Of hevenly poems, O Clyo calde by name
In the college of musis goddess hystoriall,
Adres the to me, whiche am both halt and lame10
In elect uteraunce to make memoryall:
To the for soccour, to the for helpe I call
Myne homely rudnes and drighnes to expelle
With the freshe waters of Elyconys[571] welle.
Of noble actes auncyently enrolde,15
Of famous princis and lordes of astate,[572]
By thy report ar wonte to be extold,
Regestringe trewly every formare date;
Of thy bountie after the usuall rate,
Kyndle in me suche plenty of thy noblès,[573]20
Thes sorrowfulle dities that I may shew expres.
In sesons past who hathe harde or sene
Of formar writinge by any presidente
That vilane hastarddis[574] in ther furious tene,[575]
Fulfyld with malice of froward entente,25
Confeterd[576] togeder of commoun concente
Falsly to slo[577] ther moste singular goode lorde?
It may be registerde of shamefull recorde.
So noble a man, so valiaunt lorde and knight,
Fulfilled with honor, as all the worlde dothe ken;30
At his commaundement, whiche had both day and night
Knyghtis and squyers, at every season when
He calde upon them, as menyall houshold men:
Were no thes commones uncurteis karlis of kynde[578]
To slo their owne lorde? God was not in their minde.35
And were not they to blame, I say also,
That were aboute hym, his owne servants of trust,
To suffre hym slayn of his mortall fo?
Fled away from hym, let hym ly in the dust:
They bode[579] not till the rekening were discust.40
What shuld I flatter? what shulde I glose[580] or paynt?
Fy, fy for shame, their harts wer to faint.
In Englande and Fraunce, which gretly was redouted;[581]
Of whom both Flaunders and Scotland stode in drede;
To whome grete astates obeyde and lowttede;[582]45
A mayny[583] of rude villayns made him for to blede:
Unkindly they slew hym, that holp them oft at nede:
He was their bulwark, their paves,[584] and their wall,
Yet shamfully they slew hym; that shame mot[585] them befal.
I say, ye commoners, why wer ye so stark mad?50
What frantyk frensy fyll[586] in youre brayne?
Where was your wit and reson, ye shuld have had?
What willfull foly made yow to ryse agayne[587]
Your naturall lord? alas! I can not fayne.
Ye armed you with will, and left your wit behynd;55
Well may you be called comones most unkynd.
He was your chyfteyne, your shelde, your chef defence,
Redy to assyst you in every tyme of nede:
Your worship[588] depended of his excellence:
Alas! ye mad men, to far ye did excede:60
Your hap was unhappy, to ill was your spede:
What movyd you agayn hym to war or to fight?
What aylde you to sle your lord agyn all right?
The grounde of his quarel was for his sovereyn lord,
The welle concernyng of all the hole lande,65
Demaundyng soche dutyes as nedis most acord
To the right of his prince which shold not be withstand;
For whos cause ye slew hym with your awne hande:
But had his nobill men done wel that day,
Ye had not been hable to have saide him nay.70
But ther was fals packinge,[589] or els I am begylde:
How-be-it the matter was evident and playne,
For yf they had occupied[590] ther spere and ther shelde,
This noble man doutles had not be slayne.
Bot men say they wer lynked with a double chayn,75
And held with the commouns under a cloke,
Whiche kindeled the wyld fyre that made all this smoke.