THE INDVCTION.

My muse, that mongst meane birds whilome, did waue her flaggie wing,

And cuckow-like of Castae’s wrongs, in rustick tunes did sing,

Now with the morne’s cloud climing lark must mount a pitch more hie,

And like Ioue’s bird with stedfast lookes outbraue the sunne’s bright eie:

Yea she, that whilome begger-like her beggers ape did sing,

Which iniur’d by the guilt of time to light she durst not bring:

In stately stile tragedian-like with sacred furie fed,

Must now record the tragicke deeds of great Heröes dead,

Vouchsafe then thou great king of heau’n, the heau’nly drops t’infuse

Of sacred iuyce into my pen, giue strength vnto my muse

To mount aloft with powerfull wings, and let her voice be strong,

That she may smite the golden starres with sound of her great song:

When loue-borne Phœbus fierie steeds about the world had bin,

And wearied with their yearely taske, had taken vp their inne

Farre in the south, when cold had nipt the hawthorne’s rugged rinde,

And liuely sap of summer sweet, from blast of blustring winde

Had sunken downe into the roote, whose thornie browes besprent

With frostie dew, did hang their heads, and summer’s losse lament;

My limbes benumb’d with vnkind cold, my life-blood waxing chill,

As was my wont I walked forth to ease me of such ill:

But when I came in fields abroad, and view’d the wastefull spight

Of wrathfull winter, grieu’d I was to see so sad a sight:

The shadie woods, in which the birds to build their neasts were seene,

Whose wauing heads in aire shot vp were crown’d with youthfull greene:

Now clad in coate of motlie hue did maske in poore array,

Rough Boreas with his blustering blasts had blowen their leaues away:

In stead of blossomes on the boughes, the spring whilome begun,

Which through the leaues did seeme to laugh vpon the summer’s sunne,

Now nought but hoarie frost was seene, each branch teares downe did send,

Whose dewie drops on ysiccles vpon each bough depend:

The mistresse of the woods quaint quire, the warbling Philomele,

That wont to rauish with delight, th’inhabitants, that dwell

About the greene wood side, forgot the layes she sung before,

For griefe of summer’s golden losse she now could sing no more:

And all the quire that wont with her to beare a part and sing

Concordant discords in sweet straine for welcome of the spring,

Sate silent on the frostie bow, and shuddering all for cold,

Did shroud the head beneath the wing, the day was waxed old,

None but the red-brest and the wren did sing the euen away,

And that in notes of sad record for summer’s late decay:

The field, which whilome Ceres crown’d with golden eares of corne,

And all the pasture-springing meades, which Pales did adorne,

Lookt pale for woe, the winterie snow had couered all their greene,

Nought else vpon the grasselesse ground, but winter’s waste was seene:

The shepheard’s feeble flocke pent vp within the bounded fold,

So faint for food, that scarce their feete their bodies could vphold,

Did hang the head with heauie cheare, as they would learne to mourne

The thrall in which they now did liue, by shepheard left forlorne:

All sweet delight of summer past, cold winter’s breath had blasted,

The sunne in heau’n shone pale on earth to see her wombe so wasted:

All which, as I grieu’d at such sight, the fields alone did range,

Did teach me know all things on earth were subiect vnto change:

How fond (me thought) were mortall men, the trustlesse stay to trust,

Of things on earth, since heere on earth all things returne to dust?

Who so in youth doth boast of strength, me thought the loftie oake

Would teach him that his strength must vade, when age begins to yoke

His youthfull necke, euen by it selfe, his leauie lockes being shed,

And branched armes shrunke vp with frost, as if they had been dead:

The louely lillie, that faire flower for beautie past compare,

Whom winter’s cold keene breath had kill’d, and blasted all her faire,

Might teach the fairest vnder heau’n, that beautie’s freshest greene

When spring of youth is spent, will vade, as it had neuer been;

The barren fields, which whilome flower’d as they would neuer fade,

Inricht with summer’s golden gifts, which now been all decay’d,

Did shew in state there was no trust, in wealth no certaine stay,

One stormie blast of frowning chance could blow them all away;

Out of the yeares alternate course this lesson I did con,

In things on earth of most auaile assurance there was none:

But fancie feeding on these thoughts, as I alone did wend,

The clocke did strike, whose chime did tell the day was at an end;

The golden sunne, daies guide, was gone, and in his purple bed

Had laid him downe, the heau’ns about their azure curtaines spread,

And all the tapers lighted were, as t’were the watch to keepe,

Lest past her houre night should vsurpe, while he secure did sleepe;

Then clad in cloake of mistie fogges the darke night vp did come,

And with grim grislie looke did seeme to bid me get me home;

Home was I led, not as before with solace from the field,

The wofull waste of summer past had all my pleasure spill’d:

When home I came, nipt with sharpe cold of Boreas bitter aire,

After repast to my warme bed forthwith I made repaire,

Where, for the nights were tedious growen, and I disturb’d in mind

With thoughts of that daies obiect seene, not vnto sleepe inclin’d,

I vp did sit, my backe behind the pillow soft did stay,

And call’d for light, with booke in hand to passe the time away;

Of which each line which I did reade, in nature did agree

With that true vse of things which I the day before did see

A Mirrour hight for Magistrates, for title it did beare,

In which by painfull pens, the fals of princes written were:

There, as in glasse, I did behold, what day before did show,

That beautie, strength, wealth, world’s vaine pompe, and all to dust do go:

There did I see triumphant death beneath his feet tread downe

The state of kings, the purple robe, the scepter and the crowne:

Without respect with deadly dart all princes he did strike,

The vertuous and the vicious prince to him been both alike:

Nought else they leaue vntoucht of death except a vertuous name,

Which dies, if that the sacred nine eternize not the same:

Why then (ye thrice three borne of Ioue) why then be ye despis’d?

Is vertue dead? hath daintie ease in her soft armes surpris’d

The manhood of the elder world? hath rust of time deuour’d

Th’ Heröe’s stocke that on your heads such golden blessings showr’d?

This silent night, when all things lie in lap of sweet repose,

Ye only wake, the powres of sleepe your eyes do neuer close,

To shew the sempiternitie, to which their names ye raise

On wings of your immortall verse that truly merit praise:

But where’s the due of your desert, or where your learning’s meed?

Not only now the baser sprite, whom dunghill dust doth breed,

But they that boast themselues to be in honor’s bosome borne,

Disdaine your wisdome, and do hold your sectaries in scorne:

No maruell then, me thought, it was, that in this booke I read,

So many a prince I found exempt, as if their names been dead,

Who for desert amongst the best a place might iustly claime:

But who can put on any spirit to memorize the name

Of any dead, whose thanklesse race t’whom learning shapes the leg

In humble wise, yet in contempt bids learned wits go beg?

As thus in bed with booke in hand I sate contemplating,

The humorous night was waxed olde, still silence husht each thing,

The clocke chim’d twelue, to which as I with listning eares attend,

As signes of fraile mortalitie all things I apprehend;

The daylight past, as life I deeme, the night as death to come,

The clocke that chim’d, death’s fatall knell, that call’d me to my doome,

Still silence rest from worldly cares, my bed the graue I thinke,

In which, with heart to heau’n vp-lift, at length I downe did sinke:

Where after still repose when as thin vapors had restrain’d

The mouing powers of common sense, and sleepe each sense enchain’d,

Whether the watchfull fantasie did now in sleepe restore

The species of things sensible, which I had seene before:

And so some dreame it only was, which I intend to tell,

Or vision sent I’le not discusse, to me it thus befell:

A sudden sound of trumpe I heard, whose blast so loud was blowne,

That in a trance I senselesse lay, fraile mortall there was none

That heard such sound, could sense retaine: my chamber wals did shake,

Vp flew the doores, a voice I heard, which thus distinctly spake:

“Awake from sleepe, lift vp thy head, and be no whit dismai’d,

I serue the deities of heau’n, their hests must be obei’d,

And now am sent from her that keepes the store-house of the mind:

The mother of the muses nine, for thee she hath assign’d

For her designe, the night to come in sleepe thou must not spend:

Prepare thy selfe, that gainst she come, her will thou maist attend.”

As to these words I listning lay, and had resumed spright,

I boldly looked round about, and loe, there stood in sight

True fame, the trumpeter of heau’n, that doth desire inflame

To glorious deeds, and by her power eternifies the name:

A golden trumpe her right hand held, which when she list to sound,

Can smite the starres of heau’n, and bring the dead from vnder ground:

Vpon her head a chaplet stood of neuer vading greene,

Which honor gaue, to giue to them that fauour’d of her been:

Her wings were white as snow, with which she compast heau’n and earth

With names of such, whom honor did renowne for deeds of worth:

As I beheld her princely port, yet trembling all for feare,

A sound of heau’nly harmony did pierce my pleased eare,

In rapture of whose sweet delight, as I did rauisht lie,

The goddesse dread whom fame forespoke did stand before mine eie,

The ladie of mount Helicon, the great Pierian dame,

From whom the learned sisters nine deriue their birth and name,

In golden garments clad she was, which time can neuer weare,

Nor fretting moth consume the same, which did embroydered beare

The acts of old Heröes dead, set downe in stately verse,

Which sitting by the horse-foot spring, Ioue’s daughters did rehearse:

Fiue damsels did attend on her, who with such wondrous skill

Do in their seuerall functions worke, to serue their ladie’s will,

That what she seekes on earth, to see, to heare, smell, taste or touch,

They can present the same with speed, their power and skill are such:

As in amazement at such sight I in my bed did lie,

She thus bespake: “I am,” quoth she, “the ladie Memorie,

Ioue’s welbelou’d Mnemosyne, that keepes the wealthie store

Of time’s rich treasure, where the deeds that haue been done of yore

I do record, and when in bookes I chance to find the fame

Of any after death decai’d, I do reuiue the same:

Turning the volume large of late, in which my Clio sings

The deeds of worthie Britaines dead, I find that many kings

Exempted are, whose noble acts deserue eternitie,

And mongst our Mirrours challenge place for all posteritie:

For which, my station I haue left, and now am come to thee,

This night thou must abandon sleepe, my pen-man thou must bee.”

To this said I: “O goddesse great, the taske thou dost impose

Exceeds the compasse of my skill, t’is fitter farre for those,

Whose pens sweet nectar do distill, to whom the power is giuen

Vpon their winged verse to rap their readers vp to heau’n:

The pinions of my humble muse be all too weake to flie

So large a flight; theirs be this taske that loue to soare on high:

But how can they such taske vp-take, that in a stately straine

Haue rais’d the dead out of the dust; yet after all their paine,

When their sweet muse in vertue’s praise hath powred out their store,

Are still despis’d and doom’d for aye with vertue to be poore.”

To this, “alas,” quoth Memorie, “it grieues me to behold

The learned wits left all forlorne, t’whom whilome it was told

Mæcenas was reuiu’d againe: yet grieue I more to see

The loathed lozell to prophane that sacred mysterie:

Each vulgar wit, that what it is, could neuer yet define,

In ragged rimes with lips profane, will call the learned nine

To helpe him vtter forth the spawne of his vnfruitfull braine,

Which makes our peerelesse poesie to be in such disdaine,

That now it skils not whether Pan do pipe, or Phœbus play,

Tom Tinkar makes best harmonie to passe the time away:

For this I grieue, for this the seed of Ioue are held in scorne,

Yet not for this our worthies dead are to be left forlorne:

For so no future age should know the truth of things forepast,

The names of their forefathers dead would in the dust be cast:

Then do not thou thy helpe denie, I will conduct thy pen,

And fame shall summon vp the ghosts of all those worthie men,

That mongst our Mirrours are not found, that each one orderly

May come to thee, to tell the truth of his sad tragedie.”

Thus hauing said, she tooke the booke from vnderneath my head,

And turning ore the leaues, at last, she thus began to reade.

THE FAMOVS LIFE AND
Death of King Arthvr.

THE ARGUMENT.

The first I find exempted in our storie

Is noble Arthur, Albion’s ancient glorie,

Who heere at home subdues the Saxon kings:

Then forren nations in subiection brings,

The Roman host with Lucius for their guide

To his victorious sword do stoope their pride:

But home-bred broiles call backe the conquering king,

Warres thunder 'bout the Britaine coasts doth ring,

Gawin’s firme loyaltie at his last breath,

Arthur’s last conquest, wounds and timelesse death,

The truth of which, that we may heare, let fame

Summon his ghost to come and tell the same.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

Fame sounds her trumpe, king Arthur doth ascend

Tels Mordred’s treason, death, and his owne end.

No age hath bin, since nature first began

To worke Ioue’s wonders, but hath left behind

Some deeds of praise for Mirrours vnto man,

Which more then threatful lawes in men inclind,

To tread the paths of praise excites the mind,

Mirrours tie thoughts to vertues due respects,

Examples hasten deeds to good effects.

'Mongst whom, that I my storie so renown’d

May for a Mirrour to the world commend,

Summon’d the first by fame’s shrill trumpets sound:

Loe, I am come on earth to find a friend,

Who his assistance vnto me may lend,

And with his pen paint out my historie

A perfect Mirrour of true maiestie.

In which the truth of my corrupted storie,

Defac’d by fleeting time’s inconstant pen

I will declare, nor to aduance my glorie

Will I present vnto the view of men

Ought, but the scope of what the truth hath ben:

Meane time thou pen-man of Mnemosynie,

Giue heedfull eare vnto my tragedie.

As from aire-threatning tops of cedars tall

The leaues, that whilome were so fresh and greene,

In healthlesse autumne to the ground do fall,

And others in their roomes at spring are seene:

So proudest states amongst the states of men

Now mount the loftie top of fortune’s wheele,

Now fall againe, now firmely stand, now reele.

Foure times the state of this same noble Ile

Hath changed been by froward fate’s decree,

And on foure nations fortune’s front did smile,

Gracing thir high attempts with victorie

Ouer this empire of Great Britanie:

Yet none but one the scepter long did sway,

Whose conquering name endures vntill this day.

First the proud Roman Cæsar did oppresse

This land with tributarie seruitude:

Next those two Saxon brethren heauen did blesse,

Who in our Brittish blood their blades imbru’d,

And to their lordly will this land subdu’d:

Thirdly the Dane did heere long time remaine,

And lastly Normans ouer vs did raigne.

Thus seest thou fortune’s vnimpeached force,

And what it hath been in our Britaine state:

By this thou seest her wheeles inconstant course,

And how on earth nor prince, nor potentate,

Can long withstand her ruine-thirsting hate,

Which my true storie’s sad catastrophe

Vnto the sonnes of men can testifie.

I am that Arthur, who on honor’s wing

Did mount fame’s palace 'mongst the worthies nine

Fourth from false Vortigerne th’vsurping king:

Who, that he might with strong allies combine

His shaken state, which then began decline,

Wretch that he was into this land did bring

The Saxons with hight Hengist their false king.

The sonne I was of Vter that stout knight,

Pendragon called for his policie,

Not in ignoble birth brought forth to light,

Though foes false imputation vilifie

My royall birth with taint of bastardie:

But in true wedlocke’s bands a noble dame

Bore me, the fruit of loue without defame.

10.

Whose former husband Goilen, that proud duke,

At Duuilioc in fight my sire strooke dead:

And 'mongst his spoiles Igren the faire he tooke,

With whom he did ascend loue’s amorous bed

And lest the fruit of his delight new bred

The time might turne to shame in lawlesse birth,

He took the dame to wife, who brought me forth.

11.

By peeres consent I in my youth began

Vpon the throne the supreame sway to beare:

And at that time against the boldest man,

That breath’d on earth my spirit did not feare,

In single fight the combatant t’appeare,

Skilfull I was in knowledge of all fights,

That then was vsed amongst martiall knights.

12.

And at that time my close-neere fighting men,

The frame of euery bloodie fight to know,

In martiall feates, haue exercised been,

And euery one would ’gainst the forren foe,

With emulation striue their deeds to show,

In courts where kings, adore Bellonae’s shrine,

There the bright blaze of chiualrie will shine.

13.

Vpon the mind, whose glorie-thirsting heart,

By deedes of armes did at true honor aime,

Such edge I set, that from each forren part,

The brood of Mars to Britaine’s Arthur came,

Of him to purchase the reward of fame:

And take that order, that I then did found,

Which till this day men call the table round.

14.

Vpon this table’s superficiall part

Statutes ingrauen were by my decree,

Vnto the which each man of valiant hart,

That of this famous fellowship would bee

At Camelot by oath did first agree,

And call’d they were amongst our chiualrie

Armes, seuen religious deeds of charitie.

15.

But where is now this honor’d dignitie,

That wont to be the care of noble kind?

Or is it dead, or will nobilitie

Let that, which only was to it assign’d,

Be now polluted by the baser mind?

Alas the while, that once the best reward

To vertuous deeds is now of no regard.

16.

No golden churle, no elbow-vanting Iacke,

No peasant base, nor borne of dunghill mould,

Could find such treasure in his pedler’s packe

To purchase that, which fame on high did hold

For true desart, aboue the reach of gold:

This order then dame vertue kept in store

For such, as did her sacred selfe adore.

17.

In this new flourish of my flowring spring,

When honor’s hopefull buds appear’d in mee,

And promis’d goodly fruit in time to bring,

My forward thoughts being set on fier, to free

My natiue land from Saxon tyrannie:

With phantasie still working ’gainst the foe,

In sleepe this spectacle to me did show.

18.

As I (me thought) did sit on royall throne

With peeres about me set, a ladie faire

In presence came and making pitious mone,

Tearing the tresses of her golden haire,

And wringing both her hands, as if despaire

Had her bereft of hope her griefe to show,

With teares did vtter forth these words of woe

19.

“Behold,” quoth she, “behold me wretched wight,

The forlorne ladie of this noble Ile,

From towring state cast downe by foes despight,

And of an empresse, which I was ere while,

Of Saxon yoke now made a subiect vile:

What bootes it what I was, sith now I am

The scorne of fortune and the Briton’s shame?

20.

O, noble prince, vnsheath thy conquering blade

And saue that little, which is left to mee,

Left not for aye my antient glorie vade,

Nor let me subiect liue, as thus you see,

To pride of barbarous foes, but set me free:”

Thus ended she her plaint, and in sad plight

With piteous lookes departed from my sight.

21.

The phantasie presenting euerie howre

Th’apperance of such thoughts did so excite

My furie ’gainst the foe, that all my powre

I muster’d for the field, and Howel, hight

Of litle Brittaine prince, a valiant knight,

Allide to me by blood, did crosse the maine

To purchase honor with his martiall traine.

22.

Here could I sing the deeds of warre to thee,

Whereby my famous conquests thou should know,

How heauen did grace me with such victorie,

That in twelue battailes I did ouerthrow

The mightie forces of my warlike foe;

And by my valor, how I did expell

Those Saxon foes, which here long time did dwell.

23.

Hight Colgrim greatest amongst Saxon kings

I first subdu’d with honour’d victorie,

But happie he vpon the wind-like wings

Of hastie speed to saue himselfe did flie

Ouer the seas broad backe to Germanie:

Yet could he not escape vntimely death,

But here in Britaine breath’d he his last breath.

24.

Vnto his friends, when he in safetie came,

He could not shun th’edict of destinie:

But backt by them he proudly did proclame

T’inferre swift vengeance on our Britannie,

If he were not restor’d to dignitie:

Which I disdain’d and did prepare for fight:

Because to that he claim’d he had no right.

25.

And in a faire field by those bathes apart,

Which Bladud sometimes king of Britanie

Had founded by the depth of powerfull art,

My tents I pight: for there did fates decree,

That great king Colgrim’s ouerthrow should bee:

Whose mightie force my folke at first did dread,

Which by three kings was in Battalia led.

26.

For first did Bladulf brother to this king,

Conduct the vaunt gard for this valiancie,

Next Chelderick vnto the field did bring

His Germaine powers, the strokes of death to trie,

Who was a mightie prince in Germanie,

And in the rereward Colgrim’s selfe did lead

The Picts to fight, a people full of dread.

27.

The battailes ioin’d, each aduerse part opposde

Their strength to strength, the aire with dreadfull sound

Of souldier’s shouts did echo as they closde,

And each one equallie gaue wound for wound,

Till with the foes fresh strength, which did abound,

My men opprest to flight began to fall,

Whom thus with mouing words I did recall.

28.

“Yee emptie harted sonnes of Brute,” quoth I,

“Not worthie valiant Brutus farre-spred name,

What great defame of your big formes will flie

Throughout this world’s whole round, if this great shame

Of shamefull flight, yee doe not streight reclaime?

Where will ye boldly fight and scorne recoile,

If not in fight for your owne natiue soyle?

29.

Are these th’effects of those same glorious words,

With which of late your tongues did oft abound,

Saying one hundred with their powerfull swords

A thousand hartlesse foemen should confound,

To your owne shame, alas, this shall redown’d,

Vnlesse with speed ye turne couragious hed,

And make them flie from whom yee lately fled.”

30.

All th’host applauding my high valiancie

With deepe impression of my words being driuen,

Did break into the midst of th’enemie,

Where cuffe for cuffe on either side was giuen,

The noise of which flew ecchoing vp to heauen,

And with the thunder claps of clashing armes

Made aire to sigh with sound of humane armes.

31.

The skirmish burn’d, both parts did equall beare

Their heads aloft in this daye’s bloodie fight,

All stood it out, none stoopt to seruile feare,

Their swords made mutuall wounds, and in their sight

Their friends each where in field lay reft of light:

The earth made drunke with blood did then abound,

With fruites of death thick strow’d vpon the ground.

32.

But when the trampling steedes of heauen’s bright sun

Fell to the seas and left Olympus steepe,

And when the king of flames began to run

His golden head into the wauie deep,

When out of east bright Venus gan to peep,

Our strength increast, which conquest did diuine,

Our foes shrunke back, their valor did decline.

33.

For when king Colgrim by my launce strook dead,

And Bladuff by my power cast downe as low,

With their gigantike bulkes the earth did spread,

The foes with one consent their backes did show,

To saue each other in that common woe:

With whom hight Cheldrike fled, who for the spoile

Of this our land had left his natiue soile.

34.

Who being shrouded with the night’s black wing,

Trusting that she would his designements hide,

Tooke towards the marrin strand, in hope to bring

His folk disperst, in darknesse vndescride,

Vnto his ships, which then at shore did ride:

But death betwixt them and their nauie stood,

Our natiue earth drunk vp their stranger blood.

35.

The stout duke Cador, that illustrate knight,

Pursu’d the flier till the rising sun

Descride the foes, who turning from their flight,

Both parts stood firme, the fight afresh begun:

But Cheldrik lost, the conquest Cador wonne,

Whose spoilfull sword did spare no foes in death,

For Cheldrick’s self did there expire his breath.

36.

Meane time to rescue that bold Britaine king,

Prince Howell, king of little Britanie,

Who ore the gulfie flood his folke did bring,

T’assist vs gainst our common enemie:

Towards Scotland’s bounds wee marched speedilie,

Where gainst the barbarous Picts he was the barre,

While gainst the Saxon we did wage the warre.

37.

But he vnable to sustaine their force,

Which th’Irish Guillamore, th’assistant king,

In person did support with foote and horse,

Of whose alarmes the countrie round did ring,

Did send to vs requiring vs to bring

Our powers, with expedition to suppresse

The foe’s haut pride, and succour his distresse.

38.

Of which when I did heare, as from the skie

A tempest stooping on the deepe’s profound,

Hurles waues on waues in heapes, and makes them flie

Before his rage, so with the horrid sound

Of dreadfull warre into the Pictish bound

I entred with my host, and in the way

For fire and sword made all the passage pray.

39.

The foe’s stout pride we did in field subdue,

And Gwillamore, that did escape the fight,

To his owne kingdome’s bounds we did pursue,

Where we did bring him to his heart’s despight,

Vpon his knees by warre’s impulsiue might,

Forcing him yeeld obedience to our crowne,

By golden tribute yearely paid vs downe.

40.

After this good successe, perceiuing well,

That heauen with sunshine lookes grac’d our affaires,

My hopefull heart with glorie gan to swell,

Bidding me seeke by fame in forren warres,

To fixe my name amongst the golden starres,

And leaue a name on earth to liue for aye,

When rapt in mould my limbes forgotten lay.

41.

This stout suggestion of my mightie mind,

Made me despise foule ease and pleasures light,

Which softens th’heart, strikes strong desier blind,

Drownes all eternitie in depth of night,

And leaues reproch for prise of such delight:

For fame liues not, except for vertue’s merit,

Deeds of delite on earth no place inherit.

42.

A king, that only liues a king in name,

That dull’d with ease and drown’d in fancie’s lust,

Can stile his title with no deed of fame,

Being dead, his name iron-eating time shall rust

And in the end obscure it in the dust,

When he, though meane, that vertue’s race doth runne,

Doth liue eterniz’d like th’immortall sunne.

43.

This was the winde that set my ships on saile,

In forren shoares true honor to obtaine,

This was the prize, for which with prosperous gaile,

I plow’d my passage through the liquid maine

Vnto the Arctike pole, where Charles his waine

Fixt fast in heauen, his station there doth keepe

With other starres neare diuing to the deepe.

44.

And there in that cold iland Island call’d,

Whose mountaines with high heads did heauen aspire,

Which white with snow as if they had been bald

Did yet breath forth blacke smoakes and burning fire,

A wonder strange for humaine sense t’admire,

I with my Britaines bold bore to the Strand

And vncontrol’d march’t vp into the land.

45.

Whose people rude and liuing in their kind,

As beasts that wander in the desert field,

The rationall and best part of the mind

In vse of heauenly things not being skill’d

Against blind ignorance the soule to shield,

We did in fight subdue, and by strong hand

Did them enforce to stoope to our command.

46.

Their king Maluasius noting well the oddes

Twixt vs and them in feats of martiall skill,

And finding, that no place of safe abodes

Was left to him, in feare of future ill

Did soone submit himselfe vnto our will,

And from that time vnto my name’s renowne

Did yeeld obedience to the Britaine crowne.

47.

The fame of this exploit being set on wing,

And through the iles adiacent taking flight,

Doldauius of the Gotland nation king,

And great Gunfacius king of Orkney hight

Despairing to oppose our force in fight,

Did yeeld to hold their crownes and dignitie

By tribute to the Britaine emperie.

48.

But should I vnto light assay to bring

Each fight then fought and euery deed of worth,

Had I the strength of thousand tongues to sing,

Or the shrill trumpe of fame to echo forth

My conquests, in those ilands of the north,

Yet would the glasse of time be quite outrun

Before that true report her part had done.

49.

Should I relate the many a field I fought

Against Aschillius that bold Danish king,

And ’gainst proud Lot the Norway king so stout,

Whom after thousand soules being set on wing,

We at the length did in subiection bring:

Scarce would the eares of fraile mortalitie

Giue credit to our noble historie.

50.

Yet thinke, what dread of death and dangerous wounds

We in those trauels then might vndergoe,

From Albion’s rockes vnto the Russian bounds,

And our great conquest ’gainst the northren foe,

The fame of our admir’d exploits will show:

For to the Lap-land kingdome’s vtmost end,

Our Britaine empire’s bounds I did extend.

51.

In deeds of fame, thus did I spend the prime

Of goden youth, which lul’d in pleasure’s bed,

Flies fast away vpon the wings of time,

And scarce is knowne t’haue bin, when th’hoarie hed

With white of wintrie age is ouerspred:

For age with shame of youth’s fond deeds strooke blind,

Doth oft abhorre to beare the same in mind.

52.

Who doth to sloth his yonger daies ingage

For fond delight, he clips the wings of fame:

For sloth the canker-worme of honor’s badge,

Fame’s fethered wings doth fret, burying the name

Of vertue’s worth in dust of dunghill shame,

Whom action out of dust to light doth bring

And makes her mount to heauen with golden wing.

53.

After my high atchieuements in the north

I being returned to my natiue land,

Fame through the world did so renowne the worth

Of these deeds done by my victorious hand,

That greatest kings did in amazement stand,

Strooke blind in looking at the sunshine blaze

Of my great worth, yet enuying at my praise.

54.

For when true vertue’s glorious excellence,

Mounts vp aloft, and like the sun in skies,

Breakes through the clouds of darkesome ignorance,

Then enuie rous’d from her darke den doth rise,

And dazel’d with the golden shine, that flies

From vertue’s splendor, seekes t’obscure the same,

And muffle it in her blacke clouds of shame.

55.

That enuious beast of twice fiue hornes of might,

Who ore the world did long time tyrannize,

From Rome’s high towres viewing the golden light

Of my great fame, which dazled her weake eies,

Selfe swolne with haughtie pride, rows’d vp did rise,

And at my state with her proud hornes did push,

In hope my fame being yet but yong to crush.

56.

The Roman king that bore great Cæsar’s name,

Twelue aged sires in senate did select,

Men of renowne and all of noble fame,

Who as graue legats his great will t’effect,

Through Neptune’s wauie empire did direct

Their course to our sea-bounded Britanie,

To menace vs with their proud ambasie.

57.

Where when they came, seeing our court abound,

With honor’s sonnes emploi’d in deeds of fame,

Not in still waues of court-deepe pleasures drown’d:

For vse in deeds of armes and martiall game

Exiling sloth the pride of lust doth tame:

They thought their antique Romane emperie,

Had been transferr’d from Rome to Britanie.

58.

Yet getting audience one amongst the rest,

With graue demeanor and great maiestie,

Thinking with words our greatnesse t’haue represt,

Began t’infold with high authoritie,

The thundring threatnings of his ambasie:

For he vnbidden boldly tooke his place,

And thus did threaten me vnto my face.

59.

“Arthur,” said he, “from ample-streeted Rome

Where mightie Cæsar thy liege lord doth reigne

T’effect his will, to thee, loe, we are come,

And in his name to claime our right againe,

Which wrongfullie from vs thou dost detaine:

For long time since ye Britaines well do know

That Britanie to Rome did tribute owe.

60.

He doth dislike thy farre commanding minde,

Nor thy proud bold attempts will he allowe

In any thing, by him not being design’d,

By vs he bids thy haughtie stomack bowe

Vnto the bending of his kinglie browe,

And wils thy kingdom stoop, though so renown’d,

To Rome, the mistris of the world’s wide round.

61.

But if thy hart do harbor haughtie pride,

And that thy people still stiffnecked bee,

If that our words in scorne thou set aside,

Then to thy face I here do threaten thee,

That ere thine eyes one summer more shall see,

More troopes of men gainst thee we will imploie

Then erst did Greekes against the sonnes of Troy.”

62.

This threatning speech did set my thoughts on fire,

And made me to returne this sharpe replie:

“Doting old wretch,” said I, “thou dost aspire

In vaine by vanting words to terrifie

The hart of him that scornes thy ambasie,

Nor can our person patiently permit

Those barbarous taunts, signes of thy doting wit.

63.

Do Romaines harbor such a base conceit

That Britain’s Arthur is of lesse renowne

Then is their king, in empire, though so great?

Or that vsurping Cæsar with a frowne

Can make vs yeeld the title of our crowne?

O sillie sots to thinke vs such a sort

As your base speeches whilom did import.

64.

Is not our noble nation by descent

Sprung from the warlike Troian’s roiall race?

And shall our thoughts be then so baselie bent,

As with subiection seruilie t’embrace

The yoke of loftie Rome the world’s disgrace?

Her fame shall fall, our Britaine state shall rise,

She ore the world no more shall tyrannize.

65.

With swiftest speed returne thou this replie,

That we a people free will still maintaine

’Gainst all the world our ancient libertie,

And that thou well maist know how wee disdaine

The seruile yoke of Rome’s insulting reigne,

Ile bring reuenge, which Rome shall neuer shun

For that great scath which Cæsar here hath done.”

66.

This said, they all amaz’d at my replie

Dismist, made no abode in this our land:

But with winde-winged sailes did swiftly flie

Ouer the depths of Neptune’s high command,

Of whom their Cæsar soone did vnderstand

How his command with scorne we did deride,

In tempting our disdaine with such vaine pride.

67.

A which inrag’d, he in a fatall houre

The tribune Lucius for the warre design’d,

Who into France came downe with all his power,

Where many legionaries he did finde

Vnto that quarter of the world assign’d,

To keepe it peacefull by warr’s threatfull stroke,

Which then began to shake off Roman yoke.

68.

And as he did prepare to greedie fight,

So did we arme vnto the bloodie field

And from each quarter of our land did cite

All such as able were with strength to wield

Or launce, or bowe, or dart, or sword and shield,

Whom we did muster vp in armes well dight

To make them apt and skilfull for the fight.

69.

And in our absence in those forren warres,

To guard our state against all aduerse feare,

We left at home to manage all affaires,

Mordred the brother of my Gawin deare,

Our faithlesse nephew, that false hearted peere,

Th’ignoble sonne of Loth the Pictish king:

From whose blacke treason my sad fall did spring.

70.

Whose loyaltie I little did suspect,

Though on my death his hopes did then depend:

But who so wise hath been that can detect

The meanes and houre, by which the fates intend

To mortall life to adde the finall end?

Though both the meanes and houre most certaine bee,

Yet most vncertaine is the time’s decree.

71.

But being most secure of future chance,

My thoughts to meete the foes being set on wing,

Who did ordaine, that Augustence in France

Should be the place for each assistant king,

Vnto the Romane aid their powers to bring:

With warre’s loud trumpe from all parts of the land,

I call’d my Britaines downe vnto the strand.

72.

Where our blacke barkes all readie furnish’t lay,

In which departing from the barren shore,

Wing’d with full gale, the ships did force their way,

So swiftly with their bending bulkes before,

That 'bout their brests the giuing waues did rore,

Through which we kept our course without mischance,

And did at Harflew safe arriue in France.

73.

Where thousands troop’t in armes the shoares did show

Sent from those princes by alleageance bound,

T’assist vs in our warres against the foe,

Who when our feet did presse the sandie ground,

Did welcome our approch with shouts loud sound:

In euery place Bellona loud did sing,

Of horse and foot the countrie round did ring.

74.

Our powers being ioyn’d and euerie seuerall band

Digested for the fight, without delay

We marched from the salt sea’s slimie strand,

And sent our scouts before vs in the way,

To know where Lucius host encamped lay:

But hearing nought we forward did aduance,

Vntill we came to Augustence in France.

75.

And there vpon a chosen plot of ground

The Roman host with their especiall aides

Arm’d in strong steele for fight prepar’d we found,

The blaze of whose bright shields and glittering blades,

Did cast a sunshine in the darkest shades:

With whom we thought t’haue then begun the fight,

Had setting sun not shew’d approching night.

76.

But when from vnderneath the siluer vaile

Of Thetis lap Apollo did arise,

And to the batlements of heau’n exhale

Night’s dewie drops, which fell before from skies,

Our bands t’applie for fight we did deuise,

And euerie one did buckle to the field,

Thirsting to bloodie fight their strength to yeild.

77.

Then did the trumpet shrill sound out alowd

To bring them bold to the insatiate field,

And on the plaine both parts in thickest crowd

Opposing sword to sword and shield to shield,

Not fear’d with death, but with stout courage fild,

Began the fight, and none their backs did turne,

In euerie place the skirmish hot did burne.

78.

But where the kinglie eagle Ioue’s faire bird

Great Cæsar’s standard did maintaine the fight,

There both on horse and foote the slaughtering sword

Made greatest hauock, where with most affright

To my bold Britons, Lucius, that stout knight,

Did beate the field or turning troops of men,

As if the battaile onlie there had ben.

79.

Which when I heard, with my victorious lance

Thirsting to do where deeds of worth were done,

I towards that part my standard did aduance,

The virgin mother of great Ioue’s owne sonne,

Vnder whose badge I many a field had wonne,

Where 'mongst the foes I rusht with my bold bands,

T’auenge my slaughtered friends at Lucius’ hands.

80.

Then prudent Ioue vpon the foes did frowne,

And in his ballance holding either fate

Of both our fortunes, made their lot sinke downe,

Vpon our steps in fight did conquest wait,

Death’s terror did the foe-men’s strength abate,

Whose hands fell strengthlesse downe, being all inclin’d

To flie with shame, and leaue vs fame behind.

81.

They fled, and we did eager pursuit make:

But sad report on fame’s vnluckie wing,

With fatall tidings did vs ouertake,

How all our Britaine ocean round did ring

With Mordred’s deeds aspiring to be king,

Which strooke more terror to my grieued mind,

Then if the world ’gainst me in armes had shin’d.

82.

Yet with late conquest won in mind made bold,

Returning to our fleet we launcht from land,

And being out at sea we might behold

Our owne rebellious kingdome’s rockie strand,

Strengthen’d about the coast with many a band:

Which did my vexed soule with sorrow sting,

To see false subiects bent to braue their king.

83.

As lions rob’d of yong with hideous rore

All raging wood, makes th’echoing forrest shake

And beasts to dread: so sailing towards the shore,

My souldiers charging, with loud shouts did make

The stoutest hearts on th’aduerse part to quake:

A wrongfull cause makes fortitude giue backe,

And guilt of treason courage doth aslacke.

84.

Yet on the land at Sandwich port, before

We could set foot, we lost much life and blood:

For with stones, darts, and shafts thicke sent from shore,

Our men as on the deckes they stoutly stood

Were ouerturn’d into the wauie flood,

'Mongst whom without all helpe before our eies,

Did many sinke, and neuer more did rise.

85.

For many 'mongst the rest being wounded sore,

Rising againe, to shun their timelesse graue,

Their fainting browes aboue the billowes bore,

And when their lips did ouerlooke the waue,

For helpe cri’d out their loued liues to saue:

But they, alas, made weake, with losse of blood,

Sinking, poore soules, were strangled in the flood.

86.

To wreake such harmes with sharpned arrowes store,

Steele-headed iauelins, stones and singing darts,

We charg’d the bold defendants on the shore,

Which did impresse deepe wounds in their best harts,

And made the rest retire t’escape such smarts,

From whom our men the firme land hauing won,

’Twixt them and vs a dreadfull fight begun.

87.

Where noble Anguisell the Scotish king,

Amidd’st the foes in fight incircled round,

Did in our cause endure death’s fatall sting:

And valiant Cador after many a wound,

Did sinke downe dead vpon the flowrie ground:

Whom my deare Gawin did consort in death,

And in our right, with them expir’d his breath.

88.

For making slaughter with his mightie lance

Vpon the aduerse troopes, though many a band

Inclos’d him from all helpe, where he by chance

Was wounded by a fatall souldier’s hand,

Yet ’gainst them all alone he made his stand,

And with his life halfe spent in their despight,

Did make retreate vnto his tent from fight.

89.

Where through his wound, before his life did fleet,

These words hee spake vnto the standers by,

“With sad farewell my soueraigne I doe greet,

In whose defence against his foes, though I

In death triumphant ouer death do die,

Yet brother’s treason wounds my heart with woe,

For which with griefe vnto my graue I goe.

90.

Yee powers of heauen, on whose dispose diuine

The gift of conquest doth depend alone,

Let our dread king in battaile victor shine

Against his foes, let traytors falling grone

Beneath his sword, that do aspire his throne:

But cease my words, death doth my breath exhale,

Adue my liege, I die, my life doth faile.”

91.

This said, he slept in death, yet neuer sleepes

The fame of his admired loyaltie,

Seal’d with his blood, record for euer keepes,

His name a mirror of true constancie

To his liege lord for all posteritie:

For vnto us he in true loyall loue

Gainst nature’s selfe to death did constant proue.

92.

Nature’s affect leuel’d by rule of reason,

The due respect of common good doth binde

Gainst nature’s selfe, and when the hand of treason

Inuades the state of kings, the noble minde

To shun the taint of blood ’gainst their owne kinde,

Aduerse in nature seeme, that loue to showe,

Which first to care of common good they owe.

93.

Which this illustrate knight in hart did keepe,

And with his blood in death did seale the same:

Which when I heard sad sorrowe seated deepe

In my grieu’d hart my thoughts did so inflame,

That on the foes I rusht with loud exclame,

And with heroicke wreake my harte’s true loue

To my deare Gawin dead, I did approue.

94.

In our reuenge such slaughter we did make

With furious onset on the aduerse part,

That vnto flight themselues they did betake,

Nor durst the brest that bore the boldest hart

Stand forth ’gainst vs to shake his threatning dart:

False traytor’s hearts the coward’s feare doth feele,

Nor can an edge be set vpon their steele.

95.

The Saxon Cerdicus and Mordred both

Confederates in this treason ’gainst our state,

Did flie t’escape the meed of their vntroth,

Whom we did fast pursue with deadly hate

From place to place, vntill vntimely fate

Did by one battell shut vp all our strife

In Mordred’s death, and losse of my deare life.

96.

A second field at Winchester we won,

Where many foes in fight were stricken dead,

'Mongst whom false Mordred his blacke death did shun,

Who with his friends although from field he fled:

Yet t’hazard fortune once more he made hed,

And on a plaine by Glastenburie towne,

Fatall to all this land his tents pight downe.

97.

Whom I as one, that of his owne accord

Had sought to hasten death in armes bedight,

In person follow’d with reuengefull sword,

To shew my selfe as well the first in fight,

As first in name, though with respectiue right

To common good, whose state depended then

Vpon my life: I might haue absent ben;

98.

Yet could not this disswade me from the field,

But in the morne when as the daie’s bright king

The mountaine tops with golden shine did gild,

No sooner did the warlike trumpet sing

Warre’s fearfull song, the sound of which did ring

About my eares, but rous’d from rest I rose,

And arm’d me for the field to meet my foes.

99.

With trumpet’s blast Bellona summon’d out

My Britons to the field, and then began

Each seuerall band t’enranke themselues about

My royall standard, while each captaine ran

From troope to troope enabling euerie man

To charge the rebels with their vtmost might,

Who in the field stood brauing vs for fight.

100.

With trumpets, drums and dreadfull shouts of men

The battailes ioyn’d, earth’s batter’d pauements vnder

Did seeme to shake, heauen sounded lowd, as when

Bold Boreas clad in darknesse, stormes and thunder,

Doth cuffe the cloudes and rends their ribs in sunder:

Both parts being eager bent the day to winne,

The fight at first with furie did begin.

101.

And as the hunter his shrill horne doth winde,

Breaths forth lowd shoutes and vseth all his art

To make his dogs to pinch the game behinde:

So euerie where I chear’d vp euerie hart,

And vrg’d my men against the aduerse part,

Exciting them by mine owne valiancie

To charge through death for fame and victorie.

102.

So long as faire Aurorae’s light did shine,

All valiantlie themselues in fight did beare:

But when the king of flames began decline

From steepe Olympus top, th’whole host with feare

Affrighted was, all troopes disordered were,

Who giuing back from field had fled awaie,

If I through death, had not regain’d the day.

103.

For loe, a Pictish souldier 'mongst the foes

Spake in the British tongue: “Yeeld (O friends) yield,

No more your selues to death in vaine oppose,

Arthur is dead, and with him dead in field

His knights are laid, on whom our hopes did build:”

This spake he with lowd voice in th’heate of fight,

Thereby to turne our battaile into flight:

104.

But I that heard and knew his close intent,

In front of all the field my selfe did show

Whereby my Britons, that before were bent

To turne their backes, turn’d head vpon the foe,

’Twixt whom the fight againe did feruent grow,

With whom I brake into the dangerous fight

In hope to meet with Mordred, that false knight.

105.

My launce and sword did many a bosome sacke

Of life’s rich spoiles, which were all men of name,

The common sort my hand in troopes did wrack,

For through deepe wounds and death in martiall game

I did enforce my way to win me fame,

Till wounded in the head with fatall steele

My death’s approch in fight I gan to feele.

106.

Yet when warme blood through my crackt veines flow,

And subtle aire gan pierce the liuely braine,

The eager anguish did my valor show:

For manie foemen in my furie slaine

Did pay my wreake with death and deadlie baine:

Still did I fight, although with fainting breath,

Vntill in fight I heard of Mordred’s death.

107.

Whose tragick fall when true report did tell,

His souldiers fled away, and in their flight

Vp flew their heeles, in slaughter fast they fell,

Darts thick as haile their backs behinde did smite,

Farre more in chase did fall, then in the fight:

Yea none had scap’t the furie of that day

Had not my bleeding wounds stood in my way.

108.

In manie a fight before in death’s despight

Vpon my head ten wounds I did sustaine,

With life vntoucht: but in this fatall fight

Remorslesse fate to end my life and reigne

With one deepe wound did wound my vitall braine:

For in the chace with torment of that wound

Deathe’s touch I felt and fell vpon the ground.

109.

From whence conuei’d to Glastenburie by

By my deare friends, who did in vaine pretend

To saue my life, loe, as I there did lie

In th’armes of death, perceiuing how each friend

Did shew his ruth, in teares for my sad end,

These words I spake, before my vading breath

Did flie away vpon the wings of death.

110.

“Grieue not,” said I, “to see your wounded king

Wrapt in the ruine of his life now done:

For Phœnix-like from death new life shall spring,

Which in this life I by my death haue wonne,

I dead, that left to liue, when I am gone,

Yea, this in death shall liue my future grace,

I di’d a conquerour in cold death’s embrace.

111.

The kingly ruth which our sad soule attends

Is our deare countrie’s sight, which setled deepe

In depth of my deare loue (O noble friends)

To you I tender ’gainst all spoile to keepe,

When I in peace haue laid me down to sleepe,

Death now triumphs, my mortall daies are done.

My houre is spent, my glasse is quite outrun.”

112.

This said, when I twice thirteene yeares had been

The stout defendant of my countrie’s right,

My soule did leaue th’abodes of mortall men,

My liuelesse limbes in secret hid from sight,

Interred were at Glastenburie hight:

Thus hast thou heard the truth of all my storie,

My life, my death, and my nere dying glorie.

113.

In which as in a glasse, seeing men may see

That action only dignifies the name,

That vertue betters euery bare degree,

That vading pleasures vpshot is but shame,

And silent sloth the opposite to fame,

Commit to mind, what I commend to thee,

That vnto men a Mirrour it may bee.

THE LIFE AND DEATH
of King Edmvnd, svrnamed
Ironside.

THE ARGUMENT.

“This was a worthie prince,” quoth Memorie,

“Peerelesse amongst the kings of Britanie,

After whose death the British rule did cease,

And th’English power did more and more increase:

For not long after on the Britaine throne

The Saxon kings did rule and raigne alone,

Who did at first agree in one consent

To make seuen kingdomes of this regiment,

Which did in that confused sort remaine

Till the beginning of king Egbert’s raigne:

About which time from Denmarke with strong hand

Inguar and Hubba came t’inuade this land,

With whom the Saxons manfully did fight,

And turn’d them oftentimes to coward flight:

Yet did they heere long time beare great command,

Though many a valiant king did them withstand,

'Mongst whom I find this one, whose tragedie

Is not recited in our historie,

Which Edmund call’d, surnamed Ironside,

A famous prince, in battell often tride,

Whom fortune still did grace with victorie

In fight against Canute his enemie:

Yet by the cruell fates vniust command

He lost his life by wicked traytor’s hand,

Whom vp from graue let fame with summons call,

To take his turne and tell his tragicke fall.”

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

Fame calles vp Edmund from his graue below,

His life and lamentable death to show.

We are not borne vnto our selues alone,

Deeds done, though good: yet from a greedy mind

Intending priuate weale, when life is gone,

Vading away, leaue no record behind

In fame’s faire booke, for future age to find:

Self-loue to priuate good, no good can craue,

When life is gone such loue lies dead in graue.

The fruits of loue, which after life do liue,

To grow from loue of common good are seene,

To reape such fruit, whoso his life shall giue,

Though dead, yet liues: his fruit aye waxeth greene,

Of which my life a Mirrour might haue been:

But whose sad muse my tragedie doth sing,

Or who to light king Edmund’s deeds doth bring?

Now from my graue, the bed of my long rest

Rous’d vp by fame, through shades of silent night,

Behold I come obeying her behest,

As Mirrours vnto men, to bring to light

My deeds, oft done in my deare countrie’s right:

Heare then (thou sleeping wight) whose mournefull muse

To sing my storie Memorie doth chuse.

I am the sonne of that vnhappie king

Hight Egelred, whose daies were wrapt in woe,

And on whose head false fortune downe did fling,

Such miserable scath and ouerthrow,

That he was forc’d his kingdome to forgo:

For subiect’s treacherie did him constraine

To leaue his kingdome vnto bloodie Swaine.

To bloodie Swaine, who from our Albion shore

Vnto the Norman duke to saue his life,

Forc’d him to flie, whose sister he, before

My mother dead, had made his second wife,

In hope thereby t’appease domesticke strife,

And by the aid of Norman valiancie,

To quell the force of forren enemie.

But hence did rise the ruine of the state,

And fourth decay of Albion’s emperie,

This was the gap, which by decree of fate

Was open laid for time’s posteritie,

Vnto the Norman conquerer’s victorie:

For by these fatall nuptials in the end,

The Norman duke his title did pretend.

My sire being thus constrain’d by forren force,

And subiects treason, in such miserie,

Amongst his Norman friends to seeke remorce

Of his mishaps, the land meane time did lie

Groaning beneath the victor’s tyrannie,

For nere did captiu’d men sustaine such woes,

As did the english of the conquering foes.

O noble England, nurse of my renowne,

Queene of all ilands canoped of heauen,

How was thy towring state then troden downe?

How were thy sonnes from their sad mother driuen?

Thy daughter’s beautie vnto rapine giuen?

My words, alas, will thy sad heart compell

To bleed with woe, these woes to heare me tell.

The simple hinde, who with day-labour stroue

In fruitlesse field to furrow vp his bread,

Nor for himselfe the earth with paine did proue,

But for another, whom his labour fed,

Although in heart he often wisht him dead,

In euery house lord Dane did then rule all,

Whence laysie lozels lurdanes now we call.

10.

The nuptiall bed, the lodge of chaste delight,

Was common vs’d in wedlocke’s foule disdaine,

Sweet virgins daily forc’d to deeds of night,

Faire ladies beautie set to sale for gaine,

Children made bondslaues, wretched husbands slain,

Who to such rufull spoile were iustly giuen

For their offence against the king of heauen.

11.

Let such, whose peacefull eares from sad affright

Of warre’s dread voice the hand of heauen doth close,

Who lull’d in that dame’s lap of sweet delight,

The queene of peace do sleepe secure of foes,

Thinke it humane, to thinke on other’s woes:

And in such thoughts fear such like woes to come,

For their offence ordain’d by Ioue’s iust doome.

12.

The life of state lay stifeled in the smoke

Of blacke despaire, till death tooke life from Swaine,

Then th’english peeres shooke off the heauie yoke

Of forren pride, which they did erst sustaine,

And did recall my father home againe,

Who did enforce by power of his strong hand

Canute the sonne of Swaine to leaue this land.

13.

Then did he seeke to reerect againe

The ruines of his crowne’s collapsed state:

But he, t’whom at his birth heauen did ordaine

In all his deeds ineuitable fate

Of bad euent, euen to his daie’s last date

His wishfull hopes in vaine did seeke t’aduance,

Vpon th’vnsteadie wheele of fickle chance.

14.

For ere those sprightfull horse of heauenly breed,

That draw the chariot of the golden sunne,

Who day by day do vse their swiftest speed

From east to west their yeare’s full race had runne,

Our fatall foe Canute king Swanus sonne,

To wretched England made returne againe

From Denmarke shores with many a thousand Dane.

15.

Who taking land at Sandwich in their ire,

Deuoid of pitie in the spoile of good,

Senselesse of humane woes with spoilefull fire

All things did burne, that in their passage stood,

Nor yet suffic’d: but thirsting after blood,

All doom’d to death, none kept for captiue bands,

Were slaine in troopes by their remorcelesse hands.

16.

T’oppose their powers in field I soone did cite

My father’s subiects from all quarters by:

But when prepar’d we were in field to fight,

Th’unhappie tidings through our host did flie

Of false duke Edrick and his treacherie,

Who with his troope in depth of darkest night,

Vnto Canutus campe did take his flight.

17.

Whereby made weake vnable to withstand

Th’augmented powers of our insulting foe,

We backe return’d with our disabled band,

And to our kingly father we did show

Duke Edrick’s treason, which, alas, with woe

So wounds his heart, that he expires his breath,

Poore aged king, and ends his woes in death.

18.

He being dead, to me his eldest borne,

Was left the reliques of a ruin’d state,

By rage of Mars a kingdome rent and torne,

A diademe by sterne decree of fate

Ordain’d for prize of bloodie warre’s debate,

Which was the end, for which Canute and I

In martial field did many a battell trie.

19.

O wretched end of glorie thirsting pride!

O vaine pursuit of empire and renowne!

What lot the land of discord doth betide

But wastfull spoile and all turn’d topsie downe?

What doe we purchase but a carefull crowne?

A crowne of care, the cause of froward strife,

The cause for which I lost my loued life.

20.

For after that against th’inuading foe

Six bloodie battailes I had fought in field,

I that in warre away did victor goe,

On whom (O England) thou thy hopes didst build,

Vanquish’t in peace to death was forc’d to yeeld:

The chance of warre my chance could not apall,

But trust in traytors wrought my wretched fall.

21.

When as the crowne my head did first adorne,

These thoughts vnto my selfe, I thus did frame:

Vnto my selfe I am not onlie borne,

My countrie deare the cheefest part doth claime,

Who to my care now kneeles and craues the same,

To saue the remnant of her ruin’d soile

From cruell foes that threat her vtter spoile.

22.

The thought of this did spirit bold inspire,

And smart of wounds receiu’d from foes of late

Did with swift furie feather my desire,

Which of itself by nature’s gifts did hate

To linger time, deferring vtmost fate

In doubtfull chance of battaile to be tride,

For which I was surnam’d, hight Ironside.

23.

This fire of expedition in affaires

And height of resolution t’vndergoe,

Compar’d to strength of limbes and restlesse cares,

Redoubled in my thoughts t’oppugne the foe,

And yeeld releefe to England in her woe,

Did touch Canutus hart with feare, though bent

To trie his fortunes in the warre’s euent.

24.

Distracted thus with doubt, in any place

By doubtfull fight t’ingage his hopefull fate,

False Edrick hoping for to purchase grace,

Who for his treason to my sire of late,

Had run in danger of my deadlie hate,

Did plot the downfall of mine emperie,

And in the end did act my tragedie.

25.

From prince Canutus campe in dead of night,

Like the Greekes subtile Synon, to effect

His wicked plot, to vs he tooke his flight,

And at our feete himselfe he did proiect,

And spake, as if his thoughts had no respect

To his owne life: for he with craftie wile

Of seeming sorrow thus did me beguile.

26.

“O noble prince,” quoth he, “loe, I am come

As guiltie to my selfe, and do require

To suffer shamefull death by righteous doome

From thine owne mouth, against whose royall sire

And gainst thy selfe I did of late conspire:

Pronounce then death, a doome more sweet to mee,

Then aged dayes in loathed life can bee.

27.

Ay me the dayes, on you I may exclaime,

In which to foule defame my life I lent:

Alas, the nights, that testifie my shame,

Your secret treasons I too late repent:

O wrongfull world, that made my thoughts consent:

Nor dayes, nor nights, nor world in future time,

But will for aye record my gracelesse crime.

28.

In vaine mine eyes, that shame yee do lament,

Which follows me where euer I doe wone,

In vaine my sighs, in vaine yee now are sent

From wofull hart to waile my trespasse done:

For should I liue, foule shame how shall I shun?

Then welcome death, ’tis death must end my woe,

Vnto my graue my greefe with me will goe.”

29.

This said, he wept and I began relent

And take remorse on his calamitie,

His hoarie head did moue me to lament

His wretched state, whom I from miserie

Restor’d againe to former dignitie:

For I, whose thoughts nere double dealing knew,

Did also thinke his thoughts vnfan’d and true.

30.

He being restor’d againe to liue in grace,

Did cloake beneath the vaile of loyaltie,

Th’intent of treason and did maske the face

Of foule deceit with fawning flatterie,

Till time-borne truth did shew his treacherie,

For many a field and many a dreadfull fight

His treason shew’d, which time did bring to light.

31.

The scourge of peacefull pride, the god of warre,

The prodigue spender of sweet plentie’s store

Did ride about our coast in iron carre,

Whose thundring wheeles like Neptune’s dreaded rore,

Were heard to rattle on our Albion shore,

So long, vntill the pale-fac’d queene of night

Had twelue times borrow’d of her brother’s light.

32.

In six fierce battels fought in martiall field,

Fortune my sword with conquest did renowne,

Six times Canute ore-match’d in fight did yeeld

And fled away, by froward fate cast downe,

Leauing to me the hope of England’s crowne:

Whose hopes my sword had smothered in the dust,

If I to traytor’s words had giuen no trust.

33.

For, after that I had with foule affright

Dispers’d the bold Canutus mightie host,

That had begirt my loyall London hight,

Lest any breathing space might haue been lost,

I follow’d him vnto that rockie coast,

Ouer whose mountaine tops the daie’s great guide,

The golden sunne appeares each morning tide.

34.

And there where Medway with his siluer streames

Runs gliding downe the lowlie dales of Kent,

Vntill he meetes his elder brother Thames,

Vpon a hill I pight my warlike tent,

Expecting how the foes, that night stood bent,

If till the morne they did determine stay,

Or daunted with late foile would flie away.

35.

The night we past in quiet sleepe’s repose,

And when the bright-cheekt ladie of the light

Tir’d with night’s toyle from Tython’s bed arose,

And in her saffron-coloured robe bedight

With her approch brought vse to mortall fight,

We troopt our men in Mars’ his best array,

Vpon the foes in field to giue th’assay.

36.

The foes stood firme vpon the sandie ground,

Shaking their deadlie darts with countnance proud:

Then did the trump the song of battaile sound,

And Danish kettle drums did beate alowd,

While euerie one in midst of martiall crowd

Insatiate in reuenge vndaunted stood,

Imbruing their bold hands in humane blood.

37.

While thus oppos’d both parts in fight did stand,

Hopefull of conquest, on the right side wing

Of all the host, nere to the slimie strand,

Where the sweet herbes by Medwaie’s streames do spring,

The cries of wounded souldiers high did ring,

For there Canute did charge with violent sway

Of his horse troopes, in hope to win the day.

38.

But to represse the fire and quench the flame

Of his hot courage, with a troope of horse

I rusht amongst his men with loud exclame,

Whom with fierce furie in our winged course

We did so charge, that we did soone inforce

Their faint retire, which we did swift pursue,

Vntill with open flight from field they flew.

39.

Then were the Kentish vales imbru’d in blood,

Then death was set on foote and thousands fell,

The brackish wanes of Medganara’s flood

With slaughtered bodies 'boue the bankes did swell,

Whose blushing streames the fight far of did tell

Painting the bankes with crimson in the way,

As they did glide into the Orean sea.

40.

Here heauen did smile on me with gracious looke,

And fortune put faire conquest in my hand,

On bald occasion hold I might haue tooke

And thence-forth freed the subiects of my land

From seruile yoke of forraine king’s command:

But what we purpose heauen doth still decree,

In vaine we wish what heauen wils not to bee.

41.

The treacherous duke, the faithlesse man at armes,

Ignoble Edrick thus did counsell mee:

“My liege,” quoth he, “we hazard now more harmes

In pursuit of the flying enemie,

Then earst we did before the victorie,

’Tis best we sound retreate and fall to spoile,

Of these dead foes vpon the sandie soile.

42.

Your men, though bold, yet wearied with the fight,

Be faint, and fortune may the foes so grace,

That they, constrain’d with desperate feare from flight

To backward death againe to turne their face,

May charge our troopes disordered in the chace:

Distraction heartens feare in desperate deeds,

Constraint in coward thoughts rash valor breeds.”

43.

This did he speake despairing hope to come

For prince Canute, if we pursu’d the chace:

Some did approue his counsell sound, and some

Did vrge against the same, yet found it grace

With those both rightlie wise and best in place:

By whose aduice retreate I did command,

Losing the chance then put into my hand.

44.

Thus did Troye’s helme-deckt, Hector when in chace

He had the Greekes vpon Scamander’s plaine,

And made them house their heads with deepe disgrace

In their owne fleet: whom then hee could haue slaine

And burnt their ships, which did their hopes containe:

But then being crost by lucklesse destinie

He did omit the profferd victorie.

45.

Thus did Rome’s scourge, the famous Hanniball,

For when he might with his victorious powers

Haue made that towne beneath his sword to fall,

And leueld with the ground her high topt towers,

Then did he let passe those auspicious houers,

In which with ease he might haue queld the foe,

Who after wrought his and his countrie’s woe.

46.

Securefull thoughts do foster fond delay,

Bewitching hopes breed carelesnesse of minde,

Occasion set on wing flies fast away,

Whose backe once turn’d no hold fast can we finde,

Her feet are swift, bald is her head behinde,

Who so hath hold and after lets her goe,

Doth lose the lot which fortune did bestowe.

47.

Euen as a fire supprest, if yet remaine

A sparke not quite extinct, whence growes a flame,

Wil soone resume his former strength againe:

Euen so Canutus power, which I did tame,

And with one blow might then haue queld the same,

Resum’d proud strength, which little time did yeeld,

And oft times after brau’d me in the field.

48.

The bainfull’st battaile we did euer fight,

At Scorstan was, in fruitfull Worstershire,

Where vnto both the hosts in open sight

Duke Edrick’s treason plainly did appeare,

Which in his hart ’gainst me he still did beare:

The heart once tainted with foule treason’s staine,

Possest with guile, seldome proues true againe.

49.

Two dayes in field we stood in doubtfull fight,

And after mutuall wounds with equall fate,

Both parts were parted by approching night:

But in the next daye’s fight this traytor’s hate

Did shew it selfe, for seeing the foes in state

Of strength declin’d, he sought by treacherie

To giue the day vnto the enemie.

50.

In midst of martiall throng my folk t’excite,

As I did stand in skirmish ’gainst the foe,

A man of armes there was, which Osmeare hight,

So like to mee, that scarse you could him know,

By whom this traytor sought to worke vs woe:

For as in fight he stood without all dread,

False Edrick vndiscern’d did strike him dead.

51.

Whose liuelesse lims in endlesse sleepe fast bound,

After he had despoil’d and headlesse made,

He tooke himselfe vnto an higher ground,

And piching Osmear’s head vpon his blade,

He held the same on high and thus he said:

“Flie, wretched countrimen, your king is dead,

The day is lost, see here king Edmund’s head.”

52.

The suddaine horror of this vncouth sight

With suddaine fright my folke did so dismay,

That they which were not in that part of fight

Where with my launce and sword I did display

Th’extreamest of my strength to win the day,

Away had fled and lost the victorie,

Had I not heard of Edrick’s treacherie.

53.

With speed on top of an adioyning hill,

My selfe I did conuey, where I in sight

Of all my host thus spake with voice most shrill:

“Fellowes in armes,” quoth I, “let not this slight

Of traytor’s practise your bold thoughts affright:

Behold yet free from death’s captiuitie,

I liue to be reueng’d on th’enimie.”

54.

This said, each one which had begun to flie

Turn’d head againe, and stoutly kept his place,

Then rushing with exclaimes on th’enemie,

Eager with furie of their late disgrace,

They gaue the charge so fiercely on the face

Of th’aduerse force, that by their violent might,

They brake the rankes, and turn’d their foes to flight.

55.

With whom the Mercian duke fled fast away,

The traytor Edrick hopelesse now of grace,

Who wing’d with feare of his decreed decay,

Outstript our pursuit, yet with greedie chace

We did pursue, vntill the day gaue place

T’approching night, whose wished presence gaue

Time to the foes themselues from death to saue.

56.

Canute being fled, did slacke no breathing space,

Once more to trie the chance of doubtfull fight:

But gathered his dispersed powers apace,

With whom I by a place, which Dearehurst hight,

In sea-side bordering Glostershire should fight,

Where I with resolution did intend

In single fight this spoilefull warre to end.

57.

When on the fishie Seuerne’s bordering costs

Oppos’d for fight, the battels ranged were,

A noble knight confronting both the hosts,

Did boldly in the midst aduance his speare,

At which both armies did from fight forbeare,

For straight my men I staid, because I knew

His purpose then, which thus he did pursue.

58.

“Yee glory-thirsting sonnes of Mars,” said he,

“To what I speake, with good aduice giue eare,

Let not my words by you contemned be,

If any loue to humane good ye beare,

Yee will esteeme my exhortations deare,

If either part my counsell shall refuse,

No good can happen in these warres we vse.

59.

Not th’haplesse fate, which followes hostile warre:

Nor terrible euents of bloodie fight,

Nor spoiles, that spring from contumelious iarre,

Nor woes produc’d from strife for lordly right,

To you, my countrimen, need I recite,

For woe, alas, this land can testifie

The rauenous rage of Mars his tyrannie.

60.

Pitie the teares of this our mother Ile,

Whose fame which 'bout the world once shone as bright

As Phœbus shine, now dim’d, alas, the while,

With clouds of carefull strife hath lost her light,

That to behold her in this wretched plight,

Like sorowe’s image drown’d in waues of woe,

Would make the hardest flint with teares to flow.

61.

Her fertile wombe, which goodly fruit did beare,

Now barren made, war’s stormie breath hath blasted,

Her buds of gaysome youth, which whilome were

The flowers of chiualrie, haue headlong hasted

Their timelesse end, while she in woe hath wasted,

And we the cause, we wretches, that delight

By wicked warre to worke her more despight.

62.

O noble princes, let not warre’s blacke hand

Put out for aye the shine of England’s light,

About whose right, both in contention stand,

But combate for it in a single fight,

And he that conquers, his be it by right:

Faire conquest’s gift is in the hand of heau’n,

Which vnto truth, for truth’s owne sake is giuen.”

63.

He hauing said, forthwith I forth did step,

And cast my brazen gauntlet on the plaine,

To which Canute with courage bold did lep

And tooke it vp, casting in deepe disdaine

His rich grau’d gauntlet on the ground againe,

Which I accepted and propos’d the day,

When we in fight each other should assay.

64.

For battell was design’d a plot of ground

Within a little ile, which Olney hight,

Whom Seuerne with his armes incircleth round,

Where we as combatants in single fight

Should d’araine bettell in both armie’s sight,

While they assigned were by our command,

On th’other side of Seuern’s streame to stand.

65.

The day of fight being come and order giuen,

Through either host to euery seuerall band

To keepe their stand, my souldiers vp to heau’n

Did cast their eyes, beseeching Ioue to stand

By me in fight, and grace my powerfull hand

With conquest ’gainst Canute, by whom cast downe,

They did expect the rise of my renowne.

66.

As they thus prai’d, I arm’d me for the fight,

And being mounted on a sprightfull steed,

When ’twixt both armies I appear’d in sight,

My terrible aspect did terror breed

Vnto the aduerse part, but hope did feed

My souldier’s sight to see my goodly grace,

My stout demeanor, and my stately pace.

67.

As Priam’s Hector on the barren plaine,

Manag’d his horse before the walles of Troy,

When he in single battell did maintaine

Troye’s right ’gainst Telamon, who did imploy

All his best strength bold Hector to destroy,

So on my steed I trotted to and fro,

Waiting th’approch of my expected foe.

68.

Who came at length all arm’d in seemely wise

Into the lists, and when the trumpe did sound,

Our steeds as swift as birds of wings in skies,

Their course did run, and we with speares sharpe ground

Did fiercely meete each other to confound,

In which swift course our shattered speares did flie,

Like feathers borne by winde into the skie.

69.

As two fierce buls fights twixt an heard of kine,

Whose violence doth increase, when in their sight

The crimson blood doth from their wounds decline,

So wounds giuen equally in doubtfull fight,

Our eager thoughts did to reuenge excite,

The anguish arm’d our armes with strength to strike,

And made vs both incounter lion-like.

70.

On horsback first the fight we did maintaine,

And when our horse did faile, dismounting straight

On foote the fight we did begin againe,

In which my foes haut courage gan to abate,

I with my sword laid on such wounds of weight,

That his faint knees did stoope at euerie blow,

And in the fight did stagger to and fro.

71.

Who tir’d with toile and fearing least my sword

Should beare away the palme of victorie,

Thus spake to me: “Forbeare,” quoth he, “braue lord,

This doubtfull fight, and let vs both agree

To ioyne our harts and hands in amitie,

Least that our swords each other do destroy,

Leauing this land for others to inioy.

72.

Right well thou knowst the chance of victorie

Vncertaine is, and though the crowne thou claime

As due to thee and thy posteritie,

So, noble prince, I, in my father’s name,

As my inheritance do craue the same:

In one consent then let vs both agree

That England’s bounds twixt vs may parted bee.

73.

Let not the inward hands of dogged hate

Teare thy great minde, but supple it with grace

Of heauenlie loue, let loue end our debate,

Which if in thought thou trulie canst imbrace,

Then in my hart thou hast a brother’s place,

To which all-seeing Ioue I witnesse call,

Who is the supreame souereigne of vs all.”

74.

To this I pausde a while, but at the length

Conceauing well the combat’s doubtfull chance,

“Canute,” said I, “since God hath giuen thee strength

In fight to trie the manage of my lance

And slaughtering sword without thy life’s mischance,

I thinke right well his will likewise it bee,

That in my kingdome thou haue part with me.”

75.

This said, our swords we sheath’d in th’armie’s sight,

And with kinde armes each other did embrace,

Happie it seem’d to those, that did delight

In happie peace, to see such loue take place

Twixt two such mortall foes in so short space:

But haplesse I that did accord thereto,

Th’euent whereof did breed my after woe.

76.

The traytor Edrick, preordainde by fate

To act my fall, whom for his treacherie

I daylie did pursue with deadlie hate,

Did instigate his sonne by villanie

With impious hands to act my tragedie,

Who to impietie by nature free,

After this tragick sort did murther mee.

77.

Vpon a time, when in the Muse’s bower,

England’s Parnassus, famous Oxford hight

Was my abode, there in that fatall houre,

When as expedient vse did me excite

To do the deed of nature requisite,

Vnto the draught as was my wont I went

Vnto my nature’s vse to yeeld content.

78.

Where loe, the sonne of this false duke did lie

Hid in the vault, to further his intent

With weapon arm’d: for on the draught while I

Secure did sit, with fatall instrument

This villane gor’d my bodie’s fundament,

And there to death his due I timelesse gaue,

At Glastenburie I was laid in graue.

79.

Thus after twice sixe months, and as much space,

As from the time the swallow leaues her nest,

Till Phœbus haue the lion in full chace,

With th’angrie dog, that from his burning brest

Breaths mortall plagues, hot feauers and vnrest,

When I had raign’d, I lost my life and crowne:

With which our English name lost her renowne.

80.

Thus hast thou heard the sad catastrophe,

And fatall period of my life and raigne,

In which thou seest, that where false treacherie

Hath toucht the heart with her foule finger’s staine,

There seldome constant truth returnes againe,

Which that it may to future times be knowne,

Forget not what was said, when I am gone.

THE LAMENTABLE LIFE AND
death of Prince Alfred, brother to
King Edmund Ironside.

THE ARGUMENT.

“By death of this braue prince,” quoth Memorie,

“The English lost both fame and libertie,

Too cruell were inexorable fates,

On him so swiftly t’execute their hates:

Yet with his brother Alfred’s wofull end

For tragicke act, his death may not contend,

Who liues an exile all his infancie

With his deare vncle, duke of Normandie,

Whence he in riper yeares recall’d againe,

Returning is betray’d, and on the plaine

By Guilford towne his friends betray’d by night,

Are tith’d to death by Godwin, that false knight,

The prince is sent to Elie, where his eyne

Being both put out, with hunger he doth pine,

Till th’instruments of Harrold’s tyrannie

Do butcher him with barbarous crueltie,

Who is the next in course, that must commend

To thee, the maner of his wofull end:

Let fame then call his mournefull ghost to tell

The woes and vncouth death, which him befell.”

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

Prince Alfred summon’d, tells to Memorie

His life, his death, and Godwin’s treacherie.

Of all the sonnes of men, vnhappie fate

With spight pursues the borne of high degree,

Where tyrant wrong vsurpes the chaire of state

The baser subiect sits from danger free,

Wofull it is of royall birth to bee,

Of which my woes a witnesse may remaine,

Such tragicke woes no prince did ere sustaine.

Vp then (thou saddest of the sacred nine)

Cause of sad sorow, neuer hadst thou more,

Vp (rufull ghosts and shew some dolefull signe

Of heauie griefe) powre out your teares in store,

Cause of sad sorow neuer had yee more:

And (thou) the pen-man of my historie

Prepare sad verse for my sad tragedie.

I am that Alfred, famous Edmund’s brother,

Who in the time of my minoritie

Was by queene Emma our beloued mother,

Sent to mine vncle duke of Normandie,

There to remaine safe from the enemie,

While heere at home against the sonne of Swaine,

My brother Edmund battell did maintaine.

Who being slaine, as thou before didst heare,

By treacherous Edricke and his bloodie sonne,

They for their fact a guerdon due did beare:

For whereas praise by it they thought t’haue wonne

Of king Canute, they both to death were done,

Whose hands with blood, whose hearts with treason floe,

Seldome in peace vnto the graue do goe.

Canute being seated on the English throne

By ioynt consent of the nobilitie,

To sit sole monarch in the same alone,

Did daily seeke by wisdome’s policie,

T’establish it to his posteritie,

While I, and Edward hight my elder brother,

Did liue in exile with our wofull mother.

Meane time Canute, th’vsurper of our right,

Hug’d in the armes of peace, and finding none

That could oppose themselues against his might,

After all stormes of warre were ouerblowne,

By blood gan tyrant-like t’vsurpe the throne:

For without cause the royall blood he spilt

Of Edmund’s brother Edwin, void of guilt.

King Edmund’s sonnes, those faultlesse infants twaine,

Edmund and Edward by his sterne decree,

Were sent vnto the Norway king hight Swaine,

He being design’d to act their death: but hee

Lamenting their mishaps, did set them free,

And sent them both vnto th’Hungarian king,

Who kept them safe beneath his soueraigne wing.

Canute being freed from doubtfull feare of those,

That to the diademe might make iust claime,

To peacefull pleasure did his thoughts dispose,

And gan to thinke how with some royall dame,

He in chast bed might amplifie his name,

No sonne he had t’enioy this wretched soile,

But Harrold basely borne of beautie’s spoile.

Vpon our mother he did cast his loue,

On whose dislike of loue we both did build

Our future hopes, but she, alas, to proue

The weakenesse of her sexe, as prompt to yeeld,

Leauing vs both, whom she from harme should sheeld,

Did cast her wauering thoughts vpon Canute,

And in the end did grant his vniust suit.

10.

(O) who doth know the wandring eye, that feeds

Th’vnstedfast fancie of weake women’s heart,

Constant in nought, but in inconstant deeds,

In weaknesse strong, as if the soule’s best part

Composed were by fond loue’s artlesse art:

Alas, that faithlesse faults should so excell,

Where faultlesse faith with reason ought to dwell.

11.

She bath’d in blisse, while we lay drown’d in woe,

She grew in pride, while we did pine away,

She soft embrac’d in th’armes of our false foe,

Did smile at our mishaps, while day by day

We did expect our loued liues decay:

For fatall ’tis to princes royall borne

Where tyrant’s browes the garland doth adorne.

12.

So long with her Canute she liu’d in loue,

Till with loue’s fruit her wombe to wex begun,

Which being brought to light, a sonne did proue:

But when that twice nine times the golden sun

In heauen’s bright zodiack through the signes had run,

The clouds of care began the dolefull night,

Which did eclipse the shine of her delight.

13.

Then the deare daies of her dread lord were done,

The stroke of death no mortall may withstand,

The kingdome Harrold his ignoble sonne,

The bastard did aspire, by whose command

Our wretched mother was exil’d the land,

And in despight despoil’d of all that store,

Which her Canute had giuen to her before.

14.

But death’s cold touch so soone did close mine eies,

That I beheld not my sad mother’s woes,

The base vsurper did my death deuise

Before her fall, in court soone finding those,

Whom he to act my tragicke murther chose:

The courts of kings with sycophants do swarme,

Tyrants do want no instruments of harme.

15.

An English earle there was, which Godwin hight,

Whose name about the world report did blaze,

A man of wicked wit, in fortune’s sight

So highly grac’d, that he himselfe did raise

To be the greatest peere in those our daies,

The king was only then a king by name,

While he perform’d the office of the same,

16.

And in the ruffe of his felicitie,

Prickt with ambition, he began disdaine

His bastard lord’s vsurp’d authoritie,

Plotting by priuate counsels, how to gaine

Th’emperiall garland after him to raigne:

Greatnesse in sway of state giues wings t’aspire,

Aduancement feeds ambition with desire.

17.

In broken sleepes he did consume the night,

While his liege lord lay lull’d in th’armes of shame,

Hope of a kingdome was his sole delight,

While Harrold senselesse of all kingly fame,

To idle ease himselfe did only frame,

Which set th’ insulting Godwin’s hopes on wing,

Whence woe is me, my woes did after spring.

18.

My brother and my selfe, alas, the while,

Vnto his hopes to make the passage free,

Were markt for death, nor could our sad exile

Suffice hard fate, my wofull tragedie

Must be the subiect of his treacherie,

We were the obiects of proud Godwin’s frowne,

We only stood betwixt him and the crowne.

19.

T’effect his purpose, he did soone excite

The tyrant king, whose actions he did sway,

To thinke, that while mine eyes beheld heau’n’s light,

He liu’d in reach of danger day by day,

His safetie liu’d vpon my liue’s decay:

For I, he said, being of an haughtie spirit,

Would seeke by might my father’s right t’inherit.

20.

The bastard king to bloodie deeds inclin’d,

To rob me of my life stood fully bent:

Letters forthwith by messengers design’d,

Forged by wicked wits for their intent,

In our queene mother’s name to me were sent,

Which I accepted as vnfain’d and true,

The tenor of the which doth heere ensue.

21.

“Emma, but only England’s queene in name,

Edward and Alfred, her two sonnes doth greet

From England’s chiefest peeres, who do reclaime

You both from exile, and do thinke it meet,

That you in Normandie should rigge some fleet,

And crosse the seas your father’s right to claime,

They all will be assistant in the same.

22.

Strike the hard steele, while yet the fire is in,

Slip not occasion put into your hand,

The tyrant Harrold daily seekes to win

The peeres vnto his aid, who yet will stand

In your defence, and hazard life and land:

Then come with speed, for warre we will prepare,

The way is plaine, the time doth proffer faire.”

23.

This in effect their letters testifie,

Which did my forward thoughts so much excite,

That though my brother then in Hungarie

Were absent farre, yet to obtaine our right,

I tooke the seas with many a Norman knight:

But cursed be that voyage euermoe

Whose end did end my life with bitter woe.

24.

Woe worth the ground, where grew the towring mast,

Whose sailes did beare vs through the water’s rore,

Woe worth the winde, that blew the banefull blast,

Woe worth the waue, whose surge so swiftlie bore

My tragick barke to England’s fatall shore,

Woe worth the mast, the sailes, winde, waues and all,

That causelesse did conspire poore Alfrede’s fall.

25.

Why were not they by cruell fates assign’d

To giue that due to death? which death did craue,

On ragged rockes, O why did I not finde

A milder death? why was the darksome waue

Vpon my way not made my bodie’s graue?

Ah why, why did they let my forward feete

Once touch the shore, such cruell death to meete?

26.

After our ships had brought vs to the shore

And giuen vs vp as captiues to the land,

At Guilford downe, a place so call’d of yore,

A fatall place to me, did Godwin stand

To entertaine me and my Norman band,

Who with the shew of true fidelitie

Did maske the face of his false treacherie.

27.

He did imbrace me round with treason’s armes,

And fawnd vpon me with a villaine’s smile,

His lookes were blith to hide his purposde harmes,

His words, which graced were with sugred stile,

Made musike in mine eares, and to beguile

Suspition’s self a solemne vow he made

Against all aduerse power my part to aide.

28.

At Guilford he gaue counsell as a friend

To make abode with all my companie,

For there hee said my fauorites did intend

To meete me with their powers, who would applie

Their best indeuours ’gainst mine enemie:

In which being confident, with ioynt consent

Of all my friends, I vnto Guilford went.

29.

There did the chorus to proud Godwin’s play

First tell the sequele of my miserie,

There first appear’d the plot of my decay,

There the sad scene of my black tragedie

Was first begun by Godwin’s treacherie,

And there my friends took hands in death and led

The tragick daunce, which I did after tred.

30.

When vnto Guilford with my troope I came,

Godwin of purpose did augment our traine,

And for one place could not containe the same,

Lodging in diuers Ins he did ordaine,

Which might twice tenne or thirtie men containe,

Which he before with Harrold did deuise,

The better to effect his enterprise.

31.

Plentie, the childe of peace, in euerie house

Did furnish out the tables with her store,

Lyæus fruitfull cup with full carowse

Went round about, mirth stood at euerie doore,

The oliue branch deceitfull treason bore,

Vsing the voice of peace which sweet did sound,

To vs at feast that were, in solace drown’d.

32.

The greedie gorge repleat with plentious feast,

Besots the sense and duls the spritfull minde,

Th’infeebled braine with strength of wine opprest,

Losing all quick conceit, soone waxed blinde,

The depth of Godwin’s plots we could not finde:

Deceit workes surest, where the wit before

Hath weakned been by plentie’s feastfull store.

33.

This fatall banquet, that did then forerun

The day that death put many soules to flight,

To soone did end, too soone the golden sunne

Fell to the ocean, and the dismall night

Came vp from seas to work my foule despight,

The woe which chearefull day before did hide

To end our cheare, the night too soone descride.

34.

When in my naked bed my limbes were laid

And I enchain’d in deepest sleepe did lie,

The rufull clamors of my friends betray’d

Did ring about mine eares: with whose sad crie

I rose from sleepe, and from my bed did flie:

But by the armed men and doores fast made,

My weapons gone, I knew I was betraid.

35.

Then did I looke, when death would at the doore

Come in, to sease my life with violent hand:

My chamber shooke, my hart gan tremble sore,

And as in horror I did silent stand,

Vp flew the doores, in rusht an armed band,

Who laid rude hands on me in spightfull hate,

Without respect vnto my princelie state.

36.

But when Aurora left her Tython’s bed,

And through each part of heau’n disperst her light,

My Norman friends fast bound in bands were led

To Guilford downe, to whom in dolefull plight

None gaue releefe, false Godwin tooke delight

With sight of their sad death his eyes to feed:

Such sight would cause the hardest hart to bleed.

37.

By casting lots they were ordain’d for death:

Of ten, still nine did beare the bitter fate,

And in strange torture did expire their breath:

The tenth reseru’d did liue in wretched state

Of bondage, till the day of finall date:

And thus six hundred vnto death being done,

All faithfull friends did my sad fall forerun.

38.

My friends thus slain, through couert shades of night,

That none to my abode might priuie be,

Conuey’d I was to th’ile of Elie hight,

There to abide, till Harrold did decree,

What kinde of death from thrall should set me free:

Where I with care consum’d for death did call

Vntill a fate far worse then death did fall.

39.

Then cause thy muse with me to mourne her fill,

And all yee nightlie birds, that do appeare,

As gastly signes, shrieke out your deadlie ill,

Let all that wofull is and voide of cheere,

That may augment my dole, to me draw neere,

And helpe me with their vncouth companie

To tune the song of my sad tragedie.

40.

Despoil’d by foes of all my princelie state,

And lockt in dungeon deepe from sight of heauen,

Sweete dame delight, with whom I liu’d of late,

Farre from my sad abode away was driuen,

And carefull sorrow for companion giuen:

The youthfull spring of my delight was done,

And winter’s state now in my youth begun.

41.

And with the winter of my woes begun

The frostie seasons winter bore apart,

Whose vnkinde cold did through my bodie run,

While gnawing hunger to increase my smart,

For want of foode did feed vpon my hart:

Thus I with cold and hunger long foreworne,

Did nought but mourning pine and pining mourne.

42.

My greene of youth with griefe’s sad sighes was blasted,

The sap of my life blood began decay,

My flesh through fast and euill fare was wasted,

My hart did faint, my strength did fleete awaie:

Ah God that death oft wisht so long did stay,

Why did not fates preuent my bloodie foes,

And with keene knife in death cut of my woes?

43.

My woes, alas, as yet were to begin:

For though my foes were priuie to my cries,

Yet could my rufull plaints no pitie winne,

To take from me at length they did deuise,

The last of all my comforts, both mine eyes:

Ah cruell foes, too cruell were ye bent,

Why could my death to you not yeeld content?

44.

When first the instruments of Harrold’s ire

Did come prepar’d to rob me of my sight,

Hoping that death, which I did long desire,

Had then been sent to me, the last despight

That can be done to man in wretched plight:

These words I spake to moue remorse of mind,

While teares in plentie downe my cheeks declin’d.

45.

“Thrice happie men, if ye the tidings bring

Of happie death my dolefull daies to end,

From whose long houres my lasting death doth spring,

This last request to you I do commend,

That pitying my sad plaints, you may befriend

My wretched soule with quicke dispatch in death,

And not with torture, when I yeeld my breath.

46.

Behold this bodie pin’d away with woe,

This starued carkas in such rufull plight,

That who, alas, can poore prince Alfred know,

These cheekes, whilome so full of fresh delight,

Now wexed pale and wan, are dri’d vp quite

For want of dew: yet dew’d with sad supplies

Of mournefull teares still flowing from mine eies.

47.

Yeeld then, O yeeld some comfort in this case,

And do not yee augment my deadly smart,

Ile hug sweet death, and with kind armes embrace

His grizly shape, and wooe him with his dart

To end my woes, by wounding my poore heart:

Only make ye dispatch when ye begin,

And heau’ns impute it not to you for sin.”

48.

This did I speake, supposing they were come,

With violent hands to make my life the prize

Of wished death: but by more grieuous doome,

I first adiudged was to lose mine eies:

For while that vnto heau’n with pitious cries

Vpon their crueltie I did complaine,

They reft me of my sight with bitter paine.

49.

Thenceforth, as caytife cast in dungeon deepe,

Where with fresh griefe my hart did hourely bleed,

As Philomel that spends her time of sleepe

In mournefull tunes recording his misdeed,

Whose lust in wastefull woods her shame did breede,

Night’s endlesse houres till death did end the same,

Against my foes I wasted in exclame.

50.

Famine, the childe of want did feast my soule,

And in my brest her hungrie arrow steepe,

The black night’s shreeking bird, the ghastlie oule

With balefull notes in waking woe did keepe

My greeued soule, when nature craued sleepe,

With whose shrill shreekes my plaints did beare a part,

And kept true time with sighes from sorrowing hart.

51.

Sorrow and griefe with waste of teares drawne drie,

Suppli’d the place where eyes did once remaine,

Whose want of teares my hart did still supplie

With drops of blood, fresh bleeding with the paine

Of wounding griefe which it did long sustaine,

Of which impatient to despaire being driuen,

Cursing my birth, I thus did crie to heauen.

52.

Woe worth the wombe, which nature did inforce

To bring me forth and leaue me in neglect:

Woe worth the starre, that did direct my course,

If anie starre the course of life direct:

Woe worth the houre, which did my birth detect:

Woe to you all, that did conspire with foes

To drowne my better dayes in bitter woes.

53.

Why do I liue? ah, why liue I the space,

Of half a day in this my mournefull mew?

Why doth grim death so often shew his face?

The woefull waste in me why doth he view

Of nature’s worke: and yet not craue his due?

Why do I liue, yet daylie die with paine?

Why do I die, yet daylie liue againe?

54.

To you therefore ye heau’ns, whose cheerefull face

With mortall eyes I neuer more shall see,

To you and all your powers I crie for grace:

Let me, ah let me now no longer be,

But by swift death from foes do set me free:

My dayes be ouer long, for death I crie,

End then my dayes (O God) and let me die.

55.

Wanting the salue of patience, wherewithall

To cure the sore of sorrow growne so rife

In my grieu’d hart, thus forc’d I was to call

For death to launch the wound with his sharpe knife,

Which griefe had festerd in my loathed life:

Who in his horrid shape himselfe did show

To me poore wretch, with too much paine and woe.

56.

For death at last with such vnkinde constraint

Did force my soule from th’house of her vnrest,

That neuer prince had cause of more complaint:

Nature’s vnkindest children will detest

My death’s vnkindnesse, and the flintest brest

Wil learne t’expire sad sighes with sorrow’s breath,

To heare me tell the manner of my death.

57.

From thence, where in grim darknesse I did dwell,

I forth was fetch’t, and by my foes that been

First stript I was, and then (O woe to tell)

My wombe was opened with a rasor keene,

With paine of which downe sinking, I did weene

That then my gasping ghost would haue expir’d

The breath of life, which I so oft desir’d.

58.

But after grieuous groane, when as my sprite

With feeling sense reuiued was againe,

My sterne tormentors, seeming to delite

In this their bloodie game, while I in vaine

Did beg dispatch of my tormenting paine,

With vnremorsefull hands againe began

T’inflict more woes on me most woefull man.

59.

At that smart wound, which in my wombe they made,

One of my intrailes ends they forth did take,

Which, out alas, (that ere it should be said

Of any prince) they fasten to a stake,

And with sharpe needles (yet my ghost doth quake

To thinke on it) my tender sides they wound

About the stake to make me go around.

60.

With painfull wounds they wound me in each part,

When still I stood to ease me of such woe,

Yet worse then painfull wounds increast my smart

As oft as I about the stake did go,

Then in this pitious plight, what should I do?

Death’s touch I felt: yet by my foes made blind,

The readie way to death I could not find.

61.

At length my soule vnable to withstand

Th’afflictions of my foes, in heart made stout

With torment of my wounds, I hand in hand

Went on with death that deadly stake about,

Vntill my bowels being winded out,

With death I fell, and in that fall did find

An end of woe, an end of griefe of mind.

62.

Men light of credence warned be by me,

To deeme no profer’d friendship firme and sure,

Till truth haue triall made, for flatterie

Makes fained loue the fittest cloake t’obscure

Falsehood from truth, which practise puts in vre,

Of which that henceforth I a Mirrour bee,

My storie told, I leaue it vnto thee.

THE TREACHEROVS LIFE AND
infamous Death of Godwin,
Earle of Kent.

THE ARGUMENT.

“The banefull plot of Godwin’s treacherie,

And Alfred’s rufull end,” quoth Memorie,

“With doubt may shake a weake belieuing mind,

Which to resolue, no better proofe I find

Then Godwin’s selfe, who in his turne shall tell

After prince Alfred’s death, what him befell,

How he in seruice of Canute his king,

In forren warres himselfe in grace did bring,

How he in state did rise, with what increase

Of noble issue, heau’n his house did blesse,

His life produc’d to length of many yeares,

Foure kings he serues, in Edward’s daies appeares

His treason t’Alfred, till that time conceal’d,

Which by the hand of heau’n is then reueal’d,

His oath, his periurie, bread stops his breath,

Heau’n plagues his issue for prince Alfred’s death,

The truth of which, that we at large may heare,

Let fame’s trumpe cause his guiltie ghost t’appeare.”

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

Godwin as guiltie tels th’ambitious ayme

Of his desire, first cause of all his shame.

Faire fall the steps, that happily do end

Their course begun in vertue’s painfull race,

Many begin that steepie hill t’ascend,

Where vertue dwels; but few do find such grace

As not to faint, ere they attaine that place,

To tread the path of praise I first begunne,

But lost true praise, which I did weene t’haue wonne.

Ambition tooke me by the haplesse hand,

And with delight led me another way,

Both blood and treason in my way did stand,

Which heau’n with vengeance failes not to repay,

Although reuenge of men escape they may:

Of which that I a Mirrour be, giue eare,

And in thy mind my fatall storie beare.

I am that Godwin, sometimes earle of Kent,

Who with king Harrold did conspire to shed

Prince Alfred’s blood, which I too late repent:

For whereas I vpon the glorious bed

Of spotlesse honor, might haue laid my hed,

This one blacke deed of my false treacherie,

Doth brand my name with spot of infamie.

If from that way, my steps had neuer strai’d,

Which in my youthfull daies I first did tread,

My famous acts, which now are all decai’d,

Had liu’d in lines of gold, and in the stead,

Of foule defame, with praise had crown’d my head:

But partiall fame lets passe our deeds of praise,

Our worser deed she keepes for future daies.

When bold Canutus, that victorious king,

O’er Danes and English did in triumph raigne,

Desire did set my youthfull thoughts on wing

In pursuit of renowne, which to attaine,

From pleasure’s idle bed I did refraine:

Ease duls the sprite, each drop of fond delight

Allaies the thirst, which glorie doth excite.

About this time we being secure of warre,

Fame by report did giue to vnderstand,

That the bold Vandale threatned to inferre,

Such strong inuasion both by seas and land

Vpon the Danes, that all the force of hand,

That they for warre could make, would scarce suffice

To giue repulse vnto their enemies.

Which when Canute did heare, his Danish force

He mustred vp, and I inspir’d by fame,

Troopt vp my Kentish friends, both foot and horse,

With whom deckt in braue armes and skill’d in frame

Of varied fight, vnto Canute I came,

With whom to Denmarke I design’d did goe,

Conductor of the English ’gainst the foe.

The seas we launcht, but long we had not wau’d,

Vpon the deepe, when all our ships did scatter,

Proud Nereus fom’d, the sea lookt blacke and rau’d,

The billowes rude rouz’d into hils of water,

Cuffe after cuffe the earth’s greene bankes did batter,

Which with their force our scattered nauie bore

In great distresse about the Norway shore.

Tost to and fro, the storme at length ore-blowen,

We did arriue vpon the Danish coast,

Where, in the field the Vandale dreadlesse growen,

Their valours to auouch, did vaunt and boast

Of spoiles and captiues in their conquering host,

’Twixt whom and vs the fight had then begun,

Had night, to part the fray, not twixt vs run.

10.

The night, that giues each deathlesse creature rest,

In chaines of darknesse all the earth did bind,

And in our tents, each one as seem’d him best,

Did passe the time: but in my labouring mind

Nor rest, nor sleepe could entertainment find,

Care kept me waking, how I best might bring

My selfe in credit with Canute the king.

11.

The time, I thought, did fit occasion yeeld,

The foes with fond neglect of vs at shore

Did sleepe secure, dispread about the field,

Their guard slight kept, their men were wearied sore

With hunting after spoile the day before,

Whom to Canute vnknowne could we confound,

Our names I thought, would euer be renown’d.

12.

These thoughts, but newly borne in my great mind,

By secret messengers I did conuent,

The English chiefetaines all, whom I did find

In heart so well inclin’d, that all were bent

With readie hands to strengthen my intent,

And in each point their minds to mine did frame

For this affaire, all thirsting after fame.

13.

Our English quarter, which did vtmost lie,

We vndescri’d, drew forth, and on our way

With silence we did passe, the windes blew high,

And night her darksome wings did wide display,

Lest th’aduerse scout our purpose might bewray:

So forth we went, and gain’d with good euent,

The drowsie Vandale’s vtmost regiment.

14.

The outward watch, and courts of guard being slaine,

Through all their rankes by slaughter making way,

We did at length their fatall tents attaine,

In which, as in neglect they sleeping lay,

Without respect all went the common way,

That leads to death, as well the noble kind

As the ignoble, were in death confin’d.

15.

Then was th’alarum giuen, and euery where

The foes with fearefull shouts did pierce the skie,

Heere one affrighted silent stands, and there

Another dreading death doth mercie crie,

Heere one cries stand, another there bids flie:

In euery place death’s terrour did abound,

And all on heapes our foes we did confound.

16.

At length, troopt vp in haste the foes made head,

Twixt whom and vs ensu’d a deadly fight,

Grim death in darknesse hid, did bring more dread

With his approch, the foes, through sable night,

Their friends from foes could not discerne aright,

In which distresse vnable long to shield

Their campe from spoile, they fled and left the field.

17.

Darknesse suborn’d their flight, and did preuent

Our purpos’d pursuit for th’intended chase,

Their campe laid waste, we found in euery tent

Rich spoile and captiues, men of no meane place,

With more renowne our deed of worth to grace,

Of which Canute our king did nothing know,

Vntill the morning’s light our deeds did show.

18.

For when in east Aurora did appeare,

Canute intending to begin the fight,

When he of our supposed flight did heare,

In rage he vow’d reuenge for such despight,

And forth in furie marcht: but when in sight

The Vandale’s campe appear’d despoil’d with fire,

And all their host dispers’d, he gan admire.

19.

The Danes, in troopes all gathered, stood amaz’d

To see through what great dangers we had run,

Vpon the slaughtered Vandales wounds they gaz’d,

Vpon the captiues and the rich spoiles wonne,

Applauding all with praise, what we had done,

The king himselfe, in heaping praise on praise,

The worth of this our deed on high did raise.

20.

The good successe of this high conquest won,

My name in credit with the Dane did bring:

And to encrease this honor new begun

In th’horrid warre betwixt the Norway king

And prince Canute, of which the world did ring,

I by my deeds vpon the Norway coast,

Did saue Canutus and his fainting host.

21.

When Olauus and Vlfe those brothers stout,

With their Norwegians in a dangerous fight,

Against Canute successefully had fought,

I with my English souldiers in his sight

Regain’d againe, what he had lost by flight,

And forc’d proud Olauus to flie the field,

Who to our king his crowne did after yeeld.

22.

Grac’d in all warre affaires without mischance,

With king Canute in such great grace I came,

That he, my name and fortunes to aduance,

His sister gaue to me for wife, whose name

Hight Thira faire, a ladie of great fame,

Whom I with earnest suite did often proue,

And in the end obtain’d her for my loue.

23.

Thus with auspitious lookes the heau’ns beheld,

The new borne infant of my towring state,

Which growing vp, with proud ambition swell’d,

Flattering it selfe with hope of happier fate,

Which to obtaine I long did lie in wait,

And left at length true honor’s path to tred,

To trace the footing which ambition led.

24.

When death did end Canutus’ life and raigne,

I standing in contention, t’whom the right

Of England’s vnswai’d empire should remaine,

Canute’s base sonne, ambitious Harrold hight,

Did step into the throne in my despight,

Being backt by diuers peeres, that sought to clime

By his support in this new change of time.

25.

’Gainst whom I stood with fained loyaltie

To those two princes, sonnes of Egelred,

The true borne heires to England’s emperie:

In which affaire, had fortune false not fled

And turn’d her backe, the crowne had grac’d my hed:

For had I gain’d the garland in their name,

Neither of them should haue enioy’d the same.

26.

But al-seeing heau’n, that did my drift perceiue,

To take effect would not permit the same,

Those strong built holds I was constrain’d to leaue,

In which defiance I did first proclame,

Against the bastard in prince Alfred’s name:

Wherefore my oath I vnto Harrold past,

To be true liegeman, while my life did last.

27.

Yet did not this my mounting thoughts beat downe,

Nor quell the pride of my aspiring mind,

My heart still aim’d at England’s royall crowne,

Aspiring hope did th’eies of reason blind,

To all impietie I was inclin’d,

Of which prince Alfred, whom would I had neuer

Betray’d to death, a Mirrour liues for euer.

28.

The maner of whose death I shame to tell,

Such was the cruell torment of the same,

And such the noble vertues, that did dwell

In th’heart of that sweet prince, whose liuing name

To all posteritie records my shame,

The more his vertues were, whose blood I spilt,

Remorselesse wretch, the greater was my guilt.

29.

Curst be the gracelesse heart’s vnswayed pride,

Which tempted me to act so foule a deed,

Why as at first did not faire vertue guide

My steps in path of praise? why in her steed,

All grace abolisht, did foule vice succeed?

With state and greatnesse, vertue seldome dwels,

State fosters pride, pride all good grace expels.

30.

After the murder of this guiltlesse man,

Long time I flourisht with prosperitie,

In slothfull Harrold’s daies my house began

With many valiant sonnes to multiplie,

Who after came to great authoritie,

Of whom hereafter I intend to tell,

Hearken meane while what vnto me befell.

31.

Hearken ye glory-thirsting men, and heare

Iudgement of wreakful wrath powr’d downe by Ioue

On me, and on my house, that all may feare,

Aspiring honor’s height those plots to proue,

To which vaine pride the heart doth often moue,

Of which, both I, and all my progenie,

May Mirrours be to all posteritie.

32.

When Harrold had, the tearme of three yeares space,

Vpon the English throne borne supreame sway,

He dying left a name of foule disgrace,

T’obtaine true fame, he neuer gaue th’assay,

His idle life in sloth did fleet away:

In houres of ease, who euer spends his daies

To future time, leaues seldome any praise.

33.

Vpon the throne, his brother did succeed

Prince Hardiknute, Canutus’ lawfull sonne,

Whom I did feare, lest for my bloodie deed

By his edict, I should to death be done,

Which I in lawfull triall could not shun,

To murdred Alfred he was borne halfe brother,

Got by Canute on Emma his queene mother.

34.

Yet I being right expert in euery thing,

Which did pertaine to subtile policie,

Both tooke a solemne oth before the king,

That I from guilt of Alfred’s blood was free,

With which his friends had often charged mee:

And also, that mine oth might fauour finde,

With golden gifts I did corrupt his minde.

35.

If that the powre of gold doe conquer kings,

Corrupts the noble, and deceaues the wise,

Subdues the valiant: yea, the brother brings

To sell his brother’s blood for golden prize,

Wherewith to glut his greedie auarice:

No maruell then, if that my gold did bring

This fained oth in credit with the king.

36.

Of Hardiknute this fauour I did finde,

I liu’d in grace and great felicitie,

To me the rule of all things hee resign’d,

He onely kept his kinglie dignitie,

All things were swaid by my authoritie:

But after two yeares space, by suddaine death

In midst of mirth, he lost his vitall breath.

37.

Being at a feast vpon a solemne day,

At Lambeth house, within the bishop’s place,

With cup in hand his life did fleet away,

To ground he fell and did cold death imbrace,

Leauing few friends to waile his woefull case:

In loue of drinke he liu’d, in drinke he dide:

Such drunken death oft drunkards doe betide.

38.

Prince Edward, Alfred’s brother, he being dead,

Was left the lawfull heire vnto the crowne,

Which I did claime as due from Edgelred,

And on his seeming foes I seem’d to frowne,

That sought with violent hands to pluck him downe:

For well I did perceaue, he being king,

To good effect my purpose I should bring.

39.

Zealous he was, and did so much delight

In sacred precepts of pure sanctitie,

That farre more fit he seem’d in all men’s sight,

To liue religious in a friarie,

Then sway the sceptor of a monarchie:

Yet seing the right did vnto him pertaine,

He was permitted ouer vs to reigne.

40.

Vpon whose minde more pliable to yeeld

To rule of others, then to rule alone,

The hope of future fortune I did build,

And after him, vnknowne to anie one,

I laid my plot to step into the throne:

For vnto him my daughter I did wed,

Twixt whom I knew would be a barren bed.

41.

Although the choycest eye could not select

A virgin with more sweets of beautie fild:

Yet for in hart he iustlie did suspect

His brother Alfred’s blood by me was spild,

Her beautie with delight he nere beheld,

My dreaded power, which might haue dangerous beene

To his estate, was cause he made her queene.

42.

Whereby in future time my valiant sonne,

My Harrold stout a title did pretend

Vnto the crowne, who by his valor wonne

High credit with the king, who in the end

So far to him his fauour did extend,

That after his decease, he did ordaine

The crowne and kingdome should to him remaine.

43.

Thus did I sit in top of fortune’s wheele,

Knit to the royall blood of England’s crowne,

Till death did strike, mischance I nere did feele,

Fortune at my successe did neuer frowne,

Who in the hight of pride pluckes manie downe:

Dreadlesse I liu’d, being dreaded still of all,

Fearing no lucklesse chance, that might befall.

44.

Beneath the sway of my securefull power

I from the king my guilt did long conceale

Of Alfred’s death, vntill that fatall houre,

When fate appointed did my soule appeale,

And in my death my bloodie deed reueale:

Blood for due vengeance neuer calls in vaine,

Heau’n will reuenge, when we remisse remaine.

45.

Once sitting at the table with the king,

My son, whose office was the cup to beare,

By chance did stumble, as he did it bring,

And lightlie did himself againe vpreare,

At which by me these speeches spoken were:

“Ha, ha, my liege,” said I, “see how one brother

In time of need can well sustaine the other.”

46.

To which the king return’d this sterne replie

With browes contract, signes of his angrie minde,

“Most true it is,” said he, “and so should I

My louing brother Alfred liuing finde

To helpe me now, but for thy self vnkinde.”

With which neere toucht: yet all distrust to shun,

Bread streight I took, and thus my oth begun.

47.

“This bread,” quoth I, “I neuer wish to take

Downe through this throat into my hollow chest,

But choaking me, God grant, that it may make

My death a scandall, to my soule vnblest,

Which heav’n henceforth for euer may detest,

If I your brother Alfred did betray,

Or gaue consent to take his life away.”

48.

No sooner had I spoke, and taken bread,

But of the heauens, my wish I did obtaine,

Vnto the ground I instantlie fell dead,

While yet the bread did in my throate remaine,

Through which to passe, the breath did striue in vaine:

In death did heau’n detect my villanie,

In death did vengeance iustlie seise on mee.

49.

Which in my suddaine downefall tooke not end,

This dreadfull iudgement could not satisfie

The wrath of righteous Ioue, who did intend

The extirpation of my progenie,

In the reuenge of Alfred’s tragedie,

With seu’n sonnes done to death, all valiant men,

My name did vade, as it had neuer ben.

50.

My eldest sonne, hight Swaine, in his rash moode

With rage incen’st, with his vnhappie hand,

Did beast-like spill his vncle Byorn’s blood,

For which a pilgrim to the holie land

He was inioyn’d by churche’s strict command:

Where rouing Saracens vpon the way,

With murther did his vncle’s death repay.

51.

The next was Harrold, who in Edward’s reigne,

After my death grew famous in this land,

Manie great victories he did obtaine

Against the Welsh, who with rebellious hand

Against the king themselues did proudlie band:

For which in name and fame he was renown’d,

And by the king with manie merits crown’d.

52.

But the third brother did thereat enuie,

Tostie by name, a man of mickle pride,

Which when his brother Harrold did espie,

His angrie hart did swell, and rage did guide

That reason, which doth man and beast diuide:

For on a time inrag’d with anger’s sting,

They fell at ods in presence of the king.

53.

Where Harrold caught young Tostie by the haire,

And with his fist did smite him on the face:

But by well-wishing friends they parted were:

Yet Tostie in his minde for such disgrace,

Did vowe reuenge in more conuenient place,

And forthwith from the court with angrie looke,

To Harrold’s house his readie way he tooke.

54.

Where when hee came, the seruants hee did finde

Preparing all things for the king’s repaire,

On whom he wreak’d the vengeance of his minde:

For not a man his wrathfull sword did spare,

In his reuenge they all alike did share:

Yet could not this his furie’s heat asswage,

Their limmes he hew’d in peeces in his rage.

55.

Which he amongst the hogsheads of pure wine,

Vessels of ale and cydar did bestow,

And in the lomes of meath, and tubs of brine,

And other sorts of liquor he did throw

Heads, legs, and armes, whence yet warme blood did flow:

Then sent he word, that at his brother’s house

The king should find good store of poudered sowce.

56.

For which offence, he was exilde the land,

And Harrold after Edward as his right

The crowne did claime, ’gainst whom no peere did stand:

Yet Tostie did the Norway king excite,

In battaile gainst his brother for to fight,

In which by Harrold vpon Stamford plaine,

Both Tostie and the Norway king were slaine.

57.

Stout Harrold in the field his death’s wound tooke,

With his two bretheren Girth and Leowin,

At Battaile abbey ’gainst the Norman duke:

For in ist iudgement then did heau’n begin

To plague this land for my detested sinne,

Which from that time twice thirtie yeares and foure,

With Norman bondage was oppressed sore.

58.

Thus by decree of fate without remorse

By the keene sword fiue sonnes to death’s doome past,

The sixt in riding on a head-strong horse

Into the siluer Thames dark deepe was cast,

In which his soule the pangs of death did taste:

The seuenth and last was in close prison kept,

Vntill in death the conquering Norman slept.

59.

Yet heere heau’ns heauie iudgement did not end,

My wretched mother, though forworne and old,

Vntimely fell, who, while she liu’d, did send

Yong dames to Denmarke, where for gaine of gold,

Their virgin beauties vnto lust were sold,

For which offence, to all the world a wonder,

She stricken was from heau’n by horrid thunder.

60.

And that on earth, my shame might neuer die,

The sea’s proud waues haue ouerrun my lands,

Which did of yore by Sandwich hauen lie,

Where now bound vp in Neptune’s watrie bands,

They at this day are called Godwin sands,

And since are made of pasture-springing-ground,

A dangerous gulfe the sea-man to confound.

61.

Thus for prince Alfred’s blood, which I did shed,

Ioue in the tempest of his wrathfull mood,

Powr’d downe his wracke vpon my wretched hed:

Of all foule ils most aduerse vnto good,

Vengeance pursues the blushing sinne of blood,

Blood out of earth with cries importunes heau’n

To grant reuenge, vntill reuenge be giuen.

62.

Vnto a sinfull wight, though time do seeme

With wings of waste his shame away to wipe,

Although the king of heau’n secure he deeme:

Yet when his sore of sinne is waxen ripe,

Of his smart scourge he feeles the bitter stripe,

The truth whereof, that I may testifie,

Amongst thy Mirrours place my tragedie.

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF
Robert svrnamed Cvrthose,
Duke of Normandie.

THE ARGUMENT.

“When Ioue,” said Memorie, “for Normans slaine

Through Godwin’s treason vpon Guilford plaine,

From English birth his wreake would not reuoke,

But made it stoope to conquering William’s yoke:

In that sad time, that noble prince I find

Most worthie of record, that Norman blind,

The stout duke Robert, who in th’hopefull spring

Of his greene youth, rebels against the king,

His hopes deluded sets his heart on fire,

He fights succesfully against his sire,

Is absent, when his father leaues to liue,

Who to his second sonne the crowne doth giue,

The duke returnes, finds Rufus on the throne,

Both rise in armes, but gold doth make th’attone,

Robert to Palestine with Godfrey goes,

Wins fame in field against the Pagan foes,

Hearing of Rufus’ death, he thence returnes,

Finds Henrie king, with indignation burnes,

Meets him in field to wreake it with his sword,

But peeres on either part make them accord,

After in peace they liue like brethren,

The duke’s kind nature wronged by the queene,

Againe he armes him to reuenge his wrong,

Fights with the king, whose part he finds too strong:

In fight is taken and to Cardiffe sent,

Where long captiu’d, in seeking to preuent

The fate of loathed thrall by secret flight,

He taken is, and is depriu’d of sight,

And after with long life in thrall opprest,

He pines away with hunger and vnrest,

Whose princely ghost let fame from graue vpraise

To make those deeds a Mirrour for our daies.”

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

The Norman prince tels fame, how he was borne

To be a king, yet dies a duke forlorne.

In that great booke of Ioue’s decrees in heau’n,

Compiled ere time had any wings to moue,

The wofull wight, to whom blacke fate is giuen,

To cancell it in vaine doth after proue,

No change of time can change the will of Ioue,

What power so potent is, that can controle

The first decree that he did there inrole.

Let fortune hold a crowne aboue thy head,

And at it with wit’s best direction aime,

Rise to it royally from honor’s bed,

Iustly deserue it for thy deeds of fame:

Yet shall thy carefull brow nere beare the same,

If thou in that star-text of euery thing

Foredoom’d for fate, be not inrol’d a king.

Of which that thou a lasting Mirror haue,

Behold me heere a wretched prince of yore,

To whom true birth a crowne and kingdome gaue,

Whom vertue did inrich with all her store

Of goodly gifts, to make me fit therefore,

Of which depriu’d by destinie’s decree,

Woe and alas was only left to mee.

Behold this feeble bodie pin’d away

With hunger’s waste, which once so stoutly bore

Our Sauiour’s badge in many a bold assay:

Behold the place where eyes haue stood before,

Now filled vp with blacke congealed gore:

Behold blind Beauchampe duke of Normandie,

New crept from graue to tell his tragedie.

A prince I was borne of the Norman blood,

To that victorious king the eldest sonne,

Who with his Normans, like a furious flood

From southerne seas did England ouerrun,

And to his heires the golden garland wonne,

Though heau’ns and fortune neuer would agree,

That of the same I should possessor bee.

When fortune’s gentle hand had set the crowne

Vpon his happie head, when all assaies

Of his bold foes in field were beaten downe,

To me his eldest borne my state to raise,

The Norman dukedome with such long delaies

Assigned was, that I being set on fire

For such protract, turn’d rebell ’gainst my sire.

Like lustie Phaeton, that gaue th’assay,

To guide the head-strong horses of the sunne,

Puft vp with pride to seeke his owne decay,

Gainst conquering William his rebellious sonne,

T’aspire the dukedome violently begun,

And fier’d with heat of gaysome youth did venter,

With warlike troopes the Norman coast to enter.

The false French Philip dreading euery houre,

The towring state of my vnconquer’d sire,

Gaue life to my attempt, and sent a powre

Of tall strong men, as fuell for the fire

Of my ambition, lest I should retire,

And faint in pursuit of the warre begun,

Betwixt my sire and me his gracelesse sonne.

As th’hungrie flame growen powerfull by degrees,

And flying on wings of winde throughout a wood,

With thirstie tongue lickes vp the leauie trees,

Or as the rising of some stormie flood:

So blinded with neglect of humane good,

My natiue Normandie I did inuade,

Making her soile the spoile of Mars his blade.

10.

To whose distresse the wrathfull conqueror came

Through sea’s rough waues, wilde furie was his guide,

Cursing my birth, ’gainst me he did exclame,

And in reuenge affection set aside,

He vow’d to scourge my most vnnaturall pride,

Setting his second birth yong Rufus hight,

Before me in his loue, and in my right.

11.

At Archenbraie, both battels first did braue

Each other with proud proffer for the fight,

There th’ensignes with the wanton winde did waue,

The plume-deckt helmes with gold all horrid bright,

With pale reflection glitter’d in the light,

And 'bout both hosts in troopes the horsemen stood

Like loftie cedars in a thicke-set wood.

12.

When as the trumpe the banefull blast begunne,

In clamorous noise we clos’d on either side,

Brother ’gainst brother, father ’gainst the sonne

Themselues oppos’d, nature in fight defi’d

Euen nature’s selfe, the sun in heau’n did hide

His glorious head, denying vs his light,

As lothing to behold so strange a sight.

13.

The soules of mortall men were put to flight,

Blacke deeds of death each one did vndergo,

Need boldned cowards, hope gaue wings to might,

And made each one his best strength to bestow,

To purchase fame by downefall of his foe,

Death set on foot ran round about the field,

Whole troopes of men t’her conquering stroke did yeeld.

14.

In th’heate of fight, I caus’d a troope of horse

To breake vpon the rereward of the foe,

Who brauely gaue the charge, and with such force

Their fainting troopes in heapes did ouerthrow,

That they their rankes were forced to forgo,

Whom I well mounted on a tall strong steed,

To the maine battell did pursue with speed.

15.

Where vnder th’ensigne of his royall armes,

T’encounter with the king it was my chance,

Who bent with his owne hands, to wreake his harmes,

Did fiercely charge me with his well-aim’d lance,

’Gainst whom vnknowne my selfe I did aduance,

And in my winged course with staffe in rest,

I gaue the charge vpon his royall brest.

16.

But heau’n did calme false fortune’s threatfull brow,

And did auert the point of my sharpe speare:

Yet by his ribs the flesh it vp did plow,

And running through his arme made blood appeare,

The stubborne staffe the king to ground did beare,

Who falling from his horse in mind dismai’d,

Vnto his men aloud did call for aid.

17.

The voice descri’d my error, and with speed

I downe dismounting to my royall sire,

Did take him vp, and for my gracelesse deed

His pardon vpon my knee, I did require,

Pleading mistake t’appease his kingly ire,

Whom I remounted, and from field conuey’d,

Lest danger should his noble life inuade.

18.

Meane time the horse troopes, who by me design’d

Gaue charge vpon the flankers of the foe,

So beat the field about, that conquest shin’d

Vpon our helmes, slaughter and ouerthrow

On the aduerse part inforc’t such workes of woe,

That all by flight sought saftie, none durst stay,

Rufus disgrac’d, and wounded went his way.

19.

Conquest in triumph on my brow did stand,

Fame did renowne my sword in euerie place,

Fortune with fame did ioyne her helping hand

With my displeased sire to winne me grace,

T’whom nature pleaded my vnhappie case,

And forc’t him yeeld (that both in loue might liue)

What reason would, and rage denide to giue.

20.

Restor’d to grace like Saturn’s god-like sonne,

To England I returned with the king,

Where Malcome in his absence had orerun

The north from Tuuidale, where Tweed doth spring,

Vnto the Tine, whose streames such profit bring

Vnto that towne, which on her bankes doth stand,

Now call’d Newcastle built by my command.

21.

T’oppose the furie of th’inuading foe,

The king my late tri’de valor did imploy,

The Tine with wafting waues did seeme to woe

My swift accesse, to saue her from th’annoy

Of her proud foes, who daylie did destroy

The towres and townes, which did themselues enranke

About her streames, vpon the pleasant banke.

22.

Where with my troopes, when I appeard in sight

Beneath the kinglie lyon marching on

Towards Tuuidale, to seeke the foes for fight,

Malcolme retirde beyond the Tweede, and none

In England’s bounds durst stay to looke vpon

Our angrie host, for peace the foemen su’d,

Which for the common good I did conclude.

23.

But leaue I now, to speake of blessed daies,

In which I liu’d true subiect to my king,

Leaue we a while to memorize the praise

Of my best deeds, thy muse againe must sing

My rebell pride, whence worse effects did spring,

Mischiefe now tracts each step, that I do tread,

Vnlookt for plagues falles downe vpon my head.

24.

Suppose thou seest me on the German coast,

Clad in rebellious armes against my sire,

Trooping vp men, to make a compleat host,

Waging th’vnwilling mind with golden hire,

And hope of spoile, to furnish my desire:

Bent once againe, vnto my sire vnknowne,

To claime the Norman dukedome, as mine owne.

25.

But ere my wicked sword I could vnsheath,

Vpon the bed of fraile mortalitie

Lies conquering William, in the armes of death,

T’whom enuious fame in his extremitie,

Brings tidings of his sonne’s impietie,

Debatefull enuie, finding once the thing

That breeds our shame, sets euill newes on wing.

26.

Could enuie find a darker cloud of shame,

Wherewith t’obscure the shine of my renowne?

Could fate for future woes more fitly frame

The houres of time, to cause the conqueror frowne,

Then when in death, he should dispose the crowne?

Enuie, fate, time and all things else agree,

To crosse that man, t’whom fortune crosse wil bee.

27.

The sickly king my sire, whose daies were done,

Thinking my course did threaten sure decay

To the rich trophie of his conquest wonne,

What nature gaue to me, did giue away,

To set the state vpon a surer stay:

For leauing life, he left by his decree

His crowne to Rufus, and his curse to mee.

28.

Tell me ambition, whence hadst thou that might,

To stirre vp nature in bold Beauchamp’s brest

Gainst God, ’gainst king, ’gainst nature’s selfe to fight,

Enacting by my hand such deeds vnblest,

From the first motion of my mind’s vnrest?

From hope of rule, and empire’s blind desire,

Thou hadst that power to make me first aspire.

29.

Reason strooke blind euen from my youth’s first spring

With fond-bewitching hope in state to clime,

That hope made frustrate by the powerfull king,

Did but prefigure out for future time,

Th’vnfortunate effects of my foule crime,

The losse of crowne, the losse of all my right,

The losse of freedome and my bodie’s sight.

30.

Scarce had the hand of vnimpeached death,

Clos’d vp the eyes of England’s conquering king:

But fame, whose listning eares feeles euery breath

Of whispering rumour, set him selfe on wig,

And ouer seas to vs did tidings bring,

That our dread sire was to his graue gone downe,

And vnto Rufus had bequeath’d his crowne.

31.

Heart-swolne with furie to reuenge such wrongs,

And claime the priuiledge then almost lost,

Which vnto birth by nature’s gift belongs,

Lest Rufus pride in my disgrace might boast,

My quarrell strengthned with a mightie hoast,

I did arriue on England’s southerne shore,

Gainst whose white rocks the British billowes rore.

32.

The English peeres abhorring Rufus pride,

In me expecting a more milde command,

Both by affection and by dutie tide

T’aduance my cause, each with his armed band,

Gainst Rufus’ powers in field did stoutly stand,

Whose wilder nature knowne in former daies,

Now many friends to my attempt did raise.

33.

Th’vnconquered Kentish in the English east

With that stout bishop Odo, first made head,

The actiue people, coasting on the west,

Marcht beneath Mowbraie’s ensigne proudly spread,

The northerne rout the valiant Bygod lead,

And the bold Britaines fauouring my right,

Were troopt by braue Mountgomerie valiant knight.

34.

Th’vsurping king seeing such sterne stormes to frowne,

On the first spring of his ambitious raigne,

Fearing the fall of his new-borne renowne,

Sought by insinuating words to gaine,

What by the sword he could not now maintaine,

His golden gifts with many faire sweet words,

Did turne the edge of our reuengefull swords.

35.

He did not seeke t’vsurpe the crowne by might,

Such pride his loyall heart did nere inuade,

He knew my senior birth did claime that right,

He, we being absent, tooke in hand, he said,

In our behalfe the scepter then vnswai’d,

The which, since now, he did the same enioy,

He crau’d to hold of vs, as our vice-roy.

36.

His gifts still flowing from him in excesse,

Did giue full power to euery mouing word,

And that in me he might all doubts suppresse

Of fraudulent deceit, he did accord

That he of me, as of his supreame lord,

Should hold the crowne, and yearely I should claime

Three thousand markes, as tribute for the same.

37.

Fraternall loue so well her powers appli’d,

To end these iarres begun betwixt vs twaine,

That he constrain’d t’appease his wonted pride,

And I respecting glorie more then gaine,

Did reunite our selues in loue againe:

The frowne of Mars did bring his stomacke downe,

And golden gifts did calme our martiall frowne.

38.

Farre from the fruitfull Albion’s peacefull shoare,

For th’easterne world thy muse thou now must wing,

Who in her flight a loftie pitch must soare,

Of those stout pilgrims in high straine to sing,

Which th’holy hermit did to Salem bring,

Imploring aid of princes in the west,

Against the Pagan’s bloodie acts in th’east.

39.

I as a partner in that great affaire,

With my support that iourney to vphold,

My wants with store to furnish, did not spare

My Norman dukedome, which for summes of gold

Till my returne the king did morgag’d hold:

Gold doth men’s thoughts to high attempts prepare,

And ouergilds the danger of the warre.

40.

Hearken how fame vpon the Norman coast

With her shrill trumpe from kingdomes far away,

Summons vnto an head my warlike host,

Behold the sackfull troopes in braue array,

Beneath my ensignes for this bold assay,

Who martiall’d by my hand, with ample traine,

Do crowne the vtmost bankes of Belgike Seine.

41.

Behold the English famous for his bow,

Sharpning his angrie arrowes for the field,

The Scot with his long pike his cunning show,

The Britaine big-bon’d-bold, not borne to yeeld,

Addressing brauely both his sword and sheeld,

See how the Norman manageth his horse,

The Irish shakes his dart with manly force.

42.

As wak’d from sleepe, with christians wofull cries,

Bound by the Saracen in captiue bands,

And often blushing at the late surprise

Of those milke-hony-flowing holy lands,

Now made the spoile of Pagan’s conquering hands,

Hence did we march with heau’ns great king for guide

Into the east, to beate downe Pagan’s pride.

43.

Inglorious age, made drunke with dregs of peace,

Heere iustly may I taxe thy peacefull time,

Heere must our muse’s warlike song surcease,

A carping straine, a more inuectiue rime,

Doth best befit the nature of thy crime:

Looke backe at vs, mourne thine owne want of praise

And glorious deeds, to glorifie thy daies.

44.

Say glorie, say, hath peacefull follie furl’d

Thy flag of honor? li’st thou dead in graue,

With great Heroes of the elder world,

Who led vs ouer Hellespontus waue

Beneath his badge, whose blood the world did saue?

Arise, arise, call forth the christian man,

Against the house of tyrant Ottoman.

45.

Hearke, how Thessalian woods records the cries

Of captiu’d Greekes vpon Penæus shore:

Behold how sacred Salem wasted lies:

See, see, how Sion mournes, where saints of yore

Did in sweet hymnes the king of heauen adore:

Behold that blessed land, the cursed seat

Where raignes th’Arabian Turkish Mahomet.

46.

O warlike nation, where is now that name,

Which th’English sword did graue on Acon’s wall,

Why do your valours sleepe, vp, vp for shame,

Let not your countrie’s ancient glorie fall:

Go, free poore christians from proud Pagan’s thrall,

Redeeme his sepulchre, who did redeeme

The world from death, with blood of such esteeme.

47.

Transport thou now thy muse to Bosphorus’ brim,

Ouer whose waues from Iuno iealous dame,

To Asian meades of yore did Io swim,

From whom transform’d the streame then tooke his name,

And since that time hath still retain’d the same,

Ouer whose waues as we did waft our host,

Much christian blood we ’gainst the Bulgar lost.

48.

Hence did we march to Hellespontus flood,

Where Helle, with yong Phrixus, put to flight

By stepdam’s rage, of which in feare they stood,

Flying, alas, and falling with affright,

Into the waue sunke downe in Phrixus’ sight:

Yet still to liue, in leauing her deare breath,

She left her name to Pontus at her death.

49.

The coast we tooke, where once Abydos stood,

Whence nak’d Leander, wafted by the light

Of Hero’s loue, so often swom the flood,

Till Helle rauisht with so sweet a sight,

Enuying Hero’s hap, in her despight

Into the deepe her deare Leander drew,

Where to his loue he sigh’d his last adew.

50.

There on the plaines, where Troye’s sad ruines stand,

Whence Agamemnon’s troopes haue often run,

To shun the furie of great Hector’s hand,

Against the Pagan many deeds were done

Beneath our standard of Ioue’s powerfull sonne,

There all the host, as towards Nice we past,

With spoilefull hands laid all the countrie wast.

51.

The noble citie Nice, so strongly wall’d,

We with our conquering host begirted round,

Her gates we wonne, her turret’s tops we scall’d,

Her towring walles we equall’d with the ground,

And all her pride did in the fire confound:

Amongst whose spoiles great Solyman’s faire make,

With her deare children we did captiue take.

52.

Then did stout Heraclêa stoope her pride

And seeing the Niceans yeeld, did yeeld with them,

From thence to Tarsus we our host did guide,

Fast by the bankes of Cydnus, whose sweet streame

Did seeme t’inuite vs to that stratageme,

Wafting vs, with slow waters sliding downe

From mountaine Taurus, vnto Tarsus towne.

53.

Where when we came with sp’rite infus’d from heauen,

We through the walles did force our dreadfull way,

The mightie towne into our hands was giuen,

The captiue foes in pitifull dismay,

With teares bemoan’d the imminent decay

Of their strong walles, which Perseus so renown’d

Had long before erected from the ground.

54.

Thence our triumphant standards we aduance

To Syria-ward with Godfrey for our guide,

Where on the way, with seruice of my lance

In many a fight against the aduerse side,

I with fresh strength our fainting host suppli’d,

And forc’d the Pagan Pyrrus from the field,

Who fled, and made faire Antioch wals his shield.

55.

Whom we pursu’d, and by the siluer streames

Of swift Orontes, where the king of light

Vpon our armes did cast his golden beames,

Our troopes did tracke the foe-men, turn’d to flight,

Till Antioch towers shot vp themselues in sight,

Whose pride we menac’d with victorious armes,

And shooke it in long siege with loud alarmes.

56.

Nine times the pale-fac’d queene of peacefull night,

Did lose that siluer lustre in her wane,

Which she receiu’d from Phœbus cheerefull sight,

And nine times did her brothers light againe

Renue that losse, which she did erst sustaine,

While Antioch walles our armie did enclose,

And stood in daily skirmish with the foes.

57.

In the ninth month, vpon the topfull brow

Of the towne-gate, the flag of truce did waue,

The captaine Pyrrus haughtie heart did bow,

The citie stoopt her pride, and for to saue

Her selfe from spoile, her gates wide open gaue,

Whose wealth, as due reward of our long toile

To th’vniuersall host, was giuen for spoile.

58.

Should I assay to tell each conquest wonne,

Which at that time the christian host did crowne,

Or bring to light each high atchieuement done,

Before we could attaine that sacred towne,

Which God’s sonne’s sepulchre doth so renowne,

Our muse, though willing all at large to show,

Yet were too weake such taske to vndergo.

59.

See how the Persian fronts vs in the field,

Vnder the sway of whose huge horse-arm’d host,

The earth with bowing backe doth seeme to yeeld,

Whose troopes in number infinite doth boast

Our swift decay, ere we do crosse their coast,

Hemming vs round, in hope t’enrich their hands,

With noble conquest on our conquering bands,

60.

With shouts, and war-like instruments loud sound,

Hid all in clouds of smoake they toward vs came,

In fearefull fight vpon the groaning ground

Both hosts incounter’d, glorie did enflame

Both bent to fight, both greedie after fame,

Standerd ’gainst standerd stood, and band ’gainst band,

Troope clos’d with troope, men singl’d hand to hand.

61.

Corbona hight, a Persian farre renown’d,

Chargeth our host with all his troopes of horse,

Stiffe stands each regiment, no ranke giues ground,

Power beats backe power, and force repelleth force,

The foes repell’d doth often shift their course,

Oft charging and recharging euery ward,

Where they do find the rankes most vnprepar’d:

62.

Then thicke as haile from aire’s darke regiment,

When in blacke clouds a tempest raues in skie,

Steele-headed shafts from th’English bowes are sent,

Threatning the armed men as they do flie,

With singing slaughter, thicke prepar’d on high,

Who in their flight, though some fall short of wounds,

Yet some againe both men and horse confounds.

63.

Here th’angrie courser chaf’t with deadlie sting

Of wounding shaft, for verie paine and woe

Doth stampe, doth plunge, and vp from ground doth fling,

Doth snuffe, doth puffe, doth boggle, snore and blow,

Till from his back his rider he doth throw:

Then ranging through their host with sinewie shankes

He wounds his friends, disturbing all their rankes.

64.

There one with shaft infixed in his brest,

As the stalke stoopes his top orecharg’d with seed,

Hangs downe his head: another here opprest

With feare of death, forsakes his wounded steed,

Each place throughout the field our eyes did feed

With ruine of the foes dispred on ground,

Gasping for breath with many a bleeding wound.

65.

Greate Ioue the god of conquest, who from harme

Did garde our host in euerie such assay,

Did through the cloudes stretch out his mightie arme,

And on the foes did powre downe swift decay,

Slaughtering their men on heapes, few fled away:

Twice fiftie thousand dead in field did fall,

With stout Corbona their cheife generall.

66.

Here could I tell the sack, which did decline

The pride of Salem, whose high walles withstood

Our fierce assaults twice fifteene dayes and nine,

How euerie street polluted with the blood

Of Pagans slaine, did seeme a crimson flood:

How Egypt’s Soldan did before vs fall,

Whom to these warrs, this towne distrest did call.

67.

But back to England we must turne our eye,

From whence, since first to Palestine I came,

Fiue times bright Pisces in the azure skie

Had in their yerelie course outrun the Ram,

Whose iust returne againe begins the same,

Where in our absence let vs view in state,

What changes haue ben wrought by time and fate.

68.

Our brother Rufus with vnrighteous hand,

Swaying the scepter in the English throne,

Did so oppresse the people of his land,

That, when he left to liue, he then left none,

That would as friends his suddaine death bemone:

He in that forrest did death’s cup carowse,

Which fatall was vnto the conqueror’s house.

69.

A goodlie place, that forrest once had ben,

Where manie a towne and manie a temple stood,

Made sacred with the prayers of holie men,

All which without respect to common good,

My father did conuert into a wood,

Intitling it New Forrest, and for game,

Did after keepe wild beasts within the same.

70.

Which stir’d the stormefull wrath of heauen’s great king,

Who seeing his temples equald with the ground,

And where his priests sweet pæans once did sing,

And oft with thankfull prayers his altars crownd,

Hearing the crie of th’hunter and his hound,

Did in that place punish th’impietie

Vpon my sire, in his posteritie.

71.

His second sonne, my brother Richard hight,

A hopefull youth, whom nature’s hand had sto’d

With sweetes of youth, as he, for his delight,

Did range this wood, was through the bodie gor’d

By sauage beasts, whose death my sire deplor’d

With bitter teares: yet could not quench the fire

Of Ioue’s fierce wrath, so moued was his ire.

72.

Rufus, his third borne sonne, in that same wood,

When he had strook an hart that fled his sight,

Was by another crost, where as he stood,

At whom one Tirrill call’d, a Norman knight,

A shaft let flie, which in the lucklesse flight

Missing the deere, and glancing on the ground,

Vpon the brest the king to death did wound.

73.

He dead, yong Henrie for his learning skill

Surnamed Beauclerk, did aspire the crowne,

And wonne the English peeres vnto his will:

Fortune once more vpon my state did frowne,

And from ambitious throne did keepe mee downe,

Mocking my hopes, denying mee command,

When she had put a scepter in my hand.

74.

After the conquest of Ierusalem,

The princes did amongst themselues accord,

To crowne my temples with the diademe,

That my abode might in distresse afford

Comfort t’all christians gainst the heathen sword:

But tidings of my brother Rufus fall,

From Palestine to England me did call.

75.

That sword renownd with fall of Pagan foes

Now did brandish gainst my brother’s brest,

That sheeld, which did the Persian oft oppose

In skirmish in the field, was now addrest

Against my friends, to worke mine owne vnrest:

And all mine ensignes fam’d in forraine fight

At Winchester did waue in Henrie’s sight.

76.

Where, close to swords in fight we would haue stood

Had not our friends foreseene the future harmes

Of our debate, who tending either’s good,

To calme the tempest of warre’s threatfull stormes,

First caus’d vs lay aside our angrie armes,

Then counsell’d Henrie to such couenants yeeld

As Rufus did, when he the state did weeld.

77.

As he, while he did liue, for England’s crowne,

Inioyned was by general states decree

Three thousand markes each yeare to pay me downe,

So Henrie, younger borne by birth, then he,

To like conditions thenceforth should agree,

To which we both consenting did depart,

One from the other seeming pleasde in hart.

78.

But hooded with the shew of outward loue,

Beguiling my simplicitie of mind,

He in the end a deadly foe did proue,

In my franke brest by nature too too kind,

A cunning way to catch me he did find:

Into the best minds pliable to good,

Deceit soone enters maskt in truth’s plaine hood.

79.

His queene, a woman sweetly tongu’d and faire,

By whom the king at his desire did aime,

With speech so affable did so insnare

My princely pliant thoughts, that in the same,

She could impresse, what forme she pleas’d to frame:

So free was I, that what her heart could craue,

As was my wont, with prodigue hand I gaue.

80.

The tribute due for England’s emperie,

At her request I freely gaue away,

Whereby my title and my dignitie

I lost, in that I could not then gain-say

A queene’s request, proud Henrie had his prey:

A woman’s power to proue my power but vaine,

What I had done did soone vndoe againe.

81.

Wanting in after times necessitie,

Those golden sinewes of my dukedome’s state,

To strengthen my much weakned royaltie,

I gaue the king words of despitefull hate,

And for reuenge tooke armes: but froward fate

With clouds of shame did now eclipse the shine

Of all my conquests, won in Palestine.

82.

Ore the sea’s narrow brest from England’s coast

To Normandie my furious brother came,

Gainst whom, my cause being good with my small host,

Before the fort of Tenerchbray by name:

Though fewer farre, in battel’s bloodie frame

We did aduance, where though Mortaigne and I

So stoutly fought, our folke the field did flie.

83.

Vpon that day, when fortie yeares before,

My sire to conquer England gaue th’assay,

In which he first set foot on England’s shore,

The king and I did meet in battell ray,

In which, alas, we Normans lost the day:

For on that day the Normans England won,

Was Normandie by English men orerun.

84.

Where, though false fortune turn’d her treacherous face,

And then began to worke our future woe,

Though dreadfull Pallas did denie vs grace,

And ’gainst our side her selfe in field did show,

Yet did we scorne, as scar’d, to flie the foe,

Mortaigne and I ’gainst them alone did fight,

Till multitudes did ouermatch our might.

85.

Let Pallas cease to sing of armes oppos’d,

Sorrow must be the subiect of her song,

In stead of greaues with golden buttons clos’d,

In which she marcht amidst our martiall throng,

Now in sad straine, while we relate our wrong,

She in the sock the tragicke dance must lead,

Whose dolefull measures, we captiu’d do tread.

86.

Thy muse, that in warre’s bloodie hew was sent

To Palestine, must now in blacke be found,

Each word with heauie fall she must accent,

Each symphonie must yeeld a dolefull sound,

Each measure with a captiue band be bound,

And euery couple’s sad catastrophe,

Double the woes of our captiuitie.

87.

Now Normandie’s great duke in Henrie’s hand

Vpon the rouling billowes running high,

Is carried captiue from his natiue land,

To which oft turning backe his heauie eie,

It seemes a farre to follow him and crie,

“Adew, deare lord, adew, who neuer more

With one step’s touch shall grace my sandie shore.”

88.

With griefe arriu’d on Cardiffe’s rockie coast,

Where Seuerne first meets Nereus wauie brood,

Through whose blacke waues faire Sabrine’s guiltlesse ghost,

T’Elizium bankes did passe the fatall flood,

In whose defence king Locrine lost his blood,

The tyrant king, in dread what might befall,

Did confine me within the castle wall.

89.

As bird in cage debarr’d the vse of wings,

Her captiu’d life as nature’s chiefest wrong,

In dolefull dittie sadly sits and sings,

And mournes her thralled libertie so long,

Till breath be spent in many a sithfull song:

So heere captiu’d, I many daies did spend

In sorowe’s plaint, till death my daies did end.

90.

Where as a prisoner, though I did remaine:

Yet did my brother grant this libertie,

To quell the common speech, which did complaine

On my distresse, and on his tyrannie,

That in his parkes and forrests ioyning by,

When I did please, I to and fro might goe,

Which in the end was cause of all my woe.

91.

For on a time, when as Aurora bright

Began to scale heau’n’s steepie battlement,

And to the world disclose her cheerefull light,

As was my wont, I with my keeper went

To put away my sorrowe’s discontent:

Thereby to ease me of my captiue care,

And solace my sad thoughts in th’open aire.

92.

Wandring through forrest wide, at length we gaine

A steepe cloud-kissing rocke, whose horned crowne

With proud imperiall looke beholds the maine,

Where Seuern’s dangerous waues run roling downe

From th’Holmes into the seas, by Cardiffe towne,

Whose quicke deuouring sands so dangerous been

To those, that wander Amphytrite’s greene.

93.

As there we stood, the countrie round we ey’d

To view the workmanship of nature’s hand,

There stood a mountaine, from whose weeping side

A brooke breakes forth into the low-lying land,

Here lies a plaine, and there a wood doth stand,

Here pastures, meades, corne-fields, a vale do crowne,

A castle here shootes vp, and there a towne.

94.

Here one with angle ore a siluer streame

With banefull baite the nibling fish doth feed:

There in a plow’d-land with his painefull teame,

The plowman sweates, in hope for labor’s meed

To get the earth with childe of Ceres’ seed:

Heere sits a goatheard on a craggie rock,

And there in shade a shepheard with his flock.

95.

The sweet delight of such a rare prospect

Might yeeld content vnto a carefull eye:

Yet downe the rock descending in neglect

Of such delight, the sunne now mounting high

I sought the shade in vale, which low did lie,

Where we reposde vs on a greene wood side,

Afront the which a siluer streame did glide.

96.

There dwelt sweet Philomel, who neuer more

May bide th’abode of man’s societie,

Lest that some sterner Tereus then before,

Who cropt the flower of her virginitie,

Gainst her should plot some second villanie:

Whose dolefull tunes to minde did cause me call

The woefull storie of her former fall.

97.

The redbreast, who in bush fast by did stand

As partner of her woes, his part did plie,

For that the gifts, with which Autumnus hand

Had grac’d the earth, by winter’s wrath should die,

From whose cold cheekes bleake blasts began to flie

Which made me think vpon my summer past

And winter’s woes, which all my life should last.

98.

My keeper with compassion mou’d to see,

How griefe’s impulsions in my brest did beate,

Thus silence broke: “Would God, my lord,” quoth he,

“This pleasant land, which nature’s hand hath set

Before your eyes, might cause you to forget

Your discontent, the obiect of the eye

Oft times giues ease to woes, which inward lie.

99.

Behold vpon that mountaine’s top so steepe,

Which seemes to pierce the cloudes and kisse the skie,

How the gray shepheard driues his flock of sheepe

Downe to the vale, and how on rockes fast by

The goates frisk to and fro for iollitie:

Giue eare likewise vnto these birds sweet songs,

And let them cause you to forget your wrongs.”

100.

To this I made replie: “Fond man,” said I,

“What vnder heau’n can slack th’increasing woe,

Which in my grieued hart doth hidden lie?

Of choice delight what obiect canst thou show,

But from the sight of it fresh griefe doth grow?

What thou didst whilome point at to behold,

The same the summe of sorrow doth infold.

101.

That gray coat shepheard, whom from farre we see,

I liken vnto thee, and those his sheepe

Vnto my wreatched self compar’d may bee:

And though that carefull pastor will not sleepe,

When he from rauenous wolues his flock should keepe:

Yet here, alas, in thrall thou keepest me,

Vntill that woolfe my brother hungrie bee.

102.

Those shaghair’d goates vpon the craggie hill,

Which thou didst shew, see how they friske and play,

And euerie where doe run about at will:

Yea when the lion markes them for his prey,

They ouer hils and rockes can flie away:

But when that lion fell shall follow me

To shed my blood, O whither shall I flee?

103.

Those sweet-voic’d birds, whose aires thou dost commend,

To which the echoing wood returnes replie,

Though thee they please, yet me they do offend:

For when I see, how they do mount on hie,

Wauing their out-stretcht wings at libertie:

Then do I thinke, how bird-like in a cage

My life I leade, and griefe can neuer swage.”

104.

Heere sighes broke off my speech, and that in mind

I vndisturb’d might in that place bemone

The lot adiudg’d to me by fates vnkind,

I did command my keeper to be gone,

And there to leaue me to my selfe alone,

Who doubting nothing what I would assay,

Left me, as was his wont, and went his way.

105.

He being gone, I wandring to and fro,

Began t’imagine how I might preuent

My wretched thrall, doom’d endlesse by my foe,

T’attempt all danger I stood fully bent,

Finding the meanes to perfect my intent,

Which at the last I found, alas, the while,

Since fawning fortune did my hopes beguile.

106.

Alone long wandring through the desert wood

Farre from the castle, I did chance t’espie,

Whereas a lustie gelding grasing stood,

Whom straight I backt, and did for freedome flie

Through vnknowne waies, that none might me descrie:

But what is hid from heau’n, or who can shun

God’s firme edict, by which all things are done?

107.

In swift careire, as I did heedlesse passe,

And through a meadow greene did make my way,

In midst of which a muddie quauemire was,

Into the same my horse did fall, and lay

Vp to the bellie, which my flight did stay,

Where striuing, as I was from thence t’haue past,

They that pursu’d me, found me sticking fast.

108.

To Cardiffe thence they bore me backe againe,

As one whom frowning fortune did despise,

And to the king of me they did complaine,

Who with himselfe did tyrant-like deuise,

That I for this offence should lose mine eies:

Which when he tooke, what did he leaue behind,

But woe in captiue bands to leade the blind?

109.

My bodie thus the darkesome caue was made,

In which my soule abode, as it had been

Confin’d to dwell in house of endlesse shade,

The windowes shut, no light could enter in,

The light put out no comfort could be seene:

And left thus blind, I seeke to flie my foes,

Both soule and bodie Cardiffe doth inclose.

110.

Bidding farewell vnto the world for euer,

There in my chamber, as a forlorne guest,

My wretched selfe I wilfully did seuer

From all resort, where with long night opprest

(For day did shun the place of mine vnrest)

To yeeld griefe passage, after sad sighes giuen,

Thus oft I call’d, with hands vp-lift to heau’n.

111.

“Thou powerfull God, whose champion I haue been

Fiue cold bleake winters, both by day and night,

In field against the cursed Saracen,

Although I seeme forgotten in thy sight,

Yet now behold me heere a wofull wight:

And seeing I liue in such calamitie,

Send death to end my dolefull miserie.

112.

Can I distinguish day from darkesome night?

Or do I know the seasons of the yeare?

Know I when spring deckes earth with sweet delight,

When summer’s sun glads earth with his bright cleare,

Or when in woods Autumnus’ fruits appeare?

O no, of nought but winter can I tell,

Whom by his boystrous blasts, I know right well.

113.

Where is become that azure concauite,

That doth so many wonders rare infold?

Where all the host of starres, so infinite?

Where daie’s great monarch drawne in carre of gold?

Where night’s bright queene, so beautious to behold?

O still, they do remaine in heau’n’s faire frame,

Although I neuer more shall see the same.

114.

Where now the valley greene, and mountaine bare,

The riuer, forrest, wood, and crystall springs,

The hauke, the hound, the hinde, the swift-foot hare,

The lute’s sweet straine, the voice that sweetly sings,

And princely sports in courts of mightie kings?

Where now are these? O let not memorie

With thought of these augment my miserie.

115.

Heere do I sit in shades of darkenesse grim,

While others walke in light at libertie:

Heere I in waues of wofull teares do swim,

Condoling my vnhappie miserie,

While others laugh, and sing for iollitie:

Send then, O God, send death for my reliefe,

Too heauie is the burthen of my griefe.”

116.

Thus many times, with bitter plaint and mone,

To vtter woes in words I did assay,

Witnesse ye wastefull walles, whose flintie stone

Haue euen dropt teares, to heare me night and day,

With pitious voice lament mine owne decay,

Oft wishing death, which sorow in the end,

And Henrie’s vnkind scoffe did timelesse send.

117.

For as he should vpon a solemne day

Make triall of a scarlet vestiment,

The cape being straite, the which he did assay

To put vpon his head, by chance did rent,

Which with this scornefull scoffe to me he sent,

“Vnto our brother beare the same,” said he,

“We know he hath a sharper head then we.”

118.

The garment being brought, the rent I found,

At which my troubled thoughts so grieued were,

That many doubts did in the same abound,

Which made me aske of him, that did it beare,

If any one before the same did weare:

Who told me of the king’s disdainfull scorne,

And how by chance the same by him was torne.

119.

Affliction bleeding fresh at this wide wound,

My heart griefe’s burthen could no longer beare,

But downe I cast my selfe vpon the ground,

Where I with wretched hands, the hoarie heare

From off my aged head, alas, did teare,

And when my tongue was free, against my foe

I forc’d it vtter forth these words of woe.

120.

“Woe, woe is me, that I was euer borne

Of halfe so many yeares to liue the space,

And in the end to liue my brother’s scorne,

Yea trebble woe to me, since such disgrace

Doth in despight my former deeds deface:

Then perish all my deeds, be neuer seene,

Die fame with shame, as it had neuer beene.

121.

Could not disdainfull Henrie be content,

Into his hands my kingdome to surprise,

Could not my thraldome cause him to relent,

Nor th’vnsustained losse of both mine eyes

His rage ’gainst me his brother yet suffice?

But must he thus my princely state abuse,

And as an almesman his owne brother vse?

122.

Why haue yee then, ah why, haue yee thus long,

Ye vnremorsefull fates produc’d that thread

Of loathed life, by life to lengthen wrong?

Why clip ye not my clew? why am I fed

With breath of life, and yet in life am dead?

Curst be such fate, and curst that fatall hower,

When first begot, I came within your power.”

123.

Hardned with griefe, in spight of death to die,

Thenceforth as loathing life I stopt mine eares,

When hungrie food for appetite did crie:

And while with hunger nature slowly weares,

My food was sighes, my drinke griefe’s mournfull teares,

Famine at length did blow the banefull breath,

Whose bitter blast did strike my soule with death.

124.

Euen as the naked woods, whose greene is lost,

Clad in hoare, their ruth do seeme to show,

In teares turn’d t’ysicles by wintrie frost:

So I my head made white with age and woe,

While from th’eyes organs teares downe drizeling flow,

When as I did perceiue approching death,

Thus tooke my last farewell with fainting breath.

125.

“Adiew the daies, that did my dole prolong,

Adiew the nights, that vexed me so soare,

Adiew false fortune, cause of all my wrong,

Who laughes to scorne the fame I won of yore,

Adiew O wrongfull world for euermore:

Ye that conspir’d my sorowes to renew

Both daies, nights, fortune, world and all adew.

126.

These hands to thee (O God) that for a gift

Thine owne deare Sonne for sin to death did yeeld,

These hands, I say, to thee I now do lift,

Which once did beare thy badge in brazen shield,

Against the Pagan foes in many a field,

Beseeching thee, from whom all mercies flowes,

To grant such grace, as death may end my woes.

127.

Twice fortie yeares and more, my daies haue ben,

And twice fifteene the Ram his race hath runne,

Since first, O Cardiffe, as in darkesome den,

Within thy walles mew’d vp from sight of sunne,

Forlorne, to mourne my fortunes I begunne:

Then pitie take, O God, on th’aged blind,

Death now begins my captiue bands t’vnbind.

128.

Leade on, leade on, vnto that heau’nly place,

Where in eternall blisse my soule must dwell,

Flie faith before, sue penitence for grace,

Backe, backe, my griefe, and vnto Henrie tell,

Beauchamp is dead, Cardiffe adew, farewell:”

This said, I downe did sinke into my bed,

In which my soule did leaue the bodie dead.

129.

Thus hast thou heard the Norman’s blind duke tell

His fame in forren parts, the wretched wracke

Of his renowne, and cause for which he fell:

The iudge of heau’n to punish is not slacke,

Where men do cast heau’n’s gifts behind their backe:

Of which let my sad life in Cardiffe lead,

A lasting Mirrour be, though I be dead.

THE MEMORABLE LIFE AND
death of King Richard the first,
surnamed Cœur de Lion.

THE ARGUMENT.

“This prince,” quoth Memorie, “did liue too long,

At his sterne brother’s hands to beare such wrong,

Which yet reuenged was by God’s owne hand,

Vpon himselfe, his children, and his land:

Two sonnes he had, of daughters also twaine,

Of which three drown’d, were swallow’d in the maine,

The fourth a daughter was, which Maud by name,

Of whom Plantagenet’s two houses came:

Duke Gefferie of Aniou, noble knight,

Vpon this Maud begate that worthie wight,

Duke Henrie, second king that bore that name,

Though second to no king in deeds of fame,

Who yong, yet forc’d th’vsurper Stephen in fight

To leaue to him the crowne, his due by right:

He in chast bed begot three sonnes and one,

Hight Henrie, Richard, Gefferie, and Iohn:

Mongst whom that Richard when both Henries dide,

On England’s throne did sit as supreme guide,

Since William’s conquest, only he of kings

His host in person gainst the Pagan brings,

He sackes Messina, beats the Cypriotes bold,

Captiues their barbarous king in gyues of gold,

Takes Acon’s towers, is of the French enuide,

And left forlorne, yet after quels the pride

Of Saladine in field, after whose flight

He makes all Syria subiect to his might:

Prince Iohn rebels, the valiant king is sold

To captiue bands, and bought againe for gold:

At his returne he crownes himselfe againe,

And is by traytor’s hand vntimely slaine:

The truth of which that we exactly heare,

Fame sound thy trumpe, and cause his ghost t’appeare.”

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

Fame’s siluer trumpe’s farre-flying sound, doth make

King Richard Cœur de Lion’s ghost t’awake.

The wrath of heau’n doth most pursue those men

With secret iudgement of disaster fate,

That gainst their parents haue rebellious ben,

Nature displeas’d at such vnkindly hate

Against it selfe, it selfe doth aggrauate,

Causing the starres at such abortiue birth,

With bad aspects to frowne vpon the earth.

Seldome such cursed insects in our kind

Escape the scourge of hatefull destinie,

Vnhappie chance in iudgement is assign’d

Till death, to follow such impietie,

Which to the world my life might testifie,

If any in this age with painefull pen,

Had made the same a Mirrour vnto men.

Why should the glorie of so great a king

Be darkned by obliuion’s cloudie frowne?

Why should this age, as loathing euery thing

Of th’elder world, my trophies all cast downe,

And let my deeds in waues of silence drowne?

As if twixt best and worst no ods there were,

When both alike are laid vpon the bere.

Long hauing slept, and now rouz’d vp by fame

That keepes the due reward of doing well,

In hope thy pen will helpe to raise my name

Out of obliuion’s den where it did dwell,

In course I come my storie’s truth to tell:

That by the praise, or dispraise of my name,

Others may make a Mirrour of the same.

Of noble Henrie, second of that name,

The second sonne I am of sonnes twice two,

Yet second vnto none in worthie fame,

If yeelded were to me my praises due,

As may appeare by that which shall ensue:

First Richard call’d, first true borne English king,

That wore the crowne since Normans conquering.

In large discourse to light I will not bring,

The obloquie of that now loathed crime,

In stubborne youth against my lord and king,

Blushing, I wish all such records of time

In darknesse dead, and wrapped vp in slime:

Yet seeing that truth bids hide no part of blame,

I will in briefe blaze out mine owne defame.

My father’s browes with prints of age repleate,

Fortune that erst did smile, began to frowne,

Abus’d by flatterie and his owne conceat,

As bent with wilfull hands to hasten downe

The statefull dignitie of his renowne:

His eldest borne he made his fellow king,

From whose ambition his distresse did spring.

Yong Henrie sharing equall dignitie,

And hauing set one foot within the throne,

Puft vp with pride to make a monarchie

Of his new state, he would be king alone,

A partner in the crowne he would haue none:

Which pride of mind with bad aduice borne higher,

Caus’d him rebell against his royall sire.

To strengthen his ambition yet but yong,

The false French king in person did support

His part in field: and to be yet more strong,

The Scot and Flemming he did both exhort

With them gainst aged Henrie to consort,

To whom both I and Gefferie my brother

Did giue consent, excited by our mother.

10.

Not one of vs whom nature’s band did bind

With due alleageance to our sire and king,

Did vnto nature’s selfe not proue vnkind,

Yet could not power preuaile, nor enuie’s sting

Against our sire, whom heau’n did helpe to bring

Our stubborne neckes againe beneath his yoke,

Our knees did stoope to his victorious stroke.

11.

Oft did we threaten ruine to his state,

His Norman dukedome with warre’s wastefull spoile

We did deface, and sought to set debate

Twixt him and his: yet after all our toile,

At his weake hands we did receiue the foile:

So iust is heau’n to patron right gainst wrong,

And guard the weake with strength against the strong.

12.

To future time the king to leaue report

Of our rebellion and his long vnrest,

Did cause to be depainted in his court

A pellican, who breeds beneath his brest

Foure yong with tender care in his warme nest,

Of which three waxing strong, vnkindly rise

And pecke his brest, the fourth peckes out his eies.

13.

By the three first, he did decipher forth,

Geffrie, my selfe, and Henrie his first sonne:

The fourth was stubborne Iohn his yongest birth,

Of whom when he was likewise left alone,

He beat his manly brest with age foredone,

And ending griefe in death, to vs vnkind,

My selfe and Iohn, he left his curse behind.

14.

The sinne that drew these plagues vpon his head,

Was wanton lust and loose lasciuious life,

Burnt with desire, he left his lawfull bed,

For which the iealous queene his angrie wife,

Twixt him and vs stirr’d vp debatefull strife:

Mischiefe pursues the steps that false do proue,

In the firme couenant of sinlesse loue.

15.

Vnhappie we, his gracelesse sonnes that were

The rods of heau’n’s reuenge for his misdeed,

Did the reward of our rebellion beare,

In vs our father’s curse, the plaguefull meed

Of disobedience after did succeed,

The rods, with which Ioue executes his ire,

He oft in iudgement casts into the fire.

16.

When Henrie crown’d a king in royall throne

And made in state coequall with our sire,

Attempting oft the soueraignetie alone

In sway of scepter, which he did aspire,

And yet could neuer compasse his desire:

With indignation at his fortunes crost,

Being stricken to the heart his health he lost.

17.

And seeing in sicknesse with repentant eies,

The vglie shape of sinne, heart-freez’d with cold,

Of death’s pale terror, he for mercie cries,

And begs but this, that he may but behold

Our father’s face, ere he be wrapt in mould:

Which last request our father him deni’d,

Doubting deceit in death, when Henrie di’d.

18.

My yonger brother Britaine’s Gefferie,

A partner with vs in rebellious pride,

To pay iust paines for his disloyaltie

Vnto our father, bruzed on the side

With fall from off his horse, vntimely dide:

In youth cut off, as most vnworthie life,

That with his father liu’d in rebell strife.

19.

This vengeance for such disobedient sin,

Vnto my brethren as in mercie sent,

Might to my future deeds haue caueats bin:

But I in heart too stubborne to relent,

And proud prince Iohn did once againe consent,

To lift rebellious hands against our sire,

In his last daies when age did rest require.

20.

The French king’s power we did support in field,

And did in armes the aged king constraine

To such dishonor’d tearmes of truce to yeeld,

That he in heart vnable to sustaine

The griefe of such disgrace, with sorow slaine,

In those last words which dying he did breath,

To vs his curse most iustly did bequeath.

21.

After his death, to shew that griefe and shame

Of my misdeeds, did put his soule to flight,

His cold dead corps, as I beheld the same,

Streaming out blood did shew the great despight

That it conceiu’d at my detested sight:

Which forc’d griefe’s drops to dew my manly face,

Toucht at the heart with shame of such disgrace.

22.

Thus hauing blaz’d out those vnnaturall crimes,

The wicked brood of my degenerate pride,

I will no longer vilifie thy rimes:

Thou now to tell what after did betide

Vnto the house of fame, thy muse must guide,

And mount her thoughts to th’highest pitch of glorie,

In loftie straine to sing my golden storie.

23.

No sooner was the kingdome’s scepter seene

In my right royall hand, but that in mind

Transform’d I was from what I once had beene,

And turn’d my back to fore-past shame: heau’n shin’d

Vpon my head, thoughts only now enclin’d

To actions of true praise did heau’n aspire,

Forren affaires gaue wings to my desire.

24.

For absolution for my trespasse done

Against my sire, when I did vnderstand

How Saladine, the Pagan prince, had wonne

The sacred Salem and the holy land,

Which christian princes did of late command:

The christian badge I bore vpon my brest,

And did direct my iorney towards the east.

25.

The ablest men through my large emperie,

That I could chuse for this so great affaire,

From England, Guien, Poyctou and Normandie,

From Britaine and from Aniou did prepare,

Themselues in best habilliments of warre,

T’insue their father’s steps, and gaine againe

What they had wonne, and we could not retaine.

26.

Report from Rome did tidings daily bring,

Who stood in feare of th’heathen’s bold assay,

How mightie Saladine the Pagan king,

Had proudly purpos’d Palestine’s decay,

To glut the gulfe of his vnsaciate pray,

Wishing vs hasten to the christian aid,

Who ouer-matcht with power, were much dismai’d.

27.

The warre-god rouz’d with ratling drumme’s alarme,

Rose vp and left his louely lemman’s bed,

Himselfe he for the field did brauely arme,

Tooke vp his mightie launce, and boldly led

Our battels forth, with crosse-fam’d ensignes spred,

On which as marching we infixt our eies,

We hastned on to meet our enemies.

28.

Leauing my kingdome’s state beneath the sway

Of foure estates, in peace to keepe the same,

I crost the seas and tooke my readie way

To Lyons that French towne: where when I came

The king I met, then Philip call’d by name,

Who for this great affaire had vow’d to goe

With his support against the common foe.

29.

Our armies being ioyn’d, we marched on,

Where that strong bridge that ouerlookes the waue

Of Rhodanus, beneath our feet did grone,

And brake, where many, whom no helpe could saue,

In that blacke strugling streame did find their graue:

At which dismai’d, to part we did agree,

And after both to meet in Scicilie.

30.

From hence ore aged Tython’s purple bed,

For Scicilie thy muse must take her flight

To mount Pelorus, on whose loftie head,

Let her insist and view our nauall might

Afloat vpon those seas, so faire a sight

King Philip on the shore with his French powers

Did then admire from off Messanae’s towers:

31.

There do behold my men in thickest throng,

Scaling Messanae’s walles, and beating downe

The citie gates in wreake of that foule wrong

Done gainst vs all by that iniurious towne,

Who with first conquest did our sword renowne:

Vpon whose walles our banners we did pight,

Which did the false French Philip much despight.

32.

In spight of hate the cause we did protect

Of our queene sister, Ioan of Scicilie,

Whose husband dead, prince Tancred late elect

To sway the scepter of that emperie,

Did with vnfit repulse her due denie,

Till now at length he by our power compell’d,

Did yeeld her dowrie, which he long withheld.

33.

Keeping the feast of his natiuitie,

Whose birth true peace t’all humane soules did bring,

In Tancred’s court, there first the treacherie

Of faithlesse Philip, that ignoble king,

Did shew it selfe: who did intend to bring

All my designements for the christian aid,

To ill effect by plots which he had laid.

34.

The stout Scicilian king he did excite

T’inuade my campe, and that he might not faile,

He wisht him take th’aduantage of the night:

And lest my dreaded might his mind might quaile,

He with his power would helpe him to assaile:

So much did he maligne my name’s renowne,

Which all true noble hearts with praise did crowne.

35.

But I that did preferre a royall minde

Before base thoughts of griping auarice,

And prince-like did with bountie’s hands strike blinde

The eyes of enuie in mine enemies,

Did finde such grace, that none could preiudice

My name or state, but euen amongst my foes

I found such friends as would the same disclose.

36.

Tancred that did admire the royalties,

That in my kingly brest did make repose,

Could not conceale the French-man’s treacherie:

But with a kingly sp’rit, disdaining those

That traytors were, this treason did disclose:

Seldome base treacherie it selfe can seat

On the high pitch of kingly bred conceat.

37.

Philip disgrac’d, did launch into the deepe,

Being bound for Acon that besieged towne,

Where leauing him, thy muse her course must keepe

Vnto that land, whose name did first renowne

The queene of loue, and her first altars crowne:

Whence she may safely see how Neptune raues,

And wrackes my ships in the Pamphilian waues.

38.

When launcht vpon the seas my ships were seene,

From the Scicilian shore with that sweet maid,

Nauare’s faire Berengaria, my new queene:

Neptune as if he did intend t’haue pray’d

On my late chosen loue, began t’inuade

My blacke fleete’s wooden walles, which he did batter

With bounding billowes of his rough rouz’d water.

39.

Tempestuous winds, whose swelling cheekes did draw

The louring clouds full burthened with blacke showers,

Flew on the waues, which breaking with the flaw,

Foaming white froth, did rise like loftie towers,

In roring traine, trooping vp all their powers,

Darknesse did hide the chearefull face of heau’n,

Our ships disperst, were each from other driuen.

40.

T’encrease our feare, and make the night more grimme,

Through heau’n’s thicke clouds pale lightning still did flie,

Whose dazeling flash our mazed sight did dimme,

While the world’s soueraigne in the thickned skie,

Aboue our heads did thunder horriblie,

From whence his darts with sulphurie flash he threw,

Which brimstone-like did sauour as it flew.

41.

The seas did swell, and proudly braue the beau’n,

The windes did bellow and the billowes rore,

Many tall ships with gust of tempest driuen,

To saue themselues from spoile, all desperate bore

Vnto the hauens of the Cyprian shore,

Vpon whose strand the barbarous Cypriotes stood

T’encrease their woes that did escape the flood.

42.

Of those whose barkes did perish in the deepe,

Some hauing gain’d the shore with life halfe drown’d,

They tooke, whom as their captiues they did keepe,

And some by swimming hauing footing found,

Comming on shore with death they did confound:

Which when I heard, the storme once blowen away,

Such wrong with iust reuenge I did repay.

43.

The depth of danger we did vndergo

To gaine the shore, such ods there was in fight:

Yet at the last our foes their backes did show,

And left the shore to vs, but after flight

Isakius their stout king resuming sp’rit,

Troopt vp his people, summon’d far and neare,

And threatned fight when day light should appear.

44.

But to preuent his threats, before the day

His treasure, standard, horse and royall armes

In field we tooke, from whence he fled away

Despoil’d and naked, fearing th’horrid harmes,

Which through his tents did ring with our alarmes:

That night, whose next daie’s light did promise faire

Vnto his hopes, did end them in despaire.

45.

Heere could I tell the conquest and rich spoile,

Which for those wrongs, that we did erst sustaine,

My souldiers made on Cyprus fruitfull soile:

How false Isakius yeelding did remaine

With me in hold, and fled away againe,

Whom after taken for his trespasse past,

In guiues of gold I then did shakle fast.

46.

Salphadine the brother of Saladine.

But deeds of more import are to be told,

Thy muse must launch with vs from Cyprus shore,

That on the surging seas she may behold

Prince Salphadine’s huge barke, whose bosome bore

Such furniture for warre, sent to restore

The weakned strength of Acon almost lost,

Then round besieged by the christian host.

47.

To whom like floting Delos on the waue

We gaue the chase, till turning backe from flight,

With all her fights set vp she did vs braue,

And fifteene hundred men all arm’d for fight,

Vpon her deckes did shew themselues in sight,

Whom in our gallies thronging in thicke croud,

My souldiers did assaile with clamours loud.

48.

Oft times with valour the repulse they gaue

To vs, that sought to boord their ship and scale

Her wooden walles, so high aboue the waue,

Till from our bowes, shafts thicke as winter’s haile,

Their stoutest hearts with deadly wounds did quaile,

Who shrinking from the fight my men did boord,

And in their furie did not spare the sword.

49.

Then did appeare the ruine of the foe,

Gasping for breath in vaine, sweet life they craue,

The blood of wounded men did streaming flow

Into the flood, and here and there it gaue

A crimson colour to the siluer waue:

Whereby through th’English fleet each little boat

In Pagan blood triumphantly did float.

50.

With that great monster barke two hundred men

Reseru’d from death, in triumph we did scower

The seas: to Acon’s siege begirted then

By all the christian host, from whose watch-tower

The foe-men viewing my approching power,

And hearing of my deed vpon the deepe,

No longer did intend the towne to keepe.

51.

Yet after my arriue they being fed

With lingring hope, did change their first intent,

Gainst vs the towne did proudly beare her hed:

For hearing of a priuate conuoy sent,

With fresh supplie for their prouision spent,

Though faint for food, yet they did after sheeld

Their walles with stout defence and would not yeeld.

52.

To frustrate Acon’s hopes of such supplies,

And with some high aduenture to renowne

Our English name, finding by my espies

The passage where the carriages came downe,

From Babylon to that distressed towne:

I with a band of choice selected men,

Departed from the christian host vnseene.

53.

From vnder couert of a thicke-set groue,

On the carauan first the charge we gaue,

Three thousand burthened camels in a droue

We from the conuoy tooke, who for to saue

The rest from spoile, at first aloofe did waue,

But when we towards them made, though more they were

In number farre, they tooke the wings of feare.

54.

With many a thousand mule, and many a beast

Of other burthen, we return’d with speed

Vnto the christian host, where we did feast

Vpon the prey: the towne of this our deed

Inform’d by fame, and forc’d by hungrie need,

Her gates did open of her owne accord,

To saue her sonnes from warre’s reuengefull sword.

55.

Heere must thy willing muse desist to tell

Our happie hopefull conquests in the east,

Cauils breake forth, enuie rouz’d vp from hell,

Creepes into false king Philip’s cankred brest,

Who with old hate of my good hap possest,

Doth by his plots the Austrian duke excite,

To ioyne with him to worke vs all despight.

56.

As still th’infection of this foule disease,

Contagious venome in their brests did breed,

So my name’s greatnesse daily did encrease,

While they on spleene nere satisfied did feed,

Fortune still grac’d me with some glorious deed:

Vertue enui’d shines brighter, like the sun,

Which breakes through clouds, with which it was orerun.

57.

With enuious eyes, impatient to behold

The golden beames of my sun-shine like fame,

Philip with th’Austrian duke hight Leopald,

Without respect vnto our Sauiour’s name,

The cause for which to Palestine we came:

Seeming heart-sicke, did thence depart away,

Hoping to leaue me to the foes for pray.

58.

He gone, the hand of heau’n that doth dispose

The course of things, did beare before my brest

The shield of safetie gainst our Pagan foes:

With my small troope their powers in field supprest,

The bordring christian held his right in rest:

No crosse euent while I did there abide,

In honor’d deeds of armes did me betide.

59.

If thou desire those famous acts to know,

Mount Perseus horse, to Ioppa take thy way,

Which at this time that fatall stone can show,

To which the virgin faire Andromeda

In bands was bound, to be the monster’s pray:

There on that rocke thy muse may sit and see

Those deeds of fame, that then were done by mee.

60.

Assur can speake my praise, before whose wall

Great Saladine with all his heathnish host,

In battell did beneath mine ensignes fall,

Who in my passage seeking to haue crost

My way to Ioppa, on that salt sea cost,

Fought from noone-tide vntill the setting sun,

And then did flie, the field we christians won.

61.

In fortie yeares before the Saracen

Such losse did not sustaine in Palestine,

Nor in one battell lost so many men:

The towring state of mightie Saladine

In this fight shaken, daily did decline:

That ancient kingdome of the Syrian land

Did fall from him, and was at our command.

62.

From wel-wall’d Ascalon, that ancient towne

The Pagans fled with all their golden good,

Darus did stoope her pride, Assur came downe

Vpon her knees, Ioppa the port that stood

Vpon the Syrian shore, before the flood

With generall deluge did the world orespread,

Did beare the christian badge vpon her head.

63.

To follow fortune brauely marching on,

Who with auspicious looke did seeme to smile,

We did direct our course to Babylon:

But she false ladie did my hopes beguile,

And forc’d me with mine armie to recoile:

Fame ouer seas on her vnluckie wing

Sad tidings from the west to vs did bring.

64.

Backe, backe to England, with a grieued heart,

Leauing these blest affaires of th’holy one

Of Israel, we must with griefe depart:

Philip my foe excites my brother Iohn

In my long absence to aspire the throne:

My England’s rockie bounds ring with alarmes

Of factious traytors, Iohn is vp in armes.

65.

Warn’d by report, my course I did direct

For England’s bounds: but heere thy muse must know

My father’s curse began to take effect:

Heau’n seem’d to frowne, the sea became my foe,

And earth conspir’d to worke my greater woe:

By sea’s darke waues and froward winds from heau’n,

Vnto my foes at shore I vp was giuen.

66.

By tempest driuen, from danger to be free,

I made hard shipwracke on the Istrian strand,

Depriu’d of all my traine, excepting three,

Enforc’d I was to make my way by land

Through Austria, to Vienna, that doth stand

Vpon Danubius bankes, that dukedome’s seat,

The bulwarke now gainst Turkish Mahumet.

67.

There being descri’d vnto mine ancient foe

The Austrian duke I was giuen vp for pray:

Who like himselfe, himselfe to me did show,

Bearing in mind the malice of that day,

When I at Acon, for his proud assay

In taking for his lodging in the towne

The palace vp, I cast his ensignes downe.

68.

Yet with this duke not long was my abode:

For when report of my captiuitie

Was newly set on wing, and flowen abroad,

Henrie then emperour of Germanie,

Forgetfull of emperiall royaltie,

Of that false duke that had me fast in hold,

Greedie of prey, did purchase me for gold.

69.

Vpon that man, whom fortune doth begin

To leaue forlorne, who will not seeme to frowne?

When he is sunken vp vnto the chin

In waues of sad distresse, all thrust him downe,

And suffer him in wretchednesse to drowne:

They that did enuie my great state before,

Did wish such state might nere betide me more.

70.

Ambitious Iohn, and Philip that false king,

Taking the time to perfect their intent,

To Henrie did a golden message wing,

In hope if he to set me free was bent,

Such purpose with corruption to preuent:

Which when with terror stricken I did heare,

No hope I had, no comfort did appeare.

71.

Ignoble age, branded with this foule crime,

This blemish thou canst neuer wipe away:

When true record shall tell to future time,

How most vniust the christian did repay

His backe returne, that did through death assay,

Gainst paganisme t’aduance the christian name,

Euen children shall vpbraid thee with the same.

72.

In tempest of this trouble long being tost,

Sore grieu’d in mind for my captiuitie,

At length compounding with my greedie host

Th’emperour Henrie, hight of Germanie,

With ransome to redeeme my libertie:

An hundred thousand pounds I did agree

To giue to him before I could be free.

73.

Now is my iourney set on foot againe

For my deare England: now false Philip stormes,

Now Iohn repents, and feare doth him constraine,

In peace to lay downe his rebellious armes,

And by our mother seeke to shun those harmes

Approching on: t’whom I in reuerence

Of her estate, gaue pardon for his offence.

74.

In England safe arriu’d, the people greet

My glad returne with bright bone-fires and bels,

My royall London in each seuerall street,

By her large gifts and golden glorie tels

Within her walles what faithfull subiects dwels:

And I, in hope that heau’n would blesse my reigne

With better fortunes, crown’d my selfe againe.

75.

But on the swift wings of reuenge for France,

Hasten thy muse to Vernuile that strong towne,

There see French Philip flie before my lance,

And at Vandosme how his armes cast downe,

He flies, and leaues vs treasure and renowne:

Of which two flights, this age doth since that time

To his disgrace record a shamefull rime.

76.

Disgrac’d, he cals the Britons to his aide,

With their yong Arthur sonne of Gefferie

My brother dead, for which with wrathfull blade

I entred his rich dukedome Britanie,

And vengeance tooke for his disloyaltie:

Whence, when my wreake was past, I did aduance

With ensignes spread into the bounds of France:

77.

Where heau’n did blesse me with such fate in fight,

That Philip in each field I did repell:

Let Gamages and Vernon speake his flight,

And at another time let Gysors tell,

How flying from Curseile’s, with his horse he fell

Into the waues of Geth, the bridge brake downe,

Whom mongst his men the streame did almost drowne.

78.

Repulst with shame, he casting in his mind,

With rags of honor, how to patch the rent

In his wide wounded name, this shift did find:

Out of the greatnesse of his mind he sent

This challenge bold: if I durst giue consent,

That fiue for him in field should hazard life,

Against fiue men of mine to end our strife.

79.

To this bold offer I did gladly yeeld,

Yet interposing this condition,

That he as chiefest champion in the field,

Should mongst the fiue vpon his part make one,

Gainst me on th’aduerse part to fight alone:

From which, without respect vnto a name,

Mongst men renown’d he did reuolt with shame.

80.

Yet was a truce concluded twixt vs both,

To which with willing minde I did encline,

For that I then had bound my selfe by oath

Once more to shape my course for Palestine,

T’employ my valour gainst great Saladine:

But what I did decree, death soone preuents,

Heau’n beares the chiefest stroke in our intents.

81.

Thy muse must now put on a mourning weed,

Death doth begin to shew his ghastly face,

With sad teares mourner-like let her proceed,

To Chalus Cheuerell that fatall place,

Where death with his cold armes did me embrace:

There let her stand, and on that towne’s strong wall

Behold the manner of my haplesse fall.

82.

My treasure spent by my long warres with France,

And gainst the Pagan for the east parts bound,

I was inform’d that in my land by chance

A British vicount, Widdomer, had found

A wealthie treasure hidden vnder ground:

For whom when I had sent, he guiltie fled

To Chalus Cheuerell to hide his hed:

83.

Whom I did follow, hastned on by fate,

And did besiege the towne, where in mine ire

For such indignitie against my state,

I made my vowes thence neuer to retire,

Vntill I should obtaine my iust desire:

Three daies with fierce assault I did assaile,

But all in vaine, my power could not preuaile.

84.

The towne so strongly situated was,

And the stout foes imboldned by the same,

That of our powers they did little passe:

Whose stubborne pride of strength that I might tame,

I chose a captaine, Marchades by name,

To walke with me, and view that fatall towne,

Where t’vndermine her walles and cast them downe.

85.

Each step I treade doth hasten on my end,

And leads to death vnthought vpon, vnseene:

For as with eyes infixt I did attend

The towne’s foundation, loe, an arrow keene

Sent from the towne wall, wounded me betweene

The necke and shoulder with his venom’d poynt,

Iust in the natiue closure of the ioynt.

86.

Deepe was the wound and full of deadly paine,

Yet did it not my mightie minde appall,

Before the towne in siege I did remaine,

Vntill her people did for mercie call,

And prostrate at my feet did humblie fall:

Whom when the raging souldiers in their ire

Would haue deuour’d, I spar’d from spoile and fire.

87.

But death doth hasten my vntimely end,

The wound lookes blacke, the poison doth appeare

In his effects, and bids me to commend

My soule to God: my friends who held me deare,

All round about me stand with heauie cheare:

And when I knew that breath began to vade,

I call’d for him that had my life betray’d.

88.

Vnto the man before me brought, whose name

Bertram de Gord’an was, these words I spake,

“What iust offence,” quoth I, “did cause thee aime

At my deare life? or wherefore didst thou take

Me for thy marke, and in thy aime forsake

Hight Marchades, my friend, that by me stood,

When thou didst shoot thy shaft to shed my blood?”

89.

The man with courage turn’d this stout replie:

“Because,” said he, “thou in thy warres didst kill

My father and my brethren, therefore I

Did vow in my reuenge thy blood to spill:

Which since I haue attain’d and haue my will,

What do I care though all thy friends do weepe,

Seeing that mine shall not vnreuenged sleepe?”

90.

I did admire that his sterne words were such,

And yet forgaue his fact, and gaue command

That none amongst my friends with violent touch

On him should after lay offensiue hand:

And that he might not in their danger stand,

I gaue him twentie crownes to beare him thence,

From those that seem’d to threaten his offence.

91.

Thus with my chiefest foe my peace I made,

And when I sensiblie felt nature’s waste,

To friends about me such like words I said:

Quoth I: “Come neere, and since all hope is past

Of longer life, whose line long cannot last,

Attend my words, and witnesse after death,

What in my will I to the world bequeath.

92.

To Iohn my brother I resigne my crowne:

Arthur is French and rebell to the state:

Seeke not with wilfull hands to hasten downe

What I haue built by future time’s debate:

Factions will grow, and I foresee the fate,

The wofull fate that England will betide

When I am gone, that did enrich her pride.

93.

Not long thy king, deare England, can I be,

Death’s cold begins into my heart to creepe,

No more thy fame can be aduanc’d by me:

To Iohn the prince I tender thee to keepe,

When I with death haue laid me downe to sleepe:”

Thus death when I ten yeares had been a king,

T’vntimely end my life and reigne did bring.

94.

My deeds I did atchieue with much vnrest,

Death with blacke period did my deare life close,

In prime of age approuing heau’ns behest,

Which seldome doth allot long life to those

That to their parents proue rebellious foes:

Of which that I may testimony giue,

Let Cœur de Lion in remembrance liue.

THE VNFORTVNATE LIFE
and Death of King Iohn.

THE ARGUMENT.

“This prince to future time,” quoth Memorie,

“Remaines a Mirrour of true charitie,

Who at his death that traytour did forgiue,

Whose bloodie hand did him of life depriue:

But Marchades for vengeance did suruiue,

The traytour taken he did fley aliue:

Now to the next, whom vp from graue we bring,

Prince Iohn the brother of the late dead king:

He takes the crowne as due to him of gift,

At whose good fortunes many hands do lift:

Philip beyond the seas inuades his lands:

Arthur in Aniou with his British bands,

Pursues the aged mother of the king,

Who to the rescue all his powers doth bring:

Takes Arthur captiue, and for his disdaine

Sends him to Rouen castle, whence againe

He nere returnes: wonders in heau’n are seene,

Treason amongst the peeres, the wrathfull spleene

Twixt Rome’s proud Innocent and stout king Iohn:

The French afresh inuade, the king finds none

To take his part: the Irish do rebell:

The Welch breake forth, both whom he doth compell

To stoope their pride: the curse of Innocent,

Against whose pride the king stands stiffely bent:

Philip’s huge nauie doth on England frowne,

The king vnto the legate yeelds his crowne:

The lords rebell, the king is left forlorne,

Abus’d, reuil’d, and made his people’s scorne:

Seekes th’aid of strangers, and in his fierce ire,

Flies ore the kingdome like a flaming fire;

The barons flie from him, and seeke to bring

The French prince Lewis in, to make him king:

He lands in Kent, London receiues his traine,

From th’haplesse king all fals away againe:

The French men’s pride the English sore opprest,

King Iohn’s reuenge, poore England’s woes encreast:

In midst of hope t’expell his enemies,

The wretched king at Swynsted poysoned dies:

All which, since many writers in his daies,

Of very malice writ in his dispraise,

That we may heare, let fame with summons call

His princely ghost, to tell his tragicke fall.”

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

Fame cals king Iohn: his grieued ghost doth wake,

Comes vp from graue, and heere his turne doth take.

Discord the daughter of dissension,

Home-hel-hatcht furie with bewitching charmes,

Doth sooner ruine Cæsar’s royall throne,

Then all the imminent inuading harmes,

That can inferred be by forren armes:

Where people hate, and where the prince doth frowne,

What might builds vp, dissension soone puls downe.

Of which I once that sway’d this scepter state,

Vniustly wrong’d by peeres, vnkindly sold

To wretched fortune by my subiects hate,

A Mirror might haue been in lines of gold,

If to this age my storie truth had told:

But th’vnkind age presents to iudgement’s eye

My shame at large, but lets my praise go by.

To whom shall I my many wrongs complaine?

Since false traditions of those enuious times,

Inuented by my foes, do yet remaine,

Liuing to euery eye in forged rimes,

As matter for the sceane obiecting crimes

Vnto my charge, which firme in censure stands,

Though nere enacted by my guiltlesse hands.

The long concealed griefe of discontent,

Which for such vniust scandall I sustaine,

Vp from the graue my grieued ghost hath sent,

On such sterne people iustly to complaine,

That vilifie my praise with lips prophane,

Speaking what then the superstitious wits

Vnto this age recorded haue in writs.

Could not the enuie of that age be quell’d

With my last houre’s vntimely tragedie?

Could not these burning veines with poison swell’d,

Their deadly hate against me satisfie?

O no, in death their malice will not die:

For which now summon’d by the trumpe of fame,

I gladly come to put away such shame.

My royall birth Plantagenet can show,

Stout Cœur de Lion’s life declares the same,

Who was the second sonne as thou dost know,

Vnto king Henrie second of that name,

Who grew so great in wealth, in strength and fame,

His yongest sonne I was, by name hight Iohn,

Next after Richard seated on the throne.

Thy lines with spot of that disloyaltie

Against my sire, Ile not defile againe,

Nor will I tell that false conspiracie

Against my brother Richard, to obtaine

From him his life, his kingdome, and his raigne:

For he at large doth in his tragedie,

Declare the manner of my treacherie.

Ambitious ayme at greatnesse in the state,

Most incident to men of mightie mind,

At first did bring me in my brother’s hate:

Yet in the end such fauour I did find,

That he to me, though I so most vnkind

Did oft times seeke the fall of his renowne,

Forgaue my fact, and gaue to me his crowne.

With free consent of all this kingdome’s peeres,

Aduanc’d I was to all the royalties

Of my late brother dead, and thrice three yeeres

Inthron’d I was, before my haplesse eies

Were made beholders of those miseries,

Which in deep wanes of woe did England drowne,

And brought confusion to my state and crowne.

10.

In my first rise vnto the kingdome’s state,

False France did frowne, and stirred vp the fire

Conceal’d in ashes of our ancient hate,

The yong duke Arthur, as he did require,

Gainst vs rebell’d, and did with him conspire:

Both stretching forth their enuious hands, to crop

My new growen greene vpon our cedar’s top.

11.

On the swift whirlewinde of tempestuous warre,

Into Touraine and Aniou th’vtmost bound

Of this our empire, then inlarg’d so farre,

They furiously did breake, where what they found

In my defence, they laid it waste on ground:

Of which the duke proclaim’d himselfe the lord,

And sought t’obtaine it by the threatfull sword.

12.

Warre’s fearefull earthquake shaking more and more,

The state of Aniou, I did vnderstand,

How th’aged queene my mother Elinor,

Besieged was by Arthur with strong hand,

Within a tower, which on that coast did stand:

Who sore opprest, and in her mind dismai’d,

In such distresse did call me to her aid.

13.

Incens’d to heare my nephewe’s vnkind deed

Gainst her now in her age, that gaue him breath:

As dutie bound me, on the wings of speed

I hastned to the rescue, to vnsheath

My angrie sword, whose edge did threaten death:

A filiall loue to rescue her from harmes,

Both day and night did make me march in armes.

14.

Before the foes of my approch did heare,

Such expedition thither I did make,

That at their backes my ensignes did appeare:

At which dismai’d, their siege they did forsake,

And most did vnto flight themselues betake:

Of whom were many slaine that stood in fight,

Arthur vnhurt was taken in his flight.

15.

T’whom brought captiu’d before me, thus I spake:

“Cosin,” quoth I, “what madnesse was that same,

That moued you these warres to vndertake?

Why do you thus your royall friends defame,

In bearing armes in false king Philip’s name?

Preferre you him in your esteeme more deare,

Then me, that am to you in blood so neare?

16.

For shame that French man’s company forsake,

Let not his counsell tempt you any more:

Turne vnto me, so shall I euer take

Your cause as mine, and you againe restore

Vnto my wonted fauour as before:”

With gentle speech thus did I him entreat:

But thus he made replie with many a threat.

17.

“Tyrant,” said he, “thou dost detaine my right,

I am, thou knowest, true heire to England’s crowne:

Though vniust fortune in this lucklesse fight

Looke blithe on thee, and on my state do frowne,

Heau’n may again aduance what now is downe:

My friends be free, though I in bands be bound,

That will not rest vntill thou be vncrown’d.”

18.

The arrogant deliuerie of this speech,

Vnto th’impeachment of our royall right,

Did in our former loue make such a breach,

That with contracted brow for such despight,

We did in rage command him from our sight,

And did this cruell paine on him impose,

That he for such offence his eyes should lose.

19.

But when such readie instruments of ill,

Who for reward act any villanie,

To Rouen castle came t’effect my will:

Hubert de Bourgh a man of valiancie,

That then had Arthur in his custodie,

Withstood their purpose, and his part did take,

Saying, that I those words in furie spake.

20.

The heate of anger cool’d, conscience began

In th’eare to whisper how I had offended,

And when I heard how Hubert valiant man,

Prevented had what I in rage intended,

As reason would, his courage I commended:

Yet after this by Arthur’s haplesse woes,

I did incurre the scandall of my foes.

21.

Close kept in Rouen castle by that knight,

Whose wals his steps from starting thence did bound,

Casting in mind how to escape by flight,

At last vnfortunate a way he found

To climbe the wall, that did begirt him round:

A forward mind impatient to sustaine,

The losse of freedome did procure his baine.

22.

Haste prickt him forward to redeeme the time,

Greedie desire his freedome to regaine,

Aboue the castle walles did cause him clime:

From whence as enuious fate did first ordaine,

He downe did fall into the riuer Seyne:

Whose waues against that castle wals did swell,

Where to the world he breath’d his last farewell.

23.

He dead, vnto my charge false Philip laid

That in his blood I had imbru’d my hands,

And in reuenge thereof did craue the aid

Of many princes, who with warlike bands

Did in their rage depopulate my lands:

T’whose distresse with aid I could not come,

Worse fortunes did befall me heere at home.

24.

Mischiefe on mischiefe fals t’encrease my woes,

At home my faithlesse barons do rebell,

The Irish rise, the Welch turn’d treacherous foes,

And enuie, lest this monster I should quell

Of many heads, her selfe comes vp from hell,

And stirres vp Rome to ioyne her hands with hate;

No king did fall beneath so hard a fate.

25.

The heau’ns foretold such things before their time,

Before my haplesse hand that cup did take,

In whose blacke deadly wine my death did swim,

Th’whole aggregate of heau’n did seeme to shake,

Sad signes on earth my tragicke fall forespake:

Seldome such fatall deeds of death are done,

But prodigies do their euents forerun.

26.

Before the founder of that famous tower,

Which ouer lookes our Thames’ siluer cleare,

Did in the senate meet his liue’s late hower,

Horrid ostents and accents full of feare,

To many Roman eyes did oft appeare,

The graues did open, and the dead did rise,

Filling the streets with lamentable cries.

27.

Before stout Brutus that proud Roman lord,

Whose bloodie hand strooke mightie Cæsar dead,

With fatall blade his owne deare bodie gor’d,

Strange apparitions, full of feare and dread

Foretold his heart blood should ere long be shead:

Dead Cæsar’s ghost spake to him in his tent,

The night before his tragicke death’s euent.

28.

Before proud Commodus that Roman king,

With violent poyson did the combate trie,

Heau’n many wonders vnto light did bring,

And many dreadfull meteors blaz’d in skie,

Flames of bright fire out of the earth did flie,

Before he tooke that fatall cup of wine

Of faithlesse Martia, his false concubine.

29.

Before those mischiefes then were set abroch,

Which did infect the peace of my estate,

Before that lucklesse houre did then approch,

In which that desperate villan did await

With deadly wassaile to abridge my fate:

Heau’n did behold the earth with heauie cheare,

And plaguefull meteors did in both appeare.

30.

Fiue moones were in heau’n’s concaue nightly seene,

As if that heau’n vpon our state below,

Foreseeing our harmes compassionate had been,

And had foresent them with their shine to show

To purblind England her approching woe:

Who not being warn’d by them of future harmes,

Was after wakened by tempestuous stormes.

31.

The earthquake-making God, to warne vs all,

With violent hand shooke earth’s foundation,

And from his thickned clouds in stormes let fall

Such showers of ycie bals, that vnto none

In former times the like had ere been knowne:

For euery hailestone of such thicknesse was,

That it in compasse did foure inches passe.

32.

Fire making rupture through the earth did breake,

And burned many a towne and steeple high,

Ghosts in high-waies were often heard to speake,

And spirits in shapes of birds in darksome skie,

With fire in their beakes about did flie:

Wherewith they did afflict much scath and woe

Vpon the countrie, flying to and fro.

33.

O stubborne England, that with such foresigne

From future euill couldst not warned bee:

When heau’n and earth destruction did diuine,

For thy rebellious sinne to fall on thee,

Why didst thou close thy eyes and would’st not see?

When God did thunder iudgement in thine eare,

Why wert thou deafe, as if thou would’st not heare?

34.

For pitie reade thy ruine, drawing nigh,

Vpon the crystall battlements of heauen,

Where grau’d in golden letters to each eie,

Thou maiest behold thy wretched kingdome giuen

Into a stranger’s hand: thy sad king driuen

To flie from thee forlorne and leaue his state,

Sold to misfortune by his subiects hate.

35.

Let time’s blacke hand blot out the memorie

Of that vile age, and let it not be said

That Iohn did euer guide this emperie,

That future time with shame may not vpbraid

This nation’s name, by whom I was betraid,

And say that subiects yet did neuer bring

Such grieuous wrongs vpon a wretched king.

36.

To guide thy muse, that she the cause may know

Whence first these euils in the state did spring,

To blood-built Rome, our Albion’s ancient foe,

Nurse of all factions, let her take swift wing,

That when this wofull storie she shall sing,

She truly may define the Roman hate,

Which first did broch these mischiefes in our state.

37.

When as our England’s metropolitan

Leauing his life, had left at emptie chaire,

I did elect a right religious man,

Who with the best might in those daies compare,

For habitude to manage that affaire:

In whose behalf at Rome I did entreate,

That he might be installed in that seate.

38.

Great Rome then in the ruffe of all her pride,

Deiects my suite with proud contempt, and chose

Langton, a man vnfit that place to guide,

On which such trust in state we did repose,

Since he was nurst in France amongst our foes:

And might in time, bearing such rule in state,

Vnto my fortunes worke vnluckie fate.

39.

For this with Rome’s proud priest thus I contend,

“Thinke not,” said I, “that I that right will yeeld,

On which my royaltie doth sole depend,

The same in spight of hate I trust to shield,

While I shall liue this scepter’s state to wield:

No power on earth in my despight shall place

A stranger in my realme to my disgrace.

40.

If my decreed election may not stand,

I vow by heau’n, henceforth I will restraine

Those passages to Rome out of this land,

Which you hereafter will repent in vaine,

Since by the same you haue no little gaine:

For what need we to Rome a gadding go,

Since many learned men this land can show?”

41.

Hence grew the hate that after did ensue,

Heaping on wrongs vpon my grieued head:

Rome’s Innocent when he these lines did view,

Kindled with wrath, on raging furie fed,

Which through his brest a deadly venom spred:

Whose breath did soone infect our subiects blood,

And bred a plague vnto the generall good.

42.

Thinking it shame to his pompaticke state,

To winke at my contempt of his command,

With lips prophane, big swolne with eager hate,

He breaths his curse gainst me, and gainst my land,

To last so long as I his will withstand:

And lockes vp all church gates by his great word,

Forbidding vs accesse vnto the Lord.

43.

Thou proud vsurper of our Peter’s key,

Behold thy sinne, and blush at thy foule shame,

Why didst thou locke the gate that leads the way

Vnto the holy place? why didst thou name

Thy selfe the rocke on whom that power that came

To saue the world, his sacred church should found,

And yet didst cast it then vnto the ground?

44.

My people frightned with the roaring threat

Of wrathfull bulles to England daily sent,

Their due alleageance to their lord forget:

Th’inglorious peeres, as if the gouernment

Had been transferr’d from Iohn to Innocent,

Did shrinke from me, and would not by me stand,

For th’impeacht priuiledge of our free land.

45.

Yet could all this not stoope my noble hart,

The rebell priests, that did at his command

Pronounce his curse prophane, did feele the smart

Of their offence, and from my furious hand

T’escape my vow’d reuenge, did flie the land,

Leauing their sweet possessions for a pray,

Which to my friends I freely gaue away.

46.

After this curse it seem’d my blisse begun:

For when the stubborne Irish did rebell,

Meth witnesse be of my atchieuements done:

And let cold Snowden’s barren mountaines tell,

How the rebellious Welch my hand did quell:

No wofull fate befell me at this season,

Till my false peeres began to practise treason.

47.

Infected with this curse, and hauing lost

My wonted loue, they did with Rome consent:

For as to Wales I marched with my host,

The Scottish king their malice to preuent,

Did send me letters of their whole intent,

How they were bent, if I did forward goe,

To kill me, or betray me to my foe.

48.

Perplext in mind, thenceforth I stood in feare

Of ruine threatned to my life and state:

France did oppresse me, and the Welch did beare

Rebellious armes: but such was my hard fate,

None could oppose them through my barons hate:

Yet I, on whom mine owne no mercie haue,

In their distresse to strangers comfort gaue.

49.

To me with care opprest, the Scotish king

Letters did send full fraught with lines of woe,

Which vnto me his sonne the prince did bring,

By which he moued me, though once my foe,

On his oppressed age remorse to show:

For his base subiects gainst him did arise,

And for his age his person did despise.

50.

A mightie host with speed I did prepare,

With which enrag’d, I into Scotland went,

Where, in that warre my sword but few did spare,

That gainst their aged king their powers had bent,

To take from his crowne and gouernment:

Guthred mac William cause of all this strife,

Did with a traytor’s death shut vp his life.

51.

But let vs turne vs backe from Scotland’s bounds,

At home to view th’effects of Roman hate:

There see how Innocent inflicts fresh wounds

Vpon the mangled bodie of our state,

Who since that no old mischiefe could abate

The spirit inuincible of my great mind,

To make me stoope, new mischiefes now did find.

52.

By power of his vsurpt authoritie,

He did absolue all subiects in my land,

That by alleageance were oblig’d to me:

Then would he put into king Philip’s hand,

The crowne and royall scepter of this land:

If he from hence could me expell by might,

Or take my life away by treacherous slight.

53.

Thou that dost ride vpon the backes of kings,

Yet feines to walke the steps of our deare Lord,

Thou that dost make a cloake of holy things

To hide thy shame, and leau’st the sacred word,

T’oppose the Lord’s anointed with the sword:

Is this the path that th’Holy One did passe?

When he to Cæsar gaue, what Cæsar’s was.

54.

How canst thou wash thy hands of these foule crimes,

When thou didst make this kingdome’s crowne my shame:

Let not posteritie in future times,

Impute this fact to England’s Iohn for blame,

That Rome did force him stoope to such defame:

Since mine owne friends with all the world did frowne,

Before proud Rome could cause me yeeld my crowne.

55.

See on the seas where France her way doth take,

To plucke me from my throne by force of hand:

See how my faithlesse barons me forsake,

And rather readie be themselues to band

Against their prince, then in his quarrell stand:

Yea see my houshold folke do me forgoe,

And lift vp rebell hands to helpe my foe.

56.

The stiffe-neckt priests the subiect to excite

Against his king, a prophet did procure,

Who by the skill of his propheticke sight,

Of peace to come the people should assure,

And that as king I should not long endure:

To which th’vnconstant people credit gaue,

Whose minds in state do alterations craue.

57.

In this distresse, in vaine I striue to stand

Against th’approching shame which I lament,

Besieged round with feare on euery hand,

Not knowing how such mischiefe to preuent,

Pandulph the legate comes from Innocent,

To know if yet th’effects of his proud frowne,

Had in such dangers brought my stomack downe.

58.

O vnkind England now behold and see

Thy wronged king forlorne, and forc’d by feare

To yeeld his crowne vpon his bended knee:

O deepe disgrace, that any prince can beare,

O that such pride in prelates euer were:

Pandulph in signe that I my sinnes repent,

Receiues my crowne giu’n vp to Innocent.

59.

Remitting former faults with gratious doome,

And hauing kept my crowne for fiue daies space,

As made contributorie vnto Rome,

The same againe he on my head did place,

And with my former title did me grace:

To the French king likewise with speed he went,

Charging him leaue his course for England bent.

60.

But he in hope the diademe to gaine,

Would not desist: but with a nauie came

Of twice foure hundred ships vpon the maine:

Whose powers t’oppose, proud Pandulph did proclame

That all men should in Innocentius name

Lift vp their hands t’auert those threatned harmes,

Whereby the shores were stuft with men of armes.

61.

Fiue hundred saile well mann’d against the foes,

I launcht into the seas with them to fight:

And for the generall of the fight I chose

My bastard brother, William Longspath hight,

Of those our troublous times the brauest knight,

Who at this time his valiancie did show,

In this sea-fight against th’inuading foe.

62.

Gainst whom they fought with such successefull hands,

That on our side the conquest did remaine:

Philip disgrac’d with his dismembred bands,

Vnto his home returned backe againe,

There to recure the losse he did sustaine:

While I in vaine do seeke to heale my state,

All rent and torne by mutinous debate.

63.

Out of the ruines of my countrie’s woe,

What I to raise did carefull hands applie,

My rebell barons downe againe did throw:

To take aduantage, while my miserie

Is yet but fresh, they me in field defie,

For that to their demands I gaue no eare,

Which to mine honor preiudiciall were.

64.

By friends forlorne, they forced me by might

To yeeld to them, to my disgrace and shame:

The thought of which, and of that great despight

Done by Rome’s Innocent, did so inflame

My heart with furie, that I did exclame

Vpon my fates that did my daies prolong,

In which I was ordain’d t’indure such wrong.

65.

Of mine owne seruants left all desolate,

But seuen in number did with me remaine,

Pursu’d by most disloyall people’s hate:

Oft with meane food my life I did sustaine,

Lest they by poyson should procure my bane:

And for my safetie with those few approued,

In strange disguise I to and fro remoued.

66.

In this distresse into the Ile of Wight

My selfe in secret wise I did conuey,

Where while I did remaine, in my despight

Each slaue, whose heart my name could once affray,

With barbarous taunts vpon the same did play:

Some call’d me fisherman, some rouing thiefe,

That fled the land, at seas to find reliefe.

67.

Such wrongs with patience I did seeme to beare,

Dissembling wrath in my reuengefull mind,

To such reports I seem’d to giue no eare:

But still did lie, as vnto peace inclin’d,

Till I fit opportunitie did find:

For in the end when I return’d againe,

For such contempt they paid me double paine.

68.

Receiuing aid from friends beyond the seas,

Like to a tempest stooping downe from heau’n,

With spoilefull hands my kingdome I did sease,

All in my furie were to slaughter giuen,

My barons into flight with terror driuen:

Fled from my face, and sought their heads to hide

For their misdeeds, in field none durst abide.

69.

They all vnable to withstand my might,

Not with submission milde did mercie craue:

To do to me and mine the more despight,

To France they sent, desiring for to haue

Prince Lewis to their king, to whom they gaue

Their promise to aduance him to the crowne,

And as a tyrant king to cast me downe.

70.

King Philip fostring malice in his mind,

And gainst me such aduantage hauing found,

Though no pretence of title he could find,

Whereon his purpos’d enterprise to ground:

Yet stretcht he out his arme our state to wound,

And take from me and my posteritie,

Our diademe and kingly royaltie.

71.

For his proud sonne prince Lewis he did send,

With many a troope and many a warlike band,

Whose wisht accesse my barons did attend,

With all their troopes vpon the Kentish strand,

Where with his host French Lewis first tooke land:

Whence with those traytors he to London went,

Which in this treason did with them consent.

72.

Then did begin my former miserie,

For those, in whom chiefe trust I did repose,

Those stranger souldiers all from me did flie,

Except some few, that did lament my woes,

And Douer castle kept against my foes,

Vnto whose trust I did the same betake,

All other seeming friends did me forsake.

73.

But see the iudgement of almightie Ioue,

On the disloyall people of this land:

The conquering French, whose nature is to proue,

Insulting ouer whom they beare command,

Now being lords of all, with heauie hand

The English people did begin t’oppresse,

Who could not helpe themselues in this distresse.

74.

Thus did the King of heau’n iust vengeance take

On them, for their vniust disloyaltie:

My part he did not vtterly forsake,

But in the end did force my foes to flie,

And leaue the crowne to my posteritie:

For he did chuse out one amongst the foe,

To be our enemie’s chiefe ouerthrow.

75.

There was a noble minded man of France,

Vicount of Melum, and a Frenchman borne,

Who falling sicke did waile the sad mischance

Of th’English, iustly made false fortune’s scorne,

That thus had left their king to liue forlorne:

Yea with remorse his conscience it did sting,

To see the subiect so oppresse the king.

76.

When death in him began his due to take,

He for my nobles secretly did send,

To whom with fainting voice these words he spake:

“My friends,” quoth he, “vnto my words attend,

Which shall ere long for euermore haue end:

Attend, I say, conscience bids me impart

The things that now lie heauie on my hart.

77.

Woe to the wretched people of this land,

Which do their soueraigne lord and king forsake:

Woe to your selues, that for your king should stand,

Of whom a scorne vnto the world ye make:

And woe vnto your children for your sake:

Yea, woe to England euermore shall be,

Vnlesse with speed ye seeke some remedie.

78.

Lewis our prince of late hath deepely sworne,

And with him sixteene earles and barons more,

That ye, that now haue left your king forlorne,

Shall die the death, or else exil’d deplore

Your case in forren parts for euermore:

Then let each peere with speed draw forth his sword,

To helpe himselfe and his distressed lord.

79.

If conscience cause me to bemone the chance

Of this so braue a king, which ye possesse,

To whom I am a stranger borne in France:

Yea once his foe, though now as ye may gesse,

I as a friend bewaile his sad distresse:

How then should ye that are his liegemen borne,

For this his sad mishap with sorow mourne?

80.

Assist him then as dutie doth you bind,

Pitie your selues and your posteritie:

And keepe what I haue spoken in your mind,

Of which no more to you I can descrie:

For now my heart doth faile and I must die:

Adieu pourtant, Adieu à chasqu’amy.

Adieu ie dis ma vie ce fini.”

81.

My peeres forewarned of such treacherie,

And with remorse viewing their natiue lands

Betrai’d to spoile by their disloyaltie,

Did cast in mind how they with helping hands

Might best restore themselues from captiue bands:

And hoping now my grace againe to win,

From Lewis to decline they did begin.

82.

Vpon th’insulting French to powre my spleene,

Throughout my kingdome’s bounds I did proclaime,

That all my subiects that had wronged been

By forren foes, if vnto me they came

With minds for fight, I would reuenge the same:

Whereby with speed came many a worthie wight

Vnder my standard gainst the French to fight.

83.

Like raging storme blowne out of Boreas mouth,

With violent furie I did force my way,

From east to west, from north vnto the south

Destroying all things, that before vs lay:

Which did our aduersaries so dismay,

That none durst stand t’oppose vs in the field,

But readie way vnto our will did yeeld.

84.

Had proud prince Lewis met with me in fight,

Our quarrell by the dint of sword to trie,

Soone should I haue obtain’d my kingdome’s right,

And made th’vsurping prince from hence to flie,

Who did support my peere’s disloyaltie:

But treason stretched out her deadly hand,

Who twixt the French and my reuenge did stand.

85.

In Swinsted abbie witnesse of my wrong,

A monke there was, the worker of my bane,

Who heard me vow that if I liued long,

Through England I would raise the price of graine,

To plague my subiects for their proud disdaine:

Which was the cause, as fates did first decree,

For which this villan monke did poyson mee.

86.

To vent the poisned thoughts of his false brest,

Loe all alone in dead time of the night,

When euery one had laid him downe to rest,

When aire was husht, when from the welkin bright

The golden stars did cast a glimmering light,

He forth did walke into a garden by,

For to effect his wicked treacherie.

87.

There as this villan wandred to and fro,

To find some weed that had the power t’expell

The vitall spirit, or any aduerse foe

To humane life, some kind of serpent fell,

Or any thing that did with poyson swell:

At last an vglie toad he haplesse found,

Big swolne with poyson crawling on the ground:

88.

With which full glad he did returne againe,

And to his chamber secretly did goe,

Where with his pen-knife he did pricke and paine

The lothsome toade, from whom the blood did floe,

By which the wicked monke did worke my woe:

For poison which the toade did vomit vp,

With wine he mixed in a fatall cup.

89.

With which to me he came, and thus he spake,

“My liege,” said he, “a cup of wine I bring,

Of which if that your grace a taste will take,

It will abate the edge of sorowe’s sting,

Which deepely seemes to wound my grieued king:

With it to England’s health I will begin,

Whose woes for euermore be drown’d herein.”

90.

Thus did this villan drinke, and dranke his last,

And after vnto me the cup he gaue,

Of which misdeeming nought, I straight did taste,

Which done, not all the world my life could saue,

So deadly was it tempered by the slaue:

Th’effects whereof before my death were knowne,

Which came to passe immediatly thereon.

91.

For when the raging venome had dispread

It selfe throughout my bodie by the veines,

My blood did boile, my heart began to dread,

My bodie swell’d, and when no hope remaines

Of any helpe to remedie such paines:

I for the monke did call to haue his head,

But one did answere make, that he was dead.

92.

“Then God,” quoth I, “haue mercie on my soule,

For of this wretched world no man am I,

Seeing nothing may this venom’s force controule:

For sensiblie I feele how it doth lie

Vpon my woefull heart, and I must die:

Wherefore my sonne fetch hither vnto mee,

That I before I die his face may see.”

93.

The child being brought, for then he was a child,

To him I thus did speake with weeping eie:

“My sonne,” quoth I, “on whom my hopes I build:

Come neere to me, where heere in paine I lie,

Come neere and haue my blessing ere I die,

Nought else to thee is left for me to leaue,

Since of my crowne my foes do me bereaue.

94.

Wherefore ye heau’ns who do behold my woes,

Now at my death giue eare vnto my prayer,

Protect this child of mine from all his foes:

And for your mercie’s sake this infant spare,

Whose tender age doth want your tender care:

Else will that roring lion Lewis kill

This litle lambe, though he hath done none ill.

95.

And thou, my litle sonne, take heed by me,

That thou thy peeres and people’s loue procure,

Contend not thou with thy nobilitie:

So shall thy state and kingdome long endure,

And thou from forren foes liue safe and sure:

For my false subiects vndeserued hate

Did worke my woe, which I repent too late.

96.

Renowned Pembroke, thou hast left my foe,

Be thou protector to this pretie boy,

And for the father’s sake thy fauour show:

When I am gone do thou thy strength employ

Against all those that seeke this child’s annoy:

And ye, my other peeres, who once haue ben

My foes, proue now true hearted noble men.

97.

Redeeme your countrey from that captiue woe,

Which from the roote of ciuill discord grew:

Ioyne hearts and hands against the common foe:

Forget old wrongs, vnto the prince proue true:

Farewell, my daies be done, I die, adew.”

Thus after twice nine yeares of rule in state,

I lost both life and rule by timelesse fate.

98.

Behold the last effects of Henrie’s curse

On his last sonne, for his rebellious pride:

Let princes learne, that where debate, the nurce

Of discord, doth the prince and peeres diuide,

Nought but destruction can that state betide:

Of which let that sad time of my short reigne,

A Mirrour vnto future time remaine.

THE WOFVLL LIFE AND DEATH
of King Edward the second.

THE ARGUMENT.

“Writers,” quoth Memorie, “were much to blame

Of Iohn, that noble prince, to speake such shame:

But little credit vnto them we giue,

Since they were foes to him, when he did liue:

His first sonne Henrie, third of that same name,

Did him succeed, and with his sword did tame

That French prince Lewis, whom he forc’d by might

To leaue this kingdome, due to him of right:

Edward his sonne, the first that bore that name

Since William’s conquest made, whose noble fame

Shall neuer die, did in the throne succeed,

And in his daies wrought many a worthie deed:

Yet neither of these princes both did feele

Th’inconstant course of fortune’s froward wheele:

That Edward of Carnaruan, third from Iohn,

Is next in course, whom we must stay vpon:

He in the first spring of his fatall raigne

Recals the banisht Gaueston againe,

Exil’d before by his renowned sire,

At whose proud taunts the peeres being set on fire,

Do quench it with his blood: the angrie king

Vowes his reuenge, the valiant Breuce doth bring

His powers into the field, and in the fight

At Banokesborne turnes th’English into flight:

Heau’n, dearth, and death foretels the sad euent,

Which did ensue vpon the riuer Trent:

The queene is sent to France the peace t’haue mou’d,

Proues false, returnes againe with her belou’d:

Arriues in armes, gainst whom the king craues aid,

Who left forlorne, and at the last betrai’d,

Imprison’d, and enforc’d by parlament,

Vnto his sonne resignes the gouernment:

On him depos’d, more mischiefe to inferre,

His queene, the bishop, and her Mortimer,

In darke enigma do conclude his death:

And, lest that he should seeme t’expire his breath

By violent hand, a torment they deuise

By which the king in Bercklie castle dies:

Of which that we th’vndoubted truth may haue,

Let fame call vp his wronged ghost from graue.”

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

Fame summons vp the king: in briefe he showes

How queene, peeres, people, all did him depose.

That subtill serpent, seruile flatterie,

Seldome infects the meaner man, that feares

No change of state through fortune’s treacherie:

She spits her poison at the mightiest peeres,

And with her charmes inchants the prince’s eares:

In sweetest wood the worme doth soonest breed,

The caterpiller on best buds doth feed.

If slie dissimulation credit winne

With any prince, that sits on highest throne,

With honied poyson of soure sugred sinne,

It causeth him turne tyrant to his owne,

And to his state workes swift confusion,

Aboue his cedar’s top it high doth shoot,

And canker-like deuoures it to the root.

Of which that thou a perfect Mirrour haue,

The wronged ghost of that deposed king,

Carnaruan’s Edward, hath forgone his graue,

Who does with him such dolefull tidings bring,

That yet thy muse the like did neuer sing:

Those sad mishaps which she before did show,

Compar’d to mine are counterfeits of woe.

To strengthen her complaint before she sing,

And drowne her grieued thoughts in depth of woe:

(Yee murdred ghosts, that vnder night’s black wing,

In vncouth paths doe wander to and fro,

And oft in sighfull groanes your griefe do show)

Haste vnto vs, and hauing heard our wrong,

Help with your shrieks to make a mourneful song.

The quill of some sad turtle’s wing applie

That mourn’d so long, till griefe did strike her dead:

Blood be thy incke, which when it waxeth drie,

Moisten with teares: and when all thine are shed,

From euery eye, that haps these lines to reade,

Let euery verse compos’d, such sad sound beare,

That for each word it may enforce a teare.

(Sorrow, distresse, and all that can be found

Which once did helpe me waile my woefull smart,

When fatall Berckly’s buildings did resound

The echoing complaints of my poore hart)

Grant your accesse, and helpe to beare a part,

That our sad muse more ruthfully may sing,

The storie of a dead deposed king.

I tell of honie-soothing parasites,

Of stubborne peeres, who louing sterne debate,

Did boldly braue me in two bloodie fights,

Of a proud prelate’s plots, of people’s hate,

Of the sad ruine of a royall state:

And of a queene betrai’d to fond desire

Who too too cruell did my death conspire.

To the first Edward, since the Norman’s name

Grew famous for their crown’d grac’d victorie,

The fourth of six of his faire sonnes I am,

Mongst whom I was ordain’d by destinie,

To sway the scepter of this emperie:

Before my kingly father left to liue,

The first three borne to death his due did giue.

I did suruiue, the yongest of the foure,

And did succeed my sire in royall chaire:

But did not treade the path which he before

Had with his vertuous foot-steps beaten faire:

Birth binds not vertue to succeed in th’heire,

Else why did I of such illustrate race,

Obscure his vertuous deeds with my disgrace?

10.

Had I but tract the steps of such a sire

To perfect that great worke, which he begun,

Had princely thoughts but mounted my desire

T’assay like glorious deeds, which he had done,

O what a prize of honor had I wonne!

But discord sent from hell did ruine bring,

Euen at that time, that I was crown’d a king.

11.

As th’holy priest with sanctified hand

The precious vnguent on my head should powre,

And as before the altar I did stand,

Discord the furie sent from that blacke shore

By damned Dis where Phlegeton doth rore,

Shapt like th’appointed priest whose hallowed hand

Should me annoint, by me vnknowne did stand.

12.

Approching nigh, the venome she did shed

Of sad Cocytus poole, which she did bring

In her blacke viall, on my haplesse head,

Whose banefull sauour borne on furie’s wing,

Did not alone infect th’anointed king:

But round diffus’d, as sent from peere to peere,

Did poyson those high bloods that present were.

13.

The ranke contagion of this foule disease

With rauing looke the mightiest in the state,

Whose desperate rage with remedie t’appease,

Warre rouz’d himselfe at home, who had of late

Slept in the bosome of pernicious hate:

And did incite them in pretence of good,

With their owne swords to let their bodies blood.

14.

O most remorselesse of that impious age,

That did not only then deny your aide

To your deare countrie, when with barbarous rage

The bordering foes her bosome did inuade,

And in her wombe such ghastly wounds had made,

But as a nation borne of viper’s brood,

O shame to tell, did daily sucke her blood.

15.

Great queene of sea-siedg’d iles, what canst thou show

Of that good hap, when Edward thy late king

Did safely bulwarke thee against thy foe?

Thy Edward now doth with his minions sing,

While thou thy hands in wretchednesse dost wring:

And Brewse doth mangle thee with many a scarre,

While thy proud peeres prepare for ciuill warre.

16.

In our discourse, that we a method haue

Of euery action, let vs briefely tell

In his due place, which time and order gaue:

And that we may first know those causes well,

From whence these sad effects produc’d befell,

In the respectiue scope of this our storie,

Let vs looke backe to Edward’s daies of glorie.

17.

In the fresh blossome of my youthfull spring,

Sucking the sugered poison of delight,

Euen then when with strict hand the carefull king

Kept backe my youth, I on the baites did bite

Of Gaueston that soothing parasite:

A yong esquire of Gascoyne in faire feature,

Shapt like an angell: but of euill nature.

18.

My royall father, who with iudgement’s eie

Could sound the depth of things, perceiuing well

How follie did by him her charmes applie,

T’inchant my youth: such mischiefe to repell,

Did him exile, lest by the powerfull spell

Of his allurements drawne from all renowne,

I should be made vnworthie of a crowne.

19.

O prudent prince! the depth of that decree

Which heau’n did purpose by my Gaueston,

Too secret was for humane sense to see,

Who did ordaine, that exil’d minion

To ruine Edward and thy royall throne:

For though an exile he did then depart,

Yet with him went thy wanton Edward’s heart.

20.

Too late it was that obiect to remoue,

To whom in fancie’s cup I long before

Had quaff’d so deepe, that surfetting with loue,

Heart-sicke I was till time did him restore,

And set him once againe on England’s shore:

Forgetfull of my faith to Edward dead,

Not to reuoke, whom he had banished.

21.

His bones were yet scarce cold, his royall throne

Scarce warme beneath me was, when in the same

I did embrace my deare, lou’d Gaueston,

Who as infected with contagious shame

Of some corrupted place, from whence he came,

Throughout the land in little space did spread,

That foule disease which our destruction bread.

22.

In court the leprous spots of his delights

Vnto the palace wals so fast do cleaue,

That from my presence all the noblest wights

Withdraw themselues, and in their roomes do leaue

Those vp-starts base, who them of grace bereaue:

No man is held to be the king’s true friend,

But he that doth his Gaueston commend.

23.

His lips were made the oracles, from whence

I tooke aduice, he in the counsell sits,

Graue states as enemies are banisht thence,

The shallow-brain’d yong giddie-headed wits,

Our wanton humour with best counsell fits,

The sage instructions of the wise man’s mouth,

Do sound harsh musike in the eares of youth.

24.

This was the spring, from whence at first did floe

Those streames of strife, which rising like a flood

Do ouerwhelme my state in waues of woe,

Which threat confusion to the common good,

Which first in death do coole my barons blood:

And which yet swelling higher, lastly bring

A violent downefall to a royall king.

25.

My Gaueston, in maiestie’s great armes

Being safely hug’d, no change of fortune feares:

He wantons with the king, soothes his owne harmes,

He playes the buffon’s part, he flouts and ieers

The courtly actions of the honor’d peeres:

The great in counsell and the noble borne,

Are made the subiect of his hatefull scorne.

26.

Sterne wrath to let loose rage, steps vp from hell,

Conducts my peeres from court vnto the campe,

She claps her hands and with a countnance fell,

Gnashing her teeth doth fiercely raue and rampe,

And with her feet vpon the ground doth stampe:

Then whets them to reuenge in their rash mood,

Whose furious thirst must be allaid with blood.

27.

Twice was my minion as an exile sent

To forren shores, their furie to restraine,

And twice againe reuokte with their assent,

Who now no longer able to refraine,

Prouokte with daily wrongs of his disdaine,

He being betrai’d, for vengeance all do call,

On Gauer’s heath, where Gaueston did fall.

28.

They wreake their vengeance in his reeking blood,

My sighes they laugh to scorne, while I lament,

With faire pretence to further common good

They vnderpop their cause, and to preuent

The mischiefe, that may grow from discontent,

To tracke me step by step in euery thing,

Whom they do please, they place about their king.

29.

Feeding on griefe for Gaueston deceast,

And blushing at such wrong done to my state,

Reuenge doth burne in my distempred brest,

Anger takes hands with griefe, all ioyne with hate,

And to the peeres threaten pernicious fate,

Who, lest time weaken rage then too too strong,

Do giue it strength by adding daily wrong.

30.

In this dissension, while on euery hand,

We for our owne destruction do prepare,

Newes from the north giues vs to vnderstand,

How valiant Brewse in his successefull warre

Against our powers doth prosperously fare,

Recouering that from vs againe, with more,

Which our dread sire had kept from him before.

31.

Beyond the bounds of his owne natiue soile,

He proudly breakes vpon our bordering coast,

None seekes t’oppose, he makes no faint recoile:

The spoile and riches of whole countries lost

Can hardly bound the furie of his host,

Neuer did bordering foe inuade so far,

Or wound our kingdome with a greater scar.

32.

Tempestuous tidings borne on Boreas breath

Cooles the hot vengeance of a wrathfull king,

And for a while delaies prepared death

For his proud peeres, feare from the north on wing

Comes flying fast, and 'bout our eares doth ring,

Bidding vs haste, and powre our vengeance forth

Vpon our foes, that brau’d vs in the north.

33.

Mustering vp troopes of foot-men for the field,

To passe in person for this great affaire,

My hopes on number I do vainly build:

Our thoughts made aduerse by the former iar,

Prepare vs mischiefe in the following war:

Disioyn’d in heart, yet ioyn’d in ranke we goe,

To giue a famous conquest to the foe.

34.

Stout Brewse renownes his sword with Edward’s flight,

Striuiling, whose siege our rescue crau’d, can tell

England’s misfortune in that haplesse fight:

And Banokesborne, who 'boue her bounds did swell

With bodies dead, that in that battell fell,

Aboue the bordering brookes hath won a name

Fam’d for this field thus fought vpon the same.

35.

O noble nation, t’whom true fame hath giuen

A glorious name for deeds accomplished,

Equall with any people’s vnder heau’n,

Be not dismai’d, ’twas I, ’twas I, that led

To such mishap, on whose vnhappie head

Heau’n neuer smil’d, but with sterne lookes still frown’d

Till wearied with mishaps, I was vncrown’d.

36.

O had I perisht by the sword of Brewse,

And had not been reseru’d to future daies,

To see my peeres with treason take a truce,

And with their swords by all uniust assaies,

Attempt to hew downe him, whom heau’n did raise:

I had been blest, and had not liu’d to rue

The woes yet worse, which after did ensue.

37.

Th’inueterate wounds of wrong infixt so deepe,

Against my barons in my swolne heart,

With drops of blood now made afresh to weepe,

That I from Brewse should thus with shame depart,

Did so augment my mind’s impatient smart,

That by my peeres mine ire now new stirr’d vp,

I with their blood quencht in Bellonae’s cup.

38.

What they do plot is by my powre controul’d,

What I intend, vnreuerently they crosse:

What they do wish, I will not: what I would,

They do gain-say, though to a publike losse:

Thus vpon mischiefe’s racket do we tosse

The common good, till bandied by vs all

Into confusion’s hazard it do fall.

39.

Both heau’n and earth, as if in mourning clad,

They did bewaile, what they could not preuent,

When on our selues, our selues no pittie had,

Denide those comforts in due season sent,

Which to this nation they before had lent:

As with their anger they would vs recall

From running headlong, where we needs must fall.

40.

Towards th’Articke side of heau’n ore Albion’s rocks,

A blazing meteor stood in th’vpper aire,

Which with grim looke shaking his dreadfull locks,

Bids earth be barren, and the world despaire:

Then cals the furies with the snakie haire,

To execute that vengeance to succeed,

Which fates for wretched England had decreed.

41.

Famine, forerunner to deuouring death,

Haunts euery coast, where food is to be found,

The fruits are blasted by her banefull breath,

She makes the clouds to drop, till that be drown’d,

Which plentie’s hand had hidden in the ground:

Then doth she ransacke both the rich and poore,

Deuouring all, till she can find no more.

42.

If euer pitie moue a stonie eie,

Let her present our age for map of woe,

There see for food, how little infants crie,

Whom, parents wanting, what they would bestow,

With griefe are either forced to forgo,

Or else with weeping woe to sit them by,

Till faint for food before their face they die.

43.

The spouse, that wants to feed her fruitfull wombe,

Burying the babe, that neuer came from graue,

Cries, in her deare’s deare armes, for death to come,

Who mad with sorrow and in hope to haue

That left of death, which loue desires to saue:

A horrid thing to tell, to saue his owne,

Steales other’s children for to feed vpon.

44.

When leane-fac’d famine, who with furious thirst

Coasting the countrie, through the land had run,

Began to breath as hauing done their worst,

That other furie pastilence begun

To finish that, which they had left vndone,

Who 'boue our heads in the infected aire,

Her poysned shafts for battaile did prepare.

45.

Her angrie arrowes euery way do flie,

Thousands on either hand in death do fall:

But happie they in blessed peace to die,

Not left with vs to liue, when death did call,

To see blood-thirstie warre the worst of all:

That vniuersall flood of woes powre downe

In seas of blood, this wretched land to drowne.

46.

In midst of these extreames with griefe cast downe,

The measure of our miserie to fill,

My stubborne peers take armes, and proudly frowne,

Threatning in rage that little left to spill,

If basely I submit not to their will:

And exile those, whom they themselues did place

In stead of Gaueston t’attend our grace.

47.

He that in bosome of a prince doth dwell,

And by endeuour seekes to gaine his grace,

Though for his seruice he deserue it well:

Yet as the deere pursu’d from place to place,

The enuious dog will haue him still in chase:

Danger in chiefest safetie it doth bring,

To seeme to be familiar with a king.

48.

Spenser, the man, on whom at first I frown’d,

Whom they preferr’d, my Gaueston being dead,

Was he, whom they pretend to be the ground

Of all their griefe, gainst him they now made head,

He was of vs too highly fauoured:

Him must we banish, so they thinke it fit,

If on our throne in safetie we will sit.

49.

William de Brewse in selling Gower’s land

To yonger Spenser from the other peeres,

Who would haue brought the same at Brewse’s hand,

First blew the coles, whence now that flame appeares,

Which had been hid in anger many yeares:

This is the cause of their conceiued ire,

For this in armes gainst me they do conspire.

50.

Disloyall Lancaster, that did conduct

The rebels to the field, by letters sent

With termes vnfit his soueraigne will instruct,

Assigning daies, within whose termament,

I should reforme such things in gouernment,

Which he mislikes, thus adding to that fire,

Which did at length consume him in our ire.

51.

This fire yet burning in our royall brest,

The queene doth with complaint her wrongs prefer,

That in her progresse after long vnrest,

Our late false steward lord Badelismere,

Confederate with rebellious Lancaster,

Vnkindly had deni’d in my despight,

Her lodging in Leeds castle for a night.

52.

To make our furie in reuenge more strong,

Letters from Scotland intercepted were,

Which touch vs neerer then all former wrong,

In number six: the one of which did beare

The armes of Dowglas, sent to Lancaster,

In which the Dowglas to conceale his name,

Vnto king Arthur doth direct the same.

53.

Prouokt to vengeance for such treacherous spight,

From London with our royall powres we past,

Whose stomackes fill’d with furie for the fight,

I vrged forward with the vtmost hast,

To lay the manours and the lordships wast

Of our proud barons, promising for pray

All that was theirs, that came within their way.

54.

Newes of th’vnnaturall deeds which they enact

Vpon the loyall people of our land,

Hasten vs forward with such speed exact,

That ere the Mortimers, who both did band

Themselues with Lancaster, did vnderstand

Of our approch our royall armed traine,

At Shrewsburie did front them on the plaine.

55.

Far from confederates amaz’d with wonder,

At our approch, both daunted to behold

Our frownes of lightning, and our threats of thunder,

Hang downe their heads, scarce daring be so bold

As looke on vs, their fainting hearts wax cold,

And on their knees they fall, in hope to stay

Our angrie doome, that threatned their decay.

56.

Yeelding to fate by force of destinie,

Whose foreappointing prouidence hath power

In euery thing t’enforce necessitie,

We grant them life, reseruing in the tower

That Mortimer at London for that hower,

In which by destiny it was set downe,

That that false lord should ruine my renowne.

57.

Marching more northward from the Cambrian coast,

While vengefull breath the fire of furie fans,

After such good successe to bring our host

To Pomfret, which gainst vs our barons mans:

At last we lite like flockes of snow-white swans

Fast by the weeping Eye, which runneth downe

Into the Trent by little Caldwel’s towne.

58.

There first did Needwood’s echoing forrest tell

The stubborne barons of our whole intent,

There first they seeke our forces to repell,

When with their powers our passage to preuent,

Intended ore the bosome of the Trent,

They interrupt our purpose with proud braues,

On Burton bridge ore fishie Trent’s blacke waues.

59.

The riuer’s watrie wombe did proudly swell,

As if it had turn’d rebell with the foes,

Or as if louing either armie well,

It would preuent poore England of the woes

Which must ensue, if both parts came to bloes:

Her waters rose beyond their wonted bounds,

And for three daies deferr’d vnnaturall wounds.

60.

Aquarius with the foot-bands manly fought

Gainst those, that on the bridge at Burton stood,

While with our troopes vnseene we cast about

Vnder the couert of a leauie wood,

Distant three miles from thence, where ore the flood

Th’whole host did passe by shallowes lately found,

To meete the barons vpon equall ground.

61.

The deadly drum doth tell the foes from far

The fatall march of their approching king:

Who seeing their weaknesse to sustaine the war

Gainst such a powre, which with vs we do bring,

They turne their backes, swift feare their feet doth wing:

Yet stubborne men still to prouoke our ire,

Before they flie, they set the towne on fire.

62.

Horrour pursues them euery way they flie,

Repentance comes too late to calme our frowne,

All former wrongs afresh for vengeance crie,

They, that did whilome wish them all renowne,

By aduerse fortune being thus cast downe,

Lift vp their hands, yet lower to suppresse them,

All friends turne foes in pursuite to distresse them.

63.

At Burrough bridge, in their vnluckie flight,

Where for th’encounter death did readie stand,

They were enforc’d in most vnequall fight,

For loued life to vse defensiue hand

Against the stubborne bands of Cumberland:

Led by stout Herckley, who with bold assay

Of his drawne sword began a bloodie day.

64.

In mutuall slaughter, both the hosts do stand,

Earth trembling shakes beneath their trampling feet,

The singing shafts thicke loos’d on euery hand,

Flie to and fro, then hand to hand they meet,

And wound for wound each doth the other greet,

While ouer head the heau’n’s remorsefull stood

Dropping downe teares to see their sides drop blood.

65.

Valiant Bohume, Herford’s vndanted lord,

That stood in fight by foes besieged round,

His heart not female made to flie as skar’d,

Neuer gaue backe, but brauely kept his ground,

Till life gaue backe from that same deadly wound,

Giu’n by a stout Welch Britaine, that did stand

Beneath the bridge with fatall speare in hand.

66.

This lucklesse chance so terrifi’d the foe,

And gaue such strength vnto the northerne bands,

That th’aduerse part their backes began to show,

Clifford, though wounded with a shaft, yet stands

With Lancaster in fight, till on all hands,

Opprest with multitude, themselues they yeeld,

To conquering Herckley victour of the field.

67.

Thus hautie Lancaster, that did not feare

To tempt his soueraigne’s peace with periur’d hate,

Who in the morning was the mightiest peere

That ’gainst his prince did euer moue debate,

By night was made the meanest in the state:

In right or wrong, who euer lifts his hand

Against his prince, his cause doth seldome stand.

68.

Not he alone made forfeit of his head,

Who in this proud rebellion led the ring,

The fatall axe strooke many others dead,

Hewing downe all, that had conspir’d to bring

Their powers for fight against their lawfull king:

Twice eight great barons and as many knights

In death paid paines for wrong t’our kingly rites.

69.

O age infortunate, when subiects pride

Did force their soueraigne to such deeds of woe,

That when all men had laid remorse aside,

The sunne in heau’n his griefe in shame to show

Six houres with blood-red cheeks on th’earth below,

Did blush to see her soile drinke vp their blood,

Who liuing oft in her defence had stood.

70.

Imprudent prince, since rage did lift thy hand

To lop the pillers of thy kingdome downe,

On whose supportfull powers thy state should stand:

Looke for a ruthlesse ruine of thy crowne,

Looke helplesse now in wretchednesse to drowne:

The dance vnto destruction they haue led,

And the same feeting I the king must tread.

71.

When th’hand of Ioue the mightie men shall take

From any state, for their rebellious pride,

By such foresigne this vse we well may make,

Some after-storme of vengeance will betide

That haplesse land, who euer it doth guide:

The sad effusion of the noble blood,

Portends confusion to the common good.

72.

With dolefull pen I could bewaile their woe,

Whose wofull wants did after proue me weake:

But far more horrid things we are to show,

To those blacke deeds, of which we now must speake:

They before spoken did that ice but breake,

At which we falling in did helplesse drowne,

Once fallen, all do helpe to keepe vs downe.

73.

Not Herkleye’s treason plotted in that truce,

Which for aduancement, most ambitious man,

He did intend t’our aduersarie Brewce:

Nor the new troubles, which Valoys began

In our dominions Guien and Aquitaine,

Shall be the subiect of our sadder verse:

Matter of more importance we rehearse.

74.

O Isabel my queene, my vnkind queene,

Thy shame must be the subiect of our song,

Had not the weaknesse of thy faith been seene,

When faithlesse thou wast led to do that wrong

To him that liu’d in loue with thee so long:

That royall blood in Berklie castle spilt,

Had now not stain’d our storie with thy guilt.

75.

The scene of lust foreruns the act of blood,

Priapus doth his lustfull breath inspire

Into the queene, the ocean’s wauie flood

Cannot extinguish fancie’s burning fire,

Nor coole the scalding thirst of her desire:

With heate of lust her inward heart doth gloe,

T’imprisoned Mortimer my mortall foe.

76.

Heere let not any take offensiue spleene,

Or taxe these rimes, for that to light they bring

Th’incontinence of our disloyall queene:

Nor thy muse grieue this argument to sing,

Which is confirmed by the wronged king:

Foule is the fault, though nere so quaint the skill,

That conceales truth to lessen any ill.

77.

Wigmore’s false Mortimer, (whose fatall name

Vniuocall to him of all his line:

Whether from feare of death we fetch the same,

Or of the dead seas sinke we it define,

The deeds of death t’ensue doth well diuine)

Reserued was by fate within the tower,

With time to turne the glasse of my last houre.

78.

On him the queene by loose affection led

Did cast her fancie, burning in the flame

Of priuie lust, which strong desier fed:

And wanting her delight in wanton game,

To coole her lust-burnt blood with dregs of shame,

Did cast about how she might him release,

That he might giue her loue-sicke passions ease.

79.

It is not bands, nor walles, nor thousands spies

That can the woman’s wicked will preuent:

Let loue intreate, set shame before her eies,

Let plighted faith, first virgin vow’d consent,

And the wombe’s fruit that giues loue most content,

Perswade with her: yet can they neuer stay

Her wanton will, if she will go astray.

80.

By sleepie potion of effectuall power

To charme the sense, whether by her conuey’d,

Or by himselfe deuised in the tower,

Segraue the constable was captiue made,

With many more to senselesse sleepe betray’d:

While Mortimer, vnthought vpon, escapes

And vnto France his prosperous iourney shapes.

81.

Thus far did fortune with my queene conspire,

And after this good hap to giue full ease

Vnto the longing thirst of her desire,

Tels her how France inuades beyond the seas,

Which vp in armes she needs must go t’appease:

When resolution hath prepar’d the will,

It wants no helpes to further any ill.

82.

Through our neglect of homage to be made,

Constrain’d thereto by our home-bred debate,

Valoys her brother did our lands inuade,

And through late wounds made in our mangled state,

In armes vnable to withstand his hate:

To treate with him of peace our queene we sent,

In her vow’d faith being too too confident.

83.

O powre diuine, what mortall wight hath wings

To soare the height of thy vnknowne decree?

Reason, that hath such power in search of things,

Proues then most blind, when most it seemes to see,

In vainly arguing of what must bee:

When reason bids no danger to suspect,

Time hastens swift confusion in effect.

84.

The queene effecting that, for which she went,

With these conditions reunites the peace,

That to such couenants I should consent,

Aniou and Aquitaine I should release

Vnto my sonne, my title should surcease:

And he to France as in times past 't had bin,

Should do his homage for his right therein.

85.

Pleas’d in this peace, my selfe, or my yong sonne

Inioyn’d in person to confirme these things,

The Spencers both being into hatred run,

Not daring be from vnder my safe wings,

So absolute we thinke the power of kings,

Perswade me heere to stay and send my sonne,

In hope thereby, what they did feare, to shun.

86.

Thus all hands helping, Isabel againe

To forward that which she on foot had set,

I hauing past my title t’Aquitaine

Vnto the prince my sonne, she sees no let,

But that more easly she the rest may get:

So large a share cut from vs by her skill,

She hopes to haue the whole or want her will.

87.

Hauing obtain’d in France what we require,

She call’d vpon to make returne with speed,

Protracts the time, and feasting her desire

So long with Mortimer, that she doth need

Excuse to warrant her presumptuous deed:

Giues flat deniall to her lord’s command,

Not to returne except with force of hand.

88.

Many, that wau’ring wish’d a change in state,

And more, that on reuenge so long had fed

For losse of friends, that fell in that debate

Betwixt vs and our barons, daily fled

Vnto the queene, whose heart being stricken dead,

As wanting strength to manage her affaire,

They do reuiue with powre by their repaire.

89.

While in the French court, yet vnfrown’d vpon

By Charles her brother king, she did abide,

Our Exceter’s true bishop Stapleton,

Ioyn’d in commission with her to decide

The iar ’twixt vs and France, now seeing her pride

Burst out in plaine reuolt, returning ouer

The seas from her, did all her drifts discouer.

90.

Thus their close treason bare and naked made,

As blushing at their open shame descride,

To cloake the cause of their intent t’inuade,

They vow no more to brooke the Spencers pride,

Nor shall the queene vniustly be denide

The presence of the king, they all will die,

Or order things that stand in state awrie.

91.

King Charles her brother, while they thus deuise,

Whether with our rich gifts or promise won,

Or with respect to his owne royalties,

Or that he would not be a looker on,

While vnto maiestie such wrong was done:

First wooes our queene for peace, whom wilfull bent,

He exiles France to frustrate her intent.

92.

Who now would thinke that she should euer find

A hopefull helpe her weaknesse to repaire?

Bewitching beautie, O how dost thou blind

The eyes of man! thy soule is deemed faire,

Thy euill good, thy vice a vertue rare:

In thy distresse although thy cause be wrong,

Thou mou’st remorse and mak’st thy partie strong.

93.

Those yonger bloods, Arthois and Beaumont,

Without respect vnto her cause’s right,

Those certaine helpes to her do oft recount

In Heinault to be found, if she excite

The earle thereof to pitie her sad plight:

Which by a match pretended might be done,

Betwixt his daughter and the prince our sonne.

94.

As they gaue counsell, so it came to passe,

She t’Heinault goes with Beaumont for her guide,

And with kind welcome entertained was:

Where while Heinault and she with ioy prouide

To make his daughter our yong Edward’s bride,

To England lets turne backe, and see at home

How we prepare against the storme to come.

95.

To stand vpon our guard against such harme,

And backe our cause against inuading ill,

All castles and strong holds with men we arme,

The coasts are kept, beacons on euery hill

Are set for spies: O had the ioynt good will

Of subiects loue with me their soueraigne bin,

Th’inuading foes had found hard entrance in.

96.

In vaine, O wretched king, thy hopes haue trust

On broken faithes of subiects daily fleeting:

Thy lot is cast, from throne thou shalt be thrust,

Thy foes shall of thy subiects at their meeting,

In stead of blowes, be welcom’d with kind greeting:

Thou only seek’st to keepe out th’vnkind queene,

While heere at home worse dangers are vnseene.

97.

Whilst now my state begins for to decline,

In whom, alas, should I my trust repose?

My brother Kent then resident in Guine

For some displeasure done to him by those

'Bout vs at home, reuolts vnto our foes:

O faithlesse Kent, thou art the first shalt rue,

That euer thou to Edward wast vntrue.

98.

Treason transports, what traytors looke for heere,

The queen’s stout champion Iohn of Beaumont comes

With his proud troopes, three thousand men well neere,

Promis’d rich pay in ransacke of our summes,

Who now aboord with trumpets and with drummes,

Vrg’d by the hastie queene to launch the deepe

With winde-wing’d sailes the seas soft bosome sweepe.

99.

O let the windes their forward course restraine,

Wing not such mischiefe to our natiue shore,

Let the proud billowes beate them backe againe:

Or if they needs must come, let the seas rore,

Hurle them on rockes that they may neuer more

Be seene in England in pretence of good,

To bathe their hands in Edward’s royall blood.

100.

Orwell thy hauen first did let them in,

Harwich with bels did welcome in their fleet:

No sooner did our Isabel begin

To presse the sandie shore with wanton feet,

But our earle marshall with his powres did greet

Her safe arriue, whose part, false peere, had bin

To haue oppos’d her at her entrance in.

101.

The brother to that lord that lost his head,

Leister’s great earle did now lift vp his hand,

As in reuenge of Lancaster late dead,

T’whom many a peere linckt in rebellious band

Of grudges past, in the queene’s cause doth stand:

And lest they grieue in conscience to betray

Their lawfull king, the church leads them the way.

102.

Herford’s proud prelate, Torleton, who before

Conuicted was for treason gainst his king,

When armes gainst vs our stubborne barons bore,

Shrowded till now beneath the churche’s wing,

Fled to the foes, and in his heart did bring

That horrid treason hatcht before in hell,

Cause of all after mischiefe that befell.

103.

The newes of this new innouation made,

And of the aliens lately set on land,

With terrour doth my fainting heart inuade:

All holds about vs readie open stand,

To yeeld possession ere the foes demand:

Whose first smal troope now made a mightie force,

Into the land they take their forward course.

104.

London denies to lend her sou’raigne aid,

To whom inforc’d at length to bid adew,

As doubting there to foes to be betrai’d,

With both the Spencers vnto Wales I flew,

There by some powre my hopes yet to renue,

Hoping amongst the Welch more faith to find,

T’whom from my youth I had been euer kind.

105.

But thus forsaken, whither shal I run?

Where shall I shadow me with safetie’s wing?

Since that a wife, a brother, and a sonne,

Pursues a husband, father and a king:

Pitie, adew, my wrong shall neuer wring

Remorse from others: Wales conspires my woe,

And with false England turnes vnto my foe.

106.

Pursu’d on euery hand, and forc’d to flie

My natiue soile to shun death’s dangerous dart,

My fortunes on the surging seas to trie

In a poore barke, from England we depart

To th’ile of Lunday with an heauie heart,

Whom from the maine land Seuerne doth diuide,

In which we hope in safetie to abide.

107.

But eu’n that little good doth seas denie,

With angrie looke the heau’ns behold the maine,

Gust after gust the winged winds do flie

Vpon the waues, who puft with proud disdaine,

Will vs deuoure or driue vs backe againe:

As if too much they thought that little land

For him that late had kingdomes at command.

108.

Remorselesse waues haue we a kingdome lost,

And yet our barke do ye denie to bring

To this small plot of ground two miles at most:

O woe to tell that once so great a king

Should stoope his minde vnto so small a thing,

Content to share the meanest part of many,

And yet deni’d to be possest of any.

109.

Long did we wrestle with the waues and winde,

But all in vaine we striue, for neuer more

Shall friendlesse Edward any comfort find:

Our barke distrest, her tackle rent and tore,

At length arriues vpon Glamorgan shore,

Where Spencer, Baldocke, Reding, markt for death,

Go all with me t’a castle called Neath.

110.

With vaine suppose of safetie in that hold,

While there in secret we our selues repose

To the lords Zouch and Leister we are sold,

Who by rich gifts often corrupting those

That our vnknowne abode could best disclose,

With violent hands do sease their wished pray,

And beare vs thence each one a seuerall way.

111.

Leister, thy king is now thy captiue made,

Reuenge is in thy hand, where is thy spleene?

Though vnto thee thy soueraigne was betrai’d:

This be thy praise, thou wouldst not with our queene

In Edward’s wrongs be any deeper seene:

While in thy Killingworth thy king remaines,

Nought doth he want that to a king pertaines.

112.

With a strong guard from starting there kept sure,

Our friends meane time being seas’d on by the foe,

Both Spencers, Reading, Daniel, Milcheldeure,

In death do happily shut vp their woe,

As pointing out the way that we must go:

Baldocke in prison by a milder fate,

Struck dead with grief preuents their deadly hate.

113.

They, that vnto the king induc’d by reason

Did loyall proue, were traytors to the state:

O impious age, when truth was counted treason,

Heere noble Arundell I waile thy fate,

Whose blood drunke vp by Mortimer’s sterne hate,

Did manifest the spleene, on which he fed

Against his king, for whom thy blood was shed.

114.

Since they by death t’offence haue paid their due,

Who late alone in your displeasure stood,

Whom should your deadly hatred now pursue?

If they were only foes to common good,

That made you satisfaction with their blood:

Why is your liege lord as a common foe

Reseru’d a captiue prince for worser woe?

115.

Bloodie reuenge your hatred cannot bound,

So wilfully to greater mischiefe bent,

The poore imprison’d king must be vncrown’d,

At London by the states in parlament,

It is decreed by mutuall consent:

Edward must be depos’d from royall throne,

Where he had sate now twice ten yeares and one.

116.

O righteous heau’ns, if ye haue powre t’oppose

Fraile man’s vnrighteous thoughts in euery thing:

Then suffer not, ah suffer not my foes

Thus to go on, that are about to bring

Such wofull tidings to a wretched king:

In thrall though I abide, this grace yet giue,

That I at least a captiue king may liue.

117.

Strengthned by will, though not by force of lawes,

To Killingworth th’appointed states are come,

Where, as in censure of some weightie cause,

Twentie and foure agreed vpon their doome,

In order sit within a goodly roome,

And thither do their king to iudgement call,

Who should haue sate chiefe iudge aboue them all.

118.

From secret closet, though, alas, full loath,

Forth am I brought in mourning weeds, that show

His griefe of mind, whose bodie they do cloath:

And when I would conceale my inward woe,

With head declining downe as I do go,

The griefe I would not see, I see in teares,

Which fallen from mine eies the pauement beares.

119.

In presence being come and silence made,

Torleton, whose lookes did wound me with despaire,

A man in tongue most powerfull to perswade,

Stands vp, and as design’d for this affaire,

Doth in few words effectually declare

The common people’s will, the peeres consent

That I thenceforth resigne my gouernment.

120.

O heere, what tongue can vnto vtterance bring

The inward griefe, which my poore heart did wound?

So far it past all sense in sorrowing,

Passion so powrefully doth sense confound,

That in a swoune I falling on the ground,

Faine would haue di’d, but Leister standing by

Steps in, and doth that happinesse deny.

121.

Recall’d from death by those that stood about,

When breath through grieued brest found passage free,

In these sad words my woes I breathed out:

“O powrefull God, since ’tis thy will that wee

Do leaue our crowne, I grudge not thy decree:

Thou art most iust in all, thou gau’st a crowne,

But ah, mine owne misdeeds haue cast me downe.

122.

To you I yeeld what wrong doth wrest from me,

Since with one voice ye say it must be so,

And beg this mercie in my miserie:

That since your hate hath brought me to this woe,

It heere may end, no further let it goe:

He whom once king your hate could not forgiue,

Will be no king so he haue leaue to liue.”

123.

Heere teares did choake the end of my sad words,

And while my state in silence I deplore,

Trussell in name of all the English lords

Renouncing th’homage due to me before,

Depriues me of the same for euermore:

Leauing his liege that was of most command,

The most deiected subiect of this land.

124.

Blunt, steward of our house in th’open hall,

Protracts no time by any long delay,

But breaking of his rod before them all,

Resignes his office, all depart away,

Many that would in loue, yet dare not stay:

This was my fate, thus did false fortune frowne,

Ah God, that euer king was so cast downe!

125.

Yet fortune hath not spent her vtmost hate,

With patience we must arme our selues more strong,

Scarce will fraile eares belieue what we relate,

When now thy muse shall tune her mournefull song,

To sadder times that she may waile that wrong,

To which with griefe for guide we now proceed,

Whose woes wil make the hardiest heart to bleed.

126.

Our iealous queen, whom conscience doth torment,

Fearing lest Leicester so neare alli’d,

In pitie of our state should now relent,

Tels Torleton of her doubts what might betide,

If in his keeping we do still abide,

Who fearing vengeance for his owne offence,

Giues her his counsell to remoue me thence.

127.

Leister constrained by expresse command,

To the lord Berkley doth his charge restore,

Whence he conueies me with an armed band

Vnto his castle seated neare the shore,

Gainst which great Seuerne’s raging waues do rore:

But Berkley, thou with Leister art too kind,

Edward with thee doth too much fauour find.

128.

Oh gentle Berkly, whither wilt thou go?

Why dost not stand by thy sad sou’raigne’s side?

For pitie leaue him not vnto such woe,

Which Gourney and Matreuers do prouide,

Such woe did neuer any king betide:

But with command they come, thou must depart,

And leaue thy king, although with heauie heart.

129.

To Gourney and Matreuers by decree

In his owne castle he resignes his right:

Who lest that any friend should priuie bee

To my abode, do beare me thence by night

Vnto Corfe castle, whence with more despight

Through darknesse and blind waies in poore array,

To Bristow castle they do me conuey.

130.

By night conuey’d thus rudely to and fro,

Lest by my friends from them I rescu’d bee,

At last since none, whom they do feare, do know

Where I am now become, they do agree

To Berkley backe againe to go with mee,

Staying a time, till night with dewie dampe

Should choake daie’s light and put out Phœbus lampe.

131.

Then do they set me on a beast foreworne

In stead of stately steed, whereon to ride,

And for no crowne I had my head t’adorne,

Bare I do sit, except the heau’n to hide

My woefull head all couering they denide,

While sharp winds in my face the weather blowes,

And with their nipping cold augments my woes.

132.

When out of east the day began to peepe,

Who, as if she my ruefull case did mone,

Vpon my head her dewie droppes did weepe,

The right hand way they left, and iourn’ing on,

Where Seuerne’s siluer waues doth play vpon

The marish greene, they forced me to light,

There to haue slaine my heart with sad despight

133.

In stead of royall chaire, they set me downe

On a mole-hill (was neuer king so vsde)

And Gourney, wretched man, in stead of crowne

With wreath of grasse my royall browes abusde,

Patience perforce it might not be refusde:

Then while in wretched case my hands I wring,

In scorne the villaines bid auaunt sir king.

134.

While thus I sit all carefull comfortlesse,

With pitious lookes cast vp in wofull wise,

Calling the heau’ns to witnesse my distresse,

In stead of teares, the starres like weeping eies

Drop downe their exhalations from the skies:

And Tithon’s bride new rising from her bed,

Beholds their leaudnesse with a blushing red.

135.

Yet to my plaints no pitie they do yeeld:

But bent to adde more griefe to my disgrace,

In rustie murren with foule water fill’d,

A villaine comes with hands vncleane and base,

To shaue the heare both from my head and face:

Who, when warme water I desire to haue,

Replies, that cold will serue his turne to shaue.

136.

With eyes full burthned with a showre of teares,

“Do ye,” quoth I, “now helpe me with your might

To waile the sorrowes, which my sad soule beares,

Open your floud-gates wide, and in their sight

Let vs haue water warme in their despight:”

This said, the teares did downe my cheekes distill,

As if they stroue t’effect my wofull will.

137.

Hence in this plight to Berkley am I brought,

Where bidding comfort euermore farewell:

And feeding long on care and pensiue thought,

At length I am shut vp in darksome cell,

There to the senselesse walles my griefe to tell,

Deni’d the comfort of heau’n’s common light,

Bound while I liue to liue in endlesse night.

138.

My sterne tormentors moued with remorse,

Wish death to end my miserable care:

Yet nature will not violently force

Way to a lingring death, they do prepare

By cold, long watching, fast and euill fare:

But, I euen made insensible in woes,

Suffer with patience all they can impose.

139.

In hollow vault, through which the channell past

From forth the towne beneath my chamber flore,

Dead carcasses and loathed things they cast,

Whose grieuous stinch did grieue my senses more

Then all the griefe that I endur’d before:

And forc’d me search the walles for open place,

To some without to waile my woefull case.

140.

Vpon a time I through a crannie spi’d

Men hewing timber on the greene fast by,

To whom with drearie deadly voice I cri’d,

“O who will helpe me wretch, that heere do lie

In torment worse then death, yet cannot die?

If any there do mourne man’s wretched case,

Helpe me, ah help me from this loathed place.”

141.

The poore men’s hearts are pierc’d with point of woe,

And trembling horror doth their hearts appall

For ruth of wronged king cast downe so low,

Vnable t’helpe me, vnto God they call,

That he may yeeld reliefe to wofull thrall:

Who giuing eare to mine and their request,

At length in death doth giue my sorrowes rest.

142.

Mischiefe from those that guiltie of offence

Did wish my death in letters sent doth bring

A darke enigma bearing double sense,

Which is vnpointed left a doubtfull thing,

Either to kill or not to kill the king,

As in such tearmes “king Edward’s blood to spill

Refuse ye not to feare I count it ill.”

143.

The bloodie villaines construing the same

Vnto that sense, for which it then was sent,

Watch for the night, whose cloudie cloake of shame

With darknesse should conceale their damn’d intent,

Day did abhor the thing 'bout which they went,

And fled away, grim night on th’earth did frowne,

And I in carefull bed had laid me downe.

144.

Where for musitian that with sweetest breath,

Had wont to lull my watchfull sense asleepe:

The ghastly owle, the fatall bird of death,

That on my chamber walles her inne did keepe

In my poore trembling heart impressed deepe

The feare of death with her too deadly note,

Which oft she shriked through her balefull throte.

145.

The murmuring noise of the rude waters rore

Which not far thence into the seas do fall,

Where Seuerne’s billowes do beat vpon the shore,

And bellowing winds which iustling gainst the wall

Like death’s shrill whistlers at the cranies call,

Through darknesse and deepe silence of the night,

Our troubled heart with horror doth affright.

146.

On fearefull things long musing I do lie,

At last with sleepe opprest, in slumber cast,

Vpflew the doores and in the murderers flie,

At which awakt, and suddenly agast,

As from my naked bed I thought t’haue past,

They with rude hands do hold me downe by force,

While with vaine words I seeke to moue remorse.

147.

“Ye deadly instruments of other’s ill,

Grant one request, which dying I do craue:

Since ye be bent this royall blood to spill,

Send me not hence with torture to the graue:

’Tis life ye seeke, the only thing I haue:

Which yet shall vade on wings of willing breath,

Since better tis to die then liue in death.”

148.

By this they with maine strength do me compell,

Strengthlesse for breath to yeeld to their intent:

And then, O horrid, shamefull thing to tell,

By force they thrust an hollow instrument

Much like a trumpe into my fundament,

By which they do preuent the mone I make

By sudden death, as thus to them I spake.

149.

“Ah why, why thus torment ye me with smart?

Leaue off to grieue:” not one word more I said,

They had by this time thrust me to the hart

With steele red hot: to sleepe me downe I laid,

And with the pray’rs which godly folke had made,

When from the castle they did heare my cries,

My soule on mercie’s wings did clime the skies.

150.

Thus hauing heard my lamentable fall

Procur’d by stubborne peeres disloyaltie,

And people’s wilfull hate, the spring of all

First flowing from deceitfull flatterie,

That deadly bane t’all princely royaltie:

Amongst the rest in place with painfull pen

Insert it for a Mirrour vnto men.

THE LAMENTABLE LIVES AND
Deaths of the two yong Princes,
Edward, the Fifth, and his
Brother Richard Duke
of Yorke.

THE ARGUMENT.

“Th’afflictions, which this wronged king did beare,

He dead,” said Memorie, “reuenged were:

Like Vulcan’s bride, at Nottingham, his queene

In th’armes of Mars-like Mortimer was seene:

He for such deeds, as all true honor staines,

By ignominious death did pay iust paines:

By righteous doome till death she liu’d in thrall,

Within the circuit of a castle’s wall:

Her first-borne sonne, the second Edward’s heire,

(She being to French king Philip call’d the faire,

Left liuing of his line) by her made claime

Vnto his right in France, and gain’d the same:

He dead, the second Richard, second sonne

To his first-borne, his fatall raigne begonne:

Richard depos’d, Henrie ascends the throne,

Heire to duke Iohn, king Edward’s fourth borne sonne,

He disposest lord Roger Mortimer,

In Richard daies proclaim’d apparant heire,

Who had duke Lionel’s daughter for his mother,

Edward’s third sonne, to Iohn the elder brother:

Yet did this Henrie after much vnrest

Die in the throne of England’s crowne possest:

And to his Henrie did bequeath the same,

The fifth and most illustrate of that name:

Who in those few yeares of his happie raigne

Did the French crowne to England’s right regaine:

Di’d in his manly prime, left his yong sonne

Henrie the sixth to sit vpon the throne:

Gainst whom Plantagenet, Yorke’s noble duke

Stood for his right, who his iust title tooke

From Lionel, fourth by descent from him:

Yet in his quarrell lost both life and lim:

His sonnes reueng’d his death, put Henrie downe,

Edward his eldest did obtaine the crowne:

In peace retain’d it, left it to his heires,

Who are the next, that in their turne appeares:

For they except, heere none exempted be,

Since the sad second Edward’s tragedie:

Two noble youths are left in yongest yeares

Vnto the guidance of the iarring peeres,

Edward the eldest comes from Ludlowe’s towne

To London, with intent to take the crowne,

His vncle Riuers, Vaughan and lord Grey

By Gloster’s plots, who sought their liues decay,

From him remoued are, yong Yorke his brother

Doth flie to sanctuarie with his mother:

Whom Richard his false vncle thence doth bring

Into the tower vnto the vncrown’d king:

Vsurps the crowne, puts both the youths to death,

Who twixt the sheets betrai’d, expire their breath:

The truth of which that we may heere partake,

Their princely ghosts let fame from sleepe awake.”

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

At fame’s first call the princes both ascend,

And both by turne do tell their tragicke end.

Richard.

What wit so sharpe is found in age or youth,

That can distinguish trust from treacherie?

Falsehood puts on the face of simple truth,

And maskes in th’habit of plaine honestie,

When she in heart intends most villanie:

The panther with sweet sauour of her breath

First charmes their sense, whom she hath markt for death.

Of which that future time may mirrours haue

By the fourth Edward’s murdered progenie,

Vp (brother) vp and let vs leaue our graue

In this night’s vision call’d by Memorie,

To tell the truth of our sad tragedie,

That princes happily by vs may learne

Trust from false treason truly to discerne.

And thou, O mournefull muse, that didst of yore

Th’iniurious wrongs of many a prince complaine,

Helpe two deposed princes to deplore

The wretched fortunes which they did sustaine:

Matter thou hast that fits a ruthfull straine,

How Richard’s treason twixt the sheets did smother

The infant orphants of his kingly brother.

That we may keepe decorum in discourse,

And into order may digest it well,

Let vs alternally succeed in course:

And that we turne by turne may truly tell

Of euery circumstance, as it befell,

(Brother) do you begin to mind to call

Our vncle’s treason and our tragicke fall.

Edward.

Must I begin those bloodie pathes to goe,

In which the prints of Gloster’s steps remaine?

Draw neere then all, that list to heare of woe,

And while our restlesse wrongs I do complaine,

If you lament our losse of life and raigne,

Your sighes soft breathed in still plaints of pitie,

Be the sad musike to our dolefull dittie.

The sonnes we are of that renowned lord

Edward the fourth, who did the right restore

To Yorke againe with his victorious sword:

Which Lancaster in three descents that wore,

The royall crowne had kept from vs before,

Ending those iarres, which Gaunt’s ambitious son

With royall Richard’s blood had first begun.

Three brothers had he, whom by fate’s sterne will,

Remorselesse death vntimely did deuoure,

Rutland’s yong earle, whom Clifford’s sword did kill,

Clarence, that duke, who in the fatall tower

In Malmsey But did meet his liue’s last houre:

Richard the yongest, who was stain’d with guilt

Of Clarence blood and ours, both which he spilt.

O that desire of rule so much should blind

The eyes of men, or that to gaine a crowne,

The godlike part of man, th’immortall mind

Of wrathfull heau’n should dare t’incurre the frowne,

And cast it selfe from glorie headlong downe!

O foule ambition, had thy guilt not stain’d

This tyrant’s deeds, what glorie had he gain’d?

For though he from his mother’s painfull throwes,

Mark’t for a plague into the world was brought;

Yet with his sword gainst our Lancastrian foes

In many bloodie broiles he manly fought:

And by his courage high achieuements wrought,

Great Warwicke, Oxford, Clifford, and the rest,

Did finde a valiant heart in Richard’s brest.

10.

But where are now those deedes, or who can say

That they with praise doe glorifie his name?

How can he euer hope to wipe away

Those spots of blood vpon the face of fame,

Making his deeds to blush at his owne shame?

What deedes of fame he did are not his owne,

His euill deeds remaine to him alone.

11.

With their shed blood thy lines I will not staine,

Whom wrackt by troops to graue his hand did send,

To him in his succeeding tragicke straine,

The sad report thereof I doe commend:

Enough it is to tell of our owne end,

To which I will proceede, first setting downe

The plots our vncle vs’d t’obtaine the crowne.

12.

When on the throne my kingly father sat,

All noise of warre new husht, euen in the greene

Of peace late growne discord did set debate

Betweene the kindred of our mother queene,

And twixt the peeres, who with malignant spleene,

Did swell to see them fauor’d of the king,

From whence our future ruine first did spring.

13.

On this, as on a platforme firme and sure,

Gloster did build his hopes for future daies:

Yet England’s Edward hoping to procure

Peace twixt both parts, did seeke by oft assaies

T’appease the strife, which priuie hate did raise:

And at his death did cause them each to other

To giue their faith, as brother vnto brother.

14.

The king scarse dead, from London swift report

With mischiefe at her heeles, or’e hedge and heath

To Ludlowe came, where then we kept our court,

And there with pallid lookes, halfe out of breath,

She tels the tidings of our father’s death,

Bidding me now beware vnhappie fate,

And looke about in this new change of state.

15.

Though time with so few yeeres my youth had crown’d,

That yet scarse fourteene times the heauenly Ram

Had push’t his hornes against the new yeare’s bound,

Since first into the world to light I came:

Yet of my father’s death, when lucklesse fame

Had rung the dolefull knell: then did I know

The danger which I was to vndergoe.

16.

Nurst from my cradle in true discipline,

In my weake childhood I had scand this theame,

That if th’ambitious with cleere sighted eyne

Could but discerne what fortune gaue to them,

When they had gain’d a kingdome’s diadem,

They would account that day their blisse to ende,

In which their steps the throne did first ascend.

17.

Our vncle Riuers, who my gardian was,

With vs at Ludlowe, then being resident,

Did muster vp his powers with vs to passe

To London by short iournies, with intent

All danger in our passage to preuent:

But Gloster did intrappe both him and me,

And by his plots did frustrate his decree.

18.

By wicked wits, the queene he doth perswade,

To thinke that since by her deceased king,

Betwixt the peeres a vnion had beene made,

With such a power, it were a dangerous thing,

The prince her sonne, to London vp to bring:

Distrust might soone disturbe the quiet state,

And giue new life to the old dead debate.

19.

Blinded with this deceit, our carefull mother

Directs her letters, bearing such effect

Vnto our vncle Riuers, her deare brother,

Who doubting lest his foes might ought obiect

T’haue gone amisse, while he did vs protect,

Dismist his powers, and only did retaine

Those, that before were of our daily traine.

20.

All readie now to hoise vp happie saile,

For London we our fatall course do stere,

Our hopes do promise vs a prosperous gale:

But once set forth, clouds thicken in the cleare,

A storme before vs plainly doth appeare,

And with a gust in gulfe of woe cast downe,

Vnhappie I made shipwracke of my crowne.

21.

At Stonie-Stratford, being vpon my way,

The bloodie bore, my vncle, that did aime

At England’s diadem by our decay,

With that false duke, disloyall Buckingham,

With show of humble loue in presence came:

But after tender of their duties done,

To put their plot in practise they begun.

22.

They falsely did accuse of treacherie

My two halfe brothers by our mother’s side,

Lord Marquesse and lord Grey, then standing by,

Objecting gainst them both, that prickt with pride

They sought the realme and me, yet yong, to guide;

And with our vncle Riuers, thought to bring

The noble peeres in hatred with the king.

23.

Without respect vnto our princely state,

With violent hands they beare them both away,

Too weake were we of power t’auert that fate,

Which in our sight did threaten their decay,

Our words were weaker, Gloster bore the sway:

Riuers my vncle, Vaughan, Grey, all three,

After that time I neuer more did see.

24.

Rob’d of my friends, to London we are led,

Vpon the way mourning with sighes and teares,

The wretched fate to fall vpon my head,

Griefe with a multitude of pensiue feares

Sits heauie on my heart: yet in my eares

Gloster to please me, sings this syren’s song,

“All should be well:” when nought was ment but wrong.

25.

Conuey’d to London, where while I abide

Within the bishop’s place, I little knew

Of any tidings, that did then betide,

The tyrant, (brother Yorke) then aim’d at you

To hasten that, which after did ensue:

Then take your turne againe, and briefely tell,

What in my absence vnto you befell.

Richard.

I shall obey, and truly bring to light

The darke dissembling, and the much vntroth

Of periur’d peeres, to rob vs of our right,

How our queene mother carefull of us both,

With me to holy sanctuarie goth,

And of our vncle’s plots to bring me thence,

Which was the only bar to his pretence.

27.

When fame with terrour vnto our queene mother,

Then dewing our dead father’s cheekes with teares,

Brought the surprise of her two sonnes and brother,

O how those tidings tingled in her eares!

Suspitious thoughts begat a thousand feares,

Forecasting by that vnexpected harme,

The greater mischiefe of a following storme.

28.

In this distraction of a doubtfull mind

In change of state, seeing such crosse fortune’s frowne,

And doubting in distressefull times to find,

Her friends turn’d foes to helpe to plucke vs downe,

And to bereaue vs of our father’s crowne:

With me to sanctuarie she did goe,

There to remaine in safetie from our foe.

29.

Of which, when tidings to the tyrant came,

As one depriued of his wished pray,

His wits best engines he begins to frame,

And if they faile, he doth resolue t’assay

With hands prophane to fetch me thence away:

While from his reach I there did safely won,

He could not finish what he had begun.

30.

Which our queene mother did presage before,

And thought by force of sanctuarie’s right,

Safely to shield vs from the cruell bore,

Who with his tuskes the elder durst not smite,

While I the yonger liu’d in such safe plight:

By death of th’one, the crowne how could he gaine,

If th’other after liuing did remaine?

31.

The subtill tyrant to effect his will,

This faire pretence vnto the peeres doth frame,

That for th’auoiding of a generall ill,

Since to the prince and them it was a shame,

That causelesse I should sanctuarie claime,

Vnto the place he thought it no offence,

If not by peace, by force to fetch me thence.

32.

Yet to obtaine our mother queene’s consent,

Vnto the place before he offer wrong,

The cardinall of Yorke for that intent,

A man graue, sober, subtill, wise, and strong,

To charme an eare with his inchanting tongue,

He doth select to further this affaire,

And to his vnknowne plots way to prepare.

33.

When he with many more in presence came,

He with faire speech begins to greet our mother:

Then tels, how to the prince it was a shame,

That she should keepe me there, as if one brother

Did liue in dread of danger by the other,

What griefe my absence was vnto the king,

What comfort by my presence I should bring.

34.

Proceeding on vnto the future ill,

Which might ensue by ouer much distrust,

The strengthning of her inconsiderate will,

With sanctuarie’s gift by claime vniust,

The priuiledge of the place by them discust,

Found not of force to her to yeeld the same,

Who did not truly want, what she did clame.

35.

The queene effectually doth answere all,

He turnes replie, she doth reioyne againe,

And puts such questions to the cardinall,

That at a non plus set, he doth remaine

In silent pause, till chaft in tearmes more plaine,

He threatfully declares the peeres pretence,

Who had decreed by force to fetch me thence.

36.

With this hard speech, our mother in affright,

Round set with doubts, not knowing when or where,

She safely might conuey me from their sight:

In silence stands, her lookes bewrayes pale feare,

Which she would vtter, yet doth oft forbeare,

Till taking me by th’hand, sighes forcing teares,

And teares sad words, no longer she forbeares.

37.

“Behold,” said she, “I to your trust commit

This noble impe, whom with the prince his brother,

When in the generall iudgement God shall sit,

I at your hands will aske: feare with the mother,

What may betide him taken to another:

I make no doubt, but ye will faithfull be,

Yet others may deceiue both you and me.

38.

Heere I resigne:” and at that word she paus’d,

As loth so soone to part with such a thing:

Then with a sigh, to shew that griefe had caus’d

That silent pause, “to you,” quoth she, “I bring

This royall issue of a late dead king:

Yours be the charge, vnto the child proue true:”

Which said, she thus gaue me my last adew.

39.

“Farewell my little sonne, God be thy aid:”

With that she turn’d about, and wept for woe:

Then being about to part, she turn’d and said,

“Kisse me my sonne, kisse me before thou go,

When we shall kisse againe, our God doth know:”

We kist, she sigh’d, I wept and did refuse

So to depart from her; but could not chuse.

40.

Leauing the queene, I absent, to deplore me,

For that I was an infant then in yeares,

To the Star-chamber in their armes they bore me,

Where our false vncle to delude the peeres,

My pensiuenesse with words of comfort cheeres:

“Now welcome from my heart, my lord,” quoth he,

Then tooke me in his armes and kissed me.

41.

Thence brother vnto you I was conuey’d

Then in that place, where London’s prelats dwell,

Whence like two lambes vnto a wolfe betrai’d,

We to the Tower were led: where what befell,

Since it concernes you most, you best can tell:

Be it your turne, our sorrowes to deplore,

For I, alas, for sighes can say no more.

Edward.

If I must tell the horror of that night,

In which by death our soules were set on wing,

Let sorrow lend vs her sad pen t’indite

In lines of woe, what I to light shall bring,

And teach our muse so ruthfully to sing,

That the sad reader’s ruthfull eyes may drop,

Teares at each point, to teach him where to stop.

43.

Within the Tower, of which my brother spake,

Lockt vp from sight of all our friends we were,

Where while we do expect, when I shall take

The crowne on me, t’whom whilome euery peere,

As to their soueraigne fealtie did sweare:

At last report these fearefull newes doth bring,

We were depos’d, Gloster was England’s king.

44.

Which, when I first did heare, a thrilling feare

Ran through my heart, and sighing thus I spake:

“Alas, that I was borne king Edward’s heire,

Would God my vncle, though from me he take

My crowne, which willingly I could forsake,

Would leaue vs that, which none but God can giue,

And for my kingdome giue vs leaue to liue.”

45.

Thenceforth the tower, which late was deem’d my court,

Is made our prison by a tyrant’s might:

Farewell the world, our day now waxeth short,

Our gladsome sunne of comfort and delight,

Is ouercast with clouds of enuious night,

Winter is come euen in our spring of youth,

Our late sweet smiles are drown’d in teares of ruth.

46.

O noble Edward, from whose royall blood

Life to these infant bodies nature drew,

Thy roses both are cropt euen in the bud:

Why didst thou leaue that bore in time t’ensue,

To spoile those plants that in thy garden grew?

Of all that haruest which thy hand did sow,

Nought haue we reaped but a crop of woe.

47.

Who now amongst thy peeres of note or name,

The sad mishap of thy deare sonnes doth mone?

Where’s Howard, Louell, Barkley, Buckingham,

That bound themselues by oath to thee, that none

But thy faire sonnes should sit vpon the throne?

Woe worth them all, they all do now crie, “downe

With Edward’s heires, let Gloster haue the crowne.”

48.

Ah pitie, in what region didst thou dwell,

Had’st thou been present in those hatefull times,

Then should not I thy shame, O England, tell,

Nor should I seeke to proue thy wicked crimes

Vnto thy face in these impartiall rimes:

Thy princes, on whose state misfortune frown’d,

In thy false people pitie seidome found.

49.

Search time’s records, there see how poysoned Iohn

Stands vp to witnesse thy sterne people’s hate,

See how the second Edward thrust from throne,

Cries for reuenge on people of that state,

Behold thy shame in Richard’s wofull fate:

Gainst whom thy nation vnremorsefull stood,

Till Pomfret’s wals were sprinkled with his blood.

50.

But why seeke I, O England, to reclaime thee,

By sounding former euils in thine eare?

That’s yet vntold, the which alone shall shame thee,

As oft of it as any age shall heare,

Tyrants, in whom no pitie doth appeare,

Shall thee vpbraid, and blushing at thy shame,

For past compare shall register the same.

51.

When as our vncle had obtain’d his will,

The crowne scarce warme on his vsurping head,

Opprest with care to keepe that gotten ill,

He takes no rest of mind in bowre nor bed,

Suspition with the guilt of conscience fed

Breeds doubts, distractions, horrors in his brest,

Which like to hags do haunt him with vnrest.

52.

Each step he treads, by which he climbes his throne,

Is grounded on the death of some great peere:

As he ascends, he sees their blood thereon:

Set in his chaire, shame whispers in his eare

That’s not his place, his nephew should be there:

Doubt askes him, how he hopes t’enioy that long,

When they do liue, whose right he keepes by wrong.

53.

He that had drunke so oft of murder’s cup,

To reach that height to which he did aspire,

Now fils the measure of his mischiefe vp,

And in vaine hope to raise his heart yet higher,

Spares not the blood deduc’d from his owne sire:

Poore orphanes blood, pris’d at a crowne’s rich wealth,

To his sicke state can only promise health.

54.

Whilst euery where his wandring eye doth range

To find some wretch to put this taske vpon,

All things about vs haue a sudden change,

Vngrac’d, not car’d for, comforted of none,

By our owne seruants we are left alone:

Those that bemone our fortunes dare not stay,

By feare constrain’d, with griefe they go their way.

55.

Inconsolatly left in wofull plight,

Each helping other for to waile and weepe,

In dole we spend the day, and in the night

Horror and dread of death doth waking keepe

Our watchfull eyes, and bars them of their sleepe,

Each little noise, each windie puffe of breath

Affrights vs infants with th’approch of death.

56.

Thou fatall building stain’d with noble blood,

Thou den where horror and darke treason lies,

Say if thou wast, since thy foundation stood,

More mou’d to pitie humaine miseries,

Hearing the echo of sad sorrowe’s cries:

Then when yong Yorke with pitious plaints and mones

Powr’d forth his sorrowes to thy senselesse stones.

57.

Euen as sometimes we see a silly lambe,

Which for the slaughter in some fold is pent,

There kept from sight of his deare loued damme,

Her absence with faint bleating doth lament,

Whose only sight can giue it safe content:

So little Yorke in vaine lamenting wept,

That from our mother’s presence he was kept.

58.

Oft, wofull child, thus hast thou question’d mee,

“Where is my mother?” and when I for woe,

Haue turn’d my backe and could not answere thee:

With teares againe, thou wouldest aske to know,

Saying, “I would vnto my mother go:”

But woe, alas, what comfort could I giue thee,

When of all meanes our vncle did depriue mee?

59.

While thus we waste in woe, the tyrant king

With death to right those, whom he did abuse

With wrong in life, finding a way to wing

Mischiefe deuis’d, a wretched man did chuse

For this affaire, which others did refuse:

Tirrill by name, a knight decay’d in state,

Prone t’act this deed in hope of happie fate.

60.

Two desperate villaines, hatefull to those times,

Forrest and Dighton, men obscure and base:

Yet to the world notorious for leaud crimes,

For Tirril’s gold this damned deed embrace,

Who being brought into conuenient place,

Wait for aduantage of the gloomie night

To couer that, which did abhorre the light.

61.

The night comes on, and murder doth begin

To act her part within the fatall Tower,

In that dead time of night, the cloake of sinne,

In which the clock chimes twelue, the chiefest houre

When sleepe on man and beast doth vse his powre,

Both the rude slaues on vs poore infants flie,

As we together in our bed did lie.

62.

Betwixt the sheets they keepe vs downe by force,

We struggle against death with gasping grones,

They in their hard hearts feeling no remorce,

To heare poore soules powre forth such pitious mones,

As might with pitie moue the ruthlesse stones,

Holding the pillowes downe do stop our breath,

Vntill we both giue vp the ghost in death.

63.

Thus hast thou heard, how after all his cares

King Edward’s fruit did perish in the bud,

By which since we may see how pride prepares

Her passage through the spoile of common good,

Without respect t’affinitie of blood:

That thou may make a Mirrour of the same,

A place amongst thy Mirrours we do claime.

THE TRAGICALL LIFE AND
Death of King Richard the Third.

THE ARGUMENT.

“The lamentable fall,” quoth Memorie,

“Of two such noble youths may Mirrours be,

That man high mounted on ambitious wing,

T’obtaine a crowne attempteth any thing:

They dead, their vncle’s tragedie succeeds:

His monstrous birth, his shape, his bloodie deeds:

Horror of conscience haunts him with vnrest,

The mightie Buckingham’s attempt vnblest:

The tyrant enuying noble Richmond’s good,

By treason seekes to spill his royall blood,

His strange escape from France to Britanie,

Pursu’d by Landois his false enemie,

His safe arriue vpon the English coast,

The skilfull marshalling of either hoast

On Bosworth plaine, the order of the fight:

Stout Norfolke’s fall, the king’s part put to flight

His desperat valour shew’d on th’aduerse force,

The shamefull vsage of his conquered corse,

Which that we heare, let fame his ghost compel

To leaue his graue, that he the same may tell.”

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

Through night’s darke shadowes from the house of bale,

The tyrant’s ghost comes vp to tell his tale.

Horror pursues the homicide’s sad soule,

Feare hunts his conscience with an hue and crie,

That drinkes the blood of men in murder’s bowle,

Suspitious thoughts do rest in life denie,

Hate seldome suffers him in peace to die,

By heau’n’s inuiolate doome it is decreed,

Whose hands shed blood, his heart in death should bleed.

I was to noble Yorke the yongest sonne

Of foure, which he begot in lawfull bed,

First Edward was, the next place Edmund wonne,

Rutland’s yong earle by Clifford’s hand strooke dead,

Clarence the third, to death vntimely lead:

I was the last: of all the foure the worst,

By heau’n and nature in my birth accurst.

When my sad mother in her fruitfull wombe

Bore me a painfull burthen to and fro,

Then the babe’s infant bed had been my tombe,

Had not keene rasors to her paine and woe

Cut me a way, vnto the world to goe:

Nature did grudge to think, that from her wombe

A man-like monster to the world should come.

When first I came into this world’s huge vast,

My birth was not as others wont to bee:

First did my feet come forth, as if in hast

The child of discord had been then set free,

To cause the wretched world to disagree,

Heau’n at that time told b’inauspitious starres

Nations far off of England’s ciuil warres.

As hunger-steru’d to flesh my iawes in blood

I readie toothed came, as who would say,

Nature by signes vnto the world hath show’d

How fiercely he shall bite another day,

That in his mother’s wombe well toothed lay,

And maruaile ’twas, seeing viper-like he came,

He was not borne by death of his owne damme.

If like a cunning painter on a frame

My shape vnto the world I could descrie,

And with a curious pensell paint the same

In perfect colours, each spectatour’s eie

Would by my lookes into my manners prie:

The bodie’s ill-shapte limbes are oft defin’d,

For signes of euill manners in the mind.

Little I was, and of a small compact,

My left side shoulder higher then the right,

Both crooked were, and therewithall contract

Into my backe, so that in all men’s sight

I did appeare a most mishapen wight:

And hard it was to iudge, if that my soule

Or limbes ill fashion’d feature were more foule.

The deeds of noble Yorke I not recite,

Done in those fatall daies of miserie,

Nor tell th’euents of euery speciall fight,

As at Saint Albones, Bloreheath, Banburie,

Northhampton, Barnet, Wakefield, Teukesburie,

Seeing they are often spoken of before,

By those, that heere their wofull falles deplore.

Th’induction to my storie shall begin

Where the sixth Henrie’s Edward timelesse fell:

Sonne to stout Margaret that noble queene,

Of whom since heere no poet’s pen doth tell:

Though hee a peerelesse prince deserue it well,

In breefe we will describe the manner all

Of our sterne deede and his vnhappie fall.

10.

His mother queene, the manlike Margaret,

After so many a fall in fight cast downe,

With her young Edward and stout Somerset

Did lastly hazard all for England’s crowne

In fight at Teukesburie: but heau’n did frowne,

Wenlocke and Somerset fled both away,

Left vs the field, and lost their queene the day.

11.

The forlorne prince was taken as he fled

By Richard Crofts, a knight of Glostershire,

Who hearing of the proclamation spread,

That, who could bring him forth, should, for his hire,

Duely receiue a hundred poundes by yeere:

The prince he brought to end our ancient strife,

With promise made, that we should saue his life.

12.

In presence brought, the king to him thus spake:

“Fond wretch,” said he, “what did thy thoughts excite

To come within my kingdome’s bounds, and take

Rebellious armes t’oppugne thy soueraigne’s right,

And traytor-like in field ’gainst me to fight?”

To which the prince, in whose bold breast did lie

An inbred courage, made this stout replie:

13.

“I came,” said he, “to set my father free,

Whom thou in hold vniustly dost retaine:

I came to reobtaine my dignitie,

And in the throne to seate my sire againe,

In which as king thou wrongfully dost raigne:

I am by might enforc’d to stoope to thee,

Who should by right be subiect vnto mee.”

14.

The king being mou’d with this his stout replie,

Thrust him away, in whose heroicke brest

My brother Clarence, Hastings, Grey, and I,

Did sheath our blades, which fact heau’n did detest,

Permitting vs not vnreueng’d to rest:

For none of vs in peacefull bed did lie,

When from this world our wretched soules did flie.

15.

He dead, his sire, that poore deposed king,

The aged Henrie, sixt of that same name,

Liu’d in the Tower, depriu’d of euery thing

Which to a king pertain’d: yet did he frame

His thoughts with patience to endure the same,

Liuing a paterne of a patient spirit,

Who for his fame a golden verse doth merit.

16.

I thought, that while this noble king had breath,

His friends my brother’s peace would still inuade:

Wherefore I did contriue his sudden death,

And in the Tower the butcher’s part I plaide,

For th’hatefull point of that same bloodie blade,

Scarce cold with luke-warm blood of his owne sonne,

Vnlooked for, I through his sides did runne.

17.

He dead, the battels fought in field before,

Were turn’d to meetings of sweet amitie,

The war-gods thundring cannons dreadfull rore,

And ratling drum-sounds warlike harmonie,

To sweet tun’d noise of pleasing minstralsie,

The haile-like shot, to tennis balles were turn’d,

And sweet perfumes in stead of smoakes were burn’d.

18.

God Mars laid by his launce and tooke his lute,

And turn’d his rugged frownes to smiling lookes,

In stead of crimson fields, warre’s fatall fruits,

He bath’d his limbes in Cypris’ warbling brookes,

And set his thoughts vpon her wanton lookes,

All noise of warre was husht vpon our coast,

Plentie each where in easefull pride did boast.

19.

The king, who swims in streames of court delights,

Plaies like the fish so long with pleasure’s bait,

That on her deadly bane he often bites,

Or like the mariner infortunate,

Sayling in seas where syrens lie in wait:

To please the sense he lends his eare so long,

Till he be charm’d with their inchanting song.

20.

Meane time not made to feast an amorous eie,

I fox-like lurking lay about the king,

Into the actions of the peeres I prie,

With cautie obseruation of each thing,

While with their wanton sou’raigne reuelling:

They vainly spend in Venus vassallage

The tedious houres of that peacefull age.

21.

But clouds do thicken in this peacefull cleere,

Warwicke’s faire daughter forc’d by vnkind fate,

Forsakes lord Clarence her beloued feere,

Who purposing to take for second mate,

The only heire of some hie towring state,

Did hope t’espouse with nuptials solemnely,

Duke Charles his daughter, heire of Burgundie.

22.

Which when the queene and her allies doth heare,

At Clarence fortunes daily they repine,

And to the king in hast this newes do beare,

Who to their words his will doth so incline,

That Clarence match is broke by his designe:

King Edward iealous of his children’s fate,

Gainst Clarence in his heart beares secret hate.

23.

This opportunitie I straight do snatch,

Striking the steele while yet the fire is in,

In the king’s brest such hatred I do hatch

Against our brother, that his hand I win

To further me in my intended sinne:

For that blind riddle of the letter G,

George lost his life, it tooke effect in me.

24.

Thus hauing halfe my purpose in my hand

By Clarence death, I cast how to confound

The noble queene’s neere kinsmen, who would band

Themselues gainst me by law of nature bound,

When Edward’s bodie should be laid in ground:

But while the king, my brother did suruiue,

To worke their woe, nought durst my thoughts contriue.

25.

Yet whom in court I did perceiue, that bore

A grudging heart against their vpstart state:

My brother’s death to him I did deplore,

Auouching them with their malignant hate,

T’haue been the authors of his wofull fate,

Which at such odds the peeres and them did set,

That neuer age such discord did beget.

26.

Fortune in midst of this their wicked strife,

With pleasing looke so smil’d on my intent,

That by the sudden losse of Edward’s life,

My kingly brother, she did seeme t’assent

To grant me good successe in the euent:

The king late sick, leaues heere the peeres at oddes,

And flies the place of mortall men’s abodes.

27.

His corps scarce couered with a clod of clay,

His kingly ghost of heauie newes to tell:

Earle Riuers, Vaughan, and lord Richard Grey,

The kindred of the queene I did compell

To follow him, amongst the dead to dwell,

Vnhappie Hastings, Buckingham and I

At Pomfret castle caused them to die.

28.

They dead, protector by consent of peeres

To hold the sterne in state I chosen am:

My nephew yet being in his yongest yeares,

Which once attain’d by helpe of Buckingham,

To higher things ambitiously I aime,

Who for my promise of promotion, gaue

His minde to mine, in each thing I could craue.

29.

Hastings, whose loyaltie stood in my way,

Vpon his fall to build my future power,

As he at counsell sate vpon a day

With other lordings in the fatall Tower,

By my deceit there met his liue’s last houre:

Where he, fond lord, did think himselfe most sure,

His best deem’d friends swift death did him procure.

30.

The way made plaine by plucking others downe,

That might withstand in such a generall ill,

With some pretence of title to the crowne,

To win the giddie people to our will,

A man whose tongue could honie drops distill,

One doctor Shaw, then deem’d a great diuine,

To vndertake this taske we did assigne.

31.

He in a sermon fitting mine intent,

Did seeke to proue my brother’s progenie

Vnlawfull issue: and with my consent

Chargeth my mother with adulterie,

Of Edward’s and lord Clarence bastardie,

Auouching me to be Yorke’s true borne child,

On whom our house their hopes might only build.

32.

To this his sermon, as it was decreed,

Rushing amongst the people in I came,

Where he most impudent, in hope to breed

Affection in the audience did not shame,

On me with loud applauses to exclame:

For flying from his text when I came in,

In praise of me, thus did the wretch begin.

33.

“This is,” quoth he, “that very noble duke,

The speciall paterne of true chiualrie,

Who both in fauour and in princely looke,

As well as in the mind’s true qualitie,

Doth represent his father’s physnomie:”

Thus did he seeke the people’s hearts t’incline,

But purchas’d nought but his disgrace and mine.

34.

For after, when disloyall Buckingham

Vnto the commons that set speech did make,

Which with inuectiue scandall he did frame

Against the late dead king: when much he spake

To moue them, me for lawfull prince to take:

Strooke dumbe with shame, of so abhorr’d a thing,

Not one amongst them crie, “God saue the king.”

35.

After I had obtain’d by tyrannie,

The fancied blisse of empire and renowne:

I thought so long as Edward’s progenie

Did breath on earth, fortune did seeme to frowne,

Threatning to cast my new got glorie downe:

Wherefore, betwixt the sheets with cruell paine,

Vnhappie I did cause them to be slaine.

36.

Thinking thenceforth to enioy all worldly blisse,

And with my crowne’s delight my soule to feast:

What I expect, I do not only misse,

But am depriued eu’n of that small rest,

Of which before that time I was possest:

Conscience my former deeds in question brings,

And frights my guiltie soule with fearefull things.

37.

Each night, when quiet sleepe should close mine eies,

Long waking on my pallat I do lie,

And if by chance sleepe doth my sense surprise,

Then doth illusion set before mine eie

My murthered nephewes, who aloud do crie,

Calling for vengeance for that bloodie sinne,

In strangling them the diadem to winne.

38.

Then starting vp from forth my naked bed,

With sword in hand I frantike-like would flie

About my chamber, and orecome with dread,

Vnto my guard I oftentimes would crie,

That treason in my chamber hid did lie:

Thus the remembrance of my wicked deed,

In me euen sleeping, did strange horror breed.

39.

In day time wheresoeuer I did go,

My watchfull eyes I whirled round about,

Fearing the onset of some sudden foe,

And to be out of dreadfull danger’s doubt,

My bodie priuily was fenc’d about:

Vpon my dagger still I kept my hand,

Readie to stab those that by me did stand.

40.

After the murther of my nephewes twaine,

Not long it was ere Buckingham and I

Began to iarre, for which my lawlesse raigne

Not long did last, his last conspiracie

Did end his owne life and my royaltie:

Who gag’d his honor t’helpe me to the crowne,

With his owne death did help to bring me downe.

41.

Of Hereford the dukedome he did claime,

Which was the chiefest cause of our debate:

For his pretended title to the same

Did touch the kingly title of our state,

For which his sute I spurn’d in spitefull hate,

And rated him with speeches minatorie,

Which was the fall of my vsurped glorie.

42.

When thus the wrathfull duke did plainly see

His sute reiected, and himselfe despis’d,

He cast how to auenge himselfe on mee,

And in his thoughts my ruine he deuis’d:

In which a bold attempt he enterpris’d,

For he in battell bold himselfe did band,

Against me for to fight with force of hand.

43.

Many with him against me did accord,

For when the sudden fame abroad was spread,

How noble Richmond that Lancastrian lord,

My brother’s heire, Elizabeth should wed,

Many that were that often wisht me dead:

Vowing to spend their blood in Richmond’s right,

And to assist the duke with all their might.

44.

Then were commotions raised euery day,

The duke in Shropshire hard by Shrewsburie,

The proud wilde Welchmen troopt in battell ray,

Who vainly vaunted on their chiualrie,

As in the sequell they did testifie:

Yet their example many did excite,

To moue rebellion to my heart’s despight.

45.

In Yorke-shire marquesse Dorset with his crew,

Gainst me in field to fight were boldly bent,

In Deuonshire both the Courtnies did pursue

Those that my cause did fauour, and in Kent

The Guilfords were in armes for that intent:

Thus I in euery corner of this land,

Was round beset with force of foe-men’s hand.

46.

Yet from my youth in warre affaires being bred,

I knew that if in this conspiracie

I did without delay cut off the head,

The rest being stricken with timiditie,

Would soone be quell’d by force or pollicie:

Wherefore with all my power I did pursue

The duke of Buckingham and his Welch crue.

47.

He towards Glocester his way did take,

There to haue ioyned with the westerne powre,

But as in safetie passage for to make,

He with his host by Seuerne’s coast did scowre,

Heau’ns cloudie mountaines brake, and many a showre

Through darksome aire, from heau’ns wide floud-gates fel,

Which made the wombe of raging Seuerne swel.

48.

The shores did shrinke, the lustie waues did grow,

Trees hid their heads, dumbe beasts on hilles were drown’d,

Infants in cradles wandred to and fro:

Yea those that of the floud stroue to win ground,

Both men and horse the waters did confound:

And to this day the Seuerne men by name,

Stout Buckingham’s great water call the same.

49.

Thus the bold duke was of his purpose crost,

Who of my swift approch, when he did heare:

In good array did range his warlike host.

But they, before in field we did appeare,

Turning their backes put on the wings of feare,

Leading their duke the way, who thus distrest

Durst not abide, but fled amongst the rest.

50.

Who tooke himselfe in his vnhappie flight,

Vnto his seruant’s house vpon the way,

Hight Humfrey Banester, a wicked wight,

Who fosterd by this duke did yet betray

His lord and master, to his liue’s decay:

By him descri’d he in disguise was taken

In a darke wood, of all his friends forsaken.

51.

He dead, the rest of his conspiracie

Dispers’d their powers, and each one fled his way,

Some fled to Richmond, then in Britannie,

And others here in England lurking lay,

Expecting the approch of that wish’d day,

When Richmond should on England’s coast arriue,

Mee of my crowne and kingdome to depriue.

52.

But I, not slacking opportunitie

In this beginning of my good successe,

Did studdie both by strength and policie,

Richmond’s increasing powers to suppresse,

Although in vaine; for heauen, his cause did blesse:

The people’s loue did towards him incline,

Wishing in hart, that he might victor shine.

53.

To giue content vnto my carefull minde,

One Peter Landois, cheefe of Britannie

Vnder the duke, with gold I did so blinde,

That hee did promise mee by policie

To bring the earle into my custodie:

The Britaine duke his friend did only stand,

To whom my subiects dayly fled the land.

54.

This Peter was th’earle’s onelie seeming frend,

And in pretence of loue, a warlike band

Of men at his owne cost he did commend

Vnto the earle, to be at his command,

When hee should purpose to inuade this land:

But when towards England hee was in his way,

His purpose was that they should him betray.

55.

The earle reseru’d vnto more happie fate,

Informed was of this false treacherie,

Wherefore t’escape their hands, that lay in wait,

To take away his life, he priuilie

Did into Aniou flie from Britannie,

To which as hee did flie in speedie hast

With greedie pursuit hee was follow’d fast.

56.

But in a thick wood standing by the way,

He in his seruant’s weedes himselfe did clad,

And caused him the master’s part to play,

While hee himselfe fast by his side full glad

On foote did runne like a young lustie lad,

Whereby at length hee past without mischance

The British confines to the realme of France.

57.

Thither stout Oxford, his old hate to show

Vnto our house of Yorke, repaire did make,

To ioyne with Richmond my Lancastrian foe:

Then Brandon, Blunt and Cheynie did forsake

Me and my part, with Richmond part to take,

Which newes my daylie dread doth so increase

That I no houre can liue in restfull peace.

58.

To whom I might giue trust, I did not know,

Since seeming friends from mee do daylie flie,

In court each one doth wish my ouerthrow,

In towne and citie euery one doth crie

Shame on my deedes of death and tyrannie:

Thus in my rule I liue belou’d of none,

Dreaded of many, hated of euerie one.

59.

To my distresse some comfort to applie,

And that I may remoue the onely thing,

On which earle Richmond’s hopes doe most relie:

Now such strange mischiefe I doe set on wing,

That neuer age the like to light did bring:

Through blood to incest I intend to swim,

To breake the match betwixt my neece and him.

60.

For Anne my queene, great Warwicke’s daughter deere,

By poyson’s force I sent vnto the dead:

Which done, my troubled thoughts I vp did cheere,

In hope I might my brother’s daughter wed,

And bring her vnto mine incestuous bed:

Foule sinne I now do feare in no degree,

That I from feare of Richmond may be free.

61.

Her mother queene (strange that it should bee so)

Wonne with faire words consents vnto the same:

Who forc’d by feare, or by distresse brought low,

In hope to raise her state againe (fond dame)

In vaine doth wooe her daughter in my name:

Which heau’n abhorring hastens on my end,

And by my death preuents what I pretend.

62.

The royall virgin doth so much detest

My damn’d intent that I no grace can finde,

And daily newes my thoughts doe so molest

With foes inuasion, that my troubled minde

Is altogether vnto care inclinde:

Gainst those abrode that doe intend t’inuade,

While I prepare, at home I am betrai’d.

63.

At Nottingham, where then in court I lay,

Inform’d I was, that th’hated enemie

Had taken land, at which in much dismaie,

Turning my feare to rage, at last I crie

For vengeance on my subiects treacherie,

And forc’d to trie my cause by bloodie blowes,

I mustred vp my men to meete my foes.

64.

When that I heard where Richmond did ariue,

I did digest my bands in battel ray:

In ranke forth marcht my footemen fiue and fiue,

Who in that order kept the readie way,

That led directly where earle Richmond lay:

Then wings of horsemen coasting euerie side,

Did vnto bloodie battell boldly ride.

65.

In midst of whom, vpon a tall white steede

Mounted I sat with cruell countenance,

Still crying out, march on, march on with speede:

And in this sort without incumberance,

To Lecester we forward did aduance:

Through which we past to Bosworthe’s ample plaine,

Where I did end my wreched life and reigne.

66.

And there vpon an hill, Anne Beame by name,

I downe did pight my standerd, and fast by

My campe in martiall order I did frame:

Richmond fast by vs on the plaine did lie,

Next morne the chance of battell for to trie:

For it was euening ere we could attaine

To meete each other vpon Bosworth plaine.

67.

The sad night’s cold forerunner Vesper faire,

Dispreades her golden lockes in easterne skie:

Then courts of guard are set with speciall care,

Lest that our foes aduantage to espie,

In ambuskado neere should lurking lie:

And euery one with hearts to heau’n did pray

To scape the horror of th’approching day.

68.

The heau’ns that in eternall booke do keepe

The register, for life or deathe’s decree,

By vision strange did shew to me in sleepe,

That next daie’s cheerefull light the last should be,

That in this world I euermore should see:

As in my tent, on bed I slumbring lie,

Horrid aspects appear’d vnto mine eye.

69.

I thought that all those murthered ghosts, whom I

By death had sent to their vntimely graue,

With balefull noise about my tent did crie,

And of the heau’ns with sad complaint did craue,

That they on guiltie wretch might vengeance haue:

To whom I thought the Iudge of heau’n gaue eare,

And gainst me gaue a iudgement full of feare.

70.

For loe, eftsoones, a thousand hellish hags

Leauing th’abode of their infernall cell,

Seasing on me, my hatefull bodie drags

From forth my bed into a place like hell,

Where feends did naught but bellow, howle and yell,

Who in sterne strife stood gainst each other bent,

Who should my hatefull bodie most torment.

71.

Tormented in such trance long did I lie,

Till extreame feare did rouze me where I lay,

And caus’d me from my naked bed to flie:

Alone within my tent I durst not stay,

This dreadfull dreame my soule did so affray:

When wakte I was from sleepe, I for a space

Thought I had been in some infernall place.

72.

About mine eares a buzzing feare still flew,

My fainting knees languish for want of might,

Vpon my bodie stands an icie dew:

My heart is dead within, and with affright

The haire vpon my head doth stand vpright:

Each limbe about me quaking, doth resemble

A riuer’s rush, that with the wind doth tremble.

73.

Thus with my guiltie soule’s sad torture torne,

The darke night’s dismall houres I past away,

But at cocke’s crow the message of the morne,

My feare I did conceale, lest men should say

Our foes approch my courage did dismay:

And as dire need did me thereto constraine,

My troopes of men I marshall’d on the plaine.

74.

Who with swift concurse fill’d the smothred ground,

And did enranke themselues in braue array,

The foreward with bold bowmen did abound,

Commixt with pikes to beare the violent sway,

When on our front the foe should giue th’assay,

And to their forme in fight good heed to take,

Iohn duke of Northfolke chieftaine I did make.

75.

After this vantguard I my selfe did goe,

And round about me chosen men of might

Did range themselues to shield me from the foe,

Our skirts were lin’d with horse, and fit for fight,

Each place was stuft with men in armes well dight:

In this array I troopt my armed traine,

To meete earle Richmond on the equall plaine.

76.

Who wisely did his folke to fight instruct,

Iohn earle of Oxford did the vaward lead,

The right wing Gilbert Talbot did conduct,

The left wing sir Iohn Sauage, one that fled

From me to Richmond for to saue his head:

Richmond himselfe with Pembrooke that stout knight,

The middle ward did lead vnto the fight.

77.

As thus both hosts stood each in other’s sight,

Expecting when the trumpe, whose blast doth breed

Courage in men, would call them forth to fight,

Arm’d in bright steele vpon a stately steed,

From ranke to ranke I rode about with speed,

And fit for fight my souldiers hearts to make,

Hie, and with courage thus to them I spake.

78.

“Fellowes in armes, and my aduenturous friends,

Giue heedfull eare to that which I shall say:

Be valiant hearted, thinke vpon the ends

Of fight or flight, of triumph or decay,

Both which the battell doth propose this day,

Th’one of which doth bring eternall fame,

The other ignomie and dastard shame.

79.

O thinke vpon the matchlesse valiancie

Of our forefathers deeds in former daies,

And let vs counterchecke the memorie

Of their stout acts by that immortall praise,

To which our deeds our names this day may raise:

Yea, let vs thinke gainst whom we come to fight,

The thought of which might cowards harts excite.

80.

First with our foe-men’s captaine to begin,

A weake Welch milke-sop, one that I do know

Was nere before for fight in battle seene,

Not able of himselfe as guide to goe

In marshall discipline against his foe:

But backt by his consorts, a sort of slaues,

Against his will vs now in field he braues.

81.

And for his company, a sort they bee

Of rascall French and British runawaies,

People far more couragious for to flee,

Then stand in fight, whose faint hearts former daies

Could witnesse to our land and their dispraise:

Who doubtlesse now shall by your valours die,

Or else at least from battell wounded flie.

82.

That bearing wounds vnto their natiue home,

Their fellowes may be strucke with heartlesse dread,

Fearing in future times againe to come

Into our kingdome with bold banners spred,

Gainst souldiers that in England’s bounds are bred:

Then courage, friends, think on renowne and fame

For which we fight, let cowards flie with shame.

83.

And as for me, assure your selues this day

I will triumph by glorious victorie,

Or win a lasting name for liue’s decay:

Take then example by my valiancie,

And boldly fight against your enemie:

You for your wiues and goods, I for my crowne,

Both for our countrie’s good, all for renowne.

84.

Aduance them captaines, forward to the fight,

Draw forth your swords, each man addresse his sheeld,

Hence faint conceites, die thoughts of coward flight,

To heauen your hearts, to fight your valours yeeld:

Behold our foes do braue vs in the field,

Vpon them friends, the cause is yours and mine,

Saint George and conquest on our helmes doth shine.”

85.

This said, the dreadfull trumpet loudlie blowes,

To bring them forward to the furious fight,

Then did the bowmen bend their stift string’d bowes;

The souldiers buckled on their helmets bright;

The bilmen shooke their bils, and euerie wight

Did proue his fatall weapon on the ground,

Ready prepar’d his foemen to confound.

86.

The archers drew, the fatall fight began,

Thick flew the shafts, many to death were done:

Which once being spent, close ioyn’d they man to man:

Then did sterne slaughter through the battell runne;

Not any one at first his foe did shunne:

But equallie their heads they vp did beare

In fight, not stooping vnto seruile feare.

87.

Stout Norfolke in the forefront boldlie stood,

Imploying deeds of death against the foe;

Not fear’d, in midst of dust, of death and blood,

Th’extreamest of his vtmost strength to show,

To winne his soueraigne’s weale by his owne woe:

Where he, braue lord, by friends vnkindlie left,

In manlie fight was of his life bereft.

88.

For in my cheefest hope to winne the day,

Appointed by the heauen’s most iust decree,

My souldiers in the forefront shranke away,

Which heauie newes declared was to mee

By one that counsel’d mee away to flee:

But I his counsell rashly did forsake,

And vnto him in furie thus I spake:

89.

“Curst be thy coward thoughts that thinke on flight,

And curst those traytors that are fled away:

I am resolu’d in this daie’s dreadfull fight,

To lose my life, or win a glorious day:

Flie those that will, for I am bent to stay:”

This said, my plum’d deckt helme I downe did close,

And with my eager launce made toward my foes.

90.

Hie was the furie of my desperate fight,

And like a tempest in a stormie day,

When I did see vnto my heart’s despight,

Where Richmond’s standard stood without delay:

Through th’armed men to it I made my way,

The which, with William Brandon that bold knight,

To ground I downe did cast in Richmond’s sight.

91.

Many beneath my conquering strokes did fall,

Each one did flie from me with coward shame,

But one whom sir Iohn Cheynie men did call,

Who for huge swinge of strength did beare the name

Of all the captaines that with Richmond came,

Who single did my charge at first repell,

Though in the end beneath my sword he fell.

92.

But as with him alone in fight I stood,

Behold with foes I was incircled round,

Who did imbrue their swords in my deare blood,

Where mastered with the smart of many a woond,

I bleeding fell vnto the dustie ground:

Where cursing Richmond and his conquering crue,

Thence in disdainfull sort my sad soule flew.

93.

I being slaine, those that for me did fight,

Turning their backes, away forthwith did flie,

In field my slaughtered bodie in despight,

Drag’d from the place where it did bleeding lie,

Was naked made to euery vassals eye,

Despoil’d of all those kingly robes I wore:

Thus they to Leicester my bodie bore.

94.

Behind a slaue vpon a halting iade

All naked as I was, hog-like I lay:

And in that sort with blood and dust array’d,

To Leicester they bore me, whence that day

To field I came in pompe and rich aray:

Where to the graue my bodie they commend:

Thus had my bloodie life a bloodie end.

95.

Th’ambitious prince, whose hand vniustly gripes

Another’s right to make himselfe a king,

Suffers the smart of many furies stripes:

Th’internall worme his conscience still doth sting,

His soule t’a fearefull iudgement death doth bring:

Of which let my vsurped royaltie,

Remaine a Mirrour in this historie.

96.

My storie told, I may no longer stay,

My grieued ghost doth smell the morning’s aire:

The night on sable wings flies fast away,

The houres in east expecting daies repaire,

On cloudie hill sets vp her siluer chaire?

My guiltie ghost her light may not behold,

Adew, remember well what I haue told.

“Our night is at an end,” quoth Memorie,

“With which we heere will end our historie:

After this tyrant’s fall, that dismall night,

Which did obscure this kingdome’s faire day-light,

Did take an end: heere some auspitious star

Twixt Yorke and Lancaster did end the iar,

Appointing Richmond that Lancastrian knight,

T’inoculate his Red Rose with the White:

Heere therefore with this blissefull vnitie,

We will shut vp our tragicke historie,

And thou, whose pen we do appoint to write

Those Mirrours past, which thou hast heard this night;

Awake from sleepe, and let thy willing pen

Set forth this dreame vnto the view of men.”

This said, with fame she vanisht from my sight,

This was the vision of a winter’s night.

FINIS.

END OF PART IV.

[THE
Mirrour for Magistrates,
AS]
ENGLANDS
ELIZA:
or
The Victoriovs and Trivmphant Reigne
of that Virgin Empresse of
sacred memorie,
ELIZABETH,
Queene of England, France and Ireland, &c.
PART V.
By RICHARD NICCOLS,
Oxon. Mag. Hall.
From the edition imprinted by Felix
Kyngston, 1610.

ENGLANDS
ELIZA:
OR
THE VICTORIOVS AND
TRIVMPHANT REIGNE OF THAT
VIRGIN EMPRESSE OF SACRED
memorie, Elizabeth, Queene of
England, France and Ireland,
&c.

AT LONDON
Imprinted by Felix Kyngston.

1610.

TO THE VERTVOVS
Ladie, the Ladie Elizabeth Clere,
Wife to the Right Worshipfull
Sir Francis Clere, Knight.

My muse, that whilome wail’d those Briton kings,

Who vnto her in vision did appeare,

Craues leaue to strengthen her night-weathered wings,

In the warm sun-shine of your golden Clere:

Where she (faire ladie) tuning her chast layes

Of England’s empresse to her hymnicke string,

For your affect, to heare that virgin’s praise,

Makes choice of your chast selfe to heare her sing:

Whose royall worth (true vertue’s paragon)

Heere made me dare t’ingraue your worthie name;

In hope, that vnto you the same alone

Will so excuse me of presumptuous blame,

That gracefull entertaine my muse may find,

And euer beare such grace in thankfull mind.

Your Ladiship’s euer humblie
at command,
Richard Niccols.

THE INDVCTION.

THE FAMOVS LIFE ANDDeath of King Arthvr.

THE LIFE AND DEATHof King Edmvnd, svrnamedIronside.

THE LAMENTABLE LIFE ANDdeath of Prince Alfred, brother toKing Edmund Ironside.

THE TREACHEROVS LIFE ANDinfamous Death of Godwin,Earle of Kent.

THE LIFE AND DEATH OFRobert svrnamed Cvrthose,Duke of Normandie.

THE MEMORABLE LIFE ANDdeath of King Richard the first,surnamed Cœur de Lion.

THE VNFORTVNATE LIFEand Death of King Iohn.

THE WOFVLL LIFE AND DEATHof King Edward the second.

THE LAMENTABLE LIVES ANDDeaths of the two yong Princes,Edward, the Fifth, and hisBrother Richard Dukeof Yorke.

THE TRAGICALL LIFE ANDDeath of King Richard the Third.

TO THE VERTVOVSLadie, the Ladie Elizabeth Clere, Wife to the Right WorshipfullSir Francis Clere, Knight.

THE FAMOVS LIFE AND
Death of King Arthvr.

THE LIFE AND DEATH
of King Edmvnd, svrnamed
Ironside.

THE LAMENTABLE LIFE AND
death of Prince Alfred, brother to
King Edmund Ironside.

THE TREACHEROVS LIFE AND
infamous Death of Godwin,
Earle of Kent.

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF
Robert svrnamed Cvrthose,
Duke of Normandie.

THE MEMORABLE LIFE AND
death of King Richard the first,
surnamed Cœur de Lion.

THE VNFORTVNATE LIFE
and Death of King Iohn.

THE WOFVLL LIFE AND DEATH
of King Edward the second.

THE LAMENTABLE LIVES AND
Deaths of the two yong Princes,
Edward, the Fifth, and his
Brother Richard Duke
of Yorke.

THE TRAGICALL LIFE AND
Death of King Richard the Third.

TO THE VERTVOVS
Ladie, the Ladie Elizabeth Clere,
Wife to the Right Worshipfull
Sir Francis Clere, Knight.