Your deep foundations turn to dust:
Nor have ye prop or stay, alack!
In which to put your stedfast trust.
But down ye sink without delay,
Which make us cry, 'Ah, welladay!'
Ah, welladay! ye bishops grave,
Lords of the faith of Christian folk,
Naked and bare, your help we crave,
The wretched outcasts of your flock.
For love of God, in charity
Remonstrate with the rich and proud,
That tho' they raise their heads so high,
They are maintained by the crowd,
Whose bread perforce they take away,
And make us cry, 'Ah! welladay!'
Ah, welladay! our gracious king,
The noblest prince in Christian land,
What mischiefs do their counsels bring,
Who bade thee lay thy heavy hand
On thy poor liege men!--but be wise.
God gave thee power our rights to guard:
Then listen to our doleful cries,
And deal th' oppressor's just reward;
'So shall the poor no longer say,
In grief of heart, 'Ah, welladay!'
Ah, welladay! great king of France,
Remember our unhappy lot:
Long have we borne our sad mischance,
And patient are we still, God wot!
But if you do not soon apply
Choice remedies to our distress,
Eftsoons our tens of thousands fly,
In foreign lands to seek redress.
And when from hence we haste away,
'Tis you will cry, 'Ah, welladay!'
Ah, welladay! good prince, beware;
For thoughtless kings, in days of yore,
Who for their subjects did not care,
By loss of lands were punished sore.
Are you not sworn to work our weal?
Bid, then, our sore vexations cease:
Humble the proud with prudent zeal,
And grant us safety, grant us peace:
So shall we no more need to say,
In grief of heart, 'Ah, welladay!'
'Ah, welladay! when thrice a-year,
Your surly sergeants came perforce,
And, levying tallage on our gear,
Drive from our field both cow and horse.
But yet in JESUS' name, we trow,
That scant proportion of the same
Doth to the royal coffers flow.
Then our complaints no longer blame,
Nor marvel if our piteous lay
Is burthened still with 'Welladay!'
Ah, welladay! ye lords so great,
Whose counsels guide our sovereign king,
Who rule each province of the state,
To him our tale of sorrow bring.
The keys of this fair realm you hold,
Then bid him pass the just decree,
(Assisted by his barons bold)
Which from our woes may set us free.
Thus underneath his gentle sway,
No more we'll sing, 'Ah, welladay!'
Ah, welladay! ye counts so brave,
In dread we bear your heavy thralls.
While rain pours down and winds do rave,
We stand upon your castle-walls.
'And while, with night's all-piercing dew
So numb and cold, we keep the guard,
Your captains beat us black and blue,
Swearing we sleep upon our ward.
And all because we sorrowing say,
In murmurs low, 'Ah, welladay!'
Ah, welladay! thus beaten sore,
Full many a crown we needs must pay,
To fill that maw which craves for more
While insolence oppressive sway
More bitter renders!--but is this
The claim of reason or of right?
Ah, simple are ye, well we wis,
Who proudly deal us such despite!
Simple, in sooth; or ye would say
Pitying our moan, 'Ah, welladay!'
Ah, welladay! against our will,
Thus of your captains we complain;
But sheep and lambs, and hogs they steal,
And rifle all our store of grain.
And if in pity ought they leave,
The sergeants glean the scanty dole;
And all the gear your towers receive,
For shelter, pays a grievous toll.
'The castellan, whom thus we pay,
Recks not our cry, 'Ah, welladay!'
Ah, welladay! what end of trouble!
When royal taxes are decreed,
We tillers of the land pay double,
Albeit in times of greatest need,
Your men at arms, like hungry thieves,
Prowl through our fields with sharpened eye,
And drive and slay our fattest beeves!
Or if protection ye supply,
Both gold and grain therefor we pay.
Well may we then sing 'Welladay!'
Ah, welladay! ye men at arms,
Little it boots us to complain,
Albeit ye multiply our harms,
And seize perforce our stacks of grain.
But well I wot that frost and snow
Shall be the guerdon of your crimes,
And ravenous Death shall lay you low,
As Pharaoh fell in elder times.
Then shall we smile, nor longer say
In grief of heart, 'Ah, welladay!'
'Ah, welladay! ye lawyers grave,
Your simple clients to embroil,
A subtle web of quirks ye weave,
And fill your purses by our spoil.
Thus do you, by your dark deceit,
Make wrong seem right, and right seem wrong,
While artless husbandmen ye cheat,
And all our woes and griefs prolong,
When you should join our doleful lay,
And cry with us, 'Ah, welladay!
Ah, welladay! ye burghers too,
Whom erst our rents and toils maintained:
When times were good, our jovial crew
With plenteous cheer ye entertained;
But now that loathsome poverty,
And debts, consume our squalid band,
Reckless ye view our misery,
And will not stretch the helping hand.
Thus held in scorn we sorrowing say,
In doleful dumps, 'Ah, welladay!'
Ah, welladay! ye tradesfolk all
Who sold your paltry wares so dear,
But grudged our gains so scant and small,
Whene'er ye purchased of our gear.
'Your knavery and your wicked lies,
Your tricks and violated troth
Shall surely meet their due emprise,
When God descends in vengeful wrath,
Then will ye curse your wealth, and say,
In fear of heart, 'Ah, welladay.'
Ah, welladay! ye craftsmen too,
Farriers, and wights that curry skins:
Your grinding avarice ye shall rue,
When judgment falls upon your sins.
The glibness of your glosing tongue
Has fleeced us worse than usury,
Tho' victims of your cunning wrong,
Aye doomed to meagre misery.
For you we work for wretched pay,
Which makes us cry, 'Ah, welladay!'
Ah, welladay! full well ye know,
When we have sown our yearly seed,
From driving rain, and frost and snow,
And all the vermin, wars do breed,
What ills our rising crop betide.
Alas! our hoards of pulse and corn,
The toiling peasant's joy and pride,
Those vermin to their holes have borne:
'There while they heap their stores of prey,
Well may we sigh, 'Ah, welladay!'
Ah, welladay! if sooth we sing,
Wherefore your pardon should we crave?
Our doleful state your hearts should wring,
For nought can we from pillage save.
Our sleekest beeves, our fairest kine,
Which fed us with their milky store,
Our fleecy sheep, and fatted swine,
Are vanish'd to return no more;
And when we miss them, well we may
Cry out, 'Alas! and welladay!'
Ah, welladay! can folks who wear
The form of men, and have a soul,
Behold us through the frosty air
Begging, in rags, the scanty dole;
For all is gone: the hungry Scot
And haughty Spaniard, in their turn,
Have stripped us to the skin, God wot!
And left us to lament and mourn.
Hear then our dismal tale, nor say
For nought we cry, 'Ah, welladay!'
'Oh, holy church! Oh, noble king!
Sage counsellors, and soldiers brave,
Lawyers and tradesfolk, thus we bring
To you our plaints so sad and grave.
For GOD, and for his mother's sake,
Attend with pity to our cries,
And on our state compassion take,
Else will ye see, with weeping eyes,
Your towers consumed by hostile fires;
For if ye slight our humble prayer,
Our urgent wants and just desires,
Far different letters shall declare.
But if you please, in serious mood
And kind, these presents to peruse,
God shall direct you to your good,
Nor will ye still our prayer refuse.
Then shall we cease to sigh and say,
In grief of heart, 'Ah, welladay!'
Amen! so GOD grant of his grace!'
CHAP. LXXX.
THE DAUPHIN LAYS SIEGE TO CÔNE-SUR-LOIRE.--THE EXPEDITION OF THE DUKE
OF BURGUNDY FOR ITS RELIEF.--THE DEATH OF THE KING OF ENGLAND.
We must now speak of the duke of Touraine dauphin, who had assembled
from divers parts an army of twenty thousand men, the greater number
of which he had marched to Sancerre, where he had fixed his residence.
During his stay there, he had won the town of La Charité-sur-Loire,
which he regarrisoned, and had so closely besieged Cône-sur-Loire,
that the garrison were constrained to capitulate with the commissaries
of the dauphin for its surrender on the 6th day of August, unless the
duke of Burgundy should come or send a force sufficient to combat his
enemies; and for the due performance of this they gave sufficient
hostages. The two dukes, of Touraine and Burgundy, mutually promised
each other, by their heralds, to meet on the appointed day in
battle-array for the combat.
The duke of Burgundy had before made his arrangements to return to
Artois; but, in consequence of the above, he resolved to stay in
Burgundy, and sent messengers to summon assistance from Flanders,
Picardy and elsewhere. He sent also to the king of England, earnestly
to request the aid of a certain number of his men at arms and archers,
with some of his princes and chief captains. The king gave for answer,
to the duke's messengers, that he would not only comply with the
request they made, but would come to the duke's aid in person, and with
his whole army.
Sir Hugh de Launoy, master of the cross-bows of France, was not idle
in raising men in Flanders, and in the neighbourhood of Lille, and
assembled great numbers. In like manner did sir John de Luxembourg, the
lord de Croy, and many other captains in Picardy, who toward the end
of July advanced by different roads round Paris, and marched thence
through Troyes in Champagne.
On the other hand, the king of England, though in a very bad state
of health at Senlis, ordered the army that was in and about Paris
to march toward Burgundy, under the command of his brother the duke
of Bedford, the earl of Warwick, and other princes and captains. He
himself, notwithstanding his illness, took leave of his brother the
king of France, of the queen, and of his own consort, whom he never
after saw, and departed from Senlis to Melun, where he had himself
placed in a litter, intending to join his army on the day appointed for
the battle between the dauphin and the duke of Burgundy. But he daily
grew so much weaker, that he was forced to return to the castle of
Vincennes, where he took to his death-bed.
In the mean time, the English army, under the duke of Bedford, advanced
near to Burgundy,--as did the lords of Picardy by another route. They
at length came to the town of Veselay, where they found the duke of
Burgundy waiting for them with a considerable army collected from all
quarters. The duke received them with great joy, and feasted them
grandly, more especially the duke of Bedford and the English lords,
whom he gratefully thanked for the powerful succour they had brought
him in his time of need.
When the junction of all these reinforcements was completed, the whole
advanced toward Cône-sur-Loire, having van, centre and rear battalions,
in which were intermixed English, Burgundians and Picards, so that no
jealousies might arise among them, and that none of the three parties
might claim any particular honour on the day of battle.
In this order they came before Cône, and there took up their quarters
for the night, ready for the combat on the morrow, according to the
promises of the dauphin. But the dauphin and his advisers, having
heard of the immense force of the duke of Burgundy and the princes
his allies, withdrew with his army to Bourges in Berry, and no person
appeared for him on the appointed day.
Thus the town of Cône remained in possession of the duke of Burgundy,
who marched back toward Troyes. The army suffered much from want of
provision, especially bread; but when they were arrived near Troyes,
they spread themselves over the low countries, which were very much
oppressed by them on their going and returning.
The duke of Bedford received intelligence on the march, that his
brother the king was so ill that his life was despaired of: on which
the duke, and some of the most faithful of the king's household,
quitted the army, and hastened to the castle of Vincennes, where they
found him worse than had been told them. The duke of Burgundy, hearing
this, dispatched sir Hugh de Launoy to visit him, and inquire into the
state of his health.
King Henry, finding himself mortally ill, called to him his brother the
duke of Bedford, his uncle of Exeter, the earl of Warwick, sir Louis
de Robesart, and others, to the number of six or eight of those in
whom he had the greatest confidence, and said, that he saw with grief
it was the pleasure of his Creator that he should quit this world. He
then addressed the duke of Bedford,--John, my good brother, I beseech
you, on the loyalty and love you have ever expressed for me, that you
show the same loyalty and affection to my son Henry, your nephew, and
that, so long as you shall live, you do not suffer him to conclude any
treaty with our adversary Charles, and that on no account whatever the
duchy of Normandy be wholly restored to him. Should our good brother of
Burgundy be desirous of the regency of the kingdom of France, I would
advise that you let him have it; but should he refuse, then take it
yourself.
'My good uncle of Exeter, I nominate you sole regent of the kingdom of
England, for that you well know how to govern it; and I entreat that
you do not, on any pretence whatever, return to France, and I likewise
nominate you as guardian to my son,--and I insist, on your love to me,
that you do very often personally visit and see him.
'My dear cousin of Warwick, I will that you be his governor, and that
you teach him all things becoming his rank, for I cannot provide a
fitter person for the purpose.
'I entreat you as earnestly as I can, that you avoid all quarrels and
dissentions with our fair brother of Burgundy; and this I particularly
recommend to the consideration of my fair brother Humphrey,--for should
any coolness subsist between you, which God forbid, the affairs
of this realm, which are now in a very promising state, would soon
be ruined. You will be careful not to set at liberty our cousin of
Orleans, the count d'Eu, the lord de Gaucourt and sir Guichart de
Sisay, until our dear son shall be of a proper age; and in all other
things, you will act as you shall judge for the best.'
The king having said these words, and some others, the lords replied,
with grief and respect, that all he had ordered, and whatever they
should think would be agreeable to him, they would execute to the
utmost of their power, without altering any one thing. They were
greatly affected at seeing the melancholy state he was in; and some of
them left the apartment.
Sir Hugh de Launoy having accomplished the business he had been sent
on by the duke of Burgundy, and having had some conversation with the
king, returned to the duke. The king then sent for his physicians,
and earnestly demanded of them how long they thought he had to live.
They delayed answering the question directly; but, not to discourage
hope, they said that it depended solely on the will of God whether he
would be restored to health. He was dissatisfied with this answer, and
repeated his request, begging of them to tell him the truth. Upon this,
they consulted together, and one of them, as spokesman, falling on his
knees, said, 'Sire, you must think on your soul; for, unless it be the
will of God to decree otherwise, it is impossible that you should live
more than two hours.'
The king, hearing this, sent for his confessor, some of his household,
and his chaplains, whom he ordered to chaunt the seven penitential
psalms. When they came to 'Benigne fac Domine,' where mention is
made 'Muri Hierusalem,' he stopped them, and said aloud, that he had
fully intended, after he had wholly subdued the realm of France to
his obedience, and restored it to peace, to have gone to conquer the
kingdom of Jerusalem, if it had pleased his Creator to have granted him
longer life. Having said this, he allowed the priests to proceed, and,
shortly after, according to the prediction of his physicians, gave up
the ghost the last day of August.
The duke of Bedford, the other princes, and in general all the
English, made loud lamentations for his death, and were truly sorry
for it. Shortly after, his bowels were buried in the church of the
monastery of Saint Maur des Fosses, and his body embalmed and put into
a leaden coffin. During this time, the duke of Burgundy came from
Braye-Comte-Robert, to Vincennes, to visit the duke of Bedford and the
other princes; and having had a short conference with them went to
Paris, where he was lodged in his hôtel of Artois.
The body of king Henry was carried in great funeral pomp, attended by
the English princes, his household, and a multitude of other people,
to the church of Nôtre-Dame, in Paris, where a solemn service was
performed; after which it was conveyed to Rouen in the same state,
where it remained a considerable time.
In the mean time, the princes, namely, the duke of Bedford, the
duke of Burgundy, and the duke of Exeter, with other great lords,
assembled in council at Paris, to deliberate on the future government
of France, when it was resolved, that what had been formerly agreed
to and settled between the two kings at Troyes in Champagne, for
the establishment of peace, should be the ground-work of the future
government. It was now publicly known, that the disorder king Henry had
died of was a heat in his fundamental, very similar to what is called
the disorder of St Anthony.[11]
After the princes had agreed on the future government of the kingdom,
the duke of Burgundy quitted Paris, and returned, with his Picards,
to Artois and Flanders; and the duke of Bedford, with the English
lords, to Rouen, to regulate the affairs of that duchy. The queen of
England was conducted to Rouen in great state; for she had been kept in
ignorance how dangerously ill the king was, and knew not of his death
until some time after it had happened.
The royal coffin was placed within a car, drawn by four large horses,
having on its top a representation of the deceased monarch, of boiled
leather, elegantly painted, with a rich crown of gold on the head:
in his right hand a sceptre, in his left a golden ball, with his face
looking to the heavens. Over the bed on which this representation lay
was a coverlid of vermilion silk interwoven with beaten gold. When it
passed through any towns, a canopy of silk (like to what is carried
over the host on Corpus Christi day) was borne over it.
In this state, and attended by his princes, and the knights of his
household, did the funeral proceed from Rouen strait to Abbeville,
where the body was placed in the church of St Ulfran, with rows of
priests on each side of the coffin, who day and night incessantly
chaunted requiems. Masses were daily said for his soul in the churches
of all the towns through which the funeral passed, from break of day
until noon. From Abbeville, the procession proceeded to Hesdin, and
thence to Montrieul, Boulogne and Calais. During the whole way, there
were persons on either side the car, dressed in white, carrying lighted
torches: behind it were his household clothed in black, and after them
his relatives in tears, and dressed in mourning. At about a league
distance followed the queen, with a numerous attendance. From Calais
they embarked for Dover, and, passing through Canterbury and Rochester,
arrived at London on Martinmas-day.
When the funeral approached London, fifteen bishops dressed in
pontificalibus, several mitred abbots and churchmen, with a multitude
of persons of all ranks, came out to meet it. The churchmen chaunted
the service for the dead as it passed over London-bridge, through
Lombard Street, to St Paul's cathedral. Near the car were the relations
of the late king, uttering loud lamentations. On the collar of the
first horse that drew the car were emblazoned the ancient arms of
England: on that of the second, the arms of France and England
quartered, the same as he bore during his lifetime: on that of the
third, the arms of France simply. On that of the fourth horse were
painted the arms of the noble king Arthur, whom no one could conquer:
they were three crowns or, on a shield azure.
When the funeral service had been royally performed in the cathedral,
the body was carried to be interred at Westminster-abbey with the
kings his ancestors. At this funeral, and in regard to every thing
concerning it, greater pomp and expense were made than had been done
for two hundred years at the interment of any king of England; and even
now, as much honour and reverence is daily paid to his tomb, as if it
were certain he was a saint in paradise.
Thus ended the life of king Henry in the flower of his age, for when
he died he was but forty years old.[12] He was very wise and able in
every business he undertook, and of a determined character. During the
seven or eight years he ruled in France, he made greater conquests than
any of his predecessors had ever done. It is true, he was so feared by
his princes and captains that none dared to disobey his orders, however
nearly related to him, more especially his English subjects.
In this state of obedience were his subjects of France and England in
general; and the principal cause was, that if any person transgressed
his ordinances, he had him instantly punished without favour or mercy.
When this ceremony was over, the three estates of England assembled
to consider the present state of the realm, when they unanimously
elected the young son of their departed monarch king, although he
was but sixteen months old, and submitted themselves to his will
notwithstanding his youth. They instantly granted him a royal
establishment, and agreed that he should be under the governance of the
earl of Warwick.
While these things were passing, a noble knight of Picardy used a
joking expression to his herald respecting king Henry, which was
afterward often repeated. Sir Sarrasin d'Arly, uncle to the vidame of
Amiens, who might be about sixty years of age, resided in the castle of
Achere, which he had had with his wife, sister to the lord d'Offemont,
near to Pas in Artois. He was laid up with the gout, but very eager in
his inquiries after news of what was going on. One day his poursuivant,
named Haurenas, of the same age as himself, and who had long served
him, returned from making the usual inquiries; and on sir Sarrasin
questioning him, and asking him if he had heard any particulars of the
death of the king of England, he said, that he had, and had even seen
his corpse at Abbeville, in the church of St Ulfran, and then related
how he was attired, nearly as has been before described. The knight
then asked him, on his faith, if he had diligently observed him? On
his answering, that he had,--'Now, on thy oath, tell me,' added sir
Sarrasin, 'if he had his boots on?' 'No, my lord, by my faith, he had
not.' The knight then cried out, 'Haurenas, my good friend, never
believe me if he has not left them in France!' This expression set the
company a laughing, and then they talked of other matters.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 11: The parliamentary history says that he died of a
dysentery.]
[Footnote 12: The authors of 'L'Art de Verifier les Dates' say, he was
but 36 years old when he died.]
CHAP. LXXXI.
THE DUCHESS OF BURGUNDY DIES IN THE TOWN OF GHENT.--THE DUKE OF
BEDFORD IS MADE REGENT OF FRANCE.--SEVERAL FORTS ARE DEMOLISHED.
During the absence of the duke of Burgundy, and while he was making his
preparations for the expected battle of Cône, his duchess, daughter to
the king of France and sister to the dauphin, fell ill at Ghent, and
died there. All her attendants, and indeed the whole of the inhabitants
of Ghent and Flanders were much grieved at her death, for she was
greatly beloved by all who knew her, and adored by the subjects of
her lord, duke Philip, and not without reason, for she was of high
extraction, and adorned with every good qualification, as it was
reported by those who from their situations, must have been perfectly
acquainted with her. Her body was solemnly interred in the church of
the monastery of Saint Bavon near to Ghent.