FORTUNE'S FASHION, Portrayed in the troubles of the Lady Elizabeth Grace, wife to EDWARD the fourth.  
Written by Tho. Samson.   printer's device of Richard Field 
ANCHORA SPEI  
LONDON, Printed for William jones, and are to be sold at his shop at White-crosse street end by the Church. 1613.   

TO HIS MANY WAYS ENDEARED FRIEND Mr. Henry Pilkington of Gadsby, in the County of Leicester, Gentleman.  
SIR, this Tragical history being no fiction, but a true relation of the many troubles of a distressed Queen, I offer to your patronage for two especial causes; the one, for the long continued love between us; the other, for that I know your name is a sufficient protection for it and me, against the many find-faults that this age is pestered with, who themselves being not able, or too idle to do any thing worth the reading, yet are composed of such a snarling substance, that nothing can escape their eye or ear without a scoff: how ever it displeaseth such, I care not; if it content you, I have my desire, not doubting but when you are wearied with more serious studies, you will at some times peruse this. And so I leave you to live happily.  
Your assured friend THO. SAMSON.   

The Argument for the better understanding of the Readers.  
WHen Henry the sixth king of that name in England, was by the Earl of Warwick, and others, thought unmeet to govern the kingdom: and Edward the fourth claimed the Crown, in a battle near to Saint Alban: Henry the sixth was taken prisoner in the 39 year of his reign, Anno Dom. 1461. All king Henry's forces were slain, or put to flight, amongst whom was slain on king Henry's part, one Sir john Grace, husband of this Lady Elizabeth Grace, of whose troubles this history now discourseth. This Lady was after married to king Edward the fourth: she was daughter to the Lady jaquet, daughter to Peter Earl of Saint Paul, niece to the Lord Lewis of Leutzenbrugh, which Lady jaquet was first married to john Duke of Bedford and Regent of France; and afterward she was married to Sir Richard Woodvile Lord Rivers, by whom she had this Lady Elizabeth and others. When king Edward was settled in his kingdom, and had imprisoned Henry the sixth in the Tower of London: the Earl of Warwick was sent into France, to entreat a marriage between King Edward the fourth and the Lady Bona, daughter to Lewis Duke of Savoy, and sister to the Lady Carlot than wife to the French King, in whose Court this Lady Bona then was: which motion was well liked of by the French King, and all things sorted to the Earl of Warwick's desire. But in the mean time, while these things were working in France, King Edward going to his Manor of Grafton, in the county of Northampton; in the time of the Kings remaining there, this Lady Grace was an humble suitor to the King, that she might have her jointer given her; which because her husband was slain on King Henry's part, was since his death detained from her. King Edward liked her so well, that after many amorous discourses she was married to him at Grafton, where first he fancied her. The King's mother and many of the Nobility did dislike of this marriage, because she was a widow, and his subject. This King was married to this Lady Grace, before the Earl of Warwick was returned from France, which some say, who will talk much and know little, was the cause of the wars afterwards between the King and the Earl. But the Earl's hatred against the King was for another cause, as in the Chronicles you may read. What troubles and grief happened to this Queen in the time of her husband the King's life, and after his death, you may imagine. You see her newly risen out of her grave, and in the extremity of her grief speaking as followeth.   

The troubles of the Lady Elizabeth Grace wife to Edward the fourth.  

SOmetime I was, unhappy was that time,  
Wherein I lived, and never tasted joys,  
That did not whither, ere they were in prime:  
Honours are such uncertain fading toys.  
I was king Edward's wife, a woeful Queen,  
As in this history may plain be seen.   

O had my love in my first choice remained,  
How happy had I been, from grief how free?  
Of woeful haps I never had complained,  
But that must needs be, that the fates decree.  
The Cottage seated in the dale below,  
Stands safe, when highest towers do overthrow.   

My youth was blest in love with equal choice,  
The matter fit prepared for loves fire:  
In which while I consumed, near did my voice,  
Nor thoughts consent, to wish my fortunes higher.  
Thus in the valley, whilst my love did rest,  
My love though lowly, none more highly blest.   

But fatal powers, with unreversd decree,  
Whom hecatombs of prayers may not persuade,  
To add one minute to the bliss they see,  
Or spare one day, what but a day was made:  
Their course is fixed, and cannot be prevented,  
They best abide their might, that are contented.   

Whose power in me distressed erst was known,  
When Edward fourth of name, obtained the Crown,  
And put sixth Henry from his regal throne,  
Raising himself by casting others down.  
Greedy Ambition, endless in desiring,  
On others ruin foundeth her aspiring.   

There first began the groundwork of my woe,  
There lost I him that had my prime of love:  
And then the prime of sorrows I did know,  
In prime of joy, which did more sorrows move.  
The daintiest palate, with exactest skill,  
Distastes the relish of the bitter pill.   

There was my husband slain on Henry's part,  
Then was I left a widow desolate:  
Yet once again, love chose another dart,  
Whose golden head I thought would raise my fate;  
King Edward's love I mean; but what ensued?  
The Crown I gained, I ever after rued.   

To Witchwood forest when this King did go,  
For his delight to hunt the fearful Deer:  
He went to Grafton; thence my second woe  
Did spring, it was my hap then to be there,  
Attendant on my mother, in which space,  
I was an humble Suitor to his Grace,   

That he would please to pity my estate,  
That I might have my jointer given me:  
Seeing my hopes were then so ruinated,  
That I was like to taste of misery.  
Such was my case, except it were relieved:  
At my complaint, he very much was grieved.   

And moved with pity, did commiserate  
My cause, myself he seemed to fancy then:  
With gracious words lamenting my estate,  
Bade me take comfort; o the wiles of men!  
He courted me, and I at last did yield,  
My honour saved, that he should win the field.   

A King to woe his subject in such sort,  
As no dishonour by his love might rise:  
Blame me not then, if to that princely port,  
I was contented to be led as prise:  
Where honour graced with regal majesty,  
Was Pilot to my ship in jeopardy.   

Though long he sued, I granted at the last  
To be his wife, such show of honest love  
His princely heart did seem to have embraced:  
I was content the nuptial sports to prove.  
No wanton lust did harbour in my thought,  
Although too dear I have my pleasure bought.   

When it was bruited, that the King affected,  
And would without the liking of his Lords  
Espouse me; seeing that he not respected  
Their discontent, nor smooth entreating words:  
But like a loyal and a royal King,  
Would still make good his vows in every thing.   

Then they devised against me to object,  
My widowhood, o that was chief it,  
Wherewith they thought me foully to detect,  
Alleging it was rare, and far unfit,  
A King should fancy such a one as I,  
That was a widow, and in poverty.   

But all in vain they sought him to dissuade,  
He gave his word, and constantly did stand,  
Unto the oaths betwixt us firmly made,  
With interchange of hearts, and gift of hand.  
He did desire our marriage day to see,  
And I did wish that time as much as he.   

When the King's mother thought it was in vain,  
To use persuasions to her son the King:  
A precontract she spared not to feign,  
That he had made, his honour so to bring  
Into reproach; supposing that the way,  
From marriage a while to cause him stay.   

But then the King those cavils did disprove,  
And we at Grafton married were with speed:  
And there with holy rites did seal our love,  
Which God and man allow as sacred deed.  
There were we joined in holy marriage state,  
Which during life should be inviolate.   

Whether the King did keep his plighted faith  
To me, as marriage strictly doth require:  
Or if it be that he it broken hath,  
Which I to know, or prove, do not desire:  
I lived and loved him in such duteous sort,  
As let my life and actions make report.   

Before the Earl made his return from France, 
Richard Nevil then Earl of Warwick.   
Being sent to treat a marriage for the King  
With Lady Bona, time brought forth this chance,  
The King was married, which some say did bring  
The fall and ruin of King Edward's seed,  
(The vulgar people's saying is no creed.)   

How dares a subject contradict his King?  
Must subjects wills limit their Prince's love?  
It's more than vain, yea a presumptuous thing,  
Inferiors should such bold commanders prove,  
To tie Kings thoughts to fancy none but them  
That please their subjects, o aspiring men!   

What though things sorted to the Earls desire?  
And Lewis Duke of Savoy was content,  
To grant as much as Warwick did require:  
Must princely Edward suffer banishment?  
Or be obedient to his subjects frown,  
Or hazard all the glory of a Crown?   

It was not this that caused the Earl rebel,  
Nor was it conscience of King Henry's right:  
Another cause, some histories do tell,  
Enraged Warwick, and did cause him fight  
Against his King; yet Kings can give no cause,  
Sufficient motives for the breach of laws.   

O never let succeeding ages hear  
Unto the stain of his nobility,  
The wavering faith that Warwick then did bear,  
Constant in nothing, but unconstancy:  
First favouring one, then changed to the other,  
Faithful to none, although he were his brother.   

Yet will I give him, being dead, his due,  
For sure it is a sin to wrong the dead,  
Though to his King he was unkind, untrue,  
His valour was by vanity misled:  
Who so him pleased, to raise unto the Crown;  
And when he list, by force to cast them down.   

A valiant Knight, and fortunate in war,  
Ulysses-like for prudent policy:  
Yet this did all his other virtues mar,  
And was a blot to his posterity,  
That right or wrong he cared not how it was,  
But as he would, so things should come to pass.   

O no, another fire the world doth know,  
Betwixt the King and Warwick kindled was:  
Which I by no means to the world will show,  
It was too much (if so it was) alas,  
That such a blot should blemish such a King,  
That was so royal else in every thing.   

I'll near believe that ever Edward's mind,  
Would pass the limits of true honours name:  
Although in histories you there may find,  
Some things set down that might impair his fame:  
I was his wife, he loved me as I thought;  
I paid his love with duty, as I ought.   

The next year after that we married were,  
At Westminster I then was crowned Queen:  
Attended there by many a noble Peer,  
In such rare sort as at such times are seen.  
My father and my friends he did advance,  
To greater place, but more unhappy chance.   

And in this year, into the world I brought  
A daughter, which combined King Edward's love  
In double knot with mine: for sure 'tis thought  
The pleasingst joy that man and wife do prove,  
When of their honest loves, such fruit they see,  
As far beyond all other treasures be.   

But oh, what pleasure ever lasteth long?  
Some envious fate maligning that our bliss  
Should long continue, with injurious wrong  
Did overthrow our mirth, and forced us miss  
The path that would have led us on to joy,  
And made us tread the maze of all annoy.   

To sour our sweet, lo what mishap befell,  
An insurrection in Northamptonshire:  
Robin of Redsdale, cursed imp of hell,  
Who like some fury, with his hellbred fire,  
Enraged the madness of the rebels so,  
They like distracted men to Grafton go.   

Where by the force of boisterous cursed hand,  
My father, than Earl Rivers, they did take:  
My brother, Sir john Woodvile, did withstand  
The rebels force, but oh he was too weak.  
far overmatched was son and father's force,  
For without law, or justice, or remorse,   

They in Northampton, each did lose his head:  
Nor judge, nor jury, had them overthrown:  
With cruel rigour was their sentence read,  
It nothing booted them to make their moan.  
Thus an oblation to that furious faction,  
Their bloods were made, o most detested action!   

Malicious Warwick, in a show of love,  
Wrapped his displeasure at his Sovereign's match:  
And gained leave, for health fresh air to prove,  
When Serpentlike he time and means did watch,  
To pluck King Edward from his throne invested,  
That so the seeds of civil war detested.   

And subtly with fair alluring words,  
Did draw the hearts of all he could persuade:  
Not to obey, but to resist with swords,  
Their lawful King, against the oath they made.  
And so misled the people, to attempt  
That which with loss of lives they did repent.   

See here the fickle minds the common sort  
Of people bear, that not respecting right,  
Nor just succession, only by report,  
And light belief of others, bend their might,  
Hazard their lives and lands, pollute their fame,  
With shameful blot of traitors hateful name.   

I grant my state was mean, yet not so base,  
justly to be reputed odious:  
Nor did I spring from such a servile race,  
As might move Warwick to be treacherous  
Unto his King: for oft it hath been seen,  
As mean a Lady hath been made a Queen.   

But when vile rancour boiled in Warwick's breast,  
He gladly took the simplest show of cause,  
To levy arms; and never would give rest  
Unto his thoughts, until against all laws  
He raised an army 'gainst King Edward's force,  
And by ill fortune gave the King the worse.   

For in the night he suddenly surprised  
King Edward's tent near Wolney, where the King  
Little suspecting what his foe devised,  
Securely slept, but then oh piteous thing,  
Hearing a noise he called unto his guard,  
But they were slain, and he was clapped in ward.   

And thence from Warwick, in the night conveyed  
To Midlam Castle, where he did remain:  
There in the Bishops charge a while he stayed,  
Until he did for want of air complain:  
And by that means had leave for pleasure sake,  
To hawk or hunt, the change of air to take.   

Which being once obtained, King Edward thought  
It was the high way to his liberty:  
Plotting how this and that might best be wrought,  
And not procure his keeper's jealousy,  
Ought to mistrust; 'tis hard for to devise  
A secret slight, to cirumvent the wise.   

Whether the Bishop of himself did give  
So large a scope unto the captive King:  
Or Warwick's conscience inwardly did grieve,  
That he had done so treacherous a thing:  
And therefore willed the Bishop let him have,  
What liberty soever he did crave.   

I'll not dispute how it did come to pass,  
Though many think, that Warwick did consent  
To set him free: but be it as it was,  
All doubts to clear, the King did soon prevent  
The fury of his foes, with heedful care,  
To tread the path that might escape the snare.   

And by good fortune it did happen so,  
Sir William Stanley with a troop of men,  
Met with the King as he to hunt did go:  
It was in vain to argue where or when  
He should be redelivered, for decree  
Had clear resolved, to set King Edward free.   

And those that had the charge of his return,  
Unto whose care the Bishop did commit  
The guarding of the King, were loath to spurn  
Against the prick, accounting it no wit  
To offer force, where such attempts were vain,  
Which rash resistance might procure their pain.   

Determinately therefore they agreed,  
With swiftest speed unto their Lord to tell:  
How evilly their sport that day did speed,  
Which news they knew would nothing please him well:  
But well or ill, there was no remedy,  
The King was gone past their recovery.   

To Lancaster, where then Lord Hastings lay,  
The King made thither with all speed he might:  
From thence, assured of friends, he took his way  
To London, whence (although his cause was right)  
He was enforced to Lin to shape his course,  
Of raging seas t'abide good hap or worse.   

To Burgundy with wind and sail he plied,  
There to recover forces, help and aid,  
Of that great Duke: now mark what did betide,  
The boisterous waves and adverse winds delayed  
His direct course; the Easterlings at sea,  
Thought to have made K. Edward's ship their prey.   

His ship being small, with help of sail did bear  
Such forewind speed, that in despite of foe,  
It ran so near the shore, at Alquemare  
Their ships drew deeper, that they could not go  
So near the town, but were compelled to ride  
At anchor there, attending the next tide.   

In the mean time Lord Gronture governor,  
In humblest manner welcomed the King,  
And charged the Easterlings to touch no shore,  
Commanding them not to attempt the thing,  
That to the English might offensive be:  
Thus was the King from dangerous foes set free.   

But when the rumour through the land was blown,  
That Edward was enforced to fly the land:  
And that the certainty thereof was known,  
O in what desperate state did all they stand  
That were his friends! but unto me his wife,  
No hope was left of safety, friends, or life.   

Now to the hardest censure I appeal,  
What world of woes oppressed my soul with grief:  
How could I hide my sorrows, or conceal  
My horror? for no hope of my relief,  
On any side, I no way could descry,  
But gloomy death, and endless misery.   

Which sad prospect did threaten hard event,  
To wretched me, of all good hap forsaken:  
Despair attended me; no way I went,  
But by sad thoughts my thoughts were overtaken.  
Pale death my master was, and at my helm  
Stood terror, all my joys to overwhelm.   

In this red sea which was not navigable,  
My weatherbeaten bark was run aground:  
I thought to find some place available,  
Where I might strike my sail, and not be drowned▪  
The sanctuary a most sacred place,  
I fled unto, hoping to find some grace.   

Such grace I mean, as to a wretched soul  
Yields comfort in extremes, near drowned in grief:  
There willingly myself I did enrol  
'Mongst miserable souls void of relief:  
But that the reverence of that holy place,  
Was a protection to them in that case.   

And in that place I had not long remained,  
But to the world Edward the fift I brought:  
Where like a poor man's child I not disdained  
To have him Christened, though so mean a thought  
Did nothing fit the mind of any Queen,  
(Who chooseth least of ills we wise esteem.)   

The poorest man, whose labour gets his pay,  
Whose court a cottage is, doth at such time,  
More cost bestow on such a solemn day,  
Then I had means to give that child of mine:  
The Gossips and chief credit of the troup,  
Were th'Abbot, Prior, and the Lady Scroop.   

Where was my cloth of state, my canopy,  
Ladies of honour to attend my will?  
Where my rich hangings of rare tapestry,  
The stateliest banquets, that device or skill  
Can set before us? where the songs of mirth,  
To tell the world, we joyed a Prince's birth?   

My state and grace, of all the world neglected,  
Only a naked name of Queen than left me:  
My nearest friends arrested or suspected,  
With traitor's blot, from which they were as free  
As new borne babes, yet were they overthrown;  
Was ever such a cruel tyrant known.   

The troup of gallants, that once fawned on me,  
My fortune-followers, now they all are gone:  
My pomp and compliments for my degree,  
Are vanished clean, and I am cast upon  
The rock, whereon alas I was undone,  
Before my prime of pleasure was begun.   

O all was gone, and I myself dejected  
From Court and Crown to fatal misery:  
Of Lord nor Lady graced nor respected,  
But headlong thrown into adversity.  
Oh let no creature live secure of state,  
For Kings themselves are subjects unto fate.   

Let mean men's wives imagine what it is  
To want things fitting them in such a case:  
I of all princely ornaments did miss,  
Was glad of such as servile were and base:  
Thus fortunes wheel, some up, some down doth toss,  
And I enforced perforce did bear this cross.   

O that I had a world of willing ears,  
That patiently would hear my sorrows told:  
And in this sad discourse to lend me tears,  
When they the map of my mishaps behold:  
But o the world shrouds in oblivion,  
Their name and fame, that to the earth are gone.   

My King was fled, my friends themselves did shroud  
Under the covert of my enemies:  
The new made governor, insolent and proud;  
Hateful to me, and all my progeny:  
Ten thousand deaths, yea trebled mischief fall  
Upon his head, that soured my sweet with gall.   

Nay more than so, that wronged not only me,  
But to their King were instruments of ill:  
Cursed and odious let such traitors be,  
That howsoever to effect their will,  
Regardless of all wrong, against all right,  
Dares to take arms against their King to fight.   

So long, too long, with small or no regard,  
I in that sanctuary did remain,  
Until at length for certain truth I heard,  
That princely Edward, with a martial train,  
At Ravensprugh near Humber head was landed,  
With many a gallant warlikly attended.   

Which how it joyed my soul, no tongue can tell:  
Then unto God I did devoutly pray,  
To cast all Edward's foes as low as hell,  
And give to him a safe victorious day,  
That he in triumph, with heart's joy might see  
His little son presented him by me.   

Whether my prayers were effectual,  
Or Edward's valour, which the world renowned:  
But all his foes got such a heavy fall,  
That he with victory again was crowned,  
And many slain; the rest that reattempted  
Rebellious factions, they such faults repent.   

Warwick and others of that traitorous faction,  
Being slain and overthrown, a just reward  
For them that dealt in such rebellious action;  
Their peacocks plumes were plucked, their bravery marred:  
Victorious Edward by the help of heaven,  
Reigned after this, of years just eleven.   

But then, o then, for seldom good things last,  
Fates envious of earthly creatures good,  
With swiftest speed, and with a heedless haste,  
Cruel in action, glut themselves in blood  
Of any one that cometh next to hand:  
All men perforce within their fury stand.   

But Atropos the cruelest of the three,  
That spins and winds, and cuts our thread of life,  
As one enchanted, seeing did not see,  
When she did cut the thread that bred such strife:  
For by his too soon death my woes began,  
And tragic fall of many a mighty man.   

My forepast sorrows might be termed joys,  
And all my griefs were joys compared to this:  
King Edward died, with him died all my joys,  
And I was banished from all earthly bliss,  
To the sad tortures of an earthly hell,  
The least of all my woes no tongue can tell.   

Seven royal children to this King I bore,  
Edward the fift, by treason murdered;  
Richard his brother had a deadly share,  
For they were both together smothered:  
Five daughters by this King I also had,  
Whose fortunes, some were good and others bad.   

When palefaced death had seized upon my King,  
My Lord, my love, the hope of all my joy;  
And by that stroke had blemished every thing,  
That might preserve and keep me from annoy:  
The Nobles drooped, the common people mourned,  
And all my hopes to sad despair were turned.   

Some spark of future good I hoped to see,  
Since to the Crown my son by due descent  
Was heir apparent: but what state so free,  
But trust in treason brings to hard event?  
Usurping Richard such a plot laid down,  
To work their deaths; and gain himself the Crown.   

Such fearful thoughts my senses so did fright,  
That some mishap I feared would befall  
To the young King: sad visions in the night  
So troubled me, I could not sleep at all:  
Devouring beasts, but most of all the Boar,  
My tender child, me thought, with tusks did gore.   

From Ludlow towards London the young King  
Did go to have his right, the royal Crown:  
Little suspecting treachery would spring,  
Nor that his uncle Gloucester would put down  
The lawful King, the son of his own brother;  
But tyranny regards ne one ne other.   

To heap more sorrows on my wounded heart,  
My brother the Lord Rivers was arrested:  
Sir Richard Grace and Vaughan bore a part,  
As guilty of the fact, which they detested:  
Whilst in Northampton in their Inn they stayed,  
Unwares alas they guiltless were betrayed.   

The keys of all the doors were safely kept  
By those that sought to work their overthrow;  
Whilst they nothing misdoubting, sound slept,  
Little suspecting undeserved woe  
Would light on them that to their Prince were loyal;  
But truth by treason tripped, near comes to trial.   

Gloucester and Buckingham having effected  
Their bloody plots 'gainst such as were my friends;  
A warrant was with speed by them directed,  
To bring those prisoners to untimely ends:  
And from Northampton unto Ponfret, they  
Like lambs to slaughter led, were sent away.   

Sir Richard Ratcliff having the commission  
To him directed, that by such a day  
He should be careful, with all expedition,  
Those innocents most bloodily to slay:  
He acted it without due course of laws,  
Or ask why, or what should be the cause.   

The cruel Dukes than posted with all speed  
To Stony stratford, where the King then lay:  
The King, alas, not knowing of this deed,  
Said, Where's my uncle? what doth cause him stay?  
Gloucester replied, my kindred traitors were,  
As by due proof his Majesty should hear.   

Saying, they had conspired to rule the State,  
To overthrow the Nobles of the land,  
To rule the King, and give him the check mate;  
All the Nobility in great fear did stand  
Of them that had of late been too much graced,  
And now high time they should be all displaced.   

And that the Lord Grace, brother to the King,  
And with the King in presence at that time,  
Might well be charged with the self same thing;  
Thus did they plot the fall of me and mine.  
The King replied, that justly he might swear,  
His brother Grace was innocent and clear.   

And with those words, tears trickled from his eyes;  
But though that sight was pitiful to see,  
It nought reclaimed them from their cruelties.  
What sadder sign of grief could ever be,  
Then that a King, whose word should be a law,  
With tears should plead, as though he stood in awe?   

My father and my brethren murdered,  
In this might well be seen the future hap,  
Of ill presaged fortune furthered,  
By those two bloody Dukes, that sought to wrap  
In sad despair and death, me and my friends,  
And bring us quickly to untimely ends.   

When I had heard of this unlooked for lot,  
This undeserved cruelty inflicted  
Upon my brother, who without all spot  
Had clear remained, and could not be convicted  
Of any one conceived thought of ill  
Against his King, in heart, in mind or will.   

Unto the Sanctuary than I fled,  
My friends and children I did take with me:  
To scape their hands that sought our bloods to shed,  
Clear out of hope that ever I should see  
My son receive the Crown; my fear proved true,  
Which shortly after I had cause to rue.   

The little King was brought unto the Tower,  
As surest place of safety for his person:  
Accursed be that day and fatal hour,  
That ere he entered there: for his subversion  
Was by the Dukes in cruel fashion wrought,  
When least of death, alas, he had a thought.   

And to cut off Edward's posterity  
From sitting in their Father's regal seat,  
My younger son with me in Sanctuary,  
They plotted how they might by false deceit  
Take him from me; that to augment my pain,  
Even at one instant they might both be slain.   

Which to effect, the Cardinal was sent  
To deal with me, to get my second son  
Into their hands, which deed I now repent:  
I thought full little that they would have done,  
In action or in thought the smallest thing,  
That any way might prejudice their King.   

The Cardinal alleged the Kings desire  
To have his brother in his company:  
And that it kindled had the Nobles ire,  
That I should doubt, or be in jealousy  
Of them that were the rulers of the land,  
And were allied to them in nature's band.   

I not denied, but that I thought it fit,  
For brethren then in their minority  
To be together, if that were only it,  
That caused them of the nobility  
To wish to have my son sent to his brother,  
That they might sport and play one with another.   

My trembling heart did inwardly so quake,  
That I did fear, as than I knew not what:  
My inward thoughts enforced my joints to shake,  
As fearing this, and then misdoubting that:  
But what to fear, alas I could not tell,  
But that my son was sickly, and not well.   

I told the Cardinal, that not long before,  
A dangerous sickness had afflicted him,  
And that cold air would aggravate it more;  
And therefore I being nearest of his kin,  
Was fittest yet to keep him there with me,  
For then his mother who could dearer be?   

And to the Cardinal I with tears did say,  
Recall to mind my Lord, the grace and love,  
The King my husband gave you many years,  
As by experience you did daily prove:  
Requite that love to his posterity,  
When most you think them in extremity.   

And as I here deliver unto you  
This little Duke, the brother to your King:  
If you to him hereafter prove untrue,  
Rest most assured that such a heinous thing  
Shall ever be a blemish to your fame,  
And utterly extinguish your good name.   

And though perhaps you think my words are vain,  
And that I undertake a needless task,  
To give advice, where I should entertain  
Your sacred counsel: and of you should ask,  
What I should do in such a case as this,  
Whereon depends the hope of all my bliss.   

The sacred reverence, and the great esteem  
I bear to you, forbids me to mistrust  
Your loyalty, and yet you must not deem  
My fear is causeless, my misdoubts unjust:  
For many men to gain themselves a Crown,  
Have been regardless whom they did cast down.   

But you upon your soul do here protest,  
You will defend, to th'utmost of your power,  
My sons, if any seem them to molest.  
Their years are young, yet springing is their flower;  
Long may they live, increase of joys to see:  
It fits them die that old and withered be.   

I know you may, and doubt not but you will  
Be a strong stay to the unsure estate  
Of both my sons: if any seek to spill  
Their bloods, you may in time prevent the hate,  
And cruelty of such, if you have care,  
With watchful eye for to discern the snare.   

Since on your trust I do my hopes repose,  
And all my future good doth now rely  
On the performance of your vows and oaths,  
Fear still the worst, lest all too suddenly  
Their deaths be wrought; o let no foul corruption  
Make you consent to innocents destruction.   

Yet since the King and Council did require,  
And sent for him, I would not say them nay,  
But gave consent to that they did desire:  
And to the Cardinal, without longer stay,  
My little son I gave, and with a kiss  
took leave of him, and of all earthly bliss.   

Whole seas of tears did overflow my face,  
Grief stopped my tongue, I could not speak at all:  
The little child distilled salt tears apace,  
And on his mother's name he oft did call:  
I was chief mourner, he to bear a part,  
Sent sighs and tears from his lamenting heart.   


Richard the third.  When thus the Boar had seized into his hand,  
Them whom he thought were objects in his way,  
He did not long in doubtful censure stand,  
But fell to action without all delay,  
Foreknowing well that he that acts an evil,  
Must neither think on God, nor fear the devil.   

And having found a means and instrument,  
That dared speak untruths in any thing:  
One Doctor Shaw, with scandalous intent,  
Preached at Paul's cross, that my deceased King  
A bastard was, unlawfully begotten:  
What hellhound would such infamy have spoken?   

And that the Duke then being but Protector,  
He was the perfect picture of his father;  
And therefore he was true and right successor  
Unto the Crown: the hearers strait did gather  
The falsehood of the words that he did teach;  
And went their way, & would not hear him preach.   

And with his tongue, the touchstone of defame,  
He most untruly there to them did say,  
My children bastards were: thus void of shame,  
He sought to work the ruin and decay  
Of me and mine: o let his soul in hell,  
For evermore in endless torments dwell.   

And more than that, if more than that may be,  
Let those that live of his posterity,  
Hateful to all, of high or low degree,  
Lead odious lives in depth of misery,  
Where neither Sun nor Moon may give them light:  
Lo this shall be my prayer day and night.   

But whither wade I now? I must not rage,  
Though extreme grief doth make my heart to vex,  
And pass decorum for a pensive stage,  
It's but the imperfection of my sex:  
A woman hath no means to right her wrong,  
But by the sharp and bitterness of tongue.   

Which if too much I seem herein to use,  
Condemn me not, but passion that doth cause  
Me thus the bounds of mildness to refuse,  
And use my tongue, the weapon of our laws,  
And scourge for them that wrongfully offend us,  
And only refuge left for to defend us.   

When this was bruited by this slandering Doctor,  
And that with bastardy my blood was tainted:  
For he was fit to be the devils Proctor,  
Or tell a tale of Beelzebub new painted,  
By some magician lately came from hell:  
Such feigned things he spared not to tell.   

Then did usurping Richard claim the Crown,  
And by the help of Buckingham he gained  
The regal Seat, not caring who went down,  
So he might hit the mark whereat he aimed:  
The Crown by blood and tyranny he won,  
To friend or foe regardless what was done.   

Yet though King Richard did desire to see  
The death of both my children, whom he thought  
Did dim his title to the Crown; yet he  
Can not devise by whom to have it wrought:  
The fact so odious was, that never any  
Would undertake it, though he proved many.   

New means to try, a letter was directed  
To him that was Lieutenant of the Tower,  
One Brackenbury, that as he respected  
King Richard's favour, at the instant hour  
And sight thereof, he then with speed should slay  
The two young Princes, without all delay.   

Sir Robert Brackenbury having read  
The letter, he did presently reply,  
Their blood should never by his means be shed,  
Though for refusing he were sure to die.  
Which answer when the King did hear, he then  
Did deeply swear, there was no trust in men.   

I see, quoth he, this world is full of evil,  
Promotions soon forgotten, favours vain:  
I would ha●e sent my man unto the devil,  
But he will give me leave to take that pain  
Myself: but yet I hope to find some friends,  
That will not fail to bring them to their ends.   

And at the last he did find out a mate,  
No man, a monster of some tigers kind,  
Hoping to raise by cruelty his state;  
When he perceived King Richard's bloody mind,  
Void of all grace, possessed with villainy,  
Offered himself to work their tragedy.   

But now prepare your ears to hear the sound  
Of saddest woe, and extreme cruelty:  
Was ever such a bloody butcher found,  
That ever dared act such tyranny,  
As was this traitor, Terrill was his name,  
That gave consent to work his Prince's bane?   

A strict command, the King by Terrill sent  
To Brackenbury, charging him thereby,  
That all the keys he should incontinent  
Deliver up to Terrill willingly,  
For that one night he did the King obey,  
Yield the keys, and sadly went his way.   

Night being come, that shroudeth many a sin  
From eyes of men, but not from sight of God:  
He knows the thoughts before the deeds begin,  
And will revenge and punish with his rod,  
Without respect of persons, all alike:  
The mightiest King he will in justice st●ike.   

Into the Tower by secret doors that night,  
Terrill with such as were wrought to his will,  
Forest and Dighton entered by slight  
Into their chamber, resolute to kill  
The sleeping Princes, who being void of fear,  
Did little think their deaths had been so near.   

And when the Princes both within one bed  
Together slept, embracing one the other,  
Those cruel villains by the devil led,  
The little brethren in their beds did smother:  
Thus from the sleep that nature forced them to,  
They never waked to tell who wrought their wo.   

Whether in water, or in sacred ground,  
They cast or laid the bodies murdered,  
It's yet unknown, the place was never found,  
But in their beds they thus were smothered:  
O never villains acted such a deed,  
The thought whereof doth make my soul to bleed.   

This murder done, this most detested fact,  
Being once performed by that damned crew,  
Upon the little Princes; Terrill packed,  
And like some fury to the Court he slew,  
The manner how, unto the King to tell,  
And every accident as it befell.   

They had no wounds, by which it might appear  
That violently so their bloods were shed;  
But as by nature's course they perished were;  
And that their bodies being scarcely dead,  
Under a pair of stairs within the Tower,  
Were cast a prey for Serpents to devour.   

The bloody King was pleased with the deed,  
But did dislike the baseness of the place,  
Where they had cast the bodies; and with speed,  
Terror of conscience, or some spark of grace  
Did work remorse in him, and therefore he  
Gave charge their bodies should removed be.   

But whither, where, or to what place assigned,  
No history doth to this age relate:  
A Priest, some say, their bodies there did find,  
And moved with pity, did commiserate,  
Such royal babes, of life and Crown bereft,  
Should in so vile a filthy place be left.   

And did remove them, where he thought more fit  
And sacred place for princely obsequies:  
Which reverent deed deserveth to be writ  
In golden letters, that posterities  
May learn of him, that Christians ought to have  
A decent place to lay their dead in grave.   

Then if a general regard be had  
Of those that die, although they be but such,  
Whose births were base, whose lives were thought but bad:  
The honour due to Princes is so much,  
As gods on earth they honoured aught to be  
Of all estates, of high or low degree.   

When I had heard of this extremest ill,  
Grief stopped my speech, sorrows oppressed my heart:  
I was enforced, although against my will,  
From all delights and pleasures to departed,  
Nothing was left but sorrow, grief and care,  
Thus all my hope was turned to sad despair.   

Let never heavens yield such a cheerful smile,  
That may yield comfort to that damned soul,  
That did not fear to do a deed so vile;  
Let hellish furies, all their names enroll  
In that black book, which to augment their pain,  
As record of their deeds doth still remain.   

Let ugliest shape of most abhorred devil,  
Fire-spitting fiends in that infernal lake,  
Daily torment them that devised this evil,  
Or gave consent, or the least part did take,  
To murder him that was their lawful King,  
And crop his flower, whilst it was in the spring.   

To break the branch that did but newly bud;  
Nay more than so, to pluck up by the root,  
The springing plant next of the royal blood:  
Though this to tell my grief, is little boot,  
And all in vain I do my woes replete,  
Because in me all sorrows are complete.   

Yet needs I must, nature enforceth me,  
I was their mother, they the royal seed  
Of my dear Lord, whom yet me thinks I see  
Urging revenge for this most wicked deed;  
And shall not I with him still bear a part,  
In prayer, in woe, in joy, or grief of heart?   

O needs I must, and ever gladly will  
Fellow his ghost, with serviceable love,  
And evermore be priest and ready still,  
With sighs and tears t'importune mighty love,  
To grant the prayers of my beloved King,  
For his desires were just in every thing.   

If more I speak then well be cometh me;  
In curious eye and ear if I too far  
Forget myself, let this my answer be,  
He was my glorious Sun, no twinkling star:  
They that on earth do bear the Sceptre royal,  
To them their subjects hearts ought to be loyal.   

Then if a subject must adore his King;  
If he that is the King of Kings, command  
Faith, duty, love, of all in every thing  
To be performed, if firm his act shall stand;  
Why then much more should I that was his wife,  
Perform my duty in and after life.   

For after life the ghost hath liberty,  
Of joys or grief to bear a feeling part:  
And though some women through infirmity,  
Their frailty or their fickleness of heart,  
When death once seizeth on their dearest friend,  
Their former loves are quickly at an end:   

Yet what of that, my thoughts were pitched on high,  
I loved no meaner person than a King;  
Then with his life why should my fancies die?  
Why should succeeding ages after sing  
To my reproach, that I that was a Queen,  
In base choice to sport was ever seen?   

Richard the third, rightly called th'usurper,  
Requited those that were his trusty friends  
With sudden death; and his device to further,  
Plotted untruths to bring them to their ends:  
Then when they thought their fortunes were at highest,  
Then was their woe their fall, and death the nighest.   

But good or bad, this tyrant being King,  
Who so he hated, or did stand in doubt,  
Would not consent to him in every thing,  
To take their lives, all ways he cast about,  
By sudden action, or surmised pretence,  
Without their heads he sent them packing thence.   

In this extreme, alas, what way was left  
For wretched me, but to despair and die?  
Of hope and hap, of friends and all bereft,  
What should I do, or whither should I fly?  
But still in danger of my mortal foe,  
To wish for death the end of earthly woe.   

Two years he reigned in fear and bloody strife,  
In which mean time in Sanctuary I  
Did shroud myself, to save my wretched life,  
And linger out my days in misery:  
Though death far better was in such a case,  
My woman's heart could hardly death embrace.   

His breach of faith, his odious cruelties,  
First caused Buckingham to levy arms:  
And in the North it caused mutinies,  
Men sought to 'venge the many grievous harms,  
That wrongfully they saw him daily do  
To all estates, as well to friend as foe.   

This made Earl Richmond find so many friends,  
When he laid claim unto the English Crown:  
Who doth not wish all tyrant's speedy ends?  
Who will not help to cast a tyrant down?  
The King of Kings that all men's acts doth see,  
Will never let such men unpunished be.   

Not long before Earl Richmond came to shore,  
King Richard sent to me, persuading men  
To make excuse for what was done before,  
With promises of gracious proffers then:  
They laid long siege unto my weak defence,  
With vows and oaths to clear him from offence.   

With kindest promises of future good,  
To me or any one that I could name:  
I well considering in what case I stood,  
Grew milder, and at last did seem to frame  
Myself as pliant to their masters will,  
Yet was my heart free from one thought of ill.   

The Eagle towering in the lofty sky,  
If he unto his prey do kindness use,  
Under whose stroke their life or death doth lie:  
Were it not madness in them to refuse  
His proffered favour, since they must obey  
His will, because they cannot scape away?   

Such was my case, although not so considered:  
He was the Eagle that was mounted high,  
I and my friends the prey discomforted,  
Stood at his will to live or else to die;  
Our safeties he did proffer, gold and love,  
I was content our better haps to prove.   

He did desire, but that I would conceive  
A good opinion of his deeds to come,  
And not myself so fond to deceive,  
Mistaking things that then were past and done:  
Alas, I knew it was then in his power,  
To date our lives one day, or but an hour.   

My secret foes, if any such there were,  
They knew, or at the least they might have known,  
I wished Earl Richmond well, and joyed to hear  
That Richard's state should soon be overthrown:  
I did procure my friends, with power and will,  
To aid the Earl, King Richard's blood to spill.   

Which though in secret to my friends I said,  
I durst not but seem pleased to forgive  
All former faults, although in heart I prayed,  
That cruel Richard might no longer live  
To bathe in blood: full oft on bended knee,  
With tears I prayed, that I his death might see.   

What should I hold you in a long discourse?  
Fair words prevailed, and I did give consent;  
Knowing our fortunes hardly could be worse,  
I with my daughters to his palace went:  
Where he did give command, and straightly charge,  
Our welcome should be great, our freedom large.   

I knew the time was near, and then at hand,  
That Henry Earl of Richmond meant to try,  
In warlike battle, with a valiant band,  
Either to win the Crown, or else to die:  
I knew what Noble men would take his part,  
I gained him friends, and gave to his my heart.   

I joyed to hear that Richard lost the field;  
Who did not pray to see his overthrow?  
He being slain, who did not freely yield?  
Each man was glad, and wished it might be so:  
Of York and Lancaster then grew the union,  
Whose former strife wrought many men's confusion.   

The conquering King, according to his oath,  
Was married to my daughter presently:  
Which to help forward no man seemed loath,  
But all were aiders, as fidelity  
Did bind them to perform: this being done,  
I joyed once more to have a King my son.   

Fool that I was, to glory in the thing  
Which proved to me unpleasant in the end:  
I like the swan, before my death did sing,  
As little knowing what they did intend,  
That secretly conspired to work my fall,  
And suddenly did turn my sweet to gall.   


Henry the 7.  The second year of this King Henry's reign,  
The Council did decree, that wretched I,  
The more to aggravate my grief and pain,  
Should lose my lands, and live in penury,  
Because I did accept in outward show,  
Of Richard's kindness. They did little know,   

How easily a captivated man,  
Will yield to him that is his conqueror,  
And gladly please in any thing he can,  
The fury of a savage tormenter,  
Especially in such a case as this,  
Where will might hurt, but could not help my wish.   

I had too lately known his bloody mind,  
I was unable to withstand his force:  
I knew no place of safety where to find,  
My state was like to grow from bad to worse:  
Which made me willingly accept the good  
That he did vow to me and to my blood.   

Alas, what could a silly woman do?  
My female frailty might have coloured this:  
I feared to taste the fury of my foe,  
Because my strength was all too weak for his:  
I timorously did fear the bloody slaughters,  
That he might do to me and to my daughters.   

What hurt or danger to Earl Richmond's plot,  
Can my dissembled peace with Richard be?  
What face so fair, but that a fault or spot,  
A partial judge will say, he there doth see?  
It's better die, and not to live at all,  
Then be so weak, with every blast to fall.   

When I was graced with favour of my King,  
Whilst he did live that did support and stay  
Those whom I pleased into his grace to bring,  
All then was just that I would do or say:  
He being gone, and that I was declining,  
At my estate how many were repining?   

Had I been cruel, covetous or strange,  
When poor distressed suitors to me cried,  
From good conceit to bad, then might they change:  
Had I the needy naked soul denied  
Of any help, that then was in my power,  
Then had I lived too long, if but an hour.   

But if my heart did pity widows tears,  
The fatherless if I did help to right,  
And set the needy free from many fears,  
Wherewith they were oppressed by men of might:  
To all estates since I was then a friend,  
Why should their gratefulness so quickly end?   

And more than so, not only to forget  
Good turns once done, but to requite them ill,  
That well deserved of all in each respect;  
So far so blindly to be led by will,  
Or vile ingratitude, the filthiest sin,  
That ever human creatures lived in.   

If this had happened in a land unknown,  
Where I had never lived as a Queen:  
Had this been done by any but my own,  
My griefs should less in all respects have been:  
What made the mighty Caesar wish to die?  
The grief that Brutus was his enemy.   

I thought all storms of misery were passed,  
My daughter being married to the King;  
I thought my pleasures then would ever last,  
I never looked for any change of thing:  
My innocency would not let me fear,  
The grievous censure that was then so near.   


Bermondsey Abbey in Southwark near London  With wounded heart, the remnant of my days,  
In th'Abbey of Bermondsey in tears I spent:  
Still death I wished, and hated those delays,  
That fearful frailty did to me present:  
I called for death, and weary was to live,  
For well I knew life could no pleasures give.   

And when the end of all my griefs drew nigh,  
And that my date of life was near expired,  
With willing heart I was content to die:  
And Atropos I earnestly desired,  
To cut the thread that did prolong my life,  
Because in me all sorrows were so rife.   

My corpse being dead, to Windsor was conveyed,  
And there interred fitting my degree,  
Even in that place where my dear Lord was laid,  
There at this day the tomb is yet to see:  
Unto which place, now I my griefs have told,  
I must return and shroud myself in mould.   

Then did this Queen return unto her rest,  
And vanished, leaving to my memory  
Here to relate what she to me rehearsed:  
In which recital, if infirmity  
Cause me forget that which I should have spoken:  
Imagine that which I have now forgotten.   

If such the world in former times hath been,  
That highest states most subject were to fall:  
How true said she, that late was England's Queen,  
When she herself at that time was in thrall,  
Lo yonder milkmaid lives more merrily, 
It was the saying of Queen Elizabeth, when she was prisoner in the time of Queen Mary.   
Then I, that am of noble progeny?   

Not to be great, is therefore to be sure  
From fortune's wrack: for this we daily see,  
The highest trees do sharpest storms endure;  
When those that planted in the valley be,  
Do seldom fear, and never feel the frown  
Of boisterous storms, that others doth cast down.   

A virtuous life survives, when cruel death  
Hath soul from earthly body severed,  
And hath bereft us of our vital breath,  
Yet worthy deeds should be remembered:  
Succeeding ages should them deify,  
Whose lives and deaths were full of piety.   

But what availeth it to have been great,  
Or what, to have been friendly unto many?  
When they shall come to sit in sorrows seat,  
Themselves shall seldom be relieved by any:  
For misery hath many lookers on,  
And some that pity, but adjutors none.   

This Queen was by descent of noble blood,  
Of virtuous life: yet in oblivions grave,  
How long hath she in dark obscureness stood?  
Shall good deserts, such cold requital have?  
Ungrateful minds, that were by duty bound,  
Her name and fame unto the world to sound.   

Queen's College, which of her did take the name,  
In Cambridge as a monument doth stand,  
A worthy deed, deserving endless fame;  
Which to maintain, she gave sufficient land:  
And some which in that College have been bred,  
Might well have raised her fame though she be dead.   

Thus have you heard, although abruptly penned,  
The fortunes of this Queen, and of her friends:  
Princes as well as beggars do depend  
On the Almighty's will: what ere he sends,  
None can prevent, or alter his decree,  
So firm, so sure his secret judgements be.   
FINIS.