PART V.

_Dedicatory sonnet to Lady Elizabeth Clere._ 817

_Advertisement to the Reader._ 818

_The Induction._ 819

98 Englands _Eliza_, or the victoriovs and trivmphant reigne of

that virgin Empresse of sacred memorie, _Elizabeth_ Queene of

England, France and Ireland &c. 828

[Illustration:

[THE

Mirrour for Magistrates,

AS] A

WINTER

NIGHT’S

_VISION_:

Being an addition of svch Princes especially

_famous, who were exempted in the_

former Historie.

PART IV.

_By_ RICHARD NICCOLS,

Oxon. Mag. Hall.

From the edition imprinted by Felix

Kyngston, 1610.

]

To the Right Honorable, the Lord Charles

Howard, Earle of Notingham, Baron of

Effingham, Knight of the noble

Order of the Garter, Lord high

Admirall of England, Ireland

and Wales, &c. one of

his Maiestie’s most

Honorable priuie

Counsell.

As once that doue (true honor’s aged lord)

Houering with wearied wings about your arke,

When Cadiz towers did fal beneath your sword,

To rest her selfe did single out that barke:

So my meeke muse, from all that conquering rout,

Conducted through the sea’s wilde wildernes

By your great selfe, to graue their names about

Th’Iberian pillars of Joue’s Hercules:

Most humblie craues your lordly lions aid

Gainst monster enuie, while she tels her storie

Of Britaine princes, and that royall maid,

In whose chaste hymne her _Clio_ sings your glorie:

Which if (great lord) you grant, my muse shall frame

Mirrours more worthie your renowned name.

Your Honor’s euer most humblie

deuoted,

RICHARD NICOLS.

TO THE READER.

Cvrteous Reader, before I enter into the discourse of what I haue

written, I will acquaint you with the causes why I haue written. Hauing

spent some truant houres in the study of this art, and willing to

imploy my pen to the benefit of mine owne studies, and the profit and

pleasure of others, I chanced in reading that worthy work, intituled,

_The Mirrour for Magistrates_, to coniecture, if I should vndertake

that imperfect historie, that not only experience, the mother of

prudence, would furnish my priuate studies with better iudgement; but

also that I could not better benefit others, by offering them a taste

of the vnsauourie fruits of my labours; then by giuing them paternes

to shun vice and follow vertue: in this coniecture my voluntarie will,

not to do nothing, did set such edge vpon my desire, and the presidents

of diuers learned, yea, some noble personages, pen-men of that worke,

gaue me such encouragement, that though I wanted not iudgement to know,

that I should want skill to compasse it; yet that want of skil, being

supplied with good wil to do wel, I haue collected the liues of ten

famous princes, worthie mirrours, omitted in the former part of this

worke: which I present not in their proper places, as I did purpose,

but as a part of themselues with dependancie vpon an Induction, that

the reader may obserue that method of arguments before euery life,

which I did intend to haue continued through the whole worke, if time

and mine owne affaires would haue suffered me to proceed, but being

called away by other employments, I must of force leaue it either

vnto those, whose good opinion of so worthie an historie, may induce

their endeuors towards the perfecting of the same, or vntil I shal

find occasion hereafter to continue that, now almost finished, which I

haue left vnaccomplished; of those ten, which I haue penned, the last,

though it were written before in the former part, yet for that the

matter and stile thereof were generally disliked of M. _Ferrers_, M.

_Baldwine_, and others: and also for that many principall occurrents

in the same were exempted, I haue written againe, placing it in his

order, being the last of the ten. In the handling of which, not taking

a poeticall licence to fashion all things after mine owne fancie, but

limiting my selfe within the bounds of an historicall writer, I haue

followed those authors, who in the censure of our best iudgements

are the most authenticall. For the verse, I haue chosen the fourth

proportion, which is the stanza of seuen, preferring it before the

fift, which is the staffe of eight, because it is chiefly vsed of our

ancient and best historicall poets; and though I confesse that of eight

to hold better band, yet is it more tedious to a writer, being it binds

him to the band of two foures intertangled, which if he obserue not, it

is no huitaine or staffe of eight, but fals into the first proportion,

making two quadreins. To the learned I only write, in whom is my

chiefest hope, for that they be learned, a cause sufficient not to

doubt any enuious construction, being a vice not proper to their good

education: whom if I haue pleasured, I craue but their good word for my

good will; if otherwise, their pardon for my paines. Farewell.

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.

[Illustration]

1.

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.

2.

'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.

3.

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.

4.

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.

5.

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.

6.

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.

7.

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.

8.

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.

9.

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.

[Illustration]

1.

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.

2.

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?

3.

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.

4.

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_.

5.

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.

6.

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.

7.

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.

8.

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.

9.

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.

[Illustration]

1.

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.

2.

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.

3.

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.

4.

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.

5.

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.

6.

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.

7.

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.

8.

_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.

9.

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.

[Illustration]

1.

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.

2.

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.

3.

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.

4.

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.

5.

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.

6.

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.

7.