VERSES PRESENTED TO KING HENRY THE SEVENTH[273] AT THE FEAST OF ST.
GEORGE CELEBRATED AT WINDSOR IN THE THIRD YEAR OF HIS REIGN.
O moste famous noble king! thy fame doth spring and spreade,
Henry the Seventh, our soverain, in eiche regeon;
All England hath cause thy grace to love and dread,
Seing embassadores seche fore protectyon,
For ayd, helpe, and succore, which lyeth in thie electyone.
England, now rejoyce, for joyous mayest thou bee,
To see thy kyng so floreshe in dignetye.
This realme a seasone stoode in greate jupardie,
When that noble prince deceased, King Edward,
Which in his dayes gate honore full nobly;
After his decesse nighe hand all was marr’d;
Eich regione this land dispised, mischefe when they hard;
Wherefore rejoyse, for joyous mayst thou be,
To see thy kynge so floresh in high dignetye.
Fraunce, Spayne, Scoteland, and Britanny, Flanders also,
Three of them present keepinge thy noble feaste
Of St. George in Windsor, ambassadors comying more,[274]
Iche of them in honore, bothe the more and the lesse,[275]
Seeking thie grace to have thie noble begeste:
Wherefore now rejoise, and joyous maiste thou be,
To see thy kynge so florishing in dignetye.
O knightly ordere, clothed in robes with gartere!
The queen’s grace and thy mother clothed in the same;
The nobles of thie realme riche in araye, aftere,
Lords, knights, and ladyes, unto thy greate fame:
Now shall all embassadors know thie noble name,
By thy feaste royal; nowe joyeous mayest thou be,
To see thie king so florishinge in dignety.
Here this day St. George, patron of this place,
Honored with the gartere cheefe of chevalrye;
Chaplenes synging processyon, keeping the same,
With archbushopes and bushopes beseene nobly;
Much people presente to see the King Henrye:
Wherefore now, St. George, all we pray to thee
To keepe our soveraine in his dignetye.
[273] _Verses presented to King Henry the Seventh, &c._] Ashmole, who
first printed these lines from “_MS. penes Arth. Com. Anglesey, fol._
169,” thinks that they were probably by Skelton: see _Order of the
Garter_, p. 594.
[274] _more_] The rhyme requires “mo.”
[275] _lesse_] The rhyme requires “leste.”
THE EPITAFFE OF THE MOSTE NOBLE AND VALYAUNT JASPAR LATE DUKE OF
BEDDEFORDE.[276]
[Sidenote: Color Ficcio.]
Bydynge al alone, with sorowe sore encombred,
In a frosty fornone, faste by Seuernes syde,
The wordil beholdynge, wherat moch I wondred
To se the see and sonne to kepe both tyme and tyde,
The ayre ouer my hede so wonderfully to glyde,
And howe Saturne by circumference borne is aboute;
Whiche thynges to beholde, clerely me notyfyde,
One verray God to be therin to haue no dowte.
And as my fantasy flamyd in that occupacyon,
Fruteles, deuoyde of all maner gladnes,
Of one was I ware into greate desolacyon,
To the erthe prostrate, rauyuge for madnes;
By menys so immoderate encreased was his sadnes,
That by me can not be compyled
His dedly sorowe and dolorous dystres,
Lyfe in hym by deth so ny was exiled.
Hym better to beholde, so ferre oute of frame,
Nerre I nyghed, farsyd with fragyllyte;
Wherwith Smert I perceyued he called was by name,
Which ouer haukes and houndes had auctoryte;
Though the roume vnmete were for his pouer degre,
Yet fortune so hym farthered to his lorde;
Wherfore him to lye in soch perplexite,
What it myghte mene I gan to mysylfe recorde.
I shogged him, I shaked him, I ofte aboute him went,
And al to knowe why so care his carayn hyued;
His temples I rubbyd, and by the nose him hente;
Al as in vayne was, he coude nat be reuyued;
He waltered, he wende, and with himsilfe stryued,
Such countenaunce contynuyng; but or I parte the place,
Vp his hede he caste; whan his woful goste aryued,
Those wordes saynge with righte a pytous face:
[Sidenote: Metricus primus. Color repeticio.]
O sorowe, sorowe beyonde al sorowes sure!
All sorowes sure surmountynge, lo!
Lo, which payne no pure may endure,
Endure may none such dedely wo!
Wo, alas, ye inwrapped, for he is go!
Go is he, whose valyaunce to recounte,
To recounte, all other it dyd surmounte.
[Sidenote: Metricus secundus. C. recitacio simplex.]
Gone is he, alas, that redy was to do
Eche thynge that to nobles required!
Gone is he, alas, that redy was to do
Eche thynge that curtesye of him desyred!
Whose frowarde fate falsely was conspyred
By Antraphos vnasured and her vngracyous charmys;
Jaspar I mene is gone, Mars son in armys.
[Sidenote: M. iii. C. narracio.]
He that of late regnyd in glory,
With grete glosse buttylly glased,
Nowe lowe vnder fote doth he ly,
With wormys ruly rente and rasyd,
His carayne stynkynge, his fetures fasyd;
Brother and vncle to kynges yesterday,
Nowe is he gone and lafte vs as mased;
Closed here lyeth he in a clote of clay:
Shall he come agayne? a, nay, nay!
Where is he become, I can nat discusse:
Than with the prophet may we say,
_Non inuentus est locus eius_.
[Sidenote: Metricus quartus et retrogradiens. Color. discripcio.]
Restynge in him was honoure with sadnesse,
Curtesy, kyndenesse, with great assuraunce,
Dispysynge vice, louynge alway gladnesse,
Knyghtly condicyons, feythful alegeaunce,
Kyndely demenoure, gracyous vtteraunce;
Was none semelyer, feture ne face;
Frendely him fostered quatriuial aliaunce;
Alas, yet dede nowe arte thou, Jaspar, alas!
[Sidenote: Metricus quintus.]
Wherfore sorowe to oure sorowe none can be founde,
Ne cause agayne care to mollyfy oure monys:
Alas, the payne!
For his body and goste,
That we loued moste,
In a graue in the grounde
Deth depe hath drounde
Among robel and stonys:
Wherfore complayne.
[Sidenote: M. vi.]
Complayne, complayne, who can complayne;
For I, alas, past am compleynte!
To compleyne wyt can not sustayne,
Deth me with doloure so hath bespraynte;
For in my syghte,
Oure lorde and knyghte,
Contrary to righte,
Deth hath ateynte.
[Sidenote: M. vii. C. iteracio.]
As the vylest of a nacyon,
Deuoyde of consolacyon,
By cruel crucyacyon,
He hath combryd hym sore;
He hath him combryd sore,
That Fraunce and Englonde bere byfore
Armys of both quarteryd,
And with _hony soyte_ was garteryd,
Se howe he is nowe marteryd!
Alas for sorowe therfore,
Alas for sorowe therfore!
Oute and weleaway,
For people many a score
For him that yel and rore,
Alas that we were bore
To se this dolorous day!
With asshy hue compleyne also, I cry,
Ladyes, damosels, mynyonat and gorgayse;
Knyghtes aunterus of the myghty monarchy,
Complayne also; for he that in his dayes
To enhaunce wonte was your honoure, youre prayse,
Now is he gone, of erthly blysse ryfyld;
For dredeful Deth withouten delayse
Ful dolorously his breth hath stifild.
[Sidenote: C. transsumpcio.]
Terys degoutynge, also complayne, complayne,
Houndes peerles, haukes withoute pereialyte,
Sacris, faucons, heroners hautayne;
For nowe darked is youre pompe, youre prodogalyte,
Youre plesures been past vnto penalyte;
Of with your rich caperons, put on your mourning hodes;
For Iaspar, your prynce by proporcyon of qualyte,
Paste is by Deth those daungerous flodys.
[Sidenote: M. viii.]
He that manhode meyntened and magnamynite,
His blasynge blys nowe is with balys blechyd;
Through Dethes croked and crabbed cruelte,
In doloure depe nowe is he drowned and drechyd;
His starynge standerde, that in stoures strechyd
With a sable serpent, nowe set is on a wall,
His helme heedles, cote corseles, woful and wrechyd,
With a swerde handeles, there hange they all.
[Sidenote: M. ix.]
Gewellys of late poysyd at grete valoyre,
He ded, they desolate of every membre,
Stykynge on stakes as thynges of none shaloyre;
For the corse that they couched cast is in sendre,
By cruel compulsyon caused to surrendre
Lyfe vp to Deth that al ouerspurneth:
O, se howe this worlde tourneth!
Some laugheth, some mourneth:
Yet, ye prynces precyous and tendre,
Whyle that ye here in glory soiourneth,
The deth of our mayster rue to remembre.
[Sidenote: C. exclamacio.]
O turmentoure, traytoure, torterous tyraunte,
So vnwarely oure duke haste thou slayne,
That wyt and mynde are vnsuffycyaunte
Agayne thy myschyf malyce to mayntayne!
We that in blysse wonte were to bayne,
With fortune flotynge moste fauourably,
Nowe thorow thrylled and persyd with payne,
Langoure we in feruente exstasy.
[Sidenote: C. reprobacio.]
O murtherer vnmesurable, withouten remors,
Monstruus of entrayle, aborryd in kynde,
Thou haste his corse dystressed by force,
Whos parayle alyue thou can not fynde!
Howe durst thou his flessh and spyryte vntynde,
Dissendynge fro Cyzyle, Jerusalem, and Fraunce?
O bazalyke bryboure, with iyes blynde,
Sore may thou rue thy vtterquidaunce!
Thou haste berafte, I say, the erthly ioye
Of one, broder and vncle to kynges in degre,
Lynyally descendynge fro Eneas of Troye,
Grete vncle and vncle to prynces thre,
Brother to a saynte by way of natyuyte,
Vncle to another whom men seketh blyue,
Blynde, croked, lame, for remedyes hourly;
Thus God that bromecod had gyuen a prerogatyue.
[Sidenote: C. newgacio.]
And yet thou, dolorous Deth, to the herte hast him stynged:
Wenest thou, felon, such murther to escape?
I say, the brewtors of Wales on the wyl be reuenged
For thy false conspyracy and frowarde fate:
We his seruantes also sole disconsolate
Haste thou lafte; so that creatures more maddyr
In erthe none wandreth atwene senit and naddyr.
[Sidenote: M. x.]
Wherfore, to the felde, to the felde, on with plate and male,
Beest, byrde, foule, eche body terrestryal!
Seke we this murtherer him to assayle;
Vnafrayde ioyne in ayde, ye bodyes celestyal;
Herry saynt, with iyes faynte to the also I cal,
For thy brothers sake, help Deth to take, that al may on him wonder;
For and he reyne, by drift sodeyne he wil ech kynd encumbre.
_Dethe._
[Sidenote: C. prosopopeya. M. xi.]
Fouconer, thou arte to blame,
And oughte take shame
To make suche pretense;
For I Deth hourly
May stande truly
At ful lawful defence:
Deth hath no myghte,
Do wronge no righte,
Fauoure frende ne fo,
But as an instrumente
At commaundemente
Whether to byde or go.
I am the instromente
Of one omnipotente,
That knowest thou fyrme and playne;
Wherfore fro Dethe
Thy wo and wreth
I wolde thou shulde reteyne,
And agayne God
For thy bromecod
Batayle to darayne.
[Sidenote: M. xii. C. Introductio.]
Than, if it be ryghte, most of myght, thy godhed I acuse,
For thy myght contrary to right thou doste gretly abuse;
Katyffes vnkind thou leuest behind, paynis, Turkes, and Iewis,
And our maister gret thou gaue wormes to ete; wheron gretly I muse:
Is this wel done? answer me sone; make, Lorde, thyn excuse.
[Sidenote: M. xiii. C. onomotopeya.]
Dyd thou disdayne that he shuld rayne? was that els the cause?
In his rayne he was moste fayne to mynester thy lawes;
Than certayn, and thou be playn and stedfaste in thy sawes,
Euery knyght that doth right, ferynge drede ne awes,
Of thy face bryghte shall haue syghte,
After this worldly wawes:
Than, gode Lorde, scripture doth record, verefieng that cause,
That our bromcod with the, gode God, in heuen shal rest and pause.
[Sidenote: M. xiiii. C. probacio.]
For first of nought thou him wroght of thy special grace,
And wers than noght him also boght in Caluery in that place;
Thou by thoght oft he were broght with Satanas to trace,
Yet, Lorde, to haue pyte thou oght on the pycture of thy face.
[Sidenote: M. xv.]
We neyther he dampned to be, willyngly thou wilt noght;
Yet dampned shal he and we be, if thy mercy helpe nought:
Discrecion hast thou gyuen, yde [Lorde?]; what wold we more ought?
After deth to lyue with the, if we offende nought.
[Sidenote: M. xvi.]
There is a cause yet of oure care, thou creatoure alofte,
That thy gospel doth declare, whiche I forgete noughte;
Howe vnwarly our welfare fro vs shal be broughte
By Deth that none wyl spare, Lorde, that knowe we noughte:
In syn drowned if we dare, and so sodenly be coughte,
Than of blysse ar we bare; that fylleth me ful of thoughte.
[Sidenote: C. degressio. M. xvii.]
Thou knowest, Lorde, beste thysylfe,
Man is but duste, stercorye, and fylthe,
Of himsylfe vnable,
Saue only of thy specyal grace,
A soule thou made to occupye place,
To make man ferme and stable;
Which man to do as thou ordeyned,
With fendes foule shal neuer be payned,
But in blysse be perdurable;
And if he do the contrarye,
After this lyfe than shal he dye,
Fendes to fede vnsaciable;
For which fendys foule thou made a centre,
In which centre thou made an entre,
That such that to breke thy commaundementes wolde auenter
Theder downe shulde dessende;
But oure maister, whan Deth hym trapte,
In pure perseueraunce so was wrapte,
That thou inuisyble his speryte thyder rapte
Where thy sheltrons him shal defende.
[Sidenote: M. quatrinalis. C. transuersio.]
If we nat offende,
He wyl purchace
A gloryous place
At oure laste ende;
To se his face
We shal assende,
By his grete grace,
If we nat offende.
Thou haste enuapored, I say, alofte
The soule of Jaspar, that thou wroughte,
Seruyce to do latrial:
And why, Lorde, I dyd the reproue,
Was for perfyte zele and loue,
To the nat preiudicyal;
For, Lorde, this I knowe expresse,
This worldly frute is bytternesse,
Farcyd with wo and payne,
Lyfe ledynge dolorously in distresse,
Shadowed with Dethes lykenesse,
As in none certayne.
[Sidenote: C. neugacio.]
Yet, me semeth so, thou art non of tho that vs so shuld begyle:
He is nat yet ded; I lay my hed, thou hast him hid for a while;
And al to proue who doth him loue and who wil be vnkynd,
Thou hast in led layde him abed, this trow I in my mynd;
For this we trow, and thou dost know, as thy might is most,
That him to dye, to lowe and hye it were to grete a lost.
[Sidenote: C. excusacio.]
And he be dede, this knowe I very right;
Thou saw, Lorde, this erth corrupt with fals adulacyon,
And thought it place vnmete for Jaspar thy knyght;
Wherfore of body and soule thou made seperacyon,
Preantedate seynge by pure predestynacyon
Whan his lyfe here shulde fyne and consum;
Wherfore, Lorde, thus ende I my dolorous exclamacyon,
Thy godenes knewe what was beste to be done.
[Sidenote: M. xviii. C. conclusio.]
As a prynce penytente and ful of contricion,
So dyed he, we his seruauntes can recorde:
And that he may haue euerlastynge fruicyon,
We the beseche, gloryous kynge and lorde!
For the laste leson that he dyd recorde,
To thy power he it aplyed, saynge _tibi omnes_,
As a hye knyghte in fidelyte fermely moryd,
_Angeli celi et potestates_;
Wherwith payne to the hert him boryd,
And lyfe him lefte, gyuynge deth entres.
Whiche lyfe, in comparyson of thyne,
Is as poynt in lyne, or as instant in tyme;
For thou were and arte and shal be of tyme,
In thy silfe reynynge by power diuyne,
Makynge gerarcyüs thre and orders nyne,
The to deifye:
Wherfore we crye,
Suffer nat Jaspar to dye,
But to lyue;
For eternally that he shal lyue
Is oure byleue.
[Sidenote: M. xix. C. prolongacio.]
And than [?] moste craftely dyd combyne
Another heuen, called cristalline,
So the thyrde stellyferal to shyne
Aboue the skye:
Wherfore we crye,
Suffer nat Jaspar to dye,
But to lyue;
For eternally that he shal lyue
Is oure byleue.
Moreouer in a zodiake pure and fyne
Synys xii. thou set for a tyme,
And them nexte, in cercle and lyne,
Saturne thou set, Iupiter, and Mars citryne,
Contect and drye:
Wherfore we crye,
Suffer nat Jaspar to dye,
But to lyue;
For eternally that he shal lyue
Is oure byleue.
Than, to peryssh, thorouthryll, and myne
The mystes blake and cloudes tetryne,
Tytan thou set clerely to shyne,
The worldes iye:
Wherfore we crye, _vt supra_.
Yet in their epycercles to tril and twyne,
Retrograte, stacyoner, directe, as a syne,
Uenus thou set, Marcury, and the Mone masseline;
Nexte fyre and ayre, so sotyl of engyne,
The to gloryfye:
Wherfore we crye,
Suffer nat Jaspar to dye,
But to lyue;
For eternally that he shal lyue
Is oure byleue.
Water, and erth with braunch and vine;
And so, thy werkes to ende and fyne,
Man to make thou dyd determyne,
Of whome cam I:
Wherfore I cry and the supplye,
Suffer nat Jaspar to dye,
But to lyue;
For eternally that he shal lyue
Is oure byleue.
With him, to comford at all tyme,
Thou ioyned the sex than of frayle femynyne,
Which by temptacyon serpentyne
Theyre hole sequele broughte to ruyne
By ouergrete folye:
Wherfore we crye,
Suffer not Jaspar to dye,
But to lyue;
For eternally that he shal lyue
Is oure byleue.
Than, of thy godenes, thou dyd enclyne
Flessh to take of thy moder and virgyne,
And vs amonge, in payne and famyne,
Dwalte, and taughte thy holy doctryne
Uulgarly:
Wherfore we crye,
Suffer nat Jaspar to dye,
But to lyue;
For eternally that he shal lyue
Is oure byleue.
Tyl a traytoure, by false couyne,
To Pylat accused the at pryme;
So taken, slayne, and buryed at complyne,
Rose agayne, of Adam redemynge the lyne
By thy infynyte mercy:
For whych mercy,
Incessantly we crye,
And the supplye,
Suffer nat our lorde to dye,
But to lyue;
For eternally that he shal lyue
Is oure byleue.
[Sidenote: M. xx.]
Kynges, prynces, remembre, whyle ye may,
Do for yoursilfe, for that shal ye fynde
Executours often maketh delay,
The bodye buryed, the soule sone oute of mynde;
Marke this wel, and graue it in youre mynde,
Howe many grete estates gone are before,
And howe after ye shal folowe by course of kynde:
Wherfore do for youresilfe; I can say no more.
Though ye be gouernours, moste precious in kynde,
Caste downe your crounes and costely appareyle,
Endored with golde and precyous stones of Ynde,
For al in the ende lytyl shal auayle;
Whan youre estates Deth lyketh to assayle,
Your bodyes bulgynge with a blyster sore,
Than withstande shal neyther plate ne mayle:
Wherfore do for youresilfe; I can say no more.
There is a vertue that moost is auaunsed,
Pure perseueraunce called of the porayle,
By whome al vertues are enhaunsed,
Which is not wonne but by diligente trauayle:
Ware in the ende; for and that vertue fayle,
Body and soule than are ye forlore:
Wherfore, if ye folowe wyll holsom counsayle,
Do for youresilfe; I can say no more.
Kynges, prynces, moste souerayne of renoune,
Remembre oure maister that gone is byfore:
This worlde is casual, nowe vp, nowe downe;
Wherfore do for yoursilfe; I can say no more.
Amen.
_Honor tibi, Deus, gloria, et laus!_
Smerte, _maister de ses ouzeaus_.
[276] _The Epitaffe of the moste noble and valyaunt Jaspar late duke of
Beddeforde_] The old ed. is a quarto, n. d. Above these words, on the
title-page, is a woodcut, exhibiting the author (with a falcon on his
hand) kneeling and presenting his work to the king. On the reverse of the
last leaf is Pynson’s device.
If not really written by Smert (or Smart), the duke’s falconer, (see
stanza 3, and the subscription at the conclusion, “_Smert, maister de
ses ouzeaus_”) this curious poem was not, at all events, as the style
decidedly proves, the composition of Skelton, to whom it was first
attributed by Bishop Tanner.
I now print it from a transcript of the (probably unique) copy in the
Pepysian library,—a transcript which appears to have been made with the
greatest care and exactness; but I think right to add, that have not had
an opportunity of seeing the original myself.
Jasper Tudor, second son of Owen Tudor by Katherine widow of King Henry
the Fifth, was created Earl of Pembroke, in 1452, by his half-brother,
King Henry the Sixth. After that monarch had been driven from the throne
by Edward, Jasper was attainted, and his earldom conferred on another. He
was again restored to it, when Henry had recovered the crown; but being
taken prisoner at the battle of Barnet, he lost it a second time. After
the battle of Bosworth, Henry the Seventh not only reinstated Jasper (his
uncle) in the earldom of Pembroke, but also created him Duke of Bedford,
in 1485; subsequently appointed him Lieutenant of Ireland for one year,
and granted to him and his heirs male the office of Earl Marshal of
England with an annuity of twenty pounds. The duke married Katherine,
daughter of Richard Wydevile Earl Rivers, and widow of Henry Stafford
Duke of Buckingham. He died 21st Dec. 1495, and, according to his own
desire, expressed in his will, was buried in the abbey of Keynsham, where
he founded a chantry for four priests to sing mass for the souls of
his father, his mother, and his elder brother Edmond Earl of Richmond.
He left no children except a natural daughter. See Sandford’s _Geneal.
Hist._ p. 292. ed. 1707.