“Tyrant,” said he, “thou dost detaine my right,

I am, thou knowest, true heire to England’s crowne:

Though vniust fortune in this lucklesse fight

Looke blithe on thee, and on my state do frowne,

Heau’n may again aduance what now is downe:

My friends be free, though I in bands be bound,

That will not rest vntill thou be vncrown’d.”

18.

The arrogant deliuerie of this speech,

Vnto th’impeachment of our royall right,

Did in our former loue make such a breach,

That with contracted brow for such despight,

We did in rage command him from our sight,

And did this cruell paine on him impose,

That he for such offence his eyes should lose.

19.

But when such readie instruments of ill,

Who for reward act any villanie,

To Rouen castle came t’effect my will:

_Hubert de Bourgh_ a man of valiancie,

That then had _Arthur_ in his custodie,

Withstood their purpose, and his part did take,

Saying, that I those words in furie spake.

20.

The heate of anger cool’d, conscience began

In th’eare to whisper how I had offended,

And when I heard how _Hubert_ valiant man,

Prevented had what I in rage intended,

As reason would, his courage I commended:

Yet after this by _Arthur’s_ haplesse woes,

I did incurre the scandall of my foes.

21.

Close kept in Rouen castle by that knight,

Whose wals his steps from starting thence did bound,

Casting in mind how to escape by flight,

At last vnfortunate a way he found

To climbe the wall, that did begirt him round:

A forward mind impatient to sustaine,

The losse of freedome did procure his baine.

22.

Haste prickt him forward to redeeme the time,

Greedie desire his freedome to regaine,

Aboue the castle walles did cause him clime:

From whence as enuious fate did first ordaine,

He downe did fall into the riuer Seyne:

Whose waues against that castle wals did swell,

Where to the world he breath’d his last farewell.

23.

He dead, vnto my charge false _Philip_ laid

That in his blood I had imbru’d my hands,

And in reuenge thereof did craue the aid

Of many princes, who with warlike bands

Did in their rage depopulate my lands:

T’whose distresse with aid I could not come,

Worse fortunes did befall me heere at home.

24.

Mischiefe on mischiefe fals t’encrease my woes,

At home my faithlesse barons do rebell,

The Irish rise, the Welch turn’d treacherous foes,

And enuie, lest this monster I should quell

Of many heads, her selfe comes vp from hell,

And stirres vp Rome to ioyne her hands with hate;

No king did fall beneath so hard a fate.

25.

The heau’ns foretold such things before their time,

Before my haplesse hand that cup did take,

In whose blacke deadly wine my death did swim,

Th’whole aggregate of heau’n did seeme to shake,

Sad signes on earth my tragicke fall forespake:

Seldome such fatall deeds of death are done,

But prodigies do their euents forerun.

26.

Before the founder of that famous tower,

Which ouer lookes our Thames’ siluer cleare,

Did in the senate meet his liue’s late hower,

Horrid ostents and accents full of feare,

To many Roman eyes did oft appeare,

The graues did open, and the dead did rise,

Filling the streets with lamentable cries.

27.

Before stout _Brutus_ that proud Roman lord,

Whose bloodie hand strooke mightie _Cæsar_ dead,

With fatall blade his owne deare bodie gor’d,

Strange apparitions, full of feare and dread

Foretold his heart blood should ere long be shead:

Dead _Cæsar’s_ ghost spake to him in his tent,

The night before his tragicke death’s euent.

28.

Before proud _Commodus_ that Roman king,

With violent poyson did the combate trie,

Heau’n many wonders vnto light did bring,

And many dreadfull meteors blaz’d in skie,

Flames of bright fire out of the earth did flie,

Before he tooke that fatall cup of wine

Of faithlesse _Martia_, his false concubine.

29.

Before those mischiefes then were set abroch,

Which did infect the peace of my estate,

Before that lucklesse houre did then approch,

In which that desperate villan did await

With deadly wassaile to abridge my fate:

Heau’n did behold the earth with heauie cheare,

And plaguefull meteors did in both appeare.

30.

Fiue moones were in heau’n’s concaue nightly seene,

As if that heau’n vpon our state below,

Foreseeing our harmes compassionate had been,

And had foresent them with their shine to show

To purblind England her approching woe:

Who not being warn’d by them of future harmes,

Was after wakened by tempestuous stormes.

31.

The earthquake-making God, to warne vs all,

With violent hand shooke earth’s foundation,

And from his thickned clouds in stormes let fall

Such showers of ycie bals, that vnto none

In former times the like had ere been knowne:

For euery hailestone of such thicknesse was,

That it in compasse did foure inches passe.

32.

Fire making rupture through the earth did breake,

And burned many a towne and steeple high,

Ghosts in high-waies were often heard to speake,

And spirits in shapes of birds in darksome skie,

With fire in their beakes about did flie:

Wherewith they did afflict much scath and woe

Vpon the countrie, flying to and fro.

33.

O stubborne England, that with such foresigne

From future euill couldst not warned bee:

When heau’n and earth destruction did diuine,

For thy rebellious sinne to fall on thee,

Why didst thou close thy eyes and would’st not see?

When God did thunder iudgement in thine eare,

Why wert thou deafe, as if thou would’st not heare?

34.

For pitie reade thy ruine, drawing nigh,

Vpon the crystall battlements of heauen,

Where grau’d in golden letters to each eie,

Thou maiest behold thy wretched kingdome giuen

Into a stranger’s hand: thy sad king driuen

To flie from thee forlorne and leaue his state,

Sold to misfortune by his subiects hate.

35.

Let time’s blacke hand blot out the memorie

Of that vile age, and let it not be said

That _Iohn_ did euer guide this emperie,

That future time with shame may not vpbraid

This nation’s name, by whom I was betraid,

And say that subiects yet did neuer bring

Such grieuous wrongs vpon a wretched king.

36.

To guide thy muse, that she the cause may know

Whence first these euils in the state did spring,

To blood-built Rome, our Albion’s ancient foe,

Nurse of all factions, let her take swift wing,

That when this wofull storie she shall sing,

She truly may define the Roman hate,

Which first did broch these mischiefes in our state.

37.

When as our England’s metropolitan

Leauing his life, had left at emptie chaire,

I did elect a right religious man,

Who with the best might in those daies compare,

For habitude to manage that affaire:

In whose behalf at Rome I did entreate,

That he might be installed in that seate.

38.

Great Rome then in the ruffe of all her pride,

Deiects my suite with proud contempt, and chose

_Langton_, a man vnfit that place to guide,

On which such trust in state we did repose,

Since he was nurst in France amongst our foes:

And might in time, bearing such rule in state,

Vnto my fortunes worke vnluckie fate.

39.

For this with Rome’s proud priest thus I contend,

“Thinke not,” said I, “that I that right will yeeld,

On which my royaltie doth sole depend,

The same in spight of hate I trust to shield,

While I shall liue this scepter’s state to wield:

No power on earth in my despight shall place

A stranger in my realme to my disgrace.

40.

If my decreed election may not stand,

I vow by heau’n, henceforth I will restraine

Those passages to Rome out of this land,

Which you hereafter will repent in vaine,

Since by the same you haue no little gaine:

For what need we to Rome a gadding go,

Since many learned men this land can show?”

41.

Hence grew the hate that after did ensue,

Heaping on wrongs vpon my grieued head:

Rome’s _Innocent_ when he these lines did view,

Kindled with wrath, on raging furie fed,

Which through his brest a deadly venom spred:

Whose breath did soone infect our subiects blood,

And bred a plague vnto the generall good.

42.

Thinking it shame to his pompaticke state,

To winke at my contempt of his command,

With lips prophane, big swolne with eager hate,

He breaths his curse gainst me, and gainst my land,

To last so long as I his will withstand:

And lockes vp all church gates by his great word,

Forbidding vs accesse vnto the Lord.

43.

Thou proud vsurper of our _Peter’s_ key,

Behold thy sinne, and blush at thy foule shame,

Why didst thou locke the gate that leads the way

Vnto the holy place? why didst thou name

Thy selfe the rocke on whom that power that came

To saue the world, his sacred church should found,

And yet didst cast it then vnto the ground?

44.

My people frightned with the roaring threat

Of wrathfull bulles to England daily sent,

Their due alleageance to their lord forget:

Th’inglorious peeres, as if the gouernment

Had been transferr’d from _Iohn_ to _Innocent_,

Did shrinke from me, and would not by me stand,

For th’impeacht priuiledge of our free land.

45.

Yet could all this not stoope my noble hart,

The rebell priests, that did at his command

Pronounce his curse prophane, did feele the smart

Of their offence, and from my furious hand

T’escape my vow’d reuenge, did flie the land,

Leauing their sweet possessions for a pray,

Which to my friends I freely gaue away.

46.

After this curse it seem’d my blisse begun:

For when the stubborne Irish did rebell,

Meth witnesse be of my atchieuements done:

And let cold Snowden’s barren mountaines tell,

How the rebellious Welch my hand did quell:

No wofull fate befell me at this season,

Till my false peeres began to practise treason.

47.

Infected with this curse, and hauing lost

My wonted loue, they did with Rome consent:

For as to Wales I marched with my host,

The Scottish king their malice to preuent,

Did send me letters of their whole intent,

How they were bent, if I did forward goe,

To kill me, or betray me to my foe.

48.

Perplext in mind, thenceforth I stood in feare

Of ruine threatned to my life and state:

France did oppresse me, and the Welch did beare

Rebellious armes: but such was my hard fate,

None could oppose them through my barons hate:

Yet I, on whom mine owne no mercie haue,

In their distresse to strangers comfort gaue.

49.

To me with care opprest, the Scotish king

Letters did send full fraught with lines of woe,

Which vnto me his sonne the prince did bring,

By which he moued me, though once my foe,

On his oppressed age remorse to show:

For his base subiects gainst him did arise,

And for his age his person did despise.

50.

A mightie host with speed I did prepare,

With which enrag’d, I into Scotland went,

Where, in that warre my sword but few did spare,

That gainst their aged king their powers had bent,

To take from his crowne and gouernment:

_Guthred mac William_ cause of all this strife,

Did with a traytor’s death shut vp his life.

51.

But let vs turne vs backe from Scotland’s bounds,

At home to view th’effects of Roman hate:

There see how _Innocent_ inflicts fresh wounds

Vpon the mangled bodie of our state,

Who since that no old mischiefe could abate

The spirit inuincible of my great mind,

To make me stoope, new mischiefes now did find.

52.

By power of his vsurpt authoritie,

He did absolue all subiects in my land,

That by alleageance were oblig’d to me:

Then would he put into king _Philip’s_ hand,

The crowne and royall scepter of this land:

If he from hence could me expell by might,

Or take my life away by treacherous slight.

53.

Thou that dost ride vpon the backes of kings,

Yet feines to walke the steps of our deare Lord,

Thou that dost make a cloake of holy things

To hide thy shame, and leau’st the sacred word,

T’oppose the Lord’s anointed with the sword:

Is this the path that th’Holy One did passe?

When he to _Cæsar_ gaue, what _Cæsar’s_ was.

54.

How canst thou wash thy hands of these foule crimes,

When thou didst make this kingdome’s crowne my shame:

Let not posteritie in future times,

Impute this fact to England’s _Iohn_ for blame,

That Rome did force him stoope to such defame:

Since mine owne friends with all the world did frowne,

Before proud Rome could cause me yeeld my crowne.

55.

See on the seas where France her way doth take,

To plucke me from my throne by force of hand:

See how my faithlesse barons me forsake,

And rather readie be themselues to band

Against their prince, then in his quarrell stand:

Yea see my houshold folke do me forgoe,

And lift vp rebell hands to helpe my foe.

56.

The stiffe-neckt priests the subiect to excite

Against his king, a prophet did procure,

Who by the skill of his propheticke sight,

Of peace to come the people should assure,

And that as king I should not long endure:

To which th’vnconstant people credit gaue,

Whose minds in state do alterations craue.

57.

In this distresse, in vaine I striue to stand

Against th’approching shame which I lament,

Besieged round with feare on euery hand,

Not knowing how such mischiefe to preuent,

_Pandulph_ the legate comes from _Innocent_,

To know if yet th’effects of his proud frowne,

Had in such dangers brought my stomack downe.

58.

O vnkind England now behold and see

Thy wronged king forlorne, and forc’d by feare

To yeeld his crowne vpon his bended knee:

O deepe disgrace, that any prince can beare,

O that such pride in prelates euer were:

_Pandulph_ in signe that I my sinnes repent,

Receiues my crowne giu’n vp to _Innocent_.

59.

Remitting former faults with gratious doome,

And hauing kept my crowne for fiue daies space,

As made contributorie vnto Rome,

The same againe he on my head did place,

And with my former title did me grace:

To the French king likewise with speed he went,

Charging him leaue his course for England bent.

60.

But he in hope the diademe to gaine,

Would not desist: but with a nauie came

Of twice foure hundred ships vpon the maine:

Whose powers t’oppose, proud _Pandulph_ did proclame

That all men should in _Innocentius_ name

Lift vp their hands t’auert those threatned harmes,

Whereby the shores were stuft with men of armes.

61.

Fiue hundred saile well mann’d against the foes,

I launcht into the seas with them to fight:

And for the generall of the fight I chose

My bastard brother, _William Longspath_ hight,

Of those our troublous times the brauest knight,

Who at this time his valiancie did show,

In this sea-fight against th’inuading foe.

62.

Gainst whom they fought with such successefull hands,

That on our side the conquest did remaine:

_Philip_ disgrac’d with his dismembred bands,

Vnto his home returned backe againe,

There to recure the losse he did sustaine:

While I in vaine do seeke to heale my state,

All rent and torne by mutinous debate.

63.

Out of the ruines of my countrie’s woe,

What I to raise did carefull hands applie,

My rebell barons downe againe did throw:

To take aduantage, while my miserie

Is yet but fresh, they me in field defie,

For that to their demands I gaue no eare,

Which to mine honor preiudiciall were.

64.

By friends forlorne, they forced me by might

To yeeld to them, to my disgrace and shame:

The thought of which, and of that great despight

Done by Rome’s _Innocent_, did so inflame

My heart with furie, that I did exclame

Vpon my fates that did my daies prolong,

In which I was ordain’d t’indure such wrong.

65.

Of mine owne seruants left all desolate,

But seuen in number did with me remaine,

Pursu’d by most disloyall people’s hate:

Oft with meane food my life I did sustaine,

Lest they by poyson should procure my bane:

And for my safetie with those few approued,

In strange disguise I to and fro remoued.

66.

In this distresse into the Ile of Wight

My selfe in secret wise I did conuey,

Where while I did remaine, in my despight

Each slaue, whose heart my name could once affray,

With barbarous taunts vpon the same did play:

Some call’d me fisherman, some rouing thiefe,

That fled the land, at seas to find reliefe.

67.

Such wrongs with patience I did seeme to beare,

Dissembling wrath in my reuengefull mind,

To such reports I seem’d to giue no eare:

But still did lie, as vnto peace inclin’d,

Till I fit opportunitie did find:

For in the end when I return’d againe,

For such contempt they paid me double paine.

68.

Receiuing aid from friends beyond the seas,

Like to a tempest stooping downe from heau’n,

With spoilefull hands my kingdome I did sease,

All in my furie were to slaughter giuen,

My barons into flight with terror driuen:

Fled from my face, and sought their heads to hide

For their misdeeds, in field none durst abide.

69.

They all vnable to withstand my might,

Not with submission milde did mercie craue:

To do to me and mine the more despight,

To France they sent, desiring for to haue

Prince _Lewis_ to their king, to whom they gaue

Their promise to aduance him to the crowne,

And as a tyrant king to cast me downe.

70.

King _Philip_ fostring malice in his mind,

And gainst me such aduantage hauing found,

Though no pretence of title he could find,

Whereon his purpos’d enterprise to ground:

Yet stretcht he out his arme our state to wound,

And take from me and my posteritie,

Our diademe and kingly royaltie.

71.

For his proud sonne prince _Lewis_ he did send,

With many a troope and many a warlike band,

Whose wisht accesse my barons did attend,

With all their troopes vpon the Kentish strand,

Where with his host French _Lewis_ first tooke land:

Whence with those traytors he to London went,

Which in this treason did with them consent.

72.

Then did begin my former miserie,

For those, in whom chiefe trust I did repose,

Those stranger souldiers all from me did flie,

Except some few, that did lament my woes,

And Douer castle kept against my foes,

Vnto whose trust I did the same betake,

All other seeming friends did me forsake.

73.

But see the iudgement of almightie Ioue,

On the disloyall people of this land:

The conquering French, whose nature is to proue,

Insulting ouer whom they beare command,

Now being lords of all, with heauie hand

The English people did begin t’oppresse,

Who could not helpe themselues in this distresse.

74.

Thus did the King of heau’n iust vengeance take

On them, for their vniust disloyaltie:

My part he did not vtterly forsake,

But in the end did force my foes to flie,

And leaue the crowne to my posteritie:

For he did chuse out one amongst the foe,

To be our enemie’s chiefe ouerthrow.

75.

There was a noble minded man of France,

Vicount of Melum, and a Frenchman borne,

Who falling sicke did waile the sad mischance

Of th’English, iustly made false fortune’s scorne,

That thus had left their king to liue forlorne:

Yea with remorse his conscience it did sting,

To see the subiect so oppresse the king.

76.

When death in him began his due to take,

He for my nobles secretly did send,

To whom with fainting voice these words he spake:

“My friends,” quoth he, “vnto my words attend,

Which shall ere long for euermore haue end:

Attend, I say, conscience bids me impart

The things that now lie heauie on my hart.

77.

Woe to the wretched people of this land,

Which do their soueraigne lord and king forsake:

Woe to your selues, that for your king should stand,

Of whom a scorne vnto the world ye make:

And woe vnto your children for your sake:

Yea, woe to England euermore shall be,

Vnlesse with speed ye seeke some remedie.

78.

_Lewis_ our prince of late hath deepely sworne,

And with him sixteene earles and barons more,

That ye, that now haue left your king forlorne,

Shall die the death, or else exil’d deplore

Your case in forren parts for euermore:

Then let each peere with speed draw forth his sword,

To helpe himselfe and his distressed lord.

79.

If conscience cause me to bemone the chance

Of this so braue a king, which ye possesse,

To whom I am a stranger borne in France:

Yea once his foe, though now as ye may gesse,

I as a friend bewaile his sad distresse:

How then should ye that are his liegemen borne,

For this his sad mishap with sorow mourne?

80.

Assist him then as dutie doth you bind,

Pitie your selues and your posteritie:

And keepe what I haue spoken in your mind,

Of which no more to you I can descrie:

For now my heart doth faile and I must die:

_Adieu pourtant, Adieu à chasqu’amy.

Adieu ie dis ma vie ce fini_.”

81.

My peeres forewarned of such treacherie,

And with remorse viewing their natiue lands

Betrai’d to spoile by their disloyaltie,

Did cast in mind how they with helping hands

Might best restore themselues from captiue bands:

And hoping now my grace againe to win,

From _Lewis_ to decline they did begin.

82.

Vpon th’insulting French to powre my spleene,

Throughout my kingdome’s bounds I did proclaime,

That all my subiects that had wronged been

By forren foes, if vnto me they came

With minds for fight, I would reuenge the same:

Whereby with speed came many a worthie wight

Vnder my standard gainst the French to fight.

83.

Like raging storme blowne out of _Boreas_ mouth,

With violent furie I did force my way,

From east to west, from north vnto the south

Destroying all things, that before vs lay:

Which did our aduersaries so dismay,

That none durst stand t’oppose vs in the field,

But readie way vnto our will did yeeld.

84.

Had proud prince _Lewis_ met with me in fight,

Our quarrell by the dint of sword to trie,

Soone should I haue obtain’d my kingdome’s right,

And made th’vsurping prince from hence to flie,

Who did support my peere’s disloyaltie:

But treason stretched out her deadly hand,

Who twixt the French and my reuenge did stand.

85.

In Swinsted abbie witnesse of my wrong,

A monke there was, the worker of my bane,

Who heard me vow that if I liued long,

Through England I would raise the price of graine,

To plague my subiects for their proud disdaine:

Which was the cause, as fates did first decree,

For which this villan monke did poyson mee.

86.

To vent the poisned thoughts of his false brest,

Loe all alone in dead time of the night,

When euery one had laid him downe to rest,

When aire was husht, when from the welkin bright

The golden stars did cast a glimmering light,

He forth did walke into a garden by,

For to effect his wicked treacherie.

87.

There as this villan wandred to and fro,

To find some weed that had the power t’expell

The vitall spirit, or any aduerse foe

To humane life, some kind of serpent fell,

Or any thing that did with poyson swell:

At last an vglie toad he haplesse found,

Big swolne with poyson crawling on the ground:

88.

With which full glad he did returne againe,

And to his chamber secretly did goe,

Where with his pen-knife he did pricke and paine

The lothsome toade, from whom the blood did floe,

By which the wicked monke did worke my woe:

For poison which the toade did vomit vp,

With wine he mixed in a fatall cup.

89.

With which to me he came, and thus he spake,

“My liege,” said he, “a cup of wine I bring,

Of which if that your grace a taste will take,

It will abate the edge of sorowe’s sting,

Which deepely seemes to wound my grieued king:

With it to England’s health I will begin,

Whose woes for euermore be drown’d herein.”

90.

Thus did this villan drinke, and dranke his last,

And after vnto me the cup he gaue,

Of which misdeeming nought, I straight did taste,

Which done, not all the world my life could saue,

So deadly was it tempered by the slaue:

Th’effects whereof before my death were knowne,

Which came to passe immediatly thereon.

91.

For when the raging venome had dispread

It selfe throughout my bodie by the veines,

My blood did boile, my heart began to dread,

My bodie swell’d, and when no hope remaines

Of any helpe to remedie such paines:

I for the monke did call to haue his head,

But one did answere make, that he was dead.

92.

“Then God,” quoth I, “haue mercie on my soule,

For of this wretched world no man am I,

Seeing nothing may this venom’s force controule:

For sensiblie I feele how it doth lie

Vpon my woefull heart, and I must die:

Wherefore my sonne fetch hither vnto mee,

That I before I die his face may see.”

93.

The child being brought, for then he was a child,

To him I thus did speake with weeping eie:

“My sonne,” quoth I, “on whom my hopes I build:

Come neere to me, where heere in paine I lie,

Come neere and haue my blessing ere I die,

Nought else to thee is left for me to leaue,

Since of my crowne my foes do me bereaue.

94.

Wherefore ye heau’ns who do behold my woes,

Now at my death giue eare vnto my prayer,

Protect this child of mine from all his foes:

And for your mercie’s sake this infant spare,

Whose tender age doth want your tender care:

Else will that roring lion _Lewis_ kill

This litle lambe, though he hath done none ill.

95.

And thou, my litle sonne, take heed by me,

That thou thy peeres and people’s loue procure,

Contend not thou with thy nobilitie:

So shall thy state and kingdome long endure,

And thou from forren foes liue safe and sure:

For my false subiects vndeserued hate

Did worke my woe, which I repent too late.

96.

Renowned _Pembroke_, thou hast left my foe,

Be thou protector to this pretie boy,

And for the father’s sake thy fauour show:

When I am gone do thou thy strength employ

Against all those that seeke this child’s annoy:

And ye, my other peeres, who once haue ben

My foes, proue now true hearted noble men.

97.

Redeeme your countrey from that captiue woe,

Which from the roote of ciuill discord grew:

Ioyne hearts and hands against the common foe:

Forget old wrongs, vnto the prince proue true:

Farewell, my daies be done, I die, adew.”

Thus after twice nine yeares of rule in state,

I lost both life and rule by timelesse fate.

98.

Behold the last effects of _Henrie’s_ curse

On his last sonne, for his rebellious pride:

Let princes learne, that where debate, the nurce

Of discord, doth the prince and peeres diuide,

Nought but destruction can that state betide:

Of which let that sad time of my short reigne,

A Mirrour vnto future time remaine.

THE WOFVLL LIFE AND

_Death of King Edward the second_.

THE ARGUMENT.

“Writers,” quoth Memorie, “were much to blame

Of _Iohn_, that noble prince, to speake such shame:

But little credit vnto them we giue,

Since they were foes to him, when he did liue:

His first sonne _Henrie_, third of that same name,

Did him succeed, and with his sword did tame

That French prince _Lewis_, whom he forc’d by might

To leaue this kingdome, due to him of right:

_Edward_ his sonne, the first that bore that name

Since _William’s_ conquest made, whose noble fame

Shall neuer die, did in the throne succeed,

And in his daies wrought many a worthie deed:

Yet neither of these princes both did feele

Th’inconstant course of fortune’s froward wheele:

That _Edward_ of Carnaruan, third from _Iohn_,

Is next in course, whom we must stay vpon:

He in the first spring of his fatall raigne

Recals the banisht _Gaueston_ againe,

Exil’d before by his renowned sire,

At whose proud taunts the peeres being set on fire,

Do quench it with his blood: the angrie king

Vowes his reuenge, the valiant _Breuce_ doth bring

His powers into the field, and in the fight

At Banokesborne turnes th’English into flight:

Heau’n, dearth, and death foretels the sad euent,

Which did ensue vpon the riuer Trent:

The queene is sent to France the peace t’haue mou’d,

Proues false, returnes againe with her belou’d:

Arriues in armes, gainst whom the king craues aid,

Who left forlorne, and at the last betrai’d,

Imprison’d, and enforc’d by parlament,

Vnto his sonne resignes the gouernment:

On him depos’d, more mischiefe to inferre,

His queene, the bishop, and her _Mortimer_,

In darke enigma do conclude his death:

And, lest that he should seeme t’expire his breath

By violent hand, a torment they deuise

By which the king in Bercklie castle dies:

Of which that we th’vndoubted truth may haue,

Let fame call vp his wronged ghost from graue.”

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

Fame summons vp the king: in briefe he showes

How queene, peeres, people, all did him depose.

[Illustration]

1.

That subtill serpent, seruile flatterie,

Seldome infects the meaner man, that feares

No change of state through fortune’s treacherie:

She spits her poison at the mightiest peeres,

And with her charmes inchants the prince’s eares:

In sweetest wood the worme doth soonest breed,

The caterpiller on best buds doth feed.

2.

If slie dissimulation credit winne

With any prince, that sits on highest throne,

With honied poyson of soure sugred sinne,

It causeth him turne tyrant to his owne,

And to his state workes swift confusion,

Aboue his cedar’s top it high doth shoot,

And canker-like deuoures it to the root.

3.

Of which that thou a perfect Mirrour haue,

The wronged ghost of that deposed king,

Carnaruan’s _Edward_, hath forgone his graue,

Who does with him such dolefull tidings bring,

That yet thy muse the like did neuer sing:

Those sad mishaps which she before did show,

Compar’d to mine are counterfeits of woe.

4.

To strengthen her complaint before she sing,

And drowne her grieued thoughts in depth of woe:

(Yee murdred ghosts, that vnder night’s black wing,

In vncouth paths doe wander to and fro,

And oft in sighfull groanes your griefe do show)

Haste vnto vs, and hauing heard our wrong,

Help with your shrieks to make a mourneful song.

5.

The quill of some sad turtle’s wing applie

That mourn’d so long, till griefe did strike her dead:

Blood be thy incke, which when it waxeth drie,

Moisten with teares: and when all thine are shed,

From euery eye, that haps these lines to reade,

Let euery verse compos’d, such sad sound beare,

That for each word it may enforce a teare.

6.

(Sorrow, distresse, and all that can be found

Which once did helpe me waile my woefull smart,

When fatall _Berckly’s_ buildings did resound

The echoing complaints of my poore hart)

Grant your accesse, and helpe to beare a part,

That our sad muse more ruthfully may sing,

The storie of a dead deposed king.

7.

I tell of honie-soothing parasites,

Of stubborne peeres, who louing sterne debate,

Did boldly braue me in two bloodie fights,

Of a proud prelate’s plots, of people’s hate,

Of the sad ruine of a royall state:

And of a queene betrai’d to fond desire

Who too too cruell did my death conspire.

8.

To the first _Edward_, since the Norman’s name

Grew famous for their crown’d grac’d victorie,

The fourth of six of his faire sonnes I am,

Mongst whom I was ordain’d by destinie,

To sway the scepter of this emperie:

Before my kingly father left to liue,

The first three borne to death his due did giue.

9.

I did suruiue, the yongest of the foure,

And did succeed my sire in royall chaire:

But did not treade the path which he before

Had with his vertuous foot-steps beaten faire:

Birth binds not vertue to succeed in th’heire,

Else why did I of such illustrate race,

Obscure his vertuous deeds with my disgrace?

10.

Had I but tract the steps of such a sire

To perfect that great worke, which he begun,

Had princely thoughts but mounted my desire

T’assay like glorious deeds, which he had done,

O what a prize of honor had I wonne!

But discord sent from hell did ruine bring,

Euen at that time, that I was crown’d a king.

11.

As th’holy priest with sanctified hand

The precious vnguent on my head should powre,

And as before the altar I did stand,

Discord the furie sent from that blacke shore

By damned _Dis_ where _Phlegeton_ doth rore,

Shapt like th’appointed priest whose hallowed hand

Should me annoint, by me vnknowne did stand.

12.

Approching nigh, the venome she did shed

Of sad _Cocytus_ poole, which she did bring

In her blacke viall, on my haplesse head,

Whose banefull sauour borne on furie’s wing,

Did not alone infect th’anointed king:

But round diffus’d, as sent from peere to peere,

Did poyson those high bloods that present were.

13.

The ranke contagion of this foule disease

With rauing looke the mightiest in the state,

Whose desperate rage with remedie t’appease,

Warre rouz’d himselfe at home, who had of late

Slept in the bosome of pernicious hate:

And did incite them in pretence of good,

With their owne swords to let their bodies blood.

14.

O most remorselesse of that impious age,

That did not only then deny your aide

To your deare countrie, when with barbarous rage

The bordering foes her bosome did inuade,

And in her wombe such ghastly wounds had made,

But as a nation borne of viper’s brood,

O shame to tell, did daily sucke her blood.

15.

Great queene of sea-siedg’d iles, what canst thou show

Of that good hap, when _Edward_ thy late king

Did safely bulwarke thee against thy foe?

Thy _Edward_ now doth with his minions sing,

While thou thy hands in wretchednesse dost wring:

And _Brewse_ doth mangle thee with many a scarre,

While thy proud peeres prepare for ciuill warre.

16.

In our discourse, that we a method haue

Of euery action, let vs briefely tell

In his due place, which time and order gaue:

And that we may first know those causes well,

From whence these sad effects produc’d befell,

In the respectiue scope of this our storie,

Let vs looke backe to _Edward’s_ daies of glorie.

17.

In the fresh blossome of my youthfull spring,

Sucking the sugered poison of delight,

Euen then when with strict hand the carefull king

Kept backe my youth, I on the baites did bite

Of _Gaueston_ that soothing parasite:

A yong esquire of Gascoyne in faire feature,

Shapt like an angell: but of euill nature.

18.

My royall father, who with iudgement’s eie

Could sound the depth of things, perceiuing well

How follie did by him her charmes applie,

T’inchant my youth: such mischiefe to repell,

Did him exile, lest by the powerfull spell

Of his allurements drawne from all renowne,

I should be made vnworthie of a crowne.

19.

O prudent prince! the depth of that decree

Which heau’n did purpose by my _Gaueston_,

Too secret was for humane sense to see,

Who did ordaine, that exil’d minion

To ruine _Edward_ and thy royall throne:

For though an exile he did then depart,

Yet with him went thy wanton _Edward’s_ heart.

20.

Too late it was that obiect to remoue,

To whom in fancie’s cup I long before

Had quaff’d so deepe, that surfetting with loue,

Heart-sicke I was till time did him restore,

And set him once againe on England’s shore:

Forgetfull of my faith to _Edward_ dead,

Not to reuoke, whom he had banished.

21.

His bones were yet scarce cold, his royall throne

Scarce warme beneath me was, when in the same

I did embrace my deare, lou’d _Gaueston_,

Who as infected with contagious shame

Of some corrupted place, from whence he came,

Throughout the land in little space did spread,

That foule disease which our destruction bread.

22.

In court the leprous spots of his delights

Vnto the palace wals so fast do cleaue,

That from my presence all the noblest wights

Withdraw themselues, and in their roomes do leaue

Those vp-starts base, who them of grace bereaue:

No man is held to be the king’s true friend,

But he that doth his _Gaueston_ commend.

23.

His lips were made the oracles, from whence

I tooke aduice, he in the counsell sits,

Graue states as enemies are banisht thence,

The shallow-brain’d yong giddie-headed wits,

Our wanton humour with best counsell fits,

The sage instructions of the wise man’s mouth,

Do sound harsh musike in the eares of youth.

24.

This was the spring, from whence at first did floe

Those streames of strife, which rising like a flood

Do ouerwhelme my state in waues of woe,

Which threat confusion to the common good,

Which first in death do coole my barons blood:

And which yet swelling higher, lastly bring

A violent downefall to a royall king.

25.

My _Gaueston_, in maiestie’s great armes

Being safely hug’d, no change of fortune feares:

He wantons with the king, soothes his owne harmes,

He playes the buffon’s part, he flouts and ieers

The courtly actions of the honor’d peeres:

The great in counsell and the noble borne,

Are made the subiect of his hatefull scorne.

26.

Sterne wrath to let loose rage, steps vp from hell,

Conducts my peeres from court vnto the campe,

She claps her hands and with a countnance fell,

Gnashing her teeth doth fiercely raue and rampe,

And with her feet vpon the ground doth stampe:

Then whets them to reuenge in their rash mood,

Whose furious thirst must be allaid with blood.

27.

Twice was my minion as an exile sent

To forren shores, their furie to restraine,

And twice againe reuokte with their assent,

Who now no longer able to refraine,

Prouokte with daily wrongs of his disdaine,

He being betrai’d, for vengeance all do call,

On Gauer’s heath, where _Gaueston_ did fall.

28.

They wreake their vengeance in his reeking blood,

My sighes they laugh to scorne, while I lament,

With faire pretence to further common good

They vnderpop their cause, and to preuent

The mischiefe, that may grow from discontent,

To tracke me step by step in euery thing,

Whom they do please, they place about their king.

29.

Feeding on griefe for _Gaueston_ deceast,

And blushing at such wrong done to my state,

Reuenge doth burne in my distempred brest,

Anger takes hands with griefe, all ioyne with hate,

And to the peeres threaten pernicious fate,

Who, lest time weaken rage then too too strong,

Do giue it strength by adding daily wrong.

30.

In this dissension, while on euery hand,

We for our owne destruction do prepare,

Newes from the north giues vs to vnderstand,

How valiant _Brewse_ in his successefull warre

Against our powers doth prosperously fare,

Recouering that from vs againe, with more,

Which our dread sire had kept from him before.

31.

Beyond the bounds of his owne natiue soile,

He proudly breakes vpon our bordering coast,

None seekes t’oppose, he makes no faint recoile:

The spoile and riches of whole countries lost

Can hardly bound the furie of his host,

Neuer did bordering foe inuade so far,

Or wound our kingdome with a greater scar.

32.

Tempestuous tidings borne on Boreas breath

Cooles the hot vengeance of a wrathfull king,

And for a while delaies prepared death

For his proud peeres, feare from the north on wing

Comes flying fast, and 'bout our eares doth ring,

Bidding vs haste, and powre our vengeance forth

Vpon our foes, that brau’d vs in the north.

33.

Mustering vp troopes of foot-men for the field,

To passe in person for this great affaire,

My hopes on number I do vainly build:

Our thoughts made aduerse by the former iar,

Prepare vs mischiefe in the following war:

Disioyn’d in heart, yet ioyn’d in ranke we goe,

To giue a famous conquest to the foe.

34.

Stout _Brewse_ renownes his sword with _Edward’s_ flight,

Striuiling, whose siege our rescue crau’d, can tell

England’s misfortune in that haplesse fight:

And Banokesborne, who 'boue her bounds did swell

With bodies dead, that in that battell fell,

Aboue the bordering brookes hath won a name

Fam’d for this field thus fought vpon the same.

35.

O noble nation, t’whom true fame hath giuen

A glorious name for deeds accomplished,

Equall with any people’s vnder heau’n,

Be not dismai’d, ’twas I, ’twas I, that led

To such mishap, on whose vnhappie head

Heau’n neuer smil’d, but with sterne lookes still frown’d

Till wearied with mishaps, I was vncrown’d.

36.

O had I perisht by the sword of _Brewse_,

And had not been reseru’d to future daies,

To see my peeres with treason take a truce,

And with their swords by all uniust assaies,

Attempt to hew downe him, whom heau’n did raise:

I had been blest, and had not liu’d to rue

The woes yet worse, which after did ensue.

37.

Th’inueterate wounds of wrong infixt so deepe,

Against my barons in my swolne heart,

With drops of blood now made afresh to weepe,

That I from _Brewse_ should thus with shame depart,

Did so augment my mind’s impatient smart,

That by my peeres mine ire now new stirr’d vp,

I with their blood quencht in _Bellonae’s_ cup.

38.

What they do plot is by my powre controul’d,

What I intend, vnreuerently they crosse:

What they do wish, I will not: what I would,

They do gain-say, though to a publike losse:

Thus vpon mischiefe’s racket do we tosse

The common good, till bandied by vs all

Into confusion’s hazard it do fall.

39.

Both heau’n and earth, as if in mourning clad,

They did bewaile, what they could not preuent,

When on our selues, our selues no pittie had,

Denide those comforts in due season sent,

Which to this nation they before had lent:

As with their anger they would vs recall

From running headlong, where we needs must fall.

40.

Towards th’Articke side of heau’n ore Albion’s rocks,

A blazing meteor stood in th’vpper aire,

Which with grim looke shaking his dreadfull locks,

Bids earth be barren, and the world despaire:

Then cals the furies with the snakie haire,

To execute that vengeance to succeed,

Which fates for wretched England had decreed.

41.

Famine, forerunner to deuouring death,

Haunts euery coast, where food is to be found,

The fruits are blasted by her banefull breath,

She makes the clouds to drop, till that be drown’d,

Which plentie’s hand had hidden in the ground:

Then doth she ransacke both the rich and poore,

Deuouring all, till she can find no more.

42.

If euer pitie moue a stonie eie,

Let her present our age for map of woe,

There see for food, how little infants crie,

Whom, parents wanting, what they would bestow,

With griefe are either forced to forgo,

Or else with weeping woe to sit them by,

Till faint for food before their face they die.

43.

The spouse, that wants to feed her fruitfull wombe,

Burying the babe, that neuer came from graue,

Cries, in her deare’s deare armes, for death to come,

Who mad with sorrow and in hope to haue

That left of death, which loue desires to saue:

A horrid thing to tell, to saue his owne,

Steales other’s children for to feed vpon.

44.

When leane-fac’d famine, who with furious thirst

Coasting the countrie, through the land had run,

Began to breath as hauing done their worst,

That other furie pastilence begun

To finish that, which they had left vndone,

Who 'boue our heads in the infected aire,

Her poysned shafts for battaile did prepare.

45.

Her angrie arrowes euery way do flie,

Thousands on either hand in death do fall:

But happie they in blessed peace to die,

Not left with vs to liue, when death did call,

To see blood-thirstie warre the worst of all:

That vniuersall flood of woes powre downe

In seas of blood, this wretched land to drowne.

46.

In midst of these extreames with griefe cast downe,

The measure of our miserie to fill,

My stubborne peers take armes, and proudly frowne,

Threatning in rage that little left to spill,

If basely I submit not to their will:

And exile those, whom they themselues did place

In stead of _Gaueston_ t’attend our grace.

47.

He that in bosome of a prince doth dwell,

And by endeuour seekes to gaine his grace,

Though for his seruice he deserue it well:

Yet as the deere pursu’d from place to place,

The enuious dog will haue him still in chase:

Danger in chiefest safetie it doth bring,

To seeme to be familiar with a king.

48.

_Spenser_, the man, on whom at first I frown’d,

Whom they preferr’d, my _Gaueston_ being dead,

Was he, whom they pretend to be the ground

Of all their griefe, gainst him they now made head,

He was of vs too highly fauoured:

Him must we banish, so they thinke it fit,

If on our throne in safetie we will sit.

49.

_William de Brewse_ in selling _Gower’s_ land

To yonger _Spenser_ from the other peeres,

Who would haue brought the same at _Brewse’s_ hand,

First blew the coles, whence now that flame appeares,

Which had been hid in anger many yeares:

This is the cause of their conceiued ire,

For this in armes gainst me they do conspire.

50.

Disloyall _Lancaster_, that did conduct

The rebels to the field, by letters sent

With termes vnfit his soueraigne will instruct,

Assigning daies, within whose termament,

I should reforme such things in gouernment,

Which he mislikes, thus adding to that fire,

Which did at length consume him in our ire.

51.

This fire yet burning in our royall brest,

The queene doth with complaint her wrongs prefer,

That in her progresse after long vnrest,

Our late false steward lord _Badelismere_,

Confederate with rebellious _Lancaster_,

Vnkindly had deni’d in my despight,

Her lodging in Leeds castle for a night.

52.

To make our furie in reuenge more strong,

Letters from Scotland intercepted were,

Which touch vs neerer then all former wrong,

In number six: the one of which did beare

The armes of _Dowglas_, sent to _Lancaster_,

In which the _Dowglas_ to conceale his name,

Vnto king _Arthur_ doth direct the same.

53.

Prouokt to vengeance for such treacherous spight,

From London with our royall powres we past,

Whose stomackes fill’d with furie for the fight,

I vrged forward with the vtmost hast,

To lay the manours and the lordships wast

Of our proud barons, promising for pray

All that was theirs, that came within their way.

54.

Newes of th’vnnaturall deeds which they enact

Vpon the loyall people of our land,

Hasten vs forward with such speed exact,

That ere the _Mortimers_, who both did band

Themselues with _Lancaster_, did vnderstand

Of our approch our royall armed traine,

At Shrewsburie did front them on the plaine.

55.

Far from confederates amaz’d with wonder,

At our approch, both daunted to behold

Our frownes of lightning, and our threats of thunder,

Hang downe their heads, scarce daring be so bold

As looke on vs, their fainting hearts wax cold,

And on their knees they fall, in hope to stay

Our angrie doome, that threatned their decay.

56.

Yeelding to fate by force of destinie,

Whose foreappointing prouidence hath power

In euery thing t’enforce necessitie,

We grant them life, reseruing in the tower

That _Mortimer_ at London for that hower,

In which by destiny it was set downe,

That that false lord should ruine my renowne.

57.

Marching more northward from the Cambrian coast,

While vengefull breath the fire of furie fans,

After such good successe to bring our host

To Pomfret, which gainst vs our barons mans:

At last we lite like flockes of snow-white swans

Fast by the weeping Eye, which runneth downe

Into the Trent by little Caldwel’s towne.

58.

There first did Needwood’s echoing forrest tell

The stubborne barons of our whole intent,

There first they seeke our forces to repell,

When with their powers our passage to preuent,

Intended ore the bosome of the Trent,

They interrupt our purpose with proud braues,

On Burton bridge ore fishie Trent’s blacke waues.

59.

The riuer’s watrie wombe did proudly swell,

As if it had turn’d rebell with the foes,

Or as if louing either armie well,

It would preuent poore England of the woes

Which must ensue, if both parts came to bloes:

Her waters rose beyond their wonted bounds,

And for three daies deferr’d vnnaturall wounds.

60.

Aquarius with the foot-bands manly fought

Gainst those, that on the bridge at Burton stood,

While with our troopes vnseene we cast about

Vnder the couert of a leauie wood,

Distant three miles from thence, where ore the flood

Th’whole host did passe by shallowes lately found,

To meete the barons vpon equall ground.

61.

The deadly drum doth tell the foes from far

The fatall march of their approching king:

Who seeing their weaknesse to sustaine the war

Gainst such a powre, which with vs we do bring,

They turne their backes, swift feare their feet doth wing:

Yet stubborne men still to prouoke our ire,

Before they flie, they set the towne on fire.

62.

Horrour pursues them euery way they flie,

Repentance comes too late to calme our frowne,

All former wrongs afresh for vengeance crie,

They, that did whilome wish them all renowne,

By aduerse fortune being thus cast downe,

Lift vp their hands, yet lower to suppresse them,

All friends turne foes in pursuite to distresse them.

63.

At Burrough bridge, in their vnluckie flight,

Where for th’encounter death did readie stand,

They were enforc’d in most vnequall fight,

For loued life to vse defensiue hand

Against the stubborne bands of Cumberland:

Led by stout _Herckley_, who with bold assay

Of his drawne sword began a bloodie day.

64.

In mutuall slaughter, both the hosts do stand,

Earth trembling shakes beneath their trampling feet,

The singing shafts thicke loos’d on euery hand,

Flie to and fro, then hand to hand they meet,

And wound for wound each doth the other greet,

While ouer head the heau’n’s remorsefull stood

Dropping downe teares to see their sides drop blood.

65.

Valiant _Bohume_, Herford’s vndanted lord,

That stood in fight by foes besieged round,

His heart not female made to flie as skar’d,

Neuer gaue backe, but brauely kept his ground,

Till life gaue backe from that same deadly wound,

Giu’n by a stout Welch Britaine, that did stand

Beneath the bridge with fatall speare in hand.

66.

This lucklesse chance so terrifi’d the foe,

And gaue such strength vnto the northerne bands,

That th’aduerse part their backes began to show,

_Clifford_, though wounded with a shaft, yet stands

With _Lancaster_ in fight, till on all hands,

Opprest with multitude, themselues they yeeld,

To conquering _Herckley_ victour of the field.

67.

Thus hautie _Lancaster_, that did not feare

To tempt his soueraigne’s peace with periur’d hate,

Who in the morning was the mightiest peere

That ’gainst his prince did euer moue debate,

By night was made the meanest in the state:

In right or wrong, who euer lifts his hand

Against his prince, his cause doth seldome stand.

68.

Not he alone made forfeit of his head,

Who in this proud rebellion led the ring,

The fatall axe strooke many others dead,

Hewing downe all, that had conspir’d to bring

Their powers for fight against their lawfull king:

Twice eight great barons and as many knights

In death paid paines for wrong t’our kingly rites.

69.

O age infortunate, when subiects pride

Did force their soueraigne to such deeds of woe,

That when all men had laid remorse aside,

The sunne in heau’n his griefe in shame to show

Six houres with blood-red cheeks on th’earth below,

Did blush to see her soile drinke vp their blood,

Who liuing oft in her defence had stood.

70.

Imprudent prince, since rage did lift thy hand

To lop the pillers of thy kingdome downe,

On whose supportfull powers thy state should stand:

Looke for a ruthlesse ruine of thy crowne,

Looke helplesse now in wretchednesse to drowne:

The dance vnto destruction they haue led,

And the same feeting I the king must tread.

71.

When th’hand of Ioue the mightie men shall take

From any state, for their rebellious pride,

By such foresigne this vse we well may make,

Some after-storme of vengeance will betide

That haplesse land, who euer it doth guide:

The sad effusion of the noble blood,

Portends confusion to the common good.

72.

With dolefull pen I could bewaile their woe,

Whose wofull wants did after proue me weake:

But far more horrid things we are to show,

To those blacke deeds, of which we now must speake:

They before spoken did that ice but breake,

At which we falling in did helplesse drowne,

Once fallen, all do helpe to keepe vs downe.

73.

Not _Herkleye’s_ treason plotted in that truce,

Which for aduancement, most ambitious man,

He did intend t’our aduersarie _Brewce_:

Nor the new troubles, which _Valoys_ began

In our dominions Guien and Aquitaine,

Shall be the subiect of our sadder verse:

Matter of more importance we rehearse.

74.

O _Isabel_ my queene, my vnkind queene,

Thy shame must be the subiect of our song,

Had not the weaknesse of thy faith been seene,

When faithlesse thou wast led to do that wrong

To him that liu’d in loue with thee so long:

That royall blood in Berklie castle spilt,

Had now not stain’d our storie with thy guilt.

75.

The scene of lust foreruns the act of blood,

Priapus doth his lustfull breath inspire

Into the queene, the ocean’s wauie flood

Cannot extinguish fancie’s burning fire,

Nor coole the scalding thirst of her desire:

With heate of lust her inward heart doth gloe,

T’imprisoned _Mortimer_ my mortall foe.

76.

Heere let not any take offensiue spleene,

Or taxe these rimes, for that to light they bring

Th’incontinence of our disloyall queene:

Nor thy muse grieue this argument to sing,

Which is confirmed by the wronged king:

Foule is the fault, though nere so quaint the skill,

That conceales truth to lessen any ill.

77.

_Wigmore’s_ false _Mortimer_, (whose fatall name

Vniuocall to him of all his line:

Whether from feare of death we fetch the same,

Or of the dead seas sinke we it define,

The deeds of death t’ensue doth well diuine)

Reserued was by fate within the tower,

With time to turne the glasse of my last houre.

78.

On him the queene by loose affection led

Did cast her fancie, burning in the flame

Of priuie lust, which strong desier fed:

And wanting her delight in wanton game,

To coole her lust-burnt blood with dregs of shame,

Did cast about how she might him release,

That he might giue her loue-sicke passions ease.

79.

It is not bands, nor walles, nor thousands spies

That can the woman’s wicked will preuent:

Let loue intreate, set shame before her eies,

Let plighted faith, first virgin vow’d consent,

And the wombe’s fruit that giues loue most content,

Perswade with her: yet can they neuer stay

Her wanton will, if she will go astray.

80.

By sleepie potion of effectuall power

To charme the sense, whether by her conuey’d,

Or by himselfe deuised in the tower,

_Segraue_ the constable was captiue made,

With many more to senselesse sleepe betray’d:

While _Mortimer_, vnthought vpon, escapes

And vnto France his prosperous iourney shapes.

81.

Thus far did fortune with my queene conspire,

And after this good hap to giue full ease

Vnto the longing thirst of her desire,

Tels her how France inuades beyond the seas,

Which vp in armes she needs must go t’appease:

When resolution hath prepar’d the will,

It wants no helpes to further any ill.

82.

Through our neglect of homage to be made,

Constrain’d thereto by our home-bred debate,

_Valoys_ her brother did our lands inuade,

And through late wounds made in our mangled state,

In armes vnable to withstand his hate:

To treate with him of peace our queene we sent,

In her vow’d faith being too too confident.

83.

O powre diuine, what mortall wight hath wings

To soare the height of thy vnknowne decree?

Reason, that hath such power in search of things,

Proues then most blind, when most it seemes to see,

In vainly arguing of what must bee:

When reason bids no danger to suspect,

Time hastens swift confusion in effect.

84.

The queene effecting that, for which she went,

With these conditions reunites the peace,

That to such couenants I should consent,

Aniou and Aquitaine I should release

Vnto my sonne, my title should surcease:

And he to France as in times past 't had bin,

Should do his homage for his right therein.

85.

Pleas’d in this peace, my selfe, or my yong sonne

Inioyn’d in person to confirme these things,

The _Spencers_ both being into hatred run,

Not daring be from vnder my safe wings,

So absolute we thinke the power of kings,

Perswade me heere to stay and send my sonne,

In hope thereby, what they did feare, to shun.

86.

Thus all hands helping, _Isabel_ againe

To forward that which she on foot had set,

I hauing past my title t’Aquitaine

Vnto the prince my sonne, she sees no let,

But that more easly she the rest may get:

So large a share cut from vs by her skill,

She hopes to haue the whole or want her will.

87.

Hauing obtain’d in France what we require,

She call’d vpon to make returne with speed,

Protracts the time, and feasting her desire

So long with _Mortimer_, that she doth need

Excuse to warrant her presumptuous deed:

Giues flat deniall to her lord’s command,

Not to returne except with force of hand.

88.

Many, that wau’ring wish’d a change in state,

And more, that on reuenge so long had fed

For losse of friends, that fell in that debate

Betwixt vs and our barons, daily fled

Vnto the queene, whose heart being stricken dead,

As wanting strength to manage her affaire,

They do reuiue with powre by their repaire.

89.

While in the French court, yet vnfrown’d vpon

By _Charles_ her brother king, she did abide,

Our Exceter’s true bishop _Stapleton_,

Ioyn’d in commission with her to decide

The iar ’twixt vs and France, now seeing her pride

Burst out in plaine reuolt, returning ouer

The seas from her, did all her drifts discouer.

90.

Thus their close treason bare and naked made,

As blushing at their open shame descride,

To cloake the cause of their intent t’inuade,

They vow no more to brooke the _Spencers_ pride,

Nor shall the queene vniustly be denide

The presence of the king, they all will die,

Or order things that stand in state awrie.

91.

King _Charles_ her brother, while they thus deuise,

Whether with our rich gifts or promise won,

Or with respect to his owne royalties,

Or that he would not be a looker on,

While vnto maiestie such wrong was done:

First wooes our queene for peace, whom wilfull bent,

He exiles France to frustrate her intent.

92.

Who now would thinke that she should euer find

A hopefull helpe her weaknesse to repaire?

Bewitching beautie, O how dost thou blind

The eyes of man! thy soule is deemed faire,

Thy euill good, thy vice a vertue rare:

In thy distresse although thy cause be wrong,

Thou mou’st remorse and mak’st thy partie strong.

93.

Those yonger bloods, _Arthois_ and _Beaumont_,

Without respect vnto her cause’s right,

Those certaine helpes to her do oft recount

In Heinault to be found, if she excite

The earle thereof to pitie her sad plight:

Which by a match pretended might be done,

Betwixt his daughter and the prince our sonne.

94.

As they gaue counsell, so it came to passe,

She t’Heinault goes with _Beaumont_ for her guide,

And with kind welcome entertained was:

Where while _Heinault_ and she with ioy prouide

To make his daughter our yong _Edward’s_ bride,

To England lets turne backe, and see at home

How we prepare against the storme to come.

95.

To stand vpon our guard against such harme,

And backe our cause against inuading ill,

All castles and strong holds with men we arme,

The coasts are kept, beacons on euery hill

Are set for spies: O had the ioynt good will

Of subiects loue with me their soueraigne bin,

Th’inuading foes had found hard entrance in.

96.

In vaine, O wretched king, thy hopes haue trust

On broken faithes of subiects daily fleeting:

Thy lot is cast, from throne thou shalt be thrust,

Thy foes shall of thy subiects at their meeting,

In stead of blowes, be welcom’d with kind greeting:

Thou only seek’st to keepe out th’vnkind queene,

While heere at home worse dangers are vnseene.

97.

Whilst now my state begins for to decline,

In whom, alas, should I my trust repose?

My brother _Kent_ then resident in Guine

For some displeasure done to him by those

'Bout vs at home, reuolts vnto our foes:

O faithlesse _Kent_, thou art the first shalt rue,

That euer thou to _Edward_ wast vntrue.

98.

Treason transports, what traytors looke for heere,

The queen’s stout champion _Iohn_ of _Beaumont_ comes

With his proud troopes, three thousand men well neere,

Promis’d rich pay in ransacke of our summes,

Who now aboord with trumpets and with drummes,

Vrg’d by the hastie queene to launch the deepe

With winde-wing’d sailes the seas soft bosome sweepe.

99.

O let the windes their forward course restraine,

Wing not such mischiefe to our natiue shore,

Let the proud billowes beate them backe againe:

Or if they needs must come, let the seas rore,

Hurle them on rockes that they may neuer more

Be seene in England in pretence of good,

To bathe their hands in _Edward’s_ royall blood.

100.

Orwell thy hauen first did let them in,

Harwich with bels did welcome in their fleet:

No sooner did our _Isabel_ begin

To presse the sandie shore with wanton feet,

But our earle marshall with his powres did greet

Her safe arriue, whose part, false peere, had bin

To haue oppos’d her at her entrance in.

101.

The brother to that lord that lost his head,

_Leister’s_ great earle did now lift vp his hand,

As in reuenge of _Lancaster_ late dead,

T’whom many a peere linckt in rebellious band

Of grudges past, in the queene’s cause doth stand:

And lest they grieue in conscience to betray

Their lawfull king, the church leads them the way.

102.

Herford’s proud prelate, _Torleton_, who before

Conuicted was for treason gainst his king,

When armes gainst vs our stubborne barons bore,

Shrowded till now beneath the churche’s wing,

Fled to the foes, and in his heart did bring

That horrid treason hatcht before in hell,

Cause of all after mischiefe that befell.

103.

The newes of this new innouation made,

And of the aliens lately set on land,

With terrour doth my fainting heart inuade:

All holds about vs readie open stand,

To yeeld possession ere the foes demand:

Whose first smal troope now made a mightie force,

Into the land they take their forward course.

104.

London denies to lend her sou’raigne aid,

To whom inforc’d at length to bid adew,

As doubting there to foes to be betrai’d,

With both the _Spencers_ vnto Wales I flew,

There by some powre my hopes yet to renue,

Hoping amongst the Welch more faith to find,

T’whom from my youth I had been euer kind.

105.

But thus forsaken, whither shal I run?

Where shall I shadow me with safetie’s wing?

Since that a wife, a brother, and a sonne,

Pursues a husband, father and a king:

Pitie, adew, my wrong shall neuer wring

Remorse from others: Wales conspires my woe,

And with false England turnes vnto my foe.

106.

Pursu’d on euery hand, and forc’d to flie

My natiue soile to shun death’s dangerous dart,

My fortunes on the surging seas to trie

In a poore barke, from England we depart

To th’ile of Lunday with an heauie heart,

Whom from the maine land Seuerne doth diuide,

In which we hope in safetie to abide.

107.

But eu’n that little good doth seas denie,

With angrie looke the heau’ns behold the maine,

Gust after gust the winged winds do flie

Vpon the waues, who puft with proud disdaine,

Will vs deuoure or driue vs backe againe:

As if too much they thought that little land

For him that late had kingdomes at command.

108.

Remorselesse waues haue we a kingdome lost,

And yet our barke do ye denie to bring

To this small plot of ground two miles at most:

O woe to tell that once so great a king

Should stoope his minde vnto so small a thing,

Content to share the meanest part of many,

And yet deni’d to be possest of any.

109.

Long did we wrestle with the waues and winde,

But all in vaine we striue, for neuer more

Shall friendlesse _Edward_ any comfort find:

Our barke distrest, her tackle rent and tore,

At length arriues vpon Glamorgan shore,

Where _Spencer_, _Baldocke_, _Reding_, markt for death,

Go all with me t’a castle called Neath.

110.

With vaine suppose of safetie in that hold,

While there in secret we our selues repose

To the lords _Zouch_ and _Leister_ we are sold,

Who by rich gifts often corrupting those

That our vnknowne abode could best disclose,

With violent hands do sease their wished pray,

And beare vs thence each one a seuerall way.

111.

_Leister_, thy king is now thy captiue made,

Reuenge is in thy hand, where is thy spleene?

Though vnto thee thy soueraigne was betrai’d:

This be thy praise, thou wouldst not with our queene

In _Edward’s_ wrongs be any deeper seene:

While in thy Killingworth thy king remaines,

Nought doth he want that to a king pertaines.

112.

With a strong guard from starting there kept sure,

Our friends meane time being seas’d on by the foe,

Both _Spencers_, _Reading_, _Daniel_, _Milcheldeure_,

In death do happily shut vp their woe,

As pointing out the way that we must go:

_Baldocke_ in prison by a milder fate,

Struck dead with grief preuents their deadly hate.

113.

They, that vnto the king induc’d by reason

Did loyall proue, were traytors to the state:

O impious age, when truth was counted treason,

Heere noble _Arundell_ I waile thy fate,

Whose blood drunke vp by _Mortimer’s_ sterne hate,

Did manifest the spleene, on which he fed

Against his king, for whom thy blood was shed.

114.

Since they by death t’offence haue paid their due,

Who late alone in your displeasure stood,

Whom should your deadly hatred now pursue?

If they were only foes to common good,

That made you satisfaction with their blood:

Why is your liege lord as a common foe

Reseru’d a captiue prince for worser woe?

115.

Bloodie reuenge your hatred cannot bound,

So wilfully to greater mischiefe bent,

The poore imprison’d king must be vncrown’d,

At London by the states in parlament,

It is decreed by mutuall consent:

_Edward_ must be depos’d from royall throne,

Where he had sate now twice ten yeares and one.

116.

O righteous heau’ns, if ye haue powre t’oppose

Fraile man’s vnrighteous thoughts in euery thing:

Then suffer not, ah suffer not my foes

Thus to go on, that are about to bring

Such wofull tidings to a wretched king:

In thrall though I abide, this grace yet giue,

That I at least a captiue king may liue.

117.

Strengthned by will, though not by force of lawes,

To Killingworth th’appointed states are come,

Where, as in censure of some weightie cause,

Twentie and foure agreed vpon their doome,

In order sit within a goodly roome,

And thither do their king to iudgement call,

Who should haue sate chiefe iudge aboue them all.

118.

From secret closet, though, alas, full loath,

Forth am I brought in mourning weeds, that show

His griefe of mind, whose bodie they do cloath:

And when I would conceale my inward woe,

With head declining downe as I do go,

The griefe I would not see, I see in teares,

Which fallen from mine eies the pauement beares.

119.

In presence being come and silence made,

_Torleton_, whose lookes did wound me with despaire,

A man in tongue most powerfull to perswade,

Stands vp, and as design’d for this affaire,

Doth in few words effectually declare

The common people’s will, the peeres consent

That I thenceforth resigne my gouernment.

120.

O heere, what tongue can vnto vtterance bring

The inward griefe, which my poore heart did wound?

So far it past all sense in sorrowing,

Passion so powrefully doth sense confound,

That in a swoune I falling on the ground,

Faine would haue di’d, but _Leister_ standing by

Steps in, and doth that happinesse deny.

121.

Recall’d from death by those that stood about,

When breath through grieued brest found passage free,

In these sad words my woes I breathed out:

“O powrefull God, since ’tis thy will that wee

Do leaue our crowne, I grudge not thy decree:

Thou art most iust in all, thou gau’st a crowne,

But ah, mine owne misdeeds haue cast me downe.

122.

To you I yeeld what wrong doth wrest from me,

Since with one voice ye say it must be so,

And beg this mercie in my miserie:

That since your hate hath brought me to this woe,

It heere may end, no further let it goe:

He whom once king your hate could not forgiue,

Will be no king so he haue leaue to liue.”

123.

Heere teares did choake the end of my sad words,

And while my state in silence I deplore,

_Trussell_ in name of all the English lords

Renouncing th’homage due to me before,

Depriues me of the same for euermore:

Leauing his liege that was of most command,

The most deiected subiect of this land.

124.

_Blunt_, steward of our house in th’open hall,

Protracts no time by any long delay,

But breaking of his rod before them all,

Resignes his office, all depart away,

Many that would in loue, yet dare not stay:

This was my fate, thus did false fortune frowne,

Ah God, that euer king was so cast downe!

125.

Yet fortune hath not spent her vtmost hate,

With patience we must arme our selues more strong,

Scarce will fraile eares belieue what we relate,

When now thy muse shall tune her mournefull song,

To sadder times that she may waile that wrong,

To which with griefe for guide we now proceed,

Whose woes wil make the hardiest heart to bleed.

126.

Our iealous queen, whom conscience doth torment,

Fearing lest _Leicester_ so neare alli’d,

In pitie of our state should now relent,

Tels _Torleton_ of her doubts what might betide,

If in his keeping we do still abide,

Who fearing vengeance for his owne offence,

Giues her his counsell to remoue me thence.

127.

_Leister_ constrained by expresse command,

To the lord _Berkley_ doth his charge restore,

Whence he conueies me with an armed band

Vnto his castle seated neare the shore,

Gainst which great Seuerne’s raging waues do rore:

But _Berkley_, thou with _Leister_ art too kind,

_Edward_ with thee doth too much fauour find.

128.

Oh gentle _Berkly_, whither wilt thou go?

Why dost not stand by thy sad sou’raigne’s side?

For pitie leaue him not vnto such woe,

Which _Gourney_ and _Matreuers_ do prouide,

Such woe did neuer any king betide:

But with command they come, thou must depart,

And leaue thy king, although with heauie heart.

129.

To _Gourney_ and _Matreuers_ by decree

In his owne castle he resignes his right:

Who lest that any friend should priuie bee

To my abode, do beare me thence by night

Vnto Corfe castle, whence with more despight

Through darknesse and blind waies in poore array,

To Bristow castle they do me conuey.

130.

By night conuey’d thus rudely to and fro,

Lest by my friends from them I rescu’d bee,

At last since none, whom they do feare, do know

Where I am now become, they do agree

To Berkley backe againe to go with mee,

Staying a time, till night with dewie dampe

Should choake daie’s light and put out Phœbus lampe.

131.

Then do they set me on a beast foreworne

In stead of stately steed, whereon to ride,

And for no crowne I had my head t’adorne,

Bare I do sit, except the heau’n to hide

My woefull head all couering they denide,

While sharp winds in my face the weather blowes,

And with their nipping cold augments my woes.

132.

When out of east the day began to peepe,

Who, as if she my ruefull case did mone,

Vpon my head her dewie droppes did weepe,

The right hand way they left, and iourn’ing on,

Where Seuerne’s siluer waues doth play vpon

The marish greene, they forced me to light,

There to haue slaine my heart with sad despight

133.

In stead of royall chaire, they set me downe

On a mole-hill (was neuer king so vsde)

And _Gourney_, wretched man, in stead of crowne

With wreath of grasse my royall browes abusde,

Patience perforce it might not be refusde:

Then while in wretched case my hands I wring,

In scorne the villaines bid auaunt sir king.

134.

While thus I sit all carefull comfortlesse,

With pitious lookes cast vp in wofull wise,

Calling the heau’ns to witnesse my distresse,

In stead of teares, the starres like weeping eies

Drop downe their exhalations from the skies:

And Tithon’s bride new rising from her bed,

Beholds their leaudnesse with a blushing red.

135.

Yet to my plaints no pitie they do yeeld:

But bent to adde more griefe to my disgrace,

In rustie murren with foule water fill’d,

A villaine comes with hands vncleane and base,

To shaue the heare both from my head and face:

Who, when warme water I desire to haue,

Replies, that cold will serue his turne to shaue.

136.

With eyes full burthned with a showre of teares,

“Do ye,” quoth I, “now helpe me with your might

To waile the sorrowes, which my sad soule beares,

Open your floud-gates wide, and in their sight

Let vs haue water warme in their despight:”

This said, the teares did downe my cheekes distill,

As if they stroue t’effect my wofull will.

137.

Hence in this plight to Berkley am I brought,

Where bidding comfort euermore farewell:

And feeding long on care and pensiue thought,

At length I am shut vp in darksome cell,

There to the senselesse walles my griefe to tell,

Deni’d the comfort of heau’n’s common light,

Bound while I liue to liue in endlesse night.

138.

My sterne tormentors moued with remorse,

Wish death to end my miserable care:

Yet nature will not violently force

Way to a lingring death, they do prepare

By cold, long watching, fast and euill fare:

But, I euen made insensible in woes,

Suffer with patience all they can impose.

139.

In hollow vault, through which the channell past

From forth the towne beneath my chamber flore,

Dead carcasses and loathed things they cast,

Whose grieuous stinch did grieue my senses more

Then all the griefe that I endur’d before:

And forc’d me search the walles for open place,

To some without to waile my woefull case.

140.

Vpon a time I through a crannie spi’d

Men hewing timber on the greene fast by,

To whom with drearie deadly voice I cri’d,

“O who will helpe me wretch, that heere do lie

In torment worse then death, yet cannot die?

If any there do mourne man’s wretched case,

Helpe me, ah help me from this loathed place.”

141.

The poore men’s hearts are pierc’d with point of woe,

And trembling horror doth their hearts appall

For ruth of wronged king cast downe so low,

Vnable t’helpe me, vnto God they call,

That he may yeeld reliefe to wofull thrall:

Who giuing eare to mine and their request,

At length in death doth giue my sorrowes rest.

142.

Mischiefe from those that guiltie of offence

Did wish my death in letters sent doth bring

A darke enigma bearing double sense,

Which is vnpointed left a doubtfull thing,

Either to kill or not to kill the king,

As in such tearmes “king _Edward’s_ blood to spill

Refuse ye not to feare I count it ill.”

143.

The bloodie villaines construing the same

Vnto that sense, for which it then was sent,

Watch for the night, whose cloudie cloake of shame

With darknesse should conceale their damn’d intent,

Day did abhor the thing 'bout which they went,

And fled away, grim night on th’earth did frowne,

And I in carefull bed had laid me downe.

144.

Where for musitian that with sweetest breath,

Had wont to lull my watchfull sense asleepe:

The ghastly owle, the fatall bird of death,

That on my chamber walles her inne did keepe

In my poore trembling heart impressed deepe

The feare of death with her too deadly note,

Which oft she shriked through her balefull throte.

145.

The murmuring noise of the rude waters rore

Which not far thence into the seas do fall,

Where Seuerne’s billowes do beat vpon the shore,

And bellowing winds which iustling gainst the wall

Like death’s shrill whistlers at the cranies call,

Through darknesse and deepe silence of the night,

Our troubled heart with horror doth affright.

146.

On fearefull things long musing I do lie,

At last with sleepe opprest, in slumber cast,

Vpflew the doores and in the murderers flie,

At which awakt, and suddenly agast,

As from my naked bed I thought t’haue past,

They with rude hands do hold me downe by force,

While with vaine words I seeke to moue remorse.

147.

“Ye deadly instruments of other’s ill,

Grant one request, which dying I do craue:

Since ye be bent this royall blood to spill,

Send me not hence with torture to the graue:

’Tis life ye seeke, the only thing I haue:

Which yet shall vade on wings of willing breath,

Since better tis to die then liue in death.”

148.

By this they with maine strength do me compell,

Strengthlesse for breath to yeeld to their intent:

And then, O horrid, shamefull thing to tell,

By force they thrust an hollow instrument

Much like a trumpe into my fundament,

By which they do preuent the mone I make

By sudden death, as thus to them I spake.

149.

“Ah why, why thus torment ye me with smart?

Leaue off to grieue:” not one word more I said,

They had by this time thrust me to the hart

With steele red hot: to sleepe me downe I laid,

And with the pray’rs which godly folke had made,

When from the castle they did heare my cries,

My soule on mercie’s wings did clime the skies.

150.

Thus hauing heard my lamentable fall

Procur’d by stubborne peeres disloyaltie,

And people’s wilfull hate, the spring of all

First flowing from deceitfull flatterie,

That deadly bane t’all princely royaltie:

Amongst the rest in place with painfull pen

Insert it for a Mirrour vnto men.

THE LAMENTABLE

_Lives and Deaths of the two yong_

Princes, Edward, the Fifth, and

_his Brother Richard Duke of_

Yorke.

THE ARGUMENT.

“Th’afflictions, which this wronged king did beare,

He dead,” said Memorie, “reuenged were:

Like Vulcan’s bride, at Nottingham, his queene

In th’armes of Mars-like _Mortimer_ was seene:

He for such deeds, as all true honor staines,

By ignominious death did pay iust paines:

By righteous doome till death she liu’d in thrall,

Within the circuit of a castle’s wall:

Her first-borne sonne, the second _Edward’s_ heire,

(She being to French king _Philip_ call’d the faire,

Left liuing of his line) by her made claime

Vnto his right in France, and gain’d the same:

He dead, the second _Richard_, second sonne

To his first-borne, his fatall raigne begonne:

_Richard_ depos’d, _Henrie_ ascends the throne,

Heire to duke _Iohn_, king _Edward’s_ fourth borne sonne,

He disposest lord _Roger Mortimer_,

In _Richard_ daies proclaim’d apparant heire,

Who had duke _Lionel’s_ daughter for his mother,

_Edward’s_ third sonne, to _Iohn_ the elder brother:

Yet did this _Henrie_ after much vnrest

Die in the throne of England’s crowne possest:

And to his _Henrie_ did bequeath the same,

The fifth and most illustrate of that name:

Who in those few yeares of his happie raigne

Did the French crowne to England’s right regaine:

Di’d in his manly prime, left his yong sonne

_Henrie_ the sixth to sit vpon the throne:

Gainst whom _Plantagenet_, Yorke’s noble duke

Stood for his right, who his iust title tooke

From _Lionel_, fourth by descent from him:

Yet in his quarrell lost both life and lim:

His sonnes reueng’d his death, put _Henrie_ downe,

_Edward_ his eldest did obtaine the crowne:

In peace retain’d it, left it to his heires,

Who are the next, that in their turne appeares:

For they except, heere none exempted be,

Since the sad second _Edward’s_ tragedie:

Two noble youths are left in yongest yeares

Vnto the guidance of the iarring peeres,

_Edward_ the eldest comes from Ludlowe’s towne

To London, with intent to take the crowne,

His vncle _Riuers_, _Vaughan_ and lord _Grey_

By _Gloster’s_ plots, who sought their liues decay,

From him remoued are, yong Yorke his brother

Doth flie to sanctuarie with his mother:

Whom _Richard_ his false vncle thence doth bring

Into the tower vnto the vncrown’d king:

Vsurps the crowne, puts both the youths to death,

Who twixt the sheets betrai’d, expire their breath:

The truth of which that we may heere partake,

Their princely ghosts let fame from sleepe awake.”

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

At fame’s first call the princes both ascend,

And both by turne do tell their tragicke end.

[Illustration]

_Richard._

What wit so sharpe is found in age or youth,

That can distinguish trust from treacherie?

Falsehood puts on the face of simple truth,

And maskes in th’habit of plaine honestie,

When she in heart intends most villanie:

The panther with sweet sauour of her breath

First charmes their sense, whom she hath markt for death.

2.

Of which that future time may mirrours haue

By the fourth _Edward’s_ murdered progenie,

Vp (brother) vp and let vs leaue our graue

In this night’s vision call’d by Memorie,

To tell the truth of our sad tragedie,

That princes happily by vs may learne

Trust from false treason truly to discerne.

3.

And thou, O mournefull muse, that didst of yore

Th’iniurious wrongs of many a prince complaine,

Helpe two deposed princes to deplore

The wretched fortunes which they did sustaine:

Matter thou hast that fits a ruthfull straine,

How _Richard’s_ treason twixt the sheets did smother

The infant orphants of his kingly brother.

4.

That we may keepe decorum in discourse,

And into order may digest it well,

Let vs alternally succeed in course:

And that we turne by turne may truly tell

Of euery circumstance, as it befell,

(Brother) do you begin to mind to call

Our vncle’s treason and our tragicke fall.

_Edward._

Must I begin those bloodie pathes to goe,

In which the prints of _Gloster’s_ steps remaine?

Draw neere then all, that list to heare of woe,

And while our restlesse wrongs I do complaine,

If you lament our losse of life and raigne,

Your sighes soft breathed in still plaints of pitie,

Be the sad musike to our dolefull dittie.

6.

The sonnes we are of that renowned lord

_Edward_ the fourth, who did the right restore

To _Yorke_ againe with his victorious sword:

Which _Lancaster_ in three descents that wore,

The royall crowne had kept from vs before,

Ending those iarres, which _Gaunt’s_ ambitious son

With royall _Richard’s_ blood had first begun.

7.

Three brothers had he, whom by fate’s sterne will,

Remorselesse death vntimely did deuoure,

_Rutland’s_ yong earle, whom _Clifford’s_ sword did kill,

_Clarence_, that duke, who in the fatall tower

In Malmsey But did meet his liue’s last houre:

_Richard_ the yongest, who was stain’d with guilt

Of _Clarence_ blood and ours, both which he spilt.

8.

O that desire of rule so much should blind

The eyes of men, or that to gaine a crowne,

The godlike part of man, th’immortall mind

Of wrathfull heau’n should dare t’incurre the frowne,

And cast it selfe from glorie headlong downe!

O foule ambition, had thy guilt not stain’d

This tyrant’s deeds, what glorie had he gain’d?

9.

For though he from his mother’s painfull throwes,

Mark’t for a plague into the world was brought;

Yet with his sword gainst our Lancastrian foes

In many bloodie broiles he manly fought:

And by his courage high achieuements wrought,

Great _Warwicke_, _Oxford_, _Clifford_, and the rest,

Did finde a valiant heart in _Richard’s_ brest.

10.

But where are now those deedes, or who can say

That they with praise doe glorifie his name?

How can he euer hope to wipe away

Those spots of blood vpon the face of fame,

Making his deeds to blush at his owne shame?

What deedes of fame he did are not his owne,

His euill deeds remaine to him alone.

11.

With their shed blood thy lines I will not staine,

Whom wrackt by troops to graue his hand did send,

To him in his succeeding tragicke straine,

The sad report thereof I doe commend:

Enough it is to tell of our owne end,

To which I will proceede, first setting downe

The plots our vncle vs’d t’obtaine the crowne.

12.

When on the throne my kingly father sat,

All noise of warre new husht, euen in the greene

Of peace late growne discord did set debate

Betweene the kindred of our mother queene,

And twixt the peeres, who with malignant spleene,

Did swell to see them fauor’d of the king,

From whence our future ruine first did spring.

13.

On this, as on a platforme firme and sure,

_Gloster_ did build his hopes for future daies:

Yet England’s _Edward_ hoping to procure

Peace twixt both parts, did seeke by oft assaies

T’appease the strife, which priuie hate did raise:

And at his death did cause them each to other

To giue their faith, as brother vnto brother.

14.

The king scarse dead, from London swift report

With mischiefe at her heeles, or’e hedge and heath

To Ludlowe came, where then we kept our court,

And there with pallid lookes, halfe out of breath,

She tels the tidings of our father’s death,

Bidding me now beware vnhappie fate,

And looke about in this new change of state.

15.

Though time with so few yeeres my youth had crown’d,

That yet scarse fourteene times the heauenly Ram

Had push’t his hornes against the new yeare’s bound,

Since first into the world to light I came:

Yet of my father’s death, when lucklesse fame

Had rung the dolefull knell: then did I know

The danger which I was to vndergoe.

16.

Nurst from my cradle in true discipline,

In my weake childhood I had scand this theame,

That if th’ambitious with cleere sighted eyne

Could but discerne what fortune gaue to them,

When they had gain’d a kingdome’s diadem,

They would account that day their blisse to ende,

In which their steps the throne did first ascend.

17.

Our vncle _Riuers_, who my gardian was,

With vs at Ludlowe, then being resident,

Did muster vp his powers with vs to passe

To London by short iournies, with intent

All danger in our passage to preuent:

But _Gloster_ did intrappe both him and me,

And by his plots did frustrate his decree.

18.

By wicked wits, the queene he doth perswade,

To thinke that since by her deceased king,

Betwixt the peeres a vnion had beene made,

With such a power, it were a dangerous thing,

The prince her sonne, to London vp to bring:

Distrust might soone disturbe the quiet state,

And giue new life to the old dead debate.

19.

Blinded with this deceit, our carefull mother

Directs her letters, bearing such effect

Vnto our vncle _Riuers_, her deare brother,

Who doubting lest his foes might ought obiect

T’haue gone amisse, while he did vs protect,

Dismist his powers, and only did retaine

Those, that before were of our daily traine.

20.

All readie now to hoise vp happie saile,

For London we our fatall course do stere,

Our hopes do promise vs a prosperous gale:

But once set forth, clouds thicken in the cleare,

A storme before vs plainly doth appeare,

And with a gust in gulfe of woe cast downe,

Vnhappie I made shipwracke of my crowne.

21.

At Stonie-Stratford, being vpon my way,

The bloodie bore, my vncle, that did aime

At England’s diadem by our decay,

With that false duke, disloyall _Buckingham_,

With show of humble loue in presence came:

But after tender of their duties done,

To put their plot in practise they begun.

22.

They falsely did accuse of treacherie

My two halfe brothers by our mother’s side,

Lord _Marquesse_ and lord _Grey_, then standing by,

Objecting gainst them both, that prickt with pride

They sought the realme and me, yet yong, to guide;

And with our vncle _Riuers_, thought to bring

The noble peeres in hatred with the king.

23.

Without respect vnto our princely state,

With violent hands they beare them both away,

Too weake were we of power t’auert that fate,

Which in our sight did threaten their decay,

Our words were weaker, _Gloster_ bore the sway:

_Riuers_ my vncle, _Vaughan_, _Grey_, all three,

After that time I neuer more did see.

24.

Rob’d of my friends, to London we are led,

Vpon the way mourning with sighes and teares,

The wretched fate to fall vpon my head,

Griefe with a multitude of pensiue feares

Sits heauie on my heart: yet in my eares

_Gloster_ to please me, sings this syren’s song,

“All should be well:” when nought was ment but wrong.

25.

Conuey’d to London, where while I abide

Within the bishop’s place, I little knew

Of any tidings, that did then betide,

The tyrant, (brother _Yorke_) then aim’d at you

To hasten that, which after did ensue:

Then take your turne againe, and briefely tell,

What in my absence vnto you befell.

_Richard._

I shall obey, and truly bring to light

The darke dissembling, and the much vntroth

Of periur’d peeres, to rob vs of our right,

How our queene mother carefull of us both,

With me to holy sanctuarie goth,

And of our vncle’s plots to bring me thence,

Which was the only bar to his pretence.

27.

When fame with terrour vnto our queene mother,

Then dewing our dead father’s cheekes with teares,

Brought the surprise of her two sonnes and brother,

O how those tidings tingled in her eares!

Suspitious thoughts begat a thousand feares,

Forecasting by that vnexpected harme,

The greater mischiefe of a following storme.

28.

In this distraction of a doubtfull mind

In change of state, seeing such crosse fortune’s frowne,

And doubting in distressefull times to find,

Her friends turn’d foes to helpe to plucke vs downe,

And to bereaue vs of our father’s crowne:

With me to sanctuarie she did goe,

There to remaine in safetie from our foe.

29.

Of which, when tidings to the tyrant came,

As one depriued of his wished pray,

His wits best engines he begins to frame,

And if they faile, he doth resolue t’assay

With hands prophane to fetch me thence away:

While from his reach I there did safely won,

He could not finish what he had begun.

30.

Which our queene mother did presage before,

And thought by force of sanctuarie’s right,

Safely to shield vs from the cruell bore,

Who with his tuskes the elder durst not smite,

While I the yonger liu’d in such safe plight:

By death of th’one, the crowne how could he gaine,

If th’other after liuing did remaine?

31.

The subtill tyrant to effect his will,

This faire pretence vnto the peeres doth frame,

That for th’auoiding of a generall ill,

Since to the prince and them it was a shame,

That causelesse I should sanctuarie claime,

Vnto the place he thought it no offence,

If not by peace, by force to fetch me thence.

32.

Yet to obtaine our mother queene’s consent,

Vnto the place before he offer wrong,

The cardinall of Yorke for that intent,

A man graue, sober, subtill, wise, and strong,

To charme an eare with his inchanting tongue,

He doth select to further this affaire,

And to his vnknowne plots way to prepare.

33.

When he with many more in presence came,

He with faire speech begins to greet our mother:

Then tels, how to the prince it was a shame,

That she should keepe me there, as if one brother

Did liue in dread of danger by the other,

What griefe my absence was vnto the king,

What comfort by my presence I should bring.

34.

Proceeding on vnto the future ill,

Which might ensue by ouer much distrust,

The strengthning of her inconsiderate will,

With sanctuarie’s gift by claime vniust,

The priuiledge of the place by them discust,

Found not of force to her to yeeld the same,

Who did not truly want, what she did clame.

35.

The queene effectually doth answere all,

He turnes replie, she doth reioyne againe,

And puts such questions to the cardinall,

That at a _non plus_ set, he doth remaine

In silent pause, till chaft in tearmes more plaine,

He threatfully declares the peeres pretence,

Who had decreed by force to fetch me thence.

36.

With this hard speech, our mother in affright,

Round set with doubts, not knowing when or where,

She safely might conuey me from their sight:

In silence stands, her lookes bewrayes pale feare,

Which she would vtter, yet doth oft forbeare,

Till taking me by th’hand, sighes forcing teares,

And teares sad words, no longer she forbeares.

37.

“Behold,” said she, “I to your trust commit

This noble impe, whom with the prince his brother,

When in the generall iudgement God shall sit,

I at your hands will aske: feare with the mother,

What may betide him taken to another:

I make no doubt, but ye will faithfull be,

Yet others may deceiue both you and me.

38.

Heere I resigne:” and at that word she paus’d,

As loth so soone to part with such a thing:

Then with a sigh, to shew that griefe had caus’d

That silent pause, “to you,” quoth she, “I bring

This royall issue of a late dead king:

Yours be the charge, vnto the child proue true:”

Which said, she thus gaue me my last adew.

39.

“Farewell my little sonne, God be thy aid:”

With that she turn’d about, and wept for woe:

Then being about to part, she turn’d and said,

“Kisse me my sonne, kisse me before thou go,

When we shall kisse againe, our God doth know:”

We kist, she sigh’d, I wept and did refuse

So to depart from her; but could not chuse.

40.

Leauing the queene, I absent, to deplore me,

For that I was an infant then in yeares,

To the Star-chamber in their armes they bore me,

Where our false vncle to delude the peeres,

My pensiuenesse with words of comfort cheeres:

“Now welcome from my heart, my lord,” quoth he,

Then tooke me in his armes and kissed me.

41.

Thence brother vnto you I was conuey’d

Then in that place, where London’s prelats dwell,

Whence like two lambes vnto a wolfe betrai’d,

We to the Tower were led: where what befell,

Since it concernes you most, you best can tell:

Be it your turne, our sorrowes to deplore,

For I, alas, for sighes can say no more.

_Edward._

If I must tell the horror of that night,

In which by death our soules were set on wing,

Let sorrow lend vs her sad pen t’indite

In lines of woe, what I to light shall bring,

And teach our muse so ruthfully to sing,

That the sad reader’s ruthfull eyes may drop,

Teares at each point, to teach him where to stop.

43.

Within the Tower, of which my brother spake,

Lockt vp from sight of all our friends we were,

Where while we do expect, when I shall take

The crowne on me, t’whom whilome euery peere,

As to their soueraigne fealtie did sweare:

At last report these fearefull newes doth bring,

We were depos’d, _Gloster_ was England’s king.

44.

Which, when I first did heare, a thrilling feare

Ran through my heart, and sighing thus I spake:

“Alas, that I was borne king _Edward’s_ heire,

Would God my vncle, though from me he take

My crowne, which willingly I could forsake,

Would leaue vs that, which none but God can giue,

And for my kingdome giue vs leaue to liue.”

45.

Thenceforth the tower, which late was deem’d my court,

Is made our prison by a tyrant’s might:

Farewell the world, our day now waxeth short,

Our gladsome sunne of comfort and delight,

Is ouercast with clouds of enuious night,

Winter is come euen in our spring of youth,

Our late sweet smiles are drown’d in teares of ruth.

46.

O noble _Edward_, from whose royall blood

Life to these infant bodies nature drew,

Thy roses both are cropt euen in the bud:

Why didst thou leaue that bore in time t’ensue,

To spoile those plants that in thy garden grew?

Of all that haruest which thy hand did sow,

Nought haue we reaped but a crop of woe.

47.

Who now amongst thy peeres of note or name,

The sad mishap of thy deare sonnes doth mone?

Where’s _Howard_, _Louell_, _Barkley_, _Buckingham_,

That bound themselues by oath to thee, that none

But thy faire sonnes should sit vpon the throne?

Woe worth them all, they all do now crie, “downe

With _Edward’s_ heires, let _Gloster_ haue the crowne.”

48.

Ah pitie, in what region didst thou dwell,

Had’st thou been present in those hatefull times,

Then should not I thy shame, O England, tell,

Nor should I seeke to proue thy wicked crimes

Vnto thy face in these impartiall rimes:

Thy princes, on whose state misfortune frown’d,

In thy false people pitie seidome found.

49.

Search time’s records, there see how poysoned _Iohn_

Stands vp to witnesse thy sterne people’s hate,

See how the second _Edward_ thrust from throne,

Cries for reuenge on people of that state,

Behold thy shame in _Richard’s_ wofull fate:

Gainst whom thy nation vnremorsefull stood,

Till Pomfret’s wals were sprinkled with his blood.

50.

But why seeke I, O England, to reclaime thee,

By sounding former euils in thine eare?

That’s yet vntold, the which alone shall shame thee,

As oft of it as any age shall heare,

Tyrants, in whom no pitie doth appeare,

Shall thee vpbraid, and blushing at thy shame,

For past compare shall register the same.

51.

When as our vncle had obtain’d his will,

The crowne scarce warme on his vsurping head,

Opprest with care to keepe that gotten ill,

He takes no rest of mind in bowre nor bed,

Suspition with the guilt of conscience fed

Breeds doubts, distractions, horrors in his brest,

Which like to hags do haunt him with vnrest.

52.

Each step he treads, by which he climbes his throne,

Is grounded on the death of some great peere:

As he ascends, he sees their blood thereon:

Set in his chaire, shame whispers in his eare

That’s not his place, his nephew should be there:

Doubt askes him, how he hopes t’enioy that long,

When they do liue, whose right he keepes by wrong.

53.

He that had drunke so oft of murder’s cup,

To reach that height to which he did aspire,

Now fils the measure of his mischiefe vp,

And in vaine hope to raise his heart yet higher,

Spares not the blood deduc’d from his owne sire:

Poore orphanes blood, pris’d at a crowne’s rich wealth,

To his sicke state can only promise health.

54.

Whilst euery where his wandring eye doth range

To find some wretch to put this taske vpon,

All things about vs haue a sudden change,

Vngrac’d, not car’d for, comforted of none,

By our owne seruants we are left alone:

Those that bemone our fortunes dare not stay,

By feare constrain’d, with griefe they go their way.

55.

Inconsolatly left in wofull plight,

Each helping other for to waile and weepe,

In dole we spend the day, and in the night

Horror and dread of death doth waking keepe

Our watchfull eyes, and bars them of their sleepe,

Each little noise, each windie puffe of breath

Affrights vs infants with th’approch of death.

56.

Thou fatall building stain’d with noble blood,

Thou den where horror and darke treason lies,

Say if thou wast, since thy foundation stood,

More mou’d to pitie humaine miseries,

Hearing the echo of sad sorrowe’s cries:

Then when yong _Yorke_ with pitious plaints and mones

Powr’d forth his sorrowes to thy senselesse stones.

57.

Euen as sometimes we see a silly lambe,

Which for the slaughter in some fold is pent,

There kept from sight of his deare loued damme,

Her absence with faint bleating doth lament,

Whose only sight can giue it safe content:

So little _Yorke_ in vaine lamenting wept,

That from our mother’s presence he was kept.

58.

Oft, wofull child, thus hast thou question’d mee,

“Where is my mother?” and when I for woe,

Haue turn’d my backe and could not answere thee:

With teares againe, thou wouldest aske to know,

Saying, “I would vnto my mother go:”

But woe, alas, what comfort could I giue thee,

When of all meanes our vncle did depriue mee?

59.

While thus we waste in woe, the tyrant king

With death to right those, whom he did abuse

With wrong in life, finding a way to wing

Mischiefe deuis’d, a wretched man did chuse

For this affaire, which others did refuse:

_Tirrill_ by name, a knight decay’d in state,

Prone t’act this deed in hope of happie fate.

60.

Two desperate villaines, hatefull to those times,

_Forrest_ and _Dighton_, men obscure and base:

Yet to the world notorious for leaud crimes,

For _Tirril’s_ gold this damned deed embrace,

Who being brought into conuenient place,

Wait for aduantage of the gloomie night

To couer that, which did abhorre the light.

61.

The night comes on, and murder doth begin

To act her part within the fatall Tower,

In that dead time of night, the cloake of sinne,

In which the clock chimes twelue, the chiefest houre

When sleepe on man and beast doth vse his powre,

Both the rude slaues on vs poore infants flie,

As we together in our bed did lie.

62.

Betwixt the sheets they keepe vs downe by force,

We struggle against death with gasping grones,

They in their hard hearts feeling no remorce,

To heare poore soules powre forth such pitious mones,

As might with pitie moue the ruthlesse stones,

Holding the pillowes downe do stop our breath,

Vntill we both giue vp the ghost in death.

63.

Thus hast thou heard, how after all his cares

King _Edward’s_ fruit did perish in the bud,

By which since we may see how pride prepares

Her passage through the spoile of common good,

Without respect t’affinitie of blood:

That thou may make a Mirrour of the same,

A place amongst thy Mirrours we do claime.

THE TRAGICALL LIFE

_and Death of King Richard the Third_.

THE ARGUMENT.

“The lamentable fall,” quoth Memorie,

“Of two such noble youths may Mirrours be,

That man high mounted on ambitious wing,

T’obtaine a crowne attempteth any thing:

They dead, their vncle’s tragedie succeeds:

His monstrous birth, his shape, his bloodie deeds:

Horror of conscience haunts him with vnrest,

The mightie _Buckingham’s_ attempt vnblest:

The tyrant enuying noble _Richmond’s_ good,

By treason seekes to spill his royall blood,

His strange escape from France to Britanie,

Pursu’d by _Landois_ his false enemie,

His safe arriue vpon the English coast,

The skilfull marshalling of either hoast

On Bosworth plaine, the order of the fight:

Stout Norfolke’s fall, the king’s part put to flight

His desperat valour shew’d on th’aduerse force,

The shamefull vsage of his conquered corse,

Which that we heare, let fame his ghost compel

To leaue his graue, that he the same may tell.”

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

Through night’s darke shadowes from the house of bale,

The tyrant’s ghost comes vp to tell his tale.

[Illustration]