STRANGE HISTORIES, Of Kings, Princes, Duke's Earls, Lords, Ladies, Knights, and Gentlemen. With the great troubles and miseries of the Duchess of Suffolk. Very pleasant either to be read or sung, and a most excellent warning for all estates.  
LONDON Printed by William Barley, the assign of T. M. and are to be sold at his shop in Gracious street. 1602. Cum Privilegio.   

THE TABLE.  

Cant. I▪ The Kentishmen with long tails.  
Cant. II. Of King Henry the first and his children.  
The Duchess of Suffolk's calamity.  
Cant. III. King Edward the second crowning his Son King of England.  
Cant. IIII The Imprisonment of Queen Elinor  
Cant. V. The death of King john poisoned by a Friar.  
Cant VI The imprisonment of King Edward the second.  
Cant. VII The murdering of King Edward the second, being killed with a hot burning spit.  
Cant VIII. The banishment of the Lord Matreuers, and Sir Thomas Gurney.  
Cant IX. The winning of the Isle of man..  
Cant X The rebellion of Wat Tiler and jack Straw.  
A speech between Ladies, being Shepherds on Salisbury plain.    

The valiant courage and policy of the Kentishmen with long tails, whereby they kept their ancient Laws and Customs, which William the Conqueror sought to take from them.  
Cant. I.  
Or to the tune of Rogero.  

WHen as the Duke of Normandy,  
with glistering spear and shield▪  
Had entered into fair England,  
and foiled his foes in field.  
On Christmas day in solemn sort,  
than was he crowned here,  
By Albert Archbishop of York,  
with many a noble Peer.   

Which being done he changed quite,  
the customs of this land:  
And punished such as daily sought,  
his statutes to withstand.  
And many Cities he subdued,  
fair London with the rest:  
But Kent did still withstand his force,  
which did his laws detest.   

To Dover than he took his way,  
the Castle down to fling:  
Which ●ruiragus builded there,  
the noble Brutaine king:  
Which when the brave Archbishop bold,  
of Canterbury knew:  
The Abbot of ●. Austin's eke,  
with all their gallant crew.   

They set themselves in armour bright  
these mischiefs to prevent:  
With all the yeomen brave and bold,  
that were in fruitful Kent.  
At Canterbury did they meet,  
upon a certain day:  
With sword and spear with bill and bow,  
and stopped the conquerors way.   

Let us not live like bondmen poor,  
to Frenchmen in their pride  
But keep our ancient liberties,  
what chance so ear betide.  
And rather die in bloody field  
in manlike courage priest:  
Then to endure the servile yoke,  
which we so much detest.   

Thus did the kentish Commons cry,  
unto their leaders still:  
And so march forth in warlike sort,  
and stand at Swanscombe hill.  
Where in the woods they hid themselves,  
under the shady green,  
Thereby to get them vantage good,  
of all their foes unseen.   

And for the Conquerors coming there,  
they privily laid wait:  
And thereby suddenly paid,  
his lofty high conceit.  
For when they spied his approach,  
in place as they did stand:  
Then marched they to hem him in,  
each on a bow in hand.   

So that unto the conquerors sight,  
amazed as he stood  
They seemed to be a walking grove,  
or else a moving wood.  
The shape of men he could not see,  
the bows did hide them so:  
And now his heart with fear did quake,  
to see a forest go.   

Before, behind, and on each side,  
as he did cast his eye:  
He spied these woods with sober pace,  
approach to him full nigh.  
But when the kentishmen had thus,  
enclosed the conqueror round:  
Most suddenly they drew their swords,  
and threw the bows to ground.   

There banners they displayed in sight,  
there Trumpets sound a charge.  
There rattling Drums, strickes up alarm,  
there troops stretch out at large.  
The Conqueror with all his train  
were hereof fore aghast:  
And most in peril when he thought,  
all peril had been past.   

Unto the kentish men he sent,  
the cause to understand:  
For what intent and for what cause,  
they took this war in hand▪  
To whom they made this short reply,  
for liberty we fight:  
And to enjoy S. Edward's laws.  
the which we hold our right.   

Then said the dreadful conqueror,  
you shall have what you will:  
Your ancient customs and your laws,  
so that you will be still:  
And each thing else that you will crave,  
with reason at my hand,  
So you will but acknowledge me,  
chief King of fair England.   

The kentishmen agreed here on,  
and laid their arms aside:  
And by this means King Edward's laws,  
in Kent do still abide,  
And in no place in England else,  
those customs do remain:  
Which they by manly policy,  
did of Duke William gain.   
FINIS.   

¶ How King Henry the first had his children drowned in the sea, as they came out of france.  
Cant. II.  
Or to the tune of the Lady's daughter.  

AFter our royal King,  
had foiled his foes in France:  
And spent the pleasant spring,  
his honour to advance.  
Into fair England he returned,  
with fame and victory:  
What time the subjects of his land,  
received him joyfully.   

But at his home return,  
his children left he still:  
In France for to sojourn  
to purchase learned skill.  
Duke William with his brother dear,  
Lord Richard was his name:  
Which was the Earl of Chester then,  
who thirsted after fame.   

The King's fair daughter eke,  
the Lady Marie bright:  
With diverse noble Peers,  
and many a hardy Knight.  
All those were left together there,  
in pleasure and delight:  
When that our King to England came,  
after the bloody fight.   

But when fair Flora had,  
drawn forth her treasure dri●t  
That winter cold and sad,  
with hoary head drew nigh.  
Those Princes all with one consent,  
prepared all things meet:  
To pass the seas for fair England,  
whose sight to them was sweet.   

To England let us high,  
thus every one did say,  
For Christmas draweth nigh,  
no longer let us stay.  
But spend the merry Christmas time,  
within our Father's court:  
Where Lady pleasure doth attend,  
with many a Princely sport.   

To sea these Princes ween,  
fulfilled with mirth and joy,  
But this their merriment,  
did turn to dear annoy.  
The Sailors and the shipmen all,  
through foul excess of wine,  
Were so disguised that at the sea,  
They showed themselves like swine.   

The stern no man could guide,  
the master sleeping lay,  
The sailors all beside,  
went roelling every way.  
So that the Ship at randle rood,  
Upon the foaming flood,  
Whereby in pe●●ll of their lives,  
the Princes always stood.   

Which made distilling tears,  
from their fair eyes to fall:  
Their hearts were filled with fears,  
no help they had at all.  
They wished themselves upon the land,  
a thousand times and more.  
And at the last they came in sight,  
of England's pleasant shore.   

Then every one began,  
to turn their sighs to smiles:  
There colours pale and wan,  
a cheerful look exciles.  
The princely Lords most lovingly,  
their Ladies do embrace:  
For now in England shall we be,  
quoth they in little space.   

Take comfort now they said,  
behold the land at last:  
Then be no more dismayed,  
the worst is gone and passed,  
But while they did this joyful hope,  
with comfort entertain:  
The goodly ship upon a rock,  
on sudden burst in twain▪   

With that a grievous screek,  
among them there was made,  
And every one did seek.  
on something to be stayed.  
But all in vain such help they sought,  
the ship so soon did sink:  
That in the sea they were constrained,  
to take their latest drink.   

There might you see the Lords,  
and Ladies for to lie:  
Amidst the salt sea foam,  
with many a grievous cry:  
Still labouring for their lines defence,  
with stretched arms abroad:  
And lifting up their Lily hands,  
for help with one accord   

But as good fortune would,  
the sweet young Duke did get,  
Into the Cockboat then,  
where safely he did sit.  
But when he heard his sister cry,  
the King's fair daughter dear.  
He turned his boat to take her in,  
whose death did draw so near.   

But while he strove to take,  
his sweet young sister in:  
The rest such shift did make.  
in Sea as they did swim.  
That to the boat a number got.  
to many that at last:  
The boat and all that were therein,  
was drowned and overcast.   

Of Lords and Gentlemen,  
and Ladies fair of face:  
Not one escaped then,  
which was a heavy case  
Threescore and ten were drowned in all,  
and none escaped death,  
But one poor Butcher which had swum,  
himself quite out of breath.   

This was most heavy news,  
unto our comely King:  
Who did all mirth refuse,  
this word when they did bring  
For by this means no child he had,  
his kingdom to succeed:  
Whereby his Sister's Son was King,  
as you shall plainly reed.    

The Duchess of Suffolk's Calamity,  
Or to the tune of Queen Dido.  

WHen God had taken for our sin,  
that prudent Prince K. Edward away:  
Then, bloody Bonner did begin▪  
his raging malice to bewray:  
All those that did the Gospel profess,  
he persecuted more or less.   

Thus when the Lord on us did lower,  
many in prison did he throw:  
Tormenting them in Lollards tower,  
whereby they might the truth forego:  
Then Cranmer, Ridlie, and the rest,  
were burnt in fire, that Christ professed.   

Smithfield was then with Faggots filled,  
and many places more beside:  
At Coventry was Sanders killed,  
at Gloster eke good Hooper died:  
And to escape this bloody day,  
beyond seas many fled away.   

Among the rest that sought relief.  
and for their faith in danger stood:  
Lady ELIZABETH was chief.  
King Henry's daughter of royal blood:  
Which in the tower prisoner did lie,  
Looking each day when she should die.   

The Duchess of Suffolk seeing this,  
whose life likewise the Tyrant sought:  
Who in the hope of heavenly bliss,  
which in God's word her comfort wrought:  
For fear of death was fain to fly,  
and leave her house most secretly.   

That for the love of Christ alone,  
her lands and goods she left behind:  
Seeking still for that precious stone,  
the word of truth so rare to find.  
She with her nurse, her Husband and child,  
in poor array their sights beguiled.   

Thus through London they passed along,  
each one did take a several street:  
Thus all unknown, escaping wrong,  
at Billingsgate they all did meet  
Like people poor in Gravesend Barge,  
they simply went with all their charge.   

And all along from Gravesend Town,  
with easy tournets' on foot they went:  
Unto the sea coast they came down,  
to pass the seas was their intent:  
And God provided so that day,  
That they took Ship and sailed away.   

And with a prosperous gale of wind,  
in Flaunders safe they did arrive.  
This was to their great ease of mind  
which from their hearts much woe did drive,  
And so with thanks to God on high,  
They took their way to Germany.   

Thus as they traveled thus disguised,  
upon the high way suddenly:  
By cruel thieves they were surprised,  
assailing their small company:  
And all their treasure and their store  
They took away, and beat them sore.   

The Nurse in midst of their sight,  
laid down the child upon the ground:  
She ran away out of their sight,  
and never after that was found:  
Then did the Duchess make great moan,  
With her good husband all alone.   

The thoenes had there their horses killed,  
and all their money quite had took:  
The pretty baby almost spilled,  
was by their Nurse likewise forsook:  
And they far from friends did stand,  
all succourless in a strange land.   

The skies likewise began to scowl,  
it hailde and rained in piteous sort:  
The way was long and wondrous foul,  
then may I full well report  
Their grief and sorrow was not small,  
When this unhappy chance did fall.   

Sometime the Duchess bore the child,  
as wet as ever she could be,  
And when the Lady kind and mild was weary,  
than the child bore he:  
And thus they one another cased,  
and with their fortunes were well pleased.   

And after many wearied steps,  
all wetshod both in dirt and mire:  
After much grief their heart it leaps,  
for labour doth some rest require,  
A town before them they did see.  
but lodged therein they could not be.   

From house to house they both did go,  
seeking where they that night might lie,  
But want of money was their woe,  
and still the babe with cold did cry.  
With cap and knee they curtsy make,  
But none on them would pity take.   

Loc here a Princess of great blood  
doth pray a Peasant for relief:  
With tears bedewed as▪ she stood,  
yet few or none regards her grief:  
Her speech they could not understand,  
But gave her a penny in her hand.   

When all in vain the pains was spent,  
and that they could not house-room get:  
Into a Church-porch than they went,  
to stand out of the rain and wet:  
Then said the Duchess to her dear,  
O that we had some fire here.   

Then did her husband so provide,  
that fire and coals he got with speed:  
She sat down by the fires side,  
to dress her daughter that had need:  
And while she dressed it in her lap,  
her husband made the Infant pay.   

Anon the Sexton thither came,  
and finding them there by the fire:  
The drunken knave all void of shame,  
to drive them out was his desire:  
And spurning forth this noble Dame,  
her husband's wrath it did inflame.   

And all in fury as he stood,  
he wrong the Church keys out of his hand:  
And struck him so that all of blood,  
his head ran down where he did stand.  
Wherefore the Sexton presently,  
for help and aid aloud did cry,   

Then came the Officers in haste,  
and took the Duchess and her child,  
And with her husband thus they passed,  
like Lambs to set with Tigers wild:  
And to the Governor were they brought,  
who understood them not in aught   

Then Master Bartue brave and bold,  
in Latin made a gallant speech,  
Which all their misery did unfold,  
and their high favour did beseech:  
With that a Doctor sitting by,  
did know the Duchess presently.   

And thereupon arising strait,  
with mind abashed at this sight  
Unto them all that there did weight,  
he thus broke forth in words aright:  
Behold within your sight quoth he,  
a Princess of most high degree.   

With that the Governor and the rest,  
were all amazed the same to hear,  
And welcomed these new come guests,  
with reverence great and princely cheer:  
And afterward conveyed they were,  
unto their friend Prince Cassemere.   

A Son she had in Germany,  
Peregrine Bartue called by name:  
Surnamed the good Lord Wi●lobie:  
of courage great and worthy fame.  
Her Daughter young which with her went,  
was afterward Countess at Kent.   

For when Queen Marie was deceased,  
th●●utchesse home returned again:  
Who ●as of sorrow quite released.  
by Queen Elizabethes happy reign  
For whose life and prosperity,  
We may all pray continually.   
FINIS.   

How King Henry the second crowning his Son king of England, in his own lifetime, was by him most grievously vexed with wars: whereby he went about to take his Father's Crown quite from him. And how at his death he repented him thereof, and asked his Father heartily forgiveness.  
Cant. III.  
Or to the tune of Wygmors' Galliard.  

YOu parents whose affection fond,  
unto your children doth appear:  
Mark well the story now in hand.  
wherein you shall great matters here.  
And learn by this which shallbe told,  
to hold your children still in awe:  
Lest otherwise they prove too bold,  
and set not by your state a straw.   

King Henry second of that name,  
for very love that he did bear:  
Unto his son, whose courteous fame,  
did through the land his credit rear.  
Did call the Prince upon a day.  
unto the court in royal sort:  
Attired in most rich array,  
and there he made him Princely sport.   

And afterward he took in hand,  
for fear he should deceived be:  
To crown him king of fair England,  
while life possessed his Majesty.  
What time the king in humble sort,  
like to a subject waited then:  
Upon his Son, and by report  
swore unto him his Noblemen.   

And by this means in England now,  
two kings at once together live.  
But lordly rule will not allow  
in partnership their days to drive.  
The Son therefore ambitiously,  
doth seek to pull his Father down,  
By bloody war and subtlety,  
to take from him his princely crown.   

Sith I am king thus did he say,  
why should I not both rule and reign:  
My heart disdains for to obey.  
yea all or nothing will I gain.  
Hereon he raiseth armies great,  
and draws a number to his part:  
His Father's force down right to beat.  
and by his spear to pierce his heart.   

In seven set battles doth he fight,  
against his loving Father dear:  
To overthrow him in despite,  
to win himself a kingdom clear.  
But nought at all could he prevail,  
his army always had the worst:  
Such grief did then his heart asaile,  
he thought himself of God accursed.   

And therefore falling wondrous sick,  
he humbly to his Father sent:  
The worm of conscience did him prick,  
and his vile deeds he did lament.  
Requiring that his noble grace,  
would now forgive all that was passed:  
And come to him in heavy case,  
being at point to breathe his last.   

When this word came unto our king,  
the news did make him wondrous woe:  
And unto unto him he sent his Ring,  
where he in person would not go:  
Commend me to my Son he said,  
so sick in bed as he doth lie:  
And tell him I am well apaid,  
to hear he doth for mercy cry:   

The Lord forgive his foul offence,  
and I forgive them all quoth he:  
His evil with good I'll recompense,  
bear him this message now from me,  
When that the Prince did see this ring,  
he kissed it un joyful wise  
And for his faults his hands did wring,  
while bitter-teares gushed from his eyes   

Then to his Lords that stood him nigh,  
with feeble voice than did he call:  
Desiring them immediately,  
to strip him from his garments all.  
Take off from me these robes so rich,  
and lay me in a cloth of hair:  
Quoth he my grievous sins are such,  
hell fires flame I greatly fear.   

A hemp on halter than he took,  
about his neck he put the same:  
And with a grievous piteous look,  
this speech unto them did he frame,  
You reverend Bishops more and less,  
pray for my soul to God on high:  
For like a thief I do confess,  
I have deserved for to die.   

And therefore by this halter here,  
I yield myself unto you all:  
A wretch unworthy to appear,  
before my God celestial.  
Therefore within your hempton bed,  
all strewed with ashes as it is:  
Let me be laid when I am dead,  
and draw me thereunto by this.   

Yea by this halter strong and tough,  
drag forth my carcase to the same:  
Yet is that couch not bad enough.  
for my vile body wrapped in shame.  
And when you see me lie along,  
be powdered in ashes there:  
Say there is he that did such wrong,  
unto his Father every where.   

And with that word he breathed his last,  
wherefore according to his mind:  
They drew him by the neck full fast  
unto the place to him assigned.  
And afterward in solemn sort,  
at Rouen in France buried was he:  
Where many Princes did resort.  
to his most royal obsequy.    

¶ The Imprisonment of Queen Elinor, wife to King Henry the second. The Argument.  
¶ The imprisonment of Queen Elinor, wife to King Henrje the second, by whose means the King's sons so unnaturally rebelled against their father. And her lamentation, being sixteen years in prison, whom her son Richard when he came to be King, relesed, and how at her deliverance, she caused many prisoners to be set at liberty.  
Cant. IIII  
Or come live with me and be my love.  

Thrice we is me unhappy Queen,  
thus to offend my princely Lord:  
My foul offence too plain is seen,  
and of good people most abhorred:  
I do confess my fault it was,  
these bloody wars came this to pass.   

My jealous mind hath wrought my woe,  
let all good Ladies shun mistrust:  
My envy wrought my overthrow,  
and by my malice most unjust.  
My Sons did seek their father's life,  
by bloody wars and cruel strife,   

What more unkindness could be shown  
to any Prince of high renown:  
Then by his Queen and love alone,  
to stand in danger of his Crown.  
For this offence most worthily  
in doleful prison do I lie.   

But that which most torments my mind,  
and makes my grievous heart complain  
Is for to think that most unkind,  
I brought myself in such disdain:  
That now the king cannot abide  
I should be lodged by his side.   

In doleful prison I am cast,  
debarred of princely company:  
The King's good will quite have I lost,  
and purchased nought but infamy:  
And never must I see him more,  
whose absence grives my heart full sore.   

Full sixteen winters have.  
I been imprisoned in the dungeon deep:  
Whereby my joys are wasted clean,  
where my poor eyes have learned to weep.  
And never since I could attain,  
his kingly love to me again.   

Too much indeed I must confess.  
I did abuse his royal grace:  
And by my great maliciousness,  
his wrong I wrought in every place.  
And thus his love I turned to hate,  
which I repent but all too late.   

Sweet Rosamond that was so fair,  
out of her curious bower I brought,  
A poisoned cup I gave her there,  
whereby her death was quickly wrought.  
The which I did with all despite,  
because she was the King's delight.   

Thus often did the Queen lament,  
as she in prison long did lie.  
Her former deeds she did repent:  
with many a watery weeping eye:  
But at the last this news was spread.  
the King was on a sudden dead:   

But when she heard this tidings told,  
most bitterly she mourned then:  
Her woeful heart she did unfold,  
in sight of many Noble men.  
And her son Richard being King,  
from doleful prison did he bring.   

Who set her for to rule the land,  
while to jerusalem he went:  
And while she had this charge in hand,  
her care was great in government.  
And many a prisoner then in hold,  
she set at large from irons cold.    

¶ The lamentable death of King john, how he was poisoned in the Abbey at Swinsted, by a false Friar.  
Cant. V.  
Or to the tune of Fortune.  

A Treacherous deed forthwith I shall you tell,  
Which on King john upon a sudden fell:  
To Lincolnshire proceeding on his way,  
At Swinestead Abbey, one whole night he lay.   

There did the King oppose his welcome good,  
But much deceit lies under an Abbot's hood.  
There did the King himsel●e in safety think,  
But there the King received his latest drink.   

Great cheer they made unto his royal grace,  
While he remained a guest within that place.  
But while they smiled and laughed in his sight,  
They wrought great treason, shadowed with delight   

A flat faced Monk comes with a glozing tale,  
To give the King a cup of spiced ●le:  
A deadliar or ●●ght was never offered man,  
Yet this false Monk unto the King began.   

Which when the king without mistrust did see,  
He took the Cup of him most courteously:  
But while he held the poisoned Cup in hand,  
Our noble king amazed much did stand.   

For casting down by chance his princely eye,  
On precious jewels which he had full nigh:  
He saw the colour of each precious stone,  
Most strangely turn and alter one by one.   

Their Orient brightness to a pale dead hue,  
Were changed quite, the cause no person knew  
And such a sweat did overspread them all,  
As stood like dew which on fair flowers fall,   

And hereby was their precious natures tried,  
For precious stones foul poison cannot bide  
But though our king beheld their colour pale,  
Mistrusted not the poison in the Ale.   

For why the Monk the taste before him took  
Nor knew the king how ill he did it brook.  
And therefore he a hearty draft did take,  
Which of his life a quick dispatch did make.   

Th' infectious drink fumd up into his head:  
And through the veins into the heart it spread,  
Distempering the pure unspotted brain,  
That doth in man his memory maintain.   

Then felt the King an extreme grief to grow,  
Through all his entrails being infected so:  
Whereby he knew through anguish which he felt  
The Monks with him most traitorously had dealt.   

The groans he gave did make all men to wonder,  
He cast as if his heart would split in sunder,  
And still he called while he thereon did think,  
For that false Monk which brought the deadly drink.   

And then his Lords went searching round about  
In every place to find this Traitor out:  
At length they found him dead as any stone,  
Within a corner lying all alone.   

For having tasted of that poisoned Cup,  
Whereof our King the residue drunk up,  
The envious Monk himself to death did bring  
That he thereby might kill our royal king.   

But when the king with wonder hard them tell,  
The Monks dead body did with poison swell:  
Why then my Lords full quickly now quoth he,  
A breathless King you shall among you see.   

Behold he said my veins in pieces crack,  
A grievous torment feel I in my back:  
And by this poison deadly and accursed,  
I feel my heart strings ready for to burst.   

With that his eyes did turn within his head:  
A pale dead colour through his face did spread,  
And lying gasping with a cold faint breath,  
The royal King was overcome by death.   

His mournful Lords which stood about him them  
Withal their force and troops of warlike men:  
To Worcester the corpses they did convey,  
With Drumbe & trumpet marching all the way.   

And in the fair Cathedral Church I find,  
They buried him according to their mind:  
Most pompiously best fitting for a king,  
Who were applauded greatly for this thing.   
FINIS.   

Of the Imprisonment of King Edward the second. The Argument.  
¶ The cruel imprisonment of King Edward the second, at the Castle of Barkley, the 22. of September. 1327.  
Cant. Vj.  
Or who list to lead a Soldiers life.  

WHen Isabella fair England's Queen,  
In woeful wars had victorious been:  
Our comely King her husband dear,  
Subdued by strength as did appear.  
By her was sent to prison strong,  
for having done his country wrong.  
In Barkly Castle cast was he,  
denied of royal dignity:  
Where he was kept in woeful wise,  
his Queen did him so much despise.   

There did he live in woeful state,  
such is a woman's deadly hate:  
When fickle fancy follows change,  
and justful thoughts delight to range.  
Lord Morcimer was so in mind  
the King's sweet love was cast behind:  
And none was known a greater foe,  
unto King Edward in his woe:  
Then Isabella his crowned Queen,  
as by the sequel shall be seen.   

While he in prison poorly say,  
a Parliament was held strait way,  
What time his foes apace did bring,  
bills of complaint against the King:  
So that the Nobles of the land,  
when they the matter thoroughly scanned,  
Pronounced then these speeches plain,  
he was unworthy for to reign:  
Therefore they made a flat decree,  
he should forthwith deposed be.   

And his Son Edward young of years,  
was judged by the Noble Pears,  
Most meet to wear the princely Crown,  
his Father being thus pulled down.  
Which words when as the Queen did hear:  
dissemblingly as did appear:  
She wept, she wailed, and wrong her hands,  
before the Lords whereas she stands:  
Which when the Prince her Son did see,  
he spoke these words most courteously.   

My sweet Queen mother weep not so,  
think not your Son will seek your woe:  
Though English Lords choose me there king,  
my own dear Father yet living:  
Think not I will thereto consent,  
except my Father be content:  
And with good will his Crown resign,  
and grant it freely to be mine.  
Therefore Queen mother think no ill,  
in me or them for their good will.   

Then divers Lords without delay,  
went to the King whereas he lay:  
Declaring how the matetr stood.  
and how the Peers did think it good:  
To choose his Son there King to be,  
if that he would thereto agree:  
For to resign the princely crown,  
and all his title of renown:  
If otherwise they told him plain,  
a stranger should the same attain.   

This doleful tidings most unkind,  
did sore afflict king Edward's mind:  
But when he saw no remedy,  
he did unto their wills agree:  
And bitterly he did lament  
saying the Lord this plague had sent:  
For his offence and vanity,  
which he would suffer patiently.  
Beseeching all the Lords at last.  
for to forgive him all was passed.   

When thus he was deposed quite,  
of that which was his lawful right:  
In prison was he kept full close,  
without all p●ttie or remorse.  
And those that showed him favour still,  
were taken from him with ill will:  
Which when the Earl of Kent did here,  
who was in blood to him full near.  
He did entreat most earnestly,  
for his release and liberty.   

His words did much the Queen displease,  
who said he lived too much at ease:  
Unto the Bishop did she go,  
of hertford his deadly foe:  
And ●uell letters made him wright,  
unto his keepers with despite:  
You are to kind to him quoth she,  
henceforth more straighter look you bèe:  
And in their writing subtly,  
they sent them word that he should die.   

The Lord Matreuers all dismayed,  
unto Sir Thomas Gourney said:  
The Queen is much displeased quoth he,  
for Edward's too much liberty,  
And by her letters doth bewray,  
that soon he shall be made away:  
'tis best, Sir Thomas then replied,  
the Queen's wish should not be denied:  
Thereby we shall have her goodwill,  
and keep ourselves in credit still.    

Of King Edward the second, being poisoned. The Argument.  
¶ How the King was poisoned, and yet escaped and afterward, how when they saw that thereby he was not dispatched of life, they locked him in a most noisome filthy place: that with the stink thereof, he might be choked, and when that prevailed not, how they thrust a hot burning spit into his fundament, till they had burnt his bowels within his bodje, whereof he died.  
Or how can the te●e:  
Cant. ujj.  

THe King's cursed keepers aiming at reward,  
hoping for favour of the furious Queen:  
On wretched Edward had they no regard,  
far from their hearts is mercy moved clean  
Wherefore they mingle poison with his meat,  
Which made the man most fearful for to eat.   

For by the taste he oftentimes suspected,  
the venom couched in a dainty dish:  
Yet his fair body was full sore infected,  
so ill they spiced hath his flesh and fish:  
But his strong nature all their craft beguiles,  
the poison breaking forth in blames and biles.   

An ugly scab over spreads his Lyllie skin,  
foul botches break upon his manly face,  
This sore without and sorrowful within:  
the despised man doth live in loathsome case:  
Like to a lazar did he then abide,  
that shows his sores along the hiewaies side:   

But when this practice proved not to their mind,  
and that they saw he lived in their despite:  
Another dam'd device than they find,  
by stinking favours for to choke him quite.  
In an odd corner did they lock him fast,  
hard by the which their carrton they did cast.   

The stinch whereof might be compared well nigh,  
to that foul lake where cursed Sodom stood:  
That poisoned birds which over it did fly,  
even by the savour of that filthy mud:  
Even so the smell of that corrupted den,  
was able for to choke ten thousand men.   

But all in vain it would not do God wot,  
his good complexion still drove out the same:  
Like to the boiling of a seething pot.  
that casts the scum into the fierce flame:  
Thus still he lived, and living still they sought,  
his death, whose downfall was already wrought.   

Loathing his life at last his keepers came,  
into his chamber in the dead of night:  
And without noise they entered soon the same,  
with weapons drawn & torches burning bright  
Where the poor prisoner fast asleep in bed  
lay on his belly nothing under his head.   

The which advantage when the murderers saw  
a heavy table on him they did throw:  
Wherewith awaked, his breath he scant could draw,  
with weight thereof they kept him under so,  
Then turning up the clothes above his hips.  
to hold his legs, a couple quickly skips.   

Then came the murderers, one a horn had got,  
which far into his fundament down he thrust  
Another with a spit all burning hot,  
the same quite through the horn he strongly pushed.  
Among his entrails in most cruel wise,  
forcing hereby most lamentable cries.   

And while within his body they did keep,  
the burning spit still rolling up and down:  
Most mournfully the murdered man did weep,  
whose wailful noise waked many in the town,  
Who guessing by his cries his death drew near,  
took great compassion on that noble Peer.   

And at each bitter skroeke which he did make,  
they prayed to God for to receive his soul:  
His ghastly groans enforced their hearts to ache  
yet none durst go to cause the bell to toll  
Ha me poor man alack. alack he cried,  
and long it was before the time he died.   

Strong was his heart, a long it was God knows  
ear it would sleep unto the streke of death:  
First was it wounded with a thousand woes,  
before he did resign his vital breath:  
And being murdered thus as you do hear,  
no outward hurt upon him old appear.   

This cruel murder being brought to pass,  
the Lord Matreuers to the Court doth hies  
To show the Queen her will performed was,  
great recompense he thought to get thereby.  
But when the Queen the sequel understands,  
dissemblingly she weeps and wrings her hands.   

Ah cursed traitor hast thou slain quoth she,  
my noble wedded Lord in such a sort:  
Shame and confusion ever light on thee,  
O how I grief to hear this vile report  
Hence cursed caitiff from my sight she said,  
that hath of me a woeful widow made.   

Then all abashed Matreuers goes his way,  
the saddest man that ever life did bear:  
And to Sir Thomas Gurney did bewray,  
what bitter speech the Queen did give him there:  
Then did the Queen outlaw them both together,  
and banished them fair England's bounds for ever.   

Thus the dissembling Queen did seek to hide,  
the heinous act by her own means effected:  
The knowledge of the deed she still denied,  
that she of murder might not be suspected:  
But yet for all the subtlety she wrought,  
the truth unto the world was after brought.    

Of the Lord Matrevers and Sir Thomas Gurney, being banished. The Argument.  
¶ The doleful lamentation of the lord Matrevers and Sir Thomas Gurney, being banished the Realm.  
Cant. VIII.  
Or to the tune of light of love.  

Alas that ever that day we did see,  
that false smiling fortune so fickle should be:  
Our miseries are many our woes without end,  
to purchase us favour we both did offend.  
Our deeds have deserved both sorrow and shame,  
but woe worth the persons procured the same:  
Alack, and alack, with grief we may cry,  
that ever we forced king Edward to die.   

The Bishop of Hereford ill may he fare,  
he wrote us a letter for subtlety rare:  
To kill princely Edward, fear not it is good,  
thus much by his letter we then understood.  
But cursed be the time that we took it in hand,  
to follow such counsel and wicked command:  
Alack, and alack, with grief we may cry,  
that ever we forced King Edward to die.   

Forgive us sweet Saviour that damnable deed,  
which causeth with sorrow our hearts for to bleed:  
And taking compassion upon our distress,  
put far from thy pretence our great wickedness.  
With tears all bedewed for mercy we cry,  
and do not the penitent mercy deny.  
Alack, and alack, with grief we may say,  
that ever we made king Edward away.   

For this have we last both our goods and our lands,  
our Castles and towers, so stately that stands:  
Our Ladies and babies are turned out of door,  
like comfortless caitiffs both naked and po●re.  
Both friendless and fatherless do they complain,  
for gone are their comforts that should then maintain:  
Alack, and alack, and alas may we cry,  
that ever we forced king Edward to die.   

And while they go wring their hands up & down.  
in seeking for succour from town unto town:  
All wrapped in wretchedness do we remain,  
tormented, perplexed in dolour and pain.  
Despised, disdained and banished quite,  
the coasts of our country so sweet to our sight.  
Alack, and alack, and alas may we cry,  
that ever we forced king Edward to die.   

Then farewell fair England wherein we were borne,  
our friends & our kindred which holds us in scorn:  
Our honours and dignities quite have we lost,  
both profit and pleasure our fortune have crossed.  
Out Parks and our Chases, our mansions so fair▪  
our jemes and our jewels most precious & rare▪  
Alack, and alack, and alas may we cry,  
that ever we forced king Edward to die.   

Then farewell dear Ladies and most loving wives,  
might we mend your miseries with loss of our lives  
Then our silly children which begs on your hand,  
in grief and calamity long should not stand,  
Nor yet in their Country despised should be,  
that lately was honoured of every degree:  
Alack, and alack, and alas we may cry,  
that ever we forced king Edward to die.   

In Country's unknown we range too and fro,  
cloying men's ears with report of our woe:  
Our tood is wild berries green banks is our bed,  
the trees serve for houses to cover our head.  
Brown bread to our toast is most dainty & sweet,  
our drink is cold water took up at our feet:  
Alack and alack and alas may we cry,  
that ever we forced king Edward to die.   

Thus having long wandered in hunger and cold,  
despising lives safety most desperate bold:  
Sir E. Gurney toward England doth go,  
for love of his Lady distressed with woe.  
Saying how happy and blessed were I,  
to see my sweet children and wife ear I die.  
Alack, and alack, and alas may we say,  
that ever we made king Edward away.   

But three years after his woeful excile,  
behold how false fortune his thoughts doth beguile:  
Coming toward England was took by the way,  
& least that he should the chief murderers bewray.  
Commandment was sent by one called Lea,  
he should be beheaded forthwith on the sea:  
Alack, and alack, and alas did he cry,  
that ever we forced king Edward to die.   

Thus was Sir Thomas dispatched of life,  
in coming to visit his sorrowful wife:  
Who was cut off from his wished desire,  
which he in his heart so much did require.  
And never his Lady again did he see,  
nor his poor children in their misery.  
Alack, and alack, and alas did he cry,  
that ever we forced king Edward to die.   

The Lord Matreuers the story doth tell,  
in Germany after long time he did dwell:  
In secret manner for fear to be seen,  
by any persons that favoured the Queen:  
And there at last in great misery,  
he ended his life most penitently.  
Alack and alack, and alas did they say,  
that ever we made king Edward away.    

Of the winning of the I'll of Man, by the Earl of Salisbury The Argument.  
¶ The winning of the Isle of Man, by the noble Earl of Salisbury.  
Cant. IX.  
Or the Queen's going to the Parliament.  

THe noble Earl of Salisbury,  
with many a hardy Knight:  
Most valiantly prepared himself,  
against the Scots to fight.  
With his spear and his shield,  
making his proud foes to yield:  
Fiercely on them all he ran,  
to drive them from the I'll of Man:  
Drums striking on a row  
Trumpets sounding as they go,  
Tan ta ra ra ra tan.   

There silken Ensigns in the field,  
most gloriously were spread:  
The Horsemen on their prancing steed,  
struck many a Scotchman dead:  
The brown bills on their corselets sing,  
the bowmen with the grey Goose wing▪  
The lusty Lance the piercing spear,  
the lost flesh of their foes do tear.  
Drums striking on a row,  
trumpets sounding as they go.  
Tan ta ra ra ra tan.   

The battle was so fierce and hot,  
the Scots for fear did fly:  
And many a famous Knight and Squire,  
in gory blood did lie:  
Some thinking to escape away.  
did drown themselves within the sea:  
Some with many a bloody wound,  
lay gasping on the clayey ground.  
Drums striking on a row,  
trumpets sounding as they go,  
Tan ta ra ra ra tan.   

Thus after many a brave exploit,  
that day performed and donnet  
The noble Earl of Salisbury,  
the I'll of man had won.  
Returning then most gallantly,  
with honour fame and victory:  
Like a conqueror of fame,  
to Court this warlike champion came.  
Drums striking on a row,  
trumpets sounding as they go.  
Tan ta ra ra ra tan.   

Our King rejoicing at this act,  
incontinent decreed  
To give the Earl this pleasant I'll,  
for his most valiant deed:  
And forthwith did cause him than,  
for to be Crowned king of man,  
Earl of famous Salisbury,  
and King of man by dignity:  
Drums striking on a row,  
trumpets sounding as they go.  
Tan ta ra ra ra tan.   

Thus was the first King of man,  
that ever bore that name:  
Knight of the princely Garter blew,  
an order of great fame:  
Which brave king Edward did devise,  
and with his person royalize:  
Knights of the Garter are they called,  
and eke at Windsor so installed.  
With princely royalty,  
great fame and dignity.  
This knighthood still is held.    

How Wat Tiler and jack Straw, rebelled against king Richard the second. The Argument.  
¶ The rebellion of Wat Tiler and jack Straw, with others, against King Richard the second.  
Cant. X.  
Or the Miller would a wooing ride.  
What Tiler is from Darford gone,  
and with him many a proper man:  
And he a Captain is become,  
marching in field with Phife and Drum,  
jack Straw an other in like case,  
from Essex flocks a mighty pace.  
Hob Carter with his straggling train,  
jack Shepperd comes with him a main:  
So doth Tom Miller in like sort,  
as if he meant to take some Fort:  
With bows and bills, with spear and shield,  
on Blackheath have they pitched their field,  
An hundred thousand men in all,  
whose force is not accounted small.  
And for king Richard did they send,  
much evil to him they did intend:  
For the tax the which our king,  
upon his Commons then did bring:  
And now because his royal grace,  
denied to come within their Chase,  
They spoiled Southwark round about,  
and took the Marshal's prisoners out:  
All those that in the King's bench lay,  
at liberty they set that day,  
And then they marched with one consent,  
through London with a lewd intent:  
And for to fit their lewd desire,  
they set the Savoy all on fire,  
For the hate which they did bear,  
unto the Duke of Lancastere.  
Therefore his house they burned quite,  
through envy malice and despite.  
Then to the Temple did they turn,  
the Lawyer's books there did they burn:  
And spoiled their Lodgings one by one,  
and all they could lay hand upon.  
Then unto Smithfield did they high,  
to Saint john's place that stands thereby.  
And set the same on fire flat,  
which burned seven days after that.  
Unto the Tower of London then,  
fast troped these rebellious men,  
And having entered soon the same,  
with hideous cries and much shame:  
The grave Lord Chancellor thence they took,  
amazed with fearful piteous look:  
The Lord high Treasurer likewise they,  
took from that place that present day:  
And with their hooting lewd and shrill, struck off their heads on Tower hill.  
Into the City came they then,  
like rude disordered frantic men:  
They robbed the Churches every where,  
and put the Priests in deadly fear.  
Into the Counters than they get,  
where men imprisoned lay for debt:  
They broke the doors and let them out,  
and threw the Counter books about,  
Tearing and spoiling them each one,  
and Records all they light upon.  
The doors of Newgate broke they down,  
that prisoners ran about the town:  
Forcing all the Smiths they meet,  
to knock the irons from their feet:  
And then like villains void of awe,  
followed Wat Tylor and jack Straw.  
And though this outrage was not small,  
the King gave pardon to them all,  
So they would part home quietly,  
but they his pardon did defy:  
And being all in Smithfield then,  
even threescore thousand fight men,  
Which there Wat Tylor then did bring,  
of purpose for to meet our king.  
And there withal his royal grace,  
sent Sir john Newton to that place:  
Unto Wat Tylor willing him,  
to come and speak with our young king.  
But the proud Rebel in despite,  
did pick a quarrel with the knight.  
The Mayor of London being by,  
when he beheld this villainy:  
Unto Wat Tylor road he then,  
being in midst of all his men:  
Saying Traitor yield 'tis best.  
in the King's name I thee arrest:  
And therewith to his Dagger start,  
and thrust the Rebel to the heart.  
Who falling dead unto the ground,  
the same did all the host confound:  
And down they threw their weapons all  
and humbly they for pardon call.  
Thus did that proud Rebellion cease,  
and after followed a joyful peace.  
FINIS.   

A speech between Ladies, being shepherds on Salisbury plain.  
Truly said the Ladies, this was a most hardy & courageous Mayor. that durst in the midst of so mighty a multitude of his enemies arrest so impudent and bold a Traitor, and kill him in the face of all his friends, which was a deed worthy to be had in everlasting memory and highly to be rewarded: Nor did his Majesty forget, said the Lady oxenbridge, to dignify that brave man for his hardy deed, for in remembrance of that admired exploit, his majesty made him Knight, and five Aldermen more of the City, ordaining also, that in remembrance of Sir Wil. Walworthes deed, against Watte Tyler, that all the Mayors that were to succeed in his place should be Knighted: and further he granted, that there should be a Dagger added to the Arms of the City of London, in the right quarter of the shield for an augmentation of the arms.  
You have told us (quoth the Ladies) the end of Wat Tylor, but I pray you what became of jack Straw, & the rest of the rebellious rout. I will show you (quoth she) jack Straw with the rest of that rude rabble, being in the end apprehended (as Rebels never flourish long) was at last brought to be executed at London, where he confessed that there intent was, if they could have brought their vile purpose to pass, to have murdered the King and his Nobles, and to have destroyed so near as they could: all the gentility of the land, having especially vowed the death of all the Bishops, Abbots & Monks, and then to have enriched themselves, they determined to set London on fire, and to have taken the spoil of that honourable City, but the gallows standing betwixt them & home, they were there trust up before they could effect any thing. And such ends said the ladies send all Rebels, and especially the desperate Traitors, which at this present vexeth the whole state.  
With that word, one of their servants came running, saying: Madam, the Rebels are now marched out of Wiltshire & Hampshire, making hasty steps towards london, therefore now you need not fear to come home, and commit the flocks to there former keepers. The Ladies being joyful thereof, appointed shortly after a banquet to be prepared, where they all met together again, by which time the King's power having encountered the Rebels on Blackheath, overthrew their whole power where the lord Awdly was taken and committed to Newgate, from whence he was drawn to the Tower-hill in a cote of his own Arms painted upon paper, reversed and all to torn, and there was beheaded the 24. of june. And shortly after Thomas Flamocke, and Michael joseph the black Smith were drawn, hanged & quartered after the manner of Traitors, but when the husbands to these fair ladies, came home & heard how their wives had dealt to save themselves in this dangerous time, they could not choose but heartily laugh at the matter, saying, that such shepherds never kept sheep on Salisbury plain before.