"Their mothers riche array
Was of crimson velvet,"
and Mr. Chappell agrees with him.]
In the dayes of old,
When faire France did flourish,
Storyes plaine have told,
Lovers felt annoye.
The queene a daughter bare, 5
Whom beautye's queene did nourish:
She was lovelye faire
She was her father's joye.
A prince of England came,
Whose deeds did merit fame, 10
But he was exil'd, and outcast:
Love his soul did fire,
Shee granted his desire,
Their hearts in one were linked fast.
Which when her father proved, 15
Sorelye he was moved,
And tormented in his minde.
He sought for to prevent them;
And, to discontent them,
Fortune cross'd these lovers kinde. 20
When these princes twaine
Were thus barr'd of pleasure,
Through the kinges disdaine,
Which their joyes withstoode:
The lady soone prepar'd 25
Her jewells and her treasure;
Having no regard
For state and royall bloode;
In homelye poore array
She went from court away, 30
To meet her joye and hearts delight;
Who in a forest great
Had taken up his seat,
To wayt her coming in the night.
But, lo! what sudden danger 35
To this princely stranger
Chanced, as he sate alone!
By outlawes he was robbed,
And with ponyards stabbed,
Uttering many a dying grone. 40
The princesse, arm'd by love,
And by chaste desire,
All the night did rove
Without dread at all:
Still unknowne she past 45
In her strange attire;
Coming at the last
Within echoes call,—
You faire woods, quoth shee,
Honoured may you bee, 50
Harbouring my heart's delight;
Which encompass here
My joye and only deare,
My trustye friend, and comelye knight.
Sweete, I come unto thee, 55
Sweete, I come to woo thee;
That thou mayst not angry bee
For my long delaying;
For thy curteous staying
Soone amendes Ile make to thee. 60
Passing thus alone
Through the silent forest,
Many a grievous grone
Sounded in her eares:
She heard one complayne 65
And lament the sorest,
Seeming all in payne,
Shedding deadly teares.
Farewell, my deare, quoth hee,
Whom I must never see; 70
For why my life is att an end,
Through villaines crueltye:
For thy sweet sake I dye,
To show I am a faithfull friend.
Here I lye a bleeding, 75
While my thoughts are feeding
On the rarest beautye found.
O hard happ, that may be!
Little knows my ladye
My heartes blood lyes on the ground. 80
With that a grone he sends
Which did burst in sunder
All the tender bands
Of his gentle heart.
She, who knewe his voice, 85
At his wordes did wonder;
All her former joyes
Did to griefe convert.
Strait she ran to see,
Who this man shold bee, 90
That soe like her love did seeme:
Her lovely lord she found
Lye slaine upon the ground,
Smear'd with gore a ghastlye streame.
Which his lady spying, 95
Shrieking, fainting, crying,
Her sorrows could not uttered bee:
Fate, she cryed, too cruell:
For thee—my dearest jewell,
Would God! that I had dyed for thee. 100