecians, of whom the Satyrist.
Et quicquid Graetia mendax,
Audet in historia.
Thinking it to be a greater triall, that a Countesse should be sude vnto by a King, then by the sonne of a King, and conseqently, that the honour of her chastitie should be the more, hath caused it to be generally taken so; but as by Polidore, Fabian, and Froisard, appeares the contrarie is true. Yet may Bandello be very well excused, as being a stranger, whose errors in the truth of our historie, are not so materiall, that they should neede an inuectiue, lest his wit should bee defrauded of any part of his due, which were not lesse, were euery part a fiction. Howbeit, lest a common error should preuaile against a truth; these Epistles are conceiued in those persons, who were indeede the actors: to wit, Edward, surnamed the Blacke [...], not so much of his complexion, as of the dismall battells which he fought in France, (in like sence as we may say, a blacke day) for some tragicall euent, though the Sunne shine neuer so bright therein. And Alice, the Countesse of Salsburie, who as it is certaine, was beloued of Prince Edward; so it is as certaine, that many points now current in the receiued story, can neuer hold together with likelihoode of such enforcement, had it not beene shewed vnder the title of a King.
And when thou let'st downe that transparent lid.
Not that the lid is transparent, for no part of the skin is transparent, but for the gemme which at that closure is said to containt, is transparent, for otherwise how could the minde vnderstand by the eye? should not the images slide through the same, and replenish the stage of the phantasie? But this belongs to Optickes. The Latines call the eye lid cilium, (I will not say of celando) as the eye brow supercilium, and the haire on the eye lids palpebra, perhaps quod palpitet, all which haue their distinct and necessary vses.
Alice Countesse of Salsbury, to the Blacke Prince.
AS one would grant; yet gladly would deny,
Twixt hope and feare, I doubtfully reply;
A womans weakenesse, lest I should discouer,
Answering a Prince, and writing to a louer;
And some say, Loue with Reason doth dispence.
And wrest our plaine words to another sence:
Thinke you not then, poore women had not neede
Be well aduisde to write, what men should reade,
When being silent moouing but awry,
Giues cause of scandall and of obloquy;
Whilst in our hearts, our secret thoughts abide,
Th'inuenom'd tongue of slander yet is tide;
But if once spoke, deliuered vp to Fame,
Hers the report, but ours returnes the shame.
About to write, yet newly entring in,
Me thinkes I end, ere I can well begin;
When I would end, then something makes me stay,
And then me thinkes I should haue more to say;
And some one thing remaineth in my breast,
For want of words that cannot be exprest;
What
I would say; as said to thee I faine,
Then in thy person
I reply againe,
Then in thy cause, vrge all I can obiect,
Then what againe mine honour must respect.
O Lord! what sundry passions do I trie?
Striuing to hate, you forcing contrarie;
[Page] Being a Prince,
I blame you not to proue,
The greater reason to obtaine your loue.
That greatnesse which doth challenge no deniall,
The onely rest that doth allow my triall:
Edward so great, the greater were his fall,
And my offence in this were capitall.
To men is granted priuiledge to tempt,
But in that charter women be exempt:
Men win vs not, except we giue consent;
Against our selues, except our selues are bent.
Who doth impute it is a fault to you?
You proue not false, except we be vntrue;
It is your vertue, being men, to try,
And it is ours, by vertue to deny.
Your fault it selfe, serues for the faults excuse,
And makes it ours, though yours be the abuse.
Beautie a beggar, fie it is too bad,
When in it selfe sufficiencie is had,
Not made a Lure t'entice the wandring eye,
But an attire t'adorne sweete modestie,
If modestie and women once do seuer,
We may bid farewell to our fame for euer
Let
Iohn and
Henry, Edwards instance be,
Matilda and faire
Rosamond for me:
A like both woo'd, alike su'd to be wonne,
Th'one by the father, th'other by the sonne;
Henry obtaining, did our weakenesse wound,
And laies the fault on wanton
Rosamond;
Matilda chaste, in life and death all one,
By her deniall, l
[...]es the fault on
Iohn;
By these we proue, men accessary still,
[Page 31] But women only principalls of ill.
What praise is ours, but what our vertues get?
If they be lent, so much we be in debt,
Whilst our owne honours vertue doth defend,
All force too weake, what euer men pretend;
If all the world else, should suborne our fame,
Tis we our selues that ouerthrow the same;
And howsoe're although by force you win,
Yet on our weakenes still returnes the sin.
A vertuous Prince who doth not
Edward call?
And shall I then be guiltie of your fall?
Now God for bid; yet rather let me die,
Then such a sin vpon my soule should lie.
Where is great
Edward? whither is he led?
At whose victorious name whole armies fled.
Is that braue spirit that conquerd so in France,
Thus ouercome and vanquisht with a glance?
Is that great hart that did aspire so hie,
So soone transpersed with a womans eie?
He that a king at Poictiers battell tooke,
Himselfe led captiue with a wanton looke?
Twice as a Bride to church I haue bin led,
Twice haue two Lords enjoyd my Bridale bed;
How can that beauty yet be vndestroyd,
That yeeres haue wasted, and two men enioyd,
Or should be thought fit for a Princes store,
Of which two subiects were possest before?
Let
Spaine, let
France, or
Scotland so preferre
Their infant Queenes; for
Englands dowager,
That bloud should be much more than halfe diuine,
That should be equall euery way with thine:
[Page] Yet princely
Edward, though I thus reproue you,
As mine owne life, so deerely doe I loue you.
My noble husband, which so loued you,
That gentle Lord, that reuerend
Mountague,
Nere mothers voyce did please her babe so well,
As his did mine, of you to heare him tell;
I haue made short the houres that time made long,
And chaind mine eares vnto his pleasing tong,
My lips haue waited on your praises worth,
And snatcht his words ere he could get them forth:
When he hath spoke, and something by the way
Hath broke off that he was about to say;
I kept in minde where from his tale he fell,
Calling on him the residue to tell;
Oft he would say, how sweet a Prince is he!
When I haue praisde him but for praising thee,
And to proceede, I would intreate and wooe,
And yet to ease him, help to praise thee too:
Must she be forcde, t'exclaime th'iniurious wrong,
Offred by him, whom she hath lou'd so long?
Nay, I will tell, and I durst almost sweare,
Edward will blush, when he his fault shall heare.
Iudge now that time doth youths desire asswage,
And reason mildely quencht the fire of rage.
By vpright iustice let my cause be tride,
And be thou iudge if I not iustly chide.
That not my fathers graue and reuerend yeeres,
When on his knee he beggd me with his teares,
By no perswasions possibly could winne,
To free himselfe as guiltlesse of my sinne.
The woe for me my mother did abide,
[Page 32] Whose sute (but you) theres none would haue denide.
Your lust full rage your tyranny could stay;
Mine honours ruine further to delay;
Haue I ot lou'd you? let the truth be showne,
That still preseru'd your honour with mine owne.
Had your fond will your foule desires preuailde,
When you by them my chastitie assailde:
Though this no way could haue excusde my fault,
True vertue neuer yeelded to assault:
Yet what a thing were this it should be said,
My parents sin should to your charge be laide:
And I haue gainde my libertie with shame,
To saue my life, made ship wracke of my name.
Did
Roxborough once vaile her towring fane,
To thy braue ensigue, on the Northerne plaine?
And to thy trumpet sounding from thy tent,
Often replide (as to my succor sent)
And did receiue thee as my sou
[...]raigne liege
Comming to ayde, thou shouldst againe besiege,
To raise a fo
[...], but for my treasure came
To plant a foe, to take my honest name;
Vnder pretence to haue remou'd the Scot,
And wouldst haue won more than he could haue got;
That did ingirt me ready still to flie,
But thou laidst batt'ry to my chastitie:
O modestie, didst thou me not restraine,
How I could chide you in this angry vaine!
A Princes name (heauen knowes) I doe not craue,
To haue those honours
Edward
[...] spouse should haue;
Nor by ambitious lures will I be brought,
In my chaste breast to harbour such a thought,
[Page] As to be worthy to be made a Bride,
An Empresse place by mighty
Edwards side,
Of all the most vnworthy of that grace,
To waite on her that should enioy that place.
But if that loue Prince
Edward doth require,
Equall his vertues, and my chaste desire:
If it be such as we may iustly vaunt,
A Prince may sue for, and a Lady graunt:
If it be such as may suppresse my wrong,
That from your vaine vnbrideled youth hath sprong,
That faith I send, that I from you receaue,
The rest vnto your Princely thoughts I leaue.
¶ Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
Twice as a Bride I haue to Church beene led.
THe two husbands of which she makes mention, obiecting bigamy against herselfe, as being therefore not meet to be married with a batcheller-Prince, were sir Thomas Holland knight, & sir Willlam Montague, afterward made Earle of Salisbury.
That not my fathers graue and reuerend yeeres.
A thing incredible, that any Prince should be so vniust to vse the fathers meanes for the corruption of the daughters chastitie, though so the historie importeth, her father being so honourable, and a man of so singular desert, though Polidore would haue her thought to be Iane, the daughter to Edmund earle of Kent, vncle to Edward the third, beheaded in the Protectoriship of Mortimer, that dangerous aspirer.
And I haue gainde my libertie with shame.
Roxborough is a castle in the North, mis-termed by Bandello Salisbury castle, because the king had giuen it to the Earle of Salisbury, in which her Lorde being absent, the Countesse by the Scots was besieged, who by the comming of the English Armie were remoued. Here first the Prince saw her, whose libertie had [Page 33] bin gained by her shame, had shee bin drawne by dishonest loue to satisfie his appetite, but by her most praise-worthy constancie she conuerted that humor in him to an honourable purpose, and obtained the true reward of her admired vertues.
The rest vnto your princely thoughts I leaue.
Lest any thing be left out which were woorth the relation, it shall not be impertinent to annex the opinions that are vttered, concerning her, whose name is said to haue bin Aclips, but that being rejected as a name vnknowne among vs, Froisard is rather beleeued, who calleth her Alice. Polidore contrariwise as before is declared, names her Iane, who by Prince Edward had issue, Edward dying yong, and Richard the second king of England, thogh (as he saith) she was diuorced afterwards, because within the degrees of consanguinitie prohibiting to many, the trueth whereof I omit to discusse, her husband the Lord Montague, being sent ouer into Flaunders by king Edward, was taken prisoner by the French, and not returning, left his Countesse a widow, in whose bed succeeded Prince Edward, to whose last and lawsull request the reioycesull Lady sends this louing answere.
Finis.
¶ To the right Honourable and my very good Lord, Edward Earle of Bedford.
THrice noble and my gratious Lord, the loue I haue euer borne to the illustrious house of Bedford, and to the honourable familie of the Harringtons, to the which by marriage your Lordship is happily vnited, hath long since deuoted my true and zealous affection to your honourable seruice, and my Poems to the protection of my noble Ladie, your Countesse; to whose seruice I was furst bequeathed, by that learnd & accomplisht gentleman sir Henry Goodere, (not long since deceased,) whose I was whilst hee was, whose patience pleased to beare with the imperfections of my heedles and vnstaied youth. That excellent and matchlesse Gentleman, was the first cherisher of my Muse, which had beene by his death left a poore Orphan to the world, had he not before bequeathed it to that Lady whom he so deerely liued. Vouchsafe then, my deere Lord, to accept this epistle, which I dedicate as zealously, as (I hope) you will patronize willingly, vntill some more acceptable seruice may be witnesse of my loue to your honour,
Your Lordships euer Michaell Drayton.
Queene Isabell to Richard the second.
The Argument.
Queene Isabel the daughter of Charles king of France) being the second wife of Richard the second, the son of Edward the Blacke Prince, the eldest sonne of King Edward the third; After the saide Richard her husband was deposed from his crowne and kingly dignitie, by Henry duke of Herford, the eldest son of Iohn of Gaunt duke of Lancaster, the fourth sonne of Edward the third, this Ladie being then very yong, was sent backe againe into Fraunce, without dowre, at what time the deposed King her husband was sent from the Tower of London (as a prisoner) vnto Pomfret Castle. Whether this poore Lady bewailing her husbands misfortunes writeth this Epistle from France.
AS dooth the yeerely
Auger of the spring
In deapth of woe, thus I my sorrow sing;
Words tunde with sighes, teares falling oft among,
A dolefull burthen to a heauy song:
Words issue forth to finde my griefe some way,
Teares ouertake them, and doe bid them stay;
Thus whilst one striues to keepe the other backe,
Both once too forward, now are both too slacke.
If fatall
Pomfret hath in former time.
Nurrisht the griefe of that vnnaturall clime.
[Page] Thether I send my sorrowes to be sed,
But, where first bo
[...]ne, where fitter to be bred?
They vnto
France be aliens and vnknowne,
England from her doth challenge these her owne.
They say all mischiefe commeth from the North,
It is too true, my fall doth set it forth;
But why should I thus limite Griefe a place,
When all the world is filld with our disgrace?
And we in bounds thus striuing to containe it,
The more resists, the more we doe restraine it.
Oh how euen yet I hate these wretched eies,
And in my glasse oft call them faithlesse spies
(Preparde for
Richard) that vnwares did looke
Vpon that traitor
Henry Bulingbrooke,
But that excesse of ioy my sence bereau'd
So much, my sight had neuer bin deceau'd.
Oh how vnlike to my lou'd Lord was hee,
Whom rashly I, sweet
Richard tooke for thee,
I might haue seene the Cou
[...]sers selfe did lacke,
That Princely rider should bestride his backe,
He that (since Nature her great worke began)
Shee made to be the mirrour of a man,
That when she meant to forme some matchlesse lim,
Still for a patterne, tooke some part of him,
And iealous of her cunning, brake the mould,
In his proportion done the best she could.
Oh let that day be guiltie of all sinne,
That is to come, or heeretofore hath bin,
Wherein great
Norffolkes forward course was staide,
To prooue the treasons he to
Hersord laide,
When (with sterne furie) both these Dukes enragde,
[Page 35] Their warlike gloues at Couentry engag'd,
When first thou didst repeale thy former grant,
Seal'd to braue
Mowbray, as thy Combatant,
From his vnnumbred howres let time deuide it,
Lest in his minutes he should hap to hide it;
Yet on his brow continually to beare it,
That when it comes, all other daies may feare it,
And all ill-boding Planets by consent,
That day may hold their dreadfull parlement,
Be it in heauens decrees enroled thus,
Blacke, dismall, fatall, inauspitious:
Prowd
Herford then, in height of all his pride,
Vnder great
Mowbraies valiant hand had dide;
Nor should not thus from banishment retire,
The fatall brand to set our Troy on fire.
O why did
Charles relieue his needy state?
A vagabond and stragling runnagate;
And in this Court, with grace did entertaine
This vagrant exile, this abiected
Caine,
Who with a thousand mothers curses went,
Mark'd with the brand often yeeres banishment.
When thou to Ireland took'st thy last farewell,
Millions of knees vpon the pauements fell,
And euery where th'applauding ecchoes ring,
The ioyfull showts that did salute a King;
Thy parting hence, what pompe did not adorne?
At thy returne, who laugh'd thee not to scorne?
Who to my Lord a looke vouchsafde to lend,
Then all too few on
Herford to attend.
Princes (like sunnes) be euermore in sight,
All see the clowdes betwixt them and their light;
[Page] Yet they which lighten all downe from the skies,
See not the clowdes offending others eyes,
And deeme their noone-tide is desir'd of all,
When all expect cleere changes by their fall.
What colour seemes to shadow
Herfords claime,
When law and right his fathers hopes doth maime?
Affirm'd by church-men (which should beare no hate)
That
Iohn of
Gaunt was illegi
[...]timate;
Whom his reputed mothers tongue did spot,
By a base Flemish Boore to be begot,
Whom
Edwards Eglets mortally did shun,
Daring with them to gaze against the Sun.
Where lawfull right and conquest doth allow,
A triple crowne on
Richards princely brow,
Three kingly Lions beares his bloody field,
No bastards marke doth blot his conquering shield,
Neuer durst he attempt our haplesse shore,
Nor set his foote on fatall Rauenspor
[...];
Nor durst his slugging Hulkes approch the strand,
Nor stoope a top as signall to the land,
Had not the
Percyes promisde aide to bring,
Against their oath vnto their lawfull King,
Against their faith vnto our crownes true heire,
Their valiant kinsman,
Edmond Mortimer;
When
I to England came, a world of eyes
Like starres attended on my faire arise,
At my decline, like angry Planets frowne,
And all are set before my going downe;
The smooth fac'd ayre did on my comming smile,
But with rough stormes are driuen to exile;
But
Bullingbrooke deuis
[...]e we thus should part,
[Page 36] Fearing two sorrowes should possesse one heart;
To make affliction stronger, doth denie,
That one poore comfort left our miserie,
He had before diuorc'd thy crowne and thee,
Which might suffice, and not to widdow mee,
But that to proue the vtmost of his hate,
To make our fall the greater by our state.
Oh would
Aumerle had suncke when he betraid
The complot, which that holy Abbot laid.
When he infring'd the oth which he first tooke,
For thy reuenge on pe
[...]iurde
Bullingbrooke.
And beene the ransome of our friends deere blood
Vntimely lost, and for the earth too good;
And we vntimely mourne our hard estate,
They gone too soone, and we remaine too late.
And though with teares
I from my Lord depart,
This curse on
Horford fall, to ease my heart:
If the fowle breach of a chaste nuptiall bed,
May bring a curse, my curse light on his head;
If murthers guilt with blood may deepely staine,
Greene, Scroope, and
Bushie, die his fault in graine;
If periury may heauens pure gates debar,
Damn'd be the oth he made at Dancaster;
If the deposing of a lawfull King,
The curse condemne him, if no other thing;
If these disioynde, for vengeance cannot call,
Let them vnited strongly curse him all.
And for the
Percyes, heauen may heare my prayre,
That
Bullingbrooke now placde in
Richards chaire;
Such cause of woe vnto their wiues may be,
As those rebellious Lords haue beene to me.
[Page] And that prowd Dame, which now controlleth all,
And in her pompe triumpheth in my fall,
For her great Lord may water her sad eyne,
With as salt teares as
I haue done for mine,
And mourne for
Henry Hotspur, her deere sonne,
As
I for my sweete
Mortimer haue done;
And as
I am, so succourlesse be sent,
Lastly, to taste perpetuall banishment.
Then loose thy care, where first thy crowne was lost,
Sell it so deerely, for it deerely cost;
And sith they did of libertie depriue thee,
Burying thy hope, let not thy care out-liue thee.
But hard (God knowes) with sorrow doth it goe,
When woe becomes a comforter to woe;
Yet much me thinkes of comfort
I could say,
If from my hart pale feare were rid away:
Something there is which tells me still of woe,
But what it is, that heauen aboue doth know;
Griefe to it selfe, most dreadfull doth appeare,
And neuer yet was sorrow voide of feare;
But yet in death, doth sorrow hope the best,
And with this farewell wish thee happy rest.
Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
If fatall Pomfret hath in former time,
POmfret Castle, euer a fatall place to the Princes of England, and most ominous to the blood of Plantaginet.
Oh how euen yet I hate these wretched eyes,
And in my glasse, &c.
[Page 37] When Bullingbrooke returned to London from the West, bringing Richard a prisoner with him, the Queene, who little knew of her husbands hard successe, staid to behold his comming in, little thinking to haue seene her husband thus ledde in triumph by his foe, and now seeming to hate her eyes, that so much had graced her mortall enemie.
Wherein great
Norfolks forward course was staid.
She remembreth the meeting of two Dukes of Herford and Norfolke at Couentry, vrging the iustnesse of Mowbrayes quarrell against the Duke of Herford, and the faithfull assurance of his victorie.
O why did
Charles relieue his needie state?
A vagabond, &c.
Charles the French King her father, receiued the Duke of Herford in his Court, and releeued him in Fraunce, being so neerely alied, as Cosin german to king Richard his sonne in Law, which he did simply, little thinking that hee should after returne into England, and dispossesse King Richard of the Crowne.
When thou to Ireland took'st thy last farewell.
King Richard made a voyage with his Armie into Ireland, against Onell and Mackemur, which rebelled, at what time Henry entred here at home, and robd him of all kingly dignitie.
Affirmde by Church-men (which should beare no hate)
That
Iohn of
Gaunt was illegit
[...]imate.
William Wickham, in the great quarrell betwixt Iohn of Gaunt and the Clergy, of meere spight and malice (as it should seeme) reported, that the Queene confessed to him on her deathbed, being then her Confessor, that Iohn of Gaunt, was the son of a Flemming, and that shee was brought to bed of a woman childe at Gaunt, which was smothered in the cradle by mischance, & that she obtained this childe of a poore woman, making the king beleeue it was her owne, greatly fearing his displeasure. Fox e [...] Chron. Alban.
No bastards marke doth blot our conquering shield.
Shewing the true and indubitate birth of Richard, his right vnto the Crowne of England, as carrying the Armes without blot or difference.
Against their faith vnto the Crownes true heire,
[Page] Their noble kinsman, &c.
Edmund Mortimer, Earle of March, sonne of Earle Roger Mortimer, which was sonne to Lady Phillip, daughter to Lionell Duke of Clarence, the third sonne to King Edward the third, which Edmund (King Richard going into Ireland) was proclaimed heire apparant to the Crowne, whose Aunt called Ellinor, this Lord Piercie had married.
O would
Aumerle had suncke when he betrayd
The compl
[...]t which that holy Abbot layd.
The Abbot of Westminster had plotted the death of King Henry, to haue beene done at a Tilt at Oxford: of which confederacie there was Iohn Holland, Duke of Excester, Thomas Holland, Duke of Surrey, the Duke of Aumerle, Mountacute, Earle of Salsbury, Spenser, Earle of Gloster, the Bishop of Carlile, Sir Thomas Blunt, these all had bound themselues one to another by Indenture to performe it, but were all betrayd by the Duke of Aumerle.
Scroope, Greene, and
Bushie, die his fault in graine,
Henry going towards the Castle of Flint, where King Richard was, caused Scroope, Greene, and Bushie, to be executed at Bristow; as vile persons, which had seduced this King to this lasciuious and wicked life.
Damn'd be the oth he made at Doncaster.
After Henries exile, at his returne into England, he tooke his oth at Doncaster vpon the Sacrament, not to claime the crowne or Kingdome of England, but onely the Dukedome of Lancaster, his owne proper right, and the right of his wife.
And mourne for
Henry Hotspur, her deere sonne,
As I for my, &c.
This was the braue couragious Henry Hotspur, that obtained so many victories against the Scots, which after falling out right with the curse of Queene Isabell, was slaine by Henry, at the battaile at Shrewsbury.
Richard the second to Queene Isabell.
WHat may my Queene, but hope for frō that hand,
Vnfit to write; vnskilfull to cōmand?
A Kingdomes greatnesse, hardly can he sway,
That wholesome counsaile neuer did obay;
Ill this rude hand did guide a Scepter then,
Worse now (I feare me) gouerneth a pen;
How shall I call my selfe, or by what name,
To make thee know from whence these letters came?
Not from thy husband, for my hatefull life
Hath made thee widdow, being yet a wife;
Nor from a King, that title I haue lost,
Now of that name prowd
Bullingbroke may boast:
What I haue beene, doth but this comfort bring,
That no woe is, to say,
I was a King.
This lawlesse life, which first procurde my hate,
This tongue, which then denounc'd my regall state,
This abiect minde, that did consent vnto it,
This hand, that was the instrument to doe it;
All these be witnesse, that I doe denie
All passed hopes, all former soueraigntie.
Didst thou for my sake leaue thy fathers Court,
Thy famous Country and thy virgine port;
And vndertook'st to trauaile dangerous waies,
Driuen by aukward windes and boist'rous seas?
[Page] And left's great
Burbon for thy loue to mee,
Who su'd in marriage to be linck'd to thee,
Offring for dower the Countries neighbouring nie.
Of fruitfull Almaine, and rich Burgundie:
Didst thou all this, that England should receiue thee,
To miserable banishment to leaue thee?
And in my downefall, and my fortunes wracke,
Forsaken thus, to France to send thee backe.
When quiet sleepe (the heauie hearts reliefe)
Hath rested sorrow, somwhat lesned griefe,
My passed greatnes vnto minde I call,
And thinke this while
I dreamed of my fall:
With this conceit my sorrowes
I beguile,
That my faire Queene is but with-drawne a while,
And my attendants in some chamber by,
As in the height of my prosperitie.
Calling alowd, and asking who is there,
The Eccho answering, tells me Woe is there;
And when mine armes would gladly thee enfold,
I clip the pillow, and the place is cold,
Which when my waking eyes precisely view,
Tis a true token, that it is too true.
As many minutes as in the howres there be,
So many howres each minute seemes to me,
Each howre a day, morne, noone-tide, and a set,
Each day a yeare, with miseries complet.
A winter, spring-time, summer and a fall,
All seasons varying, but vnseasoned all:
In endelesse woe my thrid of life thus weares,
By minutes, howres, daies, months & lingring yeares,
They praise the summer, that enioy the South,
[Page 39] Pomfret is closed in the Norths cold mouth:
There pleasant summer dwelleth all the yeere,
Frost-starued-winter dooth inhabite heere;
A place wherein dispaire may fitly dwell,
Sorrow best suting with a cloudy Cell:
When
Herford had his iudgement of exile,
Saw I the peoples murmuring the while;
Th'vncertaine Commons toucht with inward care,
As though his sorrowes mutually they bare:
Fond women, and scarse speaking children mourne,
Bewaile his parting, wishing his returne,
Then being forcde t'abridge his banisht yeeres,
When they bedewd his footsteps with their teares:
Yet by example could not learne to know
To what his greatnes by this loue might grow,
Whilst Henry boasts of our atchiuements done,
Bearing the trophies our great fathers wonne;
And all the storie of our famous warre
Now grace the Annales of great Lancaster.
Seauen goodly siens in their spring did flourish,
Which one selfe root brought forth, one stock did no
[...]ish:
Edward the top-branch of that golden tree,
Nature in him her vtmost power did see,
Who from the bud still blossomed so faire,
As all might iudge what fruite it meant to beare:
But I his graft of eu'ry weede ore-growne,
And from the kind, as refuse forth am throwne,
From our braue Grandsire, both in one degree,
Yet after
Edward Iohn the yongst of three.
Might Princely
Wales beget an impe so base,
(That to
Gaunts issue should giue soueraigne place)
[Page] That leading Kings from France returned home,
As those great
Caesars brought their spoiles to Rome,
Whose name obtained by his fatall hand,
Was euer fearefull to that conquered land;
His fame increasing, purchasde in those warres,
Can scarcely now be bounded with the starres,
With him is valour quite to heauen fled,
(Or else in me is it extinguished,)
Who for his vertue and his conquests sake
Posteritie a demy god shall make,
And iudge this vile abiect spirit of mine
Could not proceede from temper so diuine.
What earthly humor, or what vulgar eie
Can looke so lowe as on our misery?
When
Bullingbrooke is mounted to our throne,
And makes that his, which we but calld our owne:
Into our counsells he himselfe intrudes,
And who but
Henry with the multitudes?
His power disgrades, his dreadfull frowne disgraceth,
He throwes them downe, whome our aduancement placeth:
As my disable, and vnworthy hand,
Neuer had power belonging to command.
He treades our sacred tables in the dust,
And proues our acts of Parlament vniust;
As though he hated that it should be saide,
That such a law by
Richard once was made,
Whilst I deprest before his greatnes, lie
Vnder the weight of hate and infamie.
My backe a footstoole
Bullingbrooke to raise,
My loosenes mockt, and hatefull by his praise:
Out-liu'd mine honour, buried my estate,
[Page 40] And nothing left me but the peoples hate.
(Sweet Queene) ile take all counsell thou canst giue,
So that thou bidst me neither hope nor liue;
Succour that comes, when ill hath done his worst,
But sharpens griefe, to make vs more accurst.
Comfort is now vnpleasing to mine eare,
Past cure, past care, my Bed become my Beere.
Since now misfortune humbleth vs so long,
Till heauen be growne vnmindfull of our wrong,
Yet they forbid my wrongs shall euer die,
But still remembred to posteritie;
And let the crowne be fatall that he weares,
And euer wet with woefull mothers teares.
Thy curse on
Percie angry heauens preuent,
Who haue not one curse left, on him vnspent,
To scourge the world, now borrowing of my store,
As rich of woe, as I a King am poore.
Then cease (deere Queene) my sorrowes to bewaile,
My wounds too great for pittie now to heale,
Age stealeth on, whilst thou complainest thus,
My griefes be mortall and infectious;
Yet better fortunes thy faire youth may trie,
That follow thee, which still from me doth flie.
¶ Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
Thi
[...] tongue which first denounc'd my regall state.
RIchard the second, at the resignation of the crowne to the duke of Herford, in the Tower of London, deliuering the same with his owne hand, there confessed his disabilitie to gouerne, vtterly denouncing all kingly authoritie.
[Page]
And left'st great
Burbon for thy love to me.
Before the Princesse Isabell was maried to the king, Lewes duke of Burbon sued to have had her in marriage, which was thought he had obtained, if this motion had not fallen out in the meane time; This Duke of Burbon sued againe to have received her at her comming into France, after the imprisonment of king Richard but King Charles her Father then crost him as before, and gave her to Charles sonne to the Duke of Orleans.
When
Herford had his judgement of exile.
When the combate should have beene at Couentrie, betwixt Henrie Duke of Herford, and Thomas Duke of Norfolke; where Herford, was adiudged to banishment for ten yeares, the commons exceedingly lamented, so greatly was he ever favored of the people.
Then being forc'd t'abridge his banisht yeeres.
When the Duke came to take his leave of the King; beeing then at Eltham, the King to please the Commons, rather then for any love he bare to Herford, repleaded foure yeares of his banishment.
Whilest
Henry boasts of our atchieuements done,
Henry the eldest Sonne to Iohn Duke of Lancaster, at the first Earle of Darby, then created Duke of Herford, after the death of the Duke Iohn his father, was Duke of Lancaster and Hereford, Earle of Darby, Leicester, and Lincolne; and after he had obtained the Crowne, was called by the name of Bullingbrooke, which is a towne in Lincolneshire, as vsually all the Kings of England bare the name of the places where they were borne.
Seauen goodly syens in their spring did flourish.
Edward the third had seuen sonnes, Edward Prince of Wales, after called the blacke Prince, William of Hatfield the second, Lionell Duke of Clarence the third, Iohn of Gaunt Duke of Lancaster the fourth, Edmund of Langley Duke of York the fifth, Thomas of Woodstocke Duke of Gloster the sixth, William of Winsore the seuenth.
Edward the top-branch of that golden tree.
Truly boasting himselfe to be the eldest Sonne of Edward the blacke Prince.
[Page 41]
Yet after
Edward, Iohn the yongst of three.
As disabling Henry Bullingbrooke, being but the son of the fourth brother: William and Lionell being both before Iohn of Gaunt.
That leading Kings from France, returned home,
Edward the blacke Prince, taking Iohn king of France prisoner, at the battel of Poicters, brought him into England, where at the Sauoy he died.
Whose name atchieued by his fatall hand,
Called the Blacke Prince, not so much of his complexion, as of the famous battell he fought, as is shewed before: in the glosse vpon the Epistle of Edward to the Countesse of Salisbury.
And prooues our Actes of Parlement vniust.
In the text parlement, after Richards resignation of the crown, Henry caused to be annihilated all the lawes made in the Parliament, called the wicked Parliament, held in the twenty yeere of king Richards raigne.
Finis.
To sir Iohn Swinerton Knight, and one of the Aidermen of the Citie of London.
VOrthy Sir, so much mistrust I my owne abilitie, to doe the least right to your vertues, that I could gladly wish any thing that is truely mine, were woorthy to beare your name, so much (reucrend Sir) I esteeme you, and so ample interest haue you in my loue; To some honourable friends haue I deaicated these Poemes (with whom I ranke you: may I escape prejumption) Like not this Britaine the worse, though after some former Impressions he be lastly to [...]crated; in this like an honest man that would part [...] his owne woorth, before he would presume his [...]ronage, with whom you shall euer commaund my [...], and haue my best wishes.
That loue you truely, Mich: Drayton.
Queene Katharine to Owen Tudor.
The Argument.
After the death of that victorious Henry the fift, Queene Katharine, the Dowager of England and France, daughter to Charles the French King, holding her estate with Henry her sonne, (then the fixt of that name) falleth in loue with Owen Tuder a Welchman, a braue and gallant Gentleman of the Wardrobe to the yong King her son; yet grently fearing if her loue shoulde be discouered, the Nobilitie woulde crosse her purposed marriage; or fearing, that if her faire and princely promises should not assure his good successe, this high and great attempt, might (perhappes) daunt the forwardnesse of his modest and shamefast youth; wherefore to breake the ice to her intent, she writeth vnto him this Epistle following.
IVdge not a Princesse worth impeacht hereby,
That loue thus triumphs ouer maiestie;
Nor thinke lesse vertue in this royall hand,
Which now intreates that wonted to command,
For in this sort, though humbly now it wooe,
The day hath beene, thou wouldst haue kneeld vnto.
Not thinke that this submission of my state,
Proceedes from frailtie, (rather iudge it fate.)
Alcides ne're more fit for warres sterne shocke,
Then when for loue sate spinning at the rocke,
Neuer lesse cloudes did
Phoebus glory dim,
Then in a clownes shape when he couered him;
[Page]
Ioues great commaund was neuer more obeyd,
Than when a Satyres anticke parts he playd.
He was thy king that sued for loue to mee,
Shee is thy Queene that sues for loue to thee.
When
Henry was, whats
Tuders now, was his;
Whilst yet thou arte, whats
Henries, Tuders is;
My loue to
Owen, him my
Henry giueth,
My loue to
Henry, in my
Owen liueth;
Henry woode me whilst warres did yet increase,
I wooe my
Tuder, in sweet calmes of peace,
To force affection he did conquest proue,
I fight with gentle arguments of loue.
Incampt at
Melans, in warres hote alarmes,
First saw I
Henry clad in princely armes.
At pleasant
Windsore first these eies of mine,
My
Tuder iudgde for wit and shape diuine.
Henry abroade, with p
[...]issance and with force,
Tuder at home, with courtship and discourse,
He then, thou now, I hardly can iudge whether
Did like me best,
Plantaginet or
Tether.
A march, a measure, battell or a daunce,
A courtly rapier, or a conquering launce.
His princely bed hath strengthned my renowne,
And on my temples set a double crowne;
Which glorious wreathe, (as
Henries lawfull heire)
Henry the sixt vpon his brow doth beare.
At
Troy in
Champaine he did first enioy
My Brydall rites, to
England brought from
Troy,
In
England now that honour thou shalt haue,
Which once in
Champaine famous
Henry gaue,
I seeke not wealth, three kingdomes in my power,
[Page 43] If these suffice not, where shall be my dower?
Sad discontent may euer follow her,
Which doth base pelfe before true loue prefer;
If titles still could our affections tie,
What is so great but Maiestie might buy?
As I seeke thee, so Kings do me desire,
To what they would, thou easily mai'st aspire.
That sacred fire, once warmde my heart before,
The fuell fit, the flame is now the more,
And meanes to quench it, I in vaine do proue,
We may hide treasure, but not hide our loue;
And since it is thy fortune (thus) to gaine it,
It were too late, nor will I now restraine it.
Nor these great titles vainely will I bring,
Wife, daughter, mother, sister to a King,
Of grandsire, father, husband, sonne and brother,
More thou alone to me, then all the other,
Nor feare my
Tudor, that this loue of mine,
Should wrong the Gaunt-borne great Lancastrian line,
Nor stir the English blood, the Sunne and Moone,
T'repine at Lorame, Burbon, A lansoon;
Nor do
I thinke there is such different ods,
They should alone be numbred with the Gods.
Of
Cadmus earthly issue reckoning vs;
And they from
Ioue, Mars, Neptune, Eolus,
Of great
Latonas of-spring onely they,
And we the brats of wofull
Niobe,
Our famous grandsires (as their owne) bestride,
That horse of fame, that God, begotten steede,
Whose bounding hoofe plow'd that Boetian spring,
Where those sweete maides of memory do sing,
[Page] Not onely
Henries Queene, but boast as well,
To be the childe of
Charles and
Isabell.
Nor do I know from whence their grief should grow,
They by this match should be disparag'd so;
When
Iohn and
Longshankes issue both affied,
And to the Kings of Wales in wedlocke tied,
Shewing the greatnesse of your blood thereby,
Your race, and royall consanguinity.
And Wales as well as haughty England boasts,
Of Camilot, and all her Penticosts;
A nephewes roome in great
Pendragons race,
At
Arthurs Table held a princely place,
If by the often conquest of your land,
They boast the spoiles of their victorious hand,
If these our antient Chronicles be true,
They altogether are not free from you.
When bloodie
Rufus sought your vtter sacke,
Twice entring Wales, yet twice was beatenbacke.
When famous Cambria wash'd her in the flood,
Made by th'effusion of the English blood,
And oft returnde with glorious victory,
From
Worster, Herford, Chester, Shrowesbury,
Whose power in euery conquest so preuailes,
As once expulsde the English out of Wales.
Although my beautie made my Countries peace,
And at my Bridall former broyles did cease;
Yet more then power, had not his person beene,
I had not come to England as a Queene.
Nor tooke I
Henry to supply my wont,
Because in France, that time my choice was scant;
When he had robde all Christendome of men,
[Page 44] And Englands flower remainde amongst vs then;
Gloster, whose counsells
(Nestor-like) assist,
Couragious
Bedford, that great martiallist,
Clarence, for vertue honoured of his foes,
And
Yorke, whose fame yet daily greater growes,
Warwicke, the pride of
Neuels haughty race,
Great
Salebury, so fearde in euery place.
That valiant
Poole, whom no atchieuement dares,
And
Vere, so famous in the Irish warres,
Who though my selfe so great a Prince were borne,
The worst of these my equall neede not scorne:
But
Henries rare perfections and his parts,
As conquering Kingdomes, so he conquer'd hearts.
As chaste was I to him as Queene might bee,
But freed from him, my chaste lone vow'd to thee;
Beautie doth fetch all fauour from thy face,
All perfect courtship resteth in thy grace.
If thou discourse, thy lips such accents breake,
As loue a spirit forth of thee seem
[...]d to speake.
The Brittish language, which our vowels wants,
And iarres so much vpon harsh consonants,
Comes with such grace from thy mellifluous tongue,
As do the sweete notes of a well set song,
And runnes as smoothly from those lips of thine,
As the pure Tuskan from the Florentine;
Leauing such seasoned sweetenes in the eare,
As the voyce past, yet still the sound is there:
In
Nisus Tower, as when
Apollo lay,
And on his golden viall vsde to play,
Where sencelesse stones were with such musicke drownd,
As many yeares they did retaine the sound,
[Page] Let not the beames that greatnes doth reflect,
Amaze thy hopes with timerous respect;
Assure thee
Tudor, maiesty can be
As kinde in loue, as can the mean'st degree;
And the embraces of a Queene as true,
As theirs (might iudge them) much aduanc'd by you,
When in our greatnes our affections craue
Those secret ioyes that other women haue:
So
I (a Queene) be soueraigne in my choice,
Let others fawne vpon the publique voice;
Or what (by this) can euer hap to thee,
Light in respect to be belou'd of mee.
Let peeuish worldlings prate of right and wrong,
Leaue plaints and pleas, to whom they do belong;
Let old men speake of chances and euents,
And Lawyers talke of titles and discents,
Leaue fond reports to such as stories tell,
And couenants to those that buy and s
[...]ll;
Loue my sweete
Tudor, that becomes thee best,
And to our good suceesse referre the rest.
Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
Great
Henry sought to accomplish his desire,
Armed, &c.
HEnry the fift, making claime to the Crowne of France, first sought by Armes to subdue the French, and after sought by marriage to confirme what he got by conquest, the heate and furie of which inuasion, is alluded to the sixion of Semele in Ouid: which by the crafty perswasion of Iuno, requested Ioue to come vnto her, as he was wont to come vnto his wife Iuno, who at her request hee yeelding vnto, destroyed her in a tempest.
Neere vnto Melans, vpon the Riuer of Scyne, was the appointed place of parley, betweene the two Kings of England and France, to which place, Isabell the Qucene of France, and the Duke of Burgoyne, brought the yong Princesse Katherine, where King Henry first saw her.
And on my temples set a double Crowne.
Henry the fift and Queene Katherine, were taken as King and Queene of France, and during the life of Charles the French king, Henry was called King of England, and heire of France, and after the death of Henry the fift, Henry the sixt his sonne, then being very yong, was crowned at Paris, as true and lawfull King of England and France.
At Troy in Champaine he did first enioy.
Troy in Champaine, was the place where that victorious king Henry the fift married the Ptincesse Katherine, in the presence of the chiefe nobilitie of the Realmes of England and France.
Nor these great tules vainely will I bring,
Wife, daughter, mother, &c.
Few Queenes of England or France, were euer more princely alied then this Queene, as it hath beene noted by Historiographers.
Nor thinke so
Tudor that this loue of mine,
Should wrong the Gaunt-borne, &c.
Noting the discent of Henry her husband, from Iohn Duke of Lancaster, the fourth sonne of Edward the third, which Duke Iohn was sirnamed Gaunt, of the Cittie of Gaunt in Flanders, where he was borne.
Nor stirre the English blood, the Sunne and Moone,
Trepine, &c.
Alluding the greatnes of the English line, to Phoebus and Phoebe, fained to be the children of Latona, whose heauenly kind might seorne to be ioyned with any earthly progenie: yet withall, boasting the blood of France, as not inferior to theirs. And with this allusion followeth on the historie of the strife betwixt Iuno and the race of Cadmus, whose issue was afflicted by the wrath of heauen. The children of Niobe slaine, for which the wofull mother [Page] became a rocke, gushing forth continually a sountaine of teares.
And
Iohn and
Longshanks issue, both affied,
Lheellin or Leolin ap Iorweth, married Ioane, daughter to king Iohn, a most beautifull Lady. Some Authors affirme that she was base borne, Lhewellin ap Gryfith, married Ellenor, daughter to Simon Montfort, Earle of Leicester, and Cosin to Edward Long-shankes, both which Lhewellins were Princes of Wales.
Of Camilot and all her Pentecosts,
A Nephewes roome,
&c.
Camilot, the antient Pallace of King Arthur, to which place all the Knightes of that famous order yeerely repaired at Penticost, according to the law of the Table, and most of the famous home-borne Knights were of that Country, as to this day is perceiued by their antient monuments.
When bloody
Rutus sought your vtter sacke.
Noting the ill successe which that William Rufus bad in two voyages he made into Wales; in which a number of his chiefe Nobilitie were slaine.
And oft returnde with glorious victorie.
Noting the diuers sundry incursions that the Welchmen made into England, in the time of Rufus, Iohn, Henry the second, and Longshankes.
❧ Owen Tudor to Queene Katherine
WHen first mine eyes heheld your princely name,
And found from whence this friendly letter came,
As in excesse of ioy my selfe forgot,
Whether
I saw it, or
I saw it not;
My panting heart doth bid mine eyes proceede,
[Page 46] My dazeled eye, inuites my tongue to reede;
Mine eye should guide my tongue, amazed mist it,
My lips which now should speak, are dombe, & kist it,
And leaues the paper in my trembling hand,
When all my sences so amazed stand;
Euen as a mother comming to her childe,
Which from her presence hath been long exilde,
With tender armes his gentle necke doth straine,
Now kissing him, now clipping him againe;
And yet excessiue ioy deludes her so,
As still she doubts if this be hers or no:
At length awak'ned from this pleasing dreame,
When passion somwhat leaues to be extreame,
My longing eyes, with their faire obiect meete,
Where euery letter's pleasing, each word sweete.
It was not
Henries conquests nor his Court,
That had the power to win me by report,
Nor was his dreadfull terror-striking name,
The cause that I from Wales to England came,
For Christian Rhodes, and our religious truth,
To great atchieuements first had wonne my youth;
Before aduenture did my valour proue,
Before I yet knew what it was to loue:
Nor came
I hether by some poore euent,
But by th'eternall Destinies consent,
Whose vncomprised wisedomes did fore-see,
That you in marriage should be linck'd to mee.
By our great
Merlin, was it not fore-told,
(Amongst his holy prophecies enrold),
When first he did of
Tudors name diuine,
That Kings and Queenes should follow in our line,
[Page] And that the Helme, (the
Tudors antient Crest)
Should with the golden Flower-delice be drest;
And that the Leeke, (our Countries chiefe renowne)
Should grow with Roses in the English Crowne:
As
Charles faire daughter, you the Lilly weare,
As
Henries Queene the blushing Rose you beare;
By France's conquest, and by Englands oth,
You are the true made dowager of both;
Both in your crowne, both in your cheeke together,
Ioyne
Tethers loue to yours, and yours to
Tether.
Then make no future doubts, nor feare no hate,
When it so long hath beene fore-told by Fate;
And by the all-disposing doome of heauen,
Before our births, vnto one bed were giuen.
No
Pallas heere, nor
Iuno is at all,
When
I to
Venus giue the golden ball;
Nor when the Graecians wonder
I enioy,
None in reuenge to kindle fire in Troy.
And haue not strange euents diuinde to vs,
That in our loue we should be prosperous.
When in your presence
I was call'd to dance,
In lofty trickes whilst
I my selfe aduance;
And in my turne, my footing failde by hap,
Was't not my chance to light into your lap?
Who would not iudge it Fortunes greatest grace,
Sith he must fall, to fall in such a place?
His birth from heauen, your
Tudor not deriues,
Nor stands on tip-toes in superlatiues,
Although the enuious English do deuise,
A thousand ieasts of our hyperbolies;
Nor do
I claime that plot by antient deedes,
[Page 47] Where
Phoebus pastures his firie-breathing steedes;
Nor do I boast my god-made Grandsires scarres,
Nor Giants trophies in the
Titans warres;
Nor faine my birth (your princely eares to please)
By three nights getting as was
Hercules,
Nor doe I forge my long descent to runne
From aged
Neptune, or the glorious Sunne,
And yet in
Wales with them most famous be,
Our learned
Bards doe sing my pedigree,
And boast my birth from great
Cadwallader,
From old
Cair-septon, in mount
Palador,
And from
Eneons line, the South-wales king
By
The
[...]dor the
Tuders name do bring.
My royall mothers princely stocke began,
From her great grandam faire
Gwenellian;
By true descent from
Leolin the great,
As well from North-wales as faire
Powslands seat;
Though for our princely genealogie,
I doe not stand to make apologie;
Yet who with iudgements true vnpartiall eyes,
Shall looke from whence our name at first did rise,
Shall finde that Fortune is to vs in debt;
And why not
Tuder as
Plantaginet?
Nor that terme
Croggen, nicke-name of disgrace,
Vsde as a by-word now in euery place,
Shall blot our blood, or wrong a Welchmans name,
Which was at first begot with Englands shame.
Our valiant swords our right did still maintaine,
Against that cruell, prowde, vsurping
Dane;
And bucklde in so many dangerous fights,
With
Norwayes, Swethens, and with
Muscouits,
[Page] And kept our natiue language now thus long,
And to this day yet neuer changde our tong,
When they which now our Nation faine would tame,
Subdude, haue lost their country, and their name:
Nor neuer could the
Saxons swords prouoke
Our Brittaine neckes to beare their seruile yoke,
Where
Cambr
[...]aes pleasant Countries bounded bee,
With swelling
Seuerne, and the holy
Dee;
And since great
Brutus first arriu'd, haue stood,
The onely remnant of the
Tr
[...]an blood.
To euery man is not allotted chaunce,
To boast with
Henry to haue conque
[...]d Fraunce;
Yet if my fortunes thus may raised be,
This may presage a farther good to me.
And our
S. Dauid, in the
Brutaines right,
May ioyne with
Grorge, the sainted English knight,
And old
Caer-marden, Merlins famous towne,
Not scorn'd by
London, though of such renowne.
Ah would to God, that houre my hopes attend,
Were with my wish brought to desired end,
Blame me not Madame, though I thus desire,
When eies with enuie doe my hap admire;
Till now your beauty in nights bosome slept,
What eie durst st
[...]re, where awfull
Henry kept?
Who durst attempt to saile but neere the bay,
Where that all-conquering great
Alcides lay?
Thy beauty now is set a royall prize,
And Kings repaire to cheapen merchandize.
If thou but walke to take the breathing aire,
Orithia makes me that I
Boreas feare,
If to the fire
Ioue once in lightning came,
[Page 48] And faire
Egina make me feare the flame.
If in the Sunne, then sad suspition dreames
Phoebus should spread
Lucothoe in his beames,
If in a fountaine thou doost coole thy blood,
Neptune I feare, which once came in a flood;
If with thy maides, I dread
Apolloes rape,
Who coosned
Chion in an old wiues shape;
If thou doost banquet,
Bacchus makes me dread,
Who in a grape
Erigone did feede;
And if my selfe the chamber doore should keepe,
Yet feare I
Hermes comming in a sleepe.
Pardon (sweete Queene) if I offend in this,
In these delayes loue most impatient is;
And youth wants powre his hote splene to suppresse,
When Hope already banquets in excesse.
Though
Henries fame in me you shall not finde,
Yet that which better shall content your minde;
But onely in the title of a King
Was his aduantage, in no other thing:
If in his loue more pleasure you did take,
Neuer let Queene trust Brittaine for my sake.
Yet iudge me not from modestie exempt,
That I another
Phaetons charge attempt,
My minde that thus your fauours dare aspire,
Declare a temper of celestiall fire;
If loue a fault, the more is Beauties blame,
When she her selfe is author of the same.
All men to some one qualitie incline,
Onely to loue is naturally mine.
Thou arte by Beauty famous, as by birth;
Ordainde by heauen, to cheere the drowping earth,
[Page] Adde faithfull loue vnto your greater state,
And then alike in all things fortunate.
A King might promise more, I not deny,
But yet (by heauen) he lou'd not more than I.
And thus I leaue, till time my faith approue,
I cease to write, but neuer cease to loue.
¶ Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
And that the helme, the
Tudors ancient Crest,
THe armes of Tudor was the helmes of mens heads, whereof he speaketh as a thing prophetically fore-told of Merlin.
When in thy presence I was call'd to daunce.
Owin Tudor, being a courtly and actiue Gentleman, commrunded once to daunce before the Queen, in a turne (not being able to recouer himselfe) fell into her lappe, as shee sate vpon a little stoole, with many of her Ladies about her.
And yet with them in Wales most famous be,
Our learned Bards, &c.
This Berdh, as they call it in the Brittish tongue, or as we more properly say Bard, or Bardus, be their Poets, which keepe the records of Petigrees and discents, and sing in odes and measures to the Harps, after the old maner of the Lirick Poets.
And boast my blood from great
Cadwallader.
Cadwallader, the last king of the Britaines, descended of the noble and ancient race of the Troyans, to whom an Angell appeared, commaunding him to goe to Rome to Pope Sergius, where he ended his life.
Since faire Caer-Septon in mount Palador.
Caer-Septon, now called Shaftsburie, at whose building it was said an [...]agle prophecied (or rather one named Aquila) of the fame of that place, and of the recouerie of the Ile of the Brytaines, bringing backe with them the bones of Cadwallader from Rome.
This Eneon was slaine by the Rebels of Gwentsland, he was a noble and worthie Gentleman, who in his life did many noble acts, and was father to Theodor, or Tudor Maur, of whom discended the Princes of South-wales.
From her great Grandam faire
Guenelliam.
Guenelliam, the daughter of Rees ap Griffeth, ap Theodor, Prince of South-wales, maried Edniuet Vahan auncestor to Owen Tudor.
By true descent from
Liolin the great,
This is tho Lewhelin, called Liolinus Magnus, Prince of North-wales.
Nor that word
Croggen, nick-name of disgrace.
In the voyage that Henry the second made against the Welchmen, as his Souldiers passed Offas ditch at Croggen Castel, they were ouerthrowne by the Welchmen: which word Croggen, hath since beene vsed to the Welchmens disgrace, which was at first begun with their honour.
And old Caer-Merdin,
Merlins famous towne,
Caer-Merdin, or Merlins Towne, so called of Merlius beeing found there. This was Ambrose Merlin, whose prophecies wee haue. There was another of that name, called Merlin Siluestris, borne in Scotland, surnamed Calidonius, of the Forrest Calidon where he prophecied.
And kept our natiue language now thus long.
The Welchmen bee those ancient Britaines, which when the Picts, Danes, and Saxons inuaded heere, were first driuen into those parts, where they haue kept their language euer since the first, without commixtion with any other language.
Finis.
To my worthy and deerly esteemed friend, Maister Iames Huish.
SIR your own naturall inclination to vertue, & your loue to the Muses, assure me of your kinde acceptance of my dedication. It is seated by custome (from which wee are now bolde to assume authoritie) to beare the names of our friends vpon the fronts of our bookes, as Gentlemen vse to set their Armes ouer their gates. Some say this vse began by the Heroes & braue spirits of the old world, which were desirous to be thought to patronize learning; and men in requitall honour the names of those braue Princes. But I think some after, put the names of great men in their bookes, for that men should say there was some thing good, only because indeed their names stood there; But for mine owne part (not to dissemble) I find no such vertue in any of their great titles to do so much for any thing of mine, and so let them passe. Take knowledge by this, I loue you, and in good faith, worthie of all loue I thinke you, which I pray you may supply the place of further complement.
Yours euer, M. Drayton.
Elinor Cobham to Duke Humfrey.
The Argument.
Elinor Cobham, daughter to the Lord Cobham of Sterborough, and wife to Humfrey Plantaginet duke of Glocester, the sonne of Henry the fourth, King of England, surnamed Bullingbrooke. This noble Duke for his great wisdome and iustice called the good, was by King Henry the fift (brother to this Duke) at his death appointed Protector of the land, during the nonage of Henry the sixt; this Elinor Duches of Glocester, a prowd and ambicious woman, knowing that if young Henry died without issue, the Duke her husband was the neerest of the bloud, conspired with one Bullingbrooke, (otherwise called Onely a great Magitian) Hun a priest and Iourdane witch of Eye, by sorcerie to make away the King, and by coniuration to know who should succeed. Of this being iustly conuicted, shee was adiudged to do penance three seuerall times openly in London, and then to perpetuall banishment in the Ile of Man, from whence she writeth this Epistle.
ME thinks, not knowing who these lines should send,
Thou straight turn'st ouer to the latter end,
Where thou my name no sooner hast espi'd,
But in disdaine my letters cast aside;
Why if thou wilt, I will my selfe denie,
Nay, I'le affirme and sweare I am not I,
[Page] Orifin that thy shame thou doost perceiue,
Ile leaue that name, that name my selfe shall leaue,
And yet me thinkes amazd thou shouldst not stand,
Nor seeme so much appauled at my hand,
For my misfortunes haue invrde thine eie
(Long before this) to sights of misery;
No, no, reade on tis I, the very same,
All thou canst reade, is but to reade my shame.
Be not dismaide, nor let my name affright,
The worst it can, is but t'offend thy sight;
It cannot wound, nor doe thee deadly harme,
It is no dreadfull spell, nor magique charme;
If shee that sent it loue duke
Humfrey so,
Ist possible her name should be his foe?
Yes, I am
Elnor, I am verie shee,
Who brought for dower a virgins hed to thee,
Though enuious
Beuford slaunderd me before,
To be duke
Humfreis wanton Paramore,
And though indeede
I can it not denie,
To Magique once
I did my selfe apply,
I wonne thee not, as there be many thinke,
With poisning Philters, and bewitching drinke,
Nor on thy person did
I euer proue,
Those wicked portions so procuring loue,
I cannot boast to be rich
Hollands heire,
Nor of the bloud and greatnes of
Bauire,
Yet
Elnor brought no forraine armies in,
To fetch her backe, as did thy
Iacomin;
Nor clamorous husbands followed me that fled.
Exclayming
Humfrey to defile his bed,
Nor wast thou forcde the slaunder to suppresse.
[Page 51] To send me backe as an adulteresse;
Brabant nor Burgoyne, claimed me by force,
Nor su'd to Rome to hasten my deuorce;
Nor Belgias pompe defac'd with Belgias fire,
The iust reward of her vniust desire;
Nor
Bedford spouse, your noble sister
Anne,
That princely-issued great Burgunnian,
Should stand with me, to moue a womans strife,
To yeelde the place to the Protectors wife.
If
Cobhams name my birth can dignifie,
Or Sterborough renowne my familie;
Where's
Greenewich now, thy
Elnors Court of late,
Where she with
Humfrey held a princely state?
That pleasant Kent, when I abroad should ride,
That to my pleasure laid forth all her pride;
The Thames by water when I tooke the ayre,
Danc'd with my Barge in lanching from the staire;
The ankoring ships that when I pass'd the road,
Were wont to hang their chequered tops abroad;
How could it be, those that were wont to stand,
To see my pompe, so goddesse-like on land,
Should after see me mayld vp in a sheete,
Doe shamefull penance three times in the street
[...]?
Rung with a bell, a Taper in my hand,
Bare-foote to trudge before a Beedles wand;
That little babes, not hauing vse of tongue,
Stood pointing at me as I came along.
Where's
Humfreys power, where was his great command,
Wast thou not Lord-protector of the Land?
Or for thy iustice, who can thee deny,
The title of the good Duke
Humfrey?
[Page] Hast thou not at thy life, and in thy looke,
The seale of
Gaunt, the hand of
Bulling brooke;
What blood extract from famous
Edwards line,
Can boast it selfe to be so pure as thine?
Who else next
Henry should the Realme prefer,
If it allow of famous
Lancaster?
But
Rayners daughter must from France be fet,
And with a vengeance on our throne be set;
Mauns, Maine and Aniou, on that begger cast,
To bring her home to England in such haste,
And what for
Henry thou hast laboured there,
To ioyne the King with
Arminacks rich heire,
Must all be dash'd, as no such thing had beene,
Poole needes must haue his darling made a Queene;
How should he with our Princes else be plac'd,
To haue his Farleship with a Dukedome grac'd?
And raise the of-spring of his blood so hie,
As Lords of vs and our posteritie.
O that by sea when he to France was sent,
The ship had suncke wherein the traitor went;
Or that the sands had swallowed her before
She e're set foote vpon the English shore.
But all is well, nay we haue store to giue,
What neede we more, we by her lookes can liue:
All that great
Henry by his conquests heapt,
And famous
Beaford to his glory kept,
Be giuen backe
[...]o
Rayner all in post,
And by this meanes, rich Normandy be lost;
Those which haue comen as Mistresses of ours,
Haue into England brought their goodly dowers,
Which to our Coffers yeerely tribute brings,
[Page 52] The life of subiects and the strength of Kings;
The meanes where by faire England euer might
Raise power in France, to backe our antient right;
But she brings ruine heere to make aboad,
And cancells all our lawfull claime abroad,
And she must recapitulate my shame,
And giue a thousand by words to my name,
And call me Beldam, Gib, Witch, Night-mare, Trot,
With all despight that may a woman spot:
O that I were a witch but for her sake!
I faith her Queeneship little rest should take;
I would scratch that face that may not feele the ayre,
And knit whole ropes of witch-knots in her haire,
O
I would hag her nightly in her bed,
And on her breast sit like a lumpe of lead,
And like a Fayrie, pinch that dainty skin,
Her wanton blood is now so cockered in,
Or take me some such knowne familiar shape,
As she my vengeance neuer should escape;
Were I a garment, none should neede the more
To sprinckle me with
Nessus poisned gore,
It were enough if she once put me on,
To teare both flesh and sinewes from the bone;
Were I a flower that might her smell delight,
Though I were not the poisning Acenite,
I would send such a fume into her brow,
Should make her mad, as mad as I am now.
They say, the
Druides once liu'd in this Ile,
This fatall
Man, the place of my exile,
Whose powerfull charmes, such dreadfull wonders wroght,
Which in the gotish Island tongue were taught;
[Page] O that their spels to me they had resignde,
Wherewith they raisde and calmde both sea & winde,
And made the Moone pawse in her paled spheare,
Whilst her grim Dragons drew them throgh the aire,
Their hellish power to kill the Plow-mans seede,
Or to fore-speake the flockes as they did seede,
To nurse a damned spirit with humaine blood,
To carry them through earth, ayre, fire and flood;
Had
I this skill that time hath almost lost,
How like a Goblin
I would haunt her ghost,
O pardon, pardon my mis-gouernde tongue,
A womans strength cannot endure my wrong.
Did not the heauens her comming in withstand,
As though affrighted when she came to land?
The earth did quake, her comming to abide,
The goodly Thames did twice keepe backe her tide;
Pauls shooke with tempests, and that mounting spire,
With lightning sent from heauen was set on fire;
Our stately buildings to the ground were blowne,
Her pride by these prodigious signes were showne;
More fearefull visions on the English earth,
Than euer were at any death or birth.
Ah
Humfrey, Humfrey, if
I should not speake,
My breast would split, my very heart would breake.
I that was wont so many to command,
Worse now then with a clapdish in my hand;
A simple mantle couering me withall,
A very leaper of Cares hospitall,
That from my state a presence held in awe,
Glad heere to kennell in a pad of straw;
And like an Owle by night to goe abroad,
[Page 53] Roosted all day within an Iuy tod,
Among the sea-cliffes, in the dampy caues,
In charnall houses, or among the graues;
Saw'st thou those eies, in whose sweet cheereful looke,
Duke
Humfrey once such ioy and pleasure tooke;
Sorrow hath so dispoyl'd me of all grace,
Thou couldst not say, this was my
Eluors face;
Like a fowle Gorgon, whose disheuel'd haire,
With euery blast flies gla
[...]ing in the ayre;
Some standing vp like hornes vpon my head,
Euen like those women that in Coos are bred:
My lanke breasts hang like bladders left vnblowne,
My skin with lothsome laundize ouer growne;
So pinde away, that if thou long'st to see
Ruines true picture, onely looke on mee;
Sometime in thinking of what I haue had,
Euen in a suddaine extasie am mad;
Then like a Bedlam, forth thy
Elnor runnes,
Like one of
Bacchus raging franticke Nunnes,
Or like a Tartar, when in strange disguise,
Preparde vnto a dismall sacrifice.
That Prelate
Beuford, a fowle ill befall him,
Prelate said I
[...] nay diuell I should call him,
Ah God forgiue me, if I thinke amisse,
His very name me thinks my poison is;
Ah that vi
[...]e Iudas, our professed foe,
My curse pursue him where so e're he goe;
That to my iudgement when
I did appeare,
Laid to my charge those things which neuer were.
I should pertake with
Bullingbrookes intents,
The hallowing of his magique instruments;
[Page] That I procured
Southwell to assist,
Which was by order consecrate a Priest,
That it was I should couer all they did,
That but for him, had to this day beene hid.
Ah that vile bastard, that himselfe dare vaunt
To be the sonne of thy braue grandsire
Gaunt,
Whom he but fatherd of meere charity,
To rid his mother of that infamy,
Who if report of Elder times be true,
Vnto this day his father neuer knew.
He that by murthers blacke and odious crime,
To
Henries throne attempted once to clime;
Hauing procurde by hope of golden gaine,
A fatall hand his soueraigne to haue slaine;
Who to his Chamber closely he conuaide,
And for that purpose fitly there had laide,
Vpon whose sword that famous Prince had died,
If by a dogge he had not beene discried.
But now the Queene, her Minion
Poole and he,
As it please them, so now must all things be;
England's no place for any one beside,
All is too little to maintaine their pride:
What of a King hath
Henry but the name,
And now scarce that, so publike his defame?
And
I pray God
I do not liue the day,
To see thy ruine, and thy Realmes decay;
And yet as sure as
Humfrey seemes to stand,
He be preseru'd from that vile traytors hand;
From
Glosters seate,
I would thou wert estrang'd,
Or would to God that Dukedomes name were chang'd;
For it portends no goodnes vnto vs,
[Page 54] Ah
Humfrey, Humfrey, it is ominous,
Yet rather then thy hap so hard should be,
I would thou wert heere banished with me:
Humfrey adue, farewell true noble Lord,
My wish is all thy
Elnor can afford.
¶ Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
I sought that dreadfull Sorceresse of Eye.
ELinor Cobham was accused by some that sought to withstand, and mistiked her marriage with Duke Humsrey, that she practised to giue him Philters, and such poisoning potions, to make him loue her, as she was slandered by Cardinall Beuford, to haue liued as the Dukes Lemman, against the which Cardinall she exclaimeth in this Epistle in the verse before.
Though enuious
Beuford slandered me before.
Noting the extreame hate he euer bore her.
Nor
Elnor brought thee forraine Armies in,
To fetch her backe as did thy
Iacomin.
This was the chiefe and onely thing that euer tutched the reputation of this good Duke, that dotingly he married Iacomin, or as some call her Iaquet, daughter and heire to William Bauier, Duke of Holland, married before, and lawfull wife to Iohn Duke of Brabant, then liuing; which after as it is shewed in this verse following.
Brabant nor Burgoyne claimed me by force,
N
[...]rsu'd to Rome to hasten my deuorce.
Caused great warres, by reason that the Duke of Burgoyne tooke part with Brabant, against the Duke of Glocester; which being arbitrated by the Pope, the Lady was adiudged to be deliuered backe to her former husband.
Nor
Bedfords spouse, your noble sister
Anne,
That Princely issued braue Burgonian.
Iohn Duke of Bedfort, that scourge of France, and the glory of [Page] the Englishmen, married Anne, sister to the Duke of Burgundie, a vertuous and beautifull Lady; by which marriage, as also by his victories attained in France, he brought great strength to the English Nation.
Where's Greenewich now, thy
Elnors Court of lat
[...]?
That faire and goodly pallace of Greenewich, was first builded by that famous Duke, whose rich and pleasant situation might remaine an assured monument of his wisedome, if there were no other memory of the same.
They say the Druidesonce liued in this Ile.
It would seeme that there were two Ilands, both of them called Mona, though now distinguished the one by the name of Man, the other by the name of Anglesey, both which were full of many infernall ceremonies, as may appeare by Agricolaes voyage, made into the hithermost Man, described by his sonne in law Cornelius Tacitus. And as superstition, the daughter of barbarisme and ignorance; so amongst those Northerly nations, like as in America, Magicke was most esteemed. Druidae were the publicke ministers of their religion, as throghly taught in all rites thereof; their doctrine concerned the immortalitie of the soule, the contempt of death, and all other points which may conduce to resolution, fortitude, and magnanimitie: their aboad was in groues and woods, whereupon they haue their name; their power extended it selfe to maister the soules of men deceased, and to conferre with ghosts and other spirits, about the successe of things. Plutarch, in his profound and learned discourse of the defect of Oracles, reporteth that the outmost Brittish Iles, were the prison of I wot not what Demi-gods; but it shall not neede to speake any farther of the Drueda, then that which Lucas doth.
Et
[...] barbaricus ritus, morem
(que) sinestrum,
Sacrorum,
Druidae positis repetistis ab armis.
Did not the heauens her comming in withstand?
Noting the prodigious and fearefull signes that were seene in England, a little before her comming in: which Elinor expresseth in this Epistle, as fore-shewing the dangers which should ense vpon this vnlucky marriage.
[Page 55]
The hallowing of the magique instruments.
The instruments which Bullenbrooke vsed in his coniurations, according to the diuellish ceremonies and customes of these vnlawfull Artes, were dedicated at a Masse in the Lodge in Har [...]sey Parke, by Southwell, Priest of Westminster.
Hauing procurde by hopes of golden gaine,
This was one of the Articles that Duke Humfrey vrgde against the Cardinall Beuford, that conspired the death of Henry the fift, by conuaying a villaine into his chamber, which in the night should haue murthered him: but what ground of trueth hee had for the same, I leaue to dispute.
¶ Duke Humfrey to Elinor Cobham
ME thinks thou shuldst not doubt I could forget
Her whom so many do remember yet;
No, no, our ioyes away like shadowes slide,
But sorrowes firme, in memory abide;
Nay I durst answere, thou doost nothing lesse,
But moou'd with passion, vrgde by thy distresse;
No
Elnor no, thy woes, thy griefe, thy wrong,
Haue in my breast beene resident too long;
Oh when report in euery place had spred,
My
Elnor was to sanctuarie fled,
With cursed
Ouley, and the witch of Eye,
As guiltie of their vile conspiracie;
The dreadfull spirits when they did inuocate,
[Page] For the succession, and the realmes estate;
When
Henries Image they in waxe had wrought,
By which he should vnto his death be brought;
That as his picture did consume away,
His person so by sicknes should decay;
Griefe that before could ne're my thoughts controule,
That instant tooke possession of my soule.
Ah would to God I could forget thine ill,
As for mine owne, let that instruct me still;
But that before hath taken too sure hold,
Forget it said I; would to God I could.
Of any woe, if thou hast but one part,
I haue the whole remaining in my hart;
I haue no neede of others cares to borrow,
For all I haue is nothing else but sorrow.
No my sweete
Nell, thou tookst not all away,
Though thou wentst hence, here stil thy woes do stay,
Though from thy husband thou wert forcde to go,
Those still remaine, they will not leaue me so;
No eie bewailes my ill, moanes my distresse,
Our griefe is more, but yet our debt is lesse;
we owe no teares, no mourning dayes are kept;
For those that yet for vs haue neuer wept;
we hold no obijts, no sad exequies
Vpon the death-daies of vnweeping eies.
Alas good
Nell, what should thy patience moue,
T'vpbraid thy kind Lord with a forraine loue?
Thou mightst haue bid all former ills adue,
Forgot the olde, we haue such store of new.
Did I omit thy loue to entertaine
with mutuall griefe to answere griefe againe?
[Page 56] Or thinkst thou I vnkindly did forbeare,
To bandie woe for woe, and teare for teare?
Did I omit, or carelesly neglect,
Those shewes of loue that Ladies so respect?
In mournefull blacke was I not seene to goe?
By outward shewes to tell my inward woe:
Nor dr
[...]rie words were wasted in lament,
Nor cloudy brow bewraid my discontent,
Is this the cause? if this be it, know then,
One griefe concealde more grieuous is than ten:
If in my breast those sorrowes sometimes were,
And neuer vtterd, still they must be there,
And if thou knowst, they many were before,
By time increasing they must needes be more;
England to me, can challenge nothing lent,
Let her cast vp, what is receiu'd, what spent,
If I her owne, can she from blame be free,
If she but proue a stepdame vnto mee?
That if I should with that prowd bastard striue,
To pleade my birth-right and prerogatiue;
If birth allow, I should not neede to feare it,
For then my true nobilitie should beare it;
If counsell ayde, that
Fraunce will tell (I know)
Whose townes lie waste before the English foe;
When thrice we gaue the conquered French the foile.
At
Agincourt, at
Crauant, and
Uernoile,
If faith auaile, these armes did
Henry hold,
To claime his crowne, yet scarcely nine months old.
If countries care haue leaue to speake for me,
Gray haires in youth, my witnes then may be,
If peoples tongues giue splendor to my fame,
[Page] They adde a title to duke
Humfries name;
If toyle at home, French treason, English hate,
Shall tell my skill in managing the state,
If forraine trauell my successe may try,
In
Flaunders, Almaine, Boheme, Burgundy,
That robe of
Rome prowd
Benford now doth weare,
In euery place such sway should neuer beare.
The Crosier staffe in his imperious hand,
To be the Scepter that controules the land;
That home to
England, despensations drawes,
Which are of power to abrogate our lawes,
That for those summes the wealthy church should pay,
Vpon the needy Commontie to lay,
His ghostly counsells onely doe aduise,
The meanes how
Langlies progenie may rise,
Pathing young
Henries vnaduised waies,
A Duke of
Yorke from
Cambridge house to raise,
which after may our title vndermine,
Grafted since
Edward in
Gaunts famous line:
Vs of succession safely to depriue,
which they from Clarence fainedly deriue,
Knowing the will old Cambridge euer bore,
To eateh the wreathe that famous
Henry wore.
With
Gray and
Scroope, when first he laide the plot,
From vs, and ours, the ga
[...]land to haue got,
As from the Match-borne
Mortimer to raigne,
Whose title
Glendour stoutly did maintaine,
When the prowde
Percies haughty
March, and hee,
Had sharde the Land by equall partes in three.
His Priesthoode now sterne
Mowbray doth restore,
To stirre the fire that kindled was before;
[Page 57] Against the Yorkists shall their claime aduance,
To steele the poynt of
Norffolkes sturdie lance,
Vpon the breast of
Herfords issue bent,
In iust reuenge of antient banishment.
He dooth aduise to let our pris
[...]er goe,
And doth enlarge the faithlesse Scottish foe,
Giuing our heires in marriage, that their dowres
May bring inuasion vpon vs and ours.
Ambitious
Suffolke so the helme doth guide,
With
Benfords damned policies supplide;
He and the Queene in counsell still conferre,
How to raise him who hath aduanced her.
But my deere heart, how vainely do I dreame,
And flie from thee, whose sorrowes are my theame?
My loue to thee and England thus diuided,
With the most parte how hard to be decided,
Or thee, or that, to whether I am loath,
So neere are you, so deere vnto me both,
Twixt that and thee, for equall loue I finde
England in gratefull, and my
Elnor kind.
But though my country iustly I reproue,
For countries sake vnkinde vnto my loue,
Yet is thy
Humfrey to his
Elnor, now,
As when fresh beauty triumpht on thy brow,
As when thy graces I admired most,
Or of thy fauours might the frankli'st boast,
Those beauties were so infinite before,
That in abundance I was onely poore,
Of which, though time hath taken some againe,
I aske no more but what doth yet remaine.
Be patient gentle heart in thy distresse,
[Page] Thou arte a Princesse, not a whit lesse.
Whilst in these breasts we beare about this life,
I am thy husband, and thou arte my wife;
Cast not thine eie on such as mounted be,
But looke on those cast downe as lowe as we;
For some of them which prowdly pearch so hie,
Ere long shall come as lowe as thou or I.
They weepe for ioy, and let vs laugh in woe,
We shall exchange when heauen will haue it so.
We mourne, and they in after time may mourne,
Woe past may once, laugh present woe to scorne,
And worse than hath beene we can neuer taste,
Worse cannot come than is already past.
In all extreames, the onely depth of ill,
Is that which comforts the afflicted still;
Ah would to God thou wouldst thy griefes denie,
And on my backe let all the burthen lie!
Or if thou canst resigne, make thine mine owne,
Both in one carrige to be vndergone,
Till we againe our former hopes recouer,
And prosp'rous times blow these misfortunes ouer,
For in the thought of those forepassed yeares,
Some new resemblance of old ioy appeares.
Mutuall our care, so mutuall be our loue,
That our affliction neuer can remoue,
So rest in peace, where peace hath hope to liue,
Wishing thee more than I my selfe can giue.
¶ Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
At Agincour
[...], at Grauant, and Vernoyle,
THe three famous battels, fought by the Englishmen in France:
Agincourt by Henry the fift, against the whole power of France, Crauant fought by Montacute, Earle of Salisburie, and the Duke of Burgoyne, against the Dolphine of France, & William Stuart, Constable of Scotland: Vernoile, fought by Iohn Duke of Bedford, against the Duke of Alanson, and with him most of the Nobilitie of France, Duke Humfrey an Especiall Councellour in all these expeditions.
In Flaunders, Almain, Boheme, Burgundie.
Here remembring the auncient amitie which in his ambassaes he concluded betwixt the King of England, and Sigismund Emperour of Almaine, drawing the Duke of Burgoyne into the same league, giuing himselfe as an hostage for the duke of saint Omers, while the Duke came to Calice to confirme the league. With his many other imployments to forraine Kingdoms.
That crosier staffe in his imperious hand.
Henry Beuford, Cardinall of Winchester, that proud & haughtie Prelate, receyued his Cardinals hat at Calice by the Popes Legate, which dignitie, Henry the fift his nephew, forbade him to take vpon him, knowing his haughtie and malicious spirit vnfit for that robe and calling.
The meanes how
Langleis progenie may rise.
As willing to shew the house of Cambridge to bee descended of Edmund Langley Duke of Yorke, a yonger brother to Iohn of Gaunt his Grand-father (as much as in him lay) to smother the title that the Yorkists made to the crowne (from Lionell of Clarence, Gaunts elder brother) by the daughter of Mortimer.
[Page]
His priesthood now, sterne
Mowbray doth restore.
Nothing the ancient grudge betweene the house of Lancaster and Norffolke, euer since Mowbray duke of Norffolke was banished for the accusation of Henry duke of Herford, (after the king of England father to duke Humfrey,) which accusation hee came as a Combatant, to haue made good in the Lists at Couentry.
And giues our heires in marriage that their dowers.
Iames Stuart King of Scots, hauing bin long prisoner in England, was released, and tooke to wife the daughter of Iohn duke of Somerset, sister to Iohn duke of Somerset, neece to the Cardinall, and the duke of Excester, and coosin germain remooued to the King, this King broke the oath he had taken, and became after a great enemie to England.
FINIS.
¶ To my Honored Mistris, Mistris Elizabeth Tanfield, the sole daughter and heire of that famous and learned Lawyer, Lawrence Tanfield Esquire.
FAire and vertuous Mistres, since first it was my good fortune to bee a witnesse of the many rare perfections wherewith nature and education haue adorned you, I haue beene forced since that time, to attribute more admiration to your sexe, then euer Petrarch could before perswade mee to by the praises of his Laura. Sweete is the French tongue more sweete the Italian; but most sweete are they both, if spoken by your admired selfe. If Poesie were praiselesse, your vertues alone were a subiect sufficient to make it esteemed, though among the barbarous Getes: by how much the more your tender yeeres giue scarcely warrant for your more then womanlike wisedome, by so much is your iudgement and reading the more to be wondred at. The Graces shall haue one more sister by your selfe, and England to her selfe shall adde one Muse more to Muses. I rest the humble deuoted seruant, to my deere and modest Mistresse, to whom I wish the happiest fortunes I can deuise.
Michaell Drayton.
William de la Pole Duke of Suffolke, to Queene Margaret.
The Argument.
William de la Pole, first Marques, and after created Duke of Suffolke, being sent into France by King Henry the sixt, concluded a marriage betweene the King his Master, and Margaret, daughter to Rayner, Duke of Aniou, who onely had the title of the King of Cicily and Ierusalem. This marriage being made, contrary to the liking of the Lords and Counsell of the Realme (by reason of the yeelding vp of Aniou and Maine into the Dukes hands, which shortly after proued the losse of all Aquitaine,) they euer after continually hated the Duke, and after, (by meanes of the Commons) banished him at the Parlement at Berry; where after he had the iudgement of his exile, being then ready to depart, hee writeth backe to the Queene this Epistle.
IN my disgrace (deere Queene) rest thy content,
And
Margarets health from
Suffolkes banishment,
Not one day seemes fiue yeeres exile to mee,
But that so soone I must depart from thee;
Where thou not present, it is euer night,
All be exilde that liue not in thy sight.
Those Sauages which worship the Sunnes rise,
Would hate their God, if they beheld thine eyes;
The worlds great light, might'st thou be seene abroad,
Would at our noone-stead neuer make aboad;
[Page 60] And make the poore Antipodes to mourne,
Fearing lest he would neuer more returne,
Wert not for thee, it were my great'st exile,
To liue within this sea-inuirond Ile.
Poles courage brookes not limmitting in bands,
But that (great Queene) thy soueraignty commands:
Our Falcons kinde cannot the cage endure,
Nor buzzard-like dooth stoope to euery lure;
Their mounting broode in open ayre doth roue,
Nor will with Crowes be coop'd within a groue;
We all do breath vpon this earthly ball,
Likewise one heauen encompasseth vs all,
No banishment can be to him assignde,
Who doth retaine a true resolued minde.
Man in himselfe, a little world doth beare,
His soule the Monarch, euer ruling there,
Where euer then his body doth remaine,
He is a King that in himselfe doth raigne,
And neuer feareth Fortunes hot'st alarmes,
That beares against her
Patience for his Armes,
This was the meane prowd
Warwicke did inuent,
To my disgrace at Leister Parlement,
That onely I, by yeelding vp of Maine,
Should be the losse of fertile Aquitaine,
With the base vulgar sort to win him fame,
To be the heire of good Duke
Humfreys name;
And so by treason spotting my pure blood,
Make this a meane to raise the
Neuels brood.
With
Salsbury his vile ambitions syre,
In
Yorkes sterne breast, kindling long hidden fire,
By
Clarence title working to supplant,
And to this end did my exile conclude,
Thereby to please the rascall multitude;
Vrg'd by these enuious Lords to spend their breath,
Calling reuenge on the Protectors death,
That since the old decrepit Duke is dead,
By me of force he must be murthered.
If they would know who rob'd him of his life,
Let him call home Dame
Ellinor his wife,
Who with a taper walked in a sheete,
To light her shame at noone through London street;
And let her bring her Negromanticke booke,
That fowle hag
Iordane, Hun, and
Bullenbrooke,
And let them call the spirits from hell againe,
To know how
Humfrey died, and who shall raigne.
For twenty yeeres and haue I serude in France,
Against great
Charles and bastard
Orleance?
And seene the slaughter of a World of men,
Victorious now, and conquered agen;
And haue I seene Vernoylas batfull fields,
Strew'd with ten thousand helms, ten thousand shields,
Where famous
Bedford did our fortune try,
Or France, or England for the victory?
The sad innesting of so many Townes,
Scorde on my breast in honorable wounds;
When
Mountacute and
Talbot of such name,
Vnder my Ensigne both first won their fame,
In heate and cold all fortunes haue indurde,
To rowze the French, within their walls immurde;
Through all my life, these perrills haue
I past,
And now to feare a banishment at last?
[Page 61] Thou knowst how
I (thy beauty to aduance)
For thee refusde the infant Queene of France,
Brake the contract Duke
Humfrey first did make,
Twixt
Henry and the Princesse
Arminacke;
Onely (sweete Queene) thy presence I might gaine,
I giue Duke
Rayner, Aniou, Mauns and Maine,
Thy peerelesse beutie for a dower to bring,
To counterpoize the wealth of Englands King;
And from Aumerle with-drew my warlike powers,
And came my selfe in person first to Towers,
Th'Ambassadors for truce to entertaine,
From Belgia, Denmarke, Hungary and Spaine,
And telling
Henry of thy beauties story,
I taught my tongue a louers Oratory,
As the report it selfe did so indite,
And make it ravish teares with such delight;
And when my speech did cease (as telling all)
My lookes shewde more that was Angelicall.
And when
I breathde againe and pawsed next,
I left mine eyes dilating on the text;
Then comming of thy modesty to tell,
In musickes numbers my voyce rose and fell:
And when
I came to paint thy glorious stile,
My speech in greater cadences to file,
By true descent to weare the Diadem,
Of Naples, Cicils and Ierusalem,
And from the Gods thou didst deriue thy birth,
If heauenly kinde could ioyne with broode of earth;
Gracing each title that
I did recite,
With some mellifluous pleasing Epethite,
Nor left him not, till he for loue was sicke,
[Page] Beholding thee in my sweete Rhetoricke.
A fifteenes taxe in France I freely spent
In triumphs, at thy nuptiall tournament;
And solemnizde thy marriage in a gowne,
Valude at more then was thy fathers Crowne;
And onely striuing how to honour thee,
Gaue to my King what thy loue gaue to mee.
Iudge if his kindenesse haue not power to moue,
Who for his loues sake gaue away his loue.
Had he which once the prize to Greece did bring,
(Of whom old Poets long agoe did sing)
Seene thee for England but imbarqu'd at Deepe,
Would ouer-boord haue cast his golden sheepe,
As too vnworthy ballace to be thought,
To pester roome, with such perfection fraught.
The briny seas which saw the ship enfold thee,
Would vaut vp to the hatches to behold thee,
And falling backe, themselues in thronging smother,
Breaking for griefe, ennying one another;
When the prowd Barke, for ioy thy steps to feele,
Scornd the salt waues shuld kisse her furrowing keele,
And trick'd in all her flags, her selfe she braues,
Capring for ioy vpon the siluer waues;
When like a Bull from the Phenician strand,
Ioue with
Europa, tripping from the land,
Vpon the bosome of the maine doth scud,
And with his swannish breast cleauing the floud,
Tow'rd the faire fields, vpon the other side,
Beareth
Agenors ioy,
Ph
[...]icias pride.
All heauenly beauties ioyne themselues in one,
To shew their glory in thine eye alone;
[Page 62] Which when it turneth that celestiall ball,
A thousand sweet starres rise, a thousand fall.
Who iustly saith, mine banishment to bee,
When onely France for my recourse is free?
To view the plaines where I haue seene so oft,
Englands victorious engines raisde aloft,
When this shall be my comfort in my way,
To see the place where I may boldly say,
Heere mighty
Bedford forth the vaward led,
Heere
Talbot charg'd, and heere the Frenchmen fled,
Heere with our Archers valiant
Scales did lie,
Heere stood the Tents of famous
Willoughbie;
Heere
Mountacute rangde his conquering band,
Heere forth we march'd, and heere we made a stand.
What should we stand to mourne and grieue all day,
For that which time doth easily take away?
What fortune hurts, let patience onely heale,
No wisedome with extreamities to deale.
To know our selues to come of humane birth,
These sad afflictions crosse vs heere on earth.
A taxe imposde by heauens eternall law,
To keepe our rude rebellious will in awe.
In vaine we prize that at so deere a rate,
Whose best assurance is a fickle state,
And needelesse we examine our intent,
When with preuention, we cannot preuent;
When we ourselues fore-seeing cannot shun,
That which before, with destinie doth run,
Henry hath power, and may my life depose,
Mine honour mine, that none hath power to lose;
Then be as cheerefull, (beauteous royall Queene)
[Page] As in the Court of France we erst haue beene;
As when arriu'd in Porchesters faire road,
(Where, for our comming
Henry made aboad)
When in mine armes I brought thee safe to land,
And gaue my loue to
Henries royall hand,
The happy howres we passed with the King,
At faire South-hampton, long in banquetting,
With such content as lodg'd in
Henries breast,
When he to London brought thee from the West;
Through golden Cheape, when he in pompe did ride,
To Westminster, to entertaine his Bride,
Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
Our Falcons kinde cannot the cage indure.
HE alludes in these verses to the Falcon, which was the antient deuice of the Poles, comparing the greatnesse and hawtinesse of his spirit, to the nature of this bird.
This was the meane prowd
Warwicke did inuent,
To my disgrace, &c.
The Commons at this Parlement, through Warwicks meanes, accused Suffolke of treason, and vrged the accusation so vehemently, that the king was forced to exile him for fiue yeeres.
That onely I by yeelding vp of Maine,
Should be the losse of fertile Aquitaine.
The Duke of Suffolke being sent into France to conclude a peace, chose Duke Rainers daughter, the Lady Margaret, whom he espoused for Henry the sixt, deliuering for her to her father, the Countries of Aniou and Maine, and the Citty of Mauns. Whereupon the Earle of Arminach (whose daughter was before promised to the King) seeing himselfe to bee deluded, caused all the Englishmen to be expulsed Aquitino Gascoyne and Guyen.
This Richard that was called the great Earle of Warwicke, when Duke Humfrey was dead, grew into exceeding great fauour with the Commons.
With
Salisburie, his vile ambicious Sire,
In
Yorks sterne breast, kindling long hidden fire,
By
Clarence title, working to supplant,
The Eagle Ayrie of great
Iohn of Gaunt.
Richard Plantagenet, Duke of Yorke, in the time of Henry the sixt, claimed the Crowne (being assisted by this Richard Nea [...]ll Earle of Salisburie, and father to the great Earle of Warwicke, who fauoured exceedingly the house of Yorke) in open Parliament, as heir to Lionell Duke of Clarence, the third sonne of Edward the third, making his title by Anne his Mother, wife to Richard Earle of Cambridge, sonne to Edmund of Langley, Duke of Yorke; which Anne was daughter to Roger Mortimer Earle of March, which Roger was sonne & heire to Edmund Mortimer that married the Ladie Philip, daughter and heire to Lionell Duke of Clarence, the third sonne of King Edward, to whom the crowne after King Richard the seconds death, linealy descended, he dying without issue. And not to the heires of the Duke of Lancaster, that was yonger brother to the Duke of Clarence. Hall. cap. 1. Tit. Yor. & Lanc.
Vrg'd by these enuious Lords to spend their breath,
Calling reuenge on the Protectors death.
Humfrey Duke of Glocester, & Lord Protector in the 25. yeare of Henry the sixt, by the meanes of the Queene, and the Duke of Suffolke was arrested by the Lord Beumond, at the Parliament holden at Berrie, and the same night after murthered in his bed.
If they would know who robd him, &c.
To this verse,
To know how
Humfrey died, and who shall raigne.
In these verses he iests at the Protectors wife, who (being accused & conuicted of treason, because with Iohn Hun a priest, Roger Bullingbrooke a Negromancer, & Margery Iordan, called the Witch of Eie, she had consulted by sorcery to kil the king) was adiudged to [Page] perpetuall prison in the Ile of Man, and to doe penance openly in three publique places in London.
For twentie yeares and haue I seru'd in Fraunce,
In the sixt yeare of Henry the sixt, the Duke of Bedford being deceased, then Lieutenant generall, and Regent of Fraunce; this Duke of Suffolke, was promoted to that dignity, hauing the Lord Talbot, Lord Scales, and the Lord Mountacute to assist him.
Against great
Charles, and bastard
Orleance.
This was Charles the seauenth, and after the death of Henry the fifth obtained the crowne of France, and recouered againe much of that his father had lost. Bastard Orleance, was sonne to the Duke of Orleance, begotten of the Lord Cawnies wife, preferred highly to many notable offices, because hee being a most valiant Captaine, was continuall enemie to the Englishmen, dayly infesting them with diuerse incursions.
And haue I seene
Vernoyla's batfull fields.
Vernoyle is that noted place in Fraunce, where the great battell was fought in the beginning of Henrie the sixt his raigne, where the most of the French Chiualrie were ouercome by the Duke of Bedford.
And from Aumerle with-drew my warlike powers,
Aumerle is that strong defenced towne in France, which the Duke of Suffolke got after 24. great assaults giuen vnto it.
And came my selfe in person first to Towers
Th'Embassadours for truce to entertaine,
From Belgia, Denmarke, Hungary and Spaine.
Towers is a Cittie in France, built by Brutus as hee came into Britaine, where, in the twentie and one yeare of the raigne of Henry the sixt, was appoynted a great diet to bee kept, whither came the Embassadours of the Empire, Spaine, Hungary, & Denmarke, to entreate for a perpetuall peace, to bee made betweene the two Kings of England and Fraunce.
By truo descent to weare the Diadem,
Of Naples, Cicilie, and Ierusalem.
[Page 64] Rainer Duke of Aniou, father to Queene Margaret, called him selfe King of Naples, Cicily, and Ierusalem, hauing the title alone of King of those Countries.
A fifteene taxe in Fraunce I freely spent.
The Duke of Suffolke, after the marriage concluded twixt King Henry and Margaret, daughter to duke Rayner, asked in open Parliament a whole fifteenth to fetch her into England.
Seene thee for England but imbarqu'd at Deepe.
Deepe is a towne in Fraunce, bordering vpon the Sea, where the Duke of Suffolke with Queene Margaret, tooke shippe for England.
As when arriu'd in Porchester faire Roade.
Porchester, a hauen towne in the South-west part of England, where the King tarried, expecting the Queenes arriuall, whom from thence he conuayed to South-hamton.
Queene Margaret to VVilliam de-la-Poole Duke of Suffolke.
WHat newes (sweet
Pole) look'st thou my liues shuld tell,
But like the tolling of the dolefull Bell?
Bidding the deaths-man to prepare the graue,
Expect from me no other newes to haue,
My brest, which once was mirths imperiall throne,
A vast and desart wildernesse is growne:
Like that cold Region, from the world remote,
[Page] On whose breeme seas the icie mountaines flote
Where those poore creatures banisht from the light,
Do liue imprisond in continuall night.
No ioy presents my soules eternall eies,
But diuination of sad tragedies,
And Care takes vp her solitarie inne,
Where youth and ioy their court did once beginne.
As in September when our yeere resignes,
The glorious Sunne vnto the watrie signes,
Which through the clouds looks on the earth in scorn;
The little bird, yet to salute the morne,
Vpon the naked branches sets her foote,
The leaues now lying on the mossie roote;
And there a seely chitipping dooth keepe,
As though she faine would sing, yet fame would weep,
Praising faire summer that too soone is gone,
Or sad for winter too fast comming on,
In this strange plight I mourne for thy depart,
Because that weeping cannot ease my hart.
Now to our aide, who stirs the neighbouring kings?
Or who from France a puissant armie brings?
Who moues the Norman to abet our warre?
Or stirs vp
Burgoyne, to ayde
Lancaster?
Who in the North our lawfull claime commends,
To win vs credite with our valiant friends?
To whom shall I my secret griefe impart?
Whose breast I made the closet of my hart.
The ancient
Heroes fame thou didst reuine,
And didst from them thy memorie deriue,
Nature by thee, both gaue and taketh all,
Alone in
Poole she was too prodigall;
[Page 65] Of so diuine and rich a temper wrought,
As heauen for him perfections deepe had sought;
VVell knew king
Henry what he pleaded for,
when he chose thee to be his Orator;
VVhose Angell-eye by powerfull influence,
Doth vtter more than humane eloquence,
That when
Ioue would his youthful sports haue tride,
But in thy shape himselfe would neuer hide;
which in his loue had bin of greater power,
Then was his Nymph, his flame, his swan, his shower,
To that allegiance
Yorke was bound by oath,
To
Henries heires and safety of vs both,
No longer now he meanes record shall beare it,
He will dispence with heauen, and will vnsweare it.
He that's in all the worlds blacke sinnes forlorne,
Is carelesse now how oft he be forsworne;
And now of late his title hath set downe,
By which he make his claime vnto the Crowne.
And now I heare his hatefull duchesse chats,
And rips vp their descent vnto her brats,
And blesseth them as Englands lawfull heires,
And tells them that our diademe is theirs.
And if such hap her goddesse Fortune bring,
If three sonnes faile, sheele make the fourth a King.
He that's so like his Damme, her yongest
Dicke,
That foule, il-fauored, crooke backt stigmaticke,
That like a carcas stolne out of a tombe;
Came the wrong way out of hir mothers wombe;
with teeth in's head, his passage to haue torne,
As though begot an age ere he was borne.
Who now will curbe prowde
Yorke when he shal rise?
[Page] Or armes out right against his enterprize,
To crop that bastard weede which daily growes
To ouer-shadow our vermilian Rose?
Or who will muzzel that vnruly Beare,
Whose presence strikes our peoples harts with feare?
Whilst on his knees this wretched King is downe,
To saue them labour, reaching at his Crowne,
Where like a mounting Cedar he should beare
His plumed top aloft into the ayre;
And let these shrubs sit vnderneath his shrowdes,
Whilst in his armes he doth embrace the clowdes,
O that he should his fathers right inherite,
Yet be an alien to that mightie spirite.
How were those powers dispersde, or whether gone,
Should sympathize in generation,
Or what apposed influence had force,
So much t'abuse and alter natures course?
All other creatures follow after kinde,
But man alone doth not beget the minde.
My Daisie-flower, which erst perfumde the ayre,
Which for my fauours Princes once did weare;
Now in the dust lies troden on the ground.
And with
Yorkes garlands euery one is crownd.
When now his rising waites on our decline,
And in our setting he beginnes to shine,
Now in the skies that dreadful Comet waues,
And who be starres but
Warwickes bearded staues?
And all those knees which bended once so low,
Grow stiffe, as though they had forgot to bow;
And none like them pursue me with despite,
Which most haue cride, God saue Queene
Margarite,
[Page 66] When fame shall brute thy banishment abroade,
The Yorkish faction then will lay on loade;
And when it comes once to our westerne coast,
O how that hag Dame
Elinor will boast,
And labour strait by all the meanes she can,
To be calld home out of the Ile of Man,
To which I know great
Warwicke will consent,
To haue it done by act of Parlement,
That to my teeth my birth she may defie,
Slaundring duke
Rayner with base beggerie;
The onely way she could deuise to grieue me,
wanting sweete
Suffolke, which shouldst most relieue me,
And from that stocke doth sprowt another bloome,
A Kentish rebell, a base vpstart groome;
And this is he the white Rose must preferre,
By
Clarence daughter, matcht with
Mortimer,
Thus by
Yorkes meanes, this rascall pesant
Cade,
Must in all haste
Plantaginet be made;
Thus that ambitious duke sets all on worke,
To sound what friends affect the claime of
Yorke,
whilst he abroad doth practise to command,
And makes vs weake by strengthning
Ireland;
More his owne power still seeking to increase,
Then for king
Henries good, or Englands peace.
Great
Winchester vntimely is deceasde,
That more and more my woes should be increasde.
Beuford, whose shoulders prowdly bare vp all
The Churches prop, that famous Cardinall.
The Commons (bent to mischiefe) neuer let,
with Fraunce t'vpbraid that valiant
Sommerset,
Rayling in tumults on his souldiers losse,
[Page] Thus all goes backeward, crosse comes after crosse,
And now of late duke
Humfries old alies,
With banisht
Elnors base complices,
Attending their reuenge grow wondrous crouse,
And threaten death and vengeance to our house;
And I lone the wofull remnant am,
T'endure these stormes with wofull
Buckingham.
I pray thee
Poole, haue care how thou doost passe,
Neuer the Sea yet halfe so dangerous was;
And one foretolde by
Water thou shouldst die,
(Ah! foule befall that foule tongues prophecie)
And euery night am troubled in my dreames,
That I doe see thee tosst in dangerous streames;
And oft-times shipwrackt, cast vpon the land,
And lying breathlesse on the queachy sand;
And oft in visions see thee in the night,
Where thou at Sea maintainst a dangerous fight;
And with thy proued target and thy sword,
Beatst backe the pyrate which would come aboord.
Yet be not angry that I warne thee thus,
The truest loue is most suspitious,
Sorrow doth vtter what vs still doth grieue,
But hope forbids vs sorrovve to belieue;
And in my counsell yet this comfort is,
It can not hurt, although I thinke amisse,
Then liue in hope in triumph to returne,
When cleerer dayes shall leaue in cloudes to mourne,
But so hath sorrow girt my soule about,
That that word
Hope (me thinks) comes slowly out;
The reason is, I know it heere vvould rest,
Where it vvould still behold thee in my breast.
But that my teares doe blot as
I do write.
¶ Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
Or brings in Burgoyne to ayde Lancaster.
PHillip Duke of Burgoyne and his sonne, were alwaies great fauorites of the house of Lancaster, howbeit they often dissembled both with Lancaster and Yorke.
Who in the North our lawfull claime commends,
To win vs credite with our valiant friends.
The chiefe Lords of the North parts, in the time of Henry the fixt, withstood the Duke of Yorke at his rising, giuing him two great ouerthrowes.
To that allegeance Yorke was bound by oth
To
Henries heires, and safety of vs both,
No longer now he meanes Records shall beare it,
He will dispence with heauen, and will vnsweare it.
The Duke of Yorke at the death of Henry the fift, and at this Kings coronation, tooke his oth to be true subiect to him and his heires for euer; but afterward dispensing therewith, claimed the crowne as his rightfull and proper inheritance.
If three sonnes faile, shee'le make the fourth a King.
The Duke of Yorke had foure sonnes, Edward Earle of March, that afterward was Duke of Yorke, and King of England, when he had deposed Henry the sixt, and Edmund Earle of Rutland, slaine by the Lord Clifford at the battel at Wakefield: and George Duke of Clarence, that was murthered in the Tower: and Richard Duke of Gloster, who was (after he had murthered his brothers sonnes) King by the name of Richard the third.
He that's so like his Dam, her yongest Dicke,
That fowle illfauored crookeback'd Stigmaticke, &c.
Till this verse, As though begot an age, &c.
This Richard (whom ironically she heere calls Dicke) that by [Page] treason after his Nephewes murthered, obtained the crowne, was a man low of stature, crooke-back'd, the left shoulder much higher then the right, and of a very crabbed and sower countenance: his mother could not be deliuered of him, hee was borne toothd, & with his feet forward, contrary to the course of nature.
To ouershadow our vermilian Rose.
The red Rose was the badge of the house of Lancaster, and the white Rose of Yorke, which by the marriage of Henry the seauenth, with Elizabeth indubitate heire of the house of Yorke, was happily vnited.
Or who will muzzell that vnruly beare.
The Earle of Warwicke, the setter vp and puller downe of Kings, gaue for his Armes the white Beare rampant, and the ragged staffe.
My Daisie flower which erst perfumde the ayre,
Which for my fauour Princes once did weare, &c.
The Daisie in French is called Margaret, which was Queene Margarets badge, where-withall the Nobilitie and chiualrie of the Land, at the first arriuall were so delighted, that they wore it in their hats in token of honour.
And who be starres but
Warwikes bearded staues.
The ragged or bearded staffe, was a part of the Armes belonging to the Earledome of Warwicke.
Slandring Duke
Rayner with base beggery.
Rayner Duke of Aniou, called himselfe King of Naples, Cicile, and Ierusalem, hauing neither inheritance nor tribute from those parts, and was not able at the marriage of the Queene, of his owne charges, to send her into England, though he gaue no dower with her: which by the Dutchesse of Glocester, was often in disgrace cast in her teeth.
A Kentish rebell, a base vpslart groome.
This was Iacke Cade, which caused the Kentish-men to rebell in the 28. yeere of King Henry the fixth.
And this is he the white Rose must prefer,
By
Clarence daughter match'd to
Mortimer.
This Iacke Cade instructed by the Duke of Yorke, pretended to be descended from Mortimer, which married Lady Phillip, daughter to the Duke of Clarence.
[Page 68]
And makes vs weake by strengthning Ireland.
The Duke of Yorke being made Deputy of Ireland, first there began to practise his long pretended purpose, strengthning himselfe by all meanes possible, that hee might at his returne into England by open warre, claime that which so long he had priuily gone about to obtaine.
Great
Winchester vntimely is deceasde.
Henry Benford, Bishop and Cardinall of Winchester, sonne to Iohn of Gaunt, begot in his age, was a prowd and ambitious Prelate, fauouring mightily the Queene and the Duke of Suffolke, continually heaping vp innumerable treasure, in hope to haue beene Pope, as himselfe on his death-bed confessed.
With France t'vpbraide the valiant
Somerset.
Edmund Duke of Somerset, in the 24. of Henry the sixth, was made Regent of France, and sent into Normandie to desend the English territories against the French inuasions, but in short time he lost all that King Henry the fifth won, for which cause the Nobles and Commons euer after hated him.
T'endure these stormes with wofull
Buckingham.
Humfrey Duke of Buckingham, was a great fauorite of the Queenes faction, in the time of Henry the sixt.
And one sore-told, by water thou shouldst die.
The Witch of Eye, receiued answer from her spirit, that the Duke of Suffolke should take heede of water: which the Queene forwarnes him of, as remembring the Witches prophecie, which afterwards came to passe.
Finis.
To the Right Worshipfull Sir Thomas Munson, Knight.
SIR, amongst many which most deseruedly loue you, though I the least, yet am loth to be the last, whose endeuours may make knowne how highly they esteeme of your noble and kinde disposition; Let this Epistle Sir (I beseech you) which vnworthily weares the badge of your worthy name, acknowledge my zeale with the rest, (though much lesse deseruing) which for your sake, doe honour the house of the Mounsons. I know true generositie accepteth what is zealously offred, though not euer deseruingly excellent; yet for loue of the Art from whence it receiueth resemblance. The light Phrigian harmony stirreth delight, as well as the melancholy Doricke moueth passion; both haue their motion in the spirit, as the liking of the soule moueth the affection. Your kinde acceptance of my labour, shall giue some life to my Muse, which yet houers in the vncertaintie of the generall censure.
Mich: Drayton.
Edward the fourth to Shores wife
The Argument.
This Mistris Shore, King Edward the fourths beauteous Paramore, was so called of her husband a Gold smith, dwelling in Lombard streete. Edward the fourth, sonne to Richard Duke of Yorke, after he had obtained the crowne by deposing Henry the sixth, (which Henry was after murthered in the Tower by Richard Crookebacke) and after the battell sought at Barnet, where the famous Earle of Warwicke was slaine, and that King Edward quietly possessed the Crowne, hearing (by report of many) the rare and wonderfull beautie of the aforesaid Shores wife, commeth himselfe disguised to London to see her; where after he had once beheld her, he was so surprised with her admirable beautie, as not long after he robbed her husband of his deerest iewell; but first by this Epistle he writeth vnto her.
VNto the fair'st that euer breath'd this ayre,
From English
Edward to that fairest faire,
Ah would to God thy title were no more,
That no remembrance might remaine of
Shore,
To countermand a Monarchs high desire,
And bar mine eyes of what they most admire.
O why should Fortune make the Citty prowd,
To giue that more then is the Court allow'd?
[Page] Where they like (wretches) hoard it vp to spare,
And do engrosse it, as they do their ware.
When fame first blaz'd thy beautie heere in Court,
Mine cares repulsde it as a light report,
But when mine eyes sawe that mine eare had heard,
They thought report too nigardly had sparde;
And strooken dumbe with wonder, did but mutter,
Conceiuing more then she had words to vtter.
Then thinke of what thy husband is possest,
When
I enuie that
Shore should be so blest;
When much aboundance makes the needie mad,
And hauing all, yet knowes not what is had.
Into fooles bosomes this good fortune creepes,
And wealth comes in the whilst the miser sleepes.
If now thy beautie be of such esteeme,
Which all of so rare excellencie deeme,
What would it be, and prized at what rate,
Where it adorned with a kingly state?
Which being now but in so meane a bed,
Is like an vncut Diamond in lead,
E're it be set in some high-prized ring,
Or garnished with rich enamiling;
We see the beauty of the stone is spilt,
Wanting the gratious ornament of guilt.
When first attracted by thy heauenly eyes,
I came to see thee, in a strange disguise,
Passing thy shop, thy husband calls me backe,
Demanding what rare jewell I did lacke:
I want (thought I) one that I dare not craue,
And (one I feare) thou wilt not let me haue;
He calls for Caskets forth, and shewes me store,
[Page 70] But yet
I knew he had one jewell more;
And deadly curst him that he did denie it,
That
I might not for loue or mony buy it.
O might
I come a Diamond to buy,
That had but such a lustre as thine eye.
Would not my treasure serue, my Crowne should go,
If any jewell could be prized so;
An Agat, branched with thy blushing straines,
A Saphire, but so az
[...]rde as thy veines;
My kingly Scepter onely should redeeme it,
At such a price if iudgement could esteeme it.
How fond and sencelesse be those strangers then,
VVho bring in toyes to please the Englishmen?
I smile to thinke how fond
th'Italians are,
To iudge their artificiall gardens rare,
VVhen London in thy cheeks can shew them heere,
Roses and Lillies growing all the yeere:
The Portugall, that onely hopes to win,
By bringing stones from farthest
India in,
VVhen happy
Shore can bring them forth a girle,
Whose lips be Rubies, and her teeth be Pearle.
How silly is the Polander and Dane,
To bring vs Cristall from the frozen maine?
When thy cleere skins transparence doth surpasse
Their Christall, as the Diamond doth glasse.
The foolish French which brings in trash and toyes,
To turne our women, men, or girles to boyes,
When with what tire thou doost thy selfe adorne,
That for a fashion onely shall be worne;
Which though it were a garment but of haire,
More rich then robe that euer Empresse ware.
[Page] Me thinks thy husband takes his marke aw
[...]y,
To set his plate to sale when thou art by;
When they which do thy Angel locks behold,
Like basest drosse do but respect his gold,
And wish one haire before that massie heape,
And but one locke before the wealth of Cheap
[...];
And for no cause else, hold we gold so deare,
But that it is so like vnto thy haire,
And sure I thinke
Shore cannot choose but flowt,
Such as would finde the great Elixar out,
And laugh to see the Alchimists, that choke
Themselues with fumes, & waste their wealth in smoke.
When if thy hand but touch the grossest mold,
It is con
[...]erted to refined gold,
When theirs is chafferd at an easie rate,
VVell knowne to all to be adulterate;
And is no more when it by thine is set,
Then paltry Beugle, or light-prized jeat.
Let others weare perfumes, for thee vnmeete,
If there were none, thou could'st make all things sweet.
Thou comfort'st sence, and yet all sence dost waste,
To heare, to see, to smell, to feele, to taste;
Thou a rich ship, whose very refuse ware,
Aromatickes, and pretious odors are.
If thou but please to walke into the Pawne,
To buy thee Cambrieke, Callico, or Lawne,
If thou the whitenes of the same wouldst proue,
From thy more whiter hand plucke off thy gloue;
And those which buy, as the beholders stand,
Will take thy hand for Lawne, Lawne for thy hand;
A thousand eyes, closde vp by enuious night,
[Page 71] Do vvish for day, but to enioy thy sight;
And vvhen they once haue blest their eies vvith thee,
Scorne euery obiect else, vvhat ere they see,
So like a goddesse beauty still controules,
And hath such povverfull vvorking in our soules.
The Merchant vvhich in traffike spends his life,
Yet loues at home to haue a dainty vvife,
The blunt spoke Cynicke poring on his booke,
Sometimes (aside) at beauty loues to looke.
The church-man, by whose teaching wee are led,
Allovves what keepes loue in the marriage bed;
The bloudy Souldier spent in armes and broiles,
With beautie yet content to share his spoiles;
The busie Lavvyer wrangling in his pleas;
Findeth that Beauty giues his labour ease;
The toyling trades-man, and the sweating clowne,
Wold haue his wench faire, thogh his bread be brown;
So much is Beauty pleasing vnto all,
To Prince and p
[...]sant like in generall;
Nor neuer yet did any man despise it,
Except too deere, and
[...]hat he could not prize it,
Vnlearn'd is learning, artlesse be all Artes,
If not imployde to praise thy seuerall partes;
Poore plodding Schoolemen they are farre too lowe,
Which by probations, rules, and axiomes goe;
He must be still familiar with the skies,
Which notes the reuolutions of thine eies:
And by that skill which measures sea and land,
See beauties all, thy waste, thy foote, thy hand,
vvhere he may find, the more that hee doth view,
Such rare delights as are both strange and new;
[Page] And other worlds of beauty more and more,
Which neuer were discouered before;
And to thy rare proportion to apply,
The lines and circles in Geometry,
Vsing alone Arithmetickes strong ground,
Numbring the vertues that in thee are found.
And when these all haue done what they can doo,
For thy perfections all too little too.
When from the East the dawne hath broken out,
And gone to seeke thee all the world about,
Within thy Chamber hath she fixt her light,
Where but that place the world hath all beene night;
Then is it fit that euery vulgar eie,
Should see Loue banquet in her maiestie
[...]
We deeme those things our sight doth most frequent,
To be but meane, although most excellent;
For strangers still the streetes are swept and strowd,
Few looke on such as daily come abroade;
Things much restraind, doth make v
[...] much desire thē,
And beauties seldome seene makes vs admire them.
Nor is it fit a cittie shop should
[...]de,
The worlds delight and natures onely pride,
But in a Princes sumptuous gallery.
Hung all with tissue, floorde with tapestrie
[...]
Where thou shalt sit, and from thy state shalt see,
The tiltes and triumphs that are done for thee.
Then know the diffrence (if thou list to proue)
Betwixt a vulgar, and a kingly loue;
And when thou findst, as now thou doubtst the troth,
Be thou thy selfe vnpartiall Iudge of both.
Where hearts be knit, what helps if not enioy?
[Page 72] Delayes breedes doubts, no cunning to be coy.
Whilst lazie Time his turne by tariance serues,
Loue still growes sickly, and hope dayly sterues,
Meane while receiue that warrant by these lines,
which princely rule and soueraintie resignes:
Till when, these papers by their Lords commaund
[...]
By me shall kisse thy sweete and daintie hand.
¶ Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
THis Epistle of Edward to Shores wife, and of hers to him, being of vnlawfull affection, ministreth small occasion of historicall notes, for had he mentioned the many battels betwixt the Lancastrian faction and him, or other warlike daungers, it had beene more like to Plautus boasting Souldier then a kingly Courtier. Notwithstanding, it shall not be amisse to annexe a line or two.
From English
Edward to the fairest faire,
Edward the fourth was by nature very chiualrous, and very amorous, applying his sweet & amiable aspect to attaine his wanton appetite the rather, which was so well knowne to Lewes the French king, who at their interuiew inuited him to Paris, that as Comineus reports, being taken at his word, hee notwithstanding brake off the matter, fearing the Parisian Dames with their witty conuersation, would detaine him longer then should bee for his benefit, by which means Edwad was disapointed of his iorny: and albeit Princes whilst they liue, haue nothing in them but what is admirable; yet we need not mistrust the flatterie of the Court in those times: fot certain it is, that his shape was excellent, his haire drew neare to a black, making his faces fauor to seeme more delectable. Though the smalnes of his eies full of a shining moisture, as it tooke away some comelinesse; so it argued much sharpnes of vnderstanding, and cruelty mingled togither. And indeed George Buccanan (that imperious Scot) chargeth him and other Princes [Page] of those times, with affectation of tyranny, as Richard the third manifestly did.
When first attracted by thy heauenly eyes,
Edwards intemperate desires, with which he was wholy ouer-come, how tragically they in his of-spring were punished, is vniuersally knowne. A mirrour representing their ouersight; that rather leaue their children what to possesse, then what to imitate.
How seely is the Polander and Dane;
To bring vs Cristall from the frozen maine.
Alluding to their opinions, who imagin Cristall to be a kind of Ice, and therefore it is likely, they who come from the frozen parts, should bring great store of that transparent stone, which is thought to be congealed with extreame colde. Whether Cristall be Ice, or some other liquor, I omit to dispute, yet by the examples of Amber and Corall, there may be such an induration; for Solinus out of Plinie mentioneth, that in the Northerly Region, a yellow jelly is taken vp out of the sea at two tides, which he cals Succinum, we Amber; so likewise, out of the Ligusticke deepe, a part of the Meridian Sea, a greenish stalk is gathered, which hardned in the ayre, becomes to be Corrall, either white, or red. Amber notwithstanding is thought to drop out of trees, as appeares by Martials Epigram.
Et latet, & lucet Phaethonide condita gutta,
Vt vidcatur apis nectare clausa suo,
Dignum tantorum pretium tulit ille laborum,
Credibile est ipsam sic voluisse mors.
To behold a Bee inclosed in Electrum, is not so rare as that a boyes throat should be cut with the fal of an Ice-sicle, the which Epigram is excellent, the 18. li. 4 He cals it Phaethontis G [...]tta, because of that fable which Ouid rehearseth, concerning the Heliades or Phaetons sisters, metamorphosed into those trees, whose Gum is Amber, where flies alighting, are often times tralucently imprisoned.
¶ The Epistle of Shores wife to king Edward the fourth.
AS the weake child, that from the mothers wing,
Is taught the Lutes delicious fingering,
At euery strings soft touch, is mou'd with feare,
Noting his maisters curious listning eare;
whose trembling hand, at euery straine bewraies.
In what doubt he his new set lesson plaies;
As this poore child, so sit I to indite,
At euery word still quaking as I write.
VVould I had led an humble shepheards life,
Nor knowne the name of
Shores admired wife,
And liu'd with them in Count
[...]ie fields that range,
Nor seene the golden Cheape, nor glittering Change,
To stand a Comet gaz'd at in the skies,
Subiect to all tongues, obiect to all eyes,
Oft haue I heard my beautie praisd of many,
But neuer yet so much admir'd of any;
A Princes Eagle eye to find out that,
which vulgar sights do seldome wonder at,
Makes me to thinke affection flatters sight,
Or in the obiect some thing exquisite.
To housed beautie, seldome stoop's report,
Fame must attend on that which liues in Court.
VVhat Swan of great
Apollos brood doth sing
[Page] To vulgar loue in courtly Sonetting?
Or what immortall Poets sugred pen,
Attends the glory of a Cittizen?
Oft haue
I wondred what should blinde your eye,
Or what so far seduced Maiesty,
That hauing choice of beauties so diuine,
Amongst the most to choose this least of mine?
More glorious sunnes adorne faire Londons pride,
Then all rich Englands continent beside;
Who takes in hand to make account of this,
May number Rumneys flowers, or Isis fish;
Who doth frequent our Temples, walkes, and streets
Noting the sundry beauties that he meetes,
Thinkes not that Nature left the wide world poore
And made this place the Chequer of her store:
As heauen and earth were lately falne at iarres,
And growne to vying wonders, dropping starres.
That if but some one beautie should incite,
Some sacred Muse, some rauisht spirit to write,
Heere might he fetch that true
Promethian fire,
As after ages should his lines admire;
Gathering the honny from the choisest flowers,
Scorning the wither'd weedes in Country bowers.
Heere in this garden (onely) springs the Rose,
In euery common hedge the Bramble growes,
Nor are we so turnde Neapolitan,
That might incite some fowle-mouth
Mantuan,
To all the world to lay out our defects,
And haue iust cause to raile vpon our sexe;
To prancke old wrinckles vp in new attire,
To alter Natures course, proue Time a lier,
[Page 74] Abusing fate, and heauens iust doome reuerse,
On beauties graue to set a crimson hearse,
With a deceitfull foile to lay a ground,
To make a glasse to seeme a Diamond.
Nor cannot without hazard of our name,
In fashion follow the V
[...]netian Dame,
Nor the fantasticke French to imitate,
Attirde halfe Spanish, halfe Italionate;
Nor wast, nor curle, body nor brow adorne,
That is in Florence, or in Genoa borne.
But with vaine boasts how witlesse fond am
I,
Thus to draw on mine owne indignitie?
And what though married when
I was but yong,
Before
I knew what did to loue belong,
Yet he which now's possessed of the roome,
Cropt beauties flower when it was in the bloome,
And goes away enriched with the store,
Whilst others gleane, where he hath reapt before;
And he dares sweare that
I am true and iust,
And shall
I then deceiue his honest trust?
Or what strange hope should make you to assaile,
Where strongest battery neuer could preuailt?
Belike you thinke that
I repulst the rest,
To leaue a King the conquest of my breast,
Or haue thus long preserude my selfe from all,
A Monarch now should glory in my fall.
Yet rather let me die the vildest death,
Then liue to draw that sinne-polluted breath;
But our kinde hearts mens teares cannot abide,
And we least angry oft, when most we chide;
Too well know men what our creation made vs,
[Page] And nature too well taught them to inuade vs.
They know but too well, how, what, when, and where,
To write, to speake, to sue, and to forbeare,
By signes, by sighs, by motions, and by tears,
When vows shuld serue, when oths, when smiles, when praiers,
What one delight our humors most doth moue,
Onely in that you make vs nourish loue.
If any naturall blemish blot our face,
You doe protest it giues our beautie grace,
And what attire we most are vsde to weare,
That of all other excellentst you sweare.
And if vve vvalke, or sit, or stand, or lie,
It must resemble some one deitie,
And vvhat you knovve vve take delight to heare,
That are you euer sounding in our eare;
And yet so shamelesse vvhen you tempt vs thus,
To lay the fault on beautie, and on vs.
Romes vvanton
O
[...]id did those rules impart,
O that your nature should be helpt vvith Arte.
Who vvould haue thoght, a King that cares to raigne,
Inforcde by loue, so Poet-like should faine?
To say that Beauty, Times sterne rage to shunne,
In my cheekes (Lillies) hid her from the Sunne;
And vvhen she meant to triumph in her Maie,
Made that her East, and heere she broke her day,
And swearst that summer still is in my sight,
And but vvhere I am, all the vvorld is night;
As though the fairst, ere since the vvorld beganne,
To me a Sunne-burnt base Egyptian;
But yet I knovve more than I meane to tell,
(O would to God you knew it not too well)
[Page 75] That women oft their most admirers raise,
Though publikely not flattering their owne praise.
Our churlish husbands which our youth enioy'd,
Who with our dainties haue their stomackes cloyd,
Do lothe our smooth hand with their lips to feele,
T'enrich our fauours, by our beds to kneele;
At our command to waite, to send, to goe,
As euery howre our amorous seruants doe;
Which makes a stolne kisle often we bestow,
In earnest of a greater good we owe;
When he all day torments vs with a frowne,
Yet sports with
Venus in a bed of dowlne;
Whose rude embracement, but too ill beseemes
Her span broad waste, her white and dainty limmes,
And yet still preaching abstinence of meate,
When hee himselfe of euery dish will eate.
Blame you our husbands then, if they denie
Our publike walking, our loose libertie;
If with exception still they vs debar,
The circuite of the publike Theater;
To heare the smooth-tongude Poets Syren vaine,
Sporting in his lasciuious Comicke scene;
Or the young wanton wits, when they applawd
The slie perswasions of some subtile Bawd,
Or passionate Tragedian in his rage,
Acting a loue-sicke passion on the stage:
When though abroad restraining vs to rome,
They very hardly keepe vs safe at home,
And oft are touch'd with feare and inward griefe,
Knowing rich prizes soonest tempt a theeefe.
What sports haue we whereon our mindes to set?
[Page] Our dogge, our Parrat, or our Marmuzet;
Or once a weeke to walke into the field,
Small is the pleasure that those toyes do yielde,
But to this griefe, a medicine you applie,
To cure restraint with that sweete libertie;
And soueraignty, (O that bewitching thing)
Yet made more great, by promise of a King;
And more, that honour which doth most intice
The holiest Nunne, and she that's ne're so nice.
Thus still we striue, yet ouer-come at length,
For men want mercy, and poore women strength:
Yet grant, that we could meaner men resist,
when Kings once come, they conquer as they list.
Thou art the cause
Shore pleaseth not my sight,
That his embraces giue me no delight;
Thou art the cause I to my selfe am strange,
Thy comming is my full, thy set my change.
Long winter nights be minutes, if thou heere,
Short minutes if thou absent be a yeere.
And thus by strength thou art become my fate,
And mak'st me loue euen in the midst of hate.
¶ Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
Would I had led an humble Sheep heards life,
Nor knowne the name of
Shores admired wife.
TWo or three Poemes written by sundry men, haue magnified this womans beautie; whom that ornament of England and Londons more particular glory, Sir Thomas Moore very highly hath praised for her beautie, she being aliue in his time, though being poore and aged. Her stature was meane, her haire of a [Page 76] dark yellow, her face round & ful, her eie gray, delicate harmony being betwixt each parts proportion, & each proportions colour, her body fat, white, and smooth, her countenance cheerefull, and like to her condition. That picture which I haue seen of hers, was such as she rose out of her bed in the morning, hauing nothing on but a rich mantle cast vnder one arme ouer her shoulder, and sitting in a chaire on which her naked arme did lie. What her fathers name was, or where she was borne, is not certainly known; but Shore a yong man of right good person, wealth and behauiour, abandoned her bed after the king had made her his Concubine. Richard the third causing her to do open penance in Paules Church-yard, commaunded that no man should relieue her, which the tyrant did not so much for his hatred to sinne, but that by making his brothers life odious, he might couer his horrible treason the more cunningly.
May number Rumneys flowers, or Isis fish.
Rumney is that famous Marsh in Kent, at whose side Rie a Hauen towne dooth stand. Hereof the excellent English Antiquarie Maister Camden, and Maister Lambert in his preambulation do [...] make mention. And Marishes are commonly called those low grounds, which abut vpon the sea, and from the Latine word are so denominated. Isis is heere vsed for Thamesis by a Synecdochicall kind of speach, or by a Poeticall libertie, in vsing one for another: for it is said that Thamesis is compounded of Tame and Isis, making when they are met, that renowmed water running by London, a Cittie much more renowmed then that water: which being plentifull of fish, is the cause also why all things else are plentifull therein. Moreouer, I am perswaded, that there is no riuer in the world beholds more stately buildings on either side cleane throgh, then the Thames. Much is reported of the Graund Canale in Venice, for that the fronts on either side are so gorgeous.
That might intice some foule-mouth'd
Mantu
[...]n,
Mantuan a pastorall Poet, in one of his Eglogs bitterly inueyeth agaynst woman-kind, some of the which by way of an Appendex, might be heere inserted, seeing the fantasticke and insolent humours of many of that sexe deserue much sharper phisicke were it not that they are growne wiser then to amend, for [Page] such an idle Poets speech as Mantuan, yea or for Euripides himselfe, or Senecas inflexible Hippolitus.
The circuite of the publike Theater.
Ouid, a most fit Author for so desolute a Sectary, calls that place Chastities shipwracke, for though Shores wife wantonly pleade for liberty, which is the true humour of a Curtizan, yet much more is the praise of modesty, then of such libertie. Howbeit the Vestall Nunnes had seates assigned them in the Roman Theater, whereby it should appeare, it was counted no impeachment to modestie, though they offending therein, were buried quicke: a sharpe law for them, who may say as Shores wife doth.
When though abroad restraining vs to rome,
They very hardly keepe vs safe at home.
FINIS.
To the right VVorshipfull Sir Henry Goodere of Powlesworth Knight.
SIR, this Poeme of mine, which I imparted to you, at my being with you at your lodging at London in Maie last, brought at length to perfection, (emboldned by your wonted fauours) I aduenture to make you Patron of. Thus Sir you see I haue aduentured to the world, with what like or dislike, I know not, [...]if it please, (which I much doubt of) I pray you then be partaker of that which I shall esteeme not my least good; if dislike, it shall lessen some part of my griefe; if it please you to allow but of my loue: howsoeuer, I pray you accept it as kindely as I offer it, which though without many protestations, yet (I assure you) with much desire of your honour. Thus vntill such time as I may in some more larger measure, make knowne my loue to the happy and generous familie of the Gooderes, (to which I confesse my selfe to be beholding to, for the most part of my education) I wish you all happinesse.
Michaell Drayton.
Mary the French Queene, to Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolke.
The Argument.
Mary, the daughter of that renowned Prince King Henry the seauenth being very yong at her fathers death, after by her brother King Henry the eight, was giuen in marriage to Lewes King of France, being a man olde and decrepit: This faire and beautiful Lady, long afore had pla [...]her affection on Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolke, a braue and couragious yong Gentleman, and an especiall fauorite of the King her brother, and a man raised vp by him. King Lewes, the husband of this beautifull Queene, liued not long after he was married; and Charles Brandon hauing commission from the King to bring her backe into England, but being delaied by some sinister meanes, the French Queene writeth this Epistle, to hasten the Duke forward on his intended voyage to France.
SVch health from heauen my selfe may wish to mee.
Such health from France, Queene
Mary sends to thee.
Brandon, how long mak'st thou excuse to stay,
And know'st how ill we women brooke delay?
If one poore channell thus can part vs two,
Tell me (vnkinde) what would an Ocean do?
[Page 78]
Leander had an Hellespont to swim,
Yet this from
Hero could not hinder him?
His barke (poore soule) his breast, his armes, his oares,
But thou a ship, to land thee on our shores;
And opposite to famous Kent doth lie,
The pleasant fields of flowrie Picardie,
VVhere our faire Callice, walled in her sands,
In kenning of the cliffie Douer stands.
Heere is no Beldame Nurse to powt or lower,
VVhen wantoning, we reuell in my Tower;
Nor neede
I top my Turret with a light,
To guide thee to me, as thou swim'st by night;
Comparde with me, wert thou but halfe so kinde,
Thy sighs should stuffe thy sailes, though wanting wind;
But thy breast is becalmd, thy sighs be slacke,
And mine too stiffe, and blow thy broad sailes backe.
But thou wilt say, that I should blame the flood,
Because the winde so full against thee stood;
Nay, blame it not it did so roughly blow,
For it did chide thee, for thou, wast so slow;
For it came not to keepe thee in the Bay,
But came from me to bid thee come away.
But that thou vainely lett'st occasion slide,
Thou mightst haue wafted hether with the tide.
If when thou com'st,
I knit mine angry brow,
Blame me not
Brandon, thou hast broke thy vow;
Yet if I meant to frowne,
I might be dombe,
For this may make thee stand in doubt to come:
Nay come sweete
Charles, haue care thy ship to guide,
Come my sweete hart, in faith
I will not chide.
VVhenas my brother and his louely Queene
[Page] In sad attire for my depart were seene,
The vtmost date expired of my stay,
when I from Douer did depart away,
Thou know'st what woe I suffered for thy sake,
How oft I fain'd of thee my leaue to take;
God and thou know'st with what a heauie hart
I tooke my farewell when I should depart;
And being ship'd, gaue signall with my hand,
Vp to the Cliffe, where I did see thee stand,
Nor could reframe in all the peoples view,
But cried to thee, sweete
Charles adiew, adiew.
Looke how a little infant that hath lost,
The things wherewith it was delighted most,
weary with seeking, to some corner creepes,
And there (poore soule) it sits it downe and weepes;
And when the Nurse would faine content the mind,
Yet still it mournes for that it cannot find:
Thus in my carefull Cabin did I lie,
whenas the ship out of the roade did flie.
Think'st thou my loue was faithfull vnto thee,
vvhen yong
Castile to England su'd for mee?
Be iudge thy selfe, if it were not of power,
vvhen
I refus'd an Empire for my dovver.
To Englands Court, when once report did bring,
How thou in Fraunce didst reuell with the king,
vvhen he in triumph of his victorie,
Vnder a rich imbrodered Canapie,
E
[...]d proud
Tournay, which did trembling stand,
To
[...]eg for mercie at his conquering hand;
To heare of his enderements, how
I ioy'd?
But see, this calme vvas suddenly destroy'd.
With him his sister that ambitious dame,
Sauoyes prowd dutchesle, knowing how long she,
By her
[...]oue sought to win my loue from me;
Fearing my absence might thy vowes acquite,
To change thy
Mary for a
Margarite,
When in king
Henries tent of cloth of gold,
She often did thee in her armes enfold;
vvhere you were feasted more deliciously,
Than
Cleopatra did
Marke Anthony,
Where sports all day did entertaine your sight,
And then in maskes you passde away the night;
But thou wilt say, tis proper vnto vs,
That we by nature all are iealous.
I must confesse tis oft found in our sex,
But who not loue, not any thing suspects:
True loue dooth looke with pale suspitious eie,
Take away loue, if you take iealousie.
Turwin and
Turney when King
Henry tooke,
For this great change who then did euer looke?
When
Maximilian to those warres addrest,
Ware Englands Crosle on his imperiall breast,
And in our armie let his Eagle flie,
That viewd our ensignes with a wondring eie.
Little thought I when
Bullen first was wonne,
VVedlocke should end, what angry warre begunn
[...]
From which I vow, I yet am free in thought,
But this alone by
Wolseis wit was wrought.
To his aduise the King gaue free consent,
That will I, nill I, I must be content.
My virgins right, my state could not aduance,
[Page] But now enriched with the dower of France;
Then, but poore
Suffolkes Dutchesse had I beene,
Now, the great Dowager, the most Christian Qucent.
But I perceiue where all thy griefe doth lie,
Lewes of France had my virginitie;
He had indeede but shall I tell thee what,
Beleeue me
Brandon he had scarcely that;
Good feeble King he could not do much harme,
But age must needes haue something that is warme;
Small drops (God knowes) do quench that hea
[...]lesse fire,
When all the strength is onely in desire.
And
I could tell (if modesly might tell)
There's somewhat else that pleaseth louers well,
To rest his cheeke, vpon my softer cheeke,
Was all he had, and more he did not seeke.
So might the little babie clip the nurse,
And it content, she neuer awhit the worse;
Then thinke this
Brandon, if that makes thee frowne,
For may denhead, he on my head set a Crowne,
who would exchange a kingdome for a kisse?
Hard were the hart that would not yeeld him this;
And time yet halfe so swiftly doth not passe,
Not full fiue months yet elder than I was.
When thou to Fraunce conducted was by fame,
With many knights which from all countries came,
Installed at Saint
Dennis in my throne,
Where
Lewes held my coronation;
Where the prowd Dolphin, for thy valour sake,
Chose thee at tilt his princely part to take;
Whenas the staues vpon thy caske did light,
Grieued there with, I turnd away my sight;
[Page 80] And spake alowd, when
I my selfe forgot,
T'is my swee
[...]e
Charles my
Brandon, hurt him not:
But when
I fearde the King perceiued this,
Good seely man,
I pleasde him with a kisse;
And to extoll his valiant sonne began.
That Europe neuer bred a brauer man;
And when (poore King) he simply praised thee,
Of all the rest
I ask'd which thou shouldst bee?
Thus
I with him dissembled for thy sake,
Open confession now amends must make.
Whilst this old King vpon a pallet lies,
And onely holds a combat with mine eyes;
Mine eyes from his, by thy sight stolne away,
Which might too wel their Mistres thoughts bewray.
But when
I saw thy prowd vnconquered Launce,
To beare the prize from all the flower of France,
To see what pleasure did my soule imbrace,
Might easily be discerned in my face.
Looke as the dew vpon a damaske Rose,
How through that liquide pearle his blushing showes,
And when the sost aire breathes vpon his top,
From the sweet leaues falles easily drop by drop;
Thus by my cheeke, distilling from mine eyes,
One teare for ioy, anothers roome supplies.
Before mine eie (like touch) thy shape did proue,
Mine eie condemn'd my too too partiall loue;
But since by others I the same doe
[...]rie,
My loue condemnes my too too partiall eie.
The pretious stone most beautifull and rare,
When with it selfe we onely doe compare,
Wee deeme all other of that kinde to be,
[Page] As excellent as that we onely see;
But when we iudge of that with others by,
Too credulous we doe condemne our eie,
Which then appeares more orient and more bright,
As from their dimnesse borrowing great light.
Alansoon, a fine timbered man, and tall,
Yet wants the shape thou arte adornd withall;
Vandon, good carriage, and a pleasing eie,
Yet hath not
Suffolkes princely maiestie;
Couragious
Burbon a sweete manly face,
But yet he wants my
Brandons courtly grace.
Prowd
Longauile, our Court iudgde had no peere,
A man scarce made (was thoght) whilst thou wast here.
County S. Paule, brau'st man at armes in
Fraunce,
Would yeeld himselfe a Squire to beare thy launce;
Galleas and
Bounearme, matchlesse for their might,
Vnder thy towring blade haue cowcht in fight.
If with our loue, my brother angry be,
Ile say to please him, I first fancied thee.
And but to frame my liking to his minde,
Neuer to thee had I beene halfe so kinde.
Worthy my loue the vulgar iudge no man,
Except a Yorkist, or Lancastrian:
Nor thinke that my affection should be set,
But in the line of great
Plantaginet.
I passe not what the idle Commons say,
I pray thee
Charles make haste and come away.
To thee whats England, if I be not there?
Or what to me is
Fraunce, if thou not here?
Thy absence makes me angry for a while,
But at thy presence I must needsly smile,
[Page 81] When last of me his leaue my
Brandon tooke,
He sware an oath, (and made my lips the booke)
He would make hast, which now thou doo'st denie:
Thou art forsworne, ô wilfull periuricl
Sooner would
I with greater sinnes dispence,
Then by entreatie pardon this offence.
But yet
I thinke, if
I should come to shriue thee,
Great were the fault that
I should not forgiue thee;
Yet wert thou heere,
I should reuenged bee,
But it should be with too much louing thee.
I, that is all that thou shalt feare to tast,
I pray thee
Brandon come, sweete
Charles make hast.
Notes of the Chronicle-Historie.
The vtmost date expired of my stay,
When I for Douer did depart away.
KIng Henry the 8. with the Queene and Nobles, in the 6. yeare of his raigne, in the moneth of September, brought this Ladie to Douer, where she tooke shipping for Fraunce.
Think'st thou my loue was faithfull vnto thee,
When yong
Castile to England su'd for me.
It was agreed and concluded betwixt Henry the seuenth, and Philip King of Castile, sonne to Maximilian the Emperour, that Charles eldest sonne of the said Philip, should marry the Ladie Mary, daughter to King Henry, when they came to age: which agreement was afterward in the eight yeare of Henry the eight annihilated.
When he in triumph of his victorie,
Vnder a rich embrodered Canapie,
Entred proud Turney which did trembling stand. &c.
[Page] Henry the 8. after the long siege of Turnay, which was deliuered to him vpon composition, entred the Citie in triumph, vnder a Canapie of cloth of gold, borne by foure of the chiefe and most noble Cittizens; the king himselfe mounted vpou a gallant courser barbed with the Armes of England, France and Ireland.
When
Charles of Castile there to banquet came,
With him his sister; that ambitious Dame.
Sauoys prowd Dutches,
The King being at Turnay, there came to him the Prince of Castile, and the Lady Margaret Dutches of Sanoy his sister, to whom King Henry gaus great entertainment.
Sauoys proud Dutches, knowing how long shee
By her loue sought to win my loue from mee.
At this time there was speech of a marriage to be concluded, betweene Charles Brandron then Lord L [...]ste, and the Dutches of Sauoy, the Lord L [...]s [...]e being highly fauoured, and exceedingly beloued of the Dutches.
When in King
Henries Tent of cloth of gold,
The King caused a rich Tent of cloth of gold to bee erected, where he feasted the Prince of Castile, and the Dutches, and entertained them with sumptuous maskes and banquets during their aboad.
When
Maximillian to those wars addrest
Were Englands Crosse on his imperiall breast.
Maximillian the Emperour with all his souldiers, which serued vnder king Henry, wore the Crosse of S. George with the Rose on their breasts.
And in our Armie let his Eagle flie.
The blacke Eagle is the badge imperiall, which here is vsed for the displaying of his ensigne or standard.
And had his pay from
Henries treasurie.
Henry the 8. at his wars in France, retained the Emperor & al his souldiers in wages, which serued vnder him during those warres,
But this alone by
Wolseys wit was wrought,
Thomas Wolsey, the kings Almoner, then Bishop of Lincolne, a man of great authoritie with the king, and afterward Cardinall, was the chiefe cause that the Lady Mary was married to the old [Page 82] French King, with whom the French had dealt vnder-hand to befriend him in that match.
When the proud Dolphin for thy valour sake,
Chose thee at tilt his Princely part to take.
Frauncis Duke of Valoyes, and Dolphin of Fraunce, at the mariage of the Lady Mary, in honour thereof proclaimed a Iusts, where he chose the Duke of Suffolke, and the Marques Dorset for his aydes, at all martiall exercises.
Galeas, and
Bounarme, matchlesse for their might,
This Countie Galeas at the Iusts ran a course with a speare, which was at the head fiue inches square on euery side, and at the But nine inches square, wherby he shewed his wōdrous force and strength. This Bounarme, a Gentleman of Fraunce, at the same time came into the field armed at all poyntes with tenne Speares about him: in each stirrop three, vnder each thigh one, one vnder his left arme, and one in his hand, and putting his horse to the careere, neuer stopped him till he had broken euerie staffe.
Hall.
Charles Brandon Duke of Suffolk, to Mary the French Queene.
BVt that thy faith commaunds me to forbeare,
The fault thine owne, if
I vnpacient were;
Were my dispatch such as should be my speede,
I should want time thy louing lines to reede,
Heere in the Court, Camelion-like
I fare,
And as that creature feed, vpon the ayre,
All day
I waite, and all the night
I watch,
And starue mine eares to heare of thy dispatch;
If Douer were th'Abydos of my rest,
Thou shouldst not need, faire Queene, to blame me so,
Did not the distance to desire say no:
Noted ous night from trauell should be free,
T
[...]ll through the wanes, with swimming vnto thee,
A snowy path I made vnto thy Bay,
So bright as is that Nectar-stained way
The restlesse sunne by trauelling doth weare,
Passing his course to finish vp the yeare.
But Paris lockes my loue within the maine,
And London yet my
Brandon doth detaine,
Of thy firme loue thou putst me still in minde,
But of my faith, not one word can I finde.
When
Longauile to
Mary was affide,
And thou by him wast made King
Lewes bride,
How oft I wisht that thou a prize mightst bee,
That I in armes might combate him for thee,
And in the madnesse of my loue distraught,
A thousand times his murther haue sore thought,
But that th'all-seeing powers which sit a
[...],
Regard not mad mens oathes, nor faults in loue,
And haue confirmde it by the graunt of heauen,
That Louers sinnes on earth should be forgiuen;
For neuer than is halfe so much distrest,
As he that loues to see his loue possest.
Comming to
Richmond after thy depart
(Richmond where first thou stolst away my heart)
Me thought it looke not as it did of late,
But wanting thee
[...]or lo
[...]ne and desolate,
In whose faire walkes thou often hast bin seene,
To sport with
Katharine, Henries beauteous Queene,
[Page 83] Ast
[...]nishing sad winter with thy sight,
As for thy sake, the day hath put backe night;
That the smal birds, as in the pleasant spring,
Forgot themselues, and haue begun to sing:
So oft I go by Thames, so oft returne,
Me thinkes for thee the riuer yet doth mourne,
Who I haue seene to let her streame at large,
Which like a hand-maid waited on thy Barge;
And if thou hapst against the flood to row,
Which way it ebd, it presently would flow,
Weeping in drops vpon thy laboring oares,
For ioy that it had got thee from the shoares.
The Swans with musicke that the Roothers make,
Ruffing their plumes, come gliding on the lake,
As the fleete Dolphins by
Arion
[...] strings,
Were brought to land with their sweete rauishings,
The flockes and h
[...]irdes that pasture neere the flood,
To gaze vpon thee, haue forborne their food,
And sate downe sadly mourning by the brim,
That they by nature were not made to swim.
Whenas the Post to Englands royall Court,
Of thy hard passage brought the true report,
How in a storme thy well rigd ships were tost,
And thou thy selfe in danger to be lost,
I knew twas
Venus loath'd that aged bed,
Where beautie so should be dishonoured;
Or fearde the Sea-Nimphs haunting of the lake,
If thou but seene, their Goddesse should forsake.
And whirling round her Doue-drawne Coach about,
To view the Nauie now in lanching out,
Her ayrie mantle loosely doth vnbinde,
[Page] Which fanning forth a rougher gale of winde,
Wafted thy sailes with speede vnto the land,
And runnes thy ship on Bullins harboring strand.
How should I ioy of thy arriue to heare?
But as a poore sea-faring passenger,
After long trauaile, tempest-torne and wrack'd,
By some vnpitting Pirat that is sack'd;
Heares the false robber that hath stolne his wealth,
Landed in some safe harbour, and in health,
Enriched with invaluable store,
For which he long hath trauailed before.
When thou to
Abuile heldst th' appointed day,
We heard how
Lewes met thee on the way;
Where thou in glittering Tissue strangely dight,
Appear'dst vnto him like the Queene of light,
In cloth of siluer all thy virgin traine,
In beautie sumptuous as the Northerne waine;
And thou alone the formost glorious star,
Which lead'st the teame of that great Wagoner.
What could thy thought be, but as I do thinke,
When thine eyes tasted what mine eares did drinke?
A cripple King laid bed-rid long before,
Yet at thy comming crept out of the doore,
T'was well he rid, he had no legs to goe,
But this thy beautie forc'd his body to;
For whom a cullice had more fitter beene,
Then in a golden bed a gallant Queene.
To vse thy beautie as the miser gold,
Which hoards it vp but onely to behold,
Still looking on it with a iealous eye,
Fearing to lend, yet louing vsurie;
[Page 84] O Sacriledge (if beautie be diuine)
The prophane hand shuld touch the halowed shrine.
To
[...] sicknesse on the sound mans diet;
To rob content yet still to liue vnquiet;
And hauing all, to be of all beguild,
And yet still longing like a little child.
When Marques
Dorset and the valiant
Graies,
To purchase fame first crost the narrow Seas,
With all the Knights that my associates went,
In honour of thy nuptiall turnament;
Thinkst thou
I ioy'd not in thy beauties pride,
When thou in triumph didst through Paris ride?
Where all the streetes as thou didst pace along,
With Arras, Bisse, and Tapestry were hung;
Ten thousand gallant Cittizens prepar'd,
In rich at
[...]ire thy princely selfe to guard;
Next them, three thousand choise
[...]igious men,
In golden vestments followed on agen;
And in procession as they came along,
With
Hymeneus sang thy marriage song.
Then fiue great Dukes as did their places fall,
To each of these, a princely Cardinall,
Then thou on thy imperiall Chariot set,
Crown'd with a rich imperled Coronet,
Whilst the Persian dames, as thy traine past,
Their pretious incence in abundance cast.
As
Cinthia from the waue-embatteld shrowdes,
Opening the West, comes streaming through the clowds,
With shining troupes of siluer-tressed stars,
Attending on her as her torch-bearers,
And all the lesser lights about her throne,
[Page] With admiration stand as lookers on;
Whilst she alone in height of all her pride,
The Queene of light, along her spheare doth glide,
When on thy tilt my horse like thunder came,
No other signall had I but thy name;
Thy voyce my trumpet, and my guide thine eyes,
And but thy beautie, I esteemde no prize.
That large-
[...]d Almaine of the Giants race,
Which bare strength on his breast, feare in his face,
Whose sinewde armes, with his steele-temperd blade,
Through plate and male such open passage made,
Vpon whose might the Frenchmens glory lay,
And all the hope of that victorious day;
Thou sawe'st thy
Brandon beate him on his knee,
Offring his shield a conquerd spoile to thee.
But thou wilt say perhaps I vainely boast,
And tell thee thee which thou already know'st.
No sacred Queene, my valour I denie,
It was thy beautie, not my chiualrie;
One of thy tressed curles which falling downe,
As loth to be imprisoned in thy crowne,
I saw the soft ayre sportiuely to take it,
To diuers shapes and sundry formes to make it,
Now parting it to foure, to three, to twaine,
Now twisting it, and then vntwist againe;
Then make the thrids to dally with thine eye,
A sunny candle for a golden flie.
At length from thence one little teare it got,
Which falling downe as though a star had shot,
My vp-turnde eye pursues it with my sight,
The which againe redoubleth all my might.
[Page 85] Tis but in vaine of my descent to boast,
When heauens lampe shines, all other lights be lost,
Faulcons gaze not, the Eagle sitting by,
Whose broode suruaies the sunne with open eye;
Else might my blood finde issue from his force,
In Bosworth plaine beate
Richard from his horse,
Whose puissant armes, great
Richmond chose to wield,
His glorious colours in that conquering field;
And with his sword in his deere Soueraignes fight,
To his last breath, stood fast in
Henries right;
Then beauteous Empresse, thinke this safe delay,
Shall be the euen to a ioyfull day;
Fore-sight doth still on all aduantage lie,
Wise-men must giue place to necessitie;
To put backe ill, our good we must forbeare,
Better first feare, then after still to feare.
T'were ouer-sight in that at which we aime,
To put the hazard on an after-game;
With patience then let vs our hopes attend,
And till I come, receiue these lines I send.
¶ Notes of the Chronicle-Historie.
When
Longauile to
Mary was affied.
THe Duke of Longauile, which was prisonet in England vpon the peace to be concluded betweene England and France, was deliuered, and married the Princesse Mary, for Lewes the French King his Maister.
How in a storme thy well rigg'd ships were tost,
And thou, &c.
As the Queene sailed for France, a mighty storme arose at sea, so that the Nauy was in great danger, and was seuered, some driuen vpon the coast of Flanders, some on Brittaine: the ship [Page] wherein the Queene was, was driuen into the hauen at Bullen with very great danger.
When thou to Abuile heldst th'appointed day.
King Lewes met her by Abuile, neere to the Forrest of Arders, and brought her into Abuile with great solemnitie.
Appear'dst vnto him like the Queene of light.
Expressing the sumptuous attire of the Queene & her train, attended by the chiefe of the Nobility of England, with 36. Ladies, al in cloth of siluer, their horses trapped with crimson veluet.
A cripple King laid bed-rid long before.
King Lewes was a man of great yeeres troubled much with the gowt, so that he had long time before little vse of legs.
When Marques
Dorset, and the valiant
Graies,
The Duke of Suffolke when the proclamation came into England, of iusts to be holden in France at Paris, he for the Queenes sake his Mistris, obtained of the King to go thither: with whom went the Marquesse Dorset and his foure brothers, the Lord Clinton, Sir Edward Neuell, Sir Giles Chappell, Tho: Cheyney, which went all ouer with the Duke as his assistants.
When thou in triumph didst through Paris ride.
A true description of the Queenes entring into Paris, after her coronation performed at S. Dennis.
Then fiue great Dukes as did their places fall.
The Dukes of Alansoon, Burbon, Vandome, Longauile, Suffolke, with fiue Cardinalls.
That large-limd Almaine of the Giants race.
Francis Valoys, the Dolphin of France, enuying the glory that the Englishmen had obtained at the Tilt, brought in an Almaine secretly, a man thought almost of incomparable strength, which encountred Charles Brandon at Barriers, but the Duke grapling with him, so beate him about the head with the pumell of his sword, that the blood came out of the sight of his Caske.
Else might my blood finde issue from his force.
In Bosworth, &c.
Sir William Brandon Standard-bearer to the Earle of Richmond, (after Henry the 7.) at Bosworth field, a braue and gallant Gentleman, who was slaine by Richard there; this was father to this Charles Brandon Duke of Suffolke.
FINIS.
To my most deere friend Maister Henry Lucas, sonne to Edward Lucas Esquire.
SIR, to none haue I beene more beholding, then to your kinde parents, for (I must truly confesse) aboue the measure of my deserts: Many there be in England of whom for some particularity I might iustly chalenge greater merit had I not beene borne in so euill an howre, as to be poisoned with that gaule of ingratitude: to your selfe am I ingaged for many more curtesies then I imagined could euer haue beene found in one of so few yeeres: nothing doe I more desire, then that those hopes of your toward and vertuous youth, may proue so pure in the fruit, as they are faire in the bloome: long may you liue to their comfort that loue you most, and may I euer wish you the encrease of all good fortunes.
Yours euer, Mich: Drayton.
Henry Howard Earle of Surrey to Geraldine
The Argument.
Henry Howard, that true noble Earle of Surrey, and excellent Poet, falling in loue with Geraldine, descended of the noble family of the Fitzgeralds of Ireland, a faire and modest Lady, and one of the honourable maides to Queene Katherine Dowager: eternizeth her praises in many excellent Poemes, of rare and sundry inuentions: and after some few yeares being determined to see that famous Italy, the source and Helicon of all excellent Arts; first visiteth that renowned Florence, from whence the Geralds challenge their descent, from the antient family of the Geraldi; there in honour of his Mistresse be aduanceth her picture, and challengeth to maintaine her beautie by deedes of Armes, against all that durst appeare in the lists; where after the proofe of his braue and incomparable valour, whose arme crowned her beauty with eternall memory, he writeth this Epistle to his deerest Mistresse.
FRom learned Florence (long time rich in fame)
From whence thy race, thy noble grandsires came,
To famous England, the kinde nurse of mine,
Thy
Surrey sends to heauenly
Geraldine;
Yet let not
Thuscan thinke
I do her vvrong,
[Page 87] That I from thence write in my natiue tongue,
That in these harsh-tun'd cadences I sing,
Sitting so neare the Muses sacred spring,
But rather thinke her selfe adorn'd thereby,
That England reades the praise of Italie.
Though to the
Thuscan, I the smoothnes grant,
Our dialect no Maiestie doth want,
To set thy prayses in as hie a key,
As Fraunce, or Spaine, or Germanie, or they.
That day I quit the Fore-land of faire Kent,
And that my ship her course for Flanders bent;
Yet thinke I with how many a heauie looke,
My leaue of England and of thee I tooke,
And did intreat the tide (if it might be)
But to conuey me one sigh backe to thee,
Vp to the decke a billow lightly skips,
Taking my sigh, and downe againe it slips;
Into the gulfe it selfe, it headlong throwes,
And as a post to England-ward it goes;
As I sit wondring how the rough seas stird,
I might farre off perceiue a little bird,
Which as she faine from shore to shore would flie
Hath lost her selfe in the broad vastie skie,
Her feeble wing beginning to deceiue her,
The s
[...]a
[...] of life still gaping to bereaue her;
Vnto the ship she makes which she discouers,
And there (poore foole) a while for refuge houers,
And when at length her flagging pinion failes
Panting she hangs vpon the ratling sailes,
And being forc'd to loose her hold with paine,
Yet beaten off, she straight lights on againe,
[Page] And tosst with flaws, with storms, with wind, with wether,
Yet still departing thence, stil turneth thether,
Now with the poope, now with the prow doth beare,
Now on this side, now that, now here, now there,
Me thinkes these stormes should be my sad depart,
The seely helplesse bird is my poore bart,
The ship, to which for succour it repaires,
That is your selfe (regardlesse of my cares)
Of euery surge doth fall, or waue doth rise,
To some one thing I sit and moralize.
When for thy loue I left the Belgicke shore,
Diuine
Erasmus, and our famous
Moore,
Whose happy presence gaue me such delight;
As made a minute of a winters night;
With whom a while I staide at
Roterdame;
Now so renowned by
Erasmus name.
Yet euery houre did seeme a world of time;
Till I had seene that soule-reuiuing clime,
And thought the foggy Netherlands vnfit,
A watry soyle to clogge a fiery wit;
And as that wealthy
Germany I past,
Comming vnto the Emperours court at last,
Great learnd
Agrippa, so profound in Art,
Who the infernall secrets doth impart,
When of thy health I did desire to know,
Me in a glasse my
Geraldine did shew,
Sicke in thy bed, and for thou couldst not sleepe,
By a waxe tap
[...]r set thy light to keepe;
I doe remember thou didst reade that Ode,
Sent backe whilst I in
Thanet made abode,
Where as thou cam'st vnto the word of loue,
[Page 88] Euen in thine eies I sawe how passion stroue;
That snowy lawne which couered thy bed,
Me thought lookt white, to see thy cheeke so red,
Thy rosie cheeke oft changing in my sight,
Yet still was red, to see the lawne so white;
The little Taper which should giue thee light,
Me thought waxt dim, to see thy eie so bright;
Thine eie againe supplies the Tapers turne,
And with his beames doth make the taper burne,
The shrugging ayre about thy Temple hurles,
And wraps thy breath in little clowded curles,
And as it doth ascend it strait doth ceaze it,
And as it sinks, it presently doth raise it;
Canst thou by sicknes banish beautie so?
Which if put from thee, knowes not where to goe,
To make her shift, and for her succour seeke,
To euery riueld face, each bankrupt cheeke,
If health preseru'd, thou beautie still doost cherish,
If that neglected, beauty soone doth perish.
Care drawes on care, woe comforts woe againe,
Sorrow breeds sorrow, one griefe brings forth twaine,
If liue or die, as thou doost, so doe I,
If liue, I liue, and if thou die, I die,
One hart, one loue, one ioy, one griefe, one troth,
One good, one ill, one life, one death to both,
If
Howards blood, thou holdst as but too vile,
Or not esteemst of
Norsfolkes Princely stile,
If
Scotlands coate no marke of fame can lend,
That Lion placde in our bright siluer bend,
Which as a trophie beautifies our shield,
Since Scottish bloud discoloured
Floden field;
[Page] When the prowd
Cheuiot our braue Ensigne beare,
As a rich iewell in a Ladies haire,
And did faire
Bramstons neighbouring valies choke,
With clouds of Canons, fire disgorged smoke,
Or
Surreys Earledom insufficient be,
And not a dower so well contenting thee;
Yet am I one of great
Apollos heires,
The sacred Muses chalenge me for theirs.
By Princes, my immortall lines are sung,
My flowing verses grac'd with euery tung;
The little children when they learne to go,
By painfull mothers daded to and fro,
Are taught by s
[...]gred numbers to
[...]hea
[...]s
[...],
And haue their sweet-lips season'd with my verse;
When heauen would striue to do the best it can,
And put an Angels spirit into a man;
The vtmost power in that great worke doth spend,
When to the world a Poet it doth intend,
That little difference twixt the Gods and vs,
(By them confirm'd) distinguish'd onely thus;
Whom they in birth, ordaine to happie dayes,
The Gods commit their glorie to our prayse,
To eternall life when they dissolue their breath,
We likewise share a second power by death:
When time shall turne those Amber colours to gray,
My verse againe shall guild and make them gay,
And tricke them vp in knotted curles anew,
And in the Autumne giue a Summers hew;
That sacred power, that in my Inke remaines,
Shall put fresh blood into thy wither'd vaines,
And on thy red decay'd, thy whitenes dead,
[Page 89] Shall set a white, more white, a red, more red;
When thy dim sight thy glasse cannot descry.
Thy crazed mirrour cannot see thine eie;
My verse to tell, what eie, what mirrour was,
Glasse to thine eie, an eie vnto thy glasse,
Where both thy mirrour and thine eie shall see,
What once thou sawst, in that, that saw in thee,
And to them both shall tell the simple trueth,
What that in purenesse was, vvhat thou in youth.
If Florence once should loose her olde renovvne,
As famous
Athens, novv a fisher tovvne,
My lines for thee a Florence shall erect,
Which great
Apollo euer shall protect,
And with the numbers from my penne that falls,
Bring marble mines to re-erect those walls;
Nor beauteous
Stanhope, whom all tongues report,
To be the glory of the English Court,
Shall by our nation be so much admirde,
If euer
Surrey truely were inspirde.
And famous
Wyat, who in numbers sings,
To that inchanting
Thracian harpers strings,
To whome
Phoebus (the Poets god) did drinke,
A bowle of Nectar filld vnto the brinke,
And sweet-tongd
Bryan, (whom the Muses kept,
And in his Cradle rockt him whilst he slept,)
In sacred verses (so diuinely pend)
Vpon thy praises euer shall attend.
What time
I came vnto this famous towne,
And made the cause of my arriuall knovvne,
Great
Medices a list (for triumphs) built,
Within the vvhich, vpon a
[...]ree of gilt,
[Page] With thousand sundry rare deuises set,)
I did erect thy louely counterfet,
To answer those Italian dames desire,
Which daily came thy beautie to admire.
By which my lion in his gaping jawes
Holdeth my launce, and in his dreadfull pawes,
Reacheth my gauntlet vnto him that dare
A beauty with my
Geraldines compare.
Which when each manly valiant arme assaies,
After so many braue triumphant daies,
The glorious prize vpon my launce I bare,
By Heralds voyce proclaimde to be thy share;
The shiuered staues here for thy beautie broke,
with fierce encounters past at euery shocke,
when stormie courses answered cuffe for cuffe,
Denting prowde Beuers with the counter-buffe,
Vpon an altar burnt with holy flame,
And sacrifi
[...]de as ensence to thy fame.
Where, as the Phoenix from her spiced f
[...]me,
Renues herselfe in that she doth consume;
So from these sacred ashes liue we both,
Euen as that one
Arabian wonder dooth.
When to my chamber I my selfe retire,
Burnt with the sparkes that kindled all this fire,
Thinking of England which my hope containes,
The happy Ile where
Geraldine remaines,
Of Hunsdon, where those sweete celestiall eyne,
At first did pierce this tender breast of mine;
Of Hampton Court, and
Windsore, where abound
All pleasures that in Paradise werefound;
Neere that faire Castle is alittle groue,
[Page 90] With hanging rockes all couered from aboue,
Which on the bancke of louely
Thames doth stand,
Clipt by the water from the other land,
vvhose bushy top doth bid the Sun for beare,
And checkes those provvde beames that would enter there,
vvhose leaues still muttring as the ayre doth breathe;
vvith the svveet bubling of the streame beneathe,
Doth rocke the senses (whilst the small birds sing,)
Lulled asleepe vvith gentle murmuring,
vvhere light-soote Fairies sport at prison base,
No doubt there is some povver frequents the place,
There the soft poplar and smoothe beech doe beare,
Our names together carued euery where,
And Gordian knots doe curiously entwine,
The names of
Henry, and of
Geraldine.
Olet this Groue in happy times to come,
Be calld,
The Louers blessde Elizium,
Whither my Mist
[...]is vvonted to resort,
In summers heate in pleasant shades to sport,
A thousand sundry names I haue it giuen,
And calld it Wonder-hider, Couer-heauen,
The roofe vvhere Beautie her rich Court doth keepe,
Vnder vvhose compasse all the Starres doe sleepe.
There is one tree vvhich now I call to minde,
Doth beare these verses carued in his rinde:
When Geraldine
shall sit in thy faire shade,
Fanne her sweete tresses with perfumed aire,
Let thy large bonghes a Canopie be made,
To keepe the Sunne from gazing on my faire,
And when thy spredding braunched armes be suncke,
And thou no sap nor pith shalt more retaine,
[Page]
Eu'n from the dust of thy vnweldy Truncke,
I will renue thee Phoenix like againe,
And from thy drie decayed roote will bring,
Anew-borne Stem, another Aesons spring.
I finde no cause, nor iudge I reason why
My country should giue place to
Lombardy,
As goodly flowers on
Thamisis doe growe,
As beautifie the bankes of wanton
Po;
As many Nymphs as haunt rich
Arnus strand,
By siluer
Sabrine tripping hand in hand,
Our shades as sweete, though not to vs so deere,
Because the sunne hath greater power heere.
This distant place but giues me greater woe,
Farre off, my sighs the farther haue to goe,
Ah absence! why thus shouldst thou seeme so long?
Or wherefore shouldst thou offer Time such wrong?
Summer so soone, should steale on winters colde,
Or winters blasts, so soone make summer olde?
Loue did vs both with one selfe arrow strike,
Our wounds both one, our cure should be the like,
Except thou hast found out some meane by art,
Some powrefull medicine to withdraw the darte,
But mine is fixt, and absents physicke proued,
It stickes too fast, it cannot be remoued.
Adiew, adew, from
Florence when I goe,
By my next letters
Geraldine shall know,
Which if good fortune shall my course direct,
From
Venice by some messenger exspect,
Till when, I leaue thee to thy hearts desire,
By him that liues thy vertues to admire.
¶ Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
From learned Florence, long time rich in fame.
FLorence a Citty of Thuscan, standing vpon the Riuer Arnus, (celebrated by Dante Petrarch, and other the most noble wits of Italie) was the originall of the familie, out of which this Geral line did spring, as Ireland the place of her birth, which is intimated by these verses of the Earle of Surrey.
From
Thuscan came my Ladies worthy race,
Faire
Florence was sometime her ancient seate,
The Westerne Ile, whose pleasant shore doth face
Wilde Cambers cliffs, did giue her liuely heate.
Great learn'd
Agrippa, so profound in Art.
Cornelius Agrippa, a man in his time so famous for Magicke (which the bookes published by him, concerning that argument, do partly proue) as in this place needes no further remembrance. Howbeit, as those abstruse and gloomy Arts are but illusions: so in the honour of so rare a Gentleman as this Earle, (and therewithall so noble a Poet) (a quality, by which his other titles receiue their greatest lustre) inuention may make somewhat more bold with Agrippa aboue the barren truth.
That Lion set in our bright siluer bend.
The blazon of the Howards honorable armour, was Gules betweene six crosselets Fitches abend Argent, to which afterwards was added by atchieuement, In the Canton point of the bend an escutcheon, or within the Scottish tressure, a Demi-lion rampant Gules, &c. as Maister Camden now Clerenceaulx from authoritie noteth. Neuer shall time nor bitter enuie be able to obscure the brightnesse of so great a victory as that, for which this addition was obtained. The Historian of Scotland George Bucchanan reporteth, that the Earle of Surrey gaue for his badge a Siluer Lion, (which from antiquitie belonged to that name) tearing in peeces A Lion prostrate Gules; and withall, that this which he termes insolencie, was punished in him and his posteritie, as if it were fatall to the Conquerour, [Page] to doe his Soueraigne such loyall seruice as a thousand such seuere censurers were neuer able to performe.
Since Scottish blood discoloured Floden field.
The batttle was fought at Bramstone neere Floden hill, being a part of the Cheuiot, a mountaine that exceedeth all the mountaines in the North of England for bignesse, in which the wilfull periurie of Iames the fifth was punished from heauen by the Earle of Surrey, being left by King Henry the eight (then in France before Turwin) for the defence of his Realme.
Nor beauteous
Stanhope, whom all tongues report
To be the glory, &c.
Of the beautie of that Lady, he himselfe testifies in an Elegie which he writ of her, refusing to daunce with him, which hee seemeth to alegorize vnder a Lion and a Wolfe. And of himselfe he saith:
A Lion saw I late, as white as any snow,
And of her.
I might perceiue a Wolfe as white as Whales bone,
A fairer beast, of fresher hue, beheld I neuer none,
But that her lookes were coy, and froward was her grace.
And famous
Wyat who in numbers sings.
Sir Thomas Wyat the elder, a most excellent Poet, as his Poems extant doe witnesse, besides certaine Encomions written by the Earle of Surrey vppon some of Dauids Psalmes, by him translated.
What holy graue, what worthy Sepulchre,
To
Wyats Psalmes shall Christians purchase then.
And afterward vpon his death the said Earle writeth thus:
What vertues rare were tempred in thy breast?
Honour that England such a iewell bred,
And kisse the ground whereas thy corpes did rest.
At Honsdon, where those sweete cel-stiall eyne,
It is manifest by a Sonnet written by this noble Earle, that the first time he beheld his Lady, was at Hunsdon.
Hunsdon did first present her to mine eyne.
Which Sonnet being altogether a description of his loue, I do alleadge in diuers places of this glosse, as proofes of what I write.
That he enioyed the presence of his faire and vertuous Mistris, in those two places, by reason of Queene Katherines vsuall aboad there, (on whom this Lady Geraldine was attending) I proue by these verses of his:
Hampton me tanght to wish her first for mine,
Windsor alas doth chase me from her sight.
And in another Sonnet following:
When Winsor walls sustainde my wearied arme,
My hand my chin, to ease my restlesse head.
And that his delight might draw him to compare Winsor to Paradice, an Elegy may proue, where he remembreth his passed pleasures in that place.
With a Kings sonne my childish yeeres I pass'd,
In greater feast then
Priams sonne of Troy.
And againe in the same Elegie;
Those large greene Courts, where we were wont to roue
With eyes cast vp vnto the maidens Tower,
With easie sighs, such as men draw in loue.
And againe in the same:
The stately seates, the Ladies bright of hue,
The dances short, long tales of sweete delight.
And for the pleasantnesse of the place, these verses of his may testifie in the same Elegie before recited.
The secret groues which we haue made resound,
With siluer drops the meads yet spread for ruth.
As goodly flowers from Thamisis doe growe, &c.
I had thought in this place not to haue spoken of Thames, being so oft remembred by mee before, in sundry other places on this occasion: but thinking of that excellent Epigram, which, as I iudge, either to bee done by the said Earle, or Sir Frauncis Brian: for the worthinesse thereof I will heere insert, which, as it seemes to me, was compiled at the Authors being in Spaine.
Tagus farewell, which Westward with thy streames,
Turn'st vp the graines of gold already tride,
For I withspur and saile go seeke the Thames,
Against the Sunne that shewes her wealthy pride;
And to the towne that
Brutus sought by dreames,
Like bended Moone that leanes her lusty side,
To seeke my Country now, for whom I liue,
O mighty
Ioue, for this the windes me giue.
FINIS.
Geraldine to Henry Howard Earle of Surrey.
SVch greeting as the noble
Surrey sends,
The same to thee thy
Geraldine commends;
A maidens thoughts do checke my trembling hand,
On other termes, or complements to stand,
Which (might my speech be as my heart affords)
Should come attired in farre richer vvords;
But all is one, my faith as firme shall proue,
As hers that makes the greatest shevv of loue.
In
Cupids Schoole
I neuer read those bookes.
vvhose lectures oftvve practise in our lookes,
Nor euer did suspitions riuall eye,
Yet lie in vvaite my fauours to espie,
My virgine thoughts are innocent and meeke,
As the chaste blushes sitting on my cheeke:
[Page 93] As in a feuer I do shiuer yet,
Since first my pen was to the paper set.
If I do erre, you know my sexe is weake,
Feare proues a fault, where maids are forc'd to speake;
Do I not ill? ah sooth me not heerein,
O, if I doe, reproue me of my sin,
Chide me infaith, or if my fault you hide,
My tongue will teach my selfe, my selfe to chide.
Nay noble
Surrey, blot it if thou wilt,
Then too much boldnesse should returne my guilt;
For that should be euen from our selues concealde,
Which is disclosde, if to our thoughts reuealde,
For the least motion, more the smallest breath,
That may impeach our modestie, is death;
The page that brought thy letters to my hand,
(Me thinks) should meruaile at my strange demand,
For till he blush'd I did not yet espie,
The nakednesse of my immodestie,
Which in my face he greater might haue seene,
But that my sanne
I quickly put betweene;
Yet scarcely that my inward guilt could hide,
Feare seeing all, feares it of all espide.
Like to a taper lately burning bright,
Now wanting matter to maintaine his light.
The blaze ascending forced by the smoke,
Liuing by that which seekes the same to choke;
The flame still hanging in the ayre, doth burne,
Vntill drawne downe, it backe againe returne.
Then cleere, then dim, then spreadeth, & then closeth,
Now getteth strength, and now his brightnesse loseth.
As well the best discerning eye may doubt,
[Page] Whether it yet be in, or whether out:
Thus in my cheeke my diuers passions shew'd,
Now ashy pale, and now againe it glow'd;
If in your verse there be a power to moue,
It's you alone, who are the cause I loue,
It's you bewitch my bosome by mine eare,
Vnto that end
I did not place you there.
Ayres to asswage the bloody souldiers minde,
Poore women, we are naturally kinde.
Perhaps you'le thinke that
I these termes enforce,
For that in Court this kindenesse is of course,
Or that it is that honny-steeped gall,
We oft are said to bait our loues withall,
That in one eye we carry strong desire,
The other drops which quickly quench the fire;
Ah, what so false can Enuy speake of vs,
But shall finde some too vainely credulous?
I do not so, and to adde proofe thereto,
I loue in faith, in faith sweete Lord
I do;
Nor let the enuie of enuenom'd tongues,
Which still is grounded on poore Ladies wrongs,
Thy noble breast diasterly possesse,
By any doubt to make my loue the lesse:
My house from
Florence I do not pretend,
Nor from
Giraldi claime
I to descend,
Nor hold those honours insufficient are,
That
I receiue from
Desmond or
Kyldare;
Nor adde
I greater worth vnto my blood,
Than Irish milke to giue me infant food,
Nor better ayre will euer boast to breathe,
Then that of
Lemster, Mounster, or of
Meathe,
[Page 94] Nor craue
I other forraine farre alies,
Then
Windsor or
Fitz-geralds families.
It is enough to leaue vnto my heires,
If they will but acknowledge me for theires.
To what place euer did the Court remoue,
But that the howse giues matter to my loue,
At Windsor still
I see thee sit and walke,
There mount thy Courser, there deuise, there talke:
The roabes, the garter, and the state of Kings,
Into my thoughts thy hoped greatnes brings;
Non such, the name imports (me thinks) so much,
None such as thou, nor as my Lord, none such,
In Hamptons great magnificence
I finde,
The liuely image of thy princely minde,
Faire Richmonds Towers like goodly pillars stand,
Rearde by the power of thy victorious hand;
White-halls triumphing galleries are yet
Adornde with rich deuises of thy wit,
In Greenewich yet as in a glasse
I view,
Where last thou badst thy
Geraldine adiew,
VVith euery little gentle breath that blowes,
How are my thoughts confusde with ioyes & woes,
As through a gate, so through my longing eares,
Passe to my hart whole multitudes of feares;
O in a map that
I might see thee show,
The place where now in danger thou doost goe!
VVhilst we discourse to trauaile with our eye,
Romania, ruscaine, and faire Lumbardy,
Or with thy pen exactly to set downe,
The modell of that Tempell, or that Towne,
And to relate at large where thou hast beene,
[Page] And there, and there, and what thou there hast seene.
Or to describe by figure of thy hand,
There
Naples lies, and there doth
Florence stand;
Or as the Grecians finger dip'd in wine,
Drawing a Riuer in a little line,
And with a drop, a gulfe to figure out,
To modell
Venice moted round about;
Then adding more, to counterfet a Sea,
And draw the front of stately
Genoa.
These from thy lips were like harmonious tones,
Which now do found like
Mandrakes dreadful grones.
Some trauell hence t'enrich their mindes with skill,
Leaue heere their good, and bring home others ill:
VVhich seeme to like all Countries but their owne,
Affecting most where they the least are knowne.
Their leg, their thigh, their back, their neck, their head,
As they had been in seuerall Countries bred;
In their attire, their jesture, and their gate,
Fond in each one, in all Italionate.
So well in all deformitie in fashion,
Borrowing a limbe on euery seuerall Nation,
And nothing more then England hold in scorne,
So liue as strangers where as they were borne.
But thy returne in this
I do not reede,
Thou art a perfect Gentleman indeede;
O God forbid that
Howards noble line,
From ancient vertue should so farre decline,
The Muses traine (whereof your selfe are chiefe)
Onely with me participate their griefe:
To sooth their humors,
I do lend them eares,
He giues a Poet, that his verses heares,
[Page 95] Till thy returne, by hope they onely liue;
Yet had they all, they all avvay would giue:
The world and they, so ill according be,
That wealth and Poets neuer can agree.
Few liue in Court that of their good haue care,
The Muses friends are euery where so rare;
Some praise thy worth (that it did neuer know,)
Onely because the better sort doe so,
Whose iudgement neuer further doth extend,
Then it doth please the greatest to commend,
So great an ill vpon desert doth chaunce,
When it doth passe by beastly ignoraunce.
Why arte thou slacke whilst no man puts his hand
To raise the mount vvhere
Surreys tovvers must stand▪
Or who the groundsill of that worke doth lay
Whilst like a wandrer thou abroade doost stray?
Clipt in the armes of some lasciuious dame,
When thou shouldst reare an
[...]on to thy name.
When shall the Muses by faire
Norwhich dvvell,
To be the Cittie of the learned VVell?
Or
Phoebus altars there with incense heapt,
As once in
Cyrrha, or in
Thebe kept?
Or vvhen shall that faire hoofe-plowd spring distill
From great mount
Surrey, out of
Leonards hill;
Till thou returne, the Court I will exchange
For some poore cottage, or some countrey Grange,
Where to our distaues as we sit and spin,
My maide and I will tell of things haue bin,
Our Lutes vnstrung shall hang vpon the wall,
Our lessons serue to wrap our Towe withall,
And passe the night, whiles winter tales we tell,
[Page] Of many things that long ago befell;
Or tune such homely Carrols as were sung
In Countrey sports when we our selues were yung.
In prettie R
[...]ddles to bewray our loues,
In questions, purpose, or in drawing gloues.
The nob est spirits to vertue most inclind,
These heere in Court thy greatest want do find.
Other there be, on which we feede our eye,
Like Arras worke or such like Imagerie;
Many of vs desire Queene
Katherines state,
[...]ut very few her vertues imitate.
Then, as
Vlyffes wife vvrite
I to thee,
Make no reply, but come thy selfe to me.
¶ Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
Then Windsore, or
Fitzgeralds families.
THE cost of many Kings, which from time to time haue adorned the Castle at Windsor with their princely magnificence, [...]at [...] made it more noble then that it need to hee spoken of now, as though obscure, and I hold it more meet to referre you to our [...] monuments for the founders and finishers thereof, then to meddle with matter nothing neere to the purpose. As for the family of the Fitz-gerald, of whence this excellent Lady was line [...]lly discended, the original was English, though the branches did pr [...]d themselues into distant places & names nothing cōsonant, [...] in former times it was vsual to denominate themselues of their [...]nanours o [...] [...]orenames: as may partly appeare in that which en [...]u [...]th the light whereof proceeded from my learned and verie [...] friend, Maister Francis Thinne, Walter of Windsor, the [...]onne of Oterus, had issue William, of whom Henry now Lord Windsor is discended, and Robert of Windsor, of whom Robert [Page] the now Earle of Essex, and Gerald of Windsor his third sonne, who married the daughter of R [...]es the great Prince of Wales, of whom came Nesta, para [...]our to Henry the first. Which Gerald had issue Maurice Fitz-gerald, auncestor to Thomas Fitz-maurice, Iustice of Ireland buried at Trayly; leauing issue Iohn his eldest sonne, first Earle of Kildare, ancestor to Geraldine, and Maurice his second sonne, first earle of Des [...]oond.
To raisethe mount where
Surreys Towers must stand,
Alludeth to the sumptuous house which was afterward builded by him vpon Leonards hill right against Norwich, which in the rebellion of Norffolke vnder Ket, inking Edward the 6. time, was much defaced by that impure rabble. Betvvixt the hil and the Citie, as Alexander Neuill describes it, the riuer of Yarmouth runs, hauing West and South thereof a wood, and a little Village called Thorpe, and on the North, the pastures of Mousholl, which containes about sixe miles in length and breadth. So that besides the stately greatnes of Mount-Surrey, which was the houses name: the prospect and site thereof was passing pleasant and commodious; and no where else did that encreasing euill of the Norffolke furie enk [...]nnell it selfe but then there, as it were for a manifest token of their intent, to debase all high things, and to prophaneall holy.
Like Arras worke, or other imagerie.
Such was he whom [...]uenall taxeth in this manner.
—truncoque similimus Hermae
Nullo quippe al
[...]o vineis discrimine quamquod,
Illi marmoreum caput est, tua v
[...]it image.
Being to be borne for nothing else but apparell and the outward appearance, intituled Complement, with whom theridiculous fable of the Ape in Esope sorteth fitly, who comming into a Caruers house, and viewing many Marble workes, tooke vp the head of a man very cunningly wrought, who greatly in praysing did seeme to pittie it, that hauing so comely an outside, it had nothing within, like emptie figures walke and talke in euery place, at whom the noble Geraldine modestly glanceth.
Finis.
To the virtuous Lady, the Lady Francis Goodere, wife to sir Henry Goodere, Knight.
MY very gratious and good Mistris, the loue and duety I bare unto your father whilst he liued, now after his decease is to your hereditarie; to whome by the blessing of your birth he left his vertues. Who bequeathed you those which were his, gaue you whatsoeuer good is mine, as deuoted to his, he being gone, whome I honoured so much whilest he liued; which you may iustly challenge by all lawes of thankefulnesse. My selfe hauing beene a witnesse of your excellent education, and milde disposition (as I may say) euer from your Cradle, dedicate this Epistle of this vertuous and godly Lady to your selfe; so like her in all perfection, both of wisedome and learning, which I pray you accept, till time shall enable me to leaue you some greater monument of my loue.
M. Drayton.
The Lady Jane Gray to the Lord Gilford Dudley.
The Argument.
After the death of that vertuous young Prince King Edward the sixt, the sonne of that famous King Henry the eight, Iane the daughter of Henry Gray, Duke of Suffolke by the consent of Iohn Dudley Duke of Northumberland, was proclaimed Queene of England, being married to Gilford Dudley, the fourth sonne of the fore-said Duke of Northumberland; which match was concluded by their ambitious fathers, who went about by this meanes, to bring the Crowne vnto their children and to dispossesse the Princesse Mary eldest daughter to King Henry the eight, heire to King Edward her brother. Queene Mary rising in Armes to claime her rightfull Crowne, taketh the saide Iane Gray and the Lord Gilford her husband, being lodged in the Tower for their more safetie, which place being lastly their Pallace, by this meanes became their prison, where being seuered in sundry prisons, they write these Epistles one to another.
MIne own deere Lord, sith thou art lockt frō mee,
In this disguise my loue must steale to thee,
Since to renue all loues, all kindnesse past,
This refuge scarcely left, yet this the last.
[Page] My Keeper comming, I of thee enquire,
Who with thy greeting answers my desire,
Which my tongue willing to returne againe,
Griefe stops my words, and I but striue in vaine;
Wherewith amazde, away in haste he goes,
When throgh my lips, my hart thrusts forth my woes,
Whenas the dores that make a dolefull sound,
Driue backe my words, that in the noise are drownd,
Which somewhat hush'd, the Eccho doth record,
And twice or thrice reiterates my word;
When like an aduerse winde in
Isis course,
Against the tide bending his boistrous force;
But when the flood hath wrought it selfe about,
He following on, doth head-long thrust it out;
Thus striue my fighes with teares e're they begin,
And breaking out, againe sighes driue them in.
A thousand formes present my troubled thought,
Yet proue abortiue when they forth are brought,
The depth of woe with words wee hardely sound,
Sorrow is so insensibly profound:
As teares do fall and rise, sighes come and goe,
So do these numbers ebbe, so do they flow.
These briny teares do make my incke looke pale,
My incke clothes teares in this sad mourning vaile,
The letters mourners, weepe with my dim eye,
The paper pale, grieu'd at my misery.
Yet miserable our selues, why should we deeme,
Sith none is so, but in his owne esteeme?
Who in distresse from resolution flies,
Is rightly said, to yeelde to miseries;
They which begot vs, did beget this sin,
[Page 98] They first begun, what did our griefe begin,
we tasted not, t'was they which did rebell,
Not our offence, but in their fall we fell;
They which a crowne would to my Lord haue linckt,
All hope of life and liberty extinct;
A subiect borne, a Soueraigne to haue beene,
Hath made me now, nor subiect, nor a Queene.
Ah vile ambition, how doost thou deceiue vs,
which shew'st vs heauen and yet in hell doost leaue vs?
Seldome vntouch'd doth innocence escape,
when error commeth in good counsailes shape,
A lawfull title countercheckes prowd might,
The weakest things become strong props to right.
Then my deere Lord, although affliction grieue vs,
Yet let our spotlesse innocence relieue vs.
Death but an acted passion doth appeare,
where truth giues courage, and the conscience cleere,
And let thy comfort thus consist in mine,
That I beare part of whatsoe're is thine;
As when we liude vntouch'd with these disgraces,
whenas our kingdome was our deere embraces;
At Durham Pallace, where sweete
Hymen sang,
whose buildings with our nuptiall musicke rang:
when
Prothalamions praisde that happy day,
wherein great
Dudley match'd with noble
Gray,
when they deuisde to lincke by wedlockes band,
The house of Suffolke to Northumberland;
Our fatall Dukedome to your Dukedome bound,
To frame this building on so weake a ground.
For what auailes a lawlesse vsurpation,
which giues a Scepter, but not rules a Nation?
[Page] Onely the surfet of a vaine opinion,
What giues content, giues what exceedes dominion.
When first mine eares were pierced with the fame,
Of
Iane proclaimed by a Princesse name,
A suddaine fright my trembling heart appalls,
The feare of conscience entreth yron walls.
Thrice happy for our fathers had it beene,
If what we fearde, they wisely had fore-seene,
And kept a meane gate in an humble path,
To haue escapde the heauens impetuous wrath,
The true-bred Eagle strongly beares the winde,
And not each bird that's neere vnto their kinde,
That like a King, doth from the clowdes command,
The fearefull fowle that moues but neere the Land,
Though
Mary be from mighty Kings descended,
My blood not from
Plantaginet pretended;
My gransire
Brandon did our house aduance,
By princely
Mary, Dowager of France;
The fruit of that faire stocke which did combine,
And Yorkes sweete branch with Lancasters entwine,
And in one stalke did happily vnite,
The pure vermilion Rose, with purer white;
I the vntimely slip of that rich stem,
Whose golden bud brings forth a Diadem.
But oh forgiue me Lord, it is not I,
Nor do I boast of this, but learne to die,
Whilst we were as our selues conioyned then,
Nature to nature, now an alien.
The purest blood, polluted is in blood,
Neerenes contemn'd, if soueraignty withstood;
A Diadem once dazeling the eye,
[Page 99] The day too darke to see affinitie;
And where the arme is stretch'd to reach a Crowne,
Friendship is broke, the deerest thing throwne downe;
For what great
Henry most stroue to auoide,
The heauens haue built, where earth would haue destroide,
And seating
Edward on his regall throne,
He giues to
Mary, all that was his owne,
By death assuring what by life is theirs,
The lawfull claime of
Henries lawfull he
[...]res.
By mortall lawes the bound may be diuorc'd,
But heauens decree by no meanes can be forc'd:
That rules the case, when men haue all decreed,
Who tooke him hence, fore-saw who should succeed,
For we in vaine relie on humaine lawes,
Whē heauen stands forth to plead the righteous cause,
Thus rule the heauens in their continuall course,
That yeeldes to fate, that doth not yeelde to force.
Mans wit doth build for time but to deuoure,
But vertue's free from time and fortunes powre;
Then my kinde Lord, sweete
Gilford be not grieu'd,
The soule is heauenly, and from heauen relieu'd;
And as we once haue plighted troth together,
Now let vs make exchange of mindes to either;
To thy faire breast take my resolued minde,
Armde against blacke dispaire, and all her kinde,
And to my bosome breathe that soule of thine,
There to be made as perfect as is mine;
So shall our faith as firmely be approued,
As I of thee, or thou of me beloued.
This life no life, were thou not deere to mee,
Nor this no death, were I not woe for thee.
[Page] Thou my deere husband, and my Lord before,
But truely learne to die, thou shalt be more.
Now liue by prayer, on heauen fixe all thy thought,
And surely finde, what e're by zeale is sought;
For each good motion that the soule awakes,
A heauenly figure sees, from whence it takes
That sweete resemblance, which by power of kinde,
Formes (like it selfe) an image in the minde,
And in our faith the operations bee,
Of that diuinenesse which through that we see;
Which neuer erres, but accidentally,
By our fraile fleshes imbecillitie;
By each temptation ouer-apt to slide,
Except our spirit becomes our bodies guide;
For as these Towers our bodies do inclose
Their prisons, so vnto our soules suppose
Our bodies, stopping that celestiall light,
As these do hinder our exterior sight;
Whereon death seasing, doth discharge the debt,
And vs at blessed liberty doth set.
Then draw thy forces all vnto thy heart,
The strongest fortresse of this earthly part,
And on these three let thy assurance lie,
On faith, repentance, and humilitie;
By which to heauen ascending by degrees,
Persist in prayer vpon your bended knees;
Whereon if you assuredly be staide,
You neede in perill not to be distnaide,
Which still shall keepe you that you shall not fall,
For any perill that you can appall;
The key of heauen thus will
[...] you, you shall beare,
[Page 100] And grace you guiding, giue you entrance there,
And you of those celestiall ioyes possesse,
Which mortal tongue's vnable to expresse.
Then thanke the heauen, preparing vs this roome,
Crowning our heads with glorious martiredome,
Before the blacke and dismall daies beginne,
The daies of all idolatry and sinne,
Not suffering vs to see that wicked age,
When persecution vehemently shall rage,
When tyranny n
[...]w tortures shall inuent,
Inflicting vengeance on the innocent.
Yet heauen forbids, that
Maries wombe shall bring,
Englands faire Scepter to a forraigne King,
But vnto faire
Elizabeth shall leaue it,
Which broken, hurt, and wounded, shall receiue it;
And on her temples hauing placde the Crowne,
Roote out the dregs Idolatry hath sowne;
And
Syons glory shall againe restore,
Laid ruine, waste, and desolate before;
And from blacke sinders, and rude heapes of stones,
Shall gather vp the Martires sacred bones,
And shall extirpe the power of
Rome againe,
And cast aside the heauie yoke of Spaine.
Farewell sweete
Gilford, know our end is neere,
Heauen is our home, we are but strangers heere.
Let vs make haste to goe vnto the blest,
Which from these weary worldly labours rest,
And with these lines my deerest Lord I greete thee,
Vntill in heauen thy
Iane againe shall meet thee.
¶ Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
They which beg
[...]t vs did beget this si
[...]ne.
SHewing the ambition of the two Dukes their Fathers, whose pride was the cause of the vtter ouerthrow of their children.
At Durham Pallace where sweete
Hymen sang,
The buildings, &c.
The Lord Gilford Dudley, fourth sonne to Iohn Dudley Duke of Northumberland, married the Lady Iane Grey, daughter to the Duke of Suffolke at Durham house in the Strand.
When first mine eares were pierced with the fame,
Of
Iane proclaimed by a princes name
Presently vpon the death of King Edward, the Lady Iane was taken as Queene, conueyed by water to the Tower of London for her safetie, and after proclaimed in diuers parts of the realme, as so ordained by king Edwards Letters-pattents, and his will.
My Grandsire
Brandon did our house aduaunce
By princely
Mary, dowager of Fraunce.
Henry Gray, duke of Suffolk, married Frauncis the eldest daughter of Charles Brandon Duke of Suffolke, by the French Queene, by which Frauncis he had this Lady Iane: this Mary the French Queene, was daughter to king Henry the seuenth, by Elizabeth his Queene, which happie mariage conioyned the two noble families of Lancaster and Yorke.
For what great
Henry most stroue to auoyde,
Noting the distrust that King Henry the eight euer had in the Princesse Mary his daughter, fearing she should alter the state of Religion in the land, by matching with a stranger, confessing the right that King Henries issue had to the Crowne.
And vnto faire
Elizabeth shall leaue it.
A prophecie of Queene Maries barrennesse, and of the happie and glorious raigne of Queene Elizabeth, her restoring of Religion, the abolishing of the Romish seruitude, and casting aside the yoke of Spaine.
¶ Gilford Dudley to Iane Gray.
AS the Swanne singing at his dying howre,
So I reply from my imprisning towre:
O could there be that powre but in my verse,
To expresse the griefe my wounded heart doth pierce!
The very walles that straitly thee inclose,
Would surely weepe at reading of my woes;
Let your eies lend, Ile pay you euery teare,
And giue you intrest, if you doe forbeare,
Drop for a drop, and if youle needes haue lone,
I will repay you franckly, two for one.
Perhaps youle thinke (your sorrowes to appease)
That words of comfort fitter were than these:
True, and in you when such perfection liueth,
As in most griefe most comfort alwaies giueth:
And thinke not
(Iane) that cowardly I faint,
To begge mans mercy by my sad complaint,
That death so much my courage can controule,
At the departing of my liuing roule.
For if one life a thousand liues could bee,
All those too few to consummate with thee,
When thou this crosse so patiently doost beare,
As if thou wert incapable of feare,
And doost no more this desolution flie,
Than if long age constrained thee to die:
[Page] Yet it is strange thou arte become my foe,
And onely now add'st most vnto my woe,
Not that I loathe, that most did me delight,
But that so long depriued of thy sight;
For when I speake, and would complaine my wrong.
Straitwayes thy name possesseth all my tong,
As thou before me ouermore didst lie
The present obiect to my longing eie.
No ominous starte did at thy birth tide shine,
That might of thy sad destiny diuine;
Tis onely I that did thy fall perswade,
And thou by me a sacrifice arte made,
As in those countries where the louing wiues
With their kinde husbands end their happy liues,
And crownd with garlands in their Brides attire,
Burne with his body in the funerall fire;
And she the worthiest reckned is of all,
Whome loast the perill seemeth to appall.
I boast not of
Northumberland great name,
Nor of
Ket conquered, adding to our fame,
When he to
Norffolke with his armies sped,
And thence in chaines the rebells captiue led;
And brought safe peace returning to our dores,
Yet soread his glory on the easterne shores,
Not of my brothers, from whose naturall grace,
Vertue may spring to beautifie our Race,
Not of
Grates match my children borne by thee,
Of the great blood indoubtedly to bee,
But of thy vertues onely doe I boast,
That wherein I may iustly glory most:
I crau'd no kingdomes though I thee did craue,
[Page 102] It might suffice thy onely selfe to haue,
Yet let me say how-euer it befell,
Me thinkes a Crowne should haue become thee well:
For sure thy wisedome merited (or none)
To haue beene heard with wonder from a throne.
When from thy lippes the counsell to each deede,
Doth as from some wise oracle proceede,
And more esteemd thy vertues were to mee,
Then all that else might euer come by thee;
So chaste thy loue, so innocent thy life,
As being a virgine when thou wert a wife,
So great a gift the heauen on me bestow'd,
As giuing that it nothing could haue ow'd,
Such was the good I did possesse of late,
Ere worldly cares disturbde our quiet state,
Ere trouble did in euery place abound,
And angry warre our former peace did wound.
This is all that ambition vs affordes,
One crowne is guarded with a thousand swords,
To meane estates, meane sorrowes are out showne,
But crowns h
[...] cares whose workings be vnknowne,
When
Dudley led his armies to the east,
Of our whole forces generally possest,
What then was thought his enter prise could let,
Whome a graue counsell freely did abet,
That had the iudgement of the powrefull lawes,
In euery poynt to iustifie the cause,
The holy Church a helping hand that layde,
Who would haue thought that these could not haue swayde:
But what alas can parlements auaile,
Where
Maries right must
Edwards Act
[...]
Northumberland doth leaue
Northumberland;
And they that should our greatnes vndergoe,
Vs, and our actions onely ouerthrow,
Ere greatnes gain'd we giue it all our hart,
But being once come, could wish it would depart,
And indescreetly follow that so fast,
Which ouertaken punisheth our haste;
If any one doe pitty our offence,
Let him be sure that it be farre from hence:
Heere is no place for any one that shall,
So much as (once) commiserate our fall;
And we of mercy vainely should but thinke,
Our timelesse teares th'insatiate earth doth drinke.
All lamentations vtterly forlorne,
Dying before they fully can be borne.
Mothers that should their woefull children rue,
Fathers in death too kindely bid adue.
Friends their deare farewell louingly to take,
The faithfull seruant weeping for our sake.
Brothers and sisters waiting on our beere,
Mourners to tell what we were liuing heare:
But we alas depriued are of all,
So fatall is our miserable fall,
And where at first for safety we were shut
Now in darke prison wofully are put,
And from height of our ambitious state,
Lie to repent our arrogance too late,
To thy perswasion thus I then reply,
Holde on thy course resolued still to die,
And when we shall so happily be gone,
[Page 103] Leaue it to heauen to giue the rightfull throne,
And with that health regreet
I thee againe,
Which I of late did gladly entertaine.
Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
Not of
Ket conquered adding to our fame;
IOhn Duke of Northumberland, when before he was Earle of Warwike in his expedition against Ket, ouerthrew the rebels of Norfolke and Suffolke, encamped at Mount-Surrey in Norfolke.
Nor of my brothers from whose naturall grace,
Gilford Dudley as remembring in this place the towardnesse of his brothers, which were all likely indeed to haue raised that house of the Dudleys, of which he was a fourth brother, if not suppressed by their fathers ouerthrow.
Nor of
Grayes match my children borne by thee,
Noting in this place the aliance of the Lady Iane Gray, by her mother, which was Francis the daughter of Charles Brandon, by Mary the French Queene, daughter to Henry the seuenth, and sister to Henry the eight.
To haue beene heard with wonder from a throne.
Seldome hath it euer beene knowne of any woman endued with such wonderfull gifts, as was this Ladie, both for her wisdome and learning, of whose skill in the tongues one reporteth by this Epigram.
Miraris
Ianam Graio, sermone valere,
Quo
[...]mum nata est tempore
Graia fuit.
When
Dudley led his armies to the East.
The Duke of Northumberland prepared his power at London for his expedition against the Rebels in Norfolke, and making haste away, appoynted the rest of his forces to meete him at [Page] Newmarket Heath: of whom this saying is reported, that passing through Shorditch, the Lord Gray in his companie, seeing the people in great numbers came to see him, he sayd, the people presse to see vs, but none bid God speed vs.
Whom a graue Councell freely did abet.
Iohn Dudley Duke of Northumberland, when he went out against Queene Mary, had his commission sealed for the generalship of the Army, by the consent of the whole Councell of the land; insomuch that passing through the Councell chamber at his departure, the Earle of Arundell wished that hee might haue gone with him in that expedition, and to spend his blood in the quarrell.
When Suffolks power doth
Suffolks hopes withstand,
Northumberland doth leane
Northumberland.
The Suffolke men were the first that euer resorted to Queene Mary in her distresse, repayring to her succours, whilst shee remained both at Keningall, and at Fermingham Castell, still increasing her aydes, vntill the Duke of Northumberland, was lest forsaken at Cambridge.
Finis.
THE worlds faire Rose, and
Henries frostie fire,
Iohns tiranny; and chaste
Matilda's wrong,
Th'inraged Queene, and furious
Mortimer,
The scourge of Fraunce, and his chaste loue I song,
Deposed
Richard, Isabell exil'd,
The gallant
Tudor, and faire
Katherine,
Duke
Humfrey, and old
Cobhams haplesse child,
Couragious
Pole, and that braue spritfull Queene,
Edward, and the delicious London Dame,
Brandon, and that rich dowager of Fraunce,
Surrey, with his faire paragon of fame,
Dudleys mishap, and vertuous
Grayes mischaunce;
Their seuerall loues since I before haue showne,
Now giue me leaue, at last to sing mine owne.
To the Reader of his Poems. Sonet. 1.
INto these loues who but for passion lookes,
At this first sight, heere let them lay them by,
And seeke else-where in turning other bookes,
Which better may his labour satisfie,
No far-fetch'd sigh shall euer wound my breast,
Loue from mine eye, a teare shall neuer w
[...]ing,
Nor in ah-mees my whining Sonnets drest,
(A Libertine) fantastickly I sing;
My verse is the true image of my mind,
Euer in motion, still desiring change,
The choise of all varietie inclin'd,
And in all humors sportiuely
I range,
My actiue Muse is of the worlds right straine,
That cannot long one fashion entertaine.
The second to the Reader. Sonet. 2
MAny there be excelling in this kind,
Whose wel trick'd rimes with al inuention swel;
Let each commend as best shall like his mind,
Some
Sidney, Constable, some
Daniell.
That thus their names familiarly
I sing,
Let none thinke them disparaged to be,
Poore men with reuerence may speake of a King,
And so may these be spoken of by me;
My wanton verse nere keepes one certaine stay,
But now, at hand; then, seekes inuention far,
And with each little motion runnes astray,
Wilde, madding, iocund, and irregular;
Like me that lust, my honest merry rimes,
Nor care for Criticke, nor regard the times.
IDEA.
Sonnet 1.
THine eies taught me the alphabet of loue,
To kon my crosse-row ere I learnd to spell,
For
I was apt, a Scholler like to proue,
Gaue me sweete lookes whenas I learned well,
Vowes were my vowells when I then begunne,
At my first lesson in thy sacred name,
My consonants the next when I had done,
Words consonant, and sounding to thy fame;
My liquids then, were liquide cristall teares,
My cares, my mutes, so mute to craue reliefe,
My dolefull dipthongs, were my lifes dispaires,
Redoubling sighs, the accents of my griefe;
My loues Schoole-mistris now hath taught me so,
That I can reade a storie of my woe.
Sonnet. 2.
MY hart was slaine, and none but you and I,
who should I thinke the murther should cōmit?
Since but your selfe, there was no creature by
But onely I, guiltlesse of murthring it.
It slew it selfe; the verdict on the view
Doe quit the dead, and me not accessary;
Well, well, I feare it will be prou'd by you,
The euidence so great a proofe doth carry.
But O, see, see, we neede enquire no further,
Vpon your lips the scarlet drops are found,
And in your eye, the boy that did the murther,
Your cheeks yet pale since first they gaue the wound.
By this, I see, how euer things be past,
Yet heauen will still haue murther out at last.
Sonnet 3.
TAking my penne, with words to cast my woes,
Duely to count the summe of all my cares,
I finde, my griefe innumerable growes,
The recknings rise to millions of dispaires,
And thus diuiding of my fatall houres,
The payments of my loue I reade, and crosse
Substracting, set my sweets vnto my sowers,
My ioyes arerage leades me to my losse;
And thus mine eyes a debtour to thine eye,
Which by extortion gaineth all their lookes,
My heart hath payd such grieuous vsurie,
That all his wealth lies in thy beauties bookes.
And all is thine which hath beene due to mee,
And I a Bankrupt, quite vndone by thee.
An allusion to Narcissus. Sonnet. 4.
BEautie sometime in all her glorie crowned,
Passing by that cleare fountaine of thine eye,
Her sun-shine face there chauncing to espie,
Forgot herselfe, deeming she had beene drowned,
And thus whilest beautie, on her beautie gazed,
Whothen (yet liuing) thought she had beene dying,
And yet in death some hope of life espying,
With her owne rare perfections so amazed,
Twixt ioy and griefe, yet with a smiling frowning,
The glorious sun-beames of her eyes bright shining,
And she on her owne destenie diuining,
Cast her selfe, to saue herselfe by drowning;
The well of Nectar, pau'd with pearle and gold,
Where she remaines for all eyes to behold.
Sonnet. 5.
NOthing but no and I, and I and no,
How falls it out so strangely you reply?
I tell ye (Faire) ile not be aunswered so,
With this affirming no, denying I,
I say I loue, you slender aunswere I,
I say you loue, you pule me out a no;
I say I die, you eccho me with I,
Saue me I cry, you sigh me out a no:
Must woe and
I, haue naught but no and I,
No
I am I, if I no more can haue,
Aunswere no more, with silence make reply,
And let me take my selfe what I do craue;
Let no and I, with I and you be so,
Then aunswere no, and I, and I, and no.
To Harmonie. Sonnet. 6.
LOue once would daunce within my Mistresse eye.
And wanting musique fitting for the place,
Swore that
I should the instrument supply,
And sodainely presents me with her face;
Straitwaies my pulse play liuely in my vaines,
My panting breath doth keepe a meaner time,
My q
[...]au'ring artires be the tenours straines,
My trembling sinewes serue the counterchime,
My hollow sighs the deepest b
[...]se doe beare,
True diapason in distincted sound;
My panting hart the trebble makes the aire,
And desken
[...]s fineli
[...] on the musikes ground;
Thus like a Luteor Viall did
I he,
Whilst he prowd slaue dauncde galliards in her eie.
Sonnet 7.
LOue in an humor plaide the prodigall,
And bids my sences to a solemne feast,
Yet more to grace the companie withall,
Inuit
[...]s my ha
[...]t to be the chiefest guest;
No other drinke would serue this gluttons turne,
But pretious teares distilling from mine eine,
Which with my sighs this Epicure doth burne,
Quaffing carowses in this costly wine,
Where, in his cups o'recome with foule excesse,
Beginnes to play a swaggering ruffins part,
And at the banquet, in his drunkennes
S
[...] my deere friend, his kinde and truest hart;
A gent
[...]e warning friends, thus may you see,
What tis to keepe a drunkard companie.
To the Moone. Sonct. 8
PHoebe looke downe, and heere behold in mee,
The elements within thy sphere inclosed,
How kindely Nature plac'd them vnder thee,
And in my world, see how they are disposed;
My hope is earth, the lowest, cold and dry,
The grosser mother of deepe melancholie,
Water my teares, coolde with humidity,
Wan, flegmaticke, inclinde by Nature wholy;
My sighes, the ayre, hote, moist, ascending higher,
Subtile of sanguine, dyde in my ha
[...]ts dolor,
My thoughts they be the element of fi
[...]e,
Hote, dry, and piercing, still inclinde to choler,
Thine eye the Orbe vnto all these, from whence
Proceedes th'effects of powerfull influence.
To Lunacie. Sonnet. 9.
AS other men, so I my selfe do muse.
Why in this sorte I wrest inuention so,
And why these giddy metaphors I vse,
Leauing the path the greater part do goe;
I will resolue you; I am lunaticke,
And euer this in mad-men you shall finde,
What they last thoght on when the braine grew sicke,
In most distraction keepe that still in minde.
Thus talking idely in this bedlam fit,
Reason and I (you must conceiue) are twaine,
Tis nine yeeres now, since first I lost my wit,
Beare with me then, though troubled be my braine;
With diet and correction, men distraught,
(Not too farre past) may to their wits be brought.
Sonnet. 10.
TO nothing fitter can I thee compare,
Then to the sonne of some rich penny father,
Who hauing now brought on his end with care,
Leaues to his sonne all he had heap'd together;
This new rich nouice, lauish of his chest,
To one man giues, and on an other spends,
Then heere he riots, yet amongst the rest,
Haps to send some to one true honest friend.
Thy gifts thou in obscuritie doost waste,
False friends thy kindenes, borne but to deceiue thee,
Thy loue, that is on the vnworthy plac'd,
Time hath thy beautie, which with age will leaue thee;
Onely that little which to me was lent,
I giue thee backe, when all the rest is spent.
Sonnet. 11.
YOu not alone, when you are still alone,
O God from you that
I could priuate be,
Since you one were, I neuer since was one,
Since you in me, my selfe since out of me,
Transported from my selfe into your being,
Though either distant, present yet to either,
Sencelesse with too much ioy, each other seeing,
And onely absent when we are together.
Giue me my selfe, and take your selfe againe,
Deuise some meanes but how I may forsake you,
So much is mine that doth with you remaine,
That taking what is mine, with me I take you;
You do bewitch me, O that
I could flie,
From my selfe you, or from your owne selfe
I.
To the Soule. Sonnet. 12.
THat learned father, which so firmely proues
The Soule of man immortall and diuine,
And doth the seuerall offices define:
Anima Giues her that name as she the body moues,
Amor Then is she loue imbracing Charitie,
Animus Mouing a will in vs, it is the minde,
Mens Retaining knowledge, still the same in kinde;
Memoria As intellectuall it is the memory,
Ratio In iudgeing, Reason onely is her name,
Sensus In speedie apprehension it is sence,
Conscientia In right or wrong, they call her conscience:
Spiritus The spirit, whē it to Godward doth inflame.
These of the soule the seuerall functions bee,
Which my heart lightned by thy loue doth see.
To the Shaddow. Sonnet. 13.
LEtters and lines we see are soone defaced,
Mettells do waste, and fret with cankers rust,
The Diamond shall once consume to dust;
And freshest colours with fowle staines disgraced,
Paper and incke, can paint but naked words,
To write with blood, offorce offends the sight,
And if with teares,
I finde them all too light,
And sighes and signes, a seely hope affords.
O sweetest shadow, how thou seru'st my turne,
Which still shalt be, as long as there is sunne,
Nor whilst the world is, neuer shall be done,
Whilst Moone shall shine, or any fire shall burne:
That euery thing whence shadow doth proceede,
May in his shadow, my loues story reede,
Sonnet. 14.
IF hee from heauen that filch'd that liuing fire,
Condemn'd by
Ioue to end lesle torment be,
I greatly meruaile how you still go free,
That farre beyond
Prometheus did aspire?
The fire he stole although of heauenly kinde,
Which from aboue he craftily did take,
Of liuelesse clods vs liuing men to make,
Againe bestow'd in temper of the minde.
[...]ut vou brok into heauens immortall store,
Where vertue, honour, wit and beauty lay,
Which taking thence, you haue escap'd away,
Yet stand as free as e're you did before;
But old
Prometheus punish'd for his rape,
Thus poore theeues suffer, when the greater scape.
Sonnet. 15.
VIewing the glasse of my youthes miseries,
I see the face of my deformed eares,
With withered browes, all wrinckled with dispaires,
That for my youth the teares fall from mine eyes,
Then in these teares the mirrors of these eyes,
Thy fairest youth and be
[...]y do
I see,
Imprinted there by looking still on thee;
Thus midst my woes, ten thousand ioyes arise.
Yet in these ioyes the shadowes of my good,
In this fa
[...]e limmed ground as white as snow,
Painted the blackest image of my woe,
With murthring hands imbrude in mine owne blood;
And in this image his darke clowdy eyes,
My life, and loue, I heere anatomi
[...]e.
To the Phoeniae. Sonnet 16.
VVIthin the compasse of this spatious round,
Amongst all birds the Phoenix is alone,
Which but by you could neuer haue beene knowne.
None like to that, none like to you is found,
Heape your owne vertues seasoned by their sunne,
On heauenly top of your diuine desire;
Then with your beautie set the same on fire,
So by your death, your life shalbe begunne.
Your selfe thus burned in this sacred flame,
With your owne sweetnes all the heauens perfuming,
And still encreasing as you are consuming,
Shall spring againe from th'ashes of your fame,
And mounting vp shall to the heauens ascend,
So may you liue, past world, past fame, past end.
To Time. Sonnet. 17.
STay, stay, sweete Time, behold or e're thou passe,
From world to world, thou long hast fought to see,
That wonder now wherein all wonders bee,
Where heauen beholds her in a mortall glasse:
Nay looke thee Time in this celestiall glasse,
And thy youth past, in this suite mirrour see,
The first worlds beautie in the infancie,
What it was then, what thou before it was.
Now passe on Time, to af
[...]r-worlds tell this:
(And yet shalt tell) but truely what hath beene,
That they may say what former time hath seene,
And heauen may ioy to thinke on past worlds blis:
Heere make a period Time, and say for me,
She was, whose like againe shall neuer be.
To the Celestiall numbers. Sonnet. 18.
VNto the world, to learning, and to heauen,
Three nines there are, to euerie one a nine,
One number of the earth, the other both diuine,
One woman now makes three odde numbers euen:
Nine orders first of Angells be in heauen,
Nine Muses do with learning still frequent,
These with the Gods are euer resident;
Nine worthy ones vnto the world were giuen:
My worthy one to these nine worthies addeth,
And my faire Muse, one Muse vnto the nine,
And my good Angell in my soule diuine,
With one more order, these nine orders gladdeth:
My Muse, my worthy, and my Angell then,
Makes euery one of these three nines a ten.
To Humour. Sonnet. 19.
YOu cannot loue my pretty heart and why?
There was a time you told me that you would,
But now againe you will the same denie,
If it might pease you, would to God you could;
What will you hate? nay that you will not neither,
Nor loue, nor hate, how then? what will you doe,
What will you keepe a meane then betwixt eyther?
Or will you loue me, and yet hate me too?
Yet serues not this, what next, what other shift?
You will, and will not, what a coyle is heere?
I see your craft, now I perceiue your drift,
And all this while I was mistaken there:
Your loue and hate is this, I now do proue you,
You loue in hate, by hate to make me loue you.
Sonnet. 20.
AN euill spirit your beautie haunts me still,
Wherewith (alas) I haue beene long possest,
Which ceaseth not to tempt me vnto ill,
Nor giues me once but one poore minutes rest:
In me it speakes whether
I sleepe or wake,
And when by meanes to driue it out
I trie,
With greater torments then it me doth take,
And tortures me in most extreamitie,
Before my face, it laies all my dispaires,
And hastes me on vnto a suddaine death;
Now tempting me to drowne my selfe in teares,
And then in sighing to giue vp my breath;
Thus am I still prouokde to euery euill,
By this good wicked spirit, sweete Angell diuell.
To the Spheares. Sonnet. 21.
THou which doost guide this little world of loue,
Thy planets mansions heere thou maist behold,
My brow the spheare where
Saturne still doth moue,
wrinckled with cares, withered, dry and cold;
Mine eyes the Orbe where
Iupiter doth trace,
Which gently smile because they looke on thee,
Mars in my swartie visage takes his place,
Made leane with loue, where furious conflicts bee:
Sol in my breast with his hote scorching flame,
But in my heart alone doth
Venus raigne;
Mercury my hands, the Organs of my fame,
Luna my wauering and vnconstant vaine;
The starry heauen thy praise by me exprest,
Thou the first mouer, guiding all the rest.
To Folly. Sonnet. 22.
WIth fooles & children good discretion beares,
Then honest people beare with Loue & me,
Nor older yet, nor wiser made by yeares,
Amongst the rest of fooles and children be,
Loue's still a baby, places with gawdes and ioyes,
And like a wanton, sports with euery feather,
And ideots still are running after boyes,
Then fooles and children fitt'st to go together,
He still as young as when he first was borne,
No wiser I, then when as young as he,
You that be hold vs laugh vs not to scorne,
Giue Nature thankes you are not such as we:
Yet fooles and children sometimes tell in play,
Some wise in shew, more fooles indeede then they.
Sonnet. 23.
LOue banish'd heauen, in earth was held in scorne.
Wandring ab
[...]oad in neede and beggery,
And wanting friends, though of a God desse borne,
Yet crau'de the almes of such as passed
[...]y,
I like a man, douote and charitable;
Clothed the naked, lodg'd this wandring guest,
With sighes and teares still furnishing his table,
With what might make the miserable blest;
But this vngratefull for my good desart.
Enticde my thoughts against me to conspire,
Who gaue consent to steale away my heart.
And set my breast his lodging on a fire:
Well, well, my friends, when beggars grow thus bold,
No meruaile then though charity grow cold.
Sonnet 24.
I Heare some say, this man is not in loue,
Who, can he loue? a likely thing they say:
Reade but his verse, and it will easly proue,
O iudge not rashly (gentle Sir) I pray,
Because
I loosely trifle in this sort,
As one that fame his sorrows would beguile:
You now suppose me, all this time in sport,
And please your felfe with this conceit the while.
You shallow censures, sometime see you not
In greatest perills some men pleasant be,
Where fame by death is onelie to be got;
They resolute, so stands the case with me;
Where other men in depth of passion crie,
I laugh at Fortune, as in jeast to die.
Sonnet 25.
O Whie should nature niggardly restraine.
The Southerne nations rellish not our tongue,
Else should my lines glide on the waues of
R
[...],
And crowne the Pirens with my liuing song;
But bounded thus to
Scotland get you forth,
Thence take you wing vnto the
Orcades,
There let my verse get glorie in the north,
Making my sighs to thawe the frozen seas,
And let the
Bards within that
Irish ile,
To whome my Muse with firi
[...] wings shall passe,
Call backe the stiffe neckt rebells from exile,
And mollifie the slaughtring Galliglasse;
And when my flowing numbers they reherse,
Let wolues and beares be charmed with my verse.
To Despaire. Sonnet 26.
I Euer loue, where neuer hope appeares,
Yet hope drawes on my neuer-hoping care,
And my lifes hope would die but for dispaire,
My neuer-certaine ioy, breeds euer-certaine feares,
Vncertaine-dread, giues wings vnto my hope,
Yet my hopes wings are loaden so with feare,
As they cannot ascend to my hopes spheare,
Yet feare giues them more than a heauenly scope;
Yet this large roome is bounded with dispaire,
So my loue is still fettered with vaine hope,
And libertie depriues him of his scope,
And thus am
I imprisond in the aire;
Then sweet despaire, a while holde vp thy head,
Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead.
To Fantasie. Sonnet 27.
I Gaue my faith to Loue, Loue his to me,
That he and
I sworne brothers should remaine,
Thus faith receiu'd, faith giuen backe againe,
Who would imagine bond more sure could be?
Loue flies to her, yet holdes he my faith taken,
As from my vertue raising my offence,
Making me guiltie by mine innocence;
And onelie bond by being so forsaken,
He makes her aske what
I before had vow'd,
Giuing her that, which he had giuen mee,
I bound by him, and he by her made free.
Who euer so hard breach of faith allowd?
Speake you that should of right & wrong discusse,
Was right ere wrongd, or wrong ere righted thus?
Sonnet 28.
TO such as saie, thy loue
I ouer-prise,
And doe not sticke to terme my praises follie,
Against these folkes that thinke themselues so wise,
I thus appose my force of reason wholie,
Though
I giue more, then well affords my state,
In which expense the most suppose me vaine,
Would yeeld them nothing at the casiest rate,
Yet at this price, returnes me trebble gaine,
The value not vnskilfull how to vse,
And
I giue much, because
I gaine thereby,
I that thus take, or they that thus refuse,
Whether are these deceiued then, or
I?
In eu'rie thing
I holde this maxime still,
The circumstance doth make it good or ill.
To the Sences. Sonnet 29.
WHen conqu'ring loue did first my hart assaile,
Vnto mine aide
I sommond euerie sence,
Doubting if that prowde tirant should preuaile,
My hart should suffer for mine eies offence;
But he with beautie first corrupted sight,
My hearing bribde with her tongues harmonie,
My taste by her sweete lippes drawne with delight,
My smelling wonne with her breaths spicerie;
But when my touching came to plaie his part,
(The King of sences, greater than the rest)
He yeeldes loue vp the keis vnto my hart,
And tells the other how they should be blest:
And thus by those of whome
I hopde for aide,
To cruell loue my soule was first betraide.
To the Vestalls. Sonnet 30.
THose Priests which first the Vestall fire begun,
Which might be borrowed from no earthly flame,
Deuisde a ves
[...]ell to receiue the Sunne,
Being stedfastly opposed to the same;
Where, with sweete wood, laide curiously by Ar
[...],
Whereon the Sunne might by reflexion beate,
Receiuing strength from euerie secret part,
The fuell kindled with colestiall heate.
Thy blessed eies, the Sunne which lights this fire,
My holie thoughts, they be the Vestall flame,
The precious odours be my chaste desire,
My breast the fuell which includes the sa;
Thou arte my
Vesta, thou my goddesse art,
Thy halowed temple one lie is my hart.
Sonnet 31.
ME thinkes I see some crooked Mimicks jeere,
And
[...]axe my Muse with this fantasticke grace,
Turning my papers, askes, what haue we heere?
Making withall, some filthie an
[...]ike face;
I feare no censure, nor what thou canst say,
Nor shall my spirit one jo
[...]e of vigor lose,
Thinkst thou my wit shall keepe the packe-horse way,
That eu'rie d
[...]dgen lowe inuention goes?
Since Sonnets thus in bundles are imprest,
And eu'rie drudge doth dull our sa
[...]iate e
[...]re?
Thinkst thou my Loue shall in those ragges be drest,
That eu'rie dowdie, eu'rie t
[...]ull doth wea
[...]e?
Vnto my pitch no common iudgement flies,
I scorne all earthlie dung-bred scarabies.
To the riuer Ankor. Sonnet 32.
OVr floudes Queene
Thames; for ships & swans is crowned,
And stately
Seuerne for her shoares is praised,
The cristall
Trent, for Foords and Fish renowned,
And
Anons fame, to
Albions cliues is raised.
Carlegion Chester, vaunts her holie
Dee,
Yorke manie wonders of her
Owse can tell,
The
Peake her
Doue, whose bankes so fertile bee,
And
Kent will saie, her
Medway doth excell,
Cotswold commends her
Isis and her
Tame,
Our northerne borders boast of
Tweedes faire floud,
Our westerne parts extoll her
Wilis fame,
And olde
Legea brags of
Danish bloud;
Ardens sweete
Ankor let thy glorie bee,
That faire
Idea she doth liue by thee.
To Imagination. Sonnet 33.
WHilst yet mine eies doe surfet with delight,
My wofull hart imprisond in my brest,
Wisheth to be transformed in my sight,
That it like those, by looking might be blest,
But whilst mine eies thus greedily doe gaze,
Finding their obiects ouer-soone departe,
These now the others happines doe praise,
Wishing themselues that they had bin my hart;
That eies were hart, or that the hart were eies,
As couetous the others vse to haue;
But finding reason, their request denies,
This to each other mutually they craue;
That since the one cannot the other bee,
That eies could thinke, or that my hart could see.
To Admiration. Sonnet 34.
MAruell not Loue, though I thy power admire,
Rauisht a world beyond the farthest thought,
That knowing more than euer hath bin taught,
That
I am onelie sta
[...]u'd in my desire;
Maruell not Loue, though I thy power admire,
Aiming at things exceeding all perfection,
To wisedomes selfe to minister direction,
That
I am onelie staru'd in my desire;
Maruell not Loue, though
I thy power admire,
Though my conceit
I further seeme to bend,
Than possibly inuention can extend,
And yet am onelie staru'd in my desire;
If thou wilt wonder, heere's the wonder Loue,
That this to me doth yet no wonder proue,
To Miracle. Sonnet 35.
SOme misbelieuing, and prophane in loue,
When
I doe speake of miracles by thee,
May say that thou art flattered by mee,
Who onelie write, my skill in verse to proue.
See miracles, ye vnbeleeuing see,
A dumb-borne Muse, made to expresse the minde,
A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kinde,
One by thy name, the other touching thee;
Blinde were mine eies, till they were seene of thine,
And mine eares deafe, by thy fame healed be,
My vices curde, by vertues sprung from thee,
My hopes reuiu'd which long in graue had liue:
All vncleane thoughts, foule spirits cast out in mee,
Onely by vertue that proceedes from thee.
To Wonder. Sonnet 36.
REading sometime, my sorrowes to beguile,
I finde olde Poets hills and floods admire,
One, he doth wonder monster breeding
Nyle,
Another maruells sulphure
Aetn
[...]es fire.
Now broad-brimd
Indus, then of
Pindus height,
Pe
[...]ion and
Ossa, frostie
Cauc
[...]se olde,
The
Delian Cinthus, then
Olympus weight,
Slow
Arrer, franticke
Gallus, Cydnus colde.
Some
Ganges, Ister, and of
Tagus tell,
Some whirle-poole
Po, and sliding
Hypasis,
Some olde
Pernassus where the Muses dwell,
Some
Helicon, and some faire
Simois;
A fooles thinke I, had you
Idea seene,
Poore brookes and bankes, had no such woonders beene
Sonnet 37.
DEere, why should you commaund me to my
[...]
When now the night doth sommon all to sleepe?
Me thinkes this time becommeth Louers best,
Night was ordaind together friends to keepe,
How happie are all other liuing things,
Which though the daie disjoyne by seuerall flight,
The quiet euening yet together brings,
And each returnes vnto his loue at night.
O thou that art
[...] so cu
[...]eous vnto all,
Whie shouldst thou Night abuse me onelie thus,
That euerie crea
[...]ure to his kinde doost call,
And yet tis thou doost onelie seuer vs:
Well could I wish it would be euer daie,
If when night comes you bid me goe awaie.
Sonnet 38.
SItting alone, Loue bids me goe and write,
Reason pluckes backe, commanding me to staie,
Boasting that she dooth stil direct the waie,
Or else loue were vnable to indite;
Loue growing angrie, vexed at the spleene,
And scorning Reasons maimed argument,
Strait taxeth Reason, wanting to inuent,
Where she with Loue conuersing hath not beene,
Reason reproched with this coy disdaine,
Dispiteth Loue, and laugheth at her follie,
And Loue contemning Reasons reason wholie,
Thought it in weight too light by manie a graine.
Reason put backe, doth out of sight remoue,
And Loue alone findes reason in my loue.
Sonnet 39.
SOme, when in time they of their loues doe tell,
With flames and lightning their exordiums paint,
Some call on heauen, some inuocate on hell,
And Fates and Furies with their woes acquaint,
Elizium is too high a seate for me,
I will not come in
Stix or
Phlegiton,
The thriee three Muses but too wanton be,
Like they that lust, I care not,
I wil none.
Spitefull
Errinis frights me with her lookes,
My manhoode dares not with foule
Ate mell,
I quake to looke on
Heccats charming bookes,
I stil feare bug-beares in
Apolloes Cell.
I passe not for
Minorua, nor
Astrea,
Onelie
I call vpon diuine
Idea.
Sonnet. 40.
MY heart the a
[...]uile where my thoughts do beate,
My words the hammers fashioning my desire,
My breast the forge, including all the heate,
Loue is the fuell which maintaines the fire:
My sighes the bellowes which the same encreaseth,
Filling mine eares with noise and nightly groning,
Toiling with paine, my labour neuer ceaseth,
In grieuous passions my woes still bemoning:
Mine eyes with teares against the fire striuing,
Whose scorching gleed my heart to cinders turneth;
But with those drops, the flame againe reuiuing,
Still more and more vnto my torment burneth:
With
Sisiphus thus do I role the stone,
And turne the wheele with damned
Ixion.
Sonnet. 41.
WHy do I speake of ioy, or write of loue,
When my heart is the very den of horror,
And in my soule the paines of hell I proue,
With all his torments and infernall terror?
What should I say, what yet remaines to do?
My braine is drie with weeping all too long,
My sighes be spent in yttring of my woe,
And I want words wherewith to tell my wrong:
But still distracted in Loues lunacie,
And bedlam-like thus rauing in my griefe,
Now raile vpon her haire, now on her eye,
Now call her Goddesse, then I call her theefe;
Now I deny her, then I do confesse her,
Now do I curse her, then againe I blesse her.
Sonnet. 42.
SOme men there be which like my method well,
And do commend the strangenes of my vaine,
Some say, I haue a passing pleasing straine,
Some say, that in my humor I excell:
Some, who not kindely relish my conceit,
They say (as Poets doe) I vse to faine,
And in bare words paint out my passions paine.
Thus sundry men their sundry mindes repeate;
I passe not I, how men affected be,
Nor who commends, or discommends my verse,
It pleaseth me, if
I my woes rehearse,
And in my lines, if she my loue may see:
Onely my comfort still consists in this,
Writing her praise,
I cannot write amisso.
Sonnet. 43.
VVHy should your faire eyes with such soueraine grace,
Dispearse their raies on euery vulgar spirit,
Whilst
I in darkenes in the selfe same place,
Get not one glance to recompence my merit:
So doth the plow-man gaze the wandring starre,
And onely rests contented with the light,
That neuer learnd what constellations are,
Beyond the bent of his vnknowing fight.
O why should beautie (custome to obey)
To their grosse sence applie her selfe so ill?
Would God
I were as ignorant as they,
When
I am made vnhappy by my skill;
Onely compeld on this poore good to boast,
Heauens are not kind to the that know them most.
Sonnet. 44.
VVHilst thus my pen striues to eternize thee,
Age rules my lines with wrinckles in my face,
Where in the map of all my miserie,
Is modeld out the worlde of my disgrace,
Whilst in despight of tyrannizing times,
Medea-like I make thee yong againe,
Prowdly thou scorust my world-outwearing rimes,
And murther'st Vertue with thy coy disdaine;
And though in youth my youth vntimely perish,
To keepe thee from obliuion and the graue,
Ensuing ages yet my rimes shall cherish,
When I entomb'd my better part shall saue;
And though this earthly bodie fade and die,
My name shall mount vpon eternitie.
Sonnet. 45.
MVses which sadly sit about my chaire,
Drownd in the teares extorted by my lines,
With heauie sighes whilst thus I breake the aire,
Painting my passions in these sad dissignes;
Since she disdaines to blesse my happie verse,
The strong-built Trophies to her liuing fame,
Euer henceforth my bosome be your hearse,
Wherein the world shall now entombe her name;
Enclose my musicke you poore senselesse walls,
Sith she is deafe and will not heare my mones,
Soften your selues with euerie teare that falls,
Whilst I like
Orpheus sing to trees and stones;
Which with my plaint seeme yet with pittie moued,
Kinder then she who I so long haue liued.
Sonnet. 46.
PLain path'd Experience the vnlearneds guide,
Her simple followers euidently shewes,
Sometime what schoolemen scarcely can decide,
Nor yet wise Reason absolutely knowes:
In making triall of a murther wrought,
If the yile actor of the he
[...]nous deede,
Neere the dead bodie happily be brought.
Oft hath been prou'd the breathlesse coarse will bleed;
She comming neere that my poore hart hath slaine,
Long since departed (to the world no more)
The auncient wounds no longer can containe,
But fall to bleeding as they did before:
But what of this? should she to death be led.
It furthers iustice, but helpes not the dead.
Sonnet. 47.
IN pride of wit, when high desire of fame
Gaue life and courage to my labouring
[...]
And first the sound and vertue of my name,
Won grace and credite in the eares of men;
With those the througed Theaters that presse.
I in the circuite for the Lawrell stroue,
Where the full praise I freely must confesse,
In heate of blood and modest minde might moue:
With showts and claps at euerie little pawse,
When the prowd round on euerie side hath rung.
Sadly I sit vnmou'd with the applawse,
As though to me it nothing did belong:
No publique glorie vainely I pursue.
The praise I striue, is to eternize you.
Sonnet. 48.
CUpid, dumbe I doll, peeuish faint of Loue,
No more shalt thou nor saint nor idoll be,
No god art thou, Loues goddesse she doth proue,
Of all thine honour she hath robbed thee:
Thy bow olde broke, is peecde with halfe desire,
Her bow is beautie with ten thousand strings,
And euery one of purest golden wire;
The least, of force to conquer hoasts of Kings:
Thy shafts be spent, and she (to war appoynted)
Hides in those Cristall quiuers of her eyes,
More arrowes with hart-piercing mettle pointed,
Then there be starres at mid-night in the skies:
With these she steales mens harts for her releefe,
Yet happie he that's robd of such a theefe.
Sonnet. 49.
THou leaden braine which censur'st what I write
And saist my lines be dull, and do not moue.
I maruaile not thou feel'st not my delight,
Which neuer feltst my fierie tuch of loue:
But thou whose pen hath like a Packe-horse seru'd,
Whose stomacke vnto gaule hath turnd thy food,
Whose senses like poore prisners hunger-staru'd.
Whose greefe hath parch'd thy body, dride thy blood;
Thou which hast scorned life, and hated death,
And in a moment mad, sober, glad and sorie,
Thou which hast bann'd thy thoughts, and curst thy birth
With thousand plagues more then in purgatory,
Thou thus whose spirit Loue in his fire refines,
Come thou and reade, admire and plawd my lines.
Sonnet. 50.
AS in some Countries far remote from hence,
The wretched creature destined to die,
Hauing the iudgement due to his offence,
By Surgeons begg'd, their Art on him to trie:
Which on the liuing worke without remorce,
First make incision on each maistring vaine,
Then stanch the bleeding, then transperce the coarse,
And with their balmes recure the wounds againe,
Then poison and with Phisicke him restore,
Not that they feare the hopelesse man to kill,
But their experience to encrease the more;
Euen so my Mistresse works vpon my ill,
By curing me, and killing me each howre,
Onely to shew her beauties soueraigne powre.
Sonnet. 51.
CAlling minde since first my loue begunne,
Th'incertaine times oft varying in their course,
How things still vnexpectedly haue runne,
As please the fates, by their resistlesse force:
Lastly, mine eyes amazedly haue seene,
Essex great fall,
Tyroue his peace to gaine,
The quiet end of that long-liuing Queene,
This Kings faire entrance, and our peace with
Spaine,
We and the Dutch at length our selues to seuer,
Thus the world doth, and euermore shall reele,
Yet to my goddesse am I constant euer;
How ere blind fortune turne her giddie wheele:
Though heauen & earth proue both to me vntrue,
Yet am I still inuiolate to you.
An alusion to Dedalus and Icarus. Sonnet 52.
MY heart imprisoned in a hopelesse Ile,
Peopled with Armies of pale jealous eyes,
The shores beset with thousand secret spies,
Must passe by ayre, or else die in exile;
He framde him wings with feathers of his thought,
Which by their nature learnd to mount the skie,
And with the same he practised to flie,
Till he himselfe this Eagles Art had taught:
Thus soaring still, not looking once below,
So neere thine eyes celestiall sunne aspired,
That with the raies his wafting pineons fired:
Thus was the wanton cause of his owne woe,
Downe fell he in thy beauties Ocean drenched,
Yet there he burnes in fire that's neuer quenched.
Another to the Riuer Ankor. Sonnet 53.
CLeere Ankor, on whose siluer-sanded shore,
My soule-shrin'd saint, my faire
Idea lies,
O blessed brooke, whose milke-white swans adore
That cristall streame refined by her eyes,
Where sweet mirth-breathing
Zephire in the spring,
Gently distills his Nectar-dropping showers,
Where Nightingales in Arden sit and sing,
Amongst the daintie dew-impearled flowers;
Say thus faire Brooke, when thou shalt see thy Queene,
Loe heere thy sheep heard spent his wandring yeeres;
And in these shades deere Nimph he oft hath beene.
And heere to thee he sacrifizde his teares:
Faire Arden, thou my Tempe art alone,
And thou sweete Ankor art my Helicon.
Sonnet. 54.
YEt reade at last the story of my woe,
The drery abstracts of my endlesse cares,
With my like sorrow enterlined so,
Smokde with my sighes, and blotted with my teares;
The sad memorialls of my miseries,
Pend
[...]n the griefe of mine afflicted ghost;
My lifes complaint in dolefull Elegies,
With so pure loue as time could neuer boast:
Receiue the incence which I offer heere,
By my strong faith ascending to thy fame,
My zeale, my hope, my vowes, my praise, my praier,
My soules oblations to thy sacred name:
Which name my Muse to highest heauen shal raise,
By chaste desire, true loue, and vertues praise.
Sonnet 55.
MY Faire, if thou wilt register my loue,
More then worlds volumes shall thereof arise;
Preserue my teares, and thou thy selfe shalt proue,
A second flood downe raining from mine eyes:
Note but my sighes, and thine eyes shall behold,
The sun-beames smothered with immortall smoke;
And if by thee my praiers may be enrold,
They heauen and earth to pittie shall prouoke;
Looke thou into my breast, and thou shalt see,
Chaste holy vowes for my soules sacrifice,
That soule (sweete Maide) which so hath honored thee,
Erecting Trophies to thy sacred eyes;
Those eyes to my hart shining euer bright,
When darkenes hath obscurde each other light.
An allusion to the Aegl [...]ts. Sonnet 56.
MY thoughts bred vp with Eagle-birds of loue,
And for their vertues I desirde to know;
Vpon the neast I set them forth, to proue
If they were of the Eagles kinde, or no.
But they no sooner sawe my sunne appeare,
But on her raies with gazing eyes they stoode,
Which proou'd my birds delighted in the aire,
And that they came of this rare kingly broode.
But now their plumes full summde with sweete desire,
To shew their kinde, beganne to clime the skies:
Doe what I could, my Eglets would aspire,
Strait mounting vp to thy celestiall eies.
And thus (my Faire) my thoughts away be flowne,
And from my breast into thine eies be gone.
Sonnet 57.
YOu best discern'd of my interior eies,
And yet your graces outwardly diuine,
Whose deare remembrance in my bosome lies,
Too rich a relique for so poore a shrine:
You in whome Nature chose herselfe to view,
When she her owne perfection would admire,
Bestowing all her excellence on you;
At whose pure eies Loue lights his halowed fire,
Euen as a man that in some traunce hath seene,
More than his wondring vttrance can vnfolde,
That rapt in spirite in better worlds hath beene,
So must your praise distractedly be tolde;
Most of all short, when I should shew you most,
In your perfections altogether lost.
Sonnet 58.
IN former times, such as had store of coyne,
In warres at home, or when for conquests bound,
For feare that some their treasures should purloyne,
Gaue it to keepe to spirites within the ground;
And to attend it, them so strongly tide,
Till they return'd, home when they neuer came,
Such as by art to get the same haue tride,
From the strong spirite by no means get the same,
Neerer you come, that further flies away,
Striuing to holde it strongly in the deepe:
Euen as this spirit, so she alone doth play,
With those rich Beauties heauen giues her to keepe:
Pitty so left, to coldenes of her blood,
Not to auaile her, nor doe others good.
To Prouerb. Sonnet 59.
AS Loue and I, late harbourde in one Inne,
With Proueths thus each other entertaine;
In loue there is no lacke, thus I beginne:
Faire wordes makes fooles, replieth he againe:
That spares to speake, doth spare to speede (quoth I)
As well (saith he) too forward as too slowe.
Fortune assistes the boldest, I reply:
A hastie man (quoth he) ne're wanted woe.
Labour is light, where loue (quoth I) doth pay,
(Saith he) light burthens heauy, if farre borne:
(Quoth I) the maine lost, cast the by away:
You haue spunne a faire thred, he replies in scorne.
And hauing thus a while each other thwarted,
Fooles as we met, so fooles againe we parted.
Sonnet 60.
DEfine my loue, and tell the ioyes of heauen,
Expresse my woes, and shew the paines of hell,
Declare what fate vnluckie starres haue giuen,
And aske a world vpon my life to dwell.
Make knowne that faith, vnkindnes could not moue;
Compare my worth with others base desart,
Let vertue be the tuch-stone of my loue,
So may the heauens reade wonders in my hart;
Beholde the cloudes which haue eclipsde my sunne,
And view the crosses which my course doth let;
Tell me, if euer since the world begunne,
So faire a rising had so foule a set:
And by all meanes, let foule vnkindnes proue,
And shew a second to so pure a loue.
Sonnet 61.
WHen first
I ended, then
I first beganne,
The more
I trauell, further from my rest,
Where most
I lost, there most of all
I wanne,
Pined with hunger, rising from a feast.
Me thinkes
I flee, yet want
I legs to goe,
Wise in conceit, in act a very sot,
Rauisht with ioy amidst a hell of woe,
What most I seeme, that surest am
I not.
I build my hopes a world aboue the skie,
Yet with the Mole
I creepe into the earth,
In plenty am
I
[...]aru'd with penurie,
And yet
I surffet in the greatest dearth:
I haue,
I want, dispaire, and yet desire,
Burn'd in a sea of ice, and drown'd amidst a fire.
Sonnet 62.
TRuce gentle Loue, a parlee now
I craue,
Me thinks tis long since first these warres begun,
Nor thou nor I, the better yet can haue:
Bad is the match where neither party wonne.
I offer free conditions of faire peace,
My heart for hostage, that it shall remaine,
Discharge our forces heere, let malice cease,
So for my pledge, thou giue me pledge againe.
Or if nothing but death will serue thy turne,
Still thirsting for subuersion of my state;
Doe what thou canst, raze, massacre, and burne,
Let the world see the vtmost of thy hate:
I send defiance, since if ouerthrowne,
Thou vanquishing, the conquest is mine owne.
Certaine other Sonnets to great and worthy Personages.
To the high and mightie Prince, Iames king of Scots. Sonnet 61.
NOt thy graue Counsells, nor thy subiects loue,
Nor all that famous Scottish royaltie,
Or what thy soueraigne greatnes may approue,
Others in vaine doe but historifie,
When thine owne glory from thy selfe doth spring,
As though thou didst all meaner praises scornee
Of Kings a Poet, and the Poets King,
They Princes, but thou Prophets doost adorne;
Whilst others by their Empires are renown'd,
Thou doost enrich thy
Scotland with renowne,
And Kings can but with diadems be crown'd,
But with thy laurell thou doost crowne thy Crowne;
That they whose pens (euen) life to Kings do giue,
In thee a King, shall seeke themselues to liue.
To Lucy Countesse of Bedford. Son. 61.
GReat Lady, essence of my chiefest good,
Of the most pure and finest tempred spirit,
Adorn'd with gifts ennobled by thy blood,
Which by descent true vertue doost inherit:
That vertue which no fortune can depriue,
Which thou by birth tak'st from thy gratious mother,
Whose royall mindes with equall motion striue,
Which most in honour shall excell the other;
Vnto thy fame my Muse herselfe shall taske,
Which rainst vpon me thy sweete golden showers,
And but thy selfe, no subiect will I aske,
Vpon whose praise my soule shall spend her powers.
Sweet Lady yet, grace this poore Muse of mine,
whose faith, whose zeal, whose life, whose al is thine.
To the Lady Anne Harington. Sonnet. 62.
MAdam, my words cannot expresse my minde,
My zealous kindnes to make knowne to you,
When your deserts all seuerally I finde;
In this attempt of me do craue their due:
Your gratious kindenes first doth claime my hart,
Your bounty bids my hand to make it knowne,
Of me your vertues each doe challenge part,
And leaue me thus the least that is mine owne:
What should commend your modesty and wit,
Is by your wit and modesty commended,
And standeth dumbe, in most admiring it,
And where it should begin, is onely ended;
Returning this your praises onely due,
And to your selfe, say you are onely you.
To the Lady L. S. Sonet 63.
BRight starre of Beauty, on whose cie-lids sit,
A thousand Nymph-like and enamoured graces,
The goddesses of memorie and wit,
which in due order take their seuerall places,
In whose deere bosome, sweete delicious loue,
Layes downe his quiuer, that he once did beare,
Since he that blessed Paradice did proue,
Forsooke his mothers lap to sport him there.
Let others striue to entertaine with wordes,
My soule is of another temper made;
I holde it vile that vulgar wit affords,
Deuouring time my faith shall not inuade:
Still let my praise be honoured thus by you,
Be you most worthie, whilst I be most true.
To sir Anthonie Cooke. Sonet 64.
VOuchsafe to grace these rude vnpollisht rimes,
Which but for you had slept in sable night,
And come abroade now in these glorious times,
Can hardly brooke the purenes of the light.
But sith you see their destenie is such,
That in the world their fortune they must try,
Perhaps they better shall abide the tuch,
Wearing your name their gracious liuerie.
Yet these mine owne, I wrong not other men,
Nor traffike further then this happy clime,
Nor filch from
Portes, not from
Petrarchs pen,
A fault too common in this latter time;
Diuine sir
Philip, I auouch thy writ,
I am no picke-purse of anothers wit.
Finis.
The Legend of Robert Duke of Normandie.
WHat time soft night had silently begunne,
To steale by minutes on the long-liu'd daies,
The furious dogge pursuing of the sunne,
Whose noysome breath addes feruor to his raies,
That to the earth sends many a sad disease:
Which then inflam'd with his intemprate fires,
Her selfe in light habiliments attires.
When the rathe morning newly but awake,
Scarse with fresh beautie burnished her browes,
Her selfe beholding in the generall Lake,
(To which she paies her neuer-ceasing vowes,)
With the new day me willingly to rowze;
Downe to faire
Thames I softly tooke my way,
Where the milde windes continually do play.
Striuing to fancie his chaste breast to moue,
Whereas all pleasures plentifully flowe,
When him along the wanton tide doth
[...]houe,
And to keepe backe they easily doe blow,
Still meete him comming, thinking him too slowe:
He forcing waues to checke their hote imbrace,
They fanning breath vpon his cristall face.
Still forward sallying from his bounteous
[...]ource,
Along the shores lasciuio
[...]sly doth straine,
And often times retreating in his course,
As to his fountaine he would backe againe,
Or turnde to looke vpon his siluer
[...];
With coy regards the goodly soile he greetes,
Till with faire Medway happily he meetes.
Steering my compasse by the wandring streame,
whose flight might teach me
[...]es ne'r-turning howrs,
Delighted thus as in a pretty dreame,
Where pleasure wholly had possest my powres;
Yet looking backe on
Londons c
[...]g Towres,
So
Troy, thought I, her stately head did reare,
Whose crazed ribs the furrowing plow doth eire.
Wearie at length, a willow-tree I found,
Which on the banke of this great torrent stood,
Whose roote, with rich grasse greatly did abound,
(Forc'd by the moisture of the surging flood)
Ordain'd it seemde to sport her Nimphish brood;
Whose curled top denied the heauens great eye,
To view the stocke he was maintained by.
The Larke that learnes obseruance to the Sunne,
Quauers her cleere notes in the quiet ayre,
That on the riuers murmuring base doth runne,
And the pl
[...]sde heauens, their fairest liuery ware,
The place such pleasure gently doth prepare;
The flowers my scent, the flood my taste to steepe,
Each sence thus s
[...]ted,
[...]ed me asleepe.
When in a dreame it seemed vnto me,
Triumphall musicke from the flood arose,
As when the Soueraigne we embargde do see,
And by faire
London for his pleasure rowes,
whose tender welcome the glad Cittie showes;
The people swarming thicke vpon the shores,
And the curlde water ouer-spread with oa
[...]es.
A troupe of Nimphs came suddainely on land,
In the full end of this triumphall sound,
And me incompast, taking hand in hand,
Casting themselues about me in a round,
And so downe set them on the easie ground;
Their sober eyes cast with a modest grace,
Vpon my swarth and melancholy face.
Next, twixt two Ladies came a goodly Knight,
As newly brought from some distressefull place,
To me who seemed some right worthy wight,
Though his attire were miserable base,
Many deepe furrowes in his manly face;
And though cold age had frosted his faire haires,
It rather seemde with sorrow then with yeares.
The one a Lady of a p
[...]incely port,
Leading this sad Lord, scarcely that could stand,
The other fleering in disdainefull sort,
with scornefull iestures drew him by the hand,
who lame and blinde, yet bound with many a band;
which (I perceiued nearer as they came)
That this was Fortune, that more constant fame.
Fame on the right hand in a robe of golde,
whose traine old Time obsequiously did beare,
whereon in rich Embraudry was enrolde,
The acts of all the worthies euer weare,
which all might reade depainted liuely there,
Set downe in loftie well composed verse,
Fi
[...]st the great deedes of Heroes to rehearse.
On her faire breast she two broad Tablets wore,
Of cristall th'one, the other Ebony,
where were ingrauen all the names of yore,
In the large Toombe of lasting memory,
Or the blacke booke of endlesse obloquy;
The first with Poets and with Conquerours pilde,
That with base worldlings euery where defilde.
And in her words appeared (as a wonder)
Her instant force and after-during might,
which softly spoke, farre off were heard to thunder,
About the world that quickly tooke their flight,
And brought the most obscurest things to light:
That still the farther off, the greater still
Did sound our good, or manifest our ill.
Fortune, as blinde as he whom she did leade,
Her feature often changing in an hower,
Fantastically carying her head,
Soone would she smile, and sodainely would lower,
And with one breath, her words both sweete & sower
Vpon her foes she amorously would glance,
And on her followers coily looke askance.
About her necke in manner of a chaine,
Torne diadems and broken scepters hung,
If any on her stedfastly did leane,
Them to the ground di
[...]dainefully she flung;
And in this order as shee passt along,
Great bags of gold out of her bosome drew,
Which to the vnworthiest euermore she threw.
A duskie vaile which hid her sightlesse eyes,
Like clowdes that couer our vncertaine liues,
wherein were portraide direfull tragedies,
Fooles wearing Crownes, and wise-men clogg'd in giues,
All things how she preposterously contriues;
That as a map her regency discouers,
In Camps, in Courts, and in the fate of louers.
An easie bancke neere to this place there was,
A seate faire
Flora vsde to sit vpon,
Curling her faire lockes in this liquid glasse,
Putting her rich gems and attirings on,
Fitter then this about vs was there none;
Heere set they downe this poore distressed man,
And in this sort prowd Fortune thus began.
Behold this Duke of
Normandie quoth shee,
The heire of
William, Conqueror of this Ile,
Appealing to be iustifi'd by thee,
(whose tragedy this Poet must compile)
He of all other that I hold most vile,
His birth being markde with my vnluckie brand,
For whom I see thou com'st preparde to stand.
What art thou but a tumor of the minde,
A bubble blowne vp with deceitfull breath,
Which neuer yet exactly wert definde,
In whom no wise man t'rereposed faith,
Speaking of few well vntill after death,
That from loose humor hast thy timelesse birth,
Vnknowne to heauen, and lesse esteemde on earth?
First in opinion hadst thou thy creation,
On whom thou still doost seruilely attend,
Like whom thou long retainst not any fashion,
But with the world vncertainely doost wend,
Which as a poste, doth vp and downe thee send;
Without prophane tongs, thou could'st neuer rise,
Nor be vpholden, were it not with lies.
In euery corner prying like a theefe,
And through each cranny subtilely doost creepe,
Apt to report, and easie of beleefe:
What's he whose counsell thou didst euer keepe,
That into clossets sawcily darste peepe
[...]
Telling for truth, what thou canst but suppose,
And that divulging, thou shouldst not disclose.
With extreame toile and labour thou art sought,
The way is danger leadeth to thy Cell,
Onely with blood thy fauour must be bought,
And who would haue thee, fetcheth thee from hell,
Where thou impalde with fire and sword dost dwell,
And when thou art in all this perill found,
What art thou? onely but a tinckling sound.
Such as the world holds (of all other) base,
And of the rest reproachfully doth scorne,
That amongst men sit in the seruilst place,
These be the creatures which thou doost subborne,
Those waite on fame, whose weedes be neerely worne,
Yet these poore wretches come not vnto thee,
Vnlesse preferrde and dignifide by mee.
Thy trumpe such men supposed to aduance,
Is but as those fantastically deeme,
Whom folly, youth, or vanity intrance,
Onely to sound sufficing but to seeme,
(Which the wise sort a dotage but esteeme;)
And with this toy the humerous abusing,
Their wilfull error, and thy fault excusing.
Except in perill thou doost not appeare,
And yet not then, but with intreates and wooing.
Flying oft times when thou art very neare
At hand, diminishd and augmented going,
On slightest things the greatest cost bestowing;
In promising their losses to repaire,
When the performance is but onely ayre.
On balefull hearses as the fittest grounds,
(Written with blood) thy sad memorialls lie,
Whose letters are immedicable wounds,
Onely fit obiects for the weeping eye,
And from the dust thou worth doost only try;
And what sometime thou falsly didst depraue,
Thou doost acknowledge onely in the graue.
The mighty Orbe is witnesse of my power,
And how I raigne with the eternall fates,
With whom I sit in councell euery howre,
On th'alterations of the times and states,
Them setting downe their changes and their dates,
In fore-apointing euery thing to come,
Vntill the great and vniuersall doome.
The starres to me an euerlasting booke,
In that eternall register the skie,
Whose mighty volumes I do ouer-looke,
Still turning o're the leaues of destinie;
which man I to inuiolate, denie,
And his fraile will imperiously controle,
By such strong clauses as I there enrole.
Predestination giuing me a being,
whose depth mans wit could neuer throughly sound,
Into those secrets haue I onely seeing,
wherein wise Reason doth herselfe confound,
Searching where doubts do more and more abound;
where sacred texts vnlocke the way to mee,
To lighten those that will my glory see.
What names old Poets to their gods did giue,
were ouely figures to expresse my might,
To shew the vertues that in medo liue,
And my great power in this all-moouing wight,
And all their altars vnto me were dight;
Vp alterations euermore did bring,
Matter whereon, continually they sing.
Still most vncertaine varying in my course,
Yet in all changes aime one certaine end,
Crossing mans fore-cast (he may know my force)
Still foe to none, to none a perfect friend,
To him least thought of, soonest I do send;
That all should finde I worthily bestow,
Nor reasonvrge, but that
I hold it so.
Forth of my lap I powre aboundant blisse,
All good proceedes from my all-giuing hand,
By me, man happy or vnhappy is;
For whom I sticke, or whom
I doe with stand,
And it is
I am friendships onely band;
And vpon which, all greedily take hold,
VVhich being broke, loue suddainely growes cold.
Pawsing, she frownes, when suddainely withall,
A fearefull noise ariseth from the stood,
As when a tempest furiously doth fall,
within the thicke waste of some antient wood,
That in amazement euery mortall stoode;
As though her words such powerfulnesse did beare,
That euery thing her minaces did feare.
VVhen fame yet smiling, mildely thus replies,
Alas quoth she, what labor thou hast lost,
what wond'rous mists thou casts before our eyes?
Yet will the gaine not countervaile the cost;
what wouldst thou say if thou hadst cause to boast,
which sett'st thy state forth in such wond'rous sort,
VVhich but thy selfe, none euer could report
[...]
A thing constrained onely by euent,
Breeding in some a transitory terror;
A, what men will, that comes by accident,
And onely named to excuse their error.
What then is Fortune? or who doth preferre her?
Or who to thee so foolish is to leane,
Which weake tradition onely doth maintain?
A toy whereon the doting world doth dreame,
Soothed by that vncertaine obseruation
Of all attempts, that being the extreame,
Fastneth thereby on weake imagination;
Yet notwithstanding all this vsurpation,
Vnto thy selfe art incidently loathing
Most, when thou woldst be, that art rightly nothing.
That slightly by insinuating thus,
And vnder so allowable pretence,
Closely incroacheth on mans
Genius,
In good and euill taking refidence,
And hauing got some small preheminence,
Vnto thy selfe a being that wouldst frame,
Findes in conclusion only but a name.
Those ignorant which made a god of Nature,
And Natures God diuinely neuer knew,
Were those to Fortune did direct a stature,
From whom thy worship ignorantly grew,
Which being adored foolishly by few,
Grounded thy looser and vncertaine lawes,
Vpon so weake and indigent a cause.
First, stouth did beare thee in her sleepy cell,
And thee with ease dishonourably fed,
Deliuering thee with Cowardice to dwell,
Which with base thoughts continually thee bred.
By superstition idely being led:
A lewd imposture after did thee make,
Whom for a goddesse fooles doe onely take.
And as thy followers, nothing doost forecast.
And as thou arte improuident, as light;
And this the chiefest property thou hast,
That against vertue thou bendst all thy might,
With whom thou wagest a continuall fight;
The yeelding spirite in fetters thou doost binde,
But weake and slauish to the constant minde.
Such is thy froward and malignant kinde,
That thou doost all things crossely in despight,
Thou art inamored of a barbarous hinde,
Whome thou doost make thy onely fauorite,
None but the base in basenesse doth delight;
For wert thou heauenly; thou in loue wouldst bee,
with that which neerest doth resemble thee.
But I alone the herauld am of heauen,
Whose spacious kingdome shetcheth farre and wide,
To euery coast as swift as lightning driuen,
And on the sunne-beames gloriously I ride;
Now mount I vp, now downe againe I slide:
I register the worlds eternall howres,
That know the hid will of th'immortall powres.
Men to the starres, me guiding them, do clime,
That all dimensions perfectly expresse,
And I alone the vanquisher of time,
Bearing that sweere that cures deaths bitternesse,
That doe all labour plentifully blesse,
That all obstruse profundities impart,
Leading man through the tedious wayes of Arte.
My pallace placed betwixt earth and skies,
Which many a Tower ambitiously vpheares,
Whereof the windowes are composde of eies,
The walles as strongly edifide of eares,
where euery thing in heauen and earth appeares,
Nothing so softly whispered in the round,
But through my pallace presently doth sound.
And vnder-foote floor'd all about with drummes,
The rafters trumpets admirably cleere,
Sounding alowde each name that thither comes,
The crannies tongues, and talking euery where,
And all things past doe in remembrance beare:
The doores vnlocke with euery little breath,
And open wide with euery word man saith.
And throwout hung with armes & conquer'd spoiles,
The postes whereon the goodly roofe doth stand,
Are Pillars grauen with
Herculian toiles,
Th'atchieuements great of many a warrelike hand,
Both in the christen'd and in heathen land;
Done by those Nobles that are most renown'd,
Which there by me immortally are crown'd.
Here in the bodies likenes whilst it liues,
Appeare the thoughts proceeding from the minde,
To which the place a glorious habite giues,
When vnto me they freely are resignde,
To be preseru'd there, by my power refinde;
That when the body by plae death doth perish,
Then doth this place the minds true Image cherish.
My beautie neuer Fades, but as new borne,
As yeares increase, so euer waxing yong,
My strength is not diminished, nor worne,
What weakeneth all things, makes me onely strong,
Nor am I subiect vnto worldly wrong,
The rape of time I carelesly defie,
Nor am I awde by all his tyrannie.
The brow of heauen my monuments containe,
which is the mighty register of Fame,
which there in firie characters remaine,
The gorgeous seeling of th'immortall frame,
The Constellations publishing my name
where my memorialls euermore abide,
In those pure bodies highly glorifide.
F
[...] hauing ended, Fortune next beganne,
Further to vrge what she before had said,
when (loe quoth she) duke
Robert is the man,
which as my prisners I in bondes do leade,
For whome thou comst against me heere to pleade,
Whome I alone deprined of his crowne,
Who can raise him that Fortune will haue downe?
A fitter instance (Fame replying) none,
Then is Duke
Robert, Fortune do thy worst,
Greater to man thy might was neuer showne,
Doing on him what euer Fortune durst;
And since thy turne allotted thee the first,
Proceede; see which the Norman Duke shall haue,
Whether that Fame, or Fortune and the graue.
Quoth Fortune then, I found th'vnstedfast starre,
Whose lucklesse working limited his fate,
That mark'd his sad natiuitie with warre,
And brothers most vnnaturall debate,
Publique sedition and with priuate hate,
And on that good his father him begunne,
Grounded the wracke and downe fal of this sonne.
What bounteous nature franckly did bestow,
Wherein her best she strained her to trie,
Thereby, himselfe I made him ouerthrow,
Aboue you both so powerfull am I;
His breast to all so openly did lie,
Iudg'd from his fashion differing so farre,
For peace too milde, too mercifull for warre.
And yet the courage that he did inherit,
And from the greatnesse of his blood did take,
Though shrowded in so peaceable a spirit,
When now his wrong so roughly did awake,
Forthwith such furie violently brake,
As made the world impartially to see,
All humane actions managed by mee.
That till reuenge was wholly him bere
[...]t,
Opposde against so absolute a powre,
And him to leane on nothing being left,
when danger most him threatned to deuoure,
Vnto the period of the vtmost howre;
Him flattering still with promise of my loue,
Did make him all extreamities to proue.
That whilst his father with the Norman sword,
On fruitfull
England prosprous entrance made,
I cast the proiect that this youthfull Lord,
In the meane time should
Normandie inuade;
And with as prou'd and powerfull a blade,
Him I perswaded (constantly by this)
To make his owne yet doubtfull to be his.
That
Robert daily in disgrace might runne,
As still the Conqueror towards his end did grow,
who well in yeeres, thus vexed by his sonne,
which now his will so openly did show;
His state deuised wisely to bestow,
For his owne safety that his daies to close.
He might himselfe more quietly repose.
And that lest time might coole his weakned blood,
This lucklesse warre by lingring I supplide,
That whilst Duke
Robert iustly censured stood,
Vnder the weight of his vnnaturall pride;
In heate of all, this Conqueror
William dide,
Setting young
Rufus on th'vnrightfull throne,
Leauing h
[...] strugling for his owne.
Which in small time so many mischiefes bred,
As sundry plagues on
Williams of-springs sent,
Attaining to so violent a head,
which pollicie not after could preuent;
when to destruction all things head-long went,
And in the end, as consumating all,
Was
Roberts irrecouerable fall.
When none could prosprous
Nonmandie disswade,
From sending ensignes to the English field,
Brother opposde the brother to inuade,
Sword against sword, shield menaced to shield,
whose equall worth to other scorne to yield;
One arme a front, the others furious stroke,
Scepter with septer violently broke.
These sundry soiles, in both of which was sowne,
By so approu'd and fortunate a hand,
The seede to both might prosprously haue growne,
By their
[...] in a mutuall band;
Now when these Princes opposite do stand;
what them should foster, greater wounds them lent,
Then the prowd'st powre that
Europe could haue sent.
Hauing my selfe wonne
William in his life,
This conquered Realme to
Rufus that did giue,
Getting by strength what he did leaue in strife,
Those to molest that after him should liue;
In this aduantage cunningly I driue,
T'afflict his issue with a generall ill,
Yet th'extreame in
Robert to fulfill.
As when stowt
Odo (that with
William held,
Daily prickt forward by prowd
Lanfrancks spight,
Both powerfull Prelates rigorously compeld,
Rufus to leaue abetting
Roberts right,
Drawing both
Mortaines and
Mongomeries might,
Mangling the Ile with many a greeuous scarre,
Scarcely yet cured of the former warre.
That being set in so direct a way,
Strong friends at hand his enterprize to becke,
Ready before him when his entrance lay,
Of all supplide that he did lately lacke,
Him I perswade the remedy to slacke,
Stopping the course which he did lately runne,
All to vndoe that he had euer done.
Thus did I stirre vp that vnkindely rage,
That did so farre preuaile vpon his blood,
And at my pleasure did againe asswage,
When now this heate in sted might him haue stood;
Thus with his humour altred I my mood,
That first by Armes his vigor he might lose,
Which then laid down gaue strength vnto his foes.
That by concluding this vntimely peace,
I might thereby a lingring warre beginne,
That whil'st these tumults did a little cease,
Craft more aduantage cunningly might winne;
Thus let
I treason secretly in,
Giuing deceitfull Pollicie the kay,
To the faire closet where his councells lay,
Thus reconciling outwardly a friend,
I drew an inward and a dangerous foe,
That all his wit ambitiously did lend,
To clothe his treasons in a vertuous show;
Which were contriued
[...]so currantly to goe,
That secret mallice strengthned more and more,
Lastly, should proue more dangerous then before.
And now poore Fame, my power to thee addrest,
And thee mine onely instrument I made,
That whilst these brothers at this passe do rest,
Him to the warres I wonne thee to perswade,
With those that now were going to inuade,
With great Duke
Godfrey pressing for his bands,
From Pagans power t'regaine the holy lands.
His youthfull humour finely thus I feed,
The meane most fit to draw him forth abroad,
When now at home his presence most should neede,
In forraine lands to fasten his aboad,
Him in this order onely I bestow'd;
That
William dying,
Robert being gone,
Henry might seate him on his brothers throne.
So sweete the sounds of these aduent'rous Armes,
And euery sence so strougly they do binde,
That he hath now no feeling of his harmes,
So farre away transported is his minde,
Declaring well the greatnesse of his kinde;
That him so high and forcibly doth beare,
As when most cause, he least his ill doth feare.
Him hauing throwne into eternall thrall,
Wisely fore-casting how the same should bee,
When euery thing made fit vnto his fall,
Which none could hinder, though the most fore-see,
For which I made an instrument of thee;
For where destruction sadly I pretend,
Mischiefe like lines, all to their centre bend.
He gone, and
William yeelded vp the breath,
The younger
Henry couetous of raigne,
Offered so fairely by his brothers death,
whilst
Robert doth in
Palestine remaine,
And now a Kingdome easily might gaine;
what by his power and science to perswade,
Himselfe a Monarch absolutely made.
Whilst this great Duke imbraced is by thee,
which thou as thine doost absolutely claime,
Finding meere shadowes onely missing mee,
And idle Castles in the ayre doth frame;
Lot, such a mighty Monarchesse is Fame,
That what she giues, so easie is to beare,
As none therefore needes violence to feare.
Vntill returning from those holy warres,
So highly honored with the Pagans flight,
From forraigne battells vnto ciuill
[...]arres,
And getting others for his owne to fight,
Inforc'd to vse the vtmost of his might;
with that rich sword in Pagan blood imbru'd,
Himselfe to saue by his owne friends pursu'd.
When wanting summes, the sinewes of his force,
which his great courage quickly comes to finde,
Euen in the high speede of his forward course,
So skilfully I mannaged his minde,
That I a way out readily did finde;
To his destruction,
Henry to supply,
His future safetie happily to buy.
Him by all waies to amity to winne,
Not fully yet establish'd as he would,
Hauing thus farre already gotten in,
Setting himselfe substantially to hold,
By the francke offers of bewitching gold;
The yearely tribute from his Crowne to rise,
Which might all former iniuries suffice.
Which entertaind by confident beleefe,
By which to passe his purposes were brought,
Not yet suspitious of this secret theefe,
By which he soone and cunningly was caught;
Of which the least when princely
Robert thought,
Euen in a moment did annoy him more,
Then all their powre could euer do before.
Which to this great Lord vtterly vnknowne,
Not vnderstanding, easily could not flie,
Into his way that subtilly was throwne,
which to auoide, Duke
Robert look'd too hie,
Into good minds fraud doth the soonest prie;
whose pliant nature I securely chose,
To worke vvhat forme it pleasde me to dispose.
This fatall tribute cutting off the claime,
A lawfull Prince to
Englands Empire laid,
His former right doth altogether maime,
As they agreed yeerely to be paid;
Thereon relying after being staid,
As from a fountaine plenteously did spring,
The efficient cause of
Roberts ruining.
Whenas his friends so well to him that meant,
And for this day did wholly them prepare,
Seeing him thus their purpose to preuent,
And how thereby t'was like with him to fare;
Now vpon
Henry bended all their care,
Giuing their power their peace with him to make,
Gathered at first the Norman part to take.
And I by whom yet euery thing had beene,
Since Norman
William conquest heere begunne,
To shew my selfe the worlds emperious Queene,
Direct my course against his eldest sonne,
Things falling out disastrously to runne,
On
Englands part gainst
Normandie to stand,
Conquerd but lately by the Norman hand.
The conquest
William made vpon this Ile,
When Norman blood the Englishmen did tame,
That natiue now enriched with her stile,
Turnde with reuenge to captiuate the same,
As backe descending whence it lately came,
As Norman power did English thrall prouoke,
That Norman neckes should beare the English yoke.
For which, being vp, and fallne to open Armes,
Such mortall hate betweene them daily growes,
And pressing in where deadly perill swarmes,
The angry brothers dealing furious blowes,
Backe to regaine what they before did loose,
Either to quit him of the others thrall,
Either to rise, or euermore to fail.
Him on whome late in
Palestine I smilde,
Returnde from
Fraunce now dreadfully I frowne,
Being calld home that chiefly is exilde,
And in his kingdome onely leaues his crowne,
Him in the deluge of mischance to drowne:
Lastly, himselfe contemptfully doth lose,
Leauing his realme to his iniurious foes.
Which home to England prisner doe him bring,
Left as a spoile and prey vnto his owne,
Become her captiue should haue bin her king,
Such was the lot vpon his life was throwne,
Where he remaining in continuall mone,
Prescrib'd to one poore solitarie place,
Whose lawfull bounds the ocean did embrace,
Could humane knowledge comprehend my hate,
Or reason sound the depth of things diuine,
The world amazed at Duke
Roberts state,
Might thinke no might to be comparde with mine,
And all the chaunces vnto me resigne,
In
Roberts fall apparantly to see,
Amongst the starres the strength that rests in mee.
That sword vpon him which resumes such powre,
Yet is too weake to consumate his daies,
Time, whose swift course doth euery thing deuoure,
In his most neede, prolongs him with delaies,
Whilst he his brothers tyrannie obeies,
That he in life a thousand deaths might die,
In euery course so forcible am I.
And whilst in such extreamity he lies,
Depriude of all comfort but the blessed light,
Yet t'was not this that could my rage suffice,
But to abridge that, rob him of his sight,
To sute his daies directly with the night;
That, that to all men lastly which should be,
Due to the wretchedst, him denide by me.
That
Robert so infortunately blinde,
No outward obiect night dispearse his care,
The better to illuminate his minde,
To see his sorrowes throughly what they are,
To do so much vnto this Prince I dare,
That being depriu'd of that which was the chiefe,
Did of the other amplifie the griefe.
And when bereaued of his nightly rest,
With the remembrance of so great a wrong,
Fastning so deepely on his pensiue breast,
His heart the while that violently stung,
Nature in him doth shew herselfe so strong;
That griefe, which many doth of life depriue,
Seemes to preserue and keeps him still aliue.
Him I denide his enemy to kill,
Nor by his owne hand wretchedly to die,
That life vnto him should be loathsome still,
And that death from him euermore should flie,
Making them both to him an enemie;
Willing to die by life, him double killing,
Vrged to liue, twice dying he vnwilling,
So many yeares as he hath worne a Crowne,
So many yeares as he hath hopde to rise,
So many yeares vpon him did I frowne,
So many yeares he liues without his eyes,
So many yeares in dying e're he dies,
So many yeares shut vp in prison strong,
Sorrow doth make the shortest time seeme long.
Thus sway I in the course of earthly things,
That time might worke him euerlasting spight,
To shew how I can tyrannize on Kings,
And in the fall of great ones do delight,
In fined things my working infinite;
All worldly changes at my will disposed,
For that in me all wonder is inclosed.
At Fortunes speech amazed whilst they stand,
And Fame herselfe yet wondreth at his woe,
When from Duke
Robert Fortune takes her hand,
Whose misery she thus had let them know;
When now to answer her dispightfull foe,
Fame from deepe silence seeming to awake,
Thus for her Client modestly bespake.
Quoth she, returning from renowned
Rome,
Seeking my selfe in
Europe to aduance,
To winne her Princes to regaine the tombe,
Which had beene lost by her misgouernance,
Calling to England, Germany and France
(At length) perswaded happily by me,
From Pagan hands faire Palestine to free.
That holy hermite long that did bemone
This their so great and euident a losse,
With famous
Godfrey forwards that was gone,
Bearing the banner of the bloody Crosse.
Now whilst in so faire forwardnes it was,
And euery care attentiue now did stand,
To this great buisnes onely then in hand.
Thither did all the noblest spirites resort,
Which I that time successefully did bring,
Allured by the confident report
That from so great an enterprise did spring.
T'aduenture in so popular a thing;
And no man deemed worthy to be mine,
That was not forward in this great designe.
Where now this duke the Conqu'rors eldest sonne,
Which with his birthright
Normandie did wrest,
When of what else his noble father wonne,
His brother
Rufus strongly was possest;
Which whilst he striueth from his hands to rest,
This great attempt now gloriously broke forth,
Which was by me divulged through the north.
Which hauing got free entrance to his care,
Such entertainement happily did finde,
As no perswasion suffreth to be there,
From this high purpose to diuert his minde,
And being so religiously inclinde,
woo'd with this offer fitly doth prepare
Himselfe to furnish to this great affaire.
That kingdome he dooth carelesly neglect,
His brother
Rufus wrongfully doth keepe,
And onely that doth constantly respect,
where he once in his sepulchre did sleepe,
At whose deere death the very rockes did weepe,
His crown of gold this christian Prince doth scorn,
So much he lou'd him that was crownd with thorne.
The want that him did grieuously oppresse,
Of those great summes in leuying power were spent,
Himselfe againe of England to possesse,
Much hindreth his religious intent,
Yet could not this his purpose so preuent,
Although a while it seemd delay to make,
Of that which he did brauely vndertake.
Wherefore this noble and high spirited Lord.
whilst novv his buisnes standeth at this stay,
And since his state no better could afford,
In gage to
Henry Normandie doth lay,
Prouiding first his souldiers how to pay,
Rather himselfe chose kingdomlesse to leaue,
His countries hopes then basely to deceaue.
To his victorious ensigne comes from farre,
Th'inlled Red-shanks toucht with no remorse,
The light-foote Irish that with darts do warre,
The Scot so much delighting in his horse,
The English Archer of a Lions force,
The valiant Norman most his troupes among,
With the braue Britton wonderfully strong.
Remote from comfort in this colder clime,
To other Countries kindely doth you bring,
(And wisely teach you to redeeme the time,
Whence your eternall memory might spring)
Vnto the place whereas the heauenly King.
Your deare redemption happily beganne,
Liuing on earth, which was both God and man.
Poore Ilanders which in the Oceans chaine,
Too long imprisoned from the cheerefull day,
Your warlike leader brings you to the maine,
Which to my Court doth shew the open way,
And his victorious hand becomes the key;
Vnto so high aduentures that you beares,
Glory to you, and honour to your heires.
And doth thereto so zealously proceede,
As those faire lockes his temples that adorne,
Vntill the great
Ierusalem were freed,
He made a vow should neuer more be shorne,
Which since they so religiously were worne;
In euery eye did beautifie him more,
Then did the Crowne of
Normandie before.
Whilst he still on his vpright course doth hold,
As we the sequell briefely shall relate,
Bearing himselfe (as worthily he could)
And best became his dignitie and state,
Teaching how his themselues should moderate,
Not following life, so with his chance content,
Nor flying death, so truly valient.
So did he all his faculties bestow,
That euery thing exactly might be done,
That due fore-sight before the act might goe,
Others grosse errors happily to shunne,
Wisely to finish well that was begunne;
Iustly directed in the course of things,
By the straight rule from sound experience springs.
Idle regards of greatnes that did scorne,
Carelesse of pompe, magnificent to bee,
That man reputing to be noblest borne,
That was the most magnanimous and free,
In honor so impartiall was hee,
Esteeming titles meritlesse and nought,
Vnlesse with danger absolutely bought.
Giuing the souldier comfortable words,
And oft imbalmes his well-receiued wound,
To him that needed maintenance affords,
To braue attempts encouraging the sound,
Neuer dismaide in any perrill found,
His Tent a seate of iudgement to the greeu'd,
And as a Court to those should be releeu'd.
So perfect vvas that rarifying fire,
That did compose and rectifie his minde,
Vnto that place that raised his desire,
Aboue the vsuall compasse of his kinde,
And from the world so cleerely him refinde,
As him did wholy consecrate to glorie,
A subiect fit whereon to build a storie.
VVho in ambassage to the Emperour sent,
Passing along through
Macedon and
Thrace,
Neuer did sleepe but onely in his tent,
Till he reviewd that famous
Godfreis face,
Nor till hee came vnto that halowed place,
Ne're did repose his bodie in a bed,
Such were the cares possess his troubled head.
O wherefore then great singer of thy daies,
Renovvned
Tasso in thy noble storie,
Shouldst thou be tax'd as partiall in his praise,
And yet so much shouldst set forth others glorie?
Me thinkes for this thou shouldst be inly sorie,
That thou shouldst leaue another to recite,
That which so much thou didst neglect to write.
There was not found in all the christian hoste,
Any than he more forward to the field,
Nor their battallions could another boast,
To beare himselfe more brauely with his shield,
So well his armes this noble Duke could wield,
As such a one he properly should be,
That
[...] I did meane to consecrate to me.
Of so approoued and deliuer force,
Charging his launce or brandishing his blade,
Whether on foote, or managing his horse,
That open passage through the ranckes he made,
At all assaies so happy to inuade,
That were he absent in the charge or chase,
It was supposde the day did loose the grace.
In doubtfull fights where danger soon'st did fall,
He would be present euer by his will,
And where the Christians for supplies did call,
Thither through perill
Robert pressed still,
To help by valour, or relieue by skill;
To euery place so prouidently seeing,
As power in him had absolutely being.
When in the morne his Courser he bestrid,
He seemd composde essentially of fire,
But from the field he euer drowping rid,
As he were vanquisht onely to retire,
Neerest his rest, the furth'st from his desire,
And in the spoiles his souldiers share the crownes,
They rich in golde, he only rich in wounds.
And when the faire
Ierusalem was wonne,
And king thereof they gladly him would make,
All worldly titles he so much doth shunne,
As he refusde the charge on him to take,
One the vaine world that cleerely did forsake,
So farre it was from his religious minde,
To mixe things vile with those of heauenly kinde.
No triumph did his victories adorne,
But his high praise for sinfull man that dide,
Nor other marke of victory is worne,
But that red Crosse to tell him crucifide,
All other glories that himselfe denide:
A holy life so willingly he leades,
In dealing almes, and bidding of his beades.
Thus a poore Pilgrime he returnes againe,
For glittring armes in Palmers homely gray,
Leauing his Lords to leade his warrelike traine,
Whilst he alone comes sadly on the way,
Dealing abroad his lately purchasde pray;
An aged staffe his carefull hand doth hold,
That with a launce his heathen foe controlde.
But now to end this long continued strife,
Henceforth thy mallice takes no further place,
The hate thou bar'st him ended with his life,
By thee his spirite can suffer no disgrace,
Now in mine armes his vertues I embrace,
His body thine, his crosses witnes bee,
But mine his minde, that from thy powre is free.
Thou gau'st vp rule when he gaue vp his breath,
And where thou end'st, eu'n there did I beginne,
Thy strength was buried in his timelesse death,
when as thy Conquerour lastly came I in,
That all thou gotst from thee againe did winne;
To whom thy right thou wholy didst resigne,
That all thou hadst was absolutely mine.
To the base world then Fortune get thee backe,
The same with drery tragedies to fill,
There by thy power bring all things vnto wracke,
And on weake mortalles onely worke thy will,
And since so much thou doost delight in ill,
Heare his complaint, who wanting eies to see,
May giue thee sight, which arte as blinde as hee.
At her great words amazed whilst they stand,
The Prince which looked dreadfully and grimme,
Bearing his eies in his distressefull hand,
Whose places stoode with blood vnto the brimme,
In the great anguish shaking euery limme;
After deepe sighes and lamentable throwes,
Thus gan at length to vtter forth his woes.
Saith he, farewell, the lights are now put out,
And where they were, is buried all my ioy,
That are with darkenes compassed about,
Which tiranny did wilfully destroy,
To breed my more perpetuall annoy,
That euen that sense I onely might forgoe;
That could alone giue comfort to my woe.
You which beheld faire
Palestine restorde,
And from prophane hands of the Pagans freed,
The Sepulchre of that most gratious Lord,
And seen the mount where his deere wounds did bleed
That with these sights my zealous soule did feede;
Sith from your functions night doth you disseuer,
Seclude me now from worldly ioyes for euer.
They sawe no Sunne, nor did they view the day,
Except a candle, they beheld no light,
Strong walles before those blessings kept away,
What could be feard'? they could not hurt the night,
For then teares wholy hindred them of sight;
O then from whence should
Henries hate arise,
Though I sawe nothing that I should haue eies?
The wretchedst thing the most despisedst beast,
Enioyes that sence as generally as wee,
The very Gnat, or what than that is least,
Of sight by nature kindely is made free,
What thing hath mouth to feede, but eies to see,
O that a tyrant then should me deprane,
Of that which else all liuing creatures haue:
Whilst yet the light did mittigate my moane,
Teares found a meane to sound my sorrowes deepe,
But now ay me, that comfort being gone,
By wanting eies wherewith I erst did weepe,
My cares alas concealed I must keepe;
O God, that blindenesse stealing my delight,
Should aboue all things giue my sorrow sight
Where sometime stoode the beauties of this face,
Those lampes once lighted with the vestall flame,
Is now a dungeon, a distressed place,
A harbour fit for infamy and shame,
Which but with horrour none can scarcely name;
Out of whose darke grates misery and griefe,
Starued for vengeance, daily beg reliefe.
The day abhorres me, and me still doth flie,
Night still me followes, yet too long doth stay,
This neuer comes though it be euer nie,
And this in comming vanisheth away,
What now me booteth either night or day;
All's one, stil day, or be it euer night,
Sith one to me the darkenesse and the light.
You wherewith once my comforts I did view,
Th'alcouering heauen and glory that it beares,
No more the same shall e're be seene of you,
That happy sight that euery mortall cheares,
No more to me for euer nowe appeares;
Betake you selues vnto your darkesome cell,
And bid the world eternally farewell.
His speech thus ending, Fortune discontent,
Turning herselfe as she away would flie,
Playing with babes and fooles incontinent,
As neuer tutch'd with humane miserie,
As what she was herselfe to verifie;
And strait forgetting what she had to tell,
To other speech and girl
[...]sh laughter fell.
When gracefull Fame conueying thence her charge,
With all these troupes that did to her resort,
Gaue me this booke, wherein was writ at large,
His life set out in admirable sort,
T'amaze the world with this so true report,
But Fortune angry with her foe therefore,
Gaue me this gift, that I should still be pore.
FINIS.
The Legend of Matilda
IF yet a Muse there happily remaine,
That is by truth so diligently taught,
As vninstructed wantonly to faine,
Declareth but what modestlie she ought;
If this be such which I so long haue sought,
I craue by her my life may be reuealde,
By blacke obliuion enuiously concealde.
Oh if such fauour I might hope to finde,
Heere in this world yet once to liue agen,
As I yet lastly might expresse my minde,
By the endeuour of a powrefull pen,
In all my sorrowes happy were I then;
Three hundreth yeares by all men ouer-past,
Finding one friend to pitty me at last.
O you of him so happily elect,
Whom I intreat to prosecute my story,
Lady most deere, most worthy all respect,
The worlds best jewell, and your sexes glory,
It shall suffice me, be
Idea sory,
Reading my Legend sadly in his verse,
Which now alone must serue me for a her
[...].
[...] you the patterne by whose perfect view,
Like your faire selfe he wisely may me make,
For sure aliue none fitter is then you,
Whose forme vnspotted chastitie may take,
Be you propitious, for whose onely sake
For me I know hee'le gladly do his best,
So you and I may equally be blest.
Bright
Rosamond so highly that is graced,
Inroled in the register of same,
That in our saincted kalender is placed,
By him who striues to stellifie her name;
Yet will the modest say she was too blame,
Though full of state and pleasing be his rime,
Yet can his skill not expiate her crime.
The wife of
Shore winnes generall applause,
Finding a pen laborious in her praise,
[...]lstr
[...]d reuiu'd to pleade her pittied cause,
After the enuie of so many daies,
Happie's the man their glories high'st can raise;
Thus the loose wanton liked is of many,
Vice shall finde friends, but vertue seldome any.
To vaunt of my Nobilitie were vaine,
Which were I know, not bettered by the best,
Nor should beseeme an honourable straine,
And me a maiden fits not of the rest,
Nor worldly titles fondly will suggest;
A vertuous life I meane to boast alone,
Our birth our syres, our vertues be our owne:
T'is shame to fetch our long descent from Kings,
If from the gods deriued thou shouldst be,
The old atchieuements of those wondrous things,
Which thou thy selfe then liuedst not to see,
What be their acts materiall vnto thee?
Staining that blood and honour that was theirs,
Which could not leaue their vertues to their heires.
Heauen powr'd downe more abundance on my birth,
Then it before had vsually bestow'd,
And was in me so bountifull to earth,
As though the fulnesse meaning to haue show'd,
On me it so immeasurably flow'd,
That such a shape with such a spirit inspir'd,
Did of the wisest make me most desir'd.
Vpon my brow sate Beautie in her pride,
Vnto the world as ministring her law,
And vnto all such riches did diuide,
As vnto her all generally did draw;
And yet mine eye did keepe them so in awe,
As that which onely could true vertues measure,
Ordainde by Nature to preserue her treasure.
My carrige such as might content the wise,
My speech such comely decen
[...]e retaine,
As of the yonger was not deemde precise,
Nor of the aged was accounted vaine;
So well instructed to obserue the meane,
So well compact, and natiue was cach good,
That did coher
[...] with temper of my blood.
Nature in me did such perfections vary,
As that the least allow'd not of compare,
And yet so well did teach me them to carry,
That then themselues did make them seeme more rare,
As in my portion suffering none to share,
In her faire grace by placing me so hie,
That there should sit the darling of the skie.
When Fame beganne my beauty first to blaze,
That soone became too lauish of the same,
Hauing her trumpet laden with my praise,
That euery place was filled with my name,
For which report thou too much wert too blame;
But vnto thee is beautie subiect still,
Which I may say, is causer of our ill.
This jealous monster hath a thousand eyes,
Her ayrie body hath as many wings,
Now about earth, now vp to heauen she flies,
And heere and there with euery breath she flings,
Euen from the deepe her messages she brings,
Nothing so secret but to her appeareth,
As apt to credite euery thing she heareth.
And Princes eares as open to report,
As skill in blazing beauty to a King,
Subiect vnto the censure of the Court,
From whence Fame carries, thither she doth bring,
And which soeuer she doth lowdly ring,
Thither ah me vnhappily she brought,
Where I my barre vnfortunately caught.
There stood my beautie boldly for the prize,
Where the most cleere and perfectst iudgements be,
And of the same the most iudiciall eyes,
Did giue the gole impartially to me;
So did I stand vnparaleld and free,
And like a comet in the euenings skie,
Strooke with amazement euery wondring eye.
This t'was possest the breast of princely
Iohn,
This on his hart-strings endlesse musicke made,
This wholy wonne him vnto it alone,
And fully did his faculties inuade,
From which not reason euer could disswade;
This taught his eyes their due attendance still,
Holding the reines which rulde his princely will.
When yet my father fortunate in Court,
And by his blood ranck'd equall with the best,
Hauing his quicke eare touch'd with this report,
Which yet the newes but hardly could digest,
And on my youth his onely care did rest;
Straitly pursues it by those secret spies,
As still in Courts attend on Princes eyes.
And he thus while who seemed but to sleepe,
Till he the Princes purposes could sound,
And to himselfe yet secretly did keepe,
What he but late had prouidently found;
So well that wise Lord could conceale his wound,
That well fore-saw how daugerous it would proue,
To crosse the course of his impatient loue.
When hauing found how violent a flame,
Vnbrideled will had kindled in the King,
If on the suddaine he should stop the same,
A greater inconuenience might bring,
Which being knowne so dangerous a thing,
Me doth bethinke him fittest to perswade,
E're for my safety further means he made.
Deare girle quoth he, thou seest who doth await,
T'intrap that beautie bred to be thy foe,
Being so faire and delicate a bait,
Tempting all eyes themselues there to bestow,
Whose power the King is taught too soone to know;
Of his desire that what the end may bee,
Thy youth may feare my knowledge doth fore-see.
And for thou liuest publiquely in Court,
Whose priuiledge doth euery meane protect,
Where the ensample of the greatest sort,
Doth more then opportunitie effect,
None thriuing there that dwell vpon respect,
Being a lottery where but few do winne,
Falshood th'aduenture, and the prize but sinne.
Subt'ly opposing to thy longing sight,
What may to pleasure possibly prouoke,
And fitly fashioned vnto thy delight,
That with the grauest strikes too great a stroke,
Hauing withall emperious power thy cloke;
With such strong reasons on her part propounded,
As may leaue vertue seemingly confounded.
Many the waies inducing to thy fall,
And to thy safety none is left to guide thee,
And when thy danger greatest is of all,
Euen then thy succour soonest is denide thee:
So sundry meanes from vertue to diuide thee,
Hauing with all mortalitie about thee,
Frailty with in, temptation set without thee.
The leachers tongue is neuer voide of guile,
Nor wants he teares when he would winne his pray,
The subtilst tempter hath the smoothest stile,
Sirens sing sweetely when they would betray,
Lust of it selfe had neuer any stay,
Nor to containe it bounds could haue deuisde,
That when most fild, is least of all suffisde.
With euery meane and maiestie is fraught,
That all things hath contained in his power,
And who wil conquer, leaues no meane vnsaught,
Soft golden drops did pierce the brazen Tower,
Watching th'aduantage of each passing hower,
Time offering still each howre to doe amisse,
Thy banefull poison spiced with thy blisse.
And when this heady and vnseasned rage,
Which in his blood doth violently raigne,
Time, that the heate shall peceably asswage,
Shall shew the more apparently thy staine,
Which vnto ages euer shall remaine;
Sinne in a chaine leades on her sister shame,
And both in gyues fast fettered to defame.
Kings vse their loues as garments they haue worne,
Or as the meate whereon they fully fed,
The Saint once gone, who doth the shrine adorne?
Or what is Nectar carelesly if shed,
vvhat Princes vvealth redeemes thy maidenhead,
vvhich should be held as pretious as thy breath,
vvhose desolution consumates thy death.
The stately Eagle on his height dooth stand,
And from the maine the fearefull fowle doth smite,
Yet scornes to tuch it lying on the land,
When he hath felt the sweete of his delight,
But leaues the same a prey to euery kite;
With much we surffet, plenty makes vs poore,
The vvretched Indian spurnes the golden ore.
When now he points the periode with a teare,
vvhich in my bosome made so great a breach,
As euery precept firmely fixed there,
And still his councel vnto me did preach,
A father so effectually should teach,
That then his words I after euer found,
Written on so immaculate a ground.
The youthfull king deluded but the while,
That in his breast did beare this quenchlesse fire,
Whilst flattring hope his sences doth beguile,
That with fresh life still quickned his desire,
And gone so farre now meant not to retire;
Thinkes if that aptly winning him but place,
By loue or power to purchase him my grace.
Which still deferring, found he still did faile,
Nor to his minde aught (kindely) tooke effect.
Couragiously resoluing to assaile,
That other meanes doth vtterly neglect,
In spite what feare could any way obiect,
And finding time, not booting to be mute,
Thus to me lastly did preferre his sute.
Deare maide (quoth he) when Nature had ordained
Thee to the world her workemanship to bring,
All other creatures knowing she had stained,
By so diuine and excellent a thing,
Onely therefore to gratifie a King,
Seal'd thee the Charter dated at thy birth,
Mirrour of heauen, the wonder of the earth.
Hoord not thy beautie, heauen doth giue thee store,
Pittie such treasure should lie idely dead,
Which being imparted shall increase the more,
And by the interest euermore be fed,
To be mans comfort that was onelie bred,
vvhich of it selfe is of such povver and might,
As like the sunne ioyes all things with the sight.
From those bright stars such streams of lightning glide
As through the eies doe wound the very hart,
Whose vertues may be sundrie waies applide,
Hurting and healing like
Achilles dart;
Such bountie Nature did to them impart,
Those lampes two planets clearer then the seauen,
That with their splendor light the world to heauen.
Had Art such colours as could truly show,
Each rare perfection rightly in his kinde,
And on each one sufficiently bestowe,
Vnto the glory properly assignde,
Painting the beauties aptly to the minde,
But O alone thy excellence is such,
As words though many lessen worth so much.
He is thy king, who is become thy subiect,
Sometimes thy Lord now seruant to thy loue,
Thy gracefull features be his onely obiect,
Who for thy sake a thousand deaths durst proue,
A Princes prayer should some compassion moue;
Let woolues and beares be cruell in their kindes,
But women meeke and haue relenting mindes.
Daine (deare) to looke vpon these brimfull eyes,
With tides of teares continually frequented,
Where hope without foode hunger-staruen lies,
which to betray me trecherously consented,
That for the fact being lawfully conuented,
Iudgde in these waters still to haue their being,
For their presumption thy perfections seeing.
Sit thou commanding vnder mine estate,
Hauing thy tresses honored with my Crowne,
As not vnworthie of a meaner fate
And make the prowd'st to tremble with a frowne,
Raise whom thou wilt, cast whō it please thee downe:
And be my loue renowned through this Ile,
With all the titles fame may thee instile.
What if my Queene repining at our blisse,
Thee as did
Iuno Ioues faire darling keepe,
Mine I'le preserue as that great god did his,
Wise
Mercury lulld
Argus eies to sleepe,
Loue euer laughs when iealousie dooth weepe,
When most she stirs, our power shal keep hir vnder,
She may raise stormes, but we doe rule the thunder.
Thus hauing made the entrance to his loue,
Which he supposde assuredly in time,
Of better tidings messenger might proue,
By which he after to his ioyes might clime,
And of my youth now being in the prime,
Leaues me, not knowing well which way to turne me,
warm'd with the fire which vnawares might burne me.
Vpon my weaknes that so strongly wrought,
Whilst in my breast a mutiny arose,
Feare and Desire a doubtfull combate fought,
As like two eager and ambitious foes,
This striues to winne, the other feares to loose;
By this oft cleered, and by that accused,
Flattred by that most, most which me abused.
And in my selfe that well suspected treason,
Knowing who watcht to haue me for his pray,
And in so apt and dangerous a season,
vvhen youth and beauty bare so great a sway,
And where he battery still to me might lay,
vvho girt so strongly euery way about,
vvell might suspect I could not long holde out.
All doubts end feares cast vtterly aside,
Resolu'd at last away from Court to goe,
Whither it pleasde my happy starres to guide,
There I my selfe determinde to bestowe,
Vntill time might this passion ouer-blow,
Or if at least it wrought not the extrusion,
Might lend me power to help my resolution.
When he whose care this while me not forsooke,
That many a sweete sleepe for my safetie brake,
Much that was pleased with the course I tooke,
As one that truely suffred for my sake,
Did his abode at Baynards Castle make,
which since the Court so happly did leaue one,
To his protection kindely did receiue me.
Whence sorrow seemed vtterly exilde,
vvherein my life I long before did waste,
The present time that happily beguilde,
vvith thought of that which was alreadie past,
vvhere I was now so fortunately plac'd;
Euen as a bird escap'd the Fowlers snare,
vvhome former danger warneth to beware.
When now the King whose purposes were crossd,
vvhich this euasion subt'ly did preuent,
And that the meane to which he trusted most,
vvas that which most did frustrate his intent,
Seeing his sute preposterously went,
Another course bethinkes himselfe to runne,
Else now as farre off, as when first begunne.
Thenceforth deuising to dissolue the masse,
That lay so full betwixt him and the light,
That in his sute so great a hindrance was
And least exspected wrought him most dispite,
Finding the cause that all things went not right,
Casteth forth with my father to remoue,
To make the way more cleerer to his loue.
When scarcely cured of that sickely qual
[...]
And that my hart was happily at case,
But as a ship that in a gentle calme,
Floates vp and downe vpon the quiet seas,
By some rough gust some aduerse starre doth raise,
Driuen againe into the troubled maine,
vvh
[...] well had hopde securely to haue laine.
The powrefull Prince whome I did thus reiect,
Heereon in Court doth first this Peere disgrace,
Thereby to giue the people to suspect,
T'offend in some thing sitting neere his place,
Them it (by all meanes) vrging to imbrace;
Which if he cleerely modeld out, that path
Should giue a passage freely to his wrath.
And giuing colour to his ran'ckrous hate,
By such false councell as to him he drew,
Cunning in all the stratagems of state,
My guiltlesse father ceaselesly pursue,
Whose kingly power too quickely ouerthrew
Him which I hop'd me succour should haue giuen,
Till from all refuge absolutely driuen.
And not their cleere and intellectuall sight,
Into the quarrell that did throughly looke,
Nor our alies that to their vtmost might
Gainst his proceeding that our partie tooke,
Vnto the end that neuer me forsooke;
Could the effect of his great power preuent,
To stay from Fraunce my banisht father sent.
Not all his seruice to his soueraigne done,
In warre as valiant as in councell sound,
Which from this Prince compassion might haue won,
To him that faithfull euermore was found,
How deepely thou ingratitude doost wound:
Sure first deuised to no other end,
But to grieue those whom nothing could offend.
Ay me forsaken, left vnto my foe,
Thus by my fortune fro wardly betraide,
Neuer poore maiden was besieged so,
And all depressed that should lend me aide,
Such weight the heauens vpon my birth had laide,
Yet her due merite vertue neuer loseth,
Gainst her faire course though heauen it selfe opposeth.
Embarkt for France his sd deiected eies,
Filled with teares in plentifullest store,
His parting threatned by the lowring skies,
Then vnder saile from sight of any shore,
Feare him behinde, and sorrow him before;
Wasting withall his sad laments in vaine,
To the rude waters only to complaine.
When like a deere before the hounds imboste,
vvhen him his strength beginneth to forsake,
Leaues the smoothe lawnes to which he trusted most,
And to the couert doth it selfe betake,
Doubling that creepes from brake againe to brake;
Thus still I shift me from the Princes face,
vvhich hath me novv continually in chase.
The coast now cleere, suspition laide to rest,
And each thing fit to further his intent,
vvhich with much pleasure quieted his breast,
That euery thing so prosperously went,
And if the rest successefully consent,
Of former ayde that being quite forsaken,
He hopes the fort may easily be taken.
A Princes armes are stretcht from shore to shore,
Kings sleeping see with eies of other men,
Craft findes a key to open euery doore,
Little it bootes in walles my selfe to pen,
The lambe inclosed in the lions den;
vvhose watchfull eies too easily descride me,
And found me soonst, where
[...]ur'st I thought to hide me.
My paths by spies are diligently noted,
O're me he holdes so vigilant a watch,
And on my beautie he so fondly doted,
That at my lookes he enuiously did catch;
Readie that stoode attending at my
[...]atch,
vvhere jealous loue continually did warde,
Treason my handmaide, Falshoode on my guarde.
Wherefore since this so badly sorted out,
He to my shifts so narrowly me draue,
Another course must needesly cast about,
Where safer harbor happily to haue,
Since insufficient this was me to saue,
His power so spatious euery way did lie,
That still I stood in his ambitious eye.
And feare which taught me euery way to proue,
When I of many long time did debate,
Me at the last it pleasde the powers to moue,
To take vpon me a religious state,
The holy Cloister none might violate;
Where after all these stormes I did endure,
There yet at last might hope to liue secure.
Wherefore to
Dunmow secretly conuaide,
Vnto a house that sometime was begunne,
By
Iuga, of our ancestry, a maide,
At whose great charge this Monastry was done,
In which she after did become a Nunne;
And kept her order strictly with the rest,
Which in that place virginitie profest.
Where I my selfe did secretly bestow,
From the vaine world which I too long had tride,
One whom affliction taught my selfe to know,
My youth and beautie gently that did chide,
And me instructing as a skilfull guide;
Printed with all such coldnesse in my blood,
That it might so perpetuate my good.
The King who with an enuious eye did see,
His power deluded, strongly discontent,
who thence his power not possibly could free,
Which his sad breast doth grieuously torment;
which since that I so wilfully was bent,
And he past hope now euer to enioy me,
Resolues by some meanes lastly to destroy me.
And he that knew one fit for such a fact,
To whom he durst his secret thoughts impart,
One that for him would any thing enact,
And in performance wanted not his Art,
That had a strong hand, a relentlesse hart;
On him the King (in madnesse so enrag'd)
Imposde my death, himselfe thereto that gag'd.
Who making haste the fatall deede to do,
Thither repaires, but not as from the King,
One that did well know what belong'd thereto,
Nor therein needed any tutoring,
But as one sent vpon some needefull thing;
with a smooth countenance and with setled browes,
Obtaines to get in where I paide my vowes.
Where I alone and to his tale exposde,
As one to him a willing eare that lent,
Aye me, too soone himselfe to me disclosde,
And who it was that him vnto me sent,
From point to point, relating his intent;
Which whil'st I stoode strooke dumbe with this invasion,
He thus pursues me strongly with perswasion.
Saith he but heare how greatly thou doost erre,
Fondly to doat vpon thine owne perfection,
Whenas the King thee highly will preferre,
And that his power desireth thy protection;
So indiscreetly sort not thy election,
To shut vp in a melancholy cell,
That in the Court ordained was to dwell.
How dangerous is so bountifull an offer,
If thy neglect do retchlesly abuse it,
who was it euer that did see a coffer,
Filled with gold, and proffered did refuse it;
Greater thy fault the more thou doost excuse it,
Thy selfe condemning in thine owne good hap,
Refusing treasure cast into thy lap.
Wrong not thy faire youth, nor the world depriue
Of that great riches Nature freely lent,
Pitty t'were they by niggardize should thriue,
whose wealth by waxing craueth to be spent,
For which thou after iustly shalt be shent;
Like to some rich churle burying his pelfe,
Both to wrong others, and to starue himselfe.
What is this vaine, this idle reputation,
which to the shew you seemingly respect,
Onely the weakenesse of imagination.
which in conclusion worketh no effect?
Lesse then that, can the worshippers protect,
That onely standeth vpon fading breath,
And hath at once the being, and the death.
A feare that grew from doting superstition,
To which still weake credulitie is prone,
And onely since maintained by tradition,
Into our eares impertinently blowne,
By follie gathered, as by error sowne;
Which vs still threatning, hindreth our desires,
Yet all it shewes vs be but painted fires.
Thee let it like this Monastry to leaue,
Which youth and beautie iustly may forsake,
Do not the Prince of those high ioyes bereaue,
Which happy him eternally may make,
Which sends me else thy life away to take;
For dead to him if needsly thou wilt proue,
Die to thy selfe, and buried with his loue.
Rage that resumde the colour of his face,
Whose eye seemde as the Basalisks to kill,
The horror of the solitary place,
Being so fit wherein to worke his will,
Each good omitted, euery present ill;
Which all doe seeme my ouerthrow to further,
By feare disswaded, menaced by murther.
In this so great and peremptory triall,
With strong temptations grieuously afflicted,
With many a yeelding, many a deniall,
Oft times acquitted, oftentimes conuicted,
Whilst feare before me liuely stands depicted,
And at the instant by a little breath,
Giues me my life, or sends me vnto death.
When nowe my soule that gathred all her powres,
Which in this neede might friendly giue her aide,
The resolution of so manie howres,
whereon herselfe she confidently staide;
(In this distresse their helpe together laide,)
Making the state which she maintained good,
Expeld the feare, vsurping on by blood.
The which my tongue did modestly enlarge,
From those strict limits terror it confinde,
My greeued bosome sadly to discharge,
And my lost spirites did liberally vnbinds;
To my cleere eyes their residence resignde,
And strongly there mine honour to maintaine,
Check'd his presumption with a chaste disdaine.
Finding me thus inuiolably bent,
He for my death that onely did abide,
Hauing a poison murdring by the seent,
Vnto the organ of that sense applide;
which for the same when fittest time he spide,
Vnto my nosthrills forcibly did straine,
Which at an instant wrought my deadly baine.
With his rude tuch (my vaile disordered then)
My face discouering, whose delitious checke
Tinckted with crimson, fading soone agen,
with such a sweetenes as made death euen meeke,
Seeming to him, beholding it euen like
Vnto a sparke extinguish'd to the eye,
Breakes forth in fire e're suddainely it die.
And whilst thereat amazed he doth stand,
wherein he such an excellencie saw,
Ruing the spoile done by his fatall hand,
whom nothing else my beauty now did awe,
And from his eyes would force him teares to draw;
Of which depriu'd and setled euen as dead,
Greeuing for me that it had none to shed.
When life retreating gently towards the hart,
(On whom cold death inuasion now did make,
winning by little euery outward part)
As more and more her succours her forsake,
To this last fort enforc'd her to betake,
To him whom sadly yet did me behold,
Thus with milde speech my greefe I did vnfold.
Is this the gift the King on me bestowes,
which in this sort he sends thee to present me?
I am his friend, what giues he to his foes,
If this in token of his loue be sent me?
His pleasure thus, it must not discontent me;
Yet after sure a proucrhe this shall proue,
The gift King
Iohn bestow'd vpon his loue.
When all that race to memory are set,
And by their statues their atchieuements done
which wonne abroad, and which at home did get.
From sonne to syre, from syre vnto the sonne,
Grac'd with the spoiles that gloriously they wonne;
O that of him it onely should be said,
This was that King, the murtherer of a maid!
O keepe it safely from the eares of Fame,
That none do heare of this vnhalowed deede,
To him be secret and conceale his shame,
Lest after ages hap the same to reede,
And in their eyes the very letters bleede;
O let the graue my innocency hold,
Ere of a King so heynous sinne be told.
Vttering my minde my sorrow to asswage,
The heauy burthen of my pensiue breast,
The poison now that inwardly did rage,
The present vigor forcibly exprest,
Me no way suffering to declare the rest;
Longer for him t'was now no time to stay,
And death call'd on to hasten me away.
Thus in my closet being left alone.
Vpon the floore vncomfortably lying,
The deede committed and the murtherer gone,
Almost arriued at the point of dying,
Some of the sisters me by chance espying,
Calls all the rest that in most wofull plight,
Came to behold this miserable sight.
Where like a rose by an vnkindly blast,
Mongst many buds that round about it grow,
The withered leaues improsp'rously doth cast.
Yet all the rest their soueraigne beauties show,
Amidst this goodly sisterhood euen so;
Nipt with cold death vntimely did I fade,
Whilst they about me pitteous wailing made.
When as my poore soule in hir suddaine flight,
Neglects the organ of each severall sense,
with all that horror could the same affright,
Being disturbed in her parting hence,
Onely constrained for her best defence,
Vnto her spotlesse innocence to take her,
Which her not leaues when all the rest forsake her.
VVhen all our pleasures are but childrens toyes,
And as meere shadowes presently do passe,
As yeares encreasing, waning are our ioyes,
As we forget our fauours in a glasse,
Euen as a tale of that which neuer was;
Death our delights continually doth seuer,
Vertue alone abandoneth vs neuer.
And now my spirit thus liberally enlargde,
By gently flitting from this earthly roome,
The debt to Nature faithfully dischargde,
And at the howre conditiond on my toombe;
Such is the heauens ineuitable doombe,
Me
Baynards Castle to the earth did bring,
D
[...] againe my place of burying.
Now scarsly was my breathlesse body cold,
But euery where my tragedy was spred,
For tatling Fame in euery place had told,
My resolution being lately dead,
Ruing my blood so prodigally shed,
And to my father flies with this mischance,
Which then remained in the Court of Frarce.
His losse too great to be bewailde with teares,
Nor were there found wordes to expresse his woe,
Terror it selfe so settled in his eares,
No more might enter, nothing out might goe,
O while againe should griefe distract me
[...]?
Enough of sorrow is already showne,
And telling his renewing of mine owne.
Me t'shall suffise my fortunes to relate,
And beare the burthen of my proper ill,
If I expresse my pittifull estate,
Tis all I aske, and I obtaine my will,
For whie, true sorrow needes not others skill,
It is too much the bitternesse we taste,
vvithout remembrance when the same is past.
Somesaie, the King repentant for this deede,
vvhenas remorce to thoughts thereof him draue,
Poorely disguised in a Pilgrimes weede,
Offered his teares on my vntimely graue,
For which, no doubt but heauen his sinne forgaue;
And did thereby my grieued spirite appease,
H
[...]ing contrite, I happly at ease.
Thus tolde my storie, I my state deuise,
To you sweete Madam, fitt'st with you to r
[...]st,
vvhich do my vertues daily exercise,
That be impressed in your patient breast,
By whome alone I rightliest am exprest;
For whom my praise (it grieues me) is too scant,
Whose happie name an Epethite shall want.
Then most deere Lady for a maidens sake,
To shead one teare, if gently you but daine,
For all my wrongs it full amends may make,
And be my passe to the Elizian plaine,
In your chast
[...] eies such powre there doth remain
[...],
As can th'afflicted prosprously deliuer,
Happy be they may looke vpon them euer.
FINIS.
The Legend of Pierce Gaueston.
FRom gloomy shadowes of eternall night,
Shut vp in darkenes where I long did dwell,
O heere beholde me miserable wight,
Lastly, inuokt my tragedie to tell;
Giue me then leaue my sorrowes to impart,
Somewhat to ease my poore afflicted hart.
Goddesse of Artes and Armes,
Pallas diuine,
Let thy bright fawchion lend me
Cipresse bughes,
Be thou assisting to this Poet of mine,
With funerall wreathes incompassing his browes,
Pittying my case when none would heare me weep,
To tell my sorrowes, layes his owne to sleepe.
And mournefulst maiden of the sacred Nine,
That balefull sounds immoueably doost breathe,
With thy swolne visage, and thy blubbred eine,
I vnto thee my sad complaints bequeathe;
Matter that yeelds sufficient for thy glorie,
If thou exactly prosecute my storie.
Tell how the starres my wandring state did guide,
Th'unconstant turnes of euerie changing houre,
Of manie a lowe ebbe, manie as high a tide,
Manie a smoothe calme, manie a stormie showre,
The height whereto I lastly did ascend,
My strange beginning, and my fatall end.
When
Edward sate vpon the English throne,
Long-shankes that so victoriously did raigne;
First of that name, and second vnto none,
In all to knighthoode euer did pertaine,
My life begunne, and then begunne my blisse,
Euen in those daies, those happie daies of his.
So much did vertue gratious harts inflame,
Promotion then not purchased with golde,
And in those times he that desired fame,
Bought it of them that it full deerely solde,
Hatefull excesse so much did not deuoure,
Lawes had lesse force, and honesty more powre.
And since that time so violently prayes
Vpon those ages that euen holiest bee,
Let me remember those more happie daies,
In these sad houres my grieued eies doe see,
With greater griefe that makes me these deplore,
When I doe thinke of those that were before.
And Muse, to thee I sadly then appeale,
Since thou my life wilt need
[...]ly haue me show,
That I by thee may faithfully reueale,
Euen what the most inquisitiue would know,
Whilst that my soule heere bodied did abide,
In the vaine world that pampred mein pride.
From
Gascony our name and our descent,
Of which my father naturally was borne,
In all his warres that with king
Edward went,
To him a
[...]ege man and a souldier sworne:
And in his country ventred his estate.
To follow him that seemd to gouerne fate.
Whose trust that great king highly did imploy,
And neare his person tooke him for the same,
Who with my selfe, but then a little boy,
Vnto the Court of famous
England came;
Whereas the King for seruice he had done,
Made me a page vnto the Prince his sonne.
In me what shape that man's did not excel,
Where euery part such harmony did beate,
As in this modell Nature seemd to tell,
T'was not perfection if it were not there,
As euery age reseru'd his rarest feature,
Thereof to make so excellent a creature.
My lookes the powrefull adamants to loue,
Which vnto them attracted euery sight,
With which the same was fixed or did moue,
As svmpathizing naturally delight,
That where my thoughts intended to surprise,
I at my pleasure conqu'red with mine eies.
If euen the best in Paintings curious art,
In some rare peece his workemanship should show,
Imag
[...]on helping with her part,
vv
[...]n th'hand had done the vtmost it could doe
Vnto that bodie modelling a minde,
Such a one was I the mirrour of my kinde.
This was the baite was laide for
Edwards loue,
That bred the league of amitie thereby,
That no misfortune after could remoue,
vvhen she the vtmost of her force did trie,
Nor death it selfe retained power to sunder,
Friendship seld seene, and in the world a wonder.
Heere on this earth th'onely meane thou art,
Whereby we hold intelligence with heauen,
And it is thou that onely doost impart,
All good can to mortalitie be giuen;
That
[...]red bo
[...]d that neuer canst be broken,
O word diuine to be with reu'r
[...]nce spoken!
With this sweete Prince in height of worldly blisse;
vvhilst Tutors care his wandering eares did guide,
I liu'd enioying whatsoe're was his,
vvho ne're my pleasures any thing denide,
Whose deare affection still me so attended,
As on my ioyes his happines depended.
Whether that it my rare perfections were,
That wonne my youth such fauour in his eie,
Or that the heauens to whom I seemde so deare,
On me downe showr'd this blessing from the skie;
I cannot tell, but well it did direct,
That could produce such wonderfull effect.
Thou Arke of heauen where wonders are enrouled,
O depth of Nature, who can looke vnto thee?
What might he be that hath thy doome controuled?
Or hath the key of Reason to vndoe thee?
Thy workes diuine, which thine alone doe know,
Shallow mans wit, too short for things below.
The soule her liking subt'ly doth espie,
In the high power that is to her assignde,
By the cleere sight discouering through the eie,
The thing agreeing aptliest with her kinde;
And by each motion quickely apprehendeth,
That which it selfe past humane sense extendeth.
This
Edward in the April of his age,
Whilst yet the crowne sate on his fathers head,
Like that great
loue with his rap'd
Phrigian page,
Me with Ambrosiall delicacies fed;
He might command that was the Soueraignes son,
And what I said, that onelie must be done.
My will a lawe autentically past,
My yea by him was neuer crossd with no,
Who in affection chained was so fast,
He as my shadow still with me did goe,
To me this Prince so pliant was in all,
Still as an eccho answering to my call.
My smiles his life, his heauen was in my sight,
And his delight confinde by my desire,
Who from my cleere eies borrowed all his light,
As pal
[...]ide
Cinthia from her brothers fire;
My cheeke the pillow where he laide his head,
My brow his booke, my bosome was his bed.
Like faire
Idalia bent to amorous sportes,
With yong
Adonis in the wanton shade,
Figuring her passions in as sundry sortes,
As he to her indeerements to perswade
Eithers affections happily to moue,
With all the tender daliances of loue.
The table (thus) of our delight was laid,
Scru'd with what dainties pleasure coulde deuise,
And many a Syren musicke sweetely plaid,
(O that youth had vs wherewith to suffice)
whilst we on that vnsatiately doe feede,
Which our confusion afterwards did breed.
For still I spurd his violent desire,
Holding the reines wherewith he rulde the sunne,
My blandishment the fuell to the fire,
In which to frie already he begunne;
waxing his wings taught him Art to flie,
Who on his back might beare me through the skie.
Whilst the vaine world vpon vs still did winne,
Inticde his flatteries stedfastly to trust,
Loosing the clew which led vs safely in,
Are lost within this Labyrinth of lust;
For when the flesh is nussed once in vice,
The sweete of sinne makes hell a paradice
Who thy deceits vile world yet euer told,
In thee what is that's not extreamely ill?
A shop where poison's onely to be sold,
whose very entrance instantly doth kill,
where all deformed wickednesse do dwell,
And all thy waies guide head long into hell.
The King that saw his hopefull sonne betraide,
That like young
Phaeton ventred on the skies,
Perceiu'd his course with danger hardly staide,
(For he was graue and prouidently wise;)
That wanting skill to maister youthes desire,
Might by misguidance set his throne on fire.
This was a corsiue to King
Edwards daies,
That without ceasing fed vpon his bones,
That in the day bereau'd him of his case,
Breaking his night-sleepe with vnquiet grones;
That did depresse and burthened him downe,
More then the weight that sate vpon his Crowne.
When now their iudgement that seuerely tride,
The matter whence this malladie first grew,
Likewise must now a remedie prouide,
To preuent the perill likely to ensue,
The cause must end e're the effect could cease,
Else (well) of one, there many might encrease.
When such in Court my opposites as were,
On all aduantage that could wisely play,
Who did to me inuetterate malice beare,
That for their purpose found so faire a way;
On this their forces instantly did ground,
My name and fame perpetually to wound.
And the time fit for venting their vntruth,
Me into hate more forcibly to bring,
Sticke not to charge the loosenesse of my youth,
T'offend euen in th'vnnaturalest thing,
And olde fore-passed outrages awake,
With all that me contemptible might make.
Wherefore the Prince to priuacie bestow'd
In Realmes remote I banished to rome,
Censured of all men fitst to be abroad,
That had betraide my honest trust at home,
A diudg'd to die, if after I were found,
The day prescrib'd vpon the English ground.
So much astonish'd with the suddaine blow,
That I became insensible of paine,
Vntill awak'd with sharpnesse of my woe,
I saw the wound which open did remaine;
By which my ioyes still fainted more and more,
No hope at all me euer to restore.
Euen as a Turtle for her faithfull make,
Whose youth her deare virginitie enioyde,
Sits shrowded in some solitary brake,
With melancholy pensiuenesse annoide;
Thus without comfort sit I all alone,
From the sweete Prince infortunately gone.
My beauty once which sdainde the summers sight,
Beaten with bleake and chilly winter stormes,
Those tender limbes must trauell day and night,
So often hug'd in
Edwards princely Armes;
Those eyes oft viewing pleasure in her pride,
With fearefull obiects euery way supplide.
And whilst these stormes me strangely thus did tosse,
where I my selfe confined yet in
France,
Thwarted the while with many a greeuous crosse,
Inseperables to my sad mischance;
Others that stem'd the current of the time,
By which I fell, prou'd afterwards to clime.
Camelion-like the world doth alter hue,
And as false
Proteus puts on sundrie shapes,
One change scarce gone, another doth ensue,
This fild, that likewise for promotion gapes;
Thus did they swarme like Bees about the brim,
Some drownd, and some as dang'rously swim.
And some on whom the higher powres look'd faire,
Yet of the season little seemde to vaunt,
For there were clowdes hung in the troubled ayre,
which shew'd something to their desire did want,
That forc'd them stoope which otherwise would flie,
Whilst with much care they fading honor buy.
When restlesse Time that neuer turnes againe,
Whose winged feete are sliding with the sunne,
By the fleete howres attending on his traine,
His resolution fatally begunne;
In a iust course eftsoone to bring about,
That which long since the wiser sort did doubt.
For whilst the King doth seriously attend,
His long-hop'd voyage to the Holy-land,
For which his subiects mighty summes did leud,
Euen whilst this buisnes onely was in hand;
All on the suddaine happily doth fall,
The death of
Edward quickely altred all.
Should I assay his vertues to report,
To do the honor due vnto his name,
My meane endeuours should come farre too short,
And I thereby should greatly wrong the same;
But leaue it to some sacred Muse to tell,
Vpon whose life a Poets pen might dwell.
His princely body scarsly wrapt in lead,
Before his mournefull obsequies were done,
But that the Crowne was set on
Edwards head,
With whom too soone my happy daies begunne;
After blacke night like brightnesse of the day.
All former sorrowes vanished away.
When now
Carnaruan calls within a while,
Whom
Edward Long-shanks hated to the death,
He whom the father lately did exile,
Is to the sonne as precious as his breath,
What th'old inscrib'd the yonger forth did blot,
Kings wils perform'd, and dead mens words forgot.
When the winde wafts me to that happy place.
And soone did set me safely on that shore,
From whence I seemde but banish'd for a space,
That my returne might honored be the more;
Vnto this new King happily to leaue me,
Whose princely armes were ready to receiue me.
Who would haue seene how that kinde Roman dame.
O
[...]e-come with ioy did yeelde her latest breath,
Hersonne returning laden with such fame,
When thankfull
Rome had mourned for his death,
Might heere behold her personated right,
When I approached to the Princes sight.
My
Ioue now Lord of the Ascendant is,
In an aspect that promisde happy speede,
Whilst in that luckie influence of his,
Some praisde the course wherein I did proceede;
Yet it to some prodigiously appeares,
Telling the troubles of ensuing yeares.
When like to
Midas all I touch'd was gold,
Powr'd as t'was once downe into
Danaes lap,
For I obtained any thing I would,
Fortune had yet so lotted out my hap;
The chests of great men like to Oceans are,
To whom all floods by course do still repare.
The Isle of
Man he first vnto me gaue,
To shew how high I in his grace did stand,
But fearing me sufficient not to haue,
I next receiued from his bounteous hand,
Faire
Wallingford that antiently had beene,
The wealthy dower of many an English Queene.
The summes his father had beene leuying long,
By impositions for the warre abroad,
Other his princely benefits among,
At once on me he bounteously bestow'd;
When those which saw how much on me he cast,
Soone found his wealth sufficed not his waste.
He giues me then chiefe Secretaries place.
Thereby to traine me in affaires of state,
And those high roomes that I did hold to grace,
Me Earle of
Cornwall franckly did create;
And that in Court he freely might pertake me,
Of
England Lord high Chamberlaine did make me.
And that he would more strongly me alie,
To backe me gainst their insolent ambition,
Doth his faire Cosen vnto me affie,
A Lady of right vertuous condition,
which his deare sister prosperously bare,
To the Earle of
Gloster blood-ennobled
Clare.
O sacred bounty, mother of content,
Fautresse and happy nourisher of Arts,
That giu'st successe to euery high intent,
The Conquerour of the most noblest harts:
High grace into mortalitie infused,
Pitty it is that e're thou wast abused.
When those that did my banishment procure,
Still in my bosome hated did abide,
And they before that could me not endure,
Are now much more impatient of my pride;
For emulation euer did attend,
Vpon the great, and shall vnto th'end.
And into fauour closly working those,
That from meane places lifted vp by me,
And factious spirits being fittest to oppose,
Them that perhaps too powerfull else might be;
That euen gainst enuie raised by my hand,
Me must vphold to make themselues to stand.
And since the frame by fortune so contriu'd,
To giue protect to my ambitious waies,
Vrging thereby their hate to me deriu'd,
From those hie honours
[...] vpon me layes,
Drawing the King my courses to pertake,
Still to maintaine what he himselfe did make.
Thus doth my youth still exercise extreames,
My heed fond rashnes to forerunne my fall,
My wit meere folly, and my hopes but dreames,
My councell serues my selfe but to inthrall,
That me abused with a vaine illusion,
When all I did intending my confusion.
And now the King, to hasten his repaire,
Himselfe by marriage highly to aduance,
With
Isabel a Princesse, yong and faire,
As was her father
Philip king of
France,
When now the more to perfect my command,
Leaues vnto me protection of the land.
My power confirm'd so absolute withall.
That I dranke pleasure in a plenteous cup,
vvhen there was none me to account to call,
All to my hands so freely rendred vp,
That earth to me no greater blisse could bring,
Except to make me greater than a King.
When being now got as high as I could clime,
That the vaine world thus bountifully blest,
Franckly imbrace the benefite of time,
Fully t'enioy that freely I possest;
Strongly maintaining he was worse than mad,
Fondly to spare, a Princes wealth that had.
Their counsells when continually I crosst,
As scorning their authoritie and blood;
And in those things concernd their honor's most,
In those against them euer most I stoode:
And things most publique priuately extend,
To feede my riot that had neuer end.
When lastly Fortune like a treacherous foe,
That had so long attended on my fall,
In the plaine path wherein I was to goe,
Layes many a baite, to traine me on withall;
Till by her skill she cunningly had brought me,
Vnto the place where at her will she caught me.
The mighty busines falling then in hand,
Triumphs ordain'd to welcome his returne
(Before the French in honour of the land)
vvith all my power I labourd to adiourne;
Till all their charge was lastly ouer throwne,
vvho likde t'haue seene no glory but mine owne.
Thus euery thing me forward still doth set,
Euen as an engine forcing by the slight,
One mischiefe thus a second doth beget,
And that doth leade th'other but to right;
Yet euery one himselfe employing wholy,
In their iust course to prosecute my folly.
Which when they found how still I did retaine,
Th'ambitious course wherein I first beganne,
And lastly felt, that vnder my disdaine
Into contempt continually they ranne;
Take armes at once to remedy their wrong,
vvhich their cold spirits had suffred but too long.
Me boldely charging to abuse the King
A wastefull spender of his needefull treasure,
A secret thiefe of many a sacred thing,
And that I led him to vnlawfull pleasure,
That neuer did in any thing delight,
But what might please my sensuall appetite.
That as a scourge vpon the land was sent,
Whose hatefull life the cause had onely beene,
The State so vniuersally was rent,
Whose ill increasing euery day was seene;
I was reproached openly of many,
Who pitti'd none, not pitti'd now of any.
And for opposde by men of greatest might,
(The King my danger that had wisely waide)
That did pursue me with such deadly spight,
Me into
Ireland secretly conuaide,
Vntill he might my peace againe procure,
And his owne safety better might assure.
As one whose house remedilesly burning,
Seeing his goods now heapt together lost,
His griefe no whit disburthen'd by his mourning,
Taking some one thing that he loueth most,
To some remote place doth with that retire,
Leauing the rest to'th mercie of the fire.
Yet he so much that still did me esteeme,
That euer stroue to couer my disgrace,
To make my absence otherwise to seeme,
And to the world to beare a fairer Face,
Lest my exile suggested by their hate,
Might ouerthrow my liuelihoode and estate.
By their neere councell that were him about,
His Deputy of
Ireland doth me make,
And causde it each-where to be giuen out,
My iourney thither instantly to take,
To stop their mouthes that gladly would embrace,
Any report might tend to my disgrace.
There liu'd I in that honourable sort,
As to my high place purchased renowne;
vvith no lesse bountie managing a court,
Then hourely crau'd th'reuenues of a Crowne;
To me his loue such soueraigntie did bring.
That though he raignde, I absolutely King.
Few weekes there went but some the channell crosst,
With some such present Princes holde in price,
Some jewell that him infinitely cost,
Or sumptuous roabe of excellent deuise;
When they that sawe what he vpon me cast,
Found that his treasure long time could not last.
And since the floud me followed in this wise,
His fulnes I as amply entertaine,
It might shew folly to be found precise,
That to refuse which fell as did the raine,
Such as no age before did euer winne,
And since his being, yet hath neuer bin.
When now th'abated Baronry that found,
The cunning vsde for couering of my flight,
That me but shifted to a surer ground,
On which so vainely they bestow'd their might;
Perceiu'd farre off where greater perill rose,
Then they could finde how rightly to dispose.
Like those that striue to stop some violent sourse,
vvhose plenty Nature planted not for boundes,
Climes aboue all the opposers of his course,
Or let at large the neighboring plaine surrounds,
That in it selfe s'enated is bless'd,
That will the more be, more it depress'd.
And fearing now the force I had abroade,
vvho knew the way the
Irish harts to winne,
Fitter by farre at home to be bestow'd,
(And to the State more safety found therein)
vvhere though my riots they could not preuent,
Yet might suruey the giddy course I went.
Whereof they scarsly entertain'd the thought,
And did thereto but seemingly descend,
But that his loue immediately it caught,
Nor cares he by it what they doe intend;
Plot what they could, so he therby might gaine him,
That with delight, which still did entertaine him.
O how thy presence maiestie commands!
That so seuerely humbleth euery eie,
vvhose onely selfe actes more than many handes,
In thee such vertue secretly doth lie,
Hauing about thee the high power of fate,
Art both emperious ouer loue and hate.
He that occasion neuer did neglect,
That aught vnto my happinesse might winne,
My buisnes did so carefully effect,
That euer was so fortunate therein,
As he to passe doth prouidently bring,
Before deemde so impossible a thing.
And Messengers immediately are sent,
Me into England instantly to call,
Authorizde by the generall consent,
Although not likde of inwardly of all;
Yet, twas sufficient that it freedome gaue me,
But to be there where he desirde to haue me.
My sailes now swelling with a prosperous winde,
The boisterous seas do homage to mine eies,
That much aboue their vsuall course are kinde,
All lowring clouds abandoning the skies,
Nothing discern'd that any whit might feare me,
Fortune herselfe sittes at the helme to steare me.
What time the King his progresse then did take,
That part of
Wales pretending now to see,
For which he forward instantly did make,
vvhich was (indeede) there but to meete with me,
with all the fauour that he could deuise,
To giue me honour in the publique eies.
Where for my landing long he did prouide,
That
[...]ought might want intending my delight,
And at each place as leasurely we ride,
Did
[...] with some pleasing sight,
And vnto
L
[...]ndon to the pompous Court,
Bring, me in the magnificentest sort.
Which prou'd but spurres to my vntamde desire,
Giuing the
[...] to my
[...]ious will,
[...]ho let me forth vnto my full ca
[...]re,
On places slippe
[...]y, and my manage ill,
Small my forefight, and ouermuch my haste,
That me alas infortunately cast.
The Princes eare, that hauing at command,
That who would aught haue, me must entertaine,
And yet before it passde my gripple hand,
Got the greatst share vnto my priuate gaine;
Nor carde I what from any I did wring,
Many thereby too much impouerishing.
And daily begging of Monopolies,
Taking the lands belonging to the Crowne,
[...]
[...]ence transporting those commodities,
[...] England vsefull comming of her owne,
And basely selling offices (ere then)
The due reward of best deseruing men.
And being irrecouerably prowd,
Held all things vile that suted not my vaine,
Nothing might passe, my iudgement not allow'd,
A great opinion to my wit to gaine,
Giuing vile termes and nicke-names of disgrace,
To men that sate in honourable place.
By which brake out that execrable rage,
That long before had boiled in their blood,
And for reuenge they boldly them ingage,
When lastly for their libertie they stood;
And in this quarrell open Armes they take,
Or to marre all, or better it to make.
They durst affirme my mother was a witch,
And for the fact condemned burnt to be,
And I her sonne and rightly of her pitch,
She had bequeath'd her damned Art to me;
Vrging it an inseperable thing,
That I by Magicke wrought vpon the King.
And into
France did charge me to conuay,
A goodly table that was massie gold,
A relique kept at
Windsor many a day,
[...]at to King
Arthur did belong of old;
Vpon whose margent as they did surmise,
Merlin ingraued many prophecies.
And by appealing to the sea of
Rome,
A Legat thence procuring to the land,
With malediction by the Churches doome,
On any one that on my part should stand:
The King suspending should he not consent,
And ratifie the generall intent.
Which they did but to prosperously effect,
Being so strong to counterprize his force,
The Clergy still being ready to direct
Them the best way in all their restlesse course,
That at the last they strongly him procure,
By solemne oth me euer to abiure.
Th'vncertaine biding of each earthly thing,
(Set out most liuely in my starre-crost state)
That doth remaine in Fortunes mannaging,
Appearing in my variable fate
On me that frown'd and flattered me so oft,
Casting me downe and setting me aloft.
To
Flanders then my present course I cast,
Which being the near'st, lay fittest for my ease,
Safest the way the sooner it was past,
All not my friends that were abroad at seas;
Such meanes in
France they daily do procure,
That there my selfe I doubted to secure.
And though I chang'd my habite and my name,
Because I meant to liue vnknowne to any,
Yet swift report had so divulg'd my shame,
My hated life was publish'd to too many;
In euery streete that as I pas'd along,
I was the talke of euery common tongue.
And finding that which onely I did craue,
A secret meanes to send vnto the King,
To me certaine intelligence that gaue,
Of the state and course of euery thing;
Who labored now (more euer then before)
Me into
England safely to restore.
For which relying on my Soueraignes loue,
(To whom my life had euer beene so deare)
Which I then now had ne're more cause to proue,
Striuing t'obtaine (if any meane there were;)
A dispensation for his former oth,
In their dispight that thereto seem'd most loth.
Where casting many a sundry course at length,
(Being by marridge mightily alide,
And but too much presuming of my strength)
Resolu'd for
England, come what could be
[...]ide;
And in a ship that for the iourney lay,
Thither my selfe did suddainely conuay.
And safely landed on the wished shore.
Vnto the Court me secretly betooke,
Of which the King had notice long before,
And for my comming euery day did looke,
Wisely that plotted when I should arriue,
All helpefull meanes my safetie to contriue.
Which soone being known whilst yet their blood was hote,
That to their strength now onely were to trust,
For what before was done preuailed not,
And for my sake the King did proue vniust;
Bringing thereby whilst trifling they did stand,
Wrong to themselues, and danger to the land.
Now when the time did generally distaste,
Our lewd and inconsiderate neglect,
when those in Court that our high fauours plac'de,
Giue vs iust cause their dealings to suspect,
And they that view'd vs with the pleasedst eye,
Yet at our actions sometimes looke awric.
Wherefore the King inforced to prouide,
A present Armie trusting to his friends,
Rep
[...]irde to
Yorke vntill he were supplide,
From whence for, aide he into
Scotland sends,
To warlike
Balioll and to
Wales, from whence
He might get power to frustrate their pretence.
But they his purpose wholy intercept,
Not now to seeke in any secret thing,
The marches that so vigilantly kept,
And yet renounce all malice to the King;
Only to chastice my abhorred sinne,
Who had the cause of all this trouble bin.
Thus Like a ship dismembred of the sailes,
Forc'd by the winde against the streamefull tide,
From place to place with euery billow hales,
And as it haps from shore to shore doth ride;
As that poore vessell rests my brittle stay,
Nearer the land, still nearest cast away.
Corsiue of kingdoms home-begotten hate,
which in no limits euer yet wast bounded,
when didst thou seize euen on the greatest state,
By thee that was not vtterly confounded?
How many kingdome be there that doe rue thee?
Happy the world was till too well it knew thee.
Thus of our succour instantly bereft,
Hauing but now some little force at sea,
Lastly to trust to, onely vs was left,
On which our hope infortunately lay;
Which he to hasten, speedily doth make,
His former courses forced to forsake.
The present danger mannaging it so,
That did for aide importunately call,
Wherefore in
Yorke as farthest from the foe,
Leaues me vnto the safegard of the wall;
Till his returne me further helpe might giue,
Whom more and more he studied to relecue.
From
Bedford now the Armie setting on,
Th'appointed randy whore they gathered head,
When they had notice that the King was gone,
Vpon their way more hastily them sped,
(Me t'afflict as purposed they were,)
Whose presence else might force them to forbeare.
To
Skarborough immediately I poste,
With the small force my fortune then did lend me,
A Fort best fitting standing on the coast,
And of all other likest to defend me,
And came the worst, resistlesse were their might.
The sea should safely priuiledge my flight.
But they the Cittie lying round about,
Keepe euery passage with a watchfull spie,
That gaue them notice of my passing out,
With their light horse pursue me by and by;
Whereas vpon me suddainely they came,
E're I had time to fortifie the same.
Along the lands towards
Oxford they conuey me,
Wondring my sight as birds do at the Owle,
And by the way continually they bray me,
As hungry woolues at passengers do howle;
Each one exulting that I now was caught,
That in the land such mischiefe euer wrought.
And being brought to
Dedington at last,
Where the Ea
[...]le of
Pombrooke wild me to be staid,
To vnderstand
[...] further that I past,
Things to my charge that secretly were laid;
And to the King he speedily had sent.
T'acquaint him with the generall intent.
But the Earle of
Warwicke (lying but too neare)
(The dog of
Arden that I vsde to call,)
That deadly hatred still to me did beare,
And that I euer doubted most of all;
Thither repairing with a powerfull band,
Ceazed vpon me with a violent hand.
And vnto
Warwicke carrying me along,
Where he had long desired me to get,
With friends and tenants absolutely strong,
Whom all the puissant Barronry abet;
Since now occasion offered them such hold,
Hasten my death by all the meanes they could.
North from the Towne, a mile or very neare,
An easie hill in publike view doth lie,
Blacklow then call'd of those that dwelled there,
Neare to the antient Hermitage of
Guy;
Thither with arm'd bands strongly they me led,
Whereas I lastly forfa
[...]ed my head.
My sundry passions hauing thus exprest,
In the sad tenor of my tragicke Tale,
Let me returne vnto the fields of rest,
Thither transported by a prosp'rous gale;
I leaue the world my destiny to view,
Bidding it thus for euermore a diew.
FINIS.